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zepskies · 3 months

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Headcanon: Teasing him under the table.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x F. Reader, Beau Arlen x F. Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

AN: This was requested by this lovely anon:

Could you please write an imagine or something of all three boys (Dean: love the plus-sized one-shots; Ben from BMD: love your interpretation of The Boys; and Beau) - and how would they react to their girlfriends giving them a footsie? 👀

I'm interpreting this as a "playing footsie" moment lol.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Flirting, innuendo, and some smuttiness. (You know Ben. 🙄)

Headcanon: How Dean, Beau, and Ben would react to you teasing him under the table.

Dean Winchester

Because of the request, I had the Espresso-verse version of Dean and the reader in mind, but this can be general Dean x Reader too.

Dean is playful by nature. (AKA: a professional flirt.)

He enjoys working you up, but he enjoys it even more when you're confident enough to tease him back...even if it somehow always surprises him.

But he's been driving you crazy all damn day. Throughout the whole damn hunt.

Flirty smiles, suggestive quips masked as "innocent" remarks, brief touches to your arm, the small of your back, guiding you by your hip, a thumb swiping under your shirt and against your skin, lightly pressing into your curves...

It's all "normal," except for the deeper, suggestively teasing glint in his eyes.

He's in a good mood, and he wants you to know it.

And it's all in front of Sam, who knows the game you two are playing. Sometimes he smiles in both amusement and fondness, and he looks away to allow you guys your moment. Sometimes he rolls his eyes, or just tries to ignore it when he's had enough of you two eye-fucking in plain sight.

Dean knows what his touch does to you, but you know one or two of his weaknesses too...

When the hunt is finally over, the three of you find the closest diner to the motel you're staying at.

Dean orders the greasiest burger you've ever seen. He also teases Sam for already looking for the next case with his laptop at the table.

Dean glances over, his lips starting to curve as he licks a bit of burger juice off his fingers. He looks at you dead in the eyes while he sucks his digits clean.

He's equal parts noisy and disgusting. But damn him, your hand tightens around your glass of water. Your lips press together, and so do your legs. You nudge his foot with your boot and raise your brows. Stop it.

He pouts, and he nudges your foot right back. Make me.

You tilt your head at him. Adopting a certain smile, you slide your foot across the floor, under the table, and graze his calf with the side of your boot.

Dean's lips twitch. Sam is seemingly oblivious as he continues researching on his laptop.

Your foot travels higher up Dean's leg, up the inside of his thigh. You only gasp a little when he suddenly reaches down and grabs your ankle. His resulting smirk is salacious, even as he challenges you with his eyes. What're you gonna do now?

You contemplate exactly that, when his brother's voice startles you.

"Can you guys do me a favor and quit it?" Sam asks. He doesn't even look up from his laptop. "At least wait until we get home."

You bite your lip and blush. Both you and Dean fight harder smiles at being caught.

"No one likes a killjoy, Sammy," Dean remarks. Sam just sends his brother a dry look.

Dean's amusement remains. He taps on your ankle in contemplation, but after a moment, he lets you go. He grabs his phone and texts you under the table.

"Quickie out back?"

You grimace, then you text him back.

"Gross, babe. There are things I promised myself I'd never do in a public bathroom."

"So...meet you in 5? Come on, I'll do that thing you like. 😈"

His stupid grin, his stupid face, his long fingers tapping on the tabletop (somehow, even that is suggestive). It all eventually breaks you down.

"...Ugh, fine," you reply. You slide out of your chair first. But as you walk past him, you let your fingers brush down his neck — in a way that always makes a little shiver run down his spine. You smirk in satisfaction as you walk away.

He might've started it, but you could damn well finish it.

Beau Arlen

Oh, my dear cowboy sheriff...

Beau is also a jokester. He takes his work and the people in his life seriously, but he likes to keep things "loose." Perhaps it's a coping mechanism, but it's mostly just his way of going through life.

Tonight, however, is a tense dinner with your parents, Beau, Emily, and his parents that are visiting from Houston.

It's a nice steakhouse, more high scale than you or Beau are used to, but your parents insisted on it. Beau's parents are good-natured and full of southern charm. They're just happy to see their son and granddaughter, let alone meet his girlfriend for the first time.

The night is only tense because, as much as you love your parents, they're not sure about you dating a man with such a dangerous job.

They also have a thing about appearances, and the fact that he's divorced and has a child who isn't yours, and frankly, all the things you don't give a rat's ass about.

Your back is ramrod straight in your chair (there's a tightness in your spine that comes every time your mom taps you on the hand with her fork to remind you not to slouch).

You can't even really taste what you're eating, because you're too focused on making sure your parents don't say anything insulting to Beau and his family.

Then a boot taps against your open-toed heel. You glance over at your boyfriend, and he's already wearing a smile. He gives you a teasing wink as he eats a forkful of mashed potatoes.

Your stress begins to melt, just like that. God, this man.

You smile back at him and take a calming sip of wine. Your mom begins to talk about her upcoming tupperware party. Your smile deepens, but not because of that.

You playfully tap your foot on Beau's without looking at him.

You feel his discreet stare on the side of your face, but you pretend to be invested in your mom's conversation about tupperware. (I mean really, I thought those parties went extinct. Apparently, not in the Midwest.)

Beau's foot nudges yours back. You hook your toes under the hem of his pant leg, inching it up and up...

He retaliates with a hand drifting down your thigh, over the skirt of your dress. He grabs just above your knee and squeezes. Your leg jerks up on reflex, and your knee hits under the table hard enough to rattle the silverware, making you yelp.

The whole table looks over at you in both surprise and concern. (Your mother more in disapproval.)

Beau bites his lip against a deeper smile.

"You okay there, baby?" he asks.

"Sorry, my foot slipped," you lie through a tight smile. When you turn to him, your eyes narrow a fraction, promising retribution. You grab his hand tightly, but he just uses the motion to bring yours up to his lips.

Beau looks forward to whatever you plan to dish out next, as long as you wait until after dessert.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Aw hell, this guy. 😂 I'm imagining BMD-verse Ben for this one...

Ben has a decent sense of humor, but he doesn't often like to be teased.

He'd rather be respected.

But you love to tease him anyway.

You also know his "limits," but it doesn't stop you from figuratively tap dancing all over them when you have the opportunity. You're slowly but surely trying to get him to loosen up.

Sometimes though, it bites you in the ass.

Like tonight, when you've gotten him to come with you to a Broadway show. You two have your own private booth on the second floor balcony. (He likes the privacy, and it's safer for you, as he's argued.)

20 minutes in, and you can already tell he's gotten bored. To be fair, it's a drama that's admittedly a bit dry and slow. You don't want him to walk out before the intermission, so you start to hatch an idea...

Your legs are crossed, and you draw your high-heel slowly against the side of his foot. When he glances over you, you pretend to be invested in the show. Your arms are crossed over your black dress that falls to mid-thigh. Your jacket is draped across your lap.

You brush the thin point of your heel across the top of his shoe, then inch it up under his pant leg, higher and higher.

Until Ben's hand finally grabs hold of your knee. Biting your lip, you turn to him with a smile.

"Do you mind? I'm watching the show," you tell him. He allows you to peel his hand of your leg and place it back in his lap. You cross your legs in the opposite direction.

Ben raises his brows. His lips twitch slightly, but he seems to acquiesce, relaxing back in his seat.

For a while, you actually watch the play. You become invested in the story and the characters by the time it gets halfway through Act 1.

That's when you feel a strong hand slowly slip down your thigh and between your legs, slowly rucking up the skirt of your dress.

You try to stifle a gasp as you look over at Ben. He doesn't meet your hot stare, but his hand is certainly on the move, covered by your jacket. He brushes against your panties.

Against your better judgment, you let him spread your legs wider. A smile finally crosses his face. His fingers hook around your underwear and brush between your folds. You let out a shaky breath and shift in your seat.

You know you should stop him, but you can't help the warm coil of arousal starting pool in your lower belly, and between your legs. Ben feels it with a smirk. His fingers find your clit with ease.

"Ben," you gasp, warning him in a heated whisper.

He leans over and presses a raspy kiss to your neck, thanks to his beard.

"Perks of a private room," he says. His voice is a low rumble in your ear.

You start to shake your head. You know you started this, but you also know him. This has the potential to go off the rails very quickly.

"This isn't a room. We're on a damn balcony," you breathe out, even as his fingers continue to work you over. You bite your lip to stifle a moan. "Anyone could—"

"Who gives a fuck?" Ben says gruffly.

As usual, his raunchy brand of logic (and his talented hands) manage to persuade you to give in.

AN: lol I had fun with this one. Let me know what you think! 💜

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 1 year

Note

I love your writing!! Could you do a short 1 or 2 part fiction based on this prompt: a highborn girl is to become Aemond's wife but she is a mute. Her other senses are well even though she isn't able to speak. She is youngest in her family and is extremely shy. No fiery bone in her body. Alicent coaxes her son into being betrothed to her due to Alicent having issues with high-born ladies not wanting to marry the prince due to his eye missing and his tendency to have a temper. They bond over reading and Aemond is enthralled with her beauty. Also Aemond never is a kinslayer in this story lol. Thank you!

Her Voice

Summary: You are introduced with the prince as his second option for a marriage in your family. But how will the Prince react to you own affliction | Mini-Series Masterlist

Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

A/N: I changed the request up a little and it's strange that I got this ask because I do actually have a stutter myself that was debilitating growing up, so I tried to shoehorn some feelings that I felt myself into this character, but hopefully I still did it justice (and I made it more about her intelligence cos I think Aemond would find that hot)?

Thank you for the request anon! Also thank you all for your love and comments I really love them! I can’t comment on them since this is a side-blog, but I appreciate you all!

Warnings: none, just fluff, Aegon being Aegon

"Do you think that any highborn woman with a brain between her eyes would desire to spend the rest of her life with a tempestuous prince?"

Alicent was circling the room, hands smoothing over one another to keep herself calm, doing this in exchange of picking at her fingernails, which her father hated. And with Otto sat brooding in the corner of the room, Alicent chose her actions wisely.

Aemond barely resisted the urge to roll his eye, one hand rested on one side of his face, disinterested. Another reprimand for his temper, his behaviour. He didn't realise his mother had it in her to keep on doing this for so long, especially after having a son like Aegon. But even then, her solution had been to marry him to his sister, and it was clear how well that ended. And how Aegon's actions persisted.

"Perhaps if they were not so empty-headed they would know to leave me be"

"Like it or not, you will be wed" Otto butted in, resulting in Aemond sending an annoyed glare, "It has been difficult enough to introduce ladies to you"

"Because they think me a monster" Aemond retorted, one hand gripping the arm of the chair beside him. His mother was still pacing around, a million thoughts banging around in her brain, working endlessly on how to resolve this. In truth, he did not enjoy seeing his mother in such distress and his heart to see her in this way more often than not.

"That is not true, Aemond" Alicent's voice was soft, as if he were still a child.

"True enough that it whispers through the court"

"A marriage and children with her would mean security in the Reach" Otto said simply. His mind forever focussed on matters political and never of the heart. Alicent was proof of this and at this quip, Aemond could see the discomfort it bought her.

"I do not wish to marry that loud-mouthed half-wit"

Every time Aemond protested, he could see his mother begin pacing around the room once more.

"At this rate, half the ladies in Westeros will have met that beast before you"

Aemond extended a hand out with a sigh, "It is no fault of mine that she is scared of Vhagar"

"It nearly landed on top of her, Aemond!" Alicent begged out and Aemond genuinely had to hold back a smile as he imagined Vhagar pinning the girls dress to the ground with her large claw. It had scared the girl stiff and her loud-mouthed was quickly stiffened from the presence of the largest dragon in the world before her. Her face pale as a sheet.

"Vhagar did not like her" he simply responded.

A moment passed in silence and Aemond nearly stood to leave when Alicent crossed her arms, her warm, brown eyes trained at her second son. Half in pride and half in scolding.

"There is of course, another choice" Alicent suggested quietly, taking a side glance at her father.

Now stood before his mother, seeing over her easily, he placed his arms behind his back, a brow was arched in not only question but anxiety at her suggestion.

"She has a younger sister, only half a year younger than you"

Aemond scoffed, "This is desperation"

"It is a suggestion" Alicent corrected. In front of her son, she seemed so small as she took his large hand in both of hers, her rings clicking together to rub her fingers over his skin, "See how you feel"

With a sigh, he took his leave.

There was no harm in trying.

The days seemed to pass the slowest and the Prince busied himself as he usually did, performing his duties. He trained with Ser Criston, he read books on various subjects and he rode on Vhagar in an attempt to tame this temper his mother so wanted gone. One that she thought would be solved by marriage.

But one insufferable thing he could never escape from, was court gossip.

It seemed so rampant and neverending that he wondered if the ladies ever did anything else.

On more than one occasion he heard the ladies talk in hushed whispers when he walked by.

"I heard his dragon almost ate her"

"I do not see what woman would want a man who looks like that"

"I think he looks rather handsome with it"

"Yes, but he has a quarrelsome temper. Blood of the dragon indeed"

"I heard her little sister is to join the court. His dragon may actually swallow her whole with any luck"

"She is a hollow little fool. I heard she has not spoken a word since she was a babe"

He knew better than to listen to any of it. But it seemed to impregnate the walls of the Keep, like a smell that won't go away. Slowly seeping out of the stone to skulk in heavy plunders of smoke across their feet. It smelled of deception and the feeling was so heavy, it was almost liquid.

Like oily blood.

He had barely paid attention to his mother as they all lined up outside the Keep, anticipating the sister's arrival. The older sister had been closest to the dirt road, wanting to see her siblings and father before anyone else. The Royals were all standing shoulder to shoulder at the top of the stone steps, Aemond's eye trained forwards, not focussed on anything in particular. Aegon wishing he were somewhere else, preferably at the end of a barrel of Dornish wine. And Helaena, whose gaze never found anyone's, staring at the ground, watching the ants disappear beneath her slipper.

Alicent almost jumped out of her skin as the lady screamed in delight seeing the familiar colours of her house on the side of the carriage, pulling up to a stop. Aemond's chest inflated and he tightened his grip behind his back, bracing for the undoubtedly emotionally painful exchange he was about to have.

The carriage door flung open and two brothers emerged, clearly a lot older than the sister had been, but nonetheless they scooped her up into a hug. Aemond raised an eyebrow and dared look over at his own brother, who was smiling back at him already, as if suggesting they should hug like that. And at this Aemond did roll his eye.

The three siblings were stuck like this for a moment, talking over and amongst each other like a clutter of turkeys and it was impossible to tell what they were actually saying. The father eventually found his footing outside the carriage, a small figure following small behind him, head lowered. The older sister wrapped her arms around her father's neck but she was quickly pushed away, and not a single one of them seemed to address the youngest, who blindly followed her father.

"Queen Alicent" the father addressed, taking her hand in his to kiss at the ring.

"My Lord, how nice it is to see you and your…family again" she swallowed her words and her roundabout manner made Aegon smile somewhat.

"And you, your Grace. I hope my daughter has been a grateful guest"

There was a faint echo in the background of her horrific laugh, the father closed his eyes slowly, bracing himself for the sound of it.

Alicent merely smiled, "I understand we are to receive your other daughter"

The father stepped aside, but the figure still remained relatively hidden, "Yes, although she is the slowest of my daughters, your Grace. She…finds it difficult to speak"

The father looked behind him again and gripped his other daughter's arm and Aemond noted how hard he held her, so much so that when he tore away the marks remained. And he wondered if he was so rough with his other daughter, the one he thought was the grace of his house.

The girl was presented before Alicent. Yes she shared features with her sister, but hers were much were smoothed out. Her sister, while sharp featured and cheeks plump, her eyes were too close together and her nose seemed unfit for her face. This sister however, her cheekbones were higher and eyes were almond-shaped and she had a faint mole next to her eye on one side.

Her eyes briefly met Alicent's and sent a small smile and a curtsy, doing the same to the Princes and Princess, but never really meeting any of their gazes directly.

"Your Grace, my youngest"

Aemond almost scoffed, he didn't even have the decency to address her by her birth name.

"As I say, your Grace, she is quite slow but her mind is nimble, her other senses remain…unaffected"

All the young woman could do was listen to her father's cruel words about her, her hands were clasped in front of her, one finger fiddling with a golden ring that was on a forefinger. Aemond's gaze raked over her form, the dress she wore just being a bit too tight and he wondered if it might have been in her ownership for a while and had grown too big for it. This made her chest swell against the fabric and her could not help but admire the way she fit into it as she inhaled and exhaled, the golden necklace against her chest moving as well.

It was as if she could feel his burning eye on her and her hand raised to her necklace to turn the pendant over, her gaze briefly meeting the one-eyed Prince's before her cheeks became flushed and averted instantly. In a strange turn of events, it made Aemond smirk, knowing that someone would blush in his presence.

"If you'd like to follow me, I can introduce you to the King" Alicent stepped side to side with her father, "Perhaps your children might amuse themselves"

Her father turned to face his children, a haggard expression on his face, "Make yourselves scarce"

The young woman merely watched as her siblings waltzed away without her, no doubt to drown themselves in drink. And she stood for a moment watching them enjoy themselves before feeling a hand grasp her elbow to find Aegon's face close to hers. She made a surprised sound.

"Extraordinary" he murmured, pulling the poor thing to walk with him, "How much I would give to have a woman who did not speak back"

She attempts to push herself away, but he was much stronger.

"I bet that mouth is as disgusting as those whores on the Street of Silk"

A hand clamped at Aegon's shoulder, shoving him away and the woman looked back to find Aemond parting the two with his body, a hand brushing against her arm to place her behind him.

"Brother, I do not think she desires your company"

With a focussed eye zoned in on his brother, Aemond failed to notice that she had himself wrapped his hand around her wrist. A wave of heat rose to her face s she looked down and saw how his large fingers easily took her, feeling the sheer body heat of the Prince next to her, so much so that she was able to smell the various musks that had attached themselves to him. A faint smell of leather from his clothes, whatever he used for his long, illustrious hair and then something akin to being around an animal. Was this what dragon smelled like? She wondered if he had been riding before meeting her family.

His touch was easily softer than Aegon's grip had been, and for this she was grateful. He had been the first man to lay a hand on her that had not been forceful. The brothers continued to bicker.

"She is not deaf, Aegon. She can hear you"

"Deaf or not, she is a simpleton. If you are to marry her, do yourself a favour and find comfort in others, as I do"

All the blood seemed to rush to your ears in embarrassment and you tore your wrist away from the prince, turning swiftly on your heel in the other direction, away from the harsh words you had unfortunately become accustomed to. Your steps were swift as you heard Aegon cackle with laughter, but you did not see Aemond's saddened stare bore into your back.

With a book clutched longingly to your chest and the echoes of your already drunken siblings echoing down the halls, you pushed a hand to the library door, finding comfort in the quiet of this room in the chaos that was the Red Keep.

It had of course, not been your first time here. You had accompanied your sister on her journey many moons ago, and even then you felt the stares of those at the court boring into you like a flame. The hushed whispers of those were not lost on you, perhaps they also thought you were deaf. But it didn’t matter. You heard the horrible things the ladies said about you and equally, the awful things the men said as well. Although some of those had been about other matters.

Contrary to popular belief, you were not entirely mute. A lot of it was purely by choice. And you had become accustomed to the silence, for simply trying to speak, becoming out of breath and tight about the chest, gave you more anxiety than simply saying nothing at all.

You sighed in relief, finding the library completely empty and almost just how you had left it all those months ago, when you had come here for relief after your sister had accustomed herself to the ladies.

The book, which you had been in the middle of reading last time you were here, was still perched on top of the fireplace in the heart of the room, with a piece of paper sticking out in the spot where you had been rudely torn away. Your hand grazed over the cover, feeling all the intricacies of the people who may have read it before you. The spine was slightly worn away, and the fabric that coated the front page was discoloured. But it was the book smell that enticed you so and you opened where you were to bring to the pages to your face.

It smelled like home. Like a solitary childhood.

It reminded you of who you were.

Someone so disenchanted with life that they would lose themselves in books, fiction or not.

You lifted your skirts, inhaling sharply as the corseted part of the gown dug into you for being too small. Your father refused the request for new dresses, so you had to make do. After all, it was your older sister who was supposed to be enamouring the Prince, not you. So what need was there for fine dresses.

The chair hugged you, its fabric arms tucking you in like a bed and you laid the book before you to pick up where you had left off, the only sound in the room being the flickering of some candles and the uncomfortable sound of your finger tracing the next page.

You had been so interested in your book, the large oak doors opened without a reaction from you.

"I know you are not deaf, my Lady"

The voice startled you, and your head popped round the back of the chair to see the Prince standing closely, smirking and arms tucked behind him. A surprised sound left you as you stood, the book that had been placed on your lap hurtling to the floor as well as a small notebook you had been clutching. Your cursed yourself for the clumsiness but offered him a curtsy all the same before bending to retrieve the books.

He seemed to move too quickly for his stature and had his hand flat on the book before you had even reached out. Turning it over he smiled, bringing the book with him stand,

"Ah, so it was you"

You grasped the small notebook in your hand and stood to meet his gaze, eyes slightly wide with fear. As if he had caught you in his grasp.

He let out a small laugh, which seemed uncharacteristic for him, "Do not worry. I merely found it"

He placed the book down on the table and looked back at her. Even though he had one eye, it seemed to rake over her for an eternity before returning to her face.

"Are you afraid, my Lady?" he asked, still smirking.

Realising that she had been gawking, gripping onto her notebook, she shook her head. He seemed satisfied with the answer, only offering a 'Hm' in response as he began pacing the space around her.

"I may have limited vision, but I can see you are not afraid of me"

His back was facing you now, and with his eye not trained on you, you took the opportunity to study him and his form for a moment.

He was tall and his long silver hair trailed over his back, thick and straight. He certainly had that air of intimidation behind him and seemed to dress as such to scare people. In thick black leather with clasps, he almost looked imprisoned in his own clothes, straining against them. All this study of his form made you look down at yourself, wondering what he thought of you. The small woman without a voice, dressed in the clothes she was made several years ago.

"Your sister says I have a temper" he started, turning slowly to meet your gaze. He studied the way the candles flickered washes of amber and yellowish hues onto the side of your face, bringing the flush of your face out even more. How the flames bounced off the colour of your eyes. He wondered; how could someone be so expressive with simply their gaze.

He could not explain it, but you seemed content in the silence between you.

Slowly, as if movement would trigger the man, you opened the small notebook you carried with you, using the strip of charcoal to scribble something down. Aemond smirked seeing how concentrated you looked staring at the pages, how the line in between your eyebrows popped out slightly as you wrote.

You passed him the notebook, pointing at the page. He handled the book with such care that is astonished you, the way his fingers grasped it, there was a sensitivity to it. You swallowed your breath as his eye ran over the page all too slowly.

I do not know you well, but I have seen no temper.

Without moving an inch, his eye met you again and for a moment you worried you had said something wrong. But he softly handed the notebook back to you, watching your every move.

"Is this how you communicate?" he asked genuinely.

You nodded, as if embarrassed. Thinking of something to write down, you quickly flipped to a new page.

He accepted the notebook again once you had done, looking significantly more nervous this time, the charcoal rubbing black on your fingers.

I hope that the suggestion of our marriage does not embarrass you. If it is to be, I will be an amenable wife.

Aemond read the words on the page a few times, each time saddening him more so than the last. He saw how you fumbled with the charcoal, eyes averted, afraid of his reaction. He sighed so quietly that you did not hear it and only looked up once again when he handed the notebook back to you.

The words seemed to sincere, it bought a pain to his heart to see you think such things.

"Do not reduce yourself to such a thing" he said. But you did not look up.

There was a pregnant pause between you both as he regarded you.

"You are not entirely mute, are you"

You shook your head at his question, he winced at the painful look on your face. Immediately scribbling something down, faster this time.

It is sometimes better not to say anything at all.

Aemond nodded at this, "It is good advice, perhaps it can be bestowed on some within the court"

At this genuinely unexpected quip, you looked up at him letting a laugh escape you, hand immediately coming to your face to hide the smile that bubbled there.

It surprised you how quickly his eyes lit up upon hearing your voice. You could not help but look at him as he smiled before you, your cheeks firing up with embarrassment and you cleared your throat almost immediately, trying to dispel the air.

"You have a lovely voice" he said. It was here that you realised you were still smiling, eyes on his face, trying to find any signs of deception. For a second, you opened your mouth, tempted to say something. But the confidence quickly died as a block constricted your throat and the breath was expelled, but you nodded anyway, in thanks.

Do you read?

He nodded, gesturing to the book you had been reading, now reserved to the side table, all but forgotten.

"I do. I come here often" he said quietly, pacing about again.

You could no longer hide the way you looked at him. Your sister had said he was quick to rise and that she had been scared stiff at the interactions with him, that he had given her no notion of acceptance or equality. She spoke like he thought he was above everyone else.

But this was not the person you saw before you. Before you was some so soft spoken, you could barely hear him most of the time. Someone who enjoyed the serenity of a quiet library with the only sound being the flickering of the candles and the rain hitting the stone walls outside. You envisioned him being the only one to people-watch at parties, not amusing himself with the prospect of dancing. And perhaps not entertaining the thought of speaking to a woman directly.

"I come here when people like your sister remark on my tempestuous nature. Solitude is the only remedy for it" he paused looking over at you, "I imagine it is the same for you"

You scribbled something down, meeting his gaze when you handed it over.

Perhaps it is just that we are misunderstood. Solitude offers comfort.

A smile tugged at his lips once more and he thought that this is the most he had smiled in a long time.

"And books, it seems"

You nod genuinely, your eyes lighting up with an idea. Placing the notebook to one side, you rush past the Prince, giving him an opportune moment to feel the fabric of your skirts pass his thigh and the whips of your hair drag across the leather of his arm, releasing their scent. And with his eyes closed, he relished in these perfumes.

He allowed himself to think about what it would be like to live in that scent. To have it around him.

You placed a book in his hand, looking up at him excitedly. His long fingers grazed over the cover, admiring the gold leaf applied to it.

"Is this your favourite?" he asked, noting how close you remained after placing the book in his hand, though this you had not realised yet. You nodded, smiling as he opened the cover page to inspect the contents. A book he had not read.

He squinted at the pages, confused and looked back at you, barely needing to move his head since he was so tall.

"You can read this?" he asked. Ever humble, you shrugged your shoulders, "This is Valyrian" he sounded almost as if he did not believe you.

But you had read enough books for a lifetime already and you intended to prove to the Prince that what you were implying was truth.

Taking a deep breath, you lean forward and point to a word in Valyrian, inspecting the swirling text upside down. It had been a page right in the middle, telling the history of Aegon the Conqueror's mission to the Riverlands.

"…i-istan…hae…" you took another breath, not meeting the Prince's eye, nervous that if you did all confidence would surely die, "…darys…"

"…dārys" Aemond softly corrected. You could not help but look up at him now, the eye that had been filled with mischief and confidence, now had something else there. You licked your lips and motioned for him to repeat what he has said so you might copy, "dārys…"

"…dārys…h-he….he…" you struggled on the 'h' sounds of the next words, so paused to gather your breath and push past the newly developing blocks. But the Prince waited patiently, more enamoured at the fact that you were attempting to speak before him and that this was possibly the most you had said to anyone in months, perhaps years.

The mere sound of your own voice surprised you, but concentrated on finishing the sentence, you licked your lips once again in concentration. Aemond almost laughed as the line between your eyebrows returned, "…hen ry…vest, vesteros…o-o…" you sighed at yourself, frustrated. The words beginning with vowels were always the hardest.

"…ondoso…" you managed, pushing past the breath quickly and it was the loudest word you spoke in the whole sentence. It felt clumsy and wrong, but if you had looked ahead, you would have seen the hooded look of Aemond looking down at you, mouthing along with you in silent appreciation.

"…rhaenys…" you finished, looking up at the prince. He closed the book and repeated the word back at you but with the trilled 'r' that was difficult for many to pronounce. You smiled, fiddling with your hair, only now realising how close you were to him so you were able to read the book.

You stepped back, suddenly feeling embarrassed and hot. As if you'd been caught doing something you shouldn’t.

"Very good" he said. The smile on your face was difficult to keep at bay and he placed the book to one side, "It is not an easy language to learn. From books?" he asked, to which you nodded.

You were grateful he did not mention anything about your slowness, about the stumbling over the words. He simply complimented your ability to even read and speak any Valyrian and that was all you wanted from him.

You scribbled down.

Perhaps you could teach me how to pronounce it properly.

"I would enjoy that, my Lady" he stepped forward to give you the notebook back, only to keep a hold on it when you tried to take it. His other hand laid on top of hers and all of a sudden, it all felt so real.

You could feel his fingers rub over yours with a strangely soft touch and all the heat rose to your face again.

"It is a brave thing, to show yourself to someone" he said, looking down at you, "Someday, I hope to do the same for you" he said quietly.

You flicked from one of his eyes to his eyepatch, knowing that this was the source of his own pain. All the things the ladies and your sister had said about this man. Saying he was monstrous, tempestuous and someone to fear. It was clear that these people just did not know him.

"Being with you is like being alone" he said quietly, almost to say it to himself.

Your other hand came to his arm, hand smoothing over the soft leather, reaching out to touch him to see if he was real. Your smaller hands barely came around his arm but you squeezed it, offering whatever comfort you could.

At his words, you nodded in agreement, and he could see the sincerity in your eyes. Perhaps he merely wanted to be understood, like everyone would like, but something that people like yourselves was difficult to find.

Dropping the notebook, the charcoal fell to the ground and snapped in two and before Aemond could open his mouth to question, you laid your head against his chest, hearing and feeling his heartbeat through the thick leathers.

He stood stock still for a moment, hands suspended in the warm air around you until he carefully laid them on your shoulders, pulling the hair over your shoulder. And for a moment he could not tell if he was greatly confused, shocked, horrified or comforted by the feeling.

A shudder rattled down your back as you felt his chin rest on top of your head.

"Kirimvose" he whispered, making a burst of air leave you with a laugh. It sounded mildly forced, and it warmed your chest in a way that bloomed across your whole body, knowing now that despite his discomfort, he had said it.

Thank you.

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nonsensology · 10 months

Text

So I've had these Grunkle Stan crackships on my mind for almost a year now. Could be interpreted as platonic, but I think there's great and fascinating potential if interpreted fully romantic. Full musings and explanations below (Warning: very disjointed and random).

Uncle Chan from Jackie Chan Adventures

Maybe Ford and Stan stumble across the Chans on one of their globe-trotting adventures. Both groups fight off the same supernatural threat and surprise each other with their ease and familiarity with the weird and fantastical.

I feel Uncle is kind of a weird in-between of Ford and Stan. He is knowledgeable but not a nerd like Ford, is generally cranky but doesn't get into trouble like Stan does, although he does have a level of disregard towards authority if it gets in the way of his goals. He's quick to do research instead of impulsively charging into a situation.

I think Uncle's dynamic with Stan would be hilarious. They would argue a lot on how to deal with a threat, but once they agree to work together, they could kick ass. Once he gets past his initial annoyance, Stan would probably enjoy Uncle's quips, even more so when he realizes that Uncle does not say them to be funny, he's just naturally snarky.

Uncle is never shown having any romantic interest or relationships, so I kind of headcanon him as ace, but I think it would be really interesting to see what kind of queerplatonic relationship he and Stan could form.

Jade and Mabel would probably hit it off immediately, and while Jade isn't as studious as Dipper, she also has an enthusiasm for the supernatural so she'd probably get along decently with him. She'd also probably think Stan and Ford are super cool, especially considering their lax attitude toward giving children weapons. Though they do still take the kids' safety very seriously.

Jackie is doubtful of Stan, much like he was with Viper, but seeing Stan look out for the kids would probably endear him a little. Ford might also help ease his worries, and maybe they both could have fun discussion about archeology.

I think Tohru and Soos could get along decently, though Tohru would find Soos' eccentric musings odd at first.

Additionally, Uncle's shop is in San Francisco, practically next door to Dipper and Mabel in Piedmont. The kids would easily visit each other every weekend.

Bruno Madrigal from Encanto

Stan has been to prison in Colombia, so I don't think he'd willingly travel there for fun, and Encanto Valley seems relatively closed off from the rest of the world, so I imagine their meeting is accidental, maybe a result of the Stans getting caught in a storm or something. They stay for a while in the valley while repeating their boat.

Stan might initially be outraged at the idea of the Madrigals not charging anyone for the use of their gifts, but perhaps lightens up when he sees how close-knit the community is. He'd still come up with ways they could show off their powers Mystery Shack style, probably butting heads with Alma in the process, lol. He might encourage Bruno to adapt a more showman-like approach to his seer abilities to make it more presentable and less intimidating.

Bruno and Stan connecting over their shared feelings of isolation from family is definitely what drew me to these two together in the first place. If they ever got serious about their relationship, I can imagine the biggest hurdle would be deciding if they should continue a long-distance relationship, since neither is keen on asking the other to be separated from their family.

Yuuko Ichihara from xxxHolic and Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicle

Major spoiler alerts for both series. It's been many years since I've read them, and Tsubasa had so many plot twists that even CLAMP (the writers) admitted they were confused by the end result. I also might be misremembering some details, so bear with me. Factoring in the plotlines for both series and Gravity Falls would make for an incredible AU fanfic that I unfortunately am not qualified to write.

Due to Yuuko's shop being in Tokyo, a whole ocean away from Oregon, I like to imagine some timey-wimey space mumbo jumbo allowing Yuuko and Stan to meet in the dream realm. Maybe at some point, Yuuko's shop would obtain a door connecting it to the Mystery Shack.

Stan and Yuuko both have a mischievous side, though Yuuko is generally more reserved. They could start out as drinking buddies, though I imagine Stan would probably favor a light beer, while Yuuko loves sake.

They also both use aliases (it is never revealed what Yuuko's real name is), but Yuuko would likely be upfront about it. As their relationship progresses, Stan would probably feel comfortable telling Yuuko his real first name, even after she tells him the supernatural dangers of giving your real name.

While Stan scams his customers, he generally sells harmless entertainment and trinkets, whereas Yuuko grants wishes and operates strictly on an equivalent exchange basis. To quote the wiki, "All of Yuuko's customers must pay a price in order to grant their wishes, which can be no more or no less than the one demanded, or else harm will come to one's way. She is not one to tell the customer the most direct way to solve their problems because in the end, it can only be solved with that person's own realization and resolution to change themselves... Her abilities are not unlimited and may almost seem like a curse as it appears that she is unable to do anything for anyone or grant any gift (other than feelings) without it becoming a binding transaction."

When Stan finds out just how powerful Yuuko is, I think he might react with a mixture of hesitation and awe, especially when she reveals she knows about his past, and Ford being lost in the multiverse. I am on the fence on whether Yuuko would use her powers to bring Ford home sooner, or let Stan continue working on the portal because he's already close to completing it and this would be significant in defeating Bill.

I found that the main villain of Tsubasa, Fei Wang Reed, surprisingly parallels Stan. Both endanger reality to bring back someone who is lost, but while Stan does it out of love and devotion to his family, Fei Wang Reed only did it in an arrogant plan to prove himself a powerful sorcerer. And in Fei's case, the person is already dead. CLAMP's universe establishes that the dead cannot be brought back to life, and Fei's wish to do so would cause the universe to be destroyed. I wonder if Bill would factor Fei as part of his plans.

Stan also surprisingly shares a lot in common with Fai D Fluorite. Both use their twin's name (Fai's real name is Yuui), and for much of the series Fai's tragic backstory regarding his twin is unknown, and he hides his trauma under a laid back exterior. I think Stan would empathize a lot with Fai, after he finds out his backstory.

Kimihiro Watanuki is revealed to have been created to fill a void left by Syaoran after the latter wished to turn back time. I remember Watanuki's character arc involved realizing that people cared about him. "Don't disappear", "Continue existing". Stan would probably take Watanuki under his wing, much like he did with Soos. Watanuki might find life with the Pines family far more chaotic than he's used to, but slowly warm up.

Yuuko is revealed to have died a long time ago and has basically been in magical stasis due to Clow Reed's unintentional wish. When time finally moves forward again, Yuuko eventually passes on. She doesn't return in the canon series, but Watanuki is stated to have also suspended his time to wait for her return. In this AU, maybe she reincarnates in the past and reunites with Stan and the Pines in the present day.

#gravity falls #grunkle stan #stanley pines #stan pines #uncle chan #jackie chan adventures #bruno madrigal #encanto #yuuko ichihara #xxxholic #tsubasa reservoir chronicle

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beomcoups · 11 months

Text

The Athlete (bonus)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: footballer!Hoshi x journalist!reader

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fluff, smut, footballer au, established relationship au

𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: R (18+)

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: lots of kissing, unprotected sex, missionary, swallowing, throat grabbing, clit stimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting (I'm so embarrassed)

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 1k

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You are assigned to do an interview with Kwon Soonyoung, the trailblazing athlete everyone calls Hoshi. But as you spend more time with him, you start to see there are more layers to him than football.

𝐀𝐍: Surprise! I did not plan on making a bonus chapter to this fic but I I suddenly got this idea to write this drabble. It’s kind of an epilogue to the the original fic (you can read it here if you haven’t) . Thank you @hobeemin for looking over this at the very last minute lol.

Happy birthday baby Hoshi!

“Hey, baby.”

You are pampered with kisses from your forehead down to your lips. You were in a deep sleep, the festivities from a late night knocking you out cold with sore thighs as a result. Hoshi lifts the blanket off you, revealing your naked body to the cool air from the ac. His attempt to wake you is working and your body reacts as his lips trail down your back, leaving you with giggles. “Hi,” you mumble. “I’m awake.” He turns you over, climbing over you and properly kissing you good morning. His body is warm and inviting, his muscular arms wrapping around you, making you feel safe and secure. It’s

been two years since you’ve been together, and it’s the happiest you’ve ever been. You finally found someone that filled the void you felt since your dad died, besides your job as a journalist, who understood you and didn’t make you second guess yourself. He was your equal in every word. You love him with every beat of your heart. “I love you,” he expresses, his hands intertwining with yours. “You mean the world to me.” You nod, nothing else needing to be said because he knows; he knows your heart. Your head nuzzles on his neck, happiness not even coming close to how you feel. You then lift his face, wanting to make eye contact. “Do you love me more than tigers?” you kid. “Hmmm, maybe,” he quips, tickling your stomach. You erupt in belly laughs as he smothers you with more soft kisses. You could do nothing all day but lay in bed with him and laugh. And fuck. “You look beautiful,” he whispers, leaving you with one last kiss before getting up. “I think that ring on your finger may have something to do with it.” You glance at your left hand, a 14k white gold diamond engagement ring he surprised you with last night. You had a feeling he would propose, as he started randomly talking about taking a week-long vacation to the Maldives, and you caught him looking at random venues that could only be for weddings. He asked you to take this week off, and you obliged, happy to get out of town. You have always been confident that he would be the one you would spend the rest of your life with, and you are glad he proved you right. He leaves the room and returns, handing you bottled water from the mini-fridge from your suite to drink. “No,” you pout. “Come back to bed. I’m cold.” You reach out for him, pulling him back to bed and wrapping your legs around his waist. You feel satisfied when he pulls you tighter, feeling his chest rise and lower on yours. “Now I have you forever,” you delight, kissing his cheek. “I’m never letting you go.” You did have every intention of holding him close, but you are also naked and horny; his earlier kisses put you in the mood. He grinds against your crotch, his fingers finding your center and rubbing it softly. He lifts slowly, lowering his sweats and revealing his hardened cock at your entrance. You bite your lip, your insides dripping with excitement as he enters you slowly. Your nails dig into his skin, his slow, deep strokes taking you out of this world. “This is what you wanted, right?” He grunts. “You’ve been craving me since you woke up, huh?” You chuckle, not even trying to deny the allegations. Hoshi already has you stuck under his thumb, you’re afraid. “You know me so well.” His thrusts become faster and more intense, the headboard banging against the wall as he fucks you into your fourth orgasm in 24 hours. His hand slips against your neck, grasping it with a slight squeeze the way you like it. Your release comes shortly after, squirting all over him before you beg him to do it again. “Do it again,” you plead. “We have all morning.” He grins, lifting your sore legs over his shoulders and pounding you until you feel stars. The windows are open, and you are sure everyone will have your names on a first-name basis by the time this vacation is up. But you are in love and marrying the love of your life. You could give a damn. “Oh baby,” he exhales. “I’m almost there.” You nod fervently, desperate to get his load down his throat. He pulls out shortly after, unloading on your tongue with a labored gasp. He leaves your tongue saturated, ensuring you swallow before kissing you. Hoshi helps you off the bed, slapping your ass as you walk to the bathroom. Legs wobbly, you feel thoroughly fucked out; the need for a good shower calling your name right now. Knock, knock, knock! Your head cocks to the door, not expecting anyone to visit, and you lock eyes with Hoshi, who throws on his sweats quickly before opening the front door. “Hi,” a stern voice calls from the other side. “I know you are young and in love, and I am very happy for you. But can you be mindful of the noise? I am receiving noise complaints from other guests.’ Your face heats up in embarrassment as you hear him apologize, the lack of care you felt earlier replaced with being mortified. The last thing you need is to be on the latest blogger’s Instagram, with “exclusive” details about your sexcapades. He shuts the door quietly as you turn on the shower. “Did you hear that tiger?” he teases you. “You gotta keep it down.” “Oh shut up,” you roll your eyes, giggling. “Are you joining me?” You reach out to him, his lips curving into a big grin. “And yes, I will keep my hands to myself,” you promise. He quickly gets undressed, stepping into the spacious shower behind you and grabbing a cloth. “Let me take care of my girl.” You oblige, letting him wash your hair and body before you return the favor, sneaking kisses whenever possible. “And baby?” you beam at him. “Happy birthday.”

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leclsrc · 1 year

Text

mr. nice guy ✴︎ ms47

genre: 18+, pwp (very little plot), very very filthy, fem!reader

word count: 4.3k (of smut. you’ve been warned)

Mick Schumacher is the paddock’s golden boy. He likes upholding this reputation, but there’s something nagging at him lately that makes it... difficult.

nsfw warnings under the cut!

18+ because… penetrative sex, anal sex; like descriptive anal, dirty talk (praise central!!), crying, breeding, rough sex, size kink, some squirting?, requires suspension of belief regarding the inner workings of anal lol

hope you like it everyone! :) i finished it early so revising can kiss my butt ahhaaha.

Mick has a secret.

It’s more of a problem than a secret (to him at least), and it concerns you. But it’s not that he feels the spark is gone, and it’s definitely not that he feels like breaking things off with you. Between you both, everything’s been good and steady despite how demanding his career is. Sometimes, if time permits, you’ll go out to dinner during a race weekend, or even spend more than a few days with each other.

Point is—he’s more than happy with your relationship. Even the sex is good, and like everything else, you two are just compatible in that department. Up until last month, actually, Mick had been okay. And then Lando just had to open his loud mouth during a game of poker in Charles’ hotel room, during a conversation about a girl he’d slept with the night before.

“I didn’t know girls were into that,” George had said, curious. Nobody was really paying attention to the poker anymore, everyone turned toward Lando. He’d smiled, a smug, cheeky little git.

“Oh, some are. But if you want to try, chances are you’ll be the one asking.”

“Really?” Mick had interjected. He’d been quiet for the duration of the discussion, so it comes as a bit of a surprise. George and Lando had shared a smirk, a look. Then Lando’d said passively: “Yeah, Mick. Didn’t pin you as a guy who’d be into that, though.”

“Hmm,” Mick mused. He didn’t pin himself as that kind of guy either. Sex with you isn’t necessarily vanilla—it can get rough—but for some reason, Mick just isn’t that guy. But with Lando, being into that had made sense. His sexcapades always have a thrill to them, an edge.

“Yeah,” Charles had quipped, smirking now, too. “Because… well, you’re a nice guy, Mick.”

He is a nice guy. A sweet guy. Fans call him cute all the time. So he figures this new pressing dilemma won’t press. Except it does press—thoughts of being able to play with you, possess you that way irk him well into the night.

So, now, Mick’s faced with the resulting problem-and/or-secret, and it won’t be solved unless he tells you. Because, really: how does any sane guy respectfully tell his girlfriend he wants to fuck her ass?

He’ll try. Anyway, he figures the timing is perfect: you’ve taken time off work to come and visit him for a week at the Las Vegas launch. As soon as you’d arrived at his room, he had you on his bed being fucked within an inch of your life—an instance that repeated itself many times over the course of the last few days.

Mick tries to trace the reasons why he feels a bit shy about telling you. Maybe because everyone thinks he’s a sweet guy, and sweet guys aren’t into things like these. Even if you know he gets a little less sweet in bed, he thinks this is still uncharted territory for the both of you.

“Babe?” He calls, snapping out of his reverie.

“Still changing,” you yell, muffled by the door to the bathroom.

He gets up, stretches, and knocks twice anyway; the sight of you unclothed isn’t novel to him. You open it and stare up. “Yeah?”

“I need to get my AirPods, I think I left them on the vanity.”

“Oh, fuck. Sure. Come in.” You let the door open all the way and he enters, pressing a kiss to your hair as he searches for his earphones. You’re half-dressed, in a tiny tee and lace panties, hair disheveled and thrown over one shoulder. You bend over to rifle through your luggage and he gulps. He’s a sweet guy.

You huff, yanking a pair of jeans out of your suitcase. “I have no good clothes anymore.”

“Nonsense. Everything looks great on you,” your boyfriend replies, taking his AirPods from where they rest on the dresser.

You smile and scoff playfully, placing the jeans back inside before pulling out a dress. “The Mick Schumacher complimenting me? God, what’d I ever do to deserve this?” You turn to the large mirror, holding the dress in front of your body to envision how it might look. From this angle, your back is to him, ergo, he can see your pert ass clearly, flexing with every pose you make for the dress. He blinks hard.

You even lift your hair into a makeshift bun to try and see how the dress looks, but still you seem frustrated. “It looks great, babe,” he cuts in. “I promise.”

“Does it?” You turn back around to show him the dress, pouting. “I dunno. Something’s a bit off. Or maybe the shirt’s just ruining the look.” You toss him the dress, which lands on his face—it’s satin and smells like you. When it slides off his face and into his grip, you’re already halfway through tugging your shirt off.

Underneath you’re wearing a bra that matches the underwear—pretty, white lace—and Mick feels his heart thrum heavily. He’s a sweet guy, though. So he tosses you your dress when you reach out for it and watches you pull it on for real this time. “Huh,” you muse. “You were right.”

“Of course I was,” he says with a laugh, coming up behind you. His height advantage lets his chin rest comfortably on your head. “You look very pretty.”

“Mmm?” You ask with a light giggle, leaning backwards. “Danke, Mickie. What time do you need to be on the paddock?”

“In two hours. Minimum,” he says, his big hand resting on your waist. He lets it slide downward, until he’s at the top of your thigh, where the dress sits. He pinches the hem, traces it until he’s touching the back of your dress. “Don’t worry. No rush.”

“No rush…” You repeat, nodding, letting him feel you up, encouraging it.

You shudder, feeling his hand venture underneath your dress, in the process raking it up. Everything happens in the mirror, like you’re watching it in real-time—Mick’s teasing, his slight smile, the way his eyes have totally darkened.

Already growing wet, you reach your hand behind you and it wraps around Mick’s bicep for leverage. It’s solid, defined under your grip, and it makes you even more aroused.

His hand rakes your dress up to your waist, so he gets a clear view of your panties. You meet his gaze, lidded and impossibly aroused, in the mirror. “This the pair I bought you?” You bite a smile back and nod. You remember the day he gifted this particular set to you; it’d come to your apartment in a pink box. You’d written him a thank you text and a This is so unnecessarily pricey Mickie, to which he’d replied with Nonsense, send me a picture. “I like it,” you say hoarsely.

“Ah, believe me, so do I,” he groans, his head coming down to press against your neck. “More than like. I love how good you look. All for me, yeah? You’re my pretty girl.”

You shiver at the show of possession, and your grip tightens as you nod. You’ve grown quiet, an air of anticipation surrounding you both. “You like that,” he says, and it’s more of a statement than a question. “You like being my pretty girl, huh? All dolled up and so, so good for me.”

“For you,” you confirm. “Yes.”

“Can you trust me?” He asks. And then, to push you further, “Will you be good for me?” His fingers travel to your front, press against the seat of your thong. His touch is strong and persistent, and he stuffs the fabric a bit into your cunt, just to watch you squirm; just to feel how wet you are. Not to make you wait, no. Not to edge you either. Because, he reminds himself before the strands of his sanity leave, because he’s a sweet guy.

“Always,” you say, shuddering. Already you’re showing signs of wanting to cum.

“Come on, let’s go to the bed, baby.” You nod and follow silently, letting him lift you up and lay you down. You giggle, watching him stare down at you before reaching out for him, craving a kiss.

Like always, Mick gives you what you want, dipping down to press your mouths together.

It turns hot and messy quick, your arms coming up to wrap around his broad shoulders, trying to pull him closer, feel him against you, his hands all over you. He grunts, stumbling a little, and parts from you, much to your chagrin.

You sit up, shifting yourself onto your knees so you’re more-or-less level—except he’s standing up and you’re on the edge of the bed. Your hair covers your eyes a little when you lean closer, pouting.

“Come on, fuck me, Mick.”

“Yeah?” He asks. When he’s horny, and when you’re coaxing him like this, like a vixen, like something he just can’t deny, his words get sharper, actions harsher. You’d look at your bruises in the mirror—angry thumb prints, hickeys where your tops and dresses won’t give it away (he’s a gentleman in that regard), bruised knees from bad race nights when he needs to fuck your throat raw and rid himself of frustrations—and smile. “You want me to stretch this little pussy out?”

He pushes you backwards again, and you flip yourself over, wiggling your ass at him. “Please?”

Christ, it’s like you know his pressing secret, like you want him to let it out, and stuff you full, and make you dumb.

He blinks. He’ll be sweet about this. As sweet as he can get, anyway. He sheds his shirt and gets behind you, holds you still when he tugs your thong to the side. His palms are big and rough against your skin, a bruising grip left on your hips, but still you can feel how gentle he is with you underneath it all.

You hear him pull his cock out, the elastic of his sweats stretching. He slides his cock in between your cheeks, and even through there you can feel how heavy, how big it is against you. You whimper at the feeling of it. “Come on, Mick,” you try again, voice airy from impatience. “I’ll take it.”

He lets his cock glide messily over your pussy, lubing himself up from the slick gushing out of you. You get wet so easily, he thinks. One touch, one word, and you’re like putty around him, needy and clingy and oh so aroused. You’re so wet, he mumbles, stupefied. You clench around nothing, grow even wetter.

He pushes inside then, impatient as you are.

A series of fucks erupt from his mouth, finally sinking into your entrance. It’s just the tip, but still you’re tight around him, your legs shuffling to accommodate the stretch. “I’ve got you,” he says. His vision’s cloudy. He keeps thinking—if you’re this tight now, this good, this pliant, what more if you let him fuck you there?

You’re dizzy with pleasure—every fuck with Mick is as dizzying as the last. You urge him to stuff you further, your whimpers lost in your head, but you can hear them faintly. Please, Mick. Yes, deeper, fuck, more. And, as if to encourage you, he goes, yeah? Like it like this, baby?

He knows you do. He’s sweet that way, always giving and giving. But you know something’s different—you feel it, even as you gasp from the feeling of his dick fucking you open. He wants something different. Something more.

You’re so tight, so sensitive, throbbing hotly around his dick. He fucks you hard and dirty, keeping a hand on your back, making sure you’re always in an arch, perfect and poised just for him. Your eyes flutter. Mick, you say, but it’s lost in your own moans. I’m so close—I might—fuck—

He grunts, feels you tighten around him. He fucks you harder, splits you open. You let him. “Go on,” he says, and the authority of his voice brings you both back to a state of semi-lucidity. “Go, make a mess of yourself on my dick.”

He utters the instructions with an edge to his voice. It’s husky and a bit lazy, but still you follow, letting the coil in your stomach unknot itself. Your jaw hangs open, eyes rolling backwards, letting your moans leave you noisily and breathily. More, Mickie. I want all of it. I want more. You’re so wet, you’re practically squirting slick all over him.

You’re cumming hard and slow, dragging out your orgasm by fucking back against him. Each thrust is punctuated with a squelch of your cunt around him. You dig your nails into the cotton duvet, feeling slick run down your thighs. His words spur you on, and his pace doesn’t let up, instead going harder, deeper. You cum so fast for me, princess. Gonna go again?

His shaft is almost dripping with how much you’ve released on it, a wet noise sounding every time he moves. Come on, he coaxes gently. Give me another. You’ll give me another, hmm?

Yes, Mickie, you moan. It’s loud and unashamed. Yes, fuck.

Still sensitive, clenching and squeezing, you let the stimulation take you over, drown you until you’re barely breathing, let alone speaking coherently. Already the coil twists again, and you anticipate the pending orgasm, the high, the release. You let Mick fuck it out of you. You let him give.

You cum again, building up and up and then crashing messily around him, whimpers leaving your mouth and shudders racking your body.

It hurts, almost, with how intense it is; it comes in the midst of heavy, rough thrusts pressing against the deepest parts of you. You’re almost wailing with how good it hurts, your arms giving and letting you collapse on the sheets. You convluse weakly, feeling him pull out, a gasp leaving your mouth.

In response, Mick presses a reassuring hand to the small of your back. You breathe deep, tension leaving your body, walls still fluttering. You’re so good for me, princess. You take whatever I give you. My good girl. It comes in waves, the praise.

He wrangles you atop him, so you’re semi-straddling him. Somehow, lying on his hard, sweaty chest, with your legs on either side of him, both of you barely clothed—you still in the set, Mick in his boxers only—feels so much more comfortable than the bed. “How are you, baby?”

You nod.

“So good. You take me so well every time.”

“You didn’t cum, Mickie,” you pout into his chest. You grind lazily against him, smiling when you feel his dick swell against your still-dripping cunt. He grunts. You’re insatiable, he says. Absolutely crazy.

“I want it,” you say quietly, into his ear, hot. “Give it to me again. Again.”

It’s like time slows, when your lips bite into his earlobe, your fingers lithe and dextrous between your bodies, tracing over the solid indents of his abs. His own arm sneaks over your waist, wraps around it, lets it rest over the sticky skin, and thinks. Maybe this is when he can solve his problem, let the secret spill out of him.

He grits his teeth, brought back to reality when your grip moves south to palm at his dick. “Princess,” he says, breathing unsteady. “You trust me, right?”

The air shifts. You stare down at him with big eyes, glassy from your previous stimulation. And you nod. “Yeah, of course.”

“Okay.” He says. “Good.” He brings his other hand up to his mouth, covering two fingers with spit, and then, like a dam has broken: “M’gonna play with your ass, princess.”

Your eyes widen, but he starts nodding, smiling that sweet smile of his. So this is what he wanted. You inhale shakily, your hand leaving his dick to find purchase on his abdomen again. He heaves the both of you into a sitting position, so you can both breathe easier, but also so his access to your ass is easier, better.

He covers his digits with spit again. “It’ll feel good.” He reaches behind you and your hands are iron on his shoulders, your body rigid with anticipation, but also excitement.

He spreads you open, sinks his hands into the flesh there. “Trust me. Be a good girl.” He smears spit over the rim of your ass, thinks fuck, finally. “Relax for me.”

Ah, you whimper. Ah. He feels you take his cock in your grip, jerking it twice, slurring a whimper into his ear: Fuck me, please. And because he knows you need a distraction from the stretch, he gives you the familiar kind, his dick tight and hard in your cunt.

He thrusts upward to hit your sweet spot so you’re distracted when he’s rubbing tight circles, coaxing relaxation out of your ass. He feels your tension roll away. He’s got you like putty again. You’re caught up in the feeling, of bouncing on him; his hand momentarily leaves your ass to unclasp your bra and palm over your tits like a man starved.

Absently he thinks, is this what a nice guy does? Fucks his girlfriend’s pussy raw so he can claim her ass next? He squeezes his eyes shut, lets the thoughts filter out.

A strangled moan leaves you when he breaches your little hole. Just a bit more, he thinks, letting his finger back out, rubbing again, dipping lower to collect slick from your gushing cunt. He can tell you’re going to like this. “Okay?” You nod desperately, bouncing faster. Your slick is everywhere.

One hand leaves your tits to rub at your clit; the other stays rubbing circles over your rim, occasionally breaching. You nod. More, Mickie. Needy again. His fingers are wet and insistent against your clit and your ass, and the sensations flood you, knocking you into a state of euphoria. He stretches your ass open around one of his fingers, rubbing faster as he goes, feeling you get wetter.

“Mmmmf m’god,” you murmur, dazed. “Mick, I—I want more, fuck.” You cant yourself backwards to catch him.

He thrusts it, experimentally, collects more slick to make the glide easier. I know, he coos. I know, princess. Why don’t you give me one more? And you nod, because it’s easy, like this—when his dick is hard and deep in you. You bounce, each moan louder than the last, until finally your thighs are trembling and you’re releasing everywhere.

It’s a lot—a lot of slick, a lot of pleasure. You can’t tear yourself away from his cock, or his hand insistently pressing into you from behind. You whimper, sensitive, eyes vacant with overstimulated pleasure. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your lips, and you moan into it.

“Just fill me up,” you beg. “I can take it.” He uses your release to shove another finger in, relaxing you further, drawing moans out of you that interrupt your flow of thought. It feels so new. It feels so good.

“Patience, princess,” he says. “I’m being nice this way.” He wants to split you open now, to be rough with it, to hear you whimper, to stuff you full of his cock and then his cum. But he’s patient. He’s sweet. He can wait.

He pulls out, rubbing the tip of his dick along the wetness of slick there. Your fingers dig into his broad shoulders, anticipating the breach. It comes, a dull burn that’s muted and slow, slow, slow. Mick grunts. “Can—” he tries, but the feeling is getting to him, the innate desire to fuck you stupid, to take advantage of how tight you feel. “Can you relax for me a little? Loosen up for me, princess.”

Okay, you murmur. I will. And you do, nodding as you allow yourself to relax. You can’t fathom the stretch. Mick’s already big—big shoulders, big arms, and feeling him so deep in you is addicting to a fault.

He slips in further, eliciting a moan from both of you. Expletives leave his mouth in rapid German, and he tries to wedge a sorry in there for the language—but he can’t, just keeps grunting as he wrestles himself deeper inside you.

Relax, he grits. Almost there, so good, baby. You lean into him, nodding, letting him coax you through it, through the stretch, the pleasure. He wishes he could see how well you take him, but he knows that after this, it’s going to happen a lot. He’ll get his chance then, to bend you over, or to flatten your legs against your chest, make you take it better.

Give it to me, Mickie, you whimper. Your hole’s so tight around him, pussy wet and dripping everywhere; he doubts he’ll last long with how you squeeze him. Your tiny hole, so little just earlier, is stretching so well just to take him.

He grunts. He’s so deep in you. He’s positive you can feel him in your stomach. When he finally bottoms out, after a few moments of prolonged silence (save for the intermittent moans), you both exhale. “You’re,” you say, breathless. “You’re so deep inside me.”

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Love this dick,” you hum mindlessly, smiling, starting to grind on it. And fuck, why’d he ever keep this secret for so long?

Once you’ve started moving, he takes it as a greenlight to go faster, progressively speeding up his thrusts until they’re sloppy, loud with the noise of your slick and his precum. His hands are big on your waist, controlling how you move and how you stay still. “Fuck, baby,” he says, desperate. “You’re so perfect.”

For you, Mickie, you moan.

He doesn’t realize how brash his actions are until he has to readjust his grip and sees indents of his thumbs on your hip, ones that will no doubt leave dark bruises. But he ignores them, and ignores the throb of arousal that ignites through him seeing you so wrecked and debauched like this, and thrusts harder. “Shit,” he grits. “Shit, shit, shit.”

You encourage him, bouncing back to meet his thrusts, embracing the burn of it. You’re certain you’ve cum twice already with how spent you feel, but the pleasure comes in waves every time he thrusts, sending you into a new kind of dizzy. You can feel just how split open you are, because your boyfriend is thick, and you can sense how wide open you are just from how well his dick fits. He sizzles into a space of just talking, talking, talking, to somehow redirect the stimulation—it falls into praise, questions, mumbled pet names.

Gonna fuck your little ass so full, he grunts. Full of my cock, my cum.

You cry out. Yes, you respond. Mickie—I want it.

I know you want it, he says. He mumbles something nondescript in German, voice heavy and rough. Then: Wanna take this dick, hmm?

He pulls out to the tip, then sinks back inside fast. It’s like whiplash, like the stretch has been played back at twice the speed. You moan loud, open-mouthed and desperate, nodding. Your mind is cloudy, cock-drunk, the way you always get when Mick’s been fucking you this long.

Gonna, he says, guttural. Gonna fuck this little hole. Stretch it out.

Then he’s fucking you fast and dirty, wetter and wetter, and you’re cumming again, watching yourself gush slick all over his lower abdomen and his dick, making the glide faster, easier.

You whimper all through it, prolonging your own release so you never have to let go of this euphoria. You hear him like he’s six feet below you—good girl, good girl, good fucking girl, yeah. Give me another.

Another—it seems impossible. But still you say, “Yeah, I’ll give you another,” your voice sticky with thirst. He fucks another one out of you, his pace rapid fast, dick pressing perfectly into your ass. It’s messy, your cum is everywhere, but you wedge another gush of slick out, and that’s what does it.

This time it’s you asking: cum in me, Mick. Make me full, please.

Mick looks down, watches you take him, your release everywhere, and grits his teeth. He presses his forehead to your bare shoulder, grunting, then filling you up. You moan at the feeling, already anticipating how good it’ll feel when he pulls out, lets it gush out of you in spurts.

You both breathe heavily. Then: “So, anal, huh?”

And then you’re laughing, albeit tiredly, Mick lifting you up to run you both a bath where you make him cum one more time.

Later that night, when you’re asleep (a day of racing and anal sex is not for the weak, you’d said before skipping on Haas-sponsored dinner), he retreats to Lando’s room to play poker.

“Where’s your girl?” The Brit asks, a cheeky smile on his face. “She passed out?”

“Woah, locker room talk much,” Alex says defensively from the couch. “Keep it down, you nymphos.”

“Just trying to gauge if Mick here tired his girlfriend out.”

Mick reviews his cards and offers a smile. “I would never.”

“Yeah, Mick’s vanilla,” George jokes. “Lando, stop bringing your porn addiction into our poker games.”

“Vanilla?!” Alex says, interest reignited.

“Have you seen the guy?” Lando points blank at Mick, who stares back with an amused smile. “The press calls him F1’s golden boy. The cutest little puppy on the paddock. He just isn’t into tiring sex.”

“Let alone”—George stifles a laugh—“what you’re into, Lando.”

Mick hums, shrugging. “What can I say? I’m a sweet guy.”

#f1 #mick schumacher #mick schumacher smut #mick schumacher imagines #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher x reader #f1 x reader #mick schumacher drabble #mick schumacher blurb

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ohnococo · 3 months

Text

Fight Night | CHAPTER 7 | MMA Fighter!Sukuna x Reader

When Sukuna finds out who his next opponent will be, you get a few breadcrumbs about his past.

Warnings: light breast play

FIRST CHAPTER

LAST CHAPTER

what are you doing?

You have to give Sukuna some credit for this one, it’s closer to a “hi, how are you” than he’s gotten before.

chilling at home

You wait for his reply, settling back on your couch, throwing your legs up and crossing them at the ankle as his next text comes through quickly. You pull one of your small throw pillows onto your lap, resting your arms on it as you wait for whatever it is Sukuna wanted to talk about.

alone?

His response has you chuckling to yourself as you pull the pillow up higher to rest your chin on. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was about to come onto you, but you know that isn’t the case now. Still, you can’t resist teasing him.

okay fuckboy

He’s even quicker to quip back,

we’re not fucking remember? and I’m not some boy

It was a fair response, one you could tell by now was typed with a smirk, and you’ve already got a smile of your own plastered across your face as you invite him over without thinking.

lol sure. you can come over if that’s what you’re asking

You believe Sukuna when he says you both agreeing to this had strengthened his resolve to make it happen. Or rather, make it not happen, not unless you said so. Surprisingly you did want to wait a little before you resumed the non-stop fucking that had been the start of your time with him. It’s not lost on you that the time spent talking instead had resulted in something more solid to hold onto with him, instead of just the butterflies in your stomach and the warmth in your chest.

When you read Sukuna’s response you’re doubly sure you’ll be able to control yourselves with him being in your home for the first time, you’ll have something important to focus on now.

it is. I have a name for the fight.

The excitement is bubbling up inside of you immediately, and you sit forward on your couch, tossing your cushion aside as though it were hindering your typing.

whoooo???

You’re sure the name will mean nothing to you until you have a quick search, but as you receive his next message you find you won’t even need to do that much.

Aoi Todo. My team sent me a fight compilation

You piece things together quickly then. He wants to come see you, he’s just got a name and a fight compilation to review, and he wants to do it with you first. You’re flattered, even if you’re sure he’ll have a handful of other actually useful viewings with his training partners and coaches.

when can I come over?

Right fucking now, you think. Then you respond.

Right fucking now

You’re casting your laptop onto the TV, video at the ready thanks to the link he’d forwarded you. Then, you settle in right next to him, leaning into the strong arm draped across the back of your couch as you wait for the reveal of this rookie. The video starts, and you see it’s a little pre-fight reel not unlike the ones you’d seen of Sukuna. The man is big, not as big as Sukuna, but intimidating as he crosses his arms over his bare chest and smiles at the camera as it circles him slowly. Shots of him delivering flashy yet punishing spinning high kicks to boxing bags and taking down training partners are intercut with close ups of him sitting in front of an empty gym and talking.

You wait for subtitles to come up, unable to understand Japanese, and when they don’t you look at Sukuna who catches your eye for a moment before he realises he’ll need to act as translator.

“He’s introducing himself.” He looks back at the screen as he speaks, pausing every so often to catch Todo’s words. “Aoi Todo… 24… from Kyoto… he aims to end his fights before the final round…”

Sukuna stops talking, scrunching his nose up when the man becomes more and more animated as he speaks, finishing with a flourish of waving hands as he flexes and smiles at the camera. He sighs and slides his arm from the back of the couch to wrap around you, pulling you further into him, heavy hand settling on your hip. When you look up at him, tilting your head to indicate you still want him to fill you in, he sums up the end of that portion of the video with an unimpressed sigh. “He’s bragging. Saying he’ll win for some girl.”

The video cuts straight into other footage of him actually fighting, moving shockingly quickly despite his considerable size. He ducks and dodges a flurry of punches so fast you can’t imagine how he can even process the movements, and as he starts returning hits even as he dodges you glance over at Sukuna who was beginning to look mildly impressed.

As the commentators speak excitedly Sukuna assures you they’re mostly recounting exactly what you can see, though he offers the odd commentary himself on technical aspects, noting Todo’s speed and strength were nothing to be taken lightly. Then, after one well timed kick that sends his opponent off of his feet and onto the ground, he’s kneeling over them, pummeling them until the referee steps in and puts a stop to it. True to his word earlier, the fight is finished in the first round.

He stands, winking and blowing a kiss directly at the camera as he points cutely with the other, one leg up and hip cocked to the side. Then the video cuts to another fight. It’s more of the same to you, but as Sukuna offers his thoughts you find that it was worth including along with the other one, apparently having given him some insight about how he handles avoiding takedowns.

As much as you try to pay close attention to the fists flying, you find your eyes drifting to Sukuna more and more often. He’s so focused, enjoying himself as he watches this newcomer who seemed to offer much much more than he’d anticipated. It seems he’d only come in on short notice because he was newly signed, having been with a company in Japan for only a year before he was poached by the organisation Sukuna was with. It also seemed like Sukuna thought he’d be able to have some fun in this fight after all. Seeing the excitement in him makes a little excitement swell within you as well, but when you catch the steep drop in video quality out of the corner of your eye you bring your attention back to the screen.

It’s a fight in a small arena, with a sparse crowd and someone clearly filming on a phone. The fighter’s shorts aren’t covered in logos this time and neither is the floor of the ring, and you surmise it’s from before he was signed. It’s an impressive fight nonetheless, with Todo really showing off his skills as he takes the chance to try flashy moves when he has a little bit of distance from his opponent’s strikes. When a particularly good hit lands, or he evades a takedown, the video goes shaky, the cameraman apparently unable to help themselves from clapping and cheering along with the few loud people there - presumably his team from how closely they were seated.

Then, the cameraman starts shouting something at the men fighting and Sukuna’s hand tenses on you for just a second before it’s relaxing again. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and see that look of his when he’s trying to give nothing away, then his attention is back on the screen, as is yours, when Todo tries and succeeds in landing a spinning kick.

You’re impressed, Sukuna doesn’t seem to be anymore.

The crowd is cheering, and the cameraman is clearly jumping up and down as everything on screen is a blur. Then, the cameraman turns the phone on himself as he screams and points excitedly, and the resemblance is clear enough to leave you feeling like the wind has been knocked out of you. His jaw isn’t quite so strong, but that nose is spot on, the eyes too if they weren’t so wide and happy and a slightly different hue, even the hair is the boy's unique colour of choice, though more pink than Sukuna’s ever had been. And even if he doesn’t have the tattoos, of course, or the gnarled ears, and even if the still-healing cuts on his brow are a far cry from the hardened scar tissue on the man next to you, it’s still almost like looking at a baby-faced version of Sukuna.

The tension is pouring off of Sukuna in waves, you don’t even chance a glance at him now, feeling like asking questions would make whatever was happening worse. So you say nothing, focusing on the tv as the video cuts to yet another fight. Sukuna isn’t commentating anymore. He’s just staring through the television, looking tired, and by the time the video ends, he seems to have done some thinking.

He makes a confession, but it doesn’t really seem like what was actually on his mind. “I’ve heard of Aoi Todo before. When he was a teenager.”

“Did you train with him?”

He shakes his head, eyes still looking at the now black tv screen. “No, I didn’t.”

His mouth stays open, like there’s more coming, then shuts and tenses into a line. You assume the missing part is that the pink-haired boy did.

“That’s the first I’ve seen of him fighting professionally. He’s good.”

Something about the look in his eye, and the distance in his voice made your chest hurt. It was like he wasn’t there, and you hated it. So, you turn to him, climbing up to sit sideways on his lap and wrapping your arms around him. It occurs to you that you’ve never hugged Sukuna properly, and it’s like hugging a statue for a moment as he stays still, hands by his side. Then, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pressing his face into your chest, and sighing.

“He’s not good enough to beat you though.” You hope that’s what he needs to hear, enough to make up for the words you don’t know how to find for whatever was bothering him about his relation to that boy. “Right?”

He chuckles, and his breath is hot enough to be felt through the fabric of your shirt, before he lifts his head and looks up at you from where his face was nestled between your breasts.

“Of course not.” The sparkle is back in his eyes, and he tilts his head back down, kissing at your chest as he slowly returns to his usual self, “But it’ll be fun.”

You run your hands through his hair, smiling down at him as he gently bites at your breast, back in a playful mood. “You’ve got a weird idea of fun.”

He looks up at you without tilting his face upwards, raising his brows in a judgemental stare. “So do you, sitting on my lap and putting those tits in my face when we’re meant to be playing nice.”

He tugs your shirt up, giving him one less layer to deal with as he continues kissing at the parts of you left uncovered by your bra. You’ve got goosebumps immediately and your nipples are hardened as he adds his tongue into the mix.

“You’re lucky I’m committed to our little deal.” He pushes your bra upwards too, freeing your breasts and leaving more fabric uncomfortably gathered high on your chest. You aren’t concerned with that once he’s ghosting his warm mouth over your nipple, stopping short of actually taking it between his lips as he watches you tilt your head back with the shiver his touch sends through you.

Still, your wits aren’t entirely gone yet. “I don’t think I’d call this playing nice, Sukuna.”

He flicks your nipple with the tip of his tongue, pulling your attention back down as you gasp slightly and lock eyes with him, “We’re not fucking right now, are we?”

You consider the grey areas of such a half-baked agreement, and whether this fell into that. Then, as he goes back to kissing at your breasts, you wonder whether you actually care right now. Your eyes shut again as you arch into him, squeezing your thighs together while he licks and kisses at your skin, already so sensitive even from such a short time without his touch.

Then he sucks your nipple between his lips hard, and pulls back until it pops out of his mouth and makes you jump, attention pulled to his face again rather than getting lost behind your closed eyelids. He reiterates his unanswered question with a pointed, but playful, tone, “Are we?”

You shake your head, accepting the slide into the grey area, as long as you get to keep his mouth on you for a little longer. His hand comes up to roll his fingers across the nipple left out from the attention of his mouth, drawing a moan from you as he hums happily at having a face full of your breasts. The noise has you clenching with want, but you manage to find your senses yet again.

“So you’re just going to get me wet and leave me hanging.”

He lifts his head to look at you again, tongue sliding out to continue to lick slowly at your nipple as he considers his next words before speaking, “I can take care of that without fucking you.”

It’s tempting… too tempting, and you have to struggle to think clearly. Sukuna moves his hand from playing with your hardened bud to groping at your breast, kneading with a firmness that was surprisingly restrained.

“I think-“ you pause again, taking in more of the feel of his hot mouth on you, offering another moan in lieu of words, rocking your hips lightly.

“You think?” He’s forcing you back on track, wanting to hear you try to speak while he teases you like this.

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t know?” He wants you to keep speaking, but you haven’t made up your mind yet, so you change the subject.

“When you said you were trying not to fuck me…” you trail off, warm feeling growing in your chest and cheeks at the same time to meet with the warmth pooling in your panties.

“Yes?”

“Even when you invited me to your house?”

He sighs, and the cool air against your wet skin has you shivering again. He slides his hands up and down your exposed sides slowly, as if to warm you up. Then he shoots you a look that stands in sharp contrast to how gentle his touch was, clearly not a fan of having his failures brought up, “Even then.”

Your laugh barely conceals a moan as he takes a greedy mouthful of your breasts, and he flicks his gaze up at you with that half-serious look of warning, but you’re still laughing until his face softens and he’s shaking his head and sighing as he closes his eyes and opts to shut you up by sucking hard at your nipple and flicking his tongue at it.

It works, for a moment, until you decide to just speak with the breathless tone that betrayed the fact that he had your pussy throbbing with want. “Well you didn’t seem to regret it.”

He’s sighing again, though you catch that bemused twitch of his brow even as he’s trying to turn his face out of your view, withdrawing his mouth’s attention and nuzzling his warm face into your breasts. “I never do.”

“But why are you so hellbent on not fucking me then?”

You can feel it as his jaw tenses and he looks up at you with the blank expression that you know means he’s choosing his words carefully. Then he sighs, and shrugs out the sentiment, “It occurred to me that you might think I was being disrespectful.”

“Disrespectful?” He shoots you another look, knowing from the pleased lilt in your voice that you were starting up with him. “So you’re saying you respect me?”

He’s exasperated with the apparent vulnerability of it all, despite how to him it was obvious enough to not need saying. He even rolls his eyes as he realises he’s grown too accustomed to accommodating you to even think of shutting it down. “Yes.”

“You respected me even after dragging me around town fucking me sloppy style all night?”

The way you phrase things exhausted him sometimes, and he lets you know as much with a scoff, but answers nonetheless, “I felt we had a fairly understanding friendship.”

The statement stops you in your tracks, tingling feeling at the back of your neck making it feel wrong to continue teasing him. After all of that, or rather before all of this you hadn’t considered yourselves as having a friendship. Hell, with the two months of radio silence you’d downgraded it from having even been a situationship, but the thought that he’d considered you friends leaves your face feeling hot.

Then, it occurs to you that maybe that was just what being friends with Sukuna was like. Well, less the getting railed part, and more the slight distance. Communicating when it was time for it, putting a wall of separation up when there wasn’t.

That wall doesn’t seem so high now though, so you smile down at him, hugging him again, and this time his face is pressed firmly to your bare breasts, though he holds back from getting another mouthful and instead wraps his arms around you too.

He takes that as an affirmation of your friendship, and your understanding, eventually turning his head to the side to avoid being smothered by your chest entirely. Neither of you let go though.

When he speaks you’re surprised to find him electing to bring up the subject you’d avoided earlier, volunteering the information with an uncharacteristic hesitance in his voice, “My brother trained with Aoi Todo…”

His next words are more to himself than to you, “I guess he still does.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.” You want to know more, but still have those alarms in the back of your mind warning you to tread lightly.

“We don’t speak. He still lives in Japan.”

You can feel his grip on you loosening ever so slightly, like he’s gone somewhere in his mind that you can’t reach, then, his grip returns and you try to hold back shivers when you feel his lashes tickling at your skin as he blinks. Eventually, he looks up at you, face calm as he’s effectively casted away whatever thoughts were plaguing him.

“While I’m here, why don’t you show me your animals.”

Your eyes wander around the room, trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about, “huh?”

“Your game. The one that isn’t for children.”

“Animal crossing?”

He nods, and you know he’s just changing the subject. But if it’s too much, you respect that, and nod, wiggling until he releases you so you can get off of his lap to grab your Switch, tugging your bra and shirt back into place as you go.

You can’t help suspecting he was very much having the same feelings you’d had earlier as he spoke passionately about the fights on the screen. He is listening, asking you questions about the little carefully decorated spaces you were showing him, even teasing you for the nickname one of your villagers had given you, but his eyes often wander from the screen to you, smiling. Though he doesn’t try to pretend it isn’t happening, he watches you openly with his arm around you and his side pressed into yours.

As you conclude your tour, thanking him for humouring you, he shrugs and seems genuine with his statement, “I suppose it is charming in its own way.”

Despite the sincerity, you can’t help narrowing your eyes at him, still somewhat dubious.

He indulges you by expanding only slightly on his thoughts, “It’s very cute.”

You raise your brows, now believing him even less, “You think Animal Crossing is cute?”

He sighs, not going quite that far, “No, you. You’re cute when you’re talking about these things.”

Then he shakes his head as he sighs again, this time much more heavily, “Too cute.”

He’d been saying it in that tone a lot lately, as if it were a prognosis, one he’d just have to learn to live with.

CHAPTER 8

#my writing #reminder minors and ageless blogs get blocked #sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #self insert #reader insert #mma!au #mma fighter!sukuna

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prettyboykatsuki · 14 days

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sometimes i think about ur “u text sero back late and the crazy in him double texts to go ‘what round yall on’” post and laugh so hard.

sero has always seemed like such a laid back kinda guy to me, handsome and tall and fit and way too smooth (how’s he always getting away with quipping at bakugou huh) once grown into himself, but him having crazy in him is not something i knew i needed until this. it’s the way he really would express it that way too lmaoo

im such a firm believer in the loverboy sero thing that i just dont think he's very good at managing his jealousy in the thick of it lmaoo. he tries so hard!!!!

like later on its a little more chill but when you're in like. a situationship w him (which imo you often are. imo i think sero is hard to date because he is oddly busy - both as a hero but also because he's smart and has a lot of business for the longterm lol) and as a result he tends to lean towards fast and kind of casual sex relationships

and for a while it works. but the thing is you and sero are just so compatible. as friends and as fuck buddies. and it becomes such a huge problem for him overall because once he really thinks about you he thinks you're perfect for each other. like you are perfect. and that attraction spills over him to being so snarky and catty when you're with other guys lol which is so unlike him because he's so fucking nonchalant otherwise!!

he is SUPER laid back and i also think a little detached about romance. i think you're probably his first serious connection that doesn't like. fizzle out within a few months, partially because things are so low stakes and then because he is just so super attracted to the kind of person you are and he just. spirals lmao

he is not a crazy bf !!! he really really is as u describe but he has Moments pre-relationship that make him soooo territorial. i do not think he is above fucking you in public about it why lie !

#return to sender #queue you want me baby?

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star-going-supernova · 1 month

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Here’s a SB prompt for ya!

Gregory realistically couldn’t have lasted the entire game without getting hurt. He got bruises from being slammed into things, his limbs aches for days cause he pushed himself too hard, and you can’t tell me any scrapes from Monty or Roxy didn’t scar.

Gregory would 100% use jokes and quips to deal with all the memories from that night whenever it gets brought up. Freddy who’s programming is insistent on lightening the mood and is joke based hates when he does it with a burning passion.

I’m still not done with the mini ficlets, lol. I went with immediate aftermath instead of further down the line.

Just a Scratch

The shift from night mode to day mode as, somewhere, a clock finally struck six was the best thing Gregory had seen all night. Lights began to turn on, STAFF bots disappeared by the dozen, and the stupid music cut out, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.

Just visible from his hiding place, he watched Chica twitch a bit, then zombie walk away toward her room down the long hall of Rockstar Row. Mere minutes later, Monty and Roxy followed, none seemingly aware of their surroundings. They all vanished into their rooms without a peep.

Still tense and on guard, Gregory unfolded himself from the tight corner behind the trash can he’d been tucked behind. There was no movement from the green rooms; from where he was crouched, he could see that Roxy’s was empty. Recharging in their back hallways, maybe?

Guests would start arriving in a few hours, after all, and the show must go on.

Limping down the hall, he raised his watch and pressed the button to talk. “Freddy? You still with me?”

“I am still here, superstar,” Freddy said, and he sounded so relieved. “I believe it is over. The barricade over the doors has risen. You are safe now.”

Safe. It’d only been one night, but it felt like such a foreign concept. How could the pizzaplex ever feel safe again, no matter what time of day it was?

Six hours. Not even counting that first hour before the barricade went down. Longest six hours of his life.

He was starting to feel a little woozy and unsteady on his feet by the time he and Freddy found each other. Freddy gasped at the sight of him, and the sound reflexively made him look around wildly, expecting an attack. But the quiet halls were empty but for the two of them.

“Gregory,” Freddy said urgently. “You are far more injured than I thought! We must get you medical care immediately.”

Gregory blinked uncomprehendingly for a moment before looking down at himself and taking stock of his body for the first time in hours. He’d kinda had other, more important things on his mind, y’know?

The first thing he noticed were the bruises. He’d hit the deck more than once, either on purpose or from tripping, and his knees reflected that. They were dark and discolored. Lower, on his left leg, a trio of long gashes slashed diagonally down the front and curved around the back. They started to sting fiercely now that he’d noticed them. Monty had grabbed him there once, he remembered faintly.

It was all a bit of a blur, to be honest.

The sides of his upper arms and shoulders ached too, and he thought of how many times he’d taken a corner too fast, one animatronic or another hot on his tail, and the way he’d slammed into the walls before continuing on. On his back, the burn of another couple of cuts flared up; Chica had taken him by surprise at least twice.

Shallow puncture wounds lined the top of his lower left arm from when he’d blocked Roxy’s teeth somewhere around 2 a.m. And both his right wrist and ankle throbbed with the pain of a sprain, probably from the one time the security guard had managed to grab him and yank him around and a fumbled jump down some stairs respectively.

A full body ache buzzed through him, too—the result of running and lifting and pulling and pushing far too much, far beyond what his ten-year-old body was used to.

And his vision was admittedly a little blurry. A headache had started after the third time he’d had his head smacked into the floor by a pouncing Moon, so maybe he had a concussion on top of all the rest.

The room was starting to spin, and Freddy was looking mightily concerned, which wasn’t an expression Gregory would have thought a robot capable of. Thoughts all tangled up around each other, he was suddenly desperate to reassure his protector that he was okay, honest, and they would look back on this night someday and laugh.

He giggled now, tipped alarmingly to the side, and in a concussed attempt to alleviate Freddy’s worry and lighten the mood, Gregory enthusiastically declared, “Tis but a scratch!”

Freddy made a noise of appalled disbelief, but if he said anything in response, Gregory didn’t hear it. He was too busy collapsing on the spot, thoroughly unconscious.

#i answered a thing #anonymous #fnaf security breach #fnaf fic #star's stories #life and times of star

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silverzoomies · 2 months

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Cunning Linguist

pietro maximoff x reader smut

warnings: cunnilingus, porn with (slight) plot, blow jobs, dissociative identity disorder, dissociation, existential crisis, smut, shameless smut, halloween, canon divergence

word count: 3,990

a/n: i meant to finish this ages ago. but i always overthink shit. i rewrote this several times, and it still doesn't feel worth posting. oh well !! just meaningless filth - same old story, different clothing. i wanted to play with the concept of pietro as an alter in ralph's head. again. lol

he's a little ooc here. but i'm blaming the brain fog. i'm running on three hours of sleep every night. fuck it, we ball. also, not including a tag list because tumblr's system kinda sucks for it. sorry !!

Pietro recalled the moment his consciousness came to light.

Agnes waved her spooky hands in his face, as though she were taunting him. She muttered incantations under her breath. The words of which Pietro didn’t recognize as English. After implanting sentimental memories in his mind - based on stories of Wanda’s childhood - she sent him off on his own. Like letting a dog loose, free to roam.

Pietro’s mission? Find Wanda, have a gabfest or two, extract information. Or something along those lines. Pietro hadn’t paid much attention while Agnes yapped about it. Why focus on that, when the mystery of his own sentience piqued his interest instead?

He was given an easy enough job to do. No problem-o. Pietro had a talent for pestering people til’ they cracked. That’s what Agnes told him, anyway. He wasn’t too sure why she wanted him to play undercover rat. It had something to do with magic. Pietro knew that much. There was some kinda witch-on-witch rivalry in the works. But unfortunately for Agnes - and maybe fortunately for Wanda - she might have to take a raincheck on her duel of the sorceresses.

Pietro could be a bit of a dipshit. Was he stupid? Not so much. He had brains where it counted. He could be crafty. Even sneaky. But his expert level slyness didn’t make him any less of an idiot. Pietro couldn’t refute that factoid about himself. Around Wanda, he forgot how to function like a normal person. Which he blamed on the fact that he wasn’t a normal person. Being brutally honest with himself; Pietro technically wasn’t even a person at all.

More like a conceptual incarnation of human sentience, really. Simple enough.

No ifs, ands, or buts about it, though - Pietro carried the irksome flaws of a human. Often, he acted thoughtless when he didn’t mean to. Without filtering himself first, Pietro unapologetically spoke his mind. He’d drop fourth-wall breaking quips here or there. Sometimes, his careless habits made for entertaining slip ups. Perfect for sitcom shenanigans. Other times, his blunders resulted in pain. Lotsa pain.

Halloween night, Pietro found himself whisked away by a forceful wave. Conjured by Wanda’s potent magic. The same power Agnes wanted her wiggly witch fingers on. After going aerial in a wild whoosh, Pietro got up close and friendly with some Halloween decorations. But, hey, what’re a few broken bones between pseudo siblings, eh?

Wanda sure had a helluva temper. She quickly banished Pietro from ever setting foot in her house again. Talk about a major bummer. Pietro suffered a huge loss on that front. One part because he’d have no choice but to crash with Agnes again. Ninety nine parts because he’d miss his troublemaking nephews. Those fun, lil scamps.

Tough luck, Quickie. Try and do better next time.

Honestly, he’d prefer if there wasn’t a next time. If Agnes wanted to make small talk so bad, she could do it on her own. Calling it quits for the night, Pietro wandered off to a Westview bar. To his surprise, he found the place still in operation. And despite Pietro’s memories - vague imagery of Busch beer cans crushed under his fist - he hadn’t had a beer since his consciousness manifested. Shit. Did he even like beer? Whether he cared for it or not, a subconscious instinct drew him to it.

He assumed that instinct was none other than Ralph himself. The poor dude wanted to drown his terror in alcohol. And after all the twisted shit Agnes put Ralph through; who was Pietro to deny him one of life's simplest pleasures?

The mellow atmosphere of the bar oozed Halloween spirit. Kinda unnecessary, in retrospect. Considering Wanda never stopped by for a drink. Why bother sprucing the place up with her wispy magic, if it never saw any use?

The bartender’s clever quips reminded Pietro of Cheers. Another totally bonkers concept. Pietro had memories of watching Cheers, sure. But he couldn’t decipher if they were Ralph’s or not. For all Pietro knew, they might be a part of the ‘dead brother’ package deal. False memories, meant to give Wanda someone to relate to. Making him liable to tear down her defenses when she least expected it.

But why did Pietro get the sense he was more of a Frasier guy anyway?

Sitting at the bar on a rickety stool, Pietro spun around to satiate his boredom. He cradled a beer, inhaling all of it in a single beat. Superspeed really did have its ups and downs. Consider quick consumption a positive. As far as negatives go…well…inebriation was completely unattainable. Sucks for Ralph. As Pietro flagged down the bartender for another beer, he tuned his ears to a radio broadcast. On a shelf amidst dollar store Halloween decor; a radio droned old fashioned tales of wicked witches. Subtle.

Outside interference interrupted the broadcast. Voices intermingled between buzzes of static. Whispering soft, but panicked mantras of 'Wanda? Wanda, are you there?' Pietro narrowed his beady eyes. His ignorance of the world outside Westview should’ve stayed intact. But whatever the reason, he knew exactly where those voices came from. Why he carried such knowledge was anyone’s guess. Maybe Agnes let too much her own insight slip into his psyche. Whoopsies. Oh well. Shrugging, Pietro flagged down the bartender for another beer. Deja vu.

Bored outta his mind, his thoughts explored elsewhere.

Pietro dreamt of something a little more down to earth. He remembered a cutie-pie neighbor new to Westview. A ‘next door’ kinda type, with a quirky sorta charm. They had no idea why they were in the city to begin with. Pietro knew these details, only because he gathered the what’s what on just about every person in town. It took him all of two seconds to do so. Zip around. Observe. Make mental notes. Report back to Agnes. Spill the deets.

Anyway, about you…

Call it a crush, loneliness, or even instinctive lust; whatever the case, Pietro thought you were cute as could be. You didn’t remember how you got to Westview, or where you even came from. One day, you woke up in town, and found yourself wearing unfamiliar clothes. Threads evocative of decades long past. But hey, it happens to the best of us. Pietro was well-acquainted with feelings of confusion and alienation. That mingled sense of being both lost, and born anew.

For crying out loud, he was the very materialization of sapient awareness itself. Agnes forbade him from that knowledge as well. But again, Pietro credited his oopsies and ding-dongs to her shoddy miracle work.

Whenever you questioned the reality around you, the world only stifled you into silence. The everyday citizens of Westview seemed so content with life as it was. Acting as if you had nothing to worry about. Wanda’s sitcom setup was nothing beyond sunshine, rainbows, and television tropes. But Pietro could see the unspoken terror hidden deep in their eyes. The truth Wanda kept hush hush.

Just thinking about it was enough to give Pietro the heebie jeebies. And if his intuition was anything to go by - it never proved him wrong yet - you had a bad feeling about Westview too. Way to go! You caught on even quicker than he did. Which was kinda nuts, if he thought about it. Wasn’t he supposed to be the fastest at everything? ‘Cuz speed was his middle name or something. Or…well, it wasn’t. But it could be. Who’s to stop him from seizing his own destiny at this point?

Pietro Speed Maximoff.

Eh, maybe not.

In Westview, you had no friends or family. And much like Pietro, on Halloween night; you found yourself at the bar. He caught your curious gaze from down the counter. You were dolled up in a scanty, witch's dress, leaving Pietro to wonder why witches were such a recurring theme in his life. Looking too much like a manchild goober, he spun around a few more times in his seat. His sneakers kicked against the stool’s railing. No matter what, he couldn’t sit still. He thought he might be embarrassing himself. But his antics appeared to make you smile even brighter.

Tilting your head, you shot him a look of familiarity.

You weren’t familiar with him, though. But there was a chance you saw him appearing and disappearing around town. During his impromptu stake outs, more than likely.

Bringing your drink to the seam of your lips, you stifled a playful giggle. It was obvious you were gawking at his costume. Arching a brow, Pietro grinned into the rim of his beer bottle. To be fair, he looked supremely ridiculous. The blue tights under his cut-off jean shorts rode up in the crotch a little too much. He dipped his head, staring at the frayed edges of his shorts. Yeah. It was clear he did the job cutting them himself. A hasty one too. Since he was too eager to pull pranks with his nephews.

Damn. Pietro missed those kids like hell already.

The dirty blond hair/ear-things atop his head bounced every time he knocked his neck back. As Pietro downed yet another beer, he lost track of how many he drank. A dribble of it plummeted into silver. Creating a sheen against the lightning bolt duct taped diagonally down his shirt. Pietro sighed and pursed his lips.

His outfit was an all blue ensemble. Garnished with a spritz of silver here or there. Quicksilver. His hero name, apparently. Pietro knew he’d never live up to it.

A bit of friendly conversation later, and the air between the two of you shifted. Your playful look morphed into something a little wanton, the more Pietro acted in silly ways. Holy shit. Seriously? He hoped he wasn't misreading your signals. Because really, your attraction was too good to be true. If you honestly wanted him, where should he proceed from here? How much freedom had Agnes even allowed him? And furthermore - if Wanda’s happy, dream town ran on a curated schedule; what if credits rolled just as the two of you finally got handsy?

Maybe sitcom rules didn’t apply to conscious manifestations of witch hocus pocus? Wishful thinking on his part.

Outside the bar - in an alleyway too uncannily clean, like a set straight out of Hollywood - Pietro beckoned you in with kisses. Technically, he played the role of Agnes’s deadbeat husband. And if that were the case, did kissing you count as cheating? Shit…was Pietro committing adultery right now?? In the midst of macking on your sweet lips, he pressed a palm to the wall next to your head. Pietro pretended to do so for balance, as he devoured you with his mouth and tongue.

But unbeknownst to you, he cracked an eye open. Just to double check for a wedding band.

Nothing there to prove he ever got hitched. Go figure.

You giggled coyly into his lips, letting a soft moan ease through your teeth. Bringing your hands up to the hair/ear-things on his head, you toyed with them. Your pretty voice teased him, as you played with his hair in gentle strokes of your thumbs.

“Ooooh…such a good boy, huh? Fast too.” You cooed, the same way one might praise a puppy.

Oh. Fuck yeah. To hell with sitcom tropes and bogus wives. Agnes scared the ever-loving shit out of Pietro anyway. He had no semblance of a domestic connection to her. Not that she gave much of a damn herself. With how often she threw insults his way. Agnes always used Ralph as her little punching bag, before hijacking his body for her own gain.

No wonder your simple praises got his proverbial tail wagging.

A chuckle hummed in the back of his throat, as Pietro purred into your lips, “Speed’s kinda my middle name, y’know?”

You snorted one of the dorkiest laughs he’d heard since cognisant birth. And with a sudden spark of primal urgency; Pietro felt something else spring into transcendence down below.

Sifting through Ralph’s sidelined psyche, Pietro came to realize how much of a recluse he was. The guy never seemed to get out much. In fact, Agnes might’ve even been his first partner. If one could classify her as such. So, really, Pietro was doing him a major favor. If Ralph knew he planned on using their body for some frisky fun - on an otherwise lonely Hallow’s eve - surely, he’d give his brain roomie some thanks.

Pietro’s hands were vascular like a wired-up machine, clad in arm-warmer paws. Grabbing hard onto your curvy hips with them, he pulled you in closer. He sought the friction of your crotch against his. And after some seriously sloppy making out, Pietro dropped you an invite to his place.

Or…Agnes’s place.

Uh…or…was it technically Ralph’s? Shit, this sitcom roleplay sure gave way to some mental gymnastics.

You didn’t expect Pietro to zip you off at superspeed. Moving abruptly fast, he brought you straight to his disaster of a man cave. Laying you back on the futon, he gave you little time to adjust over the blankets. The wrinkled fabrics reeked of pot, in desperate need of a wash. You got as comfy as you could on the skunky sheets. Blinking your needy gaze up at him, you tugged his white belt, pulling the band undone. Pietro grinned lazily, colliding his swollen lips into yours. His primal instincts left him wreckless with want.

Burying his tongue in the cavern of your mouth, he brought with him the flavor of cheap booze. As you tasted him, you moaned, shucking his dumb jorts down his hips. A sizable swelling twitched in his tights, squirming under muted blue. Your eyes bulged in their sockets, cartoonishly wide. The way you whirled your tongue across your lip gave off a vibe of animalistic hunger. As though you were eager for an all dick dinner. With Pietro as the appetizer.

And the main course. And the dessert. He hoped you'd rate him five stars.

Restaurant metaphors aside; this was the very first test of his capabilities as a lover, after all. If he couldn’t live up to his superhero name, maybe he could make a name for himself in other ways.

Pietro Speed Maximoff. Quicksilver. Cunning Linguist.

But first…he really should satiate your hunger.

One, generous tug downward, and Pietro’s - or Ralph’s - slightly above average length sprang out. Bouncing in your face in mesmerizing oscillation, his cock appeared pulsating and roused. Thick veins weaved like threads through his shaft, akin to his vascular hands. His balls bulged in his tights, his jorts hanging halfway down his thighs. Pietro took his blistering cock in hand. Aching for the kind of stimulation Ralph never got, his desire painted him so flush and ruby red.

Since you looked so delighted at the sight before you; Pietro gave his cock a few strokes. He played with himself for your viewing pleasure. And as his firm grip tugged his shaft, the world pulled suddenly back. It was as though Pietro viewed life through a third person perspective. Metaphorical cameras fixed their lenses on the two of you, in an all too human position of closeness.

The weight of a cock in Pietro’s hand felt both familiar, yet weirdly foreign. Combine that with the sight of another living, breathing body below him; and his nerves buzzed uncomfortably. Frenzied in such a way that matched the quick pulsing of his heart. Focusing instead on your fluttering eyes, Pietro weaned himself out of dissociation. Your hands braced his hips, thumbs circling the fabric of his tights. The gentle gesture brought chills throughout his body. Inching forward, you teased his bobbing cock with a flick of your tongue.

Wet heat grounded him in reality. Upon racing to the forefront of his own mind; Pietro’s breath hitched with a husky groan. He held your head, massaging his fingers in your soft hair. Cute mewls spilled from your lips as you flitted your eyes shut. Swirling your tongue over his cock’s puffy head, you lapped any tearful pearls of precum. His thickness sank between your plush lips, and Pietro’s own lips parted for breath.

Of all things to happen on Halloween night, getting his dick sucked wasn’t on the docket.

Not that Pietro had any reason to complain. This? Wicked awesome. Ralph was really missing out.

You drew lazily back just to lap his balls over his tights, staining fabric with slick saliva. Rolling the tip of your tongue up the underside of his dick, you giggled in that dorkish way again. Pietro’s teeth pulled his lip as he tilted his head back. His dick twitched, throbbing while the heat of your mouth embraced him fully. He moaned, smiling wide enough to show off his dimples. You pumped his cock at the base, teasing his veins with your tongue.

Pietro’s brows turned inward. You suckled his head like you longed to guzzle anything he could give. He sank his fingers deeper through your hair, holding on tightly as he rutted his hips. With each slam of his weeping tip into your throat; he hoarsely grunted. You really did try your best, just for him. Even as tears spilled down your cheeks and your lips began to swell. Plush and puffy, circling his slick length. Pietro kicked up the speed at which he rutted.

Fighting his instincts, he was cautious enough not to choke you. Or, he wanted to be cautious. He braced his hands on both sides of your tear stained face, his arm warmer paws soft against your cheeks. Sinking his dick even deeper between your lips, he accidentally went balls deep. The wet fabric of his tights smothered your chin. You sputtered on his cock, which made your throat wring him so tight. As your tongue curled, sliding under the thrum of his veins; Pietro cursed. Playful chuckles and shameful apologies fell from his lips.

Bitter heat coated your tongue in sweltering jets, thick and explosive down your throat. Pietro’s groin twisted in a blossoming surge of pleasure. And as he ruptured your esophagus with his sticky load, he found himself that much more grounded. As if such a bombastic nut somehow tethered him to reality - securing Pietro from any further derealization.

Righteous. His first big O since Agnes blessed him with the gift of consciousness. Significantly more electrifying than any sad, jerk sesh Ralph had in the past. And since you so humbly took him like a champ - giving Pietro a most euphoric experience; he saw it fit to return the favor ASAP.

Neither Pietro - nor Ralph, it seemed - had any experience toying around with partners. But he did have a vague knowledge of how to do so. Thanks to the backlog of not-so-safe-for-work memories deep in his subconscious. Raunchy porn, mostly. Magazines. Tapes. Jesus, Ralph…why’s there so much dirty stuff in there, huh? Lots and lots of it. Pietro would have to do his own research later.

He gave you no time to prep for his oncoming nose dive. Perched on your knees, coughing and clearing your throat - you found yourself abruptly resting on your elbows. Your upper back pressed into the futon. Pietro lifted your hips, using his strength to hike your thighs over his broad shoulders. As you parted your swollen lips to protest, blinking your reddened eyes; Pietro pulled your panties to the side. He kept the soaked lace pinned under a thick thumb. Burying his lips in your cunt, he lapped up your honeyed heat.

A sudden addiction, triggered by something carnal, overtook him instantly. Pietro became hooked on your fragrant flavor, swirling your cute bud in high-speed circles. He worked your stiff clit like a microscopic joystick, flicking wet heat in a spastic whirlwind. Alternating between drawing patterns, and sucking your precious pearl hard. Pietro so easily made you squeal - even without any prior experience - until you scratched your fingernails deep into Ralph’s sheets. Kissing your cunt, he let his thirst take over, and dove deeper.

The tune of his name melting through your moans made him wish the night would last forever. A small fraction of him hoped Ralph would never take over again. If consciousness offered rewards this scrumptious, Pietro wanted to stay sentient into eternity. Not to be selfish or whatever, but he almost considered playing minion for Agnes again - if only to secure the lifespan of his psyche.

Your supple, pussy lips parted as he wormed his tongue through your slick walls. Smooth, bumpy heat squeezed the fuzzy ridges of his tongue. In milliseconds, your fluttery love gushed over his taste buds and leaked down his chin. Tears teased the edges of your eyes. You cried whines of sugary bliss. Pietro’s thumb kept your panties pinned, his other hand locked around your thigh.

He smirked into your pussy, deep chuckles burning hot on your mound. And since the position wasn’t exactly the most comfortable; he allowed you some reprieve. Pushing you past your breaking point at light speed, Pietro bashed the sopping slickness of his tongue into your clit. You trembled, shuddering through powerful waves of orgasmic intensity. White-hot flashes of light flooded your vision. Under Pietro’s zippy tongue, your sweet pussy quivered.

Totes mcgoats. If he learned anything tonight - aside from the obvious lessons in subtlety; Pietro now understood why the everyday man lost his doggone marbles over puss.

After your first release, he eased your tired body into the futon. Your back met cozy blankets, engulfed in that skunk weed scent. Before you relaxed, he edged you even longer, drawing out your pleasurable suffering. Pietro sank his fingers deep into your heat, pumping the length of them inside you. His digits curled perfectly, finding every spongy spot that made your core burst with a desire to cum again. His tongue teased your swollen nub until you grabbed at his hair. You mussed the funny looking ear things atop his head, pressing your palm into his forehead to try and push him back.

You begged him to stop. Pleading in disoriented whimpers, your noises went straight to his limp dick. A few more hot, wrathful waves of pleasure later - he finally stopped. Only after your cunt erupted in one more, wet burst. You leaked like a fountain into his lips, soaking his chin, even making a mess of his makeshift costume. More than worth it. Pietro sat up on the futon, admiring his handiwork. He wiped his mouth with one of his arm warmer paws. Your mouth fell agape as your lungs begged for air. More tears sparkled on your flushed cheeks, mirroring the twinkle of your pussy. Pretty as a rose in a rainshower.

With your sluggish arms, you gestured for Pietro to climb over you. And once he did, you pulled him into a lazy kiss without a single care. You paid no mind to the taste of your sweetness on his lips, or the scent of your musk on his chin. Sleepily blinking, you bravely asked if you could stay the night. Too tuckered out to even consider a long walk back home.

Pietro could just as easily speed you over to your place. But even at the risk of his not-wife catching him in bed with someone else - he felt too adverse to loneliness. Besides...your company brought him more delight than he ever expected of anyone. Settling into the futon, he popped on Ralph’s old TV set.

Cheers was on. Pietro snickered to himself, rolling his dark eyes.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, snuggled up against Pietro’s strong form. He’d changed clothes at some point in the night, finally foregoing the tights. Oh, and he lended you one of Ralph’s shirts too. A Grateful Dead t-shirt, of which you were very grateful. Hah, “You don’t like Cheers?”

Pietro shrugged, sipping a beer. A Busch beer. He scowled at the taste, curling his lip.

“Eh. More of a Frasier kinda guy.”

#peter maximoff x y/n #peter maximoff x you #peter maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff x you #peter maximoff #pietro maximoff #wandavision #txt #sorry for dropping this in the main tags !!

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dylan-o-yumm · 9 months

Note

Hi there! I just wanna say that I love your writing it’s so good 🫶 anyways I can’t stop thinking about Leon coming back from a mission terribly hurt, and the reader just worries over him and takes care of our sweet boy 🥺 giving him the love and comfort he deserves 🫶 stay safe out there and remember to hydrate! 🫶

Firstly, thank you for the sweet and kind words, anon 💜 you’re precious

Okay so I changed it up a little bit just because I have a longer fic in the works that’s exactly this request lol, so keep an eye out for that one! This one is more… moody? And the love and comfort is more... frustration and argumentative. Hehe

And I imagine RE6/ID Leon for this one but you can imagine who you want!

WARNINGS: wounds/gore, if you're squeamish then maybe don't read just to be safe. Reader is also kinda a bitch, but we all know Leon loves his challenging women lol

“Hey, kid. Mind if I come in?” He asks, already slinking his way inside your home, his hand clutching his right shoulder that was scratched and torn up, leaking blood down his leather jacket and spilling small droplets onto your floor as the blood slid down his bicep and trickled down his fingers.

“Leon, go to a hospital. You’re making a mess,” you grumble, shutting the front door that you had just opened to greet him, and turning around to glare at him with your arms folded over your chest.

“Nice to see where your priorities lie,” he quipped with a hint of humour in his voice. “I’ll clean up any mess I make, I promise.”

You watched him as he made his way to your bathroom, grumbling to yourself as you looked at the floor and saw the trail of blood that he was leaving behind him.

You’ll have to mop again. Even though you just mopped the floors this morning... Maybe you wouldn’t care about the mess if Leon was actually dying. However he loved to come to your house to patch himself up after, almost, every mission. This wasn’t a once off, this was a reoccurrence.

Last time it was broken ribs, which you got into a fight with him about. You were determined that he go to a hospital and seek actual medical attention, but he was adamant that he was fine and would heal on his own. The two of you had a screaming match— well, you screamed, he was pretty calm the whole time. You were paranoid that he would pierce a lung, and then what would you do? You had no medical practice aside from when he would visit, you’d have no idea how to help him. Turns out all he needed was some ice and lots of rest, so it wasn’t too bad.

The time before that, he had a pretty severe concussion. Which again, resulted in the two of you fighting about if he should or shouldn’t go to a hospital, but the night ultimately ended with you forcing him to stay awake so he didn’t die in his sleep. You realised fighting would probably make his condition worsen and he was too stubborn to give up and go to a hospital so you lost a lot of sleep that night, keeping him awake by talking since watching tv would also worsen his condition. So Google says anyway.

The time before that it was a dislocated shoulder. The time before that it was a nasty slice on his thigh that desperately wanted to get infected. The time before that— well, you get the picture. You are Leon Kennedy’s personal nurse whether you like it or not.

“Hey, kid. Come here,” he called out to you from inside the bathroom and you sighed heavily, ready to see whatever injuries he had. It was going to be bad and you were going to yell at him to go to a hospital and he would refuse and you would end up helping him. Rinse and repeat.

You made your way to the bathroom, dodging the drops of blood on the floor so you didn’t walk even more of a mess throughout the house. “I keep telling you, I’m not a fucking doct- oh fuck!”

The moment you saw him, you stumbled and fell back against the bathroom door, feeling your stomach drop while bile rose in your throat.

His jacket was off and hanging over the shower door while his shirt was half off, hanging around his neck and his left arm as he had freed his right arm. Though it wasn’t the lack of clothing that disturbed you, it was the pair of tweezers he was digging into his bloody shoulder, clearly trying to dig something out.

More blood was gushing down his arm and the sickening squelch of him digging around inside his own flesh made you very light headed.

“Hey, come here I need an extra pair of hands.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Come on, I can feel it, I just can’t get a hold of it. Need that bad boy outta me before I can stitch it up.” He barely looked at you, instead frowning deeply at his shoulder while he dug around his own flesh.

You were going to kill this man with your own bare hands.

“Bullet wound?” You ask, swallowing the bile in your mouth.

“Not sure.”

“How are you not sure?!”

“Just— help me would you?” He sighed, giving up on the task at hand as he took the tweezers out of his shoulder, handing them towards you. Both the tweezers and his fingers were covered in blood, warm and sticky. You wanted to cry. Or scream. Or punch him. All of the above.

You took the tweezers and grabbed the open bottle of rubbing alcohol off the bathroom counter, spilling some over your hands and the small tool. Leon watched you silently, sitting comfortably on the closed toilet lid, man-spreading and slouching as if he didn’t have a gaping hole in his shoulder.

“I hate you so much, just FYI,” you told him as you placed one hand on the top of his shoulder to steady him and yourself while the other hand with the tweezers came up and slowly dug into the hole. Leon hissed, probably because of the antiseptic, but he was soon calm once again. The man had probably been through so much pain in his life that this felt like a breeze.

“You wouldn’t be doing this if you hated me,” he smirked, watching your face while you were very focused on finding whatever it was that was inside his arm so you could get it out safely. And also not throwing up on him as the squelching noises of the tweezers moving around inside him made it very hard to control your stomach.

“Maybe you hate me then. Having me do this for you even though you know how much I hate it, when you could just go to a fucking hospital.” You grumbled, frowning at his arm. You could feel the small piece inside him, scraping against it with the tweezers, you just had to grab it and pull it out without accidentally pushing it further inside.

“That’s not hate. That me being selfish,” he looked away from you, his smirk dropping and his eyes hardening. “I trust you more than some stranger to poke around inside me with a pair of tweezers.”

“You shouldn’t. I have no idea what I’m doing.” You huff.

He was silent then but not because he didn’t have a response. He was more focused watching you pull out a small golden bullet from his arm, that was slightly crumpled from the impact at which it was fired.

“Well what do ya know? It was a bullet,” he sighed heavily, though relaxing further into his seat. The both of you looked closely at the piece that was once in his arm, but now sat firmly between the pincers of the tweezers.

“What the fuck else would it have been?!”

“Trust me you don’t wanna know.” He scoffed. “Anyway, time for you to stitch me up.” He clapped his hands once, wincing at the pain that shot up through his arm as he did so. He leaned forward slightly and rested his elbow on his knee.

“Leon. I’m not a doctor,” you huffed, dropping the bloody bullet into the small trash can beside the toilet. You then dropped the tweezers into the sink and ran some water to rinse them off. “I understand you trust me more, for whatever reason. But this isn’t fair. I hate doing this. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I thought you cared more about the mess I was making in your house.”

You rinsed your hands in the sink next, watching Leon’s blood swirl down the drain. Though his snide comment had you shutting off the water and turning to look at him with a hand on your hip and an unamused look on your face.

Leon parted his lips and avoided your gaze, sighing as he realised you weren’t in the mood for his playful attitude.

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head and grabbed a handful of toilet paper to start wiping away the blood on his arm. “I know I shouldn’t put you through this. I know it’s unfair on you.”

You crouch down in front of him and place your hand on his knee. “Tell me why you do it. Why do you come to me instead of a professional?”

Leon continued to clean his arm, avoiding eye contact with you but the fact that he was being quieter and softer now made your frustrations ease a little. He was acting more unlike himself and more like a soldier, hardened by the many wars he faced.

“When I’m out there on the field,” he pauses what he’s doing and looks up, but he doesn’t look at you, instead his eyes remain distant, unfocused. Maybe lost in a memory. “I look forward to this. Spending time with you. It’s not the best circumstances I know, but after seeing the shit I see... coming back to see you is like a breath of fresh air. I guess I just wanted to be selfish about something, you know?”

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding and you looked down at your hand that was resting on his knee.

He didn’t get to be selfish a lot in his line of work, it made sense that he would just like to be doted on and cared for instead of being the one who cares for everyone else. This was his break, his vacation.

“I guess—“ you swallow the lump in your throat, refusing to meet his gaze, not that he was looking at you as he was quite flustered after what he just confessed. “I’ve been pretty selfish too. I mean you show up with a bullet wound, bleeding everywhere and I... I mean I’ve been pretty bitchy,” You chuckle but you don’t feel very good about yourself.

“Look,” you start, “what if you come see me more often? Preferably when you’re not bleeding. We can watch movies, relax. Give you the down time you deserve. Just... if you have a crazy injury like this, please get it checked out by a professional? That’s all I ask. I’ll pamper you as much as you need afterwards, okay?”

You’ll give him a vacation that he actually deserves.

“I’d like that,” Leon smiles, closing his eyes to take in the warm feeling for a moment longer. When he opened his eyes again, you couldn’t look away this time. His eyes were so blue, so expressive, so inviting.

You’re not sure what compelled you but your eyes lowered to his lips, so soft looking, only a little chapped, probably from being a little dehydrated after his mission, or maybe the blood loss. Either way you felt yourself leaning forward, inching closer and closer.

Until he cleared his throat.

“Do you mind sewing me up? I’m kinda bleeding out here.” He chuckled softly and you felt your face heat up and your eyes widen.

“Oh fuck, right,” you quickly jump to action, finding the needle and thread, cussing silently to yourself for being so stupid. “We could have talked after I patched you up, you know?”

“Ah where’s the fun in that?”

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websterss · 1 year

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𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘'𝐑𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 — 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐊𝐈

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Here’s a little werewolf au I conjured up. The supermoon overpowers Stiles control resulting in a casualty.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): ANGST, mentions of dying

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1,477

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Werewolf!Stiles Stilinski x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you guys like it! ♡ I tried with the eyes lol, I don’t how to use after effects yet, had to turn to photoshop. :/

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You didn’t expect to become the only human in the pack. You see there were two humans in the pack, You and Stiles, but after what happened to Stiles, he didn’t have much of a choice. Stile’s life was at stake. He was practically on his deathbed. So, you had to turn to your only option left, Scott. Scott bit Stiles to save his life. It was hard enough as it was, but Stiles becoming a werewolf, now that was even harder. He had a hard time trying to control his shifting. But he had his friends to help him along the way.

“Tell me again why we’re here?” Malia asked. She clearly wasn’t in the mood to attend another pack meeting.

“Because there’s a supermoon tonight, and we need to make sure nobody does anything stupid.” All eyes turn to face Liam.

“Oh, come on, it was one time.” He whined.

“Yeah, and it’s forever engraved in our heads,” Stiles told him.

“It was really hot out that night.” He shrugged.

“Beacon Hills usually is during the summer.” Stiles quipped.

“Okay we get it guys, knock it off you two.” You gave a playful stern look to them. Whether those two believed it or not they were the best of pals. Liam looked up to Stiles and Scott, but he would appreciate it more if the guidance didn’t consist of the constant sarcasm and teasing.

“Y/n’s right, we have a serious matter, this isn’t like any other moon we’ve been through, the supermoon will make us more aggressive, stronger, even violent, and we have to stay alert at all times, we can’t risk anyone getting hurt,” Scott informed his pack.

“Or killed,” Malia said.

“Exactly.” Scott nodded.

“So how will we be able to control it?” Hayden questioned.

“We have chains, shouldn’t that at least help get you all through the night?” Lydia said.

“It’s not enough, everyone would break free instantly.” Scott shook his head.

“What about mountain ash, would that hold you guys back?” Mason suggested.

“That’s not a bad idea.” Stiles nodded.

“Great problem solved! Um, but what are we going to do about the human in the room?” You pointed at yourself.

“The human…will stay as far away from any of us.” Stiles flailed his arms around gesturing to the supernatural beings in the room.

“I want to help.” You pleaded.

“No, I’m not risking putting you in danger.”

“I am perfectly capable of staying away from danger.” Stiles stood silent. His shoulders slumped. You were gonna give him a migraine. He looked away shaking his head.

“What, I can!” You raised an eyebrow.

“Just stay home tonight Y/n, please, just go home.” He pointed to the door. Every one of them avoids your gaze.

“Scott.” You looked at the alpha.

He sheepishly looked up at you, then at Stiles, who shook his head no.

“Stiles is right. You could get hurt, Y/n. So stay home okay.”

“Fine.” You muttered. Little did he know you weren’t going to listen to him.

“Okay, I think that’s enough mountain ash to keep you guys’ in.” Mason got up and dusted his palms on his jeans.

“Good job Mason.” Lydia stood beside him behind the line of mountain ash. They decided to keep them all in the library for the night. Scott, Hayden, Liam, Malia, and Stiles were all chained up to poles, the mountain ash was for just in case. All of them could feel how the super moon was affecting them. They let out grunts and growls. Fur growing on their face, claws coming out of their fingernails. It was a recipe for a disaster.

“I think that’s our cue to leave!” Mason started tugging on Lydia’s upper arm.

“Good idea.” She nodded her head in agreement. They ran out into the hall hoping that the mountain ash was enough to keep them from running wild into the night. When they thought they were good, it just got worse. They saw you walking past them. Lydia immediately calls after you to retreat.

You walked towards another set of doors pushing it forwards, the door creaking in response. You stood in the hallway. Staring down the dark eery hallways. There wasn’t anyone around. You never liked school at night. That gut feeling in your chest was telling you to turn back, and you almost did, except the low growl behind you caused a chill down your spine. You spun around slowly, your breathing labored as you now face what you were scared of encountering tonight. Your boyfriend was in full rage. You keep still in your tracks as two glowing eyes stare right back at you.

“Stiles.” You slowly stood. The only response was a grunt and heavy breathing. That further told your flight or fight response to take a step away from him.

“This isn’t you okay, it’s the moon taking control of you.”

“This is me!” He roared, making you flinch.

“No, it’s not!” You cried out. You took each step back with caution.

“Baby, just, just find an anchor, okay? Yeah, an anchor, okay. Think of me.” You nodded.

“The only thing I’m thinking is wanting to sink my teeth in that pretty neck of yours!”

Oh you were in total shit.

“Stiles please, okay. You have to fight this!” You pleaded. You couldn’t stop crying.

“Y/N!” You whipped your head to see Lydia and Mason approaching you. Stiles took your distraction as an advantage, rushing forward, full charge, the collision of your bodies was enough to knock you off balance. You slipped on your feet falling on your back.

“Stiles...” You whispered out in pain. You watched him slowly hover over you looking at you as if you were prey. Your eyes widened fearing the worst to come.

“No!” Lydia screamed, she was running to you as fast as she could in her heeled boots. Mason watched in terror as you screamed out in agony.

You didn’t know what was happening. It felt like a blur. You felt a tremendous amount of pain in your chest, your senses were going numb. You were going in and out of an unconscious state of mind. Then everything seemed to go dark. Stiles had finally stopped, his brain slowly starting to process what he just did. His claws were dripping with blood. Your blood. His eyes went back to their original chocolate brown. He hesitantly brought a hand to your face caressing it softly. His eyes trailed down to the gory sight of your chest and stomach covered in claw marks. His doing. He let out a shaky breath as his eyes found your face again. His hand hovering over you, not wanting to further touch you, but his heart was trying to reach out for you

“Y/n? Y/n, hey, please wake up.” He whispered. “Y/n, please!”

“Stiles!” Scott’s voice rang out like an echo. Footsteps could be heard beating down the hall, growing closer to the messy sight of you laying still in Stiles’ arms.

“No, no, no! Y/n!” Stiles yelled out. He brought you into his chest, rocking you back and forth and kissing your temple. Your head pulled back. Eyes closed. Your whole body was limp. You were practically weightless. He could no longer hear your heart beating.

“No, baby, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He choked up. “Open your eyes, let me see them again, please...” He weeped.

Scott, Malia, Liam, and Hayden didn’t hear the rhythmic beating in your chest no more. You were gone. Lydia was on the floor weeping for you.

Stiles had a feeling that someone was going to end up hurt, he knew the risks of the supermoon, but he didn’t think you were going to be the casualty of tonight, nor did he think that he would be the one to take away your life. Sirens could be heard from a distance. It wasn’t the ambulance though, it was Stiles’ father and Deputy Parrish.

“Stiles...” Sheriff Stilinski ran up to his son, his gaze stopped on you. “Oh god...Is she?”

“Yeah,” Lydia responded.

“Oh god…” Sheriff Stilinski ran a hand down his face. It was bad enough he was dealing with all the supernatural stuff, but to see you, his son’s girlfriend lying dead in his arms was worse. He saw you like his own daughter and wanted to keep you safe, but then again no one was ever safe in Beacon Hills.

“I killed her dad,” Stiles muttered.

“Stiles-” His dad started.

“No! She’s dead because of me. She’s dead!” He shouted out. All gazes suddenly fell on him.

Everyone knew what would happen if they ever took an innocent’s life. They’ve heard the stories. They knew the outcome. They knew how Derek ended up.

“What?” He cried out.

“Stiles…your eyes, they’re blue.”

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinski imagines #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #stiles stilinski au #werewolf!stiles stilinski #teen wolf imagines #teen wolf x reader #my gif #writings by juls

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dc418writes · 6 months

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✨Pairing✨: serial killer!Ari Levinsonxblack!reader (ft. Robert Pronge)

Summary🪄: Never trust the back roads

⚠️: 18+, NO MINORS!! Soft,Dark!Ari, abduction, Minor character(s) death, mention of blood, a bit of Stockholm syndrome (maybe?), manipulation, language, hint of cult like lore/rituals

A/N🎤: Hey guys☺️! We got another spooky season themed piece based off Texas Chainsaw Massacre (movie and recently released game). Those who have read my works for a while know I usually stay in the lane of fluff, but as you’ve read above this is a bit darker in nature (please don’t read if any of the above warnings make you uncomfortable). So because this is new to me, I am v nervous lol but I hope those who read like it!

*Disclaimer!: although visual was made by me via Canva, I DO NOT CLAIM OWNERSHIP of pictures used as they were all found on Pinterest*

“I told you we should’ve stayed on the interstate,” Brittany quips crossing her arms across her chest. “Now we’re out of gas and stuck on this hick-town backroad.”

“Need I remind you we wouldn’t be in this situation if somebody would’ve been ready so we could leave on time,” her boyfriend, Adrian, retorts turning the key in the ignition again to get the same result of his Bronco sputtering before going silent.

“Don’t blame your laziness on me! Who doesn’t get gas before leaving?”

“I had enough to get us to the halfway point we were supposed to be at-!”

“Will both of y’all shut up?!,” Cassidy, your roommate and Brittany’s best friend, shouts successfully quieting the couple up front. “Giving me a headache.”

“Now what do we do?,” you softly ask nervously toying with the ring dangling from the thin chain around your neck.

“If we knew we wouldn’t be sitting here now would we?”

“Hey! I get it Brit your frustrated. Don’t take that shit out on Y/N or any of us,” Cassidy snaps. Her best friend only mumbles under her breath sinking a bit lower in her seat.

“I’m sorry, what was that?!”

“Enough!,” Adrian shouts making you jump while the other girls look out their respective windows. Sighing, he grabs his phone from the middle console before unbuckling his seatbelt and turning towards the rest of you. “Let’s try to come together, alright?” Ever the captain trying to rally the “team”.

“I’m gonna walk up the road and see if I can find a gas station or anybody that can help. You three stay here and keep trying your phones to see if you can get anyone.”

“You’re just gonna leave us here?!,” Brittany asks as if offended he would ever speak such a plan. He doesn’t have time to answer from the knock on her window startling everyone in the car. The stranger’s almond brown strands framed his rugged yet model-esque face as his lips curled into a friendly smile. His large palms shooting up in surrender with a quick, “sorry!” giving all of you a show of his thick biceps and the veins that travelled up his forearms.

“Didn’t mean to scare you. Just wanted to see if y’all were alright,” he speaks loud enough to be heard through the rolled up window. His deep voice and southern drawl prickles your ears - and shamefully, other more neglected parts - wanting to hear him talk all day and night if you could.

“Yea, just out of gas,” Adrian answers. “Know where the closest station is?”

“I happen to own one 10-15 minutes up the road. I could drive you if you want?”

“Fuck no, we’re not going with him!,” Cassidy whispers to Adrian. “Where did he come from in the first place?”

“Cass this might be the only help we get. I’m not about to pass up the chance to get out of here because of paranoia,” he replies before turning back to the handsome stranger. “Sounds good, thanks.”

Once he’s helped all of you into his older model truck, it doesn’t take long for him to start the engine carrying the four of you down the road. Adrian sat in the passenger seat while you sat in the middle of Brittany and Cassidy in the back. The three of you quiet as the men small talked.

Adrian introduced all of you and explained your summer vacation plans - much to Brit and Cass’ displeasure - to the former stranger now called Ari.

Occasionally he’d ask if you all were okay or needed the air changed. His eyes unknowingly lingering on you a tad longer as you nervously smoothed out the hem of your flowy floral dress.

Knowing what you do now, you would’ve stopped Adrian from accepting his help. From either of you getting in that red truck and falling for a kind smile and hypnotizing blue eyes.

Waking up, the panic returns to your body not being able to move your arms and legs far. The heavy shackles attaching them - and you - to the cold, metal table below make it near impossible as their chains rattle pulling your extremities back with a sharp thud.

“Might not wanna move too much sweetheart. Wouldn’t want to hurt those pretty little wrists of yours.” The fearfully familiar voice has tears brimming your eyes hearing his footsteps come closer and closer until he’s stopping at the table on the opposite wall handling some tool. Without your glasses, everything looks blurry which only adds to your fear.

You lost them as you were trying to run away from your other captor. Long, stringy brown hair and thin wire frames of his own, he always seemed to wear black gloves and an apron splattered with some liquid you didn’t want to think about every time he appeared. This last time somehow finding your latest hiding spot as you all tried to escape.

First you were right beside Brittany, both of you shoulder to shoulder sprinting and nearly out of breath. Then suddenly you were harshly falling to the ground having tripped over something. She kept going, ignoring your hurt form as you were pulled along the clay like dirt trying to wiggle free as you screamed and sobbed calling out for help.

“Shut up! Maybe if you would’ve stayed where we put you, you wouldn’t be in this situation,” he spat down at you clearly frustrated you were putting him through all this trouble.

After finally settling on the delicate scalpel, he slowly stalks across the surgical like room. Shoes tapping against the linoleum floor while he admired how it gleams in the fluorescent light with every slight twist of his hand.

“Now,” he grins leaning down close enough that you could feel the warm air from his nostrils blowing against your skin. Smell the smoke on his breath from his earlier cigarette. “How about we get you out of those filthy clothes, hm?”

The back of the scalpel runs along your sweaty collarbone as he placed it under your thin, spaghetti strap. With one tug he could easily break it giving free access to your chest - especially with your arms being held above your head.

“I told you she was for last Bobby,” Ari speaks approaching your table and making your heart sink further. His partner, well Bobby, rolls his eyes begrudgingly sitting up to meet him now standing right by your leg smudged in dirt.

“Welp, sometimes life has other plans,” he replies with that devious smirk. Ari’s bigger than the man in front of him, easily being able to move Bobby out of the way with the thick muscles along his arms and back - not to mention those thighs straining to break free from his blue jeans.

You feel like a lab rat being observed by scientists under their intense gazes. Ari’s, though, mixed with something tender - almost enamored - that has you surprisingly not cowering away when he reaches his hand out brushing a thumb along your cheek to wipe away a fallen tear.

“Please,” you whisper between your sniffles. “I-I’ll do anything.”

Those words coming from your pretty mouth sparked something in Ari he’d never felt in all these years.

Plenty of his victims pleaded that same thing offering him any and everything a man could ever want, but he never budged continuing on for the sake of his family’s lineage. There was something about sweet you though, practically dripping with innocence and this light Ari couldn’t help but fall for. He saw that while you sat in the backseat of his truck and at the gas station quietly sipping your soda off on your own as you looked out the window towards the lush grassland across the street sprinkled with wildflowers. He actually felt guilty when he had to knock you out, hoping he wasn’t scarring your soft skin too much when he’d drug you to the storm cellar with the others.

Immediately, he wanted you all for himself and was ironically desperate enough to do anything to make it happen.

“Oh sweetheart, we’ve heard it all before,” Bobby teasingly coos. Ari’s emotion stays unmoving still gently wiping away your tears.

“I promise I won’t say anything!”

“I won’t say anything!,” he mocks trying to imitate your fear stricken voice before laughing to himself. He returns back to the table full of tools trying to decide between the rusted scissors or the butcher knife for his next torturous instrument. “You’re all the same.”

Peering up at Ari with wet lashes and red eyes, you whimper another quiet “please” hoping to see your family again.

And for the first time since your capture, that charismatic smile finds its way back on his pink lips reminding you of when he first appeared outside the car. Giving you a small sense of hope you should’ve known not to trust.

“Tell you what, I’m feeling generous so I’ll make a deal with you,” Ari speaks sounding so smooth as if the current environment around him wasn’t real at all. Bobby isn’t happy though, from the way he drops his tools stalking over to Ari.

“Need I remind you of your little legend?”

“Everything will be fine. Especially when sugar here helps us.”

You can still hear Brittany’s screams coming from the room deeper in the basement. They’re faint, being however many feet upstairs in one of the older farmhouse’s bedrooms, but you can still hear the agony and fear laced within.

Hear the betrayal uttered along with every “no don’t!,” knowing you were ultimately the reason for her final capture - and soon death. Before she was taken herself, Cassidy found a hidden message on one of the walls describing how to get out using only Ls for left and Rs for right. Pictures meant to represent exits on how to leave the property that you all nearly found if not for the hidden traps.

A light tap on the door has you holding yourself tighter, moving slightly higher up the bed fearful of who could be on the other side. Luckily - or maybe not - it’s a blurry Ari holding something in his hands. His heavy steps stop at the edge of the bed gently placing something on the brown comforter. Cautiously, you reach out to feel the cool metal of your glasses excitedly placing them back on your face to find them cleaned and surprisingly without a scratch.

“I thought you’d need those.”

His strikingly handsome face is soft with a tilted smile as he hands you a glass of water you rush to take craving for the cool liquid to flow down your scratchy throat.

“Slow down sugar,” he chuckles. “There’s more.”

Now embarrassed, you slowly lower the glass from your chapped lips handing it back with a shy, “thank you,” before wrapping your arms around your middle again. “A-Am I going home now?”

He sighs clicking his tongue and rubbing the back of his neck with his bear paw of a hand as if not exactly knowing how to answer your question. His expression has your face falling in disappointment as well as confusion.

“‘Fraid not.”

“But…you told me you’d let me go?”

“And I did. You’re not in those rough shackles anymore are you?” You feel foolish thinking he’d actually help you this time. He’d shown you the knife before, yet you still openly turned your back as if he couldn’t stab you.

Were you really that naive? Or was it something deeper at work you were ashamed to admit?

“Aw don’t look so sad. I’m just looking out for you,” he explains perching on the corner of the full sized mattress. “The moment you show up back home without your friends all fingers are pointing towards you.”

“I’ll tell them we split up! That I don’t know what happened to them,” you cry.

“That’ll only get you so far before eyes are back on you sweetheart. Parents and friends of theirs saying how you have to know something. That’s when cops get more aggressive too.” Ari dares place his hand on your thigh as a sign of comfort, and you don’t remove it thinking how he was right.

You wouldn’t be able to play dumb for long before you’d appear even more suspicious to everyone. That then left you with two options: jail or hide away confirming your own death along with the others.

Tears quickly tumble from your eyes at your realization, but Ari’s there wiping them away as soon as they fall and leaving your skin tingly where he touched.

“I know I know, it’s a lot to take in. But I’ll be there to take care of you. Just like I took care of Brittany for you.”

“F-For me?,” you ask gazing at him with tears still falling as you silently hiccup.

He nods. “You didn’t know she was the one to trip you huh?” Part of him hated to be the one to break it to you, but on the other hand he could just eat you up like a little sugar cube how innocently oblivious you looked.

Not to mention how you still managed to look so pretty while you cried on his bed. It gave him other ideas, but he managed to push those away for now.

“She selfishly sacrificed you, so it’s only right she get the karma she deserved right?,” he asks gently squeezing your thigh.

You knew she never liked you. For whatever reason, always looking at you like an annoying little sibling being forced to tag along whenever Cassidy would invite you out with them. She was a true friend wanting you to experience more than the four walls of your dorm and your classrooms, while Brittany could care less about you.

Although it felt wrong to admit, you nod agreeing with the man doting on you making his tilted smile return - and that gooeyness to your insides.

“You won’t have to want for anything here with me sugar. I promise you that.”

Every fiber and cell in your body is warning you of his promises. Reminding you of everything you’ve been through up to that point. How you should be careful with the man in front of you, who had a deadly switch that could flip at any moment leaving you in clear danger.

Yet the way his blue eyes look at you - really see you, which is more than you experience from most people - you feel honored he’d retaliate on your behalf. You feel special receiving such loyalty and care.

And with that, you lean into his touch softly smiling as his thumb traces along your bottom lip. “Okay Ari.”

#ari levinson #ari levinson x black!reader #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x woc #ari levinson au #red sea diving resort #chris evans #chris evans x black reader #chris evans x reader #chris evans x woc!reader

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ohbrotherthisblogstinks · 3 months

Text

IN VINO VERITAS

ੈ✩‧₊˚ himeno x fem reader

synopsis: you and your hot new friend, who you’re down cataclysmically for, bump coochies in the woods 👉👌

Warnings: 18+, nsfw, fem bodied reader, praise (use of ‘good girl’), consumption of alcohol, dubcon (since you’re both tipsy), semi-public sex (y’all are at a campsite and it’s implied there are other people nearby), oral (f. receiving), tribbing, edging (kinda), choking (kinda), Himeno is the dominant one but not a dom, gentle biting, mention of masturbation

Other warnings: smoking (cigarettes), Himeno calls Aki an emo twink, age gap (ish, Himeno is about 5-6 years older than reader), there is no puke in this fic even though we have the combination of Himeno and alcohol :), reader is a bit needy and a bit of a perv lol

“You okay?” Himeno’s voice pulled you out of your daydream, and you realized you’d been clutching the armrest by the passenger seat, your knuckles white.

“I’m fine,” you said. “I just zoned out.”

“I was gonna say, I don’t think I’m that bad of a driver.” She flashed you a smile before looking back at the road. “Although come to think of it, I did fail my permit test about four times.”

“That’s reassuring.” You stretched and yawned, glancing at the clock.

“We should be there by six, and that’ll give us enough light to set up the tent. Unless we fuck up and it takes us forever.”

“Which will probably happen, knowing us.”

“That reminds me, if Aki came with us he’d have his shit together and he certainly wouldn’t have gotten us lost.”

“Well, detours are fun.”

“You’re too kind.”

Aki had dipped out of the trip at the last minute, claiming he was feeling under the weather. He urged you and Himeno to go without him, and as a consolation gift, gave you two bottles of wine to sneak into the campsite. They were rather poorly hidden under the back seat, wrapped in one of your old sweatshirts. You glanced back at the contraband to make sure it wasn’t too conspicuous.

“Hey, do me a favor,” Himeno said, tilting her head towards the lighter sticking out of the cup holder. You nodded and reached for it, as she quickly retrieved the cigarette that was behind her ear. Throughout the long drive to the campsite you’d been the one to light her cigarettes for her while she talked your ear off about whatever came to her mind. She liked that you were a good listener, and you liked the sound of her voice, so it was a win-win.

Your crush on Himeno was a little more obvious than you’d like it to be. As she smoked with one hand gripping the wheel, her window rolled down and the wind whipping her hair around, you caught yourself staring. Your mind wandered, making your face grow hot. You wanted to know what the hand around the wheel would feel like around your neck as she feverishly kissed you. It was rather embarrassing to admit, but when you had time alone, thinking about her sometimes resulted in your hand down the front of your pants.

You’d been friends with Himeno for about six months now, after Aki had introduced the two of you, and ever since you met her you’d get butterflies every time you saw her. She sometimes caught you staring and would give you a knowing smirk, making you quickly look away. You had a feeling she was onto you, but you were never confident enough to say anything. After all, she was five or six years your senior, and she was an enigma of a woman. You could never quite figure her out, whether she was flirting with you or just being herself, and it made you far more anxious than you’d like to admit.

After you and Himeno finally reached the campsite and spent an embarrassingly long time pitching your tent, you poked around in the back of her car for the bottles of wine while she set up two lawn chairs by the light of an old lantern she dug out of her trunk.

“We forgot to bring glasses,” you called over to her, clutching the bottles to your chest as you kicked the car door closed.

“One bottle is mine and one is yours, then,” she quipped, and flopped down in her chair. You joined her and muscled open the bottles, passing one to her. She nodded thanks and took a long drink. The two of you sat there for God knows how long, talking and talking until you were almost certain you saw the sun beginning to rise. You curled up in your chair and stifled a yawn, and Himeno noticed and giggled.

“Am I boring you?”

“Not yet.” You tried and failed to hold back another yawn.

“Did I ever tell you about how I cut Aki’s hair that one time?”

“You what?” Your eyes widened, and you started laughing.

“Yup. He fell asleep and I was drunk and found a pair of scissors, and the rest is history. He was so mad at me, I felt terrible, but it was fucking hilarious.”

“He never told me about that.”

“I hurt his pride, that’s why.”

You cocked your head to one side. “Were you guys ever…a thing?”

“Oh, God, no. I wanted us to be at one point, but he made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t interested.”

“You still like him, don’t you?” you teased, prodding her leg with your toe.

“Oh no, that ship has sailed. And it probably sank too.” She laughed heartily and ran a hand through her hair. “I have a bad habit of falling for emo twinks.”

You snorted, making her laugh even harder.

“Honestly, though, don’t worry about me. I’m no competition if you’re trying to get a piece of that.” She sighed and leaned further back in the chair, setting the bottle on the ground.

You suddenly stood up and lurched over to her, gripping her chair for balance, and sat right down on her lap, putting your arms around her neck and laying your head on her shoulder.

“Oh?” She raised her eyebrows, surprised. After a few seconds had passed, she timidly placed her hands on your waist. “Did I say something?”

“No,” you sighed, pulling back to look at her. You absentmindedly twirled a lock of her hair between your thumb and forefinger. “Well, kinda.”

“What is it, then?”

“I have a crush on you.” You hung your head, looking down into your lap. You couldn’t look her in the eyes, you couldn’t stomach it. You heard her sigh, and you prepared yourself for the worst. After a few excruciating seconds, she finally spoke.

“I know,” she said softly, lifting her hand to gently pinch your cheek. “It’s very obvious.” Your eyes widened.

“Is it really?” You looked back up at her, and she nodded. There was a glint in her eye that wasn’t there before.

“Are you gonna do anything about it?” she asked you, that same knowing smirk spreading across her face.

You kissed her without hesitation, making her giggle against your lips. You felt her squeeze your waist and pull you a little closer until you were snug against her. She gently laid her hand on the back of your head and slid her tongue against yours, making a soft moan slip out of your mouth.

She pulled away and looked at you quizzically, still smirking. You stared in disbelief. You’d really done it, you’d kissed her. It could only get so much better or so much worse.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, still in a trance.

“Don’t apologize.”

She suddenly snaked an arm underneath your thighs and picked you up bridal style, making you squeal, and you held on tight as she carried you in the direction of the tent. She smelled like sweat and sunscreen and smoke, but in a way that was strangely pleasant to you. She grunted as she struggled with the flap of the tent, and you felt yourself beginning to slip.

“If you drop me, I swear to God,” you giggled.

“Fuckin’ help me, then!”

After a comically long struggle with the tent flap that did indeed involve being dropped by Himeno, she stumbled into the tent and pulled you down onto the cot with her, making you laugh even harder. She zipped the door closed, and crawled over to straddle your waist.

“Are you putting me to bed?” You squinted up at her, your eyes adjusting to the dim light inside the tent.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Are you gonna kill me or something?” You started laughing again, blindly reaching for her, and you felt her grab your hand and squeeze it. She leaned in closer to you, hovering over you and smiling, her hair brushing against your face. You blinked up at her, doe-eyed.

“You’re so cute,” she marveled.

“You think so?”

“Mmm-hmm. And you’re all mine.” She leaned down to press kisses to your neck, gently nipping your skin every now and then and eliciting whimpers from you. Her fingertips felt cool and soothing brushing against your flushed skin, and you felt her tug at the hem of your shirt. You raised your arms to help her remove it, and she resumed her kisses once she tugged it off you.

“You’re not wearing a bra.”

“Brilliant, Holmes.”

She snort-laughed and poked you in the rib, making you yelp.

“You have pretty tits.”

“Thank you?”

“No, I mean it. They’re cute.” She brushed some hair out of your eyes and smiled at you. “I want them in my mouth.”

You burst out laughing again, thankful that the dim light was hiding the raging blush spreading across your cheeks. Himeno gave your neck one more gentle nip before moving her hand up to cup your left breast. She inched further down and swirled her tongue around your nipple, making you gasp.

“You’re so fucking cute,” she whispered between kisses, and you felt her start to move further down, her fingers slipping under the waistband of your shorts. You almost immediately lifted your hips to help her pull them down, and she chuckled at your eagerness.

Once she’d completely undressed you, she sat back on her heels and ran a hand through her hair, looking down at you with hazy eyes.

“Please touch me more,” you blurted out, reaching out and gripping her arm as she ghosted her fingertips across your bare skin, making you shiver with anticipation.

“What do you want me to do?” she asked you, her lips curling up into a cheeky grin. She continued brushing her fingertips against your skin, just barely touching you and avoiding where you needed her most.

Your breathing had gotten shaky and erratic, and you couldn’t think of anything other than her, the sound of her voice, the intensity of her touch. You looked up at her with pleading eyes, your grip on her arm tightening.

“Please fuck me,” you whispered, and she smiled and leaned down to peck your forehead.

“Good girl. That’s what I wanted to hear.” She gently spread your legs and crawled down to settle in between them. She hooked her arms around your thighs and looked up to you inquisitively, silently asking your consent. You nodded vigorously, making her laugh.

She was so close to you now, her grip on your hips making your skin tingle and her hot breath fanning against your aching pussy. You let out a surprised whimper when she finally flattened her tongue against your pussy, licking a thick stripe all the way up to your clit. She continued, making you squirm and whine and grind against her face each time she flicked her tongue against your clit.

It was close to the best feeling you’d ever felt, the strong grip of her hands on your hips, the sloppy kisses she’d give your clit when your thighs tensed around her head. She pulled away right before you could get your satisfaction, making you huff and whine in frustration.

“You gotta be quiet, baby.” She rested her head on your thigh and smiled up at you, gently rubbing your lower stomach.

“I-I’m sorry, I- fuck!” She resumed going down on you, making you squirm and cry out. You brought a shaky hand up to your mouth, and grabbed a messy handful of her hair with the other. Your thighs shook and your back arched as you came, your eyes rolling back as you tried not to scream from the pleasure. She finally pulled away when you gave her hair a harsh tug, and crawled up to kiss you, silencing your whimpers.

“You okay?” she asked you upon pulling away, brushing some hair away from your sweaty forehead. You nodded, your chest still heaving as you tried to catch your breath. She pecked your forehead and sat back up, straddling your waist.

“I wanna try something,” she whispered, and your eyes grew wide as she peeled off her shirt and started to unhook her bra. “It’ll feel really good. I promise.” You nodded.

“Don’t just stare, help me,” she giggled, noticing your gaze. You quickly propped yourself up and started to unbutton her shorts, which she flung into the corner of the tent along with her underwear after some shuffling around in the dark. After pushing your legs apart, she inched closer to you, and lifted your right leg so your calf rested on her shoulder.

“Stay like this for me, okay?” You nodded obediently, awaiting her next move. She gently ran a hand over your lower stomach and lowered her hips to meet yours.

You gasped and grabbed her hand as she started grinding against you, and she chuckled quietly, giving your hand a tight squeeze.

“I told you.”

She gripped your leg with one hand as the movement of her hips became more rhythmic, letting the other wander over your bare skin. She brushed her fingertips across your stomach, then your tits, then gently placed her hand around your neck and squeezed ever-so-slightly, at which you arched your back and let out a breathy moan. She chuckled and maintained her gentle grip on your throat, her gaze fixed on the way your face contorted in pleasure with each thrust of her hips.

“That feel good?” she asked you breathlessly, knowing you could barely form the words to answer her. You could only nod and whine in response, making her lips curl upwards into a satisfied smile. She could tell you were close by the way you were breathing, the way the muscles of your thighs and calves and stomach tensed as she touched you. She was quite close herself too, sweating and flushed and barely able to control the movement of her hips.

You clawed at her arm, your eyes wide and almost frantic, and she held eye contact with you as you came undone beneath her, firmly pressing her hand over your mouth to muffle your whines. Her own orgasm soon followed, and she let out a low moan, her fingernails digging into your calf and making you whine in pain and pleasure.

She pressed sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to your calf as she rode out her orgasm, then gently pulled away from you and rolled onto your back. You instinctively reached out for her, and she pulled you in, sighing contently. You wrapped your arms around her and snuggled tighter against her.

“You okay?” she whispered, smoothing out your messy hair. You nodded and pulled back a little to look at her, smiling with hazy eyes.

“Can I take you out for breakfast tomorrow?” you asked, resting your forehead against hers.

“I would love that. I’m paying though, you can’t change my mind.”

You huffed in protest. “Fine, as long as you let me be big spoon.”

She grinned.

“Deal.”

#himeno x reader #himeno chainsaw man #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man smut #himeno smut

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roguehongsami · 3 months

Text

Forever Angel.

pairing/s: outlaw!yeosang x fem!fugitive

genre/s: crime, suggestive, au

synopsis: as you're hiking roadside, yeosang decides to give you a ride only to realise you don't have any idea where you're going. he takes you in, but the rest of the members are apprehensive of your presence.

content: domestic violence (insinuated), gun violence, prison break.

word count: 3k

author's note: not my proudest work lol. been in my drafts since 2 dec & just wanted it out. xoxo.

* DISCLAIMER: THIS IS FICTIONAL. IT IS NOT A REPRESENTATION OF KANG YEOSANG'S CHARACTER, PERSONALITY OR BEHAVIOUR. THIS IS SOLELY FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES. *

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ lana del rey // angels forever

Y/N had been walking under the sun for a good two hours. With the clothes on her back and leather jacket held over her shoulder, the only thing that created a buffer between her eyes and the sun was her Tom Mix hat. It was only a matter of time until the soles of her boots melted off, and she was barefoot and begging for an end.

She needed to find shelter before sundown.

A rundown car sped past her, exhaust fumes lingering in the air as it disappeared into the distance. Her brain pounded violently against her skull, a few heat blisters materialising on her body in response to the raised temperatures. The sound of exhaust pipes rumbling, polluting the air, neared.

A black Harley fat bob halted beside her as she slowed in her tracks. The owner's hair was tucked behind his ears, some strands cascading down the sides of his face. A pink heart-shaped birthmark, right by his eye, that called for attention. Sunglasses covered his eyes. He looked like an easy rider. Those weren't common in this part of the province anymore.

He pulled his dimmers over his head, taking in Y/N's figure before speaking. "Need a lift, pretty lady?"

Hand on her hip with her hat shielding most of her face, she uttered, "You offering?"

"Only if you tell me your name, sweetheart. Take off that hat so I can see your pretty face." he flashed his pearly-whites.

She brought her hat down beside her body, revealing two large and nasty bruises on her jaw and under her eye, her bottom lip cut. "It's Y/N."

He grimaced at the sight, at a loss for words. Not wanting to press for news that did not concern him, he instructed her to hop on. She positioned herself behind him on the seater, her hat and jacket nestled between their bodies. Her arms snaked around his torso before he revved the motorcycle and rode off.

The pair stopped by a roadside biker bar named Tripp's Saloon. Very old western, inside and out. A few cars and a variation of Harleys parked out front. The air conditioned interior served as the perfect escape for Y/N. Seated at a booth in the far back corner, Yeosang ordered them food, and not so long after, the waitress was back with their plates.

Being in the sun that long can work up an appetite.

"Tell me, where you headed?" Yeosang popped a fry into his mouth.

Y/N took a swig of her beer. "I haven't really thought it out honestly. I just took myself and went on. A fresh start anywhere would be nice."

Dumbfounded, his eyebrow arched. "So you journeyed into the sun with nothing but the clothes on your back and wishful thinking?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, now downing her fries and onion rings. Her demeanour was relaxed. She had finally cooled down. Any more time in the sun would've resulted in dire consequences.

He motioned gestured at her face with his chin. "And those bruises? They got some' to do with your fresh start?"

He watched as her body tensed up. She took a serviette from the holder, and as she swiped it across her lips, her head hung low. His gaze was fixed on her, awaiting an explanation for her injuries.

"Maybe." she quipped. "He's the sheriff, so nobody ever bat an eye. Would've snuffed me out eventually, so I had to get out."

They dined in silence for the remainder of their meal. Yeosang paid the bill and they were soon back on the road. The sun had took its leave, with millions of twinkling stars taking up space in the black sky. A cool wind blew, the temperatures much kinder than before.

Her head rested on Yeosang's back, taking in the fast-passing view of the endless desert and sparse cacti. The motorcycle begun slowing as Yeosang yielded in front of a cabin. Dried russian thistle dancing on the barren land, the greener kind still rooted in the earth. A black van parked out front along with another fat bob. No sign of life for kilometres, just this cabin isolated from civilization.

The Harley's engine died as Yeosang stepped off. With Y/N's jacket and hat in one hand, he held out his other hand. She took it, reluctantly so, and brought her leg over the motorcycle as they walked toward the entrance. The porch floorboards creaked under their weight. Yeosang knocked in what was presumably morse code. The door opened and they were greeted by a 6'0 tall man with a broad build.

In his baritone, he spoke, "We're bringing alley cats to our hideout now?"

Yeosang pushed Mingi in the chest, causing him to stumble back. He walked past him with Y/N still in hand. "Eat shit." he spat.

Mingi locked the door and followed the pair into the living room. There, the other members were seated and chatting amongst themselves. When their eyes landed on Y/N, all hastily stood at attention. Perplexed, feeling as though they had been infiltrated. A man who stood at 5'7 approached them, finger pointing at her.

"Who is she?" Hongjoong sneered. "Are you trying to get us caught?"

She stood behind Yeosang, feeling like an intruder who had been cornered. Her elevated heart rate made the constant thumping fill up her ears. Her senses were dulled by fear.

Yeosang raised his arm to put distance between himself and Hongjoong. "She's good people, Hongjoong. She just needs shelter."

The others closed in, as they circled around Yeosang and Y/N. He pulled her into a hug, trying to keep her away from the others. He knew bringing her over was risky, but guilt would eat away at his conscious if he did not at least try to lend a helping hand.

Jongho pointed an accusatory finger. "Did she have nowhere else to go?"

"Does she not have a home, or is she a stray?" San chimed, tone laced with disdain.

Y/N escaped the hug, body turned toward San. Her eyes welled as she spoke with a tearful sob. "I can't go back there." she pulled her shirt up to expose her stomach. "I'd get sent to my next life. Please..." she pleaded.

Her torso was covered in bruises, some old and some fresh. The room fell silent, the guys all looking at her injuries. She pulled her shirt back down. Her eyes danced between the crew, taking in all of their shocked expressions.

"Just for the night, I'll be out of your hair by dawn." she spoke firmly.

[ . . . ]

Sleep could not find her. With Yeosang sound asleep beside her, she was unable to relax. Just stared at the ceiling. She hustled out of bed and rummaged through the inside pockets of her jacket. Bringing forth a cigarette and lighter. She found herself seated outside on the porch bench.

As she blew smoke from her mouth, the flavour of tobacco still remained. Her nerves slowly relaxed. The sight of the stars, and the midnight breeze had put her at ease. That pit in her stomach was doing away with itself. She couldn't recall the last time she was this placid. The usual noise in her head had abated. Accustomed to being ruled by fear and suffering. It started off so inconspicuously and before she knew it...

That had been her life for a little over a year.

The floorboards creaked when Yeosang stood by the bench, towering over her as he interrupted her daydreaming. She took another pull of her cigarette before looking up at him. He stood idly.

"So worried about getting killed yet here you are, doing it to yourself." Yeosang spoke bluntly.

Y/N chuckled before taking another pull. "Old habits die hard." she exhaled the smoke.

"When'd you start?"

"High school. I'd gather about ten years now, never looked back."

He stuck his hand out, gesturing her to hand over the cancer stick. She obliged. "That's one nasty habit, I'll tell you that." he threw it down and put it out with his bare foot. "You weren't in bed when I woke."

She sighed as she leaned back. "I've been skittish for so long that sleep don't come easy anymore."

"If you're worried about shelter, I made the others understand your situation. You're staying with us now."

"And I thank you for it." she gave him a small smile. "A year of being a punching bag will unnerve you in ways you can't imagine."

Yeosang stood up, sticking his hand out for Y/N to take. They went back into the cabin, locking the door before proceeding to the bedroom. Laying in bed with no sheets because of the sweltering heat. Facing each other, the sound of their breathing filling the atmosphere. His hand brushed over her face, cupping her cheek. He inched forward, lips locking with hers.

She had not felt this way in so long, as fireworks erupted in her stomach.

As the kiss intensified, their actions grew more aggressive. She winced when a sharp pain from the bruise on her jaw. He apologized and eased his hold. His hand ventured down her hips and between her thighs. Their kisses grew sloppy.

Yeosang got up out of bed to remove his sweats, as Y/N pulled off her underwear. He positioned himself between her legs, bringing her legs up to his waist, making her wince from the pang in her abdominal muscles.

"Switch." her voice low.

As she hovered over him, she leaned in to catch his lips. He positioned himself upright, his arms around her waist. She lowered herself, slowly fitting him. He pulled the sweatshirt that he lent her over her head, exposed her torso and chest. His vest was the last item to be discarded.

Afraid her moans were growing louder, she bit down on her lower lip. One or two escaped but nothing serious. The floorboards creaked and the bed frame squeaked. She went in for a deep kiss, his tongue exploring her mouth.

A light knock on the door startled them, halting all their actions. "A bit louder, please. I can't hear you." Wooyoung said sarcastically.

They broke into fits of giggles, continuing as they were. Calling it a night, Yeosang laid Y/N back down and grabbed the tissues on the bedside to clean her up. He cocooned her in his arms, their bodies tangled with one another.

"That should tire you." he joked.

It had been some days since her arrival. By 9:15, she was wide awake and well rested. She was alone in bed, Yeosang had already started his day hours prior. Before joining the guys, she made the bed and picked up her clothes off the floor. Curtains open to let in some sunshine.

When she finished showering, she rummaged through Yeosang's drawer to find clothes to wear. A white sweatshirt and grey sweatpants sufficed. She stood before the small mirror hanging on the door. Taking in her mildy deformed face, her fingers brushed the bruise under her eye. The swelling was gone, only discolouration remained. The cut on her lip was far from healing.

The guys were gathered in the living room, watching the television. A news broadcast came on, a picture of a police officer was shown right beside the news anchor.

"The body of thirty-two year old Sheriff Max Hynes was discovered this morning in his home by one of his deputies. He was bludgeoned to death with a golf club. The Riverton police department says that they have already identified a possible suspect."

The camera cut to one of the detectives working the case.

"We've interviewed several community members and gathered all the evidence that we could. As of now, we've identified Y/N Reeves as our primary suspect." a picture of Y/N was shown. "We believe she may be on the run. Possibly armed and dangerous. Anyone who sees her, please call your local police department."

Y/N's criminal status was about to complicate their entire operation.

The floorboards creaked as Y/N approached the living room, standing inches away from the couch. They all turned to look at her. She saw the broadcast. She knew she had been caught. Her demeanour was relaxed as her eyes remained glued to the television. Her face wore an emotionless expression.

She rued nothing.

Seonghwa circled the couch and squeezed Y/N's arms. "You realise you're being here compromises us? Huh, answer me!" he yelled from the top of his voice.

Yeosang cut between them and pushed Y/N behind him. "She probably has an explanation, Hwa. Back off!"

Yunho towered over Yeosang, catching Y/N gaze. "With everyone on the lookout for your girlfriend, our cover will be blown if they find her. She needs to leave."

"She ain't going nowhere!" Yeosang bit back. He turned to face her. "Y/N, you said you ran away. What really happened back there?"

"I fled after I clubbed him upright the head. His time was comin', I just sped it up." she spoke coldly. "I was a good woman until I met him."

"Why didn't you just report him in a different district?" Mingi asked.

She turned her head to Mingi who was seated on the couch. "I did. He broke my arm." she lifted her left arm, revealing a healed stitch scar running along her inner forearm. "Said it was nobody's business what went on between us. And you know pigs always look out for their own, they called him as soon as I mentioned his name."

Yeosang waved his arms around, calling for the conversation to end. "Enough. Y'all got your explanation, she's staying."

Hongjoong stood before Yeosang, face stern and lips pressed into a hard line. "You better pray the cops don't come knocking on our door, or it's your head, Kang."

[ . . . ]

The remainder of the day was fairly mundane. While she was sat on the couch before the television, the guys were huddled around the dining table. They spoke in hushed tones whilst they assembled and dismantled mechanical parts. She paid them no mind.

It was dark out. While Yunho and Wooyoung packed away their contraptions, particularly careful with the hourglass artifact, Mingi prepped their dinner. The lot gathered in the living room as they watched the television.

In the distance, the faint wailing of sirens could be heard. The sirens got louder as the squad cars neared. They knew. Everyone scattered as they gathered all their belongings. Making haste to the van, the squad cars closed in as they blocked the van's path.

As Y/N was about to get in, an officer shot at her. The bullet tore into her thigh. She fell to the ground, soil getting in her eyes. Yeosang climbed out to help her but Jongho reeled him back in. The officers ran toward her. As they approached the van, a dim white light shone from inside. When the officers opened the door, all eight men were gone.

With Y/N apprehended, she was admitted into a hospital to treat her wound. Waking up after surgery the next day, she found herself handcuffed to her bed. In the corner of her room sat a detective who was working her case. He grilled her for a few minutes but he didn't get the answers he was looking for.

The detective handed her a picture of the eight men from before. "Just give us Ateez and we'll drop your murder charge."

"For the last time, suit; I don't know who they are." she struggled while handcuffed to the bed. "They took me in after I ran away."

The detective took the photo and said as he walked out the hospital room. "Guess I'll be seeing you in court."

O N E M O N T H L A T E R

Leaving the cafeteria and making her way up the stairs to her cell. Limping, with a crutch to support her. Her trial was swift. She told her truth. Expressing no remorse, she vowed in courtroom full of witnesses that she'd remake said decision should a man ever raise his hand again.

So silent she could hear her heart pumping blood. She laid facing the ceiling, waiting for sleep to come. A commotion broke out in the lower floor as gunshots could be heard. She was quick on her feet as she stood behind the metal bars.

All she saw were guards running in one direction, some plummeting to the floor in their tracks. A posse of masked men ran rampant on each floor. The guard in front of her cell shot a few times before falling to the ground, a wound between his eyes releasing blood. She distanced herself, tripping on her feet and landing on her backside.

One man stopped in front of her cell, a rifle pressed to his chest. She crawled further back with pain shooting in the wound in her thigh. She sat against the wall, shielding herself. The man pointed his firearm at the lock, releasing two shots before the bars opened.

He entered the cell and kneeled before her, pulling his mask over his head. "Y/N?" his husky voice called to her.

She pulled her arms down and her jaw slacked. "Yeosang?"

"Your bruises are all gone." he smiled as he stroked her cheek.

"And I sleep better now." she nodded. "What was that white light in the van? The cops asked me about you lot, why'd they call you 'Ateez'? I have so many questions."

Another one of the masked men stood by the entrance of her cell. He pulled his mask up. Before speaking, he fired a few shots in the direction he came from.

"If you two lovebirds are done with your reunion, we need to leave." Hongjoong announced as he fired more shots. "They're sending back-up."

Yeosang stood as he brought Y/N up with him. "I'll answer all your questions but first, let's get you out. You shouldn't have been here in the first place."

#ateez #kang yeosang #yeosang fluff #roguehongsami

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claymoresword · 1 year

Text

I Choose Her | Chp: 2

Hermione x Slytherin Fem!Reader

Pairing: Hermione x Reader

Summary: You are the daughter of two known death eaters from one of the oldest and richest families in the wizarding world. Are you truly prepared to give up everything you know for Hermione Granger?

Wordcount: 1.5k

Warnings: ron weasley slander (kinda), fluff, golden trio x reader, inner conflict, dialogue heavy

Note: this one was more golden trio x reader centric but i just wanted to explore the idea of slytherin character being alongside them in situations that actually happened in the film. also i enjoyed expanding on the inner conflict stuff sorry if this wasnt that fun to read but i had fun writing it lol

also the next part will be more of hermione x reader so if u care stay tuned for that :)

anyway that's all hope u enjoy!

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

"You practically sleep with it." Hermione quips.

"I didn't say I wasn't curious and I do not sleep with it." Harry argues.

The trio and you had just spent the day in Hogsmeade. You were on your way back to the castle when your girlfriend like many times before, let her curiousity get the best of her.

She had been trying to figure out who the 'Half Blood Prince' was for weeks now.

Countless of hours spent researching in the library and both of you came up with nothing.

As far as you were concerned the 'Half Blood Prince' didn't exist.

Harry swore to have happened upon the potion's book by accident, as it was in the cupboard in the classroom.

You believed him but as past events have showed, nothing is a coincidence.

This had to be apart of a bigger plot and with The Dark Lord truly back, it was only a matter of time.

You could only brace yourself for what's to come.

Your parents had been pressuring you more than ever to pledge loyalty to Voldermort and join them as Death Eaters.

This was the last thing you wanted but with their constant threats of harming Hermione if you disobeyed, they aren't leaving you with much of a choice.

You always knew you had to join them at some point but you tried your best not to think about it. It's getting increasingly difficult to ignore now that Hermione's safety is being threatened.

You hold no respect for Voldermort, and you didn't fear him. You don't agree with his methods of imposing fear in exchange for loyalty. It was a coward's way of ruling and you see no honor in it.

You had not told Hermione any of this and least of all your parents.

All you wanted was to finish school and live a peaceful life with her, but war is coming.

Only a fool would deny the inevitable.

Planning for the future now will only result in dissapointment.

Hermione breaks you out of your thoughts for a moment as she grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers.

"Are you alright?" She asks genuine concern in her expression.

You only nod and give her a half smile. You weren't exactly lying, you were okay as long as you were with Hermione.

With her you feel you could overcome anything.

Although, there is no telling how far your parents will go to test that.

The trio continued arguing over the true identity of the 'Half Blood Prince' and you could hear pieces of the conversation but was ultimately too preoccupied with your thoughts to contribute.

You only properly took notice of your surroundings when you entered The Three Broomsticks. You walked with Hermione and took the seat next to her.

It was then you spotted him.

Draco, heading out the door.

He glances at you and you stood up almost reflexively.

"Draco!" You call out, hoping he would finally give you the time of day. You haven't properly spoken to him in weeks.

To your dismay, he meets your gaze but doesn't respond. He turns around and walks out the door.

You stood unsure if you should go after him. Hermione grabs your arm and offers you a sympathetic look. You decide to just sit back down next to her.

She's still holding your arm and with her other hand she started massaging your shoulder, at an attempt to comfort you.

You try your best not to worry about Draco in this moment and just enjoy time spent with your girlfriend and her friends.

It was going fine and Hermione even made you laugh when she chugged down her butterbeer which resulted in a foam mustache above her lip.

Ron had initially reached over to wipe her lip but hesitated once he remembered you were there.

The moment was rather awkward, but the attention was quickly taken off you when Harry suddenly calls Professor Slughorn over.

Your face contorts in genuine confusion and you quickly glanced over at Hermione, the same perplexed look on her face. Ron seemed just as lost.

Harry started exchanging pleasantries with the professor as if they were old friends. The 3 of you merely sat there silently and listened.

At some point the professor gestures obnoxiously with a full cup in his hand, naturally spilling a portion of his drink all over Hermione's lap.

"All hands on deck Granger" He merely quips, slurring his words.

You were annoyed but decided not to challenge the man since he was drunk.

You accioed a napkin and helped Hermione clean herself off the best you could.

"Listen my boy, in the old days I used to throw together the occasional supper party, for a select student or two. Would you be game?" Slughorn whispers for Harry and the 3 of you to hear.

"I'd consider it an honor Sir." Harry responds, elated.

"You'd be welcome too Granger." Slughorn says glancing at Hermione.

"I'd be delighted Sir." Your girlfriend contended.

"You as well Y/N" Slughorn now says smiling your way and you are taken aback.

Surely he was just being kind as to not exclude you.

"Thank you, Sir." you respond earnestly.

Slughorn glances at Ron and you expect him to be invited as well.

"Good to see you Wallenby." Slughorn says adressing Ron with the wrong name without offering him an invitiation. He soon walks away taking his leave.

You bust out laughing unable to hold it in any longer. Ofcourse Ron hadn't done anything in particular to deserve it, he was just too easy to pick on.

He glances at you, indignant. Hermione leans her head on your shoulder trying her best to stiffle her laugh.

---

The 4 of you were now on your way back to the castle after hours spent at The Three Broomsticks.

Needless to say Hermione had a bit too much too drink and she couldn't keep her hands off you.

Truthfully, you found it a bit humorous. drunk Hermione wasn't a something you were met with often but whenever it happened it was always fun.

Your love for her always seemed to grow in these moments. You realise you're prepared to do anything to ensure her happiness.

Your moment bliss was cut short when a piercing scream came from the distance. You stopped in your tracks and focused your glance ahead.

You watched as a girl you knew as Katie Bell, levitate high above the ground for a few seconds before her body was harshly thrown back down.

You flinch at the sight and you feel Hermione's grip on your arm tighten. She was afraid, you tried your best to hide it but you were too.

---

You stood next to a now sober Hermione.

Professor Mcgonagall infront of you, inspecting the necklace suspected to have cursed Katie.

Footsteps soon approach and you watch as Professor Snape walk towards the 5 of you. He glances at you before eventually settling his gaze onto Harry.

"Severus, what do you make of this?" Mcgonagall asks, panic evident in her tone.

"I think Ms Bell, is lucky to be alive." Snape responds matter of factly.

"She was cursed wasn't she? I know Katie off the quidditch pitch she wouldn't hurt a fly. If she was delivering that to Professor Dumbledore she wasn't doing it knowingly." Harry voices out, interrupting the Professors.

"Yes she was cursed." Mcgonagall responds without looking in his direction.

"It was Malfoy." Harry states with no hesistation.

Hermione glances at him, shocked at the dark haired boy's bluntness.

"Harry-" You voice out, shaking your head slightly in disapproval.

Perhaps Draco had done this, perhaps he didn't. Either way you shouldn't be placing blame without proof.

It was as if Snape had read your mind with his next question that was directed at Harry.

"Your evidence?"

"I just know." Harry responds confidently.

Too confident.

You wince internally. Incapable of masking your reaction, you shut your eyes and scrunch up your face in response, before eventually looking down at the ground.

Harry's pride was misplaced, although there was a chance he could be right you still felt he should choose his words carefully.

Snape being your head of house, you knew him slightly better than the 3 Gryffindors.

You knew challenging him truly never came to anything pleasant.

Hermione glances at you before eventually holding her gaze on Snape, anticipating his next words.

Ron holds his gaze as well before looking away uncomfortably.

"You just know" Snape repeats, his tone condensending.

You clench your jaw, physically braced yourself for his next words.

"Once again you astonish me with your gifts Potter, gifts mere mortals may only dream of possessing." He starts before pausing for a beat.

"How grand it must be, to be the chosen one." Snape finishes.

A slap in the face.

Harry may have been too proud to let it get to him but you felt the weight of Snape's words.

#harry x hermione #ron x hermione #golden trio #harry potter #slytherin au #slytherin #slytherin reader #hogwarts #draco malfoy #draco x reader #hermione x reader

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