#touch from others makes his skin crawl unless it's in very particular way | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

achaotichuman · 1 year ago

Note

Could I humbly request tamlin x reader headcanons. Pweese

Your humble request is gratefully accepted. These little head canons here are gender ambiguous because Tam-Tam is for the guys, the gals and the non-binary pals.

(Also sorry for this taking so long, for some reason I didn't see it until a couple of days ago.)

It takes months to get him to warm up to you, but once Tamlin is comfortable he doesn’t hold back affection or warmth. He’ll always keep a hand on your waist or hip, just to be able to touch you.

Tamlin will share everything he loves with you. Nothing will be fun anymore unless you’re with him. His song-writing turns into poems and songs dedicated to you. His fiddle-playing is always for you to dance to. He’ll always want to take you horseback riding with him. He’ll show you every beautiful spot in the Spring Court. They will become both your spots.

If you’re away for any period of time, he’ll spend every free moment thinking about you, writing songs and limericks for you. He’ll hide them in your room for you to find once you get back.

If you ask, he’ll teach you to play the fiddle. He may fear for the safety of the fiddle, but he’ll try his best to be constructive. If you make a particularly screeching noise on it, he may tell you your hurting the poor instrument.

He’ll try to bring back lizards he found in the forest. If you tell him he can’t bring them home he will give you puppy eyes and insist they are lonely and need a home, (he’s already named them and gotten attatched, so you have to let him keep them.)

He’ll lay with you in bed on rainy days, his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat. He will whisper into your skin how beautiful you are, how lucky he is to have you, how much he loves you.

Any and all gifts you give him, no matter how small and insignificant, he keeps. They are all displayed in his office.

He’ll dance with you in the rain. When the water soaks you both to the bone, he’ll spin you around. When mud clings to both your clothes, he kiss you deeply, unable to stop touching you, unable to be away from you.

You two sit in his office during long work days. He’ll finish work at his desk, you’ll help him some times, others you’ll sit in the chair near him reading. Sometimes he’ll stop work just to look over at you, how the light hits the side of your face, illuminating your skin and eyes. He’ll be unable to look away, when you notice his gaze he’ll tell you how beautiful you are. He’ll say it like the first time every time.

He’ll surprise you will dates out in the forest all the time. Using magic, he will create beds of moss under trees, with platters of cheese and fruit. You’ll call him a romantic sap and he will roll his eyes, but you’ll both hold each other and fall asleep under the canopy of leaves. (Once a very big spider crawled onto your arm, but don’t worry, his name is Kevin, Tamlin knows him, he is incredibly polite and friendly.)

If excited or happy, Tamlin will pick you up and spin you around. Kissing you all over your face, you will laugh and Tamlin will think its the most beautiful sound he has ever heard.

He cannot flirt with you for the life of him. He tried writing down a list of compliements which filled three pages, both sides, but when he tried to tell you even one, he froze and just said he liked the way your shirt looked. To this day neither of you quite know what he meant by that.

Rhysand once came to the Spring Court, he wanted to taunt Tamlin some more. You watched as he waltzed into Tamlin’s office. Before a word could leave his mouth, you snuck up behind him and hit him in the head with a frying pan. Tamlin had to quickly grab you and put up a shield before Rhysand could retailiate.

You once mentioned offhandedly how much you loved reading a particular series of books. Tamlin went out and bought every single edition he could find, and had an artist paint a portriat of every character.

You love a particular kind of berry, Tamlin loves them too. Tamlin pretends to hate them so whenever they are on your plates at dinner, he gives them all to you. He loves the smile on your face a thousand times more than that berry.

Once you were injured so badly you were on bedrest for weeks, you were taken to Dawn as they have the technology required to treat you. Tamlin stayed by your side the entire time. When you told him he had Court to rule, he told you the Court could wait, when you pointed out that was not how it worked, he told you he ruled the Court so yes that was how it worked.

He lets you braid his hair, you put ribbions and bows in it. Tamlin will wear the absurd hairstyle everywhere, he is very proud of your handiwork.

Sometimes Tamlin doesn’t truly believe that he is capable of being loved. The insecurities instilled him over centuries of trauma lurk to the surface. When this happens you grab his face and practically yell that you love him so much and nothing in the world will ever drive that away. Tamlin has to stop tears from falling from his eyes.

You both like to sit atop of a tall mountain, beside a waterfall, over looking the Spring Court. You rest your head on his shoulder, he wraps a hand around your waist. You couldn’t be happier, neither could he. You tell him you love him, he kisses you and murmurs into your mouth that he loves you.

#acotar #tamlin #pro tamlin #tamlin/reader #acotar headcanons #acotar au #a court of thorns and roses #tamlin x reader #gender ambiguous y/n

68 notes · View notes

aoiraincoat · 2 years ago

Text

Pardon me, but it would require some very impressive mental gymnastics to see HGSN as a homophobic media.

Depicting negative experiences queer people are faced with is not in any way homophobic, unless the author openly sends a message like "see? being gay will make you suffer, so don't be", which Mokumoku Ren hasn't done.

Yes, Yoshiki is most likely mlm and pining for Hikaru, but it's not the main theme and not an end goal of the story. It's just a part of his character like many other things, that would make him feel alienated in this isolated community without him even being queer. Abusive dysfunctional family is one of them. If anything, his queerness makes him relatable to a large number of readers who had similar experience and feel more like a real living person.

There were theories that his moments of intimacy with "Hikaru" (how it's scary and uncontrollable but feels nice ect) are a metaphor of his internalized homophobia. Again, showing a character struggle with it isn't homopgobic. I personally think these scenes are there to give Yoshiki an intense feeling of dissonance between his perception and reality: it has Hikaru's face and voice, it mostly acts like Hikaru, it reacts to his touch like he secretly wished Hikaru would react, but it has a tear in its chest and worm-like appendages thar crawl under his skin. The whole situation leaves him no way to escape the realization of Hikaru's death.

"A gay character being a demonic entity" is what bugs me about your posts the most. If "Hikaru" was really coded as any letter in LGBTQA+ it's the letter A. He carries the remnants of Hikaru's attachment towards Yoshiki, but he is unable to classify them as any particular form of love. He says he likes spending time around Yoshiki and the emotions that come with it. It's multiple times in the manga when he struggles with understanding the concept of romantic love and views romantic and sexual relationship from a rather abstract point (saying how it's fascinating that living beings can form couples and reproduce but excluding himself despite the fact that he is possessing a reanimated body). He isn't gay and he's oblivious of the reactions he evokes in Yoshiki.

Experiences of marginalized social groups are OFTEN used in horror to intensify the vulnerability of the focal character or their lack of control over the situations they end up in. If the focal character is a child faced with ageism, it doesn't make the media ageist. If the focal character is a woman faced with misogyny and loss of bodily autonomy, it doesn't make the media misogynistic. If the focal character is a person of color faced with racism, it doesn't make the media racist. Ect.

In case with hgsn whatever feelings Yoshiki had (and still has) for the real Hikaru are an addition to his struggles with loss and grief and one of the reasons he can't just let go on what remains of him.

297 notes · View notes

wri0thesley · 4 years ago

Note

I'd love to request more Naoya smut with him and a now pregnant!reader from that breeding fic because him busting a nut thinking about how good they'll look knocked up really made me feel some type of way!!! maybe reader-chan will even finally get a smooch from this HORRIBLE man. If you are not into doing continuations on requests no worries tho and thank you for your incredible writing as always, Nat!

reader can have a little smooch. as a treat. don’t let naoya hear you say he’s not a good husband <3

Expecting - Naoya x Fem!Reader (3.3k)

Both of you got what you wanted. Naoya got more than he bargained for. sequel to covet.

warnings: not sfw, minors dni! afab reader, fem pronouns. pregnancy sex, light lactation, misogyny, power imbalance, breeding kink, mentions of alcohol, naoya perhaps having some Feelings???.

[comments/reblogs are much appreciated! // my jjk masterlist]

Naoya catches you every so often for the next month and you easily roll onto your back for him, helpless under the brush of his fingers and the snap of his hips. He smirks at you when he passes you in the corridor, but you have nothing to show for all of the times you’ve warmed his bed – yet.

When you do, though – when a month and a half passes, and you are beginning to feel sick in a morning, and your monthly bleed has still not made itself known – you go to Naoya with deference in your eye. Once a servant, always a servant – and you are not stupid. You know that what you carry inside you is a bargaining chip.

Naoya wants someone who will submit, and you want an end to the life of drudgery and roughened hands and back-breaking work, of being ignored or reviled or mocked for having the misfortune to not be born with Zenin as a surname. Naoya takes you to a private, discreet physician with an iron grip on your arm and his light eyes sharp.

It’s amazing, how quickly a man like Naoya Zenin can set things in motion – when it’s not simply confirmed that you’re carrying his child, but that you’re carrying his son. His heir.

It’s so easy for him.

Suddenly you are no longer a maid, but Naoya’s betrothed – and though the other members of the household look at you in disgust, knowing that you spread your legs for the title, none of them dare risk Naoya’s ire by being outright rude to you. He and his family spin it like silk; not that Naoya took advantage of a servant, but that you have been part of some grand, beautiful Cinderella story – that Naoya is in love with you.

(It’s probably for the better that the Zenins prefer servants who can see cursed spirits, at the very least – if you had not had any kind of talent for jujutsu, who knows what would have happened to you? Naoya would not have risked his son being born utterly ordinary).

And then you are Naoya’s wife. It wouldn’t do, of course, for the future head of the family to have his heir and son born out of wedlock, even if society have progressed enough that you falling pregnant with said son was before the betrothal. The latter is a disgrace; the former is a laugh over a cup of sake in the dark, a toast to Naoya’s virility, a wink-wink-nudge-nudge at how lucky Naoya is to have found someone who gives themselves up so utterly and completely and easily, including their virtue--

You know that Naoya is not in love with you. You are fairly certain that the only thing Naoya loves is his name, and the power imbued therein. Still. You share a bed with him, and you’re given silken kimonos and pretty hair ornaments and anything that you ask for, and you are . . .

Respected is not quite the right word. Not for a woman who is Naoya’s. Certainly, he does not respect you.

But you are not reviled, not ignored, not beholden to the demands of your betters. Now, you are one of the betters, and if your fellow servants are frustrated that they have to bow to you in deference, they do not dare show it knowing that if you asked Naoya, he would have them punished for the transgression.

You had perhaps thought that once you were bearing his child, Naoya would lose interest in you. You know as well as anyone that nobody would bat an eyelid at Naoya seeking his pleasure somewhere else; it’s almost expected of him to have a mistress, a concubine, to go and sow his wild oats just in case the one he has placed inside of you does not yield the crop expected--

But he doesn’t.

Naoya hates you out of his sight. He is always touching you; hands sliding over your hips, cupping where your bump has become soft and round and pronounced, snapping servants to attention if he thinks you look tired or wan or pale. You accompany him almost everywhere. He looks up from speaking to his father to seek you out, as if to reassure himself that you are still there – and some tension in his shoulders seems to drain away.

He is still Naoya, of course.

You are still swiftly reprimanded by him if you speak out of turn, he still gets servants to do anything for you so he doesn’t have to do it himself, you still walk three steps behind him with your head bowed unless he bids you to do something else – but as time goes on, and your hips widen and your stomach grows and you feel the baby kick, something in him softens.

And something else hardens.

His desire on your flesh, on your form, does not wane. You grow used to the feeling of tangled silken bedsheets below you, of Naoya’s handsome face above you, of the groan and the whine as he spills himself inside of you for the third time that night. And you would be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

That initial thrill, of being wanted by someone like Naoya, doesn’t fade at all, even though you too are now bowed to in the corridors and the people below you have to jump at your command. And Naoya is not cruel for no reason. Despite the arrogance in his tone, the condescension that drips off of his slow, drawling words, the particular way he has of raising one eyebrow and letting his gaze crawl over you – you have come to enjoy being his.

You did not want equality, after all. You knew your place.

You just wanted better – and Naoya has provided you that in spades.

He’s got his arms spread out over the pillows, his shoulders strong, his eyes hungry as he watches you strip off the kimono you have been wearing today. Your wardrobe now is the height of luxury; all beautiful embroidery, delicate colours, fabrics that cost more than your former monthly salary. Kimono are not made to cling to your body; though people can tell that you are pregnant, it does not over-emphasise your hips or the newly swollen, heavy breast, or the curve of your stomach. Those are things that Naoya never tires of seeing, as the fabric pools around your ankles and the hadajuban is discarded and so are your underwear, and you stand before him utterly bare and unmistakably carrying his child.

“Stay there,” he says, “let me look at you.”

You are a good, well-trained, obedient thing. You stand there as Naoya’s gaze roves over you, straying over and over again to where your hips have filled out even more, where your stomach is curved – where your breasts have begun to droop a little from how heavy and swollen with milk they are. He sighs as he looks you over, and it is the sigh of a man who is indeed very pleased with his work.

“You can move,” he says. He moves the covers off of him, and you are not surprised to see that he is bare; that his cock is already stirring, heavy and thick between his thighs. “Come.” He crooks a finger at you, and you are grateful to be able to move, to take the weight off your ankles as you’re permitted to sit on the bed beside him. His arms wrap around you – they are strong, and certain, and he holds you like you are his property.

Which you suppose you are. Your head lolls back onto his shoulder and he makes a soft huff of amusement, but doesn’t say anything about how brazen you are. You are permitted some special favours, now that you are Naoya’s, and now that you are fulfilling your purpose so beautifully.

Naoya’s lips brush your ear, his tongue lapping at the curve of your neck, the joint between throat and shoulder. You sigh prettily, the warmth of his mouth on you making you shiver. One of his hands curls around your breast, enjoying the heavy weight of you in his hand. Thumb and forefinger gently pinch your nipple.

He was rough with you the first time, but now he treats you like porcelain – and the idea that you are precious to Naoya Zenin sets your stomach aflame, makes your breath stick in your throat. He tugs at it softly, coaxing you to sigh, a drop of liquid leaking from the sensitive nub as you squirm backwards into his lap. His tone is lightly warning as he says;

“Come on, be good. It’s a good sign, sweetheart.”

He calls you sweetheart in front of other people and the ones who have bought this rags-to-riches Cinderella story exchange looks that say ‘isn’t she lucky?’. You hear the light edge in it, the smirk, the loftiness – but it always seems to break into something that’s almost fond, when he’s inside you and touching you and his teeth bite into your neck.

“Just that your body is doing what it’s supposed to do,” your other nipple is subjected to the same treatment, and you feel Naoya’s breath hitch, his cock stir behind you and dig into the small of your back. “I think the moment he’s in his nursery I’m going to fuck another son into you, dearest.”

“Mm?” You say, a little breathless as his hand goes lower. He sweeps his palm over the curve of your stomach, pausing where the skin is tight and swollen. His cock twitches once more at the reminder of how utterly his you are, and how wonderfully you are doing your purpose. How lucky he is, to have found someone submissive and well-trained and obedient and sweet, who looks so luscious full of him.

You drive him to distraction even when you don’t realise he’s looking at you.

“Thighs apart,” he grunts, into your ear, and you comply with the docile nature of someone raised to serve. He loves that about you. Loves, too, when he dips his fingers between your legs and your slick coats his digits, a soft whine catching in the back of your throat as he circles your clit and little shocks spark all through you, making you almost clamp your thighs back around his hand.

You do not, though. You are well-behaved. And you and Naoya have played this game enough times that you know that this is leading to relief for both of you.

One of his long fingers slides inside of you and you widen your thighs more, your soft whimper breaking and pitching – it’s such a servile, sweet little noise that Naoya cannot help but crook his finger, let it rub against the textured spot on your inner walls that has you clenching and gasping.

Since your pregnancy, you have become so sensitive. Naoya is the kind of man who hates working to pleasure a woman – who considers your orgasm a choice, and his a foregone conclusion. But with you swollen and full with his seed, he is slow and indulgent – and it is so easy, now that a brush of his palm makes you shiver and a tug of his teeth on your earlobe makes you gasp.

The finger is pulled out of you, and Naoya raises it to your lips, hooking his finger inside so you open your mouth and let him press your own slick onto your tongue.

Your tongue gently suckling at his finger reminds him of the insistent pounding of need inside of him; the stiff cock, leaking pre-come. He’d gotten so distracted touching you and enjoying you he’d almost forgotten about his own pleasure, and he sighs as he props himself up on pillows and reaches for you.

“Get comfortable,” he tells you.

His preference is to have you beneath him; that, he thinks, is his wife’s proper place. But it has begun to be difficult, with your stomach so distended – and he is nothing, he thinks to himself with more than a touch of smugness, if not an indulgent provider. A good husband.

(That’s what he thinks, anyway. You are not hurt. You get pretty things, and him in your bed, and the estate’s servants at your beck and call, an expensive wedding ring on your finger and the honour of his name affixed to yours, and his seed taking root inside of you. What else could you ask of him?)

So you are permitted to spread your knees, to climb on top of him – to gently sink your tight, wet, heat about his cock and seat yourself comfortably on the muscle of his thighs and the flat planes of his stomach.

“If you had my view,” he says, teasingly. “Mm, you were really made as breeding stock, weren’t you?” The words make heat rush to your face as he cups your hips in his hand again, squeezing the new covering of plush flesh that you’ve acquired since your pregnancy. “My wife.”

The words send a quiet thrill through you. You sigh as he bottoms out, as your body meets his entirely; your hands splaying on his shoulders. He is not flat against the bed – that position is too weak, not fitting for a man of his stature. But he is propped up with pillows behind him, so that he can admire how you look as your teeth bite into your plump bottom lip and you lift yourself just a little off his straining cock, before letting yourself fall back down.

He lets you set the pace. If you are to be permitted to ride him, he thinks, you may as well be the one doing all of the work. Part of him, too, is afraid of touching you too much – of hurting you, when you have something so precious inside of you. He would not admit that to himself – that’s not a thought process befitting of someone of his stature. But . . . it nibbles at the corners of his consciousness.

He cares about you. He does not want to hurt you. He does not want you to be uncomfortable – not when you are doing such a good job, when you are so lovely for him, when he is so grateful to have found you--

It’s no more than I deserve, he reminds himself.

And to brush back thoughts that are not proper for his elevation station in life, he lets himself watch the bounce of your breasts. Lets his fingers dig into the even softer, rounder thighs. Enjoys the sight of your mound bouncing on his cock, the feel of your slick walls clinging to his cock.

You are so beautiful, swollen with his child.

It is the first time he has ever looked at a woman and saw power in them. There is, he thinks, a power in what you have – in the glow about your skin, the brightness of your eyes, the curves and roundness and soft, supple flesh. The thought almost frightens him – but then, you push up again and your eyes meet his own for just a moment and he remembers that you are swollen with his child and have the power of him inside of you, and it becomes comforting.

Without him, you’d be nothing.

So he watches you with hungry eyes as you move your hips on his cock; as his length sinks inside of you, as you angle yourself just so – so that every stroke of your hips makes his cock rub against the place inside you that earlier had you seeing stars. Your breath is getting faster and faster, your fingers on his shoulders flexing as the tight string of your release is wound inexorably closer and closer.

Naoya allows himself a groan; a light thrust of his hips, in time with your own. The chase of your warm, tight walls as you try and pull away. He lets his gaze wander to how his cock is coated in your slick, all wet and shining in the light of the bedroom – and he is once more reassured. This is his. You are his. This wetness, this need – this is all for him. The way your body has changed is because of him.

His own release is creeping up on him.

Today, though, he decides he will be merciful – he reaches forward , curving his fingers just so, so that he can toy with your clit as you continue to fuck him. He rolls the bud with the pad of his fingers (soft; he wields just one weapon, and most people do not get to see it. Most of his harder work is done with his technique, and you have seen him apply expensive hand cream to keep himself handsome), knowing your body as well as he knows his own.

He prides himself on that, and you have spent enough nights in his bed that it is second nature to him. Women are predictable, he thinks, smirk on his face as your channel clenches around his hard cock and you come, whimpering out his name--

(In bed, he prefers Naoya-sama, and you are a good wife. Your tone is servile, soft, obedient – and in return, Naoya is almost sweet to you.)

He thrusts his hips roughly up into you, chasing his own release as your body spasms and trembles about him. You are still so tight; so hot and taut where the aftershocks are making you tremble. It’s the sight of your body, quivering under your release, that does it in the end.

Your hips and stomach and breasts and thighs, all rounded with the miracle of bearing life. All softened and plump; meek and pliant, a perfect little wife. His perfect little wife.

As he feels the tension inside of him snap, one of his hands winds about the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

Naoya’s grunt of pleasure is lost in the kiss, his mouth against yours hard and hungry. He is not willing to give up his dominance even here – but . . .

He has not kissed you so intimately before.

He has always avoided your mouth, preferring his lips on your chest or neck – turning your face away if it had seemed you might go for his mouth (later on, he had not bothered – he knows you well enough now to know that you would not dare.)

He tastes like wine. Like fancy, expensive sweets; the kind that you could have never afforded before you were his, but he has had at his disposal for his whole life. Like a cross between freedom and a prison--

He groans as he fills you up; his cock twitching, shooting out thick ropes of his come to land thick and heavy in your insides. Your whimper at the sensation is lost in his mouth, but Naoya fails to miss it – the fingers around the nape of your neck stroke through your hair, almost comforting, as he pulls back from you.

His lips are shiny, full and pretty. The grin that he gives you is crooked – and though you know it should not, though you know you should hate him for being arrogant and cruel and considering you lesser than him, the grin sends a rush of affection all through you.

If you were sentimental, you would say that the affection is mirrored in his own pale eyes.

(Naoya is glad you are not; you cannot see, beneath the triumph that you are claimed and carrying his heir and the hunger for your body and the pleasure that you are exactly the kind of wife that he wanted, that perhaps he does care about you.)

“My little wife,” he says, and he brushes his thumb over your cheek, hot with the rush of blood. “You’re so good for me.”

And you’ll carry on being so.

You’re so lovely when you’re expecting.

#naoya x reader #naoya zenin x reader #naoya x you #naoya smut #jjk x reader #naoya zenin smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #not sfw #afab reader #fem pronouns #pregnancy for ts #breeding kink for ts #misogyny for ts #Anonymous

1K notes · View notes

dxrkluvie · 3 years ago

Text

SHALL WE CHERRY?

JEAN K. x EREN x FEM READER

threesome 18+ smut

Full story available on my ao3. Click here.

Story name : " Shall we cherry? "

If you like my stories, please support me on insta --> @/llllenaj

You: I am bad at first impressions.

Eren: Do you want me to drive you home?

You nodded and let him lead the way. When you reached his car, he held the door open for you. It made you blush lightly.

When he sat down on the seat next to yours, his shirt lifted a little bit, revealing his well-toned abs. You looked away immediately.

Eren: Are you okay?

You: Yes.

He started driving. The lights were reflecting on his face, you noticed how well sculpted it was. A few hairs were falling on his forehead.

He was just so fine.

You: How old are you?

Eren: 19. And you?

You: Me too. Thank you for giving me a ride tonight.

Eren: It's nothing. By the way, the offer still stands.

You: What offer?

Eren: Mushes and wee- WHO GAVE YOU YOUR FUCKING LICENCE FUCKING PIECE OF SCUM?- the boy yelled as the driver in front of you who took a right turn without flashing their indicators.

You: If you don't cuss on the way, you're doing it wrong.

Eren: I would love to crucify those fuckers.

You: I wonder if they paid their instructors.

Eren: Perhaps.

You: I've never done shrooms. What is it like?

Eren: It depends on how much you take. Typically you see the colors a lot more vividly, they're A LOT brighter and sometimes they'd move. Also, you could get an intense body high. It enhances your feelings and messes with your head but in a very beautiful way.

You: Oh, weird. Have your friends done it?

Eren: Yes. I am not into fake shit. Natural all the way, there's no such thing like dying from weed or mushes. UNLESS you've mistakenly picked the wrong shroom, but I'm not dumb.

You: I don't know...

Eren: You don't have to be afraid, I will take care of you.

You: Oh...- you looked down, blushing once more. Being all shy and mushy was so not you. But damn, this charming brat.

The boy shook his head and looked for his parking spot.

You: Wait, we are here already?

Eren: I assume you were too busy daydreaming.

You: Oh, sorry.

Eren's phone buzzed. It was a message from Armin saying:

' Hello, Jean drove me home, I would appreciate it if you let me rest for a little while on my own and not come home yet as this whole gathering thing was too much for me. Thank you, Eren.'

The boy texted back:

Okay, is Jean home though?

A: No, he went out.

E: Okay, rest well - he said and drifted away from the parking lot. - Change of plans. If you don't mind.

You: What happened? And I do not.

Eren: Something's up with Armin, he's just so sensitive like that. It will be fine.

You: I don't feel like going home yet...

Eren: Where do you want to g- before he could finish, he received a call. It was Jean.

J: Where the hell are you?

E: I should be asking the same. I am in the car with y/n.

J: Armin kicked me out of the dorm.

Eren rolled his eyes.

E: I am not sure what we could do.

You, mouthing: Maybe we could try a motel?

E: Y/n is suggesting a motel, are you down?

J: Yeah, just give me the address whenever.

E: Okay, cool.

They hung up. The boy looked at you, his eyes were beyond stunning. - Why a motel?

You: You know I am new here, I'd like to see what it is like outside of this city. Just curiosity.

One of your fantasies was to have sex in a motel with a hot stranger. And today's events were working in your favor. You thought it was oddly romantic and you'd always make up fake scenarios in your head where this was happening. You drove outside of the city for about half an hour. Eren was slowly losing patience.

Maybe we could try this one? - he suggested, pointing out to a random building.

You: Sure- you replied, googling the place- it has 4.7/5 stars and breakfast is included. $130 a night.

Eren: Sure. - he said and got out of the car. Next, he opened the door for you and waited for you to get out, before locking it.

You found those gestures cute.

When you entered the place, the receptionist gave you a weird look. It made you feel unwelcome. Eren did not bother reacting, he just took out his card out and tapped it on the pin pad.

Room #16 is for you - the old lady spoke - good night.

Eren: Night.

You walked to the elevator.

It fascinated you how unbothered he was.

You: Did you see that?

Eren: She's probably sick of random teens renting a place to party/fuck, cause they don't have their own places yet.

You laughed - I will give it to your cash.

Jean called again. The phone call consisted of him asking for the location, and Eren simply giving it to him followed by the questions '' Should I bring cherries and alcohol? '' to which Eren answered ''yes'' and hung up.

While you were walking past the other rooms, you could hear noises of all sorts. Sweet moaning, people fighting, loud music, and people yelling.

Eren unlocked the door slowly. You stood behind him, carefully observing his hand movements. It was oddly arousing. His hands were big and had some veins slightly popping out.

The smell of his expensive cologne was spreading into the air. He took his tie off and threw it across the room. The same happened to the hair tie that held his hair up.

Neither of you was talking.

You sat on the bed, and he did the same. Both of you had your backs turned on one another.

15 minutes passed in silence when Jean suddenly opened the door with a bang.

Jean: HELLOOOOOOOO!

Eren: Ew.

Jean: Get lost - the boy shook his head and placed the bag he carried with him on one of the nightstands- I brought what you wanted me to.

Eren: So, shall we cherry? - he asked, no one in particular.

You: What is that?

Jean: Kind of like a drinking game but not exactly. The rules are really simple. You dip a cherry in vodka and place it in-between your lips. The other person has to take the cherry without touching your lips OR they'll have to give you oral.

You looked away, squeezing your eyes and lips.

Jean: All good?

Eren: It's fun. You don't have to, though.

Jean: Yeah if it's not something you think you could have fun with.

You: No I would actually try that.

Eren: Oh? - his tone changed. The boy took one of the already washed cherries. Jean handed him a plastic cup where he poured some vodka and dipped the fruit in it. He placed it on top of your lips and you aimed to eat it right away.

Jean: You broke the rule.

You: Fuck, I am sorry it wasn't intentional.

Eren: It's okay. How did it taste?

You: Sweet and slightly bitter.

His eyes narrowed at you. It almost looked like he was putting a lot of effort into getting the fruit in between his lips, that you've been dying to taste for a while.

You leaned closer to him and he purposefully pushed the cherry away with his tongue - Oh shit it fell.

You: This was on purpose.

The boy placed his hand at the back of your head- I will give you a head if you want.

Jean: Can I join?

You nodded, embarrassed.

Another thing that has been a common fantasy of yours was to be fucked by two guys, but you never thought it would ever become reality.

Eren slid your right leg up. Jean did the same with your left one.

You laid on the bed, breathing heavily.

Jean lowered his voice, making it appear huskier - Relax, baby girl, you'll enjoy that tongue.

Eren lazily lifted your dress up, and Jean slid your pants down.

Both of them were taking turns to kiss on both of your thighs. You could feel your skin get more sensitive after every touch.

Blood rushed down and you felt warmth between your hips.

Jean spread your pussy open using his middle and index finger & Eren gave your throbbing clit a slow teasing lick.

Jean: She's getting wetter it's so hot.

Eren: I know.

This small dirty talk was causing your thirst for them to grow.

Eren: She is dying to get her hole licked, aren't you, y/n?

You let out a loud ' yes ' & shortly afterward you felt both of their tongues lick up and down on both of your pussy lips.

It made your toes curl.

Eren's finger started to slowly pump in and out of your hole as Jean's tongue was eagerly gliding up and down on your wet cunt.

The room got filled with your sweet " ah's " and "oh's".

At one point you felt both of their tongues battling one another across your clit and it was nearly leaving you breathless.

The boys stopped and looked up at you.

Eren: Have you done this before?

You: As in a threesome?

He nodded. You replied with a '' no '.

Eren: How is it going so far?

You: Amazing. I actually want to return the favor.

Both of them stood up.

Now you were off the bed, kneeling before them. You could see the lust in their eyes. Especially Jean's.

Both of your hands took a place on both of their dicks. They were gently stroking them as your mouth was giving them licks and sucks on their tips, going from Jean's cock to Eren's back and forth, in a pattern.

One thing you've noticed was that Eren was tenser, his body language was more indicative. He was rock hard, his pupils were dilated and he was thrusting in your mouth slightly when given the chance.

As for Jean - he was more vocal. He'd let out some quiet groans here and there and you would occasionally hear some ' fuck yes '.

Eren: Go lay down.

You did as ordered.

Jean: Hold on - the boy said and laid down first, leaning against the bed frame - you can lay on me.

You hesitated for a bit. Eren walked up to you, lifted your chin up, and kissed you. His hands slid down to your boobs and squeezed them gently. His thumbs massaged on your nipples. It made you wetter.

" Okay... " you said and crawled on top of him, having him face your back.

Jean placed his hand around your neck and kissed on it - Have you done anal? - he asked, whispering.

You: No.

Jean: Would you be interested?

You: Yes.

He placed his thumb on your lips, you licked it.

Jean: Shitt...- he grunted and slid both of his hands down on your body, as yours were surrounded his, supporting your whole upper half. Your legs spread open and Eren made his way to you once again.

His lips were on top of your clit, sucking and licking on it.

His thumb moved down to your asshole and he carefully massaged on it in circles. He stopped for a second and looked at you - I am going to insert it in... - the boy spoke quietly while doing so.

Your body tensed up. You felt full but in a good way.

To your pleasant surprise, he was good at giving oral and a bit more gentle than his friend was.

Jean: Should I stick it in? I want to fuck you so hard, y/n.

You: Go for it.

Eren got on top of both of you. He leaned forward to give you a passionate kiss. He did the same to Jean. You noticed how attractive he looked up-close.

You: Fuck that's so hot...

Eren's cock slid inside your wet pussy as for Jean's, in your back entrance. Slowly.

You moaned as both of them started to push themselves inside you.

Eren was about an inch and a half bigger than Jean. It made you leak. He smirked - You're that wet for me?

You: Yes - you whispered against his lips and kissed him.

Both of them started thrusting inside your holes at a quicker pace.

You moaned loudly and leaked a bit more.

The pressure was building up rather quicker than you expected it to as your sweet spots were stimulated at the same time.

You: Fuck I'll squirt all over you.

Eren stopped moving and placed his lips on your neck, slowly kissing down on you.

His tongue teased your nipples. They hardened even more. Every touch of his, or Jean's was making your skin more sensitive.

The view of you and Eren indulging made Jean stop for a second as well and enjoy the show.

Your hips moved against Eren's.

He bit on your lower lip - That eager, huh?

You: Yes...

Jean's hands were firmly holding your butt, viciously slamming it down on his while Eren was filling you up from the front.

You were nearly reaching your climax and soon you squirted.

Both of them mentioned how hot this was.

You giggled a bit. - I am pretty sure we will ruin the mattress.

Eren: Who gives a shit...

Jean: Y/n...

You: Yes?

Jean: Can I cum in you?

You: Yeah...it should be okay.

Eren stopped and took a chair, sitting in front of both of you.

Jean used you for his own pleasure, as for Jaeger - for his entertainment.

He began to jerk off to the view of you being fucked.

Your hole was tight and it made Jean cum instantly.

Eren: Oh shit... -

You: Can I get off? - you asked Jean.

He said ' yes '. Before leaving though, you gave him a kiss, which he returned.

Next, your lips transferred to Eren's. He held the back of your head. Your fingers ran through his hair. Your eyes locked.

You: Do you need help?

Eren: Sure.

Once again, you kneeled down. Your tongue licked on his whole length. Your mouth was on his balls now, taking each one in as your hand was stroking him.

His breathing got heavier and his precum leaked.

You: Are you enjoying that?

Eren: Very much so fuck...

You: Cum for me, Eren.

The boy grunted and shot out a few loads - Enough! - he said and gently pushed you away.

You looked at him.

Eren: You should try sex on shrooms, it makes everything × 10 better.

You: I don't see why I wouldn't.

You blushed. Both of your wildest dreams have combined in one in just one night and you felt somewhat satisfied. Both- sexually and emotionally.

Eren: How are you accepting what just happened?- the boy asked as he stood up and handed everyone a tissue.

#eren yeager #fanfic #fanfiction #shingeki no kyoujin imagine #attack on titan eren #eren jäger #eren jeager headcanons #shingeki no kyoujin levi #smut #jean kirschtein smut #jean kirschtein x reader #eren aot #aot smut #snk fanfiction #snk eren #snk anime #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction

60 notes · View notes

ejzah · 3 years ago

Text

Where It Hurts Most, Part 3

***

“Kensi, slow down,” Callen told her, jogging slightly to keep up with her. Fatima had tracked down a single image from a security camera of the abduction and pinned down the exact location. She was now working on locating video from surrounding areas and tracking the three men who were visible in the picture.

“Deeks is missing, I’m not stopping until we find him,” she replied between gritted teeth.

“I know. We’re all worried about him-”

“Callen, my husband was just abducted, we have no idea where he is, and, Kessler is having the time of his life taunting me. I do not need platitudes or words of caution right now.”

“That’s what we all want,” he assured her. Squeezing her shoulder, he headed for the other side of the path.

She knew he was right. Sam and Rountree were currently at their home looking for any evidence, though Kensi doubted Kessler would leave any behind unless it was intentional. It made her skin crawl to think of Kessler touching their things, violating them.

Just seeing the spot where Deeks was taken made her slightly nauseous, the memory of Kessler’s message, running through her mind. She pushed it down, drawing on her anger. Deeks needed her to be strong.

It was easy to see why Kessler had chosen this particular spot to stage his attack. One side was bracketed by a small strip of condemned stores, blocking the path from view and discouraging heavy foot traffic. The other side was mostly patchy grass and side, with a rusting medal bench set in the middle It wasn’t a long stretch, but it was enough if the attack was well-planned.

It was further proof that Kessler, or someone, had been watching them for some time. He knew their routines and habits well enough to figure out where Deeks would be on a given day.

She could see the signs of a struggle in grass around the path and imagined Deeks struggling, fighting back. There were divots in the ground where sand and dirt had been kicked up. As she followed the signs, Kensi noticed a small trail of blood on the concrete and then another smear a few feet further down.

Kensi had known Deeks would be injured; there was no way he wasn’t fighting off several men at the same time. He wouldn’t go surrender without giving it his all either.

As she approached the bench, she noticed the sun glinting off something and hurried towards it.

“Callen, I found Deeks’ cell phone,” Kensi called out, quickly slipping on a glove before she picked it up. It was warm from sitting in the sun, but was undamaged, which she found more worrying than if it was destroyed. Callen jogged over, eyes narrowing as he watched her punch in Deeks’ passcode.

“You think there’s another message?” he asked. Kensi made a sardonic noise.

“It’s Kessler. Of course he left something behind. He loves taunting people.”

There was a new message, from a blocked number, with an attachment. Unlike his previous email, there was just a video without any text. Kensi turned the phone so Callen could see and pressed play, barely breathing as the video started.

It opened on Deeks surrounded by five men. He jammed his elbow into one’s face and kicked another in the knee. He spun faster than seemed possible, blocking a third man with his forearm and knocking him to the ground. As strong and fast as Deeks was, it wasn’t enough; two of his attackers approached him from the front and back. Kensi gasped when the man behind him punched him in the temple, making Deeks stumble.

The video caught off abruptly, the screen turning black. Once again, Kensi’s hands were trembling as they clutched at Deeks’ phone.

“Kens, you alright?” Callen asked quietly. She licked her lips and breathed in and out twice before she answered.

“Yeah.” She swallowed her fear down and nodded sharply. “I’m going to send this to Fatima. It might help her track down on of these guys.”

Callen looked like he wanted to say something else, but seemed to reconsider.

“Alright, I’ll keep searching for any other clues.”

***

Deeks grimaced as he twisted his wrist, trying to loosen the strap binding him to the chair. He’d been at it since Kessler left him alone at least a couple hours ago. His skin was already rubbed raw from the constant straining, but he ignored the pain, focused on getting free.

The memories of being in a similar position were getting harder to ignore with every minute that passed. Kessler’s ominous promise was also in the back of his mind.

“Getting antsy, Marty?” Deeks stilled immediately, pausing before he slowly lifted his head. When he did, he shook his his hair out of his eyes, and regarded Kessler expressionlessly.

“Well, I did have dinner plans today so…”. Deeks shrugged as much as he could.

“You’re good at bluffing and talking yourself out of situations,” Kessler said, moving closer. “I guess that’s how you lasted so long, but I think that’s about to come to an end.”

“Mm, that’s what my high school debate teacher thought too,” Deeks replied. “Guess which one of us resigned at the end of the year?”

Instead of replying, Kessler softly chuckled and came to stand behind Deeks again. The sound of something scraping on the floor made Deeks’ hair stand on end, but he forced himself not turn to look.

“I’ve been planning this day for months,” Kessler shared conversationally. “I wanted each detail to be perfect.”

“I’m honored.”

“You should be.” Dragging an innocuous box into Deeks’ line of sight, Kessler opened it. “It’s very difficult to find one of these,” he added, turning with a metal object in his hands.

Deeks’ stomach clenched, his mouth turning dry as sweat immediately beaded up on his forehead. If it was the same device Sidorov had used to hold his mouth open. Even thinking about it made his jaw ache with remembered pain.

“I thought this might shut you up,” Kessler commented. He turned it a few times and Deeks followed the movement unconsciously. “That was easier than I expected. Kensi will be disappointed.”

“I was just waiting to see if you had something more original,” Deeks said, his voice coming out slightly hoarse. He managed to conceal the trembling though. He wouldn’t give Kessler that.

“Don’t worry, I have a lot of plans for you, Detective.” He slid the torture device open, chuckling when Deeks couldn’t conceal a shudder. “But first, let’s do something about that pretty face of yours.”

***

A/N: So, how we feeling about Kessler? Too much, too little?

#ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #kensi blye #Callen #Kessler #where it hurts most #deeks whump #ejzah fanfiction

37 notes · View notes

happyandticklish · 4 years ago

Text

Interruptions

~Happy Birthday Izaya!~

Summary: Izaya’s busy and Shizuo wants attention. Events occur thusly.

“Stop.”

Another poke, this was one delivered closer to his side.

“I mean it.”

The distracting touch traveled down to his hip and he barely hid his jump.

“Shizuo.”

Shizuo smiled up from where Izaya now gripped both his wrists with a piercing glare. “Pay attention to me.”

Izaya tightened his grip, debating internally, before finally releasing the other and turning back towards his computer. “No. You’re being a child right now. I told you, I’m busy and I need to work.”

This game had been going on all night. Izaya could tell something was up with the other the moment he saw the look on Shizuo’s face upon entering their apartment. Normally Izaya was grateful for Shizuo’s affectionate moods, but that night he had work to get down, a last minute job he had been putting off, and he couldn’t concentrate with the other throwing himself on top of him every five seconds. He had explained this fact to the other in not so patient manner, and thus Shizuo had turned to this particular annoying method. The poking he wouldn’t necessarily mind, were it not for the fact that Izaya was unfairly ticklish and Shizuo absolutely could not know about it.

Izaya flinched as yet another poke was aimed at his side, his nerves flaring momentarily. His hands were paused at the computer, his arms tensed and ready to fly to his defense at a moment’s notice.

Poke.

Izaya’s lips screwed together in a concerted effort to conceal his growing smile. “Shizuo, I swear to god, if you don’t stop I’ll—”

“What’s with the ‘Shizuo’?” the other inquired tersely, continuing to aimlessly assault his side. Izaya desperately wished he would stop for two seconds so he could in any way coherently continue this conversation. “Normally it’s all ‘Shizu-chan’ this, and ‘Shizu-chan’ that. Why so formal tonight?”

“I thought it irritated you when I called you that,” Izaya said distractedly, not really listening to the other’s words. Shizuo had discovered this one spot on his hip that he kept pursuing with a lazy persistence, and Izaya was slowly folding over his computer, his elbows unconsciously darting in protectively.

Shizuo grunted noncommittally at the argument, which was as good a confession as any that maybe he didn’t entirely hate the nickname. Izaya mentally tucked away the information for later, not that it was of much use right now. Shizuo paused his poking for a moment, and Izaya just managed to exhale a sigh of relief when suddenly two arms were wrapped around him, causing him to tense up once more.

“Shi—” he started, before startling as he felt a pair of lips press a gentle kiss to the nape of his neck. Izaya’s shoulders rose instinctively as Shizuo began the affectionate gesture once more, and dammit why did that still tickle?

“Shizuo, I really am busy,” Izaya snapped, but his words faltered at the end as he found himself caught between pleasure and the unbearable sensation that sent shudders zipping down his spine. His gaze was directed at the computer, and yet he found himself unable to focus on any of the words contained there. “Why is it that you’re so clingy tonight?”

“I missed you,” Shizuo muttered into his hair, the words muffled. Izaya paused at the statement. “You’ve been gone for the past couple days now, and anytime you stop back here you just go back to that damn computer.”

Izaya hadn’t realized it had been that long, but as he thought back on it, he realized the other was right. He had been so absorbed in his task that it had completely slipped his mind that Shizuo might be affected by his absence. Guilt prickled unpleasantly inside him, and he would have offered to spend time with the other then and there were it not for the very real pressing deadline he needed to accomplish.

“I should be done by tomorrow,” Izaya offered as a peace treaty, though he had a feeling that wasn’t true. “Surely you can wait till then?” A sly smirk crossed his features suddenly, and, unable to help himself, he added, “Unless that would be too much for you? Do you really miss me that much, Shizu-chan~?”

Shizuo nipped at his shoulder pettily for that comment, and Izaya yelped, a hand flying back to shove him off. Shizuo raised an eyebrow. “Did I hurt you?”

“No!” Izaya denied quickly, cursing himself for being so stupidly sensitive. “It didn’t, it just, ah—”

Shizuo narrowed his eyes. Experimentally, he leaned down and kissed him again on that same spot, only this time he made sure to be extra gentle, his lips barely brushing the skin. Goosebumps scattered across Izaya’s flesh. His lips twitched into a hint of a smile, but he managed to repress the genuine thing.

“S-Shizuo—”

Shizuo snuck his hands under the other’s shirt, trailing them up his sides as his fingers ghosted feather-like over his skin. Izaya arched back minutely into the other and away from those hands, butterflies erupting in his stomach. “W-Wait—” he choked out, but then Shizuo curled his hands, nails tracing across his ribs as he did. Izaya squeaked, his arms flying up to cover his face and hide his reluctant grin. “Shizuo!”

“You’re ticklish?” Shizuo asked curiously, his words a soft breath against the shell of his ear. Izaya’s shoulders scrunched up protectively.

“N-No!” he insisted, the words coming out far gigglier than he would have liked. Shizuo’s hands were crawling spider-like up and down his ribs, the touch slow and intimate, and Izaya was having trouble not collapsing into a puddle right then and there. “I’m nahat!”

“How come you never told me you were ticklish?” Shizuo asked, his words innocent and inquisitive, which was somehow so much worse than him being mean about it. He seemed genuinely delighted by the discovery. “This is adorable!”

“I-It’s chihihildish—noho!” Izaya curled up in his arms as Shizuo’s fingers strayed too close to his underarms, teasingly circling the sensitive area. Izaya’s hands fisted in his hair, and he found himself torn between shoving the other away and revealing the laughter he was so desperately trying to hold in.

“It’s not childish,” Shizuo dismissed. “Everyone’s ticklish—even adults. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.”

Izaya flushed, trying to ignore the way the other’s reassurance made his heart flutter oddly inside his chest. “S-Shihihizuo!”

“Izaya.”

“Ihihihi neheheheed tohoho wohohork!”

“So work.” Shizuo scratched the spot where his ribs connected to his underarms, the touch devastatingly light. “Just ignore me.”

“Ihihihi cahahahan’t!”

“Mm,” Shizuo hummed unsympathetically. “I guess there’s nothing we can do about it then. You’ll have to take a break.”

Izaya cackled in his arms, squirming at the utterly unfair sensations. He knew, technically speaking, that he could make Shizuo stop if he wanted to. The other was usually fairly self-conscious about his strength advantage, and would instantly back off if the other protested. And yet, Izaya couldn’t find it in himself to put an end to this. Even though he knew it meant his work would remain unfinished for the night. Even though he was going to lose his mind if Shizuo didn’t stop dragging his nails across his skin in that infuriatingly ticklish manner. Despite all of this, he found himself strangely content to lie there laughing in Shizuo’s arms.

He would have time to dissect that thought process later.

“I didn’t know you could be this cute,” Shizuo commented nonchalantly, gently squeezing his hips. Izaya squeaked, drawing his knees up to his chest. “How come you’ve been hiding this side of yourself from me?”

“B-Behehecause yohohou dohohon’t deheheserve ihit—nohoho, stahahap dohohoing ihihit thehehehere!” Izaya hissed, batting weakly at his hands as he continued to torment the spot.

“I think you need to watch your tone,” Shizuo warned, a devious edge to his words. “Or are you forgetting the position you’re in?”

Izaya opened his mouth to throw back another snarky comment, but quickly found himself lost to another flood of laughter as Shizuo discovered how effective of a method digging his thumbs into the slender bone was.

They spent the majority of the evening like that, Izaya curled in Shizuo’s arms whilst the other drew hitching music from his lips with only his fingertips. Izaya never did get around to finishing his work that night, but in the end he had to agree that the break was nice.

#tickle fic #durarara #shizaya #shizuo heiwajima #izaya orihara #durarara!!#tickling #fanfic #fanfiction #happy birthday izaya!!

86 notes · View notes

mangozcat · 4 years ago

Text

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. lee taeyong x fem!reader 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄. some fluff, smut 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. taeyong always adored the flavors of winter. he loved the smooth hot chocolate, the strong taste of whiskey that he often celebrated with, and munching a cookie between his teeth. when you join him for christmas, he finds yet another thing to add onto his list of favorite flavors.

"𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖, 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑, 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒𝐍'𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐃." taeyong said, disappointment evident in his tone as his eyes skimmed over the christmas movies and dollar store bag in your hands, and your obviously very much not naked body.

you shook your head, lifting a hand to slap the side of his head gently. “not everything has to do with sex, buddy,” you declared, grinning to yourself as you pushed the bag of hot chocolate mix, whiskey, and cookies into his hands. “I came over because I wanted to spend my christmas with you, babe.”

he peeked inside the bag, smiling at the goods, before looking towards you. his hair was messy, hanging just above his eyes, and you wondered how it didn’t bother him yet. “yes, and I always wanna spend my days and holidays with you, but I had a particular idea in mind for this one in specific.”

“save it for valentine’s day.”

he shrugged, accepting defeat. it didn’t feel as bad as it would typically would, especially when he glanced back at the bag of his favorite sweets. cookies because he always enjoyed the simplistic treat on special occasions, and just in general. whiskey because while taeyong liked the sober life, he wasn’t too good at denying how incredible the free feeling made him feel. and finally, hot chocolate. not much explanation needed.

you always did know him best. and by how happy he looked, you knew it all too well. you took pride in understanding the layered man, and you were extremely pleased to be able to call him your boyfriend.

as taeyong wandered into the kitchen to make the hot chocolate, you took the cookies and whiskey out of the bag, placing them on the table. losing your heavy coat somewhere along the way, you managed to tie your hair up as you found several blankets and pillows scattered around taeyong’s apartment.

“hot chocolate’s so good,” you heard him call from the kitchen.

“don’t drink it right now, dumbass!” you yelled, sighing loudly. you had wanted the man to drink it with you while the two of you watched home alone. it wasn’t long before you heard taeyong’s voice call back to you, “sorry! couldn’t help myself.”

“you never can,” you mumbled under your breath, pulling away from the couch to admire your handiwork. it wasn’t fancy at all, but it looked extremely comfortable and you could imagine yourself falling asleep in taeyong’s arms, surrounded by fluffy blankets.

suddenly, you felt arms wrap around your torso and you grinned to yourself as a kiss was placed on your shoulder. two glasses of hot chocolate were in his hands and he lifted one up to you, allowing you to grab it and take a sip of the steamy drink. “perfect,” you said, turning your head to kiss his cheek.

taeyong smiled cheekily, “I know I am, babe, but I want a compliment on the hot chocolate I spent so long making.”

you only shook your head, a small smile dancing across your lips. he truly was a unique guy, and as obnoxious as he could be sometimes, you couldn’t deny that you wouldn’t trade it for anything. “well, my dear perfect boyfriend, how about you make some food while I shower?”

his face scrunched up, “I’ll pass, thank you very much.”

you only rolled your eyes, taking a sip of your drink. “figured as much,” you sighed out, walking towards the bathroom to take a nice warm shower before snuggling into the covers and getting lost in a movie. prancing around in all the snow beyond taeyong’s door had left you mildly freezing and you were ready to wash it all away with a layer of warmth.

and of course, the sweet smell of taeyong’s body wash.

the first thing you saw when you came out of the shower was light. green and red and blue and gold adorned the walls as you stared in awe at the string of fairy lights hung (although messily and rushed) dashingly across the wall. they were all so pretty, and made the room feel so cozy.

your eyes then found your boyfriend, shooting him a curious look as you pointed towards the lights. he only smiled shyly, biting on his lower lip as a small dash of red made it’s way upon his cheeks.

“I saw them at the store,” he said, eyes flitting between you and the lights. “when I was shopping for your present I saw them and figured they’d make the place more homely.”

you only smiled fondly.

he scratched at the back of his neck, saying, “I know they aren’t exactly christmas colored but they’ll have to do. do you like them?”

nodding your head, you walked towards your boyfriend, arms wide open to signal a bear hug before he met you half way. “they’re perfect,” you whispered into his shirt. he gave the top of your head a gentle kiss, rocking the two of you back and forth unknowingly.

leaning your head up, you connected your lips to his in a small, affectionate kiss, before pulling away and flopping down onto the couch. you grinned and patted the space next to you, making him crawl over top of you. resting his head on your chest, and setting his body between your legs, he turned his head to see the tv as you started the movie. your fingers started threading through his hair, making him hum in delight at the soft feeling.

he closed his eyes as the movie began playing, and you had almost believed he was asleep. that is, until his hand traces circles on the skin of your thighs, which were covered by a pair of his sweatpants. if you were any other girl, you’d think he was simply being overly affectionate and comforting. but you were taeyong’s girlfriend, you knew better.

taeyong was sweet, caring, everything. one thing he wasn’t, however, was more clingy than any other boyfriend. he’d touch your hips, your arms, your hands, but he never touched your nether region unless he wanted something. he never felt the need to.

so when his fingers poked at the hem of your pants, you sighed heavily, pretending you didn’t notice his movements while continuing to watch the movie. but taeyong had different plans. his arms wrapped around your stomach, forcing you to arch gently as he planted a small kiss on your shoulder. and then your collarbone, and then he was hiking up your shirt to place a kiss right above your breasts.

he wanted your attention.

and this time you were determined to not give in. he only narrowed his eyes when he glanced up at you, noticing how your gave wasn’t on him. he huffed out a growl before sucking harshly on the skin between your breasts. you didn’t have a bra on, he had noticed; probably because you were lounging in the comfort of your boyfriend’s apartment, he guessed.

you let out a little gasp at the feeling. it hurt, feeling his teeth scrape over the blossoming bruise, but at the same time, it felt so good. you finally closed your eyes at the sensation, deciding to give in, and buried your hands in his hair and giving the strands a soft tug.

“there’s my baby,” he said, a smirk gracing his features.

you simply let out a small whine as he continued to kiss down your stomach. the feeling was so soft, so gently, so sweet, so sickeningly good that it had your insides churning with desire. he was taking his time, making sure to praise your body along his journey down. the man was on a mission; leave no piece of skin untouched, unloved, and he was surely fulfilling it.

when you couldn’t handle the slowness anymore, you whined out his name. he simply looked up at you through his lashes, feigning innocence in his gaze. taking your sweatpants strings in his teeth, he tugged on the fabric slightly. “what do you want, angel?”

“y-your tongue, your fingers-” you stumbled out carelessly. he smiled to himself, happily listening to your moans of frustration as he tugged your pants, along with your underwear, down your legs. “f-fuck, just- ah! -just want you, baby!”

the cold breeze hit your skin, making you shiver slightly. taeyong didn’t seem bothered, simply pressing a kiss just on your clit, making you keen out at the feeling. he knew what you wanted, you knew what you wanted, but he was so intent on making you wait to receive it.

it only took a few helpless moans and begs out of pure lust to make him finally give you what you desired; his fingers. moving one in and out of you swiftly, he started a bruising pace that left you breathless with it’s intensity. you cried out his name several times, making taeyong smile as he watched his fingers get sucked into your eager heat.

“does my baby like this?” he asked, adding a second finger in and halting to hear your strained moans, “does she like it when I fuck her with my fingers? your cunt’s just swallowing my fingers up, baby.”

you whimpered a yes in response, making taeyong hum to himself in satisfaction. curling his fingers inside of you, you cried out when you felt his fingertips brush against that spot inside of you. your toes curled at the sensation and you tugged a little harder on his hair.

finally, as if taeyong couldn’t hold back any longer, he attached his lips to your clit, sucking on the sensitive bud. “fuck,” you muttered breathlessly, pulling him as close as possible as your hips started buckling up into his face. he groaned out, licking a stripe of your wetness from your slit.

his fingers were still in you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“are you going to cum?” he asked against your bundle of nerves, making you whine at the vibrations. he glanced up at you, admiring the fucked out look on your face and loving how his name slipped from your lips on occasion. he knew you were close, just by how erratically you were clenching around his fingers.

“go ahead, baby,” he said, pulling back to give your clit yet another kiss as his fingers continuously curled inside of you to give you that one last burst of pleasure. you were seeing white, crying out when you finally were pushed over the edge.

“cum around my fingers, sweetheart.”

part of the christmas chronicles series! you can find it here.

#taeyong #taeyong smut #lee taeyong #nct 127 #lee taeyong smut #taeyong fluff #nct 127 smut #nct #too lazy to write more #haha

183 notes · View notes

write-orflight · 4 years ago

Text

Cherry Wine: SpencerXReader

*gif not mine*

Pairings: SpencerXReader (Angst w/ happy ending oneshot)

Rating: M

Words: 4.2K

Warnings: SMUT! very, very, angsty! TW/CW: Drug abuse, attempted suicide, murder

Request: OPEN/CLOSED

Summary: Inspired by Cherry Wine by Hozier. (Listen while reading)

The first thing they tell you when getting clean is to not date anyone from group. Unfortunately, neither of you can follow rules.

A.N: Please! do not read this is drug abuse or suicide will be triggering for you protect yourself please! Much love, Cia

The first thing they told you when trying to get clean was not to date anyone from the group.

But you and Spencer couldn’t help how you fell into each other.

You remembered the first day you walked into group. The way the heel of your boots clacked hard against the dirty linoleum floor. You were wearing your dad’s old sweater and ratty shorts. You didn’t think anything of your outfit but Spencer would later tell you that he thought you were the most radiant thing on the earth when he saw you in that moment.

You kept your hood up as you plopped into the squeaky folding chairs. You looked over to your left to see the tall, lanky man wringing his hands together constantly. Your eyes trailed up and down his body from his battered converse to the hard outline of his set jaw. You knew you had to have him in that moment.

You leaned over. “Hey.” you said. He jumped out of his skin practically, trying to put as much distance between the both of you as possible. You hold your hands up in surrender. “Sorry, you just look nervous and I thought you would want a friend.”

“I-I do…” He stutters over his words. Moving back into the space and inadvertently closer to you. “I’m Spencer.” He says.

“Spencer…” You test the word out on your lips. It’s not bad, you’ve moaned worst names. You dated a guy named Harold for a spell, nothing was worse than that. “Hi, Spencer. I’m Y/N. First NA meeting?”

He looks down at his feet. “Yea.”

“What was your poison?” You ask. You’re not supposed to ask that but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

“Dilaudid.” He says, awkwardly.

You nod. “That’s rough. How are you adjusting?”

“I’m getting there, I just feel like an idiot being here.”

“Well, why’s that?”

“I have an IQ of 187, Several degrees and PhDs. I’m not necessarily the audience for drug addiction.” He says, frustrated.

“Well, I have my master’s in Engineering. I may not have a genius IQ but I’m by no means an idiot.” You say. “But I got hooked on pills just as bad as the next guy, you’re not dumb for needing help.”

That’s how the two of you started. It was innocent at first, staying a little longer at meetings just to talk to each other, meeting for coffee. But pretty soon it was exchanging numbers and late night calls.

One particular phone call was when you shifted. Whether it was for the better or worse you could not tell.

“You sped out the meeting yesterday, I didn’t get to tell you happy 6 months.” Spencer said, over the line. You couldn’t help the gentle swoon that came with hearing that raspy voice praise you.

“Yea, I had an early day today. Sorry.”

“What’s wrong?” Spencer says, immediately able to tell something was up with you. “You seem upset.”

You sigh. “I’d like to preface this by saying that I didn’t do it, I promise.” you say, shuffling your feet that were laid on your coffee table. “I’ve been thinking about using, a lot lately.”

Spencer gasps slightly. “And you haven’t?”

“No, I didn’t Spencer. At least not yet, but work has been stressful and I’ve just been thinking about it alot.”

“Well, what did you do to destress before?”

“Honestly?” You ask. “I had sex, like a crazy amount of sex. I know it’s not the best coping mechanism but it’s better than OD’ing. I used to regularly hit up this guy but he got a job in Portland recently. So that fountain is dried up.”

You hear Spencer mumble something. “What’d you say?” You ask.

“I said, I could do it.” He rushes through the sentence.

“Do what, Spencer?”

“We could… have sex…” He says, awkwardly.

You look at the phone in shock at that. “I don’t know if I’m comfortable taking your virginity, Spencer.”

You hear Spencer sputter on the other line. “I-I’m not a virgin.”

“Really?” You say. That was a shock for sure. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You hear those words that changed everything next. “Come over.”

“What?”

“Now.” He says, hanging up the phone at the moment.

You go and grab your keys not needing to be told twice.

-------------------------------------------

You knock on Spencer’s door a rough 15 minutes later. The door swings open and a hand is already circling your wrist, pulling you in. It’s not long before that door is slammed and you’re being pressed up against it. You try to move the hand he’s holding down but Spencer is deceptively strong, probably needed in his line of work. You look at him, eyes blown wide with lust and initial shock.

“Will you tell me if I do something that makes you uncomfortable?” He asks, looking you in the eye.

“Are you saying I need a safeword, Dr. Reid?”

His eyes darken significantly as he hears his profession past your lips. “It’d probably be wise to have one.”

You think for a second. “How about Tardis?” You say, you and Spencer had bonded over your shared love of Doctor Who.

“That works.” He says, Tugging on your wrist, pulling you deeper into the Apartment until you reach your final destination, his bedroom.

He lets you go and shuts the door.

“Strip.” He says, leaning against the dresser. You narrow your eyes at him to see if he was serious. He looks back at you with a waiting expression, to show you that he was.

Might as well… you think, tugging your shirt off. You continue to look Spencer in the eyes as you shed the rest of your clothes. His eyes travel down and back up your body. He steps towards you in that moment, tilting your chin up to look at him.

“You’re breathtaking.” He says, sweeping you into a passionate kiss. You moan against his lips as his arms bracket under your thighs to lift you up, dropping you onto the bed. You look up at him, eyes blown wide as he takes his shirt and pants off before rejoining you on the bed. You moan loudly as he sucks bruises onto your neck, grinding his erection against your sex. He leaves hot, bruising kisses down your body. Your shoulders, your chest, your stomach. Until they meet their all-time destination, right above your sex.

He rubs a hand against your sex, kissing bruises into your inner thigh. “Look at how needy you are for me. I’ve barely touched you and you’re soaked.” He says, thumb circling your clit.

You moan, moving your hips to get some kind of friction. “S-Spencer, please--”

“What do you want, baby?” He says. “Use your words.”

“Please, your mouth…” you manage.

“What do you want me to do with my mouth, huh?” He says, taunting you. You squirm under the scrutiny. “I need to hear you say it.” He said, slipping two fingers into your wet heat, curling instantly.

You babble for a second, trying to formulate the words. “Spencer- Spen, Please!”

“I know, baby. I got you.” He whispers before giving a deep quick lick to your clit. Your head thrashes back in ecstasy as he curls two fingers inside of you. It wasn’t long before you felt that tell-tale ball tightening in your lower abdomen.

“Spencer, fuck- I’m going to--”

“I know, baby. Go ahead and cum for me.” Not knowing you were waiting on permission, you release yourself on his fingers. He leaves small kisses on your thighs while coaxing you through your orgasm. Once you’ve come down, he crawls back up your body. You pull him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. You feel him crawling out of his underwear while you’re kissing.

“Do I need anything?” He says, his tip already dragging along your wet folds.

You moan, slightly. “You can use a condom if you want but I’m clean. And I’m on birth control.”

He smiles wickedly at you. “I’m clean too.” He whispers to you, still teasing you.

“Spencer.” You moan. “Please fuck me.”

He smiles before pushing into you, not needing much convincing. You both gasp at the first contact. The hands on your hips are practically bruising. He waits searching your eyes, making sure you aren’t hurt. You don’t like that, when people look at you like you’re of value.

“Move.” You say, Spencer happily obliges, opting to go slow. You instantly start moving your hips to make him move faster. He looks at you slightly confused but keeps his pace. You sigh, frustrated. “Are you going to actually fuck me or what, Spencer?”

His hips snap into you harshly at that moment, making all the air in your lungs expel. “Excuse me?” He says, instantly fucking into you harder, his hand circles your throat, squeezing the sides. You moan loudly. Well, as loud as you can with him cutting your air supply while he fucks into you roughly.

“This is mine. Don’t tell me how to fuck it, ok?” He says, moving faster, other hand traveling down your body to rub your clit roughly. He lifts you leg over his shoulder so he’s almost impossibly deep inside you. You scream out, it was too much.

“Spencer.” You whine. “I-I can’t.”

“You know your safeword.” He says roughly. “Unless you’re going to use it, I suggest shutting up and taking it.” You moan loudly at that, liking nothing more than the feeling of being used.

“Spencer-fuck-I’m going come.” You moan.

“Fuck-me too.” He says. “Go ahead and cum on my cock, baby.” You head thrashes back as your orgasm takes over, Spencer following close behind.

He collapses on top of you for a second while the two of you catch your breath. The second he’s off of you, he moves to pull you close to him but you’re already up out of the bed. You stop in the bathroom to pee and clean yourself off. Once back in the room, Spencer watches you in confusion as you put your clothes on.

“Are you in a rush?” He asks. The awkward kid you’ve known for months now back replacing the man you had just been in bed with. “You could stay.”

You walk over to where he is on the bed, placing a small kiss on his forehead before patting his cheek lightly. “It’s probably best if I don’t stay.” You say, patting his bare leg. “I don’t want either of us to get the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea?” He asks.

You sigh. “You know, sex and drugs release a lot of the same brain chemicals.” You watch him nod. “Of course you do, you know everything. I’m just saying, this is a nice simple way to stay clean, I use you when I need the distraction from pills. And… you use me when you need it.”

“But, I don’t want to use you. I lik-”

“Don’t finish that sentence. Please, Spencer.” You sigh, tapping him lightly on the forehead. “This is why I don’t want to sleep over. If I do, those chemicals in that big brain will confuse the high from good sex with love and… I’m not the person you want to fall in love with right now, it’s not the right time for us. I’m a fuckup.” You say, standing up and grabbing your purse. “You may not like this now, but you’re going to have a really bad day probably, that’ll make you want to use again and if that happens…. I’d rather you call me before you do.” You ruffle his hair before walking out of the apartment into the brisk air.

---------------------------------------------

It’s weeks before you hear from Spencer again. You almost counted him up as a loss by the sheer amount the two of you didn’t speak after you had sex. You respected his decision not to contact you and you figured even though you lost a friend at least that friend had made you cum twice before leaving you out to dry.

You were sitting on your couch with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and Netflix queued up when you got the call.

“Hello?” You said around the spoon.

“Come over.” You heard Spencer say on the other line.

Your heart fluttered at the sound of his rough tone. “I’m in my sweats.” You say.

“I don’t care.” He says, hanging up.

You shrug, jumping up to put your ice cream in the freezer before running out the door.

When you get to Spencer’s place, he answers the door almost as soon as you knock as if he’s been waiting. His eyes are puffy and red.

“You’ve been crying.” You say, stating the obvious.

He rolls his eyes. “Do you remember your safeword?”

“Yes.”

“Then get inside.”

Thus began the vicious cycle that was you and Spencer. You would call him, typically after a long day of being interrupted and ridiculed by your colleagues. He’d call you after rough cases, and you’d fuck each others brains out. One time. No encore performances. No sleeping over. No falling in love.

It worked for a while, a long while. Spencer was still a nice friend. You’d text him about new episodes of Doctor Who or ask him obscure questions you needed answers too when you didn’t feel like googling it. He always had an answer for you.

But of course just like most things in your life, you couldn’t have a good thing without finding some way to fuck it up.

It started with one time Spencer called you to come over after you had worked a 12 hour shift. You didn’t tell him that, you just still went. After you guys hooked up, he watched you sleepily try to put your clothes on. Not even able to keep your eyes completely open.

“Y/N, just stay.” He says. “I can’t let you drive home like this.”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll go.” You say, mid-yawn.

“Yea, real convincing.” He laughs. “Get in the bed, Y/N/N.”

You were very tired. Spencer’s bed is pretty comfy. Why not? You think.

“This doesn’t mean anything. It’s still not time.” You say, as you crawl back in. “I’m just tired.”

Spencer says nothing, just turns off the light next to his bedside. “Goodnight, Y/N”

You wake up that morning, warm and wrapped around Spencer. You leave before he can wake up

Things really change when you get the call.

After your mother found you on the living room floor covered in your own vomit, you could never speak to her again, not until you were clean. Fully clean and a fully functioning adult that didn’t need pills to cope. You were getting there and you thought you had time.

That was until you were called to identify a body.

They told you it was a robbery gone bad, that they robbed your mother’s store and was upset about the amount of money that wasn’t in the drawer. And they just shot her with no remorse. The only person in your life who cared about you, gone in seconds.

Fuck, you really needed it right now.

After being sober for months, your cravings weren’t bad but right now you needed to feel nothing. You wanted to drift into nothing right. You thought about how easy it would be to just float away right then, how easy it would be to join your mother.

You should probably call someone.

So you called Spencer. Several times. You needed the distraction, even if he couldn’t fuck you, you needed something to take your mind off the ache. But every time you dialed, you only got his voicemail. You left him a nonchalant message the first time. Just a simple hey call me back when you get a chance but after the 5th 6th and 7th time you called you never left a message, just slipped deeper into that hole you were digging. You were foolish to think he cared enough about you to be there when you needed him. You were nothing but a warm body to him. Just like you were to every guy you’ve had the misfortune of meeting.

No one cares what happens to you. Why should you?

That was the last thought you had before your fist circled the cylindrical body of an old friend.

---------------------------------

Spencer didn’t know why you called so much, but he knew something was wrong. Which was why as soon as he checked his phone he rushed to your apartment. He knocked harshly several times before you swung the door open, leaning on the door frame to support your weight.

“What, Spencer?” You say, eyes heavy.

“What do you mean what? You called me several times. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing anymore, so if you’ll excuse me.” You say moving to close the door. His hand springs out to stop you. Eyes narrowing at you.

“Are you high, Y/N?”

“It’s none of your business, Reid.”

“Like hell it is.” He says, brushing past you into the apartment. “Where is it? I’m fucking dumping it.”

“Spencer, leave!”

“Absolutely not! Where the fuck is it?” He says angrily. Before his eyes land on the now empty bottle you had sitting on your nightstand. “Did you take all of these?”

Spence--”

“DID YOU TAKE ALL OF THESE?!?” He asks again, screaming. You don’t say anything, he takes your silence as an answer, pulling out his phone to dial 911.

“Spence, don’t.” You say as you hear him rattling off your address to the operator. He’s tugging you into the bathroom.

“Make yourself vomit, now.”

“No, Spencer.” You say.

“Either you do it, or I’m going to do it Y/N.” you look him in his eyes, before wobbling off to the toilet to try to make yourself throw up.

You don’t make it very far, you pass out on your bathroom floor.

-----------------------------------------

You wake up to fluorescent lights hurting your eyes. You sit up looking around, you were in the hospital.

“Don’t try to sit up.” You hear next to you. You look to your side to see Spencer.

“What’re you doing here?” You say annoyed.

“Well, contrary to popular belief, one of us actually cares if you live. So I wanted to make sure you were ok before I left.”

“Well, I’m fine you can go.”

Spencer runs a stressed hand through his hair. “Why did you do it, Y/N.” He asks, tears welling. “You were doing so good.”

“You don’t think I know that!” You snap. “My mom died.” You choke on your words.

“Y/N/N…”

“The one person on this earth who cared about me was murdered in cold blood. I lost everything, I had no one.”

“Don’t say that, Y/N. You had me.”

“And where were you?” You yell. “Because I called you and you WEREN’T THERE! Don’t act like you fucking care now because I’m in a hospital bed, Spence. You just use me for a quick fuck and then I never hear from you.”

“I use you?!” He says, words almost venomous. “You’re the one who told me that you only wanted to fuck. I wanted you, Y/N! I wanted to be with you, I loved you. And you told me no!”

“I told you it wasn’t time--”

“Oh yea, it’s not time yet, it’s not time yet. So I’m just supposed to wait and be in love with you while you treat me like shit and try to kill yourself?!” Spencer says, angrily. “Because it’s not time yet! What does that even mean, Y/N!”

“It’s not time for me to be in love with you!” You yell. “I can’t right now, Spencer. I don’t have anything in my heart to give you and I wish I did. I wish I could sit here and tell you I’m in love with you and that I want to be with you right now but I can’t, Spencer. I can’t love you when I don’t even love me!” You cry, Spencer stays across from you, wanting nothing more than to cross the room and sweep you in his arms. “You deserve more than that.” you whisper.

“I don’t want more, I want you.” He whispers back. You look up to see the tears falling down his face too.

“You need to leave, Spencer.” You say.

“Y/N--”

“Now!” You yell. “Please don’t make me call a nurse.”

Spencer sighs, taking one last look at you before leaving you.

You cry for 2 weeks straight after that.

--------------------------------------------

Some years later, you quit your job. It caused you nothing but stress anyway.

You travel for some time, spending your savings backpacking through europe and asia. You made some amazing friends, ate some good food, and had some good experiences. Life went on and thankfully got better.

You were now 7 years sober and this time with, thankfully, healthy coping mechanisms. You took better care of your body, exercising daily and the only time you really splurged was a giant ice cream sundae on your sober anniversary. You found a good therapist and you were offered a job teaching Engineering at a local university. Which you happily took, there weren’t enough female professors in STEM.

You had a relatively small 8AM class (no one really liked waking up.) and during a silent note taking portion you couldn’t help but hear two of your female students talking.

“I’m telling you Whitney, that professor is fine as hell.” You heard one of them say. “I mean, personally I have no interest in Criminal Psychology but I’d be interested in anything he had to say. You should come audit the class with me so you can see for yourself.”

“Something you want to share with the class, Ms. Rivera?” You say.

“I’m just talking about the new professor, Ms. Y/L/N.” Addie smiles.

“New Professor?” You ask, you hadn’t heard anything about a new professor. Then again, STEM and humanities didn’t really cross paths.

“Yea, He’s hot.” Addie says. “Name’s Dr. Reid.”

Your heart stops when you hear that. Spencer was here, teaching. The students must’ve noticed your pause, all looking at you confused.

“Focus on your work.” You call out. All eyes leave you, suddenly going back to their papers.

You knew in that moment you had to go see him. Even if nothing came of it the least you could do was thank him for saving your life that night. You decided to also go audit his class. The lecture hall was already full of college age girls, meticulous putting on makeup to impress the professor. You opt for a seat in the back.

You watched as he came out and greeted the class briefly with a bright smile before going through his lesson. You can’t help the way your heart swoons, his hair is longer and more fluffy. Like he stopped putting that product he used to slick it back with in his hair. He was older definitely but so were you. And as you watched him give his lesson you saw nothing about him had really changed at all. He was still the same excited-to-learn, nerd you fell for in the first place.

You stuck back for a while after he dismissed his class, waiting in the far corner while a girl tried and failed to flirt with the man. You laughed slightly, Spencer never could take a hint. You watched him pack up his messenger bag before saying something.

“Hey, Spen.” You say, the man instantly spins around, looking at you in shock.

“Y/N?” He asks. You nod. “Oh my god, you look good, healthy.” He smiles at you, you can’t help the smile you give back. “Are you…”

You know what he’s asking. He wants to know if you’re clean. You nod. “7 years, as of last tuesday.” You say.

“That’s good, I’m so proud of you.” You preen a bit at the praise.

“How have you been?” You ask. “Are you..?”

“I’ve been better, but I’m still clean, yea.”

“That’s good.” You say. You look at each other in silence, the conversation now stale. “I just wanted to say thank you, for that night. You saved my life, Spence and I was so ungrateful.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.” He says.

“Do you maybe want to get coffee? Catch up maybe?”

“I can’t do that, Y/N.” He says, you look down, trying not to seem upset. “I want to but, there’s still a big part of me that has all these feelings for you and I can’t just get coffee and have it mean nothing.” He sighs.

“What if I want it to mean something?” You say, looking him in the eyes.

“Y/N…” He takes a step closer to you, you hate how welcome he already feels in your space. “Are you telling me it’s time?”

“There’s never going to be a right time for us, Spencer.” You say, looking him in the eye. He looks downtrodden. “But what I can say is that I want you now, and I want to try being with you now. If you also want that.”

He smiles at you. “I’ll always want that. I’ll always want you.”

You smile back.

It isn’t perfect but at least it’s now.

Perm. Taglist: @diesinspanishbcimhispanic

#spencer x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #criminal minds #bau x reader #spencer reid x reader smut

326 notes · View notes

tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

Note

Whump Prompt emojis:

🎧 for Virgil

And

🎁 for Scott

Stolen Senses

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Virgil, Scott

🎧 sensory deprivation 🎁 given as a gift

I've not written sensory deprivation before, so this was a fun challenge to poke at. This particular combination of prompts was also very intriguing, but I think I managed to get them both in.

Been a little while now since I last wrote Virgil's pov, too. Well, practice is always good :D

Whumpy Prompt List

True silence was terrifying. There was nothing, not even the sound of his breathing or the throbbing of his heartbeat. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Virgil didn’t know how long he’d been there. Didn’t know how long it had been since chains had snapped around his wrists, too short to reach the noise-cancelling headphones clasped tightly over his ears.

The blackness, an absence of both light and colour, made it even worse. He couldn’t feel a blindfold – his eyes were open and he could flick them around – but there was no penetrating the black, black darkness engulfing them.

Breathing was a challenge. Virgil worked with light, with colour and sound and the smell of freshly oiled machinery. To have none of them made his chest stutter and heave out of rhythm, the darkness a suffocating presence and the silence a noose around his neck.

He had no idea how long he’d been there. Not long enough for anyone to come bearing food or drink, although his body craved both when it wasn’t busy shying away from the lack of anything, lack of life in his vicinity.

Intellectually, he knew he was wheezing. He was sweating, shaking, weak and terrified and trapped. He could feel the tightness in his throat as the air forced itself past at an accelerated rate, but he couldn’t hear it.

He couldn’t hear anything. He couldn’t see anything, either.

He barely remembered how he’d ended up there, either. It hadn’t been a rescue. An art exhibition, perhaps, or maybe a concert? It didn’t matter anyway, not when he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, could only feel cold steel ringing his wrists and jerking his arms to a halt if he moved them too far.

At least he had something to feel, he supposed, although that was far from enough to stop the ever-rising instinctual panic that came from having his two most valued, most relied-upon, senses stripped from him.

His throat was dry and parched. Surely they’d bring him water soon – whoever ‘they’ were – unless they wanted him to die a slow and painful death?

Virgil shuddered at the thought, feeling his chest wracked with violent trembles and knowing that if that was the case, there was nothing he could do about it.

Never see the sky again. Never hear the songs of the birds and the swell of the ocean in the bay. Nothing except this endless vacuum. Never hold another paintbrush, nor brush fingertips lightly across ivory keys.

There was salt in his mouth and a tightness to his cheeks, but still no matter how much his chest heaved and stuttered, there was no sound. No matter how much he contorted, the headphones stayed firmly out of reach.

His silent gasps grew faster still, drowning in desperation, in the realisation that there was no way out. Virgil needed the sunlight, neededthe sounds of nature and his brothers, but the cold, harsh steel and unforgiving darkness told him that they were nothing but a distant, rapidly-fading, memory.

Bright, retina-searing light flashed into existence and he knew he screamed, could feel the tremble of his vocal cords and the reflex of a widely-opened mouth. Eyes clenched shut against the sudden exposure, hot tears leaking across his lashes and crawling down his face.

He still couldn’t hear, and bright light was better than no light, so he forced himself to open his eyes into a squint, just barely enough to see past the bright.

Something landed in front of him, eerily silent for its mass, and it took Virgil’s abused eyes a moment to associate it as human-sized. Human-shaped.

A human.

They were limp and unmoving, a stark silhouette of black against the bright, bright lights, and Virgil’s instincts kicked in. Vaguely, he was aware that this was just a distraction for his mind, and that his reasons for edging forwards and tentatively reaching out for the blurred, indistinct figure were actually selfish ones, but he dismissed those thoughts and realisation because distraction or not, they needed help.

There was a bow, of all things, tied around their neck. Tightly tied, leaving red imprints in the skin where the fine silk had slipped. A garishly glamorous gift tag was attached, and Virgil’s trembling, chain-captured hands took multiple attempts before managing to catch hold of it and turn it around so that the writing was visible.

Eyes watering, Virgil could barely read the ink, and he furiously blinked away the moisture until the words stopped swimming on the page and became marginally legible.

Enjoy, it said, in large, thick black letters. There was nothing else that he could see, and with clenched teeth Virgil turned his attention back to the too-tight ribbon itself. His fingers still trembled, fumbling the knot several times before he finally got the purchase and grip to yank it free, exposing skin mottled black and blue.

The bruising continued, down over muscular shoulders and under a torn t-shirt, and up the throat, along the jaw and marring their- his face.

Virgil didn’t know if his voice made a sound as he screamed again, although this time he knew his lips were shaping a name.

Scott! Despite everything, his brother’s appearance was unmistakable. His eyes were closed and he didn’t stir, no matter how much Virgil tried to rouse him.

He had a pulse, though. Thin and thready and nothing reassuring, except that it was there. Virgil could feel his brother’s life beneath his fingertips, and it was enough to make him cry again.

Why was Scott here? How long had Scott been here? Why was Scott in such a terrible state when Virgil had barely been touched?

He had answers for none of those questions, and still couldn’t reach his hands high enough to yank the infernal headphones off of his ears. He could reach Scott, though, and tentatively pulled his unresponsive brother closer until his head was in his lap.

Wake up, Scott, he begged, needing his big brother to be okay even though he clearly wasn’t. Needing Scott to fuss and yank off the infernal headphones before telling him that there was a plan in place, that they’d be out of there in no time, as long as Virgil trusted him.

Virgil always trusted Scott.

The light disappeared as quickly as it had come, plunging him into utter darkness again. He – they – had to be underground to get such complete inky black, and Virgil’s fingers unconsciously curled in Scott’s matted hair.

Scott’s presence grounded him a little, gave him something to focus on that wasn’t the dark or the silence, and Virgil clung to that, clung to his brother like a life raft in an ocean of turmoil. He didn’t have sight or hearing, but he had touch, and the warmth of his brother in his lap. It wasn’t enough to stop his silent gasping breathing, but it was enough to stop his mind spiralling in self-isolation.

He didn’t know how long he sat in the darkness, periodically worming his fingers down the side of Scott’s face to find the pulse point in his neck before trailing back up to bury them in his hair. His hands were in the wrong position to count the rise and fall of Scott’s chest, but his chains didn’t reach far enough to let his hands settle there, so there was no way to track the passage of time, but even unconscious, Scott was a reassuring presence.

After some time, another blinding flash of light occurred, and while his eyes reflexively squeezed shut, Virgil’s first instinct was to curl himself over Scott, clinging to him as tightly as he could. No-one was taking Scott away from him.

The pressure eased from his head suddenly, and Virgil gasped as noise flooded in, loud and overwhelming in its intensity. He could hear his own raspy breathing, rapid with an edge of hysteria that was deafening after so long in silence. There were other people around, too, saying words that were far too loud for him to even begin to decipher them, and something quiet and pained from the brother in his lap.

The chains fell away with an even worse clang, metal clinking against metal and the cool stone of the floor, and it gradually occurred to Virgil that he was, somehow, impossibly, free.

Scott was still unconscious, and tanned hands crossed his vision, heading for his brother’s throat.

Virgil snarled, lunching forwards and almost biting the fingers clean off. They wouldn’t touch Scott. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, let them.

“Virgil.” It was meant to be a whisper but his name reverberated around inside his skull, loud and destructive and painful as it clashed against the earlier silence. A whimper tore itself from his throat. “Virgil, it’s me. It’s Gordon. I’m not going to hurt either of you, I promise.”

Too many words. They merged together into a single sound, abrasive against his sensitive ears. Only two syllables stood out.

Gordon.

Virgil raised his head slowly, inch by inch, keeping himself coiled protectively around his big brother. Worried amber eyes met his, tanned skin topped off by a shock of chlorine-damaged blond hair, and his eyelids blinked.

His breathing was still loud and rasping in his ears. Too loud to talk.

A tanned hand reached for Scott again, and this time Virgil let the tanned fingers brush against his big brother’s throat.

“He’s alive,” Gordon said, still a whisper and this time Virgil’s ears could handle that. A sudden yellow light bathed Scott’s limp form, and Virgil flinched. “Looks like he’s just drugged, Virg. He’s okay.”

The light flashed again, this time over Virgil, and he groaned.

“Can you walk, Virgil?” Whatever Gordon saw, he didn’t say. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Gentle hands edged towards his arms, brushing lightly against his skin, and Virgil startled.

“Come on, big brother,” Gordon coaxed. “I can’t carry both of you.”

Common sense. Logic. Something Virgil would have realised for himself if he wasn’t so distracted by everything.

He shifted, instinctively pulling Scott closer even as he tried to get his feet under him. They were uncooperative, mostly asleep and full of pins and needles at best.

Virgil didn’t even get as far as one knee before he stumbled, crashing down to the ground again and curling protectively around Scott.

“Virgil!” Gordon called, too loud for his ears to comfortably handle, and he curled up tighter, almost into the foetal position.

He knew he had to move. They had to get out of wherever they were, back to natural light and birdsong and everything else Virgil had missed. But he was exhausted; mentally drained as much as physically, his limit came knocking.

With the knowledge that Gordon was hanging around and humouring him, Virgil finally felt safe. With safety came willing exhaustion, and the delayed backlash of everything.

It was just easier to coil around Scott and close his eyes properly against the bright lights streaming in and around the place. Easier to leave the thinking and logistics to Gordon this time.

He didn’t notice when unconsciousness claimed him.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #gordon tracy #drabbles #thunderangst #thunderwhump #janetm74 #stolen senses

33 notes · View notes

chocoluckchipz · 4 years ago

Text

A Soulmate for Christmas - 1

No one but you see your soulmate mark. Not unless your soulmate touches it, and even then, it only glows for a moment. Most consider that a blessing, but Marinette would say it’s a blessed curse. Because how was she supposed to find the boy who left a black cat mark on her hand fifteen years ago in the city that wasn't even located in France? So when she finds a model flaunting the mark she put on him all those years back in a magazine, she has hope for a moment. That is until she notices the article discuss his imminent engagement to someone else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So, what’s the emergency?"

Marinette’s hand emerged from under the covers, pointing in the direction of her desk. "The new Paris Fashion. Page thirty."

Alya whistled upon reaching the said page. "Looking good, M Agreste. Good enough to turn my best friend into a hot mess with a single picture."

"This isn’t funny, Al. Look at his chest!"

"Pure lean muscle. Perfectly toned. He's growing up nicely. Though, I fail to see why this is a big enough emergency for you to make me bail on lunch with Nino."

"Look. At. His. Chest." Marinette crawled out from under the comforter and stomped toward Alya, pointing at the particular spot on the picture. "This. Look at this."

"A ladybug tattoo? So—Wait!" Alya looked up at Marinette, her finger pointing to the ladybug mark painted on his chest. "Are you telling me that’s his—"

"Right where I put it!" Marinette cried, ducking back under her covers. "See? He exists! I told you. I can’t believe you were doubting me all this time!"

"Well, excuse me, but you were five, and he sounded too good to be true. Little boys don’t usually go out of their way to help crying girls they don’t know find their flirting grandmas at a fashion show in Milan. Little boys don’t kiss said little girl’s hand as a farewell while they are at it. And they certainly don’t ask for the girl to kiss their soulmate mark into existence as close to their heart as she possibly could. ‘So, they won’t forget her,’ right?"

"So, he could always keep me close to his heart," Marinette corrected. "But that doesn’t matter now. You were right. That boy doesn’t exist anymore, and this one isn’t as good as I thought he was, so whatever. I’ll get over him and move on. There are plenty of guys out there. One of them is bound to like me more than money, fame, and prestige."

"What do you mean? Shouldn’t you be happy your crush is your soulmate?"

With a pitiful groan slipping her lips, Marinette buried her face into her pillow. "Ugh! I can’t believe I ever felt guilty for crushing on him. I thought I was a horrible person betraying my soulmate for some handsome, sexy supermodel. Foolish me. He doesn’t deserve any of my attention."

"Marinette, seriously. What do you mean?"

"Read the article."

Alya fell silent as soon as she noticed the title. "‘Paris’ most eligible bachelor reveals… a long-time secret relationship with his childhood friend Kagami Tsurugi. Doesn’t deny Christmas Eve engagement rumour.’ Oh."

"And you know what the worst part is?"

"What can be worse than discovering that your long-time crush is your long-lost soulmate and then finding out he’s been not only dating someone else but very likely will propose… tonight?"

"How about being at the same party at the same time. As a waitress."

Alya swore under her breath and put the magazine down. "Mayor Bourgeois’ Christmas Gala?"

Marinette nodded. "The article said they both confirmed they will be attending. I'll get a front-row seat to my soulmate's proposal to someone else. Lucky me."

"Then don’t go," she said, sitting down beside Marinette. "I’ll go in your place."

Marinette couldn’t let her do that. Nino was going to propose tonight, so Alya couldn’t be anywhere but with him. "You’re spending your first Christmas with Nino’s family. I’m not standing in the way of that."

"I can spend New Year Day with them."

"You’re going to the French Alps with your family that weekend. Don’t try to weasel out of it. Your mom has been planning that trip for months. Nora’s flying in specifically for it."

"I’m not trying to weasel out. I’m trying to help you, M."

"And I appreciate it, but I’m not making you go instead of me."

"What about your father?"

"The doctor said he shouldn’t be getting up for at least another week or his leg might not heal properly and he’ll end up with a prospect of a surgery which we’re trying to avoid."

"Then, I’m sure Rose or Juleka wouldn’t mind stepping in."

"No." Marinette sat up on her bed. "They have plans, and I’m not going to ruin them. I’ll just have to grow a pair and face him like the strong, independent woman I am. Or rather go help Maman and avoid him at all cost. He’s not even going to recognize me anyway. I didn’t. Not until I saw that photo."

"That’s true. I doubt he remembers much about you. You were babies when you met, so just stay away from him and keep your hands covered. That way even if you accidentally touch he won’t see it. A pair of gloves perhaps?"

"Mayor has uniforms for all the servers, even those coming in with the caterers, so no gloves for me. But as long as I do my job and pretend like I’m not in the same room with my soulmate who clearly didn't think me worthy enough to search for and instead decided to date this very famous, very influential, extremely rich girl from his own circle, I should be fine."

"I’m so sorry, M." Alya wrapped her arms around Marinette, bringing her into her chest for a cuddle. "Men are stupid. Some more than the others. Especially the rich and spoiled ones."

Marinette scoffed bitterly. "Don’t I know it. I got plenty of examples from being in the same class as Chloe Bourgeois for years."

"Isn’t Adrien Chloe’s friend?"

"I think so. I was hoping Adrien wasn't like her. Clearly, that isn't the case."

"You'll get over him soon, and we'll find you a nice, handsome, smart man who will cherish and love you for who you are."

"Soulmates are so last century anyway, right?" Marinette swallowed back the knot in her throat. No matter how much she tried to convince herself, this hurt. "I’m sure he doesn’t even remember meeting me. We were five. Who would be holding on to a memory of a random girl in Milan? And even if he did remember me, he probably thinks I live there. I thought my soulmate lived in Milan until he decided to show off his stupid soulmate mark to the whole world. Who does that, anyway? Those are supposed to be one of the most intimate of details of one’s life. You don’t just show it to everyone, and certainly not to the whole world while announcing your engagement to someone else."

Her eyes fell to her hand where, invisible to everyone but her, an image of a black cat lay, a mark Adrien Agreste left there more than a decade ago with his first kiss to her skin. Just like a mark of a ladybug appeared on his chest when her lips touched it upon his request. He said he wanted to keep her close to his heart, so it would be easier for him to find her.

What a load of BS.

"Have you ever thought that, perhaps, that could’ve been a message to you?" Alya asked. "He went through the trouble of painting over his soulmate mark for the photoshoot so others could see it. It has to mean something. No one is dumb enough to think that if Adrien Agreste releases topless photos while announcing something as big as a possible engagement, there would be at least one person in France, or even Europe for that matter, who wouldn't see it. He knew his soulmate would see it."

Marinette laughed. Bitterly. "Yeah, a great message. ‘Here is my soulmate mark, my dear soulmate. In all the years I knew you existed, I didn’t bother to find you. But I did make sure that this picture, in which I showcase to the whole world the mark you left me, came along with an article where I discuss how much I love my girlfriend you'll never compare to in status, money or looks. Not that I even care about your feelings, announcing that an engagement is in the near future for me and my darling childhood friend.’ Yeah. This is definitely a message, Alya. He says ‘Screw you, Marinette. I’m better off with Kagami Tsurugi, and I thought you should know that.’"

Alya wrapped her arms around her tighter. "First of all, only brainless idiots would take status and money over love. Second, you’re the prettiest, smartest, and the most successful woman I've ever known, and third, you're an amazing and wonderful person who's on her way to becoming one of the best designers in Paris, so don’t you bring yourself down because of a stupid man who doesn't realize what he lost."

"It's my fault anyway. That's what I get for letting that stupid, cute boy kiss my stupid hand at a stupid fashion show in stupid Milan."

"You were five, M. And he was a dashing gentleman, helping you find your grandmother in a strange city you got lost in. You couldn't have known he's your soulmate. No one could have."

"Right. And he won’t recognize me, so I’ll be fine. He won’t even look a waitress’ way. Nothing to worry about. I’m very much certain the only person he’ll be looking at will be his future bride-to-be, so I have absolutely nothing to be scared of. Not that I’m scared, because I’m not. I just don’t want to be humiliated. Not that I’m already humiliated, but at least no one knows about it. That'll be awful if anyone else finds out—"

Alya grabbed her face and turned to look at her. "Marinette, breathe. Calm down."

She took a few deep breaths and tried to relax. Alya was right. This was fine. She’d be fine. Everything would be just peachy.

"As long as he doesn’t touch your right hand, no one will know. I still insist I go instead of you. Nino will understand—"

"No. I’ll go. I can do it."

"Yes, you can, and you’ll be fine, but if anything happens, you have my number. I’ll be there in five minutes. You got me?"

Marinette nodded, pulling Alya into a hug. She was an amazing friend, and Nino and she were going to be insanely happy together. One day perhaps, Marinette would meet someone too. Someone who, just like her, was betrayed by their soulmate. Or someone who had lost theirs. Someone who would be kind and gentle and, like her, would just want to be happy.

Someone who was not Adrien Agreste.

Next >

Read it on A03, FF.net. WattPad

Buy the author a Ko-fi for Christmas

#miraculous ladybug #adrienette #soulmates #adrinette #fluff #light angst #misunderstanding #happy end #aged up #no magic au #soulmate marks

113 notes · View notes

sweetwritertanya · 4 years ago

Text

Nothing To Be Jealous About (Hoseok)

Summary: Hoseok is jealous after a guy flirts with you at work, something that you find quite entertaining. But your boyfriend has a plan on how to make sure you know how lucky you are for dating him.

Warnings: SMUT!! Maybe the last one of this series, but we’ll see. Meanwhile, be ready for: swearing, erotic body touching, exhibitionism, fingering, grinding, doggy style, mirror sex, unprotected sex (be smarter than this IRL guys!), squirting.

Word Count: 3570

One would think the tables would be reversed in this particular situation you found yourself in. That you would be the one frowning and sulking while puffing every other breath. It was honestly incredibly entertaining to watch this unfold, the usually bright and ball of positive energy that was your boyfriend throwing a childish tantrum due to jealousy.

He got inside the house first, taking off his leather coat and throwing it to the sofa, standing there with his white ripped t-shirt and black tight pants. You had barely closed the door before he started lecturing you.

“Yah, you should stop messing around! I mean, don’t you think that was a bit too much?” he asks, spinning in place to look at you, hands on his hips and usually smiling lips actually pulling down.

“Whatever do you mean?” you innocently ask, shrugging your shoulders as if you had no idea what he was talking about.

“Really? You wanna play like that, hum?” he fumes, crossing his arms and standing with his feet widely apart. “For once, I don’t feel like playing.”

“Then don’t.” You simply say, going past him in direction of the bathroom. “If you have something in your mind, just say so.”

He remains quiet as you go down the hall and enter the bathroom, first door on the left. While you wash your hands after doing your business, you kind of wonder if you pushed him too much. But then again, you thought it would be good to keep him on his toes every sometimes.

Hoseok was jealous because of the way a guy was talking and looking at you. You were a professional make-up artist and therefore met a lot of celebrities during the job. That was how you met Hoseok, by doing his make-up for quite a few months before he asked you out. Right now, you were hired by another company and your schedule circled mainly on this new boy group, one of the older guys from that group showing some particular interest in you.

Your plump frame and the way you dressed set you apart from the other artists you worked with, since you were not afraid of showing your figure with some more revealing clothes or wearing bright colors that caught the eye. Even right now, you were wearing a beautiful bright yellow romper with a pale blue and pink flower pattern. Malleable thighs uncovered by the short fabric and a deep v-neckline that showed a bit of cleavage due to your larger chest, you were not likely to go unnoticed. Nor did you want to. Nothing gave you more joy than showing off how fucking hot thick girls are.

And your boyfriend was incredibly supportive of that, always the first to compliment your outfits and whispering to you how sexy you looked while his hands couldn’t contain themselves and roamed your body. He was not, however, too happy when male attention turned into a full-fledge flirting with him right there in the room.

Of course, you would have ended any flirtation moves straight away if Hoseok hadn’t looked so incredibly cute while jealous, almond shadowed eyes showing just a bit too much white with how wide they got, straight eyebrows raised as he stepped closer to you and inserted himself in the conversation as he waited for you to be done. That tight fake smile that he kept the whole time, the tremendous effort to keep it in place as he nodded and gave big reactions to whatever was said. It was not a side of him you saw very much and you liked to see it once in a while, just so he won’t take you for granted.

As you dried your hands, loud music started playing and you knew Hoseok was off in the home-made dance studio he insisted on having in his house. You thought it was good for him to blow some steam off. If he was actually attentive, he would notice your playful leer and realize you were just teasing him a bit.

Making your way to the kitchen, you took out two water bottles from the fridge and went down the stairs to the basement where he was, intent on leaving him one of the bottles for him to drink after he was done. He had a habit of forgetting to restock the minifridge in the dance studio with refreshments unless you reminded him.

Hoseok seemed focused on his dancing, so you just started to walk away before he shouted something over the music you couldn’t quite hear.

“Would it kill you?” he shouted.

“What?” you yelled back, not understanding.

The exquisite dancer walked to the stereo and turned off the music so the house was silent once again. He was just a bit sweaty and didn’t seem that annoyed anymore.

“Would it kill you to just say I have nothing to be jealous about?” he repeats, almost sighing, walking slowly to the center of the room, puppy eyes and bottom lip sticking out.

You shrug your shoulders again as you walk forward, stopping in front of him with eyes looking up and head bobbing from side to side, lips pursed as if you were thinking about it. If not your playful stance, the mischievous smile that came to your lips would assure him that you were just teasing him for sure.

“Maybe you have.” You jest, looking sideways instead of at him.

“Oh, really?”

Suddenly, one strong arm pulls you by the waist flush against a sturdy defined chest, your hands raised in surprise landing on his muscular arms and his leg stepping in between your malleable ones. You giggle as you look up at Hoseok, he too wearing a genuine smile and raised eyebrows as he spoke.

“Are you saying someone else could make my sunshine blush so cutely like this, other than me?” he questions, one hand coming up to pinch your hot cheek while the other remained confidently at your lower back.

“Hum… Maybe if given the chance?” you wonder, avoiding his observant eyes.

“Too bad you don’t give them the time of day then, right?” he muses, hands starting a slow track up and down your back and bumpy sides, head falling to your shoulder and leaving small pecks at the exposed skin there. You smile and give in to the prickling sensations crawling up your spine at the feeling. “Because you know no one can make you feel like I do.”

His pecks raise up your tickling neck, making you crunch up in his arms as a response, and when you turn you head to look up at him, his lips catch your smiling ones for a sweet but demanding kiss. The way your lips mash together would make it undecipherable for anyone to tell where one ended and the other began, mouths moving avidly while attached together. He tasted of summer and warmth, tongue eventually curling around yours in a sensual breath-hitching dance.

Your body grows unbearably hot under his ministrations, melted lust running straight to your core. The hands you had on his arms were now crawling his neck and pulling at his hair in a brusquely manner, something that made Hoseok go crazy and growl loudly into your mouth. His fingers drop down to cup your abundant ass, squeezing and kneading at the fluffy flesh there.

“Let’s take this off, yeah?” he asks in an out of breath husky voice, searching for the zipper of your romper messily. “Show you the truth, hum?”

You frown in confusion for a second, some type of inquiring sound leaving your semi-open lips, but before you could formulate any more than that, he found the zipper and pulled the garment down harshly, leaving your body clothed in only a red set of lingerie.

“You’re so damn sexy. Too beautiful for your own good” he compliments almost in awe as he stares at you, something you relished in. No matter how many times he saw you naked, Hoseok never seemed to be any less impressed by you.

“Speak for yourself” you disagree, smirking.

“What the hell am I going to do with you, sunshine?” he asks as he moves around you, hands at your waist as he moves to your back and starts kissing the back of your neck. “I both want to show you off to the world and keep you hidden just for me.”

“I’m afraid it’s not really your choice, baby. I quite like making chins drop as I walk by, you know that” you conclude, trembling a bit when his index finger traces just in the most feather-like way the curve down your spine.

“I know. Which is why I should remind you how I am the only one who can make you feel this good.” He takes a pause to undo the hooks of your bra at your back, letting it drop at your feet. “Make it impossible for you to be with anyone else other than me.”

Biting and sucking hard on the skin beneath your shoulder, Hoseok’s rough hands come up from behind to catch your tits and skillful fingers play with your puckered nubs, making you squeal and bend down as you closed your legs together as a reaction to the electrifying jolts of pleasure that stroke your center. Your back arched and you could feel his hardening member against your ass cheeks, only contributing to your ever-growing need. You purposefully grinded your rump against him and he hissed, but only ended up teasing you mercilessly in return.

Thumbs stroking one, two, five times your erect nipples, only for his index finger to join the thumb and start pulling and tweaking them from side to side, as if a tuning button for a radio that only played your erotic moans and whimpers.

Your legs almost gave out at a particular harsh squeeze, pressing them together incredibly tightly in search of some relief for your burning womb. You felt like you might implode soon. His hands finally left your breasts then, falling to your round belly and fumbling with the meat there. Unable to take it anymore, you take your own hand in between your legs, aching for any relief. But Hoseok catches your wrist and impedes any further movement, lips ghosting over your left ear.

“Want me to touch you, sunshine?”

You bite your bottom lip and nod, just the thought making you moan.

Pushing your hand back to your sides, silently indicating you to keep them there, Hoseok slowly squats down, leaving a trail of hot kisses down your back before he hooks his fingers at the side of your panties, pulling them down your thick legs excruciatingly unhurried. You step out of them and he throws it somewhere, leaving open-mouthed kisses on the back of your thighs and your ass cheeks before coming back to his feet.

“If you want me to touch you, I need you to open your eyes” he demands from behind you, hands landing on your hips.

You didn’t even realize you had closed your eyes quite some time ago, focused on his touch and the feelings it brought. As you open them per his request, you are met with the image of your naked figure on the wall of mirrors in front of you, voluptuous curves and soft edges all on display, with a proud smiling Hoseok looking devilishly handsome behind you.

“I want you to see what I do to you” he explains.

Reconnecting his wide lips back to the skin of your neck and shoulders, his expert fingers trace the pattern of your stretch marks down the sides of your legs and make way in between them. You part your standing legs to give him space, watching with veiled eyes his digits disappear as he delves them in between your folds, your body shaking slightly at the so long-awaited touch. But he just brushes his fingers across the satin skin before withdrawing them cruelly, the result of your arousal evident on his hand.

“Ever get this wet for anyone else, sunshine?” he asks with a smirk evident on his voice.

“Just for you, baby” you reply, with a smirk of your own.

He giggles at your complacency, this time keeping one hand firmly on your waist and guiding his other one to your back, tracing the curve of your backside before settling his digits back at your center. Two long fingers continue rubbing the moist hot flesh, all the way from your sensible nerve cluster to your clenching entrance, making you moan out in a deep sigh, head falling back and landing on Hoseok’s shoulders as his fingers kept up the movement.

“Oh, fuc…! Hoseok, please, just!”

The touch was all too much and too little, your frustration so impending you couldn’t even manage to put it in a sentence. Finally, at last, his fingers slid in your starving cavern, fingertips moving fluidly in perfect strokes across your inner walls and providing the sweetest of reliefs, the tension that sprung your body getting more and more overthrown by the bliss of his touch.

He crooks his fingers as he moves them in and out at a growing pace, wrist twisting and setting such a speed that you knew for certain would end in your undoing, your pussy clenching on to his drenched fingers like a vice, the drag of his digits just in the right places making you about to lose your mind. The movement only seems to accelerate, squelching sounds making it abundantly clear how needy you were, and you are not even aware of the dirty echoes leaving your breathless mouth until he whispers in your ear and you are forced to quiet down in order to hear him above your drumming heart.

“Eyes open, my sunshine” he reminds you.

Again, you didn’t even realize you had them close. And when you open you understand what he wanted you to see so bad.

Your skin was beginning to glisten with sweat, your cheeks were flushed to a degree you had never seen before, your face scrunched up in absolute pleasure and your abundant flesh jiggling at every movement. But what he wanted you to see, what you only then realized, was that he was not the one moving his hand. Your hips were doing all the work, you were the one bouncing on his fingers like your life depended on it. You were the one fucking his fingers, not the other way around.

It took you over the edge. The image of him staying silently still while you fucked yourself on his digits was too much and your body stilled as ice while a volcano erupted from within you, the most high-pitched mixture of a moan and a whimper leaving your open lips as hot liquid pleasure ran down your legs and stained Hoseok’s hand and wrist.

“That’s it, that’s my girl” he praises proudly, actually moving his finger to help you ride out your orgasm as your body stilled. “Anybody ever made you feel so good like that? Hum?”

Even in the midst of catching your breath and regaining control over your body, you have enough sense to shake your head, even if he already knew the answer. No one had ever made you squirt like that except for Hoseok. It was like he was the only one who knew all the right buttons to push, knew your body even better than you yourself.

“I can’t get over how fucking sexy that is” he confesses, enveloping you in a tight hug from behind, arms encircling your fluffy middle. “Let’s see if we can make it happen again.”

You lick your lips as his arms leave you just as you hear the zipper of his trousers being pulled. Turning around to help with his growing problem, you are taken aback when instead he crashes into you for a deep overpowering kiss, small steps guiding you backwards as his mouth distracted you until your back hit the cold mirror of the wall. You gasp at the sudden contact and he takes advantage of that to turn you around again, this time pulling your back flush against his torso as he grabbed one of your tits, spilling out of his hand, the other pulling at your left leg just enough for him to slide his cock right in between your inner thighs.

“Remember, eyes open.”

From head to toe, you felt like your skin was caught on fire, the placement of his hands both cooling and scorching at the same time. Your semi-open eyes watch as he starts grinding his shaft against you, right in between your legs, rubbing at your tender slit. That familiar pull at your womb comes back full force as you see the red engorged tip of his cock appearing and disappearing as he grinds on you, glistening with what could both be your own juices or his own leakage.

“Ho-Hoseok!… Please!” you all but beg, closing your eyes as is all you can do to not fall apart.

The hand that was holding your waist comes up to tilt your chin back in order for him to deliver a messy kiss to your open lips. You kiss him back the best you can, your hands clawing over his, one at your breast and the other back at your hip. That’s when the tip teases at your entrance and you inhale a shuddering breath, arching your back towards him and hanging your head low as your teeth catch your bottom lip. In a swift thrust, Hoseok bottoms himself out in your welcoming pussy, hands squeezing at your flesh as tightly as your walls clenched around him.

The wet crown immediately lands at a sweet spot, his upward curve a perfect match for your cunt, never ceasing to make your body shudder on that first moment of absolute connection. Your bodies start sliding together with ease, his hips rocking back and forth at the same pace as yours, your hands ending up against the mirror in order to keep yourself steady.

“Are… Ahh… Are you watching, Y/N? See h-how I make you feel? H-how you make me feel?” he asks in struggling breaths; his own brain barely function in the midst of all this.

You try to, you really do. But it’s all so much, your slightly bend down naked body right in front of your eyes, bouncing and wiggling with each of his thrusts, legs standing apart as he plunges into you form behind, shirt still on and trousers and boxers pooling at his ankles. His ball sack keeps smacking your clit with each ramming and the tight knot inside your belly gets impossibly tighter and tighter. You have to close your eyes as you scream out, about to lose control of it all.

And then Hoseok grunts as he pulls your left leg up, hoisting the heavy limb with his strong left arm hooking under your knee the best it could, gyrating his hips against yours before continuing the pouncing with the different angle that hits precisely with particular depth the sweet spot he kept brushing before and you unequivocally come undone then.

You scream out and claw the mirror as the warm spread in your womb unfolds and the dam burst out, your slick heat spasming and tightening around Hoseok’s cock as cascading ripples of pleasure flooded you, your orgasm pouring out of your dripping pussy and bathing your inner legs and feet.

Hoseok curses and growls in a high pitch as he fucks you harder, the sounds with each thrust intensifying immensely after you squirted again and leading him to his own end, moves frenzied and shaft throbbing and twisting before releasing his own warm spurts of pleasure into your already flooded womb.

After a moment to breath, he steps out from behind you and you watch in the mirror with hooded eyes as a creamy mixture of your juices falls from you, joining the mess you made on the floor.

“Fuck, that was so hot” he exclaims as he pulls his trousers back on and pulls you in to a warm hug, kissing the top of your head, your forehead, your nose and cheeks.

“Sorry I messed up your floor” you apologize, still a bit out if it, cuddling further into his arms.

“You are more than welcome to mess up any part of my house with this type of mess” he claims, lips landing softly on yours.

You smile and sigh comfortably, one moment of welcomed relaxation passing by after the strenuous activity. But the hands circling your back start twitching slightly and you know exactly why.

“Time to get dressed and clean up?” you suggest, looking up at a very skittish Hoseok with his eyes set on the messy floor.

“Yes, please! Don’t worry, I’ll get the towels” he immediately agrees, leaving you behind as he gets the necessaries to clean up the floor of his dance studio. “Go ahead and start the shower, I’ll be right with you!”

You chuckle as you pick up your clothes, making your way to the bathroom without any effort to put them back on. The only drawback from Hoseok fucking you so good that you squirted was that he was unable to not clean the aftermath within twenty minutes or so. Not that you would ever complain.

#bts chubby!reader #bts chubby reader #bts x chubby reader #chubby reader #chubby!reader #bts hoseok #j hope #jeon hoseok #hoseok smut #hoseok x reader #j hope smut #jhope x reader #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts smut #plus size reader #kpop plus size #kpop chubby reader #kpop smut

347 notes · View notes

baoshan-sanren · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter 34

of the wwx emperor au I’m thinking of calling -- you know what? I suck at titles. let’s just accept the fact that I’ll slap something vaguely poetic on this thing when it’s finished, and that it will probably have no relation to the actual fic

About half-way to the Imperial guest chambers, it occurs to Wei Ying that he cannot simply knock on Lan Zhan’s door past midnight.

Lan Zhan had asked him to use the door, and Wei Ying wants to use the door, but he cannot. It takes a few moments for his pleasantly drunk mind to reconcile itself with the whole not using the door thing. But he still wants to see Lan Zhan. He wants to see Lan Zhan pretty badly. He wants to apologize for being stupid, although, at this very moment, he is not exactly sure what he had been stupid about. Probably a lot of things.

He sighs.

He also needs to apologize for failing to protect Lan QiRen. Lan Zhan had clearly told him that he does not want his brother or his uncle being hurt. Wei Ying had sworn to protect them both to the best of his ability. It does not matter that Nie HuaiSang had made the decision to decrease Lan QiRen’s guard. Wei Ying had promised. Protecting Lan Qiren had been his responsibility.

The horror he had felt, when he saw the Peach Blossom Pavilion on fire, cannot be described. If Lan QiRen had been killed, after Wei Ying had sworn to protect him-- he does not think that Lan Zhan would have ever forgiven him.

Still standing, stupidly, in the middle of the hall leading to the Imperial guest chambers, Wei Ying thinks perhaps his mind is not in the best place at the moment. He should wait and speak to Lan Zhan in the morning. He should not be stumbling drunk around the Iron Palm Palace, as if looking for Madam Yu to corner him.

But he wants to see Lan Zhan.

He remembers the absolute fury with which Lan Zhan had turned on A-Sang, the wild look in his eyes, the white robes flaring in an arc, blade flashing. Against the backdrop of the fire, he had looked coldly savage; an ancient immortal, an avenging deity too terrible to be gazed upon by ordinary humans.

In that moment, Wei Ying had been certain that Lan Zhan would not hesitate; that he would not let himself be restrained with such a simple gesture as his brother’s hand on his wrist. A-Sang would meet his end in that courtyard, and Lan Zhan would not stop there, but go on to carve a bloody path through every person in his sight, Wei Ying included.

The Peach Blossom Pavilion, its fragile old wood and intricately carved posts, dusty and forgotten, had stood for over a century, the Immortal Mountain City growing and spreading around its delicate shell. A legacy, left behind by the Immortal Empress, an arrogant girl who had thought herself so powerful that she had tried to rule over the cycle of life and death, nearly extinguishing the flame needed to form the Empire.

Her peach trees cannot be moved, altered, or destroyed. They are a lesson Wei Ying had been taught long before he understood what it meant.

But there is a much more subtle lesson in the Pavilion itself, a building even YanLing DaoRen could not bring himself to touch; the brittleness of family, home, comfort. How even the meanest creature will take time to burrow a hole in the dirt, then protect it with its last breath. The Immortal Empress had burrowed a hole next to her peach tree, then nearly given up her life to keep it intact.

Watching the Peach Blossom Pavilion be consumed by flames, used as a death trap for an honorable, righteous man, Wei Ying could not help but think that, if Lan Zhan had truly decided to kill them all, he would have been hard pressed to explain why they did not deserved it.

He leans against the hall arch, the stone cool and soothing against his skin. His mind is definitely not in the best place. But he still wants to see Lan Zhan.

Instead of heading towards the Imperial guest chambers, he turns to the door leading into his public study, a room he actively tries to avoid unless pressing business requires his presence. It is a bleak, cavernous space, where guilty men, often three times his age, would kneel on the marble floors, begging for their lives. He had not executed men often, even when they were indisputably guilty, but the few times he had were enough to make the space unbearable forever after.

There is one aspect of the study that Wei Ying does not hate, however, and it is the window hole leading out to the lower rooftop of the receiving hall. In the daylight, this particular portion of the roof is clearly visible from the entirety of the Iron Palm Palace courtyard. But during the night, it is a perfect starting point, no matter which part of the City he means to access. Some day, someone will realize that Wei Ying uses the tops of the courtyard walls as bridges to all of the surrounding palaces. The wall tops will be deemed a security breach, one that uncle Jiang will remedy without asking for his opinion, or his permission. But that day is not today, and Wei Ying has no intention of using the walls anyway.

The receiving hall roof curves to the east and west, winding around the palace, and Wei Ying counts window holes carefully, never having accessed the Imperial guest chambers in this manner before. It would just be his luck to drop into Lan XiChen’s chambers in error, or even worse, Lan QiRen’s.

He should not have worried. Long before he can be certain that he has counted correctly, he sees the flash of the white robes.

Lan Zhan had crawled out his window as well, and is sitting on the cold rooftop tile, the snow-white sleep robe pooling around him.

His hair is loose, a dark cape laid over the bright robe, and Wei Ying thinks he looks ethereal still, beautiful and aloof, not meant to be observed by lowly human beings.

Preoccupied by Lan Zhan, Wei Ying forgets that he is, in fact, more than a little drunk, and that he had forgotten to take his shoes off. The soles, not meant to grip the slick tiles, slide without a warning. He flails, nearly loosing his footing altogether.

By the time he has regained his balance, an act that was probably ridiculous to watch, Lan Zhan has noticed him and gotten to his feet. Wei Ying feels stupid, however, this has never stopped him before, so he crosses the last stretch of the roof anyway, but carefully now, minding his footing.

“Lan Zhan,” he says softly.

Lan Zhan studies him for a few moments, then lowers himself back down. Wei Ying takes this as a permission, and ungracefully sits next to him.

Something about the coolness of the night seems to magnify the scent of the sandalwood; it wraps around Wei Ying, smooth and warm, cutting through the chill of the north-western winds. He had come to apologize, but the right words seem to have abandoned him for the moment. Lan Zhan is perfectly still, a cold statue glowing brightly in the darkness. Wei Ying’s drunk tongue, unable to to properly ask for forgiveness, has nonetheless found a thousand poems at its disposal, each one attempting to give justice to Lan Zhan’s beauty, and each one falling short of the mark.

He does not regret coming to find Lan Zhan, but he does regret doing so with his mind less than perfectly clear.

Perhaps some other youth on some other rooftop can speak of marriage lightly, carelessly drunk on wine and beauty of the person beside them, knowing that the life they promise to share will be the one of comfort and safety. But the last few hours have made some truths starkly clear; Wei Ying has nothing to offer that does not come with its share of danger and grief. And Lan Zhan is no Nie HuaiSang, to find pleasure in the vicious court games, to smile politely while cutting with his words, to accept gifts with one hand while hiding a knife in the sleeve of the other.

He remembers Lan QiRen’s admonishment clearly, and wonders, for the first time, if Lan Zhan could ever be happy, married to Wei Ying.

The silence has now stretched so long, that anything said out loud may carry more than one meaning. Lan Zhan does not look as if he intends to speak at all. Coldly beautiful he may be, but at this moment he is also oddly peaceful, his breaths deep and even, his eyes half-lidded, studying some mystical point in the distance that Wei Ying cannot see.

Silence has always been Wei Ying’s enemy.

It is Jiang Cheng’s anger, grown too vast for words. It is Nie HuaiSang’s hurt, caused by his carelessness. It is uncle Jiang’s disappointment, shijie’s grief, Wen Qing’s disapproval. Things unspoken have always wounded Wei Ying in a way that no spoken word ever has.

Because long before he had learned their silences, and all the ways in which they brought him pain, there had been the silence of the Six Fans Pavilion, never again graced with his father’s footsteps. The silence of his mother’s chambers, never again to echo her laughter.

Silence had always meant loss.

But now, sitting next to Lan Zhan, wrapped in hushed tranquility, he wonders if one person can change the nature of silence forever. If one person can have such power, to transform this thing he had always dreaded to something bearable and peaceful, something in which he may find contentment.

As if hearing his thoughts, Lan Zhan shifts, a smooth, soundless movement that brings him ever so slightly closer. In the next moment, Wei Ying feels a brush of cool skin against his hand. A finger hooks around his own, and this time, it does not tremble.

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #wangxian #ficlet #m #wwx emperor au #short chapter #some drunk introspection #again a chapter in which nothing really happens #but some things happen #anyway #i'm looking forward to my days off bc work is kicking my ass #we're still on day 5 #but day 6 is unrolling #thank you for all the sweet messages #ily chickens

255 notes · View notes

permian-tropos · 4 years ago

Note

Daniil - Liberosis

Didn’t think this prompt word would become so poignant so soon. The subject matter wound up kind of surreal and taking whatever path I thought might be interesting but sometimes it’s nicer to let other people search for meaning in something.

IDK yeah I just wanted to publish this. Contains canon-typical misery.

Liberosis: The desire to care less about things.

It rains again, always with that damn rain, and inside of each puddle in the street is the reflection of a man with cold eyes. They’re a little bit sardonic, as if the protective cloth tied over his mouth obscures a world-weary smirk. They track movement deliberately, and never dart or flash.

When did this happen? When did his features freeze in place like this? It’s interesting. The last time Dankovsky saw his own reflection, he was burned out like a candle stub.

This is better. You’d rather see a second wind from the Capital doctor on his rounds, a man who cares less and does more, even if what he does isn’t much use to anyone. It’ll give people less reason to panic.

The plague is spreading on the wings of panic. That’s why the patrolmen show no mercy to the sick, those shambling mummies, when they stray into the streets.

Dankovsky never gave such an order. The man in the puddle wears his intentions well: But I wouldn’t countermand it.

When you think about it, the only way to fight the plague is to resist your natural human desire to seek help, or even the comforting touch of another; instead you must succumb in solitude, to save others.

The nature of epidemics really is to target the most precious aspects of our being…

“What do I do? What do I do? I’m lost…”

Dankovsky first expects that wheedling voice to come from a child, but it’s too knowing, like it’s playing a game.

Sometimes they’re called mimes, but they talk too much. They’re more amused by the circumstances than the name Tragedian suggests. Subconsciously, Dankovsky has gotten into the habit of treating them as if there is not a human under that patchwork black cloth, but paper stuffing, or an animated wire frame. They’re an oddly useless counterpart to the orderlies, and they certainly don’t answer to the Bachelor.

“One of you?” he sighs, backing up a few steps. “What do you want from me this time…? Get it over with.”

The masked man dawdling under the streetlamp tips its head slowly one way, then the other. “His Excellency thinks I spoke to him?”

“I’m the only one on the street. Unless you’re raving, in which case I have no time for lunatics.”

“How cruel. In any case… I’ve lost my mask.” The Tragedian shields its eye-holes from the rain with a hand, and looked far and wide.

“It’s right on your head,” Dankovsky grouses. “Now what’s my reward for finding it, a bag of marbles? Or wait, you’ve lost those too.”

“Oh, no, not this. This is my face. You see how blank and plain it is? It wants a character, a role to play. A mask, a mask.”

Dankovsky folds his arms. “What about playing a man who doesn’t leave his house… wherever he comes from, his burrow, his den, and doesn’t get himself into trouble?”

The Tragedian offers an apologetic shrug and spread palms. “I tried it but alas, it weren’t for me. I didn’t know my lines, and came too late…”

The Bachelor mutters, “You’ll be a dog soon – playing dead.”

“I’ve lost a mask of careless cruelty… I think it would be fun to wear a while. It grins at simple victories and doesn’t shed a tear for those less fortunate. I’d like to be the one who laughs in Hell…”

“Fine, I’ll look for something like that… I suppose.” It wasn’t the first bizarre request he’d taken, and been able to fulfill despite not understanding it at first. Whatever the Tragedian was looking for, it would turn up eventually.

Now the Tragedian was clasping its hands together, pleading. It was remarkably expressive for having, as it said, such a blank face. “But if perhaps you’d let me borrow yours…”

“That’s completely unsanitary.” What kind of idiot request was that?

“I mean the one behind the cloth, the visage that regards the world so icily…”

The Tragedian pokes an impudent, spidery finger right between the Bachelor’s eyebrows, which pinch together in great chagrin.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at… but I get the impression you’re not asking for a real object.” He slaps the finger away. “If you want to wear my face, playact all you like. Just don’t impersonate me to anyone important, or use my name for any stupid ventures. Or you’ll regret it.”

Dankovsky leaves the actor to mime out his gratitude, head fervently bowing, clasped hands pumping up and down. He’d expected to get something out of this exchange, but perhaps it’s a longer-term investment. Or it’ll be quite the farce when the thespian starts wandering around the town pretending to be him. He’s not sure what he’s given away.

Signal fires mark the start of an infected district. He tightens the cloth around his mouth and nose and rushes in. There’s one house in particular he has to visit, so he very much intends to keep his head down all the way there.

His ears are assaulted by wails of the dying, carried far even by stagnant windless air.

At first he doesn’t understand why his skin is prickling. Senseless paranoia.

I gave away my mask…

It doesn’t mean anything!

But something’s changed in him for sure.

Even though it’s illogical, he’s shivering like ice has been poured down his shirt.

His eyes catch movement and he jolts away at first, because he’s learned to flee whenever a human shape stumbles across his path in districts like these. One filthy touch from any of these walking corpses could pass on the infection.

“Don’t,” he whispers. “Don’t come near me…”

“Help us…” the mummy gabbles. It’s sobbing under the linen wraps, but those cries might be of relief as well as pain. “Please, please, you’ve got to help us… I’ve been looking all over for a doctor… You’ve got pills, haven’t you? Kind sir… spare us something… even just a sleeping draught…”

Dankovsky should be fleeing, and he’s frozen instead. He should do the compassionate thing and put a bullet through this faceless cloth-wrapped head, and he cannot. He has the unsettling thought he would rather turn the gun on himself.

The supplicant takes his inaction as permission. Its hand has seized him and is crawling up his forearm, creeping as surely as a mold on a wall.

“There must be something…” the infected one pleads. “If only to… I just wanted to… oh, but it’s so… my head’s spinning… I can hardly hear myself, can you hear me? Am I speaking? Are you there?”

More dying souls are shambling out of the alleys and either they can smell healthy skin like sharks smell blood or they’re spotting him through the gauze over their eyes and immediately recognizing him. Two have emerged from behind one building… a third and fourth from a park…

The dead come to drag him down into the earth. Rain pours down his cheeks.

“Hey!”

There’s someone behind him, shouting, but he doesn’t realize it’s directed at him until—

“What do you think you’re doing, dummy? Dummy Dankovsky!”

“Hah?” He’s unstuck when that strident childish voice pierces his ears through the white noise.

In comes charging none other than the wandering saint girl, shoes pattering and splashing through the sodden pavement. She spreads her palms out like she’s pushing out a great wave of force from them, some kind of heavenly wind, and even though no immediate magic goes off with a theatrical bang and puff of smoke, the sickened townsperson withdraws.

Clara catches Dankovsky’s arm. Her grip is mighty steel.

“You didn’t think you could heal them with your touch, did you?” Her tone is either mocking or heartachingly sincere. She’s too peculiar to ever be one thing or another, so maybe it’s both. “Don’t… don’t get those funny ideas into your head, okay? You’ll make people worry about you…”

Of course he finds her words ironic, but not surprising. It’s the usual way that young people parrot the things they’ve been told by others, as a way of expressing concern.

Especially ironic now that she’s extending her free hand towards the bandaged wretch, with a strained but beatific smile, flashing white teeth. Her fingers unfurl, flexing, preparing for an incredible sleight-of-hand.

“Don’t be scared,” coaxes the Changeling. “I’ll take care of you!”

“Careful—!” the Bachelor croaks, voice stolen by panic. But he still waits with bated breath, wondering if he’s about to witness a miracle.

But as soon as Clara’s palm brushes the gauze-wrapped fingertips, the infected person’s hands turn to claws. They gasp and clutch their chest, rocking on their heels, head bobbing.

It’s almost as if they’re trying to express a profound devotion and love that cannot fit inside them. Then they exhale without a word, collapsing in a heap, like a thread over their head has been snipped.

Clara’s smile shrinks by millimeters. Water droplets slide off it, dropping from the corners of her lips.

“Why…?” Her query is a quiet chime, a small tolling bell.

“Leave it, leave it. It was a myocardial infarction,” Dankovsky mutters. “Plainly, a heart attack. It’s usual for them to die like this in the end… Perhaps they were startled by us… Overwhelmed by a moment of hope.”

“I thought I was the one who healed…” the girl says, eyes fogged with confusion. “I mixed it up… Even we can’t tell us apart anymore…?”

Damn this… The girl’s delusions are only going to worsen now. Whoever’s been letting her roam about without supervision needs to rethink their priorities. She used to irritate Dankovsky with her proud preaching, and he was afraid she’d be able to stir the town’s population into a fervor. They come out of their homes in search of her sometimes.

Still, it’s possible she’s been witnessing frightening things for days — or longer? who knows where she came from or what she’s suffered to be without a family now — and has convinced herself she must have a purpose. Whose mind doesn’t falter like that in the face of an insane world?

The Bachelor doesn’t think he’s nearly as paternal as his rough-and-tumble counterpart, the favorite of the orphan underclass, Burakh. But Burakh’s not here right now.

Dankovsky slings a strict enclosing arm around Clara’s shoulders.

“You didn’t do it, Clara…” he commands her to believe, as his heart keeps minutely panging in that new way that he’s not accustomed to. “Don’t think about it. Pull that ratty scarf over your mouth and nose and keep moving.”

She’s stumbling after him, reluctantly keeping apace. “But can’t you see I’m not her…?”

“Whoever you are, I don’t care,” Dankovsky mutters. He stares only ahead, at the distant waterlogged signal pyre marking the invisible border between poison and safety.

#my fics #pathologic #daniil dankovsky #clara saburova #tragedian (pathologic)

27 notes · View notes

lassieposting · 3 years ago

Note

wow

I think you're the only person in the entire fandom shipping Mevolent / Vile.

do you have some NSFW headcanons ??? 👀

Do I have any smutty headcanons...oh nonnie my sweet summer child I have smutty headcanons for every single ship i have

Anyway I spent ages trying to figure out wtf counted as sufficiently smutty so have an askmeme

Top/Bottom. Do they have a preference?

Top Mevolent/Power Bottom Vile.

Vile is actually versatile, but Mevolent isn't really into bottoming.

Dom/Sub. Do they have a preference?

Mevolent doesn't have a submissive bone in his body. He's the Brat Tamer sort of dom - he prefers cheeky, stubborn, feisty partners who'll act out and give him a power struggle but ultimately melt for him.

With...pretty much anyone else, Vile would actually be the dom. He is what Mevolent affectionately refers to as "a handful", which is probably the understatement of the century, and at the start of their relationship it's an all-out battle for control - they have the kind of sex that's half a fight, they overturn furniture, they leave marks, they draw blood.

But at one point, Vile was Skulduggery, and Skug was versatile with very obvious subby tendencies, so there's a little residual part of Vile that's very into dom!Mevolent. Over time, as they build trust and get closer, he gets more comfortable ultimately letting that part win out. Not that he makes it easy most of the time - he's fiery, he likes making Mevolent overpower him because the power struggle is half the fun, and he's still terrible for trying to top from the bottom, but he does settle down from "genuinely determined to dom Mevolent" to more just...being a brat for shits and giggles.

How long can they go?

There is a definite difference lmfao. Mevolent likes younger men. Vile is like four or five centuries younger than he is, and his last sexual partner - Serpine - is also around Vile's age. So unless Mevolent tires Vile out before getting off himself, Vile will be raring to go again long before poor Mev is done recovering.

Sexual fantasies?

Mevolent is pretty into the idea of corrupting heroic resistance leader Skulduggery into changing sides to fight for him (via sex rather than torture). He doesn't look too closely at this one, doesn't look at it at all tbh beyond "corruption kink is hot", but there's a part of him that actually feels responsible for all of Vile's trauma - he sent Serpine after Skulduggery in the first place, he authorised the torture and the eventual execution...when Vile has night terrors and wakes up lashing out and panicking, he feels like he caused that. He lowkey loves the idea that they could've ended up together under different, happier circumstances. He knows Vile well enough to keep this particular fantasy to himself, though: Vile's past is a touchy subject.

In the same vein, "naive inexperienced temple-born Vile" hits all of Mevolent's religious/virginity kink buttons. With the added bonus that Vile will actually indulge him on this one occasionally.

Any sexual fantasies/kinks they’re ashamed of?

So, Mevolent is religious and deeply so, which means he is essentially a ball of guilt and religious hangups, but he's also not Eliza Scorn levels of devout, meaning he'll commit certain sins and then feel bad about them later. This entire relationship is a huge source of internal conflict for him. On the one hand, he loves Vile. Vile makes him happy, is cuddly in the mornings, and gives fantastic head. On the other, Vile is a heretic. Long-term committed relationship aside, even sleeping with a heretic is taboo - are you truly devoted to the gods if you're willing to sully your body, their vessel when they return to this world, by rutting with heathens? And while most of his inner circle - who also commit sins of varying degrees of severity - are willing to turn a blind eye to his choice of paramour, and while he ultimately considers the relationship worth the guilt and the anxiety, sometimes he thinks about what will happen to him - the punishment he'll receive - when the Faceless Ones return and feels sick inside.

Vile will get off on Mevolent manhandling/overpowering him, and then feel kind of weird and dirty and dissociated afterwards. He drops hard, and sometimes he wants to be left alone and other times he gets as close as he can and it's still not enough, he wants to crawl inside Mev's skin with him and maybe then he'll feel like he really exists. He doesn't have the emotional awareness to realise that he's using Mevolent - someone he trusts not to hurt him - to try and take his agency back by recreating how he felt when Serpine was torturing him, but with a different outcome (where feeling helpless/exposed/vulnerable etc leads to pleasure and praise and being taken care of by someone who loves him, instead of, you know, agony and death). All he really knows is that he gets off on it at the time and then feels guilty about it after. They both need therapy, but Mevolent knows him well enough to be pretty good at aftercare.

Are they loud/vocal, or do they stay quiet?

Vile makes being quiet into an artform, but Mevolent takes that as a challenge. He can get little gasps and moans out of Vile if he puts his mind to it, but he really has to work for them.

Mevolent is? Normal levels of loud, usually, but he keeps it down as much as possible while they're fucking around in secret.

Favourite position?

They actually agree on this one - riding/Vile-on-top. Mevolent gets to lay back and let his much younger lover do most of the work, he has a great view, he can touch as much as he likes, he gets to watch Vile fall apart. Vile gets to be in control and tease and drag it out as long as he likes, and when he's done in and keels over, he can chill out on Mev's chest until he gets his breath back.

Clothes off or on during sex?

Vile prefers either clothes on or lights off. He very much enjoys looking at Mevolent naked, but he doesn't like being looked at himself. He used to be very pretty and he knew it, but now when he looks at himself in the mirror all he can see is his scars, a canvas painted by Serpine. Underneath the fake body is even worse - unlike Skug, Vile's been using necromancy to pretend he isn't a bag of bones for the past couple centuries; he hasn't actually processed it at all.

Mevolent on the other hand is a clothes off, lights on person. Even during their mostly-clothed up-against-the-wall angry hookups, he'll be tugging Vile's collar out of the way to get at skin; neck or chest or collarbone. He doesn't give a rat's ass about the scars, he has plenty of his own.

They mostly compromise with candlelight or a fire in the grate. Soft, low light hides a multitude of sins, which makes Vile more comfortable, and turns his hair to burnished copper, which Mevolent loves.

Do they like to cuddle after sex?

They do! It takes a while for them to figure that out - at first they hook up and then Vile gets dressed and leaves and that's how they like it. Serpine was very much desperate for any scrap of affection from Mevolent, so it's a refreshing change to have someone who's after the same thing as Mevolent - a quick fuck with no emotions or strings attached.

But eventually they start spending longer together, lazing and talking or dozing in between going at it like rabbits, and they realise that? It's nice to hold and be held, to pet and be pet without the expectation of it going anywhere. Vile has freckles and Mevolent likes making patterns out of them (he's adamant he's found the Faceless circles/his own crest on Vile's ass cheek), and Mevolent will doze off to Vile idly stroking up and down his spine. Vile likes having his hair played with. Mevolent likes to prop his cheek on Vile's head to read. They become a pretty cuddly couple tbh.

Do they like having sex outside of the bedroom? If yes, where?

Mevolent's throne is a favourite, after the throne room has cleared out. Usually it's Vile getting in his lap after all his audiences are done and the throne room has cleared out. Occasionally, if he's feeling particularly sentimental, Mevolent will let Vile try the throne out and go down on him while he's sitting in it, his own version of all the sorcerers who bend the knee to him. It's his way of pointing out his feelings - pretty much everyone in the world kneels to Mevolent, but he only kneels to two things: his gods, and his lover. They're not great at expressing their feelings, so giving Vile that power trip is one of the ways he says I love you.

Once they're able to be together publicly, Mevolent's favourite is getting Vile alone on a balcony or in an empty hallway behind some columns somewhere for a fumble during a party - anywhere he can get the thrill of "we might get caught" with the certainty that they probably won't. He likes the thought that they might be seen, but he also knows he needs to mind his reputation, so he prefers knowing that the chances are very small.

Are they affectionate during sex?

When it's the sappy romo kind, they are; they're worldbreakers in the eyes of most, but to each other they're just Mevolent and Vile, they're like any other couple. They laugh and bicker and make out and leave possessive little marks on each other and playfight. No one looking at them would think of either of them being capable of that kind of softness. Vile also has a praise kink like woah so Mevolent lavishes him with it. But when they're really going at it it's all teeth and nails and they leave the cuddliness for later.

#skulduggery pleasant #not osha compliant #violent #here be smut #ye be warned #dumps my crackships unapologetically into the tag #sp headcanons

11 notes · View notes

thestraggletag · 4 years ago

Text

Bestial, a Rumbelle Carnival Row AU

Summary: Mr Gold wishes people to see him as a gentleman, horns and all. But the person who he wants to impress the most happens to prefer the beast over the gentlemanly facade.

Rating: PG-13??? Low R?

Dedication: To @phoenixwrites because it’s her birthday! And also because she very recently fell down the Carnival Row rabbit hole and she NEEDED someone to Rumbelle the relationship between Imogen and Agreus. I do have another Carnival AU rumbelle fic in the works, but this might be an interest fic to also explore in the future.

Enjoy!

He spotted her before she did, coming out of the small bookstore tucked between a modiste and a tea shop, slipping a slim volume into the pockets of her skirts. Her dress, as always, was outdated, the silhouette long fallen out of fashion and the colour somewhat faded, from a cobalt blue to something more akin to cerulean. She hadn’t taken great pains to pin her hair in place, which he knew was partly because there were only two maids working for her father, and neither could be spared to help her dress her hair in the mornings. Yet, with her hair only partially up and her modest clothing she outshone every primped peacock strutting around the park, intent on displaying their wealth.

He thought, foolishly, about offering her the refuge of his umbrella. The rain must have caught her by surprise, since she was without and umbrella of her own, but before he could reach her he saw Gregory Aston rushing forward with the same intent. He didn’t have to look around to know that the eyes of more than one woman were on the dashing Captain. He was a mixture of good looks and wealth that attracted a flock of devoted followers, eager single women hoping to snatch up the price of the season. Somehow, for some reason, he had set his sights on Belle, which was just as well. No use thinking about the impossible.

“Mr Gold!”

He turned at the sound of her voice, charmed as always by the way her lingering accent transformed his name. She was smiling at him and gesturing, and he knew that even if it was best to leave he would not. Instead, like the obedient little puppy he was, he approached her, trying to disguise his limp as much as possible.

“Good afternoon, Miss French. Would you permit me to escort you home?”

She would, he knew that. And without reservation. It made it all the more painful, that she wasn’t scornful of him. That she treated him like a person, like his inhuman nature mattered little to her. It gave unwelcome fodder to his secret hopes and desires.

‘Just because she tolerates the monster doesn’t mean she wishes to sleep with him’, he reminded himself. She was kind, kinder than anyone he’d ever met. Of course this meant she would not shun him like others. Acceptance, however, wasn’t attraction. Wasn’t desire.

“That’s very kind, Mr Gold.”

She smelled like orange blossoms, and beneath that something headier, a scent that was wholly hers. A scent he could imagine grew intoxicating when she climaxed, or were he fortunate enough to bury his nose in her cunt. He shook his head, chastising himself for his ungentlemanly thoughts. Belle rested her hand on his arm, light enough not to interfere with the movement of his cane, as he was holding the umbrella with the other hand.

“Might I enquire after your new book, Miss French?”

It made him exceedingly proud to know her well enough to know what would get her talking. She excitedly told him about the poetry tome she had found in the clearance section, and the new novel she had splurged on. He listened intently, silently thinking that if she were his he would cede her control of his entire library. He could see her in his mind’s eye, laying amongst a nest of pillows on the bay window, engrossed in a book, hair half out of its nightly braid and nightclothes still on. An intimate, cosy scene. An impossibility.

They were halfway to their destination when they were rudely jostled by a passerby. His bad hoof protested as it slipped on the wet ground and he let go of the umbrella to hold his cane with both hands, managing to keep himself upright at the last second. The rain was coming down hard and even though he was quick to recover the umbrella they were quite drenched by the time they regained cover.

He turned around to apologise, trying to ignore the burning shame that he associated with his lame hoof, when he saw that Belle’s attention was on his horns. She looked confused but also strangely… in awe.

“Are your horns… gold?”

The polish must have washed away with the rain, he realised. He told himself not to fidget, not to reach up. Nevertheless he moved them both to an alleyway, knowing that there were narrower, emptier streets connecting it to their part of the neighbourhood.

“Yes. You must have realised, perhaps, that my horns are of slightly unusual shape. Less curved close to the head. It’s because I’m from a different country than most fauns you see. Most fauns come from Puyan. I myself hail from Ildathach. Can’t remember when it was the last time I saw someone from home. It’s something I try not to advertise. Ildathach is… not a place of good repute. Most fauns associate it with… darkness. Evil.” He smiled, a hollow gesture. “Prejudice is not an art reserved exclusively to humans, I’m afraid.”

He caught himself before he could reach for his horns to try and cover them up again. It wouldn’t do any good, he could already feel the shoe polish he used sliding down the sides of his face, making his humiliation complete. He startled when he felt cool cotton against his cheek, and looked up to see that Miss French had taken her handkerchief out and was studiously removing the polish, first from his skin and later from his horns.

“I’ve always meant to ask… can you feel when someone touches your horns? I apologise if it’s an insensitive question, I honestly don’t know.”

A cursory look at her reassured him she was merely curious. Insatiably so, but with no malice behind it. He nodded numbly, eyes fluttering close when she finished removing all traces of paint from his horns and reached out with her bare hand to run the tips of her fingers across them. She was… so soft. So careful in the way she touched him, so achingly tender. No one had been gentle with him, not once, in particular with his horns. His father had used them to drag him around as a child, and later he had used them to fight and survive. They were something that made him different, unwanted, both with humans and other fauns.

“Is this… is this alright?”

Her voice was quiet, soothing, and he knew that if he told her no she would stop and apologise profusely, and he could recover some distance and self-possession. It would be the smart thing to do, the right thing to do. Instead, he told her yes, that it was alright, more than alright. He held his breath as she glided the pads of her fingers across the slopes of his horns. They curled outwards more than most, making it sometimes difficult to pass through a door unless he turned his head sideways. They packed less of a punch, so to speak, than most faun’s horns, which meant he had had to adapt to make them deadly in a fight. Now he could use them with ease, flick his head and easily give someone a permanent scar, if not worse. He’d stabbed people in a fight, something most of his kind could not do. And yet Belle touched those horns without fear, as if they were beautiful. As if he was beautiful.

“Oh, Rowan…”

He shuddered at the sound of his name on her lips, tilting his head so he could nuzzle against the palm of her hand. He hated the gesture, so animalistic, so unlike the image he wanted to portray. He had spent decades crawling out of the hellhole he had been born in, cultivating a specific accent, a look and even a walk. And yet all he wanted to do with Belle was feral, animal-like. He wanted to fuck her, in the crudest, basest way there was to, wanted to nuzzle and sniff her and lick her like the fucking beast that he was. And the dangerous thing was that he realised now that Belle wanted that too. Sweet, educated, kind Belle wanted him to have his way with her, wanted things no genteel woman should. He could see it in her eyes, and he wondered at how he hadn’t noticed before.

He huffed, the sound decidedly inhuman, and dropped the umbrella, taking a few steps forward until he had Belle pressed against a nearby brick wall. He buried his nose against her hair, enjoying her scent and her warmth as his fingers spanned her small waist, digging into the soft fabric of her open coat. She shivered against him but he could tell she wasn’t afraid, could smell her arousal and feel her body arch into his. Her hands settled on his shoulders, pulling him closer instead of shoving him away, and then snaked up his neck to press against the back of his head. He followed her wordless plea, pressing his lips against hers, trying to retain enough of his composure and sense of self to be mindful of his horns as he devoured her, the kiss more teeth and tongue than what he was sure someone like Belle would’ve ever been exposed to. She mewled against his mouth, an artless, wanton little sound that went straight to his groin. It was only the feel of the rain against his head and shoulders that stopped him, made him realise that he was about to deflower a fucking lady in the middle of an alleyway were anyone could see.

“Belle, we-” she bit his ear and his eyes almost rolled to the back of his head. He growled, but tried to keep it together. “We need to leave. Is… is your father expecting you home?”

She shook her head, and when he looked at her he was immediately captivated by her dishevelled look, from her messy, wet hair to her swollen lips.

“No, he… I told him I might spend the afternoon at the museum. I was about to go there when Captain Aston cornered me.”

The mention of Aston had him flicking his head, his horns itching to dig into the man’s flesh.

“Come home with me. Have a bath, dry your clothes.” He did not keep servants overnight, a rarity for a person of his means and social status. He rather preferred to be alone. He hired a cleaning service that set the house to rights in the morning, and a cook that was in charge of breakfast and lunch. He ordered dinner from a nearby restaurant. There would be no risk of anyone seeing her.

“That sounds lovely. Will you help me undress?”

The way she bit her lip shyly, a contrast with her bold question, disarmed him. She was like Diana the huntress, and he the foolish prey struck by her arrow. He would do as she commanded, and be glad of it. He nodded, like a good little boy, and was rewarded by one of her wide smiles.

“Let’s go, then.”

#Rumbelle #rumbelle fic #bestial #Monsterfucking baby #I swear I'm a normal person #thestraggletag fanfiction

54 notes · View notes