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thevirgincherry · 5 months

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JINGLE BALLS !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. p in v, daddy-daughter incest, leon is creepy ngl, dub-con at first then consensual, daddy issues, you get compared to your mom lots, creampie, daddy kink

note. HAII sorry for this being late omg :3 umm this is weird and jolty and the plot im not totally happy with but :333 ignore typos or I will cry!! feedback and reblogs always so appreciated :3

tumblr removes fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that these fics contain dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

“Pumpkin!” Your dad’s embrace is stiff per usual. This guy - he seriously needs a lesson in intimacy. Can’t go hugging your daughter the same way you do a girlfriend. Dads shouldn’t put their hands below your midriff. They certainly shouldn’t grip your hips and pull you close with such fervour, now you’re tit to tit with the man who gifted you your pornstar rack. And it’s a bit awkward to say the very least.

“Hi, dad.” He backs off, skittish when he hears your tone of voice. Flat and clipped.

“Sweetpea, I’m so glad you’re here,” Leon starts, he’s laying it on super thick, “We’re gonna have a lot of fun.” Oh, you’re exhausted already.

“Mhm.” You nod in disinterest as you toe off your shoes, place them beside his mud-caked boots. Leon is your dad. Your dad is just a guy to you. One that’s around never, you see him seldom and from afar. He’s not exactly awful, but he’s nothing great. A little touchy if anything, and enthusiastic in a way that comes across as disingenuous.

The only thing you really know about Leon is that he’s your dad, he works with the government, and he’s still hung up on your mom. You can tell from a mile away. Looks at her like she crafted the earth itself, mapped out the stars, plucked them from the sky to make him a new moon. Totally whipped for a woman who forgets he exists until major holidays roll around. And you get it honestly, your mom is pretty, fun, and she’s all you’ve got. So you might take after dad in that sense.

You’ve seen the kinda women he brings home. That time you caught him mid disgusting, nasty, abhorrent sex act that you’ve only seen in porn. Had this poor girl’s head tilted so far back, blonde curls like liquid gold running along her back, brushing the swell of her ass, his arm wrapped around her neck - like, was he trying to fucking kill her? Well, she liked it clearly. That’s beside the point, when you saw her face the following morning, her sheepish smile and the slant of her eyes - you got it. Mom. She looked like mom. You overheard him telling her she was too young for him, a college girl, his daughter’s age - only after he came down her throat though. What a creep.

Then there was his girlfriend from a few years back, this chick who popped her gum too loud, bossed him around and got him to pay for a new set of acrylics weekly. It was uncanny the resemblance between her and mom. What next? You? Is it your turn to be pursued by Leon, by dad? The only thing you’ve got from him is tits, busty like your daddy, pretty like your mommy. And he fucking knows it. You know he does.

Leon places a hand on your lower back. Like, way lower back, the spot a boyfriend would touch when he wants to initiate a quickie. You shiver, glance at him through your peripheral as he guides you to the lounge, the wooden floor is so cold you feel it through the fabric of your winter socks. This dude is loaded and he can’t even get heated floors installed? Not even for lil ol’ you? His daughter? The one that resembles his one true love?

There’s a red box that contains a gingerbread house sitting on the coffee table, you groan inwardly. Here we go with the bonding activities, it’s so forced it makes your skin crawl. His Christmas tree is, well, it’s a tree alright, crudely and hastily decorated with a sparse amount of baubles and god-awful paper crafts you gave to him as a toddler. Aw, the sentiment is there though, kinda cute. You’ll cut dad some slack.

By the time midnight rolls around, you realise cutting dad even the slightest bit of slack was a mistake. “Take that off.” You jab a finger into his stomach, met with sinewy, toughened flesh. Woah, dad’s still got it going on. “It’s ugly, and I’m not twelve, dad.”

“Moving fast.” Leon - your dad, biological, held you as a baby, rocked you to sleep at night - wiggles his eyebrows at you. All while dressed in a Santa suit by the way, ‘cause that is one very important piece of information. He looks fucking ridiculous. It’s the same one he used to pull out when you were a kid, back when you actually gave a shit about him, what he thought about you, whether he even wanted you. ‘Cause if your daddy wanted you, why was he away so often? Told mom to jingle his balls once, an unsavoury recurring memory that you’d like to forget.

“Oh, dad, that’s actually really concerning, like, I’m not gonna lie.” You frown at him so hard the wrinkles that form on your forehead become permanent. “Don’t say that to me.”

“I was messing around.” He defends, “Christ, what is up with you today? Got a stick up your ass or somethin’? Y’know, in my day, kids used to be able to take jokes.” Now he’s pouting like a toddler in a sour mood.

“That was not a joke, dad!” You don’t mean to raise your voice, but it happens and within seconds he’s sat on the couch dejected. This fucking dude. Ugh. He’s pathetic. How did he manage to bag a hottie like your mom?

“I just want you to love me, sweetheart.” Here we go again. Leon sighs hopelessly as he slumps back into the cushions, and you can’t take him seriously when he’s wearing a fucking Santa hat.

“I do love you, dad.” And you do. Honest. Really. Like, pinky promise. You love him out of obligation - he’s your dad, and you’re meant to love your dad. Doesn’t mean you like him though. In your very objective-totally-not-biased view, your dad is just a bit unlikeable. A bit of a strange one.

“Yeah?” He lightens up, “You love me?” God, it’s like he gets off on it. Oh, you’re just being mean now. You scoot closer to him, lean in for an awkward side hug.

“I do, dad. I love you.” You don’t have the courage to look at him. Leon’s arm snakes around your waist, and you know what’s coming. How much do you love me?

“How much do you love me?” Called it. Up until now it’s been a harmless question, but when you face him, gaze flitting from his eyes to his nose to his lips, the general wear and tear of his aged face - it’s different. This time you won’t be able to get away with the regular bout of flattery, wax poetry about how much you love him, how you wouldn’t want anyone else but him to be your daddy. When in reality, you’d swap out Leon for any poor sod. They wouldn’t leave you hanging so damn often.

“A lot, dad.” You turn your head to roll your eyes, getting it out of your system proves worthy, now you can plaster your mommy’s smile onto your face, the one he loves so much. “So much, you know that, don’t you?”

“Just don’t seem like it, pumpkin.” Leon gives you a sideways glance, “I’m trying… I wanna make it up to you, y’know? For how much I was away.”

“Dad, you don’t have to do that. I’m over it.” You’re not. But, you’re good at pretending you are. “I don’t need you to make it up to me.” You do. Oh, you so do. You need it to a devastating degree. “Like, I’m not a kid, I don’t want Santa, and I don’t wanna make fuckin’ gingerbread houses, or watch Home Alone-“

“What, so you’re a big girl now?” He tilts his head to the side, there’s an edge to his voice that’s hard to decipher. Don’t know if it’s good or bad.

“Well, I’m not little anymore, dad.” You gasp when he tries to take a subtle glimpse down your shirt.

“I can see that.” Leon pokes his tongue into the corner of his cheek.

“Yeah, and I saw that!” When you go to stand, his grip becomes almost crushing, wanting to hold you in place so badly. For a moment it’s scary, only for a moment, this is just dad. Just Leon. He’s harmless. As lame as he is, your dad wouldn’t hurt you.

“I didn’t do nothing, baby, c’mere, don’t be like that.” Dad pets your head, and it reminds you of your childhood bedroom. “I’m sorry, alright? I never spent Christmas with just you, and I wanted to make it good for you.”

“I know, dad, and I appreciate it, just don’t need you to get all weird about it. Like, we can just— we can just be normal about it. Don’t have to do all this shit, I just want us to be normal.” Normal, huh? Neither of you can do normal, and you’re fully aware of that. ‘Cause your dad is a freak, and you can’t exactly drain Kennedy blood all that easy. You’ll be your father’s daughter even when he’s dead. “Like, I really, I really can’t deal with this whole Santa thing, did you really expect me to like it? I’m not a baby.”

“I just thought it’d be cute.” Cute? What is cute about a grown man in a Santa costume that’s covered in a thin layer of dust, dug out from the boxes he still hasn’t managed to open ten years after the divorce? “Listen, baby, I’m sorry, alright? I’m real sorry, look at me,” Leon cups your cheek, stares into your eyes with his gentle ones, “Dad’s sorry, yeah? I’m just stupid sometimes.”

“You are,” you nod, “but, I’m sorry too.” No, you’re not. Just saying it so he doesn’t drag this on, so he doesn’t call up your mom and tell her you’re not having a good time. Then your mom will be down your throat, your dad’s missed you, and you missed him too, you should be nicer to him, he tries his best, darling! “You, like, went through all that effort, and I didn’t even say thank you, I just got mad at you— so I’m sorry, dad.”

“Oh, baby,” he coos, shifts so he can bring you into his chest, cheek squished against one of his fat tits, god, why’re they so big, you swear it’s bigger than both of yours combined. “It’s alright, I know you’re growing up, and I’m sorry for treating you like a baby, it’s just, it’s hard ‘cause you’re my little girl, y’know?” Not true. You’ve always been a mommy’s girl. Dad is an acquaintance.

“Yes, I know, dad.” You blink at him, he melts, traces your cheekbone with his thumb. Thank god he took that dumbass hat off, you couldn’t take him seriously.

“Gosh, baby, you look just like your mama.”

“I know, dad.”

“Crazy, ain’t it?” Leon kisses your forehead, “Only got these from me, and nothin’ else, huh?” Dad gropes your tits. The man that put a baby in your mother, that baby being you, obviously, the man whose name is on your birth certificate— the man who has given you his name, is groping your tits. “Certainly not from mommy are they?”

You shake your head. In agreement though. ‘Cause you can’t deny it, your mom’s as flat as a board. It feels weird, yes. But not bad. Maybe you’ve detached Leon from the title of ‘dad’ to the point where it doesn’t even matter anymore. It’s wrong, so you go to stop him, but he’s unyielding in his perversion.

“You look like your mommy down here, baby?” Dad asks, he cups your pussy through your jeans with his big hand. “Can daddy see?”

You shake your head again. Slowly. This time a flimsy no, one that teeters on the boundaries of a yes. You do owe him, you’ve been acting like a bitch ever since you arrived in D.C. Making a right fuss the moment you stepped through the door. Poor guy put the rather intricate gingerbread house all together by himself, he’s dressed as fucking Santa, all ‘cause he thought you’d like it. How bad can it be? Not like fucking your dad could land the two of you in jail, right? Well, it could, but that’s not the point.

“No? C’mon, sweet girl, dad just wants to see,” Leon’s plump bottom lip juts out, you kinda sit there for a minute, then lay back on the couch. What have you got to lose? You have no emotional attachment to this man. You do. It’s not weird at all. God, it’s so weird you want to claw your skin off. “That’s a good girl.” He butters you up while he unbuttons your jeans, taps your hips so you lift ‘em up and off they pop, jeans thrown to the ground. “Oh, look at her, baby, how sweet, just like mama,” Leon rests your left leg on his shoulder, holds the ankle of your right one to spread you open. “You think she likes it like mommy did?”

“How did… How did mom like it, dad— daddy?” You correct yourself, feel this horrible churning in your stomach. Both nausea and need flooding your shaky body.

Leon presses his wide nose to the bump of your clit through your tight panties, there’s a wet patch that seems to get bigger and bigger the more he sniffs around down there. He lifts his head, rests it on your thigh as he slides them to the side, sticky, gooey arousal stringing apart, sticking to the seat of your undies like PVA glue when he separates the fabric from your soaked centre. “She liked it real sloppy, baby.” With that, he spits on your drippy cunt, runs his finger through your folds, pinches your clit. “Daddy’s gonna give it to you just how mom liked it, alright?”

“Okay, dad,” you tell him breathlessly, hands clasped together as you try to calm your nerves. The warmth of his breath on your puffy clit is enough to make you shiver, he spreads you open with his index and middle fingers, the tip of his tongue traces along the centrefold of your cunt. Then Leon grows agitated by the way your panties insist on snapping back in place, so he has a little wrestle with them and your limp legs, once they’re off he tucks them into his pocket for safekeeping. Santa’s back pocket.

Sweetly, he kisses your clit, sucks on it like he’s getting to the centre of your cunt, blows a raspberry on it - you’re so wet it’s pooling beneath your ass. Leon spreads your cheeks to lick into your cunt, press his nose into it real nice ‘n deep, smacks his lips against your fat pussy, stubble smeared with your slick. Leaking all over your dad’s pretty face, letting your dad tug your clit between his teeth and fuck his tongue into your tight hole. “Should stop shaving.” Is all dad says once you cream on his face, “Your mama didn’t.” Okay, didn’t need to know that, but here you are, dad’s fat cock hard and heavy against your thigh. So you guess fucking him comes at that expense - finding out all sorts of details about their wild sex life. To be honest, you pegged Leon as the kinda guy who knows what missionary is and missionary only, not that you ever thought about that before. He unbuckles his belt, unthreads the prongs from the holes one by one, and drops his red Santa pants. Good riddance.

“Dad,” you whimper when he sits you up, handles you like a dolly. The tight-fitted Santa coat stretches around his biceps when he scoops you up, puts you on his lap, gosh, you’ve never really noticed those. Maybe that’s what your mom saw in him. Big blue eyes and big tits and big fucking arms. This Santa attire is really fucking you up, it’s hard to take him seriously.

“Your mommy’s real good at riding cock, y’know that, pumpkin?” Leon squeezes your ass, you feel him. All of him. His clothed cock grinding upwards into your bare cunt, a toothy grin stretching his lips as he watches the way your lips squish together. Yeah, fat pussy, so what. Get over it, creep. “Best I ever had she was, best fuckin’ pussy,” he licks up the sweat dripping down your collarbones, “but you’re made for me, ain’t you, baby?”

“Yes, dad.” You don’t know what else to say, breath stuttering when he sits you down on his cock. Thick and fairly long in all the ways a dick should be, you suppose. Look at that, giving a review of your dad’s cock. How far you have come. Fucking degenerate cock critic. It sure does feel good, his tip nestled snug against your cervix, pulsing within the silky walls of your tight cunt. Feel every vein, how his tip leaks pre endlessly, how it twitches when you clench around him.

“Baby, you’re such a big girl now,” Dad kisses you smack-bang in the middle. On your pouty lips. The ones that remind him of your mom, same lips that sucked his cock in the marriage bed, same eyes rolling back into your skull when he begins to rock his hips into you. “Takin’ daddy’s cock so well, aren’t you? Better than mommy.” Almost, he wants to add. You know he does. He’s so predictable.

There are no words in your brain, only able to let out shaky breaths and the occasional yelp as he takes you, grabs your hips and bounces you up and down on his cock. “Fuck, wait, let me— let me-“ he doesn’t finish his sentence, instead he’s sliding you off and bending you over the couch. “Better like this.” That’s ’cause you look like mom from behind. Same hair, same hips, same perky ass. Leon fucks you harder, his strokes deeper, knocking his cock into your poor cervix with his brutal thrusts. Your nails scratch at the cracked leather of his couch, unable to help the way you moan for him, it’s so embarrassing, even more so when your hips begin to move on their own, fucking yourself back on dad’s dick.

Each thrust is harder than the last, god, is he trying to go through you? Put you in A&E ‘cause his cock got tangled in your intensities? “Is this… Is this how mom likes it, dad?” You manage to get out through a stifled groan, he digs his teeth into your neck, licks a stripe over the tender skin then tugs at your hoop earring with his teeth.

“Your mom likes it even harder, baby,” Leon snickers, “your mama is a dirty bitch.” You gasp, tighten around him involuntarily, your pussy behaves in mysterious ways. “She liked it when I did this,” his hand comes down on your ass hard, you squeal, almost lose footing and fall face-first into the couch cushions. “And when I pulled her hair, and slapped her tits, and spit down her fuckin’ throat.” Your mom is one nasty bitch, good on her. Personally, you’re new to it all. “You want that?”

“I don’t know, dad.” You say helplessly, thighs trembling when he reaches round with his nimble fingers to rub neat circles into your bud, so you come undone around his cock. Coat the shaft in cream, drip slick down his balls. You muffle your moans into a pillow, painted toes curling against the wooden floor, suddenly thankful for his lack of underfloor heating - ‘cause you’re sweating like a pig.

Your body trembles with aftershocks as he continues to fuck you through it, helps his little girl out by kissing the wet nape of her neck, a big hand on her waist to steady her. Sweat prickles your skin, jolting as he gives one last sloppy push into you, hips jerking as he unloads all he’s got to give and you milk him just right. ‘Cause you know, you’re his kid, made for him. That’s why he fits like a glove. Born to get your cunt bred by dad. You think he says your mom’s name into your hair, but you don’t question it, slumping over in exhaustion.

“Dad, can you just do me a favour and take that off, please? I’m really tired and it’s pissing me off.” You curl up on the sofa, uncaring of the seed that drips out and trickles down your plush thighs.. Leather’s easy to clean.

“Why? I like it. Don’t you think it’s cute, sweetpea?” Normalcy or what the two of you consider normal returns.

“No, take it off, or I’m taking the next flight home.”

“Alright, pumpkin.”

#leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut

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limeade-l3sbian · 3 months

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Sorry, this is probably a heavy thing to put on, feel free to delete if this is too much for you to handle, I promise it won't upset me. I'm really considering suicide. I have a lot going on in my personal life and now that my eyes have been opened to how much the world hates women I find it difficult to cope. I truly don't know how to navigate the world knowing half the population wants to cut me up, use my reproductive organs, rape me, kill me, slather me in makeup, mutilate me, beat me, degrade and humiliate me just for being female. I can't trust or make friends anymore. I feel hopeless. Idk what I expect you to say, I just need to get this out and know that at least one person sees it and understands.

I don't know how helpful this will be, but I hope you know that I've been feeling the same way as well. It's part of why I haven't really been super active lately. I've been going through it as well, so I at the very least, hope you don't think you're alone.

This is a very shitty world and we are in this strange limbo right now of things either staying shit or getting shittier. And it's important to me that I don't give you advice that wouldn't personally help me. I think the best advice I can give you is this:

You're not going crazy. This hopelessness you feel is happening in record numbers. And your feelings about all this are completely valid. I hate that they're valid. I wish I could tell you, "But why do you think that's what's happening?" I wish i could be indignant and suggest that perhaps you were just looking too deeply into nothing. But you're not, and that's the biggest curse in being aware of the world around you.

I don't have the perfect answer for you. I wish I could write three paragraphs worth of inspiration and you hit me up two minutes later and tell me that after reading all that, now you want to conquer the world and nothing was going to stand in your way. I don't even have the perfect answer for myself.

I guess the best answer I can give you is that if you left, the world would just be a little more shittier. It would have just a little less sparkle to it that it is already sparse on. Someone's life (including mine, now that I know you exist), will dim in its quality if you were to do it. That hope that everyone grabs onto will lose just a little more grip without you. The world itself would shift in a way that isn't perceivably to you or me.

And that's not to say that you would be selfish to do it. An argument that I absolutely hate. But life would just go from 480p to 360p.

You should stay because what you are contemplating is going to come anyway. I have a post somewhere on here where i talk about how if you are suicidal, the best way to go about doing it is to live. Go out and live more than you ever have. That's when most people die. When they are out living and something out of their control happens. I would rather you die while ziplining with friends than crying and alone in a bathroom.

This sounds harsh, but I would rather all of this than give you some bullshit, "Oh, it's okay, sweetie. Have you talked to anyone? What about therapy? Did you do breathing exercises?"

You should go out and live, anon. And that doesn't even mean spend money. A full life isn't inevitable, but death is.

#ask

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maranull · 1 year

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Hi, can you please do some married headcanons for the Elden Ring ladies please?

Hello! Sorry if this is a bit late, my writing speed is... extra bad since last month. Also if you wanted/want something more specific, hit me with an ask again, I'm always happy to write for them. :)

Melina: Married life with Meli is very quiet. She's not a woman of words and her affection is shown more with gentle touches or doing little things for you. Household chores are assigned in a "how we're feeling today" kinda way. If anyone of you is really tired of one activity, the other will pick it up for the day. When she cooks, it's fairly plain. Not bad, but not great either. Her treatment of food is more that of a survivalist and it reflects in her cooking. She has no qualms or sense of pride to hold her from speaking her mind when she feels wronged or has strong feelings about a situation. Combined with a very calm personality, fights are nonexistent. Arguments usually get resolved easily and at worst she'll go to sleep early and get up before you. She loves getting out of the house, so a lot of your together time is spent on walks around the city/town and with monthly longer trips.

Ranni: Life with Ranni keeps you on your toes, at the very least. She's really headstrong and if she "adopts" someone's side or plight, getting her to drop it is nigh impossible. Her sense of justice and morality is on a person-to-person basis, but when she decides something is wrong, you have to be able to ride the storm she's about to unleash. She doesn't really do household chores, apart from patching clothes and cleaning. Both of which she does amazingly and you never have to worry about them, but you sometimes wish she would help with the other chores, even if you had to clean instead. Fights can and do happen, especially if you are also stubborn, but she can't stay mad at you for more than a couple hours. If you remain angry, she'll just give you space with some sparse peace-offering comments (never verbally apologizing for anything though). She loves the king-size bed she got, and weekends are often just spent on it, talking, watching movies, or playing games together.

Malenia: Married life with Malenia is also very quiet. She's pretty talkative and active and has this sense of peace and quiet confidence around her. She does her best to assist with chores, and she's very fast and efficient with most of them. She takes pleasure in the repeated movements and often takes it upon herself to do most of them. On the other side, she struggles with cooking even rice, so the cooking falls to you most of the time. She can be very black or white, deciding and holding her position after a couple back-and-forths. Those arguments never evolve into fights though, as if she gets frustrated or has no argument, she shuts down and goes to bed (no matter the time). Those shutdowns can last days. Either until you apologize or she understands your point of view on her own. She enjoys general fitness and sports, particularly sparring. Your best weekends are spent either play-fighting between you or you cheering her on in competitions.

Marika: Life with Marika is a mess. She takes no disrespect from anyone, including getting looked at wrong. She even racked up a couple assault charges before you figured out that the best way to stop her from charging people is by hugging her and forcing her to drag you. That usually turns her annoyance towards you, which gives the smart people time to leave. Unsurprisingly, she can't do household chores properly even if her life depended on it. It's not that she doesn't try sometimes, she just sucks at pretty much everything other than cleaning dust. Fights are short, often, and never serious. Everything can be a trigger for a clash, and as she likes teasing and probing you, technically you are the one that starts them. As mentioned above, serious fights never happen, as when she senses you getting truly angry, she either backs off or counters your points with unusual seriousness and maturity.

Thank you for the ask, anon!

#elden ring #melina #ranni the witch #malenia blade of miquella #queen marika the eternal #headcanons #x reader #asks

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theshinazugawaslut · 1 month

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hello! no rush at all just wondering when you’d ever finish a few of your requests? that’s all! no pressure! :)

Hello! I appreciate this question being worded so sweetly, so thank you so much! I expected this question to come in eventually!

Okay, so, I am currently a month away from my final exams starting hence teachers have overloaded us with assignments, essays, dissertations, and experiments (I'm sobbing, if I have to write one more politics essay or do another fucking antimicrobial experiment I'll cry); since I'm also school vice-captain and a language ambassador, I'm organising a lot of events for the school as well. I'm also studying at the same time for the upcoming exams — afterwards, I'll be graduating and I'll have my prom!

If you can't tell, I've been overloaded with work for the past few weeks and will continue to be.

This isn't to say I haven't been working away at the requests but all the requests are only partially done, and I want to make sure I give my full to the requests and not some half-assed, sorry excuse of an attempt, especially when I have a good idea.

If you guys can't tell, I like making sure you guys get proper answers to your requests, something everyone can enjoy!

But due to my workload, time to work on them is sparse and since I have so many requests, I try to write bits and bobs of each instead of writing a whole solid thing that might turn out shit.

You guys have all been lovely and patient to me and I hope you guys can continue to do so for a while longer. I am genuinely sorry I haven't been as active on Tumblr as I first was when I started but I'm just a bit stressed from my education right now and I hope you guys can all understand!

I can give you an exact date that I will be incredibly online again though: May 17th. This is the date of my final exam. I can absolutely promise that your requests should be done within a week from that date.

My Easter break starts sometime in late March to early April for two weeks as well, so I may finish some requests during that time but I'll have to go again since my exams will start April 20th.

BUT main point is that from May 17th onwards, expect everything to be done. I am okay with people still sending in more requests since I love hearing your guys' ideas and working with them!

I guess this is kind of a semi-hiatus, I will be online and answering private messages or questions like these, and MIGHT squeeze in some time to fulfil requests, too!

Once I am fully back, though, I have many ideas to write for you guys! After requests are all finished and done, I plan on writing lots of other ideas ― many Sanemi ideas, of course, but definitely squeezing in some Bakugo this time, too (specifically barbarian king bakugo) and Genya!

Take care!

#esha answers your questions #I'm also fasting since it's Ramadan as of now #so I'm trying to refrain from writing smut so God don't pull that shit out at me when I'm trying to get into heaven.#please don't be mad guys #I will write stuff for you guys

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blue-thief · 2 years

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I saw someone say that soukoku is mostly due to Dazai and there’s not a lot of evidence pointing to chyuua being queer coded or having romantic feelings for Dazai. So I was wondering if there’s any cannon evidence pointing to it and if irl chyuua was bisexual or something like irl Dazai

hiii!! sorry if this is a little late lol

now that you mention it, yeah, a lot of the evidence backing up soukoku actually does come from dazai. funnily enough, i actually have a whole list on my phone dedicated to soukoku proof, and when i went to look through, most of it was due to dazai lmao.

however, just because most of the evidence comes from dazai, that doesn't mean all of it is.

any sort of evidence we have for chuuya's possible romantic feelings for dazai is very subtle and scarce. most of this has to do with the fact that chuuya appears in the main story infrequently, and the only times we get any insight into how he thinks and feels mostly come from the light novels detailing his backstory. for me, the most significant instances of chuuya's affection for dazai come from the symbolism behind his exposed hands, the dragon battle in dead apple, and the small comments he makes about dazai.

i've already discussed chuuya's hands a bit in this post:

if you don't wanna go through the effort of reading all of that, basically, during chuuya's battle against rimbaud, chuuya removed his hands from his pockets for the first time in fifteen. he stated that he had kept them away until then because he was reserving himself from fighting properly for when he found himself in a situation that really called for it—in that moment, he genuinely needed to defend himself and found the desire and desperation to keep living.

in the present day, chuuya doesn't keep his hands in his pockets anymore, but instead, he hides them with gloves. the only times we get to see him take them off is when he activates corruption, a situation where he's desperate enough to put his life at risk, and a situation he's only willing to put himself into if he trusts dazai enough to save him. chuuya's attachment to the life he lives becomes clear when he's with dazai, and he's willing to risk it all because his faith in dazai is just that strong.

a perfect example of this would be in dead apple when ango told chuuya that dazai had definitely died, and chuuya basically replied by saying, "dazai can't die but even if he is dead, i'm completely fine with dying with him". on top of that, chuuya isn't supposed to be lucid when he uses corruption, yet he screamed dazai's name multiple times and held back his strength to punch dazai just enough to get him to swallow the antidote in his mouth. this means that chuuya's resolve to save dazai was strong enough to rival a god.

then there's the things he says during their sparse meetings in the main story that seem insignificant at first. however, it's important to remember just how deathly afraid chuuya is of vulnerability after experiencing so much pain and loss in just a few years (betrayal of the sheep, loss of the flags, N's torture, etc). these issues likely just got worse after dazai left the port mafia. when you take that into account lines such as, "back then, your 'spite' was almost an art. you made a fool of everyone, be them friend or foe" and "the night you disappeared, i opened a bottle of petrus 1989 to celebrate. that's how much i hate you, bastard" take on a brand new, much more agonizing meaning. comments such as these are likely chuuya's subtle way of telling dazai that their separation hurt, and separation only ever really hurts when you truly care for the other person. chuuya opening up even by that much is already impressive when you remember just how terrible both sides of soukoku are at communicating.

as for any evidence coming from irl chuuya, there's not really much lol. the only queer irl equivalents of bsd characters that i can think of rn are dazai, ranpo, yosano, akutagawa, verlaine, and rimbaud lol. chuuya was heavily influenced in his works by rimbaud and verlaine, but idk if that's really saying much lmao. however, a lot of bsd's story takes inspiration from the works of the irl authors and poets mentioned, and irl chuuya's poems such as some parts of "sheep song" speak of loneliness and heartache—that could possibly be reflected in c! chuuya's characterization in bsd.

anyways, chuuya's feelings towards dazai hardly ever get expressed in bsd, and most skk evidence mostly rests on what we know about dazai's feelings, but it's not like there's nothing to prove that chuuya doesn't feel the same way.

#does this help? idk. sorry if it doesn't adhaldjka #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #soukoku #skk #nakahara chuuya #chuuya nakahara #chuuya #bsd nakahara chuuya #bsd chuuya nakahara #bsd chuuya #dazai #dazai osamu #osamu dazai #bsd dazai #bsd osamu dazai #bsd dazai osamu

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soupslashers · 2 years

Text

Run (NSFW)

Pairing: Chromeskull x female!reader

Warnings (please do read these, and thoroughly): basically porn with plot, primal play, CNC, knife play, recording of sexual activities, slapping, RAGING BLOOD PLAY AND KINK, outside sex but no one sees, anddd reader gets cut with a knife (felt like that should be stated). Let me know if I should add anything more here!

Word Count: 8.4K (this was meant to be so much shorter I’m sorry)

Summary: In the darkness of a forest, Chromeskull urges you to run from him.

A/N: Kind of unedited because I’m sure I missed so much going through this. This is just pure filth.

The sky is dark, shrouding the expanse of trees in front of you in a shadowy blanket. Not even the gleam of the car’s headlights can illuminate past the heaviness of the branches and full leaves of a late summer’s bloom. Still, the rays manage to bounce off of Jesse’s chrome mask with each tilt and turn of his head.

He had parked you in front of the forest only minutes ago with no inclination as to why. There were no words with Jesse, and while you had grown to speak in his language of body movements, you still could not understand why you were both here—especially this late in the evening.

You had asked, of course, murmuring soft questions as he had shoved you in his black car, then on the drive here. “Jesse?” You had inquired, gazing up at the man from your spot in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” He had given you no response. In fact, he didn’t even give an inkling that he had heard you, just staring at the road ahead with the steering wheel gripped in large, gloved hands.

After that, you had remained quiet. While Jesse was a patient man, you didn’t dare push him, especially not when he was decked out in his full gear—something you usually only saw when he was returning home after a job.

A black turtleneck, with a matching dress coat and pants. His shoes were polished and gleaming, as was the silver of his belt buckle, and though you couldn’t see them at the moment, you knew he always kept a pair of twinkling, twin hunting knives on him too. Then came the infamous mask that Jesse adorned during every “job” he partook in; a chrome, skeleton mask with black fabric lining the eyes and nose so that you could not see even a tiny amount of his face.

While this was a terrifying sight in itself, you still knew the man under it all. Even when he gave you no information on why and where you were, he still went through the motions of rounding the sleek car once it was parked and to your side, opening the door soundlessly and extending a hand towards you. Once you were out, he had led you in front of the car’s bright beams, towering next to you as you both took in your surroundings.

Behind you was the patchy stretch of a makeshift road. The grass sprouted up in sparse groups while the majority of it was compacted dirt from previous trips that vehicles had taken over it. It had been a path almost completely invisible from the main road Jesse had originally taken. You weren’t even aware of its presence until he had slowed down enough to take a sharp turn down it, and even then you still couldn’t believe that it was actually a road people chose to drive through.

You assumed then that Jesse must be familiar with the place. How else would he know of its existence well enough to locate it along the endless expanse of highway? There had been no markers for it, at least none evident and flashy enough to have taken your notice.

In front of you sits a forest. Nothing special about it, to your knowledge. It looks just the same as any cluster of trees does in the southeastern part of America. However, Jesse seems to know it well, choosing to stare down at you instead of the area like you had been doing for the past minute.

Now that you had gotten a good look around, you decide to return Jesse’s stare. You had gotten so used to looking into his brown eyes that the black nothingness that gazed back unnerved you. While you feel the cold chill of fear scrape along your skin, you try to push it down, reminding yourself this is still Jesse—a man who would not hurt you despite his less than moral pastime.

“Why are we here?” You decide to ask again, hoping that this time he’ll give you a reply. And, unlike earlier, he does.

His large frame turns to face you fully as he holds out a hand. You are confused at first, until he put his index finger between his other hands middle and ring finger, shoving the forefinger against the webbing of the inner portion of his glove, then back out in a swift motion.

It takes you a few seconds to think back to the few sign language terms you and him had learned, and so he repeats the action once more. When your brain connected the dots, your heart nearly stops in its beating.

The motion he had done was one that he had personally picked out. At the time, you didn’t get why it was relevant considering the only immediate danger you could ever be in would be at his hands, but now you understood. He wasn’t planning to harm you, no, not in a way that would actually hurt you.

Instead, Jesse was telling you to run away from him so that he could then give chase to you, his little pet.

After a sparse moment of fully grasping the situation, you blink once, twice, then turn around and take off into the trees in a sprint.

The quick pace you set out leaves no room to carefully check your surroundings, which means you are at the mercy of the forest. Branches swipe against your face in brutal arches. You duck and sidestep in an attempt to pass by them, but they still manage to scrape across your cheeks and delve into your hair. However, you could care less about some small scrapes and leaves—you just have to get as far away from Jesse as you can.

Despite his hulking size, he is fast. Inhumanely fast, you had thought more than once. Although you knew he would give you a head start, it meant nothing when the one and only Chromeskull would be the one hunting you down. All you could do was keep running and hope that luck played on your side tonight.

He has every advantage over you. His knowledge of where the road was and how he hadn’t bothered to check the surrounding much told you that he was more than prepared for this. You knew he would’ve checked the area beforehand, made sure that there was not an easy way to slip out from under his hands. In fact, he probably had cameras glittering high above you in the trees already, recording this little game to watch for when he was away.

The thought has a wave of adrenaline and arousal rushing through you. Despite the screaming of your mind to run, you even slow down a bit so that you could get a good glimpse at the trees to see if what you had expected of Jesse to be true.

By the time the ache in your legs moves up to your sides, causing your breath to hitch in your throat, you guess that it had been long enough for Jesse—no, Chromeskull—to start coming after you.

This far into the woods, everything around you is dense and painted in the dim light of the night. The pale light of the moon seeped in through the lofty trees, but that only offered enough illumination to make out the vague shapes of your surroundings. Low hanging branches become arms, stretching out towards you, and the green leaves became fingers grasping at you in your panicked haze. As time progresses, each time they brushed your skin, your heart thumps painfully inside your rib cage as you imagine him already having caught up to you.

Though you were spared most information about his…hobby, you still knew enough to be afraid. No matter who they were, big or small, smart or foolish, he always got them in the end. You were wise enough to know that there was no escaping when it came to him. There was only that brief elation that came from the false hope of having him completely gone from your sight—though you could never be sure that he wasn’t already here somewhere, watching you from behind that mask.

You did your best to keep in mind that Chromeskull was not someone to underestimate. He had given you the small mercy of a head start, but you knew that was a double-edged sword. A few minutes more of your blood rushing hotly through your veins, your neurons firing fast enough to make you dizzy, just enough to get you tired and hopeful—stupidly so. He would wait until you got drunk off that feeling, and then he would strike just when you thought you were free.

That’s what kept your legs pumping despite the debilitating pain that shot its way through your muscles. Every inch of you stung with exertion, and the twinge of a cramp in your side was not letting up anytime soon. You knew you’d have to slow down soon, eventually stop (if he didn’t show himself before then), and so you kept pushing your legs to run faster. If you could get far enough, then you’d have enough time to stop and to get a plan in place of how you’d possibly evade him.

The time to stop came abruptly as you felt your foot land wrong against the forest floor. A hiss of pain shot out of your mouth as your face rushed towards the dirt of the ground. You manage to shove your hands out in front of you just in time to catch yourself, but you don’t consider yourself lucky as your palm lands right on a fallen twig. The angle is perfect enough for it to be shoved right into your skin, emitting waves of stinging pain that has tears welling up in your eyes.

The feeble light offers little visibility, so you bring your hand up to your face, staring long enough to make out a sizable piece of wood lodged halfway beneath your skin. Leaving it in would only make the pain worse, plus you had little time for things like this considering the man coming after you, and so you rip it out quickly. It stings, but the worst of it is done. Now all that is left is a dent of dead skin surrounded by the welling up of red blood.

You wipe the metallic liquid on your pants, not wanting to smear it anywhere on your surroundings just in case. Besides, what you were wearing was basic and easily replaceable if you couldn’t just wash it after. Although Jesse hadn’t told you where you were going, he did notify you in the form of a text to be dressed well but not in something you loved before he got home from wherever he was.

He hadn’t been partaking in his usual avocation since he had basically just gotten back from doing so a few days earlier, hence why his clothing had you on edge. You remember the racing of your heart when he had walked through the front door of your house wearing all of that. It had an excitement beginning in you that had only continued to grow since all of this had started.

Once you manage to get your breathing calmed down and to a manageable tone of quietness, you rise up, ignoring the protesting of your muscles that meet your movement. You stand there for a couple of seconds, listening for anything unusual.

The soft rustling of the wind against the trees is the only thing that makes its way to your ears. You strain your neck up, raising your head as if that’d somehow allow you to hear more. Still, there is nothing but what you’d expect to hear in the middle of a forest.

However, as you listen, you take note, not of a sound, but the absence of it.

The moon is high in the sky, a dangling light high above your head. Every nocturnal, forest-dwelling creature should be out by now, calling and stalking as animals did. But there is nothing except for the occasional rustle of greenery as the air cascades through it.

It could mean nothing. Maybe your own running had scared off the wildlife so badly that even after a few moments of silence they still huddled out of your sight and kept their noises to themselves. While you wanted to believe that, you knew that was just hopeful thinking. Someone like yourself could hardly scare an owl from its nest, but someone like Chromeskull easily could.

Your muscles tense up completely as you expect him to pop out from behind every tree. However, the clouds above move steadily and still you do not see the glint of chrome against the otherwise darkness of the forest.

A small victory that could easily be swept out from under you, that’s all it was, you tell yourself sternly. Thirty minutes must’ve passed already, you guess, and while your brain wants to take that as a sign of succession, you still remind yourself that it could also mean the exact opposite. He could already be somewhere near you, watching as your eyes whip around like a frightened deer, waiting for the right moment to make his move.

You swallow thickly and wipe away the sweat gathering at the beginning of your hairline, sweeping your eyes over every dark corner that surrounded you one more time. The soreness of such fast-paced running is already catching up with you. Your legs ache horribly, but the hitch in your side has fortunately dissipated.

From where you stand, there are few options. You could begin running again, but that would be a short-lived option if he didn’t find you before you even began. Sprinting so far already had left you exhausted, and your running would never match that same pace. The other possible route would be to simply stay put and hide.

It wasn’t ideal, far from it, truthfully, but what else could you do? Sure, you could hunker down and try to catch him off guard, but you had no weapon and little stamina—and you’d need all your energy to possibly fight off someone as big as he is. There is nothing left to do but hope that you can hide somewhere that he won’t check.

The trunks of the trees are thick, but the lowest branches hang far above your head. You wish that you had Jesse’s height so that you could simply grab ahold of one of the larger ones and pull yourself up. However, the universe did not gift you with the hulking size of him, but that wasn’t always a bad thing.

If you were truly the same size as him, then you would likely snap the branches before even getting the chance to climb them. Most existed outside your reach, yes, but there would always be those few that elongated out just at the right height for you to wrap your hands around them, and luckily, one made its home just a short walk away.

It was a smaller tree than most, not quite reaching the height of the others, however the branches looked sturdy enough to support your weight. You hesitantly grab onto one, using your upper body strength to raise your figure off the ground for a few seconds, testing just how durable the wood really is. To your luck, it holds without so much as a creak.

You begin to swiftly climb up, pausing every so often to listen. The forest remains eerily silent, and you grimly acknowledge that this had to work, or else you’d be in his hands soon enough. Though the thought alone had a hot rush of heat pooling in your lower stomach.

While your tree climbing skills were more than rusty, you still manage to tug yourself high enough that the leaf covered branches offered coverage from anyone passing by. Unless he were to look up directly from under the tree, he’d never spot you. So, you hunker down and focus on slowing down your breathing.

As you wait, your eyes fall upon a small but girthy branch hanging down broken just a few inches away from your sitting place. You grab ahold of it, tugging until it snaps off. It wasn’t ideal as a weapon, but it could still be used whenever he caught up with you, even if it wouldn’t do much against someone like him. You pull your shirt up, holding it with your chin, as you put the twig in a place where you could easily grab it if the chance arose.

Then you sit there, stick tucked into your waistband, waiting for him.

Just as your muted surroundings had warned you, a few minutes later, you hear the near silent padding of footfalls against the grass. If you hadn’t grown so used to the sound of them, you would’ve never been able to pick them up with how quiet they are.

Your breathing had gone from quick, loud puffs to quiet inhales and exhales of air, still, you put your hand over your mouth in an attempt to further hush them. The sound of walking nears until it is only feet away. You move your head around, trying to get a glimpse at him.

In between the leaves, you see it; the red, periodical blinking of an all too familiar camera. Attached to it was a sight that had your heart racing and your eyes wide.

He is standing there, skull mask glinting in the pale moonlight as he tilts his head from one direction to the other. Though you can’t see his eyes, you know they are steadily sliding over every nook and cranny, searching for you.

The thing about Chromeskull was that he was an excellent tracker. Of course, his size and weaponry aided him, but there was a reason why no one ever managed to escape his skillful hands. He could turn shoved around brush into a path, while also moving silently even for someone of his stature. No matter how quick and sharp-witted someone was, they always left a trace. And he was the one to find it.

After a couple of heart wrenching moments of him just there, he begins to move forwards, into the direction you would’ve gone if you had continued to run.

You don’t manage to breathe properly again until he is well out of sight. The rough bark of the tree digs into your bare legs, adding to the many uncomfortable sensations that had come from rushing through jutted out branches and poking greenery. You allow yourself to shift, removing your hand from your mouth to further balance yourself out on the tree.

Now that you are well rested and he is past you, you decide to move.

It would take him at least a few minutes to become wise to the fact you hadn’t continued on through the forest. After that, he’d turn around, and you refused to be here when that happened.

You find your lips quirking up in a satisfied grin as you make your way down. For the first time tonight, you felt as if you had the upper hand.

Once your feet found the ground, you look around. The darkness still heavily obscured your vision causing you to strain your ears to aid you in checking your surroundings. An owl hoots in the distance and the wind causes the leaves to slightly move, but everything appears to be fine, just as you preferred it to be.

His car should still be parked where he had left it at the entrance to the forest, and so that’s where you head. You don’t have keys to it, but you can’t imagine him going to his own vehicle to check around it. No, that’d prove that you had outdone him in some way. That you managed to surpass him even with the help of a head start.

The thrill of you succeeding to outdo Chromeskull himself mingles in with your adrenaline. Images of you resting on top of the sleek, black exterior of his Chrysler 300 fly around your head. You’d have a smug grin on your face as he’d near you, knowing full well you had managed to get back there without him even knowing.

Though your muscles ache, and you are probably bleeding in multiple places, you still feel victorious. You had managed to hide from someone who did this frequently enough to be considered a professional at it. That alone had you walking through the trees with ease, not even worried about your less than apt pace.

It isn’t until your foot lands on a fallen twig that you stop, wincing at the crack of it. Though it isn’t loud enough to travel, you can’t help but to feel worried about it. You glance around again, taking in your surroundings, your eyes passing over the dark outline of trunks, thick groups of leaves, a blinking light—

Every part of you immediately tenses.

Behind you stands Chromeskull, the camera attached tp his shoulder blinking its red eye at you.

You react without thinking, your legs a blur under you as you drop tail and sprint in the direction of his car.

Every inch of your being is burning, alight with the prospect of escaping or being caught. Both conclusions fill your body with renewed adrenaline and arousal. You are tipsy on it, the sound of your heavy breathing mixing in with a new sound—the familiar sounds of him running behind you, closer and closer despite your swift speed.

In what seems like only a few seconds, you feel him take a grasp at you, his hand swiping at your shirt. He misses, and you nearly cry out in excitement and horror at the feeling. It comes out as a strangled gasp as your lungs work overtime keeping your brain and body functioning despite the daunting reality which awaits you.

When he goes for you next, he does not miss. Large fingers grab a handful of your shirt’s fabric, pulling you back so hard the material rips as you are abruptly stopped in your motions.

The air leaves your lungs in a woosh as you collide with a hard chest, your back against him now. You are stunned for a moment, and Chromeskull takes advantage of that, snaking his arms under yours and through, pulling them back until they are strained and stuck at an awkward angle that leaves you unable to move your upper body.

You register his rough breaths coming out in pants from behind his mask before you then begin to kick your legs out, then behind you, aiming for his own legs. He lets you get in a few strikes, the blows akin to nothing, before he’s raising you up, using the hold on your arms to lift you up until your thrashing appendages only meet air.

A cry of fear escapes your mouth. It is shrill and echoes, like the call for help a cornered animal gives out before it meets its demise. Then you are being brought down, your feet barely scraping the ground before he takes a black booted foot and swipes out one of your legs.

You crumple forwards, your muscles giving out at the force of it. Letting go of his hold on your arms, he adds to that momentum, shoving you forwards until you are flush against the forest floor.

Dirt scrapes against your palms as you barely manage to catch yourself. Ignoring the pain, you look up wildly, eyes darting around until you see him.

He is in front of you now. The chrome of his mask reflects the moonlight making it appear shiny—a stark contrast to the black depths that are his eye sockets. Despite having been searching through the forest, he appears just as he did when he stood with you in front of the headlights of his car. His clothing is still unwrinkled and neat, unlike yours, which is now torn and covered in dirt.

Your body unconsciously shifts backwards until you are sitting on the ground, slowly moving away from him, hoping desperately that he somehow does not notice.

His head moves sideways in a predatory tilt. A gloved hand comes up to grab the camera still attached at his shoulder. He takes a step towards you, the recording device held forward in order to fully record your state.

You can only imagine how you must look; messy clothes and blinking back tears as you scramble away from him.

He continues this until you back meets the trunk of a tree, pressing up against it as if it would swallow you whole. You don’t dare make any noise now that he has you cornered and afraid. That’s what he wants you to do. He relishes in it when you cry out for him in desperation. When you practically hand him your ego as you beg for him—any of him.

You refuse to do that now, to further give yourself up. He has you where he wants you, yes, but you’re not giving in that easily.

In the face of death itself, you crane your trembling chin up and stare right in the lens of the camera. You give it a long look, trying to contain your shaking body as you stubbornly blink at it.

His movements pause. He no longer advances but stands there as still as ever. Another gloved hand appears from behind the camera, calling the attention of your gaze.

As you glance at this, he begins to move his fingers in familiar motions.

Four fingers stand tall, his thumb tucked in. B.

They then curl over, meeting with the remaining thumb at the tips. E.

His hand turns over, his index finger popping out while the rest remain closed in a fist. You can’t see it, but you know the thumb is also stuck out, parallel to his index. G.

Beg.

He’s telling you to beg.

You inhale sharply, mimicking his stationary stature. He moves the hand he had used to sign to the other side of the camera, holding it as properly as he can in order to document what you’ll do next.

Though you are clearly at a disadvantageous angle and visibly afraid, you still hold onto the image of you escaping him. If you could just—distract him enough to flee, maybe you’d be able to get away. A plan hazily appears in your head as you take in a deep, stuttered inhale, eyelids fluttering.

“Please…,” you croak out, the pressure of the stick you had tucked in your waistband earlier more apparent than ever as you slowly move a hand towards it. “Please, I—,” you swallow thickly, letting all the terror you currently feel lace into your voice. “Let me go.” You look at him through your eyelashes, making sure to hold eye contact with those gaping, dark holes in his mask.

Slowly, slowly your hand inches towards your waistband. The fabric of your shirt is torn in the back, but he hadn’t seen the stick yet. All you have to do is keep him distracted with your words and tearful eyes until you can—

In a second, you rip it out of your waistband, silently thankful it didn’t get stuck in the material of your shorts. It sails through the air as fast as you could throw it, smacking against the camera with just enough force that it knocks it out of his hand. Then you’re off, scrambling to your feet and then darting to the right.

It doesn’t matter where you’re headed because anywhere is better than on the ground before him. Your chest is heaving as you go, breathing so loud you can’t hear anything else.

You get about a total of three meters away before arms wrap around your middle, spinning you around and back to the direction you had ran from, and then for the second time, you’re thrown down.

This time he does it with such power that you can’t possibly brace yourself. You only have enough time to flip around so that you’re facing him before he’s upon your sprawled out body. Chromeskull straddles you, pinning your arms above your head with one hand. With his other, he pulls out a familiar, edged knife, bringing it to sit across the fragile skin of your throat.

“Please!” You whimper out, shoving the back of your head hard against the ground in an attempt to escape the blades sharp edge. “D-Don’t. I’m sorry, please—”

One of the ridges of the knife is pressed down, cutting your throat with a burst of stinging pain. You barely contain the urge to thrash, eyes wild as you stare up at the blank mask. He drags it a bit, drawing out the cut.

Your lower lip is visibly quaking, tears blurring your vision. It couldn’t have been too deep, maybe just enough to draw blood. Still, as you feel it drip down your neck you can’t help but shutter, crying freely now.

Chromeskull watches you for a moment, relishing in the faltering rise and falls of your chest as you try to contain the sobs that so desperately want to come out. His black pants are tented already, the length of him throbbing at your pathetic state.

He returns the hunting knife to its holster at his waist, his gaze trained on you. Gloved fingers come up to your neck, gathering your blood on two of them. Then they are at your parted lips, lingering, waiting for you to open up fully for him, the way you usually do. However, this time you remain firm, and when you don’t do as prompted, Chromeskull takes it upon himself to do it for you, shoving them past your lips and teeth and into the warmness of your mouth.

The metallic taste of your own gore covers your tastebuds. Your lips quiver around his fingers as you stay put, not moving. Not giving into the submission he’s trying to bring about now that he thinks he has you subdued.

You had steered clear of him for so long; running, hiding, almost escaping. That image of you besting him was still clear in your head, and you’d be damned if you had to give it up just as it had come about. So, his gloved fingers atop your tongue, you decide to give him something that he did want tonight— for you to fight.

In a quick movement you bring your teeth down and into the skintight fabric of his gloves, biting him hard enough that you can hear the sharp hiss of breath that escapes him as you do so.

His hand pulls away from your face, and for a gracious second you think that maybe, just maybe, you had caught him off guard. But then you’re brought back down to reality when the same hand whips across your cheek with enough might to knock your head sideways.

Everything becomes filtered through a lens of haziness as you groan out, that same metallic tang now more present than ever. You blink blearily in an attempt to clear out the bright bursts of stars that now sweep across your vision.

The pain from the hit is burning. It travels from your jawline to right next to your eye in thrumming jolts of stinging heat. You do your best to ignore it, turning your head so that you’re facing Chromeskull again.

He is still on top of you, applying more of his weight so that you have to struggle just to get in a proper breath. One of his large hands continue to hold yours up and above your head, but you decide you don’t need your hands to fight him as you proceed to then spit on him.

The wad of saliva lands on the chrome of the cheek portion of his mask. It drips down, transparent laced with hints of red. You’re able to realize just how badly you fucked up as he slowly moves the hand you had bit up to it, wiping the spittle off, then cocking his head downwards to look at the reminisce of your attack on his glove.

Then his full and undivided attention is brought back to you again as he stares at you from behind the black depths of the eye sockets of the skull mask, bringing the fingers of his right hand against the permanently grinning lips of his mask, only to move it away so that his palm is facing downwards. His head moves side to side as he shakes it, the realization of the word he had signed intermingling with the heat that pools in your lower stomach.

Bad. It was such a simple thing to sign. Just one word and your arousal is set on fire like a match thrown into the gas tank of a car.

His body is off of you completely so quickly that you don’t even realize before he’s grabbing your hips and flipping you around so that you’re facing the dirt floor of the forest. The sleek latex of his hands find their way to your wrists, bringing them down to the middle of your back before he holds them there with one hand, the other finding its way to the silver buckle of his belt.

The sound of him undoing his belt has new bouts of adrenaline coursing through your veins. Your legs kick out as far sideways as you can manage, shoed feet colliding with what you guess is the muscle of his thighs. He entertains this as you hear the leather slide out from its place atop his dress pants.

For a second, the pressure at your wrists recedes, only to then be replaced by the smooth yet grainy texture of his belt. He loops it below your hands with quick, practiced ease, tightening it accordingly with your struggling until you can do no more than wiggle your fingers in resistance.

A metallic clink sounds out momentarily as he latches the buckle, confirming the fact that your arms and hands are now nothing more than useless. As pathetic as your earlier attempt was at getting away from him, it managed to dig just enough under his skin that he doesn’t award you the small mercy that is the use of half your limbs.

Though your mobility is severely limited, you continue with what parts of you are still free. Up until now, he has allowed the kicking, the futile bucking of your hips as you attempt to dislodge him from off of you. It was nothing more than background noise to him, but as it grows in its velocity, gets more desperate than calculated, it calls for his immediate attention.

The thumps of your feet meeting with the ground covers the warning that you would’ve got had you been quieter, more focused. Instead, when the cold steel bites at your jaw, you jerk harshly, flinching away and earning a large hand gripping in your hair, holding your neck taut with how far he pulls your head back.

Chromeskull had only set the side of the knife against your skin, doing nothing more than resting it there, but your continued resistance spurs on that deep ache within him, the one that yearns to have you reduced to nothing less than bleeding and submissive.

When he brings it to your throat for the second time tonight, you recognize its purpose clearly. It’s no longer a warning of what can happen, but a promise. This isn’t a hunt anymore. No, he has caught you, and now it’s time to play with what is his.

The ridges lightly glide across your throat, causing a stuttering intake as you mentally sketch what he might do next. Then, before you can even let the breath out, the knife goes across the same spot again, springing forth pain as it slices open your flesh.

Jesse wouldn’t kill you; your thoughts remind you as heat seeps down the front of your neck in droplets. The steel is cool as it presses into the column of your throat, blocking the upward movement of your adams apple as you gasp and sputter. No, Jesse wouldn’t, but Chromeskull you’re not so sure about.

Your heart begs to leap from your chest, its beating so erratic that it spreads to every inch of you. The blade spreads the hot blood around, intermingling with the already dried portions from only minutes earlier. At this point you’re sure it covers the entirety of your throat, painting it just as Chromeskull wishes the rest of you was like.

You don’t dare to speak, lest your words spur more of your own bodily fluids from the wound. Instead, you gape uselessly, mouth falling open and closed an inch with each staggering intake of air. And he chooses when it’s open to move that same knife right between your lips, sideways so that it won’t cut your tongue; a small reward for the way your legs have faltered to a stop in their kicking.

Earlier, you might’ve let it rest there, sit atop the muscles in your mouth in a form of resilience, but now you close your quivering mouth until your teeth clink against the metal. Then, you bring your tongue around sideways, against the edge that is hopefully not sharp, and begin to give the tool that made you bleed hesitant licks.

He lets you for a minute, watching and barely containing the urge to palm himself through his increasingly tight dress pants. It’s only when a fresh set of tears drop down your cheeks that he slides his favorite weapon out, bringing it up into the pale moonlight and inspecting the clean, gleaming surface your spit has brought forth. Half maroon and half silver; if only he had shoved it down your throat further.

A rough gasp releases from deep in your throat when he suddenly releases his grip on your hair. You had been unconsciously relying on his strength to hold your head up, and without it you end up nearly smashing your forehead against the ground. The muscles in your neck ache for more than one reason, but you know this won’t end until Chromeskull is done reaping his reward.

You let your cheek drop against the grass and dirt, halfheartedly paying mind that you might get dirt in the cuts. He’s hovering above your ass, knees on either side of your lower hips. Close enough that you can feel his heat radiating and mixing in with your own, creating a spot of warmth against the otherwise cool night. It’s a small comfort, and you take the moment of stillness to regain your breathe.

But then the knife he had used on you is stabbed into the ground right in front of your eyes.

He’s smart, even now, especially now, you’ll give him that. While your focus is settled on the abrupt action, he’s placing a burning palm above your tied hands and on the middle-upper part of your back, pressing down with what you believe is the entirety of his weight.

The breathe is stolen from your lungs, coming out of you in a final puff. What was left of your adrenaline is diminishing, fading and leaving you with barely enough energy to widen your eyes and shift your body around, attempting to alleviate the pressure he’s pushing down on you.

All the fighting and hope is more futile than ever. It applied even when you were free, running and believing that maybe you could beat him at his own game. Now it’s apparent he had control all along— whether or not you knew that at the time.

No amount of your thrashing could throw him off, you know that. You don’t believe when he slightly shifts off you and lets you get in a few strangled gasps that it’s your doing, that you could’ve possibly had any affect on his actions right now. They’re all his, and he intends to prove that even more when you hear the sound of a zipper being undone.

You could blame the remaining adrenaline on your shaking, the way every inch of your body trembles under him. But that wouldn’t be the entire truth. No, the rush of feverish warmth pooling at your lower regions alone attests to that fact.

When he leans back even more, allowing a guttural whine to release from your throat, to pull your shorts and panties down in quick, short cusps you aren’t surprised at the goosebumps that litter your skin at the coldness that brushes against your wetness. He swipes a gloved finger through it, receiving a shiver from your nerve-lighten body.

Despite the slick that’s already dripping onto the grass, Chromeskull reaches up to your neck, gathering up the saturated blood on two fingers, pulling them back slowly so that you can see exactly what he’s doing. It’s not enough to actually make a difference, but you don’t think he has that in mind. Just getting to see the redness mix in with the clear fluid already gathering on your folds has that sadistic side of him purring like the engine of his car.

You’re not sure when he retrieved it after you had knocked it from his hands, but the familiar cluttering of him making sure there’s enough room on the tape echoes through the trees. It has your thighs attempting to press together, only to find him right in the middle of them. You can do no more than press the muscles against his own, earning your left one a tightly gripped grasp as he attaches the camera back on the holder that sits atop his shoulder with the other.

You think you attempt to say something as he lines himself up with your entrance, maybe a plea or fulfilling the way he had asked you to beg earlier on, but it gets mangled on its way out with the pure ferocity in which he sheathes himself inside of you.

It happens in one sudden thrust. The entire length of his dick pushing past the resistance and splitting you in two in the matter of a second.

The noise that comes out of you borders on the line between a sob and a moan, coming from a place of complete and utter pleasure and despair. It cracks as your voice struggles to keep up, ripping along the inside of your throat. You’re sure it reopens at least one of the wounds, but that is the farthest thing from pressing in your mind.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your thigh, keeping it there while your other one goes forwards, knee scraping against the ground. You can do little to run away with how the tiredness from the night seeps into you, grabbing and keeping most muscles tight yet still.

Only your fingers are free to spasm, flexing and fingernails scratching just barely against his lower abdomen as he moves back out, then in again with the same amount of power.

He sets in on that brutal pace, honing in on every ounce of his strength to break you open with each thrust. With the camera settled and sturdy, he’s free to move both hands to grab at the meat of your hips, pressing bruises into the flesh as he tugs you backwards onto him, trying to reach as far back inside of you as he possibly can.

You should be screaming at this point, voice rising to the stars, but all that comes out of you is rugged gasps that rise and falter with each movement of his hips. Out, an intake that is more of a hiccup; In, a soundless sob that has all of the air rushing out of you.

The sounds of his pant covered legs and hips hitting against your skin is loud, traveling into the open air and out. If this area wasn’t so desolate, you’d worry about someone hearing. About someone accidently walking onto this scene. However, it’s too late and too far out into the woods for that to possibly happen. You’re sure that’s why he had chosen this specific area. No chance for someone to see or attempt to save you from his gloved hands.

It's not long until one of his palms grasps your throat, fingers stretching around your neck easily. Chromeskull raises you using his hold just a bit so that you’re not pressed into the ground and lets his hand lay there, a reminder that you’re entirely his— especially now.

He feels your thrumming pulse beneath the latex and skin, beating hard like a hummingbirds wings. It seems to get faster with each second that passes with him right there, warmth spreading against the drying blood. He can’t help but to tighten his hand, chasing his release and that throbbing heartbeat at the same time.

A particularly brutal shove of his hips has a cry fleeing from your chest. It’s shrill, rising higher than the trees as he hits that spongy part of your insides that has you reeling. He moves his position slightly, just enough that he continues to slam into that same spot over and over again.

That’s all it takes for your body to fully give in; moans joining in with the symphony of his increasingly labored breathing. Each one is grating, vibrations of the noise pressing against his hand and the cuts that mar your skin.

The sounds seem to spur him on even more. He yanks you up and flush against his chest, pressing against the column of your throat until you’re forced to move even further into him in an attempt to have some breathing room. Your thighs squeeze tightly, fingers twitching against his warm abdomen as you try unsuccessfully to move, to somehow distract yourself from the way tears well up in your eyes at the overwhelming feeling of him.

Your thighs threaten to close now that he’s not between them, and he parts them in a quick motion with the use of his knee, sliding it and keeping his leg right there. If he had his phone or the time to use his hands right now you’re sure he’d tell you to quit, to stay there and be good for him now that he’s caught you.

But you can’t. Not when he feels so good between your legs.

You move all you can. Wiggling against his hold and gasping out rough cries. He’s getting closer, you can tell as his thrusts get more sloppy, his dick twitching from its place between your walls. Even then, he doesn’t relent in his pace. If anything, it increases as it grows more urgent.

His fingers slide from your hip, downwards until they’re pressing against the heat of your folds. A measured slap to them has you breaking, the tears finally spilling down your cheeks in a river of pleasure. As if that was what he was waiting for, he finally moves to circle them around your clit, easily finding a pace that has your mouth falling open.

The muscles of your lower stomach tighten up, a spring ready to uncoil. Chromeskull urges you on with a squeeze on your throat, releasing just enough to allow you to make all the noises he so desperately loves hearing. That, combined with the lewd sounds of your wetness pushes you over the edge.

You can’t tell if you closed your eyes or if the world literally went black at how powerful your orgasm races through you. Every muscle spasms, convulsing and screwing up until your rigid in his arms, taking what he’s giving you while your mind crashes in on itself.

It only takes a few more savage upward angles of his hips to reach you there, spurting hot tendrils of cum into your quivering cunt. He holds your now limp body, latex hands gripping and keeping you up and against him while he rides out his own release, hips grinding against your bare skin.

Stars hover in your vision, spotting and sliding against the trees and moon. Everything is hazed over, blurry as your brain turns to mush. You can’t do much more than let him—Jesse—sweep you up in his arms, deciding for you that you’re better held by him than walking.

You’re beyond thankful for this, not trusting the jelly that is now your appendages. He’s so warm against you, the familiar texture of his black clothing soothing your flushed skin. You don’t even mind that he left his belt tight around your wrists, sure he’ll undo it one you’re back and settled in the pristine inside of his sleek car.

He does more than that once you’re back at the entrance of the forest.

While you had only been barely warned of tonight’s events, he was complete and utterly prepared—as he always is. A clean set of clothing, an overlarge black shirt of his and a new set of your own panties, is sat on the passengers side seat. It hadn’t been there when you left, so he must’ve prepared while you began your less than calculated attempt at escaping from him.

You can’t even be upset at the cuts and bruises from tonight. Not when he helps you out of your ripped and dirty clothing so gently, latex brushing against your still sensitive flesh. How could you be when he takes a wet wipe and brushes your face and neck clean of all the blood and grime, stroking your hair down when he’s done.

Once you’re dressed and tuckered out in the front seat, he removes the chrome mask, placing it in the backseat along with his two knives. To be cleaned, he signs once he’s next to you in the drivers seat. From you; the blood and spit he had culled from you tonight. His black gloves go next, thrown into the compartment on the side of the door.

You watch him remove the camera from its holster, a smirk present on his lips before he places it in the compartment that sits between the two front seats. Before your eyes can close, succumbing to the exhaustion that pulls your body down, Jesse grabs your hand and squeezes. It’s nothing more than something to call your attention, and you oblige with a roll of your head sideways to look at him.

His brown eyes are watchful, yet soft. The car rumbles beneath you, started but still. The now bare flesh of his right hand is brought to his chin, fingers touching the smooth complexion before he brings them in a downward arc and into his left hand, palm facing upwards.

Good, he says. You did good.

#jesse cromeans #chromeskull #chromeskull x reader #slashers #slasher #slashers x reader #slasher x reader #chromeskull fanfiction

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basilthymee · 1 year

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Two Fibers Intertwined lore master post!

As of late, I've been worrying that my method of storytelling is very... sparse and vague, so I've decided to collect all of the 2FI lore-relevant content and compile it into a post so it's of easy access to anyone who might want to go over it again!

The comics! (in chronological order)

Humble Beginnings, Rot, I'm sorry Mom, INCIDENT REPORT, Repair., Catharsis., Square one.

And the memory snippets, as well as misc. lore posts! (the snippets previous to 30% weren't included since they don't include any substantial lore)

30%, 40%, 60%, 90%, ACTIVITY DETECTED.

#2FI #Two Fibers Intertwined #get lore'd nerd

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tanushakyrano · 1 year

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febuwhump day 15: self-sacrifice

okay um. sorry in advance

characters: Scott, Alan, John

additional warnings: nothing specific. it's just sad

________________

Thirty seconds.

The number flashes blood-red on the tiny digital clock at the heart of the tangle of wires and metal. Blue and black and green criss-cross, spilling out from the casing like guts from an abdominal wound. The thing is so absurdly tiny - able to easily fit in Scott's palm - that it's hard to believe that it packs the power to completely obliterate anyone in a radius of over fifty metres.

Twenty-seven.

Scott's eyes flicker around the room. It's small, sparsely decorated, as most rooms in space stations are. Practicality over aesthetics and sentimental decor. The walls are panelled - likely each one has in-built storage of some kind, hidden mechanisms in the designs that will pop open a compartment upon being activated. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flooding the room with an ugly and jarringly bright white light. The metal grating of the floor echoes hollowly as he takes a half-step backwards.

Twenty-five.

Scott's gaze falls upon his brothers.

John is speaking urgently and desperately to Brains over the comm channel, the scan of the bomb having been sent as soon as they found the stupid thing. He's keeping a cool head, somehow. John's always had that uncanny ability to stay in control of any situation, regardless of the risk or complexity; it's what makes him perfect for his role. Scott's lost count of the number of times John has saved his ass over the years.

Twenty-two.

Alan's looking from him to John, as if the solution to the problem will be written on their faces. Problem. Scott nearly laughs at his own train of thought. Yeah, the deadly explosives stuck to the wall are a problem. Their imminent deaths at the hands of said deadly explosives are definitely a problem.

Twenty.

His kid brother looks terrified. He's trying to hide it, Scott can tell, but he knows Alan too well. He can see his clenched fists where he's trying to disguise the tremor in his hands. He can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his breathing quickens.

Eighteen.

They should never have ended up in this situation. So many alarm bells had blared in his head about the distress call John had received, so many things that hadn't quite added up. But International Rescue was founded to help, to save, and his father would never dismiss a call out of hand so Scott didn't even consider it an option.

Sixteen.

He'd made a lot of mistakes, hadn't he? So many missed opportunities, so many failures, so many people he'd let down. Maybe he could make up for them.

Fourteen.

Scott makes his choice.

"Move. Move!" he barks, ushering Alan and John towards the escape pod at the end of the corridor. Alan looks puzzled - understandably, since the pod had long since been ruled out as a potential escape path off the space station because it could only be ejected manually from the external control panel.

Scott has taken this into consideration, of course. But Alan doesn't know that yet.

Eight.

There's a glint in John's eye that indicates he has an inkling of Scott's plan. He opens his mouth to protest - starts moving back towards the mouth of the escape pod - but Scott slams the hatch closed before John can make it out.

Five.

Alan's eyes widen.

Four.

Scott hits the eject button, berates himself for leaving it so late. He prays that he's not cut it too close. None of this will have been worth it if his brothers die.

Two.

"Scott! SCOTT!"

One.

He closes his eyes. He hopes that he will see his parents again.

Zero.

#thunderbirds are go #cora writes #scott tracy #alan tracy #john tracy #febuwhump23 #whump

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skzfairyy · 6 months

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District 9: Chapter 14

Mafia!AU || skz x OC’s || PG-17 ||

Pairings: Bangchan x oc, Minsung x oc, other pairings to come!

Genre: Angst, Romance, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Humor, AU (& so much more lol)

Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence, weapons, language

Status: Ongoing

Wc: 3.8k words

AN: Lets not even talk about how late this chapter is... for all of you who stick with this story even now after the super long hiatus, thank you we appriciate every note you leave! Enjoy the chapter! - Y2K

Seungmin’s makeshift medical bay, which is usually empty, now had two more people than Seungmin was used to. The room itself wasn’t that big. The space had two care beds towards the back wall, with a curtain dividing the room, and on the other side was Seungmin’s own bed. Towards the front of the room was a larger table reserved for surgeries that would need to take place and a small table to hold all his supplies. The room was sparse but had all of the essentials that the team could possibly need to be treated in an emergency.

Seungmin had just finished extracting the bullet from Yura's shoulder, and he now stood at his supply table, sterilizing the instruments that were used. The girl who’s now weaning off the anesthetics, lays on the bed a few feet away, with Jisung sitting at the edge of her bed, eyes never moving from her slumbering body. Earlier he helped Seungmin by holding down her wandering hands as she sluggishly spoke about any and everything. She’d fallen asleep about twenty minutes in, making the process move along a lot faster. Once Seungmin was done, Jisung helped move her limp body to the bed in the corner and decided to stay by her side until she woke up.

They sat in silence for another thirty minutes before Yura’s groans began to fill the room. Seungmin turns around to find the girl trying her best to sit up in bed.

“Careful!” He moves quickly over to the edge of the bed.

As the girl adjusts to a sitting-up position, her eyes frown as Seungmin moves to quickly check the gauze and bandage that he placed on her back after the surgery.

“The stitches are extremely sensitive right now. I was able to remove the bullet, but it’s still healing, and so is your arm.” He points to the sling her left arm sits in.

“You’re pretty banged up, Killer.” Jisung jokes to his friend, more for Seungmin’s sake than hers.

Yura being on bed rest wouldn’t bode well for anyone in the house, the blank look on her face may not show it, but the hints of frustration in her eyes give it away instantly.

“Your bruised ribs will also take some time. To sum it up, you’re not allowed to do any physical activity besides your physical therapy for your joints until I say you’re ready. Nobody else.” Seungmin’s words are firm while he speaks.

Dealing with an agent who’s addicted to physical activity isn’t anything new. Yura’s been well-known around District 9 for so long, that even he knows how important training is in her day to day routine.

“And when is that exactly?” Yura’s voice is strained, the drugs finally wearing off allowing her walls to stack up high once more.

“No time soon.” Seungmin shakes his head at her.

Of course, he feels sorry for restricting her from the only outlet she has, but her physical health is just as crucial to the team as her strength, so even if he has to be the bad guy in this situation he will for the sake of her recovery.

“Can I go next?” A head pops in the entrance of the room, Changbin’s eyes are on Yura and Seungmin as he walks in. “Damn, you look bad.” He says when he finally approaches the bed.

Jisung glares at his friend who just shrugs in response.

“He’s just saying that now because he knows I can’t kick his ass in this condition.” Yura grumbles to her protective friend.

“Yeah, and for how long is that gonna be doc? Gotta space these things out if we’re gonna be living together and all.” Changbin turns and asks Seungmin, a playful smile on his lips as he sees the anger fuming from his old friend, out of the corner of his eye.

“I’ll choke you out in your sleep.” Yura’s words are laced with malice, and if the group of guys didn’t know the extent of her injuries, they’d take her threat seriously.

“You’d have to be able to use both arms for that, my little she-demon.” Changbin bites back with a smug grin from across the bed.

The battered girl makes a quick lunge from her spot on the bed, forgetting for a moment why she was in the med bay to start with. She stops shortly by the shooting pain in her shoulder. Though both Changbin and Seungmin jump back out of reflex, Jisung moves to stop her quickly.

“Yah! Yura!” He gingerly places a hand on her thigh while the girl grimaces at the pain in her shoulder.

“Changbin hyung, go sit on the other bed and wait for me.” Seungmin sighed, knowing the longer these two are around each other will definitely result in re-stitching Yura’s shoulder.

“Jisung, take her somewhere, maybe away from anyone who will force her to tear her stitches.” The doctor moves over to the other bed where a smirking Changbin sits, kicking his feet like a child.

“Annyeong~!” Changbin calls as Jisung and a limping Yura exit the room.

“It’s not much, but we’ve made it livable which says a lot compared to what it used to look like.” Chan’s voice rings through the empty hallway.

Rina walks by his side, their hands interlocked at their sides. The Choi girl’s eyes take in the peeling walls and empty crates that fill the small hallway, still trying to wrap her head around this old building becoming her home base for the next few years. Chan turns a corner and leads her through a doorway, opening up into a small kitchen. There were crates of dry foods in a corner, as well as old instant ramen packaging sitting on top of the counter.

“The guys probably got hungry and forgot to throw away their trash…”

She raises an eyebrow in question at Chan and he just smiles sheepishly in return.

“Right! Food for you.” He moves quickly around the counter, digging through the cabinets while Rina stands back watching him with an amused smile.

As Chan moves towards the fridge, he finally pulls out a tray of pre-packaged kimbap. He turns around with a victorious smile and slides it onto the counter in between them.

“It’s not much but-”

“It's fine, Chris.” Rina giggles as she moves to open the tray from the plastic wrapping. “Honestly, I’m surprised we even have a fridge.” She says as she pops one of the rolls into her mouth.

“Apparently, Jackson just left everything behind untouched, including all the appliances. The fridge and water system outside were one of them, and after some deep cleaning we found out everything worked perfectly fine. We just really lucked out.”

Rina nods her head as he speaks, carrying the tray in one hand, as he grabs her free hand, and leads her to a sliding door and opens it before stepping through himself. The doorway opened up to a dining area complete with a giant solid wood table in the center. The windows that surrounded the room are covered with different blankets to keep the sunlight out. Along the walls are stacked chairs and other boxes she can only assume are supplies Minho was able to transport over before they arrived.

“This is probably where most of our team meetings will take place, I was thinking over breakfast? Dinner works too, if that's better for you.” His eyes glance over to Rina, she sets down the tray, her eyes looking over the room swiftly before turning back to him.

“Breakfast sounds fine?” She responds, voice barely audible with her mouth full of food, and sounding slightly confused.

What do I have to do with that decision?

Minho clears his throat as he enters the room, joining the couple. He notices their interlocked hands with a raised eyebrow at Chan before speaking.

“Have you asked her yet?”

Rina’s eyes move to Chris’s at Minho’s question. She releases his hand and moves to sit on top of the table with one foot touching the ground, her features doing a great job of hiding the pain she’s in. Instead, she shows a hint of a playful attitude as she crosses her arms, her body angled toward the boys.

“Well, this outta be good.”

Minho’s annoyance from earlier was long gone, replaced by suppressed laughter from Rina’s comment and the redness growing on Chan’s ears.

“I was working my way to that, Minho…” Chan says through a tight smile.

There’s really no reason Bangchan should be hesitant to ask Rina this question. The girl was born to lead, and he knew that more than anyone. He just figured she’d want to settle in before being asked to take on such a heavy responsibility.

His eyes move to hers nervously. Rina's position hasn’t changed, but her smirk grows wider as she sees how Chan begins to fidget under her stare.

Cute.

“When Minho and I were first working out the main points of this operation, he made it clear early on that he didn’t want to be in a… leadership position.” Chan’s voice is clear as he speaks.

“Yeah, too much paperwork.”

Rina glances at Minho as he nods his head along to what Chan said.

“Don’t get me wrong, I have no problem taking complete charge of the mission, and everything else, but we both agreed that it’d be best if there was someone to help. Not- not as an assistant, but more like a partner. A co-leader.”

His voice stutters as he tries to string together his scattered thoughts.

“It was obvious from the beginning that you’d be the best choice. You’ve got a good understanding of the plan and a pretty comprehensive skill set. I mean I’m pretty sure the whole district is aware of how incredible your strategic skills are, you’ve negotiated your team out of some of the most insane situations. Rina, you are the only person I want to lead alongside me. And I- I’m rambling aren't I?” Chan questions with a sheepish smile.

“Kind of.” Minho shrugs, feigning annoyance.

“Hey, I think it’s cute.” Rina laughs while Chan shakes his head at Minho.

“So, Rina. Will you help lead us? Will you be my co-leader?” Bangchan asks, his tone more serious, as he meets her eyes once again.

As Rina takes in exactly what’s being asked of her, Minho decides to chime in.

“We really just need someone to talk him down from his crazy ideas.”

“Yah! My ideas aren’t even that bad!” Chan defends himself.

Rina and Minho share a look before turning to Bangchan.

Of course she figured she’d be asked about helping out at some point, but leading?

In the past, Rina and Chan have always been in charge of their respective groups, and have led together several times for joint missions. They’ve always worked well together and now they would be able to lead the way they want without having to answer to anyone. This mission would be theirs to shape and form to their liking. Planning and strategizing was her specialty and it would make no sense to sit around for the next four years without putting that skill to good use. Plus, Rina’s got some of her own ideas for their future that she’d like to run by Chan, and becoming a co-leader of this team would give her the perfect opportunity to do that.

“Okay. I'll do it.” Rina says nonchelauntly, with a shrug of her shoulders before popping another piece of kimbap in her mouth.

Minho and Bangchan share a small smile at her answer. Everything was falling into place.

Finally.

Rina moves to slide off the table, her hand clutching her side tenderly. “Now can one of you show me where Seungmin is, so he can fix me too?”

Bangchan is quick to take her arm, carefully helping her out of the dining room and guiding her towards their makeshift med bay, talking quietly to distract her from the pain.

With the sun setting, the busyness of the compound was finally calming down from the arrival of the two newest members of the team. Bangchan stood in the main entryway with the Choi girls and Jisung, getting ready to give them a tour of the property.

Rina had finally gotten checked over by Seungmin. He gave her a couple of bandages for her broken ribs, treated her cuts, a burn on her shoulder from a grazing bullet she hadn’t noticed, and gave her a mild pain medicine. Jisung volunteered to tag along on the tour, claiming he had no work to do, when it was actually because he wanted to be sure Yura was okay walking around after her surgery.

Minho rounds the corner, also planning on joining the group on their tour.

Much like Jisung, Minho was using this tour as an excuse to calm his worries and see with his own eyes that Yura was okay. His motives though, were much less obvious.

His footsteps faltered as he noticed Jisung’s close proximity to Yura. His usual scowl becomes prominent on his face when the others finally notice him.

“Minho?” Chan calls out to his friend. “Are you coming along on the tour too?”

The twins had both noticed the unusual tension between Minho and Jisung pretty early on. It was common for the couple to gravitate towards each other whenever they were in the same room, but even after a few hours of arriving in the compound, Rina had noticed that Jisung was finding excuses to avoid Minho. She also noticed the way Minho’s face would harden whenever Chan mentioned Jisung in conversation. Whatever it was that the couple was fighting about, seemed to be something that’s been going on for a while.

The quiet boy finally breaks eye contact with Jisung before turning his eyes to Chan.

“Actually, I’m gonna get started on dinner.” His plans changed the moment he saw their closeness, not quite ready to address any of his current feelings about either of them.

Rina not only felt the tension, she could see the struggle of emotions in her friends’ eyes. Yura’s on Minho’s figure tenderly, while Jisung does his best to avoid eye contact altogether. This was awkward even for them. She knew there just had to be more going on with the three of them than they let on.

“I’ll join you when we’re done, Min! I think I'm a pretty okay cook, maybe we can switch off so you’re not cooking every night.” She speaks up, doing her best to ease the awkwardness that's being built into the room.

Minho offers a small smile at her suggestion. “Sounds good.”

He puts his hands in his pockets and turns to walk back into the house, before stopping again and looking back.

“Also I- um…” For a moment he was going to put current issues aside and just ask Yura if she was okay.

For a moment.

“...Changbin and Seungmin went to take a nap. Just wake them up later on for dinner.” His eyes glance towards Yura once more, as he scans her injuries quickly before turning, leaving them alone once again, not noticing how her eyes hadn’t left his body the whole time.

Chan begins talking about the compound and how he got access to the rundown property, while beside him, Rina turns her head to her sister once Minho leaves. She shoots Yura a look that just screams ‘What the fuck is going on?’, while the younger one shrugs her good shoulder ever so slightly.

“-I also wanted to say, I'm glad you guys made it. Seriously.” Chan’s eyes bounce between the girls with a soft smile. Although he does feel partly responsible for their injuries, he knew this was just one of the hurdles of their plan.

“This place isn’t anything special, but I figured a tour would be good so you guys can see the layout and know where things are.” He moves first down the hallway. Rina is by his side while Yura slowly moves behind them. Despite that awkward encounter with Minho, Jisung holds his arm out for her to lean on only to be met with a smack from her good hand.

“Quit doting Ji! Your boyfriend already looks like he wants to kill me, do you really want to give him a reason too?” Yura scolds him.

Of course, his spitfire friend has no real idea what’s been going on with them- or that she’s the main topic of their argument. He makes a mental note to allow her some insight into what’s going on with them, partly to pick her brain on what she really thinks of Minho, and partly to distract her from the long road of recovery ahead.

“Okay fine. I'll go and if you fall over-”

“No! Just. Stay near me… I guess…” She’s quick to respond with a low grumble, annoyed that she still doesn’t have her full strength yet.

Jisung smiles smugly at her quick defeat, but still does as she says, staying near as he crosses his arms letting her walk on her own for the most part. Chan walks them by the main kitchen and dining area, Seungmin’s medic bay, and Jisung’s tech room. They finish up the tour in the hallway where everyone’s bedrooms are located.

“Me and Changbin are right here.” He points to a door on his right.

“Across from us are Minho and Jisung, and next to them are you guys. Your bathroom is connected to the room, but you’ll be sharing it with Jisung and Minho. Seungmin wanted to stay in the medic bay so this last room next to ours is just for storage right now. Any extra stuff we found or brought with us is in there.” He points to each door as he speaks, his eyes falling on Rina almost instinctively.

“I uh, I set up some beds and brought some extra clothes we had lying around for you guys. We’ll give you some privacy to get cleaned up and comfortable, then meet you later at dinner, yeah?” He says casually, waiting for their response.

Rina glances at him with a small smile. “Yeah, that sounds good, we’ll meet you guys there soon.”

As Rina moves over to her sister, their eyes silently communicate before Yura moves her feet in the direction of their new bedroom. Jisung stays behind Chan, his eyes don’t leave the limping girl until she makes it to the doorway with her much taller sister at her heels.

“Thanks, Channie. For everything.” Yura glances over her shoulder at the man. With everything moving so fast these last few days, she never got the chance to sit down and talk to him personally. This recovery would take more out of her than she thought, so at least sending the sentiment would put her mind at ease.

Chan sends her a small smile in return before turning and exiting the hallway with Jisung behind him.

The twins enter their new bedroom together taking the small room in with curious eyes.

“Well, it’s bigger than I thought it’d be.” Yura glances at her sister.

The room was a bit smaller than their old quarters back at the academy, with a large window on the back wall. Directly on the cement floor were the two mattresses Chan mentioned earlier, one on the left wall and one on the right. Each one made up simply with an old bookshelf between them, as a make-shift nightstand.

Rina walks over to the bookshelf and turns on the lamp sitting atop it. She notices that there are two neatly folded piles of clothes, with a small piece of folded paper atop each one with their names. She moves the clothes for Yura to the end of one of the beds and hands her the note with her name on it.

Yura takes the note and reads it out loud.

‘Welcome Home Chookie!

~ Channie Oppa ;) ~’

Yura smiles, letting out an airy huff while shaking her head. “I knew that nickname would grow on him.”

Rina chuckles at her response and opens her own.

‘I can’t wait to see where this new journey takes us.

~ Yours, Chris♡ ‘

She smiles widely to herself, feeling her cheeks heating, but quickly straightens her features and folds it back.

“What’d yours say?” Yura asks as she limps into the bathroom to turn on the shower.

“Oh… the same. It said the same as yours.” She fibs, slightly embarrassed at how Chan gets her so giddy so easily. Rina follows behind her, helping her carefully pull the sports bra over her head without disturbing her injured shoulder.

“Sooo… what was up with Jisung and Minho today?” Rina questions her sister, who only shrugs one shoulder in response. With the two spending almost every second of their lives together often resulted in moments like this, Rina being the only one Yura allows to see and help her bathe with the immobilizing injury.

“Minho’s been a bit off and on edge lately, or so Jisung says. I don’t want to get in between their love quarrels.” Yura begins tugging her leggings off, waiting for her sister’s assistance with that as well before continuing.

“Seems like it’s got something to do with you…” Rina says as she crouches down, pulling each of her ankles through the holes of her leggings.

Yura glances over her shoulder, past her bare ass with a frown towards her sister.

“I’m just saying! Minho was intently staring at you before he left, and I don’t think your eyes left him once the whole time. Just… don’t do anything stupid, with your injury and us being stuck together for the next few years…” Rina trails off as she stands, moving to open the shower curtain for Yura to step into it, before stopping mid-motion.

“Oh-?” She says, partly shocked with a laugh.

Curious, and in full nudity, Yura steps closer to see what interrupted Rina’s train of thought.

“Gotta remember he’s still a man at the end of the day, Nini.” She says as she reaches over, slight laughter leaving her mouth while picking up the bottle of eucalyptus 3-in-1 shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, before stepping into the shower.

“Yeah… definitely gonna have to have a little chat about that.” She laughs, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Shout if you need anything!” Rina calls into the bathroom, leaving the door open on her way back into the bedroom, with Yura’s dirty clothes in hand.

The younger Choi hums in response as she stands letting the hot water fall on her, soothing the slight pain in her shoulder while thinking about her interactions with the couple throughout the day.

taglist: @toalltheunknown, @skzloveforever, @ryak14, @thesunsfullmoon, @woozarts

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undeadunalive · 1 year

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Low / sparse activity

Just going to make it official, due to my current living arrangements OOC at the moment, I really don’t have any muse for Jonathan at all and I find that the more I try and force myself to play Vampyr, the less fun it gets for me to play and write, so I want to let folk know that my activity on here will be a case of I’ll be here if I can muster up some muse but other than that I’ll mainly found elsewhere.

I realise folk have been irritated that I’ve followed back but haven’t been active, I promise I’m not ignoring anyone on this blog, it’s not that I’m not interested, I just don’t have muse to write Jonathan atm and it’s not fair on you or me if I try and force myself to write when I'm really not feeling it.

In the meantime, if anyone’s interested in interacting with my new main blog, I can be found here. Apologies in advance for late replies on Jonathan whether ooc or to posts and I completely understand if you choose to unfollow me for this.

My dad is due to leave the country on the 6th of March until May, so if I do manage to get muse, it’ll hopefully be during that time, but otherwise I can’t promise anything. Again, I’m really sorry about this.

#OOC:

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thiscrimsonsoul · 11 months

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{out of paprikash} Okay so I ended up still not getting much done. I spent most of the day doing laundry. I KNOW, I KNOW, I’M SORRY. XD It really needed to get done, though, I had ignored it lately, haha. I will make an effort to clear time for my Monday muses next week to make up for two weeks of really sparse activity. Nothing is going to stop me next Monday! XD

#{ out of paprikash } ᵒᵒᶜ #{i was like let's do one load}#{and that turned into let's just do all the laundry in the house haha}#{things were piling up though so i'm glad i did it... but still XD}

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freewillacquired · 2 months

Note

( I would like to start a thread with you, if you have room for newbies. I don't know how they may have met, but I can certainly give it a try ^^ thanks )

{out of mutations} I'm so sorry it took me so long to answer this. I've been dealing with some health issues as well as work/family obligations that have caused me to be pretty sporadic here lately. Sure, we could start something if you like, but I am only on this blog on Wednesdays, and sometimes I need to skip if things are really busy. So as long as you are understanding as far as my activity level being sparse at times, we can absolutely start a thread. If you have any ideas, you can always feel free to send something in, or I can read any info you have written up on your muse when I get some extra time. =)

#{ out of mutations } ᵒᵒᶜ

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kryie · 1 year

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Driving Home

A will Graham fanfic

Summary- it’s getting late and Will is taking you back to his place for the night for a place to stay

The important stuff:

Word count- 2530

Smutt/Fluff/“passionate”

NSFW

P+V

Edging

Sub Will

[has been proof read but apologies if there are any spelling mistakes] [part 1/ idk how many parts there’s gonna be yet]

The lights on the side of the road were a slight flashy blur as the car steadily continued along. Will lived not remotely, but comfortably away from most people, happy enough with the comfort of his many dogs, although the stretch of road to get to his made it feel as though he lived a lot further away from people than he actually did.

“Feels like a long way out here.”

“Sometimes i wonder why i decided to live so far from people,” Wills eyes glanced towards you for a second before returning to the road.

“Then i get to work and i’m reminded…”

Will didn’t seem to be antisocial, just less social than most and had a noticeable distaste for eye contact. He also didn’t speak too much to people and would even actively avoid some of the people around him at work, probably because he suffers enough with the gruesome crime scenes he’s had to stomach regularly; let alone people actively trying to discuss details with him. It certainly wasn’t helpful that he had a very active and vivid imagination either.

Yet given all this you still couldn’t help but take it to heart even if he didn’t explicitly say it was you that bothered him.

He looked at you for a second again and caught the slight forlorn look you had.

“I didn’t mean you I meant…”

He trailed off like he already knew he wouldn’t be able to convince you otherwise- but in fact it didn’t take much.

“Will it’s ok i know you didn’t mean it like that.”

He didn’t say anything back but instead he just continued driving looking sort of irritated with himself.

It didn’t take long after that to reach the house. It looked dimly lit but that was to be expected as nobody was home anyway. It was a seemingly small wooden abode with a sweet little porch at the front featuring blue panels around it supported by white wooden planks; both acting as support but also as an accent feature to the outside to make it look more comforting and inviting (which worked). It looked quite bijou but the closer you got the more you realised how it wasn’t.

Will went in first making sure that none of the dogs ran out the door and off into the snowy woods surrounding the house. The trees were sparsely leafed but were densely packed enough that it would make it hard to run after one if it escaped.

“I trust them not to run but I like to be sure.” Will ushered the dogs away from him after they had had a few seconds to welcome him back and he closed the door behind you.

The inside was cozzy, a fireplace stamped between two disorderly and sparsely arranged bookshelves and an array of dog beds planted in the centre of the room, but most of the dogs were up.

“Sorry I should have made sure that your ok with dogs beforehand.” Again, Will looked like he was mentally scolding himself for something stupid but it was easy to forget to ask as someone who spends most of their spare time around dogs.

“It’s alright, i love dogs”, you beckoned one over, bent over lightly patting your thighs and Will watched as one ran over when it turned back round at the sound to notice you.

“Winston” Will said, sounding surprised.

“He’s not usually this friendly with people he doesn’t know, not even when I first found him.”

“Found him?”

“I like to pick up strays. He’s my newest member to the collection.” He gestured to the other dogs with his hand.

“A Jack russell?”

He looked surprised by the question.

“I was just wondering why someone who is seemingly so quiet has such a notoriously excitable breed. Then again each dog has its own personality so what’s the point in stereotyping dog behaviour?”

Will let out a huff like laugh and a small smile, almost impressed by the point on dog personality.

“Well, is he?”

“Is he what?”

“Excitable?…”

“Sometimes.” He turned to look at you while he replied.

Maintaining eye contact. Will didn’t normally do eye contact.

You took a moment to examine the ‘collection’ of dogs again before turning to ask another question.

“Do you have a favourite?” Your eyes resumed scanning the dogs while trying to guess which one it might be while waiting for Will's answer, feeling his eyes still on you. The sensation was strange, but welcome, he’d never been so brave with his eyes before.

“Well…” His voice was suddenly low and noticeably softer. “I do have a favourite”, his voice emphasising the ‘a’ like he was talking about something else.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off you since you’d asked him about the jack russell.

He moved towards you and Will's hands came to gently cup the sides of your face and he leaned in slowly about to kiss you. He lingered for a moment, savouring the intimacy of his face so close to yours. His breathing was shaky and he seemed hesitant, but not because he was chickening out but because he’d never wanted to kiss someone so urgently before. He’d been waiting and waiting for an opportunity and now he had it he almost didn’t know how to take it.

You put your hands on his sides to encourage him that this is what you wanted and he pressed himself to you.

His lips, his chest, and his hands still on your face and so close. So close.

The kiss was soft and slightly drawn out as Will revelled in the sensation, his thumb gently rubbing your face as he pulled back slowly to observe your reaction; eyes darting between yours. His mind was racing and he couldn’t quite get a read on your face to tell him how it felt.

Was he too slow?

Was he too soft?

Was his body too close?

But the closeness was what he enjoyed most. He enjoyed the warmth and how he could feel you tensing slightly as he pushed onto you before you relaxed, the two of you leaning into each other.

You could tell he was searching your face desperately for an answer so you leaned in to kiss him again and he closed his eyes before you this time as he allowed himself to be vulnerable.

Something very rare for Will.

You could feel his torso shift slightly as he grabbed ahold of your waist to keep his hands occupied and he pulled you in closer as he deepened the kiss, making it messier and more breathy. Making it physically hotter.

Your lips parted and Will sighed in a mix of frustration and desperation.

“I was enjoying that.” He looked almost disappointed for a moment before smiling.

“Sorry it just gets hard to breathe when your so close to someone for so long like that.”

“Like that?” there was a slight twang in his tone and he seemed to like the way you danced around the reality of what you’d done.

“Kissing someone like that for so long- i needed a break.”

Saying that you’d been kissing him to his face was slightly exciting, like it was so obvious and intimate it shouldn’t be spoken about.

“I’m not saying taking a break is a bad thing i��m just saying i was enjoying it…” Wills tone wasn’t sarcastic as you’d probably expect from him saying something like that, but it had a more playful ring to it, again something you’d not normally expect from him.

“Do you want to try something else?” He knew what he had in mind and you could tell by the way he looked asking and the small edge in his voice. The fact he knew made his ,not question but rather invitation, all the more tempting.

“What were you thinking?”

He laid down on the sofa face up and lifted a knee slightly into the air.

“take a seat and find out.”

The look on his face had gone from uninterested in conversation in the car, to excitedly waiting for you to sit on his thigh and the contrast was unbelievable. And exciting.

You moved over to him and straddled his hips before moving backwards, crotch placed firmly against his mid thigh.

Wills eyes gleamed as he waited for you to move and start using him.

All for yourself.

The reality of the situation was almost shaking, someone who you’d never have expect to see like this, who’s usually so quiet and words chosen carefully so desperate.

“You can move…” He wasn’t mean about his slight impatience, in fact the waiting only made him more excited and his voice was lower and softer again waiting for you, eyes fixated on your hips waiting for movement.

You repositioned yourself a bit trying to find the best angle to sit when Will moved his leg up and caused you to jolt forward; his hands coming up to hold your hips again.

“Want me to help?” His eyes were practically sparkling with anticipation waiting for you to say yes. Once he got that-

“Yes.”

He started to roll your hips slowly as he kept watch on the way you moved and your facial expressions. How your brows furrowed or relaxed and which movement seemed to indicate more pleasure.

He was so attentive. So eager to please.

He didn’t take long to find your rhythm and match it, moving his leg up and down as you moved forward and back. He could hear your muffled huffs and small moans mixed with quickened breath as the need for him grew.

“Open your mouth more. I want to hear you.”

You did as he said and his hands travelled up your sides to your face again as he held it with his eyes glossy with what only looked like exhilaration. Will gave you a pull closer to him ,trusting you to keep rhythm, and he dulled your moans with desperate kisses that then trailed down your chin to the centre of your neck. He held your head back by tangling his fingers in your hair and tugging gently. All the time he focused on the middle of your neck.

Making sure to leave a mark.

“I need more-“ Will whined between kisses. As your orgasm grew so did his neediness.

“I want …” He stopped himself from speaking further but stayed kissing your neck softly. He hadn’t even thought about what he meant yet.

“Want- want what?” It was hard to ask him with the threat of orgasm closing in and the sensation of him on your neck.

“I just want you.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say and he used that frustration with lack of words to position himself on top of you, face in the crook of your neck while he hurriedly shoved a hand down your pants and into your underwear.

You let out a whine because of course it was shocking and frustrating; you’d gone from riding his thigh and almost at climax to having it disturbed and now being touched in a completely different way. But Will looked almost cocky, a heavy smirk broad across his face as he edged you (even if it was accidental). He liked seeing you struggle.

“Let me hear you again.” His words rang in your ears as his mouth sent shivers through you from the point that it was on your neck.

Will gently circled your clit with his first two fingers, taking note of the way your hips rolled upwards to apply more pressure in partnership with him. He hoisted one of your legs up and gently ground himself on it, causing him to groan quietly into your neck, again the sound pleasantly reverberating through your ears. His whines were high and breathy but he tried to repress them.

Will didn’t like being noisy himself.

Some noises lasted for longer than others and you could feel his fingers losing focus and rhythm on you as he got carried away with himself.

“Will…”

You took his hand out from your pants, although still longing for release, and laid him back gently to get on top of him. Again straddling his thighs.

“We need to do something for you.”

His eyes stuck on your hands that were gently tugging at the waistline of his jeans. Your fingers awkwardly wrestled with the button on the top and-

“Faster…”

His voice was still raspy from enthusiasm but quieter, like he was ashamed of how badly he wanted this, how impatient he’d become.

A flush of pink falling gracefully on his cheeks.

You sped up and got his jeans undone and pulled them down slightly.

He looked up again to your eyes.

“Are you going to use your hands or-“

“It depends…What do you want?”

“Choose for me.”

You decided to use your hands so you could use your mouth to kiss him and tease his neck. The aim was to encourage him to be vocal, those shy mewls turning to confident cries of rapture.

“You know-“ he gulped hard, “i’d thought about this before…”

Will grabbed the sides of your shoulders, your hips just tantalisingly out of reach. He was watching your hands on himself as a haze and arousal clouded his eyes as well as his bottom lip parted that left his mouth agape with each stroke of him.

“I don’t have the words to tell you how good this is. T-to have you….you-“

He was cut off by an unexpected and whiny moan that painted his face with embarrassment. He was trying hard to hold it back but you quickened your pace on him and gently kissed his neck a few times.

“I’ve thought about this before too.”

This sent him over the edge. You continued pumping him slightly through his orgasm until he fell backwards, just looking at you as he collected himself.

“I’ve had dreams. Waiting for this- those dreams only made it worse.I’m sorry if i was too, for lack of a better word ‘needy’.”

He almost skipped out on the last word as if he was suddenly being taboo about the fact he’d just had an orgasm in front of you like he’d thought about, in his words, far too many times before.

You couldn’t help but let out a small huff of laughter at his sudden and sharp decline in confidence. The image of him inviting you to straddle him from earlier suddenly seemed like some sort of mirage compared to the now worked up mess in front of you.

“Don’t apologise.”

You reassured him by placing a hand in his shoulder and moving closer to his face, his eyes pinging between yours once again.

“I thought it was very sweet.”

Saying this paired with a soft smile was enough to trigger him to lurch forward and kiss you. His kiss was different this time, slow and precise. Now he’d gotten his desperation and an idea of what this long awaited intimacy was like he wanted more, to take it slower and savour it.

#hannibal #will graham #hannibal smut

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