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introverted-scribblings · 3 years

Note

Hey! Can I get a fic where Hoodie gets jealous, and then it just gets heated?? Like he's super rough and dominating- TYSM!!! 💕💕💕

I spent SO MUCH TIME ON THIS! I am not the best when it comes to this kind of stuff but I tried my best and I really, really hope you like it!!

Damn You || (Brian/Hoodie)

Warnings: NSFW, female!reader, jealousy, knife-play, slight degradation, minors-dni. (1.8k)

He was joking at the time. That morning when you walked out wearing a shirt that was lower cut than your normal attire, and leggings that were clinging just tight enough to leave little to the imagination. He had whistled at you and raised his eyebrows, causing you to roll your eyes at him. It was a joke, a little poke at you, his girlfriend, about how he found you attractive. That’s all it was before the two of you went out.

But now? Hours into the day, his hands clenched at his sides as he watched yet another man try to stare down your shirt? It wasn’t fucking funny anymore.

And the worst part? You knew…

Of course you knew, how could you not when every guy you ran into that day was staring at your chest. But you weren’t doing a damn thing about it. No, you were enjoying it. He could tell by the side glances you were sending his way, the slight smirk on your lips when no one else was looking.

Brian had to bite back the growl in his throat. Damn you.

You, on the other hand, were having a great time testing out this theory one of your friends had given you. She had told you that making her boyfriend jealous had gotten her some special treatment from him. It got you thinking about what Brian would do, he did have a slight possessive streak in him. It would be easy. You bought a new shirt and invited Brian to go out with you when you ran some errands. Y’know, to “spend time together”.

You knew you were playing with fire, but your curiosity was strong enough to keep this little game going. How far was this going to go?

Brian hated this. With every fiber of his being, he hated this. He could see the looks on the faces of other men, he could practically hear their thoughts about you. And yet there you went without a care in the world. He was a patient man, but even that was wearing thin by this point. And by the time you got home, he was losing his composure.

You were putting away groceries and making small talk when you said it. “It was kinda weird,” you had said. “The guy at the checkout tried to get my number before you got there.” And you laughed.

Snap.

Before you knew what was happening, Brian threw you over his shoulder and carried you back to your bedroom. He dropped you gracelessly onto the mattress and looked at you with dark eyes. “Damn you,” he spat. “You’ve been playing this game all fucking day.”

A shiver ran up your spine. His tone was low and held a fury to it. And you knew he could be dangerous, but it was that very knowledge that sent heat straight to your core. There was something about tasting that very danger that made you quiver with excitement. It was the whole reason you did this in the first place. “What do you mean?” You feigned innocence and tried to sit up.

“Don’t play coy,” he hissed, forcing you back down onto the mattress. Kneeling over you, he ran his fingers over the fabric of your shirt. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you?”

You jolted when you heard the click of his pocket knife opening, unaware that he had pulled it out in the first place.

“I think I need to remind you who you belong to, slut,” he growled, watching you shiver as the cool metal of the blade ran across your stomach before cutting quickly and easily through the top’s thin material. You whimpered and he relished in the sound.

Pinning you to the bed, his lips moved hungrily against yours. He wanted to devour you. Trap you so that no one could even think of taking you away from him. You belonged to him, dammit! The very thought of another man, any of the men that looked at you, touching you sent fury through his veins.

Calloused hands roamed across your chest as his lips left yours and moved to your neck. You let out a high-pitched whine at the harsh feeling of his teeth on your skin. You had half a thought to say that you had work the next day, but it was quickly brushed aside as his knee ground against your clothed core.

You let out another pitched noise, your hands moving to grip onto his shoulders. He stopped, pulling away from you entirely and watching you with that dark look in his eyes. You shivered under his gaze as he quickly undid his belt, by the time you realized what his goal was, it was too late and he had overpowered you. The leather dug into your wrists as you squirmed against your new restraints.

“You had your fun today,” Brian said with a smirk, watching you squirm. “Now it’s time for me to have mine.” He twirled the knife he was holding around his fingers.

You forgot, you always forgot just how dangerous he was. This man wasn’t just your “slightly possessive boyfriend”, this man was a cold-blooded killer. And that look in his eyes, the glint of the blade in the light, the twisted smile he wore, it all sent fear coursing through your body. But at the same time, there was a sick part of you that loved this. The part of you that was sending arousal through your veins and clouding your head.

Your internal struggle was cut short when you were grabbed by your ankle and pulled towards the edge of the bed. You whined when you felt the dull edge of his knife pressing against your hip before being dragged across your stomach. Brian pressed the flat of the knife against your skin as he leaned down by your ear. “I could kill you so easily,” he whispered. Your breath hitched when you felt his other hand trailing up your leg, just ghosting over the place you wanted him most. “You really do get off on this, don’t you?”

You whine.

“Answer me, whore,” Brian growls, pressing the knife against you harder.

“Y-yes…” You whimper, pulling against your restraints and feeling the belt dig into your skin.

He pulled away from you, lightly dragging his knife down your body and to your clothed folds. You held your breath, your legs shaking when you heard and felt the blade cutting through the fabric of your leggings, exposing you to the air.

Brian clicked his tongue. “You little skank,” he almost laughed. Just leggings that day, nothing else. Once again, the thought of those other men seeing you like this crossed his mind and sent a new wave of rage through him. “Damn you,” he spat.

He couldn’t wait anymore, he wanted- needed to claim you. To show you and everyone else that you were his and his alone. Throwing his knife to the side he quickly undid the button of his jeans, pulling them down enough to free his throbbing dick from its confines.

Pinning your bound hands above your head, Brian rubbed the swollen head of his cock against your slick. Just barely brushing your clit. Your breathing was shaky as you let out another needy whine. “Please…” you whisper. Your pussy was pulsing, aching for him to fill it. Your legs were shaking. “Please… I’m sorry…”

“Are you really?” He growled. “Because it seems like you’re getting exactly what you wanted.” He was beginning to get impatient with himself now. God, he wanted nothing more than to be inside you, to fuck you until you couldn’t think anymore.

“Yes!” You finally cried. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Please! I just- I want you inside-!” You were begging, you were sorry!

That was all he needed.

You almost wanted to cry at the feeling of his cock slipping past your aching folds. That familiar, pleasurable stretch that came with him sheathing himself inside you. You heard him groan, your warmth enveloping him as your walls clenched around his dick. He doesn’t waste any time and begins thrusting into you, setting a quick and rough pace.

A loud moan escapes you as you fruitlessly struggle against his hand pinning you and the belt around your wrists, wanting desperately to grab onto him, grab onto something. He’s relentless in the way he fills you, slowing only to bend your leg to your chest so that he can reach deeper inside you. You’re seeing stars as your wanton moans filled the air.

“No one could make you feel as good as I do,” he growls out. His rough fingers finding their way to your clit, abusing the pearl as his cock hits deep inside you. Your walls squeeze around him and his hips stutter for a moment before picking up speed.

You’re gasping for air, every breath being turned into a drawn-out moan or cry. Your legs are shaking, the oh-so-familiar coil burning hot in your core. You wanted it, you wanted to cum so badly. And you wanted Brian to be the one to take you there.

“Scream my name,” he orders. “Show everyone who’s fucking you so good right now.”

You do. A scream tears itself from your throat, his name tumbling from your mouth like a prayer as the coil inside you snaps and you cream around his dick. He fucks you through your orgasm, his fingers not leaving your clit as your body begins to shake. Tears roll down your cheeks at the intense pleasure.

Brian’s thrusts were becoming sloppy as he neared his peak. He drags you up from the mattress, thrusting up into your pulsing pussy. His lips are on yours, swallowing your cries for mercy. He spills inside you with a groan, hot ropes of cum filling you as your body shivers from the feeling.

After a moment of breathing for the both of you, he gently lowers you back to the mattress, pulling out in the process. Your cheeks flush as he stares down at you with a smirk. He drags a finger up your folds, collecting your shared essence before holding it to your lips. You open your mouth obediently, licking his hand clean.

The mood of the room had calmed significantly and Brian quickly worked to untie your wrists. You rub at the raw skin, trying to soothe it as you inspect the damage. Your new shirt was sliced open and your favorite leggings now had a rather prominent hole in them. You shake your head and look up at your boyfriend who had since fixed his pants and picked up his pocket knife.

“So…” you sigh, wearing a lopsided grin. “We going to do this again?”

Brian looks at you for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Damn you.”

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta imagines #short fic #x reader #imagines #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta smut #hoodie creepypasta #hoodie x reader #brian thomas #brian thomas x reader #cp hoodie #smut fic #x y/n #x you #creepypasta x y/n #creepypasta x you #lemon

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hpimaginesandblurbs · 3 years

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Hey could you do a tom riddle smut where they have a friends with benefits agreement and it’s kinda rough with dirty talk and the reader sees Tom flirting with someone else and gets jealous and confesses the next time they have sex that she has feelings for him?

pairing: young!tom riddle x reader

warning(s): 18+, smut, slightly rough sex, dirty talk, feelings

word count: 1.7k

a/n: sorry this took super long, took a break over the weekend but we’re back! also i’ve never written for tom riddle before nor have i really thought about him in the sense but this made me feel things!! so thank you anon who requested for my new obsession haha. i’ll be posting more throughout the week and requests are still open.

Your night had definitely not gone as planned.

You had thought you’d go to this little party, all of the Slytherin upperclassmen in attendance, and end the night in Tom’s bed. But no. Of course that’s not how your night would be going.

What you were currently watching, with your wine glass dutifully in hand, was none other than Tom Riddle himself cozying up to Margot, who was a year younger than you.

You and Tom were only friends with benefits, something that was agreed upon a long time ago, but you couldn’t help the fire that burned inside of you when looking at him with another girl. Labels be damned, that boy was yours.

You waited patiently throughout the rest of the night, chatting with people here and there, until the room slowly began to clear. You watched as Margot finally retreated down the hallway to her room, leaving Tom all alone on the couch.

He caught your eye from across the room and simply tilted his head in the direction of his own room with a cocky grin plastered on his face. When he departed the room himself, you had no choice but to follow.

It was silent for a moment when you entered, but he quickly broke it. “Did you have a nice night?” He asked cordially, his back turned to you as he removed his tie.

“Not as nice of a time as you did with Margot, it seems,” you bit back. You knew it was childish, but you couldn’t help yourself.

When he turned to face you, he had an eyebrow cocked when he sauntered over to where you were perched on his bed. “Is someone... jealous?” He asked, looming over you.

“No, just pointing out what I saw,” you countered easily.

“You really don’t expect me to believe that, do you?” He asked, chuckling under his breath.

“You’ve said it yourself, Tom. We’re just friends. What do I have to be jealous about?” You replied icily, your eyes not wavering from his.

The way he was staring down at you sent your insides ablaze. The look in his eyes screamed menacing, possessive, and dark. It was everything you were craving from him in the moment.

“I saw the looks all night Y/N. You couldn’t take your eyes off of us. You wanted to be the one with my undivided attention. You wanted to be the one pressed against my side. Just admit it,” he spoke lowly, his hand coming up to cup the side of your cheek sweetly. Although he was speaking softly and touching you tenderly, you could see it in his eyes - he wanted to devour you. And you were happily going to let him.

You didn’t even reply, you just lunged at him, pulling his lips to yours. He matched your pace readily at first, but the next thing you knew he was pulling away and just ripping your clothes off at a speed you had never seen him move.

“Friends don’t bother with kissing, Y/N,” he told you roughly while finally peeling your underwear from your body, exposing you to him in your entirety. He paused for a moment, unable to help himself as he took in your body greedily, but then he pounced.

In one swift move he had his pants pulled down from his hips and his cock out of his briefs and lined up with your waiting core. You were sure he could feel the way you were throbbing for him against his tip, but you couldn’t find it in you to care at the moment. He was acting so similar, but so different to what he would normally do. He was always rough, always fast, but tonight he seemed to be letting some sort of guard down and he turned all types of wicked.

He plunged into you in one steady thrust, not even bothering to let you adjust or slip a finger or two in prior like he typically would. But he was quick to explain himself yet again. “Friends don’t bother with foreplay either. Friends only care about one thing - using your body to get off,” he practically spit out, now pumping in and out of you at a furious pace.

Although your eyes were closed, you knew he was watching you - he always did. You knew he could see the way your face kept scrunching up in pain at particularly rough thrusts, could feel the way your body was tensing beneath him, but it didn’t deter him. No. He was doing this on purpose. He was proving his point. You refused to let him win that quickly.

You moved your arms up from the bed in an attempt to grab him as you usually would, but the second your skin touched him, he had both of your wrists pinned against the mattress.

“Friends certainly don’t hold each other like lovers. Do they, Y/N?” He asked, a vicious condescending tone lacing through his voice. You whimpered at his words, your head tossing back and forth against his pillows in frustration, but you just heard him chuckle in return.

But finally, in the moment you thought you’d break, he began to slow his thrusts down to a delicious roll that made your insides flutter while he used one hand to grab your chin and turn your face towards his.

“You see, Y/N, I don’t think you like being just friends. Am I correct?” He asked. When you could only give a small nod back, he pressed forward. “Use your words. I know you have them.”

“You’re right,” you replied, voice small as you tried to form a coherent thought while he was that far inside of you.

“So what is it that you want, Y/N? Because by all means we can still be friends and finish this my way. But if you want something otherwise, let me know. Don’t be shy, we are friends after all,” he said, much more softly and playful than before. But you could tell he was treading along some weird edge, where he would bend to whatever you responded with in an instant. It was like playing with fire, but it spurred you on.

“Want you to myself,” you admitted, feeling your cheeks flush red at your own words. When you chanced a look up at him, he had an eyebrow raised with a cocky smirk plastered on his face. There was a mixture of surprise and relief in his eyes and it was then you realized he had stopped moving inside of you entirely.

“And how long have you felt like this?” He asked quietly, pulling out of you slowly but keeping his body above yours. Even he wasn’t willing to break the energy in the room that your words had created.

“I, um, I think I realized a few weeks ago,” you said, trying to gain some confidence the longer this conversation went on. It was never something you had envisioned yourself ever telling him, but in typical Tom fashion he had trapped you into it regardless.

“Hm, how funny. I’ve been feeling quite the same way about you,” he said, sending a shock through your system.

“Really?” You asked more loudly than you had intended, still not quite believing him.

“Y/N, any man would be a fool to have you and then let you go. I don’t intend on being a fool,” he explained.

“Then don’t be a fool. I’m as good as yours,” you said, feeling more confident after his own admittance. You looked at him just as his eyes shot to yours, and the smile you saw dance along his face was one of the most beautiful sights you had ever seen.

“Mine,” he all but muttered to himself, but the moment got swept away and heightened when he sheathed himself back inside of you, going at a pace he knew drove you absolutely wild with pleasure.

You moaned out for the first time that night while he ravished your body. His hands and lips seemed to be everywhere all at once in a flurry of passion and your arms slowly crept up to dig your nails into his back.

You got lost in your own feelings, letting the pleasure consume you entirely. You didn’t know how long it went on for, how many cries of his name left your lips, how many times he paused to just look at you, but you were snapped back to reality when spit slick fingers began attacking your clit.

You cried out, arching your back and trying to buck up into his hands in one movement. You didn’t even realize how close you were until his fingers were on you. But it was his words that swallowed you whole and tossed you over the edge.

“Cum for me, Y/N. Cum for me knowing you’re mine and I’m yours,” he said roughly in your ear, his own release quickly approaching him as well.

Once the words ‘I’m yours’ left his mouth, you were screaming his name and clinging to him as if your life depended on it while your orgasm burst through your body. He quickly followed after you, your own name moaned wantonly where his face was tucking against your neck while he fought to work you both through it. It was the best type of bliss you could ever imagine.

Slowly, he pulled out of you one final time and laid down beside you, pulling you into the heat of his body the instant his head hit the pillow. You both laid like that for a few minutes, listening to each others breathing slowly even out as he held you. Finally, you decided to break that silence.

“So what now, exactly?” You asked curiously, wondering exactly where you both stood now.

“Darling, it’s late. Let’s go to sleep, hm? And I promise we’ll talk about it all in the morning,” he replied, leaving a quick kiss on the tip of your nose.

You giggled lightly, it was probably the softest thing you had ever seen the man do, but you were quite content to fall asleep in his arms and see what tomorrow would bring - so that’s exactly what you did.

#harry potter #tom riddle #young tom riddle #tom riddle smut #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle headcanon #harry potter smut

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yanderenightmare · 3 years

Note

Can you write some more about nice guy jock kiri? Please and thank you. Have a good day!

yandere ! KIRISHIMA EIJIRO - RED RIOT

goodiebag WARNINGS: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, suggestive language, manipulation, coercion

THAT ESCALATED QUICKLY

He said she could pick the movie this time.

He said she could pick out any movie at all. Whatever she wanted, they were going to watch. Yet in the time she’d spent making lunch, Kirishima sprawled lazily in her bed, browsing half-mindedly, eyes sliding from viewing the screen to looking at her round grabbable ass dancing as she padded about the small kitchen, begging for him to come pinch as she put the stir-fry in bowls and walked over to plot herself down next to the muscly block of man, he’d already picked a movie, far away from something she’d choose, though when eyeing what puppy-dog look he gave her, she couldn't very well say no.

Kirishima has always been clingy. She wouldn't like to call it suffocating, or controlling, though it does border on the word. But she cannot blame him for being handsy and suggestive when they’re alone, in her apartment, in her bed. He’s always been needy, always touching her, so very big-hearted and forward, easily distracted, easily discarding of tasks in favor of doing what new activity calls for his attention, like a dog.

She was becoming quite used to his confident nature, how hap-hazardously he would go about touching her, kissing and licking at her the way he so often went about doing, so much so it was strange to think that they hadn't ever actually slept together.

They had been dating for a couple weeks, and Kirishima was clear about his intentions and aspirations and wants and needs from the start, being a very open honest person, but she couldn't help but feel as though he was pushing her, nudging her, guilt-tripping her with candid words of how horny he was because of her, how frustrated he was, how frigid, how it was effecting his schoolwork, how good a boyfriend he was for waiting, for being patient and tolerant, how she couldn't blame him for wanting something in return, even though that something was a thing she wasn't ready to give him.

It would be wrong if she said he didn't respect her wishes, because he had, albeit begrudgingly. Each time she invited him over, or... he invited himself over, when he became rowdy, it would always take a good amount of bargaining and persuasion on her side, which was always met with even more coaxing and encouragement from him. How he would message his hand into the inside of her thigh, and she would push ever so gently to keep him at bay until he finally laid off, the mood stiff and awkward as he left her apartment to walk to his own place, alone, with a rejected boner he would have to take care of alone, then go to sleep alone, and wake up alone. He had still respected her wish in the end, or... maybe not respected, but at least accepted it.

She hadn't picked out the movie, and it being something she hadn't really invested very much thought into, she didn't try and stop him from nuzzling into her neck, kissing and sucking on the tender flesh found there. She allowed him to lift her shirt up to rub circles into her stomach with his warm roughened hand, let him grab and grope and mold her breast through the fabric of her bra, let him swing his leg over her body, to lock her position beneath him and his brawny heavy frame as he cuddled into her.

She could already feel the stiff bulge bump into her thigh, tried to forgive him for always riling himself up when he knows what her answer’s going to be, knows how she isn't ready to give him what he wants. Hearing his breathing picking up, becoming rugged and raspy, hot against her neck as he tried humping into her, having rolled and positioned and handled both their bodies so he could lie between her thighs, face mushed into the soft skin of her neck, nipping at her collarbones , spiky hair poking into the underside of her chin, hands abrasive when squeezing at the flesh of her ass and thighs, gripping them to lock around his torso, venturing to grab at her waist and breasts, becoming more and more frenzied, more and more rugged, forgetting his strength, forgetting her protests, getting more and more carried away.

She jolted once she felt his fingers hook into the band of her panties, having slipped up her skirt and spidered playfully up her thigh. She grabbed his arms loosely, small hands obviously not able to wrap around the thickness of his muscles, though applying what strength she deemed necessary to make him take her seriously, lightly digging her fingernails into his skin. “Uhm, Kiri-” She squeaked unsurely, breaching the shapeless noisy silence of heavy breathing and rugged groans and building growls that had filled the room, movie still quietly playing in the background, white noise completely ignored by the burning of her ears.

“Come on, let me feel.” He purred into her ear, giving her lobe a nibble.

“Uhm, I don't think-” She shoved at him, balls of her feet digging into the mattress, trying to sit up.

He laid his weight down on her, immobilizing her movement, keeping her under him. “Come on...” He drawled, voice rumbling. “Please?” Mumbling into her skin, knowing how it always makes her giggle from the tickle by the light scruff on his chin, knowing it makes her sweet and pliable. “Pretty please? It’ll feel good, I promise.”

He didn't really wait for any response, his face mushed into her neck, seeming cute as he pleaded but also acting as a great trap, his hand succeeded in pushing her panties aside, warm worn fingers, foreignly larger cuddled with the sensitivity kept there. His breath shuddered, lips spreading into a toothy grin against her neck, so wide she could feel it.

“Aww.” He moaned. “That’s so warm and wet.” She cringed, but hadn't the time to tell him to stop, hadn't the time to decide that she valued her limits more than maintaining the good vibe, and then she hadn't the mind to really think about it at all, too preoccupied with wrapping her thoughts around the fact that Eijiro had just pushed one thick knuckled finger inside her, roughly at that, pumped it in, stuffed her with it, with an equally chaffed thumb-pad laying heavy pressure down into her little beading clit.

It would probably have felt awful, the brutish boyish clumsy inconsiderate rubbing, but having him dry-hump into her for the better half of the entire movie made for a little messy spill between her thighs, perfectly ready to make whatever rough movement he gave seem like God’s touch, enough to have her moan at once.

“Does that feel good?” He asked, cocky undertone almost completely smoked out by livid lust, his arousal so very clear in his voice as he removed his weight when feeling her body melt and comply to what his hand was giving her of bliss. His large muscly frame rising to kneel between her legs, having her thighs hiked up and spread atop of his, forehead resting against hers. She bobbed her head in a series of quick sporadic nods, teeth biting harshly into her lip as she watched with a bowed head his finger disappear in and out the vulnerable sensitivity found between her spread thighs, the smell of beer on his heavy hot breaths fan over her face before he kissed her head. “You wanna cum?” She gave a moan, indicating an unspoken yes as he rubbed his thumb over and over her tender pearl, pushing another one of his long fingers inside her, making her gasp out a moan, mewing as he curled and scissored the two digits inside her, making her inevitable unraveling arrive much quicker.

He wiped his sticky hand on his pant leg with a small smug smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, watching as her head fell back to rest against the pillow again, beginning to unbutton his jeans.

The sound of him sliding down his zipper pulled her focus back, eyelids fluttering open just in time to watch him pull his throbbing hard erection out with a sigh. And though the red-head had gone about the reveal in an unceremonious manner, whether it was out of lack of showmanship or Kirishima deeming it unnecessary, it didn't really matter to the virgin beneath him. She took one look and she wasn’t able to look away. A surprising black bush drew her focus at first, what more the two easter-eggs that seemed to be nestling there, but not before long her eyes felt the need to follow what bulging pumping purple vein ran up the underside of the thickness, almost like a spine, or a pin that reached up to a red-blushed head, glossed like a candy-apple, with a slit running though it and a spill of pre-cum dripping down to disappear in the dark forest below.

She could swear it sized up to her whole arm’s-length.

Her eyebrows knitted as she continued eyeing the hard pole, watching it bob with strength, straining against his stomach, standing proudly on it’s own as he lifted his shirt off his arms and shoulders, throwing it to the floor, revealing what mouthwatering washboard rock-hard abs he kept beneath.

His hand once again reached out, this time to grab her wrist, guiding her shaking hand back to his thick member, watching her hesitate to wrap her delicate little fingers around his length once he squeezed her wrist too hard in impatience, seeing her bite her lip at the feel of the almost rubbery-smooth texture of his length in her palm, warm to the touch. His larger hand wrapped around her smaller one, guiding the movement as he started pumping up and down.

He groaned, head hung and resting atop her shoulder where he knelt with her sitting form in his lap, red eyes with wide pupils locked on watching her small hand loosely holding onto him, his cock looking so unbelievably huge in her tiny grasp, like some beast, where the more he thought about it and the more he looked, it was big compared to all of her, he could only imagine what she was thinking as she eyed his length with that cute childish level of curiosity and sweet tinge of virgin anxiety. She needed to bite her lip to prevent it from trembling, wanting to squeeze her thighs shut when they too became unruly, wanting to protect what was kept between them.

It only made his cock throb even harder.

“I- fuck-” He grunted, thrusting shallowly up into her hand by angling his hips up, looking down upon her enticing pretty silken dew-kissed heat, his finger greedily reaching to touch the tender entrance only to hear her whimper out a small whine at once when his rough digits brazenly made contact. “You’re so shy, it’s adorable.”

The loosely given hand-job felt good around his priorly ignored arousal, what with how sensitive he was, but was missing what her pussy was welcomingly dripping with.

He lowered himself, hand grabbing his base to steady the attack, yet was declined by her placing her own hand in front of the poor unsuspecting virgin tightness. “Uhm, Kiri- I-”

He shushed at her, prying her hand easily away, replacing it with his own, rubbing those electrical patterns he did before into her pretty budding pearl. “No, no, Baby. Come on. Pretty please, it’ll feel so good, I’ll be gentle okay? It’ll be good, I promise.” He swirled his thumb over her clit, an act far from gentle, though sending those sharp involuntary spikes of pleasure into her core, giving to something pooling in her stomach, something warm and sticky and heavier than before, almost burdening with how it strained in the muscles of her thighs, making her shake beneath the man’s mere thumb. “I love you, Baby, don't you want us to take the next step?”

“Uhm...” She gasped as he abused the sensitivity under his course strength.

“Thank you, Baby.” He purred, lips carved into a smile fit for devouring, planting kisses down her face and into her neck, his cock pushing into the velvet folds.

But she backed up, balls of her feet pushing into the mattress, her palms doing the same, but Kirishima had other plans, none of them including letting her up.

“Kiri, no-” She pushed lightly at his chest then, as she’d done before, trying to soothe and smooth over the feathers she’d ruffled, trying ever so gently in those small soft caresses to apologize for having riled him up so.

But seems this time he wouldn't have that either, her hands cupped and pulled rather dismissively out of the way, dominated by his own and how he intertwined his digits, raking them in with her dainty ones, locking their hands, or rather securing hers, before pushing them flat into the sheets beside her, giving him full access to what lied beneath him without her bothersome fists getting in his way. “Come on, Babe... stop being a little tease...” Her hands slipped their confinements in his as he rather needed them to manage her body, felt that twitching itch to grab and grope and tug and pull at all her doughy flesh. She gasped as he groped a mans handful of her ass, bumping his bare cock into her, rubbing it up and over her pussy, bobbing between their stomachs.

His face was still so adamant on nibbling at the flesh of her collar, leaving what she knew to be ugly swelling purple stains that turned into those vile green and yellow marks looking like fungus blooming on her skin. “I’m sorry-” It was all too much to have his warm skin pressed against her, his naked hardness, all of him, his rough hands, his brutish needle-sharp teeth, that thing that poked at her, humped into her where he’d made a sticky wet hot mess, with her underwear put somewhere out of sight and most definitely out of reach. “I’m not ready to-” Her hands tried softly but with increasing effort at getting him off, trying to get her discomfort across to the seemingly clueless baboon who was handling her body to his own selfish ends on top of her.

“It’s fine.” His voice was heated, soft despite trodding over her own, as he tried calming her down, again with his hands tugging at her wrists and pushing the annoying things away from him, again so he could lie himself down on top of her. “We’ll try something-” His efforts at soothing her weren’t appreciated by the girl beneath as she continued pushing, bordering on thrashing beneath the giant red-head.

“Kiri, stop. ” There was an edge to her voice this time, an edge he didn’t appreciate.

Large hand wrapped their fingers around her wrist and crushed it with a strength she couldn't hope to match, a dark chuckle following, rumbling just beside her ear alongside a small smile carving his lips at the cute pop of bones followed by her whimper. “Stop being so difficult, Babe.” He chastised, voice dismissive and completely unbothered by her spiked struggles, treating her reluctance like it was nothing but a minor inconvenience he could simply swat away like a fly. “I know you’ll like it, you just need to-”

“I don’t need to do anything!” She cried now, adorable small whines as she tried prying her hand out of his hold. “Get off me!”

“Kinda feels like you’re trying to piss me off here.” His tone darkened, and so did the look in his eyes, and though she was just short of bawling with the lump of hopelessness and fear caught stuck in her throat, the adrenaline gave her such a rush of confidence as her leg finally managed to shuffle under his, allowing her to knee him right in that swelled thick slug he was so transfixed on appeasing.

And though she managed briefly to slip out from beneath him, it was no victory, and she felt that ounce of triumph that fluttered in her heart snuff out at the feel of his brawny taunt and rock hard arms wrap around her torso, hoisting her off the ground, only to throw her right back where she’d been laying not moments ago.

“Please, Eijirou, please, you're scaring me, stop.” She kicked now, flopping beneath him like a fish hauled up on a boat, tried prying her hands out of his grasp yet couldn't stop him from holding her down, rolling her on her stomach while he pulled off his uniform necktie, bending her arms behind her back and tightening the noose around her wrists, pulling the tail between them to secure the knot tightly, before rolling her back with her hands being crushed beneath her.

Her face reappeared tear-slicked and panicked. “There we go, all pretty and perfect for me.” He lightly tapped her face as he stuffed her mouth with the panties he fished back up from his pockets, settling between her legs again as she whined through the make-shift gag.

Rough course hand, like sandpaper, like rock, slid down between her thighs, slowly in their venture, pushing and kneading into the softness, hungry as they groped and pushed her open, wrapped her around his torso so he could slap his rock-solid cock onto her vulnerable little opening.

“Let me paint a picture for you, Babe.” He started, catching her attention.

Her eyes so unbelievably wide as she looked up at him through the thick hazy ominous darkness of the room, a darkness that once seemed so cozy now so overwhelming, the sun having gone down, the TV turned to black, the lights left off and the only glimmer coming from the streetlights and the dim white glow of the moon shining in through her window, leaving Kirishima’s sharp teeth to hang above her and how they seemed to drip, eerie shadows cast upon his face, eyes red and hazy, drooped to slits, drunk and cocky as he continued rubbing his cockhead up through the lips of her pussy ever so causally, like she wasn’t bound and bawling beneath him.

“So listen up and listen carefully. Can you do that, Babe?”

She felt cold suddenly, chilled to her core by his tone, reduced to shivering beneath his confident touch, shuddering where she laid, chest pushed upward above the support her arms gave, head drawing in the dune of her pillow, thighs lifted to straddle her boyfriend’s waist, his hand keeping her there by curling his thumb into the underside of her knee.

“The way I see it, you have two options.” He leaned in, voice sturdy but soft like a straight-jacket. “Either you be my good girl and give me what’s mine.” Tone swooping low into a growl. “Or...”

His hands moved steadily as they began unbuttoning her shirt from the bottom up, planting a kiss on the newly exposed skin of her tummy, just short of her belly-button. The light scruff of his chin tickling the thin skin it rubbed against as he continued licking and nibbling on the flesh the more it was exposed to him.

“You run along to your friends, tell them what a bad bad guy I am. They ask for proof, but silly little you have no proof to give.” He chuckled, warm breath breezed on the peach-fuzz of her chest as he kept sucking his marks into her, hands fingering the last of her buttons. “People love me, Buttercup, so let me ask you this...” The crimson spikes of his hair stuck into the underside of her chin as he licked up her throat, kissed her jaw and bit at her earlobe, whispering. “Who’s side you think they gonna take?” Humming as he watched another fat tear run down her cheek. “You go to the teachers, they ask for proof, something you still don’t have because there is none. And even if they did believe you... no saying they’d do anything about it. I’m destined to be a billboard hero. Do you really think they’ll throw all that away on some ditz from general studies?” Question after question, answer after answer, each one another stab and twist of the rusty blade in her hope. “Think again.” With her shirt open she witnessed him morph his hand into sharp rock, a jagged finger burrowing beneath the bridge of her bra and cutting the thick fabric loose, now fully exposed to his mouthful of teeth and slobbering tongue. “Hate to break it to you, but that’s not how the world works, Sweetheart.”

She closed her eyes, clamped them shut, but it only helped her feel all his entitled actions even more, how he moved, rightfully, regardlessly, without regret or remorse. She swore she could feel him pulsating against her, his cock pumping against her swollen clit, where she could argue that the rip of him tearing apart her skirt was the loudest noise she’d ever heard in her life.

“And perhaps it ends there, but I know you. You continue, trying to make anyone believe you, eventually ending up in management for crazy obsessed fanatic fangirls -of which I have many- or you give up.” His mouth enclosed her nipple, tongue swirling around the bud, fingers tweaking the other breast with boyish greediness. “Either way, you end up missing. With no friends to bother coming to find you, thinking that your delusional ass offed yourself, when in reality...”

Large hand curling around her neck, squeezing as he rose to look down at her, rock his hips to allow his cock more friction, sliding up and down between her thighs, bobbing against her stomach, thrumming and spilling thick whiteness, dripping and smearing onto her skin.

“You’re right back here with me.”

Her heart skipped, seemed to stop, everything seemed to stop. His words hung poised, forgetting how to drop, like dust settling, lingering about the air as she looked up at him, thinking he looked like the onset of hell, like a demon, his hair like horns, his eyes like hellfire, and those teeth, those sharp unforgiving teeth.

“You see, if you don’t give, I will take.” He juggled her head with the tight grip he had on her jaw, playing with her as his other hand swept through her delicate sensitive folds, made her cringe, try and shimmy away, all to his disgusting amusement shown in the snaggletooth that hooked over his lip as he smirked a grim curled line. “And right now it looks to me like I might just have to show you just how defenseless you are to stop me.” His digits wiggled inside her, and she whined into her panties as she sucked on them, her eyes clinging to the dangerous heat simmering inside his. “Aww see? You’re already getting so wet. Your body sure knows who it belongs to, I’m sure you will too, very soon.”

#yandere eijiro kirishima #yandere kirishima #yandere eijiro #yandere eijirou #yandere kirishima eijiro #yandere red riot #kirishima smut #yandere kirishima eijiro #bnha eijiro kirishima #bnha kirishima #eijirou x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #eijirou kirishima imagine #eijirou x you #bnha eijirou #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere mha #yandere my hero academia #yandere bnha

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eponymous-rose · 3 years

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Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E129 (March 16, 2021)

Tonight’s guests are Matt Mercer and Taliesin Jaffe!

Matt, on DMing Luc’s Revivify: “That was weird. It’s one thing when it happens because of player action and circumstances and the choices they make. When it’s entirely on me, unintentional, and just realizing different chess pieces you’ve set up, that’s rough.” It was especially rough since this was a child NPC related to a PC. “I was hoping somebody had a spell slot left.” He kept in mind that there are two clerics in the room and that they could resurrect the next day even if the Revivify went poorly. “A good chance, since it’s his first time. Okay, okay, okay, okay, I think we’ll be okay, we’ll see how this goes. It was really stressful in the moment! I did not set out to have that happen, but when I realized what was going to happen, I tried to see it through.” He wouldn’t have prevented a chance to bring him back. “There may have been an offshoot short-run series of games to find a way to bring him back. I would have found some way to correct the circumstance so the players could feel good about moving forward with the story and there was no undue punishment beyond their control.”

Taliesin on Cad’s response: “This is a big thing if you’re a cleric. It was very much coming in like an EMT. Everything should be fine... hopefully. Just focused in and got it done. The minute things started to go south it was like, okay, that’s the next problem.”

On Yeza’s feelings: “It is a very complicated situation. I think he, much like how Veth is trying to figure out what it is that she wants, I think he’s trying to help her find that while also figuring it out for himself. I think Yeza’s also noticing that because Veth’s the more active of the two of them she also takes the weight of the responsibility and the blame for things when they go wrong, unnecessarily. Especially when he himself acknowledges that he’s partially at fault for even dragging everyone in with the Conclave. As much as he’s appreciative for them coming back for him, there’s a lot of back and forth. He’s filled with a lot of regret, too, but he’s very much trying to convince Veth that it’s a burden that she doesn’t have to keep to herself, that they can share it and work through it together.” Matt mentions that, as an actor, he really loves exploring interactions between characters first and foremost. “Especially when you don’t know where it’s going to go.” He also praises Sam as a scene partner - “I really cherish that.”

How does Caduceus feel about Revivify and Speak with Dead? “Speak with Dead is an interesting middle ground, because he knows that it’s not actually speaking with the dead. It’s really just-- it’s almost medical, really. This is just reactivating a brain at a certain point. It’s practically just a muscle twitch at this point. That doesn’t really prod him in that direction. Revivify is interesting, because it had never really come up. At first I thought of it as bending the rules, but it’s not bending the rules. You knock over a plant, you replant it, you don’t stare at it and go ‘Well, that’s over.’ This is just doing the work. No, we can bring this thing back to health. This is all part of the circle of life, that sometimes we can save something. Especially given the stress that he’s put himself through over the past year of being with these people. He’s started to think of himself a bit as a battlefield medic, and triage is just part of the deal, and it’s completely acceptable.”

Did Trent really just want to talk? “Yeah, that circumstance, as it came together, Trent would never have arrived if there wasn’t an indication that there was some kind of infiltration or attack. Even beyond that, it was Jester breaking the concentration on her charm on that one guard when she created her duplicate.” The guards’ job is to inform a member of the Cerberus Assembly, and Trent lived the closest. “He didn’t know who it was, didn’t have any expectation necessarily. The minute he saw the illusion, he knew a powerful magic user was involved.” Seeing Caleb was an unexpected surprise. “I don’t think he wanted to throw down necessarily. He was more interested in figuring out exactly what the nature of this was.” Matt had multiple battlemaps that didn’t get used. “They managed to cleverly out-maneuver him in his surprise of seeing them.” The Nein rocketed up his priority list after that very quickly. Taliesin: “We’re so fucked.”

On Cad being “Uncle Caduceus” to Luc: “It’s the thing he misses most about home, is being a juvenile shit. It’s nice to be able to express that part of him again, as opposed to the serious, life-threatening, constant intensity. I’m very at home just being a little difficult.”

Cosplay of the Week: an amazing Beau! (_rumor_king, photography by kourtyardproductions on Instagram)

On Marion: “Like a lot of people in this whole narrative from the beginning, getting swept up in things larger than her and trying to adapt. This is a circumstance she’s avoided for a long time. She’s having a rough time in some ways, but simultaneously, she’s enduring. Like a mother would. She’s adapting, she’s making it work. Without much of a choice, you just kind of do the best you can and lean on the people around you to help you where they can. Luckily she has a daughter there. She’s probably surprising herself at how well she’s doing given the circumstances.” Matt talks about how weird it is to feel proud of character he’s created. “Of the many things Marion is incredible at, she’s a studier of the human condition. She’s seen and heard the stories of so many. That gives her a very special perspective. She can see elements of that fractured individual within Caleb, and knowing the good that he’s brought to his friends, and knowing he’s possibly saved her life from bad circumstances, she couldn’t not speak up. She very easily falls into that role of maternal comforter, because it’s one of the many things she’s really good at, she enjoys it, and she can see well when people need it.” He’s been enjoying having Marion along for this (despite the difficult circumstances) because he was always a little sad that they only got to see her for short periods of time.

On the Blooming Grove’s safety: “He’s afraid that it’s a premonition. He’s not pinned it down, but he’s happy to let his imagination wander. He at the very least feels like there’s a reason he’s having these thoughts, and that there’s a reason to go there. He’s a big believer that these things don’t just happen. He’s more likely to think that there’s a good reason to go versus a danger to go. He’s had a couple of ominous warnings lately, and he’s not used to them and not a fan. He’s more likely to read something like that as, there is something there waiting for you that you have to discover. There is something that is going to be helpful to you, even if it hurts.”

On Astrid: “While maybe not as readable in overall personality as Trent is, I still want to be careful to not discuss things that are still being discussed within the game and tossed around as possibilities. Astrid is another complicated character, as anyone would be who’s been through the life she has. I can’t say too much. I can say she’s definitely legitimately happy to see Bren/Caleb after all this time.” His reemergence definitely caught her off guard. “We’ll have to see where it goes from there.”

On Cad’s successful Divine Intervention: “He’s definitely hit the ‘on a mission from god’ stage. He’s been that way for the entire campaign of, this, this is what I’ve been waiting for. Even when it sucks a lot, it’s been nice that those things have popped up to remind him, no, no, you’re doing it right, everything’s good. Probably not going to survive the next week, but you’re doing good! Not quite 1 in a 100 chance, but I forget so often to make that roll, and it’s such a great roleplaying roll. I don’t know how at level 20 you could deal with the fact that you can do that every day.”

On Zeenoth getting his comeuppance: the kidnapping was a concept Marisha brought up for Beau’s backstory, and Matt went with it even though it was opposed to the Cobalt Soul’s philosophy because he knew rooting it out would make for an interesting story. “I felt it was an important beat to bring to her, because it was something that she was wronged by. And to show that there are still some good people out there who are trying to make things right.” After the tentative peace, dealing with this became Dairon’s next focus. “I was glad we finally got to it. So many people don’t have the opportunity in their lives to get that sort of justice and vindication, so if I can bring elements of that justice into our world, even for our own hope, I’m going to do that. Especially for my wife’s character, especially for a character that deserves that.” Taliesin points out that if it had come too early, Beau wouldn’t have believed it.

Cad’s thoughts on the Tomb Taker betrayal? “He knew it was gonna come at some point. There was no way that was gonna last. He was hoping it was gonna last a little longer. He was really hoping they had a vested interest in getting them all the way to the end. Nope, this is apparently as far as we go, and he was not prepared for that.” He was expecting the potential for de-escalation. “Caduceus is the only character in there that doesn’t have a history with Lucien. I think he sees him a little more clearly than everybody else does. They’re all looking for this person that Clay, at least, is of the opinion that he’s just not there. This is a very manipulative, very dangerous infernal human. Just smarter than all of them. Really aware that there is no calculating what the hell is going to happen. Conversation is the only way you can deal with someone like that.”

Fan Art of the Week: An amazing Caleb closeup! (rynn_birb on Twitter)

Taliesin on Lucien: “I’m excited he’s the one that’s going to kill us all. Poetic that this is how the game ends.” Matt was delighted when Taliesin handed him carte blanche to do what he wanted with Molly’s past. “I was like ‘shit... oh, wait!’ The character of Lucien was always intended to be an antagonist so that it would have been Molly being chased by the person who wanted their body back. But then it happened that he got his body back.” Taliesin: “He’s so much worse than I ever hoped.”

Matt, on the Holy Avenger: “I hadn’t thought to initially even give that sword.” The good roll was the only reason Kima handed that over. “Well, sure, you get the sword. It was very reactionary, it wasn’t my intent originally. I was like, well, I mean, there’s two avenues she can take with this.” Multiclass into Paladin, or lean into the fact that her subclass is essentially a barbarian paladin. “This really works out in a uniquely beautiful way. Let me see if I can lay out a path for her to earn it.”

On Cad’s attempt at lying blowing up in his face: “He was like that kid that had a really bad day in high school and was like, you know what? I’m going to let loose. This is it. I’m gonna dye a streak in my hair. And then tries to give himself a haircut and ends up with half bangs. Well, okay, obviously I’m not that person. I was feeling a little distraught and I didn’t handle it well. Maybe I’m going dark... no, I’m not going dark. Nope.” Matt mentions how much he relates to Caduceus.

Matt, on the Eyes: “What can I tell you? I’m enjoying the hell out of it. The moment they began to really push to read that book, I was like, okay, this is on you. I’m excited for the point in the narrative where the march continues back to Eiselcross. I am almost impatient - not really - because we’re on the cusp of getting to more of the meat. There’s so much to learn, so much to see, so much to explore. I love instilling my players with absolute terror.”

Thoughts on Jester’s Tarot reading? Taliesin cackles. “Molly made the cards, so. Did it to himself, he did, he did.” Matt: “Once again, another example of things working out unexpectedly and too perfectly for an improvised moment. Fuck.” Taliesin: “Bless the wisdom of chaos.” Matt: “I love that even at this point in the campaign, Molly continues to fuck with people. I’m just so proud. That deeply shook Lucien, for reasons.” Taliesin: “It’s the everlasting gobstopper smoke bomb.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long text post

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 3 years

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Aaron Hotchner / Is That An Order?

Summary: you see Aaron in his FBI vest after he comes back from a call -- and it gives you both some ideas.

Prompts: The Vest Hotch Fic™

Word count: 4,035

Warnings: Explicit (minors DNI), oral (m receiving), fingering, thigh riding, dom! hotch (but he’s still soft), door sex, voyeurism, reader has a V (no pronouns), light choking, slighttttt watch kink, just smut,

“Hey you,” Penelope sticks her head into Aaron’s office, a smile on her lips, “looking for Hotch?”

You nod, checking your watch — taunting you as it flashed a time nearly to midnight— as Garcia sits beside you, “We were supposed to grab dinner — a late dinner about two hours ago — I assume something came up?”

“They went out on a call a while ago — they should be back soon,” you furrow your brow, pressing your fist to your lips, “don’t worry, I already heard from them — they are going to be on their way back.”

You roll your eyes, “You’ve been spending too much time with profilers, Pen,”

“What’s new?” you laugh, just as there’s a knock at the door, Aaron standing in the doorway, his vest still on, gun in its holster.

“Sir,” Penelope gets to her feet, the two speaking about the case, but you were much too distracted to hear what they said.

Your eyes raked over him. Much too distracted.

The blue vest slipped tight over his white button-up, his muscles straining against the woven fibres, his arms folded across his chest — the same you wanted splayed across your body as he fucked you, just as he did the night before.

It should be illegal to look that good in what was essentially a government mandated (life saving) uniform.

Penelope waves a hand in front of your face and you snap back to reality, and she tilts her head, “I’ll see you later, okay?”

Your face burns — unable to meet Aaron’s gaze that caressed you slowly, , “Yeah, are we still on for Saturday?” Penelope nods, bidding you both goodbye, slipping from the office, the door clicking behind her.

Aaron slips next to you on the couch, “Sorry I’m late,” he presses a kiss to your forehead, pressing his head against yours, as your palm cupped his cheek, relaxing under your touch, “Did we miss—” You show him your watch, and he sighs, brow wrinkling, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I’m not upset,” you pressed a kiss to his lips, “we can always reschedule for tomorrow night with Jack. We can always do takeout tonight.”

“I know — but this was supposed to be our night alone,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss right behind your ear, his words reverberating against your skin, “I wanted it to be special.”

“It still can be,” you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling back to look at him, his gaze soft, “Would it be incredibly corny to say any night with you special?”

He laughs, your chest squeezing, swelling with gentle pride that you were the one to make him make that beautiful noise, “Very,”

And he kisses you, his hand curling around the back of your neck to pull you closer, and your hand presses against his chest, feeling the muscle under the coarse fabric of the vest. And you lean into him, palms flat against the vest, “Did you keep this on for any reason?”

You’re far too obvious and he’s far too astute — just as you intended. And he leans back, his breath warm against your lips, “Didn’t get a chance to change — my bag is in here,” you bite your lip, eyes roving the expanse of his chest wrapped in the material, tracing the letters written in white, and his fingers tilt your chin back up, molten eyes that make you squirm, “do you like what you see, sweetheart?”

You lean closer, noses brushing, palms now curving around his shoulders, against the straps of the vest, “And what if I said I did?”

~~~

“Strip,” Aaron orders, and you blink, as the light turns green, the car begins to roll forward again on this empty road ahead of you. The streets were mostly deserted now, the hour much too late for traffic and the streets barely illuminated by dimming street lamps — you could thank the great city of D.C. for that.

You tilt your head, “What?”

His fingers flex over the steering wheel, his watch gleaming in the hint of light the moon shone onto the console, “I gave you an order,”

Well this was new.

His eyes snap over to yours, softening for a split second as if to ask for silent permission to continue, “I said strip.”

And you bite back your smile, he’s still just as soft as always.

You do as he says, stripping down — your shirt slipping over your head easily, your pants were next, pausing to look around — the road was empty and barren, no — nothing but the road stretching out. But right now the thick heat of the summer wasn’t the thing that was making you shift your seat, no it’s how he watches you out of the corner of his eye, his gaze utterly dark, dark you can only assume with thoughts of what he would do to you if he wasn’t driving.

Now you’re in your underwear, squirming under his steady gaze, as he rolls to a stop at a redlight. And he looks at you now, as you part your thighs for him, appreciating how his eyes linger where your underwear has a dark patch, and he clears his throat.

“Touch yourself,” his voice is thick as molasses, rich and dark, sending a shiver down your spine.

You raise an eyebrow, “Is that an order, sir?”

“It wasn’t a question, sweetheart,” and you oblige, pulling down your underwear around your ankles, spreading yourself with your fingers to begin, tips of your fingers circling your entrance, your eyes fluttering, until a flash of green catches your attention.

“It’s green,” you gasp, choosing that moment to sink a finger into yourself, knuckle deep, and you see his grip on the wheel flex again, as if he’s barely holding himself back, “the light, sir.”

His eyes flicker back to the road, and he hits the accelerator, continuing on the road, eyes flickering over to you, unable to completely tear himself away. You had sunk another finger into yourself, slowly thrusting, eyes fluttering shut as you imagined it was his fingers, your hips already rolling against your touch, imagining it was his fingers instead, his knee between your legs spreading you wider — muttering filthy nothings in your ear—-

“Sir, please—”

“What do you want?”

Your gaze flickers to him, leaning against the headrest, “Something— say something—”

Another red light, and your eyes flutter open, his features cast in a red glow, his jaw set, “Not yet,” and you whine, long and high, his brow arching at the pathetic noise that left your lips, his eyes remain on the road, but you see him stealing glances out of the corner of his eye, “have you earned it?”

You grit your teeth, your fingers still pressing insistently, your thumb brushing your clit, and your walls flutter with the promise of an orgasm — a moan rips from your throat. And then you see him — he shifts, oh so subtly adjusting himself, but you know you have him.

You would earn it — you bite your smile back, waiting patiently for the light to turn green — and he would have to just watch.

Green.

That’s when you start fucking yourself in earnest, a third finger slipping into your wet cunt, and you knew he could hear just how wet you were for him, your sounds filling the silence of the car. Your fingers dripped the armrests of the carseat, nails digging into plush material, as you braced your legs for even a little more leverage, a little more to get off too.

And even though he refused to run his mouth, you did—

“Fuck, your fingers would be thicker than mine, so good rubbing against my clit right now—” you give a needy sigh, as your thumb swipes against your clit again, circling around right where you wanted it. You felt the car pick up speed, rushing, pushing to get back faster, and you knew he was close, even as the car rolled to another stop at a red light.

He growls your name, swallowing thickly, and you catch a glimpse of his fingers digging into the leather of the armrest.

“You fuck me better than I can fuck myself. God, I’m dripping for you, can you hear it? I need you, Aaron,” and your eyes flutter open, your mouth hanging open, meeting his half lidded eyes as he watches you — a heat so molten that it begins to prod you over the edge, your thumb pressing against your clit in tight circles, “Fuck. Aaron— Sir, I’m close.”

“Stop,” he orders, cutting through your euphoria, and your fingers slow, “you don’t cum until I tell you can.”

“I don’t care,” you whine, your fingers beginning to move, but he grabs your wrist, tightly, being careful when he pulls your fingers from you. Your fingers are shiny, wet with the beginnings of your orgasm. His eyes narrow as he looks at them, his tongue darting across his lips, and you can almost those lips wrapped your fingers, sucking your cum from the tips of your fingers as his tongue circled—

He offers your fingers to you, “Suck,” he tells you, his attention split between you and the red light, and you ached at the emptiness, squirming, “I gave you an order—”

Green light.

You place your fingers in your mouth, your taste dancing across your tongue as he watches you, and you make a show of it — swirling your tongue around your fingers, sloppily sucking at them, imagining it was his cock instead. Your pussy throbbed, and you were sure you were going to leave a wet spot on the seat. You pulled your fingers out with a pop, just as he hit another red light.

In a moment, his fingers wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you into a bruising kiss that stole the air from your chest. His teeth graze your bottom lip harshly, before his tongue slips into your mouth, tasting you on your tongue. Your fingers fist in his shirt, tugging him closer over the console, his name leaving your mouth in a whimper.

And he snaps. He pulls away from you, a protest stuck in the back of your throat, until he pulls into his driveway, “Sir—”

He pushes his seat back, undoing his seatbelt, and he leans over, gripping the back of your neck again, “I’m going to fuck you in this seat, sweetheart,” he kisses you again, brusingly rough, as his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you up. Your back arched, hunched and pressed against the ceiling of the car as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, his fingers busy pulling your pants and underwear down in one fell swoop. He tugs you over, as you help him pull you over the shift gear, launching yourself with the heel of your foot. You land right against his hard cock, a grunt falling from his lips, as your pussy throbs against the coarse material of his jeans.

Your palms run across the vest, as his lips fall from your lips, punctuating the kiss to the hollow of your throat with sucking at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. He takes his time with you:he’s pragmatic with his kisses, his touches, each one carefully calculated — your collarbone, your neck, your pulse; he’s patient, his lips smile against your skin when he feels you squirm; but he’s passionate, his hands splayed across your hips, his chest bumping yours, his eyes bored into you as if he couldn’t bear to look away.

But still, he wasn’t keeping his promise — his fingers traced up and down your thighs, but he made no move to unbuckle his belt or undo his fly, “Sir, please—”

“This isn’t a reward,” his voice taut, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips, knowing it wasn’t enough pressure to bloom bruises, “not after what you just pulled.”

“I did what I did—”

His hand flies over your mouth, muffling your words against your palm, “I didn’t ask for an explanation,” and he roughly shifts you so you were straddling his thigh now, the thick muscle under your throbbing folds, “And I don’t think you deserve to get fucked, do you?” He rolls the thigh underneath you, delicious friction sending a ripple of pleasure up your spine, “not until you learn your lesson.”

“Please—” you let out a needy whine, as you grind down, moaning as your folds drag against him, and his fingers wind their way around your neck, the cold metal of his watch against the hollow of your throat. A shiver ghosts down your body, and you don’t know if it’s from the cold press of the watch or the anticipation that mulls in your stomach — a heat that makes you melt into him, into his touch. The calluses of his fingers drag against your smooth skin, until they settle into place — as they always did.

“I want you to fuck yourself on my thigh for me, sweetheart,” his fingers squeeze your throat softly to punctuate his words, his other hand gliding along the length of your thigh until settling on your hip again, his thumb sliding up and down the soft flesh, “You have to earn it.”

“Earn what?” and he forces you to roll against his thigh again, forcing a whimper from your lips.

“Earn the right to be fucked,” he presses a kiss to the corner of your lips.

You glare at him, before his thigh falls slack and you throb again, wanting friction, wanting pleasure, wanting him.

Fuck it, your hands splay over his shoulders, against the thick material of the vest, and fuck him.

You grind down on his thigh, your clit catching deliciously against his the thick muscle of his thigh, “Look at you,” his fingers flex around your neck with every press of his thigh, “imagine if the team could see you like this, split open on my thigh, soaking it — I can feel how wet you are — I can hear it,” Your pussy twitches against him, and his lips curl, “you like that, don’t you? Only I can fuck you like this. I can only see you like this, can’t I?” and you nod, as he begins to roll his thigh against your in tandem, your head lolling back — so fucking good, “show me how good you are, show me how good you’re going to be for me.”

And he knows you’re close — your fingernails digging into his shoulders, mouth ajar, his fingers around your neck holding you in place for him — a pretty picture of pleasure before him, for him to watch you fall apart under his touch. You were his art, and he was surely the artist.

You rock your hips against him again, as his thigh tenses in time, and then his finger reach underneath, rubbing against you harshly, “Cum for me,”

And you do, his name on your lips again, your walls fluttering as you spill all over him, still grinding against him as you ride out your orgasm. His lips find yours as you slow, embarrassingly wet, his jeans soaked with evidence of your orgasm, but that only serves to make you clench against him more. He presses butterfly kisses against your lips as you come down, your pants in his ear.

“Sir, Aaron— please—” He runs his thumb down your lips, pulling at your bottom one, as he looks at you with half lidded eyes, and he moves your hand to his bulge, hardened against the material of his jeans, damp — just as his pant leg you rested on was — but from his arousal, not yours. His eyes darken when he sees your tongue drag against your lips, “Can I—”

Your answer is when he pushes the seat back as far as it can go, and you slip from his lap, kneeling comfortably between his legs, pushed flush with the seat. His fingers undo his belt, the clink of his belt making you press your thighs together. He lifts his hips, as you help him pull his jeans and boxers down, a flurry of fabric tugged down to his ankles, until you’re staring at his cock.

Precum leaks out the tip, a low hiss leaves his lips as your fingers curl around him, your tongue darting out to lick it. His fingers tighten against the armrests, as you kiss the tip again, your fingers grazing him lightly, “Fuck, sweetheart, I thought you wanted me to fuck you—” his sentence dies in his throat as you press the flat of your tongue down the underside of his hardness, relishing in the way he twitches underneath your touch, “fuck, I—”

His fingers card through your hair, tugging you closer, pressing his length into your mouth, “You do that so well, don’t you?” he murmurs, his hips beginning to jerk against you, “going to fuck your throat, mark that mouth as my own. Because you’re mine,” He groans, when your tongue traces his slit again, before curling around his length.

You grin against him, lips sucking and licking, a thick heat radiating between your bodies that made you nearly sigh. He was the stoic bureau chief who hardly had a kind word for anyone who disappointed him — and yet, here he was, your name curled around your name like that, in a rough, desperate tone that made another stripe of warmth flush through your body. His fingers dug sharply into your scalp, thrusting until his tip hit the back of your throat.

He hears you gag, and he freezes. The facade breaks a moment, as he blinks down at you, his eyes flickering down to check on you, “Sorry—” but you tap twice to let him know you’re okay, your eyes half lidded and glassy, “are you—” his words left as you hollowed out your cheeks to suck at him, and you wished you could hear his debauched groan again and again.

And your tongue traces his slit again, before sucking again — and he’s thrusting again, slowly this time, “You’re so good for me,” he murmurs, the persona fading as he got closer to his orgasm, “so good, sweetheart,”

But then he pulls you off, gently, and you’re panting, peering up at him, his cock twitching at the sight, “Aaron—”

He helps you into his lap with a grunt, “I want to fuck you, sweetheart, just how you want, just tell me what you want,”

His words are nearly enough to make you come apart, with his cock brushing against your clit, “I want you to fuck me in your vest, I want to feel myself come apart on you,” you shift, and your head bumps against the ceiling, you flinch, “but maybe not in here,”

His hand finds the top of your head rubbing it, “Maybe you’re right,”

The two of you slip from the car — disheveled but dressed — his hand in yours as he pulls you towards the door, and his keys are in his hands. You’re pressed against him, pressing kisses to his shoulder, and right as your hand drifts to the bulge in his pants, the door opens. And now, you’re pressed against it.

His lips fall to yours, crushing you against the door, one hand undoing the button on your pants, and the other trying to pull your shirt over your head. You oblige him, lifting your arms over your head, getting the pesky fabric out of way, before he undoes your bra with practiced ease. The fabric of his vest drags down your body as he towers over you. He finds your lips again, his tongue tracing over your lips before slipping into your mouth — and you know he’s tasting himself on your lips.

And your hand palms his bulge through his pants, just as his lips trail down to your neck, “Fuck, sweetheart,” he murmurs, as you revel in the weight of his cock in your fingers, and his teeth scrape against your neck, smoothing it with his tongue.

And you can’t stand it anymore, you pull him back, fingers knotted in his hair at the base of his neck, “I need you,” and his eyes are lidded and dark, raising an eyebrow, “sir.”

And we’re back.

“Let me see how much,” His fingers find your underwear, completely soaked through and he pulls the crotch aside, a calloused finger rubs at your clit, making you jump, “All of this for me?”

“Aar—” you yelp, as another finger joins the first, spreading your folds, toying and pinching your clit.

“You’re soaked,” he hums, and your pussy convulses around his fingers, until he pulls his hand away, undoing his pants, and freeing himself from his slacks. And you’re acutely aware of just how dressed he was compared to you — you were down to your underwear, and his clothes dragged over your bare skin.

And now he’s lifting your leg, hooking around his hip, before sucking his fingers, shiny with your cum, into his mouth, and your hands fall on his shoulders, digging into the coarse material, “I need you to—”

And he fills you, sinking into you with ease. You arch into his touch, as he groans, a guttural noise that fills your ears, as he begins to thrust, the door creaking under your weight, pressed chest to chest, your peaks rubbing against his vest, “Look at how well you’re taking me, sweetheart,” he moans, leaning his head down to lave at your nipples, “You’ve wanted this from the moment you saw me today, didn’t you? Wanted me to fuck you in my vest — do you like it when I take control?”

His fingers dig into your hips, “Aaron, I’m—” you’re nearly boneless at this point, utterly consumed by him, unable to tell where the other begins or ends, pleasure rolling off in waves, teetering on the edge, “I’m close—”

“Don’t come until I say,” he slows his thrusts to a languid pace, and you swear, fingers digging into his shoulders, and his fingers are at your clit. A sob rips from your throat, on the edge of pleasure.

“Sir—” your orgasm begins to crest, shaking your head, “I need—”

“And he begins to thrust in earnest, his fingers rubbing your clit harshly, “Cum for me, baby,” and you’re coming apart with his name on your lips, as he murmurs sweet nothings in your ear, your walls fluttering around his cock, as you tug him closer, chest to chest again, fingernails digging into his vest. And his hips snap once more before he finally spills inside you with a groan of your name.

You find him in your haze, pulling him to your lips, and this kiss is softer and sweet — deeper, as he rests himself against the door, slowing to a stop. Cupping your cheek, his thumb brushes the length of it, before pulling away, his forehead pressed to yours, slowly letting your leg down. Your knees wobble and he doesn’t miss it.

He rears back for a moment, his hands trying to steady you, “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” you sigh, tugging him close again, the absence of him too much to bear in this post-orgasmic bliss — you needed him closer even. But he slips from inside you, even as you pout, “I just need you, remember?”

“I remember,” he hums, pressing a lazy kiss to your neck, lips curled in a smile, “I also remember something about us missing dinner after I kept you waiting,”

You raise an eyebrow, “Hungry already, Hotchner?”

He shrugs, trailing slow kisses up your neck, “I worked up an appetite,” he nearly lifts you off your feet, pulling you into his arms, “order takeout and then a shower? Together,” he adds, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You smirk, tilting your head, “Is that an order, sir?”

And he raises an eyebrow, pulling you closer, as your hands slip around his shoulders, feeling the material of the vest under your fingers, “Well, it wasn’t a question.”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagines #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner smut #Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagines

1K notes · View notes

xtodorcki · 3 years

Note

https://www.instagram.com/reel/CM7CwRZivBM/?igshid=1soaxz00n5171 I CAN GET THE LEVI PART OF THIS REEL OUT OF MY HEAD OH MY GOD. Just imagine the reader being part of Levi's squad, and she's talented but think Levi's condescending towards people, especially to her. The others say she's just imagining it and that the captain is always like that but the reader's always getting into spats with him. "I seriously don't like the position of of being his metaphorical punching bag." he hears her say one day and Levi has enough. As soon as she's free, Levi calls her to his office and they talk. Things escalate in another fight and before she knows it, Levi has her pinned against the wall "Do you like this position?" he says as he kisses her, her neck, her cheeks. As they move towards his desk or bed, he keeps repeating "Do you like this position?" He'll teach her a thing or two, if you catch my drift👀😶. How you end it is up to you! And if you don't want to write it, that's okay!

“Positions,” Levi x Reader

Summary: (bro idk how to summarize this pls.) always bickering with your Captain because you don’t like the way he belittles you and it turns into a bigger argument.

Warnings: Smut!!! towards the end.

Levi x Fem!Reader

It had been a rough few weeks for the Scouts after finding out about Reiner and Bertholdt and not being able to catch them in time and after coming back from the expedition where the scouts tried to capture them again, leading in many deaths including the Commander, it made things incredibly worse.

It had been two weeks since that incident and everyday since Levi did not take it easy on his cadets and you had felt personally attacked and picked on everyday from him during training or during exercises.

At first it was small, he would tell you to try harder or do a little more. He would claim you were acting lazy, not meeting his standards and that made you catch an attitude with him because you felt like you were doing more than enough.

You were always grateful and appreciative to be under Levi considering how strong and talented he was, you actually learned a lot from him and everyone had known you as “Levi’s Mini” but that didn’t stop him from pushing you harder.

Many times it had led to you bickering with him, which ended up with you cleaning or doing rough work outs around the base to satisfy his needs on teaching you a lesson but you never learned, you continued having arguments with him from left to right.

One day you had been more stressed than usual and Levi picking on you and pushing you during the early morning training session had irritated you way more than it should have and during lunch, you started to rant to your friends at the table.

“Levi is doing this shit on purpose, last week I was cleaning horse shit for days just because I didn’t meet his standards.” You groaned, taking a bite out of your food and they just nodded their heads.

“Well, you did start an argument with him.” Armin said, making you shoot him a glare and he grew quiet as he ate his food.

“I think he just personally hates me, he doesn’t do anything to you guys.” The weight of getting picked out of all the cadets had crushed down on you heavily, almost suffocating you.

“You’re just imagining it, he picks on all of us.” Eren rolled his eyes, bringing up the times Levi has easily beaten him down and kicked him in the face.

“No, I’m not just imagining it.”

It started to grow quiet again, the sounds of chewing and forks hitting the glass plates as all the scouts had eaten their food and after they were done, they stay seated at the table to talk some more before they had to go do what was assigned to them around the base.

Levi was walking down the hallway, about to walk pass the door to the mess hall until he had heard your voice say his name a few times. It caused his curiosity to make him freeze in place and try to listen to the conversation as you rambled and vented about how he was only bullying you out of everyone.

He had rolled his eyes at you throwing a fit over something you had started. You were always the one to talk back to Levi first and start the arguments and he felt the need to put you in your place to know who was superior- it was him.

“I seriously don’t like the position of being his metaphorical punching bag.” You said loud enough that he heard it through the door and it caused his eyebrows to raise in amusement.

“You’re overthinking it, Y/N.” Armin spoke again, making you huff out a breath and continue on about how you weren’t dreaming or overthinking it.

Soon enough the day had went on as it always did. You went around to do was assigned to you including stupid cleaning chores that Levi always insisted that you should do and it only aggravated you more than before.

He had watched you almost all day, making sure you weren’t having another fit but also to wait until you had some time to come to his office and talk to him about your tantrum you threw in the mess hall. Your words had replayed in his mind repeatedly and he was growing impatient.

So Levi had went outside to where you were finishing up, making a dramatic huff leave your lips when you saw him- automatically assuming he was going to rain hell and assign you more pointless things to do.

“I need to speak to you in my office.” He said plainly, making you fully stop and glance over at him before simply nodding your head.

You didn’t want to say anything or start up another argument, you would honestly hate to do so especially when you were in too much heat already from arguing with him the other day so doing it again would only make matters worse.

After you had followed him down to his office and closed the door behind you, his cold stare had burned right through you which made you a bit uneasy inside, afraid what he has plotting inside of his head.

“Honestly, Y/N, I’m getting real sick and tired of your shit.” He wasted no time to say to your face, making you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“What the hell did I do this time to have you hate me?” The tone in his voice had already struck a nerve, instantly making you angry.

“You stomp in here and act like you run things when you’re nothing but a cadet. You need to watch that filthy mouth of yours before I tell you to pack your shit and leave.” He practically spat in your face, his words were harsh and brutal but nothing you’ve heard from him before.

“You pick on me every single day and torture me while the others get to do what they want. How the fuck is that fair?”

The bickering between you two had gone back and forth for minutes, the two of you shooting daggers at each other through words and it only made things heat up in seconds. Both of you were fed up with each other and it was evident that Levi wanted to kick you down on the floor and remind you who is the Captain and who is the Cadet in the situation.

He never grew so frustrated over a cadet before, he’s taught plenty of people and had plenty under his team but you were something else. He looked at you as some spoiled brat who thinks they can get want they want in a blink of an eye.

He sighed under his breath, bringing up his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and soon stood from his seat. You stood across the office, angry and upset again over something so small and stupid- just because your Captain felt the need to remind you of your position.

But this time Levi had enough of your attitude and your bickering and complaining, it was tiring to hear it every single day over the smallest things and it was clear that cleaning and doing harsh exercises wasn’t going to teach you a lesson you needed to be taught.

He had walked over to where you stood, the both of you the same height so it was easy for him to look straight ahead at you and stare right through you, making you grow uneasy again but on the outside you kept that cold look like he does.

He was quick to shove you against the wall behind you, his hand grabbing a hold of your chin and keeping you in place as a soft unexpected gasp left your lips from the impact. You were a bit stunned for a second, your wide eyes staring into his dark ones and a small smirk had appeared on his face.

“Do you like this position instead?” He mumbled, referring to what you had said earlier in the mess hall and it made you realize he had heard your pointless rant.

He didn’t wait for you to answer his question, instead he smashed his lips on yours. The kiss was rough at first, Levi wanting to show dominance and teach you a lesson or two about talking back and bickering with him constantly.

When you tried to move your hands up to wrap around his neck, his hands were quick to grab yours and pin them against the wall above your head. He wasn’t going to let things slide so easily and let you do what you want in this specific situation, not on his watch.

“Or do you like this position?” His words were muffled against your swollen lips, almost whining in his mouth as he practically devoured you.

He was still pissed off at you, he was mad to the point where he knew after this- you probably wouldn’t be able to do chores or training tomorrow. Eventually he had pulled back from your mouth, licking his own lips and yanking you off the wall while remaining a tight grip on your wrists.

His feet had moved, pulling you with him all the way to his desk and threw stuff off to bend you over it, pressing the side of your face down on the hard wood. He was over taking it easy on you and over trying to reason with your sour attitude everyday. A simple few kicks to the face worked for Eren yet with you, no matter what happens, you always continue to fight with him.

He had looked over at the uniform that you wore, grabbing the waistband of your pants and tugging them down in an instant, letting it pool around your ankles for the time being as he kept one hand holding your wrists behind your back and the other hand hovering over your ass.

“Or do you like this position, brat?” He said quietly, his eyes shooting down and looking at yours as your face began to get flustered.

“Levi,” You had started to say but once his name had slipped out of your mouth, he instantly raised his hand and brought it down on your bare skin, making your body jolt against the desk.

“Try again.”

“Captain.” You barely managed to stutter out, your skin burning from the impact but he was rubbing his hand over it, soothing it over.

You were stunned at what was happening inside of his office right now. Just a moment ago you two were arguing and just an hour ago you two hated each other and you were stuck doing chores because you had talked back to him and now you were bent over his desk.

You weren’t really complaining but it was hard to wrap your head around it when you two have always bickered and fought with one another over the smallest things.

Levi’s sudden actions of pulling you up off the desk and forcing you to face him, his hand grabbing your chin and forced you to connect eyes with him as a small smirk appeared on his face at how red and flustered yours was.

He didn’t even say a word, instead he reached up to undo the tie around his neck and removed it, his eyes never leaving yours and soon enough he was ripping your uniform off your body until you were bare and naked in front of his eyes.

“All that crap you were talking earlier today about how I put you in a position of being my personal punching bag and now...” He trailed off, the snarky attitude in his voice as his hands grabbed yours and tied them behind your back with his tie.

“I’m actually going to put you in a position where you’ll be my punching bag all night long and we’ll see how long you last, hm?” He had tried to not chuckle or laugh but he couldn’t help the fact that he wanted to.

You didn’t even bother to say a word to him, you stayed quiet as he tied your wrists together and turned you back around and bent over his desk in front of him. He had hummed to himself at the sight of you, something he had been imagining to himself for quite some time.

Levi had licked his lips again, spreading your legs apart with his leg and looked down at the hand print that was clearly visible on your skin from a moment ago and it had made him raise his hand to lay down another smack to your already sensitive skin. You had jolted forward again, a yelp slipping out.

He groaned under his breath, trying to hold himself back from taking you the way he wanted to right now. He wanted to take his time with you and teach you a lesson with the smart attitude you always have but the way you looked, you being completely submissive and weak before him, it made him grow weak himself.

He yanked your body up by the tie around your wrists and tugged you towards his bedroom that was connected to his office, kicking the door shut behind him and pushing you down on the bed on your back. He had adjusted the tie to move your arms above your head and tied to the headboard.

“How about this? Do you like this position?” He mumbled, his lips trailing sloppy kisses from your jawline down to your neck.

His movements had made you squirm beneath his body and soft breaths had left your lips, feeling yourself grow more impatient every minute that passes but Levi didn’t mind taking all night to prove his point to you, everything goes his way.

His fingers had brushed along your bare skin, dragging all the way down to your thigh before he firmly grabbed onto it and squeezed it all while his teeth were biting your neck, leaving multiple bite marks and bruises on your soft skin.

It was slowly starting to get unbearable to handle, the more time passed, the more impatient you got and tried to move your body as close to his as possible even if your wrists were tied up. He noticed your desperate attempts for more of his touch and it had made his big ego grow more, knowing what he was doing to you was going the way he wanted it to.

“Whats wrong? You want more, brat?” He taunted you, teasing you with a big smirk on his lips and you groaned under your breath, your eyes moving away from his but he was quick to grab your chin and force you to look up at him.

“Tell me, do you deserve to be touched after everything you’ve done the last few weeks? Do you deserve to be fucked like a good girl?” His voice was low and quiet but it was clear enough to hear every word he had said.

Slowly, you begin to nod your head, trying to move your hands but realizing they were still tied together and that only frustrated you more but he was set on making you learn and set on torturing you for testing his patience everyday.

“I’ll do anything.” You mumbled, making his eyebrows raise in amusement and curiosity at the same time.

“Anything? Like what, hm?” He was intrigued to hear any offers you had plotted inside your head but honestly, you had none- you just wanted the teasing to be over with.

It grew quiet again, you didn’t know what to say next and he had caught on to what you were trying to do. His hand had let go of your chin, trailing back down your naked body until he had decided to dip his hand between your legs and get a feel for himself, wanting to see just how bad you wanted it, just how far you can go.

It wasn’t long till his rough fingers were rubbing soft circles on your clit, his eyes burning into yours while his tongue had brushed over his dry lips. He could feel just how desperate you were and how badly you wanted to be touched down there, it fueled something inside of him to take it further but he wanted to test your limits.

You had roughly tugged at the tie that was around yours wrists, the headboard creaking in the process and he started to chuckle under his breath, pressing his fingers against you more firmly, making sure you felt every little touch. You had tried to pry your legs shut, that only made Levi push them back open as he settled between them.

“I want to hear you beg or else I could do this all night, pleasuring you to the brink of cumming and pulling away till you’re in tears.” You couldn’t believe just how casual and soft his voice was, the amused look on his face had turned into a more serious one.

A lump had started to form in your throat, stunned and not knowing what to really say. You were so far into your own thoughts that you didn’t realize he had gotten down to bury his face between your legs, his tongue licking a stripe up through your folds, making a sudden moan slip out of your mouth and his eyes had moved to look into yours when you met his gaze.

“I’m waiting or do you want me to stop?” He tilted his head, sinking his teeth into your thigh gently, making you buck your hips up out of impulse.

The stubbornness you had was glued to the front of your brain, you hated to give him exactly what he wanted- it’ll only feed onto his superior ego more but the way he was working you and the way you were practically desperate for any sort of touch from him, you knew you had to do it his way to get your way. A soft huff escaped your lips, tilting your head down to stare into his lustful eyes.

“Please, Captain.” You started to speak, watching his eyebrows raise and the amusement plastered on his face as he squeezed onto your thighs, waiting for you to continue.

“I’ll do anything just for you to fuck me. Please stop teasing.” The sudden whine that slipped out of your parted lips had made him almost throb, his skin growing hot and his fingertips digging into your skin.

“Hm, I guess you’ve been through enough teasing huh brat?” He slowly started to trail kisses back up your body until he was fully hovered over you again, his free hand caressing your cheek.

“But let’s not forget I’m here to teach you a lesson on talking back to me.”

I made this long enough so I’m splitting this into 2 parts. Here’s the first one. Sorry for being so absent and distant. Everything had gone to hell after losing my childhood dog and school is almost over so finals and all this crazy shit but I’m trying.

I love and miss y’all <3

• Main Masterlist •

• AOT Masterlist •

#aot imagines #levi ackerman #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman imagine #levi ackerman imagines #levi ackerman x reader #levi fanfic #levi imagines #levi x reader #levi imagine #levi ackerman headcanons #levi headcanons #aot headcanons #levi smut #levi Ackerman smut

486 notes · View notes

t0wnspersonb · 4 years

Text

Day Off (Bakugou Katsuki x Reader)

Word Count: 2,158

Warnings: FLUFF, bad language, suggestive language, my shit writing lmao

Summary: You hardly ever got to spend time with your husband, so when he has a day off, well, your heart can’t help but be entirely full. Especially when you see him interacting with your children.

~~~~

Anonymous said:

Hello💜💜 I was wondering if you could make an fluff/smut imagine about where Bakugou where the reader is his beloved wife they both have kids and just shows how their daily lives are. Btw I’m a huge fan of your imagines🥰

~~~~

I hope you enjoy this request anon! I didn’t do smut this time around, but here is some fluffy papa Bakugou for you! Also thank you so much for your kind words! I’m so glad you like my shit writing lol.

I always enjoy writing fluffy shit like this lmao. I love Bakugou with all my fucking heart and I hope you guys enjoy this too!

~~~~

You loved your family, you would do anything for them, the unconditional love that you held in your heart was something that would never be questioned.

But sometimes, you loved your alone time just a tad bit more.

Like now.

The house was clean, the house was quiet; and you actually got to enjoy a nice hot cup of coffee, fresh and incredibly delicious for your sleep deprived senses.

You were an early riser, maybe it was because of all the morning training and runs that Bakugou had forced you to do when you guys were younger, or maybe it was because when you had kids you had realized that there just wasn’t enough time in the day to get everything done.

Quite possibly it was the latter.

But everything was done, the laundry, the dishes, sweeping and mopping, you had gone to the grocery store yesterday, a surprisingly pleasant trip since the kids were actually behaving for once.

You owe it to your husband, who had gotten off of his hero duties early yesterday and had helped you around the house, and he was off today.

The first time in a long time.

You probably should’ve lingered in your shared bed just a little longer, you hardly had alone time with the explosion hero as it was, but… you had been dying to read the new book that you had gotten weeks ago. Bakugou could handle waking up alone for one day, right?

“Are you fucking kidding me? You shit nerd, how long have you been doing this?” his familiar gruff voice sighed from the entrance of the living room.

You glanced up from your book, a small smile tugging at your lips as you took in his sleepy figure.

Bakugou’s blonde hair was even more disheveled, his sweats hung low on his hips, one of his large hands was underneath his shirt, absentmindedly scratching at the skin that stretched across his sculpted stomach.

You took a lot of pleasure in the fact that you got to see the most popular pro hero so domestic, so casual.

His ring caught the morning light streaming through the window, glinting beautifully as he stretched out his muscular arms above his head, his shirt rising up, exposing the lower half of his stomach to your greedy eyes. His biceps bulged out beautifully against the sleeves of his shirt.

You also took pleasure in just staring at your husband, that beautiful specimen of a man was all yours.

“What time is it?” you asked.

“Almost 9.”

“Hmmm. Since 4:30 then?” You pondered, placing your bookmark between the pages, and closing the book completely, placing it on the coffee table.

Bakugou made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat as he padded off towards the kitchen.

You laughed softly to yourself, following after the muscular male.

“Stop fucking staring at me.” Bakugou grumbled, vermilion eyes sliding over to you briefly as he drank down his glass of water.

“Can’t a wife just look at her husband?” you asked innocently, he walked over to you, his hands coming down on either side of your face, squeezing your cheeks together tightly.

“Not when the wife ditches her husband in the morning to read a stupid fucking book.” he sneered.

You laughed, grabbing at his much larger hands, and pulling them away from your face.

“I’m sorry Katsu, what can I do to make it up to you?” you teased lightly.

You shouldn’t have asked.

A wicked smirk stretched across his face. “Get on your knees.” his voice was husky, commanding as he stared at you, daring you to challenge him.

You could feel your lips part at his words, a pink blush beginning to dust your cheeks.

It had been a long time since you -

“Mama?”

The moment was gone completely, the wide smirk that Bakugou wore turned into a deep scowl.

“Good morning baby.” you cooed turning to look at your small child. He was the spitting image of Bakugou, but he was the sweetest boy, completely unlike his father.

He rubbed at his small eyes before they landed on Bakugou, a sweet smile stretching across his face.

“Papa. Up.” he held out his little arms, urging Bakugou to pick him up.

You could see the scowl visibly melting away from Bakugou’s face, replaced with a gentle one as he gazed at his son.

It was hard for Bakugou, being able to spend time with his children, despite how rough he was, how crude his words could be; he was a wonderful father, a wonderful husband.

You were entirely lucky.

Bakugou easily swung his child up into his muscular arms. Your son sighing in happiness as he rests his head against Bakugou’s broad shoulders, his thumb coming up to rest between his lips.

The sight of the two of them together melted your heart completely, clenching tightly in your chest as Bakugou pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your son’s head.

“Papa’s home today?” Another familiar voice spoke. You turned to see your daughter staring at Bakugou in curiosity.

She was the oldest, and the spitting image of you, except… well her personality was entirely her father’s.

“Why don’t you guys go watch some cartoons while I get breakfast started?” you hummed.

“Come on you shit stain.” Bakugou ruffled his daughter’s hair, urging her out of the kitchen into the living room.

You and your daughter frowned, you at the fact that he just called your child a shit stain, and her because he messed up her already messy hair.

“Your breath smells like shit Papa.” your daughter said, tone annoyed as she shoved his hand away from her head.

You sighed tiredly, hand resting on the side of your face.

“Oi, you aren’t allowed to curse.” Bakugou scolded, a large tick mark appearing on his forehead and he grabbed your daughter’s head pushing her out of the kitchen.

You could hear their loud bickering fading into the living room, causing you to sigh deeply once again.

But a smile twitched on your lips, it had been a long time since you guys got to enjoy the morning together like this.

When you had finally finished cooking breakfast you went to go grab the rest of your family.

Your heart melted at the sight. Bakugou held both kids in his arms, your children looking incredibly small as they cuddled up against their father.

Despite the fact that your eldest and Bakugou always fought, she was a daddy’s girl through and through. Bakugou’s fingers combed through her unruly hair absentmindedly, while his other hand rubbed up and down your son’s back.

Their eyes were glued to the TV as some anime played.

You cleared your throat, all three pairs of eyes flickering to your form.

“Breakfast is ready.” you smiled, watching as your little girl climbed off of Bakugou padding past you towards her seat in the kitchen. Bakugou lifted up your son, easily carrying him into the kitchen and setting him down on his highchair.

“What should we do today?” you mused as you guys began eating, Bakugou was feeding your son, making a disgusted face when he spit the food back out.

“I need new shoes for school mama.” Your daughter said, mouth full of food.

Bakugou made another disgusted face, handing your daughter a napkin.

“Wipe your face brat, and don’t talk with your mouth full.” He lectured.

“Can we go to the park today?” her eyes lit up, ignoring her father completely as she tossed the crumpled-up napkin at his face.

“Don’t throw shit at me! Don’t ignore me either!” he growled, a tick mark appearing on his face once again.

“I’m trying to talk to mama, and you keep interrupting, annoying papa.” she snapped back.

You sighed. “No fighting you two. We should be able to go to the mall today....” you trailed off, trying to remember if there was anything important you had to do today.

“I need more workout shirts, and new training gloves. Damn Deku borrowed mine and never returned them.” Bakugou said gruffly.

“Then I guess we can all go on a trip today.” you smiled. “Let’s finish up and start getting ready.”

****

You almost forgot what it was like to bring the entire family out, it had been too long since the last time you guys did something like this.

Needless to say, you were already exhausted.

It took forever to get everyone out of the house. Bakugou did his best to help get the kids ready but… between the constant fighting with him and your daughter and your son's endless crying about not wanting to go and not wanting to put on pants, and Bakugou’s attempts at intimacy as you got ready... well, you wanted to get this over with already.

“What do you think?” your daughter asked, pointing her toe out, the Uravity themed shoes on full display for you.

“Very pretty, do you want those ones?” you asked.

She nodded excitedly.

“Why do you want round face’s shoes? Why not mine?” Bakugou grumbled, staring down at his daughter accusingly.

“Yours are ugly papa. I don’t like the colors. Uravity is my favorite hero.” She said face blank as she stared at the blonde male.

This was definitely a sight to see, considering that Bakugou had your son perched on his hip and he was glaring down at the small girl who was glaring right back at him.

“Huh? Ground Zero isn’t your favorite hero?” he barked.

“No. Uravity is.”

“Well mama’s favorite hero is Ground Zero.” He smirked, eyes flickering over to you.

“Actually, Red Riot is my favorite hero.” You teased, soft laughter escaping your lips as your husband’s face fell at the mention of his best friend.

“Let’s go over here!” Your daughter said excitedly, the conversation completely abandoned as she took sight of the toy store across from the shoe store you guys were at.

“Hold on. I still have to pay.” you said in amusement, walking over to the cashier.

Bakugou stood next to you, one of his large hands resting on the small of your back. When you had finished paying and began trailing after your excited daughter, he leaned in close.

“You’re getting punished for saying that.” Bakugou growled near your ear.

“Is that a promise?” you challenged, ignoring the blush in your cheeks and the pleasant twist that occurred in the pit of your stomach.

“You can count on it.” he growled, a smirk playing on his lips before he walked off to catch up with your daughter.

You were definitely looking forward to it.

****

You sighed loudly as you sat down on the park bench.

“Here.” Bakugou handed you one of the drinks he got from the vending machine, his eyes never leaving his children that were now playing on the playground equipment.

“Did you have fun today?” you asked, resting your head against his shoulder as he took a seat beside you.

“No.” he snorted, and then his expression changed, his eyes softening completely, his face relaxed. “It’s been a while since we got to spend the day together.”

His large fingers found your own, intertwining together tightly. “Thank you.”

You glanced over at him curiously. “For what?”

You could see a soft blush coating his cheeks. He was embarrassed. It wasn’t anything new though, you knew your husband well enough to know that he was terrible at verbally expressing his feelings.

“You’re a good mother, and a good wife. Thank you for always taking care of the kids… and me.” he grumbled.

Your expression softened, your heart warming completely. It was rare when Bakugou praised you like this, again, he was terrible at expressing his feelings verbally, especially something so gentle and heartfelt like this.

“Of course, Katsu.” you beamed at him.

He scoffed at your expression, but reached for you, cupping the side of your face as he stooped low, pressing his mouth against yours carefully.

You hummed low in your throat; eyes fluttering shut as you kissed him back. Sweet and gentle, incredibly warm and full of love.

“Ew. You actually let papa do that? That’s disgusting.” You broke free from the kiss and turned to see your daughter staring at you guys in disgust.

You laughed softly at her comment, Bakugou on the other hand…

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching your brother?” he asked, eyebrow twitching in annoyance.

“No wonder Deku is the number 1 hero.” Your daughter muttered to herself before turning to walk away.

“What the fuck did you just say you shit?” Bakugou growled, standing up and swooping down, easily throwing your daughter over his shoulders.

She squealed loudly, contagious giggles escaping her lips as Bakugou jogged over to the playground. He scooped up your other child, swinging him around rapidly.

A soft smile twitched at your lips as you watched them.

You loved your little family.

#bnha #bnha bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou x you #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #pro hero bakugou #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo katsuki #bakugou imagine #bakugou fluff #bakugo imagine #bakugo fluff #request #Ground Zero

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potatoes-is-are-food · 3 years

Note

Hi, 🖐 I was wondering if I may request a fic or head cannon, which ever you prefer, of some somnophilia Shigaraki. He drugs reader cause he has it bad for her and he thinks that's the only way he can have her. Then he's "enjoying" her sleeping form and she wakes up and she's into him, maybe she even says something like took you long enough. Please. I really enjoy your writing, the period sex is just...🥴

Reader came out a little more yandere-ish than I usually go for but that’s life ig

Also feel free to request more period sex I literally cannot get enough of shiggy being gross and tryna make his poor lil gf uncomfortable <3

| NSFW, somno & drugging (obviously), a teensy slight bit of angst but it’s all happy in the end

You’d liked him since you first spoke to him. You’d come with Himiko to join the league, being friends with her long enough you more or less let her drag you around on a daily basis. You’d asked her to just turn back, you wouldn’t be an asset even if you did agree with what they were trying to do, but she said there had to be something you could do to help and tugged you into the bar. He’d asked for your name and said you were useless to the cause but you still felt blood rising to your cheeks whenever he set those piercing red eyes on you.

When you’d been accepted on the condition you’d help and do whatever he told you, you’d kept to yourself, only interacting with your friend and occasionally Magne. Your quirk wasn’t really suited to combat but you helped around the hideout, working on preparations and anything that needed to be done in public since no one knew your face. You did whatever Shigaraki told you to, agreeing before he was done speaking and scurrying off before he could tell how flustered he made you.

Over the next several months you actually got to talk to him more and before you knew it you were head over heels for him. You liked his ideas, the way he articulated them, even the fucking hands all over his body made hearts shine in your eyes and wetness pool between your legs. Then weird stuff started happening.

You’d wake up feeling hungover despite not drinking, seemingly having intense wet dreams that somehow left your throat raw and stains covering your sheets every night. You nearly thought you’d pissed yourself there was so much of it. After the first week you got suspicious, but ultimately chalked it up to stress, despite how little sense that made.

Shigaraki didn’t know how to process his feelings. When Himiko had shoved you in front of him he’d had to be aloof, mean even, to stop himself from coming across like some loser with a huge crush. He couldn’t even talk to you at first, but every time you came around you didn’t act scared of him, just nervous. And then you started talking to him and he just liked you more.

He swears it was an accident the first time. You’d had too much to drink one of your first nights at the hideout and he helped you to bed. When you were sprawled out, disheveled on your bed he couldn’t stop himself. He was just going to kiss you once and leave, but you were so soft, and the light sigh that passed your lips made him come back for more. That night he’d held and kissed you for hours, but left before he went too far.

The second time it happened, it wasn’t an accident. He craved the warmth from your skin and the sweet taste of your lips, so he drugged you; watched you sip your one and only drink of the night and swept you off to bed like a kind leader. And at first he was content just to kiss you and lie beside you.

After a month, he snapped. The feel of your skin was too much temptation, so he slipped you an extra strong dose and got off from shoving his dick down your throat while you slept. The next morning he couldn’t look at you and left the second you mentioned a sore throat and started coughing. Since then he couldn’t stop; he jerked off over your face, rubbed his shaft against your skin, and used you in every way he could think of without fully violating you.

Tonight he’d decided he couldn’t stop himself and it would be better to indulge himself if it was inevitable anyway; it wasn’t like you’d ever have to know.

You sat beside him, nursing the drink he’d drugged for several hours while you chatted. You only got one third of the way through before your words became a little slurred, and unlike normal when you’d just down the rest and go to bed, you left it unfinished. He panicked slightly for a moment until he noticed you still seemed tired enough that he could do what he wanted, then he helped you to bed. He felt bad; you clearly trusted him, but he couldn’t stop himself. He’d waited long enough.

When he was sure you were out, he started stripping you, letting his eyes soak up all the naked flesh he’d let you keep secret until now. He’d even bought gloves that covered his last two fingers just for this; pulling them on had him salivating with anticipation.

He crawled over your limp body, gently grazing his fingers along your soft skin. His lips pressed against your forehead, then down your face and jaw until he latched onto your neck, intending to leave just a few hickeys where you weren’t likely to see. As a reward for how patient he’d been. You moaned softly, making him pull away with a pop, worried you were waking. You didn’t stir, though, and he continued.

He spread your legs, sucking drool back into his mouth at the sight of your slightly damp folds right in front of him. Tentatively, he pressed a kiss to your clit, watching your face for any sign of you waking. He quickly lost himself as he delved in, lapping up your fluids like your cunt was the last thing he’d ever taste. Your lashes fluttered, a combination of tolerance to the drug he’d been using and the decreased amount making you more aware much sooner.

“Shigaraki?” you called sleepily, having dreamed he was there before you opened your eyes. He froze, tongue still pressed against you, and looked up just as you saw him. Your face burned, eyes going wide at the sight of your boss dining between your legs. He leaned back, licking and wiping your juices off his face as he blushed and stared at the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper. You shook your head, still in shock but wanting to reassure him more than anything.

“I-I like you!” you blurted out, sitting up and covering yourself with your blanket. You sat in silence, waiting on him to respond, neither of you looking at each other.

“...You do?” he asked after a long pause. You nodded, premature tears stinging your eyes at the rejection you anticipated. The position he’d been in made you think he just wanted to defile you and leave, uninterested in your actual affection. He dropped to his knees before the bed, eyes just as wide as yours and the hint of a smile hovering on his lips.

You inched closer, both unsure as you approached each other mutually for the first time. His face finally hovered in front of yours, just as you’d been dreaming of for months. Your hands gently held his face as you closed the distance, and you felt his breath hitch when your lips finally met. The texture was rough, but his lips were pleasant and his kiss felt better than you’d imagined.

The fact he hadn’t said anything seemed to confirm your suspicion; that he wouldn’t want anything beyond sneaking around with you in the night. You pushed the thought away, intent on savoring him, even if you had to lie to yourself about what would happen when he was done with you. For now, you could pretend he loved you.

He gave your blanket a small tug, and you let him pull it off, leaving you naked as he crawled onto the bed. You were coaxed onto your back as he hovered over you, never breaking the kiss. The hands you’d been staring at for months caressed your skin, his fingers finding their way to your clit and rolling it gently. You gasped into his mouth and he rewarded you with his tongue, letting it play with yours as you ran your hands through his hair.

At a speed you didn’t know he was capable, he undressed himself, eagerly pressing his body back to yours the second it was bare. You wrapped your legs around his waist, clinging tightly to him as he rubbed his shaft along your slit, gathering slick onto his skin. He kissed you again, sighing softly into your mouth when you deepened it on your own. Your tongue shyly intruded into his mouth, just enough to coax his into tangling with it.

His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, one moment groping at your breasts and the next squeezing your hips hard enough to bruise. You gingerly gave him the same treatment, brushing your fingers along his torso where his ribs prominently stuck out against his pale skin and his stomach, rigid with lean muscle that trailed down into a wild mess of white pubic hair. When you touched his cock he stiffened, pulling away to look down at you with a slightly hazy expression.

“You really want to?” he asked softly, eyes wide as they searched yours. You nodded, kissing the corner of his mouth lightly.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” you admitted, trembling slightly as his fingers curled under your chin to tilt you into another kiss.

He pressed in, already well lubricated, and buried himself completely in your warmth. He groaned against your lips, both of you panting. As he started to thrust, he gripped your clit in his fingers just a little too roughly, toying with it and reveling in the sounds he could draw from you. Your whimpers were slightly muffled against his mouth, however if anyone got too close to the paper-thin wall of your room they’d easily hear.

You’d been close already when you woke up, and his rough treatment quickly pushed you over the edge and you creamed around him. He groaned loudly at the feeling of your walls contracting, hammering into you faster as he got closer to his peak. The overstimulation made you squirm, still holding him close despite his abuse to your clit as well as all the sensitive places inside.

His cum was warm, shooting out in thick streams against your cervix as he buried himself deep. He thrusted shallowly through his orgasm and went slightly soft inside. The fingers clutching your puffy nub slowed to a stop along with his movements, and you relaxed. Then, you felt him harden again.

It had been too much before, but the feeling of him fucking his load into you and the obscene squelching sounds had you nearly sobbing. You held him tightly, trying to muffle the sounds in his neck as he ravaged you a second time, resuming his ministrations to your clit. He went faster than before, pounding you into the old mattress of your bed and making it squeak loudly. You didn’t have the mental capacity to care anymore.

The orgasm he forced from you made you see stars, your eyes rolled back into your head and you moaned loudly against his skin. This time he followed almost immediately, groaning as he snapped his hips harshly against yours. His cum leaked out around him, pooling under you and creating a sticky mess on your thighs and the sheets.

He rested atop your body, shaking slightly as he panted and came down from his high. Your stomach sank when he moved, no doubt to leave since he’d gotten what he came for. He pulled out with a soft hiss, surveying the mess he’d left with satisfaction.

You were shocked when he flopped over beside you and slung an arm over your stomach, contently nuzzling into your neck and leaving several soft kisses there as he started to drift off. You tentatively pressed your lips to his sweaty forehead and nearly cried when you saw a small smile grace his features in response. Heavy-lidded red eyes met yours, his usually tense face wearing an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“You’ll be my girlfriend, right?” He kissed your cheek, clearly expecting a yes. You stared at him with wide eyes, nodding frantically when you found you couldn’t speak. He sighed happily and closed his eyes, pulling you a little closer. His serene expression made your own eyelids droop, and soon you were unconscious, too, elated and secure in the knowledge that he’d be there when you woke up.

#shigaraki #mha shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #shigaraki smut #shigaraki fluff #shimura tenko #tenko shimura #bnha shigaraki #somno

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

For Vampire Chris! What if he and Jake went to a museum and came across some of Tooley's paintings? And Chris has a panic attack! We would finally get some Jake comfort. And maybe Chris would reveal more horrible things that Tooley had done to him.

CW: Discussion of death, blood, vampire whumpee, caretaker and whumpee

The sun sets early in the winter, and it's the only reason they can make this work.

Chris is barely awake even so, sipping from a coffee cup Jake filled with the contents of one of his blood packs, hoping he doesn't trip and spill and lead to Jake having some very awkward, panicked explanations to make to anyone nearby.

He'd slept in the truck Jake borrowed from Nat most of the way over here, curled in the passenger seat. He looks for all the world like any high schooler who stayed up too late the night before, dragged out by his family, forced to go learn when all he wants is rest.

Chris is draped in a hooded sweatshirt pulled on over his head, hair mussed from sleeping in the closet in the little nest-bed he made for himself in there. It sticks out like stray from beneath the hood he's pulled up, coppery strands occasionally covering his eyes and making him shove them out of the way with a snort that has no right to be as adorable as it is, considering the monster who makes the sound.

Not a monster, no. Not really.

Or his monster, anyway, the same way his mother is his mother. Jake is starting to understand the little vampire - more than three times his own age - has chosen him for family now.

The sweater he wears is kind of a joke, actually. Jake bought it weeks ago from a website that puts the covers of books on clothes, and it's an old cover image from Dracula.

Jake thought it was funny, anyway. Nat was less amused. Chris only smiled and said something about being happy the hairy palms thing isn't true.

The air is chilly, and Jake shivers a little as they head in from the parking lot across a small sidewalk next to a park and toward the museum itself, but of course Chris doesn't even notice. He seems to be enjoying it, the way it blows around his hair as they make their way slowly up the steps and past the row of Grecian-style columns that mark the entrance.

Jake has to visit for one of his classes, an extra-credit something-or-other, and Chris had asked to go along with him.

Jake had been hesitant, but seeing the way the vampire's green eyes sparkle as he moves around in public like any other person, well... he feels like he made the right choice to bring him along now.

"Finish up your drink, you can't take anything in once we pay and get past the lobby," Jake says, and Chris nods, gulping the last of the blood as fast as he can as they push through wide double-doors. Jake tries not to imagine how it must feel, swallowing thick congealing cooled blood. Someone's life, someone's heartbeat, down your throat...

Really, is he that much different? Jake has eaten a dozen cows' worth of beef in his life.

Does Chris see them all as just livestock? He doesn't act like it, but then, there are people who treat pigs or cows like pets and not like food...

His stomach flips a little and he forces himself to look around, up at the chandelier at the high ceiling, the heavy wooden desk they have to walk to off to the side to get their tickets. To stop trying to understand if Chris is a sort of stray they've adopted, or if he's a higher-level predator living with prey.

Once Chris drops the cup into a trash can, Jake throwing a couple wadded-up tissues on top so no one can accidentally see the smear of red around the edge of the lid, they buy their tickets, and wind their way through and past the little velvet ropes that mark off the entrance.

The museum opens before them into a grand hall, with paintings the size of two-story buildings on either side, permanent installations in the museum. Commissioned for its opening, sometime back in the 70's.

Jake picks up a brochure so they know which way to go - LGBTQ+ Art in Pre-War America is the temporary exhibit he's here to see, traveling work that is usually housed in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

"Oh, nice, it's on the first floor. Looks like you go through a couple of 'specialty' rooms, just showing off stuff from the in-house collection. Sounds cool, right?"

Chris, looking from side to side at the gigantic paintings that hang on the walls in the opening hall, hums softly, a tuneless constant sound. He doesn't answer Jake's question. He hums often, and Jake barely notices any longer, but there's something edged to it, now. As if just being around the paintings is making him nervous.

"Okay, little man, let's go over here." He touches Chris's arm, lightly, through the thick fabric of his sweater. The vampire looks over at him, smiling with his lips pressed together to hide his teeth from any potential prying eyes.

He follows easily, but he sticks closer to Jake than he normally does, and his eyes are constantly roving. They move through an exhibit of Pre-Colombian pottery first, on their way to the room in the back where the temporary showcase is.

Jake watches Chris's fingers twitch with the urge to touch, to learn by feeling the bumps and ridges in the ancient clay, and how he holds back as best he can. His urge to lift the clear protective plastic boxes right off the pottery so he can get at it is nearly physically painful.

Jake pretends not to see it when Chris's fingers trail along a column, settling for the white-painted rectangle the pottery is balanced on, taking in the rough texture smoothed by the matte paint.

"Did you ever meet anyone like you that was old enough to have made stuff like this?" Jake asks, stopping in front of a water jug in the shape of a man playing a flute with a dog at his feet. The dog wears a carved smile marked with disturbingly human-looking teeth. The paint it must have been covered in is worn by time, leaving the reddish-brown of the clay behind, with the faintest streaks of white still in the crevices.

"No," Chris replies, tilting his head, making direct eye contact with the statue in a way he never quite can do with any real person. Not comfortably, anyway. Jake has seen him force it and shudder afterwards, overwhelmed. When he'd asked about it, Chris had said he never liked looking at anyone's eyes, even before, when he was alive. It's too much, was all he would say. It's always too much. "None, um, none of us live that long."

"Why not?" They're alone in the room. It's the only reason Jake feels safe asking.

Chris's tongue runs over the sharpening bumps of his growing-in fangs, pressing against them, easing the itch and the ache of their return. After a second, he pulls a plastic bat on a cord from inside his sweater and puts the bat into his mouth, chewing on it idly, jaw working. "I, I, I don't know. That's just what what what my, my, my pack told me."

"I thought vampires lived in covens."

"No." Chris doesn't elaborate on this one. He can be weirdly secretive about how he lived before he came to Nat's, before he was pulled out of a basement, a living drug for a wealthy asshole.

Secretive, or just forgetting whatever wasn't essential.

He moves away to another pedestal, a shard broken off of a larger vessel, marked with a deep white and intense black angular design. He hums again, and Jake takes the hint and leaves him alone.

They spend several more minutes looking over the pottery before they head through a second room full of what must just be the favorite pieces of museum employees, as there doesn't seem to be much rhyme or reason, and each little card with the name of the piece and its maker has a paper next to it with a note on why each employee loves this piece in particular. Chris lingers around older things, a woven tapestry from medieval England, landscapes from the 19th century. He stares for a while at a painting called The Country Path by Joseph Poole Addy, a pale watercolor of winter trees with bare branches breaking the line of sky and a woman bundled in a coat carrying a basket down an equally colorless road.

Chris's humming getting louder, and he rocks a little, forward and back, his eyes moving again and again through the lines of the painting.

Jake wonders what it is about this one specifically that catches Chris like that, and when the vampire finally moves on he checks the employee's statement. Joseph Poole Addy, Irish painter in the 19th and 20th centuries, blah blah, something something countryside... Jake frowns, and glances over at Chris, who isn't looking back. He's moved on to something else.

Jake decides to ask him later.

They make it to the exhibit they're here to see, and Jake whistles under his breath as he enters. There are vibrant, saturated paintings lining the walls, a couple of large sculptures on the floor that still are taller than he is, a few smaller ones on pedestals. The work is mostly figurative, although there's some early abstraction there, a hint of the contemporary push to take even figurative work out of simply being an echo of a real life thing.

Chris looks at a sculpture, his head cocked so far to the side it looks almost birdlike, not quite human. Jake thinks his own neck would ache for days if he tried to do that. "Must've been, um, later," He mumbles to himself.

Jake files that away in his mental list of things to talk to Chris about later.

He walks slowly along the line of paintings. The whole point of being here is that he's supposed to pick a specific piece and write a short essay about it and the artist who made it, prove he saw it in person.

The class itself is about how to encourage better outcomes for healthcare in marginalized populations - but if she's giving out extra-credit for looking at queer art, well, Jake is happy to spend an hour in a museum.

After his dismal performance on the last test, he could use whatever credit he can get. Besides, the exhibit is actually kind of cool with that in mind. Every one of these artists was in some way outside of the sort of het ideal, and Jake smiles a little as he catches the heaviness of a look between two men seated across a table from one another, looks over the clasped hands of women, sitting with everything from shoulder to hip touching, who are listed as 'friends visiting the riverbank'.

Art that celebrates, hidden in plain sight. Art that rebels by sliding details in under the surface where only those looking for them will find them.

Each piece has another little paper, although this just has details about the artist and their work, what they were known for. He can use it as a jumping-off point for his paper, anyway.

"You, you, you finished her," Chris whispers, standing in front of a sculpture of a woman with her head thrown back as if in uproarious laughter, a woman with curls expertly carved so that her hair seems to have been there before the stone it's made of somehow. "I wonder if she, um, if if if she saw it."

"What'd you say, Chris?" Jake blinks, pulled out of his own internal reverie.

"Nothing," Chris responds, and walks slowly around the statue. The woman's smile is a shining light in the room. No one could carve like that without being at least a little in love with the subject.

Jake wanders away and then comes to an abrupt stop before a large painting, probably taller than Chris is. The background is near-total darkness with only a suggestion of stone, a single beam of light shining down to illuminate the central figure.

A naked boy clothed only in scraps of torn cloth that only emphasize his nakedness everywhere else is crouched in terror. His knees are bent and his feet are on the floor, one hand holding his weight with fingers slightly curled, his spine bent and arched as if he is caught in the midst of turning to look up to find the direction of the light. His other hand is thrown out, as if trying to ward off an attack.

He bleeds from a dozen or more places, the blood curving perfectly around his form, giving it extra weight and heft that makes it seem like he'll step out of the canvas, grab Jake, and shake him.

Jake's heart starts to race as he stares.

There are bones littering the ground around the thin, wasted boy, not bleached but sort of yellowed, marked with little notches as if cut with a knife. There might still be bits of skin attached to some of them, a hint of muscle. The detail makes Jake sick, but his panic, that comes from something else entirely. Just behind the panicked boy there is a body, as if just fallen, the eyes still open in the final terrified throes of death. The body's fingers are still dug into the dirt floor as if the dead man had been trying to pull himself somewhere, to escape.

A skull watches with eerie cheer from one corner of the painting, a few teeth missing and knocked out from its garish grin.

Barely visible, a thin wash of grayish-white, there is a pale, gnarled hand near the bottom reaching out from the background as if to grab the boy's ankle and drag him into the darkness.

Count Ugolino's Last Son, oils, 1932, reads the little plaque beside the painting. Its faint brassy shine glints in the carefully calibrated light. Edward Tooley, 1907 - 1936.

Jake swallows, but the lump in his throat doesn't budge, and he swallows again. And again. He can't take his eyes off the boy's painted hair, a dirtied copper, strawberry-blond badly in need of a wash. The wide green eyes with their terror writ large and clear, painted with lovingly perfect detail.

The boy in the painting is the perfect identical twin of the vampire who is still staring at the sculpture on the other side of the room. The fear in his face is so expertly done as to seem more photographic than painted in oil. The blood that drips to the ground follows his anatomy with absolute perfection. The bones are not bleached by they so often are in paintings, no, these...

These...

Jake holds his phone up and takes a photo, and then another of the little plaque.

"Chris." His voice cracks and Jake clears his throat. His heart is still pounding. "Chris, come look at this."

"Yes, Jake," Chris answers, sounding a little faint, and then he seems to simply appear at Jake's elbow, the teenage boy who has seen two world wars and a half-dozen smaller, stupider ones.

He goes still at Jake's side when he looks up. Jake looks over, just slightly, glancing sidelong to see a look of something like... wistfulness on the vampire boy's face.

"Tooley," He breathes. His hand goes up, and out, and he would have touched the canvas if Jake hadn't reached out and grabbed on to stop him. Chris jumps a little and turns to meet Jake's gaze. His eyes are pink-tinged in the whites, as if he's holding back tears. "Is, is, is he famous?"

"I guess. He's... he's here, isn't he?"

"He always wanted to, um, to to to to be famous." Chris's eyes move over the details, but it's not with surprise, it's with easy familiarity. He's seen this painting before.

He's been this painting before.

"That's you, isn't it?" Jake asks in a hushed voice. "Like, that was really you."

Chris looks away again, a faint flush in his cheeks. He's full enough of blood for it to happen, and you'd never know he isn't alive if you didn't already. "Yes," He whispers, and wipes at the corner of his eye with one hand. "That, that, that's me."

"Were you his model?" Jake blinks, looking back over the painted twin of the vampire beside him. The fear in the boy's face, woven in with a kind of awful resignation. It's all so perfectly rendered.

"Yes. Sort, um. Sort of. He, he, he kept me in a room." Chris exhales, slowly, and his eyes shift over to the paper with the little bit of biographical information on it. Edward Tooley's early works focused on landscapes or retreads of common historical subjects, only to find greater excellence and focus when he began to paint, again and again, the same figure - a representation of the darkness of the human soul - he stated appeared to him and demanded to be portrayed... art historians believe Tooley was driven by the demons of the Great War that had taken his family from him one by one to seek out uncomfortable subjects that force viewers to see the damage humans do to one another...

Chris's nose wrinkles as he reads, his lips moving slightly with the words as he takes them in. "I never did that. Never, um, wanted to be painted. Also, um this, um. He was... wasn't... he wasn't... wasn't like the paper says."

Jake looks over, reads it himself. Gregarious, sociable, popular with the libertine art crowd... he frowns. "What part is wrong?"

"This." Chris points, this at least he can safely make contact with, and presses the pad of his finger under a sentence that reads took inspiration from the ugly side of the city hidden under its shining lights. "He, he, he he didn't care about anyone in the city. He thought everyone who, who who who who-who wasn't him was, um, was stupid."

"What did he care about?" Jake imagines telling his professor that instead of an essay, he's going to bring in a vampire who literally knew one of the artists in person. How she might react.

Probably call the cops and report an unsecured vampire loose on the streets. But maybe she'd listen to what Chris had to say first.

"Blood," Chris says, softly. His voice is getting lower and lower, until it's barely more than a whisper. "Pain. Fear. Being... being the the the the last person who, who saw someone. He, he, he, he liked to lay them out and paint them, liked me to, to, to... arrange them for him."

Jake's eyes go unwillingly back to the dead body behind the scared boy in the painting. The grasping fingers, the open eyes that look sightless, lifeless, at nothing at all. When he looks, he can see - more suggestion than made clear - that the body's throat is torn open, as if by an animal's teeth.

Now, only now that he's looking for it, does he realize there is the slightest hint of red tears on the cheeks of the painted boy, a sheen of pink on his teeth where he begs for mercy from the grasping singular hand coming out of the dark.

His stomach flips again. "Chris, are you saying-"

"His, his, his name was Ben." Chris nods at the dead body in the painting. "I asked. Before..." He gestures, a little vaguely. "That."

Jake feels a sudden, wild urge to look up missing persons cases from New York City in 1932. See if there's anyone named Ben on there. He knows without having to do so that there definitely will be.

"What happened to him... after?"

"I don't know. I, I, I was never let out when Tooley was gone. I... wonder how, how, how many of me there are." Chris looks up at the echo of his own face, his head tilting again. His lips tremble, just a little, and then part to show the hint of white teeth wet with pinkish saliva. "On walls, in houses, in... in places like, um. Like this. How many there are... is, is, is, is that what I still look like?"

Jake clears his throat again, looks down at his feet. This feels, suddenly, like he's walked in on someone looking down at his own dead body in a funeral home. Interrupting a moment so immensely private it shouldn't even exist.

"Yeah," he says, a little gruffly. "Yeah, that's it. More or less. Except I hope I scare you less than that. Also you wear a lot more clothes with us."

Chris laughs - it's a huff of sound, barely-there. Then he turns away from himself. "We, we, we can't see ourselves, in mirrors," He says, and he's got the little plastic bat back in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the carved silicone. "But I have mirrors everywhere. On these walls."

He goes suddenly terribly still. He isn't breathing.

He doesn't have to, but the realization that he isn't even pretending is a jolt of awareness of exactly how dead Chris is. He leaves the exhibit, and Jake is left to scramble after him, struggling to catch up to someone he should be able to easily outrun.

He breaks into a flat run when they get outside the double-doors, jumps the steps three at a time with grace, and runs across the grass and towards the stand of trees halfway across the park. Even Jake, who works out four days a week, is breathing hard and has a hitch in his rib by the time he catches up.

He finds Chris curled up under a tree in the evening dark, the stars starting to twinkle overhead as the sun finally allows them a clear night sky to shine in.

Jake drops to his knees, ignoring the damp that seeps into his jeans from soil that still hasn't dried since yesterday's rains, and he leans over, putting a warm hand to either side of the vampire's face.

Chris looks up, his eyes glinting like a cat's briefly in the dark, and there are trails down his cheeks, his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl that is anything but angry.

No, this is grief.

This is loss.

Jake knows the feeling.

"Talk to me," Jake says softly. "Tell me what it was like, what it's been like for you. Tell me about the life you've lived before I knew you."

"It, it, it hurt," Chris whispers, and his own hands cover Jake's. They're the same temperature as the air around them, and Jake shivers a little. It's almost a chill. "Every time. I, I, I try not to kill, Jake, I try so hard, but but but he would keep me so hungry and I couldn't-... stop..."

Jake thinks about the robbers Chris killed - for him, to save him from them - and how he'd locked himself in the closet afterward. Had he cried like this, over taking lives even when in defense?

"The museum thing said this guy Tooley died in 1936. He was only, what, twenty-nine? Did... did you-"

"Yes." Chris's voice is thick but it's not quite with regret. "I was hungry. He, he he he he didn't bring food. I was so hungry... then I was, um, was alone for a while... then, then, then, then then then I was taken for, for, for the, um, the trade, for my v-venom, and..."

"Got it. I got it, Chris. It's okay," Jake says, softly. "It's going to be okay. You're with us, now. And we'll never, ever make you hurt someone that way. We'll never make you go hungry. We'll never hurt you or use you."

Chris ducks his head, rocking forward until it knocks into Jake's shoulder, and Jake slides his arms around the vampire's shoulders, listening to his soft, muffled sobs, wondering how red his shirt will be stained by the time the vampire's tears have been cried out.

The same mouth that tore out the throat of a dead body that lays in a painting on the wall is so close to his neck it would take less than an inch for him to bite down. Even without fangs, he could lock his jaw and break the skin.

The same dangerous monster that has killed likely dozens to stay alive, the same stalking predator that has been the last sight of far too many, cries in his arms. Just a teenage boy who has been lonely, and terrified, and hurt for too long.

A teenager... and a monster that hunts prey after dark. Jake tightens his arms around Chris, holds him tighter.

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter how long he's been alive, not really.

He's just Chris.

That matters more.

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

#whump #vampire whump #vampire whumpee #blood tw #recovering whumpee #caretaker and whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #immortal whumpee #vampire #vampirism #vampire fiction #horror fiction #original fiction #whump writing #chris the strawberry blond romantic #vampire chris au #past torture

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snelbz · 3 years

Text

Life As We Know it {Chapter 15}

Summary: After the sudden deaths of Nesta’s sister and Cassian’s best friend, they gain guardianship of their nephew, Nyx.

Based on Life As We Know It (2010) and a prompt sent in by anonymous for our Nessian fanfic contest. This is a modern au.

Instead of doing a tag list for this story, we have decided to have a set posting schedule. Chapters will be posted weekly on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. Occasional surprise chapters could be posted at miscellaneous times. Chapters will be posted on both my and Tara’s blogs! >> @tacmc.

Life As We Know It Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

Nesta looked in the mirror and figured she looked decent enough. Having not been on an actual date in quite some time, she felt a little off her game, but the dress she had chosen felt better than the others she had tried on.

After admiring the deep, crimson color and the way her breasts looked in the low neckline, Nesta sprayed her hair and slipped on her heels before grabbing her clutch and walking down the stairs.

Nyx was in the living room, bouncing up and down in his exersaucer. When he saw Nesta, he grinned.

“Hi, sweet boy,” she said, leaning down to kiss the top of his head and hoping her lipstick hadn’t rubbed off. “Cassian?”

“Kitchen!”

“I’m heading out,” Nesta said, leaning back up.

He was a room away, in the kitchen, making the gods knew what for their dinner. Nyx always ate whatever she made for him, but it was typically a challenge. Earlier in the week, Cass had started deviating from his generic meals for Nyx of jarred baby food and puffs. It seemed like it didn’t matter what the man fed him, Nyx adored it.

She made her way into the other room and stood behind a chair at the kitchen table and cleared her throat. “I shouldn’t be home too late,” she said, drumming her fingers along the wood.

Cass glanced back at her and his eyebrows rose. “You sure? You look pretty nice for shouldn’t be home too late.”

Blushing, she said, “We’re just going to dinner.”

He turned back to the stove, where he was sautéing some broccoli and carrots, but she caught the smirk on his face. “I doubt dinner will be the only thing he wants to eat.”

A knock from the front door halted whatever her response was going to be.

For a moment, neither of them moved, then Cassian blinked. “Are you going to get that or should I?”

Nesta huffed as she made her way back through the house and opened the front door.

Balthazar was there, that glorious smile plastered on his handsome face. His brown eyes went wide in appreciation. “Wow. You look incredible.”

Nesta looked down at her dress before saying, “Thanks. You look pretty good yourself.”

“Thanks-.”

“Alright, don’t keep her out too late and make sure she doesn’t drink too much.” Nesta spun around to find Cassian leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. “She’s not a pretty drunk.”

She widened her eyes at him, not sure if he was joking or not. The glimmer in his eyes said yes, but she couldn’t be sure.

Balthazar narrowed his eyes slightly, his gaze trailing down Cassian’s arms. “Are you Illyrian?”

Nesta swore she felt the tension in the room thicken at the three words.

“I am,” Cassian said, and she wondered if the flexing of his arms was intentional or not. “So I’d be real careful what the next words out of your mouth are.”

Balthazar smirked and unbuttoned one of his shirt sleeves, rolling it up to reveal—

Illyrian markings.

Cassian’s brows shot up and Nesta looked back and forth between the two of them.

“You’re from Illyria?” Nesta asked, once it was clear that Cassian wouldn’t say a thing.

“I am,” Balthazar said. “Grew up in the mountains. Moved here nearly a decade ago, but my parents still live there. I go there a couple of times a year.”

Cassian whistled before Nesta could say anything. “The mountains are beautiful. My mom used to take me up there for a getaway when I was younger.”

“Ah, yeah, I love it there,” Balthazar said. “I’d love to move back someday.”

Nesta cleared her throat, awkwardly. “I hate to break up this bonding moment, but we do have dinner reservations.”

“Right, of course,” Balthazar said, nodding. He stepped back, letting Nesta by. “If you’re ready, we can go.”

“Cass, have a good night,” she said, throwing him a look over her shoulder.

“Yeah, y’all, have fun,” he said, smirking at her as he closed the door behind them.

Balthazar walked Nesta to his car, opening her door for her and heading to his own side, climbing behind the driver seat. They rode in silence for a second before Balthazar said, “I’m glad you said yes.”

Nesta, despite herself, blushed as she looked over at him across the car. “I am, too.”

Cassian hadn’t been lying when he told Nesta he wanted her to go out with the doctor. If she had a boyfriend, he’d be less likely to think about sleeping with her again.

But he hadn’t expected to see another Illyrian at the front door. There would have been no way he could’ve known, since Nyx had only had to go to the doctor once while they’d had him, but surely Rhys would have mentioned that his son’s doctor was Illyrian at least once. There weren’t many Illyrians in Velaris, most of them choosing to stay in Illyria, to the north.

He hated that Balthazar was a nice guy.

A great guy.

A damn Illyrian.

While Nesta was gone, Cassian tried to keep his mind off of her on her date. And yet, it’s all he could think about, which was ridiculous. Nesta deserved to be happy, deserved to have fun.

And Cassian wasn’t complaining. He loved hanging out with Nyx, loved doing all the things that uncles did. And yet, Cassian felt off.

Everything was better when Nesta was around.

Nyx whimpered and Cassian seemed to understand as he lifted his nephew out of his bouncy seat and cradled him in his arms.

“Aunt Nesta will be home soon,” he crooned, bouncing Nyx.

The baby still looked around, looking for her.

For the first couple months after the accident, Nyx had constantly looked around, constantly searched for Rhys and Feyre. But recently, he hadn’t been looking around much anymore, and when he was it was for one of them.

Silently, Cassian had hoped it didn’t mean he was forgetting about Rhys and Feyre.

He sighed, carrying him to the kitchen. “Uncle Cass wants some ice cream, how does that sound?”

He clapped once and Cassian chuckled. He got a big bowl, with two spoons and settled back on the couch, Nyx next to him.

Nyx’s bites were much smaller, and Cassian tried his best not to laugh when his eyebrows bunched together, a little brain freeze hitting him unexpectedly. After he’d had a few bites, Cassian set him down on the carpet, letting him crawl over to where his toys sat on the floor.

“When are you gonna walk, dude?” He asked, watching as he banged two plastic blocks against each other.

Nyx had mastered pulling himself up right before he turned one. Yet for whatever reason, he still hasn’t taken his first steps. He and Nesta talked about it a lot, and they’d discussed whether it was something they should ask his doctor about.

He supposed Nesta could do so tonight if she was so inclined.

“It’s about time for bed, you know,” Cassian said, watching as Nyx threw his toys across the living room. “For you and me. Once you go to sleep, I’ll be right behind you.”

Nyx made a noise that nearly made Cassian laugh out loud.

“Exactly,” Cassian went on. “So, let’s get you in your pajamas, then Uncle Cassian is going to relax for a while.”

Nyx didn’t protest as Cassian carried him upstairs and started to get him ready for bed. Cassian gave Nyx a bath and got him into his pajamas before he laid him in his crib. After patting his belly, Cassian went back downstairs and laid on the couch.

He laid in silence for ten minutes before deciding that Nyx was sound asleep and nothing would wake him.

Now, all he could think about was Nesta’s date.

He didn’t let himself think about why that was.

Nesta wasn’t sure she had laughed this hard in months. She was actually fairly sure she hadn’t.

Not since before the accident.

“Wait, wait,” she said, using her napkin to dab underneath her eyes, having laughed so hard that tears slipped out. “There were how many people there?”

“At least two thousand at the game and way, way more watching on TV,” Balthazar replied, cringing, reliving the time he’d accidentally been pantsed during a championship baseball game in college.

And had left nothing to the imagination.

Nesta was laughing again, but took a sip of her wine and shook her head. She was having an amazing time. The conversation was coming easily, the food was delicious, and Bal had made a spectacular wine choice.

He reached across the table and took her hand. “I’m having a good time,” she admitted, surprising herself.

He brushed a thumb over her knuckles and smiled. “I am, too.”

Nesta looked down where their hands met. His hands were interesting. Softer than she expected, but strong. Not rough, at all, like Cassian’s were.

Her eyes snapped up to Bal’s.

She wasn’t going to think about Cassian.

“You know, I hear they have amazing desserts here,” Nesta went on, keeping her hand in his.

“I hear the same,” Balthazar said. “In fact, I may have ordered us a sample board while you were in the ladies’ room.”

Nesta raised a brow. “Is that so?”

Balthazar nodded with a grin. “I figured why only taste one when you can taste them all?”

Nesta laughed, quietly. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Just as dessert came, Balthazar ordered another bottle of wine, and Nesta was blown away. Once again, she knew that doctors made good money, but it was surely the most extravagant date she had ever been on.

Having already eaten the cheesecake and the pavlova, Nesta scooped up a bite of chocolate cake and moaned. Her eyelids fluttered shut and she sighed, delighted.

When she opened her eyes, Balthazar was watching her, intently.

Nesta’s cheeks turned pink.

If she would have been asked to sleep with Balthazar a week before, she would have surely said yes. But now? Even with that look in his eye, she hesitated. He was handsome. Sexy, even, and she was certain that underneath his suit he was built like a Greek god. He was charming. He was kind. He was a perfect gentleman.

On paper, he was complete and utter perfection in every single way.

A part of her — a bigger part of her than she liked to admit — however, couldn’t shake the pleasure she had received only nights before by someone who was very much not the man sitting across the table from her now.

“I’m stuffed,” Nesta said, at last, draining what was left in her wine glass.

“Happily stuffed or in pain stuffed?” Balthazar asked, his voice a little quieter, that look in his eye remaining.

Nesta chuckled, softly. “Oh, happily, for sure.”

“Good,” Balthazar replied, and waved to the server for their check.

They were back in his car within fifteen minutes, and Balthazar reached across the middle console to take Nesta’s hand.

She let him.

“I have to confess,” Balthazar began, his voice just above the soft radio, “that I don’t want this night to end.”

“Does that mean that you’re taking me out again?” Nesta asked, looking over at him.

He smiled, not taking his eyes off the road. “Does that mean you’re saying yes to another date?”

“I wouldn’t be opposed,” she replied, tracing the line of his long fingers with her free hand. She quietly admitted, “Though, I won’t have another free Saturday for a couple of weeks.”

“That’s okay.” He pulled their joined hands across the console and pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “I can wait.”

His lips were warm against her skin, and he had just a bit of stubble on his face, enough to tickle, not to scratch. She swallowed roughly, wondering again what he would be like as a lover. From what she knew of him, she was almost sure that he would be sure, slow and calculated. Everything he’d do would be to ensure her pleasure, which she certainly wouldn’t be opposed to, but…

She wasn’t sure if that’s what she wanted anymore, not when she knew how amazing it could be to be with someone who was completely unleashed, who was frenzied as he tried to bring her to release, and—

Balthazar said something and Nesta was completely lost in her thoughts. She cleared her throat, grateful he couldn’t see the blush on her cheeks as she said, “I’m sorry, I was out of it for a moment.”

He chuckled quietly. “It’s okay. I asked if you might want to see a movie one night this week, if you had any free nights?”

Nesta thought about it for a moment. “I’m free on Thursday.”

“Thursday,” he repeated, and nodded. “Alright. Thursday. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

“Perfect,” Nesta said, smiling as Balthazar pulled into her driveway.

He parked, got out, opened Nesta’s door, and walked her up to the front door. “Until Thursday, then.”

“Until Thursday,” she promised. He leaned forward and kissed her, softly.

It was a quick kiss, but it was nice.

They said their goodbyes then Nesta was opening the door, making her way inside.

The house was quiet, as she expected it to be at a quarter till eleven. After slipping off her shoes and setting her clutch near the door, Nesta was tiptoeing through the house, only stopping when she caught sight of Cassian sprawled across the couch.

She couldn’t help the smile that bloomed as she looked at him. He had one of Nyx’s stuffed animals clutched in his hand, halfway behind his head almost as if he was using it as a pillow. One of his legs hung off the side of the couch, his foot pressed flat against the floor, and Nesta couldn’t help the quiet chuckle as she stood there, looking at him. He looked so peaceful while he was asleep, his face relaxed and almost boyish like this. It was so at odds with the smirking mischief she usually saw there. She wondered if this is what he would have looked like if she would have asked him to stay in her bed the other night. Shaking her head, Nesta quickly banished the thought, not wanting to detract from the almost perfect date she’d just had.

Glancing around the living room, she noticed that it was an absolute wreck. Toys were strewn everywhere, as if they’d been thrown as far as Nyx’s little hands could manage them, and a completely melted, but mostly empty bowl of ice cream sat on the coffee table. Unable to stop the quiet chuckle, she silently picked up Nyx’s toys, putting them back in the basket where they belonged. She also scooped up the remains of the bowl of ice cream and carried it into the kitchen.

She turned the water on a low stream and was rinsing out the bowl when she heard a sleepy voice behind her.

“You’re home early.”

The rasp in his voice made her knees weak.

She looked over her shoulder to find Cassian leaning against the doorframe, his eyelids half fallen, one hand scratching the back of his neck.

Nesta chuckled. “Early? Must not be too early if you’re drooling all over the couch cushions.”

Cassian huffed a laugh as he came up behind her. “You don’t have to do that. I was planning on cleaning it.”

“No big deal,” she said, placing it in the dishwasher. “I’m pretty awake, thought I’d take care of a few things anyway.”

Cassian nodded as he leaned back against the island. “So…”

Nesta turned and crossed her arms as she leaned back against the counter. “So.”

“Did you have fun with Doctor Wonderful?” Cassian asked.

“I did,” she said, leaving it at that.

He waited for a moment, but when it was clear that that was all she was going to give him, he asked, “Yet you’re home before midnight and are wide awake enough to clean up after me and the baby?”

Nesta knew what he was asking, what he was insinuating, without voicing the words.

Why didn’t you go home with him?

“It would seem so,” she replied, a hand reaching up okay with the charm dangling from her necklace.

Cassian’s eyes tracked each motion as the charm zipped back and forth along the chain. His tongue darted out, wetting his bottom lip and he nodded. “Well, I’m glad you had a good time.”

She wasn’t sure if she was waiting for him to say something else, but when he abruptly turned and headed for the stairs, she blurted, “How was your night?”

Pausing, Cassian turned back to look at her. He laughed quietly, and said, “My night doesn’t matter, Nes. Just as long as you had fun. Goodnight.”

He didn’t give her a second to reply as he turned the corner and she heard his footsteps thumping up the stairs. A moment later, his door closed.

Nesta spent far too long thinking about his words after he left.

Just as long as you had fun.

Why did such kind, simple words bother her so much?

#snacmc lawki #snacmc collabs #snelbz tacmc collab #lawki #life as we know it #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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elriell · 3 years

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Some thoughts on Poppy x Cass x Kieran & The Joining.

After some awesome chats with the wonderful peeps ( @silverlinedeyes , @azriiel , @rhyssescups & @azrielisababe ) I think that there are several little tidbits that really hint at The Joining or potentially more, I know it is a pretty mixed bag of opinions but here are some of mine. [Spoilers: TCOGB]

Implication vs. Foreshadowing

“Casteel’s arm curled, tightening around my shoulder, drawing me closer. My breath snagged as his movement triggered Kieran. He shifted behind me, and my pulse felt like a trapped bird. A sleek, muscled thigh slid between mine, pressing in. I had no idea if it was Casteel’s or Kieran’s.”

“I didn’t know when I’d stopped thinking about the fact that it wasn’t just Casteel’s body that touched mine, it wasn’t his chest that my head fell back against.”

“But that wasn’t the only explanation for why I was so warm. Heat pressed against my back. A heavy arm lay over my waist and a leg was tucked between mine.”

The first time they... have fun, he does so with Kieran nearby.

She could have easily left the joining in the air, having implied it but not intending to follow through yet we get 23 mentions, alongside several moments of highly sexual/emotional connection between the three.

Instead throughout the book we are slowly introduced to the prospect of the three of them gently, coaxing them in to the storyline repeatedly through AKOFAF.

“Cass is too jealous...”

“A ghost of a smile appeared. “And then he’d be…intrigued.”

My mouth opened, but my mind took that and leapt with it. I had nothing to say. Absolutely nothing, but I thought about what I had read about the wolven and the Atlantians. There was a bond between some of them, and while not much was known about what that bond entailed, I was confident that a Prince was of the class that wolven would be bonded to. I wanted to ask, but considering I was in a tub and naked, now wasn’t the time.”

There is way to much we do not know about their bond, or their past to make that statement in my opinion, I think ordinarily I would agree, except with Kieran, he is the one person I could see Cass trusting with Poppy.

Not to mention textually speaking, he brings it up plenty and never seems offended by the idea.

“I’m not judging either.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “You’re not?”

“I’m not,” I insisted.

“So, you’re interested then?” he murmured.”

“Did you bookmark the chapters detailing how Willa spent afternoons entertaining not one but two suitors, one in front and the other—?”

“You seem to know a lot about that book.”

“I love that fucking book,” he said, and my jaw ached from how hard I was clenching it. “So, you’re interested then, Princess. What a wild side you have.”

“Look, I know you’re not looking for this marriage to go beyond the necessary,” he said, and that strange, stupid ache in my chest pulsed. “So, it’s not even something you need to worry about. But the Joining is meant to strengthen the bond that’s already there, and ensure that the partner is also a part of that bond. It’s not done lightly, and again, it is not always a sexual thing. I know it’s been done where everyone kept their body parts to themselves.”

“I can always read to you,” Casteel offered. “I still have a certain diary with me. There is a chapter I’m sure you’ll be interested in. Miss Willa has the same sleeping arrangement—”

“No. Nope.” I screwed my eyes closed. “Not necessary.”

“Are you sure?” Casteel seemed to have wiggled closer. His entire leg pressed against mine.”

All of these instances are in reference to the Joining/Kieran. Never does he imply jealousy or something he would disagree with, if anything we are told how much stronger it would make the bond (though we have yet to see where it stands) and also include Poppy. You cannot convince me that she would bring this Joining up so many time only to have it never come to fruition.

Potential Breadcrumbs

“A hundred different thoughts and emotions exploded through me, so many, so fast, I couldn’t make sense of them.”

This is during the cuddle scene, this really screams foreshadowing for her emotions and the tug-of-war she is going to undergo!

“I…” I looked around, seeing nothing but thick fog and Kieran standing above us, staring behind me and breathing just as heavily as Casteel. Confusion swept through me.”

“Just as heavily as Casteel.” interesting choice of words.

So while we are on the topic let’s speak about Poppy & Kieran;

“Reaching for the blanket, I tugged it to my waist. A muscle flexed in Kieran’s jaw. “He didn’t force himself on you?”

“You’re okay?” Kieran asked, and I felt Casteel nod. “Penellaphe?”My tongue felt heavy, but I managed to work out a muffled, “Yes.”

He is not only focused on Casteel’s wellbeing but also Poppy’s. We also get significant growth between them and their comfort with each other...

“He lifted his brows. “Are you worried about me?” Crossing my arms, I nodded.

“Don’t be nice to me,” he replied, and I sensed amusement from him. “It weirds me out.”

“Sorry.” He smiled then as he walked to where I stood. “You don’t sound remotely sorry.” I grinned at him.

“Do me a favor,” Kieran said, looking down at me. “Protect your Prince, Poppy.”

They both understand each other because they both understand their love for Casteel and desire to protect him.

“Still caring for him would only lead to heartache,” I whispered, knowing the truth right then and there. I did care. I never stopped caring. And acknowledging that felt as if I’d slipped under the black water.

“It doesn’t have to,” Kieran said. “But even so, sometimes, the heartbreak that comes with loving someone is worth it, even if loving that person means eventually saying goodbye to them.”

The roughness in his tone spoke more than his words shared. “You sound like you have experience with that.”

This is so cryptic. Either way, it is a beautiful scene where they are opening up to each other and being genuine, not to mention the subtle hints at it being “worth it” despite the pain. Could Kieran have love/d Cas? We know from JLA that she said that most Wolven are Bi/Poly.

“I wasn’t sure how I could come to terms with it even when I had time. “I don’t...”

“You don’t want this.” Kieran finished for me, his wintry gaze meeting mine.

We can only speculate what this is referring to but I don’t think it is strange to think it could be the Joining, not to mention JLA said she wrote a scene that was unlike any of the smut she has ever done before and it occurs at the beginning of the book or near it... I am guessing something will urge them to need to do the joining, perhaps to reform the bond between Kieran and Cass that was severed.

This goes hand in hand with my theory that something will happen that separates them and has Poppy/Kieran having to go on a mission for Cass either with or without him. I think this could be how she finds a way to balance out the scales in the development in their relationships as PoppyCass has a full book more than with Kieran.

Not to mention this early review of the book mentions “sharing” & “watching” this heavily implies the Joining could happen.

Kieran & Cass

“If I had turned to Casteel in my sleep, Kieran had also turned, as if Casteel were a magnet that drew both of us.”

I strange turn of phrase. My thoughts are if a Poly Ship or alike were ever to happen there would need to be complete trust, a lack of jealousy and be functional much like HeronGrayStairs.

I truly believe the potential is there between PoppyCassKieran.

“Disbelief and anger radiated from him, but I felt something else, something deeper that was warm and stronger than the anger. “I know why you’re doing this,” Kieran whispered.”

“Casteel said nothing for a long moment and then said, “It’s not the only reason.” Words went unsaid between them, but were understood nonetheless.”

Their bond is undeniably strong and I truly believe there is more to it than meets the eye, unquestionably they love each other, the question remains how.

“When a bonded elemental takes on a partner, the bond can be extended to that person. It requires an exchange of blood between the three—or the four if the partner is also bonded. And the exchange of blood…well, it is quite…” He cleared his throat as his cheeks flushed. “It can become very intimate. In a way that would most likely make you very uncomfortable.”

I just can’t see why she would make such a show of the Joining for no payoff in the next book.

“First off,” he said, struggling for breath, “I don’t think anyone is going to expect that.” From you seemed to hang unsaid between us.”

Not to mention the fact there is little secrets between them, when no one else was told about Poppy’s gift Kieran was. When no one (Malek aside) knew about Shea but Kieran, and now Poppy.

It is a recurring theme that the three of are very open with each others secrets.

And I can only imagine it growing in the next book.

This ^^^^ just make me believe more and more we are getting some major Kieran development and book time, going along with my theory him and Poppy will be going to be spending time together for some reason.

So in summary, I think there is little doubt in my mind that the Joining will happen and potentially even a ship born.

#fbaa #akofaf #tcogb #poppy balfour #casteel da'neer #kieran contou #cass x poppy x kieran #poppycasskieran #poppycaskieran #poppy x cass x kieran #from blood and ashes #a kingdom of flesh and fire #the crown of gilded bones #tcogb spoilers

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tricksters-captain · 3 years

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Benny Watts/The Queens Gambit imagines - From Pawn to Pen Part 3

AN: Okay so I know things are going a little slow paced at the moment but I promise things will start to pick up over the next few chapters.

Overall Summary: You’re a young journalist for Chess Review, with a love for chess and a desire for knowledge. One day at a tournament, you come across the famous Benny Watts...

In this chapter: It’s the last day of the tournament and Benny feels bad about what happened the previous night

(PART 1) (PART 2)

Pairing(s): Benny Watts x Fem!reader

Word Count: 3,493

Warnings: Some unwanted touching here at the beginning in italics, some drinking, none really

A hand glided up from your knee along your thigh. The fingers felt rough against your skin and your stomach twisted into a knot as the touch went further up your leg. You tried to move your leg away but his fingers dug into your skin keeping you there.

“Don’t play hard to get now...”

You gasped loudly as you shot up from your pillow. The cold air hit your lungs like a flood as you struggled to catch your breath.

It was 5am.

You were covered in sweat.

You stared into the darkness ahead of you, eyes wide open with any feeling of tiredness gone.

Your hands shook as you reached for the light switch, turning it on before jumping out of your bed to open the curtains.

The sun was barely rising outside.

Your nightie clung to you awkwardly due to the sweat so you headed into the bathroom, stripping of it.

You didn’t look in the mirror as you turned on the shower. You hated the way you looked after the dreams. You always looked like a ghost.

Not that you had had the dreams for a while now.

You took your time in the shower, you had brought your portable radio into the bathroom so you weren’t left alone with your own thoughts.

You hummed quietly to the songs that played on the early morning station; you closed your eyes and tried to picture that you were showering in your old apartment in France with Angelie making morning coffee and croissants in the kitchen.

It brought you some sense of calm.

When you finished in the bathroom, the sun was rising. You took a moment to admire the colours in the sky before sitting down at your dresser to apply some make up and dry your hair.

As your eyes found your reflection, you sighed. You reached across for one of your powders and a brush before turning the music up to stop thinking about the day ahead.

It was early enough for you to be one of the first in the restaurant for breakfast and so you found yourself nibbling on bagel with some coffee in your other hand.

It was the last day of the tournament.

Benny Watts vs Victor Miesser.

Once you grew tired of picking at the bagel you went ahead to the games room where only one table was set up ready for the final match in the afternoon.

You looked down at the board, picking up the white queen which you knew would be Benny’s later.

“Don’t be tampering with my chess pieces because I pissed you off last night.”

“Little early for you, Mr Watts?” You didn’t even need to turn to know who had come in.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He admitted, walking up beside you to look down at the board himself. “Found myself thinking what an ass move it was to just burst into somebody’s hotel room and start rummaging through their private belongings.”

“Oh really?” You raised your eyebrows, smiling a little at his attempted apology.

“Really.” Benny nodded, “So, I figured I’d find the girl I so rudely vexed and apologise.” Benny sent you a side glance which you returned.

“Apology accepted on the conditions that he doesn’t do it again and agrees to a photograph for the magazine.” You felt as if you should apologise too for the way you handled it the previous night but you fought against it, he was the one in the wrong after all.

“Conditions accepted.” Benny held out his hand and you waited a second, smiling, before you took it.

“Perfect.” You dug into your bag and pulled out your camera. “If you could sit down? Now would be the perfect time for a photograph since no one is around to distract you.”

“Distract me? What’s that supposed to mean?” Benny furrowed his eyebrows at you, chuckling as he sat himself down.

You rolled your eyes at the man and decided not to answer as you checked the lighting for the photo.

“I’m sure you’ve done plenty of shoots before so if you could just relax the shoulders a little and look at the camera as you sit beside the board.” You directed him as he shifted in his seat.

“Like this?” Benny asked with a smirk as he rested his elbow on the table beside the board.

You took the photo.

“Now look down at the board like you’re focusing on a hard game.” You tried to ignore his playful tone as you photographed him.

Benny switched to link his fingers below his chin and stare down at the board.

“Great.” You stepped forward and lifted the brim of his hat slightly your with finger. Benny’s eyes looked up as you did. “Sorry.” You muttered before stepping away again.

“One more if you don’t mind.” You asked as you picked up the queen.

“If you just prop your feet up on the corner of the table and lean back into your chair.” You gestured to the table and Benny did as he was told. “Now, hold this and look at it like this.”

You held the chess piece with your thumb and index finger above your head so it was tilted. Benny seemed to smirk again as he took the piece from you to copy the pose.

You snapped a few more shots before allowing him to relax.

“Thank you. It’s more likely I’ll get the first few pages if I have a decent photo to go with the piece.” You explained, tucking the camera away.

“And here I thought I’d make the cover.” Benny stood up from his seat, straightening his jacket.

“I can’t make any promises I’m afraid. This’ll be the biggest piece the magazine has allowed me to write yet.” You confessed, pulling out your notepad and pen.

“You're telling me you left Paris of all places to write pity pieces and small town coverage for Chess Review?” Benny raised his eyebrows at you, seemingly surprised at your decision.

“I’ll work my way up eventually. I always do.” You shrugged your shoulders, paying no mind to his judgement.

“I don’t doubt it.” Benny replied.

“I saw you in Paris last year, you know.” You tried changing the topic onto him so you could try and get some more questions in for the interview.

“Really?” Benny asked,

“I mean I wasn’t paying too much attention to you since I was writing a headline piece on Borgov but I saw you. No one can stick out like sore thumb in aa chess tournament quite like Benny Watts.” You admitted.

“I’ll try and take that as a compliment.” Benny laughed lightly as he fiddled with the top of the chair he was leaning on.

“Well you are constantly praised for you twist on the ‘regular’ chess player with your style and your hair and your knife...” You couldn’t help but point to the holster on his hip.

“What’s wrong with that?” He asked, looking down at his knife then back up at you.

“Nothing.” You shook your head. “I was wondering Mr Watts since I have you here now, we could finish off that interview?”

You watched Benny check his watch before taking a minute to decide.

“Alright but only if we go someplace else. It’s too stuffy in here.” Benny agreed, pushing off the back of the chair and walking towards the exit.

“Outside?” You suggested.

You both walked side by side outside the hotel then down into some gardens where you found an old small concrete bench to perch on.

“Shall we continue from where we started?” You asked, getting your prepared questions out. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

“Mr Watts, you recently stated you were here because of Beth Harmon. When was it she first caught your eye as a potential competitor?” You asked,

“I guess it was just like everyone else. Once it got out that she defeated Beltik at such a young age and at her very first tournament, I think she grabbed everyone’s eye in the chess world.” He admitted, looking out across the green as he spoke.

“Do you believe she could beat you for your US title?”

“I think we’ll have to see how it plays out when I finally get to play her.” Benny seemingly almost found the question amusing.

“Where are you playing next? Do you know?” You crossed off questions you’d already asked before as you spoke.

“I try not to play too many opens nowadays but I like the practise. The US open will roll around again soon which I’ll be heading too. I tend to go to events where I’ve been invited or I feel like attending. It’s not necessarily planned.” Benny held out his arm, pushing straight line with hand to signal him looking into the future.

“And what about Europe?”

“I like playing in Europe. I get invited from time to time but the jet lag really gets me sometimes.” Benny started, “Off the record, how come I haven’t seen you in Paris before if you’d seen me?”

The question took you back for a moment as the flow was now interrupted.

“There’s a lot of reporters in Paris, Mr Watts. It’s no surprise to me that you didn’t notice me.”

“It is to me.” Benny towards you, leaning on his hand with his finger on his chin.

“A girl can be easily hidden in a crowd full of men, Mr Watts.” You felt your heart start to race as Benny stared at you.

“Anyway, back to the questions...” You tried to shake it off. “Is there anyone in your life at the moment, Mr Watts? Someone else you like to play chess with?” You almost cringed at the question but you knew the female readers would eat it up.

“Are you asking for you or for the magazine?” Benny smirked.

You sent him a look which only made him laugh.

“No, there’s no one at the moment. Only a few of the guys in New York who like to play speed chess with me just to lose their money.” Benny’s joke made you roll your eyes but he could tell it was lighthearted.

“And final question, Mr Watts, how does it feel being the undefeated champion in the United States?”

“It feels great. But I’m looking forward to some new competition. You can only play Victor Miesser so many times.” Benny took off his hat and ran a hand through his hair. His blond locks moved with his fingers and a small strand fell back down to his eye.

“Be careful what you wish for, Watts.” You let it slip out as you watched the man.

Benny started to laugh again.

“I didn’t–––” You went to apologise when he cut you short.

“––It’s true. One day someone will probably beat me.”

You closed your notepad and tucked your pen away as you nodded your head, not knowing how else to respond.

“What are you doing after the tournament?” Benny asked you.

“I’ll probably stay here in the hotel for a couple of days, get the final draft written then typed up then sent off to the magazine along with the photos. By then they should have another spot for me to travel to and if not then I’ll return to my flat in Massachusetts. My recent tenant just moved out so I actually could stay there for once.” You explained, hooking the hair out of your face as the wind picked up.

“Massachusetts?” Benny cocked his eyebrow.

“Yeah. I bought the flat just before I decided to leave the US, rented it out during the years I was in Paris. I had someone new living there for the past 5 months but they recently moved out. I’m never usually there so...”

“Why Massachusetts though?” Benny folded his arms over his chest and crossed his ankles as he leant back.

“My Mom grew up in Greenfield, Massachusetts. She always loved the countryside, the forests when it was fall were her favourite anywhere we went really. I live in Boston though, Greenfield was a bit too small town for me.” You explained, smiling as a memory resurfaced of your mother diving into a pile of yellow, auburn and brown leaves.

“You know Boston isn’t that far from New York. If you change your mind about that chess game, I don’t hate the idea of company?” Benny suggested, his eyes searching your face for an answer.

“I don’t think so, Benny.” You rose from the bench and smiled down at the man.

Benny smirked at the use of his name instead of ‘Mr Watts’.

“Good luck for this afternoon. Perhaps I’ll see you at another tournament soon.” You dismissed yourself before Benny could try and persuade you to come to New York with him.

You spent the rest of the morning sorting your notes together and clearing up your hotel room before the afternoon game went ahead.

You had taken your film to be developed whilst you were watching the game so it’d be ready in the evening.

You watched Benny dominate Miesser in less than 20 moves and then you watched Miesser strut off in a strop. Another loss to the Benny Watts.

You were amused by the fact that Benny didn’t even seem to break a sweat or show a single crease in his forehead. He really did find it all too easy, didn’t he?

You applauded with the rest of the onlookers before disappearing to take your notes on the game upstairs to write it up again in short form so the readers could see the game through the piece.

You went ahead to pick up the prints before dinner and you were impressed with your own photography skills.

Benny was extremely photogenic there was no lie in that and you couldn’t help but admire the photographs due to your own skill and his attractiveness.

You put the photos up in your room along with the pages you had before heading for some food.

You were famished and you knew the restaurant would be quieter due to the tournament ending that day.

“Miss (Y/L/N)?” One of the hosts approached you as you neared the restaurant entrance.

“Yes?” You replied.

“Mr Benny Watts has requested you join him for dinner.” He guided his hand towards one of the back tables where Benny was sat alone for once.

You were hesitant to join him but once he had spotted you there was no turning back.

“Mr Watts?” You greeted him, still confused by his invitation.

“(Y/n).” He stood when you approached the table which was something you hadn’t expected him to do. “I felt like my apology earlier wasn’t exactly a great one so I figured dinner would be a good alternative.”

“You really didn’t have to...” You started, sitting down opposite him.

“How’s the article coming along?” He ignored your objections as he too sat back down.

“Fine.” You stated.

“Just fine?” Benny smirked, looking up at you from the menu in front of him.

“Yes.” You said as you picked up your own.

There was a silence.

“How old were you when you first played Chess?” Benny asked out of the blue.

“Five.” You told him. “I wouldn’t say I was any good. My father taught me but I know I first picked up the pieces when I was five.”

“And how old were you when you decided you weren’t good enough?” Benny’s words felt like ice to your warm cheek.

“Seventeen.” You told him honestly.

“Seventeen.” Benny repeated what you had said. “Seventeen is awfully young to be deciding you weren’t good enough.”

“I had been playing years by then–––”

“––It sounds like you gave up to early.” Benny folded his hands together as he placed his elbows on the table.

“Are we going to discuss my playing chess all evening or shall I just eat elsewhere?” You were tired of the constant questions. This man didn’t know you. You didn’t need to explain yourself to him.

“Sorry.” Benny held his hands out almost in surrender. “So, Boston?”

“Or discuss me being close enough to visit New York to play chess with you.”

Benny chuckled quietly.

“What is it about me, Benny Watts?” You asked him honestly. Why was he so interested in your chess playing after one weekend of knowing each other?

“I don’t know.” Benny confessed, “Curiosity, I guess.”

“Well, Mr Watts...” You sipped on the cocktail just put in front of you, “...Curiosity killed the cat.”

“Maybe it’s the fact you’re one of the first girl reporters I’ve seen cover Chess before.”

“I am the only one employed at Chess Review.” You didn’t know why you told him that but you did. “Journalism is a more cut throat industry than you’d expect, Mr Watts.”

“I could say the same thing about Chess but being a reporter you already know that.” Benny leant back in his chair now, waving over a waiter so you could finally order some food.

“I know too well.” You chuckled weakly.

You both ordered some food and you let Benny talk about himself which he did with ease.

He mainly spoke about Chess openings, ones he favoured, ones he disliked, who he had read recently and what changes he had made to his play over the past couple tournaments.

You were thankful he didn’t try interrogating you again.

After you finished eating you left the restaurant together.

“Me and some others who are still here for the night are gonna have a few beers and play some speed chess, wanna join?” Benny asked, pointing behind him to the bar area.

You went to open your mouth when Benny stopped you.

“And before you say anything, no you don’t have to play, you can just watch.”

“Tempting.” You admitted.

“Then say yes?” Benny urged you, already taking a step backwards towards the bar.

“Are you always this pushy, Benny?” You couldn’t help but let a smile cross your lips.

“Uh, yep.” Benny bit down on lower lip, his hands on his hips as he answered.

“One drink.” You gave in, following the man into bar where a table of speed chess was already being played.

When Benny approached the table, one of the seats freed up for him and Benny offered you a seat beside the table so you could spectate.

You ordered yourself a drink and took it with you to the table so you could drink and watch.

You were immediately mesmerised by the speed the players could go and within mere minutes Benny had won his first round, taking five dollars off his opponent.

“You know, Benny, you might want to take it easy or people won’t actually want to play you anymore.” You told him with a smirk on your face that made him smile.

You stayed longer than you expected to. One drink turned into three or four and it was late by the time Benny ran out of opponents.

Benny walked with you to the elevator then up to the floor you were both on.

You were tired and the alcohol had given you a warm buzz. You leant against the wall of the elevator with your eyes closed and a sleep smile on your face.

“Come on, it’s our floor.” Benny held out his arm and you wrapped your hand around his bicep to help you out of the elevator.

He walked you up to your hotel room door and you found your key to go inside.

“Night Benny.” You murmured as you stepped into your room.

Benny leant in the door way, his hand gripping the pane above him as he watched you walk over to your bed.

“Goodnight Miss (Y/L/N).” And with that, he leant in to take the doorknob and closed the door.

When you woke up in the morning you weren’t in your nightie but your underwear. You must've just stripped last night because you were so tired.

You heard a knock on your door but you groaned and rolled over onto your stomach. Covering your head with your pillow.

There was another knock.

You waited a second, gaining the energy to stand.

You slid on your robe and trudged over to the door.

You opened it to see no one outside but down by your feet was a stack of three books with a note on top of them.

You picked them up and opened the folded bit of paper.

I’m going back to New York. Read these then call me. – B.W.

You looked through the books he had given you and the one right on the top was his own. You shook your head smiling down at the boy on the cover.

You peered forward, looking down the corridor to see no one but the housekeepers.

You stepped back inside and reread the note.

Call me – B.W.

(PART 4 HERE)

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perfectpaperbluebirds · 3 years

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@sicktember Prompt # 8: Contagious

Title: Unexpected Developments

Fandom: Pride and Prejudice

Prompt inspired by @chezsnez . The prompt: “What if in P&P when Jane gets sick at Netherfield, the other guests catch her cold and Lizzie ends up having to take care of Darcy. Kinda like enemies to lovers but with enemies to caretaker.” Thank you as always for the wonderful ideas, my friend!

Jane Bennett’s cold has spread to all the guests at Netherfield, hitting some worse than others. How will Lizzie respond when she finds proud, arrogant Mr. Darcy sneezing miserably and running a fever?

Elizabeth stepped out into the hall, closing the door on Jane's sickroom behind her. Jane was lying down to rest, so Lizzie was left to her own devices for the next hour or two. With no obligation to visit with the rest of the guests today, she had decided to wander a bit to stretch her legs and familiarize herself with more of Netherfield. As she walked, she let her mind wander as idly as her feet.

"We're certain to never be asked back here again," Lizzie sighed to herself after a bit. While Lizzie herself didn't much care, Jane and her mother would be devastated.

The cold Jane had caught on her ill-fated horseback ride to Netherfield had proved to be very contagious. Charles and Caroline Bingley had succumbed to it quickly. At luncheon the day after Elizabeth arrived to care for her sister, the siblings were seen to have dark circles under their eyes, with nostrils tinged a raw-looking pink. Caroline was forced to press a handkerchief to her dripping nose more than once through the course of the meal, while Charles kept painfully coughing into his. Caroline retired immediately after the meal, complaining of a headache and did not return. Charles sent his apologies down just before supper, saying he too had taken ill and would be staying in his room. Walking past Caroline's door later while checking on Jane, Lizzie heard her sneezing so miserably that Eliza felt a touch of sympathy for the unpleasant woman.

Mr. Darcy had been the one to carry the news of Bingley's illness to the rest of the party, but Elizabeth had hardly seen him since. She gathered he was either passing the time in his own room or else keeping Charles company. It seemed his immune system was hearty, for he hadn't seemed ill when she had last spoken to him.

Several days had now elapsed since the onset of Jane's illness, and the eldest Bennett sister was doing much better, and in fact really had no need of a caregiver anymore, though she had said more than once that she was glad Elizabeth was there for the company. With any luck, the sisters would be able to go home in a few days, as long as the others had recovered as well. Elizabeth found this thought encouraging as she continued to explore.

Eventually she came to a hallway at the far side of the house that she was sure would be a dead end and likely empty, but she preferred to look at it anyway, for perhaps it would have a nice view out the window. The hallway was in fact a dead end, but was far from empty.

Coming around the corner, she stopped short, for at the end of the hallway and facing the window was Mr. Darcy. With some amusement she realized he was about to sneeze, for he was hunched over with his handkerchief pressed to his face and his breath hitching desperately.

"Heh-ZZZIIIH'shieww! HIIHHK'choo!" He did his best to muffle the sound into his handkerchief, but was mostly unsuccessful. The sneezes were wet and miserable-sounding, and while Elizabeth couldn't see his face, she could imagine his equally miserable expression, for he sneezed like someone with a thick, burgeoning head cold.

She had a choice to make. She could very easily walk away and pretend she had seen nothing, leaving him and his cold to their own devices. After all, the fact that he had hidden away in this corner indicated that he didn't want to be discovered, and while he had been overall civil to her since she had come to stay here, his haughty pride and past treatment of her were not quickly forgotten. Or, she could offer him aid.

"Hih'GEHH'shuuh!" This 3rd sneeze, whether part of the trio or on its own (it was hard to be sure) was the most desperate and miserable sounding of them all. His shoulders slumped wearily as he tended to his nose in the aftermath, and she thought she heard him say something like "ick" as he did so as well.

"Bless you, sir," said Elizabeth boldly, coming fully into the hallway. He leapt around as if he'd been shot, his face reddening. She could see him frantically trying to think of a way to explain himself.

"My apologies," he muttered at last, gruffly. "That was most undignified."

"You have no need to apologize, for you didn't know I was here. It is I who should apologize for startling you. However, I wanted to ask after your health, for you sound most unwell."

"I am fine," he muttered, clearly uncomfortable. Looking closer at him, Lizzie saw the flush over his face might not be due entirely to embarrassment, but perhaps also to fever, for his eyes had the same unhealthy cast she had seen in Jane's eyes only a few days before. He was also swaying slightly where he stood, and had a dampness of sweat along his hairline.

"Might I offer to accompany you to your room, sir? You look as if you needed to lie down for a spell."

"That is… unnecessary. I can…." He cut himself off with a rough cough. She could tell he was desperately trying to think of an excuse as to why she shouldn't be the one assisting him. However, they both knew that Charles was sick (quite sick, if the murmurs she'd heard from the staff were to be believed), and that all the servants were overworked as it was with taking care of their master and his sister.

"I'm sure you're quite busy with your sister. You need not concern yourself with me," he finally rasped.

"On the contrary, she is resting peacefully, while you are positively trembling and look to be on the verge of collapse from fever. Take my arm and we shall see you to your quarters."

Mr. Darcy hesitated another moment, still casting around for some excuse. Knowing what needed to be done, Elizabeth moved to his side and gently linked her arm around his. She felt her heart flutter as their hands made brief contact. The fleeting thought crossed her mind that this was the first time they had touched. She had certainly imagined it occurring under different circumstances. Shaking away such thoughts, she started to walk, leading the much taller man toward his quarters. Mr. Darcy was enough of a gentleman to follow without further protest.

As they walked, both of Mr. Darcy's arms were occupied, for the hand that wasn't linked with Elizabeth's was busy pressing his handkerchief to his face. Every few steps his shoulders would twitch, either from a stifled cough or a thick sniffle. She could sense he was desperately trying not to sneeze again. Between that and the fact that his large form was positively radiating heat, Elizabeth found herself quite distracted by him, and watched him intently out of the corner of her eye. The walk was a quiet one, for Elizabeth didn’t want to burden him with conversation when he was clearly otherwise engaged, not to mention ill.

They made it to his room without interruption, sneezing or otherwise. She allowed him to open the door, then she ushered them both in, with more than a little awkwardness on all sides. Mr. Darcy went immediately to sit on his bed, sinking down as if compelled by gravity, leaning his head into his hands as he continued to tremble.

"A headache troubles you as well, then?" she asked after observing his motionless form for a moment.

He nodded pathetically, not looking up. Out of nowhere, and startling them both, his breath hitched violently before a pair of sneezes erupted out of him. Thankfully they were directed at the floor. He pressed his damp handkerchief to his nose hastily, glancing at her and looking embarrassed.

"Forgive me," he muttered thickly, which was followed up with a cough.

"You need not waste your breath asking forgiveness every time you sneeze when you have a cold, for you have precious little breath to spare as it is. However, I must ask, why did you not alert someone of your illness? You are quite unwell, Mr. Darcy. Anyone can see it plainly."

"I did not want to be a bother, as everyone else was also ill. I thought it best to tend to myself."

"Whether or not you alerted someone, you shouldn't have gotten out of bed today. You've certainly made yourself worse by doing so."

He only groaned softly.

Elizabeth sighed to herself. "Please, if I may, let me help you feel more comfortable. You need to rest."

Hesitantly she approached him as he looked up to finally meet her eyes. With a gentle touch she guided him to sit up straighter, then deftly removed his cravat. She sensed more than heard his sigh of relief once it was off, and found herself letting her hand rest on his hot cheek under the pretense of checking his fever. He seemed to enjoy the touch immensely. Her eyes lingered on his face as he sat with his eyes closed, and many thoughts and feelings competed for space in her mind. She did her best to suppress them all.

After a moment though, she broke the spell, and continued to help him remove his jacket, waistcoat, boots and stockings. He assisted as best he could with these attentions, but said nothing, merely following her every move with his guarded, intense gaze. Once the garments were set aside and he was looking much more loose and comfortable, if also embarrassed to be seen in such an undressed state, she pressed a glass of water into his hands and watched as he drank it down.

She took the glass from him, and setting it down, took up a cold, wet rag. She placed it against the back of his neck and was rewarded with a relieved sigh. From there she bathed the rest of his neck and the bit of chest that was visible, ensuring her gaze stayed far from his, but unable to help a bit of a blush creeping over her cheeks at such acts of intimacy with such a person. With continued gentleness, she pressed him back against the pillows. The movement of course made him cough pitifully. Soaking the cloth once more, she laid it on his forehead and left it there as she straightened the pillows around him.

That done, they simply surveyed each other for a moment. Mr. Darcy looked ill and altogether unimposing, lying in bed as he was, with tired circles under his eyes, a hacking cough, and a dripping nose.

"Are you feeling any better?" she asked hesitantly.

"Some," he grunted. "Now that I'm lying down."

"Excellent. Are you hungry at all? I think perhaps you should eat something."

His intense stare and large, warm presence were making her nervous all over again and causing her to seek escape from the small room.

"I suppose I could eat," he murmured.

"Yes, good. Then let me go fetch you some soup. I'll be back soon." She bustled out of the room immediately, a blush rising to her face, of uncertain cause. She did her best to quiet her racing thoughts as she sped toward the kitchen.

Mr. Darcy, for his part, was totally smitten with her. He was now convinced her fine eyes were the centerpiece of her completely wonderful countenance and figure. He watched the space where the corner of her skirt had disappeared intently, waiting for her return and recalling again and again the feel of her cool hand on his face.

(Part 1 of 2)

#sicktember2021 #sickfic #everyone is hotter with a fever #prompt 8

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yanderenightmare · 3 years

Note

Hey, can I have yandere!shinsou to insult the chubby!reader bcs she really made him angry to her by being rebellious so it ended up with she is getting fuck so hard by him 🥵💦

yandere ! SHINSO HITOSHI

goodiebag WARNINGS: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, mind-control, jealousy

MISTAKES COME BEST WHEN SERVED IN THREES

She’d been bugging him all night.

They were hauled up in his dorm-room with homework, had been so for hours. And it wouldn't have been too bad, but she wouldn't shut up.

She laid on her stomach, elbows propped up beneath her, tits mushed perfectly into his mattress, looking like a comfortable pillow fo support, squeezed like two plump balloons in her top with the way she bounced on them. She always bounced as she spoke, so bubbly, voluptuous lips sucking on her pen in those breaks where she didn't have anything to say, looking like a cute little bunny with the chubs of her cheeks, her legs kicking in the air, ass wiggling like a puppy wagging its tail, as she babbled on and on and on about her stupid crush.

Disgusting. He’d lost count of how many times he’d rolled his eyes, sustained clicking his tongue in an exasperated fashion, now feeling the growing need to go puke his guts up.

“He’s got such pretty hair too, like... it’s fluffy, like a cat, like he has secrets hidden inside there or something...” He wanted to claw his eyes out, but he couldn't stop looking at her, those lips, that cheeky smile, her childish giggle. His ears bleeding, not wanting to hear another silly foolish detail about whomever the fuck had her so neatly tied around there finger. “I just want to run my hands through it, you know?” She fiddled with a lock of her own hair while she daydreamed, finger raking through the pretty shiny treads. “Tangle my fingers inside it and ride his face.” That’s when he snapped.

It took only a split second to process, perhaps because he’d imagined it so many times already. Her plush thighs hugging his face, hands grabbing the fat of her ass, setting the rhythm, not letting her go until he feels her dripping down his chin. “Who?” He sounded like an owl, looked like one too. Eyes intense as they stared at her place on his mattress.

Such audacity she had, talking up wet-dreams of someone else in his fucking bed.

Her brows knitted, looking at him, legs stopping to rub together in the air. “Hm?” She only hummed, but it was enough.

“What’s his name?” He repeated, and this time she had no choice but to answer.

Her features blanched, eyes pooling with void, enslaved, gorgeous, pupils blown large like a black lake, like ink ready to write all her secrets, to spill her guts for him.

“Shinso Hitoshi.”

The name dropped from her lips without hesitance, and despite the monotonous sound of it, despite lackluster at the absence of her substantial voice, her full-bodied brazen wild tone, it still managed to make his heart stop, stammer in his chest, before beating along like it usually does, like a skipping rock, picking up its pace, soon to be hammering like some war-drum, fueling war-paint through his system, spiked and frayed, making the thin hairs at the nape of his neck rise, his purple mane frizz with static.

Thoroughly put out, enough to lose his hold on her.

“Did you...” She shook from the shock, from the shackles. “Did you just-” Her palms pushed into her temple as her eyes scrutinized, pulling her knees to curl into a sitting position on the bed. “Use your quirk on me?”

Her frame had bled into a blurry view at the light of his bliss, his smile widened into a sneer as sharp as a knife, eyes refocusing at the sound of her voice breaking the otherwise pin-drop silence and galloping of his heart.

He scoffed at her pout, at the brimming, swirling vivid look of betrayal climbing in her eyes, almost drooling at the bashful blush that adorned her cheeks, having never seen her shy or humiliated before and finding an unparalleled sense of victory at the sight of it.

“What?” He shrugged, sly smile nudging further up on his face, smug and victorious, uncaring of whatever feeling he must have stirred with knowing how she actually felt plain and simple and outspoken, pulled right from her chest, still echoing on the walls, ringing in his mind, dripping from his teeth. He could almost laugh. “Not the guy you thought I was?”

“This isn't funny, Toshi.” Believe him, he didn't think so either. “I trusted you.”

“Your first mistake.” His lilac eyes shone with such sinister glee, such carnal sadistic pleasure, she felt it like a claw on her throat. “Liking me is your second.”

“You’re such a jerk.” Her voice strained, caught between being vicious to teary-wet. He could only imagine, like he’d done so many sleepless nights already, the catlike whimpers and whines she’d spill once he did like she suggested earlier.

She pushed herself off his bed with a bounce and huff and a sweet little sniffle, walking past where he still sat seated on the chair by his desk, hand drumming lean knuckled fingers on the table. “Leaving so soon, Kitten?” He didn't bother getting up. He didn't need to.

“Fuck- you.” She mumbled, her voice already a croak of suppressed cries, her heart aching in her chest as she walked to the door.

The smile cracked even farther, more salacious, more enjoyed, gorged and savored. “Fuck me? Heh, that’ll be your third...” He scoffed, laugh lacing his mocking words. “Stop.” Was all he needed to say to turn all her nerves against her and bend them to do his bidding. “Come here.”

His hand still drummed on the table, not having bothered turning around as he heard her approach him again. Perfectly timed steps, one after the other, mechanical almost, until she stood, plain and simple, without resistance, between his legs, all up for grabs. His fingers stopped drumming.

Then there was silence again. But she would say the smirk on his face was loud, and so was the glint in those lavender orbs, warm in her head, in her cheeks, hot and heavy with how he eyed her, up and down. Hotter as those arms, lined with the muscles of a man, straining veins and fresh bruises from his training, reaching out scarred hands to touch her ample hips, pulling her closer, tighter between his thighs. Fingers, strangely confident and lax, unbothered and unhurried, soon fiddling with the clasp that kept her short school skirt together at the waist, pinching what pliable flesh he found as he explored. Other hand ascending with the same grace, working slowly as he twisted the buttons to her shirt open, popping one after the other, face buried and pushed into the welcoming warm embrace of her breasts with a heavy sigh, lips dragging up and down the valley of them, nose rubbing and cuddling into her skin, teeth soon gracing alongside his tongue licking at her. Her shirt and skirt falling to the floor, pooling around her ankles, meanwhile his hand moved to the back to pinch loose the clasp of her bra, where the other hand had made itself busy feeling up the thickness of her ass like putty between his greedy fingers.

“On the bed.” He growled, face still mushed into her skin, all clothes except her precious cotton panties left in a pile by the desk.

And off she went, Shinso getting up and out of his chair to trail after her, towering over her short frame, looking down at the back of her head and how it seemed to bob up and down as she walked, hips swaying like a feline from side to side as she stalked, until she turned on her heel and plopped down with a bounce. Always so bouncy. So plump and full of life. Juicy like a peach.

He got down on his knees quickly, hands reached out to grab her knees, prying them apart carefully, opening up for a view of soft plush doughy flesh and the valley that made her panties look like a heart just beneath her tummy, all for him to bite into. He groaned, hands curled as they raked down from grabbing at her ass, until they hooked under her knees, pushing her up and down on her back, tits bouncing from the fall, his other hand giving them the attention they deserve, kneading one breasts in his palm, fingers going from tweaking the nib to pulling at it like picking up a water-balloon by the tail, managing to wake her.

“Get off!” She gasped, whined at the harsh touch, hands coming to push at his hard abs. But he wasn't budging, hands easily and softly finding her wrists to keep them from flailing, his dark chuckle stirring that something deep within her gut.

“Get off?” He repeated, questioningly, a slight snicker playing in his tone. “What?” It was clear he was amused, that he had no regrets and no intentions of backing down. “You don't like it when I touch you?” He pushed her down, drowned her in the sheets, hiked his knee up on the bed to earn leverage and height, like a tower toppling over, pushing her wrists into the mattress, head dipping to kiss at her collarbone, nose sliding up her neck as she shook her head in slight protest were any verbal answers were sure to be taken advantage of. “Well-” He scoffed. “That’s a lie.” His words whispered at her ear, as he smoothly hooked his foot under her leg to push them open, knee fitting snugly between the tight space of her thighs, hiking her up over the tops of his own, fitting between her. “We both know you’ll love it when I touch you, Kitten.”

He bit her earlobe with another snicker, kissed her cheek chastely, slipping his tongue into her mouth as he dunked in for one hungry sloppy kiss, loving her adorable girlish squeals beneath him, how her hands had stopped struggling, a tinge of rose blushing her cheeks once he pulled up for air.

“There’s no need to be shy.” Pupils blown, his eyes had never seemed darker. “You belong to me.” He kissed down her neck, bit at her skin. “Every single inch of you.” His hands relieving their post, leaving two smaller hands to stay where they’d been placed. “These tits.” Lips kissing the bud of her breast, teeth rolling it on his tongue. Rough fingers grabbing like claws into the cake of her thighs again, spreading them further apart. “These thighs.” He growled, hands cupping her ass to rut his bulge into her thinly clothed sex, lips crashing onto her once again, even as she yelped against him. “This ass.” He groaned, rocking into her. “All of you. Every single curve.” He purred. “There won’t be an ounce of your being left untouched, unlicked, un-fucked once I’m done.”

#yandere hitoshi #yandere hitoshi shinso #yandere shinsou #yandere shinso hitoshi #yandere Hitoshi Shinso #yandere hitoshi shinsou #shinsou hitoshi #shinso hitoshi #hitoshi shinso x reader #Shinso Hitoshi #Shinsō Hitoshi #hitoshi #Shinsou #shinso #shinsou fluff

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kpop-dungeon-dark · 3 years

Text

Heat. (Bestfriend!Sanha x You)

•TRIGGER WARNING•

Warning(s): Non-Con. Both of you are legal in this. Read at your own risk.

Sanha couldn't help it. She was just so pretty. Too pretty. To him. The way her eyebrows furrowed as the girl tried to concentrate on the chemistry equation she was solving under his guidance, chewing on the butt of the pencil and sighing when she couldn't get it right, the adorable little whine releasing from her mouth. His eyes slowly flickered down to her soft looking lips.

He wanted to kiss them. So fucking much. For so many years now.

The lovestruck boy didn't even realise when the lines between fantasy and reality eventually blurred, him leaning in and kissing her soft yet tight, his lips sticking to hers, refusing to go almost. Sanha was so carried away by the heavenly feeling that the loud gasp that escaped Y/n against his lips drowned in the pounding of his heart was that was ringing in his ears.

"... Sanha… Sanha!" It took him a few moments to snap out of it, Y/n pushing at his chest as her body backed away from his much bigger and broader one. "Sanha!" He opened his eyes to see her frowning at him with a disapproving expression. "I- I told you…" Sighing heavily, she uneasily put her books to the side and stood up. "I told you that day when you- you- I don't feel the same way about you."

The boy's jaw clenched as he looked up at her, backing away from where he was leaned in as he softly grasped the bedsheet of his bed. "Why not? And… how are you so sure, even, huh?" She was unable to notice the pretty vivid change in his tone and posture today. The girl didn't know better. "We have been inseparable ever since we can remember, we know each other so well and we get along so well!" Standing up in irritation, he towered over her, eyebrows furrowed and shoulders slowly rising and falling due to the change in his breathing pattern.

"Sanha- Sanha-! I know! I know!" Y/n nodded and agreed, trying to speak over him as he continued to ramble on, trying to convince her in whatever way. "I know! And I am sorry! But you're just- not my type, Sanha! I am sorry!" His heart fluttered in an unpleasant way and stomach twisted at how her eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"Oh, really?" Sanha stopped trying to convince her, burying his hands in the pockets of his pants instead and leaning down at her. "So you have grown up well enough to know your type, huh?" The blush that spread across her face followed by his words made his jaw clench. "My little Y/n is all grown up and wise now, hm? No longer requires my guidance or help deciding what she needs?"

The girl sighed at his taunting tone, oblivious to what was about to come. "We have an amazing friendship, Dana. Don't mess it up, please…" Looking down to avert her gaze from his because for some reason she just couldn't look in his eyes, the girl bit her lip. "You of all people know that I like the guy who lives in the house next to mine."

"Dongmin. Lee fucking Dongmin, huh?" Hatred laced the boy's words as his mind started to imagine the mentioned boy's pretty and kind face all broken and bruised; beaten to a pulp.

By of course no one other than Sanha.

"Don't be like that!" Giggling a little, she pushed at his shoulder playfully and sat back down, pretending to be busy with the books. "Come, help me go over these notes and stop sulking! Besides, yeah. I am old enough to know what I want now, Dana! I can't always rely on you and wait for you to guide me how to do simple daily life things, right?"

"Wrong." It happened so fast Y/n's brain couldn't even decipher it. Sanha pushed the books away and off the bed with such force they went flying away, one of his hands grabbing the girl's throat as he climbed the bed, dragging her shocked body to the middle using the grasp he had on her. "I am and will always be the one to tell you what to do because you're way too pathetic and dumb to know that on your own." A deep chuckle left him as her eyes widened and legs started kicking when the shock subsided, replacing it with panic.

"S- S- SAN- SANH-"

"Aww, not so big now, are we? Tsk tsk." Tears welled up in her eyes when she looked up at him to find a foreign expression on his face. A smirk of betrayal with dark and cold eyes looking her up and down. "Fuck… I've always wondered how these pretty looking privates of you would feel in my hands, babygirl" Sanha didn't have to use much strength keeping her in place as he climbed over the girl's smaller body, instantly groping and feeling her wherever he could, not getting much bothered by the hits and scratches her small hands were giving him.

There was so much Y/n's little hands could do against the giant.

"P- Please… please… no… please stop… You don't have to do this" the girl heaved in exhaustion as she begged Sanha, trembling and crying as she could feel his hands under her hoodie and down her shorts, squeezing and pinching wherever they pleased.

"You're right, I didn't." Pulling the string from her hoodie, the boy dragged them closer to the headboard sickly calm, ears red and erection so hard it poked the girl's thigh even through his boxers and pants. "This is YOUR fault, you hear me? YOU did this to YOURSELF" his voice was soft but rough as he punched the words in her brain, tying her hands to the headboard using the string while knowing it would be enough to easily hold her down.

"Had you cooperated and just obeyed me like little girls such as yourself fucking should instead of trying to do any thinking on your own" shaking his head, Sanha moved back down to her body, pushing the hoodie up until it bunched around her neck, big and warm rough hands tugging off her shorts roughly. "A chance… That was all I asked for."

A sob escaped the girl as the male spread her soft thighs apart, smiling as he admired her pussy lips, probing and spreading them. "Such a pretty cunt." He found himself loving the whimpers and cries escaping her, grazing his thumb up and down her folds, it's tip feeling her tiny and unused entrance, making the girl jump by spitting on it before starting to work it in.

"S- San-"

"Shhhhh~" messily stuffing her shorts that were a bit too short for his liking, the male gave a sensual lick to her soft and red pussy lips, kissing them right after and chuckling at how her thighs trembled from the feeling. "Fuck, Y/n. You've no idea how much I've wanted to tie you up like this and eat you silly before fucking you dumb as you whine and cry in pleasure, begging me for more."

Y/n tried to break free, her wrists starting to burn against the string due to how fragile her skin was. "Mmm… I promise, babygirl. By the time I am done with you, you'll be wrapped around my little finger on your knees for me." Stroking the outside of her thighs, the male shakily breathed out, crotch grinding against the mattress that they had spent their childhood playing with their toys on.

"Hnnnggg… you like it, don't you? Fuck-" Sanha looked up, his face drenched in her natural juices and his own spit, heavily breathing as he searched her face for an expression, eyes dark. "You taste so much better and sweeter than I imagined, babygirl." He went back to admiring it, playing and teasing it with his index finger, other hand continuously caressing her thigh.

It was surreal. After all these years of imagining this over and over in different scenarios and circumstances, it was finally happening. And this. This was better than all that he had fantasized.

So sweet. So soft. So… real.

Sanha could feel his head start to pound from the need and intoxication his own hormones were putting him under, now teasing her asshole with the hand that had previously been on her thigh, just wanting to feel it, feel her. All of her.

That was his. Finally.

"So tight… fuck!" Rubbing her clit with his thumb and circling her navel with his middle finger as his hand was big enough to do so, Sanha fucked her pussy hole open with the hot tip of his tongue, trying to force it in and deeper, circling the rim of muscles with it. "Now tell me, tell Daddy, it feels fucking amazing, doesn't it? Daddy is making you feel soooo good, isn't be?" Pushing one of his middle fingers up her entrance instead, the boy moved up now, removing the shorts from Y/n's mouth causing her to gasp aloud for air.

"S- Sanh- Sanha-" a sharp smack across her cheek locked her throat up again, forcing a cry out of her throat instead.

"It's Daddy" grasping her soft locks, he pulled her hair back to make the girl look at her better and glared down at her. "You must speak to your owner and caregiver with respect, little one." Pressing a wet kiss to her lips, the boy hungrily ran his tongue around them, moaning and sucking at them. "So, tell Daddy now. Tell him how good he's making you feel…" Y/n winced and cried harder, clenching around his rather thick finger on defense.

"P- Please… please… I am s- sorry! Stop! Please! Please, just stop!" His eyebrows furrowed as he pushed another finger in, stretching and stimulating her from the inside, thumb grazing against her clit.

"Are you telling me you don't feel good? This doesn't feel good? Daddy isn't making you feel good?" His voice was alarmingly soft and… deadly. But the innocent girl was too foolish to know that, of course.

"N- No… No… I- I don't! Stop, please! It hurts!" She honestly pouted, tears rolling down her cheeks as she tried to struggle weakly, actually expecting him to stop.

"You leave me no choice, then." Pulling his fingers out of her, Sanha didn't pay any attention to the shaky naive little sigh of relief that left her, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants before pulling his cock out and smirking. "If being nice isn't gonna get me anywhere," gripping her throat, he shakily moaned and pumped his cock, pressing the head to her opening. "Then I won't." Giving a powerful thrust in Y/n's pussy which tore due to his girth, the boy crazily grinned.

"I'll simply get my pleasure and lock you up until I need you again. Just how you're meant to be. A pretty doll, all for me."

#non con #sanha #yoon sanha #astro #dark kpop #dark fic #dark astro #astro smut #sanha smut #sanha x you #sanha x reader #astro x reader #astro x you #astro scenarios #astro imagines #kpop smut

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