#of absolutely nothing except the feeling of blood on my skin

[holybibly]

IT'S YOU |Woosan x reader| Part I Part 2

Genre: smut, from friends to lovers!au, college!au

Word Count: 6,6k

Summary: Sometimes drunken decisions lead to the most unexpected results and the most shocking confessions. Or, after your boyfriend cheats on you, you propose a threesome to your best friends and it might just be what they have always wanted.

WARNING: only!18+ pet names, explicit sexual content, explicit language, unprotected sex, pussy eating, size kink, oral giving and receiving, double penetration, threesomes, dirty talk and more.

A/N: Here they are, our winners. I'm a little overjoyed because I'm about to try out a new style for myself (BTW, which of my styles of my work do you love most? Answer in the comments, it will help me much). One of the things I have to learn is the writing of shorter chapters. This one was so long that I had to split it into two parts. The second part won't take too long either.I'm still trying my best to write smut. So please be gentle with me.

There will be an update in a separate post about the rest of the work. As always, feedback is greatly appreciated.

One year ago.

It was a feeling of sweet euphoria coursing through your veins. Pure, scalding ecstasy that frothed your blood and clouded your mind. Multicolored neon lights licked greedily at your wet, naked skin, leaving acid green and poisonous pink burns on it. All your senses were overloaded, and every touch felt like a liquid flame. The throbbing bass of the deafening music echoed through your body like the beating of your own heart and completely consumed all of your other senses, except for absolute pleasure.

You lost track of the amount of alcohol you had consumed that day, shot after shot, until a pleasant fog began to form in your head, blocking out all other thoughts. The tequila flowed down your throat like water, and you were sure you'd remember how it tasted in the morning, but you didn't care what you'd done tonight or how you knew you'd feel tomorrow. You didn't care about that. Your aim was to forget yourself, to disappear into the crowd, to merge with the music until any connection to the outside world was nothing more than the beginning of the next day.

Dance, baby, dance!

The atmosphere in the club grew fuzzier and fainter, sweaty, hot bodies pressed closer together merging, the hot touches of forbidden pleasures caressing the skin with the fingertips of strangers, wet lips touching the bare, sticky skin on you shoulders, pressing rough impatient kisses into it. Too many people and too many strangers are here for nothing but fuck.

You weren't a stupid little girl who believed in virginal marriage and pink ponies; to be honest, you were far from that gentle picture. God, Wooyoung, and San had been your best friends since high school, and now you were at university, and if after all that time you couldn't repeat every position in the Kama Sutra by heart, it really surprised you. Innocence and modesty were the last words in your vocabulary, and with Wooyoung's big mouth, you were well aware of the whole of theirs sex life. And when you say everything, you mean every fucking detail, and to Wooyoung's credit, he has a great memory and meticulous storytelling.

How long has it been since you started dancing? 20 minutes—or was it two hours? You could swear that Sang and Ueyoung were at your side a minute ago. Or did they leave you alone on the dance floor hours ago?

You can't remember at all.

Your mind is buzzing, your fingertips are tingling, and your heart is pounding against your ribs from the adrenaline rush of matching the beat of some new-fangled track and creating a world of your own inside your body. This sound will vibrate more and more strongly under your skin until your brain ceases to function, allowing you to let go of all the worries in the world and give yourself over completely to the music. Alcohol really does work wonders.

Man, you felt so good.

In the back of your drunken mind, you can't help but wonder if tonight could have gone differently. Probably, but here you are, drunk as hell, huddled with a stranger on a neon dance floor instead of a soft bed in your favorite man's arms. Where the hell did you take the wrong turn? It would seem that something in the universe hasn't gone quite according to plan. Did you have any idea this morning that your sweet, perfect boyfriend would be cheating on you? Correction: he's been cheating on you for a long time. You probably never would have found out if you hadn't come home from couples earlier than usual and continued to be his "convenient girlfriend." Hell, it wasn't nice, and maybe not as hurtful, if he'd been fucking someone else instead of your best friend. Were you that bad? Weren't you good enough? Either way, you've still got time to destroy yourself—maybe tomorrow, maybe never.

Maybe you'll even think about it when you visit the bastard in the hospital. He should have known better than to even think about cheating, and the clotted blood on San's knuckles proved that. Everyone at the university knew that you were Ateez's golden girl, and to mess with you was to mess with them. And since you, Wooyoung, and San were literally glued to each other, it was tantamount to suicide. 

At the moment, the only thing that was more upsetting than the image of your ex-boyfriend driving his dick all the way up to his balls into your ex-friend's skinny body was the fact that your beautiful vintage sofa would have to be thrown away. Semen doesn't wash off. You checked.

Hongjoong is going to be absolutely devastated. That sofa was the absolute love of his life.

It's all nothing more than a vague memory of the day gone by, mixed into an indecipherable cacophony of shrill screams and blurred images. To be honest, you don't remember much of the chaos, as Wooyoung pressed your face against his chest with such force that you wouldn't be surprised to see your make-up imprinted on the light fabric of his shirt. All you could hear was loud cursing and the sound of a punch in the face. You hoped that San's punch was strong enough to break the asshole's jaw. And after that, there were a few hours of tears and emotional crisis until they'd had enough and pulled you into this club with a gentle and accepting hand: "Come on, baby, you could use a break and a change of scenery" from San, and "Fuck that scumbag, go show him what he's lost, baby" from Wooyoung. It was an absolute mystery how the two of them synchronized perfectly.

You have no idea what you would do without these two.

A few more minutes go by in this way, until you feel hot hands on your hips, pulling you closer to the hard body on your back. You don't have to turn around to see that it's San; the scent of his perfume, mixed with the sweat and the smoke of a freshly smoked cigarette, makes you dizzy, and you rest your head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath of the intoxicating mixture. Suddenly you want to get as close to him as possible, turn around and press your face against his hard, structured chest, breathing in deeply and sinking into him completely. Your arms reach out behind you and wrap around San's neck, tangling your fingers in the scarlet strands of hair at the nape of his neck. You feel it on your back as the action makes him purr like a cat. You wonder what other sounds you might be able to catch him making.

You shake yourself. The thought of it sends shivers down your arms and makes all the muscles in your lower abdomen tingle.

You should stop. These are bad thoughts. Very bad thoughts.

"Damn, baby girl, how much did you drink while we were away?" Wooyoung's voice is rough and husky, but his touch is gentle and careful as his fingers intertwine with yours. He has always touched you in a way that no other man in the world, with the exception of him and San, has ever been able to touch you. There was no comparison with your ex's touch. Wooyoung's touch is a promise. A promise to protect, to care, and perhaps to love? You could swear you saved the planet in your past life because you have such great friends in this one, or maybe a little more than friends, but you're not sure what to call this feeling. 

You had been friends for so long that it wasn't weird not have a crush on Wooyoung or to dream of being married to San. The guy was literally a walking husband; he was second only to Songhwa in that respect, but please, Hwa was the epitome of husband material. You might even have wanted to be in the middle of it, sandwiched between hot bodies while they literally fucked the life out of you. But it was all just thoughts. Fleeting dreams that clung to the edges of your consciousness. You were the type to date, and they were the type to fuck. You were different when it came to loving. In any case, it was all a long time ago. You had a boyfriend, and Wooyoung and San collected girls like Pokémon. Somehow, you were sure that if you slept together, your friendship would end.

You weren't ready for that. With a strength that only Jongho could match, you ignored any romantic feelings for them

"Mmm… Woo, I have no recollection, but I had fun." You licked your lips as if you were trying to taste the lingering taste of the tequila and opened your eyes to stare straight into Wooyoung's face, full of worry. He could have been the biggest bitch if he wanted to be. But for you, that 'maternal' instinct of overprotection has kicked in. You stare at him unblinkingly in that moody light, he looks beautiful, to the point of being stupidly handsome, so damn handsome that you want to pull him to you and kiss him without explanation or reason. And you can do that because you know he's never, ever going to say no to you but kiss you? Wooyoung's tongue will be the first to enter your mouth. He will suck on it like a drunk, and he will hold on to you until there is almost no air left in your lungs.

"We leave you alone, gongjunim, for five minutes, and you're already in trouble. Shall I give you a lesson in obedience?" San is speaking into your ear, loud enough for you to hear him clearly, each word coming through the loud electric bass. His voice is too sultry to be sober enough. Woo probably talked him into a few shots, although he always got drunk pretty easily. The two were threatening each other. And to you as well.

The evil voice inside your head grinned: You know you want it. He's going to punish you for being such a bad, naughty girl. He will teach you to be the best little girl for him and for them and to follow all his rules. He'll make you beg and make you cry…

Fuck, girl, come to your senses. Since when did you start to think with your pussy instead of using your brain? Or do you automatically turn into a horny, over-excited idiot after a break-up? Turn on your brains; they are your best friends.

Completely ignoring San's words, you whimpered:

"I'm thirsty." Your tongue is dry in your mouth, and your lips feel unpleasantly rough as you say the words. It looks like the fun's over for today.

San can't help but laugh at your capricious behavior, and you wriggle restlessly in his arms, trying to free yourself from his firm grip, but he only manages to hold you even tighter. You sigh in annoyance and decide to try your luck with Wooyoung.

"Woo, help me." You whine again, reaching out and pulling Wooyoung closer so that your forehead rests against his collarbone.

He smells good, like sandalwood and vanilla, like home.

Wooyoung lifts your face with his fingertips. The touch is soft and comforting, despite the roar of the music and the crowd of strangers around you. He stares intently into your eyes, almost too serious for your drunken haze. He hopes to find something more than alcohol-induced excitement.

"Come on, baby. It's time to go home." He releases your hand and carefully wipes the sweat from your forehead and cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt, his fingers lingering on your lips for a moment, and you playfully stick out your tongue and lick the pads of his fingers. God, may you not remember this tomorrow.

"But I don't want to…" You purse your lips again. You turn your head towards San, looking for his support. "Sanni, let's stay a bit more." Your big, shining eyes are not making it easy for him, but you were already quite drunk, and judging by the way your body was leaning against him, you could hardly stand properly.

"Wooyoung's right, gongjunim, it's over for you today."

Something wild in you just wants to be a brat and start arguing, but the rational part of your brain wins out. You sigh tiredly and try to wriggle out of his grip, and of course you stumble, grabbing Wooyoung's biceps with your hands in an attempt to stay on your feet and not break your high-heeled leg, which would be a great way to end the night.

A strong arm immediately wraps around your waist. It digs lightly into the exposed skin between your top and your jeans. You can feel the coldness of the thin band of his ring. It actually burns from how sensitive you were now.

"I got you, chagi." San whispers softly and hoarsely into your ear, and you cling even more tightly to Wooyoung's arm as your legs begins to shake, but no longer from the alcohol you've drunk and the tiredness, but from his sultry tone. Damn, was that a saturi, or was it just your imagination?

"We'll be on our way now, for sure." Wooyoung takes your hand once more, pulling it away from his bicep, and quickly leads you through the crowd of sweaty bodies, completely ignoring your feeble protests until you see the flashing exit sign. The red neon sign brings you ominously close to the point where you are left alone with them. And you feel San's heavy presence at your back like never before. 

The sounds of the city swallow you up and make you dizzy as Wooyoung opens the heavy metal door. Couples are kissing all over the place. Noisy groups of people are huddled together waiting for a taxi or sharing a single joint, leaving a faint smell of weed in the air. You can still hear the vibrating bass of the music that is pouring out of the club; it echoes in your head in an unpleasant way, with a slight throbbing pain. All of a sudden, all you want to do is find yourself in a warm bed, snuggled up against San or Wooyoung, or even better, against both of them.

San's hand on your waist tenses as you bend over to hail a taxi. Wooyoung's hands come down on your hips, hot and strong, and just like that, you find yourself sandwiched between them, their bodies shielding you safely from the searing cold and dirty stares. You could swear that you can hear Wooyoung swears to himself while a drunk guy is moving his tongue between two spread fingers and looking in your direction. San's body tenses instinctively. What's with all this protection? We're not in some kind of alpha-character romance; you can take care of yourself.

But in spite of that, your body still relaxes, your head leans back against Wooyoung's shoulder, and you rub your face against his like a cat.

"You're so drunk, baby." Woo chuckles and gives you a light kiss on the top of your head. "That's my girl."

My girl, just the sound of that one sentence makes a little fire start in your belly. What the hell is wrong with you today? A week ago, you were rinsing his mouth after Woo drank too much, and now you're ready to lick his mouth from the inside. 

Fuck.

All these thoughts make you lose track of what's happening until you feel the smooth leather of the car seat beneath you and the soft touch of San's lips on your bare shoulder. You moan, either from annoyance or excitement. San just smiles and presses his lips harder against you. Finally, you are going home.

You faintly hear Wooyoung giving the Uber driver the coordinates of your apartment complex, your hands intertwining again, relaxing further as Wooyoung's head rests on your shoulder. His long hair tickles the back of your neck.

Sobriety slowly begins to clear your head as the ride continues. You're still drunk, but you're much more aware than before.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" Your voice is low, barely above a whisper, but in the confined space of the car's backseat, they can hear it well. It sets them in motion again, hands clasped around you with renewed confidence. You play mindlessly with the silver rings that adorn Wooyoung's long fingers, and you don't go unnoticed by San's light strokes on the outside of your thigh.

"All for you, chagiya." San whispers back and gives Wooyoung a meaningful look. There's something special between the two of them—a dialogue that is spoken without words but in which they both know exactly what is meant. If only you knew what was going on inside their heads…

You let your hand drop to Wooyoung's muscular thigh and ran the palm of your hand over it a couple of times, feeling the tight muscles under the skin of his trousers. He covers the palm of your hand with his own and squeezes it in a silent, gentle gesture of affection.

"I love you guys…" You whisper, sticking out your tongue to lick your suddenly dry lips. You hear them giggling together before you feel San press his nose against the soft skin of your collarbone, rubbing against it like a cat. He's the ultimate cinnamon bun; how he can be someone who's had sex with half the university is still a mystery to you.

"I love you too, gongjunim." And he means it, like he really loves you—much more than a friend should.

"Mmm, I love you more. You know that, baby." Wooyoung bites the skin on the back of your neck in a playful way, and you feel his wet tongue pressing against the site of the bite for a few seconds. 

"You're not sleeping in my bed. Woo, stop it; that tactic won't work on me anymore."

He whimpers back with a puff of his swollen lips, turning his face away from you with an irritated roll of his eyes as you and San laugh, his arms naturally wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to his body so that you're practically sitting on his lap. A faint melody, from some kind of soft track, pours out of the speakers and lulls you into a state of serenity. You find it harder and harder to keep your eyes open. Your body relaxes even more in San's arms.

The next twenty minutes fly by, and you only begin to wake up when the cab door slams behind you and Wooyoung drags you into her flat. The fobs on your keys jingle loudly in the silence of the corridor as San fiddles with them to unlock the door. You sway in Woo's arms as you wait for the door to your apartment to open. The soothing scent of neroli and orchids greets you as you enter, your body automatically relaxing into the safety of your personal space, and you fall wearily into the armchair opposite sofa.

As the door closes, you hear the sound of the boys hurrying down the corridor, taking off their shoes and jackets. You can imagine San carefully placing his shoes next to yours and Wooyoung's one shoe being kicked further down the corridor. So damn different.

Woo sprints into the kitchen, slams the door of the fridge shut, and there is a bottle of cold water in front of your face.

"Here you go, starlight." He sinks to the floor at your feet and leans back against them, resting his head in your lap as he does so. You run your fingers through his long black hair, brushing it away from his face, and meet his gaze with your own. It's familiar; away from the deafening music and the sweaty crowd, you feel much better now, despite the fact that a few hours ago your ex was fucking your friend on the couch across the hall. This is still your home, and you're sure that in a few days your entire apartment will be taken apart and put back together by the caring hands of Seonghwa and Yeosang, when there won't be a trace of your failed past relationships left.   "Are you okay?" San asks, leaning against the doorjamb.

"I'm… fine, yeah. Probably not as good as I'd like to be, but I'll be fine; it'll just take some time. At the moment, I'm just tired of it all."

"Go take a shower, sweetie; San and I will take care of the rest." Wooyoung says as he gets up from the floor and pulls the leather jacket off of his shoulders. The wide collar of his black t-shirt shows the tattoo on his back. You always found that part of him extremely sexy.

You rise from your chair, grimacing at the pain in your legs after so many hours in high heels. Your top falls to the floor as you take it off, the lace of your black lingerie clinging to your body like a second skin. They've seen you naked more than once or twice, and in any case, you're not one of those cute girls who blushes at every opportunity. You have to struggle to pull your jeans down your legs because they are so tight around your arse. The next thing to come off is your underwear, which you leaves halfway to the toilet somewhere. You let them take care of that too.

The level of intimacy that you have with San and Wooyoung is so high that it virtually erases any barrier to acceptable standards of friendship. Years of shared memories, from when you started high school to when you practically star graduates of Seoul National University. God, the things you've done and the situations you've been in—it's been a hectic time. The three of you literally know each other to your bones—sharing habits, feelings, clothes, and even some sexual practices under the influence of alcohol and chance. You've seen them fuck; they've held your hair when you've puked, helped with periods, you've seen them jerking off in the morning or heard them moaning loudly in the bathroom, you all watched porn together—it's all been part of your friendship. In a way, the three of you have been completely and utterly shameless.

You close the bathroom door and stare wearily at your reflection in the large mirror. Your hair is disheveled from those beautiful waves there's not a trace, your skin is glistening with sweat, your make-up looks messy—a bit of smudged eyeliner, smeared lipstick—and in general, you look like you've been beaten up. The pupils of your eyes are dilated, even though you're still feeling sleepy, and there's a bit of puffiness under your eyes from previous tantrum.

Wow, you look like a real mess. You turn away from the mirror, turn on the tap of water, and sink back into your usual daily routine. The water cleanses not only your body but also your mind, spectacularly washing away all the memories and regrets of the day.

It seems to be at least a minute before you hear the sound of a heavy knock on the door. San's voice is muffled over the sound of water and steam, rough, husky, and incredibly sexy, sending electric shocks through your body and unexpected heat building between your thighs. Your fingers turn the handle, stopping the water from flowing, and you take a few long breaths, trying to get rid of this strange feeling. What's wrong with you today?

"Chagi, are you okay?"

You mooed in response, stepped out of the shower, and wrapped the towel around your body before opening the door to face him. He's standing across the bathtub, slumped against the wall, so soft and fluffy, when you open the door. San has changed into a pair of loose pajamas, which are very cute, according to your taste. He has washed off his make-up and generally looks more like an adorable bun than the voluptuous demon he is supposed to be at the university.

"What the hell took you so long? Wooyoung's already starting to climb the wall from here." He whimpers with a pucker on his lips.

"I needed some time to myself, Sanni."

He bites his bottom lip before nodding. His burning gaze travels over you from head to toe, lingering a little longer than usual on your thighs and breasts, and your body heats up at the sensation. When your eyes meet, there is an emotion that you are unfamiliar with that hovers just above the surface of his gleaming dark irises. Something predatory flashes across his face, just for a second, but it's enough to make your skin tingle with an unknown sense of anticipation.

"Just a few more minutes, and then I'll be on my way, all right? Tell Wooyoung to be a little more patient."

"Alright."

You step back into the tub, close the door behind you, and press your back against the wall. You bite your lips, trying to hold back a groan of disappointment. It's not that after all these years of friendship you've never felt sexually aroused in their presence; after all, Wooyoung and San were so damn attractive and even flirtatious to the point of insanity, they fit the cliché of lusty, popular boys at university so well.

Perhaps you had once or twice wondered what it would be like to be close to one of them, or even better, both of them—what their bodies would feel like and what their tastes would be like. Yet, consciously ignoring any romantic urges in their direction, you buried those thoughts deep in the back of your mind. You didn't want to think about how beautiful San's smile was, with those sweet dimples, or how your skin burned under Woo's playful, incessant kisses. But those were only fragmentary thoughts, a dangerous feeling creeping into your heart.

For a while your hunger for them was satisfied by a succession of boy toys until you found yourself a steady boyfriend, well until you caught him with one of your girlfriends tonight. Either way, the sex was hardly satisfying enough to get too upset about, but still, the ache in your heart and your bottom-punched self-esteem stung like a bitch.

But today there was something different between the three of you; on a day like any other, there was a different feeling. It wasn't anything special; San's tearful face had been tucked between your breasts more than once or twice after another romantic fiasco, and Wooyoung had been a complete fool in love, getting burned so many times because he wore his heart on his sleeve. You have been friends long enough to know how to comfort each other after breaking up. You have never experienced such a tension between the three of you before.

There was a barely perceptible change in the air; there was an electric tension in the chemistry between you; a crackle in the air like a thunderstorm was about to break. The storm was coming at a furious pace, and you weren't sure if you were going to be able to handle it. To end up between them was like voluntarily stepping into a hurricane rated at twelve. Was that what you wanted? You probably did. Did they want it? There was no way of knowing. Would things have changed if you'd fucked, yes, of course, but would you have had a 'happily ever after', you weren't so sure.

You brush your hair with your fingertips, hissing in pain when you can't untangle the tangled locks, and continue this compulsive action as you step out of the suddenly claustrophobic space of the bathroom. The corridor is cold, and the change in temperature causes goose bumps to run down the length of your skin. Cold air climbs under the towel's edges, clinging uncomfortably to your tender inner thighs.

"I left some fresh clothes for you on the dresser next to the bathtub. Didn't you notice?" San asks. His pronunciation is as simple as if he hadn't been the one who just a few minutes ago ate you alive with his eyes. He is sitting on the arm of the chair Wooyoung is comfortably ensconced in, mindlessly scrolling through social media.

The couch, which was once your favorite place to be, is clearly in disuse. You're already anticipating Hongjoong's endless complaints about it. That couch was the love of his life.

Wooyoung has changed his clothes too; there's no trace of the seductive college hottie left; the stretchy top of the oversized shirt slipping off his shoulders to expose his collarbones made him look so tiny and cuddly; and the soft disheveled hair falling over his face gave his features something adorably puppyish. They both looked homely and terribly comfortable, as if this was legitimately their home and not yours, as if their place had always been here, the space they belonged to.

"It's stuffy. I don't want to get dressed." You reply, pulling the towel tighter around your chest. You actually contradict yourself by wrapping your arms around yourself, but you don't want to explain anything to them either.

"Personally, I like it all; you can keep going, baby."

"Of course you like it, Woo; we all know about your love for exhibitionism." You say this nonchalantly and let your body fall into Wooyoung's lap, not caring that you're actually naked under the towel or that his shirt is getting wet as the water from your wet hair drips onto it. You're trapped between their bodies again, and you'd be lying if you said you didn't like the feeling. You savor his scent and the feel of his smooth skin as your face sinks into the curve of Woo's neck.

You all sink into a nice, relaxing silence as the boys scroll through endless social media feeds, your eyes grow heavier, and the need for sleep becomes more palpable. But you love it so much—just being around them, not thinking about anything else, feeling the way San's fingers play with your hair while you twirl the rings on Woo's fingers—that you probably have a fetish for his hands. Anyway, you don't mind.

Minutes go by like this, slowly approaching an hour. You feel content and warm as you sit on Wooyoung's gorgeous muscular thighs. He is humming something to himself, drawing scattered patterns with his fingertips on your bare thigh. Your lips press against Woo's neck, leaving a sweet kiss on his skin. He squirms beneath you, his fingers clenching tighter and tighter on your thigh. God, he's so hot.

"You're so needy, kitten," San says with laughter before you feel his lips on your shoulder. It's not a chaste, friendly kiss; no, his lips are wet with saliva, open so you can feel the scorching breath and his tongue tip gliding across your skin in slow motion. San is licking you like a cat, damn it.

"Is this a side effect of the break-up or something like that? Look at you, Peach. You're a horny mess." Wooyoung raises an eyebrow in curiosity and pulls you closer to his chest. You slide down his thighs, and the towel scratches a little higher, a little more, and they can easily see your pussy. At that thought, the familiar throbbing between your legs reminds you just how wet you are, the viscous, clear liquid threatening to run down the inside of your thighs and stain Woo's clothes.

Praying that neither of them will notice how flushed and horny you feel at this moment, you squeeze your legs together and slide your hand down to pull the towel further down your legs, as far down as possible in this position.

You're so thirsty; the lust is bubbling just beneath the surface of your skin, and the heady mix of their scent and the residual alcohol in your blood is making you feel like such a needy slut.

The rational part of your brain tells you that you should be in a completely different state right now—a mess of tears and snot, probably on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown. Somewhere between the self-destruction of your own self-esteem and a crisis of identity, But here you are, practically naked in Woo's arms, with an obscenely wet pussy and no shame whatsoever.

In contrast to the'real' half of you, something small and evil urged you to go further, to spread your legs, to expose yourself shamelessly, to ride Wu's thigh and have a hot rodeo until you couldn't cum any more, and then let San use you however he wanted; you don't mind at all being a chew toy for him. Hell, boy, all you want to do is let him fuck your brains out.

You sink your teeth into your lower lip with force; the taste of blood is almost in your mouth.

"Fuck me. I want to sleep, baby. You can use me. Let's go to bed."You whine, puffing up your cheeks.

"Okay, okay, baby, let's put the princess to bed." San lifts you from your place on Woo's lap and pulls you tightly against his chest, and you can clearly feel every ripple of muscle on that perfect body. When did he have time to get that big?

He carries you into the bedroom like a princess. Wooyoung's shuffling footsteps can be heard behind you, and you throw your head back to meet his gaze.

"We had a change of sheets. Personally, I'm in favor of burning all his stuff."

"Have I told you I love you?"

"Mmm, let me think. Maybe just a few thousand times." He gives you a cheeky smile, and you laugh.

"Love, love, love, love, I love you so much. You're the best boys in the world. You sing with a big smile on your face, and the sound of their laughter fills the bedroom. 

"We love you too; we love you so much."

If you weren't so drunk and tired, your brain might have been able to process Wooyoung's changed intonation, but you completely ignored any possible hint of how they felt about you.

San gently laid you down on the bed, and Woo's lithe body crawled beside you, snuggling against your side, hugging you like his personal teddy bear.

"Woo, let her go; she has to put on some clothes." He pulls off his T-shirt and holds the soft fabric out in front of you. Your hands lazily crumple it up in an attempt to decide whether or not to put it on, but the boys decide for you. 

Wooyoung sits you down and holds you tightly by the waist while San pulls the T-shirt over your head and pulls off the towel at the same time. You are still naked, but you are a bit more decent now.

"You're such good friends. I wish I could date someone like you." You lie back down, and Woo's hands paddle you again, as if it's his natural reflex. You're not aware of the exchange of glances between the two of them. The silent conversation that goes on between them is completely ignored.

"Hmm, someone like us?" San sits down on the bed in front of you, and in an instant, your fingers cling to his naked chest. You want so badly to sink your teeth into the smooth, bulging muscles of his chest. "Baby, aren't you afraid we're going to be jealous?"

"You and jealousy, come on. I went out with Suho, and none of you minded."

"It's because the idiot has a tiny dick." With an evil giggle, Woo whispers in your ear.

"Wooyoung!"

"He's right, chagia. When was the last time you had an orgasm?"

"San, not you too." You whine and give him a light tap on the shoulder.

"Well, if you were with someone like us, you'd know what it means to have a good fuck. We'd fuck your brains out, baby."

"Jung Wooyoung, wash your filthy mouth. San, tell him." You call out to your more rational friend in a resentful tone to calm Woo down.

"Well, I can't say that he's wrong. You won't be on foot for days after we are." The grin on San's face is so predatory that you can't tell that it's your sweet himbo friend. It's making the muscles at the bottom of your stomach clench in anticipation of this promise.

"You do know that I used to sleep with Yunho before I started dating Suho, right? You can hardly come as a surprise to me; he's very good."

"We know." Woo hissed in annoyance, and his arms tightened around you, planting his foot on your thigh and completely cutting off any attempt you might have made to pull away from him, even if you wanted to.

"But we're so much better." A hot palm slides just over your waist near to Wooyoung's hand, practically covering your breasts. You feel the full weight of it on your body.

"In your dreams."

For a few moments, you close your eyes and fall silent. The comforting silence lulls you to sleep, but there is one thought that keeps you from falling completely into a deep slumber. With a groan, you come back to reality, blinking slowly as your brain forms the words that seem to be too heavy on the tip of your tongue—heavy, but so damned sweet.

"I wanna… I mean, let's have threesome." 

"Sorry, what!" Wooyoung almost yells, sitting up in bed in an instant and staring at you with his eyes wide open. If the situation wasn't so serious, you could laugh at his shocked expression. "Is it an offer for sex? Right now?"

"Jesus, Wooyoung, just let me finish." You sit down as well and take each one of them by the hand. "We graduate next year, and if… if we are all free and you don't mind, maybe we can have threesomes."

"I'm ready. Why wait?" Woo clings to you like a leech. He presses every inch of his body against you so tightly that you practically melt into each other. His skin is hot, and you can feel his breath brushing against your ear and his lips touching it as he speaks. "Come, Y/N, we can do this now. I'm going to take you to heaven."

"Wooyoung, I'm serious."

You have to look at San, who's been silent the whole time. The look in his eyes is so dark, full of lust and hunger. It doesn't leave you for a second.

"San…"

"I'll do anything for you, Y/N."

"I'll be ready for you in a year if you're still willing. Now get out of the room, the both of you. Tonight I'll be alone in bed."

You push them off the bed, San rolls over on the floor with a clatter, and Wooyoung jumps up like a man who has been scalded.

"But chagi…" He whines, loud and nasty, as San drags him out of the room.

"Sweet dreams, gongjunim." That's the last thing you hear before the door slams shut behind them and you're left alone in the bedroom.

You can hear their muffled voices coming from the hallway, trying so hard to keep quiet. Wooyoung's incessant complaining, mixed with San's low muttering, effectively lulls you to sleep. You probably won't even remember tonight, let alone this stupid proposal, but little do you know that neither San nor Wooyoung have any intention of letting you forget.

You are going to have a very funny year in front of you.

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez x reader #kpop smut #ateez fanfic #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san #mingi #wooyoung #jongho #ateez ot8 #ateez imagines #seonghwa smut #ateez san #san smut #hongjoong smut #ateez wooyoung #yunho smut #woosan

[blitzyn]

rookie mistake

dottore x m!reader

Request: Requests are open right? I hope so 🤞 Would I be able to ask for a sub!(male/amab)reader X dom!dottore? With some blackmail and coercion, preferably leaning towards dubious consent but I’m am a-ok with non-con elements, with a fatui/subordinate reader? If you could add in a small scene of him continuing while talking with someone outside the door that’s be awesome 😎 - Anonymous

Synopsis: You accidentally invade Dottore's office in search of intel.

a/n -> yall i know that i said i was on the fence about writing for genshin, but it was dottore and i love him plus i really liked this idea despite it having collected dust in my inbox for decades. whoever requested this: i love your mind and im so sorry it took me forever to decide to write this!! but just a reminder to whoever sees this, i will not be writing for fontaine unless stated otherwise!!

wc -> 3.6k

cw -> non-con, blackmail, coercion, blowjob, deepthroat, literally getting caught, spit as lube, anal fingering, anal sex, standing doggy position, fatuus/infiltrator reader, guys he calls you a rat because you're a spy, not beta read

Your job was straightforward. But it was also one of the most grueling missions you've ever been assigned to.

With your status as an elite spy, you were tasked with infiltrating the Fatui as one of their ranks to gather information regarding the locations and purposes of specific forts to prevent potential attacks and keep the organization from acquiring knowledge valuable to their cause.

There was absolutely no room for error, lest you get caught and pay for that mistake with your life.

Fortunately enough, the mask everyone was required to wear (with the exception of the Harbingers) concealed your identity, allowing you to execute your orders with relative ease. Of course, it wasn't completely simple. You had to fight your way up the ranks in order to even get a hint of the plan from your superiors, which took years to even get recognized for your efforts.

Several times have you had to go against your moral compass. Several times, you doubted your abilities and questioned if you were even making a dent in the Fatui's plans. Although, when you heard a faint argument due to a lack of resources, you knew you were on the right track.

But one day, you noticed that an agent's office door was left unlocked. There was no one in the hallways, and not a soul knew that you had stolen an important document that recorded data for some valuable supply that you didn't care enough to read about.

Making sure you tucked the paper deep inside your coat pocket, you strained your ears to ensure you were alone before taking the risk and entering the isolated office. It looked like your standard room. Boring, silent, and strangely barren of many decorations. You took a moment to inspect the area before deciding to take a step forward when your blood suddenly ran cold.

"I don't use this office very often," a voice said from behind you. You just about jumped out of your skin, swiveling your head to the person behind you. It took you a moment to put a face to the name you'd heard so many times before, but when you did, you quickly regretted your decision to search for any additional information. "But even so, don't you think it's rude to invade someone's personal space?"

You froze, unable to find the right words. Nothing could explain why you were currently snooping around in an office that wasn't yours—much, much less when it belonged to the Second of the Eleven Harbingers.

You inwardly cursed your naive eagerness to do more than you were asked. Your years of experience as a spy should've kept you from making such a rookie mistake, and now all your work was going down the drain.

The two of you stared at each other for what felt like an eternity, fighting the urge to fidget at the overwhelming feeling of his gaze on you, analyzing your appearance. He broke the silence with a hum, neither intrigued nor entirely disappointed.

"I have heard others spread rumors of a mole within our ranks but thought nothing more of their words as an excuse for their inability to secure our resources," Dottore mused, raising a hand to his chin. "I assume that the mole is you?"

You couldn't bring yourself to reply. Your throat was dry, and your stomach twisted into knots. Not that he cared.

"I must applaud your efforts," he said, a slight smirk decorating his pale face. "Not many people evade our eyes so easily, and for as long as you have."

"But, a word of advice—" He reached into his pocket, pulling out a familiar device. He presented it to you, watching in amusement when you suddenly patted yourself down before looking back up towards him. It was the device you used to contact your organization. "—Make sure you clean up after yourself. It's impolite to leave your items lying around."

You don't remember dropping it or forgetting it somewhere. But that didn't matter anymore. You were stuck in the present with no way of getting out of this situation.

He flipped the device over, dully inspecting it as he continued talking. "After going through your data log, it wasn't hard figuring out what you were going for next. While this normally wouldn't spark any interest in me, this resource just so happens to be vital in my current experiment, and I can't have you tampering with my results."

He walked forward, stopping just a few feet in front of you. He was close enough for you to inhale his scent of sterile rubbing alcohol and metal. It made your nose burn as you watched him intently, tensing and fighting the urge to back away out of fear of angering him somehow. The document in your pocket felt unusually heavy.

"Although, I didn't expect such a seasoned spy like yourself to make such an amateur move," he hummed, ignoring your need for personal space to pull your mask off. And you were helpless against it all. "[Name] [L.Name], is it? Why don't you read the paper you have right now?"

That's when you knew you fucked up big time.

With a shaky hand, you reached into your coat pocket to pull out the report, unfolding it only to realize that it wasn't a report at all. It was a blank piece of paper. But you could've sworn there was writing on it when you grabbed it earlier!

He could see the confusion on your face clear as day as a laugh left his lips, tapping a rolled-up piece of parchment on the tip of your nose to regain your attention. "I believe this is what you're after." With a flick of his wrist, he unfurled the paper that contained everything you needed.

"What—" you gasped, briefly staring at your paper before looking back up.

"It's a shame you didn't think to check the ink before you took it," he said, faux disappointment laced in his voice before it reverted back to its normal tone just as fast. "The ink 'disappears' when subjected to anything higher than room temperature. When you put it in your pocket, your body heat, coupled with the insulation from your coat, affected the writing and turned it invisible."

Fuck.

He planned this out.

You swallowed nervously, taking a deep inhale to steel your nerves, even when it didn't do much to help you. "How... how long have you known?" you couldn't help but ask.

"Not long, really," Dottore casually replied, as if he didn't hold your entire life in the palm of his hand. "I caught you just in time."

"Now," he said with a voice that demanded your attention. Not that he needed to try, anyway. His very presence was almost impossible to ignore. "I'm willing to offer you two options. One, I hand this device over to one of my lovely agents and have them torture you for answers then promptly dispose of you. Or, two—" He waved the communicator in the air, taunting you. "—I have you make it up to me."

It was obvious which one you'd be more tempted to accept, but you knew that accepting an offer such as this from Dottore, of all people, was not a good idea. He knows he has you right where he wants you.

"The second one. I... I'll make it up to you." The words tasted like acid as you forced them out, watching a pleased smirk rise on his face.

"Good," he muttered mostly to himself. Leisurely, he turned around and walked towards the door, shutting it before refocusing back on you.

"Get on your knees," he ordered, placing his hands behind his back as he waited for you to move. He observed silently as you obeyed, staring at the floor in shame. "Crawl to me."

He sighed impatiently upon seeing the conflicted and perplexed expression on your face. "You want to be a rat so badly, don't you? So get down and crawl to me like one."

You were given no choice but to comply despite the absurdity of his request. Hanging your head, you inched forward as the cold, wooden floors painfully dug into your knees, stopping once the sight of his boots came into view. You held back a flinch when you heard the fabric of his clothes rustle as he leaned down to lift your head up by your hair, forcing you to your knees.

Instantly, your eyes zeroed in on the prominent bulge in Dottore's pants, making you painfully aware of what he wanted you to do next. With a suspiciously gentle tug, he brought you slightly closer to him. You could tell he was getting impatient.

"Well?" He questioned, a frown gracing his features. "You don't need instructions. Go on."

You glanced up at him with blatant disgust in your eyes before raising your hands to undo his pants and reveal his semi-hard cock. You suppressed a grimace as you held it in your hand, steeling your nerves just enough to be able to lick a stripe down the side. Flattening your tongue, you moved back up to take the tip in your mouth, letting your saliva slip past the corners of your lips to lubricate the rest of his dick.

You half-assed it all, not bothering to take it all the way down or, at the very least, use your tongue. However, Dottore caught on quick enough with an annoyed sigh. You supposed you shouldn't have been surprised when he tangled his fingers into your hair and shoved you down, but you were caught off guard either way.

You were embarrassed to hear a loud gag sound from you, choking and sputtering on his cock whenever the tip of it slid down your throat. You dug your nails into his thighs when he suddenly shifted and pressed the sole of his boot onto your dick, letting out a muffled cry that only served to please him. He made no move to rub it against you, simply keeping it firmly on your crotch—to keep you in line, you assumed.

You squirmed, internally cringing at the feeling of your drool seeping out the corners of your lips. Fluttering your eyes shut, you tried to focus on your breathing. In and out, in and out, in and—

"Don't look away," he said, refusing to give you a moment of respite, shoving his cock all the way inside your mouth, harshly tugging on your hair at the same time. He fucked your face, ignoring your sounds of protest as he battered your throat. He laughed at your struggle, entertained with the way your tears gathered at your lash line.

"Awh, is this too much for you?" He taunted, shifting his hand to the back of your head to push you down to the base. He sighed contentedly at the feeling of your throat tightening and spasming around him, gently rocking his hips. "You should've thought that through before you accepted the job."

With a painful tug, he pulled you off of his cock. A trail of saliva connected you to him, which you quickly broke when you turned your head to cough into your elbow. He ordered you to get up, unwilling to wait a second before he hauled you up by your arm impatiently. He effortlessly moved your body, pressing your cheek against the wooden door as he pushed on your back, forcing it to arch.

Deeming your position acceptable, he tucked his fingers underneath the waistband of your pants to yank them down to your knees. Your breath hitched at the sudden change in temperature, refusing to lean back and seek any warmth from Dottore.

With one hand on your hip, the other strayed toward your ass, spreading it to inspect your hole. It took effort to keep yourself from fidgeting under his gaze, and you opened your mouth in a daring attempt to get him to hurry up when he suddenly spat on your hole, shoving two fingers inside soon after.

You let out a grunt, clawing at the door he had you lean against. It was an uncomfortably foreign sensation but you were in no position to struggle. A burning sensation emanated from your hole as his fingers forced their way inside, wasting no time to move in a scissoring motion. They brushed against a spot that sent sparks up your spine every so often, taunting you wordlessly.

"You're enjoying this," Dottore said, not as a question or comment, but as a statement. And the worst thing was, he was right. No matter how much your mind made you hate it, your body told a different tale.

You let out a displeased sigh, pressing your forehead against the cold door, not daring to make your words known. Not that he minded. He enjoyed forcing your reactions out of you just as much as having them given to him without a fight.

He made it known with a jab to your prostate, sending a shock up and down your spine so suddenly it nearly made your knees buckle. That was all he gave you before abruptly pulling away, leaving you uncomfortably empty until the quiet ptuh! sound of him spitting on his cock filled your ears.

Fuck. This was actually happening. And you had no way out.

In a last ditch effort to maintain your dignity, you tried to push yourself off of the door but was quickly pressed—borderline slammed—back down with a hand to the back of your neck.

"I don't think you'll enjoy the alternative," he said, the undertones of irritation and impatience evident in his voice. He squeezed the sides of your neck hard enough to ensure your compliance, nearly scowling when you shifted in place. "So be still and behave like a good little thing."

Without missing a beat, he lined the tip of his cock up against your slick asshole and pushed his way inside, forcing a strained cry from your throat. He made sure it hurt, purposefully moving slowly to make you feel every inch and vein.

You whimpered, trying to breathe and calm yourself down. The stretch fucking hurt and you instinctively shifted your hips forward in a futile attempt to ease the pain when Dottore held your hips to yank you back, shoving the last few inches inside you.

You let out a strangled groan, biting your lower lip to stifle your noises as searing pain tore through you. You breathed heavily through your nose, feeling the weight of disgust settle in your chest when you heard him sigh in satisfaction at how tight you were. You winced when he pulled out slowly, only for him to slam back inside with a loud slap.

You jolted, just about ramming your head against the door in surprise. You grit your teeth and pressed a hand against it as the wood audibly creaked and groaned under your weight when he began to move. You tensed upon hearing faint voices beyond the door, peering back over your shoulder in a pathetic attempt to get him to stop.

"W—Wait," you muttered, breath hitching. "There's someone outside...!"

"Then I suppose you're just going to have to be quiet," he replied with an upward quirk to his lips before angling himself in a way that made his cock press up against you just right. You were disgusted to feel heat beginning to pool in your gut, forcing moans past your lips no matter how hard you tried to stop them. You covered your mouth with a hand as you listened to the noises approach. Dottore was (somewhat) merciful enough to press his pelvis against your ass, though that didn't stop him from rocking his hips to cruelly grind his cock into your prostate.

"Dottore?" It took you a moment to process the voice as electricity shot up and down your spine, trying your damn best to stifle your whimpers. "Are you in there?"

It's Pantalone, you recognize.

"Yes. Is there something you need from me?" Dottore replied, shifting his hold on you to start shallowly thrusting. You squeezed your eyes shut, listening to the painfully loud squelching.

"Not at the moment. I thought I heard something... else," Pantalone hummed with a knowing tone, sending a wave of mortification through your body.

"Then if that is all, I'd prefer it if you left," Dottore said, his amusement clear as day in his voice. He didn't even try to hide it as he gave you a punishing thrust, the resounding slap mixing in with your moan as it echoed off the walls. "I'm busy."

A laugh came from behind the door. "Very well. I'll leave you to it."

Dottore refused to wait for him to leave when he started again, this time fucking you so hard you were convinced there'd be a bruise. His fingers dug into your skin, yanking you back in time with his thrusts.

Your legs shook and you bit your lip until you bled, but it hardly did a thing to silence you.

"Look at you," Dottore mused, reaching around to hold your aching cock in his hand. He gave it a squeeze before jerking off the top half, focusing on the tip. "You were never meant to be a spy. You'd be so much better off as my little pet, wouldn't you agree?"

You let out a loud moan, instinctively looking down. You didn't even realize you were so hard, but as you watched the head of your cock drool precum onto the ground, everything felt twice as intense.

"N—No!" You choked out, clawing desperately at the creaking door. "I'll never—I'll never be your pet!"

"No?" Dottore laughed, sounding so unbothered it sent a spike of fear through you, reminding you of just how fucked you were. Swiftly, he swiped his fingers over the tip of your cock before bringing his hand up to push them into your mouth, making you taste your precum. With the palm of his hand, he pressed it against your chin to force your head back.

You let out a groan, feeling the strain on your upper back and neck as you stared at him with fear and disgust.

"I'm afraid you don't have a choice," he reminded, pulling out the communicator with his other hand. He slightly shook it, taunting you. "Don't you remember that actions have consequences?"

He pocketed the device as he slid his hand away from your mouth to bring it to the back of your neck, holding it tightly as he harshly pressed you against the cold wood. The side of your face ached, but, much to your horror, the pain only went straight to your cock.

"So just stand there and enjoy it," he said with a groan, his dick pulsing rhythmically as he savored the sensation of your walls clamping tightly around him. "Don't fight how much you like this."

"I don-" Just then, he rammed his cock into your prostate over and over, reducing you into a babbling mess that only proved his point.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears, ashamed that you loved the feeling of him so deep inside you, but you hated that it was him fucking you. You could feel the heat in your stomach intensify with each harsh thrust, feel the way your balls tightened in a way you knew you couldn't stop.

"Please..." you whimpered, weak against the wet slapping sounds that filled the office. "I don't want to...!"

You came with a whorish moan, arching your back as your cock spilled cum onto the floor. You could hear the sound of Dottore's laugh through the haze of your orgasm as sparks coursed through your veins, knees nearly buckling.

"Yes you do," he groaned, voice slightly strained. You could faintly hear his labored breathing the closer he got to his own orgasm, noticing the way his movements grew sloppier and weaker. He reached around again, jerking you off despite the lurking overstimulation.

You tightened, sending him right over the edge as he slammed his cock inside you a final time, pressing himself flush against your ass as he came. It was uncomfortably warm as he throbbed in time with each spurt, savoring the way you practically tried to milk him dry.

But he didn't let it last long as he pulled out with a satisfied sigh, enjoying the sight of you, shaky and vulnerable, before him. He graciously gave you a moment before commanding you to fix yourself, stepping back to adjust his own appearance.

"Now," he said, sternly, like he didn't just fuck you within a damn inch of your life. "Why don't you send a message to your organization stating that you're not going back."

He handed you the communicator with a smug smirk, relishing in your distress. Taking in a deep breath to steel your nerves, you accepted the device, reluctantly typing in a message before returning it back to him with regret written on your face.

"Oh, don't look so upset," he pouted, pocketing the device. You weren't sure when you'd see it again. "It'll be easier for you if you cooperate."

He made his way past you, opening the door, sending shivers down your spine at the sudden chill. "But right now, you have a lot of work to do."

cross-posted on ao3

#il dottore #reader insert #male reader #reader smut #male reader insert #reader #male reader smut #x male reader #x reader #dottore x male reader #dottore x reader #dottore x you #dottore x reader smut #dottore x male reader smut #cw noncon #tw noncon #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #dom character #top character #sub reader #bottom reader

[xavviquz]

♥︎ thirsty for you. - vamp!choso x fem!reader ♥︎ HCS

warnings // !!MDNI!! period sex, p ⇾ v, unprotected, somnophilia, blood mention, pussy eating, fingering, not proofread (though i dont think any of my fics r but that doesnt make it bad 😘)

notes // getting back into my usual with hcs! i absolutely love vampire choso btw i swear im bent over for him but anyhow, i hope you enjoy this as much as i do! this is also a few years late like heian era late wc: 825

synopsis: you havent been the same since you got with him.. and neither has the aching in your body stopped either.

☆ vamp!choso┊ who has you on your knees at the break of dawn just because he desperately wanted your warmth.

your pussy was so wet and warm, he could fall asleep and never pull out for days no matter what. its not like he hasnt done that before anyways.

you were minding your own business, falling asleep after a long day of talking to customers from the village in order to pay off the rent that was due in the next month. you were tired. exhausted to the bone if you will. as you were drifting to sleep, you felt the mattress get slightly heavy in a particular spot that your boyfriend would sleep on. thinking nothing of it, you drifted off to sleep as you felt a pair of hands feeling your body up and down, your waist all the way to your boobs, pinching at the nubs as you batted your eyes.

you rubbed your eyes before you felt something inside of you. too familiar.. damn it. why now and especially when you were sleeping??

☆ vamp!choso┊who doesnt know how to ask to have sex or put you into the mood, so he reacts on impulse.

you glanced behind you with a sleepy look to see your boyfriend with a dumb smirk, digging his face into the crook of your neck. it felt so wrong and so right.. you’ve talked about this before with him but he never seemed to get why he should ask when you’re ‘his property’ he’d say, but in a sense, you were.

his dick was slowly being pushed in and out of your sensitive walls as he nibbled on your shoulder to hide his whines. you felt so warm and so peaceful.. it was hard to resist someone like you.

☆ vamp!choso┊who has a habbit of using his abilities for his lustful desires.

choso can turn invisible, be a bat, and even have unnatural speed. it made you slightly jealous that you didnt have any but its not like you minded or anything except when he would.. tease you.

the other night when making dinner for the both of you, you felt his slender hands reach up into your shirt, cupping your boobs as he licked your neck. once you turned around though, no one was there. “cho’ stop playing around and help me out..”

“i am helping you out.” he appeared behind you once again, one hand leaving your boobs to venture down to your clit, slowly playing with it. he knew damn well what he was doing and he knew he would get his way by doing so. your moans were like music to his ears and he wouldn’t have you any other way.

☆ vamp!choso┊who loves it when you’re on your period.

your boyfriend was there inbetween your legs as your hands lazily covered your mouth to keep the moans slipping inbetween your lips hidden but.. how could you?

choso’s tongue flicked up against the clit of your pussy, going down to your hole and practically sucking you dry.

damn it. you should’ve never said anything about your period. but even then, he would’ve sniffed you out anyways and have you eaten out in the nearest bathroom he could find just for a taste of you.

☆ vamp!choso┊who always bites and nips at your neck no matter how tired you are. his stamina is endless being a vampire.

you’re nearly fucked out of your mind, everything you saw was a complete blur. your back was arched and it was so late in the night.. you had to open up shop early today so why this day specifically did he decide that he wanted to fuck you brainless?

you scratched at the sheets, his length turning your insides into complete mush. you felt choso’s fangs slightly bite into your skin, digging his teeth into your pump skin. warm red blood from your neck pooled into his mouth, licking spots that dripped.

your mind was lightheaded from all the fucking and bloodsucking. your head drooped down and swung low. you could barely even hold yourself up so how were you going to open up shop now?

choso smirked, kissing the back of your ear before whispering in a low tone. “now you dont need to go to that small stand..” he hugged your waist, pushing on your stomach while he did another deep thrust.

you were so exhausted.. too exhausted to think. your eyes kept fluttering, each blink longer than the last, slowly drifting to sleep in the middle of sex with him.

by the time you had woken up, he was asleep right next to you, sleeping while his fangs were in your neck, and his dick deep within you.

a/n: please consider liking, reblogging, or commenting recommendations!

Ⓒ 2024 xavviquz - dont copy, repost, or modify

#xavviquz #— ‘ ! xav posts #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu choso #choso x female reader #choso x you #choso smut #choso x y/n #choso kamo #choso x reader #jjk choso #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso headcanons #headcanon #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu headcanons #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #send help #i lost motivation #writers block #help #i need choso #choso my beloved

[batwritings]

Kinktober Day 14 - Masturbation

The big Austrian man!! :D König is one of my favorite operators in CoD and I can never decide which I like more: "fanon" König or actual, cold-blooded killer König. Enjoy!~

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

“Are you sure this is alright schatz?” You could tell König was on high alert from the moment you brought him into your flat. It was rare that he got a moment’s respite in the field, and shore leave was even more rare since joining up with KorTac. In front of others, you were nothing more than his subordinate. But here? Was a different story.

You couldn’t help but smile sadly at your lover. You could see him trying so so hard to let his guard down and actually relax with you in your home, a place only you know. “Of course it is love,” you tell him softly. “I actually had an idea, if that’s okay by you?”

König tilts his head, beautiful blue eyes looking to you with such trust and adoration. It made your heart swell with the amount of trust this absolute behemoth of a man was placing in you. On the battle field, you knew he as your colonel had your back. But in down time, without that mask of authority? He was a lost puppy, following whoever he trusted most. And that person was you.

You led him to your bed, suddenly very thankful for your choice of a king sized mattress. Before settling across from him, you slowly began to strip. You watched the Austrian man for any signs that he would be uncomfortable. Granted, this wouldn’t be the first time he’d seen you naked, and gods willing, it wouldn’t be the last.

Sapphire eyes widened and you could see the edges of his balaklava soften with a pink hue. You sat beside him them, skin rubbing against the fabric of his cargo pants. Derobing from military attire was always a bit difficult for him, and this instance was no exception. 

“W-was are you doing?” König asks you softly, unsure of where to settle his eyes. You watched them flicker around in a panic; your sex, your eyes, your body, back to your eyes again. It was a little cute if you were entirely honest.

“Have you not heard of getting off to unwind?” You ask, a slightly teasing tone to your voice. You give a sly smirk as on hand lays across your sex. You sigh softly as you start to slowly pleasure yourself, head lolling to the side to rest on his shoulder. “Join me love.”

You can see the wheels turning in your colonel’s mind. It wasn’t for lack of trust, be he had trouble telling sometimes if you were serious or not. Massive hands come to undo his zipper at a snail’s pace. 

König pulls his member out, and you smile knowingly at him when you see it half hard. You knew the effects your body had on him, and this time was no exception. Hell the only time you’d really seen his face was during a body worship session.

Memories of heated kisses across  your skin play in your head, thus creating more arousal. You sigh again, this time more of a moan as you hide your face against your Austrian lover’s shoulder. You can hear the telltale noises of him starting to stroke his member in time with your own movements.

“Schiße,” König groans, more to himself than you. “I love seeing you like this maus. So open for me, so trusting.” You whimper softly, eyes screwing shut as a new kind of pleasure blossoms from your sex. “So vulnerable.”

The words are right against your ear, hot and sultry. You can tell he’s removed his mask a bit, and that’s exasperated by the feel of a hot tongue against your neck. “Mmh!” You whine, your pace picking up. 

Your skin felt aflame, burning with arousal. You hear König match your movements, loving the way you melt beneath him. For all that innocence and, quite frankly, babygirl energy, you knew who held dominance in the bedroom. 

“Getting close liebe?” The man purrs in your ear. He wasn’t wrong, you absolutely were. Your pace was losing it’s rhythm and becoming more erratic. Despite all his teasing, you could hear the sound of his own strokes picking up in pace. A low growl against your skin has you teetering on the edge.

“Fall apart for me liebling.”

And that was all it took for you to crumble, legs squeezing together as your peak makes a mess across your fingers. The pressure of you against him and sight of your arousal has König huffing little moans of his own. You feel his hand dip down across your oversensitive sex, swiping a bit of your mess onto his digits to lick off.

Another feral growl-like moan, and he too is coming undone. You watch those lovely baby blues roll back into his head a bit as he comes, back arched ever so slightly off the mound of pillows at the head of your bed. You praise him quietly, kissing along his shoulder where you could reach as he comes down from his orgasm, chest heaving.

You offer him a satisfied smile when he finally opens his eyes again. “See, told you that’d help you relax,” you tell him, feeling rather triumphant. The Austrian smirks, and before you know it, you’re on your back, caged in by his arms.

“I can think a few other ways to relax, you know.”

#bat writes #cod smut #konig x reader #konig smut #cod x reader

[somevagrantchild]

Favorite Random Lestat facts

I have insomnia and vampires on the brain, so here are some of my favorite random Lestat facts, in no particular order:

He stole decorating ideas for his chateau from Armand’s Trinity Gate

His fingernails were a little too long when he died, so he files them, though they regrow every night

He liked to spend hours polishing his own coffin as a meditative exercise

As a human, he never liked to masturbate, he’d just go out and find someone to have sex with

When he’s not with Louis, he always thinks Louis can’t possibly be as attractive as he’s remembering him, but then when he sees Louis again, he’s like, “Nope, he really is that hot”

Despite his vanity, he thinks he’s one of the most conventional and boring looking vampires you’ll ever see, and ordinary and uninteresting compared to the cooler vampires

He thinks his best feature is his expression

When he was human, he never had much beard and didn’t have to shave often

He’ll always mention when people are taller than him, so we know anyone whose height isn’t given must be less than six feet

He knows how to tap dance

The other vampires think of him as a poet

Most dogs instinctually hate him, and being rejected by a dog makes him sad every time

Except for with Akasha, he never killed a human that wasn’t a meal

Even as a baby vampire, he had the power to toss Louis across the room with a flick of his wrist, but would still let Louis hold him back and whale on him just to get his rage out

He absolutely adored Claudia and thought of her as his mini-me

In the decade he lived with Antoine (1860-1871), he never wanted to go out in public because he was ashamed of his burn scars

He likes to take naps

He’s a voracious reader

He only wears black socks

He’s a serial walker, not even going anywhere, just walks for hours

He performed a rock concert in a full Bela Lugosi Dracula costume and never took off his suit or cape even though he was sweating buckets. That’s commitment to the bit.

Even though he’s good at it, flying always frightens him on an existential level and fills him with despair

Despite his love of fine clothes, he’ll wear the same outfit for weeks or months until it becomes rags

His list of things that make existence worth it: the blazing warmth of fires and caresses, kisses and arguments, love and longing and blood (emphasis on the longing)

His love language is gift giving (but not receiving)

He never shows any skin in public other than his face (and soooometimes hands)

He doesn’t like how white his hair turned after repeated burnings, and wishes it was more yellow

He gets really angry at the thought of Louis being embarrassed or insulted by others

He is incapable of expressing big feelings out loud, so he writes them all down instead

He wants everyone to remember how scary he really is

He doesn’t like blood with alcohol in it because it makes him dizzy

His mom came up with his name by combining the first letters of his 6 older brothers' names, and it means absolutely nothing

#vampire chronicles #interview with the vampire #the vampire lestat #loustat #I could go on but I'm finally getting sleepy again so we'll have to continue this later #please I love him

[vulpisnocturna]

Hi im so glad you’re back! can I request chrollo x reader overstimulation?

You certainly can, and I will absolutely comply! 😩 there is a shortage of Chrollo smut and I am here to serve 🫣

Masterlist

NSFW - MDNI

Warnings: overstimulation, dirty talk, dom Chrollo, possessiveness, rough sex, fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), vaginal sex, creampie, praise kink

Word count: 2.9k

Pale fingers ghosted the skin of your arms, up and down, teasing and exploratory, and you could practically taste the smug smirk that adorned his well-defined lips, which brushed against your jaw and the column of your throat. You shivered as he breathed in the scent of your perfume mingled with the natural smell of your skin, and he let out a soft sigh.

‘Relax for me, mh? You are so tense… do I make you nervous? Does your blood rush to your stomach? Is your breath shallow and uneven? Do your legs feel weak? Is your heart hammering in your throat? Is your lower stomach so very tight and hot, my little darling? Your skin is pebbled with goosebumps, and you are shivering so much…’ he murmured against your ear, his voice a little raspy, husky and suggestive, warming you up like a bottle of vodka thrown into a fireplace. You swallowed as Chrollo’s lips trailed back to the junction between your neck and your shoulder, kissing gently, languidly.

‘I crave you’ his voice was sin itself as his lips brushed the shell of your ear, and his fingers curled around your hips possessively, greedily, squeezing over the fabric of your skirt. You bit down on your lower lip, your eyelids fluttering close. His bangs tickled your cheek, and his lips pressed against your jaw, your neck, his tongue licking the column of your throat erotically.

You let out a soft, breathy moan, which earned you a pull against his body and his teeth nibbling and pulling gently at your skin.

‘Chrollo…’ you breathed. He stroked your hair, grabbing it and pulling it slightly, exposing your sensitive neck to his greedy lips.

He smiled down at you, his dove grey eyes drinking in your expression like it was liquid gold.

‘I like that look on your face. Such a needy girl’ he purred, voice barely above a whisper, and before you knew it, you were pinned against the wall, hands flat above your head, his mouth ravaging yours. Your mind went haywire, and you moaned against his lips. Chrollo’s cologne filled your nostrils, his body pressed against yours, his tongue traced your bottom lip and his teeth tormented it. That was the thing about someone like Chrollo. Calm, controlled people like him usually needed an outlet. That outlet happened to be you.

He gripped and kneaded your ass with his free hand, his tongue caressing yours with a passion that pierced through you. Calm people like Chrollo could become a blazing inferno of passion in the blink of an eye.

His hand trailed up to your throat, fingers pressing on the sides, reducing the blood flow to your head, making you dizzy. You let his feral passion consume and ignite you, stoking the lust and longing inside you until nothing was on your mind except him.

‘I can feel your heart thumping against my fingers. Darling… you look so helpless. So desperate. But I can make you even more desperate. And I think I have a craving that begs to be satisfied’ he said in a low, raspy voice, one that was rich and reverberated in your ears. He picked you up and tossed you on the bed, making quick work of tearing your clothes off you, his gaze dark and filled with hunger and possessiveness. You moaned and arched your back as Chrollo’s tongue traced your nipple and his fingers pinched the other one, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. His hand trailed to your thigh, and he squeezed and dug his fingers in the soft flesh, groaning against your nipple as he sucked it eagerly. You squirmed and let out a shameful mewl, which seemed to delight him to no end, because he chuckled and sucked a possessive love bite on the swell of your breasts.

Your fingers tangled in his raven hair, tugging and pulling, but Chrollo did not mind when you got a little rough. In fact, he loved every second of it. Chrollo was an eager lover, a greedy one that preyed and feasted on desperation. He sought to drain every drop of ecstasy you had to give, and his satisfaction was derived from your pleading and knowing he was the one driving you to the brink of insanity.

Chrollo’s fingers reached their destination fairly quickly, driven by his intense desire, but you were already sopping wet. He chuckled, giving you a grin that was a mixture between a boyish smile and the taunting smirk of a fallen angel.

‘Oh dear, it seems my little darling is quite desperate already. You are so wet for me’ he crooned, the pads of his fingers tracing patterns on your sensitive skin. Your breath faltered, and you whimpered, your hips twitching, your cheeks warming up at the taunting remark.

‘Chrollo- stop teasing’ you breathed, though his teasing was arousing too. He let out a soft scoff.

‘Why would I do that? It is so easy to rile you up. So easy… to make you weak with desire. And I love it’ he said, his tongue dipping to lick your ribcage as his middle finger started tracing torturous circles around your puffy clit that had you moaning and writhing. He pushed your hips down with a hand and pinned your legs with his body.

‘Ah- ah, ah. I am not finished with you yet. You’ll take what I give you, like a good girl’ he said in his rich, mellow voice, going back to tongue and toy with your nipples. You moaned more, helplessly trying to move against his fingers, be it towards him or away from him. You weren’t too sure.

Your hands cradled his head, and he smiled, dipping two fingers inside you and curling them in a blissful motion. You arched your back, letting a sinful moan pour out of your lips.

‘That’s it, that’s my good girl. Keep moaning for me, darling’ he praised, his voice hot and thick with desire as he started moving his fingers in and out, skilfully rubbing all the right places. You moaned, dragging him back up for a heated kiss that left you breathless. He kept going, kissing your neck and sucking on it harshly.

‘I am going to mark your skin, so everyone knows you are mine. Mine to hold. Mine to touch. Mine to tease. Mine to kiss. Mine to pleasure. Mine to keep’ he groaned against your ear, and you squirmed, the movement of your hips against his fingers getting increasingly more eager.

‘Ch-Chrollo… oh God-‘ you moaned, and he smirked, looking at your face, self-satisfaction written plainly on his features. His fingers worked faster and deeper, making your mouth fall open in a gasp as the coil in your lower stomach wound tighter and tighter and more intense, until you were clinging to him and kissing him sloppily as you came with a breathy moan.

Chrollo gave a satisfied groan and started kissing your neck again, teeth nipping at your collarbones, hands soothing and massaging your thighs, his mouth trailing down your torso. You squirmed when he spread your legs and started kissing your thighs, your face hot, your breath short from your recent orgasm.

‘Chrollo, wait… still sensitive’ you muttered. He gave a low, soft laugh against the skin of your inner thigh, before biting and sucking it, pinning you down when you tried to scoot away a little.

‘My poor little darling. She is so very sensitive’ he crooned, and pinned one of your thighs to the bed, flinging the other on his shoulder and blowing cold air on your clit. You let out an undignified whimper, which he promptly ignored to drag the flat of his tongue on your labia from bottom to top, tensing the tip of his tongue up as he reached your clit to flick it. You let out a loud moan, your fingers disappearing in the inky strands of his hair, and Chrollo groaned, fingers digging in the pliable flesh of your thighs as though he loathed to give you the space to squirm away from his face. His tongue twirled around your clit, pressing against it, uncaring of your whining and desperate strangled moans. His fingers glided to your cunt too, slowly pushing inside you, and he curled them, sucking on your clit at the same time. Your body twitched, and you cried out, writhing underneath him as the pain and pleasure mingled in an addictive mix. You were soon reduced to a panting, moaning mess, your hips rolling against his face and attempting to pull away from it at the same time, your chest heaving, your eyes closed as he continued to pleasure and torment you like his life depended on it.

He pulled back a little to give a smouldering, indulgent look, seeming to revel in the way your body begged him to continue even more than your voice did. He then got back down, increasing the intensity even more, sucking, flicking, curling, licking and spitting on your clit, leaving you no time nor chance to form coherent thoughts as he coaxed another orgasm out of you, one that felt almost mind-numbing. He pulled back as your aftershocks quelled down, and smirked at you, wiping his wet chin with the back of his hand and sucking his fingers clean. You were a heap of limbs strewn on the bed, unable to move, your eyes half-lidded, your swollen lips parted, your body reduced to a ragdoll.

‘Such a good girl for me’ he murmured, brushing your hair away from your face in a sudden tender gesture.

You watched him as he took his clothes off, tossing his shirt on the floor, revealing his toned arms, lean figure and pale, smooth skin. His trousers and boxers came off next, and his fingers wrapped around his cock, stroking it a few times as he looked at you before he lowered himself above you and started rubbing it along your wet labia. You let out a little whimper, and he groaned in the crook of your neck, nibbling at your earlobe and kissing your throat.

He pushed himself inside you, stretching your walls with his thick cock, driving himself inside you until the tip of his shaft was kissing your cervix. Your body arched, your nails raking across his smooth shoulder blades, your voice coming out in a loud, whorish moan at the feeling of fullness and warmth that pooled in your core. Chrollo moaned softly, his head thrown back to the ceiling, his fingers gripping your thigh and hip.

‘Ahh… you take me so well. So tight and wet for me’ he breathed in a thick, husky voice, his hand trailing down to your ass as you hooked your legs around his slim hips. You clung to him, a litany of whimpering, whining sounds leaving your lips as Chrollo started snapping his hips against you, the upward tilt of his cock making you cry with ecstasy and desperation. Your hips rolled against his, the pleasure soon overcoming the pain and sensitivity from your recent orgasm. He groaned, getting rougher and rougher by the minute, his grey eyes, usually so calm and detached, filled with animalistic desires and a feral, possessive thirst for pleasure and control. Chrollo grunted, spreading your legs and locking them apart and bent in the air with his elbows on the inside of your knees. You cried out, your head thrashing side to side as he started to trace circles around your clit with his middle finger, pinning you in place as he watched the scene with decadent, predatory lust, his eyes darting from the apex of your thighs to your face. You whined, tossing your head side to side and trying to push your legs back together.

‘Ahh! Too much~ too much-‘ you cried out, writhing and trembling, still struggling to close your legs. It felt too intense like this, like the pressure would make you explode, like there were hot pincers in your gut.

‘Mmm~ don’t you dare move, my little darling. You’re going to take all of me, and you are going to cum for me, aren’t you? Like a good little girl should’ he breathed, his voice rough and erotic.

‘Chrollo- I can’t- too much- I need…’ you moaned incoherently, your eyes rolling to the back of your head, as Chrollo gave deep, rhythmic thrusts that pressed right against that sweet spot inside you that made you tremble and scream.

‘You can, you’re doing so well. Keep moaning and cum for me, sweetheart. I just want one more. One more for me’ he said, whilst you made desperate noises as the knot in your stomach got tighter and tighter.

‘Ahh! Please!’ you cried out, not even sure what the hell you were asking for. Was it release? Was it mercy? Was it more pleasure?

‘That’s it, there’s a good little girl… don’t you dare move an inch, my love. You are going to cum for me, or I will make you endure this for hours until you do’ he said, his voice raspy, his finger still circling your clit, his hips slamming against you, his face contorted in pleasure, satisfaction and pure, unadulterated lust.

‘Yes- yes! Chrollo- fuck… I need- I can’t…’ you screamed, your whole body shivering, your hips jerking, you cunt squeezing and throbbing around him. He let out a strangled, blissful moan as you pulsed and clamped around him with your intense climax, which left your ears ringing, your legs shaking and your vision flashing for a few seconds. He growled, gripping your legs and moving relentlessly, showing no signs or intentions of stopping or slowing down.

‘Chrollo!’ you whined, squirming and trying to get away, your overstimulated clit aching. Every sensation was more intense and overwhelming than the last, until all your nerve endings felt on fire.

‘Louder! Say my name louder’ he demanded, his eyes darkening with untamed hunger.

‘Chrollo, please!’ you cried out, tears brimming in the corners of your half-lidded eyes, your fingers clawing at the sheets, your body rocking back and forth underneath him.

‘Good girl’ he muttered, and leaned over your ear, ‘your body belongs to me. Understood? You… are mine’

You nodded frantically, pitifully, lost in the throes of passion and his control. Chrollo grinned, starting to lose his cool, becoming more and more intense the closer he got to his own climax.

‘Say it, sweetheart’ he instructed, his voice gruff. You whined.

‘’m yours, Chrollo’ you moaned. Chrollo smiled slightly, pleasure and satisfaction etched on his face.

‘That’s my good little slut’ he crooned, and your teeth sank in your bottom lip as he continued to pound you into the mattress. The knot in your stomach was there once again, despite not believing you were even capable of having another orgasm, it looked as though Chrollo was determined to push you further, to make you lose yourself in his arms. And you were. Your mind was empty, your body was ablaze with desire and pleasure, your eyes were bleary and fucked out.

‘Beg me to cum inside you. Beg me for it’ he said harshly, voice low and demanding. You could hardly even think with the intensity of the sensations travelling through your body.

‘Oh? Is my pretty little slut too fucked out to answer me? Would you like me to stop, then? Should I leave you like this?’ he taunted, thrusting roughly and deeply inside you, pounding against your cervix. You let out a loud, desperate scream.

‘No! Please, Chrollo- Cum inside me, please- please don’t stop…’ you pleaded, and he looked as though your words had sent him spiralling into a maelstrom of passion, satisfaction, pleasure and predatory lust.

‘Such a desperate, needy girl. Such a good girl’ he purred, his pale skin glowing with a silver gleam in the moonlight streaming from the window, his dark eyebrows furrowed, grey eyes narrowed.

You sobbed, writhing, the hot, tight pressure in your lower stomach becoming so strong you couldn’t think, couldn’t form words, couldn’t do anything but feel. You clamped and throbbed around him, and Chrollo let out a curse, becoming almost feral.

‘Yes, yes! That’s it. Fuck, that feels so… so tight- so good. Good girl. Cum for me. You can do it… oh God- I’m close’ he groaned, and you tossed your head side to side, your whole body trembling and shivering in his grasp, your vision blurring, tears staining your temples as a white-hot, mind-numbing orgasm washed through you like a tidal wave, making your whole body tense up. Chrollo moaned against the skin of your throat, biting down harsher than he probably meant to, his hips stuttering as he came inside you, your name a prayer of passion and reverence on his lips.

He swallowed, slumping on top of you, releasing the tight, bruising hold on your legs and catching his breath. Your own breath was laboured and shallow, your skin feverish, your eyes closed as you basked in the afterglow of one of the most intense experiences of your life.

Chrollo rolled over to your side after a minute or two, drawing patterns on your ribcage. He gave you a boyish smile, a rare sight of unadulterated warmth in his grey eyes.

‘You are incredible’ he murmured, planting a kiss on your shoulder. He cradled you in his arms, soothing you with his fingers grazing your spine.

‘You are mine and I am yours’ you murmured, nuzzling his chest. He sighed in contentment, repeating the phrase to you, like your own personal “I love you”.

#hunter x hunter #chrollo #chrollo lucilfer x reader #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo smut #chrollo lucilfer smut #chrollo x you #chrollo x y/n #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer x you #kuroro #kuroro lucilfer #hunter x hunter smut #hxh x reader #hxh chrollo #hxh

[safination]

Partners in Death...And Life

Part 5: Glimpse of Me and You: Part i

|Part 4: The Radio Stars' Co-Host Just Wants To Do The Dishes| |Part 5: Gimpse of me and you: Part ii| |Masterlist| Ao3| Taglist| Pairings: Alastor x wife! Reader Tags: fem!reader, established relationships, Asexual! Alastor, Reader is in hell for a reason Warning: Blood and dead bodies <3| A little bit suggestive Now, I know what you must be thinking. Part 1? Yeah…this chapter is supposed to actually be much longer, but the second part of the fic isn’t complete yet and I have like two more exams. And biochemistry isn’t something to laugh about. I am slowly losing my mind. I close my eyes and I see aldehydes and hemiketals. Anyway, part two of this will be posted in like two or three days. It’s already drafted, just need to edit it. So here’s a bite size chapter. It contains marriage years 1930 and 1931. 1932 isn't complete yet, sadly. It was quite long, so part 2 will just be 1932.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1930

 That blasted car is too far.

With each step, the tip of your heels scrape the pavement. Shoe maintenance tells you that dragging the rubber tip shortens its lifespan, but your toes pinch when you lift your shoe. Alastor takes long strides, walking with the pace of a man with his ass on fire. Pick a struggle. One either walks fast but takes short strides, or walks slow but takes long strides. It’s unethical to have both.

Streetlamps illuminate the sidewalk. The dried leaves scattered around catch on your shoe, and the city’s smog particles stick on your skin.

The city sucks ass.

Alastor will have to drag you by the hair to force you to take another step on this cockroach infested streets. One taste of that fresh air surrounding your shared home, and suddenly, you’ve gone soft. Gone are the days where second-hand smoke reminded you of home. Now, home is the radio’s volume turned up in ungodly hours.

Alastor tightens his arm around yours, pulling you closer to him.

He’s wearing his favorite bowtie tonight. Everything from the shine of his shoes to the way he combed his hair screams fancy…except for that bowtie. It’s not something meant for exquisite dinners with your wife. You didn’t understand his instance. It was something you picked up on your way home one day, a measly scrap of fabric you purchased back when you didn’t know what good quality bow ties were. Alastor should know of its poor quality, yet he calls it his favorite.

Alastor lowers closer to your ear. “Is this your way of telling me you wish to visit the city’s zoo?”

“Zoo…?” you echo. These shoes are going straight in the garbage bin once you get home. “Why would I want to go there?”

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek. “I thought you were doing a penguin impression. It's a rather fabulous one, might I add.”

“Ha…Ha…Ha. It’s because I’m walking like a penguin. Not your best one, dearest,” you say, patting his biceps. They’re firmer than they look. “That’s a little bit on the nose. Is it an off night for you?”

“Your feet are hurting,” Alastor tells you like you don’t feel the way your toes slowly lose blood circulation. “I wonder…. Will you deny it? Or are you willing to humble yourself before me, and ask for a seat? There’s still a few more blocks until we reach the car.”

Now, there’s absolutely no way you are going to tell Alastor how your feet pinch and your ankle wobble. With a bright smile, and sheer acting, you continue walking. “Did you do this on purpose?”

Alastor raises his eyebrows. “You were the one who insisted on accompanying me.”

“Well, my feet feel perfectly normal,” you say as your toes buzz. “This is nothing. You should see how long I’m on my feet during work.”

“Yes, because that is a perfectly acceptable thing to happen in workplaces, dearest.” Alastor tightens his arm once more. His thumb brushes up and down your arm. “I would say it pains me to say this, but we both know that would be a lie. I told you so.”

“You did not, actually,” you say, shaking your foot to dislodge the leaves sticking to the bottom of your shoe. “You barely took one glance and said, ‘Those look lovely, dear!’.”

Alastor pauses his steps, and turns to you with a smile. The night does little to dull how bright his brown eyes shine like stardust to you.

He reaches out towards you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He tugs on your ear, and you slap his hand away. Alastor massages his hand. “That hurt, you know,” he says. “But I meant about waiting. You should still be enjoying your drink.”

“And leaves my dearest, darling husband out here? Alone?” you snort, pulling him to continue walking. “I think I remember someone telling me that thieves don’t dissolve in the sun. Imagine them in the dark!”

“And what would be your plan if we both get robbed?”

You show Alastor your biggest smile. “It’s a good thing I have such a big and scary husband to protect me …. .You…You would protect me, right?”

Alastor’s laughter rings across the air. It’s breathy and light and absolutely everything to you.

Alastor grabs your hand and intertwine his fingers around yours. He leads you further into the streets. Soon, smooth pavements replace the pot holes. Leaves replace the scattered beer cans. Grass replace the asphalt roads. Treen replace the buildings. Alastor pulls you deeper into some tiny park where the streetlamps are brighter, and the air smells closer to home.

You follow him, squeezing his hand.

Alastor squeezes back.

At the corner of this park, a children’s playground stands.

The dark does little to dull the bright colors of the seesaw and monkey bars. In the middle, a pirate-shim themed deck connects to a slide. The swing sways lazily with the nudge of the night’s breeze. There’s not a single living soul except for you and him. It’s eerie to see such a place empty when it should be filled to the brim with the life of children’s laughter.

Alastor’s strides become longer, and his pace even faster as he pulls you closer to the playground’s swing.

He releases his grip, and suddenly, your hand belongs to you once more. Alastor brushes the sand off the swing, and offers you a seat with a bow and outstretched arms.

You take the seat. The pressure lifts from your buzzing toes. It’s almost heavenly.

Alastor slides his coat off his shoulders. With soft giggles and a stupid smile, you watch him pull his arm out. Sleeve garters are worn for practical uses, but as a fashion piece….Hmmm, it’s a great look on him. It’s a shame Alastor often hides how those garters compliment his biceps with a coat. How long would it take to hide every single coat he owns?

Alastor slides his eyes to you. It lingers. “Stop that.”

You offer him your most innocent smile as a reply.

Alastor inches close enough for you to inhale his scent. He drapes his coat over your shoulders, pulling on the lapels to secure it around your shoulders.

You press your lips on the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

Alastor kneels on the ground. He pulls your ankle towards him, sliding off your heel. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

You kiss his cheek. “Was there something else I needed to say?” you ask. “That seemed like a proper response.”

He glides his thumb over the reddened parts of your skin, massaging your foot. “Exactly….It was a proper response,” he tells you. “Aren’t you going to question me? Demand to know if I’m going to kill you?”

“I think what you’re doing is rather obvious.”

Alastor stores your shoes to the side, and leaves your feet hanging out in the air. He circles behind you, hovering close enough to feel his presence, even with the coat. He wraps his hands around the metal chain connected to the swing, and sways you back and forth. “Did you enjoy the restaurant? A co-worker recommended it to me.”

“And in the off chance I don’t, will I be seeing that co-worker lying in the middle of our basement?”

Alastor smiles at you. “That depends,” he says. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

You tilt your head backwards to catch his eyes. “Is this a trick question? Am I supposed to say that nothing can compare to your cooking, or something along those lines?”

Alastor shakes the chains, jerking the swing. “You’re supposed to give me an actual answer,” he says, rolling his eyes. “We can come back if you liked it.”

You lean on Alastor’s leg, using it as a backrest. “Every meal is enjoyable when I am in your company, my love” you say. “But that crab was something else. It looked expensive.…We’re, uh, not suddenly going to become poor, right?”

Alastor stares at you. “I’m going to push you off.”

You wrap your hands around Alastor’s, keeping his hold around the chains firm. “What did I do this time?”

Alastor sighs, and swings you gently. “I can afford nice dinners with you.”

“Just me?”

“Only you.”

Alastor pulls you to your feet. Sand pools around your toes. You pull his coat closer around your shoulders as he drags you closer to the pirate-ship themed deck. He releases his hold on your hand, and your fingers brush against each other.

He walks to the platform. The entrance was made for children, so Alastor has to crawl and duck underneath to access the slide.

You fiddle with the lapels of his coat. “What are you doing?”

Alastor glances back at you, smiling as he crawls underneath the entrance. His ass sticks out when he does. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“If your ass gets stuck,” you begin, crossing your arms, “I’m going to leave you here.”

Alastor rolls his eyes, shimmying further into the entrance. “How lucky then that it’s, apparently, horrendously flat,” he says. “There’s nothing there to get stuck.”

“There’s nothing horrendous about it,” you say with a smile. “I see you’re wearing the pants I like.”

Alastor snorts. “Oh, shut up.”

“Not a chance.” Your smile twists brighter.

Alastor grabs the railing, and pulls himself up. His biceps contract when he does. Sleeve garters and railing are for practical uses, but the only thing echoing through your mind were impractical uses right now. Un-practical but exciting....You need to get it together.

“…Flirting,” Alastor says, pulling your mind from wherever it wandered off to. “Really?”

“That was hardly flirting, dearest.”

Alastor ducks into the slide. His ass lands on the sand, and he curses into the air.  You cough to stifle a laugh.

He hops to his feet, brushing the sand off his pants. His lips twist and his eyebrows furrow as he cringes in pain. “This is a hazard,” he says, glaring at the slide. He turns to you and smiles. “You should try it.”

“How brave of you to risk a shattered tailbone for me,” you say. “But I’m not sliding down that thing when you just called it a hazard.”

“You are an incredibly boring person,” he tells you. “Is it not a fad nowadays to be loose and goofy against these depressing times of economic downfall?”

Your raise your eyebrow.” You want me to crawl up there and slide down in this outfit?”

Alastor leans on the side of the slide. “I don’t see any good reason not to.”

“If you wish to ogle my undergarments, there’s no need to concoct such a scheme,” you say, smiling at him. “You merely need to ask.”

Alastor’s lips twist. “I’m not—”

“Oh, calm down, I’m just pulling your leg,” you say, snorting. “You would need to think of someone besides yourself to do such a thing. So, there’s no need to get your perfect little head into such a fuss.”

“Stop it.”

You smile innocently. “No.”

Alastor walks closer to you. “And you wonder why no one wanted to play with you as a child.”

You take steps to walk closer to him as well, meeting him halfway. “Everyone wanted to play with me,” you say. “I’ll have you know that I was quite the delight.”

You stand before each other, inches apart.

Alastor stares at you. What do those eyes tell him as he watches you stand before him, buried into his coat? He leans closer to you. “I doubt that.”

You take a step closer and slide your arms around him to bury yourself into his hold.

“How rude,” you say with a smile. You look up at him to hold his gaze, propping your chin on his chest. His arms tighten around your back. “I was such a delightful child that I would have played with you, even when no other kid wanted to do so.”

Alastor leans down, pecking your lips. You inch upwards to chase his lips, but self-control takes over. “You are and always will be a nerd,” he says. “You were probably the type to read during the afternoon.”

You tighten your hug on him. “What an incredible assumption to make.”

Alastor places a hand on your head. “Am I wrong?”

“I’m not telling you that,” you say, leaning your head into his chest.

Alastor pulls away from the hug, grabbing your hand to drag you to the monkey bars.

He climbs to the very top, and swings his legs to sit between the bars. He offers his hand, and you take it. His thumb brushes over your fingers and you climb up the steps and onto the bars. It’s difficult to maneuver with such a fancy outfit. Alastor keeps a steady hand on you, and the other goes on your waist as you slide to sit next to him.

The whole playground can be seen from the top of the monkey bars.

“If you weren’t a nerd,” Alastor begins, bumping your shoulder with his, “then you were probably a bully.”

You grip the bar, leaning back to stare. His hair brushes over his eyes. Alastor runs a hand over the strands to push it back. You reach out and push his glasses up his nose. “What makes you say that?”

Alastor boops your nose. “You’re a pretty little thing who works in healthcare. Isn’t there a stereotype for that?”

You blink at him a bit dumbly, cheeks flushed and tingling. Heat trails up your skin, and you have to turn away to hide from his gaze. “You think I’m pretty?” you ask rather idiotically. Deep breaths are needed to calm yourself. “Look…look who’s flirting now.”

Alastor hooks his legs on the bar, and swings backwards. He hangs in the air, the force of his legs the only thing keeping him from falling.

 “Don’t do that,” you say, hissing. “You could break your neck.”

Alastor catches your eye with a wild smile. “I won’t.”

“And I’ll be sure to tell that to my next husband as we’re spending all your money,” you tell him. “Now get down from there before you make me a widow!”

Alastor releases his legs from the bar, and his body smacks on the ground. He lies motionless on the sand.

With a sigh, you carefully climb down the monkey bars. You nudge Alastor’s bicep with your foot when you reach him. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

Silence.

You fold the skirt of your dress, and sit across him. You slam your head onto him, using his chest as a pillow.

“Oof!” Alastor curls into you a bit, eyes twitching. He drapes an arm over your stomach, and draws spirals with his finger.

“I think we could have been friends when we were children,” you say, smiling as you feel the way his chest rises up and down with each breath he takes.

Alastor studies the sky. There are no stars to look at here in the city. It’s covered by the lights and the smog. “We wouldn’t. I probably would have hated you.”

“You—Hate me? Impossible!” you say with a laugh. “You think I’m pretty.”

“Ha. Ha,” he says. “You think you’re so clever.”

You intertwine your fingers with his, tracing the ring on his finger. “Sadly, I think I’ll have to agree,” you say. “I probably would have hated you as well.”

“I’m impossible to hate.”

“I'm sure I, of all people, could find a way,” you say with a smile. “Kids can be mean. And you were probably a really weird one.”

Alastor raises his hand to the air, studying his ring against the dark sky. You do the same. Both rings shimmer in the night. “Yet…,” he starts, “here we are, married.”

“I can’t believe we actually got married.”

“I can.”

“Is this where you’ll tell me all about how you fell in love with me at first sight?” your snort. “That my smile and incredible stitching told you I was the woman you were going to wash dishes with for the rest of your life.”

Alastor laughs and his chest rises and falls. “Well, it wasn't flirting.”

“I did not flirt with you.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“On our third meeting, you told me we walked to the wrong house, just to spend four hours with me in the rain,” Alastor says, and you see the smile creeping on his lips. “You were so entrapped by my very being that you couldn’t bear to spend another second without me. You looked like you wanted to kis—”

You slam your head down into his chest. “Oh, shut up.”

Alastor glances at you. “Not a chance.”

“Okay then, well I remember two people underneath that umbrella,” you say with a huff. “You accepted my invitation.”

“I did,” he says. “Although, I had the excuse of needing to gather information on such a suspicious person. That was purely professional.”

“And you decided that an additional four hours of walking was necessary,” you say. “You could have stopped entertaining me in the first hour or even the second, but you spent all four hours getting your shoulders wet.”

“I did, indeed.”

Laughter rings into the air. With each and every of Alastor’s laugh, your head bounces up and down. You bury your face deeper into his chest, laughing against it.

“We’ve been married for more than a year,” you say. “How has it been for you?”

“Nothing much has changed, surprisingly,” Alastor says, shrugging his shoulders. “The only thing that’s different is I get to say the most ridiculous thing like how completing it is to be able to just exist with you.”

You take his hand, bringing it closer to your mouth to brush a soft kiss. “There’s nothing ridiculous about it, my love. I enjoy how completing it is to be able to just exist when you are with me,” you say, and Alastor caresses your cheek, trailing the back of his fingers down your skin. “Shall we head home?”

There’s a brightness in Alastor’s eyes when he smiles. “Not yet,” he says. “Let’s stay like this for a moment.”

Maybe the city isn’t so awful. Alastor could ask you to stay in this park forever, and you would happily breathe in the smog. Later, you will have to stand and grab your shoes, and finally head home to prepare for the next day. But that’s later. This is now.

You giggle against his chest. “You think I’m pretty.”

Alastor groans, placing a hand over his eyes.

There will be a lifetime of moments like this waiting for you in a world where you both just exist.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

1931

The needle pierces through the fabric. You tug on it, pulling the blue thread up and then around to create a simple back stitch. The cat’s outline pieces together. Later, you’ll fill the cloth with grass and flowers, and a little butterfly to give the cat a friend. Should you gift this to Alastor? Well, either way, he’ll find a way to display it around the house sooner or later.

The radio crackles, and music fades into the background.

Soft taps sound on the speaker. “Before I leave for the night,” Alastor’s voice rings from the radio, “I would like to call any attention to any wives out there, especially the one married to me.”

It doesn’t matter that Alastor is all the way at work, miles away, you still roll your eyes at him…but you turn the volume up, listening closely to what he has to say.

“I know my voice can get, oh, so, entrapping,” he says, and you swear you can hear him smile. “Thus, this is a gentle encouragement to complete any tasks you are putting off. For example, you could take out the trash like what was agreed upon.”

You glare at the radio, flicking its wood. “Oh, I hate you,” you mutter. “I hate you so much.”

“Now, now, dearest, we both know that is a lie,” Alastor says. “Don’t wait up!”

The music fades back in, and the broadcast ends for the night.

He likes to think he’s so clever. Let’s see how clever he’ll be when you kill him in his sleep. It will be easy, barely an inconvenience. You’ll drop a pillow right over that handsome face of his, and laugh as he chokes on his own ego.

However,…with a sigh…you take out the trash…like what was agreed upon.

The air is cold at this time of night. The moon looks beautiful tonight, it’s light illuminating the garden. It would be a shame to waste such a breathtaking sight. A part of you wishes to share this with Alastor, that he could be here, right now, and stare at the moon next to you. And the two of you will exist in each other’s company.

You grab the unfinished art piece, and continue on the rocking chair, stitching and listening to the crickets.

It takes hours of stitching and sore fingers, but Alastor’s car finally pulls up the driveway. The engine dies, and he hops out of the car, circling to the trunk and popping it open.

You drop your things, and take a seat on the porch steps to watch him, the moon no longer being the most breathtaking sight.

Alastor’s still wearing his favorite bowtie. It’s too dark to see clearly, but you think he’s pulling out a body from the car’s trunk. He grabs the straps of the obviously filled cadaver bag, letting it drag across the floor.

A good wife would help their husbands carry a very heavy and very dead body. But…if it means being able to sit and stare at your husband hauling a very, very dead person, then maybe, being a good wife is overrated.

Alastor pauses when he sees you, dropping the straps of the cadaver bag. “What are—Is something wrong?”

You smile at the urgency in his voice. “No, not one bit,” you say, leaning on your head on your hand. “Don’t stop on my account.”

“You should be in bed,” he says, crossing his arms. “I told you not to wait for me.”

Your huff, blowing strands of your hair off your face. “Did you? This is the first I’m hearing of this.”

“I did,” Alastor tells you. “Did you not catch tonight’s broadcast?”

“It was a rather busy day. I had things to do, people to see, and all that.”

Even in the dark, you see the way Alastor’s grin widens. He steps towards the garbage bin, opening the lid to check its content. “You are such a horrible liar,” he says, snorting. “I see you got my message.”

Alastor steps into the light.

Part of his hair slicks back. It’s different from its usually neat look. His sleeves are pulled up, folded until his elbow. There are several red stains on him. It’s on his hair, stains his clothes, and paints his face. His eyes have never looked so brown before. How does Alastor manage to make murder…into…into…. You clear your throat a bit, already counting the day until the next time he goes on his hunts.

“Why, hello there, stranger,” you say, not bothering to fight the smile on your lips. “It’s rather cold tonight. Would you mind keeping a lady company?”

Alastor rolls his eyes, brushing back his hair. “I’m a mess.”

“Red’s a great look,” you say. “The seat next to me is empty.”

“Flirting, really?” he says, but he sits next to you. “You’re getting shameless these days.”

You press your lips on his cheek. “For you?” Another kiss. “Always.”

Alastor takes off his coat. The fabric pools around his broad shoulders and down his back before he pulls out his arms. He throws it at your face, smacking you with it. “I hope you don’t go around saying stuff like that to every man you see,” he says, smiling at you. “I might get jealous.”

You peel off his coat from your face, wrapping it around your shoulders. “Only the one married to me,” you tell him. “You should see how I flirt with my husband.”

Alastor props an arm on the steps, leaning back to meet your eyes. “How disappointing to hear you’re married.”

“Don’t be! This current one won’t be alive for very long, so there’s going to be an open spot,” you say, waving your hands. “Are you interested in taking his place? I hope you are—you’re much more handsome than he is.”

Alastor flicks your nose. “Funny.”

You rub your nose a bit. “So…,” you begin, propping your legs across Alastor’s lap, “what is a charming thing like you doing in these woods?”

A strong breeze sways his hair into his eyes. Alastor pushes the strands away, smiling at you like he always does. “What an honor it is to be called charming by you.”

“Oh, not just charming!” you say, clutching your heart as you swoon. “Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?”

Alastor laughs, and his glasses slide down his nose. You push it up for him. “Not nearly enough,” he says. “Maybe I should take your husband’s open spot, afterall. My wife never compliments me as much as you do.”

He traces circles on the skin of your legs. You give him a little kick for what he said. “Maybe she would say it more if your ego didn’t inflate every time,” you say. “I would go as far as to say she’s doing God’s work by keeping you humble.”

Alastor pushes your legs off his lap.

He reaches into his pocket and takes out his handkerchief. Your eyes catch on the little design embroidered on the fabric. “Since you insist on keeping me here, you should at least help clean me up,” he says, offering the cloth to you. “I would do it myself, but there’s no mirror here.”

“Why clean such a masterpiece?” you say, but accept the handkerchief anyway. “May I?”

Alastor nods, inching close enough for the smell of rusted copper and iron to hit your nose. Intoxicating. It was just plainly and simply…divine. Like a rose that fell straight from heaven’s garden.

You wipe blood off his face. Some of the streaks had already dried. There’s a stubborn spot right on his jaw. You brush the back of your fingers down his cheek, trailing it down until you hook it right under his chin.

How does your face look right now for Alastor to stare at you with wide eyes?

The smudge line of blood that paints his jaw isn’t clearing. It’s too dry. You inch your face closer, brushing your nose on his skin as you inhale the dangerous combination of Alastor mixing with the strong undertones of iron.  Soft exhales land on his skin. Your lips part, giving way to moisten that dried spot with your tongue, trailing it up his jaw.

The hints of metal tingle against your tongue. It was sweet and salty, and it combined with Alastor to create something akin to aged fine wine. But not even the most expensive wine could be as intoxicating as this.

Alastor grabs your face, pulling you to meet his eyes. He squishes your cheeks. “That’s unsanitary!” he says, hissing. “You don’t know what type of bacteria mixed in it.”

You pull your face away from his hold, giving him your most innocent smile.

Hopping to your feet, you circle around the dead body that lies in a very dead position on the ground. You kneel, heart thumping, and pull the zipper down.

“Oh…,” you say, taking in the violence this man experienced, “…wow.”

Alastor was not kind to this man, for this one died screaming.

Alastor leans his arms on his knees, smiling at you. “ I got a little carried away,” he says. “Will you still be able to use him?”

“I think he’ll agree that got more than a little carried away,” you say, snorting as you zip the body back into its bag. “Shall I fetch the bone saw?”

“It’s that bad?”

You walk over to where Alastor sits on the steps, climbing to hover on top of him. The only thing keeping you from crashing down on his chest are the way your hands grip the wood behind him. Inches of space separate your bodies. How far will Alastor entertain you?

You smile down at him, trapping him on the steps between your arms. “I can have this one in pieces by sunrise,” you say, voice barely a whisper. “You can grab the spare, and we can call it a date.”

Alastor tilts his chin up to meet your eyes as he smiles at you. “And tell me,” he begins, voice just as soft as yours. He settles his hands on your waist to steady you above him, “how do you plan on achieving his?”

You trace his shoulder, trailing your fingers up his clavicle bone. “It’s like cutting a chicken,” you say. “All I need to do is take my knife and pound the edge across the joints to disconnect his limbs in one swift motion. Smaller pieces would require the saw.”

Alastor pushes himself upwards, and presses a kiss on your cheek. “And you would spend all night cutting this man for me?”

You hum with delight. “Only for you.”

Alastor tugs your waist, and you come crashing on top of him. You curse as your hands slip, and your face lands on his chest. Alastor hugs you, his laughter ringing in the air, breathy and light and so full of delight. “You are the most ridiculous person to be able to exist with.”

You laugh, accepting how Alastor is the one doing the trapping now. “I’m honored you think so.”

“I think that was the most romantic thing I have ever heard in my life,” he says. “I think I could kiss you right now.”

“Don’t let your wife catch you saying that.” You snake your arms around Alastor’s back, tightening the hug he shares with you. “I hear she gets extremely jealous, and it’s never a smart idea to cross a woman who owns a bone saw.”

Alastor’s back digs into the edges of the porch steps. If your added weight lodges the wood deeper into his back, then he makes no complaints. “That’s truly an idiotic thing to do.”

You press yourself deeper into his hold. It’s quite ridiculous. Hugging you on top of the steps must be uncomfortable, but Alastor does so anyway.

In the end, it’s you who pulls away first, but only to save him from an aching back.

 Grasping the steps, you climb higher and press your lips on his forehead. You take the seat next to him. Alastor reaches for you, adjusting his coat around your shoulders to secure you from the night’s cold breeze.

“Bad day at work?” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Alastor leans his head on top of yours. “I’m better now.”

You press deeper into him, laughing against his dress shirt. It’s stained with blood, but you don’t mind. “So, tell me, who is this unfortunate fellow that was on the receiving end of your stress,” you say. “And should I be jealous?”

“I don’t know if I should answer that—Do you happen to own a bone saw?”

You swat his arm, rolling your eyes as you do.

Alastor presses his body closer against yours. “I would love to hear you guess.”

“Hmmm….Well, this is Larry, and he comes from humble beginnings,” you tell him. “He’s a self-made man who met this pretty little thing.”

Alastor takes your hand, thumbing the ring on your finger. “You’re getting better at this.”

There are too many stains on Alastor’s shirt. It’s beyond saving. You’ll have to burn his whole outfit. “Larry met this most darling belle. They were happy until tragedy struck.”

Alastor pulls off his gloves, intertwining his bare fingers with yours. “I do love a tragedy.”

“They fell in love.”

“That’s not tragic,” he says, snorting.

“Then you are a fool, dearest. Love can kill in a way no one has ever been able to describe. Not even the greatest poets can describe the true depths of loss,” you tell him, squeezing his hand. “Homes have been burned in its name.”

Alastor kisses your cheek. “And how did Larry suffer?”

“His darling got taken away from him, in more ways than one,” you say. “Even on her deathbed, she could not recognize him.”

Alastor clutches his heart. “How truly heartbreak!”

You glance up at Alastor. He’s looking at the moon. “Yet, here you are smiling.”

“That’s because you are the most fantastic story teller.”

You pull away to stand, and your fingers brush as it slips out of his.

The porch stairs creak with every step. You reach for the radio on the windowsill, turning the knob until a faint click. Alastor’s lips twist when you change his pre-set station for softer melodies. That man and his radios—Always so particular.

You offer a hand to Alastor, giving him a small bow. “Dance with me?”

“I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion,” Alastor tells you, yet he takes your hand in his.

“There’s no need to worry about such trifling things,” you say. “I think you look divine, like a rose straight from heaven made just for me.”

Alastor wraps his hand around your own, and settles the other on your waist. Dancing can barely describe what you’re doing, not when the both of you only had the energy to sway to the music. But nevertheless, Alastor takes the lead on this dance.

He raises his arm, twirling you underneath. Your eyes lock together when you face him. “Hi.”

You smile at him. “Hi.”

“I’ve been wondering…How did you know work was stressing me?” he says, as you dance to the radio’s music. “Why say work specifically?”

You tilt your head, motioning to the window behind you. “That radio over there,” you say. “The one you keep by your chair. You were listening to it this morning when I gave you coffee.”

You hum the lyrics of the song that plays on the radio. It’s quite nice. Maybe you’ll ask Alastor to play it during his broadcast as a dedication to you. But knowing him, he’ll take this opportunity to become a nuisance made for you, and find something to poke fun about.

His eyebrows furrow. “I don’t understand.”

“You listen to that specific radio when you’re happy,” you say. Those brown eyes of his shift to you. In your most humble opinion, they shine brighter than the stars. “You were fine when you left but somewhere between leaving and coming home to me, your mood turned sour.”

Alastor presses a kiss on your fingers, brushing his lips over your skin with each word. “I would love to hear more about this.”

“The one in the kitchen, that’s for when you’re tired,” you say, chuckling. “The one in the office is for when you’re bored. You listen to the one on our nightstand when you’re thinking or upset.”

“Then what about the radio in the basement?” he asks with a smile that could rival the moon. “Tell me when I listen to that one.”

“That one is for me. You leave it there so I have something to keep me company,” you say. “The saxophone, on the other hand, is for when you’re frustrated.”

“And now, you’re just a master of what I’m feeling.”

“Not at all,” you say with a shrug. “I don’t know how you feel right now.”

Alastor inches closer, leaning down to meet your eyes. “Would you like to know?”

“Sure.”

Alastor places a hand on your cheek, caressing you with his thumb. You lean into how gently he traces your face. He leans closer, nudging his nose against your own. Alastor brushes his lips over you, and the cracks on his lip prick you. Why he decided to torture you with soft touches and hovering inches away exceeds your understanding.

The strong scent of copper and iron on his skin intoxicate every molecule that makes up your body. He’s unfair. Too unfair of him to hold such power over you. Alastor would love to know how he makes your skin buzz with each and every glance of those too brown eyes that shine brighter than starlight. This is a fact you will take to your grave.

Your eyes flutter to a close. Alastor decides to show you mercy, finally kissing your lips.

Open!

The demand drums across your mind.

Your eyelids stay shut as you kiss him back. The need to look at Alastor’s too brown eyes shout at you. What face is Alastor making right now? How does he look? What do those eyes see?

But he kisses you gently. Oh…so…gently. Alastor kisses you like he had something to say. There are words being whispered across your skin as your lips move together. His thumb brushes your skin, and you can’t open your eyes.

Kissing him makes you wish you spent your youth studying poems and soft metaphors instead of the role of hexokinase in turning Glucose into Glucose-6-phosphate. This wish comes suddenly and out of nowhere. Not once have you ever wished for a different pursuit. But you would forfeit all your knowledge to be able to describe the way Alastor’s lips strike you to your very soul.

That thought disappears quickly, mind too preoccupied with the overwhelming sensation of soft lips placing kiss after kiss. The arm around your waist pulls you close, your body pressing against his own as if it was the most natural thing to place you there, as if the Seraphim creating your bodies carved you to belong.

Alastor pulls away with a soft smile.

It takes every ounce of your self-control not to chase after his lips and pull him back to you. Heat flushes your face. You can’t find the strength to open your eyes, not with how much he makes your cheeks tingle.

“You’ve been observing me.” Alastor brushes your eyelids with his thumb. “Open your eyes.”

Your eyes flutter, heeding to his demand. There it is, your favorite sight looking straight at you, holding a beauty that the moon cannot compete against—his eyes. “Hi.”

Alastor’s smile widens. “Hi.”

There are words that bubble on your lips. Words that are begging to be said. Three words that could very well make this man run when he understands just how deep those words mean for him.

And there it is again, that wish to become a poet because those three words can never truly describe what is imprinted on your soul’s very essence. Those three words are not enough for a man who deserves poems full of soft metaphors and sweet analogies.

“That’s because I…I…,” you trail off, hiding your face in his chest. “I think that’s just called marriage, and I always was weak to such radiant beauty.”

Coward…You are a coward.

That’s okay.

You don’t mind the word being shouted to you by your heart, not when it means you can guard it with walls.

It’s okay to be a coward, because it means there will always be a tomorrow. There will always be another chance, another moment, another day to be brave. Another tomorrow. Another next week. Another next month. Another next year.

There’s no need to tell Alastor the word your soul desperately wants him to understand. Not right now, at least.

Not when the evidence is already there: You and him.

There will be a lifetime of moments like this waiting for you in a world where you are his.

Don't be shy to talk to me. I don't bite at all! I would love to hear your thoughts on the chapter. And all comments really motivate me to work <3. 1932 will be posted in a few days. 1933 on the other hand….Well, let’s just say that such a grand year needs its own chapter. As I was writing this, I kept going back to the idea that Reader can flirt, but can't handle being flirted back. It was too funny not to add. And like I swear heart appear on my eyes, as well as Reaader's eyes everytime Alastor does anything just slightly unhinged. That too was too funny not to add. Taglist: @mybrainautocorrect @ray-rook @teavibesaf @valentique @qardasngan @alastorssimp @aestheticgals-blog @slaggylemon @reikamasama @obessivlyonline @okay-babe @lyralibra @holymusicalmothman @amoraneuro @tobyisher3

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor the radio demon #alastor x wife!reader #alastor x you #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x you #Alastor x wife reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #hazbin imagines #hazbin hotel headcanon

[threadsun]

Anonymous Asks: "OKSO -iknowyoualreadyhavealotofasksbutijustcouldn’twait-

So John Doe anon here. I know Doe isn’t exactly the hottest person/monster in the world, except he totally is— so could I get some John Doe nsfw hcs ??

I’ll help with one; he pants, a lot, like a dog in the middle of summer.

As always feel free to take as much time as you’d like !!"

Oh darling, this absolutely gets sent to the top of my list, I'm loving writing John Doe stuff~ really scratching the monsterfucking itch :3c

Content: monsterfucking, non-human genitalia, tentacles, oral sex, biting, blood kink, fearplay, dacryphilia, hair pulling, hypnokink, earfucking, scent kink

Okay first of all we've gotta address the obvious... Doe's dick is not human

Like him, it can change form, of course. But naturally, it's more a tentacle than anything, able to move around on its own and reach deep inside of you

Speaking of tentacles, he can probably produce more tentacles if he wants to. To pin you down, hold you up, restrain you, fuck you, whatever he wants to do to you~

His head game is insane. This man's tongue can do anything. It's so long and flexible and he knows just what to do with it to make you squirm

He's a biter. The moment he's overwhelmed or otherwise needs to ground himself because of how good you feel, he's sinking his teeth into you

On that note, he can get easily overwhelmed during sex and will often go nonverbal. Just growling and whining and panting instead of speaking

If you pin him down and ride him or fuck him, he'll literally start to melt for you. It feels so good, he can't keep his form properly

Generally when he's submissive, he'll turn all gooey on you. He likes the feeling of being taken care of

When he's dominant though... then he gets nice and chatty. And very solid too. You need something to cling onto while he makes you see stars, after all!

He's definitely got a blood kink. Especially when he bites you and draws blood, the taste of it on his lips and the sight of it against your skin drives him wild

Fearplay is another obvious one. The sight of you shaking in terror, eyes wide as you wonder what he's going to do next... oh you look so delicious like that

Especially when there's tears involved. Dacryphilia is another kink of his. He'll lick the tears from your cheeks and coo about how he loves you so much

Pull his hair. Do it. His hair is so sensitive, pulling it really does something for him. Especially when he's already between your thighs

If you've got any interest in hypnokink or otherwise getting your mind fucked at the same time as your body, he's got you covered~

He'll bring you to all sorts of different worlds, into any scenario you want, and he'll fuck with your brain as much as you'll let him

He's not picky. He'll fuck any hole you let him. And I mean any. I hope you find the idea of getting your ears fucked by tentacles appealing, because he sure does!

Generally he's up for anything. The grosser, the better! Especially if it leaves you sweaty, stinky, and in need of a shower by the end of it

Which brings us to his canon scent kink. This man loves your natural smell. He'll inhale your scent between hot kisses and hickeys and bites, enjoying the smell of every part of your body

Nothing is too much for Doe, tell him all of your kinks and let him indulge you in every single one

#john doe game #john doe headcanons #john doe x reader #gn!reader #18+ only #sunshine #jda

[etfrin]

⤷❝fumbling fools | Ethan Landry❞

Warning - NSFW | Cunnilingus, PinV sex, loss of virginity (f.), mention of blood, corruption kink if you squint, breeding kink if you squint, creampie, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks) | lmk if I forgot anything

Summary - smut | ethan landry x virgin!female! reader

masterlist! | bc: @cafekitsune

You wondered how exactly that got you here. Was it the sloppy, wet, kisses? Was it the desperate grinds of your hips against Ethan's obvious bulge?

It started as a simple kiss but now both of you were panting into each other's mouth, drool falling from your chin to chest because that's how messy you were being.

Ethan was kissing down your chest now, his mouth finding your nipple. His lips suck the perky bud while his fingers roll the other around. You never thought your breasts were sensitive but the way he sucked so pathetically, desperate. It had your back arching as a moan left past your lips. Your fingers find his hair to grip the strands and keep him in place.

"Fuck, Ethan," you curse, letting the unfamiliar pleasure fill your veins. His lips continue moving, his tongue trailing your skin. You were gasping for breath. Everything felt hot to you. The wet trail he left made you feel so turned on, it was beyond any measure.

"Ethan," you whispered as you felt your pussy clenching around nothing, your panties clinging to your folds because of how wet you are. Ethan's brown eyes look at you. Your wide eyes and parted lips, your face flushed and your chin glistening with his spit from the kisses.

He lets out a moan at the sight, his head leaning down to bury himself into your stomach. Both of his hands were gripping your thighs firmly, his nails digging into the skin, leaving red crescent marks. The stinging pain was nothing compared to the need you felt.

"You're so pretty," he whispered, his voice deep and breathless. "Fucking hell," he groans, his mouth latching onto a side of the soft flesh of your tummy. His teeth are nipping the area to create a pretty bruise on you. Your hold on his brown curls gets tighter when he leaves a harsh bite on your skin. Your moans and whines made him feel like he was going insane.

He finds himself between your thighs, your clothed pussy hiding nothing as the fabric was nearly transparent because of your arousal. His hips rut into the mattress. His mouth sucking your entire clothed cunt, your juices falling down his chin. He takes your panties down in a haze.

He groans louder than your moans when his tongue finally licks your slit, flicking his tongue to tease you. You tugged at his hair, your mind unable to form a sentence that could beg him not to tease you.

He gives into his desire and flattens out his tongue to lick your cunt like an absolute pussy drunk man whore. There was nothing gracious about how his tongue swirled around your pussy, how the tip of his tongue fucked you, and the way his nose would sometimes flick your clit because he was just trying to get more of his tongue to get your taste.

You couldn't do anything much except let out noises to encourage this man, your thighs sandwiching him, which he enjoyed.

He eats you out like you're his last meal. His eyes roll back, he lets out desperate whines as he continues like this. He nips your clit, rather curiously more than anything. He wanted to make you cum, but his technique wasn't enough he knew. After all, the way he was eating you was for his satisfaction, not yours.

The action makes you scream, your hips moving upwards immediately, as you squirt onto his face. Your eyes widen because you never thought you would do that. "Shit- Ethan- I am sorry!" You gasp as you watch Ethan get up from between your legs.

The lovely boy just gives you a feral grin. "Ssh," he hushes. "Gonna fuck the sloppy wet cunt now, darling, just lay back and cum on my cock for me."

He pushes you back down on the bed, his lips still morphed in that wild grin. It scares you a bit but not as much as it should. One of his hands holds down your wrists above your head and you let him, hypnotized by the look of his eyes. The carnal desire made your cunt even more slick with arousal. A virgin turned into a complete slut.

His free hand goes to palm your pussy before he slaps it. Making you gasp in shock and whine in pleasure. The sound of the slap echoed in the room. "You're mine," he said.

And that's all the warning he gave as his cock finds its rightful place in your warmth. You cry out from the pain, the stretch of his dick felt like fire in your veins. He glares at you, he kisses you to muffle the noise. His cock not even giving you a moment to adjust as he pounds into you without a care.

His tongue swirls around yours, your lips stay connected with his, letting all your whimpers and whines directly into his mouth. The pain fades quickly enough turning to pleasure, your eyes watering from how good it felt, your pussy tightening around his length. He groans into your mouth that what a slut you are. That your pussy was made for his cock.

His grip around your wrists tightened as he slightly changed the angle of his thrust. Each time his hips met yours his tip was pressed against your g-spot. He grins against your lips as he feels your inner walls spasm in a telltale sign, your (not so) virgin blood coating his cock, and your arousal forming a white pool of ring around his base.

He ruts into you even faster, getting desperate to have you cum on his dick and just his dick alone. He was getting close to himself.

Meanwhile, you could feel yourself hurling towards the end, not being able to do anything but just take, take, take his rough thrusts. You feel yourself getting closer to the edge until a final harsh thrust has you screaming into his mouth and your cunt milking his cock, as his dick breeds you with his cum filling your womb.

You always thought of Ethan as a fumbling fool, you thought wrong.

#oneshot #scenario #character x reader #x reader #x you #fem reader #x female reader #x reader smut #smut #x you smut #x fem!reader #x female y/n #established relationship #ethan landry scream #scream movie #scream smut #scream 6 #scream fanfic #scream six #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry smut #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry #ethan landry x you #ethan landry x female reader #ethan landry x reader smut #ghostface x you #ghostface smut #ghostface x reader

[cacoetheswriting]

celebrity skin.

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 6.5k summary: as corroded coffin frontman, eddie munson regards himself as perhaps the most important person in hollywood. that's until he meets you — america’s favourite starlet.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: adult language & mature themes, porn with a rather angsty plot, general heavy petting / kissing, teasing, fingering, quite rough yet protected p in v sex, borderline overstimulation, eddie is a little dom, light praise kink, dirty talk, use of pet names & very slight degradation, mentions of alcohol & drug consumption, mentions of blood (reader unintentionally hurts herself), emotional hurt / topics of guilt — if i missed anything, pls let me know! also, not proofread.

psa: images used in the header don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also described vaguely in the story, only that she’s a little shorter than eddie.

“Absolutely not.”

Impossible to read between the lines with those two simple words, but if anyone dared to try regardless, the absolute disapproval and disdain in Eddie’s tone of voice stopped them from doing so. At least that’s what the Corroded Coffin frontman hoped.

It took a lot to catch Eddie Munson off guard. Given everything he’s endured in his life, nothing surprised him anymore ‘cause he made sure to be prepared for every single scenario. A little neurotic? Yes. Needed for his own piece of mind? Abso-fucking-lutely. 

Obviously there had been exceptions over the years — especially being in the limelight with easy access to substances that weren’t too good for his health and nothing but extensive amounts of cash to burn. The other guys had invested their paychecks, Gareth even started a family. Eddie on the other hand, well, he bought a mansion in Beverly Hills and threw parties every night of the week.

The heavy drinking clouded his judgement and damaged his liver, but Eddie still kept tabs on his inner circle and made sure to be informed of any moves the label was trying to make before official announcements.

Which is why when he stumbled into the recording studio an hour later than scheduled, extremely hungover and with an unlit cigarette between his teeth, he really thought he misheard the news announced by their long-time manager, Marianne.

“A feature. The label wants it, she wants it. Honestly, Eddie, no point in fighting it. It’s a done deal.”

Marianne’s words were ringing in his ears. To make matters worse, the whole band apparently knew about this. For a long time, at that. They just collectively chose not to tell him out of fear of his “overreaction”, as Gareth put it.

“Well, I don’t want it.” Eddie grumbles. A reaction worthy of a little kid more so than a famous rockstar. “I refuse.”

Jeff clears his throat, glancing between the group before settling his eyes on Eddie.

“Man, it’s just one song. Not like she’s been asked to permanently join the band,” he tries to be the voice of reason. 

Eddie just scoffs. He’s on the couch, eyes closed and hand pressed to his forehead with a third cigarette in between his fingers. He refused to believe this was happening.

“A feature and a music video,” Marianne chimes.

Jeff sighs. “You’re really not helping your case here.”

But their manager just shrugs. “There’s no case to help. Like I said, it’s a done deal. Y’all are doing this feature with America’s favourite starlet and y’all are gonna have smiles on your fucking faces in the process.” Marianne states and what she says, usually goes. “Are you hearing me, Eddie?”

Usually.

“I ain’t doing shit.”

“Eddie—” Gareth feels like it’s his turn to help the situation, but he just gets rudely interrupted.

“Shut up, Gareth! Everyone, just shut the fuck up!” Eddie’s outburst accompanies him jumping up onto his feet. He’s angry, clearly. Glaring at the group as if he’s endured the worst possible betrayal. “Last I fucking checked, this was my fucking band! I have a say in what’s a done deal and this is not one of those things!”

The boys don’t speak. They look to Marianne who seemed to always know how to calm Eddie down. She had this aura about her. Almost motherly, even though she couldn’t have been more than five years older than the Corroded Coffin frontman — an estimate as she’s never told them her actual age.

Marianne crosses the studio until she’s standing toe to toe with the curly-haired singer. He’s towering over her, but she’s got the upper hand — as always. 

First, she takes the cigarette he was holding and takes a drag, crossing her arms while blowing the smoke away from his face. The silence extends from seconds to minutes, almost as if she’s daring Eddie to continue. 

He doesn’t. So she clears her throat.

“Now that we’re done with the temper tantrum,” Marianne says calmly, “At risk of sounding like a complete and utter bitch, Eddie, my darlin’, you have lost your right to call this band yours after the last stunt you pulled cost the label thousands of dollars in damages. Not to mention the absolute nightmare it’s been to keep it out of the stupid tabloids.”

“I apologised—”

“Thousands of dollars, Eddie. Your apology ain’t worth shit.”

Marianne walks over to an ashtray and puts out the reminisce of the cigarette. She briefly glances between the rest of the band before settling her gaze on Eddie once again.

“The people actually in charge think this collaboration has the potential of being an absolute hit. A song played for generations to come and for once, I actually agree with them.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything. He knows deep down he has lost the argument, so he had nothing left to add.

“Guys, you gotta know y’all are my priority and I would never do anything to jeopardise your career. Ever.” Marianne reassures. The boys all say they know. All of them apart from Eddie.

He’s back on the couch. Sitting with his legs apart, elbows resting on his knees, head in his hands. Sulking and wishing he hadn’t forgotten his pouch of pre-rolled joints ‘cause he could really use one right about now.

When no one else speaks, Marianne heads for the door. 

“She’ll be here tomorrow. Please be on time.”

That last part was aimed at Eddie, who in that moment lifts his head to address his manager one more time before she leaves.

“I have a question,” his tone of voice is cold, understandably so. When Marianne doesn’t protest, he continues. “How come America’s pride and joy wants to sing a song with a band often accused of devil worship?”

A smile Eddie can’t really decipher circles his manager’s lips.

“Guess you’ll just have to ask her in person.”

-

When a person is repeatedly told they are meant for incredible things, they may grow up with a skewed vision of life. 

Thankfully, the only person that’s ever believed in you that much was your Nana and it was pretty hard to take her seriously considering her history — a lady who after an accidental pregnancy in her early-twenties, joined and later escaped a cult, then conned her way into marrying a Wall Street suit-man, before getting hooked on pills he was prescribed for some back injury he had. 

The man died before he could divorce her, leaving Nana his small fortune and a property in Greenwich Village. You didn’t even know his real name since every time she’s told the story she used a different one, and also changed other minor details.

So you never thought twice about her constant, “You’re going to be a star one day, baby girl.”. In retrospect, you should have. Perhaps it would have prepared you for the world of fame and fortune you were so briskly thrown into.

“Mom, please don’t fill her head with jargon. She’s just going to end up disappointed.”

That’s not to say your parents weren’t also supportive of your dreams. They were, although they believed them to be much smaller at scale, a nurse perhaps, an astronaut at best. Definitely not a popstar sensation and America’s sweetheart.

Your parents met at a charity function your Nana was a co-chair at and instantly clicked. Love at first sight, is how it was described in the paper for their engagement announcement not even a month later. Married shortly after and their first baby was born exactly a year later. Billy Wilder couldn’t write that shit even if he tried.

You always wanted to experience that kind of love.

The longing you endured every time you saw your parents interact was the reason you started writing poetry. Words a little too deep for a ten-year old girl to have actually experienced, but they felt right. By the time you were old enough to actually pursue a romantic relationship, you filled countless notebooks with poems that had actually turned into lyrics after your Nana encouraged to sponsor your piano lessons at age twelve and later guitar.

Ironic, really. Not meant to believe in your own potential success, but destined to think your happiness depended on somebody else.

Shortly after your twenty-first birthday, your Nana asked you to perform at one of her functions. A simple wish you had gratified many times before. 

“But you only sing the covers, okay? The material in your notepads is reserved for when you’re famous.” Nana would request, mainly ‘cause she liked when you sang Dusty Springfield.

This particular event started out like every other. What you didn’t know however, in the crowd, amongst the usual New York elite, were a few agents and talent scouts your Nana specifically invited to see you perform.

By the end of the night, you had a signed record deal. 

A week later, you were in the studio.

Lucky doesn’t begin to describe how you felt at that time. Although knowing your Nana, luck had nothing to do with it.

After the release of your debut single, you rocketed into overnight stardom. Quickly charting in various top lists, only proving your Nana had always been right. As a result, the late 80s were in fact a blur. The years were spent shooting music videos and various magazine covers, doing TV and radio interviews, touring, all on top of releasing more music. Aside from the casual hookup every now and again, carefully concealed with an NDA to preserve your image, finding love took a backburner. 

By the 1990s, you’d gone from being America’s sweetheart to a worldwide phenomenon.

It was at that point in time you remembered why you started writing poems in the first place. Completely by accident, as these things usually go.

While your life remained in New York, given your profession, you often travelled to Los Angeles. Late August of 1992, to be a bit more precise, there was this pool party you really had no business attending.

Holly — your makeup artist, close friend, and permanent plus one — used her perfectly manicured finger to stir the melting ice-cubes at the bottom of her glass. She said something about getting a refill, but you barely registered. Simply nodded at her words before pressing the glass you were holding to your lips. Your focus was somewhere else. Rather on someone else.

As Holly stood, you reach for her forearm and motion your head in the direction you wanted her to look in.

“Who’s that?” A simple question that ended up changing the remainder of your life.

Holly smirked. She turned back to you and you forced yourself to look away from the person in question, meeting your friends eyes instead. 

“Seriously?”

You furrowed your brows at her reaction, as if to say you really had no idea, and her gaze widened slightly when she realised you weren’t kidding.

“That’s Eddie Munson. Corroded Coffin, remember I played you some of their songs? Anyway, this is his house, his party.”

With that, she took the half-empty drink from my grasp and walked away.

Eddie Munson, the name suited him, at least at face value. You had heard of Corroded Coffin before, but their music wasn’t really your style, hence why you never really bothered to learn anything more about them. Yet now, here you were, wishing you had cared a little more in the past ‘cause perhaps you’d have the courage to walk up to their frontman.

Eddie wore a black bandana, tied loosely only to shield him from the sun as his brown locks draped over his bare shoulders. A wide collection of ink art covered almost every inch of the skin on his arms and chest, legs too, at least the parts that weren’t covered by ripped denim shorts. There was a cigarette between his lips and it remained in position even while he was laughing. He was pretty. Judging by the crowd of girls around him, you weren’t the only one to notice.

Exhaling softly, you abandoned your spot on one of the lounge chairs and embarked on a mission to find Holly, or at least something else to drink. The back door to the house is open, so without really thinking, you slipped inside, straight into the kitchen.

Pristine. The entire space. Almost as if no one's ever cooked here, which now that you knew the owner, made sense. Not to completely judge a book by its cover, but Eddie didn’t look like the type of guy who enjoyed cooking all that much.

“The house is off limits.” 

A deep voice startled you. Jumping in your spot, you hit a corner of the stone centre island as you turned to address the person who walked in. Oh shit.

Eddie Munson’s eyes locked onto your frame, now that you are facing him fully. He licked his lips rather shamelessly as his gaze travelled the length of your bare legs and continued upwards until it reached your own. A shiver ran down your spine in the process ‘cause even though you were practically fully dressed, you felt completely naked.

“Sorry,” you were quick to apologise, “I was just looking for my friend.”

“The house is off limits,” Eddie repeated as he took a few steps closer.

“Again, I’m sorry. I really was just looking for someone,” you said and it was the truth, whether he believed it or now. “What are— What are you doing?”

“You’re bleeding.”

You glanced down at where his ring-clad fingers now met your skin, a tissue paper you didn’t even realise he grabbed, wrapped between them. He wiped slowly. His touch was soft, gentle even, which was surprising to you given his demeanour. 

“Wow, yeah. Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break into your house and then bleed in your kitchen.”

Eddie chuckled at your words. “You apologise a lot. Is that part of this act they have you doin’ or is it genuine?”

“Act?”

He nodded then straightened his posture. He tossed the dirty tissue to the side before taking your hand and leading you out of the kitchen. The way your fingers aligned together quite perfectly should’ve come with a warning sign, but you didn’t really think about that in the moment, more concerned with the fact he was pulling you away from the party.

“Where are we going?”

“Bathroom. Can’t have you bleeding out in my kitchen, sweetheart.” Eddie joked lightheartedly. “Plus wouldn’t want anyone taking a sneaky picture of us. Could start a bunch of nasty rooms. Good for my career, not so much yours.”

“Because of my act?”

“You get it.”

The master bedroom, you assume, is a lot larger in comparison to yours. A lot darker too, though that’s a given considering your opposite styles. Eddie was careful to lock the door behind the two of you before pointing to the bathroom and following after you.

“Sit.”

You obliged without question, positioning yourself on the sink. Eddie failed to conceal a ‘cause he didn’t think you’d do as you were told without putting up at least a bit of a fight. After all, he was a stranger with a reputation for doing ungodly things when alone with girls, but with your legs dangling off the edge, you didn’t seem tense or scared. In fact, if Eddie didn’t know any better, he’d say you were quite comfortable and he liked it. So with a smile still circling his lips, he began his search for the first aid kit he knew he saw here last.

“Why do you think it’s an act?”

Eddie glanced at you briefly. There is a sense of urgency in your question, almost as if his answer, his opinion, actually mattered to you. Which it did. For whatever reason, his response had the potential to hurt you. If he thought you weren’t genuine, it would hurt you.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think you want my honesty.”

You half-scoffed. “Actually, I don’t remember the last time someone was actually honest with me about anything relating to my career.”

The answer shocked him a little. Then again it made sense. In the eyes of your management team and label, you were a money making machine. Nothing more than a pretty face with a pretty voice they used to make themselves rich.

“Even my own parents,” you continued, fidgeting with the bottom of your cotton shorts. “They were so adamant not to let my grandmother fill my head with hopes and dreams while I was growing up, but the second those hopes and dreams came true, it’s like they forgot they were still my parents and should sometimes be brutally honest.”

Pausing, you bit down on your bottom lip. From across the bathroom, Eddie's gaze immediately trailed down your face and settled on where your teeth sank into flesh. He licked his own, eyes darkening for a split second.

“Sorry, I’m oversharing,” you muttered, breaking him away from any sinful thoughts that wanted to break free. “Telling you my life story even though not even thirty minutes ago, I didn’t know your name.”

Eddie smirked, a cheshire-cat grin spreading across his features. “The only thing you should be apologising for, sweetheart, is the fact you came to my party and didn’t know who I was.”

“I get invited to a lot of parties,” you defended, involuntarily rolling your eyes at his not so subtle cockiness. “Suppose you think all the girls swoon at the chance to be near you, huh? Sorry to disappoint, I guess.”

“Well, shit. Talk about brutal honesty.” Eddie teased and ran a hand through his locks, taking off his bandana in the process. “Now I feel like a fucking creep ‘cause I seem to know quite a bit about you.”

“Whatever you know is clearly wrong since I’m not some character,” you interjected and he glanced at you once again. “I mean my whole thing wasn’t an act at first.”

“And now?”

You sighed. “It’s a little more complicated.”

That made him laugh. “See, that’s why I don’t let my label or management tell me shit. My band, my music, my style. If I wasn’t unapologetically myself, I’d go fucking insane.”

He eventually found the first aid kit and the plasters within. Back in front of you, he gently wiped the cut on your upper leg again, only this time with a wet towel, and carefully put a plaster over it.

“All done.”

“Thank you.”

His hand remained on your skin as he looked up to hold your gaze. In the sharp bathroom light, you realised just how perfectly brown his eyes are and you couldn’t help but wonder if anyone’s ever told him that. You secretly hoped they didn’t. A little lame, but you found yourself wanting to be at least his first something.

Eddie on the other hand, thought about how of all the people here tonight, he wound up alone with you. Pop royalty. American treasure. A girl that’s graced the cover of magazines and been on talk shows he would never feature on. A girl who sold millions of copies of songs he wouldn’t be caught dead listening to. A girl so vastly different from him, it only made him want you more.

Continuing to stare deep into his chocolate-button eyes, you lifted your arm and since Eddie didn’t flinch, you proceeded to loop a loose strand of his hair around your finger then let it go. Eddie’s heart jumped into his throat as you repeated the action — a sensation he’s never really experienced before.

How come you had this hold on him, seemingly out of nowhere? A simple smile and a modest tease had his mind racing. Not to mention the softness of your skin under his grasp you didn’t try to break away from. Perhaps that was it. You didn’t push him away. You also didn’t throw yourself at him. Those were the two extremes he usually experienced. Knowing you had just about learned who he was before the two of you landed in this situation was a refreshing change from the people usually breaking into his house.

“We can go back to the party, since you’re all patched up.” Eddie offered, though his actions betrayed his words as he effortlessly parted your legs with his knee, creating a gap he slid into perfectly.

“What’s the alternative?” You asked in a whisper.

“Whatever you want it to be,” he murmured, face now inches away from yours. A genuine smile graced your features as you wrapped your arms around the rockstars neck.

It may have moved a little too fast, though there were no complaints from either of you at the time. In fact, you both welcomed it. Losing yourself completely in the moment and this magnetic pull you felt towards one another was freeing. A spark ignited with a touch, then a kiss — and fuck was Eddie Munson a good kisser. 

His lips were tender, although his actions were rather harsh. Desperate even, as he squeezed your jaw with one hand and pushed his mouth into yours further. You returned the same energy, aching to be even closer. Heads rotating in perfect rhythm, you tugged at his hair and he groaned against your mouth at the slight pressure then lightly bit your bottom lip to force his tongue down your throat. 

He tasted of tobacco and whiskey. Normally that kind of shit puts you off, but with Eddie, it was honestly intoxicating. He quickly asserted dominance, tongue intertwining itself with yours as his ring-clad fingers dug into your flesh. You moaned into his mouth. The flame inside you burning brighter with every passing second. 

Eddie’s head was spinning. He pulled apart briskly, only to catch his breath before he dipped his head to your neck. Licking then biting, sucking and kissing. Both his hands were back on your waist and they effortlessly pulled you closer towards him, the bulge concealed by his denim shorts now pressing against your bare thigh. 

His name escaped you repeatedly in mere whispers and whimpers, and you felt Eddie’s mouth turn up into a smirk against your neck. “Fuck, sweetheart. Don’t stop makin’ them pretty noises for me.”

“Then don’t stop kissing me.”

A request he gladly obliged as his lips found yours once again. This kiss was slower than your first, but equally as passionate. His strong hands moved up, under the loose cover of your shirt until he reached your underboob.

“I was gonna complain about you wearing so much clothes to a fucking pool party, but…” Eddie draws out the last syllable as his thumbs grazes over your hard nipples. “... this way is so much better, sweetheart.”

“Then keep going,” you whisper, body screaming with desire, aching for more. Begging to be touched. Begging to be turned into a fire, tipped off with gasoline. 

This was a dangerous game you were playing, getting hooked on a man you had only really met. A rockstar at that. Your lives, although borderline the same, were completely different. Your gut kept telling you there was no future here, but your heart didn’t care. You’ve gotten an accidental taste of Eddie Munson and you only wanted more.

Thankfully, it seemed like Eddie had the same idea.

He removes his hands from your breasts and drops them down to the waistband of your shorts. He kissed you again as his fingers desperately worked at the single button acting as a guard between him and what he wanted most this very moment.

“Can you lift yourself for a moment, sweetheart?”

You do as you’re told, allowing Eddie to slide the shorts past the curve off your ass, before letting them fall down your legs and to the tiled floor. His dark eyes meet yours as he grabs onto your thighs, squeezing at the flesh. And he holds your gaze while his fingers work their way upwards. You don’t realise you’re holding your breath until he’s pulling your panties to the side.

Oh. Oh.

Eddie’s running a finger up and down the length of your slit, proud to feel how soaked you already were. The light teasing continued as he added another finger and you flinched at the first contact to your clit. He was relentless. Taking his time as you tried to arch your pelvis into his fingers, only to be met with a hand around your jaw, “Stop that.”

Releasing your face, he stroked his fingers downward, then up again, finally letting a finger linger on the hood of your clit. He began to draw little circles so that the skin moved over the head, rhythmically exposing and covering it.

“Eddie…” you drawled and he groaned at the sound of his name in your desperate tone of voice. So he didn’t waste any more time, slipped two ring-clad fingers easily between your folds and you shuddered at the cold of the metal. He repeated the action over and over, faster and applying more pressure with each time. 

His mouth found yours once again, only this time he didn’t kiss you. Not really. Instead, his teeth latched onto your bottom lip and as you whined desperately while his curled fingers repeatedly hit that sweet spot inside you, he bit down harder. 

He fucked his fingers in and out of you. It was messy, rough, ecstatic. Then your back arched as he used his other hand to rub against your clit.

“Oh shit, fuck. Eddie, please don’t stop…” 

You let your head fall backwards, eyes closing. Within seconds, a shuddering orgasm overcame you, but with steady control, Eddie kept going for what seemed like a minute. Only once you began to relax, he eased his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth, licking them clean.

“How you doin’, sweetheart?”

A content hum was all you could offer. Satisfied, Eddie smiled to himself and placed a sloppy kiss to the slant of your jawline.

“Are you okay to keep going?”

You looked back at him then and bopped your head once, slowly. “Yeah… Yes.”

His devilish grin widened. “Good girl. Hold tight.”

Hands shifting to the curve of your ass as you wrapped your legs tight around him, Eddie lifted you up with little to no effort and carried you towards the bed. He didn’t take much care to drop you gently so you bounced against the mattress while he hastily removed his pants and crawled over you, grinding down into you — unsurprising, he’d gone commando.

He began to rotate his hips so that his cock was massaging back and forth across your semi-clothed cunt. He alternated his movements; sometimes slowed them down while other times increasing speed. His lips were glued to your neck in the moment, only adding to the pure exhilaration you were experiencing, while he worked to unbutton your shirt, spreading it to the side.

Forehead pressed yours, he glanced down briefly to admire your now naked chest. Your nipples were rapidly erect as Eddie proceeded to move his hands around them, massaging the tissue of your breasts. With splayed fingers, he squeezed and released, then lightly pulled the flesh, while his teeth attached themselves to your earlobe.

The teasing was relentless. “Eddie… Oh Eddie, please,” you whined quietly and another moan escaped your lips, louder this time. 

The brunette on top of you groaned a mere second later. Unable to contain himself any longer, he tugged at your panties. Just as eager, you lifted your ass so he could slide the remaining garment off and toss it. Now you were naked in front of him, only the cotton shirt covering your arms.

“Shit, sweetheart. You’re so fucking beautiful.” Eddie whispered and lightly ran his fingers up and down your leg, while the other hand reached to cup your cheek. He leaned down to kiss you again. “My pretty girl.”

Heat rushed between your legs at the moniker. They parted a little more, desperate to increase the contact between the two of you. 

“Let me grab a condom,” Eddie muttered against your bare skin and you nodded, releasing your hold on him momentarily ‘cause you didn’t want any accidental pregnancies with a potential to ruin your career, and even his. 

Staring up at the ceiling, you heard him rummage through his bedside table. He’s back in your field of vision within seconds. There’s a look on his face that reads “are you sure you wanna do this”, and you tangle your fingers in his locks in response, pulling him closer.

Eddie lets his cock fall between your parted legs. He’s back to teasing you as he’s spreading your folds with the head of his dick, until it flicks over your clit. And you tug at his curls in the process, but he doesn’t care. A lustful look in his eyes. One that says, I can do this all night. Which he proves as the tip of his cock dragged across the entrance to your glistening cunt. Your legs would close slightly as if to trap it in that position. Eddie however, remained in full control.

“Please, please…” you begged against his hot mouth, “Please just fuck me. Fuck me, Eddie.”

He smirked. “Didn’t think America’s starlet was such a desperate fucking slut.”

With that, Eddie slammed the full length of his cock into you. No longer teasing. He was driving into your sodden cunt with a force that shook your entire body. His now glistening cock plunging in and out of you with ease. You were meeting his thrusts as best as you could while trapped under his massive frame.

To say you were experiencing a state of ecstasy you had never known before while fucking a man you’d only met an hour or so ago, would be a vast understatement. You felt dizzy and breathless as each stroke of his thick cock against your walls ignited the fire already burning bright. The sounds you were making were absolutely pornographic and in that moment, you were grateful Eddie locked the door ‘cause if anyone from the party were to come looking for him, or you, well let’s just say Page Six would have something interesting to write about, for once. This was a site to be seen.

Eddie leaned forward on his elbows, not like it was possible to be any closer but he sure as hell tried. One of his hands enveloped itself around your neck, while the other found your perfect tits. He alternated, kneading them and teasing your nipples, earning another sweet moan to escape through your parted lips. Then he lightly squeezed your neck and your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

“Such a pretty girl,” Eddie muffled into your ear. “Fuck, baby. I don’t know what you’ve done to me. Just wanna fuck you forever.” He meant it. Your pussy felt amazing wrapped around his cock. Better than he imagined. Better in fact than anyone he’d ever been with. 

The room was filled with sick sounds, from the squeaking of the bed, Eddie’s grunts and gruffs, to the pounding your aching cunt was receiving. You had completely given yourself over to the rawness of the situation, although it’s not like you had any inhibitions in the first place.

As Eddie continued to whisper dirty things into your ear, the length of his shaft sliding in and out of you with unnatural force, you buried your head in the crook of his neck, muffling only slightly your increasing guttural groans with each of his thrusts. And as your fingers abandoned his locks, trailing instead down his back, fingernails digging into his tattooed skin, you knew another climax was fast approaching.

“Eddie,” you barely muttered.

“Come on, baby. That’s it. Shit—”

He’s panting as he squeezes your neck again, recreating the pressure your throbbing cunt was feeling. That pushed you over the edge. Everything falls to a standstill as you come undone around him, crying out his name as if he was some sort of god; which in this moment, he might as well have been.

He didn’t give you a second to recover, continuing to fuck into you with such heedlessness, his own orgasm follows shortly after. He dropped on top of you and you gasped at the next few sharp thrusts, although slower than before right up until he cums.

“Fuck— Pretty girl, takes me so well.” Eddie breathed, completely blissed out.

The two of you lay there for a few moments longer, trying to catch your breaths. Everything was quite peaceful as you brushed his hair away from his face, gently forcing him to look at you. You offer him a smile. One he returns quite gladly.

Usually at this point, Eddie’s doing everything he can to get rid of the other person, but with you it felt different. He wanted you here for as long as you’d stay. 

So, even though he didn’t admit it out loud, he was more than a little happy when you openly asked if you could “stick around” a little longer, maybe even fall asleep with him that night.

-

The last time Eddie had seen you, you were picking up your scattered garments off his bedroom floor before getting dressed. It was early. Too early for him, but you had a shoot you needed to get to and he wanted to kiss you goodbye.

“Promise not to break into any more houses, sweetheart.” Eddie teased against your plush lips, hand cupping your cheek.

“Just yours,” you teased back and kissed him, then again, and again. “I’ll call you later, ‘kay?”

He almost didn’t let you go. He almost pulled you back under the covers for round three and four, and when you didn’t call his place later that day, he kinda wished he had. He hung around by the phone waiting for it to ring, then he felt pathetic for doing so.

The last time Eddie heard from you was a week later. He was back at the studio, working on a song he didn’t want to admit to his bandmates was actually about you. A girl he had no business being hung up on.

It was just one night, he would tell himself, but it was no use.

“Eddie,” Marianne hailed him and pointed to the phone, “Phone call for you.”

The curly-haired rocker exhaled a puff of smoke and picked up the receiver. “Hello. Who’s this?”

“Hey, sorry.” 

His heart stopped ‘cause he recognised that voice anywhere. He shifted in his position, turning his back on the rest of the people gathered in the room just so they wouldn’t be able to read the expression on his face — longing.

“I know I said I’d call the second I finished at that shoot, but it went well into the night and honestly I just worried I'd wake you,” you explained. “Then I had a morning flight back to New York, a luncheon my grandmother had me attend plus some other family shit… Anyway, I just wanted to call and apologise, hope you’re not too upset with me.”

He was upset. Although the knowledge of that was a power he couldn't relinquish. Usually, he wasn't the one waiting around for the other person. He was upset he let you cloud his thoughts after only one night — as fucking fun as it may have been.

“It’s okay,” Eddie lied, 'cause it was easier than to say he missed you. “Honestly, sweetheart, I forgot you even said you’d call.”

There was a second of silence in which the rock star closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing while you fought back tears he didn’t even know he caused.

“Right. I guess honesty is what I asked for…” you muttered coldly. “See you around, Eddie.”

The line went dead. Beep. Beep. Beep. Eddie pressed the receiver to his forehead, his grip around it tightening. “Motherfucker—”

“All good?” Jeff asked.

“Yeah man,” Eddie lied again before turning back to the group. “Just some one night stand who mixed up the signals a little. Thought we’d be going out a second time, but I don’t do that shit.”

Not even one year later, that same exact “one night stand” stood in front of Eddie once more and you looked even better than that night last August. Your skin was glowing, or perhaps that was just the dim studio light. Your makeup was definitely a lot sharper and it only highlighted your already near perfect facial structure. Then there was your outfit. Dressed in a short denim skirt, tight on your curves and held snug in place around your waist with a belt he knew was more expensive than anything he’s ever owned, the bottom was paired with a white cashmere turtleneck, short sleeved and cut right above your belly button.

Eddie swallowed thickly. He swore he’d gotten over whatever spell you put him under back then, but as you greeted his bandmates with the biggest smile on your face, looking as good as you did, his heart skipped a beat or two.

“And our frontman, Eddie Munson.” Marianne introduced, glancing at Eddie with an encouraging look on her face.

The curly-haired man wiped his sweaty palms on the sticky pleather of his pants and extended his right hand in your direction. You looked at it briefly, the smile on your face faltering.

“We’ve met before,” is all you said, without even looking at him once, before turning to Marianne. “Should we just get started? I listened to the song, I have no notes, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.”

Marianne glanced at Eddie then back at you. “Uhm, yeah, sure. Of course. Right this way.”

Eddie’s sad puppy-dog gaze followed you across the room. He observed silently as Marianne propped you in front of the microphone and handed you a set of headphones. He desperately wanted you to look at him. He wanted your eyes to lock with his ‘cause perhaps an unspoken apology offered only by a single exchange of glances would be enough to get you on the right track. But you didn’t.

“What the fuck did you do?” Gareth muttered next to him.

“I fucked up, man.” Eddie answered honestly this time. “Fucked up pretty bad.”

Gareth knew better than to press on the matter further, especially in front of everyone else, so he gently smacked Eddie’s back instead. It was a silent set of condolences, one Eddie definitely didn’t deserve since this was all his fault.

The band had all taken their places. Jesus Christ, he was really in for an unbearable day and he had no one to blame but himself. Sighing silently, Eddie crossed the studio and stood at the microphone, placed only a feet away from yours.

He stole another glance. You still refused to look at him, focusing instead on the carpet between your feet, hands on your hips.

“You know what I’m gonna say,” Marianne began, “But the day I don’t say it, is gonna be the day we make a shit piece of art so, here goes: good luck and have some fucking fun!” Then she disappeared into the other room, behind the glass.

An unsettling silence filled the air.

Usually Eddie would take the lead, but he found himself incapable. His attention was solely focused on you. Every inch of him wanted to shout, beg for any sort of acknowledgement. You continued to give him nothing and he thought you weren’t ever going to look at him again. 

But then you did and frankly, that was much worse.

“Honesty, take one,” you said into the microphone while staring deadpan at the rockstar beside you. Confirming, without saying much else, that you knew this song he wrote was in fact about you.

part two

#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #rockstar!eddie #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson story #eddie munson drabble #celebrity skin.

[cuubism]

A little headcannon that has been stewing in my head for a while and has absolutely no proof from the cannon

Death has wings right? What if Dream used to have wings too but when his kingdom got invaded for the first time(that story he tells in the Overture) the invaders cut his wings off. That's the part of the reason why he crafted his helm and why's he so dependent on it. They took his wings so he took their skull and a spine, an eye for an eye kind of situation. Also, that's when Dream first started employing a raven. He still has scars on his shoulder blades that follow him to any form he takes. He's ashamed of them, sees them as a sign of weakness, a reminder of his failure and his flaws and goes to great lengths to cover them up. That's about it, but I'd love to hear what you think of it^-^

(Plus: Hob gently running his hands over the scars, showing Dream his own ones and reassuring him that there's nothing broken, or wrong with him)

NO BUT THIS IS SO ANGSTY I LOVE IT. i love suffering

i feel like a permanent injury like that would have to be done to dream's core essence, such as it is, rather than his 'physical form' - i don't know if dream's physical form in the waking world or other realms can even be hurt like that. it would have to be like, something that deeply wounds the dreaming, or the concept of dreaming, or just like the deepest core of dream as an 'entity' rather than it being a physical wound. (this is leading me on a mental tangent about injuries to large groups of dreamers also injuring dream, like, extinction events and such, but that's for another time).

you managed to rope me into it, congrats XD

content warning for blood, gore, violence, Things Done That Can't Be Undone, etc.

--

There is not much, in his long life and memory, that Dream is able to forget. Thoughts do not drift into irrelevancy, into the past, the way they do for humans. He is able to hold much, all at once, in the cavern of his mind, eons of all that has happened hovering close enough to touch. It is a heavy weight more often than it is an aid.

But he forgets, sometimes, with Hob.

With Hob, the rare points of their contact stand out as singularly bright stars in the nebula of Dream's existence. All else within him fades. When Hob takes his hand Dream feels clear as a desert sky, when Hob kisses him for the first time, Dream is floating free in a great salt lake, hanging weightless.

He forgets.

It's only after, bodies pressed together with pleasing heat and sweat-tackiness, Hob tracing patterns over his back, that Dream begins to remember again.

"Dream..." Hob's fingers stutter over his shoulder blades. His voice catches with the hesitance he has often displayed with Dream since their reunion. I think you're here for friendship. Dream feels the echoes.

He kisses Hob's throat, tastes the salt tang of his skin, hides his face away there. The weight of embodiment returning. "Ask your question," he says. "I swear not to part from you now."

"Is this from...?" Hob's fingertips dance up the raised arcs of scar tissue over his back. Pain sparkles in the wake of his touch like the sharpness of a hand-drawn tattoo in the permanence of its inking. As humans imagine it. Dream is not truly physical and could not bear such a mark. Except for this.

"No," he tells Hob. Blame for many of Dream's recent ordeals can be laid at Roderick Burgess's feet, but not this one. "Much older than that."

"Oh." Hob keeps tracing the scar over Dream's right shoulder blade. The touch aches deep in Dream's being where those wounds originate, but he does not tell Hob to stop. Even like this, Hob's hands bring him back, and back, and keep him here.

Hob is waiting, leaving an opening for him to elaborate. Dream is not yet sure whether he wishes to.

"It is not a pretty story," he says.

Hob strokes through his hair. Dream keeps his head tucked under his chin and so feels each word as it's spoken. "Neither of us is a pretty story, darling. Tell it if you want to."

Dream has not spoken of this in many years. There are those in the Dreaming who have served him for millennia whom he has not told. He has taken lovers, had them see the scars during their lovemaking, and still not relayed the story.

"When I was young," he begins, "and still coming into my power, the Dreaming was invaded. My borders were not as strong, then. My realm, less populated. Ancient beings, older than I was at the time, hungered for my realm. Sought its power for their own."

"Older than dreams?" Hob asks.

"In their universe, there were no dreams," Dream tells him. "Perhaps it is what drew them to me."

"Alright. Wow." Hob sounds thoughtful. He rubs Dream's back, between his shoulder blades where it doesn't hurt. "Go on, love."

"I fought them. But the collective unconscious of this universe was young and undeveloped, as was I; I had not mastered all elements of my domain. I fought, but inelegantly, and struggled to counter dreamless beings when all my power was in the unconscious. They were wholly anchored in the present; I, in the space between seconds; we were poorly suited as combatants."

"What did you do?" Hob asks, quiet. He can sense, Dream thinks, the direction this is going, that Dream would not be so hesitant to tell the story of scars born of victory.

"I did not know," Dream admits, equally quiet, still shamed by it, his own failure, and its branching repercussions, "what to do. And the Eldest God, he who had first rent open the walls of my realm, pounced on my uncertainty, captured me, held me--"

The memory, never forgotten, always just within reach should he turn towards it, rises again -- the silk-smooth black sand on the shores of the Dreaming, crushed into his cheek; the warm waters lapping at his mouth, nose, eyes, drowning him; the impossible weight on his spine of the impossible dreamless creature holding him down, arms wrenched behind his back, the feral animal growl that had escaped him, the equally animal panic beating under his ribcage, the fragile spun dreamstuff of him held in the sharptoothed maw of cold reality, his wings--

"Dream?"

Dream comes back to himself. Comes back to Hob. The overwarm flannel sheets. The soft press of Hob's body. He's tapping something on Hob's arm, and hadn't realized he was doing it. It's the rhythm of an old song from before the time of men, the electrical beats passed along root chains from tree to tree to tree, all the way across the great forests that now exist only in scarce patches on the earth.

Dream shifts ever closer to Hob's body, slips a knee between Hob's thighs to tangle them, bare skin to bare skin, limb to limb, root to root.

"I had wings, then," he says.

--his wings, flapping frantically in the face of the thing that pinned him, feathers catching and tearing on jagged armor, held to the ground the way a creature of flight was never meant to be--

"Oh," breathes Hob. He touches the long scar over Dream's shoulder blade again and pauses there. The pain catches the story to Dream again like a hook and holds it there as he continues bleeding it dry.

"The Eldest God dug his claws into me and tore the wings from my body." Dream's voice doesn't shake but he does not manage more than a whisper. "I am not a physical creature, Hob, understand this, I cannot be so easily harmed, it was not a physical form that was damaged, rather, the Old Gods came from stone and earth and it was stone they harnessed as their claws, ancient stone to carve into my being and tear out my wings from the essence of me, root and stem, flesh and bone, air and feather and starlight."

All of this comes out in a continuous rush, and Hob kisses the side of his head, says, "Breathe."

He can still feel, if he but thinks back, the tearing of the claws. A cold so bright it felt like burning. His face ground into the sand to muffle his scream, the howling whiteout of pain overtaking all other noise, the crack of his shoulder joint as it was broken. Star stuff spilling out over the sand - Dream hadn't even known he could bleed until then. Hands that should never have touched in the first place releasing him. Collapsing, disarmed, to the ground. Every limb on fire, the ones that were left.

"Dream."

He lost himself, and found himself again some time later curled in the shallows of the Dreaming sea, seeking shelter from the cold in the warm waters. Face half submerged, breathing as much salt water as air. Blood still spooling around him like leftover paint whirling in a water glass.

"Dream."

Even in those warm waters, he was shivering. Dream doesn't think he's ever been quite warm since; that cold latched itself in him somewhere and never left.

Hob's voice, now, against his ear. He's curled himself around Dream while Dream wasn't paying attention, Dream's back to the warm protection of Hob's chest. "You don't have to finish if you don't want to."

Dream will not leave a story unfinished, not even one such as this. "When I had regained my strength enough to fight back," he continues, "I was... not in control. I knew only survival. If the Old Gods had wished me to understand their world, they succeeded. I abandoned my powers and fought with my hands and my claws and my teeth, and I tore the Eldest God's skull and spine from his body. Both of us would be maimed, I thought; if he would have my dreams then I would have for my own the backbone upon which he held his earth. I listened to him scream. I watched each rib pry up from his chest and snap, my hands slick with his blood, his with mine, and felt nothing but the raw satiation of a wolf setting upon meat. I have told you, Hob." He takes his first breath in a while and feels it rattle, hollow, around his ribcage. "It is not a pretty story."

"No." Hob's hand finds Dream's against his middle, tangles their fingers, holds him. His breath is shaky in Dream's hair, words more so. "No, darling, it's not. I'm sorry."

They rewrote the story of the Dreaming, Dream recalls saying to Destiny, after. Before he had come to know, truly, what Destiny was. Kneeling in his garden, blood still draping his raw back like a shroud, Dream had sought meaning, answers, reason. Foolish, in retrospect, to even consider asking for succor.

Destiny had said that the Dreaming had seeped too far into the Waking world. That what had happened was a necessary rebalancing.

Had Dream not been forbidden from physical violence against his siblings, he would have bitten off one of Destiny's hands with his own sharp teeth and asked if he felt more balanced then.

"Now you know what vicious creature you lie with, Hob Gadling," Dream says. The words are heavy in his throat, but he can't find it in himself to slip from Hob's hold. Now you know the jagged turn at the beginning of my story.

He wonders, sometimes, what the Dreaming might have been like had it continued on the other branch of Destiny's forking path. What he might have been like. There is so much space between a winged creature and a once-winged creature. The entire sky.

"I know." Hob bites at the back of Dream's neck, light but sharp, then kisses that same spot. The nip of pain is unexpectedly soothing. Hob too knows what it is to bite and claw and writhe and maul. “I know. I’ve known your darkness, honey. Don’t you worry.”

“They fled me,” Dream tells him. “The Old Gods. After. I did not understand why at the time.” He had stood, bloodied, shaking, over their Eldest one, bones grasped in his hands, and watched them disappear. These beings that could still have shredded the Dreaming and swallowed it, but chose to run. “Now, I imagine it is like the way men will flee from an animal that is so much smaller than them but has gone rabid. The wrongness. The danger of irreparable madness. They saw me ruined and wished not to catch it, saw the Dreaming—”

This wound has dulled over time and become but a throbbing ache at the base of his skull, a reminder of something missing. But it never disappears.

“The Dreaming, changed, from what they had wanted.”

Dream’s back has never been quite right, since. His anatomy is meant for two sets of joints, not one. But it is only a fitting marker of the permanent damage done that day.

“Changed?” says Hob, so gentle now, lips brushing his skin.

“There was once more,” Dream says. “The collective unconscious was once more… collective.”

“Wait. D’you mean…?”

“Yes. There was more interconnection between minds when I was young. There were not human minds in the sense that you would know them, not yet. But there was communication, and knowing, back then.”

Vestiges of it still linger. In the vast underground networks of the trees, the paired spins of distant atoms. The matched steps of lovers finding perfect synchronicity in a dance. But—

“That was sundered with my wings.”

The cold that had washed over Dream when that realization hit had been worse than the pain of losing the wings in the first place. How he had failed the dreamers under his care. Let things fracture and tear and separate when they were meant to be together.

Hob sighs against the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry, Dream.”

“I am sorry,” Dream says. “It should never have happened.”

“No, it shouldn’t,” Hob agrees, and it’s sweet pain sliding between Dream’s ribs, for Hob to press his fingertips to the rawness of him and say, yes, failure, failure, I see it now.

But Hob kisses the point of his shoulder, the ever-tense muscles of his upper back, the hard curve of his scapula and the calcified line of another almost-joint, lost to time. His lips find the uneven scar tissue and press there, which is its own sweet pain, but sliding towards sweet, a sharp bite to kissed lips.

“It shouldn’t,” Hob whispers, and the words vibrate to the core of him. Hob does not see his failure, will not; Dream had forgotten Hob’s charity towards him, how he will see the blood on Dream’s hands and wipe it away instead of asking how it got there. Dream’s failures have stolen something from him he does not even know to miss, and still.

Now Dream does wish for Hob’s hands slipping under his ribs. Hob would find the aching wretched thing within him that had been loosed that day and hold it in his palms, wash the blood from it with careful strokes. Would that Hob could have held him then, submerged him deep in the waters of the Dreaming sea until the dark and the warmth and the strong hold of his arms had soothed the flayed and violated creature that Dream had become back to sanity. Before the gnashing rageful part of him had turned predator and fully grown its claws.

Perhaps there is succor to be found, after all. How quickly Hob Gadling has become it.

“I wish that I could have…” Hob sighs. It sounds mournful, longing. “I don’t even know. Helped you. Held you. Futile, I know.”

“I would not have you feel badly. It is long past and cannot be undone,” Dream says, as if Hob’s words don’t mean more to him than he could possibly know.

“Nothing can, sweetheart,” Hob says. His hair brushes Dream’s shoulders. It is terribly soft now, in this day and age. Dream suspects it was not always so. Human lives have rarely been soft on their bodies. He appreciates the softness of Hob’s body now, and how it cradles him. Dream himself has long been unchangeably hard-edged. “But I would still help you.”

“Sweetheart,” Dream repeats. Dream might have been sweet, once, at the end of a different story. “You would call me this, at the end of this tale?”

Hob turns him so they are facing each other once more. A tear has gathered in the corner of his eye, and slips down to wet his pillowcase as Dream watches. Tears for Dream. Warm salt water. He smiles at Dream anyway.

“You’re my sweetheart. My dear one. You think I would think anything about this other than sadness for you?”

“Dear one,” Dream echoes. “Always good to me, my Hob.”

“‘Course.” Hob squeezes his hand. Hands that too have known violence, but soft for Dream, always. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?”

“Only what you have already done,” Dream says. “Be a cavern where I can shelter from the cold.”

Hob kisses him, hot and lingering, and pulls the blankets up over their heads.

#thanks for sending this anon i'm extremely obsessed with it now #thinking about young dream still new to the world building the dreaming for the first time and learning his powers and still full #of softness and wonder and getting ripped to shreds for it #and now i am Screaming #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dreamling #my writing #ask #anonymous #tw gore #tw blood #fuck i did this while i'm supposed to be working so i should really get back to that now. adios

[kitthepurplepotato]

My Weird Boyfriend, Midoriya Izuku!

Second Season of My Weird Roommate Midoriya Izuku !

Please read the first season before starting this, otherwise it won’t make sense.

~•🥦•~

Basic info:

- (Almost) Established Midoriya x quirkless female reader

- Other minor relationships: Bakugou x Kirishima, Kaminari x Shinsou (mostly just hints, except if you guys want to see more from them!)

- Warnings: Suggestive, swear words, new warnings on every chapter. I don’t really want to write smut but if it ever happens it will be in a separate chapter and it won’t be important for the main plot! 16+ for now.

- I’ll post as soon as I can but I can’t do it weekly for a while for personal reasons; please read this for more information! Be on the taglist so you don’t miss the new chapters! 🩷

Master List

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Chapter 0 - Midoriya Izuku tells the truth! (Midoriya POV)

The responsibility of being the number one hero comes to Izuku naturally; it’s like he was born for it, even though it was literally the opposite.

Affection, love and care also in his blood; he grew up in a loving family even without having a father; his mother is the most affectionate, most sensitive person in the whole world and Izuku is proud to say that he inherited all of that from her.

What Izuku has no idea about is… well… putting feelings into words and acting upon them.

Midoriya Izuku knows he is certainly fucked, as Katsuki likes to say, and he knows that one day, karma will bite his ass for taking so much from Sweet Pea without telling her about his own, absolutely not friendly feelings, but he just can’t do it. Sweet Pea is the purest soul in the whole wide world, her heart is nothing but pure gold, her touches feel like heaven, her skin smells like home and Izuku is quite sure Sweet Pea is not actually quirkless she’s just a descendant of an Angel and her quirk is jut her being… well… that.

He can write essays about how perfect Sweet Pea is; he’s not lying about that, he has three notebooks full of notes hidden in his secret room nobody knows about, every page filled with nice things about his lovely roommate, about her morning routine, about all the skincare products she uses before she goes to bed, about what food she prefers to eat and what food she makes only for Izuku but barely touches herself; for instance, when Sweet Pea makes a fruit salad she only eats the berries out of it the leaves the rest of it in the fridge for Izuku to finish. Oh, and every time she makes broccoli, she looks really guilty when she’s eating it and that’s the cutest thing in Izuku’s opinion. Oh and mushrooms; Sweet Pea doesn’t like mushrooms. At all. Oh and there is that really lovely cream she uses right before bed that smells really flowery so every evening, Izuku hides his face in Sweet Pea’s neck to smell it; it took him a bit of time to find the right product in her skincare cabinet and Izuku was horrified to realize the bottle was half empty so he quickly ordered one from Amazon so it never runs out; he was really surprised how ridiculously pricy it was but when the box arrived, it all made sense; he accidentally ordered a set of 10.

By the way, it doesn’t smell as nice on him as it does on Sweet Pea, but it does make his skin look flawless and moisturized so he has no complains. Plus, Sweet Pea doesn’t need to spend any money to buy a new tube because Izuku makes sure to change her tube up to a new one before it runs out.

Wait, how did he end up thinking about this?

Oh yeah, feelings. Friendly feelings and non-friendly ones. Yeah, he doesn’t really get that. When Izuku loves he loves aggressively and he can’t really see where one feeling ends and where the other starts hence why it took him a lifetime to realize when his relationship with Sweet Pea went past the friendzone and even then, it did not feel like it was past anything; it all felt natural to him like breathing.

Izuku would lie if he would say he doesn’t have any idea about romance; sadly, he does. But that romance was nothing like what he has with Sweet Pea; that romance was nothing but him being played over and over again for nothing but his money and when he ran out of all of it he was dumped like a misbehaving dog; not useful, not needed anymore.

It’s a story he doesn’t like to share; he was young and stupid, he was forced to do so much stuff he wasn’t ready for but he was too happy to be loved and appreciated he didn’t care about his own feelings at that time, neither about his missing money; until he was able to pay his mom’s rent and his own, he was more than happy to spend all of the rest on his “loved one” and let’s just say he definitely learnt a lesson right there and he vowed he’ll never fall in love again. After a few months of self destruction and a few explosions right in his face he realized the world isn’t about the end; his life is already perfect even without the romance; he has the best friends and the best family, he has a beautiful flat with a beautiful fluffy cat, he’s loved by so many and he’s the symbol of peace now, just how he wanted it all his life.

Life was great and he was satisfied.

But then…

He opened his door to welcome his new roommate who had a Deku cardboard cutout under her armpit.

It wasn’t love for the first sight but it was on the second; the way she slept peacefully in his arms when he shuffled over to her bed to put her to sleep, the way she took care of him when he came home drenched in blood, the way she’s never asked for anything in exchange for all the love and care she poured into his flat and his now-beautiful garden; it all happened without his knowledge, without a single warning, just like that, out of the blue and BAMM!

… yeah.

Midoriya Izuku always wondered why was his own point of view never a part of this silly fanfiction but seeing his thoughts written down on this piece of paper, now he can understand, why.

This is a mess, man.

So after the Big Bang, Izuku wasn’t sure what to do with himself. If he has to choose between keeping his Sweet Pea around as a close friend or losing her because of his silly little feelings, he would choose to go with the former for obvious reasons. Also, doing frisky things with your roommate sounds weirdly illegal, even if Kacchan says it’s okay and Kirishima says your girlfriend who lives with you is also technically your roommate so Izuku’s hour-long mumble doesn’t really make any sense.

When Izuku innocently asks which kind of roommates are those two, he was respectfully thrown out their window.

It was just a joke. There is no way Kacchan is doing frisky things with Kirishima.

… right?

Okay, how did he end up here again?

Oh yeah, love.

Izuku fell in love.

That’s it.

Things were alright for a while; there were a few occasions when Izuku felt a really strong urge to kiss Y/N in a non-friendly way; it usually came randomly, like when they both stared at each other during a movie or when Izuku came home and Y/N jumped into his arms, content and happy that he’s finally home, or when Y/N made his favorite food for dinner, or when Y/N fell asleep in his arms… okay, he felt the urge almost every day but he was strong enough to stop himself until they went camping together and…

No, he is NOT going to make a comment about his drunk shenanigans. That goes to the grave with him. The one occasion he wants to talk about though is when he accidentally kissed Sweet Pea… on the mouth. That’s when the dam broke.

He wanted to let her go right away, of course he did, but her lips were so soft and so squishy and… okay, maybe he lingered a bit before he actually moved away and maybe he hoped there will be another accident in the near future so he can relive that beautiful feeling but the life wasn’t kind to him enough for that; instead, Sweet Pea got sick and Izuku made an absolute fool of himself by freaking out completely. He even got hurt during a battle. He’s never been so disappointed in himself than that day. Thankfully, Katsuki saved the day and as always, exploded his face a few times to get him to his senses, even his mother helped to nurse his girl back to health, so it’s all well if it’s end well and Izuku must say, the next few days after were like a dream; they were both happy in each other’s arms, all the cautions thrown into the fire; Izuku was the happiest man on Earth.

…But there is a reason why people say not to play with fire; it looks nice from far away, but when you get too close to it… it burns like a bitch.

It was a few days after Sweet Pea got better. Izuku was already so close to confess to Y/N, tell her he loves her and that he wants her to be his; he was just about to say it out loud when he was called in to work on his day off. He was mad and angry but he decided to let it go; he made a plan in his head that day, the perfect, fool-proof plan to swoon Sweet Pea the right way.

He will get a lovely pink pot of flowers for her window seal first then he’ll ask Y/N out for dinner; there is a beautiful restaurant on the rooftop of the highest building in Tokyo which he wanted to rent out completely for one day, have a lovely dinner then watch the stars together, snuggled under a cozy blanket with mulled wine in their hands. Then Deku would take out the little box from his pocket; the little box with a little ring, made by his friend Melissa; it’s not an engagement ring, it’s more like a promise; the ring is actually a really cool support item Melissa made especially by Deku’s orders. It doesn’t matter what it is really but yes, he will give the ring to Sweet Pea and tell her about his feelings.

And then… they can have their first kiss under the skies and it will be perfect… if she feels the same of course. If not… that’s another story.

… well. Life had other plans for Izuku.

Blaming it on life isn’t the most manly thing to do though because really, it was all Izuku’s fault.

Sweet Pea and Izuku were chilling on the sofa, watching a lovely movie that afternoon. The mood was perfect, calm and homey, Y/N was warm in his arms and she smelled amazing; he just wanted to remember her beautiful, serene face as she tried to look sneak glances at him, he just wanted to remember the spark in her eyes when their gazes met in the dim lighting; he just wanted to feel how soft Y/N’s cheeks are on this lovely afternoon, but somehow, he got lost in the sensation, lost in those beautiful eyes staring into his soul, and without a single thought in his lovesick brain, Midoriya Izuku looked down at her lips, which he tried to not ever do. It was a mistake; Y/N licked her lips right in front of Midoriya’s hungry eyes and somehow, he ended up being jealous of Y/N’s own tongue for being able to do that, his mind went dark and his heart exploded; he felt like he needed to have a taste himself, just a tiny little peck to soothe the burning desire in his chest, so he did.

He did, and he hated himself so much in that moment.

There were two different kind of feelings raging inside of him; one was self-hatred and the second was pure hunger. He concentrated on the first one; he mumbled a quiet sorry, his eyes the size of saucers but Y/N wasn’t listening to him; she was staring at him, but her eyes were cloudy and so-so beautiful; he tried again then, said sorry again and again and again but Sweet Pea turned his world upside down with her next move; she shut him up with another kiss, right on his mouth, like kissing him there is the most normal thing in the world and Izuku’s lost it; he lost the fight against his desires and slowly crawled closer and closer until there was nothing to stop him from kissing Y/N until their mouths hurt.

It was amazing for the first few minutes; it felt like finally, the last piece of puzzle found its place; he felt complete and so-so happy in Y/N’s arms, the kiss was everything he wanted and so much more; her lips were soft and gentle and she tasted amazing, but somewhere in the back of his mind Izuku knew this is a mistake and finally, his mind caught up to his heart and the happiness came to an end.

Sweet Pea deserved so much more than a few fleeting kisses out of nowhere. Sweet Pea deserved to be loved and appreciated and she deserved to have a choice in this; she might have reciprocated, but he didn’t even ask for her consent before the first kiss. Izuku messed up terribly; as the pink clouds cleared out he started to spiral, which ended up with him crying in his roommate’s arms, begging for forgiveness, but even being forgiven didn’t make Izuku’s heartache less painful. This was a mistake but he can’t say it will never happen again; he won’t be able to forget how it was like to be so close to the person he loves the most, and it’s only a matter of time before he will seek this comfort again. Their friendship is doomed and it’s all his fault; so Izuku braced himself and served his heart on a silver platter right in front of her; he tried his best to make this last “I love you” different than the others, but she just said it back and left him in his misery and Izuku took it as a rejection; he went to his room, crying his eyes out like a silly little teenager after his first heartbreak.

“Kacchan…” Izuku sobbed into the phone and Katsuki’s yelling subdued right away.

“You should be happy, what the fuck are you crying about?” Katsuki mumbled aggressively, but there was a hint of worry in his voice.

“This is not how this was supposed to happen. This is wrong. So wrong…” Izuku sobbed and even without seeing Kacchan’s face he knew he’s rolling his eyes.

“Oh my god, you fucker, life isn’t some motherfucking fairy tale where everything is perfect.” Katsuki reprimanded. “You are not the first fucking person whose romance didn’t go by their plans, you annoying little prick!” Katsuki yelled and suddenly, Izuku could hear another voice in the background.

“Katsuki, stop.” Eijirou’s voice got closer to the microphone. “What Katsuki is trying to say is that just because you’ve made a mistake it doesn’t mean your feelings are not true. I’ll tell you a story… from the past, okay?” Eijirou asked but Izuku had no idea why he felt the need to ask that, but okay. Maybe he wasn’t asking him but someone else? But the only person close to him is….

Oh.

Well, Izuku was too mentally exhausted to put the two things together right now.

This is not the right chapter for THAT reveal, anyway.

“So when I was young and stupid I had this friend I really liked.” Eijirou started, then laughed. “Okay, liking this person was an understatement, I was head over heels for him. So one day, we were chatting about romance and this person was talking about how they’ve never kissed before so I decided to use this opportunity and get a little bit of action out of it. Well, things have escalated and we ended up… going way past the “two bros kissing” stage and I really thought our friendship will be over after that; but then they laughed and everything went back to normal like nothing had happened. So that’s one thing. But the other thing is…” The line went silent for a few seconds, but then Eijirou started speaking again. “I hate myself to this day for letting the opportunity go; they were in my arms and I had all the power to tell them about my feelings and at least give ourselves a try in a romantic way. But I chickened out and I let the “mistake” go forgotten. I beat myself up every single day for it. Don’t be like me. It fucking sucks.” Eijirou sighed on the other side of the line.

“Do you still love the fucker?” Kacchan mumbled, barely audible. Izuku didn’t know Kacchan’s voice can go so soft.

“Would it be really pathetic to say I do?” Eijirou laughed with a sad tone to his usually preppy voice.

“Maybe instead of giving shitty advice to shitty Deku, you should grow some balls and ask the fucker out finally, because I’m quite fucking sure they’ve been waiting for fucking ages for you to get your shit together.” Katsuki retorted aggressively and there was an awkward silence on the other side of the line.

“Uhm, guys, would you like me to end the call?” Izuku mumbled, gobsmacked.

“Not yet, Deku.” Kacchan yelled. “You don’t need to act now or tomorrow. Just give it a fucking thought and get your head out of your ass. Got it?”

“Yeah, Kacchan. Thanks.” Izuku smiled. Kacchan might be an angry midget but he is an amazing friend.

“Now let me call Headphones and message your girlfriend, knowing her she’s probably trying to get through this alone like a real idiot.”

Scratch Izuku’s last sentence. Kacchan is the best friend the world has ever seen.

“Call us if you need to, okay? We love you Zuku-boo!”

“Jesus Christ, that was the gayest shit you’ve ever said, Eijirou.” Katsuki laughed on the other side, loud and airy.

“I feel kinda gay today, to be honest.” Eijirou laughed back and the line went silent.

~•🥦•~

As everyone probably knows by now, Midoriya Izuku likes to overthink everything, so needless to say, he took his fucking time to think about his relationship as well.

He didn’t mean to stop eating and ignore everything for the sake of having more time to think about the same thing over and over again and he genuinely didn’t realize how harmful the whole thing was until he got slapped in the face by Sweet Pea’s teary eyes.

Izuku did learn his lesson the last time he did something so stupid as to ignore Y/N’s feelings, so this time, he listened and spoke up about his own; it was painful and Izuku swears something broke inside of him, but it was so worth it to be able to put his legs in Y/N’s lap in a pathetic attempt for intimate contact.

He wanted to snuggle up close and caress her arms, hide his head in his favorite spot, kiss the soft skin of her neck until Y/N’s tiny sighs fill the space… but Midoriya Izuku knows he won’t be able to stop himself there if this ever becomes a reality so he just… forced his mind to shut down and concentrate on the boring movie playing in the TV.

Life has been really hectic around him in the last couple of days, so don’t judge him for forgetting about his friend coming to Japan. They had an agreement; whenever the other is in town, they are more than welcome to use their facilities and spare beds to spare some money. No questions asked. Hence why Melissa came without a single word, and it’s fine.

He really should have realized there is no spare bed in his flat anymore for a guest though.

Izuku knew he was being ridiculous with this whole “I don’t let anyone in my room” thing, but his room is filled with personal pictures and memorabilia to the brim and a step inside his room feels like a step inside his soul and even though Izuku is the most open, most welcoming person on Earth, he’s still terrified to let anyone inside.

Well… anyone… but his Sweet Pea.

It was a really surprising realization for him, to be absolutely honest.

He also realized he kinda wants to let Y/N in into his room, he wants her to wander around and find the secret pieces of his soul laying on the shelves, and maybe, he wants Y/N to find out that a big part of his heart belongs to her already.

And she did. She did find them all and…

Oh, the ever loving god and all the angels above, thank you; the kiss Izuku received that day will forever haunt him in his sleep, in the best way possible. He will never ever be able to sleep again. Oh my god, Izuku is so absolutely whipped right now it’s actually kind of ridiculous.

There’s nothing in his head but fluffy pink clouds and Sweet Pea’s soft lips. Ladies, gents and everyone in between, Midoriya Izuku has left the earth and lives in Candy Land now.

If Izuku thought he was in love before, this is… something else completely. He drinks Y/N, he eats Y/N, he breathes Y/N, she’s so perfect and cute and squishy and she gives the best morning kisses… letting their friendship change over the course of the night was the best idea. They didn’t talk about what they are, but honestly, Izuku isn’t even sure there is a need to do that; whatever relationship they are in right now, they both know their hearts belong to the other; and honestly, that’s all that matters in Izuku’s opinion.

For now, he is happy with whatever Sweet Pea throws in front of him.

Maybe one day, he will feel the urge to give this a name, and knowing how romantic Izuku is when it comes to his Sweet Pea, he’ll probably ask her to be his girlfriend in a day or two, but right now, in this moment, Izuku needs nothing else to be the happiest nerd the world has ever seen.

… Next Chapter!

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Potato ramble:

- I hope you enjoyed seeing Midoriya’s side of the story! I’m actually quite proud of it.

- I can’t really do my usual rambles right now as I’m in a really bad mental state but I really hope this chapter made your day a bit better! I really enjoyed editing it!

- I’m really not sure when I’ll be able to post the next chapter as it’s quite painful for my foreigner ass to write it properly! (I have an exact picture of Deku’s agency in my head and I’m trying my best to write it down but man, I’m struggling so much 😂😂😂) Please be kind and patient with me for a while, honestly, I’m not sure how am I even functioning as a human being right now.

Likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated as always! 🥦

TL: @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @kastuar @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @thekookiecorner @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @norvacaine @rei165

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #midoriya izuku x y/n #midoriya izuku x reader #midoriya x you #midoriya x reader #pro hero deku x reader #midoriya izuku x you #midoriya izuku

[hawnks]

Cat’s Cradle: 1

Gojo/reader, soulmate au

At twelve, he takes over as clan head. The strongest in a long line of demon slayers, Gojo is expected to save the declining family from an ever encroaching hoard of monsters, to reinstate the clan as a power of the region, and to bring honor to the name.

At thirteen he leaves on a two day journey to exterminate a demon nest at the edge of their territory. The elders think he’ll die, and that maybe he should if he can’t weather what needs to be done. They tell him as much, their tone austere, cold. He says, “I’ll be back soon.” Three katanas. His bare hands when all the blades have chipped and shattered. Fifty grotesque demons, bigger than him by half, each with a hundred dagger-sharp teeth. He comes home drenched in blood. It obscures his skin, his hair. All the markers of the clans fated son, vanished. Except for his eyes, still startling and bright. He turns them on one of the elders, then the dripping trail he’d left on the hardwood floors. He says, “We should hire a maid.”

At fifteen he brings prosperity to the clan. He inducts other demon slayers. Repopulates their dwindling numbers and empty halls with outsiders, non-relatives. But strong. Each one of them so strong and cruel and ruthless. He warns them what it will be like within the compound, his plans for them and the estate. There will be danger. Many of them will die. Some of them heed the warning and some don’t. Either way they fight for him with every modicum of their being. That’s the mark of a true Gojo— acceptance of death as a part of life.

At seventeen he meets his soulmate. A lady from a nearby clan, a family of merchants. His retainers put her in front of him, insisting that he needs to keep up a good rapport with other clans. Politics is a key part of his duties, according to them.

She greets him in the traditional manner. Bows and offers grace as he lounges in the seat of the golden zaisu.

“Rise, now,” he allows her.

“Yes, My Lord,” she returns.

The exchange isn’t a shock to him like it is to her. His words are common; he hears them everyday. A part of him doubts their connection, but it may as well be her.

She’s pretty. Non-offensive. Easily overlooked. She has the manners of any court lady, but enough cursed energy to knock a lesser man over upon encountering it. A perfect clan wife, a perfect lady, a perfect soulmate.

And best of all, she doesn’t interfere with his acuity. Never weighs on his mind, or clouds his judgment.

Gojo feels absolutely nothing for her.

#YAYYYY

[mixelation]

reborn au!!! how team disaster meets. sort of. comes in 3 parts. uh read the warning

this takes place after tori has fled oto (which imploded. maybe because of certain Actions. history repeats, etc), and after she's been traveling around with Deidara for a bit.

the warning: an adult man gets weirdly and uncomfortably fixated on tori in a way that's implied to be sexual and also intentionally humiliating for her. nothing comes of it but the dude's own demise

xXx

Tori woke up with her cheek pressed to a cold cement floor. The air was musty and smelled of human bodily fluids. She cracked an eyelid: the lighting was dim, but she was very clearly in a cell. Her face was a foot from the bars. 

Hello darkness, my old friend, she thought, because she’d thought she was done with waking up in strange cells. 

The dim light was coming from outside the cell, in a corridor. There was another cell across the way, and Tori could see a shadowy pile of rags inside. Another prisoner. 

When nothing happened for a few minutes, Tori sat up. The movement made her head ache, and her mouth was dry, but otherwise she felt mostly unharmed. Except something seemed… off. Really off.  

Someone had changed her clothes, to a baggy shirt that smelled of sweat and a pair of matching shorts. Tori stuck her hand up the back of the shirt, fingers tracing her skin for evidence of the intrusive thing she could feel modulating her chakra. 

“They’ve sealed it,” a voice from further in the cell said. 

Hatake Kakashi was leaning against the back wall, his legs spread out in front of him. What the fuck. 

(In the corner opposite of him was a bucket. Tori didn’t want to think about the bucket until she absolutely had to.)

Kakashi was wearing the same gross prison uniform, although he’d ripped off a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt to use as a makeshift mask over his nose and mouth. It would almost be cute, except nothing about the current circumstances were cute or amusing at all. He looked significantly worse for wear: his face was haggard and his posture screamed exhaustion. 

“Where are we?” Tori asked. 

“What village are you affiliated with?” Kakashi replied. His voice was wary. 

“None,” Tori replied. “Where are we?”

There was a long pause before Kakashi answered. “Hidden Grass.”

Interesting, Tori thought. Except not interesting at all! What the hell did Kusa want with her and Deidara?

“Did you see a blonde boy, when they brought me in?” Tori asked. “Blue eyes, about my age?” She paused and added, “Short?”

Kakashi simply stared back at her. 

“Please?” she tried. “He’s my friend.”

Kakashi rolled his head slightly to the side. He seemed… out of it. 

“They brought you in alone,” he told her. 

Kakashi was less than talkative, so Tori leaned against her own stretch of wall and contemplated what to do. 

She wasn’t particularly bothered by the seal on her back. She guessed it would prevent her doing any jutsu, but she was still strong enough to stand up and walk around. That meant she still had some chakra running through her body. In a pinch, she could just use blood for a seal. Ninjutsu had never been what made her dangerous, anyway. 

She was worried about Deidara. He was perfectly capable of an array of ninja skills that didn’t involve chakra, and he was clever on top of that, but the comments of their captor had been… well, she got the impression they’d be paying more attention to him than to her. She was sure he could handle himself, but the thought that he might be tortured or otherwise hurt made her antsy to do something. 

She took a deep breath. Calm down, she commanded herself. She needed information before she could do anything. Like, where was Deidara? Where was she, exactly, in relation to him?

Many hours passed, and four times the same guard shuffled down the corridor, shining a flashlight into cells as they went. None of the other prisoners said a word, so Tori kept her mouth shut and listened to the guard’s footsteps. They always stopped at the end of the hall, followed by scuffing noises. A room, maybe, with a chair?

She heard conversation at the end of the hall once, muffled but with a friendly cadence. More scuffing of furniture being moved. Then a female guard did the next rounds. 

There were no windows, so Tori had no idea how much time had passed. 

“How often do they feed us?” Tori wondered out loud.

Kakashi lulled his head towards her. “They haven’t fed anyone in six days,” he provided. 

Well, that explained a lot. 

“They might have put you in here because they’re running out of space,” Kakashi continued. “But part of me wonders if they just want to see if I’ll eat you.”

Tori laughed. The sound echoed in the cell. 

“It’s not really funny,” Kakashi replied dryly. 

“Don’t eat me; I taste bad,” she said. Then, because Kakashi was being chatty, she asked, “Can I look at the seal they put on you?”

Kakashi just blinked slowly at her. No answer. Okay. 

With the state he was in, Tori thought she could probably wrestle him to the floor and then look. But she didn’t really like the idea of physically holding someone down and rolling up their shirt, and also: Hatake Kakashi could be an important tool for escaping. After all, who knows what kinds of ninja she would run into when she freed herself and went to look for Deidara. She’d have to figure out where to look, then get around any obstacles, and then have a distraction if she needed to set up any fuinjutsu along the way. Having Kakashi on her side would be very useful, even half-starved. 

Teaming up with an unknown ninja always carried the risk of them bailing the second working with you was more hassle than it was worth. Tori didn’t fear that with Kakashi. But, if she did convince him to help her, he’d need his chakra.  

If Kakashi wouldn’t show her his seal, she’d have to figure out a way to visualize hers. Although she found it boring, Tori wasn’t complete shit at meditation. She crossed her legs, closed her eyes, and focused on how her chakra interacted with the seal. 

The good news was that the seal’s entire purpose was to suck up her chakra and then only let out what her body needed to maintain itself. That meant that, if she concentrated hard enough, she should be able to figure out the exact way that chakra moved through the seal. This would give her no information on what the seal looked like, but she could make an educated guess at reverse-engineering it. 

The female guard did another round. Tori imagined a single particle of chakra– which wasn’t really what chakra was made of, but helped her visualize it– and then imagined tracking it through her body. It was born in her stomach, then went up to her heart normally, and then the seal sucked it up before it could go anywhere else. It went through a weird spiral through there and she lost track. 

What did the spiral look like? She started again. 

The female guard made four more rounds. Tori’s stomach started to growl. 

Another guard came, this time banging on the cell bars and tossing water bottles at the prisoners. Tori opened her eyes and stared blearily into the hallway. It sounded like there was another double occupancy cell down the way. Why the hell did they have so many prisoners?

And why wasn’t Deidara one of them?

The new guard was a big man who came right up to the bars to leer into their cell. 

“I heard we had a new girl,” he said, teeth flashing at Tori. “Here, take your water ration.”

He poked the bottle through the bars so that Tori would have to get up and approach him to take it. He grinned down at her, lording this power over her. Across the cell, Kakashi shifted slightly. 

Tori did not want to take the water. But if they weren’t even feeding them, it would be stupid of her to refuse. She stood and took the three paces to get to the front of the cell. 

The guard didn’t move away when she took the bottle. It was thick, hard plastic; probably reusable. 

“Take a sip,” the guard prompted. 

Tori stared down at the water. She’d been well-hydrated when she got in here. Should she just let Kakashi have the whole thing?

“Take a sip,” the guard insisted. 

Tori didn’t want to, but as she raised her eyes to meet the guard’s, she felt as though she suddenly understood him. This man would be the source of her information, no need to break out and snoop around at all. 

“Um,” Tori said, fiddling with the bottle. “The other shinobi…” 

“I’ll give you two more bottles,” the guard offered. “If you drink the whole thing right now.”

Weirdo, Tori thought as she complied. She wouldn’t feel hungry for a bit, at least. The guard watched her intently the entire time, his gaze making her skin crawl. 

The guard did follow through on giving her two more bottles, pressing his face through the bars as he did. 

“Have you had to use the bucket yet?” he jeered. 

Gross, Tori thought, and willed herself to tear up even as she accepted the bottles. 

“You will soon,” the guard promised. 

“I don’t want to,” Tori sniffled. “I didn’t– I didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. I just want to see my friend.”

“You friend?” the guard replied, eyes fixed on how Tori rubbed her nose. “You’re not seeing your friend ever again.”

“He’s strong.” Tori hiccupped. “He’ll break out and come save me.”

The guard’s grin grew even wider. And just like that, Tori had the guard taunting her with all the horrors that were going to befall Deidara and then her, because he got off on humiliating preteen girls or whatever. 

Tori couldn’t be sure of all the details between the dramatic showmanship and threats, but what she understood was this: Kusa was rounding up spill-over from Oto’s demise. They’d been particularly interested in shinobi that had experimental body modifications and jutsu from Orochimaru, of which they had incorrectly identified Deidara as one. They were studying the modifications and keeping other captives to then try out their own attempts to replicate the modifications. 

She even got info on where the experiments were happening: in a temporary lab set up outside of Kusa. Tori supposed that including information about high security labs and the tools inside was supposed to be… scary, or something. She pretended to sob and sob and then when she was getting bored with repeated jeers, begged him to stop. 

He left her crouched in the corner with both bottles of water and promised he’d be back when she needed to use the bucket. 

She performatively let out a few more sobs after he’d left, listening intentionally as he jeered at and berated other prisoners with renewed vigor. What a disgusting man. She should make sure he died during her escape attempt, whatever that may be. 

When she could hear him in the guards’ room, Tori finally dropped her act. She stood and stretched, then caught Kakashi’s eye. 

He raised his eyebrows at her, questioning. 

Tori took a step toward him, and he crossed his legs and straightened up but didn’t flinch. Tori set both full bottles of water next to him and sat down at his side. 

“Nice work,” he said, his voice low. “But what do you plan to do with any of that? If you can’t get out, you’re just going to have a weird pervert watching you now.”

He said the last part with a wince in his voice, like any decent human. Or maybe he just didn’t want to have to see it, trapped in here with her. 

“I have some tricks up my sleeve,” Tori told him, uncapping one of the water bottles. “And I’m sure you do too, Hatake Kakashi.”

#reborn au #my writing

[hitomisuzuya]

a/n: All right, here we go. I've had this one spinning in my head while I cooked dinner earlier. This man has me a chokehold just like Scara does. I accidently typed me instead of you a few times, that's how far into brain rot I am😭

Tighnari x fem!reader. Masturbation. Tighnari having dirty thoughts. Slight mention of blood. Predatory! Tighnari if you squint? But also him being sweet and gentle.

Half a year had passed since you'd joined up with the Forest Rangers and met Tighnari. Previously having only been interested in his research and taking care of forest, Tighnari wasn't sure when strolls through the forest with you became more frequent, eventually combining your evening patrols together.

Or when he made it a habit to sniff you out on the air when you weren't with him, feeling peace of mind when he was able to pinpoint where you were in the forest. When he started having certain...urges.

It was on your evening patrols that you two came across a Withering Zone. You two had decided to split your strengths, the Withering Zone being small enough to be controlled by just the two of you. Tighnari, being the archer neutralized the toxic red blooms on the trees.

He also sniped at enemies from a distance, providing support as you neutralized the floating Fungi with your Dendro Vision and catalyst weapon.

You were breathtaking, a sight to behold as you fought, your sweet scent overriding the scorched smell of the Withering Zone. His eyes couldn't help but linger on you, especially on the bite mark he'd pressed into your neck yesterday. It was a moment of uncommon weakness while he'd looked over your shoulder, reading with you about aromatherapy herbs.

You were stirring things to life in him that were a little unfamiliar for him.

Things suddenly started happening so fast. You'd finished up taking out the Fungi, turning to see his progress and what you could do to help him out. From behind a tree, spears of red light shot out towards you.

Tighnari cursed quietly. How had he missed a bloom?! You narrowly dodged it, however not completely, gritting your teeth when you felt searing pain against your skin. You felt dizzy, losing your balance you tumbled down the hill just as Tighnari neutralized the final bloom.

You didn't have time to gasp in pain, your vision going dark once your body connected with the trunk of a tree. Tighnari was by your side in an instant. He quickly assessed your condition, performing any topical first aid you needed.

Sitting down beside you, Tighnari decided it was best not to move you just yet, not at least until you'd woken up.

The sun has started going down, his keen hearing trained on listening for the slightest movement. Nothing, absolutely nothing was going to get near you.

He studied you, noticing that some blood from a scrap next to your mouth welling to the surface. Your blood smelt like tin, metallic, and somehow enticing. Slowly he leaned down, licking his lips. His tongue flicked out. One lick, two licks. A pause to look for signs of movement from you.

It was on the third lick that you stirred, your blurry vision barely being able to make out Tighnari at first. "Tighnari?" You murmured, tired and confused.

He recoiled backwards, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Erm, excuse me..how do you feel?"

His ears drooped slightly in relief when you told him you were only drowsy and sore. Once you determined you were able to move all of your limbs, and follow his finger with your eyes, he picked you up bridal style, cradling you gently against his chest.

It didn't take long for you two to reach Gandharva Ville. From there, Tighnari tucked you into bed, having you smoke something that not only would help you sleep, but also neutralize the toxins in your body.

He decided to keep watch over you all night, explain the situation to your squad when they came looking for you. Again, nothing and no one except himself was getting near you.

Tighnari's eyes racked over your sleeping form. Now that things were quiet, certain urges were bubbling to the surface again. He wanted to nuzzle you, and rub up against you a little bit, mark his scent on you even more.

Sighing, he rested his head against the wall, stretching his legs out on your bed. He cast a sideways glance at you. You were guaranteed to be zonked out well into the morning at least.

Closing his eyes, his cock hardened as he entertained lewd thoughts of you. He didn't feel embarrassed when he put his hand down the front of his pants to stroke and palm himself. You wouldn't see or hear a thing, and he needed a release.

Pulling his cock from his pants to make it easier, Tighnari pumped his hand along it, practically feeling your hips in his hands, guiding you down to bounce on his cock. His cum and your's would be coating the inside of your thighs, riding him to orgasm until he could offer you no more inside of you.

Panting quietly, he jacked himself off, occasionally whining, his mouth watered thinking about how your mouth would feel, warmly sucking him off, obediently swallowing his cum.

Cum coated his fingers when he thought of bending you over the railing of a lookout point high up in a tree, fucking you raw until you screamed his name, begging him to breed you, to fuck his cum back inside your pussy, creaming on his cock.

You stirred certain urges inside him. Ones he was going to be sure to address in the following weeks.

#genshin impact #genshin smut #tighnari #tighnari smut #tighnari x reader #tighnari x you #tighnari x y/n

[soapskneebrace]

NSFW Alphabet — Captain John Price

Pairing: John Price x AFAB reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: BDSM dynamics, mild daddy kink

Now on AO3!

Dedicated to @yeyinde who has been almost my sole inspiration for how down bad I am for this fucking man. (And because I know she’s working on her own version of this and I’m DYING for it.)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Almost to a fault, John is both active and attentive. After he’s pulled away from you, breath coming out in heavy pants and hair mussed where you’d been running your hands through it (or pulling it—he really likes when you pull it), he’s already on his feet scrounging up a washcloth to clean up with, a sip of water for you both to get back some of that hydration that you’d sweated out, and would you like him to toss you your shirt, dove? He’s never really able to sit still on even the calmest of days, but all it takes to get him to lay back down with you is a sweet, soft plea to come hold you. John cannot deny you when you ask like that.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He doesn’t know if they’re his favorite, but John has a lot of appreciation for his hands. They’re weathered, scarred, and have carried out some of the most heinous acts a man can commit against another human being, but you also mewl and plead for those hands to touch you, to hold you tighter, to pin you down and mark you up. John uses the same hands he’s drenched in blood to wring breathless, sobbing pleasure from your body, and that he can do that is something that he holds dear. When it comes to your body, John loves your neck and your breasts. He has painted both with blooms of red and purple using his lips and teeth, and love to watch your breasts shake and bounce as he thrusts into you, one hand wrapped carefully but firmly around your throat.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Given the opportunity, John always prefers to come inside you. He’ll grab you in an iron grip, thrusting with a force that you’re certain will leave bruises, and bury himself to the hilt when he hits his peak, snarling into your skin as he rolls his hips against you to milk himself with your pussy. There is one exception though: if you’re taking him with your mouth, there’s nothing he likes more than to pull out and paint your jaw with his spend. Then he’ll yank you up, hands grabbing your face regardless of the mess, and kiss you messy and stupid.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He wants to have your ass. Perhaps not the dirtiest of secrets, but he’s rather old-fashioned, and it feels dirty to him. Also, it feels unfair, since it’s an act he thinks only he’ll really be able to enjoy. You’ll have to be the one to bring it up, but you’ll get hints from him that he’s thinking about it—he’ll frame the little ring of muscle between his fingers when he spreads your cheeks as foreplay is heading rapidly toward the main event, or he’ll thumb your perineum when he’s plowing into you from behind, growling about how pretty your ass looks bouncing against him.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

John has had few partners, but plenty of sexual encounters. He is not a man for casual sex—at least, not one-time flings—and prefers to dive deep into pleasure with people that he trusts. Figuring out what makes someone tick, what makes them lose every inhibition with him, is far more to his preference. He’s learned that to have sex means to learn about someone else’s body a little more every time it happens, and that sex really does only get better than even the best anonymous hookup.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Hands down, John likes to have you on your back with your knees hooked over his elbows. Any position, really, that he gets to spread you out and hold you open is his favorite, and he absolutely wants to see your face as he wrecks you. He consumes the expressions you make with a hungry, steely gaze, and he demands more often than not that you look him in the eye when you come on his cock.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous?)

Humor is not really his thing, in the bedroom or out of it. That isn’t to say that sex with John is always serious and intense—he cares for you, deeply, and that includes your smile and your laughter. It is more accurate to say that John is looking for that lightness after the fact; after you’ve wailed and moaned and whimpered from the ecstasy he’s drawn out of you, he wants to make sure you’re grinning and saying how amazing that was once you’ve finished. You can tease him plenty about how into the act he gets, because he knows if he takes you to bed you won’t want to leave it.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes?)

John is wonderfully hairy all over, and when he has the time he keeps himself neat and groomed (he’s already maintaining the mutton chops, after all). His chest hair is dark and a little coarse, as is his pubic hair, which strains up his belly in a happy trail that can’t quite make it to his navel. His forearms, calves, and thighs are also generously dusted with the stuff, although years of tight military gear are starting to show their effect on how fast it grows. He’s not too worried about it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? The romantic aspect)

He can’t help but be at least a little romantic. You’re his, and his alone, and that’s a gift he is actively thankful for every day. He is not exactly prone to sweetness, but sex with John is always comfortable in that he is always paying attention to the little reactions you give when he touches you like this or thrusts into you like that. You find, even pretty early into the development of your sex life with him, that he’s as hungry for the way you respond to him as he is for the feel of your body in his hands.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You caught him with his hand around his cock once, at his desk on base and flushed red as he fisted himself in a tight grip. He’d called you there, in fact, and it had been at the beginning of your sexual relationship with him—he’d sounded out of breath and strained on the phone, and you’d hurried there to see what the problem was. As it had turned out, he’d started jacking off under the impression that you weren’t present, and then some background mental math had resolved itself to correct that assumption. It was the first time he’d bent you over his desk, but not the last.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

John truly does not like the word daddy, but that does not inhibit his enjoyment for the dynamic. He loves your acquiescence, loves the complete faith you put in him to take care of your needs, and even loves it when you give him the opportunity to lay down the law by being a brat. It’s half about the control—the heady opiate of power met with submission—and half about getting to give you what you desperately need from him. He loves to see you come absolutely unraveled, and loves to be the person you trust to get you there.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

His office is a constant favorite. He doesn’t get to have you there as often as he likes, what with the international nature of his job, but every time the two of you have been within walking distance of it, he’s had you on his desk, on the floor, and across the couch against the wall at every opportunity. He’s a horrible tease about it, too—he’ll keep you speared on his cock for what feels like hours as you cling to your sanity, one eye on the locked deadbolt, your only barrier between bliss and humiliation, as John reminds every so often, “No, dove, you’re not allowed to come yet.”

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Sometimes all he needs to see is the offset angle of the collar of your shirt to be ready to go. It makes him feel a little crazy, like being a randy twenty-something again with a cock that worked faster than his brain ever could, but that’s just the effect you have on him. More than once you’ve met him after your shower, skin still shimmering from the humidity, smelling fresh and hair a little damp, only to have him walk you back against a wall to work up a sweat and defeat the purpose of the bath entirely.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He does not want to actually humiliate you. Control is one thing—abuse is another. In the moment, he might growl about how needy you are, how perfect you look with that fucked-stupid expression on your face, but he will have a very, very hard time calling you a slut or a whore even if you want him to. Those are words, he was taught very early, that you do not call your partner, or anyone else. Period.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill)

John appreciates giving and receiving in perfect balance. The picture of you on your knees, his cock down your throat as he sits with you between his spread legs, is as appealing as the reverse, and he’d never make himself choose between one or the other. When he eats you out, his arms are wound around your thighs from underneath, pulling your pelvis in closer to his face as he buries his mouth and tongue and nose into your folds. When you finish on his lips, he will not stop. He wants to hear you wailing.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

It all depends on what he’s trying to accomplish. If John is trying to get you to that place where words have stopped having any meaning and you are more an experience of pleasure than a person, he’s going slow, and he’s going hard. He wants to be as drunk on you as you are on him, too, and he’s had enough experience with the best Scotch he can afford to know that that dizzy, heady feeling belongs only to an endeavor in savoring it.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are a tool in his arsenal that he uses to tease you, but he ends up teasing himself, too. That’s the point, of course, but sometimes it can backfire, and that turns into a rare occasion when John is not in control, is not trying to wring every drop of pleasure from you that you can stand. When John is needy and frantic because he tried to whet your appetite and got lost in his own want for you, you find it much easier to flip him over onto his back or press him down with a hand to his shoulder, and at that point he’d do just about anything you told him if only you’d let him have you. If you want to reap the benefits of him getting you back for it, you can bring him up to the razor’s edge of coming and then leave him there for you to indulge in later. Plan not to be able to walk after the next time he gets you into bed.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)

John is perfectly willing to experiment with positions and sensation play, just as an example, but there are limits to what he’s willing risk. While the fantasy of the 141 watching as he fucks you dumb is a favorite of his, he’s not actually willing to get into a situation in which that might happen, both because you might not like it and because he needs to maintain a measure of decorum as commanding officer, no matter how unconventional his methods might be. He still thinks about it, though.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

He’s only getting older. He’s gotten cranky about this several times. He can manage two rounds, three on a really good day, but he thinks he should be capable of more. He wants his body to obey his own command, and wants it to be available to you, in fact, whenever you want it. You’ve reminded him more than once that he needs three squares and eight straights if he wants to actually have the energy to do what he wants to you, and neither are always readily available to him. He usually gathers you up into his arms when you say that, because in this big, horrible mess of a world he has a partner who treats him like the fragile human he feels he isn’t allowed to be.

T = Toys (do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or on themself?)

John’s old-fashioned, and the wealth of toys available today frankly makes his head spin. He’ll feel a little intimidated, too, if you consider bringing a vibrator into the bedroom with him, because it will feel a little like a suggestion that he can’t please you with just his own body. Luckily, rather than get pissy, he will communicate this, and you get to tell him that the full idea was to let him edge you with the vibe for as long as the both of you could stand. That’s a technique that fits within his tastes, and when you further inform him that butt plugs are great little tools to work up to anal sex, he gets on board pretty fast.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

If it isn’t clear by now—John is merciless. He plays the instrument of your body like a virtuoso, and only hears music in your begging and pleading. He’s never cruel and he never leaves you truly frustrated and unfulfilled, because that’s not who John is, but he’s going to keep your climax out of reach until he knows for certain that finally being able to come will wreck you. How is he being unfair, he asks, when he always gives you what you want in the end?

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

Normally, sex with John is punctuated with growls, groans, deep snarls, and chesty rumbling. Keeping control of you also means keeping control of himself. But. When you catch him in those frantic moments, when his hunger for you far outstrips his desire to play those games of dominance and submission, you can hear him moan and whimper and almost weep when you ply his body with your hands and mouth, when you sink onto his cock at a pace leisurely and comfortable for you and agonizing for him. He will swear all colors of the rainbow, curse and praise you in the same breath, promise to get payback and promise you everything he owns if you would please, sweetheart, just please let him fuck you properly already.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He asked Kate once—ONCE—what he might be able to do, in her opinion as a woman, to take better “care” of you. She’d stared at him for a silent, awkward, infinite moment, and when she finally replied it was to address a completely different subject. He’d downed the remainder of scotch in his glass and asked the bartender for another. The best case scenario would have had Kate pretend to forget that he’d ever so much as thought to ask her, but no—later that night, she sent him a fucking Cosmopolitan listicle, not because she’s finally decided to be helpful but because she wants him to know: she remembers. She will always remember.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

John reaches about 6 inches fully erect, is uncircumcised, and is thicker toward the base of his cock. It’s an average length and shape, but he has never been, and never will be, an average man, not on the battlefield and not in the bedroom. His balls are a little larger than average, though, and they sit low and heavy. It’s actually rather fitting, for a captain who threatened to hunt a four-star general down.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

You wouldn’t know it, because he keeps it under control as much as he does everything else, but John always wants you. There are hints of it—the intensity of his gaze, the low baritone his voice can reach when addressing you even in the company of others. The way he maneuvers himself into position at your side, not so close as to be unprofessional, but close enough to feel the energy radiating off of him in waves. You always get drunk on him, on what he gives you in bed, but sometimes it’s a surprise to be reminded that he’s every bit as drunk on you.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Part of the reason John gets up immediately to do the little chores of aftercare, at least sometimes, is to keep himself from falling straight to sleep. He isn’t always exhausted after he’s fucked your brains out, but the world is getting more complicated. His job is getting bloodier. Someone is always screwing over someone else, and he tasked himself a long time ago with fixing all of that. He has to be able to get up and do it. It’s why he’s honed the control he has over himself to such a sharp edge. It’s why, when he finally lets go and lets you take the reins, he’s never as mad or as frustrated about it afterwords as he is in the moment. But he really needs to be reminded that he’s allowed to rest. That he’s allowed to settle into the comfortable afterglow, to breathe in silence just for a little while. In the end, you have to be the one to ask him, wouldn’t you like to lay down with me, John? Wouldn’t you like to just hold each other, for a bit? And always, his answer is yes. When you ask like that, soft and sweet, he cannot deny you.

#cod:mw2 #call of duty: modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #modern warfare 2 #mw2 #mwii #modern warfare 2 fanfic #modern warfare 2 headcanons #modern warfare imagine #call of duty imagine #cod x reader #mw2 x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #john price x you #captain john price x you #cod imagine #mw2 imagine #captain john price #price x reader #john price #og post #headcanons #PHEW THIS TOOK A WHILE