#JESUS CHRIST ITS NOT THAT DEEP STOP KILLING EACH OTHER IN THE NOTES | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yee-fxcking-haw · 3 years

Text

•Love Me Tender•

Summary: After waiting, watching, and wanting, Tamaki finally has a way to get to you. He's willing to do use some questionable methods, make deals with shifty friends, whatever it takes. He'll have you.

Pairing: Pro Hero Tamaki Amajiki x FemReader (both 18+)

Warnings: Yandere behavior, stalking, coercion, sabotage, manipulation, hard dom Tamaki, slight brat reader, mostly sub reader, unprotected sex, virginity loss, oral sex (female receiving), tentacle play (oral, vaginal, anal, gagging), bondage (with tentacles), mild dumbification, degradation, spit play, cum play, wittle bit of bloodplay, creampie, marking, possession kink, collaring. Kinda-sorta dub-con (not really imo but warning just in case)

Word Count: 11,576

A/N: Jesus fucking christ I did it.

Part One: Porcelain Obsession

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Tamaki awoke painfully this morning, body aching and covered in dried sweat. It wasn't a feeling to be proud of, but it was a feeling he cherished.

Your stolen underwear is clutched in his hand still, like a lifeline. It still smells just a little bit like you… but not enough. He couldn't feel you or taste you or hold you. He had to figure something out, quickly. He had to find a way to make you his.

Luckily, Tamaki knows exactly how to make that happen…

***

You hang up your apron with a deep sigh, wiping sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. Thank god it's only a half day, you finally have an afternoon off, a day to spend by yourself.

You bid your coworkers farewell and head out of the shop. You wander home, earbuds in as you try to drown out the noise of the city. Once you're home, you notice a small box on your doorstep.

It's a pretty little gold box with purple ribbon, a tiny note is attached to the top. The scribbled writing reads,

"I thought this would look pretty on you, I'm sorry about the weird exit last night. I'd like to take you to get some coffee to make up for it, if you'll let me." - Tamaki

Your heart flutters a bit at the note, you had deduced you were nothing more than a charity case. Him walking you home was just what he felt was fair in exchange for the use of your phone, he didn't really… like you? Did he?

His exit was just a little bit strange, he seemed almost panicked. You wanted to ask if everything was ok, but figure it best to stay out of a hero's business. Who knows what door you'd be opening if you started to ask too many questions.

Beneath his note is a phone number, obviously his. You can't call him right away, it might seem desperate, but you can open the box.

When the lid comes off, you gasp quietly at what's hidden inside. On a delicate silver chain sits one lovely little pearl. You stand there, amazed and confused. Wondering why on earth somebody like Suneater would leave such a precious little gift for you.

***

You called the number left on the note about an hour after receiving it. As soon as Tamaki picks up the phone your heart leaps into your throat.

"I didn't think y-you'd call." He laughs afterwards, but you can hear traces of genuine anxiety underneath.

"Well, what kind of an asshole would I be if I didn't call back the hero that saved me from a lonely walk home?" Your face crinkles up at your horrid attempt at flirting.

He doesn't seem to mind, though. He gives you a sweet laugh, putting some of your nerves at ease.

"So, uh- coffee?" He wonders.

"I'd love to, I just got off work, but I imagine you're busy doing hero stuff. We can-"

"No I'm not busy." He says quickly, his urgency makes you smile. He's almost boyish in his approach, and it's very charming.

Somehow, between the two of you suffering your way through the conversation, you set a time for coffee.

***

Tamaki makes a quick stop before meeting you, visiting a horrid friend of his in an alleyway a hero should never be unless he's kicking someone's ass.

His "friend" turns out to be a little more than your average criminal. He's a wicked looking man, with a mess of black hair and an abundance of scarring littering his body.

They call him Dabi.

"So what's the plan here? Am I just scarin' the poor girl or do I get to have some real fun?" His smile is devilish, and his eyes are telling.

It makes Tamaki's skin crawl, he stares daggers at the man leaning against the brick of the alleyway.

"If you touch her, I will gut you like a fucking fish." Tamaki says, he's full of rage, but he says it so calmly, so matter of fact.

"You can try." Dabi laughs, "You forget how easy it is to cook seafood."

Tamaki stands there for a brief second, watching the villain, weighing his options.

"I'm not here for banter, can you do the job or not?" His words are clipped, strangely articulate compared to his usual stutter.

"Yeah whatever, I got nothin' planned for tonight, and I do love making little girls scream." He tilts his head back against the wall as Tamaki turns to stalk away.

"Hey, Suneater." Dabi calls out with a lazy voice.

Tamaki freezes and keeps his back to Dabi. He turns his head to the side and waits for him to speak.

"Send her my way when you're done with her." If Tamaki had less of the public eye on him, he would have slit Dabi's throat then and there.

Instead, he swallows his rage as he tosses a hefty wad of cash over his shoulder.

"Don't be late."

***

"You always just drink it black? Not even a little bit of sugar?' You ask, astounded by Tamaki's ability to drink the bitter liquid without any sweetener.

"Sugar is kind of useless for me, I try to eat things that'll help me with m-my quirk." He explains, his deep eyes wander while he talks, like he's watching for something.

That must come with being a hero.

"Does coffee help your quirk?" You ask, a smile playing at your lips when you see him frown at his drink.

"No, but it helps me focus."

You nod playfully before taking a sip, the cafe he's brought you to is incredibly charming. It's not an overly hip establishment, it's just a sweet little hidden gem. Tucked away into a forgotten street, it gives the impression that it's a well kept secret between two best friends.

"Do you feel like people ask too much of you?" You question. It slips out so quickly, running away from you after launching out of your lips.

Your hatred for small talk gets the best of you and you jump the gun, as always. You want to hide, but not before you apologise a thousand times for being too straightforward.

Tamaki looks at you thoughtfully, his eyes show that he's shocked, but not offended.

"Sometimes. It can feel like people expect me t-to be the…" He pauses for a moment, mentally grasping for the right word.

"It feels like people expect Heroes to be this ultimate, universal band-aid. In a lot of ways, we are, but we're still h-human… I-I'm still human…" His voice slows down by the end of his sentence, like he's realized he might be over sharing.

But, you asked him, you wanted to know. You actually care about him? Every bone in his body is screaming at him to grab you, throw you over his shoulder and run away. He feels some carnal desire to just keep you. Hide you from every selfish asshole that would take advantage of the starstruck look in your beautiful eyes.

He can't, though… not yet.

"S-sorry…" He whispers.

And then, you reach across the table to take his hand in yours. He feels the contact all the up his arm, into his chest, into his heart.

So you do want him too.

"Please don't be sorry, I liked listening to you talk." You say quietly.

You did love it, you loved it because you've felt so unheard, so unseen. Being able to provide somebody else with a pair of listening ears serves as a kind of relief for those feelings.

"Can you tell me more?" You test, hand squeezing his own a little more.

He looks almost elated, thrilled to be seen, excited to be heard. Most of all, he's itching to finally have you.

***

The date was nothing short of wonderful, filled with cute little fumblings of words, hands brushing but never holding, and sharing bits and pieces of yourselves with each other.

You flop onto your bed, reminiscent of a teenager who's just had their first kiss. You didn't kiss him goodnight, you chickened out of that. But you did press your lips against his cheek for a brief moment, which seemed to have quite the effect on him.

His breath hitched, his fists balled at his sides, acting like he'd never been touched so tenderly. It made you wonder, is the Hero as lonely as you are?

You glance over at your night stand, seeing the pretty little necklace sitting in its box. You're washed with guilt as you realize you forgot to wear it to coffee, knowing he must have wanted you to. You take it out of the box carefully before pulling it around your neck and hooking it into place. It fits like a choker, snug against your skin, but it feels good to have it so close.

You're ripped from your musing when you hear the unmistakable sound of breaking glass.

Inside your house.

Your blood chills, hair stands up on the back of your neck and you rise from your bed slowly. You try to talk yourself down, kill the first nerves that consume your chest. It was probably a poorly balanced vase… except, you don't own any vases. It could have been a picture? Nope, not a picture, it was just glass… like a window breaking.

There's a gun in your office, but you're in the bedroom. You scan the room for something, anything that could be used for defense. Of course, nothing but a damn notebook.

The police, you should call the police. Your heart clenches when you hear the threatening sound of heavy footsteps falling down your hallway.

They're heading straight for your bedroom.

You lunge at the door, hand landing on the doorknob just as it begins to turn. Desperately, uselessly, you try to lock it. It's too late, though, it's already opening by the time your thumb lands on the lock.

You can hear your blood rushing when the door swings towards you, a large black boot planted on the other side to force it open.

"Sorry 'bout the window, sweetheart. I tried the front door, but it was locked." The intruder chuckles as he invades your bedroom.

You stumble back as you take in his sewn together form, a mess of black leather and scars. Wild, electric blue eyes devour your trembling form as you press yourself back into the wall.

"Oh, hon, you're shakin' like you're in danger. I ain't gonna hurt you, I'm gonna do the opposite." He stalks towards you, somehow moving in slow motion but with incredible speed all at the same time.

Your phone sits on your night stand, only feet away but all too unreachable. You're caged in by his arms as he towers over you, filling your nose with some horrid, smokey smell.

"P-please, you can have anything, j-just don't-"

Your words halt when a long, pale finger traces over your collar bone.

"Don't what? 'J-just don't' what?" He mocks you, eyes lit with a sadistic amusement.

Your heart rattles in your chest as tears prick your eyes, you can't fight him, he's huge. You don't have your gun. You don't have your phone. You're fucked.

"Cryin' already? What's the matter, doll?-" The hand traces your collar bone moves up to wrap around your throat, "Not a fan of villains?"

Your hands paw at his wrist, you will yourself to sputter something out, any kind of objection to whatever he has planned. You try to whimper out a 'stop', but when your mouth finally forms the word, the voice isn't yours, but it's familiar.

It's low, clipped and dangerous as it barks out the warning.

Suneater.

Suddenly, as if he's being yanked to the heavens by the Gods, your assailant is torn away from you. A large, red tentacle captures him by the waist and throws him across the room. You collapse to the ground instantly, curling around your legs as you hear the muffled sounds of a violent fight.

You hide in your own little world, trembling and clenching yourself. You take one peak from between your arms, just to see Tamaki place the intruder in a chokehold before barking some profane threat at him.

The villain is smiling the whole time, he even winks at you.

"If I ever see you near her again, you won't walk away with your life." Tamaki snarls as the stranger breaks away from his hold.

"She's not worth the trouble." He laughs, raising one hand before sending brilliant blue flames blasting towards Tamaki.

You scream involuntarily, reaching out for the Hero as he jumps away from the flames. Once they're gone, the villain is gone as well. Like some cheap magician disappearing off stage. The room is almost entirely untouched by the burst of fire, at most, the tip of your comforter is singed.

The second the fire is gone, Tamaki is walking towards you urgently, pulling you to your feet so he can cradle your face.

"Are you ok? Did he touch you? What happened?" His inky eyes search your face frantically.

You don't answer, you just stutter, clinging to his hands until you can finally squeak out, "I'm ok."

His shoulders drop as he sighs, hands loosening their grip. His eyes flicker down to the necklace, his gaze softens when he sees how pretty it looks on you.

"Y-you… Do you like it?" He asks timidly, glancing up at you.

You breathe for a moment, slightly taken aback by the sudden shift in attention.

"I love it." You say quietly, still trembling.

He just saved you, really saved you from a real villain who was planning God knows what, and he's worried about your necklace?

"It's so pr-pretty on you…" He reaches down to touch it, leaving one hand on your cheek.

You take the moment to breathe, remind yourself that you're safe, that you're with a hero now. You observe Tamaki's almost casual appearance, a dry fit shirt and simple tactical pants. It almost helps you relax, seeing him like so… at ease?

His fingers play with the pearl, deep eyes transfixed. Something nearly uncontrollable swells within his chest. It burns and aches and eats at him. You're so close, you're so warm, so soft. He could have you, he could just take you.

"Tamaki?" You prod gently, your own chest stirs, and something pulls you towards him.

His eyes snap up to yours, and something shifts in the air. It feels sticky, heavy, too hard to breathe. His gorgeous form towers over you, pressing you back up against the wall as his eyes devour your trembling body.

"Thank you f-for saving me." You whisper.

He nods earnestly, his breathing is shaking, his hands feel like they're holding back.

"Anything. Anything for you."

That line, that makes you ache.

How long have you felt so lukewarm, so overlooked and forgotten? Too long, far too long. Now, with Tamaki looking down at you like you're priceless, you feel fiery, you feel seen and remembered.

Your hands grasp at his wrists, your eyes flick down to his parted lips. You're not sure what you want to happen next, but you want him as close as you can get him.

"If you let me start, I will not stop." His voice drops and it makes your breath catch.

He feels it too, then.

Is it the high of what you've just gone through? Is it just your body trauma bonding with the man that just saved you? Or do you really, really want him so bad it hurts?

His tone is warning and his eyes are frantic.

"Please." Is the only thing that falls from your quivering lips.

Consequences be damned, motives especially be damned. You need him, and he needs you. That's enough explanation for tonight.

He consumes you much like the villains flames, his lips are on yours almost too fast, his hands are greedy as they hold your face to his.

While you feel similar to a lovesick girl getting kissed for the first time, Tamaki feels like a prisoner finally set free. He feels like a lion that was held in a cage and taunted with a piece of meat. He feels like the door has finally been opened, and he can finally sink his teeth in.

"I wanna feel you." He brings his mouth away from yours with much reluctance, leaving his forehead pressed against yours.

You flounder for a moment, with your mouth feeling dry and your limbs feeling heavy.

"Where?" You choke out, searching his face for any tell.

"God, everywhere." It's a broken request, said like a secret.

"Take it. Whatever you want." Your boldness surprises you both.

You're hooked on the exhilaration, you're craving more, you want to feel something. Even after just a walk home and a coffee date, you want to feel it with Tamaki.

"Don't give me that…" He shivers as he presses his body against yours, making it very evident how much of an affect you're having on him.

"I'll ruin you." He whimpers when you grind back against him, your hands tug at his shirt and you look up at him with wide eyes.

"Who said I don't want that?"

You both stand there frozen, waiting for the other to move, to prove that this isn't a dream.

"Fuck."

His hands descend from cradling your face so they can wrap around your neck with the most gentle grip.

He watches you intently, feels your breath quicken, cherishing the way you bite your lip when his fingers tighten slightly.

Internally, Tamaki is fighting the most challenging battle he's ever had to face. He's had to take on a wide variety of formidable enemies, but right now, nothing seems more formidable than having to hold himself back when he finally has you in his arms.

He wants to take and take and take, for as long as you'll let him… maybe even longer.

She's mine now.

Something shifts in his gaze just then, making him look almost primal. It makes your chest feel frozen, makes it difficult to breathe or focus.

His hands shift around your neck, they feel almost… slippery? Their texture is different, their movement is more fluid. Then, you feel it, the distinct sensation of a suction cup latching against your skin.

Tentacles. He's made each of his fingers a tentacle.

Your eyes stay locked on his, both of you in a heated trance as you watch how the other responds.

One slick tendril crawls up to latch onto your chin, he turns your head upwards and to the side with a thoughtful look. It's almost like he's sizing you up, appraising you.

After a thick moment of silence, he finally speaks.

"I'm going to make you cry." It's a depraved promise, beautifully whispered with no shame.

You stand there, held by him, captured by him. You're helplessly entranced, all rational thought is long gone as you reel over the implications of his statement. All you can know for sure, is you want more.

Despite every red flag, regardless of any common sense, you want more.

"I dare you." You say back to him, the desperation to feel anything other than mundane spurs you onward.

He receives the words like it's a smack to the face, some shock evident in his eyes. He didn't take you for a brat, but he can certainly roll with it.

"You're gonna make this fun for me, aren't you?" He questions, his tentacles grip you tighter now, reminding you who has the high ground.

Mine.

The air shifts, something heavier takes over the mood, it settles in your ribs and wraps around your heart.

He guides you away from the wall, shepherding you around until your back is towards your bed. He starts walking you backwards until your knees buckle once they hit the mattress.

You sit there, gazing up at him, held still by his quirk, transfixed by the power he exudes as he towers over you.

"Has anyone ever had you before?" He asks, finally returning his hand to normal so he can cradle your cheek.

The question has your stomach burning with nerves.

No, nobody ever has.

You shake your head, looking down, cheeks burning as you try to hide your embarrassment.

His reaction shocks you immensely, his whole body shutters and he drops to his knees. His hands settle on your waist as he moves between your legs.

"Th-this is… all mine then?" He asks, he rubs his thumbs over the bottoms of your ribs affectionately.

His eyes are wide and reverent as he waits for your answer, looking like you're some anointed goddess. His eyes skate over every feature he can, and he cherishes each one.

Your confession nearly knocks the wind out of him, especially with how sweet you look, all blushing and embarrassed. It makes his need to rip you apart even stronger.

"Please...let me give you everything…" His hands tighten on you and you feel them shaking.

You study him for a second, at a complete loss for words, he seems so… devoted. It pulls on your heart, clouds your mind and lights your body up. How could you possibly say no to him? How on earth could you turn someone away when they’re looking at you like you’re placed on an altar ready to be worshiped.

Carefully, like you’re trying not to frighten a beast, you reach out and touch his face. He moves into your touch like a lonely cat, desperate for affection and recognition.

“Please…” You breathe.

And that’s all it takes.

His breath leaves his lungs in a harsh rush as he moves forward like a leopard, lean and precise as he forces you onto your back.

Your blood rushes so quickly you swear you can hear it, your mouth goes dry as he stares you down. He’s suddenly less reverent, now he’s ravenous. A dangerous, carnivorous look dances in his dark eyes. His judgement is clouded just like yours, only it fuels him, while your state is much more terrified. Any spunk you had in you is thrown out the window as he leers over you.

You shrink into the mattress as he hovers above you on all fours, heavy eyelids and parted lips giving him a nearly drugged look.

“When you say everything-” He whispers, moving so he can settle on his knees between your open legs, “Do you mean this too?” He drops his hips as he questions you, pressing something very hard into your thigh, something very intimidating.

He watches your eyes go wide, a wicked grin spreading across his face when you gasp after he rolls his hips. His arms cage you, a strong hand placed on either side of your head, the position makes you feel so pathetic, so helpless, but it gives you an incredible rush.

“Don’t look so scared, it won’t hurt.” He dips down to press his hot, open mouth against your neck, tongue lapping at your pulse. A dark chuckle leaves his chest, “Not much, at least.”

Then he’s definitely less reverent, he’s no longer worshipful, he’s a wicked, unleashed best. His hands are selfish as they remove your clothes, his mouth is voracious against your skin. He has you panting and twitching in seconds, musing at you when your reactions are particularly strong.

It’s when he snakes down your body, wetting your skin with his tongue, settling between your breasts so he can suck harshly at the heated skin, that you finally feel something break within you. You arch into his touch, fisting your hands in his raven hair, whimpering so beautifully for him as he works you up.

He knows what he’s doing, he’s skilled, well equipped for pulling you apart. He’s already descended into some debauched state of being, and he’s pulling you down with him.

“Nobody’s ever tasted this sweet little cunt before, have they?” He asks against your skin, latching his mouth back to the spot he’s focused on marking, but looking up at you with inquiring eyes.

You try to swallow, shake your head, do something, but all you can do is lay there naked and gasping.

He laughs again, a wicked thing that leaves his chest like a wisp of wind. He slides a hand up your body, he flicks over your nipple with his thumb on the way up, pulling another whimper out of you.

His hand latches onto your jaw, then he shakes your head for you, doing what he knows you can’t.

“Oh baby…” He sighs, “You saved it for me?” He teases, hips grinding against you, the cloth of his pants creates a strange kind of friction against your clit, not unpleasant, but not pleasurable. Where the hell did the sweet, stuttering hero go? If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he looks deviant… almost villainous.

“Tama- please.” You shiver, not sure what you’re asking for, but certain that you need more.

“Good girl, talk to me.” His hand slinks down your throat before he rises to his knees.

Your eyes lock on the tightness of his pants, trying not to panic at the sheer size of the imprint he’s making on them.

His shirt is pulled over his head, messing his hair in the most handsome way, and the breath is ripped from your lungs.

He’s stunning, broad and strong looking. He’s all porcelain skin over well trained muscle. Built perfectly for the work he does. Built perfectly for ripping apart poor little girls like you.

“I liked the look you got when I had my tentacles on you.” He sighs, letting a hand fall to your bare stomach so he can trace lazy circles against you.

“Did you like that? Do you want me to use my tentacles to play with you?” He questions.

His voice is low, it’s rich and warm and dripping with seduction. Nothing like the tentative, wobbly tone he usually has. It rips the ground out from underneath you, leaves you panting and blinking like a brain dead fool as you gawk up at his prowling form.

“Just a yes or no, if you can manage it.” He smiles sweetly up at you, splaying his hand across your quaking abdomen.

You breathe deeply, trying to steady yourself, trying to catch up with what he’s said.

“Y-yes.” You whisper, barely audible, hardly heard over your labored breathing.

His other hand mirrors the one he has on you, sliding around to hold you by the waist, a gentle cage meant to establish dominance.

“Yes… what?” He prompts, pressing his thumbs down.

You falter then, your tongue feels heavy, your mind slows and you’re suddenly void of all vocabulary. Were you really really about to let one of the most well known pros wreck your body with his quirk? Were you actually laid out for him like this? You know so little of him, your only information gathered from small talk, but something about that had you buzzing.

You could be whoever you want to be, you don’t have to be the floundering virgin. You don’t have to be so damn shell shocked.

“Yes, D-daddy.” You test, hoping to God or whoever is listening that you got the right name.

By the way his eyes flutter closed, the way his grip tightens, the way his body tenses, you sure as hell did.

“That’s it.” He sighs, “-and what about you?” He wonders, his hold going gentle again.

You? What about you?

Tamaki watches you carefully, barely containing the raging storm inside him, barely holding back the carnal urge to turn every limb to a pretty purple tentacle and stuff you until you’re crying for mercy.

Not yet, don’t fuck this up.

“Princess? Darling?” He asks, lowering himself back down to kiss down your stomach, looking up at you through his thick lashes.

“Whatever you want.” You answer. Your sweet, sacred submission makes him close his eyes and breathe in.

Hold it. Not. Yet.

“You’re like an angel.” He breathes, making you shiver under the weight of the high praise.

He notices your reaction immediately, smiling to himself.

“So that’s it.” He presses a long kiss just under your belly button, bringing attention to how naked you are, and how naked he is not.

Your thighs squeeze together and your arms come up to cover your chest, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to keep it all out of view.

His hands are on your wrist and his body is crouched over yours again before you can blink. He pins your hands beside your head, looking down at you with some wild, unbridled kind of look in his eyes.

“You do not get to hide from me.” His shoulders flex as he pushes your wrists down into the mattress, earning a whine from you as the pressure starts to ache.

“You’re mine. That means I get all of you.” He bites the words off, but keeps his voice quiet.

You should be scared, crying even, but the only thing you feel is exhilaration, the ache between your legs and the fluttering of your heart as he overpowers you with just the look in his eyes and a few harsh words.

“Do you understand me?” He eases up on your wrists slightly, looking more stern, less unhinged.

“I-I do, I’m sorry.” You whimper out.

He considers you for a brief second, eyes growing softer as he watches the way your pretty lip trembles.

“It’s ok.” He releases your wrists and speaks gently, “You’re ok.”

The reassurances makes you dizzy, especially in contrast with how rough he just was.

"Hold still for me, angel." Then he’s back to mouthing at your skin.

His teeth meet your collarbone and your hands reach for his messy hair.

“There?” He asks against you, a smile in his voice as he lets his teeth gather your skin again. The spot he finds makes you dizzy, you feel the heat spread across your cheeks and the tips of your ears.

Tamaki is still stuck in his own chains, fighting against them as he focuses on the way you twitch for him, the way your body rolls when he bites harder.

So she likes it.

Your body heats up, it's all so overwhelming. It's so different from anything you've ever felt, and you can't believe it's with him.

Then his kisses get more sloppy, his teeth are sharper against you. He leaves you shining with his spit, painted in blooming purple and red bruises as he begins his journey down your body.

"Da-addy." You sniffle when he bites into the underside of your breast.

It doesn't feel loving, it doesn't feel passionate, it just feels rough.

"Hush." He mumbles against you, "If you can't take this I might as well stop now." He looks up at you, challenging you.

"I can t-take it, I can." You breathe, nodding, looking at him with begging eyes, "Please, don't stop."

He honest to god growls against you. You couldn't possibly know what you do to him, how sweet your willingness sounds, how beautiful you look laid out for him. He knows he should take his time, and he resents that fact. He almost resents you for being so sweet and needy. With all the things he wants to do to you, he almost, almost, wishes you had at least some experience. This makes you his completely, though, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

His hot mouth moves lower and lower until he's tonguing at your hip bone, pulling the skin into his mouth so he can work his teeth against it. He will mark you wherever he can, as long as you'll let him.

Your hips roll up against him, making him smirk at how needy you're acting.

"Ask for it." He whispers, hungry hands slide up the outsides of your thighs, "Ask for what you want."

His fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, sending the breath from your lungs as he glares up at you. He lets his wet tongue loll out to give a teasing flick against the crux of your thigh.

You take a deep breath in and cling to the sheets for dear life, "Please, use your mouth on me."

He smiles so sweetly then, looking mildly amused.

"Here?" He goes back to that same spot, sucking and teasing, looking all too pleased with himself.

"Be specific, angel, tell me where you need me."

Tamaki knows for a fact that he didn't have to spend his time making you ask for things, he knows what you want, he knows how to give them to you. He could take whatever he needs, probably without much a fight from you, but what fun would that be? He would miss the pretty blush creeping across your skin, and the sweet little tears in your big eyes. No, he wouldn't be missing this, not for the world.

"I wanna feel your tongue, please, use your mouth on m-my cunt." You shiver, timid and uncertain about your phrasing.

It seems to do the trick though, because Tamaki's eyes nearly roll to the back of his head.

He answers with a low moan before grabbing you by the insides of your thighs so he can spread you open. Once the air of the room hits you, you're made painfully aware of just how soaked you are.

It makes Tamaki look like a wild man, all blown out pupils blushing cheeks.

Almost in slow motion, he presses his tongue into the spot right above your clit, making you whine and buck against his mouth.

"Needy little thing." He says, giving your thighs a gentle squeeze, "But I suppose I have teased enough."

Then he's on you, and the second his tongue meets your weak spot you know you're ruined. You know that not one person will ever hold a candle to Tamaki Amajiki.

He pulls away for only a second, just to whisper praises up to you, "Your cunt tastes like everything I've ever needed."

You huff at him in disbelief, not knowing what to say or do, heart soaring because of his confession.

Then he dives back in, and he gets sloppy with it, setting a pace that feels so good it aches. The heat spreads through every limb, and settles somewhere deep in your chest. Everything tingles and burns, and breathing seems nearly impossible.

Internally, Tamaki is raging. He’s so close to losing it, he feels himself slipping, your taste spreads across his tongue is the culmination of months of watching and waiting and wanting. He wants to drown in you, he wants to rip you to shreds. No more watching you through windows, no more fucking his fist while he wishes with everything he has that it was your precious little pussy. He has you now, spread open and vulnerable. He knows he could shove your face into the pillows and let loose on you, stuff every hole with an invasive tentacle, the thought makes him even more feral, it makes him work even harder as he eats you.

Every roll of his tongue against your clit makes you throb and buck, which makes him growl and push you down against the mattress. He's loud and messy, slurping and moaning, letting it drip down his chin and his throat, never once letting up.

Your head is thrown back against the pillows, eyes drilled shut. You know damn well if you saw him, you wouldn't last another second. He builds you up until your thighs are trembling and you're a whiny little mess.

Perfect.

Suddenly, the texture of his tongue changes drastically. It's much more slippery, and much thicker. Your head shoots up, and you nearly sob at what you see. Tamaki, with his eyes wild and his jaw dropped, is letting a wicked looking tentacle hang from his mouth.

His quirk.

He smirks up at you as the tip of it writhes against your clit, flicking and circling as he watches the tears start to fall from your face. You can't possibly keep up, you didn't know anything could ever feel this good.

You watch the suction cups ripple as he moves the muscle against you, then he does the unthinkable. He latches one of them onto your clit. Your eyes cross and you bring a fist to your mouth so you can bite on it and muffle your screams.

He hates that.

With another rumbling growl, he lets his hands turn to tentacles as well. You watch helplessly as he snakes them up your arms, ripping your hand away from your mouth so he can pin both limbs to the bed. The tentacles are strong, surprisingly warm, and so damn slippery.

It's hard to tell if you're close to the edge, it's felt that way the whole time, everything feels so hot and tight and good.

He smiles as you cry out and thrash against the bed, full of admiration for the usefulness of his own quirk.

“Too much! D-daddy, it’s too much.” You sniffle out as you feel a stinging feeling in your cunt, it’s not necessarily an unpleasant sting, but it’s too much.

He ignores your objection, choosing to simply suck harder at your overstimulated sweet spot. He revels in your pitifully low threshold, planning to do so much worse to your poor, inexperienced body.

The ache in your cunt continues to push the tears from your eyes, and eventually, drool from your mouth. The suction cup works dutifully against your clit, making you feel so overwhelmed you don't know if you can cum.

Then you feel the prodding at your entrance.

Then you really scream.

Holding that one little suction cup to your clit, he snakes the tip of his tentacle into your dribbling hole. He furrows his dark brows and moans against you when he feels how tight you are, desperate to feel the velvety walls around his cock.

"Holy fucking shit." You gasp.

He watches the dramatic rise and fall of your quaking chest, your baffled eyes trying to keep track of everything happening to your body, and he swears he falls even more in love.

You're so willing, so compliant, so at his mercy.

He crooks the tip of the tentacle towards himself just a bit, and it's like you've been struck by lightning. You cum hard, harder than you ever have. You're a mess of twitching limbs, shivering as your cunt clenches so hard your feel it in your fucking chest. You sob into the air, broken and tearful as he works you through it.

You feel the hold on your arms tighten as your body arches away from the mattress. As you feel every inch of you ignite, you know that you're ruined for everyone else.

As soon as you lower yourself so you're flat to the mattress, the tentacles around your arms slip away and turn back into his hands.

The one between your legs still plays with you a little bit, prodding at your clit, lapping up your mess. Tamaki laughs as you jump and twitch, whimpering and gasping as he milks your body for every after shock you can give him.

You watch him pull the tentacle back into his mouth, flicking it over his lips to gather your release before disappearing into his mouth. You watch his eyes flutter shut, you watch him shiver and you hear the sweetest little moan in the back of his throat.

“You’re pretty when you cry.” He mumbles, looking up at you with the most tender look in his eyes. It’s a harsh contrast with all the cum dripping down his chin.

“You move a lot, too. It’s fun.” He states, almost like some kind of twisted review, “I don’t mind holding you down like that.”

The drop in the tone of his voice makes a chill creep up your spine.

“In fact…” He lifts himself up so he can start to crawl up your body, “I really, really enjoyed it.”

You gasp for words, wind stolen from your lungs as he presses his messy mouth against your sternum.

“Something tells me you did too.” He whispers.

Your voice is finally found, somewhere deep in your chest, hidden and nearly forgotten, “What makes you say that?” You ask timidly.

He pulls his head up to look down at you with a confident smirk, “The mess you made.”

To prove his point, he swipes two fingers through your folds, gathering your creamy release before holding it up to the light. He looks so damn proud, like he’s showing off.

“Messy girl.” He smiles, as you watch him bring his coated fingers to his lips, sucking the sin off with a greedy pop from his lips.

“Oh, how selfish of me.” He sighs before grabbing you by the chin, “I should share.”

He pulls your mouth open then slowly leans over you so he can push the mess back through his lips. You oblige like a robot, stunned by the debauchery, letting him guide you through this act. He lets it fall from his lips slowly, creating a long string from his mouth to yours. The second it hits your tongue, something clicks for you. Something dark and smokey settles in your gut, something all consuming and blinding. It rids you of boundaries and reservations, it fills you with nothing but the man in front of you.

He watches you with a pointed gaze, shutting your jaw for you so you can swallow what he gave you.

“What do you say?” He asks.

You feel the burn in your chest, the embers in your skin, “More, please.”

“Fucking hell," The words tumble out as a breath mostly, "You want more?" He questions, grabbing you by the wrist so he can place your palm just above the waist of his pants.

You nod up at him, vision blurred by the heat of his skin against your palm.

"Then take it." He leans down to say it, biting off the words.

A challenge.

You can't possibly disappoint him, you can't possibly leave him wanting. Take it? How are you supposed to take it?

In a wild moment of confidence, mostly your body moving without the permission of your mind, you wrap your legs around his lean hips so you can flip him onto his back.

Your eyes lock the second you feel him pressing against you, hard and thick, and terribly intimidating in length.

He watches you for a moment, then hastily grabs you by the back of the neck so he can pull you down for another kiss. It's hot and needy, full of wicked want and unabashed selfishness. It tickles your ribs, creeps up your neck, and secures itself greedily around all of your common sense.

Tamaki had no intentions of letting you take anything, it's a game to him. He'll let you have your moment, let you feel like you have the reigns, but he'll take it right back. His has you under control, he vows that he always will.

Your chest flutters with a clawing, aching feeling.

More more more.

"Fuck me." It's a prayer, whimpered against his delicate lips, "Please, fuck me." You dig your hands into his hair, cherishing the sweet noises they leave him as you beg.

Under control.

"Tell me you need it." He sighs, answering your prayer by sending his hands down to work urgently at his belt.

"Tell me you need me."

You bring your face back from his just enough to look into his dark eyes, and you see tears welling in them.

He needs to feel needed.

"Please, I need it, I need you, Suneater."

Everything freezes for a brief second, the air thickens and his eyes darken as you wait with a held breath for his next move.

Then, everything is flying around you. You feel the bite of fingertips against your waist, your stomach hits the mattress, possibly the sound of his pants being taken off. Your senses are dulled by the raging swirl of emotions beating inside you as your hips are lifted up, and a hand shoves your face into the pillow.

"Who's your hero?" His voice is rough, his hand gathers your hair and cranks your head to the side, "Who is your fucking hero?" He's barking the words out now, harsh and demanding.

And holy hell does it get you going.

"You are! You're my hero, Suneater." You cry out, craning your neck to look at him.

You expected furrowed brows, a straight mouth and furious eyes. What you're met with is nothing of the sort. A soft pink blush across his cheeks and the tips of his pointed ears, tears wetting his cheek, and a quivering lip.

With your eyes on him, he makes a show of sliding his hand down his front so he can grab at his length. He lets it fall against your ass, heavy and painfully hard.

"Don't forget that." He says simply, sliding his thick head down through your slicked lips.

The contact makes you both shudder deep in your souls.

"Daddy, please." Your voice is pitiful as you fist the sheets and press back against him.

"So slutty." He muses, releasing your hair so he can run his nails down your back, "Poor thing, never been fucked, needs it so bad, doesn't she?"

You nod fervently and fuss as he presses his head against your tight hole. You tense and shiver, not at all prepared for what's to come.

"I need it, I need you, please please please." You have one thought now, no reservations, you need him.

"I'm gonna ruin this little cunt." He says, a warning tone in his voice.

The hand that was tracing your spine suddenly feels very cold and wet.

His damn quirk.

He takes his time, letting the thick tentacle slither around your waist. It wraps around you twice, teasing you with the pops of the suction cups, leaving pretty purple circles all over your abdomen.

He lifts you easily, pulling you up so your back is pressed against his chest.

"Ruin it, please, it's yours, I'm yours." You sniffle, looking down at your trapped position.

With a low, menacing growl, he sinks his teeth into your neck, and his cock into your heat.

Tamaki holds his breath, willing himself not to fill you up right this second. You're too damn tight, so warm and velvety. You're so perfect, and so completely his.

You sob into the air, hands reaching out to hold the headboard as you feel like you're being ripped apart.

"Oh don't scream, Angel, people might think something's wrong." His voice is shaking now, and the hold on your waist tightens.

You focus on relaxing, letting your walls lose their tension, but it's all fruitless. He's too big, he fills you too well, and all you can do is take it.

"Here, let me give that mouth something to do."

His other hand comes around to hold your throat, turning each finger into a tentacle again. It leaves you reeling and gasping as he presses further into you, wrapping what would be his middle finger around your throat. He wraps it around twice, like he did with your waist. The appendage comes up to rest its tip on your bottom lip.

The sensation makes you dizzy, especially when it finally snakes into your panting mouth. It doesn't really taste like anything, it just feels wet and slick, the texture of the suction cups is the strangest thing about it. He rocks his hips so gently, squeezing you tighter everywhere he's holding you.

You don't feel like a moth drawn to a flame, you feel like a moth caught in a spider's web. All tangled up, not willing to fight to escape, not even wanting to.

"You're so damn tight." He stutters out, pressing his hips flush against your own.

You cry out and gag against the tentacle stuffing your mouth, digging your nails into the headboard as he chuckles behind you.

"You're such a pretty little mess for me. Your cunt's already dripping."

You don't doubt it, it has to be with how badly your core aches around him as he stretches you.

Your thighs start to tremble as you wait for him to move, sniffling as the tears fall from your eyes and the drool spills from your lips.

A pretty little mess indeed.

Slowly, he drags his hips back with a hiss before pushing back in. He takes his time with it, building an agonizing pace that offers you no release. There's only the pressure, only your clit screaming for attention, only the maddening tease of his head against your sweet spot with every torturous push in.

"Fuck angel, I gotta break this pussy in, don't I?" His words pull another pitiful moan from you, nodding and whining is all you're capable of.

His picks up speed just enough to make you tense even more, still painful, still mind numbing.

"You look so fucking pretty on the end of my cock."

His words pour over you like hot wax, heating you up, making you drip. The heat seeps deep into your skin, making you squirm and clench.

He speeds his thrusting up slightly, then more, and more, and more, until you’re shrieking and choking against the tentacle stuffing your mouth. Your hands fly up to claw at it, wanting to tell him how it feels, wanting to thank him for the way he’s fucking you.

It’s still painful, each thrust splits you open with a sting, but it’s so damn good. The sharp stretching is absolutely spectacular, and it sends your brain into somewhere dark and smokey, it leaves you with a wide open feeling in your chest. It leaves you wanting more.

“What’s the matter, sweet thing?” He taunts, “Tell me about it, then, how’s Daddy make you feel?” He turns each tentacle back into a finger slowly, pulling out of your mouth, leaving you a gasping mess.

Through spit and tears, you praise him, words spewing out between moans as your body jolts from each punishing snap of his hips.

“So fucking good! You make me feel so good!” You cry, clinging to his forearm as he brings you closer to his chest.

The tentacle around your waist starts to slither down your stomach, “This isn’t even half of what I’m capable of doing to you,” The tip of it gives the hood of your clit a teasing flick, “-and you’re already such a slut for me.” His chuckle is dark and full as the tip of his skilled tentacle zeros in on your sweet spot, rubbing and wriggling against it until you’re screaming.

“Say it. Say you’re my little slut.” His words are a harsh demand against your ear, leaving no room for disobedience.

“I- f-fuck- I can’t! I ca-an’t!” You sob, not able to catch your breath between thrusts.

Tamaki eats that right up, swelling with pride as he fucks you speechless, delirious with the fact that he finally has your cunt gripping his cock.

Before he can bark another order at you, you finally pull the words out of your closing throat, "I'm your slut," You gasp as drool rolls down your chin, "I'm your little slut."

He throws his head back and throws everything he has into every thrust, his moans are obscene, high pitched and broken as he feels how hard you squeeze him when he speeds up the tip of his tentacle against your clit.

"Give it to me, I feel that greedy cunt tryin' to milk me, give me that fuckin cum." He huffs against your ear. Your entire body seizes up, shaking violently as ribbons of pleasure shoot through you. You pulse around Tamaki almost violently, earning some very rough sounding moans from him as he works you through it.

Your orgasm lasts for what feels like an eternity, you shiver with every throb of your walls. It possesses that same almost painful pleasure, and it's everything you've ever wanted. At some point, the tentacle around your waist turns to a hand, still absentmindedly rubbing you as you come down.

He lets your torso fall forward, leaving you bent over and exposed for him. His hands smooth over your ass, and you realize he's still so fucking hard.

"Can you take more, angel?"

You nod against the tear soaked pillow you've pressed your face into, not sure that you even can, but willing to try.

"Good," He bends down to press kisses into your spine as he pulls out, "'Cause you're going to."

He pulls out, almost full of regret, wanting to live the rest of his life buried inside you.

Now he can have some fun, mind cleared slightly by finally feeling you come undone around him. He's still hazy, still slightly frenzied, but less ravenous, less of a starved man waiting for his meal, more of a well fed man waiting for desert.

His hands hold your waist gently so he can guide you onto your back. You oblige, more than willing to let him have his way.

You finally get a good look at him, and you're astounded by just how pretty his dick looks. All pale and pink, swollen and shiny, it makes you dizzy with admiration.

"You're terribly beautiful." He whispers, cradling your waist so he can worship your stomach with soft kisses, "I don't believe you're even real."

Sweetness oozes through your tingling limbs, pouring over you like warm honey. His tender mouth brings you back down, soothes you into a state of catharsis. Your body settles, but your heart picks back up when his lips are on your hips.

Your eyes meet his, and you share the sentiment that he just might not be real. He pears up at you through a mess of indigo hair, eyes full of what you can only describe as devotion.

He explores your body with his hands, dipping his thumbs into every crook he can, palming handfuls of your plush thighs. He seems to have a soft spot for your hips though, pulling at your love handles, letting his breath speed up each time until he's panting against you.

With every pull of his hands, you bend for him, push into him, work with him. You both find a rhythm, falling into an easy dance of grabbing and needing.

"I want to keep you." He breathes, placing a hand on either side of your waist so he can lift himself over you, "I want to have you."

He gathers your legs while he speaks, hooking his hands under your knees so he can fold you up.

"You have me." You whisper, reaching out to lay your fingers on the sides of his ribs.

You watch his skin twitch under your touch, you watch his eyebrows sag into an almost heartbroken look.

He looks down between your bodies, quivering when he sees his heavy cock resting against your stomach. He feels so incredibly proud of you in that moment, for taking him so well, and asking for more.

She's mine. She said I have her.

The concept brings another wave of primal desire crashing down on his self control.

His fingers dig into your skin, biting at the flesh, spreading you open for him as he puts his weight on your legs.

You clench in anticipation, teased by the pressure of his hot length resting against you.

"I can take it." You say quietly, sliding your hands up his lean body so you can lace them into his inky hair.

He melts into your touch, stunned by your gorgeous submission.

"Fuck, angel." His words are shattered as they fall from his lips.

You reach down between your bodies and wrap your hand around his weeping tip. He trembles and hiccups as you push him down so he's lined up with where you need him.

"Please, I want all of it." m.

“Careful.” He pants, looking down at you with a warning in his eyes.

It doesn’t create hesitation in you though, only curiosity.

“We’re being careful now?” You tease, sliding him up and down your slit.

“You little devil.” He hisses, grabbing your wrist harshly, “You think you’re cute, don’t you?”

You freeze and blink up at him, once again shocked by his quick change in temperament.

“You wanna act like a tease now?” He questions, bringing your hand up so he can press it into the mattress with his.

“Did you find yourself a cute little attitude?” His voice drips with venom, it bites at your insides and melts your skin.

“That’s ok, angel.” He lets your hand go so he can press on the backs of your thighs again, successfully folding you completely in half, “I’ll fuck it out of you.”

Before you can breathe, blink, or respond, he’s splitting you open with a brutal pace. He laughs deep in his chest when you cry out, he mocks you when your hands fly to his abs in an attempt to slow his assault. A wicked smile spreads across his pretty face when tears stain your flushed cheeks once again.

“Cryin’ again so soon? Is it too much, baby? You need Daddy to slow down?” He’s testing you, only thrusting harder as he taunts you for your sobbing and moaning.

“No!” You gasp between tears, “Don’t stop, please, fuck me like that.”

“That’s my girl.”

His thrusts are ruthless, sharp, unforgiving. He rocks your body and the bed with each plunge in, headboard crashing against the wall. Each drive into you is enchanting, it teaches you something new, opens new doors, shows you a new, brilliant world of depravity. The way the pleasure shoots all the way up your spine with every drag of his cock, it’s something you want to feel until you die, you’d even be happy if this is the way you die.

You watch him disappear inside of you over and over, pulling out just as quick, covered in slick and sin. Tamaki is in his own feral world, watching your lovely face crumble and pout as he fills you. His hands are angry against the back of your thighs, nails digging in hard enough to bring little pearls of scarlet to the surface.

When you start to whine from the sting, he flashes you a lazy smile before stuffing his fingers into your mouth. He presses the blood covered fingertips into your tongue just enough to make drool spill from the sides of your mouth.

“Hush, you’ll learn to love it.”

His smile turns wolfish when he watches your eyes roll back. It’s all so black-hearted, it’s everything you’ve kept yourself from, it’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

You both throb and cry then, your bodies smack as they meet, obscene and wet as you chase your undoing. Tamaki knows he’s not going to last much longer, and he curses himself for it. He doesn’t want to stop, especially when you wince so sweetly when his thrusts are a little too deep. He wants to watch you suck his fingers forever, crying against his palm as he turns you into his perfect little slut.

“You’re gonna give me one more, aren’t you, angel? You owe me that, I saved your life after all.” He slides his fingers from your mouth, dragging your spit down your chin before grabbing you by the throat, “Answer if you can, I know it must be hard to speak when you’re getting fucked this good.”

His words drown you in lust, your hands claw at his back, painting angry red lines down the pretty porcelain canvas, “Take it! Fuck- Take it, Suneater, take it all.”

It’s not a demand, it’s a plea, it’s a craving formed deep within your freshly corrupted heart.

Your begging pulls desperate, whiny sounds from him. With his eyes screwed shut he lets the hand on your thigh manifest the tentacles in place of his fingers. He throws all of his energy into that, trying to stall the twitching of his dick as your hot insides massage him with their relentless pulsing.

“Are you sure about that?” He tests, letting the tentacles snake around your thigh before slithering down to where your bodies meet.

Immediately, one starts flicking at your clit, making your back go rigid as he grins down at his good work.

You wail his name, nails biting at his skin even more but he pays no mind. He has a mission, he’s going to take all of it.

He focuses on making his tentacles grow, two long enough to reach up your body and tug at your nipples, and one other snaking down through the mess you’re making to prod at your asshole. Your eyes widen with shock as your body ignites, it’s too much, it’s all too much. Every sensation is heightened, every poke and flick and thrust sends shards of pleasure flying through you, piercing you from every direction.

You let yourself cry completely then, throwing your head against Tamaki’s collar bone before sobbing into his chest. You know you’re cumming, you can feel it somewhere amongst all the other stimulation, but it’s nearly drowned out, and Tamaki is still fucking you just as hard as he was when this all started.

“More, you have more for me, I fucking know it.” He huffs as he finally pushes into your ass with the tentacle.

The ones on your nipples latch on with their suction cups as he fills you more and more.

“Give it to me, angel, give it all to your hero.”

That’s the final push, the last thing you need to send you into the most frenzied orgasm you’ve ever experienced. Your vision goes white as your body convulses, ripped apart by the flames of euphoria that turn everything you’ve ever known to ash. Somewhere in the distance you hear Tamaki praising you, telling you how tight you feel, how beautiful you look, how good you are for him.

It’s lost in the fray, though, all blurring together as you shake violently around him. The only thing that brings you back slightly, is the break in his voice when he sobs, “I’m gonna stuff that little cunt with my cum, I’m gonna make you mine.”

Your hand is at the back of his neck instantly, pulling him down for a messy, aimless kiss. His moans spill into your mouth as his hips falter, turning to slow, stuttering thrusts as he starts to pump his release deep into you.

“I’m yours - I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours.” You chant it against his lips as his tears fall to your cheeks, mixing with your own as you both shatter for each other.

Coming back down isn't easy at all. It's slow and needy, your hands still pulling at whatever skin they can grab, hips rolling against each other, trying with everything you both have to prolong that rapturous feeling.

Frantically, painfully, he pulls himself out of you. He slides his hot mouth down your body, nipping and sucking as he descends to your messy cunt. He spreads your legs wide so he can bury his face between them. He teases your clit briefly, but moves quickly to press his open mouth against your hole.

Your skin boils as you watch the nasty show. His eyes cross sinfully and flutter shut as he tongue at your well used pussy. When he pulls back, his chin is covered in some wretched mixture of your combined releases. He moves back up your body like an animal stalking its prey.

He grabs your jaw and you open so willingly. His mouth is on yours instantly, pushing the warm liquid onto your tongue with his own. It’s a spunky, intense flavor, almost overwhelming as he spreads it around your mouth. It creates a dark, blurry feeling in your chest, though. It makes you feel alive, it makes you want more.

He pulls back slowly, a thick string of saliva and sin connecting your lips as he pants down at you.

“You’re such a good little girl.”

His lips are everywhere, pressing against your cheekbones, your nose, your forehead. His hands return to normal so he can cradle your face. You both lay there, still joined, catching your breath.

"Angel?"

The tenderness in his voice pulls you back down to earth, and when you open your eyes, you find yourself lost in his. It’s a harsh but marvelous contrast with the sharp edges of his previous behavior.

"Does anything h-hurt?" He asks timidly.

The stutter is back, the anxious look in his eyes, the restlessness in his hands.

You reach out to hold his face like he's holding yours, "Tamaki, no, nothing hurts. You made me feel so good."

You don't ever want to be a source of hesitation for him again. You want to make it better. He's brilliant, he's brave, he saved your damn life. He doesn't need to be so scared around you.

"You're my hero, Suneater." You pull him down for a soft, intimate kiss.

He breathes out against you, more of his tears wet your cheeks but you don't mind.

He's allowed to feel this, he earned this.

When the kiss breaks he searches your face, waiting for you to laugh at him, to push him off, to change your mind.

You don't, though.

You stay there with him, loving him and full of him.

"And you're mine."

You both settle there, kissing skin that hasn't been kissed before, finding ways to make each other fall even more.

Tamaki tells himself he did the right thing. You don't ever have to know why Dabi chose your house to break into. You don't ever need to be told that he spent endless nights watching you from the window, because he has you know.

It would be wrong of him to tell you, you wouldn't understand it. It would break your heart and ruin everything. Then, it would get messy. You might try to run away, and that would mean he'd have to keep you in different ways.

He shakes the thoughts from his head. He can keep you like this, laid out and blushing for him, so soft and beautiful.

You belong to him now, and that's all that there is.

"Can I take care of you?” He asks softly, playing with the necklace he gave you as he gives you a shy glance.

“You just did.” You let yourself laugh a little as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“No, not like that.” He smiles softly, dipping down to kiss your neck so softly you almost can’t feel it, “Like this.”

He presses his lips against a mark you didn’t know he made, lingering for a moment as his eyes flutter shut.

“These say that you’re mine.” His thumb traces over one of the circular bruises on your ribs, “They say you have someone protecting you.”

The prospect makes your heart soar. He’s right, belonging to him means you’ll always be safe, you’ll always have somebody willing to fight for you, maybe even somebody willing to stay with you.

“This says that you belong to me.” He loops a finger around the delicate pearl on your necklace, pulling gently, not enough to make you go anywhere, but enough to make you feel the metal tug against the back of your neck.

‘You do belong to me, don’t you.” He asks, a wild, fearful look in his eyes.

You do, you just told him so, you just cried to him and vowed that you were his just moments ago.

“I do, I belong to you, I swear.” You reassure him, pulling a deep sigh from his chest.

You don’t understand the way he aches for you, the way he’s addicted to you. He was already hooked, from just glances and flighty touches. Now, having felt your soft skin, the tuck of your waist, having seen you cry and heard you call his name, he’s willing to admit his obsession.

He does take care of you, he does it beautifully. He carries you to the bathroom where he sets you on the edge of the tub. He fills it with warm, soapy water before picking you up bridal style so he can settle into the water with you in his lap.

Neither of you bother to turn a light on, content with the glow of the moon shining through the skylight. Tamaki paints your shoulders with soft kisses as he rubs soothing circles into your back. He takes his sweet time, wiping away the sweat and the tears, mindful of the tender spots on the back of your thighs.

“Beautiful, you’re so beautiful.” He sighs, “An angel, nothing less.”

You melt into him, lost in his praise, blinded by his devotion as well as your own.

Tamaki is just as lost, if not more, only becoming more possessive with every gentle touch, with every whispered adoration.

This is how it’s meant to be, and you don’t ever need to know how it all fell into place. He did the right thing, after all. This isn’t a problem, he’s in love. He’s in love and now he has you.

He intends on keeping it that way.

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thirstworldproblemss · 3 years

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Fic: Made with Love (aka Breakfast, “Florida Man” Style)

Pairing: Frankie x Benny (Frankie x F reader x Benny) Fandom: Triple Frontier Length: just over 1k Rating: Mature Warnings: nightmares, implied PTSD, MMF three-way relationship (throuple?), oral (m on m), misuse of food stuffs, silliness

Summary: Frankie has a bad night. The morning is better. [Part of the Blanket ‘verse]

[ GIF originally posted by @realoscarisaac ]

Notes: This is a future fic set in my as-yet-unfinished Blanket ‘Verse [Frankie x F operative reader x Benny]. It takes place after the three of them have settled into a stable three-way romantic relationship. Many thanks to @astroboots (who is entirely to blame & also beta’d), and to my test audience: @keeper0fthestars, @alwaysbethewest @loversandantiheroes, & @littleferal, who were kind enough to pre-read and reassure me that this could stand on its own as a oneshot.

[ twp’s Masterlist | Series Masterlist ]

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Frankie's having a shitty night. Nightmares bad enough that they wake all three of you up.

He fights his way up out of the darkness, out of the covers, out of your arms, unable to determine the difference between dream and reality when guilt and fear are locked like iron bands around his ribcage in both.

He tries to play it off like it’s no big deal (once his breathing settles and his heart stops trying to beat its way out of his chest), but you and Benny are having none of it. Benny asks if he wants to talk (he doesn't); you ask if it’s okay to hold him (it is); and it’s so fucking nice not to be alone (but the images are still right there every time he closes his eyes).

So after the fourth (fifth?) time he jolts awake, he slips out of bed and shuffles off to the garage to work on one of his projects for a while. At least that way he’s out of the way and the two of you can get some uninterrupted sleep.

Usually Frankie finds working with wood calming. It’s meditative, lets him feel like he’s good for something other than breaking things and killing.

It doesn’t help tonight.

The anxiety and guilt and hopelessness from the dream still have their claws in him (deep), and he can't concentrate on anything else. He has to measure each cut four times because his hands are shaking and still wastes two boards cutting in the wrong place; he drills a hole on the wrong fucking side of a cross piece; and, indignity to end all indignities, he smashes his thumb with a hammer like some goddamn green kid.

The morning sun is beginning to flood in the high window in the garage when he finally gives it up as a bad job and slumps back inside, defeated.

"Oh hey, man," Benny greets casually from the kitchen, eyeing Frankie over the counter as he comes into view. "Made you some breakfast."

The shit-eating grin on his face should be a clue, but Frankie's exhausted, shaky and worn out from anxiety and lack of sleep and the post-adrenaline crash. He’s so glad for the company that he doesn’t bother to think beyond the sheer relief of not being alone with his thoughts anymore.

He just mutters a low "thanks, man" as he heads for the kitchen, ready to choke down whatever monstrosity Benjamin has created this time (cooking is not that boy’s strong point), only to stop dead, staring, as soon as he rounds the end of the counter.

Benny’s standing in the kitchen shirtless, boxers around his knees, one big hand holding a… a piece of bread that’s wrapped around his dick with.... Jesus fucking Christ, is that peanut butter?

"Yeah, man," Benny says, grinning bigger than ever and visibly struggling to hold onto his composure. He waggles his eyebrows. "I made you a penis butter sandwich."

Frankie barks out a laugh, the involuntary noise forcing its way out of his throat, and Benny's million watt smile glows even brighter, turning triumphant and... proud? (His eyes are warm.)

Incredulous, Frankie sniggers. He presses a hand to his mouth in an effort to stifle the sound, but even that can't contain the hysterical laughter that's bubbling up in his chest. It is! It's fucking peanut butter! This idiota!

Then Benny starts laughing too, the noise ringing out loud and happy in the early morning quiet of the kitchen, and that just sets Frankie off more. Both of them gasping and whooping and falling back against the countertop for support when their legs nearly give out.

Jesus Christ, Frankie’s laughing so hard he can barely breathe; laughs for so long that he starts to wonder if this is how he dies, choking on laughter over Benny’s stupid shit. He thinks maybe it wouldn't be such a bad way to go.

Frankie finally manages to stop laughing long enough to suck in a breath, but then Benny's gasping out, "Your face, man! Your fucking face!" and laughing so hard he's nearly doubled over the hand that's still holding the fucking peanut-buttered bread around his dick, and Frankie loses it all over again.

It takes them nearly ten minutes to get themselves under control, and even then little snorts and giggles keep breaking through.

Frankie just watches Benny the whole time: the huge grin splitting his face, the way his bright eyes dance with mirth, blond hair unruly and sticking up on one side, and the—goddamn it, now he's laughing again—the motherfucking peanut butter. And just like that, Frankie realizes that the tightness in his chest is gone. Anxiety wiped away, replaced with the warm glow of affection for this ridiculous man.

"Thanks, man," Frankie says again, meaning it this time (and so much more) with every fiber of his being.

Benny must know too because his smile turns lopsided and soft, eyes never leaving Frankie's as he says, "Yeah, man. I got you." Then he grimaces, looking down at the mess in his hand. "Uh... let me just clean this shit up real quick."

Chucking the mangled bread into the trash, he starts to reach for the paper towels, but Frankie has a better idea.

He knocks Benny’s hand out of the way so he can wrap his own fingers around Ben's sticky, peanut butter covered dick, and the strangled noise he makes goes straight to Frankie’s cock.

So does the way Benny stutters out his name when Frankie drops to his knees, which: Ouch. Christ, he's getting too old for this spontaneous shit. He shuffles over to the pressure-reducing mat in front of the sink, towing Benny dick-first behind him.

Benny's always been quick on the uptake, so it's no surprise that he's already hard by the time Frankie gets them both situated.

"Nah, man. I got you this time,” Frankie says, sneaking one more look up at Benny (who's staring back down at him, all surprise and joy and heat). Then he wraps his lips around Benjamin's hard cock and gets to work licking him clean.

Fortunately for both of them, Frankie's always liked peanut butter.

The End

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Want more to read? twp’s Masterlist | twp’s Author & Fic Recs

—

End Notes: Yes, I know this is completely ridiculous, and as usual, my darling 🤡💖🤡 @astroboots is to blame. During a conversation wherein we decided that Benny is “Florida Man” (search your heart; you know it to be true), CiCi suggested that peanut butter was probably on the long list of questionable substances that boy has attempted to use as lube. It all sort of went downhill from there. I’m so sorry. 😅🙈 Hopefully you enjoyed it anyway.

—

Tagging: (See my Tagging Lists Page to be added or removed)

Everything: @agirllovespancakes @amneris21 @arduadastra @astroboots @beesting77 @dinsbeskar @ew-erin @green-socks @its–fandom–darling @keeper0fthestars @motheroftrashbirds @mstgsmy @phoenixhalliwell @pumpkin-stars @quodsomniator @songsformonkeys

Pedro Chars: @absurdthirst @coaaster @coldlilheart @dihra-vesa @freeshavocadoooo @heatherbel @itstheanxietyforme @jaime1110 @janebby @jenrebloggingfics @knittingqueen13 @knivesareout @littlemissthistle @lycheemi @mrsparknuts @notabotiswear** @rosiefridayrogersunday @spideysimpossiblegirl @thethunderstormsgirl @thisshipwillsail316 @wondergal2001 @yespolkadotkitty

Frankie: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @darnitdraco @filthybookworm @frietiemeloen @hb8301 @itssmashedavo @loletaacres12 @neonvagabond @neverlandlibrarian @onlydaughterofposeidon @over300books @recklesswit @thevoiceinyourheadx

Blanket Verse: @alwaysbethewest @astroboots @heatherbel @knittingqueen13 @littleferal @ladytrashbird @loversandantiheroes @phoenixhalliwell @thou-creature-of-the-deep

#triple frontier #frankie morales #benny miller #frankie morales x benny miller #frankie morales x reader x benny miller #frankie x reader x benny #frankie x benny #my fic #blanket verse #made with love #aka #the pb oneshot no one asked for #q

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sunflowersteves · 3 years

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always home || g.r.

summary || you don’t know how much longer you can take geralt’s dangerous life.

author’s note || i know i have requests to do still but i needed some comfort rn🥺also jesus christ his aRMS

warnings || angst, hurt/comfort, some gore, crying, fluff

masterlist

Your whole body shook with pure dread, the sensation reaching from the top of your head and all the way down to your toes. You couldn’t even look away, eyes glued to the scene before you. You couldn’t do anything either, it was like your brain had come to a standstill--trying to grasp what had just happened.

Your heart had stopped when a Kikimora had swallowed Geralt whole, devouring him like he was just a small snack to eat. The pain rose to the tip of your throat like bile, resting there as a whimper escaped your mouth.

You knew that he would probably be fine, perfectly healthy as he slashed through the monster's insides. You knew that Witcher’s were almost indestructible; they weren’t easy beings to kill.

But there was always that slim chance, that logical side of your brain that knew what could happen. You knew that monster hunting would most likely seal Geralt’s fate; what life he had left in his eyes would fade and become dim.

Which is what terrified you to no end, the thoughts caving in--almost as if they were laughing at you for getting attached to somebody who can’t. You knew you shouldn’t have. You should have let those little butterflies turn into large waves of feelings that crashed down on you at every glance he gave your way.

And yet here you are, tears rolling down your cheeks as it has now been ten minutes and there’s no sign of him anywhere. You had to hide behind a tree to be able to escape from the monsters.

Your chest heaved up and down and your eyes snapped shut as you tried to think of a plan--anything that would help the situation. But in every scenario you could think of, there wasn’t a good outcome.

You clutch the sword in your hand a bit tighter now; the thoughts that surged through your brain were much more crowded now. Your eyes began to sting from the saltiness of the tears, dread overflowing to the brink in your body.

You try to calm yourself down by taking deep breaths, letting your mind try to ease the searing despair that rested upon your heart. You slowly and quietly take your sword out of its sheath, trying to prepare yourself for the battle to come.

And then you heard it, which all the more made you stop dead in your tracks.

You heard the groaning of the monster, misery, and pain screeching through the air. You hear the slicing and cutting of a sword, the sound of guts and fluids flooding across the ground.

You peak slightly from where you were on the tree, eyes wide at Geralt’s figure standing there perfectly fine as he waits for the monster to die in front of him. He looked almost annoyed that the monster wouldn’t die faster, as if he wasn’t just eaten whole by a giant monster.

Geralt’s eyes linger on the Kikimora before they try and find yours, wanting to know if you were okay. His eyes trail up to the tree and then meet yours, relief immediately skating across them.

Normally after a fight like this one, you would always run up to him and envelop him in a hug, completely disregarding the fact that there was monster blood and guts on him.

So he was quite surprised when you just stood there, mouth agape slightly and eyes as wide as ever. He became even more flustered as your eyebrows started to furrow, and a fire ignited in your eyes.

You were livid.

“y/n-”

You ignored him, abruptly turned around and headed straight back to where the town was. You could hear Geralt’s large footsteps follow you but you tried your utmost best to ignore them. You have had enough with this shit, your heart and mind can only take so much. You knew that Geralt couldn’t help it. This was his life. This was his normal. But you weren’t a Witcher. You were just a knight that was supposed to follow the orders of whoever was queen or king.

“y/n, dove-”

Geralt stopped with a halt when you whipped around; the pure venom in your voice was the third thing that caught him by surprise.

“Do not call me that.”

You continued to walk towards the town, your stomps becoming harder as the rage built up and up.

“This is my life, y/n. This is what I do-”

You interrupted him yet again with a scoff, your fast walking pace was slower now, but you did not dare stop. You wanted out of here and away from him until you cooled down. However, Geralt was too stubborn to let you go.

“You don’t think I know that? I know this is your life, Geralt. I don’t want you to change anything.”

All you want to do is leave it like that and enclose yourself off in some pub for the rest of the night. You start walking again; Geralt has other plans as he grips your shoulder, pulling you back to a halt. Your eyes still looked a fiery ablaze as he stared straight into them.

“What is it then, dove? talk to me, please.”

His eyebrows furrowed at the whimper that left your mouth, tears flowing out freely against your cheek and rolling down your chin. Your anger was gone, only agony and apprehension were left between your beautiful orbs.

Geralt’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb wiping softly back and forth against your cheekbone. You opened your mouth to speak, but the only sound that escaped were your hiccups. The action had made Geralt’s heart constrict; to know that he was the reason you were in so much grief.

He watched with some relief as you calmed down; the tears he wiped away were coming to a stop.

“I-I’m sorry.” You take a deep breath before you continue. Geralt was watching your every move, his glowing eyes clouded with concern. “When I d-didn’t see you come out of the kikimora, I-I thought that you had... Geralt, I don’t know what I’d do if-”

Geralt had brought you into his arms as more tears sprung to your eyes. You couldn’t help the sobs that wrecked over your body, your throat enclosing from the thought of losing the one person you can’t live without.

Geralt moved you out of his arms as his hands went to cup your cheeks again, making sure that you were looking right at his face.

“I want you to know that I will always come home to you. I will always find you, dove.”

“But-”

He shook his head, white hair falling slightly amongst his cheeks. “A dragon could burn me to bits, and I’d make my way back to you. The most fearsome monster could pierce through my heart, and I’d get up and come find you. Queens and Kings could create armies to defeat me, making sure nothing of me was left, and I’d run to your arms. I’m not going anywhere, sweet girl, not unless you say so.”

You jump on him immediately, lips attached to his in a passionate dance. Your hands gripped the softness of his hair, still somewhat wet from the monster just a few moments before. His arms immediately wrapped around your waist, the soft pillows of your lips making his heart soar.

Your body felt ignited, tingling sensations flowed throughout your nerves and veins. Your lips were desperately molded, devouring each other with desire and adoration. Your hands moved down, so they rested on his chest, gently gripping the fabric of his tunic.

His lips left yours swiftly, his forehead coming to rest on yours. His eyes bore straight into yours, the normal grumpy Witcher was practically glowing with happiness.

“Promise?”

You let out a yelp as he abruptly picks you up, legs resting in his arms and your head laid on his chest.

“I promise you, dove. I’ll always come back to you.”

witcher: @angelinathebook @harrysthiccthighss @borkingbarnes

geralt: @harrysthiccthighss @borkingbarnes

permanent: @captainchrisstan @angstysebfan @teenagereadersciencenerd @rebekahdawkins @hailmary-yramliah

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ukiyoexo · 4 years

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HAUNT ME, BABY! — PJS

PAIRINGS — nct, park jisung x reader

GENRES — ghost!jisung, quarantine!au, humour, lots of fluff (+grumpy!cute!jisung), angst (?)

SYNOPSIS — when you see a ghost, you’re supposed to be scared right? yeah, that’s what jisung thought too until he met you.

a night spent in boredom leads you to lighting random candles and attempting to summon a ghost. you never expected it to work — or for the spirit to be so cute.

WARNINGS — ghost summoning, mentions of blood, swearing, pricking your skin for blood, mentions of how jisung died, unedited

WORD COUNT — 5.2k+

TAG LIST — @uwu-yifan @peachjaem00 @heartyyjeno @guccichan

NOTE — i basically took the bloody mary ritual and made some shit up so enjoy :) this is also the fluffiest of all the fics from deviltales so yeah... this is also shorter than i intended but oh well.

DEVILTALES — MASTERLIST

quarantining alone had its perks. like being able to eat whatever you liked whenever, and never having to actually get dressed. as well as the fact that you could spend the day doing what you pleased, without anyone getting in your way.

and maybe that’s why you were going through with the slightly crazy and slightly stupid idea you had come up with whilst spending your fourth hour scrolling on tiktok. there was no one here to stop you from summoning a ghost and you wouldn’t be getting in anyone’s way. plus, you couldn’t help but think it would be nice to have someone other than your cat to talk to — even if that someone was some demon that probably wanted to possess your body.

“red and white candles, check. mirror, yep.” you mumble off the checklist to summon your very own supernatural being. your finger scrolling over the wiki how page on your phone screen one last time before powering it off and chucking it onto your bed.

next stop was the bathroom connected to your bedroom, where you had already lit the two candles, placing them at either corner of the sink. you had already turned off the lights and plugged the sink like instructed, all you had to do now was repeat the chant and prick your finger.

you clear your throat, debating what you would do if your attempts actually worked but deciding to instead remain unbothered. “yolo i guess.” you mutter, only to laugh at yourself when you wonder how many people’s last words were that.

you repeat the chant confidently, despite the fact that it was some random latin that you didn’t understand and most definitely mispronounced. after rerunning it through your head to make sure you had it, you pick up the pin you had placed next to the sink. the cool metal almost numbs the feeling of it piercing your index finger, yet still not enough to completely distract from the unpleasant pinch. a steady drip begins even before you remove the needle, landing against the white ceramic sink bowl and trailing it way down to the plug. one drop, two drops, three drops, you keep count until you hit 16 and a small pool of the metallic liquid has formed at the drain.

nothing happens for a while, and you wonder if it really was just make belief. and then when the red candle blows out, you try to convince yourself that it’s just a draft. you know, because a draft in a closed room with no open windows is so common.

you’re not scared per se, but the feeling of someone’s hot breath against the neck is slightly unsettling, the hairs on your back standing up just that bit straighter with every exhale. you know the next step is to look up and face the mirror, but a part wants to just turn on the lights and pretend nothing ever happened.

then again, you were never one to back down from something once you had begun it.

“fuck it.” you take a deep inhale, holding your breath as you direct your eyes from the bloodied sink towards the mirror.

there it is. the dark outline of a body— a person, you can’t see it’s face at first and wonder if it’s just your shadow. but then the features slowly become more clear, a wicked smile, one white eye, there’s blood dripping from the crown of his head, trailing down to his other, reddened eye, where a thick cut is sliced through. “boo.”

“jesus fucking christ.” you’re pretty sure your soul leaves your body at that very moment. definitely a ghost- definitely a ghost- definitely a ghost. but what fucking ghost says boo?

one hand is clutched to your chest, heart hammering against your ribcage, the other fumbling for the light switch. your widened eyes still trained on the mirror.

“you— you’re like actually a ghost?” you question, the light switch seemingly impossible to find despite your frantic attempts. the boy behind you seems caught off guard by the enquiry. “i mean—” he begins in the most unghostlike manner “yeah, i guess. i prefer haunted spirit of the underworld though.”

you finally hit the switch and the boy comes into full view, your body turning so you can get a better look at him. he’s— he’s surprisingly unthreatening.

sure, he has copious amounts of blood dripping from his being, and yeah, he looks like he could possess you with the snap of his fingers. but, he also has the roundest rosy cheeks, and the most adorably button nose. plus, he talks like most of your friends do — not the spooky victorian vibe you were picturing. “huh.” you lean back against the sink basin, arms folded across your chest, eyes narrowed. “hmph, you’re kind of cute.”

the ‘haunted spirit of the underworld’ looks a mixture of offended and confused at your statement, eyebrows furrowing with a exaggerated pout on his lips. “what?” he mirrors the action of your arms, “you’re not supposed to find me cute— you’re not supposed to.” he stomps his foot and you can’t help but lose it, giggling erupting from your chest.

“not my fault, dude.” you inform him casually once you’ve caught back your breath. sliding past him to get to the bathroom door and promptly opening it. he follows as you enter your bedroom, standing above you with the same expression as before as he watches you slump onto your bed.

“but no one ever finds me cute.” he just looks more confused now. “guess im the exception,” you shrug, “i mean how many people have summoned you anyways?”

“a lot, ok? and that’s not the point. you’re killing the atmosphere by being so chilled out and i’m not here for it.” the boy continues but you’re more focused on examining him. under the thick red liquid is a dishevelled, ink black mop of hair, a slightly tattered black shirt that is loose fitting to his figure and then a pair of ripped black jeans, although you can’t tell whether the rips are intentional or a result of his untimely death. “hello? are you even listening to me.” your eyes flick back up to his face, “yeah, yeah i’m listening— something about atmosphere or some shit.”

he lets out a huff and indicates for you to shuffle over, moving to sit on your bed, “whoa, pause, that blood won’t get on my sheets right? i just washed them.” he pauses in his tracks, looking at the white linen and then back at you. “i’m a ghost.” he states obviously. “good point.”

silence seems to settle in the room once he gets himself comfortable, his eyes examine your room whilst your eyes examine him. the pout on his face had vanished, only to be replaced by this almost saddened look. for some reason, you can’t help but feel like it’s your fault.

“you can try again.” you mutter awkwardly, offering up the best comforting smile you could. “try what?” “you can try scaring me again. we’ll go back to the bathroom, i’ll turn off the lights and you can jump out again.” his head tilts as you explain your suggestion and you swear you can see the apples of his cheeks redden just slightly. “i— i mean it won’t work will it? you already know i’m here.” he reasons back.

“ah, my dearest haunted spirits of the underworld, you clearly haven’t witnessed my superior acting skills before, lemme show you how to be scared.” you stand up confidently, sliding backwards to the bathroom, wiggling your eyebrows as you do so.

he once again follows, watching inquisitively as you relight the candles and turn off the lights, closing the bathroom door behind you, once you’re both fully in. “now, do your thing.” you offer him a quick smile and he nods hesitantly, settling himself in the darkest corner of the bathroom where you can’t even see him. “haunt me, baby!”

as you let out your last, more joking, words, the red candle is blown out once again, the white candle merely flickering and provided little to no light. your breath catches in your throat and any humour you have left to offer seems to dissipate out of your body.

there’s a tapping against the tiles to your right. then a scraping behind you. you can hear an unintelligible whispering echo throughout the small space but can’t make out what’s being said.

a cold draft hits the back of your neck, following the shiver that runs done your spine and leaves goosebumps on your arms.

your eyes are locked on the mirror in front of you. you don’t even have to act scared, you just are. your heart pounding harder and quicker in your chest with each passing second, your breaths unsteady and shallow.

one tap on your shoulder, then two, then what feels like someone tugging on strands of your hair. your body tenses at the touch, limbs stiffening.

and then, in the glow of the weak candle light, a face appears, a familiar face but one that given the circumstances, looks all the more terrifying. your eyes widen just as before, your features hardened in the tense moment.

“boo.” he repeats the same ‘scary’ word as before but in a low whisper. you try your best to remain calm but it’s at that moment that you lose it, your eyes squeezing shit and your hands flying to hit the lights. “nope, nope, nope.” you repeat in a chant, jumping on the spot as if that would make things any better.

“what? was i good?” the ghost sounds surprised, chirpy, and it’s enough to convince you that you can look up again. “were you good?” you respond bewildered, staring at the boy, “you were to fucking, i hated that.” you inform him, pacing to wards your bed. he trails behind, cheering to himself proudly.

“promise to never scare me like that again?” you hold out your pinky once he’s sat back next to you.

he pauses slightly but then nods, extending his pinky as well, hooking it around yours. “promise.”

♡ ♡ ♡

“wait, you never told me your name? and how old are you?” you and ghost boy are lying on your bed, having established that he’ll be ‘haunting’ you until dawn, leaving you with six hours to kill.

“jisung, eighteen.” he hums back, “you?”

“i’m y/n and the same age.” you roll onto your stomach and closer to jisung, giving him a wide, cheesy grin. his eyes narrow, as if to say what are you doing, but then widen when he feels your arm shove him off the bed. of course, it doesn’t work because he’s a ghost and can hover, but you still receive the same amount of entertainment.

“why can i touch you?” you continue your questioning after jisung settles on the chair next to your desk, “and why can you sit on things?”

he huffs out a breath but doesn’t really seemed bothered by the pestering, in fact he rather enjoys having someone to talk to. “you can touch me because you summoned me, and i can sit on things because i control what i go in and out of.” he explains as simply as possible, holding his hand out against your desk. “look, like this.” he rests his hand ontop of the surface as if it’s nothing. then he lifts it back up and lowers it again, however this time, it goes straight through the wood. “whoa.” you gasp, genuinely impressed. “cool, right—”

“can you go through me?” you burst brightly, and jisung looks mildly concerned. “i mean— i’ve never tried but—” “try it on me! try it on me! try it on me, please!” you extend the last your vowels desperately, grasping your hands hands together in a begging motion.

jisung rolls his eyes but agrees nonetheless, rising from seat and walking towards you with his hand extended. “ok, hold out your hand.” he instructs and you comply eagerly. your hand pointed outwards with your fingers spread slightly.

jisung rests his palm against yours, his skin is cold but soft. but then the feeling seems to vanish, and you watch wild eyed as jisung closes his fist, inside your hand. “what does it feel like?” he asks.

“like nothing.” you tilt your head, it wasn’t as exciting as you thought it’d be.

jisung then pulls out of your hand again, places his palm back against yours and threading his fingers with yours, materialising his flesh again. “aw, you’re holding my hand.” you tease sweetly, “cute.”

jisung scoffs, quickly pulling away at the mention of that horrid c-word.

“anyways then, what do you want to do?” you flop back onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. jisung lifts off the ground, hovering above you and looking down to make eye contact. “what do you mean?”

“well, is there anything you didn’t get to do whilst you were alive that you wish you could? are there things you want to experience again?”

jisung smiles, it’s a sweet question. bittersweet though.

he had never really thought about the things he had missed out on, and he’d tried his hardest to not think about the things he actually missed. but something about you asking it, so innocently, so pure hearted and warm, makes him smile. makes him less sad about his untimely death.

“i don’t know.” the ghost drops beside you, fiddling with his fingers. “well let’s make a list then.” you match his smile and jisung swears this is the most he’s felt since becoming a ghost.

♡ ♡ ♡

half an hour passes before you finally have a list you can actually accomplish within the confines of your apartment.

first on the list is learning how to skateboard, your board that had been propped up in the corner of your room since the start of quarantine coming in extremely useful. “ok, put one foot on the deck,” you instruct calmly, hands already being grasped by jisung’s. the icy feeling if then still something you couldn’t entirely get over. “then the other.” he does as he’s told. stepping on carefully but surprisingly soon, he was a ghost though — nothing to lose.

it goes pretty smoothly, your body guiding his around the hard wood floor of your bedroom. there’s a few wobbles but nothing too severe. “fun?” you grin and he nods eagerly back, it was almost like having a puppy.

“now you try on your own.”

he stops smiling at that.

“but what if i fall off?”

“you’re a ghost.”

“oh yeah.”

jisung adjusts the board so that it’s facing down the longest stretch. he confidently settles himself on the deck. with one, slightly too strong of a push, he’s off across your room. he picks up speed quickly as he goes and it’s only near the end of his path when he realised that he’s fucked up.

whilst he jumps off, the board keeps flying, only stopping when it hits the wall — or rather goes through it.

you both stand, frozen in you positions, staring at where your plaster wall had been broken through. “you just put a hole in my wall.”

“that, i did.”

“ok enough skateboarding for you.”

you move on swiftly after that, finding out that jisung can still eat and deciding to order a selection of his favourite dishes: sushi, pizza and even pork belly.

whilst you wait for food, you decide to move onto the next on the list: alcohol.

“so you’re telling me you never drank alcohol, like any at all, before you dies?” jisung nods to your astounded question. “seriously?” you scoff, genuinely shocked. “the most i’ve had is a sip of mum’s wine and it was nasty so i just steered clear of alcohol as a whole.” he informs you and you’re pretty sure your jaw is touching the ground. “what about drinking games?” he shakes his head again. “that’s wild dude.” it seems like the only motion jisung can do is moving his head as nods awkwardly for what feels like the hundredth time.

you don’t pay much mind as you head to your kitchen, choosing a selection of alcohols and mixers and several glasses before making your way back to the bedroom with full arms.

you settle yourself on the floor of your room, pouring out the various liquids into different glasses. “you don’t have to drink if you don’t want, you know that right?” you asks, swirling a glass of lemonade and lemon vodka in your, wanting to make sure that you weren’t forcing the ghost boy to do something he didn’t want to. “yeah, i know, but i do want to.” “ok, good.”you grin, hoding out the glass in your hand towards him.

he winces at just the smell which makes you giggle, the way his nose srunches being incredibly cute. he takes swig anyways however. its a quick one but you can tell by the range of emotions that spread across the boys face that he definitely got a taste. “good?” “i guess.” he twists his lips and you laugh even more.

“up next is gin.” you inform him, swirling another glass of alcohol and this time tonic.

you hand him the glass and he readily takes it, offering you a concerned look after taking his routine sniff as if to say ‘you really drink this?’. you smile encouragingly, despite thinking the drink you had just handed him was the worst of the lot.

unfortunately for jisung, he takes you expression as a form of reassurance that the gin will be better than the last and takes a more confident sip than the prior drink. however, just as quickly as he’s sipping it, he’s spitting it back into the glass, this disgusted look on his face as he tries to hold back a gag. you let out a boisterous belly laugh at his reaction, much to jisung’s distaste.

“you like that?” he questions between gulps of water, watching you intently. his eyebrows arching wildly when you respond with a “rarely.”

“so, wanna taste the next one?” you grin again, but jisung as trusting as before. “not really.” he pouts but you circle the drink around his face and he can’t really say no, he had never really had any self restraint anyways. “fuck it.” he hums before downing the mix of malibu and coke, a pleased look flashing across his face. “you like?” you nudge him into a response, “i do.” he smiles back, surprisingly happy.

you appreciate his good taste in alcoholic drinks but decide to do only one more round before wrapping the session up.

the last differs from the rest. the fact that it was dairy based and thicker eing the most obvious differences, as well as the fact that you put no mixer with it. “what’s this?” he holds the brown liquid up to the light as if that would help him decifer what he was about to sip on. “chocolate baileys.” you smile at him fondly, and he tilts his head at you. “don’t worry, you’ll love it.” you offer him some more genuine reassurance this time and his nods timidly, “bottoms up.” he raise his glass to his lips, taking a small swig. “wow.” he has another taste. “good?” “really good.”

food arrives shortly after and you waste no time stuffing yourself with the selection of delicious foods, making that jisung has plenty and enjoys the meal to its full.

♡ ♡ ♡

next on the agenda was catching up with all the music jisung had missed. and god, there was plenty.

you created a playlist of your favourites, a collection of ones he may know, and other new ones, setting it to full volume on your speaker — your neighbours could deal with the noise for a while.

when you begin to twirl around the room, busting out your favourite moves, jisung doesn’t seem too fond of joining in. unfortunately, no one told him how hard it would be to say no to you. the way you grip his hands and spin him on the spot with encouraging cheers make him laugh too much for him to then say no.

“there you go!” you grin ecstatically, watching jisung throw out some peculier but workable dance moves. your questionable singing matched with his much better singing when a song he knew came on.

your dance party goes on for what feels like half an hour but is really half an hour at most.

you spend half the time belly laughing while battling it out on who could dance better and although jisung won, it’s one of the best half an hours of your life. it almost makes you sad that, despite your exhaustion, you can’t continue with the dance party for longer.

you cross it off the list happily, looking for the next doable thing — watch avengers: endgame.

you were never much of an avengers fan but it turns out jisung was a huge one. and one thing he didn’t get to do before he passed was watch the last to the film, something he had been dying to do.

thankfully for him, you had already bought it after one extremely boring day in quarantine, figuring it would help you easily pass three hours of your time. only now, you were hating the length as it just meant less time to spend with jisung.

jisung actually having to agree to play truth or dare with you whilst watching otherwise you refused to turn it on.

it gets only fifteen minutes into the film and your prodding at the ghost’s arm. “psst,” you over exaggerate, “truth or dare?” you grin taking a scoop from the ice cream you had retrieved earlier.

jisung flickers his gaze between the screen and your pleading, hating how cute he finds you. “dare.” he whispers back.

if he hadn’t been so focused on the film, jisung would have seen the almost maniac like smile that spread across your lips. he then, would have been less shocked and disgusted when you dared him to drink a shot of soy sauce.

“you want me to do what?” the boy splutters, looking at you with mild concern. “what happens if i don’t?” one eyebrows quirks upwards. “then i choose a different date, as well as a truth.”

the manic smile returns.

“ok, fine.” you’re almost more shocked that he agrees to the questionable, sodium packed drink. “really?” you gasp. “yep, really.” he only confirms back.

you return to the bedroom a couple moments later with a glass bottle of dark brown liquid in one hand and a pair of shot glasses in the other. “you doing it with me?” jisung wonders once he sees the two small vessels, normally for alcohol.

“might as well.” you nod, questioning your own sanity as soon as you agree, “you only live once right?”

the joke is probably inappropriate given the circumstances, yet jisung chuckles nonetheless.

the humour dies down shortly after when the sodium liquid meets your tongue. your attempt short lived as you wait a whole five seconds to spit the shot back out. grabbing one of the glassses of water you had prepared and swirling it around your mouth.

jisung seems to struggle less than you, the alcohol most likely acting as a good warm up to him. however, you can tell by the expression his face twists into that he still definitely doesn’t enjoy it.

you fire more dares back and fourth after that, resulting in you snacking on a whole lemon and jisung ending up in an outfit of your choice — turns out ghosts can change clothes. and it continues until jisung finally chooses truth.

“so,” you clear your throat awkwardly, “well,” you continue to stall, twiddling with your thumbs. you open your mouth to speak again but jisung cuts you off, “you can ask me anything, like anything at all.” jisung nudges you encouragingly.

you sigh, looking at him with a pout, “ok then,” you don’t sound very enthusiastic but it’s more that you just feel bad, you couldn’t imagine that many people would enjoy reliving their last moments — assuming that’s what he was referencing, “my truth for you mr jisung is, how did you die?”

a silence settles between you and you’re too scared to even look up from where you were playing with the hem of your shirt.

“i— why would you ask me that?”

his words cut through the tension sharply. his tone serious.

“i— you- but you just said—” you’re beginning to panic, wondering if you had just hallucinated th last five minutes, but for all you knew, you could’ve been hallucinating all of this experience. “i’m sorry—”

“i’m fucking with you y/n, it’s fine, i was surprised you didn’t ask me earlier in fact.” jisung is evilly giggling just a bit too much for your liking, enough for you to attempt to wack his stomach. of course that fails though as he lets your arm just fly straight through him. “i hate you.”

“you don’t really,” he teases, reaching over to squish your cheeks as you glare at him. “it wasn’t interesting anyways, i was just hit by a car, boring really.”

“was it on purpose?” you pull the ice cream spoon between your lips.

“huh,” he takes another scoop himself, “i never thought about that.”

“well, did it hurt?”

“kind of,” he hums, looking like he’s genuinely trying to remember, “this bit hurt.” he motions towards his eye and for a second you almost forgot having a thick red gash across your eye wasn’t normal.

“hmph,” you lean towards him inspecting the cut, “that’s wild.”

“well, how do you wanna die?”

the way jisung asks so genuinely has a bubble of giggles brewing in your stomach, but you expression hardens when you realise he’s being serious. “i don’t know, i’ve never thought about it before. i die when i die, you know? i can’t stop it, so i might as well just enjoy what i have now and accept whatever death comes to me in the future, momento mori or some shit.”

you answer nonchalantly and jisung’s surprised by how calm you are about death.

he remembers the first time he experienced death. his grandpa passed away when he was eight and although he didn’t fully understand the concept of dying, he understood enough to be sad. and when his grandma passed away at ten, he was finally able to grasp the concept of it.

if he was being honest, death terrified him.

it was uncertain. and jisung didn’t like uncertainty. the unknown darkness that was death scared him and he even at eighteen, he hadn’t fully accepted it.

but hey, he was a ghost now, not much he could do to change his death anymore.

♡ ♡ ♡

the film ends sooner than you had expected and there’s not long left before jisung will leave. it’s weird, you didn’t think you could get so attached to someone so quickly, but then you summoned jisung and you both just clicked.

you had both decided that for the last moments you’d sit out on the balcony of your apartment, let jisung jisung feel the warmth of the sun as it filtered through the clouds.

“i think you’re my favourite ghost.”

“you’ve met other ghosts?” jisung quirks up his eyebrows, tilting his head towards you.

“nope, but i imagine you’re the best.” you continue confidently, watching as pastel blues and pinks fade into the sky.

he smiles at that.

he thinks you’re the best human he’s ever met, too.

you attempt to pass you the time by talking about life before death and your life after he goes but all conversation simmers down into a silence. it’s not uncomfortable, more just this solemn quiet. jisung didn’t want to leave, but he didn’t really have a choice — being a ghost really sucked sometimes, that was for sure.

“you know, there’s something else i kinda want to do before i go.” jisung hums, drawing your attention to his face. “what?” you question innocently which in itself makes the ghost smile.

“well,” he begins, suddenly nervous and blushing under your gaze, “when i was alive,” you nod, encouraging him to continue, “i never got to have a proper first kiss.” he quietens at the end slightly but what he’s saying is still clear as day.

“oh.”

you watch him shift in his seat, waving his hand in and out of the arm rest anxiously. “mr haunted spirit of the underworld, are you asking if you can kiss me?” you can’t help but tease the red cheeked boy, swirling your finger on your lap.

“i mean— you don’t—”

“i’d love for you to, jisung.”

your grin is suddenly matched on the boy’s face, a genuine smile that makes your heart pump even faster and this bittersweet feeling to settle in your stomach.

you stand up from your seat and he does the same, intertwining his fingers with yours and shuffling closer towards you. his gaze lingers on your lips for a moment before shifting towards your eyes. the way your irises glow in the morning sunlight something he wishes he could witness everyday. the way your cheek feels against the delicate touch of his fingertips, something he wishes he could experience everyday. “thank you.”

“for what?”

“for making me feel alive for the first time in all my eighteen years, dead and alive.” he confesses barely above a whisper, your hand shifting to cup the back of his neck.

he tilts forward, resting his forehead against yours, letting out a soft breath before closing gap completely.

his lips are plush, a soft velvet against yours. this heavenly feeling that makes you wonder whether he’s more of an angel than a ghost. the feeling has jolts of electricity sparking through every nerve of your body and you wonder if he feels it too. you do your best to savour each second of the kiss, letting yourself indulge in the moment.

hoping to imprint it in your memory for ever.

when you pull back, you’re met with nothing but the rays of sun indicating that dawn had come and jisung had gone.

you’re not sure what comes over you but there’s a gentle trickle of tears that escape your eyes. you were happy to have gotten to know him while you could, but it hurt knowing that you couldn’t do more.

you settle back in your chair after the realisation comes to you, dwelling over the questions you didn’t ask him. the most important being whether he’ll ever be able to come back.

you hoped he would.

and if not, you found comfort at least in knowing that he had still left his mark. from the hole now in your wall to the many memories you had to look back on.

even though you had never been one to believe in soulmates, you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering if that’s what you and jisung were. even if you roamed in different worlds, you couldn’t help but think you were made for each other. only hoping that in your next life you would finally get to be together.

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criminally--reid · 4 years

Text

Go Home, Spencer

Warnings: er smut? Fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk, yaknow; also not rlly edited n kinda rushed but like whatever :/

Pairing: spencer reid x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.2k (1,268)

(authors note at the end if ur down I guess. kinda important i guess i dunno)

_________________________________________

“Mmmh, j-jesus fuck! Nnng so- fuck! So fucking good. Holy shit-”

Buzz Buzz Buzz

An incoming phone call interrupts you. You pause your video and answer the call from Morgan telling you to check on Reid. He hadn’t been quite the same since he went through everything with the last couple cases. You slip on a t-shirt and shorts and hop in your car to head to the office.

“Everything okay, Spence?” He’s in the meeting room, whiteboards covered in chicken scratch, cork boards covered in pictures upon pictures of crime scene photos.

“No.. No it’s not okay. I- I- I don’t understand how I didn’t see it-”

“Wha- what are you talking about?”

He runs his hands up his face and into his hair as he storms off to the break room; me hot on his trail.

“I can’t believe I had the initial profile wrong. I was so certain I knew, but he killed again. I thought I had it right; thought I knew.”

“Spence, we caught the guy. It’s over-"

"We could have caught him sooner."

"Spence, it's done. It’s friday. You can go home. For once, stop profiling and enjoy yourself.”

“I can’t just stop profiling. It’s what I do all day, everyday. I’d have to turn my brain off to quit. Like right now, you’re eager to get home. Not to someone, but something. You’re a bit fidgety. radiating an insane amount of body heat. I’m guessing you were watching porn before Morgan called-”

“I didn’t ask you to start profiling me, Spencer, and how’d you know Morgan called?”

“Merely observation…and Derek’s always the one that calls.” he continues, stepping closer.

“Spence-”

“You told me to enjoy myself... I’m about to.” He steps even closer so his front is flush with mine. I have trouble meeting his stern gaze until he places two fingers under yourchin, forcing eye contact. “Tell me, Y/N, was I right?” I nod yourhead and look away. “Not talking now are we? Words.”

“Yeah, Spence, you're right.”

A grim smile creeps across his face accompanied by an almost sarcastic laugh; a mix between a scoff and a chuckle. “Spence? Seriously. I put so much effort and time; blood, sweat, and tears into earning a doctorate for everyone to call me Spence? Or spencer? Reid? No one respects my title, huh. I go above and beyond so I get the doctor respect, but still nothing.”

“I- no- of course we do. This team would be nothing without you. We- we know how hard you work, Spen-"

“Turn around.” you do as he says, turning around and gripping the edge of the large wooden table that sits in the middle of the room. He runs his hands up you back and around your neck, pulling your ear closer to his mouth. “What was it about?”

“Wha-”

“The video. What was it about?”

“Uh- i-it was, uhm, a- a boss and his uh employee..”

Spencer lets out a sinister yet somehow innocent laugh. “That excites you? You dirty girl. Is that something you think about a lot? Fucking whoever’s in charge of you at work?” You hesitate before slowly nodding your head. “I hope a co-worker can fulfill your fantasies.” He snakes his opposite hand down to plant a firm slap on your ass, eliciting a moan from your chapstick-coated lips.

He unwraveles his arm from around you and drops down to his knees behind you; taking your shorts down with him, revealing that you have no underwear on.

“No panties…” he whispers almost to himself. Excitement swells inside you as well as on the surface of your skin as he peppers open-mouthed kisses all over the back of your thighs, getting everso closer to your heat. He pries your legs open, and you let out slow, deep, shaky breaths in response. They soon become shallow - almost nonexistent - as he slip stwo fingers inside you. “So wet,” he snickers. He quickens his pace with each thrust, and you're a mess in no time.

“S-spencer,” you choke out.

Another harsh slap on your ass. “Who?”

“Dr. Reid.. please..”

“Please what?” He quickens his fingers, rendering you almost speechless.

“Fu-fuck me, Dr. Reid, please.’’

Immediately, he stops in his tracks and removes his fingers; an empty feeling washing over you. He stands up, his front flush with yourback and you can feel his bulge pressing up against your thigh, through his pants. “Open,” he says, and you part your lips allowing his fingers to dance inside, coating your tongue with your own juices.

“Good girl.”

You hear the sound of him undoing his belt followed by his suit pants hitting the floor. You spread your legs slightly, more than ready for him. The tip of his length makes contact with your slick folds and your insides tighten up automatically. “S- Doctor, please.”

“As you wish.”

He slips inside easily, and you feel full once again. He goes agonizingly slow; torturing you. Slow, long strokes, filling you to your hilt; then all the way out and back in again.

“Doctor Reid, faster, plea- ohmygod!”

“Shti! So fucking tight.”

The sound of his thighs hitting the back of your slick ones fills and echoes through the room. A harsh slap on your ass followed by a squeal adds to the audible pleasure. He removes his hands from your hips to tangle one into your hair and the other one snaking around your front to rub hellish circles on your clit. You collapse onto the table - putty in his hands; an absolute moaning mess. The knot that began before you got there returning full-force, threatening to unwind. You clench around his length, trying to hold back your orgasm and relish in the immense pleasure. But all too soon, the floodgates are threatening to open; aching for release.

“Mmh- you gonna cum for me?” Spencer breathes out from behind you, his pace ruthless and steady.

“Mmfuck, Spence- yes.”

His grip tightens in your hair, and he pulls your head back - ear level with his mouth as he lowly taunts, “How do we ask nicely?”

“Doctor Reid,, plea- fuck! Please.. Can I cum, please?- S-so fucking good. Spencer... please?”

“Cum,” he whispers in yourear; sending shivers down your spine. Almost instinctively, you clench around him and your juices explode. An uncontrollable, high-pitched cry leaving your mouth as anticipation finally reached its apex.

A few more strokes and Spencer pulls out and finishes on yourlower back, leaving you with an aching empty feeling once again. His hands falling on either side of you holding him up. Both of us panting like race dogs. He stands up - putting some space between you and him - allowing you to turn around and admire the sight in front of you: A wild Spencer, glistening with post-sex sweat, dressed in nothing but a haphazardly buttoned beige button-up, running his fingers through his sweat-dampened hair.

You both hurry to throw your clothes back on.

“So…” Spencer starts.

“That was.. -”

“Yeah, it was.” Spencer attempts to sputter out a sentence, and you both laugh at his failure.

“Listen, I- uh.. Okay,” you laugh. “Go home, pretty boy. Enjoy the rest of your weekend, and don’t even think about this place until Monday.”

He stands in front of you once again, your back up against the table, his hands lightly resting on your sides. “I think I’ve had enough fun in the last hour to last you the rest of the weekend. Given that, I’m obligated to come back tomorrow.”

“Jesus Christ, Reid.” you chuckle, and he joins in.

“Fine. Monday.” He places a kiss to your forehead, grabs his cross-body bag, and heads to the door. A quick wink, and he’s out of yoursight all too soon.

“Monday,” you whisper lowly to yourself, and smile like a total loon all the way back to your car.

○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°○°

a.n.: ok so like this isn't rlly edited but whatever I already said that akajak

the thing is, I have a few more of these already written (that I should actually prob look over n edit). But I cant decide if I should try harder to make them a series or not. The story lines VAGUELY run together, but like I references different seasons of spencer?? like does that matter ?? or? Maybe it could just be like an analogous series bcos the plots kinda make sense individually.. eye dunno bbies,, gimme ur opinion if ur reading this :)

Also,, lemme know ur opinion on the spacing. I feel like this.is too far apart, but i feel like if i dont double space or whatever, the words will get jumbled up and it'll be harder to read? It is for me at least.. lemme know what yall prefer

Ok so I made the spacing smaller. I feel like it's hard to read but maybe I'm just an idiot:/ lemme know uwu

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #cm #criminal minds #smut #fanfiction #x reader #self insert #mgg #matthew gray gubler #derek morgan #penelope garcia #jj jereau #jennifer jereau #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner #david rossi #jason gideon

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dweetwise · 4 years

Text

day 1: ouija board

prompt from: cocktober (don’t let the name fool you, this one’s very sfw!) pairing: felix x ace notes: some silly humor to kick off the challenge! warnings: none word count: 1300

”Honey, you’re not seriously doing this?” Ace asks, quirking an amused eyebrow as Felix, for some crazy reason, gets up to join the girls in their dumb little game.

“Why not?” Felix shrugs. “I’m curious to see who answers.”

“Wait wait wait,” Ace realizes. “You actually believe in that kind of crap?”

He eyes the worn, pathetic board that looks like something you’d buy right alongside other overprized spiritual crap like healing crystals and tarot cards. There’s a mismatch of symbols printed on the board’s edges, like someone was trying to shove all supernatural elements they could think of on it; there’s a few sigils, what looks to be Latin inscriptions, and even the Chinese zodiac.

All in all, it looks like a child’s game and not the paranormal relic the girls insist it is.

“Um, Ace,” Zarina starts, clearing her throat. “Are you saying you don’t believe in the paranormal? After everything we’ve been through?”

“Nothing weird about a demonic spider-god and being resurrected every other day, no sir,” Meg snarks.

“I didn’t say that,” Ace scoffs. “Just that there’s no such thing as ghosts. All that psychic powers, lingering spirits shit? A massive con—I should know.”

“I still think we should give it a shot,” Felix says, and Ace resists the urge to roll his eyes. He knows Felix is a little lacking in the street smarts department, having spent most of his life tucked away in comfortable luxury, but this is the first time Ace has seen him completely disregard common sense.

“Yeah, I didn’t go through the trouble of stealing it for nothing!” Nea insists, puffing up her chest and expecting even more cheers for having managed to nick the item from the Legion’s hideout.

“I think we’ll definitely get an answer. We know there have been survivors before us,” Zarina tries to rationalize as much as the idea of ghosts can be rationalized.

“Knock yourselves out,” Ace dismisses with a wave of his hand, lounging back against the log and preparing to watch the group make complete fools of themselves.

“Alright, let’s do this!” Meg announces when all of the four take their places on each side of the board and place their fingers on the wooden marker. “Who’s gonna ask the questions?”

“I think Zarina should do it!” Nea says. “I’d probably just piss the ghost off.”

“Alright,” Zarina says, taking a deep breath. And then, someone starts frantically moving the marker around.

“Wow, looks like a really angry ghost is possessing Meg’s hand,” Ace smirks.

“We’re warming up the board, dumbass,” Meg shoots back.

Jesus H Christ, Ace didn’t know there was a protocol to this kind of thing. It just makes it even more ridiculous.

“I think we’re ready,” Felix says, and everyone stops the marker.

“Are there any spirits present?” Zarina asks, and the way she stares at the board with a dead serious expression is almost enough for Ace to lose it.

The pointer, predictably, is still, until someone decides to slowly move it to “Yes”.

“It’s working!” Meg exclaims. “Come on, do another one!”

“Are… were you a survivor?” Zarina asks, hesitating a little bit.

Ace really wants someone to move the marker to the rooster zodiac symbol in the background so he can make a cock joke.

He’s out of luck, because the marker only spins in a slow circle, until someone pushes it to “No”.

“You…” Zarina starts, much more meekly than before. “Were you a killer?”

Someone yanks the pointer immediately to “Yes”.

“Shit,” Nea curses, eyes going wide.

“What do I do?” Zarina hisses to the group.

“Ask if—” Felix starts, but then quiets as the marker starts moving.

“L… E… T… M…” Meg’s eyes fly over the board as the marker moves. “E... O—” she gasps as it makes its way to the final two letters.

“’Let me out’,” Felix murmurs, and there’s a genuine fear in his expression that makes Ace do a double take. He’s really buying into this stuff, huh?

“We can’t do that,” Zarina addresses the board, having somewhat collected herself. She looks like she’s about to say more, but almost loses her grip on the pointer when it zips to “Yes”.

“Oh fuck,” Nea curses. Ace doesn’t think he’s ever seen the headstrong tagger look genuinely scared before, not since first arriving in the realm. Which one of them is controlling the marker?

“Ask what it’s after,” Felix urges Zarina.

“What do you want?” Zarina asks, her voice trembling just the tiniest bit. Shit, even the Ice Queen is scared? Meg is doing a fantastic job pulling the strings.

The marker goes crazy, frantically moving between letters, seeming to repeat a pattern that spells—

“’Kill’,” Meg gasps, retreating her hand as if burned, and it just keeps moving, almost like it’s possessed, and damnit, that means it’s not her doing it—

“Meg come on, we need all of us to bind it!” Nea says, and they’re all seeming to struggle with getting the marker under control, like it has a mind of its own.

“Quick, ask it something!” Felix says, an urgency in his voice as he addresses Zarina. Suddenly, Ace doesn’t want to know what happens if the marker manages to get free from their grasp.

“Who? Who do you want to kill?” Zarina nearly shouts, pressing down on the rogue game piece with both hands to get it under control.

Nea’s finger slips when the pointer flies across the board, landing on A and then moving to C—

Ace’s eyes go wide when he sees the violent spirit spell out his name on the board, his heartbeat suddenly thundering in his ears and no longer feeling safe at all, despite the familiar glow of the campfire and being surrounded by his companions.

And then it gets so much worse when Felix turns to look at him and his face blanches in fear, and Meg is doing the same, looking behind him and yelling out a warning—

“Ace!”

Cold hands emerge from the shadows and grab at him before he can turn around, and Ace shrieks and scrambles away, not about to let the ghost drag him to the void—

And then the ghost starts laughing in a very familiar manner and his companions are quick to join in, and Ace’s adrenaline-fueled brain finally allows him to turn to face his attacker and realize the fluffy-haired ghost looks awfully familiar.

“Steve,” Ace addresses the teen through gritted teeth.

“Oh man, you screamed like a girl!” Steve cackles, actually doubling over in laughter.

“I told you it’d work!” Nea snickers, elbowing Felix.

“Wait, you planned this!?” Ace screeches, turning to face his lover in accusation.

“Maybe,” Felix smirks like the infuriating bastard that he is.

“Remember the time you scammed me out of my skeleton keys?” Zarina asks with a sickly sweet smile.

“Or when you got that chest and let me die on hook?” Steve adds, still chuckling.

“Wait, you were all in on it?” Ace realizes.

“Payback’s a bitch!” Meg sing-songs, and Ace can’t help but be impressed at their coordination. It was a perfectly executed prank, and he can’t believe Felix managed to fool him so completely.

“You,” Ace demands, an accusing finger pointing at his lover. “You’d better make this up to me.”

“Of course, darling,” Felix smirks, and Ace resigns himself to his fate of seeing that smug little smile for at least the next couple of days. Felix walks up to him and places a cute kiss into his hairline, and Ace is maybe, maybe prepared to forgive him.

“I’ll protect you from the scary ghost,” Felix murmurs and when Ace snaps his head back to gape at him in offense, Felix has the audacity to laugh.

Since when has his boyfriend been such a little demon?

#riconti #cocktober #ace visconti #felix richter #dweetwrites #dbd #dead by daylight #dbd fanfic #felix x ace #prompt

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twinxyjinx · 4 years

Text

Stop Talking

Plot/Prompt: “Run!”

TW: mentions of dead body

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You can also read it here on AO3!

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It wasn’t obvious to Peter when he crept into that abandoned building that he was going to find himself in a bad position moments later. All he knew was that he heard someone yelling for help and that now he was investigating the source of the sound. That being said, some outside surveillance might’ve been a lot more helpful. He had no idea about the layout of this building or what he was getting into. For all he knew, his super-hearing might’ve just picked up on some television show.

He pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes as he quietly slipped in through a window. The house was rather small. From where he had entered, he was in the living room and could see the kitchen, front door, and a hallway leading away to what he presumed to be the bathroom and maybe a bedroom. The paint on the walls was cracked and peeling off. Corners of the house were litters with cobwebs that stretched between the walls.

From what it looked like, the house must’ve just been abandoned out of nowhere. The furniture was still there. He could see the remote for the television resting on the arm of the couch. In the kitchen, there were three plates set on top of a table with three chairs surrounding the table. One of the chairs was partially pulled out while the other two were pushed towards the table. A few cabinets were hanging open just barely, showing more dishes and cups left untouched.

“Karen… Can you call Mister Stark?” he whispered, sliding his feet across the wood floor as he crept along. “Contacting Mister Stark now. Would you like me to put him on a call?” Karen hummed as Peter warily stepped past the couch towards the hallway. “Yeah, yeah… if he’s busy with something important, it can wait. Just… get him on the line whenever you can.” He responded, peering into the hallway.

He frowned, slowly stepping into the hallway. He had come into the building to investigate what he had assumed to be a cry for help… but now there was no voice at all. Was his mind playing a trick on him? “Uh… hello? Anyone there?” He called out hesitantly, taking slow and careful steps down the hall. “I’m not here to hurt you… I heard you call for help and I came to check on you. Can you make a noise again?” He cleared his throat, falling silent.

Then there was a crack.

His senses suddenly stabbed at his feet icily. Before he could move, the floorboards beneath him gave a groan and broke. The wood crunched as he plummeted down, shards and splinters flying everywhere. A yelp rose in his throat as he fell, only to be abruptly cut off when he hit the hard ground. He groaned, closing his eyes and exhaling shakily. “That’s gonna leave a mark…” He whispered to no one in general.

He let himself lay there for a moment before shakily pulling himself into a sitting position. Looking around, he couldn’t see anything right away. On the floor above, he had street lights to partially illuminate the insides of the house. In the basement, however, there was no source of light to show him his surroundings. “Karen? Night vision?” He asked, slowly climbing to his feet.

“My sensors were damaged during your fall. It may take a moment for me to assist you.”

“That’s fine. I can wait a minute or two.” Peter muttered, brushing himself off. He began to pat his arms and sides down, feeling around for any shards of wood. He hissed in pain when his hand brushed over his thigh, though he didn’t feel any shard. It must’ve just been sore from the fall or maybe he pulled a muscle. He mumbled a few incoherent words under his breath, looking around. “Any luck?”

“I’m afraid not. However, Tony Stark is calling.”

“Put him through for me.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck, glancing up. The hole in the floorboards must’ve been a good eight feet up. It wouldn’t be hard to get out of here seeing as how he had his webs and that there were probably stairs. “Kid! How’re you doing this fine evening?” Tony’s voice made him jump, a startled noise leaving him. “A- woah.. Uh… yeah, no. I’m good.” Peter cleared his throat. “Uh… you got my location. Right?”

“...what’d you do now?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Peter leapt to defend himself. “I heard someone yell out for help and I went into this creepy abandoned house, right? And everything was just left how it was as if the people living here up and vanished out of thin air. And then I was looking around and I fell through the floor into a basement and Karen is working on getting me some night vision- but that’s not the point.” He paused to take a breath. “Can you do some background information on where I’m at?”

“Yeah… I’ll get you some intel.” Tony sighed, and Peter could practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose. “One day you’re gonna stumble across something you don’t like, kid. I don’t mean to sound like a mom, but you gotta be careful before you just go prancing into some abandoned house.” He chastised. “Besides… maybe you just heard something from a neighbor’s show.”

“That’s what I thought! But-” Peter was cut off by his vision flickering. He fell silent, squinting his eyes as everything slowly swam into view in a green hue. “I just got night vision.” He announced. There was some clapping from Tony’s end followed by sarcastic praise. “Once again, spiderling prevails.” Tony sang half-heartedly before breaking off. “On the note of the house you’re in, there’s actually some shield documents on it. I’m still reading on it but-”

“Stop talking.”

“Excuse me?” Tony sputtered, voice sharp. “I said stop talking.” Peter repeated, tensing up as he slowly shuffled forwards towards a room. There was a strange… clicking noise coming from in. It almost sounded like a voice that got cut up into different clips of sound mixed with radio static. He narrowed his eyes, biting his bottom lip as he slowly approached the frame of the room.

“Kid.”

“Oh my god.” Peter whispered, reeling backwards. With his night vision, he was barely able to make out a hunched over shape with jagged, curved plates lining its spine. It resembled a wolf that was much bigger and skinner. It’s ribs jutted out sickeningly while its stomach curved into its body. It’s neck was long and led to the head. The head itself was hidden for a moment, as it’s back was turned towards Peter. It’s tail was thin and snaked out behind it, twitching across the ground every now and then.

“Peter-”

“Tony what is-” Peter broke off as the creature stilled. Slowly, it raised its head and turned towards him. His stomach did a flip and an icy wave of terror surged over him. Staring back at him was what appeared to be a human’s head with a wolf skull on top of it. Large antlers jutted out from the top, spiraling and twisting. But what made Peter take a trembling step backwards was the sight of the crumpled body it held in its forepaws. “Tony-”

“Run kid!”

Just as Tony said that, a horrible shriek split the air. Peter scrambled backwards. His movements were uncoordinated, terror sending his body into overdrive. He backpedaled back to underneath the hole and raised a hand, aiming it at the ceiling on the first floor. A snarl melted into a voice screaming for help met his ears, but he didn’t dare look down at what was coming. He squinted his eyes shut and shot a web. A moment later, he was being pulled up hastily.

He jerked to the left as a rush of air brushed past him, and he could only assume that thing was reaching for him. The moment he was back on the floor, however, he made a quick dash right for the window he crept in through. He had almost made it too when there was a scrabbling sound beneath him. His senses screamed at him once more and then there was a deafening crash as the wood beneath him burst upwards. A startled cry rose in his throat as the creature burst upwards, swiping nasty claws at him.

“Hold on, kid- hold on!”

Peter reeled backwards as the thing lunged at him, human jaw snapping as teeth clacked against each other. He veered back once again as it swiped at his head, a startled yelp leaving him as he tumbled over the back of the couch. A mournful moan resognated in the creature’s chest as it slowly crept around the couch, head twitching. A twisted cry for help crackled in its throat as it slowly approached him in a drawling manner. Desperately, he scrambled backwards across the floor until he bumped into a wall.

His breathing quickened as it drew closer, movements frantic as he kicked his legs out helplessly. He shook his head as it took a step closer, chest rattling with what almost sounded like laughter. And it was then that it hit Peter. It was teasing him. This thing was taunting him and terrorizing him before it killed him. “Oh my god oh my god oh my god.” He frantically cried, shaking his head in a distraught manner. Nonononono-

And suddenly, the creature shrieked and fell to its side twitching.

Peter stared, shoulders trembling as his chest heaved up and down. There was a humming followed by a crack as the front door burst open, revealing a red and gold suit. There was a pause before he heard Tony’s voice; this time it wasn’t over the phone. “Jesus Christ, kid! What is wrong with you?” He practically snarled, hurrying over to get to Peter’s side. Still trembling, Peter didn’t respond.

“You could’ve shot some webs at it or at least-”

Tony broke off when Peter suddenly reached for his mask and ripped it off, gasping for air. He choked on nothing, coughing and heaving and curling in on himself. His eyes were wide and every part of his body was trembling when the boy actually responded. “Oh my god I- it was taunting me and- and it was going to kill me. Oh my god oh my fucking god I-”

“Woah, woah, woah… calm down bud… Take deep breaths for me.” Tony waved his hands in front of Peter’s face, bringing his attention to him. He inhaled and nodded, beckoning Peter to do the same. After a moment, Peter inhaled shakily. Following this, Tony exhaled slowly and so did Peter. “Just keep breathin’ for me… okay? Nice, deep breaths.” Tony nodded, patting Peter’s shoulder gently. ��Sit tight for a minute.” He murmured before standing up and slowly turning around to look at the creature… only to find it had vanished.

He frowned, staring at where the body had been just moments ago when Peter laughed shakily.

He looked back at Peter who was smiling nervously. “Oh my god I told you to stop talking.” He whispered in a tone that was either awestruck or horrified. Snorting, Tony rolled his eyes and folded his arms. “Yeah… you did, kid. You did.”

#whumptober2020 #no.9 #Run!#marvel cinematic universe #Iron Man #spider man #writing #peter parker #tony stark #iron dad #spider son #Irondad and Spiderson #spiderson and irondad #notwendigo #horror

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not-safeforsanders · 4 years

Note

4. In costume and 10. Distracting the other with sex with logicality? Patton trying to get Logan to fuck him?

Explicit Content; 18+ ONLY. Minors do not interact with this post or this blog.

Ship: Logicality

Notes: oops I strayed a little from the prompts but I just have a niche interest in Patton being all sweet and innocent and then just reaching his “Oh fuck this” limit and making out with Logan.

Patton had been playing it safe for about three years now, complaining loosely that Logan either really cannot see that Patton wants him, or is pointedly ignoring that fact. Roman had suggested maybe just telling him upfront how he feels, but when Patton had told Logan he loved him, the other had taken it platonically and replied with “Yes, of course,”

So Patton stopped taking Roman’s advice. He might be the romantic but he’s not Logan, none of them can quite predict the logical side’s reaction to these things, or most things really.

Then one evening, as Patton is getting ready to go to bed after cleaning up, Remus appears and seats himself on the kitchen counter. “I heard you’re having relationship problems,” He grins, leaning his head on his hand as he stares a little too pointedly at Patton. Patton who is going to kill Roman for being unable to keep his mouth shut. “Don’t panic too much, I’m here to help, if not because debauchery is my expertise then because it’s absolutely pitiful to see you pining after Logan,”

“There’s nothing you can help me with Remus,” The moral side sighs, cleaning up a little faster in need to get away from the other. “Whatever you have planned I want no part in,”

“Oh come on Patton,” Remus snorts, jumping down off the kitchen counter to block the other from moving past. “Are you going to tell me, seriously, that you don’t lie awake in bed at night thinking about him? Wishing he was-”

“Nope!” Patton cuts him off, covering his ears “We’re not talking about this, not happening, stop it it’s...perverted!” Remus only laughs/

“I can only advise you Patton, maybe romance isn’t Logan’s language, but he has eyes, and a dick, and he’s logic, try making him an offer he truly can’t refuse,” And then he’s gone. Patton doesn’t think about what he said, doesn’t want to think about it; he’s not exactly the epitome of sexual attraction or romance for that matter; that’s why they have Roman and Remus, after all.

He doesn’t think about it until he’s lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, wondering what Logan’s hands would be like on his body; would his touch be the same as he is? Calculated and focused? Would his hands feel as cold as he sometimes appears?

And when he wakes up the next morning in a sweat, he decides he might take Remus’ advice after all.

He doesn’t ask Remus for his help, because knowing Remus he’d end up hating every second of it, but he does go back to Roman and tell him his plan. “You want to...seduce Logan?” His voice goes to a slightly higher pitch, possibly out of surprise because this is Patton. Sweet, innocent Patton. “I’ll see what I can cook up for you I guess,”

It doesn’t take more than a few minutes for Patton to be wearing a new outfit. “Why is it always a skirt?” the moral side sighs.

“Because you look good in a skirt and it’s easy access,” Roman shrugs, Patton splutters in response. The skirt is rather modest, it ends just above his knees and is a light blue, matching the light blue backless top that’s tucked into its waist. Roman makes a humming noise and clicks his fingers, and the elder finds a crown of flowers in his hair, staring in the mirror he swallows dryly. He doesn’t quite know how to feel about so much of his legs being on show, it’s something he’s usually very unused too. Yet, he does know he looks good. He wouldn’t really say this is a seductive outfit, but it certainly feels more confident than his usual clothes. “I guess now you just need to go and flirt with him,”

“Yeah,” Patton murmurs, sliding his glasses up his nose before freezing up slightly “How do I do that again?”

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Roman curses, shaking his head, gesturing towards the bed “Come on then,”

After about an hour of lessons on how to flirt, Patton finds himself stood outside Logan’s door, staring at the dark blue paintwork with shaking hands. He stands there for a few minutes, half talking himself out of it, to just turn around and keep his mouth shut. The fear of rejection is making him feel like he’s suffocating; but is that worse than God knows how many more years of sitting in silence, waiting?

He pushes the door open and steps inside. Logan looks up from his desk and offers a small smile “Patton, good evening,” He looks back at his work, tapping away at his computer before turning his chair around to look up at the elder. Patton doesn’t miss the way Logan’s eyes study him for a second “You look good, special occasion?”

“O-Oh, no, I just...felt like it,” He feels silly, scratching at the inside of his bare arm for a second “I...” He steps forward towards Logan, stumbling over his words as he goes to lean against the desk “I wanted to talk to...oh dear,” He knocked Logan’s stapler off the desk in the process of trying to lean against it and turns around to bend over and pick it up.

Logan stares a little at the way the skirt rides up, shifting in his chair and looking away. By the time Patton’s placed it back on the desk, he’s managed to regain his composure. Somewhat, Patton studies Logan for a second, taking in the flushed cheeks and put two and two together. “I was wondering if...you would like some company?” Patton takes a deep breath as he finishes speaking, his hands fidgeting a little “You’re always up here alone and I get...worried,” He moves a little closer, Logan doesn’t move away, looking up at his friend.

“I’m quite alright Patton, I assure you,”

“But are you?” The other asks softly “Don’t you ever get a little lonely?” He sits down on the desk, leaning back on his hands with that innocent expression on his face. Logan watches the other’ mannerisms, finally cottoning on that Patton is behaving strangely. Or at least differently.

“I don’t tend to notice,” Logan replies, his tone gentle and a little confused “I don’t understand why this has become an issue now,” Patton sighs a little “I really do need to get this work done though, or Thomas won’t have a script for the next video,” The elder slides off the desk and decides to give up on being coy.

“What’s more interesting, the video or me?” He asks with a little more edge than usual, folding his arms across his chest. Logan stammers, but doesn’t respond. Patton can feels years of exhaustion boiling out of him by now, as he approaches Logan, leaning his hands on the chair, their faces inches from each other “Well?”

“You,” Logan breathes, his heart hammering in his chest as his tongue darts out over his dry lips.

“Correct,” And then Patton’s lips press to Logan’s firmly and forcefully, feeling the younger’s lips part as his hand comes up to the moral side’s cheek. Patton feels like he’s wasted enough time, years of it in fact, as he crawls into the other’s lap, skirt riding up. He takes Logan’s hand in his own and slides it up the back of his skirt.

The logical side has absolutely no idea what is happening or where this came from, but he moans into the kiss as Patton’s hips rock against his own. He lets Patton take the lead, having no qualms with where this may or may not lead as the other’s fingertips thread through his tie, undoing it quickly and letting it hang around his neck. Patton pulls away to unbutton Logan’s shirt, pressing kisses and quick little bites to the skin of his neck, then collarbones, enjoying the way his partner arches into the contact.

Patton moves back a little to undo Logan’s pants, their lips rejoining. “Are you okay?” Patton asks gently, their lips still brushing against each other. For once he seems to have rendered Logan speechless, as he only nods slightly in response.

It feels a little like a dream, the weight of Logan’s cock in his hand as he strokes it teasingly, feeling Logan moan into the kiss, hips shifting into his touch. Patton feels like he’s going to actually just pass out if the other doesn’t fuck him soon, he slides off of Logan’s lap to drop his underwear before he kneels next to the other’s lap, sinking down slowly on his cock.

Logan rests his head on Patton’s shoulder, a strangled sound passing over his lips whilst his hands fall to Patton’s hips, gripping firmly whilst letting the other man have all the control.

And Patton does take control, guiding Logan’s hand to his own cock as he tilts the other’s face up to face his own, leaning down to kiss him softly, resting his forehead against the younger’s. “This is what I meant when I said I love you,” He muttered “You just never seemed to get it,” Logan kisses him softly, too soft for the way he’s stroking Patton’s cock.

“I’m told sometimes you need to spell things out for me,” He chuckles between kisses, his breath fanning out over Patton’s lips. “I think this is...fairly clear,” he sounds a little breathless as he talks, words catching with sharp inhales as Patton’s thighs ache from the strain. Suddenly all the rush and whirlwind seems to die down, Logan long since forgotten about his work, as Patton cups his face and kisses him firmly.

So instead they just take a little time, Logan in understanding the way his heart hammers in his chest and the feeling of having someone so close; and Patton with fulfilling fantasies he’d tried to push away for so long. Eventually they’ll move off that chair and Logan will relieve Patton of the ache in his thighs to lie him down and fuck into him like his life depends on it. Eventually, Patton will writhe and gasp and moan under the other’s lips and teeth and tongue (His hands are so warm, but his other assumptions had been correct in the way Logan takes him apart).

Eventually they’ll both collapse on the bed, a little tired and a little sweaty but grinning at each other with a calm feeling.

#not safe for sanders #ask #Anonymous

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saxxxology · 5 years

Text

Love Will Triumph

After a hunting incident leaves Y/N riddled with deep scars all over her body, it takes a Winchester to finally draw her out of the shell she's confined herself in.

PAIRING: Sam Winchester x Native American!Reader

WORD COUNT: ~2900

WARNINGS: scars (not self-harm), body insecurity, smut, oral sex, crying during sex (in a good way), rough sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, fluffy stuff.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Written for @atc74’s Fierce Females in FanFiction Challenge. My line was: She has been through Hell, so believe me when I say, fear her when she looks into the fire and smiles. It was edited by @crispychrissy - please heed the warnings and enjoy!

Buy Sam’s scent from my Etsy shop

Access all work early on Patreon for just $3

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

Sam’s alone at Jody’s. Dean’s taken her and the girls out for a night at the local fair, so Sam’s alone with a book and a beer in the guest room, just how he likes it. It’s late, almost nine, and he doesn’t expect anyone to be back for another couple hours.

He starts when he hears the front door unlock, open, and close. There’s no laughing between Dean and Jody. No bickering among the two teenagers who are constantly at each other’s throats. His gun rests on the nightstand, and he quietly slips out of bed, checking the safety on the firearm before moving out into the hallway. Jody’s house is warded down to the frame, so it can’t be anything remotely supernatural.

Maybe a burglar thinking the house is empty.

He sneaks down, his feet silent on the carpet. The lights are off, save for the nightlight plugged in by the front door. There’s a figure by the door, petite and slender. Sam realizes the person must live here when they shrug off a heavy jacket and hang it on the coat rack.

“Who’s there?”

It’s a girl.

“I said, who’s there?”

“What’re you doing here?” He asks gruffly, not lowering the gun, “what do you want?”

“I live here, dipshit,” she retorts, “this is Jody Mills’ house, right?”

He still doesn’t lower his weapon. “What’s your name?”

“Tell me yours first.”

“Sam Winchester,” he replies. “Now. Your name.”

He can hear hear booted feet hitting the carpeted floor. He hears her sniff, and then the thud of glass hitting the coffee table. Whiskey, it sounds like. “I know that name. Jody’s talked about you.”

“Name. Now.”

“It’s Y/N,” she replies, a little louder than he expects, “Jesus Christ, relax a bit, I just stay here occasionally.”

Sam turns the safety off on his gun.

“Were you gonna shoot me?”

“No.” Sam responds almost too quickly. “No, I, uh, I just heard the front door open. My brother, Jody, they’re all out, so… can’t be too careful.”

He reaches for the lamp, searching in the near darkness for the switch.

“Don’t turn that on,” the girl says sharply.

Sam furrows his brow, even though she can’t see him. “What?”

“Don’t turn it on,” she repeats, her voice stiff. “Just… go back to bed. Everything’s fine.”

He straightens up, rolling his shoulders back as he hears the couch springs squeak slightly. It’s strange, this woman who doesn’t want him to see her? But she’s got keys to the house, Jody knows her… maybe she’s just a runaway.

“Okay.” He backs off, the gun now handing uselessly in his hand. “Uh… goodnight, I guess.”

A sharp hum is the only response he gets. He retreats down the hallway, heading all the way back to the guest room. Just to be safe, he closes the door all the way; Dean still needs to get in, but he’ll hear the squeaky doorknob in case the suspicious girl in the living room tries anything.

In the morning, he’s woken up by Jody knocking on the half-open door. He can smell waffles and bacon almost immediately, and his stomach grumbles. Dean’s passed out on the pull-out couch, snoring loudly.

“Hey, breakfast is ready,” Jody whispers, “the girls are up, you should grab something before they demolish it all.”

Sam sits up, yawning hugely as Jody heads back down the hallway. He throws his legs over the side of the bed, stretching his arms over his head as he rises. Dean grumbles something in his sleep and rolls over, and Sam quietly pads out of the room, intent on not waking him.

He’s just passing the bathroom when the door swings open and a girl walks out. She stops when she sees him and closes her eyes, almost as if she’s expecting him to strike her or recoil in some way.

The reason for her reaction is evident. Three long, pale scars rake down the left side of her face, disfiguring her forehead, cheek, and the upper part of her neck. Her lower lip is pulled down slightly, but it doesn’t make her any less beautiful.

“Hey,” Sam tries to keep his voice level, but the sudden shock of seeing remnants of what must have been horrific injuries makes its way into the following words. “G-good morning.”

She huffs and walks past him, pulling the hood of her sweater over her head as she strides into the kitchen. He hears Jody greet her enthusiastically, and then the clank of a plate on the wooden table.

“...gonna eat outside,” he hears her saying. He enters to find her piling bacon, sausage, and pancakes onto her plate. Claire’s pointedly staring at her own plate while Alex leans against the counter, cradling a mug of coffee in her hands. “Too many people.”

She makes eye contact with Sam before turning away and heading out the back door. Sam inhales nervously and flexes his fingers by his sides, nodding at Alex when she raises her cup in a silent ‘good morning.’

“It’s just us,” Claire scoffs, “how are four people too many?”

“Hey,” Jody scolds, “Y/N’s different, Claire, you know that.”

The teenager rolls her eyes, but relents.

Sam silently fills his plate and pulls out a chair, careful to make sure he can see Y/N’s back as she sits down on the stairs to the deck. Claire, attentive as always, glances over her shoulder.

“Why are you staring at her?” she asks.

Sam shakes his head. “I’m not staring.”

“Now you’re blushing.” Claire’s lips curve into a mischievous smile. “Sam’s got a cru-ush…” she sings.

Jody chuckles when Sam’s cheeks turn a deeper scarlet. “Sam, she’s a sweet girl, she’s just a little rough around the edges.”

Breakfast continues until the girls are running late for school. Jody shoos them out the door before coming back into the kitchen to help Sam with dishes.

“Just a bit rough, huh?” Sam chuckles and looks over his shoulder at Y/N, who’s still outside and meticulously picking over her meal. “She was givin’ me the death stare in the hallway.”

Jody’s quick to respond. “It’s not you, Sam, she’s got a real bad history.”

“Monster?”

Jody shakes her head. “Got attacked by a Hellhound a few years ago, nearly died. Took six hunters to kill the damn thing. Those scars are all over her body, ‘s why she keeps herself all bundled up.”

Sam’s heart pangs. “How?”

“Don’t know. Thing was rogue, or something, nobody knows.” Jody dries her hands and leans against the counter. "She’s been through hell, Sam,” she murmurs, “believe me when I say fear her when she looks into the fire and smiles."

***

TEN MONTHS LATER

“Sam, can we please take it slow?”

Y/N’s standing in Sam’s hotel room, dressed in only her leggings and a long-sleeved tee shirt. It’s as close to naked as she’s ever been with him, and she’s not completely sure she’s ready. Sam’s in front of her, stripped down to just a pair of black Saxx briefs.

“Baby, you know I’m not gonna be turned off,” Sam murmured, taking her hands, “I’ve seen most of them before.”

“I know, but not all of them at once.” Y/N shifted her weight anxiously. “Sam… you don’t have to pretend to not give a shit, I know I’m ugly.”

“Stop that.” Sam cups her face, feeling the soft lines of her scars under his palm. “Don’t say that. If I really thought that I wouldn’t have tried so hard to get you to trust me.” He leans down, kissing her gently. “You’re beautiful.”

Her skin flushes at his words, and she swallows nervously. “Can we… um… dim the lights?”

He nods quickly. “Whatever you need.”

She turns off the overhead light, then the bathroom one, and clicks on the small lamp on the bedside table. When she comes back to stand in front of him, she allows him to slip his fingers underneath her shirt and lift up. She’s not wearing a bra, and he can just barely see her nipples in the dim light.

“God,” he breathes, sitting on the edge of the bed and running his hands up and down her sides. Her scars litter her body, barely allowing him to feel unmarked skin before showing up under his touch. “Come here, baby.”

He pulls her leggings and panties down her thighs, finding larger areas of smooth, warm skin. When she’s naked, he grabs handfuls of her delightfully round ass and pulls her onto his lap, letting her straddle him. She gasps, and he muffles the sound with a warm, wet kiss.

“Ir really doesn’t bother—?”

Sam drags her hips along the growing bulge in his boxers. “Does it feel like it bothers me?” He captures a nipple between his lips, earning himself a soft moan as he swirls his tongue. “You’re smooth in all the right places, baby.”

Her voice is high, but he can still hear the tension when she speaks. “Like where?”

Sam flips her onto her back, eagerly kissing down her scar-covered stomach until he’s kneeling on the floor, his head between her thighs. “Here,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the top of her thigh, right next to her pussy. “All over here, baby.”

Y/N trembles when his breath ghosts over her clit, and then arches her back when his tongue slides through her folds. “Oh my God…”

Sam only hums in reply and slides his hands up the backs of her thighs, pushing her knees back and spreading her open for him. Her fingers slide shakily through his hair, and Sam wraps his lips around her clit, closing his eyes and embracing the taste and feel of her on his tongue.

“Oh, Sam,” she moans, “yeah, right there.” She whimpers louder when Sam lets out a low growl, the sound making its way deep into the most primal part of her.

“You taste so good,” he praises, kissing the lips of her cunt. “Could eat you all night long.”

She wiggles her hips, enticing him. “I want you in me.”

“Gotta make you cum first,” he says, his voice thick with lust, “wanna make you cum first.”

Y/N lets out a whine when Sam covers her pussy with his mouth, his tongue working magic on her sensitive pussy. “Fuck, Sam…”

Sam can hear her voice growing higher, more throaty and strained. She’s close, and he quickens the speed of his tongue, his jaw tense with the effort of getting her to climax as soon as possible.

She cums with a loud cry, a sob ripping from her chest as her entire body quakes with pleasure. Sam continues his ministrations until she’s pushing his head away, her legs going limp as he crawls over her.

She’s crying, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes as she covers her mouth with a shaking hand. Sam’s heart skips a beat, and he concernedly runs his fingers over her cheek.

“Baby?”

She shakes her head, reaching for him. “I’m okay,” she gasps, “it was… just…”

“Intense,” he finishes for her, “it’s okay, I got ‘cha. C’mere.”

He kisses her carefully, making sure she’s receptive to the taste of her slick on his lips as he drapes his body over hers. When she winds her arms around his shoulders, he reaches down, shoving his boxers down and letting them drop to the floor before lifting her up and dropping her further up on the bed.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” he whispers, rutting his cock through her folds. She whimpers when it twitches in interest, and Sam lines himself up, watching her expression as he presses in. She winces at the stretch, but relaxes when Sam murmurs her name soothingly.

He slides home in a single smooth thrust. She wraps around him like hot, wet silk, and Sam almost loses it when his name leaves her lips in a long, soft whimper.

His first thrust causes both of them to groan in sync, and Sam holds himself over her on shaking arms so he can watch every move of her body. Her hair billows out underneath her, framing her scarred face like a halo, and he drops his head to her throat, following the soft lines of those marks with his lips until he finds a nipple and latches on.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasps, her voice jolting and broken with the force of his thrusts. “Fuck, Sa-am…”

“Yeah.” Sam grinds closer to her, grinning when he can feel her clit on the bare skin at the base of his dick. “You feel so good, baby, so soft.”

He changes the angle of his thrusts, angling for the top of her pussy, and her nails dig into his arms when he finds what he’s looking for. Her sob catches in her throat, and Sam braces himself up as he pistons his hips harder, faster, until tears of pleasure are rolling down Y/N’s cheeks.

“I’m cumming,” she whimpers, “I’m cumming...!”

Her entire body locks up when she orgasms for the second time. Sam slows his thrusts, looking down in amazement as she gushes over his dick, soaking her inner thighs. When she goes limp, he pulls out, grunting as another small trickle of slick squirts onto his dick.

“You okay?” he asks, watching her slowly regain some control of her breathing.

She nods tearfully, wiping her eyes and sniffing. “Yeah, I just… God, just keep fucking me.”

Sam nods, kissing her deeply as he pushes back in. When he starts thrusting this time, she’s even tighter, wetter, and his hips smack dully against her ass as he fills her over and over again.

“Fuck,” she sobs, “fuck, Sam, fu-uck…”

She grabs his face and kisses him, trying to keep herself grounded as he pounds away inside of her. She hasn’t been touched this way since before the attack, and Sam’s… intense. He’s a beast of a man, grunting and growling while muttering praises like “that’s it” and “good girl, baby” at the same time. It’s barely been ten minutes and he’s made her cum twice, more than any man before had even been able to complete.

And when his fingers trace over the scars that litter her entire body, when he grinds his torso down against hers hard enough to feel the texture of them on his own skin, she realizes that he’s not just a man looking for someone to fuck when he needs to blow off steam or when he’s drunk.

Sam loves her.

“Oh my God—” she cums one more time, fighting the urge to burst into tears at the pleasure of it all. The orgasm surges over her, and Sam presses in deep, holding her down against the bed until she’s shuddering and gasping for breath underneath him.

“I love you.” She says the words without thinking. “I love you, Sam… I l-love you…”

He lifts his head to gaze down at her. His eyes bore into hers, and he wipes a stray tear away with his thumb. “I love you too, baby.”

Her legs lock around his hips, and she reaches for one of his hands. He takes it, entwining their fingers together. “Cum,” she tells him, her voice wrecked, “please, cum in me, Sam.”

He gives a short nod and rolls his hips, keeping his eyes open so he can see her face when he fills her. Her pussy hugs his cock, messy with slick and clenching with the aftershocks of her last orgasm. Their bodies are hot and sweaty and sticky and Sam loves every single bit of it.

It doesn’t take him much longer to cum. He pushes in deep, making his cock press against her cervix, and the first spurt of his release makes her tremble. He struggles to hold himself up, finally sinking down to support himself on his elbows.

He doesn’t know exactly when he stops cumming; it’s like a constant string of pleasure that’s being pulled until it finally runs off the spool. When he’s able to, he gathers the strength to lift his head and looks down at her.

“Hey,” he chuckles. “Y’good?”

She swallows, her eyes still watery. “Yeah. I just need… I need…”

Sam nods in understanding and wraps his arms underneath her, holding her close. “I got you, baby… I got you.”

He claims her lips in another deep, passionate kiss that almost makes her start to cry again. She swallows the knot of emotion and wraps her shaking arms around his neck, closing her eyes as Sam starts to kiss down her neck.

“I think…” he lets out a soft sigh against her collarbone, “we should shower and sleep, Dean wants to head out early tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Y/N shifts under him, prompting him to lean back and pull his cock from her. She moans when his cum drips down her ass, and Sam almost wants to plunge back into her and fill her up again.

They shower quickly, only taking enough time to get the grime of their lovemaking off their bodies before slipping underneath the covers. Sam pulls Y/N against him, tilting his head to give her a long, steady kiss.

“Sleep tight, baby.”

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#Angelina’s F3 Challenge #sam winchester x reader #challenge fic

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