#also the feather pants bcs again i wanted to make it more clear that he lacks more feathers than most basilisks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eustasskidagenda · 7 months

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anon asked: Hi! I just read your Kid, Zoro, Law & Sanji hc with a s/o afraid of having sex and I just loved it! Your writing is amazing and I really enjoyed it. I struggle with vaginismus so I pretty much know how stressful this situation could be. But I’m actually curious to request you the same hc but with much BIGGER boys, especially Doflamingo, Crocodile and Katakuri. Please feel free to add other big men bc I honestly can’t get enough of them.😭😭😭

Hi hi! So I feel really dumb because I accidentally deleted the request, but luckily, I had copied/pasted the text of my doc before. But sorry, anon D: Anyway, thank you so much for liking my work and for requesting! That was pretty fun to write. I decided to add King and the sweet Corazon. And before starting, please have a look at this, lol. Those guys are so BIG, help.

☆Doflamingo, Crocodile, Katakuri, King & Corazon with a s/o afraid of having sex

CW (generals) : smut, MDNI, v!sex, f!reader, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), size kink

WC : Oh my God, I got carried away... 4,3k. Enjoy. :D

⇢ You can read the part one here & the part three here

Doflamingo

CW : a lot of teasing, creative use of devil fruit, slight praise, slight dirty talk, unprotected sex, pet name

Doflamingo is, let's say, complicated. Of course, he considers you as a part of the Donquixote family, and he cares deeply about his close ones. But, on the flip side, he can't help but love when people are stressed or afraid because of him. It plays with his constant need for dominance. So first, he would grin, almost laugh, and be extremely pleased with himself. "My poor little bird is afraid… because of my size?" While running his fingers along the length of his cock through his pants. "I'll make it good for you, don't worry, just leave it to me."

Doflamingo craves dominance, so he would be more than satisfied with this situation, his eyes roaming over your body with eagerness. He's a really patient man and also loves to play and tease you all the time. "Lay down comfortably on the bed." He would say, placing his heavy, large hands on either side of your hips, slowly pushing you down on the mattress, his eyes shining with nothing but pure desire.

He loves how tiny your body looks when he's towering over you. It makes you look so vulnerable. Oh, sure, he loves when his s/o is smaller than him. Again, it plays with his constant need of domination. He finds it fascinating that he could destroy you with one hand. Luckily, you're his precious bird, so he would probably play with you and inflict some pain on you, but only what you're able and willing to take.

His hands would be surprisingly feather-light while running all over your body, tracing all of your curves, and fondling your breasts. Then, pinching your nipples, rolling them between his thumb and index, delighted by all of your shivering and sighs.

"Mh, you're so needy, y/n" with a low, teasing laugh as he slowly runs his fingers down your trembling thighs, tracing along the sensitive skin before slowly, really slowly reaching for your wet folds. He would smile, his eyes fixed on your pussy, fascinated by how needy you are already for him. But that's not enough. He is eager for more. "So pretty"

He would begin to tease you mercilessly, tracing soft patterns on your inner thighs and lower-belly. He likes to play with anticipation. He's not the kind of man who just roughly and mechanically slides his fingers inside you. Without teasing, there's no fun.

The more you squirm and moan, the more he's pleased, watching your pussy becoming more and more wet.

"So eager already." Purring close to your ears, making you shiver even more, leaving a trail of goosebumps along your spine. "What should I do now? What do you want y/n, my tongue or my fingers?"

You'll have both in the end, so don't worry.

It's clear that Doflamingo has mastered using his long tongue. And the same applies to his fingers always fidgeting when he uses his devil fruit. He's probably a master when it comes to fingering and oral sex. So he would slowly sink between your thighs, licking your soft skin before finally allowing you to feel his tongue against your sensitive folds, keeping your thighs open enough for him with his heavy hands.

You just can't help but arch your back as he eats you out, turning you into a whining and moaning mess. He would drink your juice as if it was a precious wine. "That's it", humming against your slit, licking your clit. Slowly, he would slide a thick finger inside of you. His mind would probably be a bit dizzy, thinking about how good he would feel with his cock inside of your tightness.

"You're so responsive, little bird," before adding another finger and hitting that sweet spot, still licking your clit.

And he won't stop until you cum all over his tongue and fingers. "Good girl"

With eyes darkened with desire, he would finally removing his pants, his heavy and extremely long cock springing free, leaking in pre-cum and twitching in anticipation. You can't help but look at his length, stressed. "Do you like looking at my big cock, little bird? Does it turn you on to know that I'm going to fuck you senseless?" So sure, he would grin again before lying on his back and letting you ride him.

He perfectly knows how to control himself so he won't just push roughly while you line your pussy with his cockhead, trying to brace yourself-up. You definitely want to do it, but you feel nervous. "Need some help, little bird?"

As you nod, he would use his devil fruit to guide you. With one broad hand wrapping around your waist and the other guiding the strings, he would slowly force your hips to move down, impaling you on his breathtaking thickness, his eyes sparkled with mischief. That's the moment you would see him lose his grin as he can't handle how tight and wet you feel all around him. "So tight…"

"You can take more?" As long as you tell him to keep going, he would continue to guide your hips down his length, groaning softly, with his hand fondling the flesh of your waist. "That's it, take it, take it all."

As you start to moan, he would say "What's up little bird, you love how well I am stretching you?"

And as you slowly get used to his cock stretching your walls, his cock throbbing inside you, Doflamingo would nicely use his strings to guide you moving up and down, delighted by the sloshing noises. The way your core swallows his length would be mind-blowing for him. The sight of your wetness covering his cock every time you move up and down is something he would love to see more often. Be prepared to entertain your king again.

Crocodile

CW : slight domination kink, praises, he's smoking because well it's Crocodile, oral sex (Crocodile receiving), slight hair pulling, using of his hook in a slight creative way but nothing extreme, belly bulge, unprotected sex

Another DILF and dominant man.

Crocodile is a silent man. So the second you tell him you're nervous because it's been a while since the last time you had sex and that you're also nervous because he's both long and thick, he would just raise an eyebrow. Just like Doflamingo, he would love the feeling of you being intimidated, because Crocodile definitely has a thing (and a kink) for dominance. He likes when you acknowledge his rank and qualities.

"You're afraid because of my size?"

He would lead your hand until you reached his cock. "If you're nervous, then you have to become familiar with it." So he would feel the girth and the veins, breathing deeply, delighted by the sight of your small hands trying to correctly wrap his thickness. "That's it, y/n. Touch it and get used to it. Soon, it will be all within you."

He would talk with his usual deep, raspy, and calm voice, the one that always sends shivers down your spine. And sure, he would act all dominant, smoking his cigar while you try so hard to satisfy him. Of course, he would look down at you. You are in his hands. So let go of all your intrusive thoughts and just focus on him. Only him.

"Suck it."

He would watch closely as you try to wrap your tongue around his cock, tracing all the veins, and licking hungrily all the pre-cum leaking from his cockhead. He would grab a hand from your hair with his heavy and broad hand, leading your head back and forth, while watching you drool and struggle to breathe all over his cock. He would slowly lose his composure, sighing huskily, unable to handle how cute you look with your mouth full of his cock, trying to figure out how to take more of his length. He would find the sight of his member glistening with your saliva to be quite entertaining.

"That's a good girl. Come get your rewards."

The moment he blows out his cigar and removes his rings, you know the real deal is about to start.

He would likely use his large hook, carefully running the sharpened tip along the soft skin of your stomach. Before slowly leaving a trail of kisses along your neck. Avoid running your hands through his hair and stay still like the good girl you are. Otherwise, he might punish you with a hard pinch on your nipple and a rough slap on your ass cheeks.

Slowly but surely, then, he would reach your inner thighs and then your pussy. He would eat you out with his hand holding your thighs apart. He would you lick your pussy in a classy way, not like a vulgar starving. He would be fond of all your moaning and incoherent mumbling as you can't handle how good it feels. "You won't cum until I say so." While circling your clit with his thumb, teasing you, drinking your juice. Your shivering and tremblings are both entertaining and satisfying. Crocodile rarely goes down on someone, but when he does… oh, it's quite mesmerizing.

"Stay still" if you start to squirm because of how good it feels.

And, once you're finally reduced to a whining mess, he would use his hook to grab one of your thighs, pushing them apart, spreading your legs wide enough to fit in between. "Spread your legs for me." He would put a pillow under your back while manhandling you. And then, again, he would use his hook to slightly raise your upper body, until your pussy is lined with his cock.

"Can you take it?"

He would enter you in one go as soon as you nodded. Not in a forceful way, but he doesn't see the point of taking a lot of breaks. Once his cock is buried deep inside you, he will soothe your trembling thighs by running his hand along your lower-stomach, feeling the bulge created by his cock. "Good girl. You're taking me so well." He would likely hold your legs tightly, trying to fight his own desire to fuck you roughly.

He's a patient man, so he'll wait until you're ready for him to start thrusting.

So deep and slow at the same time while he stretches you further, his cock throbbing and twitching. Not a grunter, but a pretty deep breath as you tighten around him. For this occasion, he will spare you from his usual roughness. But next time… you better be ready.

Katakuri

CW : The reader is smaller than him, but there's not a BIG size difference, food play, unprotected sex

"I know, love." Yes, he would speak before you even have time to express your fears. Blame it on his haki. Katakuri has a lot of sisters, so he would be well-aware of those kinds of thoughts. If you're nervous, he would take some time to ask why, making sure to fully understand the situation.

"I'll take care of you, everything will be alright." Despite his lack of words, you have faith in him. He's aware of the future, so if he says it's going to be fine, you can trust him and it's already really soothing.

The Sweet Commander is a gentleman and he's aware of size. He would never just slam into you, especially not if you're already afraid. Before even thinking of reaching for your pussy, he would start with a lot of soft kisses all along your neck, and then on your breasts, sucking on your nipples, pinching them nicely. He just loves your breasts. They feel soft under his palms. He could spend hours worshipping your chest. As you slowly arch your back, moaning softly, and relaxing under his touch, he would continue to kiss your stomach, honoring every inch of your body.

You're so beautiful. Despite his quietness, his eyes would be brimming with pride. Being intimate with such a beautiful woman like you fills him with pride. "You're doing great."

His voice would always be calm and deep, as usual. The control he has over himself is quite mesmerizing.

And well, Katakuri probably has a food play kink, so he would love to devour your body covered in cream. So intoxicating. Your body tastes amazing. The taste of sugar is also amazing. Both? Total heaven.

He would then sink his head between your thighs, eating you out like your pussy was one of his dearest donuts. He'd like nothing more than to please you, so feel free to guide him. Katakuri being both smart and observant, he would quickly learn all of your sweet spots, turning you into a whiny moan, begging for more.

If you don't tell him to stop, he could eat you out for hours. He can't help it; it feels so good and you taste so good. He would drink your juice, circling your clit with his thumb and wouldn't stop until you cum against his lips.

"So good."

He would take advantage of your wetness and dizzy mind from your orgasm to slowly push one thick and long finger inside you. It's so tight and warm that he would struggle to keep his calm composure. Especially because his haki showed him some really nice pictures of what's going to happen.

As long as you need him to continue, Katakuri would honestly just pamper you with kisses and caresses. He knows how big he's, so you have to tell him when you're ready to take him.

Katakuri would keep your thighs apart with an impatient hand, exposing your wet folds to his eyes. He would look hungrily. His cock twitching crazily in impatience, leaking in anticipation. "You're ready?"

He already knows the answer, but Katakuri is a gentleman and cares a lot about consent. It doesn't matter if his observation haki shows him everything in advance.

Katakuri would intertwine his fingers with yours before slowly easing his cock into you in one go. A slow, but steady one. And as he fills you up to the brim, he would lose his composure and sigh in relief. Your pussy feels like heaven around his cock. It's a perfect blend of tightness, warmth, heat, and wetness. "Y/N, you feel amazing."

He would adjust his pace to what you're capable of. If you need him to slow down, he will. And he would be more than happy to comply if you asked him to be rougher. He is here to satisfy you. And you will be satisfied. Reduced to a shivering, moaning mess. The way his fat cock slowly slides in and out and hits all your sweet spots is just too good. It's such a delight to see the big, stoic Katakuri looking his composure because of your body…

King

CW : The reader is smaller than him, but there's not a BIG size difference, kind of blindfold kink I guess (?), slight spanking, unprotected sex

Even with you, King doesn't like to show his face. He struggles with intimacy. Your confession would make him feel embarrassed. What is he supposed to do? He was about to fuck you without any further thought, but now he needs to take more consideration.

He would slap your thigh with a sigh. "Turn around."

While slowly lying on your stomach and complying, he would slowly remove his heavy mask, running a hand through his beautiful white hair. But you don't have the right to watch. The only thing you're allowed to do is imagine. You've already seen his face. So you close your eyes and imagine his beautiful, almost mesmerizing beauty in your mind: brown skin, white hair, and an expression that is both cold and determined.

He would make you feel. Feel his mouth licking and kissing your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps. Wet kisses. His hair would softly caress your skin as he devoured the back of your neck, his big hands roaming along your waist to keep you steady. "Stay still" he would always speak with his lips near your ear, enjoying all of your shivering.

And suddenly, he would yank your panties or just push them asides, eating you out from behind, spreading your thighs. "Get on your all fours," he would command, just to have a better view of your glistening folds, before sinking back between your legs. He would keep your cheeks spread and lap at your pussy, intoxicated by your moans, your taste, smell, and how you feel against his lips. You're arched for him, exposed, so beautiful.

Even if he eats you out, he would love to spank your ass every time you squirm, forcing you to stay still. "Don't move and let me eat you out." He can sense that you're tense. And he doesn't understand why because usually, he can slide into you with ease. But he would take his time, fingering you, rubbing your clit, turning you into an almost crying, whimpering mess.

He would obligingly ignore his cock, twitching and throbbing in anticipation, taking his time to work on your tightness, stroking your back. "Shh, it's alright, we'll take our time."

He would love to watch how beautiful you are, with your ass up and chest against the mattress, and your head buried in a pillow. What a stunning sight. The way your pussy is messing up on the bedsheets is quite stunning.

He would use the fact you're unable to see him to his advantage, teasing you, running his fingers along your slit, then rubbing his cockhead, mixing his pre-cum with your wetness. "Please…"

Please keep begging, it's a lullaby to his ears.

And finally, he would grab your hips firmly, filling you up to the hilt in one go, hitting your cervix. He would fight against his own desire to destroy you by digging into your soft flesh with his fingers. His strong grip would leave bruises on your skin tomorrow.

With his huge cock nestled deep inside you, almost splitting you in half, he would let out a shaky breath. So good. So intoxicating. As you lie down, at his mercy, the sight of his cock slowly thrusting in and out of your tight hole, all stretched out around his thickness... it's too much to handle. As he plows into you from behind, he would moan. His member, all glistening and shining, covered in your wetness, the way your ass is swallowing him...

He just can't.

His hands would be glued to your ass cheeks all the time. "You keep sucking me in, it won't let me go."

He would try his best to stay nice. Stretching you out slowly. Even with slow strokes, his size is so overwhelming that it drives you crazy. Holding onto the bedsheets, closing your eyes, all you're allowed to do is imagine his jaw tightly clenched and his muscular body looming over you.

"Does it feel good, Y/N?"

The instant you say yes and he feels you loose around his thickness, he will smash into you roughly, grunting loudly, slapping your ass, intoxicated by your you. And you alone.

Corazon

CW : Body worship, praises, face sitting, protected sex, wholesome, soft sex

To end on a sweet note, the lovely Rosinante.

Let's assume it's your first time ending up in the same bed. Rosinante is always kind to you, and you know he won't do anything to hurt you. But still, if you explain to him you're nervous because he's big and also because you're always a bit stressed when it comes to sex… then, Rosinante would just be even more sweet.

"Sweetie, we'll take it slow. You trust me?"

He would be both careful and nervous due to his goofiness. What if he just falls on you? What if he crushes you with his weight? What if... oh, no, he's thinking too much again, his hands twitching on your body.

"It's okay Rosi, I trust you."

As you ease him down, he would kiss every nook and cranny of your body: neck, collarbone, breasts, stomach, belly button,... leaving red lipstick streaks all over.

His large, heavy, and yet kind hands would hungrily roam your figure, your shoulders, learning each of your curves, scars, and every single part that makes you, you. He would make you love everything you hate about yourself, making you feel safe and loved.

His hands would be soft and heavenly as he fondled your breasts, mesmerized by how warm and soft they felt against his big palms. Well, he's still goofy, so he might accidentally pinch you or scratch your nipple, apologizing again and again with wet puppy eyes.

And slowly, his hands and mouth would continue to explore your skin, kissing your lower stomach, and slowly reaching for your damping wet panties. "So wet for me."

He's genuinely amazed. Rosinante would be in awe: does he attract you so much? He just wants to smile warmly at you.

He would accidentally rip your panties apart, and then apologizes again. Please, just laugh or reassure him. After all, his goofiness is adorable.

He would be incredibly sweet if you're a bit nervous about exposing yourself fully to him. "Sweetie, I swear you're mesmerizing. So perfect and beautiful, I want to love every inch of your skin". While slowly running his hands along your inner thighs. "It's alright, sweetie. Just open your legs for me. Can you do this for me?"

If you're still nervous, then Rosinante would lie down and allow you to sit on his face with your wet pussy pressed against his lips. Rosinante would love to eat you out while rubbing his hands along your back, ass, and thighs. Soft kisses on your clit, hungry tongue drinking your juice while it flows down on his chin.

He would gently massage your bottom while slowly sucking on your clit and swirling his tongue. Rosinante would just love to have your thighs squeezing his cheeks. Move, all you want against his tongue, all he wants is to satisfy you and soothe all of your worries. His focus will only be on you, regardless of how hard his cock is.

He would slowly slide a thick finger inside you, curling it nicely to hit that sweet spot, making sure you're ready and aware of what's happening. The way you moan his name and use his mouth as you please is mesmerizing.

With two fingers gently stretching out, Rosinante would continue to worship your body with his hands and tongue. He's probably trying to hide his coughs because he's suffocating with his face stuck between your thighs. But who cares. The way you taste is like heaven.

If you want to cum, he would allow you to cum against his lips. If you want to stop before reaching ecstasy, that's okay too.

"I'm ready for you, Rosi."

Totally flushed and nervous, Rosi would let you ride him. He's too stressed by his goofiness, so it's better if you take the lead. And at least, you can control the rhythm and depth.

Rosinante would definitely use a condom. But, he would struggle to open the packaging and then roll the protection over his length due to his nervousness, excitement, and goofiness. His big, shaking hands would likely cause him to split one or two condoms. Please, help this poor boy.

The shows continue with the lube. It's likely that he would let the bottle to fall, spilling all of the liquid onto both your belly and his hands. "I'm so sorry, sweetie!" And he would stupidly try to steal some lube from your stomach to smear it over his length. You can't help but laugh warmly, caressing his hair. "It's okay Rosi, relax."

His heart melts as you straddle him, his length twitching and leaking wildly. He's big, both in length and girth, and he's aware of it. He would allow you to take all of your time to prepare yourself. The way he looks at you tells how much he cares about you and how honored he feels to have you by his side.

"Whenever you want, Y/N" with his deep, soothing and soft voice.

As he feels your tight entrance against his cockhead, he would bite his lips, grabbing the bedsheets tightly. Because he would never dare hold you roughly and leave bruises on your body. When he sees that you're still a bit nervous, he would sit up while you're still straddling him. He would slowly raise your hips before easing his cock inside you. Pushing gently, each inch, slowly yet steadily. "Shh, it's okay, I've got you, you're taking me so well. You're so perfect for me."

He would hold you tightly as you sit down on his lap, your breasts pressed against his chest. "It's okay sweetie, you're doing great, it's okay, almost there, just a little more, you feel so good around me." With his hands squeezing your hips to keep you still.

His entire body would be shaking. The sensations are overwhelming for both of you. You're so tight, so wet, and his huge cock is stretching you so nicely, throbbing inside you.

He would soothe your back gently as he finally penetrates you fully, his large size stretching you out even further. "There it's over. Look at you, taking all of my cock so well. You're such a brave girl. "

He would slowly guide your hips up and down, unable to handle how good it feels. " I've got you, let me take care of you."

A lot of kisses, soft, heavenly touches, his breath deep against your breath as he continues to slide gently yet firmly inside you. He would praise you all the time, worshiping your body. A bit goofy from time to time, loweering you to roughly down his cock, scratching you or biting your lips instead of kissing you softly.

But a really, really sweet moment, and a lot of cuddles during the aftercare.

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vulturv0lans · 5 months

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ive been marinating in this neuvillette thought for days and it is. you know how it rains when he cries. well. what if it starts raining all of a sudden bc his partner is domming him and it just feels so good and he feels so loved he starts crying in pleasure like rip fontaine its rainy hours now

violently ill at this thought rn...also i love that you used "marinating" i might have to steal it i've never written dom reader before so i hope this doesn't suck i'm sorry

it's raining in fontaine again.

not a storm, with raindrops so heavy that they feel like bullets hitting one's skin.

drizzling, soft rain. disappearing as quickly as it came, that people barely have time to dig out their umbrellas before the sky clears again.

of course, rain is nothing new to the people of fontaine, but rather a habitual occurrence. it is said that dark clouds form and rain falls when the hydro dragon weeps. a beautiful legend, yet not many truly believe in it.

but to neuvillette, chief justice of the opera epilesce, the dragon sovereign of this sacred land, whose name people admire but whose face people rarely see, being in his current position is anything but habitual.

his hands are bound to the bedpost by a pair of shiny handcuffs - just where did you get those? he makes a note to interrogate wriothesley later for ever lending you these - but not that he really minds, of course. his white ruffled blouse is rolled up to expose his porcelain skin, slightly damp with a layer of sweat. the veins in his forearms become just that much more prominent with every tug and pull, desperate to be able to touch you.

he’s nearing his orgasm for what feels like the tenth time now, yet you show no sign of granting him his release anytime soon. your hand expertly pumps his cock, now red and leaking in angry protest, occasionally running your thumb over his sensitive tip. his body jolts in response, toes curled and hips bucking into your hand.

neuvillette’s skin burns a deeper shade of red as he thinks of just how lewd his current position is. but before he can fathom another thought, the pink of your lips wrap around his cock and he almost explodes in your mouth at the feather light touch alone.

“please, let me-”

you release him with a loud pop, “let you what?”

he musters a deep, guttural groan at the sudden loss of contact, “let me cum, please.”

you only hum in response. he’s been doing so well, so good for you that maybe he deserves a reward - just not the one he had in mind.

quickly ridding yourself of your lower garments, you straddle him on the bed before slowly moving up. neuvillette curses under his breath in anticipation, eyes fluttering shut before pulling you closer to his waiting mouth, hands instinctively wanting to touch you but are met with a sharp tug of the metal instead.

“be good and stay put for me,” you tut, the rest of your sentence dies in your throat when he impatiently wraps his mouth around your aching clit, the familiar warmth forcing a loud moan off your cherry lips. every noise you make is like fuel to him, silently encouraging him to go deeper, faster, temporarily forgetting about the pathetic state of his cock, rock hard against his stomach and almost dripping precum from several denied orgasms.

he picks up his pace and grows bolder, dipping the tip of his tongue into your folds to get a better taste of you. soon you’re shaking and cumming on his face, juices dripping down his chin before he licks up every single drop, not letting any of your essence go to waste. violet eyes are three shades darker when you finally come down from your high, his skin glistening and his breath fanning across your core in heavy pants.

you smile at him, lazily playing with a strand of his hair as you lean down to kiss him, tasting yourself on his lips. neuvillette kisses back eagerly, head lifting from the pillows to get better access to your mouth, teeth and tongue clashing as you reposition your core by his aching cock.

“seems like you deserve a little reward,” you whisper when you finally break the kiss for air, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips, and your tongue pokes out to lick it off of his mouth, a sight so lewd yet so beautiful that he begins to think he’s dreaming.

a whimper escapes him before he can stop it, but what use does dignity have anyways when your warm cunt is grinding against his erection? the tip of his cock catches on your clit deliciously with every sway of your hips, and perhaps he’s still sensitive from the relentless play session earlier, his breaths quickly become heavy pants as you grind into him, coating his length in your slick.

and then he begs.

his words so dirty that they become a sin, one that the gods could never hear of. forget the seven or the dragon sovereign, all he can think about is to be snugly inside you and feeling your walls milk out every last drop of him. despite being rendered powerless by something as trivial as (human) handcuffs - what a shame - the primal desires in him still wants to breed you. to mark your insides and claim it as his.

a high pitched noise escapes him when you finally end the teasing and lower yourself onto him, your wetness making a small squelch as you sink into his length, moaning out from feeling so utterly full. neuvillette is not much clearer headed, the tight squeeze of your pussy around his abused cock threatens to make him cum right there, before you even start moving.

luckily for him, you have grown desperate from all the teasing too, looking to chase the remnants of your high. you lift your hips up before slamming back down onto him, the tip of his cock reaching the most delicious places inside you. you waste no time in picking up the pace, your tits bouncing with the rhythm of your hips that all he wants is to reach out and hold them, pinch your pink nipples between his fingers and feel the perfect weight of your breasts in his palms.

if only he could touch you. even in your desperate chase for another high you don’t forget to praise him, muttering dirty words about how big he is and how good he’s making you feel. still you show no sign of freeing him from his restraints anytime soon, no matter how many pleases he whispers in between moans.

he is so helpless under you, the sight of it filling you with so much satisfaction that you can't help but want to draw out his orgasm despite feeling so close yourself. his tip twitches inside you and you lift your hips up, the emptiness soon replaced by smugness when you notice the tears pricking his lash line, a visual proof of

and it rains outside. raindrops like translucent whispers tapping against the windowpane with a rhythmic cadence, the sound barely audible above the heavy pants and mumbled pleas next to your ear. the tip of his cock is an angry red and your lover is reduced to a blabbering mess as he strains against the handcuffs, toned muscles flexing and his porcelain skin flushes with heat, drops of drool at the corner of his downturned lips as he pleads for mercy.

"you've been so good for me," you press a kiss to his lips and taste him on your tongue, salty and sweet and dizzying.

the metal clinks as it falls to the floor, and before you know it his hands are on you like a man starved. you squeal in surprise when he wastes no time in lowering you onto him again and thrusting into you with renewed fervour, reaching so deep into you that you are seeing stars with every delicious drag of his cock in your walls.

the drizzle slows as the clouds stop their weeping, puddles on the pavement being the only evidence of the earlier downpour. neuvillette is finally granted his release and paints your insides white after what felt like hours of torment. you collapse on top of him, legs quivering from your own high, and neither of you says a single word as your breathing slows to normal.

"you think they'd need an umbrella again anytime soon?"

m.list | neuvillette m.list | inbox requests open!

#luna writes ☽#genshin impact #genshin smut #neuvillette smut #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader

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mando-abs · 2 years

Text

Caged Inn (Series)

Chapter 1: New Greetings

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Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader

Rating: 18+ (only bc it might get steamy later, but also minors dni w/ my blog in general)

WC: 2.3k

Summary: An assumingly unreadable and broad mandalorian comes to stay at your inn. Will this be your chance to confide in someone? Or will the town and your overbearing feelings for the newcomer get to him first?

A/N: This takes place sometime after season 2, but forget about the whole mand'alor mumbo jumbo. It'll save me and the plot the headache, trust me. Also, let's just believe the Razor Crest survived as well. Okay? Good. But Grogu is still at Jedi Camp.

Planting these moon pansies was a mistake. You shouldn’t have brought it up to Clyde. Honestly, you don’t know why you put in any effort to spruce up the inn at all. Sure, it’s mostly cathartic, and it’s not like you're going to find much else work in this Maker-forsaken town. And it’s not like your lanky sleeze of a boss is going to help. If it’s anyone who’s running things around here, it’s you. Your pockets have never reflected that though. So, here you are, attempting to clear this infestation of vines trying to suffocate your delicate flowers.

Moon pansies do just fine on their own. They thrive under any light, only need watering two or three times a week, and acclimate to any weather (except during cases of extreme heat or cold). They do not, however, take kindly to weeds. It’s still a bit of a mystery why they’re so finicky about their flower bed mates, but the results are clear. The flowers just give up when weeds are present and let them take over.

Oh, but the beautiful glow they emit at night, bright blue luminescence for all to see. That’s why you planted them along the path to the inn in the first place. Unassuming pretty flowers during the day, bold and magnificent wonders of the galaxy at night. You hoped it would attract what few travelers you get this time of year to stop by and stay the night, but the only thing it seems to draw out is the sweat and dirt accumulating on your overalls. You can’t imagine how dirty these gardening gloves have gotten your pant legs after wiping away dirt out of habit. If these flowers did attract the guests you wanted, maybe they would raise enough chatter about how hard you worked out here, make Clyde feel like an ass, and inadvertently get him off his ass to do something for once.

When a large shadow comes beside the particular pair of pansies you’re working on, you didn’t realize at the time how much your prayers were truly answered. A tall Mandalorian stands over you with his head turned to the side almost in quiet reverie, most of his body reflecting the midday sun around the shadow he’s created. You place your pruner and trowel off to the side and squint up at the spectacle traveler. You remind yourself to give your warmest customer service smile. The last thing you want is another potential customer to be turned off and away from you.

“Hello! What brings you here?” Was that too condescending? Honestly, the simplest job all day… This snaps the Mandalorian back into posture, his gear hanging near his shoulders rattling. You raise a hand up in reassurance. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to ruffle your feathers. I just…” you sigh and recompose yourself. You respond again more toned down, “How may I help you?”

The Mandalorian looks up at the inn and back down at your crouching form. “Does this lodging have a vacancy?”

Oh wow. For as large the stature of this Mandalorian is, his voice shouldn’t catch you off guard as much as it is right now. How can a sound so gentle come out from metal so rigid?

You clear your throat. “You’re in luck! All we have are vacancies - it's slow season.” Your subconscious decides it’s time for a break from gardening as it takes off your gloves for you. All of your focus goes into observing the new guest. Not that there’s much to see other than steel, but his whole body almost takes up your field of vision. It makes you wonder what he looks like if he shed his armor, how sturdy his frame would be, how large his proportions go…

You stand up and shake any remaining dirt (and intrusive thoughts). When you look back at the Mandalorian, he’s shuffling back to give you some room and readjusting his grip on his gear. It’s quite a bit, and it looks heavy. You toss whatever distractions away from the forefront of your head and fully hone in on assistant mode.

“I’m sorry, let me help you with that.” You begin to reach for one of his bags when he pulls his shoulder back.

“Please, I’m fine, but thank you.”

You raise your eyebrows and nod your head moderately. “No, I insist -“ but you continue on, and your eyes zero in on the “rod” the Mandalorian is using to carry his items. It’s a weapon, a large one and he’s packing some serious heat. Ok - better choice of words next time.

“I apologize but it’s business policy to not allow unlicensed weapons on the property. If you want to bring in that rifle, we have to file your registration papers.”

The Mandalorian looks at the wooden lodging and then faces you again. “Is this your inn?”

You raise an eyebrow and cross your arms. “Call me an assistant manager.”

“Do assistant managers normally dig up flower beds?”

Oh, so he’s got jokes, huh? It didn’t seem like he was trying to be condescending by tone of voice, but he’s certainly poking the lexu with a stick. Still, it doesn’t prevent you from smiling. “This one does, yes.”

He tries reaching out with his hand, but immediately resists due to the imbalance on his shoulders. He sighs. “I don’t mean any harm to you or your establishment. I do not have any licenses for any of my weapons. However, these weapons are an extension of my beliefs. I need them.”

You look him up and down (not that you already haven’t - just trying act loose and unbothered by the admission to having multiple weapons on hand). He doesn’t sound like a killer, but killers don’t have to sound rough to be rough.

But he is being honest. Honesty is hard to come by this millennium. Honest or not, you still give him the run down any suspicious guests receive.

“You’re a Mandalorian, right?” you inquire, keeping your composure still while becoming stone faced. Intimidation. Not your best feat by far, but it usually picks off the randos that show up at your door. You don’t consider running away any suspicious characters count toward any reprimands both from Clyde or your inner critic.

“Yes. They call me Mando,” he responds without any tone or infliction.

You inch a bit closer. It’s hard to tell if he’s put up a shield too or if he’s always this stone cold. “If what I’ve heard from the stories is true, you’re not far from the truth. But tell me Mando, why do you carry so much fire power?”

“It’s for my occupation.”

Closer. “Occupation?”

“Bounty Hunter.”

Even closer, almost touching him. You look into his visor, searching for his eyes and praying you lock onto them. “You got a keen eye there, Mando?”

“Sharp.”

He hasn’t broken once (not that you could tell or that you’re incredibly intimidating, but you guess that’s a reason for the armor, proving another point of his admissions). “Tell you what. I’ll allow you to stay as long as you keep those weapons out of sight from my boss. Am I clear?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And in exchange, I will keep your secret by accepting your credits - and a story.” You smile back at him, relaxing your stance.

Mando moves his head back, the first movement he’s made in a hot minute. “A story?”

You step away from him to clear up the dizzying space you’ve created between the two of you. You could hardly take much more of it yourself without your heart going into crisis. You’ll take his small break as a victory. Little as it is, but hey, it’s something. “Yeah! It gets kinda boring around here and I have a good feeling you’re sitting on a great one…or twelve.” You poke the middle of his chest plate, square in the diamond.

“I’m not the talking type.”

You giggle as you make the first move for the both of you to start walking toward the inn. “I never pegged that you were! But I do believe it’s nothing a Mandalorian can’t handle,” you say playfully with your voice a bit higher to tease.

“Alright, it’s a deal.”

Hahaha! Nothing like a bruised mandalorian’s ego to make a victory so sweet. But, did you manage to pressure him into friendly conversation? He didn’t put up that much of a fight. Maybe he’s actually interested in talking with you, let alone sparing some time to sit with you. Was that a smile you could hear in his voice just then? You’re thinking way too much into things. He needs a place to rest, and with his load, he’s got to spend it somewhere. Seriously, you gotta stop it with the innuendos.

As the two of you approach the inn, you quickly jump ahead to unlock the door to swiftly usher the (presumably) exhausted mandalorian in.

“Sorry, my boss usually takes off mornings and afternoons to rest and wander about to the village. I have to lock up if I’m out.”

Mando looks back to you and follows your movement behind the wooden concierge desk off to the leftmost wall. “I don’t remember seeing a village on my way here.”

You try to speak up to let your voice carry over to the mandalorian as you face the wall of room keys to search for the best room. “Oh, well, the surrounding forests can get a bit dense in patches. It’s further up the river, east.”

“Thank you. I’ll make sure to check it out.”

After you turn around, you give a singsong sigh and a closed smile to him. It’s after a beat that you realize you can’t give Mando his room key due to his preoccupied hands and that he needs assistance.

“Oh! Let me show you to your room.”

You scramble over to the mandalorian and make way down the hall only to stop at the room closest to the corner on the right. You unlock the door with the metal room key and pan out your hand to welcome Mando into his new room. He wastes no time in moving in to settle his things off his shoulders and onto the mattress with a large thud.

“Corner rooms give you just enough extra space compared to the other rooms. But don’t tell Clyde I told you that or else he’d charge extra. Just figured you’d like the added room, gives you more hiding spots.” You wink at him.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

There’s that politeness again. Are you imagining things? Is this real? Is this a setup from Clyde to see if you’re actually doing your job? In which case, you are definitely not. Not that you would care. Not really. Not deep down. You try not to let the comments or threats from anyone get to you anymore. You know your worth in your own right, and you’ve grown despite the conditions, in spite of them. But, maybe this rough-on-the-edges mandalorian standing in front of you knows your worth, too. Maybe the legends left out an important detail. Just maybe, there’s something more…

“Is everything okay?” Mando chimes in your thoughts.

It’s now that you realize you’ve been staring at him and his belongings for way too long. Even the mandalorian seems to feel awkward. He keeps flexing his fingers and making them into impossibly tight fists. Maker, you’ve got to say something!

“Have you ever killed a man?” you ask Mando with the blankest, doe-eyed expression on your face. You immediately cringe at your own first line of defense dialogue. Nice going…

Mando chuckles and places his thumbs to hug his belt. You dare not follow your gaze with them. “Do you always ask this to your guests?”

You nervously laugh and bring your hand to the back of your neck. “Only the interesting ones.”

“Right. Well,” Mando steps closer to reach for the side of the door while looking at your face, “I guess you’ll have to find out at story time.” You break his eye contact for a moment to catch a peak at his irresistible yet fully clothed and armored bicep hanging mere inches from you as he closes in. He has to be teasing at this point. Why else would he be torturing you so?

“Yeah. Right.” You fumble out into the hallway, making breathy attempts at a laugh to try to salvage whatever cool remains in you. “Well, I’ll be at the front desk if you need me. Rest easy.”

“You, too, sen’ika.” Mando comfortably replies as he nods and slowly shuts the door.

Even though your brain and stomach is guttering with embarrassment as you fast walk down the hall on your way back to the desk, your heart can’t help but soar at the thought of learning more about your patron. It’s highly ridiculous that you would even entertain the thought of sitting down with a potential murder. But hey, he’s a bounty hunter. It’s not like you can blame the guy. You know full well his line of work can get choppy from time to time, and jobs in this galaxy are hard to come by. You guess what you're most interested in is a clean slate. Someone who you have no clue about, and someone who doesn’t know about you. You get the first say in your story. Nobody else. And yet, so does he.

As you prop your head in your hands and stare out the windows to the meticulously kept flowers up front, you begin to finally indulge in what you want for yourself and not what others want from you. Things may be starting to finally get interesting around here.

A/N: Sorry if it’s a bit rushed at the end, but I just really want to get this out in the open. Also, Din called reader “little bird” at the end if you were wondering what that meant. Hopefully, I can get to writing the next chapter in the next week or so instead of a month or so. Thank you all for being so nice and encouraging. It means a lot. As God as my witness, my new year’s resolution is uploading more writing on this blog. Hope you all enjoy!

Tags: @moodsare @mindidjarin @samanthacookieone @paintlavillered @mswarriorbabe80

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jonesinghardy · 4 years

Text

No More Spitting Feathers 02/?

PAIRINGS: Warren Worthington III x Reader WARNINGS: injury, blood, implied drug use RATING: T+, will be raised later. WORD COUNT: 2.2k INSTALLATIONS: Part 01 AUTHOR’S NOTE: Dedication and thanks to Andi @venombxby for discussion and honorary mentions to Monica @rosesvioletshardy and Wella for inspo. This is written in second person bc I have never been able to get on board with Y/N trends, and the reader is a mutant with a limited mix of healing, telekinesis and some empathic inclinations.

The night is never as dark as you’d like in a city, and no matter the hour, night owls are bound to be turning their gaze onto anything that moves above the shadows.

He casts quite a shadow.

Dove.

You don’t speak much after he agrees to go with you. There is a stalemate between the two of you for many minutes before he offers an arm and helps you up, getting you to a more comfortable place in the warehouse to rest until you could stand on your own.

You didn’t think he’d be able to fold his wings enough to hide them, you thought it would hurt too much, but he manages to do it anyway and tucks them away into a long coat that he found in the disused warehouse staffroom, along with a large umbrella that helps conceal him better.

Once you could stand you found a dusty bathroom with running water and managed to clean your arms and face of blood and wrangle your hair into something less dishevelled. You also took off all your absurd jewelry, cleaning it all with hot water and chucking it into the same locker you find a pair of shoes that are too big but are better than trying to walk barefoot.

You get the privilege of draping his leather jacket over your shoulders, which doesn’t exactly keep you warm given the modifications he made to the back to accommodate his wings, but you suppose you’d be colder without it.

You walk in silence side by side for most of the journey, and calling it such is no exaggeration. It only takes half an hour for the pain to creep into his wing again, especially with how he has them folded against his back— you feel it, and have to breathe through the discomfort, the one aspect of your powers that you can’t turn off, but that thankfully doesn’t wipe you out the same way healing or telekinesis does.

It takes three hours, and neither of you seeks a break, somehow knowing that stopping would benefit neither of you. He gets more tired though, but you can tell he relaxes a bit when the city falls away and the trees thicken, and the people and cars become few and far between.

The safe house looks abandoned from the outside, and to your benefit, it has thick overgrowth around its perimeter that provides plenty of privacy. All of the windows are either frosted or boarded up save for the stained glass windows on the old domed church that will be your shelter.

You find the key where you expect it, and as soon as you enter you’re working on autopilot. You throw off the shoes that have given you blisters, walk across the confused space to a large set of shelves and pick out a change of clothes that don’t quite fit but are better than the tiny cocktail dress you’ve had to trek your way here in.

Dove throws off the coat and drops onto the nearest cot, groaning as he stretches out his wings. You shudder from the incomparable empathic impression it leaves in your back. You change without caring if he looks (he doesn’t), putting on the pants and a too-large shirt, collecting a blanket from a crate in the corner and yourself dropping onto a cot not too far from where he’d lain down. You pass out after you heal your blistered feet.

You sleep for eighteen hours.

He sleeps for twelve, and when he awakens he’s hungry and hungover, aching in unpleasant but not unfamiliar ways. You can feel the malaise even though it doesn’t wake you, creeping into your body and your dreams and then fading once he freely navigates the space and finds the food and water kept in the makeshift pantry.

You feel better when you wake, but you’re ravenous, and dig into whatever shelf-stable item seems most appealing— you’re still chewing when you go and find him, having made himself a more private corner to relax in with cushions, two cot mattresses and a few blankets.

Swallowing doesn’t quite soothe the scratch in your throat, and you notice some subtly floating feather particles in the air, leaving you to idly wonder how much he sheds.

“Are you well enough to heal me now?” he asks, filling the silence. You’re not sure if he believes you are, he seems tired and resigned.

“No,” you reply. “Not significantly anyway.”

He levels you with an incredulous look.

You sigh. “I could give myself an aneurysm if I try to heal you too fast.”

“What can you do, then?”

“I could have you flying again in ten days,” you say, “that won’t put too much strain on me.”

His wing, the undamaged one, flutters slightly. “Fourteen.”

“What?”

“Take fourteen days. You were like a rag doll at the warehouse, Häschen, you’re no use to me like that. You think you can do ten days— I don’t have anywhere to be— we’ll do fourteen.”

You look at him for a moment, trying to spot some ulterior motive and figure he must be doing the same.

“Okay, alright. Two weeks.” That’s probably how long you’ll need to arrange extraction anyway.

You swallow again against the scratch in your throat and take a deep breath.

“You need a tour?” you ask, feeling awkward.

He shakes his head. “I looked around while you were sleeping.”

“The church is free-reign,” you say, explaining anyway, “the rest of the building is not really safe, but isn’t off-limits.” You shrug. “The shower room is over there.” You point. “Towels and soap are in the baskets… they’re all labelled.”

“You planning to leave me alone here, Häschen?” he asks, sitting forward slightly and canting his head to the side.

You both react when he strains his wing, and you try to hide your whimper with a cough. His wings shudder and the feathers tighten up, drooping slightly as he sits back against the wall with a slight grunt of pain.

“I want to get some supplies from the store… like better food,” you explain with a shrug. You also want to get him some medicine to tide him over between your attempts to heal him.

“Are you going to walk?”

You shake your head. “There’s a car stored on the property, I have what I need. I shouldn’t be more than forty minutes.”

He doesn’t say anything further, and it feels too invasive to watch him struggle through his pain.

“You want anything?” you ask, already planning to get him some clothes.

“No.”

“Okay. What clothing sizes do you wear?”

The look he gives you is almost a smirk, a raised brow and a quirk of his lip that makes you flush. You look away in embarrassment and clear your throat again.

He tells you the sizes. “You don’t like my clothes?” he asks.

“That’s— that’s not the point,” you say, and motion at him, his pants and boots, the lack of a shirt, the modified leather jacket he’d taken back while you slept. “That’s all you have.”

He shrugs with his hands. “Do what you want.”

“I will.”

“See you in an hour, then.” He seems inclined to give you more time than you think you’ll need.

—

The subtle hiss and splash of water greet your ears from across the echoey safe house when you return. You took less than the hour, but more than the forty minutes to get everything done. You put the bags down on the tables that make up the kitchen (which isn’t much of a kitchen at all. There is an old fridge, two hot plates, a toaster oven and some cookware and dishes next to a deep industrial sink).

There is steam coming from the shower room, and when you get closer with the bag of clothes you got for him, you feel a malaise creep into your body.

“Dove?” you call, but he doesn’t answer.

You put down the bag and go to the door, not sure what you’ll find, but hardly wanting to violate his privacy nor open yourself up to any teasing if you’ve misinterpreted the empathic impression.

A small gasp leaves your lips. His wings are almost totally clean now, free of the dirt and char and blood that had been caked on them— some of which sits over the drain grate to his right. Feathers are missing from his left wing, and it continues to droop, but what concerns you is how he’s kneeling on the floor with his head against the wall, taking in shuddering breaths. The wings hide his nakedness almost completely, but that hardly crosses your mind as you step into the room.

“Dove?” you say again, more urgently now, your new shoes splashing on the wet floor as you cross over to him.

It’s a rather bare room, stripped of all curtains and half-stalls, with only a dozen showerheads set a few feet apart around the space. He has two showers running to cover all of him, and you gasp when you feel how hot the water is, yanking the tap to the left to make it cold and then reaching over him to do the same to the other.

“What are you doing!” your voice is louder than you intend, and he tenses, groaning when cold water penetrates whatever daze he was in. You get down on one knee and grab his face between your hands. He’s hot hot hot, and not just from the water, flushed. He startles, wings jerking and feathers fluffing, and he gives a slight grunt of alarm.

“Hey, hey, it’s me— it’s just me.”

He doesn’t quite relax but he seems to calm, bowing his head slightly and shivering. You carefully reach up to turn off both showers and bring your hand to his neck. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus through the haze and urgency.

“What are you doing…” he says dully, lifting a hand to grasp your forearm. He groans when he feels the initial relief of your healing. “Don’t, you’re not— I’ll be fine—”

“I can handle it, you’re not well,” you reply, almost scolding. He makes a sound of acknowledgement but speaks no further, he keeps his hand on your arm.

You don’t find what you’re looking for, you assumed it would be an infection from the fracture, but his whole nervous system is rioting. You quickly readjust, your fingers pressing against his neck, by the nape. It’s not the healing you expected him to need, but you hadn’t exactly gotten the chance to examine him and come up with a plan. Your healing balances his autonomic nervous system, calming the sympathetic and re-engaging the parasympathetic. He’d need more help than that, you can tell, but easing his distress is your primary goal.

A drop of blood hits the floor, and his hand squeezes your arm. Your nose is bleeding.

“That’s enough,” he says, his voice much more controlled now.

“I’m alright,” you assure him, “I know my limits, I can do a bit more…” You aren’t lying but you know how far you can push yourself before you get as bad as you were last night. You can do more now that you’re touching him too, that always makes you more precise.

His breathing even outs and his heart rate calm, and his head bows in relief after another long moment. Your bloody nose gets worse, but you set him up better this time, stimulating his immune system and provoking a healing response throughout his body, natural pain relief. It would help his body help itself until you could resume your efforts tomorrow.

You move your hand away from his neck and move it to under your nose. The leg of your pants is wet when you stand, and you turn away but he gives your arm a little tug, making you look back down at him. His face isn’t as flushed now, and there’s a different kind of pain in his eyes, something non-physical. Something like guilt.

“I didn’t deserve that,” he says gravely. You slowly pull your hand away.

“You were in distress, I wasn’t going to leave you like that.”

His wings twitch, ruffling carefully. “Some pain deserves to be felt,” he argues weakly. “Especially for something of my own doing.”

“Withdrawal isn’t a penance, Dove.” When he meets your gaze, you think he might be searching for judgement, but he won’t find any. He looks away.

“It’s an unfair strain on you.”

You turn away, still holding your bloody nose. “I can’t just pick and choose what I heal. If you’re sick I can’t fix your wing effectively.” You huff, turning away. “And I’m fine. It’s not as draining when I can touch you… I left you some clothes by the door. If you really don’t want to waste my efforts, you’d better get some rest. Your body can do the work itself until tomorrow.”

You start out of the room deliberately, shoesfalls splashing wetly. As you pass the threshold, the echoey walls of the shower room amplify his quiet words just enough for you to hear.

“Thank you.”

You keep going without acknowledging it.

#warren worthington x reader #warren worthington x you #warren worthington iii #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy fanfic #warren fic.#warren x reader.#my fic.

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hongism · 4 years

Note

Hi~ I'm super soft for Mingi these days so could u please write an imagine/scenario(??) about him and the reader having a movie night cuddling on the couch and he's complaining about being tired bc of schedule and then you try to make him feel better by giving him the best suck in his life~ I'm sorry if that's too specific, but feel free to write it as you like tho! ^^

alright yoit this took way too long for me to do, but i finally cleared out most of the big stuff in the inbox so i’m finally gonna get around to writing the imagines :D also boo don’t worry about it being too specific, it’s actually nice for me to have lots of details so i know what to write and how to write it as best i can so hehe i’m glad you gave lots of deets onwARDS WE GO

genre: smut, fluff

warnings: blowjobs

Title: Tired

…

Eyes transfixed on the screen before you, you slide further against your boyfriend on the couch. One hand slides over his stomach as you sink your head onto his shoulder, the other lingering near the nape of his neck and combing through the ends of his hair.

“Mingi,” you mutter as a small snore escapes his lips. You bring your hand further down and squeeze his side gently. “Baby, do you wanna go to bed?”

Mingi shakes his head when you speak, eyes fluttering open and coming to rest on you. “Huh?”

“Do you wanna go to bed? You feel asleep.”

“Oh, did I? No, no, no. I wanna stay up with you, we barely get any time together as it is.” You frown as Mingi looks down at you. He slides his hand across yours, mimicking the little frown on your lips. “I want to stay up,” he repeats.

“You need to sleep though, Mingi. You have to be up early again tomorrow for practice. I can’t keep you up, okay?” You press your chin against Mingi’s shoulder, glancing up at his face and offering a weak smile.

“I just feel bad. I do this every time we’re together, and that’s not really fair to you, you know?”

“I’ve told you before that I don’t mind, Mingi.”

“It bothers me though.”

“You work a lot, baby. I understand that you’re busy, and I’ve told you time and time again that it’s okay.” Mingi blinks down at you, the movie on the TV forgotten and ignored as his gaze slips down your face to your lips.

“I-I…” He trails off. The bob of his Adam’s apple catches your eye. You smirk at the sight, then pull away from his shoulder.

“Can I convince you to rest?”

“W-What?”

You laugh at Mingi’s confusion, straightening your back and pressing your hand to his thigh. “Can I take care of you, Mingi?” You don’t wait for an answer before you’re sliding off the couch and onto your knees before Mingi. And it’s a good thing at that, because Mingi can’t seem to even get words out as he looks down at you. You nudge his knees apart and scoot forward a bit more, eyes not leaving Mingi’s. As your fingers trail over the waistband of his sweatpants, you hesitate, teasing the fabric by slipping the pads of your fingers under to brush his skin. He shivers under you, body stiffening and jerking under you. “Use your words, Mingi. Do you want me to take care of you?”

“Yes,” he spits out without hesitation. You dig your fingers further into his skin at the words, and his whole body jerks again. “Fuck yes.”

You hum in response then bring your gaze off his to focus more on the growing tent in his pants. With a small tug, you bring the band of his sweatpants down, and Mingi helps you pull them further down by pushing your hands to the side and yanking them himself. You laugh at the eagerness in his actions, hands coming to rest on his thighs once he’s settled back against the couch again.

“Can you suck me off?” Mingi asks as you run the blunts of your nails up and down his thighs.

“I’m getting there, baby. Be patient.” Shifting your fingers to the blue fabric of his underwear, you leave a trail of feather light touches over the outline of his cock. You’re barely touching him and yet he’s writhing under you already, thighs tensing. “Mingi~” You sing under your breath.

You place your palm directly over the bulge in his underwear, squeezing gently, and when he groans at the contact, you grin. Part of you wants to tease a bit longer, play a bit more and send Mingi into a frenzy. The brat in you wants that at least, but as much as you want to be put in place, Mingi deserves a good reward for working so hard all the time. With a small hum, you decide to put Mingi out of his misery and pull back the elastic of his underwear. His breath hitches as the cold air hits his dick.

You lean forward, hand wrapping around the base of his dick, and you bring the tip to your mouth. Mingi exhales.

“What’s wrong, Mingi?” You ask as you press a kiss to his head then linger there, warm breath over him. “Want me to stop?”

“No, please don’t stop. Please.” Mingi’s small begs egg you on. You flatten your tongue against the head of his cock then slip the whole tip between your lips, offering a small suck as soon as he’s in your mouth. “F-Fuck, Y/N.” You give him a few seconds to relish in your small sucks before pulling off and dribbling a line of saliva over him. “Fuck, that’s hot. Holy sh–ah!”

You don’t give him time to breathe or finish the thought, instead you drop your lips over him once again, this time taking half of him into your mouth. You hesitate there and massage the flat of your tongue against the underside of his dick while looking up at Mingi through heavily lidded eyes.

“God, you take me so well. Fuck, look at your pretty little mouth around me.” Mingi groans as he watches you work, your cheeks hollowing around him as you bob up and down. “Baby, can you take me deeper? Please?”

You hum around his, the vibrations sending a trail of goosebumps across his skin. Still, you do as asked and slip him further into your mouth, and as much as you try to bottom out, he hits the back of your throat before you’re able to take him all in. You go to move off of him, tongue already curled and twisted around his dick, but Mingi brings a hand to the back of your head instead and holds you there for a few more seconds.

“Hold on, baby, hold on. I just wanna–I wanna–ah fuck, you feel so good.” The distraction of pleasure allows for you to pull off of him, dick slipping between your lips with a loud pop.

“Hm? What’s wrong, baby?” You curl your fingers around him tighter, squeezing the base of his cock until he’s whining. “I just wanna make you feel good.” A laugh slips between your lips before you take him back into your mouth, sucking harshly at him until he welps under you.

“Ah! Ah, Y/N, hold on. Hold on, wait, ah I don’t wanna cum yet!” Mingi squirms, and the slight desperation in his tone gives you incentive to pull off and slowly jerk him instead. Your spit is slick against him, helping you jerk him. As you slow your strokes, he whines and tries to relax his muscles.

“Mingi,” you say a moment later.

“A-ah, ye-yes?” You glance up at Mingi’s face, finding his brows furrowed in concentration, and he doesn’t look down at your face; rather, his focus is on the hand around his cock that slowly curves and strokes around him in an all too teasing manner.

“I want you to cum in my mouth. I wanna swallow it.” The words have a visceral reaction on Mingi, his whole body tensing the second he relaxes, and you feel his dick twitch under your hand. You bite back a laugh at his reaction, and honestly the desire to laugh leaves you immediately when you see the glint in Mingi’s eyes. He pushes your hand off him, one of his own taking it’s place, the other still on the back of your head.

“Suck,” he demands as he pushed his cock closer to you.

You don’t hesitate in taking him back into your mouth and flattening your tongue against him. Mingi guides your head across him which leaves you to simply suck away at him as asked while he bobs your head up and down. Either you’re sucking him better than you thought or something about the whole image below him is really getting to him, because only a few moments pass before he’s quaking under your mouth. The grip on your hair lessens the closer he gets to orgasming, and that honestly only prompts you to suck harder. And then, moments later, he’s letting out a low groan that quickly drifts into a high-pitched whine. His cum is hot as it spills down your throat, and you nearly choke around him before swallowing the rest of his load.

“Fuck,” Mingi mutters as he watches you swallow around him, popping of his cock with a small smile. “That was hot as hell, baby.”

“Hm, I’m glad to hear it. Are you ready to go to bed now?” You sit back on your heels. Bringing a finger to your lips, you wipe away the excess saliva dripping down your chin. Mingi’s gaze stays on you, eyes carefully following the movements of your fingers across your lips. He leans down and tilts your chin upwards to press his lips to yours. He hums into the kiss then swipes his tongue across your bottom lip.

“I think I have a few more things I’d like to do to you first.”

…

a/n: hi goodbye i’m leaving YEEHAW can’t believe i wrote this trash

also ignore this pos imagine it’s my first time writing smut EVER

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bigsnzstanacct · 5 years

Text

Richie’s Cold

I’m trying to dig up my old Richie Robbins story (which I wrote more than a decade ago shit), but for now here’s the very brief attempted sequel I wrote more recently (which is easier to find bc it’s in my fetish Scr*vener project lmao) fic is under the cut.

“AAAAAEEEEEEESSSSSSCCCCHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

“Whoa, Rich, we just moved in and you’re trying to blow the walls down, good work, buddy.”

Richie could only sniff in response. He was collapsed on the couch, exhausted. Moving was hard work, even harder than he thought it would be. And of course he’d sneezed his way through the move, like he’d sneezed his way through everything else in his life. Young Richard Robbins might have graduated Phi Beta Kappa—and he’d nearly blown the Dean’s hairpiece off when he went up to shake his hand—he might be on his way to one of the nation’s finest graduate schools… he might be a lot of things. But despite all that, for most people, the most memorable thing about Richie was—

“g-guhhh… g-gonna… sn-snehhh… hhHEEEHHhhh… sn-sneeze a-agahhHHHH… AAAHHHHHHHH… AAAHHHHHH… AAAAASSSSHHHHHOOOOO!!”

—that. Richie’s sneezes hadn’t dampened a bit since his college years. Instead, like his friendship with his buddy Adam, the sneezes had only grown stronger, though that hardly seemed to be possible (in either case.) And since Adam had known Richie for so long, he also knew… “Oh no. Oh buddy…”

“W-what?” Richie said, scrubbing at his nose to clear it of an allergic tickle.

“Buddy, uhhh… how you feeling?” Adam said, sitting down next to Richie on the couch, nudging him a bit to make space.

Richie sniffed again. Dreadful. He felt dreadful. But that wasn’t all he felt. “I feel… I f-feel… heh! l-like I gotta… gotta sn-sneeze… HAAT-CHOOO!” That one was short, but explosively loud, and so violent it forced Richie to crumple over on the couch. And no sooner had he deflated from that sneeze than another overtook him: “hhehhhh… HEEHHHZZZSSSHHHOOOOO!! HEEEIIIISHHHH! AAEEESSSHHHHHHHuuhhhh!” And another, and another. The sneezes were violent, even by Richie’s admittedly nuclear standards. But he couldn’t help it. The itch had been like a hot poker, stinging the insides of his nostrils, an overwhelming sensation that narrowed his focus and sapped his energy, until all he could focus on was the urge to blast out his sneezes as hard as he possibly could, just to make that horrible itching feeling go away. He hated how violent his sneezes were—always had, and probably always would. Richie wasn’t a very loud or exuberant guy—he left that to Adam—and he preferred to keep to himself, enjoy a good afternoon at home, and spend time with his friends when he could. He didn’t particularly want attention. But his nose, well… his nose had other ideas.

All through high school he’d been The Volcano, or the Super-Schnoz, or—god—Jonny Tsunami. And it hadn’t gotten any better in college. Sure, he’d found friends, just as he had in high school. And unlike high school, he’d found more than a couple girls—and a boy or two—who were willing to brave his explosions to, ah, spend some ‘quality time’ together. There’d even been that one girl who seemed to enjoy it when his nose cut loose but… somehow they’d lost touch. Gosh, he wondered what she was doing these days. In any case, though plenty were willing to overlook Richie’s frequent detonations, he’d still gotten more than his fair share of kidding about it. Especially in the lab, he’d be warned on more than one occasion that one of his monstrous sneezes would somehow affect the experiment. He’d been accused of making students drop pipettes and tubes, and on one horrible occasion he’d been forced to take a re-test on an exam, so overpowering and unstoppable were his sneezes. The other students had claimed they couldn’t concentrate with Richie erupting every five minutes. Rich couldn’t blame them.

And he should have known better than trying to go to that exam anyway. He’d had a cold. And while ordinarily Richie hardly went a day—hardly went a few hours—without sneezing, when he had a cold, it was worse. Much worse. The sneezes felt like they were coming constantly, like the itch had just set up residence in his sensitive nasal passages, and was using his nose as a punching bag, setting off sneeze after sneeze after sneeze. The worst was when he’d have a whole fit of his typically hurricane-force sneezes, and still couldn’t dislodge that infernal itch from his nose. He’d scrape his throat raw, sneezing sneeze after desperate sneeze, unleashing even more loudly, more powerfully, than he typically did—anything to make the tickle calm, even for a few moments. And from the way he’d just sneezed… and the way Adam was looking at him…

“No.” He said, shaking his head, “No, no, there’s no way. We just moved in here, there’s no way that…”

Adam just looked at him sympathetically. “‘Fraid so, buddy. I mean, look at yourself…” Adam said, whipping out his iPhone, taking a picture of Richie and turning it around for Richie to see in roughly the amount of time it would take Richie to blink. Adam loved that iPhone.

Taking the phone from Adam and looking at the screen, Richie could see what he meant. His eyes were rimmed red, and his nose was practically glowing. He could see a vague sheen of moisture in his eyes, and something that just seemed… heavy, coloring all his features. Adam was right. Richie thought it was just exhaustion from all the work of moving but… no. The more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t deny it. His head hurt, his nostrils leaked fluid, and he felt it… building up in the back of his nose, that itch, that itch that seemed like it would never go away. Still, he felt it, subtly playing about in his nostrils. His nose twitched: once, twice. His head was tipping back. The architecture of his nose was flexing, working, all but shaking. His chest was heaving in short gasps as he lifted a futile finger to place it beneath his nose. He felt his focus narrowing, the itch becoming the only thing that flooded his consciousness. It felt like a million feathers dancing in his nose… and yet somehow his sinuses felt like only the epicenter of a burning need that was filling his whole body. And then, just on the verge of release, just as he was finally going to unleash the typhoon that was building within, dimly, he heard a shriek…

“NO, RICHIE! NOT ON MADELINE!”

Richie’s eyes fluttered open just enough to see Adam, leaping through the air, arm outstretched, reaching to grab the phone that sat in Richie’s hand. He only saw for a second though, before… HHHAAARRRRAAASSCCCHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” Richie exploded with a sneeze loud enough to put his previous four to shame. This was one of Richie’s true cold sneezes, a mammoth eruption loud enough to set off car alarms, terrify passersby, and temporarily deafen at close range. He bellowed it out, unable to do anything else, a veritable hurricane of spray bursting from his nose and mouth, a torrential downpour equal in magnitude to the volume of Richie’s monstrous sneeze.

Richie laid his head back on the couch, panting and feeling weak. “oh god…” he moaned. Luckily, the sneeze had been enough to rid him of the worst of the itch… this time. He knew that once he was really into the worst of the cold, one monstrous sneeze-quake of that magnitude would hardly be enough to make a dent in the incessant need he felt. Already he felt that need still coursing through him, subtle, but ready to flare up at any time to inspire—to necessitate—another trademark Robbins-family eruption.

Blearily, he opened his eyes to see the aftermath of his sneeze. Adam, his whole t-shirt clad torso absolutely drenched in spray, was victoriously holding his cell phone, panting almost as much as Richie himself was. He cradled the phone to his chest, murmuring at it, “I saved you, yes I did, saved you from the big bad Hurricane Richie over there, he was gonna blow you right into the wall but I kept you safe, yes I did, yes I did…”

Richie found the strength to roll his eyes at Adam. He wouldn’t have actually blown the phone out of his hand, much less across the room and into the wall… probably. Suddenly, Richie was distracted by a banging noise that played havoc with his now-throbbing temples. “KEEP IT DOWN UP THERE!” He heard a muffled shout. Oh no… the neighbors had heard him. Already one unhappy neighbor. Richie was terrified to imagine how many more unhappy neighbors he’d develop over the course of this cold. And then, from the bedroom down the hall he heard another shout “OH BLOW IT OUT YOUR—“ Richie’s brother Tristan came into view, wandering down the hallway, scratching at his belly. Tristan was one of Richie’s five brothers—they were six altogether, and each brother suffered from the family curse: truly explosive sneezes. And though none suffered quite as badly as Richie did, Tristan was probably a close second.

“Damn Mrs. Harper. She’s always complaining. Geez, I got a-ahhh… hahhhHhhhh.. HHEEIIISSHHOOOOOO! -sniff!- allergies. So sue me.” Tristan grumbled, then looked up, catching a glimpse of Richie. His face dropped immediately, just like Adam’s had. “Oh boy, Rich.” He said, shaking his head. “Aw man I figured we had a few months at least… it’s not even winter. Shit, okay… well, uh… geez maybe I still have a stock of earplugs to pass out to the building…”

Adam had sufficiently recovered from the threat of injury to his beloved Madeline to snark, “Really? Earplugs? You think earplugs and a few walls are enough to keep my man Rich, the Incredible Thunder-Sneezer, down? Listen, Tristy, just ‘cause you’re in the one-man-tornado club too, doesn’t mean you’re a Category Five. Now my man Rich here, that’s a Category Five…”

Richie cut off Adam’s ramblings with a thunderous, “AAAAARRRRRRSSSSHHHOOOOOO! HHAARRRRRSSHHHH! AARRRSSSHHHHH! AAAEEEETTTTTSCCHOOOOOO!!! HHEEEIIIISSSHHHHH!!!”

“Did I say Category Five? Sorry, I forgot about the cold. Make that Category Ten.”

“RRRAAATTTCCHOOOOOOOO!!”

“Thousand.”

#snz story #richie robbins #male cold #but not a lot of hc or anything honestly just a lot of sneezing

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honorbound-to-the-pen · 5 years

Text

“Is That So?”

K! So, this is the thing I was writing a while ago and forgot to post. Keren is drunk (what a surprise), and I just wanted to intro one of my other lovely OCs. If they had met while sober, this may have gone differently. But...that’s how it is. If you have questions (bc I’m great at not introducing OCs before I use them), ask away!

Also, this a prompt from somewhere, I didn’t write it down, but thank you to the person who wrote it!

---

Keren was drunk. Again. He was slumped over a table in the corner of an establishment called the Bird Cage, one of the most well known alcohol dens in Chromeckothaun. The ground floor was covered with people crammed into tables and onto the dancefloor, swaying and jumping to electric swing music played by a group of avian automatons. The second floor (where Keren sat) was more subdued, with only a dozen people sitting at various tables. The room was lit by low red and orange lights, giving the room and the people within soft shadows. Music drifted up from the first floor, coming over the edge of the balcony and filling the air with dampened noise.

Keren pushed himself back from the table and stood. The shadowy room swayed in front of his eyes, the red and orange lights blinking and streaking in his vision. He took a step forward and stumbled over his tail, which had been curled around the leg of his chair. The half dozen glasses on the table rattled and clinked against each other, one falling over and rolling in aimless circles. Keren took another step and this time succeeded in disengaging himself with the table. He took another, more confident, step towards the bar, followed by another. He stumbled again, but caught himself and kept going. He wove between the few tables in his way, avoiding them just as much as he stumbled into them.

Finally, he made it to the bar and sat down on a stool, laying down on the bartop and humming as the cool copper came into contact with his cheek. He smiled languidly and shifted his unfocused gaze from empty space to the blurry figure who occupied the stool. The blur had dark skin, golden spikes that Keren took to be horns nestled in a long mass of blonde curls, and a glittering white smile that was visible over the rim of the cup that the figure held in a hand adorned with metal. Keren’s eyes focused and he stared at the figure, marvelling half aloud at the figure’s features.

The figure purred and quietly drummed the hand not holding the glass on the bartop, metal claws clinking against the copper. “You are quite charming, little demon. But alas, your honeyed words will get you nowhere.”

Keren picked his head up off of the bar and sat up straighter, blinking a few times to clear his vision. As the figure’s face clarified, Keren tried to keep his loose, cocky smile in place, but it faltered as he took in the figure in full detail. The blonde hair fell to the small of the figure’s back, catching the scattered light from around the room and looking more like a wavy golden cape than anything else. It was tucked behind one pointed ear, the rest fanning over thin shoulders to cascade down a simple black shirt and pants that hugged the figure’s body. The golden spikes nestled in the curls were indeed twisted golden horns, though whether they were natural or not was indistinguishable to Keren’s intoxicated eyes. Wine-red eyes met Keren’s golden ones, and Keren felt a blush creep across his two-toned skin. The figure smiled, perfect lips drawing back to reveal pointed, pearly canines that denoted something Keren couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Keren cleared his throat and spoke after making sure his signature self-important smirk was in place. “Is that so?” He leaned forward into the figure’s space, catching a whiff of some kind of earthy perfume that made his head spin. His thoughts were sluggish, but put together enough for a small corner of his brain to speak up.“ Are you sure this is a good idea? You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” But Keren was quite adept at ignoring what little logic he possessed, especially while inebriated.

The figure inclined his head once while smiling into his glass before setting it on the table. He put his hand out, golden ornamental claws glinting in the warm light. Keren hopped off of his stool, managing to maintain enough grace to look fluid, even in his drunken state. He bowed low over the figure’s hand, all the while looking up into the amused gaze that was directed down at him. “Keren Iados, paladin of the first ring of Hell and soon to be the one to sweep you off your feet.” He kissed the figure’s hand and straightened, winking before sitting down again.

The figure let out a tittering laugh, light and musical. He leaned back against the bar, legs crossed and filigreed nails still quietly drumming on the table top. “I am Auxerre Nightwing, the sole vampire lord of this city, the owner of this establishment, and...your most pleasant nightmare,” the figure finished with a sultry smile. With that, Auxerre stood and stepped in between Keren’s knees where they rested spread comfortably on the barstool. He wrapped his arm loosely around Keren’s neck, leaning back against the bar with only some of his weight on Keren’s thigh.

Keren felt his face heating up, and he knew that even through his red and black skin that the flush would show. He tilted his head to the side, breath stuttering as he tried to think of a smooth remark. “I thought you said that my words wouldn’t get me anywhere? But it seems to me that you have been won by my masculine charms.” He tossed his head and offered the man on his lap a suave smile.

Auxerre clicked his tongue, chuckling softly. He leaned in and kissed Keren on the cheek, once against wreathing him in a subtle but intoxicating scent that made his cheeks flush and want to inexplicably pull Auxerre closer. He smelled of...well worn leather, rain in the forest, and just a hint of something spicy.

Only then did the full weight of what Auxerre had said settle on Keren. He gulped quietly and tilted his head farther to the side, knowing that the low red lights would glint off of the triple sets of small horns set on his forehead, flicker across the gold and silver tattoos that covered his arms and neck, and highlight the long blonde lashes that surrounded his golden, pupil-less eyes.

“What brings the master of such a fine establishment out and into the company of one such as myself?” As he spoke, he wrapped his right arm gently around Auxerre’s back, resting it on the bartop and just barely letting his black, manicured claws catch the fabric of Auxerre’s robe, finally giving in to the urge that screamed to pull vampire closer. Keren knew that he was most likely in danger; vampire lords didn’t choose to dally with just anyone. But Keren was still drunk, and the wine he had ingested made him even more bold than he otherwise would have been, drowning out the tiny voice of reason that forever was doomed to lose to his impulses.

“Well, little demon: to put it simply, you intrigue me. In this shining city, not many are so bold as you. Not many approach the roosting vampire of this house of pleasures, much less lavish so many words and praises upon him with one very singular intention in mind.” Once again, Auxerre’s lips spread to reveal his perfect teeth formed into in a smile that brought a blush to Keren’s face, no matter how experienced with the art of seduction he was.

Keren was just about to offer the vampire-lord a drink when Auxerre’s face changed, becoming serious and concentrated, but somehow only enhancing his feminine but chiseled features.

Auxerre nodded once, eyes locked on some distant point, before standing gracefully and spinning around slowly to face Keren. Auxerre’s face still held the self-assured but charming smile it had before, but Keren could see the tiny cracks where worry shown through. Despite his drunken state and his extremely limited attachment to the man, he felt his heart clench at the sight. “What’s on your mind, doll? I didn’t see you talking to anyone, but something changed. I swear, by the holy fires of Zariel that-”

Before he could finish, Auxerre put a soft finger to his lips. “I appreciate the offer, little demon, but I assure you I am quite capable of taking care of this...nuisance on my own. I am so sorry to interrupt our encounter, as I can see it is leading somewhere quite promising. But alas, I will have to resume this another time. Return tomorrow, and I will assure that we are able to converse uninterrupted.” With a smile bordering on a smirk as Auxerre saw Keren nearly drool at the offer that had been laid out, he leaned forward to brush his lips against Keren’s, before turning and moving gracefully towards the staircase to the first floor, hips swinging slightly.

As as Auxerre disappeared into the low, warm light, Keren licked his lips unconsciously, still feeling the feather-light kiss Auxerre had given him. It tingled in the most pleasant way, almost gone but still lingering. He wanted more, and he was more than eager to see what would transpire the next night.

With a satisfied smirk, confident that the night had gone well due to his indelible charm, Keren ordered another glass of wine and retreated to his corner of the room, settling in again to listen to the music and search for some fresh company.

#writeblr #writing #WIP #Keren Iados #Keren #OCs #mywriting #my writing #amwriting #Slings and Arrows #The Slings and Arrows of Outrageous Fortune #TSaAoOF

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bxebxee · 6 years

Note

ok and i know yr on break so dont feel pressured to answer or anything!! and im sorry for writing a whole novel in yr inbox, i was trying to figure out how they might build up to actual penetrative sex and i got rlly invested 😳

omg do you know how much i love you!!!!!! I hope EVERYONE clicks on the read more because you are the best anon!!!!! I bolded and underlined my favorite bits and wrote a tiny thing at the end because you’re the BEST. I haven’t felt this rush-inspired in such a long time!!! Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank youuuuuuuuuuuuu!!!!!!!!!!

becky i was thinking ab yr nj humiliation drafts ([one] [two] [three] [four] [five] [six]) and how they might progress and i started thinking ab rope bondage and how at first she was too nervous to touch him but once she gets more comfortable its all she wants to do!! but hes worried bc of how restrained/repressed shes been in the past and to keep her from jumping the gun he starts tieing her up?? (1/5)

and its small things at first like restraining her hands behind her back so she wont touch him or herself while he makes himself cum (and then maybe if shes good and doesnt complain he’ll let her ride his fingers to get off, hers still tied behind her back. or if hes feeling mean he makes her grind herself against a pillow or the arm of his couch while he watches) (2/5)

and some mornings he’ll have her come over and strip so he can tie her up and then redress over the knots and spend the rest of the day like that under her clothes (esp patterns where the ropes pull straight up between her legs) and when he takes them off at the end of the day and hes rubbing her down where the skin mightve chaffed shes way more affected than she thought she’d be and comes untouched? (3/5)

and then one day when they both have a free day he spiral ties her legs and restrains her arms behind her and then after he makes sure shes comfortable and knows her limits he just- leans back on the bed and starts reading his book like she isnt tied up and at his mercy right next to him? (4/5)

and when he finally puts down his book after what feels like forever instead of doing anything right away he throws back to how this all started and tells her if she wants him to touch her tonight shes going to have to tell him exactly what she wants from him in excruciating detail. and before she can even think about it, this barely coherent, desperate plea for him to just fuck her escapes. and then after shes calmed down and can speak properly he does exactly as she asks. (5/5)

You’re nearly in tears when Namjoon puts his book down - finally, fucking finally. You hate crying in front of anyone because there’s always so much snot that goes into production. It’s the furthest thing from pretty or ladylike or decent. You don’t want to show Namjoon that side of you just yet.

There is an ache that’s been building at your core for quite some time that’s exacerbated by the numbness you feel at your legs and hands. It’s not the most uncomfortable thing in the world, but people have a tendency to overlook the importance of fidgeting in every day life. You know that you certainly didn’t know how much you missed simple movement until Namjoon tied you up and allowed you to “relax” for a hot second.

At first it felt fine - good even. He asked you a million questions about your comfort, and it just felt like you were laying down. And you might have been able sleep were it not for the itch on your nose that bloomed unexpectedly.

It’s the small things in life that set you off, and fixation over a small itch made you desire free hands like nothing else. The only way you could get over it was to focus on Namjoon reading silently at his desk, feet propped up as he concentrated on the book before him.

He looked so good, so perfect - all long limbs and careless expression of height for no reason. His fingers turned a page and your mouth went dry. You had never been jealous of paper before in your life.

You could have begged him to scratch your nose for you, but it seemed like such a silly reason to interrupt his reading. And it wasn’t until he made eye contact that you were pushed into some weird territory of desire. But Namjoon didn’t stop reading. You knew he was actively absorbing whatever it was he was reading because he had his literature face on - scrunched eyebrows that moved expressively as he took in the text.

Your boyfriend is a pervert, but so are you. By the time your mind has sent you to and from four different fantasy trips, each involving Namjoon’s pretty cock, your lips are dry from sucking in too much air. It’s a sharp contrast to the way your panties feel.

He puts his book down, and your heart races.

“You’re so obvious,” he says, eyes dripping with fondness.

“I’m not hiding anything,” you tell him, sincere and horny. “I want you so bad.”

And Namjoon is overjoyed really, and so, so proud that you’ve come this far. You admit things to him, but more importantly, to yourself without shame. You’re the same woman he met, but he’s pretty sure you’re a bit happier.

Namjoon pushes because that’s what he’s good at.

“I can tell,” he replies, undoing a few buttons of his shirt. He’s about ninety-nine percent sure he’s going to make you cum tonight. “But I’m not going to touch you until you’re more specific.”

You moan, biting your lip as your arousal grinds a heavy ax on your core.

“You need to tell me every, little detail,” Namjoon orders, “or I’m not doing anything.”

It’s excruciating the way you open your lips for nothing to come out. Speak, your mind begs. You’ve just had four delicious fantasies for material, and yet there’s a disconnect between your mind and your mouth. All you can think about is the lump in his pants covering his cock, and the way that cock felt in your dreams.

And you’ve done everything with him except actual, vaginal, penetrative sex. Namjoon makes your jaw hurt and your throat raw whenever you suck at him, and not a day goes by when you don’t think about how sore your vagina would feel with him stretching you out. Just two of his fingers feel like the end of the world for you.

Despite your reservations about penetration, you want to experience it. You want Namjoon to experience it. You’ve watched so much porn together - you seated on his lap with one of his long fingers shoved up your pussy while the two of you viewed some girl getting pounded by a well-endowed man. Every time you pictured Namjoon would one day try fucking you just like that.

A whine escapes your throat as the images are too clear in your mind. Namjoon has you face down on the bed in your fantasy, spreading apart your asscheeks with two hands to scrutinize your holes. He’s picking one to fuck and settles on rubbing his cock against your filthy slit weeping with arousal.

Namjoon in real life is patient as he sees you working up the courage. You waited for him as he read, and he could most certainly wait for you.

“Fuck me,” you whisper, and the expletive sounds like a gunshot even though your tone is softer than feathers. You close your eyes. “F-fuck me… ngh.” And in your head, the fantasy of Namjoon sinking in and using you until he’s satisfied play out again and again until the only things that come out of your mouth are sad little begs.

Namjoon still waits, taking in the show you’re putting on for him because it’s not every day you fantasize about him right in front of his eyes. He likes to watch you think things through.

You take long, shuttering gasps of air to calm the fuck down because you need to talk if any of this had a snowball’s chance in hell of coming true. And after some tens of seconds go by where the only thing you do is think of absolutely nothing, you are finally able to open your eyes and dislodge the stopper between brain and mouth.

“I wish you would untie me first,” you start. It’s not a question or a request. “Then undress me. Undress yourself. Touch me.”

“Slow down,” Namjoon chuckles. “You’re skipping all the good stuff.”

“All I want is for you to spread me open with those big hands of yours and shove your cock in whatever hole you want,” you continue as if he never said anything. You didn’t care about going through what he wanted because this is your fantasy, and he’s just here for the ride.

“Keep going.”

Good, you think. Namjoon is playing along.

“You’re going to choose my pussy.”

“Interesting that I have no say in my own choice.”

“Shut up.”

Namjoon’s heart seems to stutter in its beating, and he can tell you’re also surprised by your own outburst. He’s almost scared that you’re going to backtrack and take it back, because you were doing so good so far.

“Um,” you pause, “yeah… shut up.”

He can’t help but to smile when you forge ahead, and he zips his lips like the obedient boyfriend he wants to be for you.

“You go in slow just to test me. First the tip to see if I can take it at all. And then you push right in even though it feels like I’m going to spit you out.”

This is exhilarating. Your mind provides words for you easily, as if you’re lying down in bed with your phone in hand typing out something naughty for Namjoon. It feels just like that moment of freedom, and you relish it.

“You don’t go slow,” you say with a laugh. “You’re fucking me for you.”

“Stop right there,” Namjoon interrupts. “I’m going to untie you.”

“Thank you.”

It doesn’t take long for Namjoon to remove the ties and toss them off the bed. He massages your arms and legs to help with the circulation and holds you as you shake from the pins and needles shooting its unpleasantness up and down your body.

“Is it going to be tonight?” Namjoon asks. “Because we don’t have to.”

You smile, a little teary because the pain was real after the ties were loosened. “I really want it to be tonight.”

Namjoon kisses your forehead.

“Okay.”

#answered #drafts #best anon

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demisexualemmaswan · 7 years

Text

The Hanging Tree [5/21]

Catch up on Tumblr.

Catch up on Ao3.

Tagging @gretelsmaias @literatiruinedme @lesbxdyke @messdress @goddiva @the-last-blapple @leatherrumandthesea @andiirivera @piratesbooty63fan @izzyd03 @writemyanchor who have liked previous parts of THT

And tagging @askthedarkswan @bisexual-killian-jones @piratesails @imhookedonaswan @nightships @colinodonoghue and @hookedladyswan bc friends and I think they’d like it.

Oh! And @oparu because she was my cheerleader!

“So, what exactly are we wearing for the Tribute parade?” Emma asked, shifting nervously. This was familiar territory, to some extent. Everyone was forced to watch the Tribute parade in the village square. Each district sent their districts down a mile-long runway—a lush green carpet made of silk—for all of the Capitol and Misthaven to see.

Still. It was one thing to watch the parade every year, and quite another thing to be in it. Oh God, what if she fell? Then what would happen?

Whale shook his head, and cleared his throat to bring her out of her stupor. “We don’t see the designs until you come out. He says he’s feeling particularly inspired this year. I’m willing to trust him.” He began filling his flask with whiskey. “You know, a lot of people think it’s unfair that we have him. He’s young, but he’s talented. Well, he looks young anyway. For all we know, he’s as old as time.”

“I guess it’s gotta be pretty easy to be called talented when You’ve got 7. There’s not much you can do with leaves, is there?” Emma replied. “And lumber.”

“And the two of us,” Killian supplied.

“Thankfully, both of you are perfect looking cherubs, so no, he won’t have to do much in that regard,” Whale said wryly. Emma rolled her eyes and Killian turned a lovely shade of pink. “It’ll help, I promise. Especially you.” Whale pointed to Killian at this statement.

“Me?” Killian asked, the shade of pink getting redder by the moment.

“Mhmm. You ever hear of David Nolan?” Whale asked. Emma and Killian looked at each other confusedly. “You haven’t? It’s a shame. Well, you’ll get to meet him at some time this week, and his wife, Snow. They’re both mentors for their District. They won back to back years in the Games, but that was before you were born.”

“Wait, why do we need to know about David Nolan?” Emma insisted, wanting him to get to the point.

“He’s a nice guy. Very friendly and cheerful, all things considered. He was the youngest winner of his Games at age 14 and that was about twenty years ago. He won because he got a ton of sponsors. You’ll see why when we meet him.”

Emma huffed exasperatedly.

“Besides, it’s not like you’re this kid,” Whale huffed, pointing to the boy from District 5. “Looks like a monkey, jeez he’s ugly…” He snapped his fingers and pointed at Killian. “Who is he?”

“Walsh Ozmund,” Killian responded quickly.

“Very good,” Whale praised.

“How come he gets praised for identifying someone quickly, but I only get yelled at all the time?” Emma complained.

“Because your personality doesn’t match your startling baby blue eyes,” Whale said wryly.

“My eyes are green.”

“Exactly.”

“All right, I’m ready to go!” Tinkerbell announced, flouncing into the room. They all stared at her, confusion clearly read on their faces. “Green and brown,” she explained. “For District 7!”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that trees were neon colored,” Whale mocked.

Emma opened her mouth and then closed it again, thinking better of it. Tinkerbell was clearly making an effort to support them, and Emma wasn’t going to make her feel bad about it. Judging the look on Killian’s face, it was clear he felt the same way.

It was just…the design on Tinkerbell’s dress was nothing like any tree she’d ever seen in the heart of her District. Then again, she hadn’t seen a real tree since they left 7. Emma wondered what trees looked like in the Capitol, or if there even were trees at all.

“Swan?” Killian prompted gently, tapping her elbow. “You coming?” She nearly jumped out of her skin to realize that Whale and Tinkerbell had already left the apartment.

“Yeah, I’m coming,” Emma said softly. He offered his arm to her and she got up, walking past it. He sighed, rolling his eyes at her, though there was a brief moment where something like affection flickered in his gaze.

“You’ve been lost in thought quite a bit lately,” he said softly as they walked together. “Everything all right?”

“There’s just a lot to think about.” She frowned, not looking at him, as they walked out of the apartment and into the elevator, still thinking about the trees. If the Capitol could make something as simple as trees so…outlandish, what else were they getting wrong?

Once they were in the elevator, Killian hesitantly slipped his hand into hers and she yanked it away.

“Cozy,” Whale snarked at them as the elevator doors opened. He took a huge swig from his flask. “Looks like we’ve got a real team of winners over here. A real confident and together look, you guys.”

They couldn’t look at him or each other, so Whale just let it go. The four of them began walking down the hallway, and two figures approached them from the other direction. “Okay, so approaching us right now? We’ve got Triton and Ursula, mentors from 4,” he explained lowly.

As they walked by, Killian and Ursula made eye contact, and Ursula’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. Emma felt Killian tense up beside her before wrenching his gaze away from Ursula’s and staring straight ahead. His clenched jaw and tensed shoulders made her wonder what the hell was going on. She opened her mouth to ask her, but he began to walk away from her, his strides a little bit longer now.

His head was held low, and if Emma didn’t know any better, she could’ve sworn he was crying. And she wasn’t sure why, but it broke her heart.

Whale grabbed her arm and yanked her back a little bit. “What the hell was that about?” he demanded, between to Killian and the mentors from 4, both who were out of earshot.

“I have no idea...” Emma murmured, staring at the dark entryway where Killian had gone through.

“Merlin, meet our tributes this year: Emma Swan and Killian Jones,” Tinkerbell introduced them excitedly.

“Swan. That’s an interesting last name,” Merlin said to Emma as he bowed to them.

“Thanks, it was my dad’s,” Emma said dryly.

“I’ll be sure to send my regards,” Merlin responded, arching an eyebrow at Emma. Emma’s eyes lit up and the two shared a laugh as if they were old friends. Emma grinned excitedly.

Maybe this wouldn’t be all bad.

“Holy shit, you’ve already worked your magic. That’s the first real smile she’s given since she got here,” Whale groused. “Change of plans, you’re now on Emma’s team now and forever. You can be her mentor, I’ll be in charge of the easy one.”

“I don’t know how I feel about being called ‘the easy one’,” Killian grumbled.

“I think Emma and I will get along just fine without me taking your job,” Merlin responded, still chuckling a little bit. “All right, you and Tink better find your seats. I’ve got work to do with these two.”

Tinkerbell grabbed Whale by the arm and dragged him off, muttering something about “being responsible and not embarrassing his Tributes”.

For the first time since coming to the Capitol, they were alone with people they did not know. Killian shifted nervously, though whether it was from this or his earlier encounter Emma wouldn’t know. Merlin snapped his fingers and some chairs were brought forward.

“Let me introduce you to your team,” Merlin replied. “I’m Merlin, and my two assistants are Tatiana and Mab. They’ll help you get ready in every conceivable way. I’m merely the designer. But, I did want to get to know you a little bit before I show you my designs. So, tell me about yourselves.”

He sat down in the first chair and looked expectantly at them. They sat down, eyes flickering to one another and back to Merlin. He smiled sympathetically. “I’ll go first. My name is Merlin. I grew up in District 8, in a little section on the outskirts that actually was in walking distance to the border. At one time, we could’ve been neighbors,” he started. “I’ve no siblings, my parents are gone, and I guess you could say I live a lonely existence, but it’s not all bad. The Capitol made my apartment look like a treehouse because I work for District 7 now,” he joked.

Killian grinned at that. “So you know what a tree looks like then?”

“Who do you think had design input on their own apartment?” Merlin responded. He leaned back in the chair and gestured at both of them. “Tell me more about yourselves.”

“Emma and I are the only orphans in District 7,” Killian supplied helpfully.

“Well, there’s also my younger brother,” Emma added. “But, um, yeah we’ve mostly fended for ourselves the past couple of years. And, uh, each other, I guess.”

“So all this glitz and glam is a little overwhelming?” Merlin asked sympathetically. They both nodded. “Well, then I’m glad I went with what I did. Are you two ready to see the design?” He opened his sketchbook to them.

They would both be wearing dark brown pants that seemed to grow into an emerald green patterned top that was textured like leaves. Emma shared and excited look with Killian. This was something she could definitely get behind.

“Now, because the Green Mile is made of silk, we feel it’ll be best if you both go barefoot,” Merlin was telling them. “And you’ll both be wearing a little bit of green eyeshadow on your faces. Killian, we were thinking of putting a little more eyeliner on your face because it will make your eyes look more dramatic.”

“How dreamy,” Emma muttered and Killian snickered.

“And you’ll both have white accents in your hair. Emma, for you, we were thinking a crown of swan feathers, and for Killian, you’ll have these white puffs. They’re supposed to represent the forest and the sky.”

“This is so cool,” Killian said excitedly. “When do we get started?”

“I love it when they say that,” Merlin said with a grin. “Killian, if you go with Mab, Emma and I are going to talk about styling her hair.”

“Are you sure you’ll be all right, Swan?” Killian asked, shifting closer to her, frowning at Merlin. His excitement was gone. Emma rolled her eyes and gently shoved him. “If you say so. I’m not far if you need me,” he called with a frown as he headed off with Mab.

“So, Killian’s protective of you,” Merlin said bluntly once Killian was out of earshot. He walked Emma over to a mirror and sat her down. “Now, let’s brush all this out and see what we’ve got here.”

“Excuse you, I do a great job taking care of my hair,” Emma mumbled, glowering up at Merlin.

“Settle down. I meant what I can do with it style wise,” Merlin said, brushing out her hair. “What do you typically do with it?”

“Ponytails mostly,” Emma shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t really think about it all that much. I leave it down most of the time except for when it gets hot. I don’t really have time for style.”

“Have you ever braided it before?” Merlin asked.

“Not really since my mom died,” Emma said quietly, tucking her knees into her chest.

Merlin hummed sympathetically. “I’d like to, but if it’s too painful, I can do something else with your hair, okay?” he asked gently.

“Can I think about it for a few minutes?” Emma asked quietly, her eyes flickering up to Merlin nervously.

“Of course,” Merlin murmured quietly. “I’m going to go check on Killian and I’ll be back in about five minutes, okay?”

She nodded and took a deep breath, squeezing her knees tighter to her chest.

“I’m going to throw up,” Emma muttered as Tatiana and Mab threaded the white swan feathers into her braid as Merlin dabbed dark green eye shadow over her eyelids. Killian’s hand was on her back and she quickly shrugged it off.

“You’re okay, Swan. I promise,” Killian murmured gently. “It’s…it’s just a very long walk, right?” He smiled bravely at her and she rolled her eyes, trying not to feel guilty when he deflated a little bit.

“A full mile. Half a mile down, half a mile back,” Merlin said, straightening out Emma’s jacket. “Don’t worry. You’re barefoot, which makes you less likely to trip. And we hemmed the pants just right so that your feet won’t catch on them. All you have to do is breathe so you won’t pass out.”

“I’ve got that,” Killian promised.

“What, are you going to breathe for me?” Emma snapped, fidgeting under the many pairs of hands that seemed intent on fixing every flaw visible or otherwise. Everything seemed to close in around her, and not for the first time, she wished she was back at home.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what Henry was doing and it made her heart ache. She missed him so much, she felt like she was drowning in it. There was nothing of home here, nothing to steady her. The noise and flashing lights kept her from even being able to think about where her brother was. She tried to conjure a memory of the two of them, but felt like it was all being drowned out.

“It’s time,” Killian said softly, batting away Tatiana and Mab’s hands from Emma’s hair. He smiled down at her. “You ready?” he asked.

“Do I have a choice?” she asked weakly. He shook his head with an equally strained smile.

He offered her his arm, even after he rolled his eyes at her. “It’ll make us look united. Composed in the face of all this chaos,” Killian explained. “Show the other Districts that we aren’t afraid of them. That we have each other’s backs. We’re protecting each other, remember?”

Emma nodded, slipping her arm through his. To be honest, she wasn’t sure what was making her so afraid of Killian, why every instinct in her body screamed to pull away and isolate herself.

She didn’t want to be alone now. Not really.

“When you get to the runway, you will have to walk down individually,” Merlin explained, walking side by side with them. “But there will be cameras back there. If a camera zooms in on your face, don’t look at it, just look straight ahead. No expression. You’re there, but you’re focused.”

“So much coaching,” Killian muttered. “Do you think we’re going to get this much guidance when we’re fighting in the arena?” Emma snorted and genuinely smiled at that, linking their arms a little bit tighter together. He grinned a little bit at her smile.

“No jokes,” Merlin scolded. “Got it?”

“Got it,” both Emma and Killian agreed.

“Good,” Merlin said stiffly and nodded at them before leaving. Just beyond the screen that separated them from the Capitol crowd, Emma could see flashes on either side. The tradition was that the female walked first, and then when she turned around to head back, they would send the male tribute down the mile of soft green carpet.

It was said that President Gold’s private box was so high up so he could look down and judge the Tributes as they walked down the runway. She longed to ask someone, anyone, if they’d ever seen him up close in person and if he was just as sinister as the television made him seem.

“He’s there, he’s in his box, darling,” a girl with black and white hair crowed contently to the stylists around her. Emma recognized her as the girl from District 1. “Can you imagine? All that power…”

“Cruella de Vil,” Killian muttered beside her. He linked his arm a little tighter around hers.

Emma’s eyes flickered around the crowd, trying to spot pairs from the other district. She saw Hans Faroe from District 1 not far behind Cruella. She recognized Walsh Ozmund from District 5 and for a moment, they made eye contact. He smirked at her and Emma rolled her eyes in retaliation.

“Is he bothering you, love?” Killian growled lowly.

“I’m fine,” Emma huffed. “Save it for the arena.”

Another boy, the boy from 6, deliberately knocked into Walsh, knocking him over. Walsh sprawled to the floor, while Faline, the girl from 5, leaped out of the way looking startled.

“Who’s that?” Emma asked, indicating the boy from 6.

“Graham Humbert,” Killian replied lowly. “The girl from 5 is Faline Whitetail, and the girl tribute from 6 is Reyna Avis.”

“You did your homework, didn’t you?” a low voice snarled from behind them. Emma and Killian whipped around to see a tall boy with ragged, sandy hair. There was a wild looked to his eyes and Emma stepped out in front of Killian protectively. “So, who am I then?”

“Felix Nightshade,” Killian replied, jerking his chin up as he came to stand beside Emma. “Volunteer from 2.”

“So you’re the famous volunteer from 7 I keep hearing so much about?” Felix mocked, giving Killian an appraising look. “Well, I’ll see you around…Killian.”

A bunch of stylists began lining the tributes up by District.

Girl boy, girl, boy and so on and so forth.

Emma found herself behind Graham, who’d knocked over Walsh. Behind her, Killian was making polite conversation with Abigail, the girl Tribute from District 8. From the wisps of the conversation, Abigail was the Mayor’s daughter in her district.

A wave of jealousy curled up in Emma’s stomach at the thought of parents who actually gave a damn and who would be upset about her being sent off to the Games. So instead, she decided to bother the boy in front of her. “That was a real show of masculinity before,” she muttered to Graham. “Like a wolf.”

“He was bothering Tributes from the other districts. Got right in that little girl’s face from 11 and told her how he was going to enjoy tearing her limb from limb. I know some people enjoy that part of the Games, but it’s not right, you know? Someone needed to show him that he wasn’t as tough as he thought he was,” Graham replied with a shrug. “You’re Emma Swan, right?”

“Yeah,” Emma muttered. “And you’re Graham Humbert.”

“Nice to meet you, Emma,” Graham said sincerely, and turned back around.

“Nice to meet you too,” Emma murmured softly before he whisked away on stage to walk down the runway. She fidgeted anxiously, wishing she could turn around and talk to Killian, but she could see members of the audience, whispering to one another and pointing at her.

“All right, sweetheart, you’re up,” a stylist said, all but shoving Emma up on stage. “Walk to the end of the carpet, make a pose and turn around.”

Just keep walking and breathe. Merlin’s voice rang out in her head, the phrase repeating itself over and over, until she was walking like she was just trying to get somewhere. She nearly missed the end of the runway, but stopped short, almost as if she was frozen in place when felt a pair of eyes on her, cutting through the crowd.

She didn’t need to look up to know that it was President Gold looking down at her. Still, she lifted her head up to make direct eye contact with him. And suddenly, Emma couldn’t hear the murmur of the Capitol citizens. She couldn’t see the flashing lights of the camera.

All she could feel was the cold swoop of dread in her gut as she made eye contact with the man that she never wanted to come face to face with.

Gold’s mouth curved into a smirk and he leaned forward, as if he was inspecting her for weakness. Emma didn’t move, much like a fly in a spider web, as she watched those lizard-like eyes inspect her. Seemingly satisfied with whatever he had come up with, he leaned back, crossing his arms as he continued to stare down at her, and Emma was still cold.

When he looked away, Emma found that she could tear herself away from the end of the runway and began heading back. Killian’s hand reached for her as they walked beside each other, but she yanked it away.

“You have to stop doing that!” Emma shouted once they were back in the apartments. “The reaching and the hand holding! I’m serious, Killian! Are you trying to make me look weak in front of the other Tributes?”

“I’m trying to protect you! Isn’t that what we’re supposed to be doing? Protecting one another?” Killian asked, looking confused and hurt.

“There’s a difference between trying to protect me and treating me like I’m glass!” she responded, getting up in his face. “So for God’s sake, just treat me like a person and not like this breakable thing that needs saving and comfort all the time! That’s not me!”

Killian’s eyes widened with shock. He took a moment before considering her words before he nodded. “You’re right,” he agreed softly. “I have been treating you like you’re breakable. I’ve known you long enough to know that you’re not. You’re absolutely right.”

“I am?” Emma asked, feeling surprised by his admission. Then she puffed up her chest and added, “You’re damn right I’m right.”

His mouth curved up in a smile and nodded to her. “I’m sorry, Emma,” he said genuinely. “I just…didn’t want to let you down. I…I didn’t want to let Henry down.”

“What does Henry have to do with this?” Emma asked curiously. He walked to the couches and flopped down. She hesitantly sat across from him. “Killian?”

“He was the only person to come visit me after we got reaped. No one else wanted to say good-bye to me. Just him,” Killian said quietly, looking down at the floor. “I promised to take care of you. Do right by you in the arena.”

“You will,” Emma said confidently.

“That’s quite a lot of faith you’re putting in me, Swan,” Killian said, raising his eyebrows. He sighed and continued, “I don’t…he sees so much good in me. Good that I wasn’t even sure was there because I’ve spent so much time alone in my own head. And I don’t want to lose that. All my life, people have been letting me down--”

“Hey, I don’t intend to let you down,” Emma interrupted, sitting closer to him.

“I know,” Killian said softly, his eyes glimmering with affection. “I know. I just…the Games, Swan. We’ve watched, for as long as we can remember, decent people turn into killers and monsters at the drop of the hat. I don’t…I don’t want to lose all that good things I’ve found since moving to District 7.”

“Like me and Henry,” Emma surmised. Killian nodded. She thought about it for a moment before extending her hand. “I’m gonna make a deal with you. I’m gonna choose to see the best in you. No matter what.”

Killian slipped her hand into hers. “And I with you,” he promised softly.

#the hanging tree #cs au #blaire's writing #cs au fic #cs au ff

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iwishnomore · 5 years

Text

there are mostly civilians in the camp people and kids that wouldnt be able to defend themselves well so V gets put there with a handful people to keep an eye out for them and

the camp gets in trouble with some other grp that take their supplies away before they can pick them up

so these people seem to have their base close to that camp and V being V wants to investigate and see if these guys are just talking big or if they really can take the camp out like they say if the camp doesnt pay to get THEIR OWN STUFF back sneaking her way to those people its not only clear that these guys are full of shit- but they also have beef with each other in their own little gangster grp

she witnesses how they basically ruin themselves drinking, fighting and taking their compadres out so problem solved itself u may think as V suprise hits the last guy standing who is just happy he has a lot of shit to live off of

so while she checks how much of the supplies these greasy guys had their hands on already she gets surprised by a RANDOM LOL patrol of aliens (what kawa u drunk go home)

seems those guys had their stuff a little too close to a checkpoint and the noise they made when they killed each other resulted in alien troops coming to check what the shit is going on

So far, V’s day is a rollercoaster of ups and downs she gets wounded on her leg but manages to take out 2 out of 3 aliens

hunter shows up and oh boi does she like him but also she does not trust him bc the last time he just dissappeared after she helped him and he helped her and now she thinks that he might just go ahead and kill her rollercoaster down so to speak he shoots the last alien saying something along the lines of ‘this one I am taking care of myself~’ meaning her, obv and she thinks its her last seconds lol so while she scrambles backwards and he casually walks towards her ANOTHER PERSON SHOWS UP

so in case u cant already tell from my rambling: ASSASSIN shows up- turns out hunter has ignored the elders call and she came to check up on her annoying brother lol he reacts quickly, making sure she doesnt notice V V IS HELLA CONFUSED BUT WHY NOT while they 'talk things out’ (rather get onto each others throat pretty much immediately) she takes her leave slowly and bleeding bc of that darn wound on her leg she tries to stop the bleeding and cover her tracks

not trusting her own ability and fearing that she might get followed anyways once her absence at the scene is noticed she avoids going straight to the camp doing all the indiana jones things she even wades thru a friggin river ….that rollercoaster keeps spiraling down eh?

tired, scared, bleeding and now also soaking wet and without her jacket bc thats what she used to get rid of the blood that might drip from her leg, pants,shoes whatevs and the supplies still are theoretically lost meh so she ends up exhausted somewhere in the woods like at this point V doesnt even care? she’s gonna do something …right after she rested her eyes for a minute mind u u.u bad idea

no amount of wading thru water and trying not to bleed everywhere helped and who shows up with the most satisfied shit eating grin under the sun? aye u might have guessed it hunter wastes no time telling her all the things she did wrong while funnily enough he also without explanation or anything he just inspects her wound and does some funny psi stuff this rollercoaster is confusing V is angry, she is pissed at herself and him of course- scolding her and gloating abt how she messed up but she is also confused af werent they done with helping? shoudltn he be just …skinning her alive or some shit since thats what they say he did to some people or maybe roast her

on a kebab stick but there he is

numbing the pain in her leg somehow and deciding that she needs to get somewhere else if she had more energy she might have tried to resist

but as things are nothing stops him when he picks her up (not elegantly in the least i might mention) and starts off to who knows where

so however much time passes V has no idea but it feels like not more than 5 minutes have gone by….then again…who knows…she might have fallen unconscious somewhere along the way

she gets plopped down and its soft wherever this is it looks better than anything she knows

she is so dumbfounded by her surroundings she doesnt even talk back at first when he tells her to get out of the wet clothes

she’s in the middle of stripping down all the while still oggling the room with the sleek surfaces and the outrageously comfy looking bed…how dare they…whoever owns this place should get beaten with a stick

so before her undies fall she snaps out of her thoughts and wants to yell at him Buuuut he is nowhere to be sen seen* ok so off with the undies

V wraps herself in a blanket and (WHY IS IT SO SOFT HOW DARE THEY)

V is still taking in the room wrapped in that blanket, her clothes sprawled over a now-not-pristine-white-anymore chair this room looks pretty but empty like someone had planned to live here

its pretty and empty and although the matress she sits on is insultingly cozy and the blanket a dream come true….its still cold and V has to make a concious effort to stop her teeth from chattering where the fuck did 'he’ go tho for a moment V imagines complete strangers entering the room to see a freezing V sitting on their bed and wrapped in their blanket

thats funny almost the whole situation is ridiculous

V is ready to walk back to that chair and wring herself into those wet clothes again

leaving this place and probably dying of hypothermia outside sounds just as bad as sitting here and waiting for kingdom come this is way too similar to the last time she was stranded with this guy speaking of which maybe he already left

with her bare feet she slowly tip taps thru the room, checking windows and closets and making her way to the only door in sight the second her fingers make contact with the handle the door opens

'gotcha. nessing with the doors again.’ messing* (lol jk) no lights for now he says but the place will warm up eventually theres electricity

he somewhat inores her °_° face and walks past her and she cringes when she realizes he goes straight to her stuff V almost trips over herself to make sure he cant get a hold of anything what are you doing making sure these will dry- or would you rather have them stay wet I dont mind you like this [insert rude smile here] so the clothes get taken care of

its still cold V is still confused by his charitable behaviour wtf is he thinking wtf is SHE thinking she completely forgot abt the whole 'he is gonna kill me’ story so, with newly found waryness she starts asking questions why help me why follow me why not kill me

whose place is this we gotta remember last time they met was when she helped him and he taunted her

and she bluntly spat out that she doesnt know why she does it but whats so wrong with that- maybe she just cant help it- maybe its not her fault she likes this guy so he pulls up a chair in front of her, sits down on it, his arms on the back of it whats so wrong with that i cant help it- its your fault

nothing else he grins he is fucking crazy and V isnt so sure but it almost felt like he could have said he liked her she huffs

i could have killed you countless times you snuck right thru those wannabes today like it was nothing but you wouldnt do that to me (ah so he had watched her? hello stalker how are u today) just like u cant hide your tracks or take care of yourself

her motions at her- probably talking abt her leg which is not helaed just not hurting bad very bad in fact bed and blanket have a nice new decal in rusty red by now (I SHOULD GET BETTER AT SHIT LLIKE THIS BUT WHATEVS)

'so you dont kill me you rather lecture me abt how unable i am to stay alive by myself?’ V is showing her best side today but oh well

maybe its the rollercoaster maybe its the whole situation

so V is ready to argue but hunter isnt in the mood lol he rather laughs at how its so easy to get her riled up

and he gets over to her mentioning something about her big ego in such a tiny body no wonder she got in trouble before he gets uncomfortably close but only to take care of her leg AGAIN

this time she struggles because 1 she is shamefully aware of her nudity under that blanket 2 he has zero problems pushing her from left to right as if she was a doll not funny so he manages to take care of the wound (i will just claim that he can do it with psi so ….pls dont slaughter me) and it only leaves a thick line of fresh pink skin on her leg- no wound but that pink skin is not nearly as pink as her face would be…if it wasnt so cold

seems the warmth he spoke abt earlier is still not coming around?

he had helped her with warmth before so why not do it again only this time she has no clothes and if he hasnt seen her blue lips from the cold he has definitely felt how icy her leg still was so off goes the armor

after the armor drops his hood drops he even takes off that sleeveless shirt

okay now Vs face definitely gets SOME shades pinker and not bc she is suddenly feeling less cold 'what the hell are u doing she scoots as far back on the bed as possible but OH MAN DOES SHE STARE

this guy is toned no weird alien anatomy apart from a slight difference in proportions but man lean and toned no wonder he picked her up like an acorn or a feather or whatever else V can come up with as a comparison 'so shy all of a sudden’ its true

V is staring with big eyes but not a single word comes out of her mouth as he comes closer he is not completely unclothed and its not like she hasnt seen men before but its different when u have to admit that u wanted to see something…and then like it too much when u do although u really neither shouldnt want to see it nor like it should/shouldnt whatever V knows this is wrong on more than one level

last time he’d had the blanket and she had bedgrudgingly come to him this time she has the blanket

and she wishes she could hide in it

she tenses up as his chest touches her cheek and his arms pull her close. he says something about deja vu and her being like a stray kitten but V doesnt listen last time his clothes had been like a shield between them this time her cheek presses against his skin

so they are, once again, in this position

V finds herself relax after a while bc feeling him like this and having the scent of his skin in her nose is getting her drowsy her head is filled with clouds and there is this incredibly need to nuzzle into him how to resist this is the most cruel seven minutes in heaven she has ever taken part in normally this would feel like the moment to do all the things and her heartbeat is saying just that nuzzle deeper breathe in this scent some more feel his skin

put your arms around this man instead she sits there like a marble statue but if she brushes her cheek against his skin just a little bit he wont notice right? he wont notice if she inhales a tiny bit longer than neccessary right?

would he notice if she moved a little, not much, just to feel his warmth some more and to lean into this not-really-embrace some more? shifting carefully and only a little was the plan

but when she feels his hands on her back move as well —her body moves as if on its own and she stretches and shifts enough to bury her face in the nape of his neck. …good job V. Very subtle she can barely hold back from sighing

it doesnt matter tho bc as if some silent agreement between them took place right as her fingertip gingerly move across his collarbone and to his jawilne one of his hands finds the back of her neck and guides her u.u and it happens no taunting no arguing no words at all

just warmth and silence and locked lips in a kiss

one kiss becomes two kisses three four each one greedier than the one before

bodys pressing against each other as if trying to melt into each other, hands roaming and breathless sighs gasping for air

V’s arms are wrapped around his neck, the blanket she was holding onto forgotten, her mind a mess, filled with the haze of want and a deep longing for his touch skin aginast skin

he is either gifted with natural talent or simply knows how to kiss and touch his hands are big and warm and they hold her tightly one more kiss they pause theres maybe 5milimeters between them none of them willing to let go

catching their breath

V feels a simmering ache between her thighs…and his arousal…well its obvious this is wrong no more she thinks but hesitantly places yet another kiss on his lips to betray her own thoughts there is not a hint of his usual smug smile on his lips the playful shimmer in his eyes she has seen so often is nowhere to be found

he is thinking

he bites back words as she kisses him again a chaste kiss on the lips and his fingertips gently caress the back of her head as he kisses back

with her hand against his chest she can feel that his heart is hammering just as fast as hers

He leans forward pushing V onto her back and into the heap of pillows behind her

with the blanket barely covering her nether regions she lies there, cheeks flushed and her hands timidly pulling back to cover herself. He is towering over her. V had almost forgotten how tall he is while kissing him- every touch had felt so natural so right. This view is a little intimidating to her….and exciting as well. The look on her face brings the smile back on his lips

he sits up, now kneeling between her legs. 'Now you’ve done it…’ he trails his hand over her healed thigh, his fingertips lightly brushing over the soft patch of pink. ’…your fault if you regret this..’ swift movements of his free hand undo his pants while the other hand disappears underneath the blanket covering V.

There was no denying it. V’s was dripping wet from the kisses and body contact alone…she’d felt the growing bulge in his pants. She couldn’t even think straight seeing it now although it was still hidden underneath the thick layer of fabric. Her eyes were transfixed on his hand on the pants hemline above it. V wanted him. Possible regrets or not.

She only realized where his other hand was wandering to when he slipped a finger between her wet folds. HE dragged his finger along the narrow path from her entrance to her clit and back, then teased her entrance, drawing circles around the overflowing heat- dipping into her from time to time ever so slightly but always leaving her wanting for more. He had her mewling and writhing in no time. Everytime she bucked her hips to meet his fingers he pulled back to deny her the pleasure she was seeking so depserately. Deeper. She wanted to feel it deeper inside. Sweet torture…. ’….please….’ It was a whimper so small and shy it was almost inaudible. The heat inside of her was unbearable. The small plea that had escaped her lips giving away how helplessly needy he had made her for him. With a low chuckle and a satisfied hiss he removed his hand from her fully. V bit her lip. She WAS like a stray kitten. Needy and outright begging. And now she had given herself away like an idiot as well. Yes, she wanted him. Maybe had wanted him from the start. Now he knew. And he would reject her. She closed her eyes, ready to hear the taunting and teasing. Oh silly human….why would he want you…. She waited for the words but they didnt come. Instead, the matress shifted. Movement. (would he leave her here like this??) V peeked through her lashes . He looked godly. Broad shoulders, sleek collarbones, smooth skin, defined abs. The lower her eyes wandered the more she asked herself what was not perfect abt him…he had strong hip bones as well…and even lower… The Hunter was moving slowly, he could tell she’d have her eyes on him. Some freedom from the tight pants was much needed and he smirked at her small gasp when his already leaking erection was revealed. He removed the last bits of clothing before he returned his attention to her…and his needs. His fingers were still wet from touching V when he wrapped them around his shaft. He was painfully hard and throbbing with arousal. There was nothing else he wanted more in this moment than burying himself deep inside of her.

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