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logmosswrites · 3 years

Text

That Hum of Night

Fandom: Overwatch

Pairing: Hanzo Shimada x fem!reader x Jesse McCree

Words: 4k

Warning: NSFW! 18+ only. Definitely PWP, wet dreams, BDSM dynamics, Dom Hanzo and Jesse, Sub reader, dirty talk, humiliation/degredation (verbal and otherwise), praise kink, nipple play, dry humping, rope bondage, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, orgasm delay/denial, vibrator use, unsafe sex, creampie, oral sex/cunnilingus, come marking, aftercare. No y/n.

Author's note: cross posted to AO3.

There was nothing but heat. No up, no down, no world at all outside of the bodies pressed against yours. Your legs parted to make room for them, urging them closer still with every whimper and moan rolling off of your lips. You were hopelessly desperate, open and dripping for anything that would fill you. Fingers lazily fucked you open, joining a writhing tongue inside of your pussy. Hanzo and Jesse were everywhere all at once, sating your hunger as quickly as it appeared. Their mouths claimed every inch of skin they could find, the hot flash of teeth and tongue on your neck leaving you to gasp for air. You thrust your hips forward, shame long abandoned to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body. Please, you begged, just at the precipice of orgasm. Suddenly, deft fingers latched onto your aching clit, hard and punishing; you rocked with them, winding tighter and tighter until-

You woke up.

Slowly, the world came back to you, trickling in like a leaking faucet. Your mouth was dry; your heart pounded in your ears. You felt overheated, damp with sweat where you were sandwiched between Jesse and Hanzo- oh shit, Jesse and Hanzo .

“Sweetheart?”

And there was Jesse.

He was leaning over you, lit up by the moonlight filtering in through the curtains. Bracing yourself, you looked into his eyes, surprised to find concern instead of the amusement you expected.

“Are you alright, darlin’? It looked like you were having a pretty intense nightmare, there.”

Wait- nightmare?

“You nearly pushed me off of the bed,” interjected Hanzo from behind you, voice betraying his worry. It was only then that you noticed the rumpled blankets, piled up where you had tried to kick them off. Shit.

In response, you simply rolled over and tucked your flaming face into Jesse’s chest, unwilling to correct their conclusion. Jesse allowed this for a moment, but soon took your chin in hand, forcing you to look at him. “Hey, now, you don’t have to hide from me–from us. There’s no shame in bein’ a little shook up by a bad dream, sweetheart. Hell, even I get scared by what my brain decides to cook up sometimes,” the man said, sealing his words with a kiss to your forehead. You felt a tiny bit of guilt gnaw at you as he settled back down onto his side, bleary eyes watching yours for any sign of distress. But it wasn’t really lying, right? How would they ever even find out?

“Come here,” said Hanzo, snaking his arm around your waist. You went freely, fighting a shiver as you felt his familiar body conform to yours. “You are safe, my love,” he whispered, “in this bed, you are safe.” With that, your boyfriend pressed his lips to your neck, ghosting over it as he had in your fantasy. Your body reacted accordingly, hips rolling forward and a gasp hitching in your chest. You slapped a hand over your mouth, but it was too late; the room was fraught with tension, none of you daring to even breathe. Well, fuck.

“Sweetheart-”

“I-”

Silence once again.

“Do you need us to sleep somewhere else, darlin’? It’s alright if-”

“No!” you exclaimed, eyes wide. Jesse searched your face for the truth, scrutinizing your awkward expression. You avoided meeting his eyes, shifting under the weight of Hanzo’s arm. Slowly, the cowboy seemed to put two and two together, lips pulling together into a dimpled smirk.

“Hanzo, I don’t think our baby girl had a nightmare."

Kill me, kill me, kill me, you chanted inside of your head, feeling Hanzo’s grip tighten as he caught up to the idea. For a split second, you considered actually lying, dismissing it just as quickly when you saw Jesse's smirk turn devilish.

"Is that true, beloved?” Hanzo asked, breath warm on your ear, “Are you trying to hide something from us?”

This time, you couldn’t suppress your shiver. Damn, Hanzo and Jesse knew just how to play you.

“You naughty little slut,” admonished Jesse, “Let’s see how wet you are under those panties of yours.” Lightning-quick, the man reached under the covers, hooking his fingers into the offending piece of fabric. Viciously, he tore them down, yanking your knees forward in order to get them all the way off. Your breath caught in your throat as he brought your panties into the hazy light of the bedroom, showing off the soaked inner lining.

“Well, would ya look at that? Our baby girl made a mess of herself, Hanzo. What should we do about this?”

Holy shit, you were going to die, right here in this bed.

“I think,” spoke Hanzo, voice gravelly, “that we should make her clean it up.”

And fuck, if that didn’t make you even wetter. Jesse considered you for a moment, eyes gaining a ferocious gleam as he noticed your quickly-growing arousal. Without preamble, he pushed your underwear into your mouth, wrapping them around two of his thick fingers. Instantly, you began to suck, tongue working around the cloth. Jesse pushed deeper and deeper in response, nearly activating your gag reflex. As it was, your eyes swam with tears, barely able to make out your boyfriend’s face turning deathly serious as he concentrated on you. Hanzo, unwilling to be left out, began to knead his hands into your flesh, pulling your sleep shirt up in order to play with your quickly hardening nipples. His scorching-hot mouth then sank onto your skin once more, lavishing your neck with kisses. You could hardly think, hardly breathe. Desperate sounds came from deep in your chest, muffled by Jesse’s unrelenting fingers.

Minutes, or maybe hours, flew by before your panties were taken from your mouth. You drew in a greedy breath, panting from sheer desire. God, how much more could you take? You were positively soaked at this point, aching with a need for friction. You knew better than to try and seek your own release, yet you still gasped when Hanzo snatched your hands away from your throbbing clit, reprimanding you with a harsh bite to the shoulder. A hoarse cry tore from your throat, reverberating loudly in the dark bedroom.

“You,” drawled Jesse, “have been a bad, bad girl, princess. First, you made a fucking mess of your panties, which you tried to hide from us. Then, you went and played with your tight little pussy even when you know you’re not allowed to. I think you’ve earned yourself a punishment, slut.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck , that could mean anything. Punishments from Hanzo and Jesse were rare, but you knew you were in deep, deep shit regardless. And if his predatory grin was any indication, Jesse knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Hanzo, put her on her back. I want her begging by the time I’ve finished tying her up.”

With that, your world was disoriented, your view changing to that of Hanzo’s face right above yours. You felt more than saw Jesse getting off of the bed, quickly distracted by your other lover smothering you with a savage kiss. You did your best to reciprocate, but you were no match for Hanzo’s overwhelming influence. You could feel his hard cock pressing into your thigh where he straddled you, covered only by his cotton briefs. Before you could even think about moving your hands towards it, though, they were captured once more and pressed up above your head; holy shit, Hanzo moved fast.

“What a little whore,” Hanzo spoke, finally allowing you to draw in a breath, “So desperate for cock, you poor thing. How did you ever survive before we came along?”

Jesus Christ.

Hanzo, satisfied by your stunned silence, turned back to the task at hand, finally tearing off your shirt and sucking hickeys onto your bare chest. His goatee was coarse against your feverish skin as you rose up to meet him, writhing beneath his iron grip. You threw your head back, only opening your eyes when you felt Jesse grabbing your now-unoccupied wrist. In his other hand you saw a length of red rope, a frequent addition to your bedroom activities.

“Color?” Jessie asked, momentarily abandoning his dominating façade. Hanzo paused as well, considering you like he might consider his bow; serious and straightforward. You sucked in a deep breath, stomach swooping in anticipation when you croaked out a confident “green”.

With that, you were pulled back into Hanzo’s blazing inferno, hands and teeth and tongue setting your skin aflame. As Jesse maneuvered your wrist into a complicated cuff pattern, Hanzo took hold of your nipples once more, rolling one between his fingers as the other was caught between his teeth. Christ above, it was like someone had injected fire straight into your veins.

“You likin’ that, baby girl?” Came Jesse’s voice, off to the other side now and distinctly smug. You sent him a glare, tempered by the heady sensation of satiny rope being pulled against your sensitive skin. Jesse merely winked back, his roguish attitude written all over his relaxed-yet-confident posture. With one final flourish of the cowboy’s fingers, your hands were firmly tied to the headboard, spreading out to either side of you in a comfortable stretch of your shoulders. Before you could get too settled, however, Hanzo was moving his rough, calloused hands towards your hips–with a jerk, you were pulled flush against him, his erection just barely grazing your sex. Two forearms planted themselves next to your head, decisively caging you in.

“Jesse, tie her up like this. I want to make sure we have plenty of room to fuck her without restraint.”

God. You couldn’t believe Hanzo’s mouth.

“You got it, boss,” Jesse replied easily, taking your ankle in his hand. Heat curled low in your gut as your legs were spread wide by the cowboy’s unyielding grip, exposing you to Hanzo’s hungry gaze. The heat multiplied as Hanzo adjusted his hips, your own twitching up to meet him halfway. Yes, yes, yes, you thought, nearly salivating in anticipation. Slowly, ever so slowly, the archer began to roll his pelvis against yours, finally giving you the friction you had been craving. It was heaven; it was perfect. Hanzo steadily began to increase his rhythm, grunts of pleasure growing louder and louder along with your punched-out gasps. The man loved to do this with you, spending hours grinding on you as you cuddled to watch a movie or even as you were falling asleep in his arms.

“That’s it, beloved. Can you feel my cock? Do you want it?” Frantically, you nodded, head swimming in a slurry of arousal and desperation. “Then beg for it, you whore.”

Fuck. You could barely think a coherent word, much less say them–but you tried anyway, panting a quiet oh and yes and please as sweetly as you could. The archer only gave a noncommittal sigh in response, clearly unimpressed by your performance.

“How disappointing, Jesse; it sounds as though our little whore doesn’t want to be fucked after all,” came Hanzo's patronizing voice, sinking low in your stomach–the man never made empty threats, especially in the bedroom. A teasing slip of Jesse’s hand set you to begging, words tumbling past your lips before you could even process them. “God, please, please, Hanzo, fuck, Jesse, please, fuck me!” you cried, pleading your case in a way that could make a porn star blush. After a moment of stunned silence, all three of you came back to your senses.

“Fuck,” Jesse snarled, chest heaving. “Fuck.”

In a flurry of motion, he was tying you off, finishing the cuff on your other ankle; then he was diving towards you, capturing your mouth with his in an animalistic mix of lips and teeth. Small, possessive noises issued from the cowboy’s throat, buzzing on your tongue like the bubbles of a sweet champagne. A scorching hand burned down the lines of your body, setting your newly-formed bruises alight with sensation. You shivered in anticipation–you wanted, needed Jesse and Hanzo inside of you now.

All thinking stopped, however, when deft fingers finally reached your oversensitive clit; you jackknifed upwards, breaking your kiss with Jesse. Your hips bucked under Hanzo’s weight as you gulped in air, starving for oxygen and touch in equal measure.

“That’s it, slut,” Jesse said, voice rigid. His eyes were positively wild, stormy with need from where he was hovering over you. A glance at Hanzo’s face revealed much of the same. You imagined that this is what it must feel like to be a ship in a storm, to be something so small in comparison to nature’s unparalleled power. You opened your mouth in silent prayer as Jesse’s fingers laved over your sopping cunt, dragging them over your lips like the pages of a book. Without warning, he slipped two thick fingers inside of you, stretching you open while working his thumb in small circles over your clit. Oh, God. Your dream couldn’t even begin to compare to the actual feeling of Jesse’s hand, moving in and out with enough force to rock your whole body. Lewd noises filled your ears, setting off yet another round of sparks fizzling through you. A familiar surge of pleasure began to crescendo in the pit of your stomach, drawing out more breathless whimpers from somewhere high in your throat. However, just before you could reach your orgasm, Jesse’s thumb slipped from your throbbing clit, leaving you to clench around his fingers to no avail. Fuck, fuck, no! Just a little more...

Your eyes opened to meet Jesse’s face, finding that his impish smirk had slipped back on.

“Awww, darlin’, ya look so sad,” the man teased, crooking his fingers just to make you whine. “Don’t worry though, we’re just getting started…”

Equal measures of excitement and dread shot through you at his words. Hanzo and Jesse, while loving boyfriends, knew exactly how to push every single one of your buttons; in short, they could be assholes. Beautiful, sexy, lovable assholes. Paying your trepidation no heed, Jesse withdrew his hand from your hole, leaving you empty and shivering. Jesus, you were a mess.

“Wanna taste?” Jesse asked–but he wasn’t talking to you. No, he was offering his hand to Hanzo, who regarded the cowboy with relentless heat in his gaze. A silent something passed between them, before Hanzo was leaning in and taking the slick digits in his mouth, staring into Jesse’s eyes the entire time.

“Good, right?” Jesse said, voice gravelly once more. Hanzo simply hummed in response, before withdrawing once again. Another tense moment slipped by, in which it got harder and harder to remember how to breathe. Jesse’s eyes flicked downwards, then back up to Hanzo, seeming to ask a question; nearly imperceptibly, the archer nodded, drawing in a short breath when Jesse’s hand moved down to grasp the hem of his underwear. You bit your lip as Hanzo’s cock was revealed, red and leaking at the tip. With just a touch of Jesse’s fingers, precum was dripping onto your stomach, increasing your own arousal tenfold. Leisurely, the cowboy began to jerk Hanzo off, grip loose and taunting.

“Look at our girl, Hanzo,” Jesse commanded, swiping his thumb over the other man’s cockhead. “Look at how fuckin’ desperate she is for you”.

Hanzo’s eyes snapped to yours, and you felt the full weight of his attention crash down on you– fuck, he looked feral, lips pressed in a snarl and dark hair falling just past his chin. You couldn’t help but look away, feeling suffocated by Hanzo’s gaze; however, a metallic hand grasped your cheeks, wrenching your head back to look at your powerful lovers above you.

“Eyes up here, slut,” Jesse reprimanded, “I want you to watch him as he ruins that pussy of yours, understood?” You nodded. “Good. And don’t you fuckin’ dare cum before I tell you to, or else I’ll edge you for a week straight, got it?” Another nod, and he finally relinquished his hold on you, leaving a dull pain that you hoped would flower into bruises.

As you were told, you kept your eyes trained on Hanzo’s face, watching his eyes flutter as his cock was guided to your entrance. Once, twice, he slipped out, before he was slowly pushing in, inch by inch. God, he filled you perfectly. Finally, as Hanzo sank completely into you, Jesse relinquished his hold, stepping away to admire how the archer curved around you like a great beast getting ready to devour a meal. Arms shaking, Hanzo fell onto his elbows for support, hot breath sweeping over your face. He was close enough now that you could see beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow. You were the only one who got to see Hanzo like this, aside from Jesse–it was a fact that never seemed to get old, no matter how many times you had joined him in bed. Equally as tantalizing was the slide of his cock inside of you, beginning to move in short, calculated thrusts. Instinctively, you clenched down, earning a warning glare from Hanzo–but you were already in trouble, weren’t you? What would be the harm in doing a little teasing of your own?

Staring Hanzo in the eye, you purposely flexed your muscles once more, feeling a hot rush of slick slowly drip out of you. In a momentary lapse of control, Hanzo buried his head into your shoulder, letting out a strangled moan. You couldn’t keep from responding with a shit-eating grin, putting Jesse’s own signature smirk to shame. However, your expression dropped as you caught Hanzo’s thunderous face, towering over you as he rose back onto his hands and knees.

Oh, shit.

“You. Worthless. Whore. ” the man hissed, jaw clenched, “It seems as though you need to be reminded of your place.”

With surgical precision, Hanzo bottomed out inside of you, pausing for just a moment before retreating once again. Another thrust, and it was clear that your self-control would be pushed to the limit; already, you were falling apart, legs shaking from the sheer effort it took to hold back your orgasm. But Hanzo took no mercy on you, setting a steady rhythm that had you moaning helplessly. Fuck, this was getting difficult-

“Jesse, bring me the vibrator.”

God fucking dammit, you thought, your stomach dropping. Without so much as a stutter in his hips, Hanzo took the wand from Jesse’s outstretched hand, watching you intently as he nestled it right next to your clitoris. Your eyes flickered between the two sights, drinking in the sheer power your lover held over you. Then, with a click of a button, you were straining upwards, feeling as though you were being wrenched straight out of your body. Another click, and the vibrations grew even more intense; you longed to bury your hand in Hanzo’s hair, to scratch your nails across his muscled back, to do anything but sit there and take it. Each breath you drew in was cut off by the next, a staccato beat matching the rhythm of your racing pulse. You were close, so close that you could taste it on your tongue– shit!

“Did you really think I would let you cum, slut?” Hanzo asked, still thrusting in and out of your hole without care. Your whole body shuddered helplessly, hypersensitive after being denied once again. As you attempted to catch your breath, Hanzo reached down and twisted your swollen nipple, forcing you to lock eyes with him.

“I asked you a question, whore; answer me,” the archer commanded, practically growling, “Do you think you deserve to cum on my cock?” As if to punctuate his question, Hanzo slammed his hips forward, fucking you hard enough to pull against the ties at your ankles.

“Fuck! No!” you screamed, on the verge of tears. Your voice was wrecked with desperation, hoping beyond hope that the teasing would be over soon. However, you were soon at the mercy of the vibrator once again, letting out a whine at the feeling of it on your tortured clit. Hanzo sped up his pace, sitting up on his knees to watch every inch of your thoroughly marked body writhe underneath him. “That is right, you cumwhore. You do not deserve the honor of an orgasm at my hand. You are lucky that I am willing to fuck you in the first place.”

The vibrator was shut off once more, and you humped against it frantically, reserve long abandoned. “Go ahead, you stupid whore,” Hanzo encouraged, “Humiliate yourself. I want to see how pathetic you look when you cry.” A sob flew from your lips as the toy buzzed to life, only to be shut off seconds later, then turned on again, a sadistic pattern that made your hips jump and stutter on Hanzo’s cock. You could feel the archer’s perfect rhythm begin to falter, signaling his quickly-approaching climax; his moans burned hot on your skin, sending wave after wave of throbbing pleasure through your trembling body. Finally, you felt Hanzo seize up, almost uncannily still in the wake of his orgasm. Scorching cum flooded your hole, arousing enough to make your battered walls flutter with desire. A few heartbeats later, and Hanzo was crashing back down over you, gulping in air like a dying man. Tenderly, he pressed his sweaty forehead against yours, love and awe written in his furrowed brows and slackened mouth. As he breathed against you, you could feel your own hitching breaths slow, agonising desire fading just slightly into a dull roar.

Two pairs of hands whispered over your body, freeing your limbs from their confines, massaging the marks imprinted upon you by the ropes. You felt yourself float away just a little, untethered by chaste kisses pressed to your cheeks and soft hands stroking your thighs. Hanzo’s shifting body weight brought you back to the present, where Jesse was taking his place between your legs; Hanzo unceremoniously flopped to the side, grace all but forgotten in his post-orgasm haze. Your eyes opened slowly to see Jesse looking down at you, positively fit to burst with quiet affection. You smiled back, tensed and eager all the same.

"Ya did so good, darlin'," Jesse said, tone far softer now, "So good for us. Are ya ready for your reward?"

The praise melted into your skin, smoothing the raw edges that had been so expertly laid bare by Hanzo. With a simple nod, Jesse leaned in to kiss you once more, as slow and saccharine as honey. You embraced him in return, palms gliding over the coarse and ruddy plains of his cheeks; you felt like you were glowing from the inside out. Like a wave drawing across the sand, Jesse retreated, hands whispering down to your thighs. The rest of his body followed close behind, settling down between your legs with practiced ease.

"So beautiful, sweetheart," Jesse praised, "I can't wait to make you cum."

And there it was again, the knife's edge of hot desire. Almost subconsciously, you weaved your hands through Jesse's locks, giving them a tug. Jesse groaned deep in his chest, rekindling the flames in your gut. Your cowboy was so responsive. You pulled his hair again, set alight as Jesse muffled his moans into your sweat-soaked thigh.

“You’re gonna kill me, darlin’,” Jesse threatened, kissing his way towards your drenched pussy. A witty retort died in your throat as his tongue flattened against your swollen lips, lapping at the obscene mixture of cum and slick slowly dripping out of you. “Fuck,” you breathed, struck senseless by the hot-wet pleasure of Jesse’s plush mouth. An answering groan rang in your ears as the cowboy finally dipped his writhing tongue into your hole, drinking in the lewd slurry with feverish dedication. Your hands tightened into fists, pulling Jesse further and further in until his nose was pressed flat against your pussy. You whined; a sharpness ran through you along with pleasure, heightening each in a whirlwind of sensation.

Breathless, Jesse pulled back for a moment, sucking in air like a drowning man. In the low light, you could just make out the shine of your slick soaking the cowboy’s goatee–holy shit, that’s hot. Then, with fervor, Jesse was back to it, making you yelp as he latched onto your clit. You ground against him, his tongue sending shockwaves up and down your body; you were shaking with the oh-god-too-much of it all. Every inhale was a battle. Every movement made you see stars. Then, finally, finally, Jesse tore himself from your body, looking you in the eye as he said, “Cum for me, sweetheart."

You felt the command flow through you, breaking down walls and crashing into your nervous system. Jesse bent his head and sucked your clit hard, bringing you to the very edge once again. Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm, he encouraged you, nearly whimpering; he was bucking his hips, and fuck, fuck, fuck, shit! You were cumming into Jesse’s mouth, vision whited out by a dazzling starburst. Your legs crashed into the cowboy’s face, pinning him to your gushing pussy as you rode out your orgasm; your whole body was spasming, uncontrollable with pleasure. Then, like a puppet cut loose, you were limp, releasing Jesse from your death grip.

The cowboy shot to his knees, ripping his boxers off as fast as possible; his flushed cock was bared, aching and practically dripping precum. "Fuck, babygirl," he moaned, hand flying, "I'm gonna-fuck, I'm gonna cum!" A final groan, and Jesse was falling off the edge with you, release streaking against your rolling abdomen--followed quickly by Jesse actually falling on top of you.

"Holy shit," you laughed, "Get the hell off of me, you jerk!" A gargled mess that might have been a "no" was your only response for a moment, before the pile of sweat and various sexual fluids that was your boyfriend rolled off of you. You couldn't help but giggle at his dramatics--god, you loved your idiots. A moment of silence permeated the room, until you yawned; oh yeah, it's like three A.M...

"If you two are done, I believe it is time for some aftercare," said Hanzo, sounding equally as tired. With his help, you got up, only to fold in half from the sore feeling radiating through your pelvis--fucking fuck, you forgot how much of a bitch this could be. Seeing your discomfort, Hanzo scooped you up, carrying you to the en-suite bathroom. You heard Jesse follow you in, fetching a second set of sheets from the linens cabinet. Carefully, you were set by the toilet, Hanzo turning to allow you some privacy. After finishing your business, you were escorted to the shower, where the archer tenderly cleaned you off. From there, things got blurry--you vaguely remembered the smell of arnica cream, the feeling of a soothing wipe on your swollen lips, strong arms carrying you to bed, and a tender kiss placed on your forehead. Then, you were off to sleep, dreamless and peaceful.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Likes are appreciated, reblogs/comments keep me writing! Let me know what you thought, your favorite passage, or even what time you're reading this at (bonus points if it's 1 A.M. or later). Toodles! ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ

#Jesse McCree #Hanzo Shimada #Jesse McCree x reader #Jesse McCree x reader smut #Hanzo Shimada x reader #Hanzo Shimada x reader smut #Jesse McCree x reader x Hanzo Shimada #mccree x reader #hanzo x reader #Smut #nsft text #nsft #fem!reader

447 notes · View notes

ppersonna · 4 years

Text

good morning- jhs | m

through drought and famine, natural disasters, my baby has been around for me. kingdoms have fallen, angels be calling. none of that could ever make me leave - get you, daniel caesar

↳ summary- hoseok’s methods of waking you up are ... unconventional, but effective.

↳ rating- explicit / 18+ / nsfw

↳ word count- 2.1k

↳ pairing- jung hoseok x reader

↳ genre- smut, the barest amounts of fluff

↳ warnings- dirty talk, throat fucking, oral sex (m receiving), dry humping? idk, dom/sub undertones, cum facials, begging, dom!hoseok, brat!reader, degradation kink, titty play heyyyy

↳ a/n- heeehhhh hello. this is completely self-serving because god damn do i want to wake up to a throat full of hoseok pls. i hope you enjoy this bc damn i enjoyed writing it :/ lolol. please feel free to leave feedback, talk to me, etc etc. i love hearing from you all! ILY. also thanks to the pals in the bhq sprint bc i got the most of this done in there? its SCARILY EFFECTIVE LOL. i love u all

“Good morning, baby.”

The voice of your boyfriend wakes you gently. His warm hands rub at the bare skin of your back, exposed to the air as you press your face deeper into your pillow.

Hoseok laughs at your groan. Never the morning person, unlike him. Hoseok’s body is naturally wired to wake up at 6 am, a smile as bright as the morning sun. Yours, more like 10, and in need of a cup of coffee before you can even think of a smile.

His hand feels comforting on your back, and it makes the groggy ascent back to reality from dreamland easier.

“Did you sleep well?” He asks, tickling the skin of your back.

Your reply is a mumble into the pillow, causing your boyfriend to laugh his gentle tinkling laugh again.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

You lift your head to peer at the man next to you. Your hair falls messily in your face and he continues chuckling at your expense as he pushes the hair behind your ears.

“Why are we up so early?” You ask, voice husky with sleep.

“It’s 10:30, baby.”

“That’s basically the crack of dawn.”

Hoseok sighs lovingly and kisses down the spine of your back. A shiver rolls through you, starting at the tip of your neck and skims down to your toes. Hoseok has a way with his lips--as if anywhere he touches becomes instantly lit with desire and passion.

You roll over, allow Hoseok’s lips to trace kisses around your navel and up to the expanse of your bed-warmed tits.

You let your eyes soak in the scene playing out in front of you. Hoseok’s bed head tickles the skin of your collarbone as he kisses around your breasts. He holds himself up with golden, toned arms that have you salivating to touch. He’s naked, as are you. You definitely fell asleep after rabid and intense fucking that had you collapsing into bed after.

Hoseok’s tongue darts out and licks a stripe over your nipple. It’s a thick, wet strip of saliva that makes the bud prickle and harden as he blows cool air on the wet spot.

You’re still sleepy and groggy enough that your brain struggles to catch up to the pleasure simmering inside you. A small, throaty gasp tumbled out of your mouth as he pulls your breast into his mouth and sucks gently. His teeth nibble at the flesh for a moment, before he swirls his tongue around and worships your nipple with his mouth.

“Fuck,” you whisper as his other hand cups the neglected breast. “Hobi…,” you keen.

He smiles around the nipple in his mouth and continues. You can feel from where he presses his body against you that his cock is getting harder by the second.

“Is this—mmmm—is this what you woke me up for?” You ask.

He pops off your breast with a grin and leans up to look at you.

“I woke up horny.”

“Even after you fucked me until I came 4 times last night?”

Hoseok smiles proudly as he remembers the way your body fell apart beneath him the night previous.

“You drive me crazy. What can I say?”

Hoseok moves off the bed, and he stretches as he stands. You roll to your side to watch and appreciate the view. His back is toned, beautifully tanned, and curves deliciously to his full ass that you can’t resist grabbing when he fucks you from above.

He turns back to face you and you’re met with his thick, and desperately hard cock in your sight line. Hoseok rubs his abs gently, quirking his head as he watches you stare at his flushed length.

You bring a hand up without thought—fingertips grazing the soft red tip of his cock that’s leaking small droplets of pre-cum. You’re mystified by the way it smears across his smooth tip, warm and wet coating your finger. You know if you tasted it, reach your tongue out and slip it into your mouth, it’d be salty and sweet all at once.

Hoseok hisses slightly as he feels your sweet fingers roll around his head. His need for you builds, compounds on the interest stored inside him, and he’s nearly aching for you.

“Baby, I’m not feeling like being teased this morning,” he warns as he watches your tongue dart out between your lips to moisten them.

You simper a smile at the man standing naked above you.

“Not even a little?”

Hoseok hums deep in his throat. It’s a warning sound, encouraging you to slow your roll before you get too far into something you can’t take back.

“Not. Even. A. Little.” His voice is on the edge of dangerous—and you feel your body clench.

Your body reacts instantly, flames igniting over every inch of skin at the threat. Your need to submit and your desire to resist are waging war against each other inside of you—you’re not sure who will be victorious.

“What if I feel like teasing?”

The brat side of you cheers on, while the submissive side cowers under the hard stare of Hoseok’s gaze.

His hand drops to grip at your chin, effectively wiping the coy smirk off your face as your eyes widen in surprise.

“Open up, little slut.”

His fingers pry open your mouth and he’s quickly inserting his length inside you until he’s buried into the hilt. The action makes you gag, and your eyes water and tears drip down your cheeks.

Hoseok isn’t in the mood to play, nor is he in any mood to show mercy. He sets a pace that's punishing and has your throat expanding to accommodate his thickness. Saliva pools in your mouth on your tongue, and as you attempt to swirl your tongue to add to the pleasure, it drips from the corners of your mouth and the exposed length of his cock as it pops out of your mouth for a moment.

“Look at you now, hm?” He smirks. “Not so big and bad anymore, are you?”

The tears are running down your face and you move to wipe the spit on your chin but Hoseok blocks you.

“Leave it. I like it when you look nice and sloppy for me.”

Your hand lowers back to the bed and you shoot a sorrowful gaze up to your boyfriend, who holds his cock at the ready.

“Is that all you’ve got?” You ask with a growing smile.

It makes him growl, and he’s pushing the tip of his cock into your mouth in what feels like a split second.

“Fucking brat,” he groans as he feels your slick mouth accept him heartily. “Don’t know when to stop, do you? I’ll have to punish you for that.”

His pace is even more punishing than the one set previous. One hand grips your throat, feeling the way his cock presses against the muscle and bulges out with each unrestrained shove into your open mouth.

His mouth falls open in a silent gape, amazed at how well you take and accommodate him. His eyes slowly fall shut as he listens to the way your mouth sounds each time you take him—wet, squelching, gagging sounds that have his stomach tightening. You sound blissed, wrecked, debauched. He can’t believe he’s lucky enough to have a girl like you, one so willing to please and one so willing to play.

Your eyes leak more tears as you will your gagging to slow, ease up. They stain and streak your cheeks, now ruddy and soaked. You can’t stop staring at the man above you as he drills into your mouth with no thought of stopping until he’s satisfied. He’s the love of your life, and you’re desperate to let him work you over until you’re sated completely and thoroughly.

“Take it all, shit, you fucking whore.”

His words spur you on and your eyes widen to a desperate, pleading look as your mouth suctions around his pistoning cock. The sounds are downright lewd. They echo around the bedroom and it makes your cunt clench around nothing. It’s a slick sound that mimics the sound of your sopping cunt when Hoseok fucks into you so hard and deep that it makes your toes curl. Your body can’t tell the difference and you find your hips thrusting on the pillow to sate the burning in your core.

Hoseok notices the way you hump desperately at the bed as he thrusts deeper inside your mouth.

“Such a slut. Getting horny from your throat being used like my little cocksleeve, hm?” He asks as his hand moves from your throat to grip your hair tight. He knows you get off on the pain.

“I bet you can cum, just like that.” He clutches at your hair tighter and pulls, and your hips buck against the sheets harder. The way the ridges of the mused bedding rubs up against your clit has you moaning around his length. The vibrations make him sigh and groan.

“Yeah, fuck, that’s right. Cum on those sheets like the dirty fucking slut you are,” he orders. “Cum for me and I’ll paint your pretty face white.”

Your eyes are nearly pouring with tears now, a mixture of the gagging around his cock and the sweet heat building in your pussy. Hoseok’s rough treatment is sending you closer and closer to the edge, and you’re whining around his cock as you move your hips faster, faster and rub as hard as you can at the material between your thighs.

“You going to cum for me, pretty little whore? Gonna make our bed nice and messy?”

You want to reply, to beg for more, but Hoseok’s cock jams so deep inside your throat you can barely breathe, let alone speak a response. Instead, you nod and close your eyes, allow more tears to fall as you hump wildly at the sheets.

“Mm, I’m close baby, you better cum if you want your reward.” His hips are stuttering and you can tell he’s holding back as much as he can, using his dancer’s stamina to maintain composure. His fingers dig into your hair and his free hand wipes a tear off your flushed cheeks. He peers into your eyes as his cock continues its plight in and out of your mouth.

“Cum for me. Now.”

With his order, and a few more delirious jerks of the sheet between your legs, your body finally hits its max overload and your stomach tightens hard. It’s a few more pumps of Hoseok’s cock until you’re desperately keening and whining around his cock as your cunt pulsates wildly around nothing. You can feel the mess building on the sheets, you can tell you’re gushing with arousal from your climax and it spurs you on. The slick pool of saliva is dropping onto the bed, and you should be ashamed of how you’re drooling from both ends but you can’t find it in you to care.

“God, good fucking girl,” he moans as he pulls his cock out from your mouth and jerks it roughly in front of your face. “Beg for my fucking cum.”

You’re eager to please now and your eyes are desperate. You’re positive you look like a mess—eyes watering and dripping tears down your face, mouth covered in your own saliva and dribbling off your chin.

“Cum on my face, please,” you whine. Your throat is hoarse from the onslaught and it sounds raspier than usual. “Please, I need your cum.”

Hoseok throws his head back as his hand pumps harder and you can tell by the groaning deep in his throat he’s there—right at the edge.

“Fuck, yes, yes, that’s my good little cumslut,” he whines.

The hot white splatters on your face make you smile widely, a few strips landing on your lips. It covers your entire face and your tongue slips out between your lips to taste your reward you worked so hard for. Hoseok groans in time with each pulse of his cock, watching as he covers your beautiful, fresh, morning face with his hot seed. It’s the picture of perfection. He loves that you can’t get enough of him, his body, his love, his cum.

“Shit,” he gasps out loud as he finally finishes emptying his load onto your gorgeous face. “That was fucking hot.”

You smile as your finger drags some of his cum off your face and into your mouth, savoring the flavor.

“Yeah,” you sigh as you pop your finger out of your mouth. “That’s the only early morning wake up call I’ll accept.”

Hoseok sighs as he leans down to kiss at your lips tenderly.

“For the last time, it’s almost noon. It’s not early.”

“It is for me.” You insist.

“You’re ridiculous. But I love you, anyway.”

He tugs you up, guides you towards the bathroom and pushes you to the shower before he joins you.

You think you’d be eager to wake up at the brink of dawn every day, if it meant spending every morning just like this.

An excellent morning, indeed.

#bts smut #bts fics #bts hoseok #ficswithluv #bangtanarmynet #hoseok smut #jung hoseok #heartsforbts #hyunglinenetwork

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morgana-ren · 3 years

Note

I noticed youd said that you get more shiggy requests. So, if you'll indulge me for a sec.

We've had gatos input on how strade would be if the roles were reversed. Mc somehow had him under their control with the shock collar on.

I want your input because your writing is so detailed i know id enjoy reading what a submissive little bitch he'd become.

Please and thank you Morgana.

ily :3

Oh OH You know me so well! This is one of my favorite things to daydream about when I get angry or annoyed because since Strade is such a garbage human being, it tickles me so much to think about how cathartic it would be to turn the tables.

So as well all know, Strade, while very experienced, is not the brightest bulb in the box. He’s got years of know-how behind his expertise in kidnapping and torture, but there’s some shit that just kind of evades him sometimes. Double checking your ropes after he gets a little too excited and wants a dirty basement floor romp, for example. Thanks to his overexcitement and shit-idiot brain fungus he’s got going on, it’s entirely possible for you to slip your bonds. This mistake, in canon, costs him his life.

But what if MC wasn’t so kind?

With a level head, you might be able to scrounge around his torture room for a little bit. Maybe he has a needle with some knockout liquid hanging around for “difficult” catches. Maybe you just wait around behind the door until he walks in and smash him on the head as hard as you can and knock his ass out. Either way, he’s got plenty of restraints, and now he’s the one cuffed to a rusty pole. The look on his dumb face when he comes to is priceless.

You’re not making the same mistakes he did. He’s triple tied to that thing. You know he’s strong, and you’re playing on his home field. You’ve got to be prepared for everything. At least long enough to get upstairs and find help or call the police. Right? Right?

But what if you don’t?

What if, after he comes to and is sputtering and howling and hissing things at you in German that would make Lindemann blush, you decide not to go for help? He’s mad. He’s oh so very mad. He does not like this, not one bit. But he’s panicking beyond what you’d expect, even for a serial killer who’s been two-timed by his own victim. There’s something else in those dilated eyes. Something you’ve become very acutely familiar with over the last few days. You can still smell it lingering on you the same way it’s staining his shirt now.

Fear. He’s afraid. And not of death or capture.

I mean, he very well might be terrified of those things, but whatever it is he’s feeling right now is far overshadowing that. His face is red, and you can practically see the veins in his neck popping in rhythm with his thrumming heartbeat. He’s sweating extensively, and while that’s not uncommon for him, there’s not that macabre jolly smile plastered across his face. He’s baring his teeth and snapping at you like a feral hound, swearing to end your miserable life in a manner that would make the ghosts of his past shudder in horror for you.

You don’t put it past him to snap these ropes any second and wrap his hands so tightly around your neck that your eyes pop like overinflated balloons. Even if the cops show up and try to escort you to safety, there’s an unspoken darkness in his glare, something that promises pain in your future even if they manage to subdue him. A promise that you can’t guarantee yourself that he can’t keep.

It strikes you that you know nothing about this man.

Surely someone out there knows about this. Someone knows about him and his little hobby. Monsters run in packs and even if you can’t see them, you know they must be there. Best case scenario, they can’t have him spilling their secrets so they find a way to end his life before the police can. Worst case scenario? Worst case, they come for you.

You’ve seen enough Hollywood horror movies to know just how wrong it can go if justice is left to the authorities. You haven’t seen much of it, but this looks like a pretty nice house. If he has money, he can just buy his way out. Who is to say that he doesn’t already have a deal with the cops? Kidnapping people is risky business, especially when folks begin to notice that you’re gone. Surely he has some safety net?

What if he’s part of a network of psychopaths? There’s been enough late-night conspiracy youtube binges in your existence to know that shit like that is perfectly plausible. What if he’s just one of many? What if they have the pull to see him set free even after you’ve gone through the proper avenues to get him locked away? What if, one night, when you think he’s rotting in a 6 x 6 cement cell miles away from you, you wake up back here in this basement with even more Strades with different names and faces but each one shares the desire to see you ripped apart at the seams and devoured?

No. HELL no. You’re not going to be the cliche victim. He can bark and screech at you until his throat is sore and his gums bleed, but the plain and simple fact of the matter is that you have this monster on a leash, and you’re not about to hand that leash over to someone else.

How many people has he killed? How many have met their end in this godless basement? How many unsuspecting people has he dragged here only to take them apart piece by piece until their eyes glaze and their final breath moistens his cheek as he watches the light in their eyes extinguish? Do you even want to know? Would it make you feel better or worse to know that, at least for now, you’ve narrowly escaped such a fate?

You have to know.

His screaming turns fearful as you ascend the stairs. Again, not for fear of being caught, but because he already has been. It’s so odd to hear the phrase “Don’t leave me here!” from his quivering chest when he’s apparently in the place he values most, and there’s a sick sense of catharsis that settles in your gut as you listen to him begin to whimper and whine. You don’t let yourself dwell on it but you do slam the door behind you loudly enough that he will be forced to acknowledge that his pathetic pleas mean nothing to you.

His house is painfully average, at least for someone like him. He’s even got portraits up with what must be friends or family or someone that cares enough to pose for a cheesy photo with him. If you didn’t know better, you’d say an upstanding, if a little tacky, upper-middle class man lives here. The furniture is unremarkable and well cared for but lived in enough to not raise suspicion. His kitchen is filled with expensive appliances that might as well be fresh out of the box. His fridge, as expected, is filled with beer and various quick meals. Not much of a cook, you guess.

The car sitting in the garage costs in the six digit range and looks like it’s the most beloved thing in the entire area. It reeks of Armor All and disinfectant, and you’re willing to bet that if he was so inclined, he could put it on a showroom floor right now. He’s got tools and cables of all sorts thrown about, but not the kind you’ve gotten so used to. Maybe he actually does use them for their intended purpose sometimes.

As you walk the length of his home, you notice a distinct lack of screaming. You can’t hear anything, not even a peep from the basement, and you are very certain he’s crying up a storm down there. Interesting. He’s go this place sound proofed. You’re not sure what you’d expected, but it’s good information to have regardless.

After you’ve sated your curiosity by observing the dragon’s den, you make your way to the upper level. He’s probably not foolish enough to leave any sort of evidence behind where friends and neighbors can see it, so whatever it is you’re looking for is going to be somewhere a little bit more personal. Perhaps like a bedroom?

Bingo.

His bedroom, much like the rest of his house, looks about what you’d expect. King sized bed, wooden dresser with a TV and player on top, and a desk beneath the window. Sliding closet doors with all manner of free range dad apparel inside, and honestly, it’s the closest you’ve been to laughing since you got here. He would wear cargo shorts and plaid, wouldn’t he? A scrounge through the drawers of his dresser and closet reveal nothing remarkable, but you’re willing to bet your injured thigh that there’s something special in the desk.

Just like you’d expect, the desk is locked, but you’d noticed a pair of keys sitting willy-nilly out in the living room and you’d picked them up. About 7 key changes later and the desk pops open for you like a cheap whore. He really isn’t too bright, is he? Or maybe he just wasn’t expecting this to ever be a problem. Either way, you’re grateful he’s a moron.

Inside the drawer seems to be loads of DVDs, unmarked except for dates. It feels like you’re the unprepared cop in a serial killer movie as you look down at them. You don’t need to watch them to know what they are, but you’re going to anyway. You have to know. You need to know just who you’re dealing with here.

You pick one at random and pop it into the DVD player and the scene that greets you seems all too familiar. A hunched figure, bloodied and tied to the pole you’d become so intimate with over the last week. This person was in much worse shape than you, however. You could see shadows moving off screen and the camera fuzzes and refocuses repeatedly as what you assume is Strade messes with the controls. Not long after, he emerges, practically skipping into frame. Even though most of his face is concealed behind a hideous bandana, you can tell he’s smiling. It reaches his eyes.

He says what appears to be a rehearsed greeting and you’re left wondering just how crazy is he? Is he talking to his future self? You can see him making these videos to relive his sick, sadistic fantasies but talking to himself like an absolute lunatic is just a little disconcerting. However, you also acknowledge that the only reason you’ve even thinking about this is to distract yourself from the fact that you’re watching a homemade snuff film that you almost starred in yourself.

And then he begins.

Despite the visceral horror on display before you, the urge to vomit never comes. You watch, blank faced, as this poor soul is faced with every horror a human mind can conceive. It goes on for long. Too long. And Strade never stops talking.

The realization sets in that’s because he’s not the only one watching.

He’s not talking to himself. He’s responding. This wasn’t for him. This was for them.

If you had any emotional energy to give, surely you’d be absolutely horrified, but you don’t and you can’t. You’re not even surprised. Someone like Strade, that bubbly personality and 1,000 watt smile, of course he’d find a way to utilize his talents. He’d found a market. He had a hobby and he made money from it. ‘Love your job and you’ll never work a day in your life.’ and you are just so willing to bet he loves his fucking job.

You let the video keep playing as you sit up from his bed and leave the room. You make your way down the stairs, back to the living room, and then back to the basement door. You open it and immediately are bombarded with the sounds of his screaming and hateful vitriol. It doesn’t phase you. You’re not sure anything will ever again.

Calmly, you walk into the room and stare at him. He doesn’t cease his incessant threats until he realizes you’re waiting for him to finish so that you can speak. He finally silences himself, though he continues to rip and tear at the ropes holding him hostage as you tell him you found his little home video collection.

“Let me out.” He demands, and you realize he doesn’t quite understand that he’s not the one in control anymore. Of course a dog without a tangible leash will continue to run wild. You needed to drive the point home.

You turn your back to him and begin to ruffle through his various cabinets, searching around the nooks and crannies for something that will help him understand just what position he’s found himself in. You make a very interesting discovery next to his med kit. A collar. A literal collar.

Poetic justice.

It’s thick and burdensome and more than a little hideous. It’s definitely homemade, because not even the most fucked of BDSM sites are going to offer something like this. It’s accompanied by a small remote with a large red button and not much else. You push the button and yelp in pain, the collar clattering to the floor as it slips from your fingers. It shocked you. It was so very painful, but you’re smiling.

You retrieve it from where it fell and pop it open, observing it curiously. Strade watches you through wide eyes and sniveling, trembling lips. The look on his face is a dead giveaway that you’ve found something you really shouldn’t have. The toothy grin you flash him shows him that you understand that.

Without a word, you approach him, holding the open collar in your sweating palm. His struggles begin anew and before long he’s practically yanking his arms out at the sockets trying to get away from you and your newfound toy. He’s throwing his weight around and doing whatever he can with his limited movements to make damn sure you can’t get that terrible thing around his neck, but it’s all in vain because energy is finite and he’s been expending a lot of it over the last hour.

He’s breathing heavy and you could swear he’s begging between heaves as you clap the collar around his thick neck. His flesh bulges from the side and you’re fairly certain it was made for someone much less burly than himself in mind. You get the odd urge to adjust it on him like a necklace but he’s still dangerous, even caged. You feel weirdly... proud.

“Stop-! you don’t know what you’re doing!” He hiccups, and as he pulls his head upward, you can see he is indeed crying. “Please! Don’t!”

You’ve never thought of yourself as particularly sadistic, at least in that sense, but some ghostly force pushes your thumb down on that big red button. Watching his eyes go wide and his body convulse and seize fills you with a sense of sheer euphoria that can’t properly be conveyed. The utterly satisfying clang of his head hitting the pole at mach 5 as he shakes and bumbles almost humorously while the collar sends x amount of volts through his body makes you giggle.

When you finally pull your thumb off the button, he’s still shaking from the residual shock, drool and mucus bubbling from his mouth and nose and sloping down onto his chin. He looks defeated; utterly pathetic. Is this how you looked to him all those times he stood over you grinning as he gifted you pain the likes of which had been unthinkable to you before you met him? The desire to push down again is overwhelming but you’re determined for him to understand there’s a point to this misery.

There’s a thousand thoughts going through your mind right now faster than you can comprehend them all, but they all have the same general principal. This man is a murderer. This man is a rapist. This man is contained. This man is afraid. This man is at your mercy.

And unfortunately for him, you just ran out.

‘How many’ you ask, despite already knowing. If the videos upstairs are any indication, there’s more than he can probably count. More names and faces than he can practically remember and they’re dead because of him. He looks up at you through wet lashes with a trembling lip, already caught on to the fact that there is no correct answer. Your thumb hovers over that seductive red button and he’s quick to spit out whatever he can regardless.

“I don’t know! I don’t!”

You don’t doubt that he’s being honest, but it sickens you none he less. You press that button for half a second and he jolts up off the floor as much as his restraints will allow. When he comes to, his eyes can barely focus in on you and when his slumps over, you can see the burns from the collar already settling in on his tan skin. You’re not sure how to turn down the voltage or how lethal it is, but you don’t really care at the moment. If he dies, he dies. You’ll deal with the complications of that later.

You could sit here all day and grill him, literally and figuratively, about his track record of atrocities, but it won’t bring you any peace. You’re not sure that peace is something that you’ll ever feel again, all things considered. Meeting the monsters that dwell in the dark is drastically different than simply acknowledging that they exist, and through some twist of fate, you’ve been given the opportunity to show this particular monster that he’s no longer at the top of the food chain. There’s so much you could do, so many things you want to do, and it’s at that moment you realize you’ve spent too long staring into the abyss to try and claw your way out.

You’re being offered the chance they never were. You’re holding the controls now. He’s already crying and you’ve barely touched him, barely done anything besides shock him a little. You remember that feeling well. If you recall, you were already crying before he put that knife to your thigh on your first day with him.

Truth is, you decided the second he fell unconscious what you were going to do.

Maybe a revenge like this isn’t yours to take, but you’re taking it regardless. For yourself, and for every sorry sap that’s met their end in his cement hellhole. They died for you to have this opportunity, and you’d like to think that maybe they’re there with you in this moment. Even if you never knew them, you feel a strange kinship with them. After all, it was almost you.

He continues to babble underneath his breath, various pleas for mercy or sympathy or any form of compassion you can muster from your still aching body, and though you desperately wish you did, you can’t find any. You’re certain when you look in the mirror next, it won’t be your own eyes looking back at you anymore, but something closer to his. Maybe you did die in this basement, because whoever you were before you met him is long gone and has been replaced with something so much more empty.

You explain to him, as gently as you can, that it’s your turn now, and his resistance will only make this harder. You don’t delight in seeing him in pain (whether or not that’s a lie has yet to be determined) but it’s a necessary evil for all he’s done. You don’t believe his life is yours to take, but you’d be as terrible as him if you let him loose on the world again. You can’t trust anyone but yourself, and since this situation is so delicate, you need a bit more time to think on it.

He doesn’t seem to understand, at least until you’re binding his legs and securing his head snuggly to the pole. Maybe it’s overkill considering the man looks like he belongs in a shibari magazine right now, but there’s no precautions you can’t take. You can’t have him escaping. It’s far too soon, and you have such wonderful things planned.

Were you a kinder soul, maybe you would put him to sleep because it’s so apparent he’s terrified. Being bound like this has really brought out his inner little bitch, and the way he’s looking, he’s going to piss himself. But its a price it’s only fair that he pay, all things considered. You don’t know what time it is or even where you are, but you know you’ll return to him when you’ve been rejuvenated, eager and ready to begin on him. You’re only a few steps toward the door when he begins shouting, words barely discernible between his emphatic weeping and sobbing hiccups.

“D-don’t leave me here in the dark! Let me go, let me out! You can’t! You can’t leave me here like this!” You grin softly, turning slowly to face him, and tell him that you can and you will. You ask what he’s so afraid of, but you don’t wait to hear the answer as you step through the frame and shut the door behind you, leaving him to rot in his personal dungeon. It’s only been an hour and he’s already so pliable. You wonder what you can make him do when you really make it hurt. Psychology says it takes 7 years to brainwash someone and coerce them into absolute compliance, but you’re willing to bet you can have it done in a few months.

You already know one of his fears, and are very clearly not ashamed to exploit it. How many else does he have, you might wonder, already planning tomorrow’s festivities. Maybe you were sicker in the head than you thought. Maybe Strade just brought out the worst in you, stripped away all that made you human and left you with raw hurt and despair.

It’s tempting. To give in. To sit and massage your aching body while listening to his screams as they echo through the soundproofed basement. But you’re tired, and you haven’t slept in a bed in over a week. His looked awfully nice. Maybe after that, you’d wash the dried blood from your battered body, order some food, and appreciate the niceties that civilized life had to offer. Niceties you took for granted.

After that? Well, after that you had a new pet to train.

#snaspants #Strade #BTD #NSFT #tw torture mention #im mean just mean lmao #IM LOVE YOU GIRL!!

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cajunquandary · 3 years

Text

A Beacon to Beasts

AO3 Link (in the works, check back later)

Summary: While Dean is in Purgatory, he comes across some interesting monsters who help him through.

Created for @spndarkbingo

Square Filled: Fornication

Rating: R (18+ ONLY)

Pairing: Dean x Reader x Benny

Warnings: Dark Fic. Canon level violence, SMUT (p in v, biting, anal, oral, dp, unprotected sex *dont be silly wrap the willy,* all the smut, also I might be developing a praise!kink here??), angst, traumatic memories. If you squint: suicide, Destiel, Denny

Word Count: 7600

A/N: Originally published in early 2017, this is a total rewrite with the tremendous help of @thinkinghardhardlythinking and @wonder-cole. You talented bitches. I love you.

Lightning spider-webbed across the sky, for a brief moment illuminating every shadow across Purgatory. The forest practically hissed in the unwelcome brightness as the trees whispered amongst themselves. A crack of thunder caused a quake larger than you’d felt in the god forsaken land ever before. It cracked the sound barrier, bent the hellscape reality at all of its slithering edges, and sent a shockwave so powerful it nearly tore apart every cell in your body. With an eerie silence, darkness fell again, and as your eyes adjusted, you could see that the beast attacking you was fleeing the other direction from whence it’d come—no, not fleeing. It was chasing the impact.

Something pulled in your chest like a red-hot meat hook, something that sent sparks of electricity straight into your brain and signaling an overwhelming raw need. You were familiar with such will-crushing lust. Your fangs were proof. But this… this was stronger than anything you’d ever felt before. It nearly drove you mad. You could feel your mind slipping, until you took a step forward, then another, and another. The more you walked towards the source of the prior disturbance, the more sated you felt. The more whole.

It took weeks of fighting others like you and endless backtracking to find the source—a vampire and another beast. It was a bit like a human, but no humans could be in Purgatory. Whatever it was, it was intoxicating.

Your body shuddered at the proximity of the delicious flesh. The warmth. You were merely a moth, drawn to a flame of your own destruction. Your head swam and you reached towards the man, but another fang sped from the shadows opposite you first. This was just enough of a distraction to pull you back from the brink.

You crouched behind a half-rotten tree, only one eye peeking from behind your cover. The human barely had time to react before the fiend had him forced into the well-trodden packed earth. His fall was hard. Your mouth watered as his pulse quickened and echoed through your soul.

The vampire accompanying the human sent the attacker’s head flying so closely that spattered monster blood landed on your hand. The foul stench drove you deeper into the safety of the trunk. You didn’t want to be next.

In this land, the best way to survive was to stay hidden, quiet, so you decided to follow them for the first few weeks, being careful to keep to the shadows. The thirst for the human ebbed and swelled unpredictably. At times, it was all you could do to resist the pulse exposed on his neck, especially when the man slept.

For days you tried to figure out what the other one was, who he was, but damn, was he a monster magnet. You’d been in pretty thick shit before, but never like this. Your cover was nearly blown a few times a day, but you were thankful the two were too busy fighting their own to notice you.

“Damn, man. You’re humanity is gon get us kilt.” The vampire wiped the rancid blood from his blade on the latest dead monster’s shirt.

“Yeah well, as soon as we find Cas, we’re getting the hell out of hell.” A human in Purgatory? How? No wonder there had been such a disturbance. He must have been pulled here by a great force--one that very nearly ripped the entire existence apart.

“Hey brother, I’m startin to think the angel don’t wanna be found. Dean, think about it. Every time we get close, he disappears again.”

“Benny—don’t.” The human stormed away from the vampire. What was going on? A human and an angel? Things must be getting really messy up top.

The vampire, Benny, turned suddenly in your direction, and you closed your eyes, hoping the thick layer of leaves and thorny bushes camouflaged you well enough. It must have, because he merely shrugged and walked after Dean.

This night was the quietest it had been since The Event. It had been hours since the last monster attack and you were almost as exhausted as they looked. It wasn’t long before the men settled down into the dust and a pile of dry brush and began to lightly snore. Usually one stood guard as the other slept, but on this occasion, both must have been too far gone to care.

You crept slowly forward, focused completely on the human. He was so beautiful. The creases of his forehead were reduced to fine lines as he slumbered, slow, tender breath fluttering across weary-pale swollen lips, freckles and mud mixed on his cheeks, hair tousled and bloodied, yet still so soft and shiny. His lashes twitched as he dreamed. You were only a few feet away now, beginning to feel lost in the warmth radiating from him, drunk in the light from his soul.

A sharp pain through your side interrupted your trance and you collapsed into a prickly shrub. Between gulps of agony, you could just make out that you were pinned to the ground with a rough makeshift javelin, reminiscent of a butterfly pinned to a shadow box as you’d owned as a human. You screamed in pain, and if you weren’t already twice dead, you’d worry about losing too much blood.

A pair of boots came into your view. “I smelled you days ago. I know you’ve been followin’ us. Why haven’t you attacked? You workin for someone?”

You looked from under your brows, straining to see if Dean was still where he had been, but found nothing. All you could do was gasp shallowly against the burning splinters. It had been years since anyone had gotten the jump on you like this. The bit of human that was left within you prayed that this was a bad dream, that you would wake in a moment in the gently swaying safety of the treetops.

The javelin was ripped from your aching side, and you screamed again as your organs smacked back together in the loss of pressure. The vampire threw you against the nearest tree. Through the pain that overwhelmed your ability to flee, you watched in utter captivation as the human secured you with heavy, rusted chains.

The latter bent close to your face, piercing green eyes a stark contrast to the caked mud and blood spattered across pale cheeks. “Now look, you piece of shit. I’m gonna waste you like I’ve wasted every damn thing in this place. But first, you’re gonna tell me where the angel is, and why you’ve been following us. If I like your answer, I’ll make it quick. If not… well, I don’t normally like the answers.” He smirked, tilting his head just slightly as if he was considering just how he was going to end you.

You gulped hard knowing the human meant business. You’d seen him firsthand, the violence, the rage. All this man left behind him were wide trails of blood.

You were shaking now, feverish and confused. When had your fangs come out? You retracted them in an attempt to look less intimidating and more cooperative. Between gritted teeth and a gradual tunneling of vision, you managed to respond. “I’ve been tracking you since you arrived. There was this storm, and I’ve felt a pull towards you the whole time. I-I don’t work for anyone, I swear.” His gnarly blade pressed into the soft flesh of your throat now and panic was rising and threatening to close off your throat if the blade didn’t do it first. “I didn’t even know about the angel until earlier today when I overheard you.”

“Well. I don’t think I like your answer.” Dean sliced deeply into your arm, which produced a guttural scream from deep within your core. The blade itself didn’t hurt that bad, but whatever was on it sure did. Benny walked away, knowing what was coming. Benny was a monster—Dean was worse.

“P-please I don’t know, I just know the light—your soul is like a candle in this endless darkness. I’ve been here for so, so long and you feel like home, like safety. I crave your closeness and I don’t know the details of why, but I couldn’t hurt you.”

Benny looked over his shoulder as Dean paused. Something struck a chord. Benny walked back over and pulled Dean slightly off to the side, almost out of earshot.

“Brother, I think she’s tellin’ the truth. We should give this one a chance to talk.”

“Why? She doesn’t know anything about Cas. She’s just another monster in my way.”

“And so was I. We were both human once. Let’s hear her out. She hasn’t even fought back.”

The fatigue and injuries caught up with you. Focusing on the thick red-black ooze streaming from your wounds, sleep was finding you swiftly with your head falling forward, blood-soaked hair in your eyes and chest pulled tight against the restraints.

Dean lifted your chin with the end of his blade, remnants of your internals still glistening on the edge. Your eyes followed the length of his arm to his face where he held you in an unwavering gaze. Those eyes were greener than anything in this world—more than the trees you hid in, the brush around you, or the sparse grass beneath your feet.

You seized your breath and relaxed your tense muscles. If this was finally what wiped you into oblivion, it would be okay, as long as you could stare into those eyes. After all, you were tired of fighting. Your mortal soul had been tired in life, grown wearier after you were turned, another century had passed before you’d been sent here after a hunter took you out. The memory flashed by: how you sat there on your knees, glad to be facing the barrel of the gun after so long that you didn’t even fight. Had you known you’d end up here, you may have fought more to stay topside. But now, you faced oblivion, or so you hoped. This would finally be the end of the suffering, the fighting.

Dean must have read the all-too-familiar look of defeat and acceptance in your face. He lowered the knife, letting your head fall forward again, and caught you in his arms as the chains broke and clattered to the dust.

He leaned you against the base of the tree. You weakly gazed upward through hooded eyes, wanting to see past the leaves to the empty sky, but couldn’t. It was all grisly branches for a hundred feet up.

“Why were you creeping up on me?” Dean pulled your attention back to them.

Battling the unconsciousness that nipped unwaveringly at the corners of your mind, you whispered, “The ache in my chest… the closer I get to you, the easier it is to handle. I wasn’t going to hurt you, I just needed to be... closer.”

“And is this better?” He motioned to the foot’s distance between you.

“Yeah,” You half-smiled through gritted teeth, the pain from your side still throbbing. It wouldn’t kill you. Nothing in Purgatory killed a monster except another monster—usually by beheading. It still hurt like a bitch, though, and left you exposed and vulnerable like a wounded animal.

He pursed his lips and shared a look with Benny, who shrugged. “I’ll stay up and watch, Dean. You get more rest before it starts again. And I’ll watch you, specifically.” The other vampire motioned at you, an intensity behind his blue eyes you could identify with. This human was meant to be protected, no matter the personal cost.

Dean was soon asleep again, his back turned to you.

The earth supporting your broken form was anything but forgiving. But still, you weren’t going to waste time whimpering to yourself now that you were a part of the misfit group. “Benny, where are you from? How long have you been here?” You wondered aloud.

He eyed you suspiciously, pausing before he answered. “I ran with a crew out of Louisiana, but we sailed all over the Americas. Been here a long time.”

You adjusted your position with a grunt. Benny’s hand was already on his weapon. “Calm down, sailor, just tryin to get comfortable... I’m from Shreveport. Been here a long time, too. Only did about two centuries up top, though.”

“Well, I’ve got a few on you then, sister. Shreveport was nice. Rolled through there a few times.” The vampire chuckled at the memory.

Even still, your body had different plans for the evening, and if anything else was said afterwards, you wouldn’t remember. Rest was in the cards that evening, even if your mind protested. Between stretches of sweet nothing, nightmarish memories flashed by in haphazard, non-chronological snippets.

There you stood, on the bridge above deep, twisting waters. Though the wind whipped your hair wildly, you could feel nothing. Not since the day you were bit.

Then you were in the shed on your grandfather’s land, centuries before, when you were young but still so old. Had you ever had a chance? And there were fires and anthills, guns and chains.

Before that one could go where you knew it would, you shot awake. Benny raised a concerned brow in your direction, but you couldn’t face him. Not after that. Within moments, sleep took you once again.

The butterfly pinned in the box. Such a stark contrast was that orange and red and blue against the green felt and the glint of silver pins. You would chuckle at the sight if you could. Tiny fingers traced the outline of the glass.

Then you were on your knees. You didn’t even fight. This? This was the day you died… the second time. By the hands of an inexperienced young hunter who was too focused on fighting with his dad to even notice you there. I mean, he practically tripped over you. The boy looked tall for his age, hazel eyes partially obscured by choppy bangs and mouth pressed into a thin line. He hesitated too long. You’d cocked your head to the side, wondering if he even had it in him to off you, and you almost felt sorry for the kid. Especially when his dad saw. The old black-haired ass berated him, belittled him. Compared him to his older brother. A disgrace, he’d said. Nothing like him, nothing like Mary. When the boy could look you in the eyes, you gave a slight nod as if to say, “It’s okay, I forgive you.” Those bright hazel eyes morphed into the moon cast over a monster wasteland.

By morning’s light, you felt better, somewhat healed, but mostly sore. You and Benny spoke all the while, learned your ins and outs, and caught up on the situation with Dean, the toothy leviathans, the apocalypse (again), the dick angels, and everything else Dean had filled him in on weeks ago. If you weren’t in Purgatory yourself, you never would’ve believed all this. I mean, angels? C’mon.

Sure enough, Benny was right. Beasts continued to attack in waves. There were a few close calls, and not one would speak of the whereabouts of the angel Castiel, though a few tried to save themselves by spouting lies. Dean would see right through them. It only ever took one question. “What color are the angel’s eyes?” A few had gotten lucky and guessed blue, but Dean didn’t even accept that answer. You asked once, what answer he was hoping for. He only shook his head in response.

There were times, though, when he would describe Cas to you in the quiet of night, and it was like listening to a lost lover. Dean gave in after some months and described the angel’s eyes as full of grace, blue, but slightly glowing. And not just any blue, no. The bluest blue you could ever imagine. The purest blue. He spoke longingly about things they’d done, things he wanted to do, wanted to say. Needed to say. You would close your eyes and drift off to him mumbling stories of Cas, the fondness softening his voice.

It was dark again and the almost empty end of a particularly difficult day. You’d all sustained serious injuries from the violent fray that only seemed to become more dense as of late. You and Benny would heal quickly, but Dean wouldn’t… and you worried for him, lingering protectively close.

The weary hunter screamed in time with the monster as he thrust his knife through its eye, his voice echoing long after the lifeless body crumpled in front of him. In a rage, he threw his weapon down, stalking over to a nearby tree. He punched, kicked and threw himself against the bark until he was nearly bloodied beyond recognition. Benny could only look down, powerless to help his friend. Unable to watch any longer, you forced yourself between Dean and the tree. His eyes were closed until his bruised fists struck soft skin stretched over bone, the unexpected change in texture catching him off guard. You winced against it but grabbed his jacket in both hands, balling your own fists into it to hold him firmly in place. Jerking him forward until you were nose to nose, breath and blood mixing, you growled, “We will find him, Dean. But not if you kill yourself first.”

“Y-you sound like him,” His voice cracked and his head fell to your shoulder. You could feel his tears, hot on your frozen skin. This world was so cold and it never ceased to amaze you how he kept his warmth. You held him tightly, even as his knees buckled and swayed. By the state of those green eyes, you could see resignation and defeat creeping up on him.

You shared a look with Benny, and he knew, too. “I’ll keep watch. You make him rest, cher.” You’d come to learn that Benny preferred to keep watch from all the years he’d had to watch his own backside here. You’d survived in hiding, while he’d made a name for himself—a killer, like Dean (not that either of them ever wanted to be.) You had to give it to him, though. After all, you’d tried to fight off everything in the beginning, but it was too tiring, like living was. So instead, you learned to thrive in shadows and whispers, moving like a ghost through whispers of the trees.

You were grateful for the moment alone with the warm beacon of a man, though. If the electricity across your skin anytime you touched the human indicated anything, it was a confirmation of your heart’s longing. You kept him pulled flush against your chest, his heartbeat so strong that it reverberated through your body. You focused on the feeling. How many centuries had it been since you felt your own beating? Dean’s was so strong it could surely support you both, you thought.

With a groan, Dean pulled the two of you down into a horizontal heap. You couldn’t make out the details of his face in the dark abyss of night, but his heart rate had shifted notably, along with his breathing. His anguish was palpable and you couldn’t help but to take some of it on as your own. He exuded it, it leaked from every pore.

Supple lips brushed against yours, and you closed your eyes, slowly guiding one hand to his back above you and the other through his hair. It was as soft and silky as you’d hoped it was. You pulled just slightly, allowing your nails to gently spread and retract in circular motions. Dean clenched, the softest sounds carrying on the thick night air. Smiling at the reaction, you carded through the messy spikes and repeated the measure for several moments before Dean crashed into you, with his sudden need matching yours. Every kiss grew deeper, longer, and your tongues began to wrestle gently but urgently between locked lips. He grabbed at you hungrily with a certain ease, unable to hold back anymore, with palms stroking openly up and down your torso, until they slipped below your core.

You both pushed and pulled, wallowed and rolled, careful of injuries but powerless to pull away, fighting to get closer. You helped him slip from his leather jacket, and he groaned into your mouth with a tantalising mixture of pain and pleasure. The sound made you shiver, and you hastily removed yourselves from worn and tattered pants, breaking only for a moment.

“Shh, Dean,” you whispered next to his ear. He nodded, understanding that even in this embrace, you were exposed and hunted. But with skin on skin, it was difficult to keep logic and sanity at the forefront of your mind.

Dean slowed his pace and shifted until you were straddling him. With a touch so light it tickled, he let his hands trace every angle of your body, until he felt the latest wound and drew back suddenly.

“It’s okay,” you breathed into his gaping mouth.

“No, I-- I’m sorry.” His voice was feeble, desperate.

Taking his hand in yours, you placed it back where it’d been. It was a small gesture, but the effect it had on Dean was profound. With both hands now, he clutched your sides so tightly, it sent swells of something delicious straight to your center, before rippling out to every nerve ending exposed to the cool air, and then some.

Just as you began to give in, a rustle from only several feet away snapped you back to reality. You shot up upon bare feet, weapon already in your hand as you scanned the malevolent shadows for the source, listening and feeling for any shift in the air. Dean lay frozen by your feet, head still spinning in weakness and lust.

In a swift turn on the balls of your feet, you faced the intruder, ready for war.

“It’s just me, cher. I heard something and wanted to make sure you two were okay.” As Benny took in the situation, he laughed softly. “Sorry to interrupt. I’ll be over there…”

With an annoyed frown, you allowed your stance to go slack. “Thanks.”

Dean touched your leg, leaning in to kiss it lightly before planting a little nibble at your ankle. You slipped back down next to him, gasping when he quickly found your neck and nipped along your clavicle to the sweet spot in the hollow of your neck.

He was shaking slightly under the strain, but lifted himself atop you. To help keep him steady, you placed your hands on his shoulders and wrapped your legs around his torso. With a grateful kiss, he traced his tongue across your bottom lips as he lined himself at your entrance.

His tip sank into your soaked folds and his resulting keen made you tremble beneath him, itching for more. “Dean, p-please…”

“What do you want?”

You rotated your hips against his, fighting to make him move. “Please, fuck… Dean I need you. Need more.”

Your begging tore his resolve to shreds and he sunk into you, stretching and filling you like nothing ever before. Your back arched at the sensations as they nearly overwhelmed you, drowning out the hell around you and leaving only Dean. Your heavy breathing barely registered as you whined his name. A shallow shriek betrayed you. Dean placed a calloused hand over your mouth, and it only drove you more mad.

As he bottomed out and began short but powerful thrusts, tears gathered at the edges of your eyes. Everytime, he hit that sweet spot. Everytime, you whimpered into his hand and dug your fingers into his flesh tighter. Everytime, he moaned in response.

It wasn’t long before those slow, drawn out jolts coiled you so tight you could barely contain yourself. Dean could sense the change as you began to rub against him, allowing the friction to take you over the edge. Right as you fell off into a fierce and roiling sea of ecstasy, Dean replaced his hand over your mouth with his own, swallowing your choppy breaths as you twitched and spasmed beneath him.

Still lost in the swell, you felt the hunter release and fall, spent, onto your chest. You managed to wrap your arms around him and held him steadfastly, not ready to let go. It was incredible to watch Dean unravel and relax for the first time. In fact, it’d just become your favorite drug.

Unknown to the broken lovers, a pair of “gorilla-wolves” attempted to interrupt throughout the steamy romp in the leaves, but Benny quickly took care of them. The nasty things wouldn’t have gotten as close as they had, but the vampire had been distracted by the sinfully delicious sounds coming from the far side of the tree. He’d tried to ignore it at first but found his mind wandering. It’d been ages since he’d felt the touch of another being, and the want rose up in him, a fire in his stomach.

You panted next to Dean when he rolled to the side, your injuries far from mind in the lasting rapture from being one with the human. His breathing was still ragged, but slowing. The wound on the back of his shoulder had reopened. Begrudgingly , he let you patch it again. Once dressed, you fell back to the sorry bed of leaves. Dean nuzzled into your side and let out a pained sigh as sleep found him. You could’ve sworn you heard the faintest “Don’t let me die here…” fall from his lips. Your grip on him tightened. You’d get him out if it killed you. But first, you had to find that elusive angel.

It was another month of the same routine. Days and nights ran together. The closer you got to the angel, the denser the swarm of monsters was. Even Benny seemed to be on his last leg. You offered to keep watch this time. At first Benny protested, but you shut him down.

“It’s broad daylight out here. I can see them coming from far enough off, I can give you plenty of time to wake up and fight if I can’t handle it. Don’t worry.”

He didn’t feel like protesting too much, and finally nodded, sad blue eyes locking on yours in a silent promise of trust in comradery.

A few hours passed, and you stood to stretch. A twig snapped behind you, and you twirled quickly, your knife to Benny’s throat. His hands raised. “Sorry cher, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Nearly lost your fool head. Why aren’t you resting?” You dropped your arms and stood next to the vampire, staring out through the forest again, scanning. Listening.

“I rested enough.”

“Right, that’s why you have to use that tree to support yourself.” His lips pressed into a hard smile, electric eyes dropping to the ground. When he looked back up, something in them had changed. He reached towards you, hesitant, and brushed the wavy mess of hair from your face behind your ear, hand gently gliding across your jaw until his thumb rested on your lip.

You closed your eyes and shuddered under the vampire’s touch. It was more familiar than Dean’s. You leaned into it, following as it guided you into his embrace. He was larger than Dean and still smelled of the swamp and sea. The scent was intoxicating, dragging all of your attention to Benny.

He pulled back for a moment and cradled your face in the large, thick hands of a sailor. “You okay with this? Don’t want you to feel pressured, darlin’.”

“Mm not pressured,” you smiled up into those spirited sharp blue eyes. You lost yourself in them, completely ensnared. You could see past them, to cerulean glittering waters, could feel the lapping of them against your old boat, hear the seagulls and crows chattering as they glided on heatwaves, taste the salt on your tongue.

You stretched up on your tiptoes, craning to taste the salt on his lips, feel the waves in the way his tongue twists. Benny must have felt the same, as he met your parted lips in a feverish kiss, maneuvering you effortlessly between himself and the tree for support until he was rutting into you.

The touch was bittersweet and starved, driving both of you as you stripped away layers. Benny pressed into you until the bark bit into your back and arms. You knocked the hat from atop his head to get closer, to guide him in, and he responded by taking the thin flesh of your neck into his mouth. Fangs drug thin scratch lines over your chest and shoulders, followed by sucking kisses. Benny grunted as he settled next to your ear, the growing bulge in his remaining trousers becoming almost painful in the restriction.

Sensing this, you moved to loosen the last piece of his clothing until it slumped to his ankles, all the while raw, needy noises spilled from your mouth. If only you’d found each other topside, things would have been better. You wouldn’t have let that young, long-haired hunter boy and his grumpy father kill you.

In one smooth move, Benny hooked his fingers into your jeans and slid them off, until you were completely free of them. With lust in your eyes, you found his full lips once more. You bit and sucked at his bottom lip until he was throbbing against you and whispering your name in short breaths in desperation.

With a slight adjustment in position, he grabbed your ribcage and lifted you just enough to line himself at your entrance. Hungrily, you raised your knees and rested them on his sides. You dug your nails into his shoulders in anticipation, but he didn’t keep you waiting long. With a final shift of his angle, Benny slid into you unrestrained.

His pace was unforgiving. He was rougher, more desperate, yet somehow more controlled than Dean. Pain was something you both knew too well, and found pleasure in at this moment. Neither of you had to hold back in fear of hurting the other.

Benny muttered a long string of praises as he placed his cheek on yours and relished in the fragmented breaths and mewls leaking from your gaping mouth.

Between the friction to your front and the sharp ache in your back, the intense set of his pace brought unwanted tears to the corners of your eyes. Before you knew it, he had you biting back a scream as you came in his arms, your back digging into the tree as he held you through it. You sank your teeth into his neck, drawing blood and pushing back the sharper set as they threatened to emerge. He snarled into your ear and released, standing for a moment, relishing in your closeness.

For a time, you just remained in that position as he softened inside you, foreheads resting fondly on each other.

Dean stirred, grumbling as he woke. With a silently shared promise to continue the embrace another day, the two of you straightened yourselves back out and rounded the tree to greet the sleep-starved human.

Over the next two weeks, the three of you grew much closer. Sometimes in between attacks, you took solace in each other. Most times it was talk, but when words were too difficult and your bodies needed to feel something… else, something primal and good and pure, they would pass you between them, never straying too far.

Benny's eyes would always drift and land upon Deans. It intoxicated him, pulled at his heart in ways that tore him apart. Deep green eyes, full of hope and goodness and humanity… something fragile yet unbreakable, much like what he once saw in Andrea’s. Just like Andrea’s. As much as he tried to put her memory to rest, Dean’s gaze would always take his breath, whether they were fighting or fucking, and the feelings that washed over Benny were wild and raw.

You ventured off to scout ahead one day, leaving Benny to help Dean walk after a surprise run in with a gorilla wolf didn’t fare so well. Those things sure liked Dean. Could you blame them? As you cleared the spaces ahead, you reminisced on the first time it happened.

It’d started innocently enough, some kissing and tender touches traded between you and Dean. You craved comfort, and his touch never disappointed. The fading daylight illuminated something… different, something new in his eyes. There was a spark of acceptance? Resignation? You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but for some reason the usually tightly wound hunter was relaxed. His movements were delicate and slow, a stark contrast to the usual quickie on the run.

You nearly lost your balance when he stripped your pants away and traced deliberate sucking kisses down to your sweet spot. You’d had to catch yourself from falling over at the heady sensations, threading your hands into his hair and holding on for dear life (or death.) Within moments, Benny swooped in to support you from behind, snaking a strong arm around your stomach as Dean began to lick and hum and stroke you in ways you’d never felt. Your blood burned like fire, causing every inch of your skin to become more sensitive.

Benny brushed the hair from your shoulder with his free hand, then took a fistful of it and guided your head back. With a contented sigh, he took your exposed neck into his mouth and you twitched violently between the shivers running down and the heat rising up. The contrast of Dean’s soft lips to the burn of his stubble mirrored that of the rough, blood soaked fabric of Benny’s jacket against the smooth of your skin… and it drove you mad. Your vision swelled with every wave and the sounds of the cursed world around you faded as if cotton had been shoved in your ears.

Your legs gave way and you fell into Dean’s lap as he chuckled, watching you come undone. The orgasm hit you somewhere along the way down, untouched but wound so tightly that you couldn’t hold out another moment.

While you writhed against him, Dean held you securely to his chest with arms that crushed into your ribs and pinned your arms to your sides. Your head finally came to rest upon his shoulder, and as your senses eased back into focus, you realized that you were completely laid down upon his bare chest. Still buzzing from the high, you nuzzled into the crook of his neck and laid a small peck. Dean’s resulting smile stretched wide, and you could feel it there without even needing to see it.

“You okay, baby?” Dean gently stroked your back up and down with one hand, and moved to tangle strong fingers in your hair to hold the base of your head tenderly with the other.

When you found your voice, you muttered a small, “yeah, thank you.”

Benny kneeled beside you and lowered his face until your foreheads met, the three of you so impossibly close. “You up for some more, sugar?”

You smiled wryly and closed your eyes. “Yeah, I’m all yours.”

Though your limbs were but heavy gelatin, you managed to lift out of your shirt as the men undressed. Pulling Dean’s discarded coat over you like a blanket, you rested against a fallen tree and admired them. Dean was more slender, but faster and stronger. The way his muscles rippled and creased beneath pale, freckled skin reminded you of a swimmer--all lean and mean. He was graceful in every movement, like a dancer. Benny was a little more solid, built like a tank. Maybe he wasn’t as fast, but there was no going through him. You’d seen beasts hit him straight on with full power, and the vampire had barely flinched. Those fists could break anything, but his face was always… soft. Kind. Dean’s was hardened, but you couldn’t blame him. And yes, there were moments, like this, where the lines of his face smoothed, and some color returned to his cheeks.

How you’d ever found Heaven in this Hell, you’d never come to understand. But you were ever grateful. Hopeful for a future with them topside, however it may go.

Dean’s outstretched hand pulled you from your daydream. You took it, letting the jacket go as he helped you stand. As you stood, he continued to pull you forward until you were flush with him. He pressed a firm kiss to your scalp and rubbed his palms up and down your body. His cock twitched against your belly, and you wrapped your arms around him, squeezing just a little tighter at the new flood of arousal.

Benny snaked his arms around you from behind, until his hands rested on your neck, not gripping, but just *there.* The weight of them naturally guided your head to fall back against his chest. He growled into your ear, “You’re so fucking beautiful. So good for us, cher.”

Your mouth fell agape and released a strangled moan as Dean kissed along your exposed neck and mumbled a steady stream of “You’re such a good girl for us, such a good fighter, a great companion.”

With every word, a new fire raged through your veins. Your face burned hot. Dean’s hands wandered south, caressing every inch passionately. One hand found its home grasping your thigh right under your ass, and the other came to rest in your dripping folds. You bucked against the touch and right into Benny’s length resting between your cheeks.

You whimpered, needing more, needing release. “D-Dean please, fuck. I need you. I want you inside me, please--unnghh.”

Dean teased your entrance for a moment more before the wrecked look on your face and the subtle, high pitched sounds spilling from you completely enraptured him. Benny nodded, moving his hands to steady your sides as you squirmed uncontrollably. With a swift movement, you were raised up with both of Dean’s hands cupping and spreading your ass until he lined up at your folds and let you sink down much too slowly.

Pathetic cries filled the air as you struggled to maintain control, the stretch of him almost too much to handle and not nearly enough all at once. You shook and grabbed at anything you could hold with a flutter in your chest that threatened to make you implode. And yet, the intense feelings only grew. Benny planted himself and anchored with a strong arm outstretched and clutching to Dean’s shoulder.

Dean bit his lip fiercely and let out a pained groan at the other man’s unyielding hold on him. His cock twitched again as he bottomed out deep inside you. The depth burned and ached, and with it your eyes came to focus on Dean’s.

The emerald green was more prominent now, outlined by the hot blush beneath a spray of freckles. His brows were drawn tightly and jaw slack, full, pink lips parted in bliss. His breathing was erratic, and with every intake of cool evening air, Dean trembled.

You mewled and whined, shifted against them, desperate for friction. The slightest broken smile graced the hunter’s face and he nodded, knowing but not yet ready.

Tears already began to gather as you fought the urge to physically fight the men into submission, to finally scratch that itch. Benny didn’t leave you waiting much longer though, before he was slipping and pushing into place in your ass. The deliberate burn of him spreading you open opposite Dean left you thrashing between them.

Dean took a deep breath in as a reminder for you to do the same. If it weren’t for him grounding you and helping you through, the black void would’ve already sucked you in as another victim. You did your best to relax and bore down, allowing Benny to fill your other hole completely to his base.

The vampire grimaced through his own keening, the tightness of you nearly sending him over the edge right there and then. You stilled between them, already on the verge of destruction as the three of you adjusted to the new feelings washing over you in waves.

Dean’s lips found yours, open and wanting. Taking his tongue hungrily into your mouth, you sucked and fell absolutely limp as he sucked your lower lip between his. The scent of him was utterly intoxicating, and you were ready once more.

Benny began to move in tandem with Dean. With every movement of the both of them against your thin membrane, a wailing cry seeped between your clenched teeth. Benny was now clutching both of Dean’s shoulders so tightly that were white bloodless patches beneath each of his fingertips. This made Dean buck harder until the hunter’s eyes shut tightly and left his head bobbing backwards in lust.

The symphony of your cries was lost beneath those of the two men, who shuddered and swayed. The sweet, sinful music flooded your mind and sent you reeling over the edge once more, clenching and swearing and falling against Benny’s outstretched arm.

Dean’s thrusts faltered as his stuttered, “I’m.. I’m about to--”

“Just let go, brother,” Benny encouraged.

It was the only confirmation Dean needed before his load spilled into you, sending renewed longing to your stomach as he pulsed inside you. “Fuck Dean,.. You feel so good,” you managed.

Benny came seconds later, and you relished in the full warmth of them.

You smiled to yourself as the familiar electricity flooded your veins and leaked to your core. It may have been the first time, but every time since had only been… better. Impossibly, incredibly better.

Upon your return, you noticed that Dean had found new strength.

“We’re closer than ever to Cas, he’s three days away by the river. We’re almost done! We can go home!” Dean was grinning widely, a spark finally back in his tired eyes.

You smiled, scooping him into a rough embrace. If Dean was happy, you were happy. Benny joined you in the bear hug. You were so ready to be topside again, and now, it was so close you could just taste it.

Your second chance.

With a start, Benny hollered and let go, leaving Dean tense and alert in your arms. Then, he threw you to the side as a beast attacked. Its whole face morphed into a shark-tooth ringed mouth, and you grimaced.

Leviathan. You must’ve been really close to that angel.

You drew your weapon as one engaged you, swung and lopped its head off easily after years of practice, until something glinting and sharp emerged where it should not have been.

You looked down, the blade bloodied and protruding through your chest, through your lungs. Unable to draw a breath, you fell to your knees.

“No!” Both Benny and Dean were yelling, voices echoing through the hostile forest. Black ooze covered them from the slain monsters. You looked up as your assailant withdrew the sizable knife from your back and placed it against your neck. It was another vampire. You looked back to the boys.

“You killed our sister, so now we’re gonna kill yours,” the voice behind you teased in a sing-songy tone. More boots shuffled into your line of view.

Benny looked absolutely broken as he charged, extra teeth bared sharply in defiance. Dean bounded to you, holding your gaze with those emerald green eyes as he expertly dodged the advances of his adversaries.

Once again, your breath was seized and you relaxed your tense muscles. If this was finally what wiped you into oblivion, it would be okay, as long as you could stare into the comforting depths of that hunter’s eyes. After all, you were tired of fighting…This would finally be the end of the suffering. To oblivion. The warmth from Dean’s soul flooded over you as he got closer, but it was too late.

Your head rolled from your body.

Dean decimated the group of vampires in record time, the rage fully restored and urging his body forward against all odds. Once again, the hunter had become more vicious than any monster in the land. In two days, he would limp to the river and find his angel.

You, however, woke on the other side of Purgatory. Oblivion was not something that would ever come for you. There would never be a release. Despair, overcoming any hope you ever had, creeped its dark tendrils through your entire being and swiped your feet from underneath you. So that’s what happens to monsters who die in monster heaven… they get respawned and zapped to another part. Great. You were stuck in hell, too far away now to reach them in time. One day you would find a way out. You had to. But first, you would have to find the strength. Strength you may never have again. You curled into a ball, mind silent as you gave into the feeling, a single, small tear streaking a thin line from your eye into the dust.

You were alone. Again.

Your second chance gone along with the human and his friends.

This was my second attempt at writing smut and maybe I got carried away??

WAYWARD PEEPS:

@carryonmywaywardcaptain @manawhaat @supernatural-jackles @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79-blog @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @inmysparetime0 @impala-dreamer @arryn-nyxx @idk-life01 @attorneyl @deathtonormalcy56 @xwing-baby @wonder-cole @itsangelpie-supports @thinkinghardhardlythinkingogblog@icecream-and-gadreel

ANGST BABES:

@trexrambling @abbessolute @emptywithout

ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

@akshi8278 @will-winchester

#spndarkbingo #2020-21 #beacon to beasts #dean x reader #benny x reader #dean x reader x benny #smut #read the warnings #chris writes sometimes #supernatural #spn fanfic #spn smut #dean smut #benny smut #dean winchester x you #benny lafitte

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chelsfic · 4 years

Text

Leftovers - Part 11 - Nandor the Relentless x Reader Fanfic

For Previous Parts: WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: Guillermo shows off some of his cool, new vampire powers and the reader tags along on a hunt. What could go wrong?

A/N: DON’T @ ME ABOUT THE PATRIOTS DIG! I’m from New England! It’s finnnnneee. Also, previously I said this might be the final chapter. It’s not. There’s one more to come after this.

Warnings: Peril!, Blood drinking

---

“So...what’s it like!?”

You’re sprawled across your bed watching Guillermo stand in front of the full-length mirror amusing himself by picking up various knickknacks from your bureau and making them float in the reflection. He’s dressed as he usually is: a pair of khaki slacks, a button down shirt and a thick, striped sweater on top. The one adjustment he’s made to his wardrobe is the addition of a black leather duster that’s currently folded at the foot of your bed. Very Spike.

He turns to you with a wide grin, his newly minted fangs on full display.

“It’s...wonderful!” he gushes, coming to sit by you on the bed. “I can fly! I can turn into a bat! And did I tell you I worked out my special vampire power!?”

“Guillermo! Show me!” You sit up, bouncing the mattress excitedly.

“Okay, okay!” He glances around your room for a second, his eyes darting from your cluttered bureau to your overflowing closet to the floor that’s littered with laundry. He raises his hands and does a little flourish. Suddenly your discarded clothes are floating through the air, folding and neatly stacking themselves, the objects on your bureau are rearranging and tidying themselves and your closet is swallowing up the overflowing clutter.

“Oh...my...g--” you stop yourself just in time and throw him an apologetic look. “--gosh! Your secret weapon is housekeeping!?”

Guillermo gives you a deadpan look as he corrects, “Telekinesis!”

“That’s...so...awesome! Guillermo! You’re like Matilda!”

If he could, Guillermo would be blushing under your praise. As it is he’s smiling wide enough to dimple his cheeks.

“Guillermo!” Nandor’s voice booms through the house. “Are you ready to come hunting with us?”

---

Nandor grumbles about taking you along hunting. But when you hint that you don’t want to be left alone with just Colin Robinson for company--and Nandor spots Colin sneakily setting up his Scrabble board--he...relents. He’s been doing a lot of that lately and he’s secretly very worried about word getting round the vampire community. So, he pretends that it is his idea.

“Yes, we should take the human with us. For cammy flogs,” he nods knowingly into the camera.

“Cam...camouflage, master?” Guillermo suggests, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

“As I said, Guillermo!” Nandor snaps, irritably. “Let us away to sate our dark appetites!”

With you tagging along the vampires are forced to walk to the park and there’s a good deal of complaining going on even from your steadfast booster, Nadja.

“Sorry, guys,” you honestly do feel a little bad, especially since you can tell Guillermo is itching to stretch his wings, so to speak. “But, hey! Maybe you’ll run into someone on the way who looks good to eat?”

Nadja sniffs petulantly, “Now that we are forced to acquire our own meals every evening because Guillermo has shirked his duties!”

Even Nadja’s entitled griping can’t drag down Guillermo’s ecstatic mood. He’s almost floating with happiness--no, he’s actually floating, you note that his feet are several inches off the ground.

“I’m not a familiar anymore, Nadja!” Guillermo explains for the umpteenth time. “You guys are lucky I’m still doing so much of the cleaning with my special vampire power.”

Nandor stalks beside you, his long cape billowing out dramatically in his wake. He bares his fangs and interrupts, “Well...let’s not be too hasty, Guillermo. You’re still kind of my familiar...my servant...my...cool...vampiric...underling…”

He trails off as you dart a warning glance in his direction.

“What!?” he whines, shrugging his broad shoulders with a nervous grin. “Someone needs to do the dusting and help me with my hair!”

“Don’t worry, master,” Guillermo sighs, not without affection. “I’ll still take care of you. We’re a family now!”

You feel like your heart might burst and you clutch your hands together and gush over how sweet that is, even as your boyfriend hisses and grimaces in distaste.

“Guillermo!” you skip over to him, tugging on the long leather coat and making grabby hands. “Piggy back ride!”

He nods with a laugh. You jump up onto his back, squealing in delight as he glides above the concrete.

“Don’t go too high!” you whisper into his ear, fisting your hands into the leather of his jacket.

“Hey, be careful there!” Nandor grouses. “Guillermo, control your baby vampire bloodlust! If you eat my girlfriend I’m going to be really annoyed!”

You roll your eyes but send a smile in Nandor’s direction all the same. As Guillermo would say, he has a funny way of showing he cares.

Guillermo’s still effortlessly lugging you around when you enter the darkened paths of the park. There are a few late night joggers about, some homeless people and couples walking arm in arm. Your group splits up, so as to attract less attention. Nadja and Laszlo go off together and Nandor sticks with you and his new fledgling.

“Help me pick someone out who looks kind of...villainous…” Guillermo says to you over his shoulder. He’s still coming to terms with taking human life.

“Sure,” you chirp, scanning the park for a likely victim. This is part of the reason why you wanted to tag along tonight. Not just to see your newly vamped friend in action. But...to see if you can deal. “How ‘bout that guy? He’s wearing a Patriots jersey. He must be at least a little evil…”

Guillermo snorts, but his eyes track the fellow with a hungry gleam.

“His face is...really red,” he mutters under his breath, baring his fangs and practically drooling with blood lust.

“Human,” Nandor says, coming up behind you and lifting you off Guillermo’s back. “Time to get away from the hungry vampire now.”

He sets you down in front of him, wrapping his arms around you and shielding you from the chilly night air with his cape. You both watch as Guillermo transforms into a bat, gliding soundlessly over to the man and then taking his human form right behind him. He drags him behind a nearby bush. The whole thing takes seconds and they’re almost entirely obscured from view except for the man’s kicking legs.

“Wow…” you whisper, suddenly feeling very frail and very human. “That was...so quick!”

Nandor tightens his arms around you and leans down to whisper in your ear, “Soon, my little human. Soon you will conquer the nights with us! In the blinks of the eye it will be your turn…”

He drifts off and you crane your neck around to see that his eyes are trained on the shuddering bush, his mouth open in hunger as he subconsciously reaches out.

“Nandor… It’s okay if you want to go take a bite. I’ll be fine,” you offer, edging out of his arms.

“Just a quick…” he mutters and then he’s flying forward faster than you track with your human eyes.

You creep closer to the bush, not willing to stand out in the open like a baby gazelle in a park that is apparently a vampire hunting ground. Guillermo and Nandor are hunched over on either side of their victim. The sound effects they’re making as they tear into the man’s throat are not...all together without their charm. Sure, the squelching, liquid suction of their feasting is kind of gross, but Nandor’s deep, feral growls stir something inside of you. You find yourself fantasizing about kissing those bloodstained lips…

“Hey, boo. Long time, no munch.”

The familiar voice comes out of nowhere. Faster than you can react--faster, even, than Nandor and Guillermo can pull away from their meal--you’re grabbed from behind and suddenly launched into the air, soaring into the night sky over the park.

“What the shit!” Nandor shouts from below.

At first you flail your limbs out madly, shrieking and clawing at the hands on your shoulders. But when you finally catch a glimpse at the retreating ground below you, and realize how high up you are, your body goes slack. You desperately clutch the wrists of the vampire holding you and slam your eyes shut against the dizzying sight of your legs dangling, suspended hundreds of feet above the ground.

“She said she wanted to join the club--mile high! I said, that’s easy girl, I can fly! One quick thing, though, ur gonna die…”

The vampire twists you around until you’re front to front, but you keep your eyes stubbornly shut. Tears leak out as you whisper, “Don’t drop me, don’t drop me, don’t drop me…”

“Count fucking Rapula!” Nandor’s voice suddenly tears through the sky and you dare to open your eyes, craning your neck around to see him with Guillermo, Laszlo and Nadja all floating in mid-air behind you.

Rapula--you guess that’s his name?--shifts your body around casually like you’re nothing more than a bag of potatoes. Now he’s holding you under only one arm so he can point dramatically at your vampires.You let out a whimper and cover your face with your hands to block out the view of the ground beneath you.

“Nandy? The...Remorseful? Is that it?”

Nandor growls and lunges forward but Laszlo puts out his forearm to keep him back.

“Careful there, old chap. He’s the only thing standing between our roller warrior and the ground below!” Laszlo turns to Rapula, “Now, I say, unhand our human thrall, Count Rapuleeeehh!”

There’s a beat of silence during which you hear nothing but the sound of the wind whipping around you. Rapula’s arm on you tenses momentarily as he answers, “Whatever you want, old-timer…”

And then you’re falling.

And screaming.

And falling some more.

Until suddenly you’re not falling anymore. But instead of the solid, final impact you expect, you find yourself landing in a pair of outstretched arms. Nandor cradles you to his chest, his grip on you is borderline painful but you’re not about to ask him to loosen it. You snake your arms around his neck, burying your face into his shoulder and holding on like your life depends on it. Because, well...it does.

He says your name, softly at first and then more insistently, “Okay! Okay! You can stop shouting now! I’ve got you.”

You didn’t even realize you were shouting until his words break through and you snap your mouth closed, subsiding into tiny whimpers as he floats back up to join the other vampires.

“WE’RE GOING TO RIP OFF YOUR DANGLY BITS AND SHOVE THEM UP YOUR ASSHOLE!”

You’ve never felt more appreciative of Nadja’s hyper aggression. Guillermo and Laszlo are restraining Rapula between them and Nadja hovers before them, clawing her nails down the leech’s face as she unleashes her unholy diatribe.

Rapula’s bravado has melted away and he’s begging in a soprano squeak, “I didn’t know she was under anybody’s protection! You shoulda put a label on her or somethin--”

Laszlo turns to Nandor with raised brows, “That is true, Nandor. You were meant to write your name and the date on her with the marker pens. We might have avoided a lot of bullshit if you’d followed your own rules for once.”

“Shut up, Laszlo!” Nandor, Nadja and Guillermo all cry out at once.

“Master, why don’t you take Smash home? We’ve got this situation in hand,” Guillermo suggests, he pats his leather duster and you spot the end of a sharp wooden stake sticking out of his pocket. Seems like a bit of a hazard for a vampire to be walking around with one of those…

Nandor scoffs, “No! I will be the one to do the avenging. Guillermo, fly home and fetch my head-ripping gloves!”

The other three vampires look skeptical and you peek up at Nandor with a pleading look.

“Please, Nandor. I just want to go back to the house. And the ground, back to the ground, please.”

Nandor looks from you to the group with an obvious frown. Finally, he sighs dramatically.

“Very well, human! Yeesh, you’re really ruining my reputation over here,” he complains but there’s no heat in the words. He turns back to the other vampires. “After everything that happened with the Council. I think it’s probably best if we refrain from killing him. Simply dismembering him and scattering the parts in the ocean will be sufficient, alright? I’ll see you all at home.”

With that matter-of-fact proclamation, Nandor tightens his arms around you and soars away, gradually descending into the park until he touches down smoothly into the grass.

“We’re on the ground, my human,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Do you want to walk or you want to do the pig ride like you did with Guillermo?”

You huff a laugh and look up at him with a coy smile, “You’d really give me a piggyback ride? Even if it made you look silly?”

Nandor glances around at the empty park as if he expects a panel of judges on vampiric coolness to pop out from behind a tree. He looks back at you with an abashed grin.

“I will do it. Although I never look silly. Now come on.”

He slings you onto his back and rises onto his toes until he’s gliding just above the ground.

“Wee!” you squeal, throttling his neck in your excitement. It’s...exhilarating to feel so safe and happy after nearly dying--again.

Nandor glides the whole way home, casually hypnotizing passersby so that they ignore the odd, floating man and the cackling girl straddling his back. When you finally make it back to the house he pauses at the door, depositing you onto your feet and looking down at you with a hesitant expression.

“My human,” he begins, drawing out the last syllable as he searches for words. “I know that you wanted to wait a while before your unholy transition. But I was thinking...maybe we better get it over with before you...accidentally get eaten or dropped from the sky or something.”

You snort at his wording before your face turns more serious and you admit, “You...might be right.”

“Is that a yes?” Nandor asks with a hopeful sparkle in his dark eyes.

You look up at him and for a moment your head spins as you contemplate how far you’ve come. You went from victim to thrall to roommate to lover to...well, what exactly will this mean for you two?

“Nandor...Nadja turned Laszlo into a vampire and now they’re married. Does that mean this is, like, a proposal?”

Nandor’s face blanches in surprise and his eyes go shifty as he answers, “A proposal to eat up all your yummy yummy blood and replace it with some of my own thereby turning you into an immortal vampire, yes.”

You shimmy back and forth on your feet playfully as you prod him further, “And then…? What comes next after that?”

“And then…” Nandor echoes, “we will see.”

You laugh at your goofy vampire and walk ahead of him into the house.

“Alright...you make a good point. So...tomorrow night?”

Nandor’s mouth splits into a wide, vicious grin as he answers, “Tomorrow night.”

---

A/N: There’s one more chapter to come! I thought this was going to be the final one but--the demons demanded otherwise!

Tags:

@festering-queen @kandomeresbitch @strangestdiary @glitterportrait @scuzmunkie @redwoodshadows @sarasxe @rileyomalley

#nandor the relentess #nandor #nandor the relentless x reader #nandor x reader #nandor the relentless imagine #nandor the relentless fanfic #wwdits fanfic #what we do in the shadows fanfic #wwdits #what we do in the shadows

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the-elusive-libbin · 3 years

Text

Hypnosis Mic- Hunger canons

Hunger Noises and reactions - Some of the Hypmic bois - Self indulgence at its finest

So I wanted to do some hunger stuff since I rarely do hunger based things and its actually my favourite kink. This is rather self indulgent so please do bear with it. Here are some mini canons regarding some of my favourite Hypnosis mic bois...this is one of my current hype anime series after all. Not included all of the guys, i.e Badass temple and Dotsuitare hompo, simply because I don’t know them all yet. Anyway, click ‘keep reading’ if you wanna keep reading ;)

Ichirou Yamada- Boisterous and rowdy- preferred wording: Belly: Ichirou tends to cater to his belly when it growls in public by raising an eyebrow at it, scoffing in mild irritation and eating a lot. Secretly he flusters more when his brothers hear his empty tummy and make jokes but the oldest buster bro puts on a face for the two youngsters, always has. He’s been without food for the sake of his younger brothers before and during those times, he would often fill his starving belly full of water in a feeble attempt to quieten the organ and hope that the others didn't ear the odd escaping moan; after all he's the one that's supposed to be caring for the two youngsters and he’d hate to make them worry. Nowadays he’s more nonchalant around others when they hear his groans, waving it off or joking about grabbing a bite to eat.

Jirou Yamada- Persistant and whiny yet deep, as though imitating Ichirou's belly- Preferred wording: Belly: Jirou doesn't hide his hunger anymore, sure he used to go hungry a lot and it's not like he's not embarrassed by the noises that emanate from his belly, but he's too used to complaining and whining for food when he's starved nowadays. If he wasn't too dense to realize the strong front that Ichirou always used to put up for he and Saburo, Jirou would attempt to mimic the oldest brother and do the same thing, putting on a strong front for the youngest bro. Unfortunately Jirou is dense and doesn’t realize ... his stomach has a habit of groaning directly after Ichirou's has. His mouth waters a lot at the sight of food when he’s ravenous and he will eat rapidly in order to fill his stomach quicker, something Ichirou has scolded him for on multiple occasions.

Ramuda Amemura - Long and high pitched with a deep undertone - Preferred wording: Tummy: Ramuda just let's his tummy rumble in public, it really doesn't bother him, especially since the girls tend to find it cute and sometimes they even give him candy. It's a win win in the little shit's eyes. He'll openly whine, about how hungry he is while patting his tummy with both hands and is even known to ask others if they can hear it moan, all for attention of course. Ramuda doesn’t like being hungry for too long though and isn’t usually due to the amount of sweets he passively consumes. Must have a good metabolism.

Gentaro Yumeno - Soft and gentle but very aggressive when neglected - Preferred wording: Stomach or Belly: Gentarou generally has a soft spoken stomach if you will. He eats meals on a regular time scale and doesn’t often skip. That does not mean however that he never skips meals as sometimes he can become so carried away with his writing that he forgets to eat. In situations like this, the writer will find his stomach a nuisance as it begins to suddenly, without warning, rumble at a fairly audible volume....embarrassing if you’re in a restaurant people watching and writing because there is no doubt that they would have heard the hungry groans. In response Gentaro inwardly flushes and decides it may be high time to grab some food before he is once again, rudely interrupted. Most of the time the man’s stomach is calm and collected but in it’s defense, there are only so many hours you can go without food before you have to speak up.

Dice Arisugawa - Constantly groaning, medium length, fairly deep, echoey rumbles- Preferred wording: Belly: Dice is always gambling his money away and so doesn’t tend to have money for food. Dude would sooner gamble his life away than eat. Of course canonically this means he’s always hungry and always trying to mooch food and money. Therefore I don’t think he’d be privy to hiding the ominous groans that constantly escape his belly, he’d use the moaning of his gut to emphasize his point as he complains about how he needs food and that he’s wasting away. Puppy dog eyes, groaning tummy and theatrical belly rubs or even lifting up his shirt to show you the damage are all things he’s used to. The only time he hides his growling tummy is when he’s fruitlessly trying to explain that he hasn’t been gambling....which of course everyone knows is a lie. He’s not flustered by his groans and canonically will love anyone who treats him to a meal.

Samatoki Aohitsugi- Deep and violent groans - Preferred wording: Gut: Samatoki has no time for his stomach’s noises and will try to cover the noises up should he accidentally skip or have no time for a solid meal. He especially likes to keep an arm wrapped around it when the crazy navy officer of the Mad Trigger Crew is nearby in the fear that he’ll soon be stuffed to the gills with something foul. Samatoki’s little sister cooks decent meal portions for him and often prepares bentos for while he’s ‘working’ so it’s unusual to hear the white haired man’s belly in the first place. He actually dislikes being hungry and is prone to getting hangry. He wouldn’t want to admit it but he’s rather flustered by his belly noises as he feels they ruin his tough guy image and make people feel sorry for him. Watch his face turn red should you comment on a loud grumble or groan.

Jyuto Iruma- Fairly average, medium sounding gurgles- Preferred wording: Stomach: Jyuto is flustered easily enough by his stomach but he tries not to let it show; coughing into a gloved fist or pushing his glasses back onto his face are often enough to keep his embarrassment at bay. Tease him however and you’ll get the opposite effect, polite ‘excuse me’s’ reddening cheeks and robotic movements. The guy wants to remain cool and collected, not look and sound as though he’s missed multiple meals, do him a favour and don’t tease. Jyuto tries to keep his stomach nice and satisfied while keeping to his meal schedules as best he can. He shares his fear of being stuffed by Rio with Samatoki and shudders at the thought of his teammate’s cooking. Canonically, Jyuto’s grumbling tummy has caused trouble for both himself and Samatoki before.

Rio Mason Busujima - Deep, guttural, animal-like groans- Preferred wording: Gut/Stomach/Belly: Rio canonically lives in a tent in the woods catching and eating whatever he can to eat, which often leads to the ex-marine slurping down a plethora of weird and wonderful things. There are times when of course, he is unable to catch a decent meal and so may have to go to bed on a partially or completely empty stomach. There is nothing stopping him from buying food, he just doesn’t do it often, when he does, he stocks up on canned rations. On occasion he has found himself running without provisions and in those cases his stomach likes to very much voice its displeasure. Rio isn’t really bothered by his stomach or its growls, they’re natural and he’s used to it. I think the only way to fluster him with hunger would be if his stomach groaned in a crowded room and everyone heard it or maybe if you were to place an ear to it. His stomach is often loud like an animal roar, even at the start phase of his hunger and can be calmed only by gentle tummy rubs and food. You’d have no chance of getting any sleep whilst lay beside this man when he’s hungry.

Jakurai Jinguji - Soft and regular yet deep- Preferred wording: Stomach: The good doctor detests the idea of neglecting his stomach. It shouldn’t happen with his patients so why should he let it happen to himself? Unfortunately it does, rather often actually as the poor guy is always so busy taking care of others that he forgets about himself. Jakurai will always eat when he gets the chance to and he is fully aware that he needs to eat regularly to maintain a healthy diet, he’s a doctor after all. When hungry, the doctor’s tummy is fairly soft and deep sounding, rumbling in low tones that are not unlike that of his voice. It can become quite loud when he’s been hungry for long or if the poor doc falls asleep with an empty stomach as it will rumble deeply in a feeble attempt to wake its sleeping master. Most of the time Jakurai feels the vibrations before hearing them, especially if the room he’s in is bustling so he’s not too worried. Stomach noises are natural and his is just doing its thing. That does not mean that he won’t be embarrassed should a loud groan catch him off guard. Either way, stand next to this doctor on a busy day where he’s skipped lunch and keep an ear out. Perhaps you can hear those groans becoming gradually louder and louder as time goes by~

Hifumi Izanami - Almost sing-song-like, high-pitched gurgles- Preferred wording: It varies depending on the girl he’s talking to, otherwise he uses stomach: Hifumi’s stomach isn’t normally overactive, loud or really very vocal. It’s only on the odd occasion where he’s super hungry where it will whine like a neglected child. He’s usually sated and not hungry but Hifumi has a fairly good metabolism and can become hungry whilst working or chilling at home after a few hours of not eating. Should his belly groan while he’s working at the host club, suit on of course, he’ll just flirt it away “Do you hear that? That was the sound of me hungering for your love, how about some champagne?” In some awkward chat up line that somehow always works...much to Doppo’s irritation. He will change the wording and the way he acts about being hungry to match the girl he is currently with however, complain softly to those who like cute guys and acting refined about it to those who like mature men for example. Should Hifumi’s stomach grumble at home however he’ll whine to Doppo while cooking them both a dinner. He’s more likely to complain than he is to fluster at the sounds. Unlike Jakurai, Hifumi can drink on an empty stomach without getting tipsy as he’s built up an tolerance.

Doppo Kannonzaka - Average, each growl varies and is situational- Preferred word: Stomach or belly: Doppo eats normal foods at scheduled hours of the day. His lunch breaks are at the same time each day, his breakfast he eats at the same time each day and he presumably eats dinner with Hifumi at around the same time each day. Doppo’s stomach makes all sorts of noises, hungry or not and he finds it futile to attempt to stop them because he knows that they won’t listen anyway. His stomach has a mind of its own. Some days Doppo can be absolutely ravenous and not feel the bite of hunger with his stomach not making a peep, other days his stomach will groan loudly and uncontrollably, varying in pitch and tone. Should anyone hear this or dare I say comment on the sounds, he will blush and maybe even slam his head to the desk, cursing the world under his breath. He’s already way too tired to deal with the embarrassment of his random hungry stomach’s outbursts at work. He’ll have a bigger breakfast tomorrow he promises himself. Regarding Doppo and Hifumi - I would assume that they come home from work at separate intervals, one working a salary man 9-5 job with overtime and the other being a host (Presumably working the Shinjuku nightlife.) I imagine that they get at least one meal a day together aside from Hifumi’s days off. My prediction as someone who worked the nightlife in England for 6 years is that the two rarely get time together but do see each other, Hifumi would possibly have to work weekends but may get time off in the week of or work less shifts, then again he is supposedly Shinjuku’s number 1 host so that may not be entirely accurate. Anyway it’s all speculation and I would totally love to hear more about their living habits. Let me know what you think, I’m slowly going to work through asks on my day off but I’m more than happy to chat hypmic ;)

#H/ypnosis mic #Hunger #belly kink #headcanons #bellycanons #stomach growl

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copias-thrall · 4 years

Note

I had an idea How would a demon!Papa III be in heat with his mate that is a rather shy female s/o (the s/o being human in this case)

It is not something unknown to the two of you. Papa III is a demon, and demons have heat cycles. Being an older man, Papa III’s cycles are a bit more regular …but for demon he’s still considered young, so his ruts still pack a pretty potent punch. Before giving in to his feelings for you, how you would receive him during his cycle almost had him giving up—an unmated demon going through a heat with a partner is uncomfortable; one going through a cycle without a mate is painful. How could he ask that of you, knowing your disposition? Knowing if you refused to sate him, he’d have to take a temporary lover?

Luckily you pushed him to confide his concerns in you, and the two of you have had many subsequent conversations about expectations, consent, and safety.

*heat sex; hard biting; knotting*

“I will be very, ah—insistent, little one. Aggressive. Like a beast.”

“But not a mindless beast.”

“Sí. Not mindless—merely … distracted.”

“Will you hurt me?”

“Perhaps a little, mia cara. Some biting, a few scratches. But not in the way you mean, I am thinking.”

“And if you can’t take it, amore?”

“I can.”

“If you can’t.”

“Will I be in danger if I try to leave?”

“I may beg and plead, but I won’t bar you. But I would need a proxy, cara. The damage to myself I would do …”

“So I will take it, now hush.”

The thing about Papa III’s heat is that it’s not an exact science (when Papa III tried to explain to you it’s a ballpark of days and not a guarantee, you had to level him with a look—“I know, my love. I get a period every month.”). So while you both know the week, the day and the hour are still unknown factors.

Papa III’s mini fridge is stocked up with coconut water, and he has a whole crate full of protein and granola bars. The kitchen staff is on call for any other needs (like the meat freezer full of choice-cut steak). You have gotten permission for heat leave from your Abbey duties.

It’s midmorning when one of Papa III’s Ghouls comes to fetch you. It’s not a surprise, but it is two days earlier than the date circled on the calendar. You don’t bother changing or performing your morning toilet—you nod in understanding to the Ghoul, and you grab your prepped duffel bag.

When you enter Papa’s quarters, it’s the smell that hits you first: it’s not an unpleasant smell, but it’s strong—a musky, salty aroma that still manages to smell like Papa’s own spicy-flower scent. The Ghoul ushers you to Papa III’s bedchamber; when he opens the door, the smell hits you like a slap to the face full force, and you stagger back as if physically hit.

Papa explained that you might be affected by his scent; while humans don’t experience heat and scent the way demons do, he warned that you might experience it as the feeling you get when getting a whiff of him from a shirt—but on steroids. It’s a very pleasant loverboyfriend-type smell, and without your permission, your mouth fills with saliva.

You’re taken out of your haze a bit when you see Papa III curled in the fetal position, panting, around a pillow. He’s naked—sheets in a tangle around his ankles—and his skin is slick with sweat; his face has no trace of paint on it. You cry out at his distress, and make to go for him—when you’re stopped by a warning growl.

Distracted by Papa’s smell and appearance, you hadn’t noticed that the Ghoul with you had been affected too. Its fangs are bared and glistening, its eyes are glowing yellow beneath its mask, and its tail is stuttering back and forth. You freeze, trying to remember the orientation video on feral Ghouls. It growls again low in its throat before hissing at you and arching its back in an obvious challenge. While the orientation video warned never to get between a Ghoul in heat and its mate, it DID NOT cover what to do when the mate was yours.

The Ghoul snaps its jaws at you and flashes its claws. You know you’re not supposed to even think about fear, but you’re on a hair trigger—you can’t run, you can’t leave Papa, and you can’t fight this Ghoul. Your eyes cast about the bedchambers for anything that could be a weapon (surely he would understand if you used that frankly intimidating-looking huge dildo as a bludgeon, right?), but you and the Ghoul are both suddenly caught off guard by a clap and a low, throaty growl.

The both of you snap your heads toward Papa III, who is on his knees—chest heaving and glistening—fists clenched and eyes glowing red.

“Ghoul,” rumbles Papa in a voice that seems to come from within him and everywhere else all at once. The Ghouls whines. “Ghoul, you are not welcome. Leave us.” The Ghouls eyes you again and seems to vibrate. “ Now !” bellows Papa, and—while it does let out a sad keen—the Ghoul hastily retreats out of Papa III’s bedchambers and his suite.

Papa crumples as soon as he hears the door slam, and you go to run toward him, but he manages to gasp out, “The door, mia amore! Lock the door, per favore!”

You hesitate only for a moment before dropping your duffle and alighting to the door of his quarters. You turn the lock, then you sprint back to his bedchamber, making sure to latch that door behind you as well.

Papa III is once again curled in on himself and trembling. You’re quick to scramble into the bed—his nudity is a lesser concern to you than his obvious wretchedness. You take his head in your hands and guide it to your neck—something he advised you would comfort him. His nose snuffles around until it finds the right spot and then presses into you. He takes a couple of deep inhales before his arms come around you and pull you into him, squashing the pillow that is trapped in between you two.

“I am sorry, amore. Mi dispiace. It came on so fast.”

You stroke his head. “Shh. It’s ok, love. What do you need?”

When the two of you had talked, Papa III had outlined how his rut usually went down: a sudden onset of fatigue followed by a mild fever; an increase in body temperature coupled with the inklings of arousal—all of these irritating, but manageable symptoms. These harbingers were supposed to alert Papa of the more intense waves to come—the spark of arousal turning into a burning itch needing to be scratched; the spike in body temperature; the cramping. But if Papa III’s current state is any indicator, he’s sailed through all his pre-heat symptoms and is now firmly in Stage 2.

Papa whines and you can feel him restrain himself from rutting into you.

“Please, cara … please. I need—”

Despite all the talks Papa III and you had and all the pep talks you gave yourself in the mirror, you’re suddenly hit with a spike of anxiety. The moment is here. Papa is going to fuck the shit out of you now. He must sense your trepidation—or maybe the sudden tenseness in your body—because he squirms away from you and literally puts you at arm’s length. Even as he’s rutting into the bed he’s apologizing to you.

“Forgive me, amore.”

Your heart breaks a little, and you’re quick to pull him back into you. You knew this was coming, and all you want is to ease your Papa through his ordeal.

“It’s ok, Papa. What do you need?” you ask again.

He presses plaintive kisses to your collarbone.

“Just you, mia amore. Just you.”

“Well. You have me.”

While you obviously intended to follow through on your assertion, you weren’t quite expecting Papa to give a snarl and roll on top of you immediately. He takes to your nightdress with his hands and teeth, tearing it down the middle to expose your nudity beneath. You give a surprised yelp, but Papa doesn’t even pause in his ministrations as he bites at your collarbone and squirms in between your legs. His knees spread your thighs apart, and when his hard cock encounters your panties, he just reaches down and rips them away as well.

Now, your Papa is always a conscientious and considerate lover. He’s all light touches and slow care with you. He always sees to you first, and he doesn’t adhere to any 1:1 ratio in terms of orgasms—which always seems to end in your favor. But tonight he is actually a man possessed. As soon as your panties are dealt with, his cock is poking at you as he whimpers in frustration. You do your best to reach down to guide him into you while he clutches your flesh; eventually he manages to press into you all on his own, stiffening and letting out an honest-to-god howl as his cock sinks further into the tight embrace of your cunt.

His mouth latches onto the juncture of your neck and shoulder, and he sucks at the tender skin there as he begins to pound frenetically into you. Even though Papa III warned you that he’d be taking his pleasure from you, the reality of it is a little overwhelmed.

And yet.

Also a little arousing.

Papa pins you into the bed with the weight of his body and his vehement thrusts—there’s little you can do but go along for the ride—but it’s still him. It’s still his currently intoxicating smell and the sounds he makes in ecstasy; it’s still the planes of his body mashing against you and the hardness of his cock inside you.

The fire of arousal heats you, even if it’s not enough at the moment to sate you. You let Papa rut into you and mewl against your skin. The two of you have been working on your comfort in vocality—but tonight there’s no problem. Your breathy grunts and high moans only serve to egg him on as he uses the velvet slick of your cunt to ease the burning of need compelling him on. The stiffness of his cock plunges into you again and again and again—and you can feel as your slick leaks out around him and down his balls.

And oh.

Oh God.

OH SWEET LUCIFER ON A GODFORSAKEN BICYCLE.

The two of you had talked about the possibility of his knot making an appearance—something that happened to him only ever in a rut, and even then being half-human made it a rarity—but you’re still wholly unprepared when the sudden protrusion tugs at your entrance. It’s … extremely stimulating, and you moan out—which only causes Papa III to speed up impossibly. You begin to wail and clutch at the sheets as his knot gets bigger, tugging and pressing at you. Some small part of you is anxious about the way you sound and how you’re acting—but the rest of you is screaming at Papa III to Shove it the fuck in already.

The mounting pressure suddenly pops into your cunt, and you can feel it expand. You scream out—not a breathy scream of ecstasy—but an actual throaty scream at the intensity of it all as you climax hard. His knot fills you in a way you didn’t know existed and how it presses into all the right spots has you cumming 2 more times with demi-orgasms before your head clears enough to realize Papa has broken the skin of your shoulder as you’ve milked him, and he’s now contentedly lapping at the blood seeping out of the bite.

It’ll probably hurt like a bitch later, but right now Papa III has started rolling his hips and is grinding his knot into you. Bursts of pleasure spark behind your eyes, and you suddenly notice you’re rolling your hips too.

“Ah, ah, amore—so tight!”

You wrap your arms and legs around him, and the two of you grind at each other. The sweet pressure of his knot is inescapable—no matter which way you go, there’s stimulation, and soon you’re arching and clamping hard around him again. You hadn’t even noticed it was deflating until you feel his knot expand again, and he howls—trying to jerk into you but unable to fully thrust as he climaxes again.

“Santanas,” he gasps as he falls back down on to you. “Cease moving, little one. Unless you wish to be caught all night.”

“Ok, Papa.”

You’re definitely feeling sleepy, and you let yourself drift off as Papa applies soft kisses and gentle nips to your collarbone. When you wake, it’s because Papa is rolling off you—cock now soft. You feel the trickle of his cum leak out down your thighs as he folds a cover over you, and you wonder how uncouth it would be to use his sheets to wipe it off. Your train of thought is interrupted when you hear Papa whine as his hand hovers over your shoulder.

“I hurt you.”

“You warned me.”

He tsks and attempts to leave the bed, but he’s still in the throes of his rut, so all he accomplishes is teetering on wobbly legs and swooning back onto the bed.

“Papa!” You scootch over to him to gather him up. He trembles a little, and you’re not sure if it’s from his effort or the sweat cooling on him.

“I’m getting you supplies.”

Your hand finds your nightgown—and then you remember it’s useless; you think about winding the sheet around you—but Papa’s currently laying on the other end, and you don’t want to upend him. Finally you see his favorite slinky robe, and you decide he won’t mind if you commandeer it for the time being.

Once you’re decent, you retrieve a carton of coconut water and a protein bar. You do notice that your shoulder is beginning to throb and sting. When you look up, you see that Papa III is watching you with glazed eyes.

“My phone, per favore, amore.”

You shift the other two items and grab the ancient rotary. It takes a bit of maneuvering, but you manage to get back onto the bed and over to Papa with all your treasures. You place the phone in between the two of you, and you let him dial as you crack open the water and peel the wrapper from the bar. As he murmurs into the receiver, you hand him bite-sized pieces of the protein bar and the carton to drink from. What you can tell from his end is that a nurse is being sent up to bandage your shoulder, but that she can’t tarry because apparently Papa triggered his Ghoul’s rut, who then went back to the Ghoul dorms and triggered a while outbreak of heat cycles, thus overwhelming the infirmary.

When he hangs up, he curls back around you, his cock already plumping to hardness once more. He ruts into your leg, and getting him to eat the last bit of bar and the rest of the coconut water is an exercise in futility, so you put them aside. Papa III squirms on top of you, his hard cock poking at you once again.

“Papa!” you gasp. “Papa, the nurse! I’ll have to let her in …”

“She has keys,” he says into your skin.

“But—”

His dick drives home, and you gasp again.

“Need you, cara,” he keens as he begins to thrust into you again.

It goes much like the first time—Papa plunging hard and fast into you until his knot swells, locking the two of you together and setting off a feedback loop of pleasure as his swollen flesh presses into you and as you clench around him until a ceasefire is called. He bites a pillow instead of you this time, but his fingers have left crescents in the skin of your ams.

A sharp rap at the door of his bedchamber startles the both of you.

“Are you quite done, your Dark Excellency?” comes a muffled voice.

“Sí,” calls out Papa hoarsely.

“Papa!” you squeak. “I-I’m …”

He groans.

“Un momento,” he yells louder. Though you can tell it takes some effort, Papa rolls the two of you over so that you’re on top. He artlessly begins to pile the covers in a nest around you, and you take the hint to recinch the robe.

“Come!” he shouts.

There’s the sound of the key turning in the latch before an infirmary nurse, in her starched white habit, bustles into the room with a medical bag. You cast your eyes down as your face grows hot.

“Sister Aggie,” says Papa III.

In a dry, deadpan tone, Sister Aggie says, “What did you do this time?”

Papa pets your thighs under the covers. You try not to clench down on his knot.

“Show her your shoulder, amore.”

You look up at her from under your lashes and you hesitantly peel the robe back from your shoulder, while still trying to keep yourself covered. She makes a tetch noise, but otherwise remains clinical in her approach to the bite. Whatever she swabs on it stings, and you hiss, flinching. It’s enough to make Papa moan and twitch, but Sister Aggie gives him such a sharp look that he just pants and clutches at the sheets. She’s just about done applying a sticky gauze over the bite when she sees the nail marks, and she pulls the robe down further for access despite your squeak of alarm at almost being exposed.

She fixes a stern gaze on Papa III.

“Your new mate isn’t a Ghoul, Dark Excellency. If you can’t be more careful, I would medically have to suggest you do use a Ghoul proxy—Lucifer knows there are enough of them on their own cycle right now because of you.”

Papa is shaking a bit, but he manages to assure Sister Aggie that he will be gentler with you.

“I’ll be back to check on you every several hours. I’m not sure why you didn’t already put a request in for wellness checks, Dark Excellency.

“Private,” he pants out—and you know he means your privacy.

“Not anymore.” She catches your eyes. “Has he eaten?”

“U-Uh … I-I—some coconut water and most of a protein bar. He—ah!”

You grunt as Papa starts to grind up into you, moaning. Sister Aggie keeps talking to you as if Papa isn’t about to cum in you again and isn’t babbling at you in Italian.

“He’s going to need a lot more sustenance after this round. I heard from Ghoul 0 that he was up most of the night before you joined him. I’ll let the kitchen know, but you have to make sure he eats.”

You’re trying to pay attention, but Papa’s knot is pressing into you again as he rolls his hips, ratcheting up the throbbing in your cunt. You must’ve zoned out, because Sister Aggie is snapping her fingers in front of you.

“Sister—do you understand?”

Your cheeks burn, but you manage to nod at her. “M-make sure he eats. Got it.“

“I’m holding you to that, Sister.”

She clicks her medical bag shut.

Papa moans and starts to twitch into you.

Despite your best efforts, the sudden, multiple pressures into you propels you over the edge.

“Oh god,” you punch out, and you curl over as you orgasm, your eyes closing shut as your clit pulsates and you clench hard around Papa III’s knot. You feel it inflate fully again as Papa snarls then catapults up—smacking your mouth hard as he captures your lips, grunting into your mouth as he cums again.

“Spiacente, little one,” he gasps afterwards. “Spiacente.”

As you pet at him, you turn to apologize to Sister Aggie, but she’s already gone.

When Papa pulls free this time the mess is … a lot more to deal with. Papa basically passes out, and—on shaky legs—you make use of his showerhead to clean up. You bring out a warm washcloth to clean him up as best you can, blushing as you hesitantly wipe between his legs (you were afraid that would wake him up and set him off again, but he dozes through all of it).

As promised, the food from the kitchen is delivered (by another Sibling—they’re apparently keeping the Ghouls away from Papa III until the heat cycles dissipate), and you bring it into the bedroom. At the smell, Papa stirs and cracks open an eye.

The meal is steak—bloody for him—rotini, and buttered beets. You wolf down all of your food and down the rest of the open coconut water. Papa eats the steak and must be babied into eating half of the other portions, plus a fresh carton of water.

He’s giving you That Look again, but you’re not quite up to being knotted again, so you give him an enthusiastic hand job, making sure to squeeze and massage his knot. When he climaxes, his cum shoots out in force and lands hot and sticky on you with every squeeze of his knot that you give. By the time he seems finished, the amount of his cum that you’re covered in is almost comical. Papa presses into you, smearing it around both your bodies as he growls at you.

“Such a waste. Every drop should be in you. It should be filling you up so that you grow fat with my child.”

Even though Papa warned you he’d probably feel compelled to talk of breeding you, you’re still a little embarrassed at his words. You’re not expecting him to scoop some up with his fingers and try to finger it back into your hole. You attempt to squirm away, but at first he’s very insistent on getting it all into your cunt; you have to draw on your reserves to sharply tell him No before he stops—and even then he whimpers at you before dozing off again.

You wish the showerhead was long enough to reach into his bedroom.

It’s a very long few days. Despite Papa’s promise, he still manages to mark you up with scratches and bruises that make Sister Aggie cluck her tongue—though none bad enough for her to make good on her threat. You do your best to let him have you, but your human physical limitations are such that you just can’t handle multiple knotting in such quick succession—as amazing as they ended up being. Occasionally Papa will use your mouth, but he’s actually too afraid he might accidentally choke you with his knot that he’s more willing to let you jack him—even if that proves to be an inferior method of release.

He does have toys—the pocket vagina and tenga eggs getting the most use, and then that dildo you’d been prepared to use as a weapon (you’d been reticent to use it on him at first, but after watching him fuck himself on it, you quickly became eager to control it). He tried to convince you to use the strap-on on him, but you’re just not there yet.

Day 2 was the peak, and the hardest day—he’d been a begging mess and you’d felt you’d spent most of the day caught on his cock. On day 3 you’d noticed him slowing down, and by day 5 his knot had stopped swelling. You’d helped Papa III with his bedding and soiled towels, and the two of you had taken a very long bath full of epson salts and rosewater.

Day 6 is completely indulgent—Papa’s rut very obviously over—but he insists that recovery is absolutely a part of the heat cycle. As you lie on his chest encircled in his arms, you certainly aren’t going to contradict him.

He sighs and kisses the top of your head.

“You are still here, mia cara.”

You place a kiss on his pectoral.

“I’m still here,” you agree.

#asks #papa emeritus iii #demon!papa

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rankdisasster · 4 years

Text

old habits die hard

Billy Hargrove x fem reader

“what about a first time having unprotected sex with billy when y'all are married?? I have a hc that he's really safe !!!!!because safe sex is important!!! so when he'd marry his girl the first time without a condom would be a big deal” requested by anonymous.

word count: 2,840

warning(s): nsfw, swearing

a/n: yes I do write smut for anyone wondering, and this is like my first legit wack at a full on filthy one-shot buuuut! I hope this is okay??

—

Heaven. That’s just what you and your marriage together is for Billy. Heaven wasn’t some bearded white dude with a halo on a boring cloud, it was the perfection between his wife’s thighs. It was his wife’s mouth and all the tricks you did to drive him off the rails with it, it was your dirty talk while you teased him relentlessly even when he begged for you to take him all the way. Your body was his fucking sanctuary, plain and simple.

Yours and Billy’s sex life was held mostly in the hands of Billy, given that he’d known all there is to get the best out of it. Let’s just put it this way: he was the Stephen fucking Hawking in the sheets, and he took that gold metal with pride. Billy was no amateur, he wasn’t just an encyclopedia for making sex as hot and exciting as it could be, but he also happened to be safe about it. That’s what truly makes him the best, that he knows all the risks, and does great lengths to avoid accidental pregnancies or other consequences that may occur. He’d still make sure you were having fun, and he’d spend chunks of money from his paycheck nearly every week on condoms for you both, stocking up and hiding them somewhere inconspicuous in every single room. The pull out method just never worked for Billy, mostly because it’s too risky and he doesn’t trust himself when he’s about to blow to do it anywhere else not in you.

So that’s why he nearly choked on the coffee he had gulped at the exact moment that you said you wanted to try taking him raw this time tonight.

Coughing and stuttering like a bafoon, he finally clears his throat and recovers from you nearly killing him, and then stares.

“What? We’ve fucked just about every other way imaginable, why not try it out?” you stick your bottom lip out, pleading as you go up to him closer and closer. So close that he feels the hairs behind his neck stand up and goosebumps forming when your hot breath fans his ear.

Billy closed his eyes and takes a deep breath before setting his coffee down on the table. He refuses to lose his composure, and knows that there’s so much that could go wrong without using protection. “Don’t do that.”

“I don’t know what you’re accusing me of doing, baby. I’m not doing anything,” you chuckle. Your hands crawl up his broad chest and even run over his hardened nipple through his shirt, and now he fucking regrets not wearing a tank top underneath. Slowly losing control over what his wife is doing to him, he tries to speak as you trail itty bitty kisses on his ear before biting it, making him sigh out a small “ahh” and losing his train of thought.

You kiss everywhere and anywhere you can get your paws on, persuading him with your body and your words.

“Mm, I mean think about it, B. We’ve got it all. A home with all this space, decent careers. Hell, since we got hitched my parents have even encouraged this,” you rub your hands down his back.

“Don’t you dare bring up your parents right now while I’m getting hard.”

“Hey, I’ve been riled up this whole time, so you can—“

Billy took your head in his hands and smashed your lips together, swirling his tongue with yours. Without any more convincing needed on his end, he effortlessly hitched you up in his arms and carries you to the couch. Unwilling and too impatient to take this upstairs, he could’ve fucked you right there on the floor and still be perfectly sated.

“Knew you didn’t have it in you,” you grin, before he sucks on your tongue again and pulling away for two seconds before telling you to shut the fuck up. He’s so ready to get down and dirty already, but he knows that that’s no way to fuck his wife. No no, what he’s gonna do is get back at you for making him choke on his coffee and not asking him about this in a professional manner. God, he swears he loves you more than anything, but sometimes, knowing the affect you have on him, he fucking hates you for using it all to his advantage.

Billy’s cock is like an annoying exclamation point in his jeans, and he thanks himself for going commando on the daily. He throws his belt harshly to the ground, the leather and buckle landing with a loud rattle and a thwack. You widen your eyes and let out a laugh in disbelief at his temper.

“Holy shit, you’ve got to calm down. You’re at a ten, and I’m gonna need you at like a seven.”

Billy growls like a jealous mutt, desperately picking at your items of clothing to be taken off for him to get down to playing with what’s his.

“Calm down, you’re telling me to fucking calm down after what you’ve done? Why don’t you take off your clothes already, or am I gonna have to do all this myself?”

Once in every while your husband gets so unbelievably bratty and childish when he’s horny that he’ll snap at you for taking your time, or even making fun of him in the heat of the moment. He’s dramatic now, but once he comes he’ll be back to normal and laughing about it later.

“Okay, okay, Mister Bossy. Take the piss out of it,” you grumble, still just as ready to feel Billy as he is to get inside you. You take time unbuttoning your flannel that you stole from your husband, getting stuck on the fourth button. Billy has to take the time to palm himself through his jeans for some sort of relief. He then rolls his eyes and whines after forty five seconds had gone by and you’ve somehow mysteriously forgotten how buttons work.

“Come the fuck on, babe, I’m kinda gonna bust on my own here.”

“I’m trying!”

“Not hard enough! You know what? Forget it,” he pulls the flannel down enough to expose your under shirt then pulls that down too. Exposing your breasts to his delight, he finally fucking gets to get his hands on you and he doesn’t wait around. He smiles like a maniac and puts his head down to nuzzle himself between your breasts, sucking absentmindedly on each one and then playing with them. You hum as he gives you the good treatment, sloppy kisses being plotted on the valley of your chest. After Billy feels like he’s had his fix, he moves on to pull your sweats off and rub you through your underwear. You’d gotten so goddamn soaked to the point of feeling the pool of it seeping through your panties. It nearly gives Billy fucking heart palpatations, seeing his absolute favorite sight of his wet wife all for him and his dick only.

Billy possessively, even devilishly, loves the idea of this belonging to his eyes and his touch only. No other bastard on planet earth is as lucky as he is, finding you, picking you. Hell, especially marrying you.

He has to swallow the drool that’s nearly started just looking at the gorgeousity. Without any further ado, he takes the hem of your underwear and plucks them right off, then discreetly puts them in his back pocket of his jeans for later. Pulling back to marvel at the sight of his beautiful wife with her tits hanging out of her flannel, otherwise completely bare for him to take her. Out of purely routine, he reaches for the pack of condoms that were hidden for you both underneath the couch cushion, until you grab his arm and shake your head with your teeth nibbling your bottom lip.

“Right. Sorry. Old habits die hard I guess,” he laughs, as giddy as a schoolboy looking up a girl’s skirt. He undoes his jeans and sheds them, fully remembering the gift he had snatched for himself still crumbled up in his back pocket. His middle finger has taken to rhythmic patterns on your clit before swooping down to you for a hot kiss.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous as always, babe. Married a goddamn pornstar, didn’t I?” he goes in for more, the sound of your lips smacking and your breathy groans to be heard throughout the living room. He switches his technique and swirls his pointer and middle fingers through your gushing slit and bringing it back up to your clit. You grind more into his hand as he takes your breast with his other hand that’s not driving you insane right about now.

“God, baby. I want — I want more, please? I need —“

“You gonna be good for me, hm? Gonna take it, and be more respectful next time you ask me for somethin’?”

“Yes! Yes I will, I am!” you almost want to fucking slap him for the sheer torture he’s putting you through, but it could be served as karma for what you did. But sue you if you weren’t gonna beat around the bush, okay? You’re straight up about what you want and when you want it from your husband. He’s even said before that that’s a quality he loves about you. He’s just as bratty and needy as you can be, which is what makes you the impeccable couple.

“That’s my girl. It’ll all happen soon, just be good,” he murmurs, gradually slowing down his fingers from you and then taking them out, giving them a lick. While maintaining eye contact, he takes the two fingers that had just been all over your clit, and sucks them hard in his mouth all the way down his knuckle. Satisfied with the wound up reaction he got outta you, he keeps one hand on your tits while the other snakes down to his own zipper. When he pulls it down, already exposing his junk given that since you two had been hitched he’d solemnly swear to go commando, always ready to give it to his needy baby. As he still palms your breast and pinches at your nipple, he starts to slowly jack himself slow and steady. Like he’s feeling Jesus, the man closes his eyes and stutters a sigh at how fucking amazing you make him feel.

You involuntarily open your legs wider, hoping the invitation will entice him to get busy and start fucking you raw, but the sight only motivates him to speed his own strokes on himself. Frustrated at the lack of attention you’re receiving, you huff and shove him with all the strength you have in your legs off of the couch. Billy is flown to the carpet floor, livid and cursing up a storm, which you expected and prepared for. He was just being a drama queen as always, and you order him to shut his nagging up before joining him on the floor and pulling him on top of you.

“Fucking brat,” he taunts adjusting you more to be perfectly open and ready underneath him.

“No, you are! I wasn’t just gonna sit there while you play with yourself,” you spit back, before both of you pause to start cracking up. He covers his face in his hands as his shoulders shake with every laugh, and you mirror his attitude.

“I love you so much, you know that?” Billy reminds you, giving your nose a kiss.

“We’ve been married for three years, Billy. I think I might know that by now,” you tease, patting his cheek with your palm before accepting another kiss. This one is much less hurried and dirty, but more tender and loving. It’d be sweet if he wasn’t about to fuck you bare on the floor for the first time in your entire marriage.

Billy lines up as he blows you a kiss, watching your facial expressions like a hawk to read how you’re feeling as he peeks just the tip through. He takes more time to run his dick along your entire slit to loosen you up a bit, and give your clit the attention it starves for. When he actually slides in, as bare as he was born, he furrows his brows and drops his jaw at the beautiful warmth. Having done this with a rubber like the million other times you’ve fucked, of course it satisfied him, felt just as amazing. But the extra intimacy being shared here is driving more and more blood down south far more rapidly than ever before, and he really has to clench and keep himself together to not ruin it by blowing his load early.

Your face says you’ve been dicked down to paradise, having an innocent open mouth smile appear as you groan at the fullness taking up your pussy. Billy is slow about picking up the pace, not wanting to turn into an animal quite yet, still enjoying the feeling of his wife’s bare wet cunt swallowing him up. Once he’s balls deep inside, so far and so big that he sees himself through your stomach, that’s when he starts to get a little more excited.

“Fuck, I love this pussy more than anything in the world,” he grunts, pulling all the way out and doing a rundown with his cock on your clit. He takes a moment to look downward at your joining togetherness, the picture so beautiful and right and wrong that he moans louder before needing to squeeze his eyes shut. After he’s got a better grasp on control, he then bows his head down low and spits a good amount down onto his cock, lubing you up way more than necessary. With the extra kick and slide that it gave the two of you, he starts not holding anything back. And then your husband goes to fucking town with his hips.

Billy starts getting real creative when building up more and more during this stage of sex, now doing figure eight’s with his cock inside you. He even starts pulling out of you to grind his length up and down, then repeating. Soon your howls and his yells as well as the fucked up and half assed dirty talk is all to be heard. Along with the slapping of flesh, which is music to Billy’s ears. He’s spouting nonsense about how heavenly your cunt feels wrapped around him, tight and nice. You’ve started grinding back into his thrusts, and like fucking rabbits, you both stutter a warning to the other about how close each of you are getting.

“Baby, ohmygod— so fuckin’ good, I’m gonna cum inside you, gonna give you all my damn kids, I don’t give a damn. You feel so amazing,” his hips go as fast as he can physically pull off, and you whine as he comes down to you and gives you a kiss that’s mostly just sharing his saliva.

“Ahh — I’m so close, it’s—“

“Do it, do it baby. Cum on your husband’s cock,” he begs, pace stuttering before he finally stills. With a low hum from you and a noisy groan from a very sweaty Billy, the ribbon finally snaps in both of you. He bursts, still staying deep inside you as his fingers fervishly rub the fuck out of your clit to help you find your orgasm on his dick. You squeeze around him while on cloud nine, making him yelp and milk more out of him that he didn’t know he had.

“Shit,” he sighs, not yet pulling out of you before wiping his forehead off and doing the same for you. You whimper at the emptiness when does, you and your husband trying to catch your breath. When he looks down he smirks at his scene of the crime dripping all the way down out of you. Without saying anything, he scoops it back up and rubs your clit another couple times, then copying his actions from earlier and sucking his fingers clean.

“I fucking loved that. If you’re knocked up right now, that’s not stopping me from doin’ that again,” he laughs, laying down beside you and taking your jaw before giving you a good loving post-sex kiss.

“Mm, I liked it too. Billy, I don’t wanna get up, can you grab me my panties? They’re around here somewhere,” you lazily point to the couch and the floor around you. Billy then snatched you up off the floor, you still very naked and filled save for his flannel. He tosses you on the bed as you land with a bounce and a giggle. Your husband throws you a water bottle and you catch it. Both of you chug more than half of it down as you still await for him to follow through with your request.

“Nope. No idea where they went, actually. Sorry babe,” he answers, casually throwing his jeans in the laundry basket you share and smirking to himself at the present still sitting in his back pocket.

—

I also hc Billy as a dude that takes his s/o’s underwear after sex lmao. oh if anyone’s wondering what im up to writing: I have 1k on the next chapter of girl next door and I’m still working on several asks:)

#billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove smut #stranger things #billy hargrove imagine

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malethirsty · 4 years

Text

Californication: Reloaded [Hank Moody]

W•ho•re

Summary: With Becca off at band practice, it gives you & Hank time to work on your new task: Fucking in every room of his house.

Warnings: M/M smut (21+), Bareback (Wrap Before You Tap!), Watersports

It takes two weeks to break a habit, but in the case of you & Hank, two fucks was enough to seal the deal. Ever since then, the two of you fucked every single day. Even having one eventuful day on the lounge where you caught him watching the porn the first day you met, where you squirted a massive load over the both of you “Fuck you squirt better than every woman I’ve fucked.” Hank moaned, quicjly shooting his load inside your ass before rushing to get toilet paper to clean up the lounge.

The entire house was nearly covered, you had only one room left to fuck in: Hank’s Room. You had a realised roleplay storyline out, you would be a Sex Ed student who’d be getting a practical demonstration from Hank, and you were eagerly excited to perform it with him. “Damn, you’ve really thought this whole thing out haven’t you.” “Yeah, it’s a far step from where I was a while ago, all cooped up in my room, depressed and shit.” Hank let a smirk cross his face as he leant in for a kiss, before ducking out of your room “Dinner will be on in 30 guys.” “Sure” you & Becca yelled out. Becca & Karen still did not know, and with your friendship together and Hank’s divorce pending, you wanted it to stay that way.

The next morning came, and with it, the special day. You knew Becca was heading out for band practice, so you waited for the garage door to open and the car to drive off. It felt like hours passed by as you used your phone for remedial things like binging shows and you were midway through RuPaul’s Drag Race before finally you heard the garage door opening. You took out your headphones as Becca’s car reversed back and waited until the sounds of it had faded into the street before you rushed to your wardrobe, picking out the sluttiest clothes you could find, settling for a low cut V neck and tight skinny jeans ‘I hope Hank cuts right to the point, cause these will sweat the longer I’m in them’ You thought as you squeezed in. All you had to do was wait for Hank’s signal and sure enough, a mere five minutes later you phone dinged with a text ‘HORNY TIME xoxo’ so you made your way downstairs.

Hank’s bedroom had been fitted with a Sex Demonstrations sign to fit in with the storyline. You raised your hand to knock “Come in.” Hank’s voice sounded, you walked in to find Hank sitting in his bed shirtless “Well Hello Mr. Y/N. You’re here for your Sex Ed appointment?” “Yes Mr. Moody” you responded “Please call me Hank, or even Daddy, but never Mr. Moody” “Sorry Daddy” you drew out the daddy part with a gleam in your eye “Fuck, so eager to please.” Hank moaned, writhing a bit to tease you. “Fuck” you said breathily “Oh I will.” Hank growled “Strip” upon his command you began to take off each of your garments, giving Hank a strip show “Fuck, my dick is so rock hard that it makes Mount Rushmore looks like a stack of wigs.” Hank threw off his covers to show you his dick standing right up. “Fucking hell, I’ve never seen one from this angle.” You groaned out, Hank grinned wide, cocking his finger towards you “Come here.”

You moved forwards “Get on top of me.” Hank said and you did as he asked leaning down to kiss him. You made your way downwards making sure to get to smooth over his chest hair making Hank groan out an “Oh yeah” you made your way down to his cock & looked up at Hank waiting for your next instructions “Suck my dick. Get your mouth around it, cover your teeth with your lips and suck me off good.” With the challenge posed, you began. Keeping a smooth rhythm you sucked his cock, tasting his precum, you swirled your tongue around his head, making the man groan “That’s right Y/N, like that. Fuck, you’re better than my wife at this, better than anyone, keep fucking going!” You kept at it for a while longer before Hank ordered you off “There is a lost art of fucking when men get married to women, and that’s licking their balls. Do that to a man and you’re his forever.” Hearing this, you eagerly darted forwards sucking his balls into your mouth with the same process. “Oh Fuck! I didn’t expect you to be this vigorous. Get my musk into you babe. Get into my public hairs! Fuck, you don’t need me to guide you, you’re already a fucking whore!”

The acclamation off of Hank was utterly intoxicating, if you could live of this instead of food and water, you’d be set for life. Hank grabbed your head & pulled you back onto his cock. You quickly adjusted your technique as Hank began to stutter “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, take it all down your throat! Oh FUCK YES!” Hank yelled out as he shot what seemed like countless loads down your throat, the salty sweat taste sated your lustful need for the author now a panting wreck above you. “Fuck Y/N, I didn’t expect you’d be this good first thing.” “Well I aim to please Hank.” “Oh I see, once I cum, you’re back to Hank and not Daddy.” You shifted so you were gazing right into his face “Well you’re soft now, so you aren’t The Man now, only a regular man, what are you gonna do about it?” You said in a faux mocking way.

Hank pulled you down below him. You were able to breath his intoxicating scent where he was resting before “This” Hank responded before slapping your ass, you tensed but decided to keep the cocky character going “You call that a hit old man?” Hank slapped even harder “Who owns you?” “I own myself.” Another slap “Who did you suck off this morning like a good bitch?” “No one worth remembering.” A harder slap & this time you knew he was at brute strength so you let up “Who is your daddy?” “Hank Moody” He hit two slaps this time “Say it louder, old man has hearing problems.” “Fuck you.” You mouthed off, and at this point Hank went balls to the wall, landing a plethora of slaps on your ass. “Say my name whore, say daddy’s name.” “Hank Moody!” You cried out “SAY YOUR DADDY’S NAME BITCH!” “HANK MOODY!” You screamed out, Hank finally stopped and pulled you up to see your red, puffy face “You’ve been bad you fucking whore.” He growled out “I’m sorry daddy, let me make it up to you.” “I only let good whores take my cock. And you’re bad.” “Please sir! I’ll do whatever!” “Thank me for letting you give me a blowjob.” “Thank you daddy Hank.” Hank cocked his head to the side “For what?” “For your hospitality for sliding your dick down my throat.” Hank groaned out flopping back down on the bed “I slid my dick down your throat, and you thanked me for it! You are redeemed baby, you're my good whore. Good whores get rewards” he gestured down and looking the way he gestured, you saw he was hard again “Come sit on daddy’s dick!” You made your way back onto Hank and were about to work down his cock when he grabbed your hips “Slowly, so you can appreciate all my length, every vein down to the base.” You nodded and slowly sunk down, moaning at how big Hank was, you never really recognised before today that he had probably one of the best cocks in the world.

You began to work yourself into a slow pace, taking Hank’s blissed out face into full view “Fuck! This is some good old love making!” Hank grabbed your hips as he began to match your pace. You lowered yourself down to Hank, kissing him as he began to pick up the pace. You moved back grabbing his pecs as you continued to ride his cock. You began to tease Hank’s nipples making him groan “Oh fuck yes. That’s right Y/N work them over.” You now began to increase the pace, the fuck becoming faster. The air was thick with moans as you both fucked hard and needily.

You knew that Hank wouldn’t last long so you planned to make his next orgasm the best he’d ever had. You set a spinning rhythm causing him to cry out in pleasure. “Fuck babe, that’s so good!” Hank grabbed your cock and began to stroke it in time with your pace. The burning lustful senaation started in your stomach and you knew you were long gone to try and edge. Letting out a short “Hank, I’m cumming!” You shot all over his chest “Oh fuck! Man, that’s a lot!” Sensative but still wanting Hank to shoot, you moved rougher, your sensitive walls closing in on his cock “Fuck! Keep this up and I’ll fucking cum!” “Do it daddy, shoot in your whore’s ass!” At this, Hank lost all composure, grabbing you, he worked your pace even harder, you turning into even more of a moaning wreck “Yeah! Good whore! Daddy’s gonna fucking cum slut! Take all of it! OH FUCK!” Hank let out a powerful guttural lustful scream as he shot load after load. You grinning as the warm sensation filled you up.

“Jesus Christ! That was incredible!” Hank said as you fell next to him. “Yeah, we’ve fucked in every single room now right?” “Yeah, the rug in the lounge room has never been the same, I had to toss it for a new one.” You grimaced “Sorry about that.” You responded. Hank laughed while shaking his head “Don’t be, it was amazing. This was undisputedly the best fuck I’ve ever had, everything fell into place.” Hank shifted forwards “Fuck I’ve gotta piss.” You didn’t want Hank to leave however so with a wild idea in your head you grabbed him “Hank, maybe we could incorperate that.” “Like piss play? I’ve never done it before.” “Wow, I’ve found something even the great Hank Moody hasn’t tried.” “Fuck it” he groaned “But you’re washing the sheets later.” “Deal” you grinned.

Hank stood above you, cock pointed at your face “Ready?” He asked, you nodded your head and without any complaint he let go, a thick stream of gold piss cascading onto you “Oh fuck!” You moaned, the sensation was warm, you wanted to cover yourself completely in it “Oh yeah, this is fucking awesome.” Hank said, clearly loving your enthusiasm. A while later the stream stopped “That’s all I have.” Hank looked regretfully down at you “No matter.” You grinned “Thanks Hank.” Hank crawled back down, kissing you deep. Rolling around in your favourite author’s piss and kissing said author was not where you’d expected to be, but you’d gotten more adventurous as of late, now nothing was off the table.

#Hank Moody #Male Reader #Hank Moody x Male Reader #Hank Moody Smut #Californication #Californication Smut #Californication: Reloaded

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holylulusworld · 4 years

Text

Still a bad girl

Summary: Still sneaking around to play the cat burglar you get caught by a certain Avenger again.

Pairing: Nomad!Steve Rogers x Criminal!Reader

Warnings: language, the reader is a brat, snarky comments, smut, unprotected sex, restraints (ropes), somnophilia (oral female receiving), dirty talk

A/N: Not endgame compliant. Steve is still Nomad!Steve.

Sequel to: Bad Girl

Dividers by @writeyourmindaway

“There you are, sweetheart,” snickering you pick the lock of the vitrine. Engrossed in getting the job done you feel a shadow behind you. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Rogers.”

“I knew you would go after Russow to steal his wife’s diamond necklace,” Steve quips, proud on himself he was two steps ahead again. “Just give up and follow me, doll.”

“That bastard sells people, Steve! He’s involved in human trafficking, just like his prissy wife,” you narrow your eyes when Steve tries to grasp for your arm. “I have to hit him where it hurts the most. His greedy wife loves that necklace.”

“Y/N, he’s a dangerous man, doll. Let me get hold of him and take his business down. Tony and Natasha are on it,” Steve offers but you roll your eyes, cracking your neck.

“Whilst they try to reverse the snap? I highly doubt they find the time to help people who suffer meanwhile,” concentrating on picking the lock you ignore Steve is watching you. “No one gives a shit on the poor girls getting sold or anyone else.”

“I do, Y/N. Let me punish Russow and we can go home,” you scoff at the word ‘home’, glaring at Steve who still tries to talk you out of the heist you planned.

“I got no home, Captain Rogers. The first time I lost my home was after the snap. A cold-hearted bastard I paid rent to for over six years kicked me out. I never paid too late, but the snap happened and suddenly, I was a cockroach to him. Then I finally had a new home and you came along. I had to run again, thanks for that.”

“I meant my home, doll. You can home with me,” pleadingly looking at you Steve holds out his hand. “I can still just throw you over my shoulder.”

“That man, he deserves to feel the pain he causes every single day, Steve. How can you stand there and tell me to not steal his wife’s necklace to sell it?” you purse your lips jerking your head toward the large safe opposite Steve. “He makes money by abusing and selling people. I want to help the girls escaping him and the orphanage too. There is an elder lady who will end on the street if she does not pay her landlord.”

“Doll, I’ll do anything to bring him down but please come with me, now,” you can hear tumult outside of the room. “We don’t have time. The team will be here in a few moments and arrest you.”

Just now you recognize the worried look on Steve’s features so you nod, glancing at the necklace one last time. “Another time, beautiful,” you sigh, taking the hand Steve offers.

“Did you come here to save me, Captain Rogers?” giggling you sneak out of the window. Steve does not answer your question, busy to follow you out of the window without getting caught. “Steve?”

“Maybe. I had to protect my bad girl after all,” you would kiss him if not for the messed-up heist. “Now be good and come with me, darling. My bike is over there,” Steve jerks his head toward the bike, and you nod, running toward his vehicle.

“This doesn’t make up for the month without sex, Rogers,” Steve jumps onto the bike, holding out his hand again. “Always the gentleman.”

“That’s not gentlemanlike,” tugging at the ropes holding you to the headboard you curse under your breath. “Steven Grant Rogers! You can’t just undress a girl, eat her out only to restrain her to your fucking bed.”

“You look good on my bed, Y/N,” Steve purrs, running his hands down your back. You shiver at the gentle touch, knowing you are at the mercy of a super-soldier. “Love to watch you squirm for me.”

A slap to your ass later Steve has your full attention. “Maybe I need to tame my little greedy kitty-cat again? I think you need to feel justice in your bones.” You know what comes next, but nothing can ever prepare you for Steve’s cock nudging at your slick entrance.

“You’re justice in rusty armor,” you grin to yourself. You do not have to turn around to know Steve has an angry expression on his face. The way he grips your hips with one rough hand to slide into you tells you the whole story.

“You’re still a bad girl, but you are my bad girl from now on,” the dark undertone let a shiver run down your spine. There is no denying, you love his dominant side. “I’ll play with you tonight and you’ll be my good girl.”

“Good girl my,” you cry out feeling his length spread you open with one harsh stroke. You pant, struggling to keep the noises you want to make for the golden boy down your throat, “ass.”

Shame on you for mewling like a cat in heat, but who gives a fuck when Captain America uses you like a rag doll.

His hips move without giving you time to adjust, one hand forces your head into the cushions, presses hard down your neck whilst his other hand holds your hip in an iron grip. “I think you need to feel me for days.”

“I already feel you,” huffing you try to meet his thrusts, but your body is completely at his mercy. “Boy, you can make a girl feel special.”

“Special, that’s what you are,” Steve smirks hearing the needy whines leave your lips. He is slowing down now, pulling all the way out to enjoy your struggle to breathe when he pushes back in with full force.

“Look at you,” he is pulling out, “such a needy kitten,” and pushes back in, “mine,” and out, and in without breaking a sweat.

Your body slicks for him, almost begs for it to go on or to be over soon. While you moan, struggling against the ropes holding you Steve has a smug grin on his lips.

“Do you want to cum for your Captain?”

“Yes, fucking yes,” you whine, feeling the knot tightening. “Please, baby.”

“How did you call me, doll? I want to hear a proper title,” you grunt, wiggling in his grip. “It’s not that hard.”

“I…,” hating you have to give in to get your release you press your face into the soft pillow, “want to cum, Captain.”

“That’s a good girl, now cum for me,” his hand moves between your legs to rub your clit in slow circles. His touch is tender but the way his hips slam into your ass with raw force let you know he’s still pissed. “Now.”

“I hate,” brain wrecked you whimper his name, followed by insults as the high ripples through your body. Steve’s hot release fills your womb and you groan, exhausted but sated. “you.”

When you slowly wake from a deep slumber there is something wet lapping at your cunt, a low groan followed by two rough hands spreading your legs wider wake you completely as another orgasm wrecks your body.

“Steve,” you throw your head back, feeling his fingers slide into you to feel you pulse around him. “What was that?”

“Breakfast in bed,” grinning Steve looks up at you from between your legs. “I got hungry and didn’t find what I want to eat in the fridge so…I licked your sweet cunt.”

“Steve, what are we doing here?” You cover your eyes with one arm, sighing deeply. “You’re Mr. Justice and I am still a thief.”

“You stole from the rich and gave it to people needing help. The ones no one else tried to help,” Steve gives you a soft smile, placing something cool onto your belly. “I got you something.”

Slowly removing the arm from your eyes you look down your body to see the diamond necklace on your stomach. “How did you get this, Steve?”

“I sneaked out last night and asked Natasha for help,” now a blush creeps into Steve’s cheeks. “I am more the ‘I run through a wall kind of guy’,Nat can pick a lock and things.”

“You went back to get it,” you squeal, grasping the necklace before you throw yourself into Steve’s arms. “You know, this makes you my accomplice, Captain Rogers.”

“I know, doll,” husking the words Steve feels your hand creep into his sweatpants. “Y/N,” hissing your name he watches you lick your lips.

“I think, this screams for the best blowjob ever,” you drop the necklace to fist Steve’s shirt, bringing him down for a dirty kiss.”

“Erm-uh,” someone clears his throat behind Steve’s back, smirking as you do not remove your hand from your lover’s pants. “I hate to disturb you Capsicle but I think Bruce and I had a breakthrough last night. Maybe, just maybe we can undo the blip…”

All works Tags

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

Marvel Tags

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

Steve Rogers/Chris Evans Tags

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#Still a bad girl #steve rogers x criminal!reader #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfiction #smut #steve x reader #steve x y/n #steve x you #captain america #captain america fanfic #captain america oneshot #captain america x reader

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mychemicalficrecs · 4 years

Note

any fics with a mind link or something? telepathic communication is cool as hell man

Not a lot of mind link but a lot of mind reading :’D

Telepathy

until the end, until this blood by MistressKat, Gerard/Mikey, 21k, Explicit. "The long-term outcomes of this group depend on the age of onset, the length of the initial SOC (sensory overload coma) and, most importantly, on how quickly a successful bond can be formed. Across the eighteen studies reviewed, the cohorts on average demonstrated a 95% survival rate if guide bond was established within first four weeks, declining to less than 50% at six months and steadily thereafter. Reflecting the circumstances, the subsequent sentinel-guide pairs are likely to be atypical, and often require an extended period of adjustment. The policy implications are significant. The authors recommend a full scale audit of the current screening processes, to increase the likelihood of early detection. Further research into the experiences of late onset sentinels and their bonded guides should focus on identifying the best practice in sanctuary support." - Finch, H., Keele, A., & Warner, E. (2017). A Systematic Review on Late Onset Sentinels: Risk Factors, Protective Factors and Outcomes. International Journal of Sentinel Studies, 39(2): 773-804.

(Not Your) Superman Tonight by torakowalski, Bob/Brian, 37k, Explicit. Brian scratches his neck. "This is the NSA," he says, "The National Security Administration. They're feds." Bob raises his eyebrows, all no, really? Brian winces. "They employ telepaths. Like Asher and-" me. He can't say it. He folds his arms. "It's not as weird as it sounds."

Guess It's Half Timing (The Other Half's Luck) by torakowalski, Bob/Brian, 885 words, General Audiences. "Jesus," Bob says, rubbing at his beard with the palm of his hand. It's a nervous tick that he only usually gives in to when shit is really hitting the fan. "No, I can't hear His thoughts," Brian says because, well, why not.

Iron the Kinks Out by bootson, Brendon Urie/Mikey, 4k, Teen And Up Audiences. Brendon's almost used to having someone else taking over part of his mind.

Mind Over Matter by orphan_account, Mikey/Pete, Gerard/Mikey/Pete, 3k, Explicit. Pete laughs, but Mikey can tell he’s nervous. “Fine,” he says. “Do something psychic. Levitate my TV or some shit.” “It’s not like that,” Gerard pipes up indignantly. “That’s telekinesis, asshole.”

Love Song for a Vampire by tuesdaysgone, Frank/Gerard, 3k, Explicit. ...They are entirely alone, and Gerard has been too preoccupied to even sate his thirst, and he is HUNGRY...

Trope Meme Ficlets by alpheratz, Gerard & Mikey, 626 words, pg. Gerard+Mikey (gen) telepathy, pg

Socks by Gorgeous Nerd (gorgeousnerd), Bob/Gerard, 133 words, Teen And Up Audiences. Gerard needs Bob to think more quietly.

Out Of My Head by ladyfoxxx, Frank/Gerard, 2k, Explicit. Gerard keeps having vivid, sexual dreams about Frank. It's a problem.

The Umbrella Academy of Superheroes. by unorthodox_anthology, Frank/Gerard, 7k, Not Rated. Gerard Way was special. Gerard knew this – he’d known this since he’d turned thirteen and he started to flicker in and out of visibility. It freaked him the fuck out the first time it happened. Chilling in your room, jacking off and them BAMM! You’re invisible. But once he got over the shock, he had his mum enrolee him so he could attend the Umbrella Academy – a school for people from around the world who had ‘gifts’ the same as Gerard’s, gifts that made them supers.

The Pros and Cons of Dating a Telepath by panicparade, Ryan Ross/Mikey Way, 12k, General Audiences. He clenched his fists at his side and tried to think of anything other than how badly he wanted to strangle Mikey Way. It sucked that his worst enemy in the entire world was also one of the strongest telepaths in the country and while Ryan wasn’t scared of him (not even a little bit.), his brother’s best friend was Bob Bryar and Ryan felt no shame in admitting that Bob Bryar scared the living shit out of him.

The Heart You Need by orphan_account, Frank/Gerard, 92k, Explicit. How the Killjoys became the Killjoys. ...if the Killjoys were telepathic space pirates. (Featuring superheroes and sidekicks, sneaky illegal activities after dark, broken hearts and bitter grudges, and a whole lot of get up and go.)

Mutant!Verse by casesandcapitals, Frank/Gerard, 75k, Mature. Brian Schechter's School For The Gifted is opening in September, but Gerard doesn't want to go. He hates it when people make fun of his giant bat wings or fawn over his much more talented little brother. But Gerard finds that he loves being at school with other mutants who make him feel normal, especially his roommate Frank. But all is not as it seems and soon students begin to go missing...

Looking for Satellites by fleurdeliser, tuesdaysgone, Grant/Gerard, Lindsey/Gerard, 26k, Explicit. Galaxy-hopping alien trader Gerard has business on space station Perseus Four. Getting to know station administrator Grant is a nice bonus.

Use Weapons of Clairvoyance by truantway (kittyjosh), Frank/Gerard, 1k, Mature. Gerard Way is stuck in Calculus and begins daydreaming about the cute guy who sits behind him. Then the shit hits the fan. Based on that tumblr prompt 'Person A is thinking weird/sexual thoughts, thinks 'cough if you can read my mind', Person B coughs' or something along those lines.

Unexpected Thoughts by BlackRoses_23, Frank/Gerard, 3k [WIP], Mature. Frank can read minds. Everything starts when he reads Gerard's mind and he listens to some inappropiate thoughts of him.

To Hear From You Again by whisperfade, Frank/Gerard, 408 words, General Audiences. A fluffy mind-reading AU for trope bingo

Ones and Zeros by GloomxBoy, Frank/Gerard, 7k [WIP], Teen And Up Audiences. Gerard Way is the best agent in the business. His secret? He can read everyone’s mind. Well, he thought he could, until he meets the infamous Frank Iero. Aside from not being able to read his mind, Frank was mysterious, cunning, and dangerously good-looking. He may seem like a mess, but his disarrayed actions always contribute to a bigger picture. He was the perfect person to drive Gerard insane. No one knew how difficult this mission would be, especially not Gerard. To remain the best agent, he must figure out all of Frank’s secrets and he only has 3 weeks to do so.

Voices by shadowhive, Gerard/Mikey, 3k, Explicit. Mikey goes to visit his brother in New York, not realising its going to change things forever.

#bob/brian #mikey/pete #gerard/mikey/pete #frank/gerard #gerard & mikey #bob/gerard #grant/gerard #lindsey/gerard #gerard/mikey #fic rec list #telepathy

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hisgirlwonder · 5 years

Text

Wicked Games - Part Two

Length: 3.5K words Warning: Adultery I guess? Synopsis: Every lawyer is given a case they would rather not work on and you’re no exception to this. Someone you know all too well ends up being your latest client, how will you cope under the pressure? You’re the best of the best in the world of law but you are, after all, only human. Notes: Thanks for your patience!! Here is the eagerly awaited/requested part two. First part is here. Hope you enjoy! (also hope this isn’t too rubbish ahaha the first one is pretty smutty but I have a couple of ideas for this storyline)

“Where the fuck is he?” you exclaim out loud. Duncan is half an hour late this morning and you were less than impressed. It was one thing to have to deal with a man who had a penchant for acting like a teenager but it’s another thing entirely when you’re painfully attracted to this person in the worst way possible.

Part of you wished he wouldn’t come back and you could ignore his existence forever but, unfortunately, you don’t have a chance. The door opens and speak of the Devil. You complain about the punctuality and hoped he could see you were pissed off by his inability to take anything seriously. He tries to pull some kind of cute shit by pouting like a five-year-old and he puts the carry tray of drinks he’s holding down. He takes one of the cups out of the tray, ignoring what you said, and slides it over to you.

“Mocha, soy milk, no sugar.”

It’s amazing he actually remembered what you liked since he seemed to use less than 30% if of his brain while in your office. You push the cup over to one side to show him you’re not playing. You question him, “Are we going to have a repeat performance of yesterday?”

“Depends,” he taunts, tonguing the back of his teeth with his tongue.

“On what?”

“On if you’ll go out to dinner with me.”

“God, are you for real?”

“Maybe you can touch me and then you’ll see how real I am.”

“Everything is a joke to you, isn’t it?”

The need for coffee is too strong and you give in, sipping on the warm beverage, brows furrowed because Duncan knew the way to get to you. Between mouthfuls, you ask if he’s aware of what exactly he’s being charged with but it’s as if he hasn’t got a care in the world when he’s giving more attention to his phone and tells you that’s why he has you.

You put up a fight that he has you because nobody else wanted the case. Why would anyone want to deal with him? He was blatantly guilty. He begins laughing at what you just said and you suddenly felt very self-conscious.

“Wow, that’s the best thing I’ve heard so far today. I paid for you. You’re mine.”

The word mine rolled off the tongue far too easily and left you feeling disgusted. He continues to provoke you, pressing about whether or not you’ll go, and you don’t hold back in shooting him dirty looks. It’s obvious he’s pleased with himself and confirms that he’ll pick you around 7pm. You’re unimpressed, to say the least.

The end of the day couldn’t come fast enough because today had been pointless once again except this time it was worse. You knew exactly why you were appointed as his lawyer and it left a bad taste in your mouth. Your colleagues didn’t even try to offer the case to anyone else like they usually do; they just left it to you because that idiot paid them.

You lock the office door and decide to call Michael on the way to your car. It went to voicemail and you knew he must have been still busy at work. You leave a message explaining how you need to miss dinner but you’ll fill him in when you get home.

You’re unable to escape Duncan because you get to the car and see him standing there. He needed your address for tonight but you’d hoped he wasn’t serious about the proposition. You walk around him, unlock the car and throw your bag into the car before sitting down and putting the keys in the ignition. “Yeah, you’re right. It must have slipped my mind while you were insinuating I’m your own prostitute.”

You try to pull the door shut but Duncan has it firmly inside his hand, holding it open, leaving you with no chance to escape. He attempts to be slick and comment on how he figured you’d enjoy two friends catching up over dinner but he just made you feel greasy. You snap back, informing him the two of you aren’t friends in the same tone you’d call out someone’s bullshit in court. Usually, this makes the person receiving it crawl back into their own hole but not Duncan; you pushed him and he pulled you closer to him, snarling about how you were so much more.

This seemed like a battle you couldn’t win nor would Duncan leave unless you did as he said so you held out his phone and put your address in. You hand it back but it wasn’t without great effort on your own part – you wanted to smash it out of sheer frustration. He looks over the details, calculating in his head how far exactly you are from him and his mouth form into a smirk. It felt like he was rubbing salt into the wound over the small victory.

“I’ll see you at seven. Wear something you know I’d like.”

“Mikey?” you yell out as you’re taking off your jacket and slipping out of your heels. No reply. You remembered Michael had already mentioned he’d be working late as you’re walking to the kitchen to find a snack to sate the growing hunger you were feeling. After searching the cupboards, you can’t find anything that interests you so you sit down at the counter and take a peach from the fruit bowl.

Your phone is vibrating on the kitchen counter and you hit answer, putting him on speaker phone. Michael wanted to check in to make sure you were okay. You give him a brief explanation and Michael defuses the stress by reminding you that you were in charge. His exact words were put on a pretty dress and play along with him.

When you explain that Duncan rubs you the wrong way, of course, he suggests that maybe you can get him to rub you the right way. You painfully tell him you’d try to enjoy yourself but no promises. The two of you said your goodbyes and you hang up the call. It takes only a moment for what Michael said to sink in and you rush to the bedroom because you knew exactly what you were going to wear.

Once you’re ready and waiting in the living room, anxiety strikes hard and you took a moment out to try and breathe in oxygen before answering the door.

Duncan stood before you looking annoyingly handsome and grins when he sees you. He wastes no time in complimenting how good you look and butterflies are whirring around inside your gut. You won’t show him the effect he has and instead brushing the hair away from your face, asking if you can go already. He holds the remote above his shoulder, pointing it back to his car but refusing to take his eyes off you. He hits one of the buttons on his remote and his car makes a noise. “Sure we can.”

After you’ve locked the outside door you walk over to him waiting at the car, holding a door open. You dip down to get into the car and joke about how you didn’t know he was a gentleman. Duncan reminds you that there’s a lot you don’t know and he shuts the door then walks around to his side of the car.

He’s sitting down next to you and you become surprised at the details emerging that you hadn’t noticed before. His hands are straightening up the mirror and you can’t seem to look away. Duncan smirks because he can feel you on him and comments, “I know you’re busy looking at me but can you please put on your belt.”

Your cheeks become flushed and expose the embarrassment you were feeling because he was right; you were stuck eyeing this being before you that you didn’t recognise. The Duncan you knew was chauvinistic and pigheaded and refused to help anyone besides himself. This Duncan held doors open for you and who knew what else the night would bring.

He puts a hand on the back of your chair and turns to look out the back window while he reverses down the driveway. You come to terms with the fact it wasn’t lawyer and client but two adults going out for dinner and you felt nervous but luckily the conversation flows easily between the two of you.

The topic of you being dolled up for another man comes up and you explain to him that Michael suggested you spend time together. Duncan laughs because he finds it somewhat unbelievable and you make up an excuse that Michael thinks the two of you need to get along since you’ll be working side by side on the case. A reminder of the Duncan you know pops out when he comments about how well the two you get along in his head.

You cross your arms in annoyance and huff at him. “Why do you have to be like this, Duncan? Aren’t you worried about how people are going to perceive you?”

“Not particularly. I haven’t found anyone worth my time.”

Hearing those words stung and it was almost as if you wanted to be the one worth this time.

With the car parked and locked, Duncan brings you down a street full of restaurants you’re familiar with and you stop outside one in particular that has a waiting list for reservations. You pull at his jacket and tell him he’s not making an idiot out of you. After all, trying to get in there at the last minute was foolish. You’re dumbfounded for a moment when your brain puts two and two together and come to the conclusion he planned this in advance. He’s standing by the front door waiting for you and grinning like an idiot at the look upon your face. You shoot him a frown as you walk past. “I can’t believe you, Duncan Shepherd.”

The memories come flooding back as soon as you get inside because this was the place you two met. You’re waiting in the entrance for someone to come over and it wasn’t long before one does - his name badge says Marco and it seems as if he and Duncan are friends of some kind the way they greet each other. You weren’t surprised because Duncan was well-known by many, many people and a lot of them would bend over backwards for him.

You walk behind, passing the tables of other people dining, until you get to the end of the room and there’s a door. Marco holds it open and Duncan follows through with you a few paces behind. The room behind the door appears to be lit with mood lighting and also candles on the table. You gingerly walk over and you’re unaware of how you were meant to feel because this whole act resembled something Michael would do for you; the complete opposite of anything you knew about Duncan.

Just as you’re about to ask him a question, it’s as if Duncan reads your mind when he advises you he invited you because you work too hard and it’s a thank you for helping him. You think he’s sorely mistaken. “Helping you? I don’t know what you think has gone on but we’ve gotten nowhere with your case because you keep distracting me from it.”

You pick up your menu and attempt to read it but the names were in Italian so you had no idea what you were getting. One dish, in particular, took your appeal – something that sounded very familiar like you’d eaten it before. You didn’t dare ask Duncan what the name of it was. He peers over the menu he’s holding to look at you and shoots a truth your way that you were trying to ignore. “I’m sure that’s not the only thing you’re distracted with.”

He folds the menu in his hand and puts it on the table. You hide behind your own to hide the fact you were blushing again at his words.

It was clear Duncan wasn’t good at admitting his feelings but he did it for you anyway. “Y/N, you just remind me of a better time in my life.”

When the heat dissipates from your cheeks, you bring the menu down and place it on the table beside you as well. “Oh right, one where you’re not breaking the law?”

“Something like that.”

He hid it well but that wasn’t at all what he meant.

Marco returns with some kind of wine on ice and you thought to yourself that Duncan had pulled out all the stops. You weren’t much of an aficionado when it came to anything alcoholic like that because you preferred spirits but you could appreciate it all the same. He pours two glasses and asks if the two of you are ready to order to which you say yes. You open up your menu again and point to the fifth meal under what you presume is the dinner. Marco makes a mental note and takes the menus before leaving.

You were somewhat confused why Duncan didn’t order anything but you weren’t surprised if he’d already picked what he was going to eat when he’d called the restaurant. Your eyes catch Duncan taking a sip of his drink and you begin to salivate when you imagine the liquid hitting his tongue and travelling down his throat; giving life to his tastebuds the way other things would.

He puts the glass down and moves to lean on his elbow, resting his chin in the L shape of bent fingers, biting at his lips before telling you how incredible you looked. You tried to deflect the comments and remain cool all the while your cheeks were burning as you blushed; hopefully unnoticeable under the makeup you were wearing.

Duncan calls you out and tells you to stop being feisty so you can enjoy the evening. You sink back into your chair a little. He was right you were worked up and he’d obviously gone to an effort to organise the evening but how could you not be when every time you were around him he was a complete fool?

While waiting for the food to arrive, the reminiscing about the past begins and the conversation varies in topics such as how you got into law, about your marriage, and why Duncan hasn’t settled down. It was fair to say that there was definitely more than meets the eye when it came to him but you were still hesitant to believe he could be anything other than a jackass you’d met all those years ago.

Apparently, you’d both gotten lost in the conversation because the food arrives. Marco places yours down then Duncan’s and they exchange a nod before Marco says to enjoy your meal and leaves. Duncan sees you both ordered the same thing and wastes no time in commenting how you have good taste; both a compliment and a playful tease. You take the cutlery in your hands and begin cutting into the chicken breast on your plate – as you’d expect, cooked to perfection and the heavenly aroma fills your nostrils as you’re cutting into it.

You take a mouthful and begin to chew. It’s so delicious. You’ve almost forgotten how amazing fine dining is because the last meal you ate was just some sushi from the corner shop near work. Duncan’s watching you closely, practically salivating himself as he stares at your lips. “It’s good, isn’t it?” He wasn’t talking about the food.

Unable to say anything, your eyes roll in enjoyment and you make a gesture with your hand to tell him how good exactly you thought it was. Duncan being the man that he was and unable to miss a chance to provoke you admits he’s always wondered what you looked like doing that but you refuse to let him have his moment and continue eating. When he realises you won’t budge he picks up his knife and fork to follow suit. The two of you stay quiet, enjoying your meal, and only taking breaks to sip at your drinks from time to time.

You place the cutlery down on your plate, almost gobsmacked at how good it was.

“I’d ask you if you enjoyed that but I could see by the look on your face that you did.”

He wasn’t completely wrong but he also wasn’t completely right because Seeing Duncan before you eating things did something to you. Before you could give it a second thought, you could hear your phone vibrating. You dive into your bag and pull it out; looking phone to see that its Michael – his name makes you smile and you reply back about how you’ll be home soon.

Duncan interrupts you and brings you back to the present moment, asking if it was your husband. You tease him, telling him that Michael said he’ll send out a search party followed by a retraction of your comment admitting he actually said he hoped you were having a nice time. It was blatant to see that you were doing just that and that the icy layer towards Duncan had melted a little. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol going to your head but you took it regardless because was nice not to feel so tense around him.

Duncan holds out his glass. “To you winning my case and us getting better acquainted.”

You had a sneaking suspicion the latter part was going to happen in more ways than just dinner in a private room but after tonight that didn’t bother you. You two clink glasses in a celebration for unknowingly what’s to come. For the first time, being under his gaze didn’t make your skin crawl. You gave him free reign to soak up every inch of you and cheekily relished in it.

“I just want to say thanks for inviting me. Which way is the ladies?”

“The door over to my left will lead you into a hallway then just follow the signs.”

After relieving yourself and washing your hands, you’re standing in the bathroom and looking at yourself in the mirror. You knew you looked nice and knew exactly why Duncan said what he said but it was still a foreign feeling to have another man besides Michael eyeing up your body.

You flatten out the dress you were wearing and tidied up your hair before walking out of the bathroom into the hallway and on your way back to Duncan - Duncan wasn’t at the table though because he was waiting outside the bathroom.

“You really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that. I almost walked into you.”

Duncan would usually have a smart ass remark prepared but not this time. This time he says nothing. All you feel is a hand caressing at one of your cheeks which sends shivers trailing down your spine and goosebumps pricking at your skin. He thumbs over the supple skin of your cheek and his want is searing on you through his blues.

Before you can think what to do next, he’s already a step ahead and swoops in to meet your lips with his. It feels strangely familiar as you two kiss and you try to hold back but he senses it; grabbing a fist full of hair and tugging at your locks to tell you it’s okay. You become weak under the strength of your own arousal and desire for him and a moan escapes out of your mouth into his. He breaks the kiss momentarily to smile because he knows he has you right where he wants you; in his grasp, under his thumb. Duncan collects himself and the kiss resumes with growing intensity.

You lose yourself in the passion but as quickly as the kiss started it’s gone. He pulls away and leaves you in a bind, wanting more. He’s holding your face between a thumb and fingers while playfully clucking his tongue at you reeling in the exposing of your attraction.

“My oh my. We are a naughty girl, aren’t we?”

Taglist: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sensitivethot @sacredlangdon @sammythankyou @taintedaffairs @langdonsdemon @wroteclassicaly @queencocoakimmie @1-800-bitchcraft @violett124 @moltenskeleton // Also adding in: @apocalyptvc @prettybabylana

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