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irisintheafterglow · 1 day

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of daisies and collisions

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ now playing: thelonious monk - "green chimney's"

summary: nanami kento felt a little out of his element, with a small bundle of flowers sitting in his lap and brooding in the dark corner of the jazz bar. yet, you play that song he likes again, and nothing else matters. (nanami x you)

wc: 1.9k

cw/tags: strangers to lovers (??), first meeting, banter-driven fluff with a little bit of angst at the beginning, gojo cameo

note: FIRST TIME WRITING FOR NANAMI RAHHHHHH. thank you to @yutaleks for donating as a part of @ficsforgaza !!! also,,, threw in a little reference for @mididoodles my og nanami lover. i hope you like this :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

Nanami Kento considered himself a simple man.

A week ago, he would have clocked out of work and driven home alone, maybe throwing a baking show on the TV while he made pan-fried dinner in solitude. Nothing got past Nanami’s walls because he didn’t let them. Simple, easy, boring–that was his life since leaving Jujutsu society. Nothing exciting and nothing new, life passed him by and he allowed it to slip through his fingers like water, letting himself become pulled into the mundane pushing-and-pulling tide of everyday life. He wasn’t a sorcerer anymore; just a working man with too much time on his hands, seeing shadows no one else could. Yet, the thought lingered in his mind: who was benefiting from his efforts?

That was his existence, up until a week ago when a novice driver scraped the hood of his car in just the right way to make the engine go completely kaput.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, sir!”

“I am aware of your remorse. Kindly give me your information so we can handle this in a timely manner.”

“Yes, sir. Of course, sir!” He exhaled through his nose. The boy couldn’t have been older than eighteen and any other decent adult would have sympathy for the kid. Nanami, however, couldn’t be bothered and took down the teenager’s license and registration with as minimal words as possible. Soon enough, his phone was pressed to his cheek as he called a cab, the nearest one being at least fifteen minutes away. Before he could slip his phone back into his pocket, he senses a body rushing toward his seconds until an inevitable impact. He tries to pivot so that the figure brushes past his arm instead of colliding, but it’s no use. Your shoulder rams into his and you stumble, briefly aware of his hand brushing your forearm to catch you.

“Sorry about that!” You’re giving him an apologetic smile, still continuing in your current direction. You’re clutching a small stack of papers and you grasp at them as they start to slip from your arms. He gapes unexpectedly, meeting your eyes from over your shoulder. His silence seems to concern you and you take a few steps back toward him with drawn eyebrows. “A-Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” he forces out after a moment, taking a disorienting amount of time to regain his bearings. Why was he so startled by you? “Are you–”

“Okay, great! I have to,” you stutter, gesturing the opposite way, “I have to go. I’m so sorry about running into you, again. Have a good one!” Nanami finds his hand acting on its own, stretching out to grab your attention before you’re gone. He’s a millisecond too late and realizes with a weight in his stomach why he couldn’t stop staring at you. There was something attached to you, something inhuman. It was nearly imperceptible because of your normalcy and any other sorcerer would have missed it, but he saw it, the grotesquely snake-like Curse winding its coils around your neck. The question comes into the forefront of his mind again: who was benefiting from his efforts?

Shit.

He trails after you without thinking, without any regard as to whether he would miss the cab or get home after the sun disappears. You’re texting someone frantically while still shuffling around your papers, checking street signs every so often before taking a sharp turn right into a brick building Nanami had never entered before. MIDI’S: JAZZ AND DRINKS, read the neon yellow sign, and he pushes through the door without another moment’s hesitation.

“How are we feeling tonight, ladies and gentlemen?” Cheering, a few hoots and hollers. It’s comfortingly warm in the dark space, dimly lit by a few dandelion lanterns and a tasteful amount of plain candles. There’s a bar tucked into the left wall with two bartenders chatting up distinguished-looking customers. Crowded tables and attendees lounging in creaky chairs litter the space, sipping from honey-colored bottles and crystal glasses. It’s homey, Nanami thinks. Not necessarily his usual crowd, but he could find solace in it. “We’ve got a lot more music up for you tonight, featuring our very own pride of Midi’s.” Nanami’s eyes are drawn to the circular stage at the center of the room, where the announcer gestures behind her to a person seated at the piano. He blinks once, then twice, before realizing that it’s you. You smile into the darkness, wincing a bit when the snake Curse around your shoulders squeezes tauntingly. You had no idea of the danger you were in, which Nanami figured was the reason he orders a glass of bourbon and finds a less-crowded corner of the club.

Your fingers dance on the keys of the piano, gliding and crossing over each other lighter than touching a paintbrush to a canvas. Your movements are smooth and unrestrained, flawless except for the momentary constriction of the Curse attached to you. The Curse’s eyes find Nanami’s and it seems to smile, constricting harder than it had previously while maintaining eye contact. You cough hard enough that your song is interrupted and the other musicians around you quickly cover for you as you struggle for a drink of water. The Curse was restricting your ability to play, and his body again reacted before his mind.

He focuses a significant amount of Cursed Energy into his balled fist–not enough to be noticeable to non-sorcerers, but enough to serve as a warning for the Curse blocking your airway. It recoils like a vampire caught in direct sunlight, slinking away into the darkness behind the piano. It was still attached to you, but he knew it wouldn’t pester you for the rest of your performance. Exorcizing the Curse himself was risky, since you’d recognize Nanami as soon as he was in close proximity. As the last step in his quiet plan to keep you safe, he opens his messages and scrolls through the endless amount of heart-emoji texts he left unanswered, sending his location to the one contact in his phone that isn't involved with being a salaryman.

> LOCATION SENT - NANAMI KENTO TO GOJO SATORU

—

“That’s them? That’s why you send me to a jazz bar at 7:00 P.M. on a Thursday?”

“Don’t call them ‘that,’ Gojo. It’s crass,” Nanami mutters, another sip of bourbon burning down his throat. The blindfolded sorcerer beside him shrugs indifferently, considering you again. You’re playing with more life than you were the week prior, when the Curse was snug around your neck like a deadly scarf. He might have imagined it, but Nanami could have sworn you caught his eye and winked at him. Gojo insists those winks were for him, though. “But, yes. They are the reason I sent you that message.”

“Why’d you do it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why’d you follow them and get involved, anyway? It’s not like you to get concerned with things that don’t benefit the collective. At least, not since you left,” Gojo replies. It’s harsh, a little blunter than Gojo’s usual lackadaisical comments, but he’s right. Nanami hadn’t been worried about a single person besides himself in a long while, however much he didn’t like to admit it. He was fine protecting his own simple, boring existence, until he realized just how much he wanted to protect your existence too. Nanami Kento was a selfish man, inside, and he considered his actions to keep you safe not altruism, but an extension of his selfishness. That’d be too hard to express to Gojo, though, so he settles for mirroring his former colleague’s indifferent shrug.

“Felt like the correct path to follow,” he answers. The small bundle of daisies sitting in Nanami’s lap weighs heavier than a dumbbell, and it occurs to him just how out of his element he was. He was used to things being clean-cut and easy, but his recent interest in getting to know you had thrown off his entire livelihood. “We are to keep people safe, are we not?”

“I’m supposed to keep those people safe. I don’t really know what you’re doing anymore,” Gojo drawls. “Though, I will say, they’re really pretty. You think I can pull them?”

“The only thing pulling you is my arm out of this establishment if you don’t be quiet,” Nanami deadpans. “Plus,” he looks down at the stray flower petals sprinkling his dress pants, “I have first dibs.”

You smile at him when he approaches you sidestage after your set, visibly more relaxed without the Curse on your back. Gojo was long gone doing who-knows-what, leaving Nanami to deal with the unwanted fluttering in his gut.

“You’re back again. Enjoy the show last week?”

“Yes,” he affirms, “You are incredibly talented.”

“Thank you.” Your eyes flick down to the flowers in his fist, comically small in comparison to his large hands. “Those for me?”

“Y-Yes, of course,” he sputters, handing you the bunch more stiff than he planned. A silent understanding hides behind your expression; you can see through him like glass. Somehow, he doesn’t mind. “Were you–”

“Are you–” You both speak at the same time and abruptly trail off, insisting that the other goes first. “Please,” you concede with a wave of your hand, “go ahead.”

“I was going to ask if you were playing here for the first time when we ran into each other, last week.”

“Was it that obvious?” You rub the back of your neck with your hand, your smile turning playfully embarrassed. “I had this weird cough that was messing with my health, so that’s why I was running late. It was also probably why I collided with you on the sidewalk,” you chuckle.

“I am unbothered,” he admits. His thoughts slip out from his mouth without thinking. “I wouldn’t mind if you collided with me again.” Your eyes widen and Nanami can feel his face begin to burn, Gojo’s devilish grin at the back of his mind accusing him of being terrible at relationships. “I-I’m not sure why I said that–”

“It’s Kento, right?” You’re peering at him curiously, as if you were trying to hold in a laugh. The sound of his name on your lips is more intoxicating than any amount of alcohol from the bar.

“Yes, how did you–”

“The blindfolded guy came up to me during my break and said he was with you,” you state, the corner of your mouth still quirking like you were hiding a secret. “You have weird friends.” You didn’t know half of it.

“Right,” he forces out. You didn’t seem to mind how goofy Nanami was acting; in fact, something in his head told him that you liked it. “Well, I-I apologize for such a bold–”

“You know,” you cut in as the back of your hand delicately brushes the tiny flowers in your hand. “My set tomorrow night ends early and there’s a really good sandwich shop just up the street. Maybe I could collide with you there?”

“That would–Yes, I would like that,” he barely replies. You tear a corner from your sheet music and scribble something onto it. You press it into his palm as you head backstage, your touch electrifying every single nerve you made contact with.

“See you tomorrow,” you wave with that same small smile he was losing himself to. For better or for worse, something about meeting you made Nanami unwilling to go back to that simple, easy way he was living before.

GREEN CHIMNEY’S (PG. 3)

(XXX) XXX-XXXX

here’s that song you like, it’s the one you smile at every time <3

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#fics for gaza #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x y/n #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #kento x you #kento x reader #kento x y/n

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theslowesthnery · 7 months

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does anyone remember that scene from dr. dolittle (the eddie murphy version) where his daughter tells his dad (so her grandpa) that she doesn't think that her dad likes him. and the grandpa tells her that her dad loves her, and she goes "i know he loves me, but i don't think he likes me"

idk i just think about that scene a lot

#i don't think i've ever even seen the full film #just that scene on tv and it imprinted itself into my brain #it didn't even mean anything to me back then; i just went “huh yeah i guess there is a difference”#and now it's something i think about nearly everyday like “man”

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ohmygraves · 5 months

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it started off as a prank.

soap and gaz were fooling around, really. nothing too serious, not expecting much from it. hell, the account was in soap's phone. ghost didn't even know anything about it.

the two created a tinder account for the lieutenant, just to see what kind of people would be so inclined to message a masked man like him.

photos were taken candidly, most of it from soap's own stash (don't ask). something more serious was cropped from group pictures, from either the bar or during a mission. gaz thought of the introduction, with little embellishments to make it more ridiculous. the goal was to see how many would swipe right to the scary, masked lieutenant.

of course, the sergeants were surprised to see so many match notifications, to the point that soap's phone would just erupt with notification sounds, even during briefings. safe to say, the poor scot got in trouble, and ended up turning off the notification for the app.

most of the matches seems to be coming from a place of lust, a lot of requests of one night stands or fuck buddies (what is it with people who liked masked men, the two thought). many seemed very forward and to the point with what they wanted. it was ridiculous trying to scroll through the first messages and reading them one by one.

but then there's you.

you: hello, i feel like i've seen you before. are you staying at the base near (location)?

soap and gaz thought your first message was interesting. it could be that you knew the lieutenant somewhere, or had seen him at least once. you seem to be a real person too, judging from your profile. photos of you indicated as such.

gaz wanted to call it quits, ghosts you just like every other match that they received, but soap wanted to take it a step further, even if gaz was completely against the idea. bickering for a while, soap ended up sending a text, and that's how you started talking to "ghost".

ghost: yeah. do i know you from somewhere?

soap had expected it to be a flirting attempt, though he was surprised to see an actual answer.

you: oh, i think i've seen you a few times outside of the base.

you: i frequent the café nearby ^^

oh, you're so cute and innocent, soap kinda felt bad for lying now.

ghost: i see

ghost: perhaps i'll see you sometime too? ;)

soap got addicted to posing as ghost. the two of you texted back and forth during his break, sometimes even at night. soap stayed up and missed some sleep just for some elaborate joke that kept going and going, and gaz was just tuning into the drama too.

everything was fun at first, not everyday the scot got to roleplay as the lieutenant, especially since the man was such a dry texter. it was funny trying to come up with an awkward reply or even just flat messages when talking to you. you were just so nice and oblivious to it though.

soap nearly lost his marbles when you asked to meet up in the cafe near the base, and asked when it was possible. you knew that soldiers frequently are given a leave, so perhaps "ghost" would love to meet you when he had the time. the scot was sure that he went too far this time, earning "i told you so" look from gaz even when he's clearly also enjoying the shenanigans.

they decided that it's finally time to come clean to the man in question.

ghost, of course, was furious. not only that this was a violation of privacy, soap and gaz had wasted a random person's time because of some elaborate joke that went too far. now they even want to meet with him too.

soap thought that the only way to fix this was just to inform you as well. it was only fair as you're also affected by this. hell, he didn't even know that his "casual" flirting (which was a loose term considering ghost's texting habits that soap adapted for this roleplay) would be enjoyed by someone, even getting the lieutenant a date too. the scot insisted that you two still meet anyway, and that he would be there too to apologize.

ghost, of course, was definitely against it. he had been dragged into this against his will, and it's not like he had the time too. why would he entertain the two sergeants who got him into this mess—

but perhaps just a cup of tea with a beautiful person like you would be nice... perhaps...

reluctantly, ghost agreed to the date, letting soap talk to you to set up a time and place. while looking at your pictures and the past conversations, he didn't seem to mind that he's now on some sort of a blind date...

#this was so long but such an elaborate way to write that you somehow scored a date with ghost because of soap and gaz #perhaps ill write more abt this idea #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #cod #call of duty headcanon #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod ghost x reader #cod headcanon #fake tinder profile au

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fantasyandshit · 1 month

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Replaced

Type:two shot

Part: 1/2

Part two here

Masterlist here

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Based off of this request

Hope this is heart breaking enough anon!

Trigger warnings- slight mention of ED behavior, torture, and implied violence

I stare out at the gardens, I used to think they were beautiful, I tended to them everyday, watered and checked all the plants, made sure the soil was perfect and they got the proper mix of shade and sunlight. I walked in them, sat on my bench under the giant cherry blossom tree and read my book. The gardens were always my space my place. I loved those gardens, always marveled at their beauty.

But not now. Now as I stare out at the gardens I’m disgusted by what I see, I hate the new flowers and the soil. I hate looking at it and I refuse to walk in it. I hate that my family simply gave my place to her. That Azriel gave it to her. That he sits out on my bench all cuddled up with her. Deep down I think that’s what disgusts me. Seeing him with her. No. Disgust isn’t the right word. It makes me sick, fills me with agony that spreads through my bones and boils in my blood. Sends jealousy spiking through my body like bolts of electricity.

When the middle Archeron had come into the family with her older sister- it was fine, everything was fine. My family was happy and although I always felt off about the female, I was civil. It was fine as my family turned to them, it was fine. They needed time and attention, like new animals. I let my family give them that. It was fine when I was asked to let her work in the gardens she ‘loved so much’. It was all fine.

It was all fine until they asked me to let her simply take over the gardens, ‘just so she can keep distracted and busy whilst adjusting’. It was fine till I came crying to Rhys about a vision I had, one of the first in nearly a month- I had seen something, I heard people screaming and blood everywhere, but ‘Elain hasn’t seen anything. It’s fine.’ It was fine till Azriel- my best friend for the last 500 years, the male I harbored feelings for. The male I loved for at least 450 years, turned to her. It was fine till she became all consuming. It was fine till ‘Elain needs me Yn.’ ‘Yn I have to go- Elain needs me right now. You know this is hard for her.’ ‘ Yn, stop being selfish- Elain needs me.’

It was fine till she became all consuming. Till no one listened to me, till Azriel- my mate, the man I loved with all my soul, left me for her. Turned a cold shoulder and left me. Till my family soon wrapped around the sisters and I lost them all.

Now I stare out at the gardens I once loved with disgust, nearly puking at the sight of the two cuddled up together, laughing about cauldron knows what. Now, as a headache comes on, the ones that always do before a vision, I simply slouch back in side, going to lay down on a couch. I want these seeings gone. No one cares anyway. If it doesn’t come from Elain Archeron, it means nothing. I mean nothing.

And it is now, as I lay myself across the chair that it truly sets in. He loves her. They love her. She is better. She is more beautiful and interesting and soft and she isn’t tarnished from years of fighting as I am, she is not the crazy woman I have become. She is Elain, she is all things soft and sweet, she is radiant and all consuming, she is powerful and all seeing. But most of all, she is the one Azriel wants. Not me. Her. He wants Elain Archeron.

———

I walk to the dining room for dinner, my head is a bit foggy and my eyes hurt. I keep my gaze down as I sulk into the room and take a seat next to Morrigan who talks idly with Feyre. It’s as if I’m invisible, no one even looks up to me as I walk in or sit, but of course, as soon as Elain comes in, everyone turns to her, conversations stopping. I simply look to my plate, fidgeting with my hands.

As everyone serves up their food, I sit, I’m not hungry. Plus, Elain is thinner, I want to be pretty like her and I have to be skinny to be like her. “Why aren’t you eating Yn?” Mor’s voice filters through my ears and it takes a moment for me to process them.

In a scratchy tone, caused by not using my voice, I reply. “Just not hungry I guess. Visions take it out of me.”

“You had a vision?”

“Yep. Third one of today.” My family pauses at that.

“Third? Today?” It’s Rhysand this time as his brows draw inward.

“Yes, they’ve been happening more and more often, I’m having at least 2-3 a day. I just want to rest.”

“Why haven’t you told me about them?”

“Because of two reasons. Rhysand.” His name is a hiss off my tongue as I speak, finally loosing my cool, “One, you would not care nor listen, haven’t for a single one of my seeings in the past month. And two- starting tomorrow I will no longer be working for this court.”

“What do you mean by that? Not working under this court?”

“I received a letter from Eris- he is ready to execute his plan to take over the autumn throne tonight and I shall be there tomorrow morning to begin my duties as his second in command.” The table is frozen, mixes of horror and sadness painting my ‘families’ faces.

“But-Yn you wouldn’t betray us like that would you?”

I can’t hold back the humorless, dry, laugh that leaves me. “Betrayal? I have Betrayed you?” My head whips to meet Rhysands as I stand and back away from the table. “Rhysand I have done nothing but support you. I was there for you three-“ I point to the three Illyrian males at the table, “in the war camps, I have been here sense we were learning to fly! I was there under the mountain! I lossed my gods dammed wings for you Rhysand. For you! Because you were my family.” Tears begin pouring down my face as I let everything I had bottled up out, “ I was there to support Mor after Eris’ ‘terrible acts’ and I kept my mouth shut about it being a half truth.” I look to the blond across the table who try’s desperately to avoid my gaze.

“I was there on the battle field. I told you my seeings no matter what they were. I stayed as I watched my family replace me, as I watched the man I loved fall for another over and over again. I stayed as my things were taken from me by her.” My finger points to the middle Archeron, Azriel moving slightly in front of her, “I have stayed as my family was ripped from me, I stayed and supported all of you even as my so called family replaced me, as the male I’ve loved as long as I’ve known him, as the male I have loved with my very soul, my very being, my mate.” I look into Azriels warm eyes, “left me for another, as my mate and my family left me in the dust for a new shiny toy.”

I breathe as I take a moment to survey the room, faces filled with shock and horror and sadness watch me. “So yes Rhysand.” It’s a sigh this time as I speak, tired, downright exhausted, “yes, I am leaving. But I am not leaving anything behind. I was already a ghost here anyway. I am leaving and taking my seeings and duties with me. You do not listen to them anyway, it will be no use to you.”

I snap and bags fall into my hands, I turn to the door, silence filling the room, “your my mate?”

“Yes Azriel- I am.”

“Yn wait let me-“

“Save it Rhysand.” I turn on my heel, “ I am leaving to a new kingdom, one that has much potential under their new leader. I am leaving to a court that I see thriving, I am leaving from the court I see crumbling- and it will not be my fault when it does.”

I turn back to the door, a gust of wind hitting me as I step out, taking the hands of the new high lord of autumn. Ignoring my family’s pleas and Azriels yells as I am taken back home.

—————

Okkkkk here it is! I hope you all enjoyed and thank you anon for the request!! Love y’all!

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #acotar #azriel #elain archeron #elain x reader #feyre archeron #feyre x reader #nesta archeron #nesta x reader #cassian x reader #cassian #rhysand x reader #rhysand #eris vanserra #eris x reader #angst #no happy ending

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 3 months

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STILL obsessed with the fact Hobie wears a full ass outfit everyday. Jessica too. I'm so serious.

Like they were probably in their universe thinking that's normal then they pull up to HQ and see a bunch of Spider-people nearly butt-naked in spandex suits just trodding about bootys and balls all out

And they both saw that and we're like "Yeaaahh.. my black ass is NOT doing that"

and then they just kept wearing clothes.

Just the thought of them being like 'Actually y'all look fucking ridiculous in those suits but I can keep that to myself' is so funny cause it's SO THEM.

Hobie already thinks most of them are monkeys in a circus

And if it's not Jessica's job she probably doesn't give a rats ass what foolishness y'all are up to. She has her man to go home to. Bye.

Jessica probably pulled up on Day 1 like "I understand everything else - one question though: What the hell y'all hiding y'all faces for? We's hiding our faces now??? Cause it's giving Phantom of the Opera. 🤨😐'

I headcanon Jessica is Hobies mentor and I bet the day they met he saw her and was like

"..."

"... Nah bruv, the fucking suits-"

"I know. Just- I just can't with it. I can't."

They wake up and the two of them put on some earrings, some lip gloss, and at least two belts before even leaving the crib. As they should!!!!

At least once Miguel has tried to call them on a mission and they've gone 'Nah, it's wash day.'

They have to do their hair. They're not turning up in someone's universe in no bonnet. Call someone else goddammit

I LOVE THEM. MY FAVES.

Meanwhile Peter's out here in some slippers. Humbling reality headass.

Like y'all are not on the same level.

Meanwhile Miguel double cheeked up out in the open. Like hey buddy gym shorts maybe? Just a thought?

Not to bodyshame you Miguel but if you turn around again I'm gonna have to have a talk with HR on the real

Give Miles back his clothes he was fresh as hell. Miles G. on to something

#they're SO ALIKE I SWEAR I PROMISE #Jessica Drew as Hobies surrogate mom #except he's hardheaded as fuck #spiderman #atsv #spider man #marvel #across the spiderverse #hobie brown #spider punk #spiderpunk #jessica drew #spider woman #spiderwoman

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moonstruckme · 4 months

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happy new year lovie!!!! i feel bad for requesting this bc just thinking ab the volume of ur inbox is a little overwhelming and ive gone a bit overboard 😭

but..... bodyguard!james finds out his mum is quite sick right before his shift one day and leaves to take care of her after letting reader know. he has to take the week off and reader is visiting and bringing them their favorite homecooked meals everyday (which she has memorised bc, bless him, james loves to talk abt his mum) and james is LOVEEESTRUCK. she's there, bright and early every morning (with a different bodyguard bc god forbid she leaves the house with no protection right in front of james' own two eyes!!!) with muffins and flowers and bags of food in hand :( james is enamored and so sweet on her!!!!! and reader is obsessing over how vulnerable and emotionally in tune james is at a time like this!!!!! i'm thinking maybe confessions are getting pretty hard to hold back by the end of the week ☹️🩷

thank you! (if you do decide to write this or if you dont for letting me ramble on in your asks x)

Don't feel bad my love! Thank you for requesting :)

cw: sick family member

bodyguard!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

No matter how many times James has visited home throughout his adult life, he always manages to discover something he’s forgotten about living there. Like how particular his mum is about the way the dish towel is folded, or which drawer the scissors are kept in, or the ungodly amount of door-to-door salesmen that come by on a daily basis.

Lately, he’s being plagued by the last. He recalls them being vaguely annoying when he was younger, but James’ family is currently going through a difficult time that leaves one with somewhat frayed nerves. He very nearly snapped at a particularly tenacious primary school student selling chocolate yesterday. Not one of his finer moments.

So when the doorbell rings while his mum is trying to sleep down the hall, James has to make an effort to reel his wrath back in before he’s even answered it.

Funnily enough, any negative emotion completely evaporates when he sees you on the front steps.

“Hi,” you say, looking apprehensive.

“Hi,” James echoes. He opens the door the rest of the way, nodding to the fill-in guard you’ve brought with you. “Hey, Singh.”

Singh nods in return.

“I hope it’s alright that I just came by.” You give him a sheepish sort of smile. “I didn’t even realize I don’t have your phone number until now. You’re always just…there.”

James laughs, the mood that’s descended over him since getting the call about his mum lifting slightly. “Yeah, I suppose I am. What brings you out, sweetheart?”

You hoist the bags you’re carrying a bit higher in your arms. “I brought some stuff for you and your mom, if that’s okay.”

A tiny hand fists around his heart, squeezing pleasantly. “Course it is,” he all but coos. “Come on in. Singh, you alright to stay here and keep watch?”

Luckily, the other man doesn’t think to remember that James is currently on leave, and so defers to him with a curt nod. James shoots him a smile as you come inside, closing the door behind you.

“They put Singh on day shift?” he asks, taking one of the bags from you and leading you into the kitchen. “He’s barely finished training.”

“He seems fine,” you say in your good-natured way.

“He took you to a location that’s never been reconned without even bringing another guard to post outside.”

“It’s your mom’s house, Jamie.” The smile is evident in your voice, sweeter even than the smell wafting out of these bags. God, he’s missed you. “I doubt he suspects either of you are going to try and hurt me.”

“He should be prepared for the possibility,” James says, but he can’t manage to work any menace into his tone even to tease you. You tilt your head at him, mouth curving up to one side like you’re well acquainted with his particular brand of silliness, and he lets his grievances go instantly. “You didn’t have to bring us anything, angel face.”

You flush a bit at the endearment, directing a soft smile down at his family’s old wooden table (which is great, because now James is in the position of being jealous of a table). “I wanted to do something,” you reply simply. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s alright.” Not great. Not worse, which is always good. If the only thing he accomplishes in a day is that she doesn’t get worse, James can feel good about that. “She’s sleeping in this morning.”

“Oh, shit.” Your voice drops to a hush like the breeze blowing through leaves. “I haven’t woken her, have I?”

James grins. “No, you’re good. She can sleep through anything.”

You lose a breath. “Right, well I brought some meals to last you a few days,” you say, digging some containers out of the bag. “It can all be heated up whenever you’re ready to eat, and—oh, also some flowers. I know it’s stupid, but I thought they might brighten things up for you two.” James doesn’t think it’s stupid at all, but you go on before he can tell you so. “Can I put these in your freezer? I brought some muffins for this morning too, if you want them.”

“Yeah,” James says, the word leaving him on a breath. “I mean, yeah to both. Thank you.” He grabs several of the containers as well, showing you to the freezer. You both start cramming them in between things, wherever they’ll fit. He takes note of the food as it goes in, a heady warmth growing in his chest. “Did you make all of this?”

You hum in brisk affirmation. “I had plenty of time on my hands yesterday. Turns out things are pretty boring without you around.”

“How’d you know what to make? This is all—these are our favorites.”

You turn to him, a tenderhearted sort of smile curving your lips. “You talk about your mom a lot, Jamie,” you say. “I know all her favorites by now. And the things she’d make that were your favorites, too.”

James hadn’t realized he’d spent so much time rambling about his mum. It hurts his chest a bit to think of it now, worse to think that you’d been listening so intently.

“This is only really enough to get you through a few days,” you go on, oblivious to his yearning, “but I figured I’d come back with more if you’re both alright with it.” You look at him as you pack the last of the food away, your gaze careful. “I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

“You could never intrude.” James isn’t sure how he gets the words out, his heart ballooning until it’s nearly cutting off his airflow. The cool air breezing onto one side of his face stops, and he realizes you’ve shut the freezer. “This is just…so, so kind of you. I don’t know what to say.”

“James.” Your voice is soft. Your smile has faded, and now you look at him with an unabashed, steady kindness. “You don’t have to say anything. I can’t stand the thought of you and your mom going through this. I wanted to help, somehow.” One of your shoulders comes up in a sheepish half-shrug. “Even if it’s really small.”

He wraps his arms around your shoulders, and you hesitate only a second before bringing your arms around him too. You squeeze him tight. James lets himself relish the feel of it, lovelorn. “It’s not small,” he says fervently. “It really…it means a lot, sweetheart.”

You only squeeze tighter in response. When he lets you go, your gaze is sad. Worried. You ask without prelude, “Are you doing okay?”

James gives you a half-smile. The truth of it. “Yeah, we’re alright over here. It’s hard to see her like this, but I think everything’s going to be okay.” You nod, solemn in your understanding. “Sounds like I might be doing better than you, actually, if your company’s bad enough that you’re entertaining yourself in the kitchen all day.”

You crack a smile at that, and James’ heart lightens. “Yeah, Singh’s no you. He doesn’t seem to like to chat.”

“Ahh, so that’s why you’ve really come out here, yeah? You just missed me.”

“You’ve caught me.”

It’s said like a joke, but James’ pride inflates foolishly nonetheless. “I hate that I can’t be there,” he says. “Especially now that I know they’ve put Singh on my shift.”

“He’s not so bad,” you laugh, heading towards the table. You fold up the bags. “Anyway, it’s more important that you’re here. And I’ll be back in a couple days to restock you.”

James fixes you with a look as you start for the door. “You really don’t have to.”

“I’m going to,” you say breezily. “Don’t forget to put the flowers in water, and the muffins are strawberry chocolate chip.” He grins. His mum’s favorite. “I’ll tell Singh you were raving about him.”

“Oh, please do.” He rolls his eyes, feeling lighter than he has in days. “Thanks, angel.”

You shoot him a smile worthy of the moniker as you go out the door. “See you in a couple days, Jamie.”

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mooshs-crack-headcanons · 4 months

Note

Fucking in their offices with the veteran trio please ☺️

Wow I'm getting a lot of requests asking for these three actually and I am NOT complaining lol.

Disclaimer: I use they/them pronouns for Hanji and since this request is NSFW in nature also AFAB language/terms will also be used for them. And tldr summary of this entire thing: poor Survey Corps desks, man... the true strongest soldiers ❤️‍🩹

(Gender neutral reader)

(NSFW contents under the cut)

Levi Ackerman

Takes issue with the idea at first, after all this is the place he works - important papers who knows been god-knows-where and shit get signed and handed off at that desk. To fuck on it would be unsanitary you know how many people have touched this thing? Plus it would leave an unnecessary mess, and not to mention the door leading to his connected bedroom is not even like... eleven steps away from it. With a bed. A bed he knows only the two have you have been in and with sheets that are cleaned everyday. Why not just fuck you there instead? It seems obvious. Until, that is, one day you're having a heated argument - one he looks back on as very dumb but he knows how stubborn he can be when not backing down on something, especially when it involves Erwin's equally as stubborn ass who tends to drag him into his messes and therefore creating this argument you had - and he doesn't exactly remember the turning point of when you started kissing each other with such tenacity or when you started ripping each other's clothes off but it's when you're pushed back on his desk, pushing all his neat stacked paperwork onto the floor sprawled back with your legs spread with that demanding "fuck me," glint in yours eyes.

Eh. It just clicked and now he's thinking with his dick.

His kisses are frantic. He bites all over the base of your throat and leaves marks he knows you're going to have trouble hiding the next day but that's honestly the further thing from his mind right now as he has three fingers shoved all the way to the knuckles inside you right now prying your hole practically wide open.

Your legs are anchored on his hips, your pants dangling one of them and the straps of your gear hanging loose off of them keep snapping into his ass to an annoying point where he completely rips them off and tosses them to the complete opposite side of the room.

Yank and pull on his hair. Do it and he'll let put a guttural groan and shove you down further on the desk where your back is completely on it and you have to physically strain to keep your head up from keeping it from hanging over the edge - to 'assist' you from having to do this he puts a hand in your hair in return, holding your head up and make you look as he fucks you with his nearly his entire hand now. It gets your eyes all glossy as you feel so overwhelmed, you feel so good.

"You're pitiful, you know that?" He tells you, picking up the pace as you squeeze around his fingers. "But that's just fine... preferable actually. I love seeing you this way and I'm not even properly fucking you yet."

When he enters you the desk finally creaks. It's a sound that itches his brain turns out, it gets his silver grays all wide that he pauses what he's doing for just a lingering moment - to your dismay as you're now flipped on your stomach on the surface with your ass out, grinding back onto him whimpering for him to move, which he gives a slight buck and there it is again. The creak. He needs to hear it again. Again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And-

It's the combination of both your noises - all the moans, groans, curses, whimpers, and gritted calls of his name on your lips - and the wooden thudding, metalic complaining, the slight crackles that his desk, the one he's had since getting promoted to Captain and earning this office, that reeeeaallly gets his rocks off as he pounds you into it.

He thinks about just about how many boring exchanges he's had at his desk, all the meetings, the Cadet reprimantions, that fucking time that noble had the balls to come to his - at the time - brand new office and lecture him and newly appointed Commander Erwin who was visiting up and down how he still didn't approve of this "Gutter-rat thug," getting such a high position of military rank in barely over a year and had threatened to pull fundings. Now look at him. Captain 'Gutter-rat thug,' currently fucking you over it. Weirdly hot. Next time he has those boring exchanges he'll definitely have something nice to distract himself now.

He drapes himself over you from behind, continuing to mark up your neck and whisper in hushed tones all sort of both dirty things mixed with genuine praises of love and adoration - things only meant for you to hear, afterall he can still wreck you to the point of pleasured tears and still be all sappy, you know? It's not like anyone else is around. He likes doing it with one of your legs picked up from off the ground and holding it up in the crease of his arms - spreading you open wider for him to take and every creak and crackle of the desk underneath you is like a euphoric punctuation to ever single thrust he makes deep inside you that only grows louder, and louder, and louder, and louder, and louder, and louder until it almost sounds like thunder.

When you two finally finish, both out of breath like you just ran a mile as all your love spills between you does Levi pull back to assess the mess that trickles in flooding globs that forms into large puddles onto the rocky wood that rationality sets back in him like a truck.

"M'gonna have to clean and disinfect that... fucking knows how I'm going to get the damn smell out before those snooping fuckin-"

You move without out saying anything, down on your wobbly knees but you still make eye contact as you perform your next sinful action: licking it all up, every single bit left behind on the hardwood.

Levi just blinks. Dumbfounded.

It doesn't matter how big or small you are, Levi has you picked up and tucked under his arm before he can even realize it - he takes those eleven steps to his and yours shared bedroom and tosses you on the bed and kicks the door behind him close. You two aren't done yet.

It's later the next day when Levi gets a knock at his office door, which he barely even has to let out permission to come in as he currently is reorganizing the some of your books on his shelf and cleaning around the general area as the door opens and comes in Erwin, stack of papers in his hand.

"Levi," He greets closing the door behind him and walking further into the office.

The Captain just hums, setting the current book in his hands down and moving to the next to carefully wipe down the cover and shaky off any gathered dust from the pages. Erwin then stands there awkwardly for a moment, rubbing back his pomade slick hair before speaking again.

"I think I should apologize for causing you and (Name) to argue yesterday at the meeting with Zackley, that wasn't my intention. Again, my apologies."

"I know. Tell them that."

"I will, I just thought I'd come here first. I have the documents you requested."

Levi hums again, with his rag he starts to scrubs down a stain mark on the shelf he hasn't noticed before. Meanwhile Erwin slowly trudges over to the Captain's desk, putting a careful eye on the documents in his hands before he shuffles around where he's facing away from desk and goes to sit down before Levi catches it at the last second from the corner of his eye and immediately goes to yell for him not to and then-

CRUNCH.

Erwin's wide eyed as he now sits on the floor, the desk now cracked into two pieces with him in the middle of it. It'd be funny, it really would, if it were anyone else's but his desk. The Commander looks honestly baffled as he looks at the current unexplainable predicament he's found himself in. Levi silently swallows and hurryingly thinks up the first excuse he can pull out of his ass.

...ass. He points at the blonde.

"Your ass fucking broke my desk."

Erwin blinks before looking back down at the broken wood pile he sits on, chuckle leaving his throat. "I do really do guess Mitras quality still isn't worth much, huh? Overpriced yet completely unstable. Just like the lot of them."

"Your ass broke my fucking desk."

"Yeah - I - I guess it did..."

When he stands up he brushes himself off, looking at the damage that Levi swallows and tries not to think on the truth on actually why it broke - Erwin's ass was just the damn straw that broke the titan's back or whatever the saying goes. He didn't even want to think about how much from the budget it'd take to get this shit replaced but Erwin insists on it, saying Mike's folks actually are good craftspeople, they should be able to build an actual stable one instead of expensive dull and weak Sina bought ones. But yet... Levi wasn't sure on the truth of how weak it was since he fucked your guts out on it... but of course he couldn't just voice that part out loud. So he just quietly nods his head and agrees.

From that point afterwards he swear to you no more desk fucking.... for a good couple weeks then he finds you two at it again - however, Erwin was right, the new desk from Mike's family was very stable, very strong, very capable of withstanding a good dicking between you two.

Let's just hope it doesn't need to get replaced any time soon.

Hanji Zoë

Quite literally will jump at the chance to. Like you could be at the side of their desk, pointing over and drawn together diagrams and other research papers as they sit in their chair with their eyes wide staring at you not paying attention to a single thing you're saying - it's rude, they know, but it's so damn hard when you're so attractive! You don't notice their staring, you keep on talking business and adding your thoughts and commentary about certain test results on the latest experiments done on the two captured titans behind base: Jimmy and Stanley, as Hanji has named them - you only stop talking and look over when you process how quiet they've become, a very unusual thing for your lover, and your about to question what's wrong or if something about the results is troubling to them before they immediately have their hand on your face, cupped between their palm, as pull you down to kiss them.

Titans are quite literally the farthest thing on their mind as they push everything - every single thing, from the research notes you were just going over, to other important pieces of paper, to the junk nit-nacks they've hoarded on their messy desk - all onto the floor as the jolt and push back their chair to stand and pick you up to set you down on the surface and yank off your boots and pants.

They kiss all over your legs, nipping and biting and sinking in your touch as your fingers find the back of their brunette head to encourage their actions. Their breath is so warm against your underwear as they proceed to kiss through the material - getting an approving hum from you - before tantalizingly pluck their fingers in the band to begin to pull them down your legs, revealing your aching-with-need sex to them. But they don't touch you where you want right away, you're going to have to earn it by begging. They remind you of that while tracing their tongue over the worn marks of ODM straps on your thighs then biting at them, deep in the flesh.

Once you've begged enough to their liking do they finally touch you, and they're so good with their fingers, giving you a nice good prep before replacing it with their just as good tongue they devour your sex with. Then with their unoccupied hands they reach and grab around your hips so you can't squirm away from them as they are crouched down at the foot of that desk and go to town with you in their mouth like there's no tomorrow.

Your come stains their face when they finally pull away gasping for air - hadn't pulled away a single time since they started. They smile big at you, with their hands on your hips they scoot you in closer and with a rough sudden movement rocks the desk where you falling slightly forward so they can kiss you, making damn sure you taste yourself on their lips.

You're both on top the desk now. Hanji's - their lower half completely bare - straddled one of your legs as your rearranged as much as you can on the surface space to tangle them together and they have you slightly pushed back to where both your sexes can kiss and grind against each other. With obnoxious squeaks you fuck each other on it like animals.

They talk to you in punched out whispers, their chest - fully exposed as you've ripped open their shirt and tugged off the bandaged to reveal their breasts from underneath and bounce with each movement to two of you make. They also have their glasses pushed up and rest on the top of their head, they bounce with each movement too.

"You like this? You like taking my pussy like this? Naughty little thing... you know, I've noticed you bending over or sitting my desk with your legs open tons of times. Did you want this? But to embarrassed to ask? Huh?"

They get so domineering worked up like this you feel too high to even speak, you nod before your pulling in to more kisses as they completely fuck you further sending you closer and closer to the edge until your light headed and your whole body is numb, you fall back with your bones turned to jelly until everything sudden tightens again and the numbness fazes into hyperawareness when that snap in your gut happens and your practically sob with your release.

When your both done you two keep sitting on there for awhile, you're not even sure how long but Hanji rests into you with a wide smile on their face and half asleep in the crook of your neck but they lazily keep you sitting up and not to fall off onto the floor. It's nice, really nice, your hands stumble as you go to pet at your lover's hair and further relax into them.

But your afterglow safe haven doesn't last long as there's a sudden banging on the office door.

"Squad Leader! Stanley just bit a Cadet's arm off!" Uh oh.

Hanji's eyes go wide and whatever sleep was present in them before completely evaporates as they pull themselves off you. Panic sets it.

"Shit!" They curse and hop off the desk to go immediately pull their clothes sloppily and haphazardly back on - their pants are on backwards. They turn back to you.

"Give me like - uh - twenty minutes! Be right back!"

Incidents like this if word travels fast enough could be used as ammunition against the Corps, not to mention the poor kid...

They give you one last kiss before quickly rushing out the door, slamming poor Moblit in the face with it without realizing it as the shoot down the hall.

"STANLEY!!!"

They sob in a way like a parent just lost their child, which in a weird way they kind of did, they really did like that one... and it's nape's probably already been split open by now.

You should probably get dressed and join them, comfort their 'mourning'... if your legs can unjelly that is.

Erwin Smith

Erwin Smith is the biggest workaholic you've ever met. He spends 80% of his time glued at that damn desk and he can be very stubborn about it so it can take quite a lot to pull him away from it... though, maybe with some slight convincing...

He'll remain focused, neatly writing down his formal documentations to be sent to the capitol along with other important matters gathering his attention, even when you're behind him with your arms around his shoulders and kissing along his neck begging him to take a break as he's been in at one spot for around twelve hours straight. It won't be easy getting him away from work, he'll reassure how important his current business is and will blab on and on about all the detailed variables but honestly you could care less when he looks like he could fall over from overworking himself to death. He at least needed a damn break and you know how you could provide.

Did I mention how stubborn this man is? He won't break, even if you maneuver around in front of him and the desk as he sits there with you dropped on your knees... but he won't exactly say no, so that's start. He'll continue to work, even as you work to start pulling and undoing his belt, he'll continue jotting down on whatever he's working on but he won't stop you - hell he won't even give you any input as the sounds sounds in the office are the jingling of his belt and zipper being undone and the scribbles of pen on paper.

"Do you think Zackley would approve if I were to ask for more horses? It's best we have extra for Expeditions and I think it'd be best if each squad were to bring a couple extra in case one of their horses gets killed on the field."

He asks you, you having his cock buried deep down your throat. Casual - no, business causal in that way Erwin tends to do... but the obscurity for him to ask you about supply horses... you nearly choke because of it and surprisingly Erwin's hand finds to the back of your head to ease and balance your head out but he doesn't completely pull you off if it, as if he's come to terms with the whole situation but still he doesn't pull himself from work. It's clear you're going to easy on him. You will make him take a break from work.

You suck, swallow, take everything he has. Your hands grip tight at his hips as you your your face on his dick in steady but frequent rhythm that does get his hips to slightly buck forward every once in a while but he always comes to pet at your head in apologies if he accidentally put you in discomfort in any way and he carries on - the scribbling on the desk up behind you becoming more grading by the second.

However, there's one ray of hope... his balls.

Erwin will immediately jump in his chair and drop his pen - ink undoubtedly spilling and staining important documents the moment your mouth pulls off his cock entirely and replace it with his balls in your mouth. Play with them. Suck them. Fucking bite them. Anything. Now you have his attention and will earn a loud guttural groan from out his lips that seals the deal you've just locked in your mission success.

He sits completely back in his chair - whatever business details he was going over completely disappear in the back of his mind as both of his large hands find themselves in your head and he vocally encourages you to keep going. His cock will drip pre all over your face as you rest just below it rolling your tongue over his sack and he'll throb so needily for you.

It's then becomes so easy to get lost in everything that you don't even realize you're being pushed back further underneath the desk until Erwin's chair suddenly scoots up to sit up to it proper.

"I got these." Mike.

Mike had walked in and you can hear - and slightly flinch at the loud sound of - a stack of papers being dropped above you on the desktop. You sit there on your knees, slightly uncomfortable at the crowded position underneath the desk, your mouth still attached to Erwin's crouch - but you don't pull away, just look up as much as you can to see your lover manage to keep up sudden appearances to his cadethood friend as best he can... strangely hot in a weird way. And Mike Zacharias was no idiot.

"You feelin' okay?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I be? Though, I do suppose I have quite the workload. I should finish soon."

Mike hums in response but you can't see his face, if you could you feel like it'd be more telling and revealing so, to save from embarrassment it's probably for the best.

Then the bastard sniffs and it sends fifty layers of fear and panic through your spine.

Silence.

"Hanji's holding a card game in their office, there's gonna be booze. I'll expect you not to work yourself to death and come. Bring (Name) too if you want. If you can find them, their squad has been looking for 'em for the past half hour."

Subtly, underneath the desk the Commander feels at your head with an affirming pat. "Will do, see you then, Mike."

You then carefully listen to the boots creak on the floor, you count up sixteen steps before the door opens and clicks close behind. Another beat passes in silence before suddenly the hand on your head tightens it's grip and pulls you forward as the Commander's chair scoots back and away from the desk before he makes your head tilt back and does he look down at you proper for the first time since the encounter started.

"Well," He addresses, voice low and dangerously smooth. "-looks like I'm done with my work, hm? You got what you wanted, you must be so proud."

"Erwin-"

"Pants off. On the desk. Legs spread. That's an order, (Surname)." He says with a crooked smile, the dirty one, the one that sometimes comes out during the most inappropriate of times. That one.

Well, it's your Commander's orders. You yourself grin as you get up to your feet. Who were you not to follow?

It's only a little bit awkward an hour later when the two of you finally step in Hanji's office (pigsty, as Levi calls it) cleaned up the best you could but still the two of you had that 'messed around' aura but no one really seems to question as Hanji jokes it's about time you two showed up before going on a tirade swearing up and down Mike's cheating - he simply raises his nose swearing he's not - before you sit down at the crowded trouble where Levi rolls his eyes and passes out cards for you both, muttering something under his breath you don't quite catch but Mike kicks him under the table for it, causing him to kick harder in return.

It's fun, having little moments of small non battle camaraderie like this, for just a small amount of time all of you get to not think about titans, the Walls, and certain death for once. It's especially nice looking over to Erwin, who is now enthralled in the card game and is a very deceptive cheat to the unexpected opponent and takes plenty of risky gambles as he's known to do - a good amount of people around this table can read him and no when he's lying but it is still rather difficult, his poker face is damn well good and practiced - but even still it's obvious he's having fun and is finally not focused to death on his work which makes you happy. Even if you should've definitely won that last hand.

If you like what you read please consider reblogging! It means the world for writers and artists!

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snowsinterlude · 6 months

Note

I'm so sorry if I'm bothering you but I'm EATING UP that incel modern Coryo😫

He'd be absolutely awful after one (1) failed situationship he had and he's still a virgin, now he's always sneering at women and even men who he considers to be 'a threat' to him and his fragile masculinity and control issues lol

Coryo would be awful with you too at first! Or at least try. He'd be so so pissy, always throwing a hissy fit whenever you wear something 'too revealing' for his delicate palate and in reality he still kinda can't believe the fact that a girl willingly interacted with him💀 I like to think that on one side he can't believe it and on the other his entitlement rears its head and Coryo's like 'well yeah DUH'

The one thing that would shut boy up would be wrangling him down and shoving his face against your tit for him to suckle and finally let there be peace and quiet from his entitled yapping😭

anon i think you are a literal genius for that cause not only do i agree with you but i think coryo is the biggest sucker for titties on a general basis. thank you!!

it was starting to become an habit. you simply couldn't help but want peace whenever he opened his mouth to talk shit and at this point you were thinking that this was beclming psychic cause you always know when hes gonna start running his mouth around about your choice of clothes.

now, there were two sides of coriolanus snow who were two controversial if you thought about it too much. and you did. you nearly couldn't believe the man who was sucking on your nipple while massaging your boobs was the same man who would call you out on your choice of clothes everyday.

it started simple. a 'whore' here, a 'slut' there. it didn't really matter to you. what did matter was that he would spend his entire day pissing you off about it.

coryo is a very sweet boy, of course, you were the one who was dressed up like a worthless homewrecker cunt everyday. you were at fault. you should be grateful he was helping you out on that.

you were such a whore. miniskirts there. dresses who never went past half your soft looking thighs here. and of course, your tops and croppeds and your lack of a bra everywhere. his mind felt dizzy just looking at your soft timid nipples poking through your top's fabric.

don't get him wrong!! he is very sweet with his cousing tigris and his grandma'am. it just happens that some blonde bitch broke his heart and he decided that no female were worth it and all of them were whores. except for the women he lived with, this being his cousin and his grandma'am.

"aren't you ashamed? don't you have any sense of embarassment?" he asked you randomly one day.

"about what?" you raised your perfectly shaped brow, eyes on his, drowning on the pretty blue of his devilish misogynistic eyes.

"you're dressed like a whore! look at you- your skirt is above your knee, is not even close to it! your shirt is too tight and i- i'm seeing everything! you're almost naked!" he said, pointing to everywhere on your body but not even looking to your face. and he couldn't. he knew his dick would betray him the moment he saw your lashes flutter to him. "i'm not going out with you looking like that"

"corio, let's just go, okay?"

"no, i'm not-"

"coriolanus." damn. he shivered right there, gulping down hard on the way you looked at him. he knew it was decided already, you weren't going out at all. "couch. sit."

and he did. like a obedient golden retriever who knew that he made a mess. he was crying internally, afraid you'd leave him because of his kind words. you were like, supposed to be grateful for it. he was helping you out.

but you didn't dump him, for his surprise, you layed his head on your lap and caressed his hair. then the thing escalated a bit and his mouth was sucking on the soft tissue of your breast while your hand slowly pumped his cock.

"i know you don't want me to go out looking like that because you think is slutty, but we both know the real bitch in heat in this room is you," you said, as he dizzily nodded with his mouth too occupied to say anything. "you will have to learn how to behave yourself from now on if you want me to be with you still"

he hummed against your breast, his cock twitching on your soft skilled hand while he recieved all your words quietly, dumbly.

"you're not cumming today." he didn’t fight it. he knew he would eventually cum on your hand and cry for overstimulation because that was his punishment.

his punishment being overstimulation was more like a payment. for you, actually, because you loved seeing him cry while your warm walls squeezed his cock tightly with you telling what a bitch he was, saying his tantrums were on purpose cause he knew what would wait for him all while he tries not to cum right on sight.

#tbosas smut #young president snow #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #x reader #send asks #asks open #incel corio #incel coriolanus #dom reader #fem reader

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marsbutterfly · 8 months

Note

HELLO MARSLYN 😈

idk if you’ve done this already.. but could i have some dating headcanons for hanma? 🥹 ilysm

a/n: HELLO BITCHLYN <3 I am so sorry this has taken me so long BUT I finally finally finished this <3 I was going to make it all very sweet and fluffy then the smut came out. oh well, it is what it is hehe

Dating Shuji Hanma 𓈒∘☁︎

warnings: fem!reader, mentions of the following - blood, knives, bruises, violence, smoking and some creepy ppl at first, some anxiety if you squint. NSFW, oral sex (m! receiving), multiple creampies, no breeding kink tho. not proof read cuz i'm depressed 🫶🏻

𓈒∘☁︎ You "first" met Hanma by accident. It was a simple summer day, you were on your way back from class when a group of men stopped you on the street. Their faces were some you had never seen before, even though you walked the same path everyday.

𓈒∘☁︎ A smile crept on the biggest one's face and you could feel the blood nearly draining from your face and yet, your heart was beating so fast. A fear you had never felt before as they take a few steps closer, nearly pressing you against the wall.

𓈒∘☁︎ You don't have time to scream for help because, before you even realize, a shadowy figure is already on top of them. A slim boy with duo color hair throws punches around in such speed you have never seen before. He laughs a deranged laugh and you notice that he is mostly using his right hand, yelling something about "punishing assholes."

𓈒∘☁︎ Once all the creeps who cornered you are on the ground, a mess between bloody noses, swollen eyes and missing teeth, the boy turns to look at you. Splatters of red across his face as he walks closer, his left fingers rubbing his right knuckles.

𓈒∘☁︎ "Are you alright?" He asks, a blank expression on his face while his eyes give you a puzzling look that you can't quite decipher.

𓈒∘☁︎ "I think so," your voice cracks, hands shaking lightly as he walks closer. After a few seconds of examining his face, you realize you have met him before. In fact, it was a face you were maybe too familiar with, "Shuji?"

𓈒∘☁︎ The right side of his lip curls into a smirk and he raises an eyebrow, "I go by Hanma now, it's more intimidating!"

𓈒∘☁︎ After that, the two of you began spending more time together. While you weren't thrilled with his ways of getting what he wanted, you still accompanied him wherever he went. The gas station on the corner where he would threaten to beat the owner if he didn't give him a pack of cigarettes (of course you would pay the poor man behind his back)

𓈒∘☁︎ Or when he would bring you to the gang's hideout and listen for hours as he instigated the boys to punch each other (it became common for you to mend battered knuckles and accessing injuries)

𓈒∘☁︎ However, he could also be very romantic when he wanted to be. Like when he would take you out to dinner, though not typically to restaurants since he was banned from most of them, he would insist on taking you out for a night bike ride, the smell of the ocean mixing with the smell of whatever takeout food you ordered.

𓈒∘☁︎ You would spend hours sitting by the sea, the sand getting in between your toes after he splashed some water onto your feet. The cold breeze against your face and the sweetness of his lips against yours after eating dessert.

𓈒∘☁︎ He will bring out a deck of cars and insist on playing for a chance to see your boobies, he cheats and wins every time of course but he will deny it like his life depends on it if you call him out.

𓈒∘☁︎ I think he is caring in his own personal way. Even though he might sometimes get himself busted up pretty badly, he would never, EVER put your life in danger, willingly or not.

𓈒∘☁︎ I feel like he might also have a "special talent" though I'm not sure what it would be. Maybe he is really good at doing your makeup since his eyeliner is so on point.

𓈒∘☁︎ Or maybe he is really good at drawing and keeps leaving silly, little pictures around your house for you to find when you are away from him. Some are drawings of hearts, some are gory as fuck. Who knows what you'll find next time?

𓈒∘☁︎ He is very protective of you. Like, any man who gets too close or even looks in your direction, gets a stern look or maybe even a knife to the throat when you look away.

𓈒∘☁︎ The idea of having you all to himself makes him go crazy. He gets hard with the slightest of touches, and when he feels your mouth around his cock? He feels like he could bust a nut with the simply breeze of your warm breath.

𓈒∘☁︎ He loves it when you have your "bad girl moments", when you push his against his back and get on your knees, moving your hair out of your face to give yourself better access to his already throbbing cock.

𓈒∘☁︎ Oh, and he is obsessed with your pussy. The way he fills you up, the way you move your hips against him, the way he fucks you so hard his balls actually come in contact with your clit.

𓈒∘☁︎ He gets easily drunk on the scent of your sweaty skin mixed with his, the pool of your juices sliding down your legs towards the ground. Oh, how he loves the sounds you make.

𓈒∘☁︎ Also his pull out game is immaculate. The man has never worn a condom in his life, but every so often he will give into the temptation and release all of his cum inside of you. He will do it until you are dripping.

𓈒∘☁︎ Then he immediately goes out and buys like, three boxes of plan B. idk, the man knows the consequences to his actions.

𓈒∘☁︎ Oh and to finish this off, did I mention that he definitely asked you out by beating a bunch of guys up and either using their blood or displaying their bodies to form up the words: be my gf? because he did.

#hanma shuji #hanma shuji x you #hanma shuji x reader #hanma shuji x y/n #hanma headcanons #tokyo revengers #hanma shuji smut #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo rev smut #tokyo rev #jfbl #hanma shuji x reader smut #hanma shuji headcanons #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers x reader smut #sleepysnk!

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ohdeerfully · 1 month

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omg hi! I love your writing! I had an alastor x reader request for an idea I can’t get out of my head! Imagine him and the reader secretly pining for each other as besties but just can’t admit it to each other (or themselves lmao). So alastor talks to Rosie about it and she is so shocked that he likes a girl! And after some time the reader decides to go ask Rosie for advice due to her being alastor other bestie and she kinda plays matchmaker for them!

Thank you for reading this and I hope you like the idea! No worries if not tho 💖

hi love! i split this into two parts (second part is already written and posted!), i hope that's okay! reader is also i love mutual pining its so yummy

thanks for the request!

Mutual Dilemma (i)

Alastor x Reader part i part ii TW: none!

join my discord!

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Alastor knew plenty of things about himself and those around him—this was something of a skill he gained throughout his time in Hell as an Overlord. His all-smiles personality, at least to those that didn’t take the ‘myth’ of the Radio Demon seriously enough, earned him plenty of trusting acquaintances that provided him with constant, easy information. He was always confident in this way of things.

But you—just some seemingly ordinary demon at the Hazbin Hotel—you confused him. You made him unsure of himself. When it came to you, there were so many unknown, confusing emotions that made his mind and body swirl with discomfort. There was only one thing he could accept within himself as truth–

He hated you.

He hated you simply for the fact that he didn’t understand you, and you made him doubt himself. Alastor was so used to picking apart the inner workings of those he came across, but everytime the two of you interacted he always found his mind lost and unable to think as if he were a drunk man. Maybe you were doing it on purpose to taunt him; you were placed here by Heaven itself to torture him.

Truthfully he wanted to avoid you at all costs in order to preserve what was left of his sanity, but as time passed it became increasingly difficult as you were aggravatingly involved with the various hotel matters. You had quickly become close friends with Charlie Morningstar herself, so where she was you were likely nearby… so it was nearly impossible to not see you everyday considering his own duties to the hotel.

Currently he had sat himself on an eccentric red armchair in the lobby, hands politely folded over his lap as he observed the conversation in front of him—Vaggie, Charlie, and you were discussing some plan to attract more residents to the hotel, sitting cross-legged by a low table. The group would rarely turn to him for any input, but that matter didn’t really bother him—he was never much help, anyway.

Every now and then Alastor would catch your eyes tentatively look away from the spread of papers on the table to take a peek at him, and each time he would stare back in his usual manner; a spreading, malicious grin and slight tilt in the head, which always made you shoot back to attention to your task. He wasn’t sure why you kept looking, though, but he just chalked it up to the typical sense of fear and anxiety demons usually felt in his presence.

He didn’t fail to notice the light pang in his chest each time he caught your eyes—a weird, twisting feeling of emotion that he couldn’t recognize. He wanted nothing more than to tear those eyes of yours right out for even looking his way since they seemed to be the culprit of the discomfort; but, at the same time, it was like a mysterious force held him incapable of laying a hand on you and cursed his body with even more of those strange feelings at the mere idea of you being hurt.

It was something he never really cared to explore too deeply within himself as he was content with simply believing it would pass with time.

◈

You, on the other hand, wanted nothing more than to explore the strong emotions that you actually were able to recognize as love; or, something similar… love was a strong word to use when referring to the Radio Demon of all creatures in Hell.

Still, it hurt your soul to see the complete and utter lack of care towards your existence in general that he seemed to hold for you. He played friends when it mattered, which was particularly in cases like this when Charlie, Vaggie, him, and you were all trying to plan something—with mostly Charlie doing the work, you were kind of just her yes-man—but otherwise he seemed to just… avoid you. Ignore you unless it came with some benefit.

Everybody knew how the Radio Demon went about relationships, and you weren’t any less wise, but it still hurt. You could convince yourself to be happy with just a friendship with the guy, but even that was impossible when any opportunity you had to get closer to him was met with that deranged grin. You couldn’t find yourself afraid of it, though, because alongside the swimming malice in his crimson eyes there was also a hint of… confusion or doubt, like a child learning something terrifying or life-changing. Of course, maybe you were just delusional.

Charlie’s hand brushed against your arm, and you realized you had just been staring blankly at the small spread of papers on the black wooden table in front of you. You blinked a few times, startled by the sudden tug into reality, but smiled once you realized what you had been doing. You sheepishly apologized before asking her to repeat her question.

“Actually…” She said slowly while holding her knees with her hands and rocking backwards. “It’s pretty late… you seem tired. Let’s call it a night?”

“Are you sure?” You asked, stifling a yawn. You hadn’t even noticed exhaustion creeping upon you, but it seemed to swing in full force when she mentioned it. “I know this is important to you.”

“And the comfort of my guests is more important!” She stated proudly, standing up alongside her girlfriend. She held out a hand to you, which you took gratefully. You grimaced at the stiffness in your legs as you stood and placed a hand against your back as you craned your spine to crack it.

“Alright,” You sighed after Charlie urged you to get some sleep again. You waved her goodbye before her and Vaggie left the room, leaving you… and Alastor. He was getting up from the armchair just as you turned around, and you quickly tried to think of something to say, desperate for a conversation. Why was your heart beating so fast? You were going to embarrass yourself.

“You better run along, now,” Alastor said when he noticed you lingering. His voice being directed at you made goosebumps run up your arms. He had his hands folded together behind his back and he bent slightly at the waist to loom over you. “Wouldn’t want to disappoint our dear princess now, would we?”

“And you?” You asked back. You knew he didn’t really sleep, you were just hoping to make conversation. He narrowed his eyes slightly down at you.

“I’ve planned a trip to Cannibal Town,” Alastor explained with closed eyes, straightening himself to stand to his full height. He opened his eyes again to peer at you—it made you nervous to be the subject of his bright red gaze. “I have a dear friend I’ve been meaning to see.”

You nodded absently in response, Rosie’s face immediately coming to mind. You were good friends with her, and knew of the mutual connection the three of you had. You wondered briefly if you should go to her about your latest troubles. Before you could think of anything else to add to the current conversation, he bid you goodnight and briskly left the room. He seemed unnaturally hurried in his pace, but you didn’t think much of it. He had a tendency to just be a bit weird.

A breath that you didn’t even realize you were holding escaped your lungs after the large entrance doors creaked shut. You opted that yes, you were going to go talk to Rosie—tomorrow. You were growing more and more aware of just how tired you were as you stood in the silent room. Plus, maybe it would do some good to sleep on your emotions.

◈

Alastor couldn’t comprehend the mixture of emotions in him; he was mad, frustrated, but all at the same time… endeared by you. How could he feel so much disdain and hatred for someone, yet still have some feeling of care for them? He had been able to at least reach the conclusion that he did care for you, but that didn’t explain the pit in his stomach he got every time your gaze met his.

Rosie would know, surely, or at least be able to give some insight to why he was so conflicted. She was much more in-tune with emotions and mentality and all the type of stuff that Alastor had always been so quick to push away from his care. Plus, she was the only demon in Hell that he could even open a fraction of his mind to.

It was a quick trip to Cannibal Town, his legs carrying him faster than usual. He had given a suave wave and pleasant smile to the various cannibal ladies that always swooned by his presence; something that he had never really thought twice about, but now images of you and your own smile flashed in his mind’s eye when he waved. His eyes narrowed subconsciously at the experience.

The door to Rosie’s Emporium was soon being pushed open by his hand, and he lightly stepped in, hanging his coat up on a nearby rack. It didn’t take long at all for Rosie to realize she had a guest—and even faster for her to realize who the guest was.

“Alastor!” She said cheerfully. They shared a quick embrace before she beckoned him to sit with her at a table against the wall, already prepared to start talking. She knew he only showed up when he needed something.

“My, it’s been a minute,” She observed, leaning her head on her hand. It had really only been a week at most, but Alastor decided against contradicting her.

“Truly, my darling,” He simply agreed. “I have a question.”

“Well I didn’t doubt it.”

Alastor hummed, leaning back in the chair as he tried to form a coherent explanation. How was he to describe a situation he couldn’t even begin to understand himself? Rosie was ghostly silent as she waited, her pearly teeth only slightly peeking between the light smile on her lips.

“That one demon at the hotel—a mutual friend of ours—the one that's always hanging out with Charlie and–”

“I know them,” Rosie cut him off with a waving hand, urging him to get to the actual point. There was a new, sneaky curl in her grin as he spoke with a nearly undetectable stammer in his otherwise smooth voice.

“Well… for the longest time now, it’s like I feel… weird, around them. A weird feeling in my gut that I’ve never felt before. It enrages me, and I want nothing more than to just kill them and get it out of my mind, but, at the same time…” He trailed for a moment. He felt a little embarrassed, truthfully though he would never admit it, that he was practically rambling on about some random demon. He felt like a middle school boy.

Rosie’s hand had found its way to her mouth as he spoke, blocking what Alastor assumed was either a shocked open mouth or a wide smile she didn’t want to share. She inhaled sharply, composing herself, before placing her hand back onto the table.

“Well, I’ll be. I never thought I’d see the day that the Radio Demon…” She paused for a moment and pursed her lips, carefully thinking about the next few words as if what she was going to say would blow his mind into a million pieces. Alastor furrowed his brows and tilted his head to the side expectantly and confused.

“Alastor… do you have… a crush on them?”

A comical record scratch effect sounded from Alastor’s cane as his shoulders stiffened and smile tightened all at once. He looked almost offended at the idea, but at the same time there was an odd look of uncertainty in his expression.

“What? No.”

Rosie laughed aloud at the shocked and almost angry looking expression on his face, ears flattened to their fullest extent as he struggled to maintain his cheerful demeanor. His mind wasn’t exploded into a million pieces, but his whole self-perception was definitely damaged.

Alastor, although upset, thanked her for the help, excused himself, and stood quickly to leave. He was thankful that Rosie was understanding and didn’t try to convince him to “talk it out” or anything. The only thing she said was an invitation to lunch at a local shop the next day if he wanted to talk to her more—she would be there just in case.

Truthfully, Alastor had already started suspecting the romantic feelings building inside of him before Rosie confirmed the idea; he had just refused to fully acknowledge or even begin to accept them.

He, Alastor—The Radio Demon—had no room in his soul for trivial things like romance. Even in life he had refused to pursue the experience. So why were you suddenly an exception to this? Why did you make his heart boil with a confusing mixture of love and hate; why did your presence make his chest feel heavier and why did you, of all creatures in Hell, make him nervous? Not even the strongest Overlords that had gone against him made him nervous.

Alastor walked back to the Hotel at a snail’s pace, dreading the return and dreading the sight of you. Now that his suspicions of emotion were confirmed by Rosie herself, he wasn’t sure how his nerves would react. Would he finally snap in frustration at how you affected him and just kill you? Part of him hoped to, but another felt ill at the mere thought.

It was late when he got back, and to his luck you were evidently asleep. He paused for the briefest moment as he passed your hotel room door, eyes trailing over the knob before he caught his senses and hurried to his own quarters.

The familiar tranquility of his personalized, swampy room with twinkling fireflies and light cricket noises helped him clear his mind as he found a cozy spot to sit and ruminate. Maybe he would go see Rosie for lunch tomorrow.

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part ii

#ohdeerfully #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel #fluff #alastor x you #mutual pining #YUMMMYYYY #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x you

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hyeque · 2 years

Text

strawberry shortcake [tsukishima kei][nsfw]

synopsis: you let kei act out his wildest fantasies for his birthday

warnings: manhandling, cunninglius, food play, breast worship, kei being a dick (wow), mild hair pulling, choking

notes: this isn't as long due to time constraints (update: i lied, at the time i wrote this it wasn't but now it is), but it would be illegal for me not to write anything for my tsukkipoo's bday, so happy bday to one of like 4 of my main 2D husbands 🫶🏾💗 honestly i don’t know what this is

word count: 3.6kei

tsukishima never really considered his birthday to be a big deal, but when adding you to the equation, the man definitely can't lie and say he doesn't look forward to the occasion now.

from the minute it was midnight, you had made it everyone's—including kei's—personal problem that it was his birthday. with the way you got ecstatic about it, it's hard to be convinced that it's not your birthday.

tsukishima never bothered with asking you about plans, because every time he does, you never say. no matter how hard he pries or tries to bait you, you don't give in. it's irritating but admirable, he must admit.

so as he heads home that day from work (because adult mundane things don't stop for your birthday, of course) he's not sure what to expect. he had gotten a ton of messages from his team group insinuating you'll give him the best birthday sex ever, but he never really is one to entertain locker room talk persay. and even more truthfully, all of his lewd thoughts about you should only be reserved for him and him only.

he doesn't hear or see you when coming into your shared apartment. after calling out for you, he only hears small giggles from your shared bedroom and makes his way there.

to say he is pleasantly surprised is an understatement. throughout all the birthday messages and well wishes he'd gotten earlier today, he couldn't stop focusing on the meaning of your words from before he left that morning. a, "i look forward to seeing you later" and that was it. he will admit he was a bit grumpy you hadn't texted him throughout his day.

but he forgets all of that and nearly drops his work phone out of his hands when seeing the sight in front of him.

"happy birthday, kei."

you sit on the bed, naked and with nothing but two wrapped presents on your lap. a red ribbon adorns your neck, implying you're also a gift. on a tray only about a foot away from you is strawberry shortcake made just for him, along with his favorite meal (not you, specifically actual food—sorry to disappoint the audience).

if he were a horny and uncontrollable animal like his teammates, he'd send a picture of you joking about how right they all were, but he doesn't feel like it. he knows the scratch marks you'll put on his back will make up for everything he doesn't say to his team now.

it's silent as he stares at you and you start to feel small under his gaze. and unfortunately...he's not your normal everyday boyfriend. he's prickly and sometimes he shouldn't say things he doesn't mean, but he can't help himself sometimes. he doesn't always like to grant you the reactions you're hoping for immediately. sometimes he does things just to rile you up.

"you really think that just having sex with you would suffice as a good birthday present?" he asks, pushing his frames up his face. he moves so he's sitting on the bed in front of you, calculating eyes not letting you see more of his emotions than he wants.

you frown, rolling your eyes. not a hi, not a hello. nothing. "and you're saying it won't?"

kei knows his sharp tongue can easily get him in more trouble, and believe me, reader, when i say the last thing he wants to do—especially in this moment—is make you upset.

you slam down both presents in front of him, distracting him from his thoughts. "in case your thick head didn't know, i still got you an actual present."

once examining the gift you got him, his eyes soften as it was something he briefly mentioned once awhile ago. he didn't even think you remembered. the second gift was a framed photo of the two of you from your first ever date. you both were a little bit more shy and awkward then, but the memories it holds outweighed any of that.

he becomes quiet, feeling the heat from his face become scorching hot before he looks down at you with soft eyes now.

"thank you. i really appreciate it." he squeezes your hand three times before leaning down and placing a chaste kiss to your lips. your anger from earlier slightly subsides but you still feel slightly embarrassed and move to get up and change into clothes.

kei blocks you, a smirk creeps to his face. "but...i really appreciate you more..." he yanks you by the leg, pulling your body towards the edge of the bed.

"w-what are you doing?" you squeal, looking up at him with widened eyes.

"having dessert." he answers, his eyes focused on your glistening folds. his mouth is drooling at this point.

you try to speak but nothing but sputters come out of your mouth. "h-hey mister, your dessert is over—" you're cut off by a surprise moan escaping you as kei wraps his mouth over your lower region, all thoughts of a smart reply gone from your mind.

"one—it's sir to you, and two—for the record, you taste better than any strawberry shortcake, shortcake." he grins, moving to lap at your cunt again.

your mouth drops open into a gasp, and you move your hips back against his face shamelessly. "y-you said you didn't want sex as a present."

he tsks, rolling his eyes. "i didn't say that. i simply asked you a question earlier. which then, if you were my only gift"—he smacks the fat of your ass playfully, making you yelp—"i'd be stupid not to be grateful."

'damn right', you want to say, but settle on, "y-you're so...irritating..." you huff, fingers digging into the bedsheets as he laves over your insides like a starved man.

"hey—you're supposed to be nice to me, it's my birthday." he taunts, smirk gracing his (annoyingly) handsome face.

"i'll be nice to you alright—" you whine once the feeling of his fingers come into play, "god—you—" your words become choked up as two thick digits move inside of you.

"kei is just fine," he smiles, ravishing in the squelching mess that is your cunt. the sounds and smell of you are driving him absolutely insane, but he doesn't want you to know that just yet.

your legs are trembling and you both hate and love how easy it is for him to get you like this. your skin is covered with a thin layer of sweat and you whimper, looking up at your boyfriend in awe. he's removed his glasses and his hair is disheveled from a long day at work. you didn't know it was possible for someone to be this hot while eating you out.

and so it doesn't take long before your release approaches and you're shudder with euphoria as you decline from your high.

"good girl," he hums, pleased with you cumming all over his face.

tsukishima's large hands toy with the ribbon around your neck. you recognize the calculating look in his eyes and shiver, wondering what he's thinking.

"since you're my present, i get to do whatever i want with you, right?" he asks, his golden brown eyes meeting yours.

"y-yes..." you stutter, hands resting uncertainly on his broad shoulders. he senses your nervousness and only leans down to kiss you. you sigh, leaning into him, body practically straddling him. you grind up against his thigh, your cunt rubbing deliciously over the hard muscle.

"dirty girl..." he grunts, shoving his thigh further against you. he knows you must be soaking wet down there. he'll worry about his pants and dry cleaning later.

"kei..." you murmur, resting your head on his shoulder. your hands pull at his sweater, "off, take this off."

"didn't know you were in position to make such demands..." he tsks, leaning back to take off the sweater. you never get tired of seeing him. of how lean and toned he is. his porcelain skin is going be tainted by the time you're done with him tonight.

moving over tsukishima wordlessly, you kiss down his jaw and neck, nipping and biting playfully at the skin. you run your hands over his chest and stomach, admiring the refined muscle and how it ripples under your touch. soft moans leave him and his skin flushes a rose pink. he tugs you off, laying you back on the sheets.

his eyes move and land on the strawberry shortcake and he—much to your dismay—grabs a glob with his bare hand. before you can complain about your ruined masterpiece, he looks to you with a glint in his eyes.

"i knew this cake was missing something..." he murmurs as he smears the food onto your breasts and stomach, "one ingredient that's rare, and only available to one person."

you feel your face burn as he looks at you mischievously.

pinching your cheek with his clean hand he coos, "i'm so lucky i don't have to share that ingredient with anyone else, aren't i?"

"i'm going to be all sticky after this," you whine, grimacing from the thought.

"sure, but it won't be from the cake." kei quips, making you slap his chest.

the hand you use to hit him is easily pinned to the bed. he laves his mouth along your neck, sucking up the cake into his mouth. you gasp quietly, feeling his teeth nip playfully at your skin every now and then.

"fuck, kei..." you whimper.

"i think this is a much more efficient way to eat, don't you agree?" he hums mouth moving down to your collarbone. the marks left behind from his handiwork please him but make him all the more greedy at the same time. "every part of your body is sweet just like this cake."

you whimper, arching your back up into him as the tender skin of your breasts is sucked on, his mouth not hesitating to leave bruises in his path. with the way he kisses and licks your skin, you truly feel worshipped. especially when he makes it his agenda to kiss every square inch of you. he ends his ministrations with kisses on your cunt, causing you to jerk from sensitivity of cumming earlier.

"don't think i can go back to eating strawberry shortcake normally after that." he admits and you laugh before sitting up.

you crawl to the tent in his pants, hands moving to undo his belt but hear a sound of displeasure.

"no time." he swat your hand away from his crotch. you pout until he pulls himself out from his confines, his cock slapping his stomach as he steps out of his pants and boxers.

he's leaking an evident amount of pre and you wonder what universe you had to be put in to not be able to suck him off in this moment.

he kneels between your body, stroking himself but making no urgent move to line up with your hole. he seems to enjoy your squirming and smirks at the look of frustration on your face.

"you look hot when you're desperate like this." he says, gripping himself just a little tighter at how vulnerable you look before him.

your body jerks when you feel the head of his cock brush against your cunt. the feeling dissolves but then he repeats the same motion again.

"kei i swear if you don't put it in—"

"then what?" he challenges, only running his tip over your folds once more.

"is it really a crime to want to see you cry for my cock?" he asks, slapping his shaft against you. "it's my birthday so you have to do as i say now. so tell me how much you want it."

when he's met with silence, he raises a brow, wondering why you aren't speaking. "did you not hear me? or are you already too dumb to speak? i haven't even fucked you yet."

his large hand slides up to the column of your throat and a gasp of surprise leaves you. "you're acting kind of bratty right now, and i don't like it. i don't even think you deserve my cock."

you protest, "wait! please! i—"

he taps his chin, "but that's a problem for both of us, isn't it?" he grunts, probing his tip at your entrance, pressing the tip in, but not moving any further. one move and you could have him inside of you easily, but you don't dare defy him. he'll just get more upset.

he continues, "because you won't believe how badly i want to be buried in this tight cunt. but i could just fuck my fist or your mouth and call it a day—"

"n-no! i don't want that!" you blurt.

he grabs your jaw, a stern look on his face. "this isn't about what you want, baby. it's about listening and behaving to what i want. now what do you say?"

your head bows and shame swallows you whole. "please, sir. please fuck me like you mean it."

the look on kei's face suggests that he isn't exactly pleased, and the click of his tongue confirms. "i think you can beg better than that, shortcake. you've cried harder over cuddling* than getting fucked."

"that's not—" you bite your lip when his glare falls on you, "sir please! i promise i'll be good! i'll do everything you say, i swear!"

call him a sadist but it isn't until he sees tears brimming your eyes does he fully sheath himself into. the motion makes you gasp, and your voice is suddenly lost due to the feeling of him.

"see, now this, is a birthday gift." he says, breathing shaking as your insides envelope him. you always invite him in so easily, that's how he knows his cock is made for you, and your cunt is made for him.

"k-kei..." you stutter, the fullness making your senses heightened.

"always feel like i'm celebrating something when i'm in you." he huffs, his face flush as he squeezes his eyes shut. "god, you always feel too good..."

the slow clap of his hefty balls against your ass begins to fill the room. he thinks you look pretty with the look of ecstasy on your face right now as his cock hits all of the parts of you that make your toes curl.

"creaming all over my cock like this, you might be the best present i've ever had." he grunts, moving his hand to play with your clit. "so pretty like this..."

and just like he knows, your nails dig into his back, gently but thoroughly scraping at his skin as he pounds into you. it takes everything in him to not cum right there and then. you find yourself babbling his name, chanting it and telling him how good he feels.

his mouth is moving over all parts of you to taste and lick the cake he missed from before. he groans something about you tasting sweeter today especially.

you don't get a chance to warn kei about your creeping orgasm, and just lock your legs around him as it all comes crashing down over you. he groans, nearly losing his composure as your cunt milks him. he swears before pulling out of you, flipping the two of you so that your body is on top of him.

"be a good present and ride me." he says, smacking your ass.

you waste no time and scramble to adjust yourself. your legs are still trembling when you sink back down on him but you can careless. you both groan, stilling for a moment, as you stare at each other. he laces his hand with yours and squeezes it again.

once accommodating the full and new feeling from the angle you're at, you slowly move on him.

"oh fuck." he hisses, head falling back against the pillows. you place your hands on his thighs before leaning back and bouncing yourself. his hands move over you, whispering words of affection and marveling you in his own quiet and loving way.

"god look at you," kei breathes, staring up at you like you're an angel descended from heaven. his mouth falls open slightly and soft moans escape as he watches you.

"always look so fucking beautiful when you ride me like this." he continues, conflicted on if he should lay back and view you or shove his face between his (yes, his because everything about you is his) tits.

as infuriating kei tsukishima can be, there's never a time that he doesn't make you feel so loved, and full of worth and praise. albeit these moments are shared more privately, but you won't trade the image of his half lidded eyes, flush face, and lovesick expression for anything else.

he decides to lay back and is pleasantly surprised when you lean over him anyways, offering the best view of your tits in his face. his large hands move to knead and play with them, then making you shudder and cry out of pleasure when he sucks on them.

"k-kei..." you breathe, voice caught in your throat as you grind down on him, flipping between that and bouncing on his cock. it's almost like your body is possessed in a way. he knows and you know just how cock hungry this man can make you and how your mind resorts to mush.

kei would get on his knees and thank the gods right now if he could just from seeing the sight of you so focused to getting yourself and him off with his dick. and he doesn't want to have it any other kind of way. there's a strange satisfying feeling to being used and he's not opposed to it.

"does it feel good, baby? does my cock make you feel this good? tell me." he ghosts his hands over your hips and groans, watching the sinful way that they move.

"f-fuck, feels so good, kei! i love sitting on your cock!" you whine, tears brimming your eyes. tsukishima feels himself throb in you before moaning again, not caring how desperate he sounds.

"yes, keep fucking me like this, don't stop." he gasps, trying his best to keep his hands from grabbing your hips and fucking up into you how he likes.

he can feel his resolve crumble as he approaches his high. "you're going to let me cum inside you, yeah? like the dirty girl that you are?" he smacks your ass, making you clench sinfully and deliciously on him.

you nod rapidly, nails digging into his ravished porcelain skin. "fuck yes, kei, i want all of it. cum inside of me, please!"

he grins, your whining riling him up as he pounds into you harder. he flips you over again and your legs are thrown over his shoulder and your body pinned down on the bed. everything is so loud and messy, but he's too hyper focused on filling you up to care.

"shit, fuck, i'm gonna cum. i'm going to fill you up so fucking full." he yanks you by your hair and kisses all down your neck. by his erratic breathing you know he's at his peak.

"kei, i'm—!" you gasp, your third orgasm seizing you as your cunt clamps down on him.

"ha—" he chokes, hips stilling and back shuddering as the dam inside of him breaks. the most lewd groan escapes him and you clench harder when feeling the warm of his cum spill into you. the throbbing from him evident as his balls fully empty themselves into you.

barely catching your breath, you reach up and kiss him. his mouth tastes like the cake you made him and you feel your face burn as you taste a hint of yourself as well.

your start to move yourself off of him and he grunts out of displeasure.

"not yet. just want to be in you for a bit longer." he says, hands gripping your hips tightly.

"okay." you respond, leaning down to kiss his face, neck, and collarbone. he shivers at your touch and you feel his cock twitch inside of you once more.

"you're going to start something you can't finish." he complains, pinching your side to get you to stop.

you laugh, hiding your face in his necks. "whatever you say. so...how was your birthday present?"

"i loved it. i'm going to put the photo on my desk at work." he answers, smirking as you bite his ear in warning.

"not that present, dummy." you sit up before gesturing to the bow around your neck.

tsukishima hums, his hand resting on your neck before looking at you.

"absolutely irreplaceable. i couldn't have asked for anything better, and i'm feeling incredibly lucky.

"well i'm glad, birthday boy," your eyes fall back on the food. "are you hungry? do you want more cake?"

"no...but speaking of cake, i just realized something." tsukishima says, playing with your fingers.

you tilt your head. "what?"

"your pussy always tastes the sweetest when i'm dripping out of it." he smiles.

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sofiareidings · 8 months

Text

Coffee Runs

Summary: The guy who's been coming to the cafe you work at finally asked why you've never called him by his name.

A/N: I'm sorry this story is so late, especially since I missed Monday's post. School has been so busy this week and I've also had a bunch if extracurricular lately. I'll try and be more on time from now on (Don't hold me to that) Also! I got the idea for this one shot from @hanllo-kitty

Word Count: 0.8k

Song Suggestions: Invisible String - Taylor Swift

It was a good job, a great job really. The cafe was in a nicer part of town and people would subconsciously give nice tips so your pay was good. Rarely were customers terrible. Most people that came in were students or really busy people rushing in and going.

There were a few regulars. Like Joe, Joe was an eighty year old man who came in everyday for a coffee and a sandwich. While he waited he would talk about the lotto numbers and how his kids were doing. There was also Lola, she was a journalist who spent most of her day sitting in the corner of the cafe while refilling the same cup until closing.

But there was only one regular you would think about while getting ready for work.

Come on, I don't know his name. Don't shoot the messenger.

He'd been coming in for the past three months almost everyday, right after the cafe opened for a coffee. He always looked a little tired and acted like it too. He barely made conversation and normally shuffled out of the store in the same fashion as the other overworked people; quickly.

You hadn't learned his name yet. He always seemed to forget to say it when you asked, which resulted in you making up something.

"Guy with the sweater vest!"

"Guy in the purple!"

"Guy with the scarf!"

You get the point.

He was your favourite regular because of his looks. God, even when he was incredibly sleep deprived he looked beautiful. He had brown hair that fell just below his sharp jaw. Brown eyes that always happened to be in the light from the cafe window, making the small gold flakes in his eyes shine. He was normally dressed in a sweater vest and neutral pants, he probably worked at some type of office. The one part of him that stood out in his outfits were his converse, odd for the rest of his outfit. You could've sworn a few times you saw brightly coloured mismatched socks.

***

The sound of the cafe bell echoed through the nearly empty shop, having only opened half an hour ago. Smiling in the direction of the person walking in you quickly noticed it was 'Guy with *whatever he had on*" who came in. Something was different, he had thick glasses on. That was new.

"Hey, just the regular coffee and donut?" You put the order into the computer, looking back up at him. Taking in the new look.

"Yeah, thanks." His lips creased into a line, you called it a tired smile, the same one he made everyday. He handed over his money and poured the change into the tip jar then stepped back to wait for his order.

A couple minutes later you came back to the counter with his order. "Guy with the glasses!"

He did his usual, smiled and grabbed his order saying bye. But just when he reached the threshold of the door he paused and turned. "Why do you do that?"

Having already turned around you paused, this was the first time he'd talked to you in a clear voice. You weren't really sure what he meant. "Do what? Did I get your order wrong?"

He cleared his throat and seemed a little frustrated. "You never say my name, you just call me guy with something. Is it just to annoy me?"

"What? No, you've just never told me your name." Laughing a little, realising the misunderstanding.

"I didn't?" His face changed to confusion, "Oh my gosh, I didn't." He realised his mistake then his face flushed a shade of red.

"Don't worry, it's okay. Guy with the glasses." You laughed, looking around the cafe for a minute, strange it was still pretty empty.

"I am so sorry, I thought I told you and you just wanted to annoy me. I feel like a jerk, you seem so nice." Genuinely sorry he apologised profusely. "Can I make it up to you?"

Deciding to take the chance, you'd been daydreaming about this guy for months. "Well, maybe you could take me on a date." A little shocked by your own boldness, your face went up like twelve degrees.

"Uh, yeah…" He trailed off, clearly flustered. "Yeah, I would really like that."

"Well then, it's a date." You beamed, internally jumping up and down out of excitement. Since when were you so forward? He made that smile he made everyday before turning towards the door again.

That's when you realised.

"Wait!" You shouted, louder than you expected. Causing your coworker to drop a cup. "You still haven't told me your name."

"It's Spencer. I'll make sure to be back tomorrow." He nodded again and chuckled lightly before finally walking through the door.

God could tomorrow morning come any quicker.

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #fandom #fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x gn!reader #sofiareidings

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owliellder · 9 months

Text

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x f! Painter Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author Note: I wanna say there's some pretty descriptive talk about depression in this chapter, just as a heads up. Anyways, it's my weekend and I'm going to be absolutely zooted every single day so the next chapter will most likely be out Monday morning PST lol.

Cross-posted on AO3

Session 3: Blocking In Color

It was nearly three weeks until you saw Leon again.

You tried to call him a couple days after he'd left that day, a few more times over the following week, but to no avail. The man was unreachable.

Even though you did your best to convince yourself that you just wanted to get his painting started, "It was an important one", you knew that you were really just worried about him.

You've seen this kind of dismay with the other retired agents that've had a portrait painted in the past, but they at least recognized what they'd been through.

Leon hasn't. You could just tell.

Looking over the sketches you made of his face, you couldn't help but wonder what exactly he'd been thinking about the last time he was here. He seemed so bothered, acting like he was hiding it so well, too.

Then again, you did drop a rather large bombshell on the guy while he was in a pretty vulnerable state, but you thought he knew what the portrait he was going to receive was suppose to mean. Again, most of the retired agents you'd seen were similar to Leon in that regard and even they at least had a basic grasp on the finality of it all. So why didn't he?

You nursed your bottom lip, still staring at the sketches laying in front of you while you sat at one of your desks in the corner. You normally don't come to your workspace unless you're actively painting, yet you'd shown up everyday in hopes Leon would randomly pop in. He seemed like the kind of guy to just kind of show up, anyways...

If you had just gotten a picture that day you've could've at least started working out the positioning for his portrait. Unfortunately, he wasn't in any position mentally to put up with anymore of your shenanigans at the time, it seemed.

You really did try your best to get ahold of Leon, eventually giving up a few days ago. You'd already emailed the President, who had been the one to personally commission you unlike with previous ex-agents, letting him know that it's going to be longer than expected. Thankfully he was understanding, knowing rather well how much the whole retirement thing was weighing on Leon.

You'll come back tomorrow and try again. Even the next day, and the day after that if you have to, and so on and so forth.

Guilty. That's all Leon felt right now.

He's been shelled up in his house since the moment he got home after leaving your building, withering away by the minute.

He hadn't showered, barely eaten, only ever really pulling himself from what little comfort his room offered to grab whatever bottle he touched first in the cabinet. Leon didn't care, just as long as it was something.

Chris had been over a couple times after he stopped responding to his messages, doing his best to get him out of the house. Claire had been over a few times more than her brother had, bringing groceries once she'd heard about the sad state Leon was keeping himself in.

It broke both their hearts, but they could only do so much for him. Leon was stubborn, head strong, he wasn't the kind to sway to many forces. He had somehow gaslit himself into thinking he was doing well. "Just peachy", even.

Clearly that wasn't the case, both Chris and Claire could see that. They'd have to be blind not to.

Having been in contact with Leon's government-assigned therapist, Chris tried to set up an at-home meeting for him one day. That turned out to be a disaster seeing as Leon was bordering on blackout drunk and could barely keep his eyes open. Not to mention the vomiting.

Claire even tried to bathe Leon. She only got far enough to wash his hair in his kitchen sink, using his vomit-covered mouth as an excuse to keep him over the sink long enough to shampoo his greasy, stringy hair.

All of it was weighing on him too much. He felt so guilty for making his friends feel like they had to babysit him, ignoring everyone's calls and messages, your calls and messages. That kind of thought process quickly spiraled into him reliving the worst days of his life, having to through suffer so many flashbacks and nightmares, not sleeping because of it. He rarely ever felt safe enough to get under the covers on his bed.

None of this is what he wanted. If it were up to him, he'd start all over; be twenty-one again, work as a cop, maybe get promoted a few times, find a girlfriend, start a family, have a normal life. Why couldn't he have that?

Staying awake night after night, Leon would stare at the ceiling in his bedroom and fantasize about the wonderful life he could've had, the happy memories he could've made. It would make him weep, longing for something that never could've been.

Instead, Leon was stuck with endless images of horror, death, and gore every time he blinked, and oh was he bitter about it all. So bitter, so angry, so...

Feeling sorry for himself was all he could do now. Sure, he killed all those monsters and zombies, saved all those people, not once did he think about himself through the years. Now he had all the time in the world to question and wonder, and having to think about himself and what he wanted most made him feel like a needy, greedy bastard.

But wasn't he allowed to be greedy, if only just a little? He had wants, needs, and though he wanted so desperately to change his past, he knew he couldn't. So, what did he want now? That, he didn't know.

Guilty for feeling this way, guilty for wanting different, guilty for wanting anything good for himself.

It took the better part of those two weeks for Leon to finally muster up some form of energy to stumble into his bathroom and shower one afternoon, dizzy and nauseous. The light emanating from the rest of his house was blinding, not having even bothered to close the shades he had on any of his windows. His room was kept a cave and that's where he stayed.

Leon now found himself sitting down in the shower just like before he'd decided to retire, only this time it was mostly to keep from slipping and dying. The last thing he needed anyone to see was him naked and dead in the shower. Embarrassing.

His thoughts at the moment were shallow, still pretty drunk from his bender, head lulling back and forth a bit as his vision spun. He was finally hungry again, the heat from the shower making that all the more obvious as he grew lightheaded, but he didn't know what he wanted.

After managing to actually crawl his way out of the shower, he dug through the pile of dirty laundry at the end of his bed, finding a pair of boxers that didn't smell too terrible to put on.

Leon used the wall heavily for support to walk out into his kitchen, muttering curses under his breath at just how bright it was. Opening his freezer, he stared at the meal prep containers left by Claire, grabbing one to attempt and read what she'd wrote on the sticky note attached to the lid.

That's right... She made him little meals, even putting them in the freezer so they didn't go bad as fast. All he had to do was put it in the microwave.

Simple enough, he could do that.

The one he chose was meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Just the sound of it had his stomach rumbling and his mind craving the comforting taste of a home cooked meal.

The first few bites in made Leon feel nauseous again, but once those bites hit his stomach the feeling immediately gave way to just how hungry he actually was.

He tried to pace himself, he really did try, yet he managed to devour the food in front of him in a matter of minutes, only pausing every few seconds to breathe. It felt so good, something warm in his stomach. Filling in all the right ways. Once he finished, he pushed the empty container away and just laid his head down sideways on the cool countertop, closing his eyes as he let the food settle.

As much as he wanted to degrade himself for acting this way, reducing himself to such a weird and pathetic state, Leon didn't have the mind to. All he knew right now was that the warmth that the meal Claire made him. Not to sound cliche, but he genuinely believed he could taste the love cooked into it.

For the first time in what was now two and a half weeks, Leon was awake and alert when Chris and Claire came over again. He'd eaten everything Claire made, holding all the now cleaned containers out to her. It was a silent plea for more, and lucky for Leon, she had just made another grocery trip for him.

Unbeknownst to him, Claire had been cooking here at his house. This entire time he thought she'd been bringing the meals over, assumed to be leftovers from cooking for her family. She did confess to hoping the smell of the food cooking would pull him from his room. It didn't, much to her dismay, but now she was just glad he was up and eating again.

As soon as Leon tried to apologize for dragging her away from her family, she was quick to shut him down with that mom stare she'd developed after having her kids. It worked, especially on him.

Chris was busy chatting up Leon while Claire cooked him another set of meals for the next week. It was hard to converse, but Leon did manage to nod and him as the other man talked about some random encounter he had the other day while out driving.

It was strange to feel so lively again. Those thoughts still clung to the back of his mind, though all he could focus on were his friends taking care of him like one of their own. Leon feels like he's been a terrible friend lately, seems as though the siblings standing in his kitchen didn't feel the same. He wasn't showing it, but Leon was definitely holding back a smile.

A couple hours had past, Chris opting to stay with Leon and eat lunch since Claire had to head back and help her husband with something.

The hug Claire gave Leon was phenomenal. After the hug he shared with you he's been craving that physical contact more than ever, so finally getting another good squeeze from a friend was boosting his mood.

Chris and him sat, ate, and talked about whatever came to mind, eventually asking about you.

"How's the painting coming along? Do you like the painter?" He smiled, looking at Leon with wide, curious eyes. That man always had a smile gracing his features.

Leon shrugged, taking a sip from the water he poured himself not too long ago. He was pretty dehydrated after solely drinking alcohol for the past couple weeks. "She's alright. Haven't started the painting yet."

Chris raised an eyebrow, placing his arms on the counter and crossed them as he leaned forward slightly. "Just 'alright'?" he emphasized the word "alright" with air quotes, which caused Leon to scoff.

"What else do you want me to say? I've seen her twice so far and its been fine." Leon lifted his hands up in confusion, palms facing the ceiling as he watched the man sitting next to him rolled his eyes dramatically. "C'mon, she was amazing for Claire and I- Okay, how about this..."

Chris repositioned himself so his entire upper body was facing him now, leaning in a little closer to ask another question. "Do you like the room she works in? Cause I thought it was pretty comfy. When she was focusing on Claire's part of the portrait, I took a nap over on that rug she had. All those pillows mixed with the classical music knocked me the fuck out."

He laughed, shaking his head at memory before looking over at Leon again. "So...? And don't lie to me, I saw that pillow on your couch."

Leon sucked on his teeth and hummed, glancing over his shoulder at his couch. "It's cozy, yeah." He brought his head back forward, patting his hands gently against the counter.

The two chatted for awhile longer before Chris eventually had to leave, giving Leon a firm pat on the shoulder while shaking him a bit. After he left, Leon was left to sit alone and think again, only difference now is he felt better. He was crazy tired, his social battery quickly drained from having his friends around, but he felt good nonetheless.

He wasn't ready at the time, yet after a sober night with solid sleep, Leon woke up the next morning and decided to just text you, hoping you weren't mad at him. Calling would've been too much at that moment, not even have listened to the voicemails you left, or anyone's, for that matter.

His chest felt tight after sending the text, but it was quickly eased about ten minutes later when you responded with nothing but enthusiasm. The smiley face you added at the end of your message made him smile, quickly wiping it away with his hand.

Your next session was arranged two days ahead of time in the late afternoon. Leon wanted to give himself enough time to recollect since he needed to look his best the following weeks. You told him it was time to start with the main painting, which you still needed a picture for.

During that time he finally shaved his stubble, went out and got his hair trimmed, tackled all the laundry he'd neglected, and got his best suit dry cleaned. All thoughts aside, he felt good and wanted to stay this way.

Needless to say, Leon was jittery when he pulled up to your workplace again. He was finally letting himself feel excited again about this painting. If it's anything close to what Chris and Claire's portrait is, then that excitement will only continue to grow the further along you get.

You were already there waiting for him at the door, a gentle smile on your face. That wonderful soft perfume that he missed reaching his nose once more as you lead him up the stairs and through the other door. Chris was right, if he had the opportunity, he'd take a nap on your rug. It looked mighty comfy.

Leon was thankful you didn't ask any questions on his whereabouts, he wasn't ready to talk. You were just as excited as he was about getting the painting started, if not more. Watching you eagerly move back and forth between the larger easel and your desks was a refreshing sight to the man.

You stood at your easel for a couple minutes, just silently looking from the blank canvas to where he was sat. You told him to get into a comfortable position, prompting him rest his right leg on his left knee, leaning back and to the side so he was sitting at a slight angle, arms resting on the chair's armrests.

You stared at him for a few seconds, tilting your head side to side with your eyes squinted. "Let me just-" you spoke in a hushed voice, walking over to Leon before cautiously reaching out to rest one hand on the underside on his chin while the other hovered over the side of his face.

You weren't an idiot, you knew what his absence was from. So you made sure to be careful with him, knowing he was probably still pretty fragile. Only gentle and cautious touches for Mr. Kennedy.

So close yet so far. His skin tingled in your hands wake, and god he hoped you couldn't notice his blush.

You could, but you wouldn't say anything. Besides, you weren't faring well yourself, hands a little shaky as you touched his face.

Leon just let you move his head to whatever position you wanted, his eyes now half-lidded as you had walked back a couple times to get just the right angle. You pulled away for a final time with a small "aha!" and he wished you would hold his head for just a little longer.

The floor where your easel sat was marked with an 'X' made with painter's tape, making it easy for you to stay in the right spot for the photo once you pushed the easel out of the way.

"Don't move." You held your hands up after analyzing his position, quickly hurrying over the corner opposite of your desks to grab a bulky camera that sat atop a tall tripod. You worked as fast as you could, knowing as long as you had a picture with him in this position then this whole process would go so much smoother.

You didn't even have to ask Leon to smile or look up at the camera since he was sitting there with a rather dopey smile, his eyes remaining trained right on yours. Nice and natural. He looked relaxed which is exactly what you wanted.

Just as a precaution, you took multiple pictures, giving him a thumbs up once you figured you'd gotten enough. His head back to rest on the chair at the okay, listening to the sound of you walk over to your laptop after untwisting the camera from the tripod. You printed out 3 copies of the photograph and taped one to a stand you had brought over to sit next to the easel, making sure it sat eye level to you.

The ball was finally rolling, now having what you needed to start with the main sketch. When Leon lifted his head up, he noticed that you were ready, sucking in a sharp breath through his nose while he shifted a little to get back in just the right position.

You twirled your pencil between your fingers before beginning to roughly sketch out the chair, eyebrows furrowing as you focused. Leon could see your expression, how intensely you zoned into your work. It was incredibly admirable and he found himself fully content in just watching you do your thing.

It didn't take long before you had sketched out his general shapes, now walking over to take the sketches you made of his face out of your sketchbook to clip up right next to the reference photo. The more finer details would be added later, but you wanted to get just the basic shapes of his face.

That didn't take long either, because before Leon knew it, you were telling him it was okay to talk. He was pretty animated with his hands when he talked, so you kept him quiet until now.

"Am I easy to draw?" Leon spoke with an almost sultry tone after a few seconds of you telling him he could speak. It threw you off only a bit, carding your fingers through your hair as you took one step back to look at what you had so far.

"I wanna say yes and no." You responded, catching his questioning look from the corner of your eye. "You're easy to sketch out, yes, but your hair is giving me trouble." You could hear a low chuckle rumble from his chest as you stepped back forward. "Hey, you asked." You laughed back.

"I know, I know." He shook his head with a poorly hidden grin, tilting his head down to try and hide it a little better. You immediately pointed your pencil at him, not taking your eyes off the canvas. "I said you could talk, not move." Your sarcastic tone made him chuckle again, slowly lifting his head back up with a sigh.

"Yes, ma'am." You could just hear the smirk in his words, causing you to let out a sigh of your own.

By the time the sun had started to set, you had blocked out all the simple colors for the painting. Right now, it just looked like a very bland and abstract painting. It'll come together, slowly but surely. Trust the process, as people say.

Leon was in awe already, having stood up to look at your progress as you washed your hands over in the small bathroom. Oil paints smeared something fierce and as much as you loved your job, you did not want feel oily at home.

"It already looks stunning." You heard the man say from where he stood in front of the easel. It wasn't quite registering in his brain that it was him on that canvas just yet, but hopefully soon it would.

He wanted to recognize himself in something as wonderful as your art.

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50cal-fullauto-astarion · 10 months

Text

to leave the blood stay in the veins

monster!könig x f!rcursed!reader (no use of 'y/n') 6.6k words NSFW!

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT‼️CW: extremely NSFW, descriptions of gore, implied consumption of human flesh by a non-human monster, mention of necrotic curse, monsterfucking, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, knotting (no omegaverse), outdoor sex, ambiguous ending, pre-established relationship, 0% proofread, könig and reader are both fucking unhinged.

Day 01 of the Haunted Hoedown Challenge by @/inklore

taboo au (monsterfucking) + "i'll be your dirty little secret, if that's what you're into." + oh no i'm dating the town serial killer

There is a beast in the woods, and it leaves so little meat on the bone that not even carrion birds find value in the corpses it leaves behind.

It’s a strange town in the foothills of the Austrian Alps, full of little sicknesses hiding in the corners, and you learned them well when you moved here. No one goes past the treeline at night. Hardly anyone is outside of home if they can help it. Tourists are the beast’s fodder.

Your boyfriend thinks it’s funny.

König, under his ever-present hood–a not altogether uncommon sight in your town, people come here when they have something to hide, something they are uncomfortable with or find hideous in themselves, and he has given an unimaginable amount for you out of love–laughs, sharp in the tooth.

“Anyone dumb enough to head into the trees is dumb enough to die,” he teases, but there is an arrogance and a contempt swimming deep in his bloodshot blue eyes.

“That’s coldblooded, but not wrong,” you tell him, from behind your own mask. Plain thing, blank in expression, modeled from the one from Eyes Without A Face. It covers the ravages of a curse, numb necrosis slowly spreading up your face through the years. “I still want you to get me a gun.”

“What’s a gun going to do against a thing like that?” he asks, tilting his head, the hood bagging off the curled horns that start at his temples and sweep back over his ears. “Something like that, you need silver. I’ll get you a knife. Big one. Nice and fucking sharp, Schatzi.”

The knife isn’t a comfort when the beast begins to hunt in town. It stalks from house to house, preying on people in their beds, their living rooms, their bathtubs–there is no rhyme or reason, not a whit of discernable pattern.

Only teeth-gouged bones and viscera ground into wall, tile, and carpet alike. Your neighbor falls victim, and you watch the police from your window, flinching when a veteran officer stumbles out into the fall-frosted grass to vomit, sobbing and pulling his hair.

“It got Emil,” you say, still watching through your sheer curtains.

König nearly cackles from your bed, lounging as he visits. “Good. Emil was a piece of shit. Depperte Fut.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye, over your shoulder, before returning back to the circus in the yard next door. “‘Stupid cunt’ is a pretty strong insult. He was an asshole, but I don’t think he deserved to die like that,” you mumble.

“You don’t know all that much about your neighbors, Schatzi.”

You begin to rock side-to-side on your hips, the enormous silver blade König gifted you turning over and over in your hands, the point digging lightly into your palm.

It’s insane, the way you begin to tell yourself that you’ve seen König’s face nearly everyday for the last two years—you can see it right now. He lies on your bed, pointed teeth gleaming under his split philtrum in the soft yellow light of the bedside lamp and the red-blue flash of the cruisers. You know there is a man under the hood, however odd and satyr-seeming.

And yet. And yet.

The blade digs a little too deep, drawing a curse-blackened bead of blood. König’s eyes burn into the back of your neck, and you can only guess his horizontal pupils dilate into black holes.

Just quit your job. I’ll take care of you.

It’s a simple enough promise, and one you know König will keep, but not one you’re willing to make. You have few shreds of independence, hard-bought through years of fighting back against misfortunes and setbacks, and, no matter the depths with which you love him, you’re not willing to trade your shit wage on faith for love of a man. It doesn’t matter how helplessly besotted he is.

It’s this molar-cracking grit that delivers you right to the beast. Because you were forced to pick up an extra half shift at the hotel to fold towels behind the front desk, because you needed the money, because you wanted to pay back your beautiful, bloodthirsty boyfriend for the ridiculous blade he begat you.

The god forsaken thing lumbers down a deserted street, blocks from your little rental, and something fucking horrendous seizes you. It’s enormous, walking on cloven hooves and back-bent legs. Its arms are too fucking long, clawed, jagged. And worst is the skull, bleached white and glowing like a beacon in the dark, an enormous rack of brutally sharp horns dripping trinkets of bone and gold that glints in the street lamp it approaches.

A horrible fact hits you. It’s not lumbering, it’s wandering. Putting a massive, craggy hand on fences and peering into houses, taking its time, evaluating. You swear you can almost hear it humming.

You don’t know when your hand found the handle of the silver blade strapped to your belt under your coat, but the leather on the grip bites your palm with the force of your grip, a nauseous, cold sweat terror tearing apart your ability to think.

It’s a primal fear, one that makes you want to protect your soft, vulnerable neck, even if the blood that warms it runs venomous.

It’s a bad choice, but there are no good ones. When the beast lifts its head and scents the air, skull snapping your direction and shaking its grisly trophies, you run. You snap the huge blade off your hip and drop into a dead sprint, cutting between yards, trying to escape the horrendous bellow that reverberates through the bony chambers of the monster’s skull.

Choosing to run instead of freezing maybe bought you a few extra minutes before death decided it was time to seize your pulse in reclamation, and it hurts. The physical exertion it takes to bomb through the last stretches of suburbia before the forest closes in feels like you are breaking every bit of your body by forced choice, listening to that awful fucking thing chase after you.

Your blade makes a slicing sound cutting through the air at your side, the monster’s hooves pound the dirt as it digs in and chases after you, but, good god, it doesn’t sound like it’s even trying.

You don’t dare look back, pushing your body past agony, your lungs shredding in your chest. You’ve never moved this fast, you’ve never run this hard for this long. Your body is TV static—hissing, popping, distant—and, insanely, the urge to cry drills into your eye sockets.

You’re going to die. You’re going to die. You’re going to fucking die, stupidly and dumbly and pointlessly, because you wanted to pay your boyfriend a stupid sum of fucking money, for a stupid fucking knife that he bought you on a stupid fucking joke.

Two meters from the second worst decision of your life, the monster snaps out, rough hand between your shoulder blades, crashing you into the goddamned dirt. Your eyebrow splits on a tree root, your eyes roll in the back of your head, your hand stays manically tight on the blade, slicing your other arm.

“Schaaaatzi,” the miserable fucking thing hisses, pressing that same hand between your shoulder blades, pinning you into the freezing dirt.

Oh, god, no, it has König’s voice. It’s—it’s not him, but it has his voice, thin and washed out as low-hung fog, but you would know that voice. In hell, in high water, in the dirt with a massive, bark-rough hand grinding your skin raw through your coat—you - know - his - voice.

Furiously, you slash the blade over your head, behind your back, screaming and digging your feet in the dirt. For a brief second, as you hack at the wood of the monster’s hand and wrist, you’re even able to push yourself off the ground by mere inches. The beast growls and shoves you back down twice as hard, knocking the wind out of you, spasming your hand open. The knife drops, and you begin to blindly try digging and dragging yourself away.

“Stop…hurting…me,” the beast lows, still in your boyfriend’s voice, and you imagine a bathtub full of gnawed bones, a living room with scattered body parts, your kitchen smeared with blood like cave wall art, and you start to scream as loud as your lungs will allow, your mask filling with dirt in your horrendous and futile bid to escape. Bloody murder bellows, filled with rage, wanting to kill and consume and conflagrate.

If König is dead, you will take your pound of flesh. You will either die fighting, or win, and you will hack apart this freak-fuck’s corpse to burn in your woodstove to warm your home. You’ll mount its fucking skull on your front door, so anything else in these woods will know you won’t hesitate to make trophies of them either.

Bone, warm to the touch, presses against the back of your head. When it breathes, the air is as hot as exhaust, almost scalding your back. “Schatzi,” it bids you slowly once again.

“I’LL KILL YOU!” it rips your throat raw to shriek it, reaching back and almost dislocating your arms to rip at anything you can. Your hands fall on the dressings attached to its horns, you tear off a vertebra, and a gold wedding band, and a bracelet of rave kandi in plastic beads. “IF YOU HURT HIM, I’LL YOU FUCKING KILL YOU!”

The head presses harder, driving your face into the dirt. There is something desperate in the pressure. It spits all at once, grating and wide in a voice you know better than your own, “You pissed off a fucking witch, because you ran out of riddles to tell her, when she was ransoming you to your arshloch grandmother. She never paid. That’s why you were cursed—no one gave a fuck. But I gave her my face for you, to stop it halfway, better than fucking nothing.”

Your rage freezes immediately, your chest heaving under the weight it presses down on you.

No one knows that. Only König. He’s the only person who would know about his lonely and quiet climb up to the Scottish highlands. Besides you, and the witch, König is the only one who would know why his human face was distorted, malformed, made animalistic.

“Lee?” you pant, unleashing part of his first name, the only one he ever tolerates. And, fuck, instantly the pressure pulls away, the skull rubbing against your back to soothe it.

“It’s me, Schatzi,” the slow voice promises, nuzzling you. There’s rustling above you that you don’t dare turn to see. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

A tinkling piece of jewelry lowers in front of your eyes, and you can see that it dangles from an enormous, ligneous finger. You’re being shown a sterling silver charm bracelet. You’re being shown your bracelet, the one you thought you had lost months ago.

Your hand shoots out, wrapping around the finger, the peeling bark shearing off under your grip. You find instantly that you can pull yourself up on your hip, sitting, caged and protected under the beast’s massive body—under König’s massive body.

He shifts back onto his digitagrade haunches, holding himself over you, still offering your bracelet. He shudders at your touch on his hand, and you imagine that he may’ve never been handled with kindness in this shape. Which makes a certain amount of sense. Because he fucking kills and eats people.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snap, staring dead into the hollow sockets of his eyes. He shifts uncomfortably, turning his head. “Why—you have me so fucked up—what have you been thinking—?”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, do you have to—”

“Yes, I have to, fucker.” It’s impossible to wrap your head around the magnitude of what a simple secret and a silver bracelet has done to your understanding of the world. A complete unraveling—upheaval, utterly.

You take the bracelet from his finger, on which it fits like a ring, and push it into your wrist, sitting up on your knees and grabbing him by the underside of his jaw. Though it puts you in his blind spot, staring dead center at the sinus dimples between his eyes, it feels like you have a mote of power over him.

(If he were asked, he would say the power you hold over him could corrupt, absolutely. He would badly like you to ask someday.)

“Why are you—what are you? Have you always been like this? Or was this new, with the fucking witch? Are—Jesus Christ—why are—the monster isn’t supposed to come into town, why are you in TOWN?” you run off at the mouth, words stalling and crashing and fusing together as your thoughts overwhelm just how quickly you can speak.

And up from that impossibly deep throat–simultaneously from the center of your brain, and from all around you all at once–crawls König’s pitchy hyena-laugh, edged, always, with cruelty. He butts the jagged end of his nasal cavities into your stomach, catching on the threads of your sweater.

“Leshy, Schatzi, say it for me.”

Your hands pull his jaw closer, digging the bone into your stomach, wondering if he can feel the pressure of your deep breathing. Oh, fuck, you could crack. This is your König. You start to wonder how many of his perverse buttons you can hit, the part of you that felt shame for your attraction to what the world discarded as ‘ugly’ long ago removed from your emotional bank.

“Leshy,” you say, really leaning into the word, saying it deep in your chest. One of your hands travels the long length to the hinge of his jaw, gripping tight, directing his head to turn so you can meet one of his empty eyes. “Answer my fucking questions.”

The laugh doesn’t come this time. In its place is a near-violent whole-body shudder that wracks through you.

“Old! Alwaaays been this way,” and even in the strange disconnect of his voice from his physical form, you can tell his arousal is eating away at him in big bites–clipping his speech, broiling his brain with body heat, “can’t remember ever being young, haa-haa. And why do you think I’m hunting in town?”

Another trap, a stupid pop quiz, wanting to test your knowledge of him, or a gotcha! to check your observations and what you had missed.

Your hands get tighter, and you pull his jaw open, marveling at the sharp grooves ground into his teeth, like nightmarish, ivory rook pieces, tall and straight in the dry sockets. His chest begins to heave, his breath fogging into steaming clouds over your hands, and, remarkably, it smells like nothing at all apart from pin needles and snow.

You’d thought you’d smell decaying flesh or rotten blood. The only blood you can smell comes from your own busted brow and sliced arm, crusting black on your skin and in the fabric of your sweater as it coagulates.

“If I was working on a hunter’s instincts, I would say that Schladming has become too good at keeping people out of the forests. Even during daylight hours. It cuts down on prey,” you say, ice cold and clean as a slit throat. Your eyes flick back up to the socket, surrounded by the feeling that those glass-blue eyes of his humanoid form are drilling into you. He’s waiting for you to hit the hook. “But I’m working on your logic.”

“Oh, yeeaah,” he drawls, his hips shifting, and you feel as if he would bite his lips in anticipation now, if he could.

“Oh, yeeaah,” you echo him, “the logic of a fucking crazy asshole.” He feels like a huge grin, hands on his muscular, bunched, and flexing thighs. That detail is not lost on you. “You’re hunting in town because you’re pissed off. You reached a limit, and you got tired of sitting on your fucking reaction.”

You swear to god he moans a little. Just softly. It could be a breath, but you know him too well to dismiss it out of hand.

“That’s good, Schatzi. I like that. I like that you figured that out,” he says, definitely panting in rhythm now, his fogging breath giving away the rhythm secondary. “People are looking at you too much. I don’t fucking like it when they look at you too much.”

That’s a sudden thought that had not occurred to you, and you lash yourself silently because it hadn’t. König has always been possessive of you. Jealous. Protective. And he held grudges in ways that could spark blood feuds and successive generations of death.

Like a curse.

It’s a testament to how fucking cracked and perfectly matched the two of you are that you start laughing, stroking his orbital bones in big, pleased pats, kissing the bridge of his nose.

“Schatzi, please,” he groans, pressing into you insistently. “Promise you won’t tell. Promise me.”

“Why the fuck would I tell?” you laugh, losing track of your faculties, your very sense. What does it matter? What does it all even mean? You’ve found a man that loves you so deeply and truly and twistedly that he slaughters those who desire or deign you. You’ve found, and fallen in love with a man that would sell his face to save as much of yours as he could. “Who the fuck would I tell?”

The slope of his shoulders relaxes, and he moves closer to you, once again shielding you with the massive bulk of his body, warming you in the cold air. Tucked under his chin, you can study the soft suede-like material of his body, how the bark covering his arms gives way to a ruff of dense, double-layered fur around his shoulders and his long, muscular neck.

The rest of the muscle on him is horrendously hard, flexed like steel cabling under a layer of fat. There is something about this body that reminds you of the shape of the human one so well–long legs, a nipped waist, and flat hips built to strut and rock, all of it buttressing a broad set of shoulders.

You press your face into the ruff, pushing your fingers into it. Dear god, your hand goes deeper and deeper, and it just never seems to stop. His scent is–it’s almost familiar. He’s in there, somewhere–his musk, the metallic tang of blood seemingly sunken into his skin–but there’s so much more to it. Green, and earthy, almost like soil and moss.

A sound comes from his body, like a house settling. A deep, broad creak. The trophies on his horns rattle together, clinking like dull wind chimes. “More,” he says simply, leaving you to figure it out. Simple enough.

Your hand drops from the ruff, tracing over his convex chest, down to his stomach. Another shudder, and he pulls those big arms around your entire body, a fuller, more protective hug than you’ve ever felt.

“Schatzi–would you let me…” he breathes, a heaving sigh.

Another laugh cracks out of you, hysterical, constricted by your mask. Why not? Why shouldn’t you? You’ve always been a woman that loves monsters. You, yourself, are one. You can’t find a reason to halt your hands, nor your body, nor his desire.

In an odd show of tip-to-tail, you push the mask off your face, and kick off your boots, going for your zipper. “Yeah. Yeah, honey, come on. Show me,” you urge him, pawing at his massive waist as you struggle out of your jeans.

He groans and this obscene trill escapes his body–a low, rattling moan that travels miles through every cell of your body, his legs spreading wider. You laugh in delight and mania, watching rapt as his cock slides out of a sheath you hadn’t even caught sight of, his monstrous body a foreign land you hadn’t traveled yet, but, fuck, do you want to learn the lands well enough to call them home.

It’s heavy in your hands, a little slick, and, childishly, you almost giggle (holy shit, that is a sound that has never left your mouth in your living memory, and yet, here you are). It’s hot, hotter than you expected, and a vulnerable shade of pale, like a plant slip. Oh, and it’s elegant, almost spiraling. He huffs as you stroke the length of it, pushing your fingertips into his sheath at the base.

“I don’t think this is gonna fit,” you warn him, and it somehow feels as if you’re challenging yourself with the statement.

He takes it as a challenge for himself, though, and an aspiration to hold for you, “You are going to take all of it. I’m going to make sure.”

His massive hand comes to the back of your waist, finding your fulcrum without needing to search, pulling you off your knees to hold to beneath him. “You naked yet, or still fucking around?” he asks, breathing heavily, and you shove your jeans off the rest of the way.

“You’re being a little bitch,” you snipe, a dumb swipe at reclaiming dignity after you realize you’re so wet that it slicks your thighs, having darkened the crotch of your freshly abandoned jeans pathetically.

He throws another coarse laugh, haa-haa, shifting his massive body long, pulling you into place.

It’s on you, then, to figure out the logistics. Somehow, it just works, even through layers of physical translation. Under your hands, he reads König, loud and clear.

There’s a brief, flighty moment of terror as you rub the head of his cock between the lips of your cunt, rolling your hips to stimulate your clit against it. It is just fucking enormous, almost half again the size of his human cock. But then you grit your teeth, tipping your weight back so your shoulders rest against the dirt, bleak and unyielding ruthlessness seizing your mind.

You do not back down, you have never done it once in your life, and tonight is no different.

His head lifts, bottom jaw dropping, and he bays as you push yourself down on his length. The sound crashes into you, rocking your entire body, and the stretch burns, but you buckle down. What are the people in the houses just at the edge of suburbia thinking? Has the fucking abberation that has been slowly killing its way through their number taken to a different form of punishment? Has someone unlucky fallen to its new tastes?

It cuts your mouth into a horrid grin. If they only knew that you were no victim at all, if only they had an inkling of the fact that you are a victor. That you are the hand holding this nightmare’s collar, and he attacks for the sake of you.

Inch by inch, a slow journey, he fills you, pressing completely against your walls, body shaking with the effort it takes not to thrust fully into you. Oh, what destruction that would result in, what a wreckage that would make of your body, what lengths he would go to not ruin you in such a fashion.

“Fuck–fuck–Liebes,” he mutters, just for you, the moment he is as deep in you as he can go, most of his length still outside of what your body can handle, pleading, “I can’t–I. I have to move. Please, meine Liebes.”

“Go. Go-go-go,” you answer back, almost frantic, too full and occupied, needing motion or you might split apart into atoms. The way he answers is instant, undeniable, desperate, rocking into you as if testing waters, going faster as if he finds them warm and welcoming.

You lose yourselves to it, and your eyes threaten to roll back into your head, gripping onto the elbow of the arm suspending you, blood rushing to your head in an ache from the way you hang off him, forcing you lightheaded. Sap-like blood from where you’d hacked at him in rage drips down your arm, your waist, clinging to your skin in a way that feels permanent.

He tenses all around you, panting, clouds of steam fogging the air over your head from his pants. Words escape him, leaving nothing but animalistic grunts, the grinding of his dry, exposed teeth as your desperate pussy sucks him deeper and tighter.

You’d taught him as a human to find your g-spot, to destroy your brain with a steady climb, and he doesn’t even need to search now, every movement pressing every inch of his cock into it, and unrelenting onslaught that makes you shake and nearly drool, being fucked like a sacrifice.

König raps his other fist above your head and pulls out without warning, shaking his head and breathing roughly.

You imagine brutally grabbing him by the scruff and biting his ear–what kind of punishment would that even be, no worse than a bug bite to him, more likely than anything else–for the loss of his cock. Mostly just an impulsive fantasy, too barbaric and stupid to actually act upon, but you were thoroughly enjoying yourself, and it feels like hell to be split open against him with nothing inside you.

Breathless–and naked, sweating, and trembling in the woods–you start to sit up on your elbows, cunt throbbing. "What is it? Are you okay?" you ask, your love for him–your fear for him–overwhelming even your damnation-worthy starvation.

König, massive and so dark he's almost indistinguishable from the night apart from his skull, shakes his head again and puts up a clawed hand. Fine, the gesture says, and you’re realizing he’s beyond words now, but trying his best to communicate. Then he curls it into a loose fist and pantomimes masturbating and finishing.

"Christ!" But you’re laughing, tugging at a tuft of fur on his chest, spun out in your giddiness. It’s still him, you’ve already known, but to see it. To find him through this–this utterly new reality. "They teach you that signal in the forces?"

In his hollow sockets, twisting his body to watch you closely, he looks pleased with himself, ducking forward, bracing on his free hand to one side of your head as he nuzzles into your neck and breathes deeply.

He huffs, rough fingers running over your back, claws trailing the parts of your spine he can reach as he holds you, before he taps the side of your thigh with his other hand. At your eye level, he turns his finger in a slow loop. Roll over, maybe? It's worth a shot.

"Okay. Alright," you sigh, relieved. When you try to roll in his palm, he shakes his head and sets you down, pressing down against your body, pushing his arm under your ribs. With his other hand, he gestures a flat line on the ground. You ask, "On my stomach?"

Two knocks against the ground next to your head. Yes.

You stretch out flat over the frost-crisp grass, too hot to even register the chill against your bare skin, and König lowers with you, sliding the arm under you down to your diaphragm. With his knuckles, he taps your outer-thighs until they're drawn back together, and your breathing hitches when you understand what he intends.

With his legs on the outside of yours, he uses his free hand to run his cock up the length of your seam to tease your pussy, but he takes his sweet time with it. Impatient, you slide onto your knees with near-perfect timing, driving your entrance against his head, snarling with indignation when he bows away. "Fucker!"

He rumbles something almost humanoid, between a laugh and a gruff, trilling ‘rrrr’ you recognize as cousin to a sharp, challenging hum he makes when faced with an idiot comment in his human shape.

"Stop teasing me. I can't stand it," you try instead, turning to give him big eyes over your shoulder because you know that it works well on him.

He bends down and barely-barely nips the top of your ear, a startling move that leaves you perfectly inflamed all over again again. Greedy brat, it says to you, so pleased in the fact he is so desperately wanted.

The feeling of him inside you is extraordinary. He lubricates in this state, but you hardly need it with the nearly absurd way you’re wet, slick down your thighs. You wonder if your cunt is glimmering under the dim moon and streetlamps, because he'd said that to you once. Heilige sheiße, you have the prettiest pussy I’ve ever fucking seen, could just stare at how wet you get for me forever, he'd laughed during one delirious, marathon session of staying sunken between your legs.

He begins to rock his hips, growling quietly and pleased at the wet sounds of your of cunt squelching around him–another sound he enjoys, a marker of pride, how wet can I make my girl get–settling onto his forearm and pressing a little weight against your back.

He rests his head across your shoulders, burying his snout in your hair, breathing in hard-bought bursts of restraint.

"Yes, honey," you almost seethe, loosening your body, giving up a little of your own iron will to become just a little lost in the feeling of him. You relax your walls in a bid to take more of him, breathing tight, voice pitching up into a plea, "Yes, baby, that's perfect. That's so perfect, keep going. Just like that."

He rocks a little faster, thrusts a little deeper, breathes a little harder. The hand around your waist shifts up to your breast, but isn't dexterous enough to do more than give it an encompassing squeeze.

With your thighs pressed together, you feel as if your body can't stretch properly to take as much of him as you want (and you want all of him, every burning hot inch, fucking him so well that he cannot disappear into one of his miseries where he will not let you follow, because they all live in his head).

He ratchets back his speed, tries a new motion with his hips. He rolls instead of thrusting, a more fluid movement, brushing your insides in new ways that leave your swollen clit screaming for attention and your eyes watering. You breathe in ragged pants, fingers digging into the turf over your head, trying not to rip it with the force of your grip by the fistful.

You might cum. You might cum. You want to cum, and you might, and he's so much deeper now, panting hot as fire against your shoulders. You can feel the muscles in his abdomen clench and dance, his horns cutting the air in swipes of agitation above you, and he is so much this way. König: bigger, sometimes bloodier, but always so, so amplified.

"Honey, honey, honey," you whine in a chant under your breath, trying to ground yourself, trying to encourage him. You squeeze your thighs together for the extra stimulation, but you know you’re going to orgasm from him alone, no extra assistance needed. You’re just greedy, you just want it all, but you want him the worst.

When he pulls out this time, you snarl loud and gnash your teeth, digging your dirt-packed nails into his unyielding skin. You were full to the brim and on the wire-edge of climax, and he is so suddenly fucking gone it's almost as abrupt as violence.

"KÖNIG!" you shout, his callsign cutting from between your teeth like the desire to slit a throat, shattering the quiet around you both, reeling to find him with your burning eyes.

He collapses onto his side, cock jumping and leaking, and he whines deep in his throat, pulling at you with the flat of his hand. Your thigh, then his hip, your chest, then his–more hand signals, a story-told like a man with a sucking chest wound needing saving. He snakes his arm under you again, whining growing deeper, and you understand.

You roll, throwing your thigh over his hip, tucking tight against his chest. You give yourself one second of feeling cool air against your overheated pussy before you take him in hand and direct him home, and his deep, slick slide into you knocks the air out of your lungs like a punch to the solar plexus.

You’re only seconds away, and he can't be much farther, driving his head under yours to give you something to rest on that isn't the ground.

You don't utilize his offering, craning your neck as if you'll somehow get a glimpse of your connection from this angle–flat against him from belly to breast, resting your cheek and forehead against his heaving chest. His whine turns into a series of small, strangled howls and gasps as your voice crawls from whimpering to keening.

You’ve known you were going to cum, but you’re still somehow surprised with yourself at how quickly it's raced up, and how overwhelming it feels like it's going to be. You feel like you’re going insane.

His other arm wraps your ribs, too, squeezing you to him like you’re the only thing in the world worth keeping close, and damn him for it. You don't know why, but damn him.

"Cum, baby, cum," you instruct, gasping when you aren't clenching your teeth. You curl close to him, as close as your body will allow, spreading your legs as wide as you can. You drive back down into his thrusts, giving as much of yourself as you can, taking as much of him as you’re able.

You want it all–everything–every little bit of blood and bone that's built him into a home he offers only to you. "Cum in me. I'm ready, I want you to cum," you demand, finding it truer than true, finding yourself right on the razor-edge.

The command is all it takes. Three hard thrusts, and he's buried in you to the base, punching the wind out of your lungs, and filling you to the point of what feels like impossibility with his spend. It forces you to finish as well, lighting you up like a lightning storm, swallowing him deeper as you cum and cum like you'll never be able to stop, soaking the both of you.

You gasp a raw-throated howl, tears pricking the corners of your eyes, and you praise him as his cock kicks and kicks, emptying everything he's got to give into you.

A pressure builds inside you, beginning nearly unpleasant, until something just gives and his knot anchoring him to you feels right.

It feels special and dazzlingly intimate, and you’re boggled, again, with the knowledge you’re the only person in the world that he's ever shown himself to this way. It’s just a thing you know in your marrow, an immutable truth, like the sun setting in the west, or the cruelty of witches without their wants.

You wind down, sweating and panting and filthy in each other's arms, and you rock against him, holding him inside, clenching around him what little you can. You feel so wonderfully safe, so immaculately powerful, so stupidly, crazily, fantastically in love.

When your combined breathing evens, and the knot between you retreats, you groan when König shifts back into his human form, but only for the resituating you both have to endure.

The body against yours is familiar again, and you’re dreadfully sleepy, though you want to clean yourself and eat. You crave something raw, something bloody. You hunger the way an animal hungers after a hard fuck. His spend drips out of you now that his cock's returned to normal, and it forms a trail of cooling wet down the crease where your thigh meets your ass.

You feel lovely.

König laughs, rough and spent, tucking hair out of your face and kissing your closed eyelids. "Holy fucking shit, Schatzi," he marvels, looking at you like you are the only god that has ever mattered.

Your smile cuts sharp, and your fingers find his pulse point, tracing it thoughtfully. “You hungry? I bet you're fucking starved,” is all you say in return, eyes trailing the way his hand finds the charm bracelet newly returned to your wrist, touching it like a token.

It’s late and dark when you both manage to stumble your way back to your rental. He stays close, needy and soft, his hand on your hip, tugging you into his body when he can, careful of not knocking into the big, silver knife you’d placed back in the scabbard on your belt.

The hood is back on his head, rolled up to his nose, and his split mouth kisses against your neck and behind your ear, his eyes closed like he endures a waking dream. You, in your own filthied mask again, allow it, craning your neck to give him more room, anchoring him with an arm around his waist in return.

It is late now, and the neighborhood is silent. Again, you wonder what the quiet lives inside must be thinking–whether they think the crimes have increased into a new field of brutality, if they are fearing and wondering what body parts they will find at the treeline come dawn.

You know they will not leave the safety of their homes to investigate. They would be stupid to do something like that.

“That shower is going to feel so goddamned good,” you mutter, unlocking your door, and he nods against your skin.

“Oh, yeeaah,” he says, and the familiarity of the phrase makes you hum a laugh, shutting your eyes as you push through the threshold. "Get that blood off your skin before it stains. Your poor face, your poor arm. Poor Schatzi."

He splits off from you with a facsimile of a kiss–your masks pressing together at the mouth–and he pinches your ass before he takes off to the kitchen, his stomach growling, not even bothering to take off his boots.

You, however, kick off your shoes, and pull together clean clothes, heading toward the bathroom in the hall, the one with the big shower, in case he decides to join you.

Sleepy and content, you listen to his boots move heavily over the kitchen tile, the sound of the fridge door hissing snickt as he pulls it open, and shoves things around in his search for food. You nearly sway up to the closed door–why is it closed, you barely manage to wonder–your eyelids lead-weighted.

It takes only one thing to make them snap open wide, your back going ramrod straight. A dark smear, curling around the knob, around the edge of the door where it seams to the jamb.

Cold grips your lungs, sending your heart galloping painfully in the cage of your ribs, wondering if it really is copper you smell, or if it is a trick of your mind. The hall is too dark to tell if the swipe on the white door is red or black–if it is blood, if it is König’s or yours.

There is a presence at your back, and enormous hands on the door on either side of your head, so fast you cannot tell if you were even able to blink before you saw his wide, scarred, and knuckle-broken limbs spreading wide across the wood.

Your hand finds the grip of the knife, looking at the brutal gouges you had hacked into his forearm earlier in the night, and you are thinking faster and harder than you ever have in your life, realizing in a terrible microsecond that you will have to make a decision–that you will have to choose what reality you are willing to live with, or that you are simply mistaken.

Either way, you are moments from learning.

“Something wrong, Schatzi?” your boyfriend’s familiar voice asks, low and raspy, hot against the nape of your neck.

The laugh in his tone is cruel, and you can’t tell whether it belongs to König, or something pretending to be him.

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