#THOSE STAIRS WERE SO HARD TO DRAW | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

imaginedisish · 3 months ago

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Everlong (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: This was not a request, just a thought I had and had to get out. "Everlong" by Foo Fighters just scratches my brain in a way very few songs can, and it fits perfectly for this fic. Hope you guys enjoy.

Summary: Logan offers you his bed as a friend, knowing how hard it is for you to fall asleep alone. But after months of sleeping next to him platonically, things finally take a turn...

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT! Thigh riding, Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), Cockwarming, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan, non-sexual intimacy to sexual intimacy, friends to lovers, man-handling, rough sex, afab!reader/f!reader, feelings, fluff, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,619 jeeeeeeezzzzz this is DEPRAVED

Sleep was hard—that is, until you started sleeping in Logan’s bed.

It had all started out so innocent. You were sitting on a couch in the study, flicking through the pages of your favorite book. You had just finished your fourth lap around the grounds of the mansion, and you decided you needed a break. The clock on the wall read 2:22 AM, mocking you, reminding you that of all the gifts you have, sleeping would never be one of them.

“What’re you doing awake?” You jumped at the voice breaking up the silence, but quickly recognized its bassy, deep tone. You turned to face Logan in the doorway.

“Just can’t sleep,” you answered, shrugging your shoulders. He wore a beater and gray sweatpants, and you struggled against the urge to trail your eyes up and down his body. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want him—you’ve wanted him for months.

Logan crossed his arms against his chest and smiled softly. “Can’t sleep either,” he said, taking a step closer. “You can come up to my room, if you want” he offered. “Next time you can’t sleep, or you have a nightmare, or you just can’t think of anything to do, come find me.”

You smiled at his words, at his kindness, at his willingness to help you. “Thank you, Logan,” you whispered.

“No problem, princess.” And then he turned to leave, walking back through the hallway and up the stairs to his room.

You’re still not sure what came over you in those following moments—still don’t understand where your confidence came from—but you forced yourself up from the couch and down the hall, following Logan’s path to his room.

He was already inside, already had the door closed, so you knocked. And the door immediately swung open. You swallowed, parting your lips nervously. “Lo, do you think I could take you up—”

But he didn’t even let you finish. He grabbed your arm and tugged you into the darkness of his room, navigating you carefully to his bed. He laid you down and walked to the other side, climbing in next to you. He brought the covers over your bodies, shuffling under the sheets, settling in, and then everything was silent.

You tried to get comfortable. You rolled onto your stomach and waited, eyes shut tight, hoping that sleep would take you under its current. But it didn’t. You rolled back onto your side, away from Logan, opening and closing your eyes frustratedly.

“You okay?” He asked. You could hear Logan inching towards you, his front suddenly pressing against your back.

You hummed in affirmation, leaning your back into him. He reached a tentative arm around your waist and pulled you into his chest. “Is this okay?” He husked, his lips at the shell of your ear.

“Yeah,” you panted into the darkness of his room, taking shallow breaths, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You could smell him everywhere—on the sheets, the pillowcase, in the air of the room. It was all leather and musk and pine and denim. And there he was, holding you, his thumb drawing soft circles into your slightly exposed midriff. Something about it was overwhelming, but also comforting, as though all your senses were being cradled by him.

He could hear your heart beating, could hear your breath catching in your throat. “Relax,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. Go to sleep.” Your eyes fluttered closed, and you focused on Logan’s breathing. It was constant, stable, steadfast. He was so warm, so solid. And soon enough, you found yourself giving in to sleep.

You woke up a few hours later, the pale light of the moon still pushing through the curtains. Logan’s legs were tangled with yours, your face pressed into the center of his chest, his arm wrapped around your back, holding you tight. You tried to lift your head to read the clock behind you on the nightstand.

But Logan pulled you back down. “Go back to sleep,” he murmured against the crown of your head. “Too early.”

That’s how most nights have been since then—climbing into his bed, completely innocently, just to be able to sleep. He holds you all night, keeping you close. And when the sun finally rises, you both get up and head down to the kitchen, watching as Logan brews you a pot of coffee.

It’s shockingly domestic and incredibly intimate. And yet, the two of you have never talked about it. It’s a silent agreement, one based on pattern, convention, and repetition. These very events have played out more times than you can count—for months now. It has become so normalized that you don’t question it, don’t even think about it when you crawl into his bed, and he pulls you into his chest.

So, tonight starts out like any other. Your feet pad along the dark, mahogany wood floors, down the dim, quiet hallway, towards Logan’s room. You’re only wearing a pair of panties and one of Logan’s old t-shirts, the hem falling to the middle of your thighs.

You stand in front of his door and knock. You aren’t nervous anymore—aren’t anxious as he opens the door. He’s already shirtless, wearing just his boxers—which, however, is something you will never get used to. He smiles, his eyes trailing up and down your body as he steps to the side, inviting you in.

You know the drill by now—you walk to your side of the bed, lying down and pulling the covers up to your chin. Logan follows suit. You move in silence, but it’s a comfortable silence. It’s a silence shared by two people who don’t have to say a word, don’t have to communicate to feel connection. His arms wrap around your body, and he tugs you into his chest.

“Didn’t see you today,” he mumbles, his lips brushing your forehead. “Wish I could’ve.” His fingertips graze up and down your back, your t-shirt hitching up as you get comfortable, revealing your bare legs.

“I’m here now,” you whisper, pressing your face into the crook of his neck, smelling him, letting him overtake your senses. He tangles your legs with his.

“Is this my shirt, by the way?” he asks, his hands sliding down to the hem, which is now bunched up above the waistband of your panties.

You smile into his neck. “Maybe,” you answer, giggling softly.

His fingertips slip just under the t-shirt, tentative and hesitant, waiting for you to push him away, to tell him no. But you don’t. “Looks better on you than it does on me,” he husks, his thigh settling between your legs so that you’re straddling it.

“Th-thanks,” you stutter, trying to ignore the way he bumps against your core, the way his words make your heart race. You shut your eyes and wrap your arms around his center, letting him engulf you in his warmth. You swallow your feelings down and close your eyes. “Night, Lo,” you mutter.

“Night, princess,” he says, his lips against the crown of your head.

You listen carefully to his breathing, like you always do, and after a few moments, you find yourself falling asleep.

When you wake up a few hours later, your back is against Logan’s front. His arm keeps you pressed tightly to his chest, his nose nudging against the crook of your neck—you can feel his breath, warm on your skin. Your legs are intertwined, his knee just inches away from your core.

Logan moves in his sleep, his knee bumping against your core now, his nose nuzzling into your neck, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin just under your ear. You take a deep breath, pleasure pulsing between your thighs as Logan moves again, his thigh dragging against you. You can’t help the moan that falls from your lips.

He moves again, and that’s when you feel it—his erection stiff against the curve of your ass. Heat spreads across your chest, up to your neck, your stomach somersaulting as his hips press harder into your ass.

“L-Lo,” you stutter into the darkness of his room. But he doesn’t answer. His thigh slides against your core again. You can feel the wetness pooling between your legs, soaking your panties. “Logan,” you choke, moaning louder this time.

He hums in response, nuzzling his nose deeper into your neck, his lips pressing against your skin—the ghost of a kiss. It’s too much—you want to grind down on his thigh, want to feel his cock pressing against your ass, want to feel his hips rutting against yours. You thought maybe this would happen, hoped that one night would lead to something like this, but you never dreamed it would actually come to pass.

Logan’s thigh rubs against your heat again, and you mumble his name, your breathing quickening. “Fuck,” you groan, involuntarily bucking your hips against Logan’s. His erection drags along your ass.

You force yourself to be still as Logan grunts into your neck. “You awake, pretty girl?” He whispers against your ear.

“Mhm,” you murmur, trying to play half-asleep. You don’t want to let on that you can feel him hard against you, and you pray you aren’t soaking through your panties and onto his thigh.

You swear you can hear him mumble a soft fuck under his breath. Your thoughts race around your head. Maybe he was awake the whole time. Maybe he felt your hips roll against him. Maybe he can smell the arousal growing between your thighs. You know he can hear your heart hammering against your ribcage.

But his arm tightens its grip around your waist, and he pulls you closer, holding you down against his thigh. “What were you doing, sweetheart?” He rasps, pressing a true, open-mouthed kiss to your neck. You gasp, a shiver running down your spine.

“Wh-what do you mean?” You stutter, stumbling around your words as he kisses your neck again, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin just under your ear.

He moves his knee, pressing harder into your core, dragging his thigh against your aching heat. You stifle a moan as he repeats the motion. “Felt you riding me, pretty girl,” he huffs, his hands gripping your waist, guiding your hips along his thigh. “Smelt you, too,” he whispers, his lips still at your neck. “Can feel that pretty, wet pussy dripping on me, darlin’.”

“Logan,” you whine, letting him move your hips back and forth. The pressure feels so good. You need more. “Please…” You trail off, grinding down onto him.

“Making a fucking mess of me, aren’t you?” He teases, his fingers gripping your hips like iron, so tight he might bruise. “Love watching you get off on me.” His voice is dark and honeyed, smooth like expensive liquor. Your walls clench around nothing as your clit drags along Logan’s thigh and you moan, throwing your head back against his shoulder. “So sensitive, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you pant, letting him pull you back and forth. You’ll take anything you can get—anything he’s willing to give to you. “D-don’t stop,” you beg.

“Fuck,” Logan grunts. “Need me that bad, huh?”

“Y-you have no idea,” you stammer. He bites your pulse point as one of his hands wraps around your front, slipping inside your panties and finding your clit. “Oh fuck, Lo,” you whine, the pads of his fingers drawing tight, rapid circles around the bud.

“That feels good, pretty girl?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and he’s getting off on it. You can feel his erection hard against your ass every time his hips buck into yours. “Bet it does, the way you’re soaking my thigh.”

“So fucking good,” you whimper. But you know you need more. You need him. “Logan, please…” You trail off, the words escaping you as pleasure pulses through your body.

“Please what, darlin’?” He teases, his fingers pulling out of your panties, his hands gripping your hips again, rolling you against his thigh. It’s not enough, and you groan at the loss of contact. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“N-need more,” you croak, dragging yourself along him.

“More what, beautiful?” But you know he knows. You know he wants to hear you beg for it, wants to hear you beg for him.

“More of you,” you choke out.

“Yeah?” He chides, slowing the roll of your hips with his iron grip. “More of me how?” He’s so goddamn cocky, so unfair.

“I-I…” your eyes roll back into your head as he slowly, teasingly drags you up his thigh, pulling you against his erection and holding you there. “However you want me,” you whisper, pushing against his cock. “Just want you.”

He suddenly pulls away, his grip on your hips forcing you into the mattress as he rolls on top of you, caging you in, his hands on either side of your head.

Logan’s lips crash down onto yours, swallowing you hungrily, his teeth grazing your lower lip and licking away the pain. You part your lips, inviting him inside, tasting his tongue against yours. He slides a hand down your body, stopping at the hem of your shirt and yanking it up. He breaks the kiss to slip the shirt up and over your head, tossing it to the floor. He sits up on his knees, his eyes trailing your body, settling on your bare breasts.

“So fucking beautiful,” Logan praises, lowering down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand glides up your side and to your breasts. He palms your flesh, rolling his thumb over your pebbled nipple, pinching lightly. “Fuck, you’re perfect.” He traces across the valley of your breasts, his hand massaging the other side.

He grinds his hips into yours, his erection nudging against your core. “Wanted you so bad, pretty girl,” he pants, pressing another kiss to your lips. His fingertips drag down your body, gripping your hip tightly again. “Dreamed of fucking you, of tasting you.” He buries his face into the crook of your neck as he pushes you into the mattress, biting down on your pulse point. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you want me.”

You moan as he sucks at your sensitive skin. “Want you, Lo. Need you,” you whine, your arms wrapping around his back, nails digging into his skin. “Always wanted you.”

He kisses a trail down your neck, to your collarbone, between the valley of your breasts. He slides down your body, peppering light kisses across your stomach, stopping at the hem of your panties. He looks up at you, his face illuminated by the pale, blue moonlight. You can see the desperation in his eyes, the need. He licks his lips—a man starved—as his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties.

He tugs them down your legs, throwing them to the floor, and settles between your thighs. His face is just inches from your aching heat. Your chest heaves as he brings himself closer, his breath fanning across your cunt. You look down at him and find him staring up at you, watching your every move.

“Wanna know what you taste like, darlin’,” he huffs, his palms splaying on your inner thighs, spreading your legs wide open for him. “Want me to make you feel good?” His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs possessively.

“Y-yes,” you stammer, already arching your back off the mattress. “Please, Logan.”

He smiles, his eyes still trained on yours as his tongue swipes through your folds, long and slow, all the way up to your clit. “Fuck,” he mumbles against your core, flicking your clit, lapping at it twice before starting all over again. He licks another teasing stripe through your folds, landing on your clit and taking the bud between his lips this time. He sucks roughly, releasing your clit and swirling soothing circles around it. “You taste so perfect. Better than I ever imagined.”

He laves at you, devouring you, his head buried against your cunt. His right hand climbs up your inner thigh, nearing your folds as his teeth graze your clit. Your hips jolt back at the sudden feeling, and Logan is quick to slide his left hand under your thigh. He grips tightly, yanking you back to him, and pressing his face deeper into your cunt. “Don’t even think about it, pretty girl. You’re not going anywhere until I’m finished with you.”

You moan at his words, his right hand finally working its way up to your folds. His fingertips find your entrance, spreading your slick. “So fucking wet for me,” he murmurs, prodding your slit. “Want my fingers, darlin’?”

“Yes, Lo, please. Want all of—” He thrusts two long, thick fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles. “Oh, fuck,” you cry out as he pulls out and slams back in.

His tongue swirls around your clit, his teeth grazing the bud every time he takes it between his lips to suck. It’s overwhelming, overstimulating, the way he laps at you, drinking you in, consuming you. If he could find a way to keep your taste on his tongue all day, he would. If he could slip under your skin to be one with you, to feel your warmth, he would. You know this isn’t want. This isn’t lust. This isn’t some one-off thing. This is need. This is longing.

Your eyes roll back into your head as he breathes you in, his tongue working at your clit as his fingers thrust in and out, dragging along your walls, scissoring inside you. “Doing so good for me, sweetheart,” Logan praises, and you clench down around him at the words. He smiles against your cunt. “You like that, don’t you? Like when I tell you just how good of a girl you are.”

Your walls flutter around him again. “I-I do,” you admit, your voice shaky as he fucks into you, hitting that sweet spot inside you with every pump of his fingers.

Logan chuckles darkly, the reverberation pulsing against your clit. “That’s my good girl, giving me what I’ve been waiting for,” he huffs, lapping at you, sucking on your clit like it’s candy. “Would’ve waited forever for you.”

Your muscles contract and release at his words, at the intimate confession. “Would’ve waited forever for y-you too,” you whimper, his fingers still working you open. You’re so close. Fire burns at the base of your spine, your walls clenching around Logan’s fingers again as his tongue draws tight, rapid circles into your bud.

“No more waiting, beautiful,” Logan grunts, and you know what he means—he knows you’re close. “Wanna feel you come around my fingers, wanna taste it.” It isn’t a request; it’s a command. His fingers plunge deeper, his tongue laving at your clit roughly between sentences. “Know you’re ready to let go, sweetheart. Don’t hold back. Come for me.”

You’re crashing down, falling, but not into nothingness—into Logan, into his warmth, into his touch. Your chest heaves and the room spins. Heat pours from deep at the bottom of your belly, fire spreading up your spine. Nothing has ever felt like this. His name is the only thing you can think, the only thing you can say: Logan Logan Logan Logan.

His pumps slow down, his fingers dragging gently along your inner walls until he stills inside you and carefully pulls out. His tongue is still lapping at you, still working your overstimulated clit.

“Logan,” you whine, your hands finding his head, digging your nails into his scalp. “Want you.”

He smirks against you, knowing full well what he’s doing. “You have me, darlin’.”

You groan, half in frustration, half in pleasure—the tension building back up between your thighs with every flit of Logan’s tongue. “Please,” you beg, tugging on Logan’s hair. He grunts at the feeling, smiling against your cunt again. “I want you, Logan.”

“Gotta be more specific, pretty girl,” he huffs, his face finally separating from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, his lower lip. He brings his fingers to his mouth as he waits, wrapping his lips around his fingers and sucking, savoring the taste of you.

“Want you inside me…” You trail off, watching as his fingers pop out of his mouth, his tongue darting out along his lower lip, rationing every drop of you he can find. “Want your cock,” you finally choke out.

The corner of Logan’s mouth turns up, his fingers hooking into his boxers and tugging them down. “Wanna fuck you so bad, beautiful,” he grunts, his cock springing free, bouncing against his stomach. He’s so much bigger than you had anticipated. You swallow nervously as he lowers himself down over you, resting on his forearm. “Thought about this for so long.”

His hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding himself to your folds. He swipes through you, spreading your slick, notching against your clit. You moan at the contact, your chest coming flush with Logan’s as your back arches off the mattress. “Logan, please,” you beg. “Just want you. Only ever gonna—”

He plunges deep inside you, down to the hilt with one thrust. You’ve never felt so full—his cock thick and long, splitting you open. His presses a kiss to your lips, swallowing your moans as his tongue darts out, tangling with yours. He’s still inside you, stretching you out, allowing you to adjust to the size of him. “You okay, pretty girl?” He asks as his lips part from yours.

“Y-yes,” you stammer, your arms wrapping around his back. “Feels good. So big.”

Logan pulls out and thrusts back in, splitting you open again. “Fuck,” he groans, his forehead resting against yours. “So fucking perfect. So tight, so warm. Made for me, darlin’.” Your eyes flutter open and closed as his free hand slips between your bodies, quickly finding your clit.

“Lo,” you whine as his fingers draw tight, rapid circles into the bud. He sets his pace, pumping in and out of your cunt with reckless abandon. His hips rock against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing along the walls of the room.

“Knew you’d feel like this,” Logan soothes, flicking your clit as he fucks into you. “Knew you’d feel this good. Wanna be inside you forever, princess.”

His lips find yours again, his teeth tugging on your lower lip and then sucking the pain away. It’s rushed and frantic, like he’s dying for more, searching for a way to reach deeper inside you, to feel all of you at once.

He ruts into you, his hips snapping, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. He pinches your clit roughly, and your back arches off the mattress, your chest pressing against his.

“No idea how much I wanted you…” You trail off as his cock pounds into you. He’s still stretching you out, still working you open.

Logan moans your name, his cock throbbing at your words. “Wanted to fuck you that first night you came in here,” he whispers at the shell of your ear. “Wanted you before that too. Knew I needed you the second I saw you.”

The confession rocks through you. You think of all those nights spent next to Logan, all those stolen moments. He wanted you—needed you the whole time.

“Lo,” you hiccup, his fingertips swirling your clit, his hips rocking against yours. He sinks deep inside, again and again, pumping in and out. Your walls flutter around his cock, dragging him in deeper.

“Fuck, pretty girl,” he groans, sliding out and plunging back in. “Squeezing me so good, taking me so well.”

Tears brim in the corners of your eyes at the pure pleasure drumming through your bones. You know you’re close, know you’re almost unraveling underneath him. Logan flicks your clit, drawing hard, rough strokes around the bud. You’re on fire, and you’re burning for him.

“Logan I-I…” You stumble around your words, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pounds into you. Your walls flutter around him again, and his cock twitches inside you at the feeling.

He groans, your name on his tongue like a prayer. “I know you’re close, pretty girl.” He throbs inside you, and you know he’s almost there too. “Wanna make you come again,” he grunts, pulling out and pumping back in. “Know you have another one in you, sweetheart.”

He’s right. You can’t hold on much longer, but you want this moment to last. You want to feel his cock dragging along your walls, filling you up, splitting you open. You want his chest flush against yours. You want to feel the way he bites your lip and sucks away the sting he leaves behind. You want it all—all of him—and you don’t just want it right now. You don’t want this to be a fleeting moment. You want it to be forever.

“Come on, beautiful,” Logan pants, his pace faltering, his hips stuttering. He twitches inside you again. “Fuck, you feel so good.” He strokes your clit, drawing those quick circles into the bud. “Let go for me. Know you want to,” he breathes, his forehead resting against yours. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

His words overwhelm you, and you let go. It’s all more forceful this time, more powerful, your body trembling, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as wave after wave of pleasure tears through your body. It feels like blinding, searing heat, spreading like a forest fire.

Logan is right behind you, moaning your name, his cock throbbing against your walls. “Gonna fill you up, pretty girl,” he husks, his chest heaving. You whisper a soft, pleading yes. “Fuck, gonna make you mine,” he moans. His cock throbs again, and then he’s spilling inside you, filling you with his release.

His fingers rub gentle strokes into your clit, his cock slowly pumping in and out before stilling inside you. His fingers slip away from your clit, his hand traveling up your body, and rolling you over so that you’re side by side, facing each other. He pulls you into his chest, his cock still deep inside you.

Logan’s arms wrap around your back, caressing your bare skin, tracing patterns and shapes with his fingertips. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head as you bury your face into his chest.

“Wanna stay inside you,” he mumbles against your hair. “Wanna keep you close.”

“You can,” you whisper, your heart hammering. “Wanna stay close, too.”

He presses another kiss to your head. “I’m not going anywhere,” Logan soothes, his fingers running up and down your spine. “Gonna want you forever.”

You lift your head to look up at him, his eyes immediately meeting yours. “Forever?” You ask, but you know it’s a dumb question. You know he’s telling the truth.

He smiles and nods. “Would’ve waited for you forever,” he says, pausing, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “Never felt this way before, pretty girl. Never felt this real, this perfect. Don’t wanna let you go.”

“Don’t,” you whisper into the darkness of his room. “Please.”

“I won’t,” he coos, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I won’t.”

His breathing steadies, and you listen to him like you do every night. Your eyes flutter shut, and you drift off to sleep with Logan’s cock deep inside you.

Forever. You think as your mind goes quiet and sleep drags you under. Forever.

Everlong.

tags: @ricefordays-blog1 @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @alsoprettyinpink @figsnpassionfruits @spiderset @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @starrdustss @wittyjasontodd @pedrohoe04 @fanfic-writing-barbie @evasmlp @derbygracie @cosmiccandydreamer @honeyfewr @movhoney @manipulatour @rammakela *I am so sorry if I forgot to tag you*

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thebestandworstdayofjune · 3 months ago

Text

in the refrigerator light

summary: you are somehow unprepared to run into Logan while on the quest for a midnight snack... in the house you both live in. wc: 1.9 k a/n: to be fair I did warn you that this would happen. I have a few more ideas kicking around in my head, but feel free to send requests if you have any! this doesn't take place during any particular movie, fyi, but you and Logan are both teaching at the school warnings: fluffy fluff, mutant!reader, empathic powers!reader, soft!Logan

You should have been asleep. Even after choosing to stay on at the school past your education, you’d had a hard time shaking habits of the past. It still felt strange to walk freely into professor only areas, and you were always in bed by 11:00 pm every night. Sneaking down to the kitchen to steal one of the chocolate bars you knew Scott had stashed deep in the back of a cabinet felt wrong, but the siren song was too strong to resist.

You’d been quiet, making sure to avoid the creaky stair (third from the bottom on the right) before shuffling into the kitchen. You rubbed at your eyes as you made your way to the proper cabinet. The only problem being that it was much higher up than you remember. It was times like these that made you wish for a more helpful mutation, like telekinesis or at least a few extra inches of height. You struggled for a few moments, on your tippy toes, stretching your arm as far as you could reach before you gave up. You sighed, raking your hands through your hair and making your peace with the fact that chocolate was not in your future tonight.

“Scoot over, bub.” You jumped and let out a small shriek, before clasping a hand over your mouth. It was rare that anyone got the drop on you these days, your power more finely tuned and emotions tending to be strong around the manor, but your guard was decidedly down in the place you’d called home for so many years. But Logan was an exception to many rules. HIs hand gently gripped your wrist, pulling you against his chest for a brief moment before moving to stand in front of the cabinet. He reached up into the cabinet, the zip up hoodie he wore pulling up to expose a few inches of his stomach before pulling down a few bars of chocolate with ease. He smiled, the crinkles by his eyes more prominent in the low light of the kitchen. You did your best to appear like you hadn’t just been ogling him.

“How did you know-”

“Scott’s shit at secrets.” He huffed, rolling his eyes. “You think he’d learn by now to not be such a loud mouth in a house full of people with enhanced hearing”.

Your laugh was quiet, muffled by your hand in the interest of not waking the others. “Well, in that case, I hope one of those is for me.”

Logan shrugged, eyes full of mirth. “What’ll you give me for it?”

You blinked, unsure of yourself. You weren’t used to this Logan, yet. He was usually gruff and reserved, always reluctant to give into the kids in his history class that were trying to derail the lesson with a joke or two. He’d been playful a few times in your presence, and it almost always made you worried that the other shoe was about to drop. Seeing him in pajama pants and a soft grey sweatshirt only added to the strangeness situation.

For the briefest moment, you considered using your powers. A single touch and you would know exactly how he was feeling. It was a blessing and a curse, to be able to be sure of how others were feeling with a single touch. A god-send on intel gathering or stealthy missions, a terrible temptation at midnight alone in the kitchen of the manor with the man you had harbored a crush on for as long as you’d known him. You make to grab one of the bars out of his hand, but he is too fast for you, quickly lifting them over his head. Your eyes narrowed.

Fine, two can play at this game. You roll your shoulders back, drawing up your courage. “Depends what you want for it.”

Logan grinned, dropping his arms and holding the bars behind his back. “Well, what I don’t want is to be an accomplice in your quest for cavities. Chuck’d have my head if he found out I had a part to play.”

“I’m a big girl, Logan. I can take care of myself” You grab for the chocolate, but he’s too quick for you. For a brief moment, the two of you stare at each other, the moment charged. You lunged for the chocolate again, but Logan is already halfway across the kitchen, waving the chocolate around teasingly.

“Logan, please” you laugh, following around the island. He cocked his head to the side, smirk playing at the corner of his lips. You were seconds away from stomping your foot and demanding he hand the chocolate over, when his smirk grew into a grin.

“Alright bub,” he made his way around the island, depositing one of the chocolate bars in your hand. “You know I can’t say no to you.”

You did your best to tamp down the butterflies that suddenly made a home in your stomach, but his smile was so gentle and he looked so soft, it was hard not to feel a little lovestruck. You snapped a piece of the bar off, and held it out to him. You dutifully busied yourself with breaking off a piece for yourself, ignoring the way that his affectionate gaze seemed to never leave you.

“You’re not usually up this late,” he says, holding his hand out for another piece. You shrug, dropping another section into his hand.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Welcome to the club.” You knew that Logan had trouble sleeping, he was usually the first one hunched over a cup of coffee in the mornings, steadfastly ignoring inquiries into how he slept.

“I, um” You hesitated. Usually offers of using your powers didn’t go well. You took a breath, steadying yourself. The worst he could say was no, right? “I could help with that, if you want.”

Logan reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. You could tell your eyes were the size of saucers, but you couldn’t find words. After a few moments, Logan took a step back, shaking his head slightly. You blinked owlishly, taking a breath to steady yourself.

“That’s sweet of you, bub. But I wouldn’t want to tucker you out.” It was no secret around the house that although you had a less physical mutation, it still took some of your energy. Sensing emotions was as natural as breathing, but influencing them was newer, and took much more focus.

You pointedly glanced at the clock over the stove, noting that it was well past any reasonable bedtime, before facing Logan once more. “That actually sounds really nice.” He mumbled something about not wanting to take advantage of you, but the words died in his throat when your hand found his own. You looked up at him through your lashes, hoping that he would be able to see how earnest you were being. “I don’t want to force you, but I want to be asleep more than anything, and I can tell that you are too wound up about something to even begin to fall asleep.”

His thumb stroked over the back of your hand a few times, before he stepped around you and led you out of the kitchen. You expected him to turn towards the living room, where you’d caught him ‘resting his eyes’ a few times in the middle of the day. Instead, he turned right making sure to skip the creaky stair (third from the bottom on the right) and right up to the door of your room.

“A bit presumptuous, no?” You asked, before opening the door and walking through.

Logan rolled his eyes, leaning against your doorframe. “I was there the first time you tried this. Figured it was best that no one has to pick you up off the floor.”

You felt your face grow hot, remembering the unmitigated disaster that had occurred the first time Charles suggested that this application of your powers was a possibility. Your chin tilted up, doing your best to project confidence. “Well, it’s been a while since then, I’ve gotten better.”

If the lighting had been better, you would have seen the faintest pink blush coloring his cheeks. “Rogue’s in my room.” You couldn’t help it, your eyebrows shot up near your hairline. “She and Bobby got into a fight, she wanted somewhere she would be left alone.” His hands were twisting in the pockets of his sweatshirt as he ducked his head down low.

“Is that why you were prowling around the kitchen?” He rolled his eyes, but nodded all the same. “Well, do you wanna stay here tonight?” He looked like he was about to object, but you held your hand up, effectively silencing him. “You’re doing a favor for Rogue, let me do one for you.”

“Thought you were already doin’ me a favor, sweetheart.” He protested, all while moving towards your bed.

You perched on the edge of your bed, consciously doing your best to keep your heart rate in check. The students always joked that between Charles and Jean’s mind reading and Logan being able to hear cheaters hearts speeding up, it wasn’t even worth it to try and cheat in class. It hadn’t occurred to you that if he could hear your heart fluttering, he could definitely hear the measured deep breaths you were taking to mitigate the issue.

You reached for his hand, and he accepted it readily. His palm was shockingly smooth under yours, it must be from his regenerative powers. Your thumb gently ran across his knuckles, still slightly red from the training session he’d had with some of the students earlier in the day. You tugged on his arm slightly, and he lowered himself down onto the bed beside you. “I thought that it’s important to work as a team, sometimes.”

“You spyin’ on me, bub?” You sheepishly meet his eyes, but find nothing but tenderness waiting for you. “I’ll try to forgive you.” He drops a kiss on your knuckles, before motioning for you to lay down. “I’ll take the floor.”

You tightened your grip on his hand. If he really wanted to, he could have broken away easily. Instead, he paused, eyebrows raised and waiting for an explanation. “Not much of a favor if your back hurts in the morning from sleeping on the floor” you shrugged.

“Only if you’re sure-”

“Just get in the damn bed Logan.” He grinned, pulling back the covers and slipping into the bed. You followed shortly after, and slipped your hand back into his. The both of you laid in silence for a few moments, adjusting to your new arrangement. You were nice and toasty warm, able to feel the heat radiating off him under the covers. You were in the middle of working up the courage to actually use your powers, when soft snores began to emanate from the other side of the bed. You chanced a glance towards him only to find his lashes gently fanned out over his cheeks, and his chest rising and falling with his steady breathing.

After a few moments, you followed him into dreamland. In the morning, you woke up with his arm firmly around your waist, feeling fully rested for one of the first times in your life. Again, you waited for the awkwardness to come, for your face to flush and your stammer to pick back up, but you were left waiting.

feedback is very much appreciated, as I’ve never written for Logan before! let me know what you think <3

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spectorgram · 1 year ago

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the letter

theodore nott x f! reader summary: you get a letter from a secret admirer who wants to confess. your best friend is none too pleased. notes: jealous! theodore nott >>> word count: 1.4k

You would think for a magical school, Hogwarts would have better heating or some heating spell, but the Slytherin dorms are frigid as usual as winter creeps up. You fasten your robe clasps and draw it tighter around you, simultaneously trying to tug your skirt down in a futile way to heat yourself up more. Your knee-high socks only do so much and you pretty much give up on the endeavor as you climb up the stairs and head for the Great Hall.

You’re immediately greeted by the cozy warmth of the hall, spotting your friends, all swathed in green and silver robes and knits. Theo spots you first, sliding over and nearly knocking Blaise off the bench. “Blood hell, mate,” Blaise grumbles as you approach, kicking Theo’s leg lightly.

You slip into the space created for you, right in between Theo and Enzo. You stifle a yawn and ask, “Can someone pass the eggs and bacon?”

As Enzo reaches for both platters, Theo’s eyes zero in on your legs. “How are you not cold?”

You frown. “I am,” you reply, piling your breakfast onto your plate, “but Pansy’s demon cat apparently thought my winter tights were toys and decided to scratch them all up.”

Pansy sighs, “I’ve ordered you new ones, calm down.”

Theo drapes his robe over your legs and you smile gratefully at him. He smiles back and your heart flips. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how beautiful he is — all dark caramel curls and long lashes that frame those devastatingly blue eyes. He’s been your best friend since you started Hogwarts and you knew you loved him at first sight. The longer you’ve known him, the more you’ve fallen for him.

It’s a tale as old as the world itself: you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend but you value your friendship far too much to do anything to jeopardize it.

“Mail’s here,” you hear someone say down the table. You look up to the ceiling, which has been enchanted to look like a sky that’s about to break open and drop snowflakes from its clouds. Owls soar in through the openings at the top of the walls, diving down towards their intended recipients.

“Maybe your new tights are here,” Enzo says.

Pansy adds, “I hope so. Then you’ll stop complaining about it.”

You snort, reaching up to grab a letter dropped by your family owl. You feed her a piece of scrambled egg as she takes off back towards the owlery. You tuck your parents’ letter into the inner pocket of your robe just as another owl swoops overhead, dropping a pale blue envelope on your lap.

“Who’s that from?” asks Pansy.

You shrug, using your butter knife to open it up. As you do, Draco grumbles at Mattheo: “For the love of Salazar, stop hogging the pastry basket.”

You skim over the letter addressed to you. You tilt your head in confusion and Blaise asks, “What’s it say?”

Enzo peeks over your shoulder and his face breaks into a smirk. “‘Meet me at the Astronomy Tower at midnight tonight. Signed, Your Secret Admirer.’” he reads.

“What?” Theo suddenly snatches the letter from your hand. You watch in confusion as his eyes dart back and forth. His shoulders tense and his mouth purses into a thin, hard line.

“You doing okay there, Nott?” Matthew asks, shooting a simpering smile at his friend. Theo sends a glare back but doesn’t say anything, the letter’s paper crinkling under his grip.

Pansy asks, “Are you going to go?”

You hesitate, surreptitiously glancing at Theo, startled to find that he’s gazing at you with an intensity you’ve never experienced. You pluck the letter from him and fold it neatly. “I think so,” you say. “I’m interested to see who it is.”

“Be sure to bring your wand,” Draco says. “Just in case.”

“Obviously,” you deadpan. The conversation shifts into whether anyone was prepared for midterms coming up.

You fiddle with the letter in your lap. Theo’s silent for the whole conversation.

You chew on your bottom lip as you reread the same sentence in your textbook for what feels like the hundredth time. The letter has stuck in your head the whole day. It crosses your mind that it could be a prank or a set-up — it’s not a secret that Slytherin isn’t the most popular House among your classmates — but you know you can handle yourself. You’re more worried about how Theo was acting at breakfast. He didn’t say a word the rest of the meal, not even when Enzo and Mattheo tried looping him into the conversation. He just sat there, sullen and gloomy, and his mood seemed to worsen more when you handed him his robe back and said you had to get to class.

You sigh heavily, trying to play out every possible scenario that could happen between you and the letter writer. You check the clock in the library: 11:45; you need to head over to the Astronomy Tower.

You groan, gathering your things, sliding them into your bag, and making your way back to the Slytherin common room to drop off your things in your dorm. “Cacophony,” you supply to the portrait, which swings open to let you in.

The common room is blissfully silent when you enter, a welcome contrast to the mess of thoughts in your head. You’re about to head down the hall to your dorm when you collide against someone. You huff an apology but when you feel their hand on your shoulder, you look up to see Theo. He looks intense, eyes wide and glinting with sharp determination and his mouth still set in that frown from earlier. “Sorry, Theo,” you say. “Didn’t see you there. Where are you going at this hour?”

“I was going to find you,” he replies.

“Oh,” you say. “Well, here I am. Sorry, I’ve got to drop this stuff off and then—”

“Head to the Astronomy Tower,” he finishes for you, “to meet your ‘secret admirer.’”

You don’t like the way he sneers at the last part of his sentence or the way he uses air quotations. You’re about to respond when he says, “Don’t go.”

“What?”

“Don’t go,” he repeats.

“Why not?”

He pauses before saying, “What if it’s someone just having a laugh?”

You bristle, hurt, and you feel your temper flare. “Is it so damn hard to believe that someone might actually have a crush on me?”

Theo laughs, razor-sharp and incredulous, as if he can’t believe that you’re saying something so outrageous, “No, it’s not.”

“Then why shouldn’t I go?”

“Because I don’t want you to!”

“For Salazar’s sake, Theo, you can’t tell me what to do!”

“I know that!”

“Then are you trying to tell me not to go?”

“Because I bloody like you!”

Your heart stutters to a stop. You can only hear the sounds of both of your labored breathing and you suddenly can’t meet his eyes, trying your best to wrap your head around the fact that your feelings are reciprocated. “How long?’ you ask softly, holding your breath.

“Since first year.”

You blink. “Really?”

He rakes a hand through his hair and sighs heavily, “Mattheo’s right; you’re so oblivious.” There’s another beat of silence and he asks, a little shyly, “How do you feel?”

You can’t stop the smile that spreads across your face. “I like you too, Theo. I’ve liked you since first year as well.”

He echoes your “Really?” and it makes you giggle, “I guess we’re both oblivious.”

He joins your laughter and you let your forehead rest on his chest as your shoulders shake. When it dies down, Theo shifts you off him and lifts your chin with his forefinger, any semblance of coyness gone. You gaze into his ocean blue eyes. Salazar, you could drown in them. He offers a charming smile and he leans close, just a few centimeters away, and says, “Can I kiss you?”

Your eyelashes flutter and your voice comes out barely louder than a whisper, “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Your lips meet, fervent and desperate, years of yearning releasing like water through a broken dam. Theo hooks his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as possible. You wind your arms around his neck, fingers toying with the hair at his nape. He walks you backward, slipping his tongue into mouth as he crushes you up against the wall. He deepens the kiss and your knees go weak.

Theo moves your bag off your shoulder and drops it on the floor. The letter that rested at the top of the pile of possessions falls out, laying forgotten on the ground.

#theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x you #theo nott x you #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott scenarios #theodore nott fic #theo nott imagine #theo nott fic #harry potter #slytherin boys #✶ NOVE WRITES

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yanderenightmare · 10 months ago

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TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, violence/abuse, threat of bodily harm

gn reader

Thinking about poly yanderes again…

They’re both so patronizing – suffocatingly so.

But where one is a brute, the other is sweet – or sweeter than the former, in any case...

He has a certain calm about him – gentle with you – considerate when showing his affection, and patient with you when he’s intimate. He doesn’t growl at you to shut up and lie still the way the other one does – instead, he asks you if you can be good for him – if you can let him love you – lipping at your throat without the touch of teeth as he all but begs for your consent.

The brute doesn't bother with such foreplay...

Your will doesn’t seem to interest him in any other aspect than ripping it from you and strangling it in his fist with a big grin, laughing while watching those pitiful tears start slipping down your cheeks.

He'll just shrug off the kinder one when he chides, telling him to stop being so rough with you. He just squeezes you a little tighter, sucks your neck a little harder, and kneads his cock a little deeper – saying that he can do whatever he wants with that which belongs to him.

When you struggle against him, he’s not shy of punishing you accordingly – in fact, he jumps at the opportunity – bending you over his lap with his fist riddled in your hair – landing strike after strike until you’re screaming in surrender, all cute pleas for his mercy, words he’s told you to say.

He likes fucking you like that – when you’re a broken mess who only clings to him for comfort, crying into his neck while he pumps you full of cock and cum.

The kinder one scolds him afterward. Tells him he’s a fiend while petting your head and hair, carrying you away from the scene and into the bathroom. He draws you a tub of bubbles and holds a glass of water to your lips. But for all his niceties – he still gets in the hot water with you – cock in your sore hole while he washes your hair.

Still, he’s more reasonable.

When he’s tying your wrists to the bedpost like every night of you sleeping stuck in between them, you ask him if it’s really necessary – promising him you’re not going to run away – telling him that you’re going to stay right there, peacefully asleep.

The brute says that it isn’t something that’s up for discussion, that if you push your luck, he’s gonna tie every inch of you up like a floppy fish caught in a net ready to be gutted. But you don’t heed the warning – looking to your kinder warden with puppy eyes and a pout on your lips, saying please, it hurts your wrists – again, promising him you’ll be good and stay sound asleep between them the entire night.

You just needed to get to the door.

You just needed to get to the door – through the door – out into the street, screaming while at it, and surely someone, anyone, would come to your rescue.

Why wouldn't your feet move quicker? Why weren’t you faster? Why were you clumsier now? Tripping over rugs, missing steps when scrambling down the stairs, slipping when turning corners – trying to navigate the house when you’d barely ever seen anything but the bedroom.

You just needed to get to the door – but you could hear one of them coming after you – just behind you – big monstrous thundering steps shaking you to the core, strangling your heart, shattering your bones – and it’s getting hard to breathe, hard to see, hard to feel anything other than the numbing fear and the awful way it cripples you – throwing your mind into a tailspin while choking your lungs free of all air, clawing up your throat into a scream.

You just needed to get to the fucking door –

You hadn't known you could make a sound like that – like something out of a horror movie – high-pitched and desperate – ripped from somewhere raw and primal.

There’s a hand in your hair, yanking you backward where you’re received by a hard chest and an arm snaking around your waist, hoisting you off the ground, kicking and yelling.

It’s the brute. He looks almost happy you’d tried running away – a manic look of delight on his face when he finally drops you down on the floor – pinning you beneath him – shadowing you with teeth seemingly dripping with venom and all the ugly punishments he’s no doubt cooking up inside his sick mind.

“Your ass is gettin’ it extra fuckin’ hard tonight – my handprint won’t heal for a month – won’t even be able to sit down without cryin’.” He growls, his teeth on your cheek as he grips your jaw tight – starting off your punishment with a harsh lovebite.

You look at the more merciful of the two.

He’s standing off to the side, looking down at the two of you.

You expect he’d come to the rescue like he’d done all those other times.

But to your utter horror… he isn’t lifting a single finger to stop it.

His face is blank – cold – as cold as the words that roll dryly off his tongue, “I think we’ve established that spanking isn’t enough…”

The one holding you down halts in his advances and seems to get just as frigid as you by the cold-blooded tone of his partner – who takes slow steps toward the two of you, so close he’s got your hair pinned beneath his toes before crouching down until he as well looms over you like a darkening storm.

He reaches a stiff hand to soothe the ring of teeth left on your cheek by the other – seemingly kindly, but his eyes are so jaded your breath catches in your throat – soulless as they stare into your teary ones.

“Maybe we ought to get ahead of the issue and break your legs.” He suggests nonchalantly, making both your and your other captor’s faces bleach.

Then he smiles – that kind smile, only now you can’t help but flinch at the sight of it.

“That way, everyone’s happy,” He states, explaining, “You won't have to be tied up, and we can trust you to keep your word and stay put when you promise us you will.”

Then he stands up and straightens himself, looking at his partner with that same eerie smile.

“Where’d you put the bat again?”

The brute stiffens. His crazed expression had melted in light of the other into a look you’d never seen on him before. He swallows thickly as though he’s just as worried as you are. His voice is hesitant, “I think rope is enough…”

The other throws his brows up. “Oh?” Then he snaps his focus back to you. “What do you think, baby? You think that’s enough?” He walks back to the two of you, and you feel the intense urge to hide behind the one you’d initially been caught running from.

He looks down at you expectantly, watching your lip quiver as you struggle to form an answer without choking on it.

“Hm? What was that? Rope or bat, what do you prefer?” His voice is sharp, licking at you like a knife.

You stutter, “Ro-rope.”

“Yeah? Okay, then – that’s settled.” He confirms, then looks back at the other. “Go get the rope.”

It doesn’t seem like he wants to leave – almost like he’s afraid of what might happen if he does. “Now?” He asks.

“Yes, now.” The smile tightens – sharpens into something truly lethal if you were to test it. “Our pet thinks they can run wild, so we’ll have to reintroduce them to the leash.”

Then he sets his sights back on you, robbing you of all air.

“Unless you’d prefer the bat after all?”

You whimper, shaking your head with a sniffle, “No-no – rope…”

He looks back to the other. “You heard 'em. Get going.”

He’s reluctant about it – looking from you to him, then back to you again, almost apologetically – before he gets up off you, leaving you on the floor – alone.

Your hair is then grabbed harshly, and you’re pulled up to your feet before you’re dragged off them – pulled along until you’re tugged from the floor up onto his lap as he plopped down, comfortably seated on the couch.

He sighs, letting go of your hair and placing both hands on the fat of your haunches, making you straddle him – mirroring your breathless, tear-streaked face with an expressionless one.

A hand ascends, and you’re convinced he’s going to slap you – but as you squeeze your eyes tightly shut in wait for it, his hand finds your cheek, only to ever-so-gently pet the wet away.

Cupping your face, he places a light peck on the corner of your mouth, followed by his voice, “Apologize, and I’ll forgive you.”

Your eyes peel open, looking back into his. You regret it instantly. Still eclipsed, it’s a cold and blank stare that seems to seize you by the throat.

“I’m sorry, I’ll never- never ever do it again.” You whisper pitifully – as if you’re afraid to be too loud.

“Hm…” He hums, looking unimpressed. “I don’t think that’s good enough…”

His hand slips from your face down your neck, circling it lightly before squeezing it firmly with whitening knuckles. “You hurt my feelings, y’know? I trusted you, and you lied to me – right to my fucking face.”

You cack, wrapping your smaller hands around his wrist as he strangles the words out of you. “I’m sorry- I’m really- really sorry-”

His breathing is thick, as though something’s bubbling underneath the surface – a beast within whose bloodthirst hasn’t yet been sated. “I want more than empty words.” He states flatly, unforgivingly.

Still, he lets go of your throat, letting you drop to his chest, panting sore breaths with his words ringing hot in your head. You start kissing between sipping for air – desperately, up his neck and jaw, then his lips, even though he doesn’t kiss back – pleading, “Please forgive me- I’m sorry, I-”

“Yeah? You’re sorry?” He mocks, stroking the back of your head, down your back as though soothing you – voice dripping with fake empathy. “Sorry for what exactly? Hm? For being a dumb little bitch, thinking you could run when you haven’t even so much as walked on your own two feet for months.”

A laugh inches into his words like a sickness. The eerie smile returns, small and curling in the corner of his mouth.

“You were fuckin’ hilarious, you know that?” He breathes lightly – eyes wide, staring at you like cornered prey. “Trippin’ over yer own two feet, barely even making it to the door.”

The grip around your throat returns, and you squeak out a whimper.

“Say it.” He seethes, “Say you’re a dumb little bitch who didn’t know what you were doing.” His lips ghost yours with the command, forcing you to echo the words back into his mouth.

“I’m- I’m a dumb little bitch- I’m- I didn’t know what I was doing-”

He hums at your shivering but doesn’t ease his grip – molding his lips against yours, he kisses you deeply until parting with your lips between his teeth – letting go slowly.

“I- I’ll be good from now on, I promise-” You add – in the hope it would thaw the ice of his stare.

It doesn’t. He keeps them just as jaded – half-masted now as he runs his fingers up and down your spine, brushing your chin and cheek with his lips until blowing on your ear. “You better be.”

You shudder, wincing.

“‘Cause if you ever try anything like that again, I’m gonna go get that bat – and nothing and no one is gonna keep me from bashing away at you until I’ve made certain you can’t lift a single fucking finger without my help.”

You’re a broken mess of sniveling apologies and prayers on his lap by the time the brute comes back with the rope.

But the one who’d reduced you to it doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

“There you are!” He beams with a bright smile.

Acting as though you weren’t falling apart in his arms, gripping his shirt for purchase while sobbing hard and ugly into his chest.

“Let’s tie every square inch of 'em up like you suggested.” He muses while picking your tear-stained face up in both hands, nose-kissing you with his words dripping fondly off his tongue. “Just like a floppy fish ready to be gutted.”

BNHA – BakuDeku, DabiHawks, EndMight, ShinKami, TodoDeku, KiriBaku, Shiggy x villain!Deku

JJK – SatoSugu, YujiKuna, YujiGumi

HQ – Miya twins, IwaOi,

BLLK – NagiReo, KuniGiri

AOT - EreMin

DS - InoTan, DouAka

HxH – HisoIllu

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doritochoi · 2 months ago

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Teacher's Pet | C.S

pairing: fem!reader x teacher!choi san

genre: pure smut, 18+, mdni ( because its always my fav)

warnings: san is in his late 20s, reader is 21 years old, public sex, unprotected sex, big!dick san, teacher x student relationship.

Every day when you left the school building, you would see your art teacher, Mr. Choi. He was sitting in the schoolyard with the other teachers, smoking a cigarette. Even if you weren't a smoker, this sight was inexplicably appealing. You noticed how the pronounced veins on his hand gripped the cigarette with undeniable elegance. It was a small detail that fascinated you every time. You didn't know exactly what attracted you so much to Mr. Choi. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, always with an air of mystery and distinction. Or maybe it was the passion he put into teaching art, inspiring you, to explore your own artistic talents. Despite the fact that you couldn't explain exactly why you were attracted to Mr. Choi, your obsession with him grew day by day. You knew everything about him, from the car he drove—a sleek black Bentley that gleamed in the sunlight—to his daily habits. Indeed, your obsession with Mr. Choi could not be explained only by the external details you observed about him. It was something deeper than that. You are seeing him not only as a teacher, but also as a protective and inspirational figure in your life. In his every gesture and every look you felt safe around him, like he was an anchor in a sea of uncertainty. Being a strong and wise mentor, you wanted to learn more from him and feel protected in his presence.

It was Wednesday, 7 PM. You always waited in the hallway to see your favorite teacher. You even knew when he arrived. You waited until you heard footsteps approaching, knowing it was him because his footsteps had a distinct sound you recognized. You see him climbing the stairs, and hurriedly you enter the classroom. You sat impatiently in the chair, looking towards the door and waiting for Mr. Choi. Finally, the door opens, and he appears in the doorway, exuding an air of safety and elegance. His black jacket matched his hair perfectly, and the slightly unbuttoned shirt revealed a bit of his well-defined chest. His hair framed his face impeccably, and each strand seemed to be carefully placed to highlight the fine features of his face. But the most captivating were his eyes. They were a warm, rich shade like melted caramel. In the sunlight, his eyes were shining in a charming mixture of gold and brown. His gaze, penetrating and mysterious, had the power to hypnotize you. Your eyes traveled further down, noticing his slightly transparent shirt and loosened tie. His slim waist was always a temptation for you. You wanted to feel the texture of his skin under your fingers, notice how it felt to hug that waist that seemed to be ripped from a work of art. Those pants, which sat perfectly on him, accentuating his well-defined figure, were hard to ignore. You couldn't help but turn your gaze to them, noticing how they molded perfectly to his legs and highlighted every movement of his graceful body. With every step he took, the pants seemed to draw your attention more and more, and you couldn't help but want him to get closer, to notice every detail of that charming appearance.

He sat down in the chair and you assumed he was sitting with his legs spread, imagining you could sit on his thighs and move lightly on them. This thought made you feel a little excited rubbing your thighs together. After that, he announced that the next mark would be given for a drawing that would impress him. You didn't hesitate and took out a sheet, starting to draw immediately. In less than ten minutes, you've created a perfect drawing of Mr. Choi in all his glory. His position was exactly the same as sitting on the chair, and every detail of his expression and posture was captured precisely. Mr. Choi sats up elegantly from his chair, and the subtle scent of his perfume wafted throughout the classroom, captivating your senses. With quick and sure steps, he began to walk through the students, finally stopping behind you. He bent down a little, put his hand on your shoulder, and you flinched a little from the movement he made. He looks at your drawing, smirks, then brings his lips to your ear whispering in a husky voice. "Can you meet me after class?", he said so softly that only you could heard. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. You didn't even know what to answer, so you turned your gaze towards him, now staring at his features and nodded.

The hour passed extremely quickly and you have to go home, but you remembered your teacher's words. Before going to his office, you went to the bathroom. You unbuttoned 2 buttons on your shirt and lifted your skirt a little so that your red panties could be seen. You honestly didn't know what was in your head to do something like that, but you couldn't resist anymore. Seeing him so many times with that innocent face, pretending he doesn't notice you, it annoys the hell out of you. After you got your things, you headed to his office. You stopped in front of the big wooden door. That door made you to feel different things, especially since you know very well who is inside. You took a deep breath, put your hand on the doorknob and opened the door. As soon as you opened the door, you started to feel an intoxicating scent of vanilla that was present in the whole room.He was there, sitting on the chair and looking at the laptop. He looked at you from time to time, enjoying every part of your body. "I knew you would come", he closed the laptop making you startle a little. He got up from his chair now seeing how he looked. His shirt was almost undone, and his pants looked wrinkled, you didn't know what or who brought him to that stage, but he looked different. He was getting towards you, and you ended up hitting your back against the wall. You couldn't look at him, so you started lowering your head, looking at the ground. "Look at me, miss," he moved so close to your face that you could feel his breath. You didn't do what he was saying, you continued to look down, annoying him. He wasn't happy with what you were doing so he took your hands and stuck them to the wall above your head forcing you to look into his eyes. "Don't avoid the situation", he started to put his hand on your waist and then lower reaching your panties. He looks at them, then keeps playing with the material. "We both know what you want, and you know well that I can offer you everything you want", this time you could feel his breath on your neck, until you felt something wet. He kissed you in a unic style making you feel things. Mr Choi grins a little, watching how he can dominate your body and see what things he can do to you. "Tell me pretty girl, what is your on your mind?", his voice was so low that only you could hear it. His hands began to roam your body, undoing the buttons on your shirt, now remaining with only the bra visible. "Please, fuck me" ,these were your last words, not thinking twice about what you were going to do.

He picked you up in his arms, you wrapped your legs around his waist, and he took you to the front of his desk, making you sit with your ass on it. His hands started going everywhere, from your firm breasts to your panties. He undid your bra, and a hand massaged your left breast, kissing you passionately. You let out a moan, making him even more excited than before, rubbing his cock against your leg as well. "Bend over ", you didn't even stop to think, because you got off his desk, and you bent over showing him an amazing view. He got down on his knees, tore your skirt, now showing only the red panties you chose for him. "Fuck, I can't wait to taste you", he starts running his hands on your inner thighs, then approaching with his lips, applying small kisses. "Stop teasing, please" , You knew he was the type of person who likes to tease, especially you. He always did this and he likes it a lot. With a determined hand, he starts and removes your panties, looking with such a charming look as if it was all he wanted. He licked his lips, started to come closer and without saying anything, his tongue was already doing its job. Mr. Choi’s tongue moved with deliberate precision, exploring every sensitive spot with a teasing slowness that drove you mad. Each flick and swirl sent waves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back and press against his mouth. The room filled with your moans, the sound echoing off the walls, blending with the intoxicating scent of vanilla that still lingered in the air. He pulled back slightly, his breath warm against your wetness as he spoke, "Tell me how it feels, pretty girl. I want to hear every detail." You could barely form thoughts, but you managed to gasp out, "It feels amazing... please, don't stop." A smirk played on his lips as he continued his sensual assault, his tongue now circling your clit with agonizing slowness before giving it a gentle suck. Your hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white as you fought to stay grounded under the intense pleasure. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he slid two fingers inside you, curling them in a way that made stars explode behind your closed eyelids. "You're so wet for me," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "I can feel how much you want this." , "Yes, Mr. Choi... I want you so badly," you panted, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more. He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. "Patience, pretty girl. I want to savor every moment of this." He continued to work you with his fingers, each thrust and curl perfectly timed to keep you on the edge. His thumb found your clit, rubbing it in slow, torturous circles that had you teetering on the brink of climax. But just as you were about to tip over, he stopped, pulling his hand away and leaving you panting and needy. You let out a frustrated whimper, looking down at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Why did you stop?" He stood up, his body towering over you as he undid his belt, the sound of the leather sliding through the loops making your heart race. "Because I want you to beg for it, pretty girl. I want to hear you say exactly what you want." Your eyes locked onto his, filled with desperate desire. "Please, Mr. Choi. I want you inside me. I need to feel you." He slowly lowered his pants and boxers, his hard cock springing free. He stroked it a few times, letting you see just how much he wanted you too. "Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "Yes," you breathed, your eyes locked on his impressive length. "I want you to fuck me. Please."

With a satisfied smirk, he positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock against your wet folds, teasing you just a bit more. "You’re so eager, aren’t you? Such a good girl, asking so nicely." You could only nod, your breath hitching as he slowly began to push inside you. The sensation of him stretching you, filling you completely, was almost too much to bear. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, needing to feel every inch of him. He started with slow, deliberate thrusts, each one hitting just the right spot inside you. "You feel so good," he murmured, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "So tight and wet." Your nails dug into his back as you clung to him, your body trembling with pleasure. "Faster, please," you begged, needing him to take you harder. He didn’t need to be told twice. His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more urgent. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure. You could feel the pressure building inside you, the familiar coil of your impending orgasm tightening with each thrust. "Oh, Mr. Choi," you cried out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. "I'm so close.", "Come for me, pretty girl," he urged, his voice rough and demanding. "I want to feel you come around my cock." That was all it took. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your walls clenching around him as you screamed his name. He continued to thrust into you, riding out your climax, pushing you to heights of pleasure you’d never known before. As you came down from your high, he slowed his pace, giving you a moment to catch your breath. But he wasn’t done with you yet. He pulled out and flipped you over, bending you over the desk. The cold wood against your heated skin was a stark contrast that made you shiver. He entered you again, this time from behind, his thrusts deep and relentless. One hand gripped your hip while the other reached around to play with your clit, adding to the overwhelming sensations. "Do you like this, pretty girl?" he asked, his voice strained with his own pleasure. "Do you like being fucked like this?", "Yes," you moaned, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I love it. Don't stop." He didn’t. He kept up the punishing pace, driving you both closer to the edge. You could feel another orgasm building, this one even more intense than the last. "I’m going to come again," you warned, your body trembling with anticipation. "Come for me, pretty girl," he commanded, his voice a growl. "Come all over my cock." With a final, powerful thrust, you did. Your orgasm ripped through you, more intense than anything you’d ever felt. He followed soon after, his own release spilling into you with a guttural moan. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the only sound your heavy breathing and the pounding of your heart. He stayed inside you for a moment longer, savoring the feeling, before finally pulling out and collapsing onto the desk beside you. You both lay there, spent and satisfied, basking in the afterglow. "That was incredible," you whispered, your voice hoarse from screaming. He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You were incredible, pretty girl."

#ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez smut #san ateez #san x reader #san ff #ateez san #san smut

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pepperyduck · 3 months ago

Note

you walk around the corner to see gojo’s girlfriend sitting on top of his desk and him talking to her sitting on his chair between her legs. so much for surprising him with your early coming home from your work trip. even tho he’s your husband you don’t dare take a step further keeping your shock to a silent gasp, worried you’ll get caught. your marriage had been arranged, and even though you loved him and he was a good caring husband, he was never in love with you. while you figured this was happening it still hurt seeing him so happy and full of life when he’s engaging in just simple conversation with her.

almost immediately after he notices you avoiding him and keeping to yourself even more than normal. when he brings it up, you tell him you know about his girlfriend after having listen to them talking for a long time before they started to “make out.” while Gojo isn’t mean or smug about it, he doesn’t deny it leaving you an absolute emotional wreck.

hi honey! thank u for this request, u get me so well :'). i hope i delivered what u were looking for! much love hun!

word count: 1.9k

warnings: hurt/no comfort, angst, cheating, mentions of divorce, manipulation if u look hard enough, a couple mentions of sex but no active descriptions. (18+ mdni!)

notes: so i haven't written about gojo yet but i absolutely love this man. let me know what u think! also i did not proofread this, very sorry, i wrote half of it on my lunch break @ work.

you can find part two here

masterlist

“satoruuu!” you chirp your husband’s name as you enter the home, the ending syllables of his name echoing throughout the massive entryway, and you’re met with silence. you drop your bags in front of the door, you can’t help but be enthusiastic about seeing your husband – you’ve been on that stupid business trip that took way too long, and you feel lucky you were able to come back home a few days earlier.

a boisterous laugh comes from upstairs in the empty house, signaling your husband is somewhere around your office – maybe he’s on the phone with a friend and didn’t hear you from all the way downstairs. you smile to yourself and run up the stairs, staying quiet as possible so you can surprise satoru – tiptoeing closer and closer, you see your office door wide open. when you peek around the doorframe into the room, you see your husband, dressed in one of those expensive shirts you bought for your last anniversary –

and there’s a girl, a girl you’ve never seen, perched atop your desk, smiling widely and proud from a joke she cracked to make satoru laugh so loudly.

you draw your head back quickly, praying neither one of them saw you, because you had no idea how to approach the situation at hand. that girl was more than a friend, for sure, with the way satoru was feeling up and down her thighs from sitting in between them. for a second, you feel as if your whole marriage was a lie. 5 years, down the drain, and how many of those years were spent with other women, too?

satoru gojo was the son to your parent’s closest counterparts – you grew up around him, not too close, but enough to know enough about one another by the time you became adults. after college, neither one of you held a long-term partner, so your parents and his decided to arrange a marriage for the both of you. you willingly accepted – satoru was a sweet, caring boy for the most part – yet unbeknownst to you, a cheater who never really had any intentions of staying loyal to his wife. in his mind, the marriage was nothing more than a benefit for the both of you; he agreed to get his parents off his back and live a comfortable life because of the successful jobs you both obtained. you were content taking the man’s last name, having gradually fallen in love with him over time, even planning to have kids with him one day.

all your future dreams and past feelings come to a halt when you see the man with another woman.

you creep back down the stairs, quietly so no one catches on, and you grab your bags and leave again. you don’t go too far at all; you stay down the street in your car so you can see whenever your husband leaves. once he’s on his way to go drop his mistress off, you scurry back to the house and take all your things inside. satoru returns hours later, well past after dark, greeted with you in the kitchen finishing up dinner.

“oh- honey,” satoru perks up upon walking through the door, “i didn’t think you’d be back so early.” he walks up and wraps his arms around your waist from behind, giving you a tight squeeze and kissing your neck. your first instinct is to relax into his touch, as you had always done for years before, but the hurt inside of you causes you to stiffen up at the hug.

“hi, satoru,” you faintly reply, eyes diverting from everything else to the saucepan simmering in front of you on the stove. satoru always had a knack to be able to tell when something was off with you, even from the smallest bit of action. this was no different.

satoru unravels his arms from around you and leans onto the counter adjacent to the stove, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “everything okay, sweetie?” the pet name he most commonly used made your stomach hurt and your chest tighten.

“mmhm,” you bluff, “just a rough trip, i’m really exhausted,” you tell him, gaining a bit of strength to look him in the eyes with a tired expression and a weak smile.

“aww, you should’ve told me, honey. i would’ve got us something while i was out,” satoru says, his sickeningly sweet voice causing a bout of anger inside you.

“i was going to surprise you, but you weren’t here when i got home,” you lie to him, gazing back down to the saucepan and turning the eye off, “where were you so late?” you ask, although you already knew the answer. the question was just a meaningless test.

“ah, i was out with kento. he wanted to treat me to drinks since he got a new promotion,” satoru lies right back, but you see right through it.

“really? good for him,” you compliment his friend, able to work yourself up a little more to keep a straight face in front of your husband.

satoru couldn’t tell yet, but your heart cracked each time you looked at him. you wanted to slap the man to the ground and interrogate him as to why he’s sleeping around – but you only had evidence you saw with your own eyes. you figured he would most likely try to flip things around if you accused him of cheating and pin the blame on actions of your own that didn’t exist.

so, you make the noble decision to keep quiet about your knowledge for now.

days pass, the scene of your husband and the other woman slowly ate away at you, it chipped at the loving wife persona you displayed for satoru, more and more with each hour that came and went. your husband’s usual upbeat personality remained the same, and you tried your hardest to match it, continuing to kiss and be intimate with the man as much as he wanted.

but as time grew, your feelings slowly started to show. you couldn’t help it – who could help it? – being cheated on tears away someone’s entire confidence and demeanor. for years, satoru had feigned innocence and loyalty, he was a perfect husband to you, but maybe he was too perfect for someone like you.

he was his family’s most prized heir, and you were just some girl that got lucky enough to marry him, by some chance of fate. you hated the fact that you realized all you were to him was some … possession, someone there for convenience and convenience alone.

“what’s got you down in the dumps, hmm?” satoru teases as he pokes at your shoulder. you’re laid with your back facing him, trying to fall asleep after a long, emotionally painful night of sex.

you don’t reply at first, you just roll over a little more so he can’t see your sad face, curling into yourself at his touch. there was never going to be a perfect time for you to confront the man. but all the painful feelings you’d been holding on to for weeks at this point get the best of you, and a tear makes its way out of your eye and onto the silk sheets below.

“satoru,” you peep, barely audible as you continue to face away from your husband.

“hmm, honey?” he hums, so effortlessly faking a kind tone.

“who’s that girl?” you question, “i saw her here when i came home.”

“oh,” satoru replies, and you can feel his weight shift next to you so he’s laying on his back.

silence falls over the room, you wait on a reply that satoru refuses to give you for multiple minutes. he lays there, contemplating a lie, or whether or not he should come clean.

it’s not like you’d leave him, anyway.

“i’ve been dating her for a few months now,” satoru tells you, his voice no longer sweet or caring, just plainly spitting out the words you didn’t want to hear from him, ever. the tone in his voice upsets you even greater, he doesn’t even try to deny it, which causes an even greater pain to expand inside of you.

satoru’s new indifference to your feelings hurts a lot more than you’d ever imagined. you tried to psych yourself up, telling yourself that it was okay, you’d be happy if he just lied to you about the whole situation and you’d never bring it up again. his honesty is excruciating, it causes your heart to finally shatter into a million pieces when he confesses everything so guilt-free.

“why…?” you whimper, still unable to gain any of the forged confidence you had for weeks before to look him in the eyes again. you couldn’t stand to look at those beautiful blue eyes you’d fallen so deeply in love with over time, because you knew all they’d do is glare back at you unimpressed.

“well,” satoru starts, “what did you expect? this whole marriage was a fluke, anyway,” he mutters, still too honest for you to be able to feel any comfort in his words.

satoru doesn’t care, though, he never really cared, it’s all so agonizingly obvious to you now.

what did you expect?

you knew what you expected from this marriage, you treated satoru with the utmost care, even if it was a situation you were both forced into. you expected him to stay true to his vows, to be there in all the rough patches, and he was, only until it comes to your attention he wasn’t.

the sweet, considerate, thoughtful husband you once knew disappeared in the matter of a few minutes. all that remained of him now was a hard shell of what he was.

you decide to not reply to satoru anymore, to save yourself from anymore heartbreak – as if you had any left for him to smash into a billion pieces. the only actions you take are to curl up into an even smaller ball and allow the flood gates to open – you begin to coat the soft sheets in your salty tears. satoru only groans at your crying, like it was such a burden he broke your heart, as if he’s not the one to blame for everything going downhill.

the bed sinks in as satoru stands up, sighing. his footsteps shuffle behind you, you hear his keys jingle and his shoes scuff against the floor as he puts them on. you see him walk over to your dresser – the one he made for you with a huge mirror years ago – and check his reflection to fix his hair. soon after, he walks over to you and plants a meaningless kiss to your temple.

“i’m going to go see my girlfriend now,” the utterance of the word “girlfriend” makes you squeeze your eyes shut, “if you want a divorce, let me know so i can get a lawyer.”

satoru walks away and grabs his coat on the dresser, giving himself another good look in the mirror before walking over to the bedroom door.

“bye, honey.”

he leaves behind a broken wife, who’s too beautiful inside and out for her own good. he knows you won’t really leave him; the suggestion of a divorce was to only get a reaction out of you, he was bored the instant you had no rebuttal.

you only continue to cry into the night, falling asleep alone, the only thing to accompany you is the fact your marriage was a lie. satoru will come back, but things will never be the same.

#satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gojo #gojo x reader #gojo angst #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk gojo

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madridfangirl · 13 days ago

Text

Drunken first goal celebrations

(Jude Bellingham one-shot)

Summary: Jude scores his first goal of the season, celebrates with his team and then with his girlfriend. Fluff & SMUT.

As the ball moved towards the net, past the goalie, the world stood still for Jude in those split seconds.

The deafening noise of the Bernabeu faded in the background, as did the sounds of his team-mates calling out his name.

All he fixated on was the sight of that ball at the back of the net. Something that was a common occurrence for him last season yet was so hard to come by this year.

It felt like his first goal all over again.

The overwhelming feeling was relief. The curse seemed to be broken.

And then his teammates jumped on him and got him out of his reverie.

Rest of the match was a dream. Madrid had won convincingly after a long long time. Hope was coming back to the fans and in the dressing room. All was not lost in the season, not yet.

Vini knew what that goal meant to Jude, as did the rest of the team. Special cuddles were awarded to Jude in the dressing room to celebrate his moment. Even though it was Vini’s hattrick, the team very much wanted it to be Jude’s moment. They knew how crucial it was for his confidence.

A special after party was arranged at Vini’s house. Filled with tequila and euphoria. Up next was international break so they had the luxury to let loose tonight. And let loose they did. The season had barely given them moments to celebrate and tonight felt like an inflection point of sorts. Jude wanted to soak in this moment.

In all honesty, Jude wanted to be somewhere else right now. With her. In her arms, as she spoilt him rotten. But Ananya had insisted he celebrated with the team first. That she would be waiting for him once he’s done. That this team bonding was important.

And, as always, she was right. His wise girlfriend always knew the right thing to do.

An hour into the party (or maybe 2 hours, he couldn’t tell anymore), Jude decided he was done being away from her. He called his trusted chauffeur to take him to his happy place. Agnes knew exactly where that was, and helped him walk up the stairs so he doesn’t cause much ruckus and draws attention to himself. The man knew how that would get his boss in trouble with his girlfriend. Jude kept patting the cheeks of the poor man, while Agnes rang the doorbell and waited to hand him over safely (& quickly).

Roma answered the door, and Jude pulled her into a bear hug, almost toppling her backwards. Agnes managed to shut the door behind them and bolted away quickly.

‘Romaaaaaa - what a funny name.’

‘Hello to you too, Jude.’

‘Sounds like Rome but also like mommmaaa???’

Roma struggled to break out of his hold as Jude swayed her from side to side.

‘If you hadn’t been instrumental in my team’s win tonight, I would have punched you for that.’

‘Punched me? With those baby hands? Haha so funny.’

‘ANANYA - come get your boy toy before I smack his pretty face.’

‘Aww you think I’m pretty?’

‘I think you need to let go of me RIGHT NOW. You’re stinking for crying out loud.’

Jude just tightened the hug. Roma was preparing to kick him when Ananya heard the commotion outside and stepped out of her room. In her night robe.

Jude’s grip loosened, and Roma managed to pull away from him, muttering under her breath as to how she needed a shower to get the stink off.

He pouted at the accusation, and walked into his girlfriend’s waiting arms.

‘Am I really stinking?’

He was. She wondered if he had remembered to take a shower at all amidst all the post-match madness.

‘Smells like you.’

His face split into a wide grin.

‘And you like it, yeah?’

‘I like everything about you.’

One could practically count all his 32 teeth with the way he was grinning.

‘You’re so cute. My doll is so cute.’

He sat down on the couch and pulled her into his lap. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek lovingly, as he buried his face in her chest. Clinging to her. Smelling her hair. Feeling the warmth of her soft body. The giddiness hitting him in loads.

‘Had fun at the party?’

He nodded enthusiastically. It had been forever since she had seen that kind of joy in his eyes. She kissed his cheek again but he turned around to catch her lips with his, giggling into the kiss. The sound making her heart leap with happiness.

‘I’m so proud of you baby.’

‘Been a while since I made you proud, yeah?’

The note of melancholy in his otherwise cheerful demeanour didn’t go unnoticed.

‘That’s not true. Your game is more than just scoring goals. You know that, Jude.’

He nodded again, just not as enthusiastically this time.

‘Heyy look at me. You make me proud every time you walk on to that field and give your all. Your drive and passion is what defines you, not your goals.’

‘Not everyone thinks that way. You’ve seen the memes.’

‘Yeah, well, now you’ve snatched even that joy from them. You’ve shut them up, like I knew you would. It was only a matter of time. I told you.’

‘How were you so sure?’

‘Coz you’re you. And you’re awesome.’

She held his face with both hands and connected their lips again for a comforting kiss.

‘Naaa you’re just sweet on me.’

‘That too. But you’re still awesome.’

The way he looked at her just then, with that puppy face and big doe eyes, made her heart flutter.

‘Say what you’re thinking. Don’t hold back.’

‘How do you know I…’

She cocked her head to the side, and he knew it was a stupid question. The girl knew him inside out.

‘I was starting to think if they were right. If I was actually a…..a…..’

‘One season wonder?’

She finished his sentence for him. When he kept looking away, she held his face and brought him back to face her.

‘It’s natural to have vulnerabilities and bad thoughts. But they go away much faster if you address them, and not sit on them.’

‘Were you a psychic in another life?’

‘Naaa I just pay attention when it comes to you.’

This time Jude leaned forward and she met him halfway for the kiss, tasting tequila on his tongue as he slipped it in her mouth.

‘Ummm how much did you drink?’

‘Not enough. Drink with me?’

Without waiting for a response, he pulled out a half-filled bottle of tequila from his backpack, took a big sip, grabbed her face and poured it from his mouth into hers.

The deep sudden intimacy of his action sent shivers down her back. She could tell his mood was shifting and they needed to move away from the living room to the privacy of her room.

Once inside, Jude shut the door with his foot and straightway moved to untie the knot of her robe, but she grabbed his hand mid-way.

He blinked at her in confusion, still wobbly on his feet, while she just batted her eyes at him.

Ananya looked him up and down - he was a proper meal right now in that brown leather jacket. Eyes deeper & softer in this drunken state, face extra puppy yet extra sexy, lips extra pouty as he tried to fathom her moves.

‘Wanna guess what I’m wearing underneath?’

That got his attention. Loud & clear.

His eyes roamed her form, searching for clues. The robe was hugging her curves tightly so he could tell there weren’t many layers or thick layers underneath. But he could’t make out her tits clearly so there had to be something underneath. He closed his eyes briefly, to visualise her body, and immediately knew the answer.

‘Lingerie.’

Ananya smiled appreciatively, leaning against her desk while crossing her legs, bringing his attention to her half-bare thighs.

‘Correct. Wanted to reward my baby. But but, which one?’

She cocked her head to the side again, letting her hair drop over her shoulder, testing all of Jude’s restraint.

How was he supposed to guess which one? He had bought many for her, and she had many of her own too.

‘Want a hint?’

‘Yes please.’

That came out far too desperately than what he originally intended.

Ananya lifted her robe a little from one leg, letting him have a peak of the light pink embellished fabric.

And Jude’s mouth hung open, drool coming out of it. He knew exactly which one it was - he had sent a pic to her once, wanting to buy it for her but she had said it was too slutty and barely covered any bits of her.

‘I…this the one I picked? During Euros?’

She smiled again and walked over to him, pressing his lips with her index finger. Jude had to remind himself to breathe.

‘Was saving it for a special occasion.’

‘Mmm-hmmmm.’

‘Are you up for it though?’

‘Huh?’

Jude couldn’t understand what had gotten into her or what language she was speaking tonight. It was burning him to the core though.

‘You know, with all the drinking, you think you can…’

That’s when it hit him. Hard.

Playtime was over. It was time to show her who the boss was.

Jude took off his jacket and threw it to the side, her eyes following the fabric with longing.

He walked over to her, grabbed her robe, pulled it open & yanked it off of her.

The sight of her in that barely there lingerie nearly made him cum in his pants.

He shoved two fingers in her mouth, driving them all the way in, making her choke on them. Then, he traced her bare skin with the tip of his wet fingers, leaving a trail of fire behind.

Starting to feel weak in the knees, she held his biceps for support. But Jude flipped her around, one arm around her boobs and the other sneaking between her legs. While his mouth made merry on her neck & shoulders.

‘Ju-de.’

Ananya threw her head back in pleasure, as he attacked multiple sensitive spots together.

Jude flipped her around again, moving his mouth to her cleavage, making her mewl.

He knew what she liked. For all her strong independent woman stuff, in bed she liked to be the girl. Wanting him to dominate, to manhandle her. To tell her what to do. And he loved doing that.

‘Good thing tomorrow’s a Sunday, yeah? Doll’s gonna need the rest.’

With that final warning, Jude threw her over his shoulder and on to the bed. He grabbed her leg, pulled her forward, flipped her on her hands and knees and stood behind her, admiring the view.

Given his pressing need, he didn’t even bother to fully take off his clothes. But took great pleasure in doing away with her skimpy lingerie. Lining himself up quickly, he thrusted inside without much preparation, trusting her to be wet & hot for him. And she was.

Lust & alcohol messed with his head, as did her sultry moans. He bent over her, one hand on her hips keeping them in place and the other spread across her belly possessively.

‘One day….I’m gonna put babies in here.’

She gasped loudly, going numb at his words, which only made him thrust harder till she screamed for him again.

‘You’ll take everything I give you, all of me. Like a good girl, yeah?’

The bed creaked violently under his rapid strokes.

‘SAY IT.’

‘Y-yes.’

He leaned down to bite her shoulder, as his hand mercilessly marauded her boobs & nipples, sliding back to her belly.

‘Even when this is big, I’d still have you like this. Any way I want. Till the very end.’

‘Jude please…’

‘Please what?’

‘I…I can’t…’

‘Yes you can. And you will.’

He had discovered another layer to his passion, which led to another layer of their pleasure. Her sweaty body soon went limp in his arms, and he followed shortly after.

As she rested on her back, sore & spent, Jude laid his head on her belly, kissing it lovingly, and his words rang in her mind. He looked up, locking eyes with her tired ones, a promise deep within them, and her hands fisted in the sheet, knowing he’ll do anything to follow through & to get what he wanted.

.............................................................................

A blurb, as promised :)

As always, your thoughts / comments are most welcome!

Characters from Star Crossed Lovers.

#jude bellingham #real madrid #bellingham #jude #jb5 #jb #jude bellingham smut #jude fanfic #bellingham x reader #star crossed lovers #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham blurb #desi girl #jude bellingham angst #jude fic #jobe bellingham

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darcydarlingdabbles · 6 months ago

Text

You are Safe - Deepest Desires

//One shot of Deepest Desires - Astarion Drabble. Very fluffy/comforting smut with many feelings. Not edited... Song Rec: Light by Sleeping at Last//

Explicit, Astarion x f!Tav, post cannon, 2.2k

cw: coping with sex/intimacy issues & allusions to Astarion's past

Astarion Ancunin was a sight to behold in any light.

The moon might make him look like some ethereally wicked beauty, but Tav much preferred the golden glow they were bathed in now.

She sank into the plush leather sofa near the crackling hearth, cradling a cup of mulled wine. The spiced aroma chased away the chill of the night fallen outside the inn as her eyes drew lazily over the trophies adoring the walls—swords, shields, mounted heads of beasts. Theirs was just another story to add to the collection.

Tav might be warmer still, without the vampire stretched out languidly beside her, but she would not give up the comfort of his closeness for the world.

“You know, I still don’t like being the hero. It is beyond tedium. ”

Astarion mused over the rim of his cup, as if he could detect her thoughts and had to refute them.

“That so? You play the part so well.” Tav quipped back lovingly.

“Well, I suppose I do enjoy all of the fawning adulation.” Astarion mused. “And the gold, of course.”

Tav shook her head fondly. She’d let him maintain the charade as long as he liked; she had already seen under the mask. He sent a smirk her way, his ruby eyes glinting with the firelight. Distracting her from the way he was balancing his goblet on its very edge, one of his dexterous fingers on lip of the drink, tilting further and further as if he dared the wine inside to spill.

Or he was simply teasing Tav with the threat of it.

“Beggin’ your pardon,” The inn keeper, a matronly half-orc with a smile around her tusks approached them. “Finest room we have is ready for ya, token of our gratitude for dealin’ with our Worg problem.”

“Thank you, Gerda, that’s too kind of you.” Tav said graciously. “We’re happy we could help.”

She shot her companion a glance, but he was intently finishing his wine with only a raise of his eyebrows.

She felt Astarion’s eyes on her as she conversed cordially with the inn keeper, his gaze as tangible as a caress along her cheek. Tav knew the warmth of that look. Little flickering moments of unguarded affection more sincere than any pretty picture his words could paint.

The only recognition Tav gave was the smile at the corner of her lips. Because that was the game they played. Sparing his pride until the rest of the world faded away.

This. This was everything she fought for. These quiet nights brighter than any flames.

…

Soon they retreated to the comfort of their room after a long day. Astarion led her up the stairs, silently twining their fingers together. Tav knew it was another gesture she wasn’t supposed to linger on, but if he kept this up, the dam would burst sooner rather than later.

He pushed the door to their chambers open with an overly theatrical flourish. “Not quite fit for a king…but I suppose it will do.”

Tav rolled her eyes, stepping past him to take in a very comfortable room that was downright luxurious in its details. Plush carpet, dark wood walls, and a canopied bed piled with silken sheets and pillows.

“After sleeping in bedrools on the hard ground,” Tav put her hands on her hips, a smile on her lips with her tone placating him. “I think it will suffice.”

Astarion came up behind her then, his cool breath ghosting over her ear as he murmured. “Then it is a shame you will not have the time to admire the finer details.”

In the second of warning he gave, Tav knew well he could hear every uptick of her heart.

Astarion had her spun around, capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. Tav’s back hit the wall with a soft thud, her lover’s lithe body pinning her in place as he lifted their still entwined hands above her head.

Those clever fingers hand already snuck under the hem of her tunic, drawing lines over the swell of her hip.

“I have all that I need to admire.” Tav arched to the touch with a sigh as she finally exhaled.

“Such flattery.” Astarion’s smirk was downright sinful, sending heat and want curling through her. Those ruby eyes glinted bright in the soft firelight of the room.

Soon, their packs were dropped to the side, shedding the last trappings of battle with the armor and gore already tucked away. Leaving no more barriors between them as passion sparked in the scant space between them. His nibble fingers made quick work of the laces of her tunic, the fabric falling away to expose her collarbones, and her chest.

Tav lifted her chin, playfully offering her neck, knowing how it thrilled him though he would not bite—not just yet. But Astarion would duck his head to draw his teeth teasingly along the colomn of her throat.

She peered over his white curls. “My love, the door is still—” A sharp kick shut the door, and its lever lock clicked into place. “Thank you.”

Astarion’s scoff tingled against her pulse point. He was far more preoccupied with mapping out the newly exposed skin, like it hadn’t been under his lips a thousand times. As if he wasn’t intimately familiar and once again confident with his ability to drive her mad. As if she didn’t know him just as well.

When he pulled back to rid her of her pesky tunic, she used her chance. Tav’s fingers slid into his silky curls, just brushing her thumbs over the tips of his pointed ears.

That got his attention.

Astarion made a low, pleased sound in the back of his throat, finding her mouth again.

The kisses grew more urgent as Astarion pressed Tav back against the wood-paneled wall, her arms around his shoulders as he used his thigh to part hers.

Easy as could be, like they were dancing together again. Tav took his lead, her leg hooked around his waist before he had to reach for her. Their bodies were brought flush together--letting her feel the hard press of his arousal.

“It would be a shame,” Tav murmured against the vampire’s lips. “Not to make use of the bed, don’t you think? I know how much you do enjoy fine linens.”

Astarion laughed, the sound decadent yet playful. “My darling, the only thing more appealing than being wrapped up in silk, is being wrapped up in you.”

Heat flooded into her cheeks, just like he knew it would. Even now, his lines always worked on her.

Tav reached for the hem of Astarion’s shirt, ridding him of it and letting it join her tunic on the floor. He was already walking her back towards the bed—but it just wasn’t enough to map out the planes of his chest with her fingers, hooking into the waist of his breaches.

“Can I?” Tav lifted her eyes, her mouth already watering.

“You hardly have to ask.” He purred, pecking her lips just once more. “But…I’m glad that you did.”

She always would. Sometimes to his annoyance, but the vampire seemed more than in the mood to humor her sweetness tonight. Astarion freed his cock from his breeches as he sat back on the bed, stroking himself languidly, watching her with bright ruby eyes as she eagerly sank to her knees.

He was so damn gorgeous like this, confident in seeking his pleasure, knowing Tav was more than willing to give.

Her hand curled around his, before she was drawing the tip of him between her lips. She adored the sweet, strangled sound he gave as he relenquished his hold to her, those deft fingers threading into her hair as she swallowed him down.

Tav loved him like this. Loved that she was the one who got to see Astarion this way—wanting and vulnerable and utterly hers.

She poured every ounce of devotion into the slide of her mouth, wanting him to shatter from it. For all pretense to fall away like the filthy praise faltering from his lips, and let her catch him when he fell.

Astarion tensed under her, the muscles in his thighs and the hand in her hair gone ridgid.

Tav pulled back, her eyes seeking his, looking for the glassy sheen to cover his red irises or the distance in his gaze. “You can let go, love.” lacing the reassurance his ego sometimes spurned in a seductive purr. “I want you to.”

Astarion’s scoff was breathier than he intended, she could see it on his face, but the hand in her hair curled around her chin, capturing her jaw as he bent to claim her lips.

“As tempting as that mouth of yours may be…I’d much rather be inside you.”

Her pulse quickened under his hold.

Tav was on her feet, ridding herself of any thing that could get between them. Before straddling Astarion’s lap. Reveling in his groan as he tasted himself on her tongue.

Those damned fingers of his were already delving between her soaked folds, thumbing her clit so perfectly it was maddening in an instant.

“Astarion, please…” Tav breathed against his mouth.

“I know darling.” His grin nipped at her lower lip, fingers sliding into her and curling just so. “No one knows you as I do.”

He was distracting her, and he was so very, very good at it. Tav rocked needily into him, pleasure sparking up her spine. Her fingers clutched into the fine curls at the back of his neck. Trying to ground herself to meet his burning gaze.

“No one loves you as I do.”

Something beautifully yearning moved across his face. The ghost of a longing to be known—and to still be loved. It was all he could never bring himself to ask for, and yet she gave it, freely, whenever she thought he may need it.

The next meeting of their lips was filled with nothing but tenderness, even as he pulled her closer still, breaking only as he filled her completely.

Astarion’s grip tightened on her hips, and Tav understood.

She let him bear her back onto the plush bed, surrendering to his need for control. Her hands fell back to either side of the pillow, as she searched the ethereal beauty of his face above her, assuring herself that he wasn’t lost to the old shadows.

Clear crimson eyes gazed back at her, their only darkness that of desire.

Satisfied, Tav wrapped her legs around Astarion’s waist, urging him deeper inside her. He obliged her with a precise roll of his hips that nearly had stars bursting behind her eyelids.

“That’s it, my love.” Astarion purred, his breath played over her lips as his body moved with hers, sweet and aching, their fingers wound together even as he kept her wrists pinned.

Tav could feel the edge of her bliss tugging at her, the way she clenched desperately around his cock, it was so damn close—

Astarion shuddered above her, tensing on instinct, resisting that final surrender, even now. His old wounds would never go fully away, but she could soothe them when they surfaced. Because she knew him.

“Let go, my love, I have you.”

He did, spilling into her with a choked cry, his hips snapping hard and fast into hers, sending pleasure that arched up her spine until it overwhelmed her.

Spent, still tangled together, collapsed together.

Astarion’s cool skin was a balm against her heated body, when he finally released her hands. Tav’s arms wrapped around him, feeling the faintest of trembling in the raw moments after. He hid his face crook of her shoulder, letting her fingers slide through his curls.

Tav shifted only enough to bare her throat to him, remembering how he teased that she tasted better shortly after their coupling.

Far from a distraction, it was a gesture of the intimate trsut they shared. Astarion only hesitated a moment, before sharp fangs pierced her skin, and Tav relaxed into the familiar heat and sting.

He drank from her, lost in the bliss of her blood. Comforted by the familiarity of it.

When the vampire pulled back, a trickle of red dripped from his grin, and Tav swiped it away with her thumb.

Astarion turned his face into her touch, a kiss pressed into her palm. Before he gathered her into his arms for the rest of the night.

…

Golden sunlight crept across the room as dark became day.

Astarion stayed with his head tucked under Tav’s chin, her heart beat a comforting rhythm against his ear. He stirred only as the warm glow softened his sharp features, and she finally gave in to the urge to trace the contours of his face.

Astarion’s eyes fluttered open, immediately seeking hers. A lazy smirk tugged at his lips as he lifted a hand to caress her cheek in turn, the warmth of the Ring of Daylight around his fourth finger a delicious contrast to his cool skin.

“Looking for a cuddle?” he asked, his tone playful yet tender, echoing their first morning together.

Tav laughed softly, leaning into his touch. “Always,” she replied, her heart swelling with love for this man who had come so far, who had learned to trust and to love despite everything he’d endured.

Their fingers intertwined with the comforting sound of his ring meeting hers. Warmed by the golden light forevermore.

#astarion #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #Astarion smut #Astarion fluf #tav #astarion x reader #bg3 fic #astarion ancunin #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader fluff #astarion x female reader

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eunsuri · 1 month ago

Text

The Lighthouse

Pairing: Solas x Lavellan

Summary: Lavellan explores The Lighthouse and reunites with her heart.

Word Count: 6,608

Warnings: ANGST. Lots of emotions. Lots of love. VEILGUARD SPOILERS.

A/N: Hi everyone! Happy 2 weeks until Veilguard! This has taken me way longer to write than I'd hoped, but I MADE IT! This was inspired by a beautiful piece of art by @pani-artz, I couldn't resist! I've kept Lavellan's description vague for those who would like to keep their own Lavellan in mind while reading! Also posted on AO3!

“We’re here.”

A cold breeze swept through the crossroads, cooling Lavellan’s skin as she stepped up the stairs, Harding, and Leliana flanking her from behind. The three stood before the Eluvian, the shimmering surface glowing faintly. The ancient mirror reflected the crumbled pieces of the ruins floating within the crossroads, flickering with ancient magic and ready to draw them into another world.

Anticipation stirred in Lavellan’s stomach, her senses heightened and glaring at her warped reflection. The faint glow of the mirror’s surface cast a strange light across the stone floor through the overgrown foliage around its frame, and the chill in the air seemed to seep into her bones.

Harding and Leliana exchanged glances behind her, but she hardly noticed, her heart thudding rapidly in her chest like a wild creature trying to escape its cage. Harding had seen this Lighthouse before, She knew what lay behind the Eluvian, all the memories hidden in Solas’ base of operations.

Lavellan knew Solas wouldn’t be waiting for her on the other side. Instead, what awaited was everything he had left behind—his memories, his isolation, the echoes of a life spent in the shadows. The thought of stepping into his world, of facing the remnants of his past and the pieces he had chosen to keep hidden, sent a wave of dread through her. She wasn’t sure she was ready for what she might see—for how deeply his loneliness would be etched into every corner of this place

He had stopped appearing in her dreams, no matter how hard she searched the endless distance where he once stood, always watching over her from afar. Even when she reached out, he’d slip away like a shadow, yet his presence had brought her comfort. Night after night, she would speak to him—tell him how much she missed him, how she longed to change his heart. The wolf never answered, but the sorrow in his eyes cut deeper each time, and her desperation to find him only grew over the years.

Now, her dreams were empty, filled with nothing but the ache of waiting for a love that never came. Sleepless nights blurred together as she wondered if he had forgotten her, or if something terrible had happened to him. When Harding had brought news that Solas was alive but trapped in the Fade, it brought a measure of relief, yet doubt still gnawed at her. Would she find any sign that he remembered her in this place, or had she been lost to him as well?

Harding broke the silence, her voice gentle but laced with tension. “It’s… a lot to take in, but I thought you might want to see it.” She paused, then added, “Whenever you’re ready.”

Lavellan’s breath caught in her throat, a fresh wave of anxiety washing over her. Ready? She didn’t think she ever could be. How could anyone prepare to see the deepest, most private parts of someone they loved, but had lost so long ago?

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She needed to do this, no matter how much it hurt. She needed to understand him in a way she hadn’t before, to see his world, his pain, and his purpose. Where he had been all this time, if he remembered her. Even if he wasn’t there to explain it himself.

Lavellan took a shaky, deep breath and stepped toward the mirror, the surface rippling as she neared. With a final glance back at Harding and Leliana, she stepped through and the two followed.

Emerging on the other side, her breath caught in her chest. The three stepped into a realm bathed in a warm, golden glow, as if suspended in the sky. Floating islands hovered in the distance, each dotted with autumn-hued trees as if kissed by sunlight, gently swaying in an unseen breeze. Ancient elven ruins, crumbled yet graceful, drifted among them, suspended in the air like forgotten dreams.

Before them stood a weathered statue of Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf, positioned in the heart of the courtyard. It was a figure of a protector—his posture calm, watching over the space with an almost serene presence. Cracks ran through the stone, softened by patches of moss that had claimed him over time, as though nature itself had embraced him. The statue seemed ancient, yet resilient, a symbol of an age long past, guarding the Lighthouse like a silent sentinel.

Beyond the statue, the Lighthouse rose, stretching impossibly high into the sky, its top crowned by a bright magical light encased in a spinning golden roof. The beacon pulsed with an ethereal glow, guiding not only the lost but also wandering spirits seeking refuge. The golden accents that decorated the Lighthouse shimmered in the sunlight, long streams of green fabric dancing in the wind.

Lavellan marvelled at the beauty and serenity of the place as she continued towards the entrance of the Lighthouse, carefully stepping down the broken staircase. The large door opened as the three approached, allowing them to enter the towering building.

Her breath caught in her throat as she glanced at the faded murals stretching along the pathway, their muted colours leading into the centre of the Lighthouse. Each one told a story—Solas’ time in Arlathan, his stories of rebellion, and the ancient history of the elves, including the tale of the Evanuris' downfall.The images on the walls, the stories painted into the stone, all reflected the weight of millennia.

Murals she had seen variations of before caught her eye, depicting Fen’Harel freeing slaves and removing their Vallaslin, as he had once done for her. Another told the story of the Evanuris’ rise to power and their tyrannical ways, with Fen’Harel’s outstretched arms attempting to show them they were not truly gods.

The Dalish legends she had grown up with had taught her to fear the Dread Wolf, to tread lightly lest the trickster god hear her footsteps. But now, knowing him as she did—not as the villain in their stories, but as the man who had fought to free his people, the man she loved—her heart was torn. The fear remained, lingering like an old scar, but it was now tangled with love, understanding, and sorrow for what he had become.

Lavellan wandered through the Lighthouse, her steps slow as she absorbed the surroundings. Relics of a world long lost lay scattered around, each one steeped in both history and longing. The air felt thick with memories—some sorrowful, others sacred—echoes of a time far beyond reach.

She found herself in a large room that appeared to be underwater, giant framed glass windows as a barrier between the water, with many schools of fish swimming through the depths. A lone green leather sofa was situated in the middle of the room, stuffed bookshelves lined the walls, and an array of candles scattered across the floor creating a cosy warmth that drew her in.

It was then that a soft flicker of candlelight against brilliant colours drew her gaze to a mural, its glow pulling at her like a distant memory. A set of candles was arranged on either side of the mural, almost as though it were a shrine. As she made her way towards the artwork, her heart sank deep into her stomach, a heavy weight settling in her chest.

The painting depicted a woman—one hand raised high, a radiant burst of green light pouring from her palm, the other clutching a sword close to her chest. Below the hilt, the familiar mark of the Inquisition gleamed. It was her.

The weight of this realisation struck her in an instant, chest tightening with disbelief, an ache settling deep as sorrow wrapped itself around her heart. Her likeness, immortalised in these ancient halls, was a reminder of what she once stood for, of the time they shared and the distance between them now.

Her fingers traced along the lines of the mural, imagining the strokes Solas had made, his hand dragging the brush across the stone with care. Every detail, every line, told her this was more than a mere addition to his collection of stories. This was crafted with love. He had painted her not just to remember her, but to hold onto her presence, as though each stroke was a vow to never let her fade from his memory.

Tears pooled along her eyelashes. She didn’t know whether to feel honoured, heartbroken, or both. Every detail of the mural seemed to call out to her, each brushstroke a whisper of what had been, what was lost. Slowly, Lavellan’s gaze fell to a small wooden box resting beneath the mural, its presence unassuming, as though it had always been waiting for her.

Hands trembling, she reached for the box, dragging her fingertips along the warmed wood, and gently lifted the lid. Inside, nestled among the old wood, lay Solas' jawbone necklace. The one he had always worn. Lavellan paused, inspecting the familiar necklace before reaching to lift it from the box. The sensation of the cold bone and thick rope looped around it was almost foreign, yet the weight of its meaning was still heavy.

As the jawbone rested in her palm, memories surged through her mind—fragments of what they once had. She recalled how she’d often tug him closer by the necklace, his lips moving against hers, fervent and desperate, as though her touch were the very air he breathed. She remembered idly tracing the rigid texture of the necklace as she lay against his chest, listening to the gentle rise and fall of his breath as he shared quiet stories of the Fade. Each moment felt as tangible as the cool bone now in her grasp.

She could no longer hold it with the same warmth she once had, but the connection to him, to their shared past, lingered still. The weight of the jawbone in her hand felt like a lifeline to the man she had been hunting for all these years. Desperate to keep that feeling close, she gently lifted the necklace over her head, letting the familiar curve of bone rest against her chest. It settled there, and for a brief moment, she felt as though she had him with her again.

Lavellan clutched the bone in her hand while blinking away the lingering tears which threatened to fall at any moment. As she moved forward, every step felt heavier, unable to shake the palpable sense of solitude that hung in the air. This place, with all its beauty, was not just a refuge for spirits. It was a place of mourning—a sanctuary for Solas’ lost hopes, where his memories whispered through every crack in the stone, and his loneliness lingered like a shadow.

Further in, a large dining table sat in the centre of the room. The long wooden surface stretched out before her, grand and ancient, yet only a single place setting lay at its head—a lone plate, a single cup, and neatly arranged cutlery beside them. An ache squeezed in her chest at the sight. This table, large enough for a gathering, bore only the quiet signs of one man’s solitary meals. Solas had sat here alone, day after day, surrounded by memories and ghosts of his old ambitions.

She couldn’t bear the thought of him there, sitting quietly, the vast emptiness echoing through the room as he contemplated the burden of his mission. He had been so steadfast, so determined, yet the loneliness had seeped into every corner of his existence. How many nights had he sat here in silence, the weight of his choices pressing down on him, thinking that this was the only choice he had.

The simple setting was a stark reminder of everything he had left behind for his mission—companionship, love, the simple joys of shared moments. The pain choked at Lavellan's throat and the tears she had fought streamed down her skin as she took in the sight. She rested a hand on the back of the chair, picturing him there, staring into the distance across the table, as he grappled with the weight of millennia. He had shut everyone out, even those who would have fought beside him, and in doing so, had consigned himself to this eternal isolation.

Lavellan stood still by the table, the weight of her thoughts pushing down on her shoulders like a storm cloud on the verge of breaking. Her sadness gave way to a simmering anger that twisted deep in her chest. How could he have left her—left them—like this? If only Solas had confided in her—trusted her with his truths. If only he had let her share the burden that had twisted his path into something unrecognisable. Things could have been different; they could have faced this together. She could have stood by his side, helped him bear the weight of his cause, find a better way, and maybe, just maybe, spared them both the pain of this isolation.

The thoughts of what could have been pierced through her, sharp and unyielding. How different would their lives have been if he hadn’t pushed her away, if he hadn’t shrouded himself in secrecy and left her to chase shadows for years? Heavy and unrelenting regret settled into her bones. They could have shared this—this fight, this journey. She had loved him enough to stay, to fight for him, but he had locked her out, too consumed by his purpose, too afraid to burden her with the truth.

Her fingers curled into her palms, hands clenched at her sides, frustration clawing its way up her body as she thought of the pain he had caused—his actions had left Varric wounded, with the false gods free to wreak their havoc upon the world. He had condemned himself to isolation, convinced he was sparing her the pain when, in truth, he had only deepened the wound.

Maybe he had been too proud, too wrapped in his conviction that he had to bear this weight alone. He hadn’t let her love him the way she could have. If only. If only things had been different. If only he had trusted her.

Lavellan’s thoughts were then interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing through the corridor. She wiped at her eyes hastily, straightening her posture as Leliana appeared at the doorway.

“They’ve returned,” Leliana spoke softly. “Rook and the others are back.”

Lavellan turned, her heart still heavy from the weight of her reflections. Without a word, she nodded, following Leliana out of the room and towards the group that had gathered in the main hall.

There was more to it now—she’d learned that Rook had formed a connection with Solas. A tether, almost, caused by the disrupted ritual. She had to know if there was a way, some hidden thread she could pull to reach him herself, to bridge the distance between them once more.

A spark of determination tingled through her skin. If Rook had found a way to connect, perhaps she could too.

Later that same evening, with the sharp sting of her discoveries still fresh in her chest, Lavellan found herself standing in the Fade.

Rook had spoken of how they had become connected to Solas through the ritual gone wrong, their fates intertwined, and Lavellan had seized upon that fragile link. It was all she needed—a thread, however thin, to follow him.

With Varric’s warning in her ears and Solas’ necklace warm against her skin, she stepped forward, stumbling through the dark and desolate landscape of the Fade. The twisted remnants of broken elven statues loomed around her, their cracked surfaces glinting dully in the ethereal light, like forgotten memories trapped in stone. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burnt magic, a bitter tang that clung to her tongue, tainted by a ritual gone horribly wrong.

As she moved, the ground crumbled beneath her feet, each step sending a shiver through her body as she navigated the uneven terrain. She could feel Solas’ presence—distant, yet unmistakable—like a flickering flame in the depths of her mind, pulling her forward despite the air of despair that settled around her like a shroud. Echoes of lost voices whispered through the stillness, their lamentations brushing against her ears, urging her to keep searching in this forsaken place.

She had worked so hard to find him over the past ten years, constantly reaching for him in her dreams only for him to slip away like a fading memory. Her relief at hearing he was alive warred with the anger gnawing at her heart. He had stopped appearing in her dreams, and for so long she had feared the worst—afraid he had been consumed by his mission, or worse, by his pride. Yet here he was, trapped in the Fade, perhaps lost in his own way.

The thought of him being trapped, cut off from everything, pulled at her heart. Just as she had found him again, he was suffering. But that grief mixed with a simmering anger. He had hurt Varric, who had only been trying to stop him from making a terrible mistake.

Her steps quickened, the greyed path through the Fade twisting and bending as though it were alive. She remembered Varric’s words—how he had tried to stop Solas, how Solas, in his struggle tugging at the lyrium dagger, had let it go too far. The thought stung, reopening the old wounds that had never fully healed. He had hurt someone they both cared about. Had it been an accident, or had his obsession with his plan blinded him to everything else?

It was then she saw him. Solas stood at the edge of the platform, his presence powerful and untouchable like a distant star. His eyes caught hers with a knowing look, as though he had been expecting her all along.

His strong stance wavered ever so slightly, a near imperceptible shift. Somehow, he was even more beautiful than she remembered. He was draped in dark leather armour that hugged his frame, his broad shoulders embellished with gold which decorated his chest as well. His face remained sharp and regal, though it now carried a colder edge. The weight of his millennia-old burden clung to him, as heavy as the Fade around them.

The sight of him sent a rush of warmth through her, but it was quickly swallowed by the bitter pang of nostalgia and regret, memories crashing over her like an ice cold wave. Lavellan’s voice faltered, the carefully rehearsed words slipping from her grasp, lost under the crushing gravity of his presence. For countless nights, she had imagined this moment—each conversation, every plea, practised over and over. But now, as he stood before her, all those thoughts scattered like dust, leaving her speechless.

“Solas.”

Her voice trembled with the only thing she could utter, a raw mix of anger and longing breaking free. Lavellan felt the years between them collapse. The sorrow, the love, the pain, and the anger—it all surged forward, overwhelming her in an instant.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Solas’ expression remained guarded, though the tension in his jaw and the weariness in his eyes betrayed him. His lips parted, as though he might speak, but the words died unspoken on his tongue. The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken history.

Lavellan’s heart raced as she struggled to steady her breath, emotions crashing over her: love, anger, and grief all vying for control. She wanted to scream at him for the pain he'd caused—to her friends, to her. She wanted to demand answers, to weep for his loneliness, for how lost he had become. But she also longed to run into his arms, to hold him so tightly he could never leave again, to feel the warmth of his lips, to taste the love they once shared.

Across the distance, Solas silently soaked in the sight before him. Amidst the boundless darkness of his prison, his heart stood before him once more. A dull ache crawled from his chest into his throat as he noticed how time had touched her. Soft lines had etched themselves across her skin—subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone but him. She looked exhausted, as though the years had been heavy, yet her beauty had not faded. Her eyes still held the same fire, the same brightness that had captivated him.

His gaze fell to her arm, the gleam of metal catching his eye—her prosthetic. The sight of it twisted his heart into a deep, bitter knot of guilt. She had lost her arm because of choices he had made. Though removing it would save her from an untimely end, her connection to the Anchor would have consumed her had the arm remained. However, that knowledge offered little comfort.

It was because of him. she had been marked in the first place, that she had been forced to bear that burden, to lose part of herself for a cause that had never truly been hers to fight. He carefully swallowed the pain in his throat in an attempt to mask the surge of sorrow that threatened to break through.

For a heartbeat, the distance between them seemed insurmountable and never ending. Yet the connection they had forged so long ago, deep and unshakable, remained—like a tether drawing them together even now.

Solas shifted subtly, searching the depths of his mind for words that could bridge the chasm of time and pain between them. No words could repair the damage that had been done, not a single syllable could undo the devastation he had caused.

“Vhenan…” he whispered at last, his voice rough, heavy with all the things left unsaid. It was the only word he could manage, the only truth left to him, spoken as though it held within it all his love and regret. The word hung in the air like a fragile promise.

The harsh and unforgiving hand of grief gripped Lavellan’s heart at the sound of his endearment. It had been so long since she had heard the word leave his lips, and yet it was the same—soft, full of meaning. She placed one foot in front of the other, taking a tentative step forward, her fingers brushing against the jawbone necklace, grounding her in the reality of the moment. The memory of their love flooded her, the fluttering which overwhelmed her belly when he would call her his heart, mingling with the anger that still smouldered in her chest.

“What have you done, Solas?” Her voice cracked through her cutting words, the accusation spilling through her lips before she could bite her tongue. “You stopped coming to me. You were…tearing the Veil apart, and then Varric—” She swallowed hard, her eyes burning with unshed tears. “You didn’t stop. You hurt him, and now… the false gods are free and ready to destroy this world.”

Her words were sharp, biting, but beneath the anger was the raw, unspoken truth: she loved him. She always had. And seeing her proud, cunning love like this—trapped in the cage of his own creation—cut deeper than any wound she had ever known.

Solas’ eyes fluttered closed for a moment, his head bowing beneath the shameful weight of her words. When his eyes found her again, there was a subtle flicker in his gaze—something raw and aching, a depth of emotion she couldn’t quite define. Regret, perhaps, or something far more tangled and broken.

“It was not supposed to happen this way,” he murmured, voice thin and weary, as if even the admission pained him, the words almost too heavy to continue. “I had a plan. The ritual, I was moving them to another prison. But Varric interfered, he disrupted a dangerous ritual. I did not intend for him to get hurt.”

The flame in Lavellan’s eyes blazed with fury, her voice trembling as the words tumbled out without a second thought. "Varric was our friend, Solas. You’ve gone too far. He wasn’t aware of your intentions. He tried to stop you, tried to make you see reason, and you—" She faltered, the pain caught in her throat reducing her voice to a weak whisper.

Though Varric still lived, his fate was uncertain, the magic from the lyrium-infused dagger weaving through his veins unpredictably. Her dear friend had only wanted to help—and yet, he had paid the painful price for it.

The hardened resolve in Solas’ eyes wavered, his brow furrowing with the slightest shake of his head. “I’m sorry,” he uttered, the words quiet, but laden with everything left unspoken.

“That’s all you have to offer? After everything that’s happened? After all this time?” Lavellan’s words sliced through the air, her voice was low yet biting. Her fingers curled in, hands tense at her sides as her frustration simmered just beneath the surface.

She was torn between the depth of her love and the hot flame of her anger. She had missed him so achingly—every day without him was a quiet torment—but now, seeing him like this, the one she’d loved so fiercely, all she could feel was the cold sting of his absence, the ache of betrayal. He had left her, and worse, he had hurt Varric in his reckless pursuit.

And now, after everything he had done, he stood there with regret etched into his sharp features, yet offering nothing more than a simple apology. She could see the remorse in his eyes, he meant it, but it wasn’t enough—not after everything. She longed to reach out to him, to close the distance between them, but the wound was too fresh, too raw. How could she bridge the gap when all he had to offer were those meagre words?

“Nothing can change what I have already done,” Solas sighed, the sound long and weary, as though carrying the burden of centuries.

“I know,” she replied, her voice trembling with the heaviness of her admission. “You can’t undo what’s been done… but you can still do better. You can still choose differently.”

Solas studied her, his expression unreadable for a moment, though the gravity of her words seemed to hang between them. "Better choices do not erase what has already been set in motion," he spoke quietly, his tone almost resigned, as though he carried the inevitability of his fate like a burden.

“So what, you'll just let the world fall apart because it's already in motion? You think destroying this world will somehow lead to salvation?” Lavellan began, her voice cold and cutting. Her eyes locked onto his, unflinching as she took a hard step forward. “The elven people you’re trying to save? There’ll be nothing left for them if you don’t help us stop this madness now.”

Her words hit him like a sudden gust, rattling the walls he had built around himself. For a moment, his defences collapsed under the truth of her words. But then, almost instinctively, he pulled them back up, his expression hardening as his gaze held hers.

”'Did you come only to scold me, Vhenan? Or is there more you wish to say?”

Lavellan’s breath quickened at his response, the fire in her eyes dimming for just a moment as his question hung in the air. The silence between the two stretched, filled with all the things that had never been said, all the pain, all the longing in their time apart. She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it, struggling to speak past the heaviness of her own heart.

"There is plenty I wish to say. But in truth, I came because—" She managed to murmur, the words catching in her throat. Her feet moved before her mind could stop them, stepping slowly towards Solas. "Because I was worried about you. Because I wanted to see you." Her voice was raw, as if speaking the truth aloud burned at her tongue. "Because…even after everything I—"

Solas’ head tilted ever so slightly, his expression softening as his furrowed brows relaxed, and for a fleeting second, something in him seemed to break. The unspoken bond between them, ever-present and undeniable, pulled at him once more. He reached out, almost as if drawn by the force of her words, but stopped himself just short.

He wanted nothing more than to hold her close to him and never let her go again. To let every thought spill from his lips and confess his love for her as if it were the first time. The warmth of her presence was only growing closer as she stepped further in his direction, her beautifully intoxicating scent stirring memories of their past together. He craved her fiercely—the softness of her lips, the feel of her smooth skin beneath his fingertips, her lovely voice whispering words of love that echoed in his heart.

But the shrinking space between them felt like a chasm born not only of time, but of all the hurt and chaos he had left in his wake. He didn’t deserve her. Not after his failure. Not after what he had done. He couldn't bear to drag her into the darkness of his journey, a path that he believed would only lead to death. She deserved so much more than the ruins of his mistakes.

He imagined the weight of his choices suffocating her, dimming the light that had always drawn him in. Yet as she drew nearer, he could feel the pull of her more acutely, as though the Fade itself conspired to draw them together. The ache of her absence, the torment of his own regret—none of it could dampen the magnetic force that still lingered between them.

"You should hate me," he spoke quietly, his voice barely more than a breath. "After everything I’ve done. All of the pain I have caused."

Lavellan had closed the never-ending distance between them, the air around them thick with an intensity that took her breath away. Her already racing heart quickened, emboldened by a sudden rush, a defiance against the pain that had lingered for far too long. With a trembling hand, she reached for him, her fingertips brushing against his cheek. The connection was electric, sending shivers through her, reigniting a fire that warmed her very core.

In that moment, all his carefully constructed walls began to crumble, melting away beneath her touch. She could see the tension in his shoulders ease, the weight of his regrets momentarily lifting. Their breaths mingled in the space between them, a fragile intimacy that felt both exhilarating and terrifying.

It had been years since they last stood face-to-face, their encounters reduced to her lone whispers in her dreams. Each night, she yearned for the warmth of his presence, the comfort of his touch, imagining the feel of his skin against hers, the sound of his voice calling her name. The ache of separation had clawed at her heart, and she knew he had felt it too—a longing that transcended the boundaries of their worlds.

"I tried," she confessed, her voice heavy with emotion, barely above a whisper. "I tried to hate you, but I can’t, Vhenan. I could never."

Solas’ resolve crumbled even further, the flicker of vulnerability in his eyes undeniable. “I never wanted you to see what I’ve become. I do not deserve your forgiveness,” he pushed further in a weak attempt to suppress the overpowering love that threatened to consume him.

“I know you cannot change what you have done,” She began through her breath, gently placing her prosthetic hand against his armoured chest and meeting his eyes directly, as though reaching into the depths of his heart. “But I see you, Solas. I see the burden you carry, I’ve seen what you hide in your Lighthouse. It hasn’t changed the way I feel about you.”

Her touch unravelled him completely, cutting through the barriers he had so meticulously built to keep her at a distance and protect her. For all the power that pulsed within him, he was utterly powerless before her. His breath was hitched in his throat, his senses overwhelmed and intoxicated by her nearness. All words escaped him, and instead, he clutched her prosthetic hand to his chest, his knuckles brushing the delicate skin of her cheek, drinking in the moment as if it were the last.

The space between the two vanished, the long-forgotten warmth of each other’s touch easing the ache of a lifetime apart. Starved of the love they had once shared, the air around them grew heavy with anticipation. The energy between them hummed, drawing them closer with each breath, until their eyes flitted shut, surrendering to the inevitable pull of their connection.

“Vhenan…” Solas found his voice once more, before the thread which held him together finally snapped and his lips found hers.

The kiss, at first tentative, quickly deepened as the years of distance, longing, and unspoken words melted between them. It wasn’t gentle; it was desperate, filled with the ache of years apart, with the pain of betrayal and the hope of forgiveness. Lavellan’s hands instinctively reached for him, fingers curling against the cool, textured surface of his armour as if he might slip away again, as if this moment might vanish like a fleeting dream. His hand cradled the back of her head, pulling her closer still, like a drowning man grasping for air.

Solas trembled against her, the control he had so precisely maintained for years finally unravelling in her embrace. Every heartbeat, every breath shared in their kiss spoke of the time they had lost and the memories they had clung to in the dark.

He clutched at her waist, tugging her impossibly close, as though she might disappear if he allowed any distance open between them. The taste of her lips—familiar and sweet—sent a rush of emotion surging through his mouth and into his heart, blooming with love. It was a taste he had dreamed of, mixed with grief, regret, and the bittersweet recognition of all the time they could never reclaim.

For Lavellan, kissing him felt like breaking the surface after endless years submerged in sorrow. She had imagined this reunion, longed for it in her loneliest moments, but nothing could have prepared her for the rawness of it now, the intensity of feeling his warmth, his breath, after so long. Her lips moved fervently against his, as if she could anchor them both in the present, as if this kiss could hold them together while the world threatened to crumble around them.

Time seemed to slow, each second stretching into eternity as their spirits reached for one another, desperate to bridge the chasm of all that had been lost. The air around them shimmered with the intensity of their emotions, the soft crackle of magic lingering like static electricity. Tears mingled between their lips, and Lavellan found herself unsure if they were born from her own heartache or Solas’ sorrow.

When at last they reluctantly parted, it was only enough to breathe, their foreheads pressed together and breaths mingling in the narrow space between them. The warmth of Solas’ skin contrasted with the coolness of the Fade around them. His fingers brushed her cheek, wiping away a tear, his eyes searching hers with a mix of reverence and sorrow, as if committing her face to memory all over again.

“I have missed you,” Solas admitted through a trembling breath, his voice fraying at the edges, each syllable thick with longing and vulnerability. “Every moment, I have missed you.”

Lavellan’s heart stilled at his confession, the pain she’d carried for so long softening, giving way to a quiet joy she had scarcely dared to feel. It was real—his yearning, his regret. He had missed her, and in hearing those words, a wave of warmth rushed through her, filling the hollow space his absence had left behind, like sunlight breaking through a dark, heavy cloud.

“As have I,” she whispered, her voice a breath, an ache. “I love you, Solas.”

The distance between them vanished once more as she closed the space with her lips. An electric tangle of desperation and love crackled in the air, as if they could pour every stolen moment of the past ten years into this one kiss. She breathed the words against his lips— Ar lath ma. I love you, I love you, over and over, with each fleeting pause for air. One hand gripped his broad shoulder as though holding onto the thread of the life they might still have together, while the other skimmed gingerly across his sharp jaw, the cool metal of her fingertips shooting a shiver down his spine.

As their lips moved together, she tasted the faint remnants of the Fade on him—like the bittersweet tang of twilight and the warmth of embers long extinguished. The air was thick with unspoken promises, Solas’ scent enveloping her, an earthy blend of ancient forests, fragrant herbs, and a whisper of magic that felt both familiar and achingly distant. Her heart raced, a wild drum echoing in her ears, as she felt the world around them fade into insignificance. In that moment, nothing else mattered—just the two of them, entwined in a dance of love and longing, the taste of their shared past lingering sweetly on their tongues.

Solas drew a tight breath, his lips forming the words in return, “Ar lath ma, I love you,” each confession fragile and tender, as if speaking it aloud made the moment more real. His hands cupped her face with reverence, fingers tracing the contours of her skin as if rediscovering her all over again, as though he needed to believe this wasn’t some fading dream. She was truly here with him, loving him still, despite all that had come between them. And with each kiss, each murmured promise of love, he felt the final crumbling of the walls he had built to protect himself from this—this undeniable truth that she saw him, truly, as he was: Fen'Harel, the Dread Wolf. And still, she chose him—Solas.

Warm, fresh tears streamed down his cheeks—tears of relief, not of sorrow, and for the first time in an age, he felt lighter, the burden of millennia softening in her embrace.

Lavellan’s fingers traced the familiar lines of his face, feeling the tension in his jaw slowly release. She caught her breath, pressing her forehead gently to his once more, letting the moment wrap around them like a fragile cocoon, holding them together.

They no longer needed words. There was no need for promises, no talk of what came next.

For now, they were simply here—together.

Solas’ hands held her tightly against him, as if memorising every curve of her, grounding himself in her presence, in the warmth of her body pressed to his. He drank in every bit of her, enraptured by the way her eyes sparkled with the tears she had shed. There was no one more beautiful, in body and spirit.

The world beyond them faded into the abyss—no ancient gods, no torn Veil, no crumbling ruins. Just the rhythmic sound of their breaths mingling between them, the quiet beat of their hearts within their chests, steady and sure. For so long, he had dreamed of this, and yet the reality of it was more than he could have ever imagined.

Lavellan clutched him closer, as if to say all the things she couldn’t form with her lips, as if to tell him that here, in this moment, she chose him—not Fen’Harel, not the Dread Wolf. Just Solas.

And as they stayed there, lost in each other, neither knew how long the moment would last—only that, for now, it was enough.

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elfven-blog · 1 year ago

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Such a pretty mommy

Summary: Leon comes home and helps relieve his pregnant wife DI!Leon x F!Reader CW: MDNI, 18+ only, breeding, milk kink, lactation kink, p in v, fingers Word Count: 2K

You had managed to start relaxing after receiving the call that you husband had been collected from Alcatraz and was on his way home. The bath water had gone cold, and you had finally stepped out from it with a small pout, wishing that the water had stayed warm for just a little bit longer. With a strained groan you lifted yourself from the tub, being nearly 8 months pregnant had its challenges. Like getting out a bathtub and then trying to dry yourself, you often found yourself wondering why you wanted a child but then your heart would melt when your husband would give you a new fact he'd found in one of those parenting books he’d brought in a hurry to make sure he was ready.

The way his face lit up when you’d go for appointments, or the softness in his eyes every time you brought something new for the nursery and especially the way he spoke in that excited voice when he rattled of names. And even when he had missions he still managed to send you the information he had found, in the form of notes around the house or through poor Ingrid, who he had roped into checking on you when he was away.

As you set yourself to drying off the water on your body, you hadn’t heard the door downstairs open and close, nor the heavy thump of his boots as he took them off. Not even the creak of the stairs as he made his way to you. With you not noticing the homecoming of your husband, you set about trying to soothe some of the aching the pregnancy was causing. One of the reasons you’d taken the warm bath anyway after your midwife had recommended it, she had also recommended just softly massaging the ache in your breasts.

You had brought a soothing oil to help, pouring it onto your hands before gently rubbing your hands over the soft skin, a whine leaving you at the feeling. Leon leant against the bathroom door, watching as his wife’s head leant back and her eyes closed. He moved forward, his hands coming around you to replace your own. You jumped, eyes shooting open before they softened and leant back into his chest. “Welcome home”

He grinned down at you, the pupils of his eyes swallowing the blue as he pressed a kiss to your forehead “Certainly a way to welcome me home, honey” his voice dripped with want, fingers moving to pull gently at your nipples, drawing a gasp from your mouth. “Such a pretty mommy, just let me take care of you”.

Your head leant on his chest as you sunk further into his embrace before he bent to pick you up. Your arms around his neck, you should be surprised at how he could pick you up like nothing when you were heavily pregnant…but you’ve seen the things he’s had to pick up while working. Leon carries you to your bedroom, your attention focused on the way his arms flex and the vein that stands out while he lays you on the bed.

Once he has you placed where he wants, his hands sooth up your legs to your sides and eventually his fingers feather over the soft skin of your breasts. He settles himself above you as he massages at your chest like you were moments ago, his eyes not leaving the way his fingers cause the tissue to dimple or the way your eyes close. Leons attention is taken when he squeezes a little bit too hard and a small amount of milk trails down to drip over the knuckle of his fingers.

“What a waste” his head dips low so he can press his lips to your skin, and your head tilts back with your mouth opening. He trails down to the pebbled nipple of your left breast. You feel his hot and wet tongue lick over the sore area before his lips attach and he suckles gently. Leon groans at the warm liquid dripping into his mouth, eyes closed while his hand continues to massage at your neglected tit.

With the way your husband is angled against you, you’re able to fill the way he quickly fills out against your thigh. You shouldn’t find this as hot as it is. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth as your own hands turn to tangle in the hair at the base of his neck, slightly scratching the scalp. Leon lets your nipple fall from his mouth with a pop, quickly moving to mouth at the other. His hand moved down to hold your hips while his tongue lapped at the milk you so lovingly provided.

“Taste so fucking good, my pretty baby giving me my fill” His hips grind against your thigh, and you don’t want to admit how much all of his actions are affecting you, even as slick drips between your thighs. But his help is working at least, your breasts are still sore, especially with the way his wraps those pretty lips around your nipples just so he can coax more of that sweet warmth down his throat but they’re not as heavy now. “Getting these pretty leaky tits nice and empty, then let gonna empty my balls into you”.

You arch, pressing your tit further into his mouth while your hands press his head down. And your legs spread open, Leons hand on your hip dipping down between to tease at your pussy lips. “You’re gonna be such a pretty mommy” maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones or maybe it’s just him but the teasing has you writhing and whining under him quickly. Leon nips lightly at your tit as you move, his eyes hardening “Keep still, I’m helping you baby”. He quickly goes back to lapping at the wetness leaking from your breasts, his thumb circling at your sensitive bud as you feel middle finger easily slip into your fluttering hole.

Your hands curl almost painfully into his hair as you try to hold still for him. With how soaked you are it’s easy for him to add another finger “So tight, sweetheart, been gone for so long and I still need to work you open” you feel his wedding band glide against your walls and the feeling has you mewling under him with your fingers moving down to scratch at his arms.

“Leon, more please” You tug his biceps, and he starts to pump his fingers in and out of your drippy pussy. His mouth goes back to suckling your nipples, drinking the milk being produced with a low groan. He has you squirming below him while his tongue licks at the hardened buds in time with the fingers that are rocking into you at a slow pace.

Almost too slow. It has you begging him in quick panting breaths, faster, more, please. Leons pulls back from your nipples so he can kiss both of them instead, he nods his head. Knowing exactly what you want and needing it for himself too. He hovers above you, weight on one arm while pushing his trousers and boxers down in a haste. You whine at the sudden empty feeling as his fingers slip out of you. “Shh s’okay, comin right back, gonna make you feel better”.

His hand wraps around the base of his cock so he can guide it to your drippy cunt, he pushes in slowly causing both of you to moan at the feeling as he bottoms out. He sits back on his knees so he can watch your blissed face, and the way your tits start leaking again. One of his hands rubs at the bump you’ve grown with a smile on his face “So pretty, such a pretty baby, all mine”.

His hips rock himself deep into your, the weeping head grinding against the opening of your womb, and he pressed sweet kisses down your neck, his arms moving to hold his weight above you. Trying his hardest not to pin you down like he normally does, not settling his all his weight onto you in the way that has you clenching around him. His eyes watch as your milky tits leak again and he’s quick to lap it up.

His tongue flicks over your nipple soothing the ache in them, and your hands claw at his back while his hips bully his cock into your clenching drippy hole again and again. When your eyes open to look at your husband, your mouth opens with a moan at how blissful he looks, nestled between your breasts while he humps at you, and he mouths at the sweet milk leaking from your nipples. Your thighs shake and tighten around his waist.

Leon moans at the taste and the way your pussy keeps tightening around him, keeping him warm and snug while he gets his fill. He moves between the nipples, milk spilling from your tits and the sight is messy, the white smearing on his face with how sloppy he is at drinking. One of his hands moves to play with the nipple he’s not mouthing at. His fingers tugging and pinching which causes milk to spray and Leon groans diving to lick up the mess he’d made.

“So fuckin good, gonna have to keep you knocked up. Fuck you till it’s spilling so I can have a taste” His fat cock slides into your pussy, stretching you out while he bottoms balls deep, his hips speeding up as he focuses on that familiar feeling of your cunt fluttering around him, and the cute moans and whimpers that he’s drawing out of you.

He fucks into you at an almost brutal pace, nipping at the skin of your breasts until they’re littered with bruises “Pussy just sucking me in baby, she wants it so bad huh? Yeah? Just wants me to keep ‘er plugged up” He presses a hot kiss to your neck before dragging his mouth back down to your tits so he can press his face into them. The milk smearing over his lips while his hips snap into you, hard.

Your drippy walls clamp down onto cock, only causing him to suck on your hard bud roughly so he can eagerly drink up the producing milk. He mumbles praises into your skin, you’re so good, taking him so well, letting him help like this. He pulls out until only the head of his dick stretches the opening of your cunt out, causing you to whine until he ruts his cock back into you and he buries in you until the tip bruises your cervix.

His thick cock stretches you out until all you can do is whimper and squirm beneath him. His pelvis grinds against your clit, and his mouth milks your breasts until your cockdrunk on the way he rubs against that spongy spot. He slows to a rolling grind, his hips slowly humping into you and your thighs tremble as your back arches. You cum with a pitiful whine, gushing around Leon and soaking down to the sheets below you while he continues to suckle.

“That’s it baby, cum on my cock, such a good girl” His hips circle into you, he helps you ride your orgasm as he fucks deep into your cunt and pulls away from your now empty breasts. Your pussy spasms and clenches onto his cock, he groans at the feeling and pushes as far into you as he can while catching your mouth in a messy kiss. You can taste the sweet milk on his mouth while his tongue fucks past your lips until there’s spit drooling down your mouth.

His cock grinds against your clenching walls until he hot ropes of cum spurts from the head of his cock. His thick sticky ropes of cum fill your pussy until it’s dripping out of you. Leon pulls away so the both of you can catch your breath, his heavy pants filling your ears before he pulls out of you. Leon leans back so he can watch the mix of creamy cum and slick drip out of your pulsing hole, his cock kicking again at the sight.

Leon looks up to smile at you, his eyes soft as a hand moves the hair stuck to your forehead and he presses a kiss to your cheek “I missed you”. He lays next to you, other hand gently stroking at the bump of your stomach. “Might need another bath now”.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x female reader #leon kennedy x f!reader #resident evil x reader #death island!leon x reader #di!Leon x reader #leonkennedysmut

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aealzx · 4 months ago

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Prologue | AO3

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Being taken to a rich man’s manor left an uncertain taste in Jazz’s mouth, having long ago learned of the trouble her siblings and friends dealt with in relation to such places. But the positives were too important to them to get hung up on being prejudiced, so she tried to remain hopeful while they drove to their destination.It wasn’t like every rich man was the same. They couldn’t all be lonesome stalkers trying to kidnap other people’s spouses or children. Right?

It was tough having four people squished into the backseat of the car, but having her little siblings both so close to her was doing a lot to keep Jazz’s frazzled anxieties from that morning from fraying any further. She couldn’t believe the sun was already so high in the sky now, the clocks she’d glimpsed before reading just an hour or so before noon. She tried to blame her irritability on being hungry, but her nervousness making her have little appetite tried to disprove that.

The drive was thankfully quiet, leaving Jazz a recently rare moment to sort through her thoughts as one hand lightly rested on Danny’s chest and the other absently ran fingers through his hair repeatedly. Sometimes it was hard to hear or even see him breathe, so the physical movement of his chest rising and falling reassured her. And since she knew sometimes comatose patients could still register stimulus from the outside she hoped he earned some sort of comfort from her fingers through his hair.

It was those thoughts Jazz was lost in when they pulled through a set of heavy iron gates amidst stone walls. As expected, the manor was huge and the grounds surrounding it were expansive. But what was unexpected was that the grounds and manor exterior actually looked lived in and welcoming. Well kept gardens and walkways, and clean windows that weren’t even partially hidden. The glass was mirrored to keep prying eyes from seeing anything they shouldn’t, but somehow while the manor felt isolated it also felt inviting to those who were welcomed in its walls.

“Here we are,” Dick announced needlessly, pulling the car in to coast up next to the curb leading to the front door. There were both a set of stairs and a ramp leading up to the threshold. Something Jazz couldn’t remember seeing before for a private manor. She heard Sam draw a deep inhale while she stretched and realized she must have been dozing. She couldn’t blame her, even Danielle had decided to take a short nap to recover some of the energy she’d spent in the fight. While Sam, Tucker, and Danielle pulled their lethargic bones from their seats, Jazz waited patiently for Dick to half jog around to her seat. She didn’t realize her legs had fallen partially numb until Dick carefully lifted Danny from her lap, letting her help him keep the blanket tucked around the lad before he stepped away to allow her to exit the car and close the door.

“...Do you think he’ll be like Vlad?” Tucker asked once they started heading up the stairs, and Dick made a mental note of the name. It didn’t sound like someone the kids liked.

“No,” Sam answered easily, and when Tucker squinted at her incredulously Sam pointed towards the front door. “For one thing, he doesn’t live alone in this huge house like a loser,” she commented, having noticed Alfred already waiting for them at the entrance.

“Welcome to the Wayne Family manor, young masters and misses. Master Bruce will be with you shortly,” Alfred greeted them when they reached the top of the stairs, stepping forward to open the front door and hold it for their guests.

“Thank you,” Jazz responded quickly, causing the other teens to give a muttered chorus of thanks as well.

It was nice to be in an actual home again, after so long, and Jazz didn’t realize the kind of comfort it would bring to have the door closed behind them. The manor felt safe. Solid walls blocking the world from staring at them with suspicious eyes. A warm air that smelled faintly of burning wood from a fireplace. They gathered in the foyer for only a short minute before a calm voice came into the room. “Alfred, is that Nightwing with the kids?”

The voice was strangely concerned. Not in a way that made Jazz think the owner was reluctant to have visitors, but someone who knew what to expect and it worried them. A moment later a middle aged man in a suit was entering from another room, followed by a young lad and two dogs.

“Yes, Master Bruce. The children you told us about are here,” Alfred confirmed as Bruce approached them, looking them all over with an openly worried gaze. Jazz wasn’t sure what to say, openly staring back as Bruce took the sight of them in. Even the other three weren’t sure how to respond, the behavior being completely different from what they were used to from rich people. Of course Vlad always feigned concern, but it was easy to see he was being manipulative and it was isolated to certain people.

“Good morning, Mr Wayne. I hope we’re not intruding unwelcome,” Dick greeted, momentarily surprised by Jazz stepping between him and Bruce to block Danny from the apparent stranger. He allowed her to do so though, not wanting to stress her out more by trying to control her.

“Of course not,” Bruce assured, seeming to regain his composure and stop over analyzing his guests. “I have to admit I’m somewhat confused as to why I was the one chosen to entrust these kids to. But after hearing they were somewhat like my son Duke, it made a little more sense.”

“You have kids?” Sam spoke up, unable to keep herself from asking the question. So the quiet boy hovering in the back wasn’t just another visitor? And the other two older boys that had come into the room like curious spectators too? One of them was leaning against a doorway, while the other tried to look inviting as he’d come down the stairs. And to Dick’s surprise Stephanie was also there, giving him a subtle wink as she entered from a different room than the others.

“Yes, I have several children,” Bruce confirmed, reaching his hands out for Duke and Damian since they were the closest, resting a hand on each back. “This is my youngest, Damian. This is Duke, who I just mentioned. Stephanie was adopted shortly before Duke. And my second oldest is Jason, over there. You caught him and Stephanie while they were visiting, they actually live closer to where they work, but they and the rest of my children are free to come and go as they please. I hope you won’t be bothered by that.”

“N’no, that’s fine. It’s their home after all, not mine,” Sam stammered, backing away from the conversation uncomfortably. None of these people looked all that similar, and none of the kids looked uncomfortable about being there. In fact Stephanie seemed excited about something. Was she just happy to have guests? Duke looked nervous, but it was that general unease of someone trying to make a good first impression. And the way Bruce held them wasn’t out of possession, but familiarity. They could easily brush him off if they wanted to, but they didn’t. At first glance Bruce seemed to genuinely have the life Vlad wanted, minus there not being a wife as far as the kids could see. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all.

Throughout the light conversation Danielle had been looking between the home’s residents, squinting slightly as more people showed up. She knew Jazz had thought this arrangement was strange, and they all had a general unease towards rich men. But it hadn’t been until Jason made himself visible that Danielle had realized what was going on, and all of her unease fled. Of all the ones who had been helping them, Jason was the one that had the most distinct presence to her. Something not quite like her and her family, but also not quite like the others. A lingering sensation that Danielle recognized even without the usual red helmet. And when Jason raised a hand from his pocket to briefly wave at them when Bruce introduced him, Danielle immediately noticed the bandaged finger on his other, mostly hidden hand and grinned.

“Hey! It’s nice to finally see your face. You look a lot less grumpy without the red helmet hiding everything,” Danielle suddenly beamed, lifting off the ground to float over to Jason.

To their credit, the Wayne family tried to act surprised at her comments and metahuman feat. “Excuse me?” Jason asked, pulling back slightly when Danielle hovered close to him.

“You’re the one that was carrying Danny when we all first met. With the red helmet and brown jacket,” Danielle insisted, pointing. “So your name’s Jason? That’s great. That must mean… Damian is the little guy that sedated me. Stephanie is the really cool girl in purple. Duke has to be the one in yellow that drove everyone away from Deathstroke. And you must be Batman.” She pointed to each of the members in turn, ending with Bruce as the rest of her family's expressions changed from general discomfort to dawning realization.

“That’s why you brought us here,” Sam commented as the pieces lined up in her mind “You could have just told us we were going to your house. That would have made the drive a lot less sullen.”

The room was quiet as the Wayne family subtly glanced between each other, trying to rapidly judge whether they should lie, or confirm the observations. The pause was short, but also long enough to cause Danielle to look between them all in genuine confusion, knowing she was right but wondering why no one was saying anything about it.

Yet before anyone else could comment or otherwise respond Jazz was the one making a distressed noise, rushing over to Danielle to grab her and pull her back. “HHHHHH DANI!” Jazz wheezed, snatching the girl from the air and lightly placing her hands over Danielle��s mouth. “What did I tell you about spilling people’s secrets? You’re supposed to wait for them to tell you first,” she scolded, looking for all the world like an embarrassed parent whose child had just announced something inappropriate in a public space.

Danielle was already sputtering when Jazz pulled her back to ground level and smothered her. “What? I thought that’s what all this was over. You really expect me to just go along with the hoodoo pretend that they’re completely normal people we’ve never met before?” she protested, pulling away from Jazz and almost stomping in front of her.

“Yes!” Jazz almost hissed. “If they’re not ready you just have to wait,” she insisted, eyes flicking between the others as they were collectively starting to give up on the facade.

“Oh come on!” Danielle burst in response, throwing her hands up in exasperation and breaking away from Jazz. “We’ve had dinner together, a sleepover, kicked each others’ butts, kicked butt together, and she’s seen me topless! You really think we’re NOT on a first name basis yet? Most people just have to say Hi to each other.” Throughout her list of evidence Danielle gestured to various members, Stephanie and Jason from the first watch, Dick and Duke, the three that had taken her down, then Stephanie again, then wildly gesturing back and forth between herself and everyone else. She really couldn’t fathom why Jazz was making such a fuss about playing pretend when it would be so much easier to just let them know they didn’t have to hide around her.

Jason wasn’t sure who broke first, but he was going to blame Stephanie for her almost immediate snort. She tried to smother it down to save face, but it had already been done. And a moment later Dick started chuckling helplessly in both mild disbelief and amusement, which immediately set Stephanie off into a full laugh. And at that point Jason gave in and started laughing quietly as well while Duke and Damian turned to see Bruce’s opinion on the matter.

At this point Bruce could only heave a helpless sigh, relaxing his demeanor completely and taking away any residue of what persona he may have had.

“Well, this will certainly make it easier,” Damian commented as Stephanie settled down into giggles and Jason pushed off the door frame.

“How did you even recognize me? I’m the only one you never saw even a glimpse of my face, and I made sure all the injuries from this morning were hidden,” Jason asked, half curious and half wanting ammo to counter the others’ badgering for him being the one who was called out first.

“Oh, it’s because you’re the only one I’ve met in Gotham that has… that whole vibe thing you got going on there,” Danielle responded, pausing as she wasn’t completely sure how to explain what Jason had that the others didn’t, rolling her finger in a circle while pointing to him.

“The what now?” Jason asked, unimpressed. How was he supposed to figure out how to cover for something so vaguely described?

“The… weird… I dunno what it is, man. Okay? You just feel different from everyone else. Like Jazz and Sam and Tucker feel different from Danny and me, and everyone else feels different from all of us. It’s just a vibe you got,” Danielle tried to elaborate helplessly.

“She says you stink, Jay,” Stephanie blurted, sticking her tongue out slightly to tease.

“Can it, Steph. I smell fine,” Jason shot back.

“Ooookay. Since we’re all officially on a first name basis then, why don’t we get settled in so I can change and get cleaned up too?” Dick interrupted the mild squabbling. “.... Babs says she’ll also meet us here after working with the JL since we’re not doing the double identity thing.”

“I’ll prepare a meal for a full house then,” Alfred announced, “Will you still need me to show them to their rooms?”

“No, Alfred. Thank you. We’ll take care of it,” Bruce declined, hands still resting on Duke and Damian’s backs. This wasn’t how he’d wanted it to go, but maybe it would be for the better. Maybe this would better facilitate the openings to learn more about the Phantom children like Tim had also realized having them in the manor would allow. “Take Danny upstairs, I’ve already contacted Dr. Thompkins to help get him settled, and get you two looked after,” he directed Dick. “I left the door open for which room to use.”

“Good,” Dick nodded, shifting to head towards the stairs Duke had come down from. “Jazz, we’ll put you next door, so you can follow me too,” he offered, knowing Jazz would want to keep Danny in her sight as much as possible.

Giving a nod to Dick, Jazz started to follow, but took a moment to point a finger at Danielle. “Don’t cause anymore trouble. And don’t tell anyone about these guys being who they are. Got it?” she warned, putting on her best serious face.

“I got it, sheesh. I’m not going to go blurting their secret out to anyone. Who do you take me for? It’s not like I’ve told anyone at home about Danny either,” Danielle protested, rolling her eyes.

As Jazz’s expression reflected immediate barely suppressed frustration at Danielle just blurting a hint about Danny, Jason hurried forward one step and put his hand between the two girls. “We already knew about that. Danny is also known as Phantom, yeah?” he revealed, defending Danielle this time so she didn’t get more unnecessary lectures her way. Jazz seemed uncomfortably surprised at first, but then calmed down significantly.

“See? I know what I’m doing,” Danielle grinned smugly.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. I just don’t want to deal with the amount of chaos you deem acceptable,” Jazz retorted to the girl.

Stephanie had to laugh at the exchange, stepping towards them to finally get them moving considering Dick was waiting patiently by the stairs and Alfred had already left. “Come on, let's get some actual clothes for you instead of stolen cheap things,” she laughed, grabbing Danielle’s hand and pulling her towards the stairs. “If you don’t like anything in my closet I’ll take you shopping later. On Bruce’s card of course.”

Following Stephanie’s lead, Duke approached Tucker and started to usher him upstairs too. “You too champ. We’ve got more boy clothes than girls. There should be something that fits you too. And I’ll show you which room you can use.”

“Wait, I get my own room?” Tucker gawked, following Duke as Sam had already started to Follow behind Stephanie and Danielle. It earned a laugh from Stephanie and Duke as they led the new residents to get settled.

______________________

I already had this part typed, so just had to spend like 6 hours drawing the pic today. Yey quick update~

Also I had to rewrite Bruce like 7 times in this part because I could not figure out how he would/should behave for the initial part. @ v @ So I just settled for more confused dad vibes.

I also learned from the previous chapter that Dick's butt cheeks have names like boobs, and I cried from laughing too hard X'DD I knew he was a fan favorite, but I didn't think he was that kind of favorite. I appreciate all the facts you guys give me. They're so fun.

Also just to clarify/restate, Jason is not a halfa in this fic, he's a revenant. So he doesn't have the same vibes as Danny and Dani, but they are still different from the others.

______________________

Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai,

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics

#my art #dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #dc x dp #phantom rogues #fanfic #writing #long post

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be-with-me-so-happily · 2 years ago

Text

Could We Not?

ONE SHOT

[ or Part 1 to Not Another Time ]

<< Request >> "Hey! I was wondering if you could do a one-shot where she’s like apart of the band and she gets hit in the head with a hard object while she’s on stage and Harry is super freaked out? That would be a sanity saver!" - @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

Summary: Harry Styles is used to having things thrown at him on stage. Recently, it's been Skittles, which affected his vision. But when his band members are affected, he can't stay silent. Especially when it's YN who takes the hit.

AN: I had a lot of fun writing this! YN replaces Laura in the band, just in general, only because she plays the trumpet and I still included Parris.

Warnings: Some explicit language, wound with blood, angry Harry

He can't escape it. It has carried on from his days in One Direction, and it seems to have become a permanent, unavoidable occurrence that things are thrown at him on stage.

Most are harmless, such as boas, sunglasses, or little plush toys that he is always inclined to keep.

However, there have been a few occasions where the objects were a bit more troublesome. Phones are a big one, which internally annoys the hell out of him at this point.

The most recent culprit, and the most shocking, was a handful of Skittles, one which hit him directly in his left eye. If there is a silver lining of that moment, it's that he only had to get through performing 'Kiwi' before he was able to run backstage and immediately have it taken care of.

He tries not to show anger on stage when things like that happen. He loves his fans. He always wants to treat them with kindness, acceptance, and gratitude. So he doesn't draw much attention to it. There has only been one occasion or two where he has subtly asked for some fans to stop throwing things.

Tonight, however, might be his tipping point.

Harry has brushed off the frustration from the rock hard candy incident, because tonight is a new night and a new show.

There is also the new trumpet player, YN. Well, she isn't new per say, she's been there since the tour came back to North America, but she is the newest member of the band, and the one Harry has become extremely fond of.

She fits in perfectly with the rest of the group. She is so kind, so joyful, and everyone seems to be energized just by her presence. Including Harry. Especially Harry. The moment she walked into the trial rehearsal, he felt an electricity course through his veins that he's never felt before. He shook it off as a mere, and mild, physical attraction. Then she started to play, and he was taken into a trance by her talent and passion. Then she spoke, and he felt his heart flutter more than ever.

He knows he has a crush, one that he can't talk about or act on, but it doesn't stop the forming of a grin when the horn players walk up onto the stage. It doesn't stop the goosebumps he feels when they all begin to play, being able to pick out the sound of her specific instrument. It doesn't stop the thought that those songs, the ones where they get to be there together, may just be his favorite ones to perform.

So when 'Satellite' ends, and after a good chat with the crowd, reading their signs, the four horn players make their way up the stairs as 'Cinema' begins, causing his heart to flutter and his current smile to stretch out into a wide grin.

When they play an extended introduction for 'Music For A Sushi Restaurant', he takes the opportunity to get some water and give her a quick smile, hoping that he actually does see a blush form on her cheeks, even behind her trumpet.

He stays on the outside of the stage for that song, but gets even more excited when the band begins to play 'Treat People With Kindness'. This means YN will move to one of the outside corners, which also means he'll get to be closer to her as he moves around during the song.

He makes sure to pass by her any chance he gets, but tries hard not to make his intentions too obvious, to the crowd or to YN. She's a part of his band, and he doesn't want to make her uncomfortable, even if she does appear to reciprocate any smile or slightly flirtatious comment he makes. He wants any move made to be on YN's terms. However, that won't stop him from taking this opportunity to share a little dance with her.

"Wait for it… wait for it… wait for it. One, two, three, four!"

As the crowd shouts out the chorus, Harry stations himself next to her, moving his hips side to side, causing her to pull back from her instrument and let out the most amazing laugh.

He's going to do that every time from now on, just so he can hear that again.

That song ends, and she moves into the center with the rest of the horn players, walking through to the other side of the stage as they start their intro for 'What Makes You Beautiful'.

He moves back to the mic stand in front of the walkway, trying to catch glimpses of her every so often, as she stands near the corner to his left.

"I don't know why you're being shy, and turn away when I look into your eyes."

He takes a few steps to his left, pointing his arms out to the fans and encouraging them to sing the bridge.

At that moment, something whizzes over in his direction and lands by his feet. He takes a quick look down, and then to his left, noticing that YN has moved a few feet over to the other side of the stage. He sees Mitch taking a couple of glances over to her as well, mouthing something, but she nods and continues to play.

As the final chorus nears, the four horn players move back to the center of the stage to play the last parts of the song.

He grabs his mic from the stand and engages the crowd, instantly requesting that they applaud for the horn players. He watches as YN gives a wave to the crowd, confused as to why she isn't doing it as vibrant as normal. She could just be tired, though she usually pushes through it, but it's been an intense leg of the tour in Los Angeles.

The time between that and 'Late Night Talking', while Parris plays his beautiful solo, is usually one of his favorite moments, because he has a little bit more time to interact with her on stage. Even if it's only a quick comment or joke, he loves it and takes what he can get. But as he moves closer to grab his water bottle, he sees her talking to Pauli, who swiftly hands her a spare face cloth that he keeps by him.

Harry immediately frowns and quickens his pace over to her.

"What's wrong?"

She wipes herself off and shakes her head, keeping her gaze downward. He can't remember a time where she wasn't happy and bright. But now she looks embarrassed, and sad, which pains him to see.

"Some… something hit me."

"What? Where? How?" He blurts out, not even fully able to process what she is explaining had occurred.

"A fan threw something. I don't know what it was." She sighs, flickering her gaze up to him with a troubling expression across her face.

"Shit. Are you alright?" He steps closer to her, unintentionally placing his hand on the middle of her back, and he feels her shiver under his touch. He removes it, his eyes fixated on her, and he feels some relief when he sees a small smile appear on her face.

"I'll be okay." She assures him. Her trumpet lifts up to her lips, the ones he has wondered what they would feel like against his, and he realizes that Parris has finished his part. "Let's get on with it."

He bites his lower lip as she gives him a wink, and feels a blush form on his own cheeks. If she knew what she does to him, she probably wouldn't be doing that. But he'll take it.

He sings through the second chorus on the closest walkway, still giddy at the fact that he can pick out her trumpet from the others, and he just knows she is swaying back and forth to the lyrics as she always does.

However, he turns around to make his way back, pointing his mic back out to the crowd, and when he sees YN again, she is holding her fingers against the spot over her left eyebrow.

Instantly his chest tightens and he bounces back over there as the song ends. She makes her way back to the center with the others while he takes a quick gulp of water, turning around when they begin to play 'Watermelon Sugar'.

"I'm bleeding." He hears her state to Parris.

"Okay. Go." Parris replies, and Harry follows after her.

"YN." He tries to shout without causing too much of a fuss, but she steps down the stairs, and he clenches his jaw as he watches her make her way backstage.

This isn't good, and he really hopes he can get through this song now.

"Alright, if… if you know this one, please… please do sing along." He stumbles through his words, his eyes still glaring over to the spot where YN exited.

Performing this one isn't as fun this time, though the crowd are probably none the wiser, as he keeps his professionalism as intact as possible. But it is different. She's usually on the walkway in front of him, dancing away as she plays, causing his heart to flutter each time she moves.

He either closes his eyes or moves around the stage a bit, hoping to momentarily distract himself from her, and stay focused on the music. At least to get through the song.

And thankfully he does.

As soon as it ends, the rest of the horn players make their way off the stage, and Harry immediately rushes over to his little setup in front of Pauli.

"Start playing, but I want to talk with the crowd for a moment." He states into the band mic, for only the crew to hear.

They softly play the melody of 'Love of My Life' and he raises his hand as if to signal that he has something to say.

"Thank you Los Angeles, so much, for all of your support. I, more than anyone, know that I couldn't do this without all of you. I hope you have had a great time." The crowd cheers, and stomps, and he responds with some kisses blown around the venue. Then his expression becomes a bit more solemn and he turns back to the mic. "I want to say that my number one priority for everyone here tonight has been safety. That includes everyone on stage as well."

The crowd immediately hushes, which usually doesn't happen without his lead, and it shocks him. But hopefully it means they'll hear his message.

"I always encourage you to dance, sing, and interact. I always suggest that you treat everyone with kindness. And now, I also ask that you please think about these amazing people on stage, and refrain from throwing things that could potentially hurt someone. One of our members was hurt during a song tonight and unfortunately had to leave." He pulls back, clearing his throat in an attempt to keep his frustration at bay. "We want to be able to keep doing this with you for as long as possible, so we all need to make sure that safety is our top priority. So let's keep it safe and have some more fun. How does that sound, Los Angeles?"

He holds two thumbs up to the fans, swiveling around while everyone begins to cheer again, and walks over to his mic for the next song. The last one before their little break, and before their encore. He'll be done soon.

He knows his energy has diminished a bit, which is fine for 'Love of My Life', because his mind is back on YN. He desperately wants to know if she is okay. Needs to know, at this point.

During the break before their encore, Harry rushed underneath and pleaded with the crew to find out what had happened to YN, and whether she's being taken care of. They assured him that she is fine, but he couldn't get rid of his worry.

He put on his best entertainer persona for the last three songs, feeding off the excitement of the crowd to get him through until the end.

But once 'Kiwi' was finished, he blew kisses to the fans and sprinted backstage, immediately feeling frantic.

"Jeff-"

"H, man, you doing okay?" His manager asks, concern all over his face.

"Where is YN?" Harry quickly asks, not even bothering to answer about himself.

"Huh?"

"Where's YN? She got hit by something. She had to get off stage. Where'd she go?" He asks, feeling frazzled like he never has before.

"Oh. Uh, I haven't seen her, maybe-"

Harry strides off, not really knowing which direction to head, but willing to walk all over the place to find her.

He sees another familiar face, feeling some hope that she'll have an answer.

"Lorren, where's YN?" He asks, hoping his tone is a bit more calm than it was with Jeff, but knowing he could be failing.

"She's in the common room." Lorren replies, a small smirk forming suddenly. "She's okay, Harry."

His eyes grow wide and he stands up straighter, more stable, more casual. Or at least trying to.

"Yeah. Of course. I just… wanted to check in with her." He utters, but her intrigued, raised eyebrow tells him that she doesn't accept his answer.

"Harry…" She chuckles. "I know you care about her more than that…"

"What? No-... I mean…" He sighs, running a ringed hand through his sweaty hair. "Shit."

Lorren laughs again and she puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Your secret is safe with me."

He nods and feels a hot burn flooding his cheeks, not even attempting to hide it since she clearly knows she's right.

"Does she fee-" He begins, immediately stopping as he sees her pull her lips inward. "Nevermind. Doesn't matter. I'm just… gonna check on her."

Lorren nods and smiles, squeezing his shoulder then pointing down the hallway.

"Good luck…" She teases as she walks away.

"What?"

"Nothing." She replies, already opening the door to another room.

He takes a deep breath and turns back around to the direction he needs to go, his steps faster the closer he gets to the room she is occupying.

He opens the door without hesitation, instantly seeing YN sitting on the sofa with an ice pack held on her face, and her phone in the other hand.

He clears his throat as he takes a few steps towards her, slower than they were in the hallway, and his heart pounds faster than it just had been.

"Hello." He utters, not wanting to startle her. She shoots her gaze up to him and he feels butterflies as she immediately smiles. She may have looked different on stage after the incident, but he is happy to see that her bright demeanor seems to have returned. His concern begins to melt away.

"Hi." She responds, putting her phone down, along with the ice pack. She winces as she does, and as he moves to the sofa, he finally sees the large gash on her forehead.

His heart sinks, and he is thankful for the close proximity to the furniture, because his knees almost give out completely as he takes a seat next to her, on the opposite side of where her cut is.

"Fuck, YN, are you alright?" He inquires, his gaze flickering between her gorgeous, sparkling eyes and her anger-inducing wound. His jaw instantly clenches and his palms ball into fists. He can't believe this happened, especially to her. His gaze drops, and he begins to fill with guilt. "I'm so sorry you got hurt."

Suddenly, he feels the warmth and soft touch of her hand on his, causing the tension in his palms to release right away.

"It's not your fault, H. And I'm okay."

He looks up to her again, being met with the gaze he tries hard not to get lost in, but fails every time he's close enough to see it.

"I just…" He sighs and shakes his head, not entirely sure what he wants to express, and worried it could be more than he should. "I just want to… know that you're alright."

"That's sweet." She utters, a tenderness in her tone. He smiles at the irony of her attempt to calm him, when it should be the other way around. "I am. I am alright."

A squeeze of YN's hand grabs his gaze once again, and he just sits in silence as he, once again, gets lost in her eyes.

His hand unintentionally reaches up, gently resting under her chin as he turns her head to view her wound, sighing once more at the sight of it. His thumb reaches up, gliding over her skin, right under the cut, and a tingle rushes over him.

A strong exhale leaves her mouth and he turns her head back to him, his eyes tracing the lines of her lips. He looks back to her gaze, his breath hitching at her beauty, and his body acts on his feelings as he leans in, gently pressing his lips against her own.

She lets out a small sigh, which snaps him back to reality, and he pulls back.

"Shit. I'm… fuck, I'm sorry." His hand drops and he scoots his body further away from her, feeling every ounce of embarrassment possible. He didn't want to make the first move, if there was even one to be made. What if she didn't want it? What if she hated it? "Fuck."

"Please, don't…" She clears her throat, a sudden timidness in her tone. "Please don't be sorry."

Harry's heart begins to race, and he glances up to see her smile. However, a knock on the half-closed door causes both their heads to turn that way, and they both sit up straighter.

"I finally found a bandaid." A venue staff member states, handing it to YN and walking out.

She begins to open it up, removing the strips and exposing the sticky sides, then looks around the room for a mirror.

"Here." Harry reaches out, grazing her hand, and regaining her attention. "Let me."

She hands him the bandage, and he scoots closer again, their thighs barely touching, but just enough for his stomach to fill with butterflies.

He gently places the band-aid over her cut, gliding his thumb over the corners to make sure they stay secured. His gaze drops down, and his breath hitches as he sees her gazing up to him through her lashes.

His palm slides down and rests on her cheek, and she tilts her head upwards, their lips hovering in front of each other.

"Thank you." She whispers, her own hand placing itself on top of his.

Harry attempts to swallow down the lump stuck in his throat, but is interrupted by the sudden soft pressure against his lips. He lets out a quiet whimper, and her hand moves around to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her. His mouth begins to move with hers, and the tip of his tongue teases the gap between her lips.

She suddenly pulls away, and a frown forms on his face, until her gaze flickers to the door and he hears the chatter in the hallway that must have caused her to stop.

He pushes back, only out of caution and respect for both of their privacy, and grins when he sees her blush.

"You know, I've had recent experience with eye injuries."

"Right. You have." She giggles.

"If you want… you don't have to… but if you want to, you… you could come to my suite." He clears his throat. "To hang out. And I can keep an eye on that injury for you."

"No pun intended." She laughs, and his grin, surprisingly, grows wider. She's still so bright, and he's already down bad.

"I…" She begins, another blush instantly taking over her delicate skin. "I wouldn't mind seeing you looking at me a little more tonight."

"Oh my god." He breaths out, swiftly throwing his palms over his face.

He feels her fingers wrap around his wrist and removes his hands to find her standing in front of him. She tugs on his arm, and he lifts himself off the chair.

"Then maybe I'll get the chance to do the same." She states, biting her lower lip before letting him go and moving around the room to grab her stuff.

Yeah. He's definitely down bad, and despite her being injured, this just may end up being the best show by far.

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luveline · 1 year ago

Note

hi jade! I just want to preface this by saying I hope you’re having a good day. I noticed that you were hoping for some hotch requests and I figured I would send one in. if this is too vague or you just don’t feel inspired I completely understand, but maybe you could do something with a stressed hotch getting a little short with reader? he could be on edge because of a high pressure case, or something along those lines! nothing too angsty just some hurt/comfort, heavy on the comfort towards the end if you like! (p.s. I personally love all the eddie and roan as of late, so don’t let anyone make you feel obligated to write for characters you don’t want to.) <3 -w

hi! that is so so kind!! and please don't worry I feel no obligation for that, honestly!!<3 grumpy hotch x fem!reader

Hotch is in his office, like always. If you can't see him, you only ever need one guess as to where he is. And you haven't seen him for a few days now, which is weird and unlike him. When he's in your home state, he makes an effort to see you, to dote on you.

You take his stairs slowly. Hotch will know it's you before you so much as knock on his office door. He has a hypervigilance that doesn't switch off —he could probably guess who it was by the sound of your breathing.

"Hotch?" you ask, knocking his door for politeness' sake.

He looks up for a split-second and not a moment longer. You're disappointed at his lack of reaction. How many times has he come home from wherever it is he's flown off to and hugged you hard enough to crack your spine? And, what? He doesn't like you anymore? What sort of reaction is that?

"Um, I texted you. That I was coming by. Did you see?" you ask.

"I've been preoccupied," he says, staring hard at the papers on his desk. He doesn't sound like himself.

"It's been, like, four days since I've seen you. Since you've seen me. You don't wanna even look at me?" you ask. You wish it had come out softly, sweetly, but his behaviour (or lack of) has caught you by surprise. You sound as wounded as you feel.

"If you'd looked at my text, you'd see that I'm busy," he snaps.

Your lips part in silent shock. You drop your hand from the doorway where it had been resting and take a half step backwards and out of his office. Your movement draws his attention, and he finally sees the look on your face.

"Are you serious?" you ask.

He exhales bodily. "No." Hotch closes the folder. "No, I didn't mean that."

You hover awkwardly. Truth be told, you want to run away from the situation entirely, unused to him being anything but kind. You'd like to turn around and leave before you can further embarrass yourself by showing your affection and having it rejected. He's caught you so off guard.

"Come in, please. I do want to see you."

You step inside and close the door behind you. It takes a gap of silence for you to decide on where you're going to stand, but eventually you round his desk and lean against it, forcing him to push his chair back in order to be face to face.

"Is it a bad one?" you ask.

He nods. "Right here in Quantico."

You look at his shoulder rather than his face, worried you'll find more vehemence in his expression. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And I did read your text, I know you're busy, but busy doesn't tell me if you ate recently, or if you're tired, and those are the kind of things I worry about." You meet his eyes. They're always sombre, but affection softens his brow. You put your hands between your thighs to stop from touching him. "I worry about you, Aaron."

He must know what you're doing. Tentative, as though worried he's overstepping, Hotch pulls one of your hands into his. He has very big hands, and they dwarf yours near completely when he sandwiches them together.

"Don't think I didn't hear you, when you first came in," he says. "Hotch, you called me."

"That's your name."

He looks you straight in the eye, unabashed. Love lines his face, and apology, his lips curving slowly upwards in an uncommon smile. "Not to you," he murmurs.

You're still mad at him for being snippy, but the relief of his fondness can't be understated. Your shoulders sag as you relax, your posture arching forward. Hotch leans upward so he can align your faces. If either of you moved an inch, you could kiss.

"I spoke to you out of turn because I'm stressed. You didn't deserve it. I'm sorry. And I'm grateful to have you looking out for me." His smile abates. "It won't happen again."

"It won't?" you ask.

"I'll try my best not to let it."

You swallow and lean down like you might kiss him, but in actuality you need a second to collect your thoughts. You try to be objective like he is, and it never works.

Eyes closed, you say, "You've never snapped at me before."

"I have no reason to."

When he speaks, it's warm against your cheek. Hotch pulls your arm in a kind encouragement toward him and you follow blindly, setting as much of your weight as you trust him to take on his thigh. He wraps an arm around your back. His lips touch your forehead.

"Sorry," he says again, rubbing your back.

"It's not a big deal," you say.

"I upset you. You weren't expecting it from me. It makes sense for you to feel disappointed."

"It's not that," you say, thumbing his tie, anything to keep your fidgeting hands busy. "I'm being silly."

"You're not."

You're positioned in a twist on his lap, your leftmost ribs to his stomach. He hugs you to his chest and closes the gap between you, his arm encircling you, his hand stretches out across the space under your breasts. It's a comforting, all-encompassing hold. You basically collapse into him, hands desperate at his sides.

"I missed you," you confess.

"I miss you," he says, "I'm sorry for being mean." The hand that isn't stretched out across your front appears. He traces your face with two fingertips from the corner of your eye to your jaw, like he's following the path of an invisible tear. His hand flattens, his marriage and pinky finger weave behind your ear, and his thumb pulls at the corner of your mouth. It's so gentle you question if he's even touching you at all.

He lifts your face to his and kisses you softly.

"You're not mean," you whisper. "Just grumpy."

He huffs a laugh through his nose. "Very grumpy. But two minutes with you is enough to make me feel better."

You hum, "Mm, you're just saying that 'cos you're still in the doghouse, Hotchner."

His hand falls to your lap. It isn't especially sexual, more intimate than anything as he eases your legs apart to squeeze the soft fat of your thigh.

"You won't win me over that easily," you say.

He smiles at you. "No, I don't think I will." There's a secret promise hiding between his words.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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bratphilia · 1 year ago

Text

grasp (w. afton x reader)

request: "I don’t really have a coherent story (just some thots) but i’d kill for some sort of smuttyyy ficlet that has the reader who is very short as in 4 foot 10 and has petite features (just like me 😵‍💫) being picked up and slung over Matthew Lillard!William Afton’s shoulder 🥴🥴 Include reader being scared and trying to wriggle free??? (due to her seeing or knowing something she shouldn’t have about Raglan) and some name-calling like ‘little one’, ‘good girl’ & ‘atta girl’ 🤤 - 🧸"

note: hi nonniebear!! i'm sorry if this fic is a little rushed but i tried to stay true to what you requested! hope you enjoy and feel free to keep sending in more ideas :)

pairing: steve raglan / william afton x reader

tags: bondage, praise kink, fingering, squirting, begging

fuck. you're really in for it now.

this yellowish, decaying rabbit stalks towards you, and there are four, sentient and bloodthirsty animatronics behind you.

you're stuck.

even worse, the rabbit came from the entrance, so if you were to try to make your escape that way there was a likelihood of you running into his knife.

"please," you find yourself pleading. "please don't kill me."

the rabbit laughs menacingly and bends down to your level. "how about this? i'll give you a head start."

without any further questions you bolt through the maze of halls and towards the office. you crouch down in front of the vent the rabbit was referring to and unscrew the bolts barricading it. thank god you're small enough to fit in the vents. this might actually work.

then you hear unmistakeable, thumping footsteps coming towards you.

it only hurries your actions. your heart rate rapidly increases. the screws are so aged with rust that it's hard to—

the door opens with a loud thud. you scream at the noise, and again when you're being lifted off the ground. it's the yellow rabbit.

it slings you over its shoulder with unmatched strength. you wail incoherent words and pleas as you pound the back of the suit with balled fists.

"help me!" you scream out to no one. "somebody help!"

the rabbit wordlessly carries you down the hall, to one of the locked doors you dared not to venture into during your shifts. it carried you down a couple stairs and then set you on a dentist-office-style chair.

at this point tears are rolling down your face. eyes are shut in fear of looking your captor in the eyes. uncontrollable sobs escape your mouth, praying that these aren't your final moments. then the rabbit wraps both hands (paws?) around your wrists and holds them to the arm handles so that restraints can bolt around them.

"oh, save it," he says, clearly annoyed with your crying. "i've heard it all before, you don't deserve to die, and all that."

your eyes shoot open. the rabbit's voice no longer sounds robotic and you realize you actually recognize it.

in a very dramatic fashion, it's steve raglan. your career counsellor, a.k.a the man who got you this job in the first place.

he almost looks ridiculous in the rabbit suit, which admittedly doesn't add much to his already sizeable frame, but you can't find the humor in the situation in which you could be seconds away from dying in.

"why?" you find yourself asking, suddenly more curious than hysteric. "why give me this job if you were just going to kill me in the end?"

"because you got a little too close to the truth, and for some reason, those brats up there were unable to take care of the job themselves," he snarls resentfully. he must be referencing the animatronics. it makes sense now— the kids in the drawings with the yellow rabbit on the wall.

"it was you. you killed those kids."

steve gives you a horrible smile. one that almost makes you weak, with that dimple you recognize from many conversations in his office. "you finally figured it out."

he walks behind you, shuffling around in the suit, and you crane your neck around to see him taking it off. he's wearing a white tee and dark purple slacks. he's not particularly muscular, but not thin either. it's a build specific to middle aged men. you hate to admit it, but your face flushes when you notice how large his hands are.

he catches you looking at him and smiles, cocking his head curiously. "see something you like, little night guard?" instantly you whip your head back around. your head is at a moral war with itself, with you being disappointed in yourself that you were actually checking out a child serial killer.

but steve doesn't leave it alone. once he abandons the suit, he swiftly strides over you. he places both hands on your restraints, caging you in. you shrink into yourself.

"i think," he says lowly, "i might have a different use for you, little one. one that we can both enjoy."

you swallow, not saying anything. steve reaches a hand up to slide down your face then cup your jaw. his hands are cold to the touch and it sends shivers down your spine.

you find your voice. "don't touch me."

"don't touch you? are you sure?" he says cockily and you can only glare at him in response.

"what if i just..." he trails off, sliding the hands on his face down your neck, your chest, abdomen, and eventually your core. he presses his hand there hard, making you jolt upwards and whimper. "so you don't want me to touch you, is what i'm hearing?"

fuck. this undeniably hot serial killer has you at his disposal and you can't help but feel turned on. if you're going to die, and your chances really aren't looking good for you, maybe you should just...

"please," you murmur, closing your legs so they trap his hand there.

"please, what?"

you swallow. "please fuck me."

"'atta girl." he grins from ear to ear. "y'know, all that begging you did earlier really did a number on me, but i must say i love this change of heart."

steve starts to undo the buttons of your slacks and begins to pull them down, leaving you bare in your underwear. it's at this point you realize how wet you are, and you try to relieve the tension in your core by squeezing your thighs together but he grabs your legs and presses them to your stomach. you're just so malleable to him.

he tugs off your panties and discards them mindlessly. "look at that," he marvels at your bare skin, "so pretty, little one."

you squirm against the restraints a little. at this point the anticipation will kill you faster than he will. you wish he would just touch you already, but you had to admit all his praises were only adding to your arousal.

steve decides to sit a little further down the chair and wordlessly plunges a finger inside your pussy. he goes deliberately slow, clearly gaging your reaction. "fuck," you mutter, and it takes all your strength to not buck your hips into his movements.

"you need this, don't you, sweet girl?" he muses, stopping the thrusting of his fingers, but still keeping them inside. "tell me."

"please, please, please..." tears coat your lashes from all the teasing. "'need it so bad."

he gives you a kind smile, one you haven't seen since you were back in his office. "good girls get what they ask for. "

steve slides in a second finger and begins to pump faster. it's an improvement but you find yourself needing more. you buck your hips up hoping he would get the message and he simply laughs lowly as he adds a third finger into the mix.

his pace gets progressively faster over time to your delight. the noises coming from your center is absolutely obscene. you can feel your juices dripping down onto the seat.

"ah — ah!" you cry out, feeling your orgasm nearing. "i'm coming — please, slow down—"

you squeeze your eyes shut. all the sudden the chair is abnormally wetter than you would have expected and— oh.

your face burns bright red. "i-i'm sorry..."

he's shocked, mouth agape and eyes slightly widened. then a wolfish grin spreads across his face. "don't you dare apologize, little one, let's try that again."

#william afton #steve raglan #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf smut #william afton x reader #william afton smut #fnaf x reader

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