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pricegouge · 20 days ago

Text

On Merit

exhusband!price x f!reader

cw: house fire and the aftermath of it. reader and john have kids. reader is implied to be an atheist. unedited because i don't want to look it over again. idk what this is and it's not going anywhere i just needed some comfort.

"i just thank god that the kids are okay."

an in-law of some fashion. a pesky one, perhaps an aunt. usually, you can remember her name by some clever rhyme you'd made up the day you'd gotten married, but today both the name and the rhyme escape you.

"yeah, me too," you mutter. it's not that you don't mean it, but you've repeated the line so many times today it feels hollow and you can't muster the energy necessary to sell it, especially when the mention of your kids has your head on a swivel, making sure they're still corralled off by the picnic table. they are, of course - haven't moved since you'd last sought them out in a panic all of thirty seconds ago. your mother hovers over them, her hands stroking their hair, just as insistent and scared as your own which hang uselessly at your sides. you want to go to them, but the team of volunteer construction workers who have manifested from the aether need guidance on which parts of the house may contain salvageable heirlooms or sentimental storage. they've been dipping in and out of the wreckage all morning, confused worker bees pulling honey from the hive. a small collection of brightly colored totes decorates your lawn, fluorescent greens and reds standing out amongst the charred grass where more community and family members pick them apart, show you waterlogged decorations from a new years party four years ago and pester you to see if you want to bother keeping them. if you say no, they toss the waste into a large construction bag. mildly, it bothers you that they don't just throw them back in the house. clean up has to start somewhere, you suppose.

they found the majority of your pictures, waterlogged but whole. a gaggle of elderly women sit at picnic tables which weren't on your lawn this morning, pressing each photo between layers of shop rags. you want to bake them a cake, wonder if they'll accept a delivery pizza. wonder if you're lucky enough that your wallet is still in your car.

"only home twenty minutes… when i think what could have happened…" you close your eyes against the visions it invokes, tears collecting in your lashes. auntie balks when she notices, as if surprised her words could affect you. she pats your arm awkwardly. "well, everything happens for a reason. it's lucky you got home when you did."

it's the same line you've heard all morning, the same one you yourself had spouted to your mother much earlier when you'd admitted your kids had been home alone most the night. there was nothing wrong with that, your oldest - fifteen - plenty capable of making sure her younger sister ate and got to bed on time. which she'd done, both girls sleeping like logs when you'd gotten home. you don't want to think about what could have happened if you'd been any later, if one more patient had taken a turn, and all the words of comfort have been the same - thank god that wasn't the case. they mean well but the truth is you don't really believe in that kind of stuff so it's hard to get past the what ifs. you let it wash over you, like the runoff still flowing down the backslope of the lawn. ash and glass clouds the brook back there, a fine waiting to happen, probably. add it to the list of growing expenses your mind is too clouded to tally up right now.

smoke still wafts from the house - what remains of it. thin tendrils of ink leaking from the empty windows, their frames warped from the sagging weight of the structure and wreathed in melted plastic. john had insisted on the most expensive brand he could find, adamant that they were the most secure. but fire doesn't care much about double locks or casement, and it had rained little crystals of tempered glass down on you anyway. it crunches like gravel under aunties shoes as she drifts away from you now, neither of you able to offer the other the kind of comfort you each need. most of these people, they've shown up to make themselves feel better, to tell everyone how they'd helped the poor single mother in her time of need. but you don't act the part of the distraught, needy damsel and it's left a lot of them off-kilter, approaching you like a ticking bomb, a presumed-buried fuel source hidden under the rubble, waiting to catch heat. perhaps you are.

>>On my way.

you don't need to check your phone to verify the text because it's been burned into your retinas by now but you do anyway, just to be sure. just to do the mental math of how long ago it had been received. seven hours. wherever he'd been when he pinged your phone at two in the morning, when the firefighters had still been lingering, it must have been far. john and you may have had your differences over the years, but he had never and would never be the type to let you face a crisis alone. even now you can't help but reflect on the depth of his devotion, the implication that he'd been on a mission which he'd dropped to be with you even after learning his daughters were okay not lost on you. it's another mental image you have to fight off, the father of your children battle worn and weary when he checks his burner to find an update from kate. he hadn't bothered to relay his reply through her, had texted you directly because he still had your number memorized after all these years. it has you shaking your head, waspish when the volunteers bring you a bin of old gaming consoles, filled with water because the stupid plastic guitar controller was too tall to properly fashion the cover. you've no idea why it makes you angry, but you latch onto it with claws and teeth anyway because being mad at john is much safer than lingering on -.

well, lingering on.

the construction crew tells you the kitchen won't collapse on you if you want to go in through the window there. you don't, but it gives you something to do, and you only realize once you're already in that it was perhaps the worst room to have chosen.

debris carpets the floor at least two inches thick. you have a fleeting, wild notion to go swap your sneakers for boots before you remember, thoughts immediately flickering to wonder how long it will take for that instinct to die off. what strikes you first is how small the room seems with the roof sagging slightly and floor raised by detritus. soot stained and dark, it swallows the ample sunlight which streams through the empty window within inches, the further corners of the kitchen too dark to make out properly. it doesn't feel like your home, casts a certain sense of voyeurism over the growing feeling of loss. your kitchen, the life center of your home, nothing but charred ribs now.

the crew offers you a worn baseball cap and a pair of gloves when they see you flinch under the steady drip of water. you don't bat an eye as you pull them on, too focused on where you want to begin and if you'll get sepsis for your troubles.

you can't open the fridge because it's melted too much but the cabinets are all mostly functional, if unrecognizable. you don't dare open the higher ones because the way they hang off-kilter makes you nervous but the lower ones housed the bake ware anyway, the morbid curiosity to see if your pyrex finally shattered too hard to resist.

turns out those things really can take the heat.

it's hard to stop once you've started, almost cathartic - a checklist of all the items you've forgotten you owned being crossed out as you confirm you no longer have them. it's an odd sort of soothing, a finger in a bullet hole to stem the blood loss. it will be nice not to have to wonder if anything could have been salvageable when you remember them later.

"is my pie still in the oven?"

you don't bother turning, your eldest's blithe sense of humor about the whole affair recognizable even without looking. "you shouldn't be here," you remind her, opening up a deep drawer to find a collection of snack sized crisp bags floating in dirty water. if you weren't so agitated, it would make you laugh, the way they bob like apples, inviting you to try your luck.

"neither should you," she counters. "is my pie still in the oven? i worked so hard on it."

"what pie?" you ask, carefully closing the drawer, as if spilling more water on the floor could actually matter.

"i made a pie last night! it turned out pretty good, i think. was excited to have you try it."

you blink, finally turning to face her. "you made a pie?"

she nods, still oddly cheerful. she has been all day, a solid rock you're refusing to lean on because you want her to know she can cry, that she doesn't need to do this. "yeah, pumpkin. our fav," she reminds you.

you hide the sudden surge of tears by turning away from her and carefully opening the oven. the glass has been blown, shards thumping to the soggy floor as the door tilts. you can't help but laugh at what you find inside, the double tins still fully functional, a deep dish pie standing tall and proud in their confines. it resembles a charred souffle more than a pie when you pull it out, the top puffed up and blackened but refusing to sink into the soaked crust. a perfect slice has been cut from it already, the pie likely having been put back just to keep it warm a little longer. waiting on you. out of instinct, you check to make sure the oven had been switched off though the investigator already said everything was caused by the line outside.

thankfully your daughter doesn't catch your doubt, too busy fawning over how perversely good her pie still looks. "i'm so proud of it," she declares, taking the dish from you.

you can't help but laugh. "you should offer it to the ladies sorting the pictures out there, in thanks."

"oh my god, you're right!" she cheers, and then nearly throws her precious pie down the bank when she turns away. "dad!" she shrieks, deciding to unload it on the window sill instead. like a dark reimagining of vintage americana.

john's by her side in a heartbeat, pulling her to him with a strong arm. in his other he still holds your youngest because that's what he's used to doing, nevermind the fact that she's twelve now. you don't think you've ever seen him so visibly shaken, mustache twitching as he holds your daughters close. he never bothered to change out of his field gear - vest stripped, but empty holsters still hanging from his stained cargos because those require a bit more care, fine motor control he probably couldn't manage. his hands are heavy on the crowns of your daughters heads, whatever words he whispers to them buried there too. you watch them with your heart in your throat, your agitation returning at the sight of him, the urge to chew your nails completely off only cowed by the appearance of soot on your gloves and the sweet smell of chemically loaded water and smoke which hangs around you like perfume. you'll have to take a bite out of him instead, an instinct that only grows when he spots you in the kitchen, anger clouding the fear in his gaze.

"sweetheart, get out of there."

you ignore him. "where were you?"

john doesn't even blink, evidently having been expecting this reaction. he should have, you remember. the same fight as always. "i was on miss -."

"i don't care." you turn back toward the room, as if to storm away, but a sink hole lays before you and despite everything, you still have enough sense about you to stay put.

it's the only opportunity he needs, john's heavy boots thudding behind you as he pulls himself up through the window. "honey, come here," he says, but he doesn't give you the chance, coming up behind you to pull you around.

you're folded in his arms before you can even pitch a fit about it, the low stream of anger you're spewing swallowed up somewhere in the stiff folds of his button up. you don't realize your breaths are coming in heaving gasps until his arms are shaking with it, his bicep swelling in your periphery just to drop suddenly out of your field of view every time you gasp for breath. john doesn't say much - or maybe he says too much, voice a steady low hum you feel in his chest more than you register in your ear. there's no helping the way you cling to him, anger dissipating as quickly as it built. john's solid and warm against you, just as soft for you as he's always been. he smells like sweat and gunpowder, the subtle scent of the expensive cigars he never finishes. it's a smell you miss always, but especially today, when the cloying scent of smoke and pfas water have felt near to suffocating you all morning.

john waits until your anger has been guttered before guiding you outside, his palm heavy on your back. he's subtle about the way he pulls another man's cap off your head, distracting you with questions about what happened, and, why is his aunt here. you pretend not to notice, stuck between an odd sense of endearment you really don't have time for and an urge to encourage him you decide to reanalyze when you're not homeless and desperate for comfort in whatever form it comes.

"the wind - last night. inspector says the tree out front must've dropped a limb on the line to the house."

"told you to let me cut it down," john mutters and you roll your eyes at him, too tired to fight now that he's calmed you down once already.

"shut up, you can blame me for this later -."

"honey, that's not -."

"look at this. you won't believe this. that line - when it split - it fucking wrapped itself around the wood stove exhaust. like, five times! look!" he's guided you back to the front of the house by now and you drag him to the freak display, the cable indeed having somehow managed to fasten itself to the exhaust while it was hissing and spitting, dangling from your home. john frowns at it, stroking his mustache in thought. "freak fucking accident," you continue, "like, what are the odds of that?"

john doesn't have an answer. "you were home?"

your breath catches when you reply, voice a low croak. john's hand is on your back in a second, soothing broad circles across your tense shoulders. "only just. the girls were asleep. i called up to them to get out of the house but i tried to put the fire out first. grabbed the hose. thank god i realized it was electrical before i ..." you babble on, for the first time able to lay your anxieties at someone else's feet. "when i went back inside, the girls were still upstairs i -." you cut yourself off, sobbing as you remember storming into your eldest's just in time to see the window shatter across her bed. you'd gotten everyone out in time but it was so close and you were so scared and it was just you and -.

"it's okay, sweetheart," john murmurs, pulling you close again. his next words are low, close to your ear. just for you "you did such a good job, mama. so proud of you."

time distorts a little after that. exhaustion creeps up on you, sinks its hooks in when you let it. john takes over, directing the crews with practiced ease and shaking hands in gratitude everywhere he goes. he even manages to keep his aunt away from you, though you spot her circling like a vulture now that she sees your walls have weakened.

you sit with the girls, looking over the salvaged goods with a sort of detached irreverence. it's strange, the anxiety of knowing you have nothing left to your name combined with the way you simply don't want to keep any of the items they bring for your inspection. the photos survived, the rest is replaceable.

but then john himself is bringing a soggy box over, only one corner of the white cardboard singed. you leap when to your feet when you recognize the careful script of the logo on the top, a local formal shop.

"no way," you breathe as you rip the display box from his hands, turning until you can see for yourself that the plastic casing hasn't melted, that your wedding dress is still mostly white and soot-free.

"didn't know you kept this," john mutters but you're barely listening, ripping the box open like a kid at christmas. your mom is there suddenly, helping you to keep the dress off the ground as you unfold it to check for charring, and then the gaggle of biddies are there too, laying out construction bags on the lawn for you to drape it across to keep it clean. the strangest bridal party ever assembled.

you have high hopes until you get it turned over, the train discolored and sodden from where all the water had pooled in the box. tears come unbidden to your eyes as you mourn the loss of your beautiful dress - the one memento you hadn't been able to bear parting with after the divorce. someone's hands are on you, perhaps your moms, gentle and hesitant. whoever it is they shush your tears as you sob about it not being fair, how you just want it all back.

you're not sure which you mean.

but the hands are heavier on you now, more confident. it's not your mother's voice in your ear, quiet shushing turning to gravelly words. oh, honey, you never lost it. it's okay, we'll get it all back.

i'll get you a new one.

divider by @/rookthornesartistry

#fun fact we did actually find my nieces pie still in the oven and yes it did look like a soufle #price x reader #john Price x reader

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eldritch-spouse · 1 year ago

Note

after some sort of “accident” in the shop, there comes to be a fleshlight that is bound to admin. everything that happens to it, admin can feel! <3 admin attempts to hide it but has to go deal with some important business and leaves it in the break room. what’s going down?

[Oooh nice!! I changed the source of the fleshlight a bit though. Fem reader.]

TW: Sex toy sharing (unsanitary); Dubcon; Double penetration in one hole.

You have absolutely no idea what this is.

It felt like a joke in poor taste, at first.

This... Fleshlight -Because it can only be that- Appeared in the break floor. A deep violet case with golden swirls around the rim, featuring an uncannily realistic mold of none other than your pussy.

So many things went through your mind as you picked it up. Who could have done this? Certainly, to be here on display, only one of your staff team could have concocted such an insult.

Perhaps Santi. He did always have the strangest and lewdest gifts for everyone. He'd offered sex toys molded after notable figures before, this wouldn't be entirely uncharacteristic out of him. Did he simply forget it here or is he planning to give it to someone?

If not Santi, then maybe Nebul. He does operate the shop, and toys of all kinky kinds hold no secrets for him. He could easily make a custom one, right? But he's not the type of monster man to have such a careless lapse and forget his fleshlight on the kitchenette counter like this. This would have to be intentional of him.

It could also be Fank-e. Lord knows that robot will get his metallic little hands on any kind of genital attachment and weird toy he can find. Maybe the creep wants to use a model of your vulva as his own genitals. You wouldn't put such past him. It's a lot more likely the mechanical menace could have gotten distracted by something and left the toy out in the open.

Humming, morbid curiosity makes you gently touch the depraved imitation, fingertips dipping to scissor the thing open when you notice that it's clean.

Instant regret washes over you.

The moment you do such, it's as if phantom digits pierced into your covered cunt and physically spread you out. The thing is dropped back onto the counter and you bend to clutch your panty-covered privates as a sting of pain punishes you.

For a blank moment, you almost believe that Lord Krulu had been the one to finger you. Even if he usually likes to announce their presence before using your form. But it can't be! Your higher has been busy all day, you can feel how diminished his connection to you is right now. This is not his doing.

Paranoid, you glance behind you just to be sure that there really is no one somehow screwing with you. Predictably, you're alone.

Eyes narrowed, you pick the toy up again and reshape your approach, this time making a slow stroke up the left labia, feeling it in your right with a scary level of intensity. The quality of the material itself is strikingly life-like, not just cheap silicone. It's even... Warm? Dear Lord, it's probably the same temperature as you, as your insides. The thought has a gross kind of shiver racing up your spine. Daringly, you thumb over the imitation of your clitoris, met with direct feedback in your own body which perfectly corresponds to the tentative circular motions of your index over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

You stop the moment your knees reflexively press forward.

This... Is magic. Which puts a new candidate on the table. The thought alone makes you scoff, could Patches truly be audacious enough to do this? No. Not at all. You don't doubt he'd take a toy molded in your vague resemblance to pathetically rut into- But actually connect said thing to your body? That's already a level of courage that can't be expected of the dullahan in question.

Unless... Ah, this can be the work of his trickster counterpart. That you find more believable.

A pulse in your pocket has you setting the plaything aside to check your phone, reading the text detailing your esteemed guest's arrival.

Maintaining ties to the Rings is imperative in this stage of Krulu's vision for the future. Hell and its denizens are apparently sources of great potential in your Lord-Master's eyes, and he's been very keen in keeping close ties to the fiendish rulership of said location. You're only too happy to help forge bonds with these demonlords, which means scraping around and trying to get to know them. Ironically, it falls upon you the responsibility to tempt them into seeking contact.

Your latest endeavor of this sort involves establishing an explorative partnership with one of the demonlords' sons. He's quite the character, and now that you know he has arrived at the front of The Clergy, you can't just leave royalty waiting.

Both hands busy with texting back a hasty reply, you panic as you try to guess where you could stuff this gross little thing away. Taking it with you is not an option, there's no pocket large enough to conceal the thing and its depraved outline.

Time is not on your side.

The meeting can't take that long, can it? What if you just... Left it in one of the cupboards above the kitchenette?

Yes, and then you'll come to retrieve it, interrogate the team to find which of these losers thought it was a bright idea to play with fire.

That'll do. Hopefully.

Opening a cupboard loaded with small plates and cups, you quickly stuff the fleshlight inside and make your way over to the elevator, fixing your hair and clothes to go greet someone of great importance.

Vinnel almost barges into the floor.

More of his coworkers had caught the ride up, talking amongst themselves idly, but the jester wasn't preoccupied with their small talk, he was ravenous.

The first item on his shift was a show he had been particularly looking forward to, an opportunity to test some bizarre new weaponry and a game whose rules he deliberated on for more than a week prior to the event itself. Needless to say, it was a display that took a lot of work, tears sweat and love poured into it- And fucking Hell did it pay off! He's ecstatic! And hungry. Starving.

Doing a good show always gets his stomach riled up.

Some flecks of blood still covering his suit, Vinnel is quick to dart to the kitchenette, ignoring anything and everything as he rummaged around for snacks that aren't there.

His temper spikes when the fridge is devoid of meals.

" Chef! " He barks, turning to the blue shroom monster in question, who is only now just setting his apron aside. Morell rises a brow. " You're slacking! "

The large monster scoffs into his scarf. " None o' you assholes got a fuckin' hint of shame, do ya?! " His locker door slams shut. " Ah ain't gonna cook for ya every single day! "

" But- What are we supposed to do then? Starve? " The waiter whines, making big twinkling magenta eyes at the other.

" Not fallin' for it. " Is Morell's flat response.

" Have you tried making your own food? " A bartender chimes in. " I know doing anything for yourself is challenging for you, but give it a try. "

" Rich coming from someone that can't cook for the life of him. "

The jester has entirely disconnected from the banter going on, a shred of hope driving him to keep searching fruitlessly. It's not as if he believes anything to be in the top shelves where cutlery is stored, but maybe one of them could be hiding some type of candy?

Slamming cabinets and cupboards open, the last thing he expects is for something to fall off them. So he nearly jumps in the air when a sizable object tumbles from the cupboard shelf right onto the carpeted ground.

The floor becomes silent, everyone stares blankly at the item in question for a pregnant pause.

Gloved orange digits pick the thing up, Vinnel bringing it closer to his mask. " Huh. "

He knows what it is exactly.

It looks very high-quality, and clean thankfully. Vinnel swears something about the model itself looks... Almost familiar. Hm. Nevertheless, laugher starts bubbling out his chest and he sways his head, juggling the thing.

" Ohohohoho!! " The next time the toy falls, Vinnel grips it viciously and points the thing right at-

" Morell! Such interesting kitchen utensils you have here... "

" Wha- That ain't mine! " The shroom retorts a little too fast.

" Suure. Then why was it in the cupboard, buddy? "

There's a glare, people around the chef are beginning to murmur amongst themselves.

" Like Hell ah know! For all I fuckin' know, ya could'a been tha one to put it there and fake tha whole thing- 'S yours! "

Vinnel titters, clapping as best as he can with his occupied hand. " Oh no, you think that lowly of little old me? " A feigned gesture of offense is met with no sympathy from the rest of the staff team, who do, in fact, think that lowly of the jester. " Unfortunately no, I don't usually perform tricks with fucktoys... Not the silicone ones anyway. "

" Well it ain't mine. " Morell insists. " Which one o' ya little sickos put a fuckin' pocket pussy in the kitchen? "

The suited performer, still vaguely examining the thing, finding it to be a little heavier than most of these toys tend to be given the materials involved in their manufacturing, swivels his head towards the next suspect.

" Sex pest! "

Santi, already very interested in the turn of events this day is taking, smiles as if just having been complimented. " Yes? "

" Why did you put your fucktoy here? " The performer looms over his demonic coworker, accusatory and demeaning. " So we could find it? So you could be gross about it, hm? "

The incubus hums, eyes on the toy rather than his frilled coworker. " Mm no, that's not my toy sweetheart. Though do let me have a closer look, maybe I can find a trace of our dirty little culprit... "

" Liar! " Vinnel spits.

Santi chuckles, making a move to grab the object yet thwarted when Vinnel angles it away.

" And why would I lie, love? If it was mine I'd tell you readily. I've brought toys to work before, haven't I? Never lied about it. "

And he's right, much to the jester's chagrin. The incubus could bring a cum-soaked dildo into this floor shamelessly, he wouldn't lie about a fleshlight.

Vinnel growls and floats back to point it directly at Nebul, but the shopkeeper beats him to the punch.

" I do not bring items from the shop into the break floor. Furthermore, I don't recognize that model. Does it have a brand? "

The jester checks, flipping the thing in all angles only to find neither words nor numbers printed anywhere. He glances to the crowd around him again, gears turning, machinating, until his attention falls on the dullahan, making Vinnel dart to him.

" You've been far too quiet this whole time, gourd brains... " He accuses, painted eyes narrowing.

Patches flusters, arms raised and leaning back. " What- What do you want me to say? I don't- "

That vegetable expression shifts suddenly, going from uncomfortable and anxious to complete focus. It's enough to make the jester tilt his head. " What? "

" That thing is brimming with magic. " He points out, leaning closer as if the gesture could reveal more by itself.

" ... Is it now? " Vinnel won't lie. It's a possibility. The fleshlight looks and feels anything but normal.

" You- You do know what that means, right? " Patches fumbles, squirming in mild discomfort. Those green cheeks acquire a tint that makes the jester's eyes roll in irritation behind his mask.

" Oh do fucking enlighten me, you masochistic kabocha. "

" Boys, boys- " Santi starts, tail wagging as he wedges himself between the two men. " We're missing the point. I've seen this before. That little thing is connected to some poor sap. And, if I'm not suddenly visually impaired, it looks extremely human to me. "

Another moment of silence stretches across the room

The jester's inked grin widens, and armed with a brand new realization, he starts feathering his digits along the edges of the pocket pussy's entrance, paying close attention to it. His mask nearly falls off when the thing physically seems to twitch. Uhuhu!

" No. " Belo begins, pointing a trembling finger at the demon. " You wouldn't dare suggest- "

" That our lovely Administrator has sent us a gift? " Santi challenges, tone sultry. " But of course, Belo! This is a reward for our hard work, and ohh, I just can't wait to make the most of it. "

Vinnel has now managed to slip one finger inside, completely tuned off to the conversation happening right next to him. Shock of all shocks, the thing hugs his digit as if it were real. And, as he experimentally removes the intrusion, a sheen of what can only be arousal wets his gloves. It really is you. He just fingered you. Hah!

" Filthy beast! You shall not touch that, this can't be right. " The angel's wings flex and twitch in growing agitation. As always, he seems very eager to try to choke the life out of Santi- And he would, if he didn't already know that the demon would immediately salaciously get off on it.

" But what if it is? What if she wants us all to take turns, experience her supple little cunt? " He taunts, surfing the room, gouging the reactions of his coworkers as most of them flush with sudden want at the idea. Yes, they like it as much as he does, Santi's just honest about it. " Would you reject her gift, Belo? "

The power in question is puffed like an angered parakeet, a myriad of emotions warring in those expressive, large eyes. " Control that foul tongue of yours lest I rip it off your worthless mouth and make your depraved clients very disappointed. "

" One day you'll revel in your own perversions. " He says it calmly, as if it were fact, grinning when the angel prepares another outburst.

" Guys. "

Vinnel is now two fingers deep into the magical fleshlight, a stupefied look on his face as he finds the toy -You- Welcoming him without resistance. You clench around him. Gods, he can't wait to stuff his cock in there, to fuck you, to rail you knowing that you can't do anything to stop him. At least not until you find him. Oh, he could make a game out of it!

" She's practically dripping. " The jester pulls both fingers out, spreading them to showcase a film of arousal between both digits.

" She's... Enjoying this. " Patches murmurs, breathy, fixated on the dirty gleam.

" Alright, if you're done being manchildren, I want to go first. " The slime suddenly pipes up, moving in on the stage performer.

" My ass you will! " Grimbly gets in the way, scoffing.

Vinnel finds a crowd of monsters suddenly gather around him, hands twitching for the item in his hands, eyes glinting like wolves corralling a chicken in its coop.

" Give me that, jester, it needs to be secured somewhere safely- "

" No no, give it to me, I'll make her feel so good! "

" Maybe if I have it, I- I can tell whose magic this is. "

" It was in mah cupboard, maybe she wants me ta be first! "

" Nuh uh!! " The jester suddenly shouts, floating higher in the air. " Finders keepers! Piss off! "

An ashy hand clamps around his ankle, jostling the bells there. " Were you not accusing us of being perverse? Let us take that dirty thing off your hands. " Nebul beckons.

As he's tugged down, Vinnel deforms his limbs inside his suit to twist away from the hands pawing at him. Growling, he pulls away, towards the window, towards the outside. If he can make it through the window, a significant portion of the staff team will be halted in their pursuit. He might get to hide with the toy and keep it all for himself.

Gallon, anticipating this, moves fast. Yellow tendrils coil over both the jester's legs and waist, trying to pull the extended arm back into the room even as Vinnel tries his damndest to keep it at out, his arm bending weirdly inside its red sleeve.

" Fuck off! All of you sad sacks of shit- This is MINE! " The slime gargles and screams, other hand clinging to the tall window's edge as tightly as possible. " I found it! "

" Stop strugglin' boy. We gonna talk this out. " The chef chuckles, successfully using brute strength to start pulling him inside.

The others help. He's fighting a losing battle and he knows it.

As soon as the performer feels a disturbance in the fabric of his suit's composition, he freezes. Primal, soul-shaking terror, grabs a hold of his body and he gasps, shrieking as he drops both hands to instantly claw, kick and try to mangle whoever's about to possibly rip his suit.

There's a chorus of pained cries and he's thrown to the ground, clinging to his form for dear life. Literally. Because if anything opened, he would potentially leak to the carpet and meet his end very quickly.

" Gah-! You useless clown! He dropped it! " The bat squeals, a high-pitched noise that grates on everyone's ears.

Vinnel startles. His possible panic attack and frantic body checking is halted by the sudden realization that yes, he did drop the fleshlight in his panic. That means...

The orange and purple menace stumbles to a stand shoving the group bent over the window aside to poke his head out and see for himself where the sex toy landed. After a few grunts and curses, the view is revealed.

On the grass of the garden outside the building, the toy landed sideways, rolling aimlessly over mutated flowers that lean away from the unidentified object. There's a beat of stillness.

Everyone knows it's only a matter of time until the thing is retrieved, possibly by a client, which means they'd have to waste time hunting for a random loser before getting to their prize. They exchange stares, aware that as soon as someone moves, the hunt is on, the game starts.

And yet, before even a step towards the elevator is taken, the scene below them changes.

A bench sat some distance away uncurls, black iron body turning into a grayed gangly mass with a wooden chest for a head, teeth poking out of it. Said monster seems to stretch himself before moving on all fours to inspect the thing.

Sybastian squats, picks up the fleshlight. Although his eyes are hidden in the great darkness of his objectum head, everyone can practically see the gears turning in his head.

The mimic glances up, perplexed yellow eyes staring dubiously at his coworkers.

" Syb. " Patches calls, reaching a hand out. " That is very special, leave it there. Do not touch it- "

Too late.

" No! No!! "

He found a toy, he's going to play with it. Sybastian starts hurriedly moving out of view.

" Motherfucker! I'll gut you! " Vinnel screeches, banging uselessly on the building's exterior.

" Blasted mimic... " Belo is the first to peel off the window. " What do we do now?! "

" Well... " Morell sighs, pulling his apron back on while everyone sulks and simmers.

" We go huntin'. "

Huh.

Isn't that one way to wake up...

Sybastian's nap had been disturbed when he sensed an impact nearby. It couldn't have been something very large, but part of his hunting routine involves being in that fine line between resting and alert enough to sense the faintest vibrations, categorize them as noteworthy or not on a subconscious level. His curiosity had him rising anyway, shedding his disguise and following the direction of the sound until he found...

A sex toy.

In the middle of the grass.

His eyes don't deceive him, he knows what kind of toy this is, has seen them in the undead's shop. They're the kind you can fuck into, small and convenient.

He was unsure as to why such a thing had been tossed out, so he looked around and found most of his coworkers already fixed on him. It didn't take a genius to piece together the fact that they had been likely squabbling over the thing.

Yet, oddly, it didn't smell used. In fact, it featured an odor Sybastian could swear he's had his face buried in before.

The mischief of his nature acted up, and the mimic crawled away with the toy held in his maw.

He knows the rest of them will come looking for him immediately, so the mimic scurries deep into the less stable parts of the garden- Where Hellion tends to dwell. The parts that can shift, remold and relocate themselves in the blink of an eye as the establishment periodically "refreshes" itself. It's a gamble, he admits, but it's the only place staff will hesitate to enter due to its volatile nature. Sybastian is more well-equipped to deal with these areas, given he spends most of the time in the garden, has learned many of its tricks.

Let them bump around like blind moles.

Eventually, Sybastian finds an area dense in plantlife, a good distance away from the main building already, and sensing no approaching threats, the mimic seats himself next to a wide trunk, spitting his conquest into his hands and taking the time to examine it.

It's a fancy fuck-pocket alright.

Curious about the scent, he drags the thin end of his tongue across the length of the artificial pussy, eyes widening when taste hits him. Not just any taste, arousal and wetness and- Human. A human he's put that same roving muscle upon before.

You.

Sybastian is certain these things aren't meant to have such specific tastes. He's not sure how such a thing came into being, a carbon sort of copy of your cunt, but he understands why the others were fighting over it. Syb would too.

A little thrill crawls along the length of his spine.

No time to waste, he better make use of this before he's accosted by a swarm of angry monsters.

The mimic drools and smiles as he pushes a good portion of his deep blue tongue past sweet folds and into the surprisingly warm, hugging insides of the toy. He removes his loincloth hastily and palms his already chubbing cock to the thought of you flipping your work outfit up and spreading yourself out so he can have full access to that puffy pussy. The mental image of your provocative, inviting smile while you grab onto the fat of your ass has him moaning, dick pulsing.

Fucking the pathetic little escapists is one thing, but nothing beats your delicious, perfect holes. You have everyone here by the balls and Sybastian is no different.

Releasing a filthy murr of anticipation, the mimic's shackles rattle as he brings the now thoroughly slobbered pocket pussy down, teasing it along the head of his cock.

Oh, if all of them feel this real then he really has to bother Nebul for one.

Sybastian swears he feels it quiver against his length, panting as soon as he starts sinking it onto his thick length. The moment his tip pops in, he rumbles, feeling its walls immediately clinging to him, spasming in such a life-like manner he can't help bucking into it, greedily and impatiently stuffing more of himself into the exceptionally pleasurable fucktoy.

He couldn't take it slow even if he wanted to, claws curling viciously around the purple tube as he starts jerking himself off with it in earnest, loud groans echoing amidst his panting. It feels exactly like you! Hot and tight and spongy and so so good, he loves to fuck you- This is going to be his favorite toy ever.

Syb's hips snap into a grossly desperate rhythm, a lurid plap of skin on wet artificial skin as his balls hit it with every senseless rut upwards. His maw closes slightly, the mimic's eyes glaze and he pictures you there. On his lap, back turned to him, juicy ass on full display while you put both palms on his gangly knees and ride the monster for all he's worth, milking his cock and drooling like you've never had better.

Gods, if Sybastian focuses enough, he can almost feel the softness of your rump on him with each thrust. He wishes he could grab onto your waist, onto the cushion there, and use you the same way he's using this copy to breed into.

You're the hottest, prettiest little human he'll ever have the opportunity to stuff himself into.

There isn't a single intelligent thought in Sybastian's head when he starts grinding the pocket-pussy down, the tensing of his legs and abdomen bringing him ever closer to that sweet release, and he's looking forward to flooding the fucktoy full of his cum, feeling it clench heavenly around him the same it has been for a while now.

With one last, obscenely loud slap of his meat into the fleshlight, Sybastian howls and throbs hard, coming undone with great intensity and melting onto the grassy ground, the feeling of his own hot jizz spurting out the toy and leaking past his balls to coat this thighs a depraved sign of his victory.

He lies there, boneless from his own orgasm, hand still clumsily dragging your toy up and down his now spent cock, and all is well for a blissful moment.

...

Until-

" Bravo. Mm, good show... "

Sybastian peers up, not as sharp as he would be now that he's disoriented from cumming. A pair of glowing green eyes poise on him, and none other than the incubus makes it past the foliage of this part of the garden.

He's vaguely surprised the other was brave enough to come here.

" What? " Santi places a hand to his hip. " Thought I wouldn't find you? I could smell you getting off like a rabid animal, you need more than greenery to hide from me. "

Fair. Syb was being loud too. He doesn't let go of the toy however, suspiciously allowing the demon to lewdly scheme the dirty mess between his legs.

" Hand me the fleshlight, love. "

There's a growl. Santi frowns.

" Oh come now, you greedy slut, I'll make sure you get something out of it too. " He lulls, drawing closer slowly, to the point where he stands in front of the mimic, before crouching.

Sybastian keeps growling faintly, pulling out of the fleshlight to hold it away from the high-ranker, a gross pool of cum still oozing off the recently used thing. He doesn't miss the way the incubus' nostrils flare.

" Why, I'll even tell you a little secret, hm? "

Santi crawls between the mimic's legs, collecting a bead of the monster's cum and putting it to his mouth, luridly sucking the fluid off his finger before spitting onto his palm and using it to stroke Sybastian.

What begins as overstimulated shocks that force his legs to twitch and squirm away is forcibly turned into a brand new wave of arousal and need. He doesn't fight it, letting himself get stimulated anew and only offering a little bit of resistance when Santi pulls the fucktoy out of his grasp.

If he's here... Where are the others?

" What if I told you this little thing here- " Santi starts, selfishly and deliberately fingering globs of cum out of the toy for his own amusement. Syb notes the rigid length bobbing between his coworker's dark thighs. " Is loaded with magic? "

A toothy head tilts in confusion. Sybastian kind of assumed there was something unknown at play here, he just can't tell the implications.

" You can smell it, right? You know who this reminds you of. "

Syb's eyes widen.

" Did you also know that this fleshlight is connected to our Admin? She felt everything you just did to her, Sybastian. " The incubus chuckles, letting his drool seep onto the rim of your pussy, then spreading the aphrodisiac fluid over your lips, circling you clit with it languidly.

Sybastian doesn't need to be a scientist to know you're probably losing your mind by now.

" Oh you fucked her open like a rabid bull. I wish I could see her state right now- I bet she's sweating a storm in her clothes, her own cum and wetness dripping down her legs, too cock-drunk to speak! What a good job you did... "

Sybastian spaces off slightly, picturing what the results of his careless and selfish fucking must have reduced you to. He almost feels bad, if the image the Lust demon painted in his head wasn't so awfully erotic. He literally used you.

" Mmm, now, let's give her something to really scream about, big boy. "

In a blur of movement, Santi presses against the gray monster, both lengths squeezed together, pumped hastily a couple times but with practiced precision that makes Syb groan. And then, much to his growing amusement and shock, the incubus hovers your toy above them both, strings of falling seed used to further lubricate both of them.

The demon looks to be burning with anticipation, shuddering as he presses the thing down.

" ... Won't. Fit. " The mimic eventually mumbles, wondering if Santi's intent is to actually rip you open.

" Don't be silly- " There's a rasped snicker. " I've seen her bounce on Lord Krulu's lap. Just lie back and let me make this memorable for the three of us. "

It's a stretch. A fat stretch, but it seems the magical properties of the toy are indeed aligned with your own physical limitations, because the fleshlight gradually accepts both monsters, clenching with mind-melting pressure against both leaking cocks.

Santi is the first to moan low and needy, claws sinking into the bark of the tree his coworker leans against so he can steady himself in the face of such sudden ecstasy. Sybastian follows with his own trill, their members twitching and pulsing, trapped against each other, within you.

When Syb makes a disoriented motion to try and grasp the thing, make it move over them both, the incubus snaps his teeth at him in a language the other understands, determined to control the pace. And control he does, viciously pumping them both off, twisting, grinding the thing frequently.

A pace that would otherwise certainly chafe both males is now sloppy and soaked, lubricated by Syb's seed, your wetness and Santi's precum. They fuck themselves silly, trading groans and frantically bumping their hips, one moment thrusting in perfect sync, the next selfishly seeking their own pleasure.

The incubus' tongue hangs and he tosses his head back when a certain familiar pace of contractions around him is felt.

" Oh- Ohhh fuck- " He calls to the other. " Feel that? Yeah? " Sybastian nods and makes a strangled ambiguous noise. " She's cumming. Hard. "

Both of them grow fevered, preening at the knowledge.

" I hope she's fucking screaming. I hope she's trying to guess who we are. "

The fiend had always been too good with his obscene little comments, Sybastian's second, overstimulated orgasm is flayed out of him with no ounce of mercy. Santi gets almost hysterical with the conquest, getting high off the power he's exerting over both you and the mimic, climbing to his peak and letting his eyes roll back when the first pulses of an approaching end seize him.

The only reason he doesn't scream when he's suddenly grabbed by the horns is because there was already little breath in his lungs to begin with.

A pair of metallic, sticker-adorned arms loom from above, rigged hands wrenching his head back to face a slightly cracked visor displaying a deceitfully friendly face.

" 1'll B3 t4k1Ng 7H4t N0w. :] "

Fuck.

His robotic coworker uses superior reflexes to grab the toy, wrench it off both monsters, and bolt out of sight with surprising speed for a being of such immense density.

Instincts claw at the hellish monster. He only stands there for a stunned second, clutching nothing but air, before he's snarling like a feral creature and racing after the party bot, pushing many of his other coworkers away.

Grimbly gains on all of them, but when the incubus drops onto all fours the two collide and roll away in a mess of shouting limbs.

Gallon passes by them and laughs, then gets lashed aside by a whip lit on dullahan fire.

Vinnel is thrown across the garden, apparently launched away by Fank-e cackling in the distance.

This isn't ending any time soon...

#Santi oc #Fank-e oc #Sybastian oc #Belo oc #Vinnel oc #Patches oc #Gallon oc #Grimbly oc #Morell oc #Nebul oc #yandere monster #yandere teratophilia #monsterfucker #terato tag #not sfw #monster x reader #minors dni

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toxicanonymity · 6 days ago

Note

My dearest toxic, I would simply do anything for a NW blurb. On top of the election I'm having one of the worst weeks I've had in awhile tbh. I saw you were doing blurbs/requests and figured I would throw my hat into the ring 🙃 as always, you're the best and deserve all the love and accolades 🖤

tired

JOEL x READER | 1k | NIGHT WALKS AU

NOTES: I’m so sorry for your week, bestie. Ty for your kind words. I hope he can help some of y'all a little bit. Love you 🖤 Y'all don't have to know Night Walks, but if you care about the timeline: After Menace, before Late Night Dip.

WARNINGS: 18+ blog. Unspecified source of angst, crying, comfort, soft but it also gets a little horny.

When you got home, your throat was sore from trying not to cry. You put on your PJs, went outside, and unscrewed the floodlight to be in the dark. Seated on a cheap plastic chair, you looked at the joint and lighter in your hand and didn’t even have the energy. You set them down, bent forward, and buried your face in your hands. Warm tears coated your fingers. Your throat untied itself, your chest opened up, and, physically at least, you felt some relief.

Then a light turned on in an upstairs window. Worried that you were louder than you realized, you got up to take a walk so you wouldn’t have to talk about it.

The thing was, you didn’t really have the energy to walk either. You shuffled along, until you got to the pool. It was as good a place as any to stop. The frogs and crickets made it a comfortable silence. You stood outside the fence with your forearms resting on top of it, doubled over.

By the time a twig snapped behind you, you must have been ugly crying.

Your skin prickled until his smooth, deep voice sliced through the tension. “Wanna talk about it?”

When you didn’t answer, you heard and felt him come closer. Joel was like a furnace, and the heat reached you without contact. When you didn’t answer him, he joined you against the fence, both of you looking toward the pool. His hand was resting a few inches away from your elbow.

“Hmm?” He prodded.

You shook your head, sniffled, and dabbed your eyes. “You wouldn’t get it,” you told him.

“Maybe not,” he conceded. “But I still got ears.”

“I’m okay,” you lied.

He answered, “Don’t have to be,” then laid his big, warm hand on your back and it brought a crescendo of emotion. Grief, gratefulness for him, and guilt for selling him short. He was more than a sleaze, he just didn’t tend to show it.

He rubbed your back as you took ragged breaths and tried to stop, then he got closer.

“It’s not just–it’s everything,” you sniffled. “It’s a lot.”

He kept rubbing slow circles on your back for a minute. Then, with a lighter tone, he offered,

“Who do I gotta fight?”

“You don’t seem like the fighting type,” you replied, then finally looked at him.

“I can be,” he cocked an eyebrow, and faced you with one hand still on your back. Your eyes settled on his strong pecs and biceps stretching his tee. And yeah, he could’ve been a fighter for all you knew. He could for sure fuck someone up. The small tattoos you saw in the shower crossed your mind. Then your thoughts drifted to the rest of him.

“I’ll be anything ya want, pumpkin,” he murmured as he got behind you and moved his hand to your hip. He thumbed the waistband of your bottoms and chuckled. You were dressed alike.

He nosed your hair and inhaled deeply as he wrapped his arms around you. You kept your arms resting on the pool fence, but your body relaxed into his embrace. He held you, with his feet bracketing yours. For the first time all week, you felt safe on some level. And not so alone.

It was the first time he’d hugged you like this. Holding you without a hard-on poking you, and–yeah, nope–there it was.

Not raging, but it twitched and made itself known.

He dipped his head and murmured into your neck, “Let’s go have a beer, watch a movie or somethin’," and his hips pushed forward, making you throb. But at the same time, you tensed at an assumption that he had expectations all along.

“Yeah, I know,” he acknowledged, without backing away. “Too damn hot, pumpkin. I just wanna hold ya, now I got two things in the way.”

“Two things?”

“That fine ass and this cock.”

You had been enjoying the softer side of him, but the harder side sure did make you tingle.

“I just wanna rest,” you answered.

“We'll just rest, then,” he replied. “We can just sleep if ya want. Can’t promise I'll behave in the *mornin’*, but…”

“Feels good out here,” you said.

“Alright pumpkin,” he agreed. “We’ll stay here a while.” Then he asked with light-hearted skepticism, “Feel good against this fence?”

His arms relaxed around you, then fell away.

You felt cold as he stepped aside, but he took your hand and gently pulled you to the pool gate. He reached his free hand over and unlocked it. The metal creaked as he pushed it open.

“C’mon,” he led you in, all the way to the edge of the pool. He dropped your hand to roll up his pj pants, then while he was down there, he rolled yours up, too. You both slipped of your sandals. “Sometimes I just look at the water….all lit up. Speakin’ of,” he reached in his pocket and showed you a joint.

“Not now,” you answered, and he tucked it behind his ear as he sat down on the edge.

You sat down an inch or two away from him, and he scooted over to close the gap. He placed his hand on the back of your head and you leaned into him. He put his arm around you. “Ya know pumpkin… it’s gonna be okay.” Your throat tightened again. He continued, ”There’s been times I thought it wouldn’t. But it always got better.”

You both watched the light patterns dance in the water, and he added, “Might’a taken time, but it did.”

“I dunno,” you sniffled.

He rubbed your arm and said, “Well, you’re not alone, anyway.”

And you couldn't help but laugh, “yeah I've noticed.”

--------

Thank you for reading 💙🫂

#joel miller fluff #joel miller comfort #night walks!joel #cw drugs #toxicanonymity ☠️#state of fic emergency

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static-radio-ao3 · 3 months ago

Text

hit me with your best shot

romance writer regulus & hitman james - 4.4k, referenced sexual content + deeply unserious but hopefully fun!

for @arsonfaerie <3 happy birthday, maggie!

Regulus Black loves romance. He loves reading it and he loves writing it and he would probably love experiencing it too. Unfortunately, that last one hasn't happened yet, but for now he's happy just imagining.

He likes the escape romance books provide. To retreat, even for a few hours, somewhere warm and safe. To provide that for other people.

Except, some people don't seem to appreciate his approach. He scrolls through Goodreads reviews with mounting horror and a sinking feeling. Dorcas, his literary agent, always tells him to pay it no mind, but Regulus can't help it. He minds a great deal.

He taps on a one-star review. Most reviews rate the book quite high, but the low ratings still sting.

"Stop that," Barty says, waving a fry in front of Regulus' face to get his attention.

"Stop what," Regulus replies flatly, eyes trained on the words unrealistic and unimaginative. A reviewer by the name of magswrite claims that "Regulus Black wouldn't know romance if it hit him in the face. And at this point, I think it should hit him in the face for the great disservice he does to the genre at large."

There's more, but before Regulus has the chance to read it and weep, Barty snatches his phone out of his hands. "Enough," he says, leaving no room for argument.

"Give it back." Regulus swipes for his phone but Barty manages to hold it out of reach, dropping it next to him on the red vinyl booth.

"Not until you get a fucking grip."

"They say I don't know a thing about romance," Regulus whines petulantly. He slumps in his seat and snatches a fry from Barty's plate, munching on it with a pout. "Just because I'm not the most experienced, doesn't mean I don't know what I'm talking about."

He grabs another fry, somewhat aggressive dipping it in the mayonnaise. He bites it in half and hovers the fry over the sauce again. "Can I double dip?" he asks.

Barty shoots him a dry look. "Regulus, I've licked your asshole. Yes, you can double dip in the fucking mayonnaise."

"So crass," Regulus sighs as he covers the rest of the fry in mayonnaise.

Regulus has never dated, but he's not completely inexperienced. Barty was happy to be his first and second and third and, well, they kind of lost count at some point. But they decided early on it wouldn't be more. Couldn't be more.

That's fine with Regulus. He's never been particularly interested in dating. That's not to say he's not interested in a relationship, but it's just that the prerequisite steps to get into one never quite worked out for him.

People don't like Regulus. He's too uptight, too closed off, and too hard to read. Never mind the fact that he writes books for a living.

Regulus is somewhat of a fortress. Except, there are no walls to be scaled or broken down. The only way to get inside, to get to know Regulus, is to be patient enough to be handed a key.

Only a few people have one of those keys. Barty, for one. Dorcas, his literary agent and friend, has another. His brother had one, but he left. Took the key with him. Regulus went to great lengths to change the locks.

"Hey." Barty nudges his foot under the table. He studies Regulus for a moment, always a little too observant for his own good. As if reading his mind, he says, "Maybe it's worth another try. Just put yourself out there, you'd be surprised what you'll find."

LOOKING FOR SOMEONE TO TAKE ME OUT

>> jfp_: Hey, I saw you’re looking for someone to take you out?

>> jfp_: I’m James, by the way.

>> rab_: Hi James! Yes! I just think it would be good for me…

>> jfp_: How do you want to go?

>>rab_: Do you mean where?

>>jfp_: Sure, that too.

>>rab_: I think dinner seems like a good place to start.

>>rab_: But if we want to be a little adventurous, I’ve always wanted to go skydiving…

>> jfp_: I can work with that. Friday, 7PM?

>>rab_: It’s a date!

He'd called Barty in a panic because what does one wear to a first date?

Sure, Regulus has written plenty of dates but he's never thought about what his characters are wearing. Which features they want to accentuate or hide. Which colors match their eyes and which ones wash them out.

Hess on his third outfit of the day and poses awkwardly in front of Barty, who simply shakes his head and sends him back to his closet to change.

"And where did you say you found this guy?" Barty asks as he sucks noisily on a lollipop.

"I didn't say.” Regulus’ voice is muffled as he rummages through his closet. He has an emerald green silk button-down, but he's worried that might be a bit much for a first date. He pops his head out to tell Barty, “Craigslist."

Barty's head whips towards Regulus so fast he worries he pulled something in his neck. "I'm sorry, what?" Barty manages, voice strained.

"I put up an ad on Craigslist."

"Why on God's green earth would you look for a date on Craigslist?"

"Why are you saying it like that?"

"Because it's Craigslist! Oh my God.” Barty squeezes his eyes shut like he's suddenly plagued with torturous visions. “He's probably a pervert. Or a serial killer."

"Well, what else was I supposed to do?"

"Use a dating app! Ask your friends to set you up! Go to a Barnes & Noble and look confused in the History section! Ask the barista out! Literally anything but putting up an ad on Craigslist!"

Regulus genuinely doesn't know how none of these things occurred to him. He's a romance writer, he can write a meet-cute in his sleep.

He's aware of the existence of dating apps, he's aware of the fact that his barista always doodles a little heart next to his name when he orders a drink to go, and he's probably not even above looking confused in a bookstore in the hopes that someone will approach him.

But still, knowing things in theory and doing them in practice are wildly different. It's the main reason he's even going on a date in the first place.

"How was I supposed to know?" He cries out, head in his hands.

"Common sense!”

Regulus whirls toward Barty, pointing an accusatory finger in his face. "Don't talk to me about common sense, Mr. Public Indecency Charges!"

"Those are actually more common than you'd think."

"Barty! What do I do?"

Barty heaves a deep, long-suffering sigh and pushes himself out of Regulus' desk chair. He takes a few steps towards Regulus, who thinks he might get an encouraging speech, something touching and inspiring and world changing.

But it's Barty, so he says, "Bring pepperspray," as he flops down on Regulus' bed. Regulus wrinkles his nose.

"Get off my bed. You're in your outside clothes."

"Why does that matter? It's not like you minded when Rosie and I fucked on your bed."

"You did what?” Regulus asks, incredulous. “When? Why? Is this some sort of psycho-sexual thing?"

"No, of course not,” Barty says like it's obvious, which it isn't. “It was just for Rosie's back. The couch was giving him trouble."

Every sentence out of Barty's mouth is worse than the last. Regulus pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You and Evan fucked on the couch? Wait, more importantly, did you wash the sheets after?"

"Of course not, it'd be weird to do laundry at someone else's place."

And maybe calling Barty for help wasn't such a bad idea after all. This date no longer feels like the worst thing that could possibly happen to him.

Really, how bad could it be?

Regulus is chronically early. He'll show up anywhere with several minutes to spare, usually the first person to arrive. So when he spots James Potter across the room as soon as he enters the restaurant, a pleasant little thrill runs through him.

He makes his way to the table, tucked away in the corner, a little secluded and offering the illusion of privacy in the bustling restaurant.

“You must be Regulus,” the man says when Regulus stops in front of his table. Their table. His voice is pleasant. Low and smooth.

"You're... handsome," Regulus says. Not at all the first thing one should say to a perfect stranger on a date, but well, James is handsome.

He has the messiest head of hair Regulus has ever seen, but it doesn't make him look disheveled. Instead, he looks charming and inviting.

His glasses would make anyone else look severe, but on James, they just draw attention to his beautiful eyes. Dark and deep.

When he stands to greet Regulus, Regulus notices that he’s wearing a black turtleneck tucked in smart black trousers and shiny black loafers.

"Why do you sound surprised?" He asks, head tilted to the side as he sizes Regulus up. He fidgets under James' gaze, hoping that nervous sweats won't show through the green silk shirt he's wearing.

"My friend thought you'd be a pervert. Or a serial killer,” Regulus offers with a shrug. The comment makes the corner of James' mouth quirk up in a not-quite-smile.

James has a nice mouth, Regulus decides. In the back of his mind, he runs through descriptions he might use in his books. Like he's on the verge of telling a joke, already enjoying the laughter he'll incite. Like he's got a secret tucked away and is just about to confide you in.

"Oh, I'd never be a serial killer,” James jokes as he pulls out Regulus' chair for him. “I'm a hitman."

It startles a laugh out of Regulus. He covers his mouth with his hand, as if to keep the sound from escaping but it spills out anyway. James smiles a milimeter wider at the sound, and it feels like a personal victory to Regulus.

He drops down into his chair and glances at James when he moves to sit again. At the way his trousers tighten around his thighs with the movement.

"Mh, a much more honorable profession,” he replies, eyes shifting back up to James' face.

James winks at him. "My thoughts exactly.”

“I wanted to say thank you,” Regulus starts. He shifts in his seat, suddenly nervous. “I know it was rather… unconventional to post an ad like that on Craigslist. I honestly don't know what I was thinking, I just kind of panicked.”

James waves his hand, as if physically batting the comment away.

“Don’t even worry about it. Stranger things have happened. I've actually never taken anyone out like this before.”

The statement makes something flutter in Regulus' stomach. For a moment he thinks it's hunger, but then he realizes it's the ripple of butterfly wings.

“Oh?” He asks, trying for casual. He's not sure he succeeds.

“Yeah, it's usually not as fancy. Less pomp, you know?”

“Well, I feel honored.” And he does. A flush crawls up his throat and settles on his cheeks. He hopes James can't see it in the low light of the restaurant, but Regulus suspects that James is a very observant person.

They order and chat and drink and Regulus, to his own surprise, is having a great time. James makes him laugh and asks questions, but also doesn't push.

When the food arrives, Regulus takes a quick second to send a text in the group chat he has with his friends.

>> reg: So far, so good! Very handsome and NOT a serial killer👍

He sees that a few of them read the message right away and the three dots that pop up indicate that someone is typing, but he tucks his phone away again before he can see who or what, attention on James again.

He smiles as he looks at the food, but the white powder sprinkled on top makes him frown.

He glances at James, who looks at him expectantly, as if eager to see Regulus take that first bite. He must really love the food here, Regulus thinks.

With another quick smile at James, he turns in his seat so he can flag down a waiter. “Hi, I'm so sorry but this seems to have… parmesan on it? I'm lactose intolerant…”

“Oh, I see! Terribly sorry about that, sir. I'll get you a new one right away.”

“Whew,” he tells James, “crisis averted.”

James hums, but he seems a little confused.

“I'm lactose intolerant,” Regulus clarifies. “It's very not-sexy so I won't go into detail, but nothing good happens when I eat cheese and such.”

“Ah,” James says.

“Please eat!” Regulus says with a gesture towards James' own plate. “I wouldn't want your food to get cold.”

“Nonsense, I'll wait.” And the simple gesture makes butterfly wings flutter even quicker. He takes a sip of wine in an attempt to drown them.

The rest of the meal passes smoothly, no more food-related incidents. Regulus keeps a a watchful eye on all the food he eats, not wanting to have to cut the date short because of a stomach emergency.

James insists on dessert, so they split a lemon sherbet between them, one of the few lactose-free options on the menu. James seems vaguely disappointed that they don't get the tiramisu, but the sherbet is so good, Regulus doubts James minds for long.

“I have a surprise,” James says once they've paid.

Regulus wasn't sure what the proper first-date-bill-etiquette was, but before he could worry about it, James had slipped the waiter his card and took care of it.

The butterflies returned with a vengeance.

“Oh?” Regulus asks, interested piqued. “Do tell.”

James' laugh is warm and easy. “Well it wouldn't be much of a surprise then, would it?” The flickering lamp on the parking lot casts James in a warm yellow glow, accentuating his nose and his jaw. He looks like an angel in disguise.

James drives them to the city center, he'd even opened the car door for Regulus. He thought that was just a romance trope, not an actual thing people did. He's pleased to be proven wrong.

He watches the city lights flash by as they get closer to their destination. Their destination that is still a mystery to Regulus, by the way. He recognizes some places they pass but James' doesn't slow. Not until they're at the big, blocky building that has an arcade, a cinema, a laser tag arena, and an adventure park, whatever that is.

“Couldn't take you skydiving at 10 p.m.,” James starts as he helps Regulus out of the car, “but I figured ziplining might also do the trick.”

Regulus gasps, touched.

Apparently, you can zipline off the roof of this particular building and land on the next one where they have a beautiful rooftop bar.

The two of them pay for the harness and the gear, listen carefully to the instructions provided by the slightly bored attendant. Her blonde hair is choppily cut, the edges dyed pink as if she did it over her own bathroom sink.

James and Regulus take turns helping the other suit up. James' hands are warm and big, holding onto Regulus' waist to stabilize him as he steps into the harness. James fiddles with the back clasps for a second before declaring that Regulus is all set.

Regulus then does the same for James, securing the clasps and making sure all the straps are pulled taut and tight. And maybe he steals a look or two at James' ass, but the harness does wonderful things for him and Regulus is a simple man.

They talk easily as they wait for their turn, the to girls in front of them jittery and nervous. It occurs to Regulus that he should probably also feel jittery and nervous right now, but James makes him feel so at ease.

He's about to tell James as much when the attendant calls out, “WAIT!”

The urgency in her voice startles Regulus away from the ledge. She hurries over, tugging on her lip piercing in a worried fashion as she unclips Regulus' harness. “Oh my God,” she breathes. “The wire is fraying!”

“What does that mean?” Regulus asks, eyebrows pinching together in concern.

“That means this thing could've ended really badly, holy shit. I'm so glad I caught it. I'm sorry sir, I have no idea how this harness made it through our inspection. I assure you that we prioritize out clientele’s safety above all else. If you want to cancel your reservation for tonight, I absolutely understand. You'll get a refund of course—”

“Oh, well, I don't think that'll be necessary! Maybe we can still do the zipline. That is, if you still want to?” He turns to face James, directing his question at him.

James has his arms crossed in front of his chest, an impressive frown on his face as he looks at the faulty harness.

Regulus steps in closer to him, lowering his voice. “Hey, it's not your fault. She caught it in time and I'm completely fine. I'd still really like to do this, but if you're uncomfortable…”

James snaps out of his annoyance when Regulus touches his hand to James' chest. “No, let's do it,” he says, that easy smile returning. As long as James is with him, Regulus thinks he's as safe as can be.

The zipline is exhilarating. A thrill shoots through Regulus as he flies through the night sky, city lights blurring around him in a neon dream. James is flying next to him, arms stretched wide.

Regulus copies him and for a brief moments their fingertips touch, sending a fresh thrill down Regulus’ spine.

They land on the rooftop bar windswept and energized, a restless hum under his skin. He understands thrill-seekers now. That rush of adrenaline is unlike anything he's felt before. Although he wonders if the feeling is caused by the zipline or by James.

And he understand, now, what that reviewer meant about Regulus not knowing romance. He never knew it could feel like this. So thrilling and exhilarating yet comfortable and safe. James awakens in him emotions he didn't think he had and he is suddenly grateful to Goodreads reviewer magswrite for forcing him out of his books and into the real world.

He giggles helplessly into James' shoulder, the turtleneck soft under his cheek and the scent of fresh laundry filling his nostrils.

“That was…” but he doesn't finish his sentence, simply gazes up at James. He leans in, just the slightest bit, breath coming a little quicker. His eyes flutter shut and he hears the way James’ breath stutters.

Before their lips can connect, James jerks away. “Sorry!” He says loudly, not quite a yell but a near thing.

Regulus tries to ignore the sting. It's not weird to not kiss on the first date, he reasons. Maybe James needs more time.

Regulus takes a step back, removing himself from James' personal space. He tries to muster a reassuring smile, but it feels watery and thin, like he could burst into tears at any moment.

It's fine, he tells himself. Don't be a baby.

He feels a little unsteady now that he has removed himself from James' orbit and he mutters an excuse about needing to use the bathroom.

He calls Barty, who picks up on the second ring. “What?” He asks, breathless.

“Barty? Why are you out of breath?”

“Busy,” is all he says in return.

“Yeah, sorry, I… My date is going well but I tried to kiss him and he—”

A loud moan cuts him off mid-sentence.

“Are you having sex right now?” Regulus cries out. He ignores the pointed cough coming from one of the stalls.

Barty grunts in affirmation.

“Oh my God!” Regulus closes his eyes and is met with the mental image of Barty and Evan. He immediately opens them again. “Why did you pick up?”

“Case of emergency.”

Regulus can’t even find it in himself to feel touched at the sentiment. While it is kind of sweet, it is also deeply unhelpful right now. “I swear to all that is holy, if you are in my bed…”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Barty pants as if a few hours ago he didn't admit to having done that exact thing.

Regulus doesn't bother with a response. He simply hangs up the phone and shoves it into his pocket with perhaps a bit more gusto than strictly necessary.

He glances at himself in the mirror, taking a quick second to fix his hair. The windswept and messy look works for James, but Regulus feels like it makes him look more boyish and disorganized than charming and ruffled.

He makes his way back to James, who has managed to secure them a table on the edge of the crowd. It’s nice, being a little secluded from the rest. This way they can talk properly, something that Regulus usually dreads about dates but actually really liked when it comes to James.

“You strike me as an Old Fashioned guy,” James says when Regulus is in earshot. He gestures at the drink on the table. He's holding a drink of his own, a Martini.

“Very James Bond of you,” he remarks. James lifts his glass in salute. “And you're not wrong, I am an Old Fashioned guy." Regulus shifts his weight from one foot to the other, a sudden spike of nerves in his gut. "But I think I've had enough excitement for tonight… I should probably stick with water.”

On the one hand, Regulus really does think he’s had enough excitement for the time being, a faint buzz under his skin still from the zipline and from the almost-kiss. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to risk crossing the line between pleasantly tipsy and embarrassingly tipsy. He doesn’t think he can bear making a fool of himself in front of James. Again.

His lips tingle with the phantom feeling of James’ on them.

Regulus winces at the open disappointment on James' face. It kind of feels like a capital crime to upset James, his eyes wide and earnest behind his glasses.

“I'm sorry—” Regulus starts, but James interrupts him with a bright, “Don't be!”

Relief courses through Regulus’ veins, reassured by James’ smile. With a warm hand at the small of his back, they make their way towards the bar, where Regulus orders some water. The bartender looks a little confused to see James back again so soon, but hands Regulus his water before hurrying off to the other side to the bar and serve the people there.

They linger at the bar, not in any rush to get back to their table, to separate. Regulus leans in close so he can talk to James without having to shout over the music that’s playing.

“Have you been here before?” He asks. He tries not to inhale James’ laundry-clean scent, worried it’ll completely shatter his inhibitions. He feels more drunk off of James’ presence than he could from any drink.

James tilts his head to speak directly into Regulus’ ear. Regulus shivers when James’ lips brush against his skin. “No, this was a first. I don’t like going places with familiar people. It makes this whole thing more complicated.”

“That’s fair,” Regulus acquiesces. He can’t imagine being on a date and running into people he knows. He figures it worsens the inherent awkwardness of a first date.

He's glad he didn't have to share James with anyone else just yet, happy to remain in their bubble a while longer.

They pass time at the bar, venturing back to their table eventually to enjoy the view. It really is rather beautiful, but Regulus finds that his eyes wander to James more often than not. To the way his hair falls over his forehead and the way his muscles strain in his shirt and the way his Adam’s apple shifts when he takes a sip of his Martini.

No amount of water can drown the butterflies that flutter wildly in his stomach.

James offers to drive Regulus home. The car ride is nice, spent talking idly as music spills from the radio. When they arrive at Regulus’ apartment building, James hesitates.

“I'm sorry tonight was a bit of a bust,” he says eventually.

Regulus isn’t sure what James means. Yeah, maybe the cheese on his pasta was a bit of a bummer and the fact that he nearly went on the zipline with a faulty harness and then there was also the double rejection of James not wanting a kiss and Regulus not wanting a drink, but if he overlooks all those things, the date was… Pretty perfect.

And Regulus thinks it’s a good sign that he enjoyed himself as much as he did despite the minor issues they ran into. He’s quick to reassure James, turning in his seat so he can face him.

“Not at all! I had such a good time, James.” He leans over so he can touch his hand to James’, as if to physically convey his sincerity. “I promise.”

James clenches his jaw, a tension in his shoulders that Regulus desperately wants to work away. His hand shifts to fully grab James’. He intertwines their fingers.

“Still… I'll do better next time.” James cuts him a glance. “If you'll let me, that is.”

And Regulus has no choice but to kiss him for it. He doesn’t try to kiss him on the lips, he’s more than happy to let James indicate when he’s ready for that, if at all. Instead, he leans in slowly, giving James ample time to move away. He doesn’t. Regulus places a gentle kiss on James’ cheek. When he pulls away, he sees a faint dusting of pink there. A rosy blush.

He exits the car as gracefully as possible, which is a tall order considering the fact that James drives a Jeep, but the promise of next time carries him all the way to his front door as though on a cloud.

Regulus opens his front door with a flush on his cheeks and toes off his shoes with a swarm of butterflies in his stomach. He boots up his laptop, the blank document staring back at him.

He thinks of James, with his messy hair and his warm smile and his big hands.

He takes a deep breath. And he starts typing: Dominic Coin loves romance. He loves reading it and he loves writing it and he would probably love experiencing it too. Unfortunately, that last one hasn't happened yet, but for now he's happy just imagining. That is until…

#this is supposed to be silly!!#as for all the barty content.... i was going through something ok #everyone say happy birthday maggie!!!#i hope you like it <33 #it's been so tough keeping this to myself for a month but i wanted it to be a surprise #regulus black #james potter #jegulus #jegulus au #jegulus fic #mil's writing

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court-jobi · 2 months ago

Text

How'd You Know (I Needed This)

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's (sleepy) characters/work))

Pairing: Aizawa x reader (American!Pro Hero fem!reader, set before the events of Season 1)

Words: 4.9K

Rating: T+

Warnings: Aizawa has feelings and doesn't know what to do with them, alcohol mentions, slow burn, he fell first she fell harder, the feeling is mutual TM

Summary:

Shouta Aizawa surrenders his capture weapon for the night in favor of humoring Hizashi, and is rewarded for his follow-through at his show. He wants to know you, more than he has from teaching the brats alongside you for the last few months. Wants to know the smile that reaches your eyes more intimately.

He’s happy he gets this balcony happy hour with you -out from all their eyes inside- to be able to water this sweet, small thing he feels towards you to fullness.

A/N: I've been WAITING for this one, turn it up!!! Aizawa my beloved, I've wanted to write you for so, so long and can only hope I can do you justice. The man just has such a gentle side and I just wanted to give him something nice and self-indulgent~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Damn it, why was he thinking like this? He’s in public for goodness’ sakes, with only two sips of drink under his belt. Not two drinks- two sips of a drink. So if that’s the case of his sobriety, why was he off in his own little headspace as if he were drunk?

‘Put Your Hands Up Radio’ found its home recording studio attached to this lounge: a place Shouta Aizawa never frequented unless expressly invited- or when Eraserhead was needed to scout out trouble. Far too noisy, too chatty, and filled with too many grown adults losing their sensibilities for his liking.

Through one round of begging or another, he’d been roped into joining some of the staff of UA to an evening out, in support of Present Mic. Naturally, Aizawa would go- as his presence would all but guarantee everyone else’s. Despite begrudging the plans that pushed himself out of his preferred rest mode, he kept true to his word for Hizashi’s sake.

Promise kept, and therefore, appears to have been rewarded.

Once the show wrapped for the night, his best friend was over the moon at how things were turning into a party that Friday night. After a day of shrill, whinging teenagers he’d wrangled all week, this level of volume was honestly the last thing he needed. Yamada’s voice doubled the decibel of the entire room- and that’s without his quirk activated. He always managed to annoy Aizawa when he started fangirling about one duet matchup or another.

But truthfully? Every sound this tired hero registered around him fell to white noise while he looked at you…

Sweet Little Miss, you are; gracing the lounge with your presence. You’re a vision tonight. Insist with your lilting dip to your words they all call you by your first name, outside of school grounds and against what’s considered custom. No hero titles either, unless an emergency called for formalities- then you’d cave.

These Americans are too casual. Even down to these outfits. What’s this– black turtleneck, necklace she won’t leave alone- moving it around her thumb like that, short skirt.. and those damn thigh highs and tights. How is it she’s driving that moped of hers, wearing something like this…

Everything on your person, down to the way you held yourself in perfect confidence and ease adorned you like a perfectly-styled pro hero. It couldn't be a more stark contrast to his tried and true wardrobe. Even this after-hours look sat perfectly around each bend and curve of you, as you listened to the group.

You’re smiling, too. It’s subtle, but it reaches your eyes, which makes it all the more authentic.

A smile he shouldn’t want to keep all to himself. Curves he really should have no business noticing. Features that he’s actually surprised he’s labeling as ‘attractive’ in his mind because the last time he ever felt an ounce of attraction to anyone in that way, he’d barely been able to grow facial hair.

Desire for a safe place to land his dizzying mind is driving his tired sights to look to you for relief again and again in the conversation– without you even saying a single word.

The barely-touched drink in his hand is only a prop; something to make him blend into the scene and not something he’s actually tasting for pleasure… meaning, these are his thoughts. Nearly completely sober. Should be illegal. Just illegal-

"Yo Sho, you still with us, sleepyhead?"

Yamada pulled him out of his thoughts. Disguising any flare of being put on the spot, Aizawa flitted his absent gaze back to his blond friend–

"Be nice. He’s had a rough day and is a good enough sport by being here,” you chirped up catching Yamada’s pull for Aizawa to part from the fringes of your little gathering.

Now toward you? He’ll soften his edge. After all, with you sticking up for him with blind loyalty, he nearly felt guilty for spacing out and causing you to speak up in the first place.

“- yknow, I'm inclined to take a nap myself," you leaned forward to grab a few more calamari bites to tend to your seemingly insatiable appetite. Aizawa felt warm at the sweetness and straightened up at Yamada’s prodding.

From then on, he made sure to look in your direction more often when you spoke to help him pay attention. He still didn't say much, never did. But he liked the company well enough.

These nights were truly few and far between. Life as an in-demand hero left him jumping from role to role, daytime and midnight obligations. The routine split his waking hours and stretched them paper thin. Now more than ever, he typically shirked as much off time as he was offered. And yet, he had to remember to prioritize levity and breaks– and in this case, indulge his treasured friend’s interests and ‘take one for the team’. Good for morale, he reasoned, just this once.

The occasion was also a way for you to integrate with the group in an informal setting– great for the transplant from the States. You’ve taken amicably to the group of alumni-turned-faculty at UA, though much still remained a mystery about you, presently being peeled back bit by bit through stories and slips of the tongue. There was only so much a dossier could truly reveal about a person- even one curated by S.W.O.R.D. to volunteer aid their Japanese counterparts in their hero work.

It couldn’t tell what kind of teacher you’d turned out to be. Even with no experience working with students, you tread the line between instilling team-centered outlooks and pushing their quirk’s limitations to their max benefit. A crafty, inventive counterpart to complement his blunt teaching style: better together, and even the principal agreed.

It couldn’t point out where your true ambitions lie or where your drive came from. There remained much to be explained as far as your hero status here in Japan– a red-tape nightmare Aizawa was still intrigued to learn about. So far, you’d shared some limitations about “immigration statuses are being vetted with a fine toothed comb, so they’re still trekking through the paperwork”, so your wings are essentially clipped down to a student’s provisional license. This doesn’t please you too much, but you’re driven as much as his finest students with the aire of a professional he’d love to see in full action.

It couldn’t explain the stillness you could dip into, that he only caught once or twice when you believe yourself alone. There’s a past was weighing your shoulders level and compliant in the eyes of the law… but an urge to push back and ‘play this out’ brought hypotheticals to your lips whenever you chatted about what hero life is like for him, and added a sparkle to the eye that he had yet to fully source.

It couldn’t give away the gentleness you hold behind a carefully guarded smile– even in this harsh hero world. Maybe it was that indomitable spirit that those foolhardy patriots overseas carried… or rather, maybe it was the way you fought against such a loud persona. So far, Aizawa has taken only a few notes, but each little mental post-it was cluttering up his headspace. You held a quiet love of tea, a comical passion for the oxford comma, and a mind to care for the little things in life– like the lizards you rescue in an inverted cup to take outside where they belong .

Surely life must have treated you hard to elicit such softness. Something tenderized you to achieve the peace you carry around or else you’re wearing a damn good mask. No, he determines you had to have made a choice to continue on the path that’s brought you to the present– even to this table where you’re taking your fill of maki rolls while casting little caring glances his way.

All smiles and calm surety, as he mills through his thoughts that are damn near obsessed with you.

An employee file could never record ‘heart’, anymore than it could expose anything you didn’t want to reveal.

The night progresses while Aizawa stews on these thoughts, and plenty of others… for the ones that drift to his co-teacher offer him more mental stimulation than that he finds in the club’s lights and music.

Yamada’s night of filling his social battery was made nearly perfect by the karaoke that just started. Several of the other teachers got preoccupied in round after round of song, so it left Aizawa with a moment's peace.

Well, peace he was going to enjoy by laying back on the couch for a little shuteye– when his gut jumped at the feeling of a hand trailing up his forearm to the elbow with a polite, companionable touch.

Facing its owner, Aizawa caught your little smirk and nod towards the balcony. You didn't pull hard, yet he followed like a magnet out to the patio.

From there, rather than stay by the door to listen in on their friends ‘releasing their inhibitions and feeling the rain on their skin’, you took him to the right, where a matching lounge set positioned itself in a blind spot between the rooftop bar and the fire escape.

"Thought you looked like you could benefit from some soundproofing~" you brushed your hair back over one shoulder to follow the breeze’s direction, and left an open spot next to you by the railing.

Nightlife and neon didn’t hold magic for Eraserhead given as many nights as he’s spent perched on precarious heights, but through a newcomer’s eyes, he could see the appeal. This part of the city glowed at night from dusk to dawn, and you clearly loved looking out over it; Aizawa certainly didn't mind this view either.

Your perception skills are spot on, and incredibly thoughtful as you’ve suggested some fresh air- for his sake. If he wasn’t drawn to you any of the other times he’s paid attention to the spastic moths a more romantic person might call ‘butterflies’ before… this cements each and every one as valid.

He likes you. He really likes you.

Time passed with appreciative quiet until you spoke again,

"The only thing is, you can't really see stars in the city... there’s too much light."

"The beaches have a nice view," Aizawa replied after some thought.

"Oh yeah?"

"Enough to stargaze properly,” he offered without much sentimentality. Right by the pier was the best spot he and his former classmates would go on the weekends, before their hero work took off.

"I'll have to remember to take a drive there. Y'know, sometime when I'm not in two-and-a-half-inch heels." you chuckled as you shuffled back to the rattan settee, sitting for a bit to stretch out your legs. "I don't know how Nemuri does it."

"Feet hurt already?" Aizawa snuck his hands from his pockets and came to the seat across from yours. “Night’s young.”

"Getting there," your laugh greeted him over, "But you know what they say, dress to impress and all that. Yamada really pitched some hype for this afterparty, so~"

Fashion was hardly something that ever swayed Aizawa’s decision-making. Utilitarian was the way to go for his wardrobe- then, as now.

"If aesthetics are all that determine these pros’ attention, that’s horribly vain."

You bristled in good humor,

"He didn't mean it like that– I just meant, he said to look nice for fun instead of for work. Call it ‘girl code’ if you want. We know that means to– just– /doll up a bit/!"

Aizawa held back a snicker at how you still ran into difficulties finding the most apt Japanese equivalents in your (pretty decently executed) second language. English slang you reverted to in moments like these fell from your mouth with an odd drawl. Still couldn’t place the regional accent you carried, but it charmed Aizawa all the same.

“//Doll up//?” he mimicked.

"//I like dolling up//!"

Aizawa reached and pulled his glass to his lips, meant to look aloof but not hiding his interest altogether well.

"You don’t need to put on airs to get people to notice you…"

"Right, because the accent gives me away."

"No, it’s your-”

Finally, a coward’s streak flared deep in his belly to shut him up. A rare hesitation. Damn this. What the hell’s happening to me–

“–nevermind."

"My what?" you’re fully interested, knowing a secret when it's presented.

"Nothing important."

Thankfully you not-so-subtlety dropped it with a hummed ‘ok’, but kept a watchful eye for him in your peripherals.

The pro hero mused. Better for him to be honest, right?

Just choose your words carefully. You’ll have to look her in the eye after this, you know.

Aizawa widened his seated stance so his knee barely breached your space.

Your sights lifted to him while he put his best poker face on. It’s not really any different than what he’d give to a perfect stranger– the only difference here is he has to force it.

Shit shit shit you're in deep, Shouta.

"You're plenty noticeable as you are. Anyone who meets you can see that," Aizawa shared in his usual soft-spoken tone. "Give ‘em ten minutes, and you've got them wrapped around your finger. It’s a whole impression, not just the outer package. Doesn't matter if you're in a dress that costs a month’s paycheck or a black button down. You're welcoming, sincere..."

He’s realizing he might be trailing off, but finding you listening with full attention led him on; no liquid courage required.

"You're stunning from the inside out. Enough to get others to notice."

Aizawa heard your appreciation before he saw it, a hum preceding the a genteel smile. With the win of his walls coming down, he had to give an honest smirk back. It was only fair; you’d earned it just by being you. By your flattered look, you were touched– but your brain was still working beneath the surface, and soon showed by a fleeting expression that spit from him.

Then, you caught your bottom lip for a second, before daring to look in Aizawa’s eyes again. It’s a sneaky look– like he’d snuck a peek at a card he’d meant to hide.

"...You remember what I wore on my first day at UA."

It was half question, half amusement. So dear, but oh-so pointed.

Aizawa froze.

"Black button down. You noticed me, then?" you countered more, "And here I thought you didn't care about appearances~"

"In professional circles, no. Personal… that's a different thing, entirely."

He kept your sights locked onto his, not unlike how he used his quirk in a challenge– only far softer and he could risk the occasional blink.

Even when you took his glass from his hand and placed it away on the table alongside yours, he still looked fondly after you, in fact tilting his head to the other side, studying the way one piece of your hair was caught by your neck. What he’d give to be familiar with you enough to ever-so-carefully brush it back, letting his touch send a wave of shivers across your skin and maybe even make you hum at the gesture. But he couldn’t trust himself to do it now, settling on stretching his arm around the back of the couch. Just an open move, letting you join him on the couch as close as you’d like.

Was he really doing this? He never has before, but this felt so natural.

You smiled still– and as you sit, you’re leaning into it. Well then.

“What was I wearing, Aizawa?”

With free fingers, he risked some little brushes on your near shoulder, bringing a happy little eyebrow lift from you. He just took in your features in close quarters, settled in it, as he remembered that day:

Black button down, grey skirt. Biker boots -practical choice- and these damn tights.

Aizawa’s dazed in the head, but he knows he's listed it off aloud based on how your sights widen, impressed.

"Hmmm, tights do it for ya?” you smiled, “I'm surprised you haven't jumped the darling Ms. Nemuri then."

"I know way too much about Kayama to ever consider her that way,” Aizawa’s tempered hand twirled a finger along a blown-away section of hair, just absently enough. “You however, tease just enough."

"Do I tease you?” you offer with a little depth, “I don't mean to."

It’s here he’s worry he’s stepping over a line- if it weren’t for the downright delicious look in your eye. You say it like you’re sorry for acting unprofessionally– but you’re urging him on, hardly apologetic for your sweet posturing.

"You may not mean it, but it's not unnoticed,"

He took second to swallow, and steps fully over it.

"or unwelcome."

You’re pleased with this, but deflect with your trademarked humor-

"Well now that’s saying something. You've seen me in my pjs, too- far from glamorous. That didn't break the allure for you?"

Aizawa had to huff though his nose at that memory.

"I caught you at arguably your most real self, that first night you patched me up," His outstretched arm rubbed full circles onto your shoulder now, with the lightest touch.

“Still have no clue why you chose me over Recovery Girl. For the harshest grader in school, that was a pretty dumb move.”

“You were closer than going to campus. It was the practical choice.”

“You didn't even know if I knew first aid.”

“You do,” Aizawa smirked. “You're too nurturing to not have a knack for it.”

Your legs crossed over, deflecting both your words and refreshing your body movement. In doing so, you slid even closer- a move not lost on Aizawa.

“Well, I'm still not happy about it. You needed more attending than I was able to pull off. Whatever you get into those nights,” you flitted a look to the underside of his arm that lays outstretched –where you know he sports a scar now- “It… looked like it hurt, ‘Zawa.”

Warm. Warm and cared form. Felt it then, feel it now. That's the life in his chest he gets when he’s around you.

"Can't change the past, and I certainly wouldn't have changed that. Wouldn’t pass up seeing that sight of you for the world."

This connection, this dance, it all feels that it must be older than what it is, more rooted in a shared history than a short few months.

Aizawa wants to ‘get’ you. Know the thoughts behind your eyes. Get you talking, even if it means he needs to give up his silent nights and muted text alerts so he can learn you. He’s happy he gets this balcony happy hour with you, out from other’s eyes, to be able to water this sweet, small thing he feels towards you to fullness.

His eyes narrowed playfully, "Are you embarrassed right now?"

Out of this entire teasing exchange, that note seemed to surprise you and turned you shy. Short of clapping a hand onto your cheek, you just darted your gaze away- can you be cuter if you tried?

“h-Yeah, a little!" –though you tried to snark your way out of it, "you were hurt before, and blubbery- but now that we’re y'know– awake, and talking... Pretty faces make me nervous."

Nervous? Pretty? Aizawa doesn’t like the sound of either of those.

Aizawa raised a brow and gave a look, a touch more serious.

"Hey," He tapped your chin still with his free hand, "if you want me to lay off, you say the word."

Blindly, you hold his hand from retreating away– "No. You're good, I promise."

He’s drowning in you leaning into the cool touch offered to you–

“ Heh, I–uh… I’m pretty sure ‘friends’ don’t talk about each other like this, though.”

He couldn't be a coward now– not with you melting on the spot and giving him an insane amount of hope.

“Maybe not,” Aizawa reasoned gently, “-not if they’re content to stay that way.”

–then all of a sudden his heart soared at her next words:

"Well… I like this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I like you, like this.” With your insistence for touch, you cupped his wrist in your own chill-tipped hand.

Hell yeah.

Aizawa huffs another win in his foolish heart, but then watches as you keep talking– you don’t break from your softness, but look reflective off to an absent point on his chest.

“It’s funny, y'know? Most jobs, you’d be lucky to find someone you would actually wanna talk to outside of board meetings and quarterly reports… but here in our line of work, you count on each other to save your lives.”

“That’s right.” Aizawa breathes.

“I uh.. never thought I’d be workin’ with kids- trying to keep them alive too. Teach them how to do the same. But I wouldn’t feel nearly as confident to do it, rise to the challenge, if it weren’t for you, ‘Zawa. You’re just as special. Inside and out.”

And when you look to his eyes again, fully awake and still sober, he swears he’ll say yes to any night Hizashi invites him to if it means he can have you this close. Things with you just feel lived-in. Companionable. He’s drawn to you in a way unlike others before you, because he didn’t believe he’s had the right, desire, or time to even entertain it.

But everything’s different now. It just works, in his mind. He wants to spend his respites, his missions, everything- with you at his side, having his back. For however long you’d let him.

Touching your cheek, cursing the helmet you’d have to wear on the way home that would hide this angelic face from him once again– Aizawa curls towards you, barely tipping his head which screams ‘kiss her you ass’. You notice, and follow his lead almost halfway.

“Yeah, I like you like this…” you sighed lightly, “--and I’d like us like this, too.”

"Hm. Good."

...the door to the patio swinging open from around the corner startles you both. Present Mic doesn’t know his strength as he projects for the block to hear, swaggering about in his search.

You looked flustered sitting back up, but Aizawa was characteristically unphased at the sight of Hizashi finally rounding with a singsong cry of his name.

Dammit.

"Hey kids, been looking for YOU, Miss America! There's some stateside artists on the karaoke lineup with your name on iiiiit- c’mon! I hyped you already to Nemuri– she didn't believe me that you sang with me for my English midterms!!"

"What?!” you blanched, “ Who said I was doing that?"

"I did!!” Yamada thumbed at his own brilliance, “ C’mon I'll do the first one with you!"

"First one– Dude, I don't need to be touting my Southern-ass self to a bunch of pros before I even make a name for myself here."

"This is HOW you'll do it! Come n’ wow them, break the ice- you’ll do amazing!" Yamada came to your side of the settee, tugging you up to your feet with little fight. "Tch, Sho, you're rubbing off on her, aren't you? Turning our sweet teach into a wallflower as we speak, huh?"

"She was doing me a favor- has an eye out for me when I needed an escape, unlike you." Aizawa droned, to your amusement.

"Yeah yeah fair enough. Now pleeeeeease, would you come inside? It would be so much fun!"

From the way you’re freshening your jacket collar, you’re warmed from the neck up, caught between what just almost happened and the current situation Yamada is putting you in.

You look to Aizawa just like you did inside– a glance, but it lingers longer than before. Like you are waiting to see what he thinks. If he’ll stay or go, should you leave.

But Aizawa isn’t so selfish like before. He doesn’t feel it necessary to keep you to himself, because he sees your affection so clearly in your eyes now. He hosts butterflies in his stomach, yes, but they aren’t frantic and flitting about wondering what you may or may not think of him- chronically tired and a contrast to the breath of fresh air you are. You see him as a companion, too. Someone he might just get the chance to study, and learn, and adore in return.

No, he knows you like him as he is. Knows you’ll choose to meet him where he stands. He can share you, and will simply watch on as you stun him even more...

The Pro-Hero is desperate for some eyedrops in all this wind outside, but he would grin and bear it if you choose to deny Yamada’s pull on you. So instead, he merely leans forward to perch on his knees, with a hand on the lip of both your drinks. What Aizawa says in his non-answer left it open to what you wanted to do. Stay or go, he’d follow suit.

Returning to the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed fellow teacher, you breathily gave in with your ‘ok’.

"YEAAAAAUHHHH!"

"Damn peer pressure."

"You said yes," Aizawa smirked.

"Oh if she’s going, you're coming in too!" Hizashi was already whisking you away, and Aizawa rose on his own, following your knowing smile over your shoulder and matching it.

With many forced karaoke and radio show nights, it’s Aizawa who braves the crowd and comes up behind you at one of Present Mic’s shows, stepping in from the balcony where you wait by its door. He’s fresh off of work, sporting a new scar across his cheek courtesy of his day job, this time.. but you greet him with that familiar scrunch of the nose that he still finds adorable.

It’s rare he leaves campus nowadays, because he feels the stakes are higher than ever for him to remain vigilant. His students are his life, and as proud of them as he is, they are a constant effort of his mind and strength. Rest doesn’t come easy, and his rewards for a job (passably) done aren’t found in many places.

One constant he has found helps, has been you.

You, still alluring as ever, but who makes sure he doesn’t fixate on giving and giving of himself until he breaks– but to take his rests, reset, and even take a little jaunt over to these radio shows when he has staff coverage back at the dorms. Gives you two some time to get nostalgic, sentimental– or as close as he can get to those mushy spots in his heart about the club where he wrestled out his feelings for you for the first time.

He smooths a hand across your lower back now, when he joins you. He’s held onto your hands when they're cold, giving you whatever warmth he has. He knows each and every gap on your resume, partnered with you out on the streets, tag-teams in his classroom with this plucky 1-A Class he now leads, and is content to let you fill his thoughts when he wants to rest his eyes.

He doesn’t fight his affections now. Still would rather not simper in public too much because he’s quite averse to being the center of tabloids’ attentions, but stands by you all the same.

"I'm surprised to not see you up there,” Aizawa greets, cool as ever.

You lean on a hip, closer to him.

"He's got his sets lined up today, didn't ask me-” You speak a little louder over the crowd, “I swear, your cockatoo still acts like I'm some gift from the heavens, just ‘cuz I can sing!"

"It's earned. You deserve every bit of it, and not just from Hizashi."

You turned over to him shyly, drawing his attention further– your tendencies to melt under his words encourages Aizawa to compliment you directly. Often. Whatever it is about his voice that you say you’re obsessed with, he still doesn’t understand– but he uses it to full advantage as he robs your drink from your hand,

"I happen to think you have a gorgeous voice," Aizawa speaks low to your ear. “You should sing at home more often.”

“Please. As if the kids would ever let me live it down.”

You refer -of course- to the twenty shared students between you, taking them all in stride since you’ve sufficiently bonded through fire alongside them.

“That’s teaching for ya. Gotta push yourself beyond, plus ultra and all that.”

You chortle back in your throat, risking a kiss on his etched cheek to counter his snide remark,

“You’re off the clock, ‘Zawa. No more hero talk, huh?”

Aizawa cocks a brow, stealing a sip, “Sorry we can’t all turn it off like you, dear.”

The comment has you biting the inside of your mouth at the tease, and allows him a quick moment to press the glass’ condensation against his eye.

“Want some air, hon?” you try again, softer than this atmosphere should allow.

Looking back at you -your hold on his elbow ready to guide him outside just like the first night- and Aizawa doesn’t need any more sips of the whiskey he holds.

The retreat to ‘your couch’ is one he looks forward to any chance he gets. Bass boosted from the speakers inside becomes background noise that dulls his senses, doubled by the way you cozy up under his arm watching the skyline shift in light and color in comfortable silence. You trade roles with him: taking watch while he shuts his eyes for some restorative hydration.

But before he gets too terribly relaxed by your weight settling his aching muscles to stillness, he registers a warm press to his mouth that he’s quick to chase after. That’s a satisfying thought, too: he doesn't have to imagine what it'd be like to kiss you anymore.

#shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta #shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha #bnha #aizawa fluff #mha aizawa #bnha aizawa #aizawa my beloved

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littlefireball · 4 months ago

Text

ᴊʜ|ᴄᴏʟʟɪᴅᴇ ᴛᴏ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴅᴇᴘᴛʜ (ᴍ)

ʙᴏʏꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ᴊᴏɴɢʜᴏ x ɢɪʀʟꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1.9ᴋ

MISS.

Jongho let out a sigh as he glanced at the scoreboard, his score barely reaching double digits. Billiards was proving to be more challenging than he had anticipated…no, normally, he wouldn't struggle this much. Something was definitely off...

"Don't space out, Jjong." Your voice cut through his thoughts, bringing him back to reality. "You're the one who challenged me to this game, remember?" You teased, noticing the blush creeping up his neck as he tried to hide his embarrassment with a smile, avoiding your gaze... or more accurately, your chest.

You were dressed in a simple t-shirt and shorts, nothing revealing, but every time you leaned over the table, your collar would dip, giving him a glimpse of your chest pressing against the fabric.

He remembered how soft it felt.

"It's your turn, Jong." He nodded and made his way to the other side of the table, feeling your eyes on him as he leaned in to take his shot. His tight pants hugged his long legs, showcasing the well-defined muscles of his thighs underneath. That tight feeling was what you loved the most. “Damn…”You couldn't help but bite your lip, memories of riding on them flashing through your mind.

Did he do it on purpose?

This time, Jongho managed to score high, leaving you trailing behind. You looked at the scoreboard in amazement. "Wow, you're really good, Jong." He beamed proudly, looking like a cute baby, seemingly unfazed by any distractions. "I bounced back!"

You chuckled at his words and leaned down again, but this time Jongho stood behind you to avoid seeing your chest and was distracted by─Shit…his eyes couldn’t be taken off from your hips. Wearing short pants was not the best choice, especially when you were leaning on the table, showcasing the beautiful curves of your butt perfectly.

Gosh, maybe he had to close his eyes so he won’t be attracted to you.

Realizing that Jongho was staring at your backside in the mirror, a bad idea that you would regret soon after came to your mind. To end your turn early, you deliberately hit the cue ball. With an evil smirk on your face, you turned around and walked towards him, slightly pulling down your collar.

"It's your turn, babe," you whispered in his ear as you sat on his lap, feeling him grow hard against you. "How can I play if you don't get off me?" he murmured.

"Maybe you can just push me away," you teased, mimicking how Jongho fucked you when you were riding him, causing him to growl deeply. If it weren't for the barrier of your clothes, he would have penetrated your cunt without a second thought.

"You slut," he said, wrapping his arm around your waist and lifting you up, carrying you to the table. "Jjong...!" Your protest was silenced as he held your chin, bringing your faces close enough to feel each other's breath.

"Acting like a brat is funny, isn't it? Want to see the consequences of being a brat?" "Then show me," you replied, sitting up straight and wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, your lips almost touching as you spoke. “Just fuck me.”

Without any warning, he pushed you down to the table and undid the belt. The sound of metal clashing increases your heart rate, filling your mind with anticipation of the moment he enters.

Pulling his panties down enough to free his cocks, he aimed at your entrance before removing your pants and underwear in a quick motion. “Don’t be too loud or people passing by would hear how you moaned out my name crazily.” He pushed in your cunt with a great force, causing you to sit up straight and make a perfect ‘O’ shaped mouth.

“It’s my turn, right?” He grabbed the cue stick and leaned over you, causing his cock to go so deep inside you as if breaking though your limit. Targeting the cue ball and positioning himself, he thrusted in with all his might as he hit the cue ball.

“Oh fuck!!” Your head threw against the table as your back arched in response, feeling his cock twitching inside you as your wall kept squeezing it.

“Moan louder and let people outside know how I fuck the brat out of you.” Before finishing his words, he pumped into your tightness. “Gosh!” Your toes curl and tighten your ass again, pulling him to deeper space. A wave of pleasure flooded your mind, rendering you almost speechless.

“Sucking me in, huh? Such a slut.” Jongho thrust deeply, causing you panting heavily. You couldn’t hear anything but your messy moaning and the sound of skin meeting skin bounced off the walls. Everything was just perfect for you, his cock was buried so deeply inside you, his balls brushing against your clit with each powerful thrust.

Just a few more thrusts, more thrusts, and you could reach the peak.

"Ah~~" you groaned loudly, quickly biting your lip as you realized how loud you were. Jongho smirked at your reaction, his eyes locking with yours in a lustful gaze. "Does it feel good?" he teased, pausing his movements to look at you intently as he knew you were so close. "But I'm not going to let you climax just yet." “Hm?”

Confused and desperate for more, you pleaded with him, your walls squeezing his thick cock. “Please move, jjong~”But Jongho remained still, his focus on the cue ball as if deep in thought. “Shh, stay still, babe.I gotta figure out how I can get a higher score.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull him closer, but he held you tight, teasing you with his control. "Mmm~ baby~" you whimpered, feeling a mix of desire and discomfort. All you wanted was to feel him deep inside you again, to fill the emptiness with his warmth.

As you attempted to sit up and take control, he gripped your shoulder, pinning you against the table. “I understand,” he said, cutting off your pleas before leaning down to focus on the cue ball. “Oh, I missed,” he remarked casually, his movements causing a shiver of anticipation to run through you.

“It’s your turn, babe,” he said with a smirk, pulling out before flipping you over and pressing your breasts against the table's surface, making it hard to catch your breath. Your pants were slid down, exposing your wetness completely. “Please, jjong, I need you...I'll be good, I promise, just please~” you begged, swaying your hips and rubbing against his thighs.

Without hesitation, he slid back into you, pressing his chest against your back and leaving a mark on your nape. The mix of pain and pleasure sent a wave of sensation through you. “Who was being a brat and made me have to punish her? Tell me, y/n,” he demanded, thrusting deeply with each word.

“It was me...I'm sorry,” you confessed, feeling the intensity of his thrusts causing your head to spin with pleasure. “Do you promise to behave, to not be a brat anymore?” he asked, punctuating each question with a forceful thrust.

“Yes, yes, I promise,” you gasped, knowing deep down that the promise might not hold true.

“But how can I trust you?” He thrust into you forcefully, eliciting a high-pitched scream from your lips. "Please, please, Jjong," you begged, almost on the verge of tears. He cupped your face, turning it to see your pleading expression. "Keep quiet or I'll stop, understand? Show me you're a good girl for me." Releasing you, you lay back on the table, your arms draped over the edge. The pressure against your belly left a red mark as his every movement sent waves of pleasure through your body.

You bit your bottom lip, trying to stifle your moans as he continued his relentless thrusts, each one pushing you closer to your limit. His cock battered your deepest spot, his thighs brushing against your skin. The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping, mixed with your heavy breathing. Your senses were overwhelmed by the excitement building in your lower body.

"Your pussy is so tight, my sweet," he praised, delivering a sharp slap to your ass that made it bounce. Another smack intensified the pleasurable pain, almost causing you to lose control. You were on the brink of climax, needing him to fill you completely.

"Jjong..." Your words were abruptly cut off by a ringing phone. Jongho retrieved it from his pocket, 'San hyung' flashing on the screen. "Hello?" he answered, maintaining his rhythm thrusting without missing a beat.

“Jongho, are you still playing billiards?”

“Yah, what’s up?”

“Nothing, me, yunho and wooyoung had lunch nearby and wanted to come over and play billiards.

“Oh yeah, you guys can come over. Y/N is also here by the way.” He looked at you with a smirk, still pushing in and out with a steady pace. “I’ll send you the address and room number then,” He hung up after getting a hum from San, putting back his phone and pulling your hair slightly.

“We gotta finish it quickly or do you want to let them know you’re being a slave of my cock? Hm?" He speeded up to chase his peak, making you shut your eyes tightly.

Tightening around Jongho's cock, your walls pulsed with desire, urging him to delve deeper into your warmth. With each thrust, he pushed you to the brink of ecstasy, hitting your most sensitive spot with unrelenting force.

"I'm so close," Jongho gasped, his grip on your shoulder tightening as he felt his climax approaching. "I’m cumming," you whispered, your breath ragged with anticipation. "Please, cum inside me," you pleaded, your voice filled with need.

“Are you sure?” He huffed, his words became choppy because of heavy panting. “Yes, yes, please, fill me.”

With synchronized movements, you both reached the pinnacle of pleasure, the room echoing with a symphony of sighs and curses. Jongho held you close, his release mingling with yours in a moment of pure bliss.

As he withdrew, his gaze lingered on the evidence of your passion, his cum glistening on your hole, even dripping onto your thighs. Gosh, he realized he was addicted not only to your chest and butt but something new.

"Are you okay, babe?" Jongho turned you around, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. You nodded, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders, basking in the warmth of his breath against your skin.

“Babe, you are dripping.” You wondered why he could cum that much to make you literally so full. “Mhh..gotta clean up.” As you tried to get up, Jongho stopped you with a firm grip on your waist, pulling you closer. “No,no, there is a good way to stop flowing out.”

—---

“Hey, jongho.” San, yunho, and wooyoung came to the room and found you hugging jongho like a koala.

“Hey.”

“Why are you two so clingy?” Wooyoung doubted.

“Nothing, she's just sleepy.”Jongho churkled, holding you firmly. “Am I right? It's a good way to stop the cum flowing out. See, they don't even spot it.”Your face blushed as his cock twitched inside you.

#ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez smut #ateez x female reader #ateez x y/n #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #ateez jongho #jongho smut #choi jongho

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allisluv · 6 months ago

Note

so glad you asked my mind is brimming.

finnick and reunion sex (like after he comes back from the mission after being presumed dead)

reunion.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!wife!reader

content warnings: smut, fingering, oral (fem recieving)

summary: reuniting with your husband has never been sweeter.

authors note: i currently have a really long finnick o'dair smut that im working on so i hope you dont mind that this ones shorter <3 also this is my first time writing smut so please be nice or ill cry 😍 also i imagined this was set after the mission but i didnt specify im sorry </3

Despite the bitter cold in District Thirteen, Finnick emerges from the shower wearing nothing but a pair of baggy grey sweatpants. You're drying the ends of your hair with a towel when he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.

Almost on an instinct, your head tilts backwards, giving him access to your neck. He obliges without a word, pressing kisses to the skin of your throat. "Finnick," you sigh, eyes fluttering closed.

"Tell me what you need, honey," Finnick runs his hands up and down your arms. His fingers leave a trail of warmth in their wake as he dips lower and lower, knowing full well that you won't be able to focus on anything other than him. "Come on baby. Just tell me and I'll give you what you want."

You have to push the words past your lips. "Don't make me beg," you whine, squeezing your thighs together. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, making a tsk sound that tells you he expects a better answer than that. "Please, Finn. Need you."

He rewards you by grabbing hold of your hand and leading you to the double bed. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it baby?" He pretends not to see you roll your eyes. "Gonna make you feel good, I promise."

You lie down and prop yourself up on your elbows so that you can see what he's doing. He hovers over you and presses his lips flush against yours, deepening the kiss by slipping his tongue into your mouth.

He swallows your whines and moans as his cold fingertips tease your slit. "Gotta get you ready for me, honey. Is this okay?" You nod. "Need to hear you use your words, sweet girl."

"Its okay. Please," you whine, bucking your hips into the air, desperate for some friction that never comes. He kisses you again when he slips his ring finger into your folds. "Fuck!"

"You're doing so well for me, baby," he kisses his way down your body before working his way towards your clit, tongue brushing over your sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hips buck and his free hand flies out to hold you down.

"Gotta stay still for me honey. I know, you're being so good for me. Ya getting close?" His eyes are blown wide with lust as he goes back to devouring your pussy. "I know you are, can feel you tightening around my fingers."

The coil in your stomach begins to tighten as you blindly reach for his hand. Finnick intertwines your fingers as you topple over the edge, calling his name like a prayer.

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milkywaydrabbles · 1 year ago

Note

double penetration in one hole Alucard, reader, Trevor, I don't think Alucard would share his girl with anyone, but what if he did, I think it would be with Belmont!

A/N: I stared at this for a bit trying to figure out how to do it lol but I hope it turned out okay! Thank you sm for the req, I hope you enjoy it!! MWUAH

Double Penetration (one hole) x Alucard, Trevor

You nearly dropped your glass, sputtering up the water you tried to drink before the absolute monster of a ball was just dropped on you. You looked between Trevor and Alucard, the blonde’s eye twitching, hands just about ready to wring the other’s neck for that comment. And Trevor Belmont, just sat there with a smile on his face and shrugged--as if what he just said wasn’t the most outlandish thing you’ve ever heard!

“Belmont, I let you get away with a lot of shit, but if you ever talk about my wife like that again--”

“Well I was being serious.” He rebutted before the dhampir could finish his threat. Then his eyes met yours. “I’ve talked about it with Sypha, you know. She even gave me the green light to bring it up, you can ask her if you want. Won’t make any difference to me.” Holy shit, he was telling the truth wasn’t he?

Alucard’s anger was mostly on your behalf. He would never, never, in all his lifetime, let anyone touch you. But...Belmont...well, he was a different story. He was his friend. He helped him save the world over and over again, hell, he named the village after him. Maybe he would...let Belmont touch you. If you wanted.

Alucard grabbed your hand, thumbing over the back while you tried to catch your breath. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, my love--”

“--she know that”

An exasperated sigh. “But, if you want to, you can say yes. I trust you, you know that.”

You felt like your world was spinning, really, but...you couldn’t lie and say you hadn’t thought about it. Just once! And you were drunk! And you didn’t do anything! But...still. The temptation was there. You steadied yourself, small smile playing on your lips as you looked to your husband, kissing each finger before looking over to Trevor.

“I...I want to. But only if Adrian’s there.” Alucard blinked, scrunching his brows and looking at you, surprised. “Darling you don’t have to try to appease me--”

“Fine, Alucard there.”

What?

“A-ah, fuck, Trevor, mm.” You were writhing underneath him, leg hitched over his shoulder and the other around his waist. Trevor was much harsher than Alucard, opting to take you rough, and you didn’t mind it--not when he was pounding you so good. The brunette dipped down, practically bending you in half, bullying his way even deeper into you. “What’s wrong, sweet thing? Thought you said you wanted your doting husband here--you’re not even paying attention to him.” He teased, throwing a look Alucard’s way. He simply pet at your head, kissing your temple and whispering sweet words to you, ‘You look delicious, darling’ , ‘so good at taking cock, sweetheart’ , ‘I’m right here for you, angel’. You whined, grabbing at his neck and pulling Alucard down in a kiss, that was all tongue and teeth--he had to be extra careful not to cut you the way you were haphazardly licking inside his mouth. You whimpered, holding onto the back of his neck tight while you sobbed at the overwhelming feeling. “Wan’ you too, Adrian--please, please wan’it.” You babbled away, eyes closed and nose scrunched. Trevor slowed his pace, just a bit, looking over to the dhampir who shared the same thought, it seemed.

“Okay, darling, you’ll have me.”

In a moment you were flipped over, chest to chest with Trevor who was now sitting up against the headboard. He grabbed at your jaw, thumb brushing over your bottom lip--swollen and red with all the sucks and bites it’s received throughout the night. Your eyes were glossed over, tears drying on your cheeks. “What a pretty little wife you have, Alucard..” He whispered, not breaking eye contact with you as he spoke to the other. Suddenly a second pair of hands were on your body, wrapping around you to grope and squeeze at your tits, giving extra attention to your nipples. You trembled, looking back just a touch to see Alucard watching you like a predator stalking its prey. Your cunt fluttered, and you leaned back to feel his chest against your body. “Come here, beautiful, sit on my cock again yeah?” Trevor’s deep voice brought you back to him, slowly sinking yourself down on his girth. You whined, clenching around him. He filled you up, stretching out your pussy a bit more than Alucard did. “Trevor,” you started with a hiccup “so good, feels good.” You repeated, grinding yourself down on his cock feeling your hips flush against his. He gripped at your hips, stilling you. You furrowed your brows, wanting to keep bouncing on him, before he angled you forward--and a new feeling came over you entirely.

“A-ah, fuck!” You cried out, Alucard slowly pushing his own length into your sloppy pussy. You couldn’t see straight, all you could think of was how full these men were making you feel. You panted like a bitch in heat, mouth open in a perfect ‘o’ and drooling onto Trevor. Your eyes were fluttering close, tears dripping down with a renewed sense of overwhelming. “Doing so well, darling girl..” Your lover whispered, slowly pushing in, deeper, deeper, until his cock was nuzzled right where it belonged--in your weeping cunt. The men let you take a minute to breathe, feeling your legs tremble and pussy twitching around two dicks stuffed deep in you. Barely a moment with them both inside you and you already felt fucked stupid--not able to make any coherent sentences, just small phrases about how fucking full you were, how good they felt, how much you loved your husband and cherished your friend. Trevor couldn’t help but laugh, wiping away tears as they flooded your cheeks. “Look how adorable she is.” He cooed, giving an experimental thrust up, and hearing your whines pour out your mouth.

Alucard groaned, kissing at your neck, pulling you flush against him and wrapping long fingers around your throat. “Can you feel how deep we are, darling?” He whispered against your skin, eyes traveling down to the bulge in your tummy. He could hear Trevor swear under his breath, both starting to fuck up into you. You nodded, as best you could, trying to speak but feeling too much. “Mhm, mhm, s’deep, so full, so much” You repeated, hands moving between Trevor’s stomach and Alucard’s head--you couldn’t concentrate enough to keep them steady in one place. The stretch was painfully delicious, and now they moved opposite each other--when one thrusted in the other pulled out, never leaving you empty. They rubbed and prodded in all the right places, pressure on your walls making you go insane. Alucard’s fingers on the hand that was around your throat crept up, shoving the digits deep into your mouth, pulling and stretching at your cheeks. Your eyes rolled, lids fluttered, and you did your best to keep breathing.

They could barely hear the squelch of your pussy, even though it was so fucking wet and covering their bodies with juices, because of how fucking loud you were being. “F-fuck, need you to cum, beautiful--not gonna last long” Belmont mumbled in front of you, rubbing his fingers on your swollen clit. Instantly they both felt you grip on their cocks, trying to milk them right into you. Your cries were still muffled with Alucard fingers in your mouth, practically fucking your face. He nosed your temple, his breathing heavy in your ear as he fucked up into you. Trevor’s free hand replaced Alucard’s around your throat--giving the dhampir full reign to finger fuck your mouth. The coil in your belly snapped, Trevor quickly rubbing on your nub while you came over them--wet and sloppy, squirting onto the sheets below you. “Fucking--pull out, Belmont” You heard Alucard hiss, pulling you off in time to have the brunette shooting his cum on your belly, creeping high enough to land on your tits. Alucard had you to himself now, fucking up into you like a flesh light, using you until it was his turn to let his sticky ropes of cum cover your insides the way Trevor covered you.

Trevor left shortly after, helping clean you up before taking his leave with a sweet kiss to the cheek and a thank you. You sighed against Alucard’s chest, feeling his arms around your waist in the warm bath, you could fall asleep right then and there. He cleaned your skin as you relaxed against him, then moved on to your hair, before you spoke.

“You think he’ll bring Sypha next time?”

“Next time?”

#milk writes #adrian tepes #castlevania #alucard #alucard x reader #adrian tepes x reader #alucard tepes x reader #castlevania (2017)#castlevania alucard #trevor belmont #trevor belmont x reader #castlevania trevor #castlevania nocturne #milk kinktober

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lovebvni · 4 months ago

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intuitive messages pac !!

THIS IS FROM 2023!! BE FOREWARNED

┈

│ᵒᵖᵉⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵐᵉˢˢᵃᵍᵉ...

╰─────────────────

[ 🖊 ] created ⋮ 7.31.23

[ ] published ⋮ 7.31.23

˚₊·͟͟͟͟͟͟͞͞͞͞͞͞➳❥ ꒰ ⌨ ✰ Arsyn ⋆ ⁱˢ ᵗʸᵖⁱⁿᵍ··· ꒱ | ೃ࿔₊•

┊ ⋆ welcome to my blog !

┊ °

hello earthlings, its been a while since i've done a pac, mainly because of MANY personal issues - but thats not important. i thought for a while and went back to my old pac's and i found an older one i made and i remembered, my intuition is just as powerful as ever - so why do i need tarot cards now?

today i'm just going to have 10 messages/sentences the universe wants you to hear. they can be specific or general. remember, take everything can be taken with a grain of salt, and your future can be changed. you are in control.

now please, find your inner peace, connect to your soul.

understand these messages were meant to find you, and see what is left for you.

inhale, exhale, and pick a pile

Pile 1 - Watching

confirmation :

procrastinating, pushing things off, turning the other cheek, tumblr, the colour purple (show or the actual colour), spacing out, spirits, double meaning, two faced, gemini, hidden meanings/words, red eyes (tired, puffy), burnt out, music, 'good night, sleep tight, don't let the demons fight.', the letter s, sharks, 'the grass is greener'.

side note : the month of august (summer in general) be significant for your shifting/spiritual journey.

Your messages

1. Why would you wait when you could just grab at it? It's right there. Don't let it rot.

2. "Hello? Are you there, listening? Listen to me. I'm here to help. I promise." (this could be an inner voice or a spirit guide)

3. Be your own boss. Keep going.

4. Pass on to the next step (Death to life)

5. You know what's there, talk to it. "I wont hurt you."

6. Listen, don't speak.

7. Let it go. Be like Elsa, don't let it bother you anymore.

8. Mind, Body and Soul. You're in harmony. Use it to your advantage.

9. Advise and criticize. And use the same techniques on yourself.

10. Peace and love. You deserve it. You know you do. And you will find it, soon.

Pile 2 - Renew

conformation :

saiki k, giving up, letting go, leaving things behind, mental overload, 'Jesus fucking Christ', jealous, letting go of that person, shadow work, yellow, outlook, aries, the moon, big lips, 333, the number 3.

Your messages

1. Bite down. Let it flow into your veins, your soul, your spirit. Its part of you now.

2. Is it a real worry, or just something from your past you don't want to let go of?

3. Jail. Time to rest. Now.

4. Eat and care for your physical body. You can't idolize shifting. You're not getting anywhere doing that.

5. Look in the mirror - no. Not at the past. At who you are now. Who you've become.

6. You have the balls. Go fucking do it.

7. Don't accept the truth from other people, find and make your own. That's what they see, not what you know.

8. Her claws. Her teeth. She's manipulating you. Let her go. Rip away from her. She's wasting your time, energy and draining your soul.

9. "I DO love you. That doesn't mean I'll let you hurt yourself."

10. I am watching. Always. In your good times and bad. I'm here for you. Just ask for help.

Pile 3 - Love

confirmation :

wrist and elbow, jumpscares/ being scared, saturn, planets, fnaf, cycles, broken cycles, love watch, soulmate reuniting, mha (lmao bro idek at this point), drawing, heartache, feeling lonely, barbie, hip dips, trios.

1. Wake up from that dream and make it a reality, you know what you have to do, so go do it.

2. "Beg for my mercy." - This had a VERY sexual undertone... Obviously from a dominant partner or something

3. 'Hello again, my friend! What do you have to tell me now?"

4. You know that thing you asked for? Yeah. It's coming. Keep your eyes pealed (for some I heard it's even coming tomorrow!)

5. Sit in silence, you know what it is. You hear the voices.

6. Pack your bags and go.

7. Grab on, I'll lead you to where you need to be.

8. Don't chase what you're attracting, that will only lead to disaster. (A manifestation you wanted is coming, this is basically saying don't overwork and beat yourself up over it. It's coming and nothing will stop it.)

9. Nature is your friend. Go out and ground yourself. Lay in the grass, smell the rain.

10. If you want to learn, you need the knowledge. Search for what you want to find. You can see it. Ask around. You'll find it. Look, look, look, search, look look, search, find.

I hope this pac resonated for everyone! remember, this will find you when you need it, take what relates, leave what doesnt. remember you are in charge of your future.

i love you. new things are coming.

dont give up.

1111

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thescarletnargacuga · 3 months ago

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LADIES NIGHT

A HUMAN AU ONESHOT

Thanks to: @allisonraeyt for the prompt

WARNING: alcohol (light use), multiple ships, domestic shenanigans

~~~

Pomni set the last of the snacks on the coffee table. "There. Cheese, meats, bread, chips, dip, salsa, popcorn, cookies, soda, wine. Perfect." She double checked the living room for clutter. It was only her closest friends coming over, but she still preferred to have any mess out of the way.

"The place is spotless, dear. Stop worrying." Caine sipped a drink from the kitchen. Bubble sat at his feet, thinking he had something worth sharing.

"I know, but Queenie is coming this time! I haven't seen her in person in ages. This will be the first time she's seen the house." Pomni straightened a few throw pillows for the fifth time.

"You plan on giving her a full house tour?" Caine asked, amused.

"Well, no, but-"

DING DONG

The doorbell announced the guests arrival. Pomni checked her phone. She had been so busy getting ready, she missed all of the update texts. She rushed to the door, opening it to find Kinger and Queenie outside.

Pomni squealed and hugged Queenie right there on the door step. "Ohmygoditssogoodtoseeyou!"

Queenie giggled lightly. "It's wonderful to see you too, darling."

"Come inside! I just got everything set up." Pomni let them in.

"There she is! The global wanderer returns!" Caine gives Queenie a hug. "How was England?"

"Oh, England is lovely this time of year, so long as you don't mind a bit of rain." Queenie looked around the spacious, yet humble abode. "You two got such a nice place for yourselves. Oh! And you must be Bubble!" She knelt down to greet Bubble excitedly dancing at her feet with a toy.

"That's our boy." Pomni said proudly before turning to Kinger. "Hey! Don't think we forgot about you!" She hugged him.

Kinger smiled. "Don't worry. My wife coming home is always a big deal to me too. Hey Caine, you said you finished the rec room?"

"Yep! The basement is finally done. I'll show ya." Caine and Kinger went downstairs, leaving Pomni and Queenie to catch up.

Gangle and Zooble were the next to arrive. "I brought sweets!" Gangle raised two plastic bags full of various chocolates and candies. Some wrappers had other languages on them. She puts them on the floor by the coffee table and attacks Queenie with a hug. "AAAH! You made it! Girl's night isn't the same without you."

"Aw..." Queenie hugged back.

Zooble gives Queenie a quick hug too and joins the girls in the couch. "What are the boys doing?"

"Caine is showing off his rec room. Basement finally got finished a few days ago. You can join them if you want." Pomni offered.

Zooble shrugged. "Eh, you weirdos are more fun to hang around."

"That's high praise coming from you." Queenie said as she checked her phone. "Have any of you heard from Ragatha?"

DING DONG

"Speak of the devil." Pomni leapt up to get the door. Ragatha and Jax entered seeming a bit frazzled.

"Sorry we're late!" Ragatha apologized. "We got lost-"

"We didn't get lost." Jax rolled his eyes. "We took a detour because of construction."

"...and THEN we got lost." Ragatha added. "Anyway, I hope you don't mind, but I've brought champagne."

"Really?" Pomni asked. "What are we celebrating?"

Ragatha curled her lips and showed Pomni her left hand. A beautiful engagement ring adorned her finger.

Pomni gasped. "WHAT!?"

"YEAH!!"

"WHAT!?"

"I KNOW!!"

"AAAAAAAAAAAA!!" The two women jumped up and down and screamed.

Jax covered his ears and looked around. Zooble motioned to the basement stairs. Jax nodded appreciatively. "Glad you're excited, babe, but I'm going down before I go deaf from you two."

Ragatha was too busy showing off her ring. Gangle joined the scream huddle. Queenie admired quietly with a laugh at the others. Zooble gave a thumbs up when Ragatha shoved her hand in their face.

Jax meandered downstairs to find Caine and Kinger in the middle of a game of billiards. "So this is what married men do for fun?" Jax asked as he grabbed a drink from a mini fridge.

"Hey Jax." Kinger greeted. "I should have figured you were the one at the door. Who else would all the ladies be screaming at?" He chuckled.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny. No, they're losing their minds over the ring I gave Ragatha." He casually sipped his drink.

Caine missed his shot, the white ball bounced wildly around the pool table. "You asked her?? Congratulations!"

"Yeah, that's a big step for you two. Congrats!"

"Thanks." Noticing that Bubble had followed him downstairs, Jax entertained the dog as Caine and Kinger continued their game.

The women toasted to Ragatha's engagement, all relaxing in the living room. "How'd he propose?? I NEED to know!" Gangle pleaded with wide eyes.

Ragatha smiled to herself. "Funny story. It was an accident."

"Huh??" Gangle said while the others gave looks of confusion.

"He took me out to dinner and he was going to do it there, but eeeeeverything went wrong. You know how some places will put the engagement ring in a drink or on a dessert? Well, this place put it IN the dessert, and then SERVED IT TO THE WRONG TABLE!"

"Oh no!" Pomni covered her mouth, not sure if she should be laughing yet.

Ragatha started laughing through her story. "So Jax starts this lovely speech, and then freaks out that my dessert was wrong. I thought he was just being belligerent. Then the lady at the table next to me screams that a cook dropped a piece of jewelry in her food. Jax nearly takes her out diving over the table to grab the ring!"

Everyone laughed and Ragatha needed minute to breathe before continuing. "I got upset because I was embarrassed by his behavior. He took me to my favorite restaurant and I felt like I couldn't show my face there again because of the way he was acting. Part of me thought it was a cruel joke...so I left."

Gangle gasped. "Then what???"

"It was raining and, I was so mad at him, I didn't care. Ruined my hair and makeup to try and catch a cab. He came out after me. I admit, I said some things I'm not proud of...but then he shows me the ring. Said it was meant for me. And I could still have it...if I wanted."

"Oh my god..." Gangle was on the edge of her seat.

"Everything and nothing made sense at the same time, and I was cold from the rain. I kissed him."

Gangle squealed, her feet tap the ground giddily. "Yay! I'm so happy for you two!"

"A first engagement kiss in the rain. Novella worthy." Queenie said.

Pomni finished her drink. "Seriously! That is a story to remember! You should write it down."

Ragatha blushed at the memory. "I'll do that. Not that it compares to yours, Queenie. Didn't Kinger propose to you in a literal castle?"

"Oh, let's not compare, dear. Each and every engagement is special, regardless of location....but yes, he did." Queenie swirled her drink, sitting sophistically. "We were on a tour in eastern Europe when he popped the question, right in front of a grand Romanian castle. It was very romantic, but not as fun as fireworks misspelling the question. Isn't that how it happened for you, Pomni?" She smirked.

Pomni coughed, almost choking on a piece of popcorn. "That wasn't his fault! The pyrotechnicians got the timing wrong!"

"Wasn't it also a situation of ring fumbling? It ended up in a lake, if I recall correctly." Queenie continued to tease.

Pomni pouted. "Yeah, but he found it!"

"So both of you..." Queenie looked at Ragatha and Pomni. "Said yes to sopping wet bafoonery. You're the best of friends on every level."

"We did, and they're OUR baboons!" Ragatha defended.

"That's not what she-" Gangle tried to correct.

A heartier laugh came from Queenie. "Indeed they are. My sincerest congratulations."

Gangle and Zooble listened happily to each engagement story. They didn't have one of their own yet, and they weren't in a hurry. They had each other. They didn't need all the paperwork.

Jax threw Bubble's toy from end of the basement to the other. A loud round of laughter from upstairs made him realize how bored he was. "I'm gonna go see what they're doing up their." Jax got up to leave.

"Woah! Hold on!" Caine zipped out in front of Jax. "It's ladies night. That means no disturbing them."

"Yeah, well, I'm being disturbed down here not doing much while it sounds like they're having a great time." Jax easily side stepped Caine.

With both Jax and Kinger being well over six feet tall, they made Caine's average height of five foot nine seem short. "Jax! Don't! They won't want you there!" Caine looked to Kinger for help. Kinger shrugged in a "What do you want ME to do about it?" gesture.

"Just a peak." Jax said as she snuck up the stairs.

Caine followed to make sure Jax didn't leave the stairwell. Kinger followed out of curiosity. Bubble chewed his toy, no caring what the humans were up to.

The three men peered over the short wall that separated the stairs from the main floor. They were unnoticed by the chatty group, half way through their wine.

"...and Caine said he wanted to try the cleanse too. Nothing but kale, juice, and magnets for a whole week. Pretty sure everything but the kitchen sink came out of him." The whole group broke out into fits of laughter.

Caine went beet red. "She wasn't supposed to tell anyone about that!" He whispered under his breath.

Jax was struggling to keep it in. "You did what? Oh man, you didn't eat the magnets did you?"

"No!" Caine hissed quietly.

Kinger silently giggled.

"Oh, I have one for you." Queenie spoke. "Kinger once fell for an internet scam as well. He clicked a link that said Do you have permanent orgasm face disorder? He thought it was a real thing. Bought into the treatment plan and everything. God, he spent so much money."

Kinger sank down as the women laughed their asses off. He could feel Caine and Jax staring at him, judging him. "This can't go on."

"I agree." Caine said.

"You two are a couple of pansies. Can't handle a little embarrassment?" Jax taunted.

"Oh! Oh! I just remembered one for Jax!" Ragatha wiggled excitedly in her seat. "He once bought stamina enhancement supplements, but all they did was make his pee turn blue."

Jax rushed downstairs as quietly as he could, trying to pretend that the laughter around him was not at his expense. "Tell my secrets will you..."

Caine and Kinger came down too. "What was that about being a pansy?" Caine taunted.

Jax grumbled. "Take these. We're putting an end to their secret sharing circle."

Caine caught a few throw pillows from the couches. "Uh...are we-"

Kinger took some on his own. "Let's do this." He and Jax marched upstairs with purpose. Caine didn't see the point in denying involvement and followed. Bubble came too.

Ragatha was the first to take a pillow to the face. The ladies were caught completely off guard and were pelted by pillows. Because of the mild level of shared intoxication, instead of getting angry about it, pillows were thrown back. The living room became a travesty of fluff and food all over the floor.

Bubble helped himself to the meat and cheese as the humans played. He liked his humans. They were fun.

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silver-itallics · 10 months ago

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My Favorite Inside Source

Leon Kennedy x reader

Part 2!

Warnings: Non-con, drugging, kidnapping, kind of cnc, Leon being a weird old man and feeling bad about it

Title is from Rape Me by Nirvana

This is inspired by Waste Me from @gilfhub !! super cool awesome person I love their brain

This was a stupid idea.

Most of your ideas have been stupid recently.

But you feel stupid, so your antics fit.

You don't have enough self respect to care anyway.

There's a red solo cup in your hand, inside it a mix of alcohols that will probably give you liver damage in your thirties. Raising it to your lips, the drink isn't half bad.

Or maybe you're just too drunk to tell.

The alcohol burns your throat, making you feel a strange mix of nauseous and euphoric. Around you, everyone else seems to be in the same condition.

People grind against their partners in a sorry excuse for dancing, stumbling as much as you are.

It's perfect.

For the past few weeks, you've been doing this. Getting drunk or high out of your mind, sometimes both, in hopes of someone looking your way. You've exhausted your skimpiest of outfits, and worn enough makeup to provide for a beauty pageant.

You leave your cups unattended, and drink any suspicious substance you can get your hands on. You flirt without paying attention to any red flags, letting your neckline hang low enough to practically show nipples.

It's like you're begging to get scooped up and thrown in the back of a trunk.

Actually, what you want is worse than that.

All of your antics are an attempt to get bent over in a stranger's bedroom or a dirty bedroom while you scream "please, no!"

In your mind, no one will lay their hands on you unless you're one step away from unconsciousness.

Pretty girls get taken home. Pretty girls get paid attention to.

You, however, are begging to get raped.

Quite literally.

The last guy that came close enough to shoving his hands down your pants got scared away. You begged him to rape you; you were drunk enough for it to be considered the sort.

He pushed you off, calling you a freak and all sorts of names without even touching you.

Ever since then, your efforts have doubled.

You put your body on display, despite how unattractive you find it. Even in a skirt so short you can see your panties and a shirt so low cut your bra is showing, you barely get any attention.

Maybe it's your soft jawline, or hip dips. The lack of attention could be chalked up to your round tummy or the pimple below your lip. Or it could be your frizzy hair, or the fact that you only talk about three things.

You could make a list out of things you hate about yourself.

Instead, you're fishing for attention, using your tits and ass as bait on a hook.

Still, you keep coming up empty handed.

As you lean over the bar, purposely looking away from your drink, you can feel eyes on you. You push the thought away, your insecurities not believing that anyone would look at you that way. But actually, quite a lot of people look. Only because your pussy is practically hanging out of your skirt, but you catch their eyes anyway.

This time, though, you don't feel just a fleeting glance. You can feel staring.

Turning, you find the culprit. A man twice your age with shaggy dark blond hair watches you like a hawk. You're surprised, considering he's quite attractive. The guy is well built, with muscles and a sharp jawline with a bit of stubble. Pretty. You'll bite.

You give him a smile, playing up how drunk you are. However, it's not hard, considering you'd probably break a breathalyzer with how much alcohol is in your system. The fact that you haven't thrown up yet is a miracle.

Instead of walking over to him, you shift your focus to the bar once more, playing hard to get. Guys like that. At least you think they do. You've never really caught enough guys' attention to say for sure.

Shifting your hips, you arch your back to give him a good view of your panties. The skirt you're wearing is already quite short, but the angle makes the fabric slip up your behind even more. At least there's enough fat in your body to give you some semblance of an ass.

That seems to do the trick, as in a few minutes, you feel a warm hand on your lower back. Now that you've got his attention, time to reel him in.

"Hey handsome," you slur, stumbling a little. That gives you the opportunity to press your cup against his chest in hopes he takes the chance to roofie your drink.

The guy catches you, his hand slipping to your waist. You have to stop yourself from melting into his embrace and begging for it already. He smells like whiskey and gunpowder, and you can feel his strength in just the simple touch.

"Hey yourself."

You talk with him for a few minutes, making sure to compliment him as much as possible and insult yourself at every given chance. Playing the pathetic role isn't difficult, as you aren't really pretending.

Eventually, you learn the man's name is Leon, and as you guessed, he's quite a bit older than you. Almost twice your age. Which is even better in your twisted mind.

"Gonna go pee." You shove your cup into his hand, walking to the bathroom at the back of the bar. There's a long line, which gives Leon enough time to decide what to do with your drink.

At first, he protects it. His hand is wrapped around the opening, and he keeps an eye out for anyone that might have looked your way earlier.

But really, he should be protecting you from himself.

Leon didn't come here with the intention of taking anyone home. Especially unconscious.

But you played into his hands so perfectly, practically putting yourself on a silver platter for him. You probably wouldn't even notice if he slipped something in your drink.

Guilt twists in his stomach.

Girls were always hard for Leon. They liked his looks, but never stuck around long enough to appreciate his personality. At least that's what he told himself.

Except for you.

You liked both his looks and personality, easily charming jokes out of him. And you even laughed.

Some of them you genuinely found funny.

Plus, your self esteem was so low, you'd probably give him what he wanted if he asked politely. Still, there was the chance you'd fight, and he couldn't have that.

The thought made Leon feel sick.

What the hell was he doing?

As quickly as the nausea came, it subsided. The feeling was replaced with the memory that Leon hadn't had pussy in years. He knew you had a nice warm cunt that you'd turn over in minutes.

But you'd be tighter if he took it from you.

That was what helped him decide.

He was only a man, one with needs. You were a fragile, insecure girl.

This would be a cakewalk.

Leon slipped his hand into his back pocket, pulling out a few melatonin tablets. He kept them on him because he couldn't sleep most nights.

He probably wouldn't be sleeping after the guilt of what he was about to do, but the need to feel your plush walls was stronger than any morals Leon had.

Normally, he'd be better than this. But after his entire team got killed in front of him because of a stupid mistake he made, Leon hadn't been the same.

He dumped the pills into your drink.

They drop down to the bottom, fizzing as they start to dissolve. Hopefully the little tablets disappear fast enough for you not to notice. That way, the only evidence would be the effects you'd feel later. Hopefully he'd be able to keep you entertained long enough to scoop you up.

Just in time, you appear behind Leon, dragging your fingers up his arm.

"Sorry, line was long. Miss me?" You tease.

"Lots," Leon chuckles. He gives your drink a subtle shake before handing it back to you. Without even checking the contents, you take it.

"Protected it with my life."

You smile at Leon's stupid joke, taking a big swim of your drink. You really hope he put something in it.

"Well, thank you for your service."

Swishing your drink, you make sure not to look down at the liquid. Leon is glad you don't, as the pills at the bottom are still dissolving. God, he's even bad at drugging stupid sluts at bars.

The only thing he feels he's good at is guns.

They're easy, people aren't. When his gun jams, he knows exactly what to do. But Leon's mouth goes dry when you look at him with those doe eyes of yours.

The two of you talk a little longer, and you make sure to down your drink quickly. Once you get down to the bottom, your face twists a little at the unfamiliar taste. Leon notices, and panics a little. But he needs to be calm. Pretend like nothing's wrong.

So he claps a harsh hand on your shoulder, shaking your body with the motion. He almost forgets what he's doing as he watches your skin jiggle a little.

"It's okay, kid. I didn't like alcohol at first, either."

He manages a smile, but Leon knows he's an idiot. Calling the girl he's about to take home and fuck senseless a "kid" is not the right move. Even if fucking isn't the right word for what he's about to do to you.

Thirty minutes. Leon needs to occupy for thirty minutes, so that the melatonin kicks in. Surprisingly, the task isn't as hard as he thought. Even if you're a little annoying, you entertain yourself well, talking as if he cares. You're like a puppy chasing its own tail. He almost feels bad for what he's about to do.

Almost.

Leon pulls you closer as you yawn, supporting your weight on his biceps. Jeez, you're heavier than he thought you'd be. That might be a problem.

"'m sleepy," you mutter, completely forgetting what you came here for. Well, either way you wanted someone to take you home, and that's exactly what you're gonna get.

You lurch forward, feeling dizzy and sick. Even in this dazed state, you realize: you've actually been drugged. Fear creeps up your belly, latching itself on each of your ribs. For so long, you've fantasized about this, and now that it's happening, you're getting cold feet.

There's a look of inebriated panic on your face, clear as day. Feeling sluggish like jelly, you reach up, pointing a wobbly finger at Leon's chest.

"Leon… you…" slurring, you can't even get the words out. The bartender looks curiously at the two of you, to which Leon puts on one of those charming smiles of his. The one that's gotten him so far, the one he's mastered from years of kissing up to the president.

His hand slides into place around your waist, pushing down your accusatory finger.

"Think she's had too much to drink," he chuckles, looking down at you. "Haven't you, baby?"

Baby.

The word is enough to make you compliant. Leon's voice repeats in your head, putting you to sleep like one of those audiobooks you listened to as a kid.

Sleepily, you nod, relenting your body to him. You're like a bunny chasing a carrot on a string. Except you'd follow that carrot even if it led you into an active volcano. Leon almost pities you. But he pities himself more.

He's rough when he shoves you into the car, and you drift off in seconds. You're out like a light, so he's gotta work fast to get you to his apartment. Leon could always rape you in his car, but he's classier than that. He's a private man, even if he's a dick.

When you're finally on his bed is when he realizes what he's doing. Sprawled out on his pillows, your hair drifts out like a halo. With your eyes closed and lips parted, you look sweet. Even if you're not a blonde bombshell on the cover of playboy magazine.

You're just some girl, an average one.

Some might even call you a victim.

Leon feels nauseous again. Normally he can hold his whiskey, but this is a different type of sick feeling. He's sick in the head, and he knows it. Like a parasite in his head, one he can see, but can't remove.

That same parasite is what makes him crawl between your legs as you're sleeping, pressing his face to your panties. Nice ones, too. He lifts up your skirt to get better access and a better look at the lacy fabric covering your slit. He takes a deep whiff before pushing himself back up.

Leon's gotta work fast, as you're just asleep, not paralyzed. Another amateur mistake. He might have to concuss you if you make too much noise. Surprisingly, he's okay with that. He's broken plenty of skulls, and yours would be just one more. Except you're not infected with any disease, except for a similar one that he has, and you're not a war criminal.

Looking you over, Leon notices what little clothing you're wearing. Claire would tell him it's not good to say that girls are "asking for it", but it kinda seems like you are. He's not sure whether that makes this whole situation better or worse.

Whatever.

The top of your obnoxiously colorful bra peeks out from your shirt, and Leon tugs it down. Your boobs are average, but the first real ones he's seen without paying for them. Even if he'll probably pay for this later. Just not in money.

He's old now, and can't get hard as easily as before. But that doesn't stop his dick from trying to. Man, he's stooped low.

In his twenties, he had girls throwing themselves at him, but never the ones he wanted. Before, his expectations were high. But now he's getting chubbed from the sight of some average tits.

You're an average joe in almost every way. Boobs aren't too big, and your ass isn't huge either. You're mostly fat, which is probably to blame for most of your ass anyways.

But if Leon is good at anything, it's dealing with what he's given.

So he lowers his mouth down to one of your tits, taking your nipple in his lips. He's not as good at it as he used to be, but the skin hardens anyways. Maybe you're good at settling, too. Just like he is.

You squirm a little each time he sucks on your nipples, eyebrows creasing. Leon takes them both in his hands, and each of your boobs fit nicely in his palms. Maybe this isn't so bad.

He jerks his hips forward, trying to get his dick hard. You make it a little easier for him to get it up, compared to the night he spends alone. At least he has some material tonight that's not on paper or a screen.

Your panties are starting to get wet, which is fine, even if he'd prefer you a bit drier. You'd be tighter that way.

He leaves most of your clothes on, figuring you'd be less violated than way. Leon's line of thinking doesn't always make the most sense, but he does it anyways. When he pulls away your underwear, he chuckles a little. You've got a pretty pussy for an average joe, but with a hack job of pubes.

At least you smell nice.

He slides your underwear off your legs, tossing them into a drawer in his nightstand. A keepsake. Trophy. Or maybe material if you ever get away. Probably evidence if you ever go to the police.

Maybe Leon's life will turn around if he gets arrested. Or the president will just break him out and he'll be back to fighting nightmares day and night.

He's trapped in this stupid job. But he's not trapped with you. With you, Leon finally has control. He can make you jerk by playing with your nipples and whine when he kisses your clit. But being nice is boring.

Normally he'd eat a girl out, for the sake of chivalry or whatever. But this is about him, not you. You don't have control here.

He pushes his jeans to his knees, just enough to get his dick out. At least it's hard now, from the sight and smell of your pussy. Probably your best feature.

When he presses the tip against your pretty folds, you gasp. The first sound you've made tonight. Leon doesn't find the noise to be unbearable, so he keeps going.

When he pushes in, he's the one that makes a noise. You're tight as hell, and just wet enough to slip in, but not too much to be sloppy. Christ, you squeeze him like you're trying to kill him.

This is when you wake up. If the state you're in can even be considered consciousness. You feel like you're dreaming, but you fight Leon off anyways. Or try to. The way you push at him is pretty cute honestly. Similarly to how a kitten plays with a piece of string.

"Leon! Stop… it hurts…"

Your smaller hands push at his clothed chest, and he easily catches both of them in one of his larger hands. Sure, you wanted to be raped, but now that you are, you're scared. The fear in your eyes is laughable.

"Thought you wanted this," he mumbles out, struggling to push into your tight walls. You bleed a little, which helps him slide in. Leon's used to blood on his hands, or really everywhere. But never his dick.

Now you're crying. You feel stupid, incredibly so. But Leon's only focusing on the bounce of your tits and stomach, the tight squeeze of your cunt.

"I did!" You hiccup. Your hands still push at his own, despite the fact he's got you pinned and straddled. "I- I don't know!"

Your sobs subside as you focus more on the feeling. The pain is still there, of course, you haven't had dick in years. But it feels good in the same way that popping pimples does or sticking safety pins in your fingers.

Even in sex, you're self destructive. You stop fighting, even starting to enjoy it a little. With the melatonin still in your system, you drift in and out of sleep, which probably helps your case. Leon's thrusts are a little too rough to take fully conscious.

"There we go," he says, speeding up. He's taken to a rhythm that feels good for him, and if you like it too, that's fine. He'll hate himself afterwards either way.

Leon grabs your chin, squishing your chubby cheeks between his fingers. He lets go of your hands, which fumble for his shirt, but not to push him off this time. You're pulling him in even closer. Wiping the tears off your cheeks, the older man smiles down at you. It's sadistic, but a smile nonetheless.

"Good sluts take what they're given, yeah?"

You whine, nodding dumbly. Your tongue feels numb in your mouth and your pussy feels sore. In a way that you probably shouldn't like. Leon's fucking you in a way that will probably cause you to book an appointment with a pelvic floor therapist.

He grunts, and your eyes go all starry. Leon ignores the stupid look you're giving him, splaying his hands on your fat thighs, spreading them further. He's close.

Maybe fifteen years ago, he'd be able to last longer or be kinder to you. But the squeeze of your cunt and soft, slick noises are driving him crazy. Crazier than he has to be to do something like this.

He's about to tell you of the predicament, figuring you'd be relieved. But you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling his hips flush with yours. The pain of his dick hitting your cervix makes you a little nauseous, but you're sick enough to like the sting. Your head is thrown back in a moan as he cums inside of you.

For a moment, Leon feels like he's actually fucking someone he cares about, not just some slut he drugged at a bar. There's a sense of normalcy as his brain goes fuzzy with the orgasm. Your tight pussy makes him cum so hard he sees stars. Something that hasn't happened in years.

But when he comes down, slumping on top of you and breathing heavily, he realizes what he's done. Leon rolls over to the other side of the bed, giving you more than enough space. You're falling back asleep already when the post nut clarity hits him like a truck.

He almost cries, even if he's not the one that is currently bleeding onto his sheets from being treated so roughly. There's even slight bruises on your jaw and hips from where he'd been grabbing you all night. Feels like the night he planned to kill himself all over again. That time he had Sherry to keep him alive, but now she's all grown up and better off without him.

You mumble something in your sleep, causing Leon to turn his head to look at you. He didn't even have the patience to undress you fully; your tits are haphazardly pulled out of your shirt, and your skirt is bunched up around your hips. He didn't even look close enough at your body, the way you deserve. The way he can't give you.

God, he's an asshole.

Or probably even worse than that.

Leon watches you sleep. You're not the prettiest, or the most confident, but now he's stuck with you. Trapped the way he is with his job. In a strange way, he feels connected to you. Not in a love way, but in the way that the bruises on your jaw are in the shape of his fingers. Not anyone else's.

Maybe he won't end it tonight. Maybe he'll stay alive another day. Since he roughed you up so badly, and you're still living. Even if you're leaking a mixture of cum and blood on his sheets. Stupid thing, did nobody teach you to pee after sex? But Leon's not going to wake you. He's probably not even going to get up, either. You'll have matching UTI's and be stuck even closer in this fucked up spiderweb he's created between the two of you.

Sometime past five in the morning is when Leon falls asleep. Surprisingly, he's been given a decent vacation after his last screw up. God knows how long that'll last.

When he wakes up, blinding light filtering in through his dusty apartment, the first thing he sees is you. You're laying on his chest, still barely dressed. Your arms are wrapped around his waist, and you're drooling a little on his shirt.

He's not even considerate enough to try not to wake you, shoving you to the side so he can go pee. You fall to the side, blinking slowly as you wake up.

"Where are you going?" You ask, voice scratchy from sleep and all the crying you did last night. Screaming, too.

Leon can't even look at you. He's still stuck in that state of realization. Because now he knows what he is. Before, he was the golden boy, the president's favorite. But now he's a rapist and overall a big splotch of a mistake.

"Gotta piss," he grumbles, already halfway in the bathroom. You watch him curiously, as if you want to come in. Leon immediately shuts the door, a bit too harshly.

He stays in the bathroom too long. Your blood and other fluids dried on his dick and pelvis, which he only cleans off because it's itchy. But also because he doesn't really want to be reminded of what he did. Leon wishes he could clean off last night like the dried blood on his skin.

But he knows he can't.

Once he's done, he stumbles into the kitchen, planning on downing a bottle of whiskey for breakfast. Or lunch. It's already past noon.

Leon's plan comes to a screeching halt as he smells food cooking. You're fully dressed again, albeit, without underwear.

All of the guilt he's been feeling all night can't compare to the absolute misery he feels watching you.

The girl he raped last night.

You're cooking breakfast for him, like a little housewife.

The fact that you're not crying even hurts more. You're humming softly, poking around some bacon in a pan with a spatula. Somehow, you found something to cook for him, though he's been living off of takeout and microwave meals for about a week now.

After a few minutes of staring is when you notice that Leon is there. You turn, confirming the fact that you're cooking for him.

"Hey," you're smiling at him, bright doe eyes and rosy cheeks. "I just wanted to say thanks for last night."

God. What the hell has he done?

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #dark content #resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon smut #dead dove do not eat #leon kennedy x you #x reader

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