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pseudowho · 4 days

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Kingsman!AU: Galahad/Nanami Kento

You become the latest Kingsman...and the man who sponsored you is so much more than the gentleman he presents himself as.

Warnings: Best if you've seen the Kingsman films! 18+, MDNI, soft!Dom Nanami, SecretAgent!AU

A little series of smutty drabbles...also planned, Higuruma, perhaps others, for now.

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It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the strangest job interview you had ever had.

Handcuffed, in an East London Police interview room, after assaulting five (...six? Seven?) police officers at an anti-government protest, you were scruffy but unharmed. The blood on your hands was not your own. There was a high flush on your cheeks, ripped clothes casting an indifferent, messy disdain to the situation you found yourself in.

There was a knock at the door, three brisk taps. You did not answer-- a pause. Three further raps at the door.

"...come in?" You asked. The door opened a crack. No further advancement.

"...may I?" A voice, velvet smooth and low, asking your permission.

"I...dont see why it would be my choice," you offered, stretching your hands against the cold metal of your handcuffs.

The door opened slowly, filled by a broad, tall man, blond and outstandingly handsome, with neither a hair nor thread out of place in his Savile Row suit. Over his arm rested a neatly folded overcoat, and a glossy-handled men's umbrella. His hat never graced his head indoors, and was, as such, clasped in his hand. He raised one fine eyebrow at you, his expression unreadable.

"It would be ill-mannered of me to consider it anyone's choice other than yours," he offered coolly, sitting opposite you, "considering you are the only occupant of the room." A moment of silence, again, as you regarded each other.

"Are you...my lawyer?" The man's nostrils flared slightly in suppressed mirth.

"Good heavens, no. No, I have come with a job opportunity." You blinked, certain you had heard wrong, while he continued, "I saw your performance, on my way to work, and I must say I was rather impressed. Seven officers, in under a minute. All incapacitated. Outstanding. And you're untrained, too. And, you did so well at University-- first class honours, correct?"

"Who the hell are you?" You spat, bristling under the man's casual knowledge of your life. The station's assistant looked awkwardly between the two of you as he dropped off two chipped police-issue teacups and saucers of anemic-looking tea. The blond man took the cup and saucer so gracefully, considering the enormity of his hands.

"Ah...quite right. I haven't introduced myself. Nanami Kento-- it's a pleasure to meet you."

You faltered again under his icy regard. Nanami took a sip of his tea. He paused, looking down at it with a hint of despair, before placing it down and delicately clearing his throat.

"...delicious," he lied.

"Are you...MI5?" A brief smile from Nanami, in response. He reached for something in his pocket.

"No," he responded, clipped, "we are not. But, we are in service to King and Country, and we are the sort of agency who punch up, instead of down. And...we find ourselves one member short."

Nanami slipped a thick, embossed coin over the desk to you; a circle, with a sideways "K". Nanami stood up, abruptly, inclining his head to you.

"All charges against you have been dropped. Your interview will commence, at..." Nanami looked at his watch, "...five o'clock this afternoon, should you wish to accept. If you press that coin for five seconds, my associate should send you the details."

You sat, stunned into silence, with the coin in your hands. Nanami Kento looked to you with twinkling eyes, at the door. You felt the twist of fate in your belly, and the pull as Nanami Kento walked it away with him.

"Good day to you. The pleasure was all mine."

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It had taken you over an hour to walk from Whitechapel to the Savile Row address. As bedraggled as you were, you passed through the bustling gentry and street performers of Covent Garden, skirting past the Savoy...before reaching the hushed, golden backlit glow of an exquisite Tailors shop. Letters were embossed upon the windowpane, glimmering gold on a backdrop of finery.

Kingsman.

A tinkling bell; an incongruous stranger, entering an unfamiliar domain. A familiar stranger, strong and smiling, upon the couch. Your breath hitched before you spoke.

"...you're here." Nanami folded his newspaper, standing up, before welcoming you to a changing room, that was not a changing room.

"You're late," he whispered against your ear, as the ground under London sank beneath your feet.

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"...that's mad." You stood in front of a glass window, somewhere far beneath Surrey, gazing in wonderment upon an aircraft hangar full of billions of pounds worth of mercenary equipment. Nanami chuckled beside you. You missed the almost fond sideways glance he passed you.

"I thought the same," he hummed, "when I was brought here, for the first time. I thought someone was playing some tremendous joke, for all the world but me." You were silent, dry-mouthed and swallowing.

"Tell me something..." you insisted, your palm pressed flat against the glass.

"...anything," Nanami reassured, soft and sincere.

"If I pass this-- this test," you whispered, turning to him, "will I get to work with you?"

Nanami smiled, leaning upon the handle of his umbrella, one leg crossed upon the tip of his toes behind the other.

"I'm counting on it."

Another man, tall and lithe, with inky black hair and a hooked nose, arrived with a clipboard. He offered you both a lopsided smile-- "Galahad-- good to see you, my friend"-- white sleeves rolled up against a tailored waistcoat--

-- a rich, Scottish brogue--

"...are you ready to begin?"

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Not only had you passed these months and months of bizarre, deadly tests...you had excelled.

Nanami had remained, always, at arms' length...a distant advisor. An odd, gentle promise. He could not offer any tangible advice, and you could see him itching to, at points.

It was down to the final two; you, and some Cambridge yuppy who could trace his family lineage back to the Battle of Hastings.

You stepped through the dormitories, late at night before the final test, your German Shepherd bounding ahead to sit diligently at the foot of your bed.

You felt a strong arm loop around your waist, and a hand over your mouth. A familiar cologne that made your stomach clench. You stood, pressed against his clipped, firm body, tucked into a camera's blindspot.

"Listen to me," he hissed in your ear, "Do you trust me?"

You nodded, not hesitating for a moment. Nanami's belly flipped to feel your hot little breaths around his hand.

"Good...shoot the fucking dog." You squeaked, trying to turn to him. He pinned you flush against the wall. His chest rumbled against your back.

"Trust me. Shoot the dog."

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You shot first, without a moment of hesitation. Your opponent returned to Cambridge. You became a Kingsman. Both dogs survived the trial.

The hamper that Galahad, your new partner, sent to your home, was nothing short of the finest luxury.

"To my Very Best Bet", read the lovingly annotated card. You brushed it against your lips, wishing it was his fingers instead.

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The wallet was a supple brown leather, smooth and warm. You knew it belonged to Galahad, from the faint smoky cologne that lingered upon its skin. Merlin gave you Galahad's address. You missed the knowing smile Merlin also gave you.

Your stomach flipped in your belly, all the way through Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens. You passed beneath trees hundreds of years older than the establishment for which you now worked, treading upon the footsteps of Kings and Queens.

The first fresh flakes of snow kissed upon your lips, by the time you turned to the towering white grandeur of Kensington, very much not where you were from. You were freezing, your little hands clenched in your pockets, but hot with anticipation.

Reaching a fine, tall townhouse, all Georgian architectural triumph, you pushed through the black metal gate, rising up white stone steps. You hesitated only briefly before tapping the door, heavy, and gilded forest green.

"--just a minute-- please excuse me--...oh. Hello."

Galahad stood at the door, as...relaxed as you had ever seen him. His crisp white shirt was unbuttoned to his chest, and his waistcoat hung similarly open, with tie tails trailing down his chest. With his sleeves rolled up, and a pinstriped apron tied round his waist, you swore you almost saw him blush.

"...to what do I owe the pleasure?" He breathed out, finally. The apples of your cheeks, pink with the cold, dimpled under your smile. You reached out to Galahad, his wallet clasped in your hand.

"You forgot something," you offered. His hand reached out immediately, a goodness, thank you, you shouldn't have upon his lips, before your cold little fingers grasped under his own.

"You are miles from home," he rumbled, chastising, "and you are freezing cold." You tipped on your heels on the doorstep, placating him with a finger to your lips, and a glint in your eye. You moved to go down the steps, but your fingers remained clasped in his.

"Where are my manners? You should come in...of course."

"Galahad, don't feel oblig--"

"Kento, please," he ushered you inside, a hand ghosting over the small of your back, "if we're going to share dinner, we should not pretend to be strangers."

Kento's house bore all the opulent gloss of its noble history, with fine black and white checkered tile flooring, and twisting dark oak bannisters carrying the high staircase away from you. A receiving room beside you, bigger than your whole home, bloomed beneath the sultry flicker of a fire, the only source of light in the room. The kitchen lights spilled inwards, a herby bourginon aroma drawing you in.

You slipped your coat off your shoulders, and blushed, as Kento stood behind you to receive it. His heart pounded under the effort of containing his thrill to have you in his home. The thought of being alone with him, like this, had occupied your mind at night, for so many months.

"Sit, please," Kento insisted, heading to his drinks cabinet. Two slim, hazel eyes darted to you in question; "...can I tempt you?"

You settled on the sofa, antique, and likely much older than you; "Ah...wine?" Kento smiled, heading over to you with a bottle in his grasp, and two slim-necked glasses between his fingers.

You shared the bottle-- dinner was forgotten, cooking slowly on the back burner. You felt yourself becoming supple, warmed by the fire, the wine and the company. Within just a few hours, you and Kento laughed together, both liquor-dishevelled, hands brushing forearms on the back of the sofa. His calloused fingertips were electric against the inside of your wrist.

"You really were, you know," Kento hummed, placing down his unfinished glass of wine, "my best bet. The best gamble I...I ever made." You didn't know how you had ended up drawn so closely to him. Your legs tangled in his, head radiating from his thighs into yours. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling you gently, insistently, closer to him.

"I don't normally do this," Kento bargained with himself, whispering against you, his tongue swiping out to dampen your plush lips, "it isn't very-- I really shouldn't, I-- dinner first, at least--" You couldn't help but drown under him, silent in the pools of his dilated pupils as he pressed you to lay back on the sofa, climbing over you, and trapping you beneath him.

"...can I tell you a secret?" Kento murmured against your neck, melting you under his lips and tongue. His hand moved down to undo the buttons of your silk blouse. You nodded, feeling him shiver as you did the same to his shirt.

"...I left my wallet behind on purpose," he rumbled, predatory. The tension snapped. His lips crashed to yours, with Kento groaning into your mouth, tongue trembling against yours. Ripping at the buttons of your blouse, his gentlemanly self-restraint was all but abandoned.

Stripping you, freeing your breasts with bitten-back growls and murmurs, Kento rolled you onto the Persian rug in front of the fire, crowding over you and taking one breast between his lips, licking your nipple into his mouth as his enormous hand pawed at the other.

"--beautiful...beautiful, you know that? Always thought...if you hadn't made it in...I'd have brought you home anyway..."

"Ken--Kento, I--" You broke off into breathy, high moans as Kento's hand slipped down, clutching at your pussy beneath your skirt. His hand scraped the lace edges of your stockings, his breaths frantic and panting with hurry.

"Say my name...again," he panted, strong fingers cupping your sex, moving to massage you, desperate need radiating through his hand. Kento pressed hard enough to massage your clit through the lips of your pussy, you mewled, squirming under him as he growled, "Again. Say my name."

"Kento," you squeaked. Your voice seemed to make Kento frantic, and he pulled off your skirt, your stockings, your underwear, until you were suddenly, blissfully bare beneath him. He knelt, still fully clothed in front of the firelight. His barrelled chest rose and fell, a high blush across his sharp cheekbones.

"This isn't...how a gentleman behaves," you gasped, one arm draped over your eyes. You heard Kento chuckle, cracking his knuckles above your prone, trembling curves. You heard the wolfish grin in his voice.

"Oh yes it fucking is."

One of his hands draped between your breasts, running down your chest and belly, to graze fingertips over your mound. His eyes flicked up to yours again, dark, hungry and questioning. You floated, somewhere both above and beneath him.

"Anything...anything you want," you keened, "whatever you want." Something tightened in Kento's jaw. His fingers trailed lower, grazing your plush lips again, dipping beneath to stroke up and down the slick length between your entrance and clit.

"...what a dangerous thing to say, to a man like me...I don't get treats like you often." Kento pressed two fingers slowly into your clenching heat, eyes rolling back with a fractured moan, gripping you to him by the hip. His cock strained against his trousers, and he moved lazily to unzip himself, shaking with self-restraint. He could not bear the way you twisted and squirmed, to feel his thick fingers fucking into you.

"...good girl...how does it feel? As good as your own? Did you touch yourself, like this, when you dreamt about me?" You could only nod in response, moaning and reaching down to clutch his wrist. His fingers curled upwards towards your soft sensitive spot, buried into you up to his knuckles, and swirling his fingertips over the spongy patch. You sobbed into his touch and he folded over you, shushing, pressing kisses to your temples.

"It's alright, darling...I felt it too...I'll show you. How I touched myself...thinking about you." Kento shuddered against your neck, his fingers still working magic into your belly. His cock flopped heavy into his hand, thick, long, and Kento felt so touch-starved as he closed his eyes, raising his thumb to stroke around your clit, imagining it was his weeping cockhead.

He shushed you again, chasing you up the rug as your pleasure built, heat surging through your thighs and belly. Kento couldn't help but fuck into his own fist, lubricated by his pre-cum, overheating with the need to sink himself inside you, and paint you white with his seed. He cracked his neck from side to side. Doubling down, his fingers picked up speed, pressing your clit until you writhed, your nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt.

"That's it...that's it...let it happen," Kento whispered into your neck, still fucking into his fist against your belly as you climaxed, hands tangled in his mussed hair, burning under the weight of him. His fingers fucked you through the haze of pleasure, nose stroking into your hair, whispering his praises against your ears; "...so proud of you...such a good job...so proud of you, my little gamble..."

Your thighs threatened to flop to the sides, soft and lazy after your orgasm. Kento nestled himself between them, cockhead stroking between your folds, and you whimpered to feel your sensitive clit nudged. Folded over you, Kento met your eyes. A slightly guilty smile ghosted over his face, his voice shaking, seemingly coming back to himself. He resolved to restrain himself;

"I, uh...usually have better manners. This was unprofessional of me. Ungentlemanly, even. I...I insist we...leave this here, and do this properly. Now, we sh-- haaaaah, fuck-- shit-- you--"

Interrupting Kento, you had waited for his cockhead to stroke down to your entrance before fucking him inside you, rolling your hips up to trap his cock inside your walls. You wailed around the stretch, Kento's cock huge and pulsing inside you, and Kento lost his mind.

Grasping your hips with vicious strength, he cursed, rutting into you with abandon. You felt his fat, blunt cockhead jabbing against your cervix immediately, and Kento leaned into it, tilting your hips to fuck you deeper, overtaken by a primal need.

"...little minx...I offer you--ahhhh fuck-- dinner, and you...you offer me...your cunt...just like you, shit--"

You giggled, breathless against Kento's feral attentions, and the sound shot straight down Kento's spine. Your laughs caught in your throat when he held his hips flush to yours, barely pulling out, bullying into your pussy with no restraint.

You felt the steam of sweat beneath Kento's shirt, felt how badly he needed this, and revelled in the way he fell apart above you, his cock milked by your wet, velvet heat. Kento leaned back just enough to see where his cock disappeared into you.

The sight had him reeling, and he came with a bark, spitting and swearing against his total lack of self-control. You felt his cock twitch and bound inside you, spattering your walls with thick stripes of cum. Kento crumpled onto his elbows, face twisted in euphoric agony to see you bite your lip at him, rolling your hips to milk him of every last drop of cum.

Gasping for just a few moments, before rolling his shoulders with soft cracks again, Kento pulled out of you, flipping you over so your face pressed down into the rug. You squealed to feel your hands drawn behind your back, and the soft shhhhff shhhfff shhhhhffff of his tie being pulled free of his collar.

Face down, and arse up, Kento dipped his fingers into your cum-dripping, twitching hole.

"That's how a boy does it," Kento growled, beginning to thread his tie around your wrists, "now lets show you how a Kingsman does it."

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Getting to wax lyrically about my beloved London was a treat.

Up next: Higuruma Hiromi/Merlin

478 notes · View notes

sister-lucifer · 2 months

Note

hcs 4 toby giving bj 4 first time :3

Toby’s First Time Giving/Receiving a Blowjob Headcanons

Ticci Toby x Gender Neutral Reader

A/N: I know you probably meant Toby giving a blowjob for the first time but I wrote both because i can. enjoy the double feature

Genre: Smut headcanons

Content/Warnings: Oral sex (obviously), Toby likes praise, face fucking, Toby gets a bit rough in his excitement but he doesn’t mean it, he’s just a feral, excitable horndog, scenarios for both AFAB and AMAB readers are included, use of dick, cock and cunt to describe genitalia

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

Giving

Oooohhh boy okay, listen

He’s not exactly experienced

Most of the people he went to high school with were incredibly put off by him and the like two who weren’t never went past making out

He has no idea what he’s doing, you’ll have to teach him

The good news? He’s very eager to learn

If you have a dick he’ll try to deepthroat it IMMEDIATELY, regardless of the fact that he’ll choke like a fucking idiot, and you’ll have to practically yank him off of you

If you have a cunt he’ll do the same thing except latching on way too fast and way too rough in a clumsy but genuine effort to pleasure you

Just hold tightly to his hair to keep him from ducking back down and gently instruct him to start slow

You’ll have to be very detailed with your instructions, and he has no shame, so expect a lot of really specific questions

“Should I-I keep flicking your clit with my tongue like th-that?”

“Do you like w-when I circle your tip l-like that?”

Etc, etc

And he’ll say it with 100% sincerity, because he really does want you to enjoy this

It takes him a minute to get the hang of it, but once he gets his rhythm he won’t stop until you’re begging him to

It’s fun for him to watch you squirm and moan, it brings him just as much pleasure as it does you

You can encourage him to keep going by scratching his head, running your fingers through his hair, and giving a little tug when he does something you particularly enjoy

Speaking of which, he responds very well to verbal feedback (re: praise)

You can see his eyes light up when you call him a good boy or tell him he’s doing well

And he’s willing to do whatever it takes to get him praise

Basically, he’s easy to train

Just keep telling him how well he’s doing, and be clear about what you enjoy

He’s more than happy to comply

Plus, it’s kinda hot to watch the drool and cum leak from the gash in his cheek as he eagerly laps up everything he can get from you

Receiving

Well your first challenge will be getting him to sit still

He’s a hyperactive bastard and his excitement will manifest as restlessness

It’s best to have him lying on his back to reduce the risk of possible injury, but he will still shake his legs and fidget with his sleeves as he watches you position yourself between his legs

He’ll try not to touch you at first because he’s not really sure what’s acceptable or not, instead opting to fumble with his fingers and gnaw on his knuckles

He’ll be breathing heavily and mumbling to himself the whole time, before you’ve even gotten his cock out

“I-I can’t believe you’re doing this for-for me…Y-You’re so nice to m-me…I-I don’t—fuck!—I don’t k-know what I’d do with-without you…”

And he’ll go on and on like that until you’ve sucked him so good he can’t talk

He’ll forget his manners the closer he gets to cumming

He’ll get more and more needy and he’ll start to grab at your hair

Unless you stop him, he’ll get rougher and rougher until he’s practically fucking your mouth, pulling and pushing your head back and forth by your hair and thrusting into your mouth

He’ll have drool running down his chin and he won’t be able to keep his mouth shut, just completely desperate and messy

The best part is the way he’ll shamelessly beg to cum down your throat

“Pleeeaaase, please, please, fuck—! I-It’s all I want, just let me—let me cum in your m-mouth, I need it! I-I’ve been a g-good boy, haven’t I?!”

If you don’t say yes he’ll literally cry

But if you do, the absolute euphoria that’ll cross his face is more than worth it

He’ll force you down on his cock as he releases down your throat, his back arching in an almost violent manner as he forces you to take everything he has to give

And he won’t let go until he’s completely done

When you’re finally released from his death grip it’ll be because he’s gone limp, completely spent and barely conscious

Give him a quick kiss before you go to clean up, he’ll lick your lips clean for you

He’ll be riding that high for hours

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta smut #smut #smut headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby #toby rogers #creepypasta ticci toby #ticci toby creepypasta #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby smut #ticci toby headcanons

605 notes · View notes

tzuberry · 9 months

Text

(cute) things zerobaseone maknae line do as your boyfriend ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა

pairing shen quanrui (ricky), kim gyuvin, park gunwook, han yujin + gn reader⠀⠀⠀details fluff, established relationship, bulletpoint

cw none ⠀⠀⠀wc 410, 418, 505, 462 (1,795 overall)⠀⠀⠀reading time 12 minutes

note HELLOOOO i havent posted a fic since july 15th and that was my first fic ever on this account omg... thank u for all the notes on my other post LIKE i didnt expect so much + thank you for 90 followers!! also i might start writing for tiot and evnne if i have time 🫡 likes are reblogs are appreciated if u can 💟

masterlist navigation

ricky 리키

lets you play with his hair

i think ricky is honestly extremely particular with his hair, and especially who gets to touch it

his hair isn’t very visibly damaged despite getting it dyed frequently / basically not having black hair since he was probably fifteen years old (and he’s nineteen now, so that says something) so he has to take good care of it not to have it fried off

there were stories about him during bopeul where they said they always saw him fully ready with perfectly styled hair whenever he left his room, too

like i’m not even kidding he has to care for his hair a whole lot or by now he could’ve been bald i’m sorry

when his friends—mainly gyuvin—try to play with his hair or comb their fingers through it, ricky allows it but is not that pleased because he put effort into styling his hair and doesn’t want it to get messed up

gyuvin jokingly whines a little, but is over it after a few seconds

when ricky started dating you, although he thoroughly knew you and almost all of your habits and mannerisms, he didn’t think you would be into playing with his hair

you’re hanging out, watching a movie at your apartment while your head is rested on his shoulder when he feels your fingers suddenly brush through the strands of his hair

he turns to look at you, partly shocked but also just wondering what you’re planning on doing to his hair

you shrug your shoulders, keeping your eyes on the tv and not minding him one bit

“what are you doing?” he asks, a little amused

he expects you to reply playfully, to exchange banter or something like that

but instead, you say, “your hair is really soft, you know,” as you proceed to curl a portion with your finger acting as the curling iron

ricky quite literally folded that day... now he lets you do whatever you want with his hair

you can braid it, curl it, whatever

he doesn’t mind as long as it’s you, even if he spent nearly an hour fixing it this morning

you’re in a cafe talking to gyuvin and gunwook, sitting at the other side of the table when you lift your arm to twirl ricky’s hair, him not remotely flinching at the contact

gyuvin is pleasantly surprised to witness this sight

“you don’t let me do that,” he sulks, aimed at ricky

your boyfriend scoffs. “you’re not [name].”

gyuvin 규빈

always texts you + makes sure you’ve eaten

okay i think i’ve seen a lot of people say this already idk but i think it’s soooo true

gyuvin texts you excessively

like. about anything

there was one instance when his little brother had a crush on a girl, and gyuvin literally went to you for help and his brother didn’t even have an inkling of what was happening

gyuvin (DO NOT REPLY): [NAME] MY LITTLE BROTHER... is... growing up :(

gyuvin (DO NOT REPLY): he used to be so small i could put him in my pocket and now

yn: what happened???

gyuvin (DO NOT REPLY): he LIKES A GIRL. who told him it was okay to get a girlfriend? at his toddler age??

yn: gyuvin i love you but we started dating when We were his age

and then he continued to ask you for advice on how to help his brother get the girl he liked

there’s more instances of him oversharing his brother’s life with you, but that ends there

he also buys you snacks all the time

even if you don’t want it. even if you verbally, very clearly, straightforwardly tell him you’re not the tiniest bit hungry

he’s basically your mother oml

he makes those little snack baggies for you to take

before you both graduated, gyuvin would bring you lunch. it didn’t just stop at snacks

he would ask his mom to help him cook for you

and he’d make it all cute and stuff like shaping the rice to be your favorite character

he’d pack it to school and give it to you in the morning. omg

mixing those two things together, you get “have you eaten yet” texts all the time

it’s two pm, and you were so stuck while helping a friend that you regrettably forgot to eat lunch. ‘it’s okay,’ you assure yourself, ‘i had a late breakfast’

gyuvin texts you, asking the usual “have you eaten lunch????” and you lie and say yes

and then your phone rings and you know you can’t avoid it anymore because he can see through your voice when you lie

from the speaker of your phone, gyuvin’s voice is unbelievably attractive—but you choose to ignore that fact for now

“[name],” he deadpans. “be honest. have you eaten?”

choosing to accept defeat, you exhale deeply. “no.”

gyuvin suddenly hangs up and only a text is left on your screen

gyuvin (DO NOT REPLY): i’m coming over in. like 30 minutes i have to ask my mom to help me cook

gunwook 건욱

teaches you how to dance

gunwook is SO good at dancing it’s so crazy

i love watching him on stage because he’s the best performer ever. like he seems to genuinely enjoy it and i hope he never loses that love for dancing / singing / rapping

you on the other hand..... you could be good at dancing too, just definitely not as good as gunwook

so whenever your scheduled dates are interrupted by his extracurriculars at school, you decide to tag along with him, if the members of his clubs don’t mind (which they usually don’t)

one of his extracurriculars is the dance team

and most of the time, when your preplanned dates are cancelled because of an extracurricular he has lined up for him, it is almost always dance

so you end up following him to the practice room, silently watching him in the corner so as to not obstruct their view of the mirror by sitting directly in front of them

his eyes light up with the flame of passion you adore so much, and you’re so content that even if your date is cancelled because of this, you’re not annoyed and you still get to indirectly spend some time with him by spectating him as he does what he likes

in the short breaks that he gets, he takes the opportunity to sit beside you on the floor and ask about your day

when the practice session ends, he asks if it’s okay with you if he stays to polish up the routine, to which you say yes and offer to stay with him because everyone else has started to leave

after a while, he grows tired and plops down next to you

gunwook chuckles. “i’m sorry for cancelling our date and making you stay with me.”

“it’s alright, i like watching you dance.” you smile

he abruptly stiffens up, irises reflecting the light, making his eyes glow excitedly. “do i dance well? what do you think?”

you giggle. “you dance very well. a lot better than i can, for sure.”

“mhm, yeah?” he grins widely, and you know what he’s going to do

gunwook jumps up on his feet, extending his hand out to you to help you get up

“you just need a little help.” he nods proudly. “you’re lucky i’m your boyfriend.”

you take his hand, and he leads you to the center of the room and he starts to dance with you ballroom style (???) like the waltz and stuff

he guides your arms over his shoulder to circle his neck, and his hands rest on your waist and then he starts counting, “4... 3... 2... 1... like this,” as he takes a singular step in different directions, encouraging you to mirror his movements

you almost trip, but you tightly cling on to his shoulders before you can fall

gunwook laughs. “enough dancing for today?”

“yes, please,” you agree, letting your body fall forwards into a hug with him

“alright. if you’re not that tired, are you still up for that date?”

yujin 유진

(tries to) initiate / enjoys physical touch

yujin doesn’t seem like his love language is physical touch.... i know gyuvin does it a lot to him and he kinda pretends to not like it but it’s so endearing and i sooo believe he deep down loves it

it’s the same with you, but he’s the one intiating it

he never thought he liked skinship all that much, because he would even jokingly say it pestered him a little at times when gyuvin would dote on him

but when it came to you, and when you first started dating, he was itching to hold your hand

it was so new to him because he never craved for anyone’s physical affection before

all his older friends like gyuvin and gunwook would always just.... initiate skinship for him and he thought he didn’t like it but

suddenly you come along, and you don’t even try to hold his hand

he thought couples were supposed to hold hands?? and hug??

but you’re not budging and it’s so frustrating

while walking you home from school like usual, as you tell him about your day, he tries to gather the courage to intertwine your hands

it doesn’t work, and he’s left with cold hands as he stares at you enter your front door

“next time,” he whispers to no one but the wind

next time comes and still... he’s too nervous to hold your hand

the distance between your palms is less than four inches, and all he has to do is take the leap—besides, nothing could go that wrong. you like him and he likes you

he purposely bumps the back of his hand with yours, but doesn’t actually take your hand in his

he awkwardly rubs his nape, unsure of what to do now

your brows knit together, as you’re now aware of yujin’s weird behavior

“yujin?” you tug on his uniform sleeve. “is something wrong?”

“no! nothing’s wrong,” he quickly denies, “don’t worry about it.”

“okay... can i see your hand, though?” you request, and it successfully confuses him because why do you want to see his hand?

he obliges, giving it to you palm up when you lace your fingers with his

“i’ve noticed you trying to hold my hand since last week,” you say, giggling. “i was waiting for you to do it, but i guess you’re too shy.”

“i’m not that shy,” yujin defends, looking down at your interlocked hands... ‘this is a good feeling,’ he thinks

you nod passively. “it’s fine. it’s one of the reasons why i like you.” you swing both your hands back and forth in the space between you

yujin doesn’t try to retort, only relishing the feeling of your hand in his

skinship isn’t so bad... maybe he could get used to this.

2K notes · View notes

ghost-proofbaby · 2 months

Text

IT WILL COME BACK (E.M.)

"honey, don't feed me - i will come back."

summary: when eddie came back from the upside down, he was different. and you finally come to realize just how different the man you saved truly is one night, when push comes to shove.

pairings: kas!eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of BLOOD (in sexual manner), mentions of BITING (in sexual manner), allusions to possible coercion (consent is still explicitly stated - trust me), mentions of death and trauma, mentions of eddie's canon death, taking a lot of creative liberty with expansive vampire lore across all media, mentions of murderous dreams? (eddie dreamt about killing reader idk), oral (f receiving), smut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY.

wc: 7.7k+

a/n: i told y'all i'd write a serious biting/blood kink fic one day - today is the day. very lazily edited so beware.

When Eddie came back from the Upside Down, he was different.

There were subtle changes at first. Small, minute details that were easy to ignore. Everyone could turn a blind eye to them — everyone figured they would fade once the boy healed. His healing was first priority, and whatever lingered after could be dealt with.

Get Eddie better. Then question all that lingers.

A simple plan. A genius plan. A torturous plan.

The two of you had been friends, if you could even call it that, prior to it all. Teasing in the hallways, working on school projects here and there when in shared classes, he was your favorite (and only) dealer when you craved something to make sleep come just a little bit easier. He had been familiar — an old ghost you'd grown comfortable with, long before you’d seen those large and wet eyes looking back up at you in the boathouse.

Long before he’d pieced together the puzzle pieces as to why you’d needed the weed to cancel out the nightmares. Long before he’d processed exactly what those nightmares entailed.

But then, you’d fought for him. You’d fought with him. And most importantly, you’d bled with him.

God, you had bled for him.

Something admirable had blossomed in that short time. Eddie’s entire life had fallen apart, thread by frayed thread, and that new planted emotion had been the only solid thing to emerge for him to absolutely cling to. You were more than a fellow classmate to pass by in the hallways. You were more than his favorite customer, always weaponizing fluttering lashes and puckered lips for a discount he’d have given you regardless.

You were a force to be reckoned with, and had ignited a hunger in him like no other.

That’s all he had thought it was when he’d awoken in his living room — not the distorted version but the real one — to you screaming for the others to help you as you’d sealed his wounds. That’s all he had thought it was when you’d come to visit him as wounds turned to scars, and stabbing pains turned to hungering pangs. So he had tried to bury it, listen to Harrington and Wheeler and Buckley when they told him to take time to readjust. He’d locked away that hunger and focused on his healing, just as everyone else had, and told himself it was just residual feelings.

Residual feelings had been bound to happen after seeing someone bloody their hands, with your own blood, for your survival.

And in his burial, he’d never considered a similar hunger igniting somewhere deep within you.

You visited far more often than you should have. Returning time and time again to change his bandages, taking on one too many shifts at the hospital during his unconscious spells and baring your teeth for anyone who got too close. The sweet blood on your hands hadn’t washed away in that first shower; you swore, if you looked closer, you could still see the stain of nearly losing him across your knuckles.

Physical wounds were easier to heal than the internal ones. It was easier to lather on antibiotic lotion than it was to sleep soundly at night. Both of you came to realize that quickly in the weeks that followed Eddie’s return from the dead.

His nights were plagued with bad dreams, with thirst and cravings he couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up, burning up from the inside out with a fever that never existed. Tearing skin. Puncture wounds. Blood spilling across floors and his lips alike. He could never tell if the shivers that traced his spine had been from the cruel visions that had become his nightly visitors or if it was due to his perpetual drop in temperature that had worried Nancy since the very first night home from the hospital, that had concerned the nurses who piled blankets atop him during his week long sleep of recovery.

Your nights were even less kind. Horrific memories were the demons that haunted you — remembering the way you had watched Eddie cut that sheet rope, remembering finding him bloodied on the ground, remembering the warmth of his blood seeping across your palms and how when your ear had turned just as heated with it as you pressed it to his chest. Only to hear nothing. Emptiness.

His heart had stopped for minutes. Plural.

It had been your steady rhythm, your desperate hands and your gasping breaths breathing into his lungs. You’d sunk your claws into him, caught them right between his ribs and had decided he couldn’t leave you.

Some nights, when you wake up screaming, you can still taste his blood on your lips. You sometimes still swore that when you’d checked for a pulse after that, you hadn’t heard anything. Still worried that Eddie Munson’s heart never really restarted and resumed beating.

The worst was when you’d stare through the faded grey of mornings plastering across your room’s walls, and could still remember that initial look in his blown out pupils, once honey brown swallowed in pure black as he’d taken his first breath on his own.

Hunger.

You’d felt it, too. Shame riddled you on the nights you’d come down from the nightmares and remember it; it was as though the Universe had snapped back into place the moment you’d watched his chest first rise. A need so ardent to remain at his side. A chain clicking into place, binding both yourself and Eddie to one another, unaware of just what price had been paid to keep the boy that had laid under you in this world. Unaware of the hunger you had struck the match too that would become both your downfalls.

And so it had been buried. Something alive, even with your doubts of Eddie’s liveliness, and choking on dirt while six feet under. You and Eddie, two sides of the same coin, had decided to not speak of it. He never told you how he had come to be able to pinpoint your heartbeat in every shared room he entered, throat burning as his gaze always settled on you, and you never told him of the matching aches that had shamefully sparked within your chest and between your hips for him.

A hunger to be near one another. A hunger to devour. Neither of you really understood the heaviness.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of the new bed in the new apartment in the new part of town the Munson men now occupy.

Government money could go a Hell of a long way. Especially after your home had been devastated by the aftermath of alternate dimensions and unheard of evil being defeated.

“Fine,” is the only response Eddie can muster.

In reality, every time anyone came near him now, he burned. His throat tightened till it was surely raw, he swore his teeth sharpened until a mere slip of his tongue against his canines could bring the taste of metallic blood to his mouth. His entire body would tense with every person that walked through his door.

Control. Whatever was happening to him, Eddie needed to exercise control.

“Just fine?” Steve continues on, not catching the drift as he puts down the bag of things he’d bought at Eddie’s request. Basic things — painkillers, packs of cigarettes, a 6-pack. Some habits die harder and can’t be controlled, “You look like shit, Munson.”

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.”

Everyone had assumed the dark shadows beneath Eddie’s eyes would fade. They assumed his cheeks would eventually fill back out. They assumed he could wash away the ashen shade his hair now flatly flowed in. It was as if the life had been drained from Eddie since that day, and they had all assumed it would eventually flow back into him.

It never did. Just as his new hunger lingered, so did the look of Death.

“Sorry, man,” Steve throws his hands up, shrugging a bit before he stands, “Just being honest. It’s the best policy.”

“Is it? Is it really?”

If honesty was the best policy, Eddie could have filled the room with it. He could admit about the nightmarish wants, needs, he’d been keeping at bay. He could admit the way his irritation had been growing this last week every time another body, another friend, walked through his doorway and it wasn’t you. You, who had begun to plague the night terrors. You, who Eddie was beginning to crave far more than he had before he’d stared the afterlife down the barrel of the gun.

Steve just looks at Hawkins’ newest zombie boy, sighing, “Look, I don’t know what’s got you pissed off-“

“The whole dying thing, for starters.”

“-or why you’ve insisted on being an asshole to all of us these last few weeks-“

“Again, I died.”

“-but you’ve got everyone but me scared to visit you. We’re all scared of you biting our heads off, dude,” Steve finally finishes with a scowl.

Everyone. It’s unspoken that you’re included in the generalization.

It occurs to Eddie that maybe, just maybe, he should be kinder if he ever wants the ache of yearning to see you again to fade. If that’s what he could call this ache.

By the time Steve has left, Eddie’s still thinking about his warning. About the way he had been unusually cruel since coming back to life, since waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. It made sense initially. But he wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed anymore — he was home, or as close to home as he could get, and he was technically safe.

The issue was that he’d accepted his safety. Everyone who had wanted Eddie Munson dead was now six feet under themselves. No, the bigger issue at hand was everyone else’s safety.

Your safety.

Once he’d realized you were the staring lead in his violent fantasies, he had stopped calling. Half of your absence last week had been his fault.

No one really bothered to look deeper into it. Steve didn’t press as to why Eddie’s fridge had remained empty, Nancy didn’t take second glances at the odd books on vampire tales that were now littering all the free real estate of Eddie’s room, and you hadn’t questioned the coldness of his tone whenever he spoke to you. The chill of his words had grown icier than his own palms, desperate to keep you at arm’s length until he figured out what had changed in him that day he came back to life.

He wanted you near. He wanted to rip your throat out. He wanted your blood to stain his mouth and neck just as his had stained your hands. That was an issue. That wasn’t normal.

Something had changed in Eddie Munson, and it had terrified him to his twisted core, and no one had cared enough to notice. Not yet.

–

It took you two weeks to be fed up with the radio silence.

Eddie stopped calling even Jonathan (the only one of the group he found he didn’t want to devour whole, as it turns out). When everyone had mentioned it in passing, it had only reminded you of the sleepless nights you’d be enduring. That small voice in the back of your head that had called out to you in the dead of night, the whisper of come to me that echoed all the way across a broken town.

Come to me.

Sometimes you swore it was Eddie’s voice calling to you. Sometimes, you nearly left your own new apartment in the dead of night, and let your legs guide you to the undead boy you had single-handedly revived.

Tonight was one of those nights. Your stomach was twisting, your head was pounding, your bones were aching. Every single inch of you hurt as it listened to that soft calling, and at some point, you gave in.

Hunger. You were insatiable with the need and drive to be at Eddie’s side. Warnings from the others be damned.

One thing leads to another. You find your coat, you find your car keys. You find yourself driving the deserted streets of Hawkins in the middle of the night. You find yourself on the Munson doorstep, knuckles shaking and aching with the knowledge that just beyond the wood of the door, he was there. You don’t have to see him to feel him; his thrumming presence, his anchoring existence.

Come to me.

The door swings open before you get the chance to knock. This string tying your two souls together is not a one-way channel, it seems.

“Why are you here?”

You watch him wince as the harsh words leave him. Immediately, you know that the abrasiveness is on instinct. Just as something claws inside of you to be near him, there is something within him howling to keep you far from him.

The polarity of two magnets. Some nights, surely, his twists in a way that would draw him to you, just as yours will twirl with the sensibility that whatever has changed within him should give you cause to run as far away from him as possible.

But tonight, your magnetism only yanks you closer to him. He doesn’t even invite you in, and yet, you find yourself stepping over the threshold of the new apartment.

“You’ve gone quiet,” you whisper as an answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, grimace deepening, nearly a scowl now, “I just… It’s been weeks. I…”

I missed you. I needed you. I heard you in my dreams and I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to you.

Magnets are a useless metaphor for whatever is happening here between you. A better comparison would be the cliche image of a moth to a flame; he’s dangerous, threatening to burn you alive, and you still find your heart fluttering after him hopelessly. You’re going to get scorned, and you’ll still never learn. You’ve fallen victim to a tired narrative that you’d rolled your eyes at in a plethora of books. How many times had you sworn that wouldn’t be you? Just how many eye rolls had you exhausted at the mere idea?

And now, here you were, on his doorstep. Grasping for something you’re not sure either of you can give.

“I’ve been dealing with a few things,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind you, shielding you both from the chill of the night. The room is still cold, especially in his radius, “Didn’t think it would make much of a difference.”

“You didn’t think I’d care if you just stopped calling?” you turn slowly, taking in the state of the living room. Wayne was clearly gone for the night, work most probably, and several books littered the coffee table. Eddie had been the one reading them, lounging on the couch.

The last time you had seen him, he couldn’t even sit up in bed on his own.

He’s keeping an unusual distance, nearly leaning back out of your vicinity, “Figured you were busy.”

He’s never been this short with you. His words are choked up, his body tense with pain. You assume it’s just his injuries bothering him.

You couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re completely unaware.

“I brought you back from the dead, and you think I’d still be too busy for you,” you laugh humorlessly, fully in disbelief at his pitiful excuse, “Eddie, we could find out Vecna didn’t really die, those damn cracks in the Earth could open right back up, and the first person I’d care about finding is you.”

The animal inside that had been yearning for his presence is satiated for now, but you can still feel it lurking in the darkest depths of your mind, ready to call out a new request at any moment. It’s the distraction that has you spilling pathetic truths.

The only response he offers you is a dead stare. With eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed up by darkness.

“You could have called,” your voice cracks, body shaking with the effort not to take a step closer to him, “You could have just let me know you were still alive.”

“I-”

He cuts himself off when he’s the one taking a step closer. His entire face twists with pain, and you give up keeping your distance. In an instant, you’re at his side as your hand reaches out for his bicep.

He flinches away. Something inside of you burns.

Your hand is hovering in the air between the two of you, and in this lighting, you swear the skin is still stained with the blood that won’t wash away.

“Please don’t,” he begs, “I’m fine, but… please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for. Distance, for you to pull your hand away, time – you don’t know what he needs.

“We should sit down,” you insist, finally pulling your hand as far from him as possible but making no move to put the space back between you two, “Has anyone helped you with your bandages? If your wounds got infected-”

“They didn’t.”

“If you didn’t change the bandages, they definitely could have-”

“They’re not infected,” he grits out, but he’s still walking over to the couch regardless, “They’re healed.”

Healed.

Mere weeks ago, those wounds were still deep enough to keep you from ever achieving a full night's rest. Deep enough to worry you to the core that you would wake up to them finally having consumed him. Deep enough that you all assumed it would take him months, not weeks, to recover.

“What do you mean they healed, Eddie?” you whisper, almost reaching out for him as he sits down.

Your hand twitches, but the echoes of his begging and his flinching keep it at bay as you stand before him.

“I mean, they healed,” he huffs, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at you, his gaze subverting you with purpose. As though the mere sight of you, the mere proximity, is painful to him, “Don’t know how, don’t know why – they just did.”

“So why are you still in pain?”

A sharper intake of breath. A hush of silence falling over the apartment. Even the buzz of the building’s AC unit has faded from all your senses. It’s just you and him, and a heavy quietude like no other.

Until he finally breaks the surface tension, breathing out, “You.”

Your heart drops. That tug inside your chest, the one taut as you look at him right within your reach yet still so far away, almost snaps.

“Me?”

He nods with a harsh swallow, “I- Look, I can’t explain it, but when I came back, I came back…”

“Different?”

He doesn’t have to explain it. You’d felt it.

The moment his eyes had opened, just moments after what should have been blissful victory. The taste of his blood heavy on your tongue, a terrible sweetness that had choked you rather than its initial metallic twang. The whispers of his voice in your mind.

He wasn’t the only one changed from whatever had occurred that night.

“Different is a good way of putting it,” he nods, looking up with apologetic eyes, “It’s not you. It’s cliche as fuck, but it really isn’t – it’s me. I died, and you brought me back, but I don’t think either of us knew the cost.”

The yearning. The nightmares. The unmanageable needs. The hunger.

“What was the cost?”

He almost doesn’t hear you. Your voice is a whisper, tone weighed down with the curse of knowing.

You might not have known the cost when you were pressing your palms into his chest through your wretched sobs, functioning as his heart and lungs for nearly a minute, but you think you might have a clue now.

All that had been tethering you to him since he’d come back to you, all those webs and strings that had formed their knots around both of your necks. He’d changed, and you had plummeted right into the chasm of the unknown with him.

His blood on your tongue, sweet as honey.

Blood shouldn’t be sweet.

He grabs one of the books off the coffee table, motioning for you to join him on the couch. Under the weight of your realization, you’re nearly under a trance. All he has to do is wave a hand, and you follow.

You’re at his beck and call. Just like you had been when he’d been calling out for you, yearning for you.

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the book into your lap the moment you’ve sat down. This time, you’re mindful to keep your distance.

This time, you’re painfully aware of the compromising situation the two of you have found yourselves in.

The book is older, leather-bound and worn from years of readers’ careless hands breaking the spine. The corners of every page are weather, close to disintegration. The entire thing could easily pass for a Halloween decoration.

It’s not. You flip open to the title page, and if Eddie didn’t appear so deathly serious at your side, you would have scoffed.

“Dracula?” you question carefully, running a finger over the delicate script of the title, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“I’m not insane,” he interrupts you, “I’m not fucking- I swear to you. I’ve gathered up every goddamn book about it that I can. Fictional, nonfictional. Just- there’s obviously a Hell of a lot more fictional material to work with, okay?”

A vampire. He’s convinced he’s a vampire.

And even worse – you’re convinced right along with him.

You turn your head to look at him, trying to find the right words, but all you find is Eddie burying his face in his hands, head nearly hung between his knees.

“I can’t eat normal food anymore,” his voice is muffled, “That was the first sign. Couldn’t stomach it, made me throw up for hours when I tried. And then all those nurses kept talking about how I was healing faster than they expected. Most of my smaller cuts – those healed in under a day,” he finally lifts his face just enough to turn and peer at you through all the stray curls that fall into his vision, “My vision and hearing were the next things I noticed. Remember how I had a nonstop migraine those first few days?”

He doesn’t need to convince you, but the argument is compelling, “It… wasn’t a migraine.”

He shakes his head. “Not even close. Just turns out that it’s a killer to get used to fucking superhuman night vision and impeccable hearing. I still can’t handle being out in the sun very long. I don’t… burn up or any of that shit, but… it just…” he trails off, shoulders falling in defeat before he throws himself back against the couch. When he continues, his tone is flat, devoid of all emotion, “I keep having these dreams about you, too. Bad dreams. Terrible dreams.”

You shut the book, toss it back onto the coffee table, and decide to Hell with keeping your distance.

You need it. Even if he’ll only allow you to get an inch closer to him, you need it.

“What do you mean by terrible dreams?” you ask, breath catching at the end of your question as you scoot yourself closer on the couch. Even with such a small movement, Eddie is quick to notice, eyes flicking to you quickly with a sense of urgency flashing behind them.

“Don’t,” he lowly warns.

“What’s happening in your dreams, Eddie?”

Another inch closer. His jaw clenches.

“Sweetheart, do not-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Your knee bumps into his thigh, and you watch him go rigid. Hands turning to fists, eyes pinching shut and face twisting with the same pain he’d worn the ghost of when you first arrived at the apartment.

The moment you touch him, you see it. The flashes of his nightmares, all those terrible actions haunting him every time he closed his eyes. You. Your blood. That hunger.

Like a blackhole in the center of your stomach, it burns viciously as it sucks the air out of your lungs. It threatens to cave your entire being into itself until there’s nothing left. Not even a crumb of who you once were.

But it's not yours. It’s Eddie’s.

That pain on his face is only exhibiting a fraction of what he was feeling. That dizzying craving that he’d miraculously been keeping at bay since you’d simply entered the building, not even yet knocking on his door. You hadn’t even been in the same room as him yet, and he had still known. Had smelt you, had felt you.

He could almost taste you.

“You…” you have to shift your knee away from him, break the touch, break the connection, “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

“I haven’t fed, period.”

With the connection severed, he somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes once more. You don’t know how – if he’s feeling what you’d just been privy to, you’d be an incoherent mess on the floor. Something feral and unrecognizable.

Although, maybe he was nearly there. You couldn’t see his pupils. That same look when he’d first woken up – a man swallowed whole by hunger.

“You’ve been dreaming about ripping my throat out,” you say it as a matter of fact, not a lick of judgment in your tone.

It wasn’t you scrutinizing him. It was what you had seen, with one simple touch.

His voice is hoarse as he echoes in confirmation, “I’ve been dreaming about ripping your throat out.”

You should probably be afraid. All your survival instincts should be kicking in, your feet should be carrying you towards the door, you shouldn’t be leaning in closer.

“You know what really sealed the whole vampire ordeal though, sweetheart?” he breathes out, your eyes fluttering shut at the lull in his hushed tone.

Just as you’ve been leaning in, he’s been slowly turning his body to face yours, hands twitching at his sides. He’s no longer retreating from your presence, sucking down breaths in harsh gulps the closer you grow to him.

He’s losing control. You’re losing control.

That thread, vibrant red as it draws you near him, is clear as day now. A noose around your neck. A road to your damnation.

A road to your hunger.

You hardly hum in response, completely entranced now. Had he ever been capable of this before? Of holding you beneath such an inescapable spell with such ease?

Probably.

He doesn’t use his words to answer. Instead, he finally takes the plunge.

His head ducks down towards your neck just as his hands lose the war, grabbing onto your hips, dragging you dangerously close to him until his lips hovered just over your pulse point. And by some strength that you certainly don’t possess, he stops there. Letting his lips barely brush against your soft skin, breath coming out in pants for you to feel, to relish, to get lost in. And just as soon as those pants, those waves, become a comfortable pattern to succumb to, you feel them.

His fangs.

Grazing over your sensitive skin. Sharp tips nipping at a surface they could so easily break, pierce with one wrong move. Your pulse is thrumming beneath the surface, heart racing painfully as Eddie’s grip turns bruising.

Come to me.

“Please.”

You’re the one begging now. It goes against every rule you’ve ever seen applied in fiction. If a vampire is baring their fangs against your neck, you should be reaching for a stake. The only noise escaping you should be a scream for help, not the pathetic whimpers beginning to slip out.

“I can’t,” you feel his gasp more than you can hear it. Your blood is too loud, roaring in your ears as you feel the fangs slip with his words, “I can’t.”

That hunger you felt, the one that had called out to you through the night and led you right to his doorstep, is unavoidable now. You need him closer, you need him to do this. For the first time since you had saved his life and tasted his blood after the Upside Down, everything seems to click into place. All he needs to do is let them sink into you, take that final leap of faith and reprieve that ache you’ve battled for weeks now.

You’re so close. So close.

“Eddie, please,” you’re nearly sobbing, hands gripping onto his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer.

But you’re no match for his strength. You don’t know if it’s a new addition with his vampire business or if there was always more to him than met the eye, but he easily stays stoic against your attempts, not moving a centimeter. Still hovering, still just barely making contact with your heartbeat.

“I-” his head drops slightly, tip of his nose beginning to trail down the side of your neck, mouth no longer dangerously close, “You saw my dreams-”

“I trust you.”

You do. You trust him even more now than you had when you first stumbled upon him in the boathouse. More than when he had pleaded his case, promised he hadn’t been the one to kill Chrissy Cunningham. The trust comes easier than breathing as his nose nuzzles into the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, fangs now brushing your collar bone, “You really, really shouldn’t.”

He doesn’t stop you when you move to straddle his hips. Your weight settles onto his lap, and he only fights to keep his face burrowed there in your shoulder, arms now moving around your waist to hold you tightly to him.

His self-control is impeccable. You’d admire him and all this impressiveness another time, when something inside of you wasn’t lamenting his resistance.

All at once, it occurs to you how to give him the final push.

“Did I ever tell you how sweet your blood was on my tongue after I brought you back?” you start, sighing, rolling your shoulders to expose more of your neck, grip on his shoulders tightening, “All that blood, all those tears, and I still can’t forget how welcome that warmth of you was in my mouth. How I needed more. How I pictured it every night, after every nightmare-”

He breaks.

One moment, his nose is buried in your skin. And the next, his fangs are.

You weren’t sure what to expect, but relief would have been low on your list. You gasp out in initial shock, but as you feel his teeth dig in, it’s as though something has snapped. The ache has been satiated, preening as you feel the warmth of your blood contrast the chill of his chin pressing into you.

If there’s any pain, you don’t feel it through the haze of pleasure.

Ice shards spread through your bloodstream, but the point in which Eddie’s mouth is connected to you radiates heat. He’s pulling you into him, letting go completely and relinquishing all that control as he nearly purrs against your skin in satisfaction. That connection is back, two minds linking with a heavy click, and you can feel all his pleasure mingling with your own. Satiation, desperation, adoration – the plethora of emotions all swarm your head and block out any better judgment.

You’d let him drain you dry, if that’s what he needed. If nothing more than to hear those soft moans as his fangs sink even deeper.

He pulls back too soon, though, suddenly and unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he had given in to both your desires, he’s putting an end to them. He hadn’t taken much blood, but your head is swimming from the loss all the same. Your grip has gone slack on him, hands slipping down to just barely cradle his biceps while his own touch stays unyielding around you.

You can hear his thoughts. Or rather, maybe more aptly put, you can feel them.

He wants to devour you. Wholly, ruthlessly.

He looks up at you with pupils still blown wide, chest heaving and a small scarlet drip trailing from the corner of his mouth. For the first time since he’d come back to you, he looks alive. Hair fluffed in a halo around his head, skin tinted with a healthy glow and unmistakable blush, bags beneath his eyes faded for the time being.

You were never quite sure if Eddie Munson’s heart had ever restarted, knew for certain that it hadn’t now, but you swear you can feel its pulse finally thrumming for you.

I need more.

It’s his voice in your head, echoing in the empty space as you look down with wild eyes to match his.

But it’s your voice in his head when you respond instantaneously.

Then take it.

Something unspoken lies there in the need. He doesn’t move back to your neck, doesn’t bite down and drink his fill of your blood. He only stares for a few seconds, watching the welt of blood that pools from each puncture wound of his making. His eyes follow when it runs down your skin, as though he might lose it should he so much as blink. Down, down, down. Following the trail that his nose had followed minutes before, across your collarbone until it stains the neck of your loose shirt.

My pleasure.

His hold proves helpful when he quickly changes positions, roughly throwing you down onto the couch before he’s settled between your thighs, crawling his way up your body. He pays close attention to the maroon trail on your throat, his tongue cleaning up after his mess, savoring the taste of you on his tongue.

Sweet as honey.

His tongue only pauses for a moment over the bite wound, pressing into it, making your back arch as you press yourself fully into him. Your head digs painfully into the cushion behind you as you expose your neck, wanting and begging and pleading all without words.

“I think we should take this off,” he plucks at the hem of your shirt, tugging hard before he begins to carefully lift. His freezing knuckles brush against your burning skin, eliciting a whimper from you, “Before we make an ever bigger mess. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?”

A sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. Honeyed words, familiar to how he once spoke, but entirely new in the way they curl around you. There’s a confidence there, a baiting that he’s luring you with.

“Yes, please.”

He could ask anything of you in this moment, and you’d be eager to comply. Fueled by your desire for him before the events of spring break, worsened by his new condition. A bright, red, vibrating thread. You couldn’t severe the tie if you wanted to.

And you most certainly did not want to.

Your shirt is removed, his hands careful despite the way they shake. His words may be smooth, but each move is jagged, the only sign you had that he’s still exercising control.

“And these?” he whispers, lowering his lips to your sternum as he toys with the band of your pants. His fangs scratch down the center of your stomach as it quivers with each breath, careful to not break skin as they make their presence known. You nearly lose all capability to speak until he says, “Use your words, baby. Tell me I can take them off.”

Yes.

His eyes flare, looking up to you, “Use your words. Not your mind. I want to hear how badly you need me – I want everyone to hear you beg.”

The words strike straight to your core. Lashing out in your lower stomach, burning deliciously.

It’s more than putting on a show. He needs to know you want this.

“Take them off,” you gasp out, hands wandering to tangle in his hair, “Take- Take it all off. I’m yours, Eddie.”

Shaking hands perform a dance you had long since fantasized about. In easier days, when Eddie had been uninvolved in the episode down, heart still beating along as he would bounce his knees in front of you and his fingers would idly fiddle with his pencils and pens. A yearning, a wanting, you’d always held for the boy.

He used to be an escape from it all. A pretty thing to daydream about when you weren’t worried about monsters. And now – he was one of the monsters.

Your monster. Tied to you inexplicably, brought back by your hands and your stubborn efforts.

His lips and fangs are one in the same, trailing along your body as he finds a home at the apex between your thighs. Even in undeath, he’s the most beautiful thing your mind could conjure.

You’d forgotten how he was privy to your every thought until he reacts.

“You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, smirking salaciously as he mouths innocently at that sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tongue darting out to lick a cool stride before he breathes out against it. It has you writhing beneath his hold, “You’ve wanted this all this time, sweetheart? Wanted to see me, between these pretty thighs, making you scream my name?” His mouth falls open a bit wider, the sharp canines pressing but not sinking against where he had just licked. He holds there, eyes locking with yours, until he pulls back to cockily say, “Could’ve just said something, y’know. Didn’t have to bring me back from the dead to have me devoted to you.”

Finally, finally, he lets his fangs sink back into you. The soft meat of your thigh is more pliant in his mouth, and he doesn’t linger as long as he had on your neck. One nick, just enough to start the blood flow, before he’s pulling back and licking hungrily at the scarlet liquid. Less for feeding, more for marking.

Marking you as his, just as you have with him. His methods just appeared a bit more physical.

He’s quick to avert his focus on your cunt, no warning before the tongue still covered in your blood is taking long strides over your entrance and clit. Devotion. That was the only word to describe the way he was unraveling you, alternating between indulging in your sweet cunt and returning back to that bite, going as far to even sink his teeth in a second time to take a proper drink of you. His chin and lips grow slick with it all – with the blood, with your wetness, with his own saliva. A starved man with a feast before him.

The way he’s rutting his hips into the couch as he slings your legs over his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed.

It’s a mess. A wonderful, satisfying, enchanting mess.

Beautiful. So beautiful, all mine.

His voice has you teetering on an edge of new carnal pleasure. Completely consumed by him, your hands tugging viciously at his curls. His face is round once more, eyes and cheeks no longer sunken in, vitality being breathed into him with each taste of your blood.

Let me touch you. Please.

You beg over that connection, trying your best to not buck your hips mercilessly against his tongue. You feel his wicked grin.

“You’re already touching me, sweetheart,” he reaches up, untangling your fingers from his hair for emphasis before he’s pinning them to your sides, “And what did I say about using our words? Hm?”

“Need more,” your voice is wrecked as you tilt your head back, wrists straining against his hold, “I need more.”

You’re fully light-headed now, the blood loss finally catching up. Maybe you were about to let him drain you dry.

And what a beautiful way to die. At the hand, at the fangs, of the one you had fought so urgently to bring back to you.

One last timid lick to the wound on your thigh, and he’s crawling his way back up to you. The mess doesn't phase you as he kisses you hungrily – the blood remains sweet rather than metallic, the remnants of your juices still on his tongue – and you meet him with an unbridled fervent. Nipping at his lips with your own dull canines as if you were the one looking for a bite of vivacity.

You don’t know when he lets go of your wrists, or when your hands find their way up beneath his shirt. The specifics don’t matter once he’s naked before you, clothes discarded messily to the ground with your own. The only thing that matters is the weight of him, the reminder that he was still here as his hips roll into yours and the head of him catches on your entrance.

He had been dead. For minutes. And you had brought him back to you.

The process had taken longer than the mere CPR administered, had taken weeks of whatever waiting game you two had tortured yourselves with, but you had him now. He was yours. You were his. There wasn’t a deity, a monster, an omniscient being in this world that could take that away from you. Not even Death herself.

“Last chance, baby,” he whispers against your lips, holding himself up so that not a single inch of his skin pressed to yours. You nearly cried out, missing that connection, missing him. Your hunger, the hunger for him entirely, rattles your bones once more, “Say the word, and I’ll-”

“No,” your hands pause their exploration of skin jagged with scars. Reminders of those few dreadful moments in which the world existed without Eddie Munson in it, that would fade in time but never fully disappear. Always there, just like the stain of his blood on your palms. Always there, just like your desperation to have him at your side. “I meant it when I said I’m yours. I’m not changing my mind. I want this.”

His skin is back on yours, body laid fully along your own road map, and it all comes flooding back. The pain of seeing his lifeless body, the nights spent in an eerie hospital room, baring your own teeth at any one who came too close to the man you had pulled back from the ledge of Death. The anxiety, the fear, the relief, the yearning – it all accumulates as he’s pressing into you, brimming you so full that there’s no room for memories of nightmares.

He’s here. He’s yours. You’re his.

His heart didn’t need to beat for you to accept that truth.

You can’t decipher which chants of your name fall from his lips for others to hear, and which ones whisper in the depths of your mind for only you to bear witness to. Each curse, each grunt, each moan – there for you and only you anyways. You’re entirely unsure if your lips even separate once as he thrusts, cock brushing somewhere deep in you that has you clenching around him.

And if his fangs wander, it only adds to the pleasure.

Blood, sweat, and tears all mingle between your bodies. He’s holding you tighter than water, as though you’re at risk of disappearing from him at any given moment. But that link between your two minds, your two souls, is unwavering. It’s the only thing grounding you to the moment as your half curls around his waist and your heel digs into his lower back. Urging him, pressing him, taking him.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says it out loud, this time. You feel his lips brushing against your ear as he does, “Gripping me so tightly. This pussy was fucking made for me.”

Every movement only unlocks something more feral inside the two of you. Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines to trace over once it’s all said and done. There’s enough shallow bite marks across your neck that you’ll be wearing scarves for weeks, months. The others might question it, strangers might stare, but the pride you feel as he marks you is unmatched for any anxiety about it.

That black hole of hunger is no longer swallowing either of you whole. That debilitating pain, that animal inside, has been tamed.

When his hips begin to stutter, mouth no longer capable of the strength to properly bite you as his lips only smear the soft spattering of blood pooling at the base of your throat, you’re already there. Squeezing him tightly, sucking him in, voice raw as you let everyone know who’s ravishing you.

Eddie.

Hawkins’ newest zombie boy – Hawkins’ newest vampire.

The climax is just as pleasurable as the lead up. The haze lingers long after his spent has dripped out of you, long after he’s collapsed into your body with exhaustion and contentment. The blood dries, the wounds clot – but that haze doesn’t falter.

As long as his skin presses to yours, you feel that caress of his mind against yours.

“Did…” you’re breathless as his face nuzzles into your nude chest, a few mindless hums of gratification still slipping from him as you bring a hand to toy with the curls at the crown of his head, “Did any of your vampire books say anything about… that?”

The connection. The bloodlust. The spell you swear he still has you under, even as it’s all said and done.

He snorts against your skin, “Not that I, uh, recall.”

“What? You mean to tell me in all your research, you never dived into any vampire smut?” you tsk jokingly, a calm smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He lifts his head, and you swear, those honey-brown irises have threads of a deep maroon now, “You’re slacking, Munson.”

“Why read about it when I can just experience it?” he coos, letting his nose and lips drag across your still hot skin before he rests his chin on your sternum, “Besides, I mean – we’ll need to do this again, won’t we, baby? For research.”

Your head still spins. Your body aches in a welcome manner. There will be a need for explanations to others, for actually researching his condition, later on. But for now, it’s enough.

The pounding behind your ribcage, the one you know Eddie feels for the both of you when his ear presses to your chest, is enough.

Of course, lover.

That thought stays between the two of you. The world doesn’t need to know what can’t hurt them.

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

#ghost's stories #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #kas!eddie munson #kas!eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #reader essentially became soul bound to him womp womp #don't drink a vampire's blood kids #i really didn't edit that intensely i spent two hours fucking with photoshop #if it's bad it's bad #finally dipping my toes into kas!eddie tho wahoo #vampire!eddie munson #someone requested eddie with this song forever ago but i lost the ask #eddie reading dracula to figure out if he's become a vampire is actually so fucking funny to me

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hannieehaee · 6 months

Note

Hello, i thought about a seventeen reaction to another member scrolling through their phone and finding a nude of their soulmate<33

18+ / mdi

a member finding your nudes - 95 line

95 line, 96 line, 97 line, maknae line

wc: 1073

masterlist

n/a: i kinda went overboard and wrote too much so i only did 95 line. pls lmk if u want 96, 97 and/or maknae line :3

seungcheol -

its funny. you and cheol had snuck away from the movie night you had arranged with a few of the members and their significant others, leaving behind your things in the living room in order to sneak into your bedroom for a few minutes under the very unconvincing excuse of 'oh, i just have to help her find something'. that is how jeonghan ended up picking up cheol's phone from the couch, thinking it was his since cheol had insisted on jeonghan getting him one of his classic phone cases due to the convenience of the pocket.

cheol had left his phone unlocked as he had left to follow after you in a hurry upon seeing the bedroom eyes you were giving him, leaving jeonghan with full free reign over his phone. jeonghan quickly realized that the phone in his hands was not his, but also knew his best friend was currently ditching his own guests to go fuck his girlfriend (you guys weren't slick), so he decided to see if he could find entertainment some other way. what he didnt expect, however, was to find a folder full of explicit pictures of cheol and his girlfriend. he didnt mean to, but his eyes were now glued to the screen, with no willpower to stop looking.

a few moments later, a very disheveled cheol came out of the room before you ('baby, wait two minutes before coming out or it'll be suspicious), almost immediately catching onto a very focused-looking jeonghan staring blankly at his phone. thinking he could maybe tease his friend about whatever he was looking at, he snuck behind him to scare him, but caught a glance at what was actually his phone, the screen showcasing a collage of photos of you in less than favorable circumstances.

"w-YAH WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!", cheol whisper-shouted at his friend as to not catch anyone's attention. he snatched the phone away and put it in his pocket.

for once, his usually slick-tongued friend was left without words, staring at him with wide eyes. with perfect timing, you came out with equally disheveled hair, tilting your head in confusion at the scene of your boyfriend and his friend in a very intense staring contest.

"what happened?"

jeonghan -

as roommates, it was quite common for jeonghan and seungkwan to pick up each other's phones for simple tasks such as checking the time or ordering food. which is why jeonghan didnt question it when he saw seungkwan pick up his phone to order take-out. what he hadnt expected, however, was for you to message him right at that moment.

being his well-mannered girl, he assumed it was just the quick 'how are u angel ☹️🫶' you'd usually send him every day around this time, but he couldnt have been more wrong.

"oh, hey you got a text from- OH!"

okay, that wasnt the usual reaction one would have to an innocent text from your roommate's girlfriend. he quickly snatched the phone from the younger's hands, curious as to what caused his reaction. upon inspecting the screen, he found his friend had not only seen, but had accidentally swiped up on an imessage notification detailing you half naked in bed, with 'miss uu angel <3 mwuah' attached to it.

jeonghan had no time to be turned on or even react to your message (which would usually be endless strings of heart eye emojis begging for more pics) and yelled at his friend, panicked.

"YAH! why'd you swipe up?!"

"IT WAS AN ACCIDENT. NEVERMIND I DONT WANNA EAT WITH YOU ANYMORE!", his friend yelled back, flabbergasted and flustered at having seen his friend's seemingly sweet and innocent girlfriend's body in a way he never imagined.

although also kind of embarrassed, jeonghan felt a sense of pride at his friend's flustered state and ran to his room to text you back.

joshua -

always being on the go and surrounded by the total chaos of staff + his members, it wasnt unusual for joshua to occasionally misplace his phone. despite being an idol who liked to keep his privacy as hidden away as possible, misplacing his phone around his coworkers was not something that ever bothered him, thankfully having never dealt with leaks or anything of the sort.

today was no different. in the middle of shooting for the concept photos of their new album, joshua had forgotten to take his phone out of his pocket before his turn for solo pictures began and was suddenly nudged by mingyu, who had just finished his turn, to hand him his phone so he could hold it for him in the meantime. not thinking anything of it, joshua easily hands over his phone and signals to the photographer that he's ready to begin.

while joshua is busy posing for the camera, mingyu walks into the other room, joshua's phone now in hand. he decides to put it in his pocket before taking a seat in the waiting room and playing around with his own phone. that is until persistent vibrations coming from his back pocket suddenly distract him. thinking it might be some type of emergency coming from shua's friends or family (or else they wouldnt be as persistent), he decides to unlock shua's phone with the passcode he's seen his friend use before, not expecting to find notification's from shua's girlfriend, almost completely in the nude. and multiple ones at that!

flustered and slightly aroused, he quickly puts the phone away, shaking his head rapidly to get himself out of his trance. he feels terrible as soon as he realizes he just violated shua's and his girlfriend's privacy, but hey, it was an accident. he's going to keep this to himself, he decides, without realizing you and shua keep your read receipts on, and your messages would remain unresponded until joshua took a look himself.

hours later, now in the car on the way back to the company, joshua finally checks his phone again, noticing a few messages from you. oh. pictures. nice. wait. there's also you spamming him about leaving you on read. but when did he do that ? he knows he'd never pass up an opportunity to respond to you when you're needy and seeking his attention, specially when you send him pictures.

sitting across from him, mingyu watches worriedly as he sees all stages of realization hit his elder's face, waiting for him to realize.

"YAH! MINGYU, YOU-"

n/a: not proofread </3

#seventeen #svt #seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #svt smut #seventeen reactions #svt reactions #joshua fanfic #jeonghan fanfic #seungcheol fanfic #scoups fanfic

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moonsaver · 2 months

Text

You find silence to be quite fearsome, as of late.

There are many occasions Dr. Ratio comes back home in a bad mood, irritable to no end. Always passing snide remarks, commenting on the "gap" between yours and his intelligence, subtly jabbing and snipping away at your self-esteem until it's enough to pamper his own ego.

Half the times, you can only sulk away. You unfortunately had the experience of finding out it is extremely hard to argue with someone who manages to twist and make passages out of meager comments, driving you into a corner, and ultimately delivering the final blow to your ego.

The other half times, his words eventually end up getting to you, no matter how hard you try. Throat constricting painfully to hold in sobs, eyes watery with anger and vulnerability, voice shaking from the pain of his comments jabbing straight into your already bruised heart.

Sometimes, you wonder if he finds it enticing. He argues endlessly with you, droning on about how he's not entertaining this with an idiot like yourself, but still persisting and breaking down each and any arguments you have.

Until you finally break into sobs.

He huffs, almost groans, after silently watching you sob for a minute. He walks over to the bathroom, and prepares a bath. After a few minutes of tinkering sounds from the bathroom, a collusion of sloshing and the dripping on water on the tiled floor, he peeks out. He drapes his eager hand around your waist, guiding your face into whichever body part you decide to fit it in, and comforts you in a rough, coarse manner. Alright, fine, why don't you just join him for a bath? Let him take care of you just as always. You're pathetic, and he supposes he's even less than that, caring for someone as weak as you.. though he won't even deny you're quite possibly his only and favorite weakness.

Those meaningless thoughts only warp and distort and swirl endlessly in your mind, as both of you share silence in the bathtub, his arm always around your waist, snugly holding you well in place. It's almost obvious, the way his hand traces the curves of your body, occasionally tracing the outline of your collarbone, the coarseness of his hand poorly hidden by the hot water and faux gentleness, burying himself into his book, as if his skin doesn't practically crave to intertwine into yours.

And that's how things usually end. Quiet nights where he gives you commands, positions you however he pleases and massages whatever products and body oils he fancied for himself, hoping you don't notice just how needy he is, as he presses a chaste kiss to your jaw, and huffing. He goes to sleep shortly after.

Sometimes, however, it's worse.

Veritas comes home quiet.

He doesn't speak. He doesn't announce his presence with a huff or a groan or a complaint. He steps in quietly, dropping whatever things he carried near the doorstep, as he stares at you from the unlit hallway. His eyes are piercingly quiet, almost tearing through the tense silence as they drink in your silhouette, anxiously waiting for a word from him.

At night, you hear noises from the other room – one which you are completely denied access to, tightly locked to the point it doesn't budge a milimeter.

Clacking, constant clacking sounds, tinkering, tinkering, and a few coughs. A few rare moments of soundly running water, then followed by abrupt silence as the process continues. He returns to bed quietly after a few hours, even deciding to skip his shared bathtime with you, choosing to simmer alone with his own thoughts.

Of course, it still takes a while to clean the absolute ludicrous amounts of dust that emanates from the room, even if it's just a bit that leaks from the bottom slit.

He won't tell you – or rather he doesn't feel the need to. You are his muse; he had told you once already. It's your fault if you didn't pay attention. Fortunately for you.. it's not a lesson you need to remember. At least for now. His fingertips gently run along the clay face, outlining the details of your face he has felt with his own fingers, closing his eyes as he imagines it as you. A muse. A subject. A desire. Whatever it is, he plans to embed it into clay. This time.. he was working on a larger piece, the clay imitating the curve of your waist as he had felt it thousands of times before in the bathtub, the crook of your neck, the eyelashes of your pretty, pathetic, teary eyes..

Perhaps.. You'd remember what he said. Someday. For now, it's his past time, whenever he needs to blow off steam.

He returns to his usual demeanor in the morning.

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norrisleclercf1 · 3 months

Note

I was wondering if we could get mafia max or Lance

A/N: Mafia Max with his twin boys, in the mood to write cute Mafia Dad Max.

"Boys, you better be dressed by the time I get in there," Max tucks in his white dress shirt, his legs draped in black dress pants that has you looking at him very sinfully. "Max, they're 6." You whisper, lying in bed as your husband stops and stares at you.

"You know, I love our boys, but sometimes I hate that they make me leave, you," He leans over the bed ghosting your lips, "In bed," He closes the gap, and you can't help but moan feeling the way his hands grab at your hips.

"Daddyyyyy!" Max groans and pulls away and you giggle, patting his chest. "You did promise to take them with you today," Max nods his head and turns, "I'm coming Casper, just give Daddy a minute." Max yells and turns, giving you one more deep kiss. "Daddyyyyy, Casper is making a mess."

You pull back laughing and Max huffs as he spares you one last look. "Better go, Fabian will make a bigger mess." Max nods and walks out of the bedroom and down the hallway to the boys room. "Casper, stop. Fabian, help your brother clean." Max is stern, but kind as he gives his boys a kiss each on top of their heads. Max watches as they start to clean up all their toys but stands knees clicking as he starts to help them.

"Daddy, do we get to see Uncle Danny today?" Fabian asks, eyes, his eyes staring right back at him wide and pleading. "Yes, I'm taking you two into work today." Casper squeals and Max's knees give at his weight tugging it down. "Yes, yes I know. Now, go give your mother a kiss goodbye while I pack your lunches." Casper and Fabian run off and your laughs blend together.

Making his way downstairs he shoos off his maid and grabs everything he needs to make the twins lunch. Backing two turkey sandwiches with the respected cheese they both liked and right amount of mustard and other things. He grabs their favorite cookies, one Oreos the other Chips Ahoy.

Casper runs down and holds his hands up smiling. "What do we say, Casper?" Max asks, knowing he was going to do it anyway, but Casper still needed to have his manners. "Hug, please Daddy?" Max nods and bends down lifting Casper with ease and continues making their lunch. Finishing it off slices of apple for Fabian and grapes for Casper.

"Daddy? Are you doing bad things today?" Casper asks, his blonde hair tickling Max's chin. "No, not today buddy. Just meetings." Max never hide what he did from his family, but he only told the boys he did bad things, never going into details, only telling them he did bad things. "That's good, I don't like the bad things." Casper was always Max's sweetheart. The soft one, the one who cries when stepping on an ant.

Fabian was the one who had no problem doing the hard things in life, hell he even kicked his grandfather Jos once, when he almost got violent with you when Max was away. Two side of the same coin, Max liked to call them. "I know you don't baby, but it keeps you, Fabby, and Mommy safe." Max kisses his cheek and Casper giggles.

"Fabby! It's time to leave," Fabian little yell of bye echos through the house as he comes running, Max scooping him up in his arms. "Now, let's get going my little soldiers."

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dykealloy · 4 months

Text

such a small detail but I cannot stop thinking about law leaving kikoku by luffy's bedside when he went out to talk with hancock and ivankov. idk it stirs up a lot of questions. like does law do this often? does law, like zoro, talk to his well-behaved cursed sword like "kikoku, sit. watch." before he leaves to go have lunch or a well deserved twenty minute post-surgery nap. is this the protective equivalent to leaving a baseball bat by the bedside? doctor's bedside manner emotional support blade? but then I also can't help but notice that it's unsheathed. which... actually, who is that sword protecting really, just sitting there? did luffy wake up more than once in the cradle of that submarine while his body was still recovering? (drugged up to the gills, entirely noncoherent, unable to be reasoned with, going in and out of consciousness, the only thought running through his mind being "ace"). probably would've been a nightmare for the heart crew

#touches the soil. what happened here #thinking about ohmilk's 'i took care of you' piece again #edit: ive been kindly informed that in japan. historically. leaving a sword in the ground was a sign of respect for the fallen.#so law was likely doing this as a sign of respect for ace. specifically since it was placed next to luffy #which is all very nice of law and heartbreaking but i still like to speculate on the layers to this action #CJ's op watch-through #one piece #op #lawlu #monkey d. luffy #straw hat luffy #monkey d luffy #trafalgar law #surgeon of death #op meta #op analysis

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stinkyme · 5 months

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Hello! I won't explain myself, yall should've seen it coming at this point 💆🏻‍♀️ I hope you like it and enjoy it! :)

CW/TW: NSFW (mdni), fem!reader, hate sex, reader is Fyodor's subordinate, mutual degrading (dumb slut, bitch, crybaby, etc), usage of (little) girl & she/her pronouns, reader slaps Fyodor, dacryphilia (both), riding, reader teasing Fyodor's mommy issues ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯, oral fixation (?), mentions of blood and marks, if I forgot anything please let me know! :)

I apologize for any mistakes in advance! :) and sorry if this sucks, I haven't been very inspired + got a bit rusty me thinks :/ sorry if you dislike it!

Hate Sex || Fyodor Dostoevsky x Reader

You aren't entirely sure when exactly you started sleeping with Fyodor. Sleeping is probably a soft word to use, better way to put it is - you aren't sure when you became his little sex toy.

Perhaps in-between endless, to you - quite boring assignments and missions he was giving you, he decided to make a full use out of you to which you compiled as a good little subordinate you were. Which, by the way, he would disagree with.

He always had a snarky comment to make, not praising you once, not thanking you once for sticking by his side for so long and flawlessly executing all of his desires.

Without questioning his reasoning, without asking for details - you were a perfect weapon, a perfect executor. Unlike Fyodor, who was far away from a perfect superior, treating you like you were nothing but one of the mere useless pawns he was using as he pleased. You would lie if you said it didn't hurt your ego or that it wasn't pissing you off each time his eyes would look at you with disinterested, even bored gaze after you give details of everything you executed perfectly. Waving his hand at you in a lazy manner as he turns on his chair, not giving you a benefit of a simple praise, a simple acknowledgment of your hard work.

His treatment towards you was beyond unfair, as if he was holding all those useless idiots above you. It was annoying, humiliating and it made your blood boil. There was not a single way to hurt Fyodor, you knew that, but you were also the only person who had him in one of his most vulnerable states.

So, why not use that to your advantage and let out some pent up stress you were experiencing?

"I completed the mission perfectly. Again." you say in a stern tone, slightly sighing as you close the door behind you.

"Is that so?" Fyodor doesn't give you even a proper moment of his attention, voice distant as his gaze remains on the paper he was holding. You silently click your tongue, but quickly compose yourself as you walk up to his desk, eyes swiftly scanning over the paper in his hand.

"Indeed it-"

"Bring me a cup of tea since you are back." he cuts you off in a beat, that familiar feeling of humiliation settling in your tummy again. You remain still, gaze evidently displeased with his request.

There is a prolonged moment of silence, a thick layer of tension filling up the distance between the two of you. Finally, Fyodor looks up, gaze switching from disinterest to slight irritation upon meeting yours that was holding evident annoyance. He drops the paper, fingers elegantly colliding together, hiding his lips.

"Is there an issue with my request?" he says in a serious tone, the usual silkiness of his voice getting lost. His gaze is sharp, shamelessly piercing through yours. You feel your whole body burning, breath short as your remaining dignity gets ruined by him, once again. However, you decide to swallow your pride this time, once more.

"No, sir. I will be back in a couple of minutes." you say sternly as you turn on your heel, closing your eyes once he can't see them anymore, anger boiling inside your tummy.

Your hand reaches the doorknob when Fyodor stops you in your tracks.

"Take your time."

There is a split second of initial confusion.

"Wash yourself up first, I can't have you walking around looking like that. Dirty and unpresentable."

You hear a rustle of papers as you shoot him a cold gaze, the one he doesn't return, too busy with work. As always.

"I thought you liked the taste of blood." you make a dirty remark, lips slightly curling as shameless pride fills you up. Fyodor glances sharply in your direction, sucking his cheeks in, his very discreet way of showing annoyance, but you notice. You hum as the feeling of pride overwhelms you, another remark leaving your lips quickly.

"One more thing."

You pause for a moment, noticing that his gaze slightly softens.

"When you make a request, you usually use the word please. Just for the future reference."

Your face molds from a sly expression to an irritated one, voice sharp. You quickly open the door, not giving him any time to answer you, enjoying the feeling of victory. It's not the full experience you desire, but it will make you satisfied for now.

There are so many more ways you wish to use in order to humiliate him and ruin that disgusting demeanor of his.

Lucky or unlucky for you, either way, Fyodor shared the exact same feelings towards you.

Which is why you got an invitation to his room tonight - to fulfill another of your endless, unappreciated duties and ease up his pent up irritation.

Couple of hours later, you find yourself greedily kissing Fyodor, hands gently pulling on his purple locks. He carefully sucks on your bottom lip, letting his tongue slide over it in a teasing manner. Your hands sneak underneath his thin shirt, fingertips messily exploring his lanky body. He lets out a mellow whimper as his tongue finds yours, sound getting muffled by the kiss.

Foreplay with Fyodor was different than his usual self.

He wasn't the most loving, evidently, but he was holding a certain tenderness during it. That's truly the only part of his that you were looking forward to. The vulnerable, whiny Fyodor that only you get to see. That only you get to ruin.

He swiftly slides his thumbs between your panties and hips, greedily rolling them down your thighs as you undo your bra, allowing him to softly kiss your chest area as the bra falls down your arms. Your hands move to take off his boxers, his hard, needily dripping cock softly pressing into your tummy as his hands pull on your hips, fingernails slightly digging into your skin.

Quickly enough, you find yourself on top of him - as always. He leans his back against the bed frame, hands falling on your hips, fingers shakily pressing into your skin, needy for you to pleasure him. With a slight dissatisfaction in your eyes, you look down on him for a few moments. In those few moments you let all of your anger and hatred towards him settle inside your body, a burning sensation of a desire to humiliate him like no one did before swirling inside your tummy.

You align your dripping cunt with the tip of his cock and slowly move your hips down, each inch stretching you out more and bringing soft moans out both of your throats. Your ass reaches his thighs and you remain still for a moment, purposefully clenching around him, receiving a breathy moan of his in response. You give him a sly smile as your hands rest on his trapeziuses, fingernails slightly digging into the cold flesh as you start moving your hips up and down, in an agonizingly slow manner.

Fyodor keeps his gaze on you, there is a lingering anger behind his eyes, even though mellow whimpers escape his parted lips. You let out a mellow moan each time you slide completely on his cock, its tip reaching the deepest spot inside of you. You remain at your pace, slow and teasing, not taking your eyes off of him. His fingernails dig deeper into your hips, squeezing a light gasp out of your lungs as he kneads on your skin roughly.

"Go faster." he orders, voice cold but quieter. You smile, bending your knees and adjusting yourself into a frog-like position. His face softens at that, he loved when people were obedient to his orders. You lift your hips up, letting only the tip of his cock remain in your needy cunt, holding it like that for a moment, letting the anticipation build up.

Fyodor's lips part in expectation of a heavy thrust, but he only receives a slow slide down on his cock, a sly smile curling on your lips.

"I prefer it like this." you say in a playful tone as you slowly move your thighs and hips up and down, occasionally clenching around his pathetic cock. He lets out a soft grunt, either from dissatisfaction or pleasure - perhaps both. He digs his fingernails more into your skin, receiving a sharp gasp of yours as the burning sensation tingles under your almost ripped skin.

"I said go faster." he says in a cold, almost threatening tone, as his fingernails keep on digging into your skin. You let out a yelp, but keep your pace slow and teasing. There is an evident anger and frustration lingering in your gaze, chest shaky with a desire to hurt him. However, you keep your composure, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of riling you up.

"Only if you say please." you force a teasing smile, pussy clenching around his tip before you slide down in an even slower manner. His grip on your hips becomes painful, a sharp gasp escaping your throat in response as your hands fall onto his wrists. You barely pull his hands away and keep them on the sides, meeting his anger filled gaze, returning the same treatment.

"Say please." your voice is more stern as you keep slowly sliding up and down on his cock, suppressing your own moans each time it rubs over your sweetest spots. Fyodor remains silent, lips parted in pleasure that he was trying to hold back as your grip on his wrists tightens.

"Do you need me to spell it out for you?" you ask in a sharper tone as you let yourself remain still, sitting on top of him as his cock reaches the deepest parts of you.

There was something challenging, dark in his eyes as he finally replies.

"Who do you think you are to order me around? Should I remind you of who you are?" his voice is cold, but his cock slightly twitches inside your warm, dripping cunt as you remain still. Your lips become shaky, grip on his wrists loosening as your tummy burns in a mixture of annoyance and anxiety. He moves his hands away from yours, letting one of them fall on your waist as the other one cups your cheek, thumb drawing small circles on your skin.

"You are a dumb little slut." he says in a condescending tone, a sly smile on his face, but slowly his annoyance takes over him as he finally lets his thoughts out.

"A dumb little slut who is good for nothing but my cock. And can't even do that properly." he spats out, voice becoming more filled with hatred.

"A dumb little slut who thinks she has any say in how I will behave. A dumb little bitch who thinks she can tell me what to do." his voice grows more deep, more annoyed, more everything.

"Disrespectful senseless little girl who expects praise every time she does her job. Is that why you behave like a desperate whore every time you finish a mission?" he continues, his thumb gently caressing your burning cheek. Bitter tears slightly cloud your vision, all the hatred melting away as he continues talking. Your pussy clenches around his cock regardless of your emotions, a soft breath getting stuck in your throat.

"You want me to call you a good girl? Is that what you clench around me for?" he asks in a lower, more gentle tone, eyebrows slightly rising at your pitiful state. You bite your bottom lip, reverting your gaze away from him for a moment. He chuckles, cold thumb delicately wiping away the small tear that was rolling down your cheek.

"Remember that awful feeling, that's what you get for disobeying me. And girls who disobey me don't get to be called good for it." he continues in a silky tone, moving his hand away from your cheek and letting it fall on your bruised hip as his face softens in the feeling of victory.

His gaze remains on your mocking-worthy expression, a soft curl of his lips revealing amusement and satisfaction he was feeling. You let the feeling of defeat and humiliation spread inside your body for just a moment before you compose yourself. Your gaze pierces through him, eyebrows furrowing in faint disgust and frustration as his words repeat in your head.

You hate to admit the fact that his nasty insults make your pussy leak even more precum than before mixed with the pure desire to punish him for it. Almost mindlessly, you start bouncing on his cock in a fast, greedy manner, receiving sharp gasps of his in response. Your hand sneaks into his hair, fingers roughly pulling on his locks and forcefully pulling his head back.

A strained moan escapes your throat as you keep on moving up and down, each full thrust making your head spin as his cock pressures all of your overly sensitive spots. His fingers shakily grab on your skin, unable to make a proper grip as your ass keeps slamming on his thighs in a rough manner. He lets out breathy whimpers as your cunt keeps on sliding over his needy cock, thighs bruising from the force you were riding him with. You swallow your own moans, only a few short whines escaping your lungs as you pull his hair more, exposing his pale neck.

Your gaze falls on how the muscles of his throat strain with each sound he makes before it moves to look him into his pathetic, half-lidded eyes.

"Yeah? You want to know what you are?" you speak in a breathy, heavy manner as you keep on bouncing on his cock. You don't feel a single thing besides anger and the fast pleasure building inside your lower tummy each time he reaches your g-spot. Your hand wraps around his throat, thumb pushing his chin back as your grip on his hair tightens.

"You are my dumb little toy. Just look at yourself, getting used by me like a personal dildo." you let out a strained chuckle as you switch your movement from bouncing to grinding, your hips making quick and heavy rolls on his cock.

You let out a sharp moan as his cock perfectly pressures your sweetest spots. Fyodor lets out a mixture of strained whimpers and grunts of disagreement, clawing his way into your outer thighs. With the way your hands roughly keep him in place it's hard to speak, but you can see an obvious anger breaking through his pleasure-filled eyes.

"You are my slut. You are a dumb little manwhore who needs me. You need my pussy, don't you?" your voice is firm even though faint whimpers fill in the gaps between your words.

You let go of his hair, but your hand remains on his jaw, firmly keeping it in place as you force him to look at you. You speed up the movement of your hips, not letting the soreness of your muscles get in the way.

"Tell me. You need it, don't you? You are a pathetic creature, can't even get off without me." you chuckle as your hand slides away from his jaw, down to his throat. You wrap your hand tightly, resulting in Fyodor's eyes to roll back, heavy whimpers slipping his parted lips alongside a small amount of drool.

He shuts his eyes closed, trying to regain some strength as his fingernails leave deep marks in your skin, making it burn and ache. His cock twitches inside of you, pulsating heavily as your needy and fast grinds become unbearable for both of you. Fyodor's fingernails dig even deeper into your skin as your grip on his throat tightens, a quick gasp escaping your lips as the pain becomes sharp and unbearable. Without a thought, your free hand lands a heavy slap on his cheek, making his head turn as your grip on his throat loosens, hand falling next to your body.

He gives you a frustrated look, lips immediately finding your nipple as he begins sucking roughly on it, almost mindlessly. You let out a sharp moan, throwing your head back as your pussy keeps sliding on his throbbing cock, sending shivers up your spine.

"Yeah? Is that how your mommy used to do it? Slap you around and then give you a nipple to play with?" you give him a breathless laugh before a heavy moan cuts you off as he bites on your nipple in a harsh manner. His fingernails dig deeper into your skin, a small amount of blood rolling down the flesh of your thighs.

"Fuck!" you almost scream out as you throw your head back, both of your hands falling on and tightly squeezing his bicepses as your pace on his cock remains the same. Your cunt starts to clench and pulsate around his leaking cock, heat beneath your skin tingling in a pleasurable manner.

Fyodor keeps on sucking on your nipple, a bit gentler than before, his eyes surprisingly tearing up. He lets out soft snivels and whimpers, hot breath heating up your flesh even more as his tongue relentlessly slides over your nipple. You bring one of your hands to his cheek, rubbing soft circles in a condescending manner - just like he did to you. You regain your focus, even though the heat that keeps on swirling inside your whole body makes it quite hard.

"Ah, don't be a crybaby now. Nobody likes little dumb bitch boys who cry during sex." you say in a teasing tone, wanting to degrade him more, but he starts rolling his hips into yours, barely but enough to make you lightheaded as his cock pressures your sensitive spots more.

He lets go of your practically bruised nipple, mumbling something as he messily moves to your other one and begins sucking on it in a greedy manner. You let out louder moans as your hips keep on rolling into his, your precum leaking and spreading all over his balls. The pain in your thighs from riding him for so long and from the fact he made you bleed becomes overwhelming, but the knot inside your lower tummy urges you to suck it up.

His cock reaches the deepest spots inside of you, perfectly rubbing over your g-spot and making you beyond dizzy as your orgasm slowly approaches. Your cunt keeps involuntarily clenching and relaxing around him each time he makes a harsher suck on your nipple, sending jolts through your whole body. You let out sharp moans and gasps as Fyodor pants into your skin in-between the heavy sucks, his cock throbbing inside your leaking cunt.

You curse under your breath as the knot inside your lower tummy starts slowly unraveling, first waves of your orgasm making your thighs shake. He barely lets go of your nipple, panting and whining in a desperate manner, eyes heavy as you fuck his brain out using only your hips. Your chest feels heavy as your breathing becomes incoherent, loud gasps in and out occupying your throat as your orgasm finally unravels.

Your whole body shakes as you squirt all over his cock and balls, making his own body shake as he gets close to his own climax. The pace of your hips becomes messy, the pain finally settling in and making it hard to move as the jolts of the peak of your orgasm rush through your body. Fyodor's hands fall onto your hips, desperately trying to hold you down as pathetic whines escape his dry throat. You swiftly lift yourself away from his cock and he gasps loudly, whole body shaking as a tiny load of cum drips out of the tip of his cock and slides down his length.

He lets out shaky pants and whines, clawing into his own thighs as his release gets ruined. You quickly put on a shirt, your breathing still incoherent and heavy as you slowly stand up, pulling your panties up.

Fyodor gives you a mixture of a needy, desperate, irritated and pathetic gaze, his cock softening and twitching as your combined releases slide down his balls. He remains silent, but he brings his semi-bloody fingers close to his lips, the tip of his tongue gently licking them. You give him a dirty look, a sly smile forming on your face.

"Remember that awful feeling. That's what disobedient, disrespectful and badly behaved boys deserve." you say in a bitter tone as you pull up your pants, letting out a small yelp as it rubs over the bloody scars on your thighs.

You leave his room, letting the lovely feeling of humiliating him overflow inside of you.

You won...this time, that is.

#fyodor dostoevsky x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader smut #fyodor smut #fyodor x reader smut #fyodor x reader #fyodor x y/n #fyodor x you #fyodor dostoevsky smut #fyodor dostoevsky x you #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs imagines #female reader

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blueariel3-blog · 4 months

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Rest Now, Darling

Pairing: Azriel X Reader

Just as Elain had finished preparing tea for you, the door to Rhys' study closed. You snapped your head up to the sound and prayed to the mother that everything was alright. The debrief from the mission could take hours and you always waited in anticipation of Azriel's mood.

You silently sipped your tea and counted the minutes as they sat in the room. Elain had gone out to her garden at some point and Feyre walked through the house to her room to change out of her leathers and into her painting clothes. Nesta dropped by to return one of your books as the sky began to creep into darkness.

All the while you sat silently on the couch, eyes gazing into the fire as if you could extend some of its warmth to the brooding male upstairs.

The door gently opened, a shuffle of feet across the carpet, and the click of Azriel's door. You sighed and stood from your spot, stretching the knots in your back that had developed since you first sat on the couch hours ago. Rhys was intently reading something on his desk when you entered.

His head rose slightly, swimming eyes meeting yours as he inclined for you to close the door. Silent steps across the room as you sat perfectly still in the seat still warm from Azriel's earlier occupation. His scent gently rose to meet you and you inhaled, smoothing the wringles in your pants out as you tried to detect any scent of blood.

"He's fine. Physcially. Mentally, he may be brooding for a few days. Go with him, I'll have the twins leave some plates in the fridge if you get hungry."

Not needing a dismissal, you gently rose from the seat and set out to find the shadow singer. The soft click of the door was all that could be heard in the hallway as you made your way to his room. The lights were off, the shadows quietly breezing through the air and wrapping around your wrist in a comforting manner.

You took small steps toward the figure hunched over his knees that sat on his bed. His thoughts ran wild as he replayed the scenes over and over; the agony washing over him was unbearable. As much as he needed to reach out and assure himself you were safe, he had no energy to do so. His shadows whispered in his ear that you were moving towards him and he exhaled some of his worry.

You gently touched his head, running your finger through the soft, dark curls. His forehead came to rest against your chest and his arms hung limply around your legs. You continued to offer him this soft comfort in the quiet, knowing that he needed it.

No words were said as you gently pulled the top of his leathers up. You ran your hands over his smooth skin comfortingly as you pulled it off, careful to mind his wings. His head continued to droop as you silently motioned him to stand up and remove the rest of his clothes. A pair of bottoms floating over on a shadow appeared in your hand and you quickly slipped them over his legs.

The covers pulled back by the force of the darkness and you let him slip into bed. His eyes continued to stare blankly at the ceiling as you changed your clothes into one of his t-shirts. His skin was cold as you placed a hand over his heart, only to reassure yourself that he was alright. The sheets were soft against your skin as you moved closer to him.

As you lay agsint the pillows next to him, he suddenly shifted and lay atop you. It was not a sexual act, but an intimate one for certain. He lay sprawled over you and the rise and fall of his chest pushed against yours. You placed your hands along his back and head once more to continue the mindless scratching that seemed to soothe him.

Azriel wanted quiet as his thoughts ran wild. He wanted to be alone as he had to remember every detail of what he had heard and seen. He always wanted your touch, craved it like a man who had been without water for a thousand years. He need you there to ground him.

The beating of your hearts was in time, but not yet tethered together.

Azriel fought against the darkness that wanted to drag him into a place of Hell, but the comforting whispers of his shadows and soothing motions of your hands seemed to lull him there anyways. There was nothing he could do as descended into his thoughts.

"Rest now, darling," you whispered into the night as his wings cocooned around you. Despite the turmoil he was feeling, you would be there in the morning to face the day with him. And every day after that.

#azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #acotar #azriel imagine #Azriel

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thefaefiction · 11 months

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In Too Deep. [Tom Hiddleston x Reader]

PAIRING: Tom Hiddleston x Reader GENRE: Smut !! WARNINGS: Age gap, teacher x student relationship, smut, daddy kink, praise, piv sex, choking, degradation if you squint, aftercare, fem!reader, written with a chubbier reader in mind but it's not obvious, also the beginning is rushed SUMMARY: After developing an intense relationship with your English professor Mr. Hiddleston, you both are in too deep to let it go to waste.

A/N: im not gonna lie i had no clue how to actually begin this fic because it's literally just an excuse for me to indulge in my delusions so sorry that the first couple paragraphs are weird and rushed </3 also the school email domain is fake idk if it's real don't pay attention to it LMAO

Your obsession with your English professor was no secret to your friends. Elio, your long term best friend and dormmate, has had to interrupt you from your delusions on more than one occasion which was already one too many -- whether that be purposefully failing a paper to see him after class, wearing a skirt far too short and dropping a pencil in a calculated manner in front of him, or staring at him a little too intently during lectures -- it was becoming a problem.

In the professor's multiple classes of forty-some-odd students, there really were only a few that were delusional enough to believe they could sleep with their teacher. The difference between you and them was that you were patient with your actions and the effects it had on him.

Ultimately your patience paid off, as one Friday you received an ominous email with the heading titled 'Make-up Work' from a particular '[email protected].' In the details, he simply requested your presence at a disclosed location only ten minutes from campus on Sunday. It was not an office nor a dorm, but a house.

It wasn't long before his intentions were made clear when you arrived; his eyes dark with lust and a half buttoned shirt upon opening the door.

"(Y/N)," He welcomed, cocking his head and shutting the door behind you. "Lovely to see you."

"Pleasure's mine," You reply, never breaking eye contact. You slide your coat off and he takes it in his hands, hanging it up for you. You knew where the night was going to end -- inviting a student to talk not just outside of office hours, but in the professor's home, is not something usual.

"I thought we could discuss an appropriate way to help get your grade back up in my class," He begins. His eyes look down for a moment, observing your obviously risqué attire. "Do you have an idea as to what way that might be?"

He was going to make you say it. There was no way around it. Still, you decided to entertain his antics until it was made painfully and obviously clear he was trying to get you to say what you know he wants you to say.

"I think," You start, voice beginning to shake. The confidence you had starting this endeavor was suddenly challenged. "I think one-on-one time is certainly needed." You press your lips together in a line.

He hums, taking an agonizing step closer. He looks down into your eyes, furrowing his brows and letting out a soft laugh. "I'm not dumb, (Y/N)," he retorts. "I know you're a smart girl. You're excellent, actually -- some of the best writing from all of my classes combined." The professor stops, taking a step back to his original position. "So why are you really here?"

A moment of silence.

"You know why," You sheepishly croak out.

"Flatter me by saying it, then." He raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms and waiting for you to speak.

"I want you to fuck me."

With the words already said, there was no going back. Your chest sunk, a feeling of embarrassment creeping up and beginning to eat away at your skin. All of those feelings were put to rest the second your professor spoke: "Was that so hard to ask, love?"

Professor Hiddleston turned on his heel, two fingers signaling you to follow him like a lost puppy. He led you down a long hallway in painful silence, finally twisting the knob to a door that revealed his bedroom. It was sleek and clean, covered in shades of black and gray with no mess dared to be left out.

He shut the door behind you and immediately began unbuttoning his shirt, holding your gaze with his light eyes. "Quickly," He commented. "I don't like waiting."

Your face flushed, embarrassed at his demand. You looked away and lifted the hem of your shirt-

"You will look at me," He orders, finishing the last button. "With how bold you are in my classroom I would've thought you'd take more control," He pokes, smirking. "Who would've thought you're just a shy little girl desperate for attention from her professor?"

Your thighs squeezed together, you're sure it doesn't go unnoticed as he grins the moment it occurs. You lift your top off as he watches, simultaneously beginning to unbuckle his belt. The sound makes you shiver.

"Good girl," He praises. You shiver in response.

As he tosses his belt to the side, you begin sliding your skirt off, letting it fall to the ground and pool at your feet. Your professor mimics with his slacks, walking closer and caressing your cheek. "Bed."

You obey, laying down on his duvet as he crawls up your body, sending shivers down your spine. "Professor-"

"Tom," He corrects. "No need for formalities at this point, yes?"

You blush before continuing. "Tom, are you sure?"

"I've been sure since the first time you tried to tease me in class," He replies. "I don't think you understand that I think about you every fucking night in my bed, about the things I would do if I were just able to have you."

You smile, your confidence returning almost instantly. "You have me, sir."

Tom grunts in the back of his throat, his body towering over you as he tears your underwear off, the cracking of the seams startling you. Immediately his hands find your sex, running his hands over it and around your thighs. His hands diligently run under your back, you arch, giving him easier access to remove your bra.

"God, you're stunning," He whispers before connecting his lips to yours. He pulls on your face, his teeth making contact with your lips and bruising their pink color in moments. As he pulls away, a string of saliva connects your mouths and you squirm beneath him.

Tom sits up and begins removing his boxers. The tent in them is noticeable -- and horrifying. You can tell he's big even without seeing it.

Not like you've thought about it before, though.

Now completely undressed, he puts his hands under your waist and drags you forward with a grunt. His hands dig at the fat of your hips and travel along your plush thighs, a moan escaping your lips as his fingers dance on your skin.

"Does my little girl need her professor's cock?" Tom provokes, sliding his shaft between your folds -- up and down, up and down, up and down.

You whine, nodding eagerly in hopes to get him to just put it in already, but your meek noise wasn't good enough for him. "Use your big girl words, darling." He puts his thumb and pointer finger against your chin, urging you to look at him him; eyes burning through your skull.

"Daddy," You spit out too quick, back arching. "Please, need you inside of me so bad!" The sheer volume of your pleas and the new title takes Tom aback, yet his cock ached with every sultry word you spoke.

"Good girl," He praises, grinning at you beneath him. You watch as he inserts himself, pressing just the head into your heat. You let out a guttural moan, eyebrows furrowing in a lovely mix of pain and pleasure. He begins slowly easing himself into you further, inch by agonizing inch, until he completely bottoms out; releasing a groan as his head lolls back. "God, you feel so good princess," He praises, "Taking me so so well, yeah?"

His words struck a chord within you, forcing a smile on your face. You whimper, brain not being able to form a complete thought at how deep he was inside you and how just damn good it felt. He was much bigger than anyone you'd taken before by a longshot. Your walls clenched around him and he laughed, cock twitching inside of you. He slowly slides back, leaving just the head in, and then pushes forward quickly, earning a loud, needy, moan from your lips. "Look at you, so drunk on me, hm?" He says, pulling back and then ramming himself deep into you, bruising your cervix. "Tell me what you want, doll. What is it you need from daddy?" He teases, never averting his eyes from your gaze.

"Please," You whine, "Need you to to move, need daddy to make me come!" And without hesitation, he picks up the pace, rapidly fucking you while his hands grip the headboard. You can hear it hitting the wall, and suddenly you're glad he has a house instead of an apartment. The noises you're making are obscene, something any practiced Catholic would need to cross themselves after hearing. "Feels so good daddy!" You spit, earning a groan from him.

Tom turned almost animalistic during sex; his grunts sounding more and more like growls as he fucks you brainless. "Fuck!" He moans, taking a hand off of the wood above you. He quickly puts his free hand on your throat, squeezing and forcing your eyes to meet his once again. "Like being choked by daddy, yeah? Like daddy to make you feel powerless, hm?" He smirks, observing the visual pleasure and shock on your face.

You're so close, you can feel yourself on the verge of your orgasm, and his dirty talk was pushing you even closer. The hand on your throat squeezed, and you clenched down on him, causing Tom to curse under his breath. "Want your cum daddy," You squeak out, "Pleasepleaseplease!" You mumble in strands of pleasure.

"Feel so good," He praises. "Come for me, be a good girl and come for daddy, yeah?" He was fucking you hard, and fast, and he still managed to pick up the pace. His skin slapped against your skin, filling the room with hard smacks and grunts and moans; endless strings of 'daddy' and 'good girl' running from both of your lips.

"Want you inside me daddy," You choke out. Your head lolls to the side and bounces against the pillow, a lazy smile forming on your face. "P-please!" You whine.

That pushed Tom over the edge. He was too far lost in himself, leaning down and growling into your ear. "Ask and you shall receive," he teases.

As if on cue, you both come together, the wave of pleasure rushing over you both. You could feel his warmth filling you up, leaking down your heat and spilling onto his bed. "Fuck, Y/n!" He grunts, "Took me so so well little girl."

You couldn't think, let alone speak. Tom stayed inside of you, helping you ride out your orgasm, not wanting the feeling of your sweet sex to leave him. He took his hand off of your throat and stroked the site, soothing the redness with a sultry kiss. You hummed in response, letting your body fall limp. After a few moments, he pulled out.

About three things Tom was absolutely certain: One, he should’ve never become romantically entangled with one of his students. Two, engaging in this behavior put his entire career in jeopardy due to it being wildly illegal. Three, he was, without a doubt in his mind, unconditionally in love with everything about you.

As you laid on his chest, foreheads drenched in sweat and bodies stuck together, you felt more at home than you'd like to admit. One hand messaged your back, drawing figure-eights on your skin, and the other pet your hair, occasionally drawing his lips close to kiss the top of your head. You burrowed your head into him, clinging onto his body. He grinned.

"I should've never let it go this far," Tom said, his voice raspy and deep with post-sex clarity, "but I'm afraid I'm in too deep to give it up now." He let out a low laugh, your head bouncing with his chest.

You smiled. "I'm afraid I wouldn't have been able to return to normal after this," You commented, "and, well, not to be dramatic but having sex with your professor twice your age does things to you." Tom chuckled, looking down at you and tilting your head up to meet his eyes.

"This is all so wrong," He mumbled, furrowing his eyebrows and pressing his lips together, "And yet I wouldn't have it any other way." He pressed a kiss to your lips, the kind of kiss that left a permanent stain of love and lust on your mouth. It was deep, meaningful, and romantic. Tom stared at you, taking in your features and basking in each and every one. "You are breathtaking, darling."

You hid your face in his neck, attempting to suppress the toothy grin you'd almost shown him, however he pulls your head up with his pointer finger and thumb, admiring your rosy cheeks. "Poor baby, so sensitive to my compliments," He jests, letting out a low hum.

You roll your eyes at him. "It's not my fault that daddy somehow knows all of the words that light a fire in me," You emphasize on the word 'daddy,' which forces what sounded like a groan from the back of his throat. "I don't want to go," You admit, falling back into his embrace.

"I know love," He says calmly, stroking your hair and pulling you into him tight. "We can stay like this as long as you'd like, but eventually I'll have to bring you back."

You hum into just chest. "Just a little bit longer," you say to Tom. "I'm still recovering."

⟡

When you arrived back at your dorm, much later than you anticipated, Elio looked at you with an eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face. "Back so soon?"

"Shut up," You laughed, dropping your bag to the ground and kicking off your shoes. You wobbled into the dorm, legs still sore and threatening your balance. Clearly Elio had noticed this, as the first thing he said after greeting you was "Well aren't your movements suspicious," and your cheeks flushed red. "I do not need to explain my late night endeavors and my later night actions," You began, "But,"

"But..?" Elio lead, leaning forward in his seat.

"But." You ended, pressing your lips together with a hidden grin and nodding your head.

"No!" He gasped, smiling widely and clasping his hands, putting his chin on the top of his fingers. "Please tell me everything! Not that I need to know the gory details of your sex life but, like, was he..?" Elio put his hands in front of him, fingers forward, and spread his arms apart.

"Shut up!" You giggled, swatting his hands. "But yes. Yes he was. Very."

"I knew it." He said, shaking his head. "I knew he was packing."

"Not to ruin our gossip but I need to lay down with a heating pad or something because standing is hurting my body," You laughed. "I think that man busted my cervix."

"Okay, TMI," He said, rolling his eyes. "But honestly go get some rest, lord knows you need it for seeing him tomorrow."

You were confused at first, then realized that tomorrow you had Tom for English, and you had absolutely no idea how you were supposed to face him when the night before he had you moaning 'daddy' and railed you into oblivion. But that was an issue you could deal with tomorrow. Probably. Hopefully.

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