#and I don’t even like the husband but there are lines ya don’t cross | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

silly-thinkings · 6 months

Text

Batmoms biggest "fan"

A small thing that I wrote and completed a long while ago. I decided to go back to school and I'm now getting the hang of everything. enjoy this story wherein- You (fem batmom reader) have a sort of fanclub. This fanclub however has the rest of the family on edge. and your sons do something about it :)

You frown as you took a bite of of your food. You were stood up… by your own husband of all people. At a nice restaurant that he chose.

For a mission that he won’t even tell you the details about. That of course didn’t stop you from indulging in the food and wine that you’ve eaten multiple times. The people around you looked at you with the occasional whispers in between. But you didn’t mind. In fact, with the way you were eating it might as well been a night for Y/N Wayne to be by herself.

The waiter approached the table with a sheepish smile “the bill Miss Wayne.”

You gave him a smile that make even those who despise you blush . You pull out your purse and place cash in the folder, followed by the Bruce’s black card. The server Looked at you confused.

“The black card is for the bill. The cash is your tip.” You say with a wink.

“F-five hundred dollars” he shook his head in disbelief “I can’t accept this.”

You tilt your head to the side “why not? Is it not enough?” You look at his name tag before your phone rang. “You’ve done an excellent job today Jared. Please, accept the tip.”

Jared slowly nodded his head as he return to the back. You check the caller ID and smile “hey hey bird. What’s up?”

On the other end was your second eldest Jason Todd. Slowly he’s been talking to you more as of late. Which brings you joy, the last thing you’d want is for any of your boys to cut you off of their life over Bruce’s actions. Lord knows how hard you try to have both your eldest socialize within the family.

“Nothing much. You free?”

You look around the restaurant “not necessarily. Decided to get some dinner.”

“Where B?”

“Out. He’s busy tonight.”

There was a pause on the other line “right…”

The waiter returned with the card and you signed the receipt . You grabbed your belongings and left the establishment. “So, when’s the next time I get to see you?”

Unbeknownst to you, the very son you were on the phone with stood atop the apartment across from the restaurant.

“I don’t know Ma. I’m on a very important case right now.” Jason said pressing a pair of binoculars watching you intently.

“Hmmm. Well don’t stay out for too long. Honestly, you and your father act the same way when you’re working in a case.”

Jason moved his binoculars slightly behind you. He noticed the waiter watching you from one of the restaurant windows whilst holding a pair of white gloves. Your gloves, you must’ve forgotten them.

“Uh huh. Text me when you get home. Stay safe Ma.”

You look down at your phone slightly shaking your head. You place the phone back into your purse before raises your had at the passing taxi’s.

~Meanwhile~

Jason continued to watch both you and the waiter. It was only after you getting into a taxi that he put all his focus on the man in the restaurant.

Jason heard some shuffling behind him causing him to roll his eyes “Ya know, if you just want a hug you can totally ask.” The man announced his presence with a preppy tone.

Jason grunted “go away Dickhead, I’m busy.”

“No, it looks like you’re stalking mom.” Dick crossed his arms “what are your doing Jay?”

“Working. What are YOU doing? Shouldn’t you be in bludhaven? Doing police work.” Jason quipped as he watched the waiter put Y/N’s gloves in his pockets before returning to work.

“I’m… also working right now.”

Jason finally turned to face his older brother “so you know.”

Dick nodded “Babs has mom’s taxi being traced as we speak. Tim is also tailing the thing.”

Jason took a deep breath before turning around facing the restaurant. Five months, as far as Jason knows, his mother Y/N Wayne has been stalked by a group for five months. And it only seems to be getting worse. Word around the streets is that there’s a twisted fan club. A fan club that is too infatuated with the lady of the Wayne household. And the only way a person can be initiated into the group is by meeting Y/N Wayne.

“Jay. I know you know Bruce is working on this case. Why not join him instead of doing it alone.”

Jason scoffed “please, Bruce will just put the mastermind in jail. And then what? Tell me, are you comfortable with mom having stalkers trying to get to her any chance they get?”

Dick didn’t respond, which cause Jason to laugh “exactly. That man did nothing when I died. I’m not taking that risk. Not when my Mom is involved.”

Jason noticed the waiter walk out of the establishment and hastily walked towards a dark ally. Jason put his helmet back on “if you want to help, stay out of my way.” Jason, dressed as redhood Jumped down from the building to follow the man.

Dick watched as his brother followed the guy.

“You know he’s going to need some backup right?” He heard Barbra in his ear piece.

“Maybe he’s hungry.” Dick flipped off the building befit grappling the next one. Following his brother.

~~~~~

You arrive to the manor and went straight to the cave. “Bruce! Bruce Wayne show yourself right now!” You yelled into the void it seemed. Bats fluttered about as your husband dressed as Batman turned in his seat. He got up and walked towards you

You pointed a finger at him “you stood me up.”

Bruce rose his hands in surrender “I can explain.”

“It better be good. Because ain’t no way I went to your favorite restaurant only to be looking like a goof ball all alone. The gossip news shows are going to have a field day with this one.”

Bruce didn’t say anything. How could he, on the one hand he’s been trying to figure out who’s actively hunting you down. While on the other hand, he did use you for bait. And that he’ll have no problem taking to the grave.

“Bruce, talk to me. You and the kids have been tense lately. Is the world ending again?” You ask stepping closer to Bruce. You knew his actions were for a reason, but after years of dealing with this kind of thing, it’s starting to bug you slightly.

Bruce finally felt defeated. “You remember Dom? Dom rosenbloom from highschool?”

You giggled “of course. I’ve always found him sweet. Wonder what he’s up to.”

“He’s stalking you” Bruce said bluntly.

Your mouth hung open shocked by the sudden declaration “what? H-how?”

Bruce takes your hand and walks you to the computer. He pulled up multiple videos of this man following you at every instance. Galas, work, the gym, even at the supermarket.

“Bruce. Why didn’t you say anything’s“ you gasped before slapping his shoulder “you used me as bait.”

Bruce smiled slightly. Your tone was most definitely playful given the situation. “I might’ve”

You squeezed Bruce’s hand making him face you. His armored chest rising and falling slowly. You look up into his eyes. He then returned the gesture by placing one of his gloved hands on your face. “On a serious note Honey. You’re in danger so lay low for me alright.”

You nod your head. Your fingers dancing along his chest “That’s still not an excuse to stand me up.” You say standing up on your tippy toes before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. You turn and began ascending the stairs. “I’ll be more carful from now on Bruce. Now… Could you at least join me in the bath~ I think that’ll make up for your silliness.”

Bruce looked at the time then back at you. “It’ll be my pleasure Mrs.Wayne”

~~~

Jason followed the waiter to a run down school. He loaded his gun before stealthily walking into the building.

“Rubber bullets?” Nightwing chirped beside him.

Jason swung his arm around pointing the gun at his brother “keep it up and I’ll use real ones. Just for you.” Jason scoffed “you’re a pain in the ass”

“Not as big of a pain at that one over there.” Dick pointed to the other side of the building. Damian dressed as Robin snuck in through a window before disappearing.

Stressed Jason put the gun away “Wheres his adult.” He said before the two followed the tween down the hall.

~~~

“My brothers! We are gathered here today to honor a priced relic. Mrs.Wayne’s gloves.”

A group of people gathered in the abandoned schools gymnasium. Y/N’s belonging from shoes, jewelry, even discarded hair products were put up on display. Ooo’s and ah’s can be heard from the crowd making Tim feel sick to his stomach. Before he hacked into the building lighting grid gunshots fired. Tim massaged his temple, there was only one other person he can think of that doesn’t have his kind of finesse.

“Alright. Which one of you is the leader?” Red hood parted the crowed of people as he pointed the gun at the man on stage.

Tim moved his head side to side before jumping down from his hiding spot. Knocking out one of the stage guards.

The man attempted to run on the other side but was stopped my a smaller Robin. Damian kicked the guard in the gut before crossing his arms.

The leader’s face turned red with embarrassment “What is the meaning of this. I , Dominic rosebloom will have all of you- ”

“Pfffft I’m sorry. Rose bloom? That’s your name.” Nightwing appeared from behind Redhood who still had the gun pointed at Dominic. “You were bullied weren’t you.”

Dominic opened his mouth to say something but Tim pulled out his laptop. “Actually yes. According to sources Y/n Wayne was his only friend throughout his high school years. Then uhh… Bruce Wayne stole her from him. Gross… anyway You guys didn’t know that?”

“Tsk what does it matter. Let’s settle this quickly. I have something important attend to.”

****

The sun shone through the silk curtains of your bedroom. Normally you’d wake up in bed alone but your husband laid next to you scrolling through his phone. He chuckled slightly before showing you what he was reading.

“Dominic RoseBloom found guilty for harassing and Stalking Mrs.Wayne”

The picture provided was a grown man left out in the open with heart underwear and a dunce hat on.

“No… who would humiliate him like that.” You say pressing a hand over your mouth.

Bruce look at the picture further, he noticed a green cape in the bottom of the photo “our children.”

#batmom #batmom reader #dc fanfic #jason todd #bruce wayne #dick grayson #tim drake #damian wayne

924 notes · View notes

justmeinadaze · 10 months

Text

Date Night: Roleplay (Steve X You)

A/N: I was watching Modern Family and that episode with Claire and Phil doing the role-play at the hotel gave me this idea lol

Warning: Married couple Steve Harrington and Fem Reader, SMUT, role-play, daddy kink, slight choking, dirty talk. FLUFF, these two are high school sweethearts with playful banter who love each other.

Word Count: 2748

Steve sat at the hotel bar after a long day at work slowly sipping on the drink the bartender gave him. His suit felt like it was sticking to him but the last thing he wanted to do at that moment was go home to change and go to bed. The strong smell of perfume filled the air and as he turned to see where it was coming from you sat down beside him ordering a drink with a confidence that made him swoon.

He couldn’t help but stare as you patiently waited. The little black dress you had on hugged your curves in a way that had Steve salivating. Your gorgeous high heeled foot swung as you crossed your legs together.

“Are you trying to be subtle? Because if you are, you are failing.”, you giggle as you flash him a sultry smile.

“I’m…shit. I’m so sorry. I’ve just never seen a more beautiful woman.”

The bartender hands you your martini as your smile grows. “I’ll tell my husband you said that.”

He blinks, silently giving himself a pep talk as he makes his move. “Well if you don’t mind me saying, your husband must be a moron.”

“Oh? What makes you say that?”

Steve leans in a bit closer to you and you try to control your eyes from rolling back at the sexy scent of his cologne and aftershave.

“Because if you were my wife, you’d never make it out of the house dressed like that because I’d rip it off your body and fuck you till you were screaming my name.”

His honey brown eyes watched you with amusement as your sexy smirk faltered a bit at his confession.

“Hm. Well someone is cocky. What IS your name?”

“Steve. Steve Harrington.” He reaches out to shake your hand and you provide him your own telling him your name as well.

“I knew a Steve Harrington in high school. He was a bit of an asshole.”

He chuckled and it comforted your nerves as a bit of his personality fell through. “Most Harringtons are, I’m afraid. Even I was a bit of a fucker in school.”

“What made you change?”

“My wife.” You blushed and he playfully craned his neck to follow your eye line as you tried to look away. “Uh huh. She was so beautiful inside and out. I knew after our first conversation I would do anything for her.”

“Then what are you doing at a hotel bar, Mr. Harrington?”

Steve obnoxiously sighs as he turns around and leans his elbows on the counter. “Oh, ya know. She’s too busy at home taking care of our three rotten children.”

“Oh, oh, okay.”, you laugh and he beams widely in your direction. “I’m sure they aren’t that bad.”

“What about you? Where’s your husband?”

“Probably at home fixing his hair in the mirror while our three ADORABLE children run around the house causing havoc.”

“I’m sure his hair is fabulous.”

He scoots his chair closer to you till his slack covered knees are pressed against yours. You both talk about trivial things as you continue to sip your drinks and exchange the occasional flirty touch. The urge to reach out and caress his face or run your manicured nails down his button-up shirt covered chest was killing you.

Steve knew you were struggling and it was making the bulge in his pants get bigger every time you readjusted your legs to rub your thighs together. A man in the lobby sat at the hotel’s piano and began playing a slow song that had you slightly swaying in your chair.

“Do you want to dance with me, Y/N?”

You smile as you nod and he tenderly takes your hand, helping you out of your chair, and leads you to the makeshift dance floor. As he placed his hands on your waist, you clasped your hands around his neck.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Just how glad I am that I met you.”, you answer. “What about you?”

“Same. I’m also…no. I shouldn’t say. I’m a respectful gentleman.”

“Uh huh.”, you giggle as he smirks. “How about we make a deal Mr. Harrington? How about from this point forward…” You pull him closer till feel his groin press against your body. “…you’re allowed to be completely disrespectful.”

Steve groaned slightly as his forehead leaned against yours. “I was thinking how sweet you probably taste between your legs. How bad I want to make you cum on my tongue in that sexy dress. I want to show a naughty girl like you things that your husband never could.”

Your hands almost roughly tug his lips to yours. “I have…a room…if you want to…”

He hastily nods and you grab his hand powerwalking with him towards the elevator. As soon as the doors close and you press the button for your floor, you jump into his arms, kissing his lips before he trails them to your neck and sucks on the flesh making you moan.

All too quickly, the elevator dings open and you both pry apart as you lead him towards your room.

As soon as the key clicks it open, you’re both tumbling through as your mouths mingle together. Pushing you against the wall, you tear at his shirt as his palm reaches between your legs to yank down your silky, lace underwear.

“I half expected you not to have any panties on.”, he chuckled, throwing them to the side.

“I have to make a bit of a challenge, Mr. Harrington.” Your hands fumble with his belt as he continues to kiss on your neck, letting out a humid breath against your skin when your palm makes it through the waistband of his boxers and rubs against his cock. “Fuck…so big.”

Steve grunts in pleasure as he takes a hold of your hips and lifts you onto a table near the front entrance.

“Are you sure you still want to taste me in this dress? Because I’m dying to feel your mouth on my body.”

“I’m a man of my word, honey, but how about we meet in the middle?” His lips attach to your throat again as his fingers yank down the top half of the fabric exposing your tits to his to tongue as it glides down your chest and plays with the erect nub. “Fuck, baby. The sounds you make are so fucking sexy.”

Steve descends to his knees, teasing you as he tenderly kisses along the inside of your thighs.

“C-Can I ask you something?” He responds with a gravelly hm as he gets closer to your core. “What’s your fantasy?” The man freezes as his beautiful eyes look up at you with confusion. “I mean…is there something you’ve always wanted to do with your wife that you felt like you couldn’t?”

Rising to his full height, he leans his hands on either side of you and you see the game you two are playing begin to recede from his gaze. “No, no, no Mr. Harrington. Come back to me.”, you coo in a loving tone. “I meant…for example…when my husband and I make love he whispers sexily in my ear all these dirty things and I just fucking love it.” Steve grins when you giggle. “I just sometimes wish…he’d take it a bit further. Not all the time but…just be a little…rougher with me. Fuck me. You know?”

He nods, his eyes looking past you for a moment before coming back to yours with a smile on his face that could make the devil blush. After kissing your lips again, he brings two of his fingers to your mouth and without hesitation you eagerly suck on them, running your tongue over the pads and around his knuckles.

“I love making love to my wife. She’s always so open minded about everything that I’m surprised sometimes. But…there is one thing…I’ve always kind of wanted to hear her say but I was nervous she’d think I was weird.” Sliding his fingers out of your mouth, he uses his other hand to grip the back of your neck as he thrust his two saliva coated digits into your entrance.

“Sometimes when I’m jacking off, I imagine her saying it and I just—fuck—I cum so hard.”

“What is it? Tell me, baby.”

You panted against his lips as his pace quickened ever so slightly. “I can fuck you the way you want to be fucked. I can give you want you need, sweetheart. Let Daddy take care of you.”

“Fuck me.”

His fingers moved so fast the sound of your slick echoed off the walls. Reaching for his wrist, you futilely tried to push his hand away as he made you cum. Your nails clawed at his chest as you tried to catch your breath.

“Please. Please, Daddy. I want to feel your mouth on my pussy. Please.”, you beg.

Steve practically growled at the name as he lifted you again and carried you to bed. “Mmm—come here, honey.” He positioned you till you were straddling his face and you mewled when his tongue licked a stripe through your folds up to your clit. “Fuck, Y/N. You taste so fucking good.”

Your eyes fluttered shut as he got lost in you, his tongue lapping at every part of your sex before wrapping his lips around your nub. Leaning back, your hand tried to reach for his cock but his pants were in the way. Steve felt you struggle and released his grip on your thighs to shuffle down his slacks enough to spring his length free without him having to stop devouring you.

Licking your palm, you stroked him as best you could from the angle you were in causing his moans to vibrate through your core.

“Y-yes, D-Daddy—fuck—don’t stop.”

His hips rutted up into your fist as his face pressed further inside of you. As the coil began to wind, your hands flew forward to pull on hair as your hips grinded against his lips. His long, muscular arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you to him as your body trembled and you came.

“Fuck…good girl, baby. Coming hard like that.”

You twitched on top of him as he placed tender pecks against your nub, carefully licking at your arousal as he continued to taste you.

When you finally let you go, you glided down his frame and pressed your lips to his.

“Fuck me…please…I need to feel you inside me.”

“Keep begging me like that, baby. I kind of like it.”

You both whimpered as your grinded your dripping pussy lips along his now extremely hard and leaking cock.

“Please, Daddy. Please fuck me. I need you to make me cum again with your dick. Please…”

Abruptly, he flipped you on to your back and lifted one of your legs over his shoulders. You whined as he continued to tease you, dragging his mushroom tip over your clit.

“You need Daddy’s cock, baby?” When you only nod, he abruptly leans forward and wraps his massive palm around your throat. His eyes continuously scan your face, fearing he may have taken it too far but when you moan and bite your bottom lip, it takes every fiber of his being to remain in control and not just cum right now. “Say it, honey.”

“I need your cock, Daddy. Please. I need you to stretch me open. Please—ahh my god…”

As you were talking, Steve gradually guided himself into your core, grunting at the feeling as your cunt clung to him and pulled him in. With a vigor you had never seen before, he roughly dropped your legs and wrapped them both around his waist as his entire body fell against you and he slammed his hips into yours.

Your fingers raked through his hair and down his back as he hid his face to the side of your own, whispering and groaning in your ear as his cock punched into every sensitive spot inside of you.

“Fuck, Y/N…your so fucking warm and wet…just leaking all over Daddy’s cock, baby. Yeah? That it? Is that the right spot? Mmm—Jesus—I love the sounds you make. You’re mine, honey. No one can take my cock like you can. No one feels as good as you do. I love you so much. Fuck…”

Your eyes rolled back as your pussy began clenching around him. Steve knew…he knew your body like one else, pushing up on his hands as he watched your face, pounding his hips into yours as he watched you come undone.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Cum all over Daddy’s cock.” His lips quickly cut off your scream as came hard underneath him, swallowing your moan as he thrust into you faster trying to make your orgasm last. “I know, baby. I know. I know. It feels so fucking good. You’re doing so well.”

“C-cum, Daddy.”, you whimper as you ran your tongue along his bottom lip. “Please. I need to feel you cum inside of me.” Steve’s forehead fell on yours as he chased his high, his heavy breathes fanning your face. “Look at me, Daddy. I want to watch your face as you cum.”

As your fingers reached to pull his hair, his hands gripped your wrists and held them against the mattress as he did what you asked. His beautiful brown eyes were incredibly glassy with want but you saw something else that made you breathily chuckle.

“Steve…you…I can’t cum again, baby.”

He smirked as if to say he accepted the challenge, his gaze never leaving yours as he thrust into you so hard the bed shook. You pushed against his grip but he knew you weren’t trying to escape or in pain. You desperately wanted to touch him like you always did. Your cunt gripped him again and he grunted at the feeling as his smile grew.

“Keep your eyes on, Daddy, baby.”

As his face began to contort with pleasure, it was enough to push you one final time as you repeatedly moaned his name as you came. After getting what he craved, his eyes flicked to yours before squeezing shut and with a few more sloppy thrusts he released ropes of his seed deep inside of you.

Steve’s body collapsed on yours and your arms promptly wrapped around him as he released you from his hold. He doesn’t remember when he fell asleep but when he woke up again, you were steadily breathing as your fingers played with his hair and your lips occasionally kissed his forehead.

“Shit. Baby, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“It’s ok, old man.”, you giggle as he leaned up on his elbows to kiss your nose and move some of your damp hair out of your face. “You only slept for 20minutes. Now normally I wouldn’t complain but can you pull out please, Daddy.”

He chuckles to himself as he lifts his hips, mumbling apologies as your face scrunches in pain.

“That wasn’t…I wasn’t too rough right?”

“No, baby. I’m just sore.” Your fingers reach up gently caress his cheek. “I like it though…feeling you through out my day.” Steve grins as he rests his chin on your tummy, looking up at you with nothing but admiration. “You could have told me, you know? About the Daddy thing.”

“I know. I just…I don’t know. I didn’t want you think I was a pervert or something.”

“Well, you’ve always been a pervert but not because of this.”, you laugh when he jokingly rolls his eyes. “Do…do you want me to incorporate it? I don’t mind.”

“Jesus Christ. How did I get so lucky to marry the coolest fucking woman?” He grins as he watches you blush. “No, we don’t have to do it every time. I like hearing you whimper my name.”

“Same. With the rough stuff, I mean. I’m definitely down for more roleplay, Mr. Harrington.”

“Speaking of you looked really beautiful in that dress. If I had known I would have bought a nicer suit or something. That was just my work outfit.”

“I still think you looked handsome.”

When you sigh, he climbs up the bed and lays on his back, yanking you to his side as he holds you tightly.

“What are you thinking about now?”

You beam up at him as you tenderly kiss his lips before laying your head on his chest.

“How lucky I am that I met you.”

####### Date Night Series

#steve x reader #steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #joe keery #joe keery smut #joe keery fluff #fan fiction

389 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

Text

Eddie likes painting his nails. He paints them any color he can, but usually ends up with black for shows since that’s his whole aesthetic.

Steve wants to try it. He likes the way El and Max and Eddie and Robin take turns picking colors for each other, how much fun they have painting each others’ nails, how relaxed they all seem.

But he knows that’s not what “strong men” do.

A strong man doesn’t walk around with pink nails, even if it does bring out the color of his eyes.

A strong man doesn’t let a teenage girl paint his nails purple because it makes his skin look a little more tanned in the winter.

And he’s let go of a lot of those ridiculous stereotypes his dad shoved through his head from the time he could understand words, but this is one thing he can’t let himself enjoy.

It’s stupid. But he can’t. So he watches from the couch as they gather on the floor once every two weeks to freshen up their colors, doing his best to hide his jealousy and sadness.

But he must fail because Eddie asks him to join them one night after the girls have already gotten their picks in for Eddie’s next color.

“Wanna paint them for me, Stevie?”

Steve searched his brain for any reason not to paint someone else’s and finally settled on allowing himself this one thing. If he couldn’t have pretty nails, he could give them to Eddie.

He nodded and sat cross legged in front of Eddie, waiting for further instruction.

“Doesn’t have to be perfect, okay? You’ll probably get a little on the skin around the nail and that’s okay too, it’ll come off.”

Steve nodded again.

The nerves were catching up to him now that he was holding the brush in between his fingers, leaning over where Eddie had placed his hand on Steve’s lap.

The girls were distracted, but Eddie noticed his pause.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Just looked like you wanted to.”

Eddie’s soft tone made Steve relax. He could do this.

So he started.

It was pretty easy on Eddie’s hand, his nails being big enough that he could mostly avoid getting any on the skin. He knew it’d be harder on the girls with their dainty hands or himself if he dared ever try.

Eddie was humming something while Steve worked diligently.

“This is a nice shade of blue. Did you pick it or did the girls?”

Eddie stopped humming and smiled. “I did. I could do yours next if you want.”

God, did he want.

But he shook his head.

“I can’t. Thanks though.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you mean you can’t? Why can’t you?”

Steve shrugged.

“Well it’s just that like. Men can’t really paint their nails.”

Steve was so focused on finishing up he didn’t notice that Eddie was going through every emotion a person could.

Finally, he looked up with a smile that quickly fell when he saw the angry look on Eddie’s face.

“Am I not a man?”

“What? Of course you are.”

“So you would still be a man with painted nails, then.”

“It’s just different for me.”

“Different how?”

“Like, a real man who wants to be a provider or whatever can’t exactly walk around with his nails painted fun colors, ya know?”

“I guess I don’t know.”

Steve was feeling a bit overwhelmed at trying to explain the words his father had always said to him growing up. How any time Steve seemed too focused on his appearance, he reminded him not to cross the line into “what those queers do” as if maintaining self-image was at all based on a person’s preference in men or women. How when Steve said he liked Madonna, his dad told him she was an artist for girls and women who haven’t found a husband yet and to try listening to some classic rock.

“It’s just that you’re you. You’re confident and you can pull it off. Like it goes with your whole…thing. It doesn’t really work for me. Even if I wanted to.”

“Do you want to?”

Steve could’ve lied. He could’ve just said that he’d only thought about it out of curiosity, not that he actually thought about what color might look best on him or how he could maybe learn how to do designs.

Instead, he checked that the girls were still wrapped up in conversation before turning back to Eddie and responding.

“Yeah, I want to.”

Eddie gave him a smile that could only be described as proud.

“You wanna match?”

Steve felt his hands start shaking. He nodded despite the nerves.

“Alright. Give me your hands, sweetheart.”

Jesus. Eddie gave pet names to everyone, but he’d never called him anything but Stevie. That hit hard.

He placed both his hands on Eddie’s thighs, focused on watching him paint them the same blue as what was on his own hands.

It was over much faster than Steve wanted it to be, his brain finally quiet after months, no, years, of constantly fighting his own thoughts with worse ones.

He didn’t even notice Eddie was picking up his hands to blow cool air on his nails until he felt the breath against his fingers.

He couldn’t hide the shiver that wracked his body.

He looked up at Eddie, who was smiling softly at him between bursts of air.

Finally, he held Steve’s hands up between them.

“This is a good color for you. You like it?”

“Mhm. It’s pretty.” He gulped. “I feel pretty.”

He hadn’t really meant to say it aloud, but now that he had, he felt nothing but relief.

“Yeah, sweetheart. You are pretty.”

The girls chose that moment to crawl over to where they sat, exclaiming about their nails and how cute it was that they matched.

Steve agreed.

And he made sure to match every time Eddie painted his nails just so he could hear him say “You’re so pretty, sweetheart.”

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #stranger things #I am a baby girl Steve truther #and I will always find a way to make that happen #even subtly #headcanon #tumblr drabbles

873 notes · View notes

asaarii · 5 months

Text

HAPPY BIRTHDAY SETTRIGH!! ft: sett reader: fem wc: 758

I LOVE YOU SETT, MY FIRST MAIN AND M7, MY HIGHEST ETERNAL, AND THE MAN WHO GOT ME INTO LEAGUE IN THE FIRST PLACE ADJF9IOLKDJVINDSOKFJNUDOIK,MGBNVFDSIJKLKFKSDP HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYYYYY (Jan 14)

You had always admired your husband’s dedication. Whether it was directed to caring for his mother, overseeing the fights in his pit, or even simply just loving you, he’d always make sure that whatever he was doing had his utmost attention. This includes taking care of you on holidays and your birthday. Never once did he forget an important date, every one marked on a calendar with bold red lettering.

(His handwriting is surprisingly eloquent for someone as gruff as him. You’ll never forget the offended look that crossed his face when you mentioned it to him after visiting him at the pit.

“Wha—? The hell is that supposed to mean?” You merely shrugged, “Dunno, I just never saw you as someone who cared about the way your handwriting looked.”

He even called over Ryo, motioning to the freshly signed stack of papers on his grandiose desk. The assistant had raised a brow, tipping up his straw hat to peer curiously down at the source of his boss’s ire. He lets out a low whistle as he shrugs, “Hate to break it to ya, but she’s right, boss.”

“I’m cuttin’ yer pay.”

“I’m sorry.”)

All but one.

Early on in your relationship, you’d notice he’d never mark down his own birthday. When you had asked about it, he bashfully rubbed the back of his neck, his face twisting into an embarrassed, almost pained expression as he let out a sigh.

“Never really had friends to celebrate it with, y’know? Ma was always there for me, but I don’t want to bother her with somethin’ as dumb as a birthday.”

His response broke your heart. So much so that you couldn’t help but pull him by the fur of his coat, kissing him breathless in spite of his chortled gasp of surprise. His eyes widened before he melted against you. When you’d separated, you stared into his blazing golden eyes, reaching up to trace the faded scares that defined the hardened lines of his face.

“Don’t say stupid things, Sett.” As you break his gaze, you slowly trace your hand down his jaw, stopping just above where his heart hammered against his rib cage.

(His heart—a mix of Vastaya and human blood, yet so wholly him.

Your Settrigh.)

“Your birthday isn’t dumb,” you pinch his cheek, vowing to both him and yourself that he would never spend a birthday alone again.

Which brings you to now, years later, still in love with the same man who’d captured your heart all those years ago.

The early morning light filters through the curtains, and a strong arm holds you close to a bare chest. You smile, unable to help the feeling of giddiness that floods your system as you nuzzle closer to your husband. As if unconsciously acknowledging your movement, he draws you impossibly closer, grunting sleepily as his eyes crack open.

He groans at the light hitting his eyes, burying his face into the pillow beside his head whilst you laugh. You sit up first, though not before leaning down to place a lingering kiss on his jawline. Sett sits up mere moments after, stretching his body to rid it of the fatigue garnered only from restful sleep.

You can’t help but stare at him. He’s made of hard muscles that cover every pane of his body, gained through hardships thrown at him over the years with only scars to tell their story. His molten gaze bores into you, teasing yet loving whilst he cocks a brow.

“See somethin’ ya like?”

“Nah,” you tease, “just noticed your stubble growing in again. Makes you look old.” Your hands grasp at a fallen pillow, haphazardly tossing it at Sett’s face before moving to freshen up in the bathroom.

“I’m not old.” The scowl that scrunches his face only proves to further your point, but you’d never tell him that. “Twenty-eight ain’t old, is it?”

“Twenty-nine,” you correct.

Cold horror settles on his face, his ears flattening on his head as his hand pushes his bangs back. “Holy shit.”

“You forgot didn’t you?”

“Forgot what?” The confusion on his face is adorable, and you can’t help but chuckle.

You motion him to the bathroom, lips now curled into a gentle smile. With a raised brow he makes his way over, leaning against the doorframe as he crosses his arm. He bends forward per your request though a little reluctant of the mischievous glint in your eye, ear now in range for you to cup it softly, causing it to twitch slightly.

“Happy birthday.”

©asarii 2023 — do not copy, steal, repost, or translate any of my works on tumblr or any other site

#league of legends—・❥#league of legends #league of legends x reader #sett x reader #sett league of legends #HAPPY BIRTHDAY SETT #I LOVE YOUUU #MY HUSBAND FR

71 notes · View notes

foxgloveprincess · 5 months

Text

Summary: Everything’s smooth sailing—almost.

Word Count: 1,087

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: Dark, Lots of Implied References to Dark Themes/Actions, Kidnapping, Death/Murder, Stalking/Surveillance, Possessiveness, Banter, Cursing, Callous Regard for Life. Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: And what a great way to end the year, with another meeting of our downstairs husbands! ❄️🎉🍾🙌🏻 Hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think!

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics.

This is not Beta’d, so all mistakes are my own.

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

Andy steps to the next chair, opening it and setting it in the correct position. The circle completed. He sits. He waits.

The door opens across the room. The young tech genius waltzes in, smile wide even with his focus centered on his phone. Andy watches his confident gait. The way he bites his lip. The fondness that shines in his eyes.

“You got her,” he observes. His arms cross over his chest. “How did it go?”

Jake looks up, scanning the room. Surprised both by the emptiness and the question directed at him. But when he realizes his chance to gush, he takes it.

“It’s amazing,” he beams, keeping his phone tucked close to his chest, as if his love could be transmitted directly through the device. “A dream come true. She’s exactly like I knew she’d be.”

“Is she adjusting well?”

Jake beams with pride. “She didn’t need to. She remembered me. And she hasn’t done anything naughty. My perfect angel.” He turns back to his screen, stroking the screen with overabundant fondness.

Andy’s jaw ticks with the slightest irritation. He drags a deep breath in his lungs and readjusts his position in his seat.

The door opens again and he glances over. The new arrival sinks into his seat, adjusting his glasses. He grunts in greeting and Jake waves back.

“How’d your week go?” Andy asks, intent on being polite.

Robert grunts again. “Fuckin’ Ransom.” He snags a cigarette from his pocket and lights it. The smoke swirls around the piqued expression on his face. “He’s all up my ass about this chick’s disappearance. Has to be perfect or his gramps is gonna sink us all.” He ashes the cigarette to the side, an irritated flick sending it flying.

The door bangs against the wall. Ransom enters with a scowl etched on his features, preoccupied by his phone.

“But ask Romeo,” Robert huffs with another deep drag of his cigarette. “I don’t give a shit.”

Ransom doesn’t even lift his head, too focused on whatever stares back at him from the screen. Two more follow him in, Ari and Lloyd locked in discussion.

“You shoulda seen her,” the mercenary says with an estatic grin. “Took one look at it and started bawling. I’m tellin’ ya, it was the perfect way to celebrate our anniversary.”

“I’m glad you found a gift for your girl,” Ari responds with a glance to the group and nod of greeting.

“Well, it wasn’t the only gift I gave her.” He boasts with a thumb hooked in his belt loop. “And I got my staff cleaned up. Can you believe one of them let her get hurt?”

“That’s why I keep an eye on my li’l one myself,” Ari agrees with every ounce of weight the matter requires. “Can’t trust anyone else.”

Lloyd’s shoulders lift in a shrug. “I’d love that, but with my job, international travel isn’t always optional.” He grabs the back of one of the chairs and sinks into it. “I keep them in line pretty good.”

“I’m sure,” Ari concedes before taking his seat.

They all settle, each man finding a comfortable position in the uncomfortable metal chairs. Far more smiles grace the group than usual.

Lloyd, as always, wears his signature smug smile. Though, today it stretches across his lips wider than usual. Like a cat who got the cream. He grabs a lollipop from his pocket and lets the crinkly wrapping fall to the floor before popping it in his mouth.

Andy plays with the sleek platinum band on his left ring finger. He refrains from glancing around, mind distracted over thoughts of his wife at home—what she could possibly be getting up to.

Jake continues his adoration through his phone. He presses a button, the lights in his angel’s room flash and another photo saves to his server. His lips twitch wider in a grin.

No one would ever expect Robert to crack a smile—though rumors abound that it can occasionally surface when his princess menstruates. He’s too occupied by grinding his cigarette butt into the linoleum floor with his toe, brow pinched in its normal surly attitude.

Ari’s calm satisfaction remains consistent. His final problem smudged out of existence. Everything solved and nothing—and no one—in the way of his li’l dip living the best life he’s planned for her. His joy perhaps even more radiant as he relaxes and turns his attention toward the trust fund baby.

Ransom sits in the circle with his lips pressed in a moody pout. He grumbles under his breath catching the rest of the group’s attention.

“Well, handsome, what’s got that stick up your ass?” Lloyd asks with a wave of his hand. “Things not going to plan?” He leans forward in his seat and rests his arms on his knees.

Ransom huffs and slides his phone into his pocket. His jaw ticks in irritation and he glares over at the mercenary.

“She’s got a boyfriend,” he grits.

“Shit,” Ari says under his breath.

A similar sentiment circulates through the group. Each of the men picturing what exactly they would do if their girl found a romantic partner other than them.

Jake doesn’t have to wonder. Mickey’s face clear in his mind. His angel’s loving gaze and bright smiles for someone else. “I’m sorry,” he says in sympathy, letting his hands and his phone drop to his lap. “What do you plan to do?”

Ransom crosses his arm and rubs his fingers along his jaw. “Let it play out a bit more,” he says with his brow furrowing in thought. “Just until he’s the best suspect for her disappearance.”

Lloyd hisses between his teeth. “You thinkin’ you can go that long without getting your dick wet?”

Ransom’s hand reaches over and, with a crack, whacks Lloyd across the head. The mercenary snaps back with his own punch, but Ari’s already there holding him back.

“Calm down,” the older man commands, wrangling Lloyd back into his seat. “You asked for it.”

“Of course he’s fucking waiting,” Robert says, completely unfazed by the outburst. “Jesus, Lloyd. It’s like you got nothing between your ears. All your brains are in your dick.”

“Fuck off,” Lloyd snipes, smoothing a hand over his hair to ensure it remains coiffed and in place.

“How long can you wait?”Jake pipes up, clutching his phone to his chest as if shielding it from the confrontation.

“As long as I need to,” Ransom replies, a deadly determination glinting in his eyes.

56 notes · View notes

starpirateee · 6 months

Text

Belief, it's a powerful thing

Summary: Wilbur Cross is dead. He knows exactly what happened to him, and just how he can get a shot of revenge. Of course, that revenge is going to come in the form of someone else, and who better than his husband from the days he was a man, the actual head of an actual task force?

John McNamara didn’t often dream. Since the incident with the portal, his imagination had been overrun by a dense, black expanse of nothing. Almost like a void. Sometimes, it showed him things that he couldn’t understand; events, or certain people who never had any idea that he was there. It felt strangely like he was a witness in someone else’s life, powerless to do anything but observe.

He’d tried to piece it together, scribbling whatever he could into a notebook, but he could never truly make sense of it. It always felt like he was missing details, things that would better complete the narrative.

Xander didn’t know. In fact, nobody knew. The notebook never left his person, and work was often that busy with other, arguably more important matters. Besides, it had been a constant presence since his early twenties, and it had never been a problem before.

One day, that void stopped showing him things he couldn’t interact with. One day, it started showing him a man. An awfully familiar man, and he was able to identify him within moments. He was tall and lean, his dark hair was slicked back from his face, and there was a telling scar just above his eyebrow that ran upwards in a skinny, jagged line.

The sight of him made John's blood run cold.

Standing in the void, as if he had never considered the possibility of his death, was his mentor. The man he loved and lost all those years ago. His husband.

“Wilbur-”

There was no denying what he was seeing. Wilbur had possessed his waking thoughts for years now, although now, it seemed like they had always been two different people. The Wilbur that had left fifteen years ago was full of life, and far more curious than nearly anyone else at PEIP. The man who was now manifested in the void looked as if years of insanity and servitude to… Whatever it was he’d pledged allegiance to had really taken it’s toll. His hair was longer, his grin was wilder, and there was a malicious green sparkle in his eyes that made John feel entirely unsafe.

“Oh, Johnny…” Wilbur approached slowly, step by forced step. He looked as if he was being puppeteered, driven by something beyond his comprehension. His movements were uneven and jerky, and there was something about it that was so… automatic. So inhuman. John saw a light from nowhere glimmer off the silver chain Wilbur had worn every day since he turned 18, illuminating his whole face in a horrifying glow. “You know better than that… I’m-”

He stopped himself before he could go any further, and took time to consider. He wasn't that man anymore, not by any means, but John still wanted him to be. John found it difficult to consider the possibility that Wilbur Cross had technically been dead for over a decade.

Maybe this was something he could work with…

He set it in the forefront of his mind, building his facade in a matter of moments, and advanced a little closer to John.

John had to force himself not to react. Not even when the thing that was once Wilbur reached out and grabbed his hand.

“I know it’s been a while, but you don’t gotta be so wary,” he pouted, all too dramatically. “I did come back for ya… Or, don’t you remember?”

He did. He remembered that day well. February 3rd of 2006. Three and a half months after Wilbur had disappeared the first time. He was just about to leave for the night, when he’d gotten a report that his old mentor was back and looking for him. Some kind of instinct must’ve kicked in, because Wilbur had found his way to the office- the space they used to share- and cornered John before he could even think about what seeing him again would do to him.

He was half crazed in a way John had never seen before, and spent the next hour rambling about what had happened since he was gone, and what was on the other side of the portal.

“Oh, Johnny, we coulda never guessed what was really goin’ on out there… It’s everything we ever imagined and more! And, I want you to come back and see it all with me! It could just be us… Forever!”

However tempted John had been by that offer, he had seen it for the madness induced sentiment that it was and refused.

On that day, they’d exchanged tags. Something to remember me by , Wilbur had said. Little did he know, but that name etched into the square of steel became like a poison to John’s mind, infecting him more and more each day.

He knew he wasn’t that man anymore. The eldritch forces had plagued his being and kept the real Wilbur Cross prisoner. There was no escaping that now, not for him. But, that slight of hope that John had clung to all this time was really shining through.

He stiffened, ready to blame it on the chill of the void, or the way his husband’s freezing fingers were tracing the lines of his palm. “What d’you want, Wilbur?”

Wilbur almost looked offended. John knew he was being mocked. “Why does it have to be anything?”

Continue reading (AO3)

#starkid #black friday starkid #wilbur cross #john mcnamara #void offering #nova! is back! on the crossnamara agenda!#god im so grateful for this commission #any chance to write slightly insane crossnamara is good in my books

9 notes · View notes

persephoneflowerpetals · 9 months

Note

Just imagine if Persephone meets frollo for the first time, I can imagine that she now knows why even all the Disney villains hate him due to how unpleasant and self-righteous he can be.

YO ANON HAVE YOU BEEN READING MY BRAIN’S BROWSER HISTORY?? GEJSHSK

I’ve had that idea in my head for such a long time lol! What if Frollo met Persephone? Well, it’d certainly be something lol!

I had this one idea that I kinda wanted to make into a fic (honestly I don’t think it’ll ever happen tbh lol) where Persephone somehow accidentally shows up in the Notre-Dame and Frollo discovers her and starts freaking out lol. He probably does what he most likely did when he first met Hades (though, in this story he doesn’t know Hades or the other villains) and starts calling her a demon and stuff and Persephone has to calm him down and be like “I’m just a Greek goddess I’m not a demon! Calm down! I’m not going to hurt you!” Lol. And then at some point Frollo starts getting all creepy and tries to “cop a feel” or tries to smell her hair or something like he did to Esmeralda in the movie and she’s like:

Persephone: Okay, you’ve officially crossed the line! I’m beseeching my husband! HADES!

Hades: *appears from a cloud of fire and smoke* Yes, babycakes?

Persephone: *points at Frollo* This guy’s being a total creep!

Hades: What’d he do?

Persephone: *whispers to Hades*

Hades: *flares up red in anger* HE WHAT!?

GSKDHKDHD either that happens or Hades just randomly shows up and Frollo starts freaking out again calling him a satanic hell demon and he’s just like:

Hades: *looks at Persephone* Is this guy for real?

Persephone: Unfortunately.

LMAOOO

But if we’re talking like the House of Mouse-ish universe then yeah Persephone probably knows of him either through going to the House of Mouse or going to a villains party with Hades lol. Why Frollo was invited to the villains party? I have no idea because I too like to think that none of the other villains like him either lmao.

I like to think Persephone either learns of him through Hades talking about him and how awful he is. Like he probably warns her to stay away from him because he’s a total creep and he doesn’t want her around him and tells her of how they first met lmao

Hades: It was crazy. Lemme tell ya. All I did was say hello to the the guy and he immediately pulls out a wooden cross and starts yelling at me like a nutcase, calling me “Satan” and “the devil”. I finally got him to shut up for a second to explain that there’s more than one type of god out there, it’s not just his God that exists and he kinda chilled out after that. He still hates me, though. He thinks I’m some kind of demon king or something. I mean, I guess he’s sorta right, heh. But seriously, babe. Stay away from him.

Or Persephone meets him herself and it probably goes about the same way except he’s already met Hades, so he doesn’t freak out over her existence lol. He just casually insults her, calling her “the demon king’s mistress” or whatever and she’s like “Excuse me? The what now?” Lol and then she goes to Hades and she’s like

Persephone: Okay. Now I see why everyone hates him. He’s pretty awful.

Hades: See? Told ya….he didn’t try anything on you did he?

Persephone: *rolls her eyes and smiles at his overprotectiveness* No.

Hades: Good, ‘cause if he did I’d show him what Greek hellfire feels like.

#ask #anon ask #disney villains #claude frollo #hades #persephone #rambles #long ramble

11 notes · View notes

mlovesstories · 1 year

Text

Retired and Tired

Baseball Player!Dean x female!reader

Dean is a great baseball player whose value diminishes after he retires, or so he thinks.

AN- I have almost 1000 followers! I don’t know how you all are interested in my writing, but I greatly appreciate it! Wanted to say thanks and post something to show my gratitude.

Warnings: none, maybe depressive feelings

Words: none.

“I got signed.” Dean smiled ear to ear.

“You… you what?” YN asked, not really asking. In shock, she took a gulp of air. “I- I didn’t even know you tried out.” She took a step back from his embrace.

“I know. Surprise!” Dean grinned again, but his face faltered when he saw the disappointed expression.

“You didn’t even talk to me about it. It affects us both, you know.” She whispered.

“I- I know, but I thought you would be happy for me.”

“I am, I just- I want to discuss something like this first. It will affect our lives continuously over the next few years, if not more. If we stay together.”

“What? Of course we will stay together.”

“But what about what I want?” YN crossed her arms while taking a deep breath.

________

1st Pro Game

“Have a good game.” YN smiled. Not wanting to have him get a hard time from his teammates, she subtly winked at Dean rather than kissing him. “Catch ya later.”

“Bye, sweets,” he whispered.

_________

Last Pro Game

“Have a good game, Winchester.” YN kissed him over the fence and went back to her seat with tears in her eyes.

I’m so proud of him.

“Hey, champ!” YN greeted her husband after the game.

“We didn’t win the championship this year, silly.” He engulfed her with his large body and muscular arms.

“You’re my champion though.” YN whispered in his ear.

YN saw Dean fading. He wasn’t adjusting to retirement well over the next few months.

“Babe,” she rolled over in bed to see a forlorn look on his face. “What can I do?”

“Huh?” Dean turned to face her after putting his reading glasses down.

“You’re not yourself. You aren’t here.”

“I’m right here…?”

“Your head isn’t.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not though. I see you hiding.” After a beat, she took a deep breath. “Retirement is not what you thought it would be. Would you agree with that?”

“Umm. Yeah. I would agree with that.”

“I’m gonna ask you something else.” She scanned his face. “What can we do to get you out of this funk?”

“A purpose.”

“Excuse me?” YN tilted her head.

“A reason to get up and do something.”

“Ah.” YN nodded. “Good thing we think alike.” She smiled.

“What did you do?” He grinned.

___________

“Win! Win! Win!”

The retired baseball player walked into an indoor baseball field. His eyes lit up as kids lined the field, clapping for him and yelling his nickname.

“Welcome to the Dean Winchester Baseball Clinic,” YN nudged him. “You are going to teach these kids how to play baseball.”

He turned to her wide-eyed.

“What?”

“You are a fan favorite, and you need a purpose. So, here is your new purpose.” YN stepped back so that he could see the practice facility full of fans.

“Babe-”

“Go up to bat. Promised those kids you would put on a show.” She winked. “Catch ya later.”

@metalfangirl @squirrelnotsam

Forevers:

@katymacsupernatural @unicornblood4ever

@fangirl-moment-x @empirialwolf @winchesters-favorite-girl

@super100012 @percywinchester27 @waywardsuns @supernatural-jackles

@mcallmestiles @sdavid09 @kingandrear @bellero @skylarraker

@seality @jaycc7983 @luci-in-trenchcoats

@cherryblossomflowers @because-you-never-know-when

@sleepylunarwolf @choosemyname

@internationalmusicteacher @mersuperwholocked-lowlife

@encounterthepast @torn-and-frayed

@giggles1026 @xiumin-girl99

@mangueweaschester

@idksupernatural @silverstripe101a

@thevelvetseries @samsgirl93 @supernatural3002 *

* @breereadsthings *

@vicmc624 @hookedinto-fictionalworlds @beatifuldisaster018

@miraclesoflove @myopiamystical

@waywardnewcomer

@akshi8278

#dean winchester #dean winchester au #supernatural #SUPERNATURAL AU #mlovesstories #mlovesstoriesau #mlovesstoriesretiredandtired

24 notes · View notes

zepskies · 2 years

Text

And So It Goes - Part 12

Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job — and more importantly her life — or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.

Pairing: Butcher/OFC (Latina!OC)

ASIG Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4,500 Warnings: 18+ only. Smut (finally!), language, angst

12: Break It on Down

In the morning, Helena was shocked to find Butcher in her kitchen, making coffee in his pajamas.

And not just the cheap instant coffee she kept in the cupboard, but the expensive, European grounds she liked to brew in the French press. The smell was heavenly.

But him actually doing something for her was not as surprising as the fact that he was still here, in her home. After she broke down on him last night, she had expected him to be long gone by now. Allergic to emotions, as he was.

“You’re still here?” she said, unable to quell her incredulous tone. He looked up at her with a raised brow, then a smirk.

“What, am I trespassing?” he replied, with his usual snark.

“Do you even know what you’re doing there, Chef Ramsay?” She nodded at the French press. He was stirring newly poured hot water in with the grounds in the carafe. He seemed to be doing it correctly, which was yet another surprise.

“Ya know, I’m not some cave-dwelling creature,” he said defensively. “Just ‘cause I don’t buy into this fancy bullshit doesn’t mean I can’t work it out.”

He then put on the lid and left it to brew. “Instead of belittlin’ me, maybe you could get some eggs going.”

He then pulled out a package of bacon from the fridge, presumably to start frying up a few slices.

“And you might think about restocking sometime soon, before all you’ve got left are mustard packets and a two-year-old packet’a fish sticks,” he added. “How the hell did that survive the move?”

A smile threatened to curve her lips. Helena closed her robe more securely, as she was still just wearing her nightgown underneath. He’d already seen it last night and hadn’t made any flirtatious overtures, despite some looks she’d caught him making when they were baking cookies. He was only a man, after all. But she didn’t think he truly saw her that way.

Not anymore, at least.

Sure, he made his sly remarks every now and then, but that was just Butcher’s default. Any chance they might’ve had of breaking that boundary died the moment they discovered Becca was alive. The fact that she was gone now didn’t change anything, in Helena’s mind.

Whatever was left of Butcher’s heart only had room for Becca. And out of respect for her, Helena wouldn’t cross that line. Not even for one night of easy, no-strings fucking.

Because even that, she knew, wouldn’t be just once. And it probably wouldn’t be easy—not in the long run. When she couldn’t trust her own heart to not get…attached.

So, what are you doing exactly? she thought, as she moved around Butcher to grab the eggs from the fridge. Are you running a bed & breakfast for ex-cons, or are you just playing house with your best friend’s husband?

No, she reminded herself. It was for Becca that she was doing this. She wouldn’t have wanted Butcher to twist in the wind forever, with no safe place to come home to…but could Helena really be that for him? Could she handle it—and the many perils that came with a man like him?

She changed into a comfortable yellow sundress, and they eventually sat down to breakfast at her small dining table, fit for two. Even with this large house, she hadn’t seen the need for a bigger table. It wasn’t like she often had company out here in the sticks.

But first, Butcher poured her a cup of coffee. His long fingers brushed hers when he passed her the mug. Her eyes flicked up to his, and she murmured her thanks. His mouth quirked upwards, then he took the seat across from her. She found herself smiling before she realized it.

“So,” she began. She cleared her throat a little and took a sip of coffee. It was fucking perfection. “Are you finally going to tell me what you’ve been up to?”

He was already digging into his eggs and bacon like the carnivore he was. She followed suit at a more human pace.

“What?” he said, unfortunately with his mouth full. She inhaled, and chanced on touching something sensitive.

“Ryan, for example. Have you looked in on him at all?”

Since it happened, was implicit. Butcher’s gaze finally met hers. It took him a while to reply, but eventually, she sensed he gave the truth.

“Every now and again, for whatever it’s worth,” he replied.

“I’m sure it’s worth a lot to him,” she said. “Becca didn’t just want him to be safe. She wanted him to be taken care of.”

“Mallory’s got that worked out.”

“I’m sure she’s keeping an eye on him too. But who’s taking care of him?”

“What’s it to you, anyway?” Butcher said. There was a bit more bite in his tone, and Helena could see him tensing up the further the conversation went. She wasn’t going to pretend she completely understood Butcher yet, but she was learning.

“I saw you with him, Billy. Much as you’re trying to deny it, you care,” she said. “Ryan may not be your son, but you’re all he has now.”

After a moment, Butcher gave a short, humorless chuckle before he brought his coffee mug to his lips. “Ain’t that a scary thought.”

Helena saw the self-deprecation in his eyes, and was sad. Billy Butcher was by no means a perfect man. Most times, he wasn’t even a good one. But he did have a heart, no matter how much he tried to bury it. Despite his calloused edges, there was a good man in him. She had seen it.

Maybe that was why, as hard as she tried, as much as M.M. and Mallory and Becca’s death warned her otherwise…she couldn’t say no to him.

Butcher was starting to feel that familiar itch: the reminder that he should be moving on. He had dropped in here more than too many times, because it was convenient. Because it was a safe place with free food and a comfortable bed. But clearly, if he could be roped into baking cookies at 2 a.m., it was too fucking comfortable.

Still, when Helena acknowledged that he was eating her out of house and home, and she needed to go out and replenish her kitchen, he found himself agreeing to go with her to the local grocery store.

“Really, you don’t need to take off anywhere?” she asked. She was trying not to show it, but she looked hopeful. He wasn’t expecting that, and wasn’t sure if he felt pleased, or just uncomfortable.

“Nah, I can stay…as long as you’re cooking,” he replied.

Helena rolled her eyes and grabbed her purse and keys from where she left them on the kitchen counter.

“Right. I have a feeling if it hadn’t been for M.M. or Frenchie in your little boy band, you’d have withered up and died of starvation before any supe managed to stomp you out,” she quipped.

“That’s what Shake Shack is for,” he countered. He then followed her out the front door, with his own wallet and keys in his pocket.

Really, he should be checking in on Ryan. She had unknowingly reminded him about it at breakfast. Mallory certainly had the night before, in a text designed to be equal parts guilt-tripping and blackmailing. Butcher should just ignore the old bat on principle.

But then again, he was 99% certain Mallory was the reason he’d been able to move off the radar for the past eight months. Homelander-free. So essentially, she was likely the reason Butcher was still breathing.

Tonight, he decided. He would set out tonight to go see Ryan, like he promised Becca he would. And then he wouldn’t come back to upstate New York for a good long time.

That decision solidified in his mind as he followed Helena around the grocery store. She seemed comfortable in her new house, and in this slow, small town, where she already knew her neighbors and almost every shopper in the store knew her. They greeted her with inane, civilized chitchat.

She didn’t seem to mind it, and had smiles and polite conversations with all of them. First there was a married pair and their two kids tearing around the display of canned corn and green beans. Then there was the old man and his emotional-support ferret (Butcher wasn’t one to judge, but as a New Yorker, he had a disdain for long rats).

Meanwhile, Butcher was the scruffy, somewhat dangerous-looking shadow behind her. And their surreptitious side-eying confirmed what he already knew: he was out of place here, and in her life, and it was time for him to go. Maybe for good this time.

“I was thinking of making fajitas. What do you think?” she asked. He sensed her looking at him, and it shook him out of his thoughts.

“I’m not choosy,” he said. “Just don’t go overboard on the poblano peppers. Last time I couldn’t get off the shitter for six hours.”

Helena choked on a laugh, but shushed him with a reprimand in her eyes for speaking so loudly. She dragged him into the produce aisle to hide him from the now frowning couple and their giggling kids.

He graciously bent down to say, maybe a little too closely, “I’m serious about them fucking peppers.”

She narrowed her eyes at him over her shoulder and smirked.

“Lightweight,” she said, and pointedly nudged him in the arm. “Now behave.”

Helena then spent the next few minutes ignoring him. She inspected various fruit and veg with a scrutiny that reminded him of Mother’s Milk. While she was preoccupied with the merits of organic versus non-organic avocados (they looked exactly the same to him), he snuck over to the bakery.

Really, who decided to put the veg next to the cakes and cookies and shit?

“You know, avocados are technically a fat, but they’re really good for you,” Helena said. She tossed a few into one of those plastic, yet paper-thin, can’t-hold-more-than-a-Brussel-sprout produce bags.

“So I’ve heard,” Butcher said, only half-listening. When he first met up with Helena after all those years, she was a chili-cheeseburger eating, Chinese takeout-every-week kinda girl. Now she was apparently scouring health-nut blogs and doing yoga lessons off of YouTube.

Well, the yoga he didn’t mind. Her ass did look great in spandex.

While she was still contemplating fruit, he came in behind her and dropped a strawberry cheesecake into the cart. He hid it under a broccoli stalk and a bunch of bananas.

“Yeah, they’re made of monosaturated fats, so it’s the good fat. Not me-in-middle-school-fat, before my mom made me join the swim team,” she said. “Like she wasn’t the one who raised me almost exclusively on Cuban pastries and fried chicken.”

“Parents,” Butcher scoffed in sympathy, even as he added a container of cherry Danishes to the cart. “The fucking nerve.”

“Right?” She finally decided on the normal avocados, crossing the item off her shopping list. She even starred it on the notepad, reminding herself that she was only buying three of them instead of four. Yet another thorough, bordering on anal trait he would typically associate with M.M.

But even that simple thing, Butcher was sure, was part of what made Helena successful at Vought. She was meticulous, catching details and patterns that others missed. And like Butcher, she could be relentless about it. Which might’ve been why she found out Becca was alive before he did.

And according to Mallory, she had given them a thorough intel report that they were still sorting through, eight months later. That included access codes and memos Helena recorded herself, from memory.

In Butcher’s experience, the CIA recruited on that kind of talent. He wondered, in fact, if Mallory had offered her the same “in” with Supe Affairs as she has offered him.

“Hey, you okay?” Helena asked. Butcher inwardly shook himself from his thoughts again and met her gaze.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. You’ve been broody all day,” she said. Her brows crunched with concern, and maybe a little bit of suspicion.

“Do what you want with dinner,” he said. “Looks like I’m gonna have to take off when we get back to the house.”

Her suspicion grew with her crossed arms and pursed lips. “Why, what happened?”

“It’s better you don’t know,” he said…which wasn’t exactly a lie. But she clearly sensed it wasn’t the whole truth. Her expression dimmed, and she turned away from him to push the cart. It felt very much like a cold front was settling in.

Butcher almost sighed in annoyance. He followed her into the checkout line, where she started loading everything onto the conveyor belt.

He tried to hand her the eggs, but she only looked up briefly at him before she said, “I’ve got this. You can wait in the car if you want.”

Before he could answer that he wasn’t going to wait in the car like a little boy, the cashier brightened when he saw Helena.

“Welcome back,” he said with a friendly smile. Though he was too busy staring at her ass, bent over as she was to reach into the depths of the cart for the bananas. Her dress was just long enough to hint at said shapely ass and tanned thighs. But his gaze quickly moved back up to her face when she turned around.

Butcher’s lips thinned.

“Andy,” Helena said flatly. She finally found the cheesecake and Danishes under the bananas and sent Butcher a raised brow. He offered his most charming smirk. It earned him a roll of her eyes, but she still put it on the counter with the rest of the groceries.

“Hmm, I see you changed those nails for me,” Andy said. He raised flirtatious brows at her respectable French tips.

Helena couldn’t muster more than an irritated sigh as she waited for him to bag her groceries. Meanwhile, Butcher hung back to watch the little scene play out. Frankly, he was surprised she hadn’t verbally ripped the guy’s dick off like he knew she could. Like any true New Yorker would.

It was disappointing to know she was going soft out here in the suburbs.

He gave Andy a short glance. It didn’t take much to get the seize of him. He was young, maybe late-twenties, fresh-faced, with blonde hair that screamed of early-2000s frosted tips.

Three strikes, Butcher thought with an inward smirk. He watched the cashier try to flirt with all the game of an ex-football player who peaked in high school. Helena was quickly losing patience, tapping her credit card on the counter and wearing a mix of boredom and irritation.

“Look, much as I love this song and dance we do every time I come in here,” she said at last, “I’ve actually got other things on my to-do list today, so…”

“But you keep coming back here, to my register, so I just thought—”

“You’re the only register open,” Helena snapped. “And considering this is the closest grocery store to my house for another twenty minutes—”

“Ah, live nearby, huh?” he said, jumping on the line she unintentionally threw him. “What neighborhood? I’m over by Westchester.”

Butcher almost burst out laughing. The warning signs of the impending eruption of Mt. Helena couldn’t be more entertaining. But his patience was also wearing thin. He finally stepped in behind Helena and presented her with a container of peaches he grabbed from the closest display table.

“Ya wanna try these peaches, love? They’re on sale.”

She glanced up at him, a little curious at his downright cheerful tone. But she shrugged. “That’s fine.”

Butcher gave Andy a cheeky wink.

“I love me a good peach, don’t you?” he said. His free hand slipped down to the small of Helena’s back. For her, it was barely a brush of his fingers. It still made her spine stiffen and a heated blush flood to her face. She gave him a suspicious look over her shoulder.

But to Andy, it looked like he’d literally made a claim on her ass.

“That wasn’t necessary,” Helena snapped, once they’d left the store with their groceries in tow. She was still blushing though.

Butcher smirked. “Shut him up, didn’t it?”

They loaded her groceries into the car while he watched her silently fume. Until she slammed the trunk shut and glared up at him.

“I don’t need you to save me,” she said. And a little more pointedly, “I don’t need anything from you.”

Butcher’s smirk faded. She got into the car without waiting for him to snark back.

On the ride back to her house, he was pensive. He was usually too drunk or too in the mix of a mission to be pensive. But he’d quit drinking four months ago, so there was no other choice.

When Butcher made decisions, he was efficient. They were quick. They were final.

He’d decided this morning he was going to leave, and so he was going to. But first, he helped Helena get the groceries in the house. He helped put them away, as he now knew that the milk went on the fridge door but the vegetables went on the second shelf so she wouldn’t forget about them in the bottom drawer.

He knew that she now liked setting out honey rather than sugar for her coffee. She had a special jar for rice, like a “true Cuban” (her words, not his), and so never left it in the bag.

Somehow over the past few months of being in and out of this house, his subconscious had filed these things away and now he couldn’t forget them. Like the way he used to leave the tortilla chips on the middle pantry shelf so Becca could reach them. And how he used to put the Doritos on the top shelf because she couldn’t.

“I suppose I have time for a quick bite before I leave,” he said, breaking himself out of his thoughts.

Helena shrugged. It seemed she no longer cared what he did. She might well want to see the back of him…but he had a feeling he knew her better than that.

When he took a poblano pepper from her hand and broke out the chopping board from its cupboard, she stared at him with an annoyed frown.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“What?” he mocked. “I could sit on my ass and catch up on The Voice if you prefer.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, wouldn’t that be a change of pace.”

But she allowed him to help. It strangely reminded her of the first and only time they had cooked together in her old apartment. They worked pretty much in silence, and it gave Helena time to think. Really to wonder, what the fuck is he doing?

She set a timer on the stovetop to let the fajita meat and veggies smoke in the cast iron pan for a while, then she set to making some rice. It was familiar. It was methodic. It let her brain go on autopilot while she measured and washed and drained and watered again. And she would have finally set the rice on the stove to cook.

She just didn’t expect Butcher to be right behind her when she turned around. It knocked the pot filled with rice and water a little and splashed some on the floor.

She uttered a small gasp and jumped, but Butcher’s hands on her hip and elbow stopped her from slipping on the wet floor.

“Sorry,” he said with a smirk. He reached around her to drop the used cutting board in the sink, but his other hand never left her hip. It slid up to her waist, subtly bringing her close enough for their bodies to align—the way they shouldn’t be, she reminded herself.

Or maybe…the way they were meant to. Maybe she wasn’t crazy to think there was still something here. Maybe he didn’t look at her like a sister after all.

Helena couldn’t help the thought when her eyes met his, always so intense and focused wholly on her. She really couldn’t fucking take it anymore.

Her heart was beating fast. And faster still, when his gaze dropped to her lips after she nervously wet them, then tugged her lower lip into her mouth.

What—

The stovetop alarm beeped loudly.

It startled both of them, but Helena used it to breathe and slip by Butcher. She stopped the alarm and set the rice on the stove, not knowing that he was standing there behind her back, frowning.

Disappointed, with a heavy dose of self-loathing. One moment he was determined to leave, the next he was contemplating fucking Helena in her own kitchen.

They ate in silence. There was a movie playing on the TV, but neither of them were really watching. It was some mind-numbing action movie blessedly free of supes, a rare find that was.

When it was finally over, she shut it off while he started taking dishes to the sink. He cut on the water, but a moment later, she turned it off.

“Stop,” she demanded. “Stop it right now.”

Butcher crossed his arms defensively. “What’s your fucking problem?”

“What are you doing, Billy?” she asked. “You say you’re going to leave, like you’re trying to run from me or something. The next you’re…pretending to be my boyfriend and acting like you’re going to devour me on the kitchen counter. What the fuck is this?”

She gestured wildly between the two of them. Butcher leaned in, until his face was inches away from hers. He similarly waved a finger between them.

“You put a stop to this a long time ago,” he said, with that deep, rough voice of his that made her absolutely insane. She expelled a sigh of frustration.

It would be so easy to fall into this, into him.

But M.M. was right. Butcher carried baggage he would never let go of, and ultimately, it would get him killed. It could get her killed.

As reckless as she had been by letting Butcher stay here, she didn’t want to die. Even now, if she closed her eyes, she could feel Homelander’s hands around her throat. She could hear his whispers from her nightmares. I know what you did for them. I know everything.

“I stopped this,” she said at last, “because I’m not Becca. I can’t be her replacement.”

As if I ever could be, she thought.

Butcher’s brows pinched with a glare. “I fuckin’ know you’re not.”

“Don’t lie to me!” she snapped.

“That’s fuckin’ rich, innit? When you’re the one who lied!”

She took a step back from him, incredulous. “When the hell did I lie?”

“The day Black Noir came for us at your apartment,” Butcher said. “You didn’t tell me you had a run in with that goddamn golden cunt.”

Her shock silenced them both, her heart falling into the pit of her stomach. She swallowed past the lump of anxiety in her throat.

“Who?” she asked. A feeble attempt to deflect.

Butcher’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re lying right now, to my face. You know who the fuck I’m talkin’ about,” he shouted. “Homelander choked the shit out of you. He nearly killed you in the middle of a fuckin’ hallway.”

Her gaze fell, and her hand raised unconsciously to her neck, where the bruises had long since faded. She sighed, more shakily this time.

“How do you know about that?”

“Mallory showed me the bloody footage,” he said. “I heard what he said, saw what he did. You could’ve quit your job, right then and there, and old Stan wouldn’t a’ been the wiser.”

She didn’t have an answer for him. She tried turning away, maybe to hide in her room until he left her alone, but Butcher wasn’t having it. He held fast to her hand and prodded her to turn back around.

“It’s not like you owed me anything,” he said. “Why didn’t you skip town?”

Interesting, she scoffed. That wasn’t what he said when he “recruited” her, all but blaming her for Becca’s disappearance.

“You know exactly why. It wasn’t about you, it was about me,” she said. “I wanted to find Becca. I can never…fix what I did. Or what I didn’t do, I don’t know…I needed to redeem myself.”

She was sure that was something he could understand. And he seemed to, if the fire quelling in his eyes was anything to go by.

“You know, I thought saying goodbye to you both that day was going to be it,” she said. “I never thought she would be gone while I’m still here.”

She leaned a hand against the kitchen counter, fighting for the things she wanted to say. Maybe Butcher sensed that, and was giving her a moment to figure it out.

Eventually, she grabbed onto his shirt, near his collar. As much as she wanted to fight the pull of him…it had been a losing battle from the start. His hands found her waist, her hips, molding to the curve and shape of her.

“It’s been eight months. Almost a year since then,” she said. “This thing…about you, for you. It’s driving me fucking crazy.”

When he kissed her, it was a sweet relief. It was dominating heat and need. Her hands found purchase on his shoulders while his continued to burn her skin over her clothes, kneading her hips, her ass. He pressed her into the counter and she could already feel the length of him against her thigh. Meanwhile, his tongue found hers and she had no qualms with being devoured. Her entire body was on fire.

She wrapped her arm around his neck for better leverage, but he had his own ideas. His grip on her hips became firm enough to heft her up onto the kitchen counter. Maybe it was cliché, but it made perfect sense to Helena. She wrapped her legs around his hips, forcing him to rock into her clothed center. She shivered, and he smirked into her kiss. His hands slid up the soft skin of her thighs, bunching up the skirt of her pretty yellow sundress.

He briefly squeezed her thighs and let his thumbs draw between them, towards the heat pooling between her legs. He brushed against the dampness in her underwear.

“Don’t take much, huh?” he teased.

She reached down and felt his hard erection straining against her hand. He groaned in response to her touch.

“I could say the same,” she retorted with a cheeky smile.

Butcher's lips quirked, then they met hers, tasting her long and slow. To her, he felt solid and confident, and she actually felt safe in his hands.

He began kissing his way down her neck. It just mildly distracted her from what he was doing further down, grabbing the delicate material of her underwear and ripping them down on one side, then the other. Her eyes widened in shock at feeling the lacy material slide out between her legs. She blushed the sensation making her skin tingle deliciously.

She should be mad that he’d just ruined a $30 pair of panties. But the strength she felt in his arms as he did it only quickened her heartbeat and enhanced the flood between her legs.

She sucked in a breath when he finally began teasing her slit with one finger, then sliding between her slippery folds. The muscles in her lower belly tightened in anticipation. They were really doing this.

“Yep,” he said.

Helena snapped her head up at his smirking face and realized she’d actually said that thought out loud.

Butcher smirked, and then two of his fingers sunk into her wet heat. She uttered a short whimper of pleasure as he began to work her with an expert hand. Her breaths deepened in his ear and she all but grinded down rhythmically into his touch, especially when his thumb found the swollen bud of her clit. She carded her fingers through his black hair, and his name fell from her lips. Like a prayer.

His fingers moved deeper within her, curling against that special spot inside. Finally, that dam of heat within her broke in waves as she shuddered against him. But his fingers didn’t stop their relentless onslaught, drawing out her orgasm and pulling a long moan and a couple of of Spanish expletives from her throat. Because fuck, had it been a long time since she’d felt this good.

Helena clung to Butcher’s shoulders while he eventually stopped to let her catch her breath. Her head was resting in the crook of his neck, so she first pressed a kiss below his ear, then raised her head and he met her with a fierce kiss.

“You nearly cut the circulation in my fucking hand, love,” he said with an indecent smirk. “Thought I was gonna lose it in this sweet pussy.”

She was sure her face was red as a cherry by now. Still coming down from her unbelievable high, she had no words. She watched him withdraw his glistening hand and make a show of licking one of his fingers clean.

“Sweet indeed,” he added. “But we ain’t close to done.”

Her hands shook, but she pulled him close again by his belt and began to unbuckle it for him. “You’re goddamn right.”

Then, it became a race for whoever could remove each other’s clothes first. Helena unzipped his pants while he helped wrench up her dress. Her hands glided up under his stupid fucking Hawaiian shirt and forced it over his head.

He all but tore the clasp of her bra and freed her breasts, which fit perfect and full in his hands. He kneaded and caressed and rolled his thumbs over the pert brown buds, and she panted and arched into him. She met him with a deep kiss, sucking his lower lip into her mouth and let her nails drag a little down his back. It earned her a throaty groan and a warm, rough hand between her thighs.

She could feel his wet tip positioning at her entrance—and it snapped her out of autopilot, back into her head where red alarm bells were flaring loud and insistent.

She grabbed one of his hands, stopping him.

“Wait. Billy, wait.”

He was panting and straining with need himself, but to his credit, he stopped. His eyes snapped down to hers, his brows crunching in mostly curiosity.

“I can’t do things halfway here,” she warned him. She’d been alone this long for a reason. “I can’t be what’s convenient for you.”

His eyes studied hers. For what, she couldn’t be sure.

“That ain’t what this is,” he said eventually.

She laid a hand on his chest, over his rapidly beating heart.

“Tell me the truth. Why did you look for me?” she asked.

His iron, demanding grip on her waist gentled. He sighed, and she felt his breath on her forehead.

“You know exactly why,” he said.

Hope and warmth bloomed in her chest, making her smile. She let go of his wrist and wrapped her arms around his neck. Her head tilted to the side as she considered him suspiciously.

“I don’t know if I believe you.”

Butcher’s eyes darkened. His brow rose suggestively. “I can be persuasive.”

He pressed a biting kiss just beneath her ear. Her hold on him tightened as she sucked in a breath. But then she offered him a claiming kiss of her own.

“Prove it then,” she said against his lips.

He took that challenge to heart, pulling her body right to the edge of the kitchen counter until he could align himself at the right angle. The moment his length slid deep into her core, she almost came apart right then and there. He stretched and filled her entirely to capacity—to the point where she worried he might be a little too big for her.

He grunted and pressed his forehead against her shoulder. She moved her hips a little to adjust to his size. He groaned.

“Jesus, you’re tight,” he hissed. “Fuckin' hell.”

She gave a breathless laugh.

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a cheeky grin.

Her legs wrapped around his hips, her heels digging into his ass. He pulled out just enough to slam into her again, making them both shudder. He eased out again, and continued into a building rhythm that soon became frantic. Most of the time, she could only hold onto him for the ride.

But feeling his body tense up further, she knew he was close (along with the sounds he was making). She could see the road ahead and almost taste her release, but to help them both, she reached down between them and touched the nearly overstimulated bud over her entrance and whined into the crook of his neck.

“I gotcha, babe. Almost there,” Butcher muttered. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, and feeling on the verge of his end, he bit down between her neck and her shoulder. Not hard enough to break the skin, but enough to make her cry out at the peak of her own release. Her nails reflexively bit into his shoulders and he hissed with similar pleasure mixed with pain.

He soothed her afterwards with his hand cupping the back of her head, smoothing down her hair. His hand remained at the back of her neck when he leaned back and pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes. Her legs detangled from around his hips. Then her hands drifted softly down his bare chest.

“Well,” she said, “that happened.”

He nodded with a mellowed grin. “Still happening, actually.”

Butcher shifted his hips to remind her that he was, in fact, still inside her. He eased out and grabbed a clean hand towel from the counter to wipe up the slick between both of their legs. He was slower with her though, letting the cloth slide tantalizingly across her swollen lips.

He then smirked at her renewed blush. He didn’t think he would ever get tired of those honey brown eyes, red, thoroughly kissed lips, and flushed cheeks. It was about to get him going again.

“Join me in the shower?” she offered, despite her blush.

Butcher helped her down from the kitchen counter and held her naked body against his. He towered over her by quite a few inches, but her body was strong and her abundant curves gave perfectly in his hands.

His voice was deep with suggestive grit.

“If we’re smart, we could christen just about every room, hidden nook, and otherwise flat surface in this great big house,” he said.

She laughed and framed his face with her hands. “Hmm. In that case, better take my vitamins.”

Then she covered up what would’ve been his smart-ass retort with a deep kiss.

Keep Reading: PART 13

The Boys Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

@lauraaan182, @homielander, @calizmor

64 notes · View notes

hxltic · 5 months

Text

𝐈 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊. 𝑻𝑶𝑱𝑰 𝑭𝑼𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑮𝑼𝑹𝑶

• Genre: smut (and fluff!)

• Warning: daddy kink, Toji has money lol, hair pulling, degradation, shower sex, creampie, a lot of words

Yeah you know the story. Ex-husband! Toji comes over unprompted, except the kids aren’t upstairs where they’re supposed to be; they’re sent over their aunt’s house for the weekend. With plans to burst into their rooms and gift bags from Daddy (who frequently visits any time he isn’t working, provides money for the kids, and sends some extra for yourself whenever he gets paid), it would crush their little hearts if they knew they weren’t there to catch him come by.

🎶 LOVE DROUGHT—BEYONCÉ when they fall asleep

So here you are, whatever show you were in the middle of binging still running in the background, guarding the door and face to face (chest) with Toji in the cool air of November. He towers over you, presence still overwhelming as ever. His eyes are low and he boasts a soft smile that’s almost imperceptible.

There are small pink bags he’s carrying stuffed with white wrapping paper.

“You can leave them here if that’s better for you,” you suggest, sliding to the side and opening the door for him. He was used to the bitter cold and didn’t bat an eye, but the breeze was blowing through the crevices of the warm sweater you slid on earlier, completely dismissing why you bought it. His puff jacket was casually over his tee.

He shuffles past you and to the kitchen island. “I can wait for ‘em to come back.”

Following behind him after shutting the door, you gravitate towards the stove and remind him “It’s Saturday night,” but when you turn back around, Toji is shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over the shoulders of the bar high chair. You deadpan him and cross your arms, “Meaning they won’t be back until sometime tomorrow.”

The kids were not biologically yours but you are listed as their mother by marital status. They have grown up with you so they don’t know you as anything else. They vaguely know about the situation regarding their actual mother, and the things you have told them aren’t lies, but they’re still young and further details will come forth as they grow. You and Toji agreed to sit them down when it was right; therefore, all they recognize is that she was not a good woman. By the looks of it though, they don’t care to know her.

A secret, guilty part of you hopes that carries into the future, but there are only a few things stronger than curiosity. Little do you know, Toji wishes that as well. You’ve seen him countless times because he comes over whenever he can and he sends you every portion of his pay for the kids, but nothing has hit you like this. It feels like he was dragging you down a memory lane purely by existing in the natural vicinity.

He crosses his arms, that scar on his lip lifting every time he teases. “You don’t want me to stay?”

“Your stay is only excused in emergency,” you rebut. The smile inching on your face only matches his. “So go ahead and put that jacket back on, I’ll see you another time.”

With that you waltz past him, patting him on the shoulder, raising your eyebrows, and bringing your lips into a thin line. Before you can get too far, his hand catches your wrist.

“Hey now, come back. I can’t even stay ‘til tomorrow? Ya can’t stand to look at me for a day?”

“No.”

He wishes your sharp answer would have stunned him, but he didn’t fall in love with you because you were timid.

“So then I’ll sleep in the guest room. Ya won’t even know ’m here.”

His grip was loose on your wrist, allowing it to slowly fall out on its own. Toji stills as he awaits an answer.

Your immediate response is no. There is no possible way for you to “not know he’s here,” especially with his late night eating tendencies. But the kids will be back tomorrow, and if they found out you took a chance away for them to see him, it would be a shit show. You also just don’t want to do that.

“Fine, but just for tonight. Don’t make it a habit.”

He nods approvingly. To make sure it’s fine and easy, you end the interaction as quickly as possible by walking away. Up the stairs you go, your arms crossed in attempts to shield yourself from the cold and your hips moving back and forth as if they were taunting him.

•—————•

Toji waits downstairs a while, sending messages and eating dinner leftovers. Your home-cooked meals were one of the hardest things to give up, he admits.

Then he’s stepping up to the guest bedroom, still the same as he’d left it, and winding down by removing the random items from work that piled in his pocket, kicking off his shoes to the corner of the room just as you’d taught him, and brushing his teeth.

It’s been a while since he’s spoiled himself. It was much easier when you reminded him to, or prompted him to get up while you were clearing your face with skincare you bought so you could do it together. He looks in the mirror at his reflection.

There was a stubble where it’s usually shaved clean. He’s not wearing earrings, except the side he got pierced when his little girl went to get hers. She was a baby, so he wanted to match, and it’s been a while since he’s taken it out. His eyes were lower with fatigue too.

He pulls any necessities out of a small bag in his car that he keeps around for work.

Pinching the edge of his shirt and tugging it up and over himself, he throws it to the bathroom floor. He splashes water on his face before putting an amount of shaving cream to acutely drag the straight razor down the skin of his jaw. He wishes he could say carefully, but by the umpteenth time, he didn’t care.

Scanning his body, already being so close to the mirror, the amount of scars painting his skin have multiplied since you two split. There was nobody to take care of them like you did, and he sure as hell didn’t.

You kept a medical kit under the bed if he remembers correctly.

So that’s how he found himself trekking to the bedroom, despite how he said he would be unseen. It was for good reason, he justifies.

The door was closed, but unlocked, so with just the turn of the knob he’s hit with a living memory.

He puts one foot in front of the other, eventually getting what he came for. You were nowhere to be seen so he assumed you were in the connected master bathroom.

He was right because the shower was running.

On the other hand, he was also wrong because the slim double doors burst open, revealing you in nothing but a towel wrapped around your chest, still completely dry with a determined expression. He recognizes it. It’s when you’re looking for something.

You yelp once you notice him: “You scared the shit out of me!”

The box feels heavy in his hand, and for the first time, he’s frozen in his spot. Your eyes dart around and your eyebrows dig in the middle at his lack of response. “Hello?”

The silence pauses the world around you. Toji’s dark eyes trail down the towel. He still has every curve memorized, and whatever he couldn’t see, he’s sure he could draw perfectly with pencil and paper.

You take this time to do the same thing since your previous emotion had worn off. His muscles look just as good as they did downstairs, but not covered by his trademark black cotton shirt; you find they are littered with more scars than before— which you conclude is why he’s carrying the kit— and the pants still hang dangerously low on his hips. If you squinted, you might be able to see his happy trail.

On the way back up to his face, you catch sight of, of course, the scar on his lip. Although, he does look more like the man you met than the one in your kitchen.

Clean face. His hair is grown out. His skin is glowing like he just washed it, and you’re slightly questioning how he did all this in the 45 minutes that have passed.

It comes to an end as he bravely steps forward, unstopping until he’s right in front of you. Why didn’t you back away?

“Toji?” You call. A beat passes before he responds.

“You haven’t changed a bit.”

You blink up at him, “Glad I can’t say the same for you.”

He drops his head and chuckles deeply at the shot thrown at him. “I deserved that.” He grins, to which you just nod your head up and down in agreement.

“Well, I need to get in the shower.” In a split second you strut off, grabbing your phone from the bed and going through the doors behind you. “Running the bill up.”

“Y’know that’s never been a problem.” Toji follows close behind. “But can you play nurse f’me?”

“No, do it yourself.”

“I tried.” It was a lie, but not really. He had tried once on duty. “Come patch me up and I’ll go.”

“Toji just throw some peroxide on it and put a bandaid over it,” you whip around with a deep sigh, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“Not as easy as you make it sound.”

“It is.”

You two, again, stare blankly at each other, but you have been around Toji long enough to know he would not give in. Ever.

“Fine. Jesus.”

He places the kit on the table with a smirk plastered on his face as you walk up to him. You pop open the box, dig through supplies, and do exactly as you said. Find the peroxide, soak it on a pad, and carefully dab any cuts or scratches. Even though you were separated, you never want to see him hurt. You were glad to find only one or two actual open cuts on his chest.

You manually turn the man in front of you into better lighting so he is facing the mirror and your back is to the counter. Trying to focus on cleaning, you don’t dare look up into his green eyes. You know they’re already looking at you.

His rough hands rest naturally on your hips and he has you backed against the countertop with his weight shifted over you as if caging you in. You count over and over to yourself, hoping, praying your heart will slow down to a pace that he won’t hear thumping through your skin. The atmosphere is hot, the fogging mirror pure evidence of such, and the shower running is white noise.

Toji hisses.

“Sorry, did that hurt? Are you okay?”

Ironically, you were in a similar situation with Chi last week, patching her up after she fell on the concrete. She insulted you, saying her big brother does it better. You had to explain that Megumi was away for school and would return for Thanksgiving.

“Nah, ‘m good. Jus’ wanted to see if ya cared or not.”

Of course. Toji had never once made a sound even if you were to pour alcohol on a deep cut. He laughs lowly at your irritation and eye roll when you shove him away. Though somehow, he saw the rise at the corner of your lip.

“You’re the worst. Get out.”

Running off to the shower, he catches your waist and spins you ‘round. “Don’t run from me,” he says.

You stop your flailing to declare, “You can’t stop me!”

“I’ll catch you every time.”

“Like hell you will,” you grunt.

But alas, his hold on you is tight enough to simmer your movements down to a simple twist and turn. You weren’t getting out any time soon, unfortunately. “Damn you.”

Your arms were pressed up against your chest at the close proximity of being squished together, and you’re leaned back while he leans over you.

Before he even realizes it, his hands are hot and traveling the span of the towel like he was feeling you for the first time again. Your own hands are trapped at his collarbone. Eyes filled with curiosity find his, but he looks out of his element, treading around you carefully as if you were a loaded trap.

Water gathers on your skin from the steam, the heat under the towel multiplying with every second. He’s already so close, and maybe it’s the cloudiness of your surroundings that shows him inching closer, but his scar appears bigger and his eyes soften until he’s tugging you in with a firm grip, barely brushing your lips together as if testing the waters.

Ultimately, you let it happen, brushing your noses back and forth until warning sounds blare in your head. That’s all it took? All the resolve you had?

Or maybe it wasn’t your fault, and he knew just how to break them down. Come into the room, ask you to do something you wouldn’t deny, then say things he knew would frazzle you until you’re in a situation like this— he played his cards perfectly.

You whisper, “To-“

He cuts you off with a soft kiss, placed right on your plump lips. Then he pulls away, only to chase back for more, and then it hits you how you’ve longed to be touched like this. Especially by him.

It was all you ever wanted when you were still together. The way he holds you like you’ll slip away any second, or the slow and sultry kiss, or the thought that he was pouring everything he should have done— or said— into this very moment.

When you do finally manage to get his name out, it comes out hushed. He pretends he doesn’t hear it, tilting his head to find more of you.

The kiss becomes more passionate on both ends when he runs his hands around your body; the both of you know it would be torn to shreds if it were up to him, but even with the extra time to think about what you’re doing, nothing seems to be alarming enough to stop. You place your fingers on his face and neck.

His large hand trails up the back of your thigh until it meets the fat of your cheek. It’s instinct when your arm reaches down to push it away, but it only grips him gently as he squeezes your plush between his digits.

He intakes your lip between his teeth just as he used to, then let’s it go to suck on the skin of your neck as you huff beside him. This finally gives you the chance to respond, but he takes it instead.

“Get in.”

“What?”

“Get yer sweet ass in the shower.” He follows the demand with a peck to your jaw.

“…Oh okay?”

When you step in, it gives you a little time to think alone about what just happened. You tuck a strand of fallen hair behind your ear.

This was a bad idea. Entirely. But dismissing the heat between your legs was easier said than done, and denying the man is something you’ve never been good at when he continuously gets you everything you want. You started staying home for the kids when he was working— and despite the morals that accompany being a woman— he did, in fact, pay all the bills and work all day so you gladly did the housework. When he left, you started working again.

Suddenly, the glass door slides back to reveal Toji’s chest first, then the rest of him follows behind. The effort it takes not to look down is so strong that you turn your head back to the water with intentions of never turning around again. Unfortunately, your soap is over there.

He knew exactly which one it was, especially since he— not only bought it when you ran out— but shared the shower with you. The loofas are hanging nearest the shower-head so his bicep has to brush your shoulder to reach it. There’s a pop, then silence, then another pop before the soap is spreading around your body in a trail. He’s quiet, and not exactly pressed up behind you, but close enough to reach what he needs to. He turns you around while squatting to reach your legs, then lifts your knee over his shoulder to get your thigh and calves. The water rinses off you, to him, then the drain.

It’s innocent until it isn’t. He kisses at the unbelievably soft skin of your thighs while you act as a shield for the rain on your back. With one hand hooked around your thigh and the other supporting your weight, his lips get closer, and closer, until they’re face to face with yours. He looks up at you, maybe even expecting a different expression, but you just peer down at him blissfully when his warm tongue leaves his mouth to swirl at your clit.

It’s slow at first. So slow you think it could a different man. But just when he has you fooled, he lets go of your risen thigh, completely holding the weight of your leg on his neck and relocates the hand to your hip to drag you closer to him. Nose-deep, he was thriving underneath you.

Impatient and sloppy. He ate like a starved man.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as the sweet sounds poured from your lips, almost getting faded away by the shower. His touch was nothing compared to the heat flicking in and out of you. Your balance was completely controlled by him, thank god, because you may be somewhere on the floor with a twisted ankle by now. From here, as he’s bent over, you can see the cursive writing tattoo of both his baby girl’s names displayed on the top of his right shoulder blade. You remember asking where Megumi’s tattoo was, and he joked that the fucker came out looking and acting just like him. “That had to be branding enough,” he said.

He sucks and slurps and it’s a complete mess, but there’s a misshapen smile on your face instead of a frown because fuck— it had been a while since you’d been ate like this. His fingers of the hand that wasn’t holding you in place press up between your walls, allowing a mix of your essence and water to flow down his palm, all the way to the middle of his forearm. The pressure builds.

“Mgghmm,” you whine above him, throwing your head back. The bastard mocked you by returning the sound. The vibrations shot up your core.

He wanted to say something, but if he were to talk, he couldn’t taste you. He saved the speech for later. Your palm finds his hair like it always did when you were close, but what he loves best was that it was muscle memory to move his head how you wanted it. He’d flatten the muscle of his tongue, allowing you to pull his hair in the directions you liked it.

And just like that, your eyes shut and your hips stutter as he sucks on your nub (and whatever else he could fit in his mouth) until you’re shaking and dripping all over his tongue, just how he liked it.

As you came down from your high, it was then you realized this had gone too far. No matter how good it felt. The only connection you two were really supposed to have is through the kids.

“Toji we can’t do this anymore. Not here.” Your hand emphasizes “this,” but you can’t bear to look him in the eyes and say it breathlessly, so you continue to stare up at the ceiling.

He removes his fingers from you and comes to his feet.

“So ya wait until yer dripping down my chin to tell me?” Right on cue, he sticks his fingers in his mouth, cleaning off whatever hadn’t washed away by the water with a devilish smile on his face that you couldn’t see. In case you hadn’t caught on, he didn’t believe you one bit. “I assume I can’t touch ya anymore then?”

You were quiet, unable to respond, still regaining oxygen.

“Aright, that’s fine.”

This does make you look at him, confusion clearly on your face because he never gives up that easily. If he did, he wouldn’t be here.

Your suspicions prove to be completely valid because he steps backwards until his back hits the cold tile, tilting his head as he looks dead in your eyes, just to wrap his dominant hand around the length of his cock that couldn’t seem to get any harder. It was an angry red and carried trailing veins that only got that prominent with neglect. Your mouth drops, but you expect nothing less from someone as shameless as him.

His throat rumbles, “Put on a show, will ya?”

Even as you stand there idly in shock, it was enough for his hand to completely enclose the base of the shaft, and begin to slowly slide upwards. It was glistening with wetness, along with the rest of his dips and curves.

“What makes you think I gotta touch? Got off like this plenty of times on duty,” he affirms. “Ten times better in person though.”

His dark eyes dip down to your collarbone, then your breasts, then your hips, and back up. The loofah was somewhere discarded on the shower floor. How the hell do you respond to this?

You don’t. You stand and stare at the scene in front of you. He said he hasn’t been with anyone but you, and you believe him. Is the tip that’s leaking precum like he’s been untouched in front of you helping his case? You definitely think so.

He notices your unwavering gaze, like a cat to a laser. His hand moves up to the beginning of his mushroom head.

He tips his head at you. “Move yer hands around f’me. Like ya do in the mirror when ya think ‘m not watchin.”

Un-ironically, you knew exactly what he was talking about, so you slowly and drag your hands from your hips, past your waist, around your ribcage and stopping at your chest. With fingers wrapped around the fat and your nipples peeking through, you move them around, just as you remember he would. You had forgotten that quick about your previous words but you have already been trained to listen when he speaks.

“Good girl,” he praises. It was a bonus watching him come all the way back down and up again.

You carry on, even twisting around and moving your hair out of the way. His speed and grip increases simultaneously. “Like that?”

The dark-haired man grunts at the words, because damn did he miss when you spoke that way. “Perfect sweetheart— just like that.”

You felt yourself get wet all over again even when already surrounded with water.

“I know yer thinkin’ of me when you touch yourself like I taught you to.” When you nod, he begins twisting his hand at a slower to medium pace. “I already make you come when ’m not there, don’t I?”

Another nod.

“Yeah, I know. Pretty pussy like yours don’t just take anything, does it?”

You think about all the toys you’ve tried. It doesn’t. “No…”

You watch every strong stroke and the curl of his hand. He groans loudly, his eyes shutting, almost covered by the wet, black hair fallen in front of his face. He can’t see you but your presence is just as effective.

“This cock was made for you. Ya think I still fit like a glove? Yeah?”

He continues on, just knowing that you’re cracking.

“But oh, we shouldn’t be doin’ this though, right honey?” He chuckles. One eye is slightly open and his face is flushed. He watches your expression, like you want to give up everything you’ve worked hard for, just teetering on the edge of the conflict. It’s all yours if you want it, his expression says.

You’ll never allow yourself to do what your heart is saying with your brain yelling at you, so he makes the rough decision.

“Come give me a kiss,” he says.

Before you can stop yourself, you practically jump to him, smashing your lips against his and replacing his hand around his cock with both of your own. They were small compared to his, and yet somehow felt so much better on his skin.

His thumbs situate under your jaw. Toji smiles at your desperation, satisfied that you’ll still fall into his arms, but eventually pulling away and turning you around just to drag you back to his stomach by the hand wrapped around your throat. His voice is declarative in your ear as you move swiftly with carnal desire.

“How ‘bout I fuck you the old way, hm? For good times sake.”

“Yes, please,” you beg, nodding frantically as he forms the arch in your back with his palm. He turns you to the glass door, teasing his length at your entrance, and bringing a hard hand to your ass. You hiss. The feeling turns to pleasure after a while.

Without saying anything, he slides his way in, getting caught somewhere in the middle due to his sheer size, and letting you readjust. It was easier than he thought it’d be. He’d bottomed out within a minute of being inside because you were just that slick, but the journey through your tight cunt was agonizing. He concludes he wasn’t the only one holding out.

“Fuckin’ shit, she remembers me.” He teases. “Look at us. Like two pieces of a puzzle.”

“Oh my god, do you ever shut up?” It comes out before you can stop it. This lands a harsh slap on your ass.

“Just because I like yer snappy mouth don’t mean I can’t punish ya for it. Watch yer tone.”

There’s a pause of where you can’t help but smile a little. “Yes, sir.”

He pulls all the way out, then ruts back in, and it’s then you realize how fucked you are. It’s uncomfortable until about the sixth thrust. You’re the air to a suffocating man. The food to a starving lion. Whatever dramatic analogy you wanted to use would suffice with both hands now digging into your hips and your face pressed against the condensation-soaked glass, and he has no plans of stopping anytime soon.

Your body was still adapting to him since your heart seemed to be made up, but your brain was fuzzy and out of order. That’s just what he did to you. Grunts from his thrusts sound from behind to show you weren’t the only one.

“Feels like the first time again,” he utters to himself. You’re so tight he has to slightly pull your legs apart if he doesn’t want to absolutely paint your insides white. “You’ll milk me dry at this rate.”

“What, Daddy ain’t got it in him anymore?” You giggle. You thought it was funny.

Obviously, he didn’t. “Fuck did ya just say to me?”

Whether you were adjusted or not, he tugs both your arms to cross over your lower back, being held in one hand at your wrists, and your neck to be forced into the glass by his other. “Don’t try it, brat. I’ll make you count every fuckin’ thrust and tell me how each one was different tomorrow morning.”

The only reason you didn’t pester on was because he definitely would, and by the end of tonight, there was no way in hell you could remember. To anyone else, this would make no sense, but to you, it comes clear as day. Petty bastard. What number was this again?

His thighs slap against the back of yours. The water makes the sound ten times louder, and when it mixes with your elongated moans, it fills the entire bathroom. There was strength in every stroke that you couldn’t run away from. Each one rocks you into the glass. It was deep in your tummy, repeatedly, just to remind you that even if there was another man, he could never get to your cervix like Toji could because he was all girth with the length to match.

“Mmphh shit- yes, yes,” your voice is altered by your flat cheek. Everything was so much more sensitive after your first orgasm. Toji hunches over you to reach your clit, leaving the hand that binds your wrists.

The second wave gathers in your stomach every time his tip kisses what feels like your belly button. The tremor of your pussy shoots electricity through his blood. Feeling you clench around his shaft is suffocating, but he holds out by quickly retracting himself once you ride out enough of your orgasm.

The emptiness subsides as he drags you around with his hand clasping your throat and kisses you. It’s rough and too short, but he needed a distraction for you so you don’t realize he’s raising you off the ground.

You would lecture him about this position in the shower—it’s asking for somebody to fall, you or him, and the cold glass against the span of your back is uncomfortable. You can’t bring yourself to care right now though, not with his hands under your ass and his hold that feels like he’s never letting go.

Just as quickly, you place your hands on his biceps as he slides back in. There’s a deep groan from both of you. Your head tips back, sticking your wet hair to the door and your skin when it runs back and forth along the glass.

“I-I fuck— missed y-you,” your fingers find position on his cheek, your half lidded eyes and pouty lips staring through him.

He grunts before kissing you passionately, only pulling away slightly to say it back: “Missed you too sweetheart, ya know that.” His breaths were shallow and raw and you didn’t have to think twice to believe him. His actions since you divorced all the way up until now says so.

With his feet planted firmly on the ground, his cock pounds up into your hole and his balls slap your ass. It’s a lewd and loud scene.

“Missed this tight little pussy too. In fact…”

Before your ankles can lock around his waist, he rotates his hold on your ass to just under your knees, using more strength to not only pull you up, but reposition to where he can throw your legs over both his shoulders. You attempt to inspect what he’s doing but instead catch a glimpse of how far off the ground you are. He knows because he feels your arms connect tighter at his nape and your nails trek through his hair. “W-Wait I don’t think—“ you start.

The sheer force of his next thrust rocks the wall, and continues to do so with the ones after that. To prevent from ripping his hair out, your hands relocate to the broad of his back. There, you dip your fingernails as far into his skin as you please because at least you know he likes it. You’ll apologize for adding to his injury later.

“Hh-ah daddy please! right there,” the sounds of his name are louder and right into his ear, over and over again, fueling the blazing fire that has been building up since everything happened. God, how he longed to hear you call for him again on the verge of tears, like he was the only one who could save you. Like you were dependent on him. The voice usually spewing playful insults at him or bickering back is now three octaves higher than usual and screaming his name with more than want. Need.

One of his hands draws up to your breast, somehow allowing him to suck and bite while keeping the brutal pace of his thrusts. The other reaches your reddening nub. The only leverage you have right now is the trust in your legs to keep you up.

The initial plan was to tell him you were getting close at the speed of a freight train since he was hitting a group of nerves that sent you to a spiral. The hard part, was that you, in fact, were getting close at the speed of a freight train. So before you can tell him, it slams into you, rendering you speechless and completely stagnant for a moment as your vision clouds with white.

“Goddamn,” his head drops into your chest during your orgasm (that you didn’t heed a warning to) as it swallows him whole. It’s overwhelming after all this time, but not so much that his thrusts completely stop. He grinds his last touch up into you.

When you come back, your breaths are like thirty pound weights. They’re sporadic and the hot steam from the atmosphere is not helping. Toji inches back and forth, and you finally see it when your senses return: his back rising and lowering, his muscles straining, his brows coming together to a deep crease in the middle of his face, and there somehow being a warmth inside you that wasn’t there before.

Both catching your breath for a few minutes, he has to break the silence because it sure as hell wasn’t going to be you. “Been a while since I’ve done that.”

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna come inside!” You counter. A small smile creeps onto his face. He’s still buried inside you and you’ve already reverted to your old self.

“Hell, you ain’t tell me you were comin’ at all.”

Truth be told, he hadn’t really meant to, but that’s probably what it was going to come to anyway. It all happened so damn fast before he could stop it, and he doesn’t have the best self control, foretold by how he got here in the first place. “What if I wasn’t on birth control Toji?”

He shrugs, looks up at you, then pecks your chin, “We woulda made it work.”

Without thinking, he slowly pulls out and overstimulates you in the process. He doesn’t set you down yet, but instead lets you hold onto him with the strength you have left as he finds a way to clean you.

Sometime through the process he instructs you to push.

“What?”

“You want me to reach ‘n get it myself?”

Your eyes shoot wide. “Toji!”

——

After everything dies down, the heater is blasting throughout the room while you’re tucked under the covers, comfortably waiting for the bed to dip and reveal the large man’s presence.

It does, but not after he did a double take in the mirror, contemplating his werewolf of a lover.

•—————•

11:37 AM

Toji knows when you disassociate. It’s the arms subconsciously tucked protectively around yourself, gazing blankly at nothing in particular, breathing heavy and long while biting your lip.

The ruffle of a plastic bag catches your attention, and when he stalks over to you, his body filling out the shirt he threw on this morning in all the right spots, you only seem to focus on the everlasting warmth in his eyes. He comes to a halt less than a foot away.

“Yer thinking,” he declares.

The observation rips your eyes from his as you proceed to deny it, an immediate response to being caught red-handed. “I’m not. Not about anything important at least.”

His head barely tilts to the side, an incredulous smile lifting the scar on his lip. “Right. It’s the same one Emi makes, jus’ without the sad pout.”

A fleeting image of your little girl clouds your brain. He was 100% correct.

Instead of answering, you turn yourself around, back to the soup, mindlessly stirring and trying to convince yourself it needs a few more minutes.

This was a horrible idea because now your back is turned to him.

Anyone in their right mind knows you don’t turn your back to Toji.

He’s sneaky and quick; quick to bring his large hands over your shoulders, curling his fingers around the muscles of your trap as if he’d known they’d been tight all night, and pressing on upwards closer to your neck. It was like he was treading how far you’d let him go before you regretted it, but there was nothing respectful about how close he was pressed up to you, or about the night before. He has done so much worse but this is where he becomes careful. His chin comes to rest in the open space beside your face, redirecting his hands to gliding down your hips.

“Cmon, what did I say about running from me?” He coos. You don’t respond, so he goes on, his breath chilly on your skin. “Smells good in here. What’cha makin?”

“Soup.” You state. And an afterthought: “Potato.”

“Good, it’ll make sure you stay nice and warm.” On queue, his large hands connect at your stomach delicately.

The descriptors were two perfect words for how he felt hovering behind you. His shadow overtakes yours and he was too quiet so you watch his eyes fall closed in your peripheral.

Toji was sulking in it. Being able to hold you like this. Truthfully, he didn’t think you’d let him; there was just tacit boundaries the two of you held when you split. He was always gone, and despite how much you loved them, him leaving his kids completely to you while he constantly worked was hard; money was never an issue.

Once everything was over, he made sure to find a way to take off more often. He wouldn’t dare lose his girls like he lost you. Thankfully, never were you completely out of his life, just the slightest bit out of reach.

Your sweet smell floated through his nostrils like it had when you met. It was you and him, the faint sound of the TV, no kids to pull you apart, none of your family to question why you still talk to him after he drops his “package” (the kids) off and leaves, no arguments from your responses being “I love them just as much as he does”—

None of that.

There’s a small sound that only registers as a kiss when you feel his soft lips barely press down against your neck. You soothe it to the opposite side, giving him space to do so. It felt so right, you fit in his arms like nobody else, and while you were thinking about it—there were no plans to go back into dating. Toji would kill them. Literally.

He hadn’t meant to do it, but he was so caught in the moment that he didn’t realize. You were so close already, and to him, each one symbolizes another thing he misses about you and another thing he wishes he did differently.

There’s a gentle hum in the air, and at the same time, Toji pulls you closer to him. You willingly follow with all your weight in his hands, your hair now dangling between you. His flat hand leaves your stomach to twist the knob on the stove. Then, it works with his other hand to pull the small bag you remember seeing the night prior that’s hanging on his wrist off and open. The silver of his wedding band still stretches across his finger, while yours was bare.

“What’s this? I thought those were for Emi and Chi?” You ask comfortably. He doesn’t respond immediately, but he searches past the paper and retrieves a medium sized box wrapped with matching pink ribbon, then rests the cute gift bag aside on the counter.

“Hafta spoil all my girls— you know that.”

His voice is rich with clarity and love in your ear, and to make things worse, he nudges his nose delicately around the area.

“Toji, you know I can’t take-”

Before you can finish, he pops the velvet box open with one hand, rubbing and caressing you with the other, and there’s a silver, diamond-studded tennis bracelet. Looking into the box, it’s round-cut and customized to where between every individual diamond, there’s a tiny, pink sapphire jewel to give it some color.

You audibly gasp as it shines and glitters, even resting idly in front of you. Toji weighs out your reaction. He concludes it good when your cheeks redden and your eyes glisten at the sight.

Suddenly, the same eyes dart away from the gift, and a wave of emotions washes over you. Once you process it, you quickly turn in Toji’s arms and look up at him with a painted face of worry and a solid pout.

He knows you know now, and there’s no going back.

As a response to show you how he truly felt about things so you can determine how close you are, you’re proven right when his eyes sink and the most genuine smile overtakes his lips.

Your widened eyes gradually mist up, your brows upturn as you stare at him from below, and all he can think about is how much you really do look like his baby girl.

“…Don’t do this to me,” you plead, voice wavering but barely there, and the tear threatening to fall finally growing heavy. “Please don’t make me…again…” He wipes it away with his thumb as it drops.

You hadn’t realized your hands were gripping his shirt desperately.

Some days you dreamed of this. Other days you prayed it would never happen again. No matter what, you would always love him, but he can’t slither his way in and crush the wall you’ve rebuilt. The one you’ve tried your damndest to protect. And all it took was for him to hold you like he did before to make it all come crumbling down. Who’s to blame for it?

His expression doesn’t change despite your begging, and it reminds you that, to him, you will always be the beautiful girl he declared the love of his life. He can’t see you any other way.

Which is why he grabs a hold of your hand, carefully lowers himself to a knee, and presses a gentle kiss to your fingertips. This propels your tears to fall so much worse, and it’s so overbearing, you don’t know what to do. The nights the kids were running around, not listening, driving you insane after a frustrating day at work and you just wanted to be held— nobody was there. You couldn’t call him; all you had was yourself. And yet, you register what your heart’s decision is when the first thing you do when clueless and buried under hurt is call his name.

“Toji.”

You can barely see him under the tears, but he’s holding the box up to you. Instead of a ring, it was something so much more and personal, passing as a simple generous gift to anyone who wasn’t in the situation you share.

“This bracelet’s more than the ring I proposed with. Not only by price— ‘cause you deserve the best— but as I ask if you’ll take this, I recite the vows I failed to uphold in my head. I made a promise to be with you; to hold ya from that day forward, through all of better and worse, sickness and health—and yet you felt alone. Won’t ever forgive myself for that.”

Tears were streaming down your face as you sob, shaking in his hand. Was this really happening? Or was it a fever dream?

“I’m not a good man, but you’re a “once in a lifetime” woman, and you balance me out. I’ll be damned if someone good does come around, no matter how perfect y’all are for each other, because I’m a selfish fucker, and I’d rather die than see you look at someone else the way you look at me. So, to love and to cherish— if you’ll have me one last time— it’s till death do us part baby.”

You don’t respond. Instead, you stand there and weep.

Take him back? You want to. He has been coming home much more than he used to.

But it was your very first marriage. Your dream wedding: you walked down the isle in the setting sun, you snorkeled and felt free during your honeymoon—you felt like a princess. Then after a while, it all ended with the bedside empty, or other nights, occupied by one of the girls that couldn’t sleep. He waits patiently in front of you, rubbing between your fingers in his hand.

Then, faintly, he hears, “I’m scared,” with a heavy cry at the end. This prompts him back up to his feet, holding his arms out, and he encases you. You immediately stain his shirt an even darker shade of black, holding onto him for dear life.

He brushes your hair past your ears. This opens you back up to him, even if it’s just the side of your puffy cheeks and eyes. He kisses the hair on your head. “I know.”

You were going to say yes, it’s all you’ve ever wanted. But what if he doesn’t uphold? Or something happens between you two? It’s not just you now, it’s the kids as well. Though it will also be better for them if you two are present and married; there’s no more Mommy and Daddy’s house, or “my mom is picking me up from school,” but one, single coordinated family. They’ll grow knowing their parents are comfortable around each other with stability.

You would do anything for them, you realize, even if it does come to suffering by a man they call their father.

“Yes,” you croak out.

Toji looks down at you, blinking, a little confused. He hadn’t expected you to make your mind up. He thought he was going to have to convince you that he would do anything to get you by his side again, not just because you were stubborn, but because it was what he deserved.

What he hadn’t taken account for, was the strength of a mother’s love. His thumbs gingerly glide over your red, puffy cheeks, and nothing he could say can tell you how happy he is, so he sets it upon himself to stuff it all into one kiss and a few words.

“I love you, Sweetheart.”

©️ hxltic

744 notes · View notes

h0tchner · 3 years

Text

Any Age, Any Day, Anywhere (Part 1) - aaron hotchner x fem!reader

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: WRITTEN FOR AN ANON REQUEST: "ok hi so u already wrote a jealous reader and was wondering whats your take on jealous hotch? i mostly see him in fics as possessive and yeah being the leader type i would think he could also be possessive but i also think that he would just be sad like ya know he doubts himself as we saw in some episodes and i think he would need assurance and a lot of convincing that u only love him but if you’ve given that to him then thats the time he would be possessive and god i would love to imagine a possessive and feral aaron hotchner"

word count: 3.5k

includes: kissing, so much freaking adorable fluff, talk of body insecurities, insecure!hotch, protective!hotch, wifey reader, super brief mentions of pregnancy, alcohol, confrontation with a drunk asshole (derek & hotch are all over it tho dw), party at papa rossi's!, smut to come in next chapter...

rating: 18+ (technically there is no smut in this part, but there are adult themes such as drinking, kissing, etc.).

a/n: HELLO BESTIES! This is part one of a two-part fic! The next part will be pure filth, so keep your eyes peeled for some feral hotch content... ALSO! PLS (!!!!!!!!!!!) interact if you liked this, rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y’all! - rivka💞

“Aaron! Can you come here for a sec?” you call out to your husband from the bathroom, muttering curses under your breath as you try (and fail) for the third time to zip up the back of your black cocktail dress.

“Sure, I just need a minute,” he replies from the bedroom closet, securing the last opalescent button on the arm of his white dress shirt. He looks at himself in the closet mirror, zeroing in at the bags under his eyes and the sprinkling of grey in his stubble. He looks… tired. Tired and old. And he hates it.

Even though Aaron is only in his late-40s, he has lived lifetimes; years of working as Unit Chief of the BAU will do that to a man. Every horror he’s seen and every person he’s lost has weighed on his body and mind. In the past few months, amidst work changes and a new baby, he’s been exhausted and in fear that he’s letting himself go. Of course, being the stoic man that he is, he’s done his absolute best to hide these feelings from you. Tonight, however, he doesn’t know if he can. It’ll be your first night out together as a couple since welcoming baby girl Hotchner to the family four months ago. With no pressing family or work distractions, he just knows that you’ll be able to sense his apprehensions. It’s only a matter of when.

Taking in a breath, he turns a little to the side, frowning at his profile. Aaron winces a little at his “dad bod,” but quickly recovers from the discomfort, milliseconds after it flashes across his face.

“Aaron Hotchner get your handsome butt in here and help me zip my dress! We’re gonna be late,” you exclaim, trying one last time to reach the zipper before giving up and crossing your arms in defeat. You lean back lightly against the countertop facing the door, letting the fabric slip off your shoulders, and wait for your husband to rescue you from the hell that is this dress.

At the sound of your voice, Aaron snaps out of his trance. He shakes his head lightly, as if to physically erase the intrusive thoughts, and clears his throat. Grabbing his suit jacket off the hanger, he flicks off the closet light and closes the door behind him.

Languidly, he meanders from the closet toward the bathroom. He drags his feet a little longer than he normally would, still feeling off and a little bit shy about his appearance.

“Aaron,” you sing, “I’m waiting for –,” your jaw drops mid-sentence when Aaron appears in the doorway.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe out before you can stop yourself, eyes widening at the sight of the gorgeous man in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, crossing over to you, searching your face for any ounce of reprieve.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong,” you’re quick to reply, standing from your leaning position to meet him, holding out your hands.

He takes them in his own, cocking his head slightly, his soft hazel eyes boring into yours.

You shift forward, moving up on your toes to peck his soft pink lips.

He sighs into the kiss, feeling the warmth of your lips against his own. It feels so good that it almost makes him forget about how he is feeling… almost. But the dark thoughts come back, and he pulls away from you a bit, reluctantly.

Aaron clears his throat.

“You called me?” He questions, but it sounds more like a fact.

“Yeah,” you give his hands a squeeze. “I needed you to zip up my dress, but now,” you lean in again, “I kinda want you to rip it off me.” You offer him a sultry smirk, moving your hands up to rest on his broad chest. He moves his hands to settle on your hips.

You lick your lips and let your eyes rake over his body, taking in every ounce of his sexy frame. The way his crisp, white dress shirt hugs his solid body makes you go weak in the knees. His strong, toned legs in those black dress pants? Yes please. His soft black hair and salt and pepper stubble on his face are practically begging to be touched. He looks good. Damn good.

“You look…” you pause, tapping a finger lightly against his pectoral, searching for the right word, “…delicious.”

Aaron blushes lightly at your ogling, offering you a sad smile as he squeezes his eyes shut out of embarrassment.

You sense the falter in his demeanor, knowing that there’s something else nagging at him far beyond his usual flustering when you vocalize your attraction to him.

“Honey,” you implore, looping your hands around his neck to bring his forehead down to touch yours. “What’s going on in that big, beautiful brain of yours?”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, swallowing, rubbing soft circles into your sides.

“It’s something,” you counter, carding a hand through his hair at the nape of his neck. You scratch lightly at his scalp, waiting for him to speak. You’ve learned that the best thing to do when Aaron gets in a mood is to give him some time to gather his thoughts. Keeping him close, physically, is a way to show him some comfort without pressuring him to speak. It encourages him, without words, that your arms are a safe place.

“I don’t…” he starts, and then stops himself. His dark eyebrows furrow and his mouth presses into a thin line.

“Mhm?” you question, fingers still tangled in his thick, black locks.

He pulls his forehead away from yours and locks eyes with you. You let your hands be still now, a silent gesture to show him that you’re listening.

He takes in a breath.

“I don’t look the way I used to,” he says quietly, shifting his eyes away from yours.

“What do you mean,” you urge him to continue.

“I mean, I don’t look like I did five years ago. Two years ago. Four months ago. I mean, I was practically a different man when we first met. I was younger, fitter…” he trails off, visibly upset.

“Yes, Aaron, you were,” you agree, keeping your tone temperate.

His eyes snap to yours, confused. It’s clear that was not what he was expecting you to say.

“You were a different man,” you continue gently, resuming your pacifying touch in his hair, “and I was a different woman.”

Aaron lets out a huff.

“Do you love me any less now than you did five years ago?” You ask him.

“Of course not,” he’s quick to answer.

“Why is that?” You prod.

“You’re gorgeous, inside and out. You’re funny, smart, loving…” he begins, but you interrupt him before he can go on.

“And,” you butt in, “if I were to go completely grey, gain thirty pounds, and only wear a potato sack to work every day would you love me any less?”

Aaron huffs again, but this time he’s fighting a smile. He’s starting to catch on. You watch as a spark of levity returns to his eyes. He holds you a little tighter.

“No. There’s nothing you could do or say to make me love you any less,” he grumbles in annoyance, but his upturned lip and matching eyebrow tell a different story.

“Ditto, baby,” you smile up at him. “I love you at any age, any day, anywhere, and there is nothing in the world that can make me change my mind.”

He dips down then, capturing you in a kiss, grinning against your lips.

You giggle as Aaron works his way down your jawline and neck, gasping as he kisses the soft skin at the junction of your neck and shoulder, thick fingers gripping the sides of your hips. He moves his lips back up to your earlobe, nipping at it lightly as you let out another soft gasp.

“You always know the right thing to say,” he whispers into your ear, pressing another kiss right underneath it.

“Aaron, I know I said I wanted you to take this dress off me,” you say breathlessly as Aaron nips at your shoulder again, “but Rossi will kill us if we don’t show up tonight. Plus, I really want the chance to show off my super sexy FBI husband. It’s been far too long.”

He lets out a low groan into your skin and gives your hips a squeeze, nuzzling his head into your neck.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “you’re right.”

“Aren’t I always,” you snort, eliciting a chuckle from your husband as you turn around in his arms to let him zip you up.

He takes his time, letting his fingers brush lightly over your spine as he draws the zipper over your back. When he’s done and the clasp is latched, he kisses one shoulder lightly, and then the other.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning back against his warm body.

“No, honey,” he kisses the top of your head, “thank you.”

_____________________________________________________________

By the time you and Aaron arrive at Rossi’s mansion, the party is already in full swing. Judging by the number of cars in the makeshift parking lot on his spacious front lawn, there must be at least fifty, maybe even a hundred people here.

Despite the bustle of the evening, it doesn’t take long for you two to find Emily, Penelope, and Derek in the living room, drinks in hand, snacking on some very expensive looking food.

“Hey, look! It’s the Hotchners!” Emily cheers, teetering on the arm of the leather couch, wine glass in hand.

“Hello beautiful BAU power-couple!” Penelope chimes in from the seat next to her, cuddled up into Derek’s side.

You laugh and let go of Aaron’s hand, walking over to greet your friends.

“Hey hot stuff, look at you, look at you!” Derek chimes in, eyeing you up and down before standing to shake Aaron’s hand.

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes at him as you give Emily a big hug.

“And you don’t look bad yourself, boss man!” Derek adds.

You shoot your husband an ‘I told you so’ look over your shoulder, before untangling your arms from Emily and giving Penelope an equally enthusiastic squeeze.

“It’s good to see you all,” Aaron smiles lightly, all dimples in the low light. He steps in to give Emily and Penelope soft hugs.

“Let’s go get you a drink,” Derek says to Aaron, clapping him on the back.

“White?” Aaron looks to you, even though he already knows the answer.

“Yes please,” you respond, “thank you.”

“Be back soon,” he smiles easily, kissing your cheek, making your heart ache.

Aaron and Derek turn and exit the room together.

Penelope drunkenly pats the seat next to her, and you plop down on the couch.

“We’ve missed you like this!” Emily exclaims, gesturing between the three of you and around the room. “I can’t believe we’ve had to wait nine whole months plusanother four just to have a drink with our best friend again.”

You laugh at her, tilting your head back lightly. “Well, you guys got a beautiful little niece out of it, doesn’t that make up for all the wild girl’s nights I missed?”

Emily sighs, dramatically, “I guess so,” she jests.

“Oh, for sure.” Penelope adds. “You look freaking gorgeous, by the way. I mean, I would have never guessed you were creating a tiny human in that body only a few months ago!”

You blush lightly at her words, “You flatter me far too much, Pen. I owe this,” you gesture down at your figure, “all to Spanx!”

“Amen!” Emily toasts. You raise an imaginary glass to theirs and pretend to clink, taking a swig of invisible liquid.

“Are J.J. and Will here?” You ask them after they’ve had a few more sips of their wine.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emily nods, “they’re around somewhere.”

You take a moment and look around the room, taking in all the sights and the sounds of the party. You see some faces you recognize from around the bureau, but others you don’t. Just as you’re about to turn back to your friends, someone catches your eye. One face stands out from the crowd: he’s a young, suave-looking man in a sharp navy suit. Sandy hair perfectly gelled, shiny brown loafers, and bright blue eyes looking right at you. In another life you would have been exhilarated by his attention, apparent charm, and good looks, but now? Now, you’re married to the love of your life with an amazing stepson and a wonderful baby girl. His wolfish gaze means absolutely nothing to you. You simply flash him a curt smile and turn back to Emily and Penelope without a second thought.

You and your friends resume your chatter, waiting for the men to return with more drinks... only they don’t. Perhaps its “new mother anxiety” talking, but the longer your husband is gone, the more you start to grow concerned. A few more minutes pass of antics, laughter, and catching up until the nagging voice in the back of your head turns into an all-out scream. All you know is that you’re suddenly feeling very overwhelmed need to be with Aaron. So, you announce to your friends that you’re going to hunt down Derek and your husband.

You stand from the couch and smooth out the skirt of your dress with the promise to be back in a few minutes.

You walk out of the living room and into the grand foyer, following the same route as Aaron had earlier. Your black kitten heels click on the marble flooring, the skirt of your dress swishing lightly as you walk with purpose towards the kitchen. You’re so concentrated on reaching your destination that you don’t realize the man who had been watching you in the living room was now hot at your heels, following you through the house. It’s only when a hand reaches out and jerks your arm backward that you stop, startled, just past the grand staircase, turning face to face with him.

“You’re not an easy woman to get alone,” he smirks, reeking of alcohol, still gripping your arm, tight. Up close he is decidedly not as handsome as the low light of the living room made him seem. In fact, he seems… creepy. Really, really, really, creepy.

“Can I help you?” You blink at him, pulling your arm out of his vice grip.

“You sure can, baby,” he steps closer to you, voice oozing with sleaze. You gag at the liquor on his breath.

Moving away, you scowl at him, crossing your arms across your chest.

“What’s say you and I head upstairs for a little while? I’m dying to get my hands on your body.” He jerks his head toward the staircase, reaching out to grab your arm again.

You’re fuming at this point, ready give him a piece of your mind when a stern voice beats you to it.

“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” Aaron articulates, approaching you both with Derek not far behind.

You breathe a sigh of relief as your husband glares at the drunken man vengefully, coming to stand by your side. Aaron pulls you into him, roughly, hand tight around your waist. The anger radiating off your husband is equally terrifying and HOT.

“Take a walk, man,” Derek adds in, coming to stand next to the drunken asshole. The man looks from you, to Aaron, then over to Derek, and finally back at you.

“Whatever,” the man grumbles, putting his hands up, “she’s not worth it anyway. Not pretty enough for the hassle. I just thought she looked like an easy lay.”

“That’s enough,” Aaron snaps, seething. “Leave now, before I make you,” your husband growls. He angles his body forward so you’re slightly behind him. A shiver passes through you at his fierce protectiveness.

“Fine, I’m going to get another drink,” the man utters.

“No,” Aaron interjects, “the party. Leave the party or I’ll have you removed.”

“What’s your problem?” The creepy man retorts, this time, more confrontationally.

“My problem?” Aaron says, angrily. You feel his entire body tense at the accusation.

“Hotch,” Derek warns, “I’ll take care of it. You guys go enjoy yourselves. Forget about him.”

“Come on, Aaron,” you tug on his suit jacket lightly, eyes pleading… but Aaron doesn’t budge from his spot. He only holds you tighter as he continues to stare down the man as Derek ushers him away and towards the front door. He doesn’t falter until they are out of sight.

“Aaron?” You repeat.

He looks down at you, finally, blinking away the fury until all that’s left is an all-consuming love. He releases you from his protective hold, and you face him.

“I’m okay,” you assure him in earnest, letting out a shaky breath.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” he breathes, bringing his hands up to cup your face.

“Aaron, it’s okay, really,” you bite your lip, shifting your eyes away from his.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aaron kisses your forehead, and then the top of your head. “So, so beautiful, and I’m so sorry.”

“Aaron, can we just go home?” You ask.

“Sure,” he kisses your head one last time before weaving his fingers between yours and guiding you gently toward the back exit.

_____________________________________________________________

The car ride home is quiet. The only sounds are the occasional click of the turn signal, and the hum of the wheels on the road. Aaron is still upset, and so are you, but you’re also… something else. Something you can’t quite put your finger on. You feel guilty for ruining the evening, guilty that you FEEL guilty for something you had no control over, hungry, tired, and… horny? Oh, and guilty for feeling horny.

It isn’t helping that one of Aaron’s hands is planted firmly on your thigh. He lifts it only to adjust the air conditioning or to scratch his nose, but otherwise it remains on you the whole way home. When he pulls into the driveway of your shared house, and shuts the car off, he still doesn’t move it.

“Honey?” You turn your head to look at him. His eyes are closed. You take in the strong features of his profile, noting the prominence of his nose and the way his eyelashes rest on his high cheekbones.

“I almost punched him.” Aaron whispers, opening his eyes to look over at you sheepishly.

“You what,” you exhale, mouth slightly agape.

“That guy,” he continues, bringing his left hand up to pinch his nose. “I almost punched him for saying that about you.”

You snort, amused by his confession.

Your husband lets out a short laugh, squeezing your thigh as he does.

“I would’ve liked to see that.” You’re grinning now and so is he.

He flashes his eyes at you and laughs again, this time less anxiously. You join him, feeling the tension dissipate with every passing moment.

“My big, bad FBI man decking a barely-legal drunk dickhead for making a move on his wife? Where can I get my tickets?” You joke.

As you say the words “his wife,” Aaron’s breath hitches in his throat. His hand on your thigh presses down instinctively. Neither of his reactions go unnoticed.

You lay a hand over his where it rests on your leg.

“You know, Aaron,” you begin.

He looks over at you, jaw tight, but this time it isn’t from anger.

“This is the first time we’ve had the house all to ourselves in months,” you pull his hand off you and bring it up to your lips. You press a kiss to his palm, and then to his wrist.

“This… is true,” he breathes out, studying you, taking you in.

“So, I’m just wondering:” you grin, linking your fingers with his, “are you going to carry your wife into our house, Aaron? Or do I have to walk myself?”

434 notes · View notes

delicrieux · 3 years

Text

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 "𝚘𝚑"

PART 8: CAT BOYS

... it’s late into the night and y/n is streaming with one of her new friends, sykkuno. running on caffeine and redbull is apparently not enough because she falls asleep on his shoulder 45 minutes into their cyberpunk gameplay. at that exact moment, twitter goes up in flames.

─── corpse husband x reader, sykkuno x reader (because i was threatened by thirsty anons) ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 1.8k author’s note: here it is...what yall been asking for. literally had to add a new part for this but i loved this idea sm i couldnt just nOT NOT do it. i tried writing this with the same energy as the smau lmao so expect chaos as always. hope you enjoy it and as always lmk what u think! hopefully yall wont go too feral, but tbh thats prolly too much to ask for xx EDIT: srr for the fucky format tumbler dot com is being lame

ultimate masterlist. ҉ myso masterlist ҉ previous. ҉ next.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Such a back and forth continues for the better part of the day as you get ready. Corpse only whines a bit when you forget to text him back - you are packing, and your prestigious cat ears you bought from Amazon for 10$ deserve exquisite care - which only fuels your seemingly bottomless hunger for mischief, leading to you sneakily ignoring him more. When your phone lights up with a message, you giggle, giddy with excitement. Your laughter only gets louder and more erratic, to the point where Rae had busted down your door and threw her Hello Kitty plush at you - one you’d gotten her, mind you! - and told you to just “Shut the fuck up!”

Ungrateful. You know not everyone can appreciate your sense of humor, or stand your hyena like cackle, but that was uncalled for and you told her as much. Noting the mess your room is in (more than usual, that’s for certain), she leans onto the door frame, crossing her arms over her chest, pretty brown eyes twinkling curiously, “Where you off to?”

“So I had this idea-” You start, but are promptly shut down with a raise of her palm.

“Already know it’s a bad one.”

Insulted, and hurt, you clutch your heart. As if she had not mocked you enough today, “Rae...The hell, that’s so mean...” You mutter, face scrunching into a soft frown, “I only wanted to tell you what me and Syk thought of.”

“Oh?” Intrigued, she raises a brow, “Continue.”

“Gee, thanks for letting me this time.” You mumble, rolling your eyes, “So. We thought we’d stream together. The catch? In the same room! We’ll be playing Cyberpunk. Gotta cash in while the hype is still up.” You add, making her snort, “And, ya know, the whole cat boy business...We’ll be wearing matching cat ears. Admit it, I’m a genius.”

She’s quiet for a moment, mulling over your words; you can practically see the gears in her head turning. She glances around the room, then briefly at you, strangely apprehensive. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

Well, that is definitely not what you expected her to say. You figured it’d be more along the lines of you’d be one ugly cat. “Huh?” Is all you manage to stutter, “What do you mean?”

She gives you a look, one all people give when something is so plainly obvious, “Y/n. You do know the stans will go wild, right? And you do remember our conversation involving Corp-”

“Nope!” You exclaim cheerily with a bright smile to match. You don’t want to think about that. The relationship between you and Corpse is strictly platonic, and besides, seeing Twitter loosing their shit is always funny, and you never miss an opportunity to mess with your fans. Sykkuno is also a good friend, albeit a new one. This supposed flirting from Corpse’s end Rae deduced was nothing more than her projecting her feelings onto the situation. She always liked shoujo anime and was probably thinking one was happening right in front of her. Not a chance. Corpse was just being a friendly crackhead. Your energies mesh beautifully.

Like, beautifully in a strictly friend way. Absolutely nothing more than that.

She gives up, naturally, arguing with a wall would be more productive than arguing with you. You’re such a (Zodiac sign).

“Well,” She mumbles, ticking her head to the side, leaning off of the door frame and turning to leave, “Don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

Your grin melts as soon as she leaves. Glancing at your bag, you shove your last necessities in with newfound hesitance.

Nothing bad will happen, right?

...Right?

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

It is well past the generally set “appropriate” time to hang out, but since quarantine, what is appropriate anymore anyway? You’ve never been in Sykkuno’s apartment, but now that you’re here it’s...strangely him. Every corner seems tailored to his specific requirements. It’s cozy, and pleasantly warm - it’s a bit chilly in LA, as surprising as that is.

He’s even shyer than you remember him being. And a whole lot more awkward, but in an endearing way, a way that makes you want to laugh and try to reassure him that it’s just you and he has nothing to worry about. While you hung out only once, the history you share is rich and tender. From him following you on Twitter and subsequently prematurely ending your stream, to kidnapping a stray cat affectionately named Juan. His long lost brother, Juan (no the Second, just Juan), lives in your Minecraft server.

His stream room is sadly bare. There’s an appalling lack of merch or fairy lights. Not even led-lights. It’s a good thing you brought your own. As you try to decided which color would be best - his signature lime green, reminiscent of his adorable Among Us astronaut, or, perhaps, mischievous violet? - he boots the game and tweets out a quick “streaming with y/n in ten mins! come one come all!”

“You should probably tell your fans, too.” He mumbles, looking somewhere above your shoulder. You settle with cherry blossom pink. Glancing at him, you shrug.

“Ah, do it for me, please?”

“Oh!” He hiccups, “Uhm, I wouldn’t want to pry and I don’t know your password and-”

“It doesn’t have a password.” You had removed it, knowing something like this would happen. Bless your foresight, you did not want him to know it was demonspiitinmymouth. Before he could protest further, you rush to the nearest mirror to put on your cat ears and make sure they aren’t crooked. You look absolutely adorable. The cat boys in your dms will go feral. Hell, you might just go feral looking at yourself! Sykkuno is not ready. No one is. This will be a stream to remember.

When you return (with flourish of course), he’s anxiously fidgeting by his computer, his own little cat ears, one’s he wore for the Halloween stream, peaking out from his silky brown hair. You have to suppress a squeal. When he catches you gaze he gives the kindest, sweetest little smile.

“They, uh--” He points at you, then decides it’s rude to point, bringing his hand back to his lap, then clutching his mouse, lastly releasing a sound stuck between a chuckle and a wheeze, “suit you, uhm, a lot!” He finishes with a resolute nod, quickly spinning in his chair and away from you.

This is the reaction you desired. All is going according to plan. Is this what God feels like? If not, then you pity her. She’s missing out.

Taking a seat next to him - he had been gracious enough to haul you a spare chair from the kitchen - you draw closer, and he, instinctively, shrinks away with another nervous chuckle.

“You have, uhm... I-I didn’t look!” He quickly chimes. You raise a brow, “Uhm, unopened messages? From Corpse? He texted you when I was tweeting! I didn’t mean to look, I’m sorry-”

Instantly, you recall the famous vine with the scandalous “daddy chill” line, though refrain from saying it aloud. You love havoc, but you’re not evil (Rae would ardently disagree with you, though). Instead, you just shrug, “’S fine, don’t worry. I’ll text him back later. Let’s start?”

He nods, but doesn’t look at you. Granted, you don’t think he glanced at you even once since you returned, “...Okay. Ready?”

“Ready!”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

You’re much too immersed into the game and Sykkuno’s twitch chat to even check what’s happening on Twitter, but your estimated guess is that everyone’s going crazy. The stream chat is unruly as well, but missing the signature Twitter spark. Most of the chaos is bravely lead by your fans. Sykkuno’s, much like the man himself, are too nice to scream so unabashedly.

Perhaps you excitement had been a bit too taxing, perhaps drinking 5 coffees and 2 energy drinks today and not enough water are to blame for the sudden drowsiness you’re feeling, but you can’t focus on the swimming chat or the abundance of cut-scenes at the starting point of the game. You steadily draw nearer and he, more composed in front of his audience, doesn’t react. About ten more minutes of hoovering by his shoulder and muttering soft commentary, and you feel yourself slipping.

The last coherent thought you have is a few choice words directed at caffeine itself for having the opposite effect of you at the worst time possible.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

You float in oblivion for perhaps ten minutes at best. Once you awake with a startle, you shower Sykkuno in shy apologies and he quickly reassures you that it’s fine and that he didn’t mind at all!

“Though,” He adds after a thoughtful pause, “not sure if it was very, uh, comfortable?”

His stream chat spams uwu and variations of similar kind. The stream continues for a few more hours before the both of you wish everyone a good night.

While you planned on wreaking absolute havoc, this sudden falling asleep was unexpected. You pondered the consequences of such an innocent, unplanned act whilst ubering home, fearing to check your phone which by now was blowing up with not only Twitter notifications but also Rae’s angry messages that vaguely read “what the fuck y/n”. Within the past two hours she had left 57 messages on all platforms collectively, including 7 calls.

Corpse’s last text was over three hours ago.

Now that’s strange. Worry festers quickly. Briefly glancing at your surroundings - the pretty glimmer of passing street lights, neon signs, familiar buildings - you decide that it’s time to check what kind of nuclear explosion you’ve caused.

Your heart drops to the bottom of your stomach as you scroll past the hundreds of tweets and mentions. Scan through Rae’s messages.

You had failed to prepare ahead. Every explosion of such kind is followed by nuclear winter. And Corpse’s lack of messages feels especially cold.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Not you smiling like a fucking idiot reading his last message! You shrink into the backseat, afraid the driver will accidentally look into the rear-view mirror and see you a bit too happy before asking questions. Good news? Yeah, but it’s not like it’s his any beeswax! In the words of Rihanna, just shut up and drive.

This argument had not yet happened, but you’re preparing, just in case.

As you think up of potential scenarios, your eyes drill into Corpse’s goodnight text. You’ve looked at it enough. Time to turn the phone screen off. Leave the app, at the very least. When the screen dims you instantly press on it to wake it up. This is embarrassing. Maybe the deadly amount of caffeine really did mess you up, big time. Your heart races in your chest, painfully almost. You feel a bit sick. Worst of all, you can’t stop smiling.

A notification from Rae makes you snap out of it. Ah, one more demon to deal with.

However, before you talk to her, you really need to tell Twitter that you’re not with Sykkuno. And apologize to Sykkuno as well.

At least Corpse doesn’t hate you.

Fucking hell, just exit the chat you idiot!

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @slashersdream - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai - @truly-dionysus - @multi-fandom-central707

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

2K notes · View notes

chiwhorei · 3 years

Text

𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐮𝐞𝐬

paring: kenny ackerman x fem!reader

genre: apocalypse!au, smut, dark content, 18+ mdni [cross-posted to Ao3]

word count: 3k

overview: kenny *i-wouldn’t-fuck-you-if-it-was-the-end-of-the-world* ackerman; but it is and you do . . . and you’ll probably do it again. or, if you read beyond the cut and wind up in hell that is legally not my fault.

tags: dymph does sacrilege once again, post-apocalypse au, blood, violence, zombies (only mentions of gore nothing specific), somnophilia, noncon, dubcon, degradation, smoking, insertion, sloppy oral, big age gap aka kenny is a nasty old man and reader is a sweet little virgin.

a.notes: happy *fucking* easter. this is for the smut pile’s apocalypse collab so go give everyone’s pieces a read, everyone has worked so incredibly hard. this is dedicated to @pleasantanathema, who was both my beta reader and emotional support while stringing this together. here’s to the old man fuckery, cheers.

hymn: the seven deadly virtues - camelot

But stay awake at all times, praying that you may have strength to escape all these things that are going to take place, and to stand before the Son of Man. -Luke 21:36

* * *

Wet.

A sticky kind of wet. Clinging on like thick clay, splattered across your neck— gore and sinew wrapped in a noose. Shades of decaying reds and browns are all you see these days.

The seeping, molding kind of wet.

The smell is suffocating, the toll of death deep in your bones. You keep moving, you have to. One foot in front of the other, fingers fretting with the cross hanging between your collarbones. Counting your Hail Mary’s distracts from the ache in your soles and the burning feeling that you’re rotting away.

It was slow at first. The end of the world, the crashing, clattering end felt like a slow decent to hell. Pieces of the modern world falling away, the promise of tomorrow, the assurance of a cure. You refused to believe the dead could walk the earth until they were stumbling straight towards you.

All of us, you think, are rotting away.

“Pick up the pace, kid. Are you trying to end up like the rest of those fuckers?” His voice rings from a few feet in front of you. The brush under your feet is dry, leaves crunching loudly with every weary step forward.

Kenny always likes to remind you of your naïveté, insults about your rose tinted glasses barked crudely from around a cigarette. Your youth, your optimism, your beliefs-- useless traits in his opinion. What good is God in a world like this.

“Friends. They were our friends.” Your words come out in a whimper, the tone further irritating the man ahead of you.

He stops, turning around to catch your eyes, gaze piercing through the night like a knife. All that’s left of your composure is used to keep from crashing right into his chest.

“Ain’t no more room for friends in this world, baby doll,” a long pointer finger lifts your chin, the slightest touch still bruising, “thinkin’ like that is what’s going to get ya killed.”

Rose tinted glasses, cracked and splattered with blood, fall off and are lost to a world that no longer exists. Kenny let’s up and turns, pulling you farther into the thick brush. You could swear you feel the lenses as they splinter under your shoe.

* * *

Kenny is a vile man. He knows his name isn’t on a reservation list at the Pearly Gates, he’s aware that a sinner lives on borrowed time.

Nowadays, everyone is living on borrowed time. Even you.

You, he thinks, looking back to where you stumble over a tree branch, far to good for a world like this.

He can’t help but laugh, the absolute absurdity of his current situation. Escaping death by the skin of his teeth, watching any familiar faces burning in the remnants of a camp he couldn’t really call home. People that fought to the bone, melting or devoured or both.

And then there was you, standing in front of the flames, tears falling down the apples of your cheeks, stiff in shock and horror. He remembers the way your lips moved, mumbling a quiet prayer instead of trying to run. Stupid little thing.

It’s not the earth the meek inherit; it’s the dirt.

Was it pity that made Kenny pull you away from an infernal gravesite all those months ago? He’s never the hero of any story. No, it must have been something else.

Maybe it was the way you looked up with teary eyes, silently begging for help. Unwittingly making a deal with the devil. His teeth grind at the memory, the vision of how beautiful you look so completely helpless.

Kenny leads and you follow, he hunts and you flitch at the sound of an arrow piercing flesh. The small squeak and proceeding thumb of meat as it hits the ground never fails to make you sick. When he’s not hunting for food, he’s hunting something else.

The sounds of death are all the same.

Some days you’re lucky, coming across abandoned hideouts or deserted cars. Snagging whatever hasn’t already been picked over; some ammo, the occasional can of peaches or pack of cigarettes. Kenny laughs dryly everytime, chucking the carton into his bag. Always the cigarettes, never the lighter. Most days, not so much.

Every night, you fall asleep to the flicker of a campfire, lulled by the steady sound of Kenny’s knife as it scrapes against a piece of wood. He’s always the last asleep. The woods are a dangerous place, the possibility of monsters circle at every moment. Under the veil of night, anything could happen. And it does.

He wipes his mouth, settling back into the harsh ground below him with a pleased hum. Your whimpers have settled back into a light snore.

Kenny is a vile man, and you’re too concerned with the lifeless villain in the shadows that you forget about the one sitting on the other side of the fire.

Three months of waking up to aching limbs and misplaced panties can’t be a coincidence, can it?

* * *

“Well ain’t this something.” Kenny pulls on the door, swinging it open with a loud creek. Your neck strains to look up at dark wood and steepled roof, the tall building hidden by dense forest, you two must be the first people to step inside in months.

“A church.” You’d find comfort within these walls if you weren’t so positive that God had abandoned this world.

Statues of the Virgin Mary and Saint Joseph are empty behind their stone eyes, shadowed with an unsettling shade of red from the stained-glass windows. The moment is a time capsule, a vision of the congregation of saints bathed in blood.

A chill runs down your back, counting every vertebrae.

You push down the unsettling foreboding, focusing back on the instincts to survive instead of lingering on a religion that you can no longer make sense of.

“Hey kid, over here.” You pick up the pace, quickening footsteps away from holy symbolism and towards Kenny’s voice. You walk into the closest room off a dark hallway and find him leaning against the doorframe. The rooms are getting darker with the vanishing sun, but you make out shelves of cans and boxes, food, blankets, clothes.

“I bet they used this as a food pantry,” Your comment was probably an obvious assumption, but Kenny just hums in response, “there’s enough here to last up months.”

Good samaritans in the first life are a saving grace is this one. Your cynicism lifts from heavy shoulders for just a moment. The lines between luck and divine intervention are fuzzy at best.

“I saw a well right outside too. Water’s probably cold as ice but it’s better than anything we’ve come across yet.” Kenny’s voice is even, but you swear he cracks a smile.

He was right, the water is cold enough to shatter your bones like ice. You shiver and chatter, teeth threatening to crack, but the feeling of being clean has you dumping bucket after bucket over your head. The grime and grit of your reality running down to seep into the grass below.

There’s no home to run to after the world ends, but water and food is more than you could imagine in recent months. Shuffling through boxes of donated clothes, you find a shirt big enough to sleep in. The fabric smells like moth-balls and dust, but the feeling of clean cotton against your skin is heavenly.

You find Kenny in the clerical office, rummaging through the priests desk. The sun is replaced with a flight of candles, for the first time in forever, you don’t feel like death is standing right behind you.

“Would you look at that,” Kenny pulls a cigar from the desk, bringing it up to his nose for inspection, “Looks like father had his own little habit.”

Despite yourself, you laugh at his comment, rounding towards the large leather chair he’s settled into.

“Smoking kills you know.” You lean against the desk next to him. Your bare legs brush against his knee, the heat from your skin makes his mouth water.

“I think there’s more pressing concerns than tobacco, kid.”

There’s something different about tonight, even more than just the four walls and roof around you. There’s something about Kenny and the way his stare has followed you all night. You can feel a cord pulling taught, fraying in the middle before it snaps.

“Asshole.”

The plush of Kenny’s bottom lip is close enough to your cunt to be disastrous. Friendly banter becomes laughing and swatting at his chest like a teenager. Communion wine and tension pulling you into him. The loneliness of this life becomes more apparent the closer he is to touching your skin. When did the man in front of you make your heart race so fast?

Maybe you’ve always felt this way.

You feel it, the ghosts of last night, the night before. The ghosts of weeks or maybe even months. The familiarity of a touch you weren’t quite awake for.

Ass arching off from where it sticks to the cherry wood, you want to feel it again. The laving of tongue and mouth against you. The devouring of your most intimate planes of skin, places no one else has ever touched before, places you were saving for your future husband.

The kiss as hot as hell.

“Awe, c’mon now,” His nose nudges against your clit, the movement pulling another cry from your throat to bounce against the high ceiling, “that’s not my name.”

“I’ve been tracing it into this precious cunt of yours every night,” each word is more unhinged than the last, no longer worried about the doe in his sights running away, “Do I need to spell it out for you again?”

There’s nowhere to run, pressed in between his canines.

Dreams of calloused fingers and a wandering mouth are now cementing as memories. The feeling of rough facial hair. The sounds of desperate moans and how they shake against you.

The way his tongue curls like a signature.

His mouth is flush against you again, sucking at your aching clit for only a moment before moving his attention to long lashes against your clenching hole.

“You must remember. You were moaning it so sweetly,” he nips at your puffy lips before drawing back. His chin is sheened in your arousal, slick refracting off the dimly lit space between you, flickering candles outline his features with a dance of orange shadows. Kenny’s eyes hold you captive, giving you one more chance to answer.

“What’s my name, kid?”

His tongue breaches you, a set of large, familiar hands keep your legs spread wide atop the desk.

You remember— of course you do. You remember everything. The name stuck in your head like a broken record. The name you call for in a sleepy haze as your body is dragged into orgasm.

The name that’s spelled against you like a promise.

“K-Kenny please.”

That’s all that he needs, the only thing, if he’s being honest, that he’s ever needed.

“There’s my sweet little girl. Finally using your manners.” Two fingers come up to swipe against your pussy, stopping right before your clit and collecting slick to bring up to your eye line for inspection. You jump when the warm digits drag against your bottom lip, a silent prompt for your mouth to fall open.

Kenny sticks his fingers in, the intent to make you gag is clear but you take it. You’ll take anything he gives you. Your tongue swirls around the intrusion, running against each joint and suckling loudly. The sound is wet and lewd, the spit collecting at the corners of your mouth makes his head spin.

Your destruction, he decides, will be beautiful.

Kenny’s fingers release with a wet pop. He runs callouses down from your cheek, over the curve of your tits and down your abdomen. Two fingers stop at your pubic bone to trace lightly against the skin in random patterns.

“Your body is just as agreeable when you’re awake.” His words drip in sin, reminding you exactly how familiar he is with you. All of you.

Both thumbs come down to spread your lips, Kenny can’t help but take a moment-- just a beat-- to stare at your swollen, glossy clit and the quiver of your little hole. Your skin is soft, completely untouched by anyone else. He laid claim to almost every inch before you begged him to.

He sinks from the leather chair, kneeling in front of you. You’re the body and blood as far as a sinner like Kenny is concerned.

There’s a plea stuck in your throat. You want to beg him to slow down, it’s too much all at once, but you know if you cried out-- all you would do is beg him for more.

His tongue is long and flat against you, every swipe is punctuated with a growl. The rumbling from his chest is thrown against your clit like a current through cold water. Sharp, shocking, terrifying.

“Kenny, I- I want,” He sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth, rubbing the tip of his tongue against the hood. There’s no words in any language that make sense to you. There’s nothing but his name.

“Kenny ah, I need, I don’t know how t—”

Your dangling over a fire, trying desperately to jerk away from the lick of the flames.

“I know, kid, I know exactly what you need.” his breath is heavy and warm in fans across your skin. You're dripping down the sides of his face and onto the cleric’s desk. Kenny is covered in you, open mouthed kisses against the sweetest thing he’s ever had in his mouth. The tangy taste of your pussy mixing with the wine still on his tongue.

If he spent forever between your thighs, it wouldn’t be nearly long enough.

“Such a sweet little thing, you’re insatiable.” All you can do is nod dumbly, eyes glazing over with a distinct look of teary submission. It’s so new to you, but grinding upwards and catching your clit against his chin seems like second nature.

The primal need for release is much stronger than any prayer of abstinence.

“What would your little prayer circle think if they knew you spread your legs for a dirty old fucker like me?” Kenny coos against the apex of your thighs. His words knock on the hollow space behind your breastbone.

Your family and friends, the priest from St. Mary’s who baptized you, old man Jaeger from next door— all buried or burned to ash or so much worse.

Anyone you’ve ever loved is dead, maybe that’s why Kenny is still around.

There’s nothing that can hold you back anymore, the control you claw at slips from your fingers like watery silk. There’s no escaping the roughness of his stubble and an evil, serpent tongue.

“Kenny!”

You cum with a shattering cry, the sound ringing so loud in your ears you swear any enemy of the living in a 10 mile radius could hear you. In reality, what escapes is little more than a broken snivel.

It hurts, muscles aching from the exertion of trying to keep from falling apart. Your body is a hairpin trigger, the comedown feels more like withdrawal.

“There’s my girl, my good little girl.” His voice is uncharacteristically soft, doting while you fall back to earth. It’s a strange feeling, you’ve never found comfort in Kenny before, he isn’t the shoulder you go to lean on.

But tonight he’s the chin you buck into.

The aftershocks run across your naked skin, already missing the feeling of his touch as he settles back into the cracked leather chair.

His cock presses into the denim confines uncomfortably, the ache can wait though. Whether this is his last night alive or has all the time in the world-- he’s going to savor the glistening prize nestled between your thighs. Kenny’s fingers find the cigar where it lies next to your knee, bringing it up to examine while you squirm at the cold night air against your wet cunt.

“No one will ever make you feel as good as I do,” both legs kick out, falling to dangle on either side of his knees in surprise as the cigar comes down to trace your outer lips. He presses the tuck inwards, pulling out slightly so you cry out. The harsh texture of the wrapper mixes with the most minimal of stimulation, causing tears to clump in your waterline.

“Why don’t you think of a way to repay me, hmm?”

You push past the heaviness in your muscles, sitting up to meet his incredulous stare. Kenny sticks the cigar between his teeth, striking a match from the desk drawer to light the cap. The cigar is stale, cheap tobacco. But every drag now tastes like you.

“I- I could try to--” Words are left unspoken on your tongue, even now, the intonation is poison in your throat.

You expect Kenny to laugh at your bashfulness, instead, two fingers come up to curl around the Rosary around your neck. He drags you forward, exhaling smoke into your parted, quivering lips. You try your best not to choke.

He pulls the cigar away, ashing it carelessly on the floor.

“Use your words, kid, tell me what you want.” His words are sleazy but his voice is soft around the edges. Prompting you to shuffle onto his lap. His free hand rests in the small of your back to keep you steady.

“I want--” Fuck, your voice feels like it’ll fail, you take a moment to breathe, “I want you to fuck me, Kenny.”

Your plea is rushed, so quick to hit his ears he almost misses it. There’s no hiding anymore, there’s nowhere else in this world but the private quarters of a long-dead clergy member. The space between you and Kenny is foggy and tense, only inches between lips.

There’s no more penance in this world, no more time to sit and atone for his sins with prayer. The soft, syrupy feeling of your cunt wrapping around his cock is a slice of heaven, cut out and stolen right from the sky.

“I thought you’d never ask, doll face.”

#aot x reader #aot x reader smut #aot smut #kenny ackerman x reader #kenny ackerman smut #the smut pile: apocalypse #tw: somnophilia #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: blood #tw: sacrilegious #sin.somnophilia #sin.noncon #sin.dubcon #sin.blood #sin.sacrilege

707 notes · View notes

binniesthighs · 3 years

Text

kinktober - 03

pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x kang yeosang (ateez)

genre: smut! 18+

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i’m tryin’ to speedy catch up and get ahead so i hope ya all like the shorter little passages teehee i rarely write fantasy so I was so so excited for this one! and some yeosang...we love to see it ;)

[warnings under the cut!]

warnings: arranged marriage au, virgin!reader, first time au, “bloodletting” as I explain it--blood drinking as a mating ritual, unprotected sex (penetration), oral (r receiving)

--- ---

The cold night air burned at the tips of your ears, although your hand was warm. Every step that you made as you ran was unsure, yet you didn’t falter running behind him and with the wind howling beside you. Your arms were bare too, baskling in the moonlight that consumed you and reminded you of what was to come.

Your newly wed husband said nothing, still nearly emotionless has he had been the whole night. There was little that you knew of him aside from the fact that he was a prince, soon to be king, and that he had chosen you. He should have scared you, but there was nothing that you had quite come to fear. Some had said that he was cruel, that he was unfeeling and plotting, but he had only ever been gentle with you.

He still held your hand, gentle, as he had been the whole night through.

The commontion of the night was left behind you twisted into a symphony of screams, the bellowing of an organ, and the prized royal swarm of bats set loose as a distraction. Poison had been slipped into the proper cup, and no one was to know who had done it.

Except you.

The king was dead, and the bells on the high chapel rang for him on the night of his eldest son’s wedding.

Yeosang tugged you along in your proper and elegant shoes that had been made to suit only your feet. The billowing fabric of your wedding attire flew loosely behind you were it flew in its golden and white beauty, and also hung low from your wrists where you had it wrapped. Mud and muck started to stain it as you ran with him into the woods surrounding your castle.

It was certainly yours now.

Before you had left, he had whispered into your ear in the ballroom: “You don’t need to worry. I’ll make sure of it that you’re taken care of after it all.”

You didn’t have the slightest idea what it had meant, but after the queen’s blood-curling scream and the splash of red which feel from the king’s mouth to his royal bib, you knew that your trust would only lay with the prince. Strangely, upon hearing the screams, he had laid a light kiss to the shell of your ear, then to your jaw.

“I didn’t tell you yet that you look lovely tonight. The perfect match. We’ll have our time soon.”

After then, he hadn’t said anything else, but sweep you to the long corridor lined with guests in masquerade masks that made them look like all kinds of fantastical beasts. Some of them had beaks like birds, others resembling lions and other great cats. His face was the only one that you could make out. The lights were dimmed in their flickering lamps, and the oil paints on their walls unmoving even as you flew past them to the grand entrance.

His had was still warm even after running deep into the woods, nor did he look back once the bells had started ringing. They made great and wide resounding calls that seemed to echo in your ears even after they stopped after ten tones.

Ten to signal the death of a king.

The thought had also crossed your mind of what this meant of your wedding night, and if the prince had intended to keep traditions the same.

Clearly, he had other plans.

The startlingly handsome and mysterious man was impossible to decipher, with eyes as sly as a cat and a little tilting smile that only gave the simple impression of amusement. He had looked at you that way when you had first met him in that throne room where you stood among the other potential matches for the powerful prince. He took his time taking you in: every angle of you to ensure that you were the one that he truly wanted.

Like the rest of the royals, he had deeply red-crimson eyes. They were the keys of the true-born son of the king; a bloodline that hadn’t been disturbed in centuries. You knew too that one day your offspring would have those same colored eyes...after tonight...if everything went according to the usual plan.

“--Yeosang--” You called to him, but it was unlikely that he had heard your voice.

Together you approached the outer mouth of the woods, coming upon a clearing far from the castle, far from the road and from any others who would seek to find it. Under the willows and the wide expanse of stars, there was a bed or sorts made up by a thick and fluffy-looking hay mattress draped in white sheets. The lightning bugs of the night provided the only light.

“--Couldn’t have lanterns,” He explained, “--can’t have them find us.”

Your husband led you by the hand further to sit upon the mattress and to swaddle you in the collection of blankets both thick and thin. While some of them were itchy upon you skin, others were as soft as silk.

“What is this?” You questioned him, although the answer was somewhat obvious. Even in the chaos of the whole night, he still hadn’t forgotten at all.

“Our wedding bed,” He said, nonchalant, “We can’t forget about our most sacred traditions,” Yeosang moved to sit close beside you, brushing the back of his his hand against your cheek, “When we become one forever.”

You hadn’t been nervous before, but seeing as the time had finally come, your heart began to race.

“...You mean?”

He didn’t answer, but instead moved to place another chaste kiss to your cheek as he had done in the ballroom. It was a simple gesture, but the both of you knew what it had meant. Only mated couples were aloud to touch one another so intimately. You, in fact, had never been touched as such before him.

His kiss moved to your jaw as it had done before, then lower to your neck where he sucked lightly into your skin in the way that could make you shiver. It was a sensation that you had never felt before, but it was beautiful. You were distracted from the outdoors, the chirping of the crickets and the soft ocean-like sound of the leaves waving in the wind. You felt hotter, as did the tips of your once-cold ears.

Yeosang reached for your hands folded in your lap, bringing your hands to his lips which he kissed at as delicate as flower petals. He was dangerously close to where he would then make his final vow to you, and it made your whole being quake. He kissed down to your wrists, right over the pumping vein.

“W-will it hurt?” You asked, suddenly fearful.

His lips brushed over the vein once more, giving it his attention carefully.

“It will,” He hushed, “But only for a little while.”

The bloodletting, your people called it. It was a sharing of one’s pure essence, when two mates could have a part of the other inside of them for the rest of their lives in a way that could bond them like no other.

Yeosang’s kisses turned harsher at your wrists, sucking until it started to sting. You were hesitant as well, but you knew your duty as well. You took his wrists in return, bringing his left to you lips where you kissed into him as well. This close, you could feel the beat of his own heartbeats through that vein right against your lips. He tasted sweet and perfumed, and you wondered what you had tasted like too.

He didn’t have to say it for you to know that he was ready, and you gave him a look of affirmation in response. A moment of locked eyes was all that it took for both of you to take your teeth to the other’s vulnerable flesh right below their palm, and bite with all your might.

The taste of iron flooded your mouth, a harsh and metallic taste that distracted from the fact that your own skin had been torn and the red had stained his lips, just as his color had stained yours. After you had gotten over the first shock of it, a headier feeling consumed you and made you feel light; dizzy almost. His being was starting to become a part of you, as it was for him. He had closed his eyes, yet they still fluttered under closed lids. When the pain subsided, it melted into pure euphoria.

A whimper from your lips vibrated his wrist, and he let one back to you in return.

Gasping, the blood had stopped, and you turned to look your mate right in the eyes that were an even more violent shade of crimson. A type of infatuation set in to you, seeing him like you had never seen him before and all that was left for you was to crave him in every way that you could claim.

You didn’t see that the sheets had been spotted in your blood--or his--when you leapt into his open arms that held you to his chest with such strength you couldn’t find air to breathe. The cracks of his lips were red from your blood, yet that was of no conscience when you had kissed them with such ferocity and hunger that you really had forgotten to breathe.

It was then when you felt him smile against you: it was an expression you had not yet felt before, yet it tickled you, and made your own smile form against him. Your body tingled after feeling his tongue meet yours in the middle of the kiss, to which you groaned out from the new feeling. Before, no one had ever been this close, nor would they ever. The feeling of another person’s warmth against your own was all to intoxicating to ever want to give up.

Your bodies lowered to the bed, writing and twisting up in each other in a tangle of fabric and fine jewelry. Together, the night was much warmer, and you felt as if there was nothing to fear. Bowing tall grasses swept this way and that, hiding the both of you in seclusion. Curious hands tucked up loose clothing and worked at buttons and ties that came undone quickly. He wore velvet which felt wonderful on your fingertips when you ran your hands up his chest and down his back, and it felt even more wonderful casting it aside to touch him closely like none had done before. Yeosang did the same to you, exploring you until you shivered.

“My love,” He affectionately called between kisses, saying the phrase over and over until it sounded strange.

You kissed him in turn to the neck, collarbones, and all the way down his chest and stomach to his waist which spasmed from the light touch of you. He repeated the same actions, pink tongue glistening when he would move the warm muscle against you and down between your legs which he spread to allow for even more attention. Nothing had felt as good as when he brought his lips to kiss between your legs, using both his tongue and the plush skin to make your body feel as it had never done before. Crimson eyes looked up at you as tears began to form from the way that your body feel tight, and right as if it was about to snap with pleasure.

With heels sunk into the cushy mattress, you felt you eyes roll back behind you, all the way to the tall grasses, even as far as to see the deeply blue sky twinkling with stars. Your hands filled with the sheets stained with the blood now in a darker color--you had forgotten how they had even gotten to be that way in the first place.

Yeosang paused for a moment with his lips glistening from the sparkle of your liquids and his saliva at his mouth. He was thrilled, even bewildered. This was a side of him that you suddenly knew that only you would have the pleasure of seeing for the rest of your life. The cool wind blew through, although your heat could battle it.

Your eager hands fiddled with his trousers tented from the thickness of his girth. Preciously, you would have been nervous to have beheld such a sight, much less understand what it meant to be bare with another person--the person being your prince...or now king. The royal blood within you coursed and roared behind your ears. It made you feel insatiable, and it made you feel enchanted.

The prince laid down cushioned by the pillows which had strewn his blonde hair about; it made him even more breathtaking basking in the silver moon. With your hand you pumped at his length, up and down until he wet you with his own eagerness and the pink of his tip flared.

“Hold me close,” You asked of him, straddling him to the tune of the evening sparrows and the croak of the toads in the nearby creek.

He nodded, sitting to wrap his arms around your back, and easing you onto his length. The both of you gasped upon feeling it: the one thing that your people held sacred and holy and you finally understood why. Your hips rolled over him, letting his full length inside and pleasure you until you moaned weakly into his shoulder. As you did, your body quaked from your arms to your calves, and the prince took your wrist to his mouth once more to taste the last bits of your own essence he could consume.

“My love, my love...” He chanted softly to the rhythm of your hips.

“My king,” You echoed in return.

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses!

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @cherrychngkyn @iwanttobangchan @dom–minnie @mistakensilence @hotgorloikawa @bowlofblueberries @lmhmins @eunaeiekim

170 notes · View notes