#wooden teeth story | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

revasserium · 7 months

Note

can i have one were zoro realises she does things bc of truama (like doesnt speak much etc)

hold me (still)

opla!zoro; 6,680 words; slow!!!!burn, fem!reader, ex-assassin!reader, straw hat!reader, general tragic backstory/trauma, fluff, hurt/comfort, bit of angst, emotionally constipated zoro, communication? what's that?, nami playing therapist bc she's the only one with 1 iota of emotional intelligence

summary: sometimes, stillness is a virtue, and others -- a tragedy. or, in which the straw hats pick up a new member and zoro is equally intrigued and weirded out by you.

a/n: well. you guys asked for slow burn and... the burn is so slow u gotta squint to see the smoke yall. but trust. the burn does get there! pls be patient!! and i tried to combine 2 dif reqs in this one fic :)

You are of the quiet sort. Just a shadow dancing in the periphery of their vision, and when they first met you, you’d told them it was your superpower, a soft, still smile slipping across your lips. Luffy had bought into it immediately, and the invitation was out his mouth before anyone could stop him.

“Come with us!”

“Oh…” your lips pressed into a thin line of consideration.

Zoro’s fingers itched towards his swords because something about you makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. But something else — something uncomfortable and strange, something very much like curiosity — seizes his chest and twists his stomach. Strange, he thinks, too strange.

“C’mon! It’ll be fun!”

And then, you’d smiled wider, and nodded, and that had been that.

It’s been three months since then, and you are still of the quiet sort, though it had receded a bit with time. What with Sanji’s gentle flirting and Usopp’s not-so-gentle stories and Nami’s bright, dry-humored companionship, you’d begun to “open up a bit”, so Luffy observed.

Zoro, for his part, has kept his distance. Because sometimes he still catches you at the bow of the ship, staring out across the midnight waters, still as a stone-carved statue. Still as a wooden beam — stiller, even.

“What’s with that?” he asks one day, strolling up to Nami as she traces a fine line over a new map she’s working on.

“Hm?” is her very eloquent response.

Zoro ticks his tongue against his teeth and casts his eyes about the ship, finding them drawn to the shape of you, up at the bow again, reading in the shade of the tangerine trees. Nothing moves except for the wind as it whisps through your hair and the slow scanning of your eyes as it skates across the page.

“New girl,” Zoro says, crossing his arms as Nami finally looks up at him and then off towards you.

“Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Zoro lets out a puff of breath, unfolding his arms to glare at Nami. He finds her grinning a lopsided grin as she clicks shut her compass and puts down her pen. She leans a hip on the barrel she’d been drawing on and folds her own arms.

“Oh, you like her.”

“I’m weirded out by her. ‘S not the same thing,” Zoro snaps, but when he tries to leave, Nami blocks him with an arm and pins him with a sharp, leveling look.

“No, no, no — we’re gonna work this through.”

“No thanks, I’m good.”

“Uh-uh, you still owe me after that round of drinks the other night — remember when you bet you could drink more than me?”

Zoro narrows his eyes, “I did drink more than you.”

Nami’s grin is gleeful, “No, you didn’t. You had to be dragged back to your room after clogging up the toilet. Or do I need to show you the evidence —”

“Alright — fuck, fine. But really? This is what you’re gonna waste your favor on? You could’ve asked me to —” Zoro gestures around vaguely, “clean the bilge or something.”

Nami shrugs, looking almost too pleased, “Nope! This is what I wanna use my favor for. And, really, you think a bit of bilge water is gonna gross me out? C’mon.”

Zoro heaves a sigh and leans back against the main mast, closing his eyes.

“Fine then. Go.”

Nami sits back on the edge of the barrel.

“No, you go. Admit that you like the new girl.”

“I don’t.” He doesn’t open his eyes.

“I’ve seen you staring at her. We’ve all seen you staring at her.”

“What, that a crime now?”

Nami fights the urge to roll her eyes, “No, but I’ve never seen you try so hard to avoid someone before.”

Zoro lets out a bark of laughter, hard and mirthless, “Yeah, so that must mean I like her.”

Nami cocks her head, “It means you feel something towards her. And I’d suggest you figure it out.”

“And how’d you propose I do that?”

Nami once again waves in your direction, “Go. Talk. To her.”

Zoro lets out another breath, eyes scanning across the ship, anywhere but towards where you’re still sitting and reading, finger flipping a page in a perfect, smooth, singular motion.

And Zoro’s not blind. Blunt though he may be at times and careless as he is about most material things, he can still appreciate beauty when he sees it. And you — there’s no denying that you’re beautiful. Your strange stillness aside, when you do move, it’s with a dancer’s lissome grace, fluid lines, not a single movement wasted. When you smile, it seems to light you up from the inside, and your words, though soft, carries the well-worn weight of river stones, glittering beneath the clear, spring stream of your voice.

There’s a sharpness in your eyes, a straightness to your spine, a way of carrying yourself as if you’re afraid that one wrong move might shatter you and the entire world around you.

Sometimes when he sees you, he wonders at the hands that had sculpted you this way. He wonders at your life before they’d picked you up in Loguetown, when you’d oh-so-silently slipped up the execution platform and helped Luffy down, all the while staying free of Smoker’s watchful gaze.

The few times he’s seen you fight, he can’t help wondering if you’ve eaten some kind of devil fruit as well. No human could be so fast as that. Or be so quiet. But then again, he’d fought Kuro, and they’d seen stranger things. Still, he marvels at the way you flicker in and out of sight, slipping around the edges of battle like a dark, haunting thing, and men would drop like flies beneath your quick, quiet hands. With nary a sound or shout before their eyes roll back and their breathing is no more.

On the instances when Sanji had asked about your past, your eyes had gone misty and dark, unfocused. You’d gone still, freezing for so long that Usopp would cough just to fill the silence. And then slowly, ever so slowly, you’d turn back towards them with a small, sad smile and say:

“There’s… not much to talk about. I grew up somewhere far away, where if you didn’t keep quiet and still, bad things would happen to you. And then when those bad things happened, if you weren’t quick — the quickest of all, you’d die.”

Bad things, huh? Zoro thinks as he makes his way towards you, a hand resting on the hilt of his swords. He comes to a stop next to you and leans against one of the white planters, casually peering over your shoulder at the book in your hands.

For a long moment, neither of you move. Then, Zoro clears his throat and forces himself to speak.

“Is it good?”

It takes you a second, but eventually, you turn towards him.

“The book? Yeah, I suppose.”

“Not exactly a glowing review.”

You laugh, a soft, breathy little thing as you look back down at the page.

“It's about a girl who falls into an enchanted sleep, and a prince who wakes her up with a kiss.”

“Must’ve been one hell of a kiss.”

“Yes, and one hell of a prince.”

Zoro finds himself chuckling, his shoulders loosening as he takes another breath.

“And then what?” he asks.

“And then… he asks her to marry him.”

You run your fingers along the page, smoothing your palm over the ink and parchment. Zoro watches you, wondering, always wondering.

“What’s she say?” and it’s then that he notices his own voice, hushed and low, barely a whisper.

You look back up at him and smile a smile a sphynx would have been proud of.

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten there yet.”

Zoro takes a breath, and the breath tastes distinctly different than all the breaths he’d taken before it. As if the world takes the breath with him, and some fundamental truth had shifted on the exhale.

The moment breaks, as moments are wont to do, when Sanji calls out for lunch and Zoro jerks out of his almost-reverie. You slowly close your book and rise to your feet, turning back to smile at him.

“C’mon, it’s lunchtime.”

Zoro nods and follows you into the kitchen, where Luffy and Usopp are already digging in, and Nami is pouring herself a drink. She spots the pair of you and catches Zoro’s eyes. A grin ticks at the edge of her lips but before she can say anything, you’re accosted by Sanji sweeping into a deep, flourishing bow, and ushering you towards the table, where he’d set your place in a manner fit for a princess.

“Where’s my setup?” Zoro asks as he drops into the seat next to you, cocking an eyebrow. Sanji shoots him an unimpressed look.

“I’m surprised you can use a fork and knife, moss-head. Just be grateful and eat up.”

Zoro scoffs but digs in nonetheless.

When next they dock, it’s on a rare, peaceful island — an island of light and books and learning, where the air smells of salt and ink and drying parchment, of unwritten words and untold stories. But it smells of a stillness too, and Zoro knows without having to ask that you’d like it here.

And you do.

He’s never seen you smile so much, never seen you so vibrant and full of life. You chat and laugh and read with a voracious hunger, and he finds himself drawn to this new, warm, moving side of you. He finds himself, more often than not, by your side, even when neither of you speak. And he basks in the comfort of the quiet that permeates the air when it’s just the two of you — him hanging in the hammock on deck, you reading by his side.

But now, there’s the soft tapping of your foot, the shuffle of pages when you flip forward to see what’s coming next, and of course the ever-present shush of the ocean as it washes against the Merry’s side.

The Log Pose needs two weeks to properly calibrate to the next island, so they’ve got time to kill.

On the fifth night, over dinner and drinks, Luffy asks the question that everyone’s been thinking since the day they’d all met you —

“So. Why’re you so still all the time? Not that it’s weird or anything — well, actually — it kind of is, but it doesn’t bother me. I’m just asking cause I'm curious!”

You look up from your half-finished wine but Zoro feels it happening, like the hush of a fan blade slicing through air, the gasp before a porcelain vase tips over and shatters. You stop. You stare. You’re frozen in every sense of the word. And he’s known you for long enough to know that you only go still as a reflex, only reach for it as a shield. Against what? He doesn’t quite know.

“It’s… something of a long story,” you say, your voice low and hoarse.

Luffy grins, smacking his lips as he sucks the meat off a chicken leg, “We’ve got tons of time! Right?” he looks around as if for validation, but everyone’s eyes are caught on you and your unnatural stillness.

Zoro shifts slightly in the seat next to you, opening his stance and turning towards you.

“Could do with a good story.”

Your eyes flash in his direction and he offers you the barest hint of a smile.

You relax, ever so slightly, drifting back in your seat, your glass cupped in the palms of your hands. And then, you begin to speak, your voice smooth and lilting, your words washing over them like the faint lull of the tides.

“When I was three, my father sold me for a barrel of beer.”

A dull clack echoes around the room and everyone turns to see Sanji hurriedly righting the thick stein he’s knocked over. Thankfully, it’d been empty.

“Sorry — I just — what?” he sounds furious but Usopp lays a hand across his arm and shakes his head.

You take a deep breath and continue, your voice oddly emotionless as you say, “The man who bought me took me to an island. It was… a dark place. A quiet place. I only learned its name after I escaped — an island called Elysium.”

Nami gasps before clapping her hands over her mouth.

“I’ve just — I’ve heard of that place before, but I thought… I thought it was just a made-up place.”

Luffy swallows hard, frowning, “What’s it like?”

Nami’s eyes flicker between you and Luffy, “Supposedly… it’s the home island for… for the most feared group of assassins in all the seas combined.”

Usopp’s eyebrows jerk up, “The most feared?”

A faint smile seeps across your lips like blood.

“Yes. The Shadows that Live.”

Everyone turns to look at you. Luffy picks up another drumstick.

“Whoa… cool name!”

Zoro hums, “I’ve heard of them before — but mostly, it was just an old wive’s tale about… shadow assassins who hunt in the dark. Mercenaries for hire. But… no one’s ever seen one before.”

“Because… once you see one, you’ll never live to tell the tale,” you say, your eyes now downcast and fixed on the glass in your hands.

“Then…” Usopp’s voice is soft, “What about… you?”

“I… I ran away.”

Silence greets you. But after a moment, Luffy spits out a bit of bone and uses it to pick at the space between his teeth, his eyes round.

“Wow! You must be pretty good to run away from an island full of shadow assassins!”

You almost laugh, his boundless trust hitting you like a punch to the stomach.

“So…” Sanji lets out a puff of silvery smoke, “the staying still thing… that’s just part of your training, yeah?”

You nod, “Something like that.”

Someday, you think, you’ll tell them about the hellscape that was Elysium island, of the long echoing halls, dark and still and silent. Of the mechanical beasts that hunted by sound and movement alone. Someday, you’ll let them know about the poisoned pomegranate seeds that they feed all the “recruits” to keep them hazy, of how you’d kept six of them suspended in your mouth and spat them all out when you’d finally made it far enough from the island to allow yourself to breathe.

“And… are these shadow assassins gonna come after us?” Nami asks, her voice careful and light.

You purse your lips, “I… I don’t know.”

Nami sighs, but a moment later, she moves to refill her drink with a slight shrug, “Well, just one more enemy to add to our growing list. Soon, we’re gonna have to post a sign-up sheet.”

At this, everyone laughs, and the tension snaps like a wounded spring.

Luffy burps loudly, patting his stomach, “I’m not worried — I mean, if you were able to run away from them once, that means you’re stronger than them, right?”

You pause, your hand hovering over the wine bottle. Zoro gently reaches over and refills your glass for you. You shift back into movement, casting him a small smile and taking a sip. The wine is cool and tangy as it hits the back of your throat. You breathe, and the world keeps spinning.

“I… I’m not sure — I’ve never fought… any of… them… before.”

“Guess we’ll find out if they try to come for you then — but you’ve got us now!” Luffy says, reaching for an apple and chomping into it, “ — Sho… you duon gotta wourry —” he licks his lips as he takes another huge bite before tossing the core towards the waste bin, “We’ve got your back!”

Nami makes a disgusted face, “Don’t talk with your mouth full, ugh.”

Sanji chuckles, tapping out his cigarette, “Yeah Luffy, mind your manners.” But his voice is full of laughter and you find yourself relaxing into the sway of the night, the swing of conversation. Beside you, Zoro refills his own glass and leans over to clink it against yours.

You turn, but he only raises his glass before taking a sip.

You mirror his movement, cradling the cup to your chest when you finish.

Later, he finds you by the tangerine trees, ghosting your fingers over their lush green leaves, dark enough to look black in the evening light.

“Hey.”

You turn, “Hi.”

Zoro sighs and looks out over the darkened waves, the moonlight refracted into a million shattered bits of sky.

“Luffy’s right, y’know.”

“What about?” you ask, joining him by the railings. The night air is cool and crisp. Behind you both, the island oozes with lamplight and laughter. Even from here, you can hear the joy, the peace that permeates the air here. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, you think, to stay here forever.

“If they come for you,” Zoro says, “we’ll have your back.”

You let out a small chuckle, looking down at your hands, “I know.”

“So,” he turns towards you, his earrings glinting in beneath the scimitar moon, “you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

You lick your lips, and instinctively, you reach for the stillness. All the days and weeks and months with the people around you have softened you, and for that, you know you should be thankful. Still, old habits die hard, and you have to clench your fists and dig your nails into your own palms to keep from freezing completely.

You take a shivering breath and force it out again.

“Fear’s a hard habit to break.”

At this, Zoro grunts, though it sounds something like consent. The moment stretches, long and soft and taffy-sweet.

He turns back towards the sea, “Yeah,” he says, and then —

“But we can take it slow.”

You swallow hard, passed the broken shards of forgotten words lodged in your throat (you find that they all somehow taste like thank you), and you nod. Warmth tickles your cheeks and you wonder why he’s said we instead of you — and later, lying in your bed at night, staring at the moon-slatted ceiling, you wonder if he was really talking about fear or if it was something else entirely.

You don’t get a lick of sleep that night.

The next few days pass in a light, repetitive blur. You and Zoro are sent on a few short shopping trips in the city, and you’re glad for something to do that involves movement. Shocking how quickly the body adapts once the weight it’d been holding on to is lifted.

You are still quiet, and he, the same; but the silence has shifted around you, and whereas before it’d been solid and steady, it’s now thrumming and charged with some unspoken energy.

Neither of you are blind to it; nor, it seems, is the rest of the crew.

Sanji’s taken to openly teasing Zoro about being with you all the time, complaining loudly that he can’t get a word in edgewise because Zoro refuses to leave you alone. Nami keeps on trying to drag you out for “girl's day” shopping trips, hinting at all the cute clothes you could get and how “green really suits your skin tone, y’know?”

Luffy and Usopp for their part, both just grin whenever they see you together — Luffy stoked at the fact that you seem more happy and talkative, Usopp gleeful at the way Zoro always seems so much softer when he’s next to you.

You’ve taken to watching him when he trains, sitting in the shade of the tangerine trees, a cold drink in your hand as Zoro runs through his katas. You content yourself with watching him flow through the movements, one and then another, and then another after that. He contents himself with your presence, knowing that you’re here, feeling your eyes as they skate down the length of his back or the width of his shoulders.

It’s a peaceful sort of companionship, even if it is living on borrowed time.

When you all wave the little island goodbye, it’s with heavy hearts and tearful smiles. It had treated you well, and you think you’d miss it. But adventure is as adventure does — it calls, beckoning to those with wandering hearts to listen.

The first week back at sea is a strange one, full of a ringing nostalgia. As if you’re simultaneously coming home and leaving one at the same time. Everyone is a bit quiet, except for Luffy, of course, who literally bounces off the freshly waxed planks, humming to himself as he sits on top of the great ram’s figurehead.

“Is he ever still?” you ask one day, sometime in the second week.

To which Zoro makes a sound between a scoff and a laugh, “You’ve been here a while. What’d you think?”

You sigh softly and tear your eyes away from the bright, shivering ball of energy that is your captain towards the far horizon. A sliver of uncertainty twines through you and your breath slows. Zoro glances at you, now long since attuned to your subtle shifts in movement and stillness. He narrows his eyes.

“What is it?”

You shake yourself back into the moment, forcing a smile.

“Nothing. I think…” your words fade as the feeling twists in you again, knife-sharp and stinging. You clear your throat and reach up to brush away a strand of hair. Skin grazes skin as Zoro’s hand meets yours in the same gesture and you both freeze — hands held up, his finger caught against the bend of your cheekbone, your fingers curling over his.

Time slows, slackens around the pair of you, and the moment stays, suspended in space — garnet dark and perfect.

Neither of you dare to breathe. It’s then that you realize how close Zoro is — close enough for you to see the entire ocean reflected in his eyes: big and dark and so endless it nearly unmoors you. Close enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin; his body, emanating heat. You’d often wondered, in the long hours of watching him train, at the glistening copper of his skin and the light-kissed quality, if the sun himself favored Zoro as well.

Like this, it’s easy to believe that beneath his skin, there pulsed something like sunlight.

“Look! It’s an island! It’s an island!”

And just like that, the moment shatters. Time slips back into motion and you pull away from each other, breathless, with warm cheeks and thundering hearts, feeling somehow lightning-touched and static-ridden.

You take half a step back, reaching up to press a hand to your mouth as if to stop something from tumbling through. But what? You can’t really say.

Zoro tips back as well, whipping around to help Usopp and Sanji with the sails as Luffy continues to holler, waving his hat. On the horizon, you see it looming — the silhouette of an island. You lower your palm from your lips to your heart and wonder what kind of island it will be.

Deserted — seems to be the answer when you all make landfall. The island is quiet, but the occasional chirp and cricket staves off your nerves as you all wander cautiously about the beach, squinting into the dense forest that seems to encompass the whole of the island.

“Looks like a good place to camp for the night!” Luffy says, grinning as he plops down on the sand.

Sanji nods, dusting off his hands, “We’ll need some wood for a fire, but I reckon I can whip up some grilled fish from the fresh catch.”

You wrap your arms around yourself and look around, glancing back at the darkening horizon.

“Something the matter?” Zoro’s voice is soft as he helps you carry some of the camping supplies from the ship.

“No… yes… I —” you look up at him, pursing your lips, “I don’t know. I’ve just… this island is…”

Zoro looks around, his dark eyes scanning the thick swath of forest just beyond the beach, “Too quiet?”

You let out a tiny laugh, “Yeah, something like that.”

He nods, “Don’t worry, I’m — we’re here.”

And he leaves it at that, hoisting a stack of wood over his shoulders and going to help Nami with the fire. You watch him with a smile, wondering what on earth you’d done to deserve this level of caring, this magnitude of kindness. Soon, dinner is had and drinks are shared and laughter is spilled like so many silver coins over the white sand beach. The lull of the evening takes over you all, and before long, Luffy and Usopp are slumped over each other, snoring loudly.

You stare into the depths of the fire and try to tamp down the growing dread festering inside your bones. All those years of holding still, of breathing and listening and feeling — you shake yourself — no, not all stillness is a bad thing. Not all silences are made the same.

“You’re doing it again,” Zoro’s voice almost makes you jump. Instead, you turn, finding him next to you as he nurses a half-drunk bottle of wine in his hands. He doesn’t look at you, but there’s a loose grin hinged across his lips.

“Sorry,” you say, ducking your head, feeling a now familiar heat creep into your cheeks that has nothing to do with the dwindling bonfire.

“Don’t be,” Zoro takes another drink, “But I told you… you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“I know… and I’ve said before —”

“Fear’s a hard habit to break,” Zoro echoes back at you, finally glancing over and catching your eye.

You breathe out, looking down at your own hands, “Yeah… but I’m trying.”

You both fall silent, and for a while, the only sounds are the crackle of the dying flames, the shush of the ocean waves, and the occasional snores from the rest of your crew. It’s late — later than you realized.

“Do you… want me to grab a book for you?”

You smile, “No, I don’t think it’s bright enough.”

“I could restoke the fire.”

“No, it’s — it’s okay.”

“Alright.”

A bird coos the distance.

“Why don’t you tell me a story?” you ask, turning to look at Zoro proper, shifting till your body is facing him.

In the faint light, you can see the edge of his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

“You’re asking the wrong guy — you should wait till the Great Captain Usopp’s awake.”

“Yeah, but I want to hear one from you.”

Zoro sighs, his eyes fixed on the last of the flickering flames. He takes another swig of wine before he starts to speak, his voice low and a bit stilted, but he pushes on. He tells you about his childhood, the village he’d trained in, the doujou in the middle of the wood, his friend who he’d never beat — not even once.

He tells you about he early mornings and the late nights, and how the world had seemed large enough to conquer.

“… And then… there came a morning when she didn’t show up… and sensei came and told me that there’d been an accident.”

His voice almost breaks then, and your eyes catch on the shining white hilt of the Wadou Ichimonji — his thumb pressing against the guard, running along it’s hard metal edge.

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

Zoro shrugs, “Don’t be.”

You nod, “Still.”

Zoro slates you a lopsided smirk, “So. Now you know my tragic backstory too.”

You laugh, leaning back to cast your eyes up towards the sky, “And you know mine — it’s almost like we’re friends or something.”

Zoro lets out a long breath, “Yeah… or something.”

There’s a tightness to his voice that makes your skin tingle and it takes everything you have not to look over at him, to try and see if he’s looking at you, watching you the way you’d imagined him to be. You fancy you can feel his gaze on your face, but you close your eyes instead.

You let yourself fall into the warm haze of sleep, and for a while you drift there, your mind sifting through shards of memories and slivers of sound, casting them against the backs of your eyelids as you slowly slide into the darkness of dreams.

You wake up to a gasping stillness — the silence pressing in on your eardrums like thumbs, the darkness around you so complete it’s almost a solid thing. You freeze, your breath hissing to a halt inside you. Then distantly, ever so distantly, you hear the sounds of battle — metal clashing against metal, the hard thud of boots against flesh. You shake your head and reach up to clap your hands over your ears and only then do your senses return to you, snapping back as if you’d been abruptly shunted back into your earthly body.

“Gum Gum — Pistol!”

“Seize her!”

You whip into movement, fast as a flash, dashing away, hoping against hope that it would draw your attackers far enough from your crewmates.

“No one… ever… leaves us…”

The voice is serpentine and susurrus, sinking into your skin like sharpened teeth, but before it can reach you, it’s cut short by a bright flash of silver.

You gasp, whirling around, reaching for the nearest pulse, instinct taking over as you sink your fingers into muscle and flesh. The rush of blood thrumming beneath your fingertips comes too easy, even as a familiar scent accosts you. A moment later, your hands are being pinned above you, and thick, rough bark is digging into your wrists as Zoro stands before you, a sword in one hand, the other holding you still.

His eyes are a little wild and a lot worried. There’s a ring of red rawness around his neck, thin trickles of blood trailing along his jugular, disappearing into the wide scoop neck of his shirt.

“Hey, look at me.”

You nearly whimper, struggling against him, fear still coursing through you like a drug but Zoro is strong enough to keep you held. Behind him, you can see the rest of the crew fending off several shadowy figures, Usopp waving a torch, screaming at the top of his lungs, Luffy whooping as he whacks another figure with his fist.

“Z-Zoro?”

“Yeah, it’s me — eyes up here.”

You swallow in a breath, and then another, and you feel the bright thrum of urgency leave you as your body slowly falls slack. And then you’re slipping, and he’s looping an arm around you to keep you upright.

“Th-they’re here — they —”

“They’re gone — we got rid of them — hey.”

Zoro takes you by the shoulders and gives you a gentle shake. Finally, your eyes catch on his and your gaze holds. You see yourself reflected in them, stark and terrified, but alive — somehow alive.

“They’re gone,” he says, his voice soft and low by your ear, his arm still wrapped around your middle. Shivers wrack your body as you bury your face in his shoulder. He smells of steel and skin and the metallic tang of blood. It’s then that you remember — the wounds on the sides of his neck. The marks in the shape of your hands —

You jerk back and feel a sticky wetness against your cheek.

“Zoro, I hurt you!”

At this, he scoffs, pulling back far enough to flash you a look.

“This is nothing. C’mon.”

He offers you a hand, and after a second you take it, letting him pull you to your feet. Wordlessly, he presses his palm to the small of your back, his arm extended to keep you steady as you both make your way back towards camp.

“Phew! That was a workout!” Luffy is saying just as you both reach the outskirts of the now-darkened bonfire. Sanji is pulling out a cigarette, striking a match, and first lighting the end before tossing it into the remains of the firewood, fanning it up into a slow flame.

Nami and Usopp both look a bit shaken, but none worse for the wear.

They all pivot to look at you.

You go still against Zoro’s side, uncertainty flooding through you. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s fingers as they press into the bend of your waist, solid and steady.

Then, Usopp coughs, “C’mon y’all — the Shadows that Live? Psh! More like — the Shadows that Fled, am I right? Yeah? Didya see the way I sent ‘em runnin’ with my brand new fire-powered explosion rounds?”

Nami chuckles and Sanji follows suit, shaking his head and letting out a thin wisp of smoke. Luffy’s grins at you, pumping a fist in the air, clapping his right shoulder.

“See? Told you we’d have your back! We are your crew, after all!”

Weakness seeps into your limbs as you nod, hot pin-pricks of tears itching at your lower lashes. You lower your head and rub at your eyes before looking back up again with a smile. Sanji grimaces as he looks over Zoro.

“Got something on your neck, mate.”

Zoro glares but you glance over and feel your stomach twist with guilt.

“Sorry… I can clean that up for you. They’re not deep but they do need to be bandaged up.”

Zoro wipes down his sword before sheathing it and motioning towards the ship. Behind you, you can hear Nami yawning and saying something about catching up on some more sleep and Sanji reassuring her about having the last watch anyway.

The kitchen is still dark, but the dusty dawn sweeps against the far horizon and neither of you bother to turn the lights on. You carefully set the first aid kit on the kitchen counter and collect the supplies as Zoro leans back against the edge and folds his arms. You work in near silence, reaching up to first wipe the thin threads of drying blood before tending to the tiny, crescent-shaped puncture wounds.

You press an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against one of them and feel Zoro wince.

“Sorry.”

“I’m fine.”

You bite your lips, “If this had been a bit deeper or a few inches over —”

“But it wasn’t. So it’s fine.”

You don’t look up at him but you can feel his eyes on you. Your movements are fluid and sure; you’d clearly done this before.

“Hey, look at me.”

You freeze, eyes slowly gliding up the planes and divots of his neck, slipping up the line of his jaw, so sharp it might’ve been turned on a diamond cutter’s lathe. Your breath hitches as you finally meet his eyes, and there’s a dark, knowing glint behind them that makes your stomach flip.

“I’m fine.”

And for the second time in a handful of hours, you’re caught by the realization of your closeness — only a breath of space between you. There’s a crimp at the corner of his mouth that looks dangerously like a smile and then you’re tipping forward, a thumb reaching up to trace the line of his bottom lip once —

The movement acts like a trigger, and suddenly, he is leaning in and the breath of space disappears.

For all your life of stillness, you thought you’d learned to appreciate the depths and widths of movement. But nothing could’ve prepared you for this — for the push and pull of lips on lips, for the force and friction of skin against skin. For the gasp and hiss, for the breath and kiss.

For the feeling of his large palm as it settles along the swallow’s-nest bend of your neck, the way his thumb runs along your jaw like tracing the guard of his beloved sword, tilting your mouth towards him. For the way your heart might flutter like a tiny, caged bird, or the way you might feel his heart thumping like a fist from his chest to yours.

For the way his voice rolls over your name like a ship at sea; for the way it would shake your body from your bones and leave you more liquid than solid in his arms. For how you never used to think your story would be a love story, but then you realize that every story is a love story if caught in the right moment, in the right light.

And here, breaking apart from Zoro, with a thick, stolen streak of lemon-yellow sunlight leaking in from the kitchen window — that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Oh,” is all you have the strength to say.

Zoro, in all his solid brilliance and quiet audacity, laughs.

You taste the smile on your own lips before you realize you’re smiling. But when you try to bury your face in his neck, he winces slightly as you brush his still-fresh wounds.

“Crap, I forgot about these.”

Zoro chuckles as you hurry to press a few small bandages to the wounds.

“It’s okay. So did I.”

You finish dressing his wounds in silence, though this silence is markedly different from every other silence that had ever existed between you. There’s ease and tension, both, and when you’re finally finished, Zoro takes both your hands in his.

“So…” you say, unsure suddenly of where to look.

Zoro’s laugh is just as soft, just as uncertain.

“So.”

You try to look out the window, but by now, the dawning sun is so bright that it temporarily blinds you and you jerk back. Zoro smiles, reaching up to run his thumbs along your closed eyelids before dropping them to hook around your wrists again.

“Do you… wanna talk about it?” he asks, quiet as always.

You purse your lips and let your lashes flutter open. You find him watching you. Heat crests up your shoulders and into your cheeks, and suddenly, the exhaustion of the night before saps at your limbs. You sigh.

“Right now? Not really.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, sounding as relieved as you feel.

You bite your lips and cast your gaze shyly across his face, your bird-wing heartbeat still flapping in your chest. You fight the urge to go still, to reach for that shield that has always protected you before. Faintly, you feel Zoro’s thumbs tracing circles along the insides of your wrists.

“Can I ask for something else, though?”

“What is it?”

You reach up a finger, nudging one of his golden earrings. You don’t miss the way he shivers, or the way his breath quickens in his chest.

“Kiss me again.”

Zoro grins, tugging you towards him, leaning into the curve of your palm as he does.

And does.

And does again.

reqs are: temporarily closed

but feedback is much loved and appreciated!!!

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ceilidho · 3 months

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 3) part 1, part 2

“Neglecting your husband already?” he asks when you pull away from the arm curling around your waist. It’d migrated there from your back during the walk away from the courthouse.

“You know I’m not—I’m not some horse that you can just…break in,” you seethe, glaring up at Price. Your arms are crossed tight over your chest, putting the slightest boundary between you and him. It’s more of a mental boundary than anything, a self-soothing gesture; you know it hardly even registers to him because the man still looks down at you with that unimpressed expression, like dealing with a particularly vexing child.

“I hadn’t noticed,” he says dryly, looking you up and down. It’s a scorching, hungry look and it makes you shift from foot to foot.

The two of you stand outside the front door of his house, the front door still shut tight. You put up a fuss on the walk from town as the reality of your situation finally sunk in, squirming in his hold until he threatened to just load you over his shoulder and carry you off. His tone leaves little for you to doubt. Nothing about him brooks skepticism; until the end of time, you’ll look at John Price and think, this is a man of action. This is a man that will move heaven and earth.

You clam up after that, lips pursed shut though turned down at the corners.

It’s a bigger house than you might’ve expected for a single man, but perhaps it was built with a wife and children in mind. The thought makes you swallow. A wooden two-story thing with a porch out front and an adjacent stable for his two horses with a pen around back. Speckled Appaloosas that look up at the sound of his boots and keys, attentive for all of a few seconds before losing interest.

You know without asking that Price must have built this house with his own two hands. It’s not shoddy by any means, but his house has that indefinable quality that some places have. Organic. Homegrown, almost. It’s hard to put up against the houses of your youth, but then again, you grew up in the cramped quarters of the city, apartments thick with the scent of sewage on bad days and dust on the good. The two are hardly comparable. It’s even harder to put up against the estates that you’ve spent the better part of the last few years cleaning and learning inside out, but at least his house doesn’t make your stomach turn at the sight.

There’s a moment when you first turn to him where you wonder if he’ll look for approval in your face, some sign to set him at ease, but when you meet his gaze, it’s steady and impenetrable. Quietly self-assured. It’s incongruent with the machismo you were raised around, the constant need to impress or transcend. It puts you on edge. It makes you almost feel like baring your teeth.

Your comment had come from seeing the horses and the house and the porch with the two rocking chairs, your hackles raising every step closer. Price built his house big enough for children because he anticipated a baby in his future. Children he’d have with his wife, which, though a fuzzy memory as far as memories go, you quietly stepped into the role of not half an hour ago.

You’ve thought about it before. Motherhood; marriage, domestic living, settling down with a man to start a family. The reality of your life has always made it seem like a problem for the future. Years chipping away like flakes of faded paint off the walls of your bedroom, still living with your aunt and uncle well into adulthood, trying desperately to scrimp and save and stay afloat. Disappointing but not surprising that you’d never been considered the marriable sort, not with scrubbing other people's toilets for a living.

And now look at you, ring on your finger and whisked home to be bedded. A shiver roles down your spine at the thought and you scowl at Price instead of sinking into the strange thrill.

When he wraps a hand around your wrist to pull you towards him (his fingers easily overlapping; another thrill), you snap.

“That is quite enough with all the touching!”

His eyes narrow. “I’ll have more than my hands on you by the end of the night.”

A more proper woman would gasp. You barely hold yours back.

You know in the back of your mind that you’ve already lost any semblance of an upper hand in this situation. It has long spiraled out of your control. His ring sits on your finger all nice and pretty, and though you signed your marriage license under a different name—your own rather than the name of his actual intended—that Price hadn’t even bothered confirming, you are, for all intents and purposes, his to touch as he pleases.

“I’m—” your eyes dart around, the urge to bolt a sharp and sudden compulsion lodged in your chest, “—I know I said yes, but I—there’s always the possibility of an a-annulment if we don’t…if…”

You flinch, startled, when he pulls you into his chest only to cup your face again. He has big hands with callused fingers, rough against your skin. Up close, you can see the way his beard is cropped closer than his mustache and mutton chops. It gives him a grim air, almost somber until you catch his eyes staring down at you with an affection that feels unearned, meant for someone else.

“Deep breaths, darling, there’s nothing to fret about just yet. You’ll work yourself into a state like this,” he murmurs, dropping his head to sip a kiss from your lips again.

You’ve been in a state since the moment you walked into the sheriff’s office and laid eyes on this man. Turned around and knocked sideways, like you’ve walked into a storybook without noticing. If only it hadn’t all been so sudden, you might’ve been able to approach the situation with a clearer head. You might’ve been able to think up some other way out of it beyond giving Price a fake name and waiting anxiously for your true identity to be painstakingly drawn out over the course of a week.

“Don’t know why you keep working yourself up,” Price says softly, then slots your lips together for another tender kiss. “Figured you might be a little skittish, but…’m gonna be such a good husband for you, honey. Not gonna want for nothing.”

His slow kisses drag out longer than back in the courthouse, languorous and decadent. As if he has all the time in the world now. In a way, he does, now that he’s helped collect your belongings from the inn and brought you home. When you think of pulling away, the hand wrapped around your wrist lets go and slides to your back, pulling you flush against his chest. Your breasts flatten against his chest, pulse skittering like mad when you feel the hardest of his chest against yours and the muscle holding you in place.

You can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips when the hand on your cheek slides to the nape of your neck and grips, holding you in place. The kiss deepens, the heat on your cheeks feeling palpably hot, vision swimming until your eyes have no choice but to flutter shut. Your suitcase sits forgotten somewhere in the dirt, toppled over onto its side. You pant low, hot breaths into his mouth when he breaks the kiss, letting his lips just hover over yours.

“There we go, darlin’,” Price mumbles against your mouth, sliding the hand on your low back down to grip the plump flesh of your ass through your dress, lips twitching when you make a broken, affronted sound. “Isn’ that better? Not thinkin’ so hard?”

You can’t think at all, in truth. When he kisses you again, your thoughts evaporate up into the clouds, the tongue licking into your mouth dispelling any ideas or notions you might’ve had. It disappears into the heat and lust and the fingers digging into your backside, groping at the flesh there without shame or compunction. You go with him when he clutches you closer, gasping again into his mouth when you feel something hard press against your low belly. He grunts when you twitch against it.

“John—John—” you gasp, pulling your mouth away and whimpering when he chases after you, letting him steal another wet, slick kiss before your trembling hands clutch at the fabric of his shirt. “Enough—it’s not—it’s not proper—”

“No prying eyes around here,” he grunts. “‘Sides, who’s going to tell a man he can’t kiss his own wife?”

Trembling all the harder at his words, you dig your nails into his shirt sleeves and hope you pinch the skin underneath. All twisted up inside. The ring on your finger glimmers when it catches the light, brighter even than the sun this close to your face. When Price feels your nails dig into his arms, he groans, fingers pressing harder into your bottom and making you squeak. All the pent up lust finally trickling out of him and into you.

“C’mon, honey, let’s get you inside.” He finally lets you go after giving your bottom lip one last wet suck, pulling it into his mouth while his half-lidded eyes stare into yours. It’s somehow more intimate than kissing.

You’re still reeling when he turns around to pick your suitcase off the ground, certain that your knees will give way and send you tumbling as well. Every point of contact on your body sizzles, aches. You watch from outside of yourself as he turns back to you, suitcase in his hand now, eyes still dark and fixed on you. Hungry. Your eyes widen when they flit down to find a thick bulge at the crotch of his pants.

Like a cold bucket of water has been dumped over your head, you hiss and back up three steps when he takes a step towards you. “Oh no, you don’t take one step closer! I won’t have anything to do with—with that!”

You must look like some feral barn cat, back all puffed up, teeth bared to the man trying to coax you towards him. Price must see it too because he grins, amused. “Still spittin’ mad, huh? Felt those claws in me before, darlin’…gonna love feeling them with nothing between us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Price doesn’t bother clearing anything up, but you intuit it the second he takes another step in your direction, whirling around and sprinting towards the house. It feels counterproductive to seek shelter in the man’s house, but dusty plains stretch out in every direction apart from back into town, where you know not a soul will lift a finger to help you. His house is the only shelter you’re going to get.

You hurry up the porch stairs, tearing open the door before glancing over your shoulder to find Price not far behind. He advances on you at a walking pace, but each stride of his long legs matches two of yours, making you shriek and scurry up the staircase. You dart for the first open door you see, slamming it shut behind you and leaning your whole weight against it. Glancing down, you perk up at the sight of a lock on the door before flipping it.

It’s not long before the sound of boots clomping up the staircase meets your ears, headed straight in your direction. You shake when you hear him pause right outside the door, then startle when he tries the knob.

“You gonna let me in, darling?” Price asks, grin in his voice. Even raps his knuckle against the door for good measure.

“No,” you snap.

“Not even for your things? Got your suitcase right here.” You hear him set it down, a little clunk against the wood floor.

“I can manage like this. I’ve slept in my dress before.”

He pauses. “Have you?”

You tilt your chin up proudly despite the door blocking his view. “Yes, and I don’t mind doing it again. You can just stay on the other side of that door until you…until you put that thing away.”

“Can’t do much about that thing, darling; it’s sort of grown on me over the years anyway,” Price chuckles. “Well, not much I can do with it behind this door. I’ll go tend the horses ‘till suppertime comes ‘round and then come back to tend to you.”

“Licentious…reprobate,” you hiss through the door.

He laughs, the sound deep in his throat. Your stomach flips.

The stairs creak under the weight of his boots as he descends back downstairs. You wait until you hear the front door open and shut behind him, until the house is completely quiet save for the blood pumping in your ears before you hastily unlock the door and dart a hand out just to pull your suitcase in. You shut and lock the door as soon as it passes the threshold.

It takes a while to settle your nerves and for the trembling to subside. In the meantime, you sit on your bottom at the foot of the door, with your back still pressed firmly to the wood, and take stock. There’s a bed in the room, one you hadn’t noticed in your mad scramble to lock yourself in. A bigger bed than the one you’d slept on back at the inn, but just as sparse, with gray flannel sheets and a blue quilt folded and draped over the end of the bed.

The rest of the furniture in the room—two end tables, a chest of drawers, a desk, and two chairs situated in the corner of the room—appears so consistent in its design that you have to wonder if Price made them by hand as well. Hardly a reason to question it. You think to yourself that you’ll have to ask him how he finds the time only to quickly shake that thought away. Can’t be getting too chummy, certainly not if you don’t expect to be around in a month’s time. Hopefully less than that.

You chew on your lip at the thought of fleeing in the night.

It trickles into your thoughts while you open your suitcase on the bed and riffle around for your nightwear. Price will likely keep you under lock and key for at least the first week of your marriage, giving you little opportunity to take off any time soon. If only you’d held your tongue and played the demure bride, he might’ve had some cause to trust you. Certainly not now, after your most recent display.

Your own stupid fault, as usual. It’s not the first time your temper has gotten the better of you. You’ve faced worse consequences for it.

Outside the window on the far end of the room, a horse whinnies. You pause, remembering that Price hadn’t gone very far. When you glance out curiously, you see him letting the horses into the pen, giving one a good rub down the bridge of its nose. The horses seem to melt under his touch.

It’s strange watching him from far away. From a distance, it’s hard to reconcile him with the man that bent you over his desk not an hour ago and tanned your bottom. You cringe at the memory. It’s not that Price doesn’t seem like a man that would take his wife over his knee if he saw fit to do so, but you still can’t imagine yourself as that woman. When you think about it, it feels like a play, something you saw happen to someone else. Not you wailing and squirming like a cat in heat.

As if feeling your stare, he glances up at the window and winks when he catches your eye. With a squeak, you leap away from the window, scurrying back over to the bed.

A couple hours pass in restless contemplation, practically biting your nails to the quick. Eyeing the windowsill like you still might go over there just to check on what Price is up to outside. You hear him come back into the house once or twice, tensing up at the sound of his boots, only to be left vaguely disappointed when you hear him leave and the screen door slam shut behind him.

You spend so long holed up in the bedroom that you miss lunch entirely. Below you, you hear Price puttering around downstairs in the kitchen—the sound of a knife chopping vegetables and then the sizzle of meat on a pan. The hunger pangs nearly make you break, but you’ve gone without food before.

Your heart skips a beat when you hear him ascend the staircase again and place something just outside of your door. He doesn’t try coaxing you out this time, just heads back down the stairs and out the front door. Again, you ignore the pang of disappointment; ignore the urge to open the door and holler down the stairs for him to stay gone.

He leaves anyway.

Curiosity needles at you though, so you open the door up a crack when you’re sure you’re alone. There’s a plate at the foot of the door with vegetables and meat, slightly cooled but still fresh, the plate still warm. He must’ve known you wouldn’t try coming downstairs and fixed you up a plate.

You eat in silence at the desk, bad mood ripening. Angry at yourself and everyone else. Even John. Especially John. The audacity of fixing you up a plate, of thinking of you in the first place. Irritated enough to stand boldly by the window this time, hand clutched in the curtain, tracking the movement of his shoulders and hips when he moves with the horses and fetches water from the well. You lose sight of him a couple times as he finishes up the day’s chores around the house, but the flutter in your belly always settles when he comes back into view.

It’s easy to let yourself admire him from afar, somehow less humiliating without his eyes on you. He’s a solid man, body carved into its shape from the rough labor that’s part and parcel of living out on the frontier. A wide back tapering down to lean, narrow hips and thick, muscled thighs hewn from lifting and pulling and all manner of physical work. You bite your lip when you remember what it felt like to cling to that back and dig your nails into his arms.

You give your head a shake. It’s dangerous to let a thought like that latch on.

In the few hours between lunch and sunset, you occupy yourself by reading one of the books stowed away in your suitcase. Then get bored and refold your clothes. The horses bray when they’re taken into the stables for the evening. The crickets out in the bushes in the yard chirp as the sun sets pink in the far distance. It’s quieter out here in the plains than back in the city, you think, something you haven’t yet had the time to appreciate.

When Price comes in for the night, you’re firm in your resolve to keep the door shut. If lunch at the door was just an attempt to butter you up, he has another thing coming. In a house this big, there’s likely a guest room or somewhere else to sleep—a sofa or a sleeping bag tucked away under the stairs. He’ll just have to make do while you take the bedroom. There’ll be no sharing a bed with the man that grabbed your backside like a piece of meat.

He doesn’t come up the stairs right away. Like before, you hear him rustle up supper, spatula scraping against a pan and knife coming down on a chopping block again and again. Not enough time has passed since lunch for you to feel more than peckish. You’re thankful for that when you hear him sit down to eat.

The knock at the door startles you. You hadn’t heard him come up the stairs. “Ready to talk now?”

You stare balefully at the door. “No.”

“We have to figure this out sometime, darling.”

“No, we don’t.”

“I’m sorry if I gave you a fright earlier, but, honey, that’s how husbands kiss their wives. Nothing improper about it.”

“I’m not frightened, I’m just not—we don’t need to do any of that,” you huff, embarrassed all over again. “You’ve hardly given me any time to even think. I didn’t know you from Adam this morning and now we’re married.”

Price sighs, the sound muffled through the door. “What am I going to do with you, honey?” It’s said to himself, a fond exasperation that puts you on edge all over again. He has no right to be amused with you, no right to be delighted and charmed by your ire.

“Well, you can sleep somewhere else for the time being. I’d prefer the bed to myself.”

He lets out a low, dark laugh. “There’s not a chance in hell that I’m sleeping anywhere but with my wife from this point on. You oughta come to terms with that quick.”

“Well then, you can sleep out there because I’m not unlocking the door!”

He lets out a mean sound, almost mocking. “Yeah, ‘bout time I addressed that, huh?”

His words make you frown until you hear a floorboard creak as Price does something on the other side of the door. Then the doorknob jiggles. Horrified, you watch as the door unlocks and the knob turns, your husband’s body filling out the door frame. You’d forgotten how well he could fill one out. He almost has to duck to come inside, mused hair from working outside all day brushing against the top of the frame.

“Always put a key on the top of the door, just in case,” he explains, pinching the little silver key between his thumb and forefinger before shutting the door. Your heart jumps when he locks it behind him. “Ready to talk now, honey?”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #cod price #price x you #price x reader #price/reader #john price x reader #mail order bride au

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m00nchildthings · 7 months

Text

ALUCARD X PREGNANT!READER

This story was based off of this one right here: https://www.tumblr.com/m00nchildthings/703854020457021440/mating-press-and-breeding-kink-with-alucard

if anything this can be read as a sequel where he managed to get you knocked up cw for pregnant reader, oral sex one sparing use of the reader being called mama, and alucard being a hovering creep towards you for carrying his child also slight pregnancy kink if you squint not even read over once bone apple teeth🧑‍🍳😙🤌

p.s. @yazzzmints @ch3rryistheg you asked and i delivered

“You’re hovering Adrian”.

“I do not hover,”

You sighed, closing the large ornate tome you had been reading and setting it on the small wooden table beside your chair. He was hovering and whether he was oblivious to it or simply choosing to be obtuse, he was doing it a hell of a lot more recently. You knew why though, you thought as you brought your hand over your swollen stomach. Seven months into your pregnancy and through every step Alucard had treated you and your unborn child like fine china perpetually teetering over a precocious edge.

“You are aware we won’t turn to ash the moment we leave your vision,” you said cheekily staring up at your dhampir lover. His eyes narrowed before he swept past you, moving to sit in the armchair beside your own. He sat there, for a moment beautiful like marble with his eyes closed, before turning to face you.

“I am very well aware of that,” he said, placing his chin in his hand as he peered at you. You hummed, turning away from him, instead choosing to focus on the crackling fireplace in front of you, pretending the warm embers floating around the wood were far more interesting than the golden haired man sitting next to you.

“Then I hope that you are also aware,” you began pausing to take a sip of the tea still hot on your side table “that fathers who hover around the pregnant wives are bound to produce children that do not enjoy their company,”

“That isn’t true,” you could see his brows furrow from your peripheral view, hiding your chuckle behind another sip of tea, you continued.

“It very well might be an old wives tale, but I have heard of children coming out fussy towards their fathers fresh out of the womb-,” you were cut off with a loud swoosh as Alucard gracefully stepped towards you settling down at his knees, hands placed on your stomach.

“You won’t dislike me right?” he directed at your stomach, brow even more wrinkled with worry “Surely they understand I am just so, eager, to meet them right darling?,”

He stared up at you now, golden eyes tense with worry, your lip wobbled as you held back your smile. Here before you on his knees was Alucard Tepes; one of the slayers of Dracula, the feared prince of the night that cut down his enemies like knives through butter- reduced to a simpering thing at the fear your child might come straight from you hating him. You relented not having the heart to tease him any longer you cradled his jaw in your hand.

“I was just teasing my love, surely our child will love you just as much as I,” immediately he relaxed, melting into the palm of your hand. His golden eyes cut up at you a small smirk tugging on his lips.

“You are cruel to do such a thing to your doting lover,” his alabaster hand gripped your wrist as he turned to lay a kiss in the fleshy part of your palm. “I treat you so sweetly and you insist on giving me heart palpitations.

“Consider it payback for what your hellspawn is doing to my body, I can barely make it from here to the door without my swollen ankles and aching spine objecting,” you said, bringing your hand away from him to stretch the intense cracking of your back emphasizing your point.

Alucard stood, staring down at you, he adored your changing body evidence of the growth of his child in you. You’d always been beautiful in his eyes, but something about knowing the swell of your stomach was from your baby growing inside of you, surely you were a goddess gifting him with the gifts of gifts. Bending down he looped his arms around your waist ignoring your grumbles of objection when he picked you up hoisting you into his arms until your knees hung over his elbows.

“Then allow me to be your legs,” you huffed rolling your eyes as Alucard toted you out of your rather comfortable reading room, you knew where he was taking you of course. The looming large ornate doors of your bedroom came into view as Alucard steadily carried you to them.

“Our bedroom,” you said flatly “I wonder what reason you could have for bringing me here Adrian,”

“I have no idea what you are implying deer,” he said, turning to press his back to the door, opening it with your combined weights. Barely holding back his impish grin (a look a great number of others refused to believe existed when you said he did so on the regular) he rushed you to your bed gently placing you on the downy mattress.

“Your feet must be killing you,” he said, gracefully moving to sit beside you and patting his lap. Begrudgingly you laid back against the comforter swinging your aching feet to his lap. He gently massaged your foot pressing his fingers into the soles of your feet soothing the pain that afflicted you. His talented hands seemed to pull all the aches from them knowing how to just work your body from months of repeated practice. A particularly forceful push into your left heel and you couldn’t hold back the moan that bubbled from your throat. Alucard smiled at you gently placing your feet on the bed beside him.

“See? So sweetly,” he said, placing his now free hand on your stomach.

“My body still aches,” you grumbled, still feeling the tension in your back

“I can help with that,”

“Your version of help is what got me into this predicament,” chuckling Alucard slowly spread your legs apart hiking your dress to just under your belly. There laid out before him nestled in a thatch of curls your cunt shined for him, already glistening with arousal. His slender fingers traced up the warm slit of your puffy lips noticing the audible hitch in your breaths

“If you don’t like my version of help then where are your undergarments,” he questioned, knuckles grazing up and down your quivering pussy

“They no longer -mmph- fit,” you moa, turning around to bury your head into the pillow.

“How lucky for me,” he murmured, just barely above a whisper as he sank down till his face was level with your heat “that my favorite snack is but a silk slip away from tongue,”

With one scathing breath his mouth was on you, pink lips pressing toward your own. His tongue wickedly lapped at you running wet circles around your throbbing clit before slipping its way into your clenching cunt. He couldn’t help the vibrating moans, near purrs that reverberated into you, as your juices flooded his taste buds. He couldn't help the way he ate at you ravaging your quim with every fiery stroke through your quivering lips. Your hands tugged at his golden locks pulling him closer and closer to your weeping cunt. How foolish, he thought as he drank up all you had to offer, why pull him close when you both know the last thought on his mind was pulling away?

Your orgasm crested, creeping up on you with each lascivious lick that toyed with your throbbing clit. It was with one particularly harsh suck that had you falling apart, melting apart like butter on warm toast your cunt creamed over your lover's tongue. Undeterred Alucard continued to viciously feast on your juices, moaning as they glossed his face. Clawed hands though gentle, held your hips in place as they began to buck so he could wrap his lips around your clit sucking on the shiny pearl undisturbed.

“A-Adrian please, s’too much I need-,” interrupting you Alucard sighed loudly, releasing your clit with an audible pop.

“You never let me have my fill,” he complained peering up at you over your swollen belly “but I know what you need,”

Rising Alucard reached for his trousers tugging the strings till his cock, heavy with a bead of precum pooling at the tip, fell free. Smiling and flashing those fangs of his wide he pulled your legs to wrap around his waist. Grabbing at his cock he lined the drooling pink head with your equally wet cunt, rubbing it between your lips and nudging at your clit. Gently he pushed inside of you, hissing as your heat slowly enveloped him till the hilt. The two of you rested there for a moment panting as your limbs tangled about each other. You whined under him, arms reaching towards him, hands making grabby motions for him. Alucard reached underneath you pulling you towards him. You both sat there, connected at your most intimate of places, your sweaty forehead resting on his cool one.

“Adrian,”

“Yes my love?”

“Fuck me.”

“Yes my love”

With a low chuffing noise, Alucard thrust up into you once, twice, three times, every one seeming to be deeper than the last. Your mouth hung agape as your lover continuously fucked up into you carving the shape of him deep into your cunt. Moans barely escaped you as every thrust seemed to steal your breath, your eyes stared into the golden ones of your lover unable to look away. Before you could process Alucard's hand gripped your ass holding you towards him as he stood on the bed, steadying his feet in the cushion and using his grip to lift you fast up and down his cock.

“Do you feel me sweet, deep, in here,” he rasped as he bounced you on his cock balls slapping on your ass. His hot breath fanned your face as he used your own weight to fuck you, one particular hard thrust had your eyes rolling back into your skull, and with a rush words escaped you.

“Fuck Adein yes! Fuck me please, I- oh god don’t stop!” you screamed nails clawing into the rolling muscles of his back.

“That’s it mama,” he hissed somehow managing to grip you closer, shifting to the balls of his feet he began to roll his hips up into you to match every bounce of your ass against his thighs “Take it, cum for me, let me feel your silk grip me,”

You don’t know whether it was his words that got you there so quickly or the orgasm he gave you prior, but with a barely audible cry you came walls gripping him tightly as you gushed around him. Alucard grit his teeth at the grip your cunt had him in, thrusting a few times before spilling inside you with a strangled cry. Alucard fell to his knees holding you close as you both bounced on the mattress. He pulled you off him holding back chuckles when you grumbled from the over sensitivity. Gently he laid you down before getting off the bed and leaving towards your bedroom bath chamber. He returned with a warm bowl of water and two warm cotton cloths.

Sitting beside you Alucard dipped the washcloth into the water wringing it before bringing it to your heaving body. Carefully he cleaned you off, wiping the spunk he left at your center. You groaned, pushing at his hands, still feeling far too sensitive. With a chuckle he dropped the now sullied rag once you were clean of him, reaching to prepare the second one he had brought and pressed the soothing cotton to your sweaty brow. Your eyes closed as you let your dhampir lover continue with his aftercare.

“Am I forgiven yet, for breeding you with my -what did you call our child- hellspawn?” he asked golden eyes trained onto your face. With a sigh you looked up at him already having forgotten the remark you had made earlier. A sly smirk tugged at your tired face.

“For the time being leonito,”

#ughhh i am so rusty writing smut #but alucards return had me feeling sentimental #alucard tepes x reader #alucard x reader #alucard smut #alucard tepes #adrian tepes x reader #adrian x reader #adrian tepes #castlevania smut

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leonfucker3000 · 20 days

Text

Gotcha

Bounty Hunter/Cowboy!Leon S. Kennedy x outlaw!fem!reader

Warnings: smut, feelings (of regret) (and slight yearning), oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, fucking against metal bars. 16+ because I was you once just don’t be weird

Ummm I wrote this last year in, like, March? I posted and finished it December, though (yikes) with that being said I’m sorry if the writing is…I suppose questionable? Yeah, sure, questionable. On ao3 here if you prefer that site. Not proofread btw.

oh, right, reader’s outlaw name is ‘ranger’ but it’s mentioned once. I was inspired by Leon’s Arthur Morgan mod but you can imagine him in any outfit, all that’s mentioned is that he wears a leather hat (I think). cowboy Leon is the reason I keep on going, thanks.

tumblr is a scary, new place for me. Please be kind😱

The sound of the horse's feet running in the desert sand fills the hollow night. Gunshots and gunpowder making Leon’s nostrils flare, the metallic smoke filling up his lungs uncomfortably.

Close. He’s so fucking close.

You stop your horse and bolt for the abandoned bank you robbed just a month prior and wait . It’s hot and cold, a thin layer of sweat coating your skin as you try to keep your breathing still. The weight of your revolver is the only thing that feels remotely natural, the only thing that reminds you that you have at least some control.

His horse blows and grunts as it comes to a halt, a cloud of sand threatening his vision until he bats it away. The swinging door of the bank creaks along with the wooden floorboards of each step he takes.

You can hear him grow closer, the spurs on his boots jingling—a warning, a taunt. He’s got you, and had it not been from how fucking tired you were, you would’ve kept going.

“There’s not much use in hidin’ anymore,” Leon’s gruff voice breaks the low whistling wind, “Think we both know the only way you’re getting outta here is in cuffs or in a rug dragged across the sand.”

You hold in a scoff, the bandana muffling your steadying breath. Hiding behind the wall, you hear his steps come and go, small curses falling from under his breath and muttering you can’t put together.

After a moment of silence, you muster up the courage to peek around the corner. A mistake.

“Gotcha.” His cowboy hat casts a dark shadow across his face, the dim moonlight barely making the whites of his eyes visible. His own revolver is pointed to your head, the reflecting metal almost blinding — another taunt to your capture.

“Kennedy.” You speak through gritted teeth, sour and bitter as you say his name.

“Ranger.” A humorless chuckle escapes his lips, “Not one day goes by that I don’t get sick of hearin’ that name. Can’t even get a beer without a sad sap waiting to tell their story about encountering you.”

“Good to know I’m on your mind at least. Hadn’t seen you in sometime, thought you died.” You watch as his hand tightens around the grip of his gun, his index finger sliding towards the trigger.

“I’m not gonna die before I catch you, or kill you. One or the other.” He rolls his eyes as he watches you point the gun to his leg, “Put that down before I blow your brains out. The sheriff’ll get mad at me for the mess.”

“I think he’d be happier if you killed me, really.”

“Maybe, but I think they’d rather kill you themselves, and slower.” A sigh leaves you as you drop your revolver to the floor, not bothering to put your hands up because, well, there’s no use for it. “Back up. Don’t need you gettin’ any ideas. Get in the vault.”

The vault? He doesn’t give you time to protest, taking a step forward so his gun grazes your forehead, “Fuck, alright, I get it .”

You back into the vault, the metal bars making it your makeshift jail. He closes the door shut, watching you through the spaces between the bars and giving you an annoying smug smirk, “Look at that . Behind bars is a natural look on you. Can’t believe it’s taken this long.”

Leon takes a walk around, finding the key and locking the ‘jail’. Convenient. “Y’wanna start by telling me why you’ve been doing this? They’re gonna get it outta you anyway, best to let it out now. A pretty face ain’t gonna getcha freedom.”

“Pretty?” You muse.

“Shut up.” He scoffs.

“I don’t think my reason would really make a difference.”

His eyebrows furrow, “Maybe not, but every outlaw has some kind of story to tell.”

You slump against the back wall of the vault, letting out a small groan as your hand runs your face. If you’re going to get locked up and eventually hung, you guess it wouldn’t hurt for at least one person to know the truth. He’s not…the best person but out of everyone else, maybe he is. “My family. Dead broke. Needed the money.”

He stares at you for a moment before laughing, gripping one of the metal bars as he snickers, “you really expect me to believe that? If I wouldn’t let a bastard cheat me in poker, I’m not gonna have you cheat me now.”

“‘M not cheating you for anything, I gotta family at home. Mouths to feed, debts to pay, shit to do.”

“That’s a real shitty thing, lying about your family like that.” He grumbles, looking at you like ‘lying’ was worse than all the money you’ve stolen. The lives you threatened.

This man’s priorities seriously needed to be straightened out. You pull down your bandana and toss it to the side as you get comfortable on the floor, the bank door’s small creaks making the night all the more eerie.

When you look up, he’s still staring at you. His lips are curled into a slight snarl and, had it not been for the bars, he might’ve lunged at you.

Leon’s wondering what your game is, he knows what you do when you lie—how you look away from him and take a step back and your lip always twitches without fail—you’re not doing any of that. “Even if you did do it to keep your family afloat, what about the rest of the people you wronged?”

“What, the rich? They don’t give a damn about us, why should I give a damn about them?”

“I’m talkin’ about the public robberies. Like the train robbery down in Georgetown, or the bank in Laredo, those were all big jobs, you tellin’ me those were victimless crimes? Bullshit. There’s oughta be a casualty.”

“If there was a casualty, it wasn’t from me. I’ve never fired a gun at an innocent.”

He scorns, “but you’ll fire a gun at the people tryna protect the innocents.”

“None of them are dead, are they? They’re at home with their families not needing to worry about eatin’.”

He feels conflicted, because fuck if you’re telling the truth then he feels like an asshole all those times he’s almost killed you. A family. You have children, a husband, maybe, unless he’s dead—is that why you’re doing this?—And he’s fought with you more than he can remember. He sniffles, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb and shaking his head, “how old are your kids?”

It was your turn to chuckle, “i don’t have kids. Well, sort of, if you include takin’ care of my siblings.”

Guess he got it wrong. He doesn’t know if he feels better or worse, his stomach churns at the thought of your younger siblings waiting for you to come home just to never return. Never to know if you died or ran away. No, he’s sure they’d figure out you died, if you were doing this for them, why would you leave them? God he needs a drink. “You don’t gotta momma or daddy or what?”

“My momma’s sick. Daddy’s gone.” You shrug as if it’s nothing, maybe it is nothing to you but it’s everything to him. He hates that he’s so easily swayed. You being fine with this should tell him this is a lie but—

But what? He doesn’t know. You’re a criminal that has added unnecessary stress to the public, even have other outlaws mad at you for taking their money. It’s simple as to what he needs to do.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m sure after your first three robberies you woulda had enough money to feed a church for the next 5 years. Didn’t need all of that, that’s just fucking greed.”

“I don’t keep all of it. I give it to people like me. Too many families have lost their kids just because they couldn’t feed ‘em for a week. Bet they don’t tell you that, though, do they?”

He knows better. He knows that he knows better. This is a lie, he’s the law, he needs to uphold the law, no exceptions. No hesitation. “So, what? You’re a modern day Robin Hood?”

“If I say yes will you shut the fuck up?”

“If you tell me the truth I will.”

“Mother fucker— I am. You have a gun, have me in a fucking vault, I’m unarmed say for my knife, but I’ll give it to you if it’ll shut you up. what do I have to gain from this shit? You’ve caught up people for way less, I don’t have shit up my sleeve to leave.”

A moment passes, and suddenly? He hates himself.

“God damnit.” He curses under his breath, turning his body away as he groans. He can still hear the horses outside, can hear the wind chiming, playing a small song. You keep quiet, watching him pace back and forth once before pinching the bridge of his nose. “‘M gonna fuckin’ regret this.” He mumbled to himself, putting in the key and swinging the metal door open.

He shifts to the side, motioning with his head, “Go. Get. Leave.”

“What’re you doing, Kennedy?”

His lips press into a fine line as he exhales through his nose, “What kinda man would I be if I took you away from them when I had the chance to save you?” He sighs, “They need you. God knows no one else will give a damn.”

You hesitate, you don’t know why—you should’ve ran as soon as the key went in the damn hole. You grab your bandana you threw off earlier, wrapping it around your neck with a curt nod. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t meet your gaze, a small frown on his face before he speaks, “yeah, yeah, just turn your ass around before I find a reason to lock you up again.”

You tip your hat to him, walking out of the vault. Your spurs are the one to jingle this time.

“ ‘sides, I always did like the back of you.”

You planned to keep going. You really fucking did.

When you turned around, your bodies were only two feet away. You swore you walked further from him but honestly, you couldn’t tell anymore. “Those are dangerous words you’re playing with.”

His back straightens and he peers down at you, “Are they?”

“You’re a confusing man, Kennedy.”

“I don’t remember telling you I was simple.”

You tut, “Haven’t you made enough mistakes already?”

He has, he knows it. The first damn mistake he’s made was making it a point to try and capture you. A year and 4 months he’s spent on this–on you. But, really, what bad would one last mistake do? He’s already made so many, it’ll just be another bullet to his chamber. He takes a step closer, chests nearly touching as his hands twitch to grab you, feel you without the mission of needing to hurt you and take you in. “I’d say not enough.”

All those times during his chase he could’ve gotten close, on top of you, felt your breath against his as you cornered one another. He hasn't, and he’s tired of letting it sit at bay. Learning a new side of you made him crazy. Crazier.

God is he an idiot.

Your breaths fill the tense atmosphere as he takes another small step closer, was it always so hot in here?

“We shouldn’t.”

“Who says?”

“ Everyone .” You stay like this for what seems like an eternity until Leon pulls you in by the back of your neck, his free hand moving to your waist as his lips crush against yours in a hasty kiss. He groans against your mouth and your fist coils the fabric of his shirt. Your hats tipped one another’s off and fell to the floor.

After a few seconds, he is the one to pull away from you. Your eyebrows furrow as you look at him in confusion, he looks at you like it was the answer. He clears his throat and takes a step back, wiping away your kiss and he looks away, trying to deny himself of what he wants.

Who he wants so, so badly.

He struggles to speak, to move, to think. He watches you and you watch him, both of your breaths at a skewed pace.

“Make a mistake with me.” He whispers, he looks different. You can finally see his face, moonlight highlighting his sharp features. Never noticed how handsomely-pretty he was before.

God, fuck it.

You step forward this time, pulling him in by the collar of his button up and pressing your lips against his. He licks the seam of your lips and you part them, teeth clacking and tongues entwining as he grabs the wide of your hips and pushes you against the metal bars. Ouch.

He pulls away from you with a sigh, looking offended at the fact that he even had to leave the plush of your lips. His hand leaves you to unbuckle your belt with fervor and slip his hand inside your pants and panties.

His fingers slip between your wet folds and he dips his head down to kiss your neck. Small moans escape you as he slowly rubs your clit, feeling your wet slick coat his fingers. “All those pretty sounds for me? I think I’m flattered.”

You groan, “of course you’re a bitch even when doing this.”

“I take my words back, then.” He rolls his eyes and opts to bite down on your shoulder, your nails dig into his back through the fabric of his shirt and he shudders when you bite him back. “fuck, ‘s not enough. Gotta taste you.”

He drops to his knees and fumbles with your belt until it’s off and shoves your pants down, his breath stuttering when he sees the soaked fabric. He drags them off you and pulls one of your legs over his shoulder. You hold onto the bars for balance, “Jesus Christ, wait . Almost made me fucking fall—“

You’re cut off when he spreads your lips and licks a stripe from your entrance to your clit. You moan, fingers grabbing a fistful of his hair and his eyes fluttered shut. He sighs at the taste of you, “fuckin’ delicious, can’t believe I didn’t do this shit sooner.” His voice, almost a groan, wavered before pushing his face back between your legs.

His tongue lapped at your entrance and his nose bumped up against your swollen clit. His fingers dimple the fat of your thigh and his cock twitches the louder your sounds get. He curled his tongue and pressed it deeper, despite the proximity, he needed to get closer somehow.

Trying to close your legs doesn’t work, smushing your thighs against his face only adds fuel to the fire.

You nearly sob when he pushed a finger inside your cunt, thrusting against your g-spot with a quick, steady rhythm. “ Leon , shit, shit , don’t you fucking stop. “ He slips in another finger, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes and a shit eating grin.

First time you’ve said his name, not kennedy or bastard or asshole – his name . And fuck, does it sound pretty coming out of you like that, how that alone makes his cock strain against his zipper.

Filthy squelches and moans flood the empty bank while Leon eats your pussy like a starved man. His own moans escaping as you buck your hips against his face. You pull on his hair roughly and you swear you hear him whine

“Gotta get you nice ‘n wet f’me,” He muttered against your pussy and his eyes fluttered as he tried to keep open to watch you. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks hard — a cry of his name and you’re so fucking close to coming on his face, panting and feeling uncomfortably hot.

“Too much—“ you gasp, “Oh shit, fuck, it’s too much.” You choke, uneven moans escaping you as you finally come. You expect him to pull away but he doesn’t falter. “Mnh, wait, fuck, get off, get off . ” You beg breathlessly.

Leon groaned again and pressed closer, “need it, give it to me, honey. Gonna make you feel good, just don’t make me fucking stop.” He pleaded, feeling dizzy as he got high off your taste. You attempt to push his head and mouth away but your attempts are in vain.

You let out yet another choked sob when he forces another orgasm out of you, reluctantly, he pulled away, licking his lips clean and wiping the rest with the back of his hand. His free hand rubbed your thigh to try and soothe you, asshole turned caring in a matter of seconds. “Sorry.” He murmurs, “couldn’t help myself.”

Your breaths are uneven pants as you look down at him on his knees still. “ Fuck me , Kennedy apologizing? I’m speechless.”

“Oh, we’re back to Kennedy?”

He gets off his knees while yours quiver, “It was a mistake. A fluke.”

A smirk plays on his lips, “yeah, sure. We’ll see.” He turns you around and wraps his arm around your hips and pulls them against his own, pushing you forward slightly so you’re bent over, “grab the bars.” And you do.

You can feel the outline of his cock press against you, “so fucking ready, didn’t waste a goddamn second—y’sure that was a fluke? Getting my pants all dirty, honey.” You feel embarrassed, but not for long when you hear his belt buckle clink and the sound of fabric rustling – heart racing and pussy throbbing as to what’s happening. You turn your head and see him spit and runs his hand over his cock to get it wet. He smirks when he catches you, you shake your head and look forward again. “Gotta be sweet to me or I’ll make you work for it.”

“God, kennedy–” You gasp when he slides the head between your folds and nudges it at your entrance.

“Leon.” he corrects, pushing the tip inside you, “C’mon baby, I know you can say it.” he grabs your hips to keep you from pushing back onto him. Fucker .

“ Leon.”

“Atta girl.”

He snaps his hips into you, body shuddering and your mouth opens with a sharp gasp and choked back moan. His grip on your hips tighten when he pulls out and pushes back inside to the hilt. His breathing is nothing but grunts, groans, and pants, you’re not much different – if anything else, you’re worse. “Can’t– fuck –handle it? Can rob every fucking bank but you can’t take some dick.”The way he fucks you is merciless, he wants you to feel good but also wants to punish you for everything you’ve done. Everything you’ve done to him.

He dips his hand lower to smack your ass, “Answer me. Had a lot to say just minutes ago.”

“Sh-shit, I can take it,” you shudder, “I can take it–” Your skin is wet with sweat and it gets harder to hold onto the bars, each thrust making you lose a bit more of yourself. Fuck him and fuck this but holy shit do you suddenly not regret everything you’ve ever done.

You’re mewling beneath him, happily and prettily so. “Pussy’s so tight, just needed a good dicking down.” he moans, “That all it took to get you to – fuck that’s good – listen?” he moves one of his hands from your hip to your clit, stimulating it as he fucks you a little harder, “Say my name, God, I need it.” he groans.

“Leon, Leon, Leon– ” You moan loudly, you don’t know when the sheriff is coming, but if he’s close you’re sure he can hear you easily. Your vision blurs when he touches you and your legs tremble with each spot his cock hits.

“Don’t worry, I’ve gotcha, not lettin’ you go.” Leon’s an idiot, but if his mistakes will make him feel this good again, he’ll keep making them. His composure starts to dwindle when sweat beads his forehead and you start squeezing him like a vice. Made for him, he thinks. “ Take it , fuck yourself onto me honey, atta girl.” his breath stutters.

Who are you to deny him – you do as you’re told and he moans. His hand goes up to your neck and pulls your back against his chest. Within seconds, you come around him with his name on your tongue and a scream. He bites down on your shoulder with a desperate groan before he pulls out and streams of hot come hit your ass.

He holds onto you like you’re his life line, like he’ll fall if he lets you go (he will). You two stay like that for a good 20 seconds before he lets go of you and takes a couple of steps back. He turns away from you and you can hear him zip up his pants and belt clunk when he fixes himself. You do the same, a little slower, both out of lack of energy and embarrassment.

Leon also feels embarrassed. This is the part where he’d usually get whoever he was sleeping with a glass of water, a quick bath, and ask if they’d rather go home tonight or he takes them home tomorrow. He can’t do either of that, and he’s supposed to hate you and definitely not fuck you or let you go.

He swallows, “You need to get going. He’ll be here soon and he won’t hesitate to shoot if he sees you run.”

“Right.” you whisper, taking a deep breath to steady yourself as you bend down to pick up your hat. You’re both in a daze, he looks at you, all guilty and nervous. His hair is wet with sweat and his cheeks are flushed, had it been anyone else you would’ve pushed his hair back to get a better look at him. But he’s not anyone else, and this was all a mistake . “Gonna stop coming after me now?”

A weak smile tugs his lips, “In both ways, no. Can’t promise anything.”

You fight back a laugh but return his smile, turning away so he can’t see it. He picks up his hat next and watches as you walk away from him to the front of the bank. Like a lost puppy, he follows. “Need help getting up?” he motions to your horse.

“I’ll be fine, Kennedy. You need to worry about yourself rather than me.”

“Like I said, can’t promise anything.”

You hop on your horse, ready to put all that you did with him in a box and stuffed away.

“Stay safe. Be seeing you.” he whispers.

You don’t trust yourself to speak so you nod, not looking back as your horse takes you away.

You’re a good mile out when Leon hears a horse’s footsteps behind him, then heavy human ones. “Where is she?”

“I told you to follow me quick, Chris. She’s gone. Just thought I’d give you the message personally so you didn’t have to wait here alone.”

Chris sighs and looks at Leon with nothing but hate. Ironic. “It’s not hard to do your damn job.”

“Can say the same about you – so, drinks? Need one after today.”

Chris looks Leon up and down, eyebrows furrowed when he does so. “When did you change your hat?”

He blinks, suddenly realizing his is a little tighter.

Miles out, you realize yours is a little looser.

You suppose you two will be seeing another again after all. When you do, you'll finally be ready.

#resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy x you #cowboy!leon #leonfucker3000

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beetlejuicyy · 19 days

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Ascension | True Form! Sukuna x Reader

Summary: Ryomen Sukuna is a ruthless monster who takes pleasure in slaughter and destruction. You are his favorite, but that makes the other servants on his estate envy your status. What will master Sukuna do to you when he hears the rumors of his favorite slut bedding a common servant from the kitchen?

Warnings: all of them lol it's sukuna violence, blood, death, sexual content, graphic description, exhibitionism (if there are any others I should mention please let me know)

Word count: 6,518

Read on AO3

Notes: I also had the audacity to end it with fluff??

Masterlist

The corridor leading to master Sukuna’s chambers was infinite. You had walked along the creaking wooden floor so many times before, shortly after you went into his service. Stories of unimaginable violence were spreading from servant to servant, starting with the man who would fix a broken wall to the girl wiping blood off clothes. Clothes of men and women who were called in but never came back. He was a monster. Tall muscular body and four arms, always towering over mortals from his throne in the main hall. People were saying he could have your body sliced in half with only one look from afar. Four blood red eyes, feeding off the trembling of voices, shaking of bodies begging for forgiveness. He had none to spare.

However gruesome the stories about Ryomen Sukuna were all over the country, people still flocked to his mansion, offering their services. People with nowhere left to go, people betrayed and hunted by their own kind, the weak, the poor, the lonely. As much of a monster as he was, his home provided a purpose and a haven for those with no place left among humans.

You were no different. When he first summoned you to his chambers, you expected the most painful and humiliating fuck you could ever imagine.

Violence turns him on.

A lot of the women who survived his bed were saying the same thing. Especially then, when he had just come back from killing an entire village, leaving fire and blood in his footsteps, he was sexually aroused for sure. The girl who was going to be summoned that night was going to die, everyone was sure of that. But you didn’t.

“Men are pathetic.” You told him, looking straight to the floor. That was the first time you saw him, sitting high on his throne, an immaculate white yukata covering his now clean body. No sign of the disasters he had brought upon were left on his body, except the obvious erection you could see poking from underneath the fabric. He crossed one muscular leg over the other, resting his chin on the palm of his lower left arm.

“How so?” His voice didn’t scare you, like you expected. But then again, after you walked along the hall and stopped in front of the stairs of his throne, you couldn’t look at him anymore. His form was so imposing, so intimidating, towering over you. He didn’t look like a monster. He looked like a god.

“They kill and they rape and they destroy. But they pretend to be righteous.” You were wearing a royal green kimono that softened the red of your skin, as blood was running rapidly through your veins.

“I did the same thing just earlier.” He said, exposing his sharp teeth in a vicious grin, as if he had just caught you lying.

“They are weak, master. You are a god.” You forced your eyes away from the floor. If you were to survive in his service, you had one simple thing to do. Obey. “I would rather serve you, my lord.”

He looked at you in silence, all four eyes quietly analyzing you, your posture, your face, your breasts that barely fit in the kimono who belonged to someone else. You could hear the sound of your own breath, empty air echoing in your lungs. He was unmoved.

“I’ve heard this tale before.” He said, eyes looking down at you through lashes.

He never seemed bothered by your daring eyes so you compelled them to keep looking up. You were sick and twisted compared to other people, you’ve noticed it since you were a child. Maybe that’s why, contrary to all the stories you’ve heard in the first few days you had already spent there, you found Sukuna handsome, more than anything else. Yes, he was a monster in size and in strength, his build terrifying, his eyes piercing and deadly. But all of these things came together as hunky, almost statuesque. The way he was looking at you, a mix of boredom and indifference to your existence, like he controlled the way the universe worked. Your eyes roamed along his body, taking advantage of the time he took to ponder on your fate. The most popular rumor, that was acknowledged as a fact by all the stories circulating, was that he had two cocks. Your eyes fell on his lap and your lips parted slightly in curiosity. Did he really? You were so focused on his body that you didn’t notice the corners of his mouth curled in a perverted grin splattered across his face. Sukuna noticed you were practically undressing him with your eyes alone.

“You seem to be sincere.” His voice reverberated in the empty hall, snapping you out of your daydream. You looked at him with eyes round in surprise as he gestured for you to approach him, his arm extended towards you, rough long fingers inviting.

This time, however, you had the feeling you weren’t going to be coming back alive. You had become his favorite quickly. He would always call for a different woman, most of the time specifying certain features that she had to possess. One night he wanted a short woman, the other a big breasted one with short hair, other times he wanted a woman with visible scars on her body. He never knew their names and never bothered with remembering. They were simple objects to fulfill his bodily needs. Soon, he started asking for you, specifically by name. In no time, you were the only one summoned to his chambers. People noticed it as did you, and you began getting ready, washing your body, bathing in perfumes, decorating it with jewels and the most beautiful of fabrics, knowing Sukuna would soon be back drunk on brutality and violence, eager to fuck you numb.

At first, the other servants were relieved. The women gradually let go of the crippling fear of being chosen to entertain the master in his chambers, the men relieved of the fear that, if the woman they brought in front of the master failed to satisfy him, their bodies would be slashed in pieces. But lack of fear allowed enough space for other emotions in the hearts of the servants.

Envy.

You were too quiet, too serene. As if you enjoyed your status. Moreover, the stories about what was happening behind the closed doors of his chambers were now scarce. You abstained from talking about it to others and, besides the usual bruises that covered your body all the time, there were no signs of violence or terror inflicted upon you. Much to their dismay, when you would return to your room, long after sunrise, a smile of satisfaction would always be plastered on your worn out face. You enjoyed whatever was happening to you. And that gave you power.

This is how you ended up being framed. A few servants, both men and women, came up with a false narrative, accusing you of giving yourself to one of the boys working at the kitchen. They had seen you helping him bandage a deep meat knife cut. From that simple gesture to detailed falsehood about sexual activities was only one step. First, they spread it amongst each other and now they went directly to master Sukuna to inform him that his favorite slut was throwing herself at any man.

All you could do was deny. You had been summoned to the main hall and you knew exactly why. It was your word against theirs but, as much time as you spent in Sukuna’s company, you didn’t know if he cared enough to even find the truth. None of his women were allowed to be touched by any other man. There had been multiple instances when the women he forcefully took had lovers or even husbands that they tried to go back to and they all ended up decapitated. You finally reached the end of the corridor, palms sweaty and heart beating relentlessly in your chest.

Pushing the doors open, the first thing you laid your eyes upon was Sukuna, sitting high on his throne, a depraved look glistening in all of his four eyes. On either side of the room stood your accusers, more than you would have imagined. At least half of the servants of the estate were standing humbly, heads kept down, eyes sticking to the floor. Contrary to their form, you could see the looks of pride on some of their faces, while others seemed to doubt the success of their plan. In the middle of the room there was a large futon mat. It was there often times when Sukuna enjoyed having you touch yourself while he instructed your every move as he sat on his throne. You thought you saw the servants take it out last time.

Sukuna didn’t say a word. Only his superior grin could be a hint as to how this charade was going to end, but you never knew what to expect from his eyes clouded with lust when he looked at you. You walked in, not expecting any formal invitation, passing by the group of servants, not bothering to spare them a look. The only important thing was in front of you, sitting at the top of the stairs, sunk back in his throne, legs parted widely, four arms crossed across his chest. You felt like a mouse walking right into a trap.

“I’ve heard some interesting stories from your friends.” His low voice echoed in the room. It seemed as if you were being choked by an invisible hand. “I believe you’re aware of it.”

“They’re all lies, my lord.” You answered, just as you had planned. You had your most beautiful attire on, your most prized golden hairpin he had gifted you. But you didn’t expect he would have the accusers present while he would decide your punishment. Your ears picked up a faint sound of rushed breaths and steps behind you, as one of the women tried to argue with your answer. Sukuna ignored her as well, all his attention on you. “My body and my soul belong to you, master. You can use them however you consider suitable.” In response to your last words he grinned, that wide grin that exposed his teeth, like a predator.

“Come here, slut.” Pressing your lips together in anxiety, you grabbed the sides of your long kimono and pulled it up as you climbed up the steps of his throne.

The servants looked in shock at your body gradually ascending to their master’s place. No one was allowed to even dream to stand as high as him. He had fucked you before on his throne multiple times, especially after fights with jujutsu sorcerers that would wear out his body but make his cocks hard, his skin still stained with the blood of those he had slain. When you reached the last step you dared to look at him. It was one of the few instances when you got to look down at him, as you stood up in front of him while he comfortably sat on his throne. His arms were now resting at his sides, his crimson eyes filled with contained rage. The closer you got to him, the more you could feel the killing intent lingering in the air. He looked at you with indecipherable lust. For sex? For killing? For revenge?

“Show them how you serve your master.” Sukuna’s command had air stuck in your throat and eyes widened in shock.

You expected to be punished, even killed, although you had grown to trust him and feel safe in his presence. But not to have you humiliated in the front of the very people who falsely accused you. Your lips parted in a pathetic attempt to protest. No sound came out. You took a moment, one that would have gotten any other human in your shoes killed in an instant, to look for the reason in his eyes. Have you become arrogant enough to think you knew him that well? The only thing you could see in his wicked gaze was your own reflection, nothing else beyond the crystal clear layer of his four eyes. You obeyed, conscious that you were a moment too late. You ought to be punished for that too. But did it even matter, given your situation?

You kneeled down in front of him, his eyes following your face as it lowered until it was at the same level with his crotch. Your hands effortlessly worked on the knot tied at his waist, undoing it. You heard gasps and murmurs from the people filling the room when your hand reached under the fabric of his clothes, pushing it away and displaying his two throbbing cocks. Most of these people had only heard stories about it. You licked the top one, pressing your tongue flat along its length, while your hands gently stroked the other one, cupping his thick balls full of seed waiting to be released. This was your chance to maintain your status, to remain in his good graces, so you tried to ignore the thought of all those people watching you sucking Sukuna’s cocks. He let you adjust to his size quietly, one hand reaching to take the golden hairpin out of your dark long locks and throwing it away. Your hair fell down over your shoulders and back, thin strands sticking to your face. The metal fell down the stairs with sharp noise that covered the wet sounds of you slurping and licking his cock. The pin fell tapping in the middle of the group of people but none of them dared to move, even though its worth could have easily earned them a new life.

Some of them were looking anywhere else but at your small body compared to his beastly frame, as your head bobbed up and down his length, unable to ignore the sounds. Others, on the contrary, mostly men, were watching fascinated. Sukuna’s upper right hand grabbed a fistful of your hair, pushing it away from your face and you looked up at him when his rough knuckles grazed faintly against your cheek. Your eyes met his only for a fraction of a second before he pushed your head roughly, forcing his cock deeper inside your mouth to touch the back of your throat. He groaned in pleasure, a deep guttural sound coming from deep inside his throat as you choked, tears filling the corners of your eyes.

“Undress.” Sukuna commanded.

You let him fuck your mouth as your hands moved away from his other cock. More than anything, you needed your hold on him for stability. While your body was shaking with every thrust of his cock inside your mouth, his hand a tight grip in your hair keeping your head steady. Your trembling hands moved to weakly remove your obi and push the hems of the kimono away, the soft fabric slipping off your shoulders and falling around you on the floor. You had almost forgot people were watching, but you heart a faint constrained reaction from the crowd as your naked body was revealed. They could only see your back, some of the lucky ones your large breasts from the side as they jiggled in the rhythm of master Sukuna’s movements. Your hands desperately searched to get a hold of his body as soon as you fulfilled his command. One of your hands found his thigh while the other faintly touched his lower cock before he pulled out of your mouth.

You could feel the taste of his precum deep inside your throat. His upper left hand grabbed your jaw harshly. He pulled your face closer to him, forcing you up from the floor. If he wanted to, he could throw you away from up there, and you would land on the other side of the room, skull crushed against the wall. The thought sent terror through your entire body and you began shaking in fear. Instead of this, he held you by the jaw a few inches away from his face, forcing you to look him in the eyes. He could see the distress in your eyes and he grinned maniacally. You could feel his hot breath on your face as his cocks rubbed against your chest, between your breasts, while his large lower hands cupped them together, his sharp nails scratching the soft sensitive skin. Eager to satisfy his needs and cling to your pathetic life, you moved your body along his length, creating friction between his cocks and your breasts. Your hands grabbed his forearms for support as you moved and his grip on your jaw softened, allowing you to move up and down as you needed. He cooed in approval against your lips, only for you to hear. A good sign.

“You’re so eager to please.” He said loudly, for everyone to hear. You wanted to play along, let yourself consumed by the humiliation of the servants seeing you being used like a sexual object only for Sukuna’s pleasure. The more time your spent looking in his darkened red eyes, the more you forgot about the people watching. No, that was wrong. You were not forgetting. You were enjoying it.

“Yes ma-“ You noticed his lower eye look to the side full of rage right before the screams of people covered the low sloppy sounds of his cocks fucking your tits.

"Silence." He growled and the commotion stopped, people biting their tongues and looking away from the headless body on the floor, head rolled a few feet away.

Some were sobbing. Others were frozen with terror. The man that just died in an instant was about to touch himself, turned on by the sight of you. No one was allowed to take pleasure in what belonged to Sukuna. You felt his cocks throbbing even more aroused between your breasts and you knew it wasn't just the warm and soft feeling of your body that got him that hard.

Violence turns him on.

Sukuna pushed you by the head, forcing you to take one of his cocks in your mouth again. This time he was aiming to cum, as both his upper hands were holding your head in place, with each movement the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat as he groaned like a beast. Your hands grabbed his thighs, nails digging into his skin as you took his entire length in and out of your mouth, your tongue running along the veins of his cock. You took a chance to look up at him, knowing he enjoyed the sight of your face while he fucked it relentlessly, teary eyes and brows furrowed upwards in a helpless expression. Instead, you saw his head thrown back in pleasure, mouth slightly open to let out ungodly sounds. Tears fell down your cheeks but you enjoyed the sound of his grunts, and you joined him with moans that reverberated around his girth. He came in no time, one cock inside your mouth the other on your chest. You swallowed all that he gave to you as the tip of his cock softly rubbed against your lips, the last drops of his milky seed dripping at the edges of your mouth.

“Thank you, my lord.” You moaned, grateful, looking up at him through your lashes, waiting anxiously for his next move.

You heard several overlapping sounds of meat slashing, blood spilling and bodies falling on the floor. Sukuna was taking his time effortlessly killing every single man whose dick got unbearably hard because of you, one by one. You were still with your back turned to the crowd so you could only imagine the number of butchered people and the terrified sight of the ones still left alive.

Sukuna let his robe fall off his shoulders on the throne as he leaned down to grab you by the waist, pulling you up over his large shoulder as he descended the stairs. You let your small body relax, hanging over his muscular one, your soft belly pressed against his shoulder. One hand held you firmly by the waist while the other had both your ankles in a lose grip, holding you in place as he walked down the stairs. He was completely naked as were you. Your feet dangled against his abdomen, your ass and leaking cunt exposed. You didn’t even realize you had gotten so wet until the cool air hit your folds. He could feel your juices on his chest as your thighs rubbed together against his skin and he grinned to himself. He hadn’t even done anything to you yet.

With his every step, you could see more and more of the people filling the room. It was a horrifying sight. Blood was pooling on the floor, people were trying to avoid looking at the dead bodies while also avoiding looking at their master, looking at you, at the same time. It was impossible. Your accusers, who were so certain they would get rid of you, were dying one by one.

Sukuna let you fall off his shoulder on the mattress in the middle of the room. So he had it prepared for this, you thought. Suddenly, as you were laying on your back while he stood up next to you, waiting, you became extremely aware of all the eyes looking at your naked body. Up on the throne you felt safer, above everyone else. Who cared if they were watching you choke on their master’s cocks? But down here, with all these people, blood and killing surrounding you, a spark of fright erupted in your mind. What if master Sukuna was going to leave you here? Wasn’t this the most sadistic end you could meet? He got the servants tormented by the deaths of their own, all because of you, and now he was going to let them get their revenge. They would tear you to pieces. You desperately tried to hide your large breasts with your arms, pressing your legs together as if he didn’t parade around with you and your soaking cunt over his shoulder moments ago. You looked up at him with wide doubtful eyes. When did you become so uneasy in his presence?

“You really don’t get it, do you?” You didn’t know at whom this question was directed. His voice was coated with a thick sense of dominance.

In the following seconds, you saw three people falling to the ground, blood spilling out of their bodies. Sukuna kneeled down next to you, grabbing you by the ankles and raising your legs up in the air. The back of your thighs pressed against his abdomen where his tongue rolled out and licked the soft skin. You whimpered, feeling the burning sensation in your lower body that meant one thing you knew very well. Your cunt needed him. Your legs eagerly wrapped around his neck, the feeling of his soft pink hair on your skin making your shiver. You tried pulling him closer to you, but he only watched, amused. You were struggling to have his body closer to yours, get him to penetrate you already. His lower arms pinned your legs in place while another hand lightly slapped you across the face.

“Beg.”

You had never quite felt the need for him to own you like you did right now. You were desperately clinging to him, ever fiber in your being telling you that the only way you could be safe, the only place you belonged to was in his possession.

“Please master.” You whined, without any second thought.

Somehow, only unconsciously, you knew that the reason he took a liking to you was that you weren’t afraid of him. Not once before this day did you doubt your master. The fact that you found him ravishing, the fact that you carnally wanted him so bad out of your own accord, it was something he never expected but got addicted to. Sure, taking whatever he wanted whenever he wanted gave him a sort of high only power could attain. But to feel needed, to feel wanted like you wanted him, to have you suck on his cocks so eagerly, beg for him to fuck you like an animal, cry out in pleasure because of his touch, Sukuna would never give up on these things.

“Please, punish me like I deserve.”

You gasped out of air when you felt his lower cock easily sink deep into your moist pussy, while his top cock rubbed against your folds. The feeling of your warm walls clenching around his girth sent a wave of indescribable pleasure through him, a pleasure that only made him eager to chase even more. His movements picked up a fast paced rhythm from the start, balls slamming against your ass with every slap of his hips against yours. He had his upper arms around your legs, keeping them up on one of his shoulders, while his other rough large hands were grabbing your breasts, kneading, playing with your nipples. You began moaning uncontrollably, the mixed sensation of the cock inside your cunt and the stimulation of the cock rubbing against your folds and over your clit with each thrust sending overwhelming waves of pleasure through your body. Your fists were grabbing the mattress tightly, your body hot and sweaty.

Through half open eyes you could see the golden hairpin on the floor and a woman trying to walk and pick it up. Fool. She really thought Sukuna wouldn’t see her, too drunk on your body to pay attention to his surroundings anymore. You could understand, though. Any man fucking with such violence and focus like he was thrusting inside of you was sure to lose all his other senses. But Sukuna wasn’t just a man. He was your god. Part of you wanted to warn her, tell her not to test her luck. Her head was sliced off her neck right when she was ready to reach out and grab the hairpin.

Your eyes were already tightly shut when that happened, the feeling of Sukuna’s cock throbbing inside you ready to release having your walls clench around him and your whines louder, more desperate as you approached your orgasm as well. He pushed your legs open, leaning over you, reaching deeper and deeper into your sensitive hole. You felt the wet tongue on his abdomen again, licking the sweat off your tummy, circling around your navel. The strain on your thighs was getting more and more painful the more he pushed his heavy body against yours.

“I would massacre the whole country for you.” He grunted against your lips.

His name reverberated in the room when you screamed it as your orgasm washed over you. His cum filled your hole, his sticky seed overflowing and dripping along your thighs and your ass. His other cock released his seed on your belly. Your fucked out face was the most beautiful thing Sukuna had ever witnessed in his life. All hot and sweaty, hair a mess around you like a halo, biting your lips, your eyes closed your eyebrows furrowed as if you still felt him inside you. The sight of your body covered in his seed, marking you as his and his only. It only made him want to ruin you even more. You opened your eyes lazily, your chest rising and falling with big movements as you sucked air inside your lungs.

You saw his eyes already fixed on you. Around the room was only death and blood and despair, while Sukuna sat down calmly, eyes fixed on you. You lost count of how many people were dead and how many were still watching. He didn’t call out for you, didn’t gesture in any way, but his eyes were imperative, commanding you without any effort. You forced your body up, supporting your weight on your arms. You crawled to him slowly, already feeling a mellow pain between your legs that would sure hurt a lot more the next day. He welcomed you at his side, a hand placed between your shoulder blades gently pushing you over his lap. You laid on your belly obediently over his strong thighs. His fingers ghosted over the line of your spine passing over the round curve of your ass.

His right hand was still aimlessly feeling the smoothness of your skin when his other right palm landed in a harsh slap over you other cheek. You cried out in pain, right before you felt two fingers of his left hand savagely pushed inside your mouth. You sucked on his fingers as he landed the second, then the third slap, the muffled sounds of your whines echoing from your throat. He spanked you again, in the same spot, and your eyes filled with tears at the growingly stinging sensation. Sukuna was consumed by your touch, by your scent. He loved how easily you got wet because of him. He could smell it before you were even aware of it. When he pulled you up from the floor, carrying you on his shoulder, your cunt was so close to his face, so obviously releasing that delicious scent of your leaking arousal that had his mouth water. Now he had you sprawled on his lap, the need to consume you insatiable. The urge to abuse your body until you were a trembling mess, unable to control it anymore. He leaned over just when you were expecting another painful slap and he sank his teeth into the plump flesh of your ass. He was careful enough not to seriously hurt you, but impatient to feel you in every way, leave his mark wherever he could. You cried out, drool falling at the corners of your mouth around his fingers. He pulled his teeth away and licked the round red mark left on your skin, making you shiver.

Another slap landed on your other ass cheek and he grabbed a fistful of your hair with his free left hand, forcing your body to arch painfully much. He leaned his face closer to yours, fingers still in your mouth. You looked at him from the corner of your eye, his deep red eyes swallowing you whole.

“Who do you belong to, slut?” When you tried to answer you choked on his fingers, unable to articulate any word.

He slapped you again, his other hand squeezing between your thighs. He could feel your juices mixed with his cum drip over his thigh. Sukuna knew slapping your ass was guaranteed to have your cunt drenched. He wouldn’t repeat himself. You squeezed your eyes shut when his large hand landed another slap, his fingers slightly pulling away from your mouth, allowing you to speak.

“I belong to you, master.” His fingers fell from your lips down your jaw to have your neck in a tight grip, choking you and forcing you to look at him.

“Then you can take your master’s cocks at the same time, can’t you?”

“Yes, master.” You replied weakly. He slapped your face, demanding a better, more convincing answer. “Please, master. I need both your cocks inside me.”

Sukuna seemed pleased with your answer, grinning at your deplorable state. You pushed your muscles to stand but he quickly and easily handled your body, using you as he pleased. He had you on all fours, your face sunk in the mattress soaked with your sweat. He ran his palm along your pussy, feeling his fingers slip, drenched in your arousal, as his lower arms had your hips pinned exactly where he needed you. You cried out in pain, feeling both his cocks stretching your walls. He was massive anyway, and now you had to take double the size. As dripping wet as you were, you still whined in discomfort when he forced himself into you. The mattress was wet with your tears and the room filled with your cries of pain that gradually turned into moans as you adjusted around him and pleasure overcame the pain. He slammed his hips violently against your ass, pulling you into him, his nails digging in your skin. One of his hands was on your head, pushing it further, keeping you in place as if you were a doll specifically made to fulfill his needs.

The beastly sounds he let out seemed to come from deeper inside his being, so savage and violent that seemed he was going to break you in half. You were too fucked out to pick up the sounds around you anymore, only his animalistic groans as he hit your insides, covering your moans and whimpers. You only felt a faint splash of hot thick liquid falling at your sides and the smell of fresh blood mixing with the smell of sex. You didn’t open your eyes until you were out of the room, not even when Sukuna came again inside you, his cum not fitting inside your pussy anymore, leaking out, spilling on the mattress and on your ass. Your body fell limp, exhausted and dirty, as soon as he let you out of his grip. The room grew silent like a grave, only Sukuna’s panting triumphantly overcoming everything.

You felt him pick you up in his arms and carry you in the other room, where two frightened servant girls wiped your body clean of the cum, sweat and blood. You moaned in pain when the wet cloth grazed against parts of your body that were already turning purple. Your body was starting to feel cold.

The feeling of being submerged in warm water was the most comforting thing. That is until you felt Sukuna’s large frame behind you, your back resting against his chest, his hands gently pouring water over your shoulders. You sank into his embrace, flesh melting on your bones. His lips hovered above yours, as if testing to see if you were awake. Or if you would allow it? You pressed your lips against his weakly, and he kissed you gently, almost surprised that he was capable of such a soft touch. You opened your eyes languidly, the first thing you saw being the half opened door that lead to the room where a few servants were already cleaning up the blood and bodies. As if you had only dreamed about it, you blinked several times. Sukuna had killed all the people that accused you.

“So, did you?” Sukuna’s husky voice gently purred in your ear.

“Hm?” You asked, eyes still on the other room, as if you didn’t hear.

“Did you fuck the servant from the kitchen?” He asked calmly, almost unbothered, as if he didn’t kill so many people because of it. Your back straightened and your head turned to him, finding the last bit of strength in indignation.

“Of course not!” He grinned at your fervor. “Did you… ever consider it to be true?”

“I don’t need unthankful servants to tell me. I would smell it on you.” There was a hint of threat in his voice, like warning you not to ever do something you would regret. When you looked at him questioningly, he pulled you closer, pushing your back against him, his cheek touching your soft hair. His hand cupped one of your breasts as he spoke, squeezing it, running his fingers over your warm skin. “If you’re afraid, if you’re sad, if you’re angry, if you’re horny. I can smell it on you.” His other hand ran down on your body, fingers resting just above your pussy. “Now imagine if someone else touches you. You would reek of dirty human.” You were sore already, drained. But you didn’t fight his touch, you didn’t try to stop him.

“I am a human too, master Sukuna.” You said and your breath hitched when you felt his fingers lightly rub circles around your clit.

“No.” He argued, your heavy breaths filling the room. He knew you didn’t get the chance to cum the last time. “You are my queen.”

With your eyes closed your hands searched for his. He took your hands in each of his, resting at the edge of the tub, intertwining your fingers together. Your soft whimpers echoed according to the motion of his fingers and he kissed your hair, encouraging you through your orgasm.

The water was starting to get cold. You were resting there in silence, your mind rewinding everything that happened. Sukuna said he could smell fear. Did he smell the fear on you when you first walked in? When you thought he was going to kill you? When you feared he was going to leave you at the hands of his servants? Instead, he called you his queen.

“There’s… someone.” You said instead, not daring to ask these questions. The silhouette of a man standing still in the hall was visible through the half open door.

“Oh? Yeah, it’s the boy from the kitchen. I haven't decided what to do with him yet.” Sukuna replied. “He’s the only one who defended you. But then again, what could he say? Defending you means defending himself.”

“Someone needs to live to tell the tale.” You mumbled. He cocked his head to the side, encouraging you to continue. “I would free him from your service. Give him some money. He will surely spread the tale of the ruthless Ryomen Sukuna.” He didn't reply. You doubted he was going to listen to your suggestion.

That night was the first time you went to sleep by his side. Usually you would pick up the moment after he was satisfied enough with your presence and retreated. He never commanded you to leave but never signaled he wanted you to stay, either. This time he carried you in his arms to your new room. You were probably not able to walk on your own anyway. He was going to have you moved away from the servants, closer to his chambers, he explained when he slided the door open. He laid you down on the freshly clean mattress before you felt his large frame next to you. You quickly scooped closer, with much effort since all the muscles in your body felt sore. With your head on his chest, one arm over his wide muscular torso, you fell asleep faster than ever, fatigue winning over your body. The last thing you remembered was the feeling of his fingers in your hair, while his lower hand was softly laying on your hip. You've never felt so relaxed before.

When you woke up, the painful sensation between your legs hit your brain before you were even able to open your eyes. Sukuna was nowhere to be seen. You didn't even feel him leaving your side, fallen deep in your undisturbed sleep. Next to the mattress, on a small low table, a covered tray was waiting for you to wake up. On a small note, written by hand, a message greeted you.

Regain your strength soon, my queen

next 》》 Eraser |

Ryomen Sukuna x reader

#sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #true form sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jujustu kaisen #sukuna jjk #sukuna imagine

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residents-of-the-darkforest · 5 months

Text

Grandfather's Ghost (short story)

“So, medicine cat, eh?” Redjay settled beside his grandson, who had snuck out of the nursery and kept to the shadows of the camp wall to avoid being shooed back in or be seen talking to air.

Myrtlekit nodded enthusiastically. He had told Hickoryskip his decision earlier that day, and guessed that either Redjay or another of his family had seen the discussion. “A good choice, right?”

Redjay made a doubtful grunt. “Are you sure it’s the path for you? You have a bloodlust in you, little one, battles are a good way to quench the thirst.”

“But it’s so mindless,” Myrtlekit responded, pulling his mouth to one side. “Slashing around is fun, but it’ll get boring in time, right? And what am I gonna do when there’s no war for moons?”

His grandfather grinned, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. “Aw, so mind games has piqued your interest, has it?” His smile dropped. “But you’ll have to target the weak, and you’re better than that. Stronger than that.”

Anger clawed Myrtlekit’s chest. “I’m no coward! If they’re not weak, I’ll make them weak, then I’ll make them all beg for mercy and give them none!”

Redjay’s eyes sparked. A ring of energy seemed to shoot through his body, lifting his fur in enthusiasm. “Oh, the fire in you, my little one!” He tilted his head, so far it almost looked like the bones inside had split apart. “I suppose I do see the benefits. Herbs and poison right by your paws, to be used at your disposal…”

“Trusted by my Clanmates and leader,” Myrtlekit added, remembering Bella-May’s advice.

“StarClan won’t rat on you, because you’ll be their messenger.” Redjay’s grin was returning.

“Gorsedaisy will hate it.” Myrtlekit spat the name. The elderly medicine cat had never liked him, and wasn’t shy on making her thoughts clear.

Redjay’s eyes darkened. “Indeed she will. The Clan knows she’s lost her petals. Ha! They’ll trust you more than her!” Redjay’s whole body shook. “I can just imagine what she’d say! ‘No! Please don’t let him become a medicine cat! He’s evil, I tell you! Evil!’”

Myrtlekit pressed his paw to his muzzle, stifling the laughter that threatened to choke him, his shoulders shaking as he struggled to breathe. The impression Redjay made was perfect. For a second, he thought that Gorsedaisy really had spoken. Sure, it was a little dramatic in its mockery, but the idea was still clear. “Do it again, do it again!” He prompted.

Redjay did so, though he had to control his own chuckles before he could speak again. “‘You’re all fools! Fools! I guess I’ll speak to you when you get to StarClan, because that’s where the lot of you will end up, mark my words!”

Myrtlekit burst out in a fit of open laughter, rolling onto his side until he gasped for air. “One more!”

“Myrtlekit, what are you doing out here?” Myrtlekit whipped around to face Grebeglade, his aunt, who had been on guard duty. “What’s got you so amused?”

Myrtlekit looked over his shoulder. Redjay’s spirit had already disappeared. “I saw a frog jump on a squirrel, and I thought it was really funny!”

Grebeglade looked around. Her whiskers twitched, and she blinked at him with warm amusement. “Must have been a dream. Go back to your mother, alright? You could freeze out here.”

“Okay, I will!” Myrtlekit told her, and bounded back to the nursery. His fur still buzzed as he settled in the nest beside Blacksong, and the smile remained on his face as he fell into the darkness of sleep.

==================

--Probably one of the cutest stories we'll ever see of Myrtlwing.

--I like to think that Redjay does his mimicry often for the amusement of the little ones.

@ambitiousauthor

--Base found in this stash: FREE Warriors Lineart Pack 1 by LexisSketches on DeviantArt

5 notes · View notes

rip-quizilla · 2 months

Text

You Could Kill Me (and You Should)

Pairing: Vampire!Eddie Munson X Slayer!Reader

Word Count: 16k

Tags: SMUT🔥🔥🔥, dubious consent, memory alteration, reader's pronouns aren't specified, reader has a vagina, oral sex, p in v sex, blood drinking, blood kink, unprotected sex, squirting, dom/sub undertones, vampire sex, references to Buffy the Vampire Slayer (but you don't have to be familiar to understand this story)

A/N: please read the tags! This work contains depictions of blood and VERY adult content. Minors, do not interact!

Bat divider made by @saradika ❤️

Hunting on game nights was never ideal.

There were too many people around… the double-edged sword of vampire hunting. The great throngs of people made it easy for a poor soul to get lost in the fray, so it brought the baddies out into the open. On the flip side of that coin, what made an ideal hunting ground for vamps created a field of landmines for a Slayer. Throngs of people meant infinite chances to get caught in the open with a wooden stake in your hand, and that brought too many questions.

Still, you could deal with humans; you had been your whole life. Hawkins, Indiana was just like any other town- people would believe what they wanted to believe, and you knew exactly how to spin a story into something they’d find acceptable.

However, if you got caught out in the moonlight with the specific vamp you were hunting, you knew you’d attract the wrong kind of attention. You wanted to fly under the radar here; it was the only way you’d be able to live here long enough to stave off the influx of demons that liked to slip in time to time from the Upside Down- the hell that waited on the other side of this reality. Not every town was as connected to it as Hawkins was, but then again, not every town sat on top of a Hellmouth.

A sound from behind you perked up the hairs at the back of your neck. You turned, making sure the brick wall of Hawkins High protected your back as you surveyed the empty courtyard before you. Everyone within a mile radius who still had a beating heart was in the gym, cheering on the Hawkins Tigers in hopes that the subpar basketball team might actually take home a win tonight.

Well… everyone except for you, whose heart was beating alarmingly fast for someone who had slain so many bloodsuckers that you’d lost count. Why were you this nervous? Aw, who were you kidding, you knew why.

You weren’t hunting just any vampire this time. You were hunting Eddie Munson.

You steadied your turncoat heart with a slow, deep breath. “Stop kidding around, Munson,” you said, keeping your voice low and eerily calm. “You know why I’m out here and I know you’ll only hurt me if you have to, so let’s just cut the formalities and have a little chat.”

A rumbling chuckle sounded from above, and when your eyes flicked up to the sky they were met with the sight of the most elusive and cunning vamp you’d ever had the displeasure of hunting.

Eddie Munson. Or, as he was known amongst the town’s community of bloodsuckers, Kas the Bloody Handed.

“Little chat, huh?” Eddie’s smiling voice echoed from where he sat on the edge of the rooftop above you. “Put away the stake and we’ll talk, Slayer.”

You kept your eyes on him, narrowing your gaze but complying nonetheless. You pocketed the stake, shifting your brown leather jacket to the side and sliding the wooden spike into your waistband.

Were you dealing with any other vamp, you would have laughed in their face at the demand that you disarm yourself when vampires had nearly every advantage against you. You had Slayer strength, sure- but that was it. These demons had speed, strength, teeth, claws- the fact that sunlight would incinerate them was really their only weakness besides their need for blood.

Correction- sunlight should incinerate them. Sunlight didn’t affect Eddie Munson. That wasn’t the only thing that didn’t seem to affect him- bloodlust was apparently not an issue either, seeing how he was a student. At a high school. A building just teaming with sweaty, hormonal teens who were just itching to do something stupid- one would assume that a vampire in a place like that would be draining cheerleaders left and right, but not Eddie. In fact, you’d been watching him for months now since you moved to Hawkins, and you’d never even seen him hurt a fly. Hell, you’d seen kids try and beat him up and yet he hadn’t so much as made a fist since the first time you laid eyes on him.

That was why you’d sought him out tonight- this vampire wasn’t killing people, and it was making you suspicious.

Once your weapon had been safely tucked away, Eddie hopped down from his insane height at the top of the school building and landed swiftly and quietly on his feet in front of you. He smiled at you lazily, his eyes twinkling with the curiosity and glee that came with sharing a secret.

“Excuse my forwardness, but I’ve gotta know-” Eddie began, hands in his pockets as he slowly sauntered toward you. “-how long did I have you going before you figured me out?”

You pushed off the wall, casually placing your hands behind your back as you matched his stride in the opposite direction. You were circling each other, two predators locked in a deadly dance.

“You’re a pretty good actor, Munson.” you replied, voice lighter than air but balanced out by the unwavering rock-solid gaze that remained locked on him. “I might not have figured it out at all if your friend at the hospital hadn’t spilled the beans.”

That got his attention. “Annie ratted me out?” His eyebrows were practically synonymous with his hairline. “Impossible.”

You shrugged. “Apparently HIPAA laws don’t apply to secret bloodbag dealers and their demon customers. In her defense, she was pretty tight-lipped until I had convinced her I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

That stopped Eddie in his tracks. He peered at you through his curtain of moonlit curls, his gaze suspicious and unsure. “You’re not?”

You stood squarely before him at ease. “Nope.” you replied brightly. “And I don’t think you’re trying to kill anyone either… are you, Kas?”

His suspicion gave way to a blinding smile. “Well someone’s been doing their research!” You blinked and he was inches away, his enhanced speed catching you off guard; you instinctively took a step back before instantly regretting it. Eddie caught your momentary lapse in stature and his grin crept upwards in one corner. “Tell you what, killer, how ‘bout we put a pin in all your fun little Kas facts and cut to the chase, hm?”

In a flash his hand held your chin firmly. Your grip flew to the back of your waistband, fingertips already caressing the smooth wood of your stake. You mirrored each other, the two of you standing in a twin stance with one foot placed in front of the other a shoulder’s width apart, his hand at your jaw and yours ready to stake the bastard at the first sign of a threat.

“You’re here to protect people,” Eddie continued, “and I don’t plan on hurting anyone. We can coexist here, it isn’t that complicated.”

“I’m here to slay vampires.” You corrected, but Eddie only grinned and shook his head.

“See, that’s not true- you would have killed me already.” He leaned in, a smug smile only taking up more space on his countenance. “Ain’t that right, Slayer?”

You’d expected that the decision to let Eddie live would come back to bite you in the ass, but surprisingly enough, nothing changed.

You went to school. You hunted. You did normal teenager things. Not once did you witness Eddie Munson do a single thing out of the ordinary.

Well…out of his ordinary. For a bloodsucking demon hiding among human teenagers, he liked attention far more than you’d expected. The more you thought about it, however, the more you saw his reputation for being the town freak as a genius cover. He was hiding in plain sight; any weird behavior would simply be written off as a cry for attention from Hawkins’ resident eccentric. If he wanted to, Eddie could be getting away with a lot more than stolen blood bags.

So why wasn’t he?

You wanted answers, and surprisingly enough you had a feeling that it wouldn’t take too much for him to give them to you. You just needed to find a private place to ask him. Word travels like wildfire after a drought in Hawkins, and even if Eddie didn’t mind the attention, you on the other hand did. You couldn’t afford for people to start associating you with him, so you’d passed Eddie a note at lunch to meet you out in the woods at the old picnic table.

“Did you know I used to do drug deals in this exact place?”

His voice sounded wistful as his body weight caused the weakened wooden bench to creak when he sat down with you later that afternoon. “Those were the days, man.”

You snorted. “You mean the days when you were human? Or are you a bloodsucker and a pill pusher? That’s an intersectionality I can’t say I’ve encountered before-”

“Back when I was human, smartass.” He cut you off, rolling his eyes. “Now, why did Hawkins’ shiny new vampire slayer invite me to meet in the middle of the woods? All alone?” he pretended to think it over for a second, feigning epiphany when his eyes widened and his brows shot up his forehead. His voice quivered, apparently auditioning to play the role of the victim in a slasher film. “Are you g-g-gonna k-k-kill me?” He braced his hands against the edge of the picnic table, scrambling to the ground as he amped up the drama while you watched, forcing a smile at bay.

“P-p-please, don’t s-s-slay me, almighty S-Slayer!”

You snorted, shaking your head, unable to completely stop the ghost of a grin from sliding across your lips. “Having fun?” you snarked.

It took only a millisecond- in a blur of supernatural vampire speed, he was back up on his feet and sitting on the surface of the table. “Lots!” His smile was overwhelming- it was easygoing, unguarded, and above all things it was so human. It was disconcerting.

“The reason I asked you out here,” you said, getting down to business. “Is because I have some questions for you.”

The vampire’s eyes narrowed, that smile staying firmly planted on his lips. “I’m sure you do.”

“How can you be out in the sunlight without bursting into flames?” Every vampire you’d ever encountered would be reduced to ashes if they dared to step out the door in broad daylight, yet here was Eddie Munson- 100% bloodsucker, 100% sitting on a picnic bench and soaking up the rays that filtered in through the cover of tree branches.

“I know a witch.” Eddie replied, eyes following you as you paced around the picnic table. “She did a spell. Next question?”

You raised an eyebrow, “Who’s the witch?”

“Not telling.”

“I figured.” you lamented. “Do the blood bags satisfy you as much as fresh blood?”

Eddie was quiet for a moment, then replied with a curt “They’re enough.”

“Enough to stave off the urge to- I don’t know- murder?”

His head whipped sharply in your direction, expression souring. “Have you seen me kill anyone? In all the time you’ve been here, have you ever seen me so much as harm someone?”

You paused. “No.”

Jutting out his chin triumphantly, he straightened his posture a bit. “Then stick to relevant questions, alright killer?”

You narrowed your eyes on him. “Your bloodlust isn’t relevant?”

He scoffed, tightening his grip on the edge of the tabletop he still sat on, and you could have sworn you heard the wood creaking beneath his white knuckles. “You may not be from Hawkins, but with that self-righteous, bigoted attitude you could’ve fooled me.” His head was hanging down, Eddie’s dark eyes trained on his Reebocks which dangled from where he sat.

When he looked up at you through his long, chestnut curls, the gaze he gave you was so disappointed, so intense, that you actually felt a pang of guilt even though you hadn’t done anything wrong. You’d accused a vampire of having bloodlust. What was there to feel guilty for?

“You’re a vampire, Munson. A demon.” you stated, matter of factly. “You need blood to survive, and you’re a killer by nature-”

“You’ve done more killing in this town than I have,” he laughed humorlessly, his voice tinged with exasperation. “-and I’ve lived here my entire life!” Eddie hopped off the tabletop, shaking his head. “I thought you wanted to have an actual conversation with me, but if you’re here to point out splinters and ignore the stakes, then I’m gone. Go interrogate some other vampire.”

You stood your ground, watching Eddie walk back towards Hawkins High as you felt that guilt crawl into your chest and start to burrow there.

You found it ironic that the Hideout was known for both being the bar in town that never carded, and being the bar that vampires frequented the most. It resulted in a clientele that was either immortal or too young to be there.

Your presence in town had slowed down vampire activity quite a bit, but apparently that hadn’t been enough of a deterrent to rid the dive bar of their undead customers for the night. After a few years of slaying, you’d learned how to distinguish between prey and predator- there weren’t too many people in the bar since it was a Tuesday night, but that only made it easier to single them out.

You knew what to look for: eyes that swept the room to sort out the hierarchy of those present. Skin that lacked the plumpness and healthy complexion that came with blood running freely through the veins beneath. Behaviors that reflected an intention to single out the weak and alone before isolating them, going in for the kill.

Unfortunately, they weren’t who you were here for. Tonight, your attendance wasn’t attributed to any run-of-the-mill vampires.

Funny enough, you were here to see the band.

You sipped on your glass of cranberry juice, watching warily as tonight’s headliner situated themselves on the small almost-stage in the corner of the tiny bar. Long dark curls shadowed eyes that followed you with equal wariness, unsure of why you were here but intrigued nonetheless.

Sitting stationary at the bar with your glass sweating in your hand, you took in the spectacle before you- four boys who looked fairly human, setting the crowd ablaze with songs about nonconformity, rebellion, and hellish imagery. Funnily enough, humans and vampires alike were all watching them, heads bobbing to the thrum of the baseline, all of them united in their quest to distract themselves from life- or afterlife- for the night.

You’d always loved how music did that- it brought together folks of all shapes and sizes, political ideals, religions, backgrounds… and it gave them something to agree on. Music made people feel something. Whether you were alive or undead didn’t seem to matter; people loved to feel things.

To your chagrin, you found yourself tapping out the melodies along with the crowd, bouncing your knee in time with Eddie’s band’s music. They were- surprisingly- not bad. The place was small enough that even though you were seated at the bar, you were able to get a good look at each of the band members over the course of their set. You recognized some of them from school- Grant was a nice guy, you had some classes with him. Gareth was… shy? Standoffish? Either way, he kept to himself and away from everyone who wasn’t Eddie- typical behavior for a vampire. Now, seeing the pallor of his skin compared to the lively flush of his bandmates, you were all but sure he was a vampire; one of Eddie’s underlings, no doubt.

You’d figured out as much information about Eddie Munson’s standing in Hawkins’ vampire community as you thought you’d be likely to get, being a vampire slayer in a town fraught with vampires. He was the first to become a vampire the Hawkins way, and that afforded him a certain level of respect among vampires here. Other than that, you were flying blind.

Vampires existed in many forms across the world- name a continent, and you could rattle off some fun facts about that region’s particular breed of bloodsucker. Some born, some made, some immortal, some not- and they all had their own particular set of characteristics that set them apart and made slaying even more complicated. Eddie Munson had been the first of a new breed of vampire, and that’s why your watcher had sent you here; not only to slay, but to collect data.

The audience’s applause for Corroded Coffin’s final song faded into a dull chatter and the clinking of bar glasses, and your attention snagged on Eddie as you watched him amble off the stage in your direction. The other band members stayed where they were, shifting around as they began packing up their instruments. Gareth’s eyes stayed on Eddie, narrowing when they crossed over his shoulder and landed on you.

“Didn’t take you for a metal fan, Slayer.” Eddie murmured just loud enough for you to hear him over the din of noisy patrons.

You shrugged, sipping from your glass. “I listen to a little bit of everything. You guys aren’t bad.” Eddie hopped up onto the stool beside you, nodding to the bartender in a silent exchange. A half second later, Eddie had a freshly opened can of PBR sweating in his hand.

“Thanks.” He was eyeing you warily, sipping slowly from his can. “So what are you doing here?”

He didn’t bullshit around when there was an elephant in the room… you guessed you appreciated that. “I wanted to see you in your element.”

He snorted into his silver can. “In my element, huh? Wouldn’t that be -I don’t know- catching me in the act of ripping someone’s throat out? Draining the blood from a litter of kittens or something?”

A pang of guilt threatened to nudge its way through to your eyes, but you didn’t let it get that far. “No,” You replied, “you said it yourself, I’ve never actually seen you hurt anyone. Or even try, actually.”

His gaze was measured, eyeing you up and down as if scanning you for some indication that you were planning on staking him right here and now. You waited for him to speak but surprisingly he didn’t, so you continued.

“I’d like to propose a truce.”

Eddie smirked slightly, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards enough to call into action the dimple hidden in his cheek. “Didn’t know we were fighting, I sure as hell haven’t been getting in your way, have I?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you’re getting at? You want an apology?” As Eddie’s smirk grew wider, your mouth moved in the opposite direction, lips forming a hard, tense line as you glared at the smug bloodsucking bastard before you.

“I’m a Slayer. I’ve traveled all over the world with the sole purpose of killing vampires just like you-”

“There are no vampires like me, sweetheart.”

You snorted. “Yeah yeah, you’re so unique, we’re all aware.” You downed the last swig of your drink. “Can I finish now?”

He nodded, that grin still growing along his lips.

“Every vampire I’ve ever met has wanted to kill people. Forgive me for having my defenses up when I came across one that didn’t.” Eddie’s eyes softened, as did the corners of his mouth. His smug grin now seemed a little more understanding, and maybe a little sympathetic. That last bit made you bristle.

“I’m not saying this for your sympathy, I just want you to know where I was coming from when I made assumptions about your…”

“I believe the term you used was ‘bloodlust’?” Eddie supplied, his tone accusatory but not altogether unfriendly.

You sighed heavily. “I made assumptions. I’m sorry about that.”

Eddie tilted his head to the side, digesting your apology. Finally, “Buy a round for me and my band and I’ll forgive you.”

The stipulations of your truce were laid out the next day at lunch. You were able to convince Eddie to leave his cronies’ lunch table in the cafeteria in favor of a more private place to discuss your terms- the picnic table out in the woods.

As per your side of the deal, Eddie would provide you a list of names of vampires that he knew followed the same lifestyle as him- purchase blood from his supplier at the hospital, go about their normal lives, and never harm a living soul. You would refrain from hunting any of them.

Eddie’s side of the deal: he promised not to interfere with the slaying of any vampires in town who didn’t subscribe to his way of life; in other words, if they tried to hurt a human or drink from any living animals in town, they were fair game for slaying. In addition, Eddie would provide you any information you needed about Hawkins Vampires, and you would relay that data to the Watchers’ Council for them to enter into their database.

Unsurprisingly, Gareth Emerson’s name was at the top of Eddie’s list of vampires under his protection. When you saw it, you chuckled.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Surprised?”

“Not in the slightest.” you laughed. “The guy clings to your side like a guard dog and barely talks to anyone else. And he always looks like he’s on the verge of ripping someone’s throat out.”

Eddie couldn’t help but laugh along with you. “Well, in my defense, he was like that back in his human days too, I didn’t do that to him.”

You peered over the list at the leather-clad vamp as he lit a cigarette. “But you did do the ‘vamparism’ thing to him?”

“Trust me, it wasn’t a premeditated decision.” Eddie may have sounded aloof, but you could tell that the words were strained. “I had only been…turned…for a couple of weeks at that point. I thought I could handle more human interaction than I really could.”

Your eyebrows jumped a fraction of an inch, but you tried to appear unphased. You hadn’t known too many vampires who could bite a human and manage to stop themselves before killing their victims at that phase of their afterlife. A vampire’s thirst could be nearly impossible to resist for the first few years after their transition, never mind the first matter of days. The fact that Eddie was able to bite Gareth without killing him was… impressive, to say the least.

Regardless of how impressive it was, however, Eddie’s facial expression spoke volumes to you about how unimpressed he was by his choices at this particular moment in his history. You decided to air on the side of casual empathy. “Could have been a lot worse.” you said, voice soft but matter of fact. “Plus he has you to protect him.”

Eddie looked at you, eyes guarded and yet bursting at the seams with unshed secrets. You could tell there was so much more he wanted to say, but he settled for a simple, solid “Yeah.”

You didn’t pry. If you needed to know more, you’d find it out in due time, but for now you would settle for ‘yeah’.

The two of you fell into a strange dynamic as your truce was put into effect. For one thing, he made an effort to seek you out in the hallways more; it was troubling, to say the least. You didn’t want people in this town paying attention to you. If they started taking notice of your unusual habits- never getting involved at school, lurking in graveyards and dive bars late into the night, keeping to yourself instead of falling into a friend group like normal teenagers were supposed to- they might start keeping a closer eye on you. A closer eye on you meant a closer eye on the vampires in this town, and the Watcher’s Council would have your head if you became the proverbial Pandora to open the vampire box in Hawkins.

The point was, Eddie was an attention magnet, and his incessant need to interact with you in front of an audience made it difficult to fly under the radar in a town where gossip traveled faster than the average speed limit.

“Slayer!”

His calling you that in the middle of the hallway just after the final bell didn’t help things in the slightest. He was half-jogging through the throng of teens, dodging and weaving between bodies as he made his way to where you stood at your locker with wide eyes trained on the most obnoxious vampire you’d ever had the pleasure of knowing.

“Can you not call me that in the middle of a crowded hallway?” you hissed at him once he’d reached your side. In reality, you knew the chances were slim that anyone within earshot knew what a Slayer was, but you weren’t about to test that theory.

“Sorry, killer.” Eddie quipped, shit-eating grin loud and proud on his beaming face. “Just wanted to catch you before you left without me.”

You quirked an eyebrow. “Without you? What, are we carpooling now?”

“Yeah, unless you want to get drenched in the tempest going on out there, sweetheart.”

Your mouth was open, poised to argue before Eddie wordlessly scooped up your backpack with effortless strength, shouldered it, and began marching down the crowded hallway. He didn’t even wait for you to close your locker, so you had to make quick work of grabbing your books and locking it shut before bumbling after him.

“Excuse me,” you huffed, power walking in an effort to keep up with his quick pace. “Is there something about me that screams ‘I need to carpool with Eddie Munson’? Because if there is, I will happily correct the issue.”

Eddie hop-skipped through the front doors of the school, threw a chuckling look over his shoulder at you, then took off running through the pouring rain in a straight shot to where his van was parked.

You had no choice but to run in the same direction; he had your backpack.

In a mad dash through the sky’s heavy onslaught, you shielded your head best you could until you made it to Eddie’s passenger door. The rolling percussion of raindrops on pavement was cut starkly short at the shut of your door, and you breathed a sigh of relief before swinging your head around to look at Eddie Smug-Faced Munson, scowling for all you were worth.

“There are quite a few ways I can answer your question, Slayer, all of which could get me staked…” He twisted slightly to toss your backpack into the backseat, where it landed on a discarded t-shirt and a mess of paper and spiraled wire that must have been a notebook at some point. When Eddie turned back to you, your faces were mere inches from each other, both of you trusting the center console with your weight. Eddie’s movements stilled, his eyes flitting ever so quickly down at your barely-parted lips.

You were close enough to hear his soft intake of breath. “Could be worth it, though.”

Your cheeks heated, and you briefly wondered if vampires felt the stolen blood in their cold bodies rush to places in times of tension. Breaking eye contact, you crossed your arms over your chest, brushing your biceps and shoulders with your hands in an effort to warm your rain-drenched skin.

“Just drive, Munson. I have a stake in my pocket with your name on it if you try anything.”

Eddie shook his head, smirking widely. “And here I thought you were just happy to see me.” Shifting the car into drive, he expertly navigated his way out of the parking lot and onto the main road that would take you to the small apartment you currently lived in, courtesy of the Watchers’ Council.

“You’re hunting tonight, right?” Eddie’s voice cut through the rain-spattered silence in the van, jerking your attention from the hypnotic sight of his struggling windshield wipers.

“Yes?” Unintentionally, the answer sounded like a question.

“Take me with you.”

You snorted. “You, a vampire, want to go vampire hunting?”

Eddie shrugged, keeping his umber eyes on the glassy road ahead. “Now that I know there won’t be any innocents on your hit list- yeah, sounds fun.”

You arched an eyebrow. “If I end up staking anyone tonight, you won’t stop me?”

“Good vampire, remember?” he reminded you, placing a hand over his heart before flashing you a reassuring grin. “If somebody’s out there hurting people, I want them off the streets as much as you do.”

And that was how you wound up with an undead hunting partner for your nightly patrol of Hawkins for malicious undead.

Despite being the unlikely duo that you two were, you actually looked like a pair of vampire slayers on a usual patrol- the two of you both wearing combat boots and leather jackets to match. The only tell that this wasn’t your normal routine was the stark silence occupying the space between you. You ended up being the one to finally break it after the first few minutes of patrolling as the two of you strolled through the Hawkins’ cemetery.

“So if we run into some unsavory vampires tonight… how are you gonna kill them?”

“What do you mean, ‘how’?”

“I’m not letting you use my stakes.”

Eddie angled his head toward you, a grin dancing on his lips. “Aw, scared I’ll stake myself on accident, sweetheart?”

“Oh I would consider that a happy accident.” you matched his grin in stride, teasing the tip of your tongue through your teeth.

“Aw, don’t say that! You know you’d miss me, baby.”

Baby?

You sped up your pace a fraction- just enough for him to leave your periphery. “I am not your baby.” You tried to laugh through your response, but it got caught in your throat, tangling with the words and straining them in a way that sounded less lighthearted than you’d intended.

“Well look at that, I found something that makes you nervous.” You could practically feel his smugness from your two steps ahead.

“Nothing makes me nervous.”

“I do.”

You scoffed, speeding up your pace. “You do not-”

In half a second he was in front of you, vampiric speed landing him directly in your way, forcing you to stop short. He was eyeing you down, arms crossed and lids squinted in concentration. “Why’s your heart rate getting faster, then?”

You huffed a breath into the cold air, sending wisps of heat to curl and dissipate as they hit Eddie’s solid form. “Annoyance. Rage. Could be a number of things along those lines.” You sidestepped him, marching forward purposefully. Eddie followed suit beside you.

“Along those lines, you say.” He mused. “Y’know, those lines in particular can get pretty blurry.”

Eddie paused, waiting for you to take the bait. He waited a long time before giving up on that, because under no circumstances did you plan on doing so.

“The lines,” he continued, “between rage and other feelings of… equal passion.”

“You saying you want me to more passionately say you annoy me, Munson?” You quipped, refusing to meet his eyes that were practically begging you to look his way. “I will, don’t tempt me.”

“I’m quite sure you’ll find I can be very good at tempting you, baby.”

You huffed, chin whipping to the side to give him a full view of your serious face. “Stop calling me baby.” You regretted looking his way immediately, because those dark eyes were staring you down with an intensity that caused the air to leave your lungs and your voice to falter.

“Yeah… y’know-” Eddie’s grin was shining in full force now, watching you like you were a puzzle he’d just made a breakthrough in solving. “I don’t think I’m going to do that. This is the first time I’ve seen you flustered.”

“Shut. Up.” You muttered, eyes focused on a newer-looking grave about ten feet from the two of you.

“Hm, sounds like something a flustered person would say-”

“Eddie,” you hissed, already reaching for the stake in your back pocket. “Shut. Up.”

It took him a second, but he followed your gaze and saw what had you shifting gears- the low, wet sound of something sucking, accompanied by the pat pat of excess blood as it dripped to the cold earth. Slightly obscured by the headstone you’d spotted, a vampire had found some unsuspecting soul to snack on.

You held your wooden stake aloft, ready to strike. “Ready to watch the master at work?” you whispered under your breath.

Eddie matched your volume, whispering back an encouraging “Hell yeah, go get ‘em, baby.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed, carefully advancing “Just shut up and watch my back, Munson.”

“Oh I will gladly do that.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“I’m adorable.”

You arrived home around dawn, just as the sun had begun to peek over the horizon and paint the morning in blushing shades of pinks and purples. Your apartment was a little efficiency located above a pawn shop downtown. The entrance was behind the building, which meant that there weren’t any snooping neighbors to watch you entering your home in the wee hours of the night. In a town like Hawkins, this kind of privacy was a valuable commodity.

Eddie had insisted on walking you home since it was so late- or early- which tickled you to no end since he’d just watched you take down a vampire pretty much single-handedly. He climbed the squeaking fire escape two steps behind you, stopping at the final landing as you began to unlock your door.

“You can go now.” You told him curtly.

“You’re not going to invite me in?” You almost laughed; he actually sounded hurt. He was a good actor.

“You act like I haven’t studied vampires every day since I became the Slayer.” You placed your hands on your hips, “As If I’m about to give you an all-access pass to my apartment.”

Eddie laughed, his chuckle a dark and musical thing. “Baby, if I was going to kill you, don’t you think I would have tried already?” His hand was resting on your doorway, blocking the light from the time-yellowed lamp that lit the left side of your doorway and caging you in with his shadow.

“For all I know, this is you trying.” You stood your ground, arms crossed solidly across your chest, refusing to cower even though he was looking at you like he wanted to wrap his teeth around you.

He leaned forward ever so slightly, eyes heavy and hungry. “Do you think that’s what I’m trying to do?” His gaze flicked to your closed door and back to you in half a second. “You think if you walk through that door and invite me inside, I’m going to try to kill you?”

You studied him for a moment. “No.” You hadn’t meant for the word to come out in a whisper, but that’s what happened anyway.

Eddie’s gaze remained unmoved. “So you’ll invite me in?”

“No.”

A chuckle escaped through the crooked smile that invaded his lips. “So fucking stubborn. You know I can smell you, right?”

You raised an eyebrow, confused. Smell what? Did you work up a sweat fighting that vampire? There’s no way you smelled that bad-

“I can smell you, baby.” His lips were moving against your ear, brushing the little silver rings that decorated your cartilage. “You’re right, you shouldn’t let me inside. But I can smell how curious you are about what might happen if you do.”

You were suddenly very aware of how wet you were- you felt a rush of heat as a fresh wave of slick rushed through you, undoubtedly moistening your panties. He could smell that? You were frozen, at a loss for words that could adequately respond to his insinuation.

Before you could react, Eddie’s hand was on your face, gripping your jaw just tight enough to slightly purse your lips. You felt the cold bite of his silver rings on your skin, sending goosebumps trickling down your spine. He looked you in the eyes, his gaze growing deeper and darker, and you began to relax into his grip as you realized that he truly did not intend to hurt you.

“You should invite me in.”

His eyes were so beautiful… how had you never noticed them before? They practically glowed… no, they actually glowed. They were like a neon fucking sign, bright and crimson and shining such a beautiful rose-hued glow that they looked more like rubies than irises.

Your lips moved to echo him. “I should invite you in.” Of course you should. He wasn’t going to hurt you- with every second you spent with his skin on yours and his eyes boring into your own, you became even more sure of that. He just wanted to make you feel good- so, so good…

“And are you going to?” Eddie’s voice was so beautiful- how had you never realized how gorgeous his voice was?

“Yes.”

“Good. That’s a good Slayer, unlock the door, baby.”

And you did. It was the easiest decision you’d ever made. You stepped inside, immediately shedding your coat and hanging it on the coat rack by the door. “Come inside, Eddie,” You smiled at him, letting down your defenses. You were so tired of putting them up around him. “It’s cold out there.”

He matched your smile, looking at you like you’d hung the moon. “Well aren’t you just the sweetest thing.” He crossed the threshold easily, following your lead and shrugging off his leather jacket and hanging it beside your own. He glanced around the little apartment, an appraising look in his gaze. It was just one room, a small studio with a modest kitchen and living space. Your modest bed frame sat nestled in the corner beneath a skylight, along with a small armchair and a closet with the few belongings you’d taken with you to Hawkins.

“Bed looks cozy.” Eddie mused.

“It is.”

He nodded towards it. “Go sit on the edge.”

And of course you did. You sat up straight, keeping your eyes on him and waiting for that beautiful voice to say something else. You so wanted him to keep talking; each word was like a warm shower after hours in the cold, relaxing you into a happy little puddle. Eddie watched as you perched yourself on the edge of the bed, slowly stalking across the room until your knees were almost touching his.

He stared at you, his gorgeous dark eyes glowing deep red. “Open your legs.” You did. Without breaking eye contact, Eddie commanded you again. “Tell me how wet you are for me.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he raised a hand gesturing stop. “I’m sorry baby, I misspoke.” Placing both hands on either side of your hips, Eddie leaned forward until he was close enough for you to feel his cold breath on your face. “Stick your hand down your panties and feel how wet you are for me. Then tell me out loud.”

You nodded, happy to comply. Your hands were cold, but you didn’t care. You eagerly snaked your hand under the waistband of your pants, shivering as your icy fingers traced a line down your pelvis until they reached the heat beneath your panties. The moment they dipped over the hood of your clit, you were mildly surprised at just how soaked you were.

“Talk to me, baby,” Eddie’s voice washed over you, and you felt a fresh gush of heat pulse through your core.

“I’m soaked, Eddie.” It was the truth; you couldn’t imagine lying to him when he was so curious. Besides, you wanted him to know that he was reducing you to a deluge in his honor.

Slowly, Eddie sunk down to his knees on your floor. His head was level with your open knees, hands dragging down the skin of your outer thighs as he inhaled the air between your legs.

“Take your fingers out of your pussy, I want to taste them.”

You did as he asked, wide eyes rapt with attention as you watched him grab your wrist and shove your drenched fingers in his waiting mouth. His tongue made you want to melt; it lapped along the skin of your fingers and savored the tart, heady flavor of you. You whined when his lips popped off your hand, but eagerly changed your attitude when his fingers began tracing your waistband.

“Tell me you want me to taste that pretty pussy baby, I can smell how bad you want me already, you smell so fucking good.”

You did. You wanted him to taste your pussy very badly… you wanted it more than you could remember ever wanting anything before now. “I want you, Eddie.” you panted. “I want you to taste me, I’m so wet for you.”

Eddie’s eyes shone up at you, like light through a glass of dark red wine. “I know, baby, I know. Don’t worry, I’ll have my tongue on you again in a second.” He slid his hands into your pockets, gently yanking on the material and jolting your hips forward. “Take these off for me.”

Your hands flew to the button of your pants, making quick work of them as well as your panties while Eddie helped you remove your shirt. You wanted to bare yourself to him completely, let him devour you whole, even. When you looked into those beautiful eyes, letting him have you just made sense.

You now sat completely naked at the edge of your bed, Eddie kneeling before you taking in the sight and smell of you. His gaze was hungry, his hands tracing possessive lines into your outer thighs. “You’re going to lie back for me,” he said, voice low and commanding, “and I’m going to taste this pussy that’s been leaking for me since I first called you baby in the graveyard.” Your eyes were wide, desperate- stuck on his like a moth to a flame. He pressed his hands to your knees, opening you up as wide as you could go, and you felt his breath on your wet lips.

“Go ahead, Slayer.”

You laid back, staring up at the morning’s gradient of cerulean and lavender through your skylight as your heart began to race from the anticipation. When Eddie’s tongue licked a broad, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit, a reedy, wanting moan pulled from your chest, singing into the stillness of your apartment.

“That’s it, give me every noise you have, baby. I’ll know if you’re holding any back, and believe me when I say I’ll make you moan one way or another.”

And make you moan he did. Eddie’s tongue was masterful in its movements, licking and flicking in the perfect places as you listened to the symphony of noises that were coming from between your thighs. Between the sound of his wet tongue squelching in the juices that you eagerly supplied and the humming little moans that Eddie made as he feasted on all you had to give him, it was all you could do not to start sobbing from how badly you wanted to cum for him. You knew he’d get you there, but let’s be honest- you were not a patient person.

“More, Eddie- hngh- please, I need… aah!” Your pleas were cut short as you felt a sharp suck at your swollen clit. You moaned, high and pathetic under the careful ministrations of Eddie Munson. His two middle fingers plunged into you, not bothering to give you time to adjust because he knew you were already wet enough to take him. His fingers curled slightly, sharply jerking his hand up and in, over and over in a way that filled you like a water balloon. You were whining, loudly arching your back into your bed as you squeezed your eyes shut, sensing your climax was fast approaching-

“No,” Eddie lunged forward, his right hand never ceasing its assault as his left grabbed you by the neck, wrenching you forward into a crunch position. “Look me in the eyes while you cum, don’t you fucking close those fucking eyes, baby.”

Your mouth hung open, eyebrows drawn together desperate and needy as you felt yourself getting impossibly wet and impossibly tight. His hand kept going, ruthlessly pounding into you as you screamed his name. Curses tumbled from his lips as he watched you soak his hand, and all the while his other hand stayed curled possessively around your neck. Wetness sprayed from you, and his eyes were downright feral as you squirted all over his face. You watched his smile grow, stretching across his face in triumph and baring his fangs in all their unholy glory before turning his head to the side and opening even wider.

Then he sunk his teeth into your femoral artery, and sucked.

You moaned- loudly- and then you woke up.

Being a vampire slayer who’s had a sex dream about a vampire was pretty embarrassing.

Being a vampire slayer who’s had a sex dream about Eddie Munson was… inconvenient.

When you’d first woken up from… the dream… you’d spent your first waking moments frantically trying to figure out how much- if any- of it had even happened. Had Eddie even walked you to your door, or had you parted ways at the cemetery? Had he actually called you baby? Did he admit he could smell how much it affected you when he’d called you that? Most importantly, had you actually invited him into your apartment?

It took a few minutes, but eventually you sorted out reality from whatever your traitorous brain had concocted. You and Eddie had hunted last night. He did indeed call you baby at one point and teased you about how defensive you got about it. You’d slayed a vampire while Eddie assessed the victim, and afterward the two of you had taken her to Annie at the hospital and updated her on the situation. With Hawkins’ vampire population growing by the day, this wasn’t the first time she’d dealt with a newborn; she knew what to do.

After that, you’d gone your separate ways. As far as you knew, Eddie still didn’t know where you lived- though, you knew if he wanted to find out then it wouldn’t be difficult for him to follow you home undetected. The good news was that he still hadn’t been invited into your home, so you were probably safe as long as you were inside your apartment. Of course, the rules for Hawkins Vamps were still mostly unknown to you, so there was a possibility that he might be immune to the invitations-only rule that bound most types of vampires- but you weren’t about to take him home and test that theory.

Then there was the compulsion- the ability to control the minds of humans and turn them into subservient prey at the mercy of their vampiric predator. You had heard of some vampires having this ability, but had never actually come across it in your time as the Slayer. You hoped that this dream had just been the product of loneliness and sexual frustration taking over a sleep-deprived mind, but how could you be sure? Maybe everything in your dream had actually happened, and Eddie had simply compelled you to think it was all a dream. Maybe he had some sort of psychic powers specific to Hawkins Vampires, and he had planted the dream in your brain just to fuck with you.

You didn’t know what was real. On top of that, Eddie kept trying to get your attention at school the next day and it was getting more and more difficult to ignore him without being obvious about it. You successfully avoided him for the duration of the school day, but he finally caught up to you as you were walking home. Driving his van at a steady crawl, he rolled down his window next to where you walked on the grassy shoulder.

“You wanna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me all day?”

You sighed, too chicken to meet his eyes. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Yes you have.”

You sped up your pace, which was stupid because Eddie was literally driving a motor vehicle.

“No, I haven’t.”

You were still refusing to look at him, but you could hear the eye roll in his sigh. “Quit being difficult, Slayer,” he said, still keeping equal speed with your barely increased pace. “Get in the van.”

“No.”

“Uugghhh.” Eddie groaned. “Please? I don’t know what I did wrong but I’ll make it up to you.”

You shook your head but still faced forward as you trudged along on the side of the road. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” You didn’t think he had, anyway. “I’m just… I’m in a weird funk today, don’t read too much into it.”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Okay, then get in the van.”

You felt your cheeks heat at the thought of being so close to him… just the idea was enough to get you wet. You felt the familiar gush of arousal as you walked even faster. “No.”

An echo from last night’s dream reverberated in your skull. So fucking stubborn. You know I can smell you, right?

You picked up your pace.

Eddie sighed, jerking the gear shift into park. In a moment, he was inches in front of you, his hand planted firmly on your shoulder.

“Stop,” he said, his tone much more all-business than before. You did what he said, begrudgingly, but you were glad you didn’t feel any real need to be obedient. No compulsion, then… you thought, at least not right now.

You slowly looked up at him, hoping he couldn’t smell the effect that his sudden touch had on you. “Eddie, it’s fine. Seriously.” you tried to smile at him reassuringly, but you could feel on your face that it came out looking more like a cringe.

Eddie was silent, looking you over with an unreadable expression. Finally, he spoke, “Please get in the van. I’ll take you out for food, whatever you want, my treat. If you aren’t going to tell me what I did to make you so mad at me, at least let me make it up to you somehow.”

You thought it over for a moment, eventually conceding and nodding your head. Eddie exhaled a sigh of relief before turning on his heel to open the door for you. When you were both seated in the car, Eddie looked over to you cautiously, questioningly.

“Milkshakes?”

You nodded, eyes still facing forward. “Milkshakes.”

Benny’s had everything.

They had the best burgers in town. They had the best fries, the best chicken fried steak, the best pancakes in the morning. But the milkshakes? They were the best you’d ever had- which was saying something, since you’d lived in twelve different small towns just like this one since your Slayer powers awakened four years ago.

You sipped your vanilla milkshake through a red-striped straw and let the sweet, dependable flavor ground you. It was like releasing a breath you’d been holding since you’d woken up that morning. Eddie’s powers of observation didn’t need to be above average for him to notice the relief washing over you.

He sipped his chocolate shake, raising an eyebrow as your shoulders relaxed into your first suck of the straw. “You don’t have to talk about it, sweetheart,” he murmured against the plastic held between his lips, “but if there’s something on your mind, you can talk to me.”

Yeah, but you are the thing on my mind, you thought, and therein lies the problem.

“I appreciate the concern, Munson, but I’m fine.” You shrugged. “Like I said, it’s just a weird funk. Normal. It happens.”

Eddie didn’t seem convinced, sipping from his straw as he studied you intently- it was making you uncomfortable.

“Stop staring at me.”

“Stop lying and saying you’re fine, I can tell something’s up.” Eddie reached up with one hand and tapped on one of his dormant fangs with a fingernail. “Vampire senses, remember?”

Your heart rate picked up at the thought of what his vampire senses might be sensing, and you could instantly tell that Eddie had heard it from the subtle tick of his eyebrow.

“Speaking of vampire senses,” you started, eagerly trying to turn the conversation away from your current state, “I have some questions about your, um… powers. Specifically, about Hawkins vamps in general.”

Eddie seemed surprised by the new line of questioning, but nodded cooperatively. Leaning back in his squeaky booth seat, he let go of his glass to stick his hands nonchalantly in his pockets. “What do you want to know, Slayer? I’m an open book.”

Pulling your legs up to rest on the seat of the booth, you made yourself comfortable, leaning against your backpack that sat between you and the wall. “Are you able to enter someone else’s place of residence without an invitation?”

“Yes.”

Your eyebrows jumped. “Really?”

Eddie was already nodding. “I already knew my fair share of vampire lore before my stint in the Upside Down… I tested the more popular vampire theories pretty quick after I figured out what I was.”

You smiled, your curiosity eclipsing the nagging worry in your chest regarding his answer to your first question. “Which theories?”

Eddie chuckled at himself, making a show of counting them out on his fingers. “Well, the first was running really fast- really, really fast, I mean you’ve seen me-” Your scoff and eye roll earned you a cheeky wink from the vampire. “-tested out how good my hunting skills were in the forest by hunting down some squirrels, and let me tell you, super speed and super hearing can only get you so far, because those motherfuckers are always on alert. Learned how quiet I can be now, which is weird because staying still and silent has never been my strong suit.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” you snorted. “And you told me the sunlight thing doesn’t bother you because of your witch friend- what was her name, again?”

“Nice try, but I’m still not telling you.”

You smiled, throwing your hands up in mock surrender. “Worth a shot, I’ll find out eventually anyway.” Taking a sip of your milkshake, you kept your voice even as you asked your next question, which was arguably the most important to you at the moment. “So, uh, are there any other powers that you’ve noticed? Powers that don’t fit into the ‘popular vampire theories’ umbrella?”

He raised an eyebrow, “Such as?”

Ugh. “Well,” you began, focusing on a spot on the table where the vinyl coating had begun to peel off and using your fingernail to help it along. “In some regions, there are vampires who can read minds or compel humans to do whatever they say. Some can even bite humans without turning them.”

“Damn,” Eddie whistled, “lucky bastards.”

“So you’re saying you can’t do those things?” you prompted, to which Eddie shook his head and sighed.

“Nope. First and last time I bit someone, I turned my best friend into a monster. Didn’t feel like testing that theory anymore after that. Can’t read or control minds either, but honestly I’m fine with that. That kind of power doesn’t tend to end well for people.”

You nodded, sipping the final bit of milkshake down. “Wise words.”

Eddie did the same, fishing out his wallet and slapping a ten dollar bill on the table before standing. “They’re the words of someone who’s flown close enough to the sun to know himself pretty well by now.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and nodded towards the door. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” you stood and followed him, catching the door as he opened it for you. “Thanks for the milkshake.”

“Don’t worry about it, consider it an apology.”

“I told you, you didn’t do anything! I’m just in a funk-” but if Eddie could hear you, he didn’t show it as he jumped into his van and closed the door.

The drive to your apartment wasn’t long, only about five minutes. Approaching your front door with Eddie in tow gave you the strangest sense of deja vu even though the only time this had happened before was in your dream. You stood with him in the doorway, the warm light of your single-bulb lamp casting harsh shadows across his face as he watched you with eyes tinged with something imperceptible.

“Gonna invite me in?” Eddie asked, his voice husky and eerily quiet in the cold air.

You smirked, feeling slightly apprehensive knowing that he didn’t need an invitation, but was asking for one anyway. “Why, you trying to snoop through my things, Munson?”

Eddie snorted, “We both know that I could if I wanted to, sweetheart, and I wouldn’t need your permission.” He shrugged, leaning a shoulder against the chipping paint on your doorframe. “I’m just trying to be a gentleman.”

“Since when has that been your priority?” you bit back, but there was no venom in it. You were already jiggling your key into the brass lock and turning the knob. You weren’t sure why Eddie wanted to come in, but he was right- if he had malicious intent, he could barge into your home whether you wanted it or not. You made a mental note to request some demon-repellent poultices from a witch friend of yours to remedy that…

The door creaked open, and you tried to shake off that wild feeling of deja vu that kept washing over you with every similarity to your dream that kept occurring. Eddie’s boots thumped against the floorboards, heavy souls claiming the aging wood with every step they took. He surveyed your apartment, assessing what he saw with nods of his head and crossing of arms.

“Well I can tell you don’t plan on staying long.” he mused.

You raised an eyebrow, closing the door and locking it behind you. “What makes you say that?”

“The walls are empty. Nothing in here looks like you picked it out. I didn’t know better, I’d think I was in a hotel room. ”

You raised your eyebrows, nodding. “Perceptive. You’re not wrong, you know. I don’t usually stay in one place very long.”

“What’s the longest your wardens have let you stay in one place?” Eddie had hopped up on your tiny kitchen counter, his arms straining against the fabric of his leather jacket as he braced his hands on the ledge. You hoped he hadn’t noticed the way your eyes lingered on the way your dim lighting glinted off his bicep.

“Watchers. Not wardens.” you corrected, shedding your own leather and dropping the coffee-colored jacket over the edge of your bed. “And it’s never been more than a year. If you want to get technical, I think I was in Las Vegas for around 11 months.”

He quirked a curious smile. “Vegas, huh? Lot of vampires there?”

You shrugged. “Tons of tourists to munch on and nothing but nightlife. Believe me when I say that city is run by vampires.”

Eddie chuckled, “Guess that makes sense.” He looked down, as if he were debating whether or not to say whatever he was thinking at the moment. Then- “Any idea if… well, have they told you if you’ll be here long?”

You smiled; it was a small, tentative thing, but you allowed it to grace your lips. “I’ll probably just stay until the council is happy with the knowledge I’ve accumulated about Hawkins vamps. Once they feel I’m needed more elsewhere, I’ll be packed up and moved within days.” You averted your eyes from his, suddenly finding it difficult to voice the reality that any day, you might have to leave Hawkins. Leave the friendship you’d started to get the slightest bit attached to.

You heard Eddie scoff- it wasn’t bitter or laced with venom, but it was hollow. An empty, breathy laugh that didn’t do much to cover the vulnerability he had shown by simply bringing up the subject of how long you’d be staying. “Well, you know what they say- hate to see you go, love to watch you leave.”

It was an attempt at glossing over the mournful mood that’d begun lingering in the air. You looked up at him, brows pulling together in a hopeful, sweeping arch. “You really hate to see me go?”

The smile he’d plastered on was devious and smart-mouthed, but it softened at your question. “Yeah…” he said, his voice lower and rounded as he stroked his fingers along his jawline. “...I think I hate it.” His head stayed down while his slitted eyes looked up at you beneath bushy brown brows. “I was just getting you to like me.”

Now it was your turn to scoff. “Who said I liked you?”

“Your heart rate.”

Well, if it wasn’t true before, it was now. You felt all the blood in your body suddenly rushing through your veins with purpose. The room was feeling surprisingly hot, and you absently pondered whether you had left the heater on when you had left that morning.

Your voice matched his quiet timbre, “And what’s my heart rate saying?”

He slowly stepped down from his perch on the countertop, stalking toward you with care, as if he were approaching a wild animal.

Ironic.

“Well,” he started, “something in your brain obviously must have told your heart that you might have to run soon, because your blood’s been racing since I walked through that door.” He took a step closer, and now all you had to do was look up and your faces would be parallel, his eyes boring into yours. “Your body still knows I’m a predator, that’s good.”

He was right. Your blood was racing under his gaze, and he could undoubtedly feel the heat that was radiating off of you- but that didn’t mean you were ready to openly let that show. “What about you? Big and scary ‘Kas the Bloody Handed’?” you asked. “How does your body react around a vampire slayer?”

Now you looked up. He was glaring down at you, pensive and predatory as a cheshire grin slowly crept across his features. “That depends on how much blood I’ve got in me, sweetheart.” You were leaning against the edge of your tiny excuse for a kitchen island, but now that his hands were planted on both sides of your torso and braced along the tiled edge of the countertop, you felt caged in with nowhere to go and nothing to look at except his eyes as they glowered down at you. “If it’s been a while since I've fed… well, to be honest I get a little hungry.”

Breathe.

“And if you’ve had your fill?”

He chuckled. “Oh, baby, if a vampire ever tells you they’ve had their fill, they’re lying. There is always room for more.” You felt a chill, and the blood in your veins was screaming at you now to grab a fucking stake!! However, you couldn’t seem to tear yourself from this conversation. The way he made you feel- hot, ironically enough- was gluing you to the spot.

“But if I’ve got some blood in my system,” he continued, “I have to confess, Slayer, just seeing the way you look at me is enough to make all of that blood rush to all sorts of places.”

You were both silent, but the air was pregnant with the question he knew you wanted to ask. A few short breaths were all it took to make you give in. “And… how do I look at you?”

His thumbs ventured to brush over your hips through the material of your jeans, and you jumped at how much the contact affected you. You took in a sharp breath in surprise, and the strained sigh that rumbled through his chest in response nearly made you shudder.

“Like… a fox that knows it’s being hunted. Wants to be hunted…knows it could outsmart the hunter, but wants the chance to run simply for the thrill of it.”

Fucking. Breathe.

“Is this your way of saying you’re hunting me?” Your voice was barely above a whisper, like the tension between the two of you was so fragile that it could be shattered if you spoke loud enough.

Eddie’s lips were inches from yours, and you could feel his cold breath on your cheeks. “This is my way of saying that I don’t need to.” He nodded sharply in your direction, “Fox.” He squeezed your hips, tugging you gently closer to him, “Trap.”

You squirmed under his gaze but refused to look away from his smoldering eyes. “Bold of you to assume I’m the fox in that scenario.”

“Yeah, yeah…” his husky whisper rasped into your ear when the soft brush of his fingers along your hips became a firm grasp as he effortlessly lifted you up to sit on the counter behind you. He did it so swiftly, so easily… it wasn’t hard to forget about his vampire strength when he barely showed it. He gazed into your wide eyes with a grin that was playful but hungry. “Big bad Slayer is a hunter, not hunted. We’re all aware, sweetheart.”

His hands splayed atop your thighs, and you couldn’t remember a time before now that you had felt anything as acutely- or with as much anticipation- as you were feeling every inch of him touching you right now. Your inner calves touching the outer sides of his thighs. The knobby contact of his hip bones where they wedged between your knees. The way his fingertips pressed into the meat of your thighs ever so slightly, like he feared how hard he could squeeze before he hurt you.

You watched his hands, breathless as you studied the light that glinted off his silver rings. There were splotches of faded black shining on a few of his fingernails. It wasn’t nail polish; you’d seen how he colored on his nails with black Sharpie when he got bored in class. Those black nails shone reddish-purple when the light hit them just so, and you shivered as they traveled further up your thighs until he reached the part of your hips that had the most flesh for him to squeeze. A low growl danced in his throat when he heard the noise that escaped you at the sensation his hands were supplying.

He squeezed tighter, tentatively testing how much of his strength you could handle. Luckily for him, slayers are not delicate creatures.

Wordlessly, you lifted your hands to his shoulders, letting your fingers twist into his dark curls. They were beautifully brown, frozen in the perfect shade of chocolate until the end of time. Your nails gently met his scalp, raking through the roots until both of your hands were nested deep in his hair.

You made two fists and pulled.

It wasn’t a sharp tug, wasn’t meant to yank him away from you; it was a slow pull, meant to tease and tell him that you weren’t afraid of a little pain, given or received. He was testing the waters, and you were giving him the all-clear.

His eyes screwed shut when you pulled his hair, and it wasn’t from any sort of pain but simply from the fact that you were doing it in the first place. Eddie took a deep, shuddering breath as he opened his eyes once again to glare up at you with enough impassioned heat to give his bloodless body a temperature. He clenched his jaw until it ticked, then mumbled “alrighty then” so quickly and quietly that you didn’t even know if you were meant to hear it.

And then he was slamming you against the wall.

Your thighs straddled his waist, ass seated in Eddie’s stone-strong hands as you felt your back hit the drywall. His eyes were pitch black, hungry for so many things but settling for your lips as he captured them in his own. You kissed him back fervently, desperate now that you knew his touch and the sensations that came with it.

“God you smell so fucking good,” Eddie growled, pressing into you at the waist and pinning you to the wall where he held you tightly. His lips were insatiable, kissing you like your lips were dipped in sugar and he was a starving man. He panted against your mouth, breathless. “Always smell so fucking good… might be obsessed, I want…want…”

“Want what, Eddie?” you panted with him, eyes fluttering open, wanting to see the way he looked at you when he said things like I might be obsessed as he kissed you… who wouldn’t want to see that? You weren’t disappointed with the sight.

Framed by the backlit baby hairs that formed an evening halo around his head, you might have thought at first glance that Eddie looked angelic. Oh, how wrong that would be. His eyes held far too much gluttony for that.

He leaned in to scent the crook of your neck, causing you to shiver as the tip of his nose traced the base of your skull before whispering into your ear-

“Want to taste you- in every way-” You shivered. “-I want to feel you on my tongue, running down my throat, soaking my hands, falling apart…” Eddie’s lips traveled down your neck, mouthing over the veins that pumped your life force at top speed under sweet, pliant skin. “I want to break you just to know what you look like broken by me.”

The two of you were waltzing on the line of your collective self-control, and you knew all it took would be one little bite- one tiny prick of his fangs- and his venom would pour into your bloodstream. Then it would be goodbye, humanity.

Mustering up the slightest amount of dignity (with surprising difficulty), you took one hand out of his hair and braced it on his shoulder while the other stayed fisted in his curls. With a sharp tug, you used your Slayer strength to remind him he was evenly matched here, yanking him from your neck and bringing his bloodlust-glazed eyes parallel to yours.

“Fucking try it then.” you hissed, “See if you can break me.”

Eddie’s familiar roguish grin triumphantly returned then, and you barely registered his nasal scoff and a rush of wind before you were suddenly being flung onto your bed across the apartment. Eddie climbed on top of you, caging you in with solid arms and a scarlet guitar pick that dangled from his neck to dance on the skin of your collarbone.

He stared down at you expectantly, all-business. “Take your shirt off.”

“You take yours off.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Are you really in a position to be giving the orders, Slayer?”

In a split second, you grabbed his wrists and hooked a leg over his hip, rolling over in the blink of an eye. Now, you were seated firmly on his hips, back arched to splay over his torso and pin his wrists to the mattress. Eddie’s eyes widened, caught off guard by the sudden display of strength and dexterity that he had apparently forgotten you had.

You grinned, cocky. “I am now.”

Eddie glared, thrusting upward in hopes that he might throw you off balance, but to no avail. Rotating his hands in your grip, Eddie dexterously took hold of your wrists and gently pressed his nails into your skin. You winced; his nails were sharper than you’d thought they would be. Almost like…

Claws. Eddie’s nails had grown into catlike points, and now they were applying a little too much pressure. Any more than this and he would surely draw-

“-Blood.”

You whispered to yourself as you watched the bright bead pooling where Eddie’s thumb had pressed hard enough to puncture skin. Before you had time to react, Eddie was pulling your bleeding wrist to his face, inspecting his handiwork up close. He caught a whiff of your scent, inhaling deeply before exhaling so heavily that it rumbled low in his chest. Bringing your wrist to hover above his mouth, you felt your survival instincts kicking in as Eddie’s grip on your arm tightened, squeezing more of your blood to pool into the drop that now hung precariously from the cut in your skin.

Eddie’s finger on the top of your wrist raised, then firmly tapped down hard enough to shake the drop free and send it falling into his waiting mouth below.

You watched, transfixed as Eddie moaned at the taste of you on his tongue. He licked his lips, spreading your blood across them and letting your essence settle into the cracks in his skin. You wondered how long his lips would taste like you after tonight. Would it only take moments for the flavor of you to leave his skin? Or would he still taste you in the morning?

Eddie’s eyes rolled back in his head, his composure slipping under the influence of your blood in his mouth. He pulled your wrist to his mouth and licked greedily at the tiny puncture wound, gently sucking but still staying careful enough to keep his fangs far away from the opening. You were trusting him to be responsible here, as stupid as that was, but so far he seemed to be completely aware of where the line was, and he was careful not to cross it. Test it, maybe… but he wouldn’t cross it. At least you were hoping he wouldn’t.

His gaze settled on yours, and you found yourself at a loss for words. He smiled proudly, slowly sitting up until his face was even with yours. You’d long since let go of your grip on his other hand, and now that your bones were suddenly jelly, it was easy for Eddie to lift both hands to your neck and slot both of them so that his thumbs and pointers rested on either side of your ears. He pulled your lips to his, kissing you passionately and sharing the taste of your own blood from where it still lingered in his mouth.

“Tastes like fuckin’ honey.” He murmured against your lips, tongue snaking out to lick into you, and you couldn’t tell if he was referring to the taste of your lips or the taste of your blood. You recognized it in his kiss- the metallic flavor rolling over your taste buds and awakening something primal in you. Your hips bucked into his, and you felt the solid length that ached for you through his jeans.

Eddie chuckled darkly, rolling his hips into yours in response. “Careful, baby.” You felt his lips lowering, placing gentle wet kisses along your throat. Your heart raced to a bounding pulse as it dawned on you that were he to bite you here, he could kill you quite quickly. “Mmmmmm,” you shivered as his voice reverberated through your neck. “I can feel your blood rushing faster. That just for me?”

You forced yourself to breathe as you confirmed his suspicions with a small nod. Eddie sighed, hot breath pluming from his nostrils and across your skin. “Just for me… all for me…” His tongue emerged once again and licked a fat, wet stripe along the center of your neck, and you couldn’t stop the desperate moan he pulled from you at the sensation. His hand slid down for his thumb to make slippery caresses over the trail of spit he’d left behind.

“I’ve never tasted blood this good, sweetheart. It’s… I don’t know how to describe it, it’s like the way you smell, but better.” His thumb pressed ever so gently into your throat, and you felt the tip of his sharpened nail rake a promise against your skin. Eddie kept it there, pausing for a moment, and you realized with a pang of emotion that he was trying to stop himself from asking for more.

You allowed the slightest bit of tenderness to break through to your exterior, smiling gently at him as you leaned into his touch. “It’s okay,” you whispered, “I can trust you not to take too much, right?”

The lights were dim, but you could see enough of Eddie’s face to make out the glowing smile your trust had elicited. His hands curved gently along the back of your neck, cradling the base of your skull as he pulled your forehead to rest against his own. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

So much warmth flooded your chest at Eddie’s praise that it almost scared you. You knew this wasn’t compulsion- you felt complete control of your body and mind, and felt aware of your ability to tell him no. In fact, you knew in your heart that if you told him that you wanted to stop everything now, he would obey without a second thought, bid you goodnight, and walk right out that door.

But you definitely did not want that to happen.

That much was made clear by the pornographic moan that tumbled from your lips as Eddie’s claw drew a single, shallow gash down the center of your neck. His hand slotted under your jaw, applying enough pressure to hold off the blood flow above your neck for the fewest of seconds. Blood pooled in the cut, and Eddie admired his handiwork with hungry fascination.

“Gorgeous…” he muttered, leaning closer. Your heart was racing, undoubtedly causing the blood to rush even faster to your neck, and when you heard Eddie fucking inhale the scent of your blood like it was a perfectly aged Bordeaux? It started beating out a marathon.

The moment your scent hit his nostrils, you shivered as a guttural, primal rumbling rolled from Eddie’s chest. The growl grew into a moaning sigh as you felt his warmed wet lips envelop the base of the cut on your neck, and lick into the life that pooled there.

He sucked, pulling more into his mouth and you whimpered slightly from the sensation. As if to comfort you, his hands slid a little further down so that they cupped the vertebrae at the back of your neck, and it was strange how you could almost feel his touch getting warmer the more blood he took from you. He pulled your neck closer, hungry for all you had to give him.

For a moment you started to worry, fearing that you may have overestimated Eddie’s control over his bloodlust, but your worries were put to rest when he detached himself from his latch and licked up the minimal mess that he had made.

“Let’s get this off of you, Slayer.”

Eddie’s hands snuck underneath the hem of your shirt, causing you to shiver at the sensation of cold fingers on heated flesh. Before long, You were both stripped down to nothing and panting with need, a tangle of hands and lips and pulses as you melted into each other in the moonlight. He pushed you gently onto your back, climbing over you slowly and with purpose. You felt the hard length of his naked cock bounce against your thigh as he did, and the anticipation you began to feel between your legs was hot and wet, dripping from your lips as if it were salivating for him. You bucked up involuntarily, eliciting an amused chuckle from the vampire on top of you.

“Easy, baby,” Eddie cooed, “starting to think you only invited me in for one thing.”

“Oh blow it out your ass.” you rolled your eyes at him, “Don’t pretend you weren’t hoping for that one thing exactly.”

Eddie smiled, a twinkle in his eye launching your heartbeat into overdrive as he planted a quick peck to the cut on your neck and began to lower himself further south. “I may have had a hunch, yeah.” You watched with rapt attention as his face drew closer and closer to where you wanted him most, the echo of your dream still potent in your memory. What similar talents might the Eddie from your imagination have shared with the Eddie that currently studied your glistening pussy as if it were a delicacy to devour?

In your heart of hearts, you knew that every move you’d made tonight since Eddie walked through that door was absolutely insane. Masochistic, even. But your own idiocy was no match for the ecstasy that hit you when Eddie’s dextrous tongue dove into your folds, twisting and lapping up the essence that he craved in ways that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your arching form.

You moaned, writhing under his touch as his tongue glided over the dripping lips of your core, savoring the flavors of your arousal and the way they paired with the taste of your blood that still lingered in his senses.

“Taste so fucking good, sweetheart, goddamn.” Eddie’s voice was muffled, wet and hot in the way he spoke it into you and moved his lips along your pussy to speak the words. The sensation coupled with the commentary all but broke you, and you mewled a bewildered thank you as he continued his ministrations.

A sharp sting jolted you, ripping your eyelids open- you didn’t even remember closing your eyes- and it took a second to realize that Eddie had used his sharpened nails to create another gash at your inner thigh. It stung, but only slightly, so you assumed the cut must not be too deep.

“Sorry, sweetheart, did that hurt?” Eddie’s voice was soft and sympathetic as his fingers toyed with the small wound, gently pinching and pressing to undoubtedly coax more blood for him to enjoy.

“Little bit,” you whispered, and the voice that came out of your mouth was so high-pitched and airy that you hardly recognized it. “-but it’s not bad. It’s not too deep, right?”

“Nah, barely even a scratch.” Eddie assured you. “Besides, I’ll close it in a second anyway.”

Your head popped off the pillow. “You can do that?”

“Check your neck, sweetheart.”

You brought a hand to the place where Eddie’s cut had been, but were amazed to find that the cut was completely gone. You felt nothing but smooth, unscathed skin in its wake. Bemused, you checked the cut at your wrist and found it had healed as well.

“How did you do that?”

Eddie shrugged, the pads of his fingers beginning to draw idle shapes over your clit, mixing your blood with the wetness of your cunt. “Apparently, all I have to do is lick a scratch and it heals itself within minutes.” You jolted when you felt his lips close around your clit and suck, whining at the suction as he drew the mixture of your flavors into his mouth and hummed in satisfaction.

“Now if you don’t mind,” he murmured, “I was in the middle of something down here.”

You barely had time to nod before he was diving back between your legs, lapping up your essence with an urgency that lay somewhere between passionate purpose and reckless abandon. He alternated, going back and forth between the bloodied gash on your thigh and the shimmering lips of your dripping cunt.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered, arching into the mattress as he moaned into you at the intensity of your taste. “More, please… I need… inside-”

In a blur of movement, Eddie’s face was level with yours, and you were staring directly into his lust-blown eyes as his cock nudged its head between your folds. Eddie shuddered at the feeling, closing his eyes as ecstasy overtook him and he slowly sheathed himself completely into you.

“Hoooooly shit, sweetheart-” Eddie gritted out through clenched teeth. His arm reached behind your shoulders, pulling you flush against him and bringing his mouth to hover mere inches from your ear. “Fucking made for me, so fucking tight.”

When Eddie began to move, your hips bucked to meet him instinctively. In your current position, Eddie had you caged in and wrapped in his arms, held in place as he thrusted into you and grunted sweet, filthy nothings into your ear.

“Feel so good squeezing my cock, baby.”

“Wrap your legs around me, don’t let me leave.”

“God, you smell so fucking good, can still taste you on my lips.”

“Such a good little vampire slayer. Take it all, sweet thing.”

You were getting closer with every word; each whispered praise in your ear made you tighten more and more, but you weren’t quite there yet. As if he could read your mind, Eddie’s hand snaked down between your naked bodies until his middle finger came to rest on your throbbing clit. Careful to keep his claws from scratching the sensitive area, the soft pad of his finger slipped small circles over the wanting bud.

You mewled, eyes rolling back at the combined sensations. The stimulation was overtaking every sense, numbing you to everything but the climb of your orgasm that awaited you on the other side of the peak you were climbing.

“You know what’s crazy, Slayer?”

Eddie’s voice was husky in your ear, and you’d barely registered what he’d said before he continued.

“I didn’t even need the power to control your mind. Didn’t need to make you want me like this, you did that all yourself.”

You struggled to comprehend what he was getting at, but a particularly forceful thrust caused a sharp moan to leap from your lips. Eddie laughed, and it was somehow both musical and malicious all at once.

“Dreams are funny things… I showed up just to see what would happen, thinking ‘hey, there’s no way in hell she’d have me, right? But maybe in my dreams’...” Eddie chuckled ruefully, shifting slightly to angle his cock further into you and moaning at the way you gripped him tighter when your leg was tilted just so.

Your eyebrows knit together, confused. What did he mean he showed up? As in, showed up in your dream? Your mind was reeling, spinning in the midst of the jumbled logic of his words and the mounting pleasure his cock was driving into you.

“But it wasn’t even in my dreams that you wanted me, it was yours… in your dream you gave in to me so easily, practically begged me to tell you what to do…”

What? What was he… was Eddie saying what you thought he was saying? You squirmed, trying to lift him so you could look him in the eyes, but he held you in place- immobile and at his mercy. Your eyes widened as you stared up at the skylight in your ceiling. The moon was full tonight, and it stared down at you unwaveringly as Eddie continued to thrust into you and hit that spongy spot within your cunt over and over and over.

“The compulsion was a great touch, I hadn’t even thought of that until your delicious little brain took a turn for the kinky.” You could hear the smile on his panted words. “One dream told me all I needed to know… you wanted me just as bad, Slayer. Wanted- needed- permission to just let go and admit you wanted the bloodsucker’s cock, didn’t you?”

“Y-you….ah! Oh, fuck!”

You tried to respond, tried to tell him you needed a second to process what he was telling you, but before you could get more than a word out his finger began to work your clit at a pace so rapid, only a demon like him was capable. If you didn’t know better, you would think he’d pulled out a vibrator. That was how fast he was able to rip your orgasm from its precipice and make you spasm out of control around his cock.

“Shit!” You clenched at the sinful sound of Eddie’s voice in your ear as he unraveled inside of you. “Holy- I’m cumming, baby, fuck-” He continued to thrust into you as he rode out his orgasm, murmuring into your neck, “...mine. Fucking mine…”

Your eyes stared unblinking at the moon as you clenched around Eddie’s throbbing dick, mind beginning to flood with post-sex clarity as soon as your orgasm began to calm. Your chest felt like it was clawing at your heart, trying desperately to rip out the offending organ for overtaking the control that your brain was supposed to have had this entire time. Your instincts had tried- god, they’d fucking tried- to tell you not to trust the demon inside you, and yet here you were. Pinned to your own bed with his seed dripping from the most intimate parts of you, and you’d fucking invited him in.

How much of your attraction to him had been you, and how much had been him? You’d asked him so many questions this very night about his powers, what he was capable of- and he’d glossed over a very important piece of information by omitting the fact that he could make appearances in your fucking dreams.

Before you could even voice even one of the questions that swirled around in your head, Eddie’s eyes were hovering over yours, the moonlight dancing in a ghostly halo along his silhouette.

“Listen to me, Slayer.”

His eyes were pitch black, and you found yourself missing the brilliant ruby red they’d shone in your dream. Maybe that’s all tonight was? Just a horrible dream, and the one person you’d considered a friend in this godforsaken town was still someone you could trust.

“I’m going to get you cleaned up, you’re going to get under these covers, and then you’re going to go to sleep.” You heard him take a breath; felt his shaking exhale on your face. “When you wake up in the morning, you’ll forget everything that happened since I walked through that door.”

You blinked, listening intently. Obediently.

“I walked you home, said goodnight at the door, and left. Then you went inside, locked your door, and went to bed. Repeat it back to me.”

“You walked me home, said goodnight at the door, and left.” Your lips moved seamlessly of their own accord, parroting his own story back to him as you stared into those bottomless black eyes. “Then I went inside, locked the door, and went to bed.”

Eddie stared at you a moment, and there was something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite read. It suddenly dawned on you that his eyes weren’t normally black or red. They were brown. You missed how pretty those brown eyes were. They were sweet; honest. Trustworthy eyes.

Finally moving after a few seconds of watching you intently, searching your face for something he evidently couldn’t find, he leaned forward and tenderly kissed your forehead.

“Good.” he whispered, low and tired. “That’s good, sweetheart.”

The night played out exactly as Eddie said it would. He cleaned you up, taking the time to make sure he’d kissed every nick he’d made in your skin until there wasn’t a wound in sight. He watched silently as you cleaned your face, donned a soft shirt so large it reached mid-thigh, and slid under your covers. Eddie kissed you softly before wordlessly locking your doorknob from the inside and exited your apartment. You heard him double check the lock and leave once he was satisfied with your safety.

Then you fell asleep.

Eddie had only dreamwalked a few times before he’d realized that his newfound vampirism gave him the power to manipulate the dreams that he’d recently gained the ability to stumble into.

It had started when he’d heard Wayne sleeping restlessly in the living room of their trailer, tossing and turning on the couch with his forehead pinched with worry. Eddie had wanted so badly to ease his pain, and before he knew it he was watching his uncle’s nightmare playing out around him like he’d stepped onto the set of a film. He’d seen his own gravestone, seen Wayne tearing at the dirt until his fingers bled, and wanted nothing more than to alleviate his uncle’s pain- that yearning on his part had evidently been enough to cause the scene to shift in his favor. The grave had sunken into the ground, the sky changed from stormy gray to sunny blue, and the bed of dirt had become a gingham blanket, upon which sat a significantly happier Wayne and a sticky-fingered Eddie at age four holding a PB&J that was oozing out the sides.

It was at this moment that Eddie had started thinking that maybe these powers he’d gained might not be all bad.

He hadn’t realized he had the ability to manipulate memories until the first time Gareth had lost control and killed that girl from U.S. History.

She’d asked Gareth to meet her behind the bleachers after school, and Eddie had told him not to go, told him not to risk it, but Gareth was so fucking stubborn. The girl was cute, and the idiot had thought he could handle it. By the time Eddie had realized Gareth had ignored his warnings, it was too late.

Eddie had been so close to cleaning everything up seamlessly, and then some cheerleader had to go and stumble upon Gareth, Eddie, and the bloodless corpse of that poor girl. Eddie’s instincts had taken over, and before he knew it he’d grabbed the cheerleader by the shoulders and used every ounce of willpower he could muster to convince her that she hadn’t seen them at all, and in fact what she had actually seen was U.S. History girl walking into the woods behind the school.

It had been a desperate, kneejerk reaction, and Eddie had had next to no confidence it would work, but the next day he’d been amazed to hear that exact story being repeated through the rumor mill word for word. It gave Eddie and Gareth the cover they’d needed to take the girl’s body to the Upside Down and hide it where no one would think to look.

His abilities were handy tricks to have, sure… but it scared him. Eddie didn’t like that every new power he discovered within himself gave him a new way to get away with something awful. Eddie didn’t trust himself enough for that knowledge to sit well with him.

Now, he sat in the cafeteria at his usual table with Gareth, eyes sweeping the room for your face. He hadn’t seen you in the halls yet today, and even though he had every reason to be confident that you wouldn’t remember last night, he’d never tried to erase memories from a Slayer before. Maybe you had some sort of mental defenses against him? Maybe you were already waiting at his trailer, stake in hand? The unknown of it all was stressing Eddie out.

That’s what he was feeling- stress. Not guilt. Eddie had hardened his undead heart enough that he didn’t feel guilty for things like this anymore. If he had been completely honest about his powers at Benny’s, there’s no way you would have trusted him after that. After being an active player in your wet dream without your consent? He didn't know many people who wouldn’t hate his guts after that- hell, he hated his own guts after that. He was a horny creep who’d violated you in more ways than one, and there was no way anyone could forgive him for that. Why should you?

He could have been honest about his memory manipulating abilities, but the idea of giving that secret away had simply scared him too much. It was easier to keep that in his back pocket, and wasn’t that what you always had against him, after all? A wooden stake, always ready and waiting as a last resort. A failsafe.

No. Eddie didn’t feel guilty. For the sake of his own self-preservation, he couldn’t.

As if on cue, Eddie perked up when he saw you enter the cafeteria. Act casual, he reminded himself. He couldn’t act like anything was out of the ordinary, but at the same time he needed to be sure you remembered nothing. Then he could move on, not feel as… stressed.

He watched you discreetly, looking up from his crumpled bag of pretzels every twenty seconds or so to check if you were looking at him. You sat at your normal table on the opposite side of the room, pulling a sandwich from your bag and quietly began to eat your lunch. You didn’t seem to be the least bit concerned with where Eddie was, much less whether or not he was looking at you.

Suddenly, as if you could feel his gaze on you, your eyes flicked up and locked with his. For a split second, Eddie’s confidence in his powers faltered- maybe his powers were useless against you; maybe you remembered last night in all its shameful glory. The jig is up, he thought, I’m caught. Let justice be served.

But all you did was smile at him and give a little wave before turning back to your sandwich.

Eddie felt a nudge at his elbow from Gareth. “You good, man?” the floppy haired boy glanced in your direction, raising an eyebrow in question.

You didn’t remember. Eddie should be relieved… he’d successfully befriended, seduced, and fooled The Slayer. This was a good thing.

“Yeah,” he huffed, reassuring Gareth with a curt nod. “I’m good.”

Good. Such a relative term. So many definitions for the word good, and yet not a single one would make ‘I’m good’ anything but a lie when it came from Eddie’s mouth.

He ran his tongue over one of his sharpened canines, pressing it into the tip hard enough to break skin. The taste of your blood that still lingered in his veins flooded his mouth for a split second before the puncture healed itself, and he closed his eyes to savor you for a moment.

No; Eddie Munson wasn’t good. He hadn’t been good for a very long time.

Taglist (just some people I think will be interested, as well as those who I've spoken to about this story during the MONTHS it took to finally finish): @the-unforgivenn, @vintagehellfire, @munson-blurbs, @littlesubbyflower, @msgexymunson, @hellfire--cult, @word-wytch, @carolmunson, @bettyfrommars

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #vampire eddie munson #vampire!eddie munson #slayer!reader #vampire slayer reader #buffy the vampire slayer #Spotify

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tinfairies · 8 months

Text

Luffy Calling You Mommy

AFAB!Reader, sub!Luffy, handjobs, tit sucking, breast feeding kink, mommy kink

Luffy had been riled up for days, more so than usual. You knew exactly what he wanted, but you decided to wait for him to ask for it.

As nightfall approached and the rest of the crew got ready for bed, Luffy had made his way to you. Head bowed, almost as if he was embarrassed for what he wanted.

He never had to ask to be put to bed, you'd always just do it. The last few nights Luffy has slept terribly, he hasn't had you to lull him to sleep.

Luffy stands in front of you, eyes focused on the wooden deck as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

"Yes my sweet boy?" your voice teases and looks up at you through his lashes. Poor baby is nearly brought to tears as he opens his mouth.

"Mommy, I want you to put me to bed."

There it is. That's what you wanted.

"What's the magic word?" you give him a lopsided grin and he whines a little.

"Please?"

You take him by his hands and lead him to his quarters.

"Good boy, I like when you use your manners."

You spend the next few minutes getting him into his pajamas, walking him through brushing his teeth and then settle him into bed. Before you could pull the blanket over him he stops you.

"I want you under the covers with me." He pauses before remembering your rule. "Please."

How could you say no to that sweet face? You climb into bed next to him and begin petting his hair. His soft brown eyes stare up at you as if you hung the stars

"Do you want a story?" your hand moves from his curls to trace his cheek. His eyes flicker down to your shirt, cleavage on full display in your loose shirt.

"I want something different." He speaks without looking back up. A smirk stretches over your lips.

"Is that right, baby boy?" you move to pull his face up, he nods slightly as he moves with your body.

You maneuver to get Luffy in your lap, one arm pulled around him to hold his head, the other begins pulling your shirt down. He looks over your face, soft features comforting him immediately.

He dips his head to take nipple into his mouth, but you place a hand in his jaw. "What do we say?" his eyes meet yours again.

"Thank you mommy."

You release his face and allow him to begin suckling. His free hand goes to your other boob and starts kneading it.

Waves of warmth wash through your body as his teeth tug on the bud of your nipple.

The sloppy wet sounds of Luffy's sucking fill the cabin, and his drool starts dripping from his lips, staining your shirt.

Messy boy.

He's mewling softly, eyes fluttering under his lids, long lashes tickling your skin. The hand that had occupied itself with your other tit falls limp, and he pulls away from you a bit.

"I'm sorry mommy." You're confused for a moment, "Why baby?"

"I can't help it. Need you." He mumbles against your skin and his hand rubs over his crotch.

Oh, that's why he's sorry

"It's okay, you're just a sweet little thing. You can't control it. Do you want mommy to help you?" you smile softly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks. How cute, he got hard just from suckling.

"Please?" his eyes are glossy and he's in tears. "Of course sweetheart, that's what mommies are for."

You kiss his forehead and slide a hand down the front of his pants. You pet through the soft hair on his mound before taking ahold of his cock. It twitches in your hand, heavy and burning to the touch. So needy.

Slowly running your thumb over the tip and circling around his slit, then spreading the precum over his shaft, you begin to pump your fist around him.

Luffy let's out a soft whines and squeezes his eyes shut. He buries his face in your skin, and uses his tongue to feel his way to your nipple again. Latching on once more, he starts to nibble and suck.

You continue to slowly jerk him off, he keeps sighing and whimpering but never bucks his hips or asks for more. Such a good boy. His cock throbs on your hand and he let's out a loud moan against your tit.

Long ropes of cum spit from his cock, staining his pants and your hand. A messy boy indeed.

His suckling starts to slow again, and his breathing evens out. You look down at him and he's fast asleep, drool smeared over his cheeks, he looks so cute.

Luffy is about to get the best nights rest he's had in a while.

#one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece #op x reader #op smut #opla #opla smut #monkey d luffy #luffy x reader #luffy smut #monkey d. luffy #Smut #tw mommy kink

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distantdarlings · 2 months

Text

BENEATH HIS SHIRT // t. nott

RATING: PG-13 / 3.7K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Female Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* When Theodore Nott discovers an old artifact with interesting properties, known as a Time Turner, he comes up with the idea to use it to perfect his asking you out. (Romance)

+ WARNINGS - Language, using Time Turner, lots of thinking about reader, fem reader insert, not proofread! nothing else (lmk if I missed any)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

All My Love - Noah Kahan

- - -

(Note: Hello there, all you beautiful people! I am finally back and ready to knock out the rest of your requests! I am so sorry I was gone for so long but I’ve had a lot going on in my everyday life. Thank you all for being so patient and please enjoy the story!)

Theo’s leg bounced beneath the desk, the wooden floorboards creaking every so often. His fingers nervously drummed against his notebooks. His eyes darted around. The teacher droned on and on.

Every so often, he felt his hand raise to his chest to gently nudge the cold weight that rested beneath his shirt. He figured it was a bit of paranoia stemming from the valuable thing around his neck, but he couldn’t stop it. He wasn’t even supposed to have it.

He’d found it when rooting through Professor McGonagall’s office last week. He knew how bad that sounded, but, in his defense, he didn’t mean to grab it. He was trying to grab the small chain he’d gotten at Hogsmeade last year—he’d been playing with it during class, and McGonagall had become annoyed with him. She had said he could have it back at the end of the month, but he wasn’t going to wait that long. He’d spent his money on that necklace, and he’d wanted it back.

The realization that he’d grabbed the wrong necklace hadn’t hit until he’d finally gotten back to his dorm. He’d run the whole way and failed to look down even once.

The item he’d held clenched in his fist was a golden chain with a single spherical charm at the end. It was golden, as well, with intricate carvings encasing it. He didn’t know what the hell he’d grabbed and figured it was some girl’s that McGonagall had snatched up, just like his.

He had rolled his eyes in annoyance, promising to head back tomorrow to go grab his necklace and return the one now settled in his palm.

Except he hadn’t gone back the next day. In the midst of getting ready for bed in the empty bathroom that night, he’d begun to mindlessly fidget with the golden object whilst brushing his teeth.

His fingers had traced the end of it, watching the rings around the charm twirl in on each other. The minty suds had spilled over the edge of his bottom lip, and when he had gone to catch the mess, his finger had jerked against the side of the charm just barely, and he was standing straight up again.

The suds still sat on the edge of his lip. They slid slowly, slowly, then pushed over and hit the ground with a wet splat. His eyes stared forward at the reflection of the necklace in his hand.

He didn’t know what the hell happened. It felt like his body had glitched out of reality for a moment. Surely it was just a coincidence, and he’d just had some more minty mess dribbling from his lips than he initially thought. But then, where had the original bit of toothpaste gone? He surely hadn’t caught it. He stepped back and looked around, searching over the stone floor and his person, attempting to find the missing blob of toothpaste. What the hell was going on?

His eyes found the necklace clutched between his fingers. He brushed his thumb over the golden jewelry just as he’d done the first time.

The earth glitched again, and the toothbrush was back in his mouth, and he was a step forward, closer to the mirror. He’d gasped and dropped his toothbrush and the jewelry in the sink, backing away wildly.

And after he’d played with it a few more times, he had decided to research it in the library. And now, as he sat in class, waiting for it to end, he felt as if it couldn’t come fast enough. He needed to get to the library so he could figure out what exactly this necklace did.

If he had to guess, he’d imagine that it turned the world back a bit at a time. Every time he touched the charm in a specific way—a small knob-like detail on the side of the globe itself—the day would jump back, and he’d be standing where he had been a few minutes before.

He was unsure of the extent of its power or if it really even did turn back time, but he intended to find out.

“Class dismissed!” McGonagall’s voice flashed through his mind.

At the sound of her announcement, he quickly gathered his things and rushed off toward the library, not bothering to excuse himself.

His breaths came out in quick, rasping pants as he appeared before the main entrance to the library. The hands that grasped his coat and bag collected beads of sweat rapidly, the small droplets slipping down his fingers.

“Nott? Everything alright?”

He whipped around, searching for the owner of the voice that had just grabbed his attention. Just before him, nearly a foot shorter, was Hermione Granger.

She stared up at him—eyes concerned, lips parted, hair bushy and wild, arms gripping a large number of books. One of her eyebrows quirked as if she was awaiting his response.

“Oh, sorry, Granger,” he chuckled nervously. “I was just trying to get to the library ahead of everybody…I’ve got some studying to do.” Wow, what a pathetic lie. Hermione knew it, too.

“Okay…did you need any help?” she asked. “I am a library ambassador.” Her voice was proud, chest perked out.

Just before he was about to blurt a loud, suspicious ‘no!’, he had a revelation. Hermione Granger was a Gryffindor and a tad annoying, but she was also one of the smartest students in the entirety of the castle, perhaps even in the Wizarding World. If anyone was able to help him at this moment—who wasn’t a professor and/or blatant snitch—it was her. He swallowed thickly.

“Actually, yes,” he said, nervously toying with the shoulder straps on his bag.

“Perfect, let’s get set up at a table!” she smiled widely, gently pushing past him and leading the way.

Theo had not been wrong in recruiting Granger’s assistance. She was bloody brilliant. The only information he’d given her, as suspicious as it had sounded, was he was doing a project about “magical objects—specifically jewelry” in his Defense Against the Dark Arts class. As dumb as the cover was, it seemed to work.

She’d set to work instantly, selecting tens of twenties of thickly bound books that had to be at least a hundred years old. When she pulled them from the shelf, her fingers fell away from them, allowing them to fall down to about waist height, where they would catch themselves in mid-air. As she scanned the shelves, they floated alongside her.

Theo was in awe of her incredible knowledge; he actually found himself interested in the millions of side tangents she went on. It was clear she was very intelligent.

The two of them had sat at a quiet table and set to work, with Hermione leading the way. She had pored over each book she’d decided upon, choosing between a number of fantastical objects, including a goblet that never let itself empty and a collection of garden tools in Sweden that did their own work without ever having been tweaked by a Wizard. It was fascinating.

Theo had even started working his way through one of the books when he’d spotted it. On a dusty, yellowed page, he saw a near-perfect sketch of the object now strung around his neck. Time-Turner. A small gasp left his lips, and his hands went to clutch against the necklace. It was an involuntary reaction, but one that hadn’t gone unnoticed by Hermione.

“Interested in the Time Turner?” she asked. “Would you like to use that one for your project? It’s quite brilliant.” Her eyes glanced down to his clutched fist, fingers still curled around the Time-Turner through his sweater. He let go and dropped his hand to his lap.

“I just thought it sounded very cool…” Theo said, sounding very unsure of himself. “Do you have any more books on it?”

“Um, I could search about if you wanted to look over that one a bit more,” she offered. Theo nodded, his eyes avoiding hers. Despite his obvious avoidance of her gaze, she set herself back down at the table and forced his eyes to find hers once more.

“Theo?”

“Yeah, what’s up?” he asked, trying to appear nonchalant. He felt as though he was sweating profusely.

“I’m going to ask you a question, and it’s not meant to upset you, but…are you currently in possession of any school-banned objects?”

His eyes flickered up to hers in shock. He hadn’t expected her to ask that if he were being honest. She hadn’t even skirted around the subject or anything. He paused for a moment, trying to find the words.

“No,” he breathed, his chest tight. He could barely look at her.

“Okay,” she said, expression unconvinced. “Well, so that you know—for your project—Time-Turners can be dangerous if not used properly. Your past self can never see your present self.” Oh. That was good to know.

She nodded her head slightly, eyebrows still furrowed tightly, before turning to walk away. She left Theo staring blankly at the open book before him. She definitely didn’t believe him. He hoped she wouldn’t rat him out.

He got to his feet and quickly exited the library.

***

Once back in his dorm, a thought washed over him. He could use this Time-Turner to benefit himself in an extreme amount of ways. He could go back and fix tests he’d failed, he could correct arguments with his family, he could—

A knock came at the door. He quickly shoved the object back beneath his shirt, shouting a brief invitation at the door.

The first thing he saw was your eyes as they poked through the door. He sat up, tugging the comforter over his naked chest.

“Oh!” you giggled, stepping back behind the door. “You’re naked!”

“No, not naked! Just need to grab a shirt!” Theo said, frantically searching about his bed for a stray tee shirt. He noticed one strewn over the back of his desk chair.

“Accio!” he hissed. The gray fabric tossed itself towards him, allowing him to sling it over his head and down his torso. “Come in!”

You pushed back through the door, a sly smirk printed on your lips.

“Shut up,” he laughed, patting the bed beside him. You jogged over to his side of the dormitory and hopped into his bed, sliding your legs beneath the covers. Your cold skin raised with chill bumps at his warmth.

Theo asked you about your day, and you asked about his, and he contemplated telling you about the Time-Turner for over two hours before you finally disappeared back into your dorm. In your absence, he realized something he hadn’t before.

He could use the small golden jewelry rested around his neck to finally confess his feelings for you—and he could make sure it was perfect no matter what. He just had to make sure his past self did not see his present self.

---

And that mission consumed the rest of his week—or the rest of his Monday. At the start of the first day, he’d found himself approaching you and then flaking out; or starting to tell you, then changing the subject; or telling you he loved you! (but as a friend). He groaned and rolled his eyes at himself.

At this point, there were going to be ten little Theos running around Hogwarts. Now that it was Tuesday, all of them should have been swept away with the passage of time, but he wasn’t certain he’d gone completely unspotted by everyone around him. He could’ve sworn Mattheo, a close friend of his, had mentioned how impossibly fast he’d gotten from one side of the castle to the other.

With a clenched jaw and stern eyes, Theo told himself he wasn’t going to push this little journey past Tuesday. He was going to get it done today.

In the midst of his repeated attempts, he’d gotten creative to avoid being seen by his past self. He’d snuck little tips written onto notes in his dorm, pretended that students could not go into certain rooms so his other self could be alone with you, etc. He knew that that could be dangerous, and he definitely didn’t understand the full capabilities of the Timer-Turner, but he realized that if there was one thing he truly wanted at the moment, it was you.

This was the last time.

He pinched the Time-Turner’s little knobbed bead and turned—24 times. That should put everyone back on Monday morning, at exactly ten o’clock in the morning.

Theo watched as the air around him in the boys’ lavatory began to shift—little flashes of passersby sped around him; Professor Snape even pushed through the door at one point. The day became darker and darker until the whole bathroom was plunged into an inky blackness. Then, it began to leave quickly, becoming lighter and lighter until the rushing stopped. The lavatory was silent. It was ten o’clock on Monday morning.

He had Potions right now, but he’d already written a note to Professors Snape and Dumbledore, asking to be excused from all of his classes due to a raging stomach ache. He’d gotten unfortunately detailed in the letter and hoped they’d leave him to attend the hospital wing on his own.

He watched before him as ten Theos seemed to step out of his body and walk toward the lavatory entrance. These were his previous attempts trying to make you his.

An idea popped into his head—one that may not work the way he planned. He had failed to ask Hermione how exactly any incidents would affect his present self, but he figured he’d come out alright.

“Petrificus Totalus!” he hissed, then watched as all ten of his other bodies froze suddenly and collapsed to the ground, falling like dominos. He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, dragged them over to one of the stalls in the furthest corner, and propped them up against the wall. Despite their eyes still staring right through him, they were not able to see his face. He was appalled at the way he was treating himself, but he figured if he wasn’t able to remember it, it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like he’d killed himself or anything like that; he’d likely just be a bit sore in the morning.

Still, perhaps he should have thought that through a bit more… It didn’t matter. This was the last time he was going to create more of himself for no reason. He should have successfully asked you out the first time, but, for some reason, he kept seeming to screw it all up. He was pathetic, using a magical object to ask someone out.

If any of his mates knew about this…he’d never live it down. He took a deep breath, straightened his tie and robes, and stepped out of the bathroom.

You were in Defense right now and would be going to your free period directly afterwards. He knew this because this was his eleventh time trying.

He pulled himself behind one of the enormous stone pillars holding the castle up and waited for your voice to come. Every single time, you walked out of your class, your laugh jingling like a chime through the halls and melting Theo’s heart down into his stomach. He anticipated the start of the sound.

When it began, Theo poked his head around the corner and saw you there—arms clutched around books, gorgeous hair framing your gorgeous eyes, your beautiful body on display as your group of friends turned to walk towards him. He gulped, standing back slightly.

“…and I was just wondering if he was, you know—”

“Hey,” Theo stepped out of his hiding place, interrupting you. Your shining eyes met his. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Your mouth slacked open for just a moment before you blinked a few times and nodded slowly. The two girls on either side of you seemed to be suppressing smirks and eyeing you intently. He took a shuddering breath, hoping that these girls would not be making fun of him some time in the future.

Theo had told himself that this was the last time, so if he fucked this attempt up, that was it. He would throw the Time Turner away.

One of your friends offered to take your books and bag back to your dormitory. You turned back to Theo and smiled shyly.

Gently, he led you away from the gradually increasing wave of Hogwarts students and down a mostly empty corridor.

You followed him in silence until he turned the corner, and brought you out into a silent courtyard. The sun above twinkled over the fountain in the center of the blooming area.

Theo saw you smile a bit.

“Uh, I’m sorry to have pulled you away from your friends, I just wanted to talk to you about something…” he trailed off nervously, his palms already beginning to sweat. Your eyes watched him so closely—it was becoming hard to breathe.

“I wanted to tell you that I’ve developed feelings for you—ones of, uh, a…romantic…nature—wait, that’s awful… I meant I think you’re absolutely gorgeous…uh…” he stuttered endlessly, his perfect plan drowning. “I’m sorry, can you just please forget I never said any of this?”

“Theo, why would I want to forget any of this?” You chuckled gently, a small well of tears in your eyes. “You’ve been nothing but sweet and romantic and loving these last eleven days.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve just wanted to ask you out properly—hey, wait. What did you say?” Theo stopped, blood draining from his face.

“Oh,” you frowned a bit. “I wasn’t going to tell you, but…”

You reached beneath your sweater and slipped a silver chain over your head. At the very end of the links, glistening in the sun, was a deep emerald stone, hard-cut and encapsulated in silver linings. A rough breath left Theo’s lips.

“It’s a Reversal stone,” you explained, “a stone meant to protect me from any charms, curses, or illusions placed on or around me. There’s only a few of them in the world but my family happens to be the ones who originally discovered them and their immunity to magic.”

Theo wanted to throw up. He was sure he had glimpsed one of these in one of the books Hermione had brought to him. He had never been so embarrassed in his life.

“So, you’ve seen everything?” he asked, wincing a bit.

“And remember it all—but don’t worry, no one else will.” You flashed him a dazzling smile.

“So, I guess you know about the—”

“Time Turner?” You answered. “Yeah, I do. But your usage of it was very impressive; it’s almost like you’ve used one for years. Where did you get yours—oh, wait, I’m sorry. I’m getting ahead of you. Go ahead!” You urged him along with your hands.

Theo chuckled at your natural curiosity. His eyes traced over your small smile as you awaited his prepared speech.

“Do you even want me to go through with this?” Theo asked.

“I’d love to hear it again,” you said sincerely. Theo refrained from cringing at the ‘again.’

“It’s going to be the same thing you’ve heard every time,” he laughed nervously. “Is your answer going to change at all?”

“Well, to be fair, I didn’t get to answer the first times. You always cut me off and got to work spinning on that necklace of yours.”

Theo paused and thought back to each instance he’d reversed time and attempted to ask you out. He slowly realized that he'd never actually waited for your answer. He’d gotten too embarrassed and walked away.

“If you would have let me finish the first eleven times, you would’ve known that I couldn’t have cared any less about how you asked me out,” you smile flirtatiously. “All I cared about was the fact that you were asking me out.”

“So, does that mean…?” Theo trailed off.

“I’d love to be yours, Theo,” you laughed. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask for forever and—while I didn’t think you’d need an infamously enchanted object to ask me out—I would never have said no to you.”

Theo’s eyes lit up and his lips parted in a giddy smile. Despite his nerdish attempts at proposing the perfect question to you, you still wanted him. Had wanted him for a while. At least that was what you’d implied. Theo could barely force the words from his lips.

“So, we’re dating, then?” Theo asked dumbly. “You’re my girlfriend now?”

“Of course…if that’s what you’d like to call me, that is,” you smiled, sending a wink towards the tall boy. His cheeks flushed slightly as he slowly slid his hand towards you. You accepted the invitation by sliding your fingers against his, intertwining them lovingly.

Theo thought his heart might explode. He was already thinking of kissing you. Your lips looked so perfect and lush… He imagined you’d taste like the sweetest of fruits in the summertime, like the entirety of Honeydukes, like—

“Would you like to kiss me, Teddy?” You asked. Theo swallowed thickly. Could that damn necklace of yours allow you to read minds as well? “I’d just very much like to kiss you, and thought that I’d ask.”

“Uh, I’d love to,” he smiled nervously.

“Theo,” you breathed, resting your lips just above his. “Relax. You don’t have to be so nervous. Is this the first kiss you’ve ever had?”

“No, but—”

“Then you’re alright,” you laughed.

His eyes were wide and frightened, his lips parted in a perpetual sigh. He could barely contain himself as your hand trailed up and along his chest before sweetly reaching his face. Your soft fingers caressed the flesh around his ear and then across his mouth. Theo’s breath caught in his throat at the sensation.

You gave him a small smile before lightly dragging your fingers under his chin and disappearing back through the entrance to the courtyard.

Theo remained standing, amongst the stone and the vines, with only his breathing and the trickle of the fountain behind him. His deep exhales brought him back to the present. He blinked sharply and laughed a bit at your boldness.

He was going to get you back.

*Tag List: @mypolicemanharryyy, @lilymurphy03, @clairesjointshurt, @bunbunbl0gs, @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303, @thestarlithideout, @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw, @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx, @thatblackthorn, @robinyx, @starsval, @jolly4holly, @blvebanisters, @chgrch (If you would like to be added to the tag list for any future works, please comment on this post, dm me, or send me a message in my inbox. Thanks!)

#fanfiction #creative writing #fanfic #writing #reader insert #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #oneshot #slytherin #harry potter smut #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott smut #theo nott #mattheo riddle #fem reader

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morallyinept · 1 month

Text

Pump - A Javier Peña One Shot

Summary: A man starts coming into the gym where you work, and you find you can't keep your eyes off him when he starts to pump...

Pairing: Javier Peña x GN!Reader (No name, defined sex or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 2.6k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️ “Don't hurt me, cadejo."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/Triggers: PWP/Javi wearing the tiniest satin shorts ever made/cock outline/possible peek of a ball/very pervy thoughts over a very sweaty Javi 🥵

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: I saw this amazing fanart today of Javi, and the thots just thotted the fuck out of me... 🫠

MAIN MASTERLIST | JAVIER PEÑA MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

His visits are the fucking highlight of your day.

You find yourself searching for him as you meander through the gym with an added bounce in your step, stack of laundered towels in hand as you drop them around the equipment like newspapers tossed on garden lawns.

Rows of clunky weightlifting machines stand proudly, their chrome frames gleaming under the dim fluorescent lights.

Tattered, vinyl-covered benches line the perimeter of the room, each one bearing the marks of countless hours of use by sweaty bodies and muscled lunkheads striving for physical perfection.

The sound of heavy metal plates clinking together fills the air as the group of agents, from the local DEA office across the steamed pavement street, load up barbells and dumbbells, their focused expressions a melee of pinched, taut brows and refined muscles.

Despite the seriousness of their profession, the moderately sized gym is a tatty haven where they can unwind and bond over their shared passion for catching dangerous narcos and pumping iron in machismo camaraderie.

The walls in Manny’s Gym are adorned with curled edge motivational posters featuring slogans like No Pain, No Gain and Train Hard, Fight Easy, with iconic muscle men of the current era plastered over them like Arnold Schwarzenegger, Franco Columbu, and Lou Ferrigno, serving as constant reminders of the grit and determination required to succeed in both the gym and the field.

The air is always thick with the unmistakable scent of musky sweat, mingling with the earthy aroma of old leather from well-worn punch bags that hang from the ceiling like dangling scrotums swaying in a pendulous rhythm.

Steamy showers and weak powdery deodorant permeates. It’s a heady concoction that hints at the countless hours of exertion and dedication that's saturated the space.

A scent that you’re all too familiar with and breathe in like starved oxygen.

The wooden floor creaks beneath your sneakers as you make your way further into the gym, the sound echoing off the walls.

As you approach the rows of clunky weightlifting machines, the tangy scent of metal fills your nostrils, accompanied by the faint whiff of oil used to lubricate the gears.

Despite his gruff exterior, Manny himself hosts a warm and welcoming demeanour to the regular gym goers, always ready with a word of encouragement, or a pat on the back for those who train under his roof.

He takes great pride in the sense of community that’s flourished within the gym, fostering a supportive environment where the local Bogotá law and DEA alike choose to pump here.

It’s not exclusive, your regular Joe Sixpack will frequent on occasion, but the familiar faces make it far more easy on the eye as you bask in the array of sweaty limbs on the daily.

They give you wolf-whistles and jeers as you shimmy on by handing out towels and sweat bands with a beaming, enticing smile.

But you don’t pay them no mind when they flirt back and grin with glistening rows of hungry teeth like you’re ripe for the plucking. A juicy peach bobbing in a swamp full of toothless alligators. They're physically respectful despite their obvious leers.

Most of them aren't really your type anyway. Stiff, upper pale bodies with honeyed hair falling in waves; the Americans are all the same Mattel crafted hard plastic.

Whereas you prefer something more dark and velvety rich like Colombian coffee that goes down easy and smooth and leaves a heady aftertaste on your lips.

There's one man in particular you'd like to drink down, whom you’ve noticed coming in a few times in recent weeks.

It’s hard to forget him with those tiny, satin shorts he wears in a stark canary yellow, and riding dangerously high up his lean, caramel thighs.

A break in the tight denim jeans that wrap around his legs when you’ve spied him leaving the gym, freshly clean and dressed after a hard workout, and heading back into the office.

Package stuffed tight up in there, poor thing; the brilliant tightness restricting and choking around that hefty bulge all day.

A neatly trimmed moustache adorns his upper lip, thick and fluffy, adding a touch of rugged charm to his otherwise clean-cut appearance. His standard issue DEA gym t-shirt seems a little on the small side, hugging around his golden biceps and riding skintight across the broadest set of shoulders you’ve ever seen on a man his size; a complete opposing parallel to the trimness of his waist. He’s like an inverted triangle.

It rides up a little over his tiny belly; a galaxy of dark hairs trailing down into his shorts that makes you lick your lips every time your eyes fall onto that hairy column.

His dark brown hair, slicked back slightly and curling on the nape, glistens with sweat, adding to his aura of intensity and focus. He exudes an effortless confidence as he moves from one exercise to the next.

The Latino-looking man focuses on a combination of strength training and cardio, showcasing his versatility and athleticism needed for the job he does.

And you find yourself enthralled in his routine, interrupting yours as you covertly watch him from behind the small desk trying not to flood it with your drool.

He usually starts with a set of heavy deadlifts; the sound of his puffs hissing through his teeth and reverberating through the gym as he lifts with perfect form.

Next, he moves on to explosive plyometric jumps. Clad in those tiny, satin shorts that hug his muscular thighs, his powerful legs propel him effortlessly into the air before landing with precision. You can’t help but watch as the muscles and cords in his thighs ripple with each slam of his soles on the floor.

Throughout his workout, he maintains a steely determination and laser-like focus with punishing chocolate eyes, pushing himself to the limit with each repetition; sweat glistening around his brow and temples and falling in tracks.

Despite the intensity of his workouts, there’s a relaxed confidence in his demeanour, reflected in the easy, fluid movements of his svelte body as he moves through the reps.

You watch his back move and shift, broad shoulder blades folding in and out as they flex under the snug fit of his fading t-shirt. His posture is upright and nonplussed, conveying a sense of self-assurance.

Standing at an average height, his frame is lean, yet powerful, and you can’t help but let your thoughts drift into murky territories as your eyes wander all over him and drink him up like a quenching soda on a sweltering day.

You know very little about him, only hearing his name muttered by the other agents as he addresses them pre-work, out or when they stop mid-way through to discuss, what you can only assume, is the cases they’re working on.

The dusty jukebox in the corner playing the current Billy Idol hit drowns them out somewhat at this distance.

But they call him Peña, or Javi as they sometimes greet him through lazy Spanish chit-chat.

He called you cariño once as he passed, mouthing a good morning to you with little effort.

He speaks with a soft, deep cadence; a gravelled grizzle wrapped around his pert lips, which is almost muted and out of full earshot.

But the one thing that's unmistakably loud and clear, is the grunting that pelts out of him.

Particularly when he does bench presses, or those barbell squats with the large weight resting on his shoulders. A deep, guttural grunt ruts out of him that sets your skin alight and makes your genitals want to break out the pompoms and start cheering his name doing high kicks.

They flow unabashed out of him as he pants and hisses. And you like it when he does those squats the most, watching as he parts his feet steady, and slowly lowers his pert ass down towards the floor, rendering those tiny shorts to almost disappear entirely into the rounded crack of his cheeks.

Fuck...

Javi focuses on his reflection in the mirror, lips curled back under that buoyant dark fluff lining his top lip, and teeth clenched in a snarl as he breathes out and grunts loudly with every push upwards from those strong thighs that tense and quiver.

As you observe him from across the gym, you can't ignore the undeniable attraction you feel towards him as it licks up your spine; it makes you clench and sweat just watching him and the fantastic sex-like faces he makes in the mirror.

His sculpted physique and rugged good looks are certainly appealing, but your eyes betray you and head further south at the constant movement inside his flimsy shorts.

Gaudy in their brightness, you see past them at the way they flout their thinness like they’re almost fucking see-through. You like the tease of how low they sit on his svelte hips. A simple tug and they’ll be round his ankles with ease.

You can make out the perfect outline of his heavy, flaccid cock hanging between his legs. Curves and ridges imprinted against the material like muscle memory. Flopping about so uncouthly as he moves like it’s battering you in the face.

Jesus fucking Christ.

With your task temporarily forgotten and brain slowly sluicing out of your ears, the sight of his cock outlining around the thin satin draws you in further. A third arm beckoning you in. Punching against the material with every movement from his hips as though you're mesmerised and drunk on the wildly pornographic view.

You’re pretty certain he’s not wearing any underwear, which is only confirmed by a fuzzy, pink sack peeping out at you some time later when he works on the bench, and draws his leg up.

You swallow dryly as you stare at it, and wonder instantly what it would taste like as you imagine running your mouth around its swell.

Tasting damp, matted pubic hairs sticking to your tongue, with a salted sweat and mixture of his own masculine musk on your tastebuds, and the more you ponder it, the more it makes your mouth water.

You just want to push him back on the bench, naked from the waist down except for his faded white sneakers on, ribbed thick socks pulled up to his shins, and spread his legs wide.

You want to slide your inquisitive tongue all over those sweaty, heavy balls of his and watch his cock throb and pulse before taking it deep into your throat.

A tight clench and a hiss. A pucker of a fluttering hole as you tease it with your tongue. Lips and hips bruised in unison.

Googly frog eyes stare out at him in wonder. A noise at the back of your throat registers, something inhuman between a gulp and a hiccup as he rises up again off the bench.

Humming and sighing audibly as he presents that ass out at you, shorts flapping around his cock lewdly in the mirror’s reflection as he squats again.

As you observe him from across the gym, you feel the pull of heavy want flooding your body in a stifling and suffocating heat. It makes your toes tingle and your heart thrum a bit harder. White noise steams inside your ears.

The dull, aching throb between your own legs makes you shift uncomfortably in the chair as you gulp and swallow at the spectacle.

With each lift of the weights and every drop of sweat that glistens on his brow and moustache, you find your mind sinking further into a perverted swamp of lust and unbridled thoughts running amok over your amygdala.

In your mind, Javi’s pushing you up against the mirror, face crushed against it, trailing bites down on the back of your slick neck like a dog in heat. Your breath fogging against the reflective sheet as he pins your wrists to it with his hands, leaving misty fingerprint smears on the polished glass.

You can taste the sweat on his top lip, fuzzy and damp, and it's damn delicious as he pushes his crotch into your ass. Hard and thick under those flimsy, lacquer-like shorts, leaking a patch of pre-cum soaking into them that blooms and darkens the silk.

His hands let go of your wrists and work their way down your arms, tickling gently and sending prickles to bubble and blister against your burning skin. He skims over your belly and hovers above your waistband; his hot breath inside your ears in gaspy, mouthed moans as he breathes out.

He whispers how much he wants you, how much he wants everyone to watch him fuck you up agasint this mirror, before he slips his nimble, thick fingers down inside the front of your shorts, grinding and rubbing himself against you.

He’s pulling down his satin shorts to let his hard, thick cock bounce out at you, pumping its uncut, rosy head inside his giant hand. Weeping and sticky, it shines at you as his fingers and thumb smear in the secretions, and you watch as he licks his fingers free of his own greased drippings.

You lick your lips ready for a taste as he guides the bulbous head towards your mouth as you sink, thudding to your knees. Feel him weighty and warm in your palm, squeezing just under the head and sliding the skin back to reveal that succulent bulb as you lick the tip and taste glassy bubbles flowing from him before swallowing him down deep.

Suck it, cariño, yeah like that… Tómalo todo. Trágatelo profundo. Si… aah, si. Fuck... (Take it all. Swallow it deep. Yes, aah yes.)

Lost in your thoughts, you barely notice when Javi actually glances in your direction; his dark eyes meeting yours briefly with a knitted brow and pink pout, before returning to his workout.

The brief exchange sends a thrill of wanton excitement coursing through your veins, igniting a spark of curiosity and anticipation that you can't ignore as it pulls tight between your legs and makes you pulse.

As the DEA agent finishes his workout and begins to gather his belongings - he carries a modest blue duffle bag, although never takes anything out of it's fullness - you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment at the thought of him leaving you so riled up for another day.

He grabs his worn water bottle and squeezes a stream of water into his mouth, swallowing deep and plentiful mouthfuls of the jet, and wipes at his lips with the back of his hand when some of it trickles down his smoothly shaved chin.

You watch him pick up the towel you’d laid out, wipe his face off and that onyx-like stare is in your direction again. Two pools of dark tar sucking you in.

A wet, slithery thought creeping in between your ears makes a mental note to take that towel when he's done and defile the fuck out of it.

He finds something in your eyes, perhaps something that excites him, or repulses him. You’re not sure. You’re yet to embark on any formal conversation beyond a simple greeting out of politeness.

As Javi makes his way towards you, passing the desk towards the showers, you're convinced you see a small smirk prick at the corners of his lips.

Another wanton thought bolts its way into the filthy pit of your mind. You see yourself rising up on the balls of your feet in the shower block and presenting your behind out to him and he bends you over further to touch your toes.

You feel his grip around your waist as he slides in and packs you out, stretching you around him. Knees buckling and being drowned by the spray from above as he fucks you hard against the cool, mildewed tiles in the shower block.

You feel like your spine will crack with the pressure, but you don’t care as he pulls you back, hammering up into you. Fingers grazing around your throat, teeth biting into the ball of your wet shoulder.

So fucking tight, just like I love it, baby...

You're gasping his name as your orgasm rips through you and he spills himself inside of your hole with Spanish expletives howling in your ear.

His thick, plentiful come seeps out of you; leaking, pouring. So much pumped into you as he grunts into your ear - shuddering with a high-octane thrill as his moustache tickles against your skin.

You’ll think about this again - about him - when you're at home later; that towel shoved between your legs and soaked with your own leakings.

You catch the hazy scent of Javi as he passes by the desk, subtly inhaling the stench of his sweat; an intoxicating, potent blend of musk and masculinity that leaves you feeling breathless.

A primal aroma that grabs you by the lapels to shake the cock-addled stupid out of you as you catch a glimpse of that package swaying and bobbing around in his tiny flaxen shorts to torment you further.

And once more you swallow around a constricted gulp as he meets your wandering gaze.

“Hasta la próxima vez, cariño.” (See you next time, honey.) He simply husks, as he tosses his duffle bag over his shoulder and struts towards the showers.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed this sweaty story. Please consider re-blogging so others can enjoy it too. Thankies! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | JAVIER PEÑA MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #javier peña #javier pena #pedro pascal characters #javier pena x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #narcos #jett's writing

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kingkatsuki · 3 months

Text

Thinking more Dragon King Bakugou thoughts.

Imagine you’ve been married less than a month, an arrangement which protected your village from attacks from the ruthless king, and any other settlements.

But you still haven’t consummated the marriage, you haven’t even slept in the same bed together. You have the same routine, each morning you meet him for breakfast (when he isn’t away pillaging or scavenging). Barely speaking a word to each other outside basic pleasantaries, asking how you slept or how you’re feeling.

Spending the rest of your time as though you’re a stranger in someone else’s home, even though this is your home now. Your reality.

You spend a lot of your free time in the library, or in the castle grounds. Sometimes sneaking into the kitchen to help Sato bake, finding any excuse to occupy your mind with something other than the four walls that feel more like a prison. Seemingly gravitating to every single person inside the Kingdom that isn’t Bakugou Katsuki.

It’s only one evening that you’re padding down the empty corridors to have a late afternoon bath, wanting to clean the dirt off yourself after weeding the hellebores that grow outside when you hear a soft grunt from inside. Stepping closer to the large wooden door as you push it open to peer inside, and you freeze on the spot.

Dragon King Bakugou is hunched over himself, a forearm against the cold stone wall as he sloppily fists at his cock. Bloody cloth and furs strewn around the floor as you’re surprised to see him— certain he wasn’t due back for at least three more days.

You know you should turn back, pretend you didn’t see anything and find solace in your room— but you can’t move. Eyes focused on the way the veins along his hands clench as he strokes with more vigour, the power behind his movements as the slick sound of his wet cock echos in the bathroom. You unconsciously rub your thighs together at the sight, a swirl of pleasure ebbs in your pelvis as you try to quell the throb. Your heart rattles the bars of your ribcage as you stand transfixed on your husband— you’d never seen him in a more vulnerable position. Hunched over and naked. And you couldn’t deny every inch of him was perfect, every scar that marred his glistening skin told a story as you followed each trail they left. Even down to the backs of his thighs as you felt yourself falling.

“Fuck—” He grunts, and then you have to stop yourself from falling.

The debauched, husky sound of your name called from between clenched teeth has you weak at the knees. You’d never heard anyone utter your name like that, and it had never had such an effect on your body. Your cunt clenching around nothing as you reached to hold onto the doorframe for some semblance of reality. Watching transfixed as the man in front of you; your husband, stroked his cock to the thought of you.

Dragon King Bakugou has always been astute, alerting him to the sensation of someone watching as his crimson eyes snap towards you. Dropping his thick cock in an instant as he moves to stand, pushing himself back from the wall as he bares everything to you. Standing tall, completely unconcerned that he’s completely naked in front of you. His heavy cock drags down towards the ground, the sheer weight of it unable to stand upright as it sits against even heavier balls.

He expects you to turn and leave, faster than the wild foul he hunts in the early morning. But you don’t, you stare back with warm cheeks and an even warmer space between your thighs as your tongue slips out to wet your lips.

“Maybe I can help you with that, my King.”

#dragon king bakugou #once again I had no clue where I was going with this #thirst posts #jo thirsts #Bakugou thirst #Bakugou x reader

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undercoverpena · 2 months

Text

2. lemon twist

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter two of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.4k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over IG. frankie being a single!dad to a son. frankie gives reader/you a nickname (paint related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. an: thank you so much for all the love on chapter one, and the bonus graphic. I'm so happy to bring you chapter two! also, WE'RE POSTING WEEKLY BABIESSS

prev chapter | frankie's ig

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

A soft, melodic tune pulls you into the land of the living, aware of the tug of it, and the immediate reluctance you have to leave the comfort of your dreams.

Your hand hesitates, reluctant to emerge from under the snug warmth of your sheets before your fingers are tapping and searching, all sluggish with sleep, groping blindly as it crawls against the wooden top of your bedside table. It's only when your fingertips connect with the screen does the world fall into silence.

Nothingness. Stillness. Peace.

The perfect environment for your mind to come to itself as you slowly open your lashes, raising a balled-up fist to rub slumber away, as your gaze meets streams of light rolling in through the breeze-blown curtains.

Then it hits you.

Comes to you in a trickle. Then a flood.

One after the other, memories of last night rush over you. Messages sent and received coming to you, recalling the way you'd tucked a pillow under your chest as your thumbs replied quickly to each incoming DM. Then, you recall the giddiness, how it fluttered through you—how it still remains. Still ever-present and very much thrumming inside of you as you begin to smile.

It remains on your face as you roll out of bed. A brief memory of something he said making you laugh as you wash your face, and another when you brush your teeth.

That feeling stays with you as the sun glistens through your kitchen window. One which adds a glow to the place, making the little smoke stains on the walls and the chips on the kitchen counter seem better, less noticeable—and less irritating.

You smirk as you wrap your hand around your mug—because is it too soon to wish him a good morning? Should you wait for him?

Sighing, rolling your eyes, you land on the dresser you were sprucing up in the place a dining table should be. Your eyes linger on it—teeth picking at the skin on your lip—just as it does so each time you come in this room.

A reminder once again that this place should be a home you’ve been building for years, and not just the last few months. There should be photos on the walls of a relationship playing out alongside family and friends, but those ones placed in between are still just empty.

Like so much of your home.

Taking a sip of your coffee, you drop your stare to the newspaper under the feet of the dresser. The stories were told in black and white splotches over in many shades, dotted around as you tested and checked to see what would make the old, worn thing look like something new. The same thing you’d somehow managed to get delivered through a smile and a sweet, please.

You had been, for so long, undecided on the shade.

Yet, as you gaze upon it now, your imagination begins to weave a vivid portrait. It conjures the image of what it might resemble should you succumb to the shade that's gradually painting itself in imaginary strokes.

Sliding your phone from your pocket, you open up your DMs.

Does butterscotch orange come in a paint type suitable for wood? It does. You at work today? Desperate to see me? Just looking to help someone shift paint they can’t sell. What you looking to paint, Rainy?

Taking another sip of your drink, the warmth kisses your palm similar to the temperature blooming in your cheeks from conversing with him again.

Choosing, instead of words, to snap a photo, knowing it'll be easier, simpler.

Watching it send, the little speech bubble appearing as your mind drifts to the hair above his lip, the facial hair along his jaw—the little patch you’d wanted to graze your thumb over.

You think of the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles; when he’d looked pleased to see you in the paint aisle—something akin to a modern-day meet cute you see on the TV.

You coming in today? If I can… gives me something to do this afternoon.

You bite your lip, considering it—whether it’s too forward to make a flirtatious comment. The two of you skirted around it last night, practically river dancing—not quite stepping over, but not quite retreating either.

I’ll get you it ready at the main desk. My hero, Frank.DIY Don’t push it.

It’s the third visit you’ve made, and while you gloss over the paint chippings on the door, you do notice the circular stains on the floor.

They’re brown, smudged slightly at the edges as though someone has, at one time, attempted to clean (whatever it was) quickly after it had appeared. It’s clear they had failed.

Your eyes scan over it, for a moment forgetting anything and everything.

Just existing in today's scent, which happens to be singed wood—chippings of it practically in the air—as the sound of an electrical saw starts up and begins screeching in some distant corner until you hear your name being called.

And it silences everything.

That voice could pull you from anything, you think.

A crisis, your thoughts, a spiral.

You’d heard his voice plenty all last night as you watched videos of him hanging shelves, answering questions likely sent to him on how best to prime a wooden handrail, and still, you weren't sure you were sick of his voice.

That, and DIY had honestly never sounded so hot.

After the shortest walk to the counter, a brief hello, a grin you wish you could try and smother a touch, you’re leaning on the counter. His eyes focused on you, watching every move you make as though looking anywhere else would be a crime.

“You got a Sharpie there?”

Frowning, you feel you can breathe easier when his eyes drop to the counter—rustling around the till area as you rest your elbow.

“Because I forgot mine and I think I should ask for a signature this time.”

Pausing, he slowly lifts his chin, then eyes. “Funny.”

Shrugging, you grin, watching him ring up the tin—occasionally smirking to himself, before shaking his head as you pay, your phone vibrating on the counter that you continue to ignore.

“You gonna be alright with that?”

Scrunching your nose, you pocket your phone and tilt the can on the counter. “Painting a dresser or carrying this to my car?”

Something sparkles in his eyes, a little shimmer. His mouth opening, likely ready to spill nothing but charm and flirtation again, when another voice cuts through—one gruffer, more tinged in age.

“Francisco, what you d—oh, I see.”

Your smile remains, even as you stare up at the older man—the one with wiry whites and spotted greys you’d seen sitting behind the counter on the day you left to get coffee with Francisco.

It’s notable, how smaller, and thinner the older man is—how he moves like he’s pained by each step until he slumps into a chair and puts on the brightest and biggest of smiles before offering his hand.

“The name’s Harry.”

You look at it, only briefly, flicking your eyes to Frankie who looks like he’s wishing the earth would open up at his feet and swallow him whole. A somewhat twisted, forced blank expression and the mildest of eye rolls follow when your hand slips inside Harry’s, offering your name.

“Thought it was Harold,” Frankie says, rather bitterly.

“You have to call me Harold, but she can call me Harry.”

Smirking, you bite your tongue, rolling your lips as you smooth down your blouse—trying not to make any more eye contact with the man you’d really come to see.

Sliding the paint closer to you, you offer a softer smile, one that is nothing short of kind. “It was lovely to meet you Harry, and I’ll see—“

“—Rainy.”

His voice cut through as the can slid from the counter, the sudden acknowledgement of the weight showing—likely scorched across your face as your arm drags down, shoulder going with it, just about saving it from the ground.

It’s only as you look up, do you find Frankie half over the counter, spotting the key rings and cart tokens rolling around the floor—the stand on its axis from his sudden movement.

So, is Rainy my name now?

You caught that?

I did 😏

I wasn’t thinking.

I have to ask.

Here we go.

Do you always wear the hat or is it a Frank.DIY thing? And is it Frank or Frankie or the newly learnt Francisco?

Whats wrong with my hat? And Frankie and Morales were taken.

Morales your surname? I feel I’ve hit a sore spot.

Yes. And you have but you can make it better.

How?

Meeting me for a very boring lunch this week.

You’re really twisting my arm. Which is mean. You saw the stress my shoulder had to endure today.

I tried to warn you. I’ll let you bring your Pinterest board and your saved Reels.

I fear you just want me for my organisational inspiration.

Can’t help you decide if I’m the man for your project if I don’t know what you’re after.

Fair, I guess I can meet you for a business lunch.

Would you be more into meeting me for lunch if it wasn’t a business lunch?

It depends on what kind of lunch we’re talking about.

I’m very badly trying to ask you out on a date.

Oh, that’s what you’re trying to do.

Unless I’ve read this wrong.

Nope, read it perfectly. I guess I have to confess to you that I really would love to go on a brunch date with you, Francisco.

Lunch date. Let’s not get too romantic. Don’t want you to fall head over heels and visit where I work twice in two days.

Has Harold told you how hilarious you are?

It’s nice—the place he’s chosen.

All washed in bright white, yellow splashes and pastel accents. Plants adorn as much of the walls and ceilings as humanly possible, with guitar-infused music softly playing as the door clicks into place behind you.

It's so nice, in fact, you almost want to live here. To spend an infinite amount of time brushing your thumb over the leaves to see which ones are real and which ones are very good fakes. So pretty that it’s the kind of place that if you weren’t looking for him at a table, you’d snap a photo of it all and send it to a friend.

But, as soon as your eyes land on him, he's the only photo you want to take.

White t-shirt, with a dark shirt thrown over the top, still very much all broad-shouldered and wide chest as he smooths his hand down as he stands.

The hat, one that you'd assumed would be a staple, is all but gone, curls at odd angles as though his fingers have been teasing them—tugging and pulling as the ends slightly frizz—as he moves around the table when you approach.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he grins, hesitancy thrumming before he must question himself, snaps himself back into place from dragging his eyes up and down you.

Then, he’s moving, gently—enough time to register he’s moving to hug you, and plenty of time to politely decline.

But you don’t.

Allowing his hand to slide over your waist, delicate, very much cautious and all but respectful, at the same time as his breath flutters over your cheek. You almost turn your chin, wishing to all of a sudden curl into it before his lips graze your skin, lashes fluttering before you feel him moving back.

And, fuck, the scent of his aftershave is still washing over you in thick waves. It does its best to slide up your nose and make a home there as heat rushes to your cheeks.

You almost turn, almost catch the last bit of his lips, eyes focused on his, holding, burning them in as you find yourself unable to tear away from it. Two people, swirling, completely lost in only the other—the rest of the world fading to a muted shade, nothing compared to the hue he exhumes in the centre of brightness and pops of colour.

A thing you turn over, unable to stop yourself from stealing stares as he pulls out your chair, before joining you by sitting opposite.

“Thought this was a safe bet, wasn’t sure what kind of lunch person you were.”

“More of a brunch person, honestly.”

He smirks, flicking his eyes up, even if his head is tilted down at the menu.

“It’s very nice—not been here before.”

A brow arched, he smiles—shyer, the beginning of the dimple appearing before he casts his eyes back down.

“What do you recommend, Francisco?”

You don’t miss his snort, the way he sticks his tongue in his cheek as he gives you that look—one that makes you want to keep flirting and testing him all at once. One that makes you clamp your jean-covered thighs together, but secretly hope he notices you doing so.

If he does, he doesn’t show it. Instead, using his index finger to point at various parts of the menu, recommendations falling, rolling—a shimmer in his eyes at certain parts, that makes it easy when someone comes over to ask for your order.

You suspect it’s a favourite, the one you’ve chosen. Something is written into the way he holds your gaze before he stumbles over his words, practically trips, to say his.

It’s only when you’re alone, do you rest your elbow on the table—the coldness of it rising up your skin, rooting you—as you lean your chin on your palm. “So, do I get my Pinterest boards out now or…?”

“Funny.”

You bite your tongue as you smile, staring, admiring. “So, outside of terrorising a man in his own shop, running an Instagram, what does Francisco DIY do?”

Shaking his head, he takes a sip of his water—a bead collecting, remaining on his lower lip for a ridiculously long time, before the tip of his tongue casts it away, and sweeps it from your view.

“My… my friend fights—like MMA. He stopped for a bit, but now he…”

You wait, let it form—let him decide what it is he wants to tell you and when, and how. Sliding your feet out under the table, stretching as you relax into the chair, finding his eyes fixed, concentrated.

“I go to some of his training.”

“Good at DIY and MMA training? Starting to wonder why you’re single, Butterscotch.”

He laughs, soft, rich. “Just… haven’t been looking to date.”

Nodding, you let out a heavy exhale. “I wasn’t either.”

His lips purse, twitch to the side, a smirk half forming somewhere in his cheeks as he leans over, elbow resting on the table, foot catching yours under the table.

Mirroring you entirely as the two of you just stare. And, normally, it would be weird. Odd. But, it doesn’t feel it. If anything, it makes you want to commit each crease from his smiles, each wisp of hair along his jawline that crawls up his cheeks—the patch that could be traced with your thumb, an almost heart shape left, ready to be stamped with a pair of lips.

Your eyes only pull from it when your drinks arrive—when the moment is broken by the real world—as you lean back, let your eyes move to your server, thanking them as you take your drink. And then, the two of you are alone.

“Might change my Instagram name.”

Brows lifting, he pauses his glass close to his lips. “Oh yeah, what to?”

“Rainier Grey—makes me sound elusive.”

Snorting, he shakes his head, sipping on his water before placing the glass down close to your hand. Fingers brushing against it, a thing which makes your eyes flick over your screen.

“I dare you.”

“You dare me?” you say. “How old are you?”

“A man too old for dares.”

You brush your index finger over the back of his fingers, lingering on it, noticing the way they flex as you do as if battling to take your hand in his.

Even if you’re determined to go halves, Frankie’s insistence beats you.

All ‘Don’t argue with me on this, alright?’ said in a tone deeper, more serious than you'd heard to date. And, it's hard not to let heat lick up your spine at the sound.

Even if he’s giving you kind brown eyes as you hold your hands up in defeat.

Smirking, you watch him pay, spotting the picture in his wallet of a boy with a missing-tooth smile almost as big as the man in front of you.

“Alright Morales, but next time it’s my treat.”

“Next time?”

Smirking, you bite your lower lip as you stand, grabbing your things. “Think you’ve earned it.”

Each step to the door feels heavy, a fluttering in your stomach—a grin that can’t be wiped, barely doused when you say goodbye to the people behind the counter.

It grows wider when he gets the door for you, the cooler, outside air creating a vortex of his aftershave all over again (that you hope finds a way to bury itself into your skin) when he opens it.

It’s odd, almost insane—the giddy way you feel as the two of you walk to your car. His fingers are so close to brushing yours, the distance to your little vehicle becoming shorter and shorter as you desperately wish for another few blocks.

Disappointment flares, trying to scratch out the happiness inside your stomach as you pause at the car, trying to smile, but finding it difficult.

Rubbing the back of his head, you watch him roll his lips. “I had a great time.”

Shifting your weight from one foot to the other, you nod, “Me too.”

“Won't have to wait long, you've promised me brunch.”

“Think I said I’d pay. But, if you want brunch, I’m down to blow your mind.”

You realise too late, mouth hanging open, the words hitting—landing in his ear as you watch him process them.

It’s sluggish, almost lagging, the way his face lights up, the way his eyes widen and his smile grows into something close to what you had across the small table—not tinged in any way by the upcoming goodbye.

“Well, if that’s—”

“Shut up,” you say, cutting him off, hand ready to push his arm, but you slide it around his waist.

Face close to his, bodies almost flush.

You watch him swallow, how his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he flicks his gaze from eye to eye.

Licking his lips, he smiles. “Can I kiss you?”

The moment you nod, he’s leaning—lips brushing over yours, fingers tightening on his waist as you move with him, all delicate, smooth, downright velvety as your other hand finds his neck. Feels his pulse against your palm, the warmth of him against your skin, before your lips part, deepening it, letting him have more, as much as he wants—

Then, he moves you. His palm meets your car, guiding you back until your spine meets the side of your vehicle, and he leaves another mark of him—thumb and four fingers—in the grunge the city throws at your car.

The other is the one he leaves pressed against your lips, all invisible, sweet and aching. Leaning in, your fingers find purpose on his neck, skating around, teasing a low curl as you lick into his mouth delicately.

All teasing, caressing, the arm around your waist tightening as the two of you remain almost flush against the car.

And it’s dizzying, all unexpected—but then, so is he.

More so, when you part—nose against nose, eyes opening to find his doing the same.

“I should…”

Your fingers slide, wiping his bottom lip before resting it on his chin, nail stroking against the hair there. “Okay.”

“I’d like to,” he begins, slowly stepping back, allowing cooler air to flow between where your bodies were pressed together, “Not wait to see you again—and, help you. With your project.”

Rolling your lips, you smile. “I’d like that too—both of them.”

“Alright.”

“Okay,” you smile. “Let me know.”

Nodding, he steps back up on the curb, hand wiping across his mouth.

You actually changed your handle.

Told you, I don’t back down from a dare

Guess I owe you one.

Can I cash it in at any moment?

As long as it’s appropriate, yes.

There goes my idea of daring you to strip in the shop and make out with a paint tin.

Have to just dream about that one.

Oh, I will Francisco.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy

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