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floralpascal · 1 year

Text

Lines Crossed

Summary: Ghost realizes that he needs you more than he thought and makes a risky trip to your room while trying not to get caught.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 2.4k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only, mdni!)

Warnings: kissing, unprotected p-in-v sex (you know the drill, wrap it y'all), secret relationship, Ghost realizing that he's absolutely whipped

A/N: The idea of Ghost being whipped just took over my mind and this is what came out. This was so much fun to write that I'm thinking about making this a mini series looking at various points in their relationship

Illicit Indulgences Series Masterlist

There were lines Ghost didn’t cross.

He didn’t get involved. He didn’t let himself care. And he sure as hell didn’t let himself need someone.

For you, though, he seemed to be willing to cross every single line imaginable whether he liked it or not. He had gotten involved, telling himself then that it was just a one-time thing. He would get his fill of you for a night and he would be done, finally able to get you off of his mind. But that hadn’t been how it had gone down. Having you once only let the hold you had on him dig in deeper, settling in his bones until he found himself in your bed again. And again.

With each secret night spent in your room or his, a shitty hotel or a secluded backroom, whatever this was with you pulled him deeper into the unknown. His thoughts drifted to you even when you weren’t in the room. He found himself being more protective of you in the field. He began to check in on you enough that Soap had finally said, “Styx will be fine, Ghost. She’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.” Soon, he had to finally admit that he had crossed the second line. He cared.

The third line…

Ghost groaned in frustration, running a hand down his face. Staring into the darkness of his room for hours with sleep evading his grasp, he was starting to grow both restless and frustrated. Having trained himself to fall asleep under any conditions in order to scrape together any amount of sleep he could while in the field, his newfound difficulties falling asleep were an unwelcome surprise. It had plagued him for the last month, making him markedly more irritable - enough to draw the entire team’s attention. He had blown off Price when he had carefully broached the subject, asserting that there was nothing wrong at all. Lie.

It was your bloody fault. It was your face that kept him up at night in one way or another. It was the way you looked when your head was tipped back, your mouth open in a silent scream as he fucked you. It was the way you looked out in the field, your strong shoulders square and hard eyes trained forward as you held your gun and swept a building. It was your pained grimace as Ghost tried to stop the bleeding from the bullet you had taken to the stomach a year ago.

His head filled with a mix of scenes of bliss and scenes of horror, both of which you were the star of. Either way, it kept his brain whirring enough to ward away sleep. His mind was a whirlwind, fast and screaming and disorienting with the thought of you.

You were barely fifty meters away from him right now, your own room merely on the other side of the corridor. He couldn’t believe he was imagining walking down to your room now, in the middle of the night with everyone else in their own rooms right down the hall. It was dumb and reckless and-

And the thought alone made him feel better.

The thought of your skin on his, your hands buried in his hair, and your mouth on his was like a forbidden salve to his irritation. Having you under him, so vibrant and alive, chased away all the scenes of you in danger that his mind seemed to love to conjure up these days.

Irrational thoughts plagued him now, too. What if something was wrong with you? What if you were hurt? Forget the fact that they were on a secure base or that he had seen you only hours earlier, it didn’t matter to Ghost’s brain in the dark like this. Though he logically knew that his thoughts were irrational figments of his overactive mind, his body didn’t seem to be getting the memo.

It was like he wasn’t convinced you were safe until he saw you himself. Until he felt the plush of your skin under his fingers.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell,” he grumbled, practically dumbfounded by his own decision, as he forcefully flung the covers from his body. He grabbed the balaclava from his nightstand, slipping the soft cloth over his face before throwing a random shirt over his bare torso.

The corridor was empty at this time of night, but Ghost stayed vigilant anyways. He crept toward your door, eyes on the other gray doors that housed the rest of the 141. He had never been this bold, this reckless, as to try to slip into your room when everyone was asleep in their own rooms right beside yours, usually limiting your nights together to when the other guys went out to a pub or split up to go on leave. If anyone caught him - your superior - slipping into your room in the middle of the night, there would surely be hell to pay. Yet, he couldn’t stop.

With one last look at the empty, monochrome hallway, he found the handle to your door and slipped soundlessly into your room.

Despite the fact that he had been quiet, you seemed to sense the intrusion. Your eyes snapping open, you pushed your top half up from the pillow, your body tense like you were ready for a fight. You leaned forward and flicked on the bedside lamp.

Your eyes landed on Ghost and he watched as you relaxed again, your sleep-heavy eyes softening as they held his gaze.

“Ghost…” you whispered, clearly as astounded by his presence in your room as he was.

Everything in him screamed that this was a bad idea. That he should go back to his room before he made any more bad decisions. But then you smiled at him, easy and warm and inviting. No bad decision could look like that.

“You okay?” You asked, voice light and laced with sleep. It was concern, though, that sat behind your words. Concern for him, genuine and raw.

Ghost felt something in him crack at that question. Something he knew he wouldn’t come back from.

With two quick strides across your room, he crossed that third line.

In the pale yellow light of the lamp, he pulled the balaclava from his head, letting the cloth fall to the floor. He was already climbing above you in the bed as your eyes snapped wide and you scanned his face for the first time, taking in his features above you. Him. You finally saw him.

Ghost’s breathing picked up as you lifted a hand to his cheek and ran a thumb over his cheek. He had wondered what you would look like if you ever saw him without the mask. Somehow, he had never never expected that you would look at him so tenderly. It seemed wrong that anyone could look at someone as cold and hardened as Ghost like this. But, fuck, it was doing things to him.

When he couldn’t hold himself back anymore, he slammed his lips into yours. You returned the kiss with a fire that made everything worth it. The blood. The explosions. The secrecy. The sleepless nights.

“Am now,” he mumbled against your lips. He couldn’t say anything else, he could only let the fire he had for you take over and burn everything left in him.

You melted into his affections, immediately grabbing onto his shoulders as he stripped your mouth bare. The little sounds you made spurred him on, making him feel better than he had the entire night. Forget sleep, he could live solely fueled by this.

Then, your hands slid up into his hair, tugging at the mask-flattened strands. A groan fell from Ghost’s lips as he started to fumble for the hem of your shirt, needing you freed from it immediately. He needed to feel you against him, as close as you possibly could be. Needed you wrapped around him in every possible way.

Need. Need. Need. It was a terrifying, unstoppable feeling.

As you both discarded your clothes, your hands desperately searching for skin, Ghost couldn’t help but think of how apt your nickname was. Styx. A mythological river, threatening to pull him under, the waters that he was drowning in also making him damn near invulnerable to all else in the world, save for his one spot of vulnerability. You.

The Styx was believed to be at the edge of the earth and the underworld, you had told him once. Being with you felt kind of like that, he supposed. Like he was at the edge of reality and the mythological. Something he never thought he would have compared to the reality of you underneath him.

Your lips wiped the fucked up worries from his mind, your hands grounding him in the raging current.

You let out a moan as Ghost slipped two fingers into you, trying to get you ready for him as quickly as possible tonight. He clamped a large hand over your mouth as he started to pump his fingers in and out.

“Keep quiet, love,” he purred into your ear, knowing exactly what his low, gravelly voice did to you. Your fingers came to clamp down on his shoulder in your desperation. “We don’t want any interruptions.”

You nodded, your eyes locking with his for a moment before they fluttered closed. He watched you like this, lost in bliss, and tried to commit the image to memory. He would store it away for another cold, lonely night when he couldn’t be here with you, when sleep evaded him.

He so desperately wanted to hear you - to hear the way he could make you scream out his name - but he knew it wasn’t possible right now. Your muffled groans and the way you tipped your head back as he curled his fingers into you would have to suffice.

“So wet for me, love,” he whispered into your ear as he increased his pace, feeling how close you were to the edge as your velvety walls fluttered around him. “Were you thinking about me?”

You jerked your head in a nod, his hand stifling another choked moan from your lips. The sincerity in your movement sent his ego soaring in a way he had never experienced before. Fucking hell, he had never experienced anything like this before. You had a frightening power over him, a grip on his very being that was so deep he didn’t think he could detach it and still survive.

It was terrifying and thrilling and oh-so wonderful.

You shattered under his touch, your pussy clenching around his fingers as you rode out the waves of pleasure he was bringing you. Your hand grasped at his forearm, searching for anything that could steady you.

When you came down and released him from your grip, your eyes fluttered back open. Through your haze, your eyes found his, a want deeper than just lust pouring from your expression. He couldn’t take it anymore. He fucking needed you.

Ghost tore his hand away from your mouth before he crashed his lips to yours again, all heat and fervor. You met him halfway, pushing up to run a hand through his hair. You had done this before in the dark, but it felt even more intense now that you knew what it looked like. What he looked like. You weren’t kissing a faceless man, you were kissing him.

“Simon…” you whined against his lips. “Please.”

Years ago, when you had first met, he wouldn’t have believed that he would ever hear you like this. Usually when you talked, your voice was strong. Unwavering. Fit for a battlefield. To hear you beg for him like this, your words strained, broken, and laced with desire, was something reverent.

He buried his cock in you in one smooth stroke, his lips still on yours. It was still a stretch to fit him, but it was always a stretch. From the very beginning his pace was brutal, his hips slamming into yours over and over. He grabbed your hips hard enough to bruise so he could hold you in place while he hit the spot deep inside you that always had you breaking for him. He knew he had found it when your legs boxed his hips in and your hips jerked up to meet his thrusts. Your heels rested on his ass, pulling him impossibly deeper into you.

You were squeezing him so tight as he pounded into your sweet cunt that for the first time all night, his head was clear. All that existed was you and the growing heat in his stomach.

Ghost dropped his head down to your neck, his teeth nipping at the soft, delicate flesh at the base of it as one of his hands released its hold on your hip to find your clit. He knew exactly what to do to send you over the edge again, exactly how hard to press, how tight of circles to draw.

“F-fuck, Simon, I’m g-gonna-” you stuttered out, unable to finish your own sentence. But he knew. He could feel how close you were, the tension drawn tight that was about to snap.

His own rhythm was growing sloppy, the pleasure about to take him under. With a few more calculated thrusts, you came once again, your whole body spasming around him. Your hands clawed at his back as your pussy squeezed him so hard it took him with you. A zap of electricity raced down his spine as he released into you, hot and thick. He fucked it into you, so deep he was sure you would still feel him at breakfast tomorrow morning.

He was so fucked. He had crossed every line and now there was no turning back. There was no stopping this anymore. He needed you. Maybe it was wrong to hope that you needed him just as much, but he did.

Ghost panted against your collar, letting the soft, methodical way you drew circles on his scalp pull him back to reality. Back to you.

He pulled out and rolled over onto the bed, pulling you with him. After taking a few minutes to clean you up, he pulled you to lay on top of him. With his arms around you and the feel of your steady breathing against his chest, sleep finally found him and pulled him under.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley fanfic #my writing

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fatesundress · 1 year

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⭑ observations ii. tom riddle x reader

part i here.

summary. two weeks after your last encounter with tom shatters all of your previous observations, tensions are high, and eventually, something's gotta give. (it's tom. he’s giving head)

tags. smut (so. so much. minors BE GONE TO WHENCE YOU CAME!), fem anatomy + reader is referred to as a woman by someone, fingering, cunnilingus, piv, again implied tall!tom or short!reader (take it however you prefer), jealous tom does not understand friendship but then again neither does reader apparently, a little wine is had, the room of requirement is used shamelessly as a plot device, did i mention smut, i’ve lost my mind etc etc.

note. this is a part two, so go ahead and read the first part and come back if you'd like :) obligatory preface: it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also woahh was not expecting the love on my last post so thank you! i'm still trying to figure this whole acc out so support, questions, (requests? never done those before) anything is appreciated ♡

word count. 6.3k

The next two weeks are agony. You don’t, in fact, stop meeting with Godefrey to study, because you do, in fact, still need a good mark in Ancient Runes and for all his faults he can reach the tallest shelves and he’s a faster writer than you. Also, Tom Riddle is fantastic with his hands but this does not make him God.

You find pureblood politics a bit archaic. You find muggle courting a bit stifling. This leaves very little space for what took place between you and Tom in the middle of a corridor two weeks ago (you can’t stop wincing at how insane that sounds) and very little patience for his utterly original and not-at-all entitled request that you halt your studies with Godefrey. Godefrey doesn’t stick his hands up your skirts while the two of you are studying, doesn’t silence your gasps with a shush and a finger to your mouth, doesn’t — wouldn’t (you’re so imaginative when you want to be) — tell you to keep reading as his thumb draws circles between your legs, tell you to repeat the words that get caught in your throat, tell you how much he likes it when your eyes go dumb and glassy and all you can say is his name. So, really, Tom should have nothing to worry about.

“I swear,” Selwyn says, picking at a plate you don’t think she’s actually eaten anything off with how distracted she is, “he’s looked over here at least three times.”

You don’t dare glance at who you know she’s talking about. “You’re obsessed.”

Pot. Kettle. Whatever.

“Are you sure you didn’t do something to upset him in Potions? Didn’t botch something that might mar his perfect record?”

You flick her forehead and she scowls. “I’m not an idiot, Selwyn. I handle myself just as well in Potions as he does — he wouldn’t —” Wouldn’t have complimented your rapport if that weren’t true, wouldn’t have said you communicate efficiently, make a good pair, probably wouldn’t have — fingered you in the hallway? — yes, that too. Slipped your mind. So easy to forget.

You take a long exhale, and smile impassively at her. “I didn’t botch anything, trust me.”

She finally takes a bite of food. “Maybe I did something…”

And then she’s lost in thought again, eating now, at least, and you shake your head softly as you watch what are likely a million different theories flitting through her head.

“Morning,” Tom says to you when you enter Potions after breakfast, a delicate smile tugging at his lips.

You have, of course, trained for this.

It’s your fifth — sixth? — time sharing a table with him since that night and it is somehow easier by nature and harder by anticipation (of what, you have no idea) every time. The first was terrible. Unsalvageable and without a silver lining. It had taken almost an hour that morning to charm the violent hues of red and purple spanning the column of your throat, and ultimately, the marks were so persistent you’d forgone the glamours and decided to just wear a turtleneck. You’d been fortunate it was completely inconspicuous to wear such a thing in December, but that was about all there’d been to be grateful for. You hadn’t been able to look at Tom all class and his hand had brushed yours once to take a phial from you and you’d flinched so sharply it would have shattered on the floor if he hadn’t caught it. And he’d smiled, like he’s smiling now, a soft, “Careful,” that honestly, for a short moment, made you want him dead.

Now you could speak just fine, look him in the eyes in practised intervals, and almost, impressively, make articulate conversation with him again. Make stupid comments about Slughorn and Lestrange and bear the weight of his grin knowing it was there for you.

His, he’d called you. A very funny thing.

“Morning,” you answer on a smiling sigh, sleepy but jovial all the same.

You deserve applause for this.

“Tired?”

“Mhm — Essays for Ancient Runes are due Friday and it’s been keeping us up all night.”

His eyes flash with something you’ve yet to ascertain. Your research has been put temporarily on hold, scattered and splintered by the revelation that your first observation was, admittedly, a little bit off, and you have no means of figuring out a look like that when you can’t even begin to figure out anything else.

“Has it?” he asks, a tinge less friendly.

“Well,” you say, grinding the lacewing flies, “that’s commonplace, isn’t it? You take all sorts of advanced classes, I’m sure you understand the work it takes.”

“...Hm.”

That’s it. That’s all you get from him.

And if Selwyn’s concern over you botching your work in Potions wasn’t already, obviously dispelled, the glee on Slughorn’s face as he assesses your and Tom’s cauldron should do it.

“Brilliant! Just brilliant!” He claps a hand over Tom’s back, regarding you both with pride so thick it clouds his eyes, like he's drifted into a revery of the future (you and Tom, you expect, are his most prized graduates, making history under his name, proving his immense wisdom) before he appears to return to Earth. “Ten points between the two of you, hm? Very, very good — though, of course, no surprises there!”

He chuckles to himself as he evaluates the other students, and you catch a horrified wheeze of Godefrey’s name (bless his heart) as one of the cauldrons in the back begins to sputter and froth.

You look to Tom with some droll little comment at making it to the end of term with top marks, but his gaze is burning into Godefrey’s table in such a way you wouldn’t be surprised if it was what was causing his cauldron to boil.

Well. Perhaps not, then.

You and Godefrey hand in your essay that Friday with more relief than apprehension — you both decide it’s quite good — and you laugh loudly and breathlessly as he picks you up and thanks you a thousand times, spinning you until you’re dizzy. You refrain from making any promises to attend his Quidditch games, but he vows to let you have the snitch he catches.

And Slughorn, you come to find, was not exaggerating his elation at your skill. After trotting after you on your walk back from Ancient Runes to invite you to the last Slug Club dinner of the year, your spirits are high with the blissful satisfaction of a job well done and a night to celebrate it with.

You can breathe, finally, when it’s the last week of school before Christmas break and Selwyn’s zipping the back of a last-minute dress you purchased in Hogsmeade.

“Gorgeous,” Selwyn says with a grin. “Wish this school would have a bloody ball so I could really dress you up.”

“Buy a doll, Selwyn; you can dress them however you like.”

“You are such a —”

You burst into laugher, swatting her wand away as she pokes your side with it.

“Just — go then, before I hex you.”

“All right, all right!” you concede, arms raised in surrender. “Don’t ruin all your hard work now.”

“Oh,” she calls on your way out the door. You turn and there’s a mischievous look in her eyes as she tucks her wand back in her pocket. “And do tell me before I leave tomorrow if Riddle stares at you all night.”

You groan as if it’s a truly abominable thing to imagine. Riddle, staring with those dark eyes of his? You, the centre of his attention? Ghastly. You daresay you’d never recover from the horror of it.

“Don’t leave before I tell you how remarkably uneventful a night it was,” you say with a sidelong glare, and leave before she can edge in the final word.

You have no idea what a Slug Club supper typically consists of, but you imagine for Christmas he’s gone a little further with his festivities. His office is glittering in hues of green and red and fleecy, snow-dappled gold. The lights overheard (some similar charm to the one in the Great Hall but a tad less complex, you think) drip and then vanish into the air like squeezed berries, and the berries — served with pastries and ice cream — taste like they must be enchanted with something.

Selwyn was right that the standard dress isn’t quite formal enough for a ball, but it’s… formal. The boys are in clean-cut dress robes and the girls are in fine gowns of different lengths. By the overwhelming number of them you recall being archetypes of Slytherin pureblood fanaticism, it makes sense how expensive they all look. You yourself brush up nicely, if not a bit more frugally, but you haven’t been to an event like this at the school yet, and that’s exciting on its own.

It’s another degree of training (is there going to be a marathon? Are you at war?), a step up from your preparations before Potions every other day, to be ready when Tom Riddle enters the room a respectable five minutes late with a gleam about him more captivating than any of the lights.

“Ah, Tom!” Slughorn exclaims, and ushers him into a seat you remark before Tom is even in it is discomfitingly near to yours. “We’re all here at last… Supper, then? Hope you aren’t too full already, I’ve got the House Elves running laps!”

You’re spared Tom’s closeness by a Ravenclaw couple sat in the chairs between you, their hands clasped under the table while they sip wine from their goblets, and you only realise the length of your observation when Tom glances at you from the spot over, and you startle yourself into reaching for your own goblet and pretending to enjoy Slughorn’s bitter wine.

You eat. You listen to cluttered, unending tales of Slughorn’s time at school and how he earned his post. You drink, and then you regret not drinking before eating because there’s only a very light, very nice buzz that warms you when you finish your cup, and the Ravenclaw couple is — oh, wait, it isn’t just them — they’re standing up to dance as a gramophone sparks to life and a low, dulcet instrumental begins to play. There are now two notably empty seats separating you from Tom.

What had you said this night would be? Blissful satisfaction?

You couldn’t blame Selwyn for suggesting you’d blundered Potions — you didn’t feel exceptionally smart right now.

“I didn’t know you would be here tonight,” Tom says, pulling the chair beside you.

Where is the bottle of wine? No. Nevermind. You behave regrettably enough sober.

You manage a simple, “And yet.”

“...And yet.” His lips quirk before he takes a drink from his goblet.

You lament for a second that you’ve only actually kissed those lips once. They spent a great deal longer on your neck.

“Will you be here over break?” he asks, and it isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, you suppose.

“I think so. Why?”

“I’d like to know whether to expect you or not.”

Expect you… No, yes — revert to observation two: unusual is not an apt enough word for him.

It takes you a moment to conjure a response befitting polite dinner conversation. That is, after all, still what this is.

“I suppose you can. I’ll be busy, of course.”

Well, you didn’t say you conjured something good. It’s a big fat lie. Placating, vague, empty. And you suspect Tom knows that.

“Pity.”

Yes, he knows. He’s all quiet amusement again.

You stare off, satisfied to be left alone —

"And what is it that'll be taking so much of your time?"

“Well, I'm —” And now you have to build the lie — “I’ve told Godefrey I’ll attend to his Quidditch practise. Since the pitch isn’t in use.”

God, it’s so stupid it’s almost impressive — you don’t even know if Godefrey will be here over break, and you could have chosen any number of excuses that would pique Tom’s interest less than it’s apparently consistently piqued by the mention of your study partner.

There’s that strange, indecipherable look again. Riddle is a perfect surname for him, you decide then, and you almost laugh at yourself for it, but that would probably not go over well should he ask what’s so funny.

“Have you, now? That’s very kind of you.”

“It’s hardly charity.”

“Hm, it’s kind of you to think so.”

You huff, tipping your goblet back to swallow the last meagre dregs of your wine.

“You look lovely.”

It’s just a little bit — just a tiny, straggling little bit of elderflower that captures your throat — and you cough into your goblet. “Thank — thank you.”

And, well, he looks lovely too. Obviously. Sickeningly so. You know little about his personal life but you’re positive he’s at least a half-blood, if not muggle-born, and it makes you wonder the influence of his renownedly plain black suit in a crowd of neat, long robes.

He manages with little effort to look better than all of them at their best.

His eyes drift over you appreciatively, quick enough not to be rude but — enough. (Enough that you daresay you might never recover from the horror of it.) You adjust under his gaze even when it’s situated on your face, far too heavy a thing for you to carry. “Does Godefrey call you lovely?”

What?

You blink at him, your mouth is probably open and you probably look stupid but he’s so… irritating. Yes, of course Godefrey calls you lovely. Godefrey tells you you’re the smartest woman he’s ever met (after his mother), and he drowns you with sherbet lemons at no cost, and he writes at the speed of light to match the quickness with which you recite your textbook, and none of it means anything. Tom is just —

“Unbelievable…”

He quirks a brow. “What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable, Riddle. Is it impossible for you to comprehend that I might have friends? That Godefrey is my friend?”

“Well, memory serves me right that you seemed a bit confused on the conventions of friendship last you mentioned it. Do forgive my uncertainty.”

He — that was —

“Well, that’s because we are not friends.”

“No.” He leans in. “We are not.”

You push your chair from the table with all the grace you can manage for such an abrupt thing: a tight, impersonal smile on your face as you walk away and approach Slughorn, only realising when you get there that your empty goblet is clutched in your hand like you’re trying to strangle it.

Whatever he sees on your face, he isn’t drunk enough not to frown at. “Ah, our newest gem — hardly seen you all night! Not leaving already, are we?”

You glance at the clock. It isn’t as though you’re being impolite by abandoning his party in the middle of the event. It’s quite late, the servers are stuck to the walls with little to do, and most of the room has divided into waltzing pairs.

“I’m taking my friend to the train station tomorrow, sir. Unfortunately I need to be up quite early.”

Yes, yes, it’s all so tragic. You’re depressed to go.

“Such a shame,” Slughorn frets, wobbling a tad and balancing himself on the wall. “You’ll be all right getting back? Not at all dizzy, are you?” His laugh is cleaved by a loud hiccough, and then he laughs even more. “My, well, I myself will need to be carried!”

“...I’ll be fine, sir. Thank you.”

“Oh, no trouble at all — there’s — hm… ah, Tom!”

No, no — is it bad you almost reach over and slap your palm over your professor’s mouth? Is it at all impressive that you don’t? You should look on the bright side in moments like these. You should admire your restraint.

But of course, Slughorn’s eyes don’t fall upon Tom for nothing. He's halfway across the room already, and Slughorn must have spotted him approaching to achieve this brilliant solution. “Tom can escort you back, no?”

Tom (unforgivably) is beside you now, a very mean, very pretty smile on his face.

“Not too much to ask, I should think? You know the castle best. Head Boy — sometimes I still can’t believe it!”

You look up at Tom and your jaw is clenched where you’ve since put down your goblet. There is too much tension in you to know what to do with, and he looks positively thrilled.

“It’s hardly charity, sir.” He holds out his arm.

You wonder what spell would catch him most off-guard if you were to blast him in the face right now.

Slughorn claps his hands together. “Ha! Yes, well… perfect, then! Off now, the two of you, off now. Do have a good — ” He hiccoughs again — “rest!”

You don’t even bother the diplomacy of smiling at Slughorn as your arm loops through Tom’s and you’re exiting the party.

Neither of you say a word on the journey, and that’s very well.

If you could just get back to bed without speaking to him you may still consider it a good night. You may be able to push his strangeness and his entitlement and the annoying way his hair falls to another day, when he pesters you about Godefrey’s nonexistent Quidditch practise, which — come to think of it — you do think he told you he'd be headed home for the holidays. You really fumbled that one.

And then Tom’s thumb is brushing the bare skin of your arm and your walk stutters a bit. But he doesn’t mention it, and so neither do you.

And then he’s drawing down your elbow to your forearm so softly it almost feels like he isn’t touching you at all. He doesn’t mention it. Neither do you.

And then your arm, without really meaning for it to, is slipping from his and his hand is holding yours instead, feather-light as his fingers clasp yours and your breath is not the same as it was when you left.

He doesn’t mention it. He just keeps going.

His fingers work back up your arm and you shiver as they drag across your shoulder, gaze searing your neck as the soft digits find their way to your jaw, and you get the sense he’s remembering just how much he liked the taste of it, and you’re… you’re allowing it all again. You’re leaning in, you’re seeking him out, you want him flush against you and even that might not be satisfactory.

You are, in the end, a half-decent observer and a terrible liar.

You’re grabbing his hand with a small amount of direction and a great deal of meaning. You suppose it's because, historically, you’ve proven to have trouble with words in moments like these, and you don’t really know where you’re taking him but god, you know where you want him. Somewhere soft, this time, thick enough that you can fist your hands around it and melt. Somewhere he can hover over you, maybe hold you down a little, just until — maybe, miraculously — you might make him break a little too. Clamber over his lap. Make him yours.

“Tom,” you mouth, some question in the way your eyebrows knit.

The moment you say his name — the instant — he’s pulling you in, crushing his mouth against yours. And, ah, right, that’s what his lips feel like. You’d almost forgotten.

This kiss is not chaste, hardly tender. It resists in that it asks you to push, to plead, to take this for yourself to prove how badly you want it, and he smiles into it when you do. And then, sated by your efforts, he lets you have him. You’re gripping the collar of his suit in your hands as his wander appreciatively over the back of your dress, pulling you into him as the kiss deepens. He’s savouring you like you’re something religious that’s been offered to him, and there’s the taste of wine on his tongue and you’re still here, aware enough that the symbolism isn’t lost on you.

“I've been thinking," he says between kisses, “about the way you felt when I touched you. I've been thinking about how long it might take before you need it again."

You gasp at the sensation, and god, god, you've been wondering too, haven't you?

You’re pulling him impossibly closer and something hard is pressing into your hip and you clutch tighter onto his shirt as you moan into his mouth. You need it off, you think, and — has your dress been clinging to you like this all night? You need that off too. You need skin on skin. You careen him backwards without aim, your mind a muddled mess of all the many things your body is screaming it needs, like this is fucking imperative; to give it up would be catastrophic.

You suppose, based on what you’ve read, that that’s how the Room of Requirement works, but it’s still funny to think it would apply to this.

It hurts to remove yourself from him to watch in dumb awe as the door forms in the stone (to see the dark, languid shape of his eyes bearing down on you, the wet, stained pink of his lips), and Tom seems to recover from the revelation much faster than you.

His mouth is on yours once more, a hungry kiss; his free hand at your waist, guiding you through the door and shutting it carelessly behind him.

He’s like fire against you, radiating as he presses down on you, his hand tangled in your hair and his hips flush against yours. You shiver as his mouth starts to move down (a cheap trick — he hasn’t forgotten how much you liked it the last time) from your jaw to your throat, as his lips trail down your chest and you're shivering into the warmth of him.

You’ve heard it said before, in some romantic sense, that it’s sometimes hard to tell where you end and someone else begins.

This is not like that.

You've never been more aware of anything than the point where you and him meet.

You’re tugging at him blindly again, trusting in the nature of the Room like this isn't the first time you've been in it, and then you're stumbling down onto a bed you're quite sure wasn't there a moment ago (people say magic is a neutral force but evidently this is not the fucking case), fingers carding through Tom's hair as his body pins you into the mattress.

His mouth is molten hot as you squirm and pant beneath him, your breath coming faster than it ever has. Everything feels sharper and deeper and more intense under his touch, every sensation heightened until it's almost impossible to tell pleasure from pain, his tongue from his teeth.

How did it take you this long to do this again? To need him like this?

And his — you should really have the mind to see the mistake in all of this but perhaps that's for later — his fingers are pulling your sleeves down, propping your back to arch as he reaches under you to unzip your dress, apparently too impatient to sit you up and take it off properly so he just bunches it around your waist instead. There’s a moment where he stops to look at you, your chest exposed to him in the dim sconce-light, and then his mouth returns to circle your breast and you're biting down on a pillow to hold back the whimpering gasp that seeks to escape you. He hums around your flesh, and then he’s at your sternum, kissing a stripe to your belly button before pushing past the dress he's left ringed around your abdomen.

You shimmy under the weight of him to prop your head up — to see past the mass of silk that obscures his face from you as moves lower and lower, hands spanning your hips to keep you still.

His face hovers above your thighs, and he doesn’t move.

“Did you enjoy my fingers?" he asks.

At that you freeze, thighs pressing together to bury the hand that's rising between them.

Tom smiles. “Hm, you did."

And then he spreads your legs apart, one hand pushing your underwear aside and regarding you with delicate, shameless appetite — something that might even be adoration: like this is all he ever wanted you to want.

“Do you think you'd enjoy my mouth, too?"

Words are gone. There's nothing left in you.

His head moves happily between your knees, holding them apart, pressing kisses to the base of your thighs. Your hands flail from the sheets, desperate to grip something else and you hold back a sound that feels like irritation and need at the same time. You need him closer, higher than this. He knows. You can feel his smile biting into your skin.

And then you manage a nod though you're not even sure he's looking at your face anymore (and what a picture to imagine he is) and you worry momentarily it won’t be enough for him — that he’ll ask you to be nice and say it out loud for him — but he hums with something merciful, and — his chin dips. You catch the smallest glimpse of his tongue before it’s on you, wet and slow and unrelenting and you say his name, but it’s a mewl; you choke on it. It sounds like a cry.

Pitiful, needy, undone. Just how he wants you.

You think all efforts to remain even remotely composed are thrown to the wind as soon as his tongue is lapping at you, fast and then slow, everything you want and not even remotely close. He sinks all his weight down as if he can predict the moment you'll writhe before you do — and you do. And with his grip he tells you to endure it. You only need him to say it with his hands and his mouth but he breathes back, licking his lips and he actually says it. “Be good.”

That makes your breath hitch and your cheeks swell impossibly hotter, and reality is a small glint in your peripheral where everything else is burning red. “Y-you’re—”

His mouth returns to you, tongue catching your clit in a drawn-out, agonising motion, and you gasp and lurch forward to inch through the sensation, craving more, more, more. Reason is lost on you, a throbbing familiarity forcing you to grind your teeth down on the pillow to stop yourself from telling him to — you don’t even know. Finish you. Abandon all reluctance. Just let you come as hard as you know he wants you to.

But he pauses, observant as he starts to work his fingers against you. Watching how your slick coats them like it’s the most enthralling sight he’s ever witnessed. Slowly, ever so slowly, he starts to push one inside of you, hearing your breath catch above him and the moan that comes tumbling out of your throat, pillow be damned.

You do your best to breathe through it, and you know he knows how to make you unfold like this, so the meticulous lightness of his ministrations tells you he’s trying to keep it from you now. You’re almost embarrassed about the fact that you’re dripping onto his hand regardless; his lips puffy, his gaze unnervingly, dizzyingly carving you in two.

“Just,” you rasp, clutching desperately at his wrist. “Tom, please.”

Your begging must be music to his ears. (It’s a rare, unplanned fifth observation: that you think he’ll never get tired of hearing you say his name like that.)

He adds a finger. It’s encircling you, first, and no amount of restraint can stop the harsh gasp that leaves you, but then it’s his tongue and two fingers and he’s pushing into you how you wanted, and he makes a pleased sound against you, gripping you tighter with his free hand, still not allowing you movement and fuck, are you trying. What you're feeling now — the need, the want, everything — is more than rational thought. Your mind goes blank, and all that matters is this, him, right here and now; nothing else exists, not even for a second. You moan, a low, throaty noise that's a little too loud, a little too intense; you can't recall if anything has ever come from you quite like it and Tom devours you at the sound.

More, you agree; it's almost an obsession in you now; more, more, please, anything and everything.

It’s the precision of his touch — not some bored, hurried transgression — that brings your hands helplessly to his hair.

“Tom,” you whine, holding him tight, and the purr of his mouth finding you again is something destructive.

As soon as you feel another swell of something deep down, your mouth is dropping open.

His tongue is sliding through you, fingers curling, and then your clit is in his mouth, and he’s watching you between your thighs as your eyes clench shut, and you’re coming.

Your voice breaks somewhere in the catastrophe of it. Your body spasms, electric down to every atom, and he pins you down through it. He doesn’t grant you the reprieve of escaping the frenzied, glorious torture of it. His mouth still lingers. His tongue moves thankful and unrelenting.

He takes all of you, and you think this is destruction — creation — both. How terrifyingly similar they suddenly feel.

His lips are swollen and slick when he finally detaches them from you and you want to kiss him, but he’s leaning back to admire his work. You swallow, unable to blame him for it because you look down at yourself and — this is something else. You’re dripping down his chin. You're shaking. Your legs are still clenching around his torso. They’re holding him so tight you can’t imagine it doesn’t hurt.

But he just rolls off of you. Adjusts his trousers and your abdomen flutters and you think, don’t.

You don’t even realise you’re reaching for him until your hand is around his wrist and you’re still fucking sighing through the come-down, panting into the hot air.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, fingers damp on your chin as he holds you. You make a note that that’s the second time he’s done that. That you thought it was strangely intimate the first time and nothing’s changed other than how much more you like it.

And it doesn’t really feel like you can help it but crawl with gooey, trembling legs onto his lap. Doesn’t feel like you can help it when you lean in and capture his lips with yours, moan unabashedly into his mouth at the stiffness that presses against your core when you do, steal his tongue and the taste of you on it.

When he pulls away he’s looking at you like he doesn’t think you can actually do this. Like you’d just crumble the moment you tried.

A low, determined protest rises in your throat and you’re kissing him again. You’re unbuttoning his dress shirt, you’re trembling to reach for his trousers.

When you can finally shrug his shirt off, press yourself against him, feel that skin on skin you wanted so badly, you find it somehow even more suffocating than its absence. You’re left wanting a more you aren’t able to even conceptualise, but you’re grinding involuntarily against him and his teeth are scraping your neck and he's hissing at the sensation, and — yes, there’s more.

Your breath is staggered when your hips stutter into a roll and you — fuck. You’re tugging desperately to remove his belt and he smiles against your throat as he takes your hands and guides them to him. You can feel his bulge against your thigh and you’re spreading your legs to usher him where you want, clawing at his chest without even meaning to.

Tom’s taking off his belt, and he’s pulling down his trousers just enough to bare himself to you, and maybe he’s right that you can’t manage it yourself but he stops his assistance like the intrigue of finding out is too good to resist. There's something both intimate and imperious, in a way, about the way he's looking at you now; it's a kind of focus and intensity and withheld hunger just for you; and you're more than happy to give yourself over to it, to let his hands and his eyes and his mouth claim you for his own. To claim him for yours, at last.

You do. You struggle for it. He’s very patient.

But then it’s there — more — as you finally sink down on him and bite his shoulder and he shudders a low, pained exhale, his hands clutching your waist.

There’s a silent, suspended moment where neither of you move. The room feels entirely still.

Your lips quiver over his pulse, and your stomach flips at the intensity of it, the undeniable rate of his desire beneath you. You smile against him now, like he always does to you, conscious enough to mumble into his neck, “Mine.”

Tom stutters inside you, fingers gripping you impossible tighter as you dare to think he even gasps. You dare to think he likes it.

And then one of his hands grabs your jaw and his kiss is searing. He thrusts upward and you cry into his mouth, searching to match his pace in a way that you appreciate, for once, he seems unlearned in.

It’s all a bit messy, a bit new, palms in fists, in skin, in hair, digging for every part they haven’t already taken from. The sound in the back of Tom’s throat is divine, the feeling of him inside you as he slips his hand back between your legs — like he needs everything, like he knows you do too — it’s ineffable. It coils somewhere deep, touches something you didn’t know existed. Your hips are rotating, thighs still soft and slack from coming apart on his tongue, but you’re determined. It feels like finding even ground. It feels like something you deserve: to make him feel how you did.

Your head rolls back, eyes pinching shut in bliss, but Tom is there at your jaw again, forcing your blurry gaze back to him.

His hips are inching even further, the intensity of his pace as he adjusts to you making you dizzy. You think, realistically, there’s sound coming out of you, but you aren’t entirely sure when it’s so close to him, when your mouth is between his fingers and your ears are ringing and he’s looking at you like you’re made for him.

“Mine.” And it isn’t a dismissal of your own claim but a confirmation that one will not be without the other. His voice is raw and breathy and something about the way he says it makes you contract inadvertently around him, hands swatting his chest like they don’t know what else to do. There’s just too much.

You recognize you’re trying to say something. Some plea, a moan, his name (is there anything else left?), but you’re just babbling into his mouth and he holds you there. He doesn’t kiss you. It’s your failing words against his lips. He swallows whatever syllables try to shape them.

It’s there again when you need it most; the heavy, swirling feeling inside you as he snaps his hips, his fingers returning to your waist with punishing firmness. His breathing accelerates, low in his throat, and you push harder against him. Your vision is gone again, head held in his hands to keep from rolling back so that, you suspect, he can watch defeat split you down the middle again — not over your shoulder, not with his head between your legs — with his eyes on yours, with every broken moan you let out so close to his face he can feel the breath of each one.

You’re grappling desperately at skin that doesn’t feel like enough, even though he’s rocking inside you, and you see the insanity of it, you see that it isn’t logical. Too much and not enough at once — you’re smart enough to know that doesn’t work, but it just is.

“Please,” you manage in a voice you don’t recognize. “Please, Tom, pleasepleaseplease —”

Had you said before it was foolish to call him forgiving? You take it back. He’s very eager to oblige you.

He finds some place inside of you and you don’t know quite what it is that he changes but it's new, uncharted, and you break there. You dissolve. You’re liquid in his hands as you sob, stuttering around him, trembling like you didn’t know was possible, and you swear — you swear you’re going to take him there with you. It isn’t that you could stop yourself if you tried but your body is gripping around him, fingers carving halved spheres into his skin, and you’re pushing down on him through the ecstasy — you’re forcing your eyes open so he can see you break, watch them flutter back all soft and pretty.

And you're sated by your ruin when it ruins him too.

The sound he makes is ragged. Undone. He can only bury it halfway with a kiss you think is actually more of a bite, twitching inside you as he fucks you through it.

You’re both lost in each other for a moment that feels detached from time, feeling his hips stutter to a halt, feeling your body soften. And he’s pulling out of you like it hurts, mouth falling open as he does. You wince at the loss, the sweet soreness between your legs, and you’re held only by the weight of him. You think — and you actually sway like the mere idea is too strong — that if it weren’t for his hands, you’d fall flat off the bed.

But he sort of lifts you off him, lays you down and watches you for a long time as if to decide something important before he's laying down beside you. You watch him too. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, and when there’s not a single curl left clinging to the sweat on your skin, he continues anyway. You let him trace your lips, your jaw, your nose, and somehow, a bit terrifyingly, your final observation: nothing about it feels unusual at all.

You did say he was yours.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x y/n #tom marvolo riddle #voldemort #voldemort x reader #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle oneshot #NO LONGER!#but it is only a two-parter sorry. this is it #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world

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ponderingmoonlight · 5 months

Note

what if you were a sorcerer who was dating nanami and when you came back from some mission abroad you got to meet itadori and watch nanami be all dad-like (and itadori obviously loves you)

I LOVED this idea and I thank you in the name of everyone reading this fic for suggesting it before what happened last episode 😭 Please let me know what you think!

Nanami's girlfriend watching Nanami being in full dad mode with Yuji

Pairing: Nanami x girlfriend!reader

Word Count: 1,6k

Synopsis: After finally coming back home from a mission far away, all you want to do is seeing your precious boyfriend Kento again. But instead of a afternoon of cuddling him, you get to see him act like a real dad towards a new student.

Warnings: Really none, mild language here and there, Nanami being the best dad ever, this is the comfort we all need

It’s been a hell of a month. A month of desperately fighting against countless curses, a month away from the love of your life. At first it was like a punch in your face, realizing that you won’t be able to see Kento within the next weeks. And even though you texted every free minute and he called you every night, you missed him more than anything. But now, you’re finally on your way back. Back into your normal life, back into the open arms of your boyfriend.

Your feet carry you down the path to Jujutsu High on their own, remembered with every fiber of your being. Despite all the horrible things you had to endure, being a jujutsu sorcerer feels like your unshakable fate. Even better that Kento is right by your side every step of the way.

“(y/n), is that you? Haven’t see ya for ages! Heard you did really well at…wherever you were”, Gojo shouts from afar.

Your heart jumps up and down in joy, turning around and waving at him frantically. Oh, you never thought you’d miss seeing his stupid grin every morning this much.

“I’m just glad it’s over. Hey, did you see Kento? I’m searching for him”, you reply.

Please, let him be at Jujutsu High. When he called you yesterday, he wasn’t sure whenever he’ll have to leave for a mission today or not. Maybe he’s still here, maybe you’ll be able to help him out. Fighting by his side definitely sounds better than waiting another second to see him, even though all you want to do right now is lay down and sleep for 15 hours straight.

“Oh, he’s in the main building, talking with a new student. You should pay them a visit, I’m sure Yuji will love you.”

Yuji, huh? You haven’t heard his name before. To be honest, the only new student you know of his Megumi Fushiguro. Were you really gone that long? You sign to yourself before shaking your head, a smile forming itself on your lips.

Other than your boyfriend, you love to greet the new students with all your heart. After all, they are your future, the ones who will look after everything when you are gone. It’s your responsibility as well to make them feel welcomed, right?

“In the classroom?”

“Yup. I have to leave now, send my best wishes to precious Nanami!”

You giggle to yourself with a wide smile, moving towards the main building of Jujutsu High, Gojo’s dumb grin still present in your mind. Despite the fact that Kento tells you over and over how annoying that white-haired man is, you know that he still likes him deep down.

Deep deep down.

“Kento?”, you gently question into the biggest classroom in the building, eyes peaking through the door ever so slightly.

Your heart jumps in confusion. Huh, he’s not there. But Gojo sounded so sure of his words. Also, he just came back from the main building, so he knew for sure…

“Where the hell are you”, you mutter to yourself, roaming around the different rooms like a lost puppy.

Until suddenly, your ears perk up.

“Nanami-sensei, I’m looking forward working with you!” a young male voice announces with so much passion that you just have to draw closer.

Wait, did that boy just call your boyfriend Nanami-sensei?

“I’m not a teacher here, don’t call me sensei.”

You giggle to yourself at the annoyed tone in Kento’s voice. Oh, you just know that this touched his heart, without any doubt. Even if he’d never admit it.

“Sorry, it’s just that I think I can learn a lot from you. Gojo-sensei told me about your abilities and I want to be as good as you someday!”

Your heart melts in an instant against the wall, a gently smile plastered on your face. What a sweet boy. Is he the one Gojo talked about earlier, the new student who just arrived named Yuji?

“I’m just here to do my work, Itadori”, your boyfriend remarks dryly.

You bet he crossed his arms in front of his chest, his tall figure lingering over the boy as if he wouldn’t care about his words at all. But you know him better than that. You know he’ll tell you about all the things this student said just before drifting off to sleep that night. Your fingertips begin to tickle, body aching to move closer to the door, to enter it, to finally see your boyfriend again. It’s been so long since you last saw him him, months without sinking into his opened arms.

Fuck it.

“Kento”, you breathe out, body stumbling through the door when you finally catch a glimpse of him.

Oh, he looks just as good as you imagined. Hair neatly trimmed as usual, broad chest covered by his dark blue shirt with his sleeved rolled up ever so slightly and his strong arms crossed.

The eyes of the boy in front of him widen, a bright grin forming on his lips when catching a glimpse of you.

“You must be the new student. Welcome at Jujutsu High! My name is (y/n) and I am a grade 1 sorcerer and this man’s girlfriend. If you have any questions don’t hesitate to call me”, you interduce yourself warmly along with giving him a soft clap on his shoulder.

“You are Nanami-sensei’s girlfriend?”, he repeats without thinking twice.

“Don’t call me that”, Kento grumbles.

“It’s so nice to finally see you again, sweetheart. I missed you”, he continues, placing his hand around your waist in a way that makes you see stars.

Your heart skips a beat, body falling against his in an instant. If he only knew how much you missed him too, how much it touches you to finally be able to lean against his shoulder again. But you will have to put your longing feelings aside until the evening. After all, Kento still has work to do as it seems.

“It’s an honour to meet you, (y/n)-sensei! I hope to work with you someday.”

“Oh, you definitely will”, you giggle at the sweet boy with pink hair in front of you.

“I’ll leave now for my mission.”

“Wait”, Nanami interrupts immediately.

You look up at your boyfriend in surprise. Why is his jaw suddenly so tight?

“There is no way I will let you go there alone.”

“But Nanami-sensei-”

“Don’t call me that. As far as I know, this might be a grade 1 curse. I won’t let you go on your own.”

Oh god, he’s worried. Despite he tries to hide it so miserably, it’s written on his slightly scrunched up face.

You desperately try to hide the grin that starts creeping up your facial features from your boyfriend, covering your cheeky mouth with your hand. It was rare for you to actually see him around his students. And while you know very well how much he cares for him, you never thought he’d sound like a full-on dad while talking to them.

“So you’ll come with me?”

The eyes from the boy in front of you light up immediately, jumping up and down in joy while your boyfriend signs next to you.

“Come on, show a little mercy”, you mutter into his ear amused.

“Get going, Itadori-kun. I don’t want to be late for dinner.”

“Of course, Nanami-sensei. Oh, it was really nice to meet you, (y/n)-sensei, I really hope I’ll see you again someday.”

“Come on or we’ll be late”, your boyfriend protests.

-later that evening-

“How are you doing, love? Does it still hurt?”

Gently, you rub the ointment on the minor wound that is left on his right side, eyes locked with his gorgeous ones.

“Don’t worry, I’m alright. It’s Itadori-kun I’m worried about.”

“You seem to really care about this boy”, you comment softly, hands busy with bandaging him up.

“Not in the way you suggest”, he immediately replies, serious eyes locking with yours.

Pictures of your first encounter with Yuji flood your mind, how your boyfriend spoke to him and refused to let him go on his own. And even now, he seems to have this boy on his precious mind.

“You kinda act like a dad though.”

His eyes widen in horror, hand grabbing your shoulder faster than you’re able to react.

“That’s not true.”

“I doubt it”, you challenge him with a bright smile, bursting out in uncontrollable giggling.

With a swift motion he places himself on top of you, staring down at you in all seriousness with a minor spark of humour glimmering in his eyes while you can’t catch your breath from all the laughter.

“I’m not acting like a dad.”

“Oh, you totally do”, you press out, the sheer weight of his immense body on top of yours making it hard to breathe along with snickering your heart out.

“I just don’t want him to get hurt. He’s still in his first year and new at Jujutsu High. Also, I’m not fully convinced that Gojo takes good care of him”, Nanami explains briefly.

“Well, that’s exactly what good dads do.”

“(y/n)”, he warns you.

He wraps his arms around you so tightly that you aren’t even able to see his face anymore, dying of laughter against his chest while making a few miserable attempts to free yourself out of his grip. God, how much you love that man. How much you love the way he cares about others while not admitting to himself, how he looks after people before thinking even about himself. Kento Nanami has a heart made out of pure gold that he shows far too rare.

“But do you…do you really think I’d be a good dad?”

Tags: @arehzhera @ploylulla @tzubaki @beatrexworld @kenstarsworld @dazaisdick @hellkaiserinphoenix @lauv4chuuya @shadowfoxey @starlightanyaaa @sindela @kayleegomez @sunshine7queen @magalimachete @mokoartpost @gatitam @idontknow1123 @creative1writings @sanicsmut @mynahx3 @sad-darksoul @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @chuyasthighs0 @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @wxwieeee @lovelyluna1 @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @gojosrealwife @coffeeluvr96 @mahi-tamashi @weebotaku21 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain @risuola @sugurulefttesticle @wordskeeper @baku2345 @polarbvnny

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poppyswriting · 7 months

Text

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓.

One shot: Blitzø x hell born! Reader.

Summary: A stand up night, that was all it was meant to be. Or maybe it wasn’t..

Word count: 1,0k

Warnings: no use of y/n, smut suggestions but nothing too crazy, friends with benefits, slight angst but fluff.

Notes: This is a one shot ! ! A short story that just came into my mind out of nowhere, and because let’s be honest lil’ Blitzø needs love for fucks sake. If there’s any grammar mistake please let me know ! !

It was no secret that you wanted Blitzø. Well, at least not for Loona.

It all started when you submitted your application to work for I.M.P, you got a call back and had to meet your boss.

And oh boy, was it just you or was he really hot? Couldn’t get through the whole meeting without looking at him not giving a fuck about what he had to say. The last words that actually passed your dumb founded skull was a “You’re hired!” That snapped you out of your trance.

You nodded thanking him like one thousand times, it was easy to do that because you actually needed the fucking money. when you went out of the office you saw a hell hound that was the receptionist. Before entering the meeting you actually got a chance to talk to her, bonding a little rather quickly because of Verosika and her hot Body guard.

After you went out, she glanced at you over her phone “So? How was it?” She asked, going back to her phone but still hearing you. When you told her you would be working here she just smirked still looking at her phone.

It wasn’t a long time till you got used to the Job, I mean it was pretty much just sit there with Loona and usually anytime costumers arrived you would take them. And when Loona did take them and she loose her temper you would do it for her meanwhile she draws daggers with her eyes to the client. You thought that at this steps she would eventually get fired, it didn’t take you long enough to find out that she was your bosses daughter.

Now, with that in mind it didn’t mind you being in this position.

You were in the backseat of I.M.P’s van because Loona called Blitzø to come and pick her up. When you parked and Loona was convincing Blitz to actually hop on the party you weren’t much sure about this idea. You weren’t a party pooper really, but something was telling you inside that you shouldn’t be here. You were on the van because you just so happened to be on the road when Blitz told you to hop on, you didn’t have actual important things to do so you just went with the flow.

Just like now. Looking in between the yelling crowd how your boss was finishing the beer supply without any care and actually beating Beel, making Loona proud. You eventually lost yourself in the crowd, trying not to bump with anyone because you didn’t want to talk to nobody. This type of environment made you uncomfortable, so you stepped into the van and waited for Blitz and Loona to come.

Fuck you fell asleep..

You cleaned the drool from your mouth, looking around where Loona parked in. It was your bosses apartment, “Hey Loona, care to crash at my place for a while and bring me some of the groceries I left? I’m gonna take care of him don’t worry.” She doubted for a second, but eventually let go.

You placed Blitzø in the couch, as you went in the kitchen and grabbed some water for him. Putting the water down, you turned on the tv. After a while of changing through programs you felt a little tug on your things, your head snapping to the sheets as you saw the imp trying to get through your pants. You couldn’t deny it was so fucking hot, still, you pushed him down a little.

“Hey, HEY boss hold on are you all right?” You asked, as he gave you a smirk and relied his head slightly on your inner thigh “I am.. Fiinee” you didn’t believe that because of the tone on his voice. You were about to protest when you felt a sharp but so, so euphoric pain on your inner thigh making a laud moan like whine slip out of your lips.

You felt how the tips of his fingers played through the hem of your underwear, now this was a whole new level. Of course you weren’t a virgin but this, this was different. His fingers slipping in so secure under your underwear touching your aching core, taking high pitched whimpers out of you..

. . .

The next morning, Blitzø woke up in his bed naked. The morning light hurting his eyes as he hugged his own figure, he repositioned himself rubbing his eyes and letting a deep sigh off. He didn’t remember much of last nigh, he could’ve sworn that Loony was the one who brought him back to his place—..

Then, he saw it. Some of your clothes on the floor, he remembered. The long lasting night, the moans, the sounds, how his room was filled with filthy sounds and laughter. The way he grabbed the bare flesh of your thigh as he thrusted deep and rough inside of you. The way you scratched his back so deliciously because of his thrusts, but it was strange. Why were your clothes here if he woke up alone?

It was just a one night thing, this is how it always went for him. You guys fuck and then leave, it was a routine for more that he hated it. That was just how things go, his thoughts stopped when he heard the door opening. You with one of his shirts on and your underwear, “Already up?” You said, you could’ve sworn that he was going to sleep till more later.

Blitz then traced his eyes through your shoulders, how it was laced with Bites and hickeys. You noticed this and chuckled slightly “don’t worry, I’ll get rid of them eventually. Come on, breakfast is ready.” You said walking off to the kitchen leaving a confused Blitzø behind.

This was supposed to be a one night stand thing, but why did you stayed? Weren’t you going to leave? He wasn’t complaining, I mean free breakfast is a win. But it still made him crack a smile.

So it’s safe to say that it wasn’t weird when that “one night stand” turned into three, and three into seven and slowly they didn’t seem like just “meet up to fuck” anymore.

#blitzo #helluva boss x reader #helluva blitzo #helluva boss #i should use some sleep now I’m tired asf #Random writing energy boost at eleven pm #hazbin hotel #helluva loona #helluva x reader #helluva beelzebub #helluva boss verosika #helluva boss blitzo #helluva blitzø #blitzo x reader

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seungkw1 · 2 months

Text

car ride — bsk

[18+ mdni] wc: 1.4k

the car door shuts behind your boyfriend as he enters the backseat. he signals to the driver - the car begins to move.

the dinner had been fine, the food was decent and the company was tolerable. you don't mind these company outings with his coworkers, but they're never particularly exciting.

tonight, however, you had an agenda.

you took your time getting ready beforehand - making it a point to distract seungkwan by walking around in your underwear, trying to seduce him to abandon the plans so he could fuck you all night instead. but, this dinner was a particularly important one, so you knew you had to give it up and cooperate. the look on his face as he sat on the bed and watched you get dressed, however, informed you that his mind was in the same place as yours.

at the bougie restaurant, your hand kept slipping over to his lap under the tablecloth. you didn't do anything more than that - just gently caressed his muscular thigh that you find incredibly attractive (he is well aware of this fact - you tell him frequently). he maintained his composure, conversing easily with all the important people at the company as his outgoing nature allows. but, the way he kept grabbing onto your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours as he held you against his thigh, and the subtle glances he flashed at you from time to time were a dead giveaway: he too wanted to get the fuck out of there.

he was outwardly at ease as you waited for the driver to pull the car up, cordially bidding adieu to his coworkers. but now that you’re alone in the car with him, the look on his face tells you he has been restraining himself for hours now - and he’s not about to let you get away with teasing him all night like that.

you bite your lip to conceal your smile at the thought of what he’s going to do to you for it. he notices anyway.

“proud of yourself, are you baby?” he says as he reaches over, cupping your face in his hand lightly.

you bat your eyelashes at him to taunt him further as you play dumb. “i don't know what you mean, babe.”

his grip tightens gently on your face, grasping your chin as he draws your face into his, his lips lingering immediately before yours.

“oh i think you do, love.”

you try to kiss him, your lips desperate to taste his, but he holds your face firmly, not allowing you to do so just yet. you pout and make your saddest puppy eyes at him. he smirks back at you as he licks his lips.

leaning forward he knocks twice at the driver. the driver receives the signal, and rolls up the partition. with a click the opaque black screen locks into place. privacy at last.

he turns back to you. as his one hand cradles your face, the other makes its way to the bulge that has quickly formed in his pants. palming his cock through his trousers, he kisses you slowly. as his kiss grows more passionate he reaches for your hand, drawing it to the hardening bulge. you feel its weight in your hand, its thick shape hardening further as you caress it. he lets out a low hum, his mouth vibrating against yours.

you whine as he breaks free from your kiss, but he begins to unbuckle his belt, looking at you with intense lust in his eyes. he doesn't even need to say anything - you obediently slide off the seat, taking your place on your knees between his legs. he pulls his cock out, giving it a few strokes as his free hand begins to gather your hair at the back of your head. he grasps your hair in his fist, pulling on your head - forcing you to look up at him. holding his cock he traces the head over your lips - you stick your tongue out slightly, licking up the precum that has formed at its tip. you take the very end of his cock between your lips, sucking ever so slightly. you don't take your eyes off him - you watch him watching you, the expression on his face carnal as you lick the end of his cock.

“think you can get away with trying to turn me on all night like that?” you take the head in your mouth, wetting it as your tongue dances across it. “you should know better than that, baby girl.” he pushes down on your head - you take the rest of his length in your mouth, gagging on him, your eyes locked into his as you swallow him to his base.

“but you like this, don't you baby.” he pulls your hair, guiding your mouth back up his length before pushing down again. “you like acting like a little brat so that i’ll have to teach you a lesson.” your pace increases as you continue to move your mouth up and down his length - but his grip on your hair doesn't loosen. “you like having my cock in your pretty little mouth, don't you.”

you look up at him, nodding, teary eyed, unable to answer with his size filling up your throat. he leans his head back onto the seat as you swallow his cock, up and down - letting out low moans as his hips begin to buck slightly. before long you feel his cock throbbing against your lips, desperate to cum.

“oh fuck, that's my good girl,” he groans, his voice low and gravelly. “gonna cum baby.”

his hips thrust upward as you feel him release, warm white ropes hitting the back of your mouth as he holds your head down, moaning as he pushes his cock further into your throat. it pulsates in your mouth as you feel him start to come down from his high, giving you every last drop of his cum. his grip on your hair loosens - he strokes your hair as his body relaxes into his seat. you slowly remove his length from your mouth, sucking gently as you go, swallowing all of his cum.

you give his skin a few soft kisses as his cock rests against his stomach, still throbbing slightly. he then pulls you back up, pushing you into the seat as his hand slides under your skirt, running up your inner thigh. he reaches your cunt, tracing his fingers over your thoroughly soaked underwear. he lets out a low hum.

“i knew you were turned on baby, i didn't realize you were this desperate.”

you whimper as he slips two fingers under the fabric, feeling the wetness of your folds. his fingertips graze over your clit - it pulsates instantly at the stimulation, so sensitive from being needy all night. your hips begin to rock back and forth at the rhythmical sensation. you feel his lips against your neck, giving you soft little pecks as his fingers circle your bud. then, he slides his fingers into your dripping cunt - you moan as he begins to fuck you, his long fingers curving perfectly to hit you in just the right spot. he slides in and out of you, the sensation sending you over the edge. your orgasm rapidly approaches - your body begins to shake as your walls squeeze around his fingers.

“fuck, i'm cumming, seungkwan-”

you cry out at the waves of pleasure that overtake your whole body, screaming his name as you cum on his fingers. every nerve in your body is electrified as you ride out your high - you're a moaning whimpering mess. you start to come down - he slows his pace, his fingers sliding in and out of you steadily now, your soaked core throbbing.

your body relaxes, sinking into your boyfriend’s side. he slowly pulls his fingers out of you, bringing them up to his mouth and lapping up every last bit of your juices. he pulls you into a warm embrace, kissing the top of your head.

“you know,” you say after several blissful moments of silence, “i'm not entirely sure if this thing is soundproof.” you gesture to the raised partition.

seungkwan laughs, the musical sound dancing in your ears. “oops.”

“whatever,” you say with a smile. “that was absolutely worth it.”

“my baby feels good?” he asks you, his arm wrapped around you rubbing you softly. you feel the car slow to a stop.

“soooooo good,” you giggle.

“perfect,” he says as he takes your chin in his hand, pulling your face up to look at him - a mischievous grin lighting up his face. “because i'm not done with you yet.”

—

a/n: he posted that picture of him in the car today and i actually lost my fucking mind. i simply had to write this or i was gonna explode. my fellow boosadans - this one's for you <3

#ren's fics ੈ♡₊˚•.#boo seungkwan #seungkwan x reader #seungkwan smut #seungkwan imagines #seungkwan scenarios #seungkwan fics #svt fics #svt smut #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen fics #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines

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stvharrngton · 2 years

Text

three or four times

a/n: my weaknesses are titles and endings so I apologise if they are horrible ghsjdjdj. the more I read this the more I dislike it but I just couldn’t leave it unfinished

pairing: steve harrington x henderson!fem reader

word count: 2.2k

warnings: enemies to lovers sorta, a little angsty, swearing, steve pining asf

prompt: “last time i checked, you guys were at each others' throats. how come you're sending heart eyes every time you see her now?"

requests are open!

The first time Steve thought you were pretty was in high school. You a year younger, leaning against your locker books held close to your chest, talking to another girl from your year - someone from Steve’s history class he was sure.

The way the pink skirt you wore hugged your waist, teased at your thighs, the clean frilly white socks a stark contrast to your dirty Converse. You giggled with your friend as you tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. Steve was gone right there and then, your laugh intoxicating - the way your lips reached your cheeks sending a pang right to his heart.

I’m in love, Steve thought.

He sauntered past you and your friend - Rachel, maybe? Nah. A smirk plastered on his face, his hand raised so he could wiggle his fingers at you in greeting, his left eye closing in a wink. Tommy H and his friends hollering in a trail after him, clasping him on the shoulder.

I hate Steve Harrington, you thought. And his dickbag friends.

The second time Steve thought you were pretty was during the fall of 1984. Your younger brother having claimed Steve as his sidekick for whatever problem he was trying to solve. You rolled your eyes at the notion of Dustin being involved with Steve, claiming he was an asshole.

But as you ended up with your brother, Max and Lucas and unfortunately, Steve, at the junkyard trapped in the broken down bus your irritation subsided for fear. You shielded the kids behind you whilst you watched Steve cling onto his studded bat - ready to swing.

Once the Demodogs had scampered off and the coast was clear, he turned to you and the kids. All charming smile and smugness complete with that damn wink again. You rolled your eyes at the gesture.

“Knock it off, Harrington,” you scoffed, “let’s go.”

Arms crossing over your chest hugging yourself as you all began the long walk home, attempting to provide a slither of comfort to your cold body. Eyes trained on Lucas and Max bickering in front of you, Steve and Dustin lingering behind you.

Steve couldn’t stop staring. Granted, it was dark and he was staring at the back of your head but his eyes were glued to your figure. When you turned your head to check on Dustin he caught a glimpse of your face.

Cheeks pink and the tip of your nose tinted red, eyes glassy and your hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, two curly strands framing either side of your face. Steve’s brow furrowing at the thought of you being cold; wanting to wrap you up in the biggest blanket he owned. You were cute, Steve thought. So very cute.

When you finally made it back to your house, you sped up to your front door ready to be greeted by the warmth of the inside, Dustin held Steve back - his arm falling back against his stomach to stop him.

A glance at you before he turned to the older boy next to him, “What’s going on with you?” Dustin whispered.

“What?” his eyes fell over to you, watching you dig in your pockets for your key, “What are you talkin’ about?”

“Don’t play dumb with me! I’ve seen you ogling her all day!”

Steve scoffed, “Your sister? Henderson I-“

“You’ve been making googly eyes at her all day, Steve! Whatever this is,” Dustin mocked, fingers drawing imaginary lines between you and Steve, “stop it. She’s off limits.”

Finally fishing the key from your jacket pocket, you turned it in the lock, your brows joining together at the sight of Steve and Dustin having some sort of agitated conversation, “Dustin! Move your ass, come on.” you whisper-shouted into the night.

“Coming!” Dustin called out to you, rushing his way over to your house, not before he turned back to Steve, “Off. Limits.” he stated, gesturing back to you.

Steve could only hold his hands up in defeat, waving you both inside your house before beginning the walk down the street to his own. It was then that Steve Harrington forced himself to hate you for the sake of your meddling little brother.

The third time Steve thought you were pretty was the beginning of summer ‘85. The thick Indiana air hot and sticky, all busy days at the local pool and cherry slushies. Steve managed to get a job at the new Starcourt mall - Scoops Ahoy ice cream parlour complete with the uniform of a sailor.

Unfortunately for Steve that job came with a co-worker, that co-worker being your best friend, Robin. Making your appearances at Scoops reoccurring and making Steve’s situation ten times harder than it already was.

As if on cue, you sauntered into the ice cream shop making a beeline for the counter and Steve couldn’t help but stare, cloth wiping the counter in circular motion on automatic. You looked pretty, so pretty, no, beautiful actually. High-waisted denim shorts pulled in at your waist with a cute red belt, tight black t-shirt donning the logo of the clothing store you worked at hugging your chest, finished with your red-rimmed sunglasses in the shape of hearts perched on top of your head, freckles sprayed across your face.

Your soft pudgy thighs on show for everyone to see and it drove him crazy, you did it on purpose, he swore. You dinged the bell on the counter obnoxiously, snapping the boy back to reality.

Steve scrambled to look natural, like he wasn’t so obviously staring at you.

“Nice get up, Harrington.” you teased, an outstretched finger pointing to his outfit.

He rolled his eyes at you, “Can I suggest you get some new jokes?” scooper in hand, ready, “The usual, Henderson?”

“And can I suggest you become less of an asshole?” you said, “but yes, please.”

The boy scoffed at you, “Sure, anything for you.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes now, slapping your dollar bills down on the counter and snatching the small cup of mint choc chip from Steve.

“You’re welcome!” he shouted after you as you went to sit at your usual booth to wait for Robin. You didn’t mean to be such a brat but you couldn’t help it; Steve just irritated you. It’s not like you didn’t want to get along with him, but he was just unnecessarily mean lately so you gave it back as good as you got.

Storming through to the back Steve slumped into one of the chairs in the break room, hards carding through his hair in pure frustration. He sighed, calling out to his co-worker, “Robin! That piece of work you call a best friend is out there waiting for you!”

“Have you tried, I don't know, actually talking to her instead of bickering all the time?” Robin pondered, “I think you would actually get along great.” A scowl her only response.

Robin left Steve in the break room wondering if there was any chance that you felt the same and why the hell he was letting your little brother control his love life.

Present day and Steve was head over heels, he was convinced.

You could only grimace when Dustin invited you over to Steve’s place - an afternoon by the pool in his backyard where he would be shirtless? Awful, you thought. But your brother insisted he needed a ride and that Robin would be there and so you reluctantly agreed.

Steve could only gawp when you arrived, Dustin in tow. Tiny shorts that barely covered your ass, red strap of your bikini top peaking beneath your shirt as it hung off your shoulder.

Sweet brown eyes trained on you all day from behind his signature black RayBans, Steve was sure if anyone could see his pupils they would be blown, full of affection for someone he could never have. A soft smile plastered all over his face as he watched you giggle with your brother and his friends, as you lathered yourself in suncream, kicking himself when he didn’t offer to help when you couldn’t quite reach your back.

Steve sat at the edge of the pool, long legs dangling in the cool of the water. Palms pressed into the flat of the grass, head back letting the sun kiss all of his moles and freckles in the way he wished you would. A nudge to his knee brought his gaze back down to the culprit.

“Last time I checked, you guys were at each others’ throats. How come you’re sending heart eyes every time you see her now?” Robin questioned, eyes looking up at Steve before glancing back at you on the sun lounger.

Fuck. He tried not to be obvious, thought the sunglasses would shield his eyes from everyone else. That they would hide the way his gaze lingered a little too long on the cherry red bikini you wore, how the barely there ties were high on your hips, how you looked so damn pretty.

“I literally have no idea what you’re talkin’ about, Robin.”

Robin simply chuckled at the boy, “Sure, Stevie. Do you like her?”

A sigh, a shrug. Steve really couldn’t be bothered to have this conversation with his co-worker turned best friend right now. Especially when you were here looking like that by his pool.

As the afternoon turned into evening, the energy of the group simmered down a little. The kids moving inside to devour and pick at the pizza and snacks provided. Steve watched you from his kitchen - beer in hand as your feet curled into the grass beneath. A shit mumbled from his lips, he made his way outside to you, sitting on the lounger next to yours.

“Hey,” he whispered, “how come you’re outside by yourself?”

Never looking at him, you shrugged, “I like the quiet.”

Steve watched through his lashes as you sipped your beer, lips turned down, no sparkle in your eyes. You looked sad. All he could muster was a nod in reply.

Your tongue clicked against your teeth, you turned to Steve now, “Why do you hate me, Steve?” you paused, eyes glassy as they bore into his dark brown ones.

His brows furrowed together at your question, “Hate you? I don’t hate you, what makes you say that?” he feigned ignorance.

You shrugged, the label on your beer bottle becoming more interesting. “Dunno, I just- you’re so mean sometimes.”

Steve’s heart shattered into pieces, he was sure, like you reached right into his chest and stomped all over it. If only you knew how he really felt.

“I don't-” he stammered, looking for some sort of reason to give you, like you had just caught him in headlights, “I can’t, you just have to believe me, sweetheart. I don’t want to be mean.”

The endearing term all but stopped you in your tracks. You sniffled, bleary eyes narrowing questioning what he was saying, “What do you mean?”

Shit. Shit, shit, fuck. Well, it was now or never, Steve thought.

“It was Dustin.” Steve hushed, like he almost didn’t want to nark on your little brother. Like he didn’t want to admit he let a 14 year old have a say in his love life.

“Dustin?!” you screeched, “What do you mean, Dustin?” Arms flailing into your lap.

“I- he said you were off limits, that I couldn’t, that we couldn't..” he trailed off, “so I thought it might be easier this way, I wouldn’t fall hopelessly in love but I was so wrong.”

“Steve,” you whined, “why on Earth would you listen to that little shithead?”

The boy chuckled, fingers tugging at his brown locks, shrugging, “He was just trying to protect you, I kinda admired it.” he paused, contemplating what to say next, “And I don’t exactly have the best track record,” his gaze flicked down to the ground now, “I know you thought I was an asshole in high school.”

You rolled your eyes now, “That was high school, Steve. It’s not like you’re the King of Hawkins High anymore, right?” you said, hopeful.

A breathy laugh left his lips as he nodded, his eye trained on you as he watched you stand and sit yourself next to him on the lounger. Knees knocking and shoulders brushing.

“Did you mean it?” you asked.

“Hm?” he looked up at you with confusion.

“What you said,” a smile toying on your lips, eyelashes fluttering up at the boy, “that you were hopelessly in love with me?”

A blush crept across his cheeks, heat prickling the back of his neck but he grinned at you nonetheless, “Yeah, yeah I did.”

Steve laced his fingers with your own then, the foreign feeling welcome and comforting. A touch that said I'm here and I'll take whatever you're willing to give me. Steve’s gaze fell to your lips, plump and inviting, before climbing back to your eyes.

You shifted next to him, your free hand came to sit on top of his thigh as you inched ever closer. Then Steve’s lips were on yours. It was soft and slow, the dim taste of warm beer and his strawberry chapstick crowding your senses. You sighed into the kiss, Steve licking into you all pretty, like he had been wanting to do this for a long, long time.

His hand came to cup your cheek, thumb soothing the pink of your sunburn as you broke the kiss. Chest heaving and Steve's forehead resting against your own. Eyes dreamy and thick with honey, nothing but pure adoration washing over his features.

You both burst into a fit of giggles, eyes lighting up like the stars in the night sky. Giddy and full of excitement.

“Good to know.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x henderson reader #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fanfiction #I had the ending pictured and planned so clear so we had to get there somehow fellas #don't know what I think of this but yeah he we go I guess #k.fic #the henderson reader trope really has me in a chokehold

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lostdreamr-blog1 · 15 days

Text

Pinky Promise 3

Part 1

Part 2

Word count: 2K

Pairings: Jake Seresin X Reader

A/N: Round 3 of Pink Promise! I have a few more I want to put out, but if you have something you want to see in them let me know! It's been a lot of fun writing these. Thanks for reading!!

The two of you were sitting around Jake’s house eating takeout Chinese food. Some old movie was playing on the TV. For some reason Jake preferred the classics but you found them to be incredibly boring. It was often you found yourself in this same position, sprawled out on his couch, sitting in a comfortable silence as you watched another movie you couldn’t retell the plot of.

Which is why in that moment you chose to say, “I got into medical school.”

It was nearly comical watching him choke on the spoonful of rice. He sat up and looked over to you, still coughing up those last pieces. “I’m sorry. What did you just say?” The look he gave you was disbelief mixed with something else. Something you hadn’t seen before.

“I don’t think I stuttered.” You took a bite of an egg roll and waited for his mind to catch up.

“Medical school? For doctors?” You couldn’t help but smirk at his choice of questions. “Yes, like for doctors. I thought pilots were supposed to be smart?”

He shook his head and laughed, “When the hell did you have time for that?”

You finished off the egg roll and shrugged your shoulders, “What do you think I do all day while you’re at work?”

This path you took was one you had been on for a while Everyone saw you as the girl who parties, the one who doesn’t care about the outcome of her decisions. But it couldn’t be farther from the truth. And instead of showing people how wrong they were about you, you let them form their very low opinions. Pleasing people was never one of your strong points and a few judgmental comments weren’t going to tear you down.

Jake was clearly still processing things but paused the movie to give you his full attention. What he said next though, nearly made you cry right then and there.

“I am so proud of you, sweetheart. Holy crap you are going to be a doctor.” He got up and pulled you into a tight hug. It was then the look on his face made more sense. It was a look of pride, and one you hadn’t gotten before.

“Tell me all about it. Where are you going? When do you start?” His enthusiasm for this made you feel something that part of you was afraid to feel. This man was slowly becoming your best friend, which is why you pushed down all other feelings. No need to ruin a good thing.

“Well, I decided I wanted to stay close to home and was lucky enough to get into the University of California San Diego. My GPA was a little short of what they wanted, but I killed the interview. Something about your dad dying while fighting for his country tends to pull on heartstrings.”

Jake shook his head, “You did not pull that card.”

You waved a hand at him, “Please. I would be dumb not to. I also threw in about staying close to the base in case anything happened to Bradley. And that I might follow in the family footsteps one day.”

Jake’s head tilted at the last part. “You are not enlisting. I draw the line at that.”

You rolled your eyes at him, “Down tiger. All I meant was that I would want to work at a hospital close to base. The one all of you get sent to when something goes wrong.”

Relief was evident as he exhaled. “I don’t think the military could handle you anyway.”

It was true. You were never one to follow orders well. Plus having a third Bradshaw in the Navy would be too much for anyone.

You picked the remote back up and resumed the movie. While Jake thought this was a big deal, you were ready to get back to the movie night. You still had a few months until school started anyway.

The movie had been playing for a few minutes, but you could feel eyes on you every now and then. “Is something the matter?”

You glanced over to the man next to you and watched him shake his head. “Nothing. You just keep surprising me, that’s all.”

“Well, either turn your attention back to this movie or I’m putting something better on. Maybe something made in this decade.” A chuckle graced your ears and a quick, “Yes ma’am.”

It wasn’t until the credits were running that he said, “You better not forget about me when you become a big shot doctor.”

“I don’t think I could forget about you even if I tried.” And it was the truth. That one drunken call has led you to one of the best things in life.

“Pinky promise you won’t.” He had his signature smirk on full display as he held out his pinky for you to shake on. You happily gave him yours, thrilled that the Top Gun pilot has accepted this form of promises.

When he pulled away, he asked, “What made you want to become a doctor?” It was a simple question with a very loaded answer.

“When my mom was sick, it was just me and her most of the time. Bradley was off at the academy, something she wouldn’t tell him but absolutely hated. And I found myself wanting to give her some sort of joy to offset my brother’s choices. I made her a promise that I was going to graduate and get a degree in something. Something that would make a difference. It took a while to figure out what that was, but the look of pride on her face when I said medical school, I only wish I had a photo of that single moment.

“When there were days I questioned if I could do it or if I even still wanted to, I think back to that conversation and all doubts went out the window. There are very few things in life I want more than graduating from med school which is why I worked so hard to even get it.” Jake wiped a tear that I didn’t know had fallen.

“She would’ve been happy that you accomplished a goal while still holding onto yourself. That you had fun while doing it. Not too many people can find that balance which tells me you are going to do amazing. But if you ever need some sort of motivation or a simple distraction from school, you can call me anytime sweetheart.”

And just like that, you knew Jake Seresin was going to be in your life for as long as you could keep him.

After the incident a little while back, your brother made an effort to be more present in your everyday life. Which meant he was currently over at your apartment criticizing how you were making dinner.

“At any point you can either cook yourself or shut up.” Bradley held up his hands in surrender.

“All I’m saying is that you are going to burn the bottom of it if you don’t stir it more often.” You turned around from the food and pointed the utensil in your hand at him. Which just so happened to be a knife.

“Listen here bird boy. My house, my rules which means you can sit your judgmental ass down before I do something you can’t bounce back from. Last I checked you needed all ten fingers to fly.”

Again, he held up his hands and thankfully kept his mouth shut while you finished up. It wasn’t too much longer before you were dishing out food for the two of you and sitting down to eat it like a normal family. The two of you sat in silence while you ate, neither of you knowing what to say.

It was like this most nights. After your mom died Bradley threw himself into his work, leaving you to fend for yourself. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but the two of you grew apart as the years went on, leaving you to call your brother only when you needed help. This is what formed his new picture of you. He only saw you when you were at your worst.

But he was trying and the least you could do was meet him halfway.

“You know how you see me as careless and not at all organized with life?” You watched as your brother sighed and shook his head.

“We have gone over this. That is not how I see you. We just have different goals in life and that’s fine.” You waved him off.

“Right. Well, I am pleased to tell you that I’m not as big as a fuck up as you might think. I start med school in a few months.” Bradley dropped his spoon, sending food splattering on the counter.

You watched his facial expressions, looking or hoping for the one you got the other day from Jake. It wasn’t that you needed the validation from your brother, but it would be nice to see it for once.

“Med school? The school where you go to become a doctor?” You snorted at the similar question Jake had asked.

“What is with pilots and their lack of common sense. Yes, Bradley. The school for doctors.” You grabbed a napkin to wipe up the drops of food while he tried to form words.

“How?” You froze at that single word. It shouldn’t surprise you, the lack of faith this man had in you. But it still stung.

“The same way anyone gets in. Ace a test, get decent grades, and interview well. Not too hard when you think about it.” Which wasn’t exactly true. You had a lot of all-nighters, tears shed at the near impossible dream, and many bumps along the way. But you had to do it.

“Mom and dad would be proud of you.” Your eyes met his and you saw something different in them. It wasn’t the pride you were looking for but sadder. Like the weight of those words cut through him.

“I know. I was always trying to follow in your footsteps, even if I did take a longer path. But you know dad would’ve been ecstatic to see you wear the patch he tried so hard for. And mom, well mom would’ve eventually gotten over her fears of you being a pilot and saw how you were born for this. You know that, right?”

He cleared his throat and focused back on his food. “Anyone else know? It’s a pretty big deal.”

You picked up on the change of topic and said, “Your arch nemesis knows. Besides that, the friend list is pretty scarce these days.”

He slowly nodded his head, “You seem to spend a lot of time with him.”

“He’s a good friend. No need to look too far into it. I know the two of you have your issues, but he’s never given me a reason to question his intentions.”

Bradley hummed in response, but he didn’t fully believe you when it comes to only being friends. He’s seen the way Jake is at work, but with you he was completely different. You might not see it or are trying to ignore it, but he knew better.

“Are you and him still at each other’s throats?” Bradley rolled his eyes, “It’s not my fault he thinks he’s better than everyone else. He’s insufferable.”

You grabbed the finished plates and took them to the sink. “You know what would get under his skin? If you laughed at everything he said. I think that would rile him up good.”

Bradley squinted his eyes at you, “I thought the two of you were friends? Why would you tell me that?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “He is always listening to me complain about you. This way he can do it for once so it’s more even.”

Bradley threw his napkin at you and shook his head, “You’re a jerk, you know that?”

You threw him one of Jake’s signature smirks, “But I’m your jerk.”

Tag List: @rosiahills22 @sunlitsunflowers @dempy @mamaskillerqueen @luckyladycreator2 @atarmychick007 @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @topguncultleader @alilstressyandlotdepressy @avengers-fixation @chaoticcassidy @alldaysdreamers

#hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake hangman x reader #topgun maverick #jake seresin x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #hangman top gun #chelsea writes

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willowser · 6 months

Text

you had only to look at me—

part one.

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 7.4k+

tags: nsfw (18+), childhood best friend bakugou, oral (f!receiving), m!masturbation, lots of "first time" talk, more angst, more virgin bakugou.

even before i was touched, i belonged to you; you had only to look at me. — the burning heart, louise glück.

this is a repost.

you and bakugou avoid each other just like you did in middle school, only it's a little too easy this time around.

he's terrible at texting back in general, and because you're not initiating any conversations on your own — or sending funny memes or bringing up all might in some capacity — the radio silence draws ever on and on.

the closest you come to interacting with him is getting a snapchat from his mom, his figure in the background at their kitchen table. all you can see is the floof of his hair and the outline of his shoulders, but you're so bothered by the fact that he's home and didn't tell you that you don't even respond.

it officiates things in a bad way; he's really, actually not speaking to you.

and it's — fucking annoying.

at least in the past the distance was mutually and wordlessly agreed upon; you didn't talk because you were busy or didn't have time or anything new to say, but whenever he's come home — because he so rarely does — bakugou has always made his usual, god-honest attempt to irritate you.

and he still is, but this time he's doing it all wrong.

you go through the five stages of grief rather quickly, jumping from denial to anger overnight. several times, you type out something to text him, each message different than the last:

i know you were at your mom's jackass ☠️

it's really not a big deal and i think we should just forget about it, if that's what you wanna do ?

if i crossed some kind of boundary with you then i'm sorry and i won't say that again so you better call me before i put your baby pictures on the internet. i'm serious.

you're my best friend and i don't think it's weird that it happened. if you're being dumb because you're embarrassed, then don't be because i thought it was really hot

unsurprisingly, you don't send any of these and instead just stew in your own aggravation. lunch with him after the whole thing had been just as empty and awkward, and you think he chose the place near your apartment just so you could walk home and he didn't have to spend another second with you.

three months go by, which isn't long compared to other stints you've spent not talking to one another, but this one drags. like a lot. the only good that comes from it is that you graduate from anger to acceptance, finalizing a future without him in it.

except for the few times he invades your brain like a little parasite, red-faced and shuddering, gripping you like a lifeline, and then your stomach flips so hard that you feel sick and it takes genuine effort to check out of that daydream and back into a bakugou-less reality.

and then he shows up at your apartment, uninvited.

his mom hosts a sunday dinner that you don't go to, for several potential reasons. one would be that you'll have to see bakugou and pretend like nothing's happened even though you're still a little peeved; two is that you'll both ignore each other, and that'll reverse all your progress because he's been ignoring you already.

three is that he might not show up, and then you'll have to pretend that it doesn't bother you all night long.

none of that sounds better than watching trash television and falling asleep on your couch, so you tell mitsuki that you're very sick and very sorry, and that you'll make it up to her later.

because of this, the first thing bakugou says to you after you swing the front door open is, "you're supposed to be fuckin' dead."

suffice to say, you're surprised to see him; still outfitted in his hero costume, mask shoved up his forehead so that his hair is wilder than usual. there's kohl smudged around his eyes, messy, and they look brighter and harsher because of it.

there's also a family-mart plastic bag in his right hand.

"what?"

he just grunts, eyes snapping over your figure, dressed down in a too-large sweater and athletic shorts meant for running even though you've never done so in them.

in his hands — still gloved — the plastic crinkles obnoxiously as he holds it out. "old hag told me to bring this to you."

a can of low sodium soup, two apples, gatorade, and something over-the-counter for nausea. there's something else at the very bottom that you don't get the chance to inspect before he interrupts with his big, fat mouth.

"y'look fine to me, so why the hell didn't you go?"

you frown at him and — don't know what to say. clearly, it seems he's going the pretend-it-never-happened route, which is infuriating because he could just as well have done that months ago. even still, he won't hardly meet your gaze, staring for only a moment before rolling his eyes and huffing, sticking them anywhere else. if you peek close, real close, you'd say his ears are a little red, but maybe you're just looking for — something.

you shrug. "didn't feel like it."

he shakes his head like that's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, eyebrow arched. "why the hell not?"

"because, bakugou, i just didn't feel like going, i don't know what else to tell you." you huff, shrugging again when he doesn't say anything. "thanks for the stuff. is that it?"

his lips twist as he thinks, giving you another once-over before sighing. under his tank-top, you watch how his chest expands, the grimace that ripples over his face as he reaches a hand to lightly feel at his right side. "need your help with somethin'."

now you're just being petulant; you snort, raising your eyebrows as his eyes narrow at the sound. "me? are you joking? you need my help with—"

he groans loud enough to drown you out. "y'gonna let me in or y'just gonna run your mouth?" and so you step aside to wave him in wordlessly.

the backpack on his shoulder dumps to the ground by the door and he strolls into the kitchen like he owns the place, despite the fact that he's never been here before. you've lived in the unit for a year, but meetups are so infrequent and showing it off to him was never considered — until now; watching him shuffle through the bag on the counter, your nerves spike at the reality check.

alone together, again. in your apartment. well after dark.

that image of him is so — invasive, sweeping in at the worst times: between your legs, face as red as his eyes, the little moan he kept trying to swallow. how embarrassed he seemed when you asked if he felt good, if you felt good, and the fact that he still admitted it despite everything.

your entire body blazes like a flame to gasoline, and you try to focus on what else he's taking out of the bag, oblivious.

does he think about it at all? the way you have? at the root of the situation, that's what has been most bothersome: is he grossed out? simply embarrassed? does he feel taken advantage of? did he enjoy it and just doesn't know how to say it? the not knowing is driving you insane.

"i got—" bakugou awkwardly angles his body, gently touching at his side again. in his hands is a simple pack of first-aid supplies, like a wound wash and bandages and medical tape. "need you to change this shit for me."

"oh?" is all you can manage to say, still distracted, and whatever is obvious in your voice has his eyes snapping to you from across the kitchen, adam's apple bobbing. you clear your throat, struggling for normalcy. "the hell did you do?"

he's — going to take his shirt off. clearly, by the way he stretches out his shoulders and then slowly reaches behind himself to grab the material by the back, carefully pulling it up over his head with a low, stinging hiss.

bakugou's always been a lean kid — guy — but pulled so taut like that, after years of working out muscles you didn't even know he had, he looks — stupidly shredded, and the slow reveal of his tight stomach is not helping you to focus.

you just never realized how hot it was, because you never looked at him like that. until recently.

his mask comes off with his shirt and he tosses both onto the kitchen counter — again, as if he pays the bills here — and his hair is a mess and he usually doesn't care, but he runs a hand through it several times before finally looking back at you, eyes outlined in black.

"y'gonna help me or...?" he shrugs, trying to appear impassive — but it's too obvious; something's shifted, for the both of you.

you don't trust your voice anymore, so you just shuffle over to him, frowning at the dirty, worn bandage that's already unsticking from his skin. with his teeth, he pulls off his gloves and it's a wonder why he even wears them, really, because his hands are filthy underneath, covered in soot and black-stained grease.

standing like he is, arm slightly raised, you can see all his sweat, muscles shifting under his skin as he breathes, and his hairy armpit is staring you in the face and you don't know when he stopped being 12 and started being 20 and when he became such a man. it's not fair, that he should suddenly be so — attractive.

"you're disgusting," you tell him — and mean it — and it's met with such hot and irritated surprise that you have to keep talking before he explodes. "you should probably take a shower before putting on a new bandage."

it's road-rash up his right side, still shiny and wet and blood red. still raw. just looking at it is enough to make you cringe.

bakugou huffs, exasperated. "okay, gimme a towel then."

"i didn't mean take a shower here!" you squawk, taking a step back as if to further yourself from the suggestion.

detonation imminent; bakugou curls his hands into fists and the same muffled warning you've been getting your whole life crackles. "okay," he says, voice thin and razor sharp. "you're coming back to mine then?"

your whole life flashes before your eyes — or at least the few minutes it took for him to lose his shit between your legs. "what? no, why would i?"

"i need your help with this, dip-shit!"

"you're saying there's no one else that can—"

"if you want me to fuck off, just say so!"

things go silent, startlingly so. totally still, except for the rising flush across his face, one that you used to read as annoyance but are now translating into something else you never could have expected from him: embarrassment. it's starting to give you whiplash, how much you're discovering despite knowing him all your life.

"closet is at the end of hall," you say in surrender. "bathroom will be on your left."

bakugou mutters a quiet, angry little "jesus" before stalking back to the front door to get his bag, and then he's disappearing into the dark of your apartment.

you slump down on your couch and — struggle. watching the tv and absorbing nothing; it's a rerun anyway. the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry washes over you as the shower spray sounds in the background, followed by a low-timbered swear and the clatter of several bottles against the tub.

it's easy to butt heads with bakugou. you don't think there is any other way to interact with him, really, because he's so argumentative and that used to be okay, but now things are — off. you don't know what he's doing, what he wants, why he's here and in your shower when he could be at home or getting patched up at his agency. all the conclusions you can come to are frightening, a little, and they're hard to fathom; is he — does he want more?

is this just because he's a guy that got some action and is looking for a second round, or is this because it's you?

this stupid situation has only added an unnecessary amount of drama to your life, and you think maybe the pretend-it-never-happened route is the smartest path, even if you can't stop thinking about him and the strength coiled in his biceps, in his shoulders, and how tall he's become and — when did he lose most of the baby fat in his face, and when did he get such a sharp jawline?

how much is he working out, to get his body like that? he used to be a skinny, scrappy little thing and now — he can probably lift a truck over his head. must run all the time, though he's always been active, and you've never looked before, but you wonder how nice his ass is.

what he looks like under the shower, soapy and wet.

furiously, you blink out of your daydream, feeling like a foreign body in your own skin; if someone would have told you only a handful of months ago that you'd be having weird, sensual thoughts about your best friend, you would have laughed so hard you'd cried. or puked.

but if anyone else stands in that picture with him, your heart squeezes painfully. traitorously. already, you've shared so many memories with him; the start of elementary school, learning how to swim, giving each other equally bruised faces, staying up all night to study for important exams, tackling middle school graduation side-by-side, him making himself at home in your first apartment, just as you had done in his.

the devil on your shoulder asks: what's a few more firsts?

it seems like the shower stops in record time, but when you hone back in on the tv, the episode has changed and new drama is settling in. distantly, the rattle of the doorknob is more aggressive than it needs to be and when the echo of a swung-open door trails down the hallway, your heart suspends in your throat. never have you had to think this much just to be around him, and it's bothersome.

clean and relaxed, he's — softer; you spare a quick glance at him when he comes to stand beside the couch, distracted by the show on screen, and his hair is damp, starting to stick out again the more it dries. his muscles aren't made of marble anymore; still there and rippling, but he breathes calmly and his skin is baby smooth, tender. you eye his tummy and the line of fine hair running down into the waistband of his sweats, and do your best to ignore the sudden desire to kiss right above his belly-button.

"since when are they talking again?"

just as he looks at you, your gaze shoots back to the screen, eyes narrowing as you try to rapidly remember what's happening in the day-to-day for stay-at-home, pro-hero wives.

"uh," you blink, distracted — and he notices, "what do you mean? they've been hanging out, like, all season."

bakugou watches the tv in silence, occasionally glancing down to the bandage in his hands as he carefully spreads it out, as he dampens the towel with the antiseptic and dabs at his wounds.

"even after she hit on whatshername's husband?"

"yeah, that was a misunderstanding," you frown at him but he doesn't see it. "remember when they went to that dinner party and all hell broke loose because—"

his flat look serves for a rude interruption. "they go to a lot of fuckin' dinner parties."

"i know, but," you scoff, annoyed, "have you even watched this season?"

bakugou scoffs, mocking and over-dramatic, "yeah, as if i've got all day to sit on my ass and watch your stupid girly—"

"you're watching it right now."

"because you've got it on!" he huffs when you sink into the couch, resolutely trying to ignore him. “start it over then, if you’re gonna cry about it.”

you gape up at him, going as far as to pause the show so that maybe he’ll acknowledge you and all your annoyance; he doesn’t. “start it over? this is, like, episode 26!”

“so? got a hot date or what?”

he’s not at all interested in the answer and that’s obvious when he spins around and holds out the bandage expectantly, staring down at the scrape — glowing red and angry, a mirrored wound you can feel scabbing across your own skin; itchy and irritating.

finally he looks at you properly, frowning softly and — you see him then, can feel the tension lining his body as you carefully tape on his bandage. trying to hide how uncomfortable he is, though you he’s never had to do so with you in all of — forever. it’s nauseating, and again you're struck by the image of him, only now it's of the horror that had been on his face afterwards, at what you’d done.

it pushes everything over the edge; quietly, so that your voice doesn’t expose anything, you say, “you haven’t spoken to me in three months.”

silence weighs in the air immediately, heavy, and you watch him try to appear unbothered, shrugging as he stares back at the unmoving tv, jaw tight. “phone works both ways.”

“yeah, but,” your hands drop as he steps away to pull on a loose shirt, and you curl your fists into your own. just as he has. “i’m always the one having to reach out—”

“so why didn’t you?”

“what?” frustrated, you massage your temples, trying to soothe the nuclear headache threatening to incinerate you. “are you seriously trying to—”

“what’s the big deal?” he huffs, slumping down into the far corner of the couch before cringing, swearing as he gently touches at his bandage. “you’ve gone longer than that without talkin’ to me, so…”

the tone of his voice is infuriating, as if this is somehow all your fault — and maybe it is, because you shouldn’t have crossed such a boundary with him, but — he can be such a dick.

“it’s not just me bakugou, you could have just as easily picked up the phone, too!” your teeth grind when he shrugs again, leaning his head against his fist as he looks anywhere else. it almost looks like guilt that's dragging his expression down, but you know better than to assume he could feel such a thing. “you always—”

“jesus, if i always do this—”

“shut up for a second, damn!” and then because you can’t stand the stupid look on his face, you kick him in the thigh for good measure; it garners a warning glare, his teeth bared.

he easily catches you by the ankle when you try to kick him again. "tell me what the big fuckin' deal is."

"the big deal? oh, you mean besides the fact that you totally came in your pants?"

it stuns him for a second, eyes wide and face pale, before he's yanking you across the couch, narrowly avoiding the knee aimed for his gut. "you—fucking—!" a smack lands across the back of his head when he ducks and he plants a heavy hand over your face, forcing you to close your eyes and turn away.

"you're gonna blow my head off!"

"if i wanted you dead, you—" he intercepts the hand you blindly reach up with, crossing it awkwardly over your chest so that you're pinned down like a wild animal. "you would be!"

"kiss my ass, katsuki." you snark, and it does something to him, your use of his first name, because he's still for a moment before sitting back and collecting your wrists correctly, to hold against the couch arm above your head.

"you're such a fucking—" he swoops in so low that his nose almost brushes yours and he grabs the front of your sweater with his free hand, like he's gonna shake you down for some lunch money. "fuck, i could just—" and then he groans long and loud, so annoyed he can't find the words.

"yeah, well—"

"shut up," he lightly knocks his forehead into your cheekbone with another dissatisfied sound, letting out a heavy sigh as he sinks his face down into your neck.

all your muscles tighten on instinct, waiting for the sharp bite that's due any second — but his fingers only uncurl from the material of your sweater, slowly slipping around to tangle into the hair at the nape of your neck. his pull there is a little tight, enough for you to know he's got you, but not so much that you're head is aching; you can't imagine you have a sensitive scalp, anyway, after growing up around him.

you want to say something — which is an annoying realization because now you feel like too much of a talker — but you just focus on the heave of his chest over yours, the breath that moves through him. the minute jostle of his hips as he settles further into the space between your legs, almost comfortable. the slight swell of something unfamiliar against your inner thigh.

bakugou presses his face a little further into you, warm, and the tip of his nose drags along the column of your throat. successfully sedating you, distracted by the feel of his parted lips against your skin.

your body is hot all over, very suddenly; the sweater now feels like a death trap and hopefully you don't smell weird, though it's never been a worry before, not around him, and your adrenaline is rushing and you're kinda tired of acting like you don't know why that is.

fuck pretend-it-never-happened. it's been a long three months.

he's almost entirely pressed against you, but there is a small gap of space that closes when you open your legs a little wider, hitching them around his waist as his breath stutters against your neck.

it's happened so quick, so effortlessly yet again; you give a purposeful roll of your hips upward and are lost in him all over.

only — it's different than it was before because straddling his lap hadn't done much for you, but now the weighted outline of him is right against your center and the pressure that drags across you sends tingles up your spine and has your toes curling in your socks. when you let out a tiny gasp at the stomach-flipping sensation, tension coils in every curve of his body and the grip around your wrists and in your hair only tightens.

you can't help it; you let out a "katsuki" in the same heady tone as you did in his apartment and it has him falling easily into the slow grind you've been unable to stop thinking about. what shifts across his face is obvious, against your throat, like the scrunch of his brow and the slow drop of his mouth. he tries to muffle his breathy "oh" into your skin, but it echoes throughout your entire body, has an ache beginning between your thighs that he's already soothing.

the nip comes then, teeth sinking gently into your neck as you weakly cry out in surprise, but it's only for a moment before his tongue — wet and heavy and wide — is tasting over your jugular, lips closing around your skin as he sucks experimentally. you let out a proper moan then, squirming against his hands and up into him so that the pressure doubles for the both of you.

katsuki finally relinquishes your wrists, carding his hand down your body before coming to squeeze your hip, your thigh, locking your leg tight around his waist. "yeah," he rasps, voice deeper than you've ever heard it as he presses his forehead into yours. "how do you fuckin' like it?"

being bitten, he means, vengefully, but you're spread open beneath him and he's rutting the hard length of himself against you roughly, eagerly, and panting open-mouthed and you tighten up at the aggression in his tone and in his hands and his very being and —

"fuck," you gasp, loud and wanton, "fuck, katsuki—"

and then you are kissing your best friend.

the boy from down the street that always ruined your hair and taught you where to place your thumb if you were gonna throw a punch. that used his empty pen cartridge to blow spitballs at you and mocked you for losing crane games, even though he ended up giving you the stupid stuffed animal anyway. that had to be king of the castle, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield. that demanded you be his queen, weeds he picked for you woven carefully into your hair by his hands.

katsuki kisses like he's shy — another term you've never thought of in relation to him and all his fire and brimstone; it's slow and a little delayed in comparison to what his hips are doing, as if he's in his head too much and is trying to figure how to move his lips and when. tentative and chaste, until you run your tongue along the seam of his mouth and pry him open a little more.

it's making you hungry; that possessiveness from before is creeping back in, eager to have him in ways nobody else has. you arch into him, biting at his lips and sighing into his mouth as goosebumps break out across his skin.

with a slant of his head, he deepens the kiss and you can feel his nostrils flaring, the fingernails scratching against your scalp, the bruises he's probably leaving on your thigh. he lets up only to breathe, panting into your ear when he begins to bite and suck on your skin again; your earlobe and neck and even the cut of your jaw. like maybe he's hungry, too.

you fist a hand into his shirt just to tug it up his body, feeling the strong contract of his stomach when your fingers ghost against him. katsuki gets the hint quickly, rising up to his knees to tear the material off — much more harshly than he did before, which has you eying his crinkled bandage — and you move fast to take advantage of the new space.

it gives him pause when you yank down your shorts, pulling your legs back to slip them off and fling them somewhere across the room. his face goes red again, and his heaving chest, too, and his eyelids flutter as he takes in the sight of your flimsy, damp cotton underwear. you start to pull the sweater up your stomach, but he's watching so intently — so ravenous — that you get shy, without a bra underneath the too-hot fabric.

in any other situation, katsuki would have grabbed onto this moment, your hesitation, and held it over your head to come back and poke at. cataloged this little weak spot for future arguments, but now —

not once has he ever been gentle with you in anything; it's enough of a surprise that that's even a possibility for him, for the two of you, but he presses his body back into yours and kisses you deep, calloused fingers tracing over the new skin exposed to him. he doesn't try to push the sweater up any further, but one hand slips up your back, to splay between your shoulder-blades like it had before, and he's so close and you've never known him to be this — careful. with anything.

"y'r so—" katsuki rolls his hips again and groans, whispering against your lips. "fuckin' soft."

his sweatpants are still on and you don't know why, but when you reach down to help tug them off, he grabs your wrist before they can go too far.

he presses the heat from his cheeks into your own, like he wants to share it. "you done this before?"

"have you?"

he frowns at your non-answer. "i asked first."

you have. three times, technically, though a phantom pain echoes in your stomach at the memories, and you feel an odd emptiness in your chest that makes you really glad to have the sweater still on. your answer leaves you a little ashamed, under his gaze, and you purposely turn from it. "would...that bother you?"

before, you wouldn't have cared, didn't care, nor were you even thinking of him when it happened. wherever he must have been; u.a, probably, getting ready to make his lifelong dreams a reality while you trusted a boy that didn't look at you the way katsuki is now. that didn't hold you and touch you and kiss you the way your best friend has.

he scoffs, though it doesn't sound as careless as it usually does and he squeezes his eyes shut so you can't read them. the truth that's hidden there. "no," he lies, "why would—" but he doesn't finish, just sighs.

"it was awful anyway," you tell him, offering a small smile when he peeks down at you. he doesn't say anything, so you kiss him once, twice, until his tension is melting away. "should have been you."

the grip on your thigh turns almost painful and he grinds into you so roughly that you both gasp, loud in the tight, barely-there space between you. "yeah," he rasps, sucking another bruise into the hollow of your throat. "fuckin' should have."

you try to imagine it; eighteen and nervous, naked in front of him for the first time since you were seven and got into paint from his mom's workshop, when she made you both strip down in the same room, furious. how different he might have been with you then, how much more unsure. kinder than your ex, without a doubt, even for katsuki, and he probably wouldn't have even gone through with the whole thing, considering how uncomfortable the first time is.

or maybe it wouldn't have been, with him; maybe he would have looked into it, taken the time to wind you up the same way he is now so that you were eager and wet and ready. looking down at you with his wide, almost-black eyes in the dim light of a table lamp. another first to share.

"if i'd have just," he huffs, allowing his sweats to slip down past his hips. shoulders trembling when he makes you moan out his name again. "fuckin'—grown a pair 'n told you—"

the weight of him becomes more obvious, the straining bulge he's rocking into your core, and seeing it is — really getting to you; wearing such tight boxers, you can tell just how close the pink tip of him is to his waistband, nearly peeking out from just how hard he is.

it takes a shrug to get him out of your shoulder, so you can press your lips back to his. "can still be you, katsuki," you breathe, biting on his bottom lip until his tiny frown is gone. "if you want, it can still be you."

for a minute, he indulges himself in the greedy kiss you're giving him, testing strokes of his tongue against your own as his hips stutter out of rhythm — but it's when your fingers brush through the hair at the base of his stomach, trying to slip a hand into his boxers, that he's gasping into your mouth and pushing his body up and away.

determination settles over his face then — along with his vibrant flush — and he doesn't say anything as he grabs you like it's nothing and scoots you up the couch so that your back is pressed to the arm, propped up. once he settles between your thighs, he just rests his face into the plush of your stomach — which is humiliating and has you squirming, but the firmness returns to his hands; holding your hips so that you'll still, so that he can kiss right above your belly button, just as you wanted to do to him.

heat flares in your own cheeks — and down your chest and in your ears and searing on the back of your neck — when you feel the first puff of his warm breath against your underwear, where you're sensitive and slick and aching.

this is completely new to you; your ex-boyfriend probably never considered tasting you here, certainly not with the same desire that's painted across katsuki's face. you have to slap your hands over your eyes and bite your lip, embarrassed, suddenly, at how desperate the simple press of his mouth to your underwear makes you.

"hey, hey," katsuki grunts, pinching at your hips until you peek at him through your fingers. the highlights of his cheeks are crimson and his eyes are black, glaring with an intensity that makes you shiver. "it's my fuckin' turn."

to make you fall apart, he means, just as he had.

at the first hot drag of his tongue against the material, you squirm, leaning your head back so that your expression is hidden. another grunt comes from him, you think in dissatisfaction, but he continues, laving until your mouth is falling open and the fabric between you is drenched.

he's gone just long enough to be replaced by the ghost of his thumb, touching you much too-gently. hunger has you stealing another look at him, watching behind your hands as he stares, blatantly, at the mess he's already made of you, stroking the pad of his finger against the sodden material in interest.

discovering; a curious swipe over where you're aching has you sighing and trembling and his eyes jump back up to your covered face, open mouth curling into the faintest smirk as he does it again and again and again. it's bullshit — how quickly he's figured you out, almost as if your body was meant to be unraveled by his hands — but then again, it didn't take you long either, did it?

"katsuki," you hiss, digging a hand into the hair at the crown of his head, tugging on it until his smile is dropping and his eyes are lidding. your body is on fire and your legs are trying to close around his head, hips squirming as he toys with you, like the little brat he is.

deadly serious, he grabs your underwear and holds it tightly in his fist so that you can wiggle one leg free, and then he's tugging it out of his way and devouring you whole.

it's sloppy, the mixture of spit and slick as runs his tongue through you, wet and wide, and you're so sensitive that you squeak out in surprise, fingers tightening. a groan punches from deep in his chest and your hips buck at the vibration of it, drawn so tight already.

"oh my—" you gasp, dropping your other hand from your face to grip the couch; eyes closed, you're somewhere else entirely, lost in the clumsy swirl of pleasure between your thighs.

katsuki raises his head to breathe, reaffirming your grip in his hair by wrapping his fingers tight over your own. at the shiny sight of his mouth, you can't help but to whimper with a needy roll of your hips, until he's simply sticking out his tongue and allowing you to ride it, to use it as you need to. it's embarrassing, how desperate you are, but his eyes are knife-sharp and trained on you and you've never experienced anything like this.

he moves then, slipping one hand further up under your sweater, cupping your breast carefully as his lids flutter — and the other is shoved between his hips and where they're pressed into the couch. you tighten up at just the idea of him rutting into his hand while kissing your messy slit, moaning openly, head falling back as your eyes start to roll.

this is — fuck — you've never been so turned on in all your life and it's driving you crazy; at one point in time, the thought of bakugou like this would have grossed you out, but now you think it's only like this because of him. anyone else wasn't right, not the way he is, and he's maybe a little impatient and unwieldy, but it's katsuki. between your legs with his mouth on you — something he wanted — and his fingers are brushing over your nipple and the other is down his pants, wrist flexing and —

"fuck, oh fuck, i—" you try to sit up, chasing blindly after the high, but he forces you back down. a long groan is muffled by your skin and when he lifts his chin just a little, a glob of spit falls off his lips and the sight makes your toes curl before he presses back into you and sucks.

everything goes blank as you free-fall into him and you cum quietly, muscles so taut in your body that your voice can't even squeeze out of your throat. the minute you're able to breathe, he's biting a mark into your thigh and yanking you back down under him, lips slick against yours.

tasting yourself on his tongue has you coming out of the heady haze, ravenous; katsuki helps you to shove his boxers down, though he can only gasp tightly when he grinds against you, coating himself.

"'m not—" his soft hair tickles your face when he shakes his head, arms trembling beside your head. "i won't be able to—"

"keep going," you breathe, smearing your mess over the tip of him and down his length as he groans. "i don't care, keep going."

he smashes his lips to yours, though he's only able to meet the pump of your hand a few times before dropping his forehead to your shoulder, spine curling, fingers digging into your hair. katsuki swears long and low, eventually letting out a soft sound you wouldn't have expected from him as his entire body tenses and he spills onto your stomach.

"goddamn it," he moans into the fabric of your sweater, weary, after a long moment. "now 'm fuckin' tired."

and for some reason that makes you laugh, though the lust is dissipating and your nerves are trembling at the memory of how this ended last time. katsuki pulls away suddenly, making your stomach drop, and he doesn't look at you as he detangles himself, awkwardly shuffling away from the couch and out of sight.

you frown down at the mess on your stomach, the way it's pooling in your belly-button — and you'll be damned to let him leave you like this, but just as you finishing reciting over and over what you want to say, he appears, towel in hand.

it's still damp from his shower and you tense on instinct, waiting for him to start twirling it with that stupid grin on his face, but katsuki only arranges your legs so that he can sit between them, carefully wiping you off as his cheeks burn. and you just watch him, the way he runs a hand over your skin to make sure he got it all before helping to finagle your underwear back on properly.

then he just looks at the tv, unmoving. if he's trying to appear casual at all, it's a piss-poor job — but he's never been able to keep his fat mouth shut for long.

the look he gives you lacks its usual heat, though you can't tell if that's just because he's drained or if he's withdrawn for another reason. "what now? six months, a year before you talk to me again?"

and you're annoyed all over again.

"what?" you return his weak glare, sitting up properly so that you're right in his face. "are you kidding me? you didn't talk to me either."

"the hell did you want me to say?" he scoffs and — you could slap him, for ruining everything so quickly. wipe that stupid look off his face with your fist. "'sorry i busted a nut, you free for dinner?'"

"yeah!" the shrill tone of your voice makes his eyes widen, and you throw your hands up in the air, incensed. "that sounds wonderful in comparison to coming home and avoiding me."

"i didn't avoid you," he mutters, though his eyes drift back to the tv. "just didn't have shit to say."

"bakugou," you slap your hands over your face for the second time, though this one is much worse than the last. "how is that fucking fair? what did you want me to say?"

and now — his eyes are full and furious, mouth curling down into an ugly frown that you've so rarely had the pleasure of seeing on his face; every time his mother made you go home and when you told him you weren't gonna try to test into u.a. when he overheard your girl friends teasing you for liking an older boy in your school.

when he was losing you, you realize.

"'m not doin' this shit with you," he mutters, definitive, before swiping his shirt up off the floor and standing. "not doin' this bakugou shit."

"oh my god," you groan, rising, too, because your stomach is twisting at the thought of him leaving again, no matter how angry he's making you. "what does that even mean?"

you trail him as he stomps into your kitchen to grab his work shirt and mask from the counter, trying to interrupt him at every turn, and the scowl on his face only grows when you shoot to stand in front of the door, just as he reaches for his bag.

"you can't—"

"this," he seethes, gesturing to you and then himself before gritting his teeth so hard that they should shatter. "this is why i didn't wanna fuckin' talk to you."

you knew he didn't. the minute lunch ended and when you made out his shape in mitsuki's snapchat: you knew. but hearing it from his mouth is as much of a confirmation as it is a kick in the gut.

there's more he's struggling to say, mouth shifting as he chews on the words and the skin of his lips. his gaze jumps from you to the door to something on the counter before he's swallowing again, staring down at you with brand new eyes.

the light in the kitchen makes them shine, angry and sad. "i can't—" he sighs, nostrils flaring like he's mad at himself for struggling. "go back to bakugou, not after—" a vague hand waves toward the couch. "maybe this is just, i don't know, whatever to you, but i — fuckin' can't."

tell me what the big fuckin' deal is; earlier, he'd demanded it of you, why the silence mattered so much this time when it didn't seem to matter before. in the midst of your anger, you didn't think twice about his wording but now —

he wanted you to say it. katsuki wanted to hear you say that it hurt to be without him for so long, and he kept his distance because he was afraid that you wouldn't.

"you're so stupid," you mutter it quietly, and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, enraged, but before he can get another dumb word out, you loop your arms around his neck and just — kiss him.

not crazy or wild or lust-driven, just your lips to his, slowly working him out of the shell he's tried to hide behind.

the bag in his hand hits the ground with a soft thud and then his arm is wrapping around your back, tugging you to him as he finally breathes and opens his mouth — and lets you in.

when you cup the sides of his neck, katsuki inhales sharply through his nose, pulse jumping under your fingers, and his lashes flutter against your cheeks as he opens his eyes. he pulls back enough so that you can stare at each other and you realize that eyeliner is still clinging to his lids, making him seem sharper than usual.

you're a little stunned, then, at how beautiful he is.

"i can't go back to bakugou either, dumbass." gently, you knock your forehead into his, smiling at the pout on his face. "you've totally screwed that up for me."

"yeah, well," he huffs, "about time. only took you all my goddamn life."

"sorry i'm late."

"what else is new?" he rolls his eyes and you squeak, indignant, before sticking your tongue out at him, patience worn thin already.

you expect a bite or a pinch to the cheek or another rough violence that falls along the lines that have made up your relationship thus far — but instead there is only something soft that reflects in his eyes and the shy kiss he presses to your lips, something that he's kept safe just for you, guarded, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield.

#narrator voice: willow did not have the spoons to extend the ending #whoopsie #okie okie part 2 #✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

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daycourtofficial · 2 months

Text

Falling in Love on the Fourth Floor - Part 7

Summary: Out of an act of desperation, you move in with a guy you kind of know who happens to have a really hot brother who lives next door.

Author’s note: eeeek I’ve had parts of this one in the drafts for AGES the middle section has been drafted for at least a month I swear and I’ve been sitting on it like 🧍‍♀️ waiting to share it. I think this is my favorite part so far (but not my fav overall 🥰)

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Masterlist)

Your day had been shit. Ever since that godsawful date Mor ambushed you with last night, you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering about Azriel and Nesta’s date. What they were doing, how things were going, if she was making him laugh.

Hell, you couldn’t stop thinking about their date while on your own date. The guy was good looking, and he wasn’t terrible, but there was nothing there between you two.

He also was very into cryptocurrency, a topic that quickly took over the conversation at dinner. A topic you did not encourage him to continue on. He somehow didn’t get that memo, insisting on walking you up towards the doors of your building when he was dropping you off, where you had made a lame excuse about going to bed early before ducking into your building.

You had followed the same path Azriel took only moments ago, continuing on to your own apartment. You open the door, finding a note on the fridge in Cassian’s messy scrawl.

Have fun.

He drew a winky face, and then several crude drawings on the post-it. The drawings made you groan, Cassian’s enthusiasm for your date further solidifying your nonexistent chance with his brother.

Of course Cassian would have Mor set you up after he found out about your little crush on his brother. You felt so stupid when you saw Nesta on their couch earlier today. You hardly spoke to Rhysand on the way to lab, your thoughts too flooded with how terribly you had read the whole situation.

Cassian probably told Mor all about your dumb crush and got her to fix you up tonight. Maybe Azriel had even mentioned your text to Cassian, asking him what to do about the annoying roommate who developed a crush on his brother.

Your chest hurts, but it was just a silly crush. You’ll get over it.

Eventually.

Azriel stood in the elevator, waiting for the doors to close as he looked at his phone, looking at the last message you had sent him Friday morning.

Wanna grab lunch tomorrow?

He hadn’t answered, his phone having been on silent all day to focus on finishing his work for the next week and the reception in the library not allowing messages to come through. He hadn’t seen the message until he woke up this morning, the timestamp seeming cruel.

Now he stares at it and wants to throw his phone. Missed opportunities, he supposes. But what would this lunch have looked like since you’re dating that dickhead from last night? Would you have had to reject him outright?

He can see your face contort in a smile as you tell him, “oh no, Az, I’m seeing someone.” Then you’d probably laugh about it with the dickhead.

He runs his hands down his face when he hears someone yelling, “hold the elevator please!” He juts out an arm on instinct, not noticing who it is. He sees you slip inside, the doors bumping against his arm, bringing him back to reality as he looks down at you.

Fuck.

A light scent of oranges fills the elevator, and he notes it’s likely from your shampoo. He pulls his arm from the door, allowing them to close, locking the two of you in the metal box.

You look up at him, eyes going wide, cheeks heating in embarrassment at the close proximity. You’re standing right in front of him, and you can smell his cologne, a scent of night-chilled air and cedar filling your nose. You take deep breaths, telling yourself that it’s okay, it was just a little crush.

On a very pretty, smart, and very kind guy.

Who smelled incredible.

You look down at your feet, unsure how to speak to him now that you knew he was dating Nesta. And not wanting to further embarrass yourself by flirting with him.

Gods, this was how you were going to die, you think, shuffling to lean against the rail. Azriel’s voice puts a halt to the spiraling of your thoughts.

“Nice date last night?” Azriel asks, trying not to let whatever he’s feeling bubble up. Your eyebrows shoot up, unaware of Azriel even knowing about your date.

Of course he knows, you think, Cassian probably told him he’d handle it.

“He spent the while night telling me about stocks and crypto and how he wants to be in Forbes 30 under 30,” you scoffed, “so no, it was not nice.”

The elevator starts moving, and his eyebrows shoot up. “So that wasn’t your boyfriend?”

You scoff, “hell no. Mor ambushed me yesterday. She told me to get dressed up and we’d go out and have a fun girl’s night, but when I showed up she texted me that she set me up instead.

“The worst part is Mor was so confident that she told Cassian about it, so he had stayed at her place last night to give me ‘privacy’. He even left crude drawings around the apartment to help the ‘atmosphere’.”

Azriel laughs as the elevator dings for the third floor. He feels his chest lighten, knowing you definitely weren’t seeing anyone. “Mor’s always been ambitious, hasn’t she?”

You laugh. “Maybe it was just a ploy for her to have sex with Cassian.”

You say it, but you know it’s not true. The real truth was they wanted to put you out there, help you get over the beautiful man standing next to you. They knew you didn’t have a shot, especially compared to Nesta. You’re brought back to reality, and decide to hurt yourself further.

“How was your date with Nesta?” You ground out, after a pause in your conversation. You needed to know so you can completely cut off your feelings for him. You needed him to pierce you with the final dagger.

His eyebrows arch up, and he looks at your expression.

Were you upset? You won’t meet his gaze, and you’re clenching your fists. Were you - jealous?

His mouth curls up at the thought, “uh it wasn’t a date. Nesta and I study together every Thursday night. We take a lot of the same classes. We did it last night instead because she was busy on Thursday.”

Your eyebrows raise in surprise, “so you’re not dating Nesta?”

He laughs, “absolutely not. No that’s an avenue I’d never go down. But there is some-“

His words die as you hear a screeching sound and the elevator stops completely, leaving you two stranded somewhere between the first and second floors.

“No - no, no, no.”

You start freaking out - elevators always gave you a bit of concern, their small dimensions making you feel cramped. You hit the button to open the door, jamming it with your finger. Realizing that it was fruitless, You pull out your phone only to remember that the elevator always has no service.

“Fuck,” you mumble, and your breaths start coming faster and faster, and you’re trying to remember your calming techniques, when you feel cold hands gently grab your cheeks.

“Hey, look at me.”

You look up, finding hazel eyes looking back at you. They’re etched with concern, not a trace of mockery in them.

“We’re okay. Breathe with me, can you do that?”

He grabs one of your hands, placing it on his chest so you can feel his breaths as they come in and out. Your eyes stay trained on his, not wanting to look away, wanting to get lost in the gold flecks you find there.

You start following the rhythm of his breaths, but he keeps talking to you in a soothing tone. You’re too focused on breathing to register what he’s saying, but you do register the soothing tone he’s speaking to you in. You could get lost in his voice, its deep timbre a melody in your ears.

Eventually you come back down enough to focus on what he’s saying and he’s telling you about his night - everything he did yesterday.

“Rhys texted me to get some trash bags on my way in, which is where I was coming from when I pulled up and found you with crypto douche.”

You smile, your first real reaction to his words since the elevator stopped.

“There she is,” he says, his finger tapping your cheek, “wanna tell me more about crypto douche?”

“He wants to be a landlord.”

Azriel snorts, “of course he does.”

“I didn’t even want to go on this date,” your eyes stay locked with his, the golden flecks calming you down. “But Mor has been begging me to go out with this guy for ages, and then she finally decided to ambush me by forcing it on me.”

“You know you can tell Mor “no”. It’s a complete sentence.”

“I know,” you sigh, “but she loves playing matchmaker, even though she’s awful at it. Usually once every other month I let her set me up, but she was just throwing a tantrum I wouldn’t let her set me up this time once I figured out the rouse.”

He doesn’t let himself linger on the fact that you haven’t let her set you up since meeting him. Coincidence, maybe. “Have any of them been successful?”

You blow out a breath, “uh, no. Usually I stay for an hour then leave. None of them have ever gotten a second date.” You pause, thinking. “In the words of the great philosopher of our time, “I’m a pathological people pleaser,” you chuckle.

“And who said that?”

“…. Taylor Swift.”

He looks at you, a chuckle on his breath, such tenderness in his gaze it shocks you a bit. “You should stand up for yourself more.”

“I’m… not really sure how. It’s kind of new to me.”

You look at your feet, but he taps your chin so you’ll look at him again. “I stood up to my parents, and it was the scariest thing I’ve ever done.”

You had tiptoed around the topic since your admission to Cassian the day you moved in, the wound still too raw to discuss with anyone other than Feyre. Mor knew some of the details, but not the whole story. You’re sure Rhys and Az knew that something happened with your parents, but you never let them know too much about it.

They didn’t know that your parents had told you that you became everything they had tried to avoid. That, despite everything they did for you, you didn’t turn out right.

You hadn’t told Mor because you knew she would have burnt down their house with them in it.

“It was scary, moving here with a guy I hardly knew.” His grip on you tightens slightly, and he’s hanging onto every word you say.

“But I don’t regret it. Not even when Cassian wakes me up at 6 AM with his singing.”

He chuckles, and he stills as you look into his eyes, your voice clear and strong.

“I don’t… I don’t regret any of it. I don’t regret meeting you.”

His hands are still cupped on your face, his face mere inches from your own. Your confession hangs in the air as you two look at each other, and he leans closer, pressing his forehead to yours.

Your breathing hitches, but not because you’re stuck.

He opens his mouth to reply, but the elevator comes back to life, moving downwards again. It startles both of you into jumping away from each other, and you clear your throat.

“Where are- where are you going?” You ask, gesturing towards his helmet.

“Oh, uh Cassian forgot his lunch and doesn’t have time to grab anything between clients. I was going to bring him something.”

The air is lighter between you two, and Azriel feels like he can breathe you in again. The fog of confusion has lifted between you two, leaving you to be seen clearly by him.

“Do you want to get lunch?”

He echos your previous text message to him, and you nod.

“Yeah I’d love that.”

You stroll through the lobby, putting as much distance between the falter elevator and yourselves. Once you make it to the parking lot, Azriel places his spare helmet on your head, tapping the top of it lightly affectionately.

You zip your jacket up as Azriel gets on the bike first, his thighs straddling the seat. He holds the bike steady, allowing you to place your hands on his shoulders for balance, letting go of your fears as you swing your leg around to straddle the bike behind him. Your body leans against his, wrapping around him, holding onto him.

You place your head on his back, your fingers clutching onto his jacket. It feels new, electricity crackling through every inch of you that is in contact with him, despite the layers and helmets that separate you.

He chuckles at the gasp you let out when you two start moving, how your hands hold onto his jacket a little tighter than before.

He pulls a hand away to place it gently on one of the hands you have clutched to his jacket, squeezing three times before moving his hand back.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #acotar writing #azriel x y/n

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manicpixiedreamcurl · 2 years

Text

Headcanon: Eddie likes making smart girls dumb

Word Count: ~2,620

Warnings: 18+ only. Minors dni. Dumbification kink (yup!), rough oral sex (m receiving), face slapping, degrading language throughout, reader is worry on legs and eddie lives to turn her brain off essentially. Reader says something mean but she's stressed and she APOLOGISES AND MEANS IT.

A/N: “Hey, Jo, don’t you have like five different proper wips that aren’t just these needlessly long headcanons your brain comes up with when you should be sleeping?” “Yup! Now read the needlessly long headcanon.”

“Maybe just a little break would do you some good, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, remaining as you are, hunched over your desk. Evidence of how you’ve spent the afternoon is spread across the table. Various empty coffee cups, your bright desk lamp, stacked textbooks, a colour coded periodic table, your lilac notepad that was new last week, now open a quarter of the way through, covered in black notes and pink highlighter lines.

Eddie arrived twenty minutes ago, uninvited, having not spoken to you properly in three days.

Since you were asked by a desperate Ms Loudon to tutor him in History at the beginning of the year, Eddie has improved in every subject he takes. You didn’t just sit with him and run through major events, didn’t just read his essays half bored to give him meaningless feedback. You taught him how to help himself. Finally, Eddie has the knack, the knowledge on how to motivate himself to just sit down and study.

It was a strange, sick relief to realise with finality that he wasn’t stupid like people thought. No, Eddie’s capable, smart even. But smart only goes so far when you can’t sit at your desk without finding yourself seeking out a joint, or a guitar, or a porn mag. These days, he gets Cs more often than he gets Ds or Fs on tests. More Bs on essays than any other grade. The first A he’s had since the eighth grade came, red and circled, in Art last week. An essay on Jean-Michel Basquiat with multiple scribbles reading “good point!”

Turns out, setting a schedule that works for him, taking breaks every hour for a Dr Pepper or a crunchy snack, sitting with you in the library so you can talk each other through your notes, works for him.

So yeah, he knows your way works better than his ever did, ever will. But shit, it’s a Saturday night, and the test isn’t till Tuesday. Chemistry’s a bitch, sure, but Jeff’s your lab partner and Eddie’s heard that you can draw structural formulas with the same ease as writing your name. Or drawing a love heart on his hand, the way you like to do sometimes.

He’s so grateful for you. Not just that he credits you as the reason he’s assured to graduate this year, but that, since he kissed you for the first time, leaning over a library table to hold your busy head in his hands, you’ve opened yourself up to him so sweet it makes his heart sore. You taught him so much, sharing your seemingly endless smarts, and you’ve let him teach you in return. How to play a power chord, roll a joint, let a boy like Eddie lay you down and master your body till you’re a writhing, crying mess with an empty head.

So now, watching you rub your sore eyes, stretch your sore back, crack your sore neck. Yeah, he wants to do something about it.

“I just think maybe you’re overexerting yourself this time,” he says from your pretty, flowery bed, shoes left at the door the way your Mom insists on, the rule held fast even when she’s out.

You feel your shoulders tense, frustration running up the back of your neck to clench your jaw. Why is Eddie even here? You didn’t invite him. Didn’t ask him to come sit a judge, share his unsolicited opinions on the way you work.

“You can think that, but I need to have these notes on carboxylic acid memorised tonight so I can focus on oxidising and reducing agents tomorrow. That gives me the right amount of time to study reversible reactions on Monday night.” You look at him with a tight smile, hoping you’ve explained yourself enough that he’ll leave it, now. “I have a plan, Eddie.”

“You always do,” Eddie grins, his bright eyes not working their usual magic. You look back to your book and sigh, frustrated that you’re using brain power trying to work out how to ask him to leave when you should be focused on reduction reactions. “But, I mean, how long will it really take you to learn what you need about, um, oxidising stuff, tomorrow? Don’t you think you could get back to the acids then, too?”

“Why should I?”

“Cause it’s a Saturday night. You’re exhausted. And deep down you want to watch Children of the Corn with me and cuddle.”

Your heart tweaks inside its ice cage, and you hate him a little then for trying to tempt you away. “Of course I want to relax, Eddie. That’s not the point.”

Eddie smooths his hands across his knees. “Well, what is the point? ‘Cause I really think you’d be better off taking some time away from all the books.”

The graphite at the end of your pencil snaps to leave wood chips, the final push that has you twisting in your seat and yelling. “You’re really not the right person to be doling out advice on studying, Eddie! The fact that you think wanting to relax means you should is the reason you’ve been a high school senior for three years straight!”

Eddie’s kind face goes hard. Your throat tightens with regret.

"I didn't mean that."

"No?" He asks, smacking his hands to his knees as he stands. Your heart fights its way from the ice, pounding and hot with worry. He’s moving to your door when you rush to him, grabbing his arms to hold him there.

"I'm sorry," you say, eyes watering, overwhelmed. Your brain is fit to burst, thoughts running wild. Eddie’s going to break up with you now, for being mean. Eddie’s going to break up with you and never speak to you or kiss you or touch you or smile at you ever again. "I'm so sorry, Eddie."

"I dunno. That was, uh, kinda mean, you know? Sounded like you think I'm dumb or something."

Your head shakes rapidly. "I don't think that. I know you're not dumb, Eddie. Please, I'm sorry-"

"You're sorry?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that."

"You gonna apologise to me properly?"

You stare at him.

There it is, behind the cold stare. He’s got what he wanted. There’s no way you’re going back to that desk now. Even in the low light of your table lamp, you can see the mischief, the satisfaction and anticipation. Eddie isn't angry, not in the slightest.

"Eddie-"

"You just told me you don't even know why you insulted me. That’s kinda stupid of you, ya know? Sounds to me like maybe, between the two of us, you might be dumb one. So maybe instead of arguing with me, you should stop pretending to know better and just let me be in charge, ‘kay?"

Your fingers flex on his arms, one kind of nervous tension leaving your body even as another creeps up. Eddie blinks slowly, like he’s waiting. When you don’t say anything, unclear on what he wants you to say, he sighs, takes his arms from your hold to grasp you. One hand, wide and strong, finds the back of your head, directing your gaze to his. The other presses against your throat, the contrast of warm fingers and cold rings sending shivers through you.

“Are you going to let me be in charge tonight, dummy? Do what I tell you, and nothing else?”

Your head would loll if it wasn’t for his grip, and you wonder if he knew that already. “Mm. Tell me what to do, Eddie.”

Eddie grins, hums, presses a quick kiss to your lips. He murmurs into the skin of your cheek. “Let’s start with you on your knees, ‘kay?”

You breathe a soft, affirmative noise as he pushes you down, down till your knees are pressed to the soft rug in the middle of the room. Distantly, you realise that Eddie stood right here on purpose. Knew you’d end up just like this while you were still in a tizzy at the thought of him leaving. The thought is gone in an instant with Eddie’s thumb digging into the back of your mouth, circling your tongue to gather drool. The other hand goes for his belt, the rough tug and the clinking sound making your clit ache. You watch, mouth open and pleading, while he unzips his pants enough to pull himself from his boxers. Eddie fists his pink cock with tight fingers, the spit he took from your mouth aiding a smooth glide.

It’s torture. You can smell him, the musk of Eddie’s cock, the lingering smell of his tea tree shampoo that he rubs through the thick, dark hair as the base when he showers. The pretty pink head is dripping white pre, more and more forced out each time his foreskin closes over the tip.

“Eddie,” you whisper, looking up at him to find his gaze focused on your desperate face already. “Please.”

“I’ve got a choice for you, dummy,” he says, hips jerking at the thought of what he’s about to offer you. “If that empty head of yours can manage it.” Eddie pulls his foreskin back, exposing the white cum collected there, and smooths it away with two fingers. “Open.”

You practically unlock your jaw, tongue exposed so he knows how much you want this. Eddie smirks, fingers finding your mouth. He presses the pads to the taste buds at the very back then drags them forward, covering your tongue in the masculine, salty taste of his cum. Your mouth waters, swallowing it down the second you can and following his fingers with your mouth, managing a little kiss to them before his hand is flat on your cheek. The sharp smack makes you squirm, eyes darting from his amused gaze to his cock.

“Good?”

“So good,” you nod, eyeing his tip, hoping for more.

“Hm. Here’s the choice then. My cum in your mouth,” Eddie widens his stance, bringing his cock perfectly level with your wet lips. “Or breathing.”

You groan, mouth opening wide again, knees shuffling desperately. It’s answer enough. Eddie laughs, grasps his cock at the base, and slides home.

“Shit,” he says, holding your head at either side. Your chin finds his heavy balls, throat long since used to taking Eddie all the way. The stretch, the plugging of your throat, is blissful. Nothing else is important now. Not tests or studying or broken pencils. It’s not your place to worry about that anymore, not your place to worry about anything. You just need to keep your mouth open and let Eddie enjoy your throat. His head rolls, long hair reaching down his back. Eddie groans through his teeth and returns his gaze to you. He finds your eyes red-rimmed and watery. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He keeps you there longer than you're used to, until the stunted breaths you can only take through your nose like this stop being just enough. You jerk, hands moving from your thighs to his, instinct forcing you to bat at him through denim. Your lungs protest enough that you gag, forcing him from your throat and back to your mouth. You take a desperate, gasping breath as Eddie’s cock leaves your warmth.

Another slap, quick and harsh. “You made your choice, dummy,” Eddie says over the sound of your returning breath. He clasps his base again, driving back down your throat but granting you the blessing of thrusting, giving you half seconds to breathe around his dick when the tip finds your tongue again.

Then he holds his hips still, hands covering your ears and bobbing your head like you’re a toy, made to move along his cock as he desires. The movement makes you dizzy, like your brain is knocking around your skull. “Fucking perfect like this,” he says. “Doing what you’re supposed to be doing, just taking my cock like a silly slut-”

Your nose meets the wiry hairs at the base of him with each aggressive push of your head, your eyes rolling back at the smell of him and the throb of his thick, perfect cock in your gullet. Everything now is just smell and taste and feeling. Nothing to think about, question or consider.

You want to rub your cunt desperately, but your own body wouldn’t allow it unless Eddie were to suggest shoving your fingers in your panties. Instead, you ache between your legs and keep your jaw wide for him. Your cheek throbs suddenly with another slap, no longer a punishment, but just because the way you take a little violence makes Eddie’s cock twitch happily.

“Who's fucking dumb, baby?” He asks, forcing himself down your throat again, waiting until you’re twitching and writhing. Below him, on your knees where you should be. “Who’s fucking dumb? Me or the slut who chose the taste of my dick over breathing?” He slaps your right cheek, crosses his hand over to slap the left. Your face tingles pleasantly. “Fucking-” Eddie presses forward, cock going no deeper, but just squishing his swollen balls against your chin. “Answer me, you stupid slut.”

You try. You try because Eddie told you to, but he’s blocking any sound that could hope to escape. The vibrations of your attempt at me, I’m dumb, travel up his cock and he groans. “‘M gonna cum,” Eddie pulls away, listens to the desperate gasp and the release of built up spit over his cock. He thrusts again, taking and giving you back his cock in quick succession, saliva dripping down his balls and covering your chin. “Gonna cum in your fucking mouth. All it’s good for. ‘S not for speaking, fucking talking back and insulting me, ’s just for sucking my fucking dick- shit!”

Eddie rests the head of his cock on your tongue, using the waves of drool you’ve given him to jerk his cock into your mouth. You moan happily the whole time, tongue finally able to do its job of licking at Eddie’s salty, smooth head for his pleasure. His cock twitches, throbs, and Eddie covers your tongue with ropes of his thick cum. You hold it, even when he takes his softening cock from between your lips. You open them to display it, a white pool in your pink mouth. Eddie huffs a laugh.

“You’re not impressing anyone with that. Just swallow it, dummy.”

Eddie’s cum flows, thick and wet, down your throat. The final slap turns your face to the side with its impact, leaves your cheek almost numb, You press your face back into Eddie’s hand, body knowing it’s always his touch that you need more of, even if it hurts. You sigh blissfully, feeling good, used, and empty.

“Come here, dummy,” Eddie says softly, throwing himself back on your bed and opening his arms with wiggling fingers. You climb into his arms without a thought, pressing your whole face to his sweaty neck. You lick a little, wanting another hit of the tastes his body provides. Eddie rubs a thumb over your aching cheek. “Feeling good?”

“Mmm.” Your clit is still crying for attention, your cunt has been leaking and ready for him since he pushed you to your knees. A faraway thought assures you that Eddie will get to that, once he’s eased you out of the headspace of degraded dummy back to his pretty, sweet girl who gets kisses between her legs for being so good and smart.

“This brain of yours, baby.” Eddie strokes your hair and kisses your temple. “You gotta learn to turn it off sometimes, you know?”

“Don’t need to learn anything.” You shift and squirm in your cuddle to find more of Eddie’s skin. “You do it for me.”

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #eddie munson headcanon

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k2ntoss · 4 months

Text

UNTITLED N°1 !! demon dean

(gif from pinterest, credits to the owner)

tw ⭒ minors dni, SMUT, dirty talk, dean x f!reader, did i already said this is demon dean shit???? i am vibrating on another level istg, fingering (f. receiving), sex toys (vibrator), spanking, oral (m. receiving), p in v, public space, unprotected sex, etc.

a/n ⭒ ian i swear i'll hunt you down for giving me ideas EVERY FUCKING DAY and yeah, implicit the fact of the lipgloss stuff i wrote for jason but a bit different here, it's 1 am and i'm going back home from a party so prob no proof read, shhhh

words count ⭒ 2.505 (at this point i don't even dream of doing something short)

dean was changed since the last time you saw him, right before he received the mark of cain and way before he turned into a damn demon, sam and you looked for him for days until you stumbled with him outside of a night club which wasn't the best situation to find the guy who was supposed to be your boyfriend, the one that once treated you like the most important thing on his life and now only thought of you as another one night stand.

and what are you doing at a night club? well, long night and almost no sleep so you decided to take baby for a ride and maybe look for dean and here you are, standing in front of him while you fight the urge to punch him right across the face when you notice the lipstick smudges he has all over his jaw and neck "you're fucking amazing, dean" the sarcasm that drips from your voice seems to amuse him, dean grins at you with arms crossed over his chest as he walks closer "looks like you can't remember you shouldn't take the things that don't belong to you, sweetheart" he ignores your annoyance completely, walking around you with heavy steps almost as if he was a predator and you were a sick little animal to hunt and torture.

"yeah? i couldn't care less, what the hell are you doing here?" right behind the club the parking lot is almost empty, the led lights drawing shades on your bodies and the muffled music being almost completely hushed by your voice "having fun, can't a man have fun with a bunch of pretty girls? or are you getting jealous?" he has always had a smart mouth but this time his words do hurt a little but they also fuel your anger "you're being an ass, dean" words come out as a growl, avoiding his question because he already knows the answer damn well, it doesn't take humanity to understand that she loved the dean she used to know and that this dean only made her remember him but here again, he couldn't care less about your feelings right now.

"and you're being a pain in the ass, darling" he'll reply once he's in front of you, a devilish smirk on his lips at the same time he leans in making your heart rush because even with dean being a demon there was still an ounce of the man you loved and that minimal part of him still wanted you and only you, it was enough for it to take over and make you notice the glimpse of desire he had, a growing need to press his lips on yours and pin you against the impala, the same one that has already been the place for a good amount of the times you've let yourself melt into each other's touch and oh, if the evil side of dean hasn't used those memories to get off to your vulnerable image when you tremble under your lover. the way he stands so close to you, how he looks at your lips and licks his owns makes you shiver, making your lips part before he gives into your dean's needs; his lips are over yours, a bruising kiss as his hands grip your waist roughly, his touch making you moan from the pain his hands inflicted on your flesh.

once he pulled back you were panting and dean was living for that, his hand ran until it was on your neck "i think i have something in mind that you could enjoy, i miss someone misses fucking you dumb..." he whispers while tilting your head up to make you look up at him, green eyes fixed on yours made feel hypnotized until the point you walked to the passenger seat as dean got behind the steering wheel, the sigh making you even more hungry because the way he drove always made things to you. dean made the engine roar, pulling into the road until you both were sure it was safe to start anything. dean leaned to your side, his arm going behind your sit until he was able to reach a small vibrator he had used before with you, one of your road adventures from the past "are you gonna be good for me?" his voice was filled with a hint of what felt like mischief but also that cockiness that was part of him, you knew that maybe this wasn't the best idea, you should be the one driving to take dean back to the bunker but you mind was full of the bunch of memories of your boyfriend's dick deep inside of you and that was enough to make you forget any other responsability for at least a while, it had been a good long time since the last time you had any kind of sexual interaction thanks to him so, why not take the chance? so you nodded at him, lips pressed in a thin line as you waited for his next move.

there's a smirk on dean's face as he drives single handled, twisting the small vibrator between his fingers, dropping it on your thigh while you shift on your seat "sit pretty and spread those pretty legs of yours for me" he orders simply and you obey, legs spread enough for him to reach with his hand, undoing your belt and buttons before he slides two fingers under your clothes, starting to caress you slowly, torturing he plays with your clit circling over it before he pinches it softly making you moan shamelessly "fuck, dean..." you mutter when one of your hands goes to grab his wrist to make him stop when his fingers circle a bit faster "oh, you're being a little killjoy" he taunts with a click of his tongue but he takes his hand off you to grab the toy, turning it on just to slide it until he's able to press it against your sensitive bud, the vibrations making you gasp and hold onto the leather seat "just as slutty as always, aren't you? bet you've been dreaming about being fucked by me a lot lately" words making you moan and buck your hips, your eyes fixed on his movements when dean takes his hand away again, fingers coated on your wetness which he licks while glacing at you, the action only making you squirm in need of his mouth on you "and also as sweet as always, mhm, i could pull over and eat your pussy but i have other things in mind... close your legs, baby, and don't even think you can cum before i say you can."

with your legs closed the vibrator was pressed a little harder on your clit, it makes you sigh and whimper in the five eternal minutes it takes dean to find a good place to pull over, behind a small bar. he opens the door, getting to the back seat and sitting there, legs spread and his arms across the back of the seat "aren't you gonna come here, baby?" he asks teasingly, of course he was asking you to walk yourself out of the car and to the back seat, shaky legs and overstimulated, cursing him on your mind but still growing needier so when you get off the car and open the back door you can't help but bite your lip when dean is there undoing his belt and taking it off slowly with his eyes glued to you "come here and lay on my lap, sweetheart" he takes your hand in his, pulling you in taking advantage of your weak legs to make you lay on his lap, tummy flat over the seat while your hips rest over his legs when he closes the door before his hand stops on your ass, stroking you softly as he started to pull your jeans down slowly exposing your silky panties, chuckling lowly at the sight of the wet spot between your legs where the vibrator was still making you squirm and moan "so fucking wet, mhm? thought you would be harder to break down... such a easy whore" dean's voice is as rough and low as all the times you've found yourself so needy and hot for him, the big difference was that right now he was indeed a big bad wolf about to eat you alive.

every thought was erased of your head as soon as you felt his belt comming down to hit your ass, making you moan as dean's free hand snaked between your thighs to pull off the vibrator "oh, the little girl enjoys being spanked? you have a pretty sick mind, huh, you like being treated as a slut?" another spank falls on your rear, making you squirm and hold back a loud whimper before you nod "i love it... when you treat me like that" you moan, your reaction brings a wide grin to his face as he lets the leather belt fall again on your ass, the red marks of it standing over your skin as a sing of the way it would bruise by the morning, fuel for dean to keep it up until your cheeks were all red, your hips up with your ass on the air and your eyes teary from how much you needed him "god... dean, please" you beg and he growls at your voice.

"down. on your knees" he is quick to command, making you kneel on the floor, sitting all pretty and obedient between his legs as he undoes his jeans, pulling them down with his boxers making your mouth water at how hard his dick was in front of you "open that pretty mouth of yours, i want to fuck your face" the amount of dirty words turning you, leaning in you place your hands on his thighs while your tongue runs over his lenght tasting him and moaning softly at the way dean is looking at you. the growl he lets out when your lips are wrapped around his tip is gutural, his left hand going to grab a handful of your hair while you suck on him, tiny licks on him that leave your lips shiny from his precum "never thought a slut could look as pretty as you, mhm, those lips all pretty and shiny for me" he says in a low and raspy tone before he pulls your head by your hair, pressing his cock between your lips to make you swallow him right before he starts to move you, his hands making you bob your head causing you to gag and choke. your eyes are closed but it doesn't stop a few tears from falling from your eyes while dean pushes his dick into your mouth, throat fucking you between growls and moans of pure pleasure, smirking each time you gag and chuckling when he lets you pull away to breath but it doesn't take you too much until you're again looking to put his dick into your mouth "oh, baby so hungry... a needy whore that loves choking on my cock"

you whine when dean pulls you away from him, his hand grips your hair to bring you back to his lap but this time he makes you sit with your back pressed against his chest "i need to fuck that sweet pussy of yours, sweetheart, wanna see you ride me like a fucktoy" he whispers into your ear before making you lean forward, your ass perfectly pressed against him and a nice view of your hips and waist when he lifts you up and pulls your panties to the side before pushing his dick inside your snug walls in a rough thrust "so damn thight... gonna make you scream, baby" dean growls while his hands hold your waist to urge you to start moving.

at first you're just grinding your hips against his, feeling his dick moving inside of you in a way that made you moan softly but the need building inside your tummy made your movements change into quick and sloppy hops while you held yourself on the front seats, tits bouncing and your ass slapping against his body "that's a good bunny, fucking yourself on my cock like a good slut" a low moan escapes his lips and his hands are sliding under your black top, lifting the fabric until his hands are squeezing your breasts "you know how i love it when you're not wearing anything under your shirts? love this perfect tits of yours" you moan when his fingers are toying with your nipples at the same time he decides to move his hips to meet your movements, making him reach deeper inside of you.

anyone who came out of the bar sober enough could see what was going out inside of the impala, the sight of you bouncing with your eyes closed and mouth open as you moaned loudly enough to be heard if someone came closer to the car, it only turned you on more and it showed in the way your pussy clenched around dean like a vice, his strokes only going faster and harder when your legs started to fail you to keep on bouncing on him "who would have thought you would like to be seen getting fucked like a whore, mhm, you enjoy the way everyone knows you're getting dicked down so good, baby?" and you nod, your moans making it hard for you to speak properly, dean is laughing at you and it's humillating but it also makes you hornier "dean... i need to cum, please" your pleas are met with a hard squeeze on your tits and a hard thrust "really, bunny?" he asks with a smirk, hands back on your waist before he leans in to press a kiss on your back "do it, baby, cum all over my cock" and it takes you nothing, your pussy is squeezing him hard making a dark growl escape him and you're about to ask him to fill you up when dean lifts you, sitting you on his lap " 'm not filling your greedy pussy, love, not like you deserve it" he grunts, his hand around his dick as he strokes himself.

dean growls behind you, he's fisting his cock and moving his hand using your wetness to make his task easier and the lewd sounds make you eager to feel his hot load wherever he wants to put it on you "mhm, want me to cum on your dirty body, slut?" he asks with a smirk as his hand slows down for a bit "yes, please..." you say softly and it's the only thing dean needs before he cums behind you, white streaks painting your back and ass as he bites your shoulder harshly "there you go, huh... such a nasty whore" dean mutters on your neck, kissing your skin and nibbling on it "the best fuck i've had lately"

#mara's thoughts #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x f!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural

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