#i spend far too long stuck in my head to do that | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

prael · 5 months ago

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Newjeans Hanni smut (M reader) - the title is a hint to the TW.

6.6k words

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It didn't happen through a cliché.

Well, maybe it did, but not one of those where she's stuck head-first into some kitchen appliance or something of that ilk, though you would say this really did happen by accident.

What? She tripped, fell, landed on your dick?

Not quite like that, but the point still stands. You didn't begin that day, or even that evening, intending to fuck your step-sister, but, well…

"My apartment. My TV. My choice," you told her, as you have so many times before.

"But this film is supposed to be the best. It's got great reviews. Dani loved it..." Hanni was talking far too fast to even really pay attention. She soon started reeling off a cast list and everyone involved, and how this review called it a revelation to the genre, but you had long since started ignoring her. You know how she gets. Excitable beyond the point that someone normally would be. It's an endearing trait, if not also annoying. The rundown of her reasons was cut short as she threw her body at you in attack.

"Hanni! What are you—"

"Just gimme the controller already!" She shouted right into your ear as she threw her arms over your shoulders. You held it out in front of you, keeping her behind your back so her arms couldn't reach; not that it stopped her from trying. "Just one time. Please? Pretty pretty please?"

You climbed up from the sofa. Hanni clung to your back like a young panda, with her legs locked tight around your waist and her arms still fumbling around. You grabbed her by the ankle, trying to pry it away so you could drop her, or something, anything other than letting her continue. "Alright fine. Just let go, you idiot. You’re going to tear my arm off."

She loosened her hold, just enough for you to swing her around; one arm and leg slipping free so you could throw her onto the couch. In your flailing she managed to take the TV remote with her, but the moment of peace, of silence, of satisfaction in hearing your idiot sister bounce against the cushions before breaking into a laugh and asking, "what the hell was that for?"

"What did I ever do to deserve the step-sister from hell?" You said as you flopped down at the opposite end of the couch.

"Have a mother hot enough that my dad wanted to fu—"

"You're sick." You cut her off before she finished. She smirked, lifting her sock-clad feet onto the sofa and settling in for movie night. She brought her knees up below her chin and started flicking through the options on the screen to find the one she wanted. Her eyes were wide in her stare, her lower lip bitten. It was pretty much the last time you ever looked at her in this innocent way again.

It was another one of those shitty horror flicks. The kind that didn't even slightly live up to the billing she gave it before. This, however, was Hanni's thing—whenever she convinced you, or otherwise, to finally give up control of your TV, she would put on one of these cheap horror movies and spend the whole night tucked behind a cushion.

As much as you tried for it not to be, it's become something of a ritual, pretty much any night that she was at home, and not unbelievably tired from being overworked and didn't have to be up at the break of dawn.

It's your acceptance of things like that which really showed how much the two of you had grown. You remember fighting for your life against your mother and stepfather to not have to take her in. Convinced that if she wanted to move into the city so badly, she could get her own place, or go to one of those company dorms. Ultimately, you were made to see reason. Your apartment is close to her company, and you had a spare room, after all.

Not that she ever stopped annoying you beyond belief.

The movie, if you could call it that, had you fall into a slumber, and when you woke up Hanni had crawled across the length of the couch and was laid against you, her arms wrapping one of your own. She didn't even realise you had woken up, staring as the credits rolled with a slight, peaceful smile on her face.

She had tied her hair up by now into a ponytail, pulling the hair away from her mostly bare shoulder, where the thin strap of her cropped pyjama top rested. As you peeked down at her, your eyes accidentally fell on the space down her top. It wasn't your fault; they were just right there.

"Shit..." you muttered, catching Hanni's attention.

"Still alive there?" She chuckled a little as she gently patted her palm against your cheek. You feigned a yawn and shut your eyes, settling your head against the pillow once more.

"Hanni, put something else on. This movie is dumb."

"You fell asleep after like ten minutes."

"Yeah, and it seems it didn't take long for you to use me as a body pillow."

Hanni pursed her lips. A red flush ran through her cheeks, and then she quickly sat up. You were watching her the whole time through half-open eyes, chuckling under your breath at her reaction.

"You're an idiot," she says. "Always have been."

You shrugged in reply, "And you're easy to tease, always will be."

"Asshole." She kicked at you.

She tried to kick again, and you caught her foot. You held her bare leg in the air and then lightly kicked her back, hitting her thigh.

"Let go! I'll kick you again. Asshole!" She shouted at you, again and again, struggling to break her foot free from your hand. When you finally let her go, all her struggles made her stumble off the couch. As she went, you kicked out again, this time catching her right on the ass. "Ah! Fuck be careful you hit my plu—" She brought her hands right to her mouth when she realised what she was saying.

"Your what?" You asked.

Hanni cleared her throat, blushing to the point of matching the colour of her red short shorts. "Nothing."

She turned away from you. Just standing there. There's a part of you that wishes that you could go back to this moment. You would have left it there and gone to bed—never kicking her a third time.

But you did it.

Your foot flicked gently against her ass a final time and you felt it. Something hard tucked between the softness of her cheeks. She yelped again. You pinpoint this moment as the catalyst for everything that followed. It’s the part where her innocent image crumbled before your eyes and that’s what allowed you to do what you did. Though really, can you ever be sure that if it didn’t happen now, it wouldn’t have just happened the next day, or next week, or a few months down the line? You tell yourself it was inevitable.

"Is that what I think it is?"

She spun around, facing you once more, trying to muster something. She stumbled over and stuttered her words. "No! I... it's not mine. Minji loaned me one for... just to try... it's not." She held the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. "This is... oh, god. This is so embarrassing."

Hanni slumped back onto the sofa and pressed a cushion tight against her face. "Why'd you loan it?" You ask her, only to see her tighten her grip.

"Because."

"Because what?" You sat up by her side and said something that at the time you thought would make it better, but looking back, probably came off rather creepy. "I clean your room, Hanni. I have seen worse things."

Hanni slowly dropped the cushion into her lap and looked at you with a glare. "The fuck?"

"And if you're going to use my laptop, try deleting the history." At this point, you were just piling on the embarrassment.

"Fuck! Oh my God, what did you see?" She threw the cushion into your face.

You picked it out of the air. "Nothing." You lied.

"Bullshit!" Hanni swore. "Did you see everything?"

"Nothing at all..." you said sarcastically while standing up. "I definitely didn't see all the step-brother porn you were binging last week."

She screamed and jumped up. You threw the pillow to stop her and stepped out of reach. "I hate you! You freak!" she shouted, cheeks burning red as the fury rose within her.

"Says the chick wearing a buttplug." You taunted her again as you darted across the room away from her.

"What happened to boundaries!?" She lunged at you again, and you quickly sidestepped her.

She tried jumping at you once more and missed, only to strike her knee against the corner of the coffee table. She hopped back on one leg with the pain.

"You're an asshole, you know that!?" she shouted, holding onto her knee. You stepped closer, thinking she was really hurt. Until she used the chance to lunge at you and grab you. "What's wrong with a girl enjoying some fantasy? Not like I want to actually fuck you."

You realise now that the proper thing to do would have been to match her disgust. Tell her something along the lines of how the thought repulses you. Continued to tease her about how fucked it is that she would even look at that sort of stuff. The whole thing could have dissolved, but it's when she had hold of you, hammering her fist into your arm, that you said, "don't you?"

Then the long silence ensued. The one that said a hundred unspoken words. As her punches turned into light taps and then to her just holding onto your upper arm. She looked up at you with her pretty eyes open wide. Her lips parted slightly and the tip of her tongue rested on the bottom one as if she had something to say, but the words wouldn't come.

That's the first time you kissed her. Your own step-sister, a girl who should be off-limits in every conceivable way. Yet she opened her mouth and accepted you in that moment. The taste was so sickly sweet.

It was brief, but it told you everything you needed to know, and everything seemed to spiral from there.

First, there was the confusion. The immediate aftermath where you both let go of each other to turn away. Your backs turned on one another as the awkwardness reached its peak. Neither of you was willing to confess the enjoyment of that little exchange.

Then came the passing of the blame. First, it was Hanni who turned to you with a "What the fuck are you doing?"

And you replied with "Me!? You're the one who kissed me!"

She scoffed and shouted a response, "That was all you! Stop being such a perv, freak!" Hanni stomped past you towards her room, face half-full of anger and topped off with shame.

"I'm the perv? You're the one who I hear moan through the walls while, apparently, watching step-brother porn! I think that makes you the messed up one!” you called after her.

A pause. The hesitation. The possibility of confession. She reached her door, and it flew open. In she walked before slamming it closed with a, "you're sick!"

You stared at the door and vainly said under your breath, "you're the sick one." In your head you had realised the real truth to that; how maybe you're both sick because, as the dust settled, you can only think about a handful of things.

The kiss. Her ass. Her cute little tits.

You didn't see her again for the rest of the evening. She reserved herself to her room, while you resigned to the couch with nothing but the television keeping you company.

It had been a long time since you had a shouting match like that with Hanni. See, it used to happen all the time when she first moved in. The problem with a girl like her whose whole world revolves around singing, dancing, media training and beauty is that she lacks any sense of what it's like to be an independent adult. It seemed like the fights would never end, on account of her being seemingly incapable of washing a dish, her clothes or even cooking the most simple of things without burning it or setting something on fire.

But this? This is uncharted territory.

The night wound down, and you were headed to bed, but you found yourself outside her door. Your hand raised, ready to knock. Your breath held. Right when you finally built enough courage is when you heard it. Heard her. Moans muffled through the wood of her door. Your stomach knotted. Your groin twitches.

You lingered, unable to tear yourself away. Even as your logical side began arguing with you that you were in the wrong. That you're probably the worst sort of pervert imaginable and you should feel nothing but guilt.

The other voice, the more confident one; the devil on your shoulder told you that it's Hanni's fault. You had just warned her, and this is what she did in response, like it’s all some sort of game. You refused to admit to yourself that hearing her groaning, whimpering, and moaning through the wall influenced you—tempted you.

Louder and louder. Her voice raised higher, getting to the point where you knew she was practically screaming in the throes of pleasure. Harder and harder you grew. The rational side of you was saying that you should ignore it. Just go to sleep. Forget about it.

"Fuck!" she moaned, and you remained, listening through the door—lost in imagination.

Then you heard footsteps. Bare feet patting on wooden flooring coming closer and closer towards the door. A rush to retreat and you slipped toward your bedroom door. You barely reach the handle before the door across the hall opens.

There was a moment. The two of you locked eyes. Every fibre in your being fought against looking down.

"What?" she asked with a stone-cold expression.

"Nothing." You said, and your willpower broke. You glanced down. Completely naked, she stands at the door, her nipples peaked to fine little tips. And your gaze drifted down her soft curves and slender figure, her wide hips and full thighs.

"Nothing," she mocks.

Her eyes glanced down for a second, then back to your face, and her gaze narrowed. You panicked, dipped into your room and slammed the door just like she did earlier. You press your back to it, the cool wood against your burning body. Your mind raced.

Her feet slapped again against the wooden floor and headed toward the bathroom. That should have been that. You slipped into your bed, frustrated and confused. The sound of the shower running quickly drifted through the walls, but her cries from earlier replayed in your mind until you fell asleep.

That should have been that.

You woke to the darkness of the room—not the morning sunshine—sometime later. Half in a haze, not quite conscious yet, but something had roused you from your slumber: a movement under the sheets and a strange sensation. Warm and damp. Your eyes flicked open, adjusting to the darkness. Your hands jerked reflexively toward your groin and then your senses sharpened.

Someone between your legs. A warm and wet something sliding up and down the shaft of your hardness. Tongue? Yeah, a tongue. Your fingers reached and buried themself into hair. Stomach muscles spasmed as your hips thrust up on their own. Your lips parted as you moaned, "Fuck."

You glanced down.

Hanni.

Naked.

The tip of your cock at her mouth, lips pursed around it. Her smiling eyes sparkled and her skin glimmered, bathed in moonlight coming through the open curtains. Hanni giggled when your eyes met. Your hand dropped to her shoulder.

"Hanni..." Your throat choked dry, and you pushed at her shoulder.

"Shhh." The word whispered against your sensitive tip.

"What the hell are you..." You tried to ask, but Hanni shook her head before sucking in a breath. Then she drew the length of your cock into her warm, wet mouth and the question escaped you. "Holy shit," you gasped.

"This can be our dirty little secret," she said when she lifted her head, fingers stroking you. "We can pretend it didn’t happen in the morning, but for the rest of the night," her finger tickled down the underside of your cock as she spoke, "it can be as real as you want it to be."

You remember being convinced that it was a dream. Maybe one that you would wake up from with a mess in your shorts and, honestly, that probably would have been bad enough—having a wet dream about your step-sister. Reality intruded and threatened to drag you back from your delusion. Hanni took you into her mouth again and it was so very real.

There was no doubting the pleasure, and it was too good to make her stop. You took your hand away from her shoulder, allowing her to do as she pleased. Maybe if it was just a dream, you could allow yourself to indulge in the madness just one time…

"Fucking hell, Hanni." The words slipped from you, and with it, her warm mouth left your throbbing cock.

You peered down at her. She wiped the drool from the sides of her lips and smiled at you. Her eyes were wide as she lowered her head and slipped your dick into her warm mouth once more. Your body jolted as she put her tongue to work. She swirled the tip along the contours and ridges, then licked down the underside of the shaft and then right back up the top, leaving a thin film of saliva on your hardness.

She clasped her hand around you and it all felt far too real. Mixed emotions. There was a cold sense of terror in your heart, even with the heat of arousal radiating all over. The things she did with her lips and her tongue made you doubt your sanity.

"Does that feel good?" She said as she took a quick pause, stroking her hand along the full length. She had just caught her breath in the one moment where she stopped sucking, the first chance where her mouth wasn't busy trying to draw the soul out of you through the tip of your cock.

"You were right." She spoke almost as quickly as your mind spun. "About... the step-brother thing. It feels sick, and gross, and... wrong. It makes me feel dirty." Hanni pauses for a second, seemingly running her eyes over your body and then asks, "how depraved does it make me that it gets me really, really horny?"

Hanni had no clue that the same thoughts filled the back of your mind. Only that you weren't able to string it into words like she did. She was right. It felt really wrong, and yet there was a rush to do something that should never be done. This was where the next step began. The breaking of the boundaries. The perverse excitement in the face of the taboo.

Her hand reached out behind her and pulled back the sheets that covered her body. She was crouched between your spread legs, head still by your cock, her soft ass in the air. The cool light from the moon kissed her skin as she slowly slipped her fingers between her plump cheeks. "And this only made it worse. I've been so horny ever since I started wearing it."

Her hand moved slightly, just out of view behind her, and she let out a breathy moan.

"Hanni. What're you—

You're interrupted. "It hurt a little at first. Just a bit but you get used to it, and if it's in a good spot, if you hit it right..." She kept touching herself in front of you, and another breathy gasp escaped her lips and then she looked up at you still lying there. "What are you waiting for? Isn't this what you want?"

That's when you stirred. Reciprocated. You sat up and she rose to meet you. In seconds, you were embracing. Frenzied. Wild. All teeth and tongues and roaming hands. Shorter than you. So much smaller. She let out a yelp when you grabbed her, though she instantly silenced it by shoving her tongue back in your mouth and kissing you deeply.

Pressed against your bare chest, her breasts felt small but supple, perfect little handfuls. Her waist is slender beneath your grasp. The thick flesh of her thighs was so full and shapely. When she opened her eyes, they had such want. Lust—pure and undeniable.

So close, and the faint whimpers at her throat are a seduction. You felt it was an invitation, and your lips kissed her chin, trailing kisses down her neck. "Yes. Yes. Yes..." she encouraged you lower. Your tongue tasted the saltiness of her skin, teeth grazing and then pinching softly. Her arms were tight around your head, nails biting into the base of your neck.

She trembled at your every caress, shook each time you teased a pert nipple. Gasped louder each time you nibbled her collarbone. You turned, lifting her, and then she fell back and presented herself to you. Her legs splayed open and her bare, wet cunt dripping, begging you to take it, but...

"No," you told yourself, "it's too fast," and you began a line of kisses down her stomach, beginning at her cleavage and trailing straight down her stomach. The muscles beneath her pale skin twitched and clenched in response and her breath had gone erratic. You reached her belly button and she hooked her legs over your shoulder, and when you dipped further she clenched her thighs and squeezed as you toyed with her.

You remember savouring the moment. Savouring the pleasure, savouring the veniality.

"Lower, please," she begged in the most needy voice. "Please, I... fuck, oh, fuck please..."

It's hard to describe it all.

Somehow, in the night, you both reached a state of understanding. A state of consensual debauchery that came with a sense of agreement; a pact signed with tongue on skin in this moment of depravity.

You kissed her, playfully moving between her legs. Thigh to thigh, to dangerously close to her wet core, and there you lingered. The air grew humid. Hanni's sweet scent filled your nose. You ran your hands up her legs and felt the warmth in your palms. She gripped onto the hair at the top of your head; her fists tightened.

"Why're you teasing me, asshole?"

Hanni's moans grew louder and more needy when you used your tongue against her. Her legs wrapped tight, hooking behind your back. There was something satisfying about her reactions to your actions, something exciting about seeing her squirm.

The tip of your tongue ran up the lips of her cunt, dipping between the fleshy folds and coming to suck upon her swollen clit. Her eyes widened at the touch, and her jaw slacked to the point her words went incoherent. Her whole body spasmed as she arched and moaned out something filthy.

One moment you had hold of her thigh, feeling her clench up and quiver, the next you found that your fingers had moved downward and pressed against her slick opening. At the slight touch of your fingertips to the tenderness there, a short cry slipped out of her again. She tightened and clenched around them as you pushed in deeper.

"Who's teasing?" you asked before you buried yourself to the knuckles in her.

A smirk formed, and Hanni was about to speak, but no words came. You pumped her at a steady pace, curling your digits within her while lapping at her clit. The taste of sin never tasted so sweet.

The combination drove her insane, and it didn’t take long until you were on the verge of making your step-sister cum.

You wrapped your lips around that swollen nub of hers and flicked it with the tip of your tongue, faster and harder, until her many moans became one, long, drawn-out and passionate, as a climax rocked through her.

Her ass lifted off the bed and her legs quivered, shaking uncontrollably while her fingers tugged painfully at the hairs on the back of your head. She jerked and gasped with a look of ecstasy on her face as she moaned your name over and over, almost reaching a scream. Your name on her lips again, and again, and you were drunk on this euphoria.

She released your head, and you postured over her, still slipping a pair of fingers into her, but slower. She drew a deep, trembling sigh and forced a smile, watching you. "I hate you," she managed.

"Do you?" you asked as you drew your cum-soaked fingers out of her. Her legs rested on your hips and the underside of your stiff cock was against her pussy. You reached around her hip, to her ass, to the plug still sat between her cheeks. Hanni hissed at your touch, biting her lip at the sensation.

"Yes. I hate you," Hanni whimpered, giving the softest moans as you tugged on the metal. Her eyelids fluttered.

"Why?" you asked.

"I just do," Hanni weakly gasped, struggling to stay strong in the moment. "You make me feel things. Things I shouldn't feel. It shouldn't be this easy."

"In that case. I hate you too, sis'."

There was this moment after you said that, where you shared a stare. Maybe the most confusing stare of your life. Calling her sis', in this position, should have been horrifying. And it was, but only at a peripheral level. Otherwise, it felt surprisingly... hot.

You dipped into her for another kiss, and this one seemed ever more ravenous than the last. You kissed with hunger and her hand ran around the back of your head. Kissed as lovers would. She was just as aroused as you and eager for more.

Slow and soft, you rocked yourself against her wetness. Your length dragged between her lips, up over her clit, and down again to poke at her entrance. You moved over and over, enjoying the tease.

The slow, sticky friction between the two of you. Her breath was sharp, as you slipped yourself over her and kissed at her neck. Every rock of your hips, she ground back against you.

"I think..." She hesitated. "Fuck. I think I'm ready. Just... go slow?"

The guilt of what's happened was a distant thing, a buzzing fly on a summer afternoon. The kind of thing that when you're so enthralled by something else, it becomes invisible. Then, with a nod and a shivering sigh, she reached down and gripped your cock. You bent back from kissing her so she could guide you.

Her tiny cunt. Her beautiful wetness. Her forbidden, decadent treasure.

Her breath was shaky. Her next words came out amid a tremble, "I've never... No one else."

You brushed stray strands of hair out of her face and ran your hand over her cheek. You gave her the reassurance she needed.

She told you, a few weeks later, how grateful she was that it was you. See, for all the filth that ran through her mind on an almost daily basis, she never imagined what it would be like. It being you—who you are and everything you meant to her—made it easy. Natural. Wonderful.

That first time, you took it all so slow. With her legs raised over yours. Watching the subtle changes in expression as you gradually moved more and more of your cock into her. Sinking deep between her pink, delicate walls. Your step-sister, panting and squirming beneath you.

"You okay?" you asked her.

"Ah... yes. This is... I love it," she responded between whining breaths.

It was just enough, the reassurance, so you could push into her the rest of the way. Her hand found its way to your shoulder; bracing as you eased in, her delicate frame tensing as you buried fully.

You watched her reaction and tried to be still as you felt her slick cunt pulse around you, wanting you. She swallowed and gripped you with the muscles within her. The second of respite didn't last long though; you weren't sure if it was a request or accident when her feet tapped against the curve of your ass, but it prompted you to fuck her.

"Feels... fuck." You sucked your breath between your teeth and braced yourself up on a shaky arm. You drew out slowly, and you noticed her nails digging into the arm you supported yourself upon.

You groaned in relief more than anything else as your hips pumped the shallow strokes that sent electricity through your body. She started pushing herself onto you as she clutched your back, drawing her heels over the small of your spine. You looked down to see her eyelids were flickering, and the sight only served to inflame you more. Her moans were so erotic and encouraging.

That first time, it was special. You took your time together to explore each other's bodies, the curves of hips, the muscles, the valleys and ridges. You caressed your stepsister's gorgeous body and then tried your best to put her through another climax, as if your efforts to reach your own were less important.

"Fuck you're so tight," you told her, during those final thrusts, buried to the hilt in her tiny, soft pussy.

She spoke, her voice weak and shuddering, "You're big... inside me..."

The fact that she held you tighter in her embrace and how it seemed that she refused to let you out of her even as she came apart was telling.

She came that night, again, this time all over your cock. The first of many times to come. A string of incomprehensible cries erupted from her in the throes of that first proper fuck. Hanni's thighs flexed around your hips. She clung desperately to your body as she cried into your mouth as she climaxed.

Not long after is when you felt it too, that impending release. A coil of pressure. Unfamiliar and intense. The mere thought of emptying inside her drove you mad. Your fingers dug into her hips as you fucked your step-sister with complete abandon.

"Don't. Not inside. Please, not inside," she murmured in an incoherent mantra of guilt and pleasure, right next to your ear.

You didn't, of course. You drove yourself right to the edge and pulled out. Her juices coated your length, slick and wet as your cock twitched in anticipation of the final moments. Hanni wanted your release as badly as you did. She took you into her hand for the finish, gripping tightly and jerking that first hot shot of cum onto her soft tummy. You thrust through her hand to let the pleasure course through you. Each thrust sent a long rope splattering onto her naked skin as she grinned up at you, flushed and sweaty, covered in your lust.

That was the first night, but definitely not the last.

The next morning arrived with Hanni in your arms—the little spoon. The little naked spoon pressed against your body. Skin to skin. She woke you with the slow rocking motion of her body, grinding her plump cheeks against you.

"I could get used to this," she whispered under her breath, smiling against the crook of your arm. "Good morning," she said to you over her shoulder. "Sleep well? You had some pretty naughty dreams last night, didn't you?"

You responded with your erection growing against the warm crevice of her butt and a gentle hum as her ass rocked over it. That was no dream. "I did," you said groggily. "As naughty as yours."

"Mmmm," is all she had as a response, lost in the pleasant distraction, grinding herself back into you even more. As she did so, you grew harder, until your stiffness pressed against the plug still wedged into her ass. Hanni had left it there overnight. "The thing about dreams is that they're easy to forget. Want to remind me of mine?"

You ran your hand down her thigh, and that's how the second time started. You caressed her flesh for a while, feeling the softness of her thighs while she silently lay there, patiently allowing you to enjoy her.

Then, you grabbed her by the knee, opening her legs and then she spoke, "Are you going to make your step-sister cum again?"

So quickly did she become so utterly shameless. You grunted in reply and then you held her leg up by hooking under the knee, and shuffled down slightly, letting your hard cock slip from between her cheeks and go between her legs.

You closed your eyes and leaned into her. Lips at her shoulders, the kisses soon trailed to her neck. She hummed as you ground your cock between her folds. Not even putting in the effort to try to actually enter her just yet, just teasing your stepsister for the moment.

Her voice filled with the sweet sound of passion.

Your heart began pounding and a flush rose to your cheeks. You could have written that first night off as a mistake. One you would regret, forget and never make again. Not after this. This is a definitive choice. One of sound mind and body, not under the tension of an argument or anything else that happened before.

This is different.

Hanni reached her hand down between her legs, pulling your cock so it would slip into her when you shift your hips. "Fuck me," she begged.

You did. You slipped inside her and heard her moan in such sweet ecstasy. She gripped the pillow she slept on the night before, burying her face in it, and moaning into it in such sweet rapture. "Fuck, yes, harder," Hanni moaned.

When she pushed her hips back onto you, her ass brushed against your belly. The rhythm began. Slow. Lazy thrusts. Enjoying every sensation in the post-sleep haze, savouring the fact that you knew how good she felt on the inside. How incredible her wet, silky, tight depths felt when you slid in and out of them.

"Is this what you wanted?" Your voice is low, near a growl. Your arms around your step-sister. It shouldn't, by all accounts, feel natural to have her like that, but it did.

"Yes, it feels incredible. Please don't stop." Your cock bottomed out within her. As deep as you could go. You groaned, and stayed there for a while, feeling your stepsister clenching down, her inner walls trying to pull you in further.

Hanni's hands gripped at the bedsheets, clutching tightly to them. The position pressed the metal of the plug between her asscheeks, and as your thrusting continued, the sensation sent a tingle through her body. It was a filthy combination. One that allowed every stroke you drove into her cunt to simultaneously send an equally blissful shock straight into her ass.

It was madness for her to indulge in the ecstasy—for both of you to lose yourselves.

You grew faster, and she unwound completely. She grew limp as she reached her climax. She couldn't even grip the bedsheets, or the pillow, her body simply submitting to the pleasure. She merely lay there as your hips battered against her soft ass, fucking her right through it.

Then she asked you, right after it subsided, "Ever fantasised about cumming on my ass before?"

The way she asked that made the question feel almost normal. "That the sort of thing they do in the porn you watch?" You slowed for a bit to deliver the tease.

Hanni couldn't keep the shy smile from creeping across her lips. "There was this one video where a guy put it all over his sister's butt. Seemed like he really liked it."

The fact she talked to you about the dirty things she likes helped it all along. It was the extent of her experience, the videos, but it helped. What it told you about what she really likes, what she enjoys... It became the basis for all your dirty experiments.

"That sounds hot. You have a cute ass."

She giggled to herself, rolling her hips, getting up onto her hands and knees and facing away from you.

You seated yourself onto your calves, giving her space and watching as she turned, giving you the view you craved. "I do?" She said as she glanced back over her shoulder, showing her innocence and naïvete in all its splendour. Her eyes sparkled and then a smile spread over her lips to match that look in her eye.

"The cutest," you told her as you kneeled behind her. One hand caressed the outside of her thigh while the other gripped the base of your cock. Eyes firmly set on that beautiful plump ass. That was the second time in just a few hours that you covered Hanni in your cum.

She watched every second as you did, barely managing a blink. Arousal and delight danced over her features in equal measure, and your name left her tongue in the form of a delightful, drawn-out groan. The effect was very apparent. With every streak and ribbon of white landing, she gasped and moaned while staring at the mess.

From that moment on, you entered regularity. It seemed like for months, every chance the two of you got to fuck, you fucked. Her room. Your room. The shower. The sofa. The kitchen. Against that window that overlooks the city's skyline. A public bathroom. A hand job in the car while you're stuck in traffic. Riding your face in a park, hidden among trees, grass, and bushes. Fucking, kissing, and biting until the both of you are exhausted and sore and dripping with sweat. It never ceased. Two insatiable appetites. Your mutual loss of control continued. The affair felt so exhilarating. An explosion of forbidden sin in an otherwise normal existence.

It all came with its fair share of close calls. That Saturday morning surprise visit from your parents where you answered their knock at the door and they invited themselves in, all while Hanni lies naked in your bedroom. How you sneakily warned her before she emerged and spun the story to them both about how she slept on your floor out of fear after watching another one of her horror movies. They bought it, of course, because they couldn't imagine there being any other explanation.

Then there was Hanni's near miss with her group. She told you all about how Minji had picked up on how something had changed with her; about how convinced Minji was that Hanni had found herself a boyfriend. About the look Minji gave her as Hanni protested, and finally how she got away with a half-truth.

She told the girls it was because of you and how you would work out together on weekends to make her feel better.

Everything was going so well, which made this week even more confusing.

It's been days since you last saw her. The longest you have gone in some time. Long hours and staying over with her members are one thing. Going days with no word or anything at all is another. She ignored your texts, never returned your calls, and stopped showing up at home like you'd come to expect.

No warning.

Nothing.

#hanni smut #newjeans smut #kpop smut #kpop fanfic #male reader #smut #m reader #hanni #hanni pham smut

2K notes · View notes

01zfan · 6 months ago

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paint you | l. at

swimmer!anton x art student!reader | 7.6k words

this fic has a little bit of everything good lord…set in uni, childhood friends to strangers to lovers, pining…very much a slice of life i think…i hope everything isn’t too scattered or hectic

contains: semi public sex, no protection (DON’T BE LIKE THEM)

you didn’t say a word as you watched the movers take all your belongings into your new home. you were like that now, completely silent as your form of rebellion. you had moved far away from everything you knew to come here. your mom was happy, talking about new beginnings and more adventures. you only thought about your going away card and bouquet of flowers you smothered to death on your way here.

you crouched in the driveway, drawing in the dirt with your stick as your mother called to you. you were no longer the sweet child that would come anytime their name was called. you only focused on the dirt and long lines you drew, imagining it was your path back home. you didn’t look up until a shadow was casted over you, and you saw someone foot over the line you drew in the dirt.

you looked up slowly, squinting as you took in the sun above the person looking down at you.

“my mom said i have to come say hi to you.” the boy said quietly.

you looked over to your mom, chatting with a lady while the movers continued to do all the work. you ignored the boy, looking back down at the path back home you etched into the earth.

“you don’t talk?” the boy asked.

you ignored him. you only continued to draw your lines, making your way to his foot. he took a small step backwards, letting you complete your line.

“i don’t like to talk either.” he said.

he crouched beside you silently and grabbed a stick. it was smaller than yours but still did the same. he started drawing shapes in the sand next to your lines and winding circles. you looked to him again, to see that he was focused on playing in the dirt the same way you were. you scooted over in the grass, leaving a space open for the boy to come next to you. he caught on immediately, moving from in front of you to be by your side. you two played in the dirt, pushing around the earth to mold it into shapes and lines. your mother’s got along, not noticing their kids getting their clothes dirty until it was too late.

“anton!”

both you and the boy snapped your heads to the voice of anton’s mother. seeing anton respond immediately to his name being called made you do the same. both of you got up from the dirt to walk to your mother’s and both of you were scolded the same, hearing a speech about how expensive clothes were. both of your mother’s were smiling the whole time, seeing their two antisocial and quiet kids get along.

from then on, it was history. you stuck close to anton, trailing behind him in school, quiet and stealthy like a ghost to everyone but him. anton was understanding, becoming your representative anytime someone threw a glance over his shoulder to eye you, like they were confused if you were real or not. each time he would smile and pull you beside him, introducing you as his bestfriend.

you and anton remained close. he was with you when you started speaking for yourself, no longer needing him to be your voice. you were with eachother all throughout school, spending more time with him than you did your family.

the amount of time you spent together through swim and school made him know you better than anyone else. you were by eachothers side through the transition from kids to teens and the growing pains of puberty. you even made it through the trials and tribulations of being friends in highschool, surviving through the countless dating rumors that seemed to arise every week. none of it mattered, anton was there for you and you were there for him. you guys challenged eachothers personal records in swimming and were neck and neck in class. sometimes you were convinced he was the mirror image of you, your platonic soulmate. that’s what comes with the territory of being with someone for nearly twelve hours a day—you end up knowing them better than anyone else.

so it was unfortunate, after all the time you spent together as kids it was college that did you two in. you blamed it on the fact that you and anton both chose different paths in college. he stayed with swimming while you went to the arts. it called to you, the ability to make something with your hands. you never regretted your decision, but you did find yourself thinking about anton often. sometimes your mom would call and ask about him, and you would be forced to pretend like you had actually spoken to him and not just regurgitating rumors you heard on campus. the only truth you told your mom in relation to anton was that you passed by him on the way to class. that’s all you seemed to do, only seeing him in snatches as he walked around campus.

each time you saw anton, something about him was different. he had somehow grown more, and his dedication to swim contoured his muscles and made him broad. he was visibly bigger than all of his friends, your eyes drawn to him each time he came in your vicinity. each time he waved back to you, the two of you reduced to sharing pleasantries while walking in opposite directions. sometimes it felt like it would’ve hurt less to be completely ignored, but you knew that wasn’t anton’s style. within his friend group he was the social butterfly, once he was able to get past his introverted nature he became the glue of his group, bringing all of them together and planning the gatherings. anton was such a social butterfly to the point that everyone seemed to know him, and before you knew it your friend groups began mingling and overlapping.

you were afraid you were going to regress back to the shy girl you were as a child when anton came to you at a gathering. you had practiced this moment, him approaching you and asked what you were up to now. you had your hobbies written down on your hand and your new interests saved to your phone. you had made a playlist of the songs you liked now and a folder filled with art from your class. you wanted to desperately show anton you had grown up too, that you used your hands to hold a brush instead of slicing through water and you smelled like oil paint now instead of chlorine.

“how’ve you been?” anton asked.

he held a barely touched drink in his hand and you had a solo cup filled with soda in yours—neither of you were really fans of drinking.

“i’m good.” when anton nodded you looked around the living room of your mutual friend. everyone was mingling, engaged in conversation except for you too. “i read now.” you said abruptly.

anton smiled, tilting his head at your new hobby.

“what have you been reading?” anton asked.

“oedipus rex.” your grip on the red cup almost bent the plastic around your fingers when anton looked you in your eyes. when you held his eyes for too long you instinctually looked down at your feet, focusing on a crack in the floorboard. “it’s for class, but i like it alot.” you said to the floor.

“hey.” anton reached his hand towards you, making you pull your eyes back up to him. his eyes were warm, his smile lines made you smile too. “that’s cool, really.” anton assured you.

you suddenly felt comfortable, the imaginary tension dissipated like the smoke clouds around you two. you put your hands on your hips ironically and shrugged your shoulders.

“you know, it’s nothing.” anton laughed a little at your reaction, copying your little pose. “i read shakespeare during the weekends.” you joke.

“something light?” anton jokes back.

“you get it.” you say.

for the rest of the night, you and anton caught up. you talked about everything that happened between the last time you saw eachother, laughing at funny stories and eyes going wide when something scandalous was said. no time passed at all between the two of you, you went back to your old routine like it was second nature. you talked in every part of the house, sitting on your friends bed while talking about class then standing in the kitchen when you mentioned life at home. you guys stood by the restroom talking about life and next steps, and ended on the couch while the night was winding down.

even though you didn’t have a single thing to drink that night, you felt dizzy staring at anton. he had his arm on the back of the couch, head leaning against his closed fist as he listened to you so intently. you felt yourself forgetting some words, looking to him to fill in what you were forgetting. you saw his smile grow big as you talked his ear off about art—once he got you started you couldn’t stop. you related your major to swimming, how you get in the zone the same way you used to before starting relays. talking with anton about swim made you realize how much you missed it. you missed the camaraderie with your teammates, how it felt like they were the only ones who understood what it was like to be so dedicated to the water. you ended the conversation on a somber note, but anton looked wistfully at his hands as he recalled his own memories.

“i miss being in swim with you, but i’m happy you’re doing what makes you happy.” anton says.

he puts his hand on your knee and you quickly put your hand on top, enjoying that you have an excuse to touch him. his hand is soft like it always was.

“i appreciate it.” you don’t let go of anton’s hand, squeezing it slightly. “you should come to my class sometime. sometimes we get extra credit on assignments if we bring in live models.” you say.

“you want me to slut myself out so you can get an A for the semester?” anton asks.

you scratch the nape of your neck to hide embarrassment. you recover well, looking at anton jokingly.

“isn’t that what friends do?” you ask.

anton throws his head back to laugh. his hand on your leg squeezes your knee, causing you to move too. both of you laugh for a moment, but you can feel your face heating at the thought of anton posing for your class.

“maybe your next solo assignment.” anton looks forward at the party. a couple flirts in front of you guys on the shag rug, holding a joint to the others lips as they breathe it in. “i don’t know if i can do that in front of your whole class.” anton says, looking back to you.

you turn to look at the couple now, face feeling even hotter at the thought of anton posing just for you. you can’t stop your mind racing. suddenly you are inspired, the dynamic poses you see anton in flashes through your mind as you try to speak. you wondered if anton would be able to stay still as long as you needed him to, if he could keep his lips parted the perfect amount for hours on end. the ideas couldn’t stop flowing—you had to slightly shake your head to refocus.

“it wouldn’t be nude. i’ve seen it all before amyways.” you say casually.

when anton laughs shyly you turn back to him. he has a smirk on his lips, and you can feel your hands get restless. you want to paint his lips and his perfect teeth that show when he smirks. you think that if you were to paint it and show it to anton he would understand why you suddenly feel sheepish looking at him.

“first of all, you haven’t seen it all, you’ve seen my top half. second of all, i’m not that flimsy prepubescent kid anymore. i’m a man.” anton says, posing to show off his muscles.

you have to nod and smile to act like nothing is a big deal. you reach forward and poke his flexed arms for comedic effect. before you can say anything, the host of the party tells everyone it’s time to leave. the lights cut on and anton’s blushing face is revealed to you. when your eyes go wide he draws his hand away from your leg, hiding it behind a stretch.

“before i pose for you though, i’d like to actually see you again.” anton gets up from the couch, and holds out his hand to help you up. you grab it and stand right in front of him, looking at his broad chest. anton’s hands to to your shoulders, and you look up to him. “not just by chance at a gathering but like actually planning something out.” he says.

you nod your head. you find your hands to be restless again, the only way to get them to be still is to stuff them into the small pockets of your jeans.

“you have my number.” you say back.

“anton, let’s go.” you look and see anton’s friends beckon to him from the entryway.

“were you drinking? you’re our DD.” another friend said.

“it’s literally kombucha.” anton shakes his head, and you can see the nonalcoholic text on the label. he faces you as he walks backwards to his friends, pulling out his phone. “i’ll text you.” he says.

anton turned back to his friends before you could say okay. when you walk out with your friends a few minutes later you felt the buzzing in your back pocket, and you open your screen to read the message.

let’s hang out tomorrow

this is anton btw

ever since that night, you started seeing anton everyday. whether it was a quick stop to eachothers dorms in between classes or eating together you were with him everyday. in a weeks time anton gave you the spare key to his dorm, emphasizing that you could crash there whenever you’d like. you had no sense of self preservation and neither did anton—both of you went all in, spending so much time together you started getting the urge to swim again.

although you spent time together like when you were in highschool, there was a different feeling to it. there was a line you two silently set in the dirt when you got to highschool. you two came to the agreement then that friends didn’t hold hands, they sat on opposite sides of the couch, and had crushes on other people. it was upsetting, both of you mourned the loss of innocence and degree of closeness brought by skinship. but you guys were becoming adults, it was time to draw a line in the dirt the same way you did when you were children. sometimes you thought about the line, how it might’ve been the thing that drove you two apart. you two were on opposite sides, heading off in different directions.

but time is a flat circle and you two went around the world to meet at the same line. this time, it was the division in his couch, the line down the middle that separated the two cushions the both of you sat on. a romantic movie played on the television in anton’s dorm, one about two people finding their way back to eachother. you scooted closer to the division in the couch and anton did too, still watching at the movie.

that’s how it was at first, you two getting so close to the line until your thighs touched, but nothing more. you felt the cold sweats all over you body and heat across your cheeks and neck as your mind wandered to all the possibilities. his hand went to your knee first, the same way it did at the gathering. everything was different, the implication of being alone and him touching you made goosebumps spread across your skin. heat came from anton in waves, and you could smell chlorine and his body wash when he settled deeper into the couch, moving his body slightly towards you.

“i really like this movie.” anton said.

you nodded your head, feeling anton squeeze your knee. you tried mimicking him, relaxing further into the couch until you could lean against his body. when your head rested on his shoulder he visibly relaxed, lowering his body more to give you more space. his hand moved from your knee to your thigh, squeezing and rubbing what he could reach. you felt hot all over, trying not to read too much into how anton was holding you.

anton was the one that crossed the line first. he stepped over the line in the dirt when he picked up your legs and moved them over his, coming completely into your space. a tiny sound left your mouth, you were excited, feeling static electricity across your body and inside your mind. you could only put your hands over anton’s as you got used to his touch.

nothing happened that night, nothing seemed to happen when you guys would spend time together. it was grueling and agonizingly slow how you two were working up to being in eachothers space again. anton would hold you in the privacy of his room timidly, touches light as a feather like he was worried you’d flinch away. you were worried you were enjoying it too much, the way he’d look at you sweetly and hesitate when bringing the back of your hand to his lips. anton grabbed your hand while walking you back to your building, fingers lacing with yours casually as he talked about his schedule for tomorrow. the both of you could only speak absentmindedly and nod, too focused on how your hands fit together like puzzle pieces.

even though you didn’t spend as much time with anton as you did when you were in swim, he still took up an unhealthy amount of your mind. the slow and delicate pace you two moved at burned across your skin, leaving your brain frayed at the edges. it was the worst when you were painting. you’d be focused on an object in front of you for a study and your mind would drift to anton. your fingers and your strokes would turn into half assed portraits of the boy you were getting close to again. it became an obsession, you were hiding your unfinished work of anton in the studio space, scared he’d find it if you put it in your room.

just when it got to be too much, it was like the art gods were smiling down on you. your class got assignments to do a human anatomy study. you wrote down your name to rent the studio space to accommodate anton’s schedule that you now had memorized. when leaving class you texted anton, telling him about your upcoming project.

are you going to draw me like one of your french girls?

i’ll try my best.

you didn’t even have to ask anton to be your model. he agreed on the spot, only asking for the time, place, and how many clothes he needed to bring. he showed up to the studio shortly after his class, wearing a matching gray sweatsuit. anton had a duffle slung over his shoulder, and he held on tightly to the strap as he navigated his way around the studio space. he was unbelivably careful, almost tiptoeing around the half done sculptures that littered the floor. droplets from anton’s hair fell on the ground as he walked—he came straight from swim practice, not wasting the time to go back home.

you both hesitated before going in for a hug, making it an awkward embrace. you both knew the implications, and the tension made hairs on the back of your neck raise. anton patted your back twice, pulling away and asking about your day. his voice was sweet and nonchalant, but the blush appearing across anton’s cheeks told you he was nervous. you were the same, refusing to make eye contact as you stared at the zipper on anton’s tracksuit.

his hands rested at his sides when you were done exchanging pleasantries, trying to figure out what was next. you cleared your throat and motioned towards the block in the center of the studio surrounded by a circle of easels.

“just pose there however you’d like.” you pointed to the sheet neatly folded on top of the block. “there’s a sheet to cover yourself up with.” you said.

you walked past the block, weaving through a row of easels until you made it to yours. you focused on your name carved into the wood as anton rolled his shoulders to try and relieve tension. he slid his duffle down his arm first, and you had to stare at the blank canvas in front of you to stop yourself from stealing glances at anton’s body. his curly hair peaked out above the canvas, moving slightly as he got undressed. you focused on the curls when you hear anton but when you heard anton unzip his jacket you went to playing with the charcoal utensils. you had to duck your head when you heard anton’s jacket fall to the ground and him messing with the drawstring on his pants. you count the little paint splotches on the ground over and over again when you see the gray sweats pool at anton’s feet. you watch his feet as he steps out and makes his way towards the block. you hear him bump into an easel, how slow his steps are. you almost pinch your skin when you hear the fabric of the sheet move, hoping that the self inflicted pain will give you something else to focus on.

you refuse to look up until you hear anton’s voice in front of you.

“can you help me?” anton asks.

you realize it was a mistake inviting anton when you finally get the courage to look past the easel and at him. instantly you are bothered, watching anton sit on the block while looking at you hopelessly. anton’s stares right through you as you slowly walk over towards him, causing your palms to feel sweaty. you wipe them on your jeans a million times before you stand in front of anton. from up here you can see overheard lights in the studio reflect in his large brown eyes as he looks up to you.

you make minor adjustments to the sheet that wraps around anton’s body, trying not to focus on his smooth skin that’s exposed or the peak of toned muscle you see. you make the mistake of looking at anton’s abdomen as you move his legs to a more comfortable position. his stomach is chiseled, intense workouts carved anton’s body out of stone. no matter where you touch him he is so soft and so solid underneath your fingertips. you focus on anton’s shoulder, but you can feel him staring directly at your face. you move a piece of hair from anton’s face and travel down. you look at his nose before you can look at him in the eyes.

“looks good now.” you say.

before you can turn away anton’s hands go to your waist. he keeps them there, fingers splayed out but he applies no pressure.

“what looks good?” anton asks.

you shrug quickly, trying not to shiver underneath anton’s look. he presses his fingers into your hips a little harder, and his thumb messes with the bottom of your shirt before slipping under. your hands go to his shoulders as he pulls you closer.

anton’s expression is almost pained when he leans his head back, blinking quickly before he opens them fully. his brown eyes almost look glossy when he focuses back on you. you see your reflection in anton’s eyes he pulls you in a little closer. your hands creep from anton’s shoulders to the nape of his neck. you let one of your hands splay across the back of anton’s neck, rubbing the pads of your fingers against his scalp. he leans his head into your hand with a sigh and a smile on his face. he brings your other hand that rests on his shoulder to his lips, looking directly at you when he kisses your hand.

he doesn’t stop at your knuckles. he works his way up slowly, moving his hand to graze over each kiss. you let him kiss you gently, and you let him pull you down until you’re face to face with him. anton stops at your tricep, his shaking hands still pressed to his trail of kisses.

“anton.” you say.

you close your eyes and lean in when anton looks back at you. for a moment you’re floating in space, heading towards the unknown. the thought of rejection flashes across your mind before you feel anton’s reciprocating, soft and gentle against your lips.

you press into him gently, your hand fully goes into his curly head of hair to finger the ends and twirl them around your finger. anton’s hands hold your arms first, gripping them slightly as he brings you in place. when it’s not enough anton slides off the block he was sitting on, the thin sheet that was covering his naked body falls with him. more of anton is exposed to you but you don’t shy away, you place your hands on his skin and press into his solid frame. anton pulls you down to the ground with him, not breaking the kiss as you become more desperate. you two almost bump into the easels surrounding you, but neither of you can be bothered.

you cross the line of his lips to push your tongue into his mouth, and anton tilts his head so he can do the same. you guys find a rhythm, lips languidly moving in sync while your tongues press against eachother.

“i rented out this space for the next hour.” even when anton pulls away from you while you keep a hand locked in his curly hair. “just us.” you say breathlessly.

anton hums and nods his head, pulling you closer by a hand wrapped around your waist. your back bows against his hold, giving anton space to drag his hands up your sides to grip your clothed chest. your shirt creases underneath anton’s hand, and you whimper when he presses his plush lips to your exposed collarbone.

“just us?” anton asks against your skin.

you nod your head vigorously when anton looks up at you from your chest, and you straighten your posture to try and bring your body closer to his. anton smiles, the creases in his eyes almost covered by the curls that cascade down the frame of his face. he presses his forehead to yours and the two of you look down between your two bodies. anton focuses on you two fitting together like puzzle pieces while you focus on his dick resting against his stomach. his tip is red and angry, the beading pre-cum making a patch of anton’s abdomen sticky.

anton pulls you onto his bare lap, his dick resting heavy against his stomach. his hands map your body, so desperate and unaware of his own strength that he overstretches the fabric of your shirt and causes you to move at his will. his hands mess with your jeans, pulling you closer by your belt loops. he rearranges himself on the sheet he used to cover himself as the charcoal staining your hands rubs off on his chest.

both of you are still, letting the weight of the situation sink in. your hand pressed against anton’s chest while the other grips his shoulder for stability. his hand on your chest, and the other on the small of your back as he splays his hand across the expanse. you look at your charcoal stained hand resting on anton’s chest. his heart thuds against your palm, mirroring the hammering in your own ribcage. your quickened heart rates effects everything, the way your breathing has turned into short huffs, the way your eyes flicker across anton’s face. the only thing that remains slow and steady is your hand as you drag it down anton’s chest. you make it past his heart, keeping eye contact as you trail down his stomach. when anton’s eyes close you let your hand finally wrap around his length, twitching and hard in your hand.

anton sighs in relief, taking one hand off of you to prop himself up as he leans back. the other hand on your body doesn’t calm down. even with his eyes closed anton finds the bottom of your shirt, his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat when you start pumping his dick. anton’s grabs at any part of your body he can get a viable grip on. he kneads the flesh on your stomach before reaching up and holding your chest over your bra.

when he opens his eyes again anton brings his other hand to you to lift your shirt over your head. you’re forced to take your hand off his dick to discard your shirt, but when it’s thrown somewhere in the studio you go right back to him. you don’t pay the sound of and easel moving or the sound of paintbrushes clattering any mind—you’re focused on something else.

anton pauses only for a second, placing a kiss on your chest before he grabs a handful of you again. you go back to him, grabbing his dick in your hands. the slow pace you were going at previously was abandoned, you have waited too long to tease. the angle is awkward, almost uncomfortable—but the way anton’s eyes close and his mouth slightly opens in ecstasy drives your hand to go faster. anton’s precum makes your hand glide easily. the wet sound of you jerking anton off is subtle and quiet, almost as quiet as the whimpers that slip from anton’s mouth. you open your mouth too, mirroring the way anton whimpers pitifully when you tighten your hand around him.

anton lifts his hips and lifts you too, bringing both of you off the ground momentarily so he can fuck your hand. you look down at anton, how his body flexes to fuck himself and how his face is contorted in pure pleasure. you use your free hand to run over anton’s stomach, admiring the chiseled beauty in front of you. you can feel his abs ripple underneath his taut skin as you press your hand deeper into him.

“you look like a painting.” you murmur.

when you start pulsing your fist around his twitching dick anton puts his hand over yours. he brings you both back to the present.

“i won’t last long.” he says sheepishly.

you can see anton’s face already becoming flushed, the blush adorning his face in splotches. anton pulls your hand away from his dick, placing your wet hand on his chest instead. you both start feeling eachother again, letting your hands feel everything in the calm of heavy breathing and occasional sighs. anton brings you in close, nudging your ear with his nose as he lets out a shaky breath.

“how do you want it?” he whispers into your ear.

“we have to be quick.” you say just as quiet.

anton nods, sliding you off his lap onto the sheet. he moves his body fast, resting on his haunches as he works the button of your jeans. the fact that you two are running low on time looms over your heads, and the thrill of getting caught makes you two desperate. anton’s dick is rigid in the air, twitching upwards when he imagines someone walking in on the two of you.

you work your bra off your body, unclasping it quickly as anton pulls your pants down your legs. when he gets the denim down to your mid thigh he stops to abruptly lean over and kiss your exposed chest. it’s quick, a small peck right on your erect nipple. you wish you had more time with anton in this cramped studio, so you could whimper and while asking him to do it again. but you didn’t have time, and you were getting uncomfortable in your panties so you let anton pull your pants off the rest of the way.

anton pulls you in for a kiss, moving to stand on his knees and you do the same. he brings you in by an arm wrapped behind your back. you put your hands on his broad chest, letting his teeth clash against yours before pulling away.

“we have to be quick.” anton says.

he warns the two of you, but he still takes his time looking down at you and brushing hair behind your ear. being quick is lost on him as he caresses your cheek. he almost asks you how you’ve been before you pull away from him, turning around to get on your hands and knees.

“we have to be quick.” you echo.

anton laughs, looking at the position you got into so quickly. he doesn’t have anymore time to waste, he’s been doing that for the past fifteen years. so anton slots himself between your legs, letting his hard dick rest against your ass as he gets comfortable.

”i don’t have any condoms.” anton says.

he looks at your dick rest against your ass, twitching each time you move.

“i’m on birth control.” you wiggle your hips, scooting backwards to get closer to anton. “i’m not seeing anyone.” you add.

“me neither.” anton says immediately.

you nod, moving your hand back to grab anton’s dick. he guides himself into your hand, and shuffles forward until his tip prods your entrance. he can see a translucent pearl of precum mix with your slick. anton grabs his dick where you held it previously, running his tip up and down your folds. he sees you sigh and shiver, pressing your hands flat to the ground to mentally prepare yourself.

“the door is locked right?” anton asks.

both of you look towards the small classroom door. it’s halfway across the room, but you can vividly remember turning the metal bolt. it was ironic how much you hated distractions in the studio but here you were on your hands and knees, the most distracted you’ve ever been in your entire life.

“it’s locked and no one comes here during the weekends.” you let out a sigh when you feel anton come closer to you. “it’s like if we were in the locker rooms on a saturday night.” you say.

anton visibly relaxes behind you, finding comfort in the fact that you remembered saturday night competitions. everyone cleared out of immediately when the swim meets were over, everyone desperately trying to enjoy the start of their weekend. by the time the meets were done there wasn’t a soul around, not even the cleaning staff. so it was truly just you and anton here, completely engrossed in eachother. he leans over to press a kiss to your shoulder blades before moving a hand to your ass. he spreads you out, wanting a clear view of you spread out. anton sighs, wishing he had the time to press gentle kisses to your bottom half. anton tells himself silently that you have no idea how well he’d eat you out, how he’d take his time and not stop until you begged him to. but time was of the essence and anton was getting impatient—he rubbed a hand down your back while he lined himself up.

“are you ready?” anton asks sweetly.

you nod against the sheet underneath you. anton looks past your ass to smile at you. you’re so pretty with your lips pouted in anticipation anad your cheeks smushed from pressing into the sheet.

“yes.” you answer.

anton nods, and stays in the same position so he can see your face when he slides in. your eyes close instantly and your lips part, anton does the same as he watches you. he’s bewitched, locked in on how he’s making you feel. you suck him in more and more, and when anton bottom’s out he sees you bite down on your finger to stop yourself from moaning. he pulls all the way out before sliding back in, just as slow.

anton looks around at the easels surrounding your bodies, and the platform anton was posing on not even five minutes ago. he almost feels bad, he feels like he’s tainted the space you’ve created for yourself. he remembers when you used to be so shy you couldn’t look at someone in the eye, but now you gave presentations to seasoned artists about something as personal as art. he was proud of you, he thinks he loves you as he looks around and sees the art you’re working on. anton swears he sees a drawing pinned to the wall, an unfinished bust where the curls and side profile is unmistakable. anton looks down at your face, where you have tears prickling your vision and your teeth dig into your bottom lip.

when anton notices you staring at him he sees your hand reach back for him. anton sees your other hand gripping the sheets, and how you slide forward each time his hips kiss yours. before he knows it anton reaches forward to grab both of your arms, causing your knees to move forward as you sit on the back of your legs.

when anton grabs your arms at your sides, he pulls you back to him. you grab onto his biceps, the only stability you have in your position. you can hear anton grunt as he thrusts forward, using his hold on your body to bring you back. each time he thrusts his hips forward he exerts his strength, nearly knocking the breath out of you each time.

the sound of your skin slapping against his fills the room, and you can hear paintbrushes on the easels shake. your teeth digging into your bottom lip is the only thing stopping you from crying out anton’s name.

anton looks up from where he fucks you for behind, focusing on your nails that dig into his arm. he hisses from the pain, already feeling sensitive all over his body.

“feels good?” anton asks.

his voice is still sweet and airy as he talks to you. and you let a moan slip from your lips to let him know, and he sighs in response. the two of you can barely form sentences, becoming twitching messes as anton continues fucking you from behind. all communication turns to high-pitched whines and tightening grips from your hands. eventually it’s not enough, you let go of anton’s biceps to clench your fists to relieve the tension. he pulls your body back each time he thrusts forward, causing your body to jolt and the easels around you shake. you hear paintbrushes clatter against the linoleum floors far off in your mind, it barely registers when anton moans about how good you feel.

anton lets go of your hands and you plant them on the sheet. you can feel him behind you, his hand pressing into your stomach as he brings his sweaty chest to your back. anton continues to fuck you, a handful of your stomach in anton’s hands helps him drive your body backwards to meet his hips.

anton lets a whimper slip from his lips as he presses his cheek into your shoulder blades. his thrusts turns to ruts, and his free hand starts gripping your ass. you start acting on your own needs, purposely clamping your walls around anton’s dick so you can feel every inch of him inside of you. you start pathetically pushing your hips backwards, trying to do some of the work.

anton brings his face forward, hitting deep inside of you as his body superimposes over yours. you can feel puffs of hot air fan your ear as anton presses his face into the side of yours.

“you feel so good.” anton whimpers into your sticky skin.

“your dick is perfect.” you whine.

“you’re so perfect.” anton moans when you clamp around him again. “you have no idea.” he says.

you can feel anton’s smile against the shell of your ear as he continues to desperately rut into you. his smile falls when your walls squeeze around him sporadically. you can hear the moans he tried to silence, how they recklessly slip past his lips. he’s loud, unmistakably loud. you think about the rare chance there’s someone on the other side, pressing their ear to the door as they try to make out the sounds they hear over the music.

anton realizes he’s being too loud, he moves his mouth to the crook of your neck so your skin can muffle his sounds. you can feel the vibration of anton’s voice against your neck, and his teeth pressing into your clammy skin to calm himself. hearing anton causes you to spasm around him more. you’re slowly losing control of your body, the same way you lose control when painting. you let the feeling wash over the same way your ideas do, following the strokes of your brush and the sound of anton’s whimpers becoming more desperate. his hand goes from your ass to your chest, kneading your breasts roughly as he pants into your neck.

“i’m close.” you whisper.

you say it only for anton and for yourself, squeezing your eyes shut. you see anton pass by your eyes in a blur, all the times he’s looked like a painting you wanted to keep locked away in your sketchbook. the fleeting touches and palpitations in your heart seared to the back of your eyelids. just before the coil in your stomach snaps, anton pulls away from your body.

“i need to see you.” anton says earnestly.

you’re on your back in seconds, laying on the white sheets anton used to cover himself. you can’t look away from anton’s wet eyes or his mussed curly hair. his chest is pressed up against yours in an instant when he pulls your legs to bring you closer to his hips. he kisses your forehead quickly, slowing down before kissing your lips then each cheek. you wish you could’ve kissed him back, but your brain was still foggy from being on the brink of an orgasm. only one thing is on your mind as you look at anton with big teary eyes.

“put it back in.” you nearly cry. “please.”

anton grabs his length, gliding it down your folds until he finds your hole. he doesn’t waste time sliding in, fully pushing inside of you. anton has to go to the crook of your neck to moan out his frustrations, feeling his hot pants bounce off your skin.

“i love you.”

anton says it into the sweaty skin of your neck. if he had any self control he would’ve saved it for a better time, like a romantic dinner date or a trip back to your hometown. but anton can’t help it, he’s driven by needing you as close to him as possible. he tells himself he’ll confess to you properly again, when you both have time.

before you can tell anton you feel the same way, the words are taken from your throat as picks a brutal pace. you can only nod your head and pull your legs closer to your chest to help him hit deeper. you can feel anton everywhere, and you can see his curls bounce above your head as the ends become heavy from sweat. you can only pout, feeling your own eyes become teary from all the emotions.

“anton.” you whimper his name pitifully. anton puts one of your legs over his shoulder to free your hand so he can hold it.

“i know.” anton coos. he moans at the new angle and squeezes your hand tighter. “i know.”

when anton presses his lips to yours, you walls spasm around his dick again. this time anton doesn’t stop, driving his hips into yours while his name falls from your lips a million times. anton uses it as motivation, using the last bit of self control he has left to fuck you through your orgasm. when your legs become weak and anton’s name turns into incoherent babbles, he goes back into your neck.

“where can i?” he huffs.

you let your hands press into his shoulder blades, bringing his sweaty chest to yours.

“anywhere” you clench around anton, feeling yourself getting week. “don’t make a mess.” you mumble.

“fuck.”

anton can’t hold on any longer, especially when your lips attach to his neck sucking harshly. he twitches inside of you and he goes as deep as he can one more time before stilling inside of you. your back arches from the ground when you feel him cum inside of you, hot and sticky in spurts. each time anton twitches inside of you his whole body shudders, and he lets out a sigh you think he’s been holding in for years. his grip of your hand never loosened, still white-knuckled as he presses your hand into the sheet. you let your leg wrap around anton to keep his waist in place and it��s your turn to coo at him now.

you two stay like that, sweaty chests heaving as anton stays inside of you. neither of you want to pull away, and you feel a pang in your chest when you can feel anton’s cum seep out of you. he pulls out, whole body shuddering as he slides out of you.

anton taps your bent knee affectionately, and you nod your head as you try to breathe normally again. anton looks around the studio before pushing off your knee.

you see him meander around the studio for a second before wlaking to the paint stained sink. anton turns on the water and washes his hands before pulling out more paper towels than necessary.

he comes back to your body on the floor, wiping away the cum that seeped out of you and drying your sweaty face with another paper towel. you can only smile as anton cleans you up, and when he’s done he grabs your face in both of his hands and presses a fat kiss to your lips. both of you smile when he pulls away, and you run your hand through his curly hair.

“how much time do you have left?” anton asks.

#requestz #01zfan: anton #anton smut #riize smut

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whirlybirbs · 2 months ago

Note

i am on my hands and knees begging for a shred of keigo takami baby bird kfc angel content from you, if you write hawks i will finally know true peace

— MEET & GREET ; 1 / 2 ; HAWKS ; 啓悟

summary: you manage to snag two VIP meet & greet tickets for your nephew's birthday. he insists you join him. part one of two. pairing: keigo takami ; hawks / f!reader word count: 3.1k tags: humor, meet-cute, pro hero culture, birbs ignores all relevant timelines yet again, fluff, phone-flirting, hawks is great with kids, t+, relatable pre-hook up hesitation, they will fuck next time a/n: hawks is the chappell roan of the mha universe. stop touching him. this man actually changed my brain chemistry in early 2023 but we don't need to talk about that. anways, this poll was on the ropes all day and i made the executive choice to feed the hawks birblets.

You feel like your face has been set in a semi-permanent cringe all morning.

In your right hand, you're clutching your half-finished iced coffee for dear life. In your other, you're clinging to your nephew as he drags you through the convention center — one of the bright red wings of his beloved, homemade cosplay has started to go lopsided, and the six-year-old excitedly tugs it back in place as he tries to yank you forward.

"C'mon! We're gonna be late!"

This really wasn't your scene.

Fan conventions had a way of making your skin itch. The amount of sexy All Mights you've seen this morning alone has to be some sort of milestone indicator for the environment. Whether nature is healing or dying, though, you have no idea.

If you had it your way, you'd spend the rest of the day mingling through the artist stalls — but, to your nephew Hayami's point, the two of you had somewhere to be.

Your VIP meet-and-greet badge swings as you trip up and laugh. "Okay! Okay, slow down! You're about to yank my arm off!"

It was the best birthday gift imaginable for Hayami. You officially cemented your title as The Coolest Aunt Ever when you managed to snag the two VIP convention meet-and-greet tickets (complete with a professional photo and two signed copies of the convention's annual poster) after a harrowing seven hours in an online Ticketmaster line. There were only a hundred of them sold — and sure, you coulda thrown that pretty hunk of cash into a college fund for Hayami, but he was deeply in his hero phase.

Originally you expected that Hayami's father, your brother-in-law, would want to go.

But, no, Hayami himself insisted you come with him.

After all, you helped me with my costume, he begged, I wouldn't have been able to do it without you!

That you did. Many a hot glue gun burn was suffered at the hands of those damn red feathers. If you squint from far away, the cosplay isn't half bad considering the thrift and dollar-store materials. It wasn't one of those inch-to-inch replicas, but it worked.

He's like a cute, bouncing mini Hawks. Complete with goggles and wings.

And Hayami is happy. And that's all that matters to you.

The line is already pretty long, and Hayami runs his gloved hands along the line barriers as he races to his spot, audibly wooshing the whole way — just like Hawks does, probably. His badge jingles, and he hops to a stop as you come up behind him and pat his head. The six-year-old stands up on his tippy-toes, trying to see around the Miss Midnight fan in front of them.

"Can you see him?" he chatters excitedly, "Ti, can you?"

He's called you Ti ever since he could speak. Auntie was too long, and the shortened version has stuck.

You hop up onto your tippy-toes, mimicking him — and you swear you catch a glimpse of a crimson feather plumage over the gathered heads of the other meet-and-greet fans. It might be another cosplayer.

"I dunno," you whisper, your eyes darting to your phone's lock screen, "It's supposed to start any minute—"

The telltale roar of fanfare lets you know exactly who has just arrived.

Hayami's excitement is palpable. Without a word, you're hauling him up and perching him on your shoulders. His hands land in your hair, and you can feel his smile from down here.

"Ti! It's him!"

The line starts moving not long after, and you finish your iced coffee while Hayami stays perched on your shoulders, utterly starstruck. You weave through the barriers, moving up a few feet every minute, until you're only four or five people away from where Hawks sits behind a long table.

You have to admit, the guy is pretty cute.

Cuter than the fan-cams make him out to be, even.

Sandy blonde hair, sharp gold eyes, and big wings. There's no doubt in your mind he's showboating, but as people approach the table, you notice this hesitant twitch ripple through the red feathers every time someone gets a little too close.

That cringe from earlier washes over your face again as a girl reaches over the table to roughly run her fingers across one of his flight feathers.

It's Keigo's least favorite part of all this.

I mean, there's a part of him that gets it. He's the #2 Hero in all of Japan. He's a big deal. He's top of the popularity polls, he's the people's bird, y'know? He's a marketed commodity that sells out each and every time.

But, that doesn't mean he likes being touched.

Especially the wings. Hands off the wings.

"Hey, Hayami?" you ask, tilting your head up as you both step forward.

You can feel the sudden nervousness creeping up on Hayami as he nods and looks down at you. "Y-Yea?"

"Make sure you ask for permission if you touch his wings, okay?" you say gently, muscling him down from your shoulders and doing a once over on his mini-Hawks cosplay, "And remember to tell him your name!"

Hayami nods, his nerves palpable as he realizes the two of you are next.

On instinct, his hand shoots out and grips yours for dear life.

And then, one of the marketers waves the two of you forward.

The first word that comes to Keigo's mind is MILF. You're cute. Real cute. Definitely not the usual sort he meets at conventions, and definitely not the usual sort that buys a ticket to his meet-and-greets. The kid clinging to your arm is arguably even cuter, and Hawks can't hide the blooming grin on his face when the pair of you step forward.

"Woa-ho!" he yaps from behind the patterned table, "Dude! Nice outfit!"

Hayami is panicking. You can tell from his shocked silence as the two of you step forward. You bend at the knees, squatting to your nephew's height, then encourage him to go ahead, go on. His big, brown eyes bob from you to Hawks.

"Go ahead, Hayami," you encourage softly, "Say hi."

Oh, shit. You're really cute. Is this your kid? Nah, no way. You're way too young to be his mom. Unless—

You've seriously got him weighing the pros and cons of step-fatherhood and he doesn't even know your name.

He could do stepdad shit at twenty-six. Right?

"Hi, Mr. Hawks," comes the shy voice of the mini Hawks before him; the sandy blonde's chest clenches.

This is too fuckin' cute.

"Heh, hey kid," he chirps back, leaning forward on the table as his mouth curves into a friendly grin; Hawks' eyes are trained on the kid's growing smile, "What's your name?"

"H-Hayami."

"It's cool t' meetcha, Hayami," Hawks parrots as your own proud smile grows. There's relief flooding your shoulders. Thank god, Hayami didn't choke the clutch moment, "I like your wings, lil' dude!"

Hayami gives a little turn, wiggling his prized, handmade possession. His confidence is building; the compliment lights the kid's cheeks up.

"My aunt helped me make them!" Hayami chatters, his eyes brightening from behind the flight goggles strapped to his head, "She says I need to ask for your permission to touch your feathers!"

Keigo's gold eyes slip to your face. You give him an apologetic grimace, your eyes flicking to the girl beyond the VIP area still screaming about how she touched him, she touched Hawks, oh my god. You mouth out a silent apology.

Hawks' finds himself a little speechless. Doesn't happen often.

He's not used to having some say in how he's objectified and consumed.

A sandy brow quirks as he pushes his yellow-tinted visor up, and into his hair. He seems shocked. It's not an expression you've seen on the #2 before — and in the last few weeks, you've seen plenty of Hawks content during Hayami's cosplaying journey. The reference material is pretty expansive.

"That's real considerate, chickadee — I appreciate that," his voice is soft; his smile is a little looser, "C'mere, Hayami, you wanna hold a feather while I sign your poster?"

This is, like, the best day of Hayami's life.

Hawks brings his visor back down.

You stand to full height, wringing your purse's strap, watching Hayami hold both hands out as one of the delicate pieces of plumage floats into his hands on command. He cradles it like treasure, his big brown eyes glimmering with new-found amazement.

You step forward, and place a hand on Hayami's shoulder as he gently ushers his hands toward your face. "Ti, look, isn't this, like, the coolest thing ever — it's one of Hawks' feathers!"

Hawks' eyes flick up to the two of you as his pen darts across the two VIP package posters. There's a smirk on his face as he pays half attention to the task of signing.

And scribbling his number on the back of one.

"I see that," you chuckle, leaning in to inspect the beautiful, crimson feather, "Make sure you say th—"

Before you finish your sentence, the very feather in question darts up to tickle the tip of your nose. Your immediate reaction is to scrunch your nose and grin. It's not so much ticklish as it is gentle. For good measure, Hawks gives Hayami a little brush on the cheek, too. The boy descends into delighted laughter, allowing the feather to zip back through the air and into its designated place in his wings.

Hawks is smirking.

"Alright you two," comes the level voice of the marketer; the camera in her hands is bulky, and a signifier that their time meeting #2 is nearly up, "Let's get in nice and close for a photo!"

The table proves to be a bit of a pain, but you bend down to Hayami's height as Hawks leans over the table and gives you both bunny ears. The camera flash burns bright in your eyes as Hayami's hand darts into yours again.

"Here you two go," Hawks rumbles easily; he's standing now, and you find yourself yet again struck by how handsome he is. He smells like summer air and some expensive cologne you'll probably never know the name of. Definitely one of his sponsors.

You take both posters, as Hayami's excitement seems to overflow and he's nearly buzzing with excitement to know he has Hawks' autograph. The boy bounces at your heels as he clutches his signed copy of the annual convention poster. His big, brown eyes are wide with pure joy.

"Thank you!" Hayami chatters, "You're the best, Hawks!"

"Thank you," you smile, taking your own poster as Hayami's hand rockets back into yours.

"Nah, it's nothin', chickadee. Thanks for the manners," he calls after you with a touch of good humor, "You're real sweet."

"No problem!" you stutter out, thrown entirely by the compliment, as one of the other marketers guides you towards the exit with a hand on your back.

"Oh, hey! One last thing!"

You flick your eyes back over your shoulder as you're shuffled out of the meet-and-greet.

You watch Hawks mouth 'check the poster', and with a hand held up to the side of his face. Then, 'call me'.

"You're kidding me."

Hayami is finally asleep — and your sister is closing the door to his darkened bedroom as she hisses the words out. You're leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed and looking entirely exasperated.

"I can't just call him," you say softly as you kick off the wall and follow her into the kitchen, "This isn't, like, the hot waiter who leaves his number on the receipt—"

"No, it's even better," she chatters, moving towards the unfinished glass of wine that sits on the dinner table, "I swear to god if you don't pick up that phone and call him right now—"

It's your brother-in-law who speaks up from the couch. "What's stopping you?"

"I don't know, being chronically single?" you cry as you throw your hands, "I haven't gotten a wax in months—"

"You seriously think #2 cares?" comes your sister's flat reply.

Your brother-in-law mimics her affectation. He throws a finger in the air. "Real heroes don't care."

The two of them high-five.

...They're probably right.

You suck your teeth as you cross your arms again and weigh your options.

I mean — it's only eight o'clock. It's early. And it's a Friday.

It could go two ways — you break your year-long dry spell with the #2 pro-hero in the country, or it's a total bust and he turns out to be a massive weirdo. Both are frankly pretty entertaining.

You chew your lip.

Then, you decide.

You kick off the wall and move towards your phone in the kitchen. It's sitting beside the poster.

"Oh my god, are you doing it?" your sister calls from the couch, her hand gripping her husband's arm tightly.

"I'm doing it," you say, ignoring the bite of nervousness in your hands as you type in the cell number that was scrawledhastily on the back of the poster.

"Ohmygod."

It's ringing.

Suddenly, you have an audience. Your sister and brother-in-law are crowding you, their faces wide and expectant as it continues to ring. You pull your thumb to your mouth, pushing your bottom lip between your teeth. You let it ring, and ring, and just when you settle that you're being sent to voicemail, there's a click and a voice.

"'Ello?"

Your sister slams her hand into her husband's back, the two of them scrambling in a sudden flash of limbs and excitement. You drag your thumb across your throat — gesturing for them to cut it out.

"Uh, hi," you fumble, "Is this... Hawks?"

Suddenly, there's a bark of laughter on the other line. "The one and only. Who's this?"

A slow smirk tugs at your cheeks. "I checked the back of the poster — a bold move, y'know."

"Convention Cutie!" he practically cheers, "Hold on, hold on — gimme two seconds, lemme just land."

Your lips part and you blink. The mental image is a hell of a thing. You swallow down a bought of amusement. "Sure, sure, take your time."

Keigo was starting to doubt you'd actually call him. The convention wrapped up hours ago, and he already made himself busy by exploring the southern city. It's nice here. A little bit like his hometown. Not too much crime, which has made for a pretty uneventful evening.

Until now.

His boots touch down on the nearby rooftop and he settles into an easy squat. His wings tuck themselves tightly against his back.

You can hear a bit of wind bristle against his end of the receiver.

"Alright, alright, sorry," he rumbles out, "Now you've got my full, undivided attention—"

You tug on your bottom lip. Your sister and brother-in-law are entirely hooked on the little bits they're overhearing from their spot across the counter. Your sister takes a long drink of her wine.

"Am I... being a bit of a distraction?" you ask, "If now isn't a good time—"

"You've been a distraction all day," comes the smooooooth reply; even Keigo's proud of himself for that one, "I'm just out for a fly. Nothin' too serious. I am glad you called, though."

Oh, fuck. Your knees feel like jello. You white-knuckle grip the counter as your sister gnashes her teeth and mimics biting her fist in silent mimery.

"Yea?" you pry, fanning yourself as you lean farther against the counter.

"Yea, definitely," Hawks grins as he tips his head back and checks out the stars, "You busy tomorrow night? I'd love to take you out to dinner."

There's a commotion across the kitchen. The two of them are smacking one another's arms, their genuine excitement is palpable as they try to stay quiet. They're failing.

"I'd love that, Hawks."

This is new for him.

Technically speaking, you're not a fan. Your nephew is. So, this doesn't technically qualify as one of those unspoken hero faux pas. Don't date fans. Then again, what does it matter? He can do whatever he wants.

And you're cute. And nice. And kind. And maybe he's being a sap, but seeing you with your nephew made something in his heart tighten. He didn't even notice he was making a nest of scrapped trash from the posters around his seat until the afternoon was over.

God, sometimes the evolutionarily deep, bird DNA thing is weird.

Hawks lets out a tight breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Cool. Okay. Uh, you... you chill with, like, 7pm?" he fiddles with his visor, "I'm... I'm free whenever so..."

He sounds nervous. Your grin is so bright it could outburn the sun.

"That works for me," you say as you fiddle with your lip, "As far as dress code goes... Do I, like, need a flight suit?"

His laugh is warm.

"No, no, I — I was gonna get us an Uber," his voice lilts into something more mischievous, "Unless..."

"Maybe after dinner," you remark easily, swaying side to side, "You can show me what those wings do?"

Oh, smooth. Real smooth. Keigo's face is warm. His wings in question twitch eagerly at the invitation.

"You gonna ask before you touch?" he teases back into the receiver, his brow raised.

It's your turn to laugh. "Hey, it's called being polite."

"I appreciate it," he rumbles out, about earlier at the convention, "Seriously. People are grabby — these things are sensitive..."

"Making a mental note of that, and filing it away," you flirt openly as your sister cheers silently, "For after dinner, maybe."

Keigo's brain stutter-steps. His laugh is surprised. He's about to comment on how you might just be the girl of his dreams when suddenly the wail of sirens perks up his attention. It's two blocks over. Three fire engines. The wind is carrying the smell of acrid smoke.

"Hey, chickadee, I, uh... I gotta go," he says, standing and allowing his attention to drift to the scene playing out in front of him; it's a house fire — must be — on the southern side of town, "I'll text you the spot for tomorrow, is that okay?"

"Of course, don't let me keep you," you hush, "I'll... text you?"

"I'm countin' on it."

"Bye, Hawks."

"See ya, chickadee."

You didn't even realize you were sweating until you put the phone down.

Your sister and her husband are there, eyes wide. "So?"

"So," you croon as you laugh and pridefully sway your hips, "I have plans tomorrow night."

Their screaming wakes up Hayami.

As you help the kid back to sleep, you keep it secret that he's a better wingman than you could have ever anticipated.

#i had a few banger one liners in this one folks #meet & greet #hawks x reader #hawks x you #hawks x y/n #hawks imagine #keigo takami x reader #keigo takami x you #keigo takami imagine #mha hawks #bnha #mha imagine #bnha imagine

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ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit · 2 months ago

Text

Unexpected things you did that delight them:

Riddle Rosehearts, Azul Ashengrotto, Trey Clover, Ruggie Bucci, Malleus Draconia

Content: Fluff

You learned proper tea etiquette for Riddle

It starts out with you just listening to him correct others as they go throughout the various teatimes of Heartslabyul. How it leads to you thrifting a tea set from a local shop is hard to say, and it’s chipped a bit on the plates, but it holds, and the lady gave it to you for a far cheaper price than she should have. But it cleaned up beautifully, you filled in the cracks with some leftover clay and didn’t even have to repaint it! It was already in Ramshackle blue and green.

It is embarrassing when he finds you quizzing yourself on the different spoons and plates, but the smile that blooms is worth it.

You have no idea that when you invite him over for a tea party a few weeks after, it’s the first one that he hasn’t hosted himself. He borrows the same book from the library to brush up on his guest etiquette.

“Prefect, what are you-ah! A lovely set. If you were needing to learn I would be happy to assist! What teas do you prefer? I will bring complimenting savories or sweets.”

You carry glasses cleaner for Azul

Assuming you don’t carry it already or if you don’t wear glasses. You and Azul usually spend a lot of time at Octavinelle but occasionally he will come to Ramshackle. He has since seen the work that you put into fixing up the place and the furniture you've built and appreciates it a way that the others can’t. Afterall, many of his own pieces are repaired or thrifted antiques for authenticity.

Lounging on the couch while listening to one of the jazz records he brought, you take the glasses from his hand when he realizes that he forgot his own cleaner.

“Prefect, why would you have glasses wipes, you don’t wear any. Ah, you carry them for me. How thoughtful of you, my friend! I hope I’m not putting you out any.”

You baked him a birthday cake for Trey

Everyone gets nervous when Trey’s birthday comes around. How do you bake for a baker? He got past the disappointed feeling a long time ago though, perfectly prepared to make his own birthday cake.

What isn’t accounted for you is pushing him out of the kitchen, declaring it against the rules for him to bake his own birthday cake. He could fight you on it, but he’s intrigued at this point on what you will make.

What he doesn’t anticipate is a simple vanilla cake with a blueberry filling, a light buttercream frosting and candied violets and almonds scattered on the top. It’s simple but delicious and clearly just for him.

“You’ve got some real potential here. Where did you learn to make candied violets? You foraged and learned how just for me? Ah, that was too much for me. Thank you.”

You clean Ruggie’s ears

Ruggie does a lot of things to ensure everybody else gets taken care of, which means sometimes he neglects himself a bit. The showers got trashed over at Savanaclaw so he asks to use yours after a particularly messy Spelldrive Practice. As long as Grim can play with the disk in the backyard with the ghosts, it’s a deal for you.

He comes out fluffy, hair sticking out in all sorts of places, which means you can see inside his ears and see the dirt still stuck in there. Offering to clean them wasn’t a big deal to you, you have to for Grim all the time.

It gets awkward for a minute when he lays his head in your lap, but as soon as the cotton hits the inside and starts wiping up all the dirt and grim, he’s putty in your hands

“I swear they weren’t that bad but-oh. Oh that’s nice. I think I can hear colors now. And your heartbeat. What’s got you racing, huh? I didn’t moo. I did not!”

You got pictures of his family for Malleus

This man has pictures of himself and his parents up on the walls, but none of the rest of his family. So, you work with the ghost for a long time, getting candid shots and other bit and pieces and slowly pulling them together. When Malleus’s birthday rolls around, you actually feel nervous about it.

When he opens his present, to see the photo album, he gets unexpectedly quiet and soft, scanning through the quotes and stories written off to the side. You give little tidbits of how you get some shots, especially the times where you were sure that Lilia knew but didn’t say anything.

Some even had him! Silver putting him in a headlock during some play wrestling, Lilia tapping his nose while playing chess, a rare moment of him and Sebek reading together where the half fae is actually relaxed.

At the bottom are small, framed photos of what you thought were the best ones. Silver in his armor, surrounded by animals and birds alike, his sword gleaming with sunlight, looking gentle and graceful and alert. Sebek on horseback, wind streaking his hair to his skull and grinning like a madman, his favorite stead racing fearlessly. Lilia leaning against the railing of the balcony of Diasomnia dorm and watching the sunset, eyes fond and pink in the dying light.

“I can’t think of a single present I have ever received that has been as thoughtful as this one. Your heart truly knows a kindness that is rare, my friend. But you are missing. Let us take one together. A selfie, yes?”

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #malleus draconia #ruggie bucchi #azul ashengrotto #Trey Clover #Riddle Rosehearts #twst Trey #twst Azul #twst Ruggie #twst Riddle #twst malleus #twst x reader #twst x yuu

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captainmalewriter · 1 month ago

Text

No Escape From Cheating

Oliver Ashley hopped into his car and let out a heavy sigh. It was a warm August afternoon that day, and Ash would rather do anything else than spend his Tuesday getting verbally berated by his superiors for several hours. But despite his grievances, Ash knew there was no point in bitching and whining when this was the life he had signed up for a little over a year ago. All he could do was suck it up until his term of service ended.

Ash never thought he’d end up serving in the army. He wasn’t the patriotic type by any means. What made him pull the trigger and sign the contract was his desire to start over in life. Ash’s life started going downhill ever since he graduated from high school. He dropped out of college after the first semester, was stuck working a dead-end job he hated, and was trapped in a loveless relationship with a girl he had grown to loathe. After a night of intense drinking, partying, and group sex with random strangers, Ash realized he hated the man he had become. He was disgusted by what he saw in the mirror, so he decided to make a few changes.

Or rather, a lot of changes. Ash abandoned his old life in Oldeville and ran away to join the military. It was a drastic move— Ash was well-aware of that, but he felt it was necessary to get his life back on track. He took back control by giving up control.

After yet another long day at work, Ash returned to his room in the barracks. He took a quick shower and threw himself onto his bed with his hands held against his head. The day drained him. All he wanted was to fall asleep fast and hope he’d wake up feeling refreshed. But as he laid against his pillow with his eyes closed, he felt a sudden gust of cold wind hit his body.

“Hrmphhh!” Ash jolted in bed when it hit him. The pressure was unlike he had ever experienced before. The cold penetrated deep within his body, leaving goosebumps around his skin.

Ash sat up and scanned his surroundings. The window was closed, and as far as he could tell, nothing looked weird or out of place in his little room. Ash wasn’t sure where that cold wind came from but decided he was too tired to really care about it. He simply ignored it and went back to sleep. But as he snored peacefully, the cause of the cold wind slithered out from underneath his bed. It crept up his bed and watched as Ash’s chest rose and fell with every heavy breath. Then, it made a nose dive straight into Ash’s mouth.

“Ugh— AAAGH!!!” Ash gagged as the thing invaded his body.

It slithered inside him at breakneck speeds. With every passing second, Ash could feel an otherworldly presence growing inside his skin. It sent cold chills up his spine. With one final wet slurp, Ash swallowed the last few inches of the translucent body invader. Naturally, Ash shot out of bed after what he had just experienced. He was sweating and breathing heavily as his hands reached out to touch his throat. His eyes darted around the room as he tried to pinpoint the cause but couldn’t find anything. Ash knew something very wrong was happening but had no idea where to start looking for answers.

As his mind raced with possibilities, Ash’s hand began moving toward his family jewels. Ash watched in horror as his hand moved without his command. His hand massaged his junk through his underwear until blood started flowing into it, causing a tent to form in his briefs. Ash tried telling his hand to stop, but it wouldn’t listen. All Ash could do was scream in terror.

“What the fuck is going on!?”

Hey Olie, did you miss me? I certainly missed you.

Ash swallowed a breath. He heard a voice echo inside his mind, but it wasn’t just any voice; it was the voice of his old girlfriend, Leah.

“Leah!? How did you find me!? And what the fuck are you doing inside my body—” Ash gasped. He tried opening his mouth to speak again, but to no avail. He had been cut off from the last part of his body he had control over.

Shhh! Not so loud babe! Your neighbors might hear us!! I don’t want to spoil our fun tonight while we’re together…

Under his girlfriend’s control, Ash took off the last piece of clothing he had on. His rock-hard member sprang up as soon as it was released from the mesh fabric. Ash then hopped back into bed with his legs spread wide open. He spat some spit onto his hands and began pumping his thick cock. For some reason, his dick was extra sensitive. The sensation of his warm, wet hand wrapping around it made Leah moan inside his mind, forcing Ash to moan alongside her as a result. Ash was humiliated after letting out such a high-pitched, girlish moan, but with Leah controlling his action, there was nothing he could do about it.

Leah!! Why are you doing this?

Why? Why!? Don’t act stupid! You know exactly why! You left without saying anything to anyone! Not even me, your girlfriend!! Did you really think you could just run away without any consequences? You really thought I wouldn’t be able to track you down eventually?

Listen Leah! I’m sorry for leaving you the way I did but can’t we just talk about this like adults? If it’s my dick you’re after, we can just fuck one more time! I’m cool with that!!

Leah uttered a loud cackle within Ash’s subconscious after he said that. Ash swallowed a breath. He had a feeling he just dug himself an even deeper hole.

Wow! Just how egotistical can you be, Oliver? You really think this about getting one last fuck out of you! Men are soo fucking easy, I don’t need to hunt you down across the country just to get some!

Well then why ARE you here you crazy ass bitch!?

Simple. I want revenge.

Revenge for what? For leaving you without saying anything?

Partially that, yes, but mainly for cheating on me. Remember that big party you went to the night before you left? The one you swore to me you weren’t going to go to?

Ash wracked his brain trying to remember, but once he did, he remained quiet. Leah was right, and he knew it.

You said I was enough for you. You said there was nothing wrong with our relationship. You lied to me. You had me believing everything was fine, just to go off and party with a bunch of people!

Leah tightened her grip around his cock as she yelled at him. Ash winced from the pain. He had nothing to say in his defense.

I don't know what kind of girl you think I am, but I don’t take cheating lightly.

Just as Leah said that, a second blob manifested at the foot of the bed. It hopped onto Ash’s foot and slithered up his leg.

Leah— What’s that? What’s going on!?

If you want a threesome so bad, then I’m here to give it to you. Oliver, this is Aaron, although I’m sure I don’t need to introduce you two. After all, he was one of the many, many people you were fucking that night.

Aaron slithered up to Ash’s hairy hole and brushed around the rim of it. His touch made Ash shudder from the cool sensation.

Wait!! We don’t have to do this! I can—

It was too late for Ash. Aaron dove right into his virgin hole, causing Ash to recoil from the impact. Leah continued pumping away at Ash’s member with a furious speed to her stroking. Meanwhile, Ash mentally shuddered and thrashed around as Aaron’s presence began growing inside his body. His hole stretched out to accommodate Aaron in his ethereal form. The feeling of Aaron rushing through his ass and into his body was unlike anything Ash had ever experienced before. It filled him up in more ways than one— overwhelming him with sensual pleasure until he was locked in a state of bliss.

Once Aaron was fully inside, he and Leah took turns playing with the newly possessed body they now shared. They jerked off Ash’s girthy cock, flexed his hard-earned muscles, sniffed his armpits, played with his straight hole, and more. They had both been used by Ash as nothing more than a hole to fuck, but now with his body under their possession, the tables had turned. Now it was Leah and Aaron using Ash’s body to get their rocks off instead.

Ash was knuckle deep inside his own ass when he finally unleashed his heavy load. Jolts of spunk came flooding out of him, landing all over his bed, walls, and even his torso. He was drained after such an intense tugging session, both literally and figuratively.

“Whewww!! God, that felt so fucking good! Now I see why guys are always touching themselves…” Ash said out loud. No doubt it was Leah using his voice. “Hey, thanks for your help Aaron! I never would’ve thought of doing something like this without your help!”

“Anytime! I’m just glad I got to get one back on this asshole too!”

Ash could hear both of them laughing inside his mind. He groaned.

“Well, I’m out of here. I’ll see you around!!”

With that, Ash arched upward as he felt Leah’s presence leave his body. He watched with relief as she disappeared through the walls. But he quickly remembered it was no time to celebrate, as there was still a second person possessing his body.

“Wait, Leah! Take your gay friend with—”

Under Aaron’s command, Ash’s hand slammed against his mouth. His words came out muffled through his hand for a few seconds, but then gradually died down. Ash settled down into a calm stupor. Then, an eerie smile began to form on his face.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Leah. Really, I should be the one thanking you! After all, I would’ve never found a body like this on my own…”

Aaron hopped out of bed to get a better look at his newly possessed body. He smirked as he rubbed Ash’s load into his skin, his fingertips running along the edges of his new ab lines.

“Oh yeahhh, I think I’m gonna enjoy being a ‘straight’ army hunk for a while. Watch out world, there’s a new Oliver Ashley in town. He’s hot, single, and more than ready to mingle!!”

#male possession #male body possession #male takeover #male body theft #female to male tf #revenge #men in uniform tf

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bad268 · 7 months ago

Note

a kimi story where the reader is ollie’s sister and they’re a secret and ollie finds out please

Impromptu Meeting (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Bearman! Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (AHHH I LOVE THIS)

Warnings: Making out, brief sex joke (if you squint)

POV: Second Person (You/your/They/them)

W.C. 1253

Summary: Maybe sharing a room wasn't a good idea...

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

It was not how you imagined introducing your boyfriend to your family, let alone your brother.

You were supposed to be there to support Ollie (which you were!), and it wasn’t like you were sneaking off to another garage or wearing another team’s kit. Thankfully, Kimi had signed to Prema at the beginning of the season, so that was not something you needed to worry about.

When you first met Kimi through a mutual friend, he did not know your brother. Granted, you only introduced yourself by your first name, but drivers stuck with drivers. You assumed he knew that you were associated with one of the drivers. It wasn’t until the middle of the Formula 2 season that Kimi finally made the connection.

You had stayed up the entire night before, catching up on assignments you had been putting off in order to spend more time with Kimi. You had traveled to the track a few days early to meet with him, and you told your family it was for a school trip. You would meet them at the track by Thursday.

It was currently Wednesday, and you were cuddling with Kimi in your hotel room. You may or may not be struggling to stay awake, but that was not really a problem since Kimi had done all of the promotional things he needed to do that morning. Plus, the whole team, namely one of their drivers, was not there yet, so they did not want to get too far ahead without the rest of the team.

You were watching some random lifetime movie on the television as you laid on Kimi’s chest. He may have been reading race strategies, but you were not going to force him to pay attention to the movie when you weren't paying attention anyway. You were more captivated with listening to his heartbeat and watching his concentration focus on the piece of paper. At one point, you moved up a little to lay your head on his shoulder, so you could look at the paper too. Despite growing up surrounded by racing, you still could not understand most of the strategies for the life of you.

“Y’know,” You broke the silence as you shifted your attention to his face. He looked down at you, his concentration being broken as soon as you moved, but he did not say anything. “I really wish I understood any of that jargon. Sometimes I wish I could read it and think ‘Ah, yes! This will be a one-stop race and we’ll pit for mediums.’ I really do sometimes.”

“I thought you just liked the sport,” Kimi laughed as he set the papers to the side. “You really don’t care about the behind the scenes or the strategies. You like cars going fast, and you like the people in the cars.”

“Sometimes, I really wish you didn’t know me as well as you do,” You giggled as you leaned up to peck his lips. He reciprocated immediately, pulling you onto his lap as he wrapped his arms around your back to hold you to him. Your lips moved in sync for who-knows how long, and you were only broken apart by the sound of bags being dropped on the floor. That’s when you finally pulled apart, thinking it was Kimi’s dad or Anthoine, but no. It was Ollie with his jaw on the floor and his hand over his eyes. You moved away from Kimi and approached Ollie, but it’s not like he could see you. You approached him cautiously, reaching out your hand, “Ollie, I can explain.”

To say Kimi was confused would be an understatement. He knew Ollie was going to come today, but why would you need to explain to Ollie? The Prema boys almost always shared a hotel room. He had walked in on Ollie with a few people, so why was he reacting this way when the tables were turned?

“I don’t need to see this!” Ollie complained as he turned around and walked back into the hallway.

“Ollie, wait,” You followed after him, causing Kimi to also climb out of the bed, wanting to get to the bottom of this. He grabbed a keycard just in case as he followed you both toward the stairwell and out to the back of the hotel. “Ollie, please. Give me a chance to explain.”

“You and my teammate? Really?” Ollie sighed, turning around to face you. It did not sound like a disappointed sigh, just a confused one. You could work with that. “Why my teammate? Also, I thought you had a boyfriend!”

“I do! It’s Kimi,” You explained as you moved to stand in front of Ollie. “It’s been Kimi this whole time. We’ve been seeing each other since Paul and I went to the FRECA race at Mugello last year but became official after Hockenheim.”

“All this time I thought you liked Paul,” Ollie commented to himself, but it caused you to laugh. “What?”

“I’ve been around Paul for too long,” You laughed, finally letting out a breath you had been holding. “He’s like a brother too much.”

“Hey! You already have a brother! Don’t go replacing me already!” Ollie protested, and that caught Kimi’s attention. He had been hiding by the stairs, watching you two converse in the parking lot, but at that point, he could not hold back his shock.

“Brother?” He said out loud on accident, causing both of you to look at him. He never realized how similar you looked until that moment. Not identical, but now that you both stood side-by-side, looking at him, it was fairly obvious that you were siblings. “You’re related.”

“Maybe,” You chuckled at the look on his face. Just as much, maybe more, shock than when Ollie saw you and Kimi.

“Yeah, that’s my younger sibling,” Ollie said as he pointed at you before brushing past you to walk up to Kimi. “I get that you’re my teammate, but if you screw this up, I will push you off the track.”

“You’re not gonna forbid me from dating your sibling?” Kimi was confused, but he would accept it with open arms if it meant he got to stay with you.

“No,” Ollie sighed with a smile. “I’ve heard enough about how well you treat them, so I’m not concerned. Don’t make me concerned, Andrea.”

“I’ll try my best,” Kimi replied back with a smile as Ollie pulled him into a hug. Having your older brother’s approval was something you always wanted, so you smiled as well.

“Oh, one more thing,” Ollie started as he turned to look at you, still standing in the spot you were at previously. You slowly walked over to join the two. Ollie turned from smiley to downright serious in the blink of an eye; it almost scared you. “I don’t wanna walk in on you making out ever again.”

“Then, the same rule goes to you,” Kimi joked back, causing you to gape at Ollie.

“You’re making out with people? Ew.” You jokingly pushed away from Ollie, wiping your hands on your shirt.

“You did the same thing! Don’t even try to flip this on me!” Ollie tried to defend

“I have a feeling we should not be sharing a room anymore,” Kimi trailed off to himself as he slowly started moving towards the stairwell again.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Andrea?” Ollie accused as Kimi took off up the stairs. “No! Get back here! We’re not done with this conversation!”

~~~~~

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bluberryfields · 1 year ago

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This is what happens when you're raised by TV and trained in literary analysis

Beyond the crushing heartbreak of that finale, one thing in particular has stuck with me when I look at it in the context of S2 as a whole.

He lays out their relationship, "We're a team, a group. A group of the two of us. And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't."

He then turns his head away and says, "I mean, the last few years, not really."

He pauses here, facing the interior of the bookshop. Really looks it up and down.

Turns back, "And I would like to spend" before choking on his words and looks toward the window. He can't finish saying something like "And I would like to spend eternity with you" because that's too much, too fast, for both of them.

But it's that "last few years" bit that has firmly lodged itself in my very broken brain.

According to Gaiman, it's been "a few years" since the end of Season 1. Armageddon has been averted. Heaven and Hell have reluctantly retreated. Crowley and Aziraphale have been effectively cut loose from their "sides," leaving them to form their own side.

So at the start of Season 2, we get a glimpse of the “fragile existence” they have carved out for themselves. To me, the biggest difference that we see is how they exist together in front of others. Going to the coffee shop, the pub, and the other shops along the street that Aziraphale has lived on for over 200 years. And don’t forget how they act in front of Nina, Maggie, and sweet, dim Muriel.

At the coffee shop, Aziraphale stammers a bit when Nina asks who Crowley is, but he still seems to have affection in his voice when he says, "We go back a long time."

Compared to Shakespearian "He's not my friend! We've never met before. We don't know each other!" panic, this is an incredible difference.

Of course, each time, Crowley is cool and cheeky and does nothing to indicate that they aren't a pair. Though, of course, he does deny it when Nina asks about Aziraphale being his side piece. “He’s not my bit on the side! He’s far too pure of heart to be anyone’s bit on the side.” And refers to him as an “Angel [swallows]I know.”

When they go the pub, Crowley's joy at doing something together in public that they do not normally do is super cute, including his cheeky order for Aziraphale's sherry. Then, when bringing the drinks over to the socially trapped Aziraphale, he greets Mr. Brown with a truly adorable, "Hello" and a signature DT smile. Then upon hearing how “excited” Mr. Fell is to host the meeting, he looks down and says, “Oh? You astonish me.” while Aziraphale sips his sherry and squirms.

We also watch as Crowley follows Aziraphale as he goes to each shop and talks to the owners about the meeting/secret ball. In theory, Crowley has no reason to tag along, and he certainly doesn’t help sway anyone who doesn’t want to/can’t go. He goofs around at the magic shop. He splays out on the bench, chin on hand, looking for all the world a husband waiting for his wife to pick out a dress at the department store. They are so married it’s ridiculous.

Finally, their behavior in front of Muriel while inside their sanctuary. Crowley sits on the arm of Aziraphale’s chair, somehow looking supremely comfortable on the old-fashioned furniture. He folds up those gloriously long limbs and presses himself as close as possible.

He smiles and plays along with Aziraphale’s coaching of Muriel in her disguise. Calls him Angel and asks to speak in private. And at the end, during the awful wait while Aziraphale talks with The Metatron, Crowley cleans up the shop and tells Muriel that he and Aziraphale will need some “us” time after all this. No beating around the bush.

Without oversight, they can be openly together and happy. But Heaven just can’t let that happen.

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cowgirlcherrie · 1 year ago

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florist! abby Headcanons ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა

a/n: something quick n sweet you knowwwww got this random thought and had to write it I couldn’t resist I couldn’t. I also saw that no one done florist! abby(?) so I wanted to be the first to hop on! plus I missed writing for Abs — my baby, so enjoy ♡

warnings: 18+, MDNI, some fluff, gets smuttier halfway in, strap, blowjob (strap), eating you out, mentions of obsessive behaviors, polaroid nudes-ish, fingering, edging, public-sex-ishh, soft dom! Abby, tatted! Abby. Hinted at smoker Abby if you squint, petnames, fingers in mouth, masturbation, use of the word mommy, use of the word pussy, fem reader.

divider creds here

ೀ florist! Abby wears a basic white cropped t-shirt and black dickies under her beige apron. Her apron has a rainbow flag pin, with black pliers in one pocket. Doc Martins on her feet, tied miserably into a bow, it’s a miracle she doesn’t trip around the flower shop. She has a carabiner on her belt loop that jingles every time she walks.

– apart from smelling like the flowers (obvi bc of where she works) smells like heavy pine and fresh soap, like forget the additives – just clean if ykyk

ೀ florist! Abby gets little patchwork tattoos in random places: a dainty lavender tattoo on her wrist, a little crescent moon behind her ear, paw prints on her bicep for her late dog Alice, a ‘gentle artist’ in bolded times new roman font – but dainty on her forearm. Her knuckles are tatted spelling out “FUCK YOU”.

ೀ florist! Abby that has a ‘Save the Bees!’ sticker on the back of her phone case. Super Bee activist.

ೀ florist! Abby who spends all day in the floral shop, playing music from her playlist on the shop’s aux, slightly swaying to the music as she works on a bouquet. She works with such prestige, god her hands work so quickly at building arrangements but the outcome is so beautiful and that’s why she has many customers. She definitely uses any leftover flowers as bookmarks for her books.

ೀ florist! Abby who’s aux will go from Lauryn Hill to Boy Genius to Mac Miller — she gets compliments on her music taste by customers all the time.

ೀ florist! Abby stops working on a bouquet when you walk into the store because of how confused you look. Wanting to save a damsel in distress. Abby moves from her place at the counter walking over to where you stood looking at the different types of flowers, creeping behind you. You smell divine to her, driving her head crazy knowing that your scent alone will be stuck in her head all day. The floral shop is a slow yet steady business, so Abby definitely doesn’t forget a face or a smell. The form-fitting dress you wore that day, the way your hands bunched at the fabric in confusion had her head spinning!

“Beautiful aren’t they?” Abby whispers from behind you,

Actually scares the living shit out of you when you see her standing behind you, but the way the sun was hitting her face from the big window panels made you less nervous. Rather in awe at the beauty in front of you. Her sunkissed skin, and silky blonde mane, were raveled in a delicate braid with wispies around her face. The raspiness from her voice – which honestly sounded like a smoker's voice now that you thought about it.

ೀ florist! Abby who makes small talk with you while making your boquette for you (taking her slow sweet time), asking you where you’re from and what you’re doing in town? Absolutely praying that the flowers aren’t for some significant other of yours, Abby letting out an exhale when you say that they’re for your mom who you are visiting for dinner. When you mention you are unsure of what flowers to get don’t worry Abby will help you!

“So pretty girl, are you more minimalistic, talking Lilies, Gardenia’s, Jasmine – which is over there...or colorful? Which I think your beautiful self enjoys a nice Orchid, Camellia, or Begonia?”

Definitely shocks you with how well she knows her stuff

ೀ florist! Abby zones out when you are speaking and stares at your lips for far too long, looking at the way your pink gloss shines wondering how your pretty lips would look taking her strap. Percase covered in spit, from your saliva that has built up from blowing her off. Abby wanted to do nothing more than take the pretty little fabric ribbon from your hair and tie it around your hands as she went down on you while you beg her to touch you in all the right places – it was all a dream to her. Wet dreaming with you right in front of her.

Undeniably horny and touch deprived…she spends so much time in the floral shop she doesn’t have time for dating apps and finds shit like Tinder CORNY LOL.

Meanwhile, you are trying your hardest not to stare at the way her arms are flexing or how her fingers are paying delicate attention to your bouquet, mentally laughing at the “FUCK YOU” on her knuckles, it contrasted her soft nature so much.

ೀ florist! Abby who slips in a little note into your tote back when you’re not looking, with her number on it, hoping that you would find it and call her soon, Which you do find when you are scrambling for your keys on your way back to the car. Deciding it wouldn’t hurt to give the overly, steaming attractive florist a call.

ೀ florist! Abby when the two of you start dating, she would teach you how to make a bouquet, standing closely behind you – her body right up against your back as you feel her breath tickling your ear as she whispers to you what to do

“Atta girl, look at that my sweet girl – woah! watch your hand there’s a thorn baby.”

Will definitely put her hands over yours as she works with the knife to make sure there isn’t any thorns so you don’t prick yourself.

ೀ florist! Abby fucking you in the flower shop, when the shop is closed. Having her head in between your thighs, as her jaw slacks – the sound of your juices sloshing against her mouth as she sends hums into your pussy making you let out low mewls. Bringing a hand up to cover your mouth but she slaps it away so that she can see you

“Don’t hide from me baby, I wanna see you…look at how beautiful you look whining for me doll”

ೀ florist! Abby who kept your lace underwear in her pocket after she fucked you in the floral shop keeping it for safe-keeping (pft…we all know what she is doing with that)

ೀ florist! Abby who shows you her small pocket-sized notebook full of different flowers and arrangement ideas she had. Even the sketches of a flower bouquet that she made inspired by you and all your favorite flowers.

ೀ florist! Abby definitely tucks flowers behind your ears, specifically a white or light-pink Carnation. Especially loves putting one behind your ear as she fucks you with her strap, missionary style so she can see your face – just loves your face honestly. Bending down to kiss your lips, her cheeks dusted red with the pressure she applies.

Tucking her head into your neck swiftly smelling the carnation that she put behind your ear driving her even further insane as she drills into you — makes her go faster.

ೀ When she starts teaching you more about flowers, Definitely uses sexual enforcement to get you to remember it. Will have you sat on her counter as she stands in between your legs – locking you in as she lunges two fingers into you, edging you and not letting you cum until you say the right name of the flower that she taught you. But you could hardly focus staring at her inked knuckles as they pump in and out of you which only makes you reach your climax even further.

“You wanna come don’t you my sweet girl? I know you want to…just say the name– awh don’t whine at me…I know you know it dollface, I don’t buy that you don’t.”

Sometimes she’ll give you a hint if the flower starts with one of the letters on her knuckles she will stick the corresponding finger into you, working at getting you just about there as her finger curls into you. Your vision is blurry as you can hardly tell what the letter is, moaning out as you try to focus on the order of the letters on her knuckles to catch the hint.

“C’mon baby I’m giving you a hint…pay attention sweetheart– focus!”

ೀ florist! Abby when you get it wrong and she finally lets you come — is fake-mad at you, shoving the lettered finger down your throat as you gag on her fingers covered in your juices.

“Baby the hinted letter was C, and the other finger was U, flower: Curcuma. You’ll get it right next time right sweetheart? You won’t let mommy down hmm?”

ೀ florist! Abby is definitely a soft dom just saying… soft as hell, loves when you hold her – kiss her, and skin-to-skin contact is important as hell she just wants to feel you and loves when you baby her.

ೀ Definitely keeps a Polaroid of you holding flowers in pink floral lingerie in her beige apron and another one of you in her wallet, that way she has you on her at all times (honestly probably touched herself to blow off some steam after a hard shift while looking at it)

ೀ Depending on how far the relationship goes, especially if y’all start talking marriage will get your favorite flower tatted and not tell you until you see a dainty tattoo of your favorite flower on her collarbone slightly above her heart as she is filling you up, you questioning her in between moans about it.

“Mmhm…fuck is that new? Shit..abbyplease – wait is that my favorite flower?” You ask, as she grinds into you – your finger dragging against the tattoo

“Yes baby, you’re all mine. Mine…mine…mine” As she pounds harder into to you each time she says mine. Obsessive, possessive + territorial, let’s talk about it

ೀ florist! Abby is overall just a sweetheart who loves you so much and just wants you to be her pretty flower – her muse, you definitely inspire most of her bouquets and she is so happy you ran into her shop looking for flowers that day.

#💭ᜊ cher thinks #cherry writes 🤍#abby anderson #modern au #tlou2 #abby anderson x reader #florist! abby #florist! abby x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby the last of us #abby x black! reader #abby x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x black!reader #abby anderson fluff #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson headcanons #abby headcanons

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ravenswritings · 15 days ago

Text

── pretend

> love & deepspace; rafayel x fem reader > smut (explicit sexual content - nsfw) > 5.2k > a slight re-envisioning and expansion of the kindled scene from the gem affection card > content: 2nd person pov, petnames (your highness, princess, good girl), mostly pwp, switch rafayel and switch reader, cowgirl, missionary, creampie > [ ao3 ]

The best way to convince the palace maids to leave you two be is to act like you are lovingly wrapped up in each other. But where’s the fun in just pretending?

“Then I shall wait by the door. I’ll always be ready to tend to you, Your Highness.”

What had initially begun as a way to hide the marked-up map and mask your discussions of escape was gradually devolving into pure indulgence. Words of let’s make it convincing turned into what’s the harm if we continue? Rafayel sits atop the soft velvet covers of the bed - map long forgotten even though it was only moments ago that he threw himself on the bed to hide it - with you perched on his lap and your own self-control quickly waning. You hold a grape between your fingers, the fruit coated in a light, watery syrup, pressing it lightly against your lover’s lips.

It’s not as if you two could continue discussing your potential escape with the head maid just outside the door. It was too risky, all too likely that she would overhear something that would compromise your chances of getting back home. In the short time that you’ve been stuck in this world, you’ve deduced that the staff here would much prefer to have you stay, to fill the place of the missing princess and act like nothing is amiss.

You refuse to remain here forever, though.

Still… You two are so very close to settling on a concrete plan. It wouldn’t take much more time or effort to decide on your next steps, make the necessary preparations, and set out into the desert to search for the cave that should hopefully allow the two of you to return home. The temptation of indulging in Rafayel’s affections in this moment is simply too good to pass up. There’d be plenty of time later to finish your discussion.

In the meantime, you’ll continue to play the roles of the salacious princess and her favorite haughty beauty, basking in each other's company, plying each other in soft touches and teasing kisses, until the maid standing just outside the door leaves. It seems like a perfectly fine way to spend the time.

“Since Your Highness wants to spice things up, I’ll do my best to satisfy your every need.”

Of course, Rafayel just has to draw things out; he didn’t immediately part his lips and accept the grape that you had tried feeding to him, and now he’s teasing you back, playing. He grasps your wrist, long fingers curled firmly against your skin. Bringing it to his mouth, his warm tongue swipes up towards your palm as he tastes the syrup that had begun dripping down your inner wrist. Your fingers twitch at the jolt of anticipation that runs through your body, suddenly losing their grip on the slick fruit.

Your eyes immediately lock onto the grape as it bounces down Rafayel’s jewelry-adorned chest, leaving a shining, reddish trail as it soon rolls to a stop right at the edge of his waistband.

“Can’t take it anymore?” Rafayel teases, taunting you for your slip up, lifting his gaze to your face before his eyes flick down to where the grape had settled. There’s a ghost of a devious smirk on his lips, so subtle as he feigns innocence, eyebrows lifting to sell the sweet puppy-dog look while he tilts his head. “It’s so far away. I can’t get it. Your Highness, could you…”

You laugh quietly at Rafayel's apparent helplessness, rather enjoying the situation the two of you have found yourselves in and his insistence on playing coy. “I suppose I can get it for you…” you murmur, unable to help the smirk that twitches at the corner of your own lips. He wasn’t the only one who could draw things out, tease, drive the other wild.

You lean forward, pressing into Rafayel’s space, grasping his chin firmly as you tilt his face to the side to allow for easier access to his neck. Your hand cups his jaw briefly before trailing lower leisurely, the pads of your fingers brushing against his throat. If you pressed harder, you knew you’d be able to feel his pulse - but your touch was agonizingly soft and sweet against his skin. He swallows; breathing shallow.

“Did it fall over here?”

The words lilt in the same feigned innocence Rafayel used earlier. Pretending to be oh so clueless about where the grape had gone and thoroughly investigating its potential whereabouts, you allow your nails to graze his collarbone, brushing lightly against the gold adornments he wore.

“I think you need to go… a little lower,” he rasps, clearly trying to appear more unaffected than he truly is at this moment. A soft huff of laughter leaves your lips, but you happily play along with his false ignorance. Your hand runs down his chest almost lazily, the metal and gems of his body jewelry softly clinking as your fingers brush across them, the muscles of his abdomen jumping at the feather-light touch as your search continues lower and lower. Soon enough, your touches halt once they make contact with the fabric of his pants.

“Here?” you ask, head tilted and eyebrows raised, fingers hovering just over the runaway fruit. When you glance back up to your lover’s face, you see that a red flush had already settled across his cheekbones. His smoldering gaze is heavy on you, the gradient of red of his eyes prominent and rich in the subdued, warm candlelight of your bedchambers. You can’t help but notice how well his eyes and blush compliment each other.

Before he can say anything else, you pluck the grape up between your fingers, then pop it into your own mouth. If he wouldn’t eat it, fine; it’s yours, then. Swiping your tongue across your digits to clean the residue off, you make eye contact with him. The mild surprise in his eyes makes you feel giddy, and you want to keep pushing your luck.

So - given he had propped himself up on his elbows to play around and tease you - you firmly press him back down against the bed, in a rather similar manner that echoes the beginning of this little session between you two. But this time your push is much more slow, deliberate. His hands instinctively move to your hips, holding you steady as your positions shift against each other. You can’t help but smile at the way his eyes narrow; he’s trying to figure out your intentions, your next move. With him splayed out beneath you, that dark trail the syrup-coated grape left behind practically begs for your attention. You know what you’ll do.

Despite the intensity in your eager gaze, Rafayel is quick to regain his composure. “You're quite the tease, aren’t you?” His voice is husky, barely above a whisper. He looks amused as he watches you, sitting so pretty and coy on his lap. “I think you enjoyed that more than you let on.”

“Maybe,” you respond vaguely with a cheeky smile. And then you’re scooting back slightly, putting a necessary distance between you two so you can enact your next course of action. Leaning down, your lips press against the bare skin of his collarbone, right at the very beginning of the sticky, sweet line of syrup. You hear his breath hitch in anticipation, his chest stilling beneath your lips.

With your hands placed on his biceps as you brace your body against his, you move your face a bit lower, flatten your tongue against his pec, and drag it upwards towards his shoulder, licking the skin clean. Rafayel’s digits noticeably twitch against your hips and you hear him exhale a long, shaky breath just above your head. Pulling your mouth away from his skin, the tip of your tongue swipes across your bottom lip, and you glance up at him briefly while you shift further down his body. But before you can get too far ahead of yourself, one of his hands moves to grasp your chin firmly, stopping you from reaching your next destination.

A swift tug pulls you up, and a moment later your lips lock with Rafayel’s in a firm kiss. Despite the initial surprise you felt, only a heartbeat passes before you’re melting against him, a little sigh leaving your nose as your arms loosely loop around his shoulders. You break the kiss to breathe, to press yourself ever closer to your lover. Rafayel's eyes, hooded as he gazes up at you, flutter shut as you lean in once more, meeting in another searing kiss. His hands depart from your hips and slide upwards to cup your face, leaving tingling trails that cause you to shudder. He lets out a soft moan against your mouth as your own hands roam down his chest in return, fingers tugging at the gold jewelry adorning his torso.

“Mmm, I love it when you take charge,” Rafayel purrs, words mixed into a sigh as he breaks the kiss. His fingers tangle in your hair and tug you back gently, preventing you from pitching forward and stealing another kiss. Who’s really in charge here? Regardless, arousal washes down your spine at his easy confession, at the light but persistent grip he has on your hair. Your eyes are half-lidded as you stare down at him, head tilted back just slightly due to Rafayel’s hold.

His eyes flick to the closed door of your bedchambers at that moment, and your gaze follows his. That’s right, you think to yourself, pulled slightly from the fog of your arousal as if just remembering where you two are and what transpired before you two started getting lost in each other. Is the maid still out there?

Well, it didn’t matter either way, in the end.

A charmingly wicked grin spreads across Rafayel’s face as your eyes meet his again. “Someone might still be out there. But don't hold back, my love. Let them hear every moan, every gasp,” he whispers, his warm breath fanning against your skin. His hands move to your hips again, gripping the flesh tightly as he ruts his hips up against yours, the friction causing your breath to hitch in your throat. His thumbs massage little circles into your hip bones and you squirm at the slightly ticklish sensation. “I want you to ride me, Your Highness. Show me how much you enjoy your favorite concubine.”

His pupils are blown wide with adoration and desire, red flush still so pretty across the apples of his cheeks. The dim candle light casts shadows across his features, but you swear it only accents his already devastating beauty. A smitten sigh escapes your lips. “Well, I can’t say no when you look at me like that,” you coo, lifting a hand to trail your fingertips across his face, brushing strands of his dusky purple waves away from his eyes and lingering along his jaw. You certainly couldn’t deny his demands when they sounded so sweet coming from him, no matter how haughty they come across. And why would the princess deny her favorite’s wishes, anyway, when they are so easy to grant?

“Besides…” you add, voice coming out in a whisper while you tilt his chin up with a single finger, your eyes locked on his. The heady emotion in your eyes reflects your next words: “I want it just as much as you.”

Lifting your hips slightly, you begin to untie the navy blue sash around your waist. A more desperate part of you wants to just bunch your skirt up to your thighs and get on with it to save time, but you know it’s just going to interfere, getting in the way of you enjoying your dear, sweet, beloved Rafayel. While you love to tease him and draw things out, this side of you is warring with the one that wants to dive in and lose yourself in him. His hands grasp and lightly tug at your skirt, pulling the now-loose fabric a few inches down the flare of your hips.

As much as you loathe to separate from him, you shift off his lap, moving to the side and stepping off the bed. Working the skirt the rest of the way off your hips, you let the light, flowing layers drop to the floor along with your panties. After stepping out of the little pile around your ankles, you settle back down on the bed beside him, drawing your legs loosely up beneath you. Your palm brushes across his waistband, a short distance above the tent that had been steadily growing between his legs, your nails lightly teasing the skin right along the edge of his pants. Rafayel’s eyes flutter closed as he exhales shakily.

“You’re pretty like this,” you hum, allowing your eyes to roam his figure from head to toe before returning to his face. He opens his eyes with a soft chuckle and the heat in his gaze sends a buzzing anticipation across your nerves.

“Pretty, huh?” The words are smug, as if he already knows just what you thought of him. He knows he’s pretty, of course. But you nod, readily feeding his ego. Your fingers deftly tuck themselves into his waistband, tugging the sash loose. The sheer coral fabric that draped across his chest, as well as the teal and crimson panels of fabric that hung around his hips, fall slack. Rafayel flicks the coral fabric over his shoulder while you remove the excess fabric from his lower half.

Once he kicks his pants off, nude aside from the gold adornments across his chest and the shimmering teal cloth tied to both biceps that loops behind his back, you waste no time alighting yourself on his lap once more. Rafayel places his hands at your waist, though they only remain there briefly before sliding upwards, drumming along your ribcage. His thumbs brush against the fabric of your top; the body jewelry you wear, identical to your lover’s, softly jingles with the motion. Your hands press against his shoulders to steady yourself, pussy hovering above his hard cock. Lowering your body, the pretty flushed tip catches at your slick entrance briefly before it slips, brushing right past your clit.

You bite down on your lip to stifle the whine that threatens to leave your throat. Rafayel’s breath stutters; a short, shuddering gasp at the sensation of his tip dragging across your folds. Your walls clench at the spark of pleasure stemming from that sensitive bud, and you can’t help yourself; you rock against him again, folds practically gliding against his shaft, leaving your arousal along his length. A groan leaves your partner’s lips, equal parts frustrated and eager.

“Make me yours, princess.”

His demand is strained, desperate; as if he’s barely holding himself back from grabbing your hips and rutting into you. He wants you to indulge, wants you to claim him - and you’re going to grant that wish of his. It’s your wish, too, after all, even though you know very well that he’s already yours… and that he’s been yours for a while now.

Your response to him comes in the form of your hand grasping his length, holding him steady as you tuck the leaking tip against your entrance again. You ease yourself down onto him slowly, taking him into your slick heat inch by inch. The leisurely descent is almost agonizing, but you pride yourself on your self control as you try to draw the act out; you’ve always relished the initial stretch of your walls whenever he first enters you, his girth providing the perfect amount of stretch. Rafayel’s jaw clenches while you take your time, trying to keep his breathing and hips steady as you work your way down. A pleased little sigh escapes you once you’re fully seated on his lap, his member nestled all snug inside you, filling you so deliciously.

With both of your hands braced against his shoulders once more, you lift your hips until just his tip remains inside. A short pause, a deep breath. Then, your tight heat engulfs his length again, quicker this time. You grind against him, back arching as you rock your hips, though you continue to take your sweet time. The languid drag of his cock as you ride him drives you crazy, but it allows the pleasure to swell gradually; the warmth of arousal slowly spreads from your core to the rest of your body.

“Your Highness…” Rafayel gasps out between breathy little moans that you manage to pull from him. Every few thrusts, his hips buck upwards as he ruts into you - a whine escapes your throat each time it happens, and you find yourself shuddering as your head starts to hang between your shoulders. Your hands curl into fists against his chest, leaving pale pink lines as your nails scrape against the skin. “Aren’t you being too much of a tease, now?”

When Rafayel’s grip around your waist tightens and he starts to control the rhythm of your bodies, clearly tired of your mischief, you put more of your weight into your descent and firmly plant yourself on his lap. His brows twitch and his lips curl into a pouty scowl when he’s unable to continue to thrust up into you, the pace coming to a grinding halt. Your knees tightly press around his hips, further restricting you both, though you can’t help but rock your hips in small, torturously languid circles while you try to catch your breath. A strangled groan leaves Rafayel’s lips as he throws his head back, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of your abdomen, one of his thighs jumping in response to the constrained, regulated pleasure.

A breathless laugh escapes you in a huff and you can’t help but smirk at his crumbling composure.

All movement on his part halting, Rafayel’s eyes narrow, shades of ruby red briefly gleaming in stark contrast against the dark azure surrounding it. His expression is dangerous, and suddenly you realize your mistake. A shudder wracks your body, though you’re not sure if it’s due to uneasiness or anticipation.

He’s going to swallow you whole.

And you’ll let him. You’ll welcome it, even.

There’s a moment of stillness, of bated breaths - then, your vision spins as Rafayel flips your positions. Fingers clutching his shoulders, you cling to him as your world shifts. Your back is pressed into the mattress now, and he’s hovering above you. With the way his bangs frame his face, the flickering candle light is blocked from fully reaching his eyes; the shadows make his gaze even more intoxicating. Given how tightly both your hips had been pressed together before your hubris, his cock easily remains firmly lodged inside you despite the shifting of bodies and power. You suppress the low moan that bubbles up in your chest, arousal spiking as he pins you beneath him, his cockhead pressing right up against your cervix. Fuck, you feel so full like this.

He leans down and nuzzles his nose against your cheek; it feels almost cool against your warm skin. One of his palms rests on your hip, while the other is planted against the bed. A shiver runs down your spine as his breath fans over your ear, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to calm your heart pounding with anticipation. Quietly, he chuckles; you almost feel it more than you hear it. When he pulls his face away slightly, you open your eyes and they flit up to meet his gaze. With a smug smirk, not unlike the one you gave him moments ago, he speaks. “Forgive me, but I’m getting impatient tonight. I need you, princess.”

“Rafayel–?”

As if to prove his words, he pulls out just slightly before rutting back into you again sharply. You’re left breathless as your back arches upwards, and your thighs twitch against his hips. Rafayel pushes himself into a more upright position, moving both palms to your waist, using your hips as an anchor and holding you tight as he starts to steadily roll his hips against yours. A keening whine leaves your throat as your head lolls to the side, overwhelmed with pleasure even as your walls greedily suck him in.

“You’re - hah - so gorgeous like this… Gonna make you feel so good…” Rafayel groans, heavily affected by the exquisite sensation of your walls clenching around him, your arousal drenching his length and making a mess where your bodies meet. Though subtle, you can feel your own pulse in your walls that are stretched tightly around his girth whenever he presses his cock in as deep as it can go.

Your body begins to adjust - somewhat - to his unrelenting thrusts, becoming used to the waves of pleasure that flush through your core. You focus your gaze on him; his cheeks are flushed with desire and exertion, a sheen of sweat glistening at his temples and along his delicate neck, lips parted as a result of his panting breaths and husky groans that accentuate the cadence of his hips. Eyes fixated on his mouth, his pretty lips that you want on yours so badly, your fingers twitch against his shoulders before they move.

Hooking your fingers through the gold metal dangling inches away from his sternum, you yank him down; he yelps and frantically catches himself with his palms against the mattress, pulled off balance by the sharp movement. His rhythm falters, hips stilling at the sudden change in position. You then loop your arms around the back of his neck, keeping him close and not allowing him to escape. Most of his weight rests on you, though his forearms dig into the bed on either side of your ribcage, propping him up just enough so that he isn’t crushing you. Capturing his lips with yours, you muffle the gratified groan that crawls up your throat.

The kiss is messy, sloppy as your open mouths press against each other. Teeth graze plush lips, slightly too abrasive, though neither of you can bring yourselves to care. Tongues meet, brush past one another, depart. Rafayel coaxes a moan from you as the tip of his tongue curls up against the roof of your mouth, and you retaliate by sucking his bottom lip in, biting down; a breathy whimper escapes him. He breaks the kiss momentarily to inhale deeply, rocking his hips against yours as his lust-hazed mind remembers that his length is buried deep in you, hard and throbbing.

With the current angle of his hips, each time he moves against you, friction greets your clit. Your legs, hooked around his waist to keep him close, help corral his body in towards yours each time he rolls against you. “Nn, Rafayel…”

“Hm?” His answering hum rumbles against the crook of your neck, where his lips are leaving soft kisses along with light, pinching nips from his teeth. A swipe of his tongue and a loving peck soothes the skin, and his hand - one now roaming your body, nails dragging lightly across the side of your plump breast and down the curve of your ribs - provides a sweet, tantalizing distraction. Your eyes flutter shut and you tighten your hold on him, fingers clutching at the string of body jewelry that rests against his spine.

Each time he drives his length into your sopping wet pussy, a short little moan bubbles out of your mouth. You’re too far gone at this point; any thoughts of banter and teasing nonexistent in your mind. All that matters right now is Rafayel, how he’s making you feel, and how he’s indulging in you as he chases his own pleasure. “Please, Raf… I need…” your begging drops off into a whine. The muscles in your lower abdomen are tense, a manifestation of your desperation because you need to cum soon, or you’re going to lose your mind.

“You’re taking my cock so well,” Rafayel praises, statement husky and ending in a low moan. “Nngh–! Such a good girl, such a perfect little princess for me.” He’s just as close to falling apart as you are, his breathing heavy as he pants against your skin. His fingers press into your skin in a halfhearted attempt to ground himself.

Your eyes roll back into your head when he calls you a good girl, his perfect little princess - his voice sends a white-hot flash of arousal straight to your core, and your pussy practically drools around him in response, body shuddering as your orgasm edges ever closer. When Rafayel’s fingers start moving in tight, quick circles on your clit, you bite down sharply on your bottom lip, subduing the high-pitched cry torn from your throat.

“Raf - ah - Rafayel…” you babble, and your fingers clutch at his back, tugging at the jewelry as if it’s your lifeline. His tip brushes against that spongy spot repeatedly with each pass of his hips, and you vaguely notice the barely perceptible tremble of your limbs in the midst of your lust. “I’m–I’m close–”

And with a well-timed, sharp thrust while his fingers press down on your clit, you come undone. Your back arches and you cry out, walls clamping down tightly around his cock before fluttering, subsequently coaxing his orgasm from him. Your breath hitches when you feel the subtle, telltale warmth pooling deep in your canal, right up against your cervix. The sensation is accompanied by a sultry mix between a groan and a whine coming from Rafayel, forehead pressing against your collarbone.

With a shuddering exhale, he relaxes against you, weight bearing down on you, suffocating you just a little. Your fingers untangle themselves from the body jewelry and ghost over his shoulders, his skin sweaty and sticky beneath your touch. After a few moments where you try to catch your breath, you lightly smack his bicep. “You’re crushing me.”

Rafayel grumbles a bit, complaints unintelligible, but pushes himself up onto his forearms, peeling his body off of yours. He shifts back, pulling his softening cock out of your pussy - your walls clenching almost instinctively as if trying to keep him in - then flops over onto the bed beside you. Now with his weight off you, your lungs can get the air they need. Inhaling deeply, your eyelids slide shut as you allow your body to go limp against the gold-embroidered velvet donning the bed. It’s soft, easily holding onto the warmth from your activities.

Moments later, Rafayel’s hands grasp at you and pull you against him. Your face scrunches at the tacky feeling of your sweaty-and-cooling skin against his, but the mild distaste is easily overshadowed by the warmth of your heart as you indulge in a bit of skinship after your little romp. Lying on your side, you press yourself against his front and sling an arm over his waist lazily, letting out a tired but pleased little sigh. A few heartbeats later, you crack your eyes open and look up at him, head resting on his arm - your own personal pillow (until your beloved complains that his arm is going tingly and numb, and then you’re going to have to deal with him rolling away in the other direction, and you’ll delegate yourself as the big spoon).

Rafayel’s eyes meet yours and his eyes light up with the grin that spreads his lips. He nods his head to the side, gesturing vaguely towards the door. “Think she’s still out there?”

Snapped out of your blissful little reverie, you huff, a pout on your lips as you reach up and pinch his cheek softly. The way his skin squishes between your thumb and forefinger is reminiscent of a marshmallow. “I don’t know,” you answer with a sigh and you press your face against his chest again, hiding away from reality. “I guess I don’t really care. It’s not like they don’t already expect this from us.”

“True.” The agreement is punctuated with a quiet laugh from Rafayel, softened as he nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head. “Though I think it’s funny that you took on the role of the promiscuous princess so easily.”

He yelps as you retaliate with a sharp bite to his shoulder.

The candles in your bedchambers continue to burn late into the night.

You’re unsure when exactly the maid beyond the door left - all you knew is that she was gone from her post by the time you and Rafayel had bothered to extract yourselves from each other to go check.

You’re leaning against Rafayel’s side as you two sit up side by side in the bed, cheek pressed into his shoulder. Even though the incense has long been extinguished, the faint smoky fragrance continues to linger in the room, contributing to the ongoing intimacy of these moments.

Plucking a grape from the bowl in your lap, you hold it up to your beauty’s lips. He obediently opens his mouth and you pop the fruit in, fingertips brushing against his lips. His eyes flick from your face to the map that he’s holding up before the two of you. Chewing absentmindedly, his gaze traces over the notes the two of you had scribbled into the parchment earlier.

Popping a grape into your own mouth, you also look over the map. You two have marked the caves that are most likely to hold the mural that should allow your return back to your original world. With a decisive hum, Rafayel folds the map up, setting it off to the side. He then turns his body towards you, and you make a disgruntled noise in the back of your throat as your support - in the form of his shoulder - moves away from you.

His hands grasp the bowl, taking it off your lap as he cradles it in his arms; then he slots himself in your arms, resting his weight comfortably against you. You slump against the propped up pillows and cushions that support your back, allowing him to use you as his own pillow. He noses your collarbone, brushing freely along the skin, your jewelry having been removed some time ago. Rafayel picks up a grape and holds it up to your lips to feed you and pamper you, just as you had done for him. You take the grape into your mouth while giving a teasing nip to the tip of his finger at the same time. He smiles up at you, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“You know, all things considered, I’d say our time here hasn’t been terrible,” Rafayel starts, grabbing another grape to feed you. Once you take it, he licks the watery syrup that lingers on the pad of his thumb.

You shrug and nod your head. “Yeah,” you agree, though your tone is more ambivalent. “I won’t lie, it’s been kind of fun. A vacation in and of itself, almost. But…” You run your fingers through his dusky purple hair, lightly massaging his scalp. Rafayel practically melts against you. “I’m looking forward to being back home.”

“Mm, me too.” Rafayel’s long arms deposit the bowl of grapes - now nearly empty - onto the side table before settling back down into your embrace. His fingers trace languid, abstract images into the bare skin of your torso, his blue-pink eyes drowsy and half-lidded. A yawn escapes his lips and he nuzzles his face against your chest. “Does tomorrow night sound good to you?”

“Yeah, we’ll leave tomorrow.”

In the meantime, you’ll happily luxuriate in these moments with Rafayel as the princess and her sweetheart, certain that you two will find your way back home.

#love and deepspace #love & deepspace #rafayel #lads rafayel #l&ds #l&ds rafayel #lnds rafayel #love and deepspace rafayel #rafayel x reader #love and deepspace x reader #ravenswritings #baby's first l&ds fanfic!!#constructive criticism is welcome!

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g-hughes · 5 months ago

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Happy Graduation! Can you do “i love that no one else has seen you like this, that no one else has felt you before, been inside you. they don't get to have you, but i do.” with “you taste like heaven” with Luke Hughes?

For The First Time - L. Hughes

hockey masterlist || g's graduation celly

synopsis: You and Luke have been together for a while, and decide to take the next step in your relationship.

word count: 3.9k

warnings: smut! oral sex (f receiving), piv, virgin reader, cursing, protected sex, small mention of blood after sex (it's normal!)

When you first met Luke Hughes, you thought he was going to be like every other hockey player you had ever met. He was tall, lanky but muscular with unruly curls falling in front of his eyes. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the bar, constantly looking over his shoulder as if someone was going to kick him out. He was a New Jersey Devil, no one would even attempt to kick him out of the bar. Even before actually introducing yourself to him, you had already sized him up and came to a conclusion; he was a young hockey player, he only wanted one thing and you weren’t about to give him the time of day. But, he proved you wrong the moment your brother pulled him over to introduce him to you.

“And this is Luke!” Nico said, a drunken smile on his face. You already knew you were going to be basically carrying him back to his room. But you weren’t going to stop his celebration, they had just clinched their spot in the play-offs, “This is my little sister!”

“I know,” Luke nodded, “She’s the team photographer.”

“So you met!” You shook your head. The word ‘met’ was one way to put it, you had said all of two sentences to him.

“It’s nice to meet you, Luke,” You said, holding your hand out and shaking his.

“You too.”

“Nico!” Jack shouted, “I need you to be my beer pong partner.”

“Coming!” Nico slurred and turned towards Luke, “She’s off limits and I know where you live, Hughes.”

“God, Nico,” Heat was rising in your cheeks as you looked at him, “Go! Before Jack starts pouting.”

Luke nervously chuckled as your brother walked away and over to Jack. You looked back towards your drink as Luke sat down next to you. There was an awkward tension in the air, as he sat close but far from you. The two of you sat in silence, you twirling your straw and Luke scanning the crowd.

“So, you take pictures for the Devils,” Luke said, “That’s cool.”

You looked at him, and couldn’t help but giggle. His face fell for a moment, before laughing as well. He had no idea what he was doing or why he was so nervous sitting here and talking to you. Maybe it’s because you were the captain’s younger sister, or maybe because he’s had a crush on you from the moment he saw you.

“It is cool,” You smiled, “It’s really cool.”

Ever since that night you and Luke had been inseparable. It was a shock to no one when the two of you announced you were together. Nico and Jack had a bet going on to see how long it would take for you two to tell everyone. Both the brothers approved of your relationship, Nico happy that you had found someone who looked at you like you hung the stars and the moon. And Jack was happy seeing his younger brother look happy, and that he had someone by his side during his rookie season. Jack knew first hand how tough being a rookie can be, and he was happy that Luke had someone he could confide in when it all got to be too much.

You were currently laying on Luke’s bed, his lips against yours as you made out. He had just come back from spending the summer at the lake, and you in Switzerland. The two of you had only seen each other twice over the summer, you going to the lake for a week and him coming to visit you in Switzerland. But the phone calls, facetimes and texts weren’t enough. You had been wishing for this day all summer.

“I missed you,” Luke mumbled, his lips on your jaw, “So, so much.”

“Me too,” You sighed at the feeling, “It’s been too long.”

Luke’s lips found yours again, as his hips rocked against yours. His hands roamed your body, moving up and down your sides, before one slipped under the hem of your shirt. A warmth grew in your body, a tingle in your core as his hardened cock rubbed against your clothed cunt. Soft moans fell from your lips as you lifted your hips to meet Luke’s. His hand trailed up higher, his thumb rubbing at the band of your bra. It was as if the lust had cleared from your mind, and you were suddenly all too aware of Luke’s body and his hands on you.

“Stop,” You said, and Luke immediately sat back, looking you over.

“I’m sorry,” He apologized, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I’m sorry.”

You nodded your head, “Y-yeah I’m fine it’s just. . . god,” You covered your face with your hands as an embarrassing blush coated your cheeks. Luke was still looking at you with concern as you pulled your hands away, “I’ve never been touched there. . . or anywhere.”

Luke’s eyebrows furrowed at your words, and then it clicked in his brain, “Oh. . .” He said slowly, “You’re a virgin.”

“Oh god!” You dramatically exclaimed, “It’s so embarrassing.”

“No it’s not,” Luke said, laying down next to you on his bed, “It is not embarrassing at all.”

“Yes,” You looked at him, “It is. I am twenty years old and a virgin.”

“It’s better than being forty and a virgin,” Luke shrugged and you shot him a look, “Baby, it’s not embarrassing at all. I’m not with you just to get in your pants. It’s okay that you’re a virgin.”

His words only made some of the unease lift from your belly. It wasn’t that you were waiting for marriage, you just never felt the need to jump into bed with the first man that showed you interest. Sure you had boyfriends before Luke, but you never felt the level of attraction and love as you did for Luke. The moment the other boys found out you were a virgin, they were already blocking your number and running for the hills.

“You promise?” You asked, holding up your pinky for a pinky promise.

“Yes, I promise,” Luke said, locking your pinkies together, “And you don’t have to ask me if I promise that it’s okay that you’re a virgin. It's your body. I’m not going to force you into having sex with me. You get to decide that when you’re ready.”

You nodded your head, letting out a slow breath, “Well, I guess I completely killed the mood.”

Luke chuckled, “Not totally,” You looked at him as he sat up from the bed, and climbed off of it. He walked over to your side and got down on one knee.

You sat up quickly,“What are you-”

“Y/N Hischier,” Luke started, grabbing your hands in his, “You know I love you with all my being. You are the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. . .” He paused for a moment, “Well, second greatest,” You rolled your eyes, “But, till you please make me the happiest man alive and be my date to the season opening gala?”

“You’re such a dork,” You gently pushed him, laughing, “Of course I’ll go to the season opening gala with you. Who else would you take?”

“Well Dawson asked-”

“Over my dead body.”

— — —

The season opening gala was one of the biggest events for the Devils. It was when the team got to meet with donors and executive members. It was one of the last moments to come together as a team before the craziness of the season ensued. Several of the wives and girlfriends get together and plan the gala all through the off season. It was almost like a competition on how they could outdo themselves from the year before. You had attended the event in the past with your brother Nico, but this year, you were by Luke’s side.

“Nervous?” You asked him as you sat in the back of the blacked out BMW.

“A bit,” Luke sighed, running his hands over his gray plaid dress pants. He looked handsome in his designer suit, Nico had dragged him out to go get his first designer suit and said something about “you’re in the league now, kid”, and his fresh haircut. You had never been a big fan of mullets, until Luke walked through your front door supporting one.

“Don’t be,” You assured him, grabbing his hand, “They’re gonna love you.”

Luke looked at you. He had been speechless when you opened the door to your apartment. You had picked out a dark red dress, with a deep v cut that showed off just enough cleavage and a thigh high slit that showed just enough thigh. You wore most of your gold jewelry including the dainty necklace with a gold “L” charm. Your makeup was simple, not wanting to over do it, but made sure to put on lipgloss that would drive Luke wild.

“Easy for you to say,” Luke scoffed, “You’re the team’s little sister. Everyone loves you.”

“And now you’re the team��s little brother. Everyone is gonna love you,” You smiled up at him. Luke shared your smile as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your glossy lips.

The moment you walked into the ballroom, you gasped. The wives and girlfriends had outdone themselves again. The theme this year was “Old Hollywood”, and the room was decorated with various reds, golds and black items. You and Luke stood on the red carpet, your coworkers taking pictures of the players and their dates as they arrived. You felt bad not helping them, but they assured you that they would be okay without you for one night.

The night went off without a hitch. You and Luke easily found your brother and his, who decided to be each other's dates instead of finding some girl to bring. You guys sat with them throughout the dinner and the speeches from the coach and the GM. Once the dancing portion of the night started, Nico and Jack disappeared, no doubt to find one of your female co-workers to dance with.

You dragged Luke out to the middle of the dance floor, his hands on your hips while yours draped over his neck as the band played a cover of a pop song. You giggled as Luke twirled you around, your hands resting on his chest. His smile was so bright, it could’ve lit up the whole room.

“I’m having fun,” Luke said in your ear.

“Me too,” You said back. You weren’t sure if it was the bit of champagne in your system, or the excitement in the air, but you were feeling bold. You were very aware of Luke’s hands on your hips, and the way his hand had felt on your thigh earlier at the table.

“Luke,” Your voice wavered a bit as he looked at you. You were about to say something when the band switched their tempo, to play a sensual slow song. The tension in the air seemed to grow, and you swallowed thickly as Luke’s eyes seemed to grow darker. His hands pulled you in closer to him, your chests nearly touching.

“Luke,” You said again, and he hummed in response, “I. . . I want you.”

“You have me, baby,” Luke answered, his eyebrows knitting in confusion.

“No, I. . . I want you, Luke,” You said, putting emphasis on the word, “I’m ready.”

It took Luke a moment, until the light bulb went off in his head, “A-are you sure? Cause there’s no rush. We don’t have-”

You cut off his rambling with a soft kiss on his lips, “I want to,” You said again, “I promise I am sure.”

Your heart was pounding as Luke grabbed your face in his hands and brought his lips to yours for a passionate kiss. You both knew that this kiss was different as Luke’s hand wrapped around your waist, and pulled you close to him. Before things could escalate in the center of the ballroom, you pulled back, biting your lip and looking at Luke.

“Oh don’t do that,” Luke teased, pulling your lip away from your teeth, “Drives me fucking insane, I’d take you right here on the floor.”

You whimpered at his words and rested your hands on his chest, “Take me to bed, Luke.”

Luke pulled you quickly out of the ballroom, all but running for the elevator. You didn’t even stop and say goodbye to your brother or his, which you guess was a good thing. You didn’t really feel like explaining to them or telling them that you two were leaving early. There was a certain excitement as Luke put his arm around you, as you watched the floor numbers take them up to their room. The second the elevator doors opened, Luke grabbed your body and put you over his shoulder.

“Luke Warren!” You exclaimed as he playfully smacked your ass.

Luke opened the hotel room door and walked over to the bed, laying you down gently. He quickly climbed on top of you, putting his knee between your thighs as he leaned down to kiss you. Your hands tangled in his curls, tugging on them slightly. This part, you had done before, making out like teenagers. You felt comfortable doing this, but when you felt Luke’s hand skim up the slit in your dress, you froze a bit.

“Wait,” You sucked in a breath, and Luke pushed off of you. It took everything in you not to frown at the loss of heat from his body.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t-”

“I want to,” You assured him, placing a hand on his cheek, “It’s. . . you’re going to wrinkle my dress.”

Luke chuckled, climbing completely off the bed and holding out his hand to you. He pulled you to your feet and you turned so your back was to him. Without even saying, Luke’s hands went to the zipper at your shoulders, carefully sliding it down your body. He leaned forward, placing soft kisses on the back of your neck and shoulders as he slid the straps down your arms. You leaned back into his embrace, letting the fabric of the dress fall to your feet.

“Luke,” You whined, “It feels good.”

“Does it?” You could feel his cocky grin against your skin, “If you feel this good from me kissing your neck, just you wait.” You looked over your shoulder at him, his green eyes a shade darker, “Lay down for me, baby.”

You nodded, laying back on the center of the bed. Luke kicked off his shoes, making quick work of his dress shirt and pants, tossing them across the room. Luke hovered over you, taking in the sight of you under him. You tugged him down, until his lips were on yours.

Luke’s hips grinded against yours, getting a moan to leave your lips as one of his hands pulled your leg over his hip and the other groped your breast. You had never been touched like this, and it made Luke’s cock stiffen even more, knowing that he was the first one. That you trusted him that much with your virginity. His other hand went around your back, and unclasped your bra. He leaned back on his heels as he gently pulled the bra off your body. Your hands went right away to cover yourself and Luke shook his head.

“Don’t hide from me, sweetheart, don’t ever hide from me,” Luke said, “You are perfect. So fucking perfect,” Luke leaned down, his tongue swirling around your nipple before sucking it into his mouth. You gasped at the feeling, your hands going to the back of his head to hold him there. He looked up, seeing the blissed out look on your face. His fingers pinched and rolled the nipple of your other breast.

“Luke, please,” You moaned, thrusting your hips up. You had felt this feeling before when you’d make out. The feeling of wetness and gentle ache between your thighs. You clenched your thighs together to try and relieve some of it but it wasn’t helping. You needed more. You needed Luke.

“I got you, okay,” Luke assured you, “I’ll give it to you, but I gotta make sure you’re ready first,” You nodded as Luke began kissing down your body. The lower he got, the more you ached for him. His fingers tapped at the top of your black lace panties, and looked up at you.

“Can I?”

“Please,” You nodded your head.

Luke pulled the garment slowly down your legs, before tossing them across the room. Your core was glistening and Luke let out a groan. It was hard for you to not try and cover yourself, especially with how Luke was looking at you. He ran a singular finger through your soaked folds, and you let out a moan. He circled your clit a couple of times in lazy circles, watching as your body withered from the pleasure.

“Can I touch you here?” He tapped his finger at your opening and you nodded. Slowly, Luke pushed a finger inside of you, feeling you stretch around him. It felt foreign to you, and Luke didn’t start moving his finger until he felt you somewhat relax. He moved his finger in and out, slowly curling it against the spongy spot inside of you.

The pleasure was nothing like you had felt before. It was beautiful and you were craving more. It felt like butterflies in your stomach, like when you’d go down a large drop on a rollercoaster. Luke watched you, and leaned in between your legs, his tongue licking your clit.

“Oh!” You exclaimed, your hand going to his curls, “Fuck, yes, Luke.”

“You taste like heaven,” Luke said from between your legs. His tongue lapped at you like he was a starved man, and you were the first meal he had in weeks. You felt the pleasure build, your legs beginning to tremble against his head. His large hands pushed your thighs down, keeping you open to him as he ate.

“Luke!” You whined, “I- fuck!” Luke pulled away from your thighs, and you let out an exasperated whine.

“Oh don’t start whining,” Luke chuckled, “Don’t worry baby, I’m gonna take care of you,” All you could do was nod and watch Luke as he climbed off the bed and over to the overnight bag he packed. He pulled out a condom, and discarded his boxers. Your eyes went straight to his dick, and you unabashedly licked your lips at the sight of it. He smirked, noticing your lust filled eyes on him as he opened the condom and rolled it on his shaft.

Luke crawled back on top of you, placing one of his hands by your head. He grabbed himself in his hand, lining up with your entrance. You took in a deep breath, as you felt the tip of his cock nudging at your cunt.

“If it hurts or becomes too much, tell me, and I’ll stop. If you don’t want to do this anymore, you tell me to stop.”

Your hands skimmed up and down his muscular back, as you tilted your head back to look at him, “I want this, Luke.”

Luke placed a kiss on your lips as he slowly pushed himself into you. He let out a sharp breath at the feeling of your warmth and tight walls. You dug your nails into his back, tensing up at the feeling. Luke thrusted slowly, letting himself slip in little by little and then pulling back out.

“Don’t pull back,” You whimpered, and Luke nodded. He pushed himself about halfway in, and you squeezed his bicep.

He looked down at her in a panic, and could see the tears pricking in your eyes, "Baby, tell me how it feels. It hurts, doesn't it? I can stop."

"No," You sighed, "It just feels weird. Keep going please, and just. . . wait for a moment."

Luke nodded and continued to push into your body, then becoming flush with your hips. You both let out gasps, and Luke caressed your cheek. He didn't even care about sex at this point, he was content with staying right here inside of you the whole night. You were keeping him warm and squeezing him just right. But then he felt you start to wiggle underneath him, moving your hips to try and get some friction.

"Move," You said softly, "Please."

"I'm going slow," Luke said, "I'll fuck you hard and fast another day. But I want to take my time."

You nodded and pressed your lips to his collarbone as he slowly drug his hips back, thrusting in and out of you. Your hands moved up his back and tangled in his hair. Grunts and moans left your mouths and mixed together in the air. Luke grabbed your thigh and hooked it over his hip, to reach a new angle. You closed your eyes as you felt the intense feeling in your lower body.

“Fuck,” Luke groaned, his hand gripping your thigh, “I love that no one else has seen you like this,” He was placing kissing on your neck, right below your ear, “That no one else has felt you before, been inside you.”

“Luke,” You cried, feeling the pressure grow and grow.

“They don’t get to have you, but I do,” Luke nipped at your neck.

Everything felt so good from the way your body felt below his, to the way he seemed to hit all the right spots. The impending orgasms rose in your bodies and Luke smashed his lips to yours, swallowing your moans. Luke felt the rubber band in his stomach snap, and himself spilling into the condom. You could feel the warmth fill your body and Luke tried hard to not let his body collapse on top of you.

"Fuck," Luke moaned out, "I'm so sorry. I usually don't-" you cut him off with a kiss, and held his face in your hands.

"It was perfect," you said and Luke leaned his forehead against yours.

"Want to take a bath," Luke proposed and you nodded, "I'm going to pull out now, okay." Luke easily moved his hips back and you whined at the feeling, "Does it hurt?"

"Yeah," you answered, "It's okay."

Luke nodded and pulled back the blankets enough for him to slip out of bed. He could see the tiniest bit of blood on your thighs.

"Lay right there, I'll be back," Luke said, and went to the bathroom. He threw away the condom, and cleaned himself up. He slipped his boxers back on and grabbed a washcloth to clean you up. You were tapping your fingers on your tummy when Luke came back. You smiled up at him, as he kneeled between your thighs and cleaned you up. You hissed as the rough washcloth came in contact with your core.

"Sensitive?" Luke asked.

"Yes," You said, "D-Did I bleed?"

"A bit," Luke answered and kissed your cheek, "It's normal. Nothing to worry about, sweets. Do you want to get dressed?"

“No,” You shook your head, feeling comfortable laying naked on the soft sheets.

"Get a snack and some water. I'll start the bath," Luke said, kissing your cheek.

"I love you,” You said, placing a hand on his cheek before he could walk away.

Luke smiled that half smile that made you weak in the knees, “I love you too.”

a/n: what do you guys want to see more of? blurbs, one shots, series, interactive series, insta edits? let me know!! :) (I am planning on a series hopefully soon)

#lh43 #Luke Hughes fan fic #Luke hughes fan fiction #Luke hughes imagine #Luke hughes x reader #Luke hughes x oc #Luke hughes smut #hockey fan fic #hockey imagine #hockey fan fiction

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lis-likes-fics · 6 months ago

Text

Perfection

Pairings: Spencer Reid x bau!adhd!Reader Word Count: 2.6k words Warnings: Mentions of rape, mentions of murder, dead body, crime scene, descriptions of gore, typical Criminals Minds stuff, character with ADHD, mentions of medication... A/N: This is a little more self-indulgent than I meant for it to be, but I do want to point out that this is some of my experience with ADHD, so I'm not just writing random stuff. It is slightly exaggerated, but I also say that about everything I do and it is pointed out that this is based off an off day.

The long alleyway makes for a nice crime scene, specifically because, despite the busy streets of this city, it's secluded and easy to overlook. It's not too small that the police team cannot fit, but it's small enough that you couldn't cram a really small building into the space. You don’t know how that’s relevant, but somehow it is.

The scene is relatively fresh, the latest of three that brought the BAU to the case. The police handling the scene had it cleared off for you, Spencer, and Derek to examine, via Hotch’s orders.

Spencer's watching you because he loves watching you, and because you're a little off today. There's something about the way you shuffle on your feet or the way you chew on the dead skin of your lip that he finds peculiar. To be fair, you're like this a lot, but today your symptoms are more obvious than usual.

Your eyes scan over the scene with a million different thoughts rushing through your head, less than fifty percent of them actually coherent and fit for conversation.

The three of you spitball ideas back and forth as you look at the man laying cold on the concrete. He's white, lean with light hair and a relatively thin frame. He's nothing like the other two victims, who's physical profiles were all over the place. The only thing they have in common with one another is a single occupation—male prostitution. While this and the first worked on the streets, the second’s job actually took place within a gay strip club a few blocks away from here.

He's got a starting blow to the back of the head, like the other two, and a number of bad bruising and heavy brutality to the rest with overkill to the chest, hands, and genitals. The message feels clear, but there's something a little off.

“Judging by the position of the body,” you speak, your hands restless, “and the way the weapon is discarded, I think our unsub snuck up on our victim in a blitz attack, hit him with the lead pipe, and ran that way.”

You don't point in any particular direction. Spencer glances up from his spot crouched next to the body. Your eyes are stuck on the bloody pipe several feet away from the body toward the secluded area around the back of the building that leads to more secluded walkways through more alleyways.

There is a long pause where they wait for you to explain, but you never do. Spencer thinks you look far off as he examines your face. Derek looks at you, his brow furrowed as he glances around. “Which way?”

“What?” you hum, looking up at him.

Derek elaborates, “Which way did the unsub go?”

It’s your turn to furrow your brow, turning the thin ring on your middle finger. “Did I say something about the unsub?”

Spencer stands, moving over to your side without spending too much time looking at your face. He doesn't want you to feel dumb or awkward, because he loves you and you're just a little forgetful sometimes.

“Yes,” he says in no particular way. “You said the unsub blitzed the victim and ran. Which way did he run?”

He achieves his goal, because you seem to make an “Oh, duh!” face before pointing in the direction of the street. “That way.”

He follows your finger, his brows knitting together. “That way toward the street?” He looks at the pipe, sitting in the exact opposite direction, like they ran and dropped it. “The pipe looks like he'd run the other way to avoid the street. Why do you think he ran toward?” It's a genuine question.

“To throw us off,” you shrug. “It's riskier to go toward the street, but it's also less suspicious than walking alone in the opposite direction where someone could see you and the victim and assume fault.”

He hums. You add on, speaking as quickly as Spencer usually does, “It also means he looks normal enough that he blends in with the crowd. Someone would see a strange figure coming out of a dark alley, no one would really notice a passerby turning a corner. And if this is a popular spot, it's too loud to hear anything going on all the way back here anyway, or no one thinks much of grunting noises when they do hear it.”

You trail off at the end, tight brows staring at the corpse. Derek shrugs, “But what was our victim doing all the way over here in the first pla–”

“There's something in his mouth,” you interrupt accidentally.

“What?”

You kneel down, taking the offered gloves from Spencer and putting them on. You open his mouth just a slight, spotting the white sticking out from under his tongue. Upon seeing it, both of the boys furrow their brows and tilt their heads. Spencer hands you some tweezers he'd borrowed from forensics for this reason.

Carefully, without disturbing the body as much as possible, you remove the strange object from under the tongue. It's a tiny slip of paper, folded up very small and still a little damp from saliva and any other bodily fluids it may have come in contact with. You unfold it.

“‘Unclean’,” Spencer reads from over your shoulder.

“That makes sense for the victimology mixed with the profile. He's a male prostitute,” Derek points out.

“Which explains the locale,” you say, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“What?”

“The locale,” you look up. “You asked why he was here. He must have been working, lured down here by the unsub, who waited for him to turn his back before he struck.”

Spencer agrees, taking a picture of the slip to send to Hotch. “He was killed at night. The streets are crowded, easy to slip into and not be seen. It's more risky to stray by yourself. What you said makes sense.”

You look up at him, standing to your full height again. “What did I say?” There you go again.

Morgan speaks up, “What you said about him runnin’ toward the street.”

Confusion passes your mind momentarily. “He ran toward the street.” You don't say it like a question, you say it like you're trying to back yourself up on it.

“That's what you said,” he insists.

You remember thinking that, but you don't remember saying that out loud.

Spencer swoops in like your hero, brushing his knuckles against the side of your arm. “Remember? You said,” he licks his lips, “ ‘it's riskier to go toward the street, but it's also less suspicious than walking alone in the opposite direction where someone could see you and the victim and assume fault.’ ”

You nod, remembering his word-by-word recitation as you watch him. “Yeah. I did say that.” You flag down one of the forensics workers to bag the evidence. She does so, taking your contaminated gloves with her as she leaves. You squirt a hefty amount of hand sanitizer on your hands from its place on your belt loop. “This is the first victim who's been left behind with a note, right?”

“Yes, autopsy results found nothing like this on the other victims.”

“If the victim was working when he was attacked, it’s possible that, paired with the brutality of the assault and the note left behind, our unsub may be experiencing some kind of internalized homophobia.” You trail off at the end.

Derek shrugs, looking down at the body. “There’s no evidence of sexual assault. Not on the other victims, at least.”

“How old do you think this building is?”

Spencer looks at you, your eyes scanning the wall of one of the buildings you’re between. Your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth, picking at the dead skin again. He thinks you’re cute.

“Focus, honeybun,” Derek reminds you, pulling your attention again.

“Sorry.”

“Judging by the faded color and uneven edges of the brick, and the decay in the mortar,” Spencer says, “I’d say this building is at least 50 years old. Well kept at one point and then let go not long after its production.”

You nod along slowly, taking in the information with a hum. “That’s cool…” Now that that’s out of your mind, you think for a moment. What were you saying again? Spencer watches your eyes light up. “Oh!” You turn to Derek. “He’s obviously confrontational, but he may still be very insecure in his ability and, thus, have to make up for his pent up energy with an excess of violence. Homophobia would explain the obliteration of the chest, hands, and especially the genitalia.”

Derek raises a brow. “What?”

“You asked about sexual assault,” you shrug. “If he continues to escalate above the note, we may see these words carved into the skin as a substitute for sexual violence, or even just blatant rape activity.”

Derek thinks about that, considering your analysis with a nodding head. He sighs and hums, “Alright, I’ll talk to Hotch.” He begins to turn away, grabbing his phone.

Spencer thinks you may have gotten distracted again because you ask, “Did I do something wrong?”

Derek looks back at you, shaking his head and flashing you one of his charming smiles. “No, honeybun, you’re perfect.”

“Oh.”

He leaves to take that call. You start to walk after him and Spencer gently takes your hand. You turn to face him, confused at first but giving him a sweet smile only a second later. “Are you okay?” he asks gently, his voice soft.

You tilt your head, “What do you mean?”

Spencer shrugs, taking your other hand just to rub his thumbs over your knuckles. “You’re hyper today, a little more distracted.”

As if proving his point, you begin shifting back and forth on your feet, shrugging and then shaking your head at the same time. “I’m okay,” you assure him, squeezing his hands gently. “I haven’t taken my medication in a couple days.”

He furrows his brow, suddenly a little worried. “Why not?”

“Didn’t feel like it. Also, I forgot it.” That makes sense. Spencer makes a mental note to remind you to take them as soon as you get back home. “But I’m okay, prommy.”

He smiles. “Prommy?”

“Promise,” you clarify, letting both your hands down so you can swing his from side to side. He lets you.

“I know what you mean,” he says. Though he knows he should probably be more professional because you’re both in public and leaving a crime scene (and Hotch might reprimand the both of you for it if he saw) he raises a hand to cradle your cheek because he doesn’t care. He just wants you to feel safe and loved. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod definitely. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” The way he says it is soft, as soft as a kiss to your forehead or a brush of his knuckles on your skin. “You know, I love you, right?”

You nod, smiling at him like he’s the world—because he is. “Yeah. I love you, too, honey.” You kiss his cheek quickly and pat it. You probably shouldn’t have done it right then, but you did, and you don’t regret it for even a moment.

Spencer’s just happy you know he loves you. “Okay,” he says. “Let’s go before Morgan leaves us.” He takes your hand as you both begin walking. He swings your joined hands, just as he knows you like it.

“He wouldn’t leave me,” you shake your head. “He likes me too much.”

Spencer chuckles. “Everyone likes you.”

“Not everyone.”

He looks at you, furrowing his brow. “Who doesn’t like you?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. And then immediately after, “Why does the sun look yellow? Isn’t it supposed to be white or something? I heard that somewhere.”

Spencer is happy to answer your questions as he opens the car door for you. Derek is already sitting in the front, his hands on the wheel. The passenger’s seat is empty, but Spencer sits in the back with you. You both speak gently so you’re not disturbing Derek. “The Earth’s atmosphere scatters blue light more efficiently than red light, so the slight deficit in blue light means the eye perceives the color of the sun as yellow. But, yes, the sun is actually white.”

“That’s cool,” you mumble. “I think sharks would look cool as hell with piercings. Do you?”

“I do,” Spencer chuckles. In the front seat, Derek shakes his head and smiles to himself, amused by your conversation.

“Did you know that sharks don’t have bones, so when they die, the saltwater dissolves their bodies so the only thing that’s left is their teeth?” You begin ranting, absent-mindedly picking at dirty under your nails. “And also, their bodies are primarily made of cartilage and connective tissue. It’s lighter than bone and keeps them flamboyant. Also, their skin has a similar feel to sandpaper.”

When you ramble, you sound like Spencer. You spend so much time with him and endorse his info dumps so much that you take on his speech style when you go on info dumps of your own. Spencer loves this because he knows that people tend to mimic the people they love as a sign of affection, and you mimic him a lot more than you think.

He also knew about all your shark facts, but he’s happy to listen. He smiles, “Is that what you were doing up late last night?”

You smile a little, turning away from him. “I got distracted.”

“What’s your thought process behind getting from the sun to sharks?” he wonders. “I’m curious.”

You shrug. “Well, you said your thing and I said it was cool. And then I remembered a post I saw that sharks would be cool with piercings. Then I remembered my shark things.” You glance down at your fingers, bringing them to your lips as you notice a tiny part at the very edge of the nail where it would probably tear off. “I just think sharks are cool,” you mumble around your finger.

“They are cool,” he says. He doesn’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself so he adds on, “Will you hold my hand? It’s a little cold.”

You look down at them, “Yeah.” With a nod, you take his hand between both of yours and let them warm his back up. They’re a bit chilly but they don’t feel that cold to you. You hold them anyway, because you love holding his hand. You intertwine your fingers with his and then cover what’s left.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says. He thinks for a moment. “Did you eat today?”

You nod, still watching his hand as you turn it to look at his palm. You gently trace the lines of it, forgetting for the moment that he’d wanted you to warm his hand up for him. But, as usual, he doesn’t mind. “I had a cereal bar this morning. One of those Coco Puff ones. They’re like Rice Krispy Treats.” He doesn’t think that’s sustainable. “And, before you ask, I did have water.”

He smiles. “I know. I told you to drink some before we left. You hungry?”

You shake your head, “Not really.”

“You want a snack?” he compromises, hoping—and knowing—you’ll say yes.

“Yes, please.”

“Okay,” he hums. “We’ll grab one on the way back.” Derek nods gently, remembering to do just that. It will only take a moment.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Spencer says, his voice lowering to a whisper. He knows Derek can still hear him, but he always just wants to whisper to you.

You look up at him, “For what?”

“Being so perfect.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes but ultimately smiling at the warmth in your chest. “You’re so cheesy, Spencer Reid.”

He’ll gladly be cheesy for you.

Criminal Minds taglist: @queermaxwooo @mdanon027 @lilianhallee @hpstuff244444 @thegr8estpuff @niktwazny303 @bubbles2300 Tag yourself here...

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #female reader #reader insert #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

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nastybuckybarnes · 24 days ago

Text

Mouse Trap

Pairing: Ghost X Reader

Summary: Ghost's little mouse finds herself stuck in a trap. Who better to save her?

Warnings: Violence, Language, Angst, Fluff, kinda unhinged Ghost?, Torture ig, murder, Injuries, self-hate kinda i guess

Word Count: 2.5k

A/n: I'm literally in love with this little series, i think it will forever have a special place in my heart

~*~

Days go by since Ghost last saw you, since he fucked you, and the skulls seem to disappear once again.

His little street mouse has disappeared without a trace.

Ghost is a man of logic. A man who can use the information at hand to come to the most realistic conclusion.

And, in this case, you've realized what a fucking nutcase he is and have decided you never want to see him again.

I mean, what else could it be?

His sour mood is taken out on anyone and everyone unfortunate enough to get in his way.

And today is no different.

His brows are permanently furrowed and his grip on his riffle is unwavering as he and Soap do their rounds.

The Scot is quiet for a long while before deciding to try and poke the bear.

"Still nothin from yer mouse?" He asks, knowing damn well the answer.

Ghost says nothing, doesn't even address the fact that the man has spoken.

"You ever think of... lookin for her? I mean, she doesn't exactly spend time in the safest areas," he presses.

If Soap hadn't spent as much time with the bigger man as he has, he wouldn't have noticed the slight falter in Ghost's steps.

Sure, he'd looked for you, but the idea of you being hurt or even killed wasn't one he entertained.

In his mind, no one would be stupid enough to touch what's his, but people have certainly tried before.

His world shifts slightly, the tension in his shoulders changing. He's no longer worried that you're hiding from him, no. Now he's wondering who would take you and where they'd hide you.

Those are the thoughts that occupy his every waking moment for days, until he finally gets his answer.

While combing the streets for any sign of you -or the hostiles he's supposed to be looking for- there's a gift from God.

On the ground, in what looks alarmingly close to blood, is a skull drawing. And a trail of the same blood-like substance leads him better than breadcrumbs.

"Soap, on my six," he murmurs into his radio, carefully following the blood trail as it leads deeper into the city, into enemy territory.

Soap is quick to meet up with the Lieutenant, eyes and ears peeled as Ghost comes to a halt outside of an old office building.

"Wha're we doin' here, Lt?" He asks quietly, watching his back as Ghost picks the lock.

"Savin' my mouse."

The lock opens with a soft 'click' and he shoulders the door open, staying low and scanning the first room quickly.

He motions for Soap to follow and the Scot does, sticking close as the slowly sweep room after room.

As they go up the stairs, Ghost slows, tilting his head to the side as he hears the sound of muffled voices not far away.

He follows the sound, being extra careful as the voice gets louder and louder, until he can make out the words.

His stomach drops the tiniest bit as they approach the third floor.

He's done this countless times, this should be no different.

But it is different.

You're in there. He has no room for error. Not when your life could be on the line.

A man is speaking, and Ghost takes that as his cue to creep into the hallway.

Soap grabs his shoulder, giving him a strong look.

"This could be a trap. We should call the rest of the team."

The skull-faced man only stares at him for a long while then tugs out of his grip.

"S'not a trap, Johnny. She's in there. You wanna leave, go. M'not leavin without her." With that, he turns back to the hallway and moves forward.

Though he has his doubts, Soap follows closely behind, staying silent as the voice gets louder.

Other sounds are able to be heard now, too. These ones confirming Ghost's suspicions.

Feminine grunts, groans, and cries of pain.

At the sound of your voice, a switch flips inside of the large man and he's quickly and silently moving forward, taking down any hostiles in his path. Anyone that stands between him and you is promptly killed, dropping to the ground with quiet 'thud's.

The man that's been torturing you drops his knife onto the table and yanks your head back by your hair, forcing you to look at him again.

"I'm gonna ask you one last time, doll face: who sent you?"

Your eyes roll in your head for a moment before finally focusing on him.

It's been several days of this, if not longer, and you're starting to worry that your Ghost, that Simon, isn't coming for you.

You still stay strong, saying nothing.

This only seems to aggravate him further. He drops your head and walks back over to his table of torture toys, looking for something suitable for what he has planned for you.

Your eyes flutter to a movement in the doorway of the room, and you feel your heart fill with hope as one of the guards gets yanked into the hallway.

Familiar eyes peer into the room, immediately locking on yours, and you feel safe.

He's here. He came for you.

You knew he would.

He presses a finger to his lips, urging you to stay silent, and you give him a soft nod of understanding. Your eyes flutter back to your kidnapper, and you watch as he picks up a pair of pliers.

He clicks them together a few times then turns to face you, a wicked grin on his face.

"If you're not going to use that tongue, there's no sense in having it, is there?" He asks rhetorically.

He steps forward, grabbing your jaw roughly, and then he's collapsing on top of you, his blood spilling across your face.

You let out a startled scream, jerking your head back as he rolls onto the floor.

The room is suddenly filled with chaos.

A gun is pressed to your head, and Ghost has another man in a headlock, his eyes on yours.

"Keep those eyes on me, Mouse," he orders, making sure your gaze is locked on his as he snaps the mans neck.

"Don't come any closer!" The man holding the gun to your head warns, pressing it against you harder.

You wince but your eyes never leave Ghosts. Not even when he produces a small blade and whips it at the man beside you.

Ghost steps toward him as he writhes on the ground, yanking him up by the collar of his shirt and ripping the blade out of his eye socket.

"That's for lookin' at her. Imagine what m'gonna do to you for touchin' her," he snarls, big hand nearly crushing the man's windpipe.

You stare at them as Soap comes to your aid, freeing you from the rope binding you to the chair.

"Maybe, if you apologize nice and proper, I'll let you live," Ghost whispers, his eyes empty and hard as he looks at the man.

"Look at her with your good eye and tell her how sorry you are."

The man's head whips around to you and he stutters out an apology.

"Now, tell me how sorry you are."

He turns back to Ghost with his mouth open to apologize and you flinch as another gunshot rings out, and then he's crumpling to the floor in a heap, blood pouring from both eyes.

You stare at his corpse, at the dead man who threatened your life, then slowly bring your eyes up as the man who saved you approaches.

"How's she lookin', Johnny?" He asks, crouching down in front of you as Soap presses some gauze to your thigh tightly.

You whine at the pain, and Ghost gives one of your hands a squeeze.

"Not great. Bleedin' real heavy. We can drop her off at one of the med tents and-"

"Not happenin'," Ghost interupts.

He pulls you from the chair and carefully lays you on the floor, working with Soap to try and slow the bleeding as much as possible.

Your head spins as the adrenaline slowly leaves you, and you lift a hand in search of your big soldier.

"Simon," you whisper, vision going blurry.

Soap's eyes shoot up to you, shocked that you know the Lieutenant's real name. He can't help but wonder what exactly would happen when Ghost would go on patrol alone. How many nights were spent with you if he's trusted you with his name.

Ghost grabs your hand in an instant, his eyes over yours.

"M'here, Mouse."

Your bottom lip quivers and tears streak down your temples into your hair.

"Tired... so tired," you whisper.

He shoots Soap a worried look then gives your hand another squeeze.

"I know, but you can't sleep yet, Mouse. We'll stop for a coffee on our way back to base, how's that sound?"

You frown, edges of your vision slowly going dark.

"Simon," you whisper once more, pushing your hand up to dust over his masked face.

Soap watches, eyes full of wonder as Ghost, the man who just murdered over a dozen people, is soft and gentle with you.

Your fingers smooth over his masked lips, and then your hand is tumbling down beside your head and your eyes are falling closed.

"No, none of that. Eyes on me, Mouse. On me."

You try, you really do, but you just need a moment to rest. That's all. Just one moment.

~*~

You're in and out of consciousness from that moment forward, finally fully coming to in a dimly lit room.

You're groggy and confused, blinking several times to get the fog clouding your vision to go away.

When things finally clear up, your heart jumps in your chest and you look around frantically.

This isn't familiar.

None of this is.

"Easy, Mouse. You're safe. M'here."

Except that.

Your eyes dart over to the source of the sound, finding those familiar piercing eyes.

Instinctively, you relax and reach for him, stopping with a hiss when something tugs at your arm.

"Easy, love," Ghost murmurs, reaching out and taking your hand in both of his.

Tears well up in your eyes and you look away from him, shaking your head.

"'S'alright, little one. M'here. Not goin' anywhere anytime soon."

It's true. He has no intention of leaving your side until you allow it. Something he has made explicitly clear to the members of his team.

You look up at him with big teary eyes and his icy heart cracks in his chest.

"Don't make me go. Not back to city, please," you beg quietly.

His gaze softens and he shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut for a brief moment before tugging his mask up over his lips and leaning down to kiss your knuckles.

"You're not going back there. Not if I have any say in it."

Your breaths start coming in faster, more shallow, until you're hyperventalating, one hand grasping at the gown on your chest.

Everything is too much. Too constricting, too enclosed.

You can't breathe.

"Hey, hey! Eyes on me."

You obey, your eyes finding his once more, and he nods encouragingly.

He brings your hand to his chest, flattens it against the thin shirt, and you can feel his heart beating against your palm.

"I want you to breathe with me, Mouse. In... and out."

You slowly copy him, slowing your breathing to match his and keeping your hand against his warm chest the entire time.

Eventually, the feeling of his skin only one layer away is too distracting. You slide your fingers up to the small area of skin between his shirt and his balaclava, stroking it gently.

Your breath hitches at the feeling of his flesh against yours, and you lean toward him, desperate to feel more of him.

He leans forward and takes your other hand in his and you stare in awe, pressing your palm against his. His hands are rough, calloused and hardened, but they feel so good, so right against yours.

You slide your fingers up his forearm, tracing the scars, veins and tattoos while your other hand wraps around the back of his neck, slipping under the back of his balaclava and tangling into his hair.

"Simon," you whisper, tugging him closer by the nape of his neck.

He leans in, scarred lips tilting up in a soft smile at the sound of his name on your tongue.

He presses his forehead to yours, his eyes falling closed a moment after yours.

Carefully, he nudges his nose against yours, then tilts his head to slot his lips against yours.

You kiss him back softly, tugging away after a moment and drawing your brows together.

"What?" He asks softly, his free hand coming up to stroke your cheek.

"Where do I stay? Here?"

He shakes his head, pulling back a bit more after pressing one more kiss to your mouth.

"You'll stay with me. Unless you'd prefer your own room."

You're shaking your head before he's finished speaking, and he nods knowingly.

"Then you'll stay with me. We should only be here a few months longer. Then you can come home with me, if you'd like."

He'd be lying if he said he hasn't given much thought to the future. But after this? After nearly losing you before he truly got to have you? He's not willing to let you leave his side.

You only nod, eyes full of awe and adoration.

He gives you one more kiss, then gets up to get a med officer to check on you.

~*~

You spend a few days in the medical wing, and then, once you're given the go-ahead (under the ever-watchful eye of Ghost), you're changing into military-grade pants and a black t-shirt, and sitting patiently while Ghost laces up your boots.

"We match," you say proudly, beaming up at him when he rises to his full height.

He grins down at you through his mask, his eyes crinkling around the corners, and presses his forehead against yours sweetly.

"That we do, Mouse. Now, lets get you on your feet again."

He takes your hands and gently helps you to your feet, steadying you when you try to put weight onto your injured leg.

Your face screws up in pain, but you push through it, taking a few careful steps with his help.

"You sure you're ready?" He asks warily, watching you intently until you glare at him from the corner of your eye.

"Ready. Want to leave."

He nods, wrapping an arm around your waist and all but lifting you off the ground every time you try to step with your injured leg.

He leads you through the base, his glare sharp enough to have the onlookers scurrying out of sight.

Ever since he brought you back, bloody and wounded in his arms, you've been the talk of the base.

Who are you? Why does the Lieutenant like you so much? Can you be trusted?

That last question has plagued even some of his closest friends.

But as he helps you to the barracks, you lean further into him, you trust him at your most vulnerable, and he knows deep in his soul that you are someone he can trust.

Finally, after what feels like forever, he unlocks the door to his quarters and pushes it open.

The trek took far more energy than you'd like to admit, and you eagerly take a seat at the desk against the wall.

"You hungry?" He asks after a moment of silence, watching you as you look around curiously.

You nod, glancing up at him when he takes a step to the door.

"I'll be back in a minute. Try not to get into any trouble while I'm gone." He can't help but grin when you cross your arms over your chest.

Without another word, he exits the room, leaving you alone to explore.

You do exactly that, carefully taking in your surroundings.

There's a bed, a real bed, against the far wall. Across from that is a small wardrobe.

On the opposite side of the room is a door, and you find yourself limping over to it curiously.

You push it open and flick on the light, your eyes widening when you see the bathroom.

A proper bathroom, with running water that probably gets warm.

You turn the faucet on, watching in awe as it takes only a few moments for steam to start billowing. Your eyes follow the steam until they meet your own reflection in the mirror.

An audible gasp leaves your lips, and you lean forward, staring in a combination of disgust and horror.

You've seen your reflection since hiding out, but never quite so clearly.

The stitches at your hairline are crusted with blood, and you have bruises all over your face. Dark splotches that paint your skin in a way that makes your stomach churn.

How could Simon stand to look at you like this?

You splash some of the water on your face, hissing when it's a little bit too hot. Not a problem you thought you'd ever have.

Turning it down, you wait unti lit cools slightly to try and scrub your face clean, to make yourself more presentable for him, to look pretty.

No matter how hard you try, however, you can't clean the evidence of the torture from your face.

Hot tears streak down your cheeks and you turn your back on your reflection, angry that you ever dared to look at yourself.

At least before, you didn't know what you looked like. You didn't know what your Ghost had to look at, to touch, kiss.

"Mouse?"

You sniffle and wipe your cheeks quickly at the sound of his voice, opening the bathroom door a crack.

He takes one look at your face, at your red eyes and tear-stained cheeks, and he's pushing his way into the bathroom and inspecting you for injuries.

"What happened?"

You shake your head and tug on his balaclava gently.

"I want one."

His brows furrow and you can almost see the gears in his head trying to process what's going on.

"What?"

"Please. Want one... like Ghost."

He cups your cheek gently, big warm hand soothing your aching skin.

"Why? I like seeing your pretty face. Dont want you to cover it up if you don't need to."

This makes you tear up once more and you tug out of his grip, turning your back to him and hiding your face in your hands.

"Need to," you whisper thickly, "not pretty. Not now."

He's appalled by your words, stepping in front of you and gently pulling your hands away from your face.

"Where'd you get an idea like that?"

You sniffle and shake your head, avoiding his eyes.

"Broken... ugly..." Your eyes catch your reflection in the mirror and you glare at what you see, your bottom lip quivering as you try to hold back your tears.

A surprising rush of emotions floods him and he takes a few moments to breathe and steady himself.

He's not used to this whole softness thing. Not great at it, either.

"You think I'm ugly? I've got more bumps and bruises than you can count, little one. Scars, too. Does that make me ugly? Should I forever keep my face hidden from you?"

You frown up at him and shake your head quickly.

He could never be ugly, not to you.

"Then why are you any different? I see these," he strokes the mark on your cheek gently, "and it makes me want to protect you. It reminds me that you're fragile. Delicate. It makes me angry that someone would put their fucking hands on you, but thats it."

He pulls you into his arms and lays a few kisses on the top of your head.

"You're precious, Mouse. So very special, and so beautiful. M'more than happy to prove it to you if you don' believe me."

His voice drops a bit lower, as do his kisses, and you can't stop the smile that tugs at the corner of your mouth.

"There she is, there's my pretty girl," he whispers, kissing your lips briefly then pulling back once more.

"Now, you need to eat something and I need to debrief with Price. Rest while I'm gone, because you're not gonna be doing much sleeping when I get back."

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost and mouse #ghost x reader #ghost x mouse #ghost/reader #tw angst #tw torture

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allfearstofallto · 9 months ago

Text

Prying Eyes

Yandere Scaramouche x Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Synopsis: Such things as privacy don't exist when you're married to Scaramouche

TW: yandere, obsessive themes, violence, oral (m. receiving), non-con, very harsh words (just Scara talking)

You always appreciated the fact that Scaramouche let you have a separate bedroom. When you asked for it, head bowed and hands trembling in fear of how he'd respond, you remember thinking that he'd punish you for not wanting to be in his presence every hour of the day.

But much to your surprise, he merely thought on it for a second, then nodded, “Yes, that would be fine.”

Your eyes widened to the size of saucers. You wholly went into this expecting him to say no, and you thought he was going to. There was no harm in asking, you told yourself, but there was harm. Scaramouche had the most ruthless punishments for you, his “doting wife,” and you were subjecting yourself to the idea of one, just for the opportunity, the opportunity that you actually got.

“Are-are you sure, my lord?” You stuttered, you weren't sure if he'd heard you correctly and your mouth went dry knowing that he could take this back away from you thinking it as a misunderstanding.

“Must you constantly ask questions?” He sighed in annoyance, “I agreed upon it so it will be done. Go and bring me a maid.”

You turned on your heels quickly while also trying not to seem to excited. Your heart was beating so hard in your chest, you were sure it would lurch out of your throat.

Your hand was nearly on the sliding door when he spoke again, “Wait,” he ordered. And you did. Still as a board and stuck in place. His word was law. He said jumpand you'd ask how high. He said wait and you didn't dare ask how long. If you were waiting for him, you were expected to be enthusiastic about it.

You looked back to face his, his expression still as unreadable as usual, “Yes, my lord?”

“You've forgotten something,” his finger was gently patting his delicate cheek.

A kiss was pressed against his face, something he seemed to enjoy from you. But there was a little more emotion pit into it this time, a bit of a more expressive kiss on his cheek, showing how happy this made you. And the slight blush on his face told you that he was happy too.

Your room was at the very end of the hall. It wasn't your room just yet. There were no empty spaces in the balladeer's home, a former supply closet was to be cleaned out for you. But anything was better than nothing.

Of course, nothing was without it's rules and Scaramouche had a few. If he requested you spend the night in his bed, you would, no ifs ands or buts. Your room was also to stay open to him, if he wanted entry, he'd have it, no matter the time of day. And lastly, he didn't want you to spend all day in your room. You were still expected to come out and wander the house, and most specifically, greet him throughout the day.

All of those rules sounded like nothing to you, easy feats considering how strict Scara typically was with you.

“I'm doing this for you because I want to trust you. Do you understand?” he said the day your room was completed. His words fell on deaf ears as you looked over the area in awe. Scaramouche spared no expenses when it came to you and it showed in the expensive, handcrafted furniture that was given to you as well.

His eyebrow twitched in annoyance at your lack of a response and to get your attention back, he grabbed you by the cheeks and made you look at him, “Just as easily as this was given to you, it can be taken away. This is a privilege, not a right,”

“Yes, my lord, I apologize,”

Your answer was enough to suffice and he released you, but not without swiping a finger across your lips first, a sign that he was going to want more than a kiss on the cheek later.

Much to your surprise, he left you to your own vices. Saying he'd see you at dinner and to enjoy your room. Those words were by far the best thing he could ever say to you, that and “I'm sorry for thinking that I was in love with you, you're free to go.” But that would never happen.

You sat at the desk you were gifted, the chair was possibly the most comfy place you'd sat your butt. Thick and soft enough to sleep in if you truly wanted to. And you did want to. You wanted to do whatever you wanted to, because he wasn't there to stop you.

Your journal was pulled from where you'd hidden it on your body. For the longest time, your journal was your solace. It was a little booklet that you'd found in Scaramouche's office and it was where you stored your thoughts, your escape plans, where you screamed into the void and didn't let the void scream back. It was your only comfort.

The book was flipped open and placed on the desk and you began to write in it. All your thoughts, all your feelings, everything was in this book. You were never truly one for writing before you got in this situation, but after, words were all you had.

There was a gentle knock at your door. The fact that someone was knocking at all told you that it wasn't Scaramouche. Your book was placed into a drawer, the first place you could think to hide it, and you told the person to come in.

“Good evening, my lady,” a maid bowed to you. All the maids in the manor looked the same. That's because that's what Scara wanted. They had the same haircut and they wore the same clothes and shoes. When they moved around, they kept their heads lowered to obscure their faces and they all spoke in a whispery tone, it was like he'd managed to hire the exact same woman thirty times.

“Good evening,” you replied back. You didn't bow to her in return. No matter how much your husband berated and scolded you, he insisted that you were better than the employees, and that you were not to lower your head to them.

“The Lord requests your presence in the dining room,” she said in a hushed tone, “He would like to eat dinner now.”

You looked out the window, by the way the sun hung in the sky, it didn't even seem close to dinner time, “Now?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

“The Lord will be leaving for a trip before nightfall, he wants to partake in his dinner early and he wants you there with him,”

Of course his selfishness would force you to have to eat your dinner early as well. But you didn't complain, it was not like there was anything the maid could do anyways. You stepped up from your chair and walked past her. In your disappointment and anger at having to leave your little safe space, you didn't notice that she'd lingered behind.

Scaramouche left that night after dinner, another one of those many trips he took that you weren't allowed to join him on. Fifteen nights of peace, as you called it, fifteen nights of your own thoughts and feelings.

But all good things had to come to an end, and he returned home on the sixteenth day, bearing his usual gift of a flower from whatever nation he visited and a new tea for you to drink.

“Did you miss me?” He asked with an arm around your waist and you resisted the urge to gag in his face.

“Always, my lord,” was your answer instead.

You watched as he walked up the stairs and to his office, then you went back to your own room. The whole time you were gone, that's where you tried to stay as much as possible. Between your mandatory lessons that Scaramouche made you take in etiquette and skills, there was time to sit and enjoy the peace of your room. To bask in a sunlight that felt like your own, to write in your journal without the fear of him peeking over your shoulder.

Another knock at your door and a maid stepped into your room, “Good evening, my lady. The Lord requests that you bed with him tonight.”

You sighed. That was all you could do. Just sigh and take it. In order to keep the “luxury” of your own bedroom, you had to do what he ordered. And what he ordered was his night of bedding together.

If it wasn't for his piss poor personality, stalkerish tendencies, and jealousy to the point of obsession, the indigo haired man would actually be rather attractive. That's what you thought as you stepped into his bedroom and saw him sitting on the bed, his kimono open, and his eyes on you hungrily. Skin like porcelain and sharp eyes that practically shone in moonlight.

“Come. Sit with me,” he patted the bed beside him. Your steps were with purpose, head held high while you made your way across the room. You sat next to him as he ordered, then wrapped your arms around his thin waist and rested your head on his lap, facing away from him. He didn't ask for that, but he always loved when you went above and beyond for him.

“That room of yours must be rather pleasant, you've been agreeable lately,” he spoke while patting your head.

“I enjoy it, my lord,”

He merely hummed and continued to pat you. Against your cheek, you could feel him hardening in his pants, the last sign you needed that this would not turn into a night of just sleeping until sunrise.

“Am I…satisfying you tonight, my lord,” you asked quietly and hoped that the answer would be no.

“You wish to taste the cum that makes you wish that you could slice your own tongue off?”

His words were spoken so casually, so calm and collected, that you almost didn't register what he'd said. But sure enough, he'd said it. Said a sentence that sounded familiar to you. Said something that you'd written.

“i-i apologize, my lord, but I believe I misheard you?” You began to raise your head from his lap, but his hand on the back of your head changed from loving pets to firmly gripping your hair, and your face was pushed back down.

“Misheard? No. I think I read every word correctly,” you opened your mouth to speak, but he continued talking, “Sex with me makes you disgusted, you couldn't get aroused if you tried.”

Every word made his grip on your hair get tighter and tighter, until it felt like he was going to rip your scalp from your skulls. Tears welled in your eyes. From the pain, from the fear, from the shock. He truly knew everything you'd written, even if he wasn't around.

“W-wait! Please! My lord!” You sobbed, but he didn't falter. Tears soaked the fabric of his hakama, yet his erection was still hard and twitching, your face being pushed even closer to it.

He continued to speak as he opened his pants, freeing his cock and rubbing it against your trembling lips, “But your disgust with me isn't all that's there, is it?” You whimpered as the salty precum forced its way into your mouth, mixing with your tears until you couldn't tell the taste of the two apart anymore, “Answer me!”

“N-no-” there wasn't even an opportunity to finish what you were saying, the second your mouth was open for more than crying, he forced his way into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat immediately.

“You were going to leave me weren't you. You were going to try to,” he spoke between pants as he fucked your mouth, still gripping your hair so tightly it was giving you a headache, “I'll give you credit, some of those ideas were thought on for a long time. Seducing a guard? My, aren't you a minx?”

You gagged and choked on his dick, sobbing between every thrust, but trying not to black out at the same time. Every time he fucked into the back of your throat, you saw stars behind your eyes, all you could do was breathlessly beg around his cock for him to stop, to forgive you.

Your head was held down, keeping his length all the way down your throat. The way you sputtered didn't deter him, his grip didn't loosen, even when you hit and scratched his thighs.

A tear was wiped from your eyes. A gesture that would've been considered tender, but his other actions made it seem meaningless, “You really are a stupid little thing,” he degraded you in such a sweet, but vicious tone. With your head still pressed flush against his lap, he started a slower pace of thrusting his hips up into your mouth, “You truly think that you can get away from me? That you can pretend to hate me? I'm merciful to only you, yet you don't appreciate it.”

His cock twitched inside your mouth a few times, followed by a loud groan from him. He threw his head back, gasping as his body twitched through an orgasm. His cum shot out of his cock too quickly for you to even attempt to swallow it down and there was so much, it spilled from your lips.

You could only imagine what you looked like when your head was pulled from his cock, your face covered in tears, drool, and cum. You were panting and sobbing, still trying to beg for his forgiveness.

“Your room will be locked and your little diary destroyed,” he used his still firm grip on your head to make you look at you, “You'll burn the book yourself and I want you to be the one to lock the door, it's only fair.”

Through little hics and sobs, you could only ask one question, “H-how…?” How did he know? How did he find out?

“I'll have eyes on you, always on you, for as long as you live,”

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