#they were setting up his absence too much... pls | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

goldfades · 1 month ago

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HAUNTED BY YOU──FATHER MAYHEW (part 2)

part one!!!!

─ summary | father charlie grapples with his intense attraction during the church event. they shared a passionate kiss that reignites their forbidden connection, despite the undeniable chemistry, charlie wrestles with guilt and the reality of their situation, ultimately pulling away as the risk of being caught looms over them. the tension between desire and moral obligation leaves them both longing for more, even if they face the consequences of their actions

─ pairing | father charlie mayhew x fem!reader

─ warnings | nsfw under the cut! mdni! oral (f!receiving), p in v, pretty rough but not as nasty as part one, praise (?), pretty soft/vanilla in comparison to part 1

─ ev's notes | my requests are open if you wanna send anything in! (please do btw i'm obsessed w nicholas LMAO). also i feel like there should be a part 3 but i'm not sure where it would go sooo

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

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After your encounter with Father Charlie, your world had turned completely upside down.

You no longer wanted to attend seminary, not like you wanted to begin with. It had always been someone else’s dream for you, a path laid out by your parents, by the expectations of the community, by the life you thought you were supposed to live. But now, every time you stepped into the church, all you could think about was him. The way his hands had felt on your skin, the way he had murmured your name with a mixture of reverence and desire. It was as if the weight of everything you had ever known had shifted beneath your feet, leaving you standing on uncertain ground.

It wasn’t just the guilt, though that was there, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts. It was the confusion—the way you felt torn between the life you had always been told you should want and the inexplicable pull that had drawn you to him that night. You hadn’t planned for it to happen, hadn’t even fully understood what was happening as it unfolded, but now there was no denying it: something had changed inside of you.

You would be lying if you said that you weren't teasing the poor man, but you never expected it to go that far. His mean words, his rough touch... it was unexpected but welcome.

However, you avoided Charlie in the days that followed. But that didn’t stop the memories from replaying in your mind, unbidden and relentless. The rough sound of his voice, the way his breath had hitched when he looked at you, the feel of his lips against your skin—it haunted you, drawing you back to that night over and over again.

And yet, for all the confusion and turmoil, there was something else, too. A part of you that felt more alive than you ever had before. You couldn’t ignore the thrill of it, the way your heart raced when you thought about him, the way your body responded to even the thought of being near him again.

But what did that mean for your future? Could you go on pretending to follow a path that no longer felt like your own? Could you return to the person you had been before all of this?

You didn’t know.

All you knew was that something had been set in motion, something that couldn’t be undone. And as much as you tried to push it aside, to tell yourself it was just a fleeting moment of weakness, the truth lingered, heavy and undeniable: your encounter with Father Charlie had changed everything.

──

"I've just been worried about her." Your mother sniffled as she glanced up at Father Charlie. Her eyes were watery as your father nodded along, his eyebrows furrowed in worry.

Charlie did his best not to roll his eyes─he assured them that their daughter missing a few days of Church was nothing to worry about, she was simply exploring and that she'd come back if her heart was in the right place.

He wasn't sure if that was true though, he knew the true reason for your sudden absence—it wasn't that you were losing your faith. It was that you were avoiding him. And in a way, he couldn't blame you. After what had happened between the two of you, things could never be the same.

Charlie shifted uncomfortably in his chair, feeling the weight of your parents' anxious gazes on him. He offered them a reassuring smile, the same gentle, composed expression he had worn so many times before. But beneath the surface, a storm raged inside him.

"I appreciate your concern," he said softly, clasping his hands together. "But give her time. Sometimes a little distance can be healthy. She’ll find her way back, if it’s meant to be."

Your mother dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, her worry evident. "But Father, she's never missed church like this before. She's always been so devoted. I just… I don’t understand what’s changed."

Charlie swallowed, the words catching in his throat as he forced himself to maintain his calm demeanor. He could feel guilt clawing at the edges of his composure, the weight of the secret the two of you now shared hanging over him like a heavy cloud. He had tried to rationalize it, tried to convince himself that it was a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment that would pass. But the truth was, every time he closed his eyes, he saw you.

"I understand your concern," Charlie continued, his voice softer now, more reflective. "But maybe she just needs some space to reflect on things. Sometimes, when we're too close to something, we can't see it clearly."

Your father sighed, rubbing his temples. "She's been so distant lately. I just don’t know what’s going on in her head anymore."

Charlie nodded sympathetically, though inside, he felt the sting of his own hypocrisy. He had been the one to create that distance. He had crossed a line he never should have, and now both of you were suffering the consequences. The temptation had been too great, the connection too deep to ignore, and now he was left trying to navigate the fallout, unsure of how to reconcile his role as a spiritual leader with the undeniable pull he felt toward you.

"Just give her some time," Charlie said again, though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince—your parents, or himself. "She’s strong. She’ll come around."

Your mother smiled weakly, though her worry remained evident. "I hope so, Father. I really do."

As they stood to leave, Charlie felt a familiar sense of dread settle in his chest. He bid them goodbye, offering them one last reassurance before they stepped out of the church. But as the door closed behind them, the air in the sanctuary seemed to grow heavier.

Charlie exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair as the silence pressed in around him. He had tried to distance himself from you, convinced himself that what had happened was a mistake. But no matter how hard he tried to push it away, the memory of you lingered, seeping into every corner of his mind.

And now, standing alone in the empty church, he found himself wondering if there was any way to make things right again—if there was any way to undo the damage that had been done.

But deep down, he knew the answer.

There was no going back. Not for either of you.

Later that night, Charlie found himself thinking about you once again. Particularly, how you looked that night. On your knees, so eager to please and your doe eyes gazing up at him. He couldn't get that sight out of his mind, no matter how hard he prayed. He clasped his hands together, leaning over the edge of his bed, his head bowed as if in prayer.

But the words weren’t coming—no matter how hard he tried to focus, the familiar rhythm of his nightly prayers refused to take shape. His mind was somewhere else, tangled up in thoughts that shouldn’t be there, lingering on images that made him feel as though he were coming apart at the seams.

He cursed under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut tighter as if that would somehow banish the memory. But the more he fought it, the more vivid it became—your wide, innocent eyes gazing up at him, filled with a mix of longing and devotion that made his chest tighten. The feel of your skin, soft and warm beneath his fingertips, the sound of your voice, so eager to please… it haunted him. The way you had knelt before him, lips parted in anticipation, had driven him to the edge of his restraint.

He should have stopped it. He should have turned away, sent you home, reminded you of your faith, of his vows. But he hadn’t. Instead, he had given in, swept up in the heat of the moment, in the way your body responded to his touch, in the softness of your breath against his skin. And now, no matter how much he tried to pray, no matter how often he begged for forgiveness, the memory of that night refused to leave him.

Charlie’s breath came shallow as he stood, pacing the small room in frustration. His fists clenched at his sides, the fabric of his robes suddenly feeling too tight, too constricting. He could feel the familiar ache building in his chest, spreading lower, and no matter how much he tried to deny it, the pull was too strong to resist.

He glanced toward the small crucifix hanging on the wall, a wave of guilt washing over him. He was a man of God—he wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He wasn’t supposed to let his thoughts linger on sinful desires, especially not desires for you.

But the truth was, no matter how much he tried to tell himself otherwise, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Your name echoed in his mind, and the memory of your touch seemed to burn hotter with every passing moment.

But when he closed his eyes again, all he could see was you—on your knees, so willing, so eager. The memory of your lips sent a shiver down his spine, and the guilt that followed only fueled the fire inside him.

And he knew, in that moment—the worst part wasn't the fact that he did those sinful actions—it was that he wasn't sorry, not one bit. Not even a sliver of remorse.

A chill ran through him at the thought, his stomach twisting with a blend of shame and something else, something that made him feel even more unsettled. It wasn’t regret that filled him when he remembered that night—it was a strange, unwelcome satisfaction. A hunger that hadn’t been sated, not entirely.

He had broken his vows, crossed a line he swore he never would. But now, in the stillness of the night, with only his thoughts to keep him company, he couldn’t help but acknowledge the truth. He wasn’t sorry. Not for the way you had looked at him, not for the way his body had responded to yours, and certainly not for the way his hands had roamed over your skin, desperate to claim you as his.

The worst part, the part that filled him with guilt and dread, was that he would do it again. Given the chance, he would fall just as easily. There was no penitence in his heart, only desire. And that terrified him more than anything else.

He had spent years dedicating himself to his faith, to his congregation, to being a beacon of moral strength and guidance. But now, the very foundation of everything he believed in was crumbling beneath him. How could he stand in front of his parish, look your parents in the eye, and preach about virtue when he knew what lay inside his own heart? How could he ask for forgiveness when, deep down, he wasn’t ready to give up the sinful thoughts that had taken root in his mind?

Charlie stood abruptly, crossing the room to the small mirror hanging on the wall. He stared at his reflection, searching his own eyes for the man he once was. But all he saw was the shadow of someone who had allowed himself to be consumed by temptation. He touched the collar around his neck, feeling its weight like a noose tightening with each passing second.

The worst part wasn’t the act itself—it was the knowledge that he would do it again. He would welcome it, crave it. You had awoken something in him, something dark and uncontrollable, and no amount of prayer or penance could change that now.

A soft knock at the door startled him from his thoughts. For a moment, his heart leapt into his throat, fearing that it might be you. That somehow, you had sensed his weakness, his need, and had come to him again. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he crossed the room and opened the door.

It wasn’t you. It was another member of the congregation, a kindly older woman who often helped with the church's charitable efforts. She smiled at him warmly, oblivious to the turmoil raging inside him.

"Father Charlie," she said, her voice gentle. "I wanted to thank you for your sermon earlier. It was so uplifting. We’re blessed to have you."

Charlie forced a smile, nodding as he thanked her for her kind words. But as she turned to leave, he felt a hollowness settle in his chest.

He didn’t feel like a blessing. He felt like a man on the edge of a precipice, teetering dangerously close to a fall he might never recover from.

And the worst part? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to be saved.

──

Father Charlie stood at the pulpit, his voice steady as he delivered the sermon to the congregation. The stained glass windows bathed the church in a soft, multicolored light, the hum of his words blending with the occasional creak of wooden pews. His hands gripped the edges of the podium, knuckles pale, though his calm expression gave nothing away.

"And though we may walk through the valley of shadows," he said, his voice resonating through the high ceilings, "we must remember that God’s light will guide us, if only we choose to follow it."

His eyes swept over the familiar faces before him—devout, attentive, hanging on his every word. For a brief moment, he felt the usual sense of peace that came with leading his flock, of being their shepherd through life’s trials. But then, in the midst of that calm, the heavy oak doors at the back of the church creaked open.

You stepped inside, late.

Charlie’s heart faltered.

You moved quietly down the aisle, slipping into a pew near the back, trying to draw as little attention as possible. But he noticed you. Of course he noticed you. His breath hitched in his chest, and for a moment, the words on his tongue stumbled.

You didn’t look at him right away, your eyes scanning the prayer book in front of you as you settled in, but he could feel the electricity of your presence, like a whisper of something forbidden trailing through the air. His mouth went dry as he remembered, vividly and all too easily, the feel of your skin under his hands, the heat between you, the way your lips had parted in that fleeting moment of sinful indulgence.

His mind, usually sharp and disciplined during sermons, began to unravel, his thoughts wandering to places they never should have. His gaze lingered on you as you sat there, your expression neutral, but there was something in the way you held yourself that made it impossible for him to tear his eyes away. He noticed the way your hair caught the light, the soft curve of your neck as you bowed your head slightly. His pulse quickened against his will.

Charlie cleared his throat, trying to refocus on the words he had prepared, but they felt distant now, hollow in his mouth. He was no longer preaching to his congregation; he was struggling to hold onto his composure, his resolve crumbling with each passing second.

"Temptation," he began again, though his voice was softer now, as if the word itself held a deeper, more personal meaning. "It is something we all must face. It whispers to us when we are weak, it pulls at us when we are vulnerable. But we must find the strength to turn away, to resist the allure of sin."

His eyes found you again, and this time, you looked up. Your gaze met his, and in that single glance, he felt everything crash into him at once. The air between you seemed to thicken, heavy with the weight of what had passed between you. His breath caught in his throat, and he forced himself to tear his gaze away before anyone could notice the tension that hummed just beneath the surface.

But you didn’t stop looking at him. He could feel your eyes on him, a silent challenge, a reminder of the line that had already been crossed. He fought to keep his voice steady, but the sermon felt like it was slipping away from him, the careful words he had crafted now little more than a veil over the chaos inside his mind.

"We must… stand firm in our faith," he continued, though the conviction had drained from his voice. "For in times of darkness, it is only through faith that we find salvation."

Salvation. The word felt bitter on his tongue. Could he even claim to believe it anymore, after everything that had happened? After what he had allowed to happen?

The sermon dragged on, each word a labor, each moment a battle to maintain control. And all the while, you sat there, your presence like a burning flame in the cold of the church, drawing him in, tempting him with a kind of heat he knew he could never touch again.

When he finally reached the end of his sermon, the relief was almost palpable. He offered the closing prayer, his voice quiet, barely able to focus on the familiar verses. As the congregation murmured their amens and began to file out of the pews, Charlie stayed rooted at the pulpit, his eyes lingering on the spot where you sat.

But you didn’t leave with the others. You stayed behind, waiting until the church was nearly empty, until the last whispers of conversation faded away into the stillness. And then, slowly, you stood and made your way toward him, your footsteps soft against the stone floor.

Charlie’s heart pounded in his chest, the air between you charged with unspoken tension as you approached. The church was quiet now, the last of the congregation having departed, leaving only the echo of their footsteps behind. The light filtering through the stained glass seemed softer, casting shadows that flickered across the empty pews. But there was nothing soft about the way his pulse thundered in his ears, about the tightening in his chest as you closed the distance between you.

He should have walked away. He should have left immediately, before anything more could be said, before the unspoken words between you could turn into something neither of you could take back. But instead, he stood there, frozen in place, rooted to the spot by the weight of your gaze.

“Father Charlie,” you said softly, your voice low and sweet, like a secret meant only for him. The sound of your voice sent a shiver through him, and he fought to keep his expression neutral, though he could feel the cracks in his composure growing deeper with every passing second.

“Yes?” His voice came out rougher than he intended, strained.

You took a step closer, and the scent of your perfume reached him—something soft, floral, intoxicating. “Your sermon…” you began, but the words trailed off as your eyes met his again, and in that moment, he could see the truth in them. The same hunger that gnawed at him was reflected in your gaze, the same forbidden desire simmering just beneath the surface.

He swallowed hard, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He couldn’t allow this to happen. Not again. Not here, in the house of God, where his entire purpose was to be a guide for the people, to resist temptation, to be the moral compass for those who sought him out. But standing this close to you, feeling the warmth of your body, seeing the way your lips parted slightly as you looked at him—it was as though the air itself was charged with electricity, pulling him in.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” you continued, your voice softer now, almost a whisper. “About temptation… about resisting it.”

His throat tightened. He knew where this was going, knew he needed to stop it before it went any further. “You should,” he managed to say, though his voice was strained. “We all must resist.”

Your eyes flickered with something—amusement, perhaps, or maybe defiance. “Is that what you’re doing right now, Father?” you asked, stepping even closer, so close that he could feel the warmth radiating from your skin.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Not like this.”

“And yet,” you replied, your voice teasing, “here I am.”

He clenched his jaw, every muscle in his body taut with restraint. He couldn’t do this again. He couldn’t give in to the desire that gnawed at him, no matter how strong the pull. But as you reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his arm, the warmth of your touch sent a jolt through him that made it nearly impossible to think clearly.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” you whispered, your voice low and sultry. “Tell me you haven’t been thinking about it, too.”

He closed his eyes, struggling to find his breath. Of course, he had been thinking about it. He hadn’t been able to think of anything else since that night, no matter how much he tried to push it away. But acknowledging that would only make it worse, would only open the door to something darker, something he wasn’t sure he could come back from.

“I can’t…” he started, but the words stuck in his throat.

You stepped even closer, your body now just inches from his, and he could feel the heat radiating from you, could smell the faint sweetness of your perfume. “You don’t have to resist,” you whispered, your lips so close to his ear now that he could feel the warmth of your breath against his skin.

Charlie’s hands trembled at his sides, his heart pounding in his chest. He was standing on the edge of a precipice, knowing that one more step would send him over, would plunge him into something he couldn’t take back. He opened his eyes, his gaze locking with yours, and in that moment, he knew.

The worst part wasn’t the temptation. The worst part was that he didn’t want to resist anymore.

"Sweetheart?"

You both immediately jumped, putting some space between you two. You looked back to see your mother standing, looking between you two with suspicion. Charlie’s heart nearly stopped in his chest as your mother’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. His breath hitched, and he took a hurried step back from you, creating what little distance he could in the small space between you both. The panic coursing through his veins was almost palpable, his mind scrambling for an excuse, an explanation—anything to justify the intimate moment your mother had just interrupted.

You spun around, your cheeks flushed, eyes wide as you faced her. “Mom…” you started, your voice shaky, barely able to form the words.

Your mother stood just a few feet away, her eyes narrowing as they flicked between you and Father Charlie. Suspicion danced across her face, her arms crossing over her chest in a way that made it clear she didn’t believe for a second that what she had just walked in on was innocent.

“What’s going on here?” she asked, her voice tight with concern, but laced with an edge of disbelief. “Why are you here alone with Father Charlie?”

Charlie swallowed hard, doing his best to regain some semblance of composure. He stepped forward, trying to project the calm and collected demeanor he was known for.

His hands fidgeted behind his back, where no one could see the way they trembled. “Mrs. L/N,” he said, forcing a small smile, “I was just… offering some spiritual guidance. Your daughter has been struggling with her faith lately, and I wanted to make sure she was alright.”

Your mother raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. She glanced at you again, her suspicion deepening. “Spiritual guidance?” she repeated slowly, her tone skeptical. “That’s all?”

You nodded quickly, your face burning with embarrassment, desperate to put her at ease. “Yes, Mom. That’s all. I’ve just… I’ve had a lot on my mind, and Father Charlie was helping me work through some things.”

Your mother didn’t look satisfied, but she didn’t push any further either. Instead, she sighed, her eyes softening just a little as she looked at you. “Sweetheart, I’ve been worried about you. You’ve been distant lately, and I just want to make sure you’re okay. I’m your mother—I know when something’s not right.”

Charlie took a deep breath, seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation away from the dangerous ground it had been treading. “You have every right to be concerned,” he said gently. “But I assure you, your daughter is fine. She’s just been searching for some clarity, and sometimes, that means taking a step back to reflect. It’s a normal part of spiritual growth.”

Your mother seemed to hesitate for a moment, her eyes lingering on him as if weighing his words. Finally, she nodded, though the unease still lingered in her expression. “Alright,” she said quietly. “But… next time, sweetheart, maybe talk to me too. I’m always here for you.”

You smiled weakly, giving a small nod. “I will, Mom.”

Your mother’s gaze softened further, and she gave you a gentle smile before turning back toward the door. “Me and dad are waiting outside,” she said over her shoulder. “Don’t take too long.”

As soon as she was gone, the tension in the air shifted, leaving behind an uncomfortable silence. Charlie let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, his shoulders sagging with the weight of what had almost just happened.

“That was too close,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you turned back to him.

Charlie nodded, running a hand through his hair, his thoughts still racing. “We can’t keep doing this,” he said quietly, though even as he said it, part of him knew it was a lie.

You stood there, staring at him, your breath unsteady as the reality of what had just happened sunk in. Your mother had almost caught you, and the danger of the situation wasn’t lost on either of you. And yet, there was still that undeniable pull, the heat between you two simmering just beneath the surface, refusing to die down despite the risk.

Charlie’s words hung in the air, a weak protest against what both of you knew was inevitable. He had said it before—he couldn’t keep doing this—but neither of you had stopped, even after that night. Even after everything that had followed.

You took a small step closer to him, your heart pounding as you fought against the voice in your head that told you to walk away. “You don’t mean that,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He closed his eyes, his jaw tight, clearly trying to hold on to whatever shred of self-control he had left. “I should mean it,” he muttered, his voice strained, but he didn’t move away from you. If anything, he seemed to lean in closer, despite his own protest. “This is wrong. We both know that.”

You reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm, feeling the tension in his muscles as he wrestled with himself. “Maybe it is,” you admitted, your eyes meeting his again, “but that doesn’t mean I regret it. Do you?”

Charlie looked at you, the conflict plain in his eyes, but the more he stared, the more that tension seemed to fade. “I don’t regret it,” he finally admitted, his voice low and hoarse. “But I should.”

You shook your head slowly, stepping even closer to him, the space between you almost non-existent now. “Then why don’t you?”

Charlie’s breath hitched, his gaze flickering over your face as if searching for an answer. The heat between you two was almost unbearable now, every inch of space crackling with tension, and you could see the exact moment his resolve began to crack.

He exhaled sharply, his voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, a rush of warmth spreading through you. You moved closer, your hand sliding down his arm, feeling the way his skin shivered beneath your touch. “Then don’t stop,” you whispered back, your lips dangerously close to his now.

For a moment, the world outside seemed to disappear. It was just the two of you, standing there in the quiet, the tension and the desire between you growing stronger with every passing second. Charlie’s breath quickened, his eyes dark with longing as he stared at you.

But then, just as quickly, his expression shifted, a look of torment crossing his features. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep doing this,” he whispered, his voice trembling with both desire and guilt. “You deserve better than this.”

You swallowed hard, your heart clenching at his words. But you shook your head, refusing to let him pull away now. “What I deserve,” you said softly, “is you. And I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”

Charlie’s eyes flashed with something—a mix of longing and torment—and for a moment, he looked like he might resist again. But then, something inside him snapped. He reached out, his hands grabbing your waist, pulling you closer in one swift motion.

Your breath caught in your throat as his lips crashed into yours, and for a second, all of that guilt, that tension, melted away in the heat of the kiss. His hands gripped your waist tightly, holding you against him as if afraid you might slip away. And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the church, not your parents waiting outside, not the fact that what you were doing was forbidden.

All that mattered was the way his lips felt against yours, the way his touch set your skin on fire, the way everything else seemed to fade into the background when you were with him.

The kiss deepened, an electric jolt shooting through you as Father Charlie held you close. His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your heart race faster than you thought possible. You felt the heat of his body against yours, his grip possessive yet gentle, like he was trying to hold on but afraid he might break you. It was a contradiction, just like him—full of restraint, but also full of passion.

You let out a soft gasp as his hand slid up your side, brushing against your ribs, and the sensation made your knees weak. You had to remind yourself that this was real, that this was actually happening again, despite all the reasons it shouldn’t. Yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop it any more than he could.

Charlie broke the kiss first, his breath ragged, his forehead pressed against yours. His eyes were squeezed shut as if he were fighting an internal battle—one that he was quickly losing. “This can’t happen again,” he whispered, though the way his hands still held you told a different story. His resolve was crumbling, just like it always did around you.

You nodded, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath, but you couldn’t bring yourself to agree out loud. The tension between you two was still thick, and the temptation was too strong, too intoxicating to resist.

You could feel his heart pounding against your chest, mirroring your own, and it was enough to make you lean in again, brushing your lips against his one more time.

“Then stop,” you whispered against his lips, daring him, challenging him to push you away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he kissed you again, harder this time, as if the very act of pulling you closer was the only thing grounding him. His hands gripped your waist tighter, fingers digging into your hips, and you could feel the desperation in his touch. There was no hesitation now, no pretending that this wasn’t what he wanted.

You melted into him, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath his clerical shirt, the smooth fabric bunched under your fingers. It was almost surreal, the way everything else disappeared around you, the church silent except for the sound of your breathing and the faint echo of your heartbeats.

But then, reality began creeping back in, like a shadow over the two of you.

The weight of what you were doing came crashing down again, as it always did, leaving you both tangled in a mess of desire and guilt. Charlie broke away once more, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling with the effort to steady himself. His eyes were wild with conflict as he looked at you, his voice hoarse. “We can’t… Not here. Not like this.”

You could feel the hesitation returning, his conscience pulling at him once again. But before he could say anything more, you pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

“I know,” you whispered, nodding. “But don’t regret this, Charlie. Please.”

His gaze softened for a moment, and for just a second, it seemed like the weight of his guilt was lifting, replaced by something softer, something more real. He gently took your hand in his, pulling it away from his lips, and brought it to his chest, holding it there as if to let you feel the way his heart raced beneath your fingertips.

“I don’t,” he said quietly, his voice firm despite the uncertainty lingering in his eyes.

But before either of you could speak again, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway outside the small room. You both tensed immediately, pulling apart in a rush as if the entire world had just come crashing back down on you.

Your mother’s voice rang out, calling your name from somewhere outside, and the reality of your situation hit like a cold shock to your system. You glanced at Charlie, your pulse still racing, your thoughts a jumbled mess.

You sighed, stepping back, your heart still pounding as you adjusted your clothes, trying to make yourself presentable before stepping out of the room.

As you left the small space where everything had happened, Charlie watched you go, his chest tightening with the weight of his own choices. He knew there would be consequences to all of this—there always were. But as he watched you disappear into the hallway, a small part of him couldn’t help but want more.

And that terrified him most of all.

──

Father Charlie’s lips crashed against yours with a fervor that left you breathless, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you into the small, dimly lit room at the side of the church. The door clicked shut behind you, the quiet sound echoing through the silence as though sealing you both away from the world outside.

Your back hit the wall gently, the cool stone pressing against you, but all you could focus on was the heat radiating from him—the way his body seemed to burn with a need that matched your own. His kiss was desperate, almost frantic, as though he had been holding back for too long and could no longer control the desire that had been eating away at him.

“God, I’ve tried,” he muttered against your lips, his breath hot and ragged as he pressed his forehead against yours for just a moment, as though trying to regain some semblance of control.

But even as he said it, his hands roamed over your body, fingers trembling slightly as they traced the curve of your hips. “I’ve tried to stay away… but I can’t.”

His confession sent a shiver through you, both of guilt and desire. You knew this was wrong—both of you did—but the pull between you was too strong to resist. There was something magnetic in the way you fit together, something undeniable in the way his touch made your pulse race.

You gasped softly as his hands slid higher, brushing just beneath the hem of your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending jolts of electricity through your skin.

“Charlie…” you breathed, barely able to find the words as your heart pounded in your chest. His name left your lips like a prayer, one filled with both need and hesitation.

His response was a low growl of frustration, his hands tightening on your waist as if trying to ground himself, but his lips returned to yours with renewed urgency. The kiss deepened, becoming hungrier, more reckless, as though the two of you had crossed a threshold you could no longer retreat from. His fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, pulling you even closer to him, your bodies pressed together in a way that left no room for anything but the heat of your desire.

“We can’t…” he whispered again, though the words seemed hollow now, an afterthought that barely registered in the heat of the moment. His lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses against it, and you couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped your lips. “But I don’t want to stop.”

His words mirrored the conflict that raged inside of you—this was a line that should never have been crossed, but now that you were here, it felt impossible to turn back. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, your body arching into his as his hands explored your skin. The soft rasp of his breath against your neck, the heat of his body pressed so close to yours—it was overwhelming, intoxicating, and it left you dizzy with need.

For a brief moment, he pulled back, his chest heaving as he stared at you with dark, conflicted eyes. “We’re going to hell for this,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with desire, but there was no regret in his tone—only raw, unrestrained longing.

You shook your head, your fingers still gripping his shirt as you looked up at him, breathless. “Then take me with you.”

That was all it took for him to lose whatever remained of his restraint. With a groan, he captured your lips again, his hands moving faster now, more urgently, as though afraid that if he stopped for even a moment, the weight of what you were doing might crush him. You didn’t care anymore, not about the consequences, not about what anyone might say. In that moment, there was only him, only the way he made you feel—alive, reckless, consumed.

His hands slipped beneath your shirt, fingers splaying across the bare skin of your waist as though claiming you entirely. The cold stone wall at your back contrasted sharply with the heat of his body pressed against yours, grounding you even as everything around you spun out of control.

There was no space between you now, your bodies moving together in perfect rhythm, each touch, each kiss driving you further into the dark, forbidden territory you both had sworn to avoid. But neither of you had the strength to resist anymore. His breath was ragged against your neck, your own heart pounding in time with his as the intensity of the moment wrapped around you like a vice.

"Gonna make you cum so many times," he mumbled into your neck as he pushed you harder on the wall.

You let out a small giggle at his words, your head falling back against the wall with a small thud. "Is that a promise?"

Charlie hummed against your neck. "Mhm, you won't be able to walk outta here."

You tangled your fingers into his hair as he spoke, pulling him closer, urging him on. You needed this as much as he did. Needed to feel alive, to feel something that burned beyond the lines of right and wrong. It wasn't just lust—it was a dangerous craving for connection, something that both frightened and exhilarated you.

"Please," you pleaded, breath hitching as his hands roamed higher. His fingers trembled slightly, betraying the struggle within him, but his resolve broke the moment you gave him permission.

With a low groan, his hands slid beneath your shirt completely, the sensation of his touch sending fire through your veins. Every nerve in your body was alight, the tension between you mounting to an unbearable high as his lips claimed every inch of skin they could reach. His breath was hot against your neck, the pressure of his body overwhelming, yet intoxicating.

Charlie’s mouth found your ear, his breath warm and labored. “I don’t know how to be anything else around you... it’s like you’re inside my head.”

You gasped as he pressed himself harder against you, your lips brushing the curve of his jawline in response. His words cut through you, filled with the same struggle and longing that burned in your chest. It was reckless, dangerous even, but it was real.

Without warning, his arms around your middle and picked you up. You let out a surprised sound as you wrapped his hips, before he dropped you right on the desk. The sensation of being completely in his control, suspended in the air for a fleeting moment, sent a thrill through you.

Before you could even process what was happening, he dropped you onto the desk behind you. The cool wood pressed against the back of your thighs as your hands flew to grip the edge, steadying yourself. The roughness of the gesture, the way his eyes burned into yours, left you breathless.

There was no hesitation in his movements anymore, no room for doubt or second thoughts. The desk creaked slightly beneath the weight of the moment, but neither of you cared.

Charlie stepped between your legs, his hands immediately finding your waist, fingers pressing into your skin like he was anchoring himself to you. His gaze roamed over your face, dark and full of hunger, before his lips crashed back onto yours with renewed intensity. His kiss was deeper now, more demanding, as though he was trying to erase every single barrier between you.

"Charlie," you moaned as you blinked up at him, your whole body feeling like it was on fire.

Your fingers tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing more of him, craving the feeling of his body against yours. His hands slid up your sides, trailing heat in their wake as they pushed your shirt higher, exposing more skin to the cool air. You shivered, but it had nothing to do with the temperature and everything to do with the way his touch set your nerves on fire.

“God, I’ve wanted this,” he growled against your lips, his voice low and filled with raw need. He leaned forward, his body pressing yours back against the desk, the weight of him intoxicating. You could feel the intensity of his desire, the way he held nothing back now, his control slipping with every passing second.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers exploring the firmness of his body beneath the fabric of his clothes. Every muscle tensed beneath your touch, responding to you in ways that made your pulse race even faster. You pushed his shirt up, wanting to feel the heat of his skin against yours, to close the distance between you even more.

His lips left yours for a moment, trailing down your neck, his breath hot and heavy against your skin. You tilted your head back, giving him more access, feeling the way his teeth grazed your collarbone, his hands gripping your hips with almost bruising force.

You could feel him hard against you, his desire unmistakable. The tension between you, the build-up of everything unsaid, was too much to bear anymore. You arched against him, needing more, wanting to lose yourself in the overwhelming heat between you both.

He then spread your legs further before practically ripping your skirt off, throwing it somewhere else in the room. He leaned down to press a sloppy kiss on your stomach before he slowly descended down where you needed him most.

Charlie placed two fingers on top of your clothed wet pussy, letting out a broken groan. "So ready for me, huh?"

All you could do was moan in response as your head fell back, your eyes screwing shut. The feeling of his fingers so close to where you ached, made you wanna scream in desperation. You just wanted him to fill you up and fuck you senseless.

“Charlie…” you breathed, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you felt in that moment. His name on your lips only seemed to spur him on, his fingers pushing deeper into your needy cunt.

Finally, he moved your panties to the side before slowly dipping a finger inside your sloppy pussy. Your back arched to his touch, letting out a pornographic moan.

Charlie shivered at the beautiful sound, his pants becoming impossibly tight. He felt his cock get harder every second, he wasn't sure how long he could wait—but he needed to taste you.

Keeping his finger inside your wet pussy, he leaned down and pressed his lips against it. With the added sensation, you were sure you were gonna pass out. Charlie slipped out his tongue, tasting your sweet juices as he hummed.

"Taste so fucking sweet, baby." He moaned as he opened his mouth to taste more of you. The taste was heavenly, he shut his eyes and began devouring you, his finger slipping in and out.

You were practically sobbing with pleasure at that point, your hand on his head as he ate you out like a starved man. Your pussy clenched around his finger, but you needed more. You needed his cock, desperately. He began rubbing himself against the wooden desk, desperate for any friction as he continued his assault on your puffy cunt.

You felt that familiar tightening in your lower stomach begin to form and you knew that it wouldn't take a lot more to make you cum. You began breathing heavily, your head falling back as you nodded desperately.

"Please, please make me cum," you babbled as you fisted his hair. "Oh, fuck!"

One last push of his finger and you were cumming around him, and Charlie wasted no time—he kept licking your juices until he felt he was completely satisfied. You were breathless from your high, but Charlie was far from done.

As you regained some sense of consciousness, you heard his belt buckle hit the wooden floor with a familiar thump. Then, Charlie’s lips crashed back onto yours with renewed urgency, fueled by your whispered permission. You could taste yourself on his tongue, humming at the salty taste.

His hands roamed over your body, no longer holding back, exploring every inch of exposed skin. You could feel the heat between you intensifying, the air growing thick with anticipation.

His free hand gripped your waist, pulling your body flush against his, and you could feel just how much he wanted you. The desk beneath you creaked again, but the noise was drowned out by the sound of your ragged breathing, the thud of your heartbeat in your ears, and the steady rhythm of his movements against you.

Charlie’s mouth continued to explore your neck, leaving kisses that sent shivers down your spine. He pulled back for a moment, his eyes locking with yours, dark and full of something primal. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he muttered, his voice husky, sending a thrill through you.

Your lips parted, words forming on the tip of your tongue, but they were lost as he lifted you slightly, shifting you further onto the desk. The sudden movement made you cling to him, your legs tightening around his waist, the closeness between you now unbearable in the best way.

Charlie then reached for his cock, you glanced down to see his redden tip leaking with pre-cum. He led his tip to your entrance, and he slowly began pushing himself into your warmth. Charlie let out a sigh of relief as his head fell back; he had missed the feeling of your tight cunt.

You were still sensitive from the previous orgasm, you were shaking at the burning and overwhelming sensation. "Please, Charlie," you didn't know what you were pleading for at this point.

Charlie let you adjust to his size before he began drilling in and out of you, the wooden desk creaking underneath you. You felt so full, you swore you felt him all the way up to your throat. Your hands found his broad shoulders, holding on as his thrusts began more erratic and desperate.

"This fuckin' pussy was made for me," he gasped as he began fucking you into the desk, the power of his thrusts making you cry out. "God made this pussy all for me, like a little present."

All his ramblings were going in one ear and out the other, you were absolutely drunk on his cock. You just moaned in response, unsure of what he was even saying at this point—Charlie wasn't sure either.

Charlie was snapping his hips against yours, he wasn't even thinking straight; he felt like a fucking dog in heat. All he could think of was cumming inside of your tight pussy again and again, until either of you could take it anymore.

"Oh, fuck!" you cried out as you felt yourself drawing closer and closer to your orgasm. Your pussy tightened around him, your eyes rolling back in pure and unadulterated pleasure.

You came again, your whole body shaking as you felt your legs give out. You were practically limp as Charlie kept slamming into you, chasing his own high.

After a few more rough snaps of his hips, Charlie was spilling his seed into you. He rode out his high as he sighed heavily, his forehead falling against yours. You were both breathless, but nonetheless satisfied. His breath was warm against your skin as he rested his forehead against yours, the remnants of shared intensity still lingering in the air.

Both of you were quiet for a few moments, still trying to catch your breath, hearts beating in sync. The room, once filled with hurried movements and ragged breaths, had now fallen into a peaceful stillness.

Charlie’s hand slowly trailed down your back, a soft, gentle touch replacing the urgency from earlier. His fingers danced over your skin, and despite the exhaustion that hung between you, there was a tenderness in the way he touched you now, as if he was savoring every second of this quiet moment.

His eyes, still dark with satisfaction, locked with yours, and a small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "You’re incredible," he murmured softly, his voice hoarse from everything that had passed between you.

You smiled back, your fingers brushing through his hair, still trying to make sense of the rush of emotions coursing through you. "Finally made me cum," you teased lightly, though your voice was soft and tired.

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pulled you closer, the warmth of his body a welcome comfort against yours. For a moment, neither of you said anything, just reveling in the intimacy of the aftermath, the unspoken connection that had deepened between you.

After a while, Charlie sighed again, this time more contented. He pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips soft and reassuring. “We should probably…get out of here before someone finds us,” he whispered, though there was no rush in his voice.

You laughed softly, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. You were still perched on the edge of the desk, clothes haphazardly discarded, with no sign of the wild passion that had just transpired except for the disheveled state of the room and the lingering heat between you.

But for a moment longer, neither of you moved. There was something comforting in the stillness, the quiet intimacy that followed the storm. Eventually, though, Charlie slipped out of you, shifting slightly and helped you down from the desk with a gentle hand on your waist. You both began to gather your clothes, the silence between you now comfortable.

With one last lingering kiss, you both finally slipped out of the room, the world outside waiting. But something had shifted between you—something that felt like the beginning of something more.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#nicholas chavez #charlie mayhew #grotesquerie #nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #nicholas chavez smut #nicholas chavez imagine #nicholas chavez fanfiction #nicholas chavez fluff #father charlie mayhew #father charlie x reader #father charlie smut #smut

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sprytesukii · 8 months ago

Text

you know me (better than i know myself)

bakugou katsuki x reader

katsuki is hopelessly in love with his best friend until you waltz into his life and warp it beyond his recognition.

rating: mature, 18+, MDNI

wc : 10.4k (holy fuck)

tags : mild to heavy angst, fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort, gn!reader (they/them pronouns), afab!reader, unrequited love (not between reader and kats), depictions of mild depression, genderfluid!denki, queer!katsuki, reader has a quirk, oral (reader receiving), p-in-v intercourse, unprotected intercourse (wrap it b4 u tap it pls!), soft katsuki, and they were roommates :0, Not Beta Read, i think that’s it T^T

an: this is the first thing i’ve genuinely written in over a year and jesus it was like i was possessed writing it LMFAO incredibly self indulgent and i had a lot of fun writing it! i hope you guys enjoy it (pls rb n leave feedback pls pls pls)

read on ao3

the warm light of the coffee table lamp casts a beautiful shadow across the planes of eijirou’s face — his sharp, angular nose, smooth cheekbones, plush lips that form a sheepish smile — and katsuki can’t even appreciate it, not with the absolute bullshit that pours from his best friend’s lips.

“the fuck you mean, you’re moving out?”

the words come out a lot harsher than katsuki intends, but he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty, not even when kiri’s face screws up in clear disappointment.

“well, uh, i told you, this new place is closer to my agency so it makes more sense. the commute’ll be much shorter and, uh…” he trails off then, a pretty pink blush spreading across his nose, highlighting the small spattering of freckles that katsuki is certain he’s the only one who’s ever noticed, a broiling heat setting alight in his stomach.

he feels like he might die.

“and.. kaito finally asked me to move in with him.”

there it is. fuckin’ kaito.

katsuki is far from an idiot — people call him a lot of names (brash, inconsiderate, a righteous asshole), but never dumb. they couldn’t unless they were outright lying.

part of what makes katsuki so intelligent is his observance.

of course he’s noticed eijirou’s late nights, his suspicious absences at group get togethers, the sweet smiles he makes as he taps at his phone screen, the fucking hickies.

bakugou katsuki is not stupid. he’s incredibly observant. especially when it comes to the massive crush he’s been harboring on his best friend for the last three years.

he’s not entirely sure when his reluctant tolerance of the bright redhead shifted to something more but he knows he’s been viciously, painfully pining over him day in and day out in the weeks (months, years) since.

and it’s not like kirishima hasn’t had partners before. he’s nearly impossible to resist with his intense attentiveness, his willingness to go above and beyond for those close to him, not to mention his insane physique, built from long hours out on the field and in the gym.

it’s no wonder katsuki has been in love with him for as long as he has been — eijirou is perfect.

perfectly imperfect, of course. he gets upset when katsuki sorts his clothes for him (“i’m an adult, okay? it makes me feel like you’re parenting me, man.”) or when he lectures him on his diet, or when he shuts him out after being friends for so long (when his feelings become too much to handle), but eijirou’s the only one who’s stayed.

katsuki has tried flings and a few more serious relationships but those have ended quickly because he’s just too much.

too loud. too frustrating. too closed off. too him.

but not for eijirou. never for eijirou.

that’s why when kiri mentioned he was talking to this new guy, he brushed it off. it would be like all the others who would eventually break it off because of the long hours at work or eijirou’s boundless enthusiasm and katsuki would be there to pick the sopping wet, heartbroken kiri off the ground and put him back together. they didn’t deserve him anyway.

but this kaito? apparently katsuki’s eagerness to ignore eijirou’s flings made him blind to what was happening — eiji wasn’t his anymore.

he’s moving out.

he’ll be gone forever.

subconsciously, katsuki realizes he’s been silent for far too long and that eijirou’s face has lost the hurt and is now painted with concern and confusion.

fuck, even now, he’s concerned. he cares so so much, except in the way katsuki craves.

“uh,” kirishima’s gentle voice breaks him from his thoughts, a big hand finding its way to katsuki’s knee, “are you okay dude?”

the touch sears through the expensive black joggers katsuki is wearing and he flinches so hard, he jostles the coffee table to his side. he barely sees kirishima’s brows furrow as he launches himself to standing, the telltale burn behind his eyes signaling the incoming wave of tears.

he can’t see katsuki like this, he fucking can’t.

katsuki marches to the kitchen, opening up the fridge and blankly staring into it while he tries to will the water back into his face and still the turmoil burning in his chest.

it feels like he’s aflame, like he’s suffocating, drowning.

he can hear kirishima’s steps behind him but thankfully stopping a reasonable distance away as he calls his name again, desperation coloring the word.

fuck.

with everything he has in him, katsuki grabs a random bottle from the refrigerator (a smoothie eijirou made for him with far too much kale and too little milk and a little note attached with his name and a smiley face. he’s gonna be sick.) and turns to face him, a strained, shaky grimace painting his lips.

“that’s-“ his voice cracks hard and he desperately clears his throat, blinking hard when he sees eijirou reach out for him and stop. “that’s fuckin’— that’s great. ‘m happy for you.”

the words feel like glass inching their way out of his throat and while he knows he sounds anything but, the words seem to do the trick, kirishima’s face lighting up like a fucking christmas tree.

“that means so much to me, man!” this time, he doesn’t stop himself from wrapping katsuki up in a hug, the full body contact sending a wracking shiver through his body. “and don’t worry! we’ll still hang out all the time and i’ll — yes! — finally be able to introduce you to kaito — you’re gonna love him, and-“

katsuki has to tune him out, if just to keep a hold on his sanity because otherwise, he’s gonna break.

he keeps it together through the rest of the conversation about kaito, tuning in only to give time appropriate grunts and hums while pretending like his entire world isn’t imploding in on itself.

he keeps it together, miraculously, as kirishima packs up his things, the evidence of their entwined lives for the past five years disappearing into cardboard boxes over the span of a few weeks.

he even keeps it together when he meets kaito on the move out date, even if it’s just barely. kaito is handsome — tall, taller than katsuki, with windswept brown hair, bright brown eyes and a dimple in his left cheek. if he wasn’t so fucking in love with eiji, he wouldn’t mind taking a piece out of him, but as it were, the sight of kaito makes him genuinely sick to his stomach.

it’s even worse that kaito is so nice. his quirk is even nicer — some nature type that makes it impossible for plants to die when touched by him. they turn to him like he’s the fucking sun and eiji does too.

by the time all kirishima’s stuff is packed up in the back of kaito’s truck, bile is burning at the back of katsuki’s throat as he says his final goodbye to kiri in the way of a bone crushing hug that doesn’t last as long as he wishes, as he craves.

kiri sends him a blinding smile as he climbs into the passenger seat of the truck, looking all too at home against the worn blue leather seats.

it’s now when katsuki wishes he was a little less observant because the hand kaito gently places on kirishima’s thigh and the subsequent full body blush makes him sick.

he waits on the curb the appropriate amount of time as the pair drive away before racing back into his building, up the stairs, into his unit and straight to the bathroom, kneeling over the toilet and heaving, chills wracking his body despite the sweat on his brow.

nothing comes out (praise whoever above because katsuki hates vomiting) and he slumps against the porcelain, resting his heated skin against the toilet seat.

he thought… fuck, katsuki has no idea what he thought, but he didn’t expect it to hurt this bad. he feels a little like he’s dying and lot like he’ll never be okay again. that kirishima walked out with his heart and all he’ll be for the rest of his life is a walking husk of a human being.

a wave of nausea overtakes him again and he debates leaning back over the toilet, but exhaustion overwhelms him and he falls asleep against the wall of his bathroom, sweaty, sick, and heartbroken.

(the next morning, he wakes up to a pounding headache and two texts from eijirou.

he drinks a shit ton of water first and pops an advil before opening the messages.

EIJI (18:21) : just got to kaito’s! dude it’s so nice i can’t believe ill be living here now ><

katsuki has to take a deep breath to fight against the wave of pain that hits him right in the gut, but he keeps reading, the second text simultaneously warming him and twisting the knife.

EIJI (18:25) : i’m gonna miss you so much kats T^T so weird living without you

he stares at the message until his vision swims before liking the second message and turning off his phone, tossing it onto the couch and trudging to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.)

the next few weeks prove to be incredibly difficult.

a new case is brought to best jeanist’s desk and as the best sidekick at the agency, he’s placed in charge of heading the search and capture of an elusive invisibility quirk villain.

the days are long and exhausting, and more often than not, he doesn’t even have time to miss kirishima or notice his things missing from the apartment — he gets home, makes a barebones meal and collapses on the couch for what feels like a four hour nap until he has to turn back around and do it all over again.

it’s sustainable until it isn’t.

a few too many missed meals and restless hours of sleep has him passing out in a morning briefing, prompting best jeanist to send him home for a mandatory two week “vacation.”

it’s a prison sentence, is what it is.

at home, there’s nothing to distract him from the utter lack of kirishima, from the idea that the one person who has seen all of him and loved him anyway has left.

most days it’s too much to bear, so instead, he sleeps.

the usual tidiness of his space slowly deteriorates as he wastes away, waking only to scarf down whatever is left in his refrigerator before going right back to bed.

his friends text him often — hanta, denki, even fuckin’ hitoshi — but he ignores them all. the texts from kirishima are the hardest to delete, all concerned words and pleas for them to just talk, but he does it anyway.

it’s better this way, he tells himself. this way, no one else is dragged down by his self pity.

izuku ends up being the one to break the streak on day nine of radio silence.

a knock resounds at his door and he ignores it, pulling his blankets high above his mussed blonde hair, effectively hiding him from view as he hopes whoever is there spontaneously combusts or, better yet, just leaves.

when the knocks stop, he believes the latter has just occurred and he sighs in relief, completely missing the sound of metal creaking and his doorknob falling to the ground.

he’s debating on taking another melatonin to find the sweet release of sleep once more when his bedroom door opens up and he startles, launching up out of bed, hands and quirk at the ready to destroy the intruder, but he’s slow, too slow.

izuku is on him in a moment, pinning him to the bed and disregarding his gnashing teeth and cursing to look him over with a detached gaze.

“katsuki,” he says, voice firm in effectively shutting him up, despite the way he wriggles for freedom (so ineffectively, it’s embarrassing), “you look like dogshit.”

a harsh bark of laughter escapes katsuki’s throat and even from his angle where he’s pressed into his pillows, he sees izuku’s expression soften.

“you’ve lost your tact, deku,” he responds, his words gravelly from disuse. izuku scoffs but lets him up, taking a step over a pile of clothes on the ground to lean against the desk opposite of the bed.

with his newfound freedom, katsuki sits up, absentmindedly rubbing his now sore shoulder, the pain oddly grounding. izuku watches the motion with the intense focus he’s carried throughout his entire life, though he’s a far cry from the boy who used to break his bones and cry over injured birds.

now, he’s built like a brick house, forest green curls tapered into a flattering modern undercut, the fat from his cheeks transforming into something more chiseled and adult. his eyes aren’t as soft either — they’re tired and, as he looks at katsuki’s form, tinged with worry.

“where have you been? no one has heard from you in a week.”

katsuki rolls his eyes, looking away from the gaze that pins him, the gaze he tried so hard to get to look at him without fear. there isn’t a hint of fear in them now, but katsuki is afraid there’ll be disappointment and that’s almost worse.

“none of your fuckin’ business,” he grunts out and he immediately knows it was the wrong response. besides eijirou, izuku knows him the best and after all they’ve been through, he doesn’t deserve this.

he never deserved any of it.

with that thought spinning around in his head, katsuki rubs a hand over his face with a quiet curse, leaning back against the headboard.

“fuck, i’m sorry,” it comes out as a mutter, but its effect on izuku is instantaneous. the previous hardness of his expression melts and he moves closer, his bushy brows furrowing together. katsuki can barely look at him but he does anyway, he makes himself. izuku deserves that much (he deserves so much more but one day at a time).

“we’re just worried about you,” izuku says quietly but without pity. never pity. “what’s going on?”

maybe it’s the way izuku’s freckled face reminds him far too much of eijirou’s own spattering of constellations or maybe it’s the fact katsuki hasn’t eaten in over fifteen hours, but he shatters in that moment, crystal tears filling up carmine eyes.

if izuku is startled at katsuki’s sudden change of emotions, he doesn’t show it, instead moving to envelop katsuki in his arms, allowing him to bury his face in the crook of his shoulder and let go.

katsuki tells him everything and by the end of it, his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and his eyes are puffy and red, but he feels better than he did all week.

izuku just looks thoughtful from his place sitting near the end of katsuki’s bed, the pair parting somewhere in between katsuki’s admission of throwing up when seeing kaito and kirishima together and his accidental confession of stealing one of eijirou’s hoodies from one of the boxes (it sits right under his pillow, but izuku doesn’t need to know that).

“i’m really sorry, katsuki. that fucking sucks,” izuku ends up saying and katsuki’s initial reaction is anger. he spills his heart and guts out to izuku and all he gets is that sucks? but when he opens his mouth to give deku a piece of his mind, he realizes that it does suck. it sucks royal ass and there’s nothing he or izuku can do to fix it - at least not yet - but the acknowledgment, without any attempt to give advice or make everything better, does wonders for katsuki.

he pushes out a watery laugh, his lip ticking up into a smile - for the first time in weeks - and izuku lights up a little. “yeah. it really fuckin’ does.”

the smile izuku sends back is blinding and for the one thousandth time, katsuki is reminded why the symbol of peace is just that.

they talk for a little while longer before izuku forces katsuki into the shower. he takes a long time, letting the scalding hot water turn cold before he emerges to find that his childhood best friend has started cleaning up the mess that has become of his apartment.

katsuki watches on for a moment until izuku raises an eyebrow at him and offers him a trash bag which he takes wordlessly, a wave of affection crashing over him so quickly tears come to his eyes. he blinks them away but he doesn’t miss the knowing smile izuku sends his way.

the pair work together in relative silence until the apartment is spotless and katsuki’s stomach is grumbling something fierce. izuku makes his way to the fridge but is met with nothing but a half carton of eggs and a rotting smoothie in the far corner, a sticky note attached to the lid. he fixes katsuki with a small, sad smile before digging through his drawers for a takeout menu.

when the food arrives, katsuki finishes it in record time and he can’t tell if it’s the fact they remembered to make it extra spicy or if it’s because he literally can’t remember the last time he had an actual meal, but it’s the best thing he’s eaten in a long time.

after they finish, izuku turns on the television and they both spend the evening shit talking a d-list hero film until they fall asleep on the couch, bodies slumped against one another, holding each other up.

—

that night seems to have knocked something loose in katsuki because the next morning, he wakes with his first alarm and heads to the gym for the first time since his mandatory vacation. by the end of it, his arms are burning from quirk overuse and he’s completely wiped, but he feels more like himself than he has in ages.

he finally texts his friends back (barring one) and they greet him back with high levels of enthusiasm and concern. it feels good to be received back into the fold with the love he’d thought he’d lost, his cheeks hurting with how much he’s smiling as the messages roll in.

katsuki finishes out his sentence and goes back to work on the fourteenth day with an earnest apology to best jeanist and a new lead on the villain after pouring over the case files in between hyperintensive workouts at the gym. best jeanist is quietly impressed, but the squeeze to the shoulder he gives katsuki tells him he was more worried about him than he let on.

the next few weeks pass in a blur, but this time it’s more pleasant. he watches shitty movies with izuku, deletes instagram when he sees a photo of kaito and kirishima on holiday in america, starts attending a pottery class on the weekends he has off with mina and denki, continues to ignore the texts from eijirou that are becoming more and more infrequent as time goes on, smokes with hanta and shinsou one evening and laughs harder than he ever has, and life feels like it’s slowly gaining its footing once again.

he realizes three months after kirishima had moved out that he should probably start looking for a new roommate or downgrade to something more reasonable. he seriously considers the latter, but when he looks at the space he cultivated right after he graduated from ua, he realizes he can’t quite give the place up.

he posts an ad on craigslist that night.

the next time the group goes drinking (kirishima is suspiciously absent, despite his reentry into the country a few days prior — mina mentioned it), katsuki brings up his roommate problem and denki latches on, his cheeks pleasantly flushed from the wine he’s been sipping on.

“oh, oh! i know - i know the perrrrfeeccttt roommate for you,” he slurs, toying with the earring dangling from his ear and fixing his excited gaze on katsuki’s face. “they’re like.. the besttt, dude, you’d - you’d love them.”

the words are vague, but when katsuki opens up his mouth to ask for more details, denki’s eyes widen and he rushes off to the bathroom, a hand over his mouth, nearly tripping over the his platform shoes and maxi skirt.

the topic of the roommate is quickly forgotten then, but it resurfaces a few days later at pottery class.

katsuki is glaring holes into the side of his slightly lopsided vase on the pottery wheel, internally going through the steps to see where he went wrong. denki to the left of him laughs and chatters as he makes his, frankly, hideous ceramic, the clay warped beyond recognition.

something in his one-sided conversation brings his attention to katsuki who’s startled at the sound of his name coming from denki’s mouth.

“yo, you still looking for a roommate?” he asks, tilting his head as a strand of hair falls from the lengthening ponytail at the back of his head. without alcohol in his system, denki looks a little more hesitant to be approaching this topic, but does so when he isn’t met with a howitzer to the face.

the group doesn’t know much of anything, just that kirishima and katsuki aren’t talking, so they tend to tread lightly around the subject. katsuki appreciates it, genuinely, but he’s not going to shatter at the sound of eijirou’s name - not anymore. it hurts still, of course, but the pain has dulled to a steady hum that he can ignore if he tries hard enough.

“yeah,” he grunts, turning his eyes back at his vase. “why? you got someone in mind?”

denki grins, showing off the lightning tooth gems on his canine. “hell yeah! i’ll give you their number — they teach the watercolor class here on tuesdays and they’re so cool.”

he speaks about you with obvious adoration and katsuki belatedly wonders if the two of you are dating, but doesn’t voice this curiousity, instead wordlessly handing denki his phone to put in your contact as “ROOMIE” with what feels like a hundred paint emojis after it. katsuki smiles at his friend’s antics and can’t quite bring himself to change it.

the colorful contact remains untouched for about another week until he gets a rent notice and remembers the little paint palettes in his phone.

in the middle of his morning workout, he taps out a quick text to you, before tossing his phone to the side and promptly forgetting about it.

katsuki [09:27] : Hey. I’m Bakugou. Denki gave me your number. I’m looking for a roommate. You interested?

ROOMIE [10:16] : oh hey yeah i’m interested

ROOMIE [10:17] : do you want 2 meet td

ROOMIE [10:17] : i’m at the cafe on 5th n cherry

ROOMIE [10:17] : in the back

ROOMIE [10:19] : i’ll b here 4 a while

ROOMIE [10:19] : just come whenever

katsuki only sees the message at the end of his workout a half hour later. the number of messages in a row and less than ideal grammar makes him turn up his nose but he quickly taps out an affirmative, before dapping izuku up and heading to the showers.

he makes it to the cafe twenty minutes later, scanning the place to see what he assumes is you tucked away in the back corner, your table full with books, papers, paints, your laptop and at least four empty cups of coffee.

katsuki raises an eyebrow at the sight but walks over anyway, telling himself he’s doing denki a favor by meeting someone he thinks so highly of so he won’t feel too bad when he tells him it’s not going to work out.

you don’t look up when he stops at your table, too occupied with the piece of art in front of you, your face twisted up in intense concentration.

you’re quite pretty, he notes subconsciously, the hard set of your eyes and one track focus reminding him an awful lot of himself when he’s swept into a difficult case. your complete unawareness gives him more time to take you in, though, so he can’t even bring himself to be too annoyed.

you’re wearing a bright yellow chargebolt hoodie that clashes terribly with your garishly pink acid queen baggy sweatpants. a pair of cellophane socks cover your feet where they’re stretched out in the seat across from you and your shoes (made to look like the red ones from deku’s costume, jesus christ) sit haphazardly beneath the table, empty.

it’s such a bizarre sight, katsuki almost laughs — almost — but he doesn’t, instead opting to knock your feet off the chair opposite you so he can sit down.

“a big fan of heroes, huh?” he asks, the action coupled with his words startling you so bad, your knees hit the underside of the table, threatening to upend all the precariously balanced objects decorating the surface.

you look angry at first before you realize who it is and once you do, you just look relieved. it’s an unusual reaction, one katsuki rarely gets from anyone who isn’t actively in danger, especially strangers.

“you scared the absolute shit out of me,” you say tiredly, rubbing a hand over your face and sighing. katsuki watches you recognize your own impoliteness in real time, a sheepish smile spreading across your lips.

pretty.

“fuck, sorry,” you extend a paint splotched hand to him and he takes it, shaking it firmly before it falls back to his side, fingers tingling. “i get super into shit and completely forget where i am. kami gets onto me about it all the time. says i’m prime villain bait or some shit. i think he’s saying it most of the time to freak me out, but he might actually be right. don’t ever tell him i said that though.”

katsuki can’t help but stare at you as you ramble at him with the familiarity of someone who’s known him for months, not just a few minutes. it’s uncomfortable in a strangely nice way and he can feel his muscles loosen as the nerves melt away.

“aw fuck, i’m sorry again. i didn’t introduce myself.”

you give him your name, offering your hand out for him to shake once more which he does with an amused look painting his expression. you don’t seem to notice, your attention being grabbed by the piece in front of you again.

“i’m bakugou,” he offers after a moment of silence. you don’t even look up when you respond.

“i know. you sent me that text, remember? also you’re like, super fucking famous, dynamight,” you look up at him through your lashes, teasing, and heat unexpectedly blooms on the back of his neck.

what the fuck?

in a bid to gain back control of the conversation (and himself) katsuki asks, “what’re you workin’ on? dunceface said you’re a painter or some shit.”

your nose crinkles at the moniker, but you don’t say anything about it, instead turning the sketchbook around for katsuki to look at it.

the piece is stunning, but it’s visceral and he can’t help but lean back a little when looking at it, stomach dropping.

a deer lays on the ground, gutted, blood, guts and viscera pouring out of its abdomen as a figure just out of frame reaches inside and pulls out its heart.

katsuki is disgusted but intrigued and that feeling only amplifies when you press a finger to the painting and activate your quirk.

suddenly, the hand in the painting moves so realistically he flinches — he can hear the deer’s heart beat, can hear the way the blood trickles through the blades of grass, can smell the coppery tang and can feel the rush of spring wind blowing past his face.

it’s like he’s there, in the piece, and he feels both a little sick and also so alive.

“holy fuck,” he whispers, shivering, and you laugh, deactivating your quirk, bringing him back to the real world. the sounds of the cafe flood in, replacing the smell of blood and spring fields with coffee and loose tea leaves. he shakes his head, eyes a little blown when they look at you.

your expression is playfully amused as you bring your sketchbook closer to your person, resting your head on the palm of your hand.

“sorry,” you offer, but you don’t sound very sorry at all, “should’ve asked before i used my quirk on you. not everyone likes that shit.”

the words are so nonchalant but you look like you’re poised to watch him get up and leave, never looking back. katsuki doesn’t think he could leave if he tried.

“nah,” his voice feels raw so he tries to clear it but the feeling doesn’t go away. “you’re good. just surprised me, ‘s all.”

your mouth parts in muted surprise and you tilt your head, appraising him like you’re seeing him for the first time. katsuki feels surprisingly bare as you study him, but he doesn’t drop his eye contact, despite the heavy pounding of his heart from your intensity.

the pair of you sit in silence like that for a moment or two longer before you break it, asking him if he wants something to drink. before he can tell you he doesn’t drink coffee though, you flag down the waiter, ask for a hot cup of tea (“darjeeling or oolong,” you ask the waiter, not even sparing katsuki another glance, “he doesn’t look like he fucks with green tea.” it’s true. he doesn’t. his heart does a stutter step in his chest.) and when it arrives to the table, katsuki asks you to move in with him.

you agree.

—

the move in process is so quick and easy that when it’s done, it feels like you’ve been living there for years.

your belongings integrate seamlessly into his own. your books about art history and watercolor technique find their way onto his bookshelves filled with classic japanese literature and hero history.

(he comes home one day to see you propped up on the couch with a thick book on the origin of quirks and heroism in japan that you stole borrowed from his collection. he just cocks his head at you when you meet his gaze and you shrug.

“i’m not japanese, i don’t know any of this shit,” you say in way of an explanation. “besides, this is important to you. i wanna learn.”

you turn back to your book like you didn’t just completely shake the foundation of katsuki’s world for a moment and he stumbles off to the kitchen, heat burning at the tips of his ears.)

your plants find their way on every windowsill and while, once upon a time, it would’ve made him think of kaito and that sick, curling jealousy would wrap around his chest and squeeze, now? it just makes him think of you.

(it helps you can’t really keep them alive so nearly every other week the two of you are replanting something new in the pots and vases katsuki makes in pottery class.)

your favorite foods join his in the refrigerator and the two of you take your meals together more often than not. katsuki cooks and you clean, either eating on the couch while watching a documentary or at the dining room table as you talk and talk and talk.

(the first time katsuki misses dinner, you wait up for him, even forgoing your own meal to eat with him when he returns at 2 in the morning.

“don’t do that shit again,” he grumbles when he finds out what you’ve done, his scarlet eyes piercing your own. you shrug, unafraid, tired eyes trailing lazily over his tank top clad form.

“don’t tell me what to do,” you retort after a moment, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “i like eating with you.”

your honesty, unabashed and loud, always bowls him over and he has to take a sip of his ice water to feel steady again.)

the relationship between the two of you is easy, for once, and katsuki finds himself looking forward to coming home, to you and your witty comments, sharp intelligence, and your uncanny ability to see right through him.

he swears it must be a hidden quirk, the way you seem to just know — know what he wants and needs without even asking and your accuracy rate is pretty much unbeatable.

after a particularly bad mission where the property damage is unusually high and the civilian casualties match, the leading hero news journalist puts out a scathing piece about him, sending him into an emotional spiral.

you find him that afternoon, curled up in bed, staring at the window blankly. you crawl up in bed beside him and you don’t speak, don’t offer him coddling words of “everything’s gonna be okay,” or “you did the best you could,” because if that was katuski’s best, he doesn’t fucking deserve to be a hero. not at all.

but no, you don’t offer him empty words of placation. instead, you brush a lock of his hair off of his forehead and look at him with that all-seeing gaze, your expression neither soft nor hard, but understanding.

“you’re not gonna let that shit happen again, right?” you ask, tilting your head. katsuki shakes his head vehemently, the mere notion of the same amount of dead bodies on his watch sending a fire through his chest as he sits up.

“fuck no.”

“good. now come here, i painted something new and i need to see if i get ‘good job’ or ‘holy fuck that’s shitty’ eyebrows from you.”

and that’s that.

you’ve even given him a nickname and it inexplicably makes his skin feel tight, like he needs to tear it off and show you, like it’s a display of how you make him feel.

it’s a lazy sunday afternoon, one he’s required to take off by best jeanist, and he’s spent it next to you on the couch, listening to a few of your records while you paint a forest scene, a skittish doe front and center with rivulets of water streaming from beneath it.

occasionally, you’ll activate your quirk and katsuki can suddenly hear birds chirping and the creak of the wood before he’s back in your cramped flat, the sounds of city sounding below.

it’s jarring and yet, comforting, both your presence and the quirk, in a way that still doesn’t make sense to him yet.

“bambi, are you even listening to me?” the term of what he assumes is endearment startles him out of his thoughts and he eyes dart to yours, an amused expression on your your brow.

“who the fuck are you callin’ bambi?” in his shock, he can hardly conjure up the ability to sound pissed, confusion instead hijacking his words, making them come out soft and gruff.

“you, idiot,” you reply, like it makes all the sense in the world. “you’re like a deer to me. something in you is skittish, afraid and yet, you’re still so beautiful.”

what the fuck.

katsuki’s breath completely evaporates from his lungs and he feels like he’s going to pass out at your frank words. it doesn’t help that you don’t break eye contact or look embarrassed to have said something so, so… intimate.

he can’t even begin to parse through how to respond to something like that, but you know that too, flicking a little bit of paint water at him with the tip of your brush. he sees the olive branch for what it is and he grabs it with both hands, the annoyed sound rising from his throat on autopilot as you laugh, but your eyes are still so knowing.

he thinks about that day everyday after with sickening butterflies flapping around in his stomach and those only magnify when you choose to call him the new nickname every single chance you get.

katsuki would not dream of stopping you.

—

it’s about two months into you moving in with him and he’s going out drinking with the squad. he’s invited you about thirty times but every time you decline, citing that you’re behind on grading art projects and that show you were looking forward to is airing tonight.

(you’re a substitute art teacher at the local elementary school, a fact that genuinely shocked katsuki when he found out.

you’d laughed, wide and unapologetic at his reaction.

“i know i’ve got quite the potty mouth but i clean it up for the kids,” you say, eyes twinkling. “they kinda love me, i think, but it might just be the bob ross videos i put on for them every friday.”)

katsuki chooses not to push but he knows that he’ll end up cutting the night short, just so he can sprawl next to you on the couch and watch you paint.

you seem to know it too (how?? secret quirk, it must be) if the knowing look you give him isn’t enough as he goes to change.

when he returns to the living room, he’s clad in a nice black button down that’s unbuttoned enough to show off the strong planes of his chest and his thin gold chain, and a pair of black jeans that fit him and his tiny waist incredibly well.

katsuki knows he looks good in this outfit, but he finds himself uncharacteristically nervous as he stands in front of you, your eyes dragging down his body as slow as molasses, igniting the skin as though it was a physical touch.

your eyes meet his once again, molten and hot, and katsuki’s knees nearly buckle at the sight. he’s never seen you look like that - not at him, not at anyone, and he finds that he quite likes to be the center of your attention in this way.

“you clean up nicely, bambi,” you murmur, your voice a lower timber in comparison to your normal speech.

the blush spreads immediately to all visible parts of his body and he can fucking see you holding back a grin. “fuck off,” is all he can say before he spins on his heel, grabs his keys, and marches out the door.

it takes everything in him to continue walking, out and up to the train station and then to the bar, because all he wants to do is turn right back around, back to your home and back to that lava-like gaze you pinned him with earlier.

it’s you that’s racing around in his mind when he pushes the door open to the bar, but all thoughts come to a complete, grinding halt when he sees kirishima at their usual table, surrounded by all their friends and grinning like he’d never left.

he looks different - after all, it’s been about a year since katsuki had seen him last. his hair is longer and his roots are grown out, his skin has taken on such a warm glow and it, impossibly, seems like he’s gotten even bigger somehow.

it’s also impossible to miss the black band on his ring finger signaling a new engagement ring which he figures is what they’re meant to be celebrating tonight, eyes belatedly catching on the comically tiny “i’m engaged!” sash hanging around his chest.

the sight of kirishima sends the most heinous bolt of anxiety through katsuki and now he really just wants to call you to come get him and take him home, to make him forget all about his unrequited love. he moves backwards to do just that, but he’s already been spotted by kirishima himself.

fuck.

katsuki is frozen as kirishima’s happy expression falters when he meets his eyes, cycling through shock, disbelief, stark hurt and then utter relief.

he can see the way kiri’s mouth forms “katsuki” from a distance as he puts down his drink and moves towards him, his feet completely frozen until they’re standing face to face (face to chest, really) for the first time in months.

“hey,” kirishima says, hesitantly, breathlessly, as his hands flutter uselessly at his sides, like he wants to just pick katsuki up but is stopping himself. “can we, uh, can we go outside and talk?”

katsuki just nods because what else is supposed to do? and as they move out, he catches the worried gazes of their friends watching the pair of them from the table. denki and izuku, the latter of whom knows the most (everything) and the former who managed to figure most of it out on his own.

(“takes one to know one,” he’d said, bitterly when he’d confronted katsuki a few weeks ago about his unexplained mandatory leave all those months ago. katsuki was confused until kaminari flipped around his phone to reveal a photo of him and hanta pressed tightly together in an embrace that was strictly platonic and yet, horribly intimate.

katsuki’s lips drew together into a tight line as he settled against the brick wall kami was leaning against, trying to light the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

“you’re too good for plain face,” he says after a moment, attempting to channel his inner you, blunt and honest. “you’re gonna find someone better.” and just like all his thoughts as of recently, they’d flitted right back to you.

denki had watched his face carefully, cigarette unlit, a thoughtful look crossing his own expression.

“yeah,” he concedes, “i will, won’t i?”)

katsuki gives the pair of them a nod, holding up a hand to izuku who looks like he wants to follow them out of the bar, despite the pounding in his chest and the way he suddenly feels unsteady on his feet as they leave the building to step right back out into the cool, fall air.

kirishima’s stance is awkward and since neither of them smoke, they both just stand there, barely looking at each other and waiting for the other person to speak up first.

“fuckin’ hell- what’d you wanna talk about kirishima?” katsuki grits out, tired of the waiting game and suddenly, immediately, so exhausted. all he wants to do is be curled up beside you, with your all seeing eyes and gentle utterances of “bambi” in his ear.

the tact he’d lost in his haste to get this over with stings kirishima whose brows furrow in annoyance. “what do i want to talk about? i haven’t seen you in a year, bakugou, not since i moved out and you completely cut me off with no explanation whatsoever. i want to know why. what - what did i do wrong?”

his voice breaks on the last word and it sounds so sad, so uncharacteristically eijirou, that katsuki flinches, finally looking over at kirishima to see a broken, pleading man who lost his best friend for nothing more than silly, stupid feelings.

at once, katsuki feels all the fucking idiot asshole he is and it’s staggering how much that thought makes him feel like shit. he could’ve reached out, he could’ve, but he was so worried that he wouldn’t have been able to keep it together, spending time with kiri, and as time passed, the issue became that so much time had passed and he had no idea how to navigate this all over again.

he runs a hand over his face, leaning against the brick facade of the bar. “fuck,” he whispers, gravel crunching underfoot as kiri steps closer.

“i - i miss you, kats,” kiri’s voice comes out quiet and thick, “i got engaged and all i wanted to do was call you, but you weren’t there, you weren’t speaking to me and i-“ he takes a shuddering breath and katsuki’s eyes fill with tears.

“i was in love with you.”

the sounds of the street fade out as katsuki finally turns to look at kirishima, the tears falling down his cheeks.

“wha- bakugou, what?”

“i was in love with you and i couldn’t fuckin’ - i couldn’t do it. not to myself, not to you.”

kirishima face is drawn, pale and mouth gaping. his mouth closes, then opens again, then snaps shut, his head shaking in disbelief.

“why didn’t you - fuck - why didn’t you ever say anything, man?”

katsuki scoffs, the sound wet with grief. “are you shittin’ me? why the hell would i do that?”

kiri shrugs, long, dark lashes sweeping his cheekbones, leaving tiny wet marks. a year ago, the sight would’ve filled katsuki with rabid butterflies, but now it remains just an observation, one made passively and without thinking.

“i should’ve told you somethin’, i fuckin’ know that now, but i was - i was scared. scared of you hating me, scared of losing you. but i went and fucked that one up anyway, so,” katsuki laughs, self deprecating, and kirishima shakes his head vehemently, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him into a tight hug.

katsuki’s throat is tight as he gives into the embrace, burying his face into kirishima’s shoulder.

“you haven’t lost me, kats, and you never will,” kirishima whispers, pulling apart far enough to press his forehead to katsuki’s, red eyes meeting red. “i mean, who else is gonna be my best man?”

katsuki’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. “don’t fuck with me.”

kirishima shakes his head, a wet laugh escaping his lips. “not fucking with you bro. you’re my best friend. i want you there beside me on the happiest day of my life.”

after everything, after the year of no contact and the absolutely shitty way katsuki treated him, kirishima still wants katsuki by his side?

he’s honored, he’s out of his depth, he’s fucking nauseous, and he really wants to go home and tell you.

“i met someone,” he blurts and kirishima looks startled at the change of subject, but takes it in stride, a smile tugging at his face.

“that’s so great, dude, congrats! what’s their name?”

katsuki breathes it out and when he does, he realizes something, the force of it hitting him like a steel beam to the head.

“i think i’m in love with them.”

kirishima blinks, taking in katsuki’s tense form. he looks like he’s about to run away.

“i’m so happy for you, kats. really, i am,” kiri says, before being taken off guard yet again by the hug katsuki initiates.

“of course i’ll be your best man, shitty hair. i fuckin’ missed you too,” he murmurs and he hears kirishima sniffle. “i gotta go but text me and we’ll get lunch tomorrow or some shit, okay? i’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

he pulls away to see eijirou’s big wet eyes stare down at him with unabashed care and love, and katsuki feels his heart swell.

he got his best friend back and now it’s time to get you.

kirishima agrees to the meetup wholeheartedly and lets katsuki go with a hearty pat on the back and a shouted “good luck!” over the sound of the rain that started up during the last moments of conversation before going back inside the bar.

katsuki considers blasting his way to you, but he knows the optics would be incredibly unfavorable and his pr department would have his head, so he races to the train station instead and hops aboard, his mind racing with thoughts of you.

his hair is plastered to his forehead with rain by the time he gets to his apartment building and the button up is molded to his body like a second skin. he’s uncomfortable, of course, but he hardly pays it any mind because before he knows it, he’s unlocking and pushing open the door to your shared flat.

he’s home.

you startle from your place upside down on the couch, your paints and sketchbook cluttering the coffee table at the side while the tv plays an ancient looking cooking show quietly.

katsuki is bowled over by the sight, the weight of what he now knows as love sending him stumbling a little on his feet. he has to hold onto the doorjamb to keep his footing.

you sit up, observing, and you tilt your head. “you’re back early,” you comment, curiosity lacing your words.

he nods, not trusting his voice as finally steps past the threshold, kicking off his shoes and putting on a pair of hideous hawks themed slippers that you’d bought for him on your own birthday.

you hum thoughtfully before standing and disappearing down the hallway, katsuki’s eyes glued to you as you go. he can hear the sounds of you rummaging around in the bathroom, his feet frozen to the floor when you return, a fluffy towel in hand.

“you should shower, of course,” you say with a grin, opening up the towel and draping it over his head to dry it before moving on to the rest of his sopping body. “but i figured i’d keep you from dripping all over that ugly rug you’re obsessed with.”

katsuki doesn’t respond, can’t, and you don’t push or question, instead diligently wiping him down until he’s marginally more dry, eg, not actively dripping on the hardwood.

you move to go dispose of the towel and katsuki’s hand shoots out, not of his own volition, to hold you in place. it’s here he notices how close you’ve been standing to him, your breath wafting over his collarbones.

“bambi?” you question, unafraid of him, just lightly confused, but you don’t move away from him, somehow picking up his need for closeness without him saying anything, and he snaps.

“i love you,” he whispers, the explosion in his chest coming out in just those three gruff words, his carmine eyes boring into your own with an intensity you match.

a small smile spreads over your lips and your eyes light up, joy thrumming over your skin. “i love you too, katsuki.”

it’s perfect and katsuki can’t stop himself from cupping your face and pressing your lips together.

the kiss is gentle and chaste, your hands dropping the towel, coming up to rest on his forearms and holding him in place as you move your lips softly against his own.

katsuki feels like the rest of the world could implode right now, could be on fire or flooding or being overrun by villains and none of it would matter, not a single fucking thing because you’re in his arms and you’re kissing him back and you love him.

these thoughts ignite a hunger in him, a flame stoking in his belly, and he pushes further into the kiss, his hands sliding from their place on your face. one cups the back of your neck while the other slides down your back, pressing you firmly against the front of his body.

he’s almost giddy, having you like this, and he’s sure you can feel it because you’re smiling into the kiss like this is the happiest day of your life.

he thinks it’s his.

you continue trading kisses like this in your foyer, but it only escalates when your tongue flickers across katsuki’s bottom lip and you sigh softly, back arching against him.

katsuki has to break apart from you so he doesn’t consume you in that moment, but you don’t go far (you never do), your foreheads pressed together while you breathe in each others air.

“fuckin’ hell,” he chokes out and you laugh. “can i please - fuck - i need you.”

his honesty shuts you up quick and you nod, biting your lip. “take me to bed, bambi.”

and that he does.

katsuki’s hand finds yours and he pulls you towards his bedroom — you’ve been in there countless times, to watch movies, to nap, to read with one another, but of course, it was never like this.

the tension is thick but it’s not uncomfortable at all. you walk over to his bed and plop down on it like you’ve been in this situation a thousand times. the action soothes any residual anxiety katsuki might’ve had as he walks over to you, your heated gaze tracking his movements the entire time.

“take this shit off,” he grumbles, tugging at the garish all might crewneck covering your abdomen and you swat his hand away with an amused look.

he can feel his pout forming at your smile, but you just shake your head. “don’t tell me what to do, bambi,” but still, you raise grip the bottom of the thick fabric, lifting it up and over your head before letting it drop to the ground, leaving you bare.

or almost bare, if not for the objectively hideous, brightly colored, thin, cheap and lacey dynamight themed underwear covering your body.

“what the fuck is this?” katsuki doesn’t mean for his question to come out so reverent, but seeing you clad in his colors sends a bolt of heat down his spine so strong, he’s quite literally never been harder in his life.

you don’t seem to notice (but you always do), tilting your head at him with a grin playing on your lips. “they were on sale. didn’t think you’d ever see them.”

katsuki’s brows furrow at that, his hands tightening from their place on your hips. “who the fuck else was going to?”

you shake your head, like there’s something he isn’t getting. “no one. it’s always been you.”

“fuckin’-“ katsuki surges for you, claiming your lips with his with an urgency that had previously been lost. you respond in kind and this time, you’re letting out all these quiet gasps and sighs, writhing beneath him. he has to see you fall apart.

he reluctantly detaches his face from yours, kissing down your neck and sucking marks into the thin skin there, one of your hands sliding up to tangle into his hair, keeping him close.

a moan escapes him at the feeling of your fingers on his scalp, nearly getting lost in the mindless action, but he has to keep going. he makes it to your chest, laving his tongue over one of your nipples, flicking the hardened bud with the tip.

“f-fuck, bambi,” you outright moan and katsuki has to grind down against the mattress, his free hand sliding to pinch and pull at your other nipple.

your body can’t figure out whether to arch towards or away from his ministrations, which katsuki takes special delight in. you’re always so in control of yourself, even when you’re not, so it’s beyond rewarding to be responsible for your destruction.

“bambi - fuck - ‘suki, fuck me,” you groan and katsuki’s eyes roll back before he pulls off your nipple with a pop, his lips red and slick.

“nah.”

“nah?” you parrot, leaning up on your elbows with the closest thing he’s seen to annoyance directed at him written all over your face.

“nah. ‘m gonna make you come first.” katsuki grins, feral, and you shudder.

“get to it then, hero.” the moniker, while meant to be sarcastic and biting, just makes katsuki moan, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your (dynamight !!) underwear and tossing them to the floor.

he leans in, propping up one of your legs over his shoulder to bury his nose in the crease between hip and thigh, inhaling deeply. you smell sharp and tangy and so you that he couldn’t stop himself from taking a lick, entrance to clit, if he tried.

you sigh at that first touch of his wet muscle, melting in the bed while one hand remains buried in his hair and the other splays above your head. you watch him move with that intense look and you don’t look away so he doesn’t either.

he doesn’t look away as he slurps loudly at your entrance, tasting the wetness that’s gathered there with a pleased hum. doesn’t look away as he swirls his tongue around your clit, pulling a sharp gasp from your chest. doesn’t look away as he picks up pace, swirling, flicking and sucking until you’re chanting his name and “bambi,” your body tensing up as you buck your hips up into his face. doesn’t look away when you cum hard, soaking his lips and chin to which he eagerly groans, slurping up all you have to offer.

you pull him up to stop him from licking you through your aftershocks, kissing him hard once he gets to eye level.

“please,” you beg, eyes wide and urgent. who is he to deny you or himself?

katsuki stands and shucks off his boxers in record time, wrapping a hand around his cock that’s hard and leaking, the tip bright red.

your eyes eat him up hungrily, lingering on the way his precum spills over his knuckles with every slow stroke.

“i’m gonna suck your pretty cock tomorrow, preferably before breakfast,” you comment breathlessly. katsuki has to wrap his fingers around the base of his cock to keep himself from coming in that moment, taking a deep breath and glaring at you when you giggle.

“condom?” you shake your head, leaning back and spreading your legs to show off the wet mess he’s made of you.

“‘m clean and i’m in love with you. fuck me. now.” you can’t even sound commanding, not with the whine lying beneath your words, giving away how bad you want him. how bad you want this.

if the way katsuki’s cock legitimately jumped at your words is anything to go by, he obviously feels the same.

“goddamit, can’t fuckin’ say shit like that to me, jesus,” he rambles, crawling back onto the bed and notching the fat head of his dick into your entrance before leaning down to kiss you, open mouthed and messy.

he pushes into you when your tongue is halfway down his throat and he nearly chokes on it. you’re so soft and wet and velvety — he’s gonna cum so fucking fast, holy shit.

of course, you know it too, know him like the back of your hand because you squeeze even tighter around him and slide your hand down between your bodies to rub frantically at your clit.

“you - oh, god, you feel so fucking good bambi, fucking me so well, always taking care of me,” your words slur together as your eyes roll back, his hips slamming into yours at a quick pace.

he wants you to cum first, wants it more than anything, but the dirty talk coupled with the way you feel clenching around him has him shooting off faster than he expected, a low, long whine leaving him.

his hips stutter against yours and fireworks go off behind his eyelids. it feels like he’s coming forever as he humps into you and that feeling is only prolonged by you coming around him, your cunt clenching so tightly, you force him out, his spend spreading all over your mons and pelvis with a choked groan.

after another long moment, he slumps against you, exhausted and happier than he’s ever been.

you hum contentedly, wrapping your arm around him to pull him half on top of you, your body succumbing to the tiredness that’s so quickly overtaken you.

“i love you, katsuki,” you whisper, the phrase thick with sleep and emotion. katsuki feels burning at the backs of his eyes so he buries his face in the crook of your neck to hide, kissing your shoulder when the words don’t come.

you know, though. you always do.

—

“fuck, bambi, we’re gonna be late!” you screech from your (now) shared room, the sound muffled from where your head is buried in the closet.

by the door, katsuki is trying (and failing) to tie his bow tie, the red fabric remaining uncooperative in his hands. he groans in frustration, raising a hand to run it through his hair but stopping short when he remembers how you painstakingly fixed it for him a few hours ago.

“i know! it’s this stupid fuckin’ tie!” he shouts back, staring at himself in the little mirror you purchased, smiling a little despite himself when he remembers that trip to the home decor store with you, picking out new items that represent the both of you for your apartment.

speak of the devil, you step up behind him, looking gorgeous in a red, floor length dress, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“you look really good bambi,” you grin, fingers dragging down his abdomen to rest on his waistband, but his hands stop your downward motion while he gives you a halfhearted glare through the reflection.

“don’t start that shit,” katsuki turns around in your hold to face you, your hands immediately finding his undone tie. you work efficiently, face so scrunched up and focused that katsuki can only lift your face to press a kiss to your lips.

you melt, kissing him back easily and when you pull away, his lips are tinged with your lip products, marked by you. “you have a little something…” you trail off, wiping it away, not realizing how he stares at you like you’re the sun and he has no other choice but to revolve around you.

“marry me,” katsuki blurts, heat burning at the tips of his ears after a moment of you looking at him in utter disbelief.

he worries for a split second that you’re going to say no, but then your face splits into the most blinding smile he’s ever seen.

“are you proposing to me right now, bakugou katsuki?” you tease, fingers toying with the tie around his neck.

he nods, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer to him. “so what if i am?”

you laugh and nod, tears filling your lash line as the lighthearted facade drops to reveal you, earnest and honest and so so in love with him.

katsuki has no idea how he got so lucky, what he did in a past life to have you in his life and agreeing to be with him, in his life forever.

“of fucking course, i’ll marry you,” you say, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. “and i want nothing more than to make love to you on our brand new ikea sofa, but if we’re late to kiri’s wedding, he’s gonna kill me and make you watch.”

even the empty threat you make through your happy tears centers you in katsuki’s life, like you know that you are the center of his world, of his entire universe. you always know, know him better than he knows himself and there isn’t anyone on this whole earth who he’d rather be with than you.

he doesn’t tell you any of this though, blinking back tears instead and agreeing with a laugh, before finally ushering the pair of you out the door.

the thing is, katsuki doesn’t have to tell you.

you already know.

#bakugou katsuki #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha #katsuki x reader #katsuki x you #bakugou x you #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x bakugou #bnha smut #bnha angst #hurt/comfort #[ baby daddy : katsuki ]#[ instant nut : n/sft ]#[ i <3 writing : my works ]

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incidentallysunny · 5 months ago

Text

I Was Never There.

Death Island Leon x Reader

Real!Dad Leon

Dead dove warning.

13k word count. Proof read 3 times until I got to around 11k then I stopped worrying and just skimmed. Critique is welcomed and my skin is thick for it.

I’d like to appear in the tagz pls so here’s a warning. My writing is not ever meant to be taken literally and is just for the sake of writing f*cked up content that I enjoy writing. If you do not wish to read this, please do not as my intentions are not to offend or make you intentionally uncomfortable but if you choose to read- don’t be hateful. With that out of the way, extremely sensitive content and dead dove material ahead.

Specifically blood-related incest, smut, suicidal ideation, mentions of grotesque imagery, light mentions of gore in a hypothetical scenario, daddy-issues, age-gap, overall disturbing topics.

As far as smut specifically: this includes talking of public sex, mentions of oral, fingering, unprotected sex, cream-pie (wrap your willy irl pls) praise, dirty talk, any probably some other irrelevant shit I’m forgetting my b.

PROCEED if you read the above, are okay with it, and are mentally unwell like I am. Happy reading, it’s a long one.

The drive from your college town to where your home had been all your life was as expected. Nostalgia and homesickness being mixed in your gut like a can of paint in one of those weird machines at the hardware store that your dad would take you to. Speaking of dad, you hardly remember him. He was present for a short while, your mom always excusing his absence with work this and work that. He really did get busy, though. Almost dying several times. You still remember your moms panicked phone calls, her countless prescription drugs for the same problems you now suffer from, and her late-night bathroom breakdowns. Apparently he couldn’t get out of this job though. Some real fucked up government shit he was tied to, your mom explained. All you know about him is that he saved the president’s daughter. Whatever.

So yeah- a perfect life with a perfect set of parents. One being mentally driven through the dirt and the other that you haven’t seen in 8 years or maybe more. You can’t seem to remember if the last few times you saw your dad were daisied dreams or reality. Bastard has never FaceTimed or video called you, either. Dunno if he even had a phone capable of that. Either way, it must be for the better, because your grades had been sufficient without stressors on your mind. And we all know a low-effort dad would definitely be one. But perhaps he’d rather just be there in person. Older people are like that.

You grunted, trying to drag your over-packed suitcase up the steep suburban driveway before sighing and standing in place. Sure, you didn’t need to bring so much shit home, but would you really want to risk some bitch at college stealing anything from your quad-dorm?

Before you could think and figure out how you’d even get the plastic luggage up the pristine, hand-painted porch steps and inside (without scratching them up and having your parents on your ass about their perfect house having a flaw) a voice called out to you. Unrecognized and not ringing any of the bells in your head. (If there were any left)

“Hey there, sweetheart. It’s been a while, huh?”

You turned to see a middle-aged man, similar to the last memory of your dad that had been printing-pressed into your mind for safe keeping. He was just emerging from the front door, broad chest accentuated by a well-fitted T-shirt. You immediately felt angry that his tits were bigger than yours. Would probably look better with a bra, too.

You didn’t answer.

Fuck- nerves were getting the better of you. Your palms were slick with sweat and you didn’t know if it was from the building summer humidity or anxiety. Was this normal? No the fuck it wasn’t.

“Uhh.. dad?” You queried- almost certain the gorgeous man at the door was just a hotter, older version of your dad and not actually him. The fuck is wrong with you? You’re getting this worked up over your father? Did college drinking really rewire your brain to be this fucked or is it all of the anxiety meds? Maybe both. Maybe you’re just overwhelmed. Maybe it’s because you rarely saw him and have zero attachment.

“Yeah, it’s me. Your old man. Missed you, kiddo.” There’s a pause for a moment- because you’re not sure why he’s talking so casually as if you see each other every weekend- like it hasn’t been years and years since you’ve seen him.

“Don’t remember me,huh?” He laughs satirically- like you’re supposed to be so sure. It makes you slightly furious and the feeling of anger bubbles up again- replacing any strange thoughts you were having moments ago.

No, my apologies dearest dad. I totally recognize you despite having met you enough times to count on almost two hands.

But the better part of you that managed to exist underneath the scores of problems you had just replied in jest- like someone without said scores of problems. It was best to keep the peace for now.

“You look a little different… sorry.” Is that all you can manage? It’s pitiful the state that your sullied mind is in.

He chuckles, though, like he knows your’re right. The sound is more pleasant and striking when it’s genuine. Makes you feel damp in other areas than just your armpits (thank you, heatwave).

“I suppose there’s truth to that. But It’s alright, sweetheart. I know it’s been a long time. People change, right?” His eyes scan you in an undecided way.

“But you, shit. You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman. College treating you well?” His words sound a little huffed then, he’s clearly beating around the bigger issue with a stick. But him calling you beautiful and being all fucking sappy makes your face feel hot and sticky like it’ll melt off. Got you wanting to rip the hair from your scalp to hear him say it again.

“Please?” You called out gently- gesturing to the suitcase and ignoring any other question. You were very much overstimulated- having overexerted muscles in your arms by being a weak bitch about a crammed carry-on. Just get your ass out here and help your daughter, thanks.

He shook his head- again laughing hotly while looking down as he stepped off the porch- his brown bangs were peppered with greys and they brushed his face on one side, his hair somehow pornographic on its own. Christ. He looked like one of those men you saw on Viagra commercials that obviously didn’t actually need it. Even the sight of your perfectly trimmed lawn and faux-looking home completed the scene. Where was the camera?

He walked over to you- there was a slight stiff in his stride; like he had a bad back or something. Maybe he did. Almost dying was the likely cause for that. Serves him right for leaving you with issues on top of issues. Maybe you should stop being mean, you’re the one getting hot over your own father. Again- because of him. Circle back to square one.

Leon towered over your frame as he hinged at the hips, picking up the suitcase with ease- the muscles in his arm flexed with each small movement. His face was a tinge of smug with a mix of something else…satisfaction? Maybe he was just pleased he was able to lift it without rupturing a hernia. Jesus Christ, his veins. You wonder if he has them anywhere else. No- maybe you should be wondering about taking your ass to an inpatient facility immediately. A few screws are loose and you don’t exactly have the tools to tighten them.

“I guess college did treat you well. You’re here in one piece.” He says- cutting you thickly from your thoughts and answering his own question from earlier. His blue eyes are sweet and gently lined with signs of aging. Which only makes him hotter- just like the fiery pits of hell that await you.

You scoff.

“Well, it’s not like I went to war or something.”

“Still. It’s nice to see you, sweetheart.” The word rolls off his tongue again. Your insides are trapezing around in their own miniature, fleshy circus- you’re wishing you could stab yourself in the stomach to stop the swarm of butterflies that don’t even feel metaphorical anymore. You’re sure they’re real now.

He continues, though.

“I know I haven’t been around much in your life- this fucking job and-“ You stare up at him- glossy doe-eyes and stupid look on your face. An apology- or even an explanation from your daddy might be part of what your scrambled brain needs.

“Work kept me away, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about you every day. I’m sorry if I wasn’t there for you like I should have been. Shit… What I mean to say, is- things will be different. I’ve retired. Your mother wanted me to tell you over dinner later but I figured you’d be happy to know. I’m not the best at keeping secrets.” He jokes at the end, but how is that true in the slightest? He’s kept his job a secret for your entire life, so he clearly can’t be that horrible at it.

“Oh.” Leaves your lips quietly, ghosting over Leon and leaving him wondering if he said something wrong. But then he realizes it’s probably just overwhelming for you. The worst part of him thinks you hate him. A feeling overcomes you though, and you rush in to wrap your arms around his waist- hugging him tightly. You now wonder why he didn’t hug you to begin with. Maybe he wasn’t an affectionate guy.

He says nothing at first- he’s even more awkward than you are if it’s possible. But he’s trying. He sets down your suitcase before returning your hold. One arm comes around the back of you and the other is overlapped on top- a hand nestling on the back of your head. Seems he’s getting a bit emotional, too. The attention from him is nice, though.

When you make a small grunt as to wanting to end the hug, his hands linger on your shoulders and he smiles at you. You actually return to, not feeling anything horrid become of your thoughts right now. Whether it be anger or incestual lust.

—

Your dad pushes the front door open with one of his large hands encased on the knob. Hands you immediately find attractive, wondering if they’d feel nice scissoring your cunt open. You now begin to understand why your mom was getting suicidal over him possibly not returning home. You’d kill yourself over him too. But that’s too morbid- especially after the moment you just shared.

That’s already lost to you.

He shut the door firmly, sighing, then gestures to the stairs.

You went up first, self conscious about your backside being right in front of his view but he was your dad. Wouldn’t be looking at you that way. You’re just brain-rotted and have an ill opinion of men.

Your old bedroom still looked the same, basically. Just emptier and more hollow without your things. But the walls were still painted a babydoll-pink and lined with the few girlish decorations you left on the wall. No way you would have been caught dead with those in your dorm. Not unless you wanted to endure torment and bullying that’d lead you to jumping off the dormitory roof.

He sets your luggage down and takes a seat on your bed. A groan escapes him as he puts a hand on his lower back for a moment.

“I see this room hasn’t changed much, has it?” he muses, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Your mom and I had a blast putting it together for you when she was pregnant.”

Yikes. You almost feel guilt for both the incestuous thoughts and the fact you may have ruined your parents' marriage. Maybe that’s not true. It was his work- not you. After all, he’s insinuating how happy they were to have you brought into this world. Plus- they were fine. Never argued or anything.

“I’m sorry. I dont- I don’t know what to say.” You laughed awkwardly, throwing your hands slightly up by your side.

His face doesn’t drop, though. It seems he understands perfectly fine.

“It’s okay. We can start from scratch. Not talk about… your room or childhood stuff. I know it’s a sore spot for you, sweetheart.”

Wrong. It’s more like a festering wound with the rusted knife still wedged in it. The knife being Leon and the wound your daddy issues, by the way. And having no attachment to him as a father figure makes the attraction worse. Notably when he calls you any term of endearment. He leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

What the fuck. Was he sculpted by Satan himself as some kind of hell-on-earth punishment? Is this purgatory? Everything he did now was driving you up the wall like a roach- every movement and small flex showing a vein or bulge of muscle. And his arm hair didn’t help. Fucking Christ- shave it off or something. You don’t know how you’ll be able to stand it.

“Okay…. How does that work?” You cocked your head to the side a little, shifting your weight onto one leg. A nervous habit.

“Well- what do most parents do with their kids? We could go out for dinner, catch a movie, just… hang out. I’d like to spend time with my daughter, you know.”

Okay, so maybe he did care. That’s a start.

“Uh… all three?” You questioned, an eyebrow lifting along with the infliction of your voice towards the end of your sentence. You’re indecisive like your mom.

He smiled, lines and the corners of his mouth pressed. Happy. Something you heard wasn’t common for him, anyways.

“Of course. We can go out tomorrow, honey. Your mom just wants us to all have dinner together when she gets home. She missed you- not as much as I did, I bet.” He does that stupid fucking wink again. It makes you switch emotions and want to throw something at his head. Maybe your lamp. You feel bad, It’s not his fault you’re acting like a mental freak about him. You don’t even bother to fixate on the fact you’ll have to have dinner with your cunt of a mom. Okay, maybe that’s harsh.

“Okay.” You breathe out, looking around your room. Leon takes that as a cue to stand up from your old bed- the thing creaking from his weight and leaving an indent on your comforter.

“It’s a date, then. I’m going to start dinner. As much as I love your mother, she can be…scary.” He says, still rocking that pressed-in-cheek smile and cracking your door closed behind him. By the way, what he really meant was probably ‘bitchy’- not scary. But dad seems too kind to say that. He loves your mom.

You can breathe again without his presence. It was smothering, like you had to overperform. You find yourself rushing to your dresser mirror to check how you looked. Hair looks great, face too- though a little tired from college over-studying and then driving 4 hours home with no break.

You might as well write ‘whore’ on your mirror with lipstick. Or a marker- since that’s a more permanent reminder with the way you’re acting. But part of you wanted to know what he thought of you- how he perceived you. For now though, it doesn’t matter. Had barely been 15 minutes since you arrived. You turn your attention to your suitcase and push it over flat, unzipping it before the teeth give out and some of your things spill from inside.

You had less than a sufficient amount of energy to care about it being broken now- so you just put your things away quickly before plopping onto the bed and indulging your senses with the smell of the floral detergent your mom always used on your sheets.

—

It’s some time later when you’re abruptly awoken by your moms manicured hand shaking you awake by the shoulder.

“I can’t believe you’re sleeping when you could be spending time with your father. He was excited for you to be home.”

‘Way to wake me up.’ You thought. She was always having a stick up her ass about this kind of thing. Or anything, really..

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Besides, we’re going out tomorrow to do a bunch of stuff.” You argue sleepily, sitting up as your back aches with your vision still adjusting. She cuts on the lamp, sizzling your retinas.

Her face perks up but is pleasantly surprised.

“Oh, okay..” silence.

“I’m sorry, honey. It was just a long day at work and I’m just over-the-moon for you two to finally have some daddy-daughter time.”

You wrinkle your face in disgust, but not fully disgust since you were just fawning over your hot dad earlier. Maybe daddy doesn’t sound so bad.

“Ew- mom. He’s just my dad. I’m not five.” She laughs, waving her hand off at you.

“Well anyhow- come down for dinner, will you? He put in a lot of effort to cook something for us.”

You cursed under your breath and straighten out your shirt- hoping she wouldn’t bitch about it being slightly wrinkled from you sleeping in it. You seat yourself at the table- adjacent from your mother sitting at the end. She’s already changed out of her office clothes and sure enough, here comes your daddy dad from the kitchen with utensils.

“Sorry ladies- almost forgot these.” He laughs, placing down everyone’s set before seating himself next to you. Fuck.

“You know- your father has only been home a few months and he’s already shown the extent of his memory loss.” She jokes, giving him a loving yet teasing look that makes you want to vomit. And yet jealousy curls up like a cat in your lap, wanting to be lavished with attention from you. The metaphorical jealousy pounces off your lap as you’re met with your dad’s hand on your denim-clad thigh. It’s an innocent gesture but you want to his hand to go further than just sitting politely.

“She’s right, but I can be useful otherwise.” He’s bantering back with her- and you realize he’s making an innuendo when you look over at his face. But it’s weird that he’s saying it while his digits cradle your thigh so gently.

“Gross.” You take a bite of your food- momentarily shocked that a dad of any sort could make such a pleasant meal, especially when he’s spent such little time doing domestic duties.

“Oh honey- you’re grown. We’re just teasing each other.” Your mom nods to Leon, taking a bite off of her fork. His hand slides off of your thigh and he grabs his whiskey glass to take a proper sip.

Jeez, he drinks that shit like its water. No grimacing. No face was made when he swallowed it. Just a guy thing you suppose.

Dinner drags on- the both of them forcing you to talk about your less-than-thrilling college experience. No mom, no boyfriend. No dad, I’m not failing. No you two, I’m not having unprotected sex- fuck off.

After that eventful meal and conversation where your parents basically eye-fucked each other over dinner, you’re left to clean up the mess while your mom gets ready for bed. She has to leave for work early in the morning- as usual. Guess she’s going to take your dad’s spot for the absent parent now that you’re grown and traumatized full and proper.

Sleep came and went- leaving you to trudge out of bed and do your morning routine. It felt out of place trying to do it back at home- but it was also a sentimental feeling to be doing just that.

Leon is already in the kitchen, shirtless and cooking. Seems impractical, but holy fuck. You’d gorilla glue your eyelids open just to not miss a single second of what you’re seeing. Maybe that wasn’t needed- because you've been staring long enough that your eyes prick with tears. You remind yourself to blink and you seat yourself at the high-top, the stool swiveling slightly when your bottom meets the material.

“Morning, sweetheart. Sleep well?” He asks, turning to look at you over his shoulder. His traps are distracting you. You want to chew your fingernails past the nail bed- bite a finger off too. You can’t stand it. For a moment- the way he talks to you- you’re pretending you’re not his daughter. And then a moment later, you’re not being delusional anymore.

“Mhm.” You mumble sleepily- wishing you’d have stayed in bed longer. But piercing morning light, lack of blackout curtains, and the chirping of birds outside made that idea inconceivable. Leon chuckled to himself- turned away from you.

You decide to scroll through your phone for a moment’s time before he slides a plate to you from across the island.

“Breakfast a la Leon.” He says- clearly being silly. Corny as fuck, anyways.

“You’re old.” You snort, setting aside your phone and grabbing a fork to pick at your food until he turns away again. You didn’t enjoy the idea of having a hot, shirtless man watching you eat.

He shakes his head, sitting down next to you at the island.

Christ. Fucking go away. It’s actually enraging now.

You want to scream at him- it’s irrational and crazy- but you do. Screaming at him and being sent away to a ward sounds more appealing than the anxiety crawling up your spine like a horde of fire ants. Potentially- just like the butterflies- they’re real too.

He seems undisturbed as he settles- taking a bite. You do the same- trying to ignore the fact he's so close you can nearly feel his arm hair touching you every second or so. He breaks the silence after a moment.

“So- after this, I’ve got a whole day planned out. Mall, movies, and dinner. Sound good?” You nod, a soft ‘mhm’ reverberating on the roof of your mouth.

He finishes before you and makes his way upstairs- the occasional pain in his back unmistakeable every few steps. And yet he wants to take you to the mall to walk around? You didn’t even know how to feel about a day with your dad. What’s a dad? What’s daddy-daughter bonding? That’s lost to you- well- more like it was never even discovered. Not even Columbus could have ventured out and conquered it.

Since he’s no longer in the room, you hastily eat the rest of your breakfast before you discard the plate and fork into the way-too-elaborate dishwasher your mom had installed (you totally didn’t spend 10 minutes trying to turn it on).

Back in your room, you settle on a simple, totally not underlyingly slutty outfit. Shorts and a crop top. Can never go wrong with that. It’s just soft/core prom enough for an outing with your dad. When you leave your room- Leon is just headed down the stairs. He turns to look at you, his smile is as jovial as it has been since you’ve seen him. For a moment though, you think you catch his eyes landing on your exposed legs- but you know you’re just crazy. You’re the one lusting after him, not the other way around. Your dad isn’t abnormal like you. His head is on correctly- even if it’s been battered and spun on his shoulders throughout the years.

“Ready?” He asks, stopping in place to wait for you. You nod stupidly, breaking from your trance to follow him in a descent down the stairs.

He’s dressed similar to how he was yesterday- jeans and a t-shirt that should be considered indecent. If you were your mom, you’d beg him to wear something that doesn’t highlight every curve and dip of his chest. Hell, if you were your mom, you’d never let him go outside. Too risky. But you’re not your mom. You’re just unusual.

As a perfect man does, he opens the door for you. Then opens the SUV door, allowing you in before shutting it behind. You’re sure you've never met a guy that does that in real life, but maybe it was a ‘you’ problem and not the guy. Who knows.

When he gets in, he cranks the vehicle only for rock music to start playing from the radio- making the corners of his mouth dimple with a pleased look. Really are the simple things for him. As for you, you’re suffocated in a Hellish torment by both his presence and the expensive scent of cologne and leather seats combo.

The ride isn’t long, nor bad. Albeit you two only talk here and there so he can focus on the road- and so you can focus on not dying (he’s not a perfect driver, but not terrible either). Just enough to keep your nerves teetering between a light anxiety attack and full blown panic.

You’re relieved to get there alive. Maybe not. Your thoughts have you thinking suicide may be your only option for now disgusting they are. And it only gets worse when he helps you down from the step up of the SUV- a hand on your exposed waist and the other on your shoulder. It’s harmless. Just a dad being gentlemanly. He was shaped and carved out in that perfect, chivalrous image with only a mallet and hammer. No reason to make it weird.

Inside the mall is a tad busy- the perfect amount to be comforting. You feel a bit more at ease in a public setting since you can now focus on anything but your dad’s chest. As long as he doesn’t require eye contact or talk to you, that is.

He looks around, arms crossed. It’s almost whorish. He has to know his arms look good. Or that his everything looks good. The fuck.

“So…” He cranes his head to the side, bangs brushing over his nose for a moment. The way he looks around makes his Adam’s apple and neck muscles a little more prominent. A perfect, stubbled spot to attack with your lips.

“What do you feel like doing first, kiddo?”

You. Is what you want to say.

He looks back to you, smiling down amused. He seems genuinely happy to be able to take you out. But really- his face is making you nauseous. Obviously not because it’s bad. But because it’s good-bad. Too good it’s bad.

“Uhh… “ you look away from him, scanning the entrance area and looking at any signs. Almost like an escape.

“How about new clothes maybe? Seems like something got ahold to the other half of your pants anyways.” He nudges you with an elbow, gesturing to your shorts with his head.

So he probably did look at your legs earlier. Maybe not in the way you think, though.

You glare at him.

“Seriously?”

Leon puts his hands up in defense. He’s always on the defense in life anyways.

“Joking, joking. You’re…grown.” His forehead lines crease when he raises his brows. You did get rather annoyed at his comment, however.

“I could always buy some even shorter.” You spit sarcastically.

“Yes- because every father wants to walk around with their daughter who has her ass out.” He’s quick to remark, this time he seems grumpier when he talks. Sorta like he’s uncomfortable with the conversation. Or that he’s mad.

“Sorry my legs make you so uncomfortable. I guess I should’ve left them at home.” The back and forth here could go on forever between you two but he catches you off guard.

“Shit- no. It’s not that- ‘s just you’ve got nice legs. Can’t have these…shitheads eying down my little girl. I may be old, but I can fight when I need to.”

You know he meant his words innocently enough, but the fact that he said nice legs has you giddy inside. Same feeling when your crush calls you pretty. Yeah- that sorta feeling. And his little girl. It has a ring to it. Could even legally change your name to it so that he can call you by it more often. Maybe he’ll even let you jump on his dick right away.

Your face is pure rose-shaded. A perfect, neutral shade to make your embarrassment pop on your skin. You’re sure it’s visible to him, too. Your mom always teased you about how blotchy it would get when you were humiliated. Particularly when she would tell awkward stories about you at family dinners. Bitch.

“What’s wrong? Don’t be pissed at me, sweetheart. I was just teasin-“

“It’s not that.” You interrupt- heart thumping into your rib cage. If it doesn’t stop, or you don’t stop your word-vomit, it might crack a rib or four. Probably more. Better have hospital bill and therapy money ready, dad.

“Then what’s the matter? I just want us to have a good time together. I’m not trying to upset y-“

“You said I have nice legs.” You’re quick to cut him off again.

“And…?” He trails off, cocking his head to the side like he’s confused. Because he is confused. You stare off to the side- eyes glued to the fountain. Maybe you could go drown yourself in the penny-flavored water that you guarantee hasn’t been changed out since you were still the unlucky sperm in your dad’s ball-sack.

“I like that. You saying that.” You speak a little lower now- afraid someone will hear. Or because the tinnitus is so loud in your ears. What you’re getting at is almost clear now. Or at least clear enough.

Leon’s expression is taken aback but still confused to an extent because he’s not even certain what you’re saying. Though, he has an idea.

“Oh- uh. Okay. Sweethea-“

“Holy fuck- stop calling me that. You’re not making this easy. Wanting to fuck you. I know- I sound mental.” You spill it out, guts on the floor and the sword still in hand. Holy shit. Just told your dad you want to fuck him. You could have backtracked- fucking dumbass. You won’t be shocked if he packs his bags and leaves off again tomorrow.

He’s silent for a moment.

“Okay- clearly I wasn’t around enough. I get that. But I mean- fuck.” He runs his hand through his hair, looking around. Probably thinking the same thing about the fountain that you did. Still- he looked hot while having a crisis and contemplating immediate suicide. He paces while your nerves are being electrocuted in your body. Why couldn’t you just be normal?

“Just- sweetheart, no. None of that’s.. I can’t.” He starts, turning back to you. It seems he can look you in the eyes now. So maybe he’s not entirely disgusted by you. His face isn’t contorted with disgust, so there’s a chance. Yeah, you’re off your rocker now. You know.

“Look- let’s not talk about this. C’mon. Let’s go catch a movie like I promised.” He starts walking- leaving you standing in a puddle of shame and embarrassment for a moment before stopping to let you catch up.

Luckily- the theater is joined to the mall. It’ll be a short walk.

—

Leon is lax on the couch until he hears the crunchy sound of tires on concrete. You’re home. Despite his shitty back, he's huffing as he gets up fast and is already opening the door. The air is hot as it greets his skin and he watches you struggle with your suitcase through the heat-haze that spans over the distance.

He calls out to you- making your head snap in his direction. Your face is that of awe and confusion. You don’t seem to immediately recognize him- okay. He gets it. It’s been a while. Nevertheless, you’re beautiful. He’d seen pictures of you from your mother, but he’s in awe just as you are. Though, he doesn’t think that highly of himself so he often wonders if you’re even his kid. Couldn’t have made something that perfect, in his mind. He helps you with your bag and follows you to your room. But your demeanor around him is noticeably mousey. At first, it doesn't seem like much. You’re just getting used to him.

Plus, Leon knows he can come off intimidating. Sometimes. But for him, he’s got a good eye and his job has led him to being able to read even the tiniest bits of body language. Doesn’t take him long to see how you’re worming around shyly- subconsciously smoothing your hair down and biting at your lip. Same way your mom acted around him before they started dating. But again- maybe it’s just in his head. Leon’s been wrong a time or two.

A better man would have left it alone. Leon gets that. But an innocent thigh squeeze at dinner can help him test his theory. A thigh squeeze that’s under the guise of friendly, fatherly touch. You tense- he can hear your small, sucked in breaths as long as his hand is there, along with heat radiating off your body like a wildfire. If wildfires could be horny college-aged daughters with daddy issues, that is.

The idea disgusts him. Because he should feel disgusted and just kill himself. Where did these thoughts come from? He even has the urge to let his hand wander other places. Bets that you have a cute pussy. No matter what it does or doesn’t look like, it’s yours and he knows it's cute. He’d give you two thick digits in your hole (three if you allow him) and have his tongue kitten-lick your clit.

“There we go. Good girl.” Is what he envisions saying before diving back in for a mouth full of you. Girls like you love being praised. Especially by their estranged father-figure or a middle aged man. It’s all the same. He’d pry the daddy issues right out of you with his dick. It’s long and fat enough, and solves all of his matters properly. Your mom is in a bad mood? His dick will fix that. He can’t sleep? His dick will fix that. His daughter is a horny freak and begging for it? His dick will fix that, too- obviously.

It’s only when your mom makes some stupid fucking joke about his memory loss that he snaps back into reality and he loses the momentum he had going for an erection. Which is good. Maybe thinking about fucking your mom will make him normal again. So he drops a quip right back- something about… being useful. Yeah. Again, his cock is useful. Your mom bites at his words, but you’re annoyed and disgusted with his comment- especially with his hand on you while he says it.

Trust me, baby. Much rather be splitting you open than having performative, mandatory spousal sex. It’s like a switch flipped. He’s not interested in your mom. Should’ve had that realization years ago, even. Technically he did. He’s just now saying it in his head finally. Mostly he was exhausted because she had nothing to do with Leon even when he was home (unless it was for dick). Too bad he was a golden retriever following after her every step like a good doggy. Marriage did that to a guy. He just did what he was supposed to. Kept the lights on, blew out her back occasionally, listened to her complain, and took care of the lawn when he could. Easy enough. That’s what men do, right? He doesn’t really know what being a man is, honestly. Thanks, Major Krauser. Anyhow- he chokes down his food with a smile. The need to upchuck after everything he just thought up is a given.

He takes the liberty to fuck your mom later that night as promised per (faux) flirting over dinner. He has her face down-ass up, though. For… imagination’s sake. At least fucking a pussy and imagining you is better than his hand and imagining you. Or so he tells himself. Call it killing two birds with one stone, satisfying your mom and quelling his own desires. And it’s not hard to imagine any of it, because you look so much like your mother. He lies awake for a short while after- contemplating his existence and fucked up thoughts. He’s still holding back vomit and the urge to grab his gun from the nightstand and off himself all over the wallpaper, while in the process, traumatizing your mom. After an hour of this- he figures it’s fine, men think of perverted or weird shit sometimes. Jerk off to weird shit too. He hasn’t technically done anything morally wrong… sort of. It’s denial. At least he’s good at playing the part of a genuine, loving father. Because he is! He loves his family. Always has!

Spending time with you would make you happy, him happy, your mom happy. He loves you dearly. All is great. He’s swearing that his brain won’t be smoothied in his skull by tomorrow. It’ll be normal and function rationally.

But Leon wakes up with the thoughts being real as ever while he stretches an arm out to feel around for your mother- bed empty since she leaves at the ass crack of dawn. Leon had just missed her leave, he’s still getting used to sleeping in ever since he retired.

He gets up and heads downstairs- immediately starting breakfast to take his mind off his…mind. Breakfast is his favorite meal of the day, it makes him feel better to indulge in it right now. Though, he doesn’t bother putting a shirt on at any point- just rocking those generic, green and blue tartan patterned pajama pants. Cooking shirtless is weird- but he’s hungry and part of him wonders if he’ll get to see your priceless face when you walk into the kitchen. He shakes his head- telling himself that he just had this talk with himself last night. None of that shit.

He was right about one thing. God, he could make a killing in betting. He sees your reflection behind him in the small window above the counter but you didn’t know that. Just stood, gawking. It’s okay. He’s observative, you’re not. You’re his dumb little girl. Dumb in the way you shift in your stool next to him when he sits down, dumb how you hold your breath when he’s near, dumb how you can’t even eat next to him, and dumb how your thighs seem to wriggle when his arm ‘accidentally’ brushes yours. Oh, he’s definitely not wrong.

Still- he knows when to back off. He hounds down his food, before you even make a dent in your plate, and heads upstairs to shower. He’s analyzing every detail of himself, contemplating how he can get under your skin the most- his knuckles gripping the sink with distaste for himself. Because it’s wrong. He’s acting like a teenager. This is a date with his daughter, not his highschool girlfriend.

Leon skips over shaving his face. Likes to keep it a little grown out but not too much so. Just in case he gets the chance to eat (your) pussy or kiss (your) a neck. Then comes the Dior ‘Sauvage’ body wash he never failed to keep with him. He takes pride in smelling good if anything. And this particularly expensive wash, plus the cologne, was his lifeline for that. When he traveled for work- the D.S.O. better have god damned had some sent to his room as courtesy. Ever since Raccoon City- he’s adamant about not smelling less than great. He swears he can still smell the sewer on himself sometimes, even if it’s not really there.

His hair routine was even more extensive and involved a weekly hair mask. Hey- it wasn’t wrong for a guy to have nice hair. It paid off.

Heat protectant, blow dry, hot-comb to get any cow licks or fly-aways he might have- though it’s unlikely- and a little spritz of biotin spray to keep it healthy and shiny. All of that in reasonable time, too. And no- it's not weird for him to spend longer on his hair than your mom does.

Besides, you seem to appreciate the way he looks when you come out of your bedroom- watching him descend the stairs. Leon looks back at you- eyes on your legs momentarily then coming back up. He knows it was a quick look- quick enough to make you question it. You do. Very much. Still, taking you out in public wearing those shorts is less than ideal for him, but he’s the one who needs to be watched closely. Aforementioned, Leon’s great at pretending. Pretending to be normal. Pretending to not have ulterior motives. Pretending to not want your legs on his shoulders as he-

“All ready?” He interrupts himself here. Can’t let his thoughts keep going too far. Even if he does want to rest a hand on your leg while he drives. Or veer off the road and into a tree so that he can’t continue to be disgusting. He’d die with the image of being a good, wholesome dad in everyone’s mind. And if you did or didn’t die too, at least you would have died not having been fucked silly by your old man. He manages to not kill you both, though. He wasn’t planning to- his driving is just ass. He knows whiskey with his breakfast isn’t ideal but when you’re a recovering alcoholic plus post traumatic stressed failure of a father, it helps.

Can’t complain though since he gets to put his hands on you while helping you out of the vehicle.

Now you’re both in the mall- Leon questioning what exactly he’s supposed to do now. He hasn’t been to one since… he doesn’t have enough fingers for that. But you’re seemingly calm. Until he makes a stupid joke about your shorts. Sure. As much as he’s thinking about ripping a hole in the crotch to fuck you cause he’s impatient and stupid- he said it out of genuine concern.

He still has fatherly instinct. Some sick bastard could get a glimpse of your exposed legs and go jerk off to it or take a photo. Ironic coming from him right now. The call is coming from inside the house but the dad is too busy fiending after his own daughter to answer.

You’re royally pissed. He knows it. Women don’t like having it insinuated that they’re dressed like a whore. Big whoop, though. Someone has to say it. Then you blindside him. Big, needy eyes and saying you like it when he tells you your legs are nice. Then something about how you want to fuck him. Christ. What the fuck. He’s not sure if this is some kind of screwy set-up or you’re actually just so slutty that the only dick you’ll accept is your dad’s. He’s rocking a semi now. Would be a full hard-on if he weren’t in public but his head spins cause all the blood went to his loins too fast.

Leon doesn’t accept the advances yet. Not now, anyways. He’s mortified. He really thought he had himself going in delusion about how you were behaving- but he was actually right. And now being confronted with it… he’s fucking scared - that’s for sure. Hmm. Be a morally acceptable human or fuck your needy, whore daughter silly? He shakes his head and lets out an exhale.

That question needs some thought. No, it doesn’t. He knows better than to do any of that shit, right? He takes a moment to start walking while you follow along shamefully- the two of you headed to the theater. A movie is perfect. Don’t have to talk or anything. No interacting, really. But how the fuck is he just going to forget what you said? Sure, he’s been having questionable thoughts but they’re just thoughts. Your words, however, spoke it into existence. Like a fucked up, frankenstein’s monster of father-daughter reality.

Don’t mind us, everyone. Daughter’s got it real bad for me but I’m just going to take her to the movies and pretend it’s normal. Reality was distorted for him ever since the existence of zombies and BOWs anyway.

He lets you pick the movie- telling the attendant that he needs two tickets. It’s a horror movie. Of course. Something to trigger his PTSD, maybe. Then he could say anything he did after that was just accidental. A mental slip. He goes to fork over the $60 for tickets and popcorn- god, when did shit get so expensive? As he’s pulling out the cash, he sees you give him a look like you want to say something. His mind is racing looking at you- it makes him nervous.

“Uh.. what about candy?” You ask, looking away from him and at the display.

“What? Sour worms?” He questions you, laughing. Not in a mean way- but because it’s your favorite. So insignificant but he remembers. You were still a kid when he and your mom took you to see some milked out children’s movie that was a part of an entirely too long series. He bought you two boxes of sour worms then. You were a weird kid, though. The worms were split into two colors, and you’d always bite them down the middle and make him eat the side you didn’t like. But he’d do it. Gladly.

You nod, a little befuddled that he’d remember something like that. Cute. Too bad your weird ass just told him you wanted to fuck him about 15 minutes ago. So not entirely a cute moment.

“Oh- and two boxes of Sour Worms, please.” He adds, now pulling out a little more cash.

You both respectively grab your own drinks- Leon with popcorn in tow and you, your worms and cherry soda. His hands are full but he manages to flash the movie ticket between his index and middle finger to the usher, who then ripped it in half and pointed to the left end of the hallway.

You both don’t say anything, but you immediately race to the very top row like a child once inside the screening. Leon swears under his breath as he follows you like a geriatric snail. If a snail could have lumbar issues. He’s able to make it up the stairs to you quite some time after and takes the seat next to you that’s closest to the aisle. Safety and all that jazz.

Previews are already playing so it gives him peace of mind to not address the awkwardness between the two of you. Your soda is in the cup holder that’s separating you both, but you lean over to take a sip, cheeks hollowed out while you drink. Of course Leon looks over, fuck.

Pretty little lips wrapped around the straw until you pull off of it with a satisfied sigh. Cause you were thirsty from anxiety- like someone shoved gauze and cotton into your mouth.

He shifts in his seat and looks back at the screen. He doesn’t even know if you’re doing it on purpose. You’re not, however. He’s just a perverted dickhead.

Time passes and not a single soul has come into this screening. It’s Monday at 11am, after all. Who the hell would come watch a horror movie at this time? No one except two fucking weirdos. It’s making Leon’s nails dig into the armrest with the other set scratching at his jeans.

The movie doesn’t start off bad, to Leon’s shock. He’s actually enjoying it and you seem just as entranced, pulling open the box of Sour Worms without looking down. You do wind up looking down, however, to bite one in half because it just so happened to be a blue and orange combo, and you hated the orange side.

“Here.” Leon turns to look at you- your eyes coming up to meet his blue ones that are oddly blue enough to the point that any light from the screen makes them pop. Pretty.

“The orange half. I know you don’t like them.” His voice is husky and low since the speakers are blaring some generic string-quartet horror piece. He nods down to the half chewed candy in your palm.

You pinch it between your fingers, bringing it to his mouth as your cunt throbs. He was expecting you to hand it to him, but the way you confidentially yet instinctively brought it to his lips isn’t entirely unwelcome. The emptiness of the theater makes it that way. Allows room for incest of whatever. He opens his mouth for you, and you go to place the sour treat on his tongue. His lips gently close around it, before he grabs your wrist to hold your arm in place. A hold gentle enough to tell you that if you want to snatch your hand away- feel free to do so. But you don’t. And you won’t. He knows.

Candy in cheek, he brings your fingers to his lips and nurses your knuckles with a kiss before puppeteering your hand with his larger one, working each digit so that he can equally suck each one clean. You’re amazed, aroused, and alarmed all at the same time. Amazed because he looks so gorgeous sucking on your fingers. Aroused for the obvious reason. Alarmed because duh, he’s your father and things can only go further from here.

Leon places your hand back onto the arm rest between you, chewing the halved sour worm now. As if he didn’t just give you the most visually appealing form of sexual affection in the history of womankind. The dryness of your mouth returns and you take another sip of your Cherry soda. Maybe you can drown yourself in it. No, stupid. That’s what the public bathroom toilets are for.

Right before you set the plastic cup into the cupholder again, Leon speaks.

“Ah, ah. Put it over there.” You don’t even hesitate to listen. Record timing for you doing anything. You don’t even know why you followed his instructions so quick.

“Good girl.” His words send lightning of excitement down your nerves and straight to your clit as he pushes the armrest between you upwards and out of the way. Because that’s a thing, for some reason. It’s like theaters want people to fuck, give head, and spread their diseases everywhere. And why does he know they move? You don’t even want to question it. Maybe he’s just a knowledgeable guy.

“Come here, honey. Let daddy kiss that pretty mouth.” Fucking Christ. This can’t be real. Doesn’t matter, ‘cause again, there’s zero hesitation on your part. Leon likes that. A woman that can follow orders. He’s so used to taking them, not giving them. And your mom isn’t one to listen to other people. Either way, if this goes south, Leon can always just off himself. He wasn’t around much so what difference would it make if he was permanently gone? The reassurance of being able to log out forever gives him courage here. It’s rational.

You scoot over since you’re free from any barriers or restrictions, and he puts an arm over you. You swear you almost hear your skin sizzle from the contact. You’re not a witch- and as far as you know, he’s not water. Even if he gets you wet. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek and swipe a thumb over your bottom lip- teasing you.

“D-dad.” You stutter a protest- cringing that you sounded the way you did just now. Maybe you shouldn’t be embarrassed ‘cause he’s your dad- but you are embarrassed ‘cause he’s hot. You can’t even figure out why you wanna back out suddenly. Probably because the idea was better than betraying your mom and knowing yourself as someone who fucks their dad. Anywho- didn’t he say something about kissing you? Cause he’s not even doing as promised.

Your dad leans in, his free hand is now on your neck and angling it just to show you how easy he can manhandle your body. He plants a kiss on your earlobe before saying anything.

“What’s wrong, baby? Can’t go giving daddy blue-balls now. It’s not polite to start things you don’t wanna finish.”

Leon’s words simultaneously gross you out and turn you on in a self-deprecating, disgusting kind of way. Not to mention he’s literally contradicting himself since he would gladly eat the half of the sour worms you didn’t want to finish- therefore entirely enabling you to start things you couldn’t finish. Hm. That must explain a large portion of your life, then. And besides all do that, doesn’t the know blue-balls is some kinda stupid myth or whatever?

His thumb falls down your lip and traces your jawline with intentional slowness while his eyes look over your face appreciatively- but it also seems as if he’s looking for or at something specific.

You get the courage to speak, air sucked fully into your lungs.

“Sorry, daddy.” The fuck is wrong with you? You could have said anything but that. It’ll only spur him on. But you want that, obviously.

He smirks, lips pressed together as the corners of his mouth do that same, pitted thing they do that you like so much. Must go hand in hand with how his chin is also dimpled. It’s sexy. But little do you know, it’s one of the reasons he keeps his stubble. Doesn’t feel like having his butt chin on display to the world- even if every woman that’s ever laid eye on him sees it and wants it buried in their cunt.

“That’s my girl. Didn’t even have to be around much to teach you that, did I?” Leon queries, grabbing your chin to crane your head just so that he can plant his lips onto your neck. His other hand is on your knee, unmoving. You want it to move, though. God- you’re sure whatever higher power is in the great sky is throwing up right now, moments away from pressing the reset button. The same higher power will make a new rule on humanity.

No free will and absolutely no incest. Yeah. Probably should have written that into the books ages ago, one fears.

You fidget as he kisses your neck, stubble scratching your epidermis yet tickling all the same.

“Not gonna answer me, sweetheart?” He murmurs against your throat, the neck kiss he gives it uses a bit of tongue- making your body jolt. “I know your mother taught you manners.”’

You mumble something pathetically apologetic, hands gripping the fabric over his shoulders. Hopefully your mom won’t notice his shirt being stretched out there- cause she notices everything.

“N-no, daddy. I knew it on my own.” You huff, that hand you wanted him to move is slowly doing so- fingers dragging along your inner thigh as if everything he’s doing to you is purposefully meant to be some kind of forewarning. But for what, exactly?

“Such a smart girl. Get that from daddy, you know it?” Ok, cocky…

Leon kisses his way back up your neck, jawbone, and then your cheek. It’s sweet- if being lavished with saccharine, sexual and inappropriate attention from your dad could be sweet.

You nod, feeling his grip loosen from your chin and now sliding up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair, threading it. He’s slow and deliberate- part of you wishes he’d not give you time to think about your actions. Not that you can really think anyways. Your heartbeat is muddled in your ears and the movie is still rumbling through the speakers while someone gets murdered on screen. Lucky them.

The hand on your thigh presses firmer into the skin just below the edge of your shorts, a silent telling for you to keep your attention on him.

“Sorry baby, daddy got distracted. Just so pretty.” He must be able to tell you’re impatient because he kisses your cheek (with an oddly dark undertone to it) before slimming the distance between your lips. He pauses right when they touch and you’re breathing in the taste-turned-scent of the sour worm you fed him earlier. Sugar and that weird orange flavor that is only specific to orange candy. You’re obviously not a fan, but it suits him.

You don’t get any time left to process before it’s a full on kiss- well, make out, actually. It’s slow. You can’t recall being kissed like this, ever. Normally it’s straight to tongue with guys, and not in, like, the good way. The ‘having an eel invading your oral cavity’ kind of way. Eugh.

But your dad’s tongue does brush yours, tastefully. You can actually feel the texture and it’s easy to tell there’s an erection fueling his actions- but not so much so that it takes over the whole kiss.

He uses your hair to pull you closer, teeth clashing momentarily. Not exactly the best feeling but everything else envelops your senses to the point that it’s only a flash of a moment. Your thigh is neglected by his touch, hand moving up and around onto your backside. He gives a squeeze to the fat of your ass and groans against your mouth before pulling you into his lap- legs folded on either side of his thighs.

You break the kiss, looking over your shoulder and to where the entrance is- the exit sign casting a nearby glow that gives you anxiety..

“Can’t- we’ll get caught.” You pant, that weird feeling that’s the grotesque love child of nervousness and excitement is swimming in your gut like a parasite before settling. The severity and realness of the situation sinks in.

Leon laughs low and mean, retracting his hand from your hair and moving to run it through the top of your scalp to push it back. He juts his hips upwards to prod his denimed erection into the cunt of your shorts. You mewl quietly, or maybe it was loud. The movie is just too deafening to distinguish which.

“Suppose you’re right, baby.” He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, leaning in to give you a light peck on the lips. “Told you you’re a smart girl, didn’t I? Can’t let me go around thinking with my dick, huh?”

His hand pats your thigh as if to tell you to get off.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Up.” He commands you with a huffed voice- not because he’s annoyed but because he’s a middle-aged man. Moving is hard. You ignominiously climb off of his lap, putting your bottom back onto the seat next to him. He’s looking at you, meandering a hand back onto your thigh just to rest in place.

You stare at the screen- but you can’t even register it because you’re too disassociated from what just happened. You almost want to beg him to fuck you right here- plead for forgiveness that you suggested stopping in the first place. And you can still taste that damned orange sour worm in your mouth.

Leon behaves, though. He’s good about that. Respectful. In the way of consent- not in the way of not tongue fucking his daughter in a public space. When the movie ends, he gestures for you to stand and you walk past him, carrying your empty cup and boxes of sour worms while the uncomfortable feeling of your slick clinging the gusset of your panties to your cunt. You look back at your father, the sight of him in the palely lit theater is a bit intimidating. He’s adjusting his pants for obvious reasons. You look away quickly and keep walking- a giddy feeling of satisfaction overcoming you. Shortly enough, you’re both back in the main area of the mall. You brush your shirt out and fix your hair- the thought occurs to you that maybe you look a little mussed and should have straightened up sooner.

But the daylight beaming through the sky roof brings you back to your senses.

“Hmm. What does my sweet girl want to get up to now?” Leon asks, intersecting his arms as he looks over you.

You think, mind fizzling as it short circuits. You almost smell smoke emanating from your head, too. How can you look him in the face right now?

“Uhh..” You really don’t know what to say. What can you focus on doing after everything that’s happened today?

“How about this? We can go home a little early and I’ll cook something up for lunch. The drive will give us time to work up an appetite.” He says, nonchalant. Right back to his same fatherly tone from earlier today instead of the ‘I want to split you open with my dick’ tone he had moments ago. Maybe he’s just being sweet and you’re overthinking.

You’re befuddled that he’s not saying anything else about… that. How can he so easily go from publicly groping you to acting cheery and normal? It’s frustrating. Disturbing even. Leon can see the disappointment on your face- but you don’t know that. You assume it’s well hidden, just like the fact you kissed your own father. He thinks it’s cute though. You’re just cock dumb for him. On the other hand, this whole situation is something he has to deal with.

“Got it.” You manage to say, walking a little faster than he does. This is the second time you’ve walked off from your dad, and it does irritate him because he can’t keep up like he used to. Displaced disc in his spine or whatever. Plus, he thinks you’re pissed. Which is worrying. Should have known better than to mess around with his own daughter, he supposes.

The drive back is silent and less terrifying than the previous, part of you thankful. Maybe he was only a bad driver in the morning. Unlikely, but not impossible. Maybe it was the fact that he drank whiskey with his breakfast. Hm. ‘Responsible’ in hindsight.

It’s still early in the afternoon when you arrive back home. The concrete is sizzling from the heat and the sun beats down way too uncomfortably for even a walk from the driveway to the front door.

Leon side-steps you to unlock the house before he urges you in. He may be morally reprehensible but he still didn’t want to let any cool air out- AC’s expensive. You plop down on the couch and he locks the door, walking past you and straight to the kitchen.

The tension is thick for you- but for Leon- not at all. You watch him disappear through the doorway as he goes to prep food. Why is it so hard to read his emotions? He’s like a fucking light switch. You’re annoyed- leaning back on the couch, until he calls for you. You’re quick to get up, scrambling into the kitchen.

“Hey, sweetheart. Mind giving me a hand?”

“Yeah. What is it?” You faintly cock your head to the side.

Leon looks to the side- directly at you. You’re cute when you’re confused. He can tell that all you’re thinking about is continuing where you two left off earlier. Shit, you’re no better than your mother. ‘S just that you’re not crabby and sour all the time like she is.

“Can you grab the saucepan from the bottom cabinet. Your old dad can’t exactly bend over too well.” He laughs- shaking his head. Yes, dad. I get it. I know you have a bad back.

You walk over to the cabinet where he’s leaned onto one hand which is rested on the marbled countertop. You feel a bit apprehensive to be close to him again. Mostly because you don’t trust yourself to not jump his bones, but Leon’s already ahead of you. As soon as you bend over, he pulls you back by the hips so that your ass is flush with his groin.

You’re taken aback but definitely not surprised. He’s a dirty old man, as you’ve learned.

“Gonna let daddy fuck this pussy now, or are you getting flaky on me?” He coos against your ear while he runs his hands up your sides and down again- creeping his hands to your front and over the buttons of your shorts- unhooking them through the slits.

“Yes.. want it.” You breathe in quick- the word coming out on its own. If god could hear you right now, he’d set your house ablaze with lightning.

“Need you to loosen up if I’m going to. You’re way too stiff.” Your shorts are the opposite of you, loose and unfastened fully so they fall to your ankles, and Leon nudges your feet apart with his boot. You realize he’s got a point as you feel his calloused hand glide down your hip and yank you in place. The other hand is spreading your pussy lips apart before finding that fleshy bud between them. A moan rumbles in your throat as your legs almost give out below you. He mutters a curse under his breath, and you realize his cock is now out while he rubs up against your ass- getting off on not only playing with your pussy but from dry humping you.

“Fucking christ. Got the prettiest ass, baby. Think daddy needs to see it bouncing on his cock.” You can practically feel that stupid, smug look as he grabs his dick- slapping it on your ass. It makes you cringe a little, but maybe you should be cringing at the fact your dad is the one doing it. You figure it’s just something he saw in porn, so it doesn’t leave your expectations high at the moment. Great. Leon adjusted himself back into his pants, for now.

His finger continues circling that bundle of nerves, your legs shaky as you’re being pressed into the counter, a hand is on your lower back to keep you down so he can do what he wants. You sound stupid- tears welling in your eyes as you babble nonsensically about wanting to cum. He moves his hand off of your back and sinks to his knees to be face level with you (even if it makes his back hurt a little), sliding his fingers up your inner thigh until there’s a digit prodding your hole, slowly pushing in.

He watches your cunt swallow his finger, barely able to fit it inside.

“Fucking shit, baby. Gonna have to stretch this pussy out if I want my cock in you, huh? Think you can let daddy do that?” He asks, breathy and sounding like he’s trying not to bust all over himself.

You eagerly shake your head.

“Yes, daddy. Need you to get me loose.” The words spill like a hot cup of tea from your lips, scalding Leon with desire.

“God damned. Such a polite fucking girl I’ve got. Might have to eat your mother out later to thank her for making you so respectful.”

You scrunch your face in disgust.

“That’s fucking gross.” You moan, Leon slipping a second finger into you, which should technically feel like four with how worn and big his hands are.

He tuts, planting a kiss to your asscheek.

“Now, didn’t daddy just compliment you? Could be a bit more grateful since he’s trying to make you cum” He grits, sounding a bit (terrifyingly) stern.

You apologize again.

“Sorry, daddy. Just don’t wanna hear about you and mom. Makes me jealous.” You admit, briefly thinking about their dinner conversation last night. Then about how fucking weird you are. You’re really hoping you get the courage to bash your head on the marble countertop and get amnesia.

Leon laughs, but in a way that makes you think he’s amused more than actually laughing.

“God. Want me to stop fucking my own wife just ‘cause you’ve got a needy pussy?” A third finger slips in, making an almost unbearable stretch as you feel a slight ache, but the previous two fingers already did enough work that it’s not completely unbearable.

“Maybe you’re not that grateful. Giving you three fingers here and she’s still too tight.” He twists his hand, letting the inside of you feel every inch of his knuckles and calluses. Your knuckles, however, are ghost-white as you grip at nothing.

“Maybe your fingers are just too small.” You say- mostly from built up tension and annoyance that you didn’t get to let out yet. But you regret the words.

He’s silent- which scares you. He pulls his fingers out of you- the stark contrast in emptiness is clear and the cool air stings you.

Leon groans as he stands up, kicking off his boots before yanking you by the arms to stand straight. He leans into your ear.

“C’mon. You’re gonna come sit on daddy’s dick, since you’re too fucking picky.” Goosebumps form all over you as he leads you to the couch. Leon leaves you standing there so he can get comfortable and discard his clothing, lying back with his hands behind his head. You make a mental note of how his biceps look with his arms bent in this position, even if you kinda feel like it’s lazy. But holy fuck, his toned stomach is perfect- sprinkled with a happy trail that will definitely lead you somewhere that will make you happy. Speaking of, his dick is nice. Fat. Not sure how big it is since you have not much to compare to, but you’d imagine taking it would be a bit of a proper challenge.

You step a little closer- crawling awkwardly over his lap- ass faced towards him so that you settle on his waist. It’s hard not to feel self conscious about your backside in this position, even considering the fact that he was just fingering you from the back moments ago. You’re mostly just upset you can’t gawk at his tits or stomach.

You grab him by the base, shifting yourself to hover directly over him, letting the tip graze your wet hole before slowly sinking down- a drawn out moan escaping you.

“Fuckkk. That’s it. Sit down on it. Take all of daddy.” You glance over your shoulder as you bottom him out; his eyes are half-lidded. Well, at least he’s got a pretty face while you’re fucking him. You almost failed to realize his hands moved from behind his head to your ass- gliding up your back and down again.

You take a moment to adjust, breathing shakily ‘cause his dick is so fat you think you might die. Or maybe you’re having a heart attack at your ripe age.

“Didn’t tell you to take any breaks, did I baby?” You’re annoyed at his pushiness, but you did have a bit of a sour attitude earlier. So you can only blame yourself.

You’re not sure how to entirely do this, but you move yourself up and down. Not at a fast pace, yet. Just that savoring your dad’s dick seems like a reasonable ordeal.

He doesn’t shut up, though. You’re learning just how much he likes to talk- as if he just wants to hear himself. Is he even getting off on you or the sound of his own voice? It makes you roll your eyes even if you do like hearing him say dirty shit.

"That’s my girl. So fucking good. Ride it nice and slow... Work that sweet pussy on daddy's cock.” You just might fall over dead hearing him say any of it- it’s disgusting but sweet Jesus are you eating it up. He must know it too because of how you clench around him involuntarily when he talks like that.

“You like when daddy praises you? Yeah, you love me telling you how good you are.” His words are husky and yet pleased with the previous tidbit of information.

“See how nice I am? Letting you sit on my cock after you made me wait earlier. Wasn’t very nice of you, now was it, baby?” His words have an underlyingly mocking tone, but you’d do anything to make him change it.

“No, daddy. Was really mean of me.” You whine pitifully, bouncing yourself on his dick like it’s your major in college and you’re trying to pass with flying colors.

“I know, baby. But daddy forgives you.” He murmurs, sitting up with you still on top of him. He’s flush against your back now- reaching in front of you to make those same tight circles on your clit. You both exchange your pitchy moans and his grunting and groaning- working up to a good point in both of your impending orgasms.

“Gonna cum in this pussy, got it? Daddy doesn’t like to pull out.”

You scramble a bit, squirming on his lap.

“Fuck, dad! You can’t do that!” You whine as his other arm holds you onto him- wrapped around your stomach. Your nails dig into his forearms, hopefully not leaving noticeable scratches.

“I think I can, baby. You’re squeezing me at the idea- I’m not fucking stupid.” He’s quick to be mean again, but you’d be a liar to say you’d don’t want him to cum in you. And you’re not a liar, that’s just deplorable- coming from someone who is literally fucking their dad with enough energy to power a small village for a month. And yet, you don’t stop riding him.

And your silence tells it all.

“Yeah- my baby wants a nice creampie.” He sounds more strained now, letting go of his hold on your stomach and using his hand to now guide you to roll your hips on him.

Sweat beads down Leon’s forehead, bangs sticking to his face as he watches your ass grinding against his lap.

“Fuck, baby. Just like that. I’m gonna cream this tight fucking pussy. Want that, don’t you? ‘Cause daddy’s gonna give it to you whether you want it or not.”

You should be a little more upset or concerned in any regard right now, but the last two days have made you into a proper whore to the point that you don’t even give a shit. Self respect crawled itself into a space shuttle and launched off of the planet, probably to never be seen again. Stuck in orbit, if you will.

You’re sucked out of the motions when Leon speaks again.

“Stop, stop.” He pats your bottom.

“Turn around, baby. I wanna see your face. Wanna kiss those lips while you’re on my dick.” Your stomach flutters with nervousness and a sickly sweet feeling. You lifted yourself from him with a trail of arousal to follow and maneuvered to turn around- this time he was holding his cock ready for you. Moments went by of you staring, getting a proper look of him since everything had been a quick blur so far.

“Come on, baby. Need you to mount daddy’s cock again. Told you I wanted to kiss you, didn’t I?” He exhaled, sounding a bit pent up. Jeez- seconds without pussy and he’s getting upset. Maybe he needs a therapist and anger management, not his college-aged daughter spearing herself on him.

You replied, yes, daddy. Sorry, daddy. Didn’t mean to make you wait, daddy.

You dropped yourself down onto him once more- only this time it was easier since you were able to get accustomed to his dick.

“Start moving sweetheart, make daddy cum.” He instructed, leaning in to take you in a kiss. It was more dirty than the last kiss, somehow. His tongue slipped between your lips- Leon lifted you with his hands on your waist before jutting his hips up to slam his cock snugly into your heat, groaning against your mouth delightfully.

His teeth nipped your lower lip- giving you a little further taste of just what kind of lover he is. Or maybe this is just the version you get. Either way, you can’t complain in any area. You feel lucky to receive even a sliver of it.

The familiar roughness of his thumb returns to your already throbbing bud- circling at the same pace he’s now moving at. Despite his age, he seems awfully enthusiastic to do strenuous work involving his hips. Bad back, my ass. Or maybe he’s able to put that on the back burner to please you. Probably worried if he doesn’t give you good dick then you’ll go tattle on him.

Leon didn’t break the kiss whatsoever while he pounded into you ruthlessly, he swallowed up every moan and noise you made like it was alcohol. ‘Cause that was his favorite, obviously.

When he pulled his mouth off of yours, a trail of saliva lingered- stretching out while you giggled on top of him. Something about you laughing almost made him nut immediately, but he held out just to prolong this and let it engrain into his mind for certain.

“Got the prettiest baby- look so good on my cock like this. Want daddy to bust in that pretty pussy?” He asked, looking for your approval.

“Uh-huh. Need daddy to knock me up.” The words came from god knows where, making even your eyes look bewildered for a second.

Leon laughed darkly at you.

“God, baby. Daddy’s so fucking close.” He muttered stupidly, almost like he was drunk. At least this could be an ego boost for you- but the fact it was your dad canceled that out. Dick only counts if it’s from someone that’s not related to you. His eyes did that half-lidded thing from earlier that you found so hot, and he pulled you down onto his cock one last time, spilling thick ropes into your blood-related hole. His dick pulsed as he let out a muted grunt, head lolling back and his adam's apple on full, stubbly display. You could bite it, just like a real apple.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He moaned. Jeez. He was a whore, honestly. The way he made noises and didn’t shut the fuck up was honestly… a case that should be studied. Maybe he had been turned out a time or two himself.

His cock didn’t soften though, nor did he not forget about you cumming. He lifted his head back up, looking down at where his thumb was. It was almost like he read your thoughts, not saying a word as he concentrated on making you cum. ‘Cause earlier he had been too eager to get in you and you were too eager to get on him.

Your nails dug into his shoulders (hopefully your mom wouldn’t notice any marks on him when she gets home from work later) and he gently fucked into you while you received proper attention on your aching clit. The combination of his dick keeping you full and the sensation of his digit sent you throbbing through your orgasm around him- low curses and other disgusting things coming out of both your mouths.

‘Cause you’re both disgusting.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy death island #leon kennedy vendetta #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader smut #leon s kennedy #tw inc*st #tw #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #leon s kennedy smut

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bobluvbot · 3 months ago

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sweet nothing

pairing: remus lupin x f!reader summary: you thrive in filling everyone’s cup. remus makes sure your cup gets filled too. wc: 2k cw: descriptions of food, eating a/n: written after a long writing break pls be nice heheh p.s. thank you for all the love for my sirius angst fic!!! i saw yalls comments and messages and appreciate them sm!! i don't have plans at the moment to write a sequel/pt. 2 sorry :'( someday when i get inspiration i probably will but for now it's a standalone <3

The pesto pizza was a big hit.

The news of the heatwave came a month early so it gave ample time for James to rein in the necessary house improvement tasks: yard weeding and tidying, adding small stone steps for the toddler, and ordering the inflatable slip and slide pool for the sweltering summer days. And he was adamant to do it all by hand, no magic, so he “could get the full experience”. Lily likens it to being married to a professional landscaper and contractor at once, thankful that her decision to go on a date with James Potter during seventh year continues to be a great lifelong investment.

You can still recall Remus’ early morning grumbles when james calls him over for help. It came to a point where he’d beg you to pretend to be mad at the setup, reasoning that “ james is taking him away from his lovely pretty girl” when his best friend calls him at 6am to start the day mowing the lawn.

James would roll his eyes at excuses falling off of Remus’ lips, but he’d sincerely take your concerns to heart. Lovingly, you’d wave Remus off and give him pecks on both freckled cheeks, encouraging him to go and learn how to tackle on house repairs so he’d be well prepared when it’s your turn to build a family home.

This usually gets him going, Remus’ secret lover boy tendencies kicking in, but not without grumbling and frowns thrown haphazardly (easily treated with touching and kisses).

Sirius was off travelling the world for most of the month, much to Remus’ dismay, as he was then promoted as the first-in-line friend in James’ contacts. He did however send over a fancy outdoor pizza oven in lieu of his absence, and it completed the space.

On the days where you finish work early, you’d join Lily as she picks up her little boy from nursery and take a leisure walk around their quiet neighborhood, a babbling toddler in tow. Then you walk into the perfect setting: the gentle hum of the AC, sunrays reflecting on the white marble countertops, a nicely prepared spread of afternoon snacks for the three of you, and the floor to ceiling glass wall separating the living area from the backyard offering a glorious view of two sunkissed shirtless men doing hard manual labor. Lily nudges you, handing a bowl of pistachios. “A snack for the show.” You return her glance, eyes both twinkling with playful mischief. Maybe the summer days aren’t as bad as it seemed.

But then the first draining day of the heatwave hit. There were minor adjustments to be made still, like some scaffolding to be tidied and hedges to be trimmed, but the heat had a special way to beat down the morale of any living thing exposed to it for a while, and it finally hit James. Early on a Saturday morning, you decided to accompany a still groggy Remus on his usual Potter house renovation shift to make him feel a bit better that you were also losing sleep with him. To both your surprise, James comes from the garden to meet you, looking worn out but wears a proud grin. “It’s all done,” he claims, clapping his hands together and you see him holding the wooden culprit that magically finished hours of yard work in a few minutes. So much for no magic.

“Get some sleep and come back in the afternoon for the party.” Remus grabs your hand and apparates back home in record time, before James gets a chance to recant his words.

Completing a full 8 hour sleep cycle does wonders to the mind and soul. A well-rested Remus was filled with high spirits, doting on you as you both get ready for the party. He showers you with compliments the moment you step out of your closet, giving him a twirl. Once the bashfulness sets in, you run to him and try to nuzzle your heated cheeks on his chest, anywhere to escape his lovely sappy gaze. He sits on the bed so you can’t hide, and looks up at you like you hung up the moon. It was maddening.

“You look stunning, my love,” he says, hands on the back of your knees, sliding up under the hem to meet the soft skin of your thighs and resting them even higher. It took immense strength not to buckle down and fall into him. You’d foreseen this response the moment you decided to wear that white babydoll dress, but actually going through it is a terrible nightmare. As much as the idea of bailing on the summer party and letting Remus do whatever he pleases with you in this dress sounds very appealing right now, you had promised Lily that you’ll help with the cooking and food, and ghosting your best friend for a dick appointment sounds very juvenile. So against your questionable judgment, you grab your boyfriend’s face, give him a chaste kiss, and murmur against his lips, “james and lily will kill us if we ditch.”

Even though it was an intimate gathering of close friends to celebrate the finished yard, you forgot to account for the amount of kids, partners, and pets that your friends have accumulated since graduation. James had to transfigure the already long dinner table even longer and double the number of chairs to accommodate everyone. The slip and slide also was transfigured into an actual waterpark, complete with a lazy river that kids seemed to enjoy after going on the slides.

While it was definitely chaotic, it didn’t feel suffocating like packed events usually make you feel. It’s likely because of the familiar faces wherever you look, the ease of conversation just flows. Remus was anchored to your side until he wasn’t, whisked away by both James and Sirius as they announce to everyone who’s listening how his valiant efforts in renovation has resulted in the beautiful yard they were in today. You giggle at the endearing sight of your boyfriend furiously flushing pink while his loud best friends continue to brag about him. It’s just how the marauders would be back in Hogwarts, with you watching their shenanigans from afar whilst nursing a terrible, terrible crush on Remus. Only difference now is that you get to take him home.

You eventually get whisked away too, thankful that Lily came right on time as you were starting to melt in the heat. The inside of the home smells and feels like heaven, as the chilly air from the AC carries the scent of freshly prepared ingredients and whatever concoction Lily’s currently tending to in a pot. Careful not to disrupt the comfortable quiet, you give her a back hug, a silent thanks for fixing up everything you’ll be needing for the pizza you vowed to make, before getting to work.

You’ve gone over the recipe and prep so many times that you could do this with eyes closed. The pesto sauce was freshly made a day prior, a delicious result of your raid in your aunt Molly’s garden and fridge. Before you knew it, the only thing left to do was place the pizza into the oven, to which Sirius was very happy to do so he could flex his expensive purchase.

The chatter didn’t die off even when the dishes started rolling out of the kitchen, everyone now raving of how good Lily’s cooking have been, James not helping by proclaiming, “'m pretty sure my heart isn't the only thing she's stolen—she's got everyone's taste buds wrapped around her finger with her cooking too.” Making his wife flush pink and hit his arm playfully.

When it was time for your dish, the stakes were quite high and you were feeling a bit nervous. At home, Remus practically inhales everything you make which provides you a good ego boost, knowing that you don’t need to be the best, as long as you don’t accidentally poison someone from your cooking.

Soon enough, the scent of freshly baked pizza filled the air, mingling with the soft murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. You stand by the head of the table, hands deftly making slices enough for everyone, continuing to scan the crowd, ensuring that everyone is being taken care of.

"Here you go, aunt Effie,” you smile, handing her a generous slice. “Here’s a bunch for you, Fred, careful not to spill and please share with your brothers!" you try to say quickly, but only see a spur of red hair and small hands before they run back to the water slide.

You soon get a groove going and start to move down the line of smiling guests and waiting plates. Too distracted that you jump a little when you feel a warm presence at your side. Without ever needing to look, you knew it was Remus, who’s now carrying a plate with a slice you don’t even remember handing him.

Without a word, he picks up the steaming slice and brings it to your lips. You welcome the taste, finally understanding the praise everyone seems to be throwing at your wake. You make a mental note to thank your aunt for lending you her recipe. Remus has his free hand cupped near your chin, ready to catch any crumbs or drippings that might stain your pretty white dress.

Butterflies in your stomach erupt and fight for space, your entire body vibrating with giddiness and affection for your lovely boyfriend. That distracted look in his eyes as he feeds you in between your efforts in feeding everyone makes the warm fuzzy feeling worse, because you know he’s doing this without much thought, like second nature. That it’s just common sense. That it just goes without saying that his love knows you, fills the needs you don’t even realize were there in the first place.

You wonder through the afternoon then early evening what you’ve done in your past life to receive this love. Maybe you saved a cat from a burning building, or watered a dying plant that had magical powers to heal serious illness, or stars aligning just right to have you exist in the same timeline as Remus.

You find yourself buried in blankets and clad in a worn sweater, twenty something minutes in a romcom movie in the comforts of your tiny apartment. Remus slides in beside you with a bowl of steaming buttery popcorn and another can of your favorite sparkling water (which he hates with a passion). Your eyes drift to your opened one on the side table, now seeing that it’s almost empty, a few sips left.

Remus snorts at an obscure joke one of the characters says in passing, and you snuggle up to him, maybe hugging his arm a little tighter than usual, afraid that a love this gentle can vanish between your fingers. He turns and recognizes the look on your face, returning the soft gaze. His free hand brushes a stray hair away, fingers lingering on your cheek.

“Thank you,” you find yourself murmuring. “For taking care of me.”

You had this conversation long time ago when you first started dating. Having been in some relationships and situationships before Remus, you thought you’ve seen it all. Known the twists and turns, what to ask for and when to keep quiet, what you owe and don’t. But he comes and does things that drove your mind haywire, body screaming foreign! unknown! when he leaves sweet and short scribbles on post-its and sticks it to random places that you’re bound to see somehow, your favorite fruits magically appearing on the basket after finishing the last piece yesterday, being able to count on one hand times where you had to touch the wheel and drive. Its all natural, unprompted, again like second nature. as much as you hated to admit, you’re a control freak. but it's easier this way when you know what comes and goes, what happens and what doesn’t, what won’t happen if you don’t do anything to get it. being with Remus and knowing his love is a shock as it is a clean slate. to unlearn roughness and rigid and know to be soft and vulnerable.

you’d thanked him. when he gave you a confuddled look, like he didn’t just make your heart grow two sizes bigger in one day. you then started enumerating things he did that made you feel appreciated and loved. you were expecting him to be happy that you see and celebrate his effort, any reaction honestly but a frown. “you don’t need to thank me for those things,” he had said, holding your hand and gently rubbing circles when he sensed that his reaction scared you. “That’s how I show my respect and care for you. ‘s nothing special, just what’s right.” You couldn’t stop the ugly sobs that came after that, when you realized that yes, this was the bare minimum of a healthy relationship, but you made space for less because that’s all you’ve ever gotten, even when you’d ask.

This time however, maybe because its near midnight and you’re both worn out for the day, Remus lets you. “Always.”

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #the marauders x reader #the marauders fanfiction #the marauders fanfic #the marauders #marauders era #marauders #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you

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forlix · 1 year ago

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𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞・l.f.

— felix misses you a little extra tonight; good thing you're way ahead of him.

words・1.7k pairing・idol!felix x gn!reader warnings・brief mentions of the ocean, drowning imagery genres・fluff, angst, established relationship, pining, hurt/comfort, lots of (happy) tears

a/n・i had exo's "been through" on repeat while writing this; pls give it a listen it's beautiful and so underrated and captures the fic perfectly. enjoy <3

When Felix steps into Tokyo's night air, he can still hear the remnants of tonight's concert in the distance, the occasional car horn and the low thrum of conversation floating over the dome of the stadium. But for the most part, it is quiet, and Felix is finally able to think.

He thinks about how he's happiest after performances: leftover adrenaline warming his skin, strobe lights still dancing across his vision, heartbeat still drumming against his ribs like the heavy bass that shook the stage prior. He thinks about how much he loves leaving each venue knowing that, even if only for a few hours, he owned the place; set it utterly ablaze.

But he mostly thinks about you.

From the moment Felix started loving you, his happiness became yours. A bite of brownie fresh out of the oven, met with widened eyes and a delighted mmm; every funny story relayed to you later that night (poorly, because he keeps interrupting himself to laugh); photographs, so many photographs—an especially rotund pigeon he spots on the way to practice, a new pair of earrings that’s way too expensive but looks way too good on him, cute texts from his mom—inevitably making their way into your camera roll.

He can’t help it. He only wants to experience the best parts of the world with you by his side.

So it is in his happiest moments that he feels your absence the strongest. And now, Felix so badly wishes you were here that he physically aches. It feels a bit like his heart is being swallowed by seawater, nothing in any direction for miles, nowhere to go but down.

Only when Chan materializes next to him does Felix manage to steady his feet on the cement once again.

“It’s not here yet?” Chan surveys the lot for their tour bus, to no avail. “Good thing, I guess. Everyone's taking their sweet time.”

The older boy gives Felix a glance thoughtlessly, looks away, and then looks back, his gaze lingering on the side of his face for longer this time, and Felix knows that Chan knows exactly what’s going through his head. For a second, Chan seems like he wants to say something, but Felix averts his eyes to his shoes, takes out his phone.

Not now.

“I think I left something inside,” Chan says instead, though he never leaves anything anywhere. Felix manages an appreciative smile. Without another word, Chan claps a hand to Felix’s shoulder and disappears back into the building, as quickly as he came.

A few seconds pass. Then, as naturally as if by muscle memory, Felix taps on your contact and holds his phone to his ear.

It rings once, twice, thrice—and then he hears your voice, but not in the way he yearns for.

“Hi, you’ve reached Y/N! I’m unable to come to the phone right now, but please leave a message and I'll get back—”

He ends the call, his brow furrowed. You knew he had a concert today. And you should've known to anticipate the call that would come right after, as faithfully as the sun’s rise and fall.

He calls a second time, hoping this was an obstruction of ‘do not disturb’ and nothing more, but is met with the voice message again.

The call of the ocean's depths becomes louder.

As he sits through the automated response, Felix leans against the wall behind him and tilts his head back against the plaster, his gaze moving over the night sky. Then, he hears the beep, and starts to speak.

“Hi, my love. I called, and you didn’t pick up, and I got worried. Is everything alright? Maybe you’re busy, or asleep? Remember to take care of yourself first and foremost—everything else pales in comparison. Everything."

His voice feels far steadier than he feels.

“Ah, I miss you, darling. The concert went super well; the energy was unreal. We have a few hours to explore Tokyo tomorrow before heading to our next stop, and I’m excited as hell, but I wish you could be here more than anything in the world. I haven’t stopped thinking about how much you’ve always wanted to visit this city since we got here—Seungmin even said he'd save his visit to the Pokemon Center for whenever we come back with you. All of us are thinking of you, babe. Me especially. Me hopelessly.

"One day, you and I are gonna travel the world together, responsibilities and schedules be damned, and we'll spend as long as you want wherever you want. As long as I can be next to you. God, I fucking miss you. I said that already, right?”

A short distance away, the building door opens again, and Felix quickly ducks his head out of view, suddenly conscious of his watery eyes and blurring vision.

“I gotta go. I think the members are ready to go back to the hotel. Call me back when you get a chance, okay?”

The next words catch in Felix’s throat, and he has to wince and take a long, shaky breath in order to get them out.

“I love you to the ends of the universe, angel. Share some of your light with the moon tonight, yeah?” He presses a kiss to the receiver. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Bye.”

With that, Felix hangs up, drops his phone into his pocket, and presses both sleeves tightly against his eyes, willing himself to calm down.

No, he thinks, shoulders quivering with the effort, it really never gets easier.

It takes a while for it to strike Felix as odd that it’s still quiet outside; he could’ve sworn that he heard the door open and close, that he should be hearing the tired chatter of his members by now. Apprehensively (obliviously), Felix lifts his face from his hands and turns around.

Chan, so solemn and quiet before, now wears a Cheshire grin that instantly devolves into a breathy laugh when he meets Felix’s eye. Hyunjin stands behind Chan, holding his phone up, evidently filming. Felix’s lips part in confusion, a question forming on the tip of his tongue. There are enough videos of me crying my eyes out on the internet, no?

But then his eyes fall on the person standing in between the two men, their arms piled so high with flower bouquets that their face is almost concealed entirely, and he forgets what he wanted to say; he forgets every language he knows.

“So we were contacted by a fan the other day,” Hyunjin says, beaming. “Kept calling you their boyfriend. Forced us to fly them out to Japan and everything.”

“It'd be real bad if we got the wrong person,” Chan adds, and a stifled laugh comes from behind the petals—one that Felix would recognize in every corner of the world, in every lifetime. “They look familiar?”

The bouquets part, and behind them you appear, cheeks visibly flushed even under the lot’s singular streetlight, smile so bright that it’s turned your eyes to crescent moons.

"Surprise," you say softly.

The empty lot finally erupts into laughter, Chan and Hyunjin no longer able to restrain themselves. Can't believe we pulled this off, they're saying to each other triumphantly, but everyone, everything around Felix vanishes save for the person he adores most in the world, holding more flowers than they should be able to carry, looking at him as if he's made of pure starlight.

And Felix's heart starts kicking upwards, towards the rays of moonlight filtering through the murky water, as fervently as if his life depends on it—and, in this moment, it does.

“Hand 'em over, fool,” Chan says to you. And as you start transferring the heaps of flowers into the leader’s arms, Felix has never moved faster in his life.

In the span of a few seconds, his hand finds the small of your back, and yours the nape of his neck. “Holy fuck,” Felix whispers, and then he’s pulling you against his chest tightly, desperately. There is no word that can describe the way you melt into one another except for destiny, one of your hands curling in his hair and the other running over his shoulder; his face burrowing in the crook of your neck, fingers lacing together against your spine.

His pulse is so loud that he hears it in all directions, in all parts of him. Felix squeezes his eyes shut against the material of your crewneck, his whole body shaking with silent sobs as the overwhelming array of emotions he'd harbored prior finally spills over. And he stops thinking entirely, simply loses himself in all that you are: the smell of your laundry detergent, the sound of your laugh, the feel of your embrace, so secure and warm as if promising him you’ll never let go.

“I love you, Lee Yongbok,” you murmur, the words only for the two of you to hear.

With the sound of his full name, Felix's heart breaks through the ocean's surface at last. Not only that; it performs a triple axel on the shoreline, and it sure as hell doesn’t stick the landing, slipping and sliding and fighting to regain its balance as you continue on.

“Forget the ends of the universe. You are the universe. You are everything that has ever existed and everything that ever will. And I couldn’t bear to be away from my galaxy for a second longer.”

Felix shakes his head from where it remains buried against you, his voice a broken rasp when he answers, “I’m not whole without you, angel. I never will be again.”

“I'm here, baby,” you reply, your hands tightening around his hoodie, among his long locks. “Whether I'm right next to you or on the other side of the world, I'm always with you. And I will be tomorrow, and the day after, and eons from now. That—”

Your lips find the shell of his ear, then his temple.

“—is a promise, my sunlight.”

Chan is standing with bundles of flowers still piled high in his arms, silent tears streaming down his face, and Hyunjin’s expression is contorted into a terribly suppressed weep, his still-recording phone long forgotten in his pocket. They don't have it in them to tell you to get a room. Not right now.

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other works here. thanks so much for the support ♡

#felix x reader #lee felix x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #lee felix imagines #lee felix fluff #felix imagines #felix fluff #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #skz fluff #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #felix scenarios #*minific #lee felix angst #*writing #:'''''')#hahahahaha i am so in love

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jakegasm · 2 years ago

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who you belong to | jake sully

genre: smut ♢

pairing: jake sully x omatikaya!reader

word count: 3.4k

warnings: jealous jake being mean?, spanking, vulgar language, crying, rough sex, 18+ (MINORS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DONT INTERACT)

brief info: jake just being jealous and also a meanie 👀

notes: this is my first smut in a loooooooooong time so pls go easy on me ;-; also shout out to my bestie who helped me write this @sinsandsuccubus , i love you bitch 🥺🤍

You were growing restless.

Each morning was the same. Wake up, have breakfast, and sometimes if you’re lucky you’d get a quick kiss as a departing gift. Though some days he’d be gone before sunrise leaving you to wake up to an empty hammock that the two of you share. Unfortunately for you, this was one of those mornings. Huffing you carefully swung your legs from the hammock and set your way to getting things ready for breakfast, grabbing your basket you followed your usual route to your collection site.

The walk was peaceful you couldn’t lie. The crisp morning air filled your nose sending you into absolute bliss. You enjoyed morning walks like this, the quietness soothing you in ways you wished your mate would again. The irritation builds back into you as you thought about your mate, the lack of attention from him is becoming too much to bare. You understood his absence despite you hating every bit of it. Your mate was Toruk Makto, the new olo’eyktan. Your people thought highly of him, so you understood the new responsibilities that were set before him but yet you still found loneliness within your home. It sometimes vexed you when you saw others interacting with him. Getting his attention that you so badly yearned for, yet he still wouldn’t take the hint of your desperation for him. Your fingers picked the last of the fruits from the bushes and trees the dew from morning air coated your digits and palm. With ease, you picked up your freshly picked fruit swinging the basket to your side to rest on your hip. The walk back was a bit rocky due to the extra added weight, though it was manageable. You nodded your head at others, as the forest began to wake up sending them a warm smile as a greeting.

“Would you like some help with that?” Your head turned to the side to see a rather familiar face coming into view, your face lighting up with a smile.

“I am fine. Thank you for your kindness Zu’häi.” Your smile bared your teeth at him earning you a smile in return. You didn't know Zu’häi that well, the two of you only had small conversations here and there and you could not deny that the male was very helpful and kind for a young na’vi. His hands gently and securely grabbed the basket filled with fruit from your grasp giving your slightly reddened hip a break, easily holding the basket upon his shoulder his smile wider than ever.

“I insist. Please, guide the way.” The boy was persistent and you knew that so you decided it was best that you’d let him have his way, turning your back to him you guided the way back to your hut. It was nice of him to go out of his way to help you with your daily morning routine, so in return, you wanted to thank him for his kind gesture. You held the drape that covered the opening of your hut for him to enter instructing him to place the fruit by the makeshift table you had constructed for meals. Dusting his hands the boy once again smiled beamingly at you his hands now resting on his hips. You walked past him to one of the stumps that resided at the table and tugged his hand downwards to the seat next to you.

“Please sit. I will make breakfast for you, for your kindness towards me.”

“Oh no, that is fine. I just wanted to hel-”

“Sit Zu’häi.”

Your voice is more assertive and demanding now but, your eyes never left the fruit that your hands gently sliced and peeled. Quietness was filled between you two though it was a comfortable silence. Your eyes glanced up at him every now and then, his wide eyes filled with amazement as he sat in the olo’eyktan’s home. A smile crept up on your face as you sliced a fruit holding outwards in front of you and him. His face holding confusion at the gesture.

“Eat it, it is one of my favorites.” His face relaxed though you could still see that hesitation in his movements. Rolling your eyes playfully you gently pushed the fruit to his lips, his mouth opening slightly for the fruit to have easier access. “Bite.” You instructed and as quickly as you gave orders he followed. You watched his eyes light up brightly, the amber color even more vivid as the delightful taste of the juicy fruit melted among his palette.

“Oh my that is–”

“Amazing, I know. Here–” You pushed the bowl filled with the fruit towards him.

“Take it. Take it to your family. I have more than enough.”

“Oh no I can not–”

“I insist, Zu’häi.” You finished off with a comforting smile, a smile that reflected on to him as his hands gently grasped the bowl securing as you pushed it even more towards him, persistent with your offer.

“Oh, I didn’t know we were having guests this morning.” The voice of your mate is now the center of attention. The young na’vi sprung up from his seat nearly knocking all of his fruit out of the bowl. His hand nervously brings his fingers to his forehead to properly greet your mate.

“I was just leaving, sir.” Your mate’s eyes never left yours his face already telling you what he was thinking, after a while, you looked away rising from your seat to approach Zu’häi placing a hand on his arm. You felt his body slightly jump at the sudden gesture your face itching away a smile, out the side of your eye you could see your mate was growing irritated as you touched another in front of him your smile breaking through after seeing this.

“Zu’häi, enjoy the fruit. I will have more for next time you visit.” To tease a bit you gave his arm a soothing small rub before patting his back sending him on his way. The na’vi bowed slightly before quickly passing your mate basically running out of the hut to avoid the intimidation of the olo’eyktan. Eyes burned into the back of your head when you turned your heel to him, taking a seat and continuing your task beforehand. He stood there quietly his irritation radiating off of him as he shifted his weight in place. He watched your hands delicately cut and place the fruit onto a separate leaf carefully organizing them into place, he opened his mouth the speak but was quickly cut off by the sound of your voice.

“Sit, eat.” Pushing the leaf he watched you work on previously he noticed how your eyes never left your task and how your voice didn’t have the sweetness in it like it usually did. You were upset. And he knew it was all his fault. But his stubbornness wouldn’t have allowed him to admit that. Following instructions, he adjusted the brace that rested around his torso snapping it open to remove the piece of clothing before setting it aside next to him on the ground.

The two of you ate in silence, it was killing him that you merely spoke a word to him. His mind practically begged him to ask you about the events that occurred before his arrival. Picking his eyes up from his meal he watched your figure across from him, everything about you was angelic to him. You ate staring out the small cut of your hut the sunlight beaming on your skin hitting you at all the right angles. You were glowing. He hadn’t noticed how long he had been staring before your hands were clapping in front of him. Confused he snapped back into reality to realize that you were asking to take his leaf and that he wanted seconds. Denying the offer he gave his now empty leaf watching while you discarded the leaves and cleared the table. He observed your body closer this time, starting from your head to your toe. Your lips had just the right plump to them something he always loved imagining how it would feel to suck on them lightly or even nip at them. The curve of your breast which was currently covered by a neckpiece designed with red and white feathers gave him access to peek at your nipples that poked through every time you bent down slightly. His eyes traveled more down your body stopping at your hips, his eyes squinting when he noticed the red marks that resided on your hips. His hand wrapped around your hip the size of it securely holding it, a loud gasp escaped your mouth at the sudden action. His thumb grazed the spot tenderly careful enough not to hurt you in case it was causing you any type of pain. You were about to make a fuss until you studied his face, his eyebrows were scrunched together and his lips were slightly pursed.

“It is from the basket I was carrying earlier.” His eyes never left your hips the roughness from the pad of his thumb never leaving your skin. “Though Zu’häi came by to help me carry it.” His nose flared at this, the more you mentioned his name the more he felt the fire in him spread and grow bigger.

“Zu’häi huh?” Was all he could say biting the inside of his cheek, his irritation now turning into anger the more you two spoke about him. He knew the male all too well. He was olo’eyktan after all, he needed to know his people. Inside and out. This name you two spoke of whispered amongst people in the forest gossiping on how the male wanted you despite you already being mated. He had heard the male was determined and willing to sacrifice anything just to have you. But this isn’t what triggered him. He had caught wind with his own two ears of how the male wanted to mate you, every detail of your body explained, every position he’d want to put you in, and how much he wanted to implant his child within you. This is what set the fire ablaze within him. Jake knew he always had the upper hand when it came to you, though somehow as of lately he felt somewhat intimidated by the other male. Something that rarely ever happened. He needed to set the record straight, and let everyone know who you really belong to. You had only hummed a response to him ignoring how the grip on your hips got tighter, but not tight enough to keep you in place as you glide your way across the shared room. You felt his intimidating eyes bore into the back of your skull and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t bother you though you refused to acknowledge him and his death stare.

“What are your plans for today?” Clearing your throat you waited for a response while busying yourself with the folding of your blankets that were gifted to you by one of the elders. You heard him shift in his seat and shuffle with something you couldn’t make out. “Why was Zu’häi here?” He ignored your question, his curiosity now getting the best of him. His breathing now slowed and controlled as he tried his hardest to not raise his voice not even an octave to make you suspicious of the question, though his tone had already given away his frustration.

“The boy helped me when it was not needed, so I thanked him in return for a meal.” Your answer was solid and straightforward, though the thought of you two being in here alone knowing the male's intention sent his blood boiling at your cluelessness. “He likes you, ya know?” You only gave him a laugh in return shaking your head in denial. “He wants to mate you too.” The words that slipped past his lips sent his anger into overdrive, only this time you actually made eye contact with him. Your hands rested on your hips and your face scrunched up in confusion.

“Now why would you say that jake?”

“Because it’s the truth, I heard it for myself. I don’t want you talking to him anymore.” You scoffed at him clearly not believing anything he was saying to you, and boy did that finally flip the switch in him. Quickly he sprung up from his seat and approached you in a determined stride his body now looming over yours. Finally looking into his eyes you noticed the anger that swirled in them, you almost felt bad for him. Almost. Your previous nights and days of loneliness came flooding back to you, how you desperately yearned for him but were always met with a cold place in which he held.

“I do not care what you have to say about him. Zu’häi is a nice boy, I will continue to talk to him if I please.” You were about to walk off but a strong grip on your arm yanked you back into your place, the death grip on your arm burning. “I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.” His voice spoke lowly with a warning tone to it, he was fighting every ounce in his body to stop himself from finally snapping. “And I am telling you. I will continue to see Zu’häi if I ple-” your sentence was cut short by his quick and swift motion of pining you down face first on the woven hammock nearly knocking all the air out of your body from the sudden action. His grip on your arm never let up as he now rested it against your back while his body pressed fully into you. You wiggled in his hold but to no avail you couldn’t free yourself, his grip being too tight.

“I tried to be nice about it but you make everything so fucking difficult.” His words spit venom out at you while he admired how delightful the curve of your ass was propped up so nicely in the air for him to see. “Looks like i need to show you who you belong to.” He felt himself twitch just below his navel at the site, his other free hand smoothing over the skin of your ass tenderly before delivering a powerful smack to it followed by another tender caress. The repeated actions had you whimpering before him with tears pooling in your eyes not realizing how much this was actually turning you on, the last smack he delivered landed way too closely on your sensitive bud allowing a loud moan to erupt from you.

“Oh? You like getting spanked?” You shook your head vigorously though you knew he knew that you were lying, your dampened cloth proving it. His fingers traced the outline of your loincloth before hooking two fingers under and pulling to the side to reveal all of your glistening glory. He smiled to himself before leaning into you just enough for his chest to touch your back, his breath hitting your ear as he spoke to you. “You know I don’t like liars.” His fingers massaged gently between your folds while he spoke to you enjoying how you were writhing underneath him.

“What did I tell you what happens to liars?” He continued his middle and ring finger teasingly pushing at your entrance sending your brain into a frenzy. You mumbled out a response while desperately trying to relieve the ache that was getting too much for you to handle.

“I didn’t hear you babygirl, you have to speak louder than that.”

“They get punished!” You were basically yelling at him but you didn’t care, you were becoming an absolute complete mess under him. He hummed in satisfaction before leaning up again straightening his posture, your arm now being freed from his grip though he knew you weren’t going to try to run away. Not now anyway. In a blink of an eye, the cloth that shielded all of your wonders dropped at your feet, your body now out on full display for him. Watching your body exposed to him made him realize how long it's been since the last time you two had done anything like this. Definitely too long, that's for sure.

He was practically drooling over you when he used his thumbs to spread your folds watching as your hold clenched over nothing, his own ache now becoming too much to bear. Wasting no time he quickly undid his own loincloth letting it fall to the floor, his dick springing up hitting just the base of his lower belly grabbing ahold of his own length he gently teased and pushed at your entrance. “j-jake.” He ignored your pleas and continued his torture, you rocked your hips back just enough for his tip to slip in, a moan emitting from the both of you. His hands gripped your waist urgently to prevent you from moving back any further before pushing you off of him, your body fully sinking into the hammock.

“Don’t get too bold now baby, or you’re not gonna cum. I’m just going to use you like the toy you are for my own pleasure and leave you high and dry. Is that what you want?” He spoke with a grunt, placing his hand on the lower part of your back to hold you down.

You shook your head no, earning an immediate smack to the ass.

“Use your words.”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No sir.”

“Good girl.” He pulled you back into position by your hips, your back arched, breast pressed into the hammock.

“Spread it for me.” He spoke huskily, to which you rapidly moved your hands to your cheeks, pulling them apart as he moaned, running his tip over your slick.

He slipped into quickly, drawing moans from the both of you, before he pulled out, a “pop” sound coming from your pussy. He repeated the action, teasing you for what felt like hours, your hole clenching around nothing.

“Please… sir…. Fuck me please.” You moaned out, your body beginning to shake.

“Well, since you said please.” Jake slipped into your solidly, pounding you immediately at a fast pace, giving you no time to adjust to him.

The tip of his dick kissed your cervix, skin slapping sounds echoing through the room, alongside the wet sounds from your pussy.

“Push back into me.” He grunted, landing a hard smack on your ass. You followed his order, matching his speed as he fucked you, a hand slithering down to rub your clit.

That is, until he bent down and grabbed you by the throat, pulling you against his broad chest.

“You don’t touch yourself without my permission. This is MY pussy, MY clit. Do you understand me? You just carry it around for me.” He spoke, his grip getting tighter on your neck.

All you could do is moan and nod your head, Jake moving his hand from your neck to cross your chest, his other hand that rested on your hips now moving to your clit.

“Shit! Jake, please!.”

“Mhmm. Feels good doesn’t it. You wanna cum don’t you?”

“p-please!”

“Apologize. Apologize to me and I’ll let you have it.”

“I’m sorry Jake, m’so sorry. It’ll never happen again. I promise.”

“And you won’t see Zu’häi again? Not even look his way?”

“y—y-yes! god, yes! I won’t i—i promise!”

“Mm, good girl. Now go ahead, cum for me.” And at his command you came, euphoria flooding your veins as you creamed all over his dick, him pushing you off of him to release on the small of your back.

“Fuck.” He grunted, running his hand up and down his shaft quickly. Your knees buckled underneath your brain completely turned into mush while you struggled to catch the breath that escaped your body. You felt the hot strings explode across your back before his chest collided with your back propping himself up to avoid putting all of his weight on you, his breathing rough and ragged.

“You okay?” he asked you puffing out spurts of air, you only nodded your head unable to form any words. With the little bit of strength he had left in him he carefully took a place behind you as he moved the both of you fully into the hammock, your face nuzzling into his chest listening to his heartbeat pound against his chest. You two lied there for a few moments not speaking a word, only this time the silence was peaceful.

“I’m serious about you not seeing Zu’häi. I don’t want it to happen again or ever.” His voice rumbled in his chest while your fingers danced along tracing shapes and words into his skin, your lip captivated by your teeth to hide your smile.

“You have my word.” And with that, the two of you decided to make the best of this moment and enjoy the peace and serenity of your embrace, letting all of the days duties drizzle away.

#avatar fanfiction #jake sully #loak sully #avatar twow #neytiri #neteyam #jake sully x reader #neteyam x reader #avatar angst #loak x reader #jake sully fluff #jake sully smut #avatar smut

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innerwriterwonderland · 5 months ago

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My girl only breaks her favorite toys ☆

Avox!Coryo x Reader

Summary: Just as you're about to give up on finding Coriolanus Snow, your school nemesis, he falls right in your lap, in quite the condition.

Warnings: Canon level violence, threats, non sexual choking, attempted drowning, mention of bruises, cuts and other injuries, mentions of masturbation, the reader exhibits predatory behaviors, mentions of past bullying, homophobia and prostitution (pls feel free to tell me if i missed anything).

Author's note: this is a based on this small headcanon i made some time ago, but it can be read alone. It isn't meant to be a series, but i'm thinking of a part 2 in the future.

Word count: 2843 words.

It was your 18th birthday. A weird thing if you were asked. You got the prize, a way to University, all the honors of top student, despite not being picked as a mentor for the games, and still it didn't sit right with you. All these things were never yours, at least you never thought they would be.

They were Coriolanus Snow propriety. He set his claim on it all a long time ago, maybe even before he was conscious of it. But weirdly, the Snow heir had vanished into thin air after the 10th Hunger Games. Disappeared from the Capital's streets completely. No one knew where he went, or why he went, or even when exactly he left.

All that was said was that one day Coriolanus was celebrating his tributee's victory, and then the next one, he just couldn't be found anywhere. And the strangest thing was the lack of cover up story. How no one bothered masquerading his absence.

But, alas, here you were. Exhausted from the longest, fanciest, loudest party your parents could throw. Feet sore from the high heels you wore all night, and head buzzing from all the noise. It was nice how happy they were for you, but sadly, you felt too lost in your party to enjoy it.

There was one more gift according to your parents, waiting in your room. "To end the night on a high note!" your mother said, "It must be expensive!" you replied. Your mother had certainly acquired a taste for Capital opulence, and so had you. The heels, and clothes, and jewels in your bedroom accounted for that.

The double doors opened silently, and you went through in a mess stumbling feet, and energetic laughter. You might also be a bit tipsy, too much champagne for a night.

Then your body turned cold and rigid, eyes wild like you'd seen a ghost. Well, maybe you did.

Coriolanus Snow stood not a meter away from you, with sunken cheeks, and dirty platinum curls, and eyes too blue to be real. And, strangest of all, in a rose Avox tunic, looking sick and beaten.

Most certainly this was some illusion, you were hallucinating!

Coriolanus Snow, who – despite not having a coin to his name – walked through the Academy halls like he owned the place, and everyone inside it, was standing in front of your very eyes in a servant's clothing. Not any servant, an Avox, a criminal without his tongue, forced to do labor to atone for his crimes.

You were clearly losing your marbles! That's the only logical conclusion.

Yet, a gargled sound came out of the Coriolanus shaped thing in your bedroom, and it's eyes were the very blue you couldn't erase from your mind. It was him! By some heavenly miracle, of whatever this was, that was him.

"Snow?" You whispered almost scared as you reach your hand to him. Months of gathering whatever littlest information you could find on him, of using every last favor you had to look for clues on where the hell he was – just for Coriolanus to fall right into your lap.

He shrinks away from you, one step after another as you get closer. Now you could smell the foul scent that glued itsetf to him, disgust!

His back hit you vanity as your hand connects itself to his swollen cheek. Had they hit him before bringing him here? You doubted the Snow heir would come quietly to serve you, what he called "a district whore". Well, not like he had any choice now. A mean smile painted your lips at that.

"Snow, dear" You purred, getting closer to him, something he clearly didn't enjoy. "Looks like you were roughed up!" Sharp manicured nail traced the purple bruise close to his eye, and you watched as his eyebrows drew in on pain. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you now!"

It was twisted, what you felt for him. You couldn't hate him more, yet he was your longer lasting obsession. Maybe it was some underdog complex, as a born district girl, envying the Capital pure breed boy might be natural. But in your opinion it was more than that.

Coriolanus had chosen to haunt your life for as long as you've known him, no mercy to spare after letting the Plinth boy walk free of judgment it seemed. His insults and acid jokes echoing behind your back anywhere you went.

But now he seemed so weak, and fragile.

Snow had always been a bit short for his age, too skinny, pale and underdeveloped, but all the boys in his generation were. But he had a regal posture to compensate, as graceful as a lynx, Snow was quite easy on the eye, if you were honest. Attractive, but intimidating, in equal parts.

Your nails graze the recent cut on his forehead as you brushed his curls away from it.

"Poor, poor Snow" Soft as feathers, your hands trailed down his temple, and came down to hold his face between your palms "Let's get you bathed, huh? Wash all this dirt away?" You talked to him like a child, condescending.

With his wrist tightly enveloped by your hand, you pulled him into your bathroom. A spacious and luxurious room, with a delicate porcelain tub in the middle. "Undress" You ordered, with a stern voice Snow had never heard, before leaving him there and going to change yourself.

Snow thought for a moment after undressing that he should thank you for giving him such privacy, but only lasted 'till you came back into the room. In a short baby pink slip dress and a silk robe on top, hands working on tying up a bow to close it. Your eyes ran over his body, taking notice of the many bruises.

"They really hurted you, didn't they?" You asked, putting your hair up with a claw clip, and opening the faucet to fill the tub "But the real question should be why? What did you do to deserve this, huh?" Snow fumed at that, knowing he could not answer "Cat got your tongue? Oh, no, the peacekeepers did!" Your laughter echoed in the ample space.

Once the tub was full, you mentioned for him to get in and he obeyed. Just that simple act of submission made your skin tiggle. The Snow you knew would rather die than follow your command, he couldn't even handle to be beneath you in anything. Once, at the Academy he had choked and threatened you after you got a grade higher than his.

You never forgot the feeling of his cold fingers on your skin, his blue eyes looking right into yours, his breath fanning over your face. You went back to that moment many, many times, late at night, when you were alone and needy. As said before, your feelings around him were never so simple.

Snow sinked down slowly into the warm waters, humiliated to be following your commands. How ironic that he's pride was to blame for this. If he hadn't cheated for Lucy Gray to win, he wouldn't be at your mercy, if you had any. His eyes burned you as you knelt down beside the tub and began to bathe him.

Smiling up at him, all sickly sweetness, you brought the sponge up to rub his back "You know, I used to watch you, back at the Academy. So smart and bright, always around those rich, influential friends of yours. Always leaving me behind, look where that got you" The faux pity in your voice made his skin crawl, the rough sponge brushing against his bruises making him wince in discomfort "But it's okay, I'll take care of you now, as long as you obey me."

Your hands let go of the sponge to grab the shampoo and scrub it into his dirty platinum curls. Fingers trailing down to hold his shoulders, so he couldn't move away, as you nuzzled into his neck.

"Your skin's still soft, smells like lavender" You whispered into his neck, then pulled away to look into his baby blue eyes "I know you prefer roses, but all I have right now are my own products. We'll buy you some rose scented ones soon. You will smell like a girl, Snow!" You couldn't help but giggle girlishly at your own teasing.

Snow stiffen under your hold, as the insinuation sank in. Oh, how hated you. And the feel of your warm breath on his neck, and your hand moving down his body, across his chest, towards his stomach, and your soft voice as your said:

"You know I like those, right? Girls. 'Course you do! Used to tease me about it. Call me dyke. Say I ogle at the girls in the changing rooms." You sank your nails into his bruised skin, scratching bright red lines across his blue and purple belly. Despite the pain, he couldn't say he regretted the words now, if he could, he would do it all again. "But I like boys too, Snow, I'll prove you that in time." The smile showed him now was all teeth.

Snow's blood ran cold at the threat in your words. He wanted to curse you. Tell you what a disgusting whore you were, but his lack of vocal chords stopped him. Only a grunted sound of protest left his plump lips. He'd never been touched like that, all his romantic experience resumed to the quick kiss Lucy Gray gave him before the games.

As horror took over him, your hand went back to his shoulders. "Underwater, go, need to rinse your hair." Before he could even process the words you pushed him into the water, holding him down for the pleasure of watching him squirm.

His eyes went wide as he sank. Hands gripping the edges of the tub to try to pull himself back up. His mouth opened and you watched as the water filled and he grew panicked with his lack of breath, as air in his chest was being sucked away in the water, frantically trying to push your hands away. You wait until he begins to lose his energy to bring him up, with a hand on his throat and the other on his forehead.

"Shh, shh, calm down" You said in a soothing tone. Keeping him pressed to your chest as he coughed out water, breath heavy and labored as the panic slowly went away. Fucking psycho, Snow thought you were. "You're okay, just let me wash your hair." You brushed the damped curl away from his forehead before letting go get the conditioner to finish washing him.

Disregarding the horror of his situation, it almost felt nice to have your soft hand run through his hair to apply the other products. He barely had anyone take care of him these days. It made him miss Tigris, she always cared for him, despite all her own pains.

"Okay, go down again" You lightly patted him, but that was enough to bring the fear back, and Snow tense as he waited for another drowning.

But it never came, so he went down, quickly, coming back soon before you tried to suffocate him again. The smirk in your face made him want to choke you.

You stood up after that, telling him to finish his bath as you went to grab him a change of clothes. Snow almost felt grateful as you left. He washed his body and grabbed one of the soft white towels of the rack to dry himself, pleased with it's texture against his bruised skin. Looking in one of the many mirrors, he found himself unrecognizable, thin and frail like a ghost. A twisted reflection of who he used to be.

"Still so pretty" He heard your breathy voice before he saw through the mirror.

You had a piled of male clothing in your hands - a white formal shirt, a pair of crimson pants and some underwear - that you extended to him. "Here. These are my boyfriend's, not sure if they'll fit, but try it."

With a small nod he took the clothes from you and began changing. Uncomfortable with how you stared at him, eyes trailing his body as he got dressed. The clothes' fit was barely good, the pants' legs were too short, and so were the cuffs of the shirt. This was just another way of humiliating him, as if he wasn't degraded enough already.

You thought it was good enough. "That's enough for now, I'll buy you some more fitted ones in the future."

Snow kept his eyes downcasted as he left the bathroom behind you. The new clothes felt nicer on his skin, expensive and softer, and he felt clean for the first time in a while. Yet, Snow never felt more dirty and loathsome. Even the size of clothes seemed to mock him. Dean Highbottom was right, snow was falling, and now he felt like he'd hitted rock bottom.

But you? You have never been happier! Snow was all yours, and he was broken down enough to follow your every word. Enough to be your own little toy to play with however you wanted. You couldn't help but appreciate his new state. Delicate little thing was he, ghastly almost. Yet those blue eyes and blond hair could never be anything but beautiful.

"Think I'll ask for some cake to celebrate! It's my birthday, you know?" You looked at him with too bright a smile and sparkling eyes, that wided as you heard his stomach groan "You hungry, Snow?" Even with his hunger you played.

What pitiful excuse of a life Snow had now. You toyed with his needs, but made sure he was always dolled up before. He only nodded before you called the maid to bring you something from the party buffet.

"You're used to it, aren't you? The hunger" You mused quietly watching as he sat down on the floor, head bowed "Heard your cousin used to sell her body to feed you, so you must be used to going hungry longer than most." He contemplated ripping your neck to shreds at that.

How dare you insult Tigris like that, even if it was true. You found out about that when you were searching for him. It seemed the Snow's had quite a few secrets since the war ended. He only hummed in response, not even looking at you.

"The Snow household was left in shambles after your disappearance, you know?" You prod hoping for a reaction from him "Your cousin, Tigris, became a stylist for the next hunger games - they are trying to follow your legacy of creating a show it seems - but cutted all her connection to the Snow name. And that old woman in your house, no one has seen her since, the penthouse is completely abandoned." You let the poison drip from your tongues and analyzed how his jaw clenched "It's for sale now. Maybe I'll buy it for you."

You knelt down beside him and took his face in your hands "But you don't have to worry about any of it anymore! Now, you have me to take care of you." As soon as you finished talking his hand wrapped around your throat.

Snow pushed you down on the ground, choking you as his weight caged you. You had to concentrate to not moan. His baby blue eyes now burned with pure unfiltered hatred, just as you remembered. Slender fingers gripping tightly, knuckles white. You hoped it would leave a mark.

Your hands held onto his wrists. He wouldn't kill you, Snow didn't have it in him to be a murderer. Or at least, that's what you thought.

Snow, on the other hand, was ready to end this here. To end your spoiled bratty ass and his humiliation. He sank his fingers into your flesh and watched you turn purple. Disgusted by the glint in your eyes and the smirk in your lips. Your lack of fight was weird, but he blamed it on you trusting the security of your home.

Vision blurred from the lack of oxygen, you forced a laughter out of your swollen lips, but no words came out thanks to his grip. You let go of his hands, wondering if Snow really thought he could kill you in own house. Poor foolish Snow. Your hands pushed at his waist to get his body off the top of yours. And when you failed you sank your nails into his bruises.

He winces in pain and falters his hold on your neck, letting you get away from under him. Bending over coughing. "Oh, that was fun!" You giggled between heaving breaths "That was really fun!"

The look of shock in his face was priceless. You prayed for more chances of seeing it again. Little did Snow know the game he had just got into with you. It would be so fun to break and build him up, again and again and again. Snow was now your new favorite toy to break.

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coryo snow #coryo x reader #tbosas fic

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jessamine-rose · 1 year ago

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♱ Dance with the Devil ♱

Against my will, I was inspired to write more for WHB. Istg some of these characters aren’t even my biases but their paraphilias are too creative. I hope you all enjoy reading this <3

Characters:: Sitri, Leviathan, Astaroth, Glasyalabolas, Paimon, Amon, Marbas, Gabriel, Minhyeok

Note:: Nsfw, pls take note of each character’s paraphilia before reading, noncon for Gabriel, MH-2 spoilers for Minhyeok, MINORS DNI

♡ If you like black tea, you are a perfect fit for Sitri. He often brews your favorite drink for the purpose of enjoying your satisfied smile, your bittersweet kisses, the melody of your palpitations as he makes love to you. If you ever send him a recording of your heartbeat, he will save it on his phone and listen to it religiously in your absence. Just don’t be shocked if he uses your gift for impure reasons; his imagination can only do so much.

♡ Leviathan enjoys the sensation of your hands around his neck, but what more if you were to experiment with his kink? Does he get more excited when you use your bare hands? Does he prefer the metal chill of rings or the soft lace of gloves against his skin? Would he come faster if you dig your fingernails into his throat—and if yes, what if your nails were longer, sharper? There are so many factors at play and you have all night to find out~

♡ Astaroth’s kink is perfect for literature lovers!! If you write erotica, he will gladly proofread your work, going so far as to enact the scenes and his suggested revisions. Another time, you asked him to read you a “bedtime story” and he complied after much pestering. He accepted your book and read it aloud in his soothing voice…then upon reaching a raunchy scene, he looked up from the page, met your cheeky gaze, and joined you in bed <3

♡ Once you were done kink-shaming Glasyalabolas, you decided to indulge him. His paraphilia is creepy, to say the least, but you knew what you were getting into. The best method? Play dead. You can’t resist the occasional moan or involuntary shudder, especially when he is touching you, but it certainly does wonders for his arousal. You’re his Ophelia, his Sleeping Beauty—beautiful, voiceless, and completely at his mercy.

♡ The only thing Paimon enjoys more than your blood is the sight of your body decorated with cute bandages!! Once he’s had enough of you, he will treat your wounds and present you with a set of printed Band-Aids. Here, would you like a pink one for your finger? What about a heart pattern for your thigh? A smiley face on your neck? Even better, what if your Band-Aids match the stickers on his horns? Take your pick~

♡ Sometimes, you wonder if Amon gives you tasks which he knows you will fuck up. There are telltale signs—his constant gaze, a hint of a smile, empty reassurances which somehow lead you to his bedroom. It begs the question: How would he react if you were to make a mistake in bed? Would he still smile after you “accidentally” touch a sensitive spot or ruin his orgasm? How will he react once he realizes you’re doing it on purpose?

♡ If Marbas were to cite an example for the term “heaven and hell,” it would be your moments of intimacy. He encourages you to restrain him to the best of your ability—tying complicated knots, using strong materials, testing his new set of regular restraints—then use his body as you’d like. It’s difficult to say who enjoys it more, especially when you are relishing the sight of him beneath you, totally submissive and desperate for your touch.

♡ Considering your history, your sadism towards Gabriel is warranted. So once he is defeated, in a church no less, you waste no time in humiliating him. If he refuses to yield, it only takes a few minutes to bend him over the altar and force him to face the image of his God. How does it feel to be watched by the passive, artificial faces of his creator and fellow angels? At any rate, the stained glass casts such pretty shadows on his defiled body~

♡ Of course Minhyeok knows your underwear preferences. The color, the style, the type of fabric, every detail. So when he finds a black lingerie set in your closet, he recognizes it as a new purchase—but for who? The next thing he knows, he is visualizing the lingerie on you and calling you for answers. Whether or not he understands your invitation, that specific underwear will frequently disappear from your room.

♡

Sitri fic ๑ Lucifer fluff ๑ More headcanons

Fun fact, a day after I wrote Glasyalabolas and Sitri’s headcanons, they came home in my gacha pull. D-Did I summon them?? (´⊙ω⊙`)

So far, my favorite devils are Leviathan, Sitri, Astaroth, and Satan but the other characters’ paraphilias are…….interesting to write about, to say the least. Cheers to more hornii xD

Tag a WHB enjoyer!! @sparkbeast20 @2af-afterdark @d34dlysinner @pinkaditty @og-in-a-bog @h2o2-and-baking-soda @paradivis @potol0ver @obeythisass @gr0tesquerom4ntica @dobaekki @binar-es @ushitoshiii @yanmaresu @beelsjuicytitties

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kaeyas-beloved · 6 months ago

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four sides and a bottom

Character: Kaveh

— a box full of your things, that’s it, that’s all

CWs: gn!reader (you/your), ANGST, hurt/no comfort, aftermath of a breakup

val’s no sympathy november masterlist

gonna apologize for dipping for so long but i'm also warning you that it could very much happen again <3 also i'm a little rusty with writing pls be nice to me :(

Kaveh wishes your relationship could’ve ended on good terms. He wouldn’t be able to kiss you or cuddle up to you with a glass of wine after a tough day, but at least you would still be his life. That and that alone would be good enough for him.

On rougher days, the words you spoke echo in his head, disrupting him as he goes about his day. When his mind isn’t occupied it’ll wander to the last day he was able to call you his, making even simple tasks like working or making a cup of coffee painful. A pang in his heart followed by an uncomfortable weight on his chest, throat blocked, barely able to breathe.

“We’re done Kaveh. No more, I can’t keep doing this!” The architect squeezes his eyes shut, willing away the repeat of the past. Without thinking, he takes his almost forgotten glass and downs a greedy gulp of the dark red liquid, the sweet yet bitter drink coating his throat and stomach, making his head spin and his heart beat just the way he likes it - stuttering and skipping as if to stop and bypass the thoughts he’d rather forget.

As much as the deadline loomed over him, Kaveh couldn’t, for the life of him, work on his latest project. Instead, his eyes kept trailing to the box pushed against his closet, the contents overflowing and peeking out for the world to see. By the fourth glance he groans and stands up, chair dragging along the wood floor and nearly toppling over from the force.

Some days he doesn’t know why he keeps this box of reminders around, other times he knows exactly why. People will cling to the last things they own when it affects them so greatly in life. You, by far, were one of the greatest effects on him.

There’s a clink and a thud as Kaveh sets the box of your things on the table, and it’s almost sad how he’s able to identify exactly what made each noise. He’s only memorized everything in it a dozen and a half times after all. A pocket watch, a picture frame, a scarf, a sketchbook, a ring. Meaningless things on their own or to the outside eye, but to you and Kaveh, they meant the world.

Clear as water he could remember when he gifted each of these to you, save the frame and picture. That was your own doing, something you had set on your desk because you liked looking at how happy you both were that day (or so you said - he thinks it's just because you liked looking at him specifically).

He’d given you the scarf to stay warm one night, the watch because you said it had a pretty design (you scolded him a little after finding out he almost spent all his mora on it for you as a gift. You were still touched nonetheless though). The sketchbook was given after you let slip that sometimes you liked to doodle. You always said you didn’t feel as talented as he was, but he’d always shoot back and say that as long as you appreciated the art of it all, the process, and you drew with a smile, then anything you drew was perfect (you were perfect).

The ring was a promise, one that he hadn’t intended to break. This gift you were too speechless to get on his case about financially because the words of love, dedication and loyalty that he added along meant the world to you. The promise to love you forever, to always take into consideration your feelings, and to one day make you his.

In some poetic, way maybe each item was an accumulation of things he was willing to give, when the reality was that you only needed him. Thinking on it now, it hurts more knowing that his absence was what caused your split in paths. Then again…

“Everything hurts when I’m not with you… I miss you.”

Tag list (both regular and event exclusive): @spoopy-fish-writes // @that-enby-alien // @xenuuu // @kaeyaloml // @mariposa666haruka // @quackquackmfs // @kunikuzushiii // @genshin-impact-writings // @ventisweetheart // @lordbugs // @leena-shi // @ari-the-wr1ter // @xiaos-wife // @milkwithspiceyicecubes // @stygianoir // @francisnyx // @leemidnightmoon // @bisexuawolfsalt

@kaiserkisser // @multipleshadesofblue // @moloteco-real // @kithewanderingme // @scaramood // @ii-lily2 // @esuz // @kochothehoe // @cindywasneverhere // @kaeyastittysucker

#val's nsn #kaveh x reader #genshin x reader #genshin kaveh #genshin angst #kaveh x gender neutral reader #genshin impact kaveh #kaveh genshin #genshin impact #genshin x you #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x reader #kaveh angst #kaveh x reader angst

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v1ct0la · 1 year ago

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running water - abby tlou2 x reader oneshot [SFW]

Abby comes back after days spent on a WLF mission, joining you in the shower to wind down and relax before bed.

SFW oneshot, just a super sappy cutesy little domestic moment

704 words

TLOU2 au, it’s mentioned that you work in the WLF medical wing/hospital

TWs: very very brief mentions of blood and bruises (anything I missed, let me know pls x)

P.S. this is my first abby fic PLUS the first one-shot I've posted on here. hope you like it!

You watch as soap suds trail little paths down your legs under the shower. The hot water from the shower steams up the room, creating a lingering haze and causing the bathroom mirror to fog up. Your hands massage the tension in your neck and shoulders, trying to relax. You sigh.

Abby has been gone for days. The weight of her absence, along with the stress that came with the sudden influx of hospital patients bore down on you. Today was especially exhausting. Nora and Mel had asked you to stay in the medical wing much later than you had originally anticipated, and it was safe to say you were really feeling it now.

You scrubbed the rest of your body, rinsed off, and reached to turn off the tap when you heard a gentle tap on the door. You pause, hoping that it was her.

“Abby?” you call out.

The door cracks open, and you see a flash of her familiar blonde through the cracks of the door. You break into a grin at seeing your girlfriend after days apart.

“Hi,” you say softly, noticing the dark circles beneath her eyes. Your graze scans her face and body, seemingly fine apart from a few little nicks and bruises here and there. Her exhaustion is apparent; Abby’s eyes are heavily lidded, and her shoulders are rounded in slightly.

“Wanna join me?” you ask her softly, and she nods.

Abby slowly strips herself of her filthy clothes, leaving them in a heap in the corner of your shared bathroom. Stepping into the heat of the shower’s running water, Abby heaves a sigh and closes her eyes. You watch as the tension slowly leaves her features and body, as if being washed away with the water.

After a few moments, she opens her eyes, and smiles at you. “I missed you,” she whispers.

“I missed you too” you say, reaching up to run your thumb just below her eye. You bring your other hand up to massage the tension from her brows and Abby’s eyes flutter shut beneath your touch again.

“Let me clean you up, yeah?” you say softly.

“No,” Abby says, looking down at you. “It’s okay, I can manage.” She reaches for her sponge, but you intercept, grabbing it just before she can.

“Let me” you say and she gives in.

Lathering up the sponge with soap and water, you spin her around and begin softly scrubbing the grime for her muscular back. You continue this routine of scrubbing and rinsing and scrubbing again all over her body, until her skin is smooth and there isn’t a fleck of mud or crusted blood in sight.

You finish cleaning up one another in the shower and pull on fresh clothes.

After throwing Abby’s clothes in with the other dirty ones, grabbing her a glass of water to set on your nightstand, and finding her hairbrush, you sit together. You’re perched on the edge of your shared bed, legs hung over the edge, while Abby rests her weight against your shins. You run your fingers through her damp hair, nails gently scratching her scalp and she tilts her head back to rest between your knees. She sighs into your touch.

Being like this with Abby, so… domestic - it filled you with warmth. The feeling of her weight on you and your hands on her brought you calm, despite the world’s chaos and violence outside the stadium. She was solid to you. Your peace.

“If you keep doing that… I’ll fall asleep right here.” Abby’s quiet voice carried up to you, and you chuckled softly, bending down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you say in return, but pause your stroking and pull your hands from her hair. “C’mon.”

The two of you peel the covers back, settling down. Abby rests her head on your chest, an arm thrown over your midsection, and her leg sprawled over both of yours. You loved it. You resume soft stroking along her temple and hair, and she sighs deeply. It’s not much later when your hand stops moving as you slip into a comfortable sleep, your lover breathing deeply next to you...

#abby the last of us #abby tlou #tlou2 #tlou #abby anderson #abby x reader #abby x fem!reader #abby x you #abby anderson x you #tlou 2 abby #abby tlou2 #tlou part 2 #v1ct0la talks #lesbian

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chaos-thirium · 1 year ago

Note

Can you do "Lie to me" with Connor pls?

I can, anon! You didn't specify a genre for this, so please don't hate me too much.

From this prompt list if anyone wants to request one too 😊

It wasn’t too much of a shock for you to realise just how quickly you fell for Connor. You’d always had a weakness for soft brown eyes, and it certainly helped when they were set in such a handsome face. His endearing mixture of dorky and whip-smart drew you in, coupled with the barely-there smiles that were so worth earning.

What was a shock to you was how quickly he fell for you in return. Of course he was limited by his programming, but you couldn’t help thinking that his awkward flirting, accidental touches, and stares that went on just a fraction too long were genuine. He was so intrigued by humanity, he seemed to want to experience things for himself. You were all too willing to help him, exchanging clumsy kisses in discreet places, kisses that rapidly became less clumsy as he adapted, turning heated and desperate. It wasn’t long before he ended up in your bed. You were stunned and impressed to witness him becoming the best lover you’d ever had in a matter of hours.

Connor was a deviant. Or at least on the way to it.

His evolution made you question your case – his mission – and look at it with new eyes. Even Hank started to wonder whether you were on the right side. Androids deserved equality and a chance at free will, and you found yourself discreetly hoping that the deviant leader Markus would succeed.

It all came to a head on November 11th. The deviants fought for their freedom and won.

It was touch and go for a while. The androids were outnumbered, and Connor was hot on their trail. He hadn’t deviated as you’d expected, but you knew he would. It was only a matter of time. When he came to you asking for your help, you gave it despite your reservations. He wanted a sniper rifle, which set all kinds of alarm bells ringing, but his soft words and pleas swayed you. Above all else, you didn’t want him to be deactivated, which you knew would be his fate if he failed. Although you knew he wanted the rifle to take out Markus, you pushed past your fears and gave it to him, deciding to trust that he would do the right thing in the end.

Later you would discover that Hank preferred not to leave anything to chance. He followed Connor and stopped him, so you never found out whether Connor would have taken the shot or not. What mattered was that Markus survived and Connor deviated, even if it was later than you’d anticipated.

Markus’s victory meant that you’d technically failed to solve your case, and you couldn’t be more pleased. You sat at home and watched it all unfold, awestruck by the events that would forever be part of the history of your country.

Things settled back to normal in Detroit after that, forming a new normal as they went. You didn’t think much of Connor’s absence. He was newly deviated, kept busy by Markus. There was a lot to do to get androids established as an intelligent species. You understood that his priorities were with his people and not with you.

But the more time passed, the more you had to wonder why he hadn’t contacted you. Androids could text instantly, and it seemed he’d received your messages. You tried not to worry.

After a month, you decided to go looking for him. Security was tight in the part of Detroit that androids had claimed for themselves, which was understandable. They didn’t want to let you in, which was also understandable, but deeply frustrating. The guards weren’t hostile, however, so when they promised they’d pass on a message to Connor, you believed them.

Another week passed. You heard nothing. And then, when you were spending your free afternoon wondering if you needed to start accepting that you were being ghosted, he showed up at your door.

“Connor,” you breathed, drinking in the sight of him with wide eyes. “Holy shit! Are you okay? Come in.”

He entered your apartment, his movements much more fluid than you remembered. His expression, by contrast, was stern.

“I’m well, thank you,” he said stiffly. “And you?”

“I’m fine,” you answered dismissively. The formality between you was jarring, and seemed to whisper of more disharmony than merely a long separation. Unease began to coil in your stomach.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch, but in all honesty, I wasn’t sure what to say.”

You frowned, wishing he would meet your gaze. “What do you mean?”

“I took advantage of you.”

There were times when you appreciated his bluntness, but this wasn’t one of them. The words slapped you in the face like a cold wind.

“What?”

“I saw you had feelings for me and I used them for my own gain,” he said, the words almost painfully neutral. “CyberLife ordered me to accomplish my mission by any means necessary, and your attraction to me made you useful.”

He finally glanced at you, and you wished he hadn’t. That same neutrality that coloured his voice was present in his face too, and it only added more sting to what he was saying. You weren’t used to it, not after seeing the warmth he’d once shown. It was immediately obvious that he was uncomfortable with the entire situation, and no doubt angry that CyberLife had put him in it. He’d come to apologise, perhaps, but didn’t really know how to.

Your throat burned, and you took a shaky breath. “Useful,” you repeated faintly.

“I’m…sorry,” Connor said awkwardly. “It wasn’t my intention to hurt you, but…I didn’t really have intentions of my own.”

You struggled to make sense of the dozens of thoughts racing through your brain. “B…but you… I thought you wanted… You really seemed like you…” Your lack of articulation was frustrating, but he grasped your meaning well enough.

“I was designed to integrate,” he told you, a touch of polite gentleness underlying his tone.

You sat down heavily on the arm of the couch as your reality shifted. How could it all have been fake? You’d spied signs of deviancy, and here he was: a deviant. But he’d deviated so much later than you’d expected. Did that confirm what he was telling you?

You closed your eyes, seeing the memory of his soft smile, the intense look that would set his eyes ablaze when he was buried inside you, the way his fingers would seek yours, almost unthinkingly. It had all felt so real.

When you opened them again, your vision was misty, and you blinked the tears back. Connor was looking down at you, that angry, apologetic look still on his face. He clearly wanted nothing more than to be gone, away from this awkward, raw situation.

“I had hoped that some distance would have made this less…painful,” he admitted.

You had so many things you wanted to say, but not a single one came out of your mouth.

After a few excruciating moments, Connor offered a bob of his head. “I should go. I just wanted to…clear things up.”

You shot to your feet as he walked away from you, stopping him with his name. He turned back, patient expectation in his dark eyes.

“Is there any chance that…” You stopped yourself abruptly, suddenly realising that you couldn’t deal with the answer to that question if it confirmed a future without him in it. “Was any of it real?” you asked instead. “Did you even like me?”

He hesitated, and your tears spilled onto your cheeks.

“Lie to me,” you pleaded in a whisper.

His gaze softened fractionally. “Yes,” he said.

#asks #connor #connor x reader

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ronaldofandom · 2 years ago

Text

Self-love

Summary: Our sweet, innocent Bheem pleasures himself while visualizing his wildest fantasies. That's it; that's the plot :)

Warnings: This is NSFW af. Not smut but highly suggestive language. Includes Bheem's kinks. Pls read when you are alone, don't tell me later I did not warn you :)

Imagine the squishy teddy bear below, helplessly submitting to his carnal needs!!!

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. This was something Bheem had heard all his life but had never really understood the true essence of it. Until tonight.

He was away from Adilabad for a few days. Away from her. He and a few fellow tribesmen were out on a supply run and to meet a few other tribes to garner further support for their revolution.

The days were long. And hectic. The nights were even longer. And harsher. They had been traveling for 10 days and had a few more days left on the road. The only saving grace was that the trip had gone even better than their expectations. They had fulfilled their mission, and the men wanted to celebrate tonight. Bheem agreed that it was well-earned.

They had set up a small campfire outside of the nearby village so as not to disturb the other villagers. Some men from the village had joined them too. They had started late evening, and the gathering went well into the night. They had all hogged on the local delicacies and were also fairly intoxicated. Bheem’s only instruction had been to drink in such a fashion that they are not hungover tomorrow morning; the journey had to go on as planned. And people understood.

Bheem let himself go tonight, let himself relax a bit, after a fair bit of coaxing from his friends. He had initially offered to stay sober and guard the camp, but others had convinced him that there was no imminent danger in these surroundings. And they were right.

The conversations ranged over various topics - childhood memories, favorite food, favorite drinks, adventure stories, first crushes, heartbreaks, personal tragedies, life experiences, and whatnot. Eventually, as expected of a gathering of young men in their 20s, the discussion came down to sexual experiences. The veterans shared their stories with much aplomb. The beginners, the novices the inexperienced listened with much awe and a tinge of jealousy. Bheem listened politely, participating in the cheers and jeers, but he didn’t venture to share his own experience. He was a private person in this regard, and this would stay between him and Jenny.

His friends knew that about him, so they didn’t insist either. But they did coax him to talk about the zillion times he had been propositioned by young girls ever since his adulthood. Even on this trip. The way women couldn’t help themselves around him, how they had come on to him, offered themselves to him, rubbed themselves against him to entice him / gain his attention. The way women would offer to do anything for him or to let him do anything to them that he wanted. It was practically a given. Bheem used to get scandalized earlier but had grown used to it now. His entourage was used to it as well.

Earlier, Bheem used to decline politely. He never had the time to indulge in these things; there was too much weighing on his mind all the time. But lately, he had started telling them he was taken. He thought that would be an easier way out of these situations, but he had grossly underestimated his appeal. The women were heartbroken, sure, but they weren’t dissuaded. They told him that they were willing to share. They were willing to accept that he couldn’t be theirs if they could have him for just one raw, passionate night. If he could look at them once like he looked at the one he loved. Bheem was usually speechless in such situations and had to find a way to practically run away.

He didn’t have the heart to tell them he didn’t want them like that. They may be okay to share, but he wasn’t. He was madly in love and just wanted to rush back into the arms of the woman who was his whole heart. So, running away from such situations was an easier solution.

He got teased endlessly by the other men when he told these stories, and he took it with a shy smile. Bheem never understood why the women went feral for him like that, despite years of these experiences. So when the others asked him about his secret moves, his game that drew the women in like that, he was clueless. He didn’t have any moves. He didn’t have any game. He didn’t know how to flirt; heck, he wasn’t even sure what flirting really meant. He was as befuddled about it as the others. The men were not convinced and joked that he didn’t want to share his trade secrets since he loved the attention too much. They added what they would do, and their detailed fantasies had they received such attention.

Bheem played along quietly, knowing fully well that he won’t win this argument anyhow. He didn’t say that for him, the real beauty of intimacy came from the deep-seated love for his partner. That he wouldn’t enjoy these one-offs with strangers, irrespective of how wild the nights could get. That he would rather hold the hand of his beloved and gaze into her eyes the whole night, even if that’s all he could get with her, instead of the frenzied, animalistic sex with anyone else. For him, love trumped lust any day. When Bheem was in, he was fully in, pampering his partner in every way possible.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t have these fantasies. He was no saint. He was also a hot-blooded man, after all, with more testosterone than most others. His blood also rushed south at these thoughts. His imagination also ran wild over such fantasies. But he wanted it all with the one he loved and no one else.

As the gathering started to disperse, the men returned to the village. His entourage had been offered huts to sleep in, but Bheem wanted to sleep under the stars tonight. He took a pillow & a bed sheet and returned to the campsite.

The moon was so beautiful tonight. It reminded him of her. She had been the sun to his moon. She had brightened up his life in ways he didn’t even know existed.

This was the longest he had been away from her since she had come with him to Adilabad two months ago. This was also the longest he had gone without sleeping with her since they had confessed their love to each other 1.5 months ago.

The conversations from earlier made him feel a pang of loneliness and made him long for her even more tonight. He terribly missed the warmth, comfort, softness, and tightness of her body. He missed losing himself inside her, the sheer bliss he felt from their union. He missed her soft moans, her nails digging into his torso, her hair spread on his pillow, her helpless whimpers, her eyes wide with anticipation/bliss, her face contorted in pleasure, the arching of her back, her rapidly beating heart, her gasps, her panting breath, her hardened nubs, her hips bucking under him, her lips bruised from his attention, his name on her lips........... Oh, how he missed her tonight.

His body started reacting to his thoughts involuntarily, without him even realizing it. He thought about what she would be doing now, what she would be wearing. There was this white silk nightgown she wore on most nights. A habit she had carried from her previous life. Bheem wanted to kiss the hands of the maker of that dress to express his gratitude. It looked absolutely exquisite on her - the lowish cut revealed her cleavage, the sticky fabric hugged her perfect curves (particularly her meaty, round behind), and the length was just below her knees, but it rose up to her thighs as she laid down.

Bheem had wanted to rip it off her on many nights. But he had held himself back like he had restrained himself on many other things. She was very delicate, and it was all so new for her. Bheem had understood that she knew almost nothing of the pleasures of the flesh from her sheltered, conservative upbringing. She was learning and discovering everything with him. He knew he had to take things slow and not lose control before she was ready for more. While they had slept together 17 times (yes, he was keeping count), and it had been incredibly passionate and mind-blowingly satisfying, Bheem had still kept it to mostly missionary. Looking at her face, her eyes filled with adoration and trust, kept his wilder desires in check.

Tonight, though, he couldn’t help himself from wondering what it would be like when they actually graduate to his fantasies. When he could actually let himself go fully. Let himself indulge. When she would meet him halfway, wanting him as wantonly as he wanted her. When they could actually do the things that the women who had propositioned him had offered to do with him.

A deep sigh escaped his lips. How did it suddenly get this hot? Bheem took off his kurta and felt the beads of perspiration forming on his forehead, chest & under his armpits. The cool night breeze felt divine on his skin. But his lower body was demanding his attention now, and his hand slithered towards his groin.

As he shut his eyes, he imagined it to be her hand instead.

Her soft, velvety, tentative hand stroked him over his pajama. No, that wouldn’t do. He needed her closer.

Bheem took off his pajama for better access.

She looked at him with wonder - her eyes going extra wide as she felt his member on her skin. She stroked the outline of his length over his loincloth, trying to figure out where the tip was. Then, she leaned closer to his groin, her nose nearly touching it, to smell his scent.

Bheem ripped his loincloth off, whimpering softly as his fingers grazed the semi-hard flesh that was screaming for immediate attention. Which he provided.

Which she provided. As she bent down again, her mouth an inch away from his tip, her eyes looking at him teasingly. Asking to be punished. Asking to be disciplined. He grabbed the back of her head and pulled her down, making her kiss his tip and lick the hot leaking liquid. She obeyed as commanded.

He threw his head back on the sheet and tightened his grip. His legs splayed open on the ground below.

Bheem’s hand fisted in her hair as he slowly pulled her mouth down on him, making her swallow an inch in the first go. She gagged instantly but held on, getting used to the invasion of her mouth. Her eyes not so teasing anymore but filled with nerves/anticipation. He pushed her up and pulled her back in, going deeper this time, hitting the back of her mouth, testing her boundaries to see if she could take him down his throat. He soon established a rhythm, moving her face and his hips in tandem. Pulling her hair back to look at that beautiful face as he devoured it fully.

The image hit him like a truck, nearly making him dizzy. He had to pause what he was doing and curl both his hands in the grass underneath to feel the solid ground below him.

She was going into the pond ahead, calling out to him. As he started to chase her, she laughed & ran ahead, jumping inside while still in her nightgown. Bheem jumped after her, catching up to her instantly and grabbing her waist. The water was waist-high, but both of them were fully soaked from dipping inside. Bheem ran his hand through his hair and eyed the flimsy sheer fabric - what a wonderful night she had picked to go commando. She leaned forward, ran a finger down his forehead, his nose, his lips, his chin, the taut skin of his neck, his chiseled pecks, his abs, and finally went below the water to grab his crotch roughly. Bheem let out an animalistic groan, lifted her by her hips, threw her over his shoulder, spanked her behind a few times, carried her out of the water, backed her against a tree, wrapped her legs around his waist, and proceeded to rock her world. He ripped open the front of her gown and bit down on her bosom, making her scream helplessly. He maneuvered her body around like a doll to find the best angle and kept pounding into her relentlessly, long after she had peaked and fallen against his chest.

Tears formed at the corner of his eyes. He had gotten rock-hard without any meaningful physical stimulation, with just the visuals in his mind. This was a first. He was dazed & helpless, but he surrendered to the journey his body & mind were taking him on. His hands massaged the base of his groin gently, staying away from his length a little bit longer, almost testing his own anatomy to experience the peak of his hardness.

She was lying next to him now, pulling him in for a passionate kiss, while caressing his bearded cheeks. Bheem wanted her to forget everything else in the world other than his name and the sensation of his touch.

‘On your hands and knees. Now.’

She giggled, bit her bottom lip nervously, but obeyed nonetheless. The remnants of her nightgown had gathered around her waist, leaving the rest of her fully bare. He positioned himself, grabbed her hips, and entered her from behind, loving the feeling of being enveloped in her velvety wetness and tightness. He leaned over her to grab her bosom, which was bouncing vigorously with his thrusts while pulling on her hair and biting down her back. Ramming into her in this new position, he hit her secret spot quickly and repeatedly, making her scream his name with abandon, making her paralyzed with pleasure.

This was the most aroused he had ever been on his own. He could see the stars both with his eyes open and closed. His heart was racing. His throat was parched, and his voice was hoarse with the helpless groaning.

He couldn’t wait any longer; it was time to reward himself for his patience and the build-up. He licked both hands, moved one on his length, stroking from bottom to top in a steady motion while rubbing the tip in between. The other moved to his back, poking at the entry point there. He had discovered the latter one a few years back and had experienced some of his most intense peaks stimulating that region. Lubrication wasn’t handy today, so he made do with licking his finger and slowly dipping the tip inside. His whole body jerked at the sensation.

Bheem started to move both his hands in tandem now - stroking his front vigorously and his behind tenderly. Along with gyrating his hips. The tension, which was building in his waist, legs, and groin, all started to move toward the base of his length. He was a moaning, squirming, incoherent mess. And he wondered how he would look/sound like if anyone decided to walk by at this instant. Well, if it was one of the girls who had come on to him, he reckoned they wouldn’t mind the show. Smiling at the thought, he continued his ministrations.

He knew he was close. And would go over the edge soon. Bheem wondered if he should give in to his most deep-seated fantasy. He hadn’t even let himself think of it in detail before. Was it too depraved? Was it too perverted? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. Tonight, he wanted to indulge.

They were back in their hut now. She was nursing their 40-day-old son, cooing to him gently while the baby was fussing in her arms, struggling to hang on to her nipple. She massaged her breast for better flow and squished her nipple to fit into the baby’s mouth; still, some of the milk kept spilling down to her waist. She hadn’t realized that Bheem was watching her and was infinitely aroused by this erotic sight. He waited for a few minutes, hoping the baby would be done by then, but his baby was demanding like him. Smiling at the thought, he sat behind her and kissed her shoulder, wrapping his arm around her. She turned her head around, gave him a quick peck on his cheek, and went back to tending to their infant.

Nothing could have prepared her for what he did next. She was feeding from her right breast. From behind her, Bheem moved his left hand to her left nipple, squeezing it with his thumb and index finger. Tiny droplets of milk fell on his finger, and he licked them off greedily. Her whole body jerked at the touch, a helpless gasp escaped her lips, and she instantly felt the sensation between her legs.

She understood his intention and realized that it was going to happen. There was no way out of it. He had been eyeing her hungrily since she had started breastfeeding. And he had been extra demanding in the last 10 days since he had to restrain himself for the first 30 days after her delivery.

‘Bheem, give me two minutes, please. At least let your son get done.’

She pleaded. And he agreed with a deep sigh, moving his hand from her nipple to her thigh, stroking her there. She willed her son to finish soon, and the baby obliged, falling asleep in her arms shortly after. Bheem didn’t waste a second - he picked up their son and gently laid him down in the cradle at the other end of the hut.

Bheem wanted her completely at his mercy for what he wanted to do. So he tied her hands above her head, attaching the other end of the dupatta to the cot.

‘Be a good girl and don’t make a sound if you don’t want to wake the baby up, yeah?’

She nodded nervously. And he dove in, sucked on her nipples, drinking from her. It tasted sweeter than normal milk. He loved the taste and licked all around her torso to not waste a single drop. She had to bite her cheek to keep herself from moaning. He ravished her to his heart’s content and kept kissing her mouth in between to make her taste herself. Even after she would be done lactating in a few months, he had half a mind to pour some chashni & suck it off of her.

She had to ultimately intervene.

‘Bheem - the baby will wake up in a few hours and will need more. You are sucking me dry, sweetheart.’

And he stopped. Of course, he stopped. With a promise of going again later. But he was still thirsty for her. So he placed her thighs on his shoulders and dove into her core. She nearly jumped off the cot, surprised by the ferocity of his want. He sucked hard and fast, shoving two fingers inside, wanting to get her to peak ASAP so he could taste her properly. She had no choice - he played her body like a fiddle, pushing all the right buttons to get her to peak vigorously. He sucked her dry again, kissing her lips again while gazing into her wide, fucked out eyes. While both her sheer juices dripped from his mustache into his beard.

Bheem didn’t know whether he was dreaming or had ascended to a heavenly plane. Drenched in his sweat, even the sheet underneath had turned moist. His hips jerked violently. Suddenly, two hands were insufficient to tend to himself. He had to tear his hand away from his behind and move it to his nipples, squishing them hard. Tears streamed down freely as the cool breeze of the night tried to comfort his burning skin.

He had spent many serene nights under these stars, surrounded by these trees. But tonight, they witnessed his wrecking and helpless submission to his most primal, carnal desires. His legs started to shake, and he finally came with a violent jerk of his hips, spraying his seed in all directions. His finger dipped into his back entrance again to prolong the orgasm, making him scream with agonizing pleasure.

Bheem collapsed on the ground, lying lifeless, wrecked by the intensity of both his arousal and his release. Dazed and stunned as to how he got here. Even visualizing these fantasies with her felt like crossing a line, and his conscience was apologizing to his heart.

As he closed his eyes, he saw her lying next to him, looking at him with wonder through those big doe eyes. Almost like she had walked in on him while he was helping himself. He wanted to ask her if she touched herself, too, when he was away. But he knew the answer already. He will teach her how to do that. He will make her touch herself in front of him - what a sight that would be.

However, this wasn’t the teasing, tempting Jenny he had visualized earlier tonight. This was his Jenny, his sweet, innocent kitten. He wanted to both steal that innocence and preserve it with every fiber of his being.

He would wait patiently till she is ready to take him like this. Ready to push their boundaries. Ready to uncover deeper layers of pleasure. He would enjoy the journey so much of taking her down this abyss. Till then, he would love her like she needed. And thank the universe for bringing them together. Oh, how he missed her tonight!!!

........................................................................

The RRR Discord server made me do this guys; this is not my fault :)

Hope you liked it. As always, look forward to your feedback!!!

@irisesforyoureyes @rambheem-is-real @thewinchestergirl1208 @eremin0109 @eenadu-varthalu @rorapostsbl @yehsahihai @budugu @maraudersbitchesassemble @juhiiiiii @justmeand-myinsight @rambheemisgoated @rosayounan @jrntrtitties @obsessedtoafault @rambheemlove @jjwolfesworld @alikokinav @iam-siriuslysher-lokid @bromance-minus-the-b @dumdaradumdaradum @lovingperfectionwonderland @annieginny @chaanv @ssabriel @sally-for-sally @milla984 @doodlesofthelastpage @boochhaan @mesimpleone @filesbeorganized @ladydarkey @teddybat24 @fangirlshrewt97 @stanleykubricks @stuckyandlarrystuff @burningsheepcrown @veteran-fanperson @voidsteffy @ronika-writes-stuff @beingmes-blog @yonderghostshistories @nisreenart @chaidrivenwhore @bheemaxrama @carminavulcana @umbrulla @mizutaama

#rrr #bheem #ntr jr #jr ntr #love #tarak #bheem rrr #komuram bheem #rrr fanfic #bheemjenny #jenny rrr

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