#sorry if this is bad form but this has actually been on my mind for a while

[lovedazai]

WHEN YOU LEAVE TO GO ON A LONG, DANGEROUS MISSION

ft. dazai, chuuya, ranpo

p.s.! sending hugs + kisses to the lovely anon who requested <3 !! sorry i kinda got carried away :’)

DAZAI

when he’s strategizing and realizes you’re the best suited member of the agency for the mission, his heart drops. he knew being in a relationship with his coworker would come to this eventually, but he’s always been selfish.

he didn't know how he could make it that long without you. he's used to keeping an eye on you, always listening behind his headset, but this time you'd have to be on your own and he hates it.

he pores over the details of the case, forcing the logic to piece together that you’d be okay. he desperately tries to ignore the voice in his head telling him that you’d be taken away from him just like everyone else

it takes every part of him not to cling onto you when he kisses you goodbye. he sends you off with a smile, and it drops as soon as you’re gone, a stiff frown settling in its place.

there’s a noticeable emptiness without you around. his futon, just barely able to fit the two of you wrapped around each other, suddenly feels too big, and he can’t sleep.

instead, he stares at the moon and wonders if you were as restless as him, looking at it too. it made him feel connected to you, even if you weren’t doing the same.

he talks to you about his day as if you were next to him, just to ignore the crippling loneliness he thought he’d starved off for good.

he acts out more than usual, overcompensating for his lack of attention, even if it came in the form of a hard smack to the head from kunikida.

his stomach gurgles angrily at him, and he realizes there isn’t anyone around to make him a proper dinner anymore. he can’t be bothered to cook and falls back into old habits, opening bottles of sake and cans of crab. he knows you’d be mad if you were there, and the thought of you scolding him to take better care of himself makes him smile.

dazai hums as he flips through his suicide book, words familiar enough that he didn’t bother turning on a light to read them. he knew you’d be back home any day now. your message to the agency that you were safe had lifted a weight from him, but he wouldn’t be completely satisfied until you were in his arms again.

he pauses when he hears the lock turn in the door, sitting up with big, blinking eyes. its felt like an eternity without you, it almost feels unreal that you could really be back.

when he sees you in the doorway, he can’t even bare to move. his face breaks out in a lovesick grin, and he opens his arms wide. your suitcase is abandoned in the doorway as you run to him, knocking him back against the soft cushion of his futon.

his hands cradle your head, kissing you everywhere he can reach. “i’m so happy you’re home,” he still isn’t used to saying that word. “i missed you so much it nearly killed me.” his lips are curled into a smile when he nuzzles into your chest. he shakily exhales when you gently scratch against his scalp as he intertwines his legs with yours, pulling himself closer to you.

“i missed you too,” he’s so happy to hear it, his cheeks ache from smiling so hard. “were you okay while i was gone?”

“shhh,” he holds a finger up to your lips, suppressing a shiver when you kiss his fingertips. “that doesn’t matter now, my love! can’t we just enjoy being together again?” he hears you sigh, and he knows you see right through his poor attempt at deflecting, but it doesn’t matter, not when he finally has you in his arms again.

CHUUYA

when he hears the news, he assumes he's going with you. it’s no big deal, he’s actually kind of excited. when mori tells him otherwise, he thinks it’s some kind of joke.

he knows it can’t be helped, but he’s still pissed, thinking of being without you for so long, not knowing if you were safe. he doesn’t even want to think of something bad happening to you, but the thought creeps into his mind, dark and icky.

the last thing he wants is for you to think he doesn’t trust you, so he keeps his anxieties inside, helps you pack, and reluctantly kisses you goodbye. it takes a few muttered “just one more?”s before he finally lets you go.

it takes a while for him to adjust to you being away, and he desperately hopes he never has to get used to it again.

he has to stop himself from grabbing two wine glasses each night when he comes home, putting yours back with a resentful frown.

he hugs your pillow in place of you each night, hoping you come back before your scent leaves.

he lights your favorite candles, plays your favorite songs, finds himself ordering your favorite take-out just to have pieces of you around.

when he finishes a job and comes home with cracked, bleeding knuckles, he bandages them alone, pain so much worse without your kisses to make it better.

chuuya had long since left his spot on the couch, pacing back and forth in his living room. your flight had landed, and it was only a matter of time before you arrived home.

he runs to the door as soon as he hears the knob turn. he doesn’t even let you put your bags down before he’s wrapping his arms around you, squeezing you against him. “i missed you so fuckin’ much.” he presses his lips to yours, practically melting into you when you bury your fingers in his hair. “how are you?” he pulls away, looking you up and down. “are you hurt anywhere?”

you shake your head, giving him that smile he’s missed so much. he picks you up, holding your thighs as your arms circle around his neck, your bags floating behind him with his ability. “what d’you want? bed? bath? i’ll get you anything.”

“just want you.” you mumble into his neck. the answer knocks the air out of him, and he forces himself to take a deep breath, holding you even tighter. he drops the bags in front of the closet, and scoots back against the bed, sitting against the headboard, still cradling you in your arms. you’re already halfway asleep, exhausted from the plane ride home.

“get comfortable,” he presses a kiss to your temple, floating your favorite blanket closer. “‘cause i’m not letting you go again.”

RANPO

he didn’t care much for the details of the mission, until it was decided that you were going.

he’d thrown somewhat of a tantrum, demanding for fukuzawa to change his mind, but he knew it was useless; you were the only one in the agency who could pull it off.

he can’t even brag about how badass his s/o is when it comes at the cost of you leaving him.

when it’s time for you to go, he resists the urge to cling to your leg like a child and beg for you to stay. instead, he hugs you tightly, imprinting the feeling of your body in his. “come back safe,” he whispers, nose nuzzling into your neck. “please.”

he’s especially grumpy when you’re gone. he eats his breakfast by himself with a pout, apartment eerily quiet, food not nearly as good as it was when you cooked it.

he hates how much space there is in your tiny bathroom without your body next to his while he gets ready for work, glaring at your untouched shoes in the genkan on his way out.

and how exactly is he supposed to sleep well when he doesn’t even get a goodnight kiss??

cases thrown to the side for being too boring are now accepted; anything to keep his mind off of you not being around, or worse, you getting hurt.

he still buys your favorite snacks, an accumulating pile on your desk waiting for you when you return (he only eats a few of them)

ranpo knows exactly when you’ll be arriving home. he checks the time persistently, bouncing his feet as it gets closer. he doesn’t even wait for you to get settled; as soon as you’re through the door, he jumps into your arms, wrapping his legs around you like an oversized koala bear. “well?” he looks up at you, not bothering with greetings. “what are you waiting for? you have a lot of kisses to make up for, you know!”

he beams as you scatter kisses across his cheeks, dimpled from his big smile. you place a final one on his lips, putting him down to search through your bag. you say something about foreign snacks, but he can’t pay attention, his childish impatience gnawing at him. he’d been so deprived of your attention, and now that you’re here, you’re already distracted.

he wraps his arms around your back, forehead resting against the middle of your shoulder blades. “don’t leave again,” he says quietly; if it wasn’t for the silence of the room, you might not have heard him. “it’s not fair for me to be alone for so long.”

“i know,” you turn around to face him, and he crawls into your lap as soon as you do, his green eyes wide open. “i missed you.”

he peeks at you through his bangs. “how much?”

“so, so, so much.”

he smiles, grabbing your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm before he intertwines it with his own. his thoughts of i didn’t know what to do without you are left unsaid. now that you’re back, he swears he isn’t leaving your side again, and there’s plenty of time for him to show you just how much he missed you.

BSD MASTERLIST

#dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #ranpo x reader #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai osamu x reader #nakahara chuuya x reader #edogawa ranpo x reader #bsd imagines #bsd scenarios #dazai fluff #chuuya fluff #ranpo fluff #bsd fluff #💌 . . . with love mai ⊹ ࣪ ˖

[theostrophywife]

Hey! I love your work! I was wondering if you could do a Azriel x reader fic where reader doesn’t know a lot about males and so az (maybe he already has a thing for reader) offers to give her lessons? The more NSFW the better 😉

innocence.

author's note: sorry for being m.i.a. please accept this as my apology gift. largely inspired by this song. you can't tell me that az doesn't have the biggest corrpution kink 😏

it started out innocently enough.

one winter evening after a particularly rowdy wine night, you and azriel laid in a heap at the house of wind, giggling at nothing as the warmth of the alcohol lowered your inhibitions and loosened your lips.

"never?" azriel asked incredulously, his brows creasing in the most adorable way. "you've truly never kissed anyone?"

you pouted, crossing your arms. thanks to cassian and his big mouth, the shadowsinger now knew the true extent of your naivete. growing up in the high priestess's temple in the dawn court, you had devoted much of your life to duty and training, which left little to no room for encounters with the opposite sex.

it never bothered you before. until you moved to the night court and met the shadowsinger. azriel was beyond gorgeous and smart and funny and probably well-versed in the art of seduction, which is more than you could say for your inexperienced self.

"don't tease, az." you groaned, covering your face behind your hands. as if that would hide the flush spreading through your cheeks. "i'm already mortified enough as it is."

"hey," azriel said softly as he gently grabbed your wrists. "it's nothing to be embarrassed about, love."

"you're just saying that to be nice."

the shadowsinger shook his head. "i torture people for a living," he deadpanned. "i am not nice."

you chuckled, which brought a smile to azriel's handsome face. "besides, practice makes perfect. i've seen you go from not knowing how to hold a sword to perfecting the eight point attack in a matter of weeks. kissing should be a piece of cake compared to that."

"kissing and fighting aren't the same thing."

azriel smirked. "it is, if you're doing it right. all it takes is a good teacher." the tips of your ears reddened. “and we all know how fast of a learner you are.”

you snorted. "somehow i doubt that nesta would be into the idea of letting me borrow her mate for lessons." a little frown formed on your face. "or maybe she would. you never know with those two."

the idea formed in azriel's mind before he could think better of it. the shadowsinger hated that he thought of it in the first place, but fuck. you were both a little tipsy and a tiny bit reckless and he'd been crushing on you for far too long and maybe tonight was the night he finally did something about it.

"i could teach you."

you stilled. “what?”

azriel shrugged and put on his most nonchalant expression even though his inner monologue was currently pure turmoil. “i could teach you how to kiss.” he cleared his throat, lowering his gaze to yours. “it might help to practice with someone you’re comfortable with.”

you cocked your head, weighing his words. “you’re…actually serious about this.”

“why wouldn’t i be?”

“well, wouldn’t it make things weird? you’re my best friend. best friends don’t just kiss.”

you had him there. azriel certainly had never offered this unique service to any of his friends before. “i don’t think it’s weird. i think it makes perfect sense. in fact, it’s weird that we’re not kissing right now. best friends kiss all the time,” the shadowsinger deadpanned.

you snorted. “so you and cassian are just having heated little makeout sessions behind me and nesta’s back?”

azriel winked. “i won’t tell if you don’t.”

that earned an earnest little giggle out of you. then you were quiet again, lost in the pros and cons.

pro: you really wanted to kiss azriel.

con: you really wanted to kiss azriel.

what if you were horrible at it? what if you had bad breath? what if you accidentally bit him? what if azriel figured out that you had a pathetic little crush on him and he doesn’t return the feelings and your friendship implodes then you’d have to move back to the dawn court and adopt a bunch of cats just like thesan always teased you about when you were children—

“you’re spiraling.”

you crossed your arms. “am not.”

azriel rolled his eyes fondly. “i can practically see the steam coming out of your ears.” his expression softened as he turned over on the couch, his chin perched in one hand. “you don’t have to if you don’t want to. i just…” the bob of an adam’s apple. “i just wanted your first kiss to be with someone who genuinely cares about you.”

that turned your insides into mush. “oh.”

the shadowsinger’s cheeks reddened. “never mind, it sounds silly now that i’ve said it out loud.”

“it’s not,” you said, sitting cross legged on the sofa. “it’s not stupid, az. it’s really sweet, actually.”

your heart hammered inside of your chest as you faced azriel. his hazel eyes glowed golden under the faelights and a warm flush colored his cheeks a rosy tone. from this close, you could make out the constellations of freckles that kissed his nose and cheeks, its traitorous little trail stopping just above his cupid’s bow. you couldn’t help it. your gaze went straight to his lips. they looked soft, sensual, and perfectly kissable. you wondered if he’d taste like sweet wine.

“y/n?” azriel murmured softly.

“hmm?”

“you’re staring.”

your cheeks reddened and a slight smirk tugged at the corner of azriel’s mouth. “you’re the one who brought up kissing,” you countered, raising a brow. “now i can’t stop staring at your stupid lips.”

the shadowsinger’s smirk grew wider. “my stupid lips,” he repeated. “that you want to kiss.”

“no,” you blurted. azriel raised a knowing brow. “yes. maybe.” you shifted awkwardly. “what if i’m terrible at it? what if i accidentally miss? what if i don’t know where to put my hands? oh my gods, what if i accidentally bite you?”

to his credit, there wasn’t an ounce of judgement on azriel’s face. he’d witnessed your outbursts enough times that he wasn’t even fazed by it. the shadowsinger grabbed your hand and traced soothing circles over your knuckles. “one, no one’s first kiss is great. at best, it’s weird and awkward because you’re just trying to figure it out. that’s kind of the point. two, you won’t miss. just follow my lead. three, the neck or waist are generally safe spots to place your hands.” azriel demonstrated by wrapping your arms around his neck. “lastly, i don’t mind if you bite me. in fact, i might enjoy it.” he gave you a cheeky wink that helped dissipate the rest of your anxious worries.

you chuckled softly. leave it to azriel to make you laugh mid freak out. the shadowsinger smiled and cauldron fucking boil you, the sight of it pretty much sealed your fate.

“so,” you murmured, toying with the loose curls at the nape of azriel’s neck. “what now?”

“that’s entirely up to you, love.”

you blinked. once, twice. the smell of cedar and starkissed night. freckles and rosy cheeks. warm, golden eyes that melted your insides like honey. scarred hands that caressed the side of your face with heartbreaking gentleness.

“kiss me, azriel.”

the shadowsinger did not need to be told twice. he tilted your chin, brushing his nose against yours for a brief moment. azriel took a deep breath like he was savoring the moment, like his entire life had been leading up to this. then he kissed you.

his lips were as soft as freshly plucked rose petals and as sweet as the wine that still coated your tongue. they pressed against yours, gentle and exploring as azriel cupped your cheek. you leaned into him and your fingers found purchase in his silky, dark locks as azriel deepened the kiss. his arm snaked across your back as he pulled you into his lap, his mouth never once leaving yours. the sweet innocent pecks did not stay innocent for long.

the shadowsinger groaned as you nestled into him. there wasn’t an inch of your body that wasn’t pressed against him, but still you wanted more. your hands moves of their own accord and slipped underneath azriel’s cream sweater. his skin felt like a warm summer day despite the fact that it was currently the dead of winter.

“fuck,” azriel growled into your neck.

you pulled away, startled. it didn’t even occur to you that your fingers were as cold as icicles. “shit. sorry, az i didn’t think—“

you slipped your hands out of his sweater, but azriel caught you by the wrist. “no,” he grunted, his voice dark and low and dangerous. “no, don’t stop.”

it was the hottest thing you’ve ever heard in your entire life. even hotter still with the way azriel tugged you to him as though he’d rather die than have you stop touching him. you greedily obliged, taking the lead this time. azriel cursed under his breath as you kissed him again, tangling his curls between your fingers. there was something intoxicating about him—his taste, his touch, his kiss. you couldn’t get enough.

when you finally came up for breath, the shadowsinger looked at you as though he’d been starving for centuries and you’d only really begun to scratch the surface of his hunger. azriel wanted to devour you.

but tonight, he’d settle for a kiss. except, it was anything but.

azriel was fucked.

he blinked, drinking in your lust added gaze and flushed cheeks. you brought your bottom lip between your teeth and it was all he could do to reel himself in. “are…are all first kisses like that?” your voice was hoarse from disuse and utterly sexy.

“no,” azriel answered honestly. “i’ve never had a kiss like that.”

your grin brought out a set of dimples that azriel had long ago deemed as his greatest weaknesses. “and i’ve never had a first kiss, period.”

and you never will again, azriel thought. not if he could help it.

“does that feel good, love?” azriel asked as he pressed a kiss against your collar bone.

you whimpered as his lips trailed between the valley of your breasts. since that first kiss, you and azriel hadn’t been able to keep your hands off of each other. over the last few weeks, the apprehension you felt about your inexperience slowly started to feel like a blessing in disguise. azriel said you were a fast learner, but only because he was such a great teacher.

“gods,” you breathed, clutching the sheets as azriel continued his descent.

“you can just call me az, you know.”

you rolled your eyes at the cheeky male below you. from this angle, he certainly looked like a god. his hair was a tousled mess, dark curls tangled from where you ran your fingers through it. sweat dripped down his shirtless torso, his golden brown skin glowing in the afternoon light. you were vaguely aware that the sun as setting over the horizon, which meant that the rest of your friends would be arriving for dinner, but neither one of you seemed to care.

during the past few weeks, you and azriel continued your lessons. first base was easy enough to master. the two of you put in plenty of hours sneaking off to make out in azriel’s room, the wine cellar, the training pits, and even in feyre’s art studio at the river house once when things really got desperate. it was a wonder that your friends hadn’t caught you yet. there had been several close calls with cassian. mostly because the male was a nosy busybody.

second base took a little more work. you were terrified at first. you and azriel had been making out in your bed for what seemed like hours before you finally mustered up the courage to slip your hand into his trousers. the shadowsinger made a sound that was half growl and half purr and for a split second you were afraid that you’d hurt him. when you voiced your fears, azriel was quick to reassure you.

“i’m not in pain, love.” azriel said, his voice strained and breathy. “trust me, i feel the complete opposite.”

“tell me how to make you feel good, az.”

the string of curse words that fell from his lips were so filthy that it made you blush. the shadowsinger guided your hand over his cock and you nearly gasped at the impressive length. azriel was hot and hard beneath your touch, his wings flexing as you grasped him in your hand.

“loosen your grip, love.” azriel adjusted your hand, motioning for your fingers to relax and mold against him. you mimicked his movement, eliciting a low rumble out of the shadowsinger. the competitive part of you awakened, eager to make azriel groan like that again. you gazed up at azriel through your lashes with determination. “gods, don’t look at me like that y/n or this lesson will be over before it’s even started.”

heat erupted in your core, but you shook the desire away. this was about azriel. you wanted to make him come undone for once instead of the other way around. “show me, az.” you said. “i want to see how you touch yourself.”

“cauldron boil me,” azriel muttered under his breath. “you’re going to be the death of me, y/n.”

you watched as he gripped himself and pumped at a steady pace. he slowed down the movements for you and you studied each flick of his wrist as though you’d be tested on it later. as sinful as it was, there was something heavenly about watching azriel stroke himself. your hands itched to touch him. once you felt confident enough, azriel let you take over.

azriel’s eyes rolled back as you pumped his shaft, carefully watching the rise and fall of his chest. his heavy breathing filled the room and it quickly became your favorite sound in the world.

you felt a strange rush of power witnessing azriel in such a vulnerable state. his lids were heavy with lust, golden eyes barely visible from the ring of onyx swallowing up his irises. you thought he looked pretty like this, his head tilted back against your headboard while his lips parted to release a shallow breath every now and then.

"you have no idea how good that feels, love." azriel grunted. you tightened your grip, spreading the bead of precum over his tip. your little improvisation was met with a moan that seeped into your bones.

"how good, az?" you teased.

those long lashes of his kissed the tops of his cheeks as his eyes fluttered close. "fucking amazing," azriel declared. "keep going, love. don't stop, please. gods—"

"you can just call me y/n, you know."

azriel growled in response before pulling you in for a heated kiss. his hips thrust up to match your pace as his tongue parted your lips. he swallowed your moans, devouring you like his life depended on it.

“just like that, love.” azriel said in appreciation. “you’re doing such a good job, y/n.”

the praise affected you more than you thought it would. you were always seeking positive feedback when it came to your work, especially in training, but this was something else. it only encouraged you to keep going at a faster pace until azriel was coming undone in your hands. the sight of him losing control would forever be etched in your mind.

the more azriel gave, the more you craved. not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well. the whole thing may have started as a practical way to tackle sex, but as time went on, it started to evolve into something else entirely.

until the lessons weren’t really just lessons anymore.

if you had to pinpoint the moment when everything changed, it would have been a few days after winter solstice. azriel had been away for a mission and was unable to make it home for the festivities. throughout the night, you kept finding yourself fidgeting and glancing at the empty seat beside you. at one point during dinner, cassian squeezed your hand and smiled sadly.

“i’m sure he misses you too, y/n.”

the gravity of those words hit you full force when you found azriel standing in the doorway of your flat. he was still dressed in his combat leathers and dark circles formed underneath his eyes as though he’d flown nonstop from wherever he was to get back home. before you could stop yourself, you rushed at him and nearly knocked him into the street from the force of your hug.

“i know, love.” azriel murmured softly into your hair. “i missed you, too.”

one bath and two cups of hot chocolate later, you found yourself curled up on the sofa as snow fell softly against the windowpane. you set your drink down on the table and turned to face azriel.

“so, i was thinking…”

the corner of azriel’s mouth quirked. “that’s never good.”

you tossed a pillow at him and rolled your eyes. “i was thinking that maybe it’s my turn to teach you a lesson, for once.”

the shadowsinger looked intrigued by that. “oh yeah? and what do you want to teach me, love?”

“i’m going to teach you how to sleep, az.” you pointedly stared at his bruised eyes, which only made him chuckle in amusement. “because judging from those bags underneath your eyes, you’re no expert in the matter.”

“i don’t get a say in this, do i?” shadows peered over his shoulders as though they too yearned for rest.

“nope,” you said cheerfully, dragging him off the couch and into your bedroom.

azriel let you bully him into getting underneath the covers. he tucked his wings to the side as he faced you. “what’s so great about this thing you call sleep, then? seems pretty boring to me.”

“well if you’d let me demonstrate,” you said impatiently before tugging him towards you. azriel chuckled and scooted closer. “i’ll have you know i’m a world class cuddler.”

“yeah? prove it then, love.” azriel teased.

the shadowsinger watched in amusement as you bossed him around. first you made him lie on his stomach and then pulled him to your chest. as much as he enjoyed teasing the absolute hell out of you, he couldn’t help but murmur in satisfaction as he rested his head in the crook of your neck. even his shadows seemed to enjoy bathing in your warmth and breathing in your jasmine shampoo.

“mmm,” az mumbled sleepily. for the first time in gods knew how long, he felt warm and safe and content. “you’re bossy as hell, but comfy too.”

“i know, you stubborn giant bat baby.”

the shadowsinger snorted. “giant bat baby?”

you rolled your eyes fondly. “shut up and cuddle, az.”

azriel burrowed himself further until his body heat warmed every inch of your skin. “that’s the good stuff,” he declared, brushing a soft kiss against your collarbone.

“told you i was good,” you said with a smile. azriel couldn’t even argue. with your hands massaging his scalp and your legs intertwined with his, the shadowsinger would’ve agree to anything you said.

“the best,” he hummed against your skin.

this was dangerous territory. with your other lessons, it was easy to shove aside your feelings because pleasure made it hard to think about anything else. but with azriel laying on your chest and clinging onto you like this meant something more…you could no longer avoid that pesky voice of doubt.

you were in love with azriel.

you had been for a long time.

shit.

“y/n?” azriel asked, cutting through the turmoil of your thoughts. his wings draped over the sides of your bed, relaxed and at ease.

“yeah?”

his golden eyes found yours in the dark. for a second, he stared at you like he was trying to commit every detail to memory. the shadowsinger opened his mouth like he was going to say something important, but he gave a tiny shake of his head and smiled.

“good night, love.”

in that moment, you knew azriel had your heart in the palm of his hand. “good night, az.”

azriel knew it was only a matter of time before these lessons came back to bite him on the ass.

he had been so eager that first night. mostly because he'd had a crush on you for so long and it was finally time to do something about it. the shadowsinger knew that he probably should've just told you how he felt, but he didn't want to shatter this delicate thing between you.

after all, these were just lessons. for all he knew, he was just your practice partner. it wasn't really all that different from sparring. except your weapons where your lips and your hands and your fucking smile that made his heart skip a beat every time you so much as grinned at him from across the room.

gods, he was so fucked.

the reality of it didn't fully hit him until that disastrous spring night.

the two of you had perfected third base eons ago. azriel knew how to make you cum with his mouth using a combination of expert tongue flicks and help from his shadows. nothing brought him joy like your shaking legs greedily wrapping around him as he ate your pussy like a man starved.

azriel thought he found the key to happiness until you returned the favor and went down on him.

finding restraint was hard. reeling his desire in while you knelt before him with your lips wrapped around his cock was nearly impossible.

"like this?" you asked, licking a stripe along the underside of his cock. azriel thought he was going to come right then and there when you looked up at him through your lashes, determination burning in your gaze.

you had always been intense. azriel knew that much from months of training together, but he didn't expect you to approach sex with the same competitiveness. you put your all into everything you did, which is what made azriel fall for you in the first place. he just didn't think you'd take the same approach when it came to sucking his dick. not that he was complaining.

in fact, all he could really do was moan.

the shadowsinger attempted to pull it together long enough to utter a coherent sentence. he had to at least attempt to say something helpful. you were putting your trust in him. he liked knowing that he'd been your first everything. now he just had to muster up the courage to tell you that he also intended to be the last.

he tried. he really did.

that night in his room. laying in bed with your legs tangled together. the soft spring breeze billowing through your curtains. azriel watched as you propped yourself up on your elbows and turned towards him.

"so, what now?" you asked.

azriel's brows furrowed with confusion. "what do you mean, love?"

you tilted your head, biting down on your bottom lip as you mulled over what to say next. it was one of your many little quirks that azriel adored. "i mean, what happens now? we've pretty much covered all the bases. except for one."

sex. you hadn't had sex yet. azriel knew this would come up sooner or later, but he had hoped it would be the latter. while it was easy to pretend that the lessons were just lessons to him, azriel couldn't do that with sex. it had always been hard for him to separate his feelings from the physical act and as much as he wanted to make sure that your first experience would be with someone who loved you, it wouldn't be fair to have sex without telling you the truth.

"i don't think that would be a good idea." as soon as the words left his mouth, azriel knew it was the wrong thing to say. he could tell that much from the look on your face. "i just mean, we shouldn't rush into anything."

"rush?" you asked incredulously. "azriel, we've spent the last three months doing anything and everything under the sun except sex."

"and it's been great," azriel said, trying to reel the conversation back in. "the lessons. trusting each other. but i just think you should take a step back and consider if you're truly ready."

that intense gaze he loved so much suddenly felt like the sweltering sun that azriel couldn't wait to shy away from. "you were my first kiss, az. my first everything. i think i've made it pretty clear on where i stand." you paused for a second, scanning his face. "oh my gods. i didn't even think to ask if you wanted this."

you were up before the absurdity of that statement could sink into azriel. if he wanted this? he'd never wanted anything more in his entire life.

"they were just lessons," you murmured to yourself while gathering your clothes. “how could i be so stupid?”

"y/n, please." azriel pleaded, not entirely believing what he was hearing. he nearly tripped over his own bedsheets as he followed you across the room.

“no, az. i’m sorry, i thought—“ your eyes brimmed with tears. the sight broke his fucking heart. “it’s not your fault. i just assumed—“

“that i’m in love with you?” azriel asked, gently gripping your wrists. you froze, wide eyes pinning azriel in place. “because i am, you know. i’ve been in love with you since the moment we met. this past few months, it’s killed me to pretend that whatever this is between us is just lessons.”

your gaze softened. “why didn’t you ever say anything?”

azriel chuckled bitterly. “because i’m a coward. i was scared that you might not feel the same way, so i settled for whatever scraps you were willing to give me.”

tears filled your eyes again and azriel was scared he’d fucked it up again, but you wiped your cheeks and cupped his face. “you deserve more than that, azriel.”

“i know, love.” he bowed his head. “and you deserve more than just lessons. that’s why i don’t want to have sex. not unless you know what this means to me. if we do this, there will be no one else. not today, not ever. i may be your first, but i also intend to be your last. if you’ll let me.”

a stray tear fell down your cheek, but it was a happy one this time. “if you haven’t noticed, i’m totally crazy about you, az. i think i’ve been in love with you longer than i wanted to admit.”

“can’t blame you,” the shadowsinger said. “i’m totally lovable.”

you smacked him in the chest, but azriel only laughed before he kissed you. really kissed you. it felt like you were floating on air.

gods, you loved him. you really did.

you smiled into the kiss. “i love you, az.”

the shadowsinger kissed the tip of your nose. “i love you too, y/n.”

“so…no more lessons, right?”

azriel shook his head and scooped you into his arms. “no more lessons. i want the real thing this time.”

#friends and family we are gathered here today to fucking YEARN #i missed az and i m back with a bang #azriel #azriel acotar #azriel fic #azriel smut #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel fanfic #acotar

[icypenguin]

★~ Genshin fontaine girls cuddle headcanons!

HELLOO IF I’M NOT WRONG, @zyanila ASKED FOR THE GIRLS VERSION AND OFCOURSEEE I’ll do a fontaine girls cuddle headcanons! sorry for the late reply tho hueheueheuhe T-T anyway, i might not know some of their personality so…. i feel like it would be ooc but i’ll try my best! so please ENJOYYYYYY!

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

★~ Lynette: she’s a sweet precious little candy, even though she’s a quiet one, she’s the most affectionate one when cuddling. she would tuck her head on your chest while you whisper sweet things in her ears. if she had a bad day, you would make sure the cuddle would be more affectionate. with blanket covering the both of you and hot tea on the bed table while embracing each other. she would rarely be the big spoon but she wants to then she would. sometimes, she would ask you to cuddle her as she tells you about her day. please give her relentless kisses!!!

★~ Navia: PRECIOUS GIRLLLLL she definitely love cuddles! anytime and anywhere she’s free, she would ask you for cuddles! she loves receiving kisses on her face and she loves giving them as well. she loves to play with you hair while she tells you about interesting facts. she doesn’t mind about the ‘big spoon or small spoon’ when cuddling, she just wants to feel the warmth from your body and feel the loving feeling. she wants to cuddle 24/7 so before the day start, she would ask for atleast a 10 minutes cuddle before going out.

★~ Clorinde: in the outside, she may seem well… idk, scary or tough or whatever. but she actually just want to feel affection and love. please cuddle her until she feels calm!!! she likes to cuddle before sleeping while holding your hand and hearing your heartbeat. on bad and rainy days, she would cry to sleep while cuddling you. you don’t mind, ofcourse. but sometimes when she’s angry, it’s best to give her some space before giving her affection. the warmth of your body just gives her a safe feeling. she loves kisses but not ticklish ones…

★~ Furina: well… she wants cuddles only if she asks for. i’m sure she loves them but on some days, she just wants to be alone. if she’s having a bad day, she would sometimes ask for cuddle while she tells her all of the things that has been going on. please give her tons of kisses! she would curl up as you both cuddle, she wants to feel someone love her, like truly LOVE her. she loves to feel your warmth and staying by your side. on rainy days, she would stay indoor and cuddle with you all day long.

★~ Charlotte: A SWEET GIRLLLL! she loves cuddles! you both always cuddle before bed and every moning after waking up. she loves telling her day while you both cuddle with her fuzzy blanket covering the both of you. wrap her in warmth and she will immediately fall asleep! everytime you both cuddle, she will likely fall asleep. she loves doodling things with her fingers on your body. she loves nose boops! please protect this girl in any other way, she’s literally the sweetesttt T-T (i think it’s best if we see this platonically?)

★~ Arlecchino: even though she seems cold and tough, she has a softspot for you. she would get home late at night and you would be there waiting for her. she loves cuddling you to sleep (shes so motherly oemgee). even if you’re already sleeping, she would wrap herself around your form and give you the warmth of her body. if she’s free, she would likely spend it with you. she would lay her head on your shoulder and you give her kisses around. she loves feeling the loving feeling when cuddling so please give her some more affection!

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

THANKYOU FOR READINGGG I HOPE YOU LIKED IT! advices are accepted, thankyou!

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #charlotte genshin impact #lynette x reader #lynette x you #lynette genshin #furina genshin #furina x reader #furina x you #arlecchino genshin #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #clorinde genshin #clorinde x reader #clorinde x you #navia genshin #navia x you #navia x reader

[hyperfixat]

hey!! I really love ur blog so so much rn! If you can, I'd like to request a neurodivergent MC? One that has certain foods they hate and have never told anyone since their family had forced them to try them since they were little? (Ex. Cauliflower, brussel sprouts, blueberries, bananas, carrots) and so, one day, when theyre all eating (at the HoL or just out) and they notice MC eating all but those foods on their plate? Sorry if this is a bit too specific, I just really can't write it properly for myself and i would like to have some form of comfort-

Anyway, have an amazing day!!

anon i am holding you so close rignt now this cured my writers block this is the first ask i’ve got in like two months TT 

i am incapable of writing anything not hurt comfort so there is some ‘oh man im so sad :(‘ at the beginning but yk if u said u like my writing i imagine u kinda expected this

warning for mentions of throw up and actually eating the bad foods :(

and yes yes yes i love writing explicitly nd mcs!! i added in another obstacle to the req; freaky demon food bcs thats always fun to consider. That way u can kinda make the demon food similar to whatever food u want in ur mind, anyhow, the words u wanted;

/

You push the pile of purple (purple!?) mashed… something from one corner of your plate to the center.  First you had to go to a strange demon school where all of your peers are so much scarier and larger than you and now you’ve been presented with whatever the hell this is for dinner.

You think Leviathan (Levi — it feels so odd referring to him so casually having just met him) was the one that made it.  There was a protein on the plate, you ate that with no issues, but. 

Urgh. This?

It’s your second night sleeping in the House of Lamentation and you don’t feel nearly comfortable or safe enough to get a snack on your own, especially at night. You’ve had such a long day at RAD and your body is dying for some food.

Disguising your disgusted reluctance with a carefully blank face, your grab some of the.  The stuff. 

Ah, nope.  You set your fork down quietly after taking a slow bite / swallow and grab your cup to drown the leftover flavors and textures.  

Luckily all the demon brothers seem pretty into their dinnertime banter and didn’t notice your… less than satisfactory reaction to the food.

Gosh, you don’t want to offend any of them, especially not so early on in the year you’ll have to room with them.  

It’s a good thing that Beelzebub is practically a food vacuum and doesn’t question the nearly untouched pile of. Well you know. Left over on your plate.

/

…It’s official. You hate Devildom cuisine.  

Is the universe playing one big, cruel joke on you?  What the hell is wrong with demons?  Why must the eat the worst things in the world?  Why… why… why?

Lucifer wouldn’t let you starve under his roof, and provides you with full meals and makes it clear what parts of the kitchen are free to raid (as not to take anything designated to anyone else).  You feel like the most ungrateful human in the whole wide world right now.

It’s been quite a few months since the start of the exchange program and you’ve been… getting by.  Okay, that’s not exactly true, you’ve been having a blast in most aspects of your stay in the Devildom.  Most.

There’s still the teeny tiny issue of the cuisine not quite fitting your tastes.  You’ve tried talking to Solomon about the Devildom cuisine and he tried to cheer you up with some authentic human world cuisine, but as it turns out his cooking is far worse than Devildom-style food.

Not to be dramatic, but you’re suffering in silence.  You get by, as in you’re not hungry – the demons you’ve grown oh so fond of wouldn’t let that happen.  They always seem willing to fetch you anything.  

You’re trying so hard not to hurt any feelings, because you love them and want to support them.  It’s just.  You want to throw up almost every meal.  (Barbatos’ little treats have been your saving grace – he always seems to have some yummy little snack on him.  One that you like and doesn’t make you feel like your throat is crawling out of your mouth.)

Most of the time the brothers don’t pay much thought to what you leave on your plate – as long as you eat some of what was served they seem content.  Even on nights where the meal is more nasty than good, it’s easy to just say you’re not that hungry.

This night was bound to happen at some point.  Your plate is uneatable.  It’s edible, just uneatable.  It’d be more humiliating to choke down a few bites than it is to go to bed hungry.  You wrinkle your nose when you think no one is looking and stab at the meat chunk.

Your eyes are downcast and you drag your knife lazily through the food.  It’s mesmerizing in a way, so much so that you don’t notice at first when Asmo calls your name.

“MC, is something wrong? Are you feeling alright?”  At this point he’s drawn the attention of his brothers as well.

“Yeah, you’re barely eating,” Mammon supplies.

Ah, the moment you’ve been dreading and hoped you would never have to face.

“Oh, I don’t have much of an appetite right now.”  Which certainly isn’t a lie.  

“You didn’t eat much at lunch, hon.” Asmo reaches across the table to put the back of his manicured hand on your forehead to feel for a fever.

You cringe, “uhm, well.  I’m.”  You fail to think of a decent lie quick enough – nothing you say will be believable as you mentally blue screen.

“Honest answer?”  Satan prods.

“I’m not the biggest fan of some Devildom foods.” “Not the biggest fan?”  Beel questions, “you dislike them enough to forgo eating entirely.”  

“I’m trying not to sound like an ungrateful jerk right now.  Give me a moment to word this properly.”

Satan scoffs. “Just say it.  Whatever you have to say can’t be worse than what we’ve put you through.”

“Damn, okay.  The food makes me wanna throw up when I eat it.”

Levi, the chef of the night, folds in on himself, face darkening with shame or embarrassment.

“It’s not a personal gripe, most meals have something that makes me feel that way, hon.” It seems your attempt to comfort him isn’t appreciated though, as Levi shoves his face in his hands.

Lucifer sets his fork down. “And why haven’t you said anything to any of us about this?  We want you to feel at home here.”

“You can’t expect me to be comfortable barging into what was at the time a strangers house and demand they make special accommodations for me, then once I was comfortable enough to say something I felt I put up with it long enough that it’d be odd to bring it up out of nowhere.”

“Fair enough,” Satan nods along.

“No? Not ‘fair enough’!” Mammon scolds.  “You shoulda said something to me!  Do you even like half the snacks I give you?  I spent good Grimm on those!”

Memories of bribing Beelzebub to do certain errands in the earlier days of your Devildom stay flicker through your mind.  “They got eaten.”

“MC,” Lucifer brings the conversation back on track.  “Let us know foods you don’t want to eat, we may be demons, but we’re here to provide you with a comfortable stay.”  You nod under his sincere gaze.  “Now, give your plate to Beel and order some delivery.  I’ll cover the costs, as long as you eat.”  

As you shove your plate across the table you see Lucifer pulling a shiny black card from his coat pocket.  He gestures for you to come and take it.  You walk to the head of the table and he presses the card into your hand. 

“Order whatever you’d like.  My treat.”  There’s a glint of humor in his eyes and you look down to see Goldie in your palm.

#verified hyperfixat post #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #om hcs #obey me hcs #obey me hurt/comfort #obey me headcanons #obey me headcanon #obey me x you #obey me demon brothers #hyperfixat answers

[pigeonpeach]

Forced proximity

Prompt: forced to take shelter together from various environmental hazards, how will they handle being so close to you?

Characters: Shenhe, Diluc, Chevreuse, Dehya, Kaeya, Zhongli

Chevreuse

“My musket is waterproof, so we won’t be stopped with the rain.” She said as you ran with her to find shelter. You two had been trying to set up a trap for local criminals using you, a newbie as bait with her in the shadows. Normally you would be against this but you had actually used this before and you didn’t end up with even a scratch from it. As long as Chevreuse was the one you were working with, it was fine.

“I’m more worried about the hypothermia personally.” You complained. Your dainty dress was by no means waterproof. Infact it acted like a sponge, you would be warmer snuggling with cryo slimes than in this getup.

“Over there! There’s a ship wreck, that could offer some shelter if we’re lucky.” She said. The shipwreck seemed recent, probably from the flood of fontaine which displaced many. It seemed this one was relatively in good condition, rust only starting to form on its metal exterior. You ran in with her as you two quickly sought to remove your wet exterior clothes. “We’ll have to remove your dress, sorry if that’s uncomfortable but its just too drenched.” You were a bit surprised but understood.

“Yes I know, just give me sometime.” You said. It wasn’t easy but you knew it had to be done. What made it more difficult was how it clung to you. Hiding behind a broken wall, you undressed to your underwear. You looked to see if she was watching but she had her back turned, trying to get a fire started. You began to squeeze the water out, trying to not get it on you in the process. Next time you should ask for a jacket when she approaches you with the disguise.

“Are you done yet.”

“Almost.. there’s alot of water in this.” You groaned. You noticed she had successfully started a fire. Making sure to isolate it from any flammable objects. You were so cold at that point you just draped your wet dress over your self and sat a bit away from her.

“that bad huh. I’ll just keep my eyes elsewhere then.” She said. “I didn’t think it’d rain today, especially considering how warm it was a second ago.”

“That dastardly hydro dragon. Someone should give them emotional support animal at this rate.” you cursed under your breath.

“It’s probably that one ongoing trial with the serial killer. He’s go a bastard of a lawyer who’s really good at loopholes. Supposedly the final trial is today.”

“They’re not letting that pyscho back out surely?!” You jolted.

“Relax, all it takes is one slip up and he’s got no defense then. Besides, Neuvillette will definitely not let him go if he still considers him guilty.”

“You’re right but considering I fit the bill for his primary victims i can’t exactly sleep soundly until his head is off or he’s imprisoned! I wish Furina was still in the courts, she would’ve never let that man get this far.”

“I’m sure she has her own reasons, but considering how much help you’ve been I’m not going to let you go unguarded. I’ll schedule patrols by your district more and by your areas.”

“You would do that for me? I’m impressed. I didn’t know I did such a good job at being a damsel for hire.” You snickered.

“I mean it. Oh and by the way, your clothes look dry now.” She said. You almost forgot about that.

“Oh, give me a second.”you went back behind your wall to redress yourself, this time leaving the hoop skirt out of it.

“If you’re still cold we should huddle together. That way we can share body heat.” She said as you approached her once more. “My body is warmer than usual because of my vision after all”

“I’ll take you up on that offer then.” You smiled sitting much closer to her than she might’ve expected. “Do you mind a bit of cuddling?”

“With you? No.” She said, her arm wrapped around you almost on instinct. “You’re a bit more special than other people to me.”

“Do you tell that to every damsel you hire?” You tease.

“Oh god of course not! What do you think I am?” She cackled. “You make it sound like you’re some.. prostitute!”

“I am selling my body technically.” You added, jokingly, your head resting on her shoulders almost by instinct.

“Why did you take up that offer anyways? You have a good job, enough to live on the surface anyways.”

“Because I wanted to get stuck in the rain with you obviously! But in seriousness.. i uhh.. had a loan i had to pay and i spent a good majority on my paycheck already. So i needed fast cash and i saw the paper and i took it.” You explained.

“Huh, you sure you weren’t trying to hit on me? Because you were eyeing me during that little training session.” She adds.

“If that’s what you would like it be then yes I was hitting on you.” You said, your eyes trailed to her cheeks to catch a glimpse of her blushing face.

“Hm… I guess you were then.. lets get some rest.. the rain should let up by then.”

You couldn’t help feeling delightful that you finally broke her cold exterior. And with your body so close to hers, you truly felt victorious.

Diluc

“There. Its not much but it should offer some shelter in the meantime.” He said pointing to a old caravan. The roof of it was intact. You two quickly hid under there. Quickly finding your bodies pressed against each other.

“S-sorry.. i can’t move over any more.” You said nervously. But In reality, you didn’t want to move from his warm body at all. It felt like laying on a warm patch of sunlight.

“Its fine. I’ve been told I’m warm enough already. Here.” He took off his jacket, wrapping it across you.

“Thank you… and thank you for saving me from those hilichurls earlier too.” Your heart was racing, it sounded like his was too.

“Its nothing. Those knights, they were supposed to clear the area for merchants.” He scowled.

“Well, it was my fault for making the delivery without a jacket. I should’ve taken Sara’s advice and gone the long way. Its a good thing I still have it.” You managed to pull out the food in question, it was just a simple chicken skewers.

“I suppose you won’t be able to deliver it now, there’s no harm in having it if you’re hungry.” He said. But you offered it to him.

“Have one, you must be hungry. I can’t imagine its easy wielding a claymore on a empty stomach.. besides, there’s already one for myself”

“Why did they order chicken skewers, its the most simple dish to make?” He said almost judge-mentally.

“Well its a special one, we used a marinade for the chicken, try it.” You again offered it to him. He took it. You watched his eyes light up. “Good right? It would be better if it was warm.”

“I’m sure could try it while stopping by.”

“That sounds nice… you’re really warm by the way..” you blurt out. He looks surprised.

“I hope so. Are you warm too?” He asked. You nod.

“We should wait out the storm. I’m sure it shouldn’t be too long.” He said, you realized his face has been red this whole time.

“Although.. My winery isn’t too far from here.. but you said your foot hurt right?”

“I did earlier yes. I might’ve sprained it.” You sigh. “It feels fine now.”

“Hmm… that’s no good. Lets wait until it lightens up then. I can’t risk you injuring yourself further now.”

“I-if you want you could go ahead. It might be better so you’re not stuck out here too.” You say. He seems upset at the idea.

“Absolutely not. You could freeze to death. Lets stay here where I can keep you safe.” His words stuck out to you. Is it possible that he meant that in a more romantic context? Are you just overthinking it?

“I-I’m getting rather tired though.. I almost just want to sleep..” you said. Your eyelids felt a bit heavy, he was just… so warm, his body pressed up against you.. his arms around you… you hoped you would feel this again.

“I’ll keep watch. Just rest a little bit.” He said. As you drifted off to sleep you noticed a light kiss on your head.

“Cute.” He mumbled to himself.

Dehya

“Ugh! I’m so sick of the sand.” You and Dehya were taking shelter inside a cave, you were a professor at the Akademiya, you came out to the desert to study the giant ruin machines so you could do a lesson on them only to get caught in a sandstorm. Lucky for you, Dehya who you had hired, was well versed in the desert.

“Well that’s what you get. Lucky that you hired me, I’m certain you would have never found this cave.” She grinned proudly.

“I’m certain i’d be dead with that stupid wenut poking around. Ugh, what do those things even eat?!” You shook your clothes to get the sand out.

“Idk I’m not the scholar here so.” Dehya grinned.

“Hey my expertise is in machinery.. not oversized worms with no business of existing!” You fussed over your hair, to your shame, it hadn’t survived well. The hair tie you wore must’ve broken while you were busy trying to block the sand out of your eyes. “Ugh.. so much sand in my hair too… this is so unbecoming of me.”

“Unbecoming? You’re a scholar not a model.” Dehya said.

“Thanks.” You said sarcastically. “But I need to look professional and well put together. I’m not the prettiest sure but I should at least look like I am a scholar and not some rat drowing in sand!” You found your hair had also knotted together in what you horrifically realized was a huge mess. Not even your hairbrush could save you.. “oh god…” you winced as you got your hairbrush out, it felt painful to brush it out.

“Yikes.. let me help you there.” Dehya said. You turned to her.

“How is your hair fine!” You felt ashamed.

“I dunno, I wasn’t trying to fight the wind back there, but its really not that bad. Here just sit infront of me and I’ll help.”

“Well.. i guess you’re the expert on desert stuff.. do you encounter this problem alot?” You asked, obliging by her request.

“Oh definitely. Alot of eremite gals use praids or tie their hair up in some way. I could put yours in one if you like?”

“If any of it is salvageable that would be nice. You’re actually rather smart yourself.. you would do well in the ak-“

“Nope.”

“Why? I’m not trying to insult your job, especially right now, but I really think you could do alot more in your life!”

“Then who would you hire for all your little adventures then?” She said.

“Well.. there’s dozens of eremites, i could find another. I just think you have potential that you can’t explore in this position.” You sighed.

“I know you mean well but honestly I like it. There’s no way I’d give up the thrill of adventure and fighting for studying some stupid class like.. calculus.” Her voice carried a confidence you envied. But you noticed her hands were quite skilled, you didn’t feel any pain as she brushed out your knots.

“I’ll give you that, math isn’t the most interesting. But even just like reading some books might do you good! I’m not asking you to become my student I just think maybe investing in a library card could be useful!” You felt at ease strangely. You had been a regular of Dehya’s. Mostly because she was the most trustworthy by review, and also she was a woman. You didn’t exactly want to travel alone with just a man you didn’t know. And also she was rather pretty to look at.

“That is actually a interesting suggestion. I might take you up on that sometime.” She smiled. “Say, how come you always pick me? I heard from the other Eremites that you even canceled a whole trip you had planned because I wasn’t available.”

“W-well..” you blushed. “I just trust you the most. These conditions aren’t exactly easy for me and I’d rather traverse dangerous terrain with someone I trust and someone I know. Besides it gives me the opportunity to not rely on my colleagues’ decisions. I’m not as social as you might think.”

“You sure that’s it? You’re willing to sacrifice papers and lessons just because you don’t trust the other eremites? You know we didn’t start off besties here, what made you pick me in the first place? And it not like its just because I’m a girl, there’s plenty of female eremites out there well versed in combat like myself. I could recommend them to you.”

“I- just.. have a preference for you. Nothing wrong about that is there? Its more mora in your pocket so why should you care?” You pouted. She chuckled behind you.

“Easy now. I didn’t mean to sound like I was complaining. Its nice seeing how loyal you are to me.” You just feel her cocky smirk from behind. But your ego was quickly forgotten as she finished brushing out your knots, now starting to braid them. “If it does any good, you are my favorite customer. That and the traveler but its not like they hire me or anything. I’ve rather enjoyed our adventures. Maybe you should join the eremites~”

“Absolutely not! If i could handle it on my own then i would. Y-you do realize that- oh.. I see what you’re doing.” You sigh.

“See, its not fun when people question your career choices. Much less trying to push their own onto you. This is my dream job, I don’t need to take a class to perfect it.”

“Well to be honest I just would like to see you more that’s all.” You blurted out. Dehya realized you had been blushing this whole time. She seemed a bit surprised. “Those other scholars at the Akademiya are most old geezers with flies in their head reiterating the same sentiments with little flexibility. I much rather talk to you even if you don’t understand those concepts. I just… like to be around you that’s all.”

“Woah. That makes scholarly life alot less appealing you know?”

“I’m not trying to recruit you here! I just.. wanted a excuse to see you around more.” Silence fell between you two. You worried if you had been too open then, letting her know how you felt… “Y-you know there’s talk from Faruzan about opening a school or class in the desert. I think you could help with that.”

“That’s actually rather interesting. Whats her plan?”

“Oh just literacy. Its so they can read more complex topics. Oh and Kaveh was working on a library for the Aaru village too. I wanted to ask what books you think would appeal to the desert kids?” You added.

“Maybe if you have some textbooks that’d be easy or-“

“I mean like fiction. What did you want to learn about as a kid?” You said looking at her. You were a bit surprised to see such a fond look in her eyes. It made your heart thump ad your confidence wavered.

“Well.. I wanted to- hey.. the storms over.” Dehya said looking out at the entrance. You almost forgot about the storm.

“Oh.. maybe we should spend the night here just in case.” You said.

“You just want to keep talking don’t you.” Dehya smiled.

“Well yes. But also my feet are killing me still.”

Shenhe

“Its getting cold out, we need to seek shelter immediately.” Shenhe said. But it was only a light downpour. You felt a little whimsical.

“Oh its such a pretty sight. Rain in the snow.. oh I love it.” You quickly got out your camera to take a few photos. “There will be more icicles soon. Ooh it would make fo such a go- OH?” You quickly were picked up by Shenhe as she located a nearby hilichurl camp.

“Wait but what about- wait why is it empty.” You noted how old it looked. Dust collecting, various masks strewn about, broken. Shenhe set you down letting you looked around.

“I use this camp as my training grounds. Unfortunately they stopped trying to claim this area. But we should be aboe to take shelter in here.” She said. You were surprised by how nice it looked. Hay bedding, animal skins. You could easily make a bed with this. The roof did leak but it would do.

“I still think we could find somewhere better. The rain isn’t so ba-“ you were startled back into her arms as lightning struck not too far away. “Okay lets go inside..” you started to bunch up the hay together into a nest almost. Shenhe watched with curiosity.

“What is that for?” She asked.

“I’m making a bed. You can join if you would like. Its good to keep warm.” You said, bringing the animal skins to use as blankets. She joined you as you two cuddled in the makeshift bed.

“It is quite warm actually. You’ve done well.” Shenhe’s praise had you beaming with pride.

“Ah thank you… you don’t have to be so close you know?” You said.

“Do you want me to move away?” She seemed confused.

“Actually its fine. I don’t mind it.” You said.

“I’m getting rather tired.. you’re quite warm actually.” Shenhe pulled you in closer catching you off guard.

“O-oh. That’s good. I think we can take a rest. So long as No hilicurls come by.”

“They won’t. I laid out those masks to warn them not to come back. Its been months since any have returned.” She mumbled. “I should move them then. They make for good practice.”

“Lets not talk about murdering hilichurls right now please?” You asked.

“Right… so.. do you sleep outside often? You seem to know what to do.”

“No but I know that the barn cats use the hay in my family’s cellar for their bedding. I figured it must be comfortable.”

“You were right. This is quite nice.. I can imagine this bed would make many cat’s comfortable.” She said. You smiled at her imagination.

“Thank you.. I think… i may rest my eyes for a bit.. the sound of the rain outside is luring me to sleep, but im still nervous.”

“I’ll keep watch then. You get some rest.” She said. You smiled resting your head on her chest.

Zhongli

You were traveling with Zhongli, a funeral consultant on your way to Chenyu valley. But you two ran into a problem…

“I didn’t know it could rain like that here!” You felt spooked as you clung to the much taller male. “I just hope it doesn’t start to thunder ei-“ on cue lighting struck the bridge right infront of you.

“Lets find shelter then. Stay close to me. We don’t want to get separated here of all places.” His eyes scanning across the landscape. He spotted a cave and immediately pointed. “There. We should find some shelter there.”

You two quickly retreated into the cave, you silently thanked rex lapis that caves were abundant in this area.

“Lucky for us, there isn’t anyone else here.” He said as you two came in deeper. Finding it empty and relatively dry.

“I-its a shame we can’t make a fire. There isn’t any wood in here..” you lament. “I’m cold.”

“There seems to be a bit of a coal deposit here actually.” He said, poking at what just looked like a splot on the wall. “Here, I’ll retrieve it.” Using his Geo abilities he was able to crack some out of the wall. Putting it in s pile as you watched with fascination.

“You’re very well versed in rocks for a funeral director. Is it your geo vision or just your knowledge.” You asked.

“A mix of both, I’m quite well versed in the topic yes, but my vision does help.” He said. “Now we can use two rocks to make a spark.. we should be careful as coal leaves alot of smoke.” You took two stones and rubbed them against each other, looking to make a spark. It worked and a small flame started to grow.

“Excellent. We’ll stay here until the weather dies down.” You said, instinctively sitting next to him, leaning on him. He seemed a bit surprised. “O-oh sorry i didn’t mean to-“

“Oh it’s quite alright. It might help to cuddle for warmth. I hope you don’t mind.” He said politely.

“I-i don’t mind.” You said. His hand wrapped around you, not too tight but not to loose either. It felt rather nice like this. Your cheeks were tinted with red as he pressed himself against you.

“Are you comfortable right now?” He asked. You nodded. Maybe you should consider traveling with him a little more.

Kaeya

“You do know you’ll need more firewood than that.” Kaeya teased as you attempted to start a fire. You sighed.

“Then get some. Don’t just sit here and look pretty.” You grumbled as you rubbed the sticks together. He chuckled.

“Right right. And it was you who insisted they didn’t need a second jacket.” He smiled, you wore his cloak as he had offered it earlier.

“Well I didn’t expect us to stay the night here.”

“You should know a trip to dragonspine isn’t a one day venture. But with that out of the way, I’ll get some firewood.” He said leaving briefly. Just as he left you got the fire going. You smiled.

“See! I told you i could- oh right.” You said. Feeling his absence quickly. You huddled by the fire as you waited for him to come back.

It felt like he was gone forever when he finally came back. Arms full of firewood.

“Miss me?” He said as he noticed the frozen tears on your cheeks.

“No.. just come over here… you’re probably cold..” you said. Patting the ground besides you.

“Oh now you want to cuddle.” He smiled as he took your offer. Setting the firewood aside.

“You scared me you know..” you said.

“Well I just wanted to gather as much wood as possible. That way we can make it through the blizzard. These blizzards can last very long you know?” He snickered as you jolted.

“Don’t scare me like that!” You grumbled.

“I’m not trying to scare you. Just preparing you for the worst. Don’t worry, we have plenty of rations. And this fire is quite strong. You did a good job.” He smiled drawing his hand across your shoulder.

“Thanks..”you grumbled. You scooted closer to him as you felt a chill run down your spine. “I can’t wait to get out of here.”

“You’re cute when you’re grumpy like this. But you do realize we still haven’t made it halfway to Albedo’s office right?” He said. You stared at him with a look of defeat.

“Ugh! I’m never going to make it!” You whined.

“Oh you’ll live.” He chuckled. “I’m here afterall. I’ll drag you up that mountain if I have to.”

“Well… I guess its good I have you then. I’d probably be dead by now if I went by myself.”

“Oh please, Jean would never send a new night here alone. But your gratitude is appreciated.” He smiled.

#genshin imagines #genshin x y/n #genshin impact #domestic fluff #diluc x you #wlw #diluc x y/n #shenhe x reader #chevreuse #chevreuse x reader #dehya x reader #kaeya x you #kaeya x reader #zhongli x reader

[iliektehhaxs]

One Year Later

Summary: You decide to surprise your boyfriend for your first year anniversary, needless to say he enjoys your gift very much.

Tw: Public sex, MDNI. Read on Ao3 Credits for dividers go to @cafekitsune

It’s been a year since you’ve met your boyfriend for the first time, the stars must have aligned in your favor because you’re still wondering how the hell you managed to catch his attention.

Not once did you ever think he was paying attention to you, the girl sat in the back with her nose buried in whatever novel is trending. Hell, the only reason you even noticed him is because it was impossible not to, he looked straight out of a romance novel, broad in all the right places with a jawline set in stone. But he also looked like he could kill you if he stared long enough.

He’d show up each week to order coffee, along with two equally large men in tow. Your attention only piqued after you noticed they kept returning, and after a couple weeks you overheard them bickering, the one with the scorpion tattoo referring to them as brothers. 

Honestly, even if you never had a chance to meet them before, they sure argued like it.

Just watching them was entertaining, even if you did feel a bit guilty about staring. You’d pretend like you weren’t of course—

“You know, if you want to say something you could just ask.”

—but you suppose you weren’t as subtle as you thought.

You nearly scream in shock, barely covering your voice as one of his brothers suddenly appears at your side. 

“Oh! I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes, holding his hands up in surprise. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I apologize.”

Whether or not he meant it didn’t stop your sudden rise in heart rate. “Nearly gave me a heart attack…“

He smiles sheepishly. “I suppose I deserve that. But really I’m here on behalf of my brother.”

The young man, who introduced himself as Tomas, sat next to you gleefully and mentioned that his brother had his eyes on you for a while. Apparently he was simply too shy to talk to you, a statement you heavily doubted.

“Shy? Him?” You ask, eyeing the scowling man from across the room. “You sure we’re talking about the same person?”

“I’m certain of it. He might look intimidating but he’s honestly not as bad as people think.”

You raise your eyebrow.

“...Okay, maybe he can be a bit intense at times, but I’m serious! I’ve grown up with him my whole life, he doesn’t have many interests but I’m telling you now: He likes you. The only reason he comes here anyway is to see you—“

“Tomas.”

It feels like the temperature drops a couple degrees. You’re not sure when the larger man started listening in to your conversation, but Tomas is quick to leave, meaning you’re now face to face with this very tall stranger for the first time. You want to greet him, but the frown on his face deters you.

“Pay him no mind, my fool of a brother is far too talkative for his own good,” he says, glaring at the young man's fleeting form. “Do not listen to him.”

Deciding that you might as well take your chances, you blurt out: “Is it true?”

He looks at you once, twice, trying to decipher your words. After a moment of thought, he speaks. 

“What if it was?”

Your heart flips. “Well, if it was, I would ask you to sit down? If you want to, that is.”

You nearly do a double take when he does. He introduces himself as Bi-Han, and once you pick your jaw from the floor you introduce yourself, trying to push your nerves to the side before you scare him away. Hell, you're still trying to register the fact that he’s actually here, talking to you.

If you paid attention, you’d see his brothers smiling from outside the store.

A conversation turned into two, then three. Neither of you notice his brothers leave the store, and the only indicator that time has passed is when the store manager kindly informs you that they’re going to close the shop soon. The sunlight slowly fades through the windows, and you both agree that you enjoyed each other’s company.

The next day you show up, and an hour later he did too, and so the cycle repeated until it was an unspoken rule that every week you’d show up and talk to your heart's content. Sometimes it would be about the most mundane things, other times you'd share bits and pieces about your lives. That’s how you learned about his lifestyle as a biker, how he inherited his fathers name and his gang, how he and his brothers are basically micro celebrities in the biker space, and out of pure curiosity you asked if he could take you riding one day.

Stoic as you’ve seen him, it’s the first time you actually see him smile, unburdened and unrestrained. “I can, should you wish for it.”

That same day was a first for the both of you; It was the first time Bi-Han let someone ride with him, the first time you’d ever gotten on a motorcycle, and the first time you found out what his lips felt like against your own. 

It’s been a year since and you two are happier than ever, so you decided that in honor of your first year a celebration was in order, an idea that Bi-Han was more than welcome to entertain.

What you didn’t tell him was the pretty little number you’d bought just for your date. One reservation later (all of which was paid with his card, of course) and you’re ready to surprise your boyfriend.

His arrival is announced by the roar of his engine, the familiar view of his sleek bike slowing down at the curb and coming to a full stop. One leg over the other he gets off, pulling his helmet to reveal his face, a hum of approval as he strides towards you.

"I see you went shopping."

A warmth fills your chest at his approval, heartbeat picking up speed when he comes closer. Hungry eyes linger on your chest, the sweetheart neckline doing little to hide your cleavage before moving further down, from the curve of your body to where the dress stops just short of your mid-thigh. He plays with the bow at the front between two fingers, approving of what he sees with a tilt of his head.

“Do you like it?” 

It’s a naive question in hindsight, but you ask anyway. He shakes his head, a smug little curve at the edge of his lips. 

“Don’t ask questions you know the answer to.”

You can't help the grin that spreads across your face. 

"I should hope so,” you whisper. “I bought it for you."

"For me?" he replies, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "I'm flattered."

His voice drops an octave, a sound nearly as rumbling as the engine of his motorcycle. His eyes still haven't left the hem of your dress.

He sighs and finally looks back at your face. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him this…distracted before.

“I suppose that I should repay your gift in kind.”

Bi-Han is not one for PDA, so it's a surprise when he pulls you in close. Even more shocking is when you can feel his desire against your thigh, and it only makes you excited for what lies in store. The anticipation sits heavy on your chest.

As he pulls you closer to the curb you think to yourself that this dress was more than worth the price.

"Bi-Han," You ask, stopping just short of the bike. "I thought we had a reservation—"

"Forget the date," he growls, picking up his helmet. "If you don't want me to take you right this second, get on."

You didn't need to be told twice. 

You don't miss how roughly he handles you onto the backseat, your arms instinctively wrapping around his torso as he gets on. The hard muscle underneath his black shirt is pulled taut at your touch, as if your very fingertips burn, growing tighter when those same fingers wander even further, just barely teasing at the line of his belt.

“Be careful where you place your hands dear.” he says.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” you reply.

You don’t see his face under his helmet, but you can hear his laughter, no, feel it as he presses the ignition.

“You’ll soon find out.”

A moment later and the engine roars to life. Your hands stay right where they are.

At the third red light your hand moves to his thigh and you hear him groan in response.

Minutes later Bi-Han pulls over. 

And now—

He grabs you with both hands and pulls you away to the nearest alleyway. Only minutes away from his house and he holds you against the stone wall, swallows your complaints between his lips and hisses between clenched teeth.

Couldn’t wait any longer.

Impulsive and impatient, two words he’s never associated himself with, but how else could he describe his current state? Making out in an alleyway, grinding against each other like a pair of hormonal teenagers, how you shiver under his touch and let him play with you to his heart's content. You make him feel like this, the pretty girl that caught his eye at a coffee shop of all places. You make him feel—

“Fuck,” he moans, pressing his erection against your thigh. “God—”

You swallow his noises greedily, fingers framing his chiseled face as his tongue slips past your teeth. Exploring, claiming, a kiss that leaves you boneless in his hold, grabbing at his shirt to keep steady.

“This—” Bi-Han grunts against the seam of your lips. “—is your fault.”

He’s not wrong.

You simply can’t help yourself, like a kid in a candy store. A curiosity that bleeds from you, raw and unchained. When you saw the garment hanging on the rack your first thought wasn’t how good it would look on you, but how Bi-Han would react when he saw you in it.

Your imagination does no justice to reality.

You couldn’t help yourself—from the moment he walked onto the curb you know you had him hooked. You even wore your nicest lipstick, the one that draws him closer to you, the one you know he loves to kiss you in because it tastes like cherries.

The same shade that’s currently smeared on both your lips.

Your lips curl into a smile, provocative. “I know.”

A wolf masquerading as a sheep. You think maybe he likes that about you.

He mumbles against your skin when he grinds his thigh between your own. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” He huffs, lips at the column of your neck. 

Your soft chuckle is answer enough. 

A noise escapes him as well, something between a moan and a laugh. “Just what am I to do with you?”

As cold as he may seem you know Bi-Han to be anything but. The care he puts forth towards you makes you feel safe, secure, a tenderness that is ever-present. He’ll hold you close, whisper sweet nothings before showing you just how much you mean to him.

This is not that. This is something else entirely.

Possessive in all aspects, his touch akin to a hunter who’s finally caught their prey. His desire morphs into a hunger, a craving that can only be satisfied by you. He chases your lips, biting lightly as his large hand squeezes at your neck, holding you in place. He explores the inside of your mouth, tongues dancing in sync, groaning when your lips part further and he’s allowed to indulge in your taste.

It’s so much different than his usual pace. Any other day he’d be content to pick at you piece by piece, watch you fall apart in his hands as he watches. Calculated, tactical even, but this is anything but. 

It’s sloppy, and you love every second of it. 

All spit and tongue, he holds your face with both hands and breathes you in until his lungs burn for air and even then he holds you close, barely a second apart before he dives back to taste your kiss-bruised lips.

“So beautiful,” he sighs, forcing you to look up at his lust-blown eyes. “and all mine.”

You nod shakily before his mouth descends on you once more.

He mouthes greedily at the skin your attire so graciously presents to him, teeth nibbling at the swell of your breasts until your skin is littered with his mark. Your fingers run through his silky black locks, hair falling to his shoulders as you guide his head closer and bite back the noises that threaten to spill from your lips.

Various shades of red bloom against your supple skin, some becoming a shade of purple you’ve come to associate with the stoic biker. Proud of his work, wandering hands move lower until they play with your hemline, reaching until they palm the inside of your thighs, possessive. Eventually he pulls away, staring you down with lust-blown eyes. They fall to your face, to your legs, and back again.

"Bend over,” He says urgently. “Let me see you.” 

You do so without a second thought, turning to face the wall behind you. Slowly you present yourself, raising your dress with a shake of your hips, letting the warm summer breeze graze over your exposed ass. For a moment you become worried; you're in public, anyone could see your current state of undress, the way your legs happily part for your boyfriend. 

Any doubts you have are soon quelled by Bi-Han's touch. The excitement far outweighs your anxiety.

His large hand reaches to caress your backside, playfully pulling and snapping your underwear against your skin. You gasp at the sting, only to sigh in content when his fingers prod at the wet spot that sticks to your sex, drinking in the sight of his fingers glistening with slick. 

You wish you could see Bi-Han, because the noise he lets out is filthy.

“This wet already, and I’ve barely touched you...” he says lowly. “Tell me, was this your plan all along? To tempt me?”

His fingers press a little harder and you gasp, rocking against him before his other hand reaches forward to still your hips. With a click of his tongue that same hand comes down hard against the soft skin beneath it, the sound echoing in the empty alleyway. You gasp in shock before he stills you once again.

“Behave. I want you to answer me first, how long were you waiting for me to fuck you?”

You whine at the lack of friction before answering. “All day..“

“I can tell,” he chuckles darkly. “You’re practically dripping—“

He taps his fingers against your exposed pussy once, twice, before he spreads your juices with his fingers. First his thumb, then his forefinger, your head bows with a sigh as he plays with your folds to his heart's content. You whine again, trying your best to chase his fingers but the hand at your hip is a weight, keeping you in place. He watches your futile attempt and laughs once more, this time letting the tip of his finger just barely press into your entrance as you huff in frustration.

He can’t help but let out a satisfied hum at your wanton display. “You should see yourself. How easily you open your legs for me.”

Your brain slowly turns to mush, the combination of his deep voice and teasing digits making you lose your sense of self. You rise to your toes, trying your best to entice him to do something, anything.

“Bi-Han,” you whimper, letting out a cry when he indulges you. One thick finger curls inside you knuckle-deep, back arching from the wall as he slowly rocks his hand against your pussy. His fingers are so much bigger than yours, so much more fulfilling that it sends you into a frenzy. 

“That’s it, look at you,” he draws out, pressing against the spot that has you moaning just that bit louder. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You sound so sweet, barely able to mumble out a response. “Yes, yes—“

You bite at your hand and still you can’t help the occasional sigh that forces itself from your body. A squeak of pleasure escapes you when he adds another finger, stroking your insides and enjoying the abundance of juices that drip against your thighs and leaves his hand a soaked mess. 

Truly you look your best when you’re below him. Spread out and wanting, a view he could spend the rest of his life looking at and never grow tired. Your pliant body sandwiched between him and the wall, the bulk of him pressed behind you so you can feel how much larger he is, how easily he overpowers you. A wall of muscle, unmoving as his fingers stretch you apart.

Your breath stutters, a high pitched sound erupting from your throat. “Bi-Han, ohmygod—“

It becomes harder and harder for you to keep quiet, your legs shaking from the speed of his fingers. The air is filled with the wet squelch of his digits working against your needy pussy, a sound that Bi-Han makes certain to taunt you with.

“You are lucky we are hidden well,” He says huskily, making sure to curl his fingers in just the right spot to have your back arch further, walls fluttering against his thick digits. “Just imagine if anyone else heard you.”

The idea of anyone else being privy to your noises stirs jealousy in his heart, fingers increasing their pace. “But then again you would like that wouldn’t you? Flaunting yourself in public like this, I bet you would enjoy being seen as the needy little thing you are.”

This is torture. You struggle for breath, a heat blooming in your chest and radiating into every fiber of your being. “N-No, I wouldn’t—“

“And why is that?” He says, biting at the shell of your ear.

“Because I only want you,” you moan. “just you.”

You sneak a glance towards Bi-Han’s face, his normally stoic expression replaced with one of debauchery. The difference is night and day, smirking at your disheveled form stretched out before him. His gaze is cruel as it passes over your body, taking in each shudder, every yelp as he plays with you until he’s satisfied.

His fingers brush against your g-spot and you nearly scream. The sounds that escape you are shameless, accompanied by the slick noises of your pussy. Your mind slowly becomes blank, only the thought of a slow-building pleasure at the forefront of your mind.

Your words are accented with lust, almost drooling. "Bi-Han, more, please—"

He shows no signs of stopping, mocking your whimpers in a cruel voice. “God, you’re so pathetic. I’ve barely given you my fingers and you’re already begging—”

The air is punched out of you when his fingers leave your drenched heat and play with your engorged clit, leaving you a limp mess. He’s forced to hold you steady as your legs wobble, shaking like a leaf as your breathing becomes heavier and heavier.

Closer, closer, faster, moremoremore—oh god.

Bi-Han thinks you’re enchanting, the sound of you coming undone a melody to his ears. He takes you as far as you can go, then even farther, tests your limits as he holds you firm

“Bi-Han, Bi-Han, Bi-Han—!”

You don’t need to say it, he already knows. He knows when you push back against his hand, and he knows when you arch your back so his large fingers can graze against that one spot that has you keening, begging for more, more. 

“So well behaved, are you going to come for me?” 

You shakily nod your head, biting at the soft flesh of your hand to stop yourself from letting the entire block know you’re being fucked stupid.

“Good,” he says. “don’t.”

Just when you’re about to lose yourself, he stops. His fingers still, leaving your pussy completely, empty and waiting.

“Nonono—“ You complain, whine for his touch and chase his ministrations. Your hips push back, desperate for more. “Come on, don’t tease me, please—“

His hand pulls your hair, your head forced back as he growls in your ear. “But it’s fair for you to do it to me, right?”

He bunches up the loose fabric in his hands, as if to prove a point. “You walk around like this knowing I would see you, knowing how I would react—I thought this is what you wanted? My reaction.”

His harsh tone makes you stop in your tracks, despite the thrum of a ruined orgasm that sits in the pit of your stomach. “I—I’m sorry Bi-Han—”

“It is far too late for apologies,” he says, fingers landing a harsh slap to your pussy. You wail, running away on instinct before being pulled back by your waist. “Don’t tell me you can’t handle the consequences?”

His hands return to your body, one at your breast and the other between your legs. One roughly pinches at your nipple while the other rubs harsh circles against your clit, the overstimulation bringing blissful tears to your eyes. 

“I can’t, I can’t—“ you hiss, reach down and grab at his wrist, an action that doesn’t phase him in the slightest. His pace doesn’t slow, not for a second. “Oh god, Bi-Han—“

Index and middle finger reach up to silence you, playing with your tongue as you’re silenced. “Be quiet. Begging will do you no favors.”

It’s times like this where you remember just how cruel he can be. You should’ve known better than to think he wouldn’t punish you, but at the same time the pleasure he gives is well worth the frustration.

You struggle to keep up, moaning around his long digits as the salt of his fingertips coat your tastebuds. There’s pressure that sinks further and further into your being with each touch of your clit. Sweat clings to the both of you, a cloud of desperation hanging over you as you’re forced into complete and utter submission.

“I’ll be good, I’ll be so good—” You gag around his fingers. “Jus’ need you, please Bi-Han.”

His fingers quickly leave your mouth. You hear his zipper being undone, followed by the tip of his cock just barely gliding against your folds. Just the thought of him inside you has you forgetting yourself, shaking against his length as it soaks in your juices.

“This is what you want, right?” He breathes, chest pressed to your back. Once, twice, he slots himself right against you, lets his tip push against your clit and send shockwaves through your body but never going further. “Then obey.”

You push back, desperate for more. “Mm, I will, I promise, just please fuck me.“

“Close, but not quite.”

Bi-Han feeds off your excitement, chuckling before fisting his length against your cunt. “I’m doing you a favor, giving this—“

His cockhead glides against you, so close but yet so far. The action alone takes your breath away.

“—aching pussy of yours any kind of relief. I believe thanks are in order, wouldn’t you say?”

He phrases it as a question when the words are anything but. Your tongue passes over your lips, before uttering a delicate, downright lecherous—

“Thank you Bi-Han.”

A subtle throb against your count, the shuddering sigh that leaves him as he hunches over your body. You can’t see his reaction, but you can feel it.

“God,” Bi-Han moans, lays his full body weight on top of you and speaks directly in your ear. “Always ready for me, aren’t you?”

You’re too far off to answer, completely at his mercy. He takes pity on your sex-addled brain, gives you a moment of respite as you slowly come back from your high and languidly moves into you. His lips glide against your skin, a gentle comfort to your frenzied mind, a contrast to the ever-growing heat that spreads across your body. The only relief you’re given before his patience runs thin.

He pulls out with a hiss, slams back into your pussy and waits for you to recover before doing it all over again. The noises that leave your mouth are pornographic, barely muffled into your arm. Despite the uncomfortable position you bear it because no matter how rough he may be, you love it all the same. 

He fucks you at a brutal pace his weight pinning you down into submission, all the while muttering to himself, uncharacteristically chatty as he mutters how good you feel, how pretty you look bent over, how well you take his cock—

“Hips up darling, your legs are shaking, don’t tell me you’re tired already?”

Tired, aching, and still so fucking needy.

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come—“

“No you’re not,” he says. Bi-Han’s movements go from erratic to calculated, an unrelenting tempo that makes you see stars. His fingers find your over-sensitive clit and rub, keeping you trapped in a cycle of pleasure below him. “You’re going to wait, say you understand.”

You let out a moan, only to be pulled by your hair.

“Use your words dear,” he whispers in your ear. “Say it out loud, or I’ll stop.”

You babble needily, trying to convince yourself more than Bi-Han. Tears flow freely from your eyes, sobbing through each word. “I—I’ll wait, I won’t come, I won’t come—“

“You had better not.” He gasps, before his hips return to their brutal rhythm. “I’m going to fill you up, leave you full of me—gonna leave a pretty stain on the ride home, won’t you? Then when we get home I'll take you again to make sure you feel me for days.”

#mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat smut #bi-han #bi han x reader #bi-han smut #sub zero #sub zero x reader #sub zero smut #robo writes

[boyfiejay]

Just One Chance

PAIRING : Nishimura Riki x gn Reader

GENRE : potential f2l, hurt, comfort, crack

Warning : break up, crying, riki overthinks

Word Count : 0.8k

Author's Note : wrote this in the library while my friends were actually studying 🥸

In your 8 years of friendship with Riki, you two have been at each other's doorstep in the middle of the night countless times. But this time it was different, it was 2 A.M and you stared at the text from Riki saying he was tired and going to bed early

Was this really worth waking him up and ruining his sleep? But it seems that your broken heart had already made the decision.

Riki wasn't expecting to wake up to the sound of his doorbell, he reached for his phone, squinting his eyes at the bright screen. 2:07 it read. Who could it be so late at night? Only one person came to his mind.

He opened the door, taking in your form. You looked guilty, but above all you looked sad, heartbroken even.

He let you in, already knowing who this was about. He watched as you took small steps towards the couch, the same one where you first told him about your now ex-boyfriend, at least he hoped it was an ex now.

He silently sat down beside you, waiting for you to speak. Riki had never pressed you to tell him anything, and you were thankful for that. He has always been good at comforting others despite what he likes to say.

"He.." you trailed off, emotions getting the best of you as tears streamed down your cheeks. Riki put his arms around you, pulling you close till your head was buried in his chest. He stroked your head, running his fingers through your hair.

"He was angry about s- something, I asked him what was wrong b- but he just started yelling at m- me." you said, sniffling and stuttering throughout the sentence.

Riki didn't say anything, letting you collect yourself. "So I left him alone. After a while he told me that he saw me talking to you and he got jealous. Said he was already having a bad day and didn't need to see me being all over you." you said, hurt swirling in your eyes as you stared into the distance.

Riki held your face in his hands, wiping the remaining tears on your face."I'm not going to say sorry for that. If that's what you were expecting." he said in a small voice, afraid to scare you if he sounded offended.

Honestly, he didn't know what to feel about this, should he feel guilty that he was the reason for a fight? But then again it wasn't his fault that your boyfriend had such low self-esteem.

"No, I don't want you to apologise. But..." you said looking in his eyes trying to find reassurance for what you were going to say next.

"But what?" he asked, his hold just a tad bit tighter. His mind raced with thoughts of what that guy might have said or done, every single one making him want to beat him up.

"He said he would break up with me if I continued talking to you." you said, looking for something anything in his eyes.

Riki looked away, he wasn't surprised he knew that sentence was coming the moment you started to date him. What surprised him was that your boyfriend had survived without saying this for almost 5 months.

"What did you say?" he said, his voice coming out choked. So this was it then? He would never get to hangout with you again just because of some guy.

Above all he regretted not telling you his feelings sooner. Did he ever have a chance?

"Of course I said no. He was being too much, so i told to go fuck himself and came here." you said, half asleep, because well Riki was extremely comfortable and you were tired.

But Riki couldn't believe his ears, of course he had some hope that you wouldn't leave him just like that. But the way you sounded so nonchalantly had him seeing red.

Here he was being sad and sappy about how he wouldn't get to be your best friend now and you were sleeping?

He lightly pushed you off him, holding your face in his hands with an exasperated expression on his face.

"You couldn't have told me this sooner. I was about to start crying, you dimwit." he said, shaking your head in his hands.

You groaned, pushing his hands away "You seriously thought I would leave you just for some guy I've known for like half a year? You have no hope in me." you said, crawling back into his warmth. Damn him for being so comfortable.

He watched with an opened mouth as you pushed your head in the crook of his neck, wrapping your arms around him. Both of you are half lying on the couch.

He stayed still, knowing you would fall asleep like that, comfortable in his arms. While he will have back pain the following day, but it was okay. As long as he could have you this close to him. As long as you give him a massage tomorrow.

Now that you were single, Riki was going to make sure you see him and no one else. He was going to make sure he tells you his feelings that he's been hiding for so long.

And he knew you would give in. That you would give him a chance. 

#enhypen #enhypen drabbles #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen fanfic #enhypen x reader #enha fluff #enha fanfic #enha x reader #enha imagines #niki enhypen #enhypen niki #enhypen nishimura riki #enhypen niki x reader #nishimura riki #niki x reader #niki fluff #enhypen riki #riki x reader #nishimura riki x reader #riki imagines #riki nishimura x reader

[chronically-ghosted]

stay gold, baby boy

rating: 18+ (expliiiiicit)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: almost 6K

summary: six months into your friends-with-benefits situation, you institute a new game. A gold star on the board every time Dieter is a good boy. Today, he gets bingo . . . for wearing real pants. 

warnings: friends with benefits (with more feelings), oral (m receiving), dom/sub dynamics (guess who subs today!), talks of edging, hair pulling, creampie, piv sex, praise kink, my mother raised me to have better taste in men but fuck it

a/n: remember when i posted this picture? And then this one? Remember how you could hear me yelling from space? Well, @sp00kymulderr has added fuel to the fire – Dieter and stickers. I can’t explain myself except that I was horny and I wanted to take his pants off with my teeth. So I did. 

✨gif credit goes to the ever incredible, talented, and enabler of my dieter fantasies @perotovar! she saw me floundering with the header and immediately was like 'hold please i can make his baby cow eyes even better'✨

🤍Masterlist

With your foot on the low table, your ass firmly planted on the middle poofy cushion of the dumpster bin couch at the back of the trailer, thumbnail nibbled between your teeth, you have to admit it’s starting to get a little embarrassing. It’s honestly such a bad look.

Not that he would ever shame you for it. In fact, he’d probably like it. 

And it’s not like you waited for him here all day. You had things to do as one of the co-screenwriters on this film. You had things to do and people to see and stuff to organize – all of which had nothing to do with Dieter fucking Bravo.

Okay, so a lot of it actually had to do with him. Lots of scene rewrites, lots of notes from the studio, lots of instances where the two of you had to put your heads together and come up with a solution that made the studio happy and didn’t make you want to claw your eyes out artistically speaking. 

Which had led to this. 

And the past six months of whatever this is. Working together led to seeing each other (outside of work), to eating with each other, to fucking each other – with the line firmly drawn there. 

Whatever you may say about Dieter, the man could compartmentalize in a way that would make Marie Kondo weep with joy. By the way he treated you on set, no one in their right mind would ever have guessed he knew what you looked like naked. Or that he knew your left nostril twitched just before you came.

The same could be said for you too. Out of boredom one morning in the grocery store, you bought a trashy magazine with his face emblazoned across the top – Dieter Bravo and His Lonely Hearts Club. You weren’t one for the gossip rags, but flipping through it, not a single one of his “club members” mentioned his raging praise kink. You bought the damn thing on the spot, giving them all a consolation prize of some sort. Sorry, ladies, guess I win. Ha. Ha.

But, at the edge of the cushion, eyes occasionally flicking between the door and the failing darkness outside, you didn’t feel much like you’d won anything. 

In fact, you’d lost. Big time. When all of this had been your stupid idea in the first place. 

It had been your idea (and your initiative) to buy a packet of gold star stickers. Like the kind teachers use with their first graders. Actually, exactly like the ones teachers use for their first graders. You couldn’t form words when the woman at the education supply store ringing you up asked, “oh, what grade do you teach?”. You just tossed a twenty at her and booked it, your face painfully hot for a fairly innocuous purchase. 

But all of that was his fault for dropping a praise kink and a teacher kink on you all at once the night after you jokingly spanked him with a ruler in front of the director, in-front of his co-star, because he wouldn’t agree to a line change, and he had to excuse himself from the room. 

A month later and he forgoes touching himself for a gold star. He agrees to your line changes without argument for a gold star. He picks you up in the morning and drives you home at night for a gold star (you could drive yourself, but there’s always that last minute thing you need to talk to him about so you do it just because it’s easier, really).

He lets you come, over and over again, and keeps nothing for himself – all for a gold star. 

Someone is bound to figure it out. They have to. Six months in and you’re getting sloppy. Obvious. What the fuck would you be doing in his trailer at seven o’clock at night after a full day of shooting unless you’re fucking him? 

But you, worryingly, can’t find it in you to care. 

You had lost your mind, that’s what you lost. Because tonight is the night Dieter gets his final gold star. It’s his reward but you’re about to vibrate out of your skin with want. 

(It didn’t matter that you hadn’t seen each other in two weeks and by the third day, an ache had settled in behind your breastbone, one that clutched your phone in your hand, and forced your eyes to the screen every minute, checking for a new text message. 

He called on day five, by the way.)

Your neck snaps up when you hear voices outside of the trailer. Laughter, his. 

You suddenly feel the need to flatline against the floor in case anyone might see you.

Fuck, and how are you supposed to explain yourself if the someone he is with follows him into the trailer? Too many frightfully bad scenarios and you’re rooted to the floor, unable to make a single decision. 

The metal latch clinks and his trailer door swings wide open.

“Yeah, man, I’ll catch you tomorrow.” 

You can hear a deep, “see ya” from the other side (maybe Daryl from craft services?) and the scrap-metal trailer squeaks, as the lock clicks shut. 

Dieter scratches his cheek, surveying the trailer as if some part of him knows something is different, but his conscious mind can’t figure it out. 

Until he turns. And nearly leaps out of his skin.

“Fuckin’ – what are you doing in here? Wait – I thought you left town to scope out the new location in San Diego.”

You want to answer him. You know how – open your mouth and tell him the trip’s been delayed for a few days, nothing serious, timeline bullshit – but you can’t. 

It’s officially embarrassing.

It’s embarrassing how turned on by Dieter Bravo you are.  

Hair in all kinds of directions, skinny cloth bracelet loose around his wrist, he had pushed up the sleeves of his henley shirt, exposing the thickly drawn triangle over his forearm and the clear one near his wrist. His hand with the rings hangs by his side and something inside of you silently whines. 

But what really sets you off, what really makes this embarrassing and terrible because there’s no bluffing here, no hiding your cards and folding – nothing you can do to keep spit from flooding your mouth the longer you look –

He’s wearing pants. 

Black with loose belt loops. Zipper and all. A silver button sitting between his hips. Fuck. Just like you told him to. Fuck fuckfuck.

You’re briefly aware when he says your name and you have to make a physical effort to tear your eyes away from that glinting silver eye winking up at you.

Dieter’s frowning, knowing silence isn’t really your thing. 

“Are you okay? Why are you –,”

As though it had called his name, his gaze drifts from your face to the table between you and him. Where his scorecard rests with four stars in the Good column, and shockingly, none in the Bad.   

His mouth parts, eyes going dark, as the realization hits him like a mack truck.

“Delays,” you say suddenly, preemptively, knowing that normal people usually have some sort of preamble before tearing each other’s clothes off. You stand up a bit straighter, tilt your jaw away from him, gaze leveling him from the end of your nose. You have got to get this thing under control. “Frank ran into some scheduling issues with the boat for the lake scene so, until further notice, the trip to San Diego has been delayed.” 

He blinks slowly as if he’d been struck over the back of the heat, mouth parted. He has such fucking gorgeous, fucking perfect lips –

“So you’re here?” he asks, his voice low, disbelieving. 

You scoop up the scorecard and step over the table, your shoes long since gone. It’s like his vision narrows the closer you come; he is transfixed, gaze on you as if molded at the seams, as you step up to him. You tap him on the chest once with the corner of the scorecard, excitement and nerves and that ache making you tremble despite your confident appearance. 

“So I’m here.” 

“On the last day of the week.” Words thick, as if all the moisture had been sucked out of his mouth.

“On the last day of the week.”

“When I,” he swallows thickly, “when I should get my reward.” 

God, this kind of power trip should not be making you this wet. 

You lift your gaze from his chest, taking in his beautifully dumb-struck face. 

“You will.” You nod. “And do you know why?”

His breath quickens, lip between his teeth, when you scratch off the final star from the package and stick it to the Good column. 

“Because I was a good boy?” 

You toss the scorecard behind you, it clatters onto the table, and you cup the back of his hot neck.

“Because you were a very good boy.” 

He stumbles back, knees unsteady, when you kiss him. You see his eyes a split second before you close yours and hot electricity swoops down to the pit of your stomach. It would be mortifying if you just fucked him right here and now – he does deserve something extra special – but fuck – you want his whole hand inside of you.

His warm palm slides across your jaw, pulling you into him, and Dieter breathes, deep and long, inhaling as much as he can. You don’t think he realizes that he’s picked you up off the ground with his arm around your back until he opens his eyes, vision hazy and off-center. 

“Go lock the door, baby.” 

He nods and puts you back down. You slip off your jacket as he bolts the trailer door shut.

Dieter’s mouth drops open when he turns around and sees you on your knees.

Shit, you should have stolen some knee pads from the costume department. 

“Really?” 

You smile at him because he asks like a kid that just got offered a puppy for Christmas. You reach towards him and he takes your hand, unsteady on weak knees

“For as long and as much as you want.”  

You palm him and Dieter groans, mouth-closed at the sensation, the hard ridge of the metal zipper not one he is entirely familiar with. At least, not like this. Beneath the warm press of your palm, you feel him thicken, harden, and you press more, digging your fingers into his thighs. The muscles in his legs tense, his mouth falls open, as his hips cant forward, desperate for the new weight of the zipper. 

“And I won’t make you wait, Dieter,” you say, eyes tripping up from where your hand sits, up to the flash of exposed tummy where his pants have ridden down and his shirt slid up, into his almost surprised gaze. “You’ve been very good, wearing this for me, but I want you to learn why it’s important to wear pants with buttons.” 

“I-I t-t-thought,” he tries, voice abruptly cutting off when you nuzzle the constrained bulge in his pants. He tries again, eyes slamming shut as if to stifle the sensation of your warm breath so near to where he needs you the most. “I thought i-it was so I d-din’t – didn’t look bad.” 

Your face still pressed into his crotch, you briefly massage his calves, then the backs of his thighs. You cup the curve of his ass through the starchy back pockets, which is remarkably prominent now that he’s in something else than baggy sweatpants.

You shake your head, nose dragging along his hot length, against the space between his hip bone and his cock, smiling. 

“Baby, you know I like how you look. I always want you to be comfortable.” You look up and meet his eyes. The remaining brown not yet wholly consumed by a blurry, heated darkness softens. Somewhere beneath the hazy, disarming feelings of lust currently filling his head like a bike tire, he’s still your Dieter. Or – well, wait – at least the Dieter you know. The Dieter you have impossibly fun times with. The Dieter who makes you laugh like no one else. The Dieter that can make you fall apart until you’re a gooey, dripping mess and he still manages to stitch you back together. The Dieter that keeps you up at night thinking he might possibly want something more. “But this is so much more fun.”

Grounding your chest against his thighs, holding yourself against him as leverage, you sink your teeth into the corner of the fabric fastening his pants together. Eyes up at him again, you tug and his cock is pushed up against your tits from the force of the pull. He rocks forward, an airy gasp escaping his mouth, and the button gives, the lip of the fabric sliding back as the silver disk slips through the hole. Now your touch is unimpeded by rough fabric when you lean forward and kiss him just below the waistband of his black boxers. 

It takes you a second to realize that Dieter Bravo is wearing underwear at all and you smirk up at him.

Something about your gaze makes the tips of his ears go red, as if he had been caught being very naughty. His big hand cups from your jaw to your ear, as if trying to placate you, beg you not to be mad this close to his cock. 

“You said I had to dress u-up,” he says, eyes wide and round. God, he’s trying to be so good. One week of the rating system and Dieter Bravo is a trembling mess. Despite your wildly beating heart, you smirk, your thighs shaking briefly at the sudden rush of tenderness you feel for the man in front of you. You hide your own blush by mouthing that open spot just below his tummy and above his cock, wetting the black material with your tongue. Before he can whine about it, you pull back just barely, enough to curl your fingers around both his black underwear and the pants he wore for you. Just as you begin to pull down, you nip the zipper between your teeth and slowly, slowly, rubbing your nose against him, tug the metal teeth apart. His pants open and Dieter groans loudly. He’s already so sensitive. 

For a mouthy, ego-driven bastard, he really did have a magnificent cock. Flushed at the base, thickest you’d ever had inside you, and he’s leaking silvery threads from the head. The vein thickly pulsating on the side makes you wonder how he hasn’t passed out from all the blood rushing to his cock. 

You lick that vein, that beating pulse, and his knees buckle. His massive hand grips your shoulder and Dieter shakes his head, his mouth wrenching open.

“Please, please — mhmm — don’t tease. I-I can’t – you haven’t – please.” 

As if you would be cruel to him. You feel rather dizzy, elated on the idea that you wield this much power over him. That he trusts you with all of him. There it comes again, that arching ache in your chest. 

“I’m just trying to get myself ready for you,” you confess quietly. “I’m not trying to hurt you.” 

Dieter swallows something large in his throat, panic receding from his eyes. His smile is small and his touch on your cheek is light.

“I know.”

And you weren’t lying. You’d never forget the sound of your jaw popping and cracking the morning after you sucked him off three times before you let him come. Dieter is shockingly big, annoyingly only when he uses it against you or makes you tell him over and over just how big he is before giving it to you. For now, you just want to remind him how very appreciative you are that he gives it to you at all. 

Eyes decidedly looking away from the warmth on his face, you squeeze the backs of his thighs as you relax your jaw as much as you can. Above you hear him huff with his mouth shut as you start to take him in, your tongue wetting that soft skin on the underside of his cock. One move forward and you’ve wet him halfway, tongue massaging that vein. Another drop of your head and you’ve taken him completely.

“Fuck,” Dieter murmurs, the hand on your shoulder tightening. Your heart pounds in your chest all the harder when he takes his other hand and knots your hair with his fingers. By the twitching of his thighs beneath your palms, you know it’s taking every ounce of his restraint to not buck his hips forward. “That’s it that’s my girl you take me so fucking good you feel so fucking good.”

The thing about your mouth that is markedly different from your pussy: you can’t release your gag reflex to take more of him. But fuck, you want him to fuck the back of your throat – you just might drown before it happens. 

He smells surprisingly clean as your nose inches closer and closer to his skin. With each pull, you slide your tongue down the other side, until it pokes through and licks where you haven’t reached with your mouth yet, inches from his pelvis. He shudders when you use the tip of your tongue. 

“Oh my god, your mouth, baby, your mouth.” The words dribble out of his slack mouth, fingers flexing in your hair as if he can mimic pushing your head down further. You pull all the way off him, tongue catching the rim of his cock and he drops his head back against his shoulders and moans. The sound of it makes your pussy throb and you breathe out your nose to stifle your own noises. This is about him. He did good. He was a good boy the whole week. 

You replace your mouth with your hand. Sufficiently wet from the way you slobbered all over his cock, you use a fist around his flushed head to smear pre-cum all the way down to the base of him. You brush his balls with your knuckles, just as you fit the tip between your lips, sucking – and Dieter bucks, hard. 

“Ngh – shit! S-sorry!” His nails dig into his thighs, eyes squeezing shut as silvery threads spurt out from his cock. 

Maybe you’d gone too far with the whole sticker thing and he really thought this was another test. His cheeks are burnt pink, his chest heaving and it’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. 

“Dieter,” you cry softly, gently, comfortingly. He still doesn’t open his eyes, not even when you resume stroking him. You lick the soft skin of his balls and his gasp punches the air out of his lungs, his eyes splitting open. He looks down at you, thighs trembling and you squeeze him gently. Not to edge him or punish him, but to make this last a bit longer for him. “Dieter, take your shirt off and sit down.” 

He can’t move fast enough. He yanks the henley over his shoulders, the collar scraping his hair up in wild directions. He goes to sit but his thighs are shaking too much and he just sort of tumbles onto his ass. Smiling, you take your own shirt off, hoping to save this particular bra reveal for another time, but fuck, this time is as good as any. Despite his panting and squirming, his gaze rolls from your face to your tits. Emerald green with black lace, this is far too nice for a work bra and it properly communicates to him that you were going to fuck him whether or not he was going to get that final gold star. The realization is visible as it crosses his mind, bleeding hungry black in his eyes. 

You take off his pants all the way, before sliding your own jeans down and to the floor. His roving gaze catches the matching panties and the noise in his throat is deep, like a smothered grunt. 

“Now, I’m going to suck you off no matter what,” you say as you crawl in between his legs, before leaning back and sitting on your heels. You smooth your hands down his thighs, near his red, stark cock, but not touching. Dieter’s breathing hitches in anticipation, not sure where to put his hands or his gaze. “But I want you to answer one question for me first.” 

He nods rapidly, spreading his knees further for you as if to remind you there’s other places he could be fucked. 

“Why did you think I was going to punish you today?”

You’ve asked this question paraphrased a dozen times, usually when you both know the answer: he came without asking, or he came by himself, or any of the dozen reasons Dieter liked to push your buttons, only for you to break him as far as he can go. But today, there’s no sultry edge, no double meaning. Your question is sincere and it takes him a moment to understand. He swallows as his eyebrows tug down on his forehead, something vulnerable flashing in his eyes before a look of uncertainty crosses his face.

“We’ve never had sex just to have sex.” He says it like a question. He settles into the floor one hand going behind his head, the linear tattoo on his forearm dark like a third eye. “Not that I’m complaining but it’s always a competition, or because we’re bored, or you wanna work out some personal shit because of the costume department. I know this is my reward, but I figured there had to be some kinda catch to it.” 

You frown deeper than him. “There’s no way we haven’t had normal sex.”

Something like a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Define normal sex.”

Now it’s your turn to go warm across the cheeks. “I mean, like . . . outside of . . . our roles. Where there aren’t roles at all. It’s just . . .”

You break off for the third time, the look in his eyes forcing you to snap your mouth shut before you say something incriminating like, just us. 

Dieter shakes his head. “No, we haven’t.” 

“You’re telling me in six months, that’s never happened once?” You adjust on your heels and cross your arms. “It’s not like you can remember every time we’ve had sex.”

“I do.” This, coming from him, is not a question. It’s an irrefutable statement that you don’t seem able to refute with a no you don’t. There is no room for arguing. 

Driving right on through the heat of your cheeks, that ache returning, you shake your head. “Then doesn’t that get old? Having to play games every single time?” 

Dieter pouts as he thinks, eyes on the roof of the trailer. “Sometimes, but I don’t mind. Not enough to want to stop fucking you.” 

“So, after a week of nothing, you were totally willing to let me edge you within an inch of your life? Let me treat you badly?”

Dieter smirks and it suddenly feels like you’re the one under him. “Sure, but you like me too much to keep it going for too long. And you like watching me come.” 

Your teeth grind together at this very bold accusation, your entire face blazing. Weren’t you supposed to be domming him today??

His feet slide out beside you and Dieter is the very picture of arrogance, his arm still tucked behind his head. He drums his fingers on his stomach.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he says, the smirk around his mouth soft, “I like you too.” 

It doesn’t. Not really. Not when his words spear through you hot and hard, landing in your chest like a landmine. Fuck. 

Fuck.

“Oh, so this is all for me, then?” You ignore the fact that you’ve slipped back into your role in active defiance of talking about this anymore, and crawl forward until your forearms frame his head. That teasing contentment fades from his face as he watches you, eyes following a line that only he can see from your nose, lips, chin, throat and tits. Your hair slips off your shoulder, darkening the light on his face when you straddle his waist. “But what about you? Don’t you want to come?”

He nods, slower than before, but only to keep from breaking eye contact with you. Light as feathers, Dieter trails his fingers up the backs of your thighs, over the curve of your ass, to settle into your hips. His mouth parts in anticipation, pink tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. 

“I do,” he says, rolling his neck as if he can see more of you this way. “I really fuckin’ do.”

“What a coincidence.” You shift down, dragging the wet patch on the emerald green underwear beneath your drooling cunt, shift until it slides across his half-hard cock and Dieter’s hands dig into your hips, a groan breaking off in the back of his throat. His eyes slip half-closed, a thick, smoky black enveloping that beautiful brown. “So do I.” 

Grinding down over so slightly, you roll your hips once more – Dieter tenses, his hands easing to the tops of your thighs – before sitting back on his knees. 

“Now relax, baby, you’ve earned it.” 

You drop forward over his hips, open your mouth, and slurp him up between your lips. 

The noise that comes out of his chest is broken, knocked loose, split down the middle. You take him all in one, down until your nose is tickled by his coarse hairs, and you swallow. He is immediately, instantly, rock hard and dribbling. You swallow again and his hands dive into your hair, knotting the strands around his fingers, the way a rider draws up the reins of his horse. He goads you down with just gentle pressure, needy and demanding all at once, and you take him, and you take him, and you take him until the blunt head prods the back of your throat and you gag, throat constricting, and Dieter’s eyes roll back in his head. 

“Shit, that’s too fucking good.”

You breathe out your nose, pulling up just enough to keep him off your reflex, but instead you hollow out your cheeks and suck, tongue pressing up against him and around that hammering vein. 

And here, here comes the sound you’ve wanted from him all night –

Dieter whines, high and keening, his neck straining, your skull pinching from where he pulls. Between your thighs, the emerald green is completely ruined, buffed out dark in the wet. 

The vein throbs again and you nearly drop onto your elbows, not caring if you choke or drown or sputter, you want him in your mouth, you want that salty, gooey taste of him that you find you can’t seem to lick up enough. You want him inside you –

With a grunt that morphs into a groan as it rises up his chest, he tugs hard enough on your hair that the pain splits your mouth open, head tugged back enough that he slips out of you, a thread of pre-cum from your puffy lips to the tip of his blunt head. 

You lied. This wasn’t entirely for him. 

You can feel your lips twist into a snarl. “Dieter, what are you –,”

He kisses you with such a force, that noise in his chest is transferred to yours, a collision that sparks a causal nexus and his own desperation bleeds with your own. The kiss is messy, dizzying, spit and pre-cum smearing across swollen lips and wet tongues. He twists his fingers deeper into your hair, as if he can consume you through the bowl of your skull. 

Your name is something that tumbles, falls, drips from him, his mouth tilted a fraction of an inch away from yours. Eyes dark, full, a beast that howls for the moon in your eyes. 

He’s going to fuck your brains out on the floor of this rickety-ass trailer. 

Dieter tugs you forward, drags you onto your knees over him as he settles beneath you. Your fingers knock with his in a fight to reach your panties first, to shove them down your hips and thighs, get them to the floor. 

Dieter’s flushed, pupils dark, big hands grappling against the weight of you as he pulls you onto him. You are so aroused, so sunken into the smoke of lust, you go as you are moved, his cock smearing apart your wet pussy. Dieter sits up, eyes locking onto where you’ve nearly become a single creature, and then he hesitates. 

Sanity seems to ring his bell, for just a moment. Without waiting, he sucks two fingers into his mouth, coating them with his spit, and you can see what he’s about to do just before he moves. You shake your head, knees aching from carrying your weight against the flat trailer floor, and sit up off him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Don’t need it,” you mutter before licking into his mouth. He drops his head back to let you sink your tongue between his lips. Both hands wrapped around his jaw, you thumb his earring and he grunts out the side of his mouth. “I want –,”

His big hands settle and it’s like he dropped a thousand pound weight between your ribs. You drop, right onto him, his cock forcibly shoving you apart in a single thrust. Dieter barks out a moan, his hands clutching your spine, teeth going for your shoulder to muffle anything else that threatens to escape him. 

You swear your nerves are on fire.

He always takes his time with you, for your benefit, and his. He can be maddening and incessant and demanding, right up until this part, the part where he could actually hurt you. Right then, he waits. Lets you come to him. Let you take as much as you want and he holds you tight.

But this, this is you taking all you want and then some. 

In the split second you allow for your bodies to recognize the give and the take, the swell and the invasion, you meet his gaze. 

No roles. No games. No landmines. 

Exposure. 

Blistering and brittle.

Safety. 

You curl your toes underneath you, grip his shoulders, and slide up on an inhale. On an exhale, you thrust down and you don’t know who cries out louder. 

Dieter pulls you to him, arm banded around your back, the other to balance as he leans back to meet your downward strokes with his upward thrusts. His fingers pinch the clasp of your bra and the straps slide off your shoulders, your frantic bouncing knocking those emerald cups loose. 

“Oh, yeah, oh fuck yeah.” He mouths at your collarbone, tonguing the sweat that blooms across your skin. Your short huffs have your chest trembling, a shudder disrupting your breath when he uses the blunt edge of his teeth against the soft curve of your breast. His nose against your skin, he turns his head and licks your nipple into his mouth. He sucks, licks, your rapid rise and fall catching your sensitive peak against the tops and bottoms of his teeth. He uses the barest hint of pressure and your back arches. He sucks your other nipple into his mouth, repeating that same pattern with his tongue, while his fingers flick your hardened bud. 

You think you’re going to melt, fracture and ooze into this hot pool of pleasure that hums between your legs. 

“Fuck, Dieter,” your own voice is unrecognizable, breathy and high, cut short every time his hips meet yours in a harsh slap, “I can’t –,” 

He rubs up against something truly devastating inside of you and immediately your legs give out. You topple into him, arms around his neck, nose pressed up against his jaw. You feel his overheated skin, a balm, a solidifying force, against your cheek. The whirling inferno in your head soothes. A drop of sweat from his hairline trails down by your eye and you lick it. 

“Make me come, Dieter,” you whisper for him, of him, beg in a way that only he can hear. You nuzzle his earring and he keens. “Please – I need it – n-n-need you.”

Open-mouthed, breath hot, flush down to his chest, he slithers the hand against your back between your warm bodies and finds your clit. Drags his thumb across it as his hips pound up into you – you can’t hear what he says in your ear, the edge you’re dangling over loud and pulsing – and then there’s a softness against your throat.

The white spark between your thighs erupts and you come so hard you scream. A release. Controlled and contained brightness now spilling out everywhere, you can feel it as you soak his lap. It drips and winds down, and it drunkenly slides off you. Finally, you curl into him, a muddled tingle radiating out across your nerves. 

You sink into your skin again and hear him, still whispering, still talking.

“You’re so fucking beautiful when you come it’s okay baby I’ve got you I’ve got you I’m here – I’m gonna – g-gonna –  oh, shit,”

His hips thrust up one more time before a full body shudder yanks his words and the air right out of his mouth. You melt as his cum floods your insides, the warm pulses intoxicating in the place he so forcefully claimed for his own. His shoulders curved towards you, his hand pinches the knot of your spine as if to steady himself, palm scalding against your skin. In your exhaustion, your sweaty forehead falls against his. 

He doesn’t seem to mind.

Seconds mold into minutes, minutes into maybe hours then days. 

Dieter’s trembling elbow finally weakens and with his arm around your back, he tips you both backwards. 

His cock rubs up inside of you in a new way and your cunt clenches involuntarily. You both groan when his cum leaks out of you, squeezed out by the contraction. You shift your hips to lay fully on him, and his cock slides out, but his arm around you remains.

It remains long after your breathing settles, long after the sweat dries and your exposed skin grows cold. The longer you lay together, the more you feel he’s going to start stroking you, touching you in a way that a fuck buddy shouldn’t. But he doesn’t. He keeps you close but doesn’t move. 

The feeling, the ache in your chest. It’s soothed and hastened by the beating of his heart beneath yours, your ear lying flat against his chest. It beats so loudly for you.

For some unfathomable reason, you glance up at the window. It’s dark out, the sun set and gone. For all you know, you two might be the only two people on the entire lot.

“Dieter.” His name sticks in your mouth. “Dieter, I –,”

“Five stars?” 

You blink, lifting your head for the first time in ages, sweat on his skin almost suctioning your ear to his chest. He’s grinning, curls matted and damp against his forehead.

He reaches up to the table behind him and snags that stupid bingo card, along with that packet of shiny gold star stickers.

This feeling, you can contain it. 

For now. 

Smirking down at him, you peel off one of the bigger stars and with your thumb, you press it into the center of his forehead. 

“Five stars, Dieter. Five star dick.” 

His smile widens. 

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #the bubble fanfic #the bubble 2016 #the bubble fic #the bubble fanfiction #pedro pascal #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble

[xxhispieceofheavenxx]

can i pls request remus being jealous and (non-toxically lol) possessive when seeing reader with someone else 🫣

Hello!!! I'm so sorry this took so long to get out, this week has been completely out of control for some reason. But here it is! I hope you enjoy! Thank you for requesting. My ask box is open.

Wc: 1k

Cw: It's just fluff, a few swear words

He was already having a bad day, the full moon looming close, only two days away. His day started at 5:30, with James throwing around his quidditch equipment, claiming he was late for his daily training. Then when he finally managed to fall back asleep, he didn't hear his alarm go off, making him late for potions, his least favourite subject. Thankfully Slughorn didn't give him a hard time, unlike Snape, who had made fun of his brewing abilities. And no matter how much Lily had helped him to finish and pass the assignment, his mood hadn't improved; it actually soured, thinking he was useless at potions kept distracting him from his other classes. So when lunchtime came, he was in an even worst mood than before.

Remus sits next to Sirius, who is excitedly talking with James, Marlene and Peter. He pinches his nose, feeling a headache growing at his temples. His eyes open to see his girlfriend talking with Adam, a Ravenclaw he is sure has had a crush on the sweet girl since first year. His brow furrows as he watches the boy touch her arm in what appears to be more than a friendly gesture.

He stands up, ready to stomp his way over there and give the blonde boy a piece of his mind. Before he can take a step, James' voice interrupts him.

"Where are you going, Moony?"

The curly-haired boy turns around to see where his friend's eyes were directed.

"Moons," James turns back to him "You're going to be upset if you go over there and cause a scene."

"No, I'm not."

"The full moon is in two days." James gives him a knowing look that makes him sit back down. Remus knows that in the days before the full moon, he becomes irritable and explosive when pushed.

"I hate that guy." His eyes roll as an unpleasant look forms on his face. "He is always all over her, and she is too fucking nice to tell him to sod off."

"I know." James' voice is gentle in understanding. "If it makes you feel better, I'll knock off his broom next week when we play against Ravenclaw." A mischievous smile forms on his face.

Remus can't help his own smile at his friend's attempt at making him feel better; and at the image of Adam falling off his broom too.

"Sure, just make it look like an accident."

"I'm the best at making things seem like accidents." The boy gives him a wink before he takes a sip of his juice.

His eyes divert back to the pair, who are still talking by the entrance of the Great Hall. Remus' patience seems to wear out even faster when he sees the stiffness of her body. She's still smiling, but as time goes on, it seems more forced; she keeps moving her body to the Gryffindor table, clearly trying to end the conversation. But as the blonde keeps talking, she returns to her previous place just to do this awkward dance again. Deciding he's had enough, Remus gets up and stomps to them.

"Hey, love." His voice is sweet, unlike his eyes that send a murderous glance to Adam.

"Remus!" She turns to him, a smile plastered on her face. She opens her arms and hugs his neck, pulling him down to her height. "Get me out of here." She whispers in his ear.

Remus breaks the hug and smiles down at her as he tucks a rouge strand of hair behind her ear.

"Yes, hello, Remus." Says Adam through tight lips.

"Yes. Hi. I'm going to take my girlfriend away now, goodbye." He quickly turns on his heels, pulling her with him.

"Remus! That was rude!" She chastises him in a low voice when they are far away from the boy who is standing in his spot, mouth agape.

"I don't care." He grunts. "Come on, I know you're hungry. I saved you a spot." He turns to her with a smile.

With a sigh and shake of her head, they arrive at the table. Remus pulls out her chair so she can sit and then takes his own sit.

"Stop being cute, I'm trying to be upset with you."

"I'm not being cute, I'm just trying to take care of you." He grabs her hand and kisses it, making her grunt and hide her face with her other hand.

"This is being cute, Lupin." Accusing eyes stare at him. "You were rude to Adam."

"The bastard was making you uncomfortable."

"He wasn't making me uncomfortable."

"He wasn't letting you leave." He says in a knowing voice.

"Okay, he wasn't." She concedes. "But, he was just being friendly." Her statement is met with a snort and a roll of Remus' eyes. "You're just jealous."

"I am." He says easily as he leans on her shoulder, letting his nose tangle in her hair. "You'd be jealous too if you had the most amazing woman all to yourself." She giggles, making him smile.

"I have the most amazing guy, though." Her hand finds the back of his head.

"I'm sorry I was mean, I get possessive sometimes." His soft voice reaches her ears.

"I like how possessive you are, but maybe next time be a little bit nicer." He takes a deep breath, inhaling her scent, allowing it to calm him.

"I'll try when it's not so close to the full moon." He pulls back just enough to kiss her lips.

"Are you guys going to eat each other instead of the food, or what?" Sirius' voice makes them pull apart.

"Shut up, pads. They're having a moment." James interrupts his teasing, making her laugh. Everything seems to be better now, maybe he just needed her to turn his bad day good.

#remus lupin #remus #remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader fluff #remus x reader fluff #marauders #marauders fluff #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus x fem!reader

[rafedaddy01]

Summary: Reader and Rafe are enemies. At the bonfire one night Rafe picks on her and she has the last straw, JJ tries to calm everyone down by firing his gun but reader gets scared and rafe ends up comforting her.

Notes: @rafemotherfuckingcameron

There he was, Rafe Cameron. Kook King. Islands golden boy.

But he wasn’t all that. Under the surface Rafe had a bad coke problem.

It all started one night when the two of you hooked up on a coked out moment.

Ever since that night Rafe has been horrible to you. You don’t even know why, you thought it was good. In fact you two even cuddled after. But the next morning Rafe was no where to be found and you hadn’t heard from him since. He simply used you like he did all the girls.

So every time you saw him it ended in bickering.

“Y/n” Rafes voice was cold as he and his posse stood in front of you.

“Rafe. What brings you to this side of the island? Need more drugs to feed your ego?”

He narrows his eyes as he steps forward a little.

You cower a bit but quickly push your shoulders back and square up to him.

“Please, we both know I don’t need to feed my ego. Come to think of you, you enjoyed my ego pretty well that night” kelce and topper snicker behind him and you roll your eyes.

Suddenly it’s clear he’s not talking about his actual ego. Rafe did this. He always brought up that night because he, and the whole island, knew of your little crush on the kook.

“Oh Rafe! Right there! Don’t stop! Rafe!” He mocks your moans as your face turns red with both anger and embarrassment.

“Stop” your voice is quiet as you try to swallow the tears.

Rafe continues mocking you as his minions snicker behind him.

You don’t know what got into you but you pounce on him, jumping onto his back and pulling his hair as your nails claw at his face. He tries to push you off but you wrap your legs around his waist and continue laying it on him.

At this point the whole crowd has gathered and are watching you go ham on Rafe.

You hear your friends tell you to calm down but your rage blinds your conscious as you continue pulling and scratching and punching and kicking.

Suddenly a gun goes off and you cower, your body falling to the ground and forming a fetal position.

Nobody on this island knew what that noise meant to you. Nobody knew about the memories that noise brought back. Nobody but Rafe.

Despise the scratches you left on his gorgeous face he lowers himself to you, one arm shielding you as the other pushes the hair out of your face.

“Y/n! Y/n!” He tried to shake you “it’s okay. Shh, your okay”

You don’t remember much as the memories of finding your parents dead and the sound of a gun firing right into you abdomen flood your mind. Next thing you know your being carried in big strong arms.

“Ra-“ your voice croaks as you try to speak. “Wh- what happened?” You say as your throat burns with your tears.

“Y/n” Rafe sighs as he sets you down on the passenger seat of his truck.

“JJ happened. Don’t worry, I’ll get you home” and with that he shuts the door.

In this moment you hated being anywhere near Rafe, but at the same time he’s the only one who was ever there for you. Despite the hating game you two played.

“Rafe-“

“Y/n. Don’t mention it. Seriously. Ever!” Rafe spoke sternly as he turned the key in the ignition.

“JJ’s and idiot.”

“Yeah” Rafe breathlessly laughs as he pulls out of the parking lot.

There’s a moment of awkward silence as he drives to your house.

“I- I- I’m sorry..” Rafe finally speaks.

You turn your head and catch a glimpse of his face. The night moon highlighting his best features.

“It’s okay” your voice is soft but Rafe heard it. He reaches a hand over and squeezes your thigh before focusing back on the road.

You stare up at him with a slight smile on your face, did Rafe Cameron just apologize?

Well this would be an interesting turn of events.

@f4ll-for-you @v21sstuff @rafeysworldim19 @baby19sthings @eventualoptimism @drewstarkeysbae @sevenwivesofrafecameron @rxfecameronsslut @findapenny @r1vrsefx

#outer banks #rafe cameron #drew starkey #smut #dark rafe cameron #drewstarkey smut #outerbanks #drewstarkey #rafecameron #fanfic #rafe fluff #smut drew starkey

[thirsty4villains]

Cool Heat

Summary: You're an assistant for the Avengers. Loki has been hiding up in his room for the past week. You go to check on him and he's reverted back to his Jotun form, but he's not quite himself. The two of you discover that Jotuns go into cycles of heat, and Loki hasn't been in his Jotun form for over a millennia...

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Mentions of dubcon

Tags: Loki lives in Stark Tower with the Avengers, PIV, smut, humor, romance, Jotun!Loki, dom!Loki, spanking, more tags to be added

Find me on AO3, Wattpad. Previous chapters/other Loki fics on Tumblr by me here.

Notes: THANK YOU GUYS FOR BEING SO PATIENT, I'm sorry this chapter took so long to roll out. Real life stuff, I hope y'all understand. Please enjoy!

Tagged users: @nyxxharmonia @mischief2sarawr @drunkbirdbug @lorelibrarianlizbit @strawberry--fawn @thenotoriouserg @hereforsmutbcicantgetenough @salvinaa @bellajg21 lorielulu7 

CHAPTER 4

You woke up feeling more rested than you did most mornings. If you knew Loki was this good at sex you may have hit him up earlier. Asshole or no, he knew what he was doing. Last night’s events replayed in your head repeatedly: your dream that wasn’t a dream, your conversation, and ultimately the conclusion. They spun around in your head as you tried to assess because it was hard to believe that you had sex with Loki. You also wondered, was it wrong that you weren’t angry at him for having sex while you were unconscious? It definitely wasn’t right of him, but you’d been feeling so lonely and horny – horny for him – that you didn’t care. You quite enjoyed it, actually.

After mulling these thoughts, you took a shower, got dressed, and threw the sheets in the washer. It was nearing 11:00 am on a Tuesday. Shit, you were supposed to submit some reports to Coulson by nine!

You ran to the elevator and went back up to the penthouse. Gathering your paperwork and opening your laptop, you opened up the S.H.I.E.L.D. database and began uploading the work you should have submitted two hours ago. Thankfully, there were no text messages, emails in your inbox, or missed calls on your phone, so Coulson must be preoccupied this morning. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice the time stamp that read 11:28am.

In this moment you were eternally grateful the majority of your work was remote because if you came into S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters three hours late because you slept in, Fury would have your head.

With that problem finished, you went to check on Loki. Back down in the bedroom areas, you stood in the hallway and knocked on his bedroom door. A sense of deja vu swept over you.

“Come in,” the god’s voice said behind the door.

The knob turned and you entered Loki’s room. He sat on his bed, staring at the wall opposite him. He seemed not all there.

“Loki?” you asked. “How are you feeling?”

“Not worse, but not better, either.”

“So you’re still..?”

“Still enormously frustrated sexually? Yes.”

A wave of insecurity washed over you. “It wasn’t… bad, was it?”

He shook his head. “Quite the contrary, it was exactly what I needed. I felt better, instantly. But it came back as soon as I awoke this morning. The fundamental issue I am facing, however, is this dreaded blue color – and these horns. I cannot will this form away with magic no matter how hard I try.”

You apologized for his state.

“Are you not disgusted by me?” the god asked. “After last night?”

“I already told you that it’s okay, you weren’t yourself,” you said.

“I also meant… after.”

“Like, the actual sex?”

He nodded.

“Are you not disgusted by this brutish, carnal form? How rough I was with you. These horns… these claws…” He sneered after looking at his own nails.

“No.” You blushed. “It was really hot, actually.”

For the first time in days, he laughed an actual, genuine laugh. “Sincerely? You human women are so strange. No Asgardian woman in their right mind would bed a Jotun.”

“Their loss,” you said.

He furrowed his eyebrow at you but also, perhaps there was a hint of a smile?

“No matter, my predicament is… URGH!”

Out of nowhere, Loki curled his right hand into a fist and punched the wall. Little pieces of drywall flew outward. Loki retracted his hand and a fist-sized hole was left behind in its wake. He dusted off a thin layer of powder from his knuckles.

You jumped back. “What was that?!”

Loki’s shoulders heaved. “I don’t know! That’s the problem! I don’t know. I have no clue why this is happening now, and why it’s so drastic. I get these changes in mood, like I’m nothing but an adolescent again who cannot even master his own emotions. I feel virile yet emasculated. We had intercourse, so why was it not enough?”

He punched the wall a second time. With gritted teeth and labored breaths he stared at it and you were unsure if the god was lost in thought or would lose his temper entirely. You watched his pecs and the dark blue ridges upon his body move up and down with his breaths. His lean arms, the biceps on them; those horns, those eyes…

Okay, snap back to reality. Loki’s having a crisis. Sex is the only thing that made him feel himself again, even if it was just for a few hours. Like he said, he was in heat; maybe just one go isn’t enough to get the job done.

“Well, we know what we have to do, then.” You outstretched your arms, offering yourself.

He turned from the wall. “What are you –”

“What position do you want me in, Loki?” You interrupted, asserting yourself. You fought the blush creeping up your cheeks. “On my back? On my side? Do you want me to blow you first? Pick one. You want to fix this, right?”

Loki stood there in shock; examining your face, your body language. Or was he checking you out? He dropped his fist that was prepping to punch the wall and his lips stretched into a devious grin.

“On the bed, all fours.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” you replied.

Stripping yourself of your clothes, you approached his bed, staying in the crawling position upon his mattress.

To your side he stripped as well, and he was already rock hard. That blueish purple cock sprang from his pants, rearing to go. He climbed onto the bed behind you, examining your backside. You jolted forward as his cold hands touched your thighs. You’d forgotten how cold he felt. His icy fingers traced the smooth skin of your legs.

Then out of nowhere, he spanked you. A cold, red handprint decorated your bottom.

You gave a small screech, jolting forward again – both from the low temperature and the sudden smack.

“You like that?” he asked.

“Mm-hmm,” you muttered, nodding.

Another smack, and this next screech was mixed with a moan.

“Your assertiveness was quite endearing, but remember your tone when speaking to your king.”

He spanked your ass again.

“My – my king?” you asked.

“Yes, your king. Did I not mention to you the other day that I was kept as a bargain by Odin? I wasn’t any Jotun child, I was Laufey’s son, the king of the Jotuns.”

Another spanking. You felt yourself grow wet amidst the pain.

“N – no, you didn’t mention that part.”

“Though I failed to conquer Earth, and Thor is the first heir to Asgard, since Laufey is dead I am still a king in my own right – of Jotunheim.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, my king.”

He gave you one last spanking, a lighter smack, a playful one. “I forgive you,” he said, lowering himself over your back, so his lips could graze your ear. He placed his hands on your butt, to soothe the irritated skin. The iciness felt good but you also squirmed due to your skin being so sensitive there.

With his new position, his cock rested against your cunt. You prevented yourself from lurching forward. He rubbed the cold member against your lips.

“Now your king shall claim what is his.”

Without further warning, Loki penetrated your opening, sinking completely within you. His chilly member made you clench around him. You gasped as you acclimated to him. Oh god, he was big. You didn’t know how you could forget since the last time you fucked him was literally hours ago, yet you were still in awe. His cool, dextrous fingers brushed your hips, finding the perfect place to grip in order to rail you. Then, he moved within you, and you already felt your juices coating him and your own thighs. Completely at his mercy, you allowed him to take all of you, as you kneeled on the bed, all fours, like an animal. He slipped in and out of your cunt at a deliciously fast pace, hitting the right spot every time. Your arms barely kept upright as you tried to keep up the weight of yourself and your balance as the god of mischief rocked your body.

While fucking you, Loki removed one hand from your hip to grasp your hair and tugged. Your head tilted backward so that you were forced to look straight forward instead of below. On one hand you could count how many times you were in Loki’s room, and you didn’t realize until now that he had a mirror mounted above the bed frame, so when he pulled your hair you were forced to look at the scene. You, your tits hanging, on hands and knees, and the blue god of mischief with one hand fisted in your hair and his cock taking you for all you’re worth. His mouth flashed a devious smile as your eyes connected through the mirror, and his red eyes gleamed of hunger and dominance. He tightened his fist in your hair and spoke.

“Enjoying the view?”

In your pleasure you found it difficult to form words.

He spanked your ass. The combination of that, your hair, the view ahead, and your cunt sent sparks through your body. A high-pitched moan escaped your lips.

“I asked you a question.”

Your legs quaked like jello, but you managed to say: “Yes!”

The light in the god’s eyes danced. Another smile graced his face, “Good.” 

He released your hair. Your head fell forward again, your arms collapsed underneath you, and now your face was buried in the mattress. With nothing but your ass in the air, Loki continued to drive into your pussy, chuckling at the state of you; tired, splayed out, and completely surrendered to him. He gave another playful spanking on your behind.

You gathered the blankets underneath, balling them in your fists as Loki delivered your pleasure unto you. All you could do was hold on, listen to the sounds of his hips slapping your skin and the wet noises of furious lovemaking, and praise his body into the bed. Your legs, before jello, were now an autumn leaf shaking in the wind and you knew you were so close. Loki dug his claws into your hips, claiming you once again and you were gone. Shouting into the blankets, your cunt tensed before finally releasing, and you climaxed on the god’s cold, pulsing cock; riding the waves and yet somehow keeping your ass in the air.

Your climax, however, was the catalyst for his own and Loki burst within you, sending a final few thrusts into your hole. He filled you again, uttering his own release to the heavens. Then you both collapsed onto the bed.

When he found the strength to roll off you, you excused yourself to his bathroom to clean up. After that, as well as re-brushing your hair and getting dressed, you entered his bedroom again to find him on the bed reading a book. Loki was still naked as the day he was born. One long, lean blue leg was crossed over the other as he lay back. Your eyes traced the ridges of his Jotun form up along his toned body, then up his face and ending at the curve of his horns. His eyelashes fluttered against his ruby-red eyes. How in the world did he see himself ugly in this form?

You spoke up: “It’s getting close to afternoon. I’m gonna make breakfast. Want anything?”

Loki looked up from his book and nodded. “Yes, I’ll be up in a minute. I’ll have whatever you are having.”

“Cool,” you said, returning upstairs to the penthouse.

In the kitchen you pulled out the cookware and ingredients to make scrambled eggs and hash browns. The items sizzled on the pans, filling the kitchen with the aroma of eggs, potatoes, and spices. Your stomach growled in approval and restlessness. Loki joined shortly behind you, now clothed in his usual garb of black and green. His horns stood high and mighty, even regal, atop his head, cutting through the air.

“This is the first time I have been out in this state at midday in nearly a fortnight,” Loki remarked. He looked around the room, almost as if he’d forgotten what it looked like bathed in noon’s light. 

“That’s rough. I’m sorry,” you said. “How do you feel now?”

“Better – much. I had thought I would need intercourse once and this would go away. Now, I am not so sure. I am hoping… soon.”

You nodded. “Yeah, especially since we don’t know when the others will come back from that mission, and if you’re still ‘sick’,” you airquoted. “...by the time they get back, I’m pretty sure they’re going to start getting nosy, maybe even suspicious.”

Loki growled, not enthused by that thought. A slight tingle tickled your southern area. Instantly, you wondered: were you an asshole for being attracted to his irritability? It’s not like you meant to, but the growling was, well…

“Do you need help with the cooking?” Loki said, interrupting your thoughts.

“Yes, thank you.” Good distraction from that moral dilemma. Thank you, Loki. “Actually, could you help clean up? Put some of the things away for me while I watch the stove?”

The god nodded and proceeded to help with his tasks. Cabinets were opened and closed as he put the spices away, he went and washed the silverware you weren’t using anymore, and threw the eggshells and other trash in the garbage. The food would be ready in just a few minutes.

The kitchen grew quiet again when he finished. So quiet, you thought he may have slinked off somewhere – to the bathroom or something. Until you felt a pair of hands on your hips.

“And you are well after our encounters?” he asked, his voice low and husky. His cool breath tickled your ear. 

One of his hands moved lower, cupping your ass slightly. A jolt of electricity flowed through you. He had you pinned between his front and the kitchen counter.

“The eggs,” you said in protest. 

“What about the eggs?” he quipped, squeezing you lightly.

“They’ll burn. Don’t distract me.”

“Then don’t get distracted.”

Loki proceeded to move his other hand to your other ass cheek, kneading both hands on your behind through your shorts. His mouth lowered closer to you, gliding his cold tongue against your neck. The hairs on your arms stood on their ends, goosebumps budding. The god licked slowly, deliberately. You shivered and Loki chuckled lightly against your skin. He bared his teeth -- his fangs -- and grazed the points over your carotid.

You tried to pay attention to the cooking food; flipping over the eggs, watching the potatoes, adjusting the heat as necessary. However, you were facing much difficulty ignoring the rising heat within your body.

Loki switched between teeth and tongue, lapping and nipping at your neck. You gasped when he bit your earlobe, smoothing over the pain with another lick. One of his hands moved to your front, sneaking underneath your shorts and underwear to play with you. His fingers toyed with your slit, wetting them in your slick and using his lubricated digits to circle your clit. You did your best to not lurch into the hot stove with his cold hands pleasuring you. Your hands gripped the handle on the oven as you moaned aloud.

“I told you not to get distracted,” the god teased. You opened your eyes – which you didn’t realize you’d even closed and quickly removed the eggs from the heat. The ends browned a bit, but they were nowhere close to burned; just a bit more cooked than you’d like them to be.

Your hands returned to the oven’s door handle, bracing yourself so your legs wouldn’t give in. Loki teased you mercilessly: one hand on your ass, the other playing with your clit, and his mouth, tongue, and lips attacking your neck and ear. You could already feel the hickey forming.

“Turn your head toward me,” the god urged.

You did, and met his gaze. He stole a kiss, deep and wanton, and cold; deliciously and illicitly cold. As you kissed, you realized this was your first one with him. A bit backwards, given you’d had sex twice before even kissing, but not unwanted. No, not unwanted at all. His kiss made you lightheaded and shivery, especially as he dove his tongue into your mouth. All this while he massaged your clit, soft and engorged and wet.

When the kiss broke, you took the hash browns off the heat too. “It’s hard to not get distracted when I can’t even see what’s in front of me.”

“Well, there’s no more distracting then, given the food’s done.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Loki yanked your shorts and underwear down your legs. They pooled at your ankles. He barely gave you any time to shake them off before parting your legs for him, exposing your opening for him, and he entered you swiftly. You gave a choked sound as you adjusted to him, his thick, chilly, irresistible cock planted within you. His hands moved; one on hip and the other under your shirt to pinch your nipples.

“I thought you were good,” you croaked.

“Oh, I’m more than good now,” Loki uttered as he began to move within you.

“I mean… We just fucked… not even twenty minutes ago, and already… Mmmf.” You bit your lip as he hit that sweet spot within you.

“What can I say? I finished cleaning up, then I began watching you. Your shorts barely covering your ass, accentuating your thighs, how your hair cascades down your shoulders. Something like a switch flipped inside me. I had to have you. You won’t deny me now, surely?”

“N – no.” Your thighs pressed together and your eyes shut closed. With anyone else this would be too much, but with him you didn’t find yourself growing tired, nor sore, nor overstimulated. Something about Loki, his touch, his voice made you want his sex just as much as he required it for his sanity.

So he fucked you there, on the kitchen counter, in front of the stove. The god of mischief thrusted into you, his chest pressed against your back. The chill of his skin radiated from his chest through your shirt, and of course his cold hands on your breasts and cock buried inside you aroused your senses and your attention. He drove his cock upward, and the best you could do was hold on for dear life as he fucked his divine jotun lechery into you. As they did when you were taken from behind, your thighs shook, your pussy clenched, and with a snap Loki spilled his frigid seed into you. His fingernails dug into your hips and teeth sunk into your neck as he completed his final thrusts, filling you with his load.

The two of you took a moment to catch your breaths. His chest rose and fell against your back, his wintry breath panting upon your skin. When he removed himself, a wet plop noise sounded as his cock exited you. His seed within you trickled down your legs, droplets of him dripping onto the tile floor. You moaned impatiently upon his removal, as you were still flushed with arousal. 

“Patience, woman,” the god spoke. “I am not yet done.”

Without warning, he grabbed you and moved you to an empty space on the counter. Placing you with your back against the granite, he lined his still erect cock with your entrance. His hands grabbed your ankles, resting them on the dip of his shoulders and again, he drove into you.

You screamed.

The frost giant god railed you with his cock, with complete and total access to your cunt, filling you to the brim. Within seconds, he hit the sweet spot within you at the perfect, fast, desperate pace, and you came on him. Your walls pulsed and contracted as you rode his cold member through your orgasm, screaming at the ceiling of Stark Tower. All the muscles in your body relaxed and you finally opened your eyes to see the face of a demon grinning lasciviously at you. His raven black hair rested upon his shoulders, a pretty contrast to his sapphire skin, and you watched him as he fucked you to a second completion.

A third time today – or was it fourth, since technically you fucked after midnight last night, and then this morning, and now… Your brain was too addled but yes, four was probably right. For a fourth time today, Loki came inside you, his member pulsating within you, ejaculating and filling you once again.

He bent down and bit your neck before separating. His scarlet eyes roamed over your body, entirely used and spent. He chuckled to himself. You must have been quite a sight at the moment, with your hair every which way and utterly drenched of him.

With a flick of his wrist, a golden hue emanated from his hands and then disappeared – the mess with it. All of his cum – on the counter, inside you, on the floor, vanished as if it had never existed. With a light head you carefully sat up and jumped down from the counter.

“You look like you’re about to faint,” Loki said.

“I’ll be fine, I just need food. It’s not customary for me to fuck multiple times before breakfast. I’m on an empty stomach right now and I just came three times in half an hour.”

You redressed yourself and plated the food. “Great, well, it’s almost cold now. You interested in cold eggs? ‘Cause that’s what we’re getting.”

“Are you saying you regret our tryst?” he teased.

“No. Yes… I don’t know. No, no I don’t regret it, but I don’t want cold breakfast either!”

You plopped your plate on the dining table harder than was necessary and sat in the chair, ready to eat your sad breakfast.

The god flicked his wrist again, and instantly steam emanated from your food. The smell of warm food filled your nostrils again and you devoured your breakfast.

“Would a ‘thank you’ hurt?”

“Fank you,” you said, mouth half-full.

Loki quirked an eyebrow at the utter impropriety. He redressed himself and joined you at the table.

“We are probably going to need to fuck once breakfast is finished. I’m already feeling the urge again.”

“Oh, sweet Jesus,” you muttered. This was the worst best problem you’ve ever encountered.

And he was true to his word. When the dishes were loaded into the dishwasher, Loki had you on the counter again.

#cool heat #jotun loki #loki #loki x reader #cool heat ch 4 #fanfiction #loki fanfiction #fanfic #loki fanfic #romance #loki x you #smut

[merakiui]

Azul who enchants a pussy pocket since it's mating season and he's too shy and nervous to ask reader. So he stuffs the reader with his eggs using the pussy pocket.

I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense, had a bit of trouble organizing my thoughts lol

This is the ideal solution to so many of Azul’s problems. He doesn’t have to show you his mer form, nor does he have to look biologically and emotionally vulnerable in front of you when he’s caught up in mating season heats. And he can also pump you full of eggs without having to actually look at you. He’s much more confident when he’s alone. One day he’ll gain the courage to show you his true form and one day another mating season will roll around in which he’ll finally take you into his arms and fuck you without the distance separating you or the help from the magical pussy pocket.

But for now, baby steps. He’ll make progress with you one day, but for now he’ll do it from the shadows.

Maybe you’re sleeping or maybe you’re in public or maybe you’re even working your shift at the lounge. No matter where you are and what you’re doing, the moment you feel fingers thrust up inside your pussy to stretch it in preparation for something, you nearly double over, curl into yourself, crumple… it’s a sensation that takes you by surprise, leaving you gasping and grasping for something to squeeze or hold so you can properly brace yourself and figure out what’s going on.

Maybe you try to ignore it, assuming it’s just a passing feeling. But then it persists and you’re quickly falling apart, sweating so much, chewing your lip bloody to keep any salacious sounds from slipping out. If you thought the fingers were unbearable, it’s when they’re removed and the tapered tip of something pokes at your hole that you begin to realize this is far from any fleeting feeling.

Azul’s so desperate in his pool, far past the point of keeping his composure, and he’s impatient to release his clutch. So he’s a little rough when he thrusts his hectocotylus so deeply, not entirely thinking of whether or not you can truly take so much of it. But he does imagine your expression, how you’d sound, what you might say, and even the little tummy bulge as it presses up against areas a normal human cock could never hope to reach. And it’s so tight and warm and wet inside you; he’s a mess, his pace hasty and determined. He doesn’t have the foresight to pretend like he isn’t affected; he’s a moaning mess under the water as he ruts into you, the tentacle thrust so far that it kisses your cervix. <3

There’s no time beneath the water. Not that it’s important at this moment. Not truly. Azul’s so focused on base desires, brought down to such a primal level by his own biological imperative, and so maybe it’s been hours of fucking or maybe it’s only been minutes. But eventually, finally, he’s filled you with enough slick to keep the eggs safe and sound. He’s flustered about the idea, about seeing you so round and full of him the next time he crosses paths with you. Maybe you’ve already guessed he’s responsible. Or maybe you have no idea, too confused and pleasured to think that far ahead.

He doesn’t count the eggs as they’re deposited in the depths of your womb. Rather, he just fucks, mindless and instinctual, until every last one has made its home inside you. It’s not an absurd amount—although by human standards it would surely be—but it’s just enough for now. In the future, he’ll turn you into a mer, keep you in the Coral Sea, and give you a larger clutch when he knows your body can handle it.

Azul could have painted you a dozen ways in his brilliant mind, but no amount of fantasy could prepare him for just how pretty you look when the twins guide you into his VIP room and you’ve just managed to squeeze yourself into a uniform, so round already. He has bad news for you; you’ll only get bigger as the eggs grow and the fry within mature. Hungrier, too. And moodier. And more hormonal. Mers fuck a lot when they’re pregnant. And when it comes time to lay, necessary preparations will need to be made… there’s so much to look forward to. So much planning. But he’s immensely happy, and he tries not to let it show while you, flustered and teary-eyed, try to explain your predicament while the twins leer.

Maybe you don’t need to know yet. For now, he’s just pleased to have overcome this mating season. And he has a family to look forward to, hoping most of them survive hatching, that is. But for now he’s happy. And you will be, too. Eventually.

#twisted chit chat #n/sfw #tw: noncon #tw: oviposition #meraki faves

[astrophileblogs07]

Astro Observations pt.19

Hello guys!! Back after so long! I am sorry for not being active here...I am prepping for my med school entrance this year and so I have taken a year off. But since I missed you all, here i am ❣️

• People with Saturn ruling their 7th house/Leo risings or Saturn aspecting their 7th house lord in a good way, always, I mean ALWAYS have people come back to them in some form or way no matter how much time it takes. It is mostly due to any karmic ties with that person, either for the good or for the bad. (My mom has this placement and I have seen literally so many people who haven't been nice to her at first end up seeking significant help from her..). Saturn rules karma and the 7th house is not only about partnerships, but is also about open enemies, people who are bound to you by karma. • The second nakshatra(and the things related to it) from your nakshatra can help you to make money. Eg. If you are a Mrig, look at the next nakshatra i.e second from your nakshatra which would be Ardra. Even an Ardra person can help you gain money.

• This one is a bit weird (🤡)but people with strong Mars placement/ Mars dominant chart/ prominent Mars naturally have that aptitude of analysing 'flirting' behaviour(Idk what you call it when people are so observant and smart that they just know what your actions towards a particular individual mean and they also know why you're doing it 🙆🏻‍♀️). Also they learn that thing soooo earlyy in life....I have seen soooo manyyy kids with this placement when they are like 8 or 9 but their rizz level is 📈📈📈🔥. Even if there is no outside influence (like TV or people around them, or even if there is...they learn that veryyy fast and early in life). (IDK HOW Y'ALL DO THAT? 😭😭🤣🤣) {Mars is charming ✨✨)

# Here is this small fun fact about my life: (Saturn rules time and hence clocks). When I had my first Saturn dasha (Sade sati) I was in 4th grade that time. One of the effects of Saturn Dasha is that it actually makes your understanding and mind slow. (grasping power becomes slower than usual). And the fun fact here was, at that time, we were learning how to read time on clock (like time elapsed, time left and solving math problems on that.) but I was the only one who couldn't understand it properly and made so manyyy mistakes, got scolded by teachers and my mom lol 😂.

#I have noticed 2 things in an Ashwini 🐴🐴 1. They are the early earners of their family may be due to family issues (not usually) but most of the times coz they're ambitious.

2. They have some serious Daddy issues. Every Ashwini I have seen has a bad memory with their dads bruising/destroying their ego in the worst way possible (like for example: insulting you in front of public, targeting you and your insecurities). And the added cherry on top is they're the first people to pack their bags and leave/ move out early. Like anything they'd do to stay away from their fathers. 🤷🏻‍♀️🥸 3. Ashwini and Pushyas are match made in Heaven (after Bharani ofc)

# In my previous post i had mentioned about the moon and Asc getting along. That happens only when they're in the same sign. But one more observation which contradicts this one is that when your moon sign and the other person's asc are in opposite signs... that's ⚔battlefield ⚔ right there. 💀💀 (Me being an Aries moon, have literally had the worst fights with Libra asc.)

That's all from my side for today. Hope to return soon! (srsly wanna post more 😫) Thank you my Tumblr Fam!❤❤❤💕😘💖 Lotsss of Love to you all! (Bye, going MIA again 🤡)

#astro observations #astro notes #astrology #astroblr #astrology community #astrology notes #natal chart #astrology observations

[pinkroseblooms]

Options

Arajin Tomoshibi/f!Reader/Marito Jin

Summary: A misunderstanding leads Arajin to realizing he's not quite over his crush on you; it's even harder ignoring his own feelings when you also manage to peak his volatile boyfriend's interest. A/N: This takes place in a AU without magic and honki people. Suggestive language, but no smut: part 2 coming soon! Enjoy! wc: 2.3k

“Let Arajin go!”

Marito felt something smack the back of his head, right dead center of his bun; he slowly turns enough to see you holding a ladle high above your head. You flinched, but held the utensil higher. Arajin shrugged off Marito’s arm; his soul might have ascended from his body, seeing you standing in the middle of the street.

“What are you doing?!”

“It’s okay; you start running, I’ll hold this jerk off!” Your knees shake, threatening to buckle under you at the glare Marito is casting your way. “Run!”

“Wa-wait! It’s not what you think!” Arajin sputters, hands raised as he gets between you and Marito. “What are you even doing here? Mom said you were on serving duty today; just go back to the restaurant-”

“Ara-teen, do you know this little beast?” Marito’s lips form a slow, cold smile. “That must be it; otherwise, I sure hope she has a good reason for attacking me so rudely on our date.”

“Date?” You blink, lowering the ladle to your chest. “Arajin, you…know this guy? So, he’s not bullying you?”

About ten minutes prior, you, a server at the Chu Chu Chinese Restaurant, had been tossing a couple of trash bags out in the dumpster when your eyes spied Arajin walking past with someone you didn’t know. The taller boy’s arm was slung over Arajin’s shoulders and he was talking animatedly, but your immediate assumption was that this stranger was shaking down Arajin for money or favors. You didn’t know at the time Marito Jin was in fact a gang leader, but currently you’re apologizing profusely for your “attack”; Arajin and Marito sat across from each other at an empty table as you explained to them what was going through your mind.

“I feel so dumb.” You bow your head in Marito’s direction specifically. “I really am sorry, I jumped to conclusions; I’ve been worried about Arajin having a tough time at school and I guess…I assumed the worst. I’m so sorry, Jin-san.”

“I’ll let it go this time.” Marito says coolly, barely glancing your way. “I wouldn’t normally let you live after such an offense, but for Ara-teen’s sake, I’ll excuse your rudeness.”

Arajin gulped: there’s no way he can tell you Marito is actually not only a juvenile delinquent but a dangerous psycho. No, it’s better you don’t get involved in any of this; Arajin’s known you most of his life. His mother and yours had been friends forever and when your mother passed, you had been all but adopted. You made ends meet working at Chu Chu; you were earnest and hard working but something of a worry wart, at least when it came to Arajin.

“You really don’t have to worry about me,” Arajin tries to sound casual and breezy as you set down two cups of hot tea. “Marito might seem scary but he is a…well, he’s very…he would never, uh…” 

Okay, maybe it’s dishonest to try and tell you Marito is a “good” person but Arajin really doesn’t want you to be concerned; if anything, he knows Marito is going to be the first person to throw down on his behalf should anyone even try to hurt him. Now, whether or not Marito will be inflicting any of that pain himself, that’s something Arajin can’t quite say for sure. 

“Is your head okay?” You look around Marito’s head; you lightly touch the spot you made contact with. “I can get you some ice.”

“Wow, you are wound up tight.” Marito slaps your hand away, but it’s more of a light swat than anything. “Ara-teen, tell her to calm down and bring us food; it’s bad enough our date got interrupted, I’m starving.” he whined as you left to fetch them some appetizers. “Also, you didn’t ask how my head was…”

“You said it didn’t hurt though,” Arajin grumbles under his breath, blowing on his tea. “I can’t believe this. What on earth was she thinking?”

“Is she your guard dog? A little beast like her couldn’t hurt a fly.” Marito snickers, teeth baring wolfishly. “Don’t tell me she thinks you need her to protect you.”

“It’s more like…she’d step in to help anyone.” Arajin smiles a little himself; he remembers how hard you were shaking, the real fear behind your bold glare. “She’s crazy, that girl.”

“Hey, who are we talking about here?” You come back to their table with two plates loaded up with food. “Arajin, so mean.”

“No, I didn’t mean it how it sounded!” Arajin scrambles to explain himself. “You were really cool back there actually.”

“Aw, come on, you and I both know I’m useless in a fight; that was all a bluff.” You address Marito. “Besides, he’s the one who looks cool. I really like your hair and piercings.”

“Flattery won’t get you on my good side.” 

“No, I’m serious.” You tell him with some surprise. “I’m sure you get this a lot, but you could be a model or something; of course, Arajin’s still the cutest. He’s off the charts when it comes to being a cutie pie.”

“Ugh, don’t make fun of me.” 

“Come on, no need to be modest in front of your date.” You tease. “He knows what I’m talking about, right Jin-san?”

“I’m an expert.” Marito agrees, fixing Arajin with a knowing look. “You should see how cute he looks when-”

“KNOCK IT OFF!”

“Soooo scary!” Marito cackles. “Is your face red from anger? Or something else?”

“You’re both awful.”

Arajin scoffs but inwardly he’s getting…tingly. It’s almost like both you and Marito are flirting with him, giving him all this attention. He has to remind himself you’re just being nice.

Marito takes a chicken skewer and tears a bite of juicy meat off with a satisfied hum. “Hm, these are different.”

“Oh that one is my recipe.” You grin. “Arajin, do you like it?”

“It’s delicious.” 

“Yay!”

Arajin feels his chest swell at the look of pride on your face; honestly he would happily swallow unseasoned glass shards by the spoonful if you asked him to. You were wrong: if anyone’s cute it’s you. God, he’s only been back for a few months; Arajin thought by now you wouldn’t have the same effect on him, especially now he’s seeing someone. To be fair, with Marito he wasn’t exactly given a choice, but still. 

“Feed me, Ara-teen!” Marito leans over the table and points to his open mouth. “I want a dumpling.”

“You have hands!” 

Arajin’s cheeks flush and he hopes you don’t notice. He uses his chopsticks to take a dumpling and pops it into his mouth, ignoring Marito’s whimper, but hunger wins out and he takes a dumpling for himself. 

“Here, don’t forget the sauce.” Arajin slides the bottle over to Marito. “You always eat too fast and forget to use it.”

“Aw, thanks honey~”

“Don’t. Call. Me. That.”

“Yum!” Marito licks his lips eagerly. “These really hit the spot.”

“I hope you like them; I still feel bad about earlier, so I doubled the portion.” You smile sweetly, hands clasped to your chest. “I made them with lots and lots of love, just for you two!”

Arajin almost chokes when your hands form a heart shape; Marito pauses mid bite as you shoot them with a “love beam” and giggle childishly. 

“Chu!” You blow them a kiss. “Please let me know if you want anything else; have fun on your date, Arajin-it was nice to meet you, Jin-san.”

Arajin can barely stop himself from staring as the skirt of your uniform flounces around your thighs and your hips sway with every step.

“I see how it is.” Marito leans over the table with a sly smile. “Ara-teen, bad boy. You’re practically family, aren’t ya? Does she know about your little crush? Or were you childhood sweethearts? Don’t say it’s so, I’ll be jealous.”

“No, no, no! We’re barely friends, my mom knew her mom, she’s just…”

But Arajin can tell Marito isn’t buying his excuses; of course he’s thought about you that way. 

“I liked her.” Arajin confesses quietly. “She’s cute and she's a good person: I admire her, that's all."

Cute, brave, sweet, and only the most perfect girl and Arajin knows he doesn’t have a chance in hell. Besides, you don’t see him that way; he might as well be your kid brother, the way you fuss and act so protectively. 

“I can see it now: two love birds who grew up together, getting married and running this place, a few kids maybe, real domestic. Blegh.” Marito rolls his eyes. “I bet your mom would be thrilled; is she planning the wedding? You're not just playing with me to pass the time, are ya?”

“You know mom likes you; you shocked her maybe, but she thinks you're funny and cool.” Arajin replies with a small smile. "Not that she wouldn't be happy with anyone as long as they treat me well. The only thing that would make the old hag happier is maybe if you and I and-”

“We all got together? You, me, and that little beast?” Marito picks up a dumpling, almost gingerly with his chopsticks, inspecting it with an odd half smile. “Nah, more like…a nervous little kitten who doesn’t know how to use her claws yet. She needs training.” 

Arajin watches Marito carefully; he’s been acting off all afternoon. More so, at least. 

"You heard what she said: besides, she hates fighting." Arajin remarks, passing Marito the whole plate of skewers. "Go on, these are your favorite right?"

"They're best when you make 'em though." Marito winks, basically salivating as he picks up another stick. "I bet you've had a lot of her cooking, huh?"

"Why do you keep bringing the conversation back to her?" Arajin sighs; his teas gone cold but he's too anxious to call you back over to bring more. "My mom teaches her and she has me for a guinea pig. Actually when she started cooking it was awful."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, always over salted or undercooked or burned, you name it." Arajin recalls various failed dishes he had been assigned to taste test. "She'd do it over and over again though. It was important to her. Mom would tell her food can be an expression of personality; I guess that's why she put so much effort into doing better."

Every time, you would go to him with a hopeful spark in your eyes; even now you're self conscious about how your food tastes. Arajin would say the practice paid off, but considering he would consume poison made with your painstaking care, maybe he's not the one you should've been going to for critiques.

"Her food tastes like her." Marito smacks his lips in satisfaction. "I taste it."

"The saying isn't really literal." Arajin smiles in exasperation. "What are you even tasting?"

Marito leans his chin on his hand; he has a much more subdued expression and the abrupt change on his demeanor isn't lost on Arajin. Marito is being serious.

"Filling warmth."

"Filling...warmth?"

"It's kinda like," Marito drawls. "There's heat in my belly; I already ate so much, I know I shouldn't eat more, but I can't get enough. Don't ya taste it?"

"Yeah, well," Arajin scratches his cheek. "I'd say it's comforting? Something like that."

“So, you do have a crush."

"Marito, lower your voice please!"

"Says the one squealing like a little girl; gotta say, I’m a bit disappointed in you, Ara-teen. All this time and you never tried to claim her? Normally you woulda been kissin' her ass and the ground she walks on, but you're holding back?” Marito asks, almost as if he’s genuinely curious. “You’re so odd: fiery and bold one minute and all shy and timid the next.”

“I mean, we’re…together now, so what does it matter? Come on, it's not funny, Marito. We're on a date but you keep trying to-to goad me into flirting or something.” Arajin glances around, but no one seems to be paying them any mind. “You act like you want me to make a move on her.”

“Maybe I do.”

Arajin watches, gaping as Marito sinks his teeth into the last dumpling; he’s staring towards where you’re speaking with his mother behind the bar counter. You’re nodding, looking fairly serious now, at the ready and eager to help. Arajin can feel his heart fluttering again and he jumps when Marito’s foot slides to tap his own under the table; Arajin looks up but Marito’s eyes are still on you, a strained smile playing on his lips, as if he's trying to not laugh. 

Although everything on the table has been devoured already, Arajin wouldn't know it from the hungry way Marito scans your face, the way his tongue darts out as if to savor any trace left of the meal you had brought them. He looks ready to lick the empty plate clean: except, his eyes are still on you.

Arajin squirms in his seat and at the same moment, you seem to have noticed them staring. You wave sweetly, smiling at them; Arajin could dissolve into a puddle as Marito reaches under the table to grasp at his knee.

"Hey, ya know what we oughta do? Let's adopt a kitten."

"What?!" Arajin gasps, words cut off as Marito slides his wandering hand further to his thigh. "Stop teasing, this really, really, isn't funny..."

“I thought you liked when I teased you?" Marito giggles maniacally. "Anyway, she did say with lots and lots of love for us. Or are you so worked up you can't remember?"

"I don't think she meant..I-I couldn't-"

"Please, Ara-teen? Pretty, pretty please?" Marito coos and simpers; there's a hint of pink rising in his pale cheeks. “I wanna play with that kitten.”

#bucchigiri?! #marito jin #arajin tomoshibi #marito x arajin #fem reader #x reader #reader insert #alternate universe #marito x arajin x reader #marito jin x reader #arajin tomoshibi x reader

[lovings4turn]

୭ 🗝️ ✧ ˚. 🪩 rum and revelations . . . (l.s.)

— after one too many drinks at a party, logan forgets how to keep his own secrets. but drunk words are sober thoughts, right? (1k words)

+ inspired by this ask from my lovely dolly — i know this was a sugar n spice saturday ask but it just made my mind go BRRR so i had to write a full fic!

+ contains fluff, drinking and drunk behaviour, mentions of vomiting but no one is actually sick. divider from cafekitsune

“woah, sorry!”

before you can react, logan is slumped against your side, essentially placing his full body weight onto you. high-pitched laughter escapes his lips as he attempts to steady himself, placing a hand onto the wall you’re both leaning against as he regains his balance.

there’s no mistaking it. he’s drunk. absolutely shit-faced, to be more precise. 

but you can’t really blame him. all of his hard work and determination had finally paid off, and just a few hours earlier he’d earned his first points of the formula one season. what kind of friend would you be to deny him the chance to celebrate? especially when such a large party had been thrown, a friend of one of logan’s friends offering up their house to host.

“feeling okay?” you ask, an amused smile tugging at your lips as he lifts his head.

“never better,” he responds. 

even his voice suggests he’s a little worse for wear. his accent has somehow grown thicker, and his words are a little sluggish, slurred together in a blur of vowels and consonants with a meaning wrapped up somewhere in the middle. a couple of glasses of champagne paired with tequila shots and rum and cokes will do that to a person, you suppose.

any conversation dies on your tongue as logan slumps forward once more, warm forehead resting against your shoulder as he emits a low groan. if it weren’t for his shoulders shaking with laughter, you would have been concerned. 

“this is what you call ‘never better’?” you tease. 

without thinking, you lift your hand to his hair, carding your fingers through the blonde strands in a motion that you hope is soothing. logan’s response comes in the form of an incomprehensible groan, and you can’t help but laugh yourself.

“i think it’s starting to hit me,” he admits, removing his head from your shoulder. 

his eyes are a little glazed over, and though he’s smiling, there’s a far away look on his face that indicates the copious amounts of alcohol is starting to catch up with him.

“alright, let’s get you some water,” you say, the smile audible in your voice. 

you and logan are no strangers to taking care of one another. you had been best friends for the past five years or so, so you’d had your fair share of looking after the other when they got a little too carried away at a party. still, you don’t think you’ve ever seen logan this bad.

you take his hand in yours, lifting his arm until it’s draped around your shoulder in an effort to support his weight. he stumbles alongside you, mumbling inaudible comments to himself and bursting into gratuitous laughter as he trips over his own feet. 

some divine force must be on your side, as you’re able to find an empty room without trouble. god knows how you would have reacted if you’d… interrupted something between two other partygoers. 

you lead logan over to the queen sized bed, sitting him down despite his protests that he’s perfectly capable of doing it on his own. luck was certainly with you, as the room you’d selected bore an ensuite bathroom. 

“wait here,” you instruct, striding over to the bathroom and filling a glass with cold water.

as the crisp water fills the glass, you check yourself over in the mirror. when you think about it, you’re not sure why. sure, you don’t want to be walking around with smudged makeup, or your hair a mess, but it’s also just logan. he’s seen you at your very worst sober, so why should it matter how he sees you now, when his vision is likely double? 

you thrust the glass into his hand, cupped palm coming to sit under his chin as he greedily downs the liquid. a few droplets hit your hand, and you hold back a shiver at the cold temperature.

“y’okay?”

“i’m not gonna vomit, if that’s what you mean.” he jokes, and you smile back. 

it’s quiet for a moment, until logan speaks again.

“thanks, y/n. i’m sorry, you should be enjoying yourself. yet you’re here taking care of me.” 

logan exhales, throwing himself backwards until his back hits the mattress.

“don’t apologise, logan. if there’s any night for you to get shitfaced, it’s tonight,” you reason, giving him a smile. “anyways, ‘m happy to do it. long as i know you’re okay.”

“you’re too nice,” logan mumbles, his tone once again far away, as though his mind is somewhere else entirely. “y’know, this is why i like you so much. you’re always so nice to me.”

suddenly, your heart is in your throat. 

“what?” you ask, forcing out a laugh.

he’s drunk. you reason. he has no clue what he’s saying.

“i mean, y’always there for me. at every grand prix, even when i’ve fucked a race, you’re in the garage for me. you always answer my calls, and you’re just really nice. and really pretty. my god, you’re so pretty,” logan mumbles.

his eyes are closed, and it’s apparent to you that he has no idea what he’s saying.

“oscar’s tired of me talking about you, actually. though he promises it’s not your fault. it’s mine, for talking about you so much. oscar thinks you’re great.” 

you’re glad he’s out of it, because it would be impossible to hide your flushed cheeks and dropped jaw. 

“of course,” you respond, begging your tone to stay even. “we’re best friends. and i’m fucking amazing.”

logan scoffs a laugh.

“yeah, ‘best friends’. not like i’ve been in love with you since we met or anything.”

it’s clear his tone is begging to be joking, but the alcohol prohibits him from being convincing. your heart is in your throat, and you swallow it down, praying it doesn’t try to crawl back out. instinctively, your hand finds itself in logan’s hair once more and you sigh, biting back a smile.

“we’ll talk when you’re sober, yeah? i think you’ll be quite pleased with how the conversation turns out.”

logan nods at this, leaning further into your touch. when he finally responds, his voice is thick with sleep.

"mm, sounds good. love you."

your heart skips a beat as you smile.

"yeah. love you too."

🏷️ tags : @faerieroyal @starriesworlds @itscrzy

#.° ༘🗝️⋆₊ becca’s drabbles #logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant fluff #logan sargeant x you #logan sargeant blurb #logan sargeant drabble #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fluff

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Feitan Portor NSFW Profile

Yandere! Feitan Portor x fem! reader

Tw: mentions of non/dub-con, stalking, masturbation, kidnapping, spit, drool, lots and lots of cum, Feitan is gross and icky and comes in your conditioner I'm so sorry, seriously this one is pretty gross I apologize now, bondage, ropes, blood, period sex, consumption of period blood, Stockholm Syndrome, a few mentions of reader having pubic hair, mentions of premature ejaculation, Feitan has intimacy issues, a touch of sadomasochism, dry humping, blindfolds, begging, edging, overstimulation, there's a lot going on, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

WC: 12K (oh my god)

HABITS:

Even amongst the Troupe, Feitan is particularly emotionally stunted. 

Of course, he knows about relationships, about the intimacy that ensues - he’s never personally fucked anyone, but he knows how it goes, what it’s like (at least, in theory), how it’s supposed to feel. He’s just never wanted to - his libido is actually quite low, and although he’s spent nights tossing and turning in bed, cock throbbing and aching for attention, he’s never felt the urge to find some random woman for a fun, stress relieving night. 

Sure, he’s jerked off more times than he can count, and he’s been to more strip clubs with Phinks and Uvogin than he’d care to admit. He’s been around it his whole life, even from a young age as a child in Meteor City - so yes, he knows about sex. 

He’s just never been able to tolerate someone long enough to consider sleeping with them, much less actively wanting to sleep with them. And yet, once you step into his life, Feitan finds himself uncomfortably aroused by the idea of letting his hands wander your body, of seeing the way your pretty face would scrunch up in pleasure, of hearing your little moans and yelps when he kisses you and sinks his teeth in just a bit too hard. 

Once his obsession with you forms and he begins moving past some of those initial mental barriers, Feitan finds himself beginning to crave you intimately, physically, sexually. And, just as the rest of his feelings for you, he hates it at first. 

He hates how just a simple thought of you has his body growing hot, the collar of his jacket uncomfortably tight as he shifts his weight, trying to ignore the way blood is steadily rushing south. 

He hates how just a simple look from you, with your eyes all innocent yet sultry, makes him gulp a bit, his fingers twitching at his side. He doesn’t like how he can’t control his body’s reaction to you, but it’s not like he can help it - it’s instinctual, primal, carnal, as if his body is recognizing that you’re the chosen one for him to fornicate with, as if you’re the only one worthy of his sexual attention.

Feitan doesn’t like this change in developments much, but quickly he finds himself at a crossroads; he can spend nearly every night staring at the black of his ceiling, laying in bed and glancing down at the massive tent in the sheets centered around his crotch, or he can give in and get working, letting his hand run along the length of his cock all with you on his mind.

 He doesn’t feel guilty about masturbating to you, per se, but there is this weird sense of embarrassment that sits heavy in his chest as he exhales shakily and spreads the bead of precum along his shaft. There is this weird feeling like he’s doing something bad, something naughty, as if you’d be disgusted if you were to ever find out.

It makes him feel strange, but he almost likes it - it’s a thrill he gets, particularly to the knowledge that you’d probably be disgusted to know he wrings himself dry (often more than once at a time) nearly every night, all with the mental image of you naked, writhing and stuffing your fingers into that warm, wet, oh so fucking tight cunt of yours. 

He’d never admit, but he’d give anything to be your fingers, to feel the sensation of being inside you, even if it was only for a few moments. (That’d probably be enough to make come the first time he fucks you, anyways.)

Once he gives in to getting off with you in mind, Feitan finds himself fucking his fist frequently, frantically, his hips thrusting into his hand faster and rougher the longer he goes on, the longer the image of you crying his name and clenching down around his cock plays behind his eyelids.

He wraps his hand around his girth and immediately starts violently pumping his fist up and down, until he’s eventually stuttering your name and coming, sending spurts of cum flying up onto his chest, the white staining his pale chest. It feels good, or at least good enough to satisfy him for the moment, up until he ends up palming himself through his pants the next night. 

It’s a never ending cycle, and frankly it leaves Feitan frustrated – it’s just not enough. The thought of you is more than enough, really, to functionally get him shooting ropes of cum out of his swollen, needy tip, but there’s this part of him buried deep inside that needs more, something to make him feel like it’s really you he’s touching and fucking. 

It’s not enough to be the one touching himself, when he knows it would feel different if it was your soft hand, your warm lips, your tight walls. He needs something more, something more intimate and personal and you in order to really get himself off, to really feel connected to you in the way he craves. 

And so, Feitan makes a discovery one evening that changes everything; he has a penchant for sneaking into your room after you’ve fallen asleep, the dismal security of your apartment something he’s simultaneously grateful and irritated with you for. He likes to just watch you sleeping, those dark eyes taking in every detail about your unconscious form, all exposed for his viewing pleasure without you even knowing it. 

He always shuffles closer the longer he watches, his feet taking just a tiny step every once in a while, just because he can smell you better when he’s closer, see more detail in your skin and features, and it’s only after he’s crept his way right up to your side that he notices it. He should be disgusted, he thinks, when he sees the bit of drool slipping past your lips, your slumber deep enough that you haven’t noticed the wet pool of it against your pillow. 

He should be grimacing and scooting away, revolted by something so gross, but instead Feitan finds his eyes getting caught on the way your lips are just slightly parted, the wetness against your chin shining ever so slightly in the pale moonlight. 

He doesn’t really know why he does it, but soon his fingers are reaching out, lightly brushing against your lip, a sharp inhale audible as he feels the warm wetness of your saliva against his fingertips. He’ll retract his hand, staring with narrowed eyes, before slowly, carefully bringing his fingers to his own mouth, slipping them past his lips, letting his eyes flutter closed because he’s tasting you. 

It’s euphoric, your spit sweet and leaving the perfect tang on his tongue, and suddenly Feitan’s reaching into his jacket pockets, frantically searching for the vial he keeps on hand, just in case he needs a bit of blood from a victim or enemy. He gulps when he finally pulls it out, wiping at it to rid it of any remaining blood, before carefully bringing the glass up to your face, positioning it right below your chin so that the next bit of drool to drip out of your mouth lands in the vial rather than on your pillow. 

It’s a slow process, filling it up, but Feitan’s committed, spending every night sitting beside your bed, watching you sleep and seeing the glass slowly fill with your drool, collected all for him. And when he finally has enough? Well, it’s easy to transition from slowly dipping his fingers in the vial and letting his tongue glide over them to letting the spit cover other areas of his body, even if the mere idea makes him scoff while a blush settles over the bridge of his nose. 

It’s not until one night, though, that he finally takes the plunge, crossing a line he can never recover from. He’d been particularly pent up, his cock absolutely swollen, aching and desperate for release, and his fist was just not enough. Even as he pounded away, biting his lip and furrowing his thin brows, the pleasure just wouldn’t come. 

His eyes wander from his ceiling down to his dresser, zeroing in on the glass vial sitting so innocently, so provocatively, practically taunting him to come closer. He’s snatching up the glass before he can really think, sitting back down and tearing the top off, his fingers moving faster than he can process. 

Soon, he’s dipping them in, swirling them a bit to make sure they’re really covered, but instead of bringing them to his lips, his hands travel south - gripping onto his cock, the wet coolness making him hiss through his teeth. He brings his wrist up, your saliva slowly smearing along his shaft, leaving it wet and twitching in the cold air of his bedroom, visibly throbbing as he runs his thumb over his slit, making sure to absolutely drench himself with your spit. 

His eyes slide shut, head rolled back slightly as he moves his hand at a steady, painfully slow pace, trying to calm his heart rate because this is so very different from before. It’s different, if only because it’s you - your saliva is letting his hand move smoother, your saliva coating his skin, you helping him to get off. It makes him feel dizzy, the familiar coil in his stomach appearing embarrassingly quickly as he speeds up his fist, images of you playing behind his eyes. 

He can’t help but imagine you on your knees before him, staring up at him with those pretty eyes, all wide and glassy and yearning, with your hands tied behind your back and your lips parted, pink tongue lolled out and waiting for him to fill that tight throat of yours. He grunts, squeezing at his tip, digging his fingers back through the vial to refresh the supply of your drool, and in his mind he’s slowly tracing your lips with the head, smearing his precum along your skin as you clench your thighs together and hum, practically begging him to facefuck you. 

Feitan hunches forward slightly as his wrist moves even faster, hand flying up and down his shaft, wet noises accompanying every jerk all caused by the excessive wetness he’s coated himself with, the feeling of your spit exactly what he’d be feeling if he was actually stuffing your little mouth, dark hairs tickling your cheeks and nose as he pushes your head all the way down, so that his tip is nestled down your throat. 

He lets out a guttural groan at that, a strained noise that makes him grimace, but he can’t help it - his orgasm is approaching, and he can’t help but listen to the wet squelching noises and imagine your gags and sharp breaths accompanying them, his toes curling. It feels so good, a building warmth in his naval that only grows bigger, stronger, more insistent, and all too soon he’s imagining the way you’d present your face to him when he pulls out and strokes himself over your face, cum spurting from his tip and landing in rivulets all along your cheeks, lips, nose, even getting into your hair.

You’d look so good, all messy and out of breath and covered in him him him, just as he is you. 

He bares his teeth as he feels himself right on the edge, his fingers clutching onto the vial so tightly he nearly shatters it, his cock bobbing and throbbing, balls clenching as he curls in on himself, small chants of your name mumbled under breath and then he’s coming, cum spraying everywhere as he gasps, hips bucking involuntarily into the air, chasing after his fist with every pump, aching to be releasing inside you, where it belongs. 

He takes a moment to come down from his high, chest heaving and eyes wide, staring down at the vial in his shaking hand, the weight of his orgasm shocking him. He’d never come so hard, like every muscle in his body was spasming, the pleasure nearly overwhelming. His eyes flick over to the clock, and he splutters, seeing the time. 

3:08, meaning only three minutes had passed since he’d snatched up the vial, feeling your spit against his skin, feeling you against the sensitive skin of his cock. 

His eyes close, his breath finally evening out, before he’s carefully setting the vial aside, recapping it and laying onto his back, trying to process why the hell he’d come so fast with something as grotesque as your spit to help him. He’s not sure, but then the images return of you on your knees for him, face still covered in his release and telling him that you want more, please Feitan, will you give me more? 

He groans as he feels his softening cock suddenly begin growing once more, his hips twitching as he reaches down to lightly grope at his balls, swallowing and deciding whether to dip his fingers into the vial yet again - he only has a limited supply, after all, and he’d be needing it again tomorrow night when he inevitably lets his mind wander to thoughts of you tied up and begging for him. 

He grumbles, a strained sort of sound, before getting to work once more, spitting into his hand and letting a small, barely there smile grace his lips, the slight flush still high on his cheeks. He’d have to get some more, he decided, because this? 

Well, fucking you was surely better, but Feitan would be a food to not capitalize on this new discovery - and when he’s painting his chest with ribbons of cum again a few minutes later, he decides that he’ll never go back to not having something of yours to aid him while he gets off. 

It’s just more intimate this way, better, like you’re really there - like you’re really naked and ready to fulfill every need, desire and fantasy of his. 

Like you want him. 

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your face

In general, Feitan thinks you’re attractive. He’s hesitant to say beautiful or pretty or really anything of the sort, if only because the way he feels for you is a bit more complicated than that. 

You’re not just pretty; you’re alluring, someone that always seems to catch his eye no matter how hard he tries to stop it. 

You’re not beautiful; objectively, there’s nothing about you that he hasn’t seen in hundreds of other women, whether it be your hair, your lips, your figure, or anything else. (Except maybe your eyes, or maybe your smile - things that are just so unapologetically you, things that Feitan thinks he could recognize with his eyes closed.) 

You’re nothing particularly special, physically speaking, and yet there’s something about you that he just can’t shake, some involuntarily thing that motivates him to always have his eyes on you, his body unconsciously facing you, his senses just so very aware of you. And because Feitan spends so much time simply watching you, he’s become extremely well antiquated with your features, with your pretty face that always seems to pull him in, like a moth to a flame. 

He’s memorized the way your lips curve, the soft skin puckering and moving with every word you say, and he often finds his gaze flicking down to watch while you talk, eyes sitting there idly as he lets his mind wander to what else you can do with those lips, what other shapes they can make. 

He’s studied every slope of your nose, the shape seeming to fit your face perfectly, and he even finds himself turning his lip when he sees models or celebrities with the same nasal structure - it doesn’t look nearly as good on them as it does you. 

And of course, your eyes - he’s spent more hours than he can count looking into them, unwilling to break the eye contact as he stares, fascinated with the color, how they shine in the light, how sunlight seems to make them glow, making you glow. 

So while there’s not any particular thing Feitan can say makes you attractive, you just are - enough so that he’s found himself seeing flashing images of your face late at night, when he’s unable to sleep and polishing his weapons, letting his mind wander and inevitably stumble into thoughts of you. He’ll relive the way you look when you smile - your grin is wide, teeth exposed, the pretty skin of your lips all stretched to accommodate your joy. 

You look good like that, and all too soon his innocent thought process of you is slipping into something sinister, something dirty and risqué, because now he’s imagining the way you’d smile up at him when he’s got you underneath him, your pretty little pleas and desperate begs for him to touch you making his skin tingle and his throat feel stuffy. 

He’s imagining the way you’d lick your lips when he tells you to get on your knees, his cock mere inches from your face as he strokes  himself, the eagerness and hunger in your eyes making him rush forward and bury himself down your throat in one go.

He’s imagining the way you’d look when he’s got you creaming on his cock, face pressed against the mattress and a mixture of tears and drool slipping down your chin, the pleasure just too much, even while your hips grind back on him, wanting more more more. 

He just likes your face, finding it oddly pleasing, and when the two of you are intimate, he finds himself eagerly searching out your facial expressions as often as possible - it’s the way he knows what you like, if you’re enjoying what he’s doing to you, if he’s doing a good job. 

So really, exaggerate the expressions, make it clear exactly what you’re feeling, and Feitan will be over the fucking moon - pounding into you with a new vigor, a sudden resolve to get you coming at least twice before he’s done with you. You’re just too attractive for him to resist, and he’s only a man, after all. 

His hands 

In general, Feitan is a fan of showing his feelings rather than articulating them, and even then only to an extent. 

There’s only so far he’s willing to expose his vulnerability, and it just becomes easier and less scary to just show you, to let his actions speak louder. And despite it taking a very, very long time for him to grow comfortable enough to actually act on this philosophy, one of the first ways that he’ll settle into touching you is with his hands. 

They’re rough, the skin calloused and scarred, pale fingers just the slightest bit off in certain spots, evidence of the multitudes of times he’s broken them. His fingers are lithe, nimble, quick and dexterous, evidence of his abilities with swords and the various tools he uses for work. And so, once he turns his hands onto you, you’ll notice all these things. 

It starts small - a fleeting feeling of his fingers pressing against the small of your back, merely a ghost of a touch that leaves you wondering if you really felt anything at all. 

He’ll reach out to flick at your forehead if you do something dumb (something endearing, but dumb), glaring at you and telling you to stop it, though his fingers are tingling where they made contact with your skin. 

He’ll lightly lay his hand on your hip, or on your thigh, keeping it there for a few moments before snatching it back to his own side, his hand flexing and the muscles tightening up because god, did you like that? Did you like it when he touched you? 

He gets in his head way too much about how you react to his touch, but the truth is that Feitan is incredibly touch starved, particularly when it comes to any sort of positive or romantic touch. 

He’s a criminal and has grown up in horrible conditions, and he’s simply never cared. But now that you’re here, someone for him to live out all those cliche, stupid romantic tropes? Well, he can’t directly ask for your affection, but you’ll notice the way his hands lay on your body for just a beat too long, just enough to make you wonder whether that touch was really as innocent as he seems to think it was (it’s not, at least not as much as he wishes - every time his skin brushes yours, this spark of electricity dances up his spine, making him gulp and tense up, because while the feeling blooming in his chest is warm and good, it’s still foreign, still something he hasn’t quite gotten used to yet).

And even once he reaches the stage where he’s grown comfortable enough with the concept of being intimate with you to actually touch you, he still relies heavily on his hands. Particularly, Feitan grows an affinity for fingering you - he loves the way your cunt just seems to suck his fingers in, as if your body is begging for more and more of him, craving his touch and the pleasure only he can give you. 

He’ll experiment a lot with you at first, curling his fingers or scissoring them, dark eyes appraising your face and checking for any changes in expression that could hint at what rhythm or area you like. 

(You’ll wonder where he learned some of the motions he tries out on you - he’ll never admit to watching porn to learn some ideas, nor that he practiced them before trying them out on you, his hand sandwiched between two pillows as he diligently curled them, perfecting the ‘come hither’ motion or letting his thumb practice rubbing tight, firm circles against the cotton. No, he’d rather die than have you learn that - you can’t know how badly he wants to please you, after all.) 

He likes to watch his fingers dipping inside you, the way they emerge all wet and glistening, a ring of white sitting right above his knuckles and filling him with pride. 

(Often, he finds himself idly staring at his fingers after you’ve fallen asleep, your body sore and exhausted after the fucking he’d put you through. He’ll spread them, staring from all angles, remembering the feeling of your wet heat around them, how your walls clamped down on him, even how your lips and tongue flicked across them when he’d shoved them into your mouth earlier. He’ll bring them to his lips, idly sucking on them, trying in vain to get every last drop of you off of them, so that he can taste you for just a moment longer, just to satisfy himself for as long as he can.) 

He’s a late bloomer and it will take him a long while to reach the point of being willing to touch you sexually (though he wants to from pretty much the get-go, much to his embarrassment), but once he does, you’d better get used to the feeling of his hands against your skin - after all, he’s insistent, and you do not want to reject his touch. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll just moan and sigh and tell him it feels good, because Feitan is just so much more agreeable when he’s happy - you’ll get to come that way, too.

DRIVE:

Generally speaking, Feitan’s libido has never been especially high. Sex has never been a priority for him, and even once his days as a Troupe member begin, this doesn’t change. He doesn’t see the attraction to sleeping around, to fucking random women just for a few minutes of fleeting pleasure. 

It’s just so much work to be around others, to have to communicate and hear their complaining when he doesn’t put effort into making them feel good – it’s just not fun, not something he wants to spend his time with. And so, while Feitan is certainly no saint, he doesn’t actively seek out sexual partners. And he especially doesn’t seek out touching another person, letting himself be touched, becoming vulnerable in any possible way.

So, once you step into his life, this self-inflicted celibacy doesn’t really change all that much. Of course, the idea of touching you is significantly more attractive than it would be to touch a random stranger, but Feitan is still not especially eager to fuck you once his obsession develops. 

He’s a bit of a late bloomer, taking a while to let his emotions warm up to you. In doing so, it takes a long, long time for his sexual urges towards you to appear, because Feitan prides himself on having good self control. But once he fully gives in to the fact that he wants you, in a way that’s entirely new and scary and foreign to him, the urges begin appearing. 

The idly thoughts wondering what you’re wearing, what you’re thinking about, if you’re in the mood… He’s still not as horny as some of his fellow Troupe members, but Feitan begins regularly imagining fucking you, the thoughts seemingly popping out of nowhere and completely unannounced. 

Frankly, it’s irritating; why is he imagining you without a shirt on when Phinks is telling him about the latest job Chrollo had paired them up for? (It’s a pain in the ass to hide the slowly growing tent in his trousers from the blond - he always just seems to know, and Feitan would rather die than be subjected to the never ended teasing.) 

Why is he imagining the way your lips would feel wrapped around his cock when he’s slicing off that man’s head, the cut clean and clear yet the only thing he can think of being how your cheeks would hollow as you suck? 

It’s annoying, and although he tries to fight it at first, he eventually gives up. There’s only so much he can stop himself from imagining, and as his obsession grows deeper, the perverse fantasies he holds towards you only grow more numerous, more pronounced, more longed for. He finds himself actively wanting to be intimate with you, and while he won’t act on that desire for a very long time, it’s left to quality sit, festering and brewing inside him until one day it’s all just too much, a dam bursting that forces him to finally take that last step, to let himself rest a hand on you or brush his lips against your cheek or graze his finger along your nipple. 

He doesn’t move very fast, but Feitan’s in no rush - after all, you’re stuck with him for the rest of your life, and he’ll be the only other human you’ll ever interact with. By the time he’s ready to progress your relationship forward, you’ll likely have come around, desperate enough for human contact that you’ll want him to touch you, that you’ll want to touch him back. 

Just the thought makes him gulp and flex his fingers, excitement and anxiety settling into his stomach, his cock growing half hard even as his mind winces. 

However, because he has so many issues surrounding intimacy and vulnerability, Feitan will likely never actually force you into anything. 

Because you’re likely to come around and develop Stockholm Syndrome by the time he’s ready to touch you, you’ll be more than eager to let his hand rest on your waist, or to let him stand behind you so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, the tent in his pants more than apparent. You’ll be ready, but until he’s ready, he has to find alternatives. 

Because he’s still frequently experiencing sexual urges towards you way before he’s willing to act on them, Feitan finds himself quite sexually frustrated. He has all these dirty thoughts, all these possessive, insistent feelings urging him to just take you, to stake his claim on you by stuffing you full of his cock and cum, and he has to release them somehow. 

And so, he falls back on a method that he isn’t necessarily proud of, but does find some sick, twisted sense of pride and amusement from. That is, because he’s the one supplying literally everything to you once you’re trapped under his roof, it’s not so hard to tamper with some of the ingredients of your essentials. 

Your conditioner, for instance; he buys you the brand you love (something he tells you is coincidence but most certainly isn’t), and as he opens the cap and smells it one day while you’re asleep in the next room over, he can’t help but notice how creamy it is, how thick and how white it is.

It make shim gulp, and after quickly making sure to lock the bedroom door you’re trapped behind, Feitan shakily returns to the bathroom, exhaling deeply. It’s just a coincidence that the conditioner resembles something that he produces, right? 

It’s an amusing twist of fate that your favorite conditioner (with the scent he can only describe as you) looks almost exactly like his cum, right? 

Feitan thinks so, and as his mind wanders back to the little stunt you’d pulled earlier in the day, he finds himself settling onto the closed toilet lid, reaching into his pants and pulling out his cock, already drooling precum and sensitive to the touch. 

You’d been laying on your bed, blanket barely covering your body as you slept, the skimpy pajamas you’d fallen asleep in in disarray on your figure. Your shirt had bunched up, letting one pert, supple breast slip out, your nipple on display, not even the blanket managing to cover it up. 

(He’d froze when he noticed, slowly creeping closer, licking his lips and unable to stop staring.) 

And those damn sleeping shorts, always getting moved around and never quite sitting right on your hips when you wake up, were twisted a bit, the holes for your legs angled just right so that if he looked the right way, he could see the very edge of your cunt, one lip covered with pretty pubic hairs, looking soft and warm and so fuckable. 

You were asleep, and somewhere in Feitan’s mind he knows you weren’t doing it on purpose, but it’s hard not to blame you for being so indecent, for hoping to tempt Feitan into giving in. You’re such a fucking minx, all teasing and daring to show off your assets, and how was Feitan supposed to react to this? How was he not supposed to immediately grow aroused and flustered, unable to tare his gaze from your vulnerable body?  

Eventually he’d managed to, shutting the door behind him and taking a few uneven breaths, trying desperately to not replay the image of your breast over and over in his mind. It’s no use, however, and as he splashes his face with cold water in the bathroom, that’s when his eyes land on the conditioner bottle. 

His hand moves fast as he fucks his fist, hissing under his breath over and over as he steadily gets closer, driven forward by the idea of lewd it will be to have his cum in something as personal as you conditioner. 

He can’t stop thinking about how you’d have no idea, waltzing around with his cum soaked into your pretty hair, maybe even making you smell like him - He’s groaning, the thoughts pushing him closer and closer to the edge, his orgasm hurtling forward as he imagines the way you’d lather it in your hands, humming and making sure every square inch of your hair is covered in it, covered in him. 

He imagines the way you’d bring it up to your nose and deeply inhale, sighing because it’s your favorite scent, wondering why it smells a bit more musky than you remember, but not minding. Maybe you’d even like the new scent, and just the thought of that is enough to push him over the edge, a sharp growl slipping past his lips as he aims his cock right into the bottle, cum spraying all over the conditioner, the white colors matching perfectly. 

He’s breathing hard, a seemingly never ending series of spurts coming from his swollen tip, and once he thinks he’s done, he grasping his length and lightly shaking it, lodging any loose bits of cum out, coaxing them to join the pile. Once done, he’ll gulp, letting a small smirk slip onto his lips as he closes the bottle, shutting the lid tight and shake the bottle, making sure to thoroughly mix it. 

He won’t tell you about his little ‘gift’, of course not - but you’ll know something is up when he’s standing stiff as you exit the bathroom, towel wrapped around your body and wet hair having been marinating in the special mixture he made for you, and when he’s eagerly sniffing your head every chance he gets after that, you’ll have to realize something is amiss. 

When he’s asking you if your hair feels particularly soft, you’ll have to know he’s trying to get at something, some layer underneath the surface that he’s really speaking about. 

It’s enough to satisfy him for the time being, his possessiveness over you quelling ever so slightly because even though it’s not in your cunt, where it belongs, at least he’s got his cum somewhere on you - and until he’s ready to fuck you properly, that’ll have to do. It’ll become habit, and one day you may even stumble upon him midway through the process, your conditioner bottle an inch or so from his tip as he frantically tugs and pulls. 

(He’ll freeze, unable to process that he got caught, and frankly, he’ll just try to ignore that you ever saw it, not willing to broach the topic - and you won’t be either, because what the fuck?)He just really, really desires you, and Feitan is a resourceful man - so I hope you like the smell of musk and a bit of iron, because you’ll be smelling like it for weeks.

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Orgasm Control

In general, Feitan has to be in control in the bedroom. It’s not that he’s particularly onto any dominant or submissive roles between the sheets, but more because he doesn’t like the feeling of vulnerability that accompanies letting other people pleasure him. Something about being at the mercy of someone else’s touch or whims makes him nervous, an unpleasant feeling blooming in his stomach that leaves him fidgety and jumpy. 

And so, every sexual interaction with you will see him starring as the dominant role, always calling the shots, and nothing exemplifies this sentiment quite like the way he treats your orgasms. Despite not having a huge amount of sexual experience prior to his infatuation with you, he’s very obviously aware that both partners are capable of orgasming in any given sexual interaction, that it should be expected and achieved regardless of methodology. 

With other women, Feitan wouldn’t care in the least – he’s selfish by nature, and if he were to ever have sex with anyone other than you, in no way, shape or form would he pay any mind to their pleasure, only chasing after his own release. 

But with you, this sentiment is a bit different; he wants to get you off, if only because seeing the way your body responds to him, shaking and shivering and moaning and clenching, gets him harder, his breath more ragged, his palms sweatier. There’s something incredibly pleasing about seeing the way your body is sensitive to his every touch that makes him giddy, an odd mixture of power, arousal and eagerness filling him. 

He wants to make you a mess, to get you gushing and creaming and whimpering as he fingers you, as he shoves his cock inside you, even as he tongues at your clit (eating you out isn’t something that happens often, but when it does, Feitan expects you to come from it). He likes the sight of you falling apart for him, and consequently, that desperation for power and control comes hurtling back – so that he is the one in control of your orgasms. 

He wants to be the one choosing when, how, and why you’re coming, every one of your movements a result of him. 

He tends to rely heavily on edging you, enjoying the way you squirm and beg for him to keep going. He’ll have two slender, nimble fingers buried inside of you, curling and scissoring, the stretch a bit painful but in a pleasure-tinged way, making your toes curl and your bottom lip catch between your teeth. 

His thumb will rub consistent, steady circles at your clit, the little nub sore and swollen, and he’ll keep his ministrations up until you’re breathing heavier, your stomach and thighs clenching, the telltale signs that you’re nearing your high. 

(He’s very, very good at reading your body when it comes to your sexual pleasure – he’s spent so long stalking you that he’s seen you touching yourself more times than he can count, and while watching the way your cunt takes the toy is very, very difficult to tear his eyes away from, he’d made sure to study every other part of your body, too. He’s watched the way your face morphs as you get closer, your brows shooting up and your lips parting a bit, your eyes fluttering and threatening to close as the pleasurable knot in your gut grows tighter and tighter and tighter. He’s watched the way your legs shake, the muscles in your thighs visibly twitching and clenching, trying desperately to close and clench together, prompting him to imagine how they’d feel around his head, around his waist, around his cock. He’s even noticed your breathing, how you sound, the way your voice gets higher and more breathy, your moans increasing in intensity until you let out this sudden, strained gasp that gets him swallowing harshly, a thick pearl of precum dripping from his tip from the mere sound.)

He’s constantly observing you even while he's intimate with you, those dark eyes never wavering from your form, and he’ll bring you right to the edge, noticing with a tightness in his throat that your legs are starting to tremble, that your voice is climbing up, that you’re starting to get all gaspy and your abdominal muscles are clenching, and god, you’re squeezing around his fingers so damn tight – 

The confused, desperate whine you let out when he suddenly pulls his fingers out of you makes him smirk a bit, the way your watery eyes blearily blink up at him, half clouded in lust and disappointment making him reach out to pinch at your pebbled nipple. Not yet, one more time. He’ll tell you, laughing a bit as you whine and gulp, chest heaving and your fingers twitching. He’ll make you wait, maybe even reaching down and jerking himself off a bit, making a show of hissing under his breath and making sure that you can see him, hearing the wet noises as he flicks his wrist and imagines it’s your sweet little pussy wrapped around him rather than his own fingers.

He’s embarrassingly sensitive when he does this, his own touch making him buck his hips as he stares down at you, spread before him, underneath him, where you belong. He’ll make sure to give enough time that you come down from your sensitivity, before resuming his ministrations, making you gasp and bite your lip. 

He’ll keep doing this over and over and over, denying you of your orgasm some five or so times before he finally, finally decides that you’ve behaved well enough, that you deserve to feel good. (Often, what finally gets him to cave in is the fact that he too is very close, and while it’s cliché and stupid and a bit pathetic, he really likes it when you both come at the same time, your orgasms matching up so he can feel like you’re doing it together.) 

He’ll work you through it, not stopping his motions, which brings up another aspect of how Feitan likes to tease you and assert his control over you – he doesn’t like overstimulation quite as much as denial, but he’s not shy about going faster, harder, his motions seeming almost frantic as you start whining and shaking, going on about how it’s too much, Feitan it’s too much I can’t! 

He’ll just growl and shut you down, slapping (not too hard) your clit and seeing you way you jerk, telling you to shut up and take it, you’ve done it before. He likes seeing your eyes get all teary, your body spasming and shaking even harder, the overstimulation making you cry out his name with a renewed fervor. 

(He’d never admit it, but that’s one of his favorite parts – he never pegged himself to be a fan of loud moans, but there’s something about the way that you do it, when it’s his name you’re moaning, that makes him throb, his cock twitching without any stimulation. You sound so destroyed, so wrecked and utterly desperate for him that it makes his head spin, his chest filling with pride and lust and satisfaction because you do need him, and your body is just proving that.) 

He’s cruel, often pulling three or four orgasms from you every time he touches you, those dark eyes staring unblinking down at you, almost studying you as you fall apart on his cock, on his fingers, on anything he chooses. It makes him feel good to know that he’s in full control, that he can choose when you come – it shows his place above you, helping him to justify the fact that he’s pleasuring you, that he’s taking the time and effort to make you feel good when he really doesn’t need to. 

He’s just being generous – you should be grateful he even cares about your pleasure at all. 

(Say thank you to him as you orgasm and he’s gone – cum is dripping down your skin or out of your pretty hole before you can process what’s even happening, the man above you gasping and heaving, trying desperately to make sure you don’t see the slight red staining his cheeks.) 

He wants you to follow his commands, so just let him do as he pleases – you’ll come eventually, most of the time.

Bondage

Tying into his preferences for holding control in the bedroom, Feitan has a certain affinity for seeing you restrained. 

There’s something about the way your body is presented to him when you’re all tied up that gets him feeling hot, his hands twitching and yearning to reach out and touch you. He’s not picky about what he uses to bind you – the tried and true rope is never displeasing, and the variety of pretty knots and positions he can force you into this way leave him nearly drooling at all the different sexual fantasies he can carry out with you. 

He’s particularly fond of tying you up in ways that are just the slightest bit humiliating, positions that make your neck and cheeks feel hot, embarrassment eating away at you because god, everything is exposed. 

He likes when your legs are spread, a bit of rope keeping your calves firmly pressed to your thighs while your pussy is exposed to open air, the perfect amount of space between your legs for him to slip into. He likes when your breasts are free, jiggling and bouncing with every thrust, the rope digging into your sternum or ribcage as you moan and writhe. 

(He also likes when the rope crisscrosses over your chest, digging into your nipple and making you whine in pain and pleasure, and when he undoes the ropes, he loves the way your nipples are so sore and swollen, a much darker color than they normally are and practically begging to be pinched at, to be twisted and pulled on until you’re a sniffly, moaning mess.) 

He’ll often tie your wrists together behind your back, rope connecting from your waist to the back of your knees, keeping your legs bent while he forces your ass into the air, mounting you from behind and absolutely destroying you. 

Rope is his favorite, if only because there’s something so familiar, so comforting in using it – of course, he never desires to fuck any of his victims, but he knows how to manipulate the material in order to get you bent the way he wants you to be. 

And while he has no desire to do anything to you that he would to those he tortures, there’s something oddly sexy and taboo about the fact that he’s using the same kind of rope on you as he did to the man the other day. It’s dirty, sinful, if only because this is as close as he can come to mixing two of the things he loves most – you, and his job. 

You’re safe this way, not liable to be cut or maimed or anything of the sort, but you’re still utterly at his hands, vulnerable to every whim or desire he wishes to enact on you. He likes how helpless you are when you’re tied up, unable to reach out or take control of your own pleasure, entirely reliant on him to do everything for you – something as big as stretching you out on his cock, or as small as pushing away a stray piece of hair in your face as he fucks your throat. 

The power trip is insane, and while he won’t hurt you, just the knowledge that he could makes him harder than he’s ever been. He’s a fan of other alternatives to rope, too – handcuffs are fine, a bit too mainstream for him to use regularly, but in a bind it’ll do. 

(Especially if he’s grown more comfortable with you, willing to show a more vulnerable side, because handcuffs give him less control and allow you to actively participate in your pleasure, letting you grind back against him or wrap your legs around his waist or any number of other things that can signal that you want him too.) 

Silk ties are fine, and on days where he’s feeling a bit more sentimental or emotional, he’ll prefer to use these because there’s less chance of you bruising or getting any burns or rashes. (Plus, there’s something so fitting about you being shrouded in silk – you, who’s so weak and soft and dainty, matching perfectly with the fabric. It makes him snort a bit, because you always look like such an angel when you’re all tied up for him in this way – like a beautiful, naïve little angel just begging to be destroyed and tainted by his hands, a feat he’s more eager and impatient to accomplish than he’d care to admit.) 

He’s even willing to use clothing to get you restricted – maybe the shirt you’d been wearing (his shirt, one he let you borrow, the one he finds adorable on you even if he’d never tell you) will get tied around your wrists, keeping them firmly above your chest as he sinks into you and squeezes his eyes shut, biting back the moan that threatens to tumble at his lips because you’re just so damn tight. 

He’ll use your panties as a gag, though he doesn’t do this often because he really does like hearing your sounds – especially when they’re any sort of praise or his name. 

(Often, after he’s stuffed the panties you’d been wearing past your lips, he’ll steal them back afterwards, sneakily storing them somewhere for later, for late at night when he’s standing over your sleeping form and breathing shakily, staring at you and rubbing the material – wet with both your spit and your slick – all over his cock.) 

His preference is always to have you restrained in some manner, and it’ll only be once he feels as comfortable as possible with you that he won’t tie you up. To have you free means letting himself be vulnerable to your touches, and even your rejection of his touch, and just the thought is enough to get him nervous, having to wipe his slightly sweaty hands onto his jacket. 

He’s had fantasies about fucking you without any restraints separating you before, but the moment it happens, you’ll notice that he’s oddly sensitive, his breath coming out harsher and more labored at touches that would normally leave him largely unaffected. It’s just so emotional for him, so scary and frightening, and he’ll stay inside you much longer than normal after he’s come, relishing in the warmth and wetness of you while your fingers maybe brush over his shoulders, maybe even running through his hair. It’s the sort of fantasy he’ll never, ever tell you about, though – and for now, he’ll stick with tying you up so that you’re easily accessible, provoking and arousing to stare at, and in no position to argue when he manhandles you into doing exactly what he wants.

Dry humping

While he has sexual, lewd thoughts about you from pretty much the moment he truly accepts his feelings for you, Feitan takes a very long time to begin acting on those feelings. 

Even more, it takes him a long time to get comfortable enough to be naked in front of you, much less actually fuck you. And so, while this hesitancy persists, he finds himself using other routes to sate his growing desire to be intimate with you – routes that are less invasive, less opportune for embarrassing accidents (like coming too fast, or facing your rejection). 

And while it still feels awfully pathetic, Feitan finds that the simple act of grinding on you is enough to satisfy his desires, at least for the time being – there’s just something oddly enticing about it, something arousing and the pleasure just dull enough to thwart him from coming within three or four minutes of touching you. 

He doesn’t like initiating it, though, finding it a bit too pathetic, even for him, even for the way he feels for you. Instead, he holds his breath, hoping that every time you brush against him (normally by accident, your whole body freezing up the moment you realize what you’ve done) that you’ll do it again, because even just a single bit of friction between your (fully clothed) bodies is enough to get his neck feeling warm, the ghost of an erection springing to life in his pants. 

He’s just so, so touch starved, and so as time goes on, he’ll start subtly trying to get into positions where you might accidentally grind on him, sometimes without you even realizing. He’ll make you pick something up off the ground, then choose the exact moment that you’re bent over and your ass is in the air to walk behind you, letting his hips just barely graze against you.

He’ll manage to hold back the little strained noise he makes, but at some point you’ll notice that it’s happening much too often to be a coincidence, and you’ll eventually realize that the strange hardness you feel when he does this is actually him. 

He won’t ever just grab you and rut into you, but god does he want to, especially when he sees your hips swaying, or when you’re sitting down, the fat of your thighs splayed out and your hips looking wide and full and perfect to grab onto. 

He’s embarrassed by his own thoughts, but eventually you’ll probably realize what it is that he wants – you’ve felt the way he tries to subtly make it happen, and while you were at first confused and shocked (you’d had no idea Feitan wanted anything sexual with you, as he’d never made a mention of it or acted in a way that would suggest it), you eventually start getting a bit brave, too. 

You don’t love Feitan, far from it, but you’ve been trapped with him for enough months to start craving any form of human contact, and so you’ll pounce – Feitan can’t help but sharply inhale when you grind back against him one day while you’re bent over, the feeling of your ass moving against his cock making him struggle to breath. 

He’s not sure what you’re trying to do, too pessimistic to let himself believe that you’re the one grinding on him, but one day you’ll find yourself sitting next to him on the raggedy old couch, the TV playing some mindless horror movie that Feitan had thrown on, and your hand will just sort of move on its own, slowly, carefully placing itself very lightly over his thigh. He’ll tense up at the sensation, dark eyes flicking between your hand and your face, your own gaze nervously set on the TV in front of you. 

It’s silent for a moment, but when he doesn’t move your hand, you’ll get braver, turning to look at him and asking in a soft, unsure voice if you can sit in his lap. Feitan doesn’t know how to respond, simply staring at you with narrowed eyes, wondering if this is some sort of trick – but eventually he’ll nod, telling you to be careful, don’t try anything. 

You’ll position yourself so that your ass is pressed against his crotch, his thighs on either side of your hips, but you don’t lean back, even when you hear Feitan inhale slightly, having leaned forward to smell your hair. It’s a good twenty or so minutes later when you begin moving your hips slowly, nervously, listening to hear for any displeased noises or harsh commands for you to stop your movements. 

Feitan is frozen behind you, staring at your hips and trying to understand what you’re doing – he likes it, but he doesn’t like the way his body is reacting, blood slowly starting to head south at the slight friction, at the way you’re so damn close to him, at the way he can smell you and can feel the heat radiating off your body. 

It’s all too much, and suddenly he’s telling you to get off me, before quickly storming out of the room and locking himself in his bedroom. 

His cock is in his hand within minutes, memories of how you’d felt against him, even with layers of clothes separating you still fresh in his mind. You’ll be left to believe he didn’t like it, that you’d totally misinterpreted his actions, ashamed and a bit afraid for how he’d respond moving forward. 

Except, there’s no grand punishment, no mocking you for your actions – instead, the next night he turns on a new movie (still horror, gory and full of screaming and killing) and looks over at you expectantly. 

His legs are spread this time, leaving a space between them, and for a moment you’re confused, unsure of what he wants. He just raises a brow at you, unwilling to articulate what he’s wanting, hoping you’ll understand it without him needing to say it. 

You’ll shuffle closer, still staring at him, but soon he’ll just grumble, a hand reaching out and pulling you down to sit between his legs before you can even realize what’s happening. You’re stiff and unsure, unwilling to relax, and Feitan doesn’t like this. He wants you to move like you did last night, and after a few minutes of you sitting stone still, he’ll hiss into your ear do it again. 

You’ll start slow, testing the waters, and you nearly jump when you feel Feitan’s hand ghost over your waist, setting his fingers against your shirt as if wanting to fully touch you, but not quite letting himself. He’ll occasionally tell you to go faster, the movie still playing in the background, the feeling of his cock digging into your tailbone making you a confusing mix of scared and aroused. 

Eventually, he’ll let out this strange, unusual little sound, something like a grunt but much higher and strained, and you’ll feel something warm and wet pressing against you. Don’t mention anything, because Feitan doesn’t want you to say a damn word, not wanting to admit that the feeling of you grinding on him for roughly seven minutes has him coming in his pants, cum covering his cock and getting him all sticky. 

He’s embarrassed, but it will become something of a ritual between the two of you – every time he turns on a movie, it’s your place to sit in his lap (eventually you actually will sit in his lap, fully on his lap, not just pressed against him, though this takes some time) and to gyrate your hips at that certain rhythm he likes, all up until you feel him tense up beneath you, seeing his fingers clutching at the couch cushions at your sides. 

It’s a slow buildup into any sort of sexual activity between the two of you, but Feitan likes this, something about the intimacy making him extra sensitive, the feeling of you actually touching him (even peripherally, with clothes separating the two of you) making him feel lightheaded and airy. He likes it, and this will be the jumping off point for him to begin getting bolder, to begin letting himself actually fuck you, to finally do what he’s been craving for months. 

And once you become aware that he likes it, please start imitating it – give him look and ask if you can um, sit in your lap? 

He’ll almost always say yes, even if he’s in the middle of doing something, even if there’s not even a chair or couch nearby – he'll rush (not running, but very, very nearly) to the nearest surface, swallowing hard and staring at you, growing impatient when you don’t move fast enough for him. 

Often, he’ll already be half hard, and while he prefers when your back is facing him, if you were to climb into his lap so that you were straddling him? Well, Feitan finds it much harder to look you in the eye, because now it’s your cunt grinding down on him rather than just your ass, and that’s much different, isn’t it? 

Even once he’s progressed to stage of actually being willing to touch you, of being willing to let you touch him, Feitan still enjoys when you hump at him. And he particularly enjoys humping you, though he’s only willing to do this in the dead of night, when you’re fast asleep, your body ripe and vulnerable for him to touch, to explore, to use. 

He doesn’t want you to be awake and see the way he crumbles when he drags his cock along the curve of your ass, if only because he doesn’t want you to see how pink his cheeks get, how he starts mumbling under his breath, how his every muscle is flexing and straining because he wants to go faster, needs to go faster, but he can’t risk waking you up. 

It’s his dirty little secret, so you’d better start working on your stamina for grinding onto him – sure, he doesn’t last long, but he expects it often, and you can’t exactly refuse him. 

Or else.

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Begging

Feitan likes knowing that you want him. He feels so inferior and weak for having developed such strong, scarily dependent feelings for you, and it makes him feel good, satisfied, justified when you beg for him, all whiny and desperate for his touch, for his body, for his cock. 

While he’s not particularly vocal between the sheets, he likes when you are - your voice is sultry when it gets all airy and gaspy, your little praises and pleas for him to go faster or please don’t stop making him double down and go harder, his desperation to please you driving him forward. 

He won’t ever explicitly ask you to beg for anything, but you’ll be able to tell that he likes it. 

You’ll see the way his eyes widen just a hair, the way his dark bangs settle over his forehead as he dips his head down, the exertion of moving his hips or wrist faster making him squeeze his eyes shut. 

You’ll feel the way his thrusts get more insistent, hips slapping against yours while his balls clap against your ass, the sound lewd and only getting faster the more you beg. 

You’ll be able to hear it in the way his breathing starts getting ragged, no amount of stamina adequate for hearing you beg for him, for him to touch you and pleasure you. 

He wants to feel needed in the context of your sexual pleasure, as if you can’t get off without his help, as if you’re incapable of bringing yourself to orgasm when he so easily manages it. It’s unrealistic and he knows it, but he’s able to immerse himself in the fantasy of you wanting him when you’re begging him, able to delude himself into believing, if only for a bit, that you’re just as frantic for his love and affection as he is yours. 

If you really want to get him going, a surefire way to have his cock springing to life and his heart lurching into his throat is to praise him a bit, then following it up with a plea for him to keep going. Tell him that it’s s’good, you feel so good Feitan, please don’t stop, just like that, fuck! 

Tell him that you belong to him, that you’re his, that your cunt is his cunt, that you want him to come inside, that you need more more more. He might tell you that you’re greedy, grunting out something about you being a greedy slut, but the twitching of his cock inside you and the way his fingers tighten their hold on you will show you that he isn’t as unaffected by your words as he’d like to pretend. 

He really just likes knowing that sex affects you just as much as it affects him, so please, please beg him - he’ll almost always do exactly what you want, almost like it’s a reward.

(After all, just getting to touch you is reward enough for him.)

Sensory deprivation

Because it takes Feitan so long to grow comfortable with letting himself be truly vulnerable with you (especially in the context of sex), he finds ways to get around this mental roadblock, so that he can experience everything he wants to without giving up any of his control. 

And one of his favorite ways to do that is to limit your senses - specifically, Feitan loves to blindfold you. He doesn’t really want you to be looking at him during sex, too nervous and awkward and embarrassed, because once he gets inside you, his control over his facial expressions, his bodily responses, his everything is severely limited. 

It takes all his will power to stop himself from coming prematurely, especially towards the beginning of his sexual relationship with you, and he’ll be damned if he lets you see the way his face crumples when he slips inside your wet heat, his dark brows drawing together and lips parting, eyes squeezing shut while he wills himself to calm down, to take deep breaths and not let himself get carried away. 

He doesn’t want you to be able to look at him, but he wants to be able to see you - he wants full viewing pleasure of your body, and while this method does block seeing your eyes get all glassy and pleasured, it’s better this way. 

This way, he gets to stare at the way your tits bounce as he fucks you, the soft fat jiggling and practically begging to be groped and squeezed at. 

This way, he can stare at your ass he pounds into it, grabbing a handful of cheek in each hand and kneading the fat, spreading them apart and taking a peek at your pert, cute little asshole, seeing the curve and arch of your back. 

He can let himself relax more this way, allowing his face to present every emotions and sensation he’s feeling, and he can let himself indulge in some of his more embarrassing urges - like reaching out to cup your hips when your bodies are facing each other, his fingers never quite brushing your skin but awfully close. 

He’ll lean in close as if to kiss you, letting his breath fan over your lips but never actually closing the distance, just indulging in the smell of you and the idea of kissing you. He’s still very reserved, but this way he can do all the things he fantasizes about when he’s alone at night, his mind wandering to you and his body growing cold and lonely. 

Plus, Feitan gains a certain amount of control this way - he gets to choose what happens to you, and because you can’t see anything, you’ll have no idea what’s coming next. 

Will it be his hands, a vibrator, his cock? 

You won’t know, and Feitan likes it that way - he wants to keep you guessing, to leave you unsure and awaiting his next move with baited breath. 

He just likes how dependent you are when he’s got the black blindfold tied around your eyes, so you’d better get used to it - he’s not good at compromising, after all. 

BIGGEST FANTASY:

While Feitan doesn’t harbor any desire to hurt you, there’s a certain allure that blood holds for him. 

Of course, he doesn’t want to actually draw blood from you (the thought of you being in pain because of him makes any boner of his die immediately), but he discovers - by accident - that there’s a solution to mixing the two. 

There’s a way to combine the two things that turn him on most - you, of course, and the slightest bit of blood - in a way that is safe for you yet still arousing, still enough to get him panting and his trousers feeling uncomfortably tight. 

That is, Feitan discovers that he absolutely loves getting intimate with you while you’re on your period. It doesn’t matter if you get horrible cramps, mood swings, or are even totally unaffected - you’re sensitive, body needy and practically begging to be mounted and fucked, and who is Feitan to deny you?

Once he grows comfortable with intimacy, you’ll never be able to pull him away from you once the blood shows up in your panties. He’s obsessive, tracking your period for you, making sure that he knows the exact days that you’ll be starting and stopping. 

He likes the way you respond to his touch so easily, your pretty pussy all messy and red and puffy, even the slightest touch making you buck your hips and gasp his name. 

It’s euphoric, and when he slips inside you it becomes incredibly difficult to not immediately orgasm - you’re just so wet, so warm and wonderfully lubricated, and the sight of blood staining his cock when he pulls back to thrust back in makes his head spin. 

You’re perfect when you’re menstruating, and you’ll notice he’ll be in a much better mood once you shyly report that it started, could you pick up some more pads for me? (He toys with the idea of actually collecting your blood, investing in one of those menstrual cups that you can remove once it’s full, just because the concept of drinking it is enough to make him fidget, the thought taboo and dirty and so very enticing.) 

You can’t really say no to him normally, but you especially can’t deny him when it’s your time of the month - you will be getting fingered, fucked, even facefucked, if only because Feitan needs you, your pretty blood and pretty body making him go crazy in a way he didn’t think possible. 

You make him go crazy in ways he didn’t think possible.

“Feitan, I - we can’t, not tonight.” You tell him, averting your gaze away from his as his hands grab at the old t-shirt and short you’re wearing. Unconsciously, your hand travels to your stomach, laying idly and making Feitan’s eyes narrow. 

“Why not?” He asks, his voice clipped and suspicious. You didn’t often tell him no, and although there’s a bit of doubt swimming in his chest, he wants to know why you’re suddenly not welcoming his touch. You’ve reached the point of leaning into his cold, harsh hands, so why’re you suddenly being so standoffish? He doesn’t like it, and his hands stay idly resting on your shirt hem. 

You’re embarrassed, he can tell, but he doesn’t drop the issue. Instead, he lets the silence sit heavily over the two of you, waiting for you to fill in the space. 

“Well, um, you see…” You start, before squeezing your eyes shut and squeaking out, “My period started yesterday and it’s too messy.”

Feitan blinks at you, unsure what to say. Your period? You were bleeding?

“Okay, and?” 

Your eyes peel open, daring to sneak a glance at your captor, who only stares at you, unimpressed. “Well, I mean, it’s going to be messy and gross and it probably smells bad and -”

“Shut up, we’re doing it.” He cuts you off, hand yanking at your shirt to bring it over your head. You grimace, already nervous for him to take off your shorts, because although you’re sure he knows what a period is, you’re sure he’s never actually been around a woman menstruating. Or at least, not sexually. 

Actually, you’re pretty sure he’s never been with a woman sexually in any capacity. 

He’s yanking at your shorts next, pulling down the material even as you voice your protests, but one scowl from him has you shutting up, embarrassment pricking up your spine as he grabs your thighs and manually spreads them, the scratchy blanket covering the bed biting into your ass. 

He’s staring, dark eyes a bit wider than normal, and you feel yourself shrinking in on yourself, the embarrassment eating you alive. Why was he staring? Why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he saying anything?

“Feitan..?” You mumble, biting your lip and letting your arms cover your bloated stomach. He doesn’t respond, but you feel his grip on your thighs tighten, to the point where you think you might see bruises tomorrow. 

His eyes slowly, painstakingly, drag up from your exposed cunt to meet your face, and to your surprise you see the slightest dusting of a blush on his cheeks, as if he too was embarrassed. But before you can say anything, he’s rushing forward, lips pressing against yours in a messy, clumsy kiss, full of teeth knocking against teeth and too much spit. You’re not sure what’s gotten into him, but just as soon as he rushed in he’s pulling back, instead moving to bring his face level with your leaking hole. 

Feitan can’t stop staring - there’s blood everywhere, and while he’d normally be thrown into a state of panic at seeing so much of your own blood staining your skin, somehow this is different. Somehow the sight of it staining your pussy, the red color all along your inner thighs and part of your asscheek making his mouth water, his cock already painfully hard. It’s so pretty - red against your skin, your lips visibly swollen, your little clit engorged and peaking out. You look good, like something he wants to taste, and before he knows what’s happening he’s diving forward, tongue licking a long stripe up your slit. 

You taste like iron and musk and something oddly sweet, and immediately he’s diving in to taste more, tongue lapping at you like some dog in heat as he keeps his fingers firmly digging into your thighs. He can barely hear your sound of shock at his actions, too overwhelmed by your taste and your scent. 

“F-feitan, stop!” You manage to force out, eyes squeezed shut as your hips shake and stutter. “It’s too much, I’m too sensitive, I can’t!”

Feitan stops at that, pulling away from your body with blood smeared all over his lips, chin and nose, staring at you with a look in those wide, dark eyes that makes you shiver. He looks like an animal like this, something primal and carnal - and when your eyes peek down to see his cock - throbbing, bright red and stiff against his stomach - you can’t help but feel as if you’re some sort of prey caught in his jaws. 

“Not too much, you will survive.” Is all he says, before he’s resuming his actions, bringing a finger up to prod inside your walls while his tongue gets to work on your clit. His fingers curl and rub, but you’re so damn tight, your walls impossibly clenched, and it makes Feitan grunt against you. You’re even wetter inside than normal, the blood practically running down his hands in copious amounts, making it remarkably easy to slide his fingers in and out. Almost too easy, it would seem. 

You’re blabbering his name, the stimulation hurtling you towards your orgasm much quicker than normal, your heightened sensitivity and emotions turning you into a moaning, whimpering mess. And Feitan loves it - those dark eyes are peering up at you from over the crest of your pelvic bone, blood tinging his cheeks and visible to you. 

When he angles his fingers to press against the spongey, sensitive spot he knows you love, you suddenly gasp, a hand flying to tangle into his hair, the other gently pinching and rolling at your nipple. 

“Feitan, oh fuck Feitan ‘m gonna, I’m gonna come-!” You’re squealing, something that makes Feitan cock a brow, the pure desperation in your body as you squirm under his touch making him feral, his hips beginning to rut against the bed before he can even think about it. You just look so sexy like this, with your nipples swollen and sensitive, your cunt all warm and wet and sweet, and he’ll watch with wide eyes as you orgasm around him, your walls clenching down so hard that they force his fingers out, his tongue and the circles he’s drawing on your clit the only thing grounding you. Your back arches fully up off the bed, tits thrust out into the air, and Feitan bites back a groan as his own pleasure hits a peak, the blanket ruined as cum oozes from his tip and seeps into the fabric. 

You’re shaking, literally fucking shaking, and Feitan finds himself trembling too, his hands not as steady against your skin. If he’d known you would taste like this, how sensitive you’d be, how easy it is to get you orgasming while on your period, he would’ve done this long ago. 

You’re out of it, blinking up at the ceiling and heaving uneven breaths, but even as sensitive as he is from his last orgasm, Feitan is quickly shuffling to his knees, grabbing the base of his cock and sinking into you, face contorting into something between a grimace and a gasp. You’re so damn warm, and he groans lowly as he sees the way his cock has pink slick all over it when he pulls back, a mix of your blood, your slick and his cum decorating his length. 

Fucking you is heaven, the way you clutch at him and writhe, nearly screaming his name as you come on his cock, and Feitan can only grit his teeth and go harder, spurred on by the way your walls are caressing his length, massaging and gripping like a fucking vice. 

It feels good, and by the time he’s emptied himself inside you, he’s already made a mental note to mark down when your next period will be - just so he can get ready, so that he can get prepared. So that he can prepare you, too, because you won’t simply be allowed rest after the first night. 

God no, not if you’re like this the whole time.

#yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere feitan #yandere feitan portor #hxh smut #_lee's profiles #_hxh #_feitan portor