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ellethespaceunicorn · 11 months

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Make That Kitty Purr [Director’s Cut]

Title: Make That Kitty Purr [Director’s Cut]

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Mike x Reader, August Walker x Reader

Fandom: Hellraiser: Hellworld x Mission: Impossible - Fallout, Crossover AU

Word Count: 5.7K

Summary: Uncle August doesn’t give a shit that you’re Mike’s girlfriend. THIS IS THE DIRECTOR’S CUT OF THIS STORY.

Warnings: voyeurism, cheating, unprotected p-in-v (wrap it before you tap it), dubcon, creampie, breeding kink, impregnation, spit kink, choking, slapping, dacryphilia, adult breastfeeding, August is an asshole, Mike deserves better

A/N: Original story is here, Make That Kitty Purr. I decided to share what the story was before I cut it down, based on this ask from @geralts-yenn. Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.

Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

“You must be Michael’s girlfriend, right?” The velvety voice slides over you like warm honey. As your name rolls off of his tongue, you turn around in the small space of the open fridge door and are face-to-chest with a mountain of a man.

Everything about him was perfect. A tall frame with a muscular build was easy to spot at first glance. On closer inspection, you stare into aquamarine eyes that have a brownish-gold spot in the left iris. And that ‘70s porn stache oddly worked well on his face. Fresh sweat slid down his neck, the heat from outside still radiating off of his body. You feel his breath on your face before you realize he’s speaking to you.

“I’m sorry, what?” You shake your head slightly and smile up at him as he smirks at you.

“I said, I’m August. I’m Michael’s Uncle, Walt’s brother,” He reaches over you to grab a beer off of the door of the fridge, “Not surprised he didn’t introduce us.” At your confused expression, he only shakes his head and sips from his beer. He watches you watching him as he lowers the beer from his lips, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. “Like what you see, Princess?”

The noise that comes out of your mouth is a mix between a gulp, a yelp, and a moan. And it seems to echo in the kitchen of Mike’s parent’s house. Everyone is still outside, Mike asked you to come in and get…something. You’d forgotten when you were suddenly in the presence of a god among men. You would have to watch yourself around this one. He had the power to make you misbehave.

“There you are, Sweetcheeks,” Thank goodness Mike comes into the kitchen when he does, “Thought you got lost in here. Hey, Uncle August.” They exchange looks with one another, looking back at you at the same time.

“I just got talking with your Uncle and forgot what I came in here for.” You decided to tell the truth, although you left out eye-fucking his Uncle. He didn’t need to hear that.

“You were coming in to grab us a couple of beers, but now Mom asked for a couple more things.” Mike moves you out of the cool haven of the fridge and grabs a few things from inside. With his back turned, he can’t see August looking into your eyes as he adjusts himself.

Fuck.

“Hey, Uncle August, was that invitation to come up to the cabin still good? I may have a free weekend coming up.” Mike closing the refrigerator door saves you from the intense draw of August’s fixation.

“Of course. Anytime you wanna come up, just let me know in advance so I can make sure everything is good for you.” August looks to Mike like he hadn’t been touching his dick and looking at his girlfriend.

“Alright, awesome. Come on, Sweetcheeks.” Mike leads the way, holding the potato salad. You pick up the beers and chanced a glance back at August who is licking his lips and following behind you. You feel his presence behind you as you exit the porch. The unmistakable feeling of a hand ghosting over your hip almost makes you squeal but you school yourself, catching up the Mike.

The rest of the barbecue goes off without a hitch. The interaction between you and August is forgotten until you go in to help clean the dishes. You tell Mike’s Mom to go back outside and that you’ll take care of the rest of the washing. That is, until August comes in and has you all to himself again.

“Need some help, Princess?” That voice goes straight to your pussy and you instantly tense up at the pet name.

“No, I, uh…I got it. Thank you, Uncle Aug–” You start, but he cuts you off.

“No, Princess. I’m not your Uncle. You call me August.” His hand on your hip as he spoke had you trembling.

“Yes, August.” You don’t know how you were able to speak, but you did it and that’s all that matters.

“Good girl.” The praise has you squeezing your thighs together and accidentally pressing back into August who has moved closer to you. Your ass had been pressed against his clothed cock and it sent shockwaves to your brain.

The groan that escapes August’s mouth vibrates through you. Before you know it, August is putting down his empty beer bottle and putting both hands underneath your dress. Your protests die on your tongue as his fingers hook under the waistband of your panties. With a tug, the underwear is coming down your legs and you’re stepping out of them. August brings them to his face to inhale your aroma before pocketing your thong.

“I’ll see you soon, Princess,” August says, leaning down to kiss your shoulder in an almost sweet albeit possessive gesture, “Give Michael my best.”

You’re left gobsmacked in the kitchen, only coming out of your reverie when you hear the door to the kitchen opening. You finish up the washing as the family files in.

If you ride Mike into the mattress that night, that’s your business. Mike was none the wiser as you thought of a velvety voice, a mustache, and your taken undies. Thoughts of August go away soon enough and are but a distant memory when Mike brings up needing a break from school for a while.

You casually ask if August will be there while you are at the cabin, Mike says it will just be the two of you and you relax. At least you won’t have to worry about those little moments you and his Uncle shared.

When Mike invites you up to his Uncle’s cabin for the weekend, you are beyond excited. You’ve never been away with him and this is the perfect opportunity to have a little fun away from your college roommates. You love them, but it’s so hard to get some alone time with two other girls breathing down your neck.

You pull up to the cabin on Friday afternoon and notice another car already in the driveway, a tall man dressed rather sharply grabbing a suitcase out of the trunk. As he turns around, you recognize Mikey’s Uncle August. I guess we’re not going to be alone this weekend after all.

Mikey puts the car in park and jumps out before you can even unbuckle yourself. “Uncle August, what are you doing here?”

“My schedule changed so I figured I would come and check on the cabin while you were up here,” August put down his luggage and rolls his sleeves up before running a hand over his mustache.

“Well, we were kinda thinking we would have the place to ourselves, actually,” Mike says, walking around the car after turning it off.

“We?” August’s head tilts as his eyes land on the passenger window.

You watch the exchange from the car, seeing that August has finally noticed you. Exiting the car, you close the door behind you and join Mike who puts a possessive arm around your waist.

“Uncle August, this is my girl. You remember her, right?”

August nods and correctly remembers your name, slowly letting it pass over his tongue. While Mike is smiling down at you, August lets his eye rake over you from head to toe. If Mike had seen, he would not have been happy. Damnit, August, be cool!

“Michael, why don’t you get the bags while I take your girl inside out of the cold? You can handle that, right?” Before you know it, your hand is taken by a large paw and you are led inside the cabin. August walks close to you and you can smell his aftershave up close, the scent intoxicating.

You’re surprised when it takes Mike as long as it does to get all of the bags into the cabin. You packed pretty light, but August had him take everything to the rooms instead of leaving them by the hallway. You notice August is staying on the bottom floor of the cabin while you and Mike are staying in another room on the second floor.

While Mike is upstairs, August goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of wine. He pours two glasses and offers you the other. You don’t miss how his fingers linger on yours.

“What shall we toast to, Princess?” You don’t hide the shiver that runs down your spine at the pet name.

“Um, to…a hot tub and time away from annoyances,” You lift your glass over to connect with August’s. He holds your gaze as he takes a sip.

“And to these, maybe?” August holds up a pink lacy pair of underwear, your thong from the barbecue months ago. He still has them, smiling down at you before pocketing them again when you reach out to try and take them.

Mike’s voice startles you as it booms through the cabin, “Sweetcheeks, you wanna get in the hot tub now or later?” Sometimes you wish Mike had a chill mode, but you loved the adorable goofball.

“I’ll get started on dinner while you two have some time alone,” August takes your wine glass and tops it off, and sends you up to find Mike. You can feel his eyes on you as you walk away, but you don’t dare look back.

As you get in the hot tub after getting changed into your bathing suit, the sun is setting over the mountains. Mike’s hands and mouth are over you in an instant, not caring what his Uncle may be seeing. He pulls you into his lap and attacks your neck. Your eyes close at the sensation and when they open, a gorgeous set of oceanic blues lock on you.

August is watching you as Mike slides a hand into your suit bottoms. You know you should tell Mike to stop but the idea of putting on a show for August is a temptation you can’t ignore. Your mouth opens in a silent scream as Mike’s fingers circle your clit before sliding into your entrance. Clutching a hand in his hair, you bite your lip as you ride Mike’s fingers.

As August watches you, he grips and strokes his cock through his pants. You reason with yourself that since you aren’t touching each other, this isn’t cheating. This is just slightly inappropriate, nothing to truly worry about.

Mike’s attention to finger-fucking you is gone as he pulls out his cock, pulling your bottoms to the side. He swiftly enters you and pulls you down onto him fully. Within seconds, you adjust to Mike’s cock and start to ride him while maintaining eye contact with August.

Mike pulls out your tits from your suit top and gives attention to your nipples. The man loves your boobies and it keeps him occupied as you continue your impromptu sex show for August. The older man unzips himself and for a moment, you think you’re going to be graced with the sight of his cock, but he only reaches in to stroke himself. Watching him watching you is enough to send you over the edge. Mike follows after you shortly, pulling out of you to jerk his cock as you didn’t exactly bring condoms to the hot tub.

You watch as August pulls his hand out of his pants, zips himself up, and walks out of your field of vision. It doesn’t look like he came and you instantly want to help him over the edge but hold yourself together. You move yourself to sit next to Mike and rest your head against his shoulder as you both catch your breath and readjust your clothing. A million thoughts run through your head, the most severe of which is gnawing at your soul.

You want August, and it’s obvious he wants you back. How could you want something like that? Mike isn’t perfect, but he’s yours. He adores you and you think the world of him. Yes, he can be a bit aloof, but he’s genuinely interested in your happiness. He doesn’t deserve to be fucked over by your selfish desires.

You are broken out of your reverie minutes later as August beckons you both to come in for dinner. You both towel off and put on robes. August already has the table set with three plates and he sits at the head of the table with you and Mike sitting across from each other.

The conversation comes easily enough, August mostly focuses on asking you about what you are studying and what your future plans are. Mike seems to be none the wiser that August is paying you so much attention as he shovels pasta in his face. August refills your wine glass, handing it to you, his fingers lingering again. August finally turns his gaze to Mike and asks what you all have planned for the weekend.

Mike mentions you are scheduled to go to a beer garden tomorrow and you would be meeting some friends afterward. You don’t remember making plans to meet up with friends but you go with it anyway. Mike’s friends were pretty cool, at least the ones you’ve met. Well, Derrick could be annoying and could make Mike completely miserable to be around but hopefully, he wouldn’t be there tomorrow.

You all finish dinner shortly thereafter, a few glasses of wine in your system. August gets up, and you assume he is going to start clearing the table. “August, you cooked, we can clear the table.”

“Nonsense. You’re a guest here,” he says, waving you off, “Michael can clean up the kitchen while I give you a quick tour.” He holds out his hand to lead you through the living room, and that same hand ends up on your lower back.

Your bare feet pad softly on the hardwood while his shiny shoes clack next to you. Your robe is the only thing preventing August from touching your skin directly. The heat coming off of his hand is enough to elicit a shiver from you. Instead of mentioning it, he just smiles down at you and walks you into the spacious entertainment room.

A large television screen is in front of a sectional couch. Two vintage full-height arcade game systems stand against either side wall. A pool table sits on the right, while a poker table is to the left. You’re impressed with the setup and you say as much.

“Yeah, I like to entertain sometimes. You’re welcome to this room whenever you want. Most of the streaming apps are already set up and there’s a Playstation and XBOX as well if you’re interested,” August points over to the tv, leaning in as he speaks.

“I can already see Mike getting lost in here for a few hours,” you snort, trying to hide your obvious annoyance.

“I’m sure you can keep him occupied, Princess.” There goes that pet name again. You look up at August and he grins like the Cheshire cat down at you.

If Mike hadn’t walked in when he did, you would have leaned into that smile. “I was looking for you guys. Sweetcheeks, are you ready for bed? I’m exhausted.”

“You’re tired from cleaning the kitchen?” August teased, knowing full well that wasn’t what tired the younger man out.

“Yeah…well, it’s a big…kitchen, so,” Nice save, Mike.

“Sounds like a good idea, baby. Let’s go,” you grab Mike’s hand and turn toward August, “Night, August.”

“Goodnight, you two,” August hums, looking from you to his nephew.

The two of you head to bed upstairs, arm in arm. It takes everything out of you not to turn around and look at August once more.

In the middle of the night, you pull yourself out of Mike’s grip and head to the bathroom. You notice your throat is dry and decide to go to the kitchen for a bottle of water. August is already in the kitchen, pouring himself a drink. As he picks up the lowball of amber liquid, he turns to greet you.

“You alright, Princess?” The genuine concern in his voice almost overshadows the fact that he is only clad in a tight pair of boxer briefs. Almost.

Instead of answering, you are entranced by his hairy chest and defined abdominals. Muscular arms and thick thighs are on full display. You’re sure you’re staring but he doesn’t seem to mind as he makes his way over to you. It seems like he moves in slow motion and your brain doesn’t fully comprehend when he reaches out to you.

His warm hand on your arm reminds you that you forgot to put on a robe before coming downstairs. Your crop top and cheeky underwear leave little to the imagination and you look down at yourself before looking from his hand back up at him. As if seeing your thoughts across your face, August removes his hand from your shoulder.

“I just came down for some water.” You’re surprised that you were able to get those words out, as whiny as they were. Your dry throat returns after you speak.

August nods and turns around to go back to the fridge. The ass on this man is ridiculous too, that’s just unfair. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and brings it back to you. He holds it out to you, and you take it shakily before opening it and taking a sip. You cap it again and hold it up to your suddenly warm neck. You let out a sigh and close your eyes for a beat. When you open them, August is standing closer to you. You didn’t even hear him take a step.

You slowly lower the water bottle from your skin and August takes it, putting your bottle and his whiskey down on the nearby dining table. When he turns back to you, he reaches up and holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He takes his time leaning in, giving you an out to easily lean back.

But you don’t lean back, you lean into him as he slots your mouths together. You whimper into his mouth and it is all over from there. He drops your chin, his hands sliding from your face to your neck and down your back until they settle under your ass as he lifts you into his arms.

“Tell me you want me, Princess,” August whispers, the heat coming off his clothed cock blazing into your core, “You want me to take care of you?”

Fuck.

“Yes,” you whimper, carding a hand through his thick head of hair.

“That’s my good girl,” he groans, walking to his bedroom. He kisses your neck, nipping at it as he settles you back upon his bed. He hovers over you for a moment, rubbing your covered sexes together. Letting you have ample time to change your mind while making sure you won’t.

“Please,” you whine, no longer able to hide your desire to have him inside you.

“Please what? Say it,” he grunts, pressing his groin harder into you.

“Fuck me, August.” is all he needs to hear before he’s pulling your underwear down and off. He doesn’t remove his own, only tucks them under his balls as he runs the head of his dick through your sopping folds. He enters slowly and gradually, letting you adjust to his girth and length.

Once he is fully seated inside you, he begins a punishing rhythm that has your cervix screaming. Your legs wrap around his waist and his hand finds your throat, placing slight pressure on the sides. The older man has you in a daze soon enough, filthy words leaving his mouth.

“Fuck, it’s just like I imagined it,” August grunts, his pupils blown wide as he looks down at you, “I jerked my cock so many times with your panties. They barely smell like you anymore. I’m gonna change that.” With that, he pulls out. Getting off the bed, he reaches into the pocket of the slacks he was wearing earlier and finds your thong.

He gets back on the bed and starts to stuff the underwear into your wet snatch. You squirm under his touch as he pushes the material inside you. Once you are full, his finger circles your clit.

“I’m gonna get you to cum all over your panties so I can have that smell back in my life. You’re so perfect, Princess.” Between his words and his finger working you over, it doesn’t take long until you're coating your underwear in sweet nectar and moaning August’s name.

“Mmm, that’s my good girl. Now, let’s get this out, shall we?” That’s all the warning you get. August inserts one thick digit inside you and pulls out the wet lace. He sets them aside and slides his dick back inside you. He sets a slow pace, wanting you to beg for more. It’s not long before he is granted his wish.

“August, harder, please?” Your whimpers go straight to his dick and you feel him involuntarily twitch.

“Yes, Princess. Anything for my good girl.” August lands two soft slaps on your face, his hand then moves back to your throat as you toss your head back into the pillow underneath you. “Is Princess gonna come all over my cock?”

You nod, this time when he lands a slap, you feel a sting. The shock of it mixed with his thrusting has you so close.

“Come for me, Princess. Then I’ll breed this tight little cunt.”

“No, August. I’m not on birth control. Please don’t…come inside me…” Your words are trailing off as your orgasm catches up with you. The sound of wet squelching echoes in your ears.

“I’m gonna stuff you so full of my cum. You’re mine now, Princess. And I will keep you full of me, giving me strong children one after the other. Tell me to come inside you, Princess. Now!”

“Come inside me, August.” If his hand wasn’t around your throat and his body against yours holding you down, you think you might not have said it. But you did say it. You can’t take it back.

His hips stutter in their movement and you are soon flooded with his spend. He doesn’t stop fucking you until you come again, some of his seed leaking out past his cock as he pulls himself out. He looks down and smiles watching you leak with his spunk, before laying next to you. He draws you closer to rest your head on his chest.

He kisses your forehead in a sweet gesture. Juxtaposed with the filthy act you’ve just committed, you suddenly feel nauseous. You bite back bile as you rest against August. You wish the Earth would open up and swallow you whole. You stay like that for a minute more, feeling your legs get wet with his cum as it leaks from you.

“You’re going to break up with Michael. I don’t care if you love him and he loves you. You’ll be pregnant with my children soon enough and I’ll be the one taking care of you. He won’t want you because I’m going to ruin you for all other men, Princess.” His words hit you hard followed by his hand around your throat, “Did you hear me?”

“Yes.” You sniffle.

“Yes, what?” You feel his body tense.

“Yes, Sir.”

“That’s my good girl. You’re mine, remember that. Now, open your mouth,” He still holds onto your throat while he turns to you.

You open your mouth and he spits, half of it landing on your lips. You squeeze your eyes shut in disgust as you hear him laugh at your discomfort. He wipes his saliva into your mouth, “Swallow it, Princess. I would hate to think you don’t want my gift.”

Your world implodes as you swallow, the gravity of cheating on Mike suddenly screaming its way into the forefront of your mind. You hate yourself and you hate August for enticing you.

“Now, be a good girl and end it with Michael. And make yourself useful and bring me my whiskey on your way back, Princess.”

You get up quickly, finding and putting on your underwear before all but running out of August’s room, you can still taste him on your tongue. You reach the upstairs bathroom connected to your bedroom and make it to the toilet in the nick of time. Your dinner comes back up so harshly that you end up waking Mike up with your gagging.

He comes to hold your hair out of the way and rub a soothing hand on your back. As you finish, you spit, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You close the lid, sitting down on the floor next to Mike as he looks at you concerned.

“Mike, baby, I’m so sorry.”

“Sweetcheeks, what are you sorry for? You just got sick is all.”

“Not saying sorry for that, I have to tell you something.”

“Babe, you’re scaring me, what’s going on?” Mike’s voice quivers and it is all you can do to stop yourself from kissing his frown away because you’re about to break his heart.

“I…slept with August,” you blurt out, and you start to cry before you can help it, “He told me to come to break it off with you and I don’t want that, Mikey. I don’t want him.” You stop your rambling and sit in silence.

Mike isn’t saying anything and you wonder what is even going through his head. You hazard a look over to his face. His jaw is working in anger and he pulls his knees up to his chest.

“Mike, I’m so sor-”

“We’re leaving. Get dressed.” Mike cuts you off and gets up from the floor. You get up and follow him to the bedroom, pulling on your jeans and hoodie quickly as he begins to pack your suitcases quietly.

You watch him move about the room mechanically. You wish he would talk to you. But, you know you don’t deserve to be comforted. He needs and deserves better than you. As he finishes, he pulls on his clothes and takes your things downstairs.

You follow him down, pausing when you both see August now wearing just pajama bottoms. He actually looks surprised to see you both dressed and holding your luggage.

“Go to the car, I’ll be out in a sec, ok?” Mike’s voice is eerily calm as he hands you the car keys and ushers you outside.

“Mike, let’s just lea-”

“I said, go to the car. I’ll be right there,” he barely raises his voice, but he pushes slightly on your shoulder to get you outside. Like he doesn’t want you to witness something.

You grab your luggage and head outside, closing the door behind you. You try and block out the sounds of a struggle in the cabin as you walk across the gravel driveway. You put your suitcase in the trunk and get in the car. You’re putting on your seatbelt as August comes out to the car. Opening the car door, he reaches in and pulls you out.

“August, what are you doing? Where is Mike?” Your questions are left unanswered as you are pulled inside. The cabin is eerily quiet and you notice Mike sitting on the staircase, his hair and clothing a mess, staring daggers at you.

“So you gave him my favorite thong of yours, let him fuck you and come inside you, and what? I’m just supposed to let that go and forgive you?” Mike practically spits fire at you, his words scalding you.

“Mikey, please. Let’s just leave like we were going to. I want you, Mikey, I’m so sorry I made a mistake. Please don’t leave me.” You beg at his feet, groveling for him not to quit on you.

“It wasn’t me that left. Remember that. I never wanna see either of you ever again,” Mike grabs his suitcase and moves to pass you, “And you can find another way back to school. I’ll leave your stuff outside. You two deserve each other.”

“Mikey, please–”

Mike pushes past you and walks out of the door. You can hear the gravel crunching under his feet. The unmistakable sound of your luggage and bookbag hitting the driveway. You run out in time to see him driving away. Your entire world shifts around you as the weight of your actions consumes you.

The last thing you remember is your legs feeling wobbly as you are caught by strong arms.

You haven’t seen Mike in almost a year when you bump into him in the supermarket. You’re walking down the frozen food section, perusing the ice cream flavors when you hear someone’s throat clear behind you. You turn around and are met with a messy head of curls peering into your cart, the baby carrier in his line of sight.

“I shouldn’t be surprised you had his baby. You always wanted kids, guess just not my kids.” Mike shakes his head, looking away from you.

“Mikey, I’m–”

“Save it, you’re wasting your time. I got someplace I gotta be.” Mike rolls his eyes and leaves you where you stand. The coldness of the aisle hits you more harshly than before.

You broke a good man’s heart and you deserved the life you have now.

You grab August’s fave, mint chocolate chip, and then head to checkout. Loading the car, you head home. August made you drop out of school to begin your new life as his incubator.

He comes out of the house as you pull into the driveway, grabbing the baby carrier and cooing to his son. You’re left to bring in the rest of the groceries.

Since you gave birth, August has been relentless in his attempts to get you pregnant again. Once upon a time, sex all day long would have aroused you. Now, it’s become your least favorite activity. You can’t get wet for August.

To have any kind of arousal, you’re forced to think of Mikey. The way he would kiss you in the middle of laughing, or the sounds he made while going down on you. That part of your life is gone. Now, you are a mother against your will. And August won’t let you forget what you’re here for.

“My son is hungry, can you handle that, Princess?” He waits until you nod, opening your blouse and unlatching your nursing bra before he gently hands you August Jr. As the baby suckles at you, your mind wanders.

“Yes, Sir.” You start to believe August likes the robotic way you speak now. Whenever you did express emotion, it was to show sadness and he hated that.

While you hold your son, August grabs your chin gently between his forefinger and thumb. “Smile for me, Princess,” You look up at August and follow his command, “That’s my good girl. After he’s done feeding, meet me upstairs. You’re ovulating and I am so attracted to this view of you. Just think of it, Princess. AJ sitting atop your pregnant belly while you feed him. It’s so perfect.” He sweetly caresses your face, never is he as sweet as when he wanted you.

After your son falls asleep while eating, you put him on your shoulder and burp him. You walk to his nursery and lay him down, caressing his curls before kissing his tiny face. It’s not his fault that his father is terrible to his mother.

It’s your fault for letting yourself fall into the arms of a man that wasn’t your boyfriend. You had everything you needed with Mikey. And now you had nothing you wanted with August. Plastering the smile that August loved so much on your face, you walk into your bedroom.

August sits on your bed, waiting for you while he strokes himself. You walk up to him, the sickly sweet smile still on your face, and begin to undress slowly. He reaches up to play with a swollen, wet nipple and you can’t help but enjoy the relief it brings when he latches onto your breast. While he drinks from you, he pulls you into his lap. Without pulling free of your nipple, he uses a hand to slide his cock inside you.

You groan as he breaches you, whimpering as he guides your hips to ride him. August pulls away from your breast to switch to the other, working to drain you while he fucks you. You want to hate him, you wish your milk was poison to kill him. But, instead, all you do is cradle his head and grind down on him.

When he has had his fill of you, he leans back wiping his mouth before maneuvering you to lay on your back as he fucks into you.

“I love you so much, Princess.” His words are a surprise and they confuse you.

“Why?”

“You’re the mother of my children, of course, I love you…You give us everything we need…You make me so happy…You’re my Princess, I’m your King…And we have our little Prince.” His words are all coming out in short breaths as he tries to hold back his orgasm until after yours. He reaches down to play with your clit as he sucks hickeys into your neck. “Tell me you love me, Princess.”

“I love you, August,” You actually sound like you mean it as your orgasm rushes through you.

“That’s my good girl!” August thrusts into you one last time, releasing his fertile seed inside you. You feel every twitch and squirt inside of you, and you swear you could feel yourself being impregnated at that moment. He stays inside you for a moment longer, pulling out to hold your legs up and rock you side to side as he heard that helps to aid in conception.

This is your life, an endless sea of pregnancy. A hollow promise of love from a man who took everything from you. And the worst part is, you’ve given up fighting because you know you deserve it.

A/N: Welp, that’s something. I’ll be in my bunk, rethinking my life’s choices.

**Tag List**

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@astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry

@rebelangel1102 @mrs-solo-walker

Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁

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liaromancewriter · 1 year

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Beautiful Stranger

Premise: Ethan Ramsey wasn’t looking forward to tonight, and then he met the woman of his dreams.

Book: Open Heart (AU) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Cassie Valentine) Rating/Category: Teen. Fluff. Trope: Soulmates; Gala Words: 1,610

A/N: This fic is inspired by an ask from last year where I talked about AUs if Cassie wasn't a doctor. I'm using @choicesflashfics week 30, prompt 3 (in bold). Submission for @aprilchallenge prompt "dress".

The entryway to the Washington Hudson Hotel in DC’s Adams Morgan was lined with black town cars and limos. Passengers disembarked under the covered portico, posed for cameras on either side of the red carpet rolled out in welcome, and followed ushers to the Art Deco ballroom.

Security guards in severe black suits prevented anyone from entering without an invitation. Sweat beaded their foreheads, more from the spotlights than the late spring evening, but dark sunglasses hid any discomfort.

Dr. Ethan Ramsey waited impatiently to be let out of the black limo his mentor and friend, Dr. Naveen Banerji, had insisted on renting for the occasion.

“I’m the guest of honor, after all,” he’d said, a Zen-like smile on his face. “Can’t just roll up in a Jalopy.”

Ethan couldn’t fault him that logic, even if he privately thought it excessive to drive two blocks from their hotel. But, then, the man was literally a saint and deserved this minor luxury.

Naveen was being honored tonight with a Humanitarian Service Lifetime Achievement Award from the Valentine Foundation for his work in advancing medical care in developing countries.

The black-tie event was part of the National Medical Symposium’s festivities, where Ethan was invited to present a keynote. An incredible accomplishment, given he’d become an attending not quite a year ago.

Ethan enjoyed the education and dialogue at these conferences but preferred socializing at a bar over scotch. However, Naveen had taught him that these social events were essential for advancing his career and getting sponsors to fund research projects. A necessary evil in medicine.

Finally, the rear door opened from outside, and Ethan slid out of the backseat. Naveen followed, waving and smiling at the flashing cameras as if he was at the Oscars. Ethan ignored everyone, marching through the glass doors, invitation card in hand.

“You were in a hurry,” Naveen said pleasantly, joining Ethan in the soaring foyer outside the ballroom.

“They didn’t care about me.” Ethan rolled his eyes and smirked. “I’m not the guest of honor, after all.”

Naveen chuckled, bumping shoulders with Ethan. “No, but with your looks, they probably thought you were a reality TV star. Off to give your chosen lady a red rose. That’s how the story goes.”

Ethan’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Why reality TV? What story? And I’m not carrying a rose.”

Naveen shook his head in dismay. “You know, my friend. There’s more to life than medicine.”

Before Ethan could counter that remark, Naveen turned away to greet someone he knew. Left to his own devices, Ethan glanced around the room, recognizing some faces from the conference. But if he was going to schmooze, he needed a stiff drink first.

Almost an hour later, Ethan escaped the crowded ballroom through French doors leading to a moonlit balcony overlooking the dark gardens below. He needed a few minutes of respite from the politicking and socializing that was part of the Valentines’ world.

Ever since he’d learned about the award, Naveen hadn’t stopped talking about the family. Being a Rhodian, Ethan certainly knew of the Valentines of Newport, but they didn’t run in the same circles as the son of a cable repairman from Providence.

He suspected they were like the other donors he’d met inside that ballroom; insanely wealthy and spoiled with a sense of entitlement. The foundation was probably a vanity project for one of the trophy wives, he thought dismissively.

He strode to the wrought-iron balustrade, gripping the edge as he threw his head back and took a deep breath. A floral scent hit his senses before he heard the rustle of fabric.

He spun on his heels to see a beautiful young woman standing against the wall, the hem of her shimmering midnight blue dress hiked up to reveal one silken white thigh.

Her hand froze; a black lace garter strap caught between her fingers. Ethan’s eyes involuntarily followed as the top of a sheer black stocking slid down her skin, catching where her leg was bent at the knee.

His eyes snapped to her face, tracing the arch of her brows, the flushed cheekbones and red lips parted lightly. Long blonde hair fell to the side, past her shoulder, the ends curling softly.

A glittering hair clip on the left side of her head held back the rest. The style revealed diamonds and sapphires dripping from her earlobe, matching the necklace cradled between the valley of her breasts.

Her fragrance enveloped him, his nostrils flared, and all Ethan could think was, “Mine!”

She gasped, or he did. Maybe it was the moonlight, or perhaps it was fate. He hadn’t had enough top-shelf scotch to blame the alcohol. At this point, he wasn’t sure what was happening to him.

“A gentleman would look away. Or lend a hand.”

Ethan heard the amusement in her soft melodic voice and glimpsed the teasing sparkle in her eyes. He wondered if they were blue like his. A strong probability, given the color of her hair.

He took a step toward her and then another, closing the distance between them. His hand unthinkingly reached for the dangling garter strap in her hand but stopped at the warning look in her eyes. Up close, he saw they were green with flecks of blue or black.

Ethan held up his hands in a truce. “That was a rhetorical statement, wasn’t it?”

She scoffed, clearly deeming it unworthy of a response. She quickly reattached her loose stocking and adjusted her dress. The fabric covered her from top to bottom, the hem brushing the toes of her high heels.

The dress would’ve been modest except for how it hugged her curves, accentuating every part of her that his fingers ached to touch.

“You’re staring again,” she said huskily, her chest rising and falling with rapid, shallow breaths.

Appalled, Ethan blurted out an apology. “I’m sorry. I–– “

He felt his skin flush, and the tips of his ears turn red. If anyone from Edenbrook saw him now, they’d surely laugh at his expense. Frustrated, he stabbed his fingers into his hair.

The woman threw him a strange look, her brows twisting in a V shape. Without a word, she turned to walk away, but he wasn’t ready to let her go.

He instinctively tried to stop her, his fingers brushing the back of her hand. They both hissed as an electric current flashed and pulsed where their skin met.

She held her hand against her chest, stroking the sensitive area with her thumb as if trying to rub away their connection. But she didn’t leave, nibbling on her bottom lip as she regarded him with a perplexed expression.

“I have no excuse for my behavior,” he began, hesitating as he searched for the words that would make her want to stay. “This is not like me at all. I’m not a risk taker. I don’t gamble with my feelings. I don’t ogle strangers at parties, even if they are beautiful. I’m a doctor, a man of science and logic. I…”

“So, you expect me to believe that you don’t know who I am?” she asked in disbelief. “And your arrival on this balcony a few minutes after me was a pure coincidence?”

Ethan looked at her, bewildered. “Should I know you? Have we met before?”

She stared into his eyes, searching for some inner truth. She must have found it, for she nodded and smiled.

“Okay, doctor. I believe you. Since you’re a man of science, care to explain that?”

She pointed to their hands, now resting against their sides. But there were tiny vibrations under the skin, wanting to reach across the space and connect with its mate.

“It’s nothing,” he said warily.

He shoved his hands inside his pant pockets and rocked back on his heels. For some reason, that made her laugh, and a knowing look entered her eyes. It was too astute for his comfort, and he felt laid bare.

“A man of science should know that some things defy expectations,” she mused, tapping one finger against her lips. “And every scientific achievement in history was because someone decided it was worth the risk.”

The sound of a bell ringing in the distance reached their ears, breaking the uneasy silence that followed her words.

“I have to go back inside,” she sighed. “I would say it was a pleasure, but honestly, I don’t know what this was. And I suspect we’re both not ready to find out.”

Ethan watched her walk away, and his feet itched to follow. But he waited, needing a few minutes to collect himself.

When he returned to the ballroom, he scanned the vast room for any sign of Naveen. His height gave him an advantage, and he spotted the other man in an animated conversation with someone, gesticulating excitedly.

Ethan swiftly navigated through throngs of people, slowing down as he neared Naveen. The person ahead of him moved away, and his steps faltered when he saw her.

She must have sensed him too, because she suddenly looked over her shoulder, her green eyes registering surprise as they locked into his shocked blue ones.

“Ah, Ethan, there you are,” Naveen called out. “Come meet my benefactor. Cassie Valentine is the head of the Valentine Foundation and the person who nominated me for tonight’s award. Cassie, meet Dr. Ethan Ramsey, my protégé and one of the most gifted diagnosticians of his generation.”

Ethan Ramsey did not believe in moonlight madness or fate. But for one brief moment, he had, and now his world was turned upside down. What’s more? Cassie’s amused smirk told him she knew it too.

------------

All Fics & Edits: @annfg8 @bluebelle08 @coffeeheartaddict2 @crazy-loca-blog @doriopenheart @genevievemd @headoverheelsforramsey @lucy-268 @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @lady-calypso @mainstreetreader @peonierose @potionsprefect @queencarb @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @socalwriterbee @takemyopenheart @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction

Submissions: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Ethan & Cassie only: @cariantha @custaroonie @hopelessromantic1352 @mrs-ramsey

#ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #open heart #open heart choices #choices open heart #open heart fanfics #open heart fanfiction #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #choices fanfics #choices fanfiction #playchoices #soulmates #writers on tumblr #short story #ethan ramsey x cassie valentine

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raccoonfallsharder · 3 months

Note

oh my god! so i kept on telling myself that i’ll read window across the galaxy whenever i find time (haven’t really done that yet T_T it feels like i have all the time in the world and yet not enough) and i come to do my daily check of raccoonfallsharder to find out IT’S FINISHING SOON?! you work at the SPEED OF LIGHT (which is a compliment ❤️‍🩹 i am a snail and i wish i wasn’t.) but hopefully i can start binge reading WATG soon, the excerpts i’ve seen look amazing (which isn’t shocking coming from you. everything you write is a masterpiece!)

all of this to be said, i hope you’re doing okay. i know you write the Rocket Reminders for others but i hope you apply them to yourself as well. you deserve amazing things And More!

okay first of all you do a DAILY CHECK of my blog?? ｡°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°｡ i mean that has to be an exaggeration but it’s still the sweetest fucken thing ive ever heard?? this seriously has made my whole shitty week better (hello tuesday morning, ive peaked). this whole ask is just so sweet and caring and kind. i might be tearing up in my office. thank you. i am carrying your words with me everywhere i go today, like armor ♡

secondly window will be here waiting for you whenever you’re ready babydoll. it’s not going anywhere (also you don’t gotta binge it! it’s perfectly fine to take bitesized chomps)

thirdly snails are incredibly important. they’re recyclers and pollinators and they are very cute when drinking water. there is nothing wrong with taking time, and fanfic writing should be enjoyable — not something to punish or pressure yourself about. 6 out of 10 experts agree that in all likelihood, trying to rush something like this is just a result of capitalism convincing you of the lie that “productivity” (whatever that is) is the most important thing. the other 4/10 say that you would have more time to create if it weren’t for capitalism in the first place, so it’s still not your fault. anyway the point is please keep being a lovely perfect snail going at your own lovely perfect pace and don’t be too hard on yourself

finally here’s an extra window excerpt (the very beginning) just for you ♡♡♡ may your day be full of soft and happy moments, you gorgeous winter sunrise, and may you feel loved & cared for every second

☆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The Eclector is dark and, despite the raucous laughter and fighting of the crew, every footfall on the gridded catwalks seems to echo. It smells like rust and oil and old metal, and sometimes sweat, and there’s generally very little that is pleasant about it.

But Kraglin Obfonteri had sent word that the Yondu clan had recently overtaken a Xandaran luxury liner. Among its treasures, there had been a pretty vast art collection, and Jolie is a reliable assessor and - for some of the more common mediums, as well as a few blindingly unique ones - a restorer. It’s not the first time she’s contracted her services out to a Ravager crew. Hell, it’s not even the first time she’s worked with the Yondu Clan. She crosses paths with them at least once every fifteen cycles or so.

So here she is, following some hulking brute named Taserface and dodging when pirates on the catwalk above decide to spit over the side.

What a way to spend my morning, she thinks. There better be something worthwhile in this pile of junk.

They finally leave the belly of the ship and Taserface leads her through a network of cargo holds and corridors, trying to make very awkward conversation and occasionally leering at her. Jolie is a consummate professional, though, and she’s dealt with a lot of creeps. She keeps a polite smile on her lips and a dead look in her eyes. She’d been hoping today’s escort would be the aforementioned Kraglin, or maybe fellow-Terran Peter Quill. Pete’s been family since Jolie met him - almost seven years ago - even if they don’t usually see each other more than once every few cycles at most. He’s a handful of years older than her, but his relative optimism still makes her feel like he’s a sweet, annoying little brother. Frankly, it pulls some heartstrings, because Jolie has baggage where younger siblings are concerned.

Kraglin, on the other hand, is a remarkably endearing moron, and Jolie kind of adores him, the same way she adores particularly stupid cats.

Unfortunately, Jolie gathers that Pete has apparently disappeared in his M-Ship without a word - much to the irritation of the rest of the Yondu clan - and Obfonteri is offsite on orders from the captain, engaging in some kind of criminal activity or another. So here she is, stuck with a guy who could’ve picked any name in the galaxy and settled on Taserface.

Each chamber the pirate guides her through is packed with stolen goods, and she keeps her eyes open in case there’s some incredible artistic masterpiece that has somehow escaped the haul he’s currently taking her to examine. No luck so far, and Taserface is pulling ahead of her, trying to impress her by droning on about some recent brawl he’s been in. She zones out of the conversation, only smiling placidly and nodding vacantly when he glances back at her.

They pass another corridor, this one even more abandoned, and enter yet another chamber. More goods are stacked all around, a disorganized horde of stolen treasures: casks of silverwine from Vanaheim, crates of shimmering pearls from Morag, pleasure-bots from Contraxia. At the far end, she sees what looks like the corner of a cage.

Her eyes narrow, and her head tilts.

That’s unusual.

Normally, bounties are housed in the caged cells lining the main corridors just off the belly of the ship - not hidden, and not mixed in with the loot. As they draw closer, Jolie can just make out a shadow shifting inside - something the size of a kid.

Her blood runs cold.

She’d heard Yondu and his crew had already been exiled from the loose coalition of Ravager clans due to trafficking children, but she’d thought they’d stopped doing that years ago, when Pete had come on board. Is that why this cage is hidden way out here?

They draw closer, and she catches a glimpse of fur moving behind the rusted bars. Out here in space, that doesn’t mean anything in particular: it could still be a child. Her stomach becomes a stone in her gut, and she knows she's not leaving this stupid fucking ship without knowing what's going on, and making sure everything is okay. She’s got enough units on her that she can probably afford one or two kids, maybe a few if she needs to - a bribe more than a purchase, she thinks, and a mean fucking talking-to for Yondu Udonta. But if he's making some kind of a habit out of this, she’s going to need a lot more resources than she currently has available to her.

And maybe he’s not. She's trying very hard not to jump to conclusions, because to be honest - despite his reputation - Yondu really doesn’t seem like the type to continue engaging in this shit. And she kind of likes him, like the grumpy old uncle she's never had.

Taserface keeps heading straight across the chamber to the other door, boasting and blathering, but Jolie’s drawn to the cage. Smoothly - never breaking stride - she veers to the left, and her tour guide doesn't even notice.

The metal box is about three feet tall, sitting on top of a knee-high crate scrawled with the words “sovereign porn” in Kree - lovely, Jolie thinks drily - and there’s definitely a lifeform inside. She leans in just a bit, and catches a flash of bright eyes and teeth and - she thinks that’s a ringed tail, and a mask.

That can’t be right.

Her eyes scan him again, and yeah: the caged creature looks almost like a raccoon from back home, but he’s standing upright on his hindlegs and…yep, he is most certainly wearing pants.

The lifeform rears back: teeth bared in a vicious, silent snarl, ears flat against his skull. In this position, she can see some kind of metal has been embedded in his chest. The fur around it - and in a few other places - has long since stopped growing due to scarring, and the flesh around the metal itself looks painfully inflamed. Her heart slams into her sternum and her stomach drops.

“Oh, love,” she breathes out, unthinking. “What did they do to you?”

The raccoon tilts his head to one side, eyes bright with biting intelligence, and she could swear he’s practically sneering. He opens his mouth and for all the world, she almost thinks he’s going to answer her.

Taserface interrupts any miraculous revelations with his too-loud, too-boastful voice, suddenly behind her, leaning too close. “T’was the High Evolutionary Hisself what cut the critter up and stitched it back together. Replaced some of its bones with new ones and made it walk like it’s tryin’ to be a man.”

She straightens and stares up at him, and the asshole chuckles, like it’s funny.

Jolie makes a noise in her throat before she can stop it. “Nope. Don’t like that.”

She turns back, still eyeballing the creature on the other side of the rusty bars. It’s shadowy in there, but she’d guess he’s maybe three-feet tall with change. And if he is a raccoon - and he sure does look like one - he’s probably already plotting his escape.

She gnaws on her lower lip. “And where are you all taking him now?”

Taserface looks at her like she’s an idiot. Maybe she is.

“Back t’ HalfWorld an’ the High Evolutionary, a’course.”

Her head snaps around to face him so quickly that something in her neck audibly cracks, sending a hot flare of pain up the back of her skull. She ignores it. “So they can torture him some more?”

Taserface shrugs and glowers and spits dismissively. “It'll be two hunnert-thousand units.”

Jolie sucks in a breath through her teeth. That’s more than…well, that’s more than a few children.

She looks at the rusted bars, and back to her brute of a tour guide, and sighs heavily. Slowly, she turns back to the cage, swaying toward the bars so she can peer in at eye-level. She’s immediately face-to-face with the creature. His ears are still pressed flat against his head, fur bristling, and he’s gazing back, clearly suspicious and probably - justifiably - feeling more than a little bit mean. She’s suddenly certain that if she got close enough, he’d take out her eyes.

There’s no helping herself, is there? Goddamn, she’s an idiot. One corner of her mouth twists up in exhausted resignation and she sighs.

“Welp,” she says solemnly to the raccoon with a polite nod, “fuck me, my dude.”

Swiftly, she stands back up, turning to Taserface and flattening her palms together in front of her with a soft clap. Her fingers lace together and she presses her knuckles to her lips in half a prayer. She’s not going to think about the consequences too much. Not till later, anyway. She’s going to move through these next moments in a flurry, a manufactured whirlwind: partly so she doesn’t second-guess herself, and partly to keep Taserface from applying too much critical thinking to anything she’s about to say.

She imagines that second part should be easy.

“It looks like it’s Udonta’s lucky day, because I happen to have two-hundred-and-thirty thousand units on hand, and I’ve always wanted a raccoon.”

#rfh asks #window across the galaxy #uniquetaste #snail appreciation post #rocket raccoon #rocket raccoon fanfiction #guardians of the galaxy

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methysos · 2 years

Text

Hi love,

Doesn't it hurt when the one person who should understand you doesn't? Doesn't it hurt when you've used all of your lifelines and you're the one drowning? Doesn't it hurt to look at your planned suicide letters every night before you sleep? I do not feel bad for you little me, I feel bad for the wreck you've become. You used to mount stories and create them with a swoosh of your will; now you chose mediocrity. You were destined to be somebody, you didn't follow the status quo and therefore I admire your foolishness. I'm sorry that you have felt inadequate every step along the way and I'm sorry you couldn't be a brat sometimes. You've earned it though, right? You've been there for people through their utmost sorrow and their rock bottoms, didn't matter if you were falling because you fell slower so you could accompany them instead. Isn't it justified that you feel sick to your stomach when you've led everyone towards a light they needed to find yet absorbed their darkness in and out? Aren't you allowed to have your moments when you silently, lovingly held people's hands through their fits, childishness, arrogance, nerve, their unyielding desire to just be a shit person and when they just screamed at you. Weren't you there when they never gave a shit and went their own ways after countless hours of crying and begging, pleading them to just not do what's hurting them and they hurt you instead? Weren't you the scapegoat of many situations you shouldn't have been responsible of? Weren't you threatened every second along the way with empty promises or full proposals of how people would hurt you? Yet, you stood your ground. It's alright that you're having your own episode, if they don't stick with you through it they lead double lives and they're ungrateful. You always spent yourself away for years when all you got was a piece of thanks but still you cherished the shit out of that. You were a rock for people all along but it's time for you to place your own rock into somewhere isolated. How brave of people to be so harsh on you for that, how dare they with that level of selfishness. Look at your past, since all the love you gave was taken granted you deserve to take things for granted a bit as well. Look at your past deeper to find how many times you've tried to save someone and to be there for someone when you were pushed to the exact other edge of the universe so that you can find the courage to say no sometimes. Look at all the agony and the anxiety of being late when you sometimes deserve to show up more than late, if you decide to show up that is. Know that people should look at their past with you before slicing you left and right with cut-throat replies and snarky remarks about you being just a name. There were times they did worse, love. There were times where it took you all your strength to not say "What about me?", it's okay now to say it. If these milestones cannot see the beautiful mess you are clearly, transparently then they need to work on themselves first. It's okay for you to ask something in return: the kindness, the love, the empathy, the blood, the sweat and the tears you put into mending their broken hearts over and over until you realized yours crumbled all along and they were stepping on the trail. You didn't think of it as an attack, they shouldn't either. You are a wise fool, a charlatan of a shadow who used to be present. It's okay that you fade. It's okay that you are blurry. If you come to think of it, this is the climax of your movie, the make it or break it. Go forth and shatter all your anguish into art. Make them pay hell for it or worse with their conscience. They should probably check that. Thank you for not being shallow even though you've earned some of that too. I'm not going to be harsh on you too, people already pay themselves enough credit for that but they'll never admit that. I'm proud of the person you've engraved yourself into. What a beautiful mess you are, I wish you could see that.

Sincerely,

your heart.

#letter #letters #words #fragments #letter to myself #to everyone #forallthetimesyouapologizedwhenyoushouldnthave #love letter.txt

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corpsegold · 1 year

Text

13/5/23

I feel less pressure to count calories, or obsess about losing weight, or about alcohol, or spend all day gaming, or try to have marathon sex with random men. All I have to do is be present with the truth about how my head works. I don't need to run from it 24/7. I’m beginning to notice patterns in what my drinking triggers are as a result of sitting with myself in my head for once. It sounds really dramatic and stupid but it's for some reason totally overwhelming sometimes and it's why I’ve been having a giant breakdown practically my entire life lmao so I don't really know lol

What I thought my triggers were:

Social anxiety: thought I was self medicating autism.

Sensory problems: particularly eating noises and tactile things. Humidity and sweat cost too much processing power whilst sober.

Depression: I thought I was drinking to get myself out of bed.

Paranoia: There were times where, being convinced that there were cameras in my room and there is a cult of HIV fetishists remotely filming and laughing about me, I drank to stop being so uncomfortable. Sometimes you just want to relax in private and not feel like you're performing when there's no one there. There are times where I can't even pick my nose in private because I think I’m on camera. It’s because I got roofied and threatened with rape a couple years ago by some meth heads who I stupidly thought I could trust. I’d known them for a year or so at that point. They were covertly filming and tormenting/harassing me whilst I was psychotic and completely incapacitated in a spare room. Hours later after getting my phone back, I managed to leave and found and held the camera in my hands. He stood at the top of the stairs and said “Oh you found it, now you know how to do it!” When I brought it up with other people in the scene, they acted like they already knew exactly what I was talking about, and were not surprised or bothered at all. It turns out it's just a normal part of what they do, and I’ve probably been on camera far more than I realized. There are all sorts of related memories and experiences to this but I don't want to go through them. Now, whenever I become paranoid or take stimulants, I go straight back to this kind of thinking. When I was 19 and going to foundation year for art in Canterbury, I used to think there were miniature people with invisible needles hiding everywhere who would kill me, but alcohol calmed that idea down, so I would wake up and make a cocktail on days where I would have to leave the house. It was just a flight of fancy though, nothing I was really actually bothered by as far as I can remember. I didn't really believe it, it was just an uncomfortable idea that I thought was optional because of alcohol.

What I’ve determined my actual triggers are (so far):

Getting agitated for some reason. Whether because of caffeine or drugs, or just a really good bit of music and then beginning to run around in my head for days about angels and demons. Alcohol calms it down and stops me feeling like I could become psychotic.

Camera & cult related paranoia as above, although infrequently leading to drink. Paranoia comes in waves, over the course of months.

Being bored. Not moving around enough. Not having things to do or places to go.

Not having people to see and wanting to scratch that social itch. Alcohol makes me feel less pathetic when I go out to a bar on my own.

Socializing with someone I want to like me and being scared of being a total loser freak, all awkward and stuff. This is usually just predrinking. Ideally I would be just drunk enough to seem confident, but not noticeably intoxicated.

Hating myself and wanting to die, or feeling like I deserve to die, or that it is my destiny to die (whether that's an alcoholic death or just suicide). I drink sometimes to numb out suicidality. The kind of suicidality I get when I’m actually depressed doesn't cause me to drink. I spend too much time in bed and asleep, and alcohol would just make me even worse.

I don't know if how I feel recently is because I’m on lamotrigine or if I’m suicidal bc I’ve realized that I have a personality disorder. I think right now that my mood is actually fine. I mostly feel like I should die just because it would be the right thing to do and because realistically and rationally I will probably never live the life I need myself to live. It sounds really depressing but I’m not actually depressed about it. It’s just causing me to act and feel very erratically because it's the most stressful realization I may ever have in my life, bar like, a diagnosis of a fatal disease. (Alcoholism doesn't count because I did it to myself so it fits with my fantasy or controlling my destiny but if I got dx with cancer I would probably end up going totally bonkers lol)

Being unable to cope with failure. This is probably the biggest of all. I can't manage hobbies because I can’t cope with not being the best at something. It makes me despair and I totally hate myself. I can't draw or paint or try to learn anything because I get obsessed with the idea of being totally brilliant at it and not actually with the process of doing it or improving at it. As soon as I get negative feedback in any way I feel completely crushed and give up. I need constant praise and gassing up, but one criticism will send me back to bed. Alcohol is a hobby where the only result is failure and destruction, so it's safer. I can reassure myself that I have a disease and I’m simultaneously in control and destroying my own life and that no one else can, but also that I’m not responsible for any of my failures, shitty relationships or behaviour. It’s literally just a band aid for my fucked up personality. I can pretend that its the cure and the cause, when really its just a veneer. Its easier for me to pretend I’m not a narc when no one else can tell because there are other things that overlap with the behaviour- such as autism and alcoholism. Being an alcoholic also allows me to force people to acknowledge that I’m in some kind of pain, and it means I have a narrative that explains me ripping through their lives as well. Being an alcoholic is kind of a way to punish my parents LOL. It’s a really stupid strategy. Buddha said that holding on to anger is like drinking a poison and expecting the other person to die. How hilarious is that

So tl;dr, I became an alcoholic because It’s hard to be at work or around people sober- not because I’m anxious or depressed, but because I can’t handle negative feedback about myself whatsoever, and my social skills suck so there’s a lot of it. In other words, when I fill some void with hot air and my ego inflates too much and then it gets threatened or popped, I can’t cope. I have to protect it at all costs otherwise I will die.

I’m basically humpty dumpty, and I’ve been lying on the floor for years with a giant smashed head. People walk past asking me why I act like I’ve forgotten how to walk, like I’m so scared of standing up, or that I’m depressive and have no ambition or motivation as my mum says. Or that I’m never doing enough and am only ever disappointing my mum according to my step dad. The truth is that I never wanted to walk in the first place. I needed to outrun everyone, so I’m doomed to stack it over and over and smash my face on the floor. I cant shoot the arrow high enough. It goes straight up and comes back down and lands in my eye. Chug more anaesthesia

#vent #personal #lmao so like. this was a very long post #I'm copy pasting from the ACTUAL mh diary I have decided to keep in a google doc. Idk why I cant just leave it in there and #want to post it here as well #can I tag this even tho I'm self diagnosing #im not gonna #Feeling like a bit of a ponce . Idk why I gotta make it all sound so dramatic but its the tea

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trip-to-nature24 · 1 year

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Hair Transplant Aftercare and Recovery Instructions

A hair transplant is a delicate and precise operation and a combination of art and science. The days and weeks following your surgery are critical to a successful outcome. This is healing and recovery time, something that can greatly affect the overall output of your procedure. In this article, we will provide detailed instructions on hair transplant after care.

What does the hair transplant recovery timeline look like?

After the hair transplant procedure is complete, and you've gone home, you'll still have access to Elation Hair and Skin Clinic’s complete post-hair transplant aftercare program and the expert guidance you need.

After a hair transplant, it may take two to three months for your new follicles to fully accept and start growing new hair normally. Initially, the new hair may be rough and uneven, but soon you will have the youthful head of hair you deserve. It is common for patients to have full natural hair growth within about 10 months of their procedure.

But every patient's outcome and recovery time is different. So if your hair regrowth takes more than 10 months, it doesn't mean the procedure didn't work or your results won't be as effective. But if you have any concerns, you can call us or request a complimentary checkup as part of our aftercare commitment.

Care steps after 1-4 days of hair transplant

The healing period after hair transplant is 1-4 days, and you must follow the aftercare steps prescribed by your surgeons.

Once you are done spraying, sleep for a few hours.

The first few days after your hair transplant are for rest. The procedure exhausts your body and rest helps speed your recovery.

Avoid swimming, drinking alcohol, smoking, high-impact exercise, and more. Keep the scalp well hydrated during this period with regular saline sprays. Combing should also be avoided, but if you must comb, do it carefully while wet to avoid any bleeding or irritation.

If you experience any irritation, pain or discomfort during this time, please contact us immediately.

Care steps after 5-9 days of hair transplant

The scalp would begin to heal. It's time to gently wash again. The pain and swelling will mostly disappear. Do not use a lot of shampoo; Focus on gently removing dry skin or scabs.

Avoid any high-impact exercise at this point after your hair transplant, just to be sure all the follicles are healed before you go again. High-impact exercise causes sweating, which is dangerous for a newly transplanted scalp.

Hair care after 10-14 days hair transplant

Ten days after the transplant, your scalp will likely look pink and itchy. As long as there is no pain or discomfort, you don't have to worry about anything. After the pink skin and scabs have completely healed, your follicles will go dormant again and your new hair will fall out, leaving you looking like you did before the hair transplant. This will eventually lead to the growth of rich, healthy new hair in your transplanted follicles.

You can start washing your hair normally. So what shampoo should you use at this stage? Use a mild shampoo, and it should not be harsh or abrasive.

How to wash your hair at this stage?

Fill a clean container with lukewarm water

Add a dollop of tea tree shampoo and mix well with water until it becomes soapy

Use a cup or a jug to carefully pour the solution over the transplanted and donor area

In the transplanted area, gently press on the grafts and gently wash the suture line using a circular motion.

Make sure all sides are rinsed using plain clean water

Leave your hair to dry naturally, but try to pat it gently with a clean towel.

Follow this regimen once daily for four to fourteen days.

In an FUT procedure, your stitches will be removed seven to ten days after the procedure.

You can exercise, but check with your surgeon to make sure you are completely healthy and safe.

3-6 months after hair transplant

Follow up with your appointment. Once the incision is healed, let nature take its course and your hair will slowly begin to grow back naturally. At this stage, check-up appointments will be only after 3 months and after 6 months. We recommend that you take pictures of your progress. Don't be careless at this stage; Please ensure you book these in your diary. Everyone has a different healing process. An appointment at this time will not confirm anything unusual about your recovery. You can discuss any questions about aftercare and the future of your hair with our experts.

10 months post hair transplant care

You will get your hair back, and it will grow naturally. Natural hair regrowth begins within 2-3 months of the procedure. That hair will be patchy and uneven because each follicle begins to grow at different times. After 10 months, a haircut is usually needed to bring all the hair back to the same length.

Hair transplant care after 12 months

After 12 months, you will meet with your surgeon for a final appointment. At this appointment, we will examine your hairline and growth to evaluate overall results.

Keep these points in mind in the days and weeks following your hair transplant

Avoid wearing tight caps and scarves. This will inhibit your hair growth and prevent the surgical site from healing properly.

Apply the recommended saline solution before applying a mild shampoo. The salt will keep the area clean, speed up healing and relieve any itching sensation. Store the saline solution in the refrigerator.

Avoid using hair products. Any hair product, hair dryer or power shower will damage the hair follicle. They can migrate before they heal, resulting in less than perfect results.

For four weeks post-operation, avoid heavy lifting as it can negatively affect your healing. The same is true of any high-impact exercise or contact sports for at least one month after the procedure to prevent the healed follicles or incisions from reopening.

Avoid gym work, swimming, running, cycling etc. These actions will extend the scar.

Wash your hands regularly as your scalp begins to heal; You may want to check it regularly to notice any changes. But avoid touching your scalp as much as possible to let it heal. But if you can't resist, it's important to clean your hands and wash them more regularly than usual with hot water and antibacterial gel.

So, before doing hair transplant surgery, we need to understand which place is good for doing this. It's very much important to do hair transplantation from a proper and experienced place. If you are thinking about a hair transplant and want to make the present worth it, feel free to contact Elation Hair and Skin Clinic. All the doctors in Elation will be happy to serve you with world-class services and if you haven't started researching yet, we are here to make your life easier. Elation Hair and Skin Clinic is the most experienced hair transplant clinic in kolkata.

#hair #hair transplant #hair treatment #transplantation #hair transformation

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morantanner37 · 2 years

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silent-kit · 2 years

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youtube

“Johnsburg, Illinois* / Birds and Balloons / Break My Hands (Live Performance in Studio / Medley)”

Unearthed this live 2009 studio medley from the Silent Kit coffin. Starts with a take on Tom Waits’ beautiful song, “Johnsburg, Illinois”, from the 1983 album, “Swordfishtrombones,” and ends with two of my original songs—”Birds and Balloons,” and “Break My Hands”—which morphed into an unexpected medley on the spot.

Thanks to the boys (credits, scroll down) for being pros and unknowingly following me wherever those elementary major chords took us. Always liked how this turned out because there was no heads up, no practice, and I didn’t know which songs to play until engineer, Mark Gustafson, wondered if it was okay to start recording.

Major props to all who caught the moment; and I ask, where did the last 13 years go?

This particular live performance of one of my favorite Waits songs had zero preparation. Hell, I made up the arrangement on the spot with a few G/C/D chords. The guys helped me out with showing up to the recording in late 2009 for the now-defunct but successful SockMonkeySound Podcast production.

They were years ahead of the podcasting trend—grassroots DIY, all passion, sweat equity and a genuine joy of music and culture combined with taking a shit on our hometown, Rockford, Illinois, but at the same time, giving the midwest arts and music community the props it deserved that regional wouldn’t (because this entire region is marketed by conservative hillbilly-targeted media amateurs with no respect for most of us working artists)—but the lack of support in our region to generate revenue support to keep it going combined with youthful distractions and career goals put an early end to the show after 200+ episodes.

Major props to all who caught the moment, and I ask, where did the last 13 years go?Note that this is the first and last time I’ve played live with anyone in any setting. Not sure I could do it again without making an ass out of myself with regards to not knowing the names of chords I’m playing on the guitar or piano, the arrangements and rhythm changes are a foreign language, and the technical aspects that go into capturing a song in the right moment and light is a wonder to me. I know when a song is good or not, no matter how it’s recorded and with any given device. There’s so much more to it all that makes collaboration key— I envy the incredible magic-making musical skills that audio producers, engineers, mixers, mastering pros—all of you—do to provide our lives a soundtrack to discover and enjoy. It’s magical, take a bow.

Anyway, thank you to all who made this memory. Still grateful that anyone gave a shit to capture a past life where I was clearly producing creative work across all media at a focused and chaotic pace that I’ll never enjoy the energy of happening again. That’s youth and ambition for ya, or foolishness. Okay, time to go tell myself to fuck off again.

Have a nice day on the internet,

Dave is Andy is Lord Derby / Silent Kit

--------

CREDITS

"Johnsburg, Illinois*/Birds and Balloons/Break My Hands (Medley)" Performed by Silent Kit Live @ SockMonkeySound November 19, 2009

SILENT KIT IS and NEVER WAS: Dave DeCastris, Vocals and Acoustic Guitar Daniel James McMahon,Accordion and Drums Mark Muraski, Lead Guitar Zach Staas, Hammond B3 Organ

Audio Recording by Mark Gustafson

Video Recording by Chip Copeland

Notes: The full-hour interview episode that accompanies these live, in-studio performances is available from SockMonkeySound and via their Podcast channel in the Apple Music Store. Click below for the direct links.

EPISODES UNAVAILABLE TO STREAM, but that can change at any moment if one of the four podcast production founders hands the audio archive over to make it available again through a new distribution channel / host provider to resubmit the RSS feeds to Apple and many podcast app platforms etc.

Stream Silent Kit on SoundCloud

-------

Follow my podcast show, “Have a nice day on the internet!”

Choose the FREE signup option at haveanicedayontheinternet.com and I’ll gift you the paid subscription within 24 hours. Easy, no catch!

#silent kit #tom waits #johnsburg #illinois #birds #balloons #break my hands #andy whorehall #daniel james mcmahon #zach staas #sockmonkeysound #Mark Gustafson #mark muraski

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cassandraclare · 3 years

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The Whispering Room: James’ POV

Here it is finally — James’ POV of the Whispering Room scene from Chain of Gold. I wanted to wait until Chain of Iron was released to give more people a chance to read the book, and also because what we learn in COI does inform the scene. I hope you enjoy!

*art by Cassandra Jean

Cortana wove with her words, underlining each one with steel. She turned as her sword turned, and her body curved and moved like water or fire, like a river under an infinity of stars. It was beautiful—she was beautiful, but it was not a distant beauty. It was a beauty that lived and breathed and reached out with its hands to crush James’s chest and make him breathless. — Chain of Gold

James had felt a strange emotion when Daisy first took the stage at the Hell Ruelle. It was a mix of several feelings...

worry on her behalf, annoyance at Kellington, curiosity, and admiration for her bravery and poise. It was unfair of these Bohemians to force her to caper for them, and, he thought, a bit insulting to Shadowhunters in general. He supposed that Matthew had given them a rather unusual view of what the Nephilim were like in such circumstances.

And then she had begun to dance. And suddenly she was not Daisy, his old friend. She was Cordelia, whose name meant heart, whose every gesture was fire. Every earthly worry he’d had had been swept out of his mind. He was conscious only of Cordelia, whirling back and forth across the small stage. Cortana danced around her, shedding light like embers. The dull glow of the lamps illuminated her body, describing her every movement, her every curve as she danced. Her scarlet hair whipped around her in time to the music, and the golden light of the lamps in the Ruelle slipped across her skin, slow and hot, like beads of honey. The cadences of her voice, rising and falling, seemed to weave a cage of silken thread about her audience, and James was no exception.

Later, James would think it was odd that he had not compared her to Grace. Grace had never entered his mind at all. Cordelia danced, and by the end of her performance, James’s entire life had been disassembled and put back together in a new and different shape. He was conscious of Matthew, beside him, also staring as the crowd cheered, his sharp cheekbones flushed. He looked dazed; James couldn’t blame him.

Cordelia descended the stage and slipped through the crowd to come back to them, blushing at the looks and murmured comments she was drawing from the audience now. James could see the desire in the eyes that followed her. Everyone wanted her. He felt a dull fury. They had no right. They did not know Cordelia. She was more than just that dance.

When she reached them she let out a long breath of relief and smiled. She glowed with the exercise of dancing. Sweat beaded along her collarbones, shimmered between her breasts. Her eyes were bright as Cortana’s blade, strapped to her back.

“Bloody hell,” Matthew exclaimed. “What was that?”

A look of uncertainty crossed Cordelia’s face. James said, “It was a fairy tale, Math,” and Matthew nodded. His dark green eyes searched Cordelia’s face, as if looking for the key to a locked room he had only just discovered.

Cordelia looked uncertain. James couldn’t bear that. She’d been magnificent; she should know it. But he couldn’t say that, of course. It would only make her self-conscious.

“Well done, Cordelia,” James said instead; when he unfolded his arms; his wrist hurt and he wondered if he’d been clenching his hands.

Cordelia. He hadn’t called her Daisy, and she looked a little surprised. It seemed inappropriate, somehow. Daisy was Lucie’s friend, the Merry Thieves’ compatriot; he found it a smaller name than she deserved. Cordelia, though—she had been a queen, hadn’t she? Queen Cordelia, daughter of Leir, ruler of Britain before the Romans had ever landed on those shores. Like Boadicea, a legendary warrior queen. A blazing white fire behind fathomless black eyes.

“Anna has disappeared with Hypatia,” James said, noting the empty settee, “so I would call your distraction a success.”

Cordelia’s lips twitched into a smile. “How long does a seduction usually last?”

“Depends if you do it properly,” Matthew said, with a wink. James felt it as a spark of relief, a bit of lightness amid the feeling that something heavy was sitting on his chest.

“Well, I hope for Hypatia’s sake Anna does it properly,” James said. He registered, with the reflexes of a parabatai, that Matthew had gone still next to him, and wondered what was wrong. “Yet for our sake, I hope she hurries it up.”

All hint of Matthew’s jocular tone from before was gone. “Both of you,” he said urgently. “Listen.”

Did he mean all the muttering about Shadowhunters? Was he only noticing it now? It had followed them since they came into the place. But when James followed Matthew’s gaze, he found Kellington staring with an expression of vexation, not at them but at the door. All questions were answered as through the door came Charles Fairchild, looking around him with a haughty expression. He looked like was about to raid the place; so much for whatever work Matthew and Anna had done for Downworlder-Shadowhunter relations here.

Matthew narrowed his eyes. “Charles,” he sighed. “By the Angel, what is he doing here?”

Charles was, James thought, probably looking for them. He was making his way through the crowd and gazing around him. Luckily for them, the crowd was not interested in letting him through, and he was moving very slowly.

“We should go,” James said. “But we can’t leave Anna.”

In one way, at least, Charles’s arrival was helpful; it threw a bucket of cold water on the roiling heat that had gripped James’s heart since Cordelia had begun her dance. Back to the matter at hand: a demon, a Pyxis, a plan.

“You two run and hide yourselves,” Matthew said, still keeping his eyes on his brother. “Charles will go off his head if he sees you here.”

“But what about you?” said Cordelia.

Matthew shrugged, but James could see the tension in his jaw and his shoulders. “He’s used to this kind of thing from me. I’ll deal with Charles.”

Not for the first time, James wished that his parabatai wasn’t in such a hurry to sacrifice his own reputation. He exchanged a long look with Matthew, but Matthew was sure, and determined, and his desire to rush into his own humiliation was an issue that would have to wait. Nodding, he turned and caught Cordelia’s hand with his own. “This way,” he said, and she nodded back in acknowledgement. As he pulled them into the crowd he heard Matthew’s voice calling, “Charles!” in a hearty tone of pleasant, if entirely false, welcome.

James didn’t know his way around the place, and the crowd made orientating himself even more difficult, but after some trial and error he and Cordelia managed to get behind Kellington and slip into a corridor leading away. This wasn’t safe in itself, since from the main chamber one would have a clear view down the entire corridor. In fact, they were temporarily more exposed than before, and James’s hope for the hallway to take a quick turn or to contain large statuary to hide behind was quickly dashed. He continued to hold onto Cordelia’s hand, not that he needed to; she seemed to know her way better than he did.

Partway down the corridor, James caught sight of an open door — its silver plaque labeling it the entrance to THE WHISPERING ROOM. Swiftly he drew Cordelia inside, out of sight. He slammed the door behind them, causing a loud noise, but he thought it couldn’t possibly be heard over the crowd in the main chamber. Only then did he release Cordelia’s hand and take stock of their surroundings.

The room was dimly lit, but not cold: a scented fire burned in the grate, filling the space with the smell of sandalwood and roses. It was a study, he guessed, based on the gigantic walnut desk against the wall and the bookshelves opposite, but it was too richly decorated to be solely a place for studious contemplation. Phoenix feathers and dragon scales danced across the gilded wallpaper; there were no windows, but the walls were hung with patterned tapestries, the floor covered with a rug so thick James felt his boots sink into it as he moved further into the room.

Cordelia had leaned her back against the wall next to the door. Her eyes were closed and she was taking deep, full breaths, calming herself down. Cortana gleamed gold over her shoulder; the firelight gleamed a deeper gold on her skin, which seemed to take and hold its warmth. James curled his fingers in against his palm.

He wanted to touch her. He half-turned away, pretending to study the books on the wall. Any other time, he would have been fascinated by the titles. Now they seemed distant, neither immediate nor imporant. He could have sworn he heard his own heart hammering. He said, “Where did you learn to dance like that?” surprising himself with the roughness of his own voice.

His gaze snapped back to Cordelia as she opened her eyes and gave a little shrug. There was something magical about the dress she wore: it followed the shape of her own body rather than the shape of corsetry or whalebone petticoats. It slid softly against her skin as she moved, just as her dark red hair tickled the bare skin of her throat, her shoulders. “I had a dance instructor in Paris. My mother believed that learning to dance aided in learning grace in battle.”

The word grace pierced James like an icicle. He could not quite picture Grace at the moment, it was true; could not quite envision her face. He had given Grace his heart — that was an immutable fact, something he knew as he knew that two plus two equaled four. But he had to admit that at the moment his heart did not feel given. It felt like a thrumming machine inside his chest, pumping blood and heat.

“That dance,” Cordelia added with a quirk of her soft mouth that struck James like a blow to the stomach, “was forbidden to be taught to unmarried ladies. But my dance instructor did not care.”

“Well,” James said, keeping his voice steady with practiced control, “thank the Angel you were there. Matthew and I could certainly not have pulled off that dance on our own.”

Cordelia turned away from him, the smile still on her face, as though she were keeping it secret from him. She trailed her hand along the top of Hypatia’s desk. At one end was a stack of papers held down by a large copper bowl of fruit, and she brought her hand up to trace its rim.

James may have been distracted beyond the capacity for distraction he’d known before, but he was still a Shadowhunter. “Be careful,” he said warningly. “I suspect that is faerie fruit. It has no effect on warlocks—no magical effect, at least. But on humans…”

Cordelia pulled her hand back as though stung. “Surely it does not harm you if you do not eat it.”

“Oh, it does not. But I have met those who have tasted it. The say the more you have of it, the more you want, and the more you ache when you can…have no more.”

Cordelia was looking at him now, and though it took a great summoning of courage, he returned her gaze. In her dark eyes the silver and blue flames of the fireplace danced. James could not catch his breath. He had never felt this before, this breathlessness. It was like pain, but with a sweet, sharp edge. Like licking honey from a knife. He said, in a low voice, “And yet. I have always thought…is not knowing what it tastes like just another form of torture? The torture of wondering?”

The door shook on his hinges suddenly, making a clatter that made both he and Cordelia jerk their heads around to look at it. The knob was starting to turn.

Cordelia paled. “We’re not meant to be in here —“

James’s world closed down to just this: Cordelia was here, she was with him, and she looked frightened. He would do anything to stop that look on her face. He caught her in his arms, and the relief was incredible — he had not realized how much he wanted to be touching her until he was. Until he was holding her, and her strength and warmth and softness were all pressed against him, and her face was so beautiful it hurt, and her lips were parted in surprise and without another thought he kissed them.

He could feel her sharp intake of breath with his hands, clasped together at her lower back. She gasped, but did not draw back, or away — he thought he would have died if she had — she leaned into him, her full lips opening under his. She was kissing him back. He tasted honey, smelled jasmine and smoke. His hand slid up her warm cheek and into the soft fall of her hair.

Time stopped.

Cordelia’s arms were around his neck. Her lush mouth opened a little against his, and the kiss deepened. He moved his hand to the back of her neck to bring her closer. Her teeth grazed his lower lip, and he couldn’t help it; he moaned, and felt her tremble against him.

Very far away, a voice chuckled and the door closed with a soft click. This whole thing had been intended as a ruse, he knew, for the benefit of whomever was trying to get into the Whispering Room. Probably some Ruelle attendees, Downworlders most likely, who had snuck off for a rendez-vous.

Ruse accomplished, then. With intense regret, James drew back from Cordelia. Her hand, warm and soft and wonderful, was against his neck; her fingers stroked his pale white scar. Her eyes were fixed at the level of his shoulder. He could hear himself say her name — Daisy, my Daisy — instead of responding, she whispered, “I think more people are coming.”

He knew it wasn’t true. He didn’t care. He knew what she was saying: that she was asking and giving permission at once. All James’ life, he had struggled for control: control over his sudden falls into shadow, control over the dark world he could see, that was invisible to everyone else. He had worked and fought and trained for control every day, and for the first time in as long as he could remember it deserted him.

The walls he had put up burned to the ground in an instant as he caught Cordelia to him. He groaned against her mouth, his hands slipping over the silk of her dress, the hot satin of her skin. He undid the strap that held Cortana, got rid of it somehow — carefully, he hoped — and let himself fall back into delirium.

He did not ask himself why he had never felt desire like this before. He could not. He was lost in the feel of her, the incline of her waist, the flare of her hips, the rise and fall of her chest as she gasped. They were kissing wildly, uncontrolled; they fetched up against the desk, Cordelia’s back to it.

Her body bent backward in an impossible arch, her hands going behind her to brace herself. Her eyes half-closed, her head fell back, revealing the bare column of her throat. He pressed his lips there, eliciting a gasp of surprised pleasure.

His hands trailed up the sleek material of her dress — he could feel the heat of her skin through it — from her waist to the neckline of her gown. His palms followed her curves until the tips of his fingers were pressing into the bare bronze skin just above the neckline of her dress. She was sleek and soft and hot all at the same time, like nothing else he’d ever touched. He heard her whimper; she was saying his name, and his heart beat in time with her words: James, James, Jamie please.

The please undid him; shrugging off his frock coat, he caught hold of her around the waist, lifting her until she was perched on the edge of the desk. The material of her dress bunched around her knees, her thighs, as she took hold of his shirt by the starched front and kissed him. His mouth drove against hers, hot and demanding, even as he clambered onto the desk after her. She reached up her arms for him and he sank down on top of her, bracing his weight with a hand above her head.

He paused, just for a moment, looking down at her. Her scarlet hair fanned out across the desk, her eyes glazed, her full lips red from kissing. He was cradled by her body, her legs on either side of his hips, her skirt rucked up nearly to her waist. She wrapped her long, bare legs around him and he shuddered. What was in him, what he wanted, was inchoate but insistant, a force he’d never known. A yearning like hot wires in his blood, the pain-pleasurable ache of unbearable wanting that drove him to kiss her again, kiss her harder. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling at it as he kissed her breasts, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin until she gave a low scream and clutched at him with desperate hands.

He sank down against her and kissed her, hot and deep and hard. She arched into the kiss, her breath coming in gasps. He felt her through the thinner material of his shirt: the heat of her, the swell of her breasts against his chest, her hands smoothing over his chest, his sides.

His hands aching to touch her in kind, to find out what she liked, what made her gasp, and do it again and again . . . Nothing had ever felt like this, nothing. He’d known desire before; so he remembered, so he had believed. It turned out he had stepped into a puddle and thought it was the sea. As Cordelia moved in his arms, as her lips, he realized there was a depth to desire he hadn’t even guessed at: that it was more than just desperation, but joy and need and wanting and being wanted back. It was a fever dream, his hands sliding up under the heavy satin of her skirts, the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the soft sounds of her pleasure as she urged him closer, urged him onward, the desk seeming to spin beneath them.

He heard, as if at a great distance, the sound of the door opening. He lifted his head, saw the slim fair-hared figure in the doorway. Ice washed through his veins. Cordelia stiffened, began to scramble to sit up. No, he thought, but he couldn’t stop her, couldn’t blame her. It — whatever it had been — was over.

He slid off the desk. Already the fever was vanishing, that feeling —the glorious freedom from the burden of his own will — receding. Grasping at his control, he drew it around himself, reaching for his coat, turning to calmly meet the gaze of his parabatai.

“James?” Matthew said.

#the whispering room #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #the last hours #cassandra clare #cassandra jean #chain of gold

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djarinsbeskar · 3 years

Text

Foul - Boxer!Din AU

Definition - To break one of boxing’s rules (i.e. hitting an opponent below the navel, ear or while they are down), which can ultimately lead to point deductions if they are repeated.

A/N: The results of my Boxer!AU poll told me that the majority were interested in a jealous/protective boxer so I hope I have delivered! As always, relaxed fit = unedited, no beta. We also have a sneaky introduction to Paz in the Boxer verse which is super exciting! His concept art has been completed by the insanely talented @ronnieiswriting when I said I saw a mix of Jason Momoa and Winston Duke as our heavy. PLEASE heed the warnings in this chapter. There is nothing explicit but the topics hinted at might be triggering.

Word Count: 7k

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warnings: SMUT! (unprotected sex), blood and violence, toxic masculinity and derogatory speech, hints at discussions of non-con, somewhat possessive behavior, spanking, dom!Din and everything that comes with it.

Main Masterlist | Boxer Materlist

He might as well have been in hell. A colosseum of decaying humanity and dirt floors that erupted in a burst of dust like poisonous ash every time his next opponent fell. The hollow thump of pure muscle meeting the ground of the makeshift ring only drowned by the cheers of spectators. Masked, shadowed—unseen as they dropped hundreds – thousands sometimes – on which gladiator would remain standing in the end.

He felt like a king, a god among men within the confines of his realm of rope and canvas. It was easy to forget—standing under the spotlights that highlighted the sweat and blood and sculpted beauty of primal masculinity that it was a hollow victory any time he fought in the seedy underground rings of Akiva.

Every gladiator was a slave. Even the victor.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to let you come to one of these fights?

“Enough!”

Paz’s unassailable strength banded around Din’s chest, pinning his arms to his side—attempting to contain lightning in a glass jar. Sweat, blood—it all dripped into Din’s eyes as he growled at his opponent, passed out in the middle of the dirt ring—face swollen and puffy from Din’s fists.

Laser focus and animosity spilled from charcoal eyes as he tried to break free of his friends hold with a vicious yank forward of powerful shoulder and an unfaltering purpose. The bastard had it coming. One round a few punches wasn’t enough to slake Din’s anger, the fumes of rage seeping into his skin and clouding his senses until all he could think of was making the asshole on the ground before him pay.

The practiced speed that Din wrapped his hands slowed at the rowdy group on the other side of the room. Dammit, for all the money they brought in, could these cheapskates not provide separate fucking changing rooms so he didn’t have to be subjected to idiots jacking themselves up on testosterone and false hope?

But pissing contests and fragile masculinity weren’t what caught his attention. He could tune that bullshit out like a fine art. What caught Din’s attention was the obvious death wish one of his possible opponents had – if he even managed to get that far up the ranks to Din – when he waved a red flag in front of the boxers’ metaphorical bull.

“See that one in the front row? You know the one I’m talking about.”

Bawdy agreements and asinine gestures raked up Din’s spine, thorny—and prickling nerves of instinct that made him pause the music blaring in his ears. He fucking hated the scum he came across in these fights. Gang members, criminals—the dredges of humanity he sometimes worried he was part of.

“Gonna get her on her knees choking on my cock before the night is out. Sluts like that love titles, champions—why else do they attend? Good excuse to win tonight, eh fellas?”

“Do you wanna completely destroy your career?” Paz yelled over the chortles and raucous cheers for more, for revenge—for everything under the poor fallacy of a sun that strung in dim, bald bulbs along the notoriously infamous Avika fighting ring.

Din thought you would be safe, arrogantly assuming people would avoid even looking at you once they saw who you were with. And you had been—you were safe, but even he couldn’t protect you from the thoughts of others.

The larger man struggled with him, dragging him out of the ring when it was obvious his words were falling on deaf ears. All Din could hear was the little pricks voice in his head from hours before.

Din stood.

Inhaled, exhaled—tried those bullshit breathing exercises that were supposed to focus his mind before a fight. Help to rein in a temper like his from overflowing in devastating tidal waves to destroy all around him. Din didn’t lose his temper often—but when he did, it was lethal.

The breathing exercises didn’t work.

Because the idiot kept talking.

“Did you see the ass on that?”

Leers sounded from his group of friends. Encouraging the vile words that Din always knew came from a man who felt entitled to a woman’s body. He had seen enough of the underbelly of the world to know what that led to time and again. Din might have been shameless in his youth and even until recently when it came to sex, to one night stands, to women—but he fucking respected the girls he fucked or didn’t fuck.

“Traipsing around in a dress like that? She’s looking for the attention,” the asshole defended himself when one of his party voiced an alternative point of view. They were promptly shut down and didn’t speak again.

Din’s blood turned to ice. An image of you running a hand down his arm on your way to your seat when you parted ways for him to get ready, dress sinfully tight but effortlessly classy—a zip front he was dying to pull open with his teeth later that night.

“It’ll look so good with my cock buried in it…”

The ice in his blood turned to fury, white hot and molten as he tied off the tape at his wrists—throwing the roll into the dingy locker he had been given for the evening. The clatter of noise from where it slammed against the metal back was the only warning he was planning on giving them. The lull of conversation was fleeting, his warning going unheeded—when dim-witted morons didn’t read the murder in his gaze.

Looks like they weren’t nearly as intelligent as the pigs he thought them to be.

Grabbing his water bottle and phone, Din stalked towards the chipped door—distracting himself with a text of “don’t go anywhere alone in this place, sweetheart. Ask Paz to go with you” sent to you without a second thought.

The immediate response of “Yes yes I know, for the thousandth time. Don’t worry and focus on yourself” did little to assuage the roar of blood in his ears. There was only one thing he heard over the noise, one thing as his vision became hued in red and fixated on a single target.

“Wonder if she’ll let me fuck her there too—can’t imagine she’s a virgin but her ass will still probably be tighter than her cunt.”

Bald headed and littered in scars and tattoos of a gang known for their viciousness, the other boxer – if he could even be called that – thrust vulgarly into the air, mimicking the hold he would have on the girl. Din’s girl.

The fucker had a death wish.

And Din was only too happy to play the part of the grim reaper.

His friends voice hardly registered over that same ringing in his ears, the roar of protective aggression at the lecherous sneer on the other man’s face who now lay in a heap in the dirt, the filth he spewed about his masseuse, his girl. How beady eyes, cold and villainous dared to drift away from Din before the bell sounded—over his shoulder, to where he knew you were sitting. Knowing your body had been tainted by the gaze of a man who would sooner take what he wanted from you by force than look at you with anything akin to the respect you deserved—it made something snap inside of Din.

And he attacked.

He was lucky he had only been disqualified.

He was damn lucky no one called the cops.

But the perks of underground fighting, was that everyone who attended had something to hide. And no one wanted to be caught in the middle of shady transactions or betting on fighters to beat each other to a pulp. Hell, the savagery Din subjected the other guy to was exactly what half the fuckers who showed up hoped to see.

Din wasn’t just a nameless street fighter though, not anymore. He had something to lose. Any smear on his record for assault and he would be suspended from tournament participation quicker than the asshole’s body dropped after a crushing blow under the jaw by Din’s right uppercut.

Thank fuck Din’s main sponsor was equally as shady. A good man by Din’s logic, but merciless when it came to succeeding. Din being benched was the surest way to make his benefactors patience run out. No, Paz was right—Boba even more so when he clocked Din good in the cheek after Paz wrestled the irate male out of the ring.

“You fucking idiot, bloodlust is an ugly image, boy—”

“I am not a boy—” Din snapped at Boba, teeth bared and bloody from his split lip, neck straining when he spat the words viciously at his long-time coach. He ran his tongue over the metallic tang of blood before spitting it out of his mouth onto the dirt flooring by the chaotic rows of metal seating.

“You almost killed a guy in the ring, you little shit,” Boba snarled with equal venom, matching the anger reflected in Din’s gaze with furious sense Din didn’t want to witness.

“Let me go,” was all Din growled, eyes never leaving his coach’s even when Paz loosened his arms around his chest. Heaving, coal black eyes darkened dangerously and stabbed the former boxer with a dare to try and restrain him again. The other man shook a rope of dreadlock that had come loose from the strip of leather he kept his hair tied in and made to say something when Din interrupted,

“Where is she?”

Paz closed his mouth, heavy brows furrowing over his eyes as recognition dawned in their dark hues,

“Is that what this is about? Dammit, vod—it’s not like she’s your girlfriend, isn’t that what you always say?”

“Don’t fucking try me tonight—” Din snapped aggressively, the threatening hum between the two men charged to dangerous voltage.

“Din?”

Your voice washed over him – aloe on the burns his fury had scorched his skin with – and he was making his way over to you in the next moment, mind battling with instinct as he ignored the calls and curses of his friends.

Mine.

Not yours—

Mine.

He moved with feral grace, parting the sea of people who bleated from the sidelines but cowered in his presence once his attention was facing them and there was no canvas or rope to separate boxer from spectator. They were lucky. He didn’t see them. Would step on them if they were stupid enough to stay in his path. All he could see, was you—watching him with confusion and concern marring those pretty features, absent of fear in the face of an incensed, adrenaline fueled boxer post fight.

He exhaled a growl as he came to stand before you, the sound cavernous and deep in his chest—the hands you had lifted to examine his face intercepted by his own when he grabbed them. His fingers wrapped fully around your wrists, and he was reminded of how fragile you were – even if you worked out whenever you could and had a will of iron that would make you whack him for saying that – and just how easily a man like him, any of the fighters here tonight—could hurt you.

Never.

They wouldn’t dare.

Not with him around.

But how could they know?

How would they know to stay the fuck away from you?

Knuckles stained with dirt and blood; his hand rasped against the softness of your palm as he dragged you in the direction of the unused backstage waiting room fighters had been offered as a changing room. Where this whole fucking thing started.

“Din—Din, what the hell happened up there?”

You jogged behind him to keep up with his pace, long legs taking him farther than your shorter ones could when confined to the heels you had worn for the night out. He stalked through the dimly lit corridors to the flaky, chipped door with a temporary sign on lined paper with “ATHLETES” scrawled along the front of it like some ironic joke.

He almost bent the worn, cheap metal handle in half—nearly pulled it from its socket with how hard he tore the door open and dragged you over the threshold inside.

You whirled on him with a huff, eyes flashing and hands planting on your hips in growing annoyance.

“Din will you just—”

You didn’t get another word out.

His wrapped hands cupped your cheeks between them, his mouth on yours hungrily when he bent over you. Biting, clawing, desperate—the kiss was more a battle of tongue and teeth than anything else. There was nothing soft, nothing slow or affectionate about the way his teeth sank into your bottom lip so hard you gasped. The way the blood seeping from his split lip painted yours in a crimson rouge—smeared and varnishing you in a visceral mark of his claim.

“Mine,” he snarled unknowingly into your mouth, lapping his tongue along the prairies of your tastebuds, plundering the depths of your mouth to brand every inch of you he could reach. Inside and out. His hands had the same idea, forming down over the shape of your curves as he walked you back blindly to the disused vanity pushed against the closest wall. Topped with a row of mirrors undoubtedly used by performers for whatever this place had once been used for, the glass was now aged with discoloration.

It didn’t matter.

He didn’t have eyes for anything but you as he hiked your legs up to perch you on the edge, your fingers curled into the taut muscles at his neck and clawing down over the sweat slick muscles of his pecs—catching on flat nipples that made ripples of pleasure heat his body further. Mad him tangle a hand in your hair, yank your head back harshly and meet your eyes with dark desire before dropping to your neck. His newest target.

“Din…” your irritated, questioning tone had morphed to fervent sighs. His tongue mapped a trail from the corner of your mouth – tasting the tang of his own blood – to the rapid tattoo of your pulse, a delicate sheen of perspiration beginning to shimmer on your flushed skin from the arousal. Another layer of flavor for him to get drunk on.

So fucking hot under his hands.

So beautiful.

So his.

“Mine,” he repeated into the curve of your neck, framed by tremulous stretches of muscle either side that he carved with scrapes of his teeth to leave tracks of slow fading pink grazes before he bit into it. Your legs – already open and inviting him to settle between them – crossed at the ankles around his narrow hips to keep him close. It was fucking intoxicating the way he could make you feel, the desperate need he had for you.

Months of sleeping together, of knowing his body so intimately had given you a rare insight to his emotions whether he knew it or not. And you knew he didn’t need to talk right now, he needed to fuck. To work through whatever had affected him so badly in hard kisses and rough hands on your soft flesh. It didn’t stop your stomach from flipping at his possessive words though, deliriously spoken but whispering the unacknowledged desires you had for him beyond his body.

“Yours,” you admitted before you could stop yourself, your hand cupping under his jaw to lift his mouth back to yours. His raspy moan at your agreement turned positively filthy when you carded short nails through his damp hair. Din was weak to having his hair stroked, his staunch dominance buckling in violent shivers of pleasure when you dragged those skilled fingers down the back of his skull and neck.

Traipsing around in a dress like that…

His eyes flew open, and he broke the kiss—ripped his mouth from yours to press his forehead to yours, eyes searching while his free hand ran indulgently up your torso to the neckline of your dress,

“Never let anyone disrespect you, sweetheart—” he rumbled, his fingers already undoing the zip of the dress, the nude pink material tempting to the eye and celebrating those features you were most proud of—that he found irresistible to know you loved. That someone could make you uncomfortable in those clothes… fucker. He snarled and pressed a long kiss to your mouth, large hands spreading the sides of the dress open wide – no underwear, baby? – and shucked the material down your arms to leave you bare before him.

His appreciation for your body – fucking gorgeous – was only tampered by the frustration he had with himself at the noise of confusion you made at his words. Of course, you hadn’t heard anything that asshole had said thankfully—but fuck, he couldn’t get it out of his head. You read his desperation somehow, and nodded slowly with puzzled eyes, teeth sinking into your swollen bottom lip as you leaned back on your hands.

So trusting…

Fuck.

It made alarm and something akin to fear rise swell uncomfortably in his throat.

He tried again.

“Never let anyone take advantage of you,” he whispered against your mouth in earnest, his hands running up your bare thighs to press his thumbs into the seams of your legs and hips, “tell me—”

His mouth dropped to your collarbone, funneling those feelings into lapping down to your heaving breasts, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan and befuddling your mind to his request until he nipped the swollen peak – say it, baby – and caused your head to fall back against the mirror,

“Yes—yes,” you moaned, “I won’t—”

He snarled internally, dammit. Hearing you say it didn’t help. He wanted to say how he wouldn’t let anyone disrespect you, how he wouldn’t let anyone ever take advantage of you. But he couldn’t. Had to frame it like advice he would give any woman he knew instead of speaking it like the promise he wanted to make.

Din had been fucking you for the last few months now, exclusively after only a few months—but it never went beyond that. He had no reason, no excuse to be worried over your life or safety or what you did when you weren’t in his bed. He wasn’t expected to be involved in your life the way a friend or family member was. Not the way a boyfriend was.

He didn’t do relationships. Never had. Too much trouble and frankly—he liked his privacy, his space—and liked not being accountable to anyone but himself. The consequences of any shitty decisions he made would fall on him and him alone. If he demanded that of the women he slept with and then insisted on inserting himself into their lives in the next breath, he would be a hypocrite. And Din hated hypocrites.

He couldn’t.

But fuck. He never wanted to hear someone speak that way about you, never wanted them to think they had the slightest chance with a woman like you. His blood boiled at the notion of someone else’s hands on you, his tempered flared when he imagined your pleasure or smiles, or laughter give to someone who didn’t deserve you.

Like he did?

Fuck no, he knew he didn’t.

He never said he wasn’t selfish though, and he coveted you with sinful greed.

“Fuck me, baby—please, please—” you mewled into his neck as your hands that had started all of this with that first massage, fit into the sliver of space between your bodies to stroke along his cock over his shorts impatiently. His head fell back, and his mind blissfully emptied for a moment, grunting your name at the frisson of pleasure before those damned memories resurfaced again.

Look at the ass on that.

That.

Her. You weren’t a thing, a possession. You were—

He snarled. Misplaced anger manifesting in aggressive passion as he grabbed your wrist from where you stroked him to pin behind your back on the vanity.

“Always so eager, aren’t you—” he grinned darkly when you nodded, “turn around.”

The command was delivered low and dangerous, more a rumble of noise—deep echoes of jungle predators crackling like the kindling of threat, inspiring awareness that one wrong move would be fatal. But you never made a wrong move—not for as long as he had known you. Whether it was alleviating a pain deep in his muscles that had bothered him for months or pushing yourself slowing off the vanity to your feet as you were now—you always knew what he needed.

Wisps of hair fell into his eyes as he watched you—the decided turn of your naked body to dace the mirror—eyes never leaving his even as they caught them again in the aged glass. Bending forward, your ass pressed into the front of his shorts, and you rested your elbows on the vanity.

Perfect.

He didn’t realize he had whispered the word as he pressed his mouth between your shoulder blades, tongue trailing down the arch of your spine while his hands kneaded plush cheeks—spreading them and exposing your slick cunt to the cool air. The hitches in your breath, small squirms of your hips for relief—they all fed into his desire for you.

And he desired you. Constantly.

“I’m gonna eat your pussy until you can’t stand, baby—and then I’m gonna fuck you until you can’t speak,” he muttered against the shell of your ear, massive bulk bowed over your back and shadowed eyes – the duality of warm walnut and lethal obsidian – bore into yours through the glass.

“I want them all to know who you belong to,” he nipped your ear, flicking his tongue along the cartilage—the black ink on his back catching the light as his muscles rippled with movement, a roll of pleasure from your ass grinding back against him with a whimper of his name, “so don’t be quiet this time, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fluttered open molasses slow from where they had dropped closed at his words,

“What—what hap—” you tried to turn your head, the concern mingled with lust in those gorgeous, honest eyes making warning bells blare painfully – too close – and he silenced you with a kiss. Swallowing the worry that hinted at feelings that surpassed those expected from a fuck buddy, he buried it deep inside himself, in the shadows like a coward. To be locked away where he would remain safe from it.

Your tongue grew sloppy with a moan when he ground his crotch into your ass—dragging the solid thickness of his clothed cock between your soaked folds and up against your tight rear entrance.

Wonder if she’ll let me take her there…

Bastard.

He sucked on your tongue with a groan of your name, hand releasing your cheeks to fan up your ribcage and cup your breasts. You jerked in sensitivity when rough hands pinched sore nipples – he fucking loved how sensitive your tits got just before your period. The cry you released was nothing short of musical, tempting him lower as he kissed down your spine—wrapped hands sanding down over your ribs again when he lapped around the rim of your ass, circling it before he traced lower.

You were dripping.

He dropped to his knees behind you, eyes drunken with an ingrained pride that he was the one in this position, looking at the petals of your swollen pussy glistening with arousal he inspired from just a few kisses and rolls of his hips. He kept his eyes on the steady trickle of wetness from your twitching entrance, his teeth grazing distractedly down the back of your thigh as he did so.

A finger ruddy with flecks of dried blood caught a string of your arousal – don’t waste a drop – and he sucked it between his lips with an approving groan, the noise of your whimpers the perfect accompaniment. Blood and lust. The essence of humanity, that was what he tasted when he sucked his finger clean. It tasted like life. And he wanted more.

A sharp crack echoed through the room when his hand came down hard on one cheek, and again... and again—each strike making that dripping wetness gush until he couldn’t hold back anymore. He buried his face in your cunt, nosing at your entrance and tongue spreading puffy lips apart so he could trace in pitter patter swipes through your folds—greedily gathering anything he could get on his tongue before swallowing. Dehydrated on the sands of depravity and sordid company—your cunt was an oasis of relief where he eagerly drank his fill.

You tried to move, your hips slamming up against the edge of the vanity – that’ll bruise – and you keened with a shuddering cry when his mouth simply followed your attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure that was too much too soon.

“Fuck—fuckfuckfuck—” you gasped, dropping a hand back to tangle in his hair, dragging him closer despite your protests. Mm, he loved when you got like this—overstimulated from the first touch. No matter how much you whined, no matter how many times he wiped tears that smudged your makeup when he unraveled orgasm after orgasm from the knots inside you—he knew you loved the intensity as much as he did.

He spanked you again – take it – your cheeks red and beautiful when he spread them side for him to spit directly onto your quivering cunt. His saliva dribbled and mixed with your juices to gather over your clit, his mouth forming over the little bud enthusiastically, urged by your slow ruts back against his face to streak his face with your essence.

“More—” you whimpered.

“Greedy—” he growled back.

The sound of your breathless laugh meshed delightfully with the swallow of a moan – guttural and primal – and made his cock twitch in his shorts. His hips snapped up uselessly from where he was kneeling—finding no purchase or warm embrace to bury itself in as his tongue took that pleasure for itself.

It licked and curled with practiced, seemingly illogical strokes along your clit and up to your entrance—sloppily kissing it before his tongue dove into your tight depths, thumb working in quick circles over your clit. He knew exactly what to do to make you come undone.

Your first orgasm was sudden—strong and surprising. He hadn’t even fucking fingered you and you were already spasming around nothing. Your muscles tensed as you went on your toes to lean even further on the vanity, trying to escape his tongue that worked you through each wave—drowning you in the pleasure he knew only he could give you. You were his. His his his his h—

You sobbed his name, a raw answer to his internal mantra his mind struggled against and failed to overcome.

Din wanted you.

He wanted your body, your mind, your time—he wanted what Paz had.

Fuck.

The way the older man mooned and gazed with shameless adoration for the little baker he had fallen for in so short a time. Hell, Din teased him over it constantly. And maybe he didn’t want that—but he wanted something. Din wanted something with you. Wanted you to visit him in the gym and stop him mid set just to kiss him and tell him that you would wait for him to finish so you could go home together. He wanted to buy you flowers without having to think of a fucking excuse like last time to distance himself from the sentimentality. He wanted to open his front door and feel our presence as more than just a visitor. That a toothbrush and the stray pieces of clothing you forgot at his place would turn to shoes at the door and your taste in décor mixing with his.

Din wanted you.

But he had no idea how to do anything but fuck you. He didn’t know how to date or be romantic. Was clueless to things like companionship—to the softer emotions he knew you craved. That all people craved. Din had no idea how to do any of it.

You lay with your cheek on the wooden surface of the vanity, eyes half-closed and spacey as you watched him lift his head from your pussy, face shiny from your release and when he licked over his lips, still hungry for more—you mewled.

“Don’t tap out on me yet, sweetheart.”

You shook your head, a whimper and almost childish refusal while your cheek remained plastered to the vanity, all strength having left your body and an adorable pout trying to lie and tell him you couldn’t take any more.

“Mm, yes you can—” he answered you, dragging his mouth back up your slit and along your tight ass where he lapped at the rim again. Later. It took time for him to stretch you to take his size—it was better left for when he had you in his apartment and could take his time.

His hand followed his mouths direction as it continued up to meet your mouth—smirking against your lips at the whimpers you made from the slaps he gave your pussy—the obscene, wet sound filling the area with each slap slap slap until his hand was damn near slipping every time he struck your cunt from how wet it was.

A bang on the door—a harsh slap to your pussy so you would moan just right for him, and he growled out a threatening “occupied” to whoever was outside. You were too high strung to even notice.

“No one else can have you,” he rasped darkly into your temple, his free hand tangling in the strands to pull your head back against his shoulder—the position no doubt edging on uncomfortable with the way your spine and neck were arched back—moUlded into his hard frame. Your eyes fell to half mast even as your lips parted—still smeared with specks of blood you hadn’t yet licked or chewed off—and he bit your jaw in warning.

“No one else—” you parroted, your hot breath fanning over his cheek even as you rocked back against him, a steel confidence entering your fucked out gaze—mercurial in the swirling heat, “just like no one else can have you.”

The boldness of your words, the conviction spoken in that voice of wooden flutes and bubbling creeks made his blood light with fire—yes. As much as he anted you, he yearned for you to crave him in return.

“No one else,” he repeated your words back to you, rutting his hips against you when his cock pulsed with a negligent ache that demanded to be addressed. He kept one hand in your hair when he pushed his shorts down enough to free his leaking cock, the turgid length swollen and angry as he rubbed the tip between your lips.

Maybe he would buy you flowers tomorrow, after all.

Din gave you no time to prepare yourself – that’s my girl – sliding inside you with one brutal thrust that had you pushed up against the mirror and his cock engulfed in fiery bliss. He felt the heat run up his spine, a volcanic metamorphism into marble as his muscles froze in an immediate pause to stop himself from spilling inside you after one damn thrust.

You weren’t doing much better—one hand clawing for purchase on the mirror and the other digging your nails into his hip as you panted his name, an incoherent string of curses and praise as your sensitive walls convulsed around him. The position had him pressed right against that one spot he cock curved up against that could make you see stars and your care for being caught dissipate in cries of ecstasy.

“Baby—fuck please, so—too deep—” you whimpered in inane babbles, tightening in residual spasms from your orgasm and the sudden intrusion of his cock, still a stretch after all these months. Too deep… he snorted, rolling his hips hard to try shove himself deeper still. He could never get deep enough, always wanting more—always seeking to conquer the untouched lands of your body.

“Mm, want me to stop?” he teased, dragging his hips back with a smirk at your immediate rejection of no no no fuck—please, no—hand pathetically trying to drag him closer to you by the hip. Lovely little thing… thinking you were strong enough.

“That’s better…” he purred, relief washing over him when he pulled out—the walls of your cunt stretching around him, refusing his exit, and trying to keep him nestled inside you. The pace he chose was brutal. He fucked you like he fought tonight. Violently, mercilessly—and deaf to the calls to relent. But where he wanted his opponent to suffer, he wanted to devastate you with pleasure, enrapture you with ecstasy and leave you moaning his name where others would curse it.

Wet cock slapping as he pounded into you in short, frantic ruts – need you baby… fuck I need you – there was no time for you to catch a full breath before he was knocking it out of you again. His fingers had to tighten in your hair to keep you up – your body trembling under his as he sank his teeth into the taut muscle at your neck and his cock sank into your welcome body – exposed and waiting for him to litter in his signature.

He would never get enough of the way his marks looked on your skin—the way you decorated him in yours. You were powerless to do much else than accept them right now – likely getting him back later – boneless and weak under the attack of his mouth and the dominance of his body.

He would make sure everyone in this fucking shithole of a place knew who you were with. They would have to be blind not to notice the blotches of poppy bruises snaking down your neck with the elusion to more hidden from unworthy eyes. The smudge of your mascara as tears pearled like crystals in the corner of your eyes when you glanced at him in strung out bliss.

“M-more—” you begged, dropping one of your hands between your legs to rub at your clit—fingers splitting around the girth of his cock as he fucked you to feel the thick length disappear into you over and over, the soaked mess amassed from your frantic desire for each other trickling down your thighs.

“Yeah?” he grinned, breathless and sweating for much more pleasing reasons than he had been in the ring, a languid kiss to your neck as he hiked one of your knees up onto the vanity—spreading you wider for him to sink deeper.

You spasmed, your head falling back against his shoulder with a cry.

“Yes—there, there baby, fuck you feel so good…” you rambled, fingers working feverishly over your clit in wet strokes, grazing his balls every time they slapped against your skin and making him muffle his moan in your neck.

Rolling a nipple between his fingers, his large—bloodied hand completely swallowed your breast, squeezing it and tickling sounds that belonged to him from you and into his mouth when you kissed him. One last kiss before you collapsed back onto the vanity, and he stood to his full height so he could ruin you with his cock.

His name was the only thing you remembered as he split you open with full, hard thrusts—the entire length of his cock stretching your tight walls around it and playing along raw nerves already on the brink of another orgasm.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart—” he strained, desperate for release as he watched himself fuck you in the mirror—him behind your smaller body, squirming under the pleasure while his muscles bunched and relaxed with each snap of his hips—the veins in his forearms prominent and tendons taut as he poured all that training and dedication and determination into you, into pleasing you.

“Inside—inside, Din fuck, please—”

His mind emptied. Nothing else mattered about tonight—not the fight, not the disqualification, not the rage. Your eyes—cloudy with lust and achingly trusting as you looked back at him were all he could think about. Nodding without even realizing, the thought of filling you running in his mind on a loop.

“Fuck—!”

He wanted you to cum before him, he always did—but he was so high strung, so tense that he couldn’t stop himself, burying himself to the hilt with several punched out moans—exhaled rapture with every pump of his seed against your waiting womb. Your eyes rolled closed at the amount, bloating you with his release and as he came, you worked your clit frantically—chasing that addictive edge you gladly hurled yourself over at just the thought of him coming inside you.

Din dropped his forehead to your shoulder with a gasp, your spasming walls too much on his sensitive length but he had to stay inside—the contractions of pleasure, the gush of your release might push his out. He couldn’t have that. So, he gritted his teeth, mumbled husky praise – good girl, that’s it—just like that, soak me – to work you through your orgasm and pressed open mouth kisses to sweaty skin, the salt tickling his tongue as he caught his breath.

His mouth worked over the sweep of your shoulder, up your neck to your jaw when your orgasm subsided, purring your name and nonsensical strings of words he had no idea made sense or not. He finally eased his softening cock out of you slowly when you shifted your hips—testing your strength and finding it lacking when you realized both he and the vanity were what kept your legs up.

“Feel… feel better?”

“Mhm…” he confirmed noncommittally, nuzzling the marks beginning to bloom and darken like a forbidden garden only he was allowed indulge in the scent of. One of his hands ran absently down the back of your thigh, feeling for his release—pleased to feel nothing but your sticky arousal, his own still nestled inside your sore cunt.

“Want one of those crepes you’re always raving about from that twenty-four hour place?” he purred, helping you stand—going so far as to pull the straps of your dress back up so that zipping the metal teeth would be easier. Your eyes brightened despite the lazy, satiated fatigue hiding in their orbs.

“Gino’s?”

“Mm,” he nodded, looking down from his greater height and lips quirking in an annoying desire to smile when one – bright as daylight – broke out on yours.

You nodded quickly, looping your arms around his neck to drag him down to your mouth, kissing him good and proper while his hands fell under the still open sides of your dress to settle on bare hips,

“Are you ever going to tell me what set you off tonight?” you mumbled against his lips cautiously, the ghost of a smile from the promise of dessert still lingering but a hesitant worry entering your gaze, unsure if his mood would sour again.

It didn’t.

He nudged his nose along yours, aquiline curve slotting along yours as he hummed in thought, thumbs rubbing lazily into your hips,

“Maybe later,” he settled on and captured your lips again.

You left the changing room together, his gym bag slung over one shoulder and his free arm wrapped around your shoulder—nose never leaving your temple or nuzzling into your hair with blatant affection as you blushed at how obvious it was to anyone who saw you what you had been doing.

You had both tried to tidy yourselves—cleaning the corners of your makeup and trying to flatten your mused hair was about all you could do. Din didn’t even attempt to cover the freshly fucked look of messy hair and heavy eyes as he pulled an unzipped Mythosaur Gym hoodie on over his muscle shirt.

A group were passing in the corridor as you asked him something—his former opponent with one eye swollen shut from the bruises forming around his eye, jaw, and cheeks. Din answered you easily, an automatic response to whatever you were asking as his eyes met his opponents, cold fury and arrogant pride flashing in their depths.

You remained none the wiser as you passed the group, Din’s body protectively placed between you and them. He probably should have told you; he knew you wouldn’t be swayed by it—comfortable in your body as you were, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He could protect you from slander and toxicity at the very least—and he planned to. Even if he had to do so in the shadows for now.

For himself, the swelling and bruising on the idiots’ face weren’t the only thing he had to satisfy himself with. He was the one whose cum was still buried inside you, clinging to your thighs and keeping you slick and wet for him to add more to later when he got you back to his place. And as you glanced up at him with a disarming smile after he dropped his hoodie over your shoulders without a thought once you both were outside in the crisp air of the early morning darkness—he secretly hoped that he would be the only one to have that privilege from then on.

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seijorhi · 3 years

Text

Choke.

another soulmate au nobody asked for :)

Akaashi Keiji x female reader x Bokuto Koutarou

TW dub-con, implied future non-con

It wasn’t a good day to begin with.

You’re late, rushing through the busy campus hallways to make it to an exam that quite frankly you’re at least 70% sure you’re going to fail, mostly because instead of cramming last night you’d been… otherwise occupied with your boyfriend.

And you really, really just want this whole thing to just be over with already.

With your nose stuck in your textbook, frantically pouring over your notes right up until the very last second, it’s hardly a surprise that you don’t see the two of them rushing down the hallway in the opposite direction until you’re quite literally colliding with the taller of the pair – the broad shouldered one.

Your notes go flying, the last of your coffee too and for one split second, you’re pretty positive that you’re gonna end up flat on your ass with a little more than some bruised pride. But just as you’re about to hit the ground, not one but two hands reach for you, catch you, and the very second they do, you feel it:

A flash of guilt and momentary alarm, embarrassment, you think, and chagrin, each emotion hitting you like a sledgehammer, overwhelming you, one after the other in a dizzying blur that’s distinctly other, and then–

Shock.

Dawning surprise.

A rush of something warm, adoring, a happiness so bright and blinding that it makes you physically jerk backwards, almost slamming your head against the wall in the process. And two pairs of eyes – one a deep, luminous gold, the other a cool, gunmetal blue – stare at you in wide eyed wonder a split millisecond before you wrench yourself free, gasping.

The moment their grip falters, the torrent stops. You can breathe.

Blessed silence, save for the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. Everything fades out around you – the students and lecturers alike bustling through the busy hallway, the humming drone of chatter that’s nearly deafening. Nothing exists but the three of you; caught in your little bubble.

And it’s dread, you think, that seeps through your blood as you stare at them.

They’re both handsome, albeit in their own ways. The taller of the two – the one who’d almost barrelled you over – looks like he could probably bench press you without breaking a sweat. His shirt isn’t exactly clinging to him, but you can see the hints of well defined muscles beneath, and the size of his biceps alone are enough to make your heart skip a beat and your mouth dry up a little. With rippling muscles, spiky black and silver hair, a strong jawline and those round, golden eyes, he looks like a modern day adonis.

His friend might’ve been shorter, his build leaner, but with his softer features, pretty eyes and dark hair, you think he’s perhaps the prettiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. From the fineness of his nose to the gentle curve of his lips and his long, dark sweeping eyelashes, he reminds you of those white marble statues you’ve seen before in museums and art galleries– a beauty so divine, so perfect – so devastating – that it steals your breath a little.

And they’re both watching you, frozen entirely. Smiling in breathless delight, as if they can’t quite believe it either.

Soulmates.

You’ve spent your whole life wondering what it would be like, experiencing somebody else’s emotions. Studies have been done and countless books and articles written about the bond between soulmates; the intimacy of sharing emotions through touch, but nobody really knows why or how it happens.

And for some, it’s a subtle thing. A suggestion, a whisper against their own consciousness, easily brushed aside. Others feel it stronger.

For you, it was like drowning. Choking under the sudden, intense barrage of feelings that weren’t yours. Maybe it’s because there’s two of them – and that much at least you’re sure of. You don’t have the words to explain it, but they’d felt separate somehow, distinctive from one another – kind of like fingerprints, you suppose.

There’s no denying the bond, no denying that they’re both your soulmates, and all you can think of is that you don’t want it. Not here, not now. Not them.

The dark haired one seems to realise quicker than his friend that you’re not reacting how you’re supposed to, you’re just standing there, rigid and tense, gaping at them. And the slight smile that graced his perfect lips starts to waver, his brows drawing together when finally his friend cottons on.

He reaches for you, the beginnings of a pout taking shape on his face, and you move without even thinking, jerking out of reach with a sharp breath. His hand hangs outstretched for a beat too long, a noise like a kicked puppy leaving his lips as he realises that you’re flinching away from him; away from your soulmate. He looks heartbroken, and he’s yet to utter a single word.

You don’t give him a chance. You’re not some cold, unfeeling beast; there’s a twinge in your heart, a heaviness that’s far too close to guilt settling in your stomach, but you just can’t. And with shaking hands you bend over and hastily grab up your things, forcing yourself not to meet their confused, hurt stares when you right yourself.

“I– I’m sorry,” you murmur, and before either one of them can try to stop you, you disappear into the crowd, racing for your exam.

—

The lights are on when you make it back home, the familiar, comforting scent of home cooked food filling your apartment.

“Hey, babe,” your boyfriend calls out as you wearily drop your purse by the door and kick out of your shoes. His back’s to you, attention fixed on the simmering saucepan on the stovetop, but he glances over his shoulder as he continues, “How’d your exam go?”

And you can’t help it, you burst into tears.

Painful, heaving sobs that might’ve had you collapsing onto the floor if he hadn’t swept across the room to snatch you up into his arms. “That bad, huh?” Kuguri jokes, but the words sound hollow.

“I found them,” you mutter into his chest, and the way he stiffens, his grip tightening for just a moment has your heart breaking all over again.

Kuguri doesn’t say much as he leads you to the couch, he just lets you talk. It’s almost worse, you think, the way he doesn’t react.

Because you both knew this was coming at some point. For months you’ve tried to convince yourself that you could feel him when you were together.

You felt his love when he held you, right?

Happy when he was happy?

But you’d known, both of you, that as much as you wished it otherwise, he wasn’t your soulmate, and you weren’t his. And whether it was today or six months down the line, this was always going to happen.

“You don’t have to…” you trail off, searching his eyes desperately for anything other than the gentle resignation lingering there. “I love you.”

He smiles at that, cups your cheek in his hand and brushes away the stray tear that spills. “I know you do, but–” it’s not enough. “They’re your soulmates. Don’t you think they deserve a chance to make you happy?”

He’s gone when you wake the next morning.

—

In a university of thousands, a sprawling city campus, you honestly believe that in spite of everything, you probably won’t see them again. They don’t know your name, or what you study, you don’t live in the dorms like some of the other students; the chances of just randomly bumping into them again are slim, soulmates or no.

Of course, there are facebook groups and pages set up to reconnect lost soulmates, but you’d have to actually want to find them to try something like that.

(Part of you wonders whether they’ve tried)

The universe has a sense of humour, it seems, because when your paths cross next, it’s not at uni, it’s at the little corner store a few blocks down from your apartment.

At 2am in the morning.

And you’re staring intently at the freezer, mentally weighing up exactly what kind of ice cream you need to sate your craving when you hear the sharp intake of breath behind you.

“Holy crap, you’re here.”

It’s stupid, you think, the way your stomach flutters when you turn to find him staring in wide eyed wonder; the taller one, with the spiky hair and those impossibly wide, honey eyes.

He’s smiling, his entire face lit up like a christmas tree at the sight of you. As if you hadn’t run off without so much as an acknowledgement the last time you’d met. As if seeing you here, looking like shit – makeup free and dressed in your old favourite sweats – is the absolute best thing that could have happened.

And when your cheeks grow hot, you’re not entirely sure if it’s embarrassment over the way you look, the fact that he’s caught you buying ice cream that you fully intend to let melt just a little bit before polishing off at two in the morning, or if it’s shame over how badly you’d reacted the last time you’d seen him.

But if he notices your inner turmoil, he doesn’t show it, grinning widely as he calls back over his shoulder, “Akaashi!”

You still haven’t uttered a peep, haven’t moved. Just like last time you’re caught feeling like a kid with their hand stuck in the cookie jar as your other soulmate rounds the corner, his attention fixed on the ingredients list of the rice cracker snacks in his hands, a basket full of groceries tucked into the crook of his elbow.

“Bokuto, I was just around the corner, there’s no need to shout.”

Pretty steel blue eyes flicker up for a split second, then quickly do a double take as he realises that it’s you – his errant soulmate, standing struck dumb, here of all places. “Oh.”

Oh.

Akaashi eyes you for a moment, and you watch as his throat bobs unsteadily, but just as with Bokuto, he can’t seem to help the smile that creeps across his face. It’s softer than his friend’s, not so blinding but warm nonetheless. Genuine. There’s no animosity there, and it should put you at ease – they don’t seem to blame you, at least.

It should, but it doesn’t.

Even now, there’s a little voice in your head urging you to forget your late night cravings, turn tail and run. Nevermind that they’d likely just follow you, much less that you’d look like an absolute fucking idiot, fleeing from your soulmates who so far have done nothing wrong.

It’s not supposed to be this awkward, right? It’s not supposed to be difficult, but even when they’re smiling at you, there’s a tension that digs its claws into you and refuses to relent. Your heart thumps unevenly, like a scared little bunny caught in a trap and the wolves are circling.

If it’s normal, then your parents and every other soulmated pair you’ve ever met certainly kept it to themselves. Maybe it’s the guilt, you think. Maybe you’re just being overdramatic. They’re your soulmates, right? They probably just want to talk, to get to know you, and right now you’re the one being standoffish and rude.

It occurs to you then that you still haven’t spoken, and they’re both staring at you somewhat expectantly. You really are fucking this up, aren’t you?

“H-hi,” you manage to muster, forcing yourself to smile back. Tiny and timidly, perhaps, but it’s a smile.

It seems to work, because Bokuto positively beams at you and Akaashi sets down his basket to slide in closer, a pleased little hum escaping his throat.

Aside from the faint sound of the radio playing in the background and the cashier casually flicking through a magazine up at the register, the store is quiet. It’s just the three of you, except this time there really is no running off and disappearing into the crowd. Which is fine, you need to face them sooner or later, right?

Give them a chance?

Otherwise everything else, all that heartbreak and the lonely nights since will have been all for nothing. So you swallow tightly, take a soft, steadying breath, and press on.

“I, um… I’m sorry about last time. You know with… everything,” you finish lamely, mentally cringing at the sheer awkwardness of it. “I had an exam.”

But again, your soulmates don’t seem to take it personally, the darker haired one (Akaashi, your brain helpfully supplies) nodding slightly.

“It’s okay. You’re here now.” He has a nice voice, calming and smooth, and though the words seem to carry a different weight you find yourself nodding along with him. You can do this, you can make an effort.

This is fine.

You swallow again, tongue darting out to wet your lips, “I’m Y/N,” you introduce, clutching just a little bit tighter at the handles of your own shopping basket.

You don’t extend a hand, nor try to go in for a hug, but standing there rigidly feels wrong too. They’re strangers, yes, but they’re also not, and you don’t quite know how to act around somebody like that, somebody you’re supposedly fated for but know nothing about. All you know is that the last time they touched you, it was too much. It hurt. And even as you catch sight of the slightly disheartened expression on Bokuto’s face, you’re hesitant to put yourself through it again.

“It’s pretty,” Akaashi compliments, and there’s a faint dusting of pink on his cheeks as he says it. “Suits you.”

Your own probably aren’t much better, with the blood that rushes to your face. You drop your gaze a little, nibbling on your bottom lip, “O-oh, uh… thank you.”

When you glance back up to Bokuto, you find him staring at you again, not with the same hurt expression as before, but something akin to wonder. He seems speechless, in awe of your flustered state, and you wonder how he can bounce that quickly from emotion to emotion without giving himself whiplash. But it seems like your attention is just the thing he needs to pull himself out of it, because he closes his gaping mouth and grins again.

“Y/N,” he repeats, like he’s testing it out, rolling your name over his tongue. “You probably heard, but I’m Bokuto– you can call me Koutarou, though.”

There’s a beat of silence, and he’s quick to add, “And that’s Akaashi.”

“Keiji,” Akaashi corrects, shooting you another gentle smile.

First names. It makes sense, you suppose, but the familiarity of it all still doesn’t sit quite right with you. But now that introductions are out of the way, you don't have a clue what you’re supposed to say now - ‘so, soulmates; crazy, huh?’ doesn’t exactly feel appropriate, given the circumstances.

You’re distinctly aware that it’s the middle of the night and you’re at a convenience store and while this might not be the worst time to run into your soulmates again, it’s not far off.

Maybe that’s not a bad thing, though, because at least it kind of gives you an out. Shifting your weight from one foot to another, you clear your throat, “I hope you guys don’t think I’m being rude or anything, but it is kinda late…” you trail off, hoping they’ll pick up what you’re putting down.

And while Bokuto’s brow furrows, Akaashi at least has the decency to look a little abashed. “Yeah, no, of course. We’re just so… we’re glad we ran into you again.”

Your cheeks heat again, and to save yourself from having to meet their gazes head on, you quickly spin around, open the freezer door and grab the first pint ice cream that you see. “I just came for this,” you laugh, fighting back a wince at how hollow and fake it all sounds.

“Here,” Bokuto says, and before you can react he’s snatching it from your grip (thankfully keeping his hand from brushing against yours) and places it atop the basket in Akaashi’s arms. “Our treat.”

He beams at you, and you’re honestly too stunned to reply. You don’t really want him paying for it, but if it gets you out of this awkward encounter any quicker, you’ll swallow down your protests and let it go.

And so you trail meekly after the two of them as they head to the cashier, and when Akaashi passes you the bag you’re so careful to avoid his touch, a fact he notes with the slightest of frowns, but he doesn’t comment on it.

“It’s late,” he says instead as the three of you exit into the brisk night air. And then those gunmetal eyes are on you, studying you for a moment. You realise what he’s about to say the moment he opens his mouth again, “Can we walk you home? Or to the bus stop at least?”

Your stomach lurches at the thought of it, of two veritable strangers knowing where you live, but–

He’s not wrong, exactly. It is late, and in hindsight it was probably stupid for you to have come out at this time of the night alone in the first place, whether it was a safe neighbourhood or not. And they’re not strangers, they’re your soulmates.

You have to try.

So you nod. ‘It’s just down the road,” you murmur, but as the two of them fall into step either side of you, sharing a distinctly satisfied look between themselves, you think that it wouldn’t have mattered how far it was. They would have walked with you anywhere.

Yet their expressions of mild surprise (disappointment, maybe?) when you stop them less than five minutes later in front of your apartment block almost makes you laugh. “This is me.”

Bokuto eyes the building for just a moment before his attention returns to you. “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Lie, that little voice inside your head urges, but you force yourself to ignore it. You have to try. “Uh, not much, I guess…”

Even as you say the words, your hands tighten on your bag, twisting nervously – a sign they either don’t read or wilfully ignore as Bokuto brightens up once again.

“Awesome! Wanna swing by ours to chill for a little bit?”

Like a date, you think as your gaze flickers between the two. Yet Akaashi’s watching you just as intently, those dark eyes far more inscrutable than Bokuto’s, which doesn’t help ease the uncomfortable feeling sitting in the pit of your stomach. There’s really no reason for you to say no, no polite way for you to turn them down. They’re your soulmates, you’re supposed to want this. “Um…”

“Or we can come here, if you want? Or head into the city and do something there, maybe go see a movie or something? Whatever you’d prefer.”

“No!” the words slip from your tongue before you can stop them, the idea of the two of them in your apartment, your home just feels like… too much. “No,” you repeat again, quieter, forcing your features to soften into a hesitant smile. “Your place is good.”

That way you can leave if it all gets to be too much. It’s just a casual hang out. It’ll be fine.

Both of them seem to relax at your agreement, and you quickly take out your phone to grab Akaashi’s number – sending him a message so he has your number too.

“Perfect,” he says, his voice a purr that sends a ripple of something running down your spine. “I’ll text you the address in the morning.”

You smile at both of them, thanking them again for the ice cream and for walking back with you, even if it was only a few hundred metres. And you think you’re in the clear as you start walking up the steps, trying to balance your keys, your phone and your bags when the sound of your name being called makes you turn around.

Bokuto’s there, a step behind you, and before you can even so much as blink he’s grabbing at your hand, tugging you forward and kissing you.

Just like last time, it’s instantaneous and overwhelming. You feel it all – his giddy excitement, the stirrings of something deeper, less innocent as he cradles your body to his.

And the love.

Oh god. It’s not mere affection, not some fleeting, superficial thing. It pours over you in unrelenting waves, crushing you under the force of it – you can’t even feel his tongue moving against yours, or the way he sucks on your bottom lip, groaning quietly.

You can’t breathe, can’t think. It’s too much, too much, too strong, too sudden, you can’t BREATHE.

Your trembling hands finds his shoulders, and as your head spins, nausea churning in your gut you don’t waste a second, shoving him away from you with enough force that he actually stumbles back a little.

Though you’ll admit it’s probably more from shock than any strength you actually possess.

And you don’t dare look to Akaashi as tears fill your eyes, a heaving gasp leaving your lips. Bokuto’s eyes are wide, his mouth agape; he looks confused more than horrified as you stumble back, almost tripping over the last step.

“D-don’t touch me,” you gasp, “please.”

There’s pain in his eyes as your tears well up and spill over and you choke back another sob, but you don’t give him a chance to say anything else. Limbs trembling, you force yourself upright, clutching at the keys in your fist as you skitter towards the door.

You hear one of them, Akaashi you think, calling out your name, but you don’t pause, don’t look back – throwing open the lobby door and slamming it shut behind you.

And your heart pounds as you climb the steps two at a time, and it’s only once you're in the safety of your own apartment, with the door shut and firmly locked that you allow yourself to breathe. You realise distantly that at some point – probably on the steps outside – you dropped the ice cream they’d bought for you, but you can’t find it within yourself to care. The first time you realise was an accident, they had no way of knowing you were their soulmate, much less how you’d react when they’d touched you. But that–

That wasn’t right.

It wasn’t normal.

Those feelings, that love, you’ve never experienced anything like it, and yet it’s left you feeling filthy; tainted. Scared. It was too much; boundless and abundant, the kind of love that devours and chokes, selfishly strangling everything in its environment to thrive. Overpowering and solely directed at you. How was it supposed to do anything but terrify you. And how can he possibly believe that he loves you like that already?

Soulmates or not, you don’t know him!

This– this whole thing is wrong.

You can’t stop yourself from checking the locks on your apartment another three times before you slip under the covers of your bed, trying to will sleep to find you.

On the nightstand beside you, your phone vibrates, but you refuse to check it, knowing full well that it’s them.

It doesn’t stop.

And with every new notification your blood pressure climbs, and there’s a part of you that’s telling you you have no reason to be reacting like this – whatever happened on those steps, it’s not like they’re going to hurt you.

It was an accident, a misunderstanding.

But they’re still blowing your phone up with notifications and they know where you live and no matter what you tell yourself, you can’t seem to quell the disquiet that eats away at you.

And it’s a cruel thing to do, you know it is, but you don’t know what else to do as you finally give in, swiping your phone up and searching for his contact. The phone rings once, twice, three times and there’s a sinking feeling in your chest when you realise he’s not going to pick up–

“Hello?” Kuguri’s voice is groggy, heavy with sleep and you can almost picture him, sitting up in bed, wiping the sleep from his eyes, running a hand through his messy bed hair. “Fuck, do you know what time it is, Y/N? Why’re you calling me so late?”

There’s a pause, pregnant and heavy, and the only sound that leaves you is the soft hitch in your breath.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, quieter this time, an edge of worry in his tone.

You haven’t spoken to him in weeks, since he’d left without a word and broke your heart, but he’s the only one you want to talk to right now.

“I-I’m sorry for calling,” you begin, sniffling back your tears. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

—

When you drag yourself out of bed only a few short hours later, your body’s still crying out for a little more sleep, but you can’t afford to indulge.

Like you’d planned, you send the message first thing, ignoring the flood of unread texts above – both from Akaashi and an unknown number you can only assume is Bokuto’s.

I’m sorry about last night, just need some space.

You have nothing to be sorry for – even if it wasn’t for the frankly unsettling emotions you’d felt, Bokuto’d still kissed you without your permission. But Kuguri said it was better that way – they were less likely to freak out and panic or whatever. You hadn’t questioned it too much, it didn’t really matter what you said so long as they knew you didn’t want them anywhere near you… at least until you figured this whole thing out. And you trusted Kuguri on this.

God knows why he’d even answered your call in the first place, but you’re impossibly glad that he did. Gladder still that he hadn’t hung up on you the moment he’d realised why you were calling.

You scoff down a quick breakfast, before hopping into the shower. The scalding water’s a welcome relief, waking you up more than your coffee had and allowing you the space to think.

Kuguri’s got errands to run this morning, but he’d said you were welcome to stop by his place anytime. He’d insisted on it actually, telling you in no uncertain terms to pack an overnight bag.

‘Look, I’m probably being an overprotective asshole, alright, but I don’t want you there by yourself, so either you come here or I’m coming over there.’

And the thought that you’d need somebody there to protect you, that either one of your soulmates would do anything–

But it’s not so much about them, you think, but you. You’d been a mess when you’d called him, and despite how everything had gone down, Kuguri still cared about you – you can’t just turn those feelings off overnight – is it any wonder that you’d worried him?

Distantly, you register your phone going off a few more times as you busy yourself in washing your hair. You assume it’s Kuguri checking up on you, making sure that you’re alright – you pay it no mind, humming quietly as you reach for your conditioner.

And by the time you slip from your bathroom, wrapped in a big, fluffy towel it’s probably closer to mid-morning than you’d like. You don’t bother blow drying your hair or putting on makeup, instead heading to your room to get dressed and grab some clothes to take to Kuguri’s.

Except there’s a knocking at the door that stops you in your tracks.

You hadn’t heard the buzzer for the building’s main door go off, which meant that it was probably just your landlord stopping by, or one of your neighbours. You know the little girl who lives in the apartment next to yours likes to bake with her dad and sometimes drops off freshly made cookies and treats, so you hastily throw on enough clothes to pass as decent.

“Coming,” you sing out, racing across the room to reach the door.

Except when you throw it open, it’s not one of your neighbours standing out in your hallway, nor is it your elderly landlord.

Akaashi and Bokuto crowd the empty space; Bokuto grinning widely, Akaashi’s dark eyes fixed on yours.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” he murmurs, a faint frown tugging at his features as studies your face. “We were worried about you.”

And there’s so many things wrong with the fact that they’re here; least of all being how the hell they got into the building to begin with, but you can’t afford to think of any of that. You simply need to get them out of here without causing a fuss. Now.

They’re still your soulmates, you remind yourself as your heart rate picks up. They won’t do anything to hurt you.

“I-I told you I needed space, please go,” you mutter, clutching so tightly at the edge of the door that your knuckles turn white. “Please,” you beg again when neither of them make a move to leave.

“I told you, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto says, his smile slipping in favour of a wounded pout, “She’s afraid of us. Her soulmates.”

And you don’t know what compels you to shake your head instead of just slamming the door in their faces, “N-no, I just–”

“She’s just skittish,” Akaashi interrupts, cutting you off mid-sentence. “Overwhelmed – this is all new to her. It’s okay, princess,” he says, addressing you this time with a teasing little smirk, “We’ll be gentle, okay? We’re going to take good care of you.”

It’s the final blow to your tentative politeness. As panic sinks its teeth into you, you skitter backwards, scrambling to shut the front door before they can get in–

Bokuto’s faster. They both are.

Stronger, too.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere bokuto x reader #yandere akaashi x reader #yandere bokuto kotaro x reader #yandere akaashi keiji x reader #yandere bokuto koutarou #yandere akaashi keiji #tw dub con #tw implied noncon #soulmate au

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pa1nkill3r · 3 years

Text

It’s My Party [F.W]

[Pairing:] Fred Weasley x GN!Non Gryffindor!Reader, (slight) Fred Weasley x Angelina Johnson

[Summary:] Y/H has won the 1993 interhouse quidditch cup as Y/N, the house’s keeper, gleefully shoved it in their boyfriend, Fred Weasley’s face. Prideful as ever, Fred decided that he can’t be the only sore loser between the two of them.

[Warnings:] angst, Fred being immature, off canon, mentions of smut, not a happy ending, swearing, (please lmk if there’s more :)

[Word Count:] ≈1.4k

[Song:] It’s My Party- by Lesley Gore

[A/N:] please no Angelina slander. Y/H = your house. The first fic I will be posting will be ANGST?? idk what to think about this tbh but i just really want to post a fic out of the many in my drafts so let’s hope this goes alright :D

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Gryffindor’s are chivalrous. Evident in the way Fred Weasley has mastered the art of seduction as he made gallant efforts of persuading the inhospitable Y/N to be his.

Gryffindor’s are courageous, as he and his brother gave their all into their final game that would lead Gryffindor to victory. Hitting bludger after bludger and making sure they do not give Alicia Spinnet another nose bleed.

And Gryffindor’s are determined, so much so as their loss has made them into sore, sore losers.

The Gryffindor’s are pissed and Oliver Wood took to punching the soil. Harry Potter let go of his firebolt and covered his face in frustration. Angelina Johnson took the same approach, aggressively wiping sweat off her face and crouching down to her knees. Not a single damn in the world if her trousers get grubby. Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell held onto their broomsticks as they placed their foreheads on its end, frustrated tears trickling down their faces.

The sound of wood plopped down onto the dirt as Fred and George Weasley threw their beater's bats and clean sweeps aside. A deathly look splattered across their once haughty exterior.

All of their vigorous training, late nights and early mornings, all of their valiant efforts, all for nothing. They have lost.

What’s worse was that the opposing team was dripping with ecstasy rather than tears or whatever’s on Johnson’s slacks. 3 houses were beaming, but not for the house of red and gold like they wanted.

It pained Fred that they lost. It hurt him to feel angry and resentful of the prideful smile that graced Y/N’s beautiful lips. Those sweet sweet lips he kissed once, twice, a hundred times now looked so pungent. The fact that the smile he's looking at was full of mock instead of sincerity for his loss made every drop of his blood boil.

Y/N's eyebrows raised once they saw their lover, giving him a cheerful smile and a shoulder shrug. Their hand gripped onto their broom as the other held their soaking leather helmet. They shook their head in celebration, droplets of sweat shooting from the ends of their hair.

They truly looked beautiful, especially with the warm rays of sunlight gracing their skin and robes; Fred was breathless. His heart was thumping so hard from rage as his breathing was suppressed.

He didn't think losing to his partner's house ESPECIALLY if his partner is part of the competition would affect him so negatively, but it did. He wanted to feel happy for them. Genuinely happy for them. But he couldn't, or at least at that moment.

And before he knew it, Y/N was being dragged away by their teammates, whilst roars of celebration followed suit. He wouldn't have a chance to be with them alone now, and probably for the better.

The tension in the Gryffindor common room could be cut smoothly with a butter knife or Colin Creevey's safety scissors. The silence was uncomfortable and Fred's lips were all pouty, leg bouncing up and down, and arms wrapped around his torso.

His mind was clouded with rage as well as a longing to see them, to enrage them like what they did to him, he wanted them to feel how he felt the moment they gave him a cheeky smirk knowing, KNOWING how much Gryffindor wanted to win. To be the one to give their head of house the cup they utterly deserve.

He stood, grabbing a girl's wrist, "Angelina. Come with me, will you?"

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"Kind of weird not seeing you grinding on Weasley right now, Y/N." Y/N's teammate joked, making Y/N choke on their butterbeer. "Like— he looked pissed. Every one of them did. But like— I dunno, I expected more from angry Fred, y'know? Maybe like angry fucks or something?—" Their teammate continued, making Y/N chortle even harder. If there was such a thing as getting drunk on butterbeer, this would be it.

"—maybe even a heated make out session?"

"Fucking hell, why in the world are you talking about my love life? MINE?" Y/N asked light heartedly, getting a shoulder shrug and a mocking glance of their teammate's eye.

"All seriousness though, Y/N. It's weird not seeing him here. He'd still appreciate you, you know? You did amazing!"

Y/N thought about it, but knowing Fred's quick temper, he's most likely cooling down before he meets them at their house party. "He's probably just pissed off. Or maybe they’re trying to stop Wood from drowning himself again, I don't know. There's endless amounts of possibilities when it comes to Gryffindors." Their teammate nodded in agreement and went back to the usual chatting.

Every minute that passed by without Fred showing his freckled face felt like a stab in the chest. They've never ghosted him when Gryffindor won against them, why's he doing this to them now?

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"Fred?! Or is this George? OY WEASLEY? WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU TAKING ME?" yelled Angelina, being dragged out by an angry red head with a face redder than his hair.

"Just trust me, Johnson." he said breathless, speed walking his way through the halls, Angelina in toe. Dragging her towards the Y/H common room.

He reluctantly took off a wire wrapped ring Y/N made for him and placed it on the pads of his fingers. "Wear this."

"Why?!" asked Angelina angrily. "What are you on about Fred? Didn't Y/N make this?!" Not answering or even giving her words a single thought, he put the ring on the nearest finger he could reach, held her hand, and made his way into the entrance.

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The party was going beautifully, just like every single one that preceded it. It was going as smoothly as a butterbeer running down a drinker’s throat. But something is wrong with the butterbeer. It hit hard. It was bitter. It was burning.

Y/N’s shoulder was tapped by the person next to them, their finger pointing towards the entrance of the common room.

Who in their right mind would put firewhisky in a place no one asked it to be in?

“This party’s beautiful! How come you don’t make Gryffindor party’s this nice?” Angelina said, fingers relaxed in the hand of Y/N’s boyfriend. The man they’ve been with since third year. Now holding onto a pretty girl’s hand instead of theirs.

And to add insult to injury, a bronze glint shone on her finger, as well as a purple bead. Angelina’s wearing his ring loosely on her thin, nimbly finger.

Y/N froze in their seat, simply staring at the two of them. They looked like they belonged together really. They really did. They looked like royalty, and every time Angelina pointed at something it looked like she was giving a wave.

It broke them. It finally broke them. The cold Y/N, the stony Y/N, the frigid fucking Y/N broke as a tear ran down their cheek. Shit. He broke them.

“Hey Y/N!” The beautiful Gryffindor chaser waved cheerfully and innocently as she spotted the beater’s partner. But they didn’t respond cheerfully back. Instead, a half empty mug of butterbeer was left at the place they once sat and a fuming Y/N walked away.

Angelina stood confused until she felt a weight in one of her hands. “What the hell, Fred?” She let go of his hand as soon as it hit her. “Are you using me to make Y/N jealous?! What the fuck is that for?!”

He didn’t answer. It was as if at that instant his once clouded mind became sober. Once drunk with rage now sober with guilt. Yeah, what the fuck was that for?

“I’m going to find them because apparently you don’t have the fucking decency to do so.” She spat to his face, taking off the ring he put on her finger, throwing it to his face, and following the sounds of sorrow.

And there the red head stood, face as pale as a ghost and as guilty as a criminal awaiting his charges, knowing, KNOWING that no one would bail him out now. Several heads were looking at him at that moment, but he couldn’t give a single fucking damn.

#fred weasley #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x ravenclaw!reader #fred weasley x slytherin!reader #fred weasley x hufflepuff!reader #fred weasley angst #fred weasley fic #angelina johnson #i'm scared this isn't that good but kjsdnfjbdj

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joyfulhopelox · 3 years

Text

"I've never cried over a broken dryer before"-"And you better not start now"

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (College!AU/ University!AU)

Genre: smut with a saltbae of fluff

Warnings: alcohol use, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, swearing, bit of dom! JK, biting

Summary: Upon entering the club you come across a familiar face. Turns out your laundry adventures were not over. Who knew that clean laundry could lead to dirty talk?

Word count: 6.5k

rating : 18+

A/N: Massive thank you to @bangtanhome for not only being my beta but also my support and making this whole thing a polished princess. Thank you Moon so much for taking the time to edit and thank you for listening to me whilst I complained about this. And most importantly massive thank you for giving me pointers. This is my first piece of nsfw writing and I was extremely unsure about putting it out there but you’ve literally been an angel and were patient with my unsure self whilst also making sure you made this readable <3 -I also would like to thank my soulmate and best friend for putting up with me and dying in the process of reading a fic about her bias. I will warn that i massively sleep deprived at this point but i wanted to get this out with the occasion of the Muster 2021 so here she is!

Copyrights @joyfulhopelox for both the work and the banner

As always please leave feedback and/or talk to me as i love to hear from you! Enjoy <3

Fuck. You’d overslept. You weren’t panicking because you were going to be late; you were normally late anyway. But as soon as your eyes opened, you felt the grogginess that comes with sleeping a bit too much. Your body felt sluggish, joints throbbing and your mouth feeling like you've stuffed cotton balls in it. Feeling like you've been through a survival show, you know it'll take at least an hour for your body to wake up properly. However, you didn’t have time to let yourself slowly come to. You were already late. Any later than this and you may just as well stay home for the night- and go back to sleep. You reveled in the thought for a second, but no. Your friends were impatiently waiting for you to go out clubbing with them. And most importantly to lend them your car. You knew that only because they have called and messaged you incessantly for the past hour reminding you of it. You were thankful at least that you were not the designated driver for the night. Normally you’d draw straws and this time you had got lucky, you could drink as much as you wanted.

‘Good lord Y/N get your ass out of bed,’ you hyped yourself up and just like a bandaid, you ripped yourself from your covers and rolled out of bed. Landing with a thud you groaned upon impact. That was going to leave a bruise.

After a quick shower to get the cobwebs cleared off your mind, you put on a dress. You didn’t wear dresses normally, your wardrobe consisted mostly of pants and various tops. To be tightly encased in a dress that was a bit too short for comfort made you feel uncomfortable, but you knew that as soon as you had some alcohol into you, things would change. A loud knock at your door told you that your friends had finally arrived so you hurriedly grabbed your purse and keys and were out the door. You hesitated for a moment, the feeling of having forgotten something weighing on your mind. When you couldn’t figure out what it was, you decided that it must not be important. Plus, your friends were waiting; time to get the show on the road.

As soon as you entered the club, the heavy smell of smoke, sweat and alcohol hit your sensitive nose. The atmosphere was too loud and obnoxious for your sober brain. To remedy that, your friends decided to stop by the bar first and buy a round of shots to get the night started. With the burn of the alcohol running down your throat, your confidence levels increased. The dress didn’t make you feel uncomfortable anymore, instead you prowled around, your hips moving to the beat. You were aware of the lustful stares that you were receiving and you thrived off of it. Tonight you were on the hunt, ready to let loose after the stressful week full of exams.

“Hey, Y/N. Muscle at 12 o’clock has been giving you the look more than a couple of times,” your friend leaned in to make themselves heard over the loud music. “Try not to be obvious, but I'd say he’s a 10.” You nodded in acknowledgment running a finger over the rim of your glass.

“He’s looking away now, look look,” they nudged you, forcing you to turn around. In all honesty, you weren’t interested in going home with anyone. You were simply enjoying the admirative stares and the smouldering gazes that were thrown your way, but you had no intention to take any of them home with you. However, when you turned around, you were faced with the impossible task of reconsidering. The back of the man your friends' pointed out was indeed muscular, broad and strong, you could see the muscles popping underneath the black shirt he wore. The sleeves of the shirt were pushed up to his elbows, allowing a full display of tattoos on his right arm.

Normally you would have second thoughts about a person like that, but there was something about his demeanour that drew you in even without seeing his face.

The handsome man motioned to one of his friends and his whole body shook with laughter. Observing the way the shirt strained against his muscles you licked your lips involuntarily. For a second you thought he looked strangely familiar, and before you could convince yourself you were being paranoid, he turned his head to the side to entertain the person to his right.

The messy mop of hair, defined jawline and that bridge of the nose they all belonged to the laundry boy - Jungkook. You smirked, “I’d give it a 15 actually”. As soon as you said that, he threw you a glance, his smile wavered as he made eye contact. You felt satisfied at the recognition in his eyes.

You slowly turned back to your friends, certain he would come to you. It took him the entirety of the time you took to finish your drink to make his way towards you.

“Don’t look, he’s coming.”

“Oh, he will be,” you smirked, eyes twinkled with excitement as your friends laughed at your slurring words.

Jungkook had noticed your enticing figure entering the club from the very beginning. It was as if a magnet pulled him towards you. He recognised you as soon as he laid eyes on you. How could he not? The cute girl from the laundry room in the daylight turned into an alluring vixen during nighttime. His eyes were drawn to your hips, the curve of your back and the tempting strip of skin he could spy; they were enticing to him. He tried his best to focus on the way your eyes sparkled in delight when one of your friends would make a joke, but when you ran a finger over the rim of your glass tracing delicate patterns, he felt your siren pull.

You smelt him before you felt him, the subtle vanilla enveloping your senses overpowering the scent of sweat from around you. He stopped right behind you, with one hand on the stool next to you; not completely encasing your form, but close enough that you could see his jawline in your periphery. Leaning in under the guise of ordering a drink from the bartender he pulled the stool and sat down. He didn’t address you at first, patiently waiting for his drink, his long fingers tapping the counter in rhythm with the beat. You tried your hardest not to stare at his hands, the art on them fascinating to you: the doodle style art accentuating his knuckles and the veins running tracing all the way up to where his skin hid beneath his shirt. You tried to keep a poised front, talking to your friends as if he was not there, but you could feel the heat of his stares from time to time, goosebumps forming on your skin.

You knew your friends were getting drunker and drunker as time passed, but you’d underestimated them. Soon enough they each scattered around the surface of the club looking for a dance partner. Your friend left you in charge of the drinks they ordered, winking at you suggestively as they left. That meant you were alone. And judging by the way your skin prickled, Jungkook was still seated next to you.

“A gin and tonic, please,” he ordered another drink. You realised now would be the perfect time to not only talk to him, but also repay him for earlier. As the bartender presented him with the bill you turned around and smoothly presented your card to him. “Make it two on the same tab.” you smirk, winking at Jungkook when your eyes met his.

You heard Jungkook laugh at your brazen attitude and you had to admit to yourself, if not for the alcohol you’d had earlier, you would’ve probably walked away. You made direct eye contact with him and smiled.

“Nice to see you again, laundry boy,” you smirked. Jungkook looked taken aback for a second. The image of you in the laundry room is completely erased. What he saw in front of him now was an alluring woman, sure of herself and what she wanted. And she made it clear that she wanted him. Hiding a smirk behind his hand he leans closer to you, his breath fanning the hair stuck at the nape of your neck.

“It’s Jungkook, not 'laundry boy',” he yells over the music. Your shoulders shake with laughter.

“I know, but it is fun to tease you - Jungkook.” He smiled at you, his eyes crinkling in delight. He's caught onto what you were doing and he was ready for it, two could play at this game.

“What’s your name?” You were half expecting him to pull a bad pick up line, the earlier impression that you had of him still engraved into your mind. When he didn't, you smiled, hiding your satisfaction. Maybe he really was worth a 15 and not a 10.

“What, no ‘I didn’t catch it’? No ‘I bet it hurt’? I’m offended, do I not deserve a bad pick up line?” you grinned at him and he burst out laughing, the sound reverberating through you making a shiver run down your spine.

“You got the drinks, pretty girl, there’s no way I can use a pick up line now,” you started laughing earnestly. He was definitely not what you had expected. The muscly tattooed facade was clearly done just for the purpose of aesthetics, and not because he slotted right in with the rest of the douches.

“Fair play, but I did say I was going to pay you back earlier,” you gesture with your head as if to point out which earlier moment you meant.

“I see. This is how you intended to keep your word then” Jungkook said just as the bartender places the drinks in front of you both handing him something. “But as it happens, I am a step ahead of you” he waved a card in front of you. His satisfied smirk made you pause flustered. Realising he’s already given his card to the bartender earlier you blushed.

“That’s not fair, laundry boy” you pout. “Now I have to find another way to repay you” you fumbled with the card the bartender handed over to you struggling to place it back in your clutch.

“I am sure we can find other ways” you paused looking at him. Under normal circumstances you would have found that to be incredibly off putting, but noticing the way he scrutinised you so intensely, no hidden message behind his smoldering gaze you squeezed your thighs together a wave of heat enveloping you.

You took a sip of your drink to mask the deepening blush and cleared your throat. You knew that if you gave him your name you were in for the ride. “It’s Y/N” you took another sip, savouring the taste of the alcohol.

“What?” Jungkook wasn’t expecting you to hand him your name so freely.

“It’s Y/N” you yelled louder and leaned into him thinking he hadn’t heard you because of the music. The waft of your perfume clouds his senses, the smell of cotton and lilac enveloping him. Needing to be closer to you he chanced it and asked you for a dance.

You finished your drink with a gulp and nodded your head. You grabbed his wrist and started making your way through the mob of people. Jungkook couldn’t help but stare at the way your hips swayed to the beat and when you threw him an alluring look over your shoulder he couldn’t help but be lost. He felt like a puppy following your sultry form through the crowd.

You finally stopped in the middle of the dancefloor, your moves more accentuated following the beat of the music. Jungkook stopped a few inches away from you, unsure whether or not he should place his arms around you yet.

You stepped closer to his body, your movement predatory. “Come on laundry boy, you can do better than that. Think of this as part of the payment” you winked at him. You could see the shift in his eyes, a flash of something heavy across his face, his demeanour changing in an instant from uncertain to commanding in a second. He gripped your waist tightly and pulled you flush against him moving along with the beat.

For a second all you could feel and smell was him. His domineering attitude instantly turned you on with the silent promise behind it. “Oh, this is just the beginning” he moved his hands so that his arms encased your waist intending to savour the feeling of you against him. Fully intending to see where this night ended you hooked your fingers into his belt, your bodies so close together they melded into one.

“Bring it on lover boy.”

The oppressive atmosphere of the club was enough to cloud all your senses. The alcohol running through your veins made you braver than you would have ever been. The smirk Jungkook threw at you was almost tantalising. Inviting you to commit sin. And the thought of tasting his lips and running your hands through his hair whilst his breath fanned over your throat was mouth watering. You’d been skirting around each other for the whole night, laughing, drinking, talking, but most importantly eyeing each other up. The last straw for you was when a rogue drink came flying out of nowhere and drenched the two of you. The liquid mixed with his sweat and snaked its way from his temple down to his jaw. You watched as the drops ran lower and lower as if directing your gaze towards his chest. Swallowing thickly you knew that you were a goner. If he’s ask to fuck you right there on the dance floor, you would surrender instantly.

Smirking at your lust filled expression, Jungkook knew he had you where he wanted. He had been staring at your lips for the whole night, entranced at the way the plumpness was enhanced by the sheen from when you’d run the tip of your tongue over them. He was mesmerised. He could also imagine that tongue running over his- he tried to stop himself there, aware that he’d get hard if he kept going in that direction. He could already feel the strain against his pants.

“Another drink?” he offered, and you shook your head at him. Another drink was definitely not what you wanted. What you wanted was him, to kiss you until your lips were raw and to pound into you senselessly until you could hardly remember your name. Were you drunk enough for this? Probably not, but you did not care for once. You wanted to remember this.

Leaning closer to you with the excuse of the loud music, his breath fanned the nape of your neck and the sensitive shell of your ear, making you shiver. “Then what would you like, love?”

There it was, the thousand dollar question. It was now or never. Taking a deep breath in you looked him straight in the eyes with determination. It made Jungkook shiver. You looked fierce and incredibly alluring. It took all the strength he had in him to not shove you on top of the bar and kiss your brains out. “Tell me?” he coaxed you.

He knew what you wanted. You had been obvious for the whole night. But so had he. Throughout your conversation you were undressing each other with your eyes. You noticed the way he couldn’t keep his eyes away from your ass when you would lean over the bar to ask for one more round of drinks.

Under normal circumstances, that thought would have made you nervous. This time it gave you the courage you needed to let yourself go. To switch from being the player to the one played. And if he was the one doing that, you didn’t mind one bit. “I want you” you bit your lip and looked at him from under your eyelashes. His eyes darkened with lust. Mind clouded with desire, he grabbed your wrist tightly and without a word started making his way through the crowd. The roar of the drunken crowd, the smell of sweat and alcohol, and the feel of sticky bodies bumping into you didn’t matter anymore. All your focus was on the way his back muscles moved with every turn of his body. Suddenly a flash of the same back muscles, naked, moving as he towered over you and thrust his hips into yours made your stomach clench and you could feel your panties getting damp. God you wanted him so badly.

Jungkook could see your wistful lust-filled eyes becoming hazier and he sped up the pace. He finally stopped when he reached an empty corridor near the back exit. He would have liked to have more privacy than that, but something about making you beg for him in a public place made his cock twitch in anticipation. He really needed to get a hold of himself otherwise he’d be done before you’d even started.

He tugged at your wrist and lightly pushed you into the wall, he would have taken things a lot slower but your gaze told him to hurry up and take you then and there. And who was he to deny you?

His eyes raked over your body, and a sigh escaped his lips. “Beautiful”. Even though he craved to taste you, he took a moment to appreciate the way your eyes glistened with passion, your chest heaving along with your breaths and your perfume clouding his senses. He wondered if you tasted as sweet as you smelt.

A fistful of your hair in his hands, he pulled you flush against him, until all you could feel were the hard planes of his chest and his hardened member poking at your abdomen causing you to moan, your panties getting wetter.

You whimpered at the sensation as his fingers gripped the sensitive hairs at the back of your skull, goosebumps forming on your skin in anticipation. Expecting him to attack your mouth with the same hunger that was displayed in his eyes you leaned more into him.

You silently begged him to release the coil that had formed in your stomach but he wanted you to beg. His breath fanned the pieces of hair that fell onto your face. The last rebellious piece of you that refused to fall into his clutches. In a desperate attempt to get him to kiss you, touch you - do something, you grabbed tightly onto his biceps relishing in the feel of the muscle tensing underneath your fingers.

“You’re not playing fair laundry boy,” you huff, feeling frustrated over the lack of contact. His laugh, dark, deep and lascivious sent a shiver down your spine.

“Baby girl, that’s not my name” his free hand clasped onto your waist squeezing hard enough to send a jolt through the pit of your stomach all the way down to your heated core. “Jungkook” you whimper and in a last attempt you hook your leg around his thin waist.

“That’s it baby” he lowered the hand on your waist towards your thigh, his fingers leaving an indentation in the skin. Seizing the opening you started grinding your core onto his thigh trying to relieve the ache. His lips ghost over your neck in a tantalizing way, his tongue sweeping over the nape briefly tasting your saltiness. The sensation of his warm tongue on the exposed area of your neck followed by the coldness from the air makes you moan. You could smell his perfume, combined with the musky scent of his sweat and alcohol made your head swim in delight.

“Jungkook, please” , you exposed your neck to him needing more. Rolling your hips into his thigh you could feel the blood pumping underneath your skin, the pleasure overshadowing any rational thought. The friction between your clit and his pants left you breathless, the coil in your stomach getting tighter and tighter ready to unfurl. All of a sudden Jungkook stepped a few inches away, and you lost contact with his leg. Robbed of your release, you instantly whine.

“Mmmm, I can't have you cum on my leg, as much as I would like to see you ride it out on your own. I need to taste you.” he demanded. The hand still supporting your leg inched closer and closer to your dripping cunt. Slipping a cold hand under the hem of your dress his fingers made contact with your heated core causing you to jerk. You yelped, your hips bucking into his hand. Your hands latched tightly onto his shoulders, your fingers digging into them in an attempt to steady yourself. He cupped you through your panties, the heel of his palm pressing into you. Muffling a moan into his shoulder you begged him to touch you more, but he retracted it away from your tender flesh.

“Nuh-uh not yet.” The hand pinched your thigh and you tried not to cry at the feelings bubbling up inside you. You were frustrated and horny, and his taunts were enough to make you crave for more.

“Laundry boy” you warn, staring him dead in the eye.

“Y/N, what did I say about my name” he pulled at the hair he still gripped tightly in his hand. Cradling you close to him he bucks his knee into your core, this time freely offering the friction that you had been yearning for. You whined, the lewd sound echoing in his ear. Your clit on fire, you pressed yourself more into his knee.

“That’s it, moan for me with those pretty lips” gaining a bit of self control you decided it was time for you to step up your game.

“Do you not want to see what else these pretty lips can do?” you licked your lips, your heart racing. Your hooded eyes suggested more than Jungkook would have expected from you.

“Dirty girl” biting his lip before he crashed them onto yours, the contact making your lips smack and your teeth clash. Neither of you care as your tongues intertwine, carrying the battle that your hips are craving. The friction between you caused your whole body to heat up, your senses heightened. You could feel every bit of him against you. The way one hand gripped your thigh and the other pulled at the sensitive hairs at the nape of your neck, the way his tongue roughly caressed yours. He was intoxicating. In the heat of the moment he roughly pushed you into the wall behind you, the force causing you to moan into his mouth.

Jungkook was at the end of his wits, he had to have you now. He needed to taste you, see you unfurl in front of him as he eats you out. Breaking the kiss, your mouth sore, he observed the way your pants made your chest rise up and down, pushing your breasts into him.

Without a word, he attacked your mouth once again for a brief second before he trailed down your jaw to your neck, nipping the sensitive skin in the process. The hand on your thigh reached once more underneath the hem of your dress, this time making its way fully and cupping your dripping core. At the touch of his hand on your sensitive clit your knees buckled and you let your weight onto him, your forehead dropping onto his shoulder for support. You tried to suppress a moan.

“Let it all out baby” his mouth at the shell of your ear, the tip of his tongue trailing the delicate flesh there. “You’re so wet” he moans, “I can't wait to taste you.” His finger dipped under the band of your panties trailing over your center. “So soft” - he sucked your earlobe into his mouth and gave it a small bite - "so wet for me”

This time you couldn’t hold back your moan. The feel of his finger pressed into your folds, parting them and exposing your clit to his ministrations had you squirming. The tip of his finger started drumming in a rhythmic steady fashion on your engorged button. The feel of his lips caressing the sore earlobe relieving the sting from the bite is too much for you. “Jungkook please, I need..” your moans getting louder and louder as the pad of his finger presses harder in an unrelenting tempo.

The hand holding your neck slowly inched towards the swell of your breasts, picking the flesh there until it turned sore. His fingers still attached to your sensitive bud he suddenly drops on his knees in front of you. With his support now gone you try to grip uselessly at the wall behind you. He slots himself between your legs, forcing them to spread open. As he raised the hem of your dress and pushed your panties to the side you couldn’t help but look down. The sight of him between your legs glancing up at you made your knees buckle. With one hand tracing your folds and the other gripping your hip tightly to hold you in place he gives you an uncertain look. “Is this ok Y/N?” his concern for your approval makes your heart melt, but you were too high strung to think about that. You wanted him, and you wanted him now.

“Please” you moan in approval.

With your approval he dived right in, too hungry for your taste. Parting your folds with his fingers he starts by giving you a tentative lick. Being sensitive from his fingers you writhe, your hands desperately clutching at the wall behind you. Savouring the first taste of you he thrums with his finger at your clit. You arched your back, your hands giving up on trying to hold onto the wall. Instead they found their way into his hair, fingers gripping tightly.

Diving back in Jungkook starts lapping earnestly at your folds, his finger still applying pressure onto your sensitive nub. Bucking into his face you suppress a moan. The sensation of his wet tongue prodding at your entrance is too much to take and your knees buckle. Jungkook sensed the shift in your weight and quickly grabbed a hold of your leg, hoisting it over his shoulder. The hand attached to your clit now tightly gripped your calf. The change in position offered the extra support you needed to not fall over.

With your entrance now completely opened to him his tongue started rapidly tracing your folds, only stopping to suck on your clit.

“Jungkook” the overstimulation from his tongue lapping up your wetness and his teeth nipping at the sensitive cluster of nerves is too much to handle, you can feel yourself take over, and Jungkook is more than happy to let you go at your own pace. Grinding over his face, your hands still gripping at his hair, you ride his tongue at your own pace desperate to reach your climax.

You can feel it, you are so close to release you could almost taste it.

Suddenly he entered a finger, knuckle deep into you pumping in and out quickly. Letting your calf go but making sure he is still supporting your weight with his body he leaves you sensitive nub alone and traces kisses along your inner thigh, up to your navel. The dress now obscuring other parts of you he gets up, his finger still deep in you, drawing pleasurable mewls out of your mouth.

“That’s it baby girl, tell me what you need” he is panting in your ear now. With the taste of you still lingering on his tongue and the sight of you coming undone from his ministrations makes him harder than he’s ever been. He felt uncomfortable under the constraints of his pants, the zip digging painfully.

“I need you to fuck me” you finally moan, your hips grinding against him chasing for that sweet release.

“I need you to come for me first baby, I need to see your pretty face when you cum all over my fingers” swiftly he changes fingers, his thumb now drumming at your sensitive clit. You gasp as a finger teases your entrance for a brief second before it penetrates your pussy.

The loud sounds coming from the club were not enough to drown out the lewd sounds that your wet pussy was making whilst Jungkook’s finger pistoned into you. The shot fire along with the shameless sounds you were making were enough to make the tight coil in your belly unfurl. With a deep loud moan you bit Jungkook’s shoulder in an attempt to muffle the yell that was threatening to spill out of your lips. Your muscles clenching in tandem with your core. Jungkook felt your cunt clamping his fingers tightly and a low grunt escaped past his lips. He could almost imagine how wet and tight you would be around him.

“That’s it beautiful, let go”

Your hips carried on buckling, chasing the high and wishing it would not stop. Jungkook took his time observing how your head fell down and your mouth opened slightly in a silent satisfied scream, how your eyes scrunched up as if you were trying to cut off all your senses apart from the feeling of his fingers in you. You were beautiful. When at last your muscles relaxed and your high subsided a low sigh fell out of your lips. It has been a long time since someone has made you cum like that with just their fingers. Jungkook’s finger still lazily traced your clit, the overstimulation too much for you to handle.

“Jungkook '' you whined trying to back away from him but the tight grip on your waist wasn’t allowing you to move more than a few inches away. Without a word Jungkook pulled his hand out of your panties and let go of you. Your knees still weak from your climax you struggle to stand up right and you end up having to lean into him slightly for support. The sight of him licking his fingers coated in your juices sets you on fire once more.

“You’re beautiful when you cum Y/N.” Somehow, his words made you blush. The lewd act that you both partook in had failed to make you blush, instead what made you self conscious was the way he gazed at you. It was softer and more intense and it made your stomach clench once more. If not for the obscene act in the deserted corridor of a club, you might’ve actually entertained the idea that he cared.

You smiled shyly at him and in that moment he was swept away by the warmth expanding from his chest. You were indeed beautiful. And witty, and smart, and you liked to do your laundry. What more could he want? Cupping your face, he kissed you once more, slowly and with purpose. You gasped, you were not used to this gentle Jungkook. Taking the opportunity to pull you closer once more, his tongue mapped every inch of your mouth.

“Fuck me now please” you whisper against his lips. Your hand on his belt moved slowly over the bulge in his pants. He bucked into your touch at the feel of your fingers wrapping around him as much as you could with his pants still on.

“Y/N” he warns. If you carried on that way he would definitely come in his pants. Rubbing him slowly, you could feel his member harden even more under your touch.

“Is it uncomfortable babe?” you whisper in his ear. “How about I return the favour?” you unzip his pants prepared to lower yourself to the floor but he grabs your shoulders keeping you in place.

As much as he would have liked to feel those soft lips around him, he knew that if anyone were to bump into you two, it would not be good. The club was full of students going to the same university as you. If they were to find you on your knees blowing him it would instantly kill your reputation. He did not want that to happen.

“Not here” he zips his pants back up and grabs your hand gently. After all that had transpired between you this soft almost domestic treatment is not what you were expecting. Once again the warm feeling in your heart returned, and this time you were a bit more sober. He was cute, and somehow you found his duality endearing. He returned to being laundry boy Jungkook instead of the dominant Jungkook you’ve just witnessed.

You walked through the club, his hand still gripping you tightly as if he was afraid he’ll lose you in the crowd. Once you reached the outside you took a deep breath in relishing in the way the fresh air soothed your heated skin. Glancing up at Jungkook you noticed he was on his phone texting someone.

“I am texting my friends to let them know I have left,” he explained, putting his phone back in his pocket, smiling at you. The contrast of his lust-filled gaze from before and his gleeful smile almost gave you a whiplash. He was such a contradiction that you couldn’t help but be intrigued by him.

“And I ordered an Uber” as soon as he’d said that a car pulled over right in front of you. The ride back to the campus was a quiet one. It wasn’t an uncomfortable quietness though, having chatted about anything and everything in the club you were content to just put your thoughts in order. You noticed that he had not let go of your hand once during that time but with his gaze out the window, his face thoughtful you could not bear to say anything. Plus, you were enjoying the feel of his smooth hands holding yours.

As the car pulled up in front of the dorm you both shared a glance, an understanding passing in between the two of you.

Once inside the fire inside you sparked up again. Grabbing at each other, your mouths hungrily clashing, you stumbled all the way to the elevator. It was late enough that no one would see you two messily making your way to your room. As soon as you entered the lift and separated to press the correct button you finally remembered what you’d forgotten. If you were a bit more sober you would have laughed at the hilarity of the situation.

Your face fell. “The laundry” you whined in distress. Jungkook’s mouth fell. He threw you a panicked look thinking that you’d changed your mind. One glance at you was enough to tell him that you were panicking in earnest.

“What happened to the laundry?” his hand hovering over the lift buttons unsure of what to do.

“I forgot to put the laundry in the dryer!” you looked at him with such drunken despair he had to hold his laughter in. He did not want to offend you by laughing in your face. You were sober enough to not slur your words, but clearly not sober enough to process your own feelings.

“Let's get that done then.” He decided that as much as he liked your witty self, as well as you in the throes of passion, he adored this side of you too; your guard down, emotions on display. It made his heart swell thinking that you were entrusting him with your vulnerabilities.

You rushed ahead of him entering the laundry room, not paying attention to anything but the lone machine still loaded with your clothes. You quickly opened it, the smell of clean cotton wafting around you.

“Let me help.” Jungkook grabbed the pile of clothes you were holding and moved them into the dryer next to him. As soon as everything was loaded in you turned to smile at him. The panic in your eyes now replaced by the same hunger that governed your mind earlier, you grab him forcefully, clashing your mouth against his. Your hips slammed together in an attempt to ride the pleasure from before. Jungkook, not having expected you to be so forceful, moaned into your mouth and instantly hardened against your hip bone. The quiet of the laundry room was filled with the sounds of your pants as you continued to kiss. In the heat of the moment, Jungkook places his hands on your ass, hoisting you up on the laundry machine behind you. The position allowed your hips to align perfectly, the pressure of his dick now directly onto your clit. Before you could go further Jungkook stopped and looked at you.

“You need to start the dryer,” with the last of his restraints he motioned to the still machine. You glare at him, this being the second time he cockblocks you and himself. But his gaze was unwavering. You sighed and leaned away from him, reaching for the top of the dryer as well as you could still atop of the laundry machine. “Whatever you say laundry boy.”

After pressing down on the start button, you’re quick to return to kissing him. But the quietness of the room seemed odd to you. The dryer had not started. Confused, you look at it again, certain that you pressed the right button. Pressing it once more you wait this time. The dryer stayed still.

The chaotic emotions from before enveloped you again and this time you could feel tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” Jungkook is throwing you a worried look, not having expected the sight of your tears.

“It’s not started! It’s broken!” you exclaim tears pooling barely hanging onto your bottom lashes. You pushed him gently aside and hopped off the laundry machine. “Why has it not started?”

The desperate look you gave him paired with the knowledge that the machine was not doing what you wanted because you had not paid makes him crack and start laughing. You gape at his bunny smile and crinkly eyes offended until the silliness of the situation catches up to you and you can’t help but join.

“I have never cried over a broken dryer before. Or been cockblocked by one” you glance at him, mirth in both your eyes.

“And you better not start now” he warns you jokingly. You stare at each other for a second before you burst out laughing again.

He can’t help but be enamoured by you and your silliness. Even though the night had not gone as you’d both planned. You both crying in laughter over a dryer makes him think that maybe there was something more there than a one night stand. And he was more than ready to give it a try.

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dreaminpetals · 3 years

Note

Uhh um uhh sfw and nsfw headcanons of a maid s/o who became attached to Andrew? 👉👈 thank you for carrying the idv x reader tag you absolute legend

🧺 andrew with a maid s/o

art credit

SFW ;;

♡ the new survivor, the maid, had captured the attention of nearly everybody in the manor for how selfless and hardworking they were.

♡ your role in battle was to aid anybody who requested assistance by ringing a bell. whether it was someone to open the gate or rescue, the maid can appear out of thin air to help in a pinch if they're summoned.

♡ this seeps into how you behave outside of matches. you're an excellent listener and eager to solve the problems of anybody who needs help, whether they ask for any or not.

♡ although the entire manor has their eyes on you, there's one person you want to get to know better more than the others. that would be the gravekeeper, andrew kreiss.

♡ no matter how wounded he was, andrew would never request your experienced hands. even the more reserved survivors would ask for help with menial tasks, but even when risking hospitalization andrew wouldn't want to bother you.

♡ your interactions with him started small. handing him an umbrella on a sunny day, noticing he missed breakfast and bringing him some croissants.

♡ he doesn't like it one bit.

♡ andrew surmised you were only giving him the special treatment out of pity. he notices you giving him extra food? clearly it's because you think monsters have two stomachs rather than one.

♡ you never falter though. no matter how many times andrew pushes you away, you're only filled with more nerve to help him out. also... you have a crush on him.

♡ the most stressful moment of your life was when you were still only friends and you introduced him to sunscreen. you applied it on his face and neck and could feel how hot he was under your fingertips.

♡ being so close to andrew made your cheeks aflame as well, and you prayed that he didn't notice the bead of sweat trickling from your forehead. he was just so handsome and he was trusting you to apply a foreign substance to his face to help with his condition. your heart couldn't take it.

♡ little did you know, andrew was thinking the same thing. he found your furrowed brows adorable and he was grateful that you were helping him, even if it was out of pity. he was so glad someone was there, intentions be damned.

♡ he stopped suspecting you when you kissed a wound on his hand better and pulled him into a tender embrace when he was cold. it took nights of pondering for him to accept that the maid, one of the most attractive and magnetic survivors, liked him for who he was. with the exception of his late mother, nobody had ever cared for him with such love before.

♡ when you finally start dating, you can't stop clinging to him. he towers over you. it's rare for you to be seen not attached to his arm, you're like a koala.

♡ once he's completely certain that your attachment is out of genuine love, he welcomes your help with open arms. he yearns to be understood and nurtured, so someone who can always listen to him and hold him in their arms is a godsend.

♡ andrew is always encouraging you to take breaks and look out for yourself once in a while. he might surprise you with breakfast in bed and a day off if he notices you've been pushing yourself too hard lately.

♡ he admires the help you give everyone else, but he'd be a liar if he denied that he felt jealous sometimes. when you offer people room service he doesn't like your warmth leaving the bed to deliver some tea across the manor. he wishes he could be selfish and cuddle you forever.

♡ when andrew is hurt he loves to be babied. coddle him, feed him, help prepare his medicine. sometimes he feels like he doesn't deserve rest, but he agrees with anything you say, so if you tell him to relax then he's napping on your shoulder.

♡ your attachment to him sends butterflies to his chest. he still can't fathom that you want to be around him as much as he wants to be around you.

♡ when you look up at him with your innocent, loving eyes, he asks you to pinch him in case he's dreaming. life before the maid came to the manor was bleak for andrew but now he has a new reason to keep waking up every morning, his lovely partner and their desire to make everyone's lives better.

NSFW ;;

♡ your dress. he's addicted to your dress.

♡ how it feels to hike the fabric up your thighs is a feeling he'll never grow old of. when it pools right above your stomach and his eyes meet your lacy undergarments he gulps.

♡ the laces and frills are nothing short of intoxicating. he's pumped himself plenty of times to the thought of you slowly removing the dress for him.

♡ he asks you to keep it on for as long as possible. at first you think it's because of modesty and andrew being a gentleman, but really it's because he feels an uncontrollable lust at the sight of you spreading your legs and the fabric revealing more & more.

♡ bonus points if your outfit comes with thigh highs, when you peel them off or he hooks his fingers under them to stroke your warm skin andrew is in paradise.

♡ your role as a maid seeps into your sex life, eager to be ordered around by your partner and give them everything they ask for.

♡ poor andrew can't bring himself to vocalize what he wants.

♡ your dress splayed over his thighs, you ask what he wants and he turns scarlet. the gravekeeper can't say unholy words like dick so all he can do is motion down to the painful bulge in his pants and whimper.

♡ "andrew, i can't help you unless i know what you want!" you chirp with a mischievous grin as he trembles under you. you'd think he was stuck in a blizzard from how intense his shivering was.

♡ "i, hn... inside you," is all he can muster.

♡ when the bows adorning your hair graze against his thighs as you suck him off he'll cry from the featherlight contact.

♡ start off palming his boxers at an agonizingly slow pace to see him come undone. make him beg for you to strip him down and stroke him until he can't take it anymore. he wants to cum so badly but knows he needs your permission first, and he can't ask.

♡ his hands meet his face to hide his raging blush and the drool that spills from his lips every time.

♡ i've touched on this before but andrew loves bath sex. when you're surrounded by pink bubbles and your bodies are connected as one through the warm water, he longs for it.

♡ plenty of times you've bathed andrew and it's lead to you grinding down on his lap, the gravekeeper enamoured by your foamy chest and your forgotten maid dress strewn over the side of the tub.

♡ if he's feeling ambitious, he might ask for you to join him in the bath with your dress still on so he can see it cling to your soaked skin.

♡ the splashes that match his thrusts invoke a downright sinful reaction in andrew. something about the wet slaps of his hips plunging into yours make him want to kiss you deeper and never pull out.

♡ if you call him master kreiss or sir or mister he's cumming, one hundred percent.

♡ when he bends you over his lap and fingers you as a reward for all the hard work you do for others, begging for your master to go deeper and faster sends a blush all the way to his ears.

♡ it's so easy to get him to cum with just your words or a twirl of your dress. he has no clue how to control it, it's like you put a spell on him.

#andrew kreiss smut #idv x reader #andrew kreiss #andrew kreiss imagine #identity v imagines

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persimmonteas · 3 years

Text

take a good look

4 times you gaze at him + 1 time he gazes at you

fic cowritten with @shinaus, art by @annypuff <3. you can buy mel a coffee and anny a coffee. please support them! their work is banging and i love them 🥺

pairing: vampire!shinso x f!reader

word count: ~4.5k

genre: slice of life fantasy (a tinge of coffee shop!AU), fluff, mutual pining, smut

cw: dom!shinso, size kink, daddy kink (inspired by toshi anon), praise kink, some degradation (he says slut 3x), fingerfucking, nipple play, choking, hair pulling, mirror sex, mating press, hickies everywhere, a cunt slap, overstimulation

first time: the coffee shop incident

Of course your favorite coffee shop is swamped. This place is the only good thing about waking up close to dawn, with drinks always better than what your office has to offer and not to mention the pastries they make fresh.

Letting out a small groan, you decide to wait it out in the line and do your best to hurry with your breakfast before heading into work. Thankfully, you always leave yourself with enough time to actually sit and enjoy whatever you decide to buy that day, opting for it over greasy break rooms or stuffy smoking areas.

Once the warm mug is in hand, you make quick work to try and find your usual spot only to find it occupied. While you won’t act possessive over a public seat of all things, losing the chance to enjoy glancing out the window and munching down your croissant seems to screw with your brain.

You act without thinking, making a sharp turn to go sit somewhere else only for your knee to make contact with the underside of another table. Shit, you think to yourself, hearing the clatter of their cup. You helplessly watch liquid run down the table and into the person’s lap.

You expect them to flinch, dart up from the table or, hell, even yell at you for your carelessness. He doesn’t yell at you and you don’t expect to see the colour of the liquid running down the table onto the floor to be red. Blood red. Fuck. A vampire. Hopefully, one who doesn’t eat you for your stupidity.

Just as you feel your heart sinking down to your stomach, your eyes flick up to meet the man whose day you likely ruined. You don’t see a hint of anger on his attractive features. In his defence, it’s probably because he’s busy looking at the way you’re gawking at him.

His unkempt hair and the deep eye bags adorning his sculpted face somehow make him look all the more endearing. It even looks like he’s wearing the smallest hint of eyeliner. Or are his eyes just naturally like that? Hard to tell.

You’re pulled out of your thoughts (and staring session) by him breaking eye contact with you to clean himself up, before rising to his feet and doing the same to the table. It makes you come back down to Earth, and thereby remembering your clownery

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—” you start, but are met with a hand held up in front of your face. You furrow your brows in confusion, having assumed his lack of aggression would mean he’d be more understanding but nope.

“No issue,” he grumbles in response, giving his trousers one last wipe down before swiftly weaving through the others in the coffee shop, flipping his hoodie up and taking his leave. Now, you’re even more confused.

Sure, you spilled something over him and the table, but you would have bought him another one? Paid for his dry cleaning or something maybe? Yet, off he went, moving so quickly you couldn’t ever hope to catch up to him. Fucking vampires, man, you shake your head.

The confusion eventually fades but not completely. You help one of the baristas doing the last of the clean up before settling into the strange vampire’s seat and letting your mind wander as you eat your breakfast.

second time: gawking at the gym

It’s a common occurrence for you to make it to the gym right as the rush of 9-5s ends, the perfect time in your opinion. Nobody hogging any of the ellipticals, the water cooler always left unoccupied and nothing but time for you to get through your usual routine.

With this in mind, you can confidently say that nothing out of the ordinary ever happens at the gym. Well, could say.

Carefully bringing your leg around to meet the other on your way off of the exercise bike, you're momentarily distracted by the sound of a nearby treadmill whirring so much hard that it sounds as though it may break.

Lifting your towel and water bottle, you make your way over in curiosity. It almost seems as if whoever is on the treadmill moves even faster as you approach. Once you make it there, you’re met with the man who seems to be continuously haunting your surroundings.

Despite his unruly purple hair in a band and all-black gym attire, vamp man still seems out of place. The athletic wear is a complete change of pace, considering the hoodie and leather jacket he was wearing during your first encounter.

You rid yourself of any wandering thoughts about the man and focus on him being the reason that the treadmill is about to be on its last legs. You can’t bring yourself to look away from him; the sheer speed of his legs is mindblowing. And a little ridiculous looking if you’re honest with yourself.

The moment is short lived when he slows to a stop, probably thinking the same thing that you are about the poor machine not being able to last another mile. He looks like he’s barely broken a sweat. Fucking vampires, you repeat to yourself.

Just your luck, he notices your presence as he dabs the side of his not-even-sweating face with his towel. He begins to smirk at your eyes on him.

“Little rude to stare, isn’t it?” he wonders aloud, voice much deeper and more luxurious than what you remember. Getting caught fills you with deep embarrassment. You stutter out a quick apology before making your way over to another machine.

Even with your back facing away from any passing people as you continue your routine, you can practically feel his eyes boring into you.

A few minutes is all it takes for you to turn to check if your suspicions are correct. You’re met with his shameless stare. He’s not even making an attempt to hide his gaze either, leaning on one of the back walls as he watches you, large arms crossed over his broad chest somehow making the skin-tight shirt he’s wearing even tighter.

This is torture, you think to yourself as you give him a polite smile, only to hear him chuckling at your strained smile.

“What? So you can stare but I can’t?” he tries, fully getting your attention once more as you stop what you’re doing. Sighing and smacking your machine, you come off of your machine and make your way back over to him.

Your confidence about approaching decreases as you see the full height difference between you two. You’re a fair bit smaller than he is. He looms over you even with his back still leaning against the wall.

“If you’re trying to stalk me, you’re doing a bad job. It should be me, after all. I’m the predator,” he lightly mocks you.

You almost stomp your foot. “I am not stalking you!” you protest. “It isn’t my fault that you apparently go to the same coffee shop and gym as me.”

He levels you with a delighted look. Humans usually don’t take his teasing well but you seem so much fun.

Throwing an annoyed peace sign at him, you make your way out of the gym.

third time: literally just that scene in the first twilight movie without edward doing donuts in his car into the lot

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out at this time?” The low voice comes from your side, making every muscle in your body suddenly jolt. You just left your friends. Why do creeps seem to have a radar?

Even as you pick up your pace and ignore the question, it only seems to egg him on more. Right as he starts talking to you again, he’s swiftly cut off.

Feeling a small gust of wind at your back despite the calm night, you turn in confusion. Where did the creep go? Your question is answered when you watch him get slammed against the nearest storefront’s shutters. A much taller figure overshadows over him, hand around the creep’s throat.

Even in the darkness, you can see the purple hair, unruly as ever starting from the collar of his coat. You stride over and pull on Shinso’s coat sleeve in hopes of ceasing his threatening actions—no matter how much the creep deserves the vampire’s ire. After all, you don’t want Shinso to end up with a track record after, like, a century (you’re guessing) without one.

“Shinso,” you say, eyes pleading as you look up at him—unaware of how much he enjoys hearing you so naturally say his name. He meets your stare briefly then rolls his eyes and releases his hold, watching the man scramble away. The chuckle that leaves him at the scene makes you wonder if he’s a sadist.

Before you can wonder much more, he grips your hand tightly in his own as he leads you farther down the street. The clasp strangely comforting to you despite his freezing skin.

“You really need to stop being so irresponsible,” he tells you, tone almost mocking as he (somehow) takes every right path to your apartment building. There’s no point in questioning how he knows this. After all, for some reason, the world keeps leading you to him in an array of coincidences that are starting to feel less and less coincidental.

When you let out a scoff, his hand seems to tighten further and you reflexively try to yank your hand away. He just stops in his tracks and turns to face you. There’s a look in his eyes you don’t question, especially since he speaks up before you do.

“Don’t make me have to watch your every move to keep you out of trouble, I’d like to have a social life too, you know,” he grumbles, before turning to walk away. It leaves you a little dumbfounded to say the least, since you’re not exactly stopping him from having a life. Y’know, with, how totally unplanned these encounters are and all.

fourth time: the confrontation

Apparently, not one thing can be your own anymore. Not that you’re complaining, of course, but the sheer number of coincidences between you and Shinso is extraordinary and only seems to escalate. You keep running into him even in places so busy that you think there’s no chance of running into anybody you know.

Now that Autumn is in full swing, the nights are colder and the leaves are dappled in brown and red shades. The perfect time to start going on walks through some of the bustling parks you live near.

You love the scenery, especially the large lake that lies in the middle of your favorite park. As dusk rolls around, you take the chance to get a walk in to enjoy the now barely visible sunlight and to ponder a certain vampire.

Not even one lap into walking around the lake, you catch sight of the colour that’s been plaguing your thoughts in your peripheral.

The deep indigo colour is hard to miss, especially when it’s on the head of the vampire you keep running into. Though this time feels a little different since you finally catch him when he’s unaware of you.

Sitting on one of the benches facing the water, he’s wearing his typical hoodie and leather jacket and is holding what looks to be a book. What kind of book a vampire reads is beyond your imagination.

All you know is that you finally have the opportunity to take the upper hand. Every time you see Shinso, he worms his way out of your questions. Or he leaves in an ominous distinctly vampire fashion.

There’s no reason for him to be everywhere you go, unless ... You want to confirm your hypothesis.

The plan is simple. You’ll act like you're still out on your casual walk and you’ll walk up to the bench and sit down in a non-suspicious way. You nod to yourself. Perfect, flawless plan.

It shockingly works … his book must be really good. You get all the way up to the bench without him acknowledging you. Since he’s only taking up one side, you don’t wait for verbal permission to sit down alongside him.

He still makes no indication that he notices you. His eyes never leave the book he has in his hands. You fixate your eyes on the silver ring on his index finger as he flicks through the pages.

You lean in close and try to keep your smugness about finally startling him from bleeding into your voice when you speak.

“You know, I’m starting to think you’re conveniently everywhere I go on purpose.”

For the first time ever, he’s the one caught off guard. Shinso flinches away from you and brings his eyes to meet yours. Without his signature smirk or witty comments, he simply gets up to take his leave.

Well. This certainly isn’t going the way you want.

After your many encounters, you can pick up on his overall mood through his reactions to you. Though, he’s never reacted like this. At least not since the incident at the coffee shop.

The dismissal ignites irritation in you. Why is up to him whether or not you interacted? Taking the opportunity while you still have it, you follow him.

It isn’t until he passes a large tree just off of the main path that you completely catch up to him. You realize he’ll easily slip away if you don’t move quickly. So you do, hand coming up to hit the tree trunk and essentially blocking his way.

His eyes widen at you. However, he makes no attempt at escaping.

“Why do we keep running into each other?” you ask with exasperation, eyes still on him as he moves to lean against the tree. You don’t move your hand, using it to grasp some control of the situation.

“You’re everywhere I go, it doesn’t matter where or when. You’re always there.” The rant is far from needed for him, he knows this already. But, you keep going.

“What is this? Were we lovers in a past life or something? Do you have some unresolved feelings?” The way you’re rambling makes you impossibly endearing to him. His classic chuckle slipping out stops you in your tracks.

“Nothing of the sort,” he curtly replies. You cross your arms over your chest at his usual demeanor returning. “No such thing as reincarnated soulmates, at least with what I’ve experienced in my lifetime. Though, the feelings department…” As he continues, he leans closer to you. So much so you can almost feel his breath on your face and smell his warm, spicy cologne.

“Is there a problem if I do have feelings for you?”

You blink at him. What? You don’t think you’ve ever been so caught off guard.. Feelings? Is that what this has all been about?

Every previous encounter begins to run through your head and you start picking out small things that back up his statement. The lingering stares, teasing words, protective nature. You groan and drag your hands down your face. Man, you didn’t pick up on any of his hints. He must think you’re an idiot.

Before you can give him an answer, he pushes off the tree, standing over you at full height. Assuming he’s about to attempt to leave once more, you’re surprised to see him turning back in the direction of the bench. When you make no effort to move, he reaches out and pulls you by your coat until his hand is in yours.

“I’ll take that as not a problem.” A smirk still on his face due to you indirectly feeding his ego.

Although, now walking beside him, you don’t miss the way his free hand reaches up to rub at the back of his neck. A gesture you recognise as one of his nervous tics. Did you do that to him? You grin at the idea that you make the great vampire feel that way.

“There’s a scooter rental place down by this side of the lake.” His voice brings you out of your thoughts, realising he’s been trying to hold eye contact with you. “I’ll make a deal with you, if you let me take you out on a ride around the lake, I’ll answer any questions you have, deal?”

The way he’s practically bargaining with you makes you want to laugh, but you keep your face neutral as you agree to his offer. Who turns down taking a romantic scooter ride with a hot vampire? Nobody.

Of course, he takes any opportunity to tease you, so he rents a smaller scooter so you have to cling onto him.

You don’t complain though. How can you as you enjoy feeling his back muscles flex? Not to mention, he keeps his promise and answers any and every question you have about himself or his past. And, wow, he has an interesting and long past.

As the sky turns dark and drips stars, you’re left with a feeling rising in your chest that you certainly don’t reject and with the hope of meeting him again—on purpose, this time. A planned event seems likely as you clutch the torn-out blank page of his book with his phone number scribbled across it in your fist.

one time: he gazes at you

“Hitoshi. You already have better night vision than me. This is so extra!” you protest, stumbling through the dark apartment as your vampiric boyfriend maneuvers you to ... his room, you think.

Hitoshi just rubs soothing circles on your back and you just know the fucker is smirking. You hear the light click on.

“You can take the blindfold off.”

Tugging the blindfold off, you stare at the new object Hitoshi bought for his room.

“Baby, this is a mirror.”

He nods while leaning against his bed, looking infuriatingly pretty per usual.

“You can’t even see yourself in a mirror. Why?” You arch an eyebrow in Hitoshi’s direction, trying to explain your absolute bafflement at his purchase.

“In case you’re here and want to check yourself out.”

You see nothing but innocence plastered on his facial expression but did you trust it? No.

A mindblowing second later, he stands in front of you, caressing your face with calloused, cold hands. A nice contrast to the sweltering temperature in his room he set for you. Hitoshi leans in to kiss you, gentle but firm. Your hands go up to fist his shirt as he intensifies the kiss.

He slides his hands down your cheek to stroke your lip and then slowly skims down your body.

“It would be a great idea to take this off,” he whispers, playing with the hem of your shirt.

You eagerly nod as he strips you out of your shirt and pants. Awareness of his plans finally clicks when he turns you to face the mirror.

The remark on the tip of your tongue dies when Hitoshi rolls your nipples through the thin lace of your bra. You arch into his touch as he gently pinches and pulls them. God, your panties are already drenched and nipples hard.

“Fuck,” you moan as Hitoshi slides your panties to the side. Letting you lean against his corded chest, he hitches one of your legs off the floor.

“Go on, spread yourself open. Let me see how wet your slutty cunt is,” he murmurs into your ear.

You hard swallow as you spread your glistening lips open for him, strands of your arousal clinging to your fingers when you pull them away. Hitoshi digs his hand into your thigh.

“Did I tell you to stop?” He sounds amused as he uses his other hand to pull your hair by the roots.

“No, no, daddy, I’m sorry,” you apologize and move your hand back to where it belongs.

“Good girl, look at yourself. Wrecked without even being fucked.” You stare at yourself in the mirror with a half-lidded gaze. He’s right. With your heaving chest and puffy, soaked pussy, you look like you’ve been railed. But instead, you continue to spread open your aching pussy for your fully clothed boyfriend.

“Daddy, daddy, please touch me,” you plead as you grind against his hard bulge, desperate for any kind of friction.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” If you were any more lucid, you’d have smacked Hitoshi for his lilting tease.

“Aren’t I always a good girl,” you whine, hands clambering at his thighs.

He chuckles at that, kissing your head before somehow gracefully crumpling to the ground with you in his lap. In a blink, he has you spread out in his lap as he plays with your clit. He slides a thick finger inside your tiny cunny as he grazes your shoulder with his canines.

“Look at you,” he coos. “You look so good like this, my darling little slut.”

You don’t even have a retort, too enraptured by the sight of Hitoshi fingerfucking your sopping cunt with his invisible hand. The way your cunt opens for him and gapes in the mirror spellbinding for both of you.

You moan as your hips jerk up. There’s not much more he loves than how your lips part and your legs shake at how he strokes his finger inside of you.

“More,” you beg. How can he resist your dazed expression?

“Such a needy baby,” he tsks as he scissors you open with another finger.

Another strum of your clit and pinch of your nipple and you’re gone, eyes squeezing shut. Your juices surely ruining his pants as you writhe in his lap.

He cradles your cheek and then grips your chin to turn you back to the mirror.

“Look at yourself, pretty girl. Such a fucked out mess.”

You gaze at the bruises blooming over your shoulders and down your neck and shudder, pleased. The aftershocks of your orgasm leave you warm as you languidly suck your juices off Hitoshi’s fingers.

“Toshi!” you squeal as he gently deposits you on his bed and pulls his clothes off. The bed is purely decorative and for you considering he doesn’t sleep. Although, even with a bed, you guys still fuck over every surface in his apartment.

Your sensitivity protests fall to deaf ears as he bends your knees to your chest. This time, Hitoshi is the one to spread you open. He slaps your cunt and you claw at the sheets. Pumping two fingers slowly in and out of you, he uses his other hand to roughly pull down your bra.

His chapped lips wrapping around your nipple and cold fingers groping your other breast feel overwhelming. Hitoshi cages you in, sucking wet kisses over your tits, leaving you no room to evade his overstimulation as you squirm to get away from his fingers fucking up into you.

Your sore nipples and cunt get a moment of reprieve as he moves down to concentrate on marking bites all over your plush thighs. Instantly, you miss being full.

When he passes your empty, clenching cunt for the third time to suck bruises on your inner thighs, you burst.

“Daddy, please, please, fuck me!”

Hitoshi trails kisses up your heated skin to your throat, laving over the hickies he left.

“Beautiful,” he croons as he finally positions his tip against your hole and pushes in. The praise and stretch make you whine. He stills as your tiny cunt clenches around him. Your warm, drenched walls wrapping around his cock makes him toss his head back in pleasure.

“My patient good girl,” he groans, pulling at your nipples.

“Fuck—more, daddy, more,” you curse as you squirm, your hips rocking up to meet his shallow thrusts. He doesn’t reply and grazes his fangs over your pulse point as he holds your hips down.

Your breath hitches—and he abruptly pulls back.

“Did my baby think I was going to bite her?” Hitoshi gives you a lazy smirk as he keeps his vexingly slow pace, watching his cock drag in and out of your creaming cunt.

His large hand wrapping around your neck makes you squeak and suddenly tighten around him. Your favorite necklace. Knowing he’s using an insignificant fraction of his strength to please you makes your eyes roll back as your breath stutters.

“That’s it, cum for me, pretty girl.” Hitoshi starts a punishing pace as he strokes your clit with his free hand. His dark eyes never leave his hand wrapped around your throat, your ravishing lightheaded face and your bouncing tits. Hitoshi’s furrowed expression as he drags his tongue over his canines in concentration makes you whimper.

You buck against him, gushing around him and crying out his name.

The way you cum so prettily for him has Hitoshi hissing your name in your ear as he thrusts deep into your spasming cunt, chasing his own release. Intertwining his hands with yours, he presses you into the mattress to pin you down. Before long, his orgasm washes over him.

You gaze contentedly at Hitoshi as he pulls out, feeling empty already—and then you realize.

“Hitoshi! I swear to god if I look like a grape again,” you threaten as you try to stand up to head to the bathroom.

You don’t even take a step before he whisks you into his bathroom, laughing at you and kissing your forehead.

Well. You suppose looking like a grape isn’t that bad.

#bnha smut #shinsou smut #mha smut #pomoboba writes #pomoboba.nsfw #shinso smut #hitoshi shinsou smut

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