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marlena-immortale · 3 years ago

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New Experiences: Part 1

Summary: Damiano wants to explore a new kink and is nervous to bring it up with you, but you ease his nerves.

CW: SMUT, masturbation, anal play, choking, d/s dynamic (dom reader), dirty talk, discussion of pegging

Word Count: 2.3k

Damiano David is a confident man. Anyone that’s met him can see it. He knows he’s hot and he doesn’t care what other people think of him, except for you. He holds your opinion very highly and definitely cares what you think about him. So when he discovers something new about himself that he wants to try out, he is very hesitant to bring it up to you. He knows that you’d never judge him and you’d probably even be into it, but his nervousness seems to still be weighing on him.

A few weeks ago, Damiano was scrolling through Instagram when he found a post of a man dressed in panties, arching his back and bent over, with a woman’s hand on his back pushing him down. He could feel his cheeks heat up and couldn’t help but screenshot the picture (for research purposes only of course). He didn’t know why it had such an effect on him but he decided to file that away to deal with at another time.

-------

Days later, you were out with your friends and Damiano had the whole house to himself. He lays down on your shared bed, cuddled up in the freshly-washed sheets. He opens his phone and finds the picture his mind just won’t let go of. Without realizing it, his other hand drifts down his own body, pretending it’s the girl’s in the picture, or better yet, your hand. He imagines your breath in his ear as you push him down into the mattress. His hand tucks inside his underwear and starts playing with his half-hard dick.

He lets out a frustrated moan as he imagines your hips pressing into his ass. He puts his phone down, his imagination more than enough now, and brings his other hand down the back of his underwear, reaching in as he shifts to lean more on his side. His finger makes its way down further and he presses it lightly to his hole. He gasps at the new sensation but it turns into a moan once he decides that he really likes the feeling. He lets himself experiment a bit and starts rubbing little circles against his rim. His mind clouds with thoughts of you telling him what a good boy he’s being, moaning so loud and making such pretty noises while he explores himself. He can feel this new sensation all over his body and instantly knows that this will be a staple in his self-pleasure routine from now on.

His other hand quickens its pace on his cock as he reaches his climax much quicker than expected. He can feel his hole contract on the very tip of his finger as he cums all over himself, his body shaking with pleasure. He sits there for a moment, processing what he just did and how good it felt, realizing that he definitely has to work up the courage to bring it up with you now.

-------

The next day, he wakes up to an empty bed and the smell of coffee and carries himself to the kitchen to find you making espresso. You turn around to see your lovely boyfriend clad only in his snug underwear and open oversized flannel falling off his toned shoulders. A smile spreads across your face at the sight, pouring two cups of coffee. You can tell that he seems a little nervous for some reason by his hesitancy to walk closer to you like he normally would. He stays rooted by the doorway, shifting his weight from one foot, to the other, to the doorframe, and back.

“Everything ok baby?” you ask while setting cups down on the table in front of him and pulling out the two chairs and sitting down. Damiano follows your lead and sits across from you, taking a sip from his coffee.

“Yeah, everything’s fine…. I just have something I wanna talk to you about,” he confesses, his eyes casting down at his cup held tightly in his hands.

You try not to get nervous yourself at his hesitancy to tell you. “Okay, what is it? You can tell me anything,” you respond, reaching to take one of his hands in your own, stroking his thumb. The gesture calms him down a bit and he takes a deep breath before replying.

“There’s something new I want to try…. like, in the bedroom,” he says, attempting to maintain eye contact the whole time. You instantly relax, a small smile now on your face, knowing it’s not anything serious and that you’d be happy to try anything he’s interested in.

“I’ve been thinking that maybe we could try…. pegging?” he says, surprised at his own hesitancy to admit his secret to you. You’re not sure why he was so nervous, it’s not like you haven’t casually brought it up before or joked around about it. In fact, you’re more than willing to try it out with him and already have some fun ideas swirling around in your head about how this could go.

“Is that all? I’d love to fuck you darling,” you offer with a smile, threading your fingers through his own now sweaty ones. His face fills with relief and he lets go of some of the tension in his shoulders. “How about we go to my favorite sex shop and pick something out together?” you offer.

“That sounds good. You’re really into this right? You’re not just doing this for me?”

“Oh trust me, I am most definitely into this,” you say as you stand up and stalk over to his side of the table, climbing onto his lap, running your hands over his chest. “I can’t wait to have you trembling beneath me, my cock deep inside of you,” you whisper into his ear. You hear a soft whimper come from his mouth.

Your words ease his worries, and also makes his heart beat a little faster and breath get a little heavier. You take his jaw into your hand and guide him to look up at you as you continue, “I’ll take it slow though baby, don’t worry. I’ll have you all stretched out and ready for me. You’ll be making such pretty noises for me, I promise it’ll feel so good”. You can see his eyes dilate and feel him getting a little excited when you shift your hips in his lap. Your hand travels lower to wrap lightly around his neck and his head tilts up, allowing you more access to feel his blood pumping under his skin. “How’s that sound baby boy? Do you like the sound of that?”

He nods dumbly and you let him try again. “Words sweetheart,” you urge.

“Yes, yes that sounds… really nice”.

“Yeah? Good. Why don’t you use that pretty voice to tell me exactly what you want” you whisper. It’s so easy for you to have him blushing and whimpering like putty in your hands. You just barely tighten your fingers around his throat and listen to his breath hitch and a pathetic noise leave his mouth, surprising even him.

“I want you…” he trails off.

“Aww, did my baby get all shy?” you coo at him.

“I um, I want you to… I want you to shove your fingers inside me and thrust so deep I can feel you everywhere. I bet you’d just love to see me all helpless and fucked out,” he says, his bratty energy coming out in full force. His eyes are dark and lidded as he looks at you with a smirk. You raise an eyebrow, a smirk appears on your own face, seeing how he wants to play this game now.

“You’re right baby, I would love that, to have you writhing and desperate, grinding your hips down onto me,” you say with a tight grip on his throat and the other hand slipping down to his inner thigh for emphasis. A broken whine escapes his pretty lips and you feel his erection growing against your ass.

“But I guess you’ll just have to wait for now,” you say with a cocky smile, and swiftly lift yourself off of him with a quick kiss to his cheek, leaving him turned on and missing the feeling of you on his lap.

-------

The next day, you’re on your way to the sex shop, Damiano practically hanging off of you as you walk to the entrance, a lazy smile plastered across both of your faces. When you get to the shop, you immediately guide him to the section in the front where you know the strap-on harnesses are. His cheeks heat up, imagining you wearing it, and his head instantly goes to burrow into the space between your neck and shoulder. You run your fingers through his hair, stroking his scalp soothingly and when you see that it’s just an embarrassed smile on his face and not anything bad, you pick out a nice leather harness and lead him to the dildo section.

You can tell that he’s getting all shy and a little subby so you decide to play with him a bit. “Why don’t you pick out one you like, sweetheart?” you ask him, your fingers tilting his chin up and to the wall of dildos in front of you. He looks around, flustered and slightly overwhelmed by all the decisions. He’s still attached to your side, acting less bratty than usual, being too out of his element to attempt to annoy you. This sweeter side of him is just about the cutest thing you’ve ever seen and you plan to see just how sweet you can make him.

“I want you to pick it out for me,” he whispers, still a little ashamed even though there’s no one nearby.

“Are you sure baby?” you ask, honored that he trusts you to make the best decision for him.

“Yes,” he says, nodding while pawing at your waist like a little puppy wanting all of your attention. You melt seeing him be so cute and submissive for you.

You look to the wall of dildos and find the perfect one; a pretty pastel pink one that’s as close as you can find to Damiano’s actual size, “so you can get a taste of your own medicine,” you say with a wink, placing it in your basket.

His blush deepens pinker than the dildo realizing that he’s intimidated by his own length. You guide him further into the store, the both of you still with stupid smiles across your face, so enamored and in love with each other. You find the lingerie section and pick out a pretty white lacy set for him, knowing he loves the feeling of lace against his skin and knowing just how sexy he’ll look in it.

You pick up a few more supplies you’ll need for the big night and check out at the counter before walking back to the car. As soon as you put the bag in the backseat and get situated in your seat, you look over at your beautiful boyfriend and sub to find him looking more embarrassed than he has been all day which was strange considering you’re alone now and not staring at a wall of dildos.

You look down to see the cause of Damiano’s embarrassment; the growing bulge in his pants. You smile, knowing how shy he gets about getting hard so easily.

“Aw, my poor sensitive puppy, always so easily turned on,” you say, leaning in close, your breath on his neck and your fingers brushing gently across his clothed erection, teasing him. As soon as he whimpers and starts to buck up into your hand, you sit back up and start the car.

“Nooo, please touch me,” he whines when you start pulling out of the parking lot.

You laugh and respond, “Well if you behave like a good boy, I’ll give you a nice reward when we get home”. He pouts but doesn’t say anything else. “Are you gonna be a good boy for me?”

“Yes, I promise,” Damiano desperately responds, needing some sort of release.

“Okay then, I want you to unzip your pants, pull your cock out, and make yourself cum,” you instruct him, keeping your eyes on the road ahead of you. His hands immediately fumble at his zipper, trying to get it down as quickly as possible. He pulls his pants and underwear down just far enough to pull himself out of them and immediately begins softly stroking. You can feel yourself getting turned on hearing his noises beside you as you navigate your car along the highway. He gasps as his thumb rubs across his tip, his head thrown back and hips moving of their own accord.

“C’mon baby, I know you can do better than that,” you encourage him condescendingly.

“Please, I need your hand,” Damiano begs you as he desperately strokes himself, staring at your hands clutching the steering wheel.

“Aw honey, I know you can do it yourself. You’re being such a good boy for me,” you say. Your words bring him closer to his climax as his hand speeds up on his cock. The car fills with the beautiful sounds of Damiano’s moans and gasps and quiet whimpers of your name that barely are able to make it past his lips. He only needs a few more strokes until he’s loudly moaning and spilling all over his own hand and shirt.

“This is gonna be fun,” you say, a big smile on your face as Damiano catches his breath, recovering from his orgasm.

#damiano david #damiano david smut #damiano david x reader #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david imagine #maneskin #maneskin x reader #maneskin smut #maneskin fanfic #maneskin imagine #måneskin #måneskin smut #måneskin fanfic #måneskin x reader

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atths--twice · 3 years ago

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Periods of Pain

It’s been a bit of time since I’ve posted a story. Hope you are all doing well and you enjoy this one. ❤

Waking from cramps and pain, Scully discovers she does not have any tampons, prompting a need to go out in the middle of the night. Or does she…?

March 1998

Rolling over, waking from a restless sleep, Scully groaned as her stomach clenched and she drew in a sharp breath. Moaning, she placed a hand on her stomach and pushed the covers back with the other.

Turning on the light, she squeezed her eyes shut for a second, opening only one in the brightness. Letting out another breath, she opened her suitcase and began to rummage through it. Every pocket was searched, but she did not find what she needed.

“Shit,” she whispered and went into the bathroom to look in her toiletry bag, but fairly certain she would not find them in there either. A quick search showed her thoughts were correct… no tampons.

Another pang in her stomach and she gripped the counter top with a deep moan, breathing in slowly through her nose and letting it out through her mouth. There was ibuprofen in her bag, only four, and she took all of them, drinking them with a handful of water from the bathroom tap.

Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and used the toilet, knowing what she would find and sighing bitterly when she did- her period. Her body’s cruel reminder that she may menstruate, but it would forever be in vain.

Cursing as she wiped away angry tears, she finished, washed her hands and left the bathroom. She would need to run to a grocery store or a gas station, despite the late hour. As another cramp hit, she shook her head as she remembered that Mulder had the car keys and he was most likely asleep.

“Fuck,” she said through gritted teeth and opened her side of the connecting door, finding his slightly ajar, the room dark aside from the glow of the television playing softly.

Pushing the door open further, she stepped quietly into the room and walked over to the table, sure that was where he would have left the keys, but did not find them.

“Scully?”

“Jesus, Mulder!” she said, whipping around, a hand on her chest as she let out a ragged breath. He was staring at her, his eyebrows raised and hair tousled, as he scratched at his upper arm. “You scared me.”

“I could say the same,” he said with a tired chuckle, continuing to stare at her. “Did you need something?”

“Uhhh… yeah I uh… I need the car keys.”

“Did…” He yawned and stretched, shaking his head. “Did you forget something?”

“No. I just… need them. Where are they?” He yawned again and walked closer to her.

“Not on the table?”

“No, I don’t see them. Do you know where else they would be?”

“You need them now? It’s… Scully, it’s two in the morning.” He stared at her questioningly and she drew in a breath as her stomach pained.

“I am aware that it’s late. I just need them… please.”

“You got a clandestine meeting I don’t know about,” he teased with a small smile and she scoffed softly.

“No. I just… Mulder, please,” she sighed and he nodded, beginning to look around, but she knew he was still concerned.

“Tampons,” she said softly. “I need to go get some tampons.” He froze in his search and looked at her, holding her gaze until she had to look away.

“Oh… right. Um… I think… umm… I think they might be in my coat pocket.” He picked it up and she sighed as she closed her eyes, feeling embarrassed though she knew she should not.

“Here,” he said softly and she opened her eyes, looking up to see him handing the keys to her, his own eyes unreadable, as though worried to express how he was truly feeling.

“Thank you,” she whispered, taking them from him, and looking down. “I usually have some, but I guess I forgot to replenish them before we left.”

“Hmm,” he hummed. She looked up and she saw sadness in his eyes before he looked away. She felt tears prick hers and she cleared her throat.

“Well, I’ll let you go back to sleep. Sorry for disturbing you.”

“You didn’t. My bladder did,” he said with a forced smile.

“Right,” she said, forcing a small chuckle, both of them ignoring the gigantic elephant in the room. “Okay, see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he said with a nod and she stepped past him. “Oh… Scully, wait a second.”

Turning around, she stared at him with a furrowed brow. He was opening his suitcase and feeling around the inside pocket, a look of concentration on his face. He took out a pair of socks and some underwear, dropping them into his case, and then turning to look at her with a smile.

“Yup, I thought they might be still in there,” he said, walking closer and extending his hand to her, presenting her with two tampons. She took them with confusion and looked up at him. “Now you won’t have to go out. That’s enough until tomorrow, right?”

“Ye… yeah. But… Mulder, why do you have tampons in your bag? The brand I use, no less?”

“Well…” He shrugged and she raised her eyebrows, waiting for an answer. “It never hurts to be prepared, Boy Scout motto and all that.

“You weren’t a Boy Scout, Mulder.”

“Indian Guide… Boy Scout…” He shrugged again, weighing his hands back and forth. He smiled and she tilted her head, silently asking him to answer her question. With a sigh, he nodded, looking down as he cleared his throat. “I’ve had them for a while, I forgot they were there.”

“Yes, but why?”

“I could come away from this appearing like a real sensitive and caring soul, looking out for my female partner, being “man enough” to carry tampons, but…” He laughed bitterly and shook his head. “It’s only a small fraction of why I have them.” Inhaling sharply, her cramps still a nuisance, she breathed through it and kept her eyes on him.

“You had that really bad nosebleed,” he said, his voice just above a whisper. “It wouldn’t stop, do you remember?” He raised his head and looked at her.

“Yes,” she breathed with a nod. Of course she remembered. She had nearly passed out because of it.

Nearly nine months ago while in his motel room, eerily similar to the one they were currently standing in, her nose had begun to bleed, dripping onto the case file in front of her, before quickly running copiously from her nose and onto her clothes. He had caught her as she stumbled to the bathroom, helping her get to the sink, the bright red drops of blood then splattering audibly against the white porcelain.

It felt as though it would never end and if he had not been there, she believed she may have died on the floor. He had caught her a second time, holding her upright, pinching her nose and murmuring to her, her eyes closed and body weak.

By the time the bleeding had stopped, both of them bore signs of it on their clothes and their person. He had washed her face, and helped to change her clothes, putting one of his shirts on her, not wanting her pajamas to become stained if it happened again.

He had wanted to go immediately to the hospital, but she had argued him down, claiming she was fine and only needed to sleep. He had relented, but barely, helping her to bed and staying beside her all night. She had woken a couple of times to find him sitting in a chair and watching her, before falling asleep once again.

In the morning she had been fine, a little tired at first, but well enough, though he had continued to keep an eye on her. It had bothered her at first, but when she remembered the sound of the blood hitting the sink, she understood and squeezed his hand briefly as they had gotten into the car.

Never again had her nose bled that badly and they had never discussed it.

“I uh… when we came home, I thought if I’d had the presence of mind, a tampon would have been the ideal thing to help staunch the bleeding. I mean, that’s its main purpose, right?” He smiled, but it did not reach his eyes. “I stopped and bought a box, putting some in my bag once I was home, just in case it happened again.”

“And you’ve had them all this time?” she whispered and he nodded. She shook her head, tears pricking at her eyes again.

“I figured it was best to be ready. The rest of the box is under my bathroom sink.” She scrunched her chin as she let out a breath. “Well… aside from a couple in a desk drawer at the office. And also the glovebox of my car.”

“Mulder…” she breathed, licking her lips and wiping her eyes quickly.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so scared, Scully,” he whispered, shaking his head, staring into her eyes. “I thought I was going to lose you. That…” Breaking eye contact, he looked down with a deep sigh and shook his head again. “That it would be there in some shitty motel room… where you… I…”

She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his waist, her tears falling as she let out a deep breath. She felt his arms holding her as she sniffled and closed her eyes.

God, he never failed to surprise her, leave her completely shocked by his care and thoughtfulness. Not that she did not know he cared, but the lengths to which he went, silently and unknowingly, made her ache. She held him tighter, his warmth and scent calming her.

He stroked her hair, his fingers rubbing gently at her scalp and she sighed, sniffling again as her breathing synced with his and his heart beat beneath her ear. His other hand running softly up and down her back was both relaxing and arousing, and she suppressed a moan before releasing her tight grip on him and pulling back slightly.

He held her upper arms and pressed his lips to her forehead, kissing her softly, twice. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and pulled back further, needing to put some space between them.

“Thank you,” she whispered and he nodded as his hands moved down her arms, not breaking contact until he reached her fingers, squeezed gently, and let go.

“You’re welcome. We’ll stop and get more on our way to breakfast,” he said with a nod and she shook her head. “You’re not still going out?”

“No, but after breakfast is fine. After coffee especially,” she said, attempting to lighten the mood. He gave her a small smile and nodded.

“After breakfast then,” he agreed and she nodded, stepped back and cleared her throat.

“Thank you again,” she said, indicating the tampons in her hand and he nodded. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Scully,” he said quietly. She turned around and walked to her room, glancing back at him as she walked through her door and closed it, though not completely.

As she went into the bathroom, she realized she still had the car keys. Setting them on the counter, she washed her hands and splashed some cold water on her face before using the toilet.

Opening the tampon, she shook her head at the injustice of it all, but mostly at the thought of him purchasing and then stashing tampons in places she would be, just in case of another emergency. His foresight had stopped her from a late night drive and the need for which he did purchase them was no longer a threat, but the need for them now was almost worse.

The cruel reminder that fruition could never happen.

Washing her hands again, she went back to bed, the light from the television in Mulder’s room faintly outlining her door. She stared at it, the sight of it comforting, until her eyes began to droop and she fell asleep.

_______________

After breakfast, through which they were both rather quiet, the previous night not discussed as they ate their food, they stopped at a pharmacy as planned. She made to get out and he stopped her.

“I got it,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door.

“Mulder, don’t be-”

“Scully,” he insisted, his hand on her arm to stop her from getting out of the car. “Please. Let me.”

“You don’t need to do that, Mulder. I appreciate you doing it before, but-” she began, but he interrupted her again.

“Please. I need to.” She stared at him and saw the sadness and pain in his eyes. Saw the hurt she had seen in January every time he looked at her where Emily was concerned. The pain when he had testified on her behalf and spoke the truth she had not expected, the burden he had carried, not wanting to hurt further.

“Mulder,” she whispered, reaching for his hand. “You don’t need to… you don’t.”

“I do,” he replied quietly, squeezing her hand with a nod. “Please.”

She relented with a final squeeze of her hand. He smiled softly and got out of the car, walking briskly into the store. She closed her eyes and massaged her forehead, tears threatening to fall, but she pushed them down. They had suspects to speak to and now was no time to cry.

He was back quicker than she had anticipated, startling her as her eyes flew open when he opened the door and sat down, a bag held in his hand. He smiled as he began to show her what he had bought. A box of tampons, a bottle of ibuprofen and one of Midol, two bottles of water, and a bag of Hershey’s kisses. Her eyes widened at the sight of it all and he laughed.

“Best to be prepared, right?” he teased, hinting at last night’s discussion even as the previous heaviness dissipated. She nodded, swallowing down the large lump residing in her throat. “Do you want a kiss?” He held the bag in his hands and shook it with a grin.

Not answering him, not with words anyway, she leaned toward him, held his face in her hands, and gently kissed him on the lips. Pulling back, she chuckled softly at the look of surprise on his face.

“I’ll take a chocolate one too,” she whispered teasingly as he stared at her. Raising an eyebrow at him, he shook his head and looked down at the bag. Ripping it open, he took one from the bag and handed it to her.

She opened it and put it into her mouth, smiling at him. His eyes traveled her face, landing on her lips, and she watched his throat as he swallowed. Shaking his head again, he took a candy from the bag and opened it, shoving it into his mouth.

Starting the car, she smiled at him, the sweet taste of chocolate on her tongue, the feel of his kiss on her lips. Squeezing his knee gently, her expression changed, hoping to convey her thanks once again. He nodded and covered her hand, interlocking their fingers momentarily before letting go, and offering her another kiss, the foil already removed.

Taking it, she smiled as she placed it into her mouth and put the car in reverse, the chocolate satisfying a craving and the man beside her soothing her soul.

#The X-Files #XF Fanfic #Menstrual Cramps #Period #Tampons #Caring #Late Night Discussions #Realizations #Confessions #Hugging #Forehead Kisses #First Kiss #Friendship #Love and Caring

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knightsimp · 4 years ago

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Just a Little Bit of Blood

Pairing: Vampire!Percival Graves x Reader

Summery: Percival comes home late at night, injured. He needs a little blood to be able to heal.

Genre: Tooth-rotting Fluff, but spicy tooth-rotting fluff.

Word Count: 1600+

Date Posted: February 22, 2021

Warning: Definitely spicy (no actual smut in this, but it alludes to it and is still pretty suggestive), blood talk

Note: Oh god I have never posted any of my suggestive pieces. We were talking about Colin Farrell in Fright Night (2011) and this happened.

Requested by: @sugarbloomart

Percival landed in his apartment, apparating from the MACUSA building. It was late at night, around an hour past midnight. The bustling city was starting to go quiet, though New York never seems to go completely quiet. Percival took off his coat, hanging on the coat hanger near the front door. He pulled off his tie and waistcoat and placed them on the dining table. He did the same thing with his belt.

The blood from the injury on his side had stained his white dress shirt. When he moved, it felt like pins and needles. The man had gotten injured during a mission with a trainee. This trainee had a lot of promise but clearly needed more experience. Unfortunately, Percival paid the price of that inexperience with getting injured.

Percival getting hurt was always a concern. He did not heal like any other human wizard.

“Percival?” Percival looked towards the bedroom door, where (Y/N) was standing. Clearly, his return had woken her up.

Her hair was tossed from whatever sleeping she had already done. She was only wearing a pair of underwear and one of Percival’s dress shirts. Simply said, she was not put together in the slightest.

But to him, she was quite the sight.

(Y/N)’s bare feet did not make a sound on the dark, hardwood floor as she approached him.

“You’re late.” She stated, putting two hands on his chest and dragging them to his shoulders.

“I know, darling.” He gently held her left wrist. He watched as her eyes slowly wandered to his injury.

“Percival!” She gave light pressure to the wound, making him hiss from the sharp pain. “Is this why you are so late to come home?”

“Yes.” He grumbled, running his hand through his hair. “The boy has potential, but...” Percival rubbed her arms, up and down. “I must ask something of you.” (Y/N) is quick to agree, knowing what he is asking of her.

“You need blood, right?” She asked, clarifying.

“Yes.” Percival brushed a little bit of her hair out of her face. “The blood supplements won’t help here.” The blood supplements were just that; they were what Percival can take instead of hunting and taking blood from humans and survive off of that. However, they were not enough for him to heal. While he can heal rapidly, he could not heal at all without real blood. If he were to let an injury go unattended long enough, he would bleed out, regardless of any medical treatment. There was already an anti-wizard growing sentiment growing and a vampire getting spotted would not make matters better.

She sat on the kitchen island, pushing her hair away from the left side of her neck.

“Come on.” She encouraged. Percival smiled, seeing how ready she was for him to take blood from her when he needed it. He stood in between her legs, hands instinctively on her waist.

“As much as I appreciate your kindness, my dear, taking from your neck will be too visible. We both must go into work tomorrow.” (Y/N) hummed, looking off to the side.

“I guess you’re right.” Percival took her left wrist, gently rubbing his thumb over the visible veins. She looked back at him, staring into his dark eyes.

“You’re wrist is another viable area for taking blood.” He suggested. “Not an area you are used to but would make for another spot.” (Y/N) shook her head.

“If secrecy is your concern, my wrists will seem even more suspicious if someone notices. The neck is something more explainable, but the wrist would asking to be found out.” She thought for a moment. “My thigh is always an option.”

“As much as I do love getting in between your legs like that, you don’t need to be limping or in any pain when you go to work.” Now, this was getting frustrating. What would be an area that Percival can take from that would not hinder her as an auror or risk Percival’s true nature as a vampire from being found out?

“What about my chest?” She inquired. “It would be under my clothes and it is not an area that is very mobile during the day.”

“It is not an area that will produce a lot of blood, nor will it be comfortable for you.” Percival gently held onto (Y/N) arm, sliding his hand down to meet hers.

“Well, how much blood do you need for an injury like that?” She gestured to his injured waist.

“Not a lot.”

“Then, let’s do it!” Percival seemed hesitant. “Percival, it is our best option right now.” He takes her cheek in her hand, lips close, and his other hand holding her thigh.

“Are you sure?” He whispered. “This will not be pleasant and I will need to expose you for a moment.” She nodded, still sleepy.

“We’re both adults. It’s not anything you haven’t seen before.”

He popped a couple of buttons on the shirt and pushed the left side of the shirt down her shoulder, just exposing the top of her breast. Of course, she was not wearing a bra underneath. His hands slithered on her body; one on the side of her neck, his thumb under her ear, and the other holding her ribs, just under the breast he was about to take blood from, thumb massaging the side of her breast. His lips were so close to her body.

“Are you ready, darling?” She nodded, biting her lip to prepare for the pinch. When he went in just above her breast, she realized what he meant when he said this was not going to be pleasant. The muscle in the chest is tight, making it painful. The puncture was not pleasant, but otherwise doable given the circumstance.

Oh, but the sounds Percival was making.

To get whatever blood he could from the area, he was sucking on her skin hard. The sounds he was making were absolutely sinful. Not only were the sounds slightly wet, but he was also panting slightly. And the occasional grumble from his throat came through. If he was not trying to get blood to heal his wound, this moment would have taken a very different turn. It was enough for (Y/N) to make a couple of noises of her own which were not from the pain.

Once he was done, he pulled away. Both of them were breathing heavily. Blood had dripped from the wound on her chest to the once-pristine dress shirt she wore.

“Percy, you’re shirt.” She whined, feeling a little lightheaded.

“It’s okay.” He went to her chest once more, licking off the dripping blood from her skin using the flat of his tongue. He put the hand which was sitting on her side on the side of her neck with his other hand. She leaned in, letting her forehead rest on his. The red around his mouth did not scare her in the slightest. No one spoke, but it was very clear how thankful Percival was.

He wrapped her legs around his waist before picking her up. She loosely put her arms around his shoulders, unable to cling on harder. Percival carried her to their bathroom, setting her in the bathtub and sitting on the closed toilet seat. He took his time when stripping her of her chosen nightwear, gingerly unbuttoning the shirt completely and pulling her panties off from under her.

When she was completely naked, he took the time to strip himself. In all honesty, he was ready for the shower after a long day. When he shrugged off his shirt, he saw the tail-end of his injury rapidly healing. He looked down to (Y/N) only to see her smiling up at him, eyes on the verge of closing. She was happy that he was no longer injured and that was all that mattered.

He held her up as warm water from the showerhead poured onto them, each movement of his hands so gentle and full of adoration. One hand rested on her back and the other held her head to his chest, keeping her upright. The blood on both of them was washed off and went down the drain. As much as they both wanted to stay in the moment, (Y/N) was slowly falling back asleep and the slight loss of blood was not helping.

Percival sat her on the bed, putting a cut-out J&J band-aid onto her chest before dressing her in one of her more comfortable nightgowns. It was not until she was lying comfortably on her side of the bed, duvet over her, when he started getting dressed for bed.

He dragged his feet back to the bathroom to freshen up before joining her.

As he was brushing his teeth, he caught a glimpse of those slightly elongated teeth of his. The red had slightly stained his teeth, but a quick brushing washed it away rather quickly.

He rinsed his mouth out completely before looking at his reflection in the mirror.

For years, Percival thought of himself as a monster. He never found someone, in all his years, who was as accepting as the beautiful woman currently in his bedroom. Sure, he should have told her earlier than he did in their relationship, but even then she was so accepting of him.

He pursed his lips, still tasting her blood in the back of his throat. Like her, it was sweet.

Before returning to the bedroom, he drank a glass of water to wash down anything that was left. (Y/N) was already fast asleep when he laid down on the plush mattress. Facing her and entangling his legs with hers, he gently slid his knuckles over her cheek before pulling her into his chest.

Moments like this, he almost felt human again.

#percival graves x reader #percival graves #fbawtft #fantastic beasts and where to find them #percival graves/you #percival graves/reader #percival graves x you #fantastic beasts #fantastic beasts x reader #vampire au #vampire!percival #vampire!percival graves #knightsimp writes #reader insert #x reader

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souljoon · 4 years ago

Text

Like a fool (pt.1)

pairing: teacher!jungkook x cafe owner!reader word count: 2k genre: fluff, smut, ex lovers au warnings: sexual content, slight dom!jungkook, sub!reader, unprotected sex (stay safe loves!)

synopsis: Everyone in the neighborhood knows you and Jungkook will inevitably end up in a wedlock despite the complicated status of your on-and-off relationship. While you want to keep a civil relationship with him, Jungkook learned not to care about labels long ago since the first time you two broke up. Whatever you’d say, he intends to keep his place in your heart taken for the rest of your life.

~~~

“Your beau is here,” Jimin prompted behind you.

Without turning in his direction, your attention to the carrot cake remaining glued to the carrot cake you were currently frosting about.

At this point, you wouldn’t even be surprised to see Jungkook on the opposite side of your bed in the morning. He seems to find it amusing to see you evidently pissed whenever he’s around. How couldn’t you? He not only takes over Jimin’s job but he often causes a scene with the customers in the cafe—which, to fuel more of your unspoken frustration, are students from the nearby community college.

You couldn’t admit how the attention he was getting from people of different gender identities still bothers you despite the mutual decision to call the engagement off. You understand your ex-fiance is a very attractive man. And his charisma could probably stir attraction from married women regardless of their age.

Over the course of six years of a complicated relationship with him, you two had already been in two break ups in college, citing his laid back self in college and your endless insecurities that urged you to try to get away from him, from the spell he had on you.

While you decided to pursue your dream to start your own cafe business post-graduation, Jungkook surprisingly landed on a teaching job in Jung-do High School which is also located in the same neighborhood two years ago.

Footsteps are, again, back in the kitchen. “He just wore an apron. So I’m guessing he’s here until the shop closes.” It was Jimin, informing you yet again as if it was part of his job to report Jungkook’s every move to you.

This time, you sweep a brief glance behind. “Don’t let the counter vacant, Chim.” You say, cleaning up the cake board as a finishing touch to your masterpiece.

“He took over the counter, _____. How am I supposed to make him go away when he’s our own human advertisement. He’s attracting more customers!”

With a glare darted to his direction, you suggest, “Then I guess I should replace you with him, instead?”

Jimin visibly sulked, not really wanting to argue with you—his boss. “Fine!”

Six months. That’s how long you’ve been single since. Sure he had you wrapped around his fingers back then. But you wanted to prove to him and to yourself that you can live without him. However, it’s too impossible to keep up with it when he freely deems himself welcome wherever you are, maintaining his act of indifference toward the real score between you.

Intending to place the cake in the display, you finally went out of the kitchen-- ironically, just in time to run into him. Jungkook being the shameless ex-boyfriend that he is, took the cake in your hands.

He was wearing a gym class outfit— a pair of black adidas sweatpants, and a plain, white shirt over a black hoodie. If only you were not trying to stay as far as possible away from him, you’ll probably tease him about his own dress code. He doesn’t look like he just got out of his class as the teacher. He looked like he just went out of bed before he came here.

“Aren’t you supposed to be home?” You ask from behind him.

“I’m bored,” he simply replied.

“What do you mean you’re bored? Haven’t you just got off work?”

He spun around, startling you when you came face to face with him. If you couldn’t properly see his entire face before, you do now much to your annoyance.

He sighs. “I did. Look, I’m just helping Jimin-hyung out here. I won’t bother you, I swear.”

“You don’t have to because you’re not my employee, Kook.”

“Well, I could use some part time if you’re hiring.” Jungkook shrugs.

Here we go, again.

Your eyes narrowed to which roused him to raise his hands up defensively.

“Jagiya—”

“Lovebirds,” Jimin suddenly interrupts.

“What?!” You both snapped back at Jimin’s direction.

“Whoa, tone it down— you two. Restroom is right there in case you need to release the sexual tension. It’s getting intense out here.” He jests, making a shooing motions with his hands.

Jungkook wasted no more time and took it as his cue to grab your wrist, dragging you with him as he navigated the way past the kitchen into the storage room.

A temporary relief washes through you when Jungkook brought you in this enclosed, rather safe space instead of the restroom. However, dread slowly consumes your whole being when you hear the familiar sound of the knob locking.

Jungkook pivoted back, facing you. “Let’s talk here.”

Your eyes lingered down where his hand maintained his grasp around your wrist. “Why? There’s nothing else to talk about.”

“For the umpteenth time, I saw the landlord across the street like he was waiting for someone,”

You look up, quirking up an eyebrow at his sudden shot of a subject relating to Seokjin. “What’s your point?”

“I don’t trust him.” He deduces, childishly.

“What do you want me to do, find another leasing property? This shouldn’t concern you in the first place. You never once heard anything from me about Joohyun.” You mentally cursed, unable to stop yourself from mentioning the name of the woman he was seen in a restaurant a week ago.

“What’s Joohyun got anything to do with this?”

You scoff. “You know what, I don’t need to answer that. We’re not together anymore so it’s none of my business.”

Jungkook seized your attempt to leave, latching onto your arm just in time. As he pulls you back, you were met with the subtle amusement plastered obnoxiously on his face.

“We’re not done here, baby. So... Joohyun, really? My colleague?” A laugh slips out of him, seemingly pleased. You, on the other hand, felt insulted on his take of your serious remark. Your blood started rising up. So the rumors aren’t true?

You jerked away. Well... tried to, because your hand stayed locked around his firm grip. “Let me go, I need to go back to the kitchen.”

You stepped back when he abruptly inched forward. You were puzzled for a second, but when your back touched the surface of the door, you knew you fell from his trap as he steadied himself with his palms pressed flat above your head. You turned your face away, avoiding his heated gaze. But the gesture only gave Jungkook a room to nestle his head on the exposed skin of your neck.

The moment you felt his warm lips touch your skin, you squeezed your eyes shut. “You’ve been pretty good at keeping a safe distance from me, baby. You have no idea how much I fucking miss you, missed keeping you all to myself like this.” He expresses in a thick, sultry tone.

You shake your head, knowing full well what he meant. “We c-cant, Jimin is--”

“--not here.” He finishes, pressing his lower body against yours and teasing your sweet spot with a gentle suck. The bulge on his mid-region was enough to make your panties wet instantaneously and your body heats up too quickly.

“Jungkook,” his name slips out of your mouth.

“Please tell me you’re still in birth control.” He desperately murmurs against your skin on the curve of your neck.

You frantically bobbed your head, lost at the hot trail of kisses he’s leaving on your skin.

With an eager pull of the strings on his nape and back, he rids the apron off of his front followed by a swift pull of his sweatpants with his boxers, just enough to release his hard member.

Your mouth instantaneously watered at the sight of the maddeningly pink head and aroused length, thick and hard just the way you remembered it the last time Jungkook fucked you. It happened in his car three months ago. You were too intoxicated then to control yourself from jumping up into his lap as he drove you back to your apartment. To keep your pride intact, you tried to steer clear from repeating the same mistake again. Not when you’re not officially back together.

Right now, you’re too sexually neglected to care about anything.

“I want you in my mouth,” you beg, not believing you sounded incredibly hasty than you actually have estimated.

He swats your hand off when he sensed your hand extending towards his crotch, “I’d love to fuck your mouth baby, but we don’t have that much time. I need to be inside your pussy,” You felt his palms scooping you up through your butt, sandwiching you between his body and the door. Your legs automatically weaving around his hips to steady yourself.

Then pushes your underwear aside, “This is probably the only reason why I love you wearing skirts. Easy access—fuck baby, so tight.” He barely sank his cock in, yet you could already feel the sting of your walls as they stretch around him.

Your hand flew to the back of head, eager to bury your fingers beneath his curly locks.

Just as you part your mouth to speak to encourage more his entrance, he suddenly propels his hips forward, pushing his dick to the hilt which roused a cry from you.

“Fucking tight! I’m gonna break you so much you won’t ever forget about me. You understand, darling?”

“Yes, yes, please fuck me!” You cried out, reeling from both the sting of your muscles caused by his forceful entrance, and the familiar warmth filling you full.

Without bothering to warm you up, he began a breathtaking pace despite his overwhelming intrusion. You didn’t mind, though. In fact, his thrusts were making your moans irrepressible and your thighs tremble in delight.

Jungkook places his head between the valleys of your covered mounds, not missing his faint grunts, lost in his own pleasure.

“You like that, huh? You like the idea of being fucked outside, baby girl? I’ve had enough this bullshit,” He growls with a series of rough jerk of his hips, forcing a cry of his name out of you.

“That’s right, moan my name. Just wait until I get you all alone tonight, I’ll make sure you won’t ever think of breaking up with me. Do you hear me?” He warns darkly, emphasizing the severity of his threat with a shove of his dick so deep his tip was heavenly kissing your precious spot from your insides.

“Oh god,” you lamented, deliriously.

You could already feel the building up in your abdomen just as fast as he started rocking into you. You’ve known him long enough for you to easily sense it was the same for him too, concealing his moans with his mouth latched onto your prickly skin.

“That’s right. Come for me!” he grunted in between powerful thrusts.

His command did the trick, sending your body forward as you exploded, your walls tighten around him with each snap of his hips against your pelvis. Soon enough, he jerked off his load inside you with a growl rumbling on his chest.

Grimace creases on your expression as he cautiously pulls his cock out, following his load combined with your juices gushing out of your pussy down to the insides of your thighs.

Barely recovered from the earth shattering orgasm you had for the first time in three months, you heard a series of banging coming from the other side of the door.

“You done, lovebirds?” Your eyes clenched shut in realization, quietly plotting the assassination of some guy named Jimin.

“Thanks for ruining the moment,” Jungkook retorts back. “Not a problem. You guys seriously need to get the fuck out, I ran out of beans in the jar and try not fuck each other here next time, yeah?”

Amused with the scene unfolding, Jungkook casually pushes your underwear back to its place, smoothening your skirt down as if nothing inappropriate had occurred here. He kisses the tip of your nose, before turning the knob of the door.

Couldn’t this get any more embarrassing?

~~~

Thank you for reading and apologies for any spelling/ grammatical errors. I havent edited this yet. Part 2 will most likely be posted on Monday or Tuesday :)

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts imagines

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ri-ahhh · 4 years ago

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idk if your taking concepts buttttt 👀 i wholeheartedly believe that if you told gray you were feeling insecure ab the way you looked and just felt overall he would stick a bunch of post-its on the bathroom mirror with a bunch of cute little messages and positive affirmations to remind you how loved and beautiful you are :’)))

Omg he sooo would I love that.

He catches you picking at your insecure areas and huffing at your reflection on your final outfit check as you leave for work. It doesn’t help when he’s in the background of the mirror, shirtless and sweaty and shredded after his morning workout. You accept his quick peck on the lips goodbye as you hurry out of the bathroom for the day, leaving him pondering about how he might be able to make you feel better.

You return home after a long ass day, kicking your shoes off by the front door with a relieved sigh to finally be home. You’re about to toss your keys in the little dish on the entryway table when you notice a hot pink post-it note in the bottom of the bowl. You pick it up and see it scrawled with Grayson’s handwriting.

Welcome home baby. I hope your day was as beautiful as you

It’s punctuated with a little smiley face, and you can’t help the grin that overtakes your own mouth. He’s never left you a note like that before, and, sentimental hoarded that you are, you think about where you might keep it for safekeeping.

You toss your purse on the kitchen counter, and to your surprise another little pink piece of paper glares at you from the stark white of the marble.

Can’t wait to see your pretty face. I missed you!

You shake your head and look at the note again; he’s absolutely unreal. “Grayson?” you call out to the quiet house, wondering where he might be as you stick the post-it on your hand to join the other.

You walk the path to his bedroom, hoping to find him relaxing in bed before dinner, but are disappointed to find that room empty too. With a shrug, you tuck the notes into the drawer of your nightstand and decide to use the alone time to get out of your work clothes and relax in a nice body shower, just to wash the day and your makeup off.

Clothes tossed into the hamper in the corner of your bedroom, you’re just down to your underwear by the time you step into the adjoining bathroom, and stop dead in your tracks when you see pink squares littering the mirror. You walk up slowly to them, almost in disbelief when you pick one up and read ‘can’t believe you’re mine’ scribbled in his neatest penmanship.

“No shit,” you mumble to yourself, thinking the exact same thing about him as you shake your head and stick it neatly on the counter.

Before you can remove the next one, you’re startled by Grayson’s deep voice.

“Did you read them all, yet?”

You jump and whip around to see him leaning against the doorframe, looking almost the same as when you left him this morning, only having just completed his evening workout rather than his morning one.

He also looks a little shy, like he’s almost embarrassed by the softness in your expression as you assume the rest of the notes are similar praises.

“No, not yet. Gray, I don’t deserve you, seriously,” you whine with a little pout, crossing your arms over your middle without even realizing.

He shakes his head and starts walking to you, taking your wrists in his hands and prying them away from yourself to wrap around his slightly sweaty neck. “Yes, you do,” he challenges, eyes locking with yours. “That’s exactly why I wrote all of these.”

Grayson spins you around and walks you closer to the bathroom counter so you’re as close to the mirror as you can get. He keeps your back close to his chest as he ducks his head down to your ear, his breath tickling your skin when he whispers, “Read them. Out loud. I want you to hear them.”

Your eyes catch his in the mirror, bright and hazel green beneath the snaps of his backwards baseball cap, and you swallow as a heady mix of love and arousal fills your blood. Especially when his fingers start toying with the clasp of your bra right as you start to speak.

“Most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

He hums in agreement with the words you say, the words he wrote for you, and deftly unhooks the clasp so that it pops open where he can easily slide the lace down your arms and off your body. You gasp when his lips find your neck at the same time his hands come around to cup your breasts, giving them a firm squeeze that feels incredible after being trapped in your bra all day.

“Keep going,” he murmurs, trailing his tongue along your bare shoulder now.

You sink back into him and your eyes flutter, but you open them to read once again. You can’t help but giggle and flush at this one. “Love your titties. They’re literally perfect.”

Like the man child that he is, he’s even gone so far as to draw a rudimentary depiction of a set of boobs. “Oh yeah, I couldn’t not talk about these,” he says with a grin, tugging on your nipples now and watching you toss your head back against his shoulder with a pleasurable moan.

You can feel him getting hard through his athletic shorts against your lower back, and you push your ass up against him just to get more of that sensation. Grayson grunts and leaves your breasts, sliding his hands down your waist and slipping his hands into the waistband of your thong.

“One more, baby, and I’ll touch this pretty little pussy. Is she wet for me?”

You nod with a whimper, and lift your head off his muscular shoulder to find a random note of the several that are still stuck to the glass. The one you choose makes your heart stutter as much as it makes your pussy throb.

“Completely perfect. Only girl for me.”

True to his word, Grayson wastes no time in shifting his right hand over to cup your pussy in his warm, rough hand. You gasp and grind against him, pussy pressing deliciously into his touch in one direction and ass meeting his dick in the other. Grayson rests the side of his face against yours, and you watch his hand start to move behind the lace crotch of your panties while he soaks in the pleasure consuming your face.

“It’s true, baby,” he says, collecting some of your wetness on his fingertips before bringing them up your slit to circle your clit. “No one else for me. I love every inch of you, even when you don’t.”

You’re whimpering loudly now, making these pretty high-pitched noises that mix with his sweet words edging you closer and closer to your orgasm.

“Gray, baby... you’re gonna make me cum,” you gasp, and he wraps his free arm around your middle when you do, supporting you as your legs shake and threaded to collapse under your weight and the sheer pleasure coursing through your body.

He nibbles kisses to the back of your neck and coaxes you to lean over the counter. Your breaths are still heavy when you catch on, and he pushes your panties down your legs before dropping his own shorts and underwear. He kicks all three garments to the side and spreads your legs a little further apart.

“Want you to see the words of how much I love you while I fuck you, baby,” he growls, taking his dick in hand and trailing the tip up and down your dripping slit. He finds your entrance and starts sinking in. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” you moan, letting out a little squeak when he gets all the way inside you. “God, you’re so big.”

He smirks, pulling out and watching your face through the mirror as he fills you up again slowly. Your jaw drops, and he picks up his speed steadily until he’s fucking you deep and hard and so fucking good, there’s no way you have any capacity to read the rest of the sweet nothings he so thoughtfully wrote out for you right now.

Grayson may recognize you can’t be literate as he fucks you, but that doesn’t stop him from wanting you to hear it. His hands have a firm grip on your hips, his fingers digging into the creases like you like so much, but he slides one up your back until he’s got a chunk of your hair collected in his fist as a makeshift ponytail.

He pulls you up until your back is nearly flush against him, the hand in your hair pulling back and creating an arch in your spine so that he reaches so damn deep you can’t even tell where you begin and he ends anymore.

“Look how fuckin’ beautiful you are, baby,” he grunts into your hair, watching you through the mirror again. Your eyes are closed, soaking in every warm and mind blowing sensation you’re experiencing because of him. He’s not having it, though. “Look.”

You whine, part in annoyance that he’s breaking your blissed-out trance and partly at how sexy his voice was just then. Your eyes crack open, and you take in your reflection. The hair around your face that he missed wild, face and chest flushed, tits bouncing, a thin sheen of sweat making your skin glisten. He’s...right. You can admit you look sexy, but your eyes still gravitate to him, his snapback still on and triggering one of your most favorite kinks, knowing he’s naked other than that hat.

“Yeah. Look so pretty taking my dick so fucking good,” he says. His free hand squeezes one of your breasts roughly, then falls down to your pussy where he’s thrusting in and out of you. His fingers light upon your clit, and you shriek with a little blissful giggle, clutching at his arm with one hand and balancing against the countertop with the other. Grayson smiles too, both at his happy and carefree you look now, and at how your push tightens down on his cock like a vice. “Fuck yeah, baby. Need you to cum for me again...”

He feels you get wetter and tighter, winding you up with his thick cock and his expert fingers until that tight ball of pleasure explodes within you, and you cum hard on his dick. Grayson moans encouragingly and pumps sloppily into you a few more times before drilling deep inside you and filling you up with his warm cum.

You hum and relish in both the feel of it and the sounds he’s making, gruff and masculine and relieved. Once your legs can support you fully again, you stand up from where you had collapsed over the counter, his softening cock still tucked inside you as you reach back for him and tilt your head up to kiss him slowly.

“Don’t ever doubt how perfect you are, baby,” he whispers against your lips, unable to resist giving you another sweet kiss.

You sigh against his mouth and cup his cheek with a soft, thankful smile. “I’ve got lots of reminders now.”

#oof #that got away from me lol #fun fact i used to be a nanny #and the dad would write love letters #ACTUAL LOVE LETTERS #to the mom #and leave them on her pillow or in the bathroom or any random place #ugh #anyways hope this wasnt too much🙈#dolan twins #grayson dolan #ethan dolan #grayson dolan smut #grayson dolan fic #blurb #g blurb

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brideofcthulhu10 · 4 years ago

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How would the Lost boys react to having a motherly type of s/o?

OH MY GOD I DIDN'T KNOW TUMBLR POSTED THIS UNFINISHED! UGH STUPID APP! Okay, redo!

Cuuute. The boys could certainly use a motherly touch around, even Max had said that when he wanted to turn Lucy. For this I am gonna be writing a female s/o, if you ever want otherwise always be sure to specify ahead of time otherwise DM me and I’ll be sure to correct it. I love the idea one behind the scenes with the boys, after the late night partying and wild blood orgies. I mean, let's be realistic here- those guys probably smell like cigarettes and ass. That cave is no doubt absolutely filthy as hell, and I don’t think they’ve cleaned up a day of their afterlife.

Lost Boys with a Motherly Fem!S/O

David

Now David isn’t exactly the type to be told what to do in almost any scenario. Well, almost. But even then he still prefers the majority of the control. It’s going to be a challenge to get anything done with him. Any sort of lectures or advice tend to fall on deaf ears simply because he and the boys have taken care of themselves for so long. Your best method of choice? STEALTH

I’m serious, you gotta be sneaky with this boy. He’ll wake up to you cleaning the hotel because you had assumed it was still daylight, or sweeping around when they go on hunts. Don’t fuck with the cobwebs, its an aesthetically pleasing decoration! Frankly, he’s just a brat who doesn’t like change. It’s gotten to the point however, where he can’t exactly stop you so he just decides to be a butt about it. Take-out trash litter the hotel lobby, he’ll even leave out half-full open containers and try to get some real maggots up in there. Not if you have anything to say about it! Sometimes he wonders how you can keep it as clean as you do.

You have no idea how absolutely rank a pack of teenage vampires can be. Especially with unwashed clothes. Seriously, David and Paul’s boots could make rats gag, the stank of unwashed vamp toes is gnarly. That can be a bit of a fight. Well someone has to get all those bloodstains out! What do you think they just vanished the next day? None of the boys want clean clothes, especially David. According to them you can't be badass vampires and have fresh pants. He’ll even hide his jacket from you on laundry day. How is he supposed to instill fear in the hearts of mortals when his jacket smells like FUCKING LAVENDER?

God help you if you try to make him bathe. The only way he’d concede is if you really went all out. Play to his ego, its the best way to get him to cooperate. After all, what man doesn’t want to be a king for a day. Especially one such as David. Once you finally, FINALLY get him in, then it's a fight to get him out. He’ll let off soft grunts when you massage shampoo through his scalp, leaning his head back with low, grumbling moans. Sometimes he’ll have you join him, even if you aren’t undressed. Yeah, he doesn’t care if you have your clothes on, time to get in. It's hotter when he sees your shirt tightly clinging to your bodice, although he'll huff that you had a bra underneath. If you try to peel off the soggy articles he won't let you. After all, if you got to strip him down, he gets to do the same to you. He'll take his time, and keep in mind the water isn't about to be clean for much longer.

Despite his protests, and he’d never admit it to the rest of the pack, but he really does love having someone caring for him. Being spoiled by his lover has some advantages, especially after a stressful day. Just laying back, having you rub his shoulders for a good minute, maybe suggesting he come over to your apartment and let you cook him a real meal for once. Sure you’ll be telling him how he needs to be more careful when he goes on hunts, but he can handle that much. You’re his precious doll, if it means a few lectures from you then he’ll put up with it.

Dwayne

Dwayne is kind of the silent brother bear of the group so it’s a relief when he has someone who wants to take care of him. It makes him chuckle when you fret over him. Honey, he can fly, he’s not going to fall off the roof. Even if he did, it wouldn’t kill him! He’s lost count how many times you subtly, or not so subtly, toss around the subject of a helmet when he rides around. You’ll even try using persuasive ideas such as having it custom painted, maybe adding some spikes- anything just wear a stupid helmet! Again, he reminds you the threat of cracking his head open wasn’t exactly that daunting

When you’re on a cleaning spree he tends to stay out of your way. Granted he tried to help once, but you immediately shooed him out. You got it, just go sit down and quit futzing with stuff. On laundry day he’s a bit stubborn, but as long as you don’t wash his leather jacket, he’ll be fine. Seriously, do not touch his jacket. He cannot stress enough how bad it is to try and use water and soap to clean a leather jacket. NO. No touchy! So he’ll just sit in his underwear (personally I think it’d be boxer briefs) on the couch clinging to his jacket while you go off to the laundromat a few blocks over. Eventually you bought him lounge pajama pants for when you do laundry trips. At first he didn’t want to but… well they have a badass puma on them. It’d be rude to not wear it if you went through all that trouble to get that for him.

Unlike the other three, Dwayne doesn’t need much bribery to get in the tub. DO you have ANY IDEA the last time he had a god damn shower? He misses it, he doesn’t exactly like smelling like parfum de cul (kudos to any of you who know what that means ;) ). Oh just watch him sink into the tub as you massage his luxurious mess of dark hair, you swear sometimes he audibly purrs when you do. Its one of the few times Dwayne will let himself be completely vulnerable. He won’t necessarily force you to join him, but he would certainly love it you have your cute butt nestled between his legs where he could lather you up. But, I mean, that’s entirely up to you to refuse your ripped, completely naked boyfriend eyeing you up.

When he gets injured or sick, which you never expected that he could, you immediately go into hyperdrive. While he’d rather be out riding with the guys, he can’t help but love being pampered by his princess who always treats him like a king. You’ll shove him into Star’s old bed and demand he stay put, wiping his forehead down with a cold cloth. One would assume that someone with no body heat left would get a fever. Actually, it makes it worse. He won’t DIE from any illness, but it sure does suck when he gets them. Usually a few feedings will heal him up within a day, so you’ve started smuggling bags from blood drives and keeping them in a little cooler for him. Granted you only get him A or B blood, but he still appreciates all the effort you go to just for him.

Paul

Paul loves it up until you make him do things he doesn’t want to. Typical guy. He DIED in a freaking bath tub, why the hell would you want to put him back in one?! It would take either a serious amount of strength or bribing to get him into one.

“It doesn't even have holy water Paul, just normal, plain, stupid water! You smell like a rat’s ass, will you please just get in?”

“I’d rather smell like ass!”

Yes, he may even try to bolt out of the room buck naked. Fuck you, try to catch him now! Did you hide his clothes?!

Your best bet is to play to his most vulnerable side: horny. Sure he refuses to get in the bath on his own, but add you naked covered in bubbles and it just became the best place to be. The blonde won’t even sulk when you’re sudsing up his hair because you’re too distracted to notice he’s about to cop a feel. He’ll just laugh like an idiot when you get mad, after all you put him in here in the first place. There will probably be tub sex, because dammit he deserves something for being such a good boy. Surprisingly he actually loves it when you use the hair dryer on him. It feels amazing, he doesn’t exactly get warm anymore so the sensation of heat rushing through freshly cleaned hair is just incredible

Paul is not a fan of laundry day, just like David. Again, you gotta chase him down. He’ll tease you the whole time though.

“Babe if you wanted to just rip my clothes off me all you had to do was ask.”

You only leave him in his underwear because he doesn’t have anything else to change into. You never realized how much of a pain in the ass white pants were until you met him. Why the hell did he even have white pants in the first place? They show every damn stain! Paul will probably come with you to the laundromat. Its three in the morning, who cares if someone sees him in his boxers? Big deal! He’d even offer to go nude. You managed to find a pair of pajama pants and a band t-shirt he could wear on laundry day because this ass refuses to buy any other clothes.

Paul thinks it’s absolutely adorable the way you dote on him. It’s a pain in the butt, but nothing is better than the tiny notes you leave for him when you go out. Or when you surprise the coven with a bunch of tupperware dishes full of real home cooked meals. Yeah being ragged on half the day is never fun but he knows that the only reason you do that is you care so much for him. You almost died when you thought he’d been killed, it was fair you got a bit over protective after. Besides, you were still his ride or die baby who did anything for him. Hell, last Valentine’s day you even went all around Santa Carla until you found someone who made him a mother fuckin Gene Simmons teddy bear, with the tongue out and everything. Paul loves you, nags and all

Marko

Probably one of the only boys to be a bit more cooperative when it comes to mothering him. After all, he’s the one being spoiled. It’s precious when you fret over him on a hunt out, warning him to avoid any hunters, fly safe, please don’t jump off any bridges. He’ll just hug you tight and assure you he’s gonna be fine. Yeah you’ll go one about how he should have a helmet when riding or raising concern when he tries something of questionable origin from the boardwalk vendors. But most of the time he just kind of tunes you out and smiles until you’re done.

He’s a sneaky boy, you oughta know that by now. You want him to take a bath? Only if you join him. You want to brush his hair out? Sure he’ll sit still… for ten kisses. Laundry day? Fine but he gets to come with. It’s hard not to laugh at him crouched up on the top of a dryer with his knees to his chest in only his underwear watching you throw in his pants and socks. He can’t help but grin when you throw him a side eye because of the stains all over his white shirt. Sheesh, him and Paul with the white clothes. Again, please please PLEASE don’t wash his jacket. You will ruin it. He doesn’t care if you bombard it with air freshener until his sorry ass smells like Hawaiian Breeze, but do not ever wash it

It’s adorable the lengths you’ll go to for him. Last year when he told you they were just gonna have some hot wings and beers for Thanksgiving you flipped. Next thing they know you had them come over to your apartment as soon as the sun went down to a full spread. Paul actually ended up hugging you too. It looked like something out of a catalog. Two fatass turkeys filled to the brim with homemade stuffing, easily four pounds of mashed potatoes, gravy, bread rolls, the whole fucking thing! And veggies. Nasty. Sure the corn on the cob was bitchin, but asparagus? NO. Yeah you made Marko put some on his plate and half the time he just kept pushing his peas around until Paul flung one at him. Then it was a silent veggie war. After that they pretty much came over for any holiday. He’d be all over you just gushing over how happy he is that you went through so much hard work for him, for them. Even Max did fuckall besides what he had to, the guy wanted to toot his own horn about dad of the year but sucked ass at it.

They start coming over so often that you bought black out curtains for every window in your house. Even during the day they could sleep in your guest room without fear of the sun. Well, the guys could. You had him tucked into your own room, still sleeping with his feet to the headboard for that upside down sense and his arms tightly pressed to his chest. He absolutely loves how much you care for him, especially after so many decades of being a filthy biker boy who feasted on the living. Even his vampirism didn’t send you away. You’d even keep a mini fridge in your room stocked with blood bags in case he craved a midday snack. Sometimes he’d awaken to you sleeping beside him and just savor those quiet moments with his baby. Maybe for Christmas this year he’d offer you the best gift he could think of. Who needs a wedding ring when you can offer an eternity with your angel instead?

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itstittycitybaby · 4 years ago

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From the Ashes We are Born (Part 4)

A/N: here we go with yet another part of this series! Tomorrow I will be posting another fic with a certain loveable character, but V will still be given the love and appreciation he so deserves.

TW: Sexual assault Attempt:

“You want me to do what?” It was barely 8:30 am; the sun had grazed you with its warm embrace. “Ah, you’re up early,” V had remarked once he heard you shuffle into the kitchen. His trademark apron was tied snugly around his waist. You grumbled in reply and begrudgingly sat down in a kitchen chair. A mug of coffee had slid your way. It was delicious. V shifted foot to foot as he stood there in the kitchen. You didn’t think V could ever be sheepish, let alone nervous. “It’ll be fine, my dear. All you have to do is follow my lead.” You drummed your fingers on the table as you stared up at the smiling mask looking down at you. Even though you couldn’t see V’s face you knew he was hopeful. “Alright V, just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” V’s hands clasped together, enthused. “Aha! Thank you mademoiselle, I appreciate it!You can trust me;danger will not whisk you away from my grasp.” You hated how chirpy he sounded as he prattled on about his plans. V’s voice sounded muddled as he chatted excitedly. You rubbed your temples with the tips of your fingers. “It’s not even ten,” you muttered.

The face that stared back at you was unrecognizable. The mirror mocked you as you sat there, gazing at the new face in front of you. V had twirled the chair around in front of the mirror, the counter filled with makeup and brushes. You were surprised that he had makeup, considering he wore the guy fawkes mask 24/7. “Do you not like it, my dear?” You snapped from your thoughts as you turned to your masked friend. “It’s not that I hate it, just not my style.” You gestured to the pink blush and bright pink lipstick V had painted onto your face. “I’m used to a more natural look, or with the winged eyeliner I usually wear.” V chuckled, “You dislike looking like a little girl.” “Can you blame me,” you huffed. “You are very good with makeup though, I’ll give you that V.” He thanked you while he pinned the pink bows in your pig tails. You suppressed a shiver as his gloved fingers brushed over your neck lightly. Stop it! Focus on the task at hand! You definitely did not blush when his chest rested against your back as he pinned the last bow to your head. “Funny how this guy is a priest and a pedophile. Two birds with one stone,” you joked, trying to calm yourself down. “The world won’t surely miss him when he’s gone,” V replied as he stepped back. His fingers hovered over your shoulder, almost as if he wanted to gently brush them across your skin. Through the mirror you could tell V was staring at you. It was silent for a few moments as the two of you held each other’s gaze. “D-do you know what I’m gonna wear,” you stammered, breaking the silence. You hoped to god V didn’t notice that you were blushing, if he did he didn’t he say anything. “Ah yes,” he said, “You’re going to love the costume, too.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “I’m dying to find out.”

You fiddled with the hem of the dress as you waited for the priest to enter. V wasn’t kidding about the dress. The skirt was wide and very pink. The only thing you liked about it was the white blouse and the short lace socks you wore with the pink maryjanes. Nerves jumped inside of your stomach. What if this all went wrong? You felt sick as you waited for the damn guy to get in here. You shuddered at what the assistant or chapel dude had said (like you would know what he did.) “You’re much older than expected. It should be fine, you look young enough.” You almost gagged when those words came out of his mouth. But you gave him the sweetest smile you could muster and a gritted “thanks.” His eyes swept over you one more time before leading you to a room with a four poster bed. Regret washed over you;you regretted agreeing to help V with this...particular task. “All will be fine mademoiselle. I promise.” His words rang in your head along with the instructions he had gone over with you. Yes, you felt guilty for having to live off of him for so long and disrupting his peace, but death didn’t seem terrible as you stood there in the priest’s room. “It’s the least we can do,” you reassured yourself. “For V.” The white walls of the room were bare; not a single decoration of some kind hanging on the walls. It was incredibly boring. Your eyes followed the dried paint on the walls. The strokes of the brush made little swirls and intricate, abstract designs. Has it been 5? 10? 20 minutes? Do I sit on the bed? Do I just stand here like an idiot? No matter how much you hated standing there, you knew if V asked you anything you would do it in a heartbeat. ‘Darling, would you mind handing me the rag?’ ‘Would you mind holding this fabric up for me?’ ‘Mademoiselle, could you risk your life for me and die by my hand?’ You snorted at the last one. Even if V were to ask that, you would. It’s because we have a crush. “No, no we don’t, shut up shut up shut-” The door swung open and you immediately tensed up. Relax, get in tune, V will protect us. An older balding man stood in front of you. His robes reached to the floor and he had beady eyes that looked black. God was he ugly. You felt disgusted as his eyes raked over your body. The gleam in his eyes made you feel sick.

Good thing father taught me to be an A class liar. “Hello, sir.” You gave him a smile;your eyes looked all innocent and doelike. Your lips parted as you spoke. Don’t over do it, be innocent and childlike. It makes me feel gross for thinking that. You averted your gaze, trying to pass it off as looking shy. “You’re beautiful,” he said, “I can’t believe I doubted your beauty for a second.” Forcing a smile you whispered, “Thank you, sir.” The priest’s eyes seemed to gleam at that. “So polite.” He slowly strolled over to you like he would to a scared child (the thought of that made you feel sick). His slimy hand grabbed your arm; his grip was tight as he looked into your eyes. “Go on, get on the bed.” You gulped as he let go of your arm. “Yes sir.” You felt terrified at the sound of the door closing and the click of a lock. You sat at the end of the bed, your legs pressed together. An ugly smile graced his lips as he saw you. You noticed the tent in his pants and wanted to puke.

Everything happened so fast. One minute he was at the door and the next he pounced on you. You let out a shriek as your back hit the bed. The priest’s body was pressed up against yours. His hands traveled down your waist, to your legs. They ghosted up your smooth thighs and up to your panties. “N-no,” you yelped, squirming under his body. Where the hell was V? Everything felt hazy and unreal. It was almost dreamlike as you laid there at this creep’s mercy. This can’t be happening, this isn’t real. Where the fuck is V? Squirming, you tried to throw the priest off of you but to no avail you were stuck. “You’re going to take what I give you and you will like it,” the priest snarled, “stop moving bitch.” His grip was like iron; his hands had wrapped around your throat, squeezing in tightly. Your lungs burned as they begged for air. Hands creeping up to his, you tried tugging at them to let them go. It was no use. Circles and staticky designs danced around the air. The vision in your eyes was starting to darken and the priest’s fingers had started to ghost over the waistband of your underwear. You were pinned underneath him,helpless. There was a wolfish grin on his lips. You were the wolf’s prey; a rabbit trying to wiggle underneath the wolf’s weight. He said he’d be here what the fuck happened? I’m gonna get taken advantage of, I’m going to die. He said he’d protect me, he said-

Bang! Bang! CRASH! The door smashed, pieces of its wood crashing onto the door. “What the-,” the priest shouted. There, V stood in the broken door way. His posture was tense and he searched for you as he stood there. V’s fist clenched and his blood boiled as he saw you under the priest. The look on your face had sheer terror written all over it. “It’s the terrorist!” The priest jumped off of you and ran towards a bible sitting on his dresser. Air filled your lungs and you hacked loudly. The burning in your chest and throat made you cough.Tears made your eyes blurry as they fell from your cheeks. Getting composed, you remembered where you were. Stop sitting there and move! Run! Your body was shaking with adrenaline and everything felt numb. You could hear grunts of pain from the direction where V and the priest was but you didn’t care. Tumbling off the bed you covered your face so you wouldn’t smack it against the floor. You sucked in a breath as your legs smacked onto the hard tile. Everything was burning. The ghost of the priest’s fingers burned your skin and you felt disgusted. You scurried onto your legs and watched as V flung a knife in the priest’s stomach, causing him to tumble over. A groan escaped the priest’s lips as he hunched over, holding his side. You admired V’s dance of knives as you watched him twirl another dagger with his fingers and slit the priest’s throat. His hands immediately flew up to his throat and his face paled. Blood gurgled out of his mouth until there was nothing but silence. The priest’s corpse fell with a thud and that is when V turned to you. “I apologize darling, I had some trouble along the way. He didn’t touch you did he?” Tears fell from your eyes;you looked like a mess. Your hair was tousled and your mascara left streaks on your cheeks. You just shook your head no, not trusting yourself to speak. “I-I wasn’t…” you trailed off after swallowing the tears and the huge lump in your throat. More tears fell from your eyes as you thought of the prospect of what if. What if V hadn’t shown up in time. What if he hadn’t even shown up at all. What if we were actually- A whimper escaped your lips as you tried your damned hardest not to sob.

V let out a sigh and enveloped you in his arms. He felt incredibly guilty he was a tad bit too late. Any later and well… V’s black tunic was damp from your tears. His hands hung low above your waist and your head nuzzling into his chest. His wig tickled you a bit but you didn’t mind. He was warm and comforting. V’s arms felt safe as he held you tightly. Giving you one last squeeze, he pulled away. Your red eyes stared back into the guy fawkes mask. How badly you wanted to kiss his lips. Or well, the mask’s at the very least. “Are you ready, mademoiselle,” V’s usually chipper voice sounding dark. Nodding, you wiped your eyes. “Let’s go home,” you whispered. V smiled underneath his mask. His gloved hand gently placed itself on your back as he led the way. How badly you wanted to melt into his touch. “To home, then.” Our home.

#v for vendetta x reader #v for vendetta #x reader

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ohheyalex · 5 years ago

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Not Going Anywhere//

#titans #dickkory #gar logan #rachel roth #my writing

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zunnyzee · 5 years ago

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Okay so I think about this a lot but I’ve had a lot of instances where I was young but knew I was nb. I’ll share a few here, and a few more in later posts when I remember them.

There was the time when I saw a documentary about a girl who realized that she has no female reproductive organs. She was so upset when she realized she couldn’t have a period, because her insides had only male parts. She couldn’t see it, she thought she was a girl. Intersex. She was intersex by definition. For the next two months, I fantasized about having those male parts on my insides, convincing myself I would never get a period, because I would totally wind up finding out I was just like her. I was on the bus looking out the window when I saw an old man. I wondered if he used to be a girl, though most likely, that was not the case. Less than a year later, I broke my finger playing basketball, and on that day (9 years old), I got my first period. I was so shocked. I felt grossed out that I turned out to be like my mother, it made me feel bad to be ‘a woman, just like her’. I felt upset that I would now have to endure this burden until I grow old. I felt sad that I wasn’t intersex, though even to this day I still have that hope inside me that doctors will find something ‘wrong’ so I can finally feel ‘right’. For two years after that, I never washed a single underwear soaked in blood. I kept in in a drawer for months, until I could stand to face them. I never could. I wouldn’t wear pads, I thought I was curing myself of having periods by ignoring it. After all, if I were a girl, I would be cleaning blood stained underwear every month and wearing cotton in between my legs, but I wasn’t, so obviously I’m not a girl. I bled through my pants everytime, but I had a system to keep it off anything I sat on. I have never worn white pants. I never got cramps, cravings, or mood swings, and it only lasted three days, so I thought I was winning. I was not. I was about 13 when I stopped doing all of that.

It was 2012 and I was on my way to school. To be specific, it was 12/12/12. I was on of the ones that thought the world was going to end. I was already depressed at this time, but it was the first winter that I started having suicidal thoughts. I had broken and fractured two bones in my foot, and I had a great time swinging around on my crutches. Something about the way that I was using my upper body strength made me feel manly and cool. Mostly cool. I would have to climb stairs everyday to reach the train, but I did it so quickly I was like a muscle-y god. I got up the stairs and was waiting for the train to arrive, and realized how cold it was. I was just waiting there, standing. After a couple minutes my feet started to hurt, I’ve got really flat feet and it causes me pain. I had taken the elevator that day, I believe it had rained or something and everything was wet. I remember looking at the tracks, thinking about jumping in right before the train comes and letting it run me over. I know now that more than 95% of people survive that and depending where, you’ll get fined for holding up the trains, so bad idea, obviously, but I was so ready to go. I figured, today ends everything anyways, so why not? But then I was like, one more day? Let’s make it a good one then. I put on some P!NK and got on the train. I nearly pissed myself getting onto the train, I felt like Final Destination, like in some universe, I took the jump. I felt sick, not nauseous but sort of, and slightly light headed. It lasted half a day.

I was in elementary school, after school. I was doing a craft with some girls. We took a break to go to the bathroom together, our teacher couldn’t let us go alone and there was only one of her so we all had to go. I didn’t have to go at first, so I just did my job and held the door closed for everyone that took the stall with the broken door. I really liked helping. When everyone was done, I realized I had to pee. I didn’t want to go, I wanted to wait until I got home, but that was over two hours from now. The walls were so pink, it made me upset, not to mention I was going through a phase where I thought hitting solved all problems, because of course, if I was violent, I would be seen as a boy, or at least boyish. I like helping because the teacher always wanted a big strong man to assist. Also for my own reasons, but everytime I held a chair, it would bang into me, me being a generally clumsy person, and I know I wouldn’t have done that if they didn’t want a big strong man. I also hate the color pink, at the time for being ugly AND feminine, I knew they were two different things. So I go to use the broken stall an I ask the girl to hold the door at the last minute. I was petrified of others seeing my developing female body, even though it was really obvious. She left me. I cried alone in the stall, the door much too far for me to hold and pee, but I had to go so bad. She came back to get me because I stood there over 20 minutes, never even peeing. When she came back, I pissed, wiped my ass, washed my hands, and choked her. I was so upset. How could she leave me, someone who’s not a girl, alone in a female bathroom with stupid pink walls? If I’m the only one there, people are going to think I’m a girl. If someone else is there, then that title goes to them and I’m just there to help. How dare she make me cry? Doesn’t she know crying is for girls? I very much regret this now, but this was my extremely masculine phase. None of it involved changing the way I looked.

After nearly a decade, my mother was able to afford a gravestone for my grandmother and great grandmother, who were buried together. I remember it cost $9,000 dollars for the stone and $3,000-$5,000 dollars for the engraving. She made me wear white shoes with a pink stripe. I hated them so much. It was the only bit of pink on me, but I hated that stripe so much. I was mostly fine throughout the day, we were seeing the final product that day. My mother was moved to tears when she saw it, but I never me either of them so I didn’t care all that much, I just knew it was important to her. She wanted us to take a photo, our feet next to the stone. I started bawling my eyes out. If I took a photo with these striped pink shoes, it will be evidence that I am a girl. That day, I was very much Not A Girl. She yelled at me after about half an hour of crying, saying that I was ruining a special moment, and I was, but I told her that morning I didn’t want to wear those shoes, but she insisted I must because it makes me cuter. She took the photo, put a cute caption on it, and sent it off to facebook, while I spent the rest of my time trying not to throw up.

There was this kid in my 5th grade class that I found semi-cute but was not attracted to. He was everything I wanted to be at the time, disastrous, cool, a boy. He was getting chased by his friends in the middle of math class (It was my first time learning multiplication and division) for a prank he did, when he ran into the library. He cracked his head open and had to have surgery. When he came back to school with a scar across his forehead, all I could think was, ‘yes, this is how I want to be as a boy. I want to be so chaotic and violent and to get hurt. I want mud. (I really don’t know why mud. I think I just associated the kid with mud, it felt fitting.) I want to get hurt so people know I’m a boy.’ Then one of the girls in my class, who I accidentally came out to and got teased by, started having seizures in class. It made me drop the ‘I need to get hurt to be a boy’ mindset quick, but that came back when I started accepting the scars I had on my body.

And...that’s all I got for now! So, when I question my dysphoria and gender identity, well, I know I’m not lying, at least.

#my old dysphoria

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amandlas · 6 years ago

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open for me

folk of the air | jude x cardan, post-twk, so nsfw it’s not even funny holy shit

Jude opened her mouth to gasp for air, but when she did, Cardan covered it with his own, moaning directly into her mouth. Not a kiss, not even the touching of lips, but so much worse.

She hated this. Couldn’t stand it. Of course fucking Cardan was what she wanted, but not like this. Jude wished to be the one making him beg. Making him give up every secret he kept locked up.

But he didn’t. And the moment he pressed her back to the wall, Jude knew she was hopeless.

So she decided to hurt them both instead.

Cardan ripped open her loose shirt, grabbing for her breasts with hunger. His teeth bit into her neck and she decided to strike.

“Is this,” a moan, “how you kissed Nicasia too?”

Cardan paused, taken aback. His gaze met hers, blazing, and he pushed her off the wall and into bed. As she bounced on it, Jude asked, “Before she scorned you, did her tongue taste sweet?”

Hatred filled his eyes. Like a madman, he opened her pants and snatched them off. “Her kisses were more practiced. As were her hands on my cock.” Not bothering with the underwear she had on, Cardan tore it. “She knew exactly how to twist her wrists.”

Jude turned away. Her heart broke at the words, hating how he did not fall for her trap. She wanted Cardan to hate her, to be disgusted and hurt, and pull away. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. She kept trying.

“Well I’m sorry for my lack of experience.” She snarled. “Don’t worry, any day now I can find myself a mortal stranger who will teach me how to fuck good and proper. With my mouth and with my hands and with my entire body—”

“Stop,” Cardan ordered. His hands reached for his back, releasing him of the white blouse. His trousers came next. How could he possibly still want to be with her? Was he not hearing what she was saying?

Even though it tore her chest apart, Jude continued. “Maybe I should’ve let Locke between my legs when I had the chance. I bet he could make me see stars.” Push me away, push me away, push me away, she thought.

“Stop,” he said again, this time pleading. He kissed her, hard. Half hatred and half desperation. For what? He would not say. Jude wanted to cry. She kissed him back just as intensely, gripping his hair, sobbing. Her hand reached down, feeling for his length. As soon as she touched him, Cardan breathed sharply. His eyes were mere inches from hers, and they were full of fear.

Jude started maneuvering her hand over him, spirit cleaved in half. She wasn’t Nicasia, or any of his previous lovers. He was probably thinking of them right now, comparing.

Surprisingly, he shut his eyes roughly, and aggressively pushed her hand away, like it hurt. “No.”

Jude was shocked for a moment, not sure what to do or think. She didn’t have to, though, since Cardan lost no time. After smacking her hand away he spread her thighs, whimpering as he guided himself in, thrusting.

She gasped. It didn’t hurt, where they joined. Just felt different. She remembered, from the first time which was also with him.

He did not move for a time, face buried in her neck, refusing to look at her. Controlling his breathing. Then, finally, still not meeting her gaze he pulled out and pushed back in. Out and in. His pace was normal, his thrusts shallow. With her, then without her, complete, then not.

Jude had to catch her breath, washed with pleasure. It has never been anything but pleasure with him, in a masochistic way. Yet she was still angry. She bared her teeth like an animal.

“How many people have you fucked like this? How many before me?”

He growled. His hands left her hips and traveled to the back of her neck, thumbs at her jaw as if to choke her. Then his pace increased.

Jude was ready to shout. She gripped his arms with her hands, holding on for dear life. After a few seconds of adjusting to the feeling, she could not stop herself from hurting again. “Did you enjoy plunging inside them again and again, as you do with me? Did they scream for you?” Her words came out as rasps.

Cardan didn’t pause, only met his eyes to hers. “Not as loud as you will.”

“I will never—” but she was cut off by his thumb working at the apex of her thighs, circling down so hard it nearly pained her. It brought tears to her eyes, both pleasure and self-hatred, at his expert hands, at her stupid heart and body for loving him. She bit down on her lips to keep all noises within.

He noticed. Stopping for a moment, he reached behind both her knees and angled them higher, so most of her legs pressed against his stomach. With a strength she never knew he had, Cardan pushed her hard onto the mattress and resumed. A loud intake of air escaped her, accompanied by the sound of his skin on hers.

He proved his point. “Guess fucking all those girls taught me a thing or two,” he said while fully meeting her eye. “Since I am so good at getting fae on all fours.” His voice was unkind. His frown was unkind. Yet there was undeniable sadness in his own black eyes.

Jude showed him her teeth again. “I hate you.”

He fucked her harder. His bed was moving. He probably would not care if it broke. She clawed down on his arms, wishing to draw blood.

“Open,” Cardan ordered her, “open your legs.” His right hand was putting pressure on her thigh, willing her to spread wider.

Too lost in the incredible feel of him inside her, she ignored him for a moment. Jude didn’t know why she only loved her body when she was fighting and when she was fucking Cardan. She let out a moan, then did as he asked.

He had learned some things, she realized. By opening her legs wider, the feel of him was deeper, reaching farther. Cardan let out the most guttural groan she had ever heard, his eyes closing.

“Fuck,” Jude shouted. It only prompted him to keep going.

She began shaking. First at her feet, then it spread all over her body until even her teeth clattered a bit. The feeling was too much, too strong. It scared her, and by instinct she clutched her thighs back closed, interrupting Cardan’s pace.

“Open,” he said again, loudly.

Jude was afraid. Afraid of that shattering feeling but she obeyed. Jude widened her legs and Cardan continued to fuck her deep. His tail wrapped around one of her thighs to keep it in place, to press it against the bed and let him inside her entirely.

She was being torn apart. The angle, the heat of his skin over hers, the pleading in his eyes. It’s not that she wanted to stop. In fact, she never wanted this to end. That sensation, it’s one she never had before, and Jude wasn’t entirely sure what it was. And Cardan, he wouldn’t look at her. Instead, he was transfixed down below, watching their joining. He could see every time their bodies met and separated. She started to sob in time with his thrusts, teeth clattering, and her thighs met again.

He looked up at her, eyes lined with silver. “Please,” he whimpered. “Please, open for me Jude, open.”

Without thinking, before she could hold herself back, she whispered into his mouth, “It’s too good.” A shake of her head. “It feels too good.”

Cardan’s full body froze. He never climbed off her. Only peered into her face, trying to read what was there.

He surrendered. “My love,” he confessed, “let me in.”

She decided to surrender too.

Again, she relaxed. Again, he plunged inside her body.

This time he did not hold back. His hands, carefully clutching the back of her neck, pulled her to him with each movement, leaving Jude gasping for air at the same rhythm of their bodies. Cardan’s face hovered just above hers, watching, nothing human about him. He was also gasping, as loud as she. Every thrust brought him nearly out of her, every push filled her to the hilt. Her gasping stopped, her mouth only open in a face of petrified shock. No sound, not even breath coming out of her. Jude’s eyes were fixed on his, unmoving. No part of her was moving on her own, only the movement of him fucking her and the shaking of her hands and feet. Then, before he lost himself, he said, “Only you. It’s only you, Jude. All I ever wanted. Just you.”

Somewhere in the middle of this Jude had started to scream.

His thrusts were heavenly. One second, only the tip was inside. The next, she could feel him somewhere in her belly. This is surely how people die.

One last time, he begged mere inches from her face. “Open.”

She did, and was overwhelmed onto the brink of pleasure. A single, loud, heart-stopping scream escaped her and then silence. That petrification again, eyes screwed shut, the open mouth, her shaking hands. If she could see Cardan amidst the fog of her pleasure, he was probably no better off. His entire weight fell on her, crushing her into the bed. Noises were coming from him. If she were to mishear him, she’d think he was crying. But he was only catching his breath.

Neither moved for a long time. When they did, it was Cardan, leaving his place at her chest and coming up to her. There was so much sadness as he spoke. “They all mean nothing compared to you.”

Jude didn’t want to cry more than she already had. The only thing she wanted was for him to say the truth, if only once. And he had, only after she hurt him a thousand times. “I wish I didn’t have to fight you for you to say how you feel about me.” She refused to let her eyes grow wet again.

Cardan tried to hold back his grief, but it showed. “I’m sorry.”

“Will you say it again?”

“Will it makes things better?”

Her fingers grazed his cheek. “So much.”

Cardan never broke their gaze. “My love. My queen.” He lovingly kissed the hand that caressed him., smiling a little.

Inside both of them, a little something began to heal.

(ao3)

#jurdan #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #twk spoilers #folk of the air #whatever man i dont even care i was supposed to be finishing an essay but i got bored #this has no specific time or place its just floating somewhere in the timeline leave me alone #nicky writes #mine:tfota

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seljepw · 6 years ago

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Sleeping With the Enemy: Part 3

A/N: My beloveds. Thank you for your unending patience with my slow-ass story crafting. This one has been in the works for a long time, and I’m so freaking happy to share it with you. Sláinte.

When last we left our heroine: A year ago, Crowley and the reader came to an agreement. Since then, they’ve fucked seen each other twice, and it’s no longer as cut-and-dry as it once was. What is going on, here? Just great sex? Just business? Or something more? (Catch up on previous chapters HERE)

Menu Warnings: HERE THERE BE SMUT. Demon power kink, unprotected sex (you know this is pretend, right??), public sex, orgy, Crowley’s dirty mouth, etc.

Weighing in at: 7,780 words. I’m not even sorry.

The King of Hell had been fucking with you for months.

Note: fucking with you, not fucking you. Therein lay the problem.

It started the morning after his last visit. You had dragged yourself, sore and sleepless, to the shower. You spent much longer under the hot water than usual, hoping it would wash away some of your confusion. By the time you got out, the huge bathroom was full of steam. In the condensation on one of the mirrors was a large heart, around your first initial and a capital C. Crowley’s voice echoed in your mind.

“I didn’t expect you to pine away, doodling our names in little hearts on you chemistry notebook…”

You hastily wiped your hand over the drooling lines, and hoped that neither of the Winchesters had wandered in in the last hour.

A month later, you had opened the shitty motel room door in po-dunk nowhere, Arkansas, to find the entire room covered in flowers. Every kind, every color possible. On the pillow, tied to a black rose with silk ribbon, was a note. “Your favorite must be here, somewhere.” When you climbed in the car the next morning in your FBI duds, Dean asked if you were wearing a new perfume.

You managed to keep the boys out of your room for the remainder of the case, and every night when you “went to get ice”, you discarded another bin full of flowers.

You did keep your favorite bloom, though. Pressed in your hunter’s journal with no other context.

The fancy underwear had shown up next. Scraps of red lace that looked like they had been made to be taken off almost immediately, but would disintegrate with normal use. When you left them in the box, the next day they were replaced with soft, clearly expensive pajamas. Those you wore. But not out of your room. Sam and Dean were observant enough to notice when you got new clothes, and you didn’t want to have to come up with a groggy, pre-coffee lie, one morning.

It went on for months. Pizza you didn’t order arrived at the library where you and the guys were pulling an all-nighter. On laundry day, your clothes were magically folded and arranged in a C on your bed. A box of bandaids in Baby’s backseat, the day after you put down a rugaru, with a note inside that said “Just protecting my interests…”. It was getting infuriatingly difficult to explain away or hide the evidence of demonic visitation from the Winchesters, despite the fact that you hadn’t actually seen your demonic visitor, at all.

And then there were the dreams.

Every few nights, you would dream of Crowley’s hands on you. Burning fingers on your thighs, breasts, wrists, pussy… one night, you woke up coming. Most nights, you just woke up frustrated, flipped the pillow to the non-sweaty side, and tried to get back to sleep.

You (ahem) filled the void with a few guys here and there, but mostly, they just took the edge off enough that you didn’t literally claw your way up a wall. Nothing quite matched the intensity that you had experienced with Crowley. Eventually, you gave up on outside help, and invested in a large pack of batteries.

It had been almost six months since your last… what to call it?

“Encounter”? Too spaceshipy.

“Assignation”? Too romance-novely.

“Date” was flat-out wrong.

Whatever it was that you and Crowley had indulged in, it had been too long since it happened.

October came again. You hadn’t heard from Crowley for two months. No semi-intrusive gifts, no cryptic notes, not even a bathroom mirror doodle. You tried not to think anything of it. So, he had gotten tired of toying with you, and moved on. Fine. Good riddance. You would just have to compartmentalize and move on with your own life. It wasn’t like he owed you anything. This all started as basically a business deal for an ancient, witch-fighting talisman. Nothing personal, right? In fact, it was a relief not to have to hide the evidence from Sam and Dean. You definitely did not miss him. Or, so you told yourself at least twice a day, when you caught sight of the Luisgeàrd as you changed clothes, or felt it pressed between your breasts under your shirt. Despite yourself, though, you never took it off.

~~~

Another vampire, another hunt, another po-dunk nowhere. Two lane blacktop and spanish moss-layden oak trees whipping by the open window. Unseasonable heat that was sticking to your skin, making you itch from the inside out. Dean singing and drumming on the wheel. Between the sexual drought and the muggy air, you had to concentrate hard on not throttling him.

When you and the boys finally tracked down the vamp, you spent a little longer than normal beating the shit out of it before the killing blow. Sam had given you A Look, but said nothing. Dean offered to buy you a drink.

The town bar was a standard Southern-American dive. The kind of place where a night had never passed without at least one drunken sing-along to “Friends in Low Places”. Women and men in ass-hugging jeans and tank tops bumped around like bubbles in a kettle. Dean was in heaven. Soon, he was hustling pool in the corner, a blonde woman giggle-whispering in his ear, a huge grin on his face. You saluted each other with your respective drinks through the neon light and loud voices.

“You good?�� his raised eyebrow asked.

Your smirk and sip responded, “Not as good as you, but I’ll keep.”

His head tilted a bit to your left. “Heads up, lame pickup line at 9 o’clock.”

You turned to face the guy just as he slid into the stool next to yours. In the time it took for him to smile at you, you gave him a once-over. Not bad. Cute, in a Friday Night Lights kind of way. No outward display of “southern gentleman” that really covered up misogyny. And the lack of a rebel flag on his shirt was a welcome change from the other customers. He’d do.

Before he could say anything and ruin the moment, you spoke first.

“Buy me a drink.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, ma’am!”

A beer and a half later, things were right on track. His hand on your thigh and his mouth on your neck and your thoughts most definitely not on the King of Hell, thankyouverymuch.

“Let’s get out of here,” you murmured in his ear.

“Aw, fuck, yeah!” was his charming response. This guy was lucky you were so hard-up.

“Just gimmie a minute to freshen up.” You extricated yourself from his grip, slid off the stool, and headed for the bathroom. As you passed the pool table, you and Dean had another silent conversation, where you assured him you had things well in hand, and would call him if needed.

You actively didn’t think about Crowley. You didn’t think about Crowley while you checked to make sure you had a condom in your bag. You didn’t think about Crowley while you sat on the toilet. You didn’t think about Crowley while you washed your hands. Then you glanced in the mirror and saw the note.

“Enjoy the junk food, Love. He’s cute. You deserve a treat. -C”

In your shock, the only thing you could think was, So, the King of Hell uses Post Its. Good to know. Then the rage hit. How dare he pull something like this? Months of radio silence, and then suddenly popping up and implying that he was giving you permission to sleep with what's-his-name, out there. Fuck. That. You were not going to give him the satisfaction of feeling like he could control you.

“Fuck you, asshat!” you snapped to the empty bathroom. Then you were through the door, pushing past drunk rednecks, not hearing Dean calling your name, not seeing the confused look on “junk food’s” face, until you were out in the humid parking lot, the Post It crumpled in your fist.

Dean had the good sense not to press you. The drive back to the hotel, breakfast at a diner in the morning, and then the whole way back to Kansas, he didn’t ask what had happened in the bar. He didn’t ask about as loudly as a person could, in fact. Sam kept giving you the patented Winchester Look Of Concern™ when he thought you couldn’t see. But they knew you. They knew that when you had shit to deal with, you did it alone. The only one who’d ever meddled in your all-alone shit-dealing was Crowley. Damn him. You twitched angrily and turned up the volume to your headphones, closed your eyes, and ignored the Winchesters all the way to the Bunker. It wasn’t until Dean killed the engine that you opened your eyes and realized your fingers were tangled in the Luisgeàrd’s leather cord.

~~~

You almost didn’t open it. The box on your bed. Large, white, and tied with blood red ribbon. You were considering how to get it to the garbage chute without Sam or Dean seeing it when you read the note attached.

“Please wear this when you yell at me. -C”

“At least he said please this time…” you grumbled. Curiosity got the better of you, and you opened the box.

It was a dress. A white silk gown that poured over your hands as you rustled it out of the tissue paper. You held it up for inspection, and stared. Simple. No frills, no lace. Just artfully draped white silk that fell to the floor. Despite your anger- which hadn’t abated, by the way- you were enchanted. You thought back to last Halloween as you kicked out of your jeans and flannel, and then slithered the silk over your head.

The gown you’d worn to Crowley’s masquerade ball, when this whole thing started, had been uncomfortable and heavy. Swathes of red velvet that left you restricted and off-balance. Undoubtedly gorgeous, but so not you. The leather mask that hid your features and cut off your peripheral vision hadn’t helped, either. The foreignness of your costume that night had lent an overall feeling of Other to that whole experience. And that feeling had colored everything that came after. Added to the confusion. Was still adding to the confusion.

This dress was exactly the opposite of last year’s getup. You regarded your reflection, spinning slowly. It fit you well. More than that, it suited you. You could move easily in the lightweight fabric. It didn’t get caught under your feet as you walked, and the sleeveless bodice gave you full use of your arms. The glowing white of the silk played with the tone of your skin, making you glow, too. The Luisgeàrd, in it’s constant position around your throat, nestled comfortably in the neckline, which looked like it had been cut specifically to show off the talisman.

“Sneaky fucker,” you murmured, fingering the wooden disk.

“I prefer to think of it as, ‘Romantically Mysterious’,” rasped a familiar voice in the corner.

You’d been expecting this, but you still flinched. Whirling to face him, months worth of angry thoughts stampeded to get out of your mouth and bottlenecked, leaving you working a jaw around silent fury.

“You look radiant,” was all he said.

All the trapped words coiled in your throat like an about-to-cry lump. You managed to gasp in a breath, then blurted out, “Where have you been?”

Seriously? You berated yourself. ‘Where have you been?’ Like you’re some neglected housefrau confronting an errant husband at 2:00am. Fuck, get your fists off your hips. You don’t care, remember?

You crossed your arms, suddenly feeling foolish in the gorgeous dress. Still, you had promised yourself you wouldn’t back down. Crowley unsettled you, and that was unacceptable. You weren’t unsettled. Ever. You couldn’t be, in your line of work. You put on your fight face and looked him squarely in the eye.

He just stared at you for a moment, something like sadness around the corners of his eyes. “I was watching,” he finally said, quietly.

“You were watching? Well, thank you. That’s not creepy at all.”

“It occurred to me that we both might need some space, after…” he stopped and looked away. His glance fell to your bed.

The memory surfaced. You and Crowley, face to face, sweaty and sated...

“What the fuck are we doing, Crowley?” You’d asked. “What is this? I mean, I barely know you. Half the time, I don’t trust you... What are we doing?”

You remembered the feeling of his palm on your cheek and his forehead pressed to yours. The way he had whispered, “Y/N, I-”

...And that was when the boys had come home, and everything had gone to shit.

You took a small step forward. His eyes darted to the silk rustling around your feet, clinging to your thigh as you moved. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked… scared. It was unheard of to see Crowley, King of Hell and consummate cocksure ass, off his game. Maybe this dress was exactly what you needed. Leveling the playing field, so to speak.

“After what, Crowley? After last time, in this room, in that bed, when you almost said something you’d regret?” You’d closed the distance, now. If either of you reached out, you could grab the other.

“I need your help,” he said, finally meeting your eyes, again. There was no guile. No half-smile in the words. Just fear and perhaps a little shame. “All right? There it is. I need your help.”

You were stunned. “You… what?!”

“There are some rumblings in my kingdom. Pissants who think I’ve lost my edge; that Hell’s not what it could be under my rule. ‘Make Hell great again’, and all that twaddle. I’ve made a shaky alliance with a coven-”

“A coven? Of witches?! Crowley, do we need to have another talk about what I do for a living?”

He continued speaking as though you hadn’t. “-A coven that’s powerful enough to sway the dissidents. If I can show that I’m strong enough to forge a treaty like this, it would go a long way to restabilizing my reign.” Somewhere in that statement, he had rested his hands on your hips. He gave you a gentle shake and looked at you through his lashes. “A delegation from this coven is coming to the Halloween ball, tonight, but they’re old-school. They respond favorably to symbols and archetypes. Pomp and circumstance. They may not like dealing with me alone. I need backup, Love.” He hooked a knuckle under your chin and lifted your face to his. “I need a Queen... for the night.”

“A…. a queen. You mean… me? Me, queen?” Great, now you had devolved into Tarzan sentence structure. Get a grip, woman!

He smiled at you. A real smile. You weren’t sure you’d ever actually seen Crowley smile, before. It was gorgeous. His hands were still on you- hip and chin- and he used the leverage to pull you forward into a kiss.

Warm and soft and gentle, this was one of those kisses that seemed to wrap around you, raising goosebumps and relaxing every tense muscle. You wanted to swim in it. Drown in it.

Crowley’s sulfur/incense smell was everywhere. His hands whispered around your waist and into your hair. You signed into the warm solidness of his chest pressed to yours. The feel of his suit coat under your fingers. It went on forever. It was, ironically, pure heaven.

When he reluctantly eased his lips off of yours, your face felt cold. It took you a moment to resurface and open your eyes. Crowley’s earnest face stared back.

“Please, Y/N. Will you help me? Just for tonight?”

You stayed silent for a moment, slowly working your fingers through his hair, not looking at his eyes. Letting yourself enjoy the feeling of making him squirm, for a change. You carefully wound his tie around your hand; got a good grip. That’s when you met his gaze. With a deliberate tug, you command his full attention.

“I’ll make you a deal, Crowley,” you said, low and only a little breathless. “I’ll be your Queen for the night. And afterwards, you will owe me a conversation. About feelings.”

A hint of terror darkened the corners of his face, but his overall expression was one of hunger.

“It’s a deal.”

There was a lurch somewhere in your guts, and suddenly you found yourself standing in a dim alcove, like a theatre box, overlooking a familiar black marble ballroom.

Hell’s Halloween Ball was in full swing, already. The assortment of attendees echoed last year’s. Fae, vamps, and even a djinn or two wound their way around and through the crowd of demons, all decked out in elaborate costumes.

You looked down from the shadows of your hiding place, and once again, the feeling of being so terribly human overwhelmed you. Like a goldfish in a school of sharks. That was when you realized that Crowley had zapped you here before you’d had a chance to grab a single weapon. Or shoes. ...Or underwear. That off-balance, othery feeling took hold of you. You shivered.

“Something wrong, darling?” Crowley rumbled from behind you.

“Just feeling a little underdressed, all of a sudden.” You kept your voice down, even though you were so high above the dance floor, no one could possibly hear you.

Crowley hummed low in his throat and pressed himself to your back, snaking his hands over your silk covered hips and nipping slightly at your earlobe.

“Underdressed is exactly how I like you,” he growled.

Your whimper was purely instinctual. So was the way you arched back, rubbing against him and offering your neck for kisses.

Crowley groaned and bit down on the junction of your throat and shoulder. A slight keening sound happened somewhere in the vicinity of your vocal chords without your permission, and you ground against him again. You had just a heartbeat to enjoy the feeling of Hell’s most impressive cock rolling against you before that feeling was replaced by a sharp slap on your ass. You pulled a breath through clenched teeth and gripped the railing in front of you.

“Careful with that. It’s loaded,” you said, and shook your ass at him.

“And who’s fault is that?” He retorted.

“Who’s fault?” You huffed a laugh. “Yours! It’s been a while, you know.”

“You didn’t listen to me- I tried to steer you towards that little snack back in Alabama. You chose not to take the offer.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you said without any real anger. “Like I’m gonna do what you tell me.”

“Cheeky.” Another sharp spank, softened by a kiss behind your ear. “We can-and will- play later. Now, it’s time to work.”

He stepped back and let you turn to face him. At some point, he had donned his costume. It was the same from last year, you saw; a red cape draped over his impeccable black suit, a multi-horned devil mask covering the top half of his face. Standing in the shadows of the alcove, the flickering lights from the ballroom below picking out the lines of that mask, Crowley was back to the mythical dark figure you’d encountered a year ago. A wolf-in-the-woods kind of shadow that made all the animal parts of you quiver. The devil that had fucked you senseless in the dark above his library. God, you wanted him to do it again.

He must have known how his appearance affected you, because he licked his lips, smirked, and crooked a finger in your direction. His eyes flared red as you took an involuntary step forward.

“That’s it, my Queen,” he murmured low, “Come to daddy.”

You snorted in quiet amusement as you crossed the carpeted floor to him. “Ass.”

From behind his back, Crowley produced a mask for you. It was white filigree, not solid, so it wouldn’t cut off your vision like the last one, the metal swirls were wrought to dip low over your nose and high on your brow, almost horse like. The antlers that sprouted from the top gave the appearance of a crown, much like the demonic horns on his own mask. You reached a tentative hand out to touch one of the points.

“A deer?”

“A hart. A White Hart.” When you looked askance at him, he continued, “The White Hart, in stories, is a traveler from another world. An emissary of sorts. And the bestower of blessings upon Kings. I told you- symbols and archetypes.”

“So this is a political move, not an aesthetic one?”

He rolled his eyes. “Sweet missionary on a spit, woman. Have you seen yourself? It’s both.”

He helped you settle the mask in place- it was much lighter than you thought it would be- and offered his arm in a courtly gesture. “I think we’ve reached ‘fashionably late’, by now. Come on, Pet. Let’s give them a show.”

~~~

The ballroom fell silent when you walked in. The music died away, dancers stopped swirling, conversations ceased, and everyone turned toward the King of Hell as though it were choreographed. You looked out over the sea of supernatural faces and tried to slow your heart rate. If Crowley needed you to be a Queen, and it got you an honest conversation from him, by fucking Hell, you would be a Queen. A deal’s a deal, after all.

“Friends, demons, countrymen,” Crowley addressed them, a little sardonically, “Welcome to my annual ball. As always, until sunrise, the legendary hospitality of Hell is open to you. Enjoy yourselves!”

The music rose again, and the party resumed. A path opened in the crowd, and Crowley led you to the dance floor. Although the fizzle static of a few hundred conversations filled the huge room, it seemed that every eye was still on you. Your bare feet, blessedly hidden by the liquid swirling of the dress as you moved, made no sound on the cool marble floor. A lack of shoes allowed more maneuverability than last year’s heels, but it made you feel even more venerable. And you still didn’t know how to waltz.

But Crowley wasn’t King of Hell by chance, and he played his role flawlessly. As he swung you into into his arms, you felt the familiar hot pressure of invisible hands lifting you just an inch off the floor. You fought a gasp and smirked at him. The hands in question had lifted from just under your ass.

“Bastard,” you murmured.

“Oh, darling, you say such lovely things,” he retorted, and began swirling you around the floor.

With the whirling motion blurring the world around you, it was easier to forget that you had entered the room as the center of attention.

“So, this is a yearly thing, huh? I didn’t know it was such a big deal.”

“Well,” he tilted his head conspiratorially, “It’s not like we’re the types to have a company Christmas party. This lets everyone mingle, drink, blow off steam…” At that, one of the manifested hands under your skirt reached a little deeper, running a finger of heat through your folds. You hissed through clenched teeth, to keep from crying out. Crowley continued in a conversational tone, but low enough that only you could hear, “Have I mentioned how gorgeous you look, tonight, Y/N? I can’t bloody wait to have the business bit over and done with. I’m going to eat you alive.” His eyes flared red as you moved through a small shadow on the edge of the floor, and an ethereal tongue joined the fingers under your skirt, lapping at the juices there.

“Fuck, Crowley, you fucking asshole… shit…” You whispered and writhed, trying to ease the pressure. But his power just moved with you, and you couldn’t get away. Your vision went white around the edges and your breath came in shallow pants. The King pulled you closer, to keep you from swooning back, and never broke stride.

“Oh, there she is. Hello, darling,” he crooned, “Did you miss me?” The spectral tongue never relented, and a sucking pressure was added to your clit. You bit your lip in a desperate fight to keep quiet. Crowley kept going. “This is the version of you I like best, Love. All flustered and pliable and dripping.” The disembodied tongue pushed deeper, writhing inside. You couldn’t bite back all of your pleasure and a small Aaaaah! Slipped out, buried in Crowley’s neck. He continued, “That’s it, Love. Let your King take care of you. You like when I play with you, don’t you? My squirming, soaking wet little toy. I wonder how long I can keep playing with you until-”

The music died again and Crowley broke off mid-sentence with a whispered curse. He stepped away from you, to greet the intrusion. The invisible mouth abruptly stopped its torture, as well. But the hands remained, more to keep you upright than anything else. Which was a good thing, as you probably wouldn’t be able to stand on your own. Again, the occupants of the room turned toward the main doorway, in which stood three women in glittering black gowns.

The witches had arrived.

~~~

To help get your heart rate down and your brain back in working order, you took mental notes of the new guests. Queen-for-a-night or not, you were still a hunter. The blonde one was young. In her early 20’s, if you had to guess. She wore a white mask over her eyes. On the other side of the doorway, there stood a statuesque brunette that seemed to be nearing 40. Her mask was red. The one in the middle was a head shorter than the other two, but was unquestioningly In Charge. She was old. Middle 80’s maybe? You hardly ever saw a witch owning her age, like that. Her black mask and black dress made her white hair stand out against the dark marble room.

“Ladies,” Crowley’s tone was friendly, if a little cautious, “I’m so glad you could join us. Please come in.”

A new path cleared, and you saw a small dais set at the end of the hall, on which sat two empty thrones facing the crowded room. That was where Crowley led you. He didn’t even look behind to see if the witches followed- just took your hand and proceeded to the thrones.

You had regained most of your composure from his mid-dance teasing, and though you were still a little short of oxygen, you were able to tread silently on your own bare feet, once more. You tried not to think about how many eyes were on you- you just focused on Crowley’s warm, steady hand in yours, and followed his lead. You moved on autopilot until you were both seated, Crowley on your right side. You must have made an imposing sight. Crowley all in black and red, you in glowing white, and both masked faces staring down at the assembly.

The witches stood at the foot of the dais, looking up at the King and Queen of Hell, and remained silent.

You swallowed quietly and rested your hands on the throne’s armrests. Queen. You are a fucking Queen. Get yourself under control. Head up, shoulders back. It’s showtime. Think Queen, damnit. You tried not to dig your fingernails into the carved, dark wood.

“We have some illustrious guests,” Crowley addressed the assembled creatures, “The Exalted Coven has sent a delegation to Hell, in hopes of forming an alliance. Isn't that right, ladies?”

The white haired woman inclined her head a fraction.

“Then you are welcome. Let’s talk business, shall we?” From some hidden pocket, Crowley produced an ornate scroll. The parchment scratched and fluttered in the silent air as it unfurled, stretching from his lazy hand to the old woman’s feet. She would have to stoop to pick it up and read it.

“Just a boilerplate agreement, of course,” Crowley continued, “You are granted the protection of Hell, blah blah, and we gain your fealty, with tithes due every seven years, etc etc.”

Your hunter brain went into overdrive. Protection of Hell? Tithes? What would this mean for you and the boys and your work? What parts of that contract was Crowley glossing over to make a quick sale? You were so busy speculating that you almost missed when the old witch spoke.

“Your Queen seems very quiet, Crowley. She doesn’t speak?” Her voice was strong and resonant, not at all the voice of a little old lady. You also clocked the use of Crowley’s name, not “your majesty” or whatever.

Everyone turned to you. Fuck. Shit, fuck, damnit, pissing hell. They expect you to talk, now? For a heartbeat, you thought terror would overwhelm you. But suddenly, you felt a warm hand on the back of your neck. Crowley’s demonic power applying reassuring pressure to the spot in your spine that he had repaired so many months ago. That feeling of Otherness washed over you, and the world took on the fuzzy edges of a dream.

“She speaks,” you said, mildly amazed that you sounded so calm, “She just doesn’t speak merely to fill silence.” Where did that come from? Astounding yourself even more, you continued, “The King has made an offer. Do you accept?”

She regarded you for one long, agonizing moment that was probably only a heartbeat. Her eyes dropped to the rowan wood disk on your chest. You couldn’t be sure, with masks obscuring all faces, but it looked like the old woman cocked an appreciative eyebrow at you. In the corner of your eye, you saw Crowley’s mouth twitch as if trying not to smile.

The witch then nudged the air with her chin, which was apparently some kind of signal, because the two women at her sides stepped forward quickly. The youngest picked up the trailing end of the contract and held it steady, the other ran her hand slowly down the parchment, muttering under her breath. The Luisgeàrd grew slightly warm against your chest, as it always did in the presence of witches’ magic. When she reached the end of the contract, the red masked witch murmured a few words in her leader’s ear. Wrinkled lips pursed at Crowley in a decidedly “we are not amused” sort of way, the old woman flicked her fingers towards the contract. A few words and phrases blazed red, changed, or disappeared altogether.

So this is how the supernatural elite negotiate? You thought. It was a far cry from beers and pizza and yelling in the Bunker’s war room.

Crowley shrugged and grinned like a precocious child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Can’t blame a bloke for trying, now can you? The changes are acceptable. We have an agreement.”

The witch smiled, stepped forward, and dragged a finger along the bottom of the contract, leaving a thin line of crimson behind. Signed in blood.

Crowley’s grin widened, and the contract vanished with a flick of his wrist.

“Now, then,” he announced, “You ladies are welcome to share our hospitality, but I understand if you have more pressing matters to attend to, tonight.”

“The Maiden will stay,” said the witch, and the young blonde stepped forward, “The Mother and I will go to our own festivities.” Crowley gave a half bow of acquiescence from his throne.

And with that, they swept out, the music rose, and the party resumed. The blonde witch- The Maiden, apparently- was swept up into a dance by a demon in a wolf mask. At least, you hoped that was a mask.

As you contemplated that, Crowley pressed his mouth to your ear and whispered, “You were bloody magnificent, Y/N.”

You turned to face him. “Really? I thought I was gonna pass out when she put me on the spot like that. I just said the first thing that came to mind that sounded… I don’t know… Queenly.”

“You were perfect! Fuck, that was perfect!” And there, in full view of the movers and shakers of the monster world, he grabbed your arm, swung you into his lap, and caught you up in a devouring kiss.

As if the guests had been waiting for this signal, the tone of the room changed. A throbbing beat threaded through the music, the lights dimmed a bit, and the air seemed to take on a crackle of energy. When Crowley moved from your lips to your throat, nipping and sucking and kissing, you stole a glance around the room.

In an alcove, two vampires were busily feasting on a faerie. One on her neck and the other… Oh. Definitely not on her neck. The faerie looked like she was having the time of her life.

On the dance floor, waltzes had given way to spinning, grinding couples and thrupples, costumes shoved aside so hands and mouths could access the flesh underneath.

“Crowley...” You gripped his shoulder to get his attention on your words and not your uncovered skin. “What the fuck is going on?”

He looked out over the ballroom and it’s writhing occupants with a proprietary smile.

“I told you, Love. We like to blow off some steam at this party.”

“But… I mean… This is looking like an orgy!”

Crowley smoothed a hand over your hair and gave you another genuine smile. Damn, you could get used to that smile. It made you all wobbly in all the right places.

“Bugger me, you’re adorable,” he said, “You left before the good stuff, last year. Or, should I say, we jumped the gun on the good stuff, last year…” The grin turned predatory, and his eyes flared in the candlelight. “What do you say, Pet? Want to give them a display of what they missed, last time?” He guided your hand to the considerable bulge in his lap.

In another involuntary response, your fingers wrapped around the suit-covered shaft, pulling a groan from Crowley that he didn’t bother to stifle. You glanced over your shoulder again, at the assembled hosts of Hell.

At the end of the buffet table, the Maiden was laid back among the champagne glasses, the wolf-faced demon hovering over her. She reached down to undo his pants.

Tearing your eyes away, you focused on the King, once more. He was palming your breast- the silk sliding delightfully against your nipple. He licked his lips once again. His eyes were unwavering bonfires of red light, fixed on your face. You hadn’t stopped stroking him, you realized. You kept stroking, almost absentmindedly, hypnotized by the look Crowley was giving you. An equal mix of quiet disbelief and ravenous hunger.

Over the roar of blood in your ears, you began to hear unmistakable sounds from the crowd behind you. It was like being immersed in porn. Fuck, it was hot. You stared into those red eyes and tried to think coherently. Crowley’s hand that wasn’t on your chest began to inch under the hem of your dress. Slow and deliberate and easy to stop if you wanted to.

Just then, a crash of glass behind you drew your attention away. The champagne glasses had been jostled off the table by the force of the wolfman’s thrusts. The Maiden wallowed back, emitting small gasps and squeals. You stared.

The heat between your legs was throbbing. Your face was flushed. This was unlike anything you’d ever seen. The dreamlike feeling hung over you as you slowly worked Crowley’s dick in your hand and gazed into the crowd. You noticed not only the writhing masses of flesh and cries of pleasure, but several grinning faces turned in your direction. Hell was watching.

“People are staring at us.”

“Of fucking course they are.” Crowley bucked into your hand and growled appreciatively when you tightened your grip. You turned back to face him.

“I… I don’t know how I feel about that, Crowley.”

He released his hold on your breast and took a moment to straighten his tie. The gesture was so refined, the turn of his neck so fluid, that it became obscene against the backdrop of intimate noise that filled the air. You squirmed against the wet heat at your core, trying to figure out if you were actually about to fuck the King of Hell- on his throne- in full view of hundreds of witnesses.

He leaned forward to kiss you, moving from your mouth to your jaw and up to your ear.

“This night is ours, Love,” he murmured, “And as much as I would love to make you scream for me right here, I think you like to watch more than be watched. Besides, I’m in the mood to have you all to myself...”

You felt the tug in your gut once more, and again found yourself in the alcove high above the ballroom. From here, you had a bird’s eye view of the orgy- and that’s exactly what it was, at this point. Piles of limbs tangled on the dance floor, humped backs and arched breasts undulating in the candlelight, bare flesh and flashing teeth and holy shit- the sounds. It was enough to make your head spin, even without the supernatural teleport.

Crowley pressed against your back, hands braced against the railing on either side of your body, trapping you. You melted back against him and watched the display on the dance floor. The band hadn’t stopped playing, but there was now a driving, drumming beat hanging over the melody, and people fucked in time with the music. You felt drunk. Drunk and dizzy and more turned on than you’d been in a long time.

“Crowley?” you said, twisting around to ring your arms around his neck and look squarely in his burning eyes.

“Mmm?”

“I need you to fuck me. Right now.”

“My Queen!” he exclaimed through grinning teeth, and yanked you back into the shadows.

In a tangle of kisses and hot grasping hands, you managed to rip away each other’s clothes.

Soon you were flat on your back, nothing between you and the deep red carpet below you, the Luisgeàrd resting on your bare chest, the King of Hell between your legs.

When he reached up to dislodge your mask, you gripped his wrist to stop him.

“No,” you gasped, “masks stay on.”

He chuckled. “We’ll make it a Halloween tradition, then.”

As the music and screams and groans drifted up from below, Crowley reached between you, grasped his cock, and slowly began dragging himself through your folds. Teasing your clit with the blunt head, dropping back down to press against your clenching core, then back up again. Over and over, with agonizing gentleness, never stopping his methodical torture, never looking away from your face.

“Crowleeeeeyy…” you whimpered, trying to buck up and catch him.

The burning, invisible hands clamped onto your hips, holding you still and helpless against the floor.

“Tsk tsk tsk, Y/N,” he whispered, “Look at you. Soaking wet and desperate to be fucked. Mewling and panting like you’re in heat. My little toy. You think you’re ready for me?” He nudged at your opening, again, applying just enough pressure to slide in a fraction of an inch.

“Aaa! Fuck, yes, Crowley please... please…” Your vision wouldn’t focus. You couldn’t lift your hips to meet him, so you arched you back and rolled your head from side to side in desperation. He didn’t move at all.

“Can you hear them, down there? All those screams and wet slaps?” You nodded emphatically. “That is nothing to the noises I want you to make for me.” Then he slid backwards, away from your throbbing center. It undid you.

A scream of frustrated agony ripped out of you- bouncing off the marble walls of the hall and momentarily drowning out the din below your alcove. But before that scream died away, Crowley slammed into you full force, and a new scream took its place. The distinctive stretching burn that always accompanied the arrival of that cock inside you was shocking after so long an absence. You roared with pleasure at the sensation.

“That’s my girl! That’s my Queen!” Crowley exclaimed into the cacophony, grinding his hips against you, buried to the hilt.

When you ran out of air, the King took advantage of the relative quiet and backed out of you a bit, then shoved back in with a groan. You were only dimly aware of your own noises, at this point- too focused on the hymn of obscenity that the masked, looming devil with glowing eyes was pouring into you as he slowly dragged out, then snapped back into your quaking pussy, again and again.

“Fuuck, you’re so wet, Love! That’s my Queen! So wet and hot and tight- oh, yes! I’ve waited months for this… Dreamed of getting back into this cunt!”

“It’s yours,” you gasped, reaching up to grab the horns on his mask, all reservations gone, just lost in the feeling of fucking the King of Hell, again, “It’s all yours! Oh my god, you feel so good!”

With a roar of his own, Crowley yanked himself out of and away from you, leaving you empty and sprawled on the floor. Before you could do more than squawk in protest, he jerked you up and spun you towards the railing.

“I told you before. God’s not here,” he snarled.

You landed against the barrier, chest and shoulders hanging over the rail. The festivities hadn’t died down. In fact, it looked like they were gaining steam. A swirling, pulsing mosaic of skin and colorful costumes spread out across the ballroom. Anything that could be done for carnal pleasure was being done, somewhere in the room. Still in the throws of your own passion, you took in the display, gasping for breath.

Crowley was behind you again. His fingers stroking in and out of the dripping, aching spot between your legs. He pressed you forward, leaning out over the ballroom. The Luisgeàrd swung back and forth, as if to draw your attention to the spectacle below.

It was the kind of thing that would have made you blush and look away, any other time. Hanging half over the railing, looking down at a kaleidoscope of sex, breasts dangling in the air- so exposed. But not tonight. Tonight, you weren’t you. Tonight, you were the White Hart. The Queen of Hell. And God wasn’t here.

Crowley fisted one hand in your hair and gave a sharp tug, the other hand guiding his cock back where it belonged. Wet as you were, he slid home smoothly, to a chorus of groaning from both of you.

Slowly, methodically, almost reverently, he fucked you against the railing as you watched the show.

“Look at that, Pet. Look at all the fun they’re having down there. But they all wish they were here with you, you know. They all wish they were right here, deep in this gorgeous cunt… Aren’t I lucky? Fuck, I love this pussy! You glorious thing…”

The stream of his words, the slow, exquisite drag and thrust of him against your swollen inner walls, the delicious sting of being suspended from his fist by your hair; it was all too good. The moans fell out of you in one long note, and you felt the tightening in your belly that meant release wasn’t far off. Still, it stayed maddeningly just out of reach.

“Crowleeeeyyy… Crowley, pleeease… I need to come… please!”

Once more, the King maneuvered you effortlessly. In a swirl of motion too quick to follow, he had you facing him, perched on the railing. Somehow, he was still buried inside you. Ruling another dimension clearly came with some physics-bending perks.

“Look at me, darling.”

You stated into those cigarette red eyes, set in the demonic mask, glowing in the dark alcove. The intensity in those eyes made you even more light-headed. Almost to the point of fear. But if you’d learned anything in the past year, it was that when Crowley was fucking you, you could trust him.

Gripping your waist to hold you steady, he aimed a powerful thrust right to your center. You swooned back a bit, eyes fluttering closed with pleasure, grabbing Crowley’s arms and wrapping your legs around him for stability.

“Ooooh, yes!” You cried. So close… you were so close…

“No, Pet. You keep your eyes on me, now.” You brought your focus back to him. “That’s right,” He crooned and ground against you, “You watch me fuck you. Watch me fuck you until you come.”

And you did. You kept your eyes locked with Crowley’s as he pounded into you over and over. All his words were gone, now. His bottom lip clutched between his teeth as he concentrated on you. The demonic power manifested again; this time a merciless vibrating heat against your clit.

You forgot where you were. Forgot who you were. The entire world narrowed to the sensations shooting out from between your legs and the burning points of light hanging in the gloom before you. Somewhere, far outside your senses, someone was repeating, “Fuck! Yes! Fuck! Yes!” over and over. Was it you? Finally, that internal cord snapped and you came, screaming, shaking apart from the inside out, still staring in Crowley’s eyes.

He didn’t slow down. Just kept fucking you through it until you were spent and limp. Then he gathered you to him, buried his masked face in your neck, and with a few more shuddering thrusts, spilled himself deep inside you.

You stayed like that for a long while; locked together, lazily running fingers over each other’s skin, dropping gentle kisses on ears and necks and shoulders. Not speaking. Not needing to. The King and Queen of Hell.

You both managed to get safely to the floor before Crowley slid free. You were exhausted. You just puddled in his arms and drifted in and out, kissing deeply and trying to catch your breath. Swimming in that dreamlike Otherness.

After what may have been days, for all you knew, you felt that lurch in your guts, and realized that Crowley had zapped you back home. He lowered you into your bed, smoothed back your hair, and with another kiss, rose to leave.

“You.. you owe me…” you slurred through sleepy lips, “conver...sation. You said.”

“Next time, Love. I’m a demon of my word, don’t you worry. You sleep, now. My Queen.”

As Crowley pressed one last, gentle kiss against your brow, you finally fell into unconsciousness.

~~~

Tags: @mamaredd123, @motleymoose, @emilyymichelle, @singingphoenix, @cassiopeia-barrow, @roxy-davenport, @fuschiarulerinthebluebox, @generalgoldfishldrm, @sunnysaysbookreviews, @kittennovak

#sleeping with the enemy #spn fanfic #crowley smut #crowley fanfic #crowley x reader #spn smut

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bedbellyandbeyond · 6 years ago

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Laundry Day

(Story Post)

Nathan had really started to appreciate the weekends again. With work all week and having numerous appointments throughout as well, Nathan felt like he just couldn't keep up. With the twins on his bladder, he could barely stay still for an hour, and every little task he'd taken for granted he now felt like he had to muster extra energy to do. All he wanted was to sleep in and have his feet rubbed but there was always something to do. When Saturday came around, he let himself sleep in a tiny bit, but then he was up and getting to his errands. Taking a shower was a whole new thing now. His body felt completely different every single day and his stomach had grown so much that he'd lost sight of himself in the lower region. He washed himself as best he could but frankly he felt like admitting himself to a retirement home just for the sponge baths. Since he was on a wolfless weekend though, he at least had the luxury of using his own bathroom at home. While he appreciated APID having little en-suite bathrooms, they were quite small and not very homely. What he did prefer at APID though was the lack of stairs. Hobbling up and down his grandmother's staircase was so taxing now with his extra weight. He had to plan for every trip, think about what he was bringing up or down with, whether he needed the bathroom or not, whether he needed to bring food or water with him. When he started doing laundry, he cursed the house for having the washer and dryer all the way downstairs in the kitchen.

While he was carrying his laundry bag down the stairs, and struggling at it, his doorbell rang. He groaned and just finished his hobbling before dropping the bag and making his way to the door. He had a feeling it was just solicitors so he didn't bother calling out that he was coming and instead used a window to peek at his visitor. To his surprise, there was a big black umbrella blocking his view, despite it being a very bright day outside. “Who in the world...” He opened the door to find Nari standing there in sunglasses and gloves with the umbrella over him. He turned to look up at Nathan and smiled. “Hello.” “Uh, hey. What are doing here?” Nathan asked. “Well, since our first conversation, I intended to speak with you about your lycanthropy, but I've been quite busy with school,” Nari said. “Now I figure I can help you a little.” “Oh.” Nathan looked around. “How did you get my address?” “From Dax,” Nari stated. “Oh… Okay.” Nathan opened the door more and walked back towards his clothes. “I was just doing laundry... But I have time if you'd like to help.” Nari just stood there as if waiting for something. Nathan grabbed his laundry bag and hoisted it over his shoulder, looking back at Nari curiously. “Are you coming in?” Nari frowned. “You have to invite me.” “The door's wide open,” Nathan said. “Invite me in properly!” Nari demanded. “I'm a vampire!” “Oh. That's a thing?” Nathan scratched his neck. “Please, come in?” Nari heaved a sigh and crossed the threshold. He closed the door then his umbrella and placed it in the corner. “I hate asking to be invited. Don't make me do it again.” “Jeez. I'm sorry. I didn’t know,” Nathan said. “Not to mention, you could have called ahead to say you're coming.” Nari just shrugged. “So, you're pregnant, right?” Nathan sighed and side eyed Nari. “Would you feel bad if I said no?” “Not really,” Nari said. “It wouldn't be my fault you gained weight.” “Yes, I'm pregnant,” Nathan groaned before carrying his bag into the kitchen. “Don't you think you shouldn't be exerting yourself like that in that condition?” Nari asked, as he took off his sunglasses and removed his gloves. “I need clean clothes,” Nathan stated, dropping the bag on the kitchen floor. Instead of bending over, he decided to sit completely on the floor to start sorting his colours. Nari huffed. “You should be having someone else do that for you.” “You're the only other person here,” Nathan said. “Would you like to do my laundry?” “I suppose I can help...” Nari said going over and helping him sort. “But I suppose if I'm going to be touching your underwear, we should consider each other friends.” Nathan let out a small chuckle. “I guess.” “Good, because Mr. Cassidy is so long to say,” Nari stated. “I've always preferred Nathan,” Nathan said. “You just refused to say it.” “We're co-workers and it isn't very professional to use each other's given names unless we’re closer than that,” Nari said. “If you say so,” Nathan said. “I don't really think it's a big deal.” “Young people are like that...” Nari said. “You say that like you're a senior,” Nathan said. “I was born in 1893.” “Holy shit!” Nathan dropped the pants he was checking the pockets of and looked at Nari, searching his face for any evidence of age. “You're older than my grandma! But you look younger than me!” Nari didn’t look amused. “Yes.” “Okay, okay. So wait,” Nathan said. “Were you there when Dr. King was shot?” “Why would I be there? I'm Korean!” Nari scoffed. “I didn’t come over here until the 90s. No stupid questions like that.” “You're over a hundred years old!” Nathan exclaimed. “You've lived through two turns of the century!” “These are obvious observations. Please stop.” “Both World Wars. What was that like?” “Listen,” Nari said, becoming irate. “I don't talk about that past. I'm am Nari. Nari didn’t go through that. Nari is a millennial.” Nathan scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to touch a sore spot.” Nari was just quiet and kept sorting Nathan's colours. He scrunched his nose after a while. “Where is the father anyway? Why isn't he doing your laundry?” Nathan could've only hoped this wouldn't come up. “He's not in the picture.” “Why not?” “He's dead.” “Oh...” Nari paused for a moment. “I'm sorry...” “It's fine...” Nathan said. “He's better off that way...” “Did you kill him?” Nari asked. “No! What the hell?” Nathan exclaimed. “Sorry, you made it sound like you wanted him to be dead,” Nari said. “No! I mean, I hated him but I didn’t want him dead,” Nathan explained. “He was a piece of shit.” “Then why did you have sex with him?” Nathan grit his teeth. “I wasn't in control...” “Ah. Drunk sex.” “No. I was the wolf.” “Oh...” Nari thought for a moment. “So he liked...animals?” “He was also transformed.” “Another werewolf?” “Bear.” “Oh.” Nathan continued sorting through his clothes. “I'm always a little lost as to how to sort my colours... I usually just put a lot of greens, greys, browns and oranges together in one pile... How do you sort yours?” “...I don't really wear a lot of different colours...” Nari said. “Just... Black, white, grey, and red.” “Is that a vampire thing?” Nathan asked. “The whole...monochrome funeral aesthetic?” Nari shook his head. “That's a European vampire thing.” “But you're doing it.” “I'm not. I just like those colours,” Nari said. Nathan looked at Nari and how he dressed that day. He was in black skinny jeans with a white belt and a sweater in gradient from white to grey. His hair was clearly died red and it appeared he was wearing a little bit of eyeliner. Nathan snapped his fingers. “I got it. You're going for the K-Pop look.” Nari would’ve blushed if he had any good blood in his cheeks. “I am not!” “Which is your favourite? BTS?” “K-Pop is a toxic industry selling the youth of their performers,” Nari huffed. “I'd never idolise that behaviour.” “Uh huh... I personally like Blackpink.” “Blackpink is good...” Nathan chuckled as he emptied another pair of pants. To his surprise, there actually was something in the pockets, other than a couple cents and lint. It was the NATE letter. “What's that?” Nari asked, observing Nathan holding it like it was radioactive. “...A letter,” Nathan said, rubbing his fingers over it. “From the father.” “You haven't opened it yet?” “No...” Nari shrugged. “Open it.” “I was saving it.” “Either open it or throw it out,” Nari said. “No good ever came from an unopened letter.” Nathan looked at Nari and decided to take his one hundred year old wisdom. “Okay...” He broke the seal with his thumb and took out the awaiting letter inside. Nari straightened his back as he watched and waited for Nathan to read through the letter in his head. He could tell he was a little confused by the contents. “So, what's it about?” “...It's a map,” Nathan said. “Mostly...” “A map?” Nari asked. Nathan paused, unsure as to whether or not to trust Nari. The beginning of the letter was very clear about not sharing the contents with APID, but if this was truly important, Kent would have never left it in the hands of APID. Not to mention Nari was just a teacher at APID E. He wasn't likely one of the people Kent feared. “Can I trust you?” Nathan asked. Nari blinked. “Of course. I have secrets from the 1920s that I've kept all this time.” “...” Nathan looked down at the page. “It's a handwritten map... Do you want to go for a walk with me?” Nari blinked. He looked out the window and then to his watch. “...Sure. Just, hold on.” He pulled out a tube of sunscreen and started applying it very generously to his skin. “So that's actually a thing?” Nathan asked, folding up the letter again. “The sun burns you?” “Yes. Frankly, it's the worst part of being a vampire,” Nari stated, rubbing a lot of sunscreen into his neck. “It's not like... ‘AH! SUNLIGHT! POOF!’, but it hurts...” Nathan nodded slowly. He pocketed the letter and got up to go put proper pants on and get a jacket. “You said you came to help me. With what was that supposed to be? “Oh. Werewolf history I suppose,” Nari said as he pulled his gloves back on. “There's a reason werewolves and vampires are always at odds in human narratives despite being extraordinarily different entities.” “What's that?” “Well, first you need to understand where vampires came from,” Nari said. “Their power is believed to have been passed down by an ancient being. Early vampires were extremely strong with a multitude of abilities but as newer and newer people are being turned, they've lost many abilities.” “What abilities?” Nathan asked. “Well to name a few, there's transformation, flight, turning others, reproduction...” Nari shrugged. “Many new vampires have only the negative side effects of being a vampire. Burning in the sun, needing iron supplements, cold skin, pale features...” “But you have immortality, right?” Nathan asked. “I wouldn't call that an ability so much as a curse,” Nari said. “Okay... But vampires are immortal, right?” Nathan said. “So wouldn't all the ones with those abilities still be here?” “Well vampires can't age so they can't die of natural causes,” Nari explained. “But they can be killed. And this comes to my point. Vampires and werewolves and other beings alike have been hunted by humans throughout history, with an intent to eradicate them. When werewolves started to appear, vampires took pity on them and used to aid them with their transformations and keeping them hidden. Werewolves were clearly weaker in abilities but stronger in pure strength, and proved useful when fighting off hunters. However, in Victorian Europe, there was a call to exterminate all vampires once and for all. To save themselves from similar slaughter, many werewolves gave up their vampire comrades locations. 90% of the vampire population in Europe was wiped out within a decade because of the betrayal of the werewolves.” “...Oh...” Nathan rubbed the back of his neck. “Then why do you want to be my friend?” Nari shrugged. “I'm not European. I kind of hate vampires anyway. And all that was a long time ago. Why should I be worried about you?” “You shouldn't. At least, not betrayal-wise,” Nathan said. “I'm still...well, dangerous.” Nari rolled his eyes. “You're not dangerous. If you were, you wouldn't have your job.” He picked up his umbrella from the corner. “Where are we going, anyway?” Nathan bit his lip and pulled out the letter again. “Into the woods.”

#lore #mpreg #Nathan #Nari #vampire #werewolf

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sorcieresque · 6 years ago

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leaked daisy and ai spicy xxx hot girls IM

pear-otter Yes. A bunch of times. My favourite one is where you’re a ludicrously wealthy trophy wife and I’m a down on my luck pastry chef. You hire me to cater an event and I fall helplessly into your wiles when I first visit your house. I’m amazed by the size and opulence of you and your husband’s house, but am quickly distracted by you. You descend the grand staircase in a sheer black robe, through which I can see your underwear, lacy and intricate. Your hair is artfully disheveled like you just awoke but your makeup is flawless. You want to give the impression of effortlessness, and vulnerability, and I buy it. As the date of the event grows closer, you invite me over more and more often, to adjust the menu. I wonder if you’re just lonely, or if it’s my company in particular you desire. I need this job, so either way, I don’t complain. By the day of the event, you have me completely at your mercy. I am enamoured and would do anything for you. You dress in a ravishing white blouse tucked into a tight pencil skirt. Your hair is in a ponytail, hanging in loose curls, and your eyes are endlessly sad when I see you. The event is a success, but just when it’s winding down, you find me in a back hall. You look scared, but maybe it’s all an act, your hair askew, and blood on your shirt. You say your husband is dead, and take me to see his body. I’m horrified, but you feed me a story about it being self defence. Whether I believe you or not doesn’t matter. I’m devoted to you, guilty or innocent. So I help you cover up the crime, make it look like an accident, burn your clothes. Help you wash the blood off. But when news of your husband’s death gets out, people are naturally suspicious. You’re the prime suspect, but I cover for you. Somehow, I’m implicated. When tensions are highest, we meet in your house, by moonlight. You convince me to confess to the murder, somehow making me think it’s my idea. You kiss me. Sometimes things get a little more heated than a brief kiss. The next morning I confess to the murder. You come to every day of my trial, still dressed in mourning clothes, as if you’re mourning for my freedom just as much as your husband’s death. I’m found guilty. You cry, and I hope the tears are genuine, but I never know for sure. For months you don’t visit me, and I try to come to terms with the fact that you used me, manipulated me into taking the fall for your husband’s murder. Until one day I have a visitor. It’s you of course, dressed in a tight black dress and a fur throw. You look like you’ve just come from a beautiful party. You act casual and coy, trying to play me as usual, but something’s different. I wonder what you want from me this time, what else is there, and finally I become frustrated with your cagey behaviour. I stand to go, but you ask me to wait. You admit you miss me. You just wanted to see me. At first I think it’s nothing but a trick, but there’s a desperation in your eyes that tells me you’re being truthful. Visiting hours end and you promise to visit again. And you do. There are trailers for conjugal visits, and you use your influence to let us meet in them, even though we’re not married. When I get out of prison, you wait for me in a fancy car, dressed in a wide brimmed hat. You’re wearing red lipstick, and you smile and ask where I want to go.

sorcieresque Firstly. I am high as shit.

sorcieresque Secondly, thank you for your candor. But wait, there's more.

pear-otter ?

pear-otter Are you really high?

pear-otter Daisy? Are you okay?

sorcieresque Yes and No. In your order. I said wait. I am typing.

pear-otter Okay.

sorcieresque I twice monthly entertain the idea of showing up at your door, the trope: Large coat and small lingerie. On your lap while you blush and stutter, fully-clothed. Trite, I know. I think I get off more to the power I’d hold than the subject prop of the fantasy; the patriarchy has sure done a number on me. I am aware lacy underwear and sexual confidence will not make anyone treat me equal to a man or give me the salary I deserve, that is, if I ever intended to get a job, then I could dethrone Elon Musk in a heartbeat. Where was I. These are lesbian asks and so we must take 30 minutes off being sex-critical feminists. We make love all night. I top, there is bondage involved. Much more Intimate, deeper: Sometimes I do not feel like Daze exactly but I’d rather wear a floral blue hawaiian shirt and men’s jeans, a silver gun strapped to my waist, my heart on my chest, hair long, disheveled. I walk like Daze walks and move like Daze moves but I am not a boy. I have never told anyone this. I think about girls like you but I do not know very many girls like you so you will do. A guy is hitting on you, you are clearly uncomfortable with his advances, leaning back into a locker. His arm is blocking you from escaping. I come over and put my arm around your waist and One second I must punch Tyler in the face permanently she is being obnoxious.

pear-otter Hang on. Moire is there in the fantasy or Moire is there with you in real life right now?

sorcieresque Right now. I've punched her in the face permanently. Where was I.

pear-otter Your arm around my waist

pear-otter Also I have some questions but I’ll hold them til the end. Wait one is pressing, are you sharing this with Moire?

sorcieresque Into a locker his arm is blocking you from escaping I come over and put my arm around your waist and I could say something along the lines of The Lady Here Doesn’t Care For What You Have To Say or Excuse Me, That’s My Girl even when you are not in fact my girl, but instead I simply just kiss you on the side of the face and smile at him and escort you out of his grasp until we are out of sight. In this fantasy I do not expect to be paid back. I cannot stand a woman being harassed and will use my gentlemanliness for good. I want to be strong, imposing, protective. I want to intimidate men not with short skirts but swagger and confidence or as the kids say, Big Dick Energy. But you are grateful. You swoon a bit and perhaps kiss me on the corner of the mouth, write your number on the inside of my arm. I wait exactly four days to text you.

pear-otter I like it I like that you simply kissed me on the side of the face

pear-otter You don’t need words to convey your intentions to the guy, or aggression to intimidate him. That would be playing his game, and you don’t do that

sorcieresque sent a GIF

pear-otter Is this Moire

sorcieresque [[ WRONG PERSON ]]

pear-otter [[I see]]

sorcieresque Yes. I have punched her in the face forever. Thank you. I like the part where I convince you to plead guilty for the crime I commited. It's much too flattering.

pear-otter I like that part too It’s probably my favourite part

sorcieresque Let's unpack that.

pear-otter You might be able to do it. If the situation was right

pear-otter I don’t mean if you... you know. I just mean. I don’t know. I probably wouldn’t go to jail for you in real life though I’d escape In my fantasies I’m never a shapeshifter, although sometimes I’m not Ai either.

sorcieresque You wouldn't survive a day in prison. Do you often wish to pay, or perhaps, atone, for some unspoken guilt that you refuse to acknowledge.

pear-otter Hence why I’d escape

sorcieresque sent a photo post http://pear-otter.tumblr.com/post/175391797716/sorcieresque-no-yes-soft-pink-lacy-with

By the way, I forgot to say: Niiiiiiiice.

pear-otter Hmm, I don’t think so... Sometimes I’m the rich trophy wife and mmmsomeone else is the one who goes to prison. Oh. Thank you

sorcieresque Whom.

pear-otter Moire

sorcieresque I knew it.

pear-otter One time it was Val but then I just felt guilty

sorcieresque She'd do well in prison.

pear-otter Are you telling Moire?

sorcieresque I'll spare you the embarrassment.

pear-otter Okay

sorcieresque But I did do a dramatic reading of your fantasy. You're an excellent writer. She read mine over my shoulder. Everyone's a critic.

pear-otter Okay. Thank you? Did she laugh

sorcieresque Yes.

pear-otter Okay.

sorcieresque Like you laugh when. Puppies. I'll take you lingerie shopping.

pear-otter Really?

sorcieresque Yes. You'll have to model them though.

pear-otter You’re really nice like this Daisy Kind I mean

pear-otter I guess... I agree to go. If you still want to when this weird spell is over, and when you’re not high.

sorcieresque I am absolutely fucking stoned. You can't hold me accountable.

pear-otter I’m just saying if you change your mind and don’t want to go, that’s okay

sorcieresque I can still be mean.

pear-otter Oh I’m sure you can

sorcieresque You couldn't possibly escape prison. You're not. Wiggly. Enough. It's laughable that you think you could.

pear-otter I’m a shapeshifter?

sorcieresque Not in your fantasy. Check AND mate.

pear-otter Otters are known for their wiggles, Daisy

pear-otter Oh Well I never said I escaped in my fantasy

pear-otter Hang on are you saying I’m fat

sorcieresque I'm saying you're weak.

pear-otter I don’t know how I’d be without my powers so. Maybe Do you have your powers in your fantasies?

sorcieresque Duh.

pear-otter All of them?

sorcieresque They're me. I'm them. We aren't Daisy and an extra. I am me.

pear-otter Yeah well same but I still have some idea of what it means to be just human

sorcieresque When I was human it hurt.

pear-otter Oh in the cave? I was just an otter

sorcieresque Then perhaps you are an otter and an extra.

pear-otter I mean probably. My mother was an otter first Are you having fun with Moire

sorcieresque Mmmmtyer is too bony to be comfortable. Did your father fuck an otter.

pear-otter Gross To both

sorcieresque I mean, I ask. Respectully. Did he fuck an otter, respectfully.

pear-otter Of course not, my mother was granted human form before he was even born Yesterday at 11:07 PM

sorcieresque Where was her consciousness before that. Today at 6:31 AM

pear-otter She was just an otter. Today at 10:56 PM

sorcieresque That is so fucked up. That is absolutely goddamn messed.

pear-otter How?

pear-otter That’s just how it is. It’s how most kawauso become shapeshifters. And kitsune and other things.

sorcieresque Like in Japanese Cartoons.

pear-otter Kitsune? Yes, they’re very popular, including on the television.

sorcieresque Ah. I think I like otters more. Like puppies.

pear-otter Oh Thank you then Foxes do have a reputation of being more sly and wily

pear-otter You like when I film otter stuff right? You liked it a lot when you were sick before

sorcieresque But can they dance cinematic ally shot choreographies. I think not.

sorcieresque Check AND maete.

pear-otter Haha, I guess that’s true :) So ARE you having fun with Moire?

sorcieresque Mmmmnnnnnnnnn̯͜n͚͉̝̟͉n̙͎̳͓͢ yes. But you shall take this to your grave. I a mswearing you to secrecy of the highest degree.

pear-otter Okay sure

sorcieresque PINKY swear. With Your HEART.

pear-otter How can I pinky swear with my heart I have to do it with my pinky finger

pear-otter Whatever I Pinky Swear.

sorcieresque [Photo of Daisy dragging her hands down her face in an exasperated gesture, her eyes bloodshot white, the fleshy pink of the inside of her eyelids showing.] The Fat man of Sand is pouring his concoction in my eyeballs. If there's anything else you wish to know Speak now or forever hold your peace.

pear-otter Aud’s weird boyfriend? Is Aud there too? Oh actually wait

sorcieresque Hmm.

pear-otter In your fantasy?

sorcieresque Mhmm.

pear-otter You said um and I quote “I top, there is bondage involved.” What does that mean I mean I know what bondage IS I MEAN Hypothetically And I guess? I understand the first half of the sentence But could you perhaps elaborate!

pear-otter Haha or not? It’s okay!!! The moment has passed I guess I was just curious

pear-otter Daisy? Are you telling Moire this? I was just Joking isn’t the right word Playing along haha You probably fell asleep or got too caught up hanging out with Moire, which I hate I mean I don’t hate Moire!!! Just the thought of you two hanging out, especially high, really bothers me Why am I saying this What if you’re making out That’s hot ***NOT THAT’S NOT something you would want to do??????? Right???? If you were not high STOP Anyway. Good night Daisy I hope you’re not making out with Moire or bonding with her too much I mean I hope you sleep well And Moire. Apart. Maybe in separate rooms even Oh no. You’re going to wake up, not high, and see all this It was nice talking to you like this. Um. I don’t suppose we could pinky swear my last 500 messages into secrecy too? Good night

#IM #pear-otter

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