#YOU JUST DRAW HIM SO WELL ITS UNFAIR | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chubby-bun-bun · 1 month ago

Text

untitled (part 5)

You rope the busy businessman into enjoying the holiday spirit.

nav: one, two, three, four, five (current), six or: read on ao3

tags: sylus x reader, an au where you're an average citizen, slow burn, fluff, your shot's smoother than stephen curry's

“You set me up,” you accuse, pointing a finger at the culprit before you.

Your midnight-feathered companion merely squawks in your face.

Frowning, you scoop the garnet-eyed traitor into your arms. Try as you might, you can’t resist stroking its feathers, the soft, silky texture effectively subduing your vexation. The bird settles comfortably in your hold, pecking at some lint on your shirt.

Are you still plagued by your embarrassing encounter with the red-eyed Apollo of a man in the park last week?

Absolutely.

Are you being unfair by taking it out on an innocent animal?

You drop your face into your hands with a dejected sigh.

It’s the eve of the Frostlight holiday, and you’ve decided to visit one of the places you hold a lifetime voucher for—a quaint little coffee shop tucked away in a shopping district alley. Aside from wanting to shake off the holiday blues, worsened by the eerie quiet of your undecorated house (save for the tiny Frostlight tree your brother gave you as a gag gift on your fifteenth birthday), you’ve been eager to check out the place after its recent renovations.

You’d been enjoying the shop’s new seasonal latte, sitting at one of the outdoor tables, when the familiar sound of cawing reached your ears. Before you could look for the source, a blur of black feathers descended gracefully onto your tabletop, a tiny red gem bead clutched in its beak.

Normally, your friend’s surprise appearance would brighten your mood. But as the events of last week played out again in your mind, you couldn't help but launch into a one-sided tirade about how your little tag game with the bird had unfolded that night.

“He said his name was Sylus—he was so handsome,” you groan, idly tracing the condensation on your cup. “And such a gentleman, too! And I tripped over him.”

The crow pecks at the stack of tissues on your table.

“But he was bleeding,” you continue, your gaze drifting to your straw, now bent and chewed. “He looked really hurt. I tried to help him, but then he just stood up—like nothing happened!”

It abandons the tissues, opting instead to preen its feathers.

“Do you think it could’ve been his Evol?” you wonder. “If it was, that’s so cool. And really convenient, don’t you think?”

You glance down at your companion, only to find it engrossed in cleaning its glossy plumage, its blatant disregard for your monologue clear.

You huff.

Deciding to leave the bird to its own business, you let your gaze wander to the other shops.

Because it’s the eve of a well-awaited holiday, the shopping district is alive with activity. The booths are adorned with warm white lights, accented by the sparkle of colorful fairy lights. Even from a distance, the aroma of cookies, hot chocolate, and assorted pastries wafts through the air. At the heart of the district where the streets converge stands a towering Frostlight tree, its meticulously arranged decorations glimmering under the festive lights. Decorative wrapped presents are nestled beneath its branches, and a brilliant star crowns the top, casting a warm, radiant glow over the lively scene.

The crowd is a bustling mix: parents paying at booths, teenagers laughing boisterously in groups, children darting around with unchecked energy, pets drawing clusters of admirers… and a familiar, silver-haired man standing by a stall, his towering presence capturing the awe-struck attention of passersby.

You blink.

Before you even realize it, you're on your feet, weaving through the crowd—nearly tripping over a couple of kids—until you finally reach the stall.

Breathless from your short dash, you rise onto your tippy toes and tap him on the shoulder.

He turns around, brows furrowed as he glances left and right, before finally looking down.

“Sylus, hi!” you blurt out, a toothy grin plastered on your face.

You're pleased to catch the surprise flicker in his eyes.

"Sweetie," he greets, the faintest tug of a smile playing at his lips. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I was in the area trying this new latte...” you trail off, glancing down, only to realize your hands are empty.

You must’ve left it at the table, along with your little crow.

You look back up at him sheepishly. (You send a half-hearted mental apology to the abandoned drink and bird.)

“New latte, huh?” he says, lips curling up into a smirk.

You realize his eyes are a beautiful, bright scarlet under the light.

“What about you? What are you doing here?” you ask, eyes curiously trailing over his dark button-up dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled up neatly, revealing toned forearms, the fabric adorned with slashes of deep red embroidery.

Sylus pauses. “Just… handling some business,” he replies, vaguely gesturing to the stall behind him. Around it, several well-built men in black attire and face masks move about—some standing idle, others murmuring in low voices, and a few weaving in and out of the stall's shadowy depths.

Your gaze shifts past them, landing on the vibrant display of oranges, clementines, pomegranates, figs, and other fruits neatly arranged in wooden crates.

“Oh! You own a fruit business?” you exclaim, your face lighting up with excitement.

You miss the slight grimace crossing his face.

“How lovely!” you say, already fishing for your wallet. “Allow me to support such a wholesome endeavor. I’d like two bags of pomegranates, please.”

A brief silence lingers between him and the nearby men. Then, he chuckles, flicking a finger over his shoulder. Two of them—smaller and seemingly younger than the rest, each sporting identical curls—exchange a quick glance before grabbing paper bags and clumsily filling them with pomegranates.

“Here you go,” one of them says with a bow, handing you his bag.

“The freshest of the season!” the other adds cheerily, offering his own.

You accept the bags graciously, about to hand over your payment, when Sylus raises a hand. “On the house,” he tells you, eyes gleaming with amusement.

You hesitate. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he replies, gaze roving over your form with a slight smile. “A holiday gift, if you will.”

You take in how striking he looks beneath the soft glow of the lights, his presence almost ethereal against the lively backdrop.

It’s then you realize you only have one life to live. Life is too short for regrets, and you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take. That fortune favors the bold, and that you either go big or you go home.

And so, with a deep inhale to steel your nerves, you seize the moment.

“Sylus, would you like to go get ice cream with me?”

The men behind him perk up. Deeper within the stall, a bound man sits trembling, a gun fitted with a silencer pressed against his temple. He’s being hushed, and the air grows thick with suspense as everyone waits with bated breath for the silver-haired man’s response.

After what seems like eternity, Sylus chuckles, flicking your forehead gently.

“I’d be more than happy to.”

—

You’ve barely spent an hour together, but already, you’ve learned so much about him.

He’s surprisingly chivalrous. You hadn’t expected it, but when you pulled out your wallet to pay for both your ice cream cups, he leaned over, gently swatted your hand away, and handed his card to the cashier.

You looked up at him in protest. “But I was the one who offered to get you ice cream…!”

He merely ruffled your hair, amused, as if you were an unruly feline meowing its head off for not getting the fish on the dinner table.

“I’m not letting you pay. End of discussion.”

Determined to make up for your honor, you dragged him to a weathered claw machine not far from the ice cream stand.

“Fine. But I’m getting you that one,” you declared, pointing at a black-and-red dragon plushie nestled among the other prizes. “You’re not allowed to refuse, okay?”

After a brief scuffle over who got to insert the coin (you lost), you managed to snag the plush on your first try. Triumphantly, you handed it to him, watching as he turned it over in his hands, his fingers gently fiddling with its tiny wings. Your gloating expression faded, though, at the sight of his faint smile, the image strangely sending a dull ache through your chest.

And despite his intimidating appearance, he’s remarkably generous.

When the two of you stepped outside the bustling shopping district for a breather, ice cream cups in hand, a gaggle of children in Frostlight-themed costumes approached. Tambourines and melodicas in hand, they eagerly asked if they could perform for you. Their chaperone stood nearby, wincing apologetically at their loud enthusiasm.

“Do your best,” Sylus told them, leaning against the building wall behind him, eyes gleaming in amusement.

The children hastily formed a crooked pyramid, the instrumentalists awkwardly positioned at the back, before launching into the most gloriously off-key performance you’d ever heard. You struggled to suppress your laughter, covering your mouth with your hand, but Sylus regarded them seriously, his head nodding slightly, as if genuinely finding rhythm in their chaotic melody.

When they finished with a burst of giggles, Sylus clapped slowly, laughter dancing in his gaze, before handing over a generous wad of cash. You’ve never heard so many high-pitched “You’re the best, mister!”s all at once.

You’ve been having so much fun—exploring the bustling stalls, petting the pups you come across, checking in on his hardworking fruit stall employees (and happily handing them some of the banana chips you bought), and watching the small fireworks display in the shopping district's adjacent plaza—that you don’t realize how late it’s gotten. Before you know it, you’ve arrived at your house, the neighborhood now quiet and serene, the hum of the city replaced by an almost peaceful stillness.

At your doorstep, you turn to see Sylus leaning casually against his sleek black SUV, his gaze fixed on you. A thought strikes you, and your eyes widen.

“Wait!” you blurt, fumbling for your key. “We never got around to returning each other’s stuff. Let me grab your coat!”

Before you can act, tendrils of black-and-red mist creep along the ground, curling around your feet. Bewildered, you stare at it as it coils upward, encircling you. “What…?”

Despite the way it looks, it feels soft and warm against your skin. Gently, it curls around your wrist, pausing your search for your key, and lifts your chin, guiding your gaze back to him.

“Return it next time,” Sylus tells you, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“But won’t you need it?” you ask, distracted by the way the mist dances around you, one tendril brushing your side playfully. You let out a surprised laugh. “Is this your Evol…?”

The mist retreats slowly, as if reluctant to leave. It curls around his feet one last time before dissipating entirely.

“I don’t have your sweater yet,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “It’d be rude to accept the coat before then.”

“But—”

“Think of it as my excuse to see you again.”

Your words catch in your throat as heat rises to your cheeks.

To appease you, though, he offers to exchange numbers so you can work out the details of your sweater and coat handover. If he notices the way your hands tremble when his fingers brush yours while swapping phones, he doesn’t mention it—though the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth doesn’t go unnoticed. With a reluctant wave and a final goodnight, you step inside and close the door behind you.

You lean against it for a moment.

Then, you bolt to your room, dive onto the bed, and scream into your pillow.

When you finally roll onto your back, breathless and grinning like an idiot, the ceiling above you seems brighter, the world lighter. It’s been so long since you’ve felt this way—like you’re floating, bursting with happiness.

You like him. You really, really like him.

As thoughts of brightly colored ice cream scoops and cuddly dragon plushies swirl in your mind, the weight of the day’s events finally begins to settle over you. You briefly resist, realizing you haven’t even changed out of your clothes or undergone your nightly routine yet, but in the end, you surrender to the comforting pull of slumber.

Just as you drift off, your phone screen glows faintly from your bag.

Good night kitten.

note: tysm for taking time to share your thoughts about the series 🥺 reading through them truly makes me so happy! it's so surreal to know that there are people out there actually looking forward to updates lol!! happy holidays, everyone! 💞

nav: one, two, three, four, five (current), six or: read on ao3

tag list: @thepotatoislost, @xxfaithlynxx, @browneyedgirl22, @vorfreudevortex, @midiplier, @wisteriaflowersss, @euclase0, @leighsartworks216, @keyiswatching, @goldenbirdiee, @delaythings, @datura109, @iloveboysinred, @everythingistaken00, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @blueberrysquire, @mourning-into-dancing, @bookfreakk, @everywherenothere, @vvhira, @laidenbreecatchall, @kyushii, @lucifer-says-hii, @sylus-crow, @carmelves, @nishayuro

check out my other works!

#ori.writes #sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus x mc #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #love and deepspace #sylus fluff

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ahqkas · 1 month ago

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“WHEN YOU’RE LOST IN THE DARKNESS, LOOK FOR THE LIGHT — dick grayson.

PAIRING dick grayson 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS he was completely frustrating. him with his cheeky grins and perfect teeth. maybe that’s why it didn’t anger you when he took an interest in you WORD COUNT 5.6k WARNINGS / TAGS artist!reader, cursing, mention of reader’s hair, unedited NOTES yes the title is inspired by tlou & yes i compared dick to a blue jay. i decided to mix 2 different reqs ( req 1 & req 2 ) because they worked well together for me soo i hope it’s okay! © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

IN ART, WHAT WE WANT IS THE CERTAINTY THAT ONE SPARK OF ORIGINAL GENIUS SHALL NOT BE EXTINGUISHED.

Said Mary Cassatt, and her words had echoed in your mind for as long as you could remember. There was something comforting in the idea that creativity—pure, untouched, and entirely your own—could endure even such cruel punishment as darkness. Darkness was a language you understood well, especially living in Gotham, where shadows devoured the city inch by inch until there was nothing but colorless void. The darkness wrapped itself around you, slowly seeping in to claim your soul as well, like the chill of a cold winter night creeping into your bones.

But even in a city this unfair, you believed there was still some beacon of light. Hidden, of course, but not extinct.

And so, you painted. You drew. You created. Every stroke of your brush and pencil felt infinite. Art was the closest thing you felt to immortality, and you clung to that belief like a child did to innocence.

Your small apartment was more than just a simple place where you lived. Every inch of the space bore a trace of you and of your determination to carve something special into the world. The walls, once peeling and beige, were now alive with color. A breath of life you granted the old home. It wasn’t much, your apartment, but it was yours.

The darkness couldn’t quite reach you there, and the light found you within your search for it.

It was late past midnight when you met him. The hour of the night was silent despite the fact you were living on one of the most dangerous streets of Gotham. Silent, but far from safe. The full moon hung high in the sky, its pale light struggling to pierce through the dark clouds that blanketed the whole night. Every so often, the moonlight would break free and shimmered a silver beam that barely softened the shadows.

You sat curled up on your old, beaten couch in your living room, aching legs tucked beneath you. The thrifted mustard-yellow couch sat beneath a gallery wall you’d arranged with so much focus you were unmistakably proud of the piece. The light from the fairy lights strung above the paintings softened the sharp edges of your apartment.

The pencil between your fingers moved along the paper with practiced movements of an artist as you clutched the sketchbook close to you with your free hand. You brought the drawing of a blue jay to life. Its small, delicate body was perched on the middle of the page, its head tilted slightly to the side as if caught mid-movement. The blue jay’s wings began to take a lively form beneath your hands.

You loved sketching birds—the way they had an open opinion of freedom in their feathers, how they could fly away from the weight of everything below on earth.

The quiet was broken by a dull thump.

Your pencil stilled, the sharp tip pressing into the delicate beak of the blue jay as you tilted your head towards the sound. It came again, heavier this time, right outside on the fire escape under your living room window. Living in Gotham meant you knew better than to ignore suspicious and strange sounds, especially at this hour.

Setting the sketchbook down on the coffee table, you slid off the couch with a pounding heart and bare feet padding softly against the wooden floor. The window was already cracked open, letting in a cold breeze of night air. It prickled at your skin and sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine.

You moved with an intention to investigate, your hand gripping the window frame when you leaned forward slightly to catch a glimpse of the intruder. Before you could fully stick your head through the opening, something shifted — a flash of movement so sudden that you instinctively took a step back to avoid bumping your head. Then, just as quickly, a figure shot up from the darkness surrounding your fire escape and you watched as his top half leaned against the window frame with effortless grace.

Anyone could recognize the symbol gracing his chest.

Nightwing was on your fire escape, practically with one of his halves in your apartment.

You blinked at him, startled at the unexpected visit from Gotham's (wait, wasn’t he supposed to be in Blüdhaven?) acrobatic vigilante. He stared back without shame. His face was partially illuminated by the soft glow of your fairy lights and his forehead, plus the top of his eyes, were hidden beneath the dark strands of his hair. Damp with sweat and light spray of rain. The black domino mask was doing little to hide the attractiveness of his handsome face, although it did not tell you his identity. Or the color of his eyes. The white lenses didn’t show any signs of life, it would be almost unsettling if it wasn’t for the other features of his face.

His jaw was sharp, the bone ready to cut through glass, and his lips held a shadowy grin in them. His chest heaved as if he’d just ran a marathon, or in his case, as if he’d just been in a chase. And his suit—a sleek, midnight black with that striking blue emblem—was marred by faint fabric tears and streaks of grime.

When he spoke up after a minute of analyzing you, his voice was breathless but warm, like he hadn’t just scared the life out of you by his entrance. “Hey. Sorry about the dramatics. Mind if I, uh, come in?” He glanced over his shoulder briefly, as though checking to see if someone had followed him.

You swallowed the lump that formed in the back of your throat, fingers still gripping onto the windowsill. You were pretty sure the surprise and disbelief etched into your face could be completely seen. “What? You’re joking, right?” those small words stumbled past your lips in a sharper tone than you intended. “You can’t just—“ gesturing vaguely to the fire escape he was standing on, you trailed off for him to finish the sentence himself.

But instead of an answer, Nightwing simply offered a grin, all perfect teeth. It was the kind that felt like it was meant to disarm you and melt you into a puddle at his feet. A swooning, pretty puddle.

“Technically, I can. But I’d prefer not to freeze out here while we debate it.”

Your reply to his cheeky comment died in your throat the moment you heard it—an angry bellow from somewhere below, followed by the unmistakable sound of boots thumping against the wet pavement. The voices were low and animalistic, only growing louder by seconds. Whoever they were, it didn’t take a genius to figure out who they were looking for.

Shooting him a pointed look with one of your eyebrows raised, you realized it was useless as he was already halfway through the window, ducking inside easily. He didn’t so much as flinch when his heavy boots hit the floor with a faint thud. You could only watch the trail of dirt and grime he was leaving behind himself. The sounds from outside faded into muffled whispers when he closed the window, and effectively scanned the room with a quick glance.

“You really have a way of making an entrance,” you mumbled under your breath as you gave him space and moved back towards the sofa. The sarcasm wasn’t meant to reach his ears but with the way one corner of his lips tugged up, you knew he heard every single word. Did this guy have super hearing?

The faintest glint of amusement danced on his features, despite the lack of emotion in his hidden eyes. You could tell by the way his eyebrows furrowed and his lips quirked up. “It’s part of the job description,” he replied to your remark casually, as if crashing into strangers’ apartments was just another Tuesday for him.

With a sigh, you shook your head and leaned back against the arm of the couch, watching him move around the living room. He didn’t sit, didn’t relax, didn’t even pause long enough to breathe out the weight of his situation. Instead, his gaze grazed over everything in clear sight — your paintings on the wall, the cluttered coffee table and its content, the pencils scattered across your notepad.

He was strange.

“What are you doing?”

“Just checking,” his response came quickly, he was probably distracted by the hand brushing against the edge of the window frame as he double-checked the latch.

You watched him carefully and tried to not let his presence throw you off. There was something unbelievable about seeing him there, in the heart of your apartment of all places, where every inch of the space was yours. Technically, he was in your territory now.

“Don’t worry,” Nightwing added with humor etching his voice when you didn’t say anything. “I’ll be gone before you know it.”

“Take your time,” the dripping sarcasm got out the exact same reaction from him just like before, and you watched as he smirked at you, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in a way that told you he was far too used to getting under people’s skin. Cheeky bastard.

This inspection of his lasted for a few more minutes before his pacing slowed down and his masked eyes landed on your beaten couch. The faint amusement in his features shifted, softening into something more thoughtful as he approached you. You stiffened when he got close enough. The light scent of cologne hit your nose from the proximity.

Gloved hand reached for your notepad, and you watched him again when he started tracing the soft pencil lines of your sketches. You seemed to watch him a lot tonight, but you didn’t dare to interrupt him. He was still a stranger and you lived alone. The vigilante could take you down without breaking a sweat, no comment.

The blue jays stared back at him from the page with their wings outstretched mid-flight, the faint smudge of pencil giving them a sense of movement, like they could lift off the paper and fly toward their freedom at any moment.

“You drew these?” the question slipped before he could think of it and the raw quietness of his tone surprised you.

You hesitated before you gave him the answer. “Yeah, I did. What, are you secretly an art critic, too?”

His lips twitched, but his eyes stayed on the sketches. “Blue jays,” the murmur was more to himself than to you. “They’re nice.”

“Nice?” you echoed back at him, a small smile ghosting your lips upon hearing his praise. “That’s your verdict? Nice?”

This time, his wide grin returned as he glanced at you from your artwork. You decided on the spot that you liked this look on him. He could be all sharp edges and rough words, but the genuine smiles and clever remarks were a part of him, too. “Hey, I don’t know the first thing about art. But they’re good. Really good. Why blue jays though?”

You shrugged your shoulders, crossing your arms around yourself tightly. His clear interest in your work made you feel strangely exposed. “They’re . . . free. They can leave whenever they want, fly away from everything. I guess I like the idea of that.”

Nightwing was quiet for a moment, his masked gaze flicking back to the page like he was seeing something more between the colors and lines you’d drawn. He really was strange. “Makes sense,” he said finally. “They’re tough, too. Survivors.”

For a man who’d just come crashing through your window, being chased by a bunch of angry goons, he suddenly seemed relaxed. The birds meant more to him than he was letting on.

“Guess that explains why you like them.”

“What, you think I’m a blue jay now?”

A smirk made its way to your lips, and you felt a slight hint of satisfaction brewing inside you. You finally got him. “You said it yourself. Tough. Survivors. Seems fitting.”

It was a strange image, seeing someone who carried so much weight on his shoulders standing here, in your little apartment, admiring a simple sketch of a bird. Most people assumed he was a machine under the suit, someone who did their job because it had to be done. But you saw the life in his smile and heard the feelings in his voice. Red flooded his system like any other human being possessed. A beating heart and marred skin. He was human, even under all that armor.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, effectively breaking the silence that followed your cheeky remark. “I’m glad my art could distract you from the mad mob outside.”

That earned you a genuine laugh, low and rich. You noted he had a nice laugh. Everything about him was nice, though. Maybe it was because it was the first time seeing him from up close or maybe it was simply that he got your attention.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The next few days were rather busy. You had more work on your shoulders and your family kept pressing about your upcoming visit (spoiler alert; you didn’t really plan on visiting them). Your family members lived far from Gotham, which you were particularly glad for. One boring and busy day went after the other, and so did you with your life. You weren’t going to admit it, but you missed the sudden excitement the cocky vigilante brought with him. It was something new, something that wasn’t boring.

The wind carried a chill that nipped at the exposed skin of your face, numbing your cheeks in the process. The streets of Gotham were alive despite the coldness the new day brought with itself—the city never really stopped, even when it probably should have. Your tea sat untouched beside your half-eaten croissant, warm steam curling lazily above the porcelain cup, while your hand moved steadily across the pages of your sketchbook.

You were drawing another blue jay. This one was perched on a thin branch, its head cocked slightly with ruffled feathers as if caught in the same breeze that howled right now. The pencil lines of your drawing were sharper this time, more confident, though you weren’t sure why.

Maybe it was because you couldn’t stop thinking about them—the blue jays.

It wasn’t like this hadn’t happened before, your thoughts fixating on a subject, but this time it felt different. Ever since that night, when Nightwing had stood in the heart of your living room and held your sketch like it was something worth admiring, you’d been thinking about them more and more often. Birds had always represented freedom to you. A fleeting kind of beauty, one that wouldn’t last long. But now they carried something else. Something more.

You found yourself replaying his words in your mind while you shaded the curve of the blue jay’s wing, your pencil working instinctively as the low conversations and local sounds of the café faded into a hushed whisper. The bird began to take shape, its tiny body beaming with life.

The next thing you knew, the chair you were sitting on rocked slightly and your bag was violently jerked from the edge of the table.

It took you a second to process what had happened. One second, your purse was there, sitting by your side, and the next, it was gone. Snatched by a blur of unidentified movement. Your heart skipped an uncomfortable beat as you whipped your head towards the stranger, catching sight of the thief bolting through the crowded street.

Panic started to settle in. Your bag. Gone. It was gone. Everything was in there—your money, your keys, your ID. The grip of your fingers on the pencil in your grasp tightened while adrenaline surged through your veins. Without having any second thoughts, you shot to your feet. The chair scraped loudly against the floor and you bolted after him.

“Hey! Stop!”

The thief was already halfway down the block when you finally pushed past the crowd with alarming speed. Your boots moved without any more thinking. He wasn’t particularly tall, but he was quick on his feet, his figure darting between pedestrians who shouted in surprise and yelped in confusion when he pushed into them to clear his path. Your lungs burned as you tried to push against your limits and keep up with him. The strap of your bag was swinging wildly in his grip.

“Stop!” you shouted again, although you doubted he would listen. He wouldn’t. People around turned to look at the chaos, but no one made a move to help. It was Gotham, after all — everyone looked after their own self.

The thief rounded a corner, successfully disappearing into an alley, and you felt a pinch of dread forming in your stomach. You didn’t know this part of the city well, and the narrow alleyway clothed in shadows sent a wave of goosebumps down your spine. Hesitation brewed in you for a moment before you made up your mind. Fuck it. You didn’t care that chasing him was reckless. You didn’t care that you had no plan for what you’d do if you actually managed to catch up to him. All you knew was that he had your bag—your life—and you weren’t about to let him get away with it.

Whoosh!

You barely registered the sound at first. Your focus was entirely on your thief, the dark shade of his jacket disappearing deeper and deeper, just beyond your reach. The puffs of air left your lips in a sharp shape and the cold air didn’t help much. But you didn’t stop running. You couldn’t stop.

Then, out of nowhere, a dark blur descended from above, landing right in your path.

“Whoa, hold it!”

The familiar drawl of his voice ringed in your ears before you saw him. You skidded to a halt, nearly losing your balance as his figure stepped into the sight. His arms were outstretched to block your way, and you felt a sudden burst of frustration upon his appearance. After all, you still had a bad guy to catch.

“Move,” moving to the side, you tried to sidestep him and start your chase again. Key word—tried. He shifted smoothly, following your movements like a mirror.

“Not happening,” he interrupted you firmly. “You can’t go running after some guy who might be armed. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”

“I don’t care. He has my purse—my money, my keys, everything! I have to—“

“You have to stay here,” Nightwing cut you off again, and you pushed the urge to strangle him away. His presence was infuriating, even though you could see every muscle in his jawline tightening and tensing. He was holding back, that much was evident.

“I don’t need your help.”

His hands shot out the moment you tried to brush past him again, gloves catching your biceps in a firm hold. It wasn’t painful, nor would leave any marks in the form of bruising, but he held you in a grounding manner. Almost as if he wanted to calm you down.

“Yes, you do,” the glint of seriousness in his gaze made you halt in your argument. He meant every single word. “Look, I get it. You’re pissed, you’re scared, and you feel like you have to do something. But this guy could have a knife, or worse, and you’re completely unarmed. He’s probably long gone by now, too. I’ll track him down and get your stuff. That’s a promise, Blue.”

You swallowed hard as the fire that fueled your intentions died a little bit. He was right, even though you didn’t want to admit it.

“Fine, but you better catch him.”

A small, reassuring nod and a gentle squeeze was all you received from the masked vigilante before he released you and took off after the thief. A moment later, you realized he gave you a nickname.

Blue.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The thick steam from your earlier shower still lingered in the bathroom, curling faintly in the air and clinging along the tiles and the edges of the mirror as you massaged moisturizer into your skin like you did every night. It was a routine by now. One you were excited to participate in. Your favorite playlist hummed softly from the phone propped up on the counter near the sink, the melody blending with the occasional rustle of the city outside your window.

Gotham was quiet tonight. No sirens. No shouts. Just silence.

You signed and leaned against the counter as you let the coolness of the white cream soothe your skin. The events of this day were rather . . . unpleasant. Your purse was gone, and the thought of all the things you’d lost still made your chest ache. Your keys, your ID, even your favorite pen you always kept in the front pocket—all gone, snatched in a moment. But at least you were safe. Nightwing had made sure you didn’t dive head first into what could have been a disaster.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him, either. The way he’d swooped in like some kind of a movie hero. For a man who lived his life surrounded by constant danger, he’d had this unmistakably calmness about him, like no problem was big enough to not handle.

Reaching for a soft towel, you patted your face dry with it when you finished the last step of your nighttime routine. A moment of realization hit you like a ton of bricks.

Your sketchbook.

Your heart sank deeply in your chest, and you froze, gripping the towel tightly. You’d left it at the café. It must’ve been sitting there on the table, untouched, while you chased after that thief like a reckless idiot. You would be lucky if you found it where you’d left it lying as there was a possibility of a tired barista throwing it away.

That notepad wasn’t just another notebook to you. It held weeks, months, of drawings—ideas, experiments, half-finished sketches that no one but you had seen. And the blue jays he praised . . .

The day’s exhaustion weighed heavily on your tense shoulders as you finally made your way to your bedroom. You switched off the light in the hallway, plunging your apartment into darkness save for the faint glow of moonlight spilling through the cracks in the blinds.

A dark shadow caught your eyes the second you stepped into the room and your heart nearly leaped out of your chest. There, casually perched on your windowsill was Nightwing, dressed in shadows.

His grin was the first thing you recognized on him, the wide stretch of his lips almost haunting in the darkness. His teeth appeared almost sharp, like canines of a predator. But he wasn’t here to hunt tonight. One gloved hand held your bag, dangling it from his fingers as if presenting you a beloved prize.

“Miss me, Blue?”

“Are you insane?” hissing, your palm resting against your beating heart. “You can’t just show up like that!”

A delighted laugh rumbled deep in his chest as he stepped inside like he didn’t invade your personal space and almost gave you a heart attack. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He tossed your stolen (now found) bag on your bed with a flick of his wrist. It took you a moment to process what you were seeing but when you did, your panic gave away to stunned disbelief. “You got it back?”

“Of course. I promised you.”

The smug look on his face softened after those words left his throat. You crossed the room in quick steps, rushing to get your hand on your belongings. Once it was in your hold, you rummaged through the inside. Everything was still there—your keys, your wallet, even the blue pen you favored so much. Relief flooded your system and you finally felt your shoulders relaxing. It was all returned.

You glanced at him from the bag, suddenly feeling somehow embarrassed. “I—I don’t even know what to say.”

“How about ‘thank you, Nightwing, for saving the day’? That would do,” the arch of his eyebrows told you he was enjoying this, if only a little. Smug bastard.

Rolling your eyes, you felt your lips tugging into a smile anyway. “Thank you for getting me my bag back. Happy?”

“It’s exactly what I wanted but yeah, very.”

A minute of silence stretched between you, one that wasn’t entirely comfortable but during that time, you studied him. He was leaning against the edge of your bed, just shy away from your side.

“You’ve been drawing them a lot, huh?”

“What?”

“The blue jays,” Nightwing gestured towards your desk with his free hand, the other behind his back. He looked strange, amusing even, but you didn’t dare to point it out. You followed his movements, eyes sliding toward your desk full of stray papers. He was right, the wooden space was filled with your recent works, and among them were multiple pieces of those blue birds. “You were working on them that night. At the café, too.”

Your lips parted slightly to voice your confusion, but the words didn’t come. He had noticed? And kept track of it? You didn’t know if you should feel creeped out or honored.

You didn’t get to react much before he perked up. “Oh, almost forgot,” pulling the occupied hand from behind his back, you noticed he held a small book in it.

Not just any book, though. Your sketchbook.

“You went back for it?” the disbelief dripped from the tone of your voice as you reached for the notepad. Your fingertips brushed against his gloves when you did so, and a spark of light crossed through you at the faint touch.

“Figured you’d want it back,” he tried to act nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders without a care in the world, but even if you knew him for such a short period of time, you could tell he was just acting. The subtle tone of his voice betrayed him, along with the rosy dust painting his cheeks. Your thumb traced the broken spine of the notepad. The thought of him chasing down your thief, retrieving your stolen stuff, and then returning for your more personal thing left you speechless. He didn’t have to, but he did—again.

He was so close to you now that the faint scent of rain and city clung to him, mixing with his natural fragrance. You could inhale it all while you saw everything, too—the sharp line of the bone in his jaw, the slight furrow of his brows like he was constantly deep in his mind, and even the way the moonlight caught on the pink dusting the top of his ears.

His pose shifted lightly, in a way that made the space between the two of you feel almost nonexistent. Your instinct told you to move, but your feet didn’t move.

“You’re . . . really something, you know that?”

Your heart beat against the bones protecting your ribs so loud you swore he could hear it. The white lenses of his black mask flickered all over your face, almost like he wanted to memorize every delicate detail, like he wanted to count every lash on your eye individually.

“You barely know me.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, “but I think I’m starting to.”

No response made its way past your lips. It died at the base of your throat, and no one could rip it out of you.

His hand reached out in your peripheral vision, slowly, like he was giving you an option to stop him whenever you felt like. There was no force between you, just purity of the actions. When you didn’t stop him, he moved bolder and louder, long fingers tracing the curve of your cheek before brushing against the damp strands of your hair. He pushed it back behind your ear, his touch lingering even there.

You could feel his breath mingling with yours, becoming one.

And then, just as you felt the unmistakable pull towards him, Nightwing pulled away. He took a step back like he remembered who he was.

“Take care of that,” he nodded towards your hold that clutched your sketchbook.

You opened your to say something, anything because what the fuck was he doing when he jumped out of the bedroom window, leaving behind the what ifs if he stayed with you.

⋆.˚ 𓅆 . . .

The rooftop had become your favorite spot to disappear from your responsibilities. The view was magnificent with how the city stretched out in every direction and you could see everything. The chaos was muted up here, replaced by singing of the birds and occasional flutter of wings. This place was comforting.

You sat cross-legged on the concrete with your sketchbook propped in your lap, pencil in hand and mind open to new ideas. But the paper brewed alive with yet another drawing of a blue jay. Something about them had rooted itself in your head.

Pausing in your work to glance up at the sky, you were greeted by the most remarkable sight. Caught by the horizon where the sun dipped lower, brushing its streaks across the rooftop in a golden orange. The light breeze tugged at your hair, and you reached up to tuck it behind your ear. You managed to smudge a piece of graphite along your cheek upon the gesture. Your sketch was coming along slowly today; your mind kept wandering off and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched.

Which you were correct about.

“Nice view,” a familiar voice drawled.

You flinched upon the sound, nearly dropping the tools on your knees as you whipped your head toward the source. There he was, perched on the edge of the rooftop, the sunset behind him painting him like some sort of an angel. Nightwing.

“Seriously? Do you ever not sneak up on people?”

The cheeky smirk made its usual appearance on his lips when he hopped down from his spot, taking slow steps towards you. It was impossible to stay annoyed at him, with that face and easy charisma. “Where’s the fun in that?”

With a roll of your eyes, you couldn’t help but smile a little. “What are you even doing here?”

“Patrolling,” he replied casually to your question, just like he did the night he came to return your bag. Trying to act all nonchalant, but deep down he cares. You know that. He’s acting again. You could tell by the experience and by the tone of his voice. It suggested otherwise from his answer. His masked eyes shifted to your knees, noting the open book. “Another blue jay?”

“I’m trying to capture the way they look when flying. It’s harder than it seems.”

You watched him while he watched your drawings. The vigilante crouched down beside you, his knee bumping against yours softly, almost as in unsaid greeting. He was saying hello while you responded hi back. “You’re getting better.”

Silence draped over the two of you after that sentence left his throat, this one much more comfortable than the one you experienced the week before in your apartment. His elbows were resting on his knees, which bumped into yours from time to time in a silent gesture. Your eyes found the white lenses behind the domino mask.

“You’re not gonna disappear this time, are you?”

“No.”

Your sketchbook lay forgotten in your lap as you gazed into the void of his eyes. You couldn’t read the emotion in them but you somehow could tell every single feeling brewing inside him. It was written across his face, open like a book.

“You’re staring,” you whispered.

“So are you,” his reply was quick, like he knew exactly what to say the moment you spoke up.

A faintest tug at your lips brought the corners up in a smile, but it faltered the moment he leaned in, taking up your personal space inch by inch. He was moving slowly, giving you the opportunity to pull away, to reject him and his touch if you wanted to. But you didn’t.

His palm hovered near the curve of your cheekbone close enough to feel the warmth seeping through the glove. He cocked his head slightly to the side, as if silently asking you a question he was too caught up in to say aloud.

“You’ve got graphite on your cheek.”

“Do I?”

He brushed his thumb across the smudge, wiping it away. He didn’t pull away once your skin was clean.

You noticed the way his eyes briefly dropped to your lips before flicking back to meet yours, searching for an answer he so desperately wanted to hear.

If you didn’t want this, he’d pull back. You knew he would.

But you didn’t want him to.

Leaning in, you closed the little distance between you, and that was all the answer he needed. His lips met yours firmly, pressing against yours like a puzzle, like they belonged there. Your hands gripped at him, fingers moving to the base of his neck to grab a handful of his black hair and pulling slightly to deliver a message.

Although the darkness around you enveloped you, clothing the day in dark, you felt a spark of light every time his lips pressed against yours more urgently, licking and biting his way inside to get a taste of you. You felt it when his gloved hands tangled in your hair, tugging you impossibly close to make you his.

His forehead came to rest against yours when you eventually had to pull away for a fresh breath of air, both his and your breaths uneven.

“Tell me I’m not gonna regret this.”

“You won’t.” That was a promise.

Because when you’re lost in the darkness, you should look for the light.

410 notes · View notes

dollfacefantasy · 10 months ago

Text

Kiss It Better

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!bunny-hybrid!reader

summary: on a day planned to be just for just you and leon, he gets called into work. it dredges up some old memories, and upon returning home, he wants to make it better by taking extra care of his baby bunny.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, cockwarming, daddy kink, size kink, breeding kink, hurt/comfort, reader copes with her past at the shelter

word count: 6.1k

a/n: yay leon and his baby bunny finally return. i hope this lives up to the first part lol which can be found here. i have another part planned as well if people are interested. as always reblogs and comments mean the world <3

“I could never say no to my sweet baby bunny.”

A statement Leon had said off-hand in the heat of the moment. Something he’d told you as a comfort, a way of warming you up for your first intimate moments together. He hadn’t put much thought into it before it rolled out of his mouth.

But damn, if only he’d known how true it would prove to be.

The words were ringing through his head right now as you dragged him through the mall on another Saturday he dedicated entirely to spending time with you. He’d already bought you a fair amount of stuff from cute frilly socks to pretty pink panties to some tiny t-shirts he knew he’d regret as soon as you used one to get your way. And now you were heading towards a shop tucked away in the farthest corner of the shopping center. His only hope was that the location meant it was the end of the line, the last stop on your trip.

From what he could see, it sold stuffed animals amongst other items that could clutter up his house. Luckily, the small plush toys seemed to be the only things drawing your attention. Your eyes scanned the rows before fixating on a specific one that sat on the bottom shelf. You crouched down to get and pulled it to your chest, standing up again so Leon could see your selection. His eyes soften as he notices your little cottontail twitching with excitement.

He can’t help the smile that spreads on his face at the sight. His sweet girl standing there with a small plush cow in her arms. The tufts of black and white fur jutted out the top of its head near a set of foamy horns. You looked up at him with puppy eyes, which he’d come to view as unfair since he’d chosen a bunny for a reason. But they worked on him all the same.

“Baby-” he starts, but you interject, predicting his argument.

“I don’t have a cow yet,” you plead, “It’s just one more.”

“Yeah, this one is just one more. And so is the next one, and the one after that, and the one after fifty more of these things,” he teases.

“C’mon, please,” you beg, stepping close to him to lean against his chest.

“Is this your way of telling me you want your own bed again? You’re just gonna fill the one we share with more and more of these until there’s no room and I’m pushed to the floor,” he jokes.

“No,” you deny, “Plus I put them away at night anyways.”

“Most of them,” he corrects.

“Cause I need my bear to sleep,” you say with a little pout.

He swears he almost swoons. You’re too fucking cute. He knows he’s spoiled you rotten. You’re treated better than the average hybrid to put it lightly, but he was past the point of paying that any mind. That shelter he’d picked you up from never let you have stuff like this. In his mind, he was righting their wrongs, burying those sad memories with as much cute shit as he could afford. And if other people didn’t approve, if they thought he should keep you silent and on a leash, he couldn’t care less.

Looking down at you now, playfully pleading with him for that stuffed animal, he knew he could never treat you like that. He rolls his eyes and messes with your hair, gently scratching the base of your floppy ears.

“Fine,” he says, “One more.”

You all but cheer with your excitement, bouncing up to give him a fat kiss on the cheek. He takes the stuffie from you and walks to the register to pay for it. You walk, lacing your hand with his and swinging your arms back and forth.

He looks over at you and instantly remembers why he always ends up giving in. Why he can never say no. Now that you had opened up, he couldn’t get enough of you. He’d loved you before that day a few months ago, the day when he’d caught you during your attempt at self-soothing with his pillow between your legs. But since that day, a whole new layer of you had been revealed to him. The sweet and shy bunny he’d met at the shelter touched his heart first, but the affectionate and needy girl you’d allowed him to see owned it now.

He pays for your little cow, adding another bag to the collection hanging from his arm, and leads you out of the store. You tuck yourself under his arm, clinging to his abdomen.

“Thank you, daddy,” you say quietly and press a kiss to his chest.

His heart throbs at the sound of the sweet name you’d attributed to him months ago. He has to remind himself that you’re in public before any other part of his body reacts.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he says and strokes one of your ears with his free hand.

Once the pair of you reach his car, he loads your stuff in before giving you a pat on the ass as you climb in the front seat. You’re all smiles, and he couldn’t feel better. He gets in the driver’s seat and switches the car on. Your hand goes for the controls to the music right away. He always let you pick when you were with him. Each song acted as a little glimpse into you and what you liked.

As you’re selecting one you like, he feels a buzz in his pocket. He fishes his phone out as you share some of the stuff you like about the song you put on. You then start asking him where you’re going next, but the plans slowly begin to unravel as he reads the message displayed over the picture of you he had as his screensaver.

“Shit…” he mutters to himself before looking back up at you. Your ears droop in tandem with his face dropping. “Baby, I gotta drop you back at the house. I gotta take care of some stuff at work for a bit.”

He sees the disappointment in your eyes, and it kills him.

“But… I thought you took the day off,” you say. Your mood rapidly depletes. It wasn’t his fault, but it wasn’t fair. This was supposed to be a day where he was all yours. Twenty four hours where the D.S.O. laid no claim on him.

“I did, but I’ve told you how it is sometimes. I can’t get out of it some days,” he says.

“But you already stayed late all week. What else do they even need you for?” you ask. It may be irrational, but you can’t help how your mind floods with a sense of abandonment in the moment. You knew Leon would never do that, but the years you spent in that shelter had done a good job of convincing you otherwise.

“Just some formality stuff. I’ll be as quick as I can. You know I wouldn’t choose working over being with you,” he says.

Now he’s the one pleading. Your ears are flat on your head, and your eyes are fixed on your seat below you. He knows you feel wounded now even though you’re holding it in.

“If you’re mad it’s ok,” he whispers and reaches out to stroke your jawline, “You can be upset, honey. I won’t get mad at you. I know you were excited about today.”

As much as you had opened up, he could tell you still shied away from showing too much negative emotion. He knew you’d gone through some punishments at the shelter you were still too scared to talk about.

“It’s not your fault,” you say and shrug, dejection all over your features.

He sighs and starts the car, pulling out of the parking space, and heading towards the house. “I know it’s not, but you can still let out some frustration. I wouldn't think you’re ungrateful if that’s what you’re worried about. You wouldn’t get in trouble,” he says, keeping his tone gentle.

You bring your feet up onto the seat and retreat into yourself a bit. With a simple shake of your head, he knows the topic has closed.

He lets out a quiet sigh as he drives down the road. It drips with the frustration that he’s letting you down. He can’t reach inside your head and pull out the negative effects of the shelter. He can’t tell the D.S.O. to fuck off and let him spend as many hours as he wants with his precious girl. All he can do is pull into the driveway and watch you get out of the car, your posture slightly slumped with the encroaching feelings of loneliness. You pull your shopping bags from the car. At least you give him a little parting kiss so he doesn’t feel completely emaciated.

He watches your sad trudge into the house before taking the car back out of the driveway and down the same road in the opposite direction.

Inside the house, the silence dominates you. You pad down the hallway to the bedroom that had once belonged solely to Leon. Dropping the bags of clothes near the door, you then hop on the bed and toss your new little cow up near your other pillows. Your eyes linger on the ceiling. You’d become familiar with the insignificant bumps and ridges above that provided a distraction on sleepless nights. Nights where you just needed to tune everything out and count them to avoid being haunted by the past.

Before Leon had taken you in, you always imagined you’d enjoy the quiet of a real home. The shelter always echoed with loud cries of sorrow, screams of anger, and whimpers of hopelessness. You’d lie on the thin mattress tucked in the corner of your area and try to dream of the days your bed would be lush with pillows and blankets, decorated how you liked and surrounded by the peace of you and whoever had chosen to love you.

And now those days have come. They’re real. You didn’t have to deal with the constant atmosphere of despair or the looming threat of punishment for acting like a human being. So why was it so easy for you to tumble into sadness like this? Why did the quiet no longer mean sanctuary but rather the absence of the person you loved most in this world? You could never work it out. It was too hard. Any time you tried you ended up spiraling into even more self loathing. Because there’s nothing to be sad about anymore. There’s no reason to feel like this. That stuff shouldn’t bother you; it’s nothing more than a collection of ugly memories at this point. Why couldn’t you be grateful for the life Leon had given you? The man gave you just about anything under the sun you could want, so why did one minor inconvenience have to throw you off this badly?

The bags by the door didn’t make you smile anymore. They only brought guilt. You didn’t deserve them. All the gifts and love he lavished upon you would never make you into what you were supposed to be.

Your thoughts consume you for longer than you notice. The sky darkens outside, tinting the room with a violet haze. You lie on the bed under your self-made cloud of gloom for hours, not noticing how much time has passed until you hear the garage door closing and footsteps getting closer. You glance at the bedroom door as it opens silently.

Of course, it’s Leon. His eyes fill with concern at the sight of you. He’d seen you down before but never so deflated. His face now resembles how he looked when he caught you humping his pillow all those months ago, but it’s also distinctly different. He still has curiosity in his gaze, not able to pin down what exactly is the reason for the present circumstances. Though the reaction this time is more worried than surprised. Your present state doesn’t shock him; instead he feels a protective instinct flare within him.

He approaches the bed and sits next to your limp form. His palm rubs up and down your arm slowly. “Hey baby,” he says softly, “You doing ok?”

You look up at him and nod. Sitting up, you scoot to him and align your side with his. Your legs extend out in the opposite direction of him as your head rests on the curve of his shoulder. “I just missed you,” you say softly, your arms encircling the circumference of his bicep.

He presses a kiss to the crown of your head and starts rubbing your back. “You do anything fun while I was gone?” he asks.

“Nothing special,” you respond, “Think shopping made me sleepy.”

You speak with a soft tone of voice, attempting to further the idea that this was merely a bout of tiredness. His eyebrows rise with suspicion. As cute as you look with your cheek squished against his shoulder, he pulls your body around and seats you on his lap. His fingers sweep down your jaw and guide you to look up at him.

“You sure you’re just tired? Nothing else? We weren’t out for that long. I just wanna make sure you’re alright,” he says, trying to show you with how he speaks that it’s not an accusation.

But you remain firm in your convictions and nod. “Mhm, I’m already feeling better. I just needed a little rest,” you assure him and tuck your face against his neck.

It’s not a lie. You were feeling better now that he had returned, each passing moment had little improvement for your mood. But he knew something still wasn’t right. He strokes down the silky expanse of your ears while his other hand massages the base of your tail.

“Well, I missed you too, y’know? Couldn’t stop thinking about my sweet baby bunny the whole time I was at work,” he says.

You were already melting against his chest from the physical contact, but now a smile graces your features. “Really?” you ask, looking up at him again.

“Really,” he confirms, “I felt pretty bad leaving you all alone when it was supposed to be our day.”

“Oh, you don’t have to fe-” you start before he interrupts.

“No, I told you the day was gonna be for us. So how about this?” he asks, rubbing his thumb back and forth over your chin, “How about instead we make it a night for us? I’ll give you a nice bath, put you in some of the new stuff I got you.”

He kisses your head again, then your temple, then your cheek.

“Maybe daddy’ll even give you a special treat before you fall asleep,” he murmurs before kissing your lips.

Taking in a deep breath, you nod. You’re helpless when he treats you like this, disagreeing doesn’t even seem like an option.

“Will you get in the bath with me though?” you ask.

He grins and rises off the bed with you in his arms. “Of course. Anything for my baby bunny.”

The two of you head to the attached bathroom. He sits you on the counter while drawing the bath. Steam drifts up into the hair from the hot water pooling in the tub. He lights some candles, dims the lights, and lets you pick out the scent of bubbles you want.

You sit on the laminate countertop, lazily swinging your dangling legs as you watch him. He checks the temperature of the water multiple times and stares at the clear liquid coming from the bottle of bubble bath. Once that’s taken care of, it’s your turn. He slips your shirt over your head and your bottoms down your legs like you’re the most delicate thing on the face of the earth. Kisses land on your jaw as he pulls your panties off too and drops them in the hamper with the other articles of clothing. So meticulous about everything, at least when it came to you.

He scoops you up again and brings you to the bath, setting you down in the water before twisting the faucet off and discarding his own clothing. Then he climbs in behind you, slotting his body between yours and the cool marble.

“C’mere, baby. Nice and close to daddy,” he murmurs as he pulls you onto his thighs.

You sink into his chest. The feeling of his skin against yours is almost enough to make it all better, enough to make you forget about earlier. You nuzzle into his muscular front, making him smile. He strokes your face and takes care to avoid getting your ears wet.

Both baths and showers used to make you anxious, and he knew that. One of the details you had shared with him about your life at the shelter was having to share the space with all the other hybrids, including the bathrooms. You’d told him how much you hated it, and he could only imagine. He tried extra hard now to make both as comfortable for you as possible, pampering you like an absolute princess.

Thinking about all this, him going above and beyond for you like he always did, makes you turn more into his body. Your arms loop around him, and you place your head beside his, obscuring your downtrodden expression from his vision. Your chin rests on his shoulder as he returns the embrace and holds you closer.

“My perfect girl,” he whispers.

The words are complimentary, but right now, the second in particular stings like a blade. You nestle your face against the warmth of his throat and tighten your limbs around him, trying to drown out the bad swirling inside of you with the feeling of his flesh on yours.

He knows you’re still acting a little unusual. Maybe your heat was right around the corner and it had you feeling extra needy. Maybe you were just still a bit sad about missing out on a day with him. He wasn’t totally sure, but he just wanted to make it better. And the way you were starting to press against him, breasts flush against his chest and the warmth of your thighs pressing against either side of him had his cock starting to stiffen up.

“Sweet thing… you wanna feel a little closer, hm?” he murmurs, fingertips rubbing tiny circles into the small of your back.

You weakly nod.

“Is this close enough? Or should daddy get even closer? I think being inside would feel even better,” he whispers.

You nod again, this time with more motivation. “Please daddy,” you mumble.

“Of course. All you had to do was ask,” he says. He lazily strokes himself a few times beneath the water, getting himself a little harder before he lifts you slightly and slides in.

A soft moan drifts out of you as he lowers you again. You put your head back down on him and sit with the comfort of being full.

“There’s my baby bunny,” he coos in a low voice.

He also takes in the feeling of your tight walls sucking him in. The feeling of your warm, wet embrace wrapped around him.

The two of you sit quietly for a while more, the bathroom silent except for the occasional trickle of water when one of you shifts. Flickering lights from the candles paint the walls in dim orange as the scent of the bubble bath takes over the air completely.

But to Leon’s dismay, your mood doesn’t seem to be brightening up. You don’t start squirming with the need to ride him like you normally would. You don’t get extra sappy with him and start going for more kisses or longing looks.

He reaches for the wash cloth resting on the brim of the tub and soaks it in the water. He squirts some soap onto it and gently rubs it up and down your back. He can feel your muscles losing some of their tension, but you’re still withdrawn. He continues tenderly cleaning you off while you sit with him inside you.

After a few moments more, not knowing becomes unbearable. “Honey, what’s wrong?” he asks softly.

“Nothing, I’m-”

“You’re not just sleepy,” he interjects. His voice is still loving despite the confrontational manner of the conversation.

He gently guides you away from his body so you’re kneeling straight up in the bath. His eyes scan you over, trying to make this easier by figuring out what it is, but he can’t. He brings the wash cloth up to your chest and starts brushing it against your chest, between your breasts, and down your belly.

“I know something’s wrong, and I know you’re scared of talking about things like this. But I would honestly prefer you telling me what it is, even if it comes out harsh, to sitting here and trying to figure out what’s bothering you,” he says as he rubs your skin with the soft cloth.

“I don’t know,” you say timidly.

“I’m only asking because I care. I can’t help you if I don’t know what the problem is. Seeing you hurting hurts me too, baby,” he responds.

“I’m not lying. I don’t know,” you say again, some defensiveness seeping into your words, “I don’t know why I feel bad. I don’t know how to tell you what’s wrong. I just- I felt sad earlier, and I know I shouldn’t feel sad which makes me more sad.”

He sees the panic rising in your eyes and hears your words becoming more rushed. In an effort to keep the situation controlled, he pulls you back to his chest, hushing your worries by engulfing you with his arms. You reciprocate the motion, eager to retreat from your emotions. He takes a pause to grapple with what you had just said.

“What do you mean you shouldn’t feel sad?” he asks.

“Because… because there’s no reason to be sad,” you answer.

“If you’re sad, then there’s a reason to be sad,” he says and looks down at you with growing concern.

You shake your head. “No, there isn’t,” you whimper. You start to feel tears collecting in your eyes while your throat feels like it’s constricting. “You make everything so perfect for me, and I can’t do the same for you.”

He’s beyond confused at this point. He feels a couple tears fall against his neck, and all he can do is hold you tighter.

“Woah, woah, baby, c’mon,” he says, trying to prevent more tears, “What are you talking about? Perfect? I don’t expect you to be perfect.”

“Yeah, exactly because you are perfect. You never push me. You never ask for too much. You never do anything bad, and I still get like this,” you cry.

“... Is that a bad thing?” he asks, still lost.

“No, but I just wanna be perfect for you too. You work so hard all the time at your job, and then you come home and you have to deal with me,” you weep and cling onto him more, “I don’t deserve you.”

“Don’t say that,” he says in a hushed voice, “You’re exactly what I want. I couldn’t ask for anything more than you.”

“Yes, you could. You deserve someone who can give you what you give. You deserve someone who’s not fucked up by stupid stuff from the past,” you cry, “I’ll never be a perfect pet, and I don’t wanna disappoint you.”

His chest aches and tightens up when he hears that. He starts to pull out, figuring this wasn’t the time to be balls deep inside you, but you stay locked around him so he stays put.

“Sweetheart, you’re not… I don’t see you as…” he starts, being careful with his words.

You continue your quiet crying against him.

“You’re more than a pet to me,” he decides, soft but firm, “You don’t disappoint me ever. You can’t disappoint me because I don’t have expectations of what you should be. You’re not some dumb animal that I want to mold into a fantasy. I know you were treated like that before, but that’s not what you are to me. You’re my baby bunny. My little love.”

More tears spill out onto him. The bathwater ripples with the shaking of your body.

“You’re not fucked up,” he whispers, “That stuff you went through at the shelter, that’s a big deal. I don’t expect you to just be able to move on from that like it’s normal. You need some extra care, and I’ve known that since the first day you came home with me. It’s not a bad thing. It’s something I love about you. I’m not dealing with you when we do things like this. You’re not a burden to me.”

“Promise?” is all you can choke out right now.

“I promise, baby. Cross my heart and hope to die,” he murmurs and kisses your temple. He sighs and squeezes his arms around you before saying a little more amidst the quiet of the bathroom. “I’m not gonna pretend I know exactly how you feel. But I know how it is to get shoved into a life you didn’t ask for. To get expectations put on you that you can never meet. I don’t want you to feel like that with me. I love you, and I’m gonna love you whether you’re a perfect ‘pet’ or not. That’s not what’s important to me.”

You know he’s being genuine. You hold yourself closer and press a few faint kisses to his throat. “I’m sorry,” you cry.

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he whispers, “Just try and calm down for me, sweet girl. Take some deep breaths.”

You do as he says and work towards settling down. Your breathing slows, and the tears slowly stop. He grabs another washcloth and wets it. He guides your head up and gives you a small kiss before dabbing at your cheeks and cleaning your face of any remaining sadness. Your eyes flutter shut and relax under the loving care of his movements. He tends to your hair next, caring for it how you need.

Once your bath is done, he pulls out of you. You give him a little pout, bringing a smirk to his face.

“Patience, little one,” he teases before standing up with you in his arms.

He taps the stopper with his foot, draining the bathtub as he steps out. He sets you down so he can wrap a towel around his waist and then bundles you up in a big fluffy one. He dries you off and brings you in front of the mirror. He applies some product to your ears, something he’d gotten to keep them from drying out. You can’t help the smile on your face as his fingers gently rub down your long, fluffy ears. You can feel his love through his motions. He follows it with your hair routine, going through each step with precision and making sure to do it just how you like.

Before he takes you to the bedroom, his arms curl around your waist and he slots his head next to yours, gazing into your eyes through the reflective glass of the mirror.

“My baby bunny,” is all he says before pulling you out to the bed and laying you down on it.

He gets some of your lotion, a scent he’d become so familiar with. He rubs it all up and down your legs, taking time to lightly massage as he works. His hands glide all over your body, over your hips, up your sides, across your chest, and down your arms to your hands. Every inch of you was going to feel soft as silk if he could help it. The soft sighs of pleasure that come from you are enough to keep him thoroughly invested in the process.

When he’s finished, he plants a kiss on your lips and gets up. He heads to the door where you had dropped the shopping bags from earlier. He’s rifling through them, pulling out some new items you could wear to bed. He fishes out a cute t-shirt and some smooth panties when he hears your voice call to him.

“Wait, daddy?” you say.

“Yeah, baby?” he responds immediately, looking over his shoulder at you.

“Come back,” you request.

He looks at you curiously but stands up and walks back to the edge of the bed where you were sitting. Looking down at you lovingly, he holds your jaw and squeezes your cheeks. “What is it?”

“I don’t wanna get dressed yet… Maybe I could still have my treat… if you want to,” you initiate timidly while grabbing the hem of his towel.

He smiles and breathes out a laugh. “Yeah? You’re feeling better and need daddy again?” he asks teasingly, letting you tug the towel loose. It crumples to the floor behind his legs and unveils his cock to you.

“Always need my daddy,” you say, looking up at him.

“Don’t I know it,” he teases.

He pushes you back on the bed and crawls on top of you. Leaning down, he kisses and nips at your neck. His hands squeeze your hips. You nuzzle the side of his head affectionately. Out of the corner of your eye you see him swat away the plush cow that sat nearby on a pillow from when you’d thrown it earlier.

“Hey,” you say, feigning protest, “That’s mean. He didn’t do anything.”

“I’m sure he’ll forgive me,” he says with a grin.

Your body is already exposed from the bath, and he takes advantage. He kisses down along your collarbone towards the valley of your breasts. His palms cup them at the sides as his lips coast over them. He always took his time with you when he could. He’d get to rush when you were in heat and soaked just from being in the room with him.

Your fingers lace through the strands of his hair as you draw in a sharp breath. He laves at your nipples and the sensitive flesh of your breasts. His tongue caresses along the curves slowly, building your anticipation and causing your tummy to start fluttering.

His hand slides down your body, dipping between your legs to seek out your center. His fingers brush against the velvet folds and feel how they’re beginning to grow slick with your arousal. He swirls around your clit before pressing down on the sensitive nub and rubbing. Your lips part as you mewl.

“Is daddy already making you feel good, baby?” he coos.

You nod as your face starts to morph into that pouty look you get when you’re worked up. He loves every second of it and continues flicking his middle finger against the bud.

“You gonna let me show you how perfect you are, hm?” he asks.

You simply whine in response and tilt your head back against the pillows.

“That’s my girl. So fuckin’ pretty when you get like this,” he says.

He swipes his fingers up and down some more until he feels you're wet enough and ready to take him. He was certain you could take it without as much prep. Over the last couple of months, you’d you’d shown him the phrase “fucking like rabbits” was true after all, but he liked making you feel like you needed it. He like dragging his tip against your entrance, teasingly prodding the head of his cock at your hole. He savored the way you whine and squirm for it. Just like you were doing right now.

He pushes it in you, a deep groan coming from him as he sinks in all the way to the hilt. The way your eyes flutter and droop drives him crazy. His arms cage you down on the mattress as his knees sink into the plush blankets for leverage so that he can start thrusting.

“Perfect fit, that’s for sure,” he grunts, “No one else can take my cock like you can.”

You nod, whimpering and holding onto him. “Made for my daddy,” you say before gasping.

“Yeah you were. My perfect angel bunny. Sent down just for me,” he says and starts rocking his hips.

You writhe within the confines of his arms. Your breasts push up against his chest as your back arches. He fucks into you deep as he can, just how he knows you like it. Gripping your wrists, he pins them on the mattress, keeping you secure and in place so that he can piston his hips against you without interruption.

His own head tilts back, eyes shutting and lips separating the smallest bit. You gaze up at him like he’s the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. Every bit of him makes you clamp around his length.

“Such a good girl,” he mutters, “This is just what you needed. Just needed daddy to breed you and get you nice and calm again.”

That word makes your fuse burn faster, and you nod vigorously. “Can’t help it daddy,” you whimper, “I’m just a bunny. Don’t know any better.”

“Oh, I know, baby. Sweet little bunny like you needs to be bred. You need daddy’s cock to function, don’t you? Nothing feels right if you haven’t been bred,” he says, picking up more speed.

“Mhm,” you squeak.

Your legs start trembling hard as he hammers into your sweet spot over and over. To stabilize you, he lets go of your wrists and places his palms on the back of your thighs. He’s pressing you so hard into the mattress it feels like you might drop through straight to the floor. You cry out for him again and again, spurring him on.

“Good girl. I gotta breed my perfect little bunny. Fuck you nice and full like you deserve,” he grunts. The bed creaks with the force of his movements.

He pants as he drills into you. His head eventually falls forward to your shoulder again, but his hips don’t stop rolling.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum so hard, you’re gonna end up with a whole litter,” he moans.

Your eyes roll back and your legs lock around his waist. “Need it, daddy. Please,” you whine and clutch at his shoulders.

“I need it too baby. Need to knock up my sweet baby bunny. Gotta get you nice and full so everyone knows you’re all mine,” he says.

You’re both almost at the peak, gripping each other as tight as possible, sucking in air like there’s a limited supply. Both of you are moments from snapping when Leon’s eyes screw shut, his mind clouded by images of you pregnant with his babies. It’s too much, and he’s snapping into you like he’ll die otherwise.

“You’re gonna be the prettiest mama to our perfect babies,” he moans against you before his body starts sputtering.

The feeling of his cum flooding into you is enough to throw you over the edge with him. You seize up, back arching off the bed like you're possessed. You babble out some words of love, but all of it gets lost. You’re so jumbled up from the high, you both can only cling to each other as you ride it out.

You’re still breathing heavy as you come down, and so is he. Puffs of his breath come out right next to your ear. He lazily kisses below the lobe as you come back to reality.

“You see how important to me you are? See how much I love you?” he murmurs as he carefully rolls over and brings you to rest on his chest with him still buried inside you.

You nod and peck his jaw as you settle against him.

“Good. I never want you thinking like that again. If you ever need a reminder of what I think of you, I want you to tell me, and I’ll give you this same reminder.”

“I will,” you agree softly as he strokes your back.

You’re both exhausted from the exertion and the long day. He’s content to just melt into the bed while tangled up with you.

“Gonna keep you plugged up for a while, baby. Gotta make sure it takes, my sweet girl,” he mumbles as his eyes start drooping.

You gaze up at him, pretty sure you have hearts in your eyes. Your doubt and sadness had been abated for now. You nuzzle him and kiss his chest before trying to get some rest yourself.

“Love you daddy. So so much,” you whisper.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #resident evil imagines #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil x you #ch: leon kennedy 💌

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crushmeeren · 2 months ago

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no bc thinking about akutagawa, the port mafia dog that everyone thinks is so scary (he is) but who is actually the biggest gentleman. who hates plants bc they’re such a hassle to take care of, but who buys you flowers and puts sugar in the water vase to keep them alive ! 🫧🫧

who also just loves biting you. who is the biggest dick in bed, choking you and watching you cum with slits for eyes. who’ll kiss your throat right after he bruises it.

i forget if this is canon or not, but i saw somewhere that he doesn’t know what the frilly thing around his neck is called 😭 (i think its a cravat?)

Oh my FUCK!! Just like that I’m being sucked in and writing about him… Also I think that’s correct, it’s a cravat. Levi from AOT wore one too.🤤

master list link

You’re right…. Ryuu is such a fucking guard dog — a Doberman, if you will. He’s tightlipped and terrifying when he tails you around town, or anywhere really.

You want a few inches of space while you’re in the bar? At the store? At a birthday party? Too fucking bad. He sneers at everyone who gets too close, challenging each person who dares chat you up in his presence without a single word. You smack him in the chest when he pushes the line, teasing him with a “down Ryuunosuke, be a good boy.” He huffs, unhappy, but backs off for the time being. Until something sets him off again.

Although you have to use an unfair amount of willpower not to show it, Ryuu’s aware, and smug, about the fact that his protective and obsessive behavior tugs on the part of your brain that tells you to shove him into the sheets when you get home.

This isn’t to go without saying that Ryuu’s such a sweetie when it comes to you. Like tooth rotting sort of sweet. It’s not so much displayed through words, but rather it’s spelled out in his actions. As stated above, the man does not have a green thumb. First off, plants require far too much attention. Attention that he’d rather spend on you. Second, even if he has tried to grow plants before, though he swears he hasn’t, they just seem to mock him. They die and if he’s honest, he can’t be bothered with whether they live or not.

But, for you, Ryuu did just enough research on how to keep flowers off of life support. When Ryuu brought you flowers for the first time and he noticed how your eyes brightened, how you buried your nose into soft petals and inhaled a lungful, only to hum in delight and aim the single most affectionate look he’s ever gotten at him, well, he needed the flowers to live for as long as you willed them to.

Ryuunosuke loves to suck bruises along your throat, your collarbone, any unmarked part of your body he can get his hands on. It absolutely ties into his possessiveness. You tell him he’s a “territorial ass,” but you moan his name and tilt your head to the side, spreading your thighs open as you insult him. You ask him for more kisses without really asking him.

He rolls his eyes but one side of his mouth twists into a smile, fitting himself snug between your legs. He always comes back with “Yeah? Well you’re a fucking brat,” pressing the harsh words into your collarbone. “You think I won’t mark what’s mine? That I’d let anyone not know who owns you?”

It’s got to be common knowledge that Ryuu is a jerk in bed. That he likes to tease, likes to edge you, even ruin your orgasm once in a while because his dick gets hard when you cry. A thrill races down his spine when you let him choke you, stomach drawing in tight. The pads of his fingers press deep into the sides of your throat, making your head throb and your cheeks flush hot to the touch when all your blood rushes to them. He almost bites the tip of his tongue off when your pussy squeezes the life out of his cock.

On the other side, something probably scratches the out of reach itch in Ryuunosuke’s brain when you take the reins from him. He’s always got too much on his plate, and being able to give up control satisfies his secret desire to be taken care of. His expression is never more open, never more loving, more tender than when you’re riding him. It’s slow and steady, you appreciate every inch of his cock as it slides in and out of your pussy.

You brace your hands on either side of his head and Ryuu stares up at you, his heavy lidded gaze mirroring yours as he pants, these small puffs of air that are just loud enough to make out. You repeat the smooth, steady rise and fall of your hips, lips parting and a breathy “Ryuunosuke,” drips off your tongue. You play it up a bit, knowing how worked up Ryuu gets when you moan his full name.

It works this time as it has all the others.

His breath stutters in his chest, nails digging in and pinching your ass. “Ryuunosuke, please baby, make me cum. Your cock is so good, help me.” Your pussy squeezes tight around him.

Ryuu’s eyes begin to roll, lids fluttering before he lets out a breathless laugh. “You’re playing with me, angel.” He’s too smart, he realized what you were doing from the get go. He secures his arms around your waist and rolls until your back hits the mattress. “Such a helpless little thing for me, aren’t you princess?” He pushes his hips forward and you swear the tip of his cock presses against your cervix.

Ryuunosuke trails his fingers up the underside of your forearms, tickling you, and laces your fingers together, pinning your hands by your head. He dips down to whisper in your ear.

“You don’t have to worry, my angel. I’ll ruin you. You’ll never think of another man or want someone else’s cock ever again.”

You belong to Ryuunosuke, but you knew that already, didn’t you?

#I….got a bit too carried away with this #bsd akutagawa #akutagawa x reader #akutagawa ryuunosuke #akutagawa smut #akutagawa headcanons #bungo stray dogs akutagawa #akutagawa ryunosuke x reader #bsd smut #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader

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starmocha · 7 months ago

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Mirror, Mirror [Sylus/Reader ★ 750 words ★ Masterlist ★ Series Index ★ AO3] Sylus knows who is the fairest of them all. A/N: Yes, that clip of Sylus saying just one line flipped a switch in me. Of course I watched it like 80 times.

“Sweetheart,” Sylus’ sinfully deep voice rumbled behind you, his arm snaked around your stomach, pulling you closer to his toned chest and keeping you trapped between his long legs propped up on either side of you. He continued, his voice holding shades of mock-disappointment as he tsked and asked, “Did I say you could close your eyes?”

His hand stilled from their place between your thighs, just close enough that you could still feel its presence near your wet entrance, but far enough that you whined in frustration from the sudden lack of attention. “It’s embarrassing,” you managed to say as you opened your eyes to gaze up at him with a half-hearted glare.

He smirked at your expression, unbothered by the glare directed at him. He leaned down and nuzzled his cheek against yours. “There is nothing embarrassing about looking at yourself in the mirror,” he murmured, chuckling darkly when you squirmed against him, “Especially when you were looking so pretty falling apart from my fingers alone.”

You tried to nudge yourself closer to his hand, needing his earlier ministrations again, but he noticed your attempt and pulled away tutting in disapproval. You whined again. “This is so unfair…”

“It is not,” he replied pointedly. “I’ll let you get off, sweetheart, but only…” he pulled you roughly back against him, his long, slender fingers at your slick entrance again. “…if you keep your eyes open.” He pressed his lips against your cheek, his husky voice sending shivers down your spine: “I want you to watch yourself—look at how close you are to coming just from my fingers alone.” He sighed against your neck, pressing a kiss there as well, “So gorgeous…”

His fingers found your clit again, rubbing it in slow circles and drawing out your sweet moans for his ears alone. You relaxed against him, your eyes nearly closing until you heard him tutting again in disapproval, and you forced yourself to keep looking at the full-length floor mirror opposite you both.

It truly was embarrassing and unfair, you thought again grimly, cheeks reddening at the lewd sight and Sylus’ smirk in the reflection. How come he was still fully dressed and you were completely nude and exposed and—

The thought quickly dashed away as Sylus reminded you of his fingers, slipping one inside you, and then another, finding that sensitive spot inside you that had you instantly gripping his knee, holding it tight like an anchor as you gasped and arched forward, “Sy-Sylus!”

“Such a pretty girl,” he murmured in response to your cry, working his fingers in and out, relishing in the sight of you squirming against him. His thumb brushed over your clit again, drawing out your cry of pleasure, your helpless moans music to his ears. He sped up his pace, his fingers sliding in and out at a steady rhythm that had you approaching your climax.

He laughed low as you started gasping out his name, unable to form a full sentence as your mind could only focus on his fingers and the sound of his sinful voice behind you. You started mumbling helplessly, “Please...please…please…”

Sylus’ eyes twinkled in amusement at your repetitive pleas. He could tease you, taunt you and draw this out longer, but he knew you had been good, holding up your end of the deal. He watched your flushed face, seeing the tears forming in your eyes, knowing that you were not going to last long from this ministration. “Such a good girl.” He leaned down and kissed your cheek again, whispering against your ear, “Look at you just clenching around my fingers.”

You moaned low, barely comprehending his words, just getting drunk on that deep, rough voice of his. “Sy—ah!” you cried out, body tensing as you came hard around his fingers, unaware of anything around you but the sweet feeling of ecstasy that only he could bring to you. Sylus smirked as he pulled out his fingers coated in your release and he sucked it clean as you watched him with half-lidded eyes, your stomach doing a flip just from his action and knowing expression alone. As you came down from your high, Sylus drew you back into his arms, letting you lay boneless against him while you tried to even your breathing again.

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall,” he murmured mischievously against your ear, knowing you were too tired to protest to his teasing, “This sweet little hunter is the fairest of them all.”

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnds fanfics #lnds smut #sylus smut #love and deepspace x reader #sylus x reader #x — fanfics #wtf was in my coffee yesterday #all of my stupid sylus shitposting #and then that clip showed up #it’s over it’s oVER FOR ME #he says one line and i folded hard #down bad for a man who says two words and barely did anything #anyway

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safination · 7 months ago

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The Second Time Around

|Masterlist|

Alastor shakes his head, chucking a little. Each puff of his laughter cranes your head up and down. “Mother would strangle me if she learned what I’m doing with you,” he says. “Oh, she would go bonkers and grab my ears, telling me I was raised better than this.” “What exactly are you doing to me besides lulling me into sleep after filling my belly with the most exquisite food.” “We’re living together.” You pull away, looking at him to motion to the house. “Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but we’ve been living together for the past two years. Well, ten if you count our life up top,” you say with a snicker. “Living together is the least sinful thing we’ve done together!” Alastor shakes his head, pushing you up to your feet. TLDR: Alastor prides himself in being a gentleman, yet here he is now, living with his not-really wife but still his wife without rings around your fingers. It’s time he changed that.

Just a small little fic. I'm working on some requests right now, so to those who requested, I didn't forget about you, don't worry <3

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Alastor adjusts his hold, securing your body with a firm hold as he carries you on his back. The pads of his thumb go up and down the skin of your leg, and each movement lulls you deeper into him.

Strands of his hair brush your cheek when you rest your chin on his shoulder. They caress your skin every time Alastor takes a step, humming a song as he walks down the street. It’s a familiar tune.

Night-time air blows cold, even in Hell. Despite already wearing Alastor’s coat, the breeze forces you to sink deeper into his back. It’s warm—he’s warm.

The pads of your fingers draw circles on his dress-shirt as you press yourself into him. Closer…the desire to be closer never ends. It’s like a never-ending fire that consumes you with every touch. How unfair of Alastor to hold this kind of power over you.

It's funny—hilarious, even.

The same scent of detergent emanates from your clothes, but there’s this undertone in Alastor’s coat. It’s a whole mix of different scents but to you, it’s just Alastor. Nothing less and nothing more. How can the same batch of laundry produce such a different smell?

There’s a metaphor somewhere there that Alastor can probably find. Your clothes. His clothes. The same smell of laundry detergent, but each piece holds a different whiff.

You tighten your grip on Alastor’s shoulders, steading yourself to lean back and stare at the sky.

The sudden shift of weight causes Alastor to stumble back. His leg shoots out to keep your bodies stable. Still, you lean your head back to watch the reddened sky. Clouds filter across its red canvas, prompted by the cooled winds of Hell.

“Dearest…if we fall, I will blame you.” Alastor scowls, and the faintest of static emits due to his annoyance. It’s something he’s still learning to control, and you let this offense pass…for now.

“We?” you echo, smiling into his shoulder. “Does this mean you would fall into the ground with me, my love?”

“Perhaps…,” Alastor begins, keeping his eyes ahead, “…I…I should skip a few steps and drop you right now. Oh, that would be quite the hilarious sight! Just the thing to end the night.”

A laugh escapes into the air and echoes across the dirty streets. You crash your weight forward, pressing your chest against his back.

Alastor stumbles forward, catching himself just in time to keep your bodies from falling. “I will actually drop you if you continue this childish behavior of yours.”

You settle yourself on Alastor’s back and press a small kiss on his shoulder. “My feet are starting to feel better. You don’t need to carry me,” you begin but wrap your arms around his neck, “my darling…my sweetest, sweetheart.”

“It’s you who insisted on wearing these blasted shoes. I told you to wear practical ones.” Alastor makes a face, pointing his nose into the air…but still, he presses his lips down on the skin of your arm. “I would say, ‘It paints me to tell you so’ but we both know that isn’t true.”

“Then don’t say it.”

“Dearest.”

“Yes?”

“I told you so,” Alastor says, and despite him looking away, you can practically see the smile on his face. “It doesn’t pain me to do so at all. Actually, it brings me great joy knowing I was correct.”

“I hate you.” The words are mumbled into his back.

“Now, now,” Alastor says. “We both know that’s a lie.”

“Al…I love you.”

“I know,” he tells you, pressing another kiss on your arm. “I love you.”

“That’s sweet but if you truly loved me, you would have told me we’d be dancing after dinner,” you say, banging your forehead on his back with a small huff. It’s a poor attempt to hide your shy smile. “Go on then, drop me if carrying your wife bothers you so much.”

Alastor keeps his eyes ahead as he walks, angling his head to connect with you. “That’s quite the ridiculous notion, considering we’re already home.”

You try to slip out of Alastor’s hold.

“Dearest, we’re still at the gate,” he says, shaking your body to force you to wrap around his neck tightly. “We haven’t reached the door yet—sit still.”

“Al, I can walk the rest of the way,” you tell him but still…you settle back into his hold. “The door is right there.”

Alastor keeps silent, intent on walking to the entrance of your home with you on his back.

He struts past the garden, and walks straight up the porch, landing you gently on the rocking chair. The pads of his fingers trail down your leg until they catch the soles of your shoes. Alastor slips them off your feet, revealing the red spots that mark your skin.

Alastor kneels before you, one leg propped up like a stool for your foot. Ha! It’s quite the sight to see the Radio Demon on his knees for his wife.

The pressure he uses to massage your feet brings instant relief to the buzzing of pinched nerves. His thumb glides over a particular aching spot that forces a hum of delight out your lips.

Maybe wearing the wrong shoes wasn't such a bad thing…and maybe, you should wear the wrong shoes more often.

With Alastor’s gentle attention, your feet stop aching.

Alastor takes your hand, pulling you to stand off the rocking chair. He takes the seat from you, but before you can begin to huff, Alastor pulls you on top of his lap. Your legs lean against the arm rest as you curl between his legs and into his hold, pressing deeper into his chest.

You flick the ends of his bowtie, and take the monocle resting on his face. The round glass connects to a chain. “Do you actually need this?”

“Sometimes.” Alastor rests his chin on your head.

The monocle distorts your vision as you bring it closer and farther to check the grade. “You didn’t need this when you were alive.”

“That’s because I had glasses.” Alastor snatches his monocle, and places it back on his face. “You smudge it.”

“I liked those glasses,” you say. “They were very handsome, and suited you very, very, handsomely.”

Alastor hums, rocking the chair to bring you into a lull. The breeze of the night forces you to pull his coat closer around your shoulders, eyes drooping as you settle between Alastor’s legs. This moment will pass, and soon Alastor will force you to your feet and into proper clothes then into a proper bed.

That’s later…this is now.

And right now, you’ll inhale the soft scent of sulfur from Hell’s air while chasing that precious mix of Alastor’s scent. And right now, you’ll lean into the heavy hand that soothes your back, grounding you into his arms.

Alastor presses a kiss on your forehead. “My dearest.”

“Hmmm?” you say, letting the lull take hold.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” He brushes a palm across your head, patting the strands that stick out. “I need to know if you had fun.”

“It was the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“What exactly are you doing to me besides lulling me into sleep after filling my belly with the most exquisite food.”

“We’re living together.”

You pull away, looking at him to motion to the house. “Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but we’ve been living together for the past two years. Well, ten if you count our life up top,” you say with a snicker. “Living together is the least sinful thing we’ve done together!”

Alastor shakes his head, pushing you up to your feet.

He presses a kiss on your ring finger, letting his lips linger across the skin. “I am a gentleman,” Alastor tells you, and each word brushes your skin. “My mother raised me to act with honor…yet, here I am living in our house, sharing a bed with you, all without being married.”

“Alastor, we are married,” you say. “Was tonight’s dinner not meant to celebrate our anniversary?”

“You’re forgetting that our vows ended with, ‘till death do us part’,” Alastor says, wagging his finger at you. “I died…and so did you. Death parted us, yet it also brought me to you once more.”

Alastor lowers to his knees, your hand still secured around his own.

There’s a smile on your lips that you don’t remember smiling, and the words tumble out on their own. “Yes.”

“My dear,” Alastor starts, sighing. “I haven’t even said anything. The ring isn’t even in my hands yet.”

“Okay…okay,” you say, laughing into the air. “Sorry—go on, please. I won’t interrupt you.”

“Let me finish.” Alastor reaches into his pocket, bringing out a small box. It’s just the right size to hold a ring. “Will you—”

“Yes.”

“—let me finish?”

You flash your most innocent smile. “I’m sorry. I promise to stay silent.”

“From this day on, I never wish to be parted from you,” Alastor tells you. “Death or no death. I am to be your husband, and stay in this house until eternity ends.”

You squeeze his hand. “Yes.”

“Dearest…,” Alastor says with a warning tone, but squeezes your hand back. “Will you do me the honor of re-marrying me?”

“Yes,” you say once again. “Always…I will always say yes to you.”

Alastor presses a kiss on your cheek, allowing his lips to linger for what seems like a lifetime—the same lifetime you’ll spend together once more.

The next kiss lands on your other cheek.

A kiss to the forehead.

A kiss on the edges of your lips.

Alastor runs his thumb over the soft skin of your mouth. Breaths mix together with small huffs. The intoxication of his nose trailing up your face consumes your very being.

The back of his fingers caresses your face until they reach to tuck a strand behind your ear. His touch shifts to cup your face as the pads of his thumb swipe across your cheek. It’s over…you’ve fully lost yourself into him.

His lips brush above your own, torturing you slowly.

The hold on the back of your neck brings you closer until your noses crash into one another, and your forehead presses against each other. His mouth grazes yours, but never fully connects. Inches of breath separate your kiss, and every exhale only pulls you deeper into madness.

The lids of your eyes flutter to a close when he finally kisses you. Kiss after kiss after kiss. Your arms snake around his chest, pulling him closer into a hug.

The kisses he blesses you with are slow, as if he savors each and every one. Alastor kisses you like there’s no place he would rather be than pulling flush against his body like he was carved to fit you into his space.

Alastor slips the ring around your finger.

You’ve said ‘Yes’ once before, and you’ve said ‘Yes’, this second time around. The answer will always be the same throughout any lifetime or any world.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Tell me what you think! I quite like this short one. It's sweet and just hits the feels for me. School has been killing me. BUT DON'T WORRY I REALLY HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN ABOUT YOUR REQUESTS. THEY'RE DRAFTED AND WILL BE COMPLETED

#alastor x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x wife!reader #alastor #alastor x you #hazbin hotel x you #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #alastor x wife reader #human alastor #hazbin alastor x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin hotel fanfiction #Hazbin Hotel #hazbin hotel imagines

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rose-tinted-kalopsia · 3 months ago

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≡;-꒰ 𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝑳𝒊𝒎𝒃𝒐

╰┈➤ ❝ lee know x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni | kinktober '24: voice kink

tags : pwp (without plot), voice kink, established relationship, birthday shenanigans, kitchen setting (but no food involved in what actually… goes on), teasing, lee know being a little shit, as in he literally does not let you live down your voice kink, heavy petting, fingering, dirty talk (a lot), praise, use of pet names "honey" "baby". lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : 1.6k

an : ur girl finally has electricity so im MAKING IT BEFORE THE NIGHT ENDS HERE just a little something before the end of the day bc i wouldn't have wanted to miss lee know's birthday for the world <3

taglist : @love-and-deepstrays

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST / KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

He would use his birthday privileges to the fullest, and you'd realize, sometimes the voice of an angel did not belong to an angel. Not that you were complaining.

"Mhm, just like that. That's it, baby, keep going…"

His voice rang through, nearly snaking all over your body, goosebumps raising on the surfact of your skin. It was smooth, and delicate, and—

And sweet.

That was how you would describe it.

His voice was like honey in your ears as he leaned against the counter beside you, looking over your shoulder the tiniest bit just to see what you were doing. If you were actually following his instructions, if the dish was turning out right… The two of you had crowded over the pot in front of you as you stirred, a recipe you'd tried out from him, under his guidance.

Apparently, you'd been successful so far.

Yet it wasn't the praise that had you drawing a breath, but the way that he said it.

"Mmm… It smells good, don't you think, honey?"

The only thought in your head was that it was simply unfair for him to call you by the name, when you thought such a word could only be used to describe him.

Glancing over at him, you could see his eyes widen with pleasant anticipation. He wasn't focusing on your reaction, that much you were sure of. And part of you felt grateful for it.

It had been like this for most of the day. True, you had always had a special sort of adoration for his voice, and yet, today of all days, it was sincerely doing a number on you.

You couldn't have known if it was because it was his birthday, or something else entirely.

He had one request for his birthday this year: nothing fancy, nothing extreme, just… time spent with you. It had been busy for him and the boys, and today was one day he was allowed to kick back and relax without having to worry about his obligations for a moment—you knew that. So you'd respected his wish, and the two of you had agreed for there to be no surprises, none of the fancy things, and you'd learn to cook a new dish together for lunch.

It was going well.

It should have been… aside from the fact that, on your end, you felt as if your body had been lit on fire.

Each time he spoke, each time he would give you an instruction, or a little bit of praise… It felt like being doused in the smoothness of it; slick, and heavy, and all-consuming. Your body felt wrapped around in his voice in all its entirety. Every word felt like a caress, and your mind would wander.

The things he could make you do with that voice… the things he could make you feel.

With how your knees would feel weak, it was purely a wonder how you'd managed to get through this much of the day at all.

"Sweetheart? Hiiii? Helloooo?"

Eyes wide, you jumped back with a start, seeing his fingers snapping in front of you. Your head turned to look at him in surprise, and there was a cute little frown of concern on his face—not that it would make you feel any less sheepish.

"Spacing out?" he leaned in to peer at you, and there was a light tone to his voice this time that almost lead you to believe he was teasing. "I was saying, we can put the foil over it now and let it slow cook."

"Oh, um… right… yeah…"

Gaze shifting, you nearly stumbled as you move to get the foil, and you could practically feel his amused stare burning holes into the back of his head.

You should have known.

There was very little you could do to throw him off, even if you truly tried.

Before you could do anything else, he reached over to turn the stove off, and promptly moved to corner you against the counter. The roll of foil you'd been holding dropped to the floor, and you looked at him, eyes wide.

"Baby," he drawled, his voice laced with pure, unobstructed mirth. "What's gotten into you?"

Your back was tightly pressed against the counter. His arms were on either side of you.

You were caged.

And, well, you could try, if you wanted to.

You could try to lie.

But that was it: try. And that trial would be unsuccessful. Every fiber in your body was telling you that it would be.

You wondered if there had ever been anyone who was successful with it when it came to him.

"M-Minho…" you breathe out his name, swallowing thickly.

"Yes, baby?"

He was unfair.

His breath ghosted over your skin as he leaned in closer, closer, just so you could hear him right next to your ear.

He knew.

"M-Minh—"

"You're soooooo obvious, you know."

When he spoke again, his voice dropped an octave lower, and you could practically hear the grin in his voice. Your only response was a helpless squeak. Your eyes shut closed. There was absolutely no way you'd be escaping this.

He continued to speak.

"I can't believe you're getting turned on by this… It's my voice, right, honey?" he laughed softly. "Ahh… what've you been thinking about?"

Your cheeks heated up, and shook your head. "Th-that's… I'm not going to say it!"

"No?"

"No!"

A lick at your earlobe, and he did it again—lower. "Are you sure, baby? It's my birthday, you know… I thought I get to do what I want?"

An involuntary shiver shot up through your spine, and you couldn't help it anymore. The soft moan that left your lips was barely there, but it was there.

And he heard it.

"Tsk, tsk. Guess I'll have to speak your thoughts for you, then."

You truly, truly wouldn't have needed to look at him to see his eyes crinkled up in amusement, the corner of his lips turned up into a slight smirk.

"How about…"

His lips moved to your neck, placing a trail of kisses down to your collarbone.

"My hands all over you… grazing over your skin, aaalll the places I know you love…" As if intending to follow through with his words, his hands snaked under your shirt—his shirt—to trail over your body.

The whimper you let out earned you a hum of satisfaction.

He continued.

"No? Not enough?" he smiled. "Hmm, then… Were you also thinking about…" His hands moved lower, lower. Moving with his words, they found the waistband of your panties and slowly began to pull them down. "This, maybe? My fingers teasing your pretty little pussy?"

Your breathing became shallow.

Your eyes glazed over as you met his gaze, and he had the audacity to chuckle.

The truth was that he was barely touching you. Even as the pads of his fingers traced every outline of your body, even if they squeezed at your thighs, even as they moved tantalizingly closer to where you needed them the most—

That wasn't it.

He knew that.

It was why he stood grinning at you, teasing you with his touches, and… speaking.

"Ohh… Or, maybe that's not it. Maybe my baby was thinking about being fucked by me." His voice took on a melifluous tone, low, and sweet, and perfect, and it was enough to coax a moan from your body. "Yeah? Having me bend you over the counter, slide my cock into that perfect pussy of yours… Is that it?"

He leaned in again, this time focusing his attention to your other ear, as he brought his voice to a whisper.

"And that's not all I'd do. 'Cause I'd have my lips pressed against your ear just like this, giving you slooww, teasing thrusts while I tell you how much I need you…"

Without much of a warning, his fingers slid into your hole, the sensation of being filled combining with the pure sense of euphoria his voice was drenching you in, and you moaned. Louder this time, with nothing to hold you back—your head threw back in pleasure, and his laugh… his fucking laugh.

You couldn't even begin to understand how worked up he had gotten you by simply hearing him speak, and as he lifted your legs onto the counter to spread you more clearly for him, there was little in you to refuse.

Instead, you caved.

"Y-yes!" you cried out, hips bucking into his hand. "Y-you and your goddamn voice… s'not fair, Minho!"

He grinned. "It's not fair? But you look so pretty like this, honey. It makes me so happy I can reduce you to… this… with just… my… voice…"

As he spoke, he once again lowered into a breathy whisper, air hitting the shell of your ear as he thrust—unfairly—in time with his words.

"Hnn— M-Minho-!"

"Mhm, just like that. That's it, baby, keep going…"

The same words.

The same exact words.

They rang clear in your head, the added sultriness to the way he said it now only making you keen with pleasure.

"Ah— I-I'm…! I'm—"

"Close, baby? Yeah? Wanna cum?"

Sweet.

That was how you could describe it.

Like honey to your ears, smooth, and alluring, and—

And perfect.

With a cry of his name, your hips stuttered, orgasm crashing through your body like waves on a shore.

All the while, he whispered soothing, sweet, sweet nothings into your ear, before he pulled out his fingers to suck them clean.

"Mmm…" He grinned at you. "Like icing on a cake."

You were in his arms in barely a minute, squealing as he lifted you up from the counter:

"Not done yet, honey. I gotta claim my birthday present properly."

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

#roxie; rtkkinktober24 #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #lee know smut #lee minho smut #lee know x reader #lee know x you

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iknowyuu · 6 months ago

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helloooo i was wondering if you could do a fanfic where the reader is clumsy please? like girl is so clumsy that even sieun gotta hold her mf hand so she doesnt fall like damnn... BUT YEA i hope this is a good idea 😕anyways i hope u have a good day, remember to not overwork yourself much okay? <33

kdrama! sieun x reader

// read req! around 1k words

note: shaki my fave. this ask is probably a year old LMFAOO, pero espero que disfrutas anyway !!!

daily click to help palestine and other important causes!

any outsider who happened to be looking into your life- whatever god that’s out there, whatever mysterious force that’s looking, controlling you like you were a sim had to be getting a laugh. in fact, they had to have been steadily laughing for at least a year now.

and for god’s sake, “ouch!” is not your favorite word!!

these thoughts ran through your head just as you bumped into the doorframe as you were attempting to enter your classroom. none of your classmates even looked up at the noise. they were all so used to your clumsiness that it became a daily routine. it was like a little warning that there was ten minutes left before class.

you make your way to your seat, pouting with your arms crossed. you don’t blink or move, even as the boy who sat beside you placed an ice pack on your desk. “thank you.” you mumble begrudgingly, placing it on your elbow.

sieun was like that, too— well, not the never-ending confusion in your balance as well as perception, causing you to constantly trip over invisible matter (air). it’s the consistency. every time you walked home from school together, you would trip over a pebble. every time the two of you were in the lunch line, you’d drop your money, trying to count exact change. i think you get the idea; he was like you in a sense that he expected it.

at lunch, you would constantly complain to sieun about it, telling him the amount of bruises or cuts you'd gotten that day. "sieunnnn," you'd draw out through your attractive pouty lips, sitting down at your usual table, waiting for suho and young-yi to arrive. "look at the paper cut i got. you'd think that my skin would've developed a thicker skin after the amount of times i've nearly died," you say dramatically. "it's so annoying.." you sigh, absentmindedly grabbing a hand of his, playing with his fingers. you sit next to him, placing an arm on the table, and laying your head on your arm, staring up at him.

he didn't say anything, only staring at the way you played with his fingers. he tried not to pay attention to the way you gave him butterflies, and from the way he only gets it from your touch. "it's so unfair. how come this never happens to you.." you ask dejectedly, bringing his fingers towards your lips. "or suho... or young-yi.." you mumble, kissing each of the pads of his fingers, before teasingly blowing at his pinky.

he snatched his hand from you embarrassedly, looking away with a deep blush on his face. "its your fault. you need to pay more attention where you're going."

you scoff. "my fault? are you serious? you know, i was never like this before i met you." you sat up. "it's your fault. maybe if you stopped looking at me with those eyes, stopped hanging around me, stopped looking so cute, and stopped living in my mind i'd be able to finally live my life pain-free." you say, heaving a heavy sigh just as you spotted your friends walking towards the table. the words that had just left your mouth instantly left your consciousness when you waved at them, giggling at the stupid face suho was making.

sieun, though, did not move. instead, he sat there, blushing and thinking.

yes, it's true. ever since the big-eyed introvert entered your life, you suddenly became less and less aware of your surroundings, yet more and more aware of the way sieun's hair would stick up in certain places after you ruffled it. or, even how the tip of his ears would light up red after you complimented him.

he didn't pay you (or anyone else) any mind at all when he was a school-obsessed nerd, but now that he has a social life for once, he was beginning to realize that you only treat him like this. you did not kiss the tips of suho's fingers, nor did you hold the waist of young-yi. it was only him.

these thoughts plagued his mind as the school day came and went, and as per usual, the two of you were walking home together. the sunset was just approaching, and the whole city was bathed in a golden hue, reflecting off of every surface to be found. the two of you walked side by side.

"sorry."

"what?" you turned to look at sieun with curiosity. "sorry for what?"

"for being the one who distracts you all the time. you always get hurt because of me." he says, looking down at the ground as the two of you continue walking.

"sieun.. i was just jo-" he interrupted you, "i should take responsibility for my actions." he said, boldly grabbing your hand and pulling you towards him, just narrowly saving you from bumping your shoulder into a pole.

"o-oh." you say. for once, you were the one who was embarrassed. it didn't last long though, as you giggled softly you interlaced your fingers with his. you miss the way he squeezes your hand, looking away with a faint smile on his face.

"it's about time." you whisper, looking down with a smile that was the opposite of his. noticeable and wide.

#sieun yeon x reader #weak hero class one x reader #weak hero class 1 fic #weak hero class 1 x reader #weak hero class one #kdrama x reader #kdrama!sieun x reader #sieun yeon imagines #sieun x reader #yeon sieun #yeon sieun x reader #kikisficz

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fyodior · 6 months ago

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kitty hybrid!fyodor hates having his nails clipped. its necessary because his nervous habit is scratching things, and too many of your pillows have been torn to shreds because of him.

wrangling him for it in the first place is a chore - he knows the sound of the clippers even just being taken out of their drawer, and will run and hide under your bed. you can slowly coax him out with promises of cuddles, but its a slow and laborious process.

you’ll settle him in your lap, back to your chest, clippers in hand and preparing yourself. fyodor is growling lowly with his ears pinned back as you take his hand into yours, and you smack his thigh, telling him to quit - he has to be a good boy if he wants treats and cuddles.

even once he mostly submits to you, it still doesn’t go very well. he’s squirming and hissing as you clip each nail, whining about how unfair and plain evil it is to do this to him. you just roll your eyes and keep clipping. he looks absolutely pathetic like this, writhing in your lap as you try to do something so mundane as cut his nails.

things get worse when you pull his feet/paws toward you to clip them - now he’s yowling and hissing like you’re abusing him, swatting at you in a desperate attempt for you to leave him alone. he got you good enough in a couple spots to draw some blood, but you soldier on.

drama queen, you mumble as he yowls particularly loudly.

once you finally release him from your iron grip, covered in scratches while he remains spotless, he scurries away to pout under your bed again. until he gets lonely and is crawling back into your lap for cuddles. drama queen.

#inspired by that fanart #I LOOOVE HIM!!!!#heheeheheheheheehe #fyodor x reader

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saskem · 7 months ago

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A TEASE

SUMMARY: Inexperienced reader gives Nanami a blowjob.

CHARACTER: Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader

CW: Oral (male receiving), gagging, teasing, playful reader, orgasm,

NOTES: A poorly written scenario so bear with me. English is not my first nor is it my second language!

"Let me..." You moaned as you pulled away from the kiss and slowly lowered yourself on the dark-wooden floor, eyes never leaving his.

You were not well experienced when it came to giving blowjobs. That often left you stalling whenever you and Kento had sex, often apologizing for not being able to give him that relief. And being the gentleman that he is, Kento never pressured you to give him blowjobs. He was an understanding man—too understanding.

"Are you sure, darling?"

Kento asked, looking at you on your knees in front of him. Your hands eagerly rested on his belt, waiting for him to approve your actions.

"Yes, may I?"

Kento nodded his head in approval and you wasted no time before you undid his belt. Your fingers traced slow and teasing patterns on his abs as you trailed light kissed down to his blond happy trail. Tracing your index finger on his happy trail, Kento lets out a broken moan.

"Quit teasing..." He said through gritted teeth and you smirked, placing a light kiss on the elastic band of his Calvin Klein boxers. Slowly undoing the button of his trousers, you licked your lips as you undid his zipper. You brushed your finger softly on his bulge outlined by his grey boxers. Slowly tracing the tip of your nails on the outline of his thick shaft, you looked up to him again—begging him for consent.

"Yes, love, yes." He said exasperatedly, you let out a chuckle at his anxiousness.

It's been weeks since you last gave Nanami a blowjob. Worried of your inability to relieve him the same way he is able to relieve you. Kento made sure to reassure you that you were doing just fine. Even now as you continued to tease him, Kento placed his right hand on your cheeks, fingers drawing reassuring circles on your cheeks.

You pulled down his boxers from its waistband and his thick cock greeted you. Two veins ran along his hard shaft towards his tip. Guiding your fingers on those veins, Nanami once again gently pulled your head back to make you stare at him.

"Enough." He said strictly, "You're such a tease"

"Can't a woman have some fun?" You batted your lashes playfully and rubbed your fingers gently on his tip. "You're too serious sometimes, you know that, darling?"

"You're not being fair, please." He begged, his head hanging low to take a good look at you. Tugging your hair back, he leaned down to look at you in the eye. "So damn unfair."

Opening your mouth as though you were going to guide his length inside, you quickly closed it to purse your lips and placed a light kiss on his tip...again.

"Darling...." He warned

Looking up to him through your lashes, you guided his dick inside your mouth; closing your mouth gently as you begin to take what you could in his mouth. Using your hand to gently wrap around the rest of his length your mouth couldn't handle, you begin to fully pump his length in your mouth.

You pulled away, torturing him as you gently played with his ballsack. Wrapping your mouth around his shaft once more, you challenged yourself into taking all of him.

"Easy..." Nanami said softly while gently caressing your cheeks. "there is no rush, darling. You have all of me already. I promise."

You listened to his words but you continued to ease his entire shaft in your mouth, his tip hitting the back of your throat. Gently placing your hands on his thigh to signal him that it was too much, Nanami slowed down his thrusts.

Nanami grabbed your hair gently as his thrusts began to grow more sloppier and faster. His grip on your hair got tighter at his thighs began to clench, signaling that he was near his orgasm. You continued sucking on his cock even as his orgasm neared its finished line.

"Love....darling....that's it..." He groaned as you continued bobbing your head on his cock as he reached his orgasm. "Shit....just like that."

You continued your movements until pulled his length out of your mouth, leaving you hungry for more. You smirked as he leaned down to place a soft kiss on your forehead.

"You were wonderful." He reassured gently. He guided you to your knees to place a deep kiss on your lips. He held you up as you wrapped your legs around his waist. His hands squeezed your ass as he guided you to your shared bedroom.

"It's my turn to take care of you, love."

#anime x reader #nanami kento #jjk nanami #nanami smut #nanami x reader #jujutsu nanami #kento #kento x reader #kento x y/n #kento x you #nanami x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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kayla-and-the-moon · 1 month ago

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baby, it's cold outside-! ᥫ᭡.

❄️plot: it's christmas eve and peter just really wants you stay, is that a crime?

❄️pairing: gn! reader x tasm!peter parker <3

❄️tw! : nothing just peter being a sweetpea/ best bf ever / darling dork. (dunno if minimal smooching counts as a tw-)

"god it's storming out there."

in your defense when you'd walked over here, the snow had been light, but now it seemed like the entirety of the world behind the window was a turbulent flurry of white. you'd come here to drop off some Christmas cookies your mom had baked, the problem was what was supposed to be a quick visit had turned into a couple hours.

of course you had one person to blame for that.

peter was practically engulfing you, his arms winding around your midriff and his face burying in your shoulder. you can feel the bastard's evil little grin against your sweater before he gives a hum of faux innocence.

"geez, that's really unfortunate", he tuts, his chin propping up to look at your unimpressed roll of the eyes in the window reflection, "I guess that means you'll have to stay huh?"

"pete, my dad would murder you."

"i think he'd murder me if I let you go out in this weather. so eitherway it's a death-death outcome, sweetheart."

it's honestly unfair how the nerd could turn you to all disarmed and smiley with a simple, dopey wisecrack of his. you have to stifle a snort of laughter before you turn to him with a brow raise. peter isn't deterred, but maybe even more motivated, and only just continues to look at you like you hung the moon itself.

"what? i'm just looking out for you is all !" he shrugs, but the stupid grin on his face belies those innocuous brown eyes of his.

you're almost persuaded to stay, but there's that niggling pinch of responsibility at the back of your mind, and you're once again looking outside as if your stared hard enough the sky would clear. no such luck, god, you wished the universe loved you enough to put its snowy tantrum on pause.

"it's not that bad, and my mom might get worried," you try reasoning, already picturing your mother's hysteria wondering if the multiple thugs lurking in new york's alleyways had taken you prisoner ,"really I should go-"

"you'll get pneumonia," he simply states with a pointed quirk of his brows, "plus we can always call."

"you know as well as I do that the cell service is unequivocally wrecked right now."

"then we'll call in the morning, your mom probably knows you're here," he counters, his fingertips drawing a path over your arms, "plus, I think she's caught on you're Spiderman's personal favorite civilian"

this brings a chuckle to slip from you, shaking your head at him.

"you're very pushy, peter parker" you roll your eyes, your arms crossing stubbornly over your chest.

peter can see right behind your facade though, and in all truth, he's feeling giddy as ever. he thinks he's the luckiest guy on earth when you grace him with that sweet smile rivaling sunshine.

"i'd just like to call it opportunistic," peter beams, the satisfaction evident in the glimmers of golden lamplight in his gaze.

"c'mon baby, don't make me beg here" he implores. lord, it should be forbidden for peter parker to call you that, since you have very little faith that your knees wouldn't buckle right that moment.

his hands find the curve of your waist and before you can even whisper the hint of another weak protest, he's dragged you to his bed, letting you fall on his chest with an unceremonious thump. you can't really bring yourself to tell him off, because peter has a way of making you all soft, and sticky with lovesickness. instead you just lean in to press a kiss of cinnamon sugar to his lips, and it's your turn to grin as he chases you after you pull away slightly.

your fingers toy with strands of his mousey brown hair at his nape as you give a theatrically defeated sigh, "okay fine, if you insist."

it's then you wish you could steal peter's camera just to capture the glow in his eyes at your words, because truly you wanted to save that view forever. his palms rest on the apples of your cheeks, as he gives a low breathy laugh, his nose bumping to yours.

"that took a lot of convincing."

a/n: so this may be kinda rushed, so mind the quality, BUT i miss my tasm ! peter parker ,and i rlly rlly wanted to put out a christmas eve fic, and miss idina menzel and michael buble started this war (frank sinatra too, so blame them). eitherway, hope you liked this tiny lil fic, happy holidays ❄️🎅💕 !!

#tasm peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #tasm! peter parker #peter !!#kayla writes ★ !#ficmas 2024 #sorta #merry christmas !!#tasm spiderman #spiderman #idk how to tag lol

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inamindfarfaraway · 1 year ago

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I love how Paul's character in The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals is defined entirely by a lack of desire, or desire defined only as 'not what I don't want'. "What Do You Want, Paul?" is a big joke about what a terrible narrative protagonist he is. But it's deeper than that. Throughout the show, even in the smallest, most insignificant phrasing, this man only ever expresses wants in these negative forms, as if he's incapable of feeling attraction in itself rather than simply avoiding what he dislikes. And only avoiding! He never says that he hates anything, either! That would give him passion, drive, perhaps the goal of actively removing that thing. No, he exclusively uses the verb hate in past tense.

He doesn't like musicals, singing, dancing or public performances. He makes this very clear, to the point that it's one of his most significant character traits. At no point does he ever talk about liking any media.

He doesn't want to do social activities.

He doesn't want to give away his money. About both this and the above, he can provide no logical explanation or moral justification. He just doesn't feel like them.

He always gets black coffee because it has "no cream, no sugar, nothing in it"; that is to say, he might not necessarily love it, merely prefer it over its sweeter or more complex alternatives.

He doesn't believe that Emma should have to sing and dance at work - he doesn't want her life to be so unfair and annoying to the both of them.

He doesn't want to obstruct the workings of his office (saying "that's the last thing I want" triggers "What Do You Want, Paul?").

He says, "I wanna go home!" when Mr Davidson is singing at him, but means that he wants to be somewhere safe and not stuck in this incredibly uncomfortable situation.

He doesn't want to die.

He specifically doesn't want to die in Clivesdale, because fuck Clivesdale.

He doesn't want to join the Hive.

He doesn't want to leave Hatchetfield, even when it's the site of an alien invasion that is his personal worst nightmare. He actually says that "All things considered, I like Hatchetfield", arguably an exception to the standard. However, he's also well aware of the town's flaws and problems. He grew up one of its poorer residents, attending the inferior, underfunded Sycamore High School where he casually admits the students "hated [themselves]" and having to watch its more respectable rival Hatchetfield High's school play. He has no strong investment in his tedious middle-class office job. He doesn't get along with some of his fellow townsfolk, like his coworker Ted and all the employees of Beanies except Emma. He awkwardly evades giving to charity and the homeless every morning on his way to work. His life is decidedly not one of utter bliss, and yet it's good enough for him in that he doesn't have the energy, ambition or imagination to want anything more. Since he's "been here [his] whole life", his affection for his hometown could be more an aversion to everywhere else or the hassle of travelling. Sticking with the devil he intimately knows.

He doesn't think badly of Emma, and says so because he doesn't want her to or believe that he does after learning that she helped make a "hated" experience of his happen.

He doesn't want to let Bill die, which is why he goes with Bill to rescue Alice. His heroism and proactiveness at the turning point of the end of Act One start to notably erode his apathy, but his phrasing reaffirms his negative motivations: "Hey, it's not like you're asking me to go see Mama Mia!", "Emma, there comes a time in every man's life when he has to draw a line in the sand. And I will never be in a fucking musical."

He doesn’t want Bill to blame himself for Alice's endangerment, stay in the area once Alice is revealed to be a vessel of the Hive or kill himself.

He doesn't want to do some light reading on the universal truth of love and the strength of the human heart.

He has no positive motivation. He breaks one of the most basic rules of being a fictional character, let alone the main character the audience is supposed to root for. He isn't just an antihero, he's an anti-protagonist. Although this could easily make him boring or unsympathetic, he manages to seem relatable. Real. Human. He captures so genuinely an ordinary person living an ordinary life suddenly trapped in a horror story. How many of us can honestly articulate "one concrete goal that motivates all [our] actions"? Even if you can, you wouldn't undergo a narratively fulfilling and thematically cohesive arc related to that desire the way a fictional character would. We're all essentially just trying to survive each day. To make or keep our lives however we define 'good enough'. We may not have a crystal clear picture of our ideal life, but I bet we all have a long list of things we don't want in it. We're all Paul. He even says, “I want what anyone wants”.

What more appropriate antagonist for this man to face, then, than a force that exists to strip people of their autonomy, their individuality, their personhood, and force them to play archetypical characters in a conventional narrative? The Hive observes that Paul is an anti-protagonist and takes offence to this. It seeks to convert him into his antithesis, the "bold" "leading man" of its musical who the audience can "sympathize with". The Infected highlight this in the opening song, in which they eagerly anticipate and prepare the audience for his entrance... and he misses his cue. He isn't following their script. Perhaps that's why the audience is able to believe in this average, unassuming antihero's potential to succeed, to defeat the Hive or at the very least escape it, despite how fraught and grim the situation becomes. The story certainly proves itself to be cruel to its characters; but Paul doesn't operate like a normal character. The Hive promises to fulfil people's desires and make them happy throughout the play. Charlotte, Bill, Hidgens and Ted's deaths are connected to, by either direct causality or thematic relevance, their respective desires for Sam's love, Alice's safety, world peace (and the glory of a musical career) and Ted's own survival. Paul is uniquely immune to this pattern of death related to a core motivation.

Until:

"I can't leave without Emma”, “a friend of mine."

"Is there a chance of something more?"

"I think so. I'd like there to be. I want there to be."

He wants Emma, her life and her happiness and maybe, just maybe, her love. He wants to love her. To spend time with her. For the first time ever, he wants more out of life, not less. He's a little bit more of a character. After the Infected reprise the "Did you hear the word?" section of the opening song, building up to his appearance, this time he does enter the theatre, coming down the aisle just as he was meant to. Right on cue. Paul is now vulnerable to the narrative - the Hive's narrative. And the Hive's control.

Still he resists, even while doubting if he was ever really happy before. Not only does he use his final words, fittingly, to declare that he doesn't like musicals, but before that he firmly refutes the Hive, and the philosophy behind it and all the pressures and temptatations it might represent: "It doesn't matter what I want." What matters is the good of the world. Emma. Love. Hope. Freedom. Integrity. Humanity, which must be wonderful if we can make sacrifices like this for all the right reasons.

Rest in peace, Paul Matthews. You were the opposite of a conventional protagonist, but a true hero.

#paul matthews #the guy who didn't like musicals #tgwdlm #hatchetfield #tgwdlm hive #hatchetfield meta #tgwdlm meta #tgwdlm analysis #analysis

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nhlclover · 9 months ago

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𝐒𝐎 𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 | 𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐂𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐘

word count: 1.35k

summary: on your way to the spend a weekend at the lake house with his teammates, you think about your future with rutger

warnings: british reader!, mentions of some other umich players (nick, duke brothers), brief sad thoughts

notes: based on 'so american' by olivia rodrigo. who am i if not writing fics based on songs.

The morning sun was beginning to rise, casting a golden hue on Rutger’s jeep that rumbled down the highway, its tires humming against the asphalt. Rutger sat in the driver's seat, his left hand holding a loose grip on the wheel, while you sat comfortably in the passenger seat, your feet were propped up on the dashboard. Rutger insisted you hit the road early to get to Jacob’s lake house around mid-morning. You felt that was a little too early, but he was excited to spend some spare time at the end of the semester with his friends and girlfriend, relaxing on the water. To make up for the early start time, Rutger bought you an iced coffee and promised that you could sleep in the car on the way over.

However, you couldn’t find yourself able to fall back asleep, instead taking over aux, the early morning air that flowed through the cracked windows helping to rejuvenate you. You tapped your fingers against the door handle, matching the beat of the song you’d selected. Dirt On My Boots by Jon Pardi filled the space, a contented smile gracing your lips.

“You’ve turned so American.” Rutger says, pulling your brain out of its brief daze.

“What?” You ask, your brows furrowing.

“I mean… look at you,” Rutger says with a chuckle. “You’re sitting there with your feet on the dash, you’re listening to country music, and you’re repping USA merch.”

Rutger motions to one of his hoodies that you’d thrown on as you were leaving. It was one given to him by the world juniors team he’d just played on, the letters U-S-A largely displayed on the chest.

You turned to him, adjusting your position in the seat. "Oh, please, don't say that. I'm still very much British, thank you very much." You retort, rejecting the idea that you’d become American in any way.

When you applied for an exchange to the University of Michigan, nothing could’ve prepared you for what would’ve come. On your first day of classes in the new country, you met Rutger. When a pretty girl sat next to him in one of his classes, he knew he had to talk to her. It didn’t take long for the two of you to develop feelings, Rutger soon being the ‘dreamy American’ that your friends had jokingly told you you’d fall for. And fall for him you did.

It was unfair of Rutger to make you feel this much when you both knew your future was uncertain.

“Hey, there is nothing wrong with being American.” Rutger points out.

“Yeah says the American.” You tease, rolling your eyes. “Thank god I’m going home soon. I need to reconnect with my roots if you think I’ve become American.”

Despite that being a joke, you couldn't shake the underlying sadness that gnawed at you. In just one week, you were leaving Michigan and returning to the UK. The thought of leaving Rutger and the life you’d established in Michigan weighed heavily on your heart. You knew that the bond you’d established with Rutger would withstand the miles and borders, however the prospect of being separated from him felt like tearing away a piece of you.

Rutger, sensing the shift in your demeanour as well as knowing that the inevitable move was weighing on you, reached over, taking your hand in his. His cold fingers lacing between yours quickly drew you back to reality.

“Hey,” He said softly. “Try not to think about it for now. Enjoy this weekend. We’ve got ages to figure it all out.”

You squeezed Rutger’s hand drawing comfort from his touch. With a gentle smile, you met his gaze, gratitude shining in your eyes. “Thank you, Rut.” You said softly.

Rutger returned your smile, turning his attention back to the road while keeping your hand in his. You continued the drive, doing your best to expel the thoughts of leaving from your mind.

Three hours later, Rutger pulled down a laneway that ultimately led to a large house on the water. Rutger’s teammates were already outside, eagerly awaiting your arrival.

“Hey guys!” Rutger called out as they stepped out of the car. Rutger’s teammates come over, greeting the two of them.

“This place is beautiful.” You comment, admiring the glimpse of the water you could see past the house.

“God, I will never get over the accent.” Nick said. Rutger shoved his shoulder while you playfully rolled your eyes.

You considered yourself lucky that you’d become friends with Rutger’s teammates. From the moment Rutger introduced you to them, they’d welcomed you with open arms. And as you spent more time with them, they weren’t just Rutger’s teammates, they were your friends as well.

“Alright, now go get changed, we’re hitting the water.” Luca said, ushering the two of you inside.

You headed up to your room, changed into the swimsuits you’d brought, and then headed downstairs to meet the rest of the group. The rest of the afternoon, you guys remained on the water. You all took turns on the tube, as well as some of the boys deciding to test their water skiing skills. When the sun began to descend towards the horizon, a golden hue being cast on the water, you headed back to the house to start dinner, which was a full team activity in which everyone was put to work doing something. You and Rutger were put in charge of the barbecue on the back patio, teaming up with Dylan and Tyler to grill the burgers and corn.

After dinner was demolished, you headed down to the fire pit, relaxing in the Adirondack chairs, talking about whatever came to mind. The flames cast flickering glows on everyone's faces as you discussed sports, your exams, and random childhood anecdotes whether relevant or not. After a while of drinking and chatting, both you and Rutger hit your limits and decide to call it a night.

The second that Rutger’s head hits the pillow, he’s out like a light, the day’s activities catching up with him. After a full day of tubing and waterskiing, combined with the drinks they’d consumed throughout the day, everyone was wiped. You, however, lay awake, the moonlight reflecting off the water and into the open window.

You traced your fingers through Rutger's hair, watching his bare chest rise and fall with steady breaths. With the tranquillity of the room enveloping you, you find yourself lost in a maze of thoughts, your mind swirling with visions of Rutger and the future they could share.

England was home. England was where you grew up, where your family and friends still resided. The thought of leaving them to be in North America made your heart tense. However, lying in the sheets and staring up at the ceiling, you couldn’t help but imagine moving to North America to be with Rutger. As you look over at him, still peacefully asleep, you imagine the prospect of uprooting your life for the American boy you fell in love with, of bridging the distance to be with Rutger.

Your thoughts continue to wander, picturing what could come of life in America with Rutger. Your mind entertains the notion of marriage, a distant yet possible milestone. That might be a little presumptuous of you, with your relationship still being in its infancy, but you practically couldn’t help it. The way he’d made you feel in the past 8 months was unlike anything you’d ever experienced before. Every moment with him felt like a moment torn from a romance book. Every moment with him was filled with laughter and stolen glances, creating an undeniable intimacy and connection.

You had to eventually force those thoughts out of your mind or else they would’ve kept you up all night. You rolled over, curling into Rutger’s side, and placing a delicate hand on his abs. Rutger stirred momentarily, instinctively wrapping his arm around you, drawing you closer. For now, you were content to simply be in this moment with him, cherishing the time you had left before you had to return home.

#rutger mcgroarty #rutger mcgroarty imagine #rutger mcgroarty x reader #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagine #umich hockey #umich #university of michigan

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starchytart · 3 months ago

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pinch me or wake me up, from this cursed daydream

Drawing this mainly because i saw a comic on twitter (i completely forgot what its from im so sorry) where the artist is drawing sketchy head instead of gore to depict someone getting shot point blank. Immediately remind me of Rosamund's prince face not-yet-decided when they try to look for him in timothy's books. (as in, at the core a picture is not made by flesh and bone, i think that works really well considering how neverafter works)

But other than that he has been in my to-draw list since forever. BIG fan with how things resolved in ep 17. I think its so cool that the fairies thought they have chance to taking back control of her narrative with that offer, when really, by having choices in the first place rosamund already won, even though neither of them really ideal, but at least whatever it is it would be her decision. (Of course one also could argue that with those choices being unfair, it was not really choices at all *insert that cow with two path meme* and i am just being delusional and you might be right, anyway im going to ignore this)

Also, I love how even until the epilogue when everyone is getting back what they gave up, Rosamund's part didn't really mention that she met his prince again. This makes we never really have official design for him (which is crazy like whoa his face was never decided even on meta level), and I think its perfect to capture how "and they live happily" works for rosamund. you get what i mean??, when romance just become one thing among other parts of her life rather than the whole point of her story. Its still there, if you want to, but the matter isnt as suffocating. It would be really easy for brennan and siobahn if they made the end one extreme of either "oh she got his prince back" or "oh she doesnt need love at all actually" and for them not do that feels really refreshing for me.

(I can go on talking how rosamund lost 100 years of her life and finally living the mundanity of learning and making friends are also so important, not to mention with snowwhite and their shared fate etc etc but then i might never stop asdjsldmsk i love neverafter so much)

#neverafter #dimension 20 #rosamund du prix #neverafter fanart #dimension 20 fanart #neverafter spoilers #my art #dimension 20 spoilers

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withlove-xixi · 5 months ago

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bard anon again with an nsfw/suggestive request: brat tamer chilchuck pls 👉👈 teasing and discipline…

— LESSONS TAUGHT: chilchuck x reader

ᥫ cw: nsfw, dom/sub, petnames, teasing, riding, praise, creampie ᥫ wc: 2988 ★ my dear bard anon, first im sorry for doing your requests out of order i promise i'll work on yer other req soon :3! second, AUGHAHASNDGNN ANSDGMMMANSN AUGHHAHSNDNN brat tamer chilchuck ... i need this old man in my bed so bad ... so terribly bad ...!!! lastly, im sorry if its not how you expected it to be TT aughhh i hope you enjoy tho! cross posted on ao3 — MINORS DNI! —

— SOME LESSONS IN LIFE ARE BEST LEARNED BY EXPERIENCE.

[♡]: chilchuck was an impatient man, whether it was with work or with friends, he could always only stretch his patience so thin. with you, he was always more lenient, of course, you were his favorite after all. but there were times, where you wore his patience down too.

THERE'S A HIGH PITCHED WHINE that echoes through the wooden walls of Chilchuck's bedroom, something impatient, something bratty.

"Pl… Please, Chil…" You plea softly, a small droplet of drool dribbling down the corner of your lips.

He only hums, hands smoothing over the skin of your ass, caressing it in such a gentle manner. He stays speechless, and you know he's calculating something, plotting exactly how he wants to enjoy your punishment. Chilchuck could really be mean when he wanted to.

Ah, but he'd justify that he was only mean when he needed to be.

Now was one of those times as you helplessly squirm on his lap, whining from the lack of stimulation. He's had you in this hold for quite some time now, only ever moving his hands to grab at your ass or back to your hips to stop you from grinding against him. It was unfair, terribly so. You didn't even do anything too bad. Well, maybe a bit bad.

Early that afternoon you had sauntered in the half-foot union headquarters with the intent to cause some trouble for your darling Chilchuck, who made it very clear he would be busy that afternoon. You justified your visit by telling yourself it was a means to cheer him up (which was half-true, really) since he had been working so hard lately, he barely had time to breath (which was completely true).

So there you were, wrapping your arms around Chilchuck's neck, pulling him to sit flush against his chair so you could kiss the top of your head.

"Come on, Chil," you say in a singsong tone, "come take a break. For me?"

You feel his body stiffen a bit and see his fingers twitch slightly. Oh, you knew he had a soft spot for you, it was something you abused quite often. But today Chilchuck seems unmoving, sighing deeply and continuing with paperwork.

"Darling, you know I can't." He says simply and slowly, like he was explaining something to a child. "Got work."

"And no time for me?" You draw out the last word as sweetly as you can. He stiffens a second time and a moment passes before he looks up at you. You bat your lashes at him, smiling innocently at your lover.

Chilchuck sighs again. "Not now, sweetheart." Though he sounds about ready to ravage you then and there.

You make a show of letting known your disappointment, huffing and peeling your hands away from him to cross them. You pout down at him and you fight a smirk when you see his eye twitch.

"Hey, come on, don't be like that." He says and turns his chair to face you. Chilchuck's hands pry apart your crossed ones and his thumbs smooth over the backs of your palms. "Could have fun at home sweetheart," he kisses the back of each hand one at a time, "just lemme finish up my work."

This was a rarity for Chilchuck, to be willing enough to ask this of anyone so nicely and so easily. You know it's because he's asking you, and when it comes to you, you've seen miracles happen with Chilchuck, moments and secrets he dare not share with anyone else. Despite that you huff again and turn your head to the side, you feel his grip on your hands tighten slightly.

"Let's have fun now!" You try again, whining. Your hands leave his as you make big gestures to sell him on your idea. "Take a break, Chil, please. I can make it quick." You say that last bit with a playful wink.

His eye twitches again, more obvious this time. You can tell he's fighting really hard not to give into his wants, not to give into you. Again, you've seen miracles happen with Chilchuck.

"No means no," he says so sternly after a brief moment of silence as he turns his chair back to focus on his work.

You open your mouth to protest again but he quickly cuts you off. "Don't test me on this, darling. I'm serious."

At this point, you’re the one annoyed, ticked off at the fact he’s so stubborn. Sure you admired his worth ethic, always prioritizing work before leisure, making sure everything is done, but gods! Get a grip, Chilchuck! You’ve been practically throwing yourself at him but he’s just too stubborn to budge! Any sane man would fold as soon as he sees his hot partner be so eager for him!

Again you make a show of your emotions, nearly growling in frustration as you throw your arms in the air. “Fine then! I don’t care!” You yell exasperatedly as you begin to stomp away.

Not before Chilchuck quickly catches your wrist. You turn back to him with an open mouth and a glare, wanting to yell a few more things, but you immediately freeze when you meet his eyes. His usual warm brown eyes now hold a stern, unamused look and your breath hitches in your throat.

“You’re really going to be like that?” He asks, but it’s more of a statement — a challenge. To which you huff at and stick your tongue out to.

Not quite the best choice seeing as Chilchuck’s got you all wet and needy and doing nothing about it at all.

You whine again as you try to grind your hips against his, trying your hardest to catch even a sliver of friction against his warm cock. But he spares you no alms, hands moving back to your waist to keep you still. Such a terrible position to be in! Any other time, you’d be gleefully bouncing yourself up and down his lap, savoring the way he feels scrapping your insides. But today? Now? When he’s got you naked and just sitting on his lap? When he had previously spent eternity pumps his experienced fingers in and out of you, only to stop when you’ve reached the precipice of pleasure? Not as fun considering how much trouble you went to to finally get him in bed with you. And Chilchuck wasn’t even naked! He was wearing his black long sleeved shirt still, his belt remained unbuckled, his pants unbuttoned, hell, he was still wearing that damn neckwarmer!

“Ch- Chil…” You try again with pleading, looking at him with a big pout as a tearful expression. “Please… hah… Need you… Please…”

Your breathing is ragged, uneven. Chilchuck merely stares at you (though you don’t miss the way his brow twitches when he sees you pout).

He finally makes a sound, humming as if in thought. “You really need to be taught a lesson, huh?”

Your brows furrow. You don’t like where this is going.

Your mouth opens to speak, but he cuts you off. “Don’t you think it’s unfair if I just give you what you want, sweetheart?” Chilchuck asks as a hand moves back down to smooth over the fat of your ass. He doesn’t let you even think about an answer before he’s continuing with a small tsk. “Making a big fuss at work? Thinking I’ll give you what you want if you show me those pouty lips of yours? Really think that’s fair?”

You shake your head, though the response is nearly instinctive. Chilchuck picks up on that, rubbing circles on your ass before he lifts his hand and brings it back down with a loud smack. You jolt at the sting, the pain shooting straight up your spine. You whine in response.

“Can’t have you being like that, darling. Gotta teach you a lesson.” He says as his hand comes down again; another slap, another whine.

You shake your head again. “I- ‘M sorry… Chil—”

He tuts softly. “None of that now, darling. Gotta be good for me, learn your lesson, yeah?” Chilchuck says as he pulls you closer, bringing your ass up higher.

He continues to slap your ass, almost rhythmically the way his hand lifts up only to come back down with searing pain. Tears well up in your eyes as you whine the whole time, incoherent pleas to stop and half-hearted promises to behave leave your lips as stray tears roll down your cheeks. Chilchuck resists the urge to just stop and give in to what you want, but he reminds himself that that was the whole purpose of your punishment; for being bratty.

Chilchuck's hand suddenly stops, resting on your ass as you huff out small sobs, letting tears freely fall. He smiles at you endearingly, though you miss it with the tears blurring your vision. His other hand comes up to brush against your cheek, wiping away the tears as he brings you closer, kissing you just below your eyes.

"Shh, it's okay," he coos and you feel yourself instantly melt. "Didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sorry, sweetheart."

You can tell enough his apology is genuine, but instinct tells you your punishment wasn't going to end so quickly.

But you sniffle anyway, letting Chilchuck whisper sweet reassurance into your ear as he rubs over the sore flesh of your ass, the other hand smoothing over the back of your head, stroking your hair.

"Have to be punished so you could learn your lesson." He explains slowly. "You understand right?"

With a small sniffle, you nod wordlessly, frowning slightly as you cast your eyes downward.

Chilchuck shushes you again and pulls you closer by the back of your head. He plants a gentle kiss on your forehead, pressing his face into your shoulder after. "So good for me…" He whispers. "So very good."

You whimper pathetically at the praise, stomach twisting in knots, and you feel Chilchuck smile slightly against your skin.

"Can—" you sniffle "Can we–"

"Not yet, darling. Can't let you off the hook yet." Chilchuck says, his tone is gentle, like he has to be for you to understand.

You whimper a second time, moving to try and lower yourself on him again. “Please, Chil… I’ll be— be nice… I’ll be good, please…”

There’s a pause the way he suddenly tilts his head backwards, exposing his neck to you. You watch his Adam's apple bob when he swallows slightly and you feel yourself grow just a bit needier. You lean forward, pressing your nose against the side of his neck, hot breath warming his skin as you pant against it. You let out a high pitched whine. “Please, Chil… Please…” You plead as you plant a light, experimental kiss on his skin as you hear him suck his breath through his teeth. His grip on your waist tightens slightly, fingers twitching against your skin.

You take this as a sign to keep going, leverage if you will. So you keep kissing him, very carefully peppering his neck with small, featherlight kisses, each one leading up higher to just below his ear, where you whisper a small, whiny “please”; all of which is enough for Chilchuck to snap.

He sighs, almost in defeat, and brings his hands to your shoulders to gently push you off him and make you look him in the eyes. Brown eyes stare back at yours with such fiery intensity, with such want; it was hard not to feel small under his gaze.

“Fine,” he says, like he has no other choice but to let you have your way. “Just this one time, okay, sweetheart? Just one time.”

A smile breaks on your face as you nod enthusiastically. “Yes! Please!” You say, desperation evident in your voice.

Chilchuck lets out a short chuckle, amused with your reaction. “There’ll be a catch though, darling, since I’m already doing so much by just pardoning your punishment.” He punctuates the statement with a shrug and you lift off him.

“What? No! You can’t!” You immediately respond despite not knowing what he has planned.

Chilchuck frowns at you. “Guess you don’t really want this then? Was gonna let you cum all nice and pretty but I gu—”

“No, no! I’ll do it! Chil!” You draw out his name in a whine as you pout at him with furrowed brows. The audacity he had to tease you at a time like this.

He smiles at you, too innocently, and reaches a hand down to undo his pants. Chilchuck taps on your thigh and you lift yourself off him to give him more room. He slides his pants and undergarments down, just enough for his cock to spring out. Your mouth waters at the sight, the feel of its warmth against your thigh. Another whine leaves your mouth as you buck your hips, urging Chilchuck to move already.

Thankfully, he gets the message, guiding your hips downward to meet his cock. It slips easily inside of your awaiting hole, its warmth and girth instantly filling you up. You make a pleasured sound, a languid moan that melts into a relieved sigh, finally at ease now that Chilchuck’s finally buried inside you.

You stare at him pleadingly but expectantly, impatiently waiting for him to buck his hips up into yours. But Chilchuck makes no such move, his hands remain still on your hips. Instead, the half-foot smiles at you, a mischievous grin that suddenly fills your stomach with dread.

“A catch remember, sweetheart?” He says, carefree. “Been bad, so you gotta work for what you want.”

You open your mouth to complain, but he quickly quirks an eyebrow at you. “Or have you changed your mind, darling? Don’t want this anymore?”

You shake your head vigorously and Chilchuck laughs at the way your relaxed expression instantly shifts to unease. Had it been a different circumstance, you might’ve swatted at Chilchuck for laughing at you, might’ve called him a meanie too for bullying you this much, but your body betrays you as his grip twitches against you when you involuntarily tighten up.

This time, Chilchuck looks at you expectantly. “Well, go on.”

Your eyebrows knit as you frown at him, but shakily make a move anyway, placing one hand on his shoulder and slowly lifting yourself off him. A deep groan echoes from Chilchuck, a shaky breath escapes you. Very gently, you begin pushing yourself back down until he’s back fully inside you.

You repeat the process, shakily lifting yourself up and plunging back down until you form a steady rhythm, bouncing up and down his cock with gusto. Chilchuck groans every time you come back down to sheath him inside of you, his grip on your hips tight enough to leave marks, his voice growing more and more animalistic the more you go on.

“So good, doing so good, darling.” He praises as he leans forward to meet your neck with his lips. His teeth graze against your skin as he bites down, exhaling against your skin with his mouth around it.

You whine when he bites, tightening your grip on his shoulder as you moan out his name. You feel his hips slightly buck upwards into you, pushing his cock deeper into you when you push yourself back down.

“Hah- Chil-” You say his name between pants. Quickly, he moves his mouth from your neck to your lips, one of his hands comes behind your neck to pull you against him. His tongue slips inside, pressing against yours in a sloppy wet kiss.

You find it difficult to focus both on kissing Chilchuck and fucking him, your pace falters as you begin to shakily pull yourself off him, muffle whimpers filling the confines of his bedroom. Thankfully, Chilchuck’s good at multitasking. He lets out a sharp, frustrated exhale through his nose as he forcefully thrusts his hips upward, making up for the sudden irregularity in your pace.

You moan unabashedly when he finally pulls away from the kiss, your hand on his shoulder moving to hold onto him more desperately, nails digging into the skin of his back as you cling onto him for stability, to ground yourself. Chilchuck’s hand finds yours, intertwining your fingers together as he continues to fuck into you, almost frantically bucking his hips into yours as you both draw closer to your peak.

You can tell he’s close with the way his groans sound almost like growls, something low and full against the shell of your ear. The sound alone is almost enough to set you off the edge, but that combined with his grip on your hips with the twitch of his cock against your warm walls and the praise he whispers between groans.

“Feel so good, darling.” He whispers, voice grown hoarse and gruff. “Wanna keep you like this, keep my dick inside you. You want that, darling? Fuck-”

Your thoughts are incoherent, therefore your response is incoherent too, a string of yes’s and vigorous nods mewled between high pitched moans and whines. Your hips try to keep up with his pace despite your legs beginning to shake. You’re close, you’re sure he can tell. Chilchuck kisses you again, wet, opened-mouthed and sloppy, teeth clashing against teeth, saliva mixing with saliva. He keeps kissing you as he suddenly thrusts upward one last time and his hand pulls you flush against his lap at the same time, forcing his cock as deep inside you as possible, filling you with warmth as he cums deep inside you.

You don’t last much longer, tightening around him as you reach the precipice of pleasure, milking his orgasm as you pulse against his cock. You pull away first from the kiss, panting, desperate to catch your breath. Chilchuck’s panting too, but he smiles as he brings a hand up to your cheek, caressing it gently and brushing sweat-slicked hair away from your face.

“Learned your lesson?” He asks, breathlessly yet easily.

Dazily, you nod slowly, licking your lips to moisten them. He presses a chaste kiss on your forehead as the hand on your hip rubs small, soothing circles on your skin.

“Good.” Chilchuck says. “Because next time, I’m not going to be as lenient.”

#ꔛ xixi writes #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi #chilchuck #chilchuck dungeon meshi #chilchuck x reader #dunmeshi #dungeon meshi x reader #chilchuck tims #chilchuk tims #chilchack #dividers by cafekitsune

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