#on my hands and knees trembling.. they were neighbors......... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cinnamonest · 3 months ago

Text

Ataraxis

"Failed Escape Attempt" prompt - Akechi Goro (Persona 5)

Finally completed this amidst my myriad of hospital visits this month. Prolonged viral anaphylaxis works hard but the spirit of degeneracy works harder 🙏

warnings/notes: dark content, noncon, fem reader, implied significant age gap, captivity, electronic monitoring/shock collar, asphyxiation, abuse, vague suicide references, bro has THE mommy issues of all time, mild stockholm, somewhat detailed backstory for reader (in which reader is a bit of an enabler)

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Ataraxis - a state of tranquility, calmness, or peace of mind, free from mental stress or anxiety.

You hesitated. Your pulse was running fast, trepidation freezing your hand in place, just before you could touch the door.

No. You shook your head rapidly for a moment, trying to drive away the panicked thoughts. You couldn’t afford to waste time worrying about what-ifs, fueling your hesitancy. You’d done everything that you were supposed to in order for this to work. Gotten the doors unlocked, the wires cut, everything — you had to go through with it.

You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, pounding as you took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and reached for the door handle, turning it slowly.

You wished it was an apartment that opened directly to the outdoors — that you'd feel the sun, breathe in fresh air, the moment you opened the door — but you were met with a hallway, and the number of the neighbor directly across plastered on the door. Light still poured in from the hall, into the otherwise dark apartment only dimly lit by a TV running off to the side of the room.

Regardless, undeterred, after a mere moment of hesitation, you took a step forward.

And then, your body seized up.

Your knees hit the ground, but you didn't even feel the pain of impact, every nerve overtaken by a sudden overpowering sensation, overwhelming your senses.

Gasping for air, your feet flailed, kicking outward as your hands and elbows desperately dug into the ground, all in a frantic movement to scramble away from the door. As you stumbled back, you practically threw the door itself forward, and it slammed shut.

After moving a short distance, just enough for the blast of overwhelmingly discomforting sensation to come to a sudden stop, your body turned onto your back as you collapsed onto the floor, shivering, each breath ragged and heaving.

For a moment, all you could do was lay there and tremble, grasping at your throat, the focus point of the shock, metallic prongs pressed into your skin beneath the layer of leather that clung around your throat. Your vision spun, and no coherent thought could even be formed in your head, the panic and discomfort consuming your capacity for thought.

Even as the sensation faded, there was still a twitching throughout your body, muscles in your arms and legs and extremities tensing over and over against your conscious volition. You weakly reached up, wiping away the trail of saliva that had spilled down the side of your face.

Your chest still rose and fell heavily, back arching against the ground it laid on with each inhale. Your eyes stared wide open at the ceiling — discolored, where some fixture had been ripped out and caulked over, you'd noticed before — vision fuzzy from tears, dizziness, and the trembling that overcame your body, mind spinning on the brink of consciousness.

And with that, even through the disorientation and disequilibrium that kept your consciousness spinning, you could still make out one particular thought, a realization that came as a harsh blow — failure.

A near tangible emotion that you could physically feel as its weight settled onto your chest.

And then disbelief — that can't be right that can't be right — you'd done everything you were supposed to, everything had gone perfectly as you'd planned.

Countless weeks down the drain. All that time spent in preparation for this very moment, not only nullified, but now undoubtedly turned against you for your own detriment.

And if the feeling hadn't brought you enough despair, if the frustration and dismay alone hadn't been enough to bring you to tears that began to well in your eyes, your body stiffened again as an acute sensation of discomfort ran through body once more. You glanced upward.

And then, an intense cold sprouted in your gut, rapidly seeping through your blood, a chill that ran through your bones and flesh.

Pure, unadulterated dread.

The electronic eye, the circular lenses poised directly at you from the corner of the ceiling, burned into your flesh. You could feel the sense of observation through the proxy of the device, transmitted over distance and invisible waves no differently than the image the camera would project to the phone screen on the other end.

Your trembling hands slowly reached up to your neck, fingertips grazing the leathery material secured so tightly around your neck you could barely slide your fingers beneath it, just enough to feel the metallic prongs on the inner side that dug into the flesh.

That was the whole point of it all, the effort, the risks, the time and patience, accumulating every little thing you'd need for this one moment.

Everything had been so methodical, had to be executed with perfection and painstaking effort.

And yet, all for nothing.

Your legs were still trembling too intensely to stand. You weakly propped yourself up on one elbow, weary eyes scanning your surroundings in the small apartment, until you saw the shape of the small device where you’d left it sitting on the edge of the bed. You shuffled your way over to it, dragging yourself along the floor.

Slowly, summoning your strength, you pushed your elbows to the ground and forced yourself to sit upright, before lifting yourself up on shaky legs, just to practically fall down onto the mattress, reaching out to grasp the phone in your hand.

He was busy. He had things to do. He might not have checked any notifications that popped up. Maybe.

The flip phone was inconvenient on your end — a long since outdated piece of technology, incapable of accessing the internet, and easily restricted with built-in parental controls used decades ago, impossible to circumvent despite many attempts. It was capable of receiving and sending calls to a single number, as well as receiving texts from the same number.

The cold sheets began to warm under the heat of your body as you nestled into them. With the pillow close to your face, you could hear your own shuddering breaths in greater clarity, see your own fingers gripping the sheets with such force that the flesh around your finger joints went lighter.

You glanced at the tiny screen on the front of the closed phone.

‘11:52 a.m.’

Your heart skipped a beat — it was much closer to the daily call than you had hoped. You must have been lying on the floor longer than you realized. You only had a few minutes to prepare yourself.

Yes, he wouldn’t call you the very second he saw what you’d done. He would just stick to the usual schedule. He liked routines.

You sat fully upright, leaning back against the wall one side of the bed pressed against. You drew your knees up to your chest, hugging your arms around them, eyes glued to the small screen.

‘11:53 a.m.’

You could do nothing but sit there and wait.

The helplessness and futility quickly turned to despair. The full weight of your failure began to set in.

It had taken so long to execute the plan in full. You weren't even sure exactly why it failed — your own error, a backup battery of some kind, maybe.

Not that it mattered now.

Your mind raced over each little step taken, all to culminate in futility, but any structure to your thoughts simply fell apart into bitter defeat.

You were brought out of your thoughts by shifting of numbers on the screen, several minutes having passed.

‘11:58 a.m.’

You could feel each beat of your heart, the pressure of blood circulating through your head and your throat. Your stomach churned.

‘11:59 a.m.’

You sat still, staring with wide eyes, unable to do anything against the unstoppable force of the passage of time.

'12:00 p.m.'

No sooner had the numbers shifted, that the phone screen lit up brighter, and the device began to vibrate.

Your stomach tightened, a cold, stiff feeling seized your limbs and every muscle tensed as the phone rang. A name popped up on the little front screen.

‘Goro’

He'd been the one to put the number into the device, to assign that title to the contact. At first, you’d assumed he didn’t want to bother painstakingly typing out any more than necessary on the device’s old 12-digit typing system.

Or maybe keeping you physically separated from the world was not enough — if you couldn’t exist in the outside world, if you had to be separated from it, naturally, you couldn’t use the same name for him as everyone else, all those people on the television and the voices on the other end of the phone.

A confliction of instincts twisted in your gut — an impulse to answer it immediately, knowing not doing so could not go without repercussion, yet at the same time, you reflexively shrunk back, as if repelled by the sound, clutching your hands to your chest at the immediate revulsion to the mere thought of answering.

And it rang, twice, three times. Your mind ran blank, staring wide-eyed at the screen.

But between conflicting instincts, you knew what you had to do.

Thus, on the fourth ring, snapping out of your momentary stupor, shaking hands latching on and flipping the top upward, the word that came out in a wavering voice was—

“…Goro?”

Your voice came out rougher than you'd hoped, an obvious rasp from the strain.

If he noticed, he didn't acknowledge it. Instead—

“Good afternoon.”

The voice that came through the other end was bright and cheerful. The same voice that he used on talk shows and public addresses. Composed, amiable, fairly upbeat, without any trace of negativity.

And then, he added,

“What have you been up to today?”

It was such a light-hearted tone, you thought for a moment, with some desperate hope, that he hadn't noticed. Maybe it hadn't triggered a notification. Maybe he just didn't see it.

Or maybe it was a test. Maybe he wanted you to be transparent. You didn’t know. There was no way to know.

The lingering exhaustion from all the strain left you somewhat dazed, and you hesitated as you slowly summoned an answer.

“Oh, I just… I watched some TV earlier…” You tilted your gaze over to said television as it continued to run silently off to the side of the room, a mere distraction kept on for some semblance of stimulus. “They… they were talking about the phantom thief people on the news again.”

He sighed. You tensed for a moment, worried that perhaps it was something that would only frustrate him, knowing the matter was a bit of a sore subject.

But instead, it seemed to be merely a part of the flow of conversation — he accepted your so-very-forced and awkward shift of subject without resistance.

“It’s all anyone ever talks about, recently.” You heard a shuffling sound, presumably shifting his posture. “The average person is only invested in the matter as a form of entertainment. It's distant enough from them personally that they can afford to treat it as such.”

“O-oh, right…” Struggling to think of something else, to further steer the topic away from yourself, you continued, “…Are you at school?”

“No, I'm at the station. The police called me in to help with something new, but…” he sighed again before continuing, “it turned out to be incredibly simple, and they’re already done with it. I don’t know why they thought they needed to take up my time with this…”

His voice got a little lower as he spoke, irritation breaking through the winsome charm that characterized that public-facing voice of his. Within a moment, though, it snapped right back to the correct gentleness as he continued—

“On the bright side, I only have a few things left to do, so I can come back to you a little sooner than usual.”

Your fingers clenched at the fabric of your shirt, your shoulders going tense.

“Oh, good…”

Your mouth felt dry. Your mind scrambled to think of anything else to say, but a heavy fog drenched your thoughts away, leaving nothing but a blank slate, unable to generate anything coherent.

There was another moment of pause.

"You sound a bit out of it. You're not feeling faint from earlier, are you?"

You blinked, the very daze of brain-fog he referred to making you slower to take in the words.

"I... What?"

He didn't miss a beat, nor falter in his tone, as he clarified—

"From the shock, I mean."

Your body tensed, shrinking back as if the words had truly been the gut punch they felt like. Your jaw hung ajar, your mind scrambling for a response.

Quiet seconds ticked by. Your shoulders rose and fell with harsh, short breaths.

"I… I guess a little…” You fidgeted nervously, fingers further curling into the fabric of the shirt that covered your upper half.

The voice on the other end remained upbeat and gentle even still.

"Ah. Well, try not to walk around, okay? The lingering effects can make you uncoordinated for some time." After a pause, he added, "I wouldn't want you to fall over and hurt yourself."

Your mouth felt dry. You shifted around in place.

“Oh… okay…”

You swallowed. Your eyes darted around the apartment.

You turned your bottom lip inward, biting down on it to alleviate your nerves, only for the sharp pain to stop you as soon as the pressure touched the spot where the flesh of your lower lip was already busted. One of many sore, bruised spots that littered your body.

The discomfort at the following pause of silence was nearly tangible. Your natural instinct was to shift away from the matter as quickly as possible, shame and fear and uncertainty forming a hard knot in your stomach, but no words came to mind.

Sensing that you weren't going to continue, he spoke again.

“Well, in that case, I'll see you soon—’

“H-hey, wait…”

Your voice was undoubtedly audibly uneasy, but he still replied with the same soft tone.

“Mm? What is it?”

You opened and closed your mouth, once, twice, struggling to collect your panicked thoughts coherently. He waited, patiently, not saying a word.

“…About that.” The single phrase was all you could manage.

"Ah, right.”

At that point, his voice was too upbeat, so unfitting the turn of conversation, that the reality of it being forced was no longer deniable, a fact that made your stomach churn.

As the pause lingered, he added in an equally calm, matter-of-fact tone, “well, if there's anything you wanted to say, now would be the time to tell me. It’s only fair to give you a moment to do so.”

You would have preferred bitterness and vitriol in his tone, accusations, promises of consequence. Anything else. The unease and uncertainty of the pretense of normality, of nothing being wrong, felt crushing.

“It…” You swallowed. “That, that was an accident, I just, I got too close and…”

It felt as if your throat closed up, unable to say anything more.

There was silence on the other end of the line. Suffocating, so heavy it was tangible, physically weighing down on your chest.

As the moments of quiet passed, you could very faintly hear sounds on the other end, people walking, distant unintelligible chatter from other people passing in the near vicinity.

Finally, a voice came through — several decibels lower than moments prior, a flat and empty tone; quiet, but spoken more closely to the receiver, ensuring that the words were directly in your ear.

“…You don't actually expect me to believe that, do you?”

You remained frozen in place, eyes wide, hand now curled into fists so tightly your knuckles paled.

He waited. There was no need to ask if something was the matter or wonder about a poor connection, the way one might normally do when met with silence on the other end of the line. There was only tension, dread, a mutual knowing.

You swallowed again before you spoke, barely above a whisper.

“…No.”

There was a soft, lighthearted laugh on the other end, a transition back to the same gentle voice as before, as if he’d never deviated from it.

“Ah, that’s good. Truthfully, I'd feel a little insulted if you thought I was that gullible.” You heard some background noise, a shuffling sound, perhaps standing or shuffling positions. “Well, anyway, as I was saying, I’ll be back a bit early. I’m already allowed this day off from school, so there’d be no point in going back when I don’t have to.”

Your lower jaw hung ajar, tongue dry and stiff. The television off to your side changed subject matter on the screen, the new set of colors shifting the hue that the dim light cast onto the walls.

“Oh, great! I…”

You swallowed, barely able to feign a happy tone, struggling to form any further words over the feeling of your stomach turning in on itself.

You knew that your attempt at faux cheerfulness to your voice was not convincing either of you. He knew the true emotion you felt in your chest and your gut, you knew he knew, he knew you knew he knew. Whether you kept the act up regardless out of some fear or desire to appease, or simply a lifetime of conditioning to the politeness norms of human interaction, maybe both, you weren’t certain. It was just the norm you’d settled into, the act that kept things at a peaceful equilibrium — until those inevitable moments that it fell apart, and the great pretend-act came to however long of a halt it would.

Another set of seconds ticked by. Far too long of a pause to be socially acceptable, far out of the bounds of normalcy, yet he merely waited for you to finish once more, neither acknowledging nor expressing any confusion or concern to the duration of your pause, letting you compose yourself to finally reply.

“…I’ll be right here.”

It was the only thing you could think of to say, though you felt a sharp sting in your chest of self-directed frustration at the recognition of the wavering of your own voice.

His response, unlike yours, was immediate, and the bite of the words made every muscle in your body tense.

“Well, I would certainly hope so.”

In the mere moment your breath hitched, there was a chime tone indicating the end of connection.

Even with the call ended, you merely sat frozen still, staring at the shifting colors that bounced off the wall. Slowly, your hand descended from your face, arm lowering down to your lap as your shivering fingers finally forced the phone shut with a heavy snapping sound.

You set it down on the bedside table, and you found yourself sitting still, trembling, eyes wide open as you were left with nothing to do but wait.

He was a fairy predictable person. To a significant extent, you knew how he'd react to certain actions and words and gestures, based on moods, circumstances, good days and bad days.

The issue was not a matter of not knowing what to do — but knowing there was nothing you could do. There was no deescalating, no appeasing, no way to atone for a given transgression. The one thing you'd learned very quickly was that if he was upset, there was no way to soothe it on your own, you simply had to endure whatever came your way.

And that knowledge brought despair.

You found yourself slowly letting yourself fall to your side, curling up into yourself as you came to lay on the mattress.

There was a pinching discomfort against your side. The fabric of your shirt had bunched up, digging into your skin where you lay on top of it. You shifted, lifting your back enough to pull it down and straighten it out. It was deliberately oversized, designed for wearing around the home, so that and equally soft shorts were all you’d needed — perhaps not changing was another oversight in your plan, you realized with a twinge of bitterness.

You had to admit you were well-taken care of in many ways. He’d given you quite a lot of clothes to wear, so you picked that which was comfortable to wear when all you did was lay down all day.

Although, he’d never bought anything — rather, they all came from an aged-looking box pulled out of the closet, everything perhaps a decade or so outdated. He did insist on you wearing them, refusing to retrieve anything of yours even if you asked.

Just like he insisted you needed to have your hair a certain length, to wear the specific perfume he'd hunted down just to buy for you, to follow a handful of oddly specific regulations, all of which were met with defensiveness and dismissal if you inquired as to why.

You preferred to not think about the matter.

The TV colors shifted again, this time to a drastically increased brightness. Your eyes squinted at the slight sensation of burning, long since adjusted to darkness. The windows were covered up now, and the lamp in the corner had run out of battery, seeing as it was very specifically cordless.

You pulled the covers over your head, and let your face contort with the oncoming tears that welled in your eyes. You curled up into a ball, bunching up part of the sheets and tugging them close to your chest.

Your shoulders jerked with miserable sobs, and you bit your quivering lip, this time even disregarding the pain, as the despair took hold. You wiped at your eyes, flinching as the touch sent more ripples of pain from the swollen, sore right side of your cheekbone where a bruise had formed from the events of — when was it, the day before yesterday? The day before that? You weren’t even entirely certain, the days had long since all begun to bleed into each other, lacking any distinguishable beginning or end.

You had no recollection of falling asleep, but the next thing you were aware of was your body jolting at the sudden sound from the door that woke you.

There was a metallic rustling. Normally, at that point in the routine, you would hear each in the series of locks turned with a click, one by one — only now, after the first, he seemed to realize each had already been unlocked, yet another part of your earlier attempt that, you now realized with a twinge of dread, you’d forgotten to even try to cover up.

Thus, the door merely slowly swung open, the flat door handle — implemented to replace a traditional knob — shifting to the side.

Slow, heavy footsteps on the cold tile.

"I'm back."

It wasn't cheerful, but it wasn't angry. A flat tone that sounded more exhausted than anything.

It felt as if your stomach were going to lurch up out of your throat.

You pushed yourself upward on your arms, and forced a weak, wavering smile.

"Ah... Welcome home…”

You closed your eyes, rubbing at them with the heel of your hand to ward off residual sleepiness, hoping your eyes weren't visibly puffy. You sat upright and pulled your knees up to your chest, making room for another body on the small bed.

Setting the briefcase down on the floor, he then held up a convenience store plastic bag for a second, giving it a slight shake to draw attention before setting it down on the countertop.

“I got something for us both. Whenever you want it.”

“Thanks.”

As if it weren't the case each day — you'd offered more than once to cook something out of sheer boredom, but that meant giving you knives, and the idea was swiftly rejected, and he certainly couldn't do it himself, thus you both lived off of convenience store food.

You could hear the rustling sound as he took the layers of clothing off. The thumping of shoes as they were pulled off and placed on a rack. The suit jacket went on a hook near the door, but everything else was loosely set on top of a set of drawers, until he was down to briefs and an undershirt.

It was almost a bit odd, he looked out of place — someone normally so poised and formal, who so carefully crafted every detail of both his appearance and demeanor to appear intelligent and charming, qualities to endear himself to the masses, yet executed to such a degree of perfection that he seemed nearly untouchable — and here and now, taking on such a flawed, mundane form.

His posture went more lax, his eyelids seemed to fall, and the removal of the outer shirt had messed up his hair just a bit. As if in the act of taking off layers of clothing, he was stripping himself too of the public face.

Your eyes glanced over at the drawers — the clothes were merely strewn loosely on the top, accompanied by an empty water bottle, a plastic wrapper from something he'd brought home the day prior. Little flaws, the casual messiness expected of normal young man.

You'd found it almost amusing, the first time you'd set foot in here — for someone who was such a perfectionist in every other aspect of life, so obsessed with image and impressions and maintaining a flawless presentation, so determined to put up that aura of maturity so far above what was expected or even normal for his years — it was all shed off behind that door, like a snake to its skin.

You, too, were a part of it, one of the many testaments to the imperfection only allowed in this little haven away from the ever-watching eyes of the world.

And now, slowly making his way over to the bed with weary, dragging footsteps — hair disheveled by the undressing, the absence of the stiff material of the uniform that always made his shoulders look a bit more broad, up close and in person with no camera and screen and lighting to hide the textures of the flesh of one's face or the ever so slight darkness under his eyes, and with half-lidded, glazed-over eyes of a spirit worn down by a long, busy day — was a very normal, very human teenage boy, not so different from any other after all.

You looked up at him and forced a weak smile.

His eyes, however, were shifted downward from you, glancing at the sheets. Whether it was just tiredness or unwillingness to look you in the eye, you weren't certain.

You'd somewhat expected him to confront you the moment he opened the door, be it with direct aggression or passive coldness, or perhaps to continue the feigned act of pleasantness.

But instead, you received only quiet stillness, a neutral expression — and that was somehow far more frightening.

Instead, the mattress shifted and creaked as he climbed on, quietly pulling the blanket up to move beneath it. You wriggled backwards to make more room for him.

He moved to sit beside you. Not touching, but with the close proximity only people who were close to one another would be comfortable with.

And he'd stay that way, if you did nothing. Trial and error had proven that as well. If you did nothing, he would never move, would never get closer, waiting for you to do it with increasing irritation the longer you took.

You had to initiate these things. He never told you when you were supposed to give affection, never asked for touch or comfort, leaving you to try to decipher what was desired.

Of course, if you tried to provide those things at the wrong time or for the wrong reason, you'd also be in the wrong — then, you were being manipulative, hiding something, trying to distract. You were often deemed to have acted incorrectly regardless.

This was, thankfully, a repetitive, daily routine, so you were fairly certain you knew what was correct.

Fighting back a sense of dread, you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around his frame, making a soft sound as you gently pulled him back. He went with the motion easily, coming to lay down with you, facing each other.

You shuffled your body upwards and forward, reaching a shaky arm over his back, wrapping it around his frame and pulling him in so that his head rested against your chest. Only once you had done so was the gesture reciprocated, and you felt an arm reach around your waist.

You wondered if he could feel how hard and fast your heart pounded.

You tried to break the silence, finding some stimulation to be more bearable than pure silence.

“…How was your day?”

You felt his heavy breath against your chest. He exhaled, and with it, his body went lax, tension leaving his shoulders as he slumped further into the bed and against your body.

“Difficult.”

The word came out muttered, audibly laced with exhaustion and frustration.

“…Well, it’s over now, at least. You should rest.”

Your attempts at words of comfort were not the best, distracted by your nervousness and unease. You attempted a soothing gesture, running your hands through his hair, then down his back, repeating the motion over and over. You felt even more tension leave his body, practically melting into the touch.

It had taken him a long time to get used to that. A single graze of your fingers to his shoulder used to make him stiffen and recoil.

But over time, that defensive reaction faded, then he started leaning into the touch, and then he started to lean forward when your hand pulled away as if trying to bring it back, and soon he would sit closer, lean in further, fix his gaze at your hands — all but begging, yet never actually asking nor initiating, always waiting for you to be the one to close that gap.

But even though he seemed content, you didn't get a response to your words. That only made your nervousness increase.

Was he waiting for you to acknowledge it? You weren't certain. That sort of seemed like what he'd do. You just didn't know, couldn't be certain, and it ate further away at your nerves with each passing second.

As your eyes flickered over to the television again, you raised your eyebrows with recognition when the face on the screen registered. You attempted to stir some extent of conversation again.

"Hey... you're on TV."

"Mm." He didn't bother to open his eyes, much less turn back around to see.

Deciding from that response that it was better to not push further, you closed your eyes. The changing visuals of the television took form as shifting colors behind your eyelids.

Pressed up against each other, the back and forth movements of your bodies with each breath in and out was soothingly rhythmic, lulling you into momentary tranquility and ease. The atmosphere was so quiet, so gentle, you thought for a moment that perhaps the matter could simply be forgotten, that your mutual desire for peacefulness and rest outweighed any residual negative emotion.

Then you felt his fingers start to curl.

Slowly, they arched upward, the tips of his fingers pressing into your back, fingernails digging into the flesh through the fabric.

Your eyes shot open, and your heart began to speed up once more.

“…Goro?”

He didn't answer. His arms fully locked into place against your back, pulling himself ever closer to you, your collarbones digging into his forehead. He held you so tightly, with such strain, you felt his arms begin to tremble.

You squirmed in place, dread now returned in full force. You scrambled to find words in an attempt to deescalate.

“Hey, hey— listen, I'm sorry, I just—”

“Don't say that.”

His voice was a low, but firm murmur, barely audible and muffled by your shirt. You went stiff, toes curling, every muscle taut. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat.

“Don't…” His chest rose and fell against yours as he took a heavy breath, “say you're sorry.”

You could do nothing but lay still, tense and frozen, wide-eyed as you felt his hand move, circling back to your front side.

You could hear his breaths become ragged, heavy. He slowly raised himself up, propped up on one elbow, coming to loom over your wide-eyed, trembling form.

“You have… no right…”

His hand latched onto your jaw, a painful, crushing grip, voice taking a sudden turn to a sharp, fierce hiss.

“…to say that shit to me.”

Your heart pounded. You inhaled a sharp gasp and squirmed, a natural reflex to the spike of panic surging through your veins. You grasped at his hand and pulled, to no avail.

“A-ah, no, I really—”

“Shut up.” The words were spoken through clenched teeth, a quiet, hissing voice. His hand squeezed your jaw tighter, pain rippling up through your face. “You want to placate me. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

“No,” you shook your head rapidly, eyes squeezing shut as fearful tears began to accumulate. “I don’t… I don’t know what else I can—”

“I have done,” his words of interruption were interspersed a heavy breath, “everything I could possibly do, to help you adjust to this.”

You could feel his nails dig into your flesh. Every part of you wanted to flail, to kick and struggle out of pure defensive instinct, to ramble on with apologies, but what little rationality and willpower remained kept you still, knowing from past experience that that would only make things worse. Instead, you lay still and tense, trying to control your own rapid breaths.

“I got you things you like to do,” he continued. “I got you things you asked for.”

Your toes curled, your hand gripped at his own locked onto your jaw. Your body felt cold.

“G-Goro—”

“But that's not good enough, is it?”

You managed to swallow, feeling the upper part of your throat shift under the pressure where the heel of his hand made contact.

“No, no, it's—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up. I told you to stop trying to placate me.”

His grip was crushing.

You couldn’t even finish a single sentence.

It was a futile effort. You knew full well that once he was upset, there was nothing you could do about it, no compromising, no appeasing.

Any attempts at such were helpless, pointless. The only way forward was to accept and take whatever would come.

Yet, it was only natural instinct to still try, to rush to attempt to fix what was wrong was only the logical, immediate impulse; you didn’t know what else you could do, and that only made the futility of it that much more crushing.

Thus, all you could do was tremble, whimper, lip quivering as you waited in trepidation.

“Then what… what do you want me to…?”

His eyes were dark, hair casting a shadow over them from the rapidly shifting colors of light that projected from the screen onto the rest of his face. A huff of offense at the question caused a segment of his hair to shift. His grip relented.

He sat upright, one hand up to grip at the side of his face in a gesture of frustration, eye glaring at you from the gap between his fingers.

“What do I want?” His voice was at least lower, a touch calmer from the momentary outburst, even if still frustrated. “I want you to follow the simplest of instructions, and you continuously prove incapable of that.”

“I…” You swallowed, pushing yourself upward with your forearms presses to the mattress. “I really just—”

“All you have to do,” he continued, fingers held to his face rigidly curling, “is stay in here, and do whatever I tell you to do — which is not much, mind you.”

“I, I know, I know!”

He scoffed.

“You certainly aren’t acting like it.”

You kept quiet, wanting to respond, wanting to placate him to any extent you could, but unable to think of anything to say coherently, overwhelmed and panicked. At your silence, he gave a heavy sigh and fixed his gaze to the wall, turned away from you despite his words being directed at you.

“You don't have to worry about anything. You don’t have to do anything.” He huffed again, eyes closing and grasping at the bridge of his nose in a gesture of irritation. “I have done nothing but make life easier for you, and you refuse to even attempt to understand that. Is it truly so hard to simply stay put?”

“N-no, no, I just—”

At your denial, his head snapped back to face you, voice turning to a nasty snarl.

“Then why the—”

And he cut off as he turned his gaze back to you.

Your huddled form was shrunken back away from him, curling in further on yourself, as you always did in reflex to such harshness. Eyes wide in fear and, as you could tell from your blurring vision, tears were visibly welling up in your eyes.

His momentary narrow-eyed, wrinkled-nose expression of disdain fell as quickly as it had appeared. He turned his head back away from you, hanging down to face the floor.

Everything went quiet. For a few moments, only silence hung in the air.

And then, he sank back down onto the side of the bed, slowly, softly, shifting so that he sat with his feet over the side to rest on the floor. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. He tilted his head to rest his forehead on his hands, clasped together.

You sat fully upright as well, weakly reaching up to rub at your jaw, now throbbing in the absence of constriction.

You waited in the quiet, curling up into yourself, knees brought up to your chest, a reflexive defensive position. The uncertainty of the consequences of anything you might do kept you still. The awareness that trying to move away was a bad idea kept you firmly in place.

Likewise, there were no words that came to mind that you were certain would not earn a negative reaction, and thus, you waited in stillness and silence, mind drifting as you glanced over at the screen once again. Taking in the face displayed in the light, mouth moving silently, smiling and gentle and calm, barely recognizable, as if that of a stranger — but it was not.

Nor was it as if the one on screen was entirely a mask or a mere act, but a part of him just as much as the “other” part was. You often imagined such what-ifs in your head — if the adoring public could see this, see you, to know what things were like behind the door.

You wondered if anyone else knew the person beside you now. You now saw that side more often than the other one — a dependency that formed over time, you assumed, like an addiction, you were only viable thing to expel stress and frustration into, and thereby the only source of catharsis available.

And while there were still good days, days that almost felt like nothing had happened at all, like you just so happened to be here and everything was still normal — there were so many bad days. One unpleasant possibility had long since begun to seep into your mind, one that you found yourself mulling over with increasing frequency and dread.

And something about the moment of vulnerability brought that matter out of you, defeat and despair pulling the words out of your mouth.

“Do you still like me?”

The question felt so childish to ask, it made your face feel warm.

Quiet seconds passed.

His face turned to a mild scowl, you could see the corners of his mouth pull taut, though he didn't pull his head out from his hands.

“…Why would you even ask that?” His voice was still defensive, but far quieter than the outburst moments prior. “Why do you think you're here?”

You winced, sheepishly wringing your hands in nervousness, but managed to swallow and continue nonetheless.

“I thought maybe, you'd decided you didn't now, but just… didn't know what to do with me.”

He scoffed.

“Don’t be absurd.”

Despite the words technically being positive, his tone was laced with frustration, irritation, rather than any actual reassurance towards you.

There was a discontentment in his voice and what you could see of his face — perhaps to some degree, he wanted to say something else, but for whatever reason remained silent.

You were afraid, so very afraid, and yet the words came out anyway. Your spirit was worn down, your exhaustion even seeping past your fear.

“You don’t… act like it much.”

His hands shifted, clasping tighter, muscles tensing.

His voice was increasingly calmer, but still laden with a blatant tone of pretentious irritation.

“Maybe if you stopped being difficult, things could be different.”

More silence. You fidgeted in place.

“…Is that… what you want?”

“Clearly it isn’t what you want,” he muttered, “even though this was your fault to begin with.”

You closed your eyes at the harsh words, knowing all too well exactly what he meant. Knowing it was inevitable that this would lead down the same trail of dialogue that it always did, a conversation that had been had at every opportunity. That even if you said nothing, it would go that way anyway. Every time the matter came up even tangentially, he had to be sure to remind you. You waited a few seconds in silence, and sure enough—

“Don't forget that, either. You chose this.”

His voice was quiet. Cold and somber, placing so much weight on so few words.

A familiar line. In the beginning, he'd said it constantly. A reminder drilled into your head, over and over, so much that you often found yourself close to believing it.

“You just had to go out of your way and do everything you did,” he continued, in spite of a lack of response from you. Even with his face partially obscured by his hands and hair, you could see his nose wrinkle with an expression of disdain, his voice laden with bitter anger, as if describing some immense transgression.

Had you not been in this position, desperate to calm him and dispel any negative emotion within him, you might have argued against such a notion. But instead, you merely swallowed, before forcing out a reply.

“…I’m sorry… I wanted to help…”

“I was perfectly fine.” His fingers arched as he tightened his grip where they interlaced. “I didn't need help.” He gave a frustrated huff, hair shifting with the exhale. “You deliberately went out of your way to be—”

He cut off, mouth slightly ajar, struggling to verbalize the feeling itself, and thus, after a moment, he finished in a low mutter, perhaps self-aware of what a weak choice of words he had nothing better than to settle on, or even of how ridiculous it sounded that he was framing it as a wrongdoing.

“…to be nice.”

Such a simple, plain word, it sounded nearly unfitting from a individual normally so very articulate. The softer mumble of the words themselves was almost as if spoken in defeat, reluctant.

He leaned his head further down against his hands, spreading the palms apart so that they came to cover his eyes completely as his forehead rested against them.

You couldn’t formulate a response — in part from the intensity of emotion and exhaustion, but in even larger part due to the sheer absurdity of the matter, the way your kindness was framed as a wrongdoing, as something from which the outcome you now found yourself in should have been expected.

You sat still and slack-jawed, eyes scanning the sheets as you tried to process your thoughts, think of anything to say, try to appease him, but he spoke again before you could.

“You talked to me first,” he added, as if that fact proved some sort of important point.

Yes, if only you had known, in that moment, the chain of events you would set off, the consequences of a single act of considerateness.

Being a desk worker at the police station, it was inherently a responsibility to greet and help anyone who came walking by, but you found it particularly endearing when you saw some poor high schooler wandering around, now what felt like ages ago, brows furrowed in confusion and eyes scanning each of the directories and room numbers, blatantly lost.

Are you looking for somewhere in particular? I can help you.

You’d watched him stiffen and fidget, even if he managed to maintain that smooth, confident aura to his voice, smiling sheepishly, but accepting your offer for directions.

You'd thought it was cute.

“And you went out of your way to talk to me every single day,” he muttered. “You chose to do that.”

Yes, you’d begun a regular routine, one you thought little of. You greeted him when he came in, wished him a good day when he left.

Truthfully, that was something you did for every regular face that came through the building each day. In hindsight, you often wondered if he had believed it was uniquely reserved for him.

That had turned into conversations, when he started to linger — though you doubt you could get him to admit he had done so, even if he was self-aware that he had. Conversations that were first brief, but gradually grew longer.

A mature and capable sort of character, almost unbefitting of someone his age, yet there was a distinct sort of neediness that seeped through the cracks, whether or not he was aware that it was increasingly evident. The distinct desperation for positive attention so characteristic of a teen, that no amount of effort could conceal completely.

Only exacerbated by his life situation, you assumed — though, you'd only learned about that as a jarring startle, dumped onto you one afternoon as casually as if talking about the weather, and already having moved on to another matter before you could sputter out some kind of sympathetic response, and you'd never had the gall to mention it thereafter.

Regardless, you were certain that, be it conscious or subconscious, that information had played a role in your efforts to show him kindness.

Now, the same boy sat just an arm’s length away, scowling as he recalled those moments like some transgression against him.

He lowered his head into his hands, palms covering his eyes and most of his face, elbows pressed to his thighs.

“You didn’t just stop at that either,” he continued, a passive-aggressive note to his voice. Not as blatantly vicious as it had been a few minutes ago, but the malevolence was clear nonetheless.

That much struck you with uncertainty, confusion. He’d told you plenty of times how this was your fault, but normally left it at some notion that you’d essentially forced his hand by showing any semblance of kindness, not going into much more detail. You looked up at him, weakly forcing out an inquiry.

“…What… what do you mean?”

He huffed in frustration, as if your ignorance to your own wrongdoing was so glaring it was offensive.

“You just had to keep doing things for me,” he replied. “You bought me lunch when I forgot mine.”

You felt like you were doing something good, at the time. He was ever so grateful, and kept apologizing for the inconvenience.

You blinked, dumbfounded, processing the words, the treatment of the act as a wrongdoing, left in a stupor as he continued even still.

“You let me eat with you. Every day.”

He had asked once. There was no reason for you to say no. He was the one that then began showing up each day.

“You bought things for me, do you not remember that?”

You’d noticed it was well into the winter, and he kept walking in with nothing but a uniform. How you'd fretted and fussed — ah, I don't ever really buy clothes for myself, he'd said — and thus you soon ended up getting him a nice coat and a scarf for the cold. He lacked the figure in his life that would normally do so for a boy his age, after all, so you'd told yourself.

That incident itself was the first time you'd ever felt something strange about him. The way he'd stared with some unreadable, but unpleasant expression as you handed the intended gifts over. Something like confusion and pain. It had only lasted for a split second, before he smiled and thanked you, but you noticed it all the same.

One of his hands reached up to his head, pulling at his hair in frustration.

“You went out of your way to ask me how I was doing. Every day.”

His tone gradually rose in audible bitterness as he continued, fingers curling further into his hair.

“You kept asking me about my life. You kept saying all those things.”

You told him you'd seen him on the talk shows. Tried to complement it, said he was such a good speaker, told him how smart he was.

At the time, your words seemed to make his eyes lighten — just ever so slightly, any hint of reaction carefully restrained by conscious effort to maintain composure, but visible even still. You’d found he would subtly slip small mentions of achievements into conversation, like a quiet plead for praise, one more noticeable than you believed he realized.

Now, his head finally rose and turned towards you, eyes narrowing as he finished, practically in a snarl—

“I never asked for any of that.”

You winced at the harshness, shuffling your legs closer to your chest, leaning away from him.

The words themselves might have hurt in isolation from the context they were inherent to, were it simply a matter of your kindness being met with such negative reaction.

But the anger hurled your way did not erase your memories of how it all went over at the time.

You remembered the way he’d started to look in your direction as soon as he entered the building. You remembered the time you found him standing around your desk at the end of the day, when you’d left to print something off, apparently not wanting to leave without seeing you — though he must not have realized you were able to see him waiting there the whole time, since he passed it off as a coincidence you’d run into each other at the right time when you came back.

You remembered the time you told him—

I saw you on TV last night! You did a really good job out there!

The slight widening of his eyes and soft smile and so very humble reply, visibly happy nonetheless.

When he mentioned exam scores, successful cases, any sort of accomplishment — always in an off-handed, casual way, a clause wrapped within a larger sentence, as if to disguise the words themselves as inconsequential — you were more than happy to play along.

Aw, good for you, I'm proud of you.

You really are so bright.

That’s quite impressive.

One by one, every little word of praise and encouragement, every time you bit the hook of sentences that seemed to be prodding you to inquire further, the ever-so-slight effect it seemed to have — you’d thought it all so endearing.

Once again, you'd told yourself, if he didn't have the usual figure most boys his age had to tell them things like that, there was no harm in you doing what you could to substitute that, however slightly you could.

Thus, even now, whatever mess of emotions made him react so negatively, the words didn’t sting like they might have otherwise.

But the vitriol and harshness still stung. Your head hung downward. You stumbled over your words.

“I… I was just… trying to be nice, because—”

“Because you felt bad for me. Don't think I don't know that.” His gaze jerked back downwards, angled at the floor. “I didn't ask for your pity.”

You shook your head.

“I wanted you to be happy.” Your voice nearly cracked with the desperation that poured out of your chest. “I wanted to make you happy.”

Those themselves were words that would make most people pleased, you imagined — but he bristled, eyes darting downward to the ground, giving a tsk of irritation before he replied, a hissing voice filled with bitterness.

“I never asked you to do that either.”

With another huff of frustration, he propped his elbow onto his thigh again, this time resting his chin on his hand, keeping his gaze to the television. Not really watching or absorbing it, of course, but it was something to look at that wasn’t you, something that kept him from having to meet your eyes. You watched the colors bounce off his skin, illuminating his scowl.

“…But you just had to go and do it anyway, didn't you.”

As if that kindness were a crime, a transgression. Some wrongdoing you'd committed, for which penance was due.

His head tilted forward further, his fingers curled against his face, nails digging into the flesh.

“Then one day you just casually say you’re switching jobs and moving away like you’re talking about the goddamn weather.”

His expression contorted with vitriol. He spoke through clenched teeth, a voice so quiet you could hear the breath within it more than the words themselves.

“What makes you think you can just walk away after all of that?"

And then, his eyes closed. He let out a quiet, heavy sigh — this time not a short one of frustration, but a slow exhale, his body shuddering with the release of whatever tension it relieved.

"...I'm sorry..."

They were the only words you could summon. There were no other words that could properly address the blame being cast upon you, and anything else would be futile anyway.

Thankfully, that time your apology wasn't met with snapping anger, instead a callous sigh.

“...I suppose it was unreasonable to expect you to consider anyone but yourself.” There was an unmistakable passive-aggression to his tone. “Even now, you had every intention to get me locked away for the rest of my life, when I've done everything in my power to improve your quality of life here."

“No, no, I wasn't.” You shook your head, panic resurging at such an accusation, however accurate it may be.

“Obviously you—”

“I wasn’t going to do that.”

You forced the words out, forcing as firm of a tone as you could manage, fighting against your nerves.

It wasn’t often that you interrupted him. Which clearly came as a shock to him as well — you saw him slowly lift his head, eyebrows raised as his gaze turned towards you, so taken off-guard that he didn’t even respond with immediate offense as you might have expected.

Your gaze met his. The still-running glow of the silent television screen cast an overlay of shifting color onto the whites of his eyes.

The foreboding look that formed over his face made you look down, unable to keep eye contact, but you squeezed your eyes shut as you forced the words out regardless. You had already dug whatever grave you were going to lie in, there was no point in backing down.

But it was merely a passing second — by the time the colors reflected on the sides of his eyes had shifted with the change of screen, his eyes darkened, his expression grew solemn.

“I just wanted fresh air,” you continued, “to walk around.”

You hoped it wasn’t as obvious of a lie as it felt.

“I— I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you,” you continued. “I wasn’t going to. It’s, it’s just…”

You shook your head, eyes watering. Your hands curled up into fists against your thighs.

“People weren’t made to live like this.”

A long silence followed. Seconds ticked by. You stared down at the sheets, vision blurred by tears. There was a lump in your throat, you swallowed and fought the urge to break down. That would accomplish nothing.

At least a minute had passed before he finally responded.

“You think I don't know that?”

The words were cold and blunt. As if you’d said the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. There was some degree of sadness within how quietly they were spoken, perhaps even remorse, but it was clear and unyielding.

And within that response was an unspoken statement in and of itself — that no amount of appealing to any inhumanity of your situation was going to change it.

Your jaw clenched. You swallowed before you continued.

“Then… then you have to realize this can’t last forever.”

“…”

The silence made your gut twist on itself, but desperation pushed you further.

“It, it doesn’t have to be by myself, o-or for forever, I mean, you can come with me, we can go walk outside…”

“I thought I told you to stop asking.”

You winced, but the words only made fury race through your heart. Against your better judgement, pure emotion overcame you, and your voice began to raise.

“I-I know! But you just said—”

“It doesn't matter.”

He spoke that time through clenched teeth. A warning tone.

“At some point you have to—”

“Shut up.”

Something in you broke. Your trepidation of your words, the fear of upsetting him — none of it mattered. You had nothing to lose.

“At some point you have to let me GO!”

No sooner had the word left your throat, than his hand slammed down on it.

Your vision blurred with rapid motion as his body lunged for yours, as your back hit the mattress. You instinctively put your forearms to the surface in an attempt to push yourself up, but within a mere moment, he was on top of you, weight slamming you back down.

There was a sharp sting of soreness — his hands fit perfectly against the ring of bruise you perpetually sported around your neck, a testament to the frequency of these very moments, the nature of the way things were within the small space cut off from the outside.

“I said shut up.”

His hand squeezed down hard. Reflexively, your body jerked forward, but he easily shoved you back down again, far superior strength making any struggle futile.

The grip on your throat and the fear pounding in your chest made your eyes blur with tears. Reflexively, perhaps against better judgement, your hands shot up to grab onto his, fingernails digging into his flesh.

His face loomed over you, shadows cast all around. You could still see his narrowed eyes, illuminated by the screen’s light, staring down at you, cold and angered.

His breaths were ragged, labored. He spoke through clenched teeth.

“And you know what?”

His shoulders heaved with the depth of his breaths as he paused.

“I know you knew.”

His nose scrunched with the expression of disdain.

“You’re not stupid. You knew what you were doing to me.”

The words made a knot form in your stomach.

You heard him swallow, felt his hand tremble against you, be it in fury or pain, you weren't certain.

“You made me act like an idiot every time I saw you. You couldn’t have not known.”

That much was true.

It was never as obvious at it would have been with any other boy his age — most were not as guarded as him, would not have put in the effort to always seems so nonchalant as he did, would not have held themselves back from their own enthusiasm and eagerness in the way you sensed he did.

But it was obvious nonetheless, over time. The double-texts, the lingering by your desk, the split-seconds facial expressions of joy and disappointment he’d make before correcting them to the pleasant neutrality of the perpetual mask forced on him by the public eye — but every now and then, it slipped nonetheless.

But that was normal. A common thing in a young man that age.

It was fleeting, you'd thought. It was innocent. It was harmless. It wasn't anything to take seriously. You weren't encouraging it, just being kind. It wasn't as if you didn't appreciate him.

Nothing bad could come of it.

The tightening grip pulled you out of your reflection on your actions. His breaths came out heavy, labored.

“And you didn’t stop me from coming to you. You could have told me not to.”

His eyes bore into yours, a sharp and intense stare, locked together. To look into his eyes and all the fury and contempt they contained made your chest feel tight, made your skin feel cold, sent a chill running through your blood and you wanted so so so badly to look away, yet found your own eyes fixed on his, unable to look away even if you tried, as if his eyes held onto yours in the way his hand held onto your neck.

The corner of his mouth twitched. His grip grew tighter, cutting off your airways entirely. You stiffened, and began to struggle. Your eyes squeezed nearly shut. You squirmed against his hold, but his hands did not relent.

His words were cold, bitter.

“You never said ‘stop.’”

His grip grew tighter.

“You never said ‘no.’”

It felt like it would crush your throat.

“You could have. I would have listened.”

His voice turned low and dark.

“But you didn't.”

Your heart pounded against your chest as your panic turned to desperation, as you realized his grip wouldn’t relent.

“You made it worse. You made me keep coming back.”

His shoulders shifted forward with the force of his grip.

“You chose this—”

His eye twitched.

“—every goddamn step of the way.”

The fear that ran through your blood pushed aside your concern that a reaction would just make it worse, instinct taking over the forefront of your processing.

“Goro—”

Your voice came out as a choked gargle. You clawed at his hand. He huffed in frustration.

“Stop moving, you—”

He cut off as his eyes settled over your form. Your spine turned with your squirming attempts to free yourself. Tears leaked out of your eyes and streamed down your face. Your struggles pulled your thin clothing tight against your form, your body writhing, back arching.

His expression shifted, his mouth pulled taut.

You saw his chest rise and fall with heaving breaths. His head tilted downward towards his body.

“��”

His hand released your throat. You gasped in cold air, body heaving with deep breaths and sputtering coughs, slumping down as relief washed over your body, reaching up to rest your fingers on your throat, wincing at the sting of each breath.

You could hear his heavy, panting breaths.

And then, he leaned forward again, hands grasping at your waist, pulling you closer.

It wasn't difficult to remove what was left between you — only a single layer of clothing each. You didn't have anything beneath the outer layers of clothing — it made things easier, you supposed, that way.

Nonetheless, you felt his fingers hook under the waistband around your hips, jerking downward. In one swift motion, your shirt was pulled upward too, breasts spilling out from underneath.

You laid still, tensing, shifting, but not outright fighting, largely because such resistance would only make things far worse.

And in part because — even now, in spite of everything — the thought of hurting him brought an ache of guilt to your chest.

Still, out of reflex, you found yourself shuffling backwards, elbows pressing to the mattress to pull you back, overwhelmed by the sudden shift of atmosphere and rapid pace of action.

“Ah, wait—”

Without even the slightest semblance of gentleness, his hand shoved you back down, flat onto your back.

“Hold still.” His voice was blunt, but not as strongly laced with emotion as it had been moments prior, too distracted by his current task.

The rumpled mound of blankets and sheets cast more shadow over the lower half of his body, but you could make out his other hand moving, hear the faint sound of fabric shifting against skin. You heard a string of repetitive curses come out of his mouth, faint whispers hissed out in a tone of irritation, as if angered by the urges themselves.

With another harsh jerk to pull you closer, he leaned his body downward, burying his face against the crook of your neck. That, too, was routine, expected, something he always did. He never let you see his face, could never look you in the eye throughout. Maybe it was a craving for physical closeness, maybe it was a loathing of vulnerability that the connection of your gazes would bring, maybe both.

You closed your eyes.

It burned. You were too tense, it was too sudden. The friction on such sensitive skin made you inhale a sharp gasp.

You felt him shudder against you, heard it in the way he exhaled, breath hot on your skin.

His hands grasped at your waist, pulling your body forward and, consequently, further impaling you on himself.

The positioning of his head brought his mouth close to your ear, letting you hear each ragged, labored breath, a brief soft muttering so slurred you couldn’t make it out, despite the proximity.

Your hand reached up, resting on the back of his neck. Even now, in spite of everything, the bruises scattered across your skin and the sore sting on your throat and the greyness of the walls that tormented you day in and day out as you struggled to recall how many days had passed since you’d been anywhere else —

— you couldn’t bring yourself to be anything but gentle.

He, on the other hand, was anything but.

Rather than a rolling motion, his hips merely slammed into your body back and forth, the movement intense, quick and harsh, driven by emotion and frustration.

Still, with each movement, he rubbed against your insides in such a way that made pleasure jolt through your body.

And it grew faster, faster, more forceful. The creaking of the bed grew harsher, an aggressive motion that lurched your body back with each movement, only for his hands to jerk your body back close to his, fingernails digging into your flesh.

You could melt into it — at this point, it was a mastered skill, letting go of any fear or despair and succumbing only to the feeling within you flesh, primal and simple, a sensation that existed outside of circumstance and emotion.

A warm pressure that built and built higher and higher, made you clench down on him, made you arch your back, made noises spill from your mouth that in turn made him move even harsher still.

You found your arms wrapping themselves around his back, clinging to him tightly. The only thing you had left, the only person that existed in a world that was otherwise dull and dark and filled with nothingness.

You supposed that was the point, what he wanted to be. The only thing of substance allowed to exist in your world, everything else pushed back and out behind that door, locked away just beyond your reach.

He brought his head up just enough to speak more directly to your face, but his hair still obscured any sight of his face you might have otherwise had, a harsh whisper through labored breaths.

“You thought you could just get away with it all?”

He jerked his hips forward again, so harshly you gasped, your back arched.

You gasped at the sensation, sputtering out whatever words came to your mind in the haze of sensation and intensity.

“No, I didn't — I, I never meant to— I wasn't trying to—”

“Shut up.” He snapped back at you through clenched teeth. “You knew from the beginning you'd leave eventually. You didn't care how it affected me.”

His fingernails sank into your waist.

“It never meant anything to you.”

Your bottom lip trembled, a sore lump in your throat threatening to break you apart even as fluttering sensation shot through your nerves, the physical sensation and emotion each heightening each other.

“I didn't think— I didn't think you'd—”

You didn’t think it meant that much. You only talked to him for a few minutes every day. To you, he was just one of many people you interacted with, and held a matching degree of significance. Something you had never explicitly told him, but you knew he’d come to understand all the same.

Tears leaked out of the corners of your eyes.

“I… I'm sorry… I never wanted to— ah!”

You gasped, your back arched as your bodies moved in such a perfect way as to make your mind go blank.

His voice became erratic, frantic, spoken between gasping breaths — just as his hips began to move faster, harsher.

“You were going to just disappear and leave.”

In the moment of pause, his ragged breaths were hot against your ear, before he finished in a snarl, snapping his hips forward so brutally the bedframe slammed into the wall—

“You don't get to do that to me.”

You tensed at the intense motion, insides spasming at the sensation, clamping down, and crying out — a filthy, wanton noise that made the heat of shame rush to your face just processing it.

In turn, no sooner had he spoken than you felt him shudder again, muttering out a quiet string of curses before lowering himself down again, body pressed tightly to yours, abandoning any efforts he might have intended to put into further words or maintaining some semblance of composure, instead giving in to the sensation and urges in full.

His hips moved against you in erratic frenzy, mercilessly harsh. His fingernails stabbed into the flesh around your hips, holding you firmly in place so that the sheer force of the movements didn't push your body off of his.

You, too, let go of any restraint — what was even the point of holding onto some semblance of dignity? — and let your mind lose itself in the sensation. Letting your mind run blank was far preferable to letting yourself be tormented by emotion any further. A freeing feeling from the cage of worry — always aware of how many days it had been, the burden of keeping track, the weight of endless wrestling with what-ifs and fantasies of possibility in both retroactive and prospective senses alike.

You let the noises pour out of your mouth, let yourself tense and spasm and wrap your legs around his waist, let yourself claw at his back. It felt as if your mind was melting.

Yes, giving in was easier. Separating yourself from the context of where you were and why and for how so very long, indulging in the relief cast by the shadow of defeat and acceptance. Regardless of the circumstances that led you here, and throwing aside the soul-crushing question of your hopes of a future that haunted your every waking moment, this moment was here and now and real, something you could feel and savor.

You let the sensation turn to pleasure and pain that blurred together, eyes closed, listening to the sync of the sound of the mattress shifting with the sparks of sensation running up your spine. You let that feeling bring you up, up, higher and higher, peaking as you pulled him as close to you as you could manage, sounds from your throat coming out high-pitched and needy.

Only mere moments later, before you could even come down from the dissociative feeling of fog over your mind, you vaguely felt him come to a halt, heard him suck in a sharp breath between clenched teeth.

There was a heavy silence that hung over the air, broken only by each other’s heavy, panting breaths.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he lowered himself down, moving to your side, hair still veiling his face from your view, before eventually letting his weight fall the rest of the way in a sudden collapse, causing the mattress to shift. Without any conscious thought to do so, you found yourself turning onto your side to accommodate it, so that you faced each other.

And once again, you lay in quiet, broken by your labored breaths, each exhale tangible on the other’s skin.

Your sweat made the sheets cling to your body.

He was so close, but even still, waited, hesitant, depending on your initiation.

Thus, instinctively, you wrapped your arm around him, slowly, cautiously. Your arm wrapped around his back, pulling his body forward into place against yours.

Slowly, you felt his hand reach up to your arm, just below your shoulder, fingers wrapping around it with only the faintest of touches.

His head came to rest at your chest once again, forehead settling on the spot between your breasts. His hand’s grip on your arm grew tight.

And you felt him shiver against you. A continuous, soft shaking, like someone freezing in the cold. There was something about the feeling that spread into you, something that poured from his body into yours.

He felt so much bigger and stronger when he was on top of you, those times where he held your wrists above your head, the times he’d grabbed you and drug you around like a ragdoll across the little apartment — and now, he felt almost small, in your arms. Fragile, as if he would shatter apart like glass, should you hold him too tightly.

Some time passed. Your eyes closed at some point, but you could still see the shifting colors behind your eyelids, light shining through. Your body slowly relaxed from all the tension.

You could feel his heart beating against your hand resting on his back, perfectly in sync with your own, which you felt in the form of the throbbing around your neck.

And in that stillness, you felt some sense of peace. As if everything were inconsequential, all your anguish melting. As if you were merely normal lovers in a state of post-coital exhaustion after a long day.

Part of you wanted to lean into it, to let yourself slip into that illusion. It was comforting and warm, and the burden of awareness of the reality of your situation was so, so heavy. You were tired of its weight.

But something else weighed on your mind, holding you back from the brink of exhaustion. And without conscious intent, that something slipped out from your lips.

“Do you wish I hadn't?”

Your throat stung to speak, the words came out in a scratchy voice, but nonetheless so quiet that he would not have even heard you had he not been pressed against you.

There was a long pause. He turned his head upward, slowly, exhaustion visible in such a small movement. Not even enough to look you in the eye, just enough to acknowledge your words.

“…What?”

You swallowed.

“Do you wish… I had never talked to you? That I hadn’t… done all of those things?”

The quiet that followed felt like a weight pressed to your chest. You felt the vulnerable softness of comfort leave his body, replaced by a tenseness that wasn’t there moments prior.

His head lowered back to its former position, and the room fell to silence again, seconds ticking by. When he finally replied, it was a cold, blunt tone, as if you’d asked a simple, obvious question.

“I never said that.”

You didn't have the energy to feel frustrated. You had long since accepted that there was no way to win. The absurdity of his response in light of it all barely fazed you. If anything, it felt like the response you'd anticipate, perfectly in line with how you knew him to be.

You wrapped your arms around him tighter.

Your bodies pressed together, tender and intimate and comforting, and in spite of everything, you let yourself savor the goodness of the feeling of it. You felt the tension slowly leave his body as well, it felt as if he melted against your touch.

You began to drift off, mind lulled by the colors behind your eyelids. Some time passed.

And then he moved.

Your eyes opened, groggily returning to awareness and clarity — and some degree of concern, never certain what he would do at any given moment — and you watched as he pulled himself out of your grasp, quickly pivoting to the side of the bed to stand.

You slowly sat upright, shirt falling back down to at least cover your upper half, tilting your head in curiosity as you waited to see what he'd gotten up for.

Without a word, he moved back towards the counter at the front of the small apartment, reaching out for the plastic bag he'd set down when he came in. His footsteps were heavy, lazily dragging against the floor as he brought it back, one plastic container in each hand. He extended one out to you.

“It’s past our normal eating time.”

His voice had returned to a perfectly normal tone, not tired nor bitter nor angry, the tone he used when everything was fine, a tone that set you at ease. As off-putting and surprising as it was, you didn't question the pleasant change, merely taking it from his hands, opening the box and little paper-wrapped utensils, only pausing to sheepishly, hurriedly put your clothes back on.

Your hand still shivered as you forced food into your mouth.

You'd had this before plenty of times. You assumed it was conveniently on his route home. He always got one particular order for you. You didn't hate it, but it wasn't your preference, not that you ever stated so, wanting to avoid any risk of negativity.

It wasn't the same thing he got for himself, either. That, too, had become part of your routine. He made very specific assumptions of what you wanted when it came to flavors, colors, and so on.

You became acutely aware of the sensation of the shirt that still clung to your body, how your hair brushed against your skin where it fell at the exact length he’d insisted on keeping it.

Much like those things, you preferred not thinking about where the assumptions came from.

You brought a few bites to your mouth, each of you eating in silence. In the absence of other stimulus, your eyes trailed back over to the screen.

Enough time had passed that he was no longer one of the figures on the television screen — but the subject matter appeared to still be the same as it always was, for the past few months. Yet another accident, the same circumstances as usual.

You saw him lift his head up, following your line of vision, then scowling at the screen — but as the only source of light, he didn't turn it off.

“You should be careful.”

Your words turned his head back towards you, eyebrows raising in an expression prompting you to continue. You looked down.

“All those people they show lately... going crazy and getting tons of people hurt. You're known to the public, so… just be sure to be cautious, you know.”

You couldn't articulate the look on his features. He paused, blinking a few times at you, eyebrows ever so slightly furrowed, before turning his gaze back down.

“I'll be fine.”

You turned your gaze back to your food as well — but not before your eyes briefly drifted over to the door once more. You felt a chill run down your spine as the far-too-recent memory of electrocution flashed through your mind, and with it, the humiliation of it all settled heavy on your chest.

You closed your eyes and swallowed, trying to rid yourself of the lump in your throat as the urge to break down threatened to take over you again, and dulled your mind, letting it fall to blank nothingness but the task of finishing your food.

You turned your head and looked at the soft-featured young man. His face — the mask of the public persona still off, now in a different way than mere anger, but a sort of quiet, barely-noticeable sheepishness that followed such outbursts, distinguishable by a faint frown, ever-so-slightly furrowed brows, an avoidance of looking upward — felt so innocent, almost endearing.

You didn't realize you were staring until he finally looked up, having sensed the feeling of your gaze. He blinked.

“Is something wrong?”

Asked in such a gentle, pleasant tone. Nonchalant, ignoring the bruises on your body, ignoring the band still latched around your neck. It was so easy to believe nothing had happened.

Your eyes shifted away from him, briefly trailing around the room — to the cordless lamps and flat door handles and locks on all the drawers and the spot on the ceiling where the fan had been gouged out and caulked over.

And likewise, you shook your head and resumed picking at your food, deciding for your own sake that that none of it was of any consequence. That was a far less painful way to think about it all anyway.

“No, nothing.”

#now back to our regularly scheduled programming...#persona x reader #I wrote a significant portion of this from the ER #the nurse came in once and was like wow you're a dedicated worker to be working even now haha #I just... 'yeah... haha...'#yandere goro akechi #i need to make more for him... my son...#.persona

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monsterfuckingthoughts · 1 year ago

Text

Orc Husband x Human Reader

Synopsis: You and your husband relish in the company of one another as old memories wander back to you.

You clawed at the furs on Kilian’s bed in an attempt to stay balanced. You stayed on your hands and knees as he fucked you from behind, with so much urgency you would have thought you were on the brink of death.

“God,” you moaned.

Your husband had been away for two weeks, traveling with his war council to facilitate peace talks with neighboring kingdoms in the region. Two weeks without your touch had driven him mad. His dreams were filled with you straddling him, bouncing up and down on his cock, breasts unrestrained, mouth screaming for a release. When he awoke he’d be forced to alleviate himself with the aid of his hand, not nearly as satisfying as sinking into you.

So when he arrived back to the stronghold he needed you. And you needed him. The two of you hardly waisted a second. Not even fully removing your clothes before fucking.

“Kilian. I’m coming! I’m coming!” you shrieked.

His grip tighten on your ass.

“So am I,” he managed to get out.

He hastily pulled you up and pressed the back of your body to his, taking the opportunity to cup your bare breast with his calloused hand.

You let out a painfully delightful whimper as you orgasm spread through you. Closing your eyes you allowed yourself to relax as Kilian’s warm seed released inside you.

The two of you completely undressed and laid beneath the furs in one anothers arms.

“You were amazing,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head.

“Let me accompany you next time my love. I don’t want to be separated from you like that again,” you begged.

“I know my darling. It was hard for me as well. But these missions can be dangerous. I’d never forgive myself if something were to happen to you.”

You kissed his pectoral and nuzzled closer. “I know. But the nights were so lonely without you in our bed.”

You kissed his nipple, taking his piercing between your teeth and giving it the smallest tug.

“(Name),” he growled.

You smirked pulling yourself up and settling on top of him. “I remember when you first came into my town. How handsome you were. How kind you were.”

He cupped your faced in his hand. “You were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”

“We became friends, but then we became more.”

“I still remember the first time.”

“Under the stars,” you mused. “In the poppy field.”

He smiled, remebering every detail.

The love in your eyes. The trembling of your legs as you wrapped them against his waist. How you cried out to the heavens, giving thanks for meeting him.

“You had to marry me,” you teased. “To make an honest woman of me.”

“An honor I happily took.”

“I love you Kilian.”

“I love you too (Name).”

The two of you spent the remainder of the night reminiscing about your lives together. The blessing it was.

#orc x reader #orc x human #orc smut #orc husband #monsterfucking nsft

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cutieeva · 5 months ago

Text

Worth of a terror

Female reader

Warnings : Murder. Deaths. Attempt of sexual assaults.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒

Married to the man one loves is magical even fairytale however if the man turns out to be a obsessed King is it really alright ? Or it is because there's much more truth in it.

Words spread ear to ear to nation to another nations of how in the country of Imperia the ruler is obsessed with his wife, the most wisest woman to be known (Y/N).

It is said that at the first sight princess (Y/N) of neighboring kingdom of Tharagon saw the soon to be King one day and fell fast and hard. Deciding he will be the one to hold her hand and lift her white veil of marriage so she begged her father who succumbed to his daughter's wishes arranged an meeting between the pair, a pair brought by the deities themselves because the moment the prince saw once glimpse of her visages cerulean pupils transform into heart and boldly bowed his knee to have her hand for eternal, soon the vows of love were exchange as well as the bloodshed didn't remain in the battlefield rather inside the walls of royalty too after the love climb into of akin madness, obsession and desire because the prince wore the crown and sat at the throne of his country ruled with benevolent smile yet iron fist for those who glance little to his wife. The fairytale love story commoners love begin to sour a lesson of the reasons why not to marry elites.

The new maid of the castle heard the passing whispers, tales and rumors time to time, none escaped her even when in front it's spoken loudly at all times the moment the royals are out sight by blue ribbon maids yet she notice one bit of how no golden ribbon maids gossip at all rather their lips are seal with sectary oh— golden maid are known for the private maids who serve the royals directly and handle their schedule and the reason of their name is for the noticeable difference between the hair bow color, the colors are important in the castle to identify one's position and the golden are the supreme and the new maids are the whites— oddly to define their purity and naïvity too, one older female maid with blue ribbon commented. Blue applys for the upper level after blooming their training.

In passing few times of sewing clothes and watering gardens did she caught glances of the wise queen she come to admire even respect deeply after an occurrence she would to this day have shivers in her spine. At dinner she was hosted to be one of the many maids to serve the royalty and when she went to gracefully fill the red wine like blood to the queen's glass god forbid again her weight on her hand slipped pouring few drops on the luxurious white dress. Paled her face was and fast her heart with darting eyes to the furious king who stood from his seat, marching to his wife with burning her though his glare to (Y/N) who rather of getting mad, yelling harshly and posing punishment worse, a laugh fell out of her rudy hue lips.

"Fear not. We are all prone to error, and from those mistakes, we shall glean valuable wisdom. Be at peace". Smiling ear to ear, her fingers touch the maid's white ribbon and gifted another comforting pat before wrapping a hand around her dear husband. Calming the beast that threat to spill out the maid could see and tremble her heart out.

"Compose yourself, my dear husband. Do not let your passions get the better of you, lest you succumb to apoplexy. She is but a mere child, prone to errors and innocent of malice." Wittly (Y/N) spin her wrist around for the servant to whisk away and she did excusing the pair where from the closed doors she could hear the muffled passionate kisses. Tips of ear burned when body flinched meeting the royal knight's gaze who stood blending in the shadows, he is known to be the queen's shining armor and the man the King failed to assassinate multiple times due to his skill experience and queen's help. The reason behind murdering the man is of jealous of course, no man alive should be closer to her heart then the king himself. What a hassel the maid believes running out ever grateful for the madam's kindness.

That at any command or meeting upon sights of queen never does she forget to get on both knees for the kind woman deserve all respect and it only increase when she was appointed from white ribbon to blue— one step closer to see more of her elder sister figure, every dress the queen wore becomes the maid's favorite too, never forgets to sing songs of praises with other blue ribbon maids who too tune to her child like nature unlike the golden ones whom seems to be as tight lips she recalls. Never forgets to mask a smell of expression nor word like perfect dolls they work with sealed lips.

Also there is another person who comes to see the queen more is the ruler and as the rumors believes he is a very much touchful person, never his hands left her body whether in public or behind closed doors as he boldly even kisses her startling the poor maid's heart yet a beyond level of understanding is come from her when each time the queen smile into the kiss and any touch and attention, never shy away however also not returning the same enthusiasm making pity stem in the maid's heart seeing the queen being a beauty to the beast for him to be a proper prince in this case the king.

"The royal family of neighboring kingdom is coming to Imperia nation". Is a pure chaos, the notice was late and the servants were barely able to match the rhythm of orders properly unlike each time. The dinner, the decoration everything expected to be perfect. Not a single mishap panicking the attendants even more.

Thankfully it was arrange hasty and beautifully. "Perfect". The queen utter, her chest swell in pride when her husband entered with all the servants bowing with their eyes on the floor. His arms find on her body along lips on her bare skin of side nape.

"Perfect indeed". His eyes half lidded, only for his utter heavenly wife.

"Not me, my dearest. The castle". Mellow chuckle escape her lips. Meeting his eyes.

"Still the most beautiful I can see is you". Truly (Y/N) sometimes believes her love of life could had been better off as an poet than an king. As a hopeless romantic is sweet it's quite endangering she is afraid.

"Thank you, love". Gratitude fill her heart with butterflies in her stomach. Staring right at the infuriating reflection of herself in his eyes just like the first time is nostalgic.

"Your Majesties, the carriages are few feets away". The royal adviser reminded the pair and intruded their session.

"Indeed I know". Frown brows cast his face, marred with annoyance the queen finds endearing. Her finger pads gently ease the wrinkled skin and brows even pressing as gentle as feather a kiss. Stealing his breath and heart altogether.

"It's alright, love. Better for the kingdom". Smile wide so much it crinkles her corners of eyes. "The more the merrier isn't it ?" She jested pulling a smile out of the stoic man, feared even.

"However, my queen, you are well aware that the neighboring kingdom is not particularly indispensable to our affairs?" King Vincent uttered, caressing strands of her hair.

"I do". Press a hand on his shoulder she left to prepare for their welcoming and it was easy would be a blunt lie by the palpable tension is visible to any naked eye.

The neighboring king is not what a proper nobleman should be behaving more like a scoundrel with Queen (Y/N), kissing her hand more than needed, staring more than appropriate and not shy away to brush touches and the servants quiver from the dreadful consequences of such actions because each could see the twitch in the king's eyes and the beast hidden too well inside those smile.

And the tension only stretched more at the supper when the daughter of the neighboring king urged to be sit next to King Vincent wantonly seduce the married man by brushing skins and serving dishes. Such a wretched and filthy woman the maid curse freely in her mind. How dare his daughter without blinking an eye snatch the husband of the woman her father is so desperately steal virtue of ? Such women are shame to be grown out from mother's womb the maid thought, glancing in awe how no hint of outbust is seen from (Y/N), she even tender with the maiden she doesn't deserve to get all while handling the aged man's greedy hands.

Truly a woman worth to love and respect and the maid is out of words to describe. Gratefully the supper came to an end and the pair of King and his daughter went to spend their night in their castle for tomorrow's farewell.

The moon hanged exquisitely among the stars covet by the darkness the maid stare from her window when a sudden thirst come to her. Sitting up in her bed her fingers went to the jar only to feel lighter—empty she realize. Groaning she held a lamplight in one hand and went to wonder for the kitchen, her steps precise and careful to reach the lengthy walls to the kitchen and at last drench the thrist she wake from her slumber.

Chop ! Her nerves freeze. Chop ! Blood drain from her veins. CHOP ! Shudder her body to the core. The sounds are clearly of slicing something— or someone. Despite the warnings in her brain advising to ran away her feet drag her to the creator of the noises, solely relying on the noises her eyes blind in darkness went near the open door with golden light peeking though. Prying eyes meet sorrow's sight. A saying she knows yet not heed.

Chop ! Her eyes flinch close before opening to peek and met a sight that shatter her entire faith, beliefs and trust.

Chop ! Because in front is the body of neighboring princess laying on the ground, her widen eyes stare directly to the maid's that lost the life in it, blood bled endlessly like spilled juices out from her cut— chopped parts. The sliver sword soaked in crimson color and smell drip little by little held by the culprit of her murder. Queen (Y/N) herself, the same woman who utters gentle words, sweet voice, pretty smiles. A beauty to her husband chop and dice and slice the parts of the woman like an carcass of pig. Droplets of blood scattered across her face, dress and hand.

Near is the neighboring king's body only sliced throat once. (Y/N) bore special hatred for the daughter to still torture her.

Footsteps towards the otherside sucked the maid's pulse, still her eyes watched as the owner revealed to be none other than King Vincent. A helpless sigh and defeated look carved out of him. "(Y/N), my losana what have you done this time ?"

"Oh, my love, I fear you are correct regarding their unnecessary pursuit of power to foster our nation's growth. Alas, I have taken drastic measures and eradicated the impurities." A feverish blush paint her majesty's face as she gaze at her husband. Grinning like a mischief goddess.

And without sparing glance her sword stab the daughter's detached head to stick before walking to Vincent. "You know I love you ? Hence I had to do this. She was a whore who should not live". Slight shiver hands cup his chin, connecting their foreheads. "You know you are mine and mine only ?"

"Indeed I do". Feebly lift his lips to smile and lean more. What could he do, she is a woman who loves fast and hard.

Suddenly her (E/C) eyes slide to the maid's direction who buried her head behind the wall with palm tight clasped on her lips even forbid breathing in fear of getting caught. Her chest up and fell and pupils changing. Because missed dots came connecting all round.

The real obsessed one was nd is not the king. It was the queen (Y/N) all along.

The missing and murders people were her fault, the queen kill them in rush of envy and jealous of rivalry. The rumors were reversed and the reason the golden ribbon servants seal their lips because they had been the ones cleaning the mess of her majesty, they were unspoken witness to the madness of her obsession not his.

She was always jealous thus the murder was commented. She was simply good at hiding, behind that naïve smile. Same one the maid was bestowed. No wonder the king is tamed.

Quickly hers feets disspeared to the darkness to her quarter to not be discovered and be beheaded or worse fate.

The next rise of sun came faster than she wanted and she had to do her duty with empty mind is difficult with too many mistakes. When she notice the lines of servants behind the queen is appearing. The images invaded her thoughts again, gripping her in fear. Her knees bowed on her own.

The smell of lavender suffocated her and the sight of the queen's grown came to view. She could feel her leaning closer, closer and closer until her lips were near her ear. "Remember to have water on your jar before the bed". She knows. She knows. She knows.

With that her heels turn to see her husband. A husband who should have been a poet not a leader as he was not a man of bloodshed. How twist of fate.

A strangled grasp left the maid's lips meeting the back of the queen and her close knight. She is truly a worth of a terror.

FIN

Notice : ⌜ I will soon focus and complete the lost series ⌟

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c0eu4 · 1 year ago

Text

LN4 | Welcome home ♡

Summary: He found y/n in his hoodies, her favorite toy in her.

Warning: smut, no protection sex, swearing

A/N: enjoy <3

MASTERLIST requests are open

He parks the car in the underground parking lot and gets out of it. He picked up his luggage and walked towards the elevator. He called it, entered it and waited for it to be at the floor of his flat. When he opens the door with his keys and calls for his girlfriend, he has no answer. He put his luggage in the hallway and looked for his girlfriend. The flat was all dark, the water of the rain was the only thing he could hear.

Well.. not really to be honest. He was also hearing some little moans. First, he thinks that it was his neighbor enjoying themselves. But he quickly found that it was coming from his bedroom. The first thing he thinks of is ''she's cheated on me!'' but he found that it wasn't this when he entered the bedroom.

She was laying in the middle of the bed, his white hoodie was the only thing she was wearing. Her headphones on her ears, she can't hear him. One of her hands is under the hoodie, probably touching her breasts and nipples. Her other hand sliding her toy inside her, back and forth. Her eyes were totally close, her back arched and her moans filling the room. She was about to cum.

Lando immediately feels tight in his pants, a bulge already forming his trousers. He can't help but slip a hand under his boxer, touching himself.

She was so gorgeous, his hoodies on her, her toy in her, her moans... He undoes his belt and pulls down his pants and boxers at the same time, to his knees. He takes his already hard cock in his hand and jerks himself off, watching her as she was about to cum.

Just seeing her like this, so vulnerable and enjoying herself, he could cum right now. But he contained himself, not wanting to lose his plaisur.

''Lando !!'' She moaned loudly as her thighs were used and her whole body trembled with pleasure.

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. Did she moaned his name ? He barely managed to hold back from cumming, pre-cum running down his cock and hand. He can't wait anymore and needs to take her right now. He completely takes off his trousers, walking towards her while taking off his t-shirts.

As she opens her eyes, she sees Lando's face in front of her. Her eyes widen and he takes off the toy inside her and her headphones.

''Please tell me it's a green flag baby.'' He asked her, almost begging her. She nodded slowly as he rubbed his tip against her already wet entrance.

''Word.'' His voice was firm yet sweet.

''Y-yes it-'' He doesn't let her finish as he pushes his dick deeply in her wet and tight cunt.

''Ahh.. fuck.. you're so tight..'' He moaned against her ear, sucking red marks under it.

He doesn't started with a slow pace as he usually does, he was quick and firm in each trust of his pelvis. Her head fell against the pillow, moving her hips at the same time as him. Her arms were around him, keeping him close to her.

''You.. take me so... so well.. my little slut..'' He speaks to you between moans. Her eyes were filled with tears as he began to thrust into her slowly but roughly, deeply and hardly.

''Fuck! Landooo !!'' She moaned, her fingers digging into his back.

''Oh yeah... like that baby..'' He gets quicker, feeling himself about to cum. But he brutally stopped, leaving you not fully satisfied.

''Can you ride me ?'' He asked her, his eyes full of lust. She pushed him to his back, riding him and moving up and down like a rollercoaster. His hands were on her hips, moving his own hips up and down. Her hands were on his shoulder, digging her nails into his skin again.

The room were filled with 'uh uh' from both of their mouths, sometimes covered with kisses.

She started to be exhausted and needy to cum. Her hips were moving more slowly, her thighs hurting a bit.

Hopefully for her, Lando saw it and took control. She totally stopped moving and Lando trusted in her, quickly and deeply. Her whole body was shaking again, her head was dizzy. She let her eyes roll back as she moaned loudly his name.

''Landooo!!'' Her orgasm hits her like a ton of bricks coming down on her. She unconsciously tightens her pussy around Lando's cock.

Lando keeps thrusting in her, more quickly than before. But he can't keep it back and filled her with seed in a long and deep moan of her name.

She collapsed on him, exhausted. After a few seconds of silence, she finally spoke.

''Welcome home honey..''

#lando norris #f1 drivers #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lando norris smut #smut #help he's so hot #f1 smut #f1 #lando norris x reader #lando norris x reader smut

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ajalholland · 30 days ago

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Comfort (Young Sephiroth x reader)

WARNINGS: None

Hurt and comfort

Story: You, a stranger, comfort Sephiroth in a time of need

Sephiroth sat atop a building in Midgar, his slender form hunched over as silent tears streamed down his pale face. The wind whipped at his silver hair, but he barely noticed, lost in a whirlwind of painful memories. The faces of his comrades flashed before his eyes - Glenn, Matt, and Lucia. They had been his first true friends, the ones who taught him so much.

(Y/n) stood on the roof of a neighboring building, having just finished one of her jobs in the slums. The wind was stronger than usual, making her (H/c) hair billow in the breeze. She was about to head home when her sharp eyes caught sight of a figure perched atop another rooftop.

Sephiroth sat in silence, seemingly oblivious to the outside world. His slender frame trembled from the tears that continued to stream down his face. He was lost in a sea of memories, each one more painful than the last. Suddenly, he felt a presence behind him.

(Y/n) silently made her way closer, her footfalls light and nearly soundless as she came to stand a few feet away from him. "Are you alright?" she asked softly.

Sephiroth tensed, his slender frame going stiff at the sound of her voice. He had thought he was alone, but now realized he was not. He slowly turned to face her, his eyes red from crying.

"I'm fine," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "Why do you care?"

(Y/n) tilted her head, her eyes flickering with empathy and concern. "Because even if we're strangers, I can't ignore the deep sorrow coming from you." she answered softly, taking another couple of steps closer to him.

Sephiroth looked away, his eyes narrowing as he tried to hide his emotions. He knew he should tell her to go away, to leave him alone with his sorrow. But there was something in her voice that made him hesitate. "It's not your problem," he muttered, still refusing to make eye contact with her.

"Perhaps it's not my problem," (Y/n) agreed softly, taking another step closer. "But I can't just ignore someone who's hurting."

She finally came to a stop, standing at his side, looking out over the sprawling city of Midgar with him.

Sephiroth's eyes followed her movement, watching as she came to stand beside him. He didn't understand why a stranger would care about his pain, but there was something about her presence. He inhaled a shuddering breath, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over again.

"My... friends," he whispered, his voice trembling. "They... they abandoned me."

(Y/n) listened silently as he spoke, taking a seat on the edge beside him.

With a soft, gentle motion, she reached out her hand and lightly placed it on his shoulder, offering a small amount of comfort with her touch. "I'm sorry," (Y/n) murmured, her voice barely audible.

As (Y/n) placed her hand on his shoulder, Sephiroth tensed for a moment. But her touch, though unexpected, was gentle and comforting.

"They... they were the only ones who ever truly accepted me for who I was," he continued, his voice growing more choked with emotion. "They were the only ones who cared about me... and now they're gone."

(Y/n) watched silently as he poured out his pain. Her heart ached as she watched him struggle. She wasn't the best with words, but she did know how to listen.

"I... I thought I had found a place where I could belong," Sephiroth went on, his voice growing more desperate. "That I found people who cared about me. But... but.. I ruined it."

His voice cracked, and he stopped, unable to speak any further. The pain of abandonment and loneliness swamped him, leaving him choked with emotion. He just wanted to protect them. He let out a sob, and buried his head into his knees, curling into himself. He didn't want to cry in front of a stranger, but here he was.

(Y/n) longed to say something, to offer words of comfort, but she knew there were no words that could ease this kind of pain.

Instead gently lifted his chin, making him look directly into her eyes, her gaze beautifully intense, as she gently wiped away his tears.

As (Y/n) lifted his chin, forcing him to look directly into her eyes, an unexpected wave of calm washed over him. He stared into her gaze, losing himself in the depth of her eyes.Then without hesitation she wrapped her arms around him, carefully guiding his head into the crook of her neck.

Sephiroth's breath hitched as he found himself being pulled into the stranger's embrace, his head resting against the crook of her neck. The touch was comforting, and he closed his eyes as fresh hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

(Y/n) held him tight, one hand gently running through his hair as she began to hum softly. His tears didn't bother her at all, if anything they made her hold him tighter.

The sound of her humming was soothing, calming the storm of his emotions, and the feel of her fingers running through his hair was comforting. As she held him tighter, Sephiroth let out a shaky sigh, slowly letting himself relax in her embrace. He felt safe for the first time in a long time.

His trembling slowly subsided, and (Y/n) continued to hold him close, her hand still softly stroking his hair. She had no idea how long they had sat on that rooftop, but she was in no hurry to let him go.

The tears slowly stopped flowing, Sephiroth raised his head, looking up at her. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, but he looked a little more calm. "Thank you," he murmured quietly, his voice hoarse from crying.

"You're welcome," she replied softly, gently thumbing away the last of his tears. Her grip on him had loosened slightly, but she was still holding him close.

"Feeling a little better now?"

Sephiroth thought about the question for a moment, trying to gauge his feelings. The pain was still there, but the overwhelming emotions had subsided. "A little," he admitted, his voice still soft. He looked away, slightly embarrassed by his earlier breakdown.

(Y/n)'s lips curled up into a small, understanding smile. "It's okay to not be okay," she whispered softly.

Sephiroth felt his cheeks warm a little at her words. He wasn't used to being comforted like this, and he wasn't sure how to react. "I... I don't usually lose my composure like that," he mumbled, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I'm usually better at holding it together."

(Y/n) chuckled lightly, gently ruffling his hair. "Sometimes it's good to let your emotions out," she said softly, her gaze full of understanding. "You don't need to keep everything bottled up inside."

Sephiroth tensed momentarily as she ruffled his hair, but he didn't protest. He was still a little bit embarrassed, but he couldn't deny that her presence was surprisingly comforting.

"I guess... I guess I'm not used to expressing my emotions," he admitted, running a hand through his now hair.

"That's okay," (Y/n) responded, her tone light, as she stood up to stretch her stiff muscles.

Sephiroth watched as she stood, feeling a pang of disappointment as her body left his. He found himself wanting her to stay beside him, but he dismissed the thought quickly. This was a stranger, and he had just shown an embarrassing amount of vulnerability to her.

He stood up himself, his legs a little unsteady from his earlier breakdown. He wiped his cheeks, trying to compose himself. "I... I'm Sephiroth," he muttered, trying to sound casual, but his voice betrayed him with tremors.

(Y/n) noticed his slight unsteadiness and quickly placed a hand on his back, just in case, to help him get his bearings.

"Nice to meet you, Sephiroth. I'm (Y/n)." She replied casually in return, not looking away.

Sephiroth felt the heat rise in his cheeks as (Y/n) placed a steadying hand on his back. He wasn't used to people being so close to him or touching him so casually.

"(Y/n)," he repeated, testing the name on his tongue. "It's a nice name." He finally gathered the courage to meet her gaze, and he found himself getting lost in her intense eyes again.

(Y/n) chuckled lowly as she observed the heat rushing to his cheeks, finding it oddly endearing.

"You know, you're really pretty." She stated nonchalantly. She met his gaze, her lips curled up into a small, knowing smile.

Sephiroth's cheeks grew even warmer at her nonchalant comment, and he quickly looked away, feeling flustered. "P-pretty?" he repeated, his voice betraying his surprise.

(Y/n) couldn't help but chuckle lightly at his reaction. "Yeah, pretty," she affirmed, tilting her head to the side. "Very pretty."

Sephiroth felt his heart race when (Y/n) called him pretty again. He tried to compose himself, before meeting her gaze again. "You... you sound so certain," he said, trying to hide the fact that her words were getting to him.

"That's because I am," she replied simply, her tone steady.

"Are all your compliments so blunt?" he asked, attempting to sound confident.

She just shrugged nonchalantly.

Sephiroth raised an eyebrow at her response, before letting out a huff of laughter. "Well, you're definitely interesting," he said, his tone slightly amused.

"I'll take that as a compliment," she replied with a light, melodic laugh.

The sound of her laugh sent a strange ripple through Sephiroth, and he found himself watching her intently. Despite the fact that he had just broken down in tears in front of her, he didn't feel awkward or embarrassed. It was almost as if her presence alone was making him feel relaxed.

"You're different than anyone I've ever met," he admitted.

"Is that a bad thing?" she asked curiously, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I haven't decided yet," Sephiroth said, attempting to sound nonchalant, but his voice still held a hint of vulnerability. He couldn't deny that he was drawn to her in a way that he couldn't quite understand.

"But I'm leaning towards... a good thing," he confessed, the words leaving his lips before he even realized it.

(Y/n) let out a small chuckle, enjoying the way he seemed flustered. "That's a relief," she replied in a mock serious tone.

Sephiroth rolled his eyes at her mock serious tone, trying to hide the fact that he was still flustered. "I... I should probably get going," he said, his expression growing solemn again. He didn't want to leave, but he couldn't spend the whole night on a rooftop. And Hojo was probably waiting for him to get back. The scientist had always kept Sephiroth on a tight leash.

(Y/n) nodded in acknowledgment. "Yeah, I guess you're right. It's getting pretty late." She turned to look out over the city for a moment, taking in the distant sounds and lights.

Sephiroth watched as (Y/n) looked out over the city, his gaze lingering on her profile. He found himself wanting to say something, to prolong the moment, but he couldn't find the words.

"Yeah," he finally managed to say, his voice soft. "It was nice... talking to you."

She turned her gaze back to him, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "It was nice talking to you too," she replied.

Sephiroth found himself captivated by her gaze again, unable to look away. For a moment, he wanted to reach out and touch her, pull her closer to him, but he forced himself to resist the urge.

"Will... will I ever see you again?" he asked, his voice betraying his hope.

"If fate allows it." (Y/n)'s voice was soft yet firm as she spoke. She graced him with a playful half bow, her smile still lingering on her face as she turned around and sprinted towards the edge of the rooftop. Before Sephiroth could even blink, she jumped off the ledge, disappearing into the shadows below.

Sephiroth watched in stunned silence as (Y/n) leaped from the rooftop and disappeared. For a moment, all he could do was stare at the place where she had been standing, his heart pounding.

"Fate..." he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper

#ff7 #ff7 x reader #final fantasy 7 #final fantasy x reader #sephiroth x reader #sephiroth #young sephiroth

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communicationthroughlyrics · 4 months ago

Text

I Work Too Hard, Can You Fuckin' Pay Me?

Part 8 - Y/N moved to escape some of thier looming troubles from Westview, to the place that their best friend said would make a difference. New job, new digs, will Y/N make a change for the better, or leave another city with their tail between their legs?

A/N: Sorry it's been taking so long between updates, y'all. My life got craaaaaazy messy of late, and now I'm struggling to even cover basic bills. I try to write when I can. Much love, y'all.

TW: Angst, Intersex reader, reader has some... not so great coping habits, sexual tension, smut

Word Count: 2.4K

Read Pt. 1 HERE Read Pt. 2 HERE Read Pt. 3 HERE Read Pt. 4 HERE Read Pt. 5 HERE Read Pt. 6 HERE Read Pt. 7 HERE

Command Me to Be Well

The drive to your place was a blur of anticipation, your mind racing with the possibilities of what the night might hold. When you pulled into the driveway, you didn't even bother taking your things out of the backseat of your car. Wanda's hand was in yours before you could blink, and she was leading you from your driveway, up the walkway to her front porch, and through the door into the house, shutting it firmly behind you. The air was charged with the electricity of unspoken desires, and you could feel the weight of your fears slowly lifting away.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to, Y/N," she whispered, her eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. You took a deep breath and nodded, feeling the warmth of her hand as it slipped from yours. Her nails scraped across your chest, a low growl coming from you as your head tilted back against the cool wall behind you.

"I want this," you managed to say, your voice thick with need. "I want you." You could feel the blood rushing throughout your body, and you are sure that your neighbors could hear your heartbeat. Wanda's smile grew as she stepped closer to you, her hand moving to the knot of your tie.

Her movements were slow and deliberate as she loosened it, her eyes never leaving yours. The ends lay respectively on each side of your chest, as she runs her hands up your chest before tangling her fingers into your hair, pulling you down to her for a bruising kiss. Your hands found the hem of her shirt, lifting it up to expose her midriff, her skin soft and warm to the touch. She breaks the kiss for a moment to let out a gasp of pleasure as you trail your fingertips inside of her shirt, up her side, feeling her body shiver against you.

The living room is dimly lit, the only light coming from the flickering of the electric fireplace, which you both ignore as you stumble down the hallway to the bedroom, your mouths never leaving each other. The door clicks shut behind you, muffling the noise from the outside world and leaving you in a cocoon of desire. Wanda's bed is unmade, the covers thrown back from her earlier restlessness. You can't help but smirk, knowing you're about to make it even more disheveled. You began walking Wanda back towards her bed, letting her fall to the mattress with a gasp as you leaned down, slotting your knee in between her thighs.

Her hands are everywhere, unbuttoning your shirt with trembling fingers, sliding it off your shoulders. Your chest is bare, and the cold air hits your skin, causing your nipples to pebble. She runs her hands over your skin, her nails scraping lightly, leaving a trail of heat behind. You moan into her neck as she nibbles the sensitive skin there, the feeling causing your cock to throb in your pants. You're desperate to feel more of her, to taste her. You kiss down her chest, your mouth finding the soft skin above her bra.

Wanda arches into you, her breath hitching as you trace a pattern of kisses and licks along the upper swells of her breasts. You can feel her heart pounding, echoing your own, as you reach behind and unhook the clasp, her breasts spilling out into your waiting hands. They're perfect, full and soft, and your thumbs tease her nipples, causing her to arch further into you, a low moan escaping her lips. You take one in your mouth, suckling gently at first, then increasing the pressure as she cries out. She tastes like vanilla and something uniquely Wanda, and it's intoxicating.

Her hands are in your hair, guiding you, urging you on as you kiss and lick her breasts, her hips moving restlessly against your thigh. You can feel the dampness through your pants, and you know she's soaked for you. The anticipation is unbearable, but you refuse to rush this. You want to savor every moment, every touch, every sound she makes. You kiss a path down her stomach, her abs contracting as you get closer to her pants. You pull back, looking at her, needing to see the desire in her eyes. She nods, her eyes hooded and dark with lust, and you know she wants this as much as you do. You unbutton her pants, sliding them down, along with her underwear.

Her legs are smooth and bare, and you run your hands up the inside of her thighs, feeling her quiver. She's already spread for you, and you can see the slickness of her arousal glistening in the dim light. You lean in, kissing the inside of her thighs, making her gasp. Your breath is hot against her pussy, and she bucks against you. You spread her wider with your thumbs, licking up her slit and making her moan loudly. She's sweet and salty, and you can't get enough. You flick her clit with the tip of your tongue, and she jolts, her hands tightening in your hair.

You look up at her, watching her face contort with pleasure, and it's the most beautiful sight you've ever seen. You lick and suck, swirling your tongue around her clit, feeling her get closer and closer. She's panting now, her hips moving in time with your mouth. You insert a finger, feeling her tighten around you. She's so wet, so ready, and you know it won't be long now. You add another finger, curling them inside her, searching for that magical spot that will send her over the edge.

Her body tenses, her back arching off the bed, and she screams your name as she comes, her walls pulsing around your fingers. You swallow her down, licking her clean, feeling her quiver against your mouth. You kiss your way back up her body, tasting her on your lips. Her eyes are glazed with pleasure, and she's smiling up at you, her cheeks flushed.

"Your turn," she whispers, pushing you onto your back. You watch as she straddles you, her naked body a vision above you. She reaches down and unbuckles your belt, her eyes never leaving yours as she pulls your pants down, freeing your cock. It's hard and throbbing, and she wraps her hand around it, stroking gently.

You groan, your hips lifting off the bed as she teases you, her hand gliding up and down in a torturously slow rhythm. You want to grab her and fuck her hard, but you force yourself to lay still, to let her take control. She lowers her mouth to you, her breath hot against your skin. She kisses the tip, licking the pre-cum from the slit. The sensation is electric, and you have to grit your teeth to keep from coming right then and there.

Wanda smirks, her eyes flicking up to yours as she takes you in her mouth, her tongue swirling around your head. You can feel her eyes on you, watching every reaction, every twitch, and it's driving you wild. She takes you deeper, her hand still stroking, and you feel yourself losing control. You want to hold her there, to feel her mouth on you forever, but you know you can't. You don't want to come like this, not the first time. You need to be inside her, to feel her warmth and tightness.

With a growl, you pull her up and roll her onto her back, your cock pressing against her belly. You lean in and kiss her, tasting yourself on her lips. She wraps her legs around you, pulling you closer, her nails digging into your back. You kiss down her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath your lips. You kiss her chest, her breasts, her stomach, and finally, you're between her legs again.

You line yourself up with her, her heat and wetness beckoning. Pausing, you look at her, trying to decipher if there is any hesitation at what is about to happen. She nods her head, encouraging you to keep going. You push inside, inch by inch, feeling her tighten around you. She gasps, her nails scoring your back as you fill her. You still your hips, giving her a moment to adjust, and then you begin to move, your hips rolling into hers. The feeling is overwhelming, like you're finally home after a long, hard journey. You kiss her again, deep and passionate, feeling her legs lock around you, urging you deeper.

Her walls squeeze around you, and you can feel her getting closer. You reach down and play with her clit, her moans growing louder. "Wanda," you murmur against her neck, "I want to feel you come again." She nods, her breath coming in pants, and you pick up the pace, pushing her closer to the edge.

Her hips are moving with you now, her body begging for release. You can feel it building in her, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. And when it hits, she screams out, her pussy spasming around you. It's all you can take, and you come, your orgasm ripping through you like a supernova, leaving you both trembling and panting.

You collapse on top of her, your hearts beating in sync, the sweat making your skin stick together. You kiss her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. "I'm sorry," you whisper, the words spilling out of you. "I'm sorry for everything."

Wanda's hands come up, cupping your face. "You don't have to be," she says, her voice filled with a tenderness that you never knew existed. "We're here now." And with that, you let yourself sink into her, the fear and doubt of before seemingly a lifetime away.

You pull back, looking into her eyes, searching for any sign of regret. But what you see instead is pure contentment. You roll over, taking her with you, so she's straddling you, your cock still inside her. You wrap your arms around her, holding her close, feeling her breasts press against your chest with each of her breaths.

"Wanda," you whisper, "I didn't know it could feel like this."

Her eyes searched yours, and she nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Neither did I," she admitted, her voice filled with wonder.

You held her there, feeling the aftershocks of your shared passion. The room was silent except for the sound of your mingled breaths and the occasional creak of the house. Wanda leaned down to kiss you, her movements gentle and loving.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice a soft caress against your skin. She pressed a gentle kiss to your collarbone, before nestling into the crook of your neck. "For trusting me. For letting go of your fears." her breath tickled the hairs along the side of your throat, causing goosebumps to erupt.

You returned the smile, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "Thank you for being patient," you said, your voice just as soft. "For giving me time."

Wanda raised her head to look into your eyes, her gaze filled with understanding. "I'll always give you time, Y/N. Always." Her words were like a balm to your soul, soothing the raw edges of your fear. Your eyes closed, and you sucked in a deep breath. "I know it's hard, but I'm not going anywhere. Please don't fight it."

You nodded, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. "I know," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. "I just don't want to ruin this."

Wanda's smile grew, her eyes shining with a love that took your breath away. "You won't," she assured you. "We'll figure it out together. I may have only known you personally through Piet and now for about a year- but you're not a bad person, Y/N." She leaned in, her breath warm against your ear. "You're just complicated. And that's what makes you intriguing."

Her words wrapped around you like a warm blanket, chasing away the chill of doubt. You felt your muscles relax, your grip on her hips loosening. "Complicated," you repeated with a small laugh. "That's one way to put it."

Wanda kissed the corner of your mouth, her smile mischievous. "It keeps things interesting," she said, her voice a seductive purr. "Now, let's make things even more interesting, shall we?" She began to rock her hips, the movement sending a jolt of pleasure through you. You groaned, your cock hardening once again inside her.

Her movements grew bolder, her hips rolling against yours, and you knew you were lost. You grabbed onto her, holding her tight as she rode you, her breasts bouncing with each thrust. She threw her head back, her hair cascading down her back, and the sight of her was almost too much to handle. You watched her, your eyes locked onto her face as she chased her own release, her expression a mix of pleasure and concentration.

You reached up to cup her breasts, feeling their weight in your hands, her nipples peaked and sensitive. You rolled them gently, feeling her moan, her movements becoming more frantic. The sight was intoxicating, and you found yourself getting lost in the moment, the fear of before a distant memory. You sat up, wrapping your arms around her, her legs tightening around your waist as you began to thrust into her.

Her eyes snapped open, locking onto yours, and you felt a connection so strong, it was like you were one being. She leaned in, her teeth grazing your bottom lip, and you knew she was close. You could feel it in the way she tightened around you, in the way her breath hitched. With one last, deep thrust, she came, her body shaking as she cried out. You followed her over the edge, your own release powerful and overwhelming.

You collapsed back onto the bed, her body still straddling yours, both of you gasping for air. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through your veins. Wanda leaned down, her forehead resting against yours, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Wow," she breathed, her voice filled with wonder.

"Yeah," you agreed, the word barely making it past the lump in your throat. "Wow." You didn't know what to say, the enormity of what had just happened left you speechless. But you knew one thing for sure—this was just the beginning. You had taken a leap of faith, and Wanda had caught you. You didn't know what the future held, but for now, you were content to lie there, her warmth surrounding you like a warm embrace.

#communicatethrulyrics #wlw fanfic #lesbian nsft #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fluff

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jesterday00 · 2 months ago

Text

Reunion

Bonus spoiler warning just in case

A clock ticked quietly and creating a peaceful melody with the crackle of a fire; snow fell gently outside, glittering through the window panes. Theodore Layton sat lost in thought, tea warming his hands as he lounged on his couch. Something was keeping him awake, and he was sifting through his memories like an archaeological dig.

Of course, because of recent events, he was regularly brought back to the Triton family - though he’d come to terms with their move long before Luke had told him, so he knew his restlessness was tied to something else.

Perhaps it was Flora, then? She’d been quite upset at the professor for not telling her sooner that Luke was moving away, and he’d admitted he’d never found the right time or words. It hurt so deeply to realize he’d given her no time to process the fact that he was leaving. He doubted that was the problem though, as they were making good strides in their conversations about processing these feelings.

The thought of Claire came up for a moment, but after a gentle squeeze of the heart, the thought passed. She was gone now, he knew for sure, and he had come to terms with that not long ago.

Then, finally, another face graced his mind.

It had been a year, maybe longer, since he’d been seen. The days seemed to have slipped by after that event, what with Saint Mystere and the Molentary Express, and just recently Future London. That letter still sat in his desk, the words burned into his heart.

“I will return to you someday, hopefully soon. But for now, I must take my leave. Stay strong, Teddy.”

He gripped the cup tighter as its warmth faded, then took a sip. Perhaps this…

As the clock struck midnight, he decided it would be better to speculate in bed. At least if he fell asleep mid thought, he wouldn’t be stiff in the morning. Swinging his legs down, he grabbed the blanket to fold it back up-

A knock, quiet but firm. Someone who knew the hour but wanted to be heard. One of the neighbors, perhaps?

He stood, then, setting the half-full teacup on the table and approached the door. He undid the deadbolt and lock quietly, then slowly opened the door.

Standing on his doorstep, damp coat in hand, was Hershel.

In the span of a heartbeat, Theo took in the details of his brother’s appearance - he’d trimmed his hair again recently, and it looked more gray than before; he looked well rested, though the late hour was beginning to show. When he glanced up from the doormat, Theo noted shame, then relief, then tears.

Without warning, his knees gave out as he crossed the threshold, and Hershel caught him in a hug. Body trembling, he could only whisper, “Hershel..!” Tears burned down his cheeks and he found himself clutching his brother’s shirt tightly. He didn’t want to let go, couldn’t bear the thought of losing him again.

“I’m so sorry,” Hershel said, his own voice cracking with emotion, “I’m so sorry for leaving… after all we went through…” Theo felt his brother’s grip tighten on his own jumper. All he could hope was that this meant they would be staying together from here on out.

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redlikemercury · 1 year ago

Text

𝕊𝕝𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝔸𝕚𝕕

𝕊𝕙ō𝕥𝕒 𝔸𝕚𝕫𝕒𝕨𝕒

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩

Summary: Aizawa is a single father with needs, and being his new neighbor makes him think all his prayers have been answered.

a/n: First ever post, if you have any suggestions or any advice feel free to tell me :)

cw: black!fem, fingering, oral receiving (f), dirty talk, unprotected, pet name (princess, baby), size kink, edging, dilf. creampie? 18+

word count: 5.5k

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩

"Ungh! Come on dammit." Aizawa’s legs were nearing their end as he stood there on his last set of back squats. His breathing was shaky and he clenched his jaw, grunting to stand back up again. Bending the knees and hips simultaneously, Aizawa lowered his body down, making sure his knees were tracked over his toes and his heels firmly placed. The veins in his thighs were bulging out as they were parallel with the ground as he maintained stability. He squatted deeper before activating his leg muscles to stand back up again, trembling on his fifth set.

Exhaling deeply, he manages to stand back up again. He was pushing his luck doing two hundred and ten pounds today. Small strands of black hair stuck to his forehead like glue due to the huge amble of sweat that trickled down his phone which was placed on the ground. His phone had dinged, when he looked down and saw a notification, Eri had just made a purchase off her iPad on Roblox. He sighed, obviously annoyed with the matter. Eri tended to pay for things without his permission, formed from the amount of spoiling she gets from him. Aizawa finished up his last set, before heading over to the children’s play area to confront her about it. “This child is a handful sometimes.” He mumbled to himself, using a towel to dry off his drenched face.

While coming out of the gym down the hall, you’ve bumped into his sweaty chest by accident. You backed up and cleared your throat getting ready to apologize, until you saw him. Aizawa’s body glistened with perspiration, every inch of his physique was defined by his bulging muscles, a full display of his fierce training regimen. His broad shoulders and chiseled chest created an imposing presence as an overcasting shoulder was cast upon you. The veins in his biceps seeped through. Nothing compared to his abdomen it was a washboard of muscles. His abs were flexing slightly as they sparkled with sweat, you wanted to lick it off so badly. His bedraggled black hair was pulled back into a bun. His almond eyes had heavy bags underneath along with a small scar underneath his eye. The light stubble on his chin completed his face. You were enthralled by the sight of seeing him so worn out. Your heart was racing as you were severely in need of this man on top of you, fucking you like nobody's business. You soon shook your head and snapped back into reality glancing up towards Aizawa. Your full brown lips parted as you spoke to him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you.” You said quite hastily, hoping he didn’t think you were some creep checking out his body. Aizawa's eyes carried that same deadpan expression, letting out a momentary sigh and shaking his head. “There’s no need to apologize. I was the one who was in a rush.” His voice didn’t hold any malice towards you as he met your gaze. He stared you down into your beautiful dark brown eyes, that made you more flustered by the sight of him. This intense stare-down did more than just make you uncomfortable, it turned you on even more.

For a second, it appeared like a small playful smirk on his lips before he carried the same exhausted expression. “You’re my new neighbor, correct? Let me make it up to you, me and my daughter were getting ready to head home. If you don’t mind, could I treat you to dinner at my place?” He politely said to you. You were shocked to hear Aizawa make such a suggestion. You’ve moved in beside the man about a month ago. There were occasional ‘hellos’ and ‘how are yous’ in the early morning, as you guys would start the day early in the morning. Aizawa would always be carrying a sleepy Eri to the car as the two of you shared light small talk, nothing more. It didn’t stop your everlasting fantasies of being bent over by this man, til you couldn’t walk. You looked down at your appearance for a second. You were just as sweaty as him from just finishing an intense leg day. The athletic shorts were tight on your body hugging every curve, stretching and flexing around your thighs, displaying that ass you’ve been working on. The print in between your legs caught Aizawa’s attention, but he quickly looked away before you could notice. His mind had racey thoughts as well, ones he was too ashamed to say out loud or ever. You were proud of the progress you were making in the gym on getting your summer body ready. Your tight coils were pulled into an afro puff, as the shrinkage had gotten to it. You weren't worried about how you looked, but more as you would stink from such an intense workout, especially in front of your sexy neighbor. You let out a momentary sigh. “I’m sorry, but I need to shower. It would be wrong of me for you to treat me and I smelled like ten cans of bounce that ass.” You expressed, that Aizawa was amused by your response, chuckling a bit. The drained man reached into his pocket for his phone. He opened up his contracts to create a new one before passing it off to you. “In that case, let me have your number. You can just text or call me, whenever you're done showering. Dinner should be done around eight tonight, so you’ll have plenty of time to come over.” He said rather smoothly. You couldn’t help, but smirk a little. ‘My man, my man, my man.’ You thought to yourself, becoming overwhelmingly giddy. You entered your number into his phone and headed it back to him. “Fine, I’ll come over.” You said teasingly before seeing a notification come through on your phone. It was Aizawa. The man smirked at you briefly, sizing your body up and down. Before he could say anything else, Eri had made another purchase of her iPad. A wave of aggravation appeared on his face, as he soughed. “If you can excuse me, I have to speak with my daughter for a second. I’ll see you tonight.” He voiced before steering down the hall.

You didn’t oppose him leaving, in fact, it only motivated you to see more of your ‘man’ tonight. You hightailed your ass to the car and drove back home. You navigated your vehicle into the driveway of the smooth paved material and pulled into the garage. One side of your driveway features a contemporary design that seamlessly corresponds with the architectural tone of your home. You closed the garage door and entered through the door leading inside your home. The time was six o'clock by the moment you arrived home. The home’s exterior exudes a modern charm with sleek lines and neutral colors and is decorated with many personal items. The windows illuminated a warm glow from outside highlighting the coziness of your home. The smell of vanilla was always a comforting scent to come home to, as you headed upstairs to your bedroom. You set your keys onto your bed and rummaged around through your closet. You didn’t know what to wear and your sore legs were killing you already. “Ugh, what the fuck.” You murmured to yourself, searching for clothes. You finally settled on a nice outfit to wear and took a shower. Once you got out, you pulled out all the natural hair products you could find. You scrolled on Pinterest for inspiration, before settling on a style. You were going to attempt a claw clip hairstyle and began to part your hair into sections. You were taking your time, but part of you was worried you would run late. There were times you thought about slapping on one of your wigs and calling it a day, but you were also determined to trust the process. By the end of it all, it came out cute, as you stuck the claw clip on the back of your head. “Well, I’ll be damned. This came out good.” You said as you admired yourself in the mirror.

As you were admiring yourself, Aizawa was home preparing a nice home-cooked meal. The fatigued man stood in the kitchen wearing a pink apron that was originally white. Eri had ‘accidentally’ tossed her pink shirt in the washer with all his white clothes. He couldn’t be mad at her though, in fact, he found it kind of humorous in his way. The day had been long and very commanding of Aizawa, but he found solace in being able to cook a great meal for the two of you guys tonight. His anticipation was growing rapidly and his heart was pounding, as he was chopping some vegetables on a cutting board. It had been a long time coming since he’d been with another woman, especially sexually. He loved being a father, but it was stressful not having any relief in his life. He’s tried getting off on porn sites late at night, but Eri had been having a series of nightmares recently making his sexual frustrations pent up even more. He had become more irritable, especially at work. Aizawa would often snap at his students and coworkers over simple things, he became so desperate one day he tried relieving himself in the car, but it was vastly interrupted by a fight between two students that occurred nearby. So when you moved next door, it was like the perfect opportunity for him. Aizawa had been pining to stretch you out since day one, he wanted more than to fuck you silly off his dick. The thought alone made it harder for him to sleep at night. He was already basically a walking zombie, as his daughter would call him. He could tell the same desire was in your eyes when he saw you at the gym. Seeing your figure in tight athletic wear earlier made it difficult to contain himself. He was a father after all. You were like a miracle was blessed upon him, as he had the perfect plan for tonight.

Eri was engrossed on her iPad on the sofa in the living room, her packs were packed for a sleepover tonight. She giggled overjoyed as she was playing Fruit Ninja, she was banned from playing Roblux for a while. The sound of his daughter giggle, washed away most of Aizawa’s naughty fruitions as he was in contempt with how things were in the presence. “Eri, would you like to eat dinner before you leave?” He asks from the kitchen. Eri placed her iPad down and wandered into the kitchen. The delicious aroma filled her nostrils as he was cooking his signature pot roast. “Yeah, but what’s the occasion?” She questioned, her big adorable eyes staring up at Aizawa. He cleared his throat, Eri was quite an inquisitive young girl. “Oh, nothing. I’m just inviting the neighbor over for dinner.” He muttered nonchalantly. A grin came across Eri’s face. “Okay.” She replied and ran off giggling. Aizawa sighed and pulled out his phone from his gray sweats, seeing the meal he had prepared was just about done. He sees it’s close to eight and decides to shoot you a text.

You're phone lit up with a notification, it was Aizawa.

>Are we still on for tonight?

The text read as it was fifteen minutes from eight. “Oh shit.” You whispered as you picked your phone back up.

>Yeah, I’ll be right over.

You texted it back and looked for some shoes to slide on. You sprayed your favorite perfume a couple of times around your body and grabbed your keys. You walked out the front door, locking it behind you before venturing off to your neighbor's house. As you walked down the sidewalk, inches away from knocking at the front door, you had butterflies in your stomach. Your nerves were getting the best of you as you walked up the driveway of Aizawa’s home. Your hands became shaky as you were approaching the front door. “Oh shit.” You murmured to yourself. Before you could knock on the door, Eri had opened it. She looked at you with a bright bubbly smile. “My daddy likes you.” She said before running off giggling, hearing Aizawa’s footsteps. He was visibly a bit irked by Eri opening the door so carefreely. “Eri, darling, please don’t open the door for people. It can be dangerous.” He reprimanded her, as she was running around the house. The high-spirited child was too busy packing up the rest of her things to care about Aizawa’s nagging. You couldn’t help, but giggle. You didn’t find kids annoying, but they could be just as overwhelming for you. Eri’s words were a bit more of a confidence booster, as kids tend to tell things they weren’t supposed to.

Aizawa smiled at you in a friendly manner. His hair was still pulled back into a bun as he stood there in his vacuum-sealed black shirt and gray sweat. This combination was dangerous for you, all you could do was stare. You already knew what was underneath his shirt, but the idea of seeing it again made your legs quiver a bit.

“You can come into the dining room through the living room on the right-hand side, and the bathroom is down this hall on the left for you to wash your hands.” He stepped aside for you to enter, looking over your body once again. “Oh okay.” You said. The way Aizawa positioned himself didn’t make it exactly ‘easy’ to come through the door. As you walked inside your body brushed up against his, as he didn’t make much of a fuss over it. He was enjoying it. This man was driving you insane.

You slid off your shoes at the door and made your way down to the bathroom. Locking the door behind you and turned on the faucet letting the water run for a bit. You stared at yourself momentarily in the mirror, trying to calm yourself down. Such a brief interaction between the two of you made you get wet like a damn waterfall. The racing thoughts and fantasies filled your brain with such intense lust for him. You cleared your throat and began to wash your hands.

While you were in the bathroom, Aizawa handed Eri off to Hizashi for him to drop her off at her sleepover. Aizawa pulled out a nice tablecloth and placed it over the dining table. He pulled out his fine china and cutlery, placing it on the dining room table. He pulled out a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He had a set of flowers in a vase for the centerpiece, before dimming down the lights. It wasn’t much for a last-minute dinner, but he was also afraid overdoing it would scare you off. His heart was beating tremendously while he placed the food on the plate. “Dammit call down.” He reprimanded himself silently.

After washing up in the bathroom, you joined Aizawa at the table in the dining room. Your heart raced as the somewhat romantic ambiance created. There was no sight of Eri, it was like she disappeared without a trace, the house was nice and silent. “Where’s Eri?” You asked him politely, as you sat down at your seat. Aizawa looked at the food and back at you. “A friend of mine came to pick her up and take her to a sleepover. She’s in good hands.” He said in the same smooth voice. “Besides Y/N, this dinner is me apologizing to you earlier. Eri has nothing to do between me and you.” He said as a small smirk appeared on his face.

There was no denying it now. You wanted this man to fuck you as you’ve never been fucked before. You cleared your throat and sat up straighter in your chair. “I see. Well with that out the way, let’s eat.” You stated elated with the atmosphere being created.

You indulged in a great and flavorful dinner, Aizawa had prepared for the two of you. His pot roast certainly made you fall for the man more, as he cooked like none other. “This is good. Especially after a long day at the gym. I think this might put me to sleep after I’m done.” You spoke jokingly. Aizawa grinned, as you enjoyed the meal. He sighed at the mention of sleep. “Sleep, I haven't gotten much of it.” He spoke in a bit of a hushed fashion as his eyes downcasted onto the plate of food in front of him. You glimpsed up at the man and slanted your head slightly at him. The bags he had were highly conspicuous as he looked like he did have a formidable time resting. “I can understand why, I mean you work and you have a very lively little girl, I’m sure sleeping is a bit difficult on your end.” You expressed. He chortled a bit and nodded His jovial expression seemed to calm some of your worries a bit.

Aizawa's eyes peered over to your outfit. Even though it wasn’t much the way your body looked, make him think of all the ways he wanted to break you. He felt a tinge in the lower region of his body. He figured it was time the two of you were on the same page. “Sleeping isn’t the only thing hard to come by.” He expressed playfully making his stare on your body more apparent. Your thighs squeezed together after hearing his rather suggestive comment. “Is that so?” You questioned in the same impish tone. He peeked up and bobbed his head. “Yes, it is. I haven’t had the best of luck with women these days, because of my busy schedule.” He told before leaning up on the table, resting his head in the palm of his hand. A slight grin swept your face captivated by this conversation it felt like your lewd fictions may become a reality. “Oh, I see. Is there anything I can do to help? You’ve treated me to such a great meal, it would be rude of me not to.” You said with a small smirk. Aizawa a devishly grin replaced his usual nonchalant expression. “Perhaps... What do you think will help me Y/N?” He taunted you, making your panties soak. A disbelief waved over you wanting to know how far the two of you would go, but you weren’t going to back down from this playful banter. “How about a massage?” Your voice oozed sultry, it made Aizawa feel another tinge of excitement in his gray sweats. “I would appreciate that very much, a shoulder massage would be much needed for those back squats from earlier.” He muttered and watched as you stood from the table and walked behind him placing your hands on his shoulders. You slowly massaged them. Your hands moved with precision and skill, effortlessly gliding over his broad thick shoulders. Aizawa let out a soft moan feeling the tension from his intense workout from earlier being at ease. The sound of his moans was like music to your ears, as your fingers knead their way along his shoulder blade, getting rid of the knots and tightness. Aizawa closes his eyes tossing his head back, feeling your nibble fingers for their magic.

“Do you like that?” You asked in a sensual tone.

Aizawa was aroused by your question, his soft pink lips parted before he spoke. “Very much.” He whispered seductively.

His answer satisfied you, working the knots in his shoulders. Aizawa didn’t shy away from moaning, making sure you heard every single one. “Fff-fuck.” He gasped and sighed heavily. You squeezed your thighs together sliding them together, yearning for some friction for your greedy clit. Your hands slide down to his back and up his shirt, feeling his larger back muscles. Your cold fingers on Aizawa’s bare skin almost sent him over the edge. Things he only dreamt of were being played right in front of him.

“How about we take this upstairs..” He whispered.

Those words sent a shiver down your spine, as you grew wetter by the second. “Alright then.” You replied, taking his hand. He helped you out of your seat He got up out of his seat leading you, up the stairs to his bedroom. You went to sit on the edge of the bed as Aizawa closed the door behind him. His hand slipped underneath his shirt, rubbing his abs as he approached you. He stood in front of you with the same mischievous grin. Your heart was about to burst out of your chest as you were thirsting for him. You made it obvious too, looking at the print in his gray sweats and biting on the corner of your lower lip. Aizawa removed his hand from underneath his shirt and made himself on the bed. His eyes cut over to you swiftly, an assertive persona seeping from him as he motions for you to sit on his lap. You crawled over and sat in his lap facing towards him. Your legs wrapped around his waist tightly, pressing your chest up on him.

“Take off my shirt and massage my back.” He spoke, peering with a lecherous gaze.

“Aren’t we needy?” You teased, as you took off his shirt, he chuckled. You were just as bad as he was. The moment you took off his shirt, your eyes darted to his well-defined physique. His chiseled chest and sculpted shoulders had you wanting to lick all over it. His torso was a true testament to the hard work he put in at the gym, he purposely flexed his muscles showing off his impressive size and definition. You traced subtle veins in his arms and chest making him tingle a bit. Aizawa leaned up to kiss your neck, which made you moan instantly. “Fuck.” You whispered, enthralled by the sensation. His lips lifted off your rich brown skin and to your ear. “My massage, princess.” He spoke in a hushed tone. The potent mixture of desire filled every inch of your body, and hearing him calling you ‘princess’ made you hot and bothered. Your hands are placed on his back, rubbing it slowly, those soft hands make Aizawa grunt pleasurably, nestling his head into your shoulder. His dick was rock hard as you continued to massage the knots in his back. His silent curses made your pussy weak for him, and your hips started to buck against his crotch. Aizawa reached and grabbed your hips, stopping you. You were appalled by him stopping you when he smirked at you.

“You’re going to have to earn this dick.” He spoke in a rather serious tone flipping the two of you, so he was on top of you on the bed. He was more assertive and dominant over your body. He hovered his face closer over to yours, his lips brushed against yours.

“I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before.” He whispered, staring you dead in the eye. You felt your pussy quaking, yearning for him more than ever. A smirk came across your lips, as your hands tugged at his torso. “So fuck me then.” You replied boldly, riling up the man in front of you even more. “I can’t wait to break you.” He declared hungrily. You wasted no time, touching all over his chest.

Your hands glided over his hardened nipples, which made him shiver a bit. Aizawa was amused by your fascination with his chest, but he wanted to touch you in the same way.. just as badly.

“Strip down for me princess.” He retorted hastily, taking one of your hands and kissing the back of it. A grin sweeper over your face and you did as asked of you. “Anything for you.” You spoke, before winking. You stripped off your clothes, revealing your sexy body to him. He was in awe and his mind raced with all the possibilities he could to you. Aizawa placed his hand on your chin and pulled you in for a sloppy kiss. His tongue entered your mouth exploring your cavern and swirled around with yours. He stuck his tongue deeper down your throat, making you gag a bit. He wasn’t letting for an inch, you could tell he hadn’t fucked in a while, it was beginning to show how hungry he truly was. He broke the kiss as the two of you were heavily panting. Your mind was only focused on him, as he rubbed his big hands all over your body. You were curious to know how long it’s been since he last touched anyone, so you ask. “How long has it been.. since you last did this?” Aizawa smirked and got up from the top of you. “Too long.” He replied quite bluntly, and spread your thighs apart wide. A squeal escaped your lips from working out earlier that day. Despite your whimpers, he stretched out your thighs wider.

“Now then princess, play with that pretty pussy of yours.” He commanded. His words made your whole body hot. You didn’t object to it, your fingers dove right to that soaking cunt of yours. You moaned obsessively, giving him a suitable show. Your thighs spread wider, the more your fingers moved vigorously in and out that greedy pussy of yours. “Ngh.. Ahhh.” You called out as walls clenched around your sticky fingers. Your juices spilled onto the bed as you did, and Aizawa enjoyed every moment. His dick grew so hard it was almost about to burst out of his gray sweats. “Fuck, just like that princess.” He encouraged, watching intensely as you played with that sloppy cunt of yours. “You like that baby?” You moaned, as your eyes were staring into his. Aizawa nodded, biting his lower lip. “Of course, I am a princess. Fuck yourself harder for me.” He spoke flirtatiously. His voice was so fucking hot to you. Something about his low and silvery tone made your finger pump in and out your sobbing cunt faster. You were about to cum off over the sheets the way you were whimpering. “Shh-shit!” You moaned, and Aizawa came closer.

He pulled you by the hips to the edge of the bed and smiled. He kneeled on the floor and positioned his head in between your legs. “Let me handle this princess.” He said calmly, and you removed your hands.

He stuck his tongue out and began to lap his tongue in your wet folds. You shivered and moaned out loudly. “D-dammit.” You whimpered, as your hand took a fistful of his hair. He was pleased about your reactions and slurped up every drop you had to offer him. He was enthralled with your wet cunt, and started to vigorously eat you out relentlessly, whirling his tongue around your poor clit.

“F-fuck.. baby..ohhh!” You moaned and gripped his hair tighter. Your legs were shaking so badly, you didn’t know how much you could take. “Almost there, princess.” He purred before he dribbled his tongue over your glistening folds, before shoving his index and ring finger up your greedy hole. He was pumping his fingers in and out of you at an alarming rate aiming right towards your g spot. Your stomach was in knots, as you started to buck your hips against him. “I’m going to cum, I’m... shit... I’m so close, baby.” You said as your words we’re starting to slur a little. Aizawa ignored your whiny moans and continued to eat his favorite meal of the night. The sounds of your squelching pussy made him lap over your clit furiously.

It didn’t take long for you to throw your head back, as you bucked your hips faster, your climax was approaching. Your hands gripped his hair tighter, and you came all over his face, gasping. Aizawa slurped up every drop of your sweet release and lifted his head. He saw the fucked out look on your face and licked his fingers, slurping off your sweet release. “Princess, don't tell me you're worn out already. We have got the whole night ahead of us.” He teased and stood up. You watched tiredly, as slipped off his sweats and boxers. His dick oozed with precum, as he tapped it against your throbbing cunt. You gulped as little as he expected to take every inch of his long, hard dick. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll manage.” You spoke, and he smirked. “Good, now then princess. Turn around and ass up.” He spoke sternly.

You were starting to get all giddy from his words again and did what was told. You tooted your ass up sky-high for him, and he positioned himself behind you.

The tip of his cock teased your glistening hole making the two of you moan. The euphoria of it all had Aizawa weak as he continued to rub his giant head against you while your lower body was in intense agony. “Put it Shota.” You begged to get fuck. Aizawa ignored your pleas and continued to rub the head of his sticky cock around your glorious hole, teasing the both of you. After a while, he gave in and grunted entering your walls, and slapped your ass. The tip of his dick kissed your cervix, staying dormant until your walls adjusted around the throbbing dick. You let out a loud moan, gripping the sheets. “Shit, princess, you feel amazing.” He groaned, his big hands gripped your ass. “F-fuck.” Aizawa moaned, your walls were clenched desperately on his dick. He smacked your left-ass cheek, he wanted to break you some more.

“Who does this pussy belong to?” He spoke in a low hushed tone in your ear.

“Y-you.” You whimpered while your legs were about to buckle.

“Say it again.” He commanded.

“I-it belongs to you!” You whimpered more.

“Mmm, that's right.” He sounded giving that beautiful ass another powerful slap.

“Oh fuck..!” You moaned.

He wasted no time and rutted into your squelching pussy, slapping your ass repeatedly. Your hands gripped the sheets tighter, taking on his girthy cock. “Ooohhh babyy..” You whimpered while getting drilled in by a madman. He was going to fuck you so hard until you saw stars. He went harder and deeper with every time your pussy connected to his balls, the dopamine of hearing the clapping noise sent him over the edge.

“Tell me how much you love it, princess.” He groaned, spanking your ass again.

“I love it!” You screeched, feeling your body grow weaker every second. The lewd slapping of your and Aizawa's skin together filled up the walls of his bedroom. He was plunging deep inside your wet wall, feeling like he was rearranging your guts. He grunted again, giving your ass another slap. “Tell me how much you love this fat dick. I’m gonna fuck you so good, you’ll sleep like a baby.” He murmured and slapped your ass again. “I love it so m-much.” You moaned.

Aizawa drilled into your pussy relentlessly, as your juices coated his thick dick, slamming into your g spot. He was getting close to seeing what a sloppy mess the two of you were becoming. He couldn’t help but want to tease you. He pulled out, edging his tip near your entrance. You were completely weak and craving for him to finish. “P-please. I need it. Give it back.” You moaned. Aizawa smirked. “Louder princess.” He urged you, before giving your ass another loud slap. You yelped a bit and moaned profusely. “Fuck me!” You shouted, and it was at those words he shoved his hard dick back inside your sloppy cunt, your tits bouncing uncontrollably. He fucking you so good your eyes begin to roll back, your toes started to curl. “Ohhh, fuck yes.” You purred.

Aizawa was deep inside your tight pussy, grunting with each passing stroke. “Fuck.. I’m close..” He snarled, reaching his hands onto your shoulder. You could barely take it, your knees were beginning to go weak. “Don’t you dare.” Aizawa muttered as he saw your body shaking about to tip over. You were about to object until he thrust into you roughly. “Dammit!” You shouted as we were approaching your end. Your walls clamped down tightly on Aizawa’s dick, as you came all on. The warmth of your cum running down his shaft, makes Aizawa curse silently before stuffing you full of his cum. “S-shit.” He said silently and watched as you collapsed onto the bed. Your body was spiraling, and Aizawa lay beside you with a smirk on his face.

He yawned, feeling tired enough to get some rest. He cradled you into his arms and kissed the side of your neck. “I’m going to love this princess.” He whispered sweetly in your ear. Your body began to relax, as you laid in his arms. “Me too.” You said softly.

His soft hands rubbed against your sore clit, making you squirm. He smirked. “I said we had all night darling..come sit on my face, Princess.”

END!

#aizawa x reader #aizawa shouta #x black fem reader #x black reader #smut #mha smut #fanfic #aizawa x black!reader #x black!fem!reader #female reader #tw sex mention #anime smut #aizawa x y/n #aizawa x you #aizawa smut #x reader

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oizysian · 1 year ago

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Use Me, I’m Yours | Wanda Maximoff

Pairing: Stalker!Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader Warnings: dubcon, slight noncon, knife play, very crazy Wanda, slightly crazy Y/N Word Count: 3.1k Genre: smut Summary: Wanda finally finds you and makes you hers.

• Kinktober Masterlist •

Wanda’s POV

She’s perfect.

From the first moment I laid my eyes on her, I knew she was the one. It’s been months since then, and I’ve been waiting patiently for the right moment to call her mine.

Y/N. Y/N is her name.

“H-how do you know my name?”

My little flower. My precious dove. My innocent little bunny.

I know all that I need to know, and soon all you’ll know is me.

Her eyes flutter open and she looks around as if her environment has changed somehow. No, love, it’s still your quaint, little apartment in Queens. I haven’t moved anything an inch since I came in, waiting excitedly for you.

She panics, she can’t move her hands or legs and I smile. She’s so cute when she struggles against the pretty, yet intricate knots I learned how to do just for her. They’re tied into little bunny ears for my little bunny.

“H-hello? What the fuck,” she grumbles, pulling on her restraints. “What’s going on?” She calls out into the darkness of the room.

I wait a moment longer, taking in the sight before me. Her skirt is bunched up around her hips now from her movements, her cute pink panties clearly visible from where I was lurking. Her wrists are becoming red from the ropes and her long socks protect her ankles from the same fate.

“Who’s there?!” She calls out and I realize I need to shut her up before her neighbors hear her.

I emerge from the darkness, the moonlight from the window illuminating my face; dark makeup, emerald eyes, red lips. She’s silent as she takes me in, her own eyes trailing over my face and upper body once I reveal myself.

“Who are you?” She whispers, her lower lip trembling with fear.

“Wanda.” I gestured to myself with the jagged knife I was holding. “Y/N.” I pointed at her and she flinched.

“H-how do you know my name?”

“I know all about you. You were made for me.”

“What?” Her voice is small and quiet.

“You belong to me, Y/N. And I belong to you.”

“No … I don’t even know you!”

“But, I know you.” I took a step closer to her, closing the window so all light in the room was gone.

I could hear her panting, grunting as she tried to free herself in the darkness. I flicked on the light and she squinted at the brightness. How cute was she?

“You go to the little coffee shop down the street every morning. You give them your name; Y/N. Some mornings, if you’re early, you’ll get a bagel with bacon, egg and cheese on it. Most days you’re late and you just get your frappe.”

“What the fuck!” She yelled, not even letting me finish her routine. I knew all of it.

“That’s very rude of you, bunny.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she tried to escape. But, she could never escape my love.

I walked up to her, pulling a pair of her panties that I had stolen from her dresser out of my back pocket and stuffing it in her mouth.

“Now keep that there,” I brought the blade up to her neck and she cried softly, pleading to me with those big, beautiful eyes. “Or I’ll use this.”

She nodded and I leaned into her, pressing my lips to her forehead and then taking a step back to admire her. She was trembling, her tears flowing silently as she kept her own panties in her mouth, keeping her quiet. I knew she would be an obedient little pup.

I got on my knees in front of her and her eyes never left mine as I took the knife and dragged it carefully along her thigh. She cried out, shaking her head as I ran it along the hem of her panties, letting it trail between her legs, the tip pressing into her clit.

I could hear her begging and pleading, but for what, I didn’t know. My eyes never left hers as I gently rubbed the knife against her, bringing it up and down along her slit carefully. I finally looked down and noticed a slight wet spot on her panties.

I returned my gaze to hers and realized her cheeks were bright red, and she wasn’t struggling anymore. My good girl.

“You like me playing with you, don’t you detka?”

She let out a whimper and shook her head.

“I don’t like liars, Y/N.” I pressed the knife into her cunt ever so slightly and she panicked, trying to back away and nodding.

“Yeah? You like it?”

She nodded, choking back sobs as I brought the knife up and pulled her panties up with my free hand, slicing the garment without any struggle at all.

I tugged at the destroyed piece of cloth and it fell from the chair she was tied to, hitting the floor and leaving her open to me.

I tilted my head as I admired her glistening wetness. She attempted to close her legs, but I tied her to the chair tight enough to keep her still, but not cut off her circulation.

“My beautiful malyshka. Look at how wet you are for me.”

I flipped the knife around, carefully handling the blade as I let the handle stroke her clit. She let out a breathy moan, still crying, as I pressed it into her, applying gentle pressure to her sensitive bud.

“Please,” she cried, muffled by the panties. “Please.”

“Please, what? Use those big girl words that I know you know.”

She let the panties fall from her lips and she panted softly before finally speaking to me.

“Please … don’t hurt me.” Her voice was small and broken and I smiled up at her.

“Have I hurt you?” She shook her head. “So, what makes you think I’ll hurt you now?”

Her eyes fell to the knife between her legs and I followed them down, my own eyes landing on the knife as well.

“This?” I pressed it against her clit and she hissed. “It’s just one of my little toys. I have many.”

I brought the knife hilt up to my lips and sucked on it, cleaning her slick from the handle. She watched me, wide eyed, as I placed the knife down next to me, and returned my attention to her pussy.

“This is mine.” I said as I brought myself between her legs, kissing her inner thighs, causing her to jerk in surprise. “Relax,” I cooed, bringing my hands up and stroking her thighs. “I’ll take good care of you.”

I pressed my lips to her clit, giving it a kiss before licking a strip up her slit. She let out a breathy moan, wriggling slightly in her binds as I tasted her straight from the source. I was addicted to her.

I dipped my tongue into her heat, fucking her slowly, my nails digging into her thighs as I explored her pulsing cunt. She was wetter than I expected her to be, and tasted even better than I imagined.

“Oh,” she moaned softly, her legs trembling under my hands. “Please … stop.”

I hummed my negative answer, telling her I wouldn’t be stopping any time soon, and continuing to eat her out with a hungry fervor.

She writhed, her nails digging into the arm of the chair as she tried to fight me off. She couldn’t get away from me, and from the sounds she made, she really didn’t want to escape.

“Please,” she cried, her hips bucking ever so slightly upwards towards my mouth as I licked and sucked at her. “Please …”

I slipped my tongue inside her, feeling her pulse and throb around me - I knew she was close. I swirled my tongue around her aching clit, flicking it teasingly.

She moaned, her breath getting caught in her throat as she finally let go and came. Her legs trembled and she threw her head back, crying out as pleasure washed over her, whether she wanted it to or not.

I lifted my head up to look at her in the throes of passion, falling even deeper in love with her as I watched her come down from her high. I licked my lips greedily, not wanting a drop of her to go to waste.

“You taste so good, bunny.”

She let out a sob, her whole body trembling as she realized what had just happened. She came for me even though she was terrified, even though she was fighting not to. My love for her was strong enough to overcome all odds.

“Bunny,” I whispered against her thigh, rubbing my cheek along the soft skin there. “You’re my bunny, aren’t you? Say it.”

“No.” She cried, her chest heaving as she looked down at me.

“Say. It.”

I picked up the knife and pressed it against her inner thigh. Her breath hitched as she watched me, fear and arousal flooding her senses.

“I’m your bunny.” She whispered and I smiled.

“That’s right. You’re my innocent, little bunny.”

I stood, knife still in hand, and leaned towards her, pressing the knife flat against her chest.

“Now,” I said as I let the jagged edge of the knife get caught in her shirt. “Let’s get this off.”

She flinched as I pulled on the knife, ripping a hole in her cute little t-shirt. I took my time tearing up her clothing, leaving her in just her bra and skirt. She looked so fucking hot.

She had left a nice stain on the wooden chair she was tied to, and surely her wrists would be bruised after all of this, but it would be worth it to show and prove my love to her.

I dragged the knife along her throat, down her collarbone to the slight dip between her breasts. She watched me, her eyes fearfully never leaving the knife as I toyed with her. The knife found its way to her left breast, teasingly stroking her nipple through the fabric of her bra. She hissed as her body reacted, her nipple hardening under the touch of my blade.

“Your body was made for me.” I brought the knife down to the edge of her bra cup and carefully cut it open, her breast spilling out, on display for me. “Look at how it reacts to me. Your nipples are hard, you’re absolutely soaked,” I took a deep breath and straddled her, my legs on either side of hers. “You’re mine.”

She stared at me defiantly, ignoring the fact that she was currently at a disadvantage. I held the power and I wasn’t afraid to use it to prove my love to her.

I grabbed her face with my free hand and pressed my lips to hers, forcing my tongue into her mouth so I could explore every inch of her. She whined, but gave into me, opening her mouth and letting me do as I pleased to her. Of course she obeyed me, she was perfect and, naturally, obedient. She was made to be mine.

I let the knife glide along her skin carefully, leaving a faint, red trail in its wake.

“Oops,” I whispered against her lips, looking down at her breast. “I made a mess.”

I brought my head down and licked the thin line of blood that beaded up on her skin, kissing the minor wound I had inflicted on her.

“I promised not to hurt you.” I spoke against her skin, still peppering tiny kisses along the superficial cut. “But, that didn’t hurt, did it?”

I looked up at her and she shook her head, her tears nearly ceasing as she watched me. I got up off of her lap and got on my knees in front of her again, eagerly taking her nipple in my mouth and biting it gently, causing her to cry out and moan at the pleasure. I sucked on her hungrily, licking and nipping any skin I could get into my mouth.

Her body jerked up towards me with desire, the need for me to touch her as I continued to assault her sensitive breast. I would give her my gift soon enough.

I released her breast with a soft pop and looked up at her, her eyes dark with desire, her lips slightly parted as she panted softly.

“I’ve got something for you, my love.”

I stood from where I had been kneeling in front of her and grabbed at the slight bulge in my pants. Her eyes widened at the implication and she looked from my hand to my face. I could only smile back at her as I undid my pants, pushing them down my legs as the pink strap sprung forth, ready for her waiting cunt.

“It's finally time to consummate our love. You’re already soaked, I know you’re ready for me.”

I bent down and sliced through the knots that kept her ankles tied to the chair, finally allowing her freedom. I knew she wouldn’t run. We were made for each other.

I carefully released her hands from their binds and she quickly brought them close to her chest, rubbing the sore spots on her wrists.

“Now don’t do anything stupid,” I pointed the knife at her. “Or I’ll have to tie you up again.”

She nodded and satisfied, I brought the knife down to my side and led her over to the bed, laying her down and getting on top of her.

“I’ll be so gentle with you, bunny.” I whispered against her trembling lips. “I’ll fuck you so gentle.”

I lied. How could I be gentle when the woman of my fantasies was lying underneath me? No, she would get all of my love, all of my passion.

She let out a strangled sob as I pressed myself into her heat, her hands coming up to my shoulders to push me away. I grabbed her hands in one of mine and pushed them into the mattress, not wanting her to ruin our special moment together.

I placed the knife down beside her head so I could adjust my cock, slipping it inside of her with no resistance at all. She moaned lowly, throwing her head back as I began moving inside her. She wrapped her legs around me as I pounded into her, grabbing the knife once again. I knew she would give into my love eventually.

I gripped the knife tighter and brought it up to her throat, pressing it gently into her.

“You like this, don’t you, bunny? You like being held down and fucked like the whore you are.”

She cried, but nodded ever so slightly, swallowing roughly as she felt the blade against her skin.

“I know, sweet thing. I know exactly what you need.”

I pounded into her, her cries turning into guttural moans as I fucked her into complete submission. I could feel myself getting close, just the act of fucking her getting me off, but I didn’t want to cum first - I wanted us to come together.

I let go of her hands and she kept them above her head, staying still and submissive for me while I brought my hand down between our bodies and played with her cute, little pussy, rubbing fast circles along her clit. She cried out when she felt my fingers against her sensitive bud, and the sounds she made only drove me further to get her to cum.

I took the knife from her neck and placed it on the bed next to us, then grabbed her face and kissed her.

My love was true and pure.

She moaned into my mouth as pleasure overtook her and I picked up speed at the sound, swallowing her moans as I came right along with her. This was everything I wanted and so much more.

I laid down on top of her, peppering her face with tiny kisses as she escaped the throes of ecstacy.

“W-Wanda ...” She whispered.

“Yes, my love?” I responded softly, bringing my hand up to stroke her hair out of her face.

“Why?”

“Hm?” I questioned back, confused.

“Why me?”

“God chose you for me, bunny. That’s all there is to it.”

“God?”

“Mhm.” I kissed her neck, my hips moving against hers slowly. “God wanted me to take you like this. To make you mine.”

She gasped softly, her hands gripping at my shoulders as I began fucking her again, this time, painfully slow. I wanted her to want this, want me. I wanted her to beg for it.

“Unh, W-Wanda,” she grunted, pulling me close to her as I touched the deepest part of her. “I …”

“What, bunny?” I whispered against her lips, kissing her once again. “Tell me what you need.”

She turned her head from me, her eyes landing on the knife beside us. I followed her gaze, unsure of what she was thinking. She let go of me and slowly grabbed the knife. My hand met hers, both of us holding onto the blade, but neither of us made a move to use it.

“Do you want to hurt me?” I whispered softly and she shook her head. “What do you want?”

Without warning, I flipped us over, letting her sit on top of me, knife still in hand, now hovering over me. She moaned as she pressed herself down into me, fucking herself on my cock. I watched in awe of her as she pleasured herself, bringing the knife down to my throat and running it along my collarbone.

“Use me, I’m yours.”

I let go of the knife and let my hands fall beside my head, letting her take complete control of me. This was love.

Her free hand went between us and she played with her clit as she let the knife trail across my chest. I could feel the tip digging into me through my shirt and realized she was getting off from it.

“Bunny,” I whined softly, my own clit aching and begging for attention. “Fuck me.”

“Want me to fuck you with this?” she whispered against my lips, bringing the knife back up to my throat and pressing it against me. “Use you like you used me?”

“Please,” I choked out, my heart pounding out of my chest. “I love you.”

She bit her lip and rolled her hips, sighing softly as she neared release once more, this time holding all the power.

“Fuck,” she moaned, bouncing on my cock as she rubbed her clit. “Wan- Wanda!”

She came saying my name! I watched her as she writhed above me, the knife falling slack in her hand as she rode out her orgasm. I took it from her and smiled, proud of her and so, so happy.

She laid down on top of me and brought her sticky fingers to my mouth, which I gladly took and sucked on.

“I want you to carve your name into my body.” She whispered softly and I released her fingers, smiling excitedly at the idea.

This was love.

And maybe, just maybe, she was somehow just as crazy as I was.

•

@natashaswife4125, @poison-blackheart, @aemilia19, @claxre-bear, @dorabledewdroop

#oizysian’s kinktober #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #emo wanda

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stylesonfilms · 2 months ago

Text

ink & innocence - 9

word count: 5.6k

did somebody say... jealousy?

"Oh my god?!" Isobel practically screamed, her voice echoing through their small apartment as she grabbed Aspen by the shoulders. Her eyes were wide with excitement, and her grip felt like it might leave marks.

"Sh, sh, shhh!" Aspen hissed, flailing her arms in a futile attempt to quiet her best friend. She glanced nervously at the apartment walls, half-expecting the neighbors to bang on them. But Isobel was undeterred. She jumped up and down, shaking Aspen slightly as if that would get the truth out faster.

"He kissed you? You kissed him?" Isobel's voice only grew louder, her excitement bubbling over like a kettle about to burst. Aspen's face burned hotter than the sun, and that all-too-familiar blush crept up her neck, painting her cheeks an unmistakable shade of red.

"Maybe," Aspen squeaked, her voice barely audible over Isobel's giddy outburst. Her hair was now a tousled mess from Isobel's enthusiastic shaking, and she tried to smooth it down with trembling hands. But Isobel was relentless. She leaped onto the sofa, planting herself on her knees, practically invading Aspen's space with her wide, curious eyes.

"What do you mean you guys kissed?!" Isobel demanded, her hands gripping the pillow in her lap so tightly that Aspen thought it might explode.

To be fair, Aspen had come home chirpier than usual. Normally, her movie nights with Isobel were quiet affairs, filled with comfort and silence, but this time... Aspen couldn't help herself. With a pillow hugged to her chest and a bowl of spaghetti perched in her lap, she had let it slip.

"By the way, we kissed."

That was all she'd said— quiet, nonchalant, like it was no big deal. But of course, Isobel took it as the biggest deal in the world. Aspen's shy delivery had only fueled her friend's insatiable curiosity.

Now, Isobel was a whirlwind of questions. "Did he do it first? Or did you? No... not you. It was definitely him. Right? Was it good? Was it a peck or a kiss? Or a kiss kiss? Or, oh my god— did you make out with him? How many times? When did this start? Is he a good kisser? Did he say you were a good kisser? Oh my god, does Zayn know? I have to tell Zay—."

"Isobel!" Aspen huffed, finally setting her bowl of spaghetti down on the coffee table with a clatter. "It isn't a big deal. It's just a kiss. You do it all the time!" She crossed her arms and looked away, hoping to deflect the onslaught of questions. But Isobel wasn't buying it. Not for a second.

Isobel scoffed, sitting back on her heels but still maintaining that intense, penetrating gaze. "Just a kiss?!" she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. "Asp, it's not just a kiss. It's your first kiss. And it wasn't just with anyone— it was with Harry!"

Aspen's blush deepened, if that were even possible. She could feel Isobel's excitement radiating off her like heat from a fire, and it made her want to curl up and disappear into the couch. "So?" she muttered, her voice quiet and defensive. "It's not a big deal."

"So?!" Isobel practically shrieked. She flopped dramatically onto the couch beside Aspen, throwing her arms in the air like Aspen had just said the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard. "Aspen, it's Harry. Tall, brooding, tattooed, probably-can-bench-press-a-car Harry! And you kissed him. No— he kissed you. Do you know what that means?"

"It means I'm going to regret telling you this for the rest of my life," Aspen mumbled, hiding her face behind her hands. She could hear Isobel laughing, a bright and joyful sound that somehow made Aspen's embarrassment worse.

"It means," Isobel continued, ignoring her friend's protest, "that he likes you. Like, actually likes you. And you kissed him back, which means you like him."

Aspen peeked out from between her fingers, her eyes narrowing. "I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to," Isobel said smugly, her grin as wide as the Cheshire Cat's. "Your face says it all."

Aspen groaned, sinking further into the couch. "I hate you."

"No, you don't," Isobel said cheerfully. She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it to her chest, her excitement far from fading. "So, c'mon. Tell me everything. How did it happen? Where did it happen? And don't leave out any details."

Aspen hesitated, her mind flashing back to Harry's office, to the way his hands felt on her hips, the way his lips felt against hers, the way he'd looked at her like she was the only person in the room. Her heart fluttered at the memory, and she knew there was no way she could hide the truth from Isobel—not completely, anyway.

"Fine," she muttered, barely audible. "But if you tell anyone, I'll never forgive you."

"Cross my heart," Isobel said, making an exaggerated motion across her chest. "Now spill."

And so, reluctantly, Aspen began to recount the events of the day, her voice quiet and her cheeks red, while Isobel hung on her every word like it was the juiciest gossip she'd ever heard.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Harry blinked, caught off guard by Zayn's question. "What the hell are you talking about?" he muttered, sitting up straighter in the chair. His ring clad fingers gripped the arm rest. His tone was sharp, defensive, but Zayn didn't flinch. If anything, his smirk grew wider.

"I'm serious, man. You've got something shiny on your lips." Zayn gestured toward Harry's mouth, leaning against the reception counter like he was about to deliver a stand-up routine. "Either you're experimenting with a new look, or..." His eyebrows waggled suggestively. "You've been busy."

Harry wiped at his lips with the back of his hand, his jaw tightening when he saw a faint sheen of Aspen's lip gloss on his knuckles. Damn it.

Zayn caught the motion and laughed. "Oh, this is rich." He pushed off the counter and folded his arms, his grin downright mischievous now. "You kissed her, didn't you?"

Harry's green eyes narrowed, his usual scowl deepening. "Mind your business."

"Oh, come on, mate. It's me. You know I'm not gonna drop this." Zayn circled around to the other side of the counter, pulling up a stool and sitting down across from Harry like they were about to have a serious heart-to-heart. "You've been acting weird for weeks. All quiet and broody—more than usual. And now Aspen's coming in here looking all starry-eyed, and you've got lip gloss on your face. You're not exactly subtle."

Harry groaned, leaning back in the chair and dragging a hand down his face. He knew Zayn wouldn't let it go—his best friend was as stubborn as they came. "You're imagining things."

"Right. And Niall doesn't inhale tacos like it's an Olympic sport." Zayn crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed with Harry's deflection. "Just admit it, man. You kissed her."

Harry's jaw ticked, his patience wearing thin. "I'm not having this conversation with you."

"Why not? You can tattoo a flaming skull on some bloke's back, but you can't talk about kissing a girl?" Zayn teased, his grin never faltering. "I'm just trying to help, you know. It's not every day you start acting like a lovesick teenager."

"I'm not—." Harry stopped himself, his voice rising before he could catch it. He let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his messy curls. "You're so bloody annoying, you know that?"

"Yup." Zayn leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. "Now spill. Did you kiss her, or what?"

Harry glared at him, his fists clenching on the armrests of the chair. He could feel the words bubbling up, his irritation reaching a boiling point. Finally, he snapped. "Fine. Yeah, I kissed her. Happy now?"

Zayn's eyes widened slightly, but his grin only grew. "Knew it!" He pointed at Harry like he'd just won a bet. "So, how was it? Was it all shy and sweet, like I imagine, or did she surprise you? She doesn't seem like the type to—."

"Zayn," Harry interrupted, his voice low and threatening. "Don't."

"Alright, alright." Zayn held up his hands in mock surrender, though his expression was still smug. "I won't pry. But seriously, man... Aspen? Never thought I'd see the day."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry snapped, his glare sharpening.

"Nothing bad, mate. Just... she's different. Sweet. Quiet. Not the kind of girl you usually go for." Zayn tilted his head, studying Harry carefully. "But maybe that's a good thing."

Sweet. She was sweet, and she tasted it, too.

Harry didn't respond, his gaze drifting to the glass door Aspen had walked through just minutes ago. He hated how much he already missed her, how much he wanted to chase after her and keep talking, keep touching.

Zayn's voice pulled him back. "So, what's the plan?"

"There is no plan," Harry muttered, his tone clipped.

"Really? 'Cause from where I'm standing, it looks like you've got it bad." Zayn's smirk softened into something more genuine. "Don't screw it up, man. She's a good one."

Harry didn't reply, but his silence spoke volumes. Zayn clapped him on the shoulder before hopping off the stool and heading to the back of the shop, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

He sat there for a moment, staring at the door, before finally pulling out his sketchbook. His hand moved almost instinctively, pencil scratching against the paper as Aspen's face began to take shape. The pencil etched little words and phrases around the sketch of Aspen from their ride back home, sitting on the bench with her full attention being sucked between the pages of her book. Suddenly, his phone chimed.

Zayn: Shared a contact: Aspen.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Tuesday afternoon rolled around pretty quick. It flashed by with ease, although Isobel was constantly nagging into Aspens ear about Harry. Today, she had plans to meet up with a classmate to go over a new class schedule for the following semester. He was a year older and in the same major as her, so she figured the information he could provide would be helpful. The girl felt her phone buzz in her back pocket, and she was confused to see a text from an unknown number.

4159559305: Hey.

Another buzz.

4159559305: It's Harry, by the way.

A smile crept up onto her lips. Of course, she mumbled to herself while her fingers went to edit his contact after typing out a quick reply.

Aspen: hi ! how'd you get my number lol?

Harry ⭐: Zayn. Do you have a second?

Aspen: yea! whats up?

The girl set her open phone on her dresser as she clasped her bracelet around her wrist, shaking it around before his text came through.

Harry ⭐: I was thinking we could hang out sometime. Are you free today?

Aspen bit back the smile creeping up to her face. But then she remembered she had to meet Shawn in half an hour and would likely be out all night due to her shift at the library. Her thumbs scattered after lingering over the keyboard.

Aspen: that sounds nice but im out today :(

She could see that Harry almost instantly read it, but the typing bubble didn't show for a good moment. So she set her phone down again and rummaged through Isobels perfume collection to snag one of hers to dress herself. Buzz. Finally.

Harry ⭐: Oh?

Just one word? Regardless, she didn't let herself think much of it. But as she began to type again, he texted once more.

Harry ⭐: Where you off to?

Aspen: having lunch with a friend! he's helping me out

The text was read immediately, but no response. She clicked her phone shut after a good few seconds and stuffed her feet into her worn Converse to lace them up. She was quick to realize he didn't text back, but she assumed he got busy or distracted with something at the shop. Slinging her tote over her shoulder, she bid goodbye to Isobel.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Harry stared at the text from Aspen on his phone. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard but ultimately, he decided on not responding. What was he to say? He surely wouldn't bid her a good time with him, whoever she was going to see. And help her with what? What could he possibly help her with that Harry wouldn't be able to? His painted nails, chipped now, curled into his fist and dig into the flesh. A huff fell through his nose while he looked up to scan the semi-busy shop. He had a piercing client to do in a couple of minutes but then his shift was over. He originally planned to ask Aspen if she would be interested in doing something, to which he would figure out what to do if she even agreed. But she didn't. She was off to spend time with someone else, another man at that.

Harry couldn't shake the coil of jealousy in his chest. It had him on the edge of his seat, literally. He had scooted from the back of his leather seater to just the edge. At first it was from excitement, and he hadn't realize how far he came up until he fell back in defeat. When he closed his eyes to take a breath to lose the feeling, her text flooded his mind once again. Who was she going to go see? It wasn't just like she was meeting him for help, but to have lunch. Practically a date!

Harry's jaw clenched as he stared at his phone, the text from Aspen glowing in his mind like a taunt. Her words replayed in his head— having lunch with a friend!—and the image of her laughing, talking, or worse, smiling at some other guy sent a sharp pang of jealousy through his chest. He had no right to feel this way, he knew that, but it didn’t stop the green-eyed monster from twisting the knife. His fingers twitched as he unlocked his phone and scrolled down his contacts.

Kirsten.

The name stared back at him like a challenge. He tapped it and started typing.

Harry: You down to hang out tonight?

He hovered for a moment before hitting send. His thumb lingered over the screen, half-expecting to regret it the moment the message delivered. He stared blankly at the client forms on the counter, the thought of Aspen with her so-called "friend" still gnawing at him.

The reply came back almost instantly.

Kirsten: When and where?

Harry leaned back on the worn couch, his boots propped on the edge of the coffee table, as the amber liquid in his glass swirled lazily with each flick of his wrist. Kirsten sat across from him, her long legs crossed and one arm draped casually along the back of the chair. She had poured herself a generous drink and was spinning the glass between her fingers, her smile lingering in that knowing way that always seemed to unsettle him.

“You’re unusually quiet tonight,” Kirsten remarked, her eyes narrowing playfully as she took another sip. “What’s on your mind? Or should I say, who?”

Harry huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “No one,” he muttered, though the lie felt weak even to him. The truth was, Aspen was all he could think about—her shy smile, the way she’d tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous, the sound of her laugh. The memory of her text, of her having lunch with him, lingered like a bad taste in his mouth.

Kirsten tilted her head, studying him with a sly grin. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?” She leaned forward, setting her glass down on the table between them. “Whoever she is, she’s clearly got you all twisted up.”

Harry’s jaw tightened, his grip on his glass firming. “Drop it, Kirsten.”

But Kirsten wasn’t one to let things go, especially when she saw an opportunity to needle him. She slid off the chair and joined him on the couch, her knee brushing against his as she settled in close.

“C’mon, Harry,” she teased, her voice dropping to a softer, more coaxing tone. “It’s me. You can talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, his words clipped, though his resolve was starting to fray. The warmth of the whiskey and the press of her leg against his weren’t helping.

Kirsten laughed, a low, throaty sound, and reached for his glass, plucking it from his hand before he could protest. “Then stop sulking and drink with me.” She took a sip and handed it back, her fingers grazing his as she did.

Harry exhaled sharply, leaning back against the couch. If nothing else, Kirsten was a distraction—a welcome one, maybe, considering how much Aspen had been occupying his thoughts.

The drinks flowed more easily after that. Kirsten kept the conversation light, regaling him with stories of her latest escapades and antics, and Harry found himself relaxing despite himself. He laughed at her jokes, the sound rumbling in his chest, and before long, the tension that had been knotting his shoulders began to unravel.

Somewhere between refilling their glasses and Kirsten poking fun at one of his tattoos, things began to shift. She scooted closer, her arm brushing against his, her laughter softer and more intimate. Harry felt the warmth of her presence, the scent of her perfume mingling with the faint tang of alcohol.

“You know,” she said, her voice low as she traced the edge of the tattoo on his forearm with her fingertip, “I kind of miss this.”

Harry glanced at her, his brows knitting together. “Miss what?”

“This,” Kirsten said, gesturing between them. “Us. Hanging out, drinking, messing around.” She smiled, tilting her head. “You used to let loose more.”

Harry chuckled, though it lacked conviction. “Maybe I’m getting old.”

“Please,” Kirsten scoffed, leaning in so close he could feel her breath against his neck. “You’re still the same Harry. Just... a little more broody.”

He didn’t pull away when her hand rested on his thigh, her touch light but lingering. The whiskey was dulling his edges, making it harder to think clearly. For a moment, he let himself sink into the familiarity of her—the way she smiled at him, the ease with which she filled the space between them.

Kirsten tilted her head, her eyes locking on his. “You okay?” she asked, her voice softer now.

“Yeah,” Harry muttered, though it wasn’t entirely true. His mind flickered to Aspen, unbidden, and he hated himself for it. What was she doing right now? Was she thinking about him at all?

Kirsten’s fingers moved, tracing slow circles on his knee. “Good,” she murmured, her lips curling into a faint smile.

The line between familiarity and something more blurred further when Kirsten leaned in, her hand sliding up to his shoulder. She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, lingering just long enough for Harry to feel the heat of it.

He didn’t stop her. He didn’t encourage her, either, but he didn’t move away. It felt easy, familiar, like falling into an old habit.

Kirsten pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her eyes searching his face. “There’s that smile,” she teased, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of her phone buzzing on the table. She ignored it, reaching instead for her phone’s camera.

“C’mon, let’s document this rare moment of Harry actually having fun,” she teased, leaning into his side as she held up the phone.

“Kirsten, don’t—.” Harry started, but she had already snapped the picture.

Her laughter bubbled up as she looked at the screen. “Relax, it’s a good one,” she said, her thumb moving to post it to her story.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair.

The photo was innocent enough—or at least it seemed that way at first glance. But the way Kirsten was pressed into Harry’s side, her head tilted close to his, her smile confident and flirtatious—it told a different story.

Aspen didn’t see it until halfway through her shift at the library. She had been shelving books when her phone buzzed in her pocket. Curious, she glanced at the notification, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Kirsten’s name.

The picture made her stomach twist. Her fingers tightened around the phone as she stared at the screen, the edges of her vision blurring.

Harry. With Kirsten. Smiling. Close.

Her mind raced. Was this why he hadn’t texted her back? Had she misread everything between them?

Aspen quickly locked her phone and shoved it back into her pocket, but the image burned in her mind. She tried to focus on her work, but the knot in her chest wouldn’t loosen.

Aspen shoved her phone into her pocket, her hands trembling as she clutched the edges of the book cart for support. Her chest felt tight, and no amount of deep breaths seemed to loosen the knot forming there. The picture—the way Kirsten was practically draped against Harry, her confident smile, her hand resting on his chest like she belonged there—kept flashing in her mind.

It wasn’t just the photo itself. It was the timing. The fact that Harry had texted her earlier, asking to hang out, and now he was spending the night with her. Aspen’s cheeks burned, a mix of anger and something else she couldn’t name swirling in her chest.

Why does it bother me this much? she thought, pushing the cart down the aisle with more force than necessary. She nearly knocked over a stack of books, muttering an apology to a nearby patron before retreating deeper into the library.

She leaned against a shelf, her phone burning a hole in her pocket. She tried to focus on the task at hand, but her mind kept drifting back to Harry. The way he’d looked at her when he showed her around the shop, the way his lips had lingered on hers the other night. Had that all meant nothing? Or worse—was she just something to pass the time before Kirsten inevitably came back around?

No, Aspen told herself, shaking her head. Harry didn’t seem like that. He’d been different with her—so much softer than she’d expected. But then, why was he with Kirsten now? Drinking, laughing, letting her post that picture. Aspen pulled her phone out again, her fingers hovering over the screen as she stared at the image.

Her chest tightened further. It wasn’t fair. She hadn’t done anything wrong—she had plans with Shawn, sure, but it wasn’t like she’d rubbed that in Harry’s face. And Shawn was just a friend, someone she genuinely needed help from. But Kirsten? The way she leaned into Harry made it clear there was history there, something Aspen could never compete with.

Aspen couldn’t ignore the ache in her chest any longer. Only a half hour passed but it was too long. She ducked into the break room, pulling out her phone and staring at the picture again. A pang of jealousy shot through her as she noticed the way Harry’s arm rested so casually on the back of the couch, his posture relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen before.

She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever felt that at ease around her. Was he laughing with Kirsten now? Sharing inside jokes and stories Aspen would never be part of?

Her mind raced with questions, each one more painful than the last. And yet, beneath the jealousy, there was something even harder to admit: fear. Fear that she wasn’t enough, that Harry would always choose someone like Kirsten over someone like her.

Aspen clenched her fists, setting her phone on the counter before taking a shaky breath. She wasn’t the type to let jealousy consume her, but this was different. This wasn’t just anyone—this was Harry. And she didn’t know why that mattered so much, but it did.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

Across town, Harry slumped further into the couch, Kirsten’s laughter ringing in his ears like static. He stared at the empty glass in his hand, swirling the remnants of his drink as his thoughts drifted back to the text exchange with Aspen.

Her last message replayed in his mind. Having lunch with a friend. He’s helping me out. Harry’s grip on the glass tightened. His jaw clenched as the jealousy from earlier resurfaced, twisting low in his gut.

Who the hell was he? Harry thought bitterly, picturing some faceless guy sitting across from Aspen, making her smile, stealing her attention. The thought had driven him crazy all afternoon, and the whiskey in his system only magnified it.

That was why he’d texted Kirsten. That was why he’d invited her over, poured them both drinks, and let the night spiral into something reckless. It wasn’t because he wanted Kirsten. It wasn’t even about her. It was about silencing the jealousy, about filling the emptiness Aspen had unknowingly left behind when she turned him down.

But even with Kirsten sitting beside him, her hand resting comfortably on his arm, Harry couldn’t shake the thought of Aspen. Her quiet laughter, the way she’d hesitated before saying goodbye earlier, the way she’d looked at him like he wasn’t the disaster he felt like most days.

“You’re awfully quiet again,” Kirsten said, breaking him out of his thoughts.

Harry blinked, glancing at her. She was smiling, but there was an edge of curiosity behind her eyes.

“Just tired,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair.

Kirsten raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t push. Instead, she reached for her phone, pulling up the picture she’d posted earlier. “This one’s already getting a few comments,” she said with a smirk, tilting the screen toward him.

Harry barely glanced at it before looking away, his stomach twisting. He hated the idea of Aspen seeing it, of her misunderstanding—but then again, wasn’t that what he wanted? For her to feel even a fraction of the jealousy that had been eating at him all day?

Kirsten shifted closer, her knee brushing against Harry’s. He tensed for a moment but didn’t move away. She took another sip of her drink, setting the glass down on the coffee table before leaning toward him.

“You’ve been acting weird all night,” she said, her voice dipping into something softer. Her hand came up to rest lightly on his shoulder, her fingers trailing along the edge of his shirt. “Come on, Harry. Talk to me.”

Harry tilted his head back against the couch, letting out a heavy sigh. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, but even he didn’t believe the words.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.” Kirsten’s voice was low now, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his arm. “You’re all tense. Let me help you relax.”

Harry glanced at her, his expression conflicted. He could see the intent in her eyes, the way her body leaned just a little closer, her hand resting on his arm like an invitation. For a brief moment, he considered it. It would be easy to give in—to let Kirsten distract him, to drown out the thoughts of Aspen that had been plaguing him all day.

Kirsten moved her hand to his chest, her nails grazing lightly against the fabric of his shirt. “You’ve always been so wound up,” she murmured, her voice teasing. “You need to let loose every once in a while, you know?”

Harry exhaled sharply, his gaze flickering down to her hand before meeting her eyes. There was something magnetic about the way she was looking at him—like she could pull him under if he wasn’t careful. He felt the weight of her presence, the pull of her touch, and for a moment, he let himself lean into it.

Her hand slid up to the side of his neck, her thumb brushing against his jaw. “There you are,” she whispered, her lips curving into a small smile.

Harry’s head dipped slightly, his body leaning closer to hers almost on instinct. The tension between them thickened, and for a fleeting second, he thought about closing the gap entirely. Maybe this was what he needed—something simple, something that didn’t make him feel like his chest was being torn in two.

But just as quickly as the thought came, it vanished. Aspen’s face flashed in his mind again—the way she looked at him, the way her lips felt against his, the way her quiet presence had a way of settling the storm inside him.

He pulled back abruptly, breaking the moment. Kirsten’s hand lingered for a beat before falling away, her expression flickering with a mix of confusion and disappointment.

“You okay?” she asked, her tone lighter now, but there was a trace of something deeper behind her words. Harry cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I just—I think I need some air.”

Kirsten’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t push. Instead, she reached for her phone, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Sure thing."

As Harry leaned against the railing of his balcony, the cold air barely registering against his skin, his jaw tightened. His drink, now forgotten in his hand, grew warmer with each passing minute. The image of Aspen’s text replayed in his mind like a taunt.

Lunch with a friend… he’s helping me out.

The words felt innocent enough on the surface, but they burned in his chest like an ember he couldn’t snuff out. He hated how vague it sounded, hated the way it left too much room for his imagination to fill in the blanks. Who was this guy? What was so important that she’d drop her plans to spend time with him instead?

His grip tightened around the glass, the tension in his body coiling tighter with every thought. He knew he had no right to feel this way. Aspen wasn’t his, and she didn’t owe him an explanation. But logic didn’t quiet the bitter jealousy coursing through him.

She could’ve said yes, he thought bitterly, staring out into the night. She could’ve spent the afternoon with me, but she chose him.

He thought about the way she’d smiled at him in the shop, the way her shy demeanor had started to crack just a little around him. For a moment, he’d let himself believe that meant something. But now… now, it felt like a punch to the gut.

And the worst part? He couldn’t even be mad at her, not really. He was mad at himself for caring this much, for letting her crawl under his skin in a way that no one else ever had. He barely knew her, and yet here he was, seething at the idea of her spending time with someone else.

His thoughts grew darker, fueled by the alcohol and the frustration he couldn’t shake. What did he have that Harry didn't? The question gnawed at him, petty and unworthy, but relentless all the same.

Maybe this other guy was more her type— polished, stable, easy to bring home to her parents. Someone who could fit into her world without the jagged edges that came with Harry’s. He thought about the tattoos that snaked up his arms, the chipped paint on his nails, the hours he spent in a noisy shop filled with ink and adrenaline.

He wasn't exactly the boy you'd take home to mom, he reminded himself bitterly, his lips twisting into a humorless smile.

And yet, he couldn’t stop wanting her.

The jealousy simmered, refusing to let go. It wasn’t just about the guy she was with— it was the fact that she’d picked him over Harry. That stung in a way he wasn’t prepared for. He’d asked her to hang out, to spend time together, and she’d turned him down like it was nothing.

What the hell was I thinking? he thought, running a hand through his hair. I barely know her, and I’m acting like…

Like what? Like he had a claim to her? Like they were something more than a few charged moments and a kiss that had left his head spinning?

He downed the rest of his drink, the burn in his throat doing little to dull the frustration. He hated feeling this way-- vulnerable, exposed, like a raw nerve waiting to be struck. But no matter how hard he tried to push it down, it kept bubbling back up.

He thought about texting her again, asking how her lunch went, trying to pull some kind of reassurance from her reply. But the idea of her saying something that might confirm his fears stopped him cold. He didn’t want to hear her gush about how helpful this guy was, or how great of a time they’d had.

Instead, he did the one thing he swore he shouldn't do: he went back to Kirsten.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The mans long legs draped over Kirstens hips on his couch, her hands under the thin material of her shirt. He nosed at the woman's bare neck, muttering something to himself that somehow drove her crazy without hearing it. His fingers were still decorated with their rings and chipped black polish while they held tightly onto Kirsten's hip over the lace she wore. His other arm, to her side, propped him up as he slotted his thigh between hers. He stood up to gaze down at her half naked body, and that's when guilt shot right through him so hard he swore he could collapse.

He sucked in a sharp breath, letting go of her body. "This isn't going to work. It's best if you leave." Harry stood up to his full frame now, removing his body from hers. Kirsten propped herself on her back elbows, brows furrowed. "Really?" When he only nodded and tossed her jeans back to her, she scoffed but got dressed again.

Harry chose to ignore the rude mutters she spoke under her breath, knowing he'd only scowl back at her if he heard.

Kirsten slammed his apartment door a little too hard, making Jasper swivel out from behind his cat tree followed by a hiss which made Harry's lips turn up a bit before guilt continued to consume him. Jasper came to tangle himself between Harrys feet, skimming along his owners fingertips before running off again. Harry buried his face into his hands with a heavy sigh. What was he doing?

Looking back up at the glasses and drinks on the table to the caved in spot where Kirsten lay moments ago, he had only wished it was Aspen instead. And instead of beers and bottles, he wanted to see books and journals and pencils and Aspen.

Regret flashed through his heavy green eyes. He was so fucked.

#harry styles #fanfic #one direction #zayn malik #niall horan #fanfiction #wattpad fanfiction #wattpad #louis tomlinson #harry styles fanfiction #smut #harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing

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sissylittlefeather · 5 months ago

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Kinktober Day 14: Praise Kink

Tell Me You Like It

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI, cussing, kissing, oral sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, age gap (everyone is legal)

Word Count: ~2.5k

Kinktober Masterlist

Elvis is sitting on the steps outside Lauderdale Courts with his guitar, trying not to freeze. It's late January, but there's still patches of snow and ice scattered around. He doesn't want to bother his mama inside, though, so here he is outside with his guitar again. He sees you making your way from the store, your arms loaded with groceries and he stops strumming, watching you closely and looking for an excuse to interact with you.

You're his upstairs neighbor and he's had a crush on you since he laid eyes on you last summer when you moved in. He'd helped you with boxes and introduced himself immediately, offering to assist with anything you might need since you were a single woman living alone. You've asked for his help with a few things like changing lightbulbs and getting the mail when it's raining and he's always happy to oblige. In truth, you might have a little crush on him too. He is desperately cute and so eager to please. Despite the more-than-ten year age gap, there's definitely tension any time he's in your apartment.

So today, he watches you carrying the groceries and considers offering to help. He's dying to get closer to you and see if there might be something to the flirtation between you. This is what he's contemplating as you find a patch of ice with your foot and slide, hitting the ground hard. In a second, he tosses his guitar to the side and runs over to see if you're alright.

“Miss y/n!” He makes it to you quickly and gets you to your feet, collecting the groceries that have scattered across the ground. “Are you okay?!”

You nod your head shakily and take stock of your body. Everything seems to still be in working order, but your elbow stings. You try to look at it, but you can't really see it.

“Am I bleeding?” He looks at your elbow and nods.

“Yeah, you tore your sweater too. Can I help you get these groceries up to your apartment?”

“Yes, please.” He takes the bag and you start to walk gingerly towards the stairs. You reach out and take his arm and both of you ignore the shiver that runs down your spine.

At the top of the stairs, he takes your keys from your trembling hand and unlocks the front door. He sets the groceries on the kitchen counter and then moves over to you on the couch.

“You alright, ma'am?”

“Elvis, how many times have I asked you not to call me ‘ma'am'? It makes me feel like I'm a hundred years old.”

“I'm sorry, honey, it's just a habit.” He watches you carefully to see how you respond to him using the endearment. You try to make it seem like you don't notice, but your body gets warm and you hope he doesn't stop. You shake your head to refocus on the situation.

“I need to get this elbow cleaned up, but I can't really see it.” You turn your arm around and try to look, but it's in the perfect place to be impossible to see.

“I can help. I'm pretty good with a bandaid.” He cringes a little, embarrassed at his attempt at flirting. You laugh a little and nod.

“That would be great, baby, thank you.” He damn near melts when you call him ‘baby’. “The first aid kit is in the hall closet.”

He comes back with the supplies and sits on the couch next to you, his knee bumping into yours and making you both smile awkwardly. You hold your elbow up to let him look.

“What's the verdict, doc?” He wets a cotton ball with some alcohol and dabs at it as you wince.

“I'm sorry, honey, I know it stings. You can hold my hand if you want to.” He smiles slyly and lays his other hand on your knee for you to squeeze. You hesitate for a second and then wrap your fingers in his and hold on tight. He looks at your elbow and frowns. “I can't really get to it very well through your sweater. Can you roll your sleeve up?”

You make an effort, but it just won't roll up that far. He blushes a little, his heart pounding, and almost whispers.

“You could just take it off.” You look at him with your eyes wide. It would solve the problem of how to reach the cut on your elbow. You blink a few times and then just do it, pulling your sweater over your head and dropping it on the floor. His eyes roam over your top half, now covered by just your bra, his mouth hanging open a little. “I-I-I never dreamed you'd actually do it.”

“Really need my elbow bandaged.” You whisper, your stomach in knots wondering what he's thinking.

“Wow, umm okay.” He tries to ignore his growing erection and goes back to dabbing at your elbow with the cotton ball. When he finishes, he blows on it lightly and goosebumps run across your body. “Sorry, that's what my mama always does to make it hurt less.”

“It works.” You murmur quietly as he applies the bandaid carefully. Once that's done he looks up at you sweetly.

“Does it hurt?”

“Just a little bit.” He smiles sheepishly and then leans in and presses his lips to the bandage.

“That better?” You can't help the smile that spreads across your face as you nod.

“Much.” Your eyes meet and are locked together for what feels like an eternity before you realize that you're both leaning in. When his lips finally reach yours, it takes a second for you to register anything beyond how soft they are, but when you realize what's happening, you jump up from the couch with your hand over your mouth.

“Oh my god. I'm so sorry. That was wrong.” He stands up and tries to reassure you.

“No, honey, it wasn't! I wanted it!”

“Ohhhhh no no no, this is bad. I'm way too old for you. You're what, 18?” He puts his hands on his hips, obviously frustrated.

“I'm 19.” You bring your palm up to your forehead and look at him in disbelief.

“Elvis. I am 33 years old.”

“And? I'm a man. You're a woman. I don't see why it matters.” He takes your hand and kisses your fingers. For a second, you're under his spell. But then you come back down to earth.

“It matters! There's no way you want me. I'm too old and you're so young-”

“I'm old enough to know what I want. I want you.” Your hand is still in his.

“Elvis, no, baby. You don't-” He moves your hand down between his legs and puts your fingers on his erection.

“Does that feel like I don't know what I want?” You look at him in shock, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your breathing picks up. His cock is rock hard and bigger than you expect. The spot between your legs gets warmer and wetter and you suddenly wish he would take that cock and put it- “Well? Does it?”

You're shaken from your fantasy by his question, but you're not sure what to say.

“Elvis…”

“I want you, y/n. I've wanted you for months. And I don't wanna hear any more bullshit about you being too old. I know how old you are. I want you anyway.” He says it just above a whisper and then leans forward and kisses you softly again. “Please.”

Your heart is beating wildly as he presses soft kisses first to your lips and then your cheek and jawline, down to your neck.

“Please.” He keeps moving down, pressing his lips to the supple skin that peeks out over the cup of your bra. You moan softly as he pulls the cup down and runs his tongue around your nipple.

“Please. Tell me you like it, honey. Tell me it feels good.”

“It feels so good, baby.” He moans softly and sucks your nipple into his mouth, nibbling on it gently. “Fuck, it feels good.”

He puts both hands on your lower back and keeps moving his lips down, dropping to his knees to press hot kisses to your stomach.

“What do you want, honey? Tell me what you want and I'll do it.” You look down at him on his knees in front of you and know you're not saying no anymore.

“Take me to the bedroom.” You don't have to tell him twice. He stands up and sweeps you into his arms, carrying through the tiny apartment to your room. Laying you on the bed, he looks to you for his next instruction. “Clothes. Off.”

It takes him about thirty seconds to do what he's told and strip. He hesitates for half a second when he gets to his pants.

“I wanna see you, baby. You look so good. Let me see you.” You're figuring out quickly that he likes the praise, maybe even needs it to build his confidence enough to keep going. He drops his pants, letting his dick bounce free and you bite your bottom lip. “Oh, baby.”

“You like it? You like the way I look?” You nod as he walks to you and pulls your skirt down, kissing your thighs.

“I love it. You look so sexy.” You feel him smile against your leg and arch your back. It occurs to you that he really may not know what comes next. “Baby, have you ever-”

“No. But I will. Anything you want.” He looks up at you with those heavily-lidded eyes and you feel yourself get noticeably wetter. You sit up a little and unclasp your bra, tossing it to the side and then start to slide your panties down. He jumps in and pulls them the rest of the way down and off. His eyes are wide as plates as he looks at you sprawled naked on the bed. It's clear that he's never seen a naked woman in person. “I don't know where to start.”

“Yes you do, baby. You'll be so good. Just do what comes natural.” He nods and keeps pressing his lips to your skin.

“Can I touch you? On your…”

“Yes, baby. You can touch me anywhere you want.” You spread your legs for him and watch as his eyes go wide again. He gently strokes you with his fingers and then slides one up into you. “Oh, baby, yes that's so good. Your fingers are so long.”

He adds a second finger and pumps them in and out, his boldness growing with every second. You moan and grind yourself into his hand and he has an idea. This time he decides not to ask for permission and instead just presses his lips to you.

“Oh, fuck, baby yes!”

“You like that? When I kiss you there?”

“Kiss me with tongue, baby.” He nods and leans forward, swirling his tongue on you. Somehow, he manages to be right on your clit on the first try. “OH GOD. It's so good! You're so good. Don't stop.”

He licks more fervently, motivated by every word that falls from your lips. You start to writhe and pant as he makes out with your pussy, slamming his fingers into you over and over again.

“I'm gonna cum. You're gonna make me cum. Oh FUCK!” You cry out as your orgasm hits you, shooting like lightning through your body, sparking in all the right places as you pulse and shudder into his mouth. He keeps licking you through it and you grab his hair to pull him off of you.

“Was that good?” He looks up at you innocently.

“Was that… baby that was incredible. Oh you're so good, my good boy. I love it.” He puffs with pride as you shower him with praise and kisses as you bring him up to lay next to you on the bed. You feel his cock against your leg, weeping precum and aching for attention. “You want me to touch you? What does my good boy want?”

“T-touch me. Please.” He bucks his hips, begging for contact. You take him in your hand and begin to slowly stroke him, sliding his foreskin back and forth. He groans and leans his head on your shoulder. You know if you do too much he'll cum and then you'll both be disappointed.

“You wanna fuck me? You wanna feel my pussy wrapped around your dick?” He whimpers and nods without moving his head from your shoulder. You use your hand to make him look into your face. “Hey. You're sure this is what you want?”

“Honey, I've literally never wanted anything more than I want to fuck you right now.” You smile and he kisses you deeply, rolling up on top of you and pressing his tip against your entrance. “You ready?”

“Yes, baby. Let me feel that big dick.” He whimpers and groans and starts to push into you. A loud moan escapes your lips as you feel him enter you. He really is bigger than you thought he'd be and the feeling of being filled by him is almost overwhelming.

“Oh, god, honey, fuck.” He has a hard time stringing words together with the sensation of you wrapped around him so tightly. “Does it feel good?”

“Baby. It feels so good. God, I might cry it feels so good. Your dick is amazing.” He smiles and kisses your lips. His hips snap against you and he picks up a steady rhythm of fucking into you. “Yes! Good boy. Oh my god.”

He grunts and pounds you mercilessly, sweat droplets forming on his forehead. His hand moves down to hold your hip in place as he slams into you over and over again.

“Take… my… cock… baby…”

“Yes! Yes! YES!”

The world goes black as the two of you reach your climax at the same time, crying out and grasping at each other, both of you throbbing and trembling together. When you finally come to, he has his arms around you, holding you tightly and trying to catch his breath.

“Was that good, honey?” He asks, breathlessly.

“Baby, that was unbelievable. You've really never done that before?” He shakes his head, tiny drops of sweat falling from his hair. “It was so good. You did so good, baby.”

He pulls you into a deep kiss and rolls over, letting you settle on his chest.

“So did it matter? That I'm younger than you?” You think for a second. You should say yes, but that would be a lie.

“No.”

“When can we do it again?” You smile and look up at him.

“Whenever you want, baby. You're the best I've ever had.” He glows with pride and squeezes you against him.

“Can I stay?”

“Can you?” You look up at him questioningly.

“I'm a man now, honey. I can do what I want.” You giggle and kiss his cheek.

“Yes. I suppose you are.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@ccab @atleastpleasetelephone @deltafalax @msamarican @angschrof @lustnhim @jhoneybees @polksaladava @searchingforgravity @librababe99 @hooked-on-elvis @theelvisprincess @makethemorning @your-nanas-house @peaceloveelvis @mrspresley69

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley x reader #elvis x reader #elvis x you #elvis x y/n #elvis presley smut #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #kinktober 2024 #kinktober

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yoyomomiko · 2 months ago

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[TWO] — The haunted shed

☆ `` SPECTRAL SCAMMERS ``

☆ — summary: when cartman comes up with yet another 'get rich quick' scheme, he forces his friends, and you, into starting a ghost hunting service. armed with a mix of makeshift equipment, a questionable van and no actual skills, you begin taking jobs to "exorcise" haunted houses.

warnings: strong language, cartman being cartman

(a/n): it's so short and it feels pretty bland, but I'll try to get better and make the chapters longer :(( also, it looks like there's no ghosts in this chapter! at least for now.

wc: 2.7k+

★m.list

★series m.list

<- [PREVIOUS] — [NEXT] ->

The next day, you all met in Cartman's basement, which now served as your official 'Specter Squad Headquarters'. Cartman paced in front of the whiteboard, still scribbled with your chaotic business plan, a smirk glued to his face.

"Ladies and gentlemen..." He began, pausing for a dramatic effect. "We have our first job!"

Everyone exchanged uneasy glances, except for Tweek, who was already trembling.

"Who's the poor sucker?" Stan asked, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

Cartman waved his phone in the air proudly. "My mom's friend's neighbor. Apparently, their shed is haunted by some ghostly menace. Creepy noises, things getting knocked over, the whole paranormal package!"

Kyle frowned sitting on the edge of the couch with his arms resting on his knees. "Let me guess. You told them we'd take care of it for a ridiculous amount of money?"

"$50." Cartman replied with a smug look on his face.

"Fifty bucks for a shed?!" Kyle repeated, eyes wide.

"Hey, ghost insurance isn't cheap." Cartman shot back. "Do you even know how much ectoplasm containment costs? Exactly. I'm giving them a good deal."

You snorted, leaning back on the couch. "More like you're scamming them. What's next, charging a consultation fee?"

"That's not a bad idea..." Cartman muttered, trailing off as he mentally added it to his list.

Stan sighed. "Alright, so what's the plan? Just show up, wave a flashlight around and hope no one notices we're full of crap?"

"Uh, no, Stan." Cartman replied, rolling his eyes. "We need equipment. Real ghost hunting tools! If we show up empty handed, we'll look like amateurs."

"We are amateurs." Craig pointed out, but Cartman ignored him.

...

Within minutes, you all had rummaged through the basement for anything that could count as equipment. Flashlights were passed around, most of them barely functioning, as Cartman dragged a vacuum cleaner from a corner.

"This." He started, holding it up. "Is our spirit vacuum. It sucks up ghosts and traps them inside."

"That's literally just a vacuum." You stared at Cartman, crossing your arms.

"Not anymore." Cartman declared with a smirk, sticking a few glow in the dark star stickers on its side. "Now it's paranormal tech. You're welcome!"

"This is so stupid." Kyle groaned, running a hand down his face.

"You're stupid!" Cartman snapped. "But guess what? The customers don't care. They just want results. And results are exactly what we're gonna give them. Fake or not!"

You grabbed one of the flashlights, testing it's weak glow before glancing at Kyle. "You think this thing's gonna last the night?"

"Not a chance." Kyle shook his head, the corners of his lips tugging upwards, forming a faint smile.

His gaze was fixed on you for a moment longer than necessary as you felt heat rushing to your cheeks.

"Alright, lovebirds!" Cartman interrupted, snapping his fingers in your direction. "Save the awkward flirting for later. We've got ghosts to catch!"

"We weren't-" You quickly spoke up, but Cartman was already moving on.

The group assembled just outside the neighbor's picked fence. Cartman stood at the front with his back straightened and a clipboard in hand.

"Alright, listen up." He began, his voice hushed. "This is our first gig, so we're going to nail it. No screw ups, no whining, and definitely no blowing our cover."

"Cover? You mean the fact that we're not actual ghost hunters?" Stan raised an eyebrow.

Cartman glared at him. "Exactly. So shut up and follow my lead." He turned back to face the house, his face lighting up with smug confidence.

You all exchanged glances but followed him up the driveway anyway. You stayed close to Kyle, who was mumbling under his breath.

"This is going to be a disaster." He muttered, his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Probably." You agreed, giving him a small smile. "At least it'll be entertaining, right?"

"You have a weird definition of 'entertaining'." Kyle glanced at you, the corners of his lips tugging upwards.

Before you could respond, Cartman knocked loudly on the front door. A moment later, it creaked open to reveal a middle aged woman with dark circles under her eyes.

"Thank goodness you're here!" She exclaimed. "It's been awful! Just awful!"

"Ma'am, you made the right choice calling the Specter Squad. We're South Park's best paranormal investigators, and we're here to solve your ghost problem." Cartman faked a professional tone, which wasn't really convincing.

"Oh, I just don't know what's in that shed. Every night, I hear the strangest noises... Scratching, banging, sometimes even growling... It's terrifying!"

"Sounds like raccoons..." Kyle muttered under his breath.

Cartman elbowed him sharply, giving the woman a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, ma'am. We've dealt with worse. Now let's talk about payment..."

"Payment?" The woman blinked, caught off guard as her brows raised in surprise.

"Of course! Ghost hunting isn't cheap, you know. We've got specialized equipment, years of experience-"

"Years?" Clyde interrupted, but Cartman ignored him.

"And we offer a guarantee of satisfaction. For a case like this, we'll charge a base fee of $50."

"Alright... Fifty... But only if you can get rid of whatever's out there." She hesitated, looking towards each of you in the group.

"Deal!" Cartman exclaimed, sticking out his hand. She shook it hesitantly before leading the group around the side of the house and into the backyard.

The shed came into view, at the far end of the yard. It was old, its wooden walls splintered, with rusted hinges hanging off the door.

Cartman took a deep breath, clipboard clutched to his chest. "Alright, this is it. Stan, [Y/N], you investigate the area. Kyle, you're with me. Clyde and Kenny, guard the door. Craig, Tweek- uh... Just stand there and look useful."

"This is a bad i-idea! What if it's not a ghost?! What if it's like, a demon or something?!" Tweek panicked, fidgeting nervously.

"It's not a demon." Craig replied flatly, but even he looked a bit uneasy.

You and Stan both glanced at each other as you both began walking around the shed, flashlights in hand.

"So... What do you think we're actually dealing with here?" You asked as you waved your flashlight around.

"Probably racoons." Stan answered with a shrug. "But knowing Cartman, he'll find a way to make it sound like a ghost."

"That sounds about right." You smiled softly.

On the other side, Cartman was crouched, pretending to examine the ground. Kyle stood nearby, arms crossed as he had a tired expression on his face.

"What exactly are you looking for?" Kyle asked as he sighed loudly.

"Ectoplasmic traces." Cartman replied, nodding to himself.

"You don't even know what that means." Kyle ran a hand over his face, sighing for the nth time that day.

"Shut up Jew! I know what I'm doing."

Kyle rolled his eyes but gazed at you when your flashlight beam caught something shining in the grass.

"What's that?" He asked, walking over to join you.

You bent down and picked up the small, glinting object. A broken piece of metal that looked like it had come from the shed's roof.

"Probably nothing." You responded as you held it up for him to see.

He leaned closer, his face inches away from yours.

"Still, good eye."

You felt heat rushing up to your cheeks, but before you could say something, Cartman's voice cut through your sweet moment.

"Alright, idiots! Enough playing around. Let's get inside and find this ghost!"

...

The shed's door creaked loudly as you pushed it open, earning a whimper from Tweek. Your flashlight glow cut through the dark, revealing cobweb, scattered tools and a floor with littered leaves. You quickly turned off your flashlight as you looked away from the sight.

"Alright assholes, try not to screw up." Cartman declared, clipboard in hand as he gestured towards the shed.

"We have to act professional!" He whisper yelled, eyes narrowing.

"How professional can we look with a broken vacuum and dollar store flashlights?" Craig muttered, but his words were drowned by Cartman's loud, fake cough.

"Why do I feel like this is going to be a disaster?" Clyde mumbled, rubbing his arms for warmth.

"It's always a disaster when Cartman's in charge." Kyle replied in a dry tone.

You smirked, catching the way Kyle's gaze studied the shed. He glanced at you, his eyes softening, though only for a moment, the tension in the air didn't feel so heavy.

"Are we doing this or not?" Craig asked impatiently as he crossed his arms.

"Yes, Craig, we're doing this. But first, we need to assert dominance!" Cartman sighed out in an exaggerated way.

"Dominance?" You repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"I like how that sounds." Kenny snickered, and so did Clyde as he nudged Kenny's shoulder.

"You don't just walk into a ghost's lair! You have to show it who's boss!" Cartman pointed at the shed dramatically.

"We're ghost hunters, not wrestlers." Stan stated as Craig chuckled.

Ignoring him, Cartman turned to the neighbor, who was watching nervously from her back porch.

"Ma'am, we're going in. We've got this under control." Cartman spoke up confidently.

"Please... Just be careful." The woman clutched her cardigan tightly as she nodded. "It's been making horrible noise lately."

"No worries, we'll take care of it. By the way, there's a $10 fee for ghost insurance in case it tries to follow us home."

"Ghost insurance?" Kyle repeated, squinting his eyes at Cartman.

"Do you want to get haunted, Kyle? Didn't think so." Cartman shot him a glare.

...

The group gathered their supplies, which were only some barely working flashlights, an old vacuum cleaner Cartman had given the title of 'Spirit Sucker 3000', and a few random tools from Clyde's garage.

"I still don't understand how this is supposed to work..." Tweek muttered, holding his flashlight like it might explode.

"It works because I said it works." Cartman replied, adjusting the vacuum strap on his shoulder.

You rolled your eyes and turned on your flashlight again. The shed wasn't particularly big, but the barely standing wood made it seem more sinister. Plus the cobwebs, creepy old tools and leaves left on the floor.

"Let's just get this over with." Craig sighed as he stepped up to the door.

"Hold up! The leader goes first!" Cartman held up a hand to stop him.

"You're not the leader." Kyle shot back.

"Yes, I am!" Cartman snapped. "I made the website, I set up the payment system, and I'm the only one here who isn't a total pussy!"

"Fine. Go ahead, fearless leader." Craig mocked.

Cartman smirked as he confidently pushed the door further and stepped inside.

...

The air inside was heavy and barely breatheable, carrying the scent of mold and rotting wood. Your flashlight flickered as you swept it across the space, revealing shelves packed with rusted tools and boxes stacked carelessly.

"Wow..." Kenny's eyes scanned the area. "This place is charming."

"Spread out, assholes! We're looking for signs of paranormal activity!" Cartman waved his clipboard dramatically.

"What exactly counts as a sign?" Stan asked as he stares at a random jar with unidentifiable substances.

"Anything spooky." Cartman answered simply. "Weird sounds, cold spots, glowing slime... You know, ghost stuff."

"You're making this up as you go, aren't you?" Kyle groaned.

"Shut up, Kyle! Do your job!" Cartman yelled.

You held back a laugh as Kyle mumbled something under his breath. When he caught your eye, his gaze softened, giving you a small smile that made your heart pound in your chest.

...

You all explored different corners of the shed, examining and looking out for 'spooky stuff'.

You crouched near a stack of boxes, brushing away cobwebs to get a closer look. The wood beneath your fingers felt slightly wet and splintered. You noticed a faint light coming from above.

"Hey..." You called out, shining your flashlight towards the roof, standing up. "There's a hole up here."

Kyle joined you, squinting up at the opening. "That could explain the noises. If wind's getting in, it might make the walls creak."

"Or it could be the ghost's escape route." Cartman interrupted, scribbling something on his clipboard.

"Pretty sure ghosts don't need escape routes." You sighed.

Cartman ignored you, turning his attention to a nearby workbench.

Kyle stood by your side, tilting his head thoughtfully as he examined the roof. "Good catch." He praised, his voice quieter now.

"Thanks." You replied, smiling to yourself like an idiot as you felt your cheeks warm up.

All of the sudden, a loud crash echoed from the back of the shed.

"What was that?!" Tweek yelped, clutching his flashlight like a weapon.

"Relax." Kenny spoke up, moving towards the source of the noise. "It's probably just-"

His words cut off as he stumbled upon a crate.

Kenny crouched down, shining his flashlight on the wooden box. It was old and had a loose lid that looked like it hadn't been touched in years.

"What do you think's in it?" Clyde asked, creeping over Stan's shoulder.

"Only one way to find out." Kenny replied, slowly taking the lid off.

Inside was a trio of small and furry bodies. Wide eyes reflected the flashlight glow as tiny claws scratched against the wood.

"Aww, raccoons!" Kenny cooed as he pouted. "They're adorable!"

"They're so cute!" You purred as you admired them. They were so small and it could fit perfectly in your palm!

"I wanna pet them." Kenny said as he reached out to pick one up.

The once cuddly creatures now hissed loudly, lounging at him with surprising speed.

Kenny screeched, stumbling backwards as the raccoon latched onto his sleeve.

The other two raccoons bolted from the crate, darting across the shed.

"Jesus Christ!" Stan yelled, jumping out of the way.

"Get it off! Get it off me!" Kenny screamed, waving his arm around crazily as the raccoon kept clinging onto his sleeve.

"Stop moving!" You shouted, grabbing a broom and trying to swat the raccoon away. It hissed at you, revealing its sharp teeth.

Another raccoon climbed onto a shelf, knocking over jars and sending their contents crashing to the floor. Tweek jumped onto a crate to avoid the mess, grabbing at his hair.

"Where are they coming from?!" Cartman swung his flashlight around wildly.

"They're everywhere!" Craig noted, dodging another raccoon as it ran past him.

"We need to get them out of here!" Kyle tried to block one of the raccoons' paths.

"And how do you suggest we do that?" Stan yelled, ducking as another jar flew above his head.

"Loud noises!" Cartman quickly grabbed a rusty pot from a workbench. "Scare them out!"

You didn't have a better idea, so you grabbed a pan and started banging it against the broom handle. The others quickly followed, grabbing tools and smashing them into anything, clangs echoing through the shed.

Tweek kept flinching at the loud noise, but he also followed and helped the rest.

The raccoons screeched in protest, before finally rushing out the hole in the roof.

"Victory!" Cartman shouted proudly, slamming his pot.

You lowered your makeshift drumstick, panting from the effort. Kyle was standing beside you, his face flushed.

"Nice work." He nudged your shoulder lightly.

"Not bad yourself..." You replied, smiling despite what just happened.

You all stumbled out of the shed, disheveled but successful. The neighbor was waiting in the yard, fidgeting nervously.

"Well? Did you get rid of it?" She asked, nibbling on her bottom lip.

Cartman puffed out his chest, clipboard in hand. "It was a tough case." He started dramatically. "But yes, the ghost has been banished. You're welcome."

"Oh, thank you!" She exclaimed, reaching out for her wallet.

"Now, about the payment..." Cartman stopped her, holding up a finger. "It was an agressive spirit, so we're charging an extra $10 for chaos pay."

The woman hesitated but handed over the cash either way.

As you all walked away, Cartman grinned joyfully, stuffing the money into his pocket.

"First job: complete. We're officially ghost hunters, bitches!"

★yoyomiko ★miko

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