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pseudowho · 1 month ago

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Link to Furry Little Problem (where you, Nanami Kento's wife, are turned into a cat for a week) here!

And, a link to @yuutaguro's exquisite art for Part One

It had been almost a week since you had turned back into a human, and Kento had seen most traces of the four-paws-and-sharp-claws Cat You, bleed away.

Most, at least; what concerned Kento, was that you weren't completely normal. He could overlook the way you would turn, and turn, and turn on the spot before settling onto the sofa. He could forgive the way you would spin on a pinhead, phantom ears pricked and still as the grave, at every little noise past the front door.

Kento drew the line, however, when you shot up from the dining table mid dinner conversation, to run headfirst into the patio doors with a thud. The sparrow that had landed just outside twittered, and flew away, as you sat, dazed. Kento buried his face in his hands.

"I'm sure it's not that bad, Nanami," Shoko had tutted, inviting you both into her office. "I'm sure it will just...just take, uh..."

You had been forced to pause at the door, to bat and chew at the loping leaves of her little pot plant. As Kento, ever patient and gentle, guided you with whispered reassurances away from the pot plant, and to the sofa, Shoko's clipboard drooped.

You dug your nails into the couch for a few seconds, pricking it all over, before sitting down in your seat with a satisfied little wiggle, and a smile.

Shoko's eyes flicked from you, to Kento, to you, and began, awkward.

"Let's...get a baseline, shall we? See how much of the cat still remains." Shoko reached behind her, rustling in a bag, before placing something long and green on the table before you. "I have a cucumb--"

You shot into the air like you were on springs, landing with a crash behind Shoko's sofa. The room was silent. Shoko's cigarette idly smoked in her ashtray. Kento buried his fingers into his hair, his elbows on his knees.

"Tell me...uh...tell me some of your experiences from the Cat Week, please, Nyanyami--"

Kento glared at Shoko.

The top of your head rose slowly up from behind the sofa, staring at the cucumber with an unhealthy amount of suspicion.

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"Stop that," Kento snapped at you, pausing the movie. You, toe-beaned and glossy and sweet, tilted your furry little head sideways. Kento could almost see the question mark over your head as you stared at him, unblinking and eerie.

The room was dark, save for the little lamp in the corner. The movie sat, inanimate. Kento felt a prickle up his spine; the shadows were thrown long and the room felt many-eyed and still. Kento stared you down. You stared Kento down. Kento narrowed his eyes. You tilted your head to the other side. A clock ticked.

"Meow," you said.

"I mean it," rumbled Kento, stern, "stop it."

You blinked, and chirped, and turned back to the movie. Kento breathed out a shaky sigh, and restarted it.

Five minutes later, Kento dropped the remote with a clatter, cursing.

"Stop staring behind me-- there's nothing behind me-- that's it, we're going to bed--"

Your unwavering gaze into the gloom behind Kento, was interrupted by him picking you up and slinging you over his shoulder. You chirped in protest.

"Mew-- meooooow--"

"I warned you, stop being creepy. It's bedtime for you, madam."

"Meow."

"Yes, I'll rub your tummy, just stop doing the thing--"

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"I'm recommending Ino for the initiative. I think it would be good experience for him, in his plan to progress to--to...darling, please--"

Kento's face on the computer screen was obscured first by furry little face, then a body that dragged hair across his chest, and finally a jaunty little tail, raised and flicking. The other Zoom call participants were silent as Kento lowered you to the floor, where you fizzled up at him in tiny irritation.

"I apologise," Kento sighed to awkward silence, "just my wife--"

Clatter-- clatter-- clack.

The screen flickered. The Zoom call expanded, and shrunk, and expanded, and shrunk, and finally ended. Kento leaned back in his chair, watching you settle on his keyboard. You batted at the mouse, until it landed with a sad little clatter onto the office floor.

You looked at Kento, all pink nose and innocence. Kento's eyes narrowed. He looked into your eyes, looking past the cat to the you within.

"...you know exactly what you're doing, don't you, you absolute terror--"

"Meow," you replied, rolling onto your back to keyboard clatter, and showing him your belly.

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"Meow--"

"--no, you listen to me-- you did that on purpose--"

"Mew--meow, mrrrrow--"

"--don't give me that, you always hated that tie-- awfully convenient--"

"Mew, mew, meow--"

The neighbour watched, slack-jawed and confused, as his neighbour argued with a cat over a brandished, shredded red tie.

What was stranger, was when the cat seemed to argue back. The neighbour's little pot plant overflowed, the watering can slack in his hand.

"--we shall have words when I'm home," Nanami clipped, handing the tie back to you with a glare. You took it in your teeth, imperious as you turned your furry little back to him.

And so began the rumour amongst the neighbours, that Nanami Kento had gone mad.

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"Meow."

You bopped your head against Kento's shin. Gojo watched the vein throb in his temple.

"Meow."

You bopped your head onto Kento again, brushing up against his legs, and brushing, and brushing, and bopping your head. Kento ignored you, utterly steadfast. Gojo gulped.

"Ah, Nanami, I...I think she's hungry--"

"--she is not hungry, she's only just eaten breakfast--"

"Meow," you said. You dragged a plate to your usual spot at the dinner table with your teeth. You nosed a knife and fork into place next to it. You sat by it, staring at Kento. A few seconds passed. You pressed your paw to the middle of the plate, more insistent now, ticked off. "Meow."

Gojo felt a bead of sweat drop down his soul.

Kento spoke, uncharacteristically mild.

"You know, this is one part of her that's really not all that different to when she's human."

"Meow--"

"--yes, I'll get you a snack, give me a minute--"

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"Yo, Nanamin! A package arrived for you."

"Ahh, Yuuji. Good. Bring it to the staffroom, please."

A rip. A rustle. You, circling round Kento as he rummaged in a box. Your tail twitched, and flicked, excited, excited, excited--

Boff.

A big, glass fishbowl was placed onto the staffroom table. Thrilled, you sprung up, and promptly poured yourself into the bowl, your form melting to fill the space perfectly. Your head peeped out of the top of the bowl. You purred.

Kento looked delighted. Yuuji tried not to laugh.

"How, er...how much was that fishbowl, Nanamin?"

"It doesn't matter how much it cost. She likes it, don't you? Yes, you do. Yes you do."

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"Ex-excuse me, uhm...would you mind not hanging around outside the womens' bathrooms? We're starting to feel, uhm...uncomfortable."

Kento raised his eyebrows. He pushed his glasses up his nose. He bowed.

"I apologise. I assure you, I'm waiting for my wife--"

A toilet flushed behind closed doors. A scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch at the handle. The door edged open.

"Ah, there she is-- my apologies-- good afternoon--"

A cat ran out with toilet paper stuck to its back foot. Kento followed.

A small crowd of women turned to watch them leave, utterly perplexed.

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Kento arrived home with a sigh. The day had been long. His shoulders ached, heavy with the burden of work and worry, missing his wife, and he walked through the corridor, calling for you and--

"My lov-- Jesus Christ!"

You leapt out from the staircase, all four paws out in a clawed jazz-hands of death, and yowled at Kento, before skittering away.

Kento leant back against the wall, holding his chest, his glasses askew. He sounded so desperately weary, when he spoke.

"...please stop jumping out at me, you are ageing me--"

From somewhere deep inside the house, "Meow."

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Kento couldn't remember the last time he ran around his garden like this. But he did, running, panting, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his tie abandoned in the flowerbeds and a quirked little half-smile on his face.

He hid behind a forget-me-not blue Hydrangea, trying to silence his breaths, listening, and listening, and--

"Meow!"

Kento laughed, deep and husky, as you shot through the bushes, finding him in seconds. He burst out, running across the garden, and feeling you catch up fast, and jump onto his back, and--

Kento grabbed you, his hands huge and warm and gentle. He fell onto his back on the grass, holding you aloft, where you gazed down at him with as much love as a cat could gaze at a human. Except you weren't a cat, were you?

The sun shone your fur into effervescence. Kento sighed, suspending you in one hand and stroking your cheeks and whiskers with the other.

"This is...nice," he whispered. "Fun. We should...we should do this again. When you're back."

You dropped down onto his chest. You nuzzled your nose against his, over, and over, and over, your two front paws clutching his cheeks with joy.

Kento accepted your feline kisses with a faint sting of tears in his nose.

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"Perhaps there's something about her that always connected on a spiritual level with cats?"

Kento glared at Shoko. "Are you suggesting my wife is more feline than human?"

Shoko smirked. She looked over to you, curled up on the sofa, fast asleep, with Kento's tan suit jacket covering your body.

"She'll come back. Maybe she'll get her comeuppance one day, for all the trouble she caused you. But in the meantime...she's kind of cute."

Kento scoffed, stroking your hair behind your ear. He could have sworn he heard you purr.

"Nonsense. She was always cute."

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burymagdalene · 2 months ago

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Crazy Little Thing Cold Love - S. Reid x Reader

Where the fierce cold brought by their holiday with the team to a ski lodge leads reader and Spencer to seek warmth in more ways than one in their room. Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader Genre: Fluff and Smut (18+ pls pls) tags: softdom!Spence, fingersucking, dry humping, lots of messy kissing, fingering, oral (fem receiving), handjob, piv sex, overstimulation (I can’t help it), praise, fluff, of course, they love each other big time! wc: 6.1k. a/n: I genuinely did not think more than 20 people would read my last (first) fic, I was smiling ear to ear and stalked everyone who liked it basically. I hope this isn’t too long. I don’t know what the fic length sweet spot is. Anyway, I was imagining our pretty boy in the Alaska episode 5x21 while writing this. MERRY CHRISTMAS YA FILTHY ANIMAL

Despite not knowing how to ski, when Spencer invited you to join him and his team for a quick holiday to a ski lodge in Colorado, you nearly melted in excitement.

You’re over at Spencer’s apartment, bag readily in hand, watching him try to find outfits for this occasion. “Well.. I’m not going to be skiing, so I think regular clothes will be fine, hm?��

“Just bring a couple sweaters or something, that’s what I did. And a swimsuit.” You comment as you lay on your stomach on his bed, scrolling through your phone. Spencer takes his head out of his closet to spin and look at you.

“I didn’t even think about that. Of course. Thank you.” He mumbles and walks to his dresser, unsure if he even has swim trunks here. In his bottom drawer he digs through ridiculous ties and socks he’s forgotten about and begrudgingly finds the only swim trunks he had since highschool.

You scoot your body towards the end of his bed, leaning your head over to look at the way-too-short purple swim trunks he’s holding up with an unmistakably gloom look on his face. “Oh… you have to try those on. Right now.” You request through giggles.

Spencer stands up slowly placing the trunks in front of the trousers on his legs to see how the size difference from a pre-pubescent Spencer contrasts to now. How badly he’s about to be humiliated in front of his coworkers.

It’s nothing too horrifying, just blatantly un-Spencer in a way that has you both laughing at the ridiculousness of it. Seeing your boyfriend in short shorts has yet to occur! Regardless, Spencer slips off his slacks and pulls the shorts over his legs, jumping to put pants on for the first time in his life.

Spencer does not look bad. The shorts are too high up, he has probably grown about 6 inches since he picked these out. The tag is still on, he’s never even worn them. They sit nicely fitted on his upper thighs and he has his hands covering his face laughing as he shows you. In an over exaggerated manly voice you laugh out a “do a little spin for me hot stuff” at a groaning Spencer.

“Babe,” Spencer laughs “I cannot be seen in these. In front of my highly respected team as well. In front of… Morgan.” He begins to take them off and throws them into his duffle bag anyway.

“Noooo you gotta. Plus it’ll probably be just the two of us in the hot tub or whatever at a time. We’re not all going to be sitting in it together. At least I hope not…” You giggle a bit at the image. You have to give Spencer props though, him a few years ago would’ve cancelled his RSVP or purposefully left the swimsuit at home leaving him to a trip of staying in a random log cabin reading.

It’s not for a case, so the team does not have access to their own plane, making it so that you and Spencer are doomed to wake up at 5am to meet everybody at the airport. You give out multiple sleepy sidehugs, unable to believe how equipped everyone is at waking up at unbearable hours. With this though you are able to sleep through the flight from D.C. to Colorado just fine using Spencer as your pillow.

The ski lodge made you gasp when you arrived. Snow that was not present in D.C. covered every inch of the area; two levels of wooden panels lead to a huge snow slope behind the lodge. Through many “ooh’s” and “aah’s” it was finally revealed that only Rossi, Hotch, and JJ knew how to ski. Though, Emily and Morgan were equally as interested in learning from the best. This left you, Garcia, and Spencer to inside activities; watching your friends ski, groaning at lack of cell service (Garcia), reading, and the wonderfully heated pool and hottub that rested on the porch overlooking the slope. This, of course, made everyone squeal.

Rooms were doubled up and you and Spencer unpacked your bags chatting with Morgan who was leaning against the doorway regarding ski tricks.

“If you’re so uncoordinated and haven't touched a slope in your life, why would you care about how skiing can aid astronauts mobility?” Morgan questioned Spencer's rambling about astronauts who have experience with skiing and had an easier time walking on the moon.

“Well I’m not walking on the moon anytime soon either I just think it’s fascinating that cross country skiing-”

“What is that?” Morgan interrupts Spencer when a sweater covering his trunks in his bag gets put away, revealing the tiny purple fabric. You start giggling as Spencer sighs. Morgan walks into the room and picks them up from his bag. “What does this sweet girl have you wearing for her, Reid?” He teases.

Spencer definitely grabs them from his hands “Nothing! I got them when I was in highschool, I don’t go swimming a lot.” He sighs and looks down at you shaking his head as if to say “what did I say?” without speaking.

Morgan relents seeing Spencer's face redden a bit. “Ah, pretty boy, well, this look might be good for you, I can’t wait.” He exits laughing after ruffling Spencer's hair.

Spencer plops down on the bed next to you, scooping you in his arms. “This better be the most heavenly hot tub I’ll ever experience…” he sighs into your neck. You wrap your arms around him too, running your nails softly over his back and whisper back “Oh stop. You deserve a break, it will be.”

Later that day after playing a few rounds of Spades, everyone decides it's time to face the cold, put on gear and ski. Or watch them from the patio. It’s amusing even though you have no concept of how they’re going down with such elegance. It almost looks too easy for them. You have two sweaters on and a ski coat. Apparently, coming out with one sweater and a coat was so offensive to Spencer that he made you tack on another layer. “You’re the coldest person I know, please add another, baby”. Spencer, who was bundled up himself, pleaded as you spun around on your heels to redress yourself without protest because you know he’s right.

With your chin tucked into your hands, pressed between Penelope and Spencer, you all take on the roles of pseudo-Olympic commentators to pass the time. The horrible butchered transatlantic accent coming from you all worsened by the warmed eggnog held between cold palms. Spencer eagerly grins as he sees Morgan stumble a bit in his boots, “Yikes, not a good start for Morgan, whose first Olympics is this year. Now wait, wait, it is down to the wire but…YES, it looks like Morgan has gone for the gold and succeeded. Such a momentous moment in the young athletes career-”

Penelope slaps Spencer's arm, doubled over laughing at the fake news anchor voice he has adapted for this role he has put on. “Stop, stop, he’s going to get mad at you!” You all wipe the smiles off your faces and put on fake serious ones as Morgan trudges back up the slope, looking more suspicious than if you had just kept laughing. He shakes his head in disappointment towards the three of you.

All sort of tipsy and numb from the cold decide to go back inside. The rigorous ski activities today coupled with the early morning, causes the rest of the team to head to bed early. You and Spencer run towards your room at the same time, pushing past each other in the door frame as you try to stumble into warmth.

You slide your coat off and plummet to the ground to turn on the space heater with a speed as though it was a bomb you had 3 seconds left to disarm. You put your hands near it to warm them, looking up from the floor to Spencer who is smiling down at you from the bed. He silently motions with his head for you to sit over by him.

Whining and pulling yourself away from the heater, you get up and stand between Spencer's slightly open legs. He places his arms behind him and slouches back on his palms to get a better look at your face from where you’re standing. He tilts his head innocently to the side and squints at you. “Is somebody too cold? I would’ve never guessed that…”

Scoffing and pulling your arms around yourself to conserve heat you mumble back “Noooo… I mean. Just my hands. Hah, they feel like they’re made out of molasses.” Spencer gives a mocking sort of pitied smile up at you, which you ignore by the good graces in your heart. He shifts his weight back onto one hand and slips one of his chilled palms up the front of your sweater to your waist. You wince at the juxtaposition between your flushed skin under your layers and his icy hand.

You grab his wrist from under your sweater with an icier hand. “Don’t… torture me.” You beg at him. He furrows his eyes together and pouts, as if the idea of removing his hand from the curve of your waist would drain all the blood from his veins. Spencer hums and takes it off anyway, sitting up straight and taking both of your wrists into his hands, placing them together so he can cover your hands with his, moving back and forth to spark some friction into them.

The heat starts quickly from your fingertips to your wrists and you hum in content. Spencer whispers a “Yeah, you’re okay,” in response. “Your hands are freezing, I’m sorry angel.” Very malleable from the sweet heat you’re finally getting, Spencer continues to move your hands so that your palms are facing his face now. He kisses your fingertips softly, the warmth from his mouth makes you let out an almost silent moan.

“S’that nice?” He looks up into your eyes, you still standing there like if you moved all the heat you’ve accumulated on this spot of the floor would vanish. You nod breathlessly. Spencer smiles at your response, not wanting to tease you further, preferring the flush in your cheeks his warmth is supplying you over his taunting. He begins to press more soft, slow kisses over your fingertips, moving your hands at his will by your wrists.

Then there is a progression to open mouth kisses on your palms, he bends your hands down to kiss over each of your knuckles, eyelids open and trained on your face. Spencer rubs his cheek on the back of your hands and moves them again so the sensitive skin of your inner forearms are facing him. Rolling up each sleeve of your sweater, he coos at the goosebumps that raise from the air on your newly exposed skin. The kisses start from your wrists up to the crux of your inner elbow. You get a second round of goosebumps from a different source now.

You let out a rush of air at the sensitivity picking up on your arms from his mouth, from the cold. Spencer places one last kiss on your arm and nips the inside of the sensitive skin there. At this you can only make a pinched face and mutter out a simple, “Spence.”

He can’t help but grin at your placidity, he’s used to your sharp tongue, but this evening you’re nothing but soft sounds and looks. Your goosebumps soon fade as he rubs your arms up and down a few times and slides each of your sleeves back to their rightful places. “Warm?” He questions finally.

Truthfully, the space heater has kicked up enough that you don’t feel like your life's on the line anymore and you on the outside are just as warm and fuzzy as you are feeling on the inside. Still, being doted on is never something you would allow to run short if you have any say in it. “Mmm… my fingers just can’t. Get warm?” You don’t even believe yourself.

Spencer decides to take pity on you anyway through the “woe is me” act you’re executing poorly. “Ahh. Pesky things. Let me try something.” Spencer picks up your right hand again with the delicacy of picking up a butterfly and places your fingers against his lips again. This time though as he’s looking up at you and cupping your hand with both of his, he positions your middle and ring finger down so that they’re the only two pressed against his lips.

Starting off, he kisses them like before, sickly sweet, only with your warmth in mind, then ups his ante a bit. With a small parting of lips, Spencer's tongue tentatively pokes out around the fingers. He’s testing the waters. Easily, you give an eager nod of approval.

Another hum falls from Spencer's lips as he takes your two fingers, to the second knuckle, deeper into his mouth. Sucking your fingers now and staring up at you, you shuffle yourself closer to him, straddling his legs and resting your other hand against his shoulder for purchase.

Spencer’s hands slip from yours and find a place under your sweater again, and this time you let him with no complaints. You take your hand from his shoulder and cup his jaw gently with it, guiding his head back slowly, allowing him to take in more of your fingers. Spencer sucks them gently and moans around them when your fingers grip his jaw a bit too hard. You drop the hand that’s grabbing him. One has to be careful not to bruise the jaw that’s sucking their fingers. Something like that.

Letting go with a gentle pop, Spencer takes a breath of air and pushes his face up to meet yours in a wet kiss. Your wet fingers cup his face as he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs.

“Mmpf-” You groan, pain spreading lightly in your mouth now. You briefly think of your first kiss, how feather-light it was that you hardly even felt him there with how tentative he was. After all this time you’ve enabled this boyfriend of yours to use his teeth to nip you like a territorial kitten who is privy to love biting.

With an open mouth you kiss him hard in a rebuttal that has him smiling against your lips. “Hmm, don’t groan, you’re not going to break,” he wraps his arms around you fully, moving his mouth to your ear now, “helpless little lamb-” his voice gentle despite his mocking candace.

You don’t feel like baring your teeth, fully satisfied with allowing Spencer to push your buttons until he inevitably notices your novel docility and rewards you for it. You know him like the back of your hand.

Wrapped in his embrace and legs open over top of him there’s an instinctual need in your brain needing you to grind down on him and a more voluntary decision bred from embarrassment that is saying too soon too soon. In the crossfire of these conflicted thoughts your thighs concoct an awkward shaky squeeze motion and immediately lift up from him.

“Going somewhere?” Spencer says in a pretend-serious tone before snickering at you once you silently sit back down on him. He understands you just as well as you do him and slips the arms that are under your sweater to brace your hips against his. “Is this what you wanted? You can take whatever you want from me.”

Sitting back down to where you were previously on his lap you card your fingers through his hair. “How chivalrous…” you murmur against his lips before you open your mouth to kiss him again. You have learned how to utilize time being spent while kissing Spencer over the course of your relationship. Rather, you have learned how to kiss each other in a way that signals immediately to the other that you’re needing this to progress past dry humping. The way your lips are slotting together and the way he’s pulling on your lips with his is a blaring sign.

After you let out a shuddering sigh while pulling away for a breath, Spencer uses this opportunity to usher you so that your back is flat against the bed and he’s resting his arms around your head on top of you. With one of his hands against your cheek and the other caging your head in you easily slip back into the version of yourselves that tremble with need, this desperation not well suited for either of you. Intolerable.

Spencer’s thigh is regrettably too far away for you to grind yourself against and in order to shake the throbbing at your center you wordlessly take his hand by your face and bring it down over your jeans. He takes the hint immediately cupping you so you can grind against his hand through the thick fabric.

He likes to pull away for this part. Spencer stops kissing you so that while he’s rubbing your clit through your pants he can hear your unoccupied mouth moaning while he kisses along your jaw and neck. He thinks of it as a cheat code really, he gets to keep kissing your skin while simultaneously hearing your progression from moans caught in your throat to small whines and begs.

Surprisingly, Spencer is the first to break and ask for the fabric barriers to be discarded, which makes you proud because you’re the one who’s the most impacted by your (basically) industrial grade jeans prohibiting you from feeling your boyfriend's fingers against you.

“Baby, these are killing me,” He’s already moving above you to unbutton your jeans and shimmy them down to around and off your ankles. “I promise I’ll keep you warm.” In all honesty you’ve forgotten about the biting wind outside and the slopes of snow toppling over, but you appreciate the sentiment regardless. The idea that being cold will genuinely stop you from having him inside you right now is laughable.

You sit up and take off your sweater and undershirt as Spencer is working on your lower half. Working as in mouthing over your cunt through your panties as you struggle to unhook your bra at the visual.

Your legs are parted, thick white socks still up to your shins, and once Spencer threw your jeans to the ground he laid between your legs to kiss and lick over your panties. You keep fumbling with the clasp whenever he sucks or kisses over your clit. Not the most efficient moment of your life. “J-Jesus, I can’t get this off.” You huff and break him out of his pussy-induced stupor.

Spencer comes up from between your legs and shuffles over and unclasps your bra with such elegance that you can’t even comment on it because you know he’s boasting over it in his head. Instead you pull over his sweater and shakily unbutton the top half of his button up shirt while he works on the bottom half. Your hands briefly meet over his middle button and he kisses your forehead with a smile as he pops the last one open for you both.

His own slacks are thrown off alongside yours on the floor and you both grab at each other to take off one anothers underwear in such an eager manner that you have to laugh at each other for a moment before finally sliding them off.

Spencer guides your head with his hand behind it as you slowly lay down besides him. Knees propped up and together, he places one of his hands on the outside of your thigh, gently running his fingers tips up and down the skin. “Why don’t you go ahead and open up your legs for me?” He asks between petting your leg.

Now, he must notice that it would be too easy for him to open them for you, like he so naturally comes to do. He’s coaxed your thighs open, held them down from the backside of your knees while you squirm from his lips sucking your clit, pushed them together and to the side when you’re squeezing his sides too tight while he’s fucking you. There is something delightfully humiliating about spreading them open yourself. So eager to display for him the shiny wetness that has been coating you for a demeaning amount of time, like gifting him a bashful merit badge for his effortless work.

You look up at him through your lashes, his eyes are fixed on the softness of your lower belly, waiting for the moment you start to move so he can see your sex being revealed the instant you do it. Pervert. Taking one of your hands away from the bed you trail it slowly from the bottom of your ribcage to the very part of your stomach that has Spencer transfixed. Teasing yourself and Spencer simultaneously, you push your hand between your closed thighs, still hiding yourself slightly, and dragging up some of the wetness you collected with your first two fingers.

This time your fingers go into your own mouth, sucking off the taste of yourself while you watch Spencer mouth breathe and the tip of his dick start to dribble. Poor thing. “I love you.” He whispers into the air, incentivizing you to just do what you’re told.

Embarrassment flushes your chest as you part your legs for him, putting both of your arms lazily above your head, finally rewarding him with saying “I love you” back once your thighs are on opposite sides from each other and your pussy is on full display.

He shuffles closer to you on his knees, arm reaching out to softly run his hand on the inside of your thigh. “Look at you… can I touch?” Spencer’s asking like he doesn’t know if he doesn’t you’ll die.

“I’ll die if you don’t.” He should get where you’re coming from. He smiles meekly to himself, proud, or maybe just plain excited, and spreads apart your lips with his fingers. Your toes curl in on themselves as he slides his middle finger through you, spreading your wetness and mulling your ache. It’s almost too much to watch this near-inspection and you turn your flushed cheeks to the side and look at how his dick is a matching shade of red to your face. You love this part. Tangible evidence to how he feels about you, not that you need any more, but seeing right in your face how being with you makes his thighs tense and cock heavy puts a smile on your face.

With two fingers now he’s collecting the sticky soft wetness that never stops collecting in times like these, and rubbing your clit with them in such a gentle way you scoff out a “Please-”

Immediately he gives in, he’s not a professional at avoiding your begs even when it's looking like he’s going to be in charge. Pressing his fingers harder against you he rubs faster circles onto where you’re pleading for it. “Being so bossy. We haven’t even started.” He quips, trying to gain back some of the fervor he has for being in control, not just sit back, be a good listener, and give give give.

Your clit throbs helplessly against his fingers. Wanting them harder and faster, wanting them inside you, in your mouth, against your throat, you can’t help but whine at the possibilities montaging in your head. Spencer watches a small dribble of white essence leak from you, mutters a “Jesus” to himself and slides his two fingers off your clit to inside of you. You choke on your moan, not expecting to be so full so quickly, it’s perfect. Spencer isn’t teasingly fucking you with his fingers. He knows how to curl them, he does so. He knows to put his forearm into it in the way that makes you stamp your legs shut. He’s fucking you quickly and easily with them as you bring your hands over your face.

“There, Spence.” You mumble against your hands, biting the skin of your palm to be courteous to everyone else in the house right now.

“I know.” He pushes against that spot in you that’s made you cry and rubs with a pressure made with love. You buck your hips and let him get away with whatever he wants to do with you, but the noise coming from his fingers in you makes you want to float out of your body.

Brows furrowed and head pressing back against the bed your hips start to twist, with a mind of their own, turning over onto Spencer's hand. This part you can’t control. “Mmm, Spencer. Okay, okay, fuck.” You’re bargaining in your own way, for something neither of you know, but Spencer figures out every time. He slips his fingers out and places them on your clit again. Wet and pruned from being inside of you, he can move fastly against it as you gasp.

“I wish you could see what I see right now. So wet. You’re about to ruin these sheets the first night, baby.” He laughs gently at you.

“Th-then stop touching me.” You bite back. Immediately scared of the idea of him following through.

Spencer would literally never do that. He rolls his eyes a bit and furrows his brows at you when you make eye contact. He hums and adds a third finger to rub circles against your clit, two not being enough anymore for a precise massage with how wet you are.

Moving slowly back flat against the bed, your pelvis gives up on trying to crush Spencer’s hand underneath them. When his other hand trails down to fuck you while he rubs your clit you look for a way to thank him without bringing humiliation to yourself for years to come. You feebly grip the base of his dick, palm fairly loose around him as he’s currently milking all of the strength from your limbs.

Spencer plainly laughs at this, it’s so you. He’s making your brain leak from your ears and you can only pump him lightly a few times. The one instance where you two have tried to 69 this story ended a similar way, with his tongue doing unspeakable things while you can just moan around his dick and wetly kiss it. It’s hard to do things while he’s fucking you.

You huff, wanting his pretty leaking dick to be getting the same amount of attention as you are. Keeping your one hand on his base to keep it from bobbing, you reach over with your other hand to rub his tip, smear himself all over the sensitive top. He’s stopped laughing now.

“Please don’t make me cum right now.” Spencer pleads softly as he starts to quickly rub your clit from side to side now instead of the circles he was doing before. Fuck, talk about a competition. Your back arches up from the bed as your hand falls limply from where it was on his tip.

Wanting to inform Spencer on how you can’t jerk him off while he’s touching you so he should just start fucking you properly is not a sentence in your capabilities right now so you try your best with a “fuck me fuck me fuck me.” Doesn’t leave much for interpretation.

He slows his fingers and pulls them away with a sad “sorry, angel…” after glancing at your sour face from the lack of stimulation you’re getting now. He slips off the bed entirely to grab a condom from his bag, and throws it on your stomach for you to open after his fingers slip trying to tear the wrapper himself from your wetness still on his fingers.

Fully situated between your legs again now Spencer looks up at the ceiling briefly while you roll the condom on him as if saying a prayer for composure before he’s inside of you. You can’t help but smile at this as you start to rub him between your legs, grabbing his attention back onto the task at hand.

Whenever Spencer first slides into you, you have to make sure to keep your eyes open to watch his face since he nearly always wears the same angelic face that you never get to see elsewhere. His mouth becomes a small “o”, his eyebrows are furrowed together, but not like he’s squeezing them down, they’re pulled up in a blissed out expression as his eyelids flutter closed. Heavenly.

He’s got one of your thighs in his grasp and he’s pushing it up against your ribs as he begins a steady pace with his hips against yours. There’s strings of your slick attached to his upper thighs from your inner legs rubbing against him. Maybe you are making too much of a mess out of these poor clean sheets.

After his initial haze of trying not to come instantly, Spencer brings back down his right hand to continue flicking your clit back and forth with his wet fingers. You bite down on his shoulder to keep from terrorizing your housemates. Your propped up foot, still covered in your warm socks, thuds softly against his back as the other one grips onto the sheets.

“Feel nice baby?” Spencer asks into your hair as you bite down onto him.

How he could ask you this is beyond you, though you suppose he’s indirectly asking you to feed into his praise kink. “You feel so perfect Spence,” you whine against him. “unhhh…might be a bit too obsessed with your cock” you slur and laugh a bit at the end, not sure what will do it for him. Nevertheless he lets out a choked whimper and loses his rhythm. Bingo.

His weight is pushing you down so you can’t wiggle away from any of the stimulation he’s giving you. It accumulates quickly and, just laying there and taking it, you don’t get enough time to warn him you’re close. You weren’t close really, it felt good and then you came. Sucking in air through your teeth your thighs squeeze around Spencer, who is murmuring “oh baby…” into your ear.

You want to kick him for how good he’s making you feel. It feels unfair and you want to throw a tantrum based on how his fingers are still rubbing your twitching clit and how much you love the feeling of drowning in his pleasure. You’d never throw a tantrum though. Right now, Spencer has caught you in a completely willing mood where you’re closer to proposing to him than anything.

It’s dizzying. Your mouth is wide open in shock as you let him touch you into overstimulation and you don’t even realize it till he lets go of the vice he had on your leg and brings his free hand to put his thumb into your mouth. Latching onto it immediately, you use it as a buffer, a gag, to prevent yourself from making too much noise or mouthing off. You bite down a little on the digit and drool rolls down your lips to your chin. Spencer takes his thumb out, collects it, and pushes it back into your mouth.

Spencer reverts back to rubbing your clit back and forth with his middle and ring finger, losing purchase a few times with how wet you are, but finding his way back to your sweet spot just as quickly. You feel the second orgasm building this time around. Your eyes shoot open, you suck softly on his thumb and he looks back down at you, recognizing the pleading look in your eyes.

“Yeah. Y-yeah, angel. S’a good girl-” he gives his sort of permission and you cum so hard you don’t realize he’s finishing right behind you.

He’s petting your hair with his hand, both wet from either your cum or your spit and you try to shove that complaint out of your head because of how sweetly he’s moaning above you as he finishes. He’s done cumming but he tends to keep sliding into you after, not ready to give up the whole experience yet. This is when you hear his prettiest sounds.

You cup his cheeks and kiss all over his face and he softly smiles and finally pulls out of you, laying on his back and scooping you on top of him. Tracing a finger over his lips softly you whisper how impossibly good he always makes you feel, how he gets you so wet that you didn’t even know you had that much in you till the tips of his ears go red and he pinches your side.

“Open for me.” He asks one more time after shaking off the blush that has accumulated from your praises. You smile and open, finally sucking off what’s left of yourself from his fingers. He pops them into his mouth after yours without a second thought and you cannot believe this is the man who gets the heebie jeebies when he has to shake hands with someone new he meets. They should be the ones hesitant to shake his hand with where they have been.

Both feeling ridiculously sticky, you shower together, not even bothering to unpack your toiletries, just using the too-lemony-smelling products the lodge has provided you with for free. Spencer washes your hair for you so you don’t even need to complain to him about how he’s dirtied it and you both trot back over to the bed with fuzzy robes on.

You cover your face with your hands at the unmistakable wet patches all over the sheets and Spencer collects them quickly and pops them into the washer.

Exhausted, you both lay side by side on the barren bed as you wait for the sheets to be done. Mumbled against your lips a proposition, “I want to see you in that hot tub.” He clearly feels bad for the goosebumps littering your torso that he’s subconsciously been trying to rub away for the last twenty minutes after you left the heat of the shower.

Blinking blankly at him for a moment in silence you purse your lips, “I was thinking about the hot tub too.” The thought of removing yourself from the room that has cold leaking back into it from the lack of physical activity now is thrilling.

Spencer laughs and sits up next to you on the bed. “Everyone is so exhausted from waking up early and skiing all day that we will be all alone so I thought now would be a good-”

“Yeah,” you nod your head enthusiastically at him. You can’t remember the last time you were in a hot tub and it sounds like a dream right now. “Let me get my suit.” You both wobbly stand up and you retrieve your swimsuit from the drawer, laughing while you toss Spencer's trunks back at him. He’s so blissed out from the sex that he doesn’t even mention the trunks, he just slips them on and heads out.

You make Spencer step onto the freezing porch first after you demand him to take the cover off the hot tub for you both, this was his idea after all. Watching from the glass door you blow your breath onto the glass to draw a little heart with an “S” inside of it in the fog. Spencer blows you a kiss in return as he skimpers out in his purple trunks and enormous ski coat.

The alternation between walking out in a swimsuit in that ungodly temperature, into the hot jets of the hot tub feels like whiplash, but once you’re fully submerged you giggle happily and sway your hands under the water.

You and Spencer play footsie under the water like two lovesick teenagers at a pool party as you look off the balcony at the snow. You nudge him under the water a bit before talking,

“Thank you so much for bringing me to this, seriously. I feel like we’re on our honeymoon.” you joke.

Spencer hums and takes your hands into his, rubbing the outside of your hand with his thumb. “Mmm, well on our actual honeymoon I’ll probably have to take you somewhere warm to avoid all this teeth chattering.” He teases back at you, but his words have an underlying sincerity that makes you sink yourself down into the water to your chin with a smile.

“You’re gonna marry meeee,” you respond in a sing-song voice, Spencer grins back for a moment then looks at you and nods earnestly.

“How could I not?”

#spencer reid #smut #spencer reid smut #spencer x reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff

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darkstaria · 4 months ago

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Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul Animal Au.

Chapter 7:

Summary: Your escape from Joker doesn't go unnoticed, and you bear the consequences of attracting the attention of the bats.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.

----

Burning green blinded him, searing his veins and twisting. His very breath was strained, broken and turning into what he could only describe as boiling rage.

He did the only thing he could do.

Murder the clown.

Strike after strike bore down upon the clown’s heaving body, his guns left behind on the floor, long forgotten. Any little trick up the clown's sleeve was swiftly discarded by Jason’s primal force.

The clown’s leg was held in his gloved hands, he twisted, pulling and pulling until there was an abrupt snap. The other leg was subject to the whims of his iron toe boots, breaking under the pressure.

He itched and burned to do more, fists turning into a flurry of blows upon the now unconscious clown. The clown could still cry out in pain, and that satisfied him.

Jason kept going, but it wasn't enough. It would never be enough, not until he wrapped his hands around and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed and the clown finally popped.

Jason let out a breath, hands forming into an instinctive fist and aimed, until hands wrapped around his arms to pull him back.

He struggled, trying to jab out with his elbow to no avail. A voice interrupted the Green, calling out to him.

“Jason! Jason, come on!” The voice called out, demanding and desperate and somehow just enough for him to break through.

“Steph…?” He mumbled, regaining focus of the world around him. There was blood on his gloves.. his boots too.

The clown as if a train had run him over- several times. Every part of his face was bruised, green, purple and black. His limbs were in no better shape, twisted and broken into pieces that seemed like agony for doctors to put back together.

He didn't envy Joker’s recovery period.

“Shit..” Batgirl muttered, at his side. “Batman won't be happy about this.”

“Fuck Batman.” Was his instinctive response.

“Indeed..” She replied. “Well… I’ll take him back to Arkham, or actually, to the nearest doctor that won’t try to finish him off. Cass?”

A sudden movement in the shadow (that definitely didn't make Jason jump) revealed Cass, as she walked closer, a golden cage in one of her hands and Jason’s soul form in the other.

“Hurt.” Cass stated, pointing down at his soul form. Jason whistled, looking at the damage.

His soul form had always been a durable little thing, no doubt a result of his own upbringing, but this amount of damage was definitely rare. The bird’s wings were twisted, a sign that they were broken, and its breaths were slightly ragged, indicating some internal injuries.

It’d be alright, ultimately. Soul animals healed much faster than humans, as a result of them being magic.

He was mostly just glad he had bond distancing training, feeling those injuries wouldn't be fun at all. There was a dull pain in his back already, no doubt a result of his soul form’s injuries.

He sighed, kicking at the clown a bit as he did so. “Well that’s a problem.”

“Your soul animal shouldn't be out of the cave Hood, how did it get here?” Batgirl spoke, turning to look at Orphan, as the hero unlocked the cage a bat was glooming in.

“And how did Bats get here either? Out of all of us, he's had the best training, his soul animal should know the most about how important it is to our identities for them to not leave.” Batgirl frowned, confusion painted on her face.

Batman’s soul animal flitted up to rest on Orphan’s shoulder, a vision of silent solitude. Orphan gave it a little scritch on its ears.

Jason paused, considering how to word what he was about to say. The Green had mostly cleared up, but it still fogged him a little, especially as he thought of the scene he witnessed.

“There was a civilian, Joker’s victim. Tied to a chair and about to be smashed on the head by a crowbar. My soul animal appeared and took the hit.” He stuck to the facts, they were wasting too much time as is. Damn, if not for the pit rage he could have found them by now!

Batgirl gasped. Orphan shifted a little. “Wait, do you think..?” Batgirl struggled to voice the question, knowing how much it meant to them all.

“Yes.” Jason answered, blunt. “That was our soulmate.”

Abrupt movement from the window interrupted their shock, as Red Robin swooped in with a brisk move.

“Hey.” Red Robin called out, taking in their depressed faces. He paused. “What happened?”

—-

You were not having a good night. Your head hurt, your feet ached, and you would basically give anything at this point to get back home and collapse on your bed. Nothing had gone the way you had hoped for. In fact, it was now the absolute worst case scenario, other than being dead.

Now you have been exposed to two of your soulmates, potentially all of them now if they were feeling like sharing that information.

Oh and of course, you couldn't forget the Joker. Your newly acquired head injury certainly wouldn't be forgetting about it anytime soon.

You groaned, the world before you turning into brief spinning fuzz, as you trudged on.

“Why me…” You muttered, narrowly avoiding stepping in some rain water. You walked through an alleyway, vaguely guessing the direction of your house. In all honesty, you had barely the slightest inkling of where you were at this point, but you had to try.

The shadows behind you stirred, and you whipped around, making eye contact with one of your worst nightmares. Nightwing.

You shifted backwards, aiming to run away, but he caught onto the fleeing posture of your stance.

“Hey! Hey, calm down.” He spoke reassuringly, as if he was talking to a scared citizen. “I'm not going to hurt you. The inmates of Arkham Asylum have broken out, and it's not safe to be roaming the streets right now.”

He smiled, a charming little gesture, and held a hand out to you. “I can take you home, you'll be safer indoors.”

You shook your head, words failing to escape in your fear of this new problem.

He frowned. “I’m sorry but, I'm going to have to insist. It's really not safe. I’d hate for you to get hurt.” He perked up a little as he spoke the next few words. “Are you injured? I know someone who can help, her name is Leslie, she's a very safe doctor. Or if you don't have anywhere to go, I can escort you to a safe place?”

You shook your head desperately. You wanted nothing more than to get away. Your legs were shaking.

Any further time spent in the presence of your soulmates was a risk. At any point one of them could tell him and you'd be doomed. Hell, he might already know!

“I… I want to leave.” The words tumbled out, clumsy. “But not with you.”

The smile stayed on his face this time, plastered on. “It won’t be an inconvenience-” He tried.

“Please leave me alone.”

“It's really unsaf-”.

“Please leave me alone.”

“It will only take five-”.

“I said LEAVE ME ALONE!” You screamed, frustration and agony eclipsing into a fearful shout. You regretted it immediately, as it echoed through the streets. Tears welled up in your eyes. Your breath ran short.

Nightwing stood there, finally looking unsure. A part of you reveled in it, finally seeing how you always felt around them reflected on their form.

A fluttering sound broke the uncomfortable silence, a little robin flying down onto Nightwing’s shoulder.

“Robin..?” He muttered, more to himself than you. “Why are you here?”.

You meant to take the opportunity for what it was, to turn and run while you had the chance, but beady eyes turned towards you at the first movement you made.

Robin fluttered towards you, landing on your trembling hand. It gave a little coo, tilting its head a bit to stare at you. It seemed like it noticed your anxiety. It was admittedly a very cute gesture, something that acted like a balm to your scratched and raw mental state, but it didn't last for long.

“Wait…”.

Your blood froze in your veins. Everything stopped.

“Are… are you…?”

You couldn't respond to his question. Your head spun, an undercurrent of anxiety questioning every option you could make. Your shakes increased. It was noticeable.

“Ah, hey!” It seemed he spotted it. “Don’t worry so much, I know you're so terrified because of what's going on, but now I know I can keep you safe.” His hands grabbed yours, a constricting grip. You tried to take a step back, but he kept you there, not budging from his grasp. Robin shifted a little in displeasure.

“We… can keep you safe.” His eyes beamed into yours, trying to convey a feeling of safety, of reassurance.

You were numb to everything but terror.

“I've told you this once.” You muttered. “And I didn't want to say it again.” You ripped his hands from yours, pushing him away. You grabbed Robin.

“JUST LEAVE ME ALONE ALREADY!” You screamed, primal agony laced in your tone, your last efforts giving out.

Then, in a moment of desperation, you grabbed Robin, your littlest soul animal. And you threw him at Nightwing’s face.

His startled scream was music to your ears, as you raced out of the alleyway and down the street. If you were lucky, maybe Robin would be startled enough to give him a few scratches.

Things were finally, finally looking up. It had taken a lot. Gosh, it has taken so much from you. You couldn't go home anymore, both vigilante and villain now knew your name, but at the very least…

You could escape.

It was a mantra you chanted to yourself.

“I can escape. I can escape. I can escape.”

It remained in your brain as you ducked under windows and hid behind cars.

I can escape I can escape I can escape.

A slip of blue in the shadows was your only warning, before cruel pain pierced your arm.

“Ack!” You clutched at it, noticing what could only be a dart now embedded in you. You ripped it out as you ran, hoping that would be it.

IcanescapeIcanescapeIcanescape-

The world started falling to pieces before your very eyes, a black void stealing the places of buildings, cars, wherever you looked.

Your rush turned into a stumble.

Escape-escape-escape-

You were limping through an alleyway when your limbs finally gave up on you. The adrenaline finally losing to the tranquiliser.

“Escape…” You mumbled.

You glanced up.

A dark shadow was the only thing you could see. A giant figure, clad in a long cape.

A resentful part of you thought that the cape would be a rather warm thing to snuggle up to.

A hand reached out from the darkness.

You passed out.

----

Happy Halloween!!

Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter! Actually, there won't be too many chapters left now, we're coming to the end of Reader's struggle. Ofc, I will be going extra's that aren't actual chapters, and they'll have some extra details that are excluded from Reader's pov.

Also, I definitely have to apologise for how long this one took. I do have my reasons! Had an ear infection, then a holiday (that was pretty neat actually) and currently I have COVID lol. So I was a bit busy there.

But Halloween deserves to be celebrated just as much as everyone deserves another chapter, so here you go!

It is a bit of a shame I won't be able to make an actual Halloween piece. Maybe I'll make something a few days after Halloween? How do people feel about a coraline inspired DC oneshot?

Taglist: @moonchild-artemisdaughter @jjsmeowthie @madine11-blog @xxrougefangxx @hadesnewpersephone @neerathebrightstar @mel-star636 @jaythes1mp @rosecentury @lov3vivian @gaozorous-rex-blog @victoria1676 @vrsin @silverklaus @ryukyuin @kurai-hono-blog @thisisafish123 @isawyourbrowserhistory @ain-t-no-way-bsfr @realifezompire @lunaluz432 @nickey-diano @sukiiluvs @sara0055 @alleakimlala @kdidgg @paperhermits @alishii @emmbny @sirenetheblogger @fantasy-angelo @andrasia @vinnvinnvintage @nyra-42 @armystaysatnct @beyond-your-stars @starsdotalk @adeptusxia0 @jailbimbo @yandereheros @sxftiebee @i-have-three-feelings @toast-on-dandelioms @lyl-3 @sitepathos @pato-spoiler-27 @ghostdoodlen @phoenixgurl030 @problematicreblogger

@sociallyakwardpanda @imaginarydreams @zanzie @yuyuzi-ling @soriansick @f1lover4ever @kiikkey @elizzsush @raincxtter @luoyi85 @yune1337 @erikasurfer @thekingofsimps @chaosbeanuwu @snowy-violet @nommingonfood @yandere-enthusiast @nb-babygirl @demonqueen-1 @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @winter67890-blog

Tumblr just told me I can't tag anyone else, so the list ends here. I'll add the others in a comment!

#yandere #yandere dc #yandere batfam #yandere batman #yandere x reader #platonic yandere #soul animal au #yandere batfamily #yandere robin #my writing #darkstaria #yandere red hood #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere red robin #yandere nightwing #yandere dick grayson #yandere damian wayne

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lokisgoodgirl · 6 months ago

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Deep in the Forest [Loki x Reader]

A link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: Just a short, smutty, imagine. You and Loki in a tent having feelings. Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Mild angst. (w/c 750)

Loki’s lips brush down the delicate skin of your throat; kissing slowly in time with his thrusts. You can feel your pulse inside his breath, flooding the sliver of space between you as his mouth comes to rest on your shoulder with a whisper of praise.

Quiet. You have to be quiet.

The way he moves inside you, the muted whimpers he stifles with every drag of his cock to the tip—if you could absorb a moment, wrap yourself in it forever, it would be this one.

Moments ago, his fingers burst through the thin bottom of your tent. He was willing himself not to explode, or moan so loudly the foxes would begin to howl. Either way, it amounts to the same.

They curl deep in the earth as he roots himself: his digits in soil, his cock in your cunt. The other hand plays with your breast, thumbing the nipple, and his sighs grow heavy while the humidity rises. “Darling,” he murmurs, and you comb damp straggles of hair from his face. His sapphire eyes find yours in the gloom of smothered torchlight; hooded, fogged with a desire he can never name. But you can: ‘love’—and so will he…eventually. The others are in tents dotted around yours.

Cap said, explicitly, ‘no, late night shenanigans’ while looking directly at Loki. And Loki had smiled, innocence swelling in his eyes as he pressed a palm to his chest: wounded. But he came, like he always does, because he can’t resist what you are together. He never can. “Darling,” he chokes again, as another liquid rock of his hips makes you forget your own name. Your legs tighten around him, pushing him deeper, and the torch rolls from its forgotten nest in the sleeping bag. “Shit, Loki…” you hiss, fumbling a hand towards the traitorous torch. Cap'll be all over that like nettle burn. He snorts against your hair, and in a flash, the clunky object vanishes. And with it—the sniff of light. “Hush,” he soothes, making you clench around the root of his cock. For some fucking reason his voice is even more devastating when you can’t see his face. “You wouldn’t want me to be discovered, would you? Deep inside you; deep in the forest of a strange land.” A shiver wrenches down your spine and makes your hips jolt.

Loki groans, stifled by a well-timed kiss. His tongue nudges deeper, a contented sigh rumbling in his chest as you arch into him and his palm slides under your head. Slowly, slowly, he rolls upwards, tugging your clit with his pelvis. It’s inevitable, now.

Climax sparks and begins to blossom outwards, licking between your thighs, tightening every muscle beneath your waist with pure pleasure. It’s inevitable, you think—as he pants quietly in time with your quickening breaths, as he smothers the need to spur you on with loud, filthy commands. A short whine slips between his teeth, and his back muscles tense. “Cum with me, Loki,” you whisper, and his heartbeat hammers against your chest. Long curls pool in your collarbone as his lips find yours in the darkness and Loki of Asgard groans his orgasm deep into your throat.

It’s inevitable, you think again, as your hand slides down his damp back, over the curve of his unbearably hard ass, clutching the twisted sleeping bag in a fist. The two of your are right together, and the world makes sense. He kisses the side of your nose as your silent gasps of orgasm ebb; the tip of your cheekbone, the shell of your ear. Loki's nostrils puff quietly in the humid silence. A droplet from the tent fabric drips onto your leg as you unwind from his body and he shifts to the side. He slips from inside you, seed hot on your inner thigh, and you miss him immediately: a particular kind of emptiness. You wonder if he feels it, too. “I should go,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t want to. Resistance strings through the syllables like dew on spiderweb. You wait, just in case there’s something else he wants to add to that statement. A confession of love, perhaps. But in the pitch black, the only thing that follows is the trail of a long finger down your cheek, and a brush of his thumb over your lips. And then, his breath hitches. “I…” he starts, and then the words are eaten by the darkness in which they find themselves.

“Go,” you whisper. He leans forward, catching your lips like he’ll never leave. But he does, leaving a gap in the tent flap so you can see the stars. The tent smells of him. “I love you,” you whisper into the pillow with a smile, imagining Loki doing the same four tents over. You’ll say it soon enough. And so will he. It’s inevitable.

Tags in comments❤️x

#loki x reader #loki smut #loki fluff #loki x reader smut #loki x you #loki x you smut #loki x female reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki laufeyson x reader #loki marvel #loki x yn #loki imagine #loki drabble #loki fanfic

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utterlyazriel · 10 months ago

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let me keep you company

a/n: a wee break from the doom & gloom of wtssf! it's unedited so i want no flack for that thank u <3 enjoy <3 wc: 5.1k whoops synopsis: You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect.

For the record, you had never met a Shadowsinger before.

You'd never even seen one. Sure, you’d read about them briefly in your studies and almost every Fae in Prythian had heard about them in whispers and rumours.

Rumours that increased more so when a Shadowsinger rose to become a hand for the Highlord, his own personal spy. Then became the spymaster of the entire Night Court for the next Highlord.

But beyond gossip and unfinished chapters within the scripts of your libraries, the knowledge of Shadowsingers is far limited. They’re rare. For all you know, Shadowsinger’s are a ghost— moving as a shadow, disappearing in and out of the darkness of the world.

You had never met a Shadowsinger before—so it makes sense that you hadn't an ounce of a clue what to expect.

Staring at him now, 6 feet something of pure muscle, you're a bit embarrassed at your own surprise.

Because he's probably— no definitely— the most beautiful Fae you've ever laid eyes on. His hair is tousled and dark, his glorious tan skin that's mostly hidden beneath the black of his fighter leathers, and his amber eyes that laid on you for only one long moment. Breathtaking is the only adequate word for him.

All that beauty and he's a Shadowsinger.

And it's not like you thought he wouldn't be like, well, any other Fae. But also... you kinda did? Mother, you should've known Freya was tricking you when she said they were all just shadow-y corporeal forms.

But she's also not entirely wrong there. There are dozens of wispy shadows that hover around him in constant motion, dipping and flying around his shoulders and if you look close enough, you can see how he seems to ripple at the edges. Shadows blur the edge of his very being.

You wonder if he can disappear into them all together, if that was one of the abilities granted with them. Does he control them? He must, you think, if the title is Shadowsinger.

But looking at him now, his beautiful face turned to face the Highlord you should definitely be listening to, they flit about almost absentmindedly, as though they have a mind of their own.

One curls up by his ear and you watch it, fascinated, more and more questions springing up in your mind— what do they feel like on skin? Do they make any noise? Is that what they're doing now? Talking to—

A sharp elbow jabs into your side, making you jump.

Your head whips to the side, an instinctive scowl almost overtaking your face before you plaster it over with a smile, realising your mistake. Your mentor, Sergei, clears his throat and smiles awkwardly ahead at Rhysand. You blink and take another moment to realise you've been asked a question.

"I'm— I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" You try not to sound as mousy as you feel but the question comes out as a squeak anyway. He is the Highlord of the Night Court after all. You suddenly feel very foolish for being so easily distracted.

Thankfully, Rhysand regards you with an easy smile. He's leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and his violet eyes dance with humour as he flicks his gaze over to where you had just been staring.

"That's alright. Azriel is a piece of eye candy, I can't blame you for staring," He all but purrs, a hint of mirth pulling at his lips as he casts another glance at his Spymaster. You're taken aback by the casualness of his words.

Rhysand continues. "I was only saying that for the duration of your stay, you'll be hosted in one of my homes, the House of Wind. You aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

A smidge of fear pinches at your stomach because, honestly, you aren't overly keen on the idea. But you know better than to turn down the generosity of a Highlord.

You take another glance at the wings of his Spymaster and General and pray that it's not too high up.

"Not... much." You answer honestly.

There's a chuckle from the side of the room and your head swings around at the noise. It's not the Shadowsinger, though he looks as though he's politely trying not to smile, his chin ducked. It's the General, just as beautiful as his brother but in that more rugged way.

He flexes his wings out a bit, showing off their mighty wingspan. "We'll rid you of that fear in no time."

You try for a smile but it might be closer to a grimace.

"Fantastic." You say, not managing to put all your enthusiasm into the word like you hoped.

Another sharp jab of Sergei's elbow in your side. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, huffs a quiet laugh, his amber eyes flashing up to steal another look at you. You try your best not to fluster.

It's going to be a long two months.

—

As Sergei's apprentice, you're expected to shadow him through his allowed time within Velaris.

Which means if he goes to the library, you go to the library.

There's just one problem; the library is down in the city and your temporary home is up in the mountain. The quickest way down is with wings.

Rhysand— or just Rhys as he had told you to call him— had relayed the information that you could ask either Cassian or Azriel to escort you if you didn't wish to take the stairs.

Cassian, the General, had been the one to fly you down and back the first couple of times you had asked and you weren't in any particular hurry to relive the experience.

Cassian was nice and he was more than friendly but seemingly incapable of understanding any fear of heights. You weren't sure if that was just the only way to fly— swooping and dropping fast enough to make you shriek— but it certainly seemed to be Cassian's way.

Which leaves you with the option of either asking the Shadowsinger or taking the stairs.

You get down about two hundred steps before you start to regret your decision. But, also, how in the Cauldron were you supposed to ask him to take you? (Never mind that you had asked Cassian quite easily, albeit very nervously.)

Oh, hi Shadowsinger who I can't stop staring at for both your abilities and your handsome face—care to sweep me into your arms and carry me places?

As if, you snort to yourself.

You take the thousand stairs all the way to the bottom and trot towards the enormous library, pretending your thighs aren't aching with overuse or that you're out of breath. Thankfully, the library itself isn't too far from the House of Wind, carved into the same side of the mountain.

As expected, Sergei is less than pleased with your tardiness.

"Sorry," The word rushes out of you in a wheeze, probably too loud for the library, as you scuttle in the entrance. A few priestesses turn their heads to look at you and you cringe, raising your hands in apology. "Sorry, I'm sorry,"

You focus back on your mentor and try to catch your breath, all while you explain. "I took the stairs and it took—" You huff out a breath. "—way longer than I thought."

Sergei's face softens a bit at your explanation, his face taking on a pitiful smile. "Still not enjoying the flying?"

"You are?" You ask in response. The thought of Sergei, your old-Fae mentor, swept up in Cassian's arms as he dips and dives makes you chuckle just a bit.

Sergei shakes his head as if to change the topic of conversation, deciding you've wasted enough time already. He turns, beginning to head further into the library and you follow behind him closely, eager to brush over your early morning fumble. The cavernous structure within the mountain yawns out ahead of you and you get all of two moments to wonder just how deep down it goes, when—

"You did not ask for a ride this morning."

Azriel steps up beside you, seemingly from nowhere, his steps falling in time with yours with ease. You jump, startled, and your footsteps falter for a moment. You're relieved to say that you only make one embarrassing noise in your surprise.

"I— oh, it's— I mean, I just..." You trail off, feeling flustered. "...like to walk."

You chance a glance up at him. He's wearing that same polite expression from yesterday, as though he's trying not to laugh and you get too caught up in the swirlings of his shadows to remember to be properly embarrassed. Both of you walk in tandem behind Sergei, slowly descending into the lower levels of the library.

"If you insist," He says, his voice low. It sends something warm down your spine and you pray he doesn't notice how your body temperature is definitely climbing.

His amber eyes pin you with another look, his lips twitching into a small smile. "However, if Cassian is giving you trouble, I would be happy to provide a smoother ride."

You flounder for a moment. You don't want to get anyone in trouble.

"I— he's not giving me trouble," You stammer.

Azriel smiles a little wider as if he can tell how polite you're trying to be. He slows to a meander and you realise only after you walk past him, it's because Sergei has stopped himself, turning down one of the many aisles.

You skid yourself to a halt and turn back, praying your flaming face isn't as obvious as it feels. You're not entirely sure if Azriel is accompanying you today but you're sure that Sergei would've mentioned it if he was.

You dip your head in a strange, awkward bow motion. Then point to the aisle Sergei disappeared into.

"I'll be... going this way."

Azriel's smile grows, like you've told a joke, and he ducks his head. He peers up at you through his dark lashes and you wonder if anyone's ever told him how damn beautiful he is. Probably. You're probably the last in a long line of people. Mother, his eyes though.

"If you don't wish to make the hike the other way," He murmurs.

He extends one of his hands and you watch the dozen shadows swarm around it, one of them separating from the pack to dive to the ground. It shoots forward and spins around your ankle, almost happily. "Just let the shadow know. I would be happy to assist."

When you look back up, he’s already gone without a sound. You try not to look so surprised— you’ve seen someone winnow before but you’re almost certain that the way Azriel moved about silently was something else altogether.

“Y/n!” Sergei’s voice echoes down the shelves, reminding you that you’re still late. You throw a quick glance around to check but it's fruitless; you can’t see the Shadowsinger anywhere.

You turn and bustle down the aisle quickly, not wanting to keep Sergei any longer. It takes only a second to notice the sole, black shadow that dances along behind you.

Guess you have company.

—

Okay, so, the shadows are definitely their own little guys.

Mainly because you can’t imagine how Azriel would be controlling them when he’s nowhere in sight.

And this one shadow is being awfully helpful.

The first time you drop your quill, knocking it to the ground as you lean over one of the many intricately carved desks, trying to reach another book, you don’t even notice it fall to the ground.

In fact, you have no idea how many times it’s picked up your fallen quill that you’ve undoubtedly knocked over countless times— only that it had given you the fright of your life to have it hover before your face, gripped only by the wispy shadow Azriel left with you.

“Holy shit!” You gasp, your loud voice echoing in the quietness of the library.

Sergei's head whips up, his eyes narrowing at the intruding sound with evident disapproval. You quickly snatch the quill out of mid-air and sink down in your seat. Gods, the echoes in here were doing you no favours.

“Sorry,” You whisper. Your eyes dart down to the shadow that retreated to your side, flickering around your ankle more wildly. “Er, thanks.”

It feels a bit silly to give thanks to something you’re not sure can hear you. But you figure if it can pick up your quill, you're better off using your manners.

Sergei gives you a somewhat bewildered look and you try to appease him with an awkward smile. It works enough for him to continue his work but not without one more lingering glance of worry in your direction. Great. You're talking to shadows and your old-man mentor thinks you're a bit nuts.

The shadow continues its helpful endeavours, following you when you head down different aisles at Sergei's request. It dances across the shelves, dissolving occasionally just to puff back up somewhere else, pulling your attention this way and that. It's playful. Friendly.

You deduce by the end of the day that you know even less about Shadowsinger's than you had thought. The abilities and personality of just one shadow are uncanny; like a silent friend keeping you company. You imagine that Azriel rarely gets lonely with as many as he has. Maybe you'll ask him.

When Sergei and you wind back up the staircases and he dismisses you for the evening, heading into the city for his own further business, you stand at the mouth of the library and ponder if you'll be brave enough to summon the Shadowsinger.

The shadow is still with you, circling your wrist absently. You peer down at it and think of all those stairs. Somewhat nervously, you raise your hand and try to be as casual as possible about talking to a shadow on your hand.

"Hi." You start, trying not to feel foolish. "Um, well, I guess I'm done for the day. Could— could you, if he's not busy that is, uh, let Azriel know? I don't mind waiting if he is."

The shadow zips off barely before you can finish your sentence and your head swings to watch it go, disappearing somewhere to your left.

You can't help but be a little amazed at its speed—it must be an incredible networking system to have a thousand little spies running around for you. No wonder almost all Shadowsingers tend to end up in the same line of work, you think to yourself, still peering in the direction of the shadow when—

"Y/n."

Even though he's said your name soft and quiet, Azriel still manages to take you by surprise. You jump and turn, all in one motion.

"Mother!" Your hand holds over your chest, relief curling in at the sides as your fright ebbs away. "That was fast."

"You called," Azriel responds, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. He gives you an almost shy smile.

It makes you fluster a bit and you gesture to the exit awkwardly and wordlessly, if only so you don't have to come up with a response to his intense and endearing answer.

Together, you wander out from the library and creep towards the edge of Velaris. It's a beautiful city and more than deserving of its title, especially when viewed from the House of Wind. You turn and cast your eyes up the mountainside, your familiar nervous fear pitching up from your stomach.

Then you look at the warrior beside you, tall enough that he's got what feels like more than a head's height on you, with his wings reaching above even his own head. His jaw is sharp and his eyes are already on you as your gaze trails up his face. Fuck. He's really pretty.

Now you're nervous for an entirely different reason.

"We can still take the stairs if you wish," He says, his hand sweeping back to the path you had followed along this morning. His shadows move with his hands, a black vortex that whirls around and around. "I'd be more than happy to keep you company."

Mother, he's not helping you in the slightest, being so perfectly nice to you. You regard the stairs and think back to how many hours it took before your thighs stopped aching—and that was on the way down.

"No, we can- we can try flying again." You say, nodding to yourself as if it'll help quell your fear. It takes another moment to realise that means you'll be bundled up in his strong arms, held against his broad chest and you feel a little shiver run through your body at the thought.

Azriel notices it too, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "You're sure?" He checks.

You nod, not meeting his eyes, trying to keep your nerve. Flying is already something you're not keen on. Flying whilst being swept up in the arms of a Shadowsinger who you think is the most beautiful Fae you've ever seen? You send a silent prayer to the Mother that you don't do something embarrassing, like puking down his front.

"Let me know if you're uncomfortable at any time," He says softly and then he bends his knees slightly, one of his scarred hands resting on your lower back as the other scoops beneath your knees. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing.

It's impossible not to flush as you get nestled against his firm chest, your hands panicking for a moment as you try to think of a normal place to put them. Around his neck? On his chest? Either of them feels far too intimate for a man you've known only a week.

"You don't have to but I would suggest holding on," Azriel comments with a smile, his chest vibrating with the words. You nod, agreeing with him, but don't make a move to do so, only holding your hands out in front of you to indicate you're not sure where to put them.

The shadows adorning his shoulders move on their own, their friendly presence easing your nerves as they slither down to circle around your wrists. There's a gentle tug and you let them move your hands til they're wrapped around Azriel's neck, moving you much closer in the process.

Gods, your faces are close together. Another couple of inches and you could probably press your lips to his perfect ones—a thought that makes you fluster all over again. Was he getting prettier every time you saw him? For not the first time, you thank the Mother that it was Rhys with the daemaeti gift and not Azriel.

"Ready?" He checks, which is sweet. Cassian had just shot up into the sky the first time, without any warning.

You grip your arms around his neck a little tighter and then nod. "Ready," You say, quieter than intended.

You catch just a moment of Azriel's demure smile, your heart swooping at the sight, before you're both launched into the sky with one flap of his wings.

The noise that escapes you is one you're less than proud of, a squawky sound noise of panic that you bury into Azriel's neck. You expect him to laugh like Cassian had, not meanly but playfully, but instead Azriel's arms just tighten around you. As if he was assuring you that he would not let you fall.

By the time you're up at the House of Wind, Azriel making a far more graceful descent than his brother, you're less freaked out and more ready to point some accusatory fingers in the face of the Night Court's General.

That bastard had been fucking with you! The flight with Azriel proved as much, considering how much calmer and smoother it had been. You couldn't help but say as much as you were placed down from Azriel's hold, glad to be back on solid ground.

"I have some words for Cassian, Mother above," You ramble, straightening out your rumpled clothes from the flight. "Did he think I was kidding when I said I was afraid?"

Azriel smiles at your fieriness, his shadows calmer than they were in flight, moving about lazily. His eyes take a fleeting glance at the house behind you before focusing intently back on you.

"Cassian can have a strange sense of humour at times. He means well." He says. Then he grins. "I should like to see you tell him off— not enough people do."

You hmph. "Maybe I will."

You suddenly realise the closeness between you and Azriel, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. His scent of cedar and mist swirls around you, tantalizing and alluring in a way you've never known before. You take a step back to contain yourself.

"I—uh, well, thank you very much." You say, as sweet as you can. "For the ride."

Your eyes catch on one of his dozen shadows and you smile, observing them for a moment. "And the shadow. It was excellent company."

Azriel brightens, an expression of surprise crossing his face before he schools it away. He smiles, brazen and breathtaking. When he speaks, he sounds a little disbelieving. "You like them?"

You nod quickly, noticing how one of his shadows has snuck off again and circulates your ankle speedily. You laugh at the ticklish feeling of it against your skin.

"They're incredible." You breathe, meaning every word. "I imagine you must've ge—"

"Apologies, y/n." A smooth voice cuts in, Rhys stepping up somewhere behind you and stealing both of your attention. He dressed in more casual clothes than you last saw, but not quite Azriel's fighting leathers. "Azriel here is needed for some brief business. Do you mind if I borrow him?"

The way he poses the question, as if Azriel is yours, does something wonky to your heart. You flounder for a moment, stepping back and waving your hand in the direction of the Shadowsinger.

"Of- of course, by all means." You trip over the words and hope you don't sound too eager to escape his company. That couldn't be more untrue.

You turn back to Azriel and fix him with a smile, hoping it's not as nervous as you feel. "I'll... see you around?"

Azriel steals a glance to the side where Rhys awaits before he nods with another reserved smile. Hold on, is that pink on his cheeks?

"Let me know if you need any more help getting to and from the library. I'd be happy to assist."

And then with a quick nod to you, he walks off to join Rhys, his wings tucked in tight, careful to not nudge you. You watch them go, unable to stop yourself from letting your eyes wander down. Damn, all that training did wonders. What was that saying? Hate to watch 'em go, love to watch them leave.

Ahead, Rhys abruptly laughs and peers back over his shoulder, letting you exactly how well you had shielded those thoughts. You flush and scurry into the house as if it'll save you from the embarrassment of what's just happened. You only hope he won't pass the message on to Azriel.

—

It continues like that for the rest of the week.

Azriel carries you down the height of the mountain and leaves you with a promise that if you need anything, you can tell the shadow and he'll come to find you.

The shadow keeps its usual playful company. Beyond retrieving your dropped quills, it helpfully turns the pages of books for you. When you're focused on what you're writing, it nudges back any loose strands of hair. Once it even brings you a flower from Mother knows where. One single Lily of the Valley, left resting on your desk.

It makes you wonder; are all Shadowsinger's shadows like this? You can't help but imagine these niceties are shaped by Azriel's own soft nature.

Today, whilst you study in the vast caverns of the library, you get an unexpected visitor.

As you take your time scanning through the books in one of the vast aisles, you realise the Fae coming down from the other end of the aisle is none other than the Highlady herself.

"Feyre!" You greet warmly. The two of you had met before when she had taken duties in your home court and if it weren't too bold, you'd say you consider yourself good friends. Feyre smiles, glowing like moonlight, as she realises who it is.

"Y/n," She says your name sweetly and her hug is just as such. She pulls away, ready to inquire about your studies when she spots the trailing shadow behind you.

"Making friends, I see," She comments. Her eyebrows raise almost teasingly as if she's made a certain insinuation. You take a moment to notice what she's referencing.

"It's nice," You say, a defensive lilt to your tone. You hold out your hand and the shadow jumps at the opportunity to skitter around it playfully. "It's like a little friend."

Feyre smiles at your words but chuckles a little. "Except Azriel is anything but little."

You pause at her words, glancing down at the shadow and back up at Feyre. "What do you mean? I thought— they're not- I mean, aren't they...?”

You trail off, unsure of how to word the question you're trying to ask. Feyre smiles, her gray eyes glittering with mirth as she realises what you're figuring out.

"They're all his. Azriel's. He controls them." She tilts her head a bit, watching the shadow that drifts about your hand and wrist. "True, they roam a bit on their own but... Not like this."

"Oh," You murmur, thinking back to that first day in the library.

The playful shadow that lead you back and forth, picking up your quill and turning your pages. It was him, all along.

Something immeasurably warm starts to glow in your chest, a thread that loops through your heart and sends the valves into overdrive. Its warmth grows, something molten hot beginning to bleed in your chest— and it feels wonderful. It feels right.

"Oh," You gasp as you figure it out.

Feyre grins, watching you piece together what the rest of the inner circle has clued together from the very first day. She stands to the side and gestures to the entrance of the library with a tilt of her head.

"Go on then," She urges you.

For a moment, you think back to Sergei who sent you hunting for a certain manuscript Cauldron knows how long ago but the thought is washed away in an instant. You can feel it now, the strong tug in your chest. The connection that binds you to another.

You stride past Feyre, giving a quick thanks! and all but run up the spiral staircases, heading for the entrance. The shadow pings along with you and as you near the top, you look down at it and say through huffed breaths, "You better go get him."

He's waiting by the time you get there.

Against the setting sun, for a moment there's only the silhouette of him— a warrior with tall wings, the edges of him rippling like a mirage. He might just be one; an oasis in your life, the answer that you've been searching for for centuries. You can't believe you didn't notice.

Your footsteps echo on the marble as you march right up to him and Azriel watches you closely the whole time, his amber eyes soft but his expression hinting at his nervousness. Gods, he's wonderful. You can't believe he gets to be yours and you get to be his.

"How long have you known?" You ask because it's the first thing on your mind. You're nearly panting from the exhilaration of your sudden exercise, from the dawning future that's blooming right in front of you. He's your mate. Gods, how could you have missed it?

Azriel smiles, that same tentative one that's been driving you crazy all week. His wings give a little shake behind him, a giveaway of his nerves.

"I... suspected from the beginning." He chooses his words carefully, wary of how you might respond.

You can't help your little gasp, feeling even more of a fool. You curse, ducking your head before you glare back up at him, no real heat in your gaze. You have the urge to give him a little shove, just for keeping you in the dark.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

One of his shadows spins up unexpectedly, dancing across your shoulders and tickling your cheeks gently. You startle in surprise but something sweeter curls up in your chest at the tenderness of its touch.

"Believe me," Azriel says with a quiet chuckle, his amber eyes darting over your face intensely. "I've been trying."

You melt. Eyes locked with his, you move slowly, letting your arms drift up to drape around his neck like they've done every morning and evening since he began flying you around. You realise acutely that Cassian's behaviour, his shoddy flying, had likely been on purpose. You laugh a little, eyes creasing shut in pure euphoria.

Azriel's hands find your waist and you can feel the slight tremble in them.

"In my defense," You murmur, pushing up on your toes. You're close, so close, your lips hovering just an inch from a kiss—his shadows go wild around you both. It makes you grin. "I had never met a Shadowsinger before."

"Yeah?" Azriel breathes shakily. "Disappointed?"

He says it like a joke but you can hear the note of sincerity in his tone. His hidden worry that he isn't all you dreamed of. It's nearly laughable how wrong he is.

This close you can see his long lashes and every shade of brown in his eyes. You wonder if you'll ever get used to how beautiful he is. Part of you hopes you never do.

"Not in the slightest," You say, nearly a whisper.

Then his lips are on yours, pillowy soft skin against yours, and it feels like coming home. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you til you're breathless and the glow in your chest could rival the sun in its warmth.

He kisses you and every atom in your body hums and fizzes and comes to life — and all you can do is hold him tight and kiss him back, just as fiercely.

Breaking the kiss to catch your breath, you pant and grin brazenly at Azriel, at your mate, happier than you've ever been. Faintly, you realise that you won't be heading home when the two months of your study are up after all.

Not when you have a man who looks at you so reverently, who kisses you like there's oxygen hidden in the plush of your lips, who holds you like there's nothing more precious in the world.

Not when you know that home is right here, in front of you.

#YIPPEE! written in like... 3 days #no editing less go #love it or leave it #a break from all the doom and gloom of wtssf #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel x you #acotar fanfiction #azriel fic #azriel fanfic #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger x you #sloane writes

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ozzgin · 1 year ago

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A nice character with a yandere split persona. The Yandere persona was born out of the abandonment of the character by a loved one, maybe mom. Did he kill her just so she could stay? Maybe. Only the Yandere persona knows, the character is oblivious, he just knows his mom left him. But he oddly feels ok about it as though the situation has been reconciled... which is weird to him.

Now he meets and falls in love with yn. She must not leave. It's f around and find out

Btw I love you ❤️❤️❤️ The Yokai series is my fave

Oooh, I’ve been thinking of a context for your idea and I somehow got stuck on a serial killer who is unaware of it most of the time. Since you mentioned abandonment and obsession, my mind wandered to some of the typical habits, such as collecting trophies. I’ve also been wanting to try my hand at writing a serial killer, so hopefully it turns out to your liking. (Sending back the love, always a pleasure to see your comments ❤)

Although let me include a little disclaimer, because I am aware many things in the sphere of true crime are problematic: this in no way glorifies or romanticizes serial killers. Just a reminder that this is a work of fiction and all behaviors displayed are for the sake of an interesting story, not to be admired in real life.

Yandere! Serial Killer x Reader

You're temporarily staying with a kind, quiet man renting out a room in the house he inherited. It's just the two of you, and a locked bedroom he claims to be vacant. Yet as night falls, you hear the whispered arguing of a voice you don't recognize. Is anyone else there?

[Part 2] | [More original works]

Content/TW: female reader, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, horror

You must break the pattern today, or the loop with repeat tomorrow

He stares at the locked drawer of the bureau. The clock ticking in the background fades into an irritating buzz, drumming against his ears at irregular intervals like a swarm of insects. Once again, he cannot remember where the key is. Yet he does not feel compelled to search for it. It cannot be anything of significance, he tells himself. Forgotten knick-knacks, perhaps. Despite the apparent lack of curiosity, he is drawn here every morning. He wakes up, carefully folds the sheets, and goes to sit in the office. Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Until, at last, the noon hour strikes, and the hallways are flooded with ghastly chimes.

Lately, however, other sounds have taken over the usual silence that envelops the house. The main door rattles faintly before opening with a creak.

“They were out of our bread rolls. I got a baguette instead.”

It’s you.

He stands up, as if startled from deep slumber, and hurries downstairs to greet you. He takes the grocery bags from your hands, flashing a smile of gratitude. Somehow, the idea of another person living here is still foreign to him. He’s gotten so used to the solitude, the quietness of the house. Time stands still when there’s no one else to remind you of it.

You glance up at the tall man, noticing his slight frown.

“Another brain fog?” You ask, worried.

“Don’t mind me. It’s a morning routine at this point”, he jokes. “More importantly, what would you like for breakfast?”

He always cooks for both of you. Initially, you were rather hesitant to go for his offer. You’d been looking for temporary accommodation and stumbled upon his advertisement. A cozy, vintage house the man had inherited from his lamentably departed mother, with one too many spare rooms. He had no need for all the space, he said in his description. You paid him a visit and were taken aback by his appearance. A massive, muscular frame that did not fit the rest of his mannerisms and features. He was soft-spoken, polite, and terribly shy. His eyes reflected the kind of gloom to be expected from anyone in his situation.

A sweet, gentle soul looking for company. On top of that, if you are to be technical, he’s a housemate difficult to compete against. Well-kept, mannered, organized, and thoughtful. He keeps to himself. You’d learned, soon after moving in, that he suffers from the occasional brain fog and memory loss. He goes for walks at odd hours to clear his mind. Enjoys reading in his office, although you’ve caught him just staring into space many times. Terribly inconvenient for the poor lad, you imagine.

The house itself is also not a bad deal by any means. Old fashioned, littered with trinkets and paintings. “My mother liked to collect many things”, he’d told you. It certainly has personality, to put it mildly. Some belongings are more bizarre than others: portraits of faceless people, with features smudged or distorted, doll heads in pompous, feathered collars hanging in clusters across the musty walls. Peculiar, but manageable.

Only at night does it become unsettling.

“Going for a walk?”

You’re curled in one of the armchairs, flipping through a magazine you found. It’s been hours since your little breakfast together and now the sun is beginning to set. The man is buttoning up his coat, standing in the doorframe and gazing at you with a smile.

“Yeah. I’m starting to detach a little. Maybe some fresh air will help.”

It’s nice, he thinks, having you here. He didn’t expect much when he ventured to rent out a room. He just wanted to hear the murmur of life again. Ever since his mother has passed…when did it happen, again? Better yet, how did it happen? Christ, he can’t remember. The last memory he has of her is not something to cherish. She was angrily shoving him out of the way, visibly annoyed by his cries and pleading. “Please don’t leave me”, he kept croaking in a pathetic tone, dragging his knees like a beggar. Then it’s all black. Black, like the cover they kept over her body at the morgue, to hide the mutilated remains. Black, like the tie he struggled to knot before her funeral. At that time, the sheets of her bed were still scattered, as if she never left. He could almost see her there, reflected onto the mirror’s surface – rather dirty as a matter of fact, he should wipe it soon – sitting melancholically on the edge of the mattress.

To think he’d be hearing footsteps again. A soothing voice. Even if it’s temporary, your presence in the house has been a blessing. Even if you must leave eventually. His lips purse involuntarily.

You hear the door close, followed by the key twisting inside the lock. You’re alone now.

With haste, you get up and sprint upstairs. You pull out a hairpin from your pocket and discreetly insert it in the cylinder. Today you find out if the spare bedroom truly is as vacant as your housemate claims.

When you first viewed the house, he mentioned that only this room will remain locked. It was his mother’s and he’d rather not look at it, he said. Let it gather dust, for all he cares.

Only at night, you’ve been hearing someone else’s voice. It didn’t happen immediately. Weeks after you’d moved in, you woke up thirsty and tiptoed on your way to the kitchen for a glass of water. On your return, you were surprised to see dim light coming from underneath the door of the forbidden bedroom. Visitors of your housemate? You hurried back into your bed, not wanting to intrude. But the following night you jolted up from the same mumbled voice. Strange that he’d invite someone over this late - twice in a row! - without saying a word to you. Even more, they were arguing like this. Curiosity got the better of you, so you snuck out and placed your cupped ear against the wall.

“No, no, no, no. I’m telling you, it’s different. She’s different from the others.” A deep, ragged voice retorted angrily.

Suddenly, there was a loud thud, a fist smashing against something, then glass shattering over exasperated, shouted curses. You ran back to your room, baffled. Who on Earth was there? You could feel your heart throbbing inside your chest.

Morning couldn’t come quick enough. You marched over to your housemate, demanding to know who this stranger was. He stared at you, wide eyed and incredulous. “There’s no one else here, dear. Just you and me.” Nonsense. You knew what you heard. You’d been wide awake! He gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead. “Could it be that you’re sick? Weather has been dreadful lately.” You scanned his face with hitched breath. Was he mocking you? Yet his features betrayed no such intent. The man seemed genuinely worried; face twisted in a caring frown.

Then what? A ghost? An intruder that fancied having a chat in a dead woman’s bedroom?

You fiddle with the pin until you hear the click. Finally. Surely whoever has been frequenting the place must’ve left some clues behind. You carefully open the door and peek inside. A broken mirror and some furniture covered in webs. There’s a lingering rusty smell that tickles your nostrils, and soon enough you find the source. Next to the old bed lays a cloth splattered red. On top of it, a leather folder from which scalpels and other surgical tools fell out haphazardly. Blood? Your mouth curls in disgust. You crouch to the floor to inspect the odd items and notice a jar glistening from underneath the bed. You pull it towards you and give it a rattle. Nothing heavy. You lift the jar into the light for a better look and gasp.

Fingernails.

“Oh, I forgot to put those away.”

It’s the same deep voice you’ve been hearing at night. Your stomach drops and you turn, slowly, towards the entrance. Horror is swiftly replaced by confusion once you realize it’s none other than your housemate.

“Y-you’re back from your walk?” You blurt out.

“Walk?” He inquires. “Ah, that’s what he told you.” He steps towards you and lowers himself to your level with a grin.

“Have you come to say hello?” He points towards the tall, shattered mirror. “This is (Y/N), mother. See, I told you she’s stunning. You didn’t believe me.”

He ruffles your hair with a boldness completely unfamiliar.

Nausea overwhelms you and your ears ring in panic. Whatever is happening right now is beyond your understanding.

“I’d like to go to my room now.”

“I recognize that speech all too well. You want to run away.”

Within seconds, he grabs one of the scalpels and points it towards your throat, poking your skin with its cold tip.

“Now, don’t embarrass me in front of her like that. Do you know how hard it is to convince this bitch of anything? I told her you’re not like them, (Y/N). Don’t prove me wrong.”

“Them?” You whisper, lungs devoid of air.

“Come, let’s put this with the others first.” He pockets the scalpel and lifts you up by the hand, tenderly kissing your fingers in the process. “Then we can talk.”

You follow him into the office, and he unlocks one of the desk drawers. Against your better judgment, you stretch over his shoulder and glance inside. ID cards of various women, jewelry, lipsticks. Teeth. Fingernails.

You want to cry.

He nonchalantly dumps the contents of the jar into the drawer and slams it back shut, then throws himself in the chair and pats his thigh, eyeing you. With a sob, you clumsily climb onto his lap.

“Back to our matters. What were you planning on doing?”

“I just wanted to lay in bed.”

He takes out the scalpel and draws a line across your cheek. It stings.

“Don’t lie, (Y/N). You have nothing to gain from being naughty with me.” He coos, placing a kiss over the fresh wound.

“I wanted to run away.” You confess, petrified.

“Good. Do you now understand what happens if you try to run away?”

You briefly look at the drawer and nod.

“I knew you would. You’re so smart.” He strokes your hair fondly. “Not an easy decision to make, mind you. I love you more than anything in this world. Who’d enjoy killing their one and only?”

The man ponders his next words with a hum.

“Don’t count on getting away while he’s awake, either.” He taps his temple and chuckles. “He has no idea and won’t stop you, but I can easily find you again.”

The eggs sizzle in the pan as you stare at your plate, background sounds melting into shapeless static. After a couple more minutes, the man turns off the stove and places the food on the table with a cheerful whistle.

“Eat up!” He encourages you.

You hold onto your fork with faintly trembling hands.

“This might be the last breakfast I cook for you, after all. You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?” His last sentence trails off and he smiles, dejected.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could…stay here instead.”

He gazes at you in disbelief.

“Truly? I-…That’d be fantastic.” He laughs awkwardly and scratches the back of his head, a deep red blush spreading over his cheeks. “Do excuse my rudeness. To be honest with you, I’ve grown quite fond of our arrangement. I really do like having you here.”

You return the smile without responding.

“Most exciting news. I’ll get the documents from the office after we eat, so we can draft a new lease.”

“That’d be lovely”, you answer curtly.

“Say, have you by any chance stumbled upon a small key around the house? I wanted to finally unlock the drawer upstairs, but I can’t remember where I could’ve left it.”

The knot in your stomach tightens.

“Not at all.”

“Don’t sweat it. I’m sure it’s nothing important, anyways. Old memorabilia, most likely.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere fic #yandere imagines #yandere imagine #yandere scenarios #yandere male #yandere killer #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere serial killer #yandere original character #horror #split personality #tw yandere

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semisolidmind · 1 year ago

Note

Drops these thoughts in exchange for absolutely mauling your art.

Saved catnap would be down right horrifying to encounter in the woods-

If your just going for a quick walk, I think he’d just stalk you, ensuring you never get close to Angel’s property.

If you’re there for other reasons……well….CatNap has been debating making a new shire for Angel….(much to everyone else’s dismay and horror…)

And if the person sneaking onto the property has features resembling Angel (hair, eyes, clothing, etc), it gets a little…..off putting to into the barn….

(Also the image of CatNap just licking poor Angel while they’re sleeping beside him is so strong. Even more if he’s doing it to annoy DogDay and rub his scent on angel. Gotta lay your claim to your savior somehow!)

(oh god...catnap barn shrine.... consists of some stolen shirts, a comb, perhaps a throw blanket and some pillows, a picture (with anyone other than y/n scratched out) stolen from the mantle, a spare hairtie or two...anything catnap can get his paws on while the others are distracted or out of the house)

and the idea of catnap occasionally "borrowing" his savior has been on my mind. like, he'll get just close enough to them, quietly from behind, to subtly breath a little red smoke on them. just enough to knock them out. then he'll gently carry them up to his nest in the barns' hayloft. he just wants to hold them, but knows y/n doesn't trust him enough to really let him close.

he spends that time where they're knocked out nuzzling them and purring up a storm. he knows the stupid dog will be breaking down his door to retrieve y/n as soon as he realizes they're gone, so....catnap makes the most of his time with them.

–

ive also been imagining a scene where y/n leaves dogday and the girls inside to make dinner, and goes out onto the back porch. it's dark, and they can't really see much beyond where the porch light can reach, but...they know catnap is out there. they can see the barest trace of his lanky silhouette in the trees beyond the barn.

his white pupils glow through the gloom. his heavy stare pins y/n in place.

with no better ideas, y/n sits, legs dangling over the edge of the deck. they maintain eye contact with catnap. after a beat of silence, they make the one noise no cat can resist.

pssp pssp pssp.

catnap is confused, if the perk of his ears and small tilt of his head is anything to go by.

but, he does take a slow step out of the trees, recognizing the sound as a summons. he begins to cross the yard, getting closer, never taking his eyes off of y/n. his slow stalking gait is anxiety inducing, but y/n tries to keep it together. they have a plan.

they want to get catnap more comfortable with them, with the house, to help better integrate him into their little family. perhaps a little TLC will make the stray cat more personable.

he looks ready to run despite his intimidating facade. his long tail flicks from side to side. curious, but cautious. his eyes never leave y/n.

catnap slowly gets closer and closer, eventually coming into the light. y/n always forgets how big he and dogday actually are; that sheer size is less threatening on dogday, who y/n knows won't hurt them. they're not so sure about catnap.

the massive toy looms over them in spite of his cautious, low posture.

y/n slowly raises their hands, palms upturned. an invitation.

catnap's eyes flicker to their hands for a second before returning to their face. y/n can only hope he understands what they're inviting him to do.

the feline slowly, carefully, steps forward. he sets his heavy head into y/n's palms. he begins to purr when they ever so softly begin to scratch his chin and behind his ears.

moving out of y/n's space, catnap backs away. quiet and uneasy, y/n lets him go. they know that the process of "rehabilitating" him will take time and patience. getting him used to them and the others will be a struggle. but for now, they're just happy that they could get him to accept touch at all.

he knows that the small, tentative smile on their face is...proud, perhaps. happy that he's accepted their care. despite his hesitation, he soaks in the feeling of his savior's hands on him. he can't remember the last time he'd felt a gentle touch. catnap leans into the motions, eyelids drooping a little in contentment. his white eyes remain locked on y/n's face, his pupils dilating a bit. they seem more at ease with him like this. he basks in their simple affection for several minutes, his purring the only sound; he's thoroughly enjoying the peaceful moment between the two of them.

however, a crash from inside and the raucous voices of the other toys startle him into alertness. his eyes widen, pupils shrinking back to slits and his ears lay flat against his head. he hears y/n gasp in surprise, pulling their hands back. catnap's a bit disappointed at the loss of their touch, but knows that it's better not to invite the ire of the other toys by lingering too long. the moment has passed, and he can feel y/n's unease growing again.

the large toy stalks off into the darkness. y/n waits until he's safely beyond the trees to stand and open the door. they cast one last look into the night before heading back inside to mediate whatever accident just occurred.

catnap, as standoffish as he appears, treasures the small gesture he's just received. he returns to the woods, pleased and purring to himself; thinking about the scrap of affection he's been granted from the hands of his beloved savior. he'll be sure to seek them out for more.

#the vibe between yn and catnap is so weird #its very much like befriending a stray #but the stray is somehow both standoffish AND obsessed with you??#so it wants your attention so so so badly but isnt willing to get close for very long #poppy playtime #catnap #catnap x reader #technically

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satoruxx · 1 year ago

Text

SWEET SNACKS.

✧ PAIRING: gojo satoru x reader | 2.3k words

✧ SUMMARY: tooth rotting fluff, meet cute, battles with inanimate objects, reader's got exams bc i have exams, satoru's whipped af (as usual), sorry i love writing him as a simp, reader is also whipped bc this is gojo satoru, bonding over snacks !!

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: if you saw me tryna post this yesterday no you didn’t. this was supposed to be a quick drabble oops. but it's finals week so i'm offering this piece of fluff to maintain sanity and gush over the meet cute i will never have. if y’all are also dealing with finals, i'm wishing you the best !!

satoru strolls down the bustling streets with a quiet hum, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets to keep them away from the bite of the cold breeze. his boots crunch against the thin layer of melting ice that has formed overnight, now warming under the cold afternoon sun that coyly hides behind gray clouds.

honestly, he wasn't the biggest fan of weather like this, and he wouldn't have stepped out on any other day. but one meeting with the higher ups had his mood souring, and shoko had suggested he take a walk, maybe grab something to eat.

he knew better than to argue with her, especially since she could somehow read him better than most people could—scary.

so here he was, trudging down the streets of tokyo with his hat pulled over his ears, cheeks pink from the frosty air as it dances across his skin. despite the weather, satoru thinks there's something oddly peaceful about the city, the quiet chatter and sounds of boots scuffing against pavement as he turns a corner to head to the nearby vending machines he's frequented so many times.

the peace is broken by an annoyed grunt, and satoru looks up.

"are you serious?" another irritated groan. "of all the days…"

he takes in the scene with interest.

even with all the anger that he's not quite understanding, he thinks you're so undeniably pretty—puffy jacket hugging your body and the warm scarf resting around your neck. your brows are furrowed, exasperation tugging your features into expressions that shouldn't look so endearing.

you groan again, slamming your curled fist against the glass of the vending machine—frustration ticks at your brow.

and why wouldn't it?

nothing was going your way today. it had already started off badly, the atmosphere filled with gloom that made it impossible to want to leave bed. but you had to force yourself to miserably extract your body from the warm cocoon of blankets and pillows that urged you back with a siren's call—a promise of comfort that looked all too enticing.

and then, when you finally did manage to drag yourself to the library to sit down and study, nothing was sticking. you read through paragraphs over and over until your head was spinning, dizzy with information that wouldn't absorb, and that fact is nothing if not disheartening. the impending quickness with which your final exams were approaching made you feel even sicker, so you decided to take a twenty minute break to grab a drink from the nearby vending machines.

but of course, even that couldn't just work out.

satoru watches you stand in front of the machine with a glare, before you're shoving your weight against it, huffing as it remains in place and hoping that at least one of your efforts will prove to be fruitful. he's talking before he can help himself.

"hey, you need some help?"

you turn to face the owner of the voice, finding cerulean eyes behind black shades that so directly contrast the white of his snowy hair. he's tall—abnormally so as he peers down at you with curiosity and a bit of mirth.

you think you've never seen a man so handsome in your life.

then you remember he's asked you a question, and you attempt to swallow down the unnecessary nerves that have taken root in the pit of your stomach. "oh, my uh…my drink got stuck," you reply somewhat lamely, cheeks heating up under his gaze as you think about how utterly ridiculous you must've looked to passersby.

satoru's eyes travel from your face to the machine, noticing the way your drink of choice is stuck in a frozen free fall against the glass and the rack. he sighs in exasperation. "tried hitting it?" he asks, walking closer to stand next to you and take a closer look, even though he knows the answer already.

you're not sure what it is, but this man exudes a certain energy—confidence that leaks through his very skin. it makes you feel like you have no right to be standing this close to him, but all he does is smile at you patiently, waiting for an answer.

so you nod, brows ticking again as the dull throbbing in your fist reminds you of how you had lost the battle with the greedy machine. "yeah, i've been hitting it for the last ten minutes. didn't budge," you sigh, checking your phone to see that there are only a little over five minutes remaining for your quick break. "what a waste of time and money."

satoru watches you shrug helplessly, smiling up at him. "oh well—"

he takes two long strides until he stands right in front of the machine, grips the edges, and shakes it hard.

satoru can feel you gape at him, at the unfiltered display of strength, and the unbothered expression on his face that tells you it didn't faze him. you hadn't been able to move the machine even an inch.

his powerful movements earn you a tell tale thunk, and your heart leaps in excitement as he bends down to push his hand through the slot and pull out your drink. he returns to his full height, an easy smile on his face as he turns around and hands it to you.

"thank you." your voice comes out breathless, a weird kind of excitement thrumming through your veins because it feels like you aren't supposed to know this man.

satoru's smile stretches further when your fingers graze his, taking the drink and popping it open eagerly. he watches you take a sip, oddly pleased with himself at the sheer joy on your face. he doesn't quite understand why this drink looks like it's made your day, but he doesn't ask because you look so sweet drinking it.

"how did you do that anyway?" you ask after you drink a little, curiosity so obvious in your tone. "i tried so hard to move it and it didn't budge at all."

satoru smothers a smile, fighting back the urge to say something stupid. instead he grins, cheeks warming a little under your eager stare. "guess i'm just strong."

you make a face, raising a brow with a playfully disbelieving expression as you cross your arms—to which satoru just laughs. "what's your name?" he asks.

you purse your lips, hiding a smile as you tuck your nose behind your scarf. you give him your name, almost shyly, and satoru tests it on his tongue. he decides he likes the flow, cocking his head as he replies with his own.

"satoru."

for once, the pressure of his last name doesn't permeate the air, and he's all too grateful for it. he turns around to approach the machine again, and he can feel your somewhat confused gaze on his back.

you watch as he stands there for a good minute, his back to you as he ponders the choices in the vending machine like they'll lead to life or death. then he shoves in a bill and clicks a few buttons, and within a couple of seconds, you hear the thud of two things falling.

he remains facing away from you for a few more seconds and then turns around, and you see that he's bought a chocolate bar and the same drink that you have in your hands. you raise a brow.

"well you did almost just lose your life trying to fight a vending machine for it," he says, shrugging his shoulder nonchalantly. "figured it'd be good to try."

you sputter over your words, embarrassment crawling up your neck, but satoru laughs good-naturedly. his eyes shine with mirth as his shoulders relax. "i'm kidding." he stresses, smiling into the collar of his jacket. "but it does look good so…"

he opens the drink and takes a sip, eyes squeezing shut dramatically as he hums at the sweet flavors washing over his tongue. you suddenly feel like getting revenge for his unfiltered teasing.

"well?" you hum cheekily, taking a sip of your own and raising a playful brow. "taste good?"

satoru laughs—a full, pristine sound that makes him throw his head back. "yeah," he agrees easily, feeling oddly fond of the way your voice curls around your words. "it's sweet, i like it. you've got great taste."

somehow the words of this man you've met not five minutes ago cause the muscles of your heart to trip over themselves. you watch him peel open the candy bar, a brand that's unfamiliar to you.

"what'd you get?" you ask, unsure of where the confidence to speak up is coming from. a man like satoru—so unflinchingly ethereal—would normally have your lips zipping and throat muted.

he holds up the bar with a grin. "my favorite."

there's a pause, followed by your sheepish smile, and satoru gapes at you, cerulean widening so clearly behind a backdrop of white. he takes in your innocently confused expression and his ribcage shakes with thuds. "what, you've never tried it?!"

before you can even shake your head no, he's breaking off a piece and handing it to you.

"no, oh my goodness, it's yours—"

"take it." he pushes his hand closer to you, eyes staring imploringly, and you sigh, reaching up to take the piece from between his fingers. a graze of skin—he's warm.

"thank you." you slip the piece past your lips, not at all surprised by its sweetness and yet a little taken aback by its underlying comfort—a rush of warmth.

"good." you're nodding, smiling between chews as satoru's stomach flips. "really good."

he chuckles, all too triumphant for something so menial. "told ya."

you laugh, a quiet subdued sound that satoru wishes he could hear more of. "thanks for getting my drink out," you say. "i really needed it today."

"oh yeah?" he finds himself asking. "how come?"

you sigh, smile dropping as a bit of fatigue makes itself comfortable on your face. "ah well, i've got final exams this week. i've been studying like crazy. nothing's really sticking, and the closer i get to the exams, the more annoyed and stressed i get."

satoru hums, not envying you for a minute.

"so it kinda felt like a kick in the butt from the universe when the drink decided to not just…"

he laughs again, taking another piece of chocolate and chewing on it soundlessly. "i gotcha."

you grin, curling your fingers around each other to diffuse some warmth back into them. "yeah."

there's a silence that follows—not uncomfortable, not unwelcome. you take quiet sips of your drink, and satoru breaks off little pieces of the chocolate bar to chew on. his eyes linger on you, watching the way your lips curl around the bottle, the way your fingers rub against each other, the way the cold has settled into your nose and cheeks and made a home amongst your skin.

when you look up at him, he looks away, throat oddly parched. his fingers flex.

"here, the rest is for you," he says, pushing the half finished candy bar into your hands.

you shake your head immediately. "no way! you paid for it! besides isn't this your favorite snack?"

satoru shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets with a grin that looks too happy. "you liked it, didn't you?"

you nod, slowly, like you're confused at what he's getting at. "well then, enjoy the rest of it. i buy them all the time—i don't mind sharing this one."

you can't help the soft smile that graces your lips, looking up at him with an odd sense of gratitude and surprise—touched that someone could be so casually kind.

"then thank you," you laugh quietly, eyes fluttering against the gust of cool wind that tickles your skin. "i'll enjoy it."

satoru grins, uncharacteristically pleased—he won't ever admit it, but he's glad shoko told him to take a walk. he'll have to thank her when he gets back.

he clears his throat, offering you a small wave as he turns on his heel to head back to the school. "well then, see you around. good luck with your studies, yeah?"

you smile with a gentle nod, oddly rejuvenated after seeing bright blue eyes and snowy hair. "thank you."

and then he's disappeared into the crowds. you laugh to yourself quietly, looking down at your drink and the half-eaten candy bar nestled between your fingers. a part of you feels strangely forlorn, wishing that you had the guts or confidence to talk to him a little longer—ask a little more.

but you've never been good at that, so even just this small happiness you'll take in stride. you grin to yourself, shoving the drink into your bag and slinging it over your shoulders.

you begin walking back to the library, fingers breaking off pieces of the chocolate and savoring the sweetness on your tongue. somehow you didn't expect a man with such an imposing presence to enjoy simple sweet things like this, but that just makes you all the more fond of him.

by the time you've reached the entrance of the library, you're shoving the last piece of chocolate into your mouth, sighing as the doors of reality swing open once more. the meager slice of giddiness that enveloped your very being dissolves, and all the reminders of what's left to do come back to suffocate you.

you bite back a groan, about to throw the empty wrapper in the trash when something catches your eye. you double-take, peering down at it with wide eyes and rapidly heating skin. there are a set of numbers scrawled there, along with a haphazardly written message:

in case you need someone to fight another vending machine for you -satoru <3

#jjk x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #jjk drabbles #gojo satoru headcanons #gojou satoru x reader #gojo fluff #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo x you

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slu7formen · 8 months ago

Text

MDNI. dark!luke castellan x fem!reader

you get captured by luke castellan, but not for the main purpose you think it’s for

warnings: dark!luke ( finally ), evil luke, capture (?, reader’s a nemesis child, wounds, teasing, flirty luke 😏, swearing, manipulation, seduction, bl00d sucking (?

₊˚⊹♡

The air felt chilly against the bare skin of your arms. Cold stone pressed against the back of your thighs as you sat huddled on the floor, the air thick with the unmistakable tang of salt. You were likely trapped somewhere near the sea, that much was clear.

A throbbing pain pulsed in your head, a relentless echo of the knockout that had sent you into a temporary darkness.

You strained your ears, the silence punctuated only by the rhythmic crash of waves against distant shores. And then, a slight noise. Fidgeting. Straining your eyes in the gloom, you made out the silhouette of a figure standing motionless on the other side of the cold, rusty, iron bars. The figure shifted, and a voice cut through the silence.

"Comfortable?"

Luke drawled. You didn't respond, a defiant silence swirling within you. You refused to give him the satisfaction of a response, darting your gaze away.

"No words?" he pressed, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. "Hm” he says, nodding. Luke's amusement morphed into a predatory glint. He walked closer to the bars, his movements deliberate, calculated. He crouched down, his frame lowering to your level on the floor dangerously. "I suppose you want this back" he said, his voice a low rumble.

He reached into the shadows beside him, producing a glint of metal. He tossed something through the bars, the object landing with a clatter at your feet. It was your dagger.

You didn't reach for it, though the urge to snatch the weapon and fight your way out was strong. But again, what would it be useful for now? Cut his fingers off? Instead, you locked your gaze on a spot beyond him, your jaw clenched tight.

Luke chuckled, as if your stubbornness was something he was having fun with, but his words pierced; “Are you deaf or just dumb?”

"Fuck you" you spat, your voice surprisingly steady.

He raised an eyebrow, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Wow, you can talk" he said, his voice laced with mock surprise. "What? Not happy to see me?"

His smile twisted into a smirk, the amusement returning to his eyes, but this time it held a cruel edge. You glared at him, refusing to back down. You bit down hard on the inside of your cheek, forcing yourself to remain silent.

With a sigh, as if he was tired of you already, he reached through the bars. His hand, calloused and strong, clamped around your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. The touch was cold and unwelcome in your skin.

He studied your face silently for a moment, his eyes lingering on the split lip you'd acquired during your capture. "I see you know how to put up a fight" he remarked, his voice low and gravelly. His dark gaze scanned your features as he tilted your head sideways, lingering on a small cut marring your cheekbone.

He was obviously enjoying this. The powerful dynamic.

His thumb followed the trail of blood from your split lip, tracing it down your chin before slowly lifting. You watched, a mix of disgust and a strange fascination warring within you, as he brought his thumb to his own mouth. His tongue darted out, swiping away the crimson stain before retreating back into his mouth.

"Too bad you're not capable of forming a sentence" he commented dryly, his voice laced with a cruel humor that sent chills down your spine. "But you're pretty, I'll give you that."

You noticed the way his eyes snapped briefly to your lips, then back to your eyes. You clenched your jaw, a surge of defiance battling the fear that threatened to eat you. "What am I here for?" you blurted out, the need for answers overriding your cautious silence. "Why do you want me here?"

Luke seemed genuinely surprised for a moment. He leaned in closer, his elbows resting on his knees as he studied you with a newfound intensity. "Why do you think?" he stated blankly, his voice devoid of the earlier amusement.

"One of the Furies," you began, piecing together the fragments of your capture. "She said you'd be pleased to see me. That I was hard to catch. Why?" You pushed yourself closer to the bars, the need for understanding warring with the terror in your chest. "Why, out of all the demigods you could take, am I here?"

A slow chuckle escaped Luke's lips. He leaned back, his gaze fixed on the ceiling of the cave for a moment as if contemplating his answer. Finally, he sighed, a hint of frustration flickering in his eyes.

"Well, let's just say..." he trailed off, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "I've been looking for you for a while."

You scoffed. "Why?"

"Hm," he hummed, a sly smirk returning to his face. His hand reached through the bars once more, his finger working on placing a piece of your hair behind your ear, as if he was taking care of your appearance even in a moment so vulnerable like this.

"Wouldn't you like to know, pretty?" he murmured, his voice a low, seductive whisper. His eyes held you captive, a dark intensity that seemed to pierce through your very soul.

You jerked away from his touch, anger flaring within you. "Seriously, Luke," you spat. "I suppose you want me to join your army. But why? Why not take someone who's more powerful? More of a threat?"

A ghost of a smile played on Luke's lips. He reached out again sharply, surprising you, this time wrapping his hand around the back of your neck, holding you close to the bars.

"And who said you weren't powerful?" he countered, his voice surprisingly gentle despite his grip. "I know power when I see it, princess" he continued, his eyes gleaming with a strange intensity. "And you have more than you think you do."

You scoffed, a flicker of defiance igniting in your chest. "How are you so sure?" The question tumbled out, more of a challenge than a genuine inquiry.

His touch lingered on your neck, over your pulse. A single finger reached out, tilting your head back slightly for a deeper inspection.

"Because," he cooed, his voice surprisingly gentle for someone holding you captive. "I'm always right about these things."

His fingers, warm and calloused, began to trace a path up your cheekbone, eventually sinking into your hair. His touch sent conflicting signals through you – a primal fear warring with a strange sense of familiarity. The gentle massage of your scalp was a stark contrast to the harshness of your surroundings, a soothing melody amidst the chaos.

"You have your reasons, don't you?" he continued, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. "You and your siblings – cast aside, ignored by the camp that should have put you under its wing? They haven't given you the chance to prove yourself as the warrior I know you are."

His words, laced with a deceptive sweetness, wormed their way into your ears. A flicker of truth resonated within them. Years of being ostracized at Camp Half-Blood, of being overlooked despite your relentless training, boiled up inside you. Luke's words, though spoken by the enemy, held a twisted validity and truth.

"You're strong" he continued, his voice a seductive melody. "And skilled. I've seen you." He leaned in closer. "And here, with me, I´ll give you that value." His voice was like poison, sweet and tempting, whispering empty promises into your brain.

It was like a starving person being offered a delicious feast, and your loyalty, your very identity, felt like the price of admission.

"Besides," he added casually, leaning back slightly, "I'm sure you'd prefer to stay once I tell you your half-brother's here."

Luke's smirk widened as he noticed the shift in your gaze. "Ah, yes" he hummed, drawing out the word for dramatic effect. "Ethan. A great warrior, I must say."

His fingers continued their absentminded exploration, tracing patterns along your scalp. The touch, though unwelcome, held a strange sense of comfort – a twisted echo of the affection you craved and had never received. It was as if he knew exactly what you needed.

"He told me a lot about you," he murmured, his eyes lingering on your lips for a fleeting moment before returning to your defiant stare. "We could say," he continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "He's a little eager to see you."

You shook your head, the initial wave of surprise receding. "So that's why you wanted me?" you asked, your voice regaining its strength. "Just another little soldier to play with?"

Luke's face hardened for a moment, the playful facade slipping. “Tsk” he clicked his tongue, "It´s not that" he countered, his voice firm. "You're useful," he stated flatly, his voice cold once more. "You're worthy. But you´re blind to your own skills."

He paused, his gaze intense. "I want to show you your value," he whispered. "I want to show you the power you truly possess."

His hand moved again, his fingers wrapping a loose strand of your hair around his finger, tugging gently. "You´ll only grow stronger with each day under me" he continued, his voice low and seductive.

A flicker of vulnerability crossed your face, a flicker Luke noticed with a triumphant smirk. He was right. You couldn't deny the allure of his offer. Years of neglect at Camp Half-Blood had left a gaping hole in your heart, a yearning for recognition that gnawed at you constantly. There, wherever it is that he was, Luke offered a twisted form of acceptance, a chance to finally prove yourself.

He knew he had you on the ropes. He pulled you closer to the bars, the space between you shrinking to a mere breath.

"You'll explode your potential here, princess" he murmured, his voice a seductive rasp. "You'll never have to feel ignored ever again." And then, he smiled. "Not even by me" he added, the arrogance in his voice grating on your nerves.

Confusion clouded your mind. "What?"

Luke chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. "Some birdy told me you had a thing for me," he teased, his eyes sparkling with a dangerous amusement. "Is it true?"

His amusement was evident, a cruel glint dancing in his dark eyes. Memories swirled in your mind – a careless remark made to a friend, a fleeting crush held in the innocence and care of camp back then. You wanted to disappear, to melt into the shadows and escape his mocking gaze.

“Maybe not as much as you having a thing for me, but…” his fingers slowly traveled over the column of your neck, “more like you thinking I’m…” he hummed to himself as he thought of the word, “hot?” he finished, his grin widening with tease.

You remained silent, suddenly too aware of your own presence, and wanting to die of cringing. “See, that’s another reason why I wanted you here” he continued, “I already said it. You’re pretty” And then began a slow, agonizing torture.

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, “With those lips,” he begins, “that pretty face,” he murmurs, his hand still trailing a path over your features. “those eyes, that hair...” he whispers, his fingers slowly moving back into your hair, tracing the length of it. But his praises didn’t stop there-

"That neck" he breathed out, needily. He used his thumb to tilt your chin upwards, exposing the vulnerable column of your throat. You unconsciously let your eyes flutter shut.

He dared to trail his nails down your neck, a light scratch that sent goosebumps erupting across your skin. The touch, cruel and strangely arousing, left you breathless, stealing a little gasp from your lips.

He seemed to ignore you. "That perfect body" he stated, his voice low and husky, his eyes slowly traveling down your form. His gaze lingered on your curves, sending a flush of heat radiating from within you.

"You're like a little doll" he praised, as if he suddenly was possessed, under a spell. His words felt like a violation, a mockery of your strength and independence.

He let his index finger fall down your sternum, lingering provocatively at the dip between your collarbones, trailing a light path until it rested loosely against your chest.

"So beautiful" he rasped, his voice laced with desire. "So delicate."

He leaned just a bit closer. "Made to be touched. And I'm just the person to do it”

A strangled laugh escaped your lips, laced with a mix of disbelief and morbid amusement. "So what?" you scoffed, forcing your voice to remain steady despite the turmoil churning within you. "You want me as a warrior and-, yours?"

A sinister chuckle rumbled in his chest, sending shivers down your spine. "Now you're getting it, princess" he whispered, leaning closer so that his warm breath brushed against your cheek. "Be a soldier," he continued, each word a promise, a threat, a seduction rolled into one. "Let me train you. Let me unleash the potential you possess, and make them regret every time they overlooked you” he says.

He paused, his eyes locking onto yours with a fiery intensity. "Let me," he breathed, his voice thick with unspoken desire, "let me touch you, and make you mine."

You remained silent, confusion and strangeness growing inside you. Oh how the tables have turned.

"You're a weapon" he breathed, his voice a near caress. "Sharp as a blade. You're meant to be trained, to be held." His voice dropped to a whisper, sending chills down your spine. "Your skills, your strengths, your body” He paused, his eyes locking onto yours with a predatory intensity. "By me."

His words hung heavy in the air, the unspoken threat clear. His grip tightened on the bars, knuckles turning white.

"And I want to hear every little sound that comes out of that pretty mouth you have" he added, his voice returning to its teasing tone. The lustful glint in his eyes was undeniable, leaving no room for doubt about his intentions.

"So, what will it be, angel?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "Will you join the other side-, and become mine?"

He was playing you, of that you were certain. But a part of you, a part starved for validation, couldn't help but be swayed. The allure of power, the promise of respect, it all shimmered enticingly before you. And then there was him. The arrogant smirk, the possessiveness that both repelled and intrigued you.

The weight of the situation, the tangled mess of emotions, it was all too much to bear. You wanted it all. The glory of battle, the thrill of power, the acceptance you craved. And Luke, with his seductive promises and unsettling touch, offered it all on a silver platter.

“Yes?” Luke asked, your silence taking more time than necessary.

"Yes," you whispered, the word heavy with betrayal and a strange sense of liberation. "I'm on your side, Luke."

Silence descended, thick and heavy. Then, a slow, sinister smile crept across Luke's face.

"Good girl" he purred, his voice laced with a chilling satisfaction. "You know what's good for you-,

Welcome to the winning side”

winning side, lol

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perlelune · 9 months ago

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Dollhouse | Rafe Cameron | ii.

The moment your mother marries Ward Cameron should have been the moment your life changes for the better. A fresh start out of the Cut for the both of you. And for the first seven years of living with the Camerons, everything truly is perfect.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Pogue!Reader, Stepcest, Secret Relationship, Manipulation, Jealousy, Drugs, Drinking,

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You let your fingers wander over the edge of the car window, a big smile spread across your face. The gentle breeze flutters across your skin and birdsong fills your ears. You bask in the warmth of the sun and the comfortable feeling sitting inside your chest. The morning was spent visiting the university you’ll be joining in the coming fall. You were given a tour of campus and all the historical buildings you’ll get to wander through soon. It filled you with anticipation, getting that brief glimpse into college life. You’ve been in Outer Banks your whole life and while it’s pretty much a paradise, you’re looking forward to experiencing something new and exciting.

Dad insisted on driving you since you don’t have your license yet. The two of you constantly got wrapped in animated chatter on the way to and from campus. While it’s hard for Ward to watch one of his baby birds leave the nest, you appreciate how supportive he’s been overall. After long hours coaxing him with Mom of course. Dad was skeptical at first. He even suggested you take a gap year to mull it over, like Sarah did. But you and Sarah are like the sun and moon. She’d be the sun of course. While your big sister is content running off with the Pogues on wild adventures and setting aside college for now, you can’t picture yourself doing that. You’re a Cameron, but you’re not Sarah Cameron. With her sweet disposition and golden mane, your sister could probably get away with murder by batting her lashes and flashing her signature sunny grin. Things are different for you. Very different. You haven’t forgotten where you come from, much as everyone in the family pretends you’re just as quintessentially Kook as the rest of them.

Tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, you pivot to Ward.

“Thanks for driving me, dad.”

He beams, his blue gaze drifting away from the road as it lands on you.

“No problem, sweetheart. It’s an amazing school. Great program. Campus looks good too. I know you’ll fit right in.”

A wave of warmth blows through you. “Thanks.”

Sighing, you turn to the epitome of gloom and petulance in the backseat. His arms are folded over his broad chest, his irate blue eyes glued to the window. Your brother’s been cranky all morning. Any trivial inquiry or mundane remark set him off. He barely uttered a word to Dad and graced you with nothing but stubborn silence. It’s blatant he isn’t handling the prospect of your imminent absence well. The silence concerns you a little though. Rafe isn’t one to chew his words or swallow them. So whatever resentment he harbors about your decision to go away for college must run deep. It casts a veil of despondency upon an otherwise wonderful day.

Of all people, you’d expect your big brother to support you the most.

His sour-faced demeanor never relents, even when Ward stops the car in front of Tannyhill. Dad sighs as he parks the truck. He’s already lectured Rafe twice on the way back. You note the disappointment etched on his face, the way he squares his shoulders and readies him to march towards his son and lash out at him again. You put your hand on his shoulder and shake your head. The last thing you need is your brother and father at each other’s throat again. It’d be nice to linger in the exhilaration the campus left you with a little longer.

“It’s fine, dad. Let me talk to him,” your say.

Dad’s shoulders sag. He yields, heading inside the house and leaving you with Rafe. You lean next to him on the truck, head tilted in concern.

“Hey…You haven’t said a word since we came back. What did you think?”

When he fails to reply, his face taut, your frustration swells. “You’re the one who insisted on coming.”

It’s when he snaps, the vein in his forehead pulsing. He swivels to you.

“I just don’t understand why you have to go to a school so far from us, y’know? A five hour drive, really?”

Your brows crumple to a frown.

“Rafe…”

He cuts you off with a mirthless laugh, annoyance flashing in his blue eyes. “And the way you kept gushing about college parties and college boys…” His jaw ticks. “I just don’t like it.”

Rafe pauses, licking his lips and humming as if lost in the depths of reflection. “I think…”

When he trails off, you urge him to go on, impatience clear in your tone, “What do you think?”

He shrugs before casually stating, “I think you’re gonna land yourself into trouble like the airhead that you are and come crawling back home.”

Your face comes ablaze at his words. You punch his shoulders as tears rush to your eyes.

“You can be such a jerk sometimes.”

You stomp away from him, ire radiating from you in waves. He catches up to you with ease. An apology creeps on his face, his fingers clasping around your arm.

“Wait, princess.”

He impedes your path, forcing you to halt in your tracks. He puts a hand on his chest, his expression earnest.

“Look I’m just trying to look out for my little sister here, okay?” A hint of sadness seeps through his tone. “I thought you at least appreciated that.”

Your shoulders slump.

“I do, Rafe, but…I’ll be gone soon. I need you to accept it.”

“I just think it’s too soon.”

“Rafe, I’ll visit. So often that you guys will get sick of me,” you say, your tone reassuring.

The suggestion does little to assuage him, his eyes rolling in annoyance.

“You could take a gap year like Dad said. It wouldn’t be a big deal. You’re a Cameron.”

You nibble your bottom lip. You’re keenly aware Rafe will abhor the words bubbling in your throat before they even leave your mouth.

“Well, not exactly...”

He snickers. “It’s those Pogues…they got in your head, didn’t they?”

Your brows furrow. In your brother’s eyes, everything’s always a Pogues’ fault. He’s never been too fond of the fact that you still hang out on that side of the island sometimes. The phrase ‘You’re a Kook now princess, act like it.’ has left his mouth a numberless amount of times in the past seven years whenever he found you drifting a little too far from the family.

“What? It’s got nothing to do with my friends, Rafe,” you retaliate.

Your gazes clash, a silent war of unwavering wills as your brother looms over you. He works his jaw and unleashes a long exhale.

“So you’re just gonna leave us? It’s final?”

Reluctance drips from your clipped tone. “Yeah, it’s final.”

“I see.”

He gives a sluggish nod of acknowledgement before rushing inside the house.

You trail behind him, panic fluttering through your chest.

“Rafe…”

His back remains turned. Your stomach sinks, his staunch ignorance driving a blade through your heart. The last thing you want is to be away from Rafe, away from your family. But college matters to you. Why can’t he see that?

Mom stands by the counter, dumbfounded by Rafe’s furious stride up the stairs.

“What’s gotten into him?”

A deep sigh ripples through your lips as you meet Mom’s concerned stare. “You know Rafe…”

You turn to her.

“You wanted to talk to me, mom?”

She beams at you. You straighten your spine.

Mom texted you on the way back. She mentioned Sarah would be here too, causing your suspicions to hit a peak.

Nearly every talk with Mom devolved into a firm reminder to behave in a manner befitting a Cameron, befitting Ward Cameron’s daughter. Your mother’s foot never eased off your neck in the last few years.

Nothing besides perfection is allowed.

Perfect grades. Perfect smile. Perfect behavior. Not a single blight or misstep shall ruin the blended nuclear family image Mom and Ward strive to project. Dad might be more subtle about it, but you know his expectations of you align with Mom’s.

Whenever Sarah slackens, the burden passes on to you. You’re supposed to set an example for Willa and Wheezie to follow.

Mom glances between you and Sarah, the latter already sitting on a stool by the counter. It’s clear your sister would rather be anywhere but here. Likely hanging out with John B or some other fun thing. “To both of you, actually.”

You and Sarah exchange a look, one you have countless times before. The quiet acceptance that you’re both about to be lectured by Alice Cameron.

Resigned, you plop down in the stool next to Sarah’s.

Excitement oozes off Mom’s voice as she starts speaking.

“You remember when I told you about the Calliopean Society Debutante Ball?”

Sarah’s lips twitch as she tamps down a grin. “You mean the one you’ve been massively subtle about?”

It’s true. For months, Mom has dropped heavy hints regarding her desire to see both you and Sarah become debs. Even amongst Kooks, being picked to represent the institution is seen as the highest honor. Only a handful of young women from prestigious families in North Carolina are picked, ones whose families have made significant contributions to the county.

A series of events antecedes the ball, including but not limited to Midsummers, a variety of tea parties and galas. The whole thing is archaic at best and cringeworthy at worst.

You’ve tried to get Mom to relinquish the idea of you joining it. But she’s been relentless. The symbol of status it epitomizes isn’t something she’ll let go off so easily.

Not when she’s tried to make everyone on Figure Eight forget where she comes from. Mom would do anything to bury any hint of her past as a Pogue.

You bump Sarah’s elbow, berating her with a frown, “Sarah.”

She chuckles and stands a bit straighter.

Mom sighs at her antics, her forehead creasing.

“Girls. I need you to focus.”

“Sorry, Mom.”

“Sorry, Alice,” Sarah echoes.

Mom marks a dramatic pause, causing dread to tickle your insides. If she’s this excited, it’s almost a given that you won’t be.

Indeed, her next words confirm your inkling.

“Well, I managed to slip in both of your names in the short list while attending the Midsummer’s committee,” she says.

You wince. “Mom…why would you do that?”

Her elation doesn’t waver. “They’ve never had a young woman like you in their ranks and they’re trying to be more open-minded this year.”

“Mom, this is old-fashioned and gross. The girls are presented like broodmares to be sold.”

Her brows knit. “That is not what this is. Being chosen is an honor.”

Sarah rolls her eyes and you purse your lips. Mom squints at you, folding her arms.

“I want you two to participate in all the events leading up to it.”

Sarah blinks in disbelief. “Come again?”

“Isn’t Midsummer enough?” you refute.

It’s bad enough you’re not given much of a choice in attending the stuffy event. The fact that Mom wants you and Sarah to take it one step further is wild.

“Do you know how many girls would kill to be in your place, sweetie?” she laments, looking straight at you. “It’ll be an opportunity to bond with young ladies your age.”

This doesn’t stir you. You doubt you have much in common with the kind of girls picked out as debutantes. This was probably the same crowd you’ve exerted great effort in avoiding at the Kook school.

“Kie will be there too, but only if you go,” you specify.

This catches your interest, mostly because of how absurd that statement is. You’re pretty sure Kie would likely chop off an arm before agreeing to be a debutante, even if you did it too.

Sarah’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets.

“Kie? No way, you’re making this up.”

A mischievous smile unfurls on Mom’s lips.

“Well, it wasn’t easy to get her to agree but her father threatened to stop paying for her unlimited data plan.”

Oh so it’s like that? Kie’s parents resorted to blackmail. Makes sense. You just can’t picture your rebellious friend agreeing to this without an incentive. You surmise threatening to cut off her only means of constant communication with the Pogues might sway her mind a bit.

“Yeah that…tracks.”

“Can you do it, please?”

Your shoulders sag. “Mom, I really wished you stopped trying to impress those women. You do realize they’ll always look at us the same way, no matter what we do.”

Mom’s face dims at your words. An instant wave of guilt fills you. You should have kept your mouth shut. She tosses her hands in the air.

“Fine. I never ask you girls for anything, but okay.” She starts frantically cleaning the kitchen, loud clangs echoing as she grabs random pots and pans from the oven and cabinets. “When I was your age…” You suppress an eye roll. Here we go. You and Sarah trade a knowing glance. Anytime she starts a sentence that way, you know you’re doomed. “I’d have killed to get an opportunity like this...”

Mom continues rambling about how privileged and spoiled you and Sarah are, how she was never given those kinds of chances. She mentions her rough upbringing and hammers in the sacrifices she made to raise you. She reminds Sarah all the times she showed up for her and that she loves her the same way a mother would. You spot the exact moment your sister breaks. By the end, the guilt both Sarah and you feel is palpable, its weight clogging the air.

“Ugh…Fine, we’ll do it,” Sarah relents.

Mom’s sour face immediately shifts to a triumphant expression.

As the evening rolls around, the sky shifting to duskier hues, an unexpected presence slips through your bedroom door.

You sit up, your pink headphones tumbling down to your neck.

“Rafe!” you exclaim, eyes widening in astonishment.

A lopsided smirk unfolds on his face at your reaction. He slowly closes the door and strolls to your bed. The mattress bounces when Rafe tosses himself on it. He drags his fingers along your sheets for a while, the golden family ring on his finger glimmering dully. You wait anxiously with your legs crossed.

After what seems an eternity, blue eyes swing upward as he sighs.

“I’m sorry I was a jerk earlier,” he blurts out. He licks his lips and holds your gaze, his fingers wandering to your knee. Rafe’s deep voice lowers, oozing sadness. “I just know everyone in this house will drive me crazy if you’re not there.”

“There’s always Sarah.”

That draws a burst of laughter from him. He shakes his head.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

Your face breaks out in a grin. Throughout the years, it’s always staggered you how different the dynamic between you and Rafe is different from his relationship with Sarah. Everything’s a competition for Rafe when it comes to Sarah, starting with the ceaseless quest for Dad’s approval. Meanwhile, since that day at the wedding, Rafe has never failed to be there for you. He’s been the best big brother, attentive and kind. While on the exterior he could be a jackass to everyone, including your Pogue friends, he’s never been that way with you. You could talk to him about your problems, however trivial they may be. He’s the one who made you feel most welcome at Tannyhill, impugning every presumption you harbored about what having Rafe Cameron as your brother would be like. And now you can’t picture your life without Rafe in it.

“It’ll be fine. We’ll text. I’ll call you every week.”

“Won’t be the same.”

You take a deep breath.

“For the record, I’ll miss you too. A lot.”

“You better.”

You chuckle.

“Hey, I never gave you your birthday gift…” Rafe says, fishing for something in his back pocket. A sly smirk tugs his lips. “I wanted to do something a little different this year.” You’re filled with shock when he produces a little bag full of white powder.

You blink rapidly as he holds it up. You’ve seen him take some at parties, sell it to his guests. Once or twice, you got curious and asked to try. He vehemently turned you down, insisting he’s not about to let his little sister get fucked up…despite spending the whole night getting fucked up himself.

“Really?”

Rafe’s smirk broadens. “Really.”

Excitement flushes through you. You can’t deny you’ve always wanted to know what it feels like.

“You like…never let me try before.”

He laughs, shifting closer to you.

“Because I was trying to keep my sweet little sister pure. Can you blame me, princess?” he says, fingertips tracing your knee.

You swallow thickly, your face heating when he places the little pouch in your hand.

“I actually have no idea how to…”

“I’ll show you, of course. It’s my job as your big brother to teach you everything.” His voice dips to a velvety bass as your eyes lock. “So let me pop your cherry, princess.”

When you stare at him, slack-jawed, Rafe snorts.

“It’s just a phrase, relax.”

Amusement dances in his blue eyes at your clueless expression. He grabs a paper from his pocket and begins rolling it.

“Here, I’ll show you how it’s done.” He gently swipes the pouch and takes your hand, opening your palm to pour just a tiny amount of the white powder in the middle. “Let’s just keep this a secret between us, okay?” His eyes twinkle. “I don’t want Alice to think I’m… corrupting you or something.”

#rafe cameron #dark!rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #outer banks fanfiction #obx fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron imagine #dark rafe cameron #pogue!reader

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mrs-elsie-barnes · 10 months ago

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Welcome Home | Azriel x Cassian x Female Reader | One shot 3k

After a mission away your bat boys return to the comfort of home and their beautiful mate. The three of you have a lot of catching up to do, but first, a bath.

Warnings: 18+ sexual content & language, slight d/s themes, pet names, dirty talk, wing play,p in v, anal, dp, bath sex, shower sex.

Divider by @firefly-graphics & @reveriesources

Cassian - Can Yaman, Azriel - Avan Jojia images from Getty.

Created for @polyacotarweek prompt 2 - comfort

Masterlist | Poly Fics | Azriel | Cassian

Azriel and Cassian had been gone for a week this time, somewhere unknown, they had left from the roof of the House of Wind, their Illyrian leathers freshly polished.

You’d waved them off, tears in your eyes, unsure of when you would see your.boys again.

But tonight was the night, as the candles that decked the corridors of the House had extinguished behind you, swirling shadows had tangled at your feet, whispering to you. Now it wouldn't be long until their Master was beside you as well.

The clock on the mantle ticked around to 3am when Cassian finally cracked open the door to your rooms. Slowly, inching into the dark room, his wings caught on the door as they dragged tiredly behind him.

Azriel followed, dropping his own pack to the floor and kicking off his boots as quietly as possible.

“Sweetheart?” Cassian called softly, while Azriel’s shadows spread out, disappearing into the gloom in search of you.

Creeping up the side of the chaise like ivy, they reached your shoulder and curled around your ear, tickling you awake.

You'd tried to stay awake, slumped on the sofa, waiting for them, until sleep overtook you, lulling you down into the crouched position they found you in now, curled in on yourself.

“Boys?” you mumbled, sleep still clinging to you even as you tried to drag your eyes open, “You’re home.”

Cassian smiled, kneeling in front of you and cupping your cheeks in his hands and kissing you on the forehead. “We’re home, sweetheart, all in one piece.”

“Are you hurt? Do you need anything?” Your brain slowly kicked into gear, worry clouding your joy at the General’s return, hands running up his arms to feel for any bandages. “Is Azriel with you?”

“I’m here, baby, and we’re safe and well.” He ran a hand up your bare arm and then kissed you too, quickly and chastly before pulling back to run his eyes over you, checking that you too were well, fed and happy.

“Good, my boys,” you reached both hands out, touching their cheeks in turn and pulling them to you, “are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“We’re just dusty and muddy. I could do with a wash and I really want to kiss you again right now.” Cassian laughed, sitting back on his heels so he could look at you properly.

His head was heavy with what looked like caked mud, his usual long waves weighed down in limp grey tendrils around his face. Even the little lines of his cheeks and eyes seemed to be picked out with it. You leaned down, your lips fitting against his perfectly, as if you were made to kiss each other forever. Despite his clothes and the dust settling on the carpet, his lips were soft as they moved over yours, picking up where he left off when you said goodbye.

Azriel hadn’t fared any better, but he was quietly watching you, those hazel eyes of his roving over your own body, making sure you were safe too.

Reluctantly, you pulled away. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” You sat up, pushing your blanket to the floor. Cassian kicked it away and Azriel scooped you up into his arms.

You ran your hands into his hair, picking out debris with a laugh. Even their leathers was filthy, the white dust of limestone shining against the pitch black leather.

“What happened to you?” You lay your head against his shoulder and began fiddling with the straps of his armour as he led the way to the large bathing room.

“Best not to ask,” Cassian grumbled, “Blame Lucien if you have to blame someone, setting fires and cracking walls. We all got showered in it. You can imagine how upset Rhys is!” He chuckled.

You giggled too, remembering Rhy’s face the last time his pristine suit got dirty. Azriel jostled you in his arms, “he was very upset.”

Cassian rolled his eyes, turning into the bathing room and letting his wings flare a little, dust and debris falling from between them too, the veins and creases of his delicate wings filled with soot.

“You two should rinse off before you get anywhere near the tub,” you pointed at the cubicle in the corner of the bathing room. You’d asked Rhys for one after he’d had a similar thing specially commissioned for Nesta, it stopped your beautiful sunken tub from getting filled with mud and dust after your boys got back from training, missions, daily life - how they managed to get so dirty just existing was beyond you.

As an incentive you began unbuckling Azriel’s leathers further, letting them drop to the floor, before you could turn to help Cassian too the male was behind you, his hands on your hips.

“Are you going to join us?” He hummed in your ear, the feel of his chest vibrating against your back, his powerful arms surrounding you sent heat straight to your core.

“It’ll be very lonely without you, baby.” Azriel’s hands were on you now too, pulling up the sheer nightgown you’d worn, hoping for this very moment when two sets of battle weary hands would strip you back out of it.

“There she is,” Cassian’s hands moved up from your stomach to cup your breasts, your nipples hardening. Azriel bent forwards, latching his lips onto one nipple and then the next, flicking and teasing them until they ached.

You let your head drop back against Cassian’s chest as Azriel moved lower, kissing down your stomach until he knelt on the floor at your feet. Scarred hands ran up your legs, his thumbs tickling the inside of your thighs, tantalisingly close to wear your silk underwear clung to your slick folds.

His hooked his fingers into the band of your underwear and stopped there, staring up at you.

Cassian’s large hand crept up over your sternum and wrapped loosely around your throat, holding your head back. Despite his gentle hold your breath stuttered out of you.

“Good girl, ask him nicely if he’ll take them off for you.”

He let go, only enough for him to use his thumb on your chin to tilt your head down to look at the famed Illyrian warrior, his wings spread out around him, his eyes glowing in the faelight.

“Puh-please take them off, Az.”

He began sliding them down your legs, carefully lifting your feet in turn and then throwing them behind his back.

As he stood he let his fingers dance up between your legs, barely skimming over the slick that stuck your thighs together, before laying his hand over Cassian’s and claiming your mouth.

“We missed you so much,” Cassian crooned, pressing wet kisses up the side of your neck, “couldn’t wait to get home to our little sweetheart.”

Your heart was pounding, the thick heat of the streaming bathroom only making your body slicker and hotter. Cassian sucked your ear lobe between his teeth, worrying the delicate flesh until your knees buckled and Azriel had to take your weight, sliding his thigh between your sweat slick legs.

“Shower-” you moaned brokenly, trying to get Azriel to step backwards under the rainforest showerhead. He relented, allowing the hot water to drip from his hair like summer rain. “Let me - ugh - wash you.” Every word was a struggle against the on-slaught of pleasure from both warriors.

Cassian moved away, the loss of his body heat sending goosebumps flaring over your skin. Behind you the sound of water splashing into the enormous tub filled the room.

Azriel stepped away too, lifting his face into the water and rubbing his hands over his face. You followed, wrapping your arms around his waist and allowing your hands to find the sensitive spot where his wings met his back.

“What are you doing, baby?” His gaze snapped down, sending water flying.

“Let me wash you,” you pouted, two scarred hands cupping your cheeks as he kissed the pout from your lips. But then he turned, kneeling on the floor of the shower so you should reach him.

The lavender soap was slippery in your hands, filling the shower area with its sweet, floral scent.

You began with his shoulders, rubbing the knots away with your thumbs and then sliding your hands over his shoulders, suds revealing hints of the detailed tattoos that hid beneath, fingers brushing over the hard nubs of nipples before squeezing the soft muscle of his pecs playfully.

Cassian, hair now slicked back from face, stepped behind you in turn, guiding your hands back to Azriel’s shoulders.

“Just - here,” he nuzzled into the soft spot below your ear, moving your hand between Az’s wings and then pressing.

In front of you Azriel moaned, a deep sound that bounced off the tiles and vibrated up your legs. Cassian chuckled behind you and pressed again.

“Wicked, both of you, wicked, teasing -” he stood and turned, crowding you back against Cas until all three of you were in the corner of the shower, kissing and laughing while Azriel tickled up your sides.

“Hmm, time for the bath I think,” Cas wrapped his arms around you, reaching for Az.

“I agree,” you nodded, breathless.

Tearing yourself away from their searching hands and hungry kisses, you added a large squeeze of bubble bath to the filling tub. You barely had time to turn around again before Cassian hauled you into his arms and kissed you.

“Fuck, I missed you, baby, you’ll stay with us in the bath, right?” His hazel eyes, so full of lust just moments before, were clouded with something else too, a fear, a need to be close.

“How can I say no to you, Cas?” You looked down into his gorgeous face, clean now after his quick shower, glowing in the steamy room.

“Good,” Az sighed into your ear, the feeling of his shivering shadows creeping up your legs and around your waist.

Surrounded, you were entirely surrounded by them and it was exactly where you needed and wanted to be. Between your boys, safe and loved and close, just the three of you in the sanctuary you’d created.

“Good!” Cassian echoed, climbing into the overflowing water.

“Cassy!” You giggled, sloshing the water as you both got comfortable before Azriel climbed in too.

The tub was enormous, large enough for both males and their impressive wingspans, but you crowded together anyway, needing to feel them. You leaned forwards and pressed a chaste kiss to Azriel, revealing in the contrast of his cold shadows on your cheeks and his warm, full lips gently parting your own.

Cassian’s grip on your hips tightened, “where are you going?” he tugged you back into his lap and nuzzled kisses into your neck. “I’ve gotta feel you, baby,” he hummed, settling your hips directly over his so you could feel the hard length of his arousal between your legs.

Gods you’d missed this, the way your pulse raced and your body reacted for them. Your legs falling further open and your hips grinding back against him.

“Fuck, sweetheart, we can’t flood the bathroom again,” Azriel groaned, remembering the last time the three of you had taken a bath together, the whole floor had been soaked within minutes, soap and suds dripping out of the floor length open windows into the jasmine scented sky.

“Just - let me -” he nipped gently at your shoulder, “feel you then.” You never could resist when he turned on his puppy dog eyes, how could you when they were so full of want and desire and the tip of his cock was nudging between your legs in that sinful way.

You knew exactly what he wanted and you needed it too, reaching between you, you took hold of his hard cock and lined him up against your entrance, sinking down slowly. The first inch was always the hardest, his thick head stretching you, the pressure against your clit so sudden and delicious you could barely keep your eyes open.

And then you felt Az’s shadows on your cheeks again and you opened your eyes to meet his, dark with lust and need while he watched you sink back down into Cassian’s lap with a gasp.

Open mouthed, you gasped harder, feeling him so deep inside of you after so long was a welcome shock.

“You look so beautiful like this, sweetheart.” Azriel’s voice was a low purr, each word punctuated by his shadows skittering over your skin, dancing between the dappled candlelight.

“Az-” you moaned, leaning back against Cassian once more, ever your rock in this sea of pleasure.

“That’s a good girl,” he whispered into your ear, soft and low, “taking me so well, taking such good care of me.” He pressed a kiss behind your ear, hands squeezing your hips. “But I think Azzie is lonely over there.” He tipped your chin back up to look at Azriel again, one arm resting on the tile surround, the other under the bubbles, his arm moving slowly as he pumped his cock. “Why don’t you keep him company?”

Azriel met you searching hand with his own scarred palm, lacing your fingers together and drawing you closer. With a whimper you allowed Cassian’s cock to slip free, instantly feeling lost and empty without his firm, grounding presence. But Azriel was quick to help, situating you on his lap, knees spread wide around his hips and the wide head of his own cock nudging against your entrance.

He swiped a hand over your forehead, beads of sweat forming from the heat of the bath, down your cheek and neck, his thumb pressing up just a little as it brushed under you chin. It was like you couldn’t breath, taking in his gentle touch, the caress of his hand over your nipple and down your side before he corsetted your waist with his fingers. And then you were lowering on to him too, taking every delicious inch that he had to offer.

“You feel heavenly, baby,” he whispered, nosing at your jaw and nipping at your throat while you rolled your hips. “Would be a shame not to share you.”

The water swirled around you both and Cassian’s scent heightened as he drew closer, his hands over Azriel’s at your waist and then dipping lower, lower, tracing the dip at the small of your back and slipping under the water to cup the round swell of your bottom. Massaging and pressing, his fingers touching the delicate skin that stretched so tight around Azriel’s length and then pulling back to circle the your tight pucker.

“This okay, sweetheart?” He breathed and the feel of his lips on your cheek, Azriel’s on your shoulder, their bodies slick and hard and wanting surrounding you had you whimpering again, clinging to them. You’d take everything they would give you, every touch, every kiss and every inch.

“Yes - yes - Cassian - please.” You begged, letting your head fall back against him, that familiar movement, that let you feel safe in his arms, that let you gasp and shudder as he pressed inside, knowing they would keep you here on the precipice of pleasure.

“Fuck-” he brought his other hand around your chest, pulling you tight against him, cupping your breast in his large palm. “You’re perfect - perfect.” He grunted, a second finger joining the first and your mouth fell open in a silent shout.

“Gods damn, Cassian, I can feel you.” Azriel shut his eyes, leaning into your chest and laving at your free nipple, he sucked the stiff nub into his mouth and worried it with his teeth, breathing heavily through his nose in his efforts to stay still.

You could feel Cassian’s answering smirk on the cooling skin of your shoulder and then, just as suddenly, deep inside where he curled and spread his fingers.

“Cassie,” you whined, shifting down into the full feeling, trying to move yourself while trapped between the two Illyrian males and finding no give in their embrace. “Please.”

You didn’t need to beg further because Azriel took up your cause, barking at Cassian to hurry up before he embarrassed himself. His fingers were gone in an instance, replaced by the blunt, wide head of his cock and then - “Cass-” his name was punched from your lungs, leaving you breathless and floating between them. But they didn’t move.

Together, you soaked in the bubbles for a few minutes, connected again after so much time apart, each intake of breath making them shift inside of you, sending sparks of heat across your skin. They were here, with out, safe and unharmed.

The aching of their initial thrusts gave way to a deep, dull, yearning for more. You clenched around them, trying to stay still but finding it increasingly difficult to stop your body moving, it was drawn to them, needing to feel them moving and loving you as much as they needed to hold you.

Azriel pulled away from you and opened one eye. “Baby, you need to stay still.” His soft, sleepy voice rolled over your skin, igniting your need further, he had fallen as deeply as you, hypnotised by the flickering candles, your combined scents and the closeness that you all craved.

“Az, I can’t,” you cried, biting into his shoulder to stop your moans as your hips found the perfect pressure, “I missed you both so fucking much.”

You hooked one arm around his shoulder and the other behind you to tangle in the messy of Cassian’s curls.

“Fuck,” Cassian grunted, “I’m trying to be good here, don’t wanna make a mess like last time” He chuckled thrusting up anyway, the water swirling around the three of you and spilling over the sides of the tub and across the pearlescent tiles.

“I don’t care, I don’t care, I just need you, please, fuck, I can’t wait anymore.” Frantically, you moved your hands and kissed Azriel roughly before turning your head to capture Cassian’s lips too.

“Okay,” Azriel smiled, a secret smile that only you and Cassian ever saw, “but remember you asked for it.”

He gripped your hips again, fingers bruising tight on your hips, and thrust up, chasing his release.

“Fuck, Azriel,” Cassian groaned behind you, biting into your shoulder and starting to move in contrast to Az.

“I love you,” you moaned, eyes closed, lost in bliss. “I love you both so much.” Your climax hit you like an arrow, your whole body clenching around them as your walls fluttered, drawing them ever closer to their own release.

“Love you too, Sweetheart.”

“Love you, Baby.”

They growled in unison cumming hard, Azriel bent his head back into your chest, nipping at the soft swell of your breast. Cassian dug his fingers into your waist, pulling you down onto them one last time.

You stayed there, sandwiched between them, matching smiles on your sated faces, until the water went cold and the bubbles faded.

#poly+acotarweek2024 #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #Azriel/Reader #azriel x female!reader #cassian fanfic #cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian x fem!reader #azriel x cassian x reader #azriel #cassian #cassian acotar #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger

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politemenacephd · 10 months ago

Text

Period pains (NSFW Version)

Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader (+18)

Contents: Comfort + smut, Period sex, Use of sex toys, Cooling lube, Multiple orgasms, Aftercare.

Word count: 3947

Notes: I'M BACK and im going through it let me have this please god. I'll be updating my other stories soon i promise <3

It was 7:30am at your apartment, and Miguel was checking his hair in the bathroom mirror.

He’d gotten up early to make coffee and eggs for you both, so you’d hopefully at least eat something before you headed out for work. he’d seen you accidentally miss breakfast one too many times.

He brushed back his hair and grumbled a little, noting the little shadow of stubble around his jaw and the flick of what might be a grey hair on his head, only to pause.

Where were you?

You were always awake by now. You’d been unresponsive spare for a few grunts when he woke up at 6am to get in a few pull-ups and a cold shower, but, that was pretty normal. By now though you’d always be at least listening to videos on your phone.

But… he couldn’t hear a thing. He slowly left the bathroom and headed down the hall.

‘Mi amor?’

Miguel pushed your bedroom door aside and whispered for you. The light inside seemed to be off, with only your bedside lamp on to illuminate the space, which surprised him further.

He pushed into the room and allowed his dark red eyes to adjust to the gloom with ease.

‘Mi amor? You- oh, mi alma.’

He dropped that soft, sympathetic nickname as he spied you utterly buried in the sheets of your bed, your face barely noticeable beneath the soft folds of fabric. He knew that face.

‘Mi alma, shh, it’s okay.’ He whispered soothing little words as he tutted and dropped down to your side, his knees bent into a squat so he could stroke the hair from your face. He watched you sniffle.

‘You’re cramping again, aren’t you?’ Miguel whispered.

‘It’s really bad, Miggy’ you whined. You looked unbearably tense, your nose creased from straining against some unseen hand squeezing your lower abdomen like a cruel god. He could see the exhaustion, the pain, the way your lips were slightly nicked from being bitten.

Miguel maintained his soft expression, gently running a worn hand down his face. ‘Shh, shh. No se preocupe, mi pobre angelito/a…’

He whispered that word over and over as he leaned in and kissed your neck. ‘Pobrecito…’ he purred, letting his lips linger up to your ear and temple and finally your head, where he tenderly breathed in your scent.

‘Pobrecito…’

‘I-I gotta go to work, Miggy, f-fuck… Ah, I don’t know what to do’ you whimpered, tensing as another tight cramp made you curl in on yourself. You looked utterly drained. ‘I used up all my sick days, and my boss sucks, ah…’

Miguel’s face changed immediately, from soft to angry. His thick brows lowered and his lip curled, revealing a flash of his fang. He looked so stern, so protective. ‘Absolutely not’ Miguel said, his voice taking on a firmer tone. ‘No. Not on my watch.’

‘They won’t let me take time off just to—’

‘Let me talk to them.’

‘W-Wait, what?’

‘I’ll talk to them! I’ll explain.’

‘Miggy, that’s not how this works—’

‘It’s how it SHOULD work’ he insisted harder, with his clawed finger now pressed to his chest. ‘You’re hurting, you shouldn’t have to work. It’s that simple. Please, just- I’ll take care of it.’

‘Miggy—’

Before you could even get a word in, Miguel got up and stormed over to the apartment landline. He scrambled in the dark for your little notebook of numbers before eventually realizing it was written on the kitchen whiteboard and not in there. He gave you another quick, tender kiss and then hurried to the kitchen to call your work.

You could only faintly hear him from inside the bedroom, but you knew he was heated. You could hear him arguing, spitting things in Spanish before dipping to remind the person on the other end just who he was.

‘¡Oye! What did I just say? I keep this city safe, and that includes you. Now, I’m keeping THEM safe. Do you understand?’

You felt your face getting warm at Miguel’s insistent whispered shouting.

‘Look, I’ll pay for an extra shift, whatever the hell you want. I’ll send in a note to HR explaining the situation. Do you want Spider-Man leaving a note to your boss? Or do you want to just be reasonable, and let them rest for just one day, because you’re sick?’

Your embarrassed heat grew deeper, rising to the point that it almost hurt.

It sounded like, in the end, he lectured your boss for so long on human anatomy and why you needed time off that they just caved and hung up.

When he reappeared in the doorway with that same soft, sympathetic smile on his rough, chiseled face, you couldn’t help but manage a soft chuckle.

‘They’re just gonna get rid of me now, so they don’t have to deal with you’ you mumbled up at him. Miguel approached the bed without concern.

‘Mm. They can try. I’ll remind them again that the protector of the city and the multiverse is overseeing your care’ he said in that smooth, rough voice, carefully parking himself on the edge of the bed once more. His weight caused the mattress to creak, nearly jolting your body with the size difference, but he steadied your hip with one hand over the sheets.

‘Okay, let me just…’

With his eyes trained on you Miguel reached beneath the sheets and groped around until he found your soft belly, and with a sigh, he started stroking it. His palms were warm, his fingers calloused and thick, his hand big enough to just fully envelop your lower abdomen no matter how bloated it was.

‘Shhh’ he cooed.

‘I’m not a- baby, Miguel’ you grunted back, though you were clearly enjoying the contact.

‘Mm. No. Wrong’ Miguel said with a soft chuckle. ‘You’re my baby. Mi alma, mi vida.’ He bent as he spoke to kiss your forehead, all while continuing the gentle strokes, letting the warmth of his hand soothe a little bit of the pain.

‘I’ll think, if I can, I’ll try to get in contact with Lyla in a minute. I’ll let her know that. if there are no big emergencies, I’ll be staying in today. Okay?’ he whispered against your temple.

‘Miggy, you don’t need to take time off as well just for me’ you grunted. You saw his playful red eyes crease, revealing the little lines by his cheeks. ‘Mm. I don’t need to, no. But unless the multiverse is falling apart at the seams… My job is to take care of people who need me, such as…’

He paused mid-sentence to bump your nose with his own. His skin was a little rough, so coarse and masculine. ‘Cute little civilians like you, eh? So, if the only person I save today is you, that’s my job done.’

‘You- dummy’ you grunted, laughing in spite of the pain as it made you wince. Miguel’s eyes softened with worry.

‘You stay there, and I’ll take over. Okay?’ he whispered. You sighed as the cramp loosened its hold on you.

‘Yeah… Yeah. Okay.’

From then on, Miguel was in full care mode.

He kept the lights low and brought in another blanket from the winter storage cupboard, just to make sure you were comfy and totally covered.

He went to the kitchen and ran the hot water, filling up the little plush hot water bottle shaped like a fluffy spider he’d got you as a gift a year or two ago when he found out how bad your cramps got.

He made hot chocolate over a pan on the stove, knowing you probably didn’t want bland tea or coffee since you were sleepy, but he added a bit of chili like he always did to give you something nice to enjoy while the cramps went down.

He brought it all in himself, his huge arms piled up with items. He was a little overkill, yes, but you let him pamper you. You were in no position to argue, and it wasn’t like the attention wasn’t welcome. You knew he thought of this domestic bliss as a privilege, not a chore, and so you’d gotten used to him spoiling you rotten.

‘Here, mi amor. Gently.’

He sat down and put the hot chocolate on the bedside table, and he watched as you quietly sipped at it with the sheets still huddled around your shoulders. It was a bit too hot and you almost burned your tongue, but it tasted so damn good. The satisfied little mumble you released was enough for him.

As you settled into the sheets, Miguel reached down and held up the little hot water bottle, waving it lightly. ‘Mm? You want this too?’ he whispered. When you nodded his smile widened, and he playfully walked the little fluffy spider up your belly and over your face before shifting it beneath the sheets.

‘Don’t! You know that thing terrifies me’ you said, spluttering slightly on your words as the spider-shaped bottles fluff got in your mouth.

‘Oh, no, scary’ he teased, pressing the warmth against your lower abdomen over your shirt. ‘Don’t be mean to him. He loves you so much, see?’

You rolled your eyes but did eventually relax, clutching the little plush to your navel. It was so warm, so fluffy. You could feel the slight dampness on the fur from condensation. It was soothing as you clutched it close.

Miguel’s eyes softened even further. ‘Good, good. There you go’ he whispered, tucking your hair behind your ear. ‘Now… Do you want your very handsome, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man to crawl into bed with you?’

‘Oh my god, stop’ you giggled, admiring his charming but slightly goofy smile. You had to admit, he was a good distraction. ‘Yeah, come on, hero. Hop in.’

Without another word Miguel shifted beneath the sheets himself, throwing off his shirt until only his pyjama pants remained. He kicked the sheets up and yanked you close to him, squeezing you tight to his chest.

‘Mm… Mmm, mi amor’ he purred, pressing his sharp chin and jaw into your shoulder blade. He clutched you to him like you were a plush doll, spooning you hard from the back until you were squished against his pecs and belly and thighs, and he held you there as you tucked his chin above your head.

‘Miggy’ you murmured under your breath.

For a while you both lulled, half asleep and half awake, with your phone sideways on the bedside table quietly playing your favorite videos to keep you company. You were still in a bit of pain, but it was fading into a dull ache now, leaving you to enjoy the warmth and safety of Miguel’s body.

And… the stirring of hormones in your body.

You began to stir a little as time passed, in the warmth and darkness of your room. Even in the mild amount of pain you were in, with Miguel’s huge body at your back, it was hard not to feel a slight, familiar stirring in your aching loins.

His breath above your head, he occasional little gruff snores, the feel of his biceps rippling as he pulled you close. The slight sweaty sheen over his abs against your back… The feel of his bulge, with no real cover spare for his pajama pants, pressed right up against your rear… His claws on your skin, his thundering heart…

In that dizzy state, you murmured softly, letting out only the faintest noise of pleasure. It was barely a whisper, and yet-

Miguel’s eyes shot open like a hawk, the red glow visible on your pillow sheet, dancing like the reflection of water. You felt him grunt.

‘… Really? You want to?’ Miguel murmured. You flushed so hot it hurt. Oh god, how did he know? How did he seem to smell it on you?

‘I- No! I mean…’

You stammered on your words as he leaned into you, squashing you down into the soft mattress. You saw his claws braced on the sheets and nearly rolled your eyes back into your skull.

‘Are you not in too much pain for that?’ Miguel whispered softly against your ear. He felt your hips buck at the sensation of air against that sensitive spot, and deep down he chastised himself for being a horny fool, because he knew he did it deliberately.

‘Mm… I mean, it- aches a bit, but— Look its fine, I-I don’t want to like, make things awkward or gross you out—'

‘Mi amor…’ Miguel bent down and kissed your cheek, his lips ever so soft, before moving those same lips back to your ear. ‘Do you really think I could ever be disgusted by your body?’

You didn’t reply immediately. ‘No…’ you said eventually, mumbling the words, as while you did trust him it was hard to not feel insecure.

Miguel leaned in and whispered again, this time, more directly, showing how aroused he could be if you wanted him. ‘Quiero cogerte, mi amor?’

You did a full-body shudder at his words, and he grinned, sensing that he knew the answer. ‘Mi vida, let me help you with the pain…’

You whimpered at his soft, husky voice, at his burning eyes now half-lidded with desire. You couldn’t pretend you weren’t still a little nervous, but…

God, you wanted to try.

‘Okay, okay’ you murmured softly, ‘Oka—’

You couldn’t even get the third ‘okay’ out before his lips were on yours, gentle at first but soon turned ravenous. He pried your jaw down with his rough hand and traced his tongue around your mouth, letting it flick and hug your own tongue into submission, all while feeling you squirm and arch against the sheets.

‘Mmm! Mm…’

You practically melted as you tasted him in your mouth. He was still ever so gentle with your body, still petting your bloated belly as he kissed, but with your face he was as rough as possible. He bit at your lip, sucked on them, grunted when he pulled back and groaned while letting your mouth muffle the noise.

When he pulled back you were a mess, with spit hanging between your lips and your mouth filled with his taste. He looked down at you with a soft, breathy open mouth, and he grinned as he panted.

‘That’s my baby’ he purred. ‘On your front, lie down. Let me try something.’

You did as told, rolling onto your belly for him with the spider hot-water bottle still beneath you. You could hear him rummaging but couldn’t see what for.

You felt rather than saw him put a hand on your rear, easily tearing your pajama pants and panties down. He carefully folded them to the side for you to put on later, ignoring the pad so you knew he wasn’t fussed about your body.

‘There, mi amor. Shh. That’s it.’

His rough hands gently kneaded and massaged down from your lower back to your glutes to your upper thigh, relaxing your tight muscles all while enjoying the chance to get a handful of your ass as well. He loved the way you moaned softly, the way your hips shifted from the sensitivity, the way the warm flesh filled out his fingers when he squeezed.

It didn’t take a lot from you to get him as hard as possible, to the point his cock was straining against the fabric to get free.

He bent down and gave you a few teasing pumps, grinding his erect cock up against your ass cheeks until you squeaked, before quietly pulling down and kicking his own pants to the floor.

‘Okay angel, stay still for me. That’s my baby. I’m gonna try something’ he whispered, pressing the words into your back with a kiss.

‘W-What? Try what?’ you murmured, half delirious in a state of anticipation and dull ache.

‘The cooling lube’ Miguel replied in that husky voice. You could hear the soft, wet thwapping noise of him smothering his shaft with the stuff, the lube he’d got you with the added addition of a cooling sensation when applied.

He gave himself a few good stroked until his hand and cock were dripping with the stuff, unable to stop the urge to just fist it a few times while admiring your ass, but after one or two he found himself too desperate for the real thing.

As he mounted you from behind he let his weighty, slippery, lubed-up cock slip down to brush your entrance, holding himself up with just one hand until his bicep veins bulged, all so his other hand could grab something else. He pulled over the little bullet vibrator he’d got you, and with your belly on the bed, he slipped it down so it was comfortably squished against the mattress and your clit before clicking it on.

He bent and eagerly whispered in your ear. ‘Quiero metértela…’

The vibrations quickly melted you, but not before he made you tense again by slipping his whole cock inside you.

‘MM- MM, MM!’

Your muffled moans echoed through the room as Miguel slid in right to the base, his pelvis hitting your ass with a dull thud as he settled in your cunt. A heady, ecstatic groan escaped his lips, almost like a sigh of relief.

‘Mmm, Dios mio… uh- qué rico’ he whispered breathily, more to himself than to you.

You could feel his shaft stretching you out, bulging you a little with the sheer size, but all you could focus on was that cooling effect as it took over. Oh, fuck, it was amazing. It was so soothing, the mixture of pleasure from the vibrator on your swollen clit and his slowly, careful pumps gently numbing your sore insides.

It didn’t quite cover every ache but it was a heavenly relief. You moaned without shame, loud enough to fill the entire apartment, as you felt his huge body gently arching and rolling and pumping his hips against you. He breathed down on your neck as he moved, with one hand on the bed for stability and the other squeezing your hip and ass cheek in his claws, holding you in place as he slipped in and out.

The sound was obscene. The sensation was obscene. The sight of your bodies moving together, naked and sweaty in the dull red light of your lamp, getting faster and faster, was obscene.

And bit by bit, he got faster.

It was a mess, one that made you entirely forget about the state you were in. A wet, lurid mess of huffing and growling and hip slapping, of wet flesh squishing with each thrust and the mattress creaking like it would break at any second.

He had gone feral in this state. The feel of that wet, tight cunt was enough to make him lose all higher thought and function.

‘Mmf- that’s it, that’s it, take it, fuck you feel so good—’

Every soft pulse, every moment your cunt squeezed him, every time he heard the soft sound of his own cock penetrating, it made him want to scream.

He pulled back and stroked his member around the rim of your entrance, letting the sensation of that and the slowly humming vibrator make your toes curl and your cunt clench like a fist, knowing exactly what would happen.

The moment you peaked he thrust back in, filling you out as you orgasmed, letting you scream and shudder and quiver as the tip of his cock eagerly twitched against your g-spot. He held you there and let you get it all out, letting you slowly tense and then collapse as the pleasure numbed the pain, before starting all over again.

He was edging himself in this state, refusing to stop until he’d let you cum as many times as possible.

He kept going, pleading softly each time for another one, coyly pulling out and bucking his hips until only his thick, throbbing member was pulsing in and out of your soaked pussy, and every time you orgasmed.

He repeated this nearly four times, until you were an exhausted mess and your clit was so swollen that just nudging it made you spasm a little, and only then did he give in to his own needs.

He grabbed your hips and pulled back, using just half his shaft so he didn’t go too deep and hurt you, and he began rapidly humping in and out as he chased his own high. He was grunting hard, his breath hot and his biceps dripping with sweat, his abs tensed and rock hard, as he finally felt that release build.

He groaned out loud, filling the apartment with his cry of relief, as his shaft throbbed and pulsed that thick load inside you. He pumped low and deep, letting the warmth fill you up and soothe the soft ache, making sure he got every inch inside your creamy little tightness before gently pulling out.

‘Are you okay, mi amor?’ he asked between pants, as his first priority was still to be sure you were okay.

Your low, shell-shocked moan of pleasure was enough to give him a bit of relief. He kissed your lower back, letting you stir and relish in the sweet, numbing after-effect of all that pleasure.

But then you shifted, and you felt the sheets beneath you. They were wet. They were soaked.

‘Oh, shit- Miggy, the sheets—’

‘Oye. I can change the sheets later if need be, it’s fine. We can get new ones.’

‘I’m- sorry, I—’

‘You did nothing wrong, my carino’ Miguel whispered affectionately. He pet your hair until you lulled.

‘I’m sorry, fuck- I’m such a mess—’

‘¡Oye! Oye…’ Miguel nestled in close and squeezed you tight, kissing down your sweaty neck to your back and then back up to your forehead. ‘Shh. Mi amor. It’s natural. It’s okay. I’ll deal with it, you relax. I had a great time…’

You managed to chuckle at that, at the very least.

As you silenced your worries Miguel continued with the aftercare. He stroked your back and hips and kissed your cheek, telling you how good you did and how good you were, how much he loved you, and ensuring he didn’t go too rough.

Only when he was sure you were exhausted and on the verge of sleep did he start dealing with the bed. He lifted you up with one arm, holding you to his chest as he cleared the sheets away and got new ones from the laundry cupboard, all while still holding you close. He had to put you down for a moment just to put the new sheets on, but the second they were you were back in bed.

He came in with a fresh box of pads and made sure they were by the bed so you could handle that yourself, with your folded clothes beside the bed to put on when you were ready.

He then turned and let you get ready with his back turned.

You were exhausted, but even in this state you felt your heart swelling with love for the big, soppy idiot of a man. You got dressed quickly and then settled back in bed, and after hearing your soft mumbled ‘done’ Miguel turned and crawled back into the clean, fresh sheets beside you.

He let you fall asleep in his grip, his lips on your forehead and his head in your hair, stroking your back all through the later afternoon as he let you drift off in a state of mildly aching bliss.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #smut #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fluff #miguel o'hara imagine

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bongopowder · 3 months ago

Text

looking for trouble! (hisoka)

⁺ . ✦ .　⁺ 　 . ✦ hunter x hunter (hisoka x reader) ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . ⁺

content (18+): nsfw, female reader, hunter exam, zevil island, deep in the forest, degrading, bungee gum bondage?

word count: 4.6k

a tune for you: rule #34 (fish in a birdcage)

The darkness encompassing the indigo forest would be enough to unnerve a weary traveler, to send shivers down an unsuspecting spine, just as the touch of the cold night air nips at exposed skin. To others, however, its representation differs. Perhaps it’s an austere simplicity. The night: homogenous, consistent, peaceful even; a harmonious change from day. Or maybe it’s scandalous. A break from the life which you return to in the rather unsuspecting morning.

Zevil Island was about what you expected; lush trees extended far into the distance, speckled with occasional plains, mountainous rocks, and deceptively peaceful beaches. As the moon casts its glow amongst the scene, drowning every winter leaf and blade of grass with a mysterious sheet of pale blue light, the soft flutter of butterfly wings mingles with the whistling of wind, surrounding you as you walk.

The faint hoot of an owl sounds in the distance, and your breathing grows calmer. Looking down, you study the two badges in your hand: #174 and #105, yours and your target’s. You caught him out in the beginning, a large man with a red nose and a sword, tracking him to a field of tall grass after leaving the boat. Unbeknownst to him, you hid in the shadows, lurking deep in the thick branches of an oak tree until the sun set just below the horizon, casting the subtle gloom of dusk over the meadow.

It was over in a second, the creeping darkness and growing exhaustion hindering his senses as you stalked, hidden by the tall blades of grass. His body fell to the floor with a thud, the sound softened by the dense foliage below, and you quickly swiped the badge from his satchel.

That was mere hours ago. And now, the darkness had crept up on you, just as you had to him.

Yawning, you continue your walk through the trees, somewhat overconfident as you stride down the path which winds between trunks, leading you deeper into the forest. Your only task now is to find a place to hide, to ride out the next few days in peace, safe and away from whoever may be targeting you. Peace and quiet.

“Hey.”

Damn it.

The sound makes you stop in your tracks, eyes shooting up from the ground, seeing a figure up ahead, peeking through the foliage. Your hand instinctively moves straight to the knife in your belt.

Hisoka.

You narrow your eyes as you approach, knowing it would be useless to run from him. You meet his gaze, his stare piercing into you as he fingers a card, leaning casually against a nearby tree. There’s something behind those eyes: a sinister desire. For blood, no less.

Hisoka the Magician, nothing but a merciless killer, scheming and preying on those weaker. And they stand no chance, like a cat and a mouse. A cat with a fetish for carnage. A cat who likes to play with his food.

But you are no mouse.

You had encountered him before, in the sticky fog of the Misty Wetlands, where the heavy air sat deep within your lungs. You were close to the second stage, mind fuzzy as you continued to run, recalling nothing but the sensation of sitting, laying down, or simply standing still. That is, until you stumbled upon Gon’s neck in Hisoka’s hand.

It was an altercation. Hands. Knives. A fishing rod.

And those words he spoke to you, still ringing in your ears as he finally let you go.

You passed.

“I don’t want trouble,” you utter hesitantly, finally reaching the small courtyard with a hand up, approaching cautiously, ready to strike at any moment.

“And what if I do?” he smirks, pushing himself from the tree and making his way towards you. With a hand on his hip, he saunters closer, broad shoulders swaying as he walks.

“I’m not your target.”

“How can you be so sure?” he crosses his arms slyly, flicking the card back in his pocket.

“105 was my target, and I was his,” you pause, growing slightly nervous. You can feel an energy, a craving, a radiating force coming from his body. Something pent up, about to explode. “I’ll tell you what I know about your target, just let me leave.”

“Hmm…” he hums, eyes narrowing further as a smile creeps up on his thin lips. “Your two badges are still worth something to me.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, your mind reeling in dread. You can’t beat him; at least, you don’t think you can. You’ve seen what he can do, what options do you really have? The surrounding trees may offer cover, but he’d surely run you down.

“You wouldn’t come out unscathed,” you say after clearing your throat, the blunt words spoken with a slight apprehensive tone. “And you’d need a third badge too.”

His hand moves to his chin and he hums, that devilish smile still plastered on his damned face. He’s already decided something.

“What if we came to an… arrangement?” he proposes, stepping closer as he lets out the soft huff of a chuckle. “An agreement in which we both stand to gain something… and you can leave with both your badges.”

Your stomach turns with anxiety at his words. Nothing could ever be so easy.

“What kind of arrangement?” you ask, almost knowing you might regret it, the words coming out in a hoarse whisper, caught deep in your throat.

He grins, a fisherman who just felt a tug on his line. Slowly, he reaches out his hand, palm upwards, extending his pointer finger out to you.

Within a second, he snaps it back, a beckoning call which somehow sends you flying ten feet forwards straight into him. Your face hits his chest, your body crashing into his as your hands instinctively move up to try to lessen the blow.

“What the-”

“You see,” he sighs dramatically, interrupting your complaint and wrapping one arm tightly around your waist to hold you against him. “I’ve found myself in quite the bind… a predicament, one may say. So much built up with no way to release it…”

Your eyes widen as you feel the slight touch of his fingers grazing up your neck, his other hand still firmly holding you in place, your hips tightly pressed against him. Immediately, heat travels straight to your cheeks as you look up into his narrowed eyes.

“I… you don’t mean…” you stutter.

“I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now, haven’t you?” he smirks as his fingers snake around your neck, his touch firm. Your breath catches as they tighten, and he begins to slowly back you up against a nearby tree, the rough bark tickling the back of your scalp. “I haven’t killed anyone in days…”

You watch his chest rise and fall, his breaths growing quicker, lips parted slightly. And those eyes – dull and clouded with a repressed haze – bare into your soul, scanning every element of your face.

Swallowing, you too let your gaze fall along his face, his body, those muscular arms which hold you against the trunk. What am I doing? This is a terrible idea…

“What’ll it be?” he huffs impatiently, grip tightening as he leans in, causing you to gasp. “You leave in the morning, both badges in hand. As if nothing happened.”

His breath is hot against your ear, rough with his smoldering passion. You freeze, heart racing in nervousness, or… excitement? You can’t tell, and it only makes you feel worse.

To kill… to fuck… is it all the same to him?

The silence is unsettling; his hand remains on your neck, the hold unwavering as a soft dusk breeze makes its way through the forest, rustling leaves along the way.

“Okay…” you steady your voice, looking up into his eyes. “It’s a deal.”

A smile flickers across his face for a fleeting moment, but within an instant, his lips are crashing against yours, hungry and desperate. He lets out a soft sound against your mouth, something between a growl and a moan, as he pulls your hips forward, further into his.

“Good choice…” he murmurs as his grip on your throat releases and his fingers snake backwards, the feeling of sharp nails trailing along your sensitive skin making you wince. Your head snaps back as he pulls your hair, and within a moment his mouth is on your neck. He plants hot, messy kisses along your flesh, occasionally grazing his teeth across you, as if holding himself back from taking a bite.

The cool breeze tickles your neck, now wet with a thin layer of saliva, sending a faint shiver down your spine. Apprehensively, you reach your hand up to the nape of his neck, sliding your fingers through his hair, unintentionally pressing his face closer to your skin.

He groans, and you feel the harsh pinch of a bite at the base of your neck. His hands travel down to your hips, now pulling you away from the tree and backing you up deeper into the forest, the path out of sight.

“Wouldn’t want to be interrupted,” he murmurs between breaths, his mouth moving up to plant kisses along your jaw.

You watch in the darkness as he pulls back, his eyes scanning the environment behind you, expression lighting up for a moment. Without a warning, he pushes you backward, sending you stumbling down into the thick grass below, the dampness of the vegetation cold against your hands as you hit the floor.

He grins, walking closer and leaning over your body between your legs, the moon above disappearing as he steps in front of it, like an eclipse. The white rays of moonlight create a blurry haze around his silhouette, his body a looming shadow above you.

Oh, he’s not gonna be gentle…

Crouching down, his face just inches from yours, he lets his eyes wander over your body fully, taking in your entire form. Your chest, rising and falling swiftly. Your eyes, wide in anticipation. Your hands, propping you up slightly as you rest in the thick grass.

“You’re scared…?”

His question is rhetorical; he knows you’re terrified. Terrified of him and terrified of the consequences. And yet, there’s something that draws you in, something that keeps you from running. Something…

“Does it matter?” you whisper, eyes meeting his through your eyelashes.

“No,” he smirks with a shrug, now moving to settle between your legs, his arm reaching behind you on the grass, steadying himself as he gets onto his knees. “It’s more fun that way.”

As the last words leave his mouth, he captures your mouth in another kiss, his lips moving furiously against yours. You slowly let yourself fall back into the grass, hands gripping his shirt as you pull him down with you. Sounds of soft pleasure fill the air, your senses heightened, feeling the soft skin of his face against yours and the dry tack of his face paint tickling your nose.

You’re just as desperate for it now, your desire snowballing with every kiss, touch, breath. It’s wrong and dirty and indecent but you just can’t help yourself, his body pressing yours deeper into the ground.

And then the movement starts, his hips grinding into yours as he uses a hand to pry your thighs apart. The sudden friction sends a jolt of electricity through your body, a small sound escaping your lips but immediately captured by his.

He lets out a deep breath, his arousal growing more intense as he continues his movement into your hips, one hand keeping you pressed against the grass. Your arms wrap around his body, fingers sinking into the soft fabric of his shirt, tugging at it urgently.

A thin string of saliva connects your lips to his as he pulls back, wasting no time in pulling his shirt over his head and exposing his bare chest to you. His muscles, accentuated under the moonlight, tense slightly as the brisk air hits him.

He leans back in, eyes trained to yours as he tosses his clothes to the side. His hands move to your shirt, not waiting for confirmation before pulling it and over your head, nearly ripping the fabric with his urgency.

You shiver, unable to decide if the reason lies within your exposure to him or the elements, and you fall back to the grass.

“Forgetting something?” Hisoka teases as he slips a finger under the bridge of your bra, lifting your back from the ground as he pulls it towards him. His other hand slides behind you, his fingers working to unhook the clasp.

You feel the color rush to your cheeks as he drops your undergarment to the side, his eyes hungrily trailing down to your exposed chest. He continues to study you for a moment, his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek as he lets his gaze roam down, and down… and down.

Oh.

Your pants are already being torn off, the coarse fabric quickly sliding down your legs as he tugs them up in the air.

Instinctively, you tuck your knees, pressing your thighs together nervously as he kneels in front of you, eyes still taking in your appearance in silence. It feels demeaning, degrading, dirty, the way he looks at you. And something about it makes heat pool between your legs.

He stands, his fingers slipping under the waistband of his own pants, tugging them down just enough to see his v-line peeking out from the pale fabric.

“Get on your knees.”

His demand rings though your ears, the hum of sound clouding your thoughts. It’s as if your body moves on its own, fueled by nothing but inherent lust and scandal, your knees digging into the dirt as you look up at him.

You tug his pants further down, desperate for him, to feel him, to tastehim. He smirks, allowing you to remove it, letting the fabric fall to his ankles.

The resulting sight makes your breath catch in your throat, your eyes widening as they stare, unmoving from him. The size is…

“Make it fit.”

Your stomach drops, not in fear, but rather sensuality: the thrill of desire. Moving in, you waste no time giving him what he wants, your tongue running up the length of him, pausing gently at his tip and moving back and forth, a slight saltiness spreading throughout your mouth.

Hisoka grows more restless, his breathing staggering, the air caught in his throat as you toy with him.

“Get on with it,” he growls, his hand quickly grasping your hair at the scalp, pulling your face closer to him.

You smirk, eyes not leaving his as you lick a long, thick stipe up your palm, saliva glistening in the night. Your hand moves forward, gripping his cock and beginning to move, tantalizingly, back and forth.

He groans, his fingers intertwining further into your hair and sharp nails scraping against your scalp.

You move slowly, teasing him further with your tongue, taking him deeper, an inch at a time as your hand continues to work at his base. The pressure builds in your mouth, your jaw opening to accommodate him as you continue, almost choking and gagging.

As your lips touch him, taking him in, he lets out a straggled moan, strong arms forcing your head forward again, more and more, until you’ve taken his entire length in your mouth. You grip his thighs, feeling him hit the back of your throat and push harder. You twist, making him fit.

And then he pulls you back, just as you had gotten the chance to adjust. That is, before he thrusts your face into him again, and again, and again. It’s aggressive and violent, his grunts growing louder with every push, his hips moving forwards to meet your face, forcing himself even deeper into your mouth.

You feel tears blurring your vision, unable to feel anything except the sensation deep in your throat, the pain of him hitting against you, but the pleasure of knowing what you’re doing to him.

The muscles of his thighs under your grip begin to tighten more frequently, his gasps and moans growing more desperate.

“Fuck…” he grumbles under his breath, the word barely distinguishable from the series of pleasurable sounds caught deep in his throat, just as he is caught in yours.

He pulls you back by your hair, a strangled grunt escaping his lips, lips which immediately twist into a scheming smile. With his other hand, he places his finger under your chin, using his thumb to wipe the stray saliva dripping from the side of your mouth.

You fall onto your back, pushed back into the grass by Hisoka as he straddles your body. He leans in, mouth finding yours in a kiss as he positions himself over you, sliding his hands along your bare arms outwards, his hands meeting yours. After just a moment, he pulls his hands back, running them back up your arms, one finding your breast and the other, your hip.

You shift to move your hand, but it’s stuck. You tug and pull, furrowing your brow and pulling back from the kiss to glance to the side, staring at your hand, almost cemented to the ground.

“Why can’t I move-”

You’re immediately silenced, Hisoka’s finger moving to your lips, a sly smile plastered on his face.

“Don’t concern yourself with such trivial matters such as your hands…” he whispers, kissing at your jawline as if nothing happened.

The wet sensation draws your attention back to the moment, forgetting about your hands, or lack thereof. He moves again, positioning one leg between yours, pressing down into your body. You move your body up and closer to his as you begin to buckle your hips against his thigh, craving stimulation.

He smirks against your mouth, feeling your slick against his thigh as he continues to kiss you. Suddenly, he shifts his position, moving his other leg between yours. One of his hands travels to your hip, pushing you further into the ground.

“Such a dirty slut for me, aren’t you?” he purrs, his mouth pulling away from yours as his hand moves from your hip, trailing down to your inner thigh. You shiver, eyes meeting his in the starlight, a shadow looming over his face.

He slides a finger up, gently skimming along your skin as he makes his way closer to your core. His finger moves further up, teasing your folds, his touch far from gentle.

“Ah-” you dig your head into his shoulder, your hands gripping at the dirt as he continues to move his finger. Your eyes widen as you feel his sharp nail graze against your clit, the pain and stimulation sending a shudder through your body.

“Careful-” your forced whisper is quickly halted as he moves two fingers into you, slipping easily inside your throbbing pussy. You tighten around him, your heels and hips digging deeper into the dirt as your muscles contract.

It’s messy, inconsistent, almost selfish. He moves his fingers deeper inside of you, forcing small sounds of pleasurable pain from your lips, as if he cares not for your satisfaction, and only for what you can do for him.

After only a moment, he removes his fingers from inside of you, sliding them seductively up and across your neglected clit. They continue their journey up, sliding along your navel, sternum, and up to your neck.

“Clean them,” he demands suddenly, not waiting for a reply and shoving his fingers into your mouth, the tips pressing down into your tongue.

You let out a soft groan, the sound catching in your throat as his fingers muffle you, that is, before you begin to suck and lick him clean. Your tongue moves across and between his sticky fingers, lapping up your wetness from his skin.

As you continue to work at his fingers, he spreads your thighs further apart with his legs, settling between them. His fingers push further down against your tongue, eliciting a small whine from you.

You gasp as you feel him between your folds again, the tip of his cock sliding back and forth against you, lubricated with your slick.

He finally removes himself from your mouth, his hand now resting beside your head on the grass. His body remains pressed against yours, his hips stopping their movement as they slide back, positioning his tip at your entrance.

You bite back a moan in anticipation, pursing your lips as you look up at him, hovering over you.

“Beg for it,” his mouth twists into a smart grin.

“Please…” the word leaves your mouth before you can even register how degrading the situation is. You’re simply too frustrated, too needy. “I want you so bad… please…”

“Say my name,” he whispers close to your ear, his own breathing unsteady as he processes your words. “I want this whole island to hear you.”

“H-Hiso-”

The rest catches in your throat, the sensation of him slowly entering you drawing out a long and straggled moan, mingling with the remnants of a real word. Your fingers tear at the grass below, body contracting as he pushes deeper and deeper, filling you up more than you thought possible.

The movement begins, slowly at first, then speeding up in aggressive desperation. Your head throws back in pleasure, unable to tell if the stars you see above are real ones or not. Hisoka grunts with every thrust, each one growing in power as his fingers dig into the ground beside your head.

And the dirt. It coats your hair as he rocks you back and forth, stuck to the strands with the soft grassy dew acting like glue. You bite your lip, stifling a desperate moan into the night, knowing anyone could be in the surrounding forest.

Hisoka’s hand moves to your neck again, giving you no time to process as he tightens his fingers around you, using you as leverage to fuck you even harder.

“What did I tell you?” he grumbles through his clenched jaw, his pace unwavering. “I want to hear you.”

You oblige, forcing yourself to whisper his name, focusing on nothing else than the word, trying to distract yourself from the tightening around your throat, and the pounding in your stomach. It feels as though your organs are moving, shifting positions to accommodate his selfish length.

“Louder,” he growls.

You try, raising your voice as he continues to grind his hips against yours, his movement losing coordination as time progresses, growing less calculated, more carnal.

It really does feel like he wants to kill you.

You feel the pressure building within you, in time with the tightening of fingers around your neck. Vision growing hazy but body taught with pleasure, you manage to stutter.

“H-Hisoka… I can’t…” Your throat closes tighter, silencing you again.

“I don’t care,” he grunts, his breathing signifying he’s close to the edge. He has no plans of stopping…

You should hate it. It should scare you, terrify you even. The thought of dying: fucked to death on a deserted island by a man who cares not to even learn your name. But your body doesn’t work alongside your rational thoughts.

The constant rhythm, the stimulation, the force, it all comes to a climax.

Your body shakes, his name on your tongue as you feel the release. You tighten around him, your head digging back into the ground, just as he lets out a strangled gasp.

His hand releases your neck as he pushes his lips into yours, his hips moving as he rides out the waves of pleasure. You capture each other’s moans, drowning them in the sheer force of the kiss, passionate and feverous, as messy as anything coming before it.

A final gasp escapes your lips as your body relaxes, growing limp under his as your muscles twitch with remnant stimulations. He pulls his lips back from yours, gliding them against your jaw, his head eventually moving to settle beside yours, with his forehead pressed against the grass.

Breathing. In and out. Just the sensation of it feels like a blessing through all the turmoil. The dark of the night feels duller now, the sky softening into a darker gray rather than a piercing black.

The feeling of time passing is indescribable, minutes turning into hours or hours turning into minutes: you can’t tell. You’re sat there, quietly, simply left alone with your thoughts and a heavy body above you, hands still stuck to the floor.

The silence of the forest continues, as if unaware of the chaos, unaware of the fact you were just fucked to an inch of your life, the leaves still rustling with the same rhythm they did hours before. A peeking dawn cracks over the tops of the trees, the sky hinting to shades of purples and oranges in the distance.

“Hmm…” Hisoka hums, picking his head up to see the changing sky, as if waking from a slumber, the new light now highlighting his face in different ways than before. His face paint is smeared, no thanks to your nose and his sweat, with small pieces having been chipped away. And his hair. His hair has flattened, small pieces falling in front of his face, contrasting their normal pushed-back appearance.

He pushes himself off you, his abs clenching as he lifts himself up, standing up fully with a deep breath. Leaning down, he wipes the slight tint of brown dirt from his knees, the grass and soil falling back to rest on the ground, leaving him completely clean, a different sight from you. In silence, he delicately gathers his clothes, scattered across the grass in different places, putting each item back on, casually but with concentration, eyes no longer darting to you as you watch him, your hands still glued to the ground by some unknown force.

He shrugs his last layer on, smoothing the wrinkles of his shirt as his hand runs across the clove and spade on the front of the fabric before settling on his badge, #44. He straightens it out delicately before adjusting his clothing one more time. As he does, he stares off into the trees, through the dense trucks and into the fading darkness.

“Well, it’s been a pleasure,” he finally says, sighing and waving his hand dismissively as he walks away. With that, your hands are free again, the pressure releasing and allowing you to move your wrists. You gasp, immediately sitting up onto your palms as you watch him, walking back through the forest and to the established path, already beginning to smooth his hair again. Without another word, he disappears into the foliage, his footsteps growing softer and softer as time passes. And then, silence.

And it leaves you: naked, dirty, wet, and disheveled in a patch of grassy soil, blades littered across your body and scattered through your hair. Your breathing slows, the rise and fall of your chest softening as you draw your gaze upwards and to the sky, those warm colors, scaring away the sins of the cold night as they escape to the west, away from the light.

But what could you really have expected?

Perhaps you really were like the others in the end.

Just a mouse.

Happy Birthday Alexis! <3

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