#instead of threatened with a stick and teeth | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

steddieprompts · 14 days ago

Text

Toothpicks. Steddie. 1323 words. cute getting together.

Steve was grumpy. Actually, Grumpy was putting it mildly. The happy-go-lucky music from the children’s movie playing through the Family Video speakers was putting him on edge.

Robin popped her gum and Steve had to grip the counter to keep himself from snapping at her.

It wasn’t her fault that he was going insane. He and Eddie watched some stupid program on the dangers of smoking as a joke, but then it actually scared Steve so… here he was, chewing on toothpicks instead of taking a smoke break.

Robin popped her gum again and Steve ground his teeth down on the little stick of wood.

With a weary sigh Steve took the splintering toothpick out of his mouth and threw it away before grabbing another one out of the box he had on the counter.

“How’s it goin’?” Robin asked, slight smirk on her face like she knew exactly how it was going.

“Fantastic,” Steve deadpanned, popping the new toothpick in his mouth.

“I’m proud of you, you know. This is a great step for your health!” Robin said for what felt like the twentieth time.

“Yeah, yeah. It feels like not smoking will kill me faster,” Steve moved the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other… and then back. At least they were mint flavored, it kinda tasted like a menthol cigarette… kinda.

Just then the bell above the door jingled and Eddie sauntered in, the sound of the fall storm outside filling the store before the door closed and cut it off again.

“Afternoon, your highness. M’lady.” Eddie said, tipping his imaginary hat to both of them before settling against the counter.

“Sir knight,” Robin fake curtsied.

Steve just grumbled. Now that Eddie was just across the counter, Steve could smell the cigarette he must have smoked in the van on the way over.

“Ahhh… How’s quitting going?” Eddie smirked at him.

“It be going better if you kept your second hand smoke to yourself,” Steve gritted out.

“Hmmm. No can do, Steve-o. It’s part of my charm,” Eddie replied.

“Charm. Ha,” Robin scoffed.

“My wiles are not for you, Lady Buckley,” Eddie said, tilting his head towards her.

“Have your wiles ever been for anybody?” She sniped back.

“I swear to God, if you two don’t shut up.” Steve hissed, biting down on the toothpick and feeling it splinter. “Shit!” He pulled it out of his mouth and threw it away, grabbing a third one out of the box and putting it between his lips like he was going to light it. Eddie was quick to the draw.

“Need a light?” He said, pulling out his zippo and flipping it open. Steve had gotten it for him for his birthday, before he decided to quit. He even had ‘very metal’ engraved on the side. Now Eddie was mocking him with it.

“If you don’t put that away I’m gonna steal it the next time I’m at your house and you’ll never see it again” Steve threatened.

Eddie put the lighter back in his pocket with a frown. “So, I take it it’s going bad.” Eddie mused. Steve rolled the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “Uh… How’re the uh, the toothpicks working out?”

Steve shrugged, “Not sure they’re doing anything.” The bell dinged and a customer walked in. “Welcome to Family Video!” Steve called over to them in the best customer service voice he could muster. “Maybe they’ll annoy me less.” Steve shot at Eddie and Robin before stepping around the counter.

Eddie watched Steve go until he heard Robin clearing her throat behind him. Eddie slowly turned back to her.

“The toothpicks may not be working for Steve, but they’re sure working for you, huh Munson?” She said with a pointy grin. Eddie could feel the blush rising up his neck.

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” Eddie mumbled, “Besides, I have to get home. Need to, uh, talk to Wayne before he leaves for work.”

“Uh-huh,” Robbing said, trying her best not to laugh, “See you later, Edward!”

Eddie flipped her off before pushing his way out the door.

Five minutes later Steve came back to ring out the customer. “Have a picture perfect day!” Steve called as they pushed out the door. “Did Eddie leave?” He asked, customer service demeanor dropping the second the door closed. He rubbed his temple.

“Yup!” Robin said, popping the ‘p.’

“What’s with you?” He asked.

“Nothin’,” she said, barely able to keep the smile off her face.

“Bullshit. Robin…” Steve sighed.

“I just think that Eddie… well… lets just say I think he really appreciates you trying to quit. Especially with the toothpicks…” She trailed off. Seve stared at her.

“What?”

“Do you know what an oral fixation is?”

“Robs,” Steve sighed, “I don’t have the mental capacity for this right now.”

“Okay. Nevermind.”

Of course, two days later found Steve parked on the couch at Eddie’s trailer, Eddie himself at the other end, strumming his guitar.

“What are you trying to learn?” Steve said, tearing his eyes away from where Eddie’s fingers walked along the fretboard.

“Uh…” Eddie picked out a few more chords, swearing quietly when they didn’t come out the way he planned. “Just a Metallica song I’ve been trying to get down.”

“Mmm,” Steve hummed in acknowledgement before reaching into his pocket to pull out the box of toothpicks. Eddie’s eyes shot up at the sound and Steve paused. “Mind if I smoke?” Steve joked.

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie groaned, looking back down at the neck of the guitar. “Sometimes I wonder if you were born with dad software installed.”

“Probably,” Steve shrugged, popping a toothpick in his mouth.

Eddie glanced up again, eyes caught on the tiny piece of wood between Steve’s teeth.

“You okay?” Steve asked and Eddie looked down, heat creeping up his neck again.

“Yeah, fine.” He responded, making the mistake of looking up at Steve again, gaze getting stuck on Steve’s mouth.

“You want one?” Steve asked, holding out the little box.

“No! No. I’m fine.”

Steve watched as Eddie went back to his guitar, only playing one or two chords before his fingers would fumble.

Steve’s brow furrowed as he watched Eddie. Robin’s voice popped into his head: “he really appreciates you trying to quit. Especially with the toothpicks.”

Steve watched Eddie shift, uncomfortably. He had been around enough people who had crushes on him. He knew what it looked like. And Eddie was exhibiting all the signs.

Interesting.

“You, uh,” Steve shifted a little closer, “you sure you don’t want one?” He rattled the box and Eddie’s eyes flicked to it before flicking up to Steve’s mouth. He smiled, giving the toothpick between his teeth a little wiggle.

Eddie cleared his throat, the sound about two octaves higher than normal, and looked back down at his guitar.

“Wow… Are you really that easy?” Steve said before he could stop himself. Eddie’s eyes shot back up to him and he plucked a string so hard it snapped back to the body with a loud pop.

“What?” Eddie squeaked out, blush taking over his face.

“Shit. Sorry, Eddie, I shouldn’t have said it like that,” Steve squeezed his eyes shut, “it’s just, I haven’t had a cigarette in four days and you’re so,” Steve rubbed a hand over his face, “I don’t know, cute? Amazing? And I keep watching you play guitar with your…” Steve waved at Eddie’s hands, “fingers and rings and its hot and distracting and…” Steve let out a sigh and looked back up, catching Eddie’s eyes.

“Steve,” Eddie put the guitar down next to the couch, “Take the toothpick out of your mouth.”

Steve did as he was told. “Why?”

Eddie shifted closer on the couch. “’Cuz It’ll get in the way of me kissing you.”

Steve barely had time to smile before Eddie’s lips were on his.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve is gonna get Eddie to quit too #and he's gonna be so dramatic about it

918 notes · View notes

dilatorywriting · 8 months ago

Text

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 3]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 5.2k

Summary: Teaching a Siren to read is perhaps the best or worst idea that you've ever had. If only you were half as capable of reading between the lines.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

‘U-G-L-Y’

“Wow,” you drawled. “What a wonderful use of your new talents.”

The fish you were cooking landed upside down on the hot stone with a crackling sizzle of skin that you could feel as a jumping prickle of heat all along your arm. You poked at your impromptu stovetop with your impromptu stick-spatula and prepared your impromptu leaf-plates. A true culinary connoisseur, you were. When you were rescued, you were going to argue to Riddle that you deserved a promotion to the kitchens. Though, apparently not everyone appreciated your talents.

‘UGLY’ the Siren poked again, jabbing his talon into the sand.

“Then bring me prettier fish,” you returned, pointed. “It’s not that hard.”

His sharp, black claws came up to point at you next alongside his wonderful, two-syllable insult. Then back to you again, with four fingers this time. Both hands going for it. There was a tight, irritated expression on his face that you refused to call a pout because firstly, surely this vicious king of the seas could never pull something so childish. And secondly, because in these past few days you’d developed a terrible habit of just chattering each and every one of your thoughts aloud. And if you called him bratty, or dared imply such pouting was coming from his regal visage, you were just setting yourself up to get drenched by his flailing tail all over again.

“You can’t hurt my feelings,” you said, bland. “Ugly is the nicest thing you’ve ever called me.”

He huffed and smacked his fins against the sand. The trailing, dark tips cracked against your leg and you kicked him right back. It didn’t actually hurt, no more than a pinch to the side, but you’d spent enough time with this asshole now that not fighting back like a toddler pitching a tantrum wasn’t an option anymore.

Just over two weeks, now. Fifteen days and counting.

Those first few days had been spent in a nervous, prey-like panic, of course. Watching him circle the bay with his shredded fins, crying at the top of his lungs until your goosebumps had goosebumps. And then you’d helped untangle him from the mess you’d made, delicately working salt-brined twine away from weeping wounds. Sure, there’d been that whole hoopla of him pinning you in the sand after your act of Great Chivalry and promptly threatening to rip your throat out with his teeth, but you’d moved past that. The offering of home-cooked meals had softened his scaly hide, and then the even greater move of handing him your species’ alphabet like some great, guarded secret of old had sealed the deal. Cheers all around. It’d only taken you nearly being eaten, disemboweled, and drowned, but you’d made peace with your roommate. What a success story.

And now instead of trying to murder you, he just called you U-G-L-Y.

So, you know, baby steps.

The thin, pointed end of his tail whipped up from where you’d kicked him to twine around your ankle and give a sharp tug that had you sprawling face first into the sand with an oomph. Your great tumble sent all those pretty letters of his scattering in the breeze, and you spat out a mouthful of grit.

“Here’s a new one for you,” you chirped, digging your fingers into the muck. F-U-C-K—Y-O-U.

The Siren yowled, which you’d come to recognize far too well as a prickle along your nape and that forever echoing tug, tug, tug somewhere in your head that could never return the call with its corresponding answer. His tail flailed out again to smack at your hands. It was thick, and scaly, and all smooth, powerful muscle. The fact that he hadn’t crushed your poor fingers into a sad, bony paste by now beneath its wrath was a miracle. If you were a more optimistic person, you’d say he was being extra gentle with you on purpose. But even you weren’t delusional enough to think he liked you that much.

“Okay, okay,” you grouched, spitting out another mouthful of pebbles. “Fine. Just not around the food. Unless you want to have to go hunting for dinner all over again.”

The Siren huffed, rolling his eyes like it was a professional sport, and settled himself prettily back against the butt of his tail like he’d never even tried to beat you to death with his fins at all.

You sighed and pulled yourself back out of the sand, scrubbing it from your salt-sticky skin as best as you were able. You returned to poking at your fish. They weren’t too terribly singed, despite your distraction. And the Siren seemed to like the edges extra crispy either way, so it wasn’t any kind of loss. You were in the middle of balancing your impromptu stick-spatula against another impromptu stick-spoon to try and flip the fish without destroying it entirely when you felt a gentle poke, poke, poke against your arm.

You looked back and the Siren stared down at you, lips canted in a sharp smirk that was all pride.

U-G-L-Y—A-N-D—S-T-U-P-I-D, the sand said.

He’d been struggling with applying the whole -pid noise to the proper lettering, because of how similar it was to -ped. And the spelling had been tripping him up (with much obvious frustration) for the last day or so.

“Well done,” you sighed, not even too terribly upset that it had taken you months in Riddle’s impromptu classrooms to learn what he was picking up over the course of a few, harried sessions delivered with broken bits of sharp sticks and an ever changing canvas. “Try this.”

You scribbled another message in the sand. An insult, naturally, because he seemed to like those. You sounded out the letters as you hopped the tip of your finger over them one-by-one, and the Siren stared down at the inscription with the sort of intense focus meant for ancient tomes or sacred texts. You watched his lips move silently as he sounded it out alongside your mini-lesson, and then he was reaching forward to trace over the letters with the curved tip of a claw—knuckles bumping yours for a moment before shooing your hand away.

You returned to your dinner—finishing up the poor, murdered fish as best as you could and doling it out as usual. You reached out to hand pretty boy his leaf-plate, which he took like a lord accepting a meal from a lowly servant. All upturned noses and pointed disinterest. He set it beside him and nibbled on the offering as he continued to study the new task you’d given him—grand, purple fins splayed out at his sides to brush against your hip like a habit. And this was your life now, apparently. Sitting and frying lazy, shallow water fish over a heated stone while your Siren student studied curse words in the sand. If you managed to survive this, no one would ever believe you.

The wrecked ship called to you like, well, did you even have to say it.

(It felt like a low hanging pun at this point. You’d never be able to use the expression again for as long as you lived without thinking of narrowed, purple eyes nearly rolling up into the back of a too pretty head because you were apparently that annoying.)

Every day when you ventured towards the western side of the islet to feed your teeny, round octopus friend, you couldn’t help but sit and stare at the shattered hull. It’s not like it was in any sort of shape to actually get you off your little, sandy prison, but it was… There was something about it that was familiar enough to scratch an itch in your brain, but just alien enough that figuring out what was itching was outright impossible.

Silver songbirds.

‘Not safe,’ the Siren had demanded, with an almost frantic look to him. Not safe.

Every time you tried to venture closer to get a better look, it was like he could feel it. And he’d be pacing the shoreline like a blood-frenzied shark—rattling off muted, angry complaints the whole time that popped against your skin like soda fizz. So, lesson learned. Keep away.

It was a particularly sweltering afternoon today. Not a cloud in the bright, blue sky and nary a breeze to be seen. Sweat was beading unpleasantly along your brow and all down your back, and you hated it. At least on the Rose Queen there had been shade. And the lower decks of the ship submerged in the waves had always felt at least a little chilled. You could practically feel the damp, cool wood against your cheek. The smell of salt and pine oils in your nose. But here, on this stupid not-island with its barren trees and nothings, you just had to suffer in silence. The memories of your ship had you thinking of the washed up Songbird all over again, and you were in the middle of a heated, internal debate over making a swim for it again when something cold rained down over your face in small, scattered droplets.

You blinked back into focus to see Mister Merman at your ankles. You’d been sitting with your heels in the water, but no deeper. Because the shallows were still his territory, and while he hadn’t tried to hold you under in a while now, it was hard to forget something like that so easily. You didn’t really want to chance it if a foul mood struck him, no matter what sort of fragile truce seemed to exist between the pair of you lately.

Last you’d looked he’d been sunning himself on one of the wide, flat rocks—as he was wont to do. Lavender-tipped hair splayed out along his cheeks in a pool of soft gold and fins spread at his hips like the finest, plum silks. How he never seemed to burn with that delicate, ivory skin of his you had no idea. Maybe it was a Magical, Mystical, Merman perk yet undocumented. Or maybe he was just Like That. But he’d been snoozing away on his favorite boulder, and now he had rolled in with the tide to lounge by your toes. His fingers were spread, still dripping with sea water from where he’d flicked you in the face. You frowned at him—partly curious, but also pissilly blinking salt out of your eyes that stung, because come on dude.

He flicked more water your way and said something that you couldn’t manage to catch the shape of. When you didn’t respond with anything other than a pointed scrub of the water dripping down your cheeks, he reached out to wrap a clawed hand around your ankle and give a gentle tug.

“What?” you frowned, confused, and he tugged again.

He canted his head towards you, and then out to the cove behind him. He slipped back with the soft, frothy roll of the waves—just a foot or two—and clearly meant to pull you with him. You slid against the sandbar with a yelp and dug your heels into the muck to keep from getting yanked all the way in.

“No way,” you snipped, kicking a mess of water into his face. He didn’t even blink, just frowned down at you with a twisty sort of petulance. “I thought we were over this. If you drown me you won’t get any more cooked food, y’know. And I, in turn, would very much like to not be drowned. Win, win.”

That frown of his went stiff, and his lips twitched down at the corners. His amethyst eyes darted away and for a moment you swore that those gemstone irises flashed with something almost like guilt. He rolled forward with the next curl of surf and pressed a claw into the damp, dark sand at your hip. He scratched out a careful message, stubbornly refusing to meet your gaze all the while.

Won’t, it said.

“Forgive me for not believing that,” you returned, dry. “You’re oh-for-two now, I think. And, you know, fool me twice, and all that.” Though maybe the first one didn’t really count, seeing how you were both tangled together and sinking to the bottom in a mutual sort of destruction. But whatever. You were keeping it.

The Siren’s brow pinched in the middle and he reached forward to dig his claws in again.

Accident.

Your own brows jumped nearly to your hairline. You were just about to politely point out that dragging someone to the bottom of the ocean until they were bubbling from the nose and flailing wasn’t really an accident,but then you remembered the startled look on his face. The way he hadn’t stopped you from clawing your way back to the surface and how he’d carefully helped tow you back towards the shore after. And… maybe he hadn’t really meant it. It had to be strange, probably. Being able to thrive so easily below the waves and then be faced with someone who would die if they were left facedown in a puddle.

“…Fine,” you huffed, and his eyes jumped back up to yours with all cat-in-the-cream smugness. “But just because I’m about to drop from heatstroke. Not because you asked.”

The Siren rolled his eyes at you and returned to dragging you by your ankles into the shallows.

The bay really was very lovely. It was crystalline clear and the sort of brilliant blue that you’d never even known existed until you’d left the land for a life on the open ocean. The sand below your feet was soft and white, with barely any pebbles or broken bits of shell to dig into your toes. You watched a few crabs scurry out of the way as you were led deeper and deeper, but most of the cove’s occupants were spoiled and slow. Unbothered by this weird, fleshy, bipedal creature stepping past because they’d never known anything else. Once you hit waist-deep, the Siren let go of you to sink more fully into the water. He swam around you in a languid, looping circle—plum fins cresting the surface to flick water against your arms and scales shining like polished glass in the sunlight. It was still far too shallow for him to move around in earnest with how massive that tail of his was, and how wide and trailing his great, beta-like fins were, but he was still elegant. Still fast and flexible as he swam rings around you like an orbit.

“Show off,” you scoffed, but couldn’t quite bite back the grin twitching at your lips.

Because creature from the deep trying to devour your crew or not, Sirens really were so impressive, weren’t they? Straight out of a storybook, and deserving of every song and tale attributed to them.

You reached out before you could help yourself to run your fingers along his tail. The scales were smooth, and sleek, and cool against your palm. The wispy ends of his fins caught along your fingers, but other than a bit of a tangle, you almost managed to run your hand along the whole of it. And what was it? Eight feet? Ten? Bigger than you at least, that was for sure. It wasn’t like anything you’d ever felt. No fish, or whale hide, or shark. Something entirely of its own.

You realized on the next loop when your fingers danced over a patch of still healing scales that you’d felt already that he had most definitely realized your err in personal space, and was letting you poke about on purpose. You glanced up, embarrassed and warm faced, to see the tail end of a smirk quirking out from the water’s surface. Preening bastard.

You turned up your nose and waded deeper. There was a ripple in the water around you, like a chuckle, and he returned to his looping circles. Occasionally his tail would brush up against you to get you to jump, but otherwise he kept his hands to himself and—as promised—did not attempt to wrestle you down to the sandy floor and your subsequent watery grave.

Once you’d made it up to your chest, the Siren was able to start his dance in earnest. He darted away to make a wide arc around the edge of the cove—sunshine catching on his scales like a glare on the water. He shot from one end to the other, so fast it was nearly dizzying to try and keep up with. And then he was back to circling your ankles all over again—tangling your legs in his fins and curling his talons against your calves to try and drag you deeper.

“Okay, okay,” you laughed, paddling after him until you were well and truly above your head. The bay wasn’t very deep, but there were a few areas that dipped down to at least fifteen feet. So soon enough you were bobbing like a top in the gentle surf as he looped around your idly kicking feet—brushing up along your ankles and tugging at the frayed edge of your shirt with his claws when he passed by.

When he next rose above the surface, you’d already taken in a big mouthful of water in preparation, and shot it right into his face. The Siren’s whole expression shriveled up like a hundred-year-old prune and you laughed so hard he had to curl his tail around your waist to keep you from dipping under the waves and choking yourself. You let him drag you around and only grabbed at his fins a little. He would dive below your feet and you’d sink after him. Not nearly as agile or adept, but competent enough to follow his little game of tag without losing completely within the first few seconds. It was—it was nice. Genuinely. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d swam for the fun of it. Way back when you’d first joined up with Riddle’s crew, maybe. It’d been a hot day, just like this one, and you’d been anchored in a safe, shallow inlet off the coast of an archipelago. Deuce and Ace had jumped in first, already brawling, and you’d dove in soon after. It’d been a mess, and Riddle had nearly hung the three of you up by your toes for it. But it’d been fun. Familial. Warm. Something you’d never forget. And while this moment didn’t feel entirely like that one had, there was something similar about it. Sure, you weren’t trying to give the Siren a bloody nose and there were no rock wars, but it was… well, it was nice.

By the end of it, he was swimming lazy, looping shapes around the cove, and you were being dragged alongside him like a raft—kept afloat by the curling press of his tail and relaxing in the afternoon sunshine with the cool ripples of the ocean water to keep you both comfortable in the heat.

“Do you do this a lot?” you asked, as you relaxed in the gentle lull of the surf. “With your pod, I mean.”

The Siren stiffened beneath you, but after a moment he nodded. Slow and rigid. Which—

Oh. Right.

“…sorry,” you mumbled, gaze darting away.

Because he was missing his family just as much as you were missing yours, wasn’t he?

All that frantic pacing at the start of your mutual stranding had just seemed to… fade away as the days passed. He would still circle the entrance of the cove some mornings, singing towards the skies and tilting his head—fins pricked as he searched for an answer. You’d feel it in your nerves, see the gulls overhead dipping in a trance and watch the crabs crawl up onto the sand like they were being dragged out by their little claws. But most of the time now he just… didn’t. He spent his days mumbling over the letters you showed him, or carefully preening over his healing fins and resting in the sun. Catching fish for you to prepare and roast, and taking his meals at your side as you both snipped at each other with sandy curse words. It was pleasant, this routine you’d fallen into together. But all the same, he never really stopped checking the ocean waters. And you could see a spark in his eyes, an itch. The same one that lit yours, no doubt, every time you caught yourself squinting for the outline of ships on the horizon.

The difference between the two of you, of course, was that in a few more days his scales would be healed enough to face the dangers of the open water alone. Life as a rogue mer was notoriously perilous. The lone Sirens were those that poachers were willing to risk battle with for a trophy. They were the ones caught in fishing nets, and found mauled by rival pods. But your Siren was smart. He was big, and strong, and impressive. He’d find a way to survive it, no doubt. One morning you’d wake up and he’d have darted off into the deep to search for his family. To go home. And you…

You would still be trapped here.

Alone.

Forever.

Rotting under the sun with no one to take you swimming in the afternoons. Or bring you clawed up fish to cook for dinner. Or to use your writing lessons just to insult you with scribbled words in the muck.

Which—that was what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? At the start of all of this.

And it was only fair, in the end. He was the better of the two of you, after all. Born and bred to thrive in the depths of the sea that would swallow you whole without a thought. And if either of you was going to survive, to find your home again, it was always going to be him. Maybe you’d be a story, like he would have been for you. The strange human with no ears, just like the rest of the pirates whispered about. Who taught him that fire could make fish extra tasty and that leaves could make perfectly serviceable plates if you tried hard enough.

You sighed, and bubbles of salt water frothed along your mouth.

The Siren raised his head from his own lazy sprawl to arch a brow at you in question, and you did the very mature thing of spitting water in his face all over again.

You ended up being dragged through the cove in a flurry of spitting, Siren rage. Laughing and laughing until he huffed and hauled you back to shore to keep you from swallowing any more seawater like the idiot that you were. And it was fine, really it was. He wasn’t so bad, not really. And if he was able to reunite with his pod once more after all those days of hollow wailing and pacing, pacing, pacing that had made something deep in your soul itch like a freshly scabbed wound that you just couldn’t stop picking, well, that wouldn’t be such a bad ending after all.

The next afternoon while you were out on your daily Octopus Wellness Check, you came across a piece of pale, purple sea glass mixed into the rocky shore. It was smooth to the touch and frosted over by the endless tumble of the tide. You held it up to the light and it sparkled just like the Siren’s scales.

“What do you think?” you asked the octopus as it grabbed shredded bits of fish with its chubby, little tentacles. “Do you want it? Or should I give it to—”

You blinked, startled, and realized all at once that you’d never learned the Siren’s name. Or given him yours. You’d just sort of been calling each other a variety of derogatory pseudonyms and hoping for the best. Which, huh. You hadn’t even realized you’d wanted to know his name. It wasn’t yours to take, of course. Let alone from someone who would no doubt be leaving so soon. But it was a thought.

“You always give the best advice, you know,” you told the teeny creature, and it hid from you like you were a great, looming monster of old. “Whether you meant to or not. Thanks for that.”

So on the way back to your cove, you picked through some tufts of beachgrass to find the longest, driest spikes. You began winding them together as you walked, and settled down in your favorite little corner of the inlet to continue your weaving. The Siren, naturally—being as nosy as he was—was immediately hovering over you like a child watching someone hold a bag of sweets just out of reach. You clutched your little project to your chest like a secret, and it had him puffing up in irritation and smacking his fins against your sides like your refusal to share whatever had caught your attention was a crime beyond comparison. He arched up as tall as he could to try and peer over your shoulder, and, in failing at that, just outright tried to snatch the thing from your hands.

“I won’t give it to you if you keep being a pest,” you warned, and immediately he was slipping back to rest on his stomach in the damp sand with a starbright curiosity in his eyes, chin pillowed atop his interlaced fingers and gaze following the movements of your hands like a cat tracking a mouse in its hole. Clearly the promise of it being a treat for him was mollification enough to keep him from hovering.

Once you’d braided a sturdy enough chain, you carefully twined it around the sea glass in a little, crisscrossing cage of fibers. Just knotted enough to keep the ocean-worn trinket safe and in place without hiding the shine of it. With that, you held up your trophy with a dramatic wave, and the Siren was popping up all over again. His amethyst glare tracked the swinging pendant with startling focus and a surprisingly wide-eyed spark of confusion.

“Here,” you said, reaching out to drop the makeshift necklace into his lap. He caught it in his claws, eyes still far too round with shock. “It made me think of your scales. I thought you might like it.”

He was staring down at the gift in utter silence. And not the normal sort of quiet either—where your broken eardrums simply refused to pick up on all his petulant grousing against your person. This was actual silence. His lips were parted like they were caught on a breath, but he wasn’t saying anything. Not even a complaint about how plain and ugly it was. He curled his claws daintily around the woven chain, as if he was afraid of tearing right through it with an accidental prick, and then held the sparkling bauble aloft like he was utterly entranced by the soft gleam of it.

After a long, long moment of that near eerie silence and a pool of dread filling your belly that screamed you’d clearly fucked up in some way (overstepped some weird, Siren tradition. Accidentally insulted his father. Handed him a bad luck omen on a string. Something), the Siren was twisting around to show you the back of his neck. He held up the woven chain so it draped along his shoulder blades, and he pointedly shook the ends at you.

When you just gaped back in shock, he turned to sneer over his shoulder at you and jabbed a claw at his throat, then the necklace, then you, then his throat again. Which, oh. Oh! That—that you could do.

So you reached out to pluck the ends of the grass-woven thread from his talons and he immediately shifted around again to make himself comfortable. Curling his tail firmly against the sand with his plum-lined fins spread out in all their glory like a spill of purple ink along the shoreline. He set his shoulders square and firm, and looked straight ahead with that same, queer sort of focus to him as before.

You tied the ends of the necklace in a bow against his nape, making sure it was securely fastened in place and not snagging any of the softer, shorter hairs at the back of his neck. Once it’d been fussed with to his liking, he turned back around and stared you down until you could feel goosebumps prickling up all along your spine. You wanted to meekly tell him that it was just sea glass. Just a little trinket you’d found in the sand that you’d thought was pretty enough that he might like to have it. But the words died on your tongue. They felt wrong somehow. And you’d put your foot in your mouth plenty of times throughout your life, but this definitely felt like it would have been the biggest boot of all.

“…You like it?” you tried instead, because that sentiment at least seemed less like something that was ready to clog up your throat.

The Siren nodded, firm, his eyes still drilling into yours with that unnerving level of focus.

You coughed into your fist and awkwardly attempted to shift away to give yourself a bit of room, and—Huh. When had his tail come up to wrap around your leg? That made running away a bit inconvenient. You’d just have to try and wriggle your way out and hope he would take mercy on your far inferior musculature, and—

There was a poke at your hip. Tap, tap, tap. One, two, three. And you glanced back up at him with a pinched frown, confused.

The Siren pointed to a scrawl in the sand. Tap, tap, tap.

Acceptable.

You gawked, and then swallowed a laugh so fast it nearly choked you. Because he was still himself, wasn’t he? No matter what. Sassy, asshole fish. Gods, you were going to miss him.

You wiped at the bubbling, giggling tears prickling at the corner of your eyes and reached out to pat at his tail in good humor.

“I hope you find your happy ending,” you beamed, and meant it.

The Siren just looked at you with one of his familiar, lemon-sour puckers. He pointedly reached up to flick at the necklace around his throat, like that had anything to do with him finding his family again at all. Like it wasn’t just some silly trinket you’d gifted him in hopes that maybe one day he could look back fondly on the little human that he’d found himself stranded with. To not just forget you outright. To make your fleeting presence in his life something tangible, rather than just a mess of already fading scars and memories that would too easily be swept away in the depths of the sea.

“At least it’s acceptable,” you said finally around your giggling, and he huffed at you in a way that almost looked fond. You stood from the sand and brushed the mess of grit and salt off your pant legs. “Come on. Let’s go have dinner and I’ll teach you some nicer words tonight. So you can give me a real compliment next time.”

There was spray of water all along your back from where he’d no doubt dove back into the shallows behind you and walloped you with his fins to the best of his ability. And honestly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be bothered by it at all.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl, @warmsmilesandhugs, @01paige01

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Vil x Reader #vil schoenheit #Mermay #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #vil shoenheit #Siren!Vil #Mermaid!Vil #Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Vil Part 3

2K notes · View notes

nerdlvr · 3 months ago

Text

✩ library head

(MDNI)

nerd jisung x hot girl reader ofc , library head , whiny ji , loud ji , squirmy ji , sensitive ji , virgin ji , jisung's first time getting head , reader is more experienced , shy ji , snowballing haha guys hear me out , he immediately nuts. , reader is understanding , he’s wearing those thick framed glasses , big brained anon idea !

“are- are you sure about this?”

you slipped your hand under his shirt a small giggle escaping your lips,

“why not ji? don’t tell me you’re backing out now?”

He squirmed under your touch, eyes peeking through the bookshelves of the library,

“n-no of course not, just- just what if we get caught?”

He whined softly as you planted a wet kiss on his cheek, his knees buckling gently

“Then you’re just gonna have to be quiet, right ji?”

clearly it seemed like jisung couldn't follow simple instructions, whining at every touch.

"jisung please lower your voice."

"fuck- feels good, 'm sorry."

you smiled into his neck, tongue poking out to trace his tense muscles, his grip on your hips deadly.

"please, too much, gonna cum."

your hand slipped past the waistband of his sweats, reaching in to hold onto his hot length. he let out a gasp, reaching for your hand to stop you,

"already ji? we haven't even gotten to the best part."

you giggled as he bit his lip, hiding the whine that threatened to slip out as you got on your knees in front of him, hands pulling down his sweats just enough to release his length. he was huge, length slapping against his stomach as you released him the his confines,

“you’ve been hiding this all this time?”

he pushed up his glasses as he looked down at you letting out a huff as you grabbed his length, the sight of your small hand wrapped around him making his stomach clench. jisung knew he wouldn’t last long, he hid his face behind the sleeve of his oversized hoodie watching you give kitten licks to his leaking tip.

“‘m not gonna last, please.”

his muffed voice was whiny, a smirk growing on your face as you planted a kiss to his tip,

“please what ji? what do you want me to do?”

he sighed as you removed your hands from him, placing them neatly on your lap as you waited for his next move. he moved his sleeve away from his face revealing his flushed cheeks, lips swollen from biting them.

you watched the definition of his veins as he rolled up his sleeves, hand coming forward to cup your face. he ran his thumb against your plump lips. you looked up at him innocently as you parted your lips, his thumb now grazing your teeth.

“stick your tongue out.”

you were quick to comply, core growing impossibly wetter as he removed his thumb from your mouth, instead using his index and middle finger to rub your tongue. he pushed them towards the back of your mouth, groaning as you swallowed around the tips of his fingers.

“fuck you’re dirty.”

he wiped at the slight fog that had built up in his glasses from all his heavy breathing wanting to get a better look as he dragged his fingers against your tongue, pulling them out of your mouth. his shaky hand gripped his length as he pressed his leaking tip against your parted lips. you waited patiently as he tapped his length against your mouth, stopping to rub his precum on your lips.

his face was priceless, eyebrows knit together tightly, lips parted into a silent moan. you backed away from his length,

“baby, you can fuck my mouth, i won’t bite, unless you want.”

you chuckled softly as he shook his head, releasing his length so you can take over, moving his hands to grip the roots of your hair instead. you held him tightly, opening your mouth wide to fit him all.

you took as much of him as you could into your mouth, tip hitting the back of your throat as you swallowed around him, lips wrapped tightly around his length.

maybe it was your fault for being impatient, or maybe you teased him too much from the start. you clenched your eyes tightly as you felt his warm cum spurt into your mouth. a whiny moan leaving jisung’s mouth as he hunched over, grip on your hair tightening.

“oh my- oh my god. y/n i’m so sorry. i’m so- oh my god.”

the feeling of his orgasm was quick to fade, embarrassment taking over immediately. he dropped down to his knees, now eye level with you as he leaned into kiss you roughly, warm hands cupping your face. he ignored the salty taste of himself on your mouth, kissing you deeply before planting light pecks all over your face,

“i’m sorry, i’m so sorry please, please don’t be mad, i should’ve said something-”

you giggled as he continued to kiss your face, his pants still around his thighs as he kneeled in front of you,

“sto-stop, okay okay! jisung it’s okay please, i’m not mad!”

he backed away from you, his glasses on the tip of his nose, revealing his soft eyes,

“you’re not mad?”

you shook your head, hands coming to fix his glasses.

“of course not ji-”

you smirked up at him,

“buttt, if you’re really sorry i have a couple ideas on how you could make it up to me.”

you looked down to see jisung’s length twitch slightly, a nervous cough coming from his lips,

“i-i think that’s a good idea, but maybe we should find another place.”

he lifted a nervous finger pointing past the bookshelves, you turned your head, eyes meeting the look of an annoyed studying student.

yeah maybe it’s best to take this somewhere else.

#jji lee #nct #nct dream #request #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct jisung #nct smut #nct dream smut #jisung #park jisung #park jisung imagines #park jisung smut #jisung smut #nerd jisung #nerd!jisung #jisung imagines

970 notes · View notes

haikyuuhoo · 1 year ago

Text

if i could bring you anything, i swear to god i'd bring you peace

pairing: suguru x reader

wc: 811

a/n: had a sad girl moment yesterday, so enjoy this fluff i dredged up from the depths of my drafts <3

listen

The muffled sound of your music goes quiet, and you wait a few beats before pushing yourself up to check what’s wrong. You take a deep breath as you breach the surface of the water, lungs burning at the intake of air, and your eyebrows pinch together almost immediately in annoyance at the sight in front of you.

“What are you doing?” Suguru isn’t even trying to hide the amused, albeit slightly concerned, look on his face. He’s sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, spinning your phone between his fingers.

“Having a sad girl bathtub moment, what does it look like?” you huff, leaning forward to grab the device—he really had the nerve to stop the music in the middle of such a good song—but he holds it above his head and out of your reach.

“Like you’re trying to see how long you can hold your breath. Like you dropped your ring but it fell down the drain when you were trying to get it and you don't know how to tell me so now you’ve given up. Like maybe I should be more worried. Should I be more worried?” He raises an eyebrow and you let out a quiet sigh, your shoulders sagging slightly with the motion, and the sight makes it feel like a weight has settled on his chest.

“No, I’m fine, can I please just have my music back?” You stick your bottom lip out in a pout, giving him the puppy dog eyes you know usually make him fold.

But Suguru still doesn’t hand over your phone and instead sets it on the counter. He leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Rough day?”

His voice is so soft it threatens to break down the walls you’ve been holding up since you got out of bed that morning.

“Yeah,” you whisper, “I just didn’t know when you’d be home, and—”

“You could have texted me.” Suguru frowns, but you wave him off.

“It’s not that big of a deal, I wasn’t gonna bother you.”

Suguru lets out an almost exasperated laugh, and the sound makes your belly warm. “Anything that makes you want to do this is a big enough deal to me.” He grabs your phone off the counter. “Tell you what. You have until I’m done making dinner to finish sad girl bathtub hours. You can still be sad, and we can talk about your day if you want to, or we can do something else. But what I’m not going to let you do is turn into a human-sized prune in our bathtub.” He sets your phone on the edge of the tub and leans down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Okay?”

You nod slowly, relaxing at the lingering feeling of his lips on your skin before tilting your head up to urge him into a kiss.

Suguru hums into your mouth, pulling back for a fleeting moment to nudge his nose against your cheek. “Say okay,” he whispers.

“Okay,” you breathe, and you lean closer to capture his lips again and deepen the kiss. You pull one hand out from under the water and cup his jaw before pushing your fingers into his hair, your teeth flashing in the briefest glimpse of a grin at the way he jumps when water trickles down his neck.

He pulls away and you have to fight off a laugh as he wipes at the back of his head and noticeably shivers. “I’ll call for you when dinner’s ready.”

“Or…” You tilt your head to the side and give him a sweet smile. “You could join me?”

Suguru huffs out a ‘no-fucking-way’ laugh and shakes his head. “Absolutely not. That water is way too cold.” You pout, but he’s already standing up and turning toward the door. “I mean it. We can have sad girl blanket burrito hours or sad girl movie marathon hours, but we’re not going to have sad-girl-getting-hypothermia-in-the-bath hours.”

And this time you do laugh, and in that moment you both know he’s made the breakthrough you needed from him. “Okay, okay. I’ll see you at dinner.”

He nods, and he begins making his way back out of the bathroom when you call for him.

“Suguru?”

He turns back around and raises an eyebrow in a silent question.

“I love you,” you murmur with a voice so soft it makes his heart swell. “And thank you.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “I love you too.”

You watch him leave the bathroom and then close your eyes, letting yourself take what feels like the first deep breath you’ve been able to manage all day. And then you look at where your phone is still resting on the side of the tub, waiting for you to press play, and you reach forward and pull the drain.

fun fact i felt like i needed to title this some phoebe bridgers lyric but i'm sadly not a phoebe girlie and i couldn't lie to y'all like that

reblogs & comments always appreciated <3

#geto x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto fluff #geto x reader fluff #geto suguru x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #geto angst #geto x reader angst #jjk angst #jjk x reader angst #jjk x reader fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader fluff

3K notes · View notes

teddybeartoji · 10 months ago

Text

suggestive; gn!reader

thinking about helping oikawa stretch after practice.

he's all sweaty and musty and he's clinging to you, asking – no, absolutely begging you with his pretty brown eyes, for you to help him. and obviously you can't say no to him, so that's how you find yourself in this position – he's on his back, scruntching his eyebrows as you press his knees up to his chest. his flexible body begs for you to angle your own hips against his in order to properly give him the stretch he needs. his cheeks are tinted pink and his bottom lip is caught in between his teeth and it's really hard to not get any ideas. it's wrong – you know it is! this is your good friend and you're just helping him and there's nothing weird about this position and—

a loud moan rips from his lips and your eyes almost fall out of your head as warmth creeps up your neck. he doesn't even say anything about it, he just grabs onto your wrists to make sure you don't pull away.

"d-don't!" you stammer when a quieter but no less lewd noise escapes him. you feel your hands get clammy as your fingers sink into his calves.

oikawa cracks his one eye open to ask what the problem is. he doesn't see what's wrong in the slightest. his brown hair is splayed on the floor like a masterpiece with some of the strands sticking to his forehead and nobody should be allowed to look this good after a rough practice.

"don't make those sounds..." you whisper as you lean more into him when you feel the resistance in his body falter.

"wha– ahh...t sounds?" his eyes shut again and he sucks in a breath, puffing out his reddened cheeks. his knees fall more to his sides, opening up the space between them and you move closer on instinct.

"tho- those ones, idiot! you're making it weird!"

your hips are now completely flush against his and he lets out another pained whine. taking one of your hands from his calf, you place it on top of his mouth instead and his eyes shoot open in an instant.

he didn't even think about this position like that, genuinely oblivious to the suggestiveness of it. the stretch in the backs of his thighs feels good but you on top of him feels even better. your body feels warm against his and his eyes flick down to where you're connected. at that you try to pull away, afraid that now you've made it weird but he stops you.

"c'mon.. don't go." his hands wrap around your biceps as his eyes burn into your avoidant ones. "you have to help me with the next one too."

blinking down at him, you gulp, unable to refuse him. oikawa twists under you, barely taking his eyes off of you as he straightens out his one leg and folds the other up and to the side.

this position is no less suggestive than the last one – it still requires you to press up right against him to help him out. his fingers grasp at your sleeve to break you from your haze and you shuffle closer again.

bodies glued together, your hands dig into his thigh as you try to not focus on your friends face. nor the proximity. from behind you, you hear a row of snickers – without turning around, you know his teammates are making fun of you for falling into their captains alleged trap.

"see, this isn't so bad..." oikawa's soft flesh is back between his teeth as he forces his body to relax under you. you quietly glare at him, just hoping he won't say or do anything weird anything, hoping that he'll let you just leave and breathe for a moment—

"h-harder."

...

you press your eyes shut as your body threatens to overheat. putting almost all of your bodyweight onto his, you watch his eyes roll back inside his skull and you hold back a flustered groan. why is he like this?

slowly peeking from underneath your eyelashes, his scrunched up face almost kills you and it's hard to keep your thoughts at bay – they just come flooding in and you feel like a terrible friend. he's like this with everyone, so why are you even thinking about it? you are the one who's making it weird and you should stop.

"hey! no more fooling around! we gotta lock up, so move your asses!" iwaizumi breaks your pervy little bubble and you find oikawa staring right back at you. his cheeks are still pink even though the practice ended a good while ago. he gives you one of his big bright smiles as he moves his leg from his body to your other side, leaving you kneeling right between his thighs.

"thanks for that!" his voice betrays nothing about what he really feels in this moment, about what he feels in his lower abdomen. he pushes himself up and before he goes to leave for the changing room, he looks down at you and boops your nose with a laugh.

you stay glued to your spot for a good moment, iwaizumi's loud voice being the thing to tear you from the floor. you stumble to grab the remaining bottles and towels from the floor and make for the exit, letting the man close up behind you.

you mutter a quiet goodbye to him and hurry off, telling him that you have some other stuff to attend to. he doesn't question it – he's fully aware of the effect oikawa can have on a person. and on their body.

+ inspired by this iwaoi art on twt!!!!! i thought it was so funny n cute so i had to write something for it!!!!

953 notes · View notes

mintmatcha · 3 months ago

Note

So does Kirishima ever threaten sero when he keeps asking about reader?

Sero's phone buzzes across the table, barely audible over the thrum of fake gunfire. The round's just begun, so Kirishima tries to ignore it, but his friend is already squirming in his seat.

"Someone's home from cram school." Sero's hunched over himself, controller basically in his face. His smile is suspiciously taut, lips parted over his perfectly straight teeth. "I'm out after this round."

Of course he is. That's all these sleepovers have become: charades for him to sneak over and see you.

"My dad's going to be pissed if he finds out you snuck out." Kirishima says. It's not really true - he'd probably applaud Sero before anything else - but the lie feels good to say. He's already jamming the controller harder than he should, the plastic edge digging into his palm.

"I'm not scared of your dad-- he loves me."

Kirishima sinks back into the couch. His character's already dead, laying there, waiting to be revived.

"I just-" He shouldn't say anything. "Can you not mess with her, please?"

With a snort, Sero looks over, his expression unchanged until he takes in Kirishima's look.

"What do you mean?" Sero shrugs, turning back to the television. "We just, like, hang out and junk. Watch some anime, make out. Nothing major."

"But she's really nice," Kirishima says, carefully. "And really lonely. If you're just gonna treat her like-"

With a grunt and a gasp, Sero's character's dead now too. He places his controller down pointedly.

"Like what?"

Kirishima swallows down the lump in his throat.

"Like every other girl." The red head crosses his arms. "If you're going to treat her like every other girl, you should just leave her alone."

Scoffing, Sero looks at his friend, lips parted in a clownish frown. "What does that mean?"

"You know what it means."

Sero pushes off of the couch.

"Whatever, Kirishima." He tucks his hands into his pockets, fists balled. "Just because you don't like girls-"

Everything goes hot. From his fingertips, to his toes, the the space behind his eyes, every part of Kirishima's body suddenly burns. The heavy space in his throat is suddenly dry, crumbling, sticking up any words that could possibly come out. All he can do is sit there and stare, eyes wide, expression gaunt.

"I like girls." Kirishima can't help but think that Sero looks particularly good in the low light - those soft child's features melting away into his late teens, cheekbone cut by the diffused light of the television screen- and that makes his stomach even more sour. "I'm not-- "

The tension shrinks out of Sero's body as he seems to process what he said. "I didn't mean it like that."

"I like girls."

"I didn't mean it like that, Kiri, just-"

Kirishima finds his feet. Sero's taller, but Kirishima's bigger, muscle built out from training. When he folds his arms, he bunches his biceps up and tucks his fists behind them. The harrowed heat inside him has changed to a burning anger.

"Do you even like girls?" The words tumble out on their own. "Because all you do is treat them like garbage. "

Sero laughs, light and airy in the way that only fuels the flame.

"We all know you're just acting like this-" Kirishima shouldn't say it. He's not even supposed to know; it's drama passed to him through classmates, whispered behind Sero's back- "Because your dad cheats on your mom."

Sero blinks as if he's been slapped. Then, he blinks again. His tongue rolls over his teeth, measuring his emotions.

"Don't talk about my mom."

"Don't say that I don't like girls!"

The silence between them is wild, like static. It burns, it demands to be filled by something other than Kirishima's heavy breathing, but instead they both look at each other, firm, resolved.

"Fine." Sero snatches his phone from the table. "Whatever, Kiri. Least I get to make out with people."

In three big steps, he's gone, into the hall and presumably out of the apartment all together. Kirishima's silence goes softer.

"I like girls," he says to the television screen.

356 notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 11 months ago

Note

Hello! Can you do a Damian and reader who are friends, and one day the reader goes over to the Wayne Manor and called Titus? Like both Damian and the reader got into a silly little joke about who Titus loves more? I think it would be funny if Titus went to the reader because they had treats or something in their pocket haha

‘This is utterly ridiculous.’

‘What? are you too chicken that Titus might like me more.’ You taunted as you then started clucking like a chicken in Damian’s ear, to which he then shoves you away by the shoulder.

‘I am not chicken and besides it was only one time that Titus wrongfully ignored me for you.’ Damian replied but you weren’t buying it.

‘If you aren’t chicken then why are you trying to get out of our bet then? Hmmm? Seems a little suspicious there Wayne.’ You asked and Damian could only curse himself for acting so brash and accepting the stupid challenge you pestered him with as Titus patiently stood a good distance between you and Damian, tilting his head to the side as though to ask him what was taking so long.

‘Our bet? You mean your stupid-‘ you raised your brows at Damian as you started clucking again, though softer this time and Damian knew there was no version of this where he got out of participating in your bet. Not a single one because you wouldn’t let him live it down otherwise and Damian prides himself of being a man of his word, no matter how ridiculous it might seem. So Damian bites his tongue and swallows his pride before moving a couple of spaces away from you before muttering under his breath. ‘Let’s get this over with before anyone dares see me in such a state.’

You smiled and then looked towards Titus, who was still stood perfectly still in his spot, before dropping down to your knees and holding out your arms saying. ‘Titus! Come here boy! Come here!’ Damian scoffed at this display and looked at the Great Dane expectantly as he clicked his fingers and pointed to the spot in-front of him. ‘Titus. Come.’ He commanded. Titus didn’t move for a good couple of seconds, as though contemplating who he should go to, his owner or his owner’s friend who gives him the bestest tasting treats he’s ever tasted; which was saying a lot coming from a Great Dane who’s owner was the son of a billionaire.

‘Titus sweetie come to y/n!’ You called out sweetly.

‘No. Titus come to me.’ Damian commanded again.

Titus walked forwards a little, still hesitant on who to choose, but as though he was being chased by a bat out of hell, the Great Dane bolted over to you and rammed into you hard. So hard I fact that within a blink of an eyes you were knocked to the floor either Titus sticking his muzzle into your face, his rancid and warm dog breath cascading over you, as Damian stood over you with crossed arms and what looked like a pout.

‘You cheated.’ He said after a while.

‘No. I won.’ You replied pridefully at your victory over him.

‘No, Titus was coming towards me, only to stop and run towards you instead. You did something, I know you did and I’ll find out what it is.’ Damian barks, bearing his teeth at you but you were more than use to his occasional outbursts that ultimately mean nothing.

You shrugged as Titus then decides that he wants to lie down, but as he does lie down he goes and rests his head on your stomach and a paw on your leg, making it so that you wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon if Titus had anything to say about it. ‘You’re just a sore loser Damian.’ You tell him as you laid a hand atop of Titus’ head and rubbed behind his ear just the way he liked. ‘I won the bet fair and square. Titus likes me and there’s nothing wrong with loosing once in a while.’ You concluded and Damian grits his teeth.

‘Tt. Whatever, I’ll prove that you cheated one way or another and until then you can keep parading this so called victory because I can assure you it won’t happen again.’ He threatens as you and Titus visibly perk up at this. ‘So you’re saying there’s a next time?’ You asked and Damian throws his head back a groans before walking deeper into the Manor and away from you and Titus, murmuring under his breath as he goes. ‘That’s all you took away from that? Unbelievable’

You nonchalantly shrug your shoulders and dig into your jean pocket to pull out a dog treat for Titus, who engulfed it with one quick bite of his powerful jaw. ‘There was no rules against bribing your best friend’s dog with dog treats.’ You justified to yourself as you fed Titus another treat, ‘after all what Damian doesn’t know won’t hurt him, isn’t that right Titus?’ You then asked the Great Dane who only sneezed as he looked at you expectantly for more dog treats for his participation in your schemes against his owner.

‘Good boy.’ You praised as you continued to feed him treats to his hearts content.

#damian wayne x y/n #damian wayne x you #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagines #damian wayne fluff #dc imagine #dc x reader #dc x you #dc x y/n #dc comics x reader #dc fic #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction

825 notes · View notes

ponderingmoonlight · 11 months ago

Note

I'd love Obanai + Sanemi saving reader from a demon (like in the first episode??) You are awesome, thanks!

This escalated so quick damn, but hey, there you have a full on fic hehe - hope you enjoy <3

Sanemi saving your ass even if you don't want to

Pairing: Sanemi x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,9k

Synopsis: You knew what you got yourself into when you let a demon capture you instead of your beloved friend. Little did you know that help already arrived, viewing you as nothing but a damsel in distress until suddenly, you turn into much more...

Warnings: (y/n) fell but I fell harder, just saw the movie and it's so AHHH, honestly Sameni's voice is so mezmerizing omg, however this includes violence and language, might incluce spoilers for the movie but if you haven't seen it already you don't know what's going on anyway lol, like all my demon slayer fanfics this includes ai pics of reader so if this doesn't sit right with you, I'd suggest to not read it

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU NEED MORE SANEMI CONTENT

Your dirty cold feet pound against the muddy floor, haunted eyes darted towards nothing but sheer darkness. You still don’t know how you managed to keep the demon from kidnapping your best friend, how you’re still alive when at this very moment, this frightful creature his hunting you down like its prey.

So many innocent young women, one after another disappeared from your village nearby. Why did you never even think about the possibility that you or even worse, a person you love could be next?

Not until now. Not until you stared into the demon’s stone-cold red orbs when it began to run after you. Not until you were the one threatened to get eaten alive.

“Run! Run and don’t look back!”

“But (y/n), you’ll get killed-“

“I won’t. Leave it to me, tell everyone to lock their doors, just don’t come back!”, you screamed on top of your lungs.

“I’m getting impatient, stupid girl. You know you will get killed, right?”

Blood rushed through your ears, body threatened to fail you.

“If you want to kill me you have to get me first, stupid demon.”

How long have you been running for? Minutes, hours? You lost track of time completely with your body screaming, begging you to stop and take a break. The bitter taste of iron covers your whole mouth, blood sticks to your new Yukata like a second skin. Your mother will completely lose it when she sees the crimson discolouring on the white fabric.

“I’m having enough.”

If you ever see her again.

With a swift motion, the demon swings you over his shoulder, his claws digging into your flesh so roughly that you cry out. No, this can’t be the end. You can’t allow yourself to die like this: in the arms of a demon, without even fighting back. No one ever told you what to do, you were always able to stand up for yourself. Today will be no exception. Even if you get killed, you will fight back with everything you have.

“Shinazugawa…Something’s not right.”

Sanemi can’t help but look around, eyes meeting the countless demons around him. What the hell is this place?

“Yeah, I don’t like this, either. I’ve never seen demons swarming around like this.”

“Let me go!”, you yell, fist banging roughly against the creatures’ back while it drags you into what looks like a haunted mansion.

Your eyes widen when you feel multiple pairs of red orbs laying on your body.

“Demon slayers…”, you hear your kidnapper hiss through gritted teeth, turning his head over his shoulder.

Demon slayers? You’ve heard of them before, how they behead every demon coming their way, how desperately they fight for humanity. But…where were these demon slayers when all the girls from your village got kidnapped? Where are they when you need them the most? How absoluteley useless.

You don’t know what has gotten into you. Is it the anger, the grief? With a rapid motion, you dig your nails into the eyes of the demon until he lets you fall to the ground abruptly, groaning out in visible pain.

Everything hurts, a trail of blood follows you as you drag your body against a rotten wall. You feel your body giving in, all the stress, agony and exhaustion rushing over you like a wave. But no, you can’t give up right now. Not when there’s still a slight chance for you to survive.

“You little bitch. Eat her, I will leave and get her little friend.”

Suddenly, the urge to puke becomes almost unbearable. Countless demons come near you, their teeth exposed to the harsh moonlight. No, this is not how you want to end. You can’t die getting eaten alive by these creatures. But what else are you supposed to do? There is no way out of this living hell.

Except for the destroyed window a few steps away. This is your only chance. You drag yourself up, sprint over the rotten wood underneath your naked feet and jump.

Floors into the depths.

Away from the demons, into another certain death.

“Where is the girl?”, Sanemi questions harshly, sword oh so ready to behead that bastard of a demon in front of him while heading down.

Screw this strange place and the countless demons around him, he needs to find you, needs to carry you into safety.

“The girl? She jumped out of a window in order to safe herself. She’s probably dead by now.”

He lets out the breath he didn’t knew he was holding, blank eyes staring at the stone ground his blade has crashed instead of the demon. What was this place?

No, he can’t think about this right now. As fast as his body carries him, he gets out of that cursed mansion, eyes instantly finding your falling body.

Only metres away from crushing into the ground.

Oh, how much you wished it wouldn’t end like this. But maybe this was everything you could do, dying like this is still better than getting eaten up by a demon. Where are those demon slayers? You close your tired lids, enjoy the weightlessness for a brief second. It doesn’t matter now. Hopefully, the demon is long dead before you. At least you're dragging his ass with you…

“Hey, you aren’t dead, are ya?”

That voice…A male voice, without any doubt. So harsh and tempting at the same time that you can’t help but open your eyes in confusion.

Only to be met by purple ones. Male ones, to be exact. Are those...his arms wrapped around your trembling body?

“Let me go!”, you shriek.

It seems like all power that left your body appeared again while you miserably try to fight yourself out of his arms. Who is this man? Another demon, maybe?

“I won’t let you eat me!”

“Eating you? Are you dumb, woman? I’m a demon slayer”, the man in front of you barks, his hands roughly holding onto your arms in order to stop you from hitting him again.

“A demon slayer?” you repeat.

“Yeah, the wind hashira to be exact.”

Your gaze falls from his face to his exposed chest, his toned abs. He breathes heave while still holding onto your arms. Suddenly you feel so…hot.

“You are a demon slayer.”

With a swift motion, you free one of your hands and slap him so hard that he sees stars.

“It sure took you some time to get here! What about all the other women who died here, the countless young girls that were killed by demons you did nothing about? Why did you save me!?”

“I’m wondering that too”, Sanemi mutters under his breath.

Did you actually go inane? The way you look at him with your eyes completely furious, face and yukata smeared in your own blood. You can’t be serious about that, right?

“You should be thankful”, he finally hisses.

“Thankful!? YOU should be sorry!”

“Yeah, I’m sorry for saving you…you…you ungrateful thing!”

“I could have saved myself”, you argue.

“Oh, is that so?”

No, absolutely not. You would have died if it wasn’t for the wind hashira.

“Everything was under control”, you snap at him.

Nothing was under control. This was your last way out of your misery.

“Is it so hard to just be thankful?”, he argues.

“Who’s your new friend, Shinazugawa?”

“We aren’t friends”, both of you reply at once.

Your heavy breath hangs in the air, hands still clenched into fists. Deep down you know how wrong it is to snap at him, that the demon slayer corps aren’t responsible for the countless lives the demons took in this area. But still…Why does it have to be you they saved? Why not the girl next door who would have married the next day or the girl that was supposed to leave only days after she got killed? It’s not fair, it’s not enough, it’s-

You take a heavy step back when your vision starts to get foggy.

“I won’t catch that brat if she faints now”, the wind hashira grumbles.

“We both know you will.”

The last thing you see are his purple eyes before you fall straight into deep darkness.

-a few days later-

“She’s awake now, Shinazugawa. And she asked for you.”

He hates the way his heart skips a beat by hearing those innocent words from Shinobu. You didn’t leave his head. Despite the state of Oyakata-sama, despite the hashira training, despite the stinging fact that the king of demons himself will come for them, you were always on his mind. You, with your strong but feminine eyes. You, who jumped out of a window into certain death only to keep your body away from the mouths of these demons. You, who straight up slapped him. Was it your attitude that caught him off guard? He never experienced a woman saved by him being this ungrateful. Aren’t you aware of the fact that you would have died that night if it wasn’t for him?

“What do you want, brat?”

His words come out harsher than anticipated while your sight simply takes his breath away. Since he can remember, Sanemi was never interested in any women romantically. No, love is nothing but weakness, women mean nothing but trouble. But even though you glare at him with venomous eyes the second he enters the room, he can’t help but feel drawn towards you.

“You’re a hashira, right?”

Your words sound just as harsh as his, your gaze meeting his with so much strength that it is him who starts to feel uncomfortable.

“Yeah, I already told you that-“

“Train me”, you interrupt him.

“I want to become a demon slayer and kick your ass.”

“You, kicking my ass?”

You grab the fabric of his uniform so roughly that he isn’t able to react, suddenly so close to you that he can feel the heat radiating from your body.

“Train me.”

“Fine brat. I’ll train you. But don’t think I’ll go easy on your ass.”

-bonus-

“Try to keep up, (y/n).”

His katana clashes into yours over and over, makes it hard to stand your ground. But still you fight back, your hands holding onto your sword so tightly that your knuckles stand out white. You just have to win. There is absolutely no way you’ll lose against your master again.

Especially since he’s your lover.

“Are you tired yet?”, he teases you with a smirk.

“Absolutely not”, you press out while dodging another hit just in time.

This won’t help. If you continue to fight like this, he’ll sweep you off your feet like all these countless times before. But what are you supposed to do? It almost seems as if Sanemi has no weakness.

Except you.

“But you’ll be when I’m done”, you purr.

That sudden change of mood catches him completely off guard, forces him to hesitate for the split of a second.

Enough for you to sweep him off his feet, your body resting on top of his while your blade hangs into his face.

“I won”, you announce triumphally.

“You cheated”, he protests underneath you.

“Demons play dirty as well. You need to be prepared for everything-“

All it takes his one swift motion for him to position himself on top of you, body forcing you onto the ground before you’re able to catch a breath.

“Imma show you how dirty playing really works, then.”

Tags: @chilichopsticks @hellkaiserinphoenix @ynackerman9499 @keepghostly @beatrexworld @froufrousnowman @hidazinie @tomiokathedepresso @poketrainer2270 @chaoticwinnercupcake @lees-chaotic-brain @wordskeeper @polarbvnny @kayleegomez @ryva @baku2345 @komelrebi-san

884 notes · View notes

ddejavvu · 6 months ago

Text

Deadpool likes annoying you

this post is 18+, minors dni. (fem!reader)

Deadpool is absolutely fantastic at sex. He's just the right blend of high-energy, low-inhibitions that makes for a night of screaming, writhing, and melting into the sheets. After you've melted though, that's when he takes one last little bit of pleasure for himself.

"Open up," He pats roughly against your cheeks as he's fucking your limp body, milking any last orgasm he can get for himself. You're moaning, more sounds than coherent words, gripping the sheets like they'll tamp down the burning in your abdomen.

You don't comprehend what he's said until he's already wrestling your mouth open for himself, too lost in your own mind-numbing pleasure to obey. But Wade's strong hand bullies its way into your mouth, wrenching it open wide so that he can inspect its contents.

"Look at that throat, baby. All red and swollen, shit, that was me?"

He pokes at your tongue, watching it twitch, then prods at your teeth, "You gonna bite me with these, killer? Yeah?"

You're pitifully non-threatening when you close your mouth around his finger and suck instead of biting.

"Wimp," He teases, pulling his finger easily out of your mouth and tugging on your earlobe instead, "Jesus, it's like you give a woman four orgasms and all of a sudden she doesn't know what to do with herself."

There's barely room inside of your gaped mouth for Wade's fingers, but they're mean and insistent, and they stretch your lips out until they burn. They're pressed flush against his cock, but perhaps that's why he does it. Doubly for pleasure and annoyance.

"Lemme see your tongue." He demands, and pulls your lips back until he can watch your tongue bob against his hard cock.

"Oh, that was a good suck." He comments, watching the innerworkings of your mouth as his fingers pry open your lips, "Or- it would have been, if I wasn't sticking my fingers in your mouth. Kinda hard to get a grip now, isn't it? Ah- don't stop," He flicks your earlobe when you make to pull away from him, "Don't be so sensitive, I'm just teasing. You want your mouth back?"

You nod, and it's a drooly, slurping mess around both his cock and his fingers. But he lets go, and his slick fingers quickly find your nipples in their desperate search for something else to tug on. He pinches and yanks and rolls and pokes, his cock twitching when you try squirming away, visibly annoyed by his mercilessness.

"Oh, little miss princess can't handle a little teasing. You know you're gonna have to be better than that with me, right? I'm not a nice guy; you gotta toughen up."

#deadpool x reader #deadpool smut #deadpool fanfiction #deadpool imagine #deadpool x you #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson smut #wade wilson fanfiction #wade wilson imagine #wade wilson x you

961 notes · View notes

dollwrites · 2 years ago

Text

𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 — 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢 𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!housekeeper!reader, this is a dark fic, dub con, power imbalance, suggested age gap, rough sex, gagging, creampie / basically forced breeding, enji is a big meanie, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ dabi was supposed to be my first mha character but daddy won sorry. do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading <3

for once, during your shifts in the Todoroki household, you were breathing easy. you hum, quietly to yourself, as you scrub each dish, before rinsing the suds away to stack it in the draining rack. usually, you were already aching, with your face shoved in a couch cushion with your ass in the air, taking whatever Enji felt like you deserved that day. more often than not, you’d be crying by the time he finished, and tossed you into the floor like a discarded cumrag, smelling like him and shuddering. you told yourself you only kept coming back because you needed the money, but there were other jobs out there. nicer families to work for.

it was the fear that had a grip on you.

when Enji would bark your name, you would always freeze. he only ever acknowledged you when he needed someone to drain his balls anyways, so you knew what you would be doing for the next hour or so.

you were glad that ( it seemed like ) today would be easier on your body than normal. Enji hadn’t left his bedroom yet, and you were almost finished with the dishes. you had to mop the floors and tidy up the bedrooms, and then you could finally leave.

but the running water in the sink silences his usually too-heavy-to-miss footsteps, and you had no idea Enji was coming until you felt his warmth radiating against your back and your eyes widen. “M—Mister Todoroki, I didn’t hear you come i—“

“Stick your little ass out more,” he rasped, one massive hand pawing at your waist, thumb digging into your tummy to bend you into an arch, and you whine as you comply, gripping the platter tight in one hand and the sponge in the other, “the hell ‘m I paying you so goddamn much for, again? There’s cheaper housemaids, you know.”

“S—sir—“

his free hand hooks around your throat and guides your head back to rest the crown against his sternum, pretzeling you into an unnatural S shape and you cower below his massive form. the expanse of his chest seems miles long from this angle, his harsh features twisted into a wicked scowl. you squint, trying not to lock on to his furious eyes, and stared at his mouth instead. “P—please—“

Enji doesn’t even hear your pathetic, little plea, pushing his gargantuan body against yours, he pins you to the countertop, knocking the breath out of you.

“You’re a tight, little cocksleeve, so you’re worth just a little bit more than those old bags that clean twice as good as you do.” he snarls, hunching over to smear his open mouth over your forehead, and a wave of hot breath tickles your countenance, “but you’d better remember that and start acting like the pricey, set of fuckholes you are. If your back’s not arched, and that ass isn’t on display for me at all times going forward, I’m gonna start cutting your pay. You’ll take twice the cock, though. Am I clear?”

with your bottom lip trembling, you nod with wide eyes, holding the plate closer to your chest. you weren’t sure why you still gripped it, other than you simply needed something to hold on to, something to use as a shield, even if it was a useless one.

Enji quirked a brow, tilted his head of one side, and skewed his lips to bare his teeth. “My question requires a verbal response, whore.”

eyes big and nervous, you release the plate and sponge and allow them to slip back into the soapy water, splashing your top as they do so, but you try to wrap your smaller hands around his forearm when you feel his fingers wanting to tighten around your neck, threatening for you to submit to him or face the severe consequences. “Y—yes sir!” you stammer, holding on to the hardest muscle you’ve ever felt contract under your fingertips.

the hand on your waist careens downward and forces its way between your thighs, and you squirm when calloused fingertips, as rough as sandpaper, rub hard against your panties, “I thought I told you about this, too.” he hisses, coaxing a damp patch against his fingers as he kneads your sensitive sex through the lingerie. you whimper; Enji had made it beyond clear— panties were forbidden. that way, he could easily bend you over any piece of furniture in his home and fuck you without the irritation of having to strip you first. but the skirt he demanded you wear as part of your uniform was much too short, and when you scrubbed the floors on your hands and knees, if you weren’t wearing anything underneath, every inch of your most vulnerable section was exposed. you were embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” you breathe out, wriggling atop his hand. even though he’s much too rough with your softer, more fragile body, it reacts by pooling slick, attempting to ease the friction he’s causing. “T—the skirt is just so short, I—“

“How many times?” he barks, effectively shutting you up as he wraps his fist around the waistband, “How many times have I had to rip them off of you?”

a soft plea for mercy dies on your tongue. a lot. so many times that you were running out of undies. “T—too many…”

with one, brisk jerk, he’s shredded the fabric, pulling the wad of damp cotton from between your legs in his fist. your body’s jostled by the force, and you gasp, knocked off balance, but pinned too tight against the sink to fall.

“And you still wore them today?”

“I won’t wear them anymore,” you add in a desperate breath. “I— I promise I won’t, p— please don’t be angry with me, I’ll be goo—!“ you were tripping over your own words, terrified of what he had in mind for a punishment. his voice was husky and diabolically low, all of his muscles taut, and you were most afraid of being on the receiving end of his strength if he took the notion to strangle you; you were in a most compromising position. however, your promise to behave is cut off as he jams your own, tattered panties into your mouth, using his thick, long digits to shove the fabric all the way to the back of your throat, and your bargaining melts into a helpless gurgling. the tips of his fingers tease the gag reflex he knew was there, and your eyes well up with tears as you stare up at him, attempting ( and failing ) to push the lingerie out with your tongue. it was only after he pulled his fingers free that you bite down on the underwear, and taste yourself.

“I don’t have the time to punish you properly,” he growls, shoving you further over the sink. you’re swept off your feet, and they dangle a few inches from the floor, the very tips of your toes barely dragging against it, hands scrambling to find solidity, and planting your palms against the bottom of the sink, soapy water sloshing, soaking your shirt, overflowing into the floor. “I’ve got somewhere to be, but, I need a fuck first.” the way he said it made your stomach turn. he wasn’t asking. he wasn’t even trying to pretend that you had a say in what he did with your body. he reaches between your bodies to retrieve his cock, which you are not surprised is already solid and mighty ( you swore he was hard every time he got the chance to degrade you ), and without so much as a moment for you to suck in a breath and prepare yourself, he forces his way inside.

he was so fucking big.

you whimper, blinking back tears. had you not been gagged with your own panties, you would’ve screamed. no matter how many times he used you, your body never adjusted to just how thick he was. your walls have no choice but to stretch to their limit, kissing every angry vein, sealing around his base when he bottoms out. you swear, with the force he likes to drive himself into you, and his impossible size, he must not care if he bursts through your belly. it definitely felt like he might— there was a distinct pressure against your lower abdomen, and you knew that had you not been smushed against the countertop, the shape of his cock would bulge against your navel.

Enji groans, dropping his head back. “You’ve still got the tightest cunt I’ve ever conquered,” he may have meant it as a compliment, but you could do very little besides yowl through your gag and kick your feet as he pounds you, hard and fast, desperately trying to find something to hold on to that wasn’t water, “she never quite gets used to my cock, does she? Still too big for her?” you could hear the splashing as the dishwater rains down on the floor, and you knew that once he was done with you, you would still have to clean up the mess he was making.

nodding, you try to reach both hands down between your legs, instead. you couldn’t pull him out, you knew that, but you could try and soothe your poor, abused sex by cupping it with one hand, your other trying to push against his herculean thigh in hopes to slow him down.

“Good,” he grunts, releasing your throat and grabbing both of your arms at the elbows, jerking your hands away from your own body. with a pitiful whine, you clench your fists as he wrenches your arms back, and uses the new leverage to toss you back and forth, meeting his merciless fucking, “the way you clench when you’re trying to handle my cock…” leaning with all of his weight against your back, he pants into the shell of your ear, “it only makes me want to fuck your useless, little brains out. Harder, and faster.” each word is emphasized as he does just that, pounding you so brutally that you see stars behind your eyelids, shaking you back and forth violently— to the point it made you lightheaded. you squeal and beg and choke on your gag, drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth, tears on your cheeks.

you didn’t want to admit it ( and couldn’t, even if you wanted to ), but the constant battering of his thick tip into a cluster of delicate nerves had driven you over the edge. it was relentless, the way he destroyed your body and your mind; each time his cock hit the bundle in you, your eyelids fluttered, and your brain turned to mush.

somewhere amidst the cruel and bestial assault, you’d dropped off. you fell apart, legs shaking and core pulsing, milking him more fervently, until you gave into the intensity of the orgasm and your eyes rolled back.

he saw this, and moaned in approval, “Don’t black out, slut. I’m about to flood your guts.” his cock was throbbing when he gave you his deepest, hardest thrusts. you yelp in protest when the head of his cock bumps your cervix, but you could do absolutely nothing to stop it, not with the mountainous man holding you down with every last ounce of his weight. you simply had to take the pressure, and rope after rope of warmth that he shoots into you. your toes curl when he pulls back to slam himself home one last time, and the last few spurts of his release dribble out of your quivering hole when he pulls out.

letting go of your arms and stepping back, he tucks himself back into his uniform as you collapse. first, into the sink, and then, when your feet hit the floor, your knees buckle and you slide into a trembling, messy heap in the floor. you can feel the puddle of soapy water under your bum, it’s soaked the rug, too. exhausted, panting, with your thighs vibrating and your sex clenching uncontrollably, you sag against the side of the cabinet door. you shy closer to it, trying to meld into the wooden panel when Enji steps closer, and grabs your chin to tilt it up. your panties still lodged in your mouth, you look up at him with glassy eyes, wincing at his very touch.

“You’re staying late tonight, after you’ve finished your cleaning duties I want you to wait for me to come home and ruin you again, on your knees by the door like a proper whore.” he says, in a matter-of-fact baritone. you nod slowly.

you were, once again, fucked into complete obedience.

4K notes · View notes

rottiens · 10 months ago

Text

⊹ ˚. GOJŌ SATORU┊18+ , bf! gojō, somnophilia (noncon), oral ( m -> f ), canon au, female-bodied reader, petnames (angel). divider creds: cafekitsune. WC. 1.4K

Gojo promised himself not to touch you. Instead he admired you from afar, struggling with the carnal desire that asks him to slide his fingers through the nooks and crannies of your body— you, sprawled on the sheets, becoming one with the bed and your tousled hair. Carefully, he removes the glasses that were lying on the bridge of your nose, crooked and just a shake of your head threatening to break them.

The light illuminating you from a lamp on the bedside table does little to brighten the room. The opaque rays show your relaxed face sleeping pleasantly and a little further on, they show your hands resting without a defined posture at the level of your hips.

Gojo holds the book open at the edge of the bed and closes it to put it aside on the bedside table along with your glasses, without them, you look much younger even and the idea makes him smile because if you were awake you would tap his shoulder and tell him to shut up.

Still with the grin on his lips, he sits on the bed carefully avoiding waking you up, you're so comfortable that it's the last thing he would want… that's when he really intends not to wake you up, he doesn't want to interrupt your sleep, he just…. He just wants to admire you a little more.

The tank top you're wearing does little to cover you. One of your breasts escapes slightly outward giving gojo a flash of skin and your erect nipples that he can't stop staring at. He bites his lower lip, controlling his thoughts that rushed to take him to places and corners of his head that he shouldn't, thoughts that end and begin with him grabbing your tit without caution and taking it into his mouth to lick and abuse it with his teeth.

He stretched his hand towards you, your chest rises and falls placidly just like the waves, the opposite of his that heaves with each new dangerous thought his unconscious whips him with. His finger traces your collarbones in a touch that never comes, his cursed technique prevents him from touching you and he purposely keeps it active because it makes him feel less guilty. Restless, he searches for your erect nipple and makes the attempt to touch it in circles, in that instant you move seeking the comfort of the sheets which would seem a coincidence that gives him the opportunity not to continue disturbing your sleep.

"Fuck." It's the exact moment where he realizes he won't be able to keep his promise.

With one hand he squeezes the soft bulge forming a tent in his pants, with the other, he mimics the action of grabbing your breast and carving your nipple back and forth but once again, he never manages to touch you. Getting up from the bed and moving far enough away from you to admire you again, gojo removes his uniform shirt leaving it lying somewhere in the room along with the blindfold.

The yellow dye sticks to his naked torso right away, illuminating his overworked abdomen and moles that seemed to have been put there specifically.

He's late. And he is sorry. He will apologize to you tomorrow because he knows how important it is for you to spend time with him, he feels guilty for not being there on time and making you wait for him, but he feels guiltier for what he will do next.

Gojo again sits on the edge of the bed but this time he goes to your feet. His fingers spread your knees apart to make a space where his big body can fit in between. Your thighs spread to either side without effort and he takes the opportunity to make a house of your thighs and place them on top of his shoulders still with infinity in between.

Still not allowing you to feel him, gojo pushes your panties with his nose. His eyelids droop at the sensation of the heat emanating from your pussy onto his tongue, his mouth is soaked with the thought of how it will feel to finally taste you and this makes him push further into you in an invisible thrust.

His body tenses with need yet desperation, squeezing his eyes shut he sees only black and flashes like white dots, however the taste of your natural scent guides him through the gloom making it clear to him that there is nothing wrong with this, this is the right thing to do, he knows that if you would be awake you would approve. Finally and without his infinite technique getting in the way, his nose snakes between the folds of your pussy, parting your lips until his nose pushes against your clit and rubs it back and forth sniffing shamelessly.

Gojo stands still for a moment, every muscle inside him grinding with desire as he waits for you to say something, a moan, a prayer… seeing the state you're in only urges him to continue. Mouth open and hands clutching at the sheets struggling not to grab the flesh of your thighs hungrily seeking more of that which makes him moan against your panties.

His spit helps the fabric become a mess and he soon finds it annoying that he can't feel you directly, so with the help of his fingers he pushes them aside to finally taste your naked pussy.

Gojo took exactly five seconds to admire the mess he had made of you. Swollen lips dripping with excitement, a plump little clit poking just a little from between your labia and a pussy throbbing and twitching just begging him to keep going.

Along with a grunt louder than he planned he plunges into your hole parting it with his tongue until he explores deep. His tongue curves, expertly, seeking more, fucking you in and out and alternating the motion to move up to your needy clit and give it the attention it deserves by crushing it with the flat of his tongue.

You mewl with a barely audible whimper, indicating that you'll probably wake up soon. Confident now he does hold your thighs, he opens them to give him room for his head to sink deeper into you opening his mouth wider to take as much of you as he can. The warmth and taste of your juices is addictive, gojo wants to drink you and then sink so deep into you; this is the idea that leads him to, intoxicated with ecstasy slide a long finger inside you.

Your confusion sets in as you call his name. His cock aches, you sound so drowsy, your voice barely a murmur that is replaced with a broken moan after he sucks hard on your clit.

You meet his cocked smile in the middle of your legs. His eyes are two full moons that greet you shining with desire and need, his hair is a white tangle that sticks to his forehead and falls tousled over his ears. You take note to cut it off when they're not in such a… compromising situation and instead help him by pushing the sweaty strands aside back to get a better glimpse of what was going on.

"What are you…" you can't finish the sentence because of the sudden feeling that hits you. It's that tightening and loosening rope in your belly warning you that you're on the verge of orgasm. So fast? It's what makes you wonder, how long has gojo been eating your pussy?

"Let it all out." He commands you. And your body obeys him, "All in my mouth," he adds in a purr. You can't even protest or assimilate the sensations that hit your body.

And only when you start to break into his embrace do you realize that two of his fingers are stretching you to the limit and his tongue keeps licking you back and forth and up and down. You try to pull his hair back, tell him you're sore, but Gojo doesn't stop until he's satisfied, not until you've finished squeezing around his fingers.

Gojo pulls out of you with a grunt, your body unravels again on the bed as if in a liquid state and your eyelids give in to exhaustion and close again. Your chest rises and falls desperately seeking oxygen, and every fiber in your body feels on fire.

He leaves one last kiss on top of your clit and rises from between your thighs with soaked lips and wet chin. "I'm going to push my cum inside you now, okay?" a loving hand emerges caressing your navel through the thin fabric, you stare up at him from below between heavy lashes. "Just keep sleeping, angel. I know you're tired, just let me take what I want."

a/n. this was going to be darker but I'm a chicken and I regretted it.

#wr #gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo drabbles #jjk drabbles #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #cw somnophilia #cw noncon #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru scenario #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #wr.gojo

921 notes · View notes

velarisdusk · 4 months ago

Text

Embers to Ice

Cassian x Reader

Series Masterlist Part 5 <- ✦.⁺.✦.⁺.✦ -> Part 7 - Veil of Frost

word count: 6k content: [ explicit sexual content, dub-con, unprotected PIV, rough sex, rough oral (m receiving), fingering, dirty talk, gagging, slapping, begging, degradation | mentions of infidelity, explicit language, emotional manipulation, alcohol ] summary: When something pushes Cassian's anger over the edge, you receive an unexpected text from him. It ignites a fiery and intense encounter, blurring the lines between desire and pain. As his anger drives him to relentless passion, you're left to confront both the storm of emotions and the unsettling truth that follows. author's note: we're coming up on the end here omgomg how exciting!!!! well.. maybe not super exciting for yall, these final two installments are a bit uhhhh......... anyway sorry for the bomb drop at the end teehee (no im not)

Cassian carved through the ice, his movements sharp, cutting, but automatic. His mind was far from focused on the drills. He was just here, skating because it was something to do, something to drown out the gnawing anger that had been festering for weeks. The rest of the team was trickling in, but there was no camaraderie in the air — none of the easy-going banter or brotherhood he once felt. The weight of their betrayal hung thick, unspoken, but suffocating.

Three weeks. Three weeks since he’d caught her at Ianthe’s party, caught all of them. Three weeks since everything came crashing down. He hadn’t spoken to her since he’d dropped her off at her mom’s. The apartment felt too big without her, too empty. She wasn’t just his anymore. She was theirs too — all of them. Every interaction with his teammates felt like an insult, every laugh he’d heard them share like a knife between his ribs, twisting just enough to remind him they had all taken something from him.

Cassian’s gloved hands tightened around his stick as he skated another lap. He could feel the eyes of his teammates on him, could sense the tension rippling through the air. No one had addressed it, not directly. But it was there. Palpable.

He pushed forward, the sharp bite of his blades cutting into the ice, trying to shake the anger threatening to overtake him. But then the rink doors swung open, and Eris stepped onto the ice, his skates gliding effortlessly as if he owned the place.

Cassian barely glanced at him — until he caught a blur of red.

His gaze zeroed in on the red scrunchie, wrapped around the shaft of Eris’s hockey stick. It looked an awful lot like the one you wore to their games as a good luck charm. He wasn’t naive.

The world seemed to freeze around him, the noise of the rink dulling to a muted hum. The red fabric, twirling around with each movement Eris made, was like a flashing neon sign — mocking him, daring him to react. It wasn’t just a scrunchie. It was proof. Cassian’s knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on his stick. His pulse pounded in his ears, his heart slamming against his ribcage as his fury bubbled to the surface. He wanted to hit something. No. He wanted to hit him.

“Nice scrunchie, Eris.” The words slid from his mouth, low and cold, as they glided past each other.

Eris didn’t even glance at him, the bastard. Just smiled that infuriating smile that made him want to punch his teeth in, twirling his stick lazily in his hand. “What can I say?” Eris called back, loud enough for it to echo throughout the rink, for everyone else to hear. “I always leave with a souvenir.”

He could see the other guys trying to avoid his gaze, awkward and unsure, but none of them said anything. Not one of them. It was enough to make Cassian’s blood boil.

His chest heaved as he fought the urge to lash out, to take a swing at Eris right then and there. But he didn’t. Instead, he let the anger simmer, his jaw clenching so hard it ached. The tension coiled tight within him like a live wire sparking just beneath his skin, the weight of everything pressing down on him like a vice.

Cassian led them all through the drills, but he barely registered any of it. Every glance at Eris, every flick of that red scrunchie, was a reminder of how everything had fallen apart. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You’re sitting at the small desk in your childhood bedroom, the dim glow of the evening sun filtering through the curtains, staring blankly at a cup of coffee that’s long since gone cold. It’s been three days since you shared Eris’s company, the weight of your decisions settling like lead in your chest. This room, so familiar, used to feel so safe. Now, it just feels… too small, too suffocating.

Cassian is still back at the apartment, you assume. You haven’t been back there since the evening of the party. You can picture it: his clothes strewn carelessly in the closet, the dent in the couch where he always sat, the ring of your perfume still lingering in the air. The life you built together — the life you wrecked — is just there, untouched, waiting, while you sit here. Stuck.

You haven’t spoken in weeks. Not since the night he found out. Not since his eyes darkened with betrayal and he left you standing at your mother’s door, guilty. And the shame, the regret, the memories won’t let you go.

Especially not the ones of Eris. Three days ago, his hands were on you. Three days ago, you were tied up in his basement and tangled in his sheets, knowing you shouldn’t be but doing it anyway. He made you feel wanted, but the moment it was over, the emptiness came back. No matter how much you tried to bury it, it’s still there. The mess, the guilt, all of it crashing down on you like a punishment you can’t escape.

Your phone vibrates on the desk, pulling you out of your thoughts. You aren’t expecting anything, so when you see Cassian’s name light up the screen, it’s like a cold hand gripping your heart. Your fingers hesitate above the screen. It’s been weeks. Why now?

You tap the notification, and your breath catches in your throat when you read the message.

Come over?

Your mind reels. Is he reaching out for a conversation? Is this a second chance, or just another storm surge? You know better than to hope too much, Cassian doesn’t forgive easily. But you can’t help the flicker of something — hope, desperation, need — that sparks to life in your chest. Still, there’s dread pooling in your stomach. The anger in his eyes that night, when he’d caught you all, you haven’t been able to get it out of your head.

why ?

A long pause. You stare at the screen, pulse thrumming in your ears, until finally, the reply comes.

You’ll see.

“what do you mean ?” you respond. A minute passes, then two. Your stomach twists in knots as you watch the “typing” bubble flash and disappear, then reappear again.

I think you know what I mean.

You close your eyes, his words sinking in, but you can’t read the tone. You’ve never been more afraid of a message in your life.

cass, i don’t like fighting with you. can we talk ? please ?

His response is immediate. Who said anything about fighting?

You bite your lip, the uncertainty clawing at you. What does he want from you? An apology? Closure? Or something else entirely? Part of you wants to refuse, to put some more distance between you both before you get pulled back into the emotional chaos. But the other part, the one still clinging to the hope that things might not be as broken as they seem, presses on.

why now ?

It’s blunt, but you need to know. After weeks of nothing, after he’d shut you out completely, why now?

Does it matter?

Meet me, or don’t. Up to you.

The pit in your stomach deepens. The words are cold, and yet there’s something just underneath them, something unresolved and simmering just beneath the surface. You know this isn’t going to be easy, and that whatever happens tonight will leave you with more scars than you already have. But…

what time ?

9. Door will be open.

It’s 8 now. You stare at the screen, his final message sitting there like a weight pressing down on your chest. You should feel relieved that he’s giving you a chance, but instead, there’s only dread — and that flicker of hope that refuses to die. You set the phone down and let out a shaky breath. Cassian’s messages were as vague as they were unsettling, leaving you to stew in a mixture of dread and longing. The suddenness of his invite, the cold indifference in his words, the fact that you had no idea what would be waiting for you when you got there… You couldn’t shake the feeling that this meeting was going to end badly, but you couldn’t turn away from it, either. Not from him.

Pushing back from the desk, you stood and wandered over to the small mirror above your dresser, staring at your reflection. Your eyes were tired, dark circles haunting your gaze from sleepless nights spent replaying every mistake you made. You didn’t know how to fix things. Hell, you weren’t even sure if you could fix things. But the need to try was too strong to ignore.

Why now? You’d asked him, and his answer hadn’t been comforting. What would you even say to him? No amount of rehearsing could prepare you for the real thing, and every potential conversation that played out in your head ended in disaster. The truth was, you didn’t have the right words, didn’t know how to explain why you’d done what you had. Worse, you didn’t even know if he’d listen. He very well may have been calling you over to come get your things.

As you stood in front of your closet trying to decide what to wear, you rubbed at the tightness in your chest, struggling to steady your breath. But the anxiety was relentless, spiking every time the thought of facing him crept back in. Cassian’s anger had always been a force to reckon with, and after everything you’d done, you didn’t want to imagine it directed at you.

Maybe this is what I deserve, you thought bitterly. Maybe this meeting wasn’t about closure or second chances. Maybe it was just another consequence of your actions.

Those words echoed in your mind as you stood in front of the door. Your door. His door. Just like he said, it was unlocked, the latch clicking open with a slight push. The quiet inside felt oppressive, thick. You hesitated on the threshold, half-tempted to turn around and leave, but the soft hum of the TV in the living room drew you in.

And there he was — Cassian, sitting in the dim light, his arms crossed, his broad shoulders tense. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t so much as glanced your way, but the air in the room shifted the moment you stepped inside. The space between you felt tense, like something fragile waiting to shatter.

You closed the door behind with a soft click, the sound almost deafening in the silence that followed.

“You came,” Cassian said, his voice low, emotionless. He didn’t bother looking at you, his gaze fixed ahead on the TV, but you knew he wasn’t watching. You could feel the storm brewing beneath the surface.

“Yeah.” Your voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

He stayed silent for a long moment. You were about to say something when he stood from the couch. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there. But when he finally turned to face you, it was like a punch to the gut. You could see it — the pain. The shadows under his eyes were darker than you remembered, his normally sharp features softened with exhaustion. Cassian had lost just as much sleep as you had, maybe more. And of course, he had. You’d wrecked everything between you in the worst way possible. You’d torn him apart.

He took a slow step toward you, his gaze heavy, intense. There was no softness in his eyes, no hint of the Cassian who used to hold you close after every game, who used to make you laugh when no one else could. This version of him… he was something else. The anger, the betrayal, it still lingered in the air around him, even if he wasn’t saying it out loud.

He stopped when he was close enough for you to feel the heat coming off his body, close enough that you could smell the faint scent of whiskey already on his breath. “You want a drink?” he asked, his voice rough but casual, like you were just two old friends catching up.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I’m good.” I don’t want to pretend everything’s fine, you wanted to say. You wanted to talk, to finally get everything out in the open.

He sucked his teeth, a sound that almost felt like a scoff, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Ahh, come on,” he said, moving past you to the kitchen. You heard the clink of glass as he pulled two tumblers down from the shelf, the dull slosh of whiskey as he poured. “One drink,” he added, like it was a command rather than an offer.

You watched him silently, feeling a knot tighten in your chest. He poured you each a glass, and by the time he turned back to you, there was something sharper in his gaze, something that made your skin prickle. Cassian walked back to where you stood, barely a few paces past the threshold, pressing one of the glasses into your hand without waiting for you to protest. His fingers brushed yours as he handed it over, the contact sending a wave of unease through you.

He tipped his own glass to his lips, throwing back the whiskey in one smooth motion. His eyes never left yours, daring you, waiting.

You stared down at the amber liquid in your hand, feeling the weight of his gaze pressing down on you. Just one drink. It wasn’t going to change anything. With a quiet breath, you lifted the glass to your lips and took a sip, the sharp burn of the whiskey flooding your senses.

Cassian’s expression didn’t change as he watched you, the empty glass still in his hand. “Good,” he muttered under his breath, setting his glass down on the kitchen island with a clink that echoed in the stillness.

Before you could say anything, he stepped closer, closing the small gap between you, his presence overwhelming. The heat from his body made your skin tingle, and when his hand reached out to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear, your breath hitched. His touch was too familiar, too careful for the tension that buzzed between you. It sent a jolt through you, a reminder of all the nights you’d spent in this very apartment, tangled up with him, and how far away that felt now.

“Cass, I–” you started, your voice trembling, but he didn’t let you finish.

He shushed you, and his fingers slid down to your jaw, holding you there as his thumb brushed over your cheek. His lips were so close to yours now, close enough that you could feel his breath puff against your skin. Your heart raced in your chest, your mind screaming at you to pull back, to stop this before it started.

“Please, Cass, we need to talk,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I–”

“I didn’t bring you here to talk,” he said, his voice low, the words brushing your lips as he spoke. You knew what he wanted, and the sight of his eyes darkening only confirmed it. You tried to push your free hand against his chest, a feeble attempt to put some distance between you.

But he didn’t stop. His mouth crashed against yours, the kiss hard, demanding, and it caught you off guard, sending a shockwave through your body. You gasped against his lips, your hands instinctively pressing against his chest, glass of whiskey and all, trying to push him away. But he was relentless, his hand snaking around your waist and pulling you closer, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that made your knees weak.

“Cassian, don’t,” you managed to get out between breaths, your hands pushing harder against his chest. For a moment, he hesitated, his grip loosening just enough for you to break the kiss and pull back slightly, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts.

“I–” you started again, but the words felt useless now. He was looking at you with such intensity, his chest rising and falling with the same ragged breaths, and for a second, you could see the raw pain behind his anger. He was hurting — just as much as you were, likely more. And in that moment, you realized that talking wasn’t going to fix this. Words wouldn’t heal the damage you’d done. But you would still try, damn it.

Cassian’s eyes flicked down to your lips, and before you could think, his mouth was on you again. This time, it was slower, deeper, but still full of that same bitterness, that same unresolved anger. His hands moved down your body, gripping your hips as he backed you against the door. Your mind screamed at you to stop, to push him away, to try to make him talk. But his touch, his toned muscles pressing against you, it all clouded your thoughts until the only thing left was him.

You could feel his frustration in every movement, in the way his lips pressed harder against yours, in the way his hands gripped you like he was afraid you’d slip away. And maybe that was what this was — a way to hold on to something that had already slipped through his fingers.

He broke the kiss for just a moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath heavy. “Tell me to stop,” he muttered, his voice rough and ragged. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Because even though your mind was screaming at you to stop this, to pull back and speak on the situation like adults, your body — your body and heart — they’d already made their decision.

Instead of answering, you kissed him again, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as you pulled him closer. The whiskey glass slipped from your grip, landing with a heavy thud as the amber liquid pooled across the hardwood floor. Surprisingly, the glass hadn’t shattered. He responded immediately, his hands sliding under your shirt, his touch sending a rush of heat through you that made your head spin. His fingers gripped your skin, nothing gentle about it. His mouth was on yours again, hard and demanding, and any attempt at control you had slipped further with each frantic kiss.

His fingers dug back into your hips, and he pulled you toward him. You tried to catch your breath, but Cassian didn’t give you the chance. His hand slipped between your legs, pressing roughly against the front of your jeans, the friction sending a jolt of sensation through your body that made you gasp.

“Cass–” you started, but the words died on your lips as his fingers worked your button open with a quick, practiced motion. The next thing you knew, his hand was inside, sliding past the fabric of your underwear. His fingers found you immediately, slipping through your wetness with a precision that had your back arching involuntarily. But this wasn’t the way he used to touch you — not with the slow, teasing strokes meant to drive you crazy. This was something else, something far more aggressive.

“Missed me?” Cassian rasped against your neck, his breath hot and ragged. “Missed this?”

Two of his fingers plunged inside you without warning, stretching you, moving in fast, unforgiving strokes. You let out a choked gasp, your hands instinctively gripping his shoulders as he fingered you hard, each thrust of his fingers sending shockwaves through you. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t careful. It was as if he was trying to remind you — this is mine. You were mine.

“Fuck,” he growled against your neck, his teeth grazing your skin. “Bet you’ve been dreaming about this, huh? How easy you’d fall right back into it.” His fingers pumped inside you, deeper, harder, each movement making it clear that this was about more than making you feel good. This was something he needed.

With a whimper, your head fell back against the door, your mind spinning with the sensation, the way his fingers curled inside you, hitting that spot that made your legs tremble. It was so much, so fast. The push and pull between your desire and the way he was handling you was dizzying. His other hand tangled in your hair, tugging your head back to expose your throat to his lips.

“Did you think of me while you let them fuck you?” he hissed, voice dripping with venom as his palm pressed roughly against your clit. “Did you miss my fingers when you spread your legs for them?”

You moaned despite yourself, the push and pull of your desire and guilt twisting inside you. He bit down on the tender skin of your neck, his fingers still driving into you with that relentless pace. “Cass, please…” You barely managed to choke the words out, your body reacting to the brutal pace of his fingers even as your mind struggled to keep up.

“Please what?” he mocked, his voice low and full of heat. “Please, Cassian? Please don’t stop, Cassian? I’m desperate for something to fill my pathetic fucking hole, Cassian? You want more, don’t you?”

Before you could answer, Cassian pulled his hand back abruptly, removing his fingers from you with a sharpness that left you gasping, your legs unsteady.

“Open your mouth,” he growled, and you did without thinking, instinct taking over. He pressed his fingers down against your tongue, and you almost gagged at the sudden pressure. You tasted yourself on them, sucked them clean, never breaking eye contact.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice cold as he watched you. “You take it so well.”

He pulled his fingers from your lips and was already moving. His hand gripped the back of your neck, guiding you downward, pushing you to your knees in front of him. You blinked up at him, breathless, the weight of what was happening sinking in. But the look in his eyes, the intensity, the fury… it left you speechless.

Cassian wasted no time. He tugged at his belt, yanking his pants down just enough to free himself. “Take that shit off,” he muttered, nodding toward your shirt and bra. “You wanna make it up to me, right?” he said, his voice rough. “Go ahead. Show me. Let me feel how sorry you are.”

Before you could brace yourself, his hand was in your hair, and he was guiding his cock past your lips. He was thick and hard, and the taste of him was almost sweet as he pushed himself deeper into your mouth, his hips jerking forward with a force that made your eyes water.

“Take it,” he growled, holding you in place as he thrust into your mouth, the motion brutal. “Of course you’d take it so easily, so sweetly. Look at you. Look at those perfect fucking tits.”

You tried to adjust to the sensation, to put on a show for him as you played with your breasts, massaging and pinching and squeezing. His hand tightened in your hair, holding your head still as he fucked your mouth with a punishing rhythm. His breathing grew heavier, each thrust more forceful than the last.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his head tipping back slightly as he buried himself deeper, the sound of your gagging making his cock twitch against your throat. “You’ve always been so fucking good at this, goddamn.” His hips kept moving, faster, harder, his grip unrelenting as he used you.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your jaw aching as he pushed you to the limit, fucking your face like it was the only thing that mattered. And maybe right now, it was. You could feel the anger still simmering beneath the surface, the way his need for control dominated every movement. And even though you knew this wasn’t how tonight should have gone, the heat building in your gut betrayed you.

Finally, with one last thrust, he pulled back, his breathing heavy and labored as he looked down at you. You gasped for air, wiping at your mouth, your body trembling. Without a word, Cassian lifted you to your feet, his hands rough and commanding. He pushed you toward the couch, and you landed with a quiet “oomph,” your body barely having time to register what was happening before his hands were on you again.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he murmured as he pulled your jeans and underwear down with quick, rough motions, leaving your heat bare and exposed to him. You could hear him behind you, kicking his own jeans off, and feel the heat of his body as he lined himself up. Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind reeling with the intensity of it all. “Tell me you don’t need this.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to say anything, but all that came out was a shaky gasp as he slammed himself into you, filling you in one hard thrust. You cried out, your hands scrambling to brace yourself against the back of the couch as he started moving immediately, his pace brutal and unforgiving.

“That’s right,” he snarled, his grip on your hips bruising as he thrust into you with a force that made your legs shake. “You take it so well. Just like always.” There was nothing soft about it, each thrust slammed you into the couch, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room as Cassian fucked you harder, faster, the anger pouring out of him in every movement. This wasn’t love or tenderness. This was raw, angry, and so intense it left you gasping for air.

“Did any of them fuck you like this? Did Eris fuck you like this?” he growled, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned over you, his hips never slowing. “Did you take him as sweetly as you’re taking me? Were you this pretty for him, this complacent?”

“Cass, please…” you cried out. Was that all you could think to say to him?

“Don’t act like you don’t want this,” he bit out, his fingers digging into your skin. “I know you. You’re mine. You always have been, and you always will be.”

His words cut through you, the intensity, the fury in his voice mixing with the pleasure that had your body on the edge of unraveling. And despite everything, despite the pain, the anger, the confusion — you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t stop the way your body responded to him, the way the pleasure kept building, threatening to spill over.

“You’re gonna come for me, aren’t you?” he muttered, still fucking into you with no sign of slowing down. “Of course you are. You can’t help yourself. Not with me. You never could.”

His grip tightened, his movements steady as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. You couldn’t help but chase that high, pushing your hips back against his, responding to every brutal thrust, every mocking word.

“Come for me,” he growled. “Come on.”

And with that, your body shattered, the pleasure crashing over you in waves as you came, your mind going blank, your legs shaking beneath you. Cassian yanked his shirt over his head, tossing it to the ground, but he never slowed his pace, and his cock was still buried deep inside you. He didn’t stop. If anything, the pace he set before only grew more intense at the feel of your muscles contracting around him. The pressure of his hips slamming into yours, the harsh grip of his hands, it was all too much, and yet… not enough.

“You think I’m done with you?” His voice was a low, dark rumble against your ear, his breath hot and ragged. “You’re not getting off that easy.”

Before you could protest, he leaned his body over yours and snaked his arm to your front, finding your clit with practiced precision. You gasped, your body jerking in response, your oversensitive nerves already on the edge of snapping again. He wasn’t giving you a chance to recover, wasn’t letting you escape the relentless pace he set.

“Did Rhysand fuck you like this?” he snarled, his fingers circling your clit faster now, drawing another moan from deep within you. “Did he make you scream? Bet he didn’t make you come this hard, did he?”

You tried to shake your head, tried to speak, but Cassian clamped a hand over your mouth, straightening up as he used his grip to drive you back onto his cock again and again. Each thrust hit that spot deep inside you, leaving you dizzy and breathless. You could barely think, let alone find the words.

“No answer?” he mocked, his voice rough and dripping with arrogance. “Figures. I bet you happily spread your legs for him, just hoping he’d fuck you half as good as I do.”

You whimpered, your legs trembling beneath you as the pleasure built again, unable to do anything but take the fucking he gave you. His fingers pressed harder against your clit, rubbing in tight circles as he thrust into you with bruising force. You knew you’d be unbelievably sore in the morning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, not when you felt yourself spiraling, hurtling toward release once more, and there was nothing to be done to stop it.

“You’re going to come again, aren’t you? Y’know how I can tell?” he muttered darkly, leaning in closer. “I know your pussy. I know when it feels good, I know when it wants to be stuffed full of cock. I know when it wants to come just by how it squeezes my fucking dick.”

You cried out, the overwhelming sensation of him pounding into you, his fingers merciless on your clit, pushing you closer and closer. His hand over your mouth did next to nothing to muffle the depraved sounds escaping you.

“Fuck, yeah, just like that,” he grunted. “I want you to come for me. I want you to scream my name while you come on my cock.”

And you did. He moved his hand just as your orgasm ripped through you, his name spilling from your lips again and again. Every muscle in your body went taut, the intensity making you convulse. You would have collapsed if he weren’t holding you so tightly, his grip bruising, keeping you upright as he rode you through your second orgasm.

But he still wasn’t done.

He pulled out of you abruptly, leaving you feeling empty and aching despite having finished twice. You blush, embarrassed at the thought. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before he spun you around, his eyes dark and wild with hunger as he looked down at you. “Get on your knees.”

You clambered off the couch and dropped to your knees for him again, your body and mind too overwhelmed to do anything but obey. Cassian stood over you, his chest heaving, his cock still rock-hard and slick with your arousal. He grabbed your hair, pulling your head back as he shoved himself back into your mouth.

“Did Azriel fuck your throat like this?” he demanded, thrusting into your mouth with a brutal rhythm that had you gagging, tears streaming down your cheeks this time. “Did he make you choke on it? Bet he didn’t. Bet you let him take you nice and slow.”

You thought back to that day, to how Azriel had asked you if Cassian was too gentle while he fucked you stupid. But you couldn’t think about it for very long. Cassian slapped your cheek just a little harder than necessary, his cock still down your throat. “No one makes you choke like I do, huh?” he groaned, his cock twitching against your throat. “Not Tarquin, not Helion, and definitely not fucking Eris.”

He pulled out then, leaving you coughing and gasping for air as he turned you around and shoved you to the ground. “This is what you need,” he panted, driving into you with unmatched force, your cheek brushing against the plush area rug. “I bet Helion and Tarquin didn’t give it to you like this.” He leaned over you, his breath hot against your ear as he growled, “Did Helion make you beg for it? Did Tarquin fuck you hard enough to make you scream like this?”

You moaned, the pleasure building up again, your body responding to every brutal thrust, every filthy word that left his lips.

“Of course not,” Cassian sneered. “He couldn’t. None of them can. Not. Like. Me.” He punctuated the words with particularly deep thrusts that had you trying to pull your hips away from him. A fruitless effort, his hands yanking you back with a laugh.

His fingers found your clit again, rubbing in tight, small circles that had you gasping, your body on the verge of breaking for a third time. You were shaking, face against the rug, unable to hold yourself up anymore.

“Come again,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. “I’m not stopping until you do, so fucking hurry up.”

You felt yourself unraveling, the pleasure too intense, too overwhelming. His name tumbled from your lips again, followed by an incoherent string of curses as you teetered on the edge.

“That’s it,” he growled, his grip on you tightening as his rhythm finally began to falter. “Come for me. Let me hear you scream.”

And scream you did. The pleasure ripped through you, your body shuddering violently as you came again, your vision going white, your mind completely blank. Cassian followed soon after, his own release tearing through him as he groaned, spilling inside you with one final, brutal thrust.

“Tell me,” he whispered roughly as he pulled out of you, turning you onto your back so he could look down at you. “Tell me if Eris made you come like that. Did he fuck you like I just did?”

You shook your head weakly, your body too spent to do anything but breathe, your legs still shaking from the intensity of it all.

Cassian stood up, already pulling on his boxer briefs and jeans with calm efficiency, as if nothing had happened. You lay there for a moment, trembling, your mind still foggy. Slowly, you fumbled for your clothes, pulling them back on in silence, your body aching and spent.

As you zipped up your jeans, still breathless and shaken, you looked over at him. He was slipping his shirt back on, the casualness of his movements making your stomach twist.

“Cass… what are you doing?” you asked, your voice shaky, confused. “I thought we–”

He cut you off coldly. “I told you,” he said, pulling his shirt down over himself. “I didn’t ask you to come over here to talk. I’m heading out, but you can stay here tonight.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in, making your heart clench. Your hands trembled as you adjusted your shirt, a gnawing dread already settling deep in your gut.

Cassian zipped up his jeans, then leaned down, his voice soft but biting. “No one will ever fuck you the way I do,” he said, voice full of an almost cruel satisfaction. “You’ll spend the rest of your life chasing this. Chasing me.”

As you straightened up, zipping your own jeans, Cassian continued. “No one else will ever be enough,” he said, “and you’ll have to live with that.”

You swallowed hard, your hands shaking as you adjusted your shirt. When you looked up, you saw him halfway to the door, fully dressed now. But he turned back, a glint of cruel amusement in his eyes. “Oh,” he added casually, like an afterthought. Like his next words wouldn’t hit you like a punch to the gut, like a knife twisted deep into your chest. “You’ll also have to live with knowing that you sucked me off after I fucked Elain raw. Right here. On this couch. She left right before you got here.”

#velarisdusk hockey au #acotar #cassian #cassian acotar #cassian x reader #cassian x reader smut #cassian smut #acotar smut #acotar reader insert #hockey au #acotar hockey au

224 notes · View notes