#handsome even in low quality

[buildmybaby]

BUILD SPOTTED IN PUBLIC

Cred on pic

[wildsaltair]

No thoughts head empty just Alex Ross being adorably impressed by a card trick <3

[cavillscurls]

Goodnight Kiss

joel miller x f!reader

Joel’s a good dad. You try to remind him.

warnings/tags: MDNI. pre/no-outbreak!joel miller. babysitter!reader. joel is in his 30s but sarah is a toddler because i said so. reader is in her last year of college; do with that what you will. sickening fluff. some borderline impure thoughts. self-depreciation. praise/comfort. intimacy. single girl dad!joel. overworked man finds solace in a sweet girl. not beta'd & hardly proofread. wc: 1.5k

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His keys jingle in the door lock an hour after your shift was intended to end.

You don’t mind. You’re used to this routine by now. He still has the courtesy to text you that he’ll be running late, and he always pays a little extra for the additional hours. You’re only here for the summer, and every penny helps grow the savings fund you’ve been eagerly building before entering the less-than-reliable job market next year.

There is also the matter of your employer himself, and knowing that there are far more deplorable summer jobs than babysitting his sweet daughter.

You’re certain of it, in fact. Because you’ve never known a man quite like Joel Miller.

He’s the most hardworking person you’ve ever met, not only providing for his daughter and himself, but his brother. You’ve only seen Tommy a handful of times, and despite his flaws, Joel remains hopeful that his intervention will prompt a turnaround.

He signs Sarah up for anything and everything she’s willing to try, and somehow, finds a way to get her there on time. He fixes the panels on his elderly neighbor's roof before they’ve even noticed one is loose. Sometimes, he’ll snatch your keys off the counter when he gets home at a reasonable time and tells you to stay put while he fills up your tank because gas ain’t an expense you needa worry about right now.

He’s overworked, underpaid, and still finds it in himself to be kind.

You tuck your bookmark into the pages sprawled out across your lap, rising from the couch to greet him. Sarah’s been in bed since seven, and while Joel has made it clear you’re welcome to the fridge or the TV, you always hesitate to overstep.

You grab your tote off the armrest, slinging it over your shoulder and sliding your book inside before pattering towards the front hallway.

“Hey,” you call softly. He’s toeing off his boots and tossing his keys into the bowl by the door. He gives you a tired, apologetic smile.

“Hey,” he says, voice rough from a long day's work. The low vibration sends goosebumps up your arms which you nonchalantly rub away, hoping he won’t notice.

Joel Miller is also impeccably handsome. Another fine quality you’re certain he fails to notice.

“M’so sorry. I know it’s not fair of me to keep doin’ this to ya. The plumbing guys are not cooperatin’, so I—”

“Joel, it’s fine.” You take another step toward him, the golden porch light illuminating his features through the front window. You tilt your head at him, shrugging your shoulders. “I’ve got nowhere else to be. And besides, I love Sarah. She's such a good kid.”

You watch the rigidity in his shoulders fall, if only a little. He’s looking you over as if he’s the child, and he’s just been caught doing something he’s not supposed to. He shakes his head, muttering something discouraging under his breath. You have the great urge to soothe him.

The feeling is not new nor unfamiliar, but you’re tentative with the actions it threatens to elicit. A million grey lines begging to be crossed.

“Was hopin’ to be back in time to tuck her in,” he sighs, placing a hand on his hip while the other rubs at the tension in his brow. “Been too long since I have.”

You can’t help but smile. Not at the berating of himself or his clear display of stress, but because it’s endearing how much he cares. How blatant his love for his daughter is, whether she’s in the room or not.

“Well, I made sure to give her an extra kiss goodnight to make up for it.”

When he looks at you again, it’s with that same sort of sad, guilt-ridden smile. His appreciation for you cannot make up for the condemnation of himself, and while this would not be the first time Joel Miller confided in you about his shortcomings, you can sense tonight weighs heavier than most.

“Just feel like m’not… doin’ enough, I dunno.” His shoulders rise and fall defeatedly, and he’s shaking his head as if to further scold himself. “Worried she’s gonna grow up to resent me or somethin.’”

That strikes a nerve. You suffocate the strap of your bag with your grip, an attempt to redirect some of the outrage that fills you.

How could he even think such a thing? You know Joel’s a smart man, he can’t possibly be so blind to the things other children lack from their parents—none of which he ever falters on.

Your brows knit low over your eyes, serious. “She will not resent you, Joel. She adores you.” You make a point of emphasis; you want him to hear you, loud and clear. Know that there are things you see from the outside that he doesn’t, that a four-year-old may be far more perceptive than he gives her credit for.

“She talks about you all day,” you continue, and that seems to get his attention. Your heart aches at the tired, hopeful look in his eyes. You wish you could alleviate some of the exhaustion. “Everything we do is can’t wait to show Papa this, or we gotta tell Papa that.”

He chuckles a little, likely somewhat due to your poor impression of the toddler's voice, but you still aren’t convinced your words have sunk in.

You do something a bit uncharacteristic, then. You reach out, take another step forward, and place an honest hand on his forearm. The muscle below your touch is firm and warm, but his eyes that follow the path of your fingers are wildly more intense.

“You’re a good dad,” you tell him, voice dropping to a whisper. “Anyone with eyes can see that.”

He blinks, and when he peers at you now, there’s a glint of something different. You’ve seen it before maybe a handful of times, but it’s always fleeting. A shared understanding that whatever it is, there’s never been any time to acknowledge it.

But this time, it lingers. It festers between your bodies that, only now, do you notice how close they have drifted in the already cramped entryway. Who shifted first, or when, matters very little with Joel’s eyes on you, gentle and focused. You see them flicker, once to your hand that still rests upon his skin, another to your eyes, and then your lips. There’s the sound of crickets in the night. The familiar scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and dust. The sight of his face, all sharp edges and scattered freckles and a furrowed brow, but his eyes. In all the time you’ve know him, they’ve always remained kind.

Your breath catches in your throat when he finally leans in.

He doesn’t reach for you. Instead, he flushes his chest against yours and lets the weight of his lips drive the kiss. Your fingers dig into his forearm for purchase. You can’t say you’re caught off guard, though pleasantly surprised.

There’s an innocence to it, tender and sweet. He lingers for a few long beats, never pushing further than the plush of his lips delicately upon yours, and then releases.

You don’t open your eyes right away, selfishly idling in the newfound thrill a beat longer. You can still taste him—coffee, mint, something sweet. He remains close; you still feel the brush of his lips, the tip of his nose bumping yours, the fanning of his breath.

“M’sorry…” he starts to mutter, and you can tell he’s retracting. Your eyes fly open and your grip on him tightens.

“No, don’t be.”

You have difficulty finding any trace of guilt in his expression, a fact that turns your stomach. An anxious thrill, the precipice of something.

His tongue traces his bottom lip as if he’s trying to salvage another drop of you. A somewhat devious grin breaks out at the corners.

“Had to put it somewhere, I guess.”

You’re all soft chuckles and sheepish smiles after that, and you feel your cheeks heat up with an array of excitement and nervousness. It was one thing to endure Joel Miller and his charm without the prospect of more, but now?

You aren’t sure how you can possibly contain yourself.

A million questions rattle through your mind as you stare at one another, but you notice the time on the wall clock behind him. You’re no stranger to the bags under his eyes, the paleness on his cheeks after a long day, so you set your selfishness aside. After all, you’ll be back in this very spot in a handful of hours.

You swallow hard, slowly releasing his forearm, though your palm aches to remain.

“We’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

He isn’t subtle about his hesitation. His eyes do an elongated once over of you before he shakes his head, and bites at his lower lip to prevent another laugh from escaping. You have half the mind to yank him back to you by the t-shirt, but digress when he steps around and opens the door for you.

You’re slow in your exit, doing a full one-eighty once your feet are planted on the porch to flash him one more dazzling smile.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

You see the dimples cave in his cheek before he quietly closes the door.

“Night, darlin’.”

You can’t seem to fall asleep fast enough.

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[skipper19]

Imagine this..

Gojo absolutely loves the look of his pregnant wife wobbling around the home. He loves it a lot more than he thought he would. Gojo takes so many pictures of you. From the day of the big news, all the way to today.

"Satoru sto-Op!" You squeaked and giggled as you spoke. "I am allowed to dote on my pregnant wife, thank you very much." His low voice spoke very smugly into your ear. Despite your outward complaints, you still looked to the phone sitting on the kitchen counter and smiled. You blinked when the flash went off, and you rubbed your eyes.

"You take too many pictures of me.." You grumble. "Especially when I look like shit." You pouted and rested your hand on your swollen stomach. Gojo gasped and put a hand to his chest. "Shit? You're the most gorgeous woman I have ever met," He leans now and cups your jaw in his hands. "Especially in the mornings." He whispered softly before kissing you. You smiled into the kiss and felt your shoulders relax.

"Mm..if I wasn't already pregnant, I would drag you to bed until I am.." You mumbled happily against his lips. Gojo snickers and rolls his ocean eyes. "Keep talking like that, and I will drag you back to bed, despite already being pregnant." He smirked with lidded eyes. "Even if I'm 5 months pregnant?" You whispered. "Especially when you're 5 months pregnant." He pulled you into a passionate kiss after the words left his lips.

You both didn't leave the bed again until 6 pm.

-----------------------------------------------------♤

Gojo hurriedly washed his hands and ignored grabbing paper towels as he left, deciding to wipe his wet hands off on his pants instead. He was in too much of a rush to care anyway. His pregnant wife was all by her lonesome in the grocery store as he dealt with his bladder problem. He hated to leave you alone. He hated leaving you alone around other people even more.

Gojo sensed your cursed energy in the nearest aisle and quickly returned by your side. He smiled when he spotted you looking at the baby shoes that were huddled in a small pile on the corner of the shelf. Gojos eyes glanced to the clearance sign above the shelf and playfully rolled his eyes. "Didn't I say I wanted our baby girl to have the best quality clothes? Why are we in the clearance section?" He playfully scolded as he leaned his shoulder against the shelf with the shoes.

"Well, I remember saying that it doesn't have to be expensive, as long as it looks adorable on our baby boy." You retorted with a sly smile. Gojo huffed and shook his head. "Our baby girl has the best, strongest, and wealthiest father in all of Japan. I think she deserves to be spoiled." He crossed his arms, making you glance at the faint sight of his veins popping out. Amusement laced his eyes behind the dark shades adorning his handsome face.

"And I think our baby boy will care nothing about being spoiled, as long as it's comfortable." You shot back and quickly looked back down to the pair of shoes in your hand. Gojo felt his heart leap when you placed the boy shoes in the shopping cart before reaching back onto the shelf and grabbing a feminine pair of shoes as well. Gojo pushed himself from the shelf and walked behind you to wrap his arms around your growing belly.

"You are going to be an amazing mother." He whispered softly into your ear. Heat rose to your cheeks, and you smiled bashfully. "You think so?" You placed your hands onto his. "I really do."

-----------------------------------------------------♤

It didn't take long for Gojo to realize you weren't in bed with him any longer. He was normally hyper aware when you would leave the warmth of his arms at night, but he had been even more of a light sleeper after you hit your 7 month mark.

Gojo didn't want to think of what he would do if something had happened to you.

He threw the covers off of himself before leaving the inviting warmth of the sheets. He quickly makes his way to the kitchen, only to find you quietly sitting at the marble island in the center of the room. You were minding your business as you nibbled away at your odd snack, a soft tune playing from the radio nearby. Gojo always insisted on buying speakers. That way, he could blast music from the TV, but you denied him every time. You always said that the radio was much better.

Gojo sighed and quietly walked up to you, his eyes grazing over your plump form. He couldn't help but smirk. You just looked so lovely as you sat there, munching away on your food, his shirt barely covering your body. Gojo was head over heels in love with you, that was obvious.

"Sneaking away from me just to get you a snack? How rude." Gojo softly said as he pouted. You jumped as his arms snaked around your body. You swatted at his muscular arms and shot him a glare over your shoulder. "Dont sneak up on a pregnant lady! You nearly made me drop my pickles.." You mumbled. Despite your annoyance, your body still leaned back to relax against his warm chest.

Gojo glanced at the food in your hands and resisted the urge to shiver. Pickles and marshmallows. "Mm, I wouldn't want to have to throw that snack away.." You rolled your eyes at his sarcasm and plopped the pickle and mini marshmallow in your mouth. "Shuddup."

-----------------------------------------------------♤

"You're doing so good, baby, just a few more pushes." Gojo encouraged you with soft spoken words and swift fingers caressing your hair. You wanted to yell at him to just shut up, but the pain you were feeling inhibited anything other than pained sounds.

Gojo hated seeing you in so much pain. Especially when he couldn't do anything to quell it. "Just one more push." The doctor said. If it weren't for the situation, Gojo knew better than anyone how embarrassed you would be right now. He leaned down closer to your ear. "One more push, sweetheart, and then we can meet our beautiful baby." He whispered softly. You gripped his hand tighter, thankful that his infinity was lowered, his touch grounded you. It kept you sane on a normal day, and you needed him more than ever right now.

"I can't.. I can't!" Your voice was hoarse and weak as you sobbed aloud. Gojo shook his head and kissed your temple, his lips resting against your skin as he spoke. "Yes, you can. I know you can. You're strong, the strongest woman I have ever met, I know you can do this." His words replayed like a symphony. You can do this. You are strong. You can do this. For your baby.

One final push, followed by a shout of pain, led to the cries of your baby echoing in the room. Gojo smiled and gulped down his nerves as he watched the nurses take away his baby to be cleaned.

You weren't in the same condition.

Your ears rang as your head pounded. You know your baby was finally delivered, so why couldn't you hear them? Your glazed eyes panicked to search the room for your child. "Sa-satoru?" Your voice weakly called out. His ocean blue eyes cast down to your face to see the concern and tears. His hand moved from your hair to your face as he wiped away your tears and tilted your gaze to meet his.

"I can't hear them crying. Are they okay?" You hiccuped. Gojos eyebrows furrowed slightly, yet he kept a warm smile on his face. "They are fine, don't worry." He reassured and kissed your sweaty forehead. His eyes glanced to the doctor, only to see a reassuring smile sent back his way. "It's normal for the mother to be disoriented after giving birth. It's a lot of strain on her body." The doctor said quietly.

Gojo sighed and briefly closed his eyes as his lips lingered against your forhead. His attention was directed to the nurse as she walked back with a small bundle in her arms. "Mrs. Gojo," the nurse called softly. Your eyes fell to her, then the bundle of life in her arms. A wobbly smile formed on your lips as you weakly reached out your arms for your baby. The moment the baby was rested against your chest, tears fell from your eyes like a waterfall.

Gojo couldn't help but tear up.

"It's a boy." The nurse spoke up. You tearfully giggled and gently ran your finger over your baby's cheek. "My baby boy.." You mumbled, a soft kiss landing on his head.

After a few moments of skin to skin contact and appreciation, you looked to Gojo. He didn't need you to say a word. He eagerly held his arms out for you to gently place his baby boy in his warm hold. On instinct, the man handled his son with nothing but gentle touch. You just knew he was going to be an amazing father. "God, look at you.. beautiful, just like your mama.." He cooed. You rested your hand on his arm. "Handsome, just like his daddy." You whispered with droopy eyes. He shakily sighed.

This is his family.

-----------------------------------------------------♤

"Thank you.. Thank you so much." Gojo mumbled into your ear. Your mind, despite being fogged, was able to register his words. "F-for what?" You gasped, your nails drawing blood from his pale skin. "For giving me a family." His words reverberated in your spine, causing your ears to tingle and your eyes to close in pleasure.

"I want to be selfish.." He spoke again. His movement picked up speed, quickly sucking the words from your throat. "I want one more. Give me one more -please baby, just one more.." But Gojo has always been a greedy man. One was never enough, and you knew this all too well.. "Please~" He begged, almost pathetically. You moaned aloud and grasped his face in your hands, pulling his lips to your own from where they once were on your neck.

"Give me it, Satoru.. give it to me."

[darknight3904]

𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦

𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘏𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮!𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘖𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘕𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘋𝘢𝘬𝘰𝘵𝘢, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘪𝘯.

𝘛𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘓𝘰𝘨𝘢𝘯 (2017). 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘱𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘭𝘺. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘉𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘎𝘦𝘯 𝘝, 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘝𝘪𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘢 𝘕𝘦𝘶𝘮𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘳 𝘔𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘦.

𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘝𝘪𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦. 𝘌𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘵 𝘚𝘮𝘶𝘵 18+

𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘥/ 𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘳 30𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 4.8𝘬

𝘗𝘳𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 / 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵 / 𝘔𝘺 𝘔𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

Laura is kind of cute. In her own feral, mannerless way. You watch as she downs her second slice of pizza.

"She's just like you." You grin and nudge Logan's side

"No, she's not." Logan shook his head

The two of you turn to watch her take a large bite of her third slice. Charles lets out a joy-filled laugh at whatever is on the TV behind you and Logan.

"How many have you had again?" You tease, you're pretty sure he's eaten at least five now. Logan had always had a big appetite. You presumed it had to do with his healing factor.

"Shut up."

Pizza devoured and stomachs full, you make Laura brush her teeth and teach her how to floss properly while Logan and Charles argue on the other side of the bathroom door. Logan is trying to get the old man ready for bed, but out of context the voices coming through the door would be considered rather concerning.

"No! I can pull my own pants off, Logan!" Charles' voice yells

"Do it then!" Logan growls back

"Not with you looking at me!"

"M' not looking!"

Laura looks up at you, concerned for the two men with quite the dynamic.

"They're fine. Don't worry bout' it." You assure her with a thin smile, "Now, it's time for the mouthwash."

You tuck Laura into bed. Initially, you weren't going to but the memories of the video you had watched with Logan invaded your mind again. Images of an even younger Laura on the operating table so adamantium could be fused to her bones. Empathy got the better of you as you brought the covers up to her chin and whispered goodnight.

You returned to the bathroom, intent on showering to see Logan staring at himself in the mirror.

"You okay?" You ask him

"Charles told me I looked like Eeyore," Logan says staring at his face

"Like...from Winnie the Pooh? The depressed donkey?" You ask, slapping your hand over your mouth to keep him from seeing your smile

"Yes. The depressed donkey." Logan huffs

An unlady-like snort escapes your mouth and your eyes widen when Logan's head snaps to look at you.

"S' not funny." He says a scowl on his handsome face.

"No, no it's not...." You take in his appearance, and for a split second, you see the faintest blush on his face.

"She in bed?" Logan asks

"Tucked her in and everything." You confirm

Logan raises a brow at that statement. He must not approve of your actions. It's not your fault your maternal instincts kicked in, after all, Laura was cute, in her own way.

Logan leaves the bathroom after lecturing you on not getting attached to her. That the Sunseeker was the end goal, not playing house with a kid made from his genes. You nodded your head and pushed him out of the way to get to the shower, tired of smelling like sweat and who knows what else.

The endless hot water felt amazing on your tired body as you indulged in the low-quality soap, shampoo, and conditioner that the hotel had bolted to the wall in plastic pump bottles. A heavy sigh left your lips as your eyes fluttered shut in the steam-filled room. Logan was going to drive you mad one day.

Logan closed his eyes and let the night breeze clear his mind. Sitting here on the balcony would be more relaxing without all the passing traffic, but it was good enough for now. Nearly 34 stories up he could still hear the honking of horns and chattering of people. He cursed his enhanced senses. Despite the late hour, the city didn't want to sleep.

He sipped at the bottle of Jack Daniels he had found in the limo under a seat. Miraculously no bullets had punctured it in their getaway. He knew he should be in bed, he needed sleep for the long drive that awaited him tomorrow. Yet, he found himself unable to crawl into bed. And not just because Charles mumbled in his sleep.

The idea of you was plaguing him like it often did. He wasn't blind, he knew about your little crush. He had clocked it a month after settling in Mexico. The way you'd wait at the front door, the hot meals, the questions, the way you'd agreeably become a human pillow and give him the best scalp massage in the world.

He'd be lying to himself if he didn't feel it as well. At first, he thought it was because he was so isolated from the rest of the world. But, he never found himself noticing another woman, not in the Casino today and certainly not in any of the rides he fulfilled for people. Even the stupid bachelorette parties when girls much younger than you flashed their chests to him. No matter how he tried to forget it all, his mind was filled with nothing but you.

Even now, he was sure you were the cause for his lack of sleep. After you pushed him out of the bathroom saying you needed a shower, all he could picture was you. He thought of the way the soap was probably sliding down your body, dripping down your chest that drove him mad and slinking its way between your thighs.

He ran a heavy hand across his face, cursing his mind. Perhaps if he hadn't lost his cool a year ago he might be in the shower with you right now.

Logan wasn't quite sure why he did that. He chalked it up to fear. Fear of accepting your feelings, fear of his own, fear of losing you one day to one of Charles' seizures. You had spent the last year being so curt with him, with short conversations and stolen glances, it was nothing like what he was used to nor what he really wanted. Despite the past 24 hours being shit, he was glad you were warming up to him again. You'd let him comfort you earlier and laughed at the Eeyore comment, something he'd made up in hopes you'd like it.

After all, he couldn't tell you Charles really said that he looked like a dog's ball sack...that would've just been embarrassing.

Logan wondered what he looked like in your eyes. he knew what you looked like in his. And though he'd never admit it, Logan knew what he looked like when he saw you. Charles once coined it after spending twenty minutes talking about Sketchers.

"You look at her like she's hung the moon and the stars, Logan."

He wondered that if he were able to man up one of these days and tell you how he felt. Logan wondered if he'd be able to keep you forever.

The soft sound of the sliding balcony door roused him from his thoughts.

"Hope you're not too drunk yet." You teased motioning to the big bottle of whisky in his hand.

"Barely had two sips." He says

"Yeah, okay old man. And I'm not gonna blow up like some blood balloon one day from my own damn mutation."

It was a joke, he knew that, but it was also reality. One day your mutation would kill you, as would his.

"You ever wonder how it came to this?" Logan asks as you sit beside him

"Like what?" You hum, taking the bottle from him so you can have a sip.

"Sitting around while our own bodies try to kill us," Logan says

Logan watches you let out a soft sigh and examine your hands which are more bruises that actual normal skin.

"I've always thought they tainted the food, or maybe the water with some chemical." You theorize, "Used something that would suppress the x-gene in us."

"Makes sense." He nods, glancing down and wondering if this very bottle of whiskey would make things even worse for the two of you.

Logan's eyes drift to your form. A long white T-shirt, one of his sits on your frame, you must've found it in the limo, he always carried extra clothes with him. He can't tell if you're wearing shorts, hell, he can't even tell if you've got underwear on. He does know it's making his hotel-issued pajama pants a bit tighter than normal. Your hair is dripping onto the shirt, slowly making it a bit see-through even in the dim light. He wants to-

"Laura crawled into bed with Charles. She must've gotten scared while I was showering." You say, pulling him from his thoughts before he could become too perverted.

"I'll sleep on the floor." He finds himself declaring getting up to go make a nest of pillows and blankets for himself

"What?" You question, following him into your room

Logan grabs a couple of pillows and the extra blanket from the closet and tosses them to the floor. No way in hell was he going to be able to sleep next to you with what was running through his mind right now.

"Logan it's a king-size bed, we can share." You groan

"M' fine on the floor." He said

You glance at him, and then the bed, and then his pillows and blankets.

"Do you really hate me that much?" You breathily ask

Fuck.

Logan is unsure of himself as you climb under the covers next to him and flick the lights off. He's 200 years old and he's never felt this nervous around a woman. Jesus, he was going soft.

"Are you breathing over there?" You ask

"What? Oh. Yeah, I'm uh fine." He stutters.

Silence follows for a minute or two and Logan thinks you've fallen asleep.

"Goodnight, Logan." You quietly say

"Goodnight." He whispers back, turning on his side to pretend you're not there.

Twenty minutes pass from Logan bidding you goodnight and you almost think that he's asleep until he calls your name into the darkness.

"Thought you were asleep." You murmur turning to look at his broad back that's turned to you.

"Can't." Logan sighs

"Me either." You say, bolding reaching out and running a hand down where his spine would be under his shirt.

Logan lets out a deep groan and shifts beside you so he's laying on his back.

"Logan...can I-"

As if he's a mind reader, Logan's big arm reaches over and pulls you into his side. You rest your head on his chest as his hand comes to rest on the curve of your hip.

"Don't wait to ask next time, bub."

"Sorry." You whisper into the darkness, hoping he can't hear the smile on your face.

You awake hours later to a deep grunt from Logan filling your ears, the sun slowly rose, peaking through the curtains. His arms are tight around your waist as he holds you from behind. You rub the sleep from your eyes, it had been nearly 8 hours since you had fallen asleep in Logan's arms.

Another grunt fills your ears. At first, you think he might be having a nightmare, as he often did. But, the sudden press of his hips to your ass said differently. Your face grew hot as he pulled you even tighter to him, hips slowly rocking into your body.

"Logan." You whisper, hoping to wake him before something embarrassing happens, "Logan."

It's when you begin to wiggle out of his iron-clad grip that he stirs.

"S' wrong?" He murmurs looking up at you with sleep-filled eyes

"Nothing...it's just." You glance down, trying not to mention the large bulge that tents the soft hotel logo embroidered pajama pants.

"Fuck." Logan curses, pulling the covers up to hide himself, "Sorry."

"It's alright." You say you're sure your face is a million degrees right now. You had always wondered what he might be like in the bedroom yet here you were flustered like some virgin.

You watch as Logan stirs, you expect him to brush past you and into the bathroom to take care of himself. Yet, you find him standing in front of you, lips pressed to yours for the first time in your life.

You whisper his name like a prayer when he pulls away.

"Tell me you don't want me. Say it, and I'll never try again." He says eyes fixed on yours

You answer his question by pressing your lips to his again, weaving your hands through the greying hair you've come to love over the past year.

You break away and trail gentle kisses up his jawline and to his ear.

"I want you."

Logan lets out a deep groan that has your lower stomach tightening with need.

"You got me."

Logan gently pushes you back into bed, your back meets the soft sheets as he climbs on top of you. His lips meet yours again and this time his tongue swipes along your bottom lip. You let him in and arch your hips up, grinding into his bulge that somehow grows even harder.

You smile when he pulls away from the kiss, a breathy moan stuck on his lips as he glares down at you.

"What're you smiling at?"

"Mmm, nothing." You lie

Logan's hands find the bottom of your, his, shirt, and he tugs gently, asking permission.

"It's alright." You confirm

The soft fabric leaves you and the cooler air meets your bare skin. The first rays of sunshine illuminate you as you shyly cross your arms across your chest. His eyes are so intense, you can't help the shyness that bubbles into your throat.

"Knew you weren't wearing any panties." Logan smirks, his bigger hands coming to pulls yours down "Don't need to hide from me, hon."

You nod and drop your arms, hoping he likes what he sees. You wish it were darker out. Your skin has been marred by your mutation. You wouldn't blame him if he left right now.

"Beautiful." Logan murmurs, a hand coming up to gently squeeze at your breast, thumb gently teasing the nipple.

"You don't have to lie." You scoff

"You really think I'm lying?" Logan shakes his head. He takes your hand in his free one and presses it to his crotch, " Does that feel like a lie?"

You blush hotly, not expecting him to be so bold.

"No." You whisper

"Exactly."

His lips press into your skin, and his beard tickles your skin as he kisses a path down your body, stopping to press a gentle kiss to the top of your mound where a soft tuft of hair sits. Suddenly you wished you had shaved last night in the shower.

"Logan...: You gasp when he slips his tongue further south.

His tongue works like magic as it circles your clit and dips inside you. A loud moan tumbles from your lips when he brings his lips up to suck your clit into his mouth.

"Logan please..." You whimper when he breaks away suddenly

"Gotta be quiet, hon. Don't wanna wake anyone up. " He reminds you

You nod and he dips back down. You bite at the back of your hand, praying that your companions are deep sleepers.

Logan's nose bumps your clit as his tongue works its way inside you. Your hips fly off the bed and his strong arms come up to circle your thighs and lock you in place.

Utterly trapped, you're at his mercy now. Completely.

A small whimper passes through your hand and Logan speaks into your cunt.

"C'mon, hon. I got ya...let go"

The mixture of his deep voice and the way his tongue went back to working its magic has you losing your mind. Your hips thrash against his grip as the dam breaks and your eyes slam shut.

Logan presses a gentle kiss to your inner thigh before coming back up to you.

"You okay?" He asks

"Okay?" You laugh, "I've never cum that hard before."

"200 years of experience can be helpful." He brags

You roll your eyes and pull at his shirt, wanting to see him.

Scared skin and ripping muscle become visible to you and you have to keep yourself from staring too much as he also sheds his pants.

"Oh." You gulp as you finally get to see him in all his glory.

"Oh." He parrots with a smirk

A big hand comes up to your face and gently runs along your cheek.

"You still okay with this? I'll stop right now, just say the word." Logan says gently

You shake your head, the prospect of stopping would kill you.

"Words. I wanna hear it" He says

His dominant tone has a fresh wave of arousal wetting your thighs as you look up at him.

"I want to keep going." You say

"Good." He smiled pushing you back down to the bed

A gasp escapes your lips when he enters you. He was big, you knew it, you had seen it just seconds ago, yet it still surprised you as he pushed forward.

"Fuck..." Logan gasped above you, his hands gripping the pillows beside you

"Logan." You sigh

"You alright?" He asks softly

You nod enthusiastically. His hips pull backward and your jaw drops into a silent moan as he enters again. His chest hair tickles your own chest as he pumps in and out. Your eyes are wide and you're certain a bit of drool is on your chin as his hand jumps down to rub at your clit.

He's worked up you can tell, his thrusts become rougher as his hand rubs at your clit.

"Where?" Logan rasps

You weigh your options, you truly do. The chances of you getting pregnant were low, your body was so torn to shit it probably couldn't even carry a kid at this point.

"inside." You whisper "Inside me, Logan"

Logan lets out another quiet groan as he speeds up, the prospect of filling you has his hips losing it.

You cry out as you feel yourself cum again. Logan presses his lips to yours swallowing your moans and his own as he fills you. His hips stutter against yours as you run a hand through his hair.

He gently pulls out and before you know it, he's grabbing you by the waist and hauling you on top of him, your chest pressed to his as you lay directly on him.

"Fuck." He sighs

You smile into his chest, fully content despite how sticky you feel.

"You alright?" You ask him, listening to the way his heart races beneath his.

"Should be the one askin' you that." He says, running a hand down your sweaty back.

"I'm alright." You say pressing your cheek into his skin

"You sure? I didn't hurt you?" Logan asks

You sit up slightly to look at him.

"No, you didn't hurt me, Logan." You smile, pressing an assuring kiss to his lips, "I don't think I've ever had sex that amazing before"

Logan lets out a small snort of laughter.

"Good cuz' we can't do that again for a little bit."

You feel disappointment flood your system but you know what he means. You have a long road trip ahead of you, not to mention you're sure he feels exhausted after all that. You yourself feel boneless after all that. If only the two of you were younger.

"Get some rest," Logan murmurs into your hair "Three hours and we gotta go trade that piece of shit limo for something that will make it to North Dakota."

Much to your disappointment, he stays true to his word and wakes you up around nine. Logan tosses a soft towel toward you which lands directly on your face

"Take a quick shower. M' going to find us a ride. " He says

You nod and watch as he moves to get dressed. The towel he has wrapped around his waist soaks up the drops of water that fall from his hair and run down his tanned skin. Tantalizing body hair lines his skin and disappears under the towel, teasing what is hidden underneath.

"Less ogling, more showering." He huffs, dropping the towel to slip into a clean pair of underwear.

You rise to your feet, wrapped in the towel he gave you, and pad over to the bathroom, pretending not to look. Logan lets out a loud grumble when he catches you staring at his ass.

"Nice ass." You compliment, a smirk dancing on your lips.

"I'll drown you in the toilet."

You let out a bark of laughter and close the door. His jokes remind you of the young man you met at the school so many years ago. It seemed like an entirely different universe sometimes, thinking of who he used to be.

You help Charles with a bath after your own shower. It's embarrassing and difficult but you do it. He curses you out at least twenty times but at least he smells better by the end of it all. Then, you set your sights on Laura who avoids eye contact when you tell her to get in the bathroom.

"There is...a huge knot in your hair." You sigh, staring at the girl's head

Laura remains silent of course and picks at the sleeves of the fluffy bathrobe she put on as you try to blow dry her hair. It takes nearly twenty minutes but you're able to work most of it out with your fingers.

"You've gotta use more conditioner next time." You remind her as you flex your fingers.

Laura nods before climbing back into the bed with Charles to watch the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with Charles.

Logan would be back soon. You somehow manage to get Charles into his chair so you could get on the road quicker, you knew Logan was getting antsy. Laura munches on a bag of pretzel sticks that you bought from the vending machine a few floors down.

It's all so domestic. You smile to yourself as Laura mimics Charles who sticks a pretzel between his lips and pretends to smoke it for her entertainment.

"Alright, that's enough." You say, "We're gonna wait for Logan down at the valet."

You were getting nervous, he had been gone for nearly two hours now. You were sure he was perfectly fine but that didn't stop you from worrying.

"Laura grab the stuff from the other room."

You shake two pills out into your hands for Charles.

"Take them," You say

"Do I have to?" He asks sadly looking up at you

"You know what happens when you don't." You sigh, not interested in arguing with him

Charles' hand brushes yours just as the door is kicked down. You hear Laura's loud shout before you see them.

"Don't move." You order Charles as you turn to face the men.

"That blood manipulator is here, boss," One says into his radio on his shoulder

For once you thank Logan for his constant drinking. Miniature whiskey bottles litter the room. Lucky for you, they're glass and will work nicely for what you have planned. You thank the Lord for Johnnie Walker and smash one end of it off the bed frame. The sharp edge glints in the sunlight as you tighten your grip determined not to make the first move on these assholes.

A voice on the radio crackles back, "Transigen wants her DNA. Put er' to sleep."

The sharp buzz of something that sounds very painful and full of enough volts to fry a horse hits your ears.

Three men on your left, two on the right. Where's Laura?

One of the ones on your left makes the first move, he's the one with the overkill taser, that looks more like a cattle prod. You easily grab one end, careful to avoid the volts that light up electric blue. All the gear this man is wearing is making him slow. Johnnie Walker finds a home in this mystery man's neck and he lets out a low gurgle.

Five more men enter the room and you focus in on the blood that's flowing down this man's body and into your hands. A sharp pain dances across your brain but you ignore it.

The radio crackles from this dead man's shoulder, "What the fuck are you doing?! Move!"

Your hands come up and you focus on the blood, sharpening it into the form of a knife, sending one into the closest man's neck. He falls to the ground clutching an open wound that will never close.

You're ready to drop the rest of them, the man on the other end of the radio is still shouting at them all.

"Forget them, Where's the kid?" One man asks

The mention of Laura has your eyes scanning for her, she's nowhere to be found but before you can kill the rest of them, Charles acts first.

An unbelievable surge of energy goes through you. The blood you were controlling slips from your grasp and splatters onto the ground. White hot pain flashes in your brain as you try to turn towards Charles. It's like you've been superglued in place. You watch helplessly as Laura inches towards you, dragging herself across the floor towards you.

The appearance of Logan has you relieved as he makes his way towards you, killing each of your assailants one by one with his claws. Laura hands the syringe off to Logan and almost as quickly as it started, it's over.

You fall backward to the ground, and your lungs heave as they welcome the oxygen they were deprived of. Logan's above you, checking you for any injuries as he barks an order at Laura. And then Logan's scooping you up, bridal style, and carrying you out of the room, whispering that everything was fine. Your hand throbs as Logan rushes to the car, Laura pushing Charles hot on his heels. Your own blood, a rare sight is trickling down your arm, staining the sweatshirt you had demanded yesterday.

Logan places you in the front seat and shoves a wad of napkins at you.

"Get it to clot."

He slams the door shut and goes to help Laura with Charles. You focus on your hand, willing the blood to stop. Your head sends a sharp pain down your spine but it eventually tapers off. The cut, becoming pink and sensitive, it'll be healed in the next day or so.

You spend the next hours in silence on the road. At some point Logan's hand had found a way to your thigh, resting there as he drove.

You twisted around to check on Laura and Charles, both of them were asleep. The car clock read 10:30 PM.

"You gonna let me drive?" You ask Logan

"I'm fine." He says

You sigh, of course, he was planning to drive through the night you truly didn't know how he survived on so little sleep.

"The men back at the hotel today, they were planning on taking me alive." You say to him

"They want your genetic code. Probably want to grow more mutants with it, that's what they did with mine." Logan says, glancing in his mirror at a sleeping Laura.

"Living weapons." You sigh, thinking of all the children in that video.

"What they'd do with your power? Can you imagine some full-powered, mindless zombie, controlling people's blood?" Logan shakes his head.

It's not a pretty picture, what his words conjure in your mind. Some nameless child raised up with the idea that their power is invincible.

"Shit, they'd be able to pop the head off the president's shoulders without even blinking," Logan says

"I get it." You glare at him

You're a long way from full strength. You wonder if you'd even be able to, in Logan's words, "Pop someone's head off". Perhaps the effort would kill you and you'd blow a hole in your own mind. Just earlier today you had struggled, there was once a time you would've been able to cut every one of those men down in less than three seconds.

"Nothing's gonna happen to you. Transigen isn't getting one drop of that blood." Logan assures you, "We're gonna drop her in North Dakota and then buy the Sunseeker."

"I want to be able to drive it every once in awhile." You say

"Yeah?" Logan smiles over at you, "You're not gonna crash it into something?"

"We'll be in the middle of the ocean how would I crash?" You roll your eyes

"Remember that time we went Go-Karting as a team and you jumped a barrier and hit Scott so hard he had whiplash for a week?"

"That was once!" You groan, "Is that why you won't let me drive now?"

Logan's deep laugh fills your ears as he shakes his head.

"That's part of the reason. The other half is that it makes me feel useful. Feel like I'm doing something for you."

You sit up, looking over at him.

"Logan, you are useful. You do things for me all the time."

The headlights of a car passing by on the other side of the road illuminate his tired face.

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Just today you carried me out of the hotel and to the car. Two weeks ago you bought my favorite candy for movie night even though you hate it."

You glance to the backseat making sure Laura and Charles are still asleep.

You lower your voice just in case they wake up, "You literally gave me two of the best orgasms I've ever had this morning."

Even though it was true, you meant it as a joke, but it caught Logan off guard as his laugh turned into a fit of coughs.

"Logan!" You exclaim when his hands let go of the wheel and one of those damn auto trucks nearly runs you off the road.

"What's going on?" Charles and Laura are awake in the backseat again

Logan slows the car down so you're cruising at 45mph. He turns to you, face serious and brows slightly pinched together in anger.

"No more sex jokes."

Part Three

Whenever I write smut, I feel like it doesn't flow as well as my other normal writing. Oh well. Hope you enjoyed this part.

Tags:

@gigabitemyass @1cam8 @personofsinterest @corruptedcruiser @flamingbisexual08

@arrozconpepitoria

@e-ak

@nikos-a-clown

@evanpetersmood

@loganhowlettsboyfriend

@persiar9

@khaylin27

@veggie-eggrolls

[thehauntedetheral]

hi,can you make a yandere actor with a reader that is not famous, he is really pretty and the reader starts to suffer atacks for not being "pretty enough for him", she is already insecure and wants to break up but he is too much in love and obsessed with her for let it that happenss so he goes on public to stop the attacks, but he ends up saying things like, if she asks him he would abandon his career in a second and other stuffs and even the public realizes his obssesion.

Yandere Actor

Requests are open !

• Yan is a superstar. Crazy fans, blockbuster movies, critic's favourite, handsome, Money, Fame, Glory he have everything. He is the definition of boys want to be him and girls wanting to be with him.

• But what he didn't have was a person to call his love, his home. Many times when he is alone he craves it more than anything.

• People around him were so fake and greedy that he has given up on the idea to ever find his person.

• Until one day he meets you. You were the supporting actress of his new project. You were not a famous actress but a underrated one.

• You and yan had very few scenes together in the film so very rarely he would see you be sets while filming his scenes.

• He loved how you were so passionate for your work. How you are still underrated and unrecognised is still beyond him.

• Whenever he saw you on set his mood would automatically cheer up. You were like a ray of light. Bright and warm according to him.

• He would often come to set early than his scheduled time just to get a glimpse of you.

• Intentionally would ask you questions about some scenes written in the script when he understood everything he just wanted a reason to talk to you, to hear your voice.

• His day started with waking up and your thoughts filling his mind and ended with seeing dreams about you in his sleep.

• After the filming got over and the whole crew was celebrating at a restaurant. He asked you out on date.

• At first you thought he was pranking with you. Because you were not beautiful or famous like the other actresses he work with.

• Even after you politely saying no to him due to your low self esteem issue. He kept asking you for a chance. Finally you gave in.

• Slowly you two were growing closer to each other going on dates secretly, texting, video calling each other on sets, spending quality time together and much more.

• You both were dating secretly. As you didn't wanted a controversy before the release of film because the public were crazy for the couple of yan and the another actress of the movie that was about to release. People shipped them two like crazy, praying they become couple in real life and if they got to know you were dating yan it would be a recipe for disaster and hate for you. So yes you decided to date secretly even though yan wants to scream at the top of his lung and tell to the whole world that you are his girlfriend.

• The thing you feared the most happened. Some paparazzi clicked photos of you and yan in a private restaurant eating together and kissing.

• Now it was all over the media. The shippers of the yan and another actress were spreading hate for you on internet. Yan fan's were heartbroken that he was dating an non famous actress with an average looking face.

"eww why is he even dating her???? she looks so ugly and has no fashion sense"

"Yan is so handsome he can get anyone why her?"

"She is the reason between yan and other actress not being couple god I hate her"

"Please yan come to your senses and leave that ugly looking stick"

"Yan you deserve better"

"Yan and other actress are meant to be together not this ugly actress who no one knows about"

"She is just using him to get fame. After all she became famous now after dating him no one knew about her before"

• Seeing all this hate comment it made you cry and think that yan deserves someone like him famous and beautiful not you who people don't even know about and is average looking.

• Seeing you cry breaks yan's heart. He can't see you his angel, his light crying. He takes you in his arms holding your face delicately in his hands and wiping your tears.

"Baby for me you are the most beautiful women on this earth. They don't deserve you hell even I don't deserve you but I will always try till my last breath to prove how greatful I am to have you. You are beautiful inside out. You are smart, funny, kind , you are the girl of my dreams, my future wife, and future mother of our children. All those people are fools, love. Even if all of them combined together they still won't be able to hold a candle to your beauty and personality. Even the moon's beauty fade infront of you my darling. Don't believe those fools" yan said kissing you making you a bit smile.

"Take some rest,darling. You must have been exhausted by crying for this stupid people." He says and cuddle you to sleep. After making sure that you have fallen into deep slumber he leaves quietly to make all this people pay for hurting you.

• He hires a famous expensive lawyer and comments on social media "Whoever will say or comment any bad about my girlfriend I will sue them and drag their ass to court. So think before you do anything."

• His lawyer is already in process to sue everyone on internet for trolling you.

• In all his promotions and interviews he would constantly talk about you and tell how lucky he is to have her and that you are perfect.

• He also warns every one that if someone even looks at you in a wrong way he would personally handle them. ( Meaning dragging that person to an abandoned place and beating them until the person says that y/n is the best)

• Whenever you two were out together he would wrap his arms all around your body embracing you to protect from paparazzi.

• One time a paparazzi harassed you and pushed you making you fall down while taking photos and asking questions. The next day that paparazzi is tied and in Yan's basement.

• Everyone were shocked with how much yan is obsessed with you. In an interview he even said that "He would leave his successful career and move to another country for you".

• He even planned the move away but you put a stop on it.

• This man would even leave the world for you if you want. He just loves you too much that it makes him hard to breathe just thinking about you leaving him.

• He is so obsessed with you that now people were scared to even approach or say something about you.

• This man made sure that no one I repeat no one ever say bad about you. Ever. After all you are his darling. He won't let anyone hurt you.

For more yandere reading:

[luvh4nji]

𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐙 + 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐊 𝐒/𝐎

warning: general drunkenness, reader is referred to as "girl" in san's

seonghwa ; he's so unbelievably soft for you. something about having his pretty baby so in love with him, hanging off his arm and pressing your side impossibly closer to his, even when you're not completely yourself, makes his heart swell in his chest, his stomach doing somersaults.

"be careful, love." he chastises you gently, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close to his side, thumb rubbing little circles on the skin of your shoulder. "don't want you getting into trouble, yeah?" and you just swoon over him, turning in his hold so your arms snaking around his own shoulders, nuzzling into his chest. and you're too hazy to notice the soft look in his eyes and the soft blush that covers his cheeks.

hongjoong ; he seems like the type to be a little insecure in a relationship. he's so busy, he porbably doesn't feel like he gives you enough attention and it gets him down a little bit. the question of what if you find someone who treats you better? always sits in the back of his mind. but when you get all clingy and sweet with him when you get a little drunk at the studio, his worries almost seem to dissipate.

"and those are the reasons why..." you start, cutting yourself off with a hiccup, resting your head against his chest from your spot in his lap. "those are the reasons why i love you." you finish, smiling to yourself in your drunken daze. "ah, okay, i see. " he indulges, nodding and smiling down at the mess you are in his lap. he hears something that sounds like a muffled "you better" coming from you, feeling the vibrations of your voice as he runs his fingers down your back.

yunho ; he would think you're the cutest thing he's ever seen <3 he's truly the type to be completely entranced by his partner and to see you have that same reverence for him? it just makes him so, so happy. he's the type to have you close to him all night, sitting in the booth of the bar wiht his arm slung around your shoulders while you lean against him, ead on his chest, hand lifted to hold his, looking up at him like he hung the stars in the sky.

"you feeling okay, baby?" he asks, noticing how quiet you'd gotten. and you'd just nod against his chest, sniffing a little bit from the drinks, mumbling that you're fine and that you just want to look at him, blinking slowly as you explain yourself. and he gets so red, smiling brightly and keeping you close to his chest proudly while the rest of the guys at the booth tease you relentlessly.

yeosang ; he gets so shy and flusterd, poor guy :( he's not a very touchy person, generally speaking, so when you go to him, laying your head in his lap where he was sitting on the couch in your apartment, once the sleepy affect of the beverage has sunken in, gazing up at him with big, lovestruck eyes, he can't help the soft pink that colors the shells of his ears.

"are you okay, y/n?" he asks, voice low, with that shy quality to it, as you look up at him, your hand reaching to cup his face, fingers tracing his birthmark delicately. "better than okay, sangie." you grin, running a thumb over the crest of his cheekbone. "i got so lucky-- to have someone to beautiful." you hiccup through your words, making him look up and away from your reverent expression, biting the inside of his cheek to hold in a smile.

san ; loves it. adores it even. you already knows he's absolutely a clingy drunk and he loves that you are too because it just proves to him how perfect you are for each other. he's the type to believe in soulmates and this is his sign. he just loves how you look at up at him, blinking slowly, and grabbing his hands, pressing little kisses to his knuckles and telling him how how handsome he is.

"yeah, honey? i'm the prettiest boy you've ever seen?" he asks, half-teasing, but you just nod in agreement, movements slow and lazy due to the alcohol flowing through your system. "i'm glad you think that." he says through a soft smile, reaching to ruffle your hair from you're leaning against his chest. "cause you're the prettiest girl i've ever seen. makes us a perfect match, doesn't it?"

mingi ; adores you when you get clingy. he's absolutely the type to revel in your physical nature. he loves how you excited you get to see him when he comes to pick you up from the bar after your friends had called him, asking for his assistance in getting you home. he loves how you run up to him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, pressing a sloppy kiss to his cheek, telling him how much you missed these past few hours that you'd been out.

"missed me?" he asks, only half-teasing, laughing to himself when you nod against his chest, mussing your hair in the process. "i missed you, too, honey." he grins, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head. "now lets get you home, yeah?" and he smiles to himself at how you cling onto his arm, grip vice-like in the car.

wooyoung ; he doesn't seem like the type to let himself be soft often. he feels like he has to be funny or flirty or abrasive at all times, but all those walls come down when he's around you, especially when your uninhibited and he knows you need his help. his voice gets so soft, touch gentle as he lets you wrap yourself around him, nuzzling into his chest, pressing sloppy kisses to the skin there.

"okay, baby," he starts when your body goes nearly limp against his. "you think it's time to go home?" and you just shake your head, hair mussing against him, before raising your gaze to meet his and mumbling something about how you'd go wherever he wanted you to. and he'd just laugh, soft and warm, wrapping an arm around your waist and leading you out of the bar. "alright, alright. let's get you home, lovey.

jongho ; although he doesn't necessarily seem like the clingiest person himself, he does seem like the type to enjoy having a clingy partner. it has something to do with him liking to be needed. it makes his chest puff up in pride and his eyes shine when you latch onto him. especially when you're all hazy and uninhibited, letting him take care of you.

"oh, really?" he grins pulling you close to him as you grapple onto his strong arms as you mumble something about how strong he is and how you adore him and everything he does for you. "you need me that much?" he asks, tone almost condescending if it wasn't him, and if you weren't inebriated. he shifts his grip around you as you nod againist his arm, staring up at him with big, sparkly eyes. the image of you so adoring of him makes his heart swell in his chest, biting his lip and trying to swallow his smile.

[erwinsvow]

thinking about being rafe’s new stepsister—your mom marries his dad and you move to tannyhill right before summer starts. at first he doesn’t care about it at all, doesn’t even talk about it with wheezie n sarah, more annoyed than anything that he has to deal with yet another girl in the house.

then he sees that you’re real pretty, shy and sweet the way he likes, never talking back to anyone, always doing what you’re told. he thinks he could have fun with you, the way you get so pleased with he actually volunteers to drive you around and give you a quick tour of the island. you were gonna go ride around on your bike but there’s a nail in the tire. rafe tells you “get your ass in the truck, kid, i’ll show you around.” you leave your useless bike where it is and so he ends up taking (really more parading) you around, showing you the beach and the country club and the good ice cream shops.

he thinks he’s going to have a good time trying to get into your bed, that it’ll take some sweet talking and latent touches and his devilishly handsome smile to urge you into thinking that this is a good thing, that you should want to be spend such quality time with your new big brother. rafe thought it would be such fun… until he ends up wrapped around your little finger!

he doesn’t realize when exactly it happened, somewhere in between driving you to the kook parties and feeling mildly irritated when he sees you talking to some boy and then feeling beyond ecstatic when you abandon the conversation to talk to rafe instead, the sulking boy taking off the second he sees rafe walking over to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. that boy thinks the two of you are dating, and when you do nothing to quell that idea, he starts feeling like he’s never felt before.

the pair of you leave from the party when you want to leave, despite his friends telling him how early it is and that they had people lined up to buy. what you say, goes, and so he takes you to get ice cream after leaving and the two of you eat it in his car in the parking lot, and before long, this is happening every other day. walks on the beach after dinner with the rest of your new family, midnight runs to get snacks when you get hungry—first you’d knock on his door or send him a text but now you two are basically together until midnight every night anyways, so it doesn’t take more than a tug of his arm to get his attention.

“shit, kid, got me running in circles for your crap-” he’ll tell you when he comes back to tannyhill with take out from one place for the two of you to share for dinner and drinks from another place, the new water bottle you wanted in yet another bag, but you had asked rafe so sweetly to pick it up for you, he couldn’t find it in him to disappoint you and say refuse.

in front of the others, it’s all pg-rated, movies on the couch sharing a blanket, but once they’re out of eyesight you lean against rafe and he holds you like a boyfriend would, carries you to bed when you fall asleep and gets in right beside you. presses a kiss to your forehead and says “sleep tight baby, m’right here” in his sleepy, low voice and you feel like you’re in heaven.

one time ward comes to wake you up and your bed is empty, and he goes to rafe’s room to ask if you went out last night after the two of you left to get dessert—which was really just an hour of making out in the backseat of his truck and returning before anyone got suspicious—and he sees you sleeping in there and just is speechless and about to get so angry at rafe. but you jump in and lie to his face, saying you saw a spider that disappeared and couldn’t sleep in there so you just came straight to rafe’s room because he was awake. (ward half believes it, rafe tells you he loves you right after he walks out because you defended him without a second of hesitation.)

it’s really funny because he really did just want to see if he could get into your panties but he’s so whipped for you now—feels like you get him and support him and clear up some of the fogginess in his brain. you keep him out of trouble and you’re good for him, and he’s trying hard to be a good boyfriend to you, even though he’s not your boyfriend, could never be your boyfriend.

drives you up to norfolk for a weekend trip—you lie and say your friends are meeting up there and rafe offers to take you since you don’t drive much (you don’t drive anywhere because rafe takes you everywhere). your mom happily agrees while ward is suspicious, still, but doesn’t voice anything since he doesn’t want your mom to worry. takes you on a real date, where he can hold you by the waist and kiss you and do anything he wants since no one knows you two.

books a cute hotel by the water and fucks you for the first time there, because he’d once thought getting caught only added to the appeal of seducing you, but now it just makes his blood run cold. you don’t care, though, and you tell him as much—that no one in the cameron family could make you stop seeing him unless you decided other wise. after all you knew that would be a part of the deal when you decided you had to make your new step brother yours until any circumstances and stuck that nail in your bike’s wheel so you could find an excuse to spend time with rafe.

that night in the hotel he holds you close and talks quietly to the ceiling, to you, to no one in particular since he thinks you’re asleep.

“don’t have to worry about getting caught, baby. i’ll just marry you and then no one can tell us what to do. just wait until we get back, then it’ll be fine, ‘jus us two forever, hm?”

<3

[judasofsuburbia]

something something caretaker! steve gets hired by rockstar! eddie to look after and live with wayne. everything is set up over the phone after eddie was given his resume so eddie's never physically seen the guy but he has enough positive reviews and references that it seems like there is anybody in this world that doesn't like this steve harrington fellow.

wayne munson soon becomes his #1 fan.

wayne keeps telling eddie all about steve in their weekly phone calls. anytime eddie tries to steer the conversation into something actually about wayne's health and wellbeing, wayne manages to involve steve. says that steve's blushing face is real handsome while steve rolls his eyes and laughs to himself across the room.

"you should come home on your next break," wayne says.

"i'm planning to."

"steve really wants to meet you," wayne says with an infliction.

"well, shit, wayne. from how much you gush about him, i'm excited to meet your new boyfriend too," eddie teases.

"oh hush, you. my casanova days are over. you, however, could use someone good."

the next break eddie has, nearly six months after steve starts working for the munsons, he arrives at nearly 11pm. he's quiet as he sneaks into the house he bought wayne years ago and nearly shits himself when he sees steve hanging out on the couch watching TV. he drops his suitcase to the floor, jolting steve out of his trance.

"oh god, i'm so sorry!" steve rushes to say as eddie clutches his chest and tries to steady his breathing.

"steve, i take it?" eddie laughs breathlessly.

"yeah, hi," steve stands from the couch and holds his hand out. "nice to finally meet you."

steve steps into the light as he does this and eddie's taken aback by just how handsome he is. oh fuck, wayne wasn't just messing around. eddie takes his hand, firm and strong, and shakes it.

"sorry to jumpscare you like that," steve smiles and his eyes twinkle in the low hallway light.

"no, i should've prepared myself," eddie says. "someone hasn't been in the house either than wayne or i in....well, ever."

"don't worry, i'll try to keep mostly to myself as you two have quality bonding time," steve replies sheepishly.

eddie shakes his head. "you don't gotta do that. you're more welcome around us than anyone. i owe you so much for looking after him."

steve smiles. "you already sign all my paychecks."

right, yeah. eddie's technically this guy's boss. eddie's never really thought of it that way before. that means any plans eddie's monkey brain had in the last thirty seconds about flirting with the handsome caretaker is out the window. it wouldn't be appropriate. eddie slouches and gives steve a tired smile.

"i'm gonna turn in. see you at breakfast?" eddie asks, hopeful despite his conflicting internal monologue.

"be prepared for oatmeal," steve jokes. "it's the only thing he wants for breakfast nowadays."

eddie scrunches up his face. "you don't have any poptarts or anything fun stashed away somewhere?"

"depends. do you like brown sugar cinnamon?" steve asks.

"love it," eddie whispers.

"then yeah, your breakfast fate can be a little better," steve nudges his elbow and it lights up eddie's skin.

"thank you caretaker steve," eddie salutes and turns heel to his teenage bedroom.

over the next few days, eddie goes out of his mind. he watches steve just do his job, the job he hired him to do, and he's still going crazy over it. how steve prepares for everything, accidents and things eddie couldn't even predict. spoon feeds wayne if his hands are too shaky. jokes and messes around with him like he's family. wayne's eyes keep drifting over to eddie's when steve isn't looking, a smug little smirk on his face.

"it can't happen," eddie seethes when steve leaves the room. "you're what's important here and i need him to stick around."

"and i need you to stop moping about the country, getting your heart broken every other week," wayne retorts. "steve's a good boy. he would treat you right."

"we don't even know if he's gay," eddie grumbles.

wayne gives him an unimpressed look that makes eddie bark out a frustrated laugh. "take a look at his bedroom, kid. you'll have all your questions answered," wayne advises right before steve returns.

"jeopardy time?" steve asks, hands already on wayne's wheelchair handles.

"eddie is gonna beat us both," wayne claims.

"that so?" steve beams. eddie is glaring daggers at wayne.

"he's full of useless facts," wayne jokes while eddie throws up his hands and steve laughs joyfully.

eddie falls for steve more and more as the week goes on. he tries his best to restrain it, tries his best to never be alone with steve. catches himself from checking steve out (especially in his daily running outfit, god) and swallows flirtatious lines that nearly escape his mouth. it's hard to say no when steve invites him to watch a movie or hang out with him while he cooks dinner but he does. eddie has to be coming off like a total dick at this point but it's for the best.

steve is out running an errand so eddie finally decides to snoop only a little bit. opens steve's bedroom door and smiles at all the decorations. sure enough, there is a little bisexual pride flag sticking out of the pen cup on his desk. eddie is admiring framed photos of steve and some kids along with little handwritten camp postcards on his corkboard when steve enters the room.

"anything interesting?" steve jokes from the doorway.

"shit!" eddie yells, clutching his chest again like he did the first night. "fuck, i'm so sorry."

"don't be," steve shrugs easily. "it is your house after all. i snoop your teenage bedroom all the time when wayne asks me to change the sheets."

"still, i shouldn't be invading your privacy," eddie says with an apologetic face.

steve walks carefully over to where eddie is standing. "i don't think there is much privacy between us where wayne is concerned," steve says quietly with a kind smile, leaning up against the desk.

"i'm sorry about him," eddie groans, rubbing his hand over his chin. "he is a little pushy about my love life."

"no, i'm sorry that he's weird about us. i swear i called you handsome once and he has never left it alone since," steve admits with a small blush.

eddie's eyebrows raise. "you think i'm handsome?"

"are you kidding me? you got this whole," steve gestures in a circle, "rockstar bravado going on. hard not to admire the show."

"well, you've got a show i admire too," eddie admits, inching closer.

steve huffs, looking down bashfully. "do i?"

"mhm. smart, genuine guy with a heart of gold. makes wayne's days better. lights up a room. probably rescues cats from trees and saves drowning puppies," eddie smiles.

steve tilts his head from side to side. "i may have rescued a cat before but it was stuck under my little brother Dustin's porch."

"see? heart of gold," eddie repeats.

steve exhales deeply, twisting his mouth. "i wasn't sure if you liked me."

eddie reaches his hand over and touches steve's hand on top of the desk. steve looks up shyly to eddie's sympathetic face. "i didn't want to-- there's a power trip here, you know? like you said, i sign your paychecks. i'm not about to pull out the moves and make you feel like your job is at risk if you aren't into it."

steve nods before slowly rubbing his thumb over eddie's.

"and if i am into it?" steve whispers.

"well i--" eddie stutters.

"can i kiss you?" steve asks quietly. eddie's not sure he's ever been asked in his entire life.

eddie nods. when steve's lips touch his, it's all over. any pretense of keeping his feelings undercover blows up like fireworks underneath his skin. eddie feels as his resolve sparkles and cracks away into the air. he encourages steve to keep kissing him by pulling in his face closer. steve sucks his bottom lip in between his own when his watch beeps.

"wayne's meds," steve whispers.

"old bastard," eddie jokes. "watch a movie with me later?"

steve bites his lip and nods. "i know just the couch."

[lacollectionneuse1967]

remembering you

Theseus Scamander x Reader

summary: the year is 1916 and you live with your family near the western front in france. after a chance encounter with a wizard soldier during the war, you don't think you'll ever see him again, although you're sure you'll always remember him.

nine years later, you find that the man not only works with you at the ministry, but he also happens to be the annoying auror who keeps accidentally sending interdepartmental memos to your desk. you develop a friendly, albeit anonymous, banter through sending each other notes, but the question remains--does he know who you are? and, if he does, does he remember you?

fem!reader. theseus scamander x reader.

category: office romance. smut with plot.

warnings: 18+ smut scene. unprotected penetration. oral sex (fem receiving). dirty talk. mdom/femsub. fyi he begs for it.

author's note: i am not an expert on the wizarding world nor am i an expert on wwi / world history! with respect, i do not claim to be. this is a work of fanfiction.

1916, Northern France

How strange it was, being at home when it no longer felt like home.

Your memories from childhood were precious and few, almost unreal. It was uncanny to be back with your father at that small, unchanging farmhouse on the far outskirts of Verdun. Your school waited until the last possible minute to send its students home, as they would have been sending many students home to die.

The perpetual afternoon, summery quiet of the countryside that you were so used to took on a disconcerting edge, an unspoken terror. This was the silence of a stalemate, of a breath being held. Not far from here lay the trenches and, beyond that, the Germans.

The flat, low-slung lines of Meuse were an additional shock to you. You'd spent the last five years of your life in the high, rocky mountains of the Pyrenees, at Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.

The river-run grasslands around you now had a vacant, exposed quality to them, the trees bare of birds, the squat buildings in town possessing the hollowed-out feel of an abandoned amusement park.

Even before the soldiers came you'd felt like a sitting duck.

Your sister's scream was the first noise to break the deadlock silence of the night.

You run from the windowsill without looking back. Smoke smell pricks your nostrils.

Your front door is swinging frenetically on its squealing hinges, left open, gapingly and awfully so. There are three uniformed men in boots, heavy gear, standing in your living room, looking around your small, low-ceilinged house with barely concealed reproach on their faces.

The wooden floors creak weakly underfoot. Through the doorframe you can make out some distant fires burning, you can't see them but you can smell them.

The sharp, whistling sound of war planes tears through the air.

"Parlez-vous anglais?" One of the men says in mangled French. He's redheaded, maybe in his early forties. There's black soot on his face which makes his irises look so light blue they're nearly white. "English. Anyone speak English?"

Your younger sister cowers at the booming cadence of his voice, she doesn't speak English. One of her bare feet takes a step back.

So they're English soldiers at least, but you don't recognize their uniforms. The redheaded one is brandishing a wand. But that can't be...

"[Your sister's name]," your father is too sick to rise from his chair, but he beckons to your sister, feebly, calling her away from the door in French. "Please, darling. It's okay, he's a soldier."

"There are no wizard soldiers," you step forward, placing yourself between the men and your family members. They look to you in plain surprise. Your English is unaccented. "The British and French Ministries of Magic abandoned us, forbade any wizard from involvement in-"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Your gaze shoots to the man who spoke.

He looks young. He has a long face and short-cut, curly brown hair. Handsome but not roguishly, not like a soldier ought to be. Handsome in an upright, gentlemanly way, the kind of face that exudes goodness and inspires trust. He almost seems out of place in his uniform, dressed for combat.

"What do you want?" you ask warily.

The third, sunken-eyed man gawks and lets out an incredulous sneer.

"Ungrateful little-"

"Quiet, it's fine," the brown-haired man says, silencing his comrade before turning to you. "We're here to evacuate all magical families in the area. We've received prophetic intel that invasion is imminent, the battle will begin moments from now and will span months. Hundreds of thousands will die. Pack your family's things."

Your brother lets out a noise of trepidation, turning to your father.

Your father--paler every day, made older by his illness, slumped over in his chair. He could not even make it out to the front garden, nevertheless survive an evacuation. His eyes are twinkling acutely, buried like gems in his wrinkled, ruined face.

"Come on!" Says the redheaded man in frustration. His blackened, ash-covered face is frightening to your siblings, as is his anger.

He pulls the man standing in the back towards him roughly by the shoulder to hiss in his ear.

"I'd understand if it was an estate that had been in their family for centuries, some of the pure-blood families that we…" For a moment his whispers are unintelligible, but you make out the last words well enough. "But this little farm?"

"Little farm?!" You step forward again, bristling. "This is our home. Can't you understand wanting the dignity of dying in your own home?"

The handsome one looks sharply to your father in his chair then. It is like he is seeing him clearly for the first time, you can see it click in his mind.

"Your father is a Muggle..." he says sympathetically.

"And he is sick. He won't survive apparition. Besides," you protest. "The Germans haven't broken the line since the Battle of the Marne."

The other two soldiers are stilled in shock, aghast at the fact of you, a young girl, arguing with them at all.

"Please," you entreat them. "There's been no movement. This is trench warfare, sir. They won't-"

"They will," the redheaded soldier's voice is grave, uncompromising. "Tonight, tomorrow. I don't know when, but the Germans intend to bleed the French white. They will break the line at Verdun. It is certain."

If what they said was true, if there was a prophecy....

Your hope sinks away from you, you feel your palms go limp and bloodless.

For a moment no one speaks. The silence of the night returns from wherever it fled to, creeps and settles around you.

When you find it again, your voice sounds heartless to your ears.

"Take my siblings," you say.

[Your brother's name] shouts in objection, your little sister cries out.

"No! Y/N, you can't-"

"Not another word!" You order. The words burn you to say. "You will go with these men, I won't hear anything about it."

The redheaded man grabs your sister by the forearm swiftly, and the sullen one extends a hand to your brother. They apparate away in a solitary whoosh. You feel the last remnants of your heart tear away and leave with them.

When the last man, the handsome one, steps towards you, you shake your head and retreat, backing up against the wall.

"I'm not going, sir."

You speak firmly, but the man scoffs anyway.

The front door is still erratically swinging on its hinges like a weather vane. Your father's neck has drooped forward, his chin buried in his chest. He falls in and out of sleep like this lately. He grows worse every day.

The lone soldier purses his lips, his eyes gleam testily. You think he might grab you then, and it sends a tingle down your spine.

"I'm a war nurse, you know?" Your hands are trembling suddenly. No one to pretend to be brave for now that your siblings are gone. Your courage takes on a raw, desperate quality. "Or I want to be. I know enough to help."

"Miss," the man speaks sincerely. Unlike his comrades, he really looks at you when he talks, looks you dead in the eyes. It should be unnerving, but it isn't. You can't name what it does to you.

"I vow to take full responsibility for your father's health and safety. Home or not, he won't be better off here. I will personally care for and protect him, I promise you."

You swallow and nod. He's about to grab your hand when you speak again.

"And them?" You say. "The Muggle soldiers? Who protects them? You can take my father, but I will stay."

He makes a noise of gentle surprise.

"Miss, we're here to minimize the global wizarding community's losses. No magical blood needs to be spi-"

"I don't care about all that," your voice is sharper than you intended. It appears to have cut him to the core. 'Magical blood,' he'd said. But you've never been ashamed of being a half-blood. You've never been ashamed of being your father's daughter.

He frowns in contemplation, more to himself than at you.

"You want to stay so badly. Why?"

"I told you, I'm a nurse."

"You're a child."

"I'm sixteen," you bite back.

"Like I said," his rebuttal is delivered with a sly smile. You amuse him, though you're not sure why. "A child. Not even old enough for Muggle conscription."

"I'm no Muggle."

"No, you're... You're something else."

You bite your lip. Your words are braver than your feelings now.

"If what you say is true, the Muggles--the Allied soldiers--will need medical attention. A woman in town has been training me as a nurse. I've been to the front, I can help. I couldn't live with myself if I didn't."

His eyes don't leave your face, some silent assessment taking place within him. You're already thinking of what else you can say to him, how else to convince him.

"Okay," he says, unflinchingly. "You can stay." He'll turn a blind eye.

Your shoulders slump in relief.

He walks towards your father, who is still sagged over in a worrisome-looking unconsciousness, too deep to be sleep.

'No,' you think. 'Don't go yet.'

Mindlessly, senselessly, you feel a blooming alarm. Some death rattle, some dying burst of life.

"Wait!" You call out to him, stepping away from the wall.

The man turns. "The handsome one," you'd called him in your head, fancifully, maybe even teasingly. Nothing about it seems funny now. It never had to mean anything to you, people being handsome or beautiful. It didn't have to be about you. But this, it feels serious, personal.

You don't know what overcomes you, how you could act so boldly. He'll probably think you deranged, hysterical.

But you can't imagine he'll deny you.

You've seen enough soldiers these last two years of war to know what they want from women and girls, what they all inescapably hunger for.

"Kiss me," you say, and then add, "Please. Please kiss me."

He halts completely. When his brows knit together your heart shutters closed, meekly.

"Why?"

"I..." It's hard to admit, even now, the world burning around you. "I've never been kissed. I want to be kissed, just once, before I die. In case I do..."

You're losing your breath as you speak, your stamina sputters out.

You know how he must see you--naive, insane, maybe even pathetic. You can bear the rejection, but, suddenly, can't bear to face him anymore.

You don't hear his footsteps. His touch is so gentle you barely feel it, are still turning away when you notice his fingertips resting on your wrist.

When you look up at his face it's so unexpectedly close that you gasp. His eyes are blue, a deep and true blue. You were a fool to think him anything like the other soldiers you'd encountered. No, his expression was achingly kind and perceptive. Devastatingly handsome.

He smells like engine smoke and soap and spearmint. He smells like a man. It's intoxicating. It makes you shudder.

You close your eyes tight and hold your breath. There is the smell of fire and the echoes of distant warfare around you, but your entire body drones that out, pauses and prepares for this moment, readies itself to be kissed.

The man rests a hand on the side of your face, that alone is as intimate as any kiss, the warmth of his palm. He hesitates.

His lips on your forehead are not what you expect, but your body thrills anyway when you feel them press there.

But you are sixteen and you want a real kiss.

You don't even care who from. You want just this one selfish, childish thing in a warring world where no one is afforded childhood.

You stare at him in unhappy perplexity when he pulls back.

You might cry, you realize, and the swelling tears in your vision, they stun you.

"Live," he says, softly. Insistently. "You'll live to be kissed."

He turns to leave, but stops midway. Your siblings gone, soon your father too. The Germans invading. Your whole life taken in one fell swoop, one night. The last trace of your girlhood will be the sight of this soldier's back as he walks out the door of your childhood home. This, you know.

The man looks back at your face and asks you a question no soldier has ever bothered to ask you, not when they burst into your home, not even when you were cleaning their wounds and saving their lives at the front.

"What is your name?" he says.

"What's yours?"

"Theseus Scamander," he doesn't miss a beat. He's an open book. "Do you not want to tell me your name?"

"It won't matter soon enough..."

"Do you so badly not want to live?"

"No, I do. I am just no longer afraid of death."

The look in his eyes is so tender and considerate, it's almost painful.

"I don't need a name to remember you," he's smiling again, it's so strange and out of place and, you admit, heartening. "Good luck. Goodbye."

Theseus Scamander leaves with your father in tow, closing the violently fluctuating door, at last, on his way out.

----

1925, London, Nine Years Later

'It can't be,' you think to yourself. 'Improbable.'

It's just too soon. You've hardly sat down at your new desk when you receive the interdepartmental memo. It unfolds from its airplane shape mid-air and sways delicately, falling in a rocking motion until it's flat on your desk.

A memo already?

You have just been moved to the Department of Magical Games and Sports from the Department of Mysteries. The man who sat there before you was moved to a bigger, better office, had been some hunching, Quidditch-loving Old Boy who wore long socks and smelled of moth-eaten cotton. Allegedly his name was Mr. Byrne.

A real success story in his department, or, rather, your host department, as you'd been appointed Interdepartmental Liaison for the Department of Mysteries. A new position. In fact, the only "above ground" position in your department, which was, expectedly, shrouded in mystery and sunken deep within the depths of the British Ministry of Magic.

In truth, you were also here on a mission. There had been rumors of conspiracy, political mutiny. Grindelwald supporters who had infiltrated the British Ministry of Magic. And the top suspect was the Head of the Department you'd been moved to. You'd been instructed to investigate, discern the truth of the rumors.

This would usually be a job for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but they had also been compromised. Or so you'd been told...

Your new position meant that you were to be kept in the dark more often than not, but it also meant having a desk above ground and being around other people. Luxuries.

No more time travel experiments, thought experiments, or, thankfully, demented blood purity experiments that always made your half-blood boil. You could live without all of that.

Still, none of that explained you receiving an interdepartmental memo before you'd even settled in.

You lift it from your desk in annoyance.

You do a double-take at the words, blinking hard at them.

"Holy hell," the memo reads. "When I told you I wanted to investigate some cursed Gobstones I didn't mean I wanted you to send them to my office, fuck's sake. Next after-work pint is on you, my friend."

You scoff.

It must have been misaddressed. The unfortunate writer must not know about Mr. Byrne's relocation.

It's beneath you, and childish, but you can't help but write back.

It's the sort of enchanted parchment that you can just write your responding message on. The ink disappears into the scrap of paper and appears wherever your mystery correspondent may be.

For your own amusement, you try to picture their reaction the best that you can.

"First of all, 'Holy hell'? 'Fuck's sake'? How dare you," you write. "Second of all, I'm not your friend and I most certainly will not be paying for an 'after-hours' pint. If I'm not clocked in, I'll have nothing to do with the Ministry."

It takes him so long to write back you nearly forget about it, have already gotten to unpacking all your silver nibs and ink pots and lining them up in the drawer like little soldiers, just how you like.

"Who is this?" Comes the message.

It's so dry, the response, so worried and perfunctory, that you nearly laugh out loud.

But something about the formality and genuine concern in your mystery messenger's script compels you to reply with mercy.

"Relax. Mr. Byrne's desk has been moved. If you want to write him, he has the big office on level seven with the view of the Atrium now. Lucky bastard. I'm at his old desk. Was just kidding about being offended. You can say 'fuck' and 'hell' all you want to me."

His reply comes quickly this time.

"Oh, good. Fucking hell, I was scared for a moment there."

You smile in bemusement. Who knew anyone at the Ministry could have a sense of humor? You'd thought you were the only one. You can't help but write back eagerly.

"Damn, I should have lied and said I was the Minister for Magic."

"Have mercy. I think I honest to God would have cried."

"So, no after-work pint for me then?"

"Forgive me, where are my manners? Today. The White Horse. Not sure who you are, but pint is on me, sir."

"*Miss!!" You correct. "And I was only joking. I really meant what I said before about not wanting anything to do with the Ministry unless I'm at work and being paid for my time."

"How very patriotic."

There's nothing in his writing to indicate sarcasm, but it practically drips off the page. This person is cheeky, you realize. Sarcastic. And a little annoying.

You like it.

The Department of Magical Games and Sports is a sleepy, uneventful affair compared to the work you'd been engaged in for the Department of Mysteries when you were "below ground." You look around at your colleagues, your dreary officemates. They were relatively sedentary outside of Quidditch season. Sleepy, slow-moving creatures.

As interdepartmental liaison for the Department of Mysteries, a fabricated position, really, you were already bored out of your mind.

Maybe that's why you write back with unfounded enthusiasm.

"Mystery boy: Tell me something about you. Tell me something true."

----

London hadn't been kind to you.

It seemed you had a hard time of everything: finding a flat with your sister as two unmarried, unchaperoned women, making friends outside of work, making sure to look the right way when crossing the street to avoid getting hit by a bus ('They drive on the left side, Y/N. Get it together'). All these things had proved to be excessively difficult. Especially the not-getting-hit-by-a-bus part.

During the war, while you served as an underaged combat nurse on the frontlines, your father died, but your siblings lived.

They told you the soldier from that night, the one who denied you your first kiss, had kept his word. He'd done the best he could to care for your father and, more importantly, he'd stayed with him until the very end.

Your brother was still in France, working with magical aquatic beasts around les Calanques de Cassis, but your sister was here with you. She worked in some Muggle field you didn't quite understand.

Her, your brother, and, now, the mystery man you'd been writing to every day were the only real people in your life. The only people who really talked to and knew you.

Day by day you'd grown closer to the mystery man. What had started out as vaguely funny, sometimes hostile banter had developed into something more. You'd both genuinely warmed to each other.

"Morning, sunshine!"

You were so accustomed to reading his greeting with your morning coffee that you reached for it automatically, as soon as you arrived, hand sweeping wide over the expanse of your desk to pick it up.

"Hope you caught some bad guys today. Or at least got to enforce a law or two. Bye-bye, idiot." You sign at the end of most days. Or some other joking farewell.

It's a constant correspondence between the two of you, scrawled-in between assignments and research. On your desk there is your inbox, your outbox, the stack of parchment (whatever you happen to be working on), and, just to the side of that, the discreet piece of paper you use to correspond with the mystery man.

However, you do try to mitigate the sharing of identifying information. Even when he learns you're an "Unspeakable," or someone working for the Department of Mysteries, it does little to deter him.

"Keep your department's secrets," he writes. "I just want yours."

He volunteers information about himself, his initials ("TS") and even his department (Magical Law Enforcement), in the hopes that you'll reciprocate.

You do, but you offer unimportant, silly facts about yourself. Nothing that will help him identify you, though he's insistent that he'd know you anyway if you ran into each other.

"I'm an Auror. I fought in the war," he reveals one day. "Your turn now."

"Fine: I never learned how to swim. So if you want to kill me you should probably drown me."

"I'm considering it. I'll bring a bottle of water when I finally see you. Why won't you tell me something more about yourself?!"

"What do you want to know? Can't a girl working for the Department of Mysteries be mysterious once in a while?"

"It gets old."

"You're a liar. You love me."

"True on both counts. But one of these days I'm just going to show up at your desk. I know where it is, you know... Mu-ha-ha."

You write back dismissively. "Why show up? So I can berate you in person?"

Your heart pounds stupidly as you watch the message sink away. You don't want to encourage him.

It's been one whole month of your daily exchanging of magical notes.

You know his biggest stressors at work, you know what he finds irritating, what he finds funny. Know his hopes and dreams.

You hate to admit it, but you'd be completely adrift without it, without him. Even when you're back at your flat with your sister you find your hands moving to write whenever something weird or funny happens, just to tell him, instinctually. You find yourself missing him.

It makes you shudder, the thought.

You don't want anything more... You're both comfortable and satisfied with how things are now. It's really only him who jokes about meeting up sometimes. But you? You're afraid meeting him in person would ruin that.

Maybe it's easier to have a close relationship with him across the merciful distance of anonymity.

"Night night." He writes at the end of the day. He seems to get to work earlier than you and leave later, but he's learned to say goodbye right at 6:00pm, when you usually leave.

For some reason, the words don't disappear from the page, even when you write back beneath them. His boyish script stays put.

"'Night night?'" you write back. "Ouch. I'm not a grandmother, I do intend to go out for dinner after work. Why the bedtime message?"

His words fade in and your heart swells.

"I wrote it so you can put it in your pocket and save it for tonight. I get to say goodbye to you, and good morning, but not goodnight. Just trying to cover all my bases."

You smile and tear off the message, putting it in your pocket. On the remaining paper, you cast a spell for the same, lingering text that he'd gifted you.

"Okay. You can save and reuse this message: Goodnight then, T. Sleep well, I'll talk to you tomorrow, and tomorrow. And the day after that, too."

----

You're prone to daydreaming, you'll admit to that.

"You live in a world of your own!" your favorite professor at Beauxbatons would say fondly.

"Ditzy girl, that one!" your least favorite professor would scowl within earshot of you.

But it's so easy to slip away, especially when you have something, someone, to dream about.

You watch your feet sweep across the dark green tiled floors of the Atrium, but hardly pay attention to anything else as you make your way to the elevators.

You're chuckling to yourself, remembering something your mystery correspondent wrote yesterday. It was some outrageous story, so ridiculous you wouldn't have believed it if it came from anyone but him, who was honest to a fault.

It was about a disastrous trip he took with his younger brother and involved camping on a storm-logged beach, an angry Graphorn, and frantically singing some maritime folk song they'd been misinformed would calm the beast.

You're still smiling at the floor when you step into the elevator, or, more correctly, step directly into a tall man in a three-piece suit. You crash into him with a crushing momentum.

"Oof!" you redden immediately, try to catch your breath and sputter out an apology at the same time. "I'm so sorry, forgive me!"

But the man is engaged in a conversation with two other men in the elevator, laughing.

He doesn't look over to you, he just stills you with an attractive casualness, steadies your frame with a firm hand on your shoulder. You know you hit him hard, his nonchalance is for your benefit.

"S'alright. Sorry, miss," he says with a half-glance, before turning back to his conversation.

A half-glance is all you need.

The profile of his face in the elevator light. His exact height and the feeling of being next to him. His voice, for Christ's sake!

You go stiff, your face wan.

It was him. Unmistakably. The English soldier from that night at your father's house in France. From the last time you saw your father, the last time you felt like a girl...

You couldn't speak if you wanted to. You feel something like seasickness come over you, you don't dare open your mouth.

"Theseus Scamander," his colleague is joking. "I mean it when I say well done! We should've known our young war hero would make the best Auror in the department!"

"Really, really spectacular job, son!" The other man claps a hand over Theseus's back in agreement. They're both older, sort of brash men, they don't seem to sense Theseus's discomfort at being complimented.

Theseus is grinning bashfully.

"Just doing my job," he delivers with charm, shrugging.

"Nonsense! Tonight, we celebrate. I'm not taking no for an answer. I've actually felt somewhat of a mentor to you, when you first started out-"

"We ought to invite Mr. Byrne out with us!" The third man exclaims with revelatory fervor. "How has the old chap been? Do you still go down to the pub with him, Theseus?"

It is the second, overlapping wave of nausea that really does you in, digs in its claws and drags downwards. You feel your feet physically sink into the floor. You can't bring yourself to move at all, you drone out the rest of what they're saying. It's white noise, the buzz of flies.

Mr. Byrne.

War hero.

Auror.

Initials T.S.

God, how stupid could you be? No, that's not fair.

The chances of seeing him again were slim. The chances of the two of you working together were even slimmer. The chances of him, the soldier from that night, Theseus Scamander, being your mystery correspondent these last weeks.... It should've been impossible.

When the elevator doors ding open at level seven, you step past the men quickly, rudely, afraid they'll turn to say something to you. Even a belated greeting or perfunctory farewell you couldn't bear.

You don't know why you feel so shaken.

'It's not a big deal,' you tell yourself consolingly once at your desk. 'You were sixteen. So what if you asked him to kiss you?'

But deep within your core, in a space beyond words or reason, you know that it was more than that. You weren't embarrassed about a stupid non-kiss. No, you haven't been able to shake that night, to shake him.

You'd connected. Or, rather, he'd seen you. Something about his gaze and his words had cut through the fat of life, of circumstance, and he'd seen you for who you really are.

And he'd promised to remember you.

It's gutting, harrowing almost. Realizing he'd been writing to you all this time, unaware. Some sick joke from the universe with no punchline--because you decided then and there to stop writing to him, immediately.

Theseus realizes long before the end of the day.

After you crumple his unanswered "good morning" memo and push it to the far corner of your desk, another flies in.

"URGENT: Is it just me or is Mr. Byrne particularly dapper today? The magenta top hat I can forgive, even the monocle is pardonable, but the polkadot bowtie? Inexcusable. Unbecoming of the Ministry. Need your thoughts immediately."

You had seen Mr. Byrne's polkadot bowtie today. You still found the magenta top hat more scandalizing. You wanted to laugh, but felt too much like crying to give way to the urge.

Then:

"I'm dying. Dark wizard lead in Suffolk but I can't be bothered. Tell me some funny story about you telling the professors off in school. I'm relying on tales of your genius to boost my morale. The fate of the Aurors Office depends on you alone. T."

It's three hours before the next memo comes flapping around the corner like some wounded bird.

"Have I done something wrong?" Shortly after, "More importantly--Are you alright?"

You don't know why you can't leave them be, why you keep reading them with no intention of responding.

"Scaring me here, mystery girl. Write back and I'll stop harassing you, write anything at all. Even a little drawing or scribble will suffice."

"You're not liaising very well, Liaison... Sorry, that was a joke. Ha-ha. I know the Department of Mysteries isn't expected to answer to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement but I'd always hoped you'd still answer to me..."

You throw yourself into your work with rigor.

Even your Department of Magical Games and Sports officemates comment on it, commendably. They don't realize you're just trying to occupy your brain, distract yourself from the sizable pile of memos lying formidably on your desk until you can go home.

The last one comes late in the day: "Really--Are you alright?"

Your heart aches weakly.

But no, you know how persistent and how persistently optimistic the mystery man ('Theseus,' you correct yourself) could be. If you wrote back he'd want an explanation, which he'd inevitably refute, and, besides, you weren't ready to tell him the truth or to face him again.

Your head is a jumbled mess of half-formed truths and complicated emotions.

It's a few minutes before 6:00pm, but you click off your desk lamp anxiously and begin to organize your things.

The nature of your position for the Department of Mysteries required you to lock your work up before you left. It involves two spells and four charmed latches and bolts, and it takes some time. You sit back in your chair with a sigh, waiting for the process to finish. The soft, mechanical whirring and clicking noises are a comfort to you.

The frosted glass door to the office swings open thunderously, with the unnecessary force of someone unfamiliar with the delicate door.

You sit up straight in your chair, startled. A few of the workers behind you even look over in alarm, heads shooting up from their desks.

No. Fucking. Way.

Theseus's chest is heaving softly. He's looking right at you, purposefully.

He actually showed up to your desk like he always joked about doing. You want to feel angry, indignant that he'd betray your trust, but all you feel is a numbing shock.

The sight of his face alone would've been a shock. Blue eyes. High cheekbones. Wavy, dark hair. Handsome as the day he left you.

He seems genuinely rendered speechless. The open part of his lips suggests that he had come with some speech prepared for you when he first burst in, although now he is, evidently, lost.

His eyes keep flitting up and down your form, lingering especially on your lips. It makes you flush. Yes, he gets a good look at your face, and at the small pile of his opened memos shoved to the far corner of your desk.

Whatever he expected to find, expected you to look like, this clearly wasn't it.

"Mr. Scamander!"

Your officemate Ana's voice from behind you makes you jolt again.

She walks over and places a hand on your shoulder tenderly. She seems to be completely unaware of any tension between the two of you, speaking to Theseus with ease.

"I'm sorry to steal Y/N from you, but I have to talk to her about an interdepartmental issue before she leaves. Can't wait!"

You wince at the mention of your name, but you're standing, bag clutched like a shield, and Ana is already whisking you past Theseus and through the frosted glass double doors.

"Y/N..." you hear Theseus echo, dreamily, as you pass, just before the doors close in his face and sever you from him completely.

-----

The next day you see him at a far distance.

You feel less shaken about things after having screamed to your little sister about it all last night. But she'd said something stupid about some "string of fate" that irritated you so much that you'd ultimately resorted to screaming into your pillow.

Regardless, you feel more secure. Less unsettled.

Still, the sight of Theseus's open expression in the Atrium, looking back at you in recognition across the crowds of businessmen and women just as the doors to the elevator you're in close--it's a bit haunting.

You gulp once in the safety of the elevator.

He saw you.

His eyes had drifted up and down your form, unreadably, before settling on your face. You didn't have time to react, and he was too far away besides.

Later, later than usual, a small memo floats onto your desk.

You don't hesitate, reaching for it, but the words aren't what you expect. No "good morning," not even anything referencing what had happened yesterday.

The words are so unexpected that his handwriting is the only indication that it's from him.

"You were so beautiful in that skirt this morning. So fucking beautiful. You look so enchanting in blue."

You flush deeply. So, that was what his look this morning had meant.

The relief comes delayed, second to your shyness at his flattery.

"Oh, thank God," you think.

He'd seen you, twice now, and hadn't recognized you.

He didn't remember. Or maybe he just didn't recognize you, it'd been nine years after all and you were no longer a scrawny, scrappy sixteen-year-old. But it was more likely that he just didn't remember.

You decide his not referencing your awkward encounter yesterday either is another mercy, so you go along pretending nothing happened.

"Are you flirting with me, sir?"

It's a comfort to be writing to him again.

"No," he writes back. Then, "Yes."

You laugh aloud at his candor.

"Y/N, I apologize for my outburst yesterday. I shouldn't have sprung on you like that, unannounced. Uninvited. I wish I could say I was afraid something had happened to you, but really I was just afraid you had stopped writing me for good. But then I just stood there like an absolute idiot, you probably had no idea who I was."

You huff at that.

"I knew who you were. I'm no Auror but 'Department of Magical Law Enforcement,' 'war hero,' and 'initials T.S.' aren't exactly subtle hints."

"Hey! I mentioned the war but never called myself 'hero.' I have a strong sense of propriety and I pride myself on it."

"How British..." you write back mockingly, unthinkingly.

"Are you not?"

Fuck. Well, you've already met.

"I live here now, and have for years, but I'm French."

The ink feels seared into the paper, how black your scrawl is, how you can't take it back. You don't know what you want from him. You wish he'd go away. You wish he'd never stop writing.

You wish he'd remember you on his own.

"Hmm..." he writes back.

Your heart is pounding. When he writes again your anxiety dissolves but your heart continues its steady, heavy drum.

"You're beautiful."

Your head is a scattered, overstimulated mess. You can't think straight.

He's still writing. The words fade in one by one.

"Why didn't you tell me you were beautiful? God, I didn't expect it, it took any coherent thought or word right out of me yesterday when you looked up at me with those eyes. And this morning, that skirt. Y/N, you should've warned me."

You laugh at the words on the paper, but your body's reaction to the thought of him writing them, thinking them, thinking of you, is anything but funny.

It feels overly warm in the office suddenly, and you are agitated. You stand and pace around your desk, fanning yourself with your hands.

Your fingers are shaking around the quill when you bend over your desktop to write back.

"Don't be dramatic, you'll live."

You worry you sound cruel so you add.

"And thank you. I don't think anyone has called me beautiful in a very long time."

He writes back: "Any time. And I highly doubt that. Y/N, I'm sure you've been beautiful your whole life. I can tell just by looking at you."

You don't know what possesses you when you write the next words:

"Can I come see you?"

There's a few, atypical beats before he writes back. It's excruciating.

"What, you mean at lunch?"

You look down at the small, oval face of your wristwatch.

Lunch is too far away. The bundle of nerves and anticipation you feel about Theseus, that swarming anxiety, is too unbearable to wait for lunch. You need to get him out of your system now, get him over with, and then you can move on and focus on your work.

"I mean now. In your office." You write back.

'Am I being presumptuous?' The thought makes you furrow your brow and bite your fingernail in worry. But then you remind yourself, 'Beautiful. He called you beautiful.'

It takes so long for him to reply that you almost write again to tell him never mind. But then his words come, like the sweet relief of rain:

"Yes, please. Level two, the very back left office."

You leave at once, smoothing down your skirt and brushing your hair back out of your face.

The anxiety ebbs and peaks at random. On the elevator ride you feel like you're dying. You recollect your confidence while walking to the wooden door of the Aurors Office only to feel another stab of panic as you make your way down the curved hall.

You feel so frazzled and worked up, too distracted to work or even ponder work. But you don't understand why until you push open Theseus's door, not bothering to knock. Until you're alone in the room with him, just the two of you behind closed doors.

He stands quickly upon your entrance, like a soldier.

For a moment the two of you just stare.

'Oh, God,' you realize with mounting dread. 'I am attracted to him. I am like this because I'm attracted to him.'

It feels terrible, awful, that sapping loss of power, that weakness in the knees. You haven't had a crush in your adult life, it's a trampling blow, the realization.

Theseus looks just as handsome as he always has, the crinkle of his eyes when he smiles, the sharp curve of his jaw.

He laughs and it breaks the spell of silence.

"Hello, you," his tone is fond but he still hasn't walked over to you, which is confusing and makes you shuffle aimlessly in place.

"Hi," you say, stupidly.

"Hi is all I get?" he jokes. "You know you've become something like my best friend in the office this last month. Actually, you probably know me better than my entire department."

You laugh bleakly, and you hope it dissipates the electrified energy between the two of you. That live-wire tension.

"I could say the same about you, actually."

He makes a strange, indecipherable expression then. It's both wry and lamenting.

"I don't want anything to change that, Y/N."

You frown.

"Why would anything change that?"

He doesn't answer you, changing the subject and turning his attention to the cup of quills on his desk, fiddling with the feathers.

"I... I didn't expect to react the way I did to seeing you for the first time yesterday. I've never reacted that way to anyone, anyone. When you told me you wanted to come see me here today, I panicked. I almost said no."

That hurts your feelings. "Why?"

He looks up from his desk. Your face burns at the sincerity of his expression.

"Because I knew it'd be harder for me to control myself if we were alone together. Harder to be a good friend and... behave."

He says the last word carefully. If he is calculated, delicate, you are anything but.

"I don't want you to behave," you whisper.

You step up to him, boldly. The tension is unbearable now.

"Y/N," he says warningly, disapprovingly. But the look in his eyes is agony.

"Kiss me," you say. The words come to you from far away, a train at the end of the tunnel, you pull them from that night in Verdun, from nine years ago. You need him just the same as you did then.

Theseus smiles reluctantly. The sideways tilt to his mouth is so captivating, it makes you want it more. God, he's attractive. Even more so now that you know him, are his friend.

"I can't," he says, pitifully.

But the look on his face, the way he's standing steadfastly behind his desk like having it between you will protect him, the way his eyes are flitting from yours down to your lips and back up again and again, that isn't saying no.

"Okay, have it your way. But I won't ask you again," you warn.

You want to admit that this isn't the first time he's denied you. He promised you'd live to be kissed, you've come back to haunt him for it now.

You would not ask him a third time.

Theseus groans loudly and puts his head in his hands. When you laugh he looks up at you disparagingly.

"You think that's funny, do you?"

You do. You find it cute. Maybe you don't realize the extent of his distress.

You reach forward to pinch his cheek, jokingly. He bats your hand away with an unwilling smile.

Then you're falling into him, losing your balance. He grasps both your hands in his to keep you from toppling over, the both of you laughing.

"Get off!" you shout gleefully.

"You get off," he retorts jokingly.

Pushing and pulling and touching, it's something like play-fighting the way you're both falling into and catching each other.

At last, he wrangles you onto his desk, so you're sitting there at the edge.

Your head is spinning. He grabs both your wrists, holding them together in a single, large hand.

"Hands to yourself, Y/N," is his gentle reprimand.

But you know, know from the soft pant of his breathing, the undone look on his face, lips half parted, that you've already won.

He doesn't cave into your will so much as collapse altogether, soundlessly, undetectably.

You don't blink, big, innocuous look in your eyes, staring up at him. Even when you're raised up, sitting on his desk while he stands, he's so tall that you have to look up at him.

"Please," Theseus says, and it's so attractive, his broken whisper. "I'm begging you, Y/N."

He drops down to his knees, one leg at a time with the heavy, hypnotized motions of a man defeated.

You gasp softly when his warm palms grip your kneecaps, rubbing gingerly over the sheer material of your tights, reverently.

A man on his knees, his curly head between your thighs. Your stomach plummets, burning low in desire.

You want him bad. Mind-numbingly bad, your whole body tingling underneath and keening to his touch. But it's too addictively sweet, him begging for it like this. You want to draw it out.

"Hm," you sigh, not responding, but you let your legs fall open under the guidance of his hands.

He moans at the sight. When he speaks again his voice is weak and ruined. Rough and pleading.

"Please, I'll do anything. Let me touch you. You're killing me, please."

It's almost a whine.

You can see that the fabric of his pants is stretched taut across his crotch--he's already hard.

His chest is rising and falling softly. There's a needy, trancelike glint in his eyes. He wants it bad, it's plain on his face. It's different from impatience, it's anguish.

"Kiss me," you say again. It's a demand this time. He gives in without a fight, rising up and capturing your open mouth in his.

It's a deep, languishing kiss. He kisses you like he wants to taste you, like he can't get enough of it. He grips your head by the jaw to kiss you better, deeper. When his tongue presses into your mouth you moan into his.

His hand sweeps blindly across his desk, clearing it with a crash. You jump at the sound but he grabs your face again, turning it back to his roughly.

"No," he murmurs. "C'mere."

And he's kissing you again, humming in approval when you tentatively push back against his tongue with your own.

With effort, you pull back to look at him. His pupils are blown out with desire, the collar of his dress shirt pulled open, revealing a collarbone.

"Theseus," you say, your whole body tingling with warmth. You say his name just to say it.

You're too shy to tell him that this is your first kiss, that you'd waited all this time.

It's startling, how quickly the tables turned. How deftly he took control of the situation once he had your permission to.

His hands pull down your skirt, worshipfully, that blue skirt he loves so much. He sets it aside, you're just in your sheer black tights now.

You understand why he cleared his desk now. You fall back with a moan when he flattens his massive hand across your crotch, spreads his fingers. It covers the entire expanse between your legs easily. It feels so lewd for him to touch you there now, but then he drags his hand up, sliding it over your stomach, the middle of your chest, up your neck.

"You'll let me touch you like this?" he asks.

You nod, quickly.

"Only me?" he inquires, sounding pleased. Maybe amused.

"Yes," you say, nodding again with urgency. "Only you. Nobody else."

"Fuck," he curses. He pulls open your blouse then, and disposes of that as well. You half sit up to help him with your bra. Whereas his movements are devout, seeming to worship every part of you, yours are frantic, crazed.

It's not just that you're in his office, at work, but it's that you want him badly. So very badly. It feels like the only thing that can make it better.

Once you have your bra off he pushes you back on the desk again. Places open-mouth kisses your neck, drags his teeth over the skin there then moves down. You gasp when he puts his mouth on your breast, circling your nipple with his tongue. He pinches your other nipple with his hand, rolling it gently between his rough fingertips.

"Hngh," you can't help but moan, writhe, throw your head back against the wood.

You almost want to cry out in disbelief when his head leaves your chest, sinking lower. He's on his knees again, pulling down your tights. You don't understand.

"Theseus, what-" you start, but you are silenced, the breath stolen from your chest, at the sensation of his mouth on your clit.

The moan that leaves your mouth this time is recklessly loud, carelessly so.

Theseus doesn't seem to mind.

"You taste so fucking good," he pulls back to say, his voice is ragged.

You're shy. The idea of him tasting and licking you, putting his mouth there makes you shy. But the pleasure that rocks through your entire body is too strong to deny. You'd never ask him to stop. You weren't capable of it.

Your hands go to his head, fingers wind through his hair automatically.

"Fuck," you say, involuntarily.

He's sucking your clit so well, you hardly notice when he brings up a hand, finger tracing the line of your wet slit, prodding in and out of your tight hole just barely, just to the knuckle. Kitten-fucking you with it.

He stops sucking to lick you up and down with his tongue, again and again in quick, steady rhythm, flicking the firm tip of it against your clit until you have to bite the back of your hand to keep from crying out. When he sinks his two fingers into your pussy fully, stuffing them in forcefully despite the restrictive tightness, still licking, that's all it takes for your orgasm to overtake you in pulses of unbelievable, unknown pleasure.

He removes his fingers and rises. His plush lips are slick with your arousal. He has a dreamy, dazed look in his eyes. The ravaged, destroyed look on your face seems to do something awful to him.

"Let me fuck you," Theseus says. It makes your stomach flip.

He doesn't ask, didn't say 'do you want to,' or 'can we.' He wants to take it from you.

"Yes," you mutter, spreading your legs again without thinking, head still laid back on his desk. Your orgasm made your limbs feel loose, compliant. Anything he wants. Anything at all.

Even the clinking sound of him undoing his belt buckle makes you swoon with yearning, makes your mouth water. He doesn't bother to take off his pants, just pulls his dick out, still staring into your eyes.

'God. Mercy,' you think. Even in his hand it looks huge. It's pretty.

He smiles crookedly at the widening of your eyes.

"You like my cock, baby?"

"Yes," you whisper. "Please. I want it."

He leans over you to kiss your forehead. You don't have the chance to reminisce, for it to remind you of anything, because then he is pushing into your wet warmth. He slides in so snugly, so smoothly, fits like a glove despite the stretch. The feeling of being so overfull is lewd and perfect.

He presses a hand to your lower stomach. He can feel himself inside of you there.

You gasp at the applied pressure.

He keeps his hand pressed there as he angles his hips back and then begins to fuck you. He wants to feel it underhand, how he's moving inside of you.

"Fuuuuucckkkk," you're incoherent, you know. But you can't help but swear, your whole body is vibrating with ecstasy as he drives his dick in and out of you.

"You're beautiful," he groans, throwing his head back. His entire world narrows down to this, fucking you, pumping his dick into your tightness and feeling you flutter and flex around him.

"Wait, Theseus I-" your second orgasm takes you by surprise. Your back arches off the desk, it hits you like a train, it's like an out-of-body experience.

"Fuck," He grips the back of your thighs to the point of pain. But you hardly notice that, you only feel his dick grow achingly hard. He pulls out at the last moment, coming into his hand. It spills out and between his fingertips anyway.

He makes a face of sore regret at the mess. You knew how badly he wanted to come inside of you, you could feel it, but you are grateful he didn't.

You have the strangest urge to get up and lick his fingers, but realistically you're too wrecked to move.

It takes a solid two minutes before either of you return to breathing normally and regain your bearings.

'What did we just do?' you think as you put your clothes back on.

You glance over to Theseus, he's fixing his tie in the small mirror next to the closed door of his office.

It was like you were a woman possessed. You can hardly believe your actions. But, strangely, you don't feel guilty or regretful. And your feelings for Theseus are stronger than ever. Consummated. You feel safe with him. Overjoyed, really.

He catches you looking at him in the mirror and turns. The look on his face is one of total contentment.

He comes over to you, runs his fingers through your hair gently. There's nothing but adoration in his eyes as he beholds you.

"I don't know how I'm expected to just sit back down and continue to do work on my desk now, after that. I'm gonna go insane, just knowing you're only a few levels away."

You laugh. It's an airy, light-hearted sound.

"I like you so much," he admits, brazenly, before you can even respond to him.

Your head is still a muddled mess, but this here is easy to admit. He could probably see it on your face anyway. Read you like a book.

"I like you too," you say. "I miss you already. Keep writing to me."

"I promise."

-----

part two here

author's note: what will happen when the truth of their past comes to light?? part two incoming!!! please leave feedback :)

comment/ask to be added to the taglist!

taglist: @msauthor

[cheonstapes]

hi! i absolutely love your spider-barbie x miguel fic! could you pls do a miguel x fashion reader who loves wearing pretty dresses and skirts but he gets a little possessive and then other stuff ensues..

miguel o'hara stars in... 'MY DRESS UP DARLING' ♡(>ᴗ•)

a/n~ this request is so cute omg i always wanted to be a fashion designer so i kinda channelled that. i was thinking of valdrin sahiti's dresses the whole time, also POSSESSIVE MIGUELL AHHH!! enjoy my lovely 💗💗💗💗

summary; miguel loves it when you dress up, only for him though. no one else.

wc; 1.6k+

pairings; husband!miguel o'hara x wife!fashion designer!reader

cw; SMUT!!, voyeurism, breeding kink, possessive behaviour, fingering, meanish-soft?dom!miguel, sub!reader p in v, tit slapping like once, a guy watches you two fuck, is dirty (￣▽￣*)ゞ, nawt proofread - this took me like 2 days to write m a busy girlie

you were just so gorgeous. ever since you and miguel started living together you completely took over the space in your shared closet with the most beautiful pieces of clothes he’s ever laid eyes on, eventually leading to miguel spending a whole week making you your own walk-in closet. he took you out shopping after that, since you had all this new space - why not fill it with even more clothes?

typically, you liked to design your own. dresses of all shapes and sizes, skirts too, but miguel loved spoiling you too much - besides, he loves it when you dress up for him. he booked you a private fitting in one of the top boutiques in nueva york, you would talk his ear off about how badly you wanted a dress from them, sending him pics of all the new pieces they’d put out. what’s better than spending quality time with his baby?

when you two arrived at the boutique, you were greeted by a young man. he was handsome, not as handsome as your husband, but still handsome. he smiled brightly at you whilst handing you a glass of champagne before turning to miguel and doing the same. “good afternoon mrs. o’hara, mr. o’hara. we’ll sure to make this the most memorable experience for you, seeing as your husband booked the most expensive service we offer. but a beautiful lady like yourself deserves the best, regardless.” the little fucker winked at you. miguel was slowly starting to regret coming here, seeing you blush faintly from the compliment made his blood boil.

the man attempted to put his hand in yours, trying to guide you to the fitting rooms - did he want to get fucked up? miguel let out a low growl, wrapping an arm around your waist a pulling you close to him. “well? lead the way then.” 

------------------------------------------------------

for the most part, miguel was enjoying watching you dress up so prettily. everything fit you like a glove, all of the dresses chosen specifically from your instagram collections and your pinterest boards. adjusting himself, he eyed you hungrily. this dress was just perfect. it looked so similar to your wedding dress, you looked so beautiful in it - even more so when he fucked you in that same night. he had picked this dress out for you specifically and he was secretly crossing his fingers in hopes that you liked it, and like it you did. but someone else liked it too, a bit too much.

the shop assistant stood at the side of the platform, gawking at you. obviously, miguel knew his wife was a whole goddess, too good for this world - but this guy was staring so shamelessly at you. he couldn’t allow that, nuh uh. “d’you like the dress, my love? i picked it out for you, knew you’d look so sexy in it.” miguel stands behind you now, large hands caressing your hips as he presses himself against you. he whispered into your ear but it was 100% loud enough for the assistant to hear, seeing as his face started to turn a deep red at the pda.

this only fuelled miguel to go even further, lip’s latching onto your sensitive neck, sucking on the skin. one of his hands moves up the dress, skimming the fat of your exposed cleavage before pushing under the fabric to grope your tit, thumb rubbing teasing circles over your pert nipples. “this dress was made for you, doll, no one could wear it like you do.” he spun you around, both hands gripping onto your ass. his hard cock presses into your stomach, your hand coming up to his chest, pure embarrassment on your face. “h-honey,” you had to get on your tip-toes to whisper to your behemoth of a husband, holding onto his shoulders. “what are you doing? can’t you wait till we get home, baby?” 

he smiled, brushing his hand along the side of your face. “how else am i gonna teach that little perv a lesson if we’re at home, hm? look at him, love. he’s probably gonna get off to this later.” you would think the guy isn’t even there with the way that miguel completely disregarded his presence, talking about him so openly like he wasn’t even there. but miguel didn’t give a fuck, patting your ass to get you to jump onto him, wrapping your legs tightly around his thin waist.

he sat down on the sofa in front of the mirror, deftly hiking up the dress to bunch up just above your plump ass, palming his hands over the skin. giving the assistant a view to remember, he pushed your thong to the side, creamy strings of arousal cling onto the fabric. you were wet, so wet - your sexy husband was feeling you up, what else could you do? “mírate, empadada para mí. you’re such a dirty girl, eh love? or is it that you like being watched?” three fingers plunged into you, he moved them teasingly slow, pressing them up against the most sensitive spots - curling them, moving faster and faster until he feels you clench around his thick fingers. 

“you gonna cum, sweetheart?” he slows his fingers down to a gentle grind, thumb flicking your swollen clit. your soft whines and whimpers were just too cute, he can see the guy’s hard-on - his shaky hands dipping under the waistband of his slacks. “mmh - y-yeahhh, feels so g-good.” your hips were moving so salaciously against his hands, the urge to give in to you was becoming harder to resist for miguel. but he had to make sure that idiot learnt not to fuck with what’s his. he pulled his fingers out of your soaked cunt, licking your essence of his fingers before lifting you up and turning you around in his lap, your pussy exposed for the assistant to see.

“baby, what’re you-“ you could hear the sound of a belt unbuckling behind you, and the wet slap of your husband’s tip against his toned stomach. he places a hand on your lower back, arching it whilst the other comes to pull the front of your dress down - perky tits spilling out of the lacy front. “lift your hips for me, love.” he slips his thick cock under, smacking his tip against your clit, pre smearing all over it. “fuck, honey, please i need you.”  of course, he could never say no to you. 

he pushed himself inside of you, pulling you back down. keeping a fast pace, the wet sounds of your ass meeting his hips reverberated throughout the room, one of his hands groping your tits. “you like that, baby? you - fuck - you like getting fucked like the little slut you are, moanin’ my name like that.” drool was slipping out of your mouth, running down your chest. all you could let out were garbled whimpers and moans, your smaller hands gripping his arms as he used you like a fleshlight.

the assistants hand was moving rapidly under his slacks, his eyes trained on the sight of miguel’s cock stretching you out so deliciously. you lost all feelings of embarrassment long ago, your shaky hands rubbing tight circles against your swollen clit. miguel cursed under his breath, his own voice slightly shaken, his large hand splayed against your stomach. the outline of his cock pressed against his hand, he was so, so deep in you. “shit…would you look at that.” he ran his thumb over the outline of his tip, hips stuttering as a jolt of pleasure racked both of your bodies. 

“god, fuck - ‘m gonna fill this sweet pussy up. you always wanted me to knock you up, right love?” he smacks your tit, the flesh jiggling in his palms as he quickens his thrusts. “see my girls swollen with milk, this beautiful belly of yours all heavy with our babies. everyone will know you’re mine, ‘m never letting you go - i’ll fuck as many babies as i have to in this tight cunt to make you remember that.”

your thighs trembled at his words, fingers on your clit sloppy as you clench tightly around him, a broken whine of his name leaving your lips. squirting all over the sofa, his cock almost pushed out of you from the force of your orgasm. the faint whimper from the corner tells you both the assistant finished too, his arm draped along his face. miguel was so close, pushing his cock as deep as it could go, forcing more liquid out of your quivering cunt.

“thaaat’s it, baby, you’re so gorgeous when you cum. f-fuck - take it, fucking take all of my cum.” his hips push against you two, three more times before he spills his load inside, the thick, creamy liquid seeping out and pooling at the base of his cock. he ruts against you slowly, pushing his cum back into you - pressing kisses down the side of your sweaty neck. “you did so good for me, i love you so much.” you smiled deliriously, pressing a deep kiss on his spit soaked lips. “mmm, i love you too, honey.”

his gaze then locks onto the assistant, eyes narrowed and demanding. he hold you tightly against him, hand caressing your ass lovingly. “you. ring up all of this shit, she’ll keep this one on.” he nods frantically, tripping over himself as he grabs all the dresses on the racks. “one more thing,”

“when you’re done, do me a favour and quit. i don’t wanna see you here again.”

“miguel!”

- mírate, empadada para mí. - look at you, so wet for me

-come into my mouth, come into my mouth in the name of the lord

[doumadono]

Warnings: smut w/o plot

A/N: this piece was commissioned on my ko-fi page by @unhinged-bratty-boy - I hope you'll like it!

Pro hero Dabi - headcanons PRO HERO DABI & INTERN!BAKUGO A warm welcome - pro hero!Dabi - headcanons NSFW MY HERO ACADEMIA MASTERLIST - PART II

When you apply to pro hero Dabi's agency, the warnings come pouring in - friends, colleagues, even strangers with opinions. Todoroki Touya, they say, is all trouble. The kind of guy who throws boundaries out the window, a real-life storm of late-night parties and scandalous headlines. His reputation practically writes itself: messy nights, wild flings, his name splashed across the front pages more times than you can count. But you don’t care. All you see is a man with an appetite - for success, for pushing limits - and something about that drive hooks you. It doesn’t hurt that he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever laid eyes on, either.

It only takes a few weeks before you notice the way his gaze lingers on you a bit too long, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips when you catch him watching. To everyone’s surprise - including yours - you’re suddenly the apple of Touya’s eye. He’s dropping casual flirtations that could almost pass as jokes, but there’s a glint in his eye that says otherwise. You can’t put a finger on what’s shifted, what’s drawn him so close, but you don’t mind. Not one bit. Before you know it, the two of you are something - a thing, as he so casually puts it - and that intensity, the heat, becomes something you both can’t let go of.

Every time you have a photoshoot, pro hero Dabi secretly arranges for prints to be delivered directly to his office. He claims it’s “for agency publicity” whenever anyone catches a glimpse of the high-quality photos stacked on his desk, but everyone knows better - especially you. You’ve walked in on him once or twice, perched back in his office chair, idly flipping through the photos as if they’re nothing more than paperwork, but that dark glint in his eye tells a different story. His fingers linger over each image, tracing lines and curves as if committing every detail to memory. There’s no hiding the desire he has for you, and he doesn’t even try to mask it. One day, you step in for a mission briefing, catching him red-handed with your latest set spread out like artwork on display. Your boss raises an eyebrow as he notices you eyeing the photos, that cocky smirk creeping up as he leans back, wholly unbothered. “What?” he drawls, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Can’t a guy appreciate the beauty when he sees it?” He lets the words hang as his gaze drifts lazily from the photos up to meet your eyes, that mischievous spark lighting up as he takes in your slightly shocked expression. “Besides, you’re my sidekick. It’s my job to keep tabs on all your assets.” Heat creeps up your neck, and you can tell by the satisfied look on his face that he’s savoring every second. With a languid stretch, he stands, one of the photos in hand as he strides over, holding it up, letting his gaze flick between it and you like he’s comparing the real thing to the masterpiece. “The photos are nice,” he murmurs, leaning in close, “but seeing you in person? Nothing beats that, princess.” He slips the photo back onto his desk, his fingers grazing yours as his voice drops while he holds your hands, rubbing their top with his thumbs. “You know, if you’re ever up for a private photoshoot, darlin’, I’ll personally handle the camera,” Touya grins wryly, “And,” letting go of one of your hands, pro hero Dabi brushes a thumb along the edge of the photo, “this one? Definitely deserves a frame.”

Pro hero Dabi has a knack for making every training session feel a little too hands-on. When he strides over, all casual confidence, you know exactly what’s coming - his classic move. He’ll slide up behind you, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off him, murmuring about your form in that low, easy drawl. His hands settle at your hips, adjusting you with slow, deliberate movements, fingers pressing a little too firmly, lingering just a second too long. There’s a ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips as he makes a show of correcting your posture, and you can almost hear the satisfaction in his voice as he says, “Not bad, not bad…” His fingers slide lower, trailing along the back of your thigh as he adjusts your stance, his touch warm and unhurried. “But maybe you’re in need of a little more practice.” His eyes flick down, smirk widening as he feels you tense up under his touch. “Can’t have you losing your balance now, can we, rookie?” And then there are the moments where he tests your reflexes out of nowhere, moving in quick, unannounced ways that make you jolt and pivot instinctively - only for his hand to fortuitously brush over your ass. You give him a look, one eyebrow raised, but he just chuckles, the sound rich and infuriatingly pleased. “Oops,” he says, the corners of his mouth quirking up as his eyes spark with unhidden amusement. “Guess that’s on me.”

Fighting side by side, seeing you, his sidekick, completely in control as you take down villains one after another, stirs something primal in pro hero Dabi. The fight's barely over, but Dabi’s eyes haven’t left you since it started. Watching you work in that tight costume, landing punches and taking charge with an intensity he can practically feel under his skin - it’s got him all wound up, every move of yours tugging his restraint tauter until he’s gritting his teeth, aching. He’s still got a villain groaning at his feet, but all he can focus on is how you look right now: fierce, defiant, that spark in your eye making it impossible for him to think straight. The rush of adrenaline, the danger - it makes him so hard he has to grit his teeth just to keep his focus on the fight instead of the ache in his dick and balls. It becomes a struggle to keep his mind on the mission, especially when you send one of the villains flying with a well-placed hit, flashing him that nasty glance you master to perfection. Every time you land a move or finish an opponent, it takes every ounce of Touya’s control not to pull you into a dark corner and fuck your sweet pussy senseless. You catch his gaze as you toss one more villain to the ground, giving him that cocky, dangerous smile he knows you wear just for him. His jaw tightens. Just one look, and it’s over. The moment the last thug hits the ground, he’s stepping in close, his breathing ragged, grabbing you by the hips and tugging you flush against him with a force that’s more raw than gentle. He’s hard as hell, and he makes sure you know it, pressing himself against you until there’s no space between you and he’s got you right where he wants you, his lips grazing the column of his neck and he doesn’t give a fuck who’s watching. Touya growls, one hand moving to cup your ass unpretentiously. “Do you even realize what you’re doing to me, rookie?” he growls, “Seeing you like that - makes me lose my damn mind. My dick’s been throbbing since the second I saw you take down that first guy.” 

With you as his sidekick, pro hero Dabi finds himself constantly on edge, craving you in ways he can barely restrain, and most of the time, he doesn’t even try. The thrill of stealing moments, sneaking touches, and giving in to his desire in forbidden places only fuels the fire. It’s a rush, knowing he could get caught but not caring because, when it comes to you, nothing else matters.

Some days, just seeing you in his office, leaning over his desk as you discuss mission details, is enough to drive him wild. He’ll circle the desk, fingers trailing over your back before pulling you close, pressing you down against the smooth wood. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he pushes up your skirt, gripping the plushy flesh of your thighs. “You fucking brat,” he chuckles loudly. “Well, well… aren’t you a filthy little whore? No panties in the workplace, huh?” And before you can protest, Touya lifts you onto the desk, and spreads your legs to find a beautiful pussy waiting for him, glistening with wetness, flushed with blood, a clit begging for attention. He dives in and immediately savores your sweet taste, and his tongue and lips swallow all of you. Seconds later, the situation changes. That’s the thing about pro hero Dabi - when he wants something, he doesn’t care who sees or what rules get broken. And right now, that something is you, straddling his face with your skirt hiked up, your fingers wrapped around his cock that you fished out of his hero gear. His fingers dig into your hips, a silent warning - a struggle between needing more and being totally, utterly overwhelmed. Each pass of your hand along his shaft is slow, deliberate, your thumb pressing into the sensitive tip, teasing the slit leaking precum before sliding back down, your grip tightening each time, your other hands massaging his heavy balls. Touya gasps, and the sound is swallowed by the press of your thighs around his face. He eats your pussy in earnest, his hot tongue nudging your slick, swollen clit, only to flick back to brushing against your pussy lips and entrance. You arch above him, moaning, hips rolling forward just enough to coax another groan from him as you grind your wet cunt over his face. Your boss’ nails dig in harder in your thighs, leaving crescent marks as he fights to keep himself together, hips bucking up feverishly into your hand, seeking any relief he can find. You feel him throbbing in your grip, his cock pulsing with every stroke. And when he finally loses it, it’s with no apology nor hesitation. His cum spills over your hand, streaking down your wrist and onto his exposed abdomen. His head falls back against the desk, lips parted as he drags in a breath, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he looks up at you with a reckless glint in his eye. “Hell of a fucking show,” he murmurs, voice still thick and unsteady, but cocky as ever. “Hope someone did walk in to see you workin’ me over like that, princess.”

You mewl and lean forward to lick his cock clean while slipping your hand between your parted legs to rub your neglected clit.

Touya spanks your ass, leaving a handprint on your buttock. "Yeah, yeah, princess. Let me make you cum in my mouth."

Interviews are supposed to be professional, just another part of the job for pro hero Dabi, but when you’re seated beside him, he’s anything but composed. You know he has trouble keeping his hands to himself.  Under the table, his hand finds your thigh, strong fingers slowly kneading your muscles, his touch starting innocently enough before turning into something far more possessive as he pushes his hand right between your thighs, massaging your mound through your hero costume. As the questions go on, his thumb traces slow circles over the wetness that is forming, and every squeeze and stroke makes it nearly impossible for you to focus. Dabi’s gaze is fixed on you with that unmistakable, dark intensity, the kind that says he’s mentally stripping you right there in the room. His eyes are a smoldering blue, roaming over your face, lingering on your lips, your neck, dipping down to places he wishes he could reach under different circumstances. Each time he glances at you, his pupils dilate, and the barely-there smirk on his lips lets you know exactly what he’s thinking about. It’s maddening, the way he rubs slow, teasing circles over your swollen pussy lips through your gear, applying just enough pressure to send a pulse of heat through you, all while keeping that perfectly cool, laid-back demeanor for the cameras. You bite your lip, trying to maintain your composure, but every touch makes it harder to keep your expression steady. When the interviewer turns to him with a question about his latest mission, he doesn’t even hesitate, keeping his eyes on the reporter, but his hand already slips inside your pants, dragging just over where he knows you’re most sensitive, his thumb grazing in tantalizing little movements, gently tapping your slick, swollen clitoris. “The mission?” Touya replies casually, voice smooth and confident as ever. “It was handled without a hitch. Nothing we couldn’t handle together.” His fingers poke your entrance and before you know it, they’re inside your slick wetness. “My sidekick here,” he adds with a sideways glance at you, “She makes every mission a lot more interesting. She keeps me on my toes.”

[austinbutlerslovers]

Blood Bound

Label Mature 18+

🎃 Kinktober Oneshot

Summary It had been this way at every event, hadn’t it? He would watch you, and you would watch him, always at a distance. You told yourself it was just an infatuation, some silly attraction to a movie star, but deep down, you knew it was more than that. There was something about him, something magnetic and dangerous, that had always kept you away.

🧡Depraved Smut🧡 spellbound• vulnerable• vampire seduction• neck biting• thigh biting • oral sex fem • clit pinching • squirting • P in V• vampire feeding during orgasms

🔗 Master List

📖 Proofreader @purejasmine 🫦 Smut Consultant @burnthheparaphilia 🩸 Mentions of blood

Blood Bound

The Hollywood party is a glittering affair, draped in opulence and excess. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over the lavish Hollywood manor, their glow mingling with the hum of low laughter and the clink of champagne flutes.

You’ve been to events like this before—several of them, in fact. You’re not a stranger to this world of fame and beauty. As an up and coming actress, you’ve quickly gained favor, charming producers and directors with your infectious personality and undeniable talent. But tonight feels different.

After the success of your first two movies, your agent pulled strings to get you invited to this event. It’s part of the plan to elevate your career, to put you in the same room with the biggest stars, to make sure your face and name are known to the industry’s power players.

Your reputation is already building with whispers of your incredible acting skills spreading through the circles of the wealthy and influential. Everyone wants a piece of you.

You were on every list, every red carpet gala, every after-party, every exclusive event and that’s how you’d caught his eye—at least, that’s what you told yourself. You didn’t come here for him, not intentionally, but it was impossible not to feel his presence when he was near.

You had seen him at several events over the last few months, Austin Butler—a name that had lingered in Hollywood for decades, and yet, he seemed untouched by time. He was perfect in his craft, a man who could command the screen and the red carpet with equal ease, his allure undeniable, his beauty almost inhuman.

He was a masterpiece, comparable to only a few in all of Hollywood, a vision of male beauty. His face, chiseled yet delicate, held an ethereal quality that transcended handsomeness to something beyond.

His ageless allure seemed immune to the passage of time. You could see it in the way his skin appeared to glow under the lights, his features sharp yet graceful, effortlessly drawing the gaze of everyone around him. He didn’t just stand out—he eclipsed everyone else—a figure whose presence was impossible to ignore.

You had seen him on the red carpet, commanding attention without even trying. His movements were slow, deliberate, drawing everyone in, rising above the frenzied chaos of the Hollywood elite. And you couldn’t help but watch him. 

You hadn’t dared approach before, always finding an excuse to avoid introductions. But every time, there was that undeniable lure. You’d catch his eye, and for a moment, it was as if the world paused, leaving just the two of you in that charged silence.

Tonight was no different. From the moment you stepped into the party, you knew he was there. You felt him before you saw him, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end, your pulse quickening in a way that was both thrilling and unsettling. 

You had sworn to yourself that this was just another job, another night of mingling with A-list celebrities making sure everything went smoothly. But you couldn’t ignore the way your gaze kept drifting, scanning the room for him.

And then you saw him.

He was leaning casually against the bar, dressed in all black, his shirt sheer revealing the sculpted lines beneath his polished exterior. His torso, perfectly defined, displayed every muscle of his six-pack in flawless symmetry. His waist was narrow, accentuating the sharp, lines of his body, leaving little to the imagination.

His sandy blonde hair was tousled back , perfectly styled, and his eyes—those sharp, mesmerizing eyes—found yours almost immediately. It was as if he had been waiting for you, expecting you. The corners of his mouth lifted into a slow, deliberate smile that made your heart stutter in your chest.

You tore your gaze away, pretending to be engrossed in a conversation with one of the producers you’d worked with before. But his pull was undeniable. Every nerve in your body was aware of him, of the way he moved through the crowd with effortless grace, and how people seemed mesmerized as he spoke with them.

It had been this way at every event, hadn’t it? He would watch you, and you would watch him, always at a distance. 

You told yourself it was just an infatuation, some silly attraction to a movie star, but deep down, you knew it was more than that. There was something about him, something magnetic and dangerous, that had always kept you away.

Tonight, though, something feels different. Maybe it’s the way he keeps his gaze on you, never letting it waver. Maybe it’s the way your body seems to respond, a strange mixture of excitement and fear pulsing through your veins.

He starts to move toward you, and before you can think of an excuse to slip away, he’s already there standing so close you can feel the coolness of his presence. The scent of him fills your senses, deep and rich, like rain on stone.

“You’re always so busy,” he says softly, his voice velvety, each word a soft caress.

You blink, momentarily caught off guard. His eyes are piercing, as if they see right through you, stripping away all your carefully constructed defenses.

“You’ve noticed me?” You ask almost rhetorically.

A slow smile curves his lips, the kind that makes your breath catch. 

“You stand out to me, even when you’re trying not to.” He reveals, his voice is smooth, with just a hint of danger beneath the surface. “You’ve noticed me too, haven’t you?” He asks, his voice lowering with a knowing tone.

You hesitate. You could lie, pretend you haven’t been stealing glances at him, feeling that strange, unspoken connection between you. But something about the way he’s looking at you makes it impossible to withhold the truth.

“Y-yes,” you out right admit, shocking yourself as your voice comes out before you can stop it.

His smile widens, revealing just a hint of something sharper than a regular smile should. His fingers graze your wrist, and a shiver runs down your spine. His touch is cold, but it ignites a fire in you, a strange mixture of fear and desire that you can’t quite explain.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says softly, leaning in just a fraction, his lips close to your ear. “But not tonight.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding as he easily guides you away from the crowd. He leads you toward the shadows into a lavish sitting area tucked away in the manor.  His hand rests lightly at the small of your back, his touch firm yet gentle, luring you with a promise you don’t fully understand yet.

Once far enough from prying eyes, he presses you gently against the ornate wall within the siting room. His hand rests on your waist, fingers pressing lightly into your skin. His eyes are predatory in the way they roam over you, something dark and knowing flickering beneath their surface.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he asks, his voice soft yet resonating through your entire body.

Your breath hitches as his eyes lock onto yours.

“The pull between us?” He questions.

His eyes gleam like moonstone, the blue almost luminescent in the dim light. His pupils, dark and wide, seem to pull you in deeper, and you can’t help but feel captivated under their spell.

You’ve felt it, though you’ve tried to deny it. Now, standing this close to him, there’s no escaping it. The world around you seems to fade, and all that remains is him—the way he towers over you, the way his hand slides up your back, pulling you closer.

“I don’t understand…” you whisper, your voice trembling slightly.

He smiles, but it’s not a reassuring smile. It’s dangerous, intoxicating. “I’ve wanted you,” he says softly, his lips brushing your ear. “I’ve been watching you, waiting for the right moment.”

Your heart is pounding wildly, and you don’t understand why you can’t cant flee. His other hand comes up to cup your face, his thumb grazing your cheek as he tilts your head, exposing the curve of your neck. “And tonight,” he whispers, his lips hovering over your skin, “you’re mine.”

Before you can fully comprehend his words, his teeth sink into your neck, a sharp, piercing pain followed by a wave of pleasure so intense it nearly brings you to your knees. You gasp, clutching his arms as he holds you against him, his mouth cools your warm skin as he drinks from you with a hunger that feels both terrifying and exhilarating.

And as your blood flows into him, you realize why he has always seemed so beautiful, so untouchable. This is what he is— a vampire, and you, all along, have been his prey.

The truth crashes over you in waves, your thoughts clouded by the growing weakness in your body. Each pull of blood from your veins blurs the line between pleasure and pain, drawing you deeper into a haze of surrender.

Your vision darkens at the edges, the world around you dimming as your strength fades. His lips linger at your throat, the steady rhythm of his feeding pulling you deeper into unconsciousness. Your body grows heavier, your limbs unresponsive as the last of your energy slips through his grasp.

With one final, hazy breath, your eyelids flutter shut. The world disappears into blackness, your thoughts fading until there is nothing left but the feeling of him—the way his body presses against yours, the way your blood seems to flow into him, calling you into an endless, dreamless sleep.

-And then, there is only darkness.

When you slowly awaken, your body is heavy and weak, as if the very essence of you has been drained.

Everything is a blur at first—the soft silk black sheets beneath your naked skin, the dim light casting long shadows across unfamiliar walls. Your head throbs, and a strange numbness clings to your limbs, making it near impossible to move.

You suddenly realize you don’t know where you are, laying naked in an ornate bed. Panic flares in your chest, but your body refuses to respond. It is as if something is holding you there, tethering you to the bed with an invisible force.

You blink, trying to focus, but everything feels dreamlike and unreal. You try to move, but your muscles are sluggish, and unwilling. The room feels oppressive, the air thick and charged with something you can’t quite name.

Then you sense him.

A cool presence, a weight at the edge of the bed. His fingers trail along your skin, starting at your wrist and moving upward with slow, teasing deliberation. The touch is feather light, yet it sends shivers racing down your spine. You turn your head slightly, and see him.

Austin lays perched beside you, his eyes glowing in the dim light like embers, his smile slow and predatory.

“You’re awake,” he grins, his voice low and soothing, though there’s an undeniable hunger lurking beneath it. His nails, sharp and perfectly manicured, graze the inside of your arm, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d sleep forever.”

You try to speak, but your throat is dry, and the words come out as a weak whisper. “Where…?”

“Shh,” he coos, gentle but commanding. “Don’t strain yourself. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” His gaze drops to your neck, and you feel the tender, pulsing ache where his teeth had been.

The memories flood back—his lips on your skin, the sharp sting, the rush of pleasure that drowned out everything else. You try to move, to sit up, but it’s as if your body is no longer yours. It’s under his control, bound by some invisible spell that leaves you vulnerable.

Austin leans closer, his cool breath against your cheek, his lips brushing your ear. “Your blood is so sweet to me,” he whispers, his voice a velvet caress that sends warmth spreading through your core. “I couldn’t resist you. I’ve never tasted anything like you before.”

His hand slides down your arm, over the curve of your waist and you shiver beneath his touch, your heart racing even though your body feels utterly drained.

“I didn’t want to take too much,” he whispers, his lips brushing your temple now, his voice so close it feels dizzying. “But you… you’re different. Your blood—it’s sweeter than anything I’ve ever had….And I want more.”

You gasp softly, fear and desire mixing into something you cant quite name. His hand moves lower, tracing patterns across your stomach, his nails scraping lightly over your skin, enough to make you ache with an unfamiliar need.

“I could drain you dry right now,” he whispers against your neck, his tongue flicking out to taste the lingering blood. “But where would the fun in that be?”

Your breath hitches as his fingers dip lower, teasing along your inner thighs, his touch possessive yet careful, as though you are something fragile and precious. 

“I want to savor you, and draw out your pleasure.” he confesses, his eyes locking onto yours, with an otherworldly glint in them.

“You’ll be even sweeter to me,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over your collarbone, his fangs grazing your skin as he breathes you in. 

“Every time I bring you to the peak of pleasure, you’ll taste even better.” he reveals, his voice heavy with desire, his insatiable hunger barely restrained.

“You want that, don’t you?” He whispers and his words wrap around you like a spell, a dangerous allure that makes it hard to think, hard to breathe.

You want to protest, to push him away, but the truth lingers in the air between you. Despite the fear, despite the danger, there’s a part of you that wants it too. His presence, his touch, his need for you—it’s intoxicating, overpowering.

His hand slides back up, cupping your chin tilting your face so your eyes met his. “Say it,” he whispers, his gaze burning into yours, unrelenting. “Tell me you want it. Tell me you want to be mine.”

Your lips part, and though your voice is barely a whisper, you knew he heard it. “I want it.”

A slow, satisfied smile curls his lips. “Good,” he whispers, his thumb brushing your lower lip, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Then let me make you mine.”

He slowly lowers himself down on your body, his eyes never leaving yours, the heat between you growing with every second. His lips brush against your skin, feather light, teasing you, taking his time.

His touch is soft as if he’s savoring an unspoken command. He moves down lower and every inch of your body is on fire for him as he presses his lips against your skin deliberate and slow.

You can’t stop the way your body responds your breath hitching, your heart racing. His mouth moves lower, brushing between your hips with agonizing patience, his breath cool, his touch impossibly soft.

The sensations send waves of heat rippling through your body, but he stays just at the edge, holding back, as if he’s drawing out every second, letting the tension coil tighter and tighter inside you.

Now… please…you beg him in your mind and without a word, his lips press firmly on your slick heat, his tongue flicking softly over your flesh in exactly the way you wanted.

The pressure is perfect, the rhythm delicate, his movements slow but confident as if hes reading every unspoken thought, responding to every silent plea in your mind as your body lies completely exposed to him.

Each flick of his tongue sends a fresh wave of pleasure surging through you, building with a tension that makes you ache for more. 

His actions are perfect, an exact reflection of the desires swirling in your mind, responding to your every thought before you can even voice them.

You tremble beneath him, overwhelmed by the precision with which he pleases you. The connection between you feels seamless, his every move pushing you closer to the edge, until you become lost in the way he knows exactly how to unravel you.

Just as the world begins to blur, his lips brush teasingly against your sensitive clit. He bites down gently with increasing pressure, enough to send a jolt of pleasure coursing through you so fierce that your breath catches in your throat.

Your body tenses as you cry out and a sudden release of liquid escapes from your core directly into his mouth. The sensation of squirting from his delicate bite leaves you trembling, overwhelmed by the raw, primal ecstasy coursing through you.

You softly moan as he greedily laps at you, the sound lingering in the air as you feel the pleasure of your orgasm rolling through you, and he moves lower, kissing along your inner thigh.

There’s a brief pause as his eyes lock with yours, just long enough for you to understand what’s coming, and then, his teeth sink into the tender flesh of your inner thigh.

You whimper the sting is sharp and immediate, but it’s more than just pain, It’s something darker, something deeper and where there should be fear, there is only surrender as his fangs pierce into your skin. The coldness of his bite contrasts with the heat pulsing through your core, drawing you into an intoxicating connection between you.

As your blood flows into him and he drinks it you feel something indescribable, a bond, an intimacy beyond anything you’ve ever known. 

His mouth remains at your thigh, his fangs sinking deeper as he moans with every pull, it’s as if he’s not only feeding on your blood but on the very essence of your pleasure. He consumes it, savors it, in a way that feels both terrifying and exhilarating.

As your body weakens, his grip on your thigh softens. Your blood flowing into to him firm and steady as he holds your thigh against his mouth. And just as the darkness begins to creep in at the edges of your vision, he withdraws.

His fangs slip from your skin with the softest touch, and then his tongue is there, gently licking the bite marks, soothing the wound with an almost reverent tenderness. 

The coolness of his tongue sends shivers down your spine, and for a moment, the world feels distant, softened by the overwhelming sensation of his care.

He raises his head, his lips wet with your blood, and his eyes meet yours, glowing in the dim light. “Your blood,” he rasps, his voice low and thick with satisfaction, “it’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted before. It’s,  intoxicating to me… it’s perfect.”

The cool weight of his body climbs over you and as he presses his chest down on yours the chill of his skin is a startling contrast to the heat building within you. It grounds you, holds you captive in the surreal reality of the moment.

His body becomes slightly warmer and you shiver knowing he is gaining it from your blood. 

His grip tightens on your waist, his lips hovering near the pulse in your neck. He breaths deeply, savoring every beat of your heart, each trembling gasp that escapes you. 

“You taste so good.” he praises, his voice a low, sinful rasp. “Better than I could have ever imagined.” He whispers, his fingers tips brushing against your wetness.

“I’m gong to make you even sweeter… just a little longer.” He reveals, his words sending a thrill through you, as he carefully aligns his cock. 

He slips into your entrance rendering you senseless. The size of him overwhelming, all-consuming, the feeling unfamiliar and exquisitely maddening as you warm his cock.

The way he fills you, is not just physical it’s deeper, there’s a power in it, the way he waits inside you, deliberate and patient, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to your body, as if he’s done this a thousand times before, yet it feels like he’s savoring every second.

“You’ll give me everything,” he whispers, his lips brushing your skin as he begins his slow, and torturous thrusts. “You’ll make yourself sweeter for me, and you won’t even be able to stop yourself.”

You gasp softly, your body responding instinctively, arching toward him as if seeking more of him. The sensation of his cold flesh meeting your heat is intoxicating, a tantalizing contrast that builds with every stroke. 

The way he takes you, the fullness of him, leaves you with no choice but to surrender, to give in to the pleasure that’s building deep within you.

His lips hover just above your skin, a breath away from your throat waiting for the moment to bite, and the anticipation makes your heart pound so loudly it fills your ears.

He smiles—slow and dangerous as he hears every frantic beat of your heart knowing how much control he has over you.

—You feel it, don’t you?—

His voice is a soft caress directly into your mind,

—you’re coming to me now——

He transfers bypassing the need for words altogether.

He’s in your head!

You feel him press his lips to your neck as he thrusts, and his fangs pierce your skin once more, the sharp sting sending a wave of ecstasy coursing through you, amplifying everything until you’re gasping beneath him.

The pain of his bite mingles with the pleasure, becoming indistinguishable from it, and in that moment, it’s clear—as he consumes your blood, he consumes your pleasure, and it’s intoxicating to him.

You feel him drink deeply, his moans vibrating against your neck as he feeds on the sweetness only he can taste. And as your blood flows into him, you realize the terrible, beautiful truth: 

He brings you to the edge of life and death, and you crave him to take you further.

You are his, becoming sweeter with each thrust, each stolen drop of blood, and you will give until there’s nothing left of you. The desire to please him, to offer yourself to his hunger, again and again is all-consuming.

You are his favored one, his sweetest one, and as your strength begins to fade, you welcome it. You want it.

You want him.

He withdraws his fangs, gasping, his lips grazing the hollow of your collarbone as his cock thrusts harder, and you realize, with a shudder, that those thoughts were not your own

—They are his.

The sensation sends a jolt through you, and despite the sheer terror that lingers at the back of your mind, you can’t stop the way your body responds to him.

You’ve become a part of him—a thought you can’t quite understand, but one you are helpless to resist.

His hand finds yours, his long fingers entwining with your own as his other hand lightly wraps around your neck. It’s intimate, unsettlingly so, but it stirs something deep within you. You’re utterly exposed to him, vulnerable in a way that’s both terrifying and strangely exhilarating.

“You want this,” he whispers his lips tracing the line of your jaw. “You’ve wanted it longer than you’ve realized.” He says with a grin.

You can’t respond. Your breaths coming in short gasps as his thrusts grow bolder, sending jolts of heat through you as the pressure of his hand never leaves your neck.

His lips find their way back to the sensitive skin of your throat. The briefest brush of his fangs against your pulse point sends a spike of adrenaline through you, and before you can react, his mouth is on you again, his tongue teasing the fresh marks he pierced.

The ache in your neck pulses with each rapid beat of your heart, and you can feel his teeth close to breaking the skin again.

“I can feel it,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin. “Your heart. It’s racing for me, faster and faster. I wonder… how much more it can take?”

You gasp as his hand tightens around your neck, his touch warmer now, his presence overwhelming your senses until the only thing that exists is him.

You feel his teeth scrape lightly against your neck, a tease, a promise of what’s to come. Your heartbeat is thundering in your ears with every thrust. And then, with a sudden, sharp pain, his fangs sink into your skin once more.

The initial sting is brief, and then comes the rush of pleasure, a wave so powerful it drowns out everything else. It’s overwhelming, flooding your senses and leaving you gasping beneath him.

His lips press to your neck, and you feel the pull of your blood leaving your body, but this time, every pulse of your heart syncs with his movements, as if he’s orchestrating your very being.

Your vision blurs, the room spins, but all you can focus on is the sensation—the exquisite mix of pain and pleasure, the undeniable power he has over you. And somehow, through it all, you want more. You need more.

The pressure builds, your body tightening under his control, and then it hits you a release so intense, it rips through you. Your body shudders violently as you orgasm, waves of pleasure crashing over you, leaving you trembling, gasping, and utterly consumed by him.

He moans against your neck, the sound raw and primal, as he drinks deeper, each pull more intense than the last. His grip on your neck tightens, thumb pressing harder under your jaw, and you can feel the shift in his body — his muscles tensing barely restrained as he trusts grow fiercer with every drop he takes.

With a deeply satisfied moan he pulls away. His eyes darker, his lips stained with your blood, but the hunger in his gaze is far from over. He leans in, pressing his lips softly to yours, letting you taste the, metallic sweetness of your own blood and you moan  into his mouth.

His cock is thrusting impossibly harder now, pushing into you with an intensity that feels inhuman. 

His climax builds and you feel his fangs graze your skin once more. You are weaker as he gains your strength and the sting is sharper as he bites down harder, drawing fresh blood. The pain mingles with pleasure, as he drinks deeply syncing with the thrusts of his hips.

With a guttural groan, he comes, his body trembling with the force of it, his cock pulsing with his release. His lips are still latched onto your neck, drinking in the last of your essence as you orgasm wracks through you. The warmth of his seed fills you, combined with the slow, rhythmic pull of your blood, leaving you light headed.

As his thrusts slow and the last waves of his release subside, he continues to feed, moaning against your neck his fangs still buried in your skin. His hunger for you is insatiable and you feel your body and soul bound to him in a way that is inescapable.

Your vision begins to blur, the world around you fading. Each beat of your heart feels slower, weaker, and your limbs grow heavy. A numbness creeps over your body, spreading from your neck where were his fangs pierce through your skin.

The pounding in your ears quiets, and the edges of your consciousness begin to fray, slipping away, as if you’re teetering on the brink of a deep, inescapable darkness.

Just as your world begins to fade entirely, Austin pulls back, his breath heavy and ragged. 

His dark eyes lock onto yours, sensing the shift in your body, the danger of how close you are to slipping away from him. Without hesitation, he pierces his lower lip with his sharp fangs allowing the blood to well and spill before he leans in, pressing his mouth to yours in a desperate, consuming kiss.

Once his blood reaches your tongue you begin to revitalize as if every cell is suddenly alive with energy. You swallow his blood and your heart, begins to pound with renewed vigor. The fog in your mind lifts, replaced with a sharp clarity, and your limbs, once heavy and weak, regain their strength.

Now able to move your instincts take over, and without hesitation, you bite into his lip, craving more—more of the intoxicating power, more of the connection. The taste of his blood, is so rich and potent, it drives you into a frenzy. You grip his neck, holding him to you tightly, your body desperate, the need to consume him swelling inside you. 

His blood is your lifeline now, and you are not ready to let go. He quickly pulls back his hand gripping your throat keeping you at bay as his voice lulls you instantly.

“You’re mine now…”he grins his voice laced with satisfaction.

You lay beneath him, utterly spent, your mind still reeling from the intensity of what just happened. And as you stare up at him, a part of you knows—he spared your life by allowing you his blood. There is no escape from this, you are his now, in every way that mattered. His favored one, his sweetest one. And there was no part of you left that wanted to resist

🎃END🎃 …*Update there will be a part 2! (Highly demanded that he hunts you on mansion grounds as an elaborate game for the celebrity vampire elite *sighs dreamily*) TBA this month.

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[a-strange-familiar]

an angsty idea: f! Reader flinches during a steamy (not THAT kind of steamy) argument (bonus points for subspace) ends in fluff maybe idk, <33 ur work is *chefs kiss* ily ♥︎♡

Awww. ily too. Hope you enjoy, lovie 💗 and sooo sorry for the late <333

A/n : I got this request little over a year back and I wrote half of this and completely forgot. I got a random motivation to write this now. I really hope the anon who requested it will have a chance to read it. ♡

And also I reached a milestone (not a VERY big one, but its special to me) on my followers, thank you for all your love and support ❤️

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It's been more than three weeks since Y/n and Harry spent some quality time together. Harry was really busy with work and Y/n understood that and focused on her university work.

But it's actually bugging her. She can't lie saying that she is not feeling insecure. He is a very handsome man. Beautiful, sweet, respectful and understanding. And Y/n also know for a fact that there are many women out there trying to get in his pants or his life. But she know him, he would never do that to her. But she can't help but worry about it though.

So she kept herself busy with school and work both but she miss Harry, so thought about talking to him and having dinner together.

Today especially she had a worst day, not completely worst but worst day of the month. From the moment she woke she felt off. Something is not good and she had a terrible headache but still she went to college and later to work.

But in college she got a bad grade in a test which led up to her professor calling her to his office and giving her an earful. It's her mistake for not preparing properly for the test. And later she had to face a rude costumer at her work, and her whole mood got even worse.

By the time she came home she was feeling very low and sad. All she wanted was to cry her heart out and have some snuggles from Harry. She misses him soo much, they are living in the same house but lately doesn't feel like that.

She opened the door and stepped inside to find the lights are on, she thanked the heavens that Harry is home early. She just want to see him and kiss him.

She is feeling soo subby, not in a sexual way. She wants to be taken care of and loved. She wants Harry to hug and kiss her tears away. She just wants to be near him.

She went inside and figured that Harry is indeed home and in his office. As every step she takes she hear his voice taking in phone with someone and he is clearly stressed and angry.

She went near the door and contemplated about knocking the door or directly opening it. She decided to knock first, she faintly knocked and the talking stopped for a second and continued.

She waited for a couple seconds and slowly opened the door.

There he is, sitting in his office with his phone in one hand and eyes on the laptop infront him with his brows furrowed and visible tension and tiredness his face.

Y/n sticked her head inside the room without entering completely and called his name.

He looked at her for second, and smiled. It's not his smile. It's not a smile at all. He just made his lip form a thin line and nodded his head to let her know that he acknowledged her presence.

She wanted to call his name again but she didn't. He is busy and that's visible, as much as she wants his attention she knows better that interrupting something important.

She turned back and went into their room. Maybe after a bit he will be able give her his attention.

She showered and wore one of Harry's t-shirt and did her night time skincare. And after a good one and half hour she decided to go to Harry and talk.

She knocked on his office again and but this time she heard a faint 'come in' .

"Hi baby" She said softly

"Hi , love." He said in return and looked at her for a second and got back to his work.

Y/n fidgeted with her fingers and thought of something to talk about.

But Harry broke the silence. " how was your day ? "

She felt relived that he asked about it and that she didn't have to start the topic.

"Um.... not very good actually." She said

He looked at her with his brows furrowed and asked "What happened, baby ?"

"Just not feeling good and didn't have a good day at uni and at work." She shrugged

"Ohh, I'm sorry, love."

"Harry do you think we can watch a movie and talk for a bit. I don't really feel good. I could use some cuddled and a kiss." She asked shyly.

"Um...... " he started .

"I'm sorry but I really can't right now ,baby. I have so much of work. I can give you a kiss though." He said and got right back into his work.

Y/n stood there without moving. She wanted to be understood, all she wanted was his attention and his closeness.

For weeks she has been an understanding girlfriend and gave him space and let him prioritize his work, but she had enough.

"Harry, it's been weeks since we spent some time and shared an actual conversation. I have been patient but I think you should be understanding to my needs too." She ranted all her thoughts inside her head.

He lifted his head for his laptop and looked at her with an unreadable expression.

She really wished to know what was going on in that head of his.

"I know. I'm sorry that I haven't given you any attention in weeks but I have work to do, Y/n. I can't abandon them and look after your needs." He said that last part in a very mocking way that made her wince internally.

She sighed and started "Harry, I think -"

"Y/n, I don't have time for your chit-chat. Can't you see I have work to do ?" He yelled at her with fuming expression on his face.

Y/n was caught of guard by the yelling, and flinched and her face colored with shock and fear.

She was never in an abusive relationship that made her react this way. But seeing Harry yell at her made her pretty sacred and also Harry can be pretty scary when he is angry.

By seeing her reaction Harry's eyes softened and regret was written all over his face.

He was about to open his mouth and get up from his chair when y/n took a step back and murmured a small 'sorry' and left the room in a hurry.

Harry's heart clenched seeing that expression on her face. He wanted nothing more than to take those words back. Seeing tears in her eyes was the last thing he wanted to witness. But he already made her cry.

~~~

Y/n rushed to their room with blurry vision and tears streaming down her face. She wiped her face and got onto the bed and buried her face in her soft feather like pillows.

She cried and let her heart feel the pain for few minutes before she stopped.

She wanted to go somewhere else and give Harry some space, but she can't just go to anyone's house in the middle of the night and crash. So she had no choice but to be in their house.

After few more minutes she heard a faint sound of their bedroom door opening but she didn't open her eyes or peered up at Harry to see what he is doing

He got on the bed beside her and ran his hand down her back slowly.

"I'm soo sorry, love " He whispered.

"I really, really am. Work is hectic and I was going through something at office and took it on you. Im sorry and I know I have been distant lately. It's absolutely my fault and nothing to do with you. Im just an arrogant son of a bitch."

He kissed her head let his lips linger for few moments.

His words sounded sincere and y/n also knew he really didn't mean to yell but it's still hurt her.

"Can you please look at me ,baby ?" He asked her in a pleading tone that she couldn't ignore.

She slowly turned towards him and looked at him, his eyes were sad and regret colored his face. She felt bad for a second.

"I'm sorry baby." He said again as he caressed her face gently with his finger.

"Can you please forgive me, my love ? " He asked her as he looked into her eyes with soo much love.

She nodded her head and gave him a small smile. No matter what happened it's really hard for her to be mad at him for long time.

He returned her smile and kissed her lips softy. "I'll make it up for you , baby. What do wanna do ? You still want to watch a movie?"

She shook her head. "No. I think I want to get some rest."

His smile faltered a bit and he felt disappointed but he gave her kiss and stoked her hair. "Whatever you want , my love"

"Can you can lay down with me for a bit if you are not busy ? " She asked in a soft voice still not wanting to come between him and his work.

His smile grew as he laid on the bed with her and opened his arms wide for her to hug him and cuddle.

Without wasting any time she went into his arms and snuggled with him.

He kissed her head and murmured "I love soo much, love. I will never ignore you again "

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A/n : please let me know if you like this and comment and send me asks and interact with me if you like it.

I have been very inactive on this app, but I'm back. Here is small something for you guys. Hope you like it.

As always lots of love. 💗

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Thanks for reading.

Hope you enjoyed.

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[gatorbites-imagines]

Hmmmm 👁️🫦👁️ yandere Doflamingo X from male reader who develops stockholm syndrome (I'm it isn't scientific but it's helpful ;-;) and ends up slowly warming up to/falling in love with him?

Doffy can be sickly sweet, always holding reader close, lavishing them with praise and buying things for them, but when reader tried to escape or got -what Doflamingo thought- was too close to someone else, he gets kinda dark. Cue some kind of punishment followed by him acting all good cop and doting on reader.

Some fluff/smut peppered in if that's okay 😭

Hope this is alright and doesn't break any of the rules

Yandere Donquixote Doflamingo x male reader

Headcanons

Tw for darker stuff ig? I love Doffy, hes my little crazy muffin. Probably not the best Stockholm syndrome, mainly just the reader being dumb and easily manipulated.

i feel like my obsession with doffys tongue is visible in this... exposing myself.

Doflamingo is known for being a master manipulator, so once he turns his attention to you and wants you for himself, he will have you one way or another. Theres a big chance you won’t even realize what’s happening until its way too late, and you are completely caught in his web of strings.

You had just been the average dock worker, working for one of the many companies working under The Joker in the underworld, smuggling all kinds of stuff. It was never your job to question what you were shipping, and not asking questions meant you got to stay alive.

You just happened to be at the wrong place at the same time. You just happened to be dumb enough to not have a sense of self preservation. You just happened to not recognize the 10 ft tall blonde in a pink feathery coat and goofy sunglasses. And you just happened to look so… cute.

You didn’t really have any friends on this island. It wasn’t the place you got close to anybody, and you sure as hell never trusted anybody, as everyone here was some kind of criminal. You were one of the few who wasn’t a blood thirsty psycho. You just had been given a bad hand in life and a lot of bad luck.

When the tall blonde started appearing near the docks on the regular, you didn’t question it. Questions should never be placed, and even though you had no idea who he was, everyone else seemed to fear him. So, no matter how handsome he was, you tried to stay out of his way.

You were a clumsy fool. It had resulted in a lot of punishment and beatings, but to Doflamingo, you were just so adorable. Like watching a little lamb running around thinking they were safe from the pack of blood thirsty wolves always circling.

When gifts started appearing in your dorm, as you were so low ranked in the system that you didn’t even have enough money for your own place, you didn’t know what to do.

You had never owned expensive things, so you knew nothing about the quality of things you were given. You didn’t understand just how expensive the shirt you were given was, or that the bracelets that looked a little too much like shackles cost more than someone like you would ever see in their life.

The gifts kept coming, and somehow your roommates disappeared, leaving the room all for you. One day when returning from the docks, it had even been redecorated. You almost had a heart attack, thinking someone else had moved in. But when you asked your superior, they had just glanced around nervously and said it was for you and to not question it.

Through all of this, Doflamingo watched your every move. From the moment you got up in the morning till you went to bed, and sometimes even as you slept.

Being who he was, Doflamingo had nothing against sneaking into your room as you slept, just so he could watch you. Or if he was feeling starved enough, he would lean down and kiss you, sometimes letting that long monster of a tongue slide into your mouth for just a small taste.

Before you knew it you were pretty much Doflamingos property. In the beginning you didn’t wear any of the fancy clothes or jewelry, not wanting to dirty any of it. But from one day to the next, all your old clothes went away, leaving you with only the clothes so expensive the majority of the world could only dream about owning it.

You didn’t understand why most of it bore a specific shade of pink, or that the symbol sewn into most of the clothes in one way or another was a jolly roger. You, in your oblivious mind, just thought it was a brand or print.

Doflamingo couldn’t help but feel pleased as everyone stared at you with fear and dread, avoiding you every chance they got, as everyone but you seemed to know you were his, and his alone.

You were right where he wants you, and little by little, Doflamingo would insert himself into your life. At first, you’d see him in passing, but soon you would see him every shift and you two would talk.

You were so concentrated with working that you didn’t notice how he always seemed to stare at you, and if he hadn’t worn sunglasses, you might have seen how he so rarely blinked, as if wanting to eat you up.

At some point he just happens to “offer you a job”, giving you the job of a lifetime. Doflamingo could almost have writhed in pleasure when you agreed, smiling so brightly and looking so deliciously stupid, to him at least.

All the many mysterious gifts you were given were moved, and soon you worked right under Doflamingo. Maybe as his assistant or something like that, some job where you would be right by him every day. Of course, you weren’t actually do any work that mattered, he just gave you fluffy paperwork that would be thrown out, since there was nothing of importance on them.

From then on you gave you his presents in person, leering and grinning when you became flustered and stuttered before giving a shy thanks.

Everyone in the donquixote family knew you were off limits as they saw the possessive look Doflamingo always gave you, or how he would pull you into his lap and claim there weren’t any more seats, using his strings to whisk whatever chairs were around away.

Working for Doflamingo, you ended up growing, what should I say, used to the treatment. You had come to expect his praise and lingering touches, or the gifts hed rain down on you. So when he kissed you the first time, you weren’t too surprised.

Sure you still blushed up a storm, but it had all seemed to lead up to this. To you, who still had no idea of Doflamingos darker side, thought he may just have been shy and expressed his feelings for you through gifts.

When you guys started “officially” dating, he got worse, or better, depending on who asks. I’m putting officially in quotations, as to Doflamingo you had always been his.

Forget about any type of work you were doing before, you were always seated in his lap now, wearing the clothes he picked out for you, and being a good little lover for him.

Dating Doflamingo also meant you quickly got used to gagging, since he’s the type of guy that always tries to shove his tongue down your throat, and with Doflamingo having the tongue he does, he actually succeeds in doing so.

Hes sickeningly sweet to you, fawning over you and piling praise on you, his large hands wandering and making you see stars whenever you are even a little bit in the mood. Its because of this it takes you so very long to realize what kind of monster he is.

The reveal was never meant to happen, but you somehow ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time, and you got to see Doflamingos true colors. Seeing him tear someone apart with his strings, that large grin on his face, made you feel sick.

After that you grew distant, and Doflamingo pouted and kissed your face all over, trying to get him to tell you what was wrong. But you never told him, just shrinking away from him, as the seriousness of the situation finally seemed to dawn on you.

Even to you, who wasn’t the smartest person around by far, it all seemed to click into place. From your job, to your clothes, to how everyone seemed to avoid you, isolating you to under interact with Doflamingo.

You needed to get you, that’s what you became sure of. Its only because Doflamingo never thought you’d actually try to leave that you got the upper hand. In the end you didn’t even get off the island, but you were smart enough to get out of his base and to the docks where you had worked before.

But as you were about to board a ship to get outta there, strings seemed to cage in the entire island, like a birdcage. Doflamingo had realized you were gone, and he was pissed.

Before you knew it, conquerors haki covered the entire island, knocking you out almost immediately, but not before you felt your heart sink to the bottom of your feet, the reality of Doflamingos strength finally hitting you.

When you wake up again, you find yourself in Doflamingos bedroom, golden shackles similar to the bracelets you were given keeping you locked to the bed.

It takes you a moment to notice him, but when you do you almost throw up from the fear it causes. There in the corner sits Doflamingo, but for the first time since you’ve met him, he looks angry. No, he doesn’t look angry, he looks enraged.

He doesn’t even demand an answer from you as to why you tried to run. He just gets to his feet and approaches you, and for the first time his 10 feet of height scares you. But then he doesn’t something unexpected. He cradles your face in his hands and coos at you, treating you as if you were some kind of child or animal that had broken the rules, not because you wanted too, but because you were so very dumb you didn’t realize you broke them.

All these months of being with Doflamingo from morning till dawn as caused you to love him, its no secret. Its just a reaction of the human psyche, so part of you had been scared of disappointing him. It also makes your insides flutter at his cooing, even as he calls you a brainless stupid idiot who can’t think for themselves.

All his cooing and sugar sweet but cruel words makes you cry, making Doflamingo smirk when you sob into his chest, apologizing for running away. When you agree with him that you are stupid and can’t make decisions on your own, he knows he’s won. Well, he’s known he’s had you for months, but seeing you admit it is euphoric.

Doflamingo ends up holding you in his arms and cooing at you, pouting and sounding of so sweet as you cry, telling you he forgives you. But there must be consequences, and you have to be punished.

You’ve never been punished by Doflamingo before, so you have no idea what to expect. Knowing the kind of role Doflamingo wants to play, the punishment is probably something along the lines of overstimulation until you pass out, and when you wake up, he will do it again and again, repeating the process until he feels you’ve paid for your sins.

When hes strung you of everything you’ve got and you cant even think straight, he would pick you up and kiss you all over, praising you in that sickeningly sweet honey voice of his, carrying you to his personal bathroom.

Here he would get both of you into his large bathtub, where he would scrub your limp and hickey covered body dry as you whine and whimper, almost melting against his chest as his large hands massage all your sore muscles.

As you bathe, you most likely end up with him fucking your thighs, Doflamingo cooing in your ear that he will have mercy on your cute little holes for now, since they’re still so sensitive from your punishments. But next time he won’t be as lenient.

As he slides his shaft between your thighs, Doflamingo would slide his tongue down your throat again, smirking to himself as you jolt and twitch, still arching into his touch even as your body ached and burned from all the overstimulation.

After he finishes, he would praise you more before getting out of the bath, where he would dry you off in the softest of towels, before Doflamingo would tuck you both into bed. You would pass out immediately again, slumping against his chest as Doflamingo laughs, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head.

He loves you, as much as someone like Doflamingo could love. And because he loves you, he owns you. That’s his logic at least. This also means you will never be allowed to leave, and no one will ever be allowed to take you away. And he will do everything in his power to make it a reality.

[syrma-sensei]

→ Bad Mouth.

gif credit.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Fem!reader.

Rating: Explicit, pure filth.

Warnings: domestic ben, non-canon compliant, drug use, cockwarming, daddy kink, brat!reader, choking on huge dick, piv, pet names, minimum plot...

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Ben wants to netflix and chill with you but on his way.

Taglist: @zepskies

You and Ben just finished having dinner together. Ben's cleaning the table while you take care of the dishes. You glance over your shoulder at him with pride. Ben is adapting to modern life. Even though it's an excruciatingly slow process, it's still a progress, and you couldn't be prouder. In spite of that, Ben doesn't seem to be so pleased with the drastic changes that happened to the world during his sleep, and it causes him great frustration most of the time. But you're here to help him find his place in the new world. He insists he can handle everything by his own, but the man can't do a thing without screwing everything up, especially that loose tongue of his.

You proceed with your work in the kitchen; putting dry dishes in the cupboard, mopping the floor, and sorting the leftovers from dinner. Ben is now sitting in the living room watching something on TV. You need not to worry about that because you already taught him how to shuffle through networks and pick something up to watch. You've come to notice that unlimited access to media is something he appreciates and even enjoys. He'd sit and absorb the contents for learning purposes, making comments on how cinema quality is fucked up nowadays compared to the glorious days back in his time. You'd giggle at his words, reminding you of your grumpy grandpa. He still watches what now-shitty-Hollywood produces, nevertheless.

You emerge from the kitchen, drying up your wet hands with a towel. Your gaze catches his before he says, “C'mere, sweetheart, want you to sit on my lap.”

You smile, strolling down to the sofa where he's sitting. He cranes his head to look up at you before he adjusts his position for you. You slide up deftly to straddle his strong thighs, coming face to face with his handsome visage. Beautiful green eyes ravishing you with hunger. He flashes you a mischievous grin. “Not what I meant, baby.”

“Oh,” You raise a brow, flashing him a wicked smile of your own, “If that's what you want, Daddy.” You wink.

“Atta girl.”

He helps you to stand up again, shoving his blue sweatpants and underwear down to his mid thighs as you take your panties off; you weren't wearing anything but a hoodie and a thin pair of panties, which is laying on the floor now. He's not hard but not soft either. You moan slightly as you sink on his length, his chest pressing to your back, a strong arm holding you by your waist close to his warm body. He's so well-endowed and thick, you can feel him fill every inch of you; you shiver.

From the side of the couch, Ben fetches his blunt from the small table and lights it up.

You try to distract yourself from the overwhelming sensations that course through your body from the feeling of utter fullness. Eyes glued on the screen, you notice that Ben is watching Narcos: Mexico on Netflix. The events take place in the late seventies and the early eighties, close to his time of claimed death.

Smoke begins to fog up around you, hazing your head and making it lighter. That shit is strong. Minutes elapse, and the whiffs of high is making you naughty. You glimpse at him from the corners of your eyes to find him too focused on the show. You grin giddily and slowly roll your hips on his dick. You earn a low grumble from behind but nothing more. Your faint high is making you braver so you take another shot, snapping your hips again, but more aggressive this time

“Whoa,” He says, “Easy, baby doll—”

You buck your hips again with a giggle, feeling his cock nourishing inside of you. “Hold still, woman,” He growls in a low voice, “Last warning.” Your hips carry on until he snaps impatiently, lifting you up his cock effortlessly and turning you to face him. “Not gonna let Daddy finish the goddamn season with your pretty cunt warming up his cock?”

You giggle playfully, raising a challenging brow, “No,” You emphasise with another snap of your hips. He twitches inside of you, “Come on, don't you wanna fuck me, Daddy? Or you want me to do all the work for your old-ass?”

He furrows his brows at you, but before you receive an answer, you climb down his thighs swiftly and rush towards your bedroom, you grin proudly when you hear his hasty footsteps behind you. You yelp when you find yourself being flung to the bed, your grin widens and you giggle again when you find him above you. You feel his weight on your body, and his cock nudging your opening. With a vigorous thrust he's inside you and between your legs.

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” You cry, “Please, give me your cock, Daddy!”

You kick your legs playfully as he teases you with his massive cock; slow and deep drags in and out of your dripping cunt.

“Oh, now it's 'Please Daddy', hmm?” He chuckles cruelly, “What happened to the bratty bitch who wouldn't stop rocking her fucking hips on my dick? You fucking cock tease.”

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Daddy!” A thrilled cry tears out of your throat as you look at him with teary eyes. He stops and slides his cock out of you, and you whimper. You try to buck your hips to his cock but he has a steel grip on your wrists above my head. You couldn't move much. You curse his supe strength.

“You're sorry?” Ben sneers, raising a brow, “Sorry won't get you anywhere, sweetheart.” His face slants down so his mouth is nearly brushing yours, “If you want my cock buried in that slutty pussy of yours, you must show me how sorry you are.”

“Please,” You say breathlessly, gulping down while nodding, “Let me show you I can be a good girl, your good girl.”

“Now you wanna be my good girl?” He snickers, “Should've warmed my cock while I smoked that reefer like I told you to instead of pissing me off with your hips.”

You giggle, tilting your head to the side coquettishly, “But Daddy! I love your cock so much; can't help myself when you're inside of me.”

Ben's hands loosen from your wrists and you can move again. He quirks a playful eyebrow at you, a grin slipping into his lips. “You love how my cock fills you up, Princess?”

“Yes!” You gush, sitting up on your thighs and Ben leans back, his face still in yours. “I love it so much, Daddy. I love the feeling of you.” You slip onto the ground between his thighs. His cock is long and thick, hardened and curved up towards his lower torso. Pre-cum is glimmering on the slit of its tip. The sight makes your mouth water. Your tongue takes a long drag on the shaft and Ben growls, his hand is harsh in your hair, yanking your head backwards. You hiss in pain, but tingles of delight sweep over your spine. You like how he manhandles you. He leans down to your face and chuckles, “You want it so bad, don't you?” He drawls, mance swirling in his eyes, “Then take it.”

Ben's grip tightens on your hair, his dick is shoved all the way down your throat. You gag at the sudden fullness in your mouth. You try to lift yourself up to adjust your position, but he doesn't let you. The fucking bastard. He wants you to choke on him.

“Let's put that bad mouth of yours into some good use.”

Drool seeps through the corners of your mouth down to your chin, and tears start to prick your eyes. You hold into his thighs and try to ease your breath through your nose. You taste his pre-cum and salt of his skin. In another circumstance, you'd suck him empty.

“Ah, just like that,” His voice is thick and content, you can hear the smirk in his voice, “Move an inch and you're not allowed to cum for the rest of the week.”

Your eyes fly wide when you comprehend what's going to happen. He's going to fucking smoke again while you warm his cock with your mouth. The asshole. What a fucking dick. But his dominating, deep voice shoots directly to your pussy, making it squeeze around nothing.

You hear him flicking the lighter on and a few moments later you hear him exhale a small cloud of smoke. You whimper in discomfort and your legs shift a bit. His hand pats your hair gently and you look up at him through your bangs.

“You can be such a fucking brat sometimes,” He says after taking a long drag, his hand continues to fondle your hair tenderly. You grumble around his length and he lets out an amused chortle, “What is it, baby doll?” He strokes your scalp again. God, his smirk is so annoying but utterly beautiful, “Too busy to come up with a nasty sass?”

He wants to play dirty? You can play dirty. You flick your tongue on the underside on his shaft and it twitches in response. “Behave,” Ben warns in a grumble, hand tugging your hair. Again, your cunt clenches around nothing. You stop; you don't want him to execute his threat. Because he'd fucking do it. Last time you pushed your limits he denied you your orgasm for a night as a punishment. True, he compensated you the following morning, but it drove you crazy the entire night. Long story short, you don't want to experience that obnoxious feeling of reaching the rim of your high but never get it. Your throat clenches around his cock when you attempt to swallow your saliva.

Minutes elapsed then he muffled his reefer in the ashtray on the bedside table. His grip slides your head gently off his dick and you take a deep breath before gazing up at him. His cock is slickened wet by your spit and his pre-cum.

“Good girl,” He remarks, whipping your face dry with a tissue. When he's finished, he pats the spot next to him, “On bed, all fours.”

Thrill sweeps over your body again as you climb up on the bed again, settling on your hands and knees as he ordered after you took off your hoodie. You hear shuffling behind you; he's taking his clothes off too. You yelp in surprise when his hand smacks your right butt cheek playfully then you giggle. His hand trails down your ass crack, his fingertips teasing the rim of your butt hole and you shiver. “Can't wait to fuck this hole someday.” He comments and you chew your lower lip, “But let us focus on that honeyed pussy now, shall we?”

His blunt nails press to your clit and you moan, “Fucking Christ, you're practically drenched down here, Princess.” He circles the bundle of nerves and your hands grip the sheets beneath you. You mewl when two of his fingers are deep-knuckle inside of you.

“Please Daddy, please,” You groan, rubbing yourself against his hand when doesn't move.

“Wanna cum, baby girl? Fuck yourself on my fingers just like that.” You whimper in frustration but you do it nevertheless.

His other hand reaches out to your breasts, his fingers finding your erect nipples. Ben plays with them as his thumb presses in circles to your clit. He's driving you crazy. He's all over you. His hands toying with you, his firm chest is against your back, his mouth next to your temple whispering the filthiest words into your ears. Overwhelm sweeps over your body, and you squeeze around his fingers. You groan and rub yourself faster. Your knees are growing weak. “Daddy, Daddy! I'm gonna cum. Can I cum, please?”

He growls, “Cum to me, princess, cum to me.”

To ruin you even more, Ben pumps his fingers expertly against your g-spot and as if on cue you crash on his relentless digits. Tears run down your cheeks as the orgasm hits you like a hurricane. Ben doesn't wait, he flips you on your back and plunges himself through your pulsing cunt. He grunts at the wringing and curses under his breath. “Fuck,”

You claw at his back when his cock fills you up and you sigh in pleasure, “I love you, Daddy. I love your cock so much.”

He grins down at you then kisses you briefly, murmuring, “You have no idea how much my cock loves your pussy, doll.”

Ben snaps his hips against yours and you see the stars. He's so huge, so fucking huge. And with every drag of his dick you feel each inch of its skin and every vein friction against your sensitive walls. He fills you up completely. His mouth leaves love bites on your neck, and his tongue leaves a wet stripe on your chin before he kisses you again.

His vigour brings you to my high again and it snaps around him harshly. You scream his name and cry, digging your nails into his skin. He cums hard inside of you, you feel his hot seed painting your walls white.

His dick starts to soften inside, and he shifts to pull out, but you cling to him, looking up at his green eyes. “Stay,” you whisper.

And he does.

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