#felt violently compelled to make this | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fangswbenefits · 10 months

Text

Obsession

Summary: Miguel tries to convince himself that his obsession with you was justified, but fails miserably as you spend the night over.

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

18+. Miguel POV. Obsessed and jealous Miguel. Inexperienced reader. Breeding kink. Sexual tension and frustration. Reader has nipple piercings.

Previous parts: 1 & 2 (you may enjoy this one separately, but might miss out on some context)

Miguel tried to convince himself that adding a mic to your digital suit was purely for safety purposes.

He really did try.

But he couldn’t keep from listening in when you first wore it on your way to the spider cafeteria.

He had just briefed a squad and was monitoring Nueva York through a multitude of hovering screens, as he stood on his platform.

Tapping quickly on the flickering surface, he was able to zoom in on you through the ceiling cameras.

You looked absolutely breathtaking.

The suit fit you like a glove and left little to the imagination. He was proud of his work. You deserved wearing something of his for everyone to see.

He saw you approaching a nearby table, taking a seat. In front of you were Jessica Drew and Peter B. Parker with Mayday who greeted you with warm smiles.

The sound of your voice echoed through the walls around him, as you extended your arms.

“Mayday! Baby! It’s so good to see you!”

The little girl broke into a giggle and began wriggling forward on Peter’s lap to reach you.

You promptly took her in your arms. “Did you miss me? Did you?” your voice was slight high-pitched and you wiggled your fingers, tickling her. “Oh, I have a present for her.”

“Really? That’s so nice of you,” Peter beamed.

“I don’t have it here, but I think she’ll love it,” you said, patting Mayday’s back lightly, earning a genuine hug from her.

Miguel felt his heart clench violently.

You were a natural with kids.

You were just too good to be true and he felt his hands clench tightly.

Would he ever be able to have you? To make you yearn for him? To breed you? To have children with you?

“Wait, is that a… digital suit?” Jessica’s voice cracked through the mic.

You had your back turned to him, so he couldn’t see your face, but he felt the warmth in your voice as you spoke, “It sure is!”

He groaned lowly.

There you were… his sweet girl.

“Who gave it to you?”

“Miguel,” you said with that tenderness he had grown to adore.

He could easily get addicted to you saying his name, and he could only hope that, one day, he might hear it a much more compelling setting.

“Miguel… O’Hara?”

You nodded.

From the screen he could see her exchanging looks with Peter.

“It looks really cool!” Peter smiled enthusiastically, inspecting your sleeves. “Wish he’d offer me one, too.”

Jessica chuckled. “Well, I’ve been here with him for months and he’s never given me one.”

Jessica…

It was to be expected. She was no fool. He had scouted her precisely because she was anything but that.

You had been recruited only three weeks ago, but the hold you had on him was tight. He had never felt this way before with someone else.

You straightened in your seat, as Mayday nibbled on your thumb. “Wait… do you think I should give it back?”

Miguel felt his heart jumpstart and panic build inside him.

“No — no! Jessica,” Perer shot her a glare who merely shrugged, before offering you a kind smile. “It looks great on you. Did you pick the colours?”

“Yes! I’m really happy with the final result,” you said, helping Mayday sit at the edge of the table, as you secured her with both hands. “It was his way of showing gratitute.”

Jessica snapped her fingers after taking a sip of her drink. “You’re helping him out with the portals, right?”

“We’re working on portal stabilisation and reduced motion sickness,” you said and he could almost taste the pride and passion in your voice. “We’re making some progress.”

Miguel had gotten used to the random erections you’d awake from him throughout the day. But this one felt particularly painful.

You were so smart and so devoted. He couldn’t even take credit for the progress, because it was mostly just you.

His sweet and clever girl.

He glanced down at the outline of his strained cock, clicking his tongue.

By the time his eyes settled on the monitor, Jessica had walked away momentarily and he saw Peter lean in.

“Hey… are you and Miguel… a thing?”

Miguel froze.

Mayday proceeded to wrap tiny fingers around some of his locks, tugging lightly.

He wish he could have seen your reaction.

“Oh! No! No… we’re just friends,” you quickly said, waving your hands rapidly. “He’s like a mentor to me, really.”

Anger flared inside him. A friend? A mentor? He knew deep down this made absolute sense, but it still made him seething with rage.

Peter didn’t seem all that convinced, but nodded. “Just wondering. He’s not usually this… kind?”

Miguel felt his fangs threaten to emerge as he gritted his teeth.

There had been nothing kind about him building you a suit. He hadn’t done it out of the goodness of his heart.

He wanted to claim you and this had been the easiest and safest way for now.

“Well, I know he’s a grumpy,” you chuckled with a shrug, as you patted Mayday on the back. “Maybe he’s changing?”

You wouldn’t want him to change. Not really. The level of devotion he had for you was unmatched and nothing you could ever have from someone else.

“Maybe you’re a good influence on him?” Peter concluded, tapping his chin. “As a friend, of course.”

“Peter….” he growled lowly.

“As a friend,” you nodded. “Besides, there’s…” but your voice trailed off.

His erection nearly immediately deflated as dread took over.

There’s what?

He turned up the mic’s volume, but winced instead, as you banged on the table.

You cleared your throat. “Well, gotta go! I have work to do.”

Peter took Mayday back into his lap and chuckled. “Don’t forget her present!”

“I won’t! Wish me luck, though,” you said, crossing your fingers as you started to walk away. “I really need these chips to stop blowing and melting on me!”

“Good luck! Say bye bye, Mayday,” Peter waved his hand, which the little girl promptly mimicked with a giggle.

“Bye, baby!” you beamed.

Miguel had had enough.

He switched off your mic with a tap on his watch.

He really had tried to convince himself that his obsession for you was justified. That is was rooted in more than lust and desire, but he wasn’t so sure anymore.

After you moved to Nueva York, he had you working closely to him on portal stabilisation.

But what had started out as something innocent, soon shifted into something else entirely.

Your company brought him peace and quiet, and ticket his brain just the right way to keep him motivated.

Until it didn’t.

Until you became his torment.

He had let you in his life in the hopes that you let him in yours.

The first time you gave him a boner was when he walked in on you in the lab, wearing nothing but a tank top and a pencil pressed firmly in between your lips, as you moved from screen to screen to check on the update progress.

The worst part? You didn’t even notice how utterly delicious you looked and how he could easily bend you over and take you right there.

No.

You just offered him a sweet smile.

One he hadn’t recovered from ever since.

“Miguel?”

He jolted as the voice snapped him from his torturous thoughts. “What?”

Lyla hovered nearby, eyeing him closely. “Fangs out,” she wiggled her index finger disapprovingly. “Pavitr and Hobie are waiting for you.”

His fangs retracted slowly as he tried to gain his composure back. “Why?”

“Mission?” she quirked an eyebrow.

Right.

“Now?”

“You’re already late.”

He growled, tapping on a few screens hurriedly.

“Oh, and Miguel?”

“What?”

The hologram popped near the screen to his left. “You might want to be more subtle when using her in-suit mic.”

He gave her narrow side-glace. “What do you mean?”

“Just saying,” she said, adjusting her heart-shapped glasses. “You’re not the only tech savvy spider here.”

The door to his apartment swung open at once, and he stepped inside ready to decompress from the tiresome mission.

He had made plans with some of your audio recordings and his hand, hoping that would be enough to easy the pent-up tension that had been looming over year throughout the way.

It was a less than ideal situation, but would have to do for now.

That was until he noticed his living room was lit.

Pacing rapidly he was met with you.

In the middle of a pile of papers and electronic components scattered around the floor, he saw you sitting cross-legged with a pencil danging from your lips, his digital suit clinging tightly to your body.

“What are you doing here?”

Your bead snapped in his direction and the pencil tumbled to the floor. “Miguel! Lyla let me in.”

He was rooted in place.

Had it been someone else, he would have flung them through the window with no warning.

But you weren’t just someone.

And Lyla wouldn’t have let someone else enter his apartment, either.

“It’s quite late,” he said, pacing carefully toward you as not to step on anything. “You could have called me.”

You waved a hand dismissively and held a circular metallic object in the other. “Catch!”

Before he could say anything back, you had tossed it in his direction, which he quickly grabbed in between his fingers.

“Found what was wrong with it,” you smiled proudly. “It was stupid of me, really. There wasn’t any thermal paste in it. That’s why it kept blowing up.”

Miguel stared at the chip in his hand and blinked a few times.

“I assumed you were using it from the start,” he said, inspecting the cross section.

You rose to your feet in an instant and joined his site, excitement spilling from you. “These ion batteries should not require thermal paste — not for this amount of energy, at least. But yeah… my bad,” you said, rubbing the back of your neck.

Miguel locked eyes with yours and felt a familiar tingle in his body.

Fuck.

You were just so ridiculously attractive, and he wish he could hear you ramble about tech and science for hours.

“This is really, really good news,” he said genuinely, handing the chip back to you.

He squeezed your arm lightly as encouragement, knowing fully well he should be rewarding you in other ways.

His sweet girl…

You darted back to the floor, gathering some papers. “Sorry for the mess. I just had to figure this out and couldn’t sleep.”

A scientist at heart, you were.

Blood began to rush to his groin in no time. It couldn’t be helped. His body had been so on edge to finally fuck you, that it was in this permanent state of arousal around you.

“It’s fine. I still have those moments,” he said softly, crouching to help you out. “Sometimes I can’t sleep, and I have to do something else.”

“Like what?”

“I either go to the lab, or…” I jerk off to the thought of being buried deep inside you, he wanted to say.

You eyed him expectantly, biting your lip lightly, further hardening his cock.

“Well, it’s a bit late,” Miguel eventually said, standing tall. “Maybe you should get back to your apartment?”

He hated himself for even suggesting such option, but he didn’t want to push his luck. You being here would be fuel enough for the rest of the night as he fucked his hand.

“Oh, you just got back from a mission,” you fought back a yawn, tossing your backpack over your shoulder. “I’ll just leave.”

Miguel nodded, but was crumbling inside.

Your face lit up again. “But this was great, right?”

Please stay.

“You did great,” he said with a short smile. “Go get some rest.”

Please…

You made your way down the hall and waved at him. “See you in the morning, Miguel.”

He should have let you go.

But something took over him, before he could fight it back.

“Actually, you could stay. It’s nearly four in the morning,” he tried to sound as casual as possible, but the excitement was hard to contain. “And we have to head back to the lab early.”

You turned around and he stopped breathing.

Too much?

Then he the backpack slide down your arm, hittingbthe floor with a thud. “Oh, thank you! I really didn’t feel like swinging back to my apartment,” you voice held pure gratitude and he felt his ego soar. “Only… I don’t have any clothes.”

He shook his head as realisation hit him. “Right. Wait here.”

“Okay~”

Bolting into his room, he went through his closet, fetching a shirt and a robe.

But before heading out, he decided to change into some sweatpants and a shirt himself.

His erection welcomed the looser material, and he’d be able to better conceal it from you.

Taking a final look at his cock, Miguel decided to give it a few pumps as if trying to calm it down.

He couldn’t believe his luck.

He couldn’t believe his sweet girl would be so close to him in his clothes and apartment.

And bed.

As he exited the room and handed the clothes to you, he cleared his throat. “You can take my bed.”

You looked up at him. “Oh… no, Miguel. You just came back from a mission.”

“I’m not that tired. Just take it.”

Please.

“Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent.”

Anything that was his was yours. He would give it all to you.

“Be right back,” you said, before disappearing into the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

He immediately sighed in relief, adjusting his cock, feeling the first beads of precum spill from the tip.

How was he to survive this?

Not long after, you emerged again.

He glanced over at the length of you, taking in the sight of his shirt and robe on you. Your legs were still covered with the digital suit, but you looked absolutely ready to be devoured.

But he couldn’t do it.

Not yet.

His cock twitched in his pants, yearning to be inside you.

Then something else caught his attention when his moved up your body.

It couldn’t be…

Two symmetrical protuberances poked through the fabric of your shirt — his shirt.

“Are those…” his voice faltered momentarily, not trusting his own eyes.

You followd his line of sight and giggled. “Oh! Yeah. Got them pierced way back. Wanted to defy my dad and got them out of spite,” you went on, adjusting the fabric of the shirt under the robe. “But eventually kept them. They look cute.”

Cute?

Miguel was at a loss for words.

Your voice mixed with your carefree posture sent jolts directly into his cock.

“I…” he swallowed the lump in his throat. “I didn’t notice them before,” he said, feeling his mouth run dry.

“I was wearing a bra,” you replied with a shrug and a tender smile.

This was almost comically painful.

You were the closest thing he had ever known to innocence as of late. Yet here you stood, wearing just his shirt, no bra, and with your pierced nipples poking through his shirt.

But none of that seemed to matter to you.

You were completely oblivious of how painfully hard he was for you.

“Did it hurt?”

“Terribly,” you said, still glacing down at your breasts and hardened nipples. “But I think it’s worth it.”

The adorable way in which you said it was almost driving him insane.

Just how innocent could one person be…

Before he could even process his thoughts, he spoke, “Can I…”

Your eyes met his and Miguel feared he had now fucked it up for good.

Brilliant, Miguel…

“Oh, you mean… you want to see them?”

Should he back down and just deny his intentions?

“You’ve never seen nipple piercings before?”

He shook his head.

Just as he was about to tell you to forget it, you lifted his shirt, revealing your breasts to him.

He nearly exploded right there and then.

“Oh, please!” she giggled. “We’re people of science, and you haven’t seen this before. Science is all about curiosity and discovery.”

Miguel, however, wasn’t listening to any of that and felt as though he was hypnotised. He could tear his eyes away from your perky nipples and the metal rods that went through them, a tiny spider danging from each of them.

He wasn’t sure when or how he had got so close to you, but he lifted his hand to touch one.

His cock twitched violently and he felt his mind hazy with lust.

“They’re cool, right?” you beamed, allowing him to swipe the pad of his thumb across the tiny spider.

“Yeah.”

Really ‘cool’.

More precum dripped from his tip and had to fight back his fangs from slipping out.

He wanted to bend over and dart his tongue out to play with them. He wanted to tug on them and wanted you to arch your back with a soft moan.

You pulled down the shirt again and he flinched his hand back instantly, swallowing hard.

“So… if — when you have a baby and want to breastfeed… will there be an issue?”

Of course his need to breed you had to surface at the worst possible time.

But he had to know. He needed to know if that would be a nuisance. He couldn’t take any risks and he wanted you completely ready to carry his children.

You shrugged, adjusting the robe around you. “I wasn’t thinking that far ahead when I got them, but I suppose I just have to take them out.”

He nodded, taking a few steps back.

You stretched out with a yawn. “Mind if I go to sleep now?”

“Of course,” he nodded.

You were about to whirl on your feet, but decided against it. “How do you say ‘thank you’ in Spanish?”

That caught him off guard and his eyes widened. “Gracias.”

Then you gave him the sweetest smile. “Gracias, Miguel.

He could cum just from this alone.

How he would teach you the filthiest things in Spanish… how he would whisper them in your ear, knowing fully well you couldn’t understand a word…

You then slipped into his room and closed the door.

He ran both hands through his hair, wanting to let out a scream.

The things he wanted to do to you…

The things you deserved done to you…

He brought one hand down to tug at his waistband, revealing his soaked cock.

Then he bit the back of his other hand.

Hard.

He didn’t even care if he drew blood.

He couldn’t take this anymore.

Engulfed with overwhelming frustration, he pressed his forehead against the tall window that overlooked Nueva York.

He had to calm down, or else he’d have to synthesise a serum to lower his levels of testosterone…

He had to find a way to stop.

As minutes ticked by, he decided to check your bio readings on his watch. Your heart rate had lowered significantly, indicating him you were now asleep.

The predator in him took control again and he paced towards his bedroom, opening the door just enough to check on you.

Fast asleep.

He walked in with careful steps, finally taking in the sight of you on his bed.

The floor-to-ceiling windows allowed for the faintest moonlight to be cast on you.

He felt his heart was about to implode as he drew near, slowly sitting by the edge of the mattress.

You lay on your back, breathing evenly and covered up to your waist with a blanket.

Miguel took a deep and shaky breath.

You smelled of him and his bedsheets smelled of you.

Such a powerful and dangerous combination, that he almost considered gripping his cock.

Bur decided against it.

Instead, he say there, staring at you, absorbing every single detail of your body.

His hand twitched as an itch took over it.

An itch he had to scratch.

He reached out to graze the back of one finger along your forearm, feeling your warmth coating his skin.

His sweet girl…

His imagination ran wild and he had hoped he could have fucked you to sleep, not sliding out of you, making sure you’d take his seed.

Pain swallowed him whole as despair settled.

What if he never managed to make you his?

What if you decided you wanted nothing more than a friendship?

How could he cope?

Suddenly, you flinched and rolled to your side and heaved a deep sigh. “Oh, Tom…”

Miguel was left petrified and his blood ran cold.

Who the fuck was Tom?

Part 4

Masterlist

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara #miguel ohara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara x fem!reader

8K notes · View notes

bunnyreaper · 4 months

Text

𝓷𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸

𝒶 𝒿𝑜𝒽𝓃 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈

𝓅𝓉 2 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒

wc - 5.2k

warnings - 18+/nsfw (eventually), mentions of cheating (not from reader or john), age gap (older male younger female), future daddy kink, mentions of blood

notes - back at it again in dilfville, hopefully, this chapter is worth the wait! ♥ also on ao3! ♥

How easy it is to forget about the outside world with John by your side is startling. Everything other than him melts away into the background, and in the safety and comfort of his home, the two of you exist in your own little peaceful bubble.

In the back of your mind, you know it'll eventually sink to the ground and violently pop, but for now, the two of you float—suspended in tranquility. Your day goes by so easily, as you rest on the couch and watch TV with John—phone forgotten about, troubles set aside.

John makes it easy to forget. He's always had this way about him, like his mere presence lifts a weight off your shoulders while he carries it, carries you, just for a while, and allows your world to be a little lighter.

It's later into the evening when you finally find yourself compelled to get off of the couch and actually do something with your day, when John pulls you out of the reverie you'd settled into together.

"I should get on with dinner." He says, slapping his thighs before he rises from the comfort of the couch and the warmth of being your human footrest.

You're quick to rise too, sitting up straight as you try to recall him to the couch before he can make too much of a fuss. The guilt of taking advantage of his hospitality is already eating at you—regardless of how illogical it may be.

"Let me do it." You plead. "You're kind enough to let me stay here, at least let me repay you."

John pauses, his eyes narrowing at you briefly before one of his thick eyebrows arches. "Darling, aren't you bloody sick of cooking?"

Even when he's giving so much, he's still exceedingly considerate.

"Only when cooking for a man who doesn't appreciate me, otherwise I enjoy it." You climb to your feet with a smile, making your way over to John to gently push him in the direction of the kitchen. Whilst he moves with a stubbornness, you know he's still letting you push him, otherwise you know you wouldn't be able to move him an inch.

A smirk tugs at his lips, hidden behind his thick beard as he finds himself amused by your antics. The levity you bring to his otherwise burden-filled life is not something that goes unrecognised by him—not now, not ever.

Finally, he truly relents, letting you direct you both into the kitchen, moving himself enough to make your job of pushing him easier. "If you want to help, I wouldn't mind your company."

Your hands withdraw from the warm, broad expanse of his back and settle by your sides, as you feel the need to pull away from him the second it's no longer necessary—scared by how good the physicality felt, even if it was entirely playful in nature. It's been so long since you felt so light and got to share it with someone else, an age since you indulged in light-hearted touch.

"What's on the menu?" You ask as you move to the sink and force yourself into doing something to keep you busy—tackling the dishes seems like a good idea for being both helpful and suitably occupied.

John makes his way to the fridge, swinging open the heavy door of the American-style fridge-freezer with ease, and immediately moving to grab fresh ingredients. "Spag Bol."

"Ooh, your signature dish." You coo, recalling fondly the many occasions he has hosted you for dinner in the past.

Dinners had become a regular thing when John and James had been getting to know each other, with you often there as a buffer—not that you did it begrudgingly or ever minded so much. Getting to know John was an unexpected delight, and as the two of you recently agreed, a friendship had formed—regardless of your relationship with his son. You'd spent many nights over at his for dinner or drinks—good food and delightful conversation, memories you treasured.

Even in the beginning, John's protective and caring nature had extended to you almost immediately—a natural extension, you’d presumed, of his growing bond with his biological son. He'd dropped off meals for you when you were sick, memorised your tea and coffee preferences, always took the time to buy you a thoughtful gift for Christmas and birthdays.

John cuts through your trip down memory lane with the thud of him putting a pile of ingredients down on the countertop. "Well, I know you love it so much. Went to the shops last night to get everything."

An exasperated sigh leaves you. For a man so good at taking care of others, there were times when John Price's self-care was severely lacking. As the sink fills with sudsy, hot water, you pin John with your most intimidating glare. "When do you ever even sleep, John?"

He returns your look for the briefest moment, then smirks at your attempt to look authoritative. "I sleep plenty, don't you worry."

A realisation seems to strike him a moment later.

John heads over to the record player in the corner, flipping the switch and setting down the needle.

It's easy for John to succumb to the relaxed atmosphere of his kitchen—music playing and you by his side. His fingers drum against the turntable stand as the opening notes of the rock-reggae fill the room and quiet any further chastisement from you.

"Young teacher, the subject of schoolgirl fantasy—" John's voice carries louder than the vocals, a smooth tone you've heard so rarely before—John only sings when he feels most at peace.

Whilst his voice is beautiful, the subject matter of the song almost feels inappropriate in the moment, though the way your cheeks flush makes you think it's just you projecting.

"Oh my god, John." You groan playfully, rolling your eyes and watching as he sways his hips ever so slightly as he makes his way back over to you, still softly singing the words.

He stops singing as he steps beside you at the sink, leaning onto the counter slightly with a hint of a smirk on his face and an incredible amount of mirth in his eyes. For once, he seems so light.

"Never had a crush on an older man?" He asks, his tone light and yet still with a hint of teasing. Perhaps he thinks your opposition to the song is your lack of relating to it, rather than the fact you relate a little too much.

You're not sure when it really started, or when it escalated uncontrollably, but lately, you've been looking at John in a different light. It's probably the combination of the heartbreak, the sleep deprivation, and the beard. You were always a sucker for a gruff-looking, unavailable older gent.

And now here one is singing a song about forbidden love, lovers separated by age—like he knows what you're thinking, what you're feeling.

"Obviously I have." You scoff, almost dismissively, as you turn to slip the first few dishes into the water. John stays silent for a moment, and curiosity gets the better of you. "Ever had a crush on a younger woman?"

He barks out a laugh, pushing himself away from the counter as you see him shake his head and suck in his lips. "No comment."

Your mind starts to wander, as you try to think about what kind of woman catches John Price's eye. His circumstances are difficult and his standards clearly high, as he hasn't been in a relationship in the years you've known. John nudges you with his hip, as he leans over the sink to start washing his hands.

His warmth is overwhelming beside you, and only spreading further. You try to focus on anything but his large hands, as he covers them in the suds he works up from the soap. You try not to stare at the way he grips the bar, and practically chokes the block with his fingers, nor how he works the creamy lather up his hairy forearms.

But you’d be lying if you said the plate in your hands got any cleaner. Of course, you could blame your stillness on courtesy—you're just giving him the space he needs to wash his hands so he can get on with cooking, nothing more.

"Zenyatta Mondatta is a classic." He all but whispers from above you, as if he still feels the need to justify his album choice.

"Best album the year you were born?"

"I was born 81, not 80, bun." He tuts, shaking off the excess wetness from his hand before he reaches around you to grab the hand towel from where it's threaded through the handle of the cupboard beside you.

Your grip on the plate tightens exponentially despite the slippery surface, as a cascade of shivers passes over your body and pools low in your gut.

The tension in your body feels like it's ready to snap at any moment, and yet just before it can, John pulls away, and a cold sweeps back in.

"Don't stand, don't stand so close to me." His singing almost taunts you as he saunters back over to his ingredients and gets to work.

You try to focus again on the dishes in the sink. Yet, you couldn't wipe the wide smile off your face if you tried, exhilarated by life's simple pleasures—by the way, it seems that colour is starting to bleed back into your life in all these little moments. A flurry of feelings you haven't felt in so long floods you, too.

"Forgot how much I love being in the kitchen with other people." You laugh, verbalising your happiness in a fairly throwaway comment.

"Kitchens are the heart of the home, as they say." John replies, and you can tell he's smiling fondly, probably recalling the nights spent at his kitchen island with you, James, and the other people lucky enough to be in his life.

After a moment, he continues on, yet his tone is more somber than before. "You know, sweetheart, I wish I'd have known sooner how he really treated you."

You wonder if it would've made a difference.

"He's just not for me, he's not necessarily bad just... okay, I mean besides the cheating." You say, wrinkling your nose with disgust—still, you find yourself making excuses for him, finding ways to soften the blow.

John sighs. "You give him too much credit, love."

It feels wrong somehow to open up to John about this, despite his soothing on the matter. "It wasn't fair for me to talk to you about that stuff, even if you do give the best advice. Still doesn't feel fair, really." You grumble as you scrub at a bowl, removing the dirt.

"And what about what's fair and best for you, hmm?" John's chopping grows louder, more erratic, as his frustration flows through his arm and his wrath is taken out on the raw onions. "For crying out loud, the lad cheated on you. I have half a mind to go over there myself to finish what we started earlier."

You shrug, entirely uncertain of how to untangle the messy web that is your emotions. Guilt, relief, anger, and peace all swirl together, with no one feeling jumping out clearly and continuously beyond the others.

"Look at me," John calls your attention to him, only speaking again once you do. The look on his face is deeply sincere, his eyes betraying the emotion within. "Once you're on your feet again, if you want nothing to do with me, all you have to do is say. Otherwise, I'll be in your life for as long as you let me."

Fuck.

"That's reassuring." You nod, smiling genuinely, yet you try to restrain it lest you betray how much it really means to you. "Yeah, I guess, as you said earlier, we're friends."

You say it more to convince yourself, as it's a truth that isn't going to change regardless of a silly schoolgirl crush.

"Not planning on changing that unless you are, love." John smiles.

See, you say to yourself, he's all but confirmed it too. "I'm glad some things are going to stay the same..." You mutter, though there is some sincerity and reality to your statement. "Especially when everything else is about to get turned upside down."

"I suspect you'll be better off when the dust settles."

"I hope so."

You turn back to the dishes, trying to focus on the music rather than the thoughts that battle against John's soothing words. His quiet company helps stave off some of the discontent, the sound of him cooking and singing quietly providing a safety blanket around you.

"Do have to let you know I got the call, leaving sooner than I would've liked."

"When?" You feel yourself stiffen. Every time John leaves, you're always a little on edge—and yet, with the circumstances, this time just feels worse.

"Tomorrow." He admits softly.

"You've only been back a matter of days." Your heart pangs.

He scoffs. "No rest for the wicked, eh?"

"It's gonna feel weird getting settled in here, but especially alone." You offer up your honesty, in the hopes it'll alleviate the gentle crushing of your chest, yet you try to remain stony-faced.

"One big change at a time, love." John's voice is soothing, as he attempts to reassure you. "Change of scenery, then change of roommate. It'll give you a chance to just be free of Price men for a moment."

"He's not really a Price..." You sigh, because maybe if he were, things would've been different. If John had raised him... would he be a better man? Not that you believe his mother is to blame for his issues, but you know from James' occasional rants that he didn't have a male figure he respected growing up.

"I suppose not." Behind your back, John shrugs. "Point still stands, though. While I'm not thrilled about the idea of you being all alone, at least it gives you some space to think of what comes next."

"I guess it does." You sigh and try to focus on that thought—time to figure things out and feel the relief of being free. A wry laugh leaves you when you realise John has managed to reframe his departure as a positive thing. "Fuck, I hate how you always make me feel better."

"Hah, add it to my list of crimes."

A beat passes before a stray thought pops into your head. "If you're headed back, does that mean you'll be shaving?"

You crane your head around just in time to see John pause, turn, and stroke at his beard.

"Don't know. What do you think?" He continues to stroke at the grown-out brown hair, as you get lost taking in his features and the way that they seem to look so different with his new, fluffier style.

"Feel like you've been staring at it a lot, not sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing." He chuckles, his smile tight-lipped and a touch self-conscious in a way that only you can bring out of him.

"Somehow, it makes you look..." Your brain scrambles for an adjective that isn't 'daddier'. "... younger?"

On anyone else, a full beard would likely age them, but compared to John's usual old-timey war general look, it gives him more of a casual, handsome look. You remind yourself to ask for pictures of what he looked like before he grew facial hair.

"Ageing myself prematurely with the mutton chops, then?" He frowns ever so slightly, though you know his pout is completely playful.

You throw your head back with a laugh. "Thought that's why you did it, to really solidify your authority."

"Don't need any kind of facial hair for that, love." He purrs, sending a shiver down your spine.

You force your attention back to the dishes and school your expression into something more neutral, dunking in all the cutlery in at once as you desperately begin to clean. It's a clear attempt to make sure John doesn't notice your reaction to his words.

"Whatever you say, John." You mutter, trying to end the conversation before it spirals any further out of control.

He laughs, hums, then casually says something you never expected. "Mmm, now that's what I like to hear."

"Ow, fuck!" You yell as pain sears through your skin, a knife hidden in the soapy water slicing through your skin at the momentary distraction.

John is over in a flash, coming to your aid and pulling your hand into his grasp so he can inspect the wounds. "Christ, love, are you alright?"

"Fine, I mean, it's only small." Each word is through gritted teeth, as you try to tough it out in front of John.

Despite the fact the incisions across your fingers aren't particularly deep, they bead with crimson blood and pulse with stinging pain.

"Right, that's enough. Sit down." One of John's hands remains holding your hand while the other settles on your shoulder, and he manoeuvres you to one of the stools at the kitchen island. He pays no mind to the way your soaked arm drips onto his t-shirt and jeans, too focused on his mission.

"Yes, sir." You say absentmindedly, feeling like one of his men—you don't notice the way he stiffens, his touch getting a fraction tighter, as his body and mind jolt at such simple words.

He doesn't meet your eye, instead inspecting the cuts before turning to grab the first aid kit he keeps under the sink. "Doesn't look like it'll need stitches."

"This isn't a battlefield injury, John, and I'm not a child!" You can't help but pout exaggeratedly, as not only does it convey your meaning, but it helps disguise your wince as John cleans, dries, and dresses your cuts.

"No more washing up. Don't give me that look." He fixes you with a look and a stern point that just dares you to challenge him, and for a moment, you glare right back at him.

In the end, you know you stand no chance of winning against the formidable foe that is protective, Papa Bear John Price. One time you insisted on washing up after he cooked, and he followed you into the kitchen to turn off the water main, just to show you how serious he was that you sit down and fucking relax.

"Fine." You sigh, as John's moment as a nurse comes to a close, with him finishing your dressings and packing away the first aid kit.

"Sit pretty. Food won't be too long." He tells you before he returns to the pans on the hob, checking on the spaghetti and stirring the bolognese.

The fragrance from the stewing sauce surrounds you, making your mouth water in anticipation of John's signature dish. It doesn't distract you from the pain completely, but it at least gives you something to focus on as you try to ignore it.

"Can I... ask something that I've been wondering about for a while?" You ask, propping your head on your non-injured hand as you watch John work.

"Of course." He nods, eyes flickering to meet yours briefly.

"Have you and James' mum ever talked about... you know, everything?" You resist the urge to pick at the medical tape securing the bandage to your skin, as you know that eventually it's going to come off. "I don't know why I never asked before, guess I felt awkward, and I tried asking James, but he never wanted to talk about it."

John pauses, taking a moment to think. "We met for coffee once, after I first found out. She was very apologetic, explained her side of things."

It's easy for you to tell, having grown accustomed to his expressions, that there's more to the story than he lets on. John always tends to play his cards close to his chest when it comes to his inner workings, asking more questions than he ever answers, but you're used to that look in his eyes whenever there's something he's holding back.

At least, you like to think so. If you're good at telling when he's withholding, you're even better at not pressing him, at least under usual circumstances. Today, something compels you to ask more.

"Do you... resent her for what she did?"

"No." He answers, a little too quickly, before rolling his shoulders and straightening his posture. "Maybe I should, maybe I should resent the fact I missed his childhood. I suppose I do, but I would never have had the life I've had otherwise."

"Figured I might still have the chance to be a dad, but would've never had the chances I did had I not joined the army."

The insight into John's mind is fascinating, intoxicating, even. It's hard to imagine him as anything other than a captain, even if father and family man suits him quite well too.

"You wouldn't have joined up if you'd known?" You ask, questions still tumbling out of you as curiosity about John leaks out of every pore.

"No." He pauses, pressing his hands into the counter. Finally, he looks at you with stormy, emotion-filled eyes. "Would've stayed, married her. Done the right thing." It looks like it pains him to admit it, as his brows furrow and his lips tighten.

"Wow. Must be weird seeing her now, knowing she could've been your wife." You probably shouldn't have said it aloud, but the thought of that different reality is so jarring to you that it slips before you can stop it.

"She's a stranger, really." He shrugs.

"A stranger you had sex with... once upon a time." You say, squinting as you try to imagine John and James's mum sharing anything beyond pleasant smiles and polite small talk.

"Barely." A dismissive scoff leaves him, as he picks up the wooden spoon and returns his attention to his cooking.

"Barely? What does that mean?"

"Well, it was only once, and even then... every man has to learn somehow, love." John says the words as if they're so casual, yet they cause heat to rush to your cheeks.

"Your son still hasn't learned at all." You say the words without thinking, a tinge of bitter resentment bursting through. "Sorry, fuck."

"S'fine." John tries his hardest to stifle the smile that tugs at the corner of his lips, practically throwing himself into grabbing bowls and cutlery to serve up the meal. "He really didn't know how to handle you, did he, love?"

Your chest seizes once more—guilt, indignation, amusement, confusion. There's a hope within you that when the dust is all settled, you'll end up with someone like John, someone who can treat you better.

"No, he didn't..." You admit weakly, before checking yourself. "Sorry, I think the pain and the blood loss are making me woozy. I'm gonna stop talking now."

John only smiles understandingly, eyes shining with mirth, as he passes you an oversized bowl filled with delicious spaghetti. He takes a seat beside you, knee knocking into yours as he makes himself comfortable— his warmth feeling too close for comfort and yet not close enough at all.

"Eat up, darling girl."

********

You and John finish up your meal in companionable silence, accompanied by the rest of the tracks on the current vinyl. As always, John's cooking leaves you full and satisfied, warm from the inside out.

Once more, you're banned from washing dishes and were only able to get on drying duty after begging John and pulling out your most convincing doe eyes. The night ended with you both turning in sooner than usual, in anticipation of John's departure the next morning.

Usually, you last saw John off when he came to visit you and James, putting on a brave face and wishing him well. You're thankful that with the new proximity, you can at least fret in the privacy of your new bedroom, away from John's worrying eyes—the last thing he needs to see before he leaves is your tear-stained cheeks.

Sleep doesn't come easily, as you toss and turn in bed and try not to think of being alone in the coming days, or the possibility of something happening to John.

When sleep finally does come, you wake in a panic—sweaty and dry-mouthed. The nightmare that plagued you is hard to recall, the only thing burning in your mind is the final scene. You have to flee into the night, and you're desperate to grab something to cover up with so you don't freeze to death—you can't find anything warm anywhere. The image quickly fades away as you blink your eyes open.

You roll over to the side of the bed, clutching your phone and practically burning your eyes when the screen blares into your corneas.

3:59. 16 minutes to your alarm.

With John's departure fast approaching, you throw yourself out of bed, grabbing your cardigan and wrapping it around yourself before you head in the direction of John's room.

The door is closed firmly, likely to quiet any noise he makes from rustling around in preparation. You knock lightly on the wood, waiting for John to call you in.

You step in, taking in John's appearance. It seems he decided to keep the outgrown facial hair after all, the fluffy beard leading down to the chest hair poking out from the top of a soft grey cotton tee.

The dog tags around his neck are the only nod to his upcoming deployment, as he leaves John behind and heads off to become Captain Price.

He smiles as soon as he sees you, though it doesn't escape your notice that it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Hope I didn't wake you."

"Nah, can't sleep." You explain, as you make your way further into the room and perch yourself on the end of John's bed gingerly. "Figured I'd make you sick of me, so you're glad to be away."

You peer into the holdall that John's currently packing things into, inspecting his contents and mentally ticking items off a checklist.

"Don't think anything could make me glad of that, love." He frowns, pausing as he expertly folds a t-shirt and places it in his bag. "Especially at a time like this."

"I'll be fine." You say it for his sake, even if you don't entirely believe it. Your number one priority right now is sending him off with a smile.

As you spot one of his signature beanies poking out of a side pocket, you pluck it off the duvet and pull it over your bedhead. "Maybe I'll just run riot while you're gone, throw all your cigars in the bin, and steal every beanie you own."

That brings a smirk out of him, the worry clearing from his eyes. "Evil girl."

"Yeah, I'm a right menace." You confirm, a gleeful smile spreading across your face unrestrained.

Several things stand out to you in the bag or surrounding it—the sunglasses case, a tan-coloured rag, and John's beloved boonie hat. Your quick inspection gives you an insight into where John is headed—flip-flops again, you joke to yourself.

"Guessing you're off to some shitty desert then." You comment, not intending to pry any further.

"Feel like I never leave them." He notes—that wry smile returning to his face as he meets your gaze.

"Have you packed your sun cream?" You ask, half joking and half serious.

"Wouldn't hear the end of it if I didn't, hmm?" He chuckles knowingly, likely recalling the last time he came home with a sunburn and was met with your impassioned rant. He'd learned his lesson at least.

"And the moisturiser we got you for Christmas?"

"Already packed." He pats the toiletry bag on the bed, and you rush to pick it up, unzip it, and verify his claim.

"Lip balm?" You ask, peering up at him with a mischievous grin, just waiting for his reaction.

"Now you're just taking the piss."

You pull your beanie down low on your forehead, just as you've seen John wear it, then you cross your arms across your chest and drop your voice. "Sorry lads, cover my six, gotta get my Burts Bees on."

At that, he belly laughs. "I'd never live it down, and you wouldn't do that to me, would you?"

You rise from the bed, laughing with him, before you remove the beanie and reach up to place it over his head instead. "No, Captain." You whisper, grin bright.

"You're a handful, love." Despite his words, the fondness in his voice is clear as day.

You tap his cheek playfully before stepping away. "Well, fear not, like I said, you're rid of me for a little while."

"Desert doesn't seem so bad now you mention it." John rolls his eyes playfully, before turning to add the final items and zipping up the bag beside him.

"Have you got everything you need?" You ask, instinct taking over as you begin to fret over ensuring everything is perfect for John's departure.

"I do know how to pack for myself, but if you want me to humour you..." John's hands fall to the zip, ready to tear the bag open if it would rid you of the concerned frown growing on your face.

You back away, hands raised. Point taken, you think to yourself. "I'm used to fussing, okay."

"You and me both." He nods, then shoulders the bag and gestures for you to head out of the room.

You lead the way like heading up a death march, slow gait and head lowered, knowing what's to come. With each step, a sense of dread grows within you. John is leaving, and there's seemingly an unspoken agreement between you both that something about this time feels more severe.

When you both reach the door, John shrugs on his sherpa-lined jacket, ties up his boots, and stands as he summons up the nerve to leave.

Once again, a half-hearted smile graces his face, as he reaches out to rub at your arm. "I'll call you when I'm headed back from base, yeah?"

You nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to bead in your eyes, once more putting on a brave face. The mention of his call makes your mind flicker to your usual routine.

"Will you be going to see—"

"No love. I'll be coming straight home." He interrupts, squeezing you before withdrawing as if it burns to touch you.

"Stay safe, John." You whisper, the words you say every time coming easily. You swear to yourself that the words act as protection, or at least, you hope they do.

"Always, love." He nods, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to your forehead. Then, he opens the door and steps over the threshold. "Anything you need, I'll get back to you when I can, yeah?"

"Yeah." You nod, struggling to get out even a word as your throat tightens.

"See you soon, darling girl." He calls out, and you watch him until his truck pulls out of the street and off toward danger.

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #call of duty x reader #nobody does it like you do #call of duty fanfiction #spotify

459 notes · View notes

cemeterything · 5 months

Note

you like '03 fma better? i'll be honest im not surprised!

its themes are more appealing to me; i prefer the greater emphasis on the horror and tragedy of the story, particularly the more explicit acknowledgement of the corruption and state sanctioned violence of the military police state of amestris (which was amply covered in brotherhood, i'm not denying that, but '03 felt like it took that more seriously and addressed some of the darker aspects more unflinchingly) and the mercenary ruthlessness of the state alchemist scheme, which allows ed to be recruited and subsequently severely traumatized as a child soldier. and the homunculi being former humans who died violent and untimely deaths, resurrected and brought back as twisted, unrecognizable versions of themselves driven by a terrible hunger to be something more than just half-formed monsters wearing the faces of people who were loved makes them far more compelling imo. lust's arc in 03 made her one of my favorite characters.

428 notes · View notes

rhinestonz · 3 months

Text

☆ GOJO AND GETO , BREEDING ☆

☆ Gojo Satoru

Honestly, he just got off to the thought of it. A lil weakling like you being filled with his seed. If there was a name for a superiority kink , Gojo would have it. “Lucky you” he huffed out against your ear. Cock hitting so deep inside you with the sole purpose of getting you pregnant, filling you up. You felt so full you couldn’t even explain it, legs trembling as he blew another load inside you. “ a lil nobody like you gets to carry my heir” he’d laugh. You were a nobody, you were so fucking lucky to have his cock splitting you open. The amount of cum between you makes it hard for him to even pull himself out. Cum trying to escape your fluttering hole just to be fucked back into you. “ S-Satoru , it doesn’t take this much to get me pregnant!” You gasped out , feeling the buzz of overstimulation over take you as you added to the overflowing amount of white flooding from your cunt. “ yeah baby … I’m well aware” he smiled , still fucking into you with hunger.

☆ Geto Suguru

See he would have killed you. You were simply a monkey after all. A useless life form… but the way your cunt sucked him in so nicely he just couldn't let go. Hips attacking your ass violently as you cried out. “ F-fuck , your s-s big” you whimpered, arms reaching out for something that wasn’t there from the way he was kissing your cervix. “ Hush , just take me “ he’d scoff at you , secretly hoping you’d never be quiet , your small sounds being music to his ears. Fuck you had to be the best he’d ever had the way he was compelled to come inside you. Fill you up with his seed. And he did just that , pushing all his weight down on you as you let out a yelp. “ fuck fuck fuck , gonna fill you up mkay” he grunted out. For him to be a stranger , you surprisingly had no complaints. “ yes please~” you moaned out, somehow feeling him deeper than before even though that wouldn’t be possible. You felt the veins of his dick running along your gummy walls that were soon painted white. Shit maybe he was going to keep you around, you weren’t so bad.

285 notes · View notes

aphroditelovesu · 13 days

Text

Yan!Alexander the Great w/ Soldier's Pregnant Widow!Reader

❝ 📜 — lady l: this is a commission that I was very happy to do! I'm sorry for the delay, I confess that I had forgotten this in my drafts and only remembered it after reading your messagem, anon! I hope you enjoy it and, as requested, it is more based on Alexander's feelings for the Reader. Forgive me for any mistakes! ❤️

❝tw: mention of death, mourning. pregnancy and fluff.

❝📜pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader.

You were the wife of one of Alexander's cavalry soldiers who, unlike many other soldiers' wives, decided to accompany him to war. You loved your husband deeply and did not want to be separated from him.

Your husband also loved you deeply. He wasn't a general or a high-ranking officer, but your husband tried to make you as comfortable as possible in this violent environment. He was loyal to you, something rare but one you appreciated. You loved him with everything in you.

Until the day you lost him. During the Battle of Granicus, your husband died in battle and your world collapsed. You had lost the man you loved and it felt like an endless road. Alexander, being the beloved King that he was, buried the dead soldiers with the necessary honors and spoke to the wives present in the camp. And one of them was you.

Alexander was immediately enchanted by you. He was surprised at how you handled your grief, clearly you loved your husband very much and the pain of the loss you felt captivated him. He didn't take long to approach you subtly at first.

Alexander was kind and protective, offering his condolences and staying by your side. His words were kind and his discreet smiles were reserved just for you. More observant people didn't take long to notice the King's interest in you, but they never dared to say anything, not when they knew his temperament.

You found yourself lost in a sea of pain and sadness, unable to find comfort in anything around you. Alexander's comforting presence was like an anchor in the midst of the storm, offering support and compassion in such a dark time. He understood your pain as he had also lost soldiers close to him.

Alexander felt compelled to protect and care for you, not only out of gratitude for your husband's sacrifice, but also because he genuinely cared for you. His discreet smiles and kind gestures were an attempt to ease your pain, to be a ray of light amid the darkness you faced.

Although you fought your feelings, you found yourself enjoying the King's presence. But you soon discovered that you were pregnant by your late husband and you decided to focus on honoring your husband's memory and focusing on the baby growing inside you.

Alexander didn't like it at all when you tried to move away from him but he soon understood why. He wasn't angry or anything, but surprised and slightly bothered. You would have a child, something he wanted, but it wouldn't be with him. He couldn't blame you, though, it wasn't your fault.

As time passed, your belly grew and the pain of loss lessened, you found yourself more and more involved in the camp's activities, keeping yourself busy to keep away the thoughts that haunted you at night. And you found yourself increasingly close to Alexander, who made his feelings for you very clear.

He respected the fact that you weren't ready to get married due to the fact that you were pregnant, he could wait until the baby was born. But he wasn't far from you, spending his free time by your side while also taking care of you. You owned your own tent and personal effects, along with those of your late husband.

In time, your husband's child was born, and you held it in your arms with love and sadness. It was a part of him you would carry forever, a living reminder of the man you loved so much. Alexander was present and he acted as if your child were his. He didn't even like it when people mentioned it wasn't his.

You were his and your baby was his too. Alexander was skeptical about it at first but he warmed up to the idea. The mourning period is over and your child has been born, now it is time for you to become his wife and have children of his own.

#history #yandere history #yandere historical characters #alexander the great x reader #yandere alexander the great x reader #yandere alexander the great #yandere headcanons #headcanons #soft yandere #commission #x reader

316 notes · View notes

eskumii · 9 months

Text

yandere!incel!tomura shigaraki + foreigner!darling who can't speak japanese

TITLE: " RENT-A-GF " — navi.

NOTES: nsfw (18+ only) below the cut (non-con!! somnophilia!!) reminder: this is merely fantasy, i don't condone. will prob proofread someday lol. enjoy!

PAIRING: yandere!incel!shigaraki tomura x foreinger!reader

GENRE/AU: shigaraki is rlly misogynistic and delusional, age gap (you're older), reader is a substitute english teacher who got kidnapped by bwad gwuys and is now... yeah

CHARACTERS: shigaraki tomura (21), reader (24)

let's be for real: shigaraki was born to be an incel.

and incel!shigaraki is shamelessly self-aware of this, indeed. when he's not out terrorizing innocent citizens with his villainous coups, he takes to the internet to fulfill his insatiable need for an adrenaline rush. gorey video games and brutal death metal makes him light up in glee, but sometimes it's just not enough.

so, instead, he's a frequent on the dark web, diligently scouring sites that specialize in obscure female porn collectives that cater to his twisted kinks. incel!shigaraki glowers at the pictures of stupid, slutty women who prance around in sexy lingerie, but still gets a hard-on because he wishes he had a woman who would do that for him and him only.

and what shigaraki wants, he gets. on another sweaty night in his dark bedroom, he's boredly clicking through the hundreds of entries of women who are being sold for, what he thinks, too high of a price. not that money would ever be a problem for him; if he felt compelled to, he could just kidnap the girl he wanted all over again. so, no, it's not the price—it's what he thinks they're worth based on his attraction to them.

and, so far, all of them are worthless.

you see, the conundrum is that incel!shigaraki has a thing for foreign girls. don't ask why, he doesn't know. maybe he finds it cute that they're so clueless about his culture and language, and he's the one who'll control the narrative that rules their ignorance. maybe it's so cute how they wear their perpetual confusion on their face at all times, like a bratty kid who can't navigate the world without mommy or daddy by their side.

of course, though, women could hardly do anything on their own anyway. every time he came across one they'd wail and cry as he grabbed them by the hair and threatened to kill them if they didn't shut the hell up. they'd beg for their lives or scream for someone to save them, but it would only piss him off more at how useless and brainless they tended to be. he just couldn't help but decay them—they were so noisy and whiny, it wasn't his fault.

obviously, shigaraki has neither patience nor experience with women. in fact, he can probably count with two fingers how many times he's had a non-violent interaction with a woman in his entire lifetime. the mere thought of this drives his insecurities to the brink of rage, but it's not his fault women are so unbelievably tasteless in their choice of men. it's their fault he has to go to such lengths to find a decent woman worthy of his presence.

but imagine his delight when he happens upon a listing of you, an immediately attractive foreign woman who used to be an english substitute teacher of all things. he clicks through your pictures with a renewed vigor, his interest piqued as he studies your unique features. eagerly, he scours through your posted information and it turns out that you happen to be exactly the kind of woman he's looking for.

it's a done deal. the transaction takes less than a few minutes and incel!shigaraki couldn't be more pleased with how smoothly it went. he'll have to leave a good review later on, when and if the woman he's just bought has satisfied him.

it takes just one night before shigaraki finds you literally dropped off at his doorstep like an amazon prime package. you’ve clearly been pampered with the way you’re clad in a skimpy maid outfit; your nails, hair, and makeup are all dolled to perfection. you look exactly like you did in the pictures.

and clearly you're wise beyond your years. you don't speak much because of the obvious language barrier, but you do seem to understand a bit of elementary japanese. shigaraki is delighted by your small mutterings of broken japanese—it’s unbelievably cute. sometimes he'll force you to speak in japanese just because he loves watching you struggle with your limited vocabulary.

incel!shigaraki gets attached to you. you're very attractive in his eyes, and he's completely ecstatic that you're all his. a woman he can do whatever he wants with, and no one would dare question him. the immense power trip sends him over the edge.

that being said, the first couple of weeks are still rather... awkward. you're not happy about being in the situation you're in, but you're smart enough to keep that to yourself. you don't fuss when shigaraki orders you to fetch him liquor or tidy up his filthy room, nor do you complain when he commands you to cuddle with him or keep him company while he plays video games.

"[name], c'mere," he'd bark at you, eyes still glued to the tv screen.

"be a good girl and keep my lap warm, hm?"

he'll force you to wear cute lingerie sets like he's seen the women on porn sites do. somehow you look so much better though, and it feels as though you're teasing him with the way you bend over so much while cleaning. the outline of your pussy through the small fabric that stretches over it has him horny in a matter of seconds. you're such a tease, aren't you ashamed? you just can't seem to stay in line.

however, despite all your obvious sexual innuendos towards him, shigaraki gets no relief. he's resorted to jacking off whenever you go to sleep but no matter how hard or how much he cums, there's an itch that can't be scratched with masturbation alone. and the way you're so shy around him is adorable, sure, but your little playing-hard-to-get act wasn't cutting it anymore.

the remedy? incel!shigaraki starts slipping sleeping pills into your food and drinks.

and it doesn't take long for shigaraki to develop a routine of visiting you while you're sleeping. partly to check up on you and assure himself of your presence, but mostly to creep around the edges of the bed and feel you up. you sleep so soundly that you don't even twitch when he fondles your soft breasts or runs his spindly fingers over your curves.

he almost doesn't want to disturb you; you look so peaceful, totally different than the frightened little faces you muster when you're awake. but the bothersome tightness stretching his boxers taut against its stitches makes it hard to resist his urges. anyway, you're simply doing the only thing a woman is good for: using your body to please him.

his breath is hot and heavy, laced with lust and selfish perversion as he defiles you to get himself off. some nights he just sits and admires your beauty, caressing your face with clumsy, inexperienced fingertips. some nights your shirt is pulled up so he can marvel at how nicely your breasts sit in whatever color bra he forced you to wear.

other nights his cock is nestled between them, thrusting like his life depends on it, chasing that euphoric high he gets when he finally spills his seed across your hardening nipples. and other nights shigaraki is even more daring—cute pajama pants and panties below your knees, face buried between your thighs as he explores every inch of your sweet cunt. he knows it's wrong, but so what? he's a villian, that's what makes it feel so right.

when you make faces in your sleep, he's filled with so much genuine affection—it's almost as if you're telling him he's doing a good job. you love it, don't you? he so desperately wants to hear you cry his name in that precious accent of yours and run your hands through his hair as you lavish your praise upon him for making you cream so many times.

he can't keep his eyes off you. so soft and compliant. you're so pretty while he's stuffing his cock into you and relentlessly flicking your little clit, not stopping even when he feels you clench around him like a vice as you orgasm over and over. not stopping even though you're drooling all over the linen sheets and he's came twice already.

"that's right... y-you gonna cum again? you gonna—ngh—cum all over my cock, you dumb whore?"

shigaraki watches with glassy, intrigued eyes as you squirm ever so slightly, face warped into one of undeniable pleasure as he ravages your gushing pussy. you're such a good girl for him, letting him use you as he wishes.

you're the woman he's chosen to give his virginity to. he's so happy and content that when he cums inside of you for the third time, he doesn't pull out. instead, shigaraki gently maneuvers your body so he can spoon you from behind, whispering tender "i love you's" as if he knows what that means. absently grinding his hips because your warmth is so comforting around his sticky, softening dick.

as much as shigaraki wants to stay and pound you into the mattress all night, the sleeping medication doesn't last forever. not to mention the mess you've made; the sheets are completely ruined and your clothes are strewn about on the floor, long forgotten. it's hot in your room and it stinks of his cum and sweat, but it doesn't really matter. the only thing on his mind is you and how he'll ruin you again tomorrow night.

for now, though, he rewards you for being so good by cleaning you up, smirking whenever you unconsciously nuzzle up to his touch. when your clothes are back on, he plants a tender kiss on your forehead and admires your flushed face from the shadows of your bedside. when the sun begins to rise and you stir in your ignorance, he'll sneak out and act as if nothing ever happened.

incel!shigaraki who doesn't deny that you're just another stupid slutty woman, but you're the only woman he'll ever want to cum inside of. when he returns to his room, he remembers to pull up your archived listing on his computer and dazedly taps away at his keyboard.

"10/10 recommend"

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere bnha #yandere bnha x reader #yandere-bnha #yandere shigaraki #shigaraki x reader #yandere mha #yandere hcs #incel shigaraki #yandere shigaraki x reader

918 notes · View notes

thebadboyfanclub · 1 year

Text

She Has Your Eyes Pt. 1 (Daemon x Reader)

Alright man, this was entirely too long to put in one part, this is only part one and it’s 3k words long so let’s see how this part goes and we figure out the rest

The north has always been quite different when it came to their traditions, there was no exceptions or favouritism when it came to their children, especially when the children where Starks, to be born in the house of the dire wolf it meant you would be as strong as your sigil, daughter or a son it had no meaning

The tourney in the north was held in her honour for her 15th nameday, every house send a representative to take part in the duel, how could they know? It was not often that they had the chance to hold a stick against a Stark lady.

When Daemon got up on his horse to fight against her he had made the mistake of underestimating her, foolishly assuming that he should go soft on lady (y/n), to say he was surprised when he got knocked off quite violently was an understatement, he could still remember (y/n) taking off her helmet and her dark raven hair falling out, her strong features and tall build was compelling.

“Such a shame, I expected better from a dragon”

Her chuckle as she toyed with his reputation was a thing that would usually make his blood boil, however he laid there dumbfounded, “what a woman” he had thought as she trotted around on her stallion, the armour shined under the sunlight and Daemon had finally found his worthy opponent.

“You did well lady (y/n)”

“Well? I could have easily slashed your head off your shoulders”

“I am very thankful you refrained from such act”

“It’s a pretty head”

“To be on my shoulders or served to you in a silver platter?”

“I have yet to decide”

“I know the hour is late, although it just came to me that we have yet to present you with a gift”

“I do love gifts”

“Follow me my lady”

When (y/n) was met with Caraxes a audible gasp escaped her as she came to a halt at the Dragon being a few feet away from her. Daemon only took her hand in his to guide her closer to his dragon, Caraxes remained calm until (y/n) came close enough to sniff her, (y/n) felt her blood freeze out of fear something that did not happen often, as Caraxes appeared to accept the princess since he did not try to eat her.

“How did you know your dragon would not try to kill me?”

“I did not”

“You fucker”

The experience of riding a dragon was euphoric, the sense of freedom it brought while (y/n)s entire body shook from joy and a small dosage of fear was intriguing to Daemon, feeling her nails dig into him as she held for dear life was a scene for sore eyes, Daemon had never experience such emotions for a woman prior this.

Alas as the small folk say “all good things come to an end” and Daemon had to depart from the North, memories are such a funny thing, he could swear it was yesterday that he gave (y/n) a sweet deep kiss and got on his dragon, heading back to kings landing his stomach was turning as the red keep got bigger and bigger, when Caraxes landed Daemon wanted to throw up, he brushed it off as anxiety now he would say it was his body trying to warn him, an instinct some would say.

King Jahaerys was a king of justice, (y/n) leaned on that trait to ease her nerves at the suggestion of her being betrothed to Daemon. However Jahaerys was also a calculated man, the north was a strong force but they were never a problem, so a marriage alliance was not needed, runestone though needed a match, a union to ease the bad blood.

“Why would they say no? I am an eligible match”

“You are the perfect match my love, I guess we were… late”

“So, this is goodbye”

“I am afraid… it is”

(Y/n) could not find the strength to walk away, neither could Daemon and there they stood gawking at one another, it was (y/n)s eyes which were filled with tears that caused a reaction out of Daemon to pull her in his arms, to caress her hair as her body trembled from the sobs.

“Do not mourn me my love, I will always be with you”

Daemon had no idea of how his words would take form in a love child, (y/n) was locked up in her room for the entirety of her pregnancy and her mother was the one that tended to her instead of servants. People talk, the family could not risk the rumour of a Targaryen bastard that belonged to a married prince it would tarnish (y/n)s reputation and even be the sole cause of a war, they kept her safe until they could figure out what should they do next.

Ayleen came into the world during a snow storm, (y/n) was in labour for a full day until the babes wail was finally booming through the room, (y/n) was so exhausted that she could not even hold the small babe, her mother had to assist her so (y/n) could take a good look of her first born.

“She looks like him”

She had whispered with tears falling like a stream on her flustered cheeks, choking on sobs that no one could identify if they were from joy, relief, pain or sadness, (y/n) herself was not aware as of why was she crying in her mothers arms, cursing herself for allowing her heart to lead her and her womb for creating such a perfect thing that would not know what the true meaning of a family is.

Daemon was at the other end of Westeros, so far from his princess, still that cursed night he could not get a wink of sleep, tossing and turning in his bed tormented by images of the Stark lover calling for him while in pure agony, they had been bind for life and now he was absent at the birth of their first born, but he could feel every lick of pain, every grunt and push like he was there.

It was the only time Daemon got on one knee to pray, asking for the old gods and the new to save his lover from all harm, to shield her and spare her, even offering his own life instead of hers.

Daemon was a ghost of himself, he had left all life and warmth in the north, (y/n) was all he could think about, what was she doing? Was she dreaming of the way they laid together? Has she found a husband? Was she happy? A man that was known for his unquestionable lust for women and their presence to warm his bed was now feeling sick at the mere suggestion of bedding another woman.

The one time that he tried to get Rhea to bed to at least consummate their marriage after downing all the wine he could find Daemon flinched at Rheas touch, harshly pushing her to wobble out of her room, falling on his knee in his room and repeatedly apologising to his true love.

The morrow of that day he rode his dragon to go North, nothing was worth such agony, he must go to her or else he would die, the closer he got the colour in his face appeared, it resembled a spell he was under that would only be resolved if he was with her.

“Where is (y/n)?”

“Not here”

“You are lying, why are you keeping her from me?”

“Prince Daemon”

“Fuck off with all of that, I want to see her”

“Daemon?”

Her voice barely above a whisper from behind him took him out of his trance. Once he turned to finally see her his jaw hit the floor, she was holding a child, a tiny creature wrapped up with blankets, Daemon was confused and slightly hurt, has she already moved on? Whom was it that impregnated her? She found the gall to bed another man?

“This is Ayleen, Ayleen this is your father”

“Father? Is she”

“Yours, ours”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You are married, I did not want to cause trouble in your”

“Unconsummated marriage”

(Y/n) was left speechless, she had found peace with the idea that she would never be around him again, she had their child, a part of him and a token of their love, she had mastered the strength to love the babe enough for the both of them.

Daemon approached her by dragging his feet, the second he could fully eyeball his daughter it was the moment he felt his heart beat so hard he thought it would come out his throat, she was so fragile, barely the size of his entire arm.

“May I hold her?”

(Y/n) let out a laugh at the question, slowly and with careful movements for the first time Daemon held his daughter, “Ayleen, my love child” he kept repeating in his brain.

“She is… I would kill for her”

“Let us hope we do not have to go to that”

“I missed it, I was not here, I could not… help you”

“I do not hold grudges Daemon, you couldn’t have possibly known”

“I failed you”

“You gave me a daughter”

“No I did not, you did it, you blessed me with the most amazing gift”

They both yearned for one another, like two moths attracted to the flame, unfortunately everyone knows how that story ends, howbeit for that moment, those very few days Daemon spend in the north with his love and daughter he had been ecstatic, to wake up next to her or see her put the babe to sleep while sitting in her rocking chair, softly signing a lullaby, every waking moment was his new found treasure.

“Give her this, it was my mothers and my grandmothers before that”

(Y/n) placed a necklace on Daemons open palm, she could barely hold herself up from the despair of being separated by her firstborn, “it would be better this way” (y/n)s mother attempted to soothe the girl that cried at the decision of Daemon taking their daughter to kings landing, deep inside she could understand the reason behind it, even that how could a mother not be in shambles over this? It simulates the pain of her heart being ripped straight out of her.

Daemon kept his daughter close to his chest as he walked in proudly to the throne room interrupting another “important” event, he couldn’t care less for what was occurring, the presence of his daughter was far more important. Viserys was stunned, to see your own brother strut in after so long with a child was shocking.

“I would like to present to the court, my first born daughter,princess Ayleen Targaryen, first of her name”

“Gods be good, the princess of runestone”

“No, princess Ayleen was not conceived in the Vale”

“If she is not from your wife… then”

“She is my daughter, a Targaryen, that is all that matters”

“My dearest love,

I hope this letters finds you and our daughter well, I have missed you dearly, the memory of the sound of your breathing while you laid next to me has been my lullaby as a drift off to slumber ever since you left the North.

You must find the strength to forgive me for not writing to you sooner, I pray you understand it has not been easy for me to adjust with you and our sweetling being away from me

I come with the best news, the Gods have blessed us with a son, a healthy little boy named Saemor, he was born 3 moons ago, I did not inform you due to how difficult this pregnancy has been, we feared he would not make it out alive.

Me and Saemor will be waiting for your arrival, come to me my love and bring our daughter with you, let us be a family even if we both know it won’t last long

Yours truly,

(Y/n)”

Daemon took this as his way out, to finally be free of the bronze Bitch and be with his true love, the mother of his now two children. When Daemon announced his departure so he could summon his second born Viserys was livid, a state that Viserys rarely took.

“Another bastard! You have stained our name forever”

“They are my rightful heirs”

“They are bastards, from an unknown woman whom you have repeatedly denied of mentioning, a low life whore you yourself are too embarrassed to reveal”

That was the last thing Daemon needed to hear, his lover had gone through one of the most painful experiences alone, frightened as her life was in danger, she survived and came out of it victorious, the scene of her holding their frail son burned his mind enough to send him over the edge.

Daemon pulled out his sword and attacked his on brother, the steel of black sister shined under the light as Daemon let it rest on Viserys neck, the king was certain he was about to be killed while Daemons eyes were demonic.

“She is my love, my beautiful wife that owns my heart, I should take your head for merely suggesting she is of low rank, I was cursed to marry a woman I despised while you were free to take the woman you loved”

“You are a mad man”

“Mayhaps, but one important rule is to never tell a mad man that they have gone mad”

Daemon was a man that had committed plenty of crimes, to kill your own brother, your blood, no that was beneath him. He pulled away his sword and just walked away, he was sure that Viserys would banish him, send him and his daughter away, Gods know what that cunt of a man Otto had whispered in his brothers ear, poisoning their bond forever.

None of it mattered any more, all he did was take his daughter up in the sky while she held on her dragon egg tightly and fleeted to his love, his Stark lady for refugee.

(Y/n) had seen Caraxes fly above her home, at once she was up on her feet and ran outside to greet him, she had not changed one bit, she was as ravishing as he remembered her to be, his soulmate wrapped her arms around him before he could even firmly land on his feet. Her embrace was all he needed to finally be able to breathe again, relief washing over him, she was alive and well, that itself meant that he could be happy.

“Ayleen, oh my precious little wolf”

“She said her first word”

“Did she? What was it?”

“Mama”

(Y/n) gasped at the word, her daughter called for her and she was not there. (Y/n) balanced her daughter in her hip as she plastered kisses wherever she could find skin, she was finally whole again, with both of her children and her Daemon United, like a true family, to gaze into (y/n)s eyes was a dream itself, though to be able to view the scene of her holding their daughter was the biggest achievement of them all

“She has your eyes”

“She has your hair, a true Targaryen princess”

“I would much rather is she had inherited your hair, to have a little stark running around the castle and cause trouble”

“Come, you must see him”

As time went on Daemon and (y/n) were in their own little world that tasted like berries and cream, Daemon would take his family up in the sky even the small babe that would nestle in his fathers arms had grown accustomed to flying, the only way they could make him sleep was to take him up to Caraxes and fly in circles.

(Y/n) would sleep holding on to Daemon like he would slip out of her fingers during the night, as the cold of the North brought them closer clinging on to the heat of each others bodies and layers of covers protected them the shimmer of the fire made her look even more beautiful, Daemon would often stay awake just a little while longer so he can gawk at her, stroking her dark hair and whispering all types of things to her.

(Y/n)s head rested on his chest she found it comforting to listen his heartbeat, it was the only way she felt like their moments were real and they weren’t just figments of her imagination.

“He will be a menacing knight”

“What if he wants to be a poet?”

“Then he will be a menacing poet”

“No, our boy will be gentle and kind, like his father”

“Have you gone rogue? Or are you hiding something from me?”

“You are the most gentle person, you think I don’t notice how you tuck our boy in his bed? You are my sweet dragon”

(Y/n) whispered in Daemons ear before he kissed her bare shoulder, Daemon and (y/n) could not get enough of each other, the tension between them compelled them to crave the other ones touch, holding hands as they experienced the road of pleasure, neither of them knew when they would have to separate again so they started clinging to the present moment for dear life.

“Don’t start rumours about my gentleness I have a reputation to uphold”

“What that you are the scary ruthless rogue prince? You have never been that, you are loving, caring, protective-“

“And hungry for my lover”

Combined by a yelp coming from (y/n) before she could even defend herself her back was on the bed with daemon laying on top of her, a soft grin decorated her lips while she gently tucked behind his ear a loose strand of his silver locks.

“I really missed you”

“I missed you too my sweet”

Daemon had grown accustomed to living in the North, just being able to bask in her aura was enough for him to be content with his new way of life. That would be his first mistake, life has tricky ways to sneak in to your dream and remind you who is really in control, Daemon had to once again ride his dragon away from his beloved family, war had ensued and he was called for aid in the Stepstones, he could deny it, he should deny it.

Requests are open!

1K notes · View notes

mysterycitrus · 2 months

Note

actually why do you think that modern batman comics writers are so bad at compelling 6-8 issue comic arcs? (obvi TT's current nw run is just robbed of any conflict that isn't straight up good guy vs bad guy and is didactic as hell to boot but i haven't really felt grabbed by anything bat-related dc has put out in the last three years). is it an unwillingness to really shake anything up?

a general lack of engaging storytelling is an endemic problem at dc that i think can be partially attributed to a bunch of bad editorial decisions — green arrow for example was only greenlit as a series because williamson was determined to write it amid all his other projects. the pacing and character work suffers as a result. it’s suuuper slow to try and read

taylor is an interesting example though because he’s a terminally online liberal gen xer who seems to write comics like he wants panels to go viral on twitter. there’s no stakes because he’s too centrist to actually put an opinion on paper that might trigger some internal reflection. he tried to call out chuck dixons violent homophobia but thanked him in the same tweet. it’s bad. he should not be in charge of a character like nightwing who’s historically had issues with authority and like….. is defined by his passion. there is a total absence of nuanced interpersonal conflict because like fanon, everyone in comics seems too afraid to have characters be actually wrong about something.

when we read sincerely interesting comics — especially main events like knightfall or murder + fugitive or no man’s land or even utrh — those comics remain interesting because the writers had a perspective and a story to tell. some of those perspectives are bad, mind, but at least there was something there. now, all these writers are online and getting both blind adoration and violent hatred which i think makes them too self conscious to legitimately try. i don’t think it’s a coincidence that the most engaging writing jason todd’s had since 2005 was written by gretchen felker martin in the furry comic, aka someone who has actual things to say.

#dick grayson #nightwing #batman #the ask and the answer #dc comics

150 notes · View notes

bettyfrommars · 7 months

Text

Bloodstream

vampire!eddie x supernatural!fem!reader

from the Death Becomes Us au

18+ONLY, smut, period sex, (f) receiving oral while on their period, unprotected p in v, wet dream, blood, the pet name 'sweetheart', drinking blood.

wc: 3.4k

Reader in Death Becomes Us is also supernatural and has some physical scars that are mentioned in this. Eddie is her neighbor in a trailer park filled with vampires, in a town where vampires are basically a tourist attraction. Bits of these things are mentioned, but this can easily be enjoyed as a stand-alone.

ALSO, this is pure smut that does not progress the story one bit 😂 So, if you'd rather skip it, you won't miss any crucial information.

I've had several requests for vampire!eddie smut and, even more specifically, vampire!eddie with a reader who is on their period, and so this was born. I've had this sitting finished for so long, I wasn't sure I would post it.

You hadn’t realized you’d drifted off to sleep on the sofa in front of an episode of The Twilight Zone until a knock at the door made your adrenaline race into action. It was a dark, moonless night, and the only illumination in your trailer was from the television, a string of tiny pumpkin lights along the window, and a flickering candle on the counter in the kitchen.

The time on the VCR said 11:46 and you got to your feet with caution, figuring it had to be a vampire at the door—you just weren’t sure which one.

“It’s me. Eddie,” his voice was a mumble out on the porch.

The sound made your heart stutter.

“What do you want?” You asked, pausing with your hand on the doorknob so you could look out the peephole. He was standing back a ways, hands in his pockets, elbows out, and a black shirt unbuttoned down his chest. He looked particularly dressed up, as if he’d been hustling the unsuspecting wealthy widows down at the country club.

You watched him smirk at your question. “Can’t a neighbor come by and say hi? I saw your TV was on.”

You gave a quick glance down at what you were wearing, making sure you were decent, but also to make sure you didn’t have crumbs all over you from the dry cereal you were eating earlier.

“I haven’t seen you around all week,” you got flustered after you said it, not wanting it to sound like you were waiting around for him and counting the minutes.

“Yeah,” he gave his lips a generous lick, wetting them until they were shiny. “You realized I was gone? Does that mean you missed me?.”

There was no formal understanding or commitment between the two of you, but also, there was something unspoken that compelled you to worry about him when you didn’t see the whites of his eyes for a few days.

You opened the door and inclined your head, motioning for him to come in, and moved back so he could step in off the porch. You’d already invited him in once, and unless you rescinded that invite, he could technically come in whenever he wanted.

He waltzed in like he owned the place, picking up small things as he went to inspect them, looking around as if trying to catch you in the act of doing something. You were just about to offer him some of the NuBlood you had in your cabinet in the event of a vampire guest when he stopped abruptly and took a long, violent inhale, and held the breath in his puffed out chest.

His eyes narrowed on you and began to darken. He sniffed the air again, and then his eyelids fluttered a bit as if he’d caught a whiff of heaven. The tip of his tongue shot out from between his ejected fangs.

“It’s that time of the month huh?” He asked it very casually, like a doctor might, and at first you wondered what he was referring to, but then you felt a sudden wetness in your underwear and a pang from your uterus.

“You can smell it?” You asked, stepping away. “I didn’t even realize that I—”

“You just started,” he told you in the same matter-of-fact way, turning on his heel. He walked over to the vanilla sugar candle, hoping it would mask the scent so that his cock wouldn’t come to attention right there in your trailer because his mouth was already watering. “Maybe I should come back another time,” he gripped the side of the counter so hard, he almost broke a piece of it off.

“Um, it’s okay, just, well, give me a second to—” you were about to walk by him on the way to the bathroom when his arm shot out as a barrier, catching you at your chest.

“No, stay,” he whispered. When your eyes met, you wondered if he was using that glamouring technique on you to make you do whatever he wanted, but then you remembered that you were impervious to vampire powers.

He took a step, closing the distance. You could see his abnormally slow heartbeat under the cold, pale, tattooed landscape of his throat. He tilted his chin up an inch as if exposing it more for you, watching with attentive eyes as you drank in the curve from his jaw to his neck, to the collar of his shirt.

“Like what you see?” Cocky and bold as ever, but this time, he was really asking. He really wanted to know.

You ignored his question, searching his face. “Why haven’t we ever kissed before?”

He choked at that abrupt outburst and attempted to smirk, but then cleared his throat. “Would you like to change that, sweetheart?”

“Maybe,” you stepped so that your leg was touching his, and his plump pink lips parted, eyelids drooping, anticipating your next move. Eddie opened himself up to you, pulling his shoulder blades back so that you could have his chest and throat, accepting whatever offer you had in mind.

"You're so cold," you mused, and then you were moving in, putting your warm mouth to his throat, relishing the smooth, cool flesh on your lips. You flicked your tongue out to make him groan a little, his hands moving to dig his fingers into your hips. He smelled like Ivory bar soap and fresh earth and vanilla musk, with those soft, nicotine undertones.

“I might be on the verge of melting,” he slid one hand between your legs and the damp heat that was building there. You nipped at his cool skin, sucking it through your teeth, while your hands worked up his ribs to find his nipples with your thumbs.

“I was wondering when you’d finally take advantage of me,” he offered a low chuckle. The laugh had a bit of nervousness in it, though, and his voice cracked at the end.

You could feel the vibration from his sound, licking a stripe up until you found his chin. He dropped his head, catching your mouth with his, and there was nothing practiced or cautious about the kiss—it was messy and desperate, and his ringed fingers found a home between your legs, making you moan.

The blood was seeping through your clothes, and for sure there was a stain through the material of your sweats by now.

“Your smell is making my mouth water,” he broke free from the kiss to put his forehead to yours, but his fingers continued moving in circles on the right spot. You blinked up to find that his eyes were closed. “It’s probably not a good idea for me to be here right now," he bit out, reluctantly.

But he didn’t move, and you curled your thumbs into his belt loops to catch him if he tried. He rolled his forehead back and forth across yours, making your noses brush while the pads of his fingers applied more pressure.

“Have you ever—” you trailed off, words catching in your throat as his hand breach the elastic of your bottoms. “---done this while someone was on their—-”

Eddie paused with his fingers on the skin of your lower belly, making their way down. He pulled his head back to get a read on your facial expression, but you were one of the few people in the world that was a mystery to him. “I’ve never had the pleasure.”

“Won’t it be…messy?”

“I like messy,” and then he chomped his teeth, biting the air between the two of you, before moving in to find your lips again, cupping the side of your face with his hand. His mouth did not close in on yours fully, but the tip of his tongue came out to catch your top lip.

You were up against the kitchen counter now, and you latched onto Eddie’s strong arm, encouraging his hand further down. You gave a muffled cry into his mouth when the pads of his fingers found the wetness seeping through your underwear.

It was too wet to be pure arousal, and just then the coppery tang scent hit the air, making Eddie suck in a sharp breath. “Blood from the uterus lining is some of the sweetest there is,” he growled the words, bypassing your underwear so that he could dip a finger down through your folds, rings clicking together. You pulled down on his arm like a lever until one of his fingers was sinking inside of you, making you gasp. Your walls clenched him, and you begged for another finger, “more,” so he obliged.

“The way you’re gripping around me—fuck,” Eddie said against your lips.

Your knees trembled as he fucked his fingers in you a few times, twisting them, curling them in deep, and then he started to pull out, slowly.

His eyes were pure black when his lids flicked open; tips of his fangs peeking out from between parted lips.

He brought his fingers up into view, and they were glistening with your crimson gift, dripping down his knuckles, and he admired the sight. You wondered what he would do, at first, but then you watched those digits disappear deep into his mouth, lips sealing around them at the base.

He swallowed a few times, and then sucked each one individually, cleaning up the drips on his hand with a greedy, quick tongue. When he was done, there were signs of his feast in the corners of his mouth, and in the shadowy flicker from the candle flame, it looked like he’d just devoured something smothered in barbeque sauce.

“You taste so good,” he breathed, forehead on yours again, his hands making fists in the material of your sweats, arm muscles tense, using all of his willpower not to rip them from your body. His tongue lashed out, tip beckoning in little curls, and you met the need with your own, tasting yourself on him.

It didn’t take long for you to be on the sofa in the living room with your sweats off and Eddie kneeling between your spread legs; a multitude of scars from ankles to hips on full display. He looked up at you first, eyes a pure, marble black, and you nodded, scooting hips forward so he could push your legs further apart.

A bit of tinted drool shone at the edge of his chin as his mouth found the mound of your arousal over your underwear, licking and sucking over the fabric, tasting you, nipping with his teeth. His tongue flattened out and dragged long and hard up your slit, making you cry out under your breath.

“Eddie,” you whimpered, sucking your bottom lip in through your teeth. Your pussy was literally aching for him, throbbing under the weight of his licks.

You had a hungry vampire between your legs, and he could snap your leg off at the hip like a twig if he wanted to. He could bite down on your femoral artery and drain you without breaking a sweat.

Your menstrual juices were painting his chin when he sat back to pull your underwear off and get rid of the final barrier, staring up at you as he did so. You sat forward, and he thought maybe you were going to push him off, but you held his head with both of your hands, guiding him in. “I want to cum in your mouth.”

His head lowered without pause, with the tremble of a grin on his soft lips, and he kissed your cunt first before you felt his tongue sink into your hole. Low moans were coming from deep in his chest as he fed, taking generous swallows. You rocked your hips up against his face and held his head there, whining when he moved his mouth up to roll his tongue in circles over your clit.

“Oh god, Eddie, oh fuck,” you shuddered.

He’d been starving for you for so long, not only for your blood, but for your scent, your pheromones, your taste. He wanted to kiss you from the inside out, he wanted to swallow you whole again and again, and still have you left over. He wanted you to know his secrets, to see the darkness in him and not be afraid.

You pushed his mouth off of you, for a second, to find that he was panting and pussy drunk, and you could see your reflection in his two black pools. You ran your thumb down his lips, catching the mess, and then pushed the thumb into his mouth, and he moaned, closing his eyes to suck it clean, one sharp fang dragging along your flesh.

You locked eyes with him, jaw going slack, and he dropped back down again to draw a few deliberate licks through your folds, fingers digging into your thighs.

With a gust of determination, he decided to switch the position. Eddie went to his back, flat on the ground, and pulled you with him so that you were on your knees above his head, straddling his shoulders.

Staring up at your pussy, he buried two of his fingers into you again and muttered, “god, you’re so fucking beautiful open wide for me like this.” He watched your hole spread out as a drip of blood rolled down his palm.

“Sit down,” he murmured, removing his fingers so that you whimpered, clenching on nothing. “Sit all the way down, pull all your weight on me, sweetheart.”

He coaxed you where he wanted you, his strong hands firm at your hips. You went down until you could feel his nose nestled at your clit and then his tongue darted inside of you with supernatural force. He fed on you for a few seconds, and then he was sucking at your bundle of nerves again, humming as he did so.

“Eddie! That’s—I’m so close,” you rolled your hips and grabbed some of his hair in your fist, making him mumble with pleasure. You braced your other hand on the ground at his shoulder to anchor yourself, even though you knew he had the strength to hold you. You were all but suffocating him now, bucking against his face.

Eddie could feel your sweet bud under his tongue get hard and he knew you were close. His cock twitched in anticipation, leaking arousal in his jeans.

“I’m gonna cum…fuck, I’m cumming!” It was then that the velvet walls began to crash around you, and your hole rippled at his chin. You arched back and released into his mouth, losing control. Between the cum and the blood, you felt like he owned a part of you know—you’d given him a potent cocktail that no one else would ever know the pleasure of.

He didn’t want anyone else to know the pleasure of it.

He let out a sound that was part man, part beast, and pulled the cheeks of your ass apart so that he could retrieve every drop from your slit, slurping as he did so. He drank while you came back to earth, trembling, moving your core back and forth over his face.

You went to crawl off, to move away and give him some air, but he locked you in place. “I’m not done,” his voice was muffled. You giggled at the sound of his lips smacking, but then you quivered at the way he continued to lap at your slit .

Once his grip loosened, you moved to get off of him completely, but he coaxed you back to sit on his chest, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs.

When he lifted his head up, his chocolate eyes were human again, his pale skin smeared with blood; down his chin, across his cheeks, even the tip of his nose. He bit down on his bottom lip and sucked it through to catch some of the excess, giving a contented sigh.

You reached behind you to feel the outline of his cock straining in his denim.

“Yeah?” He asked, searching your face as he moved to undo his belt buckle. “You want that?”

You nodded, at a loss for words at what was happening. Once you heard his jeans unzip, you sent your hand down to breach the elastic of his boxers, salivating when you found the wet tip. “Can I?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie reach down over your legs to push his jeans down further, releasing the thick, hard length. “You don’t even have to ask.”

He lifted his head to watch you line his cock up with your dripping hole, and when you began to ease down, your warm, wet walls contracted around the head and Eddie hissed. Your mouth opened as you sank, needing the way he stretched you out to the point that it was almost painful.

You gasped as you bottomed out, meeting his hooded gaze.

“You know, you can have this whenever you want,” he breathed. “This is all yours.”

“All mine? No one else’s?” You were riding him now, teasing him at the tip with a few muscle clenches before dropping all the way down again.

You lowered your torso so that your bodies were pressed together and Eddie bucked up into you deep and slow a few times.

Your lips were an inch or two away from his, and you watched his eyes go black again as another hunger seized him. “Tell me,” you pushed. “Tell me that you belong to me now,” you purred.

Somehow, you could feel another orgasm mounting when the smell of your blood on his lips crowded your senses.

He slotted one hand at your jaw, thumb cradling your ear, and with the other, he coaxed your hips down to take him deeper, and his thrusts snapped up to meet you.

“I’ve always been yours,” he whispered it around a hard swallow, just before your mouth came crashing down, tasting yourself on him, wanting to inhale his words so they could feed you in a different way. There were tears building for some reason, and you blinked your eyes open to meet his gaze, to see if he was emotional too.

And then, you woke up.

It took you a full minute to adjust to the harsh, unwelcome morning light as you became aware of the full sun exposure of your bedroom.

You coughed a few times, feeling the wind get literally knocked out of you when you realized the truth of the situation.

You’d had too many vampire Eddie sex dreams to count at that point, ever since you’d ingested his blood that night after you were attacked, but this one in particular left your heart heavy and your pussy aching.

Normally, you’d have to reach for your vibrator to finish yourself off when you woke up from the throes of one of those wet dreams, but this time, you only felt sad, and the desire for pleasure was gone as soon as you adjusted to reality.

You hadn’t fallen asleep in front of the tv, Eddie had never come knocking, and the two of you had never so much as kissed. You also had not caught a glimpse of him in over a week, since he’d taken you to visit Sacrament, the vampire bar in The Upside Down. You’d seen a different car at his place a few times, probably just popping in to take care of his cat, but other than that—nothing.

You wondered where he went at night, and you wondered if he ever thought of you.

In real life, you wanted nothing to do with him, but these vampire-blood induced dreams were really starting to mess with the integrity of your resolve.

Also, you realized that you’d just started your period.

You stood wearily from your bedside and carried the remnants of a familiar disappointment with you to the bathroom, and then the kitchen, angling for some coffee to make it better. You poured water into the Brewmaster you found at a thrift store and flipped it on to percolate while you went to water your one plant in the window.

Your eyes lifted groggily to look outside as you hydrated your potted friend and noticed that Eddie’s GTO was parked out front of his place. The blackout curtains to his trailer were all pulled shut so tight, you couldn’t get a glimpse inside, so at least you knew he was home.

Suddenly, you were flooded with a sexually frustrated irritation that made you curse his name into the void.

Part 7

#vampire!eddie #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson series #eddie munson smut #period sex #tw: blood #vampire sex #Death Becomes Us #True blood au #vampire eddie munson #Spotify

286 notes · View notes

my-writings-and-musings · 11 months

Note

Oh, I have an idea for a Mermay! If you would like to write it: merformers Megatron being tangled in a net or something and the waves threw him on the beach and he can't go back to water. When the (gn) reader finds him he's scared that they will use his vulnerable moment to hurt him but they go like: "Wow! You're gorgeous! Oh! And you need my help!" And they help untangle him and roll him back to the sea. What do you think?

Absolutely! Mermay may have passed but I'll still be answering these asks because I'm slow, so don't worry if you left any but I haven't answered yet! Also feel free to leave more as it turns out I really like writing merbots!

Apologies for the low writing volume as of late, the hits just keep on coming, and with my area of the country taking wildfire smoke I swear thinking has never felt more difficult...

Megatron was certain he was done for.

He should have known his fate was sealed the moment the harpoon had pierced his side, especially with the weight of a powerful net dragging on his every move and tangling his limbs the more he struggled, but he'd dared to hope he had a chance after managing to swim away. It was only when exhaustion had allowed the waves to force him to shore, his colossal frame crashing against the rocks in a heap so tangled he was effectively immobilized, that he had accepted the inevitable. All the weary old mech could hope for now was to be finished off by the harpoon before he was discovered by those who'd wounded him.

Memories of a long, violent life played before his optics as the waters receded and the stars began to fade with the arrival of the day, the cries of seagulls growing louder as they woke to feed and curiously circled overhead. It wasn't the end he'd wanted, but it also didn't surprise him in the slightest. He'd never been able to find peace, as the scars across his frame could attest, so he could have predicted his spark extinguishing under such painful circumstances. Perhaps the Allspark would finally allow him to rest...

He was so exhausted he barely heard the soft patter of bare feet approaching over stone and sand.

You had been hoping to find treasures from the sea along the rocky shore when you'd woken up well before the crack of dawn, but as you approached the massive unknown thing that had washed up overnight, you couldn't have prepared for what greeted the beam from your flashlight. Silver armor tangled within the heaviest netting you'd ever seen was all you could make out at first, but more careful observations revealed a fluke the size of a large tree trunk, atop which you found a massive metal torso with its limbs bound at the front. Your heart hammered as you approached despite your better judgment, some unspeakable instinct telling you that the being before you was in a great deal of pain. You realized you were beholding a real live Thalassicon the moment your light found his face and he opened a pair of brilliant red optics, their pale iris constricting then dilating as they focused on your eyes. Fear reflected between the both of you in equal measure.

When he returned to his prone position as if to surrender without a fight, you caught a wince of pain and a pink glow along his side, which brought your eyes and the flashlight beam to a massive harpoon jutting from behind his arm. Instinctive concern welled up within you, and the haggard breaths from his vents made you certain he was enduring a great deal of agony despite his calm appearance. No amount of common sense could compel you to leave anyone to so much suffering. Coming round to his head, you aimed the flashlight to the ground so as not to strain his optics.

"Do you... need help?" you asked uncertainly, not sure how to better phrase the question.

He looked back at you, making a sound like a strained scoff of disbelief. His voice rumbled like a heavy wave rolling over a rocky shore as he rested his helm against the stone. "Would it matter if I did?"

"I... think so? Because I can probably help you out a bit." you said, getting a bit more of a hold over yourself. It seemed likely that you could help him escape the net, but you were going to need him to work with you, and even if he'd given up you weren't about to just let him die. Loving the ocean extended to everything living within, and that included Thalassicons, as alien to the planet as they may have been. Reaching for the tiny toolkit you kept in your bag, you were surprised when the production of a small knife made the mech tense in alarm.

"Why are you here? Are more of you coming?" he asked with his full attention on the little blade. It wasn't enough to do more than cause him a minor bit of harm, but as he'd already endured plenty of that, he had no interest in letting blind trust cost him an optic. You seemed surprised and confused by the question, which ironically made him trust that you weren't planning any harm. Humans had never bothered to feign kindness for him anyway.

"There might be more people coming once the sun actually comes up, but I tend to be the only one up this early." you explained, trying to answer the question as best you could. The answer made him tilt his helm and raise a brow, compelling you to elaborate further. "Now's the best time to collect shells. The tide is going out, but no one else is up yet. Anyway, I just got this knife, let me see if it's sharp enough to cut you free."

"You're very trusting. Are you not afraid of my kind?" he asked before you could begin, giving you a bit of pause. The whole situation was odd, but you were quite perplexed as to why this very obviously struggling bot would try so hard to convince you not to help him. It only made you all the more determined to help, but it seemed you would need to convince him not only of your intentions, but to work with you to save himself.

"I've never actually met a Thalassicon before, but you all don't seem to start fights with humans most of the time." you said as you put the flashlight down and aimed it over where you'd be working. Dropping to your knees but keeping a final foot of space between you both, you held up your tiny knife and gestured to his tangled limbs, certain you could work at least one free with enough cutting. "If I help you get your arms free, can you pull yourself out of this net?"

Still burnt out on hope, Megatron didn't dare to believe he was really getting out of this situation, but decided he had nothing better to do than play along. Even if you were some kind of government agent playing a long game, it was more interesting to see what your plan was than to wait to bleed to death. Flexing his arms to test the net's resistance, he found them folded against his front but otherwise unharmed, and while he was incapable of reaching the harpoon he had no doubt he could untangle himself if even one limb was freed. "Possibly." he conceded, remaining limp so that you could work.

"Worth a try, then." you said with a bit of inflated confidence, still unable to believe what you had gotten yourself into. Biting your lip and committing to your desire to help, you grabbed a random section of net and began to cut. Straight away you found progress to be definite but slow, the sharp blade taking its sweet time to carve through the reinforced material even as you pushed the sharpened edge down with all of your strength. "Ugh, this might take a second, these are some seriously thick ropes."

"Take all the time you need, I'm certainly not going anywhere." he replied with a sarcastic flop of his fluke against the stones, emphasizing his lack of options. You'd have possibly found it funny were you not carving through the stubborn netting with all of your strength, jaw set tight and brows furrowed in deep concentration as you looked for possible shortcuts. It wasn't like you had all the time in the world to cut him loose. The sun would soon be peeking over the horizon, and when it did you had no doubt that other humans would be coming to the beach, some of whom you couldn't trust not to sound the alarm. Many members of your species looked on his with open fear and boundless hostility.

"Hold on, if I'm able to tear this one... ouch!" you hissed as the knife nicked your palm, compelling on you to suck at the little cut before getting back to work. Your lack of hesitation to push on surprised him even more than your initial offer of aid, and for the first time he dared to believe you might be genuine in your desire to help. He could already feel his arm gaining wiggle room with every sliced rope, the heavy weight around his limbs needing only a little bit more of a reduction before he was confident his strength would prove sufficient to break free. Sweat had begun to bead on your forehead when you gave a growl of frustration and sliced through two more holes to free his arm. "Just one second, I've almost got it... there! Can you help me work your arm out?"

"Yes, one moment." he said, barely hiding the anticipation he couldn't suppress. Still mostly immobilized, he tried to work his arm free with a shift of his shoulders, only to receive a lightning bolt of pain as the harpoon was jostled by the movement. Roaring in agony, he went limp save for a full body shudder of pain, fresh energon flowing down his side.

You jumped to help but pulled back when he hissed in instinctive fear, vents coming in hard and fast before the initial burst of pain began to fade and he calmed down. Looking around for potential witnesses with growing concern for the lack of time, you finally settled on the only thing you had resembling a plan, ignoring every bit of common sense you had saying it was a bad idea. "Would it help if that thing came out first?"

"It... it might. But I cannot reach it." he said weakly, once more feeling the urge to lie limp and allow fate to claim him. You'd proven an interesting diversion from his demise, but it was physically impossible for him to free himself. Between the restraint and the agony he felt when trying to move, there was nothing his great strength could do for him, and the steady flow of energon from his wound was taking even that away. Self repair couldn't initiate with the offending projectile still lodged under his armor.

"How deep is it? If it doesn't need too much of a pull, I can probably take it out." you offered, self preservation briefly taking a backseat to concern. It wasn't fair for anyone to suffer like this, and despite the danger you felt compelled to do whatever a squishy human body could to help. The Thalassicon stiffened at the suggestion, compelling you to drop to your knees and talk face to face to convince him you meant no harm. This wasn't something you could attempt without his full cooperation. "Do you trust me to do that?"

Megatron was silent as he eyed you up and down, looking for signs of the betrayal he'd been certain was coming but finding only earnest desperation in your face. It would be foolish to take you up on your offer considering his history with your kind, but with the harpoon scraping his insides during every ventilation, he was compelled once more to accept out of a lack of alternate options. All you could really do was help him, or end him that much quicker.

"I cannot leave while it's there, I suppose I have little choice." he muttered bitterly, distrust coloring every word to make it apparent this wasn't a choice he enjoyed. It wasn't an enthusiastic assent, but you took it regardless, stepping back to try and figure out how to best approach the problem when the mech spoke up with far more force. A piercing look from his bright red optics made you flinch with each harsh syllable. "Just be quick about it, and know I will take you with me if you get any ideas."

"Okay. Fair enough. I'll climb on up, just hang tight." you conceded quickly, hands up in a brief gesture of surrender to show you understood. One thrash of his massive tail could easily turn you to paste, so you were equally serious in your promise not to try anything unexpected. Fully aware of his optics watching your every move, you climbed up his shoulder by using the net as a makeshift climbing aid and his armor as handholds, following the trail of bleeding energon until you arrived at his back.

When you stood up to face the harpoon for inspection, you were shocked to find it jutting out as far as you were tall, the heavy metal gleaming even in the darkness as if it was smelted from something unnatural. Ignoring the chill the weapon created in your gut, you angled your phone light to try and get a better idea of how to proceed. The sight of the ragged wound torn into his armor made you flinch in sympathy, and even without medical experience you could tell it had been yanked about as the mech had struggled against his attempted captors. The painful site left you stumped until you realized the roughness of the wound would actually work in your favor. Struggling hadn't just moved the harpoon, it had pulled it most of the way out, far enough that you were confident in your ability to pull it the rest of the way.

"I'll try to remove it as fast as I can, I'm sorry if this hurts." you said as you grabbed the frigid piece of metal, hoping you sounded confident just for his sake. All of him stiffened beneath you, but he made no further movements, remaining silent as you secured your grip and set your feet.

"Okay. Here I go!" you announced as you sucked in a breath, clenching your shoulders before you pulled with all of your might. At first you felt nothing but his tremble of pain, which compelled you to square your jaw and lean backwards so your weight could assist, every ounce of your willpower pouring itself into the task at hand. After a few unproductive moments the harpoon slid an inch upwards, compelling you to double down until your knuckles paled and veins throbbed along your skin. The Thalassicon hissed when you felt something under the surface give way, and the weapon popped free of the wound in a single motion that sent you toppling backwards just as the mech arched his frame and roared in pain.

Soft sand met your back as you were thrown clear, the harpoon clattering over the stones as you sat up in a daze to find the mech tearing from the net and standing upright on his tail as he shredded the restraints with a growl and tossed the remains aside. The sudden show of motion was reassuring, but the sight of fresh energon running down his side made you fear you'd only made the situation much worse. "It's bleeding, did I make it worse?!"

Your words seemed to surprise him, almost as if he'd forgotten you were there in the rush, but he turned and gingerly probed the wound with much more freedom of movement than he'd had before. "No... It will clear itself and then my self repair will begin..." he explained, relaxing his mighty shoulders as the fact he'd be okay settled over you both. Now able to see the full extent of his size and strength, you felt even smaller as he dropped back down onto his front to speak to you, expression softening in relief and gratitude as he met your gaze. "Thank you. I would not have survived if that remained in my hide."

"Don't mention it." you replied breathlessly, surprising him once more as you made no attempt to request a reward for your services. Rather, you looked at him with concern, your eyes lingering on his injuries as you picked yourself up off the sand. "Are you... good to go? The beach will probably start to see its first visitors before long."

"I can see myself off. For your own sake, it is best you pretend we didn't meet." he answered quickly, pushing himself along the rocks until he came to the edge. For all of his desire to know more about the most peculiar human he'd ever met, it was better for both of you if he cleared out quickly. There was no telling what his attempted captors would do to those who aided him, and you didn't seem like the type to leave well enough alone even if your life was on the line. Knowing that didn't stop him from hesitating as he planned the best way to drop into the dark water below.

"Oh... okay." you said, unable to keep the disappointment from your voice. You'd come to the beach with the intention of finding some beautiful sea life, and while you'd succeeded, it was still hard to accept this one wouldn't be coming home with you. Unwilling to let him go straight away, you stalled with another glance at his injuries, hoping that even if you didn't see him again you would know he was safe out there. "Are you sure you're okay? That looks really bad."

"I have endured far worse, it will heal." he promised, already planning to seek out the deep sea supplies he knew would help him heal. Compared to what he'd suffered before at the hands of humans and bots alike, this was nothing now that he had the freedom to move and swim. The news made you smile, and his spark was so softened by your continued compassion he couldn't bear to leave without some show of gratitude. "Before I leave, allow me to introduce myself. You can call me Megatron."

"Nice to meet you, I'm Y/N." you replied eagerly, wishing the first tendrils of the sunrise shining over the ocean would give you just a few more minutes. Unable to think of all you wanted to say, you ignored the hurt in your heart to bid him farewell, putting your wishes into words so they might come true. "I hope I can see you again sometime, under better circumstances."

"Perhaps, if fate allows. It would not be in your best interest, however." he replied much more sagely, swinging his tail over the edge but holding on with his upper arms. In the moments before he descended further, the position allowed the two of you to come face to face once more, and it was his turn to smile fondly as you bid him farewell.

"I don't really mind. Safe travels, Megatron."

#transformers #maccadam #megatron #tf #tf imagines #human reader #self insert #megatron x reader #mermay #merformers #merformers x reader #transformers x reader #x reader #injury #earthspark #idw #mtmte #tfa #tfp

746 notes · View notes

eureka-its-zico · 7 months

Text

Violent Delights

Summary: On a trip with your father to Shanghai, your caravan is overrun. You are taken back to a compound of one of the most ruthless Mafia bosses in all of China: Enishi Yukishiro. Who was in need of a new plaything.

Pairing: Enishi Yukishiro x f!reader

Words: 3.3k

A/N: I apologize in advance for the filth. This is literally 99.9% smut and 1% filth. I blame @pauking5 for indulging me too much with wanting to write Enishi. But also the minute she told me she couldn't find too many reader insert fics for him my body felt COMPELLED to make this for her so....I hope you enjoy this filth I made you lol. I’m like sorry, but not? Because he doesn’t give me cute smiles and rainbow vibes. He gives me spit in my mouth and make me call you daddy vibes. I hope someone out there enjoys the filth. 🖤 Much love, Jenn

Warnings: This shit is dark besties. It’s dark. Mentions of kidnapping. Dubious consent. Mafia trope. Knife play. Harem. Mentions of violence. Fingering. Its Smut. It's Filth. Please do not read if you are not 18+ (If I miss anything please let me know).

The smell of sex was beginning to overpower the room. The sounds of her moans grew louder and out of control. It was the wet sound of him thrusting into her, his hands keeping her steady as his hips pistoned into her.

She was only growing louder with each thrust and you hated it. You wished she would shut up. That he would find a new toy to torment in the seclusion of the prison that was his bedroom. It’s been three whole days since he and his men had descended on your father's caravan. Three days of being housed inside this room and unable to leave it.

Like the previous nights before, he’d stationed you in different areas of the room. Areas that allowed you to perfectly see - to watch - as one of his concubines rode him. While he fucked them into an oblivion that left them dazed and unable to walk by the time he finished.

Tonight, Enishi forced you to sit at the edge of his bed while he’d chosen to fuck one of the many girls in the chair he sat in now. You could still remember when she first walked in the door - the way he’d laid her over the intricate table that sat in between the two chairs in the bedroom, lifting her skirts to expose her to the room. To you. The lewd noises that followed as he licked and sucked at her cunt caused her to practically howl his name as she came.

Enishi.

The nice one - you’d forgotten her name - explained the best she could through the language barrier that they were concubines.

You’d heard of tales from your father and mother when they’d come back from their grand adventures about women like this. Kingdoms where the kings got to have their wives and children and women just like her on the side. Women who did whatever was sexually asked of them and took whatever the man did because it was their duty. Deemed only for the pleasure they could bring and not conversation or substance.

Just their body. Just their cunt.

You could feel your cheeks burning as you focused on the edges of your dirty dress. You tried counting the frayed edges of one side that had torn when they’d ripped you from the carriage. The mud that had smeared on one side where you’d been dragged had completely dried and now began to flake. You ran your fingers over the dried dirt and watched it turn into sand with each rub of your finger.

It would’ve been a solid distraction if the sudden octave from the concubine hadn’t increased. If she didn’t shout in surprise that left you involuntarily turning to make sure she was alright.

Of course, she was alright. Enishi had simply changed positions. He’d moved her to be face down against the same round table from earlier, but now her hips were angled up to take each punishing thrust that he gave her. The sound of skin on skin filling the room back up at a punishing speed.

It wasn’t the sight really that made a heat wave start across your skin that threatened to burst from your chest from sheer embarrassment. It wasn’t the angle he had her in either.

Enishi was looking at you.

Dark brown eyes bore into you as he held the concubine's arms back behind her. His body pinned her to the edge of the table so she had nowhere to run. Just like you. He continued to watch you as she came; her walls squeezing him as she struggled to get away from him as he continued to fuck her.

You refused to look at him or acknowledge him at all. What you hated the most was that you already knew what he was planning to do.

The first time he’d done this was two days prior. The first day you’d been kidnapped and held at his compound. He’d fucked two girls that night and you’d been more than impressed at his stamina. You’d tried to look away from him. He was your father's killer, for Christ's sake, and yet…

He was all tight corded muscle and shamelessly walked around the room naked and exposed. The first time you’d seen his cock it had been slick and wet from recent sex with one of the girls. His cock was still hard and had an enticing vein that ran down its side, begging for you to look. Enishi had a good length but what replayed in your mind was how thick he was. Insanely thick is what you shamelessly remembered and you hated how your body reacted as you shamefully rubbed your legs together to get some form of friction.

The second day was when he’d noticed it. The way your legs moved under all that fabric of the skirts of your dress desperate for friction to ease the ache that had started at your core. With each snap of his hips and the cry of pleasure that came from one of the girls it sent you spiraling. You hated it. Felt betrayed by your own body.

After he’d finished and sent the girls back to their room he casually came over to the chair he’d forced you to sit in. The same one he’d been in tonight. You tried to ignore him as he came over in nothing but a robe with the front still leaving him exposed. Your mind was worried about so many different possibilities of what he might do to you, that you never expected him to grab you by the throat and force you back into the chair. His feet kick your legs wide apart.

Enishi controlled you easily. The way he applied just enough pressure to arch your back until you looked at the ceiling. His deep baritone resonated over your skin in his native tongue. You couldn’t tell what he was saying and had no way of knowing what it was. You just knew whatever he said as he lifted your skirts, was filthy.

His knees kept your legs open enough that his free hand made its way through your undergarments to touch your wet cunt. You could still remember the devilish smirk that stretched across his lips as he continued to speak to you.

Was he calling you a good girl or something or worse maybe? He could’ve been calling you his little slut for all you knew or even hinting that you liked it; like watching him devour the women he brought to his bed. Something nowhere near endearing and more centered around stripping you of every last ounce of what dignity you had left. You struggled to fight against him. To break free and do…what?

Even if you somehow magically removed his hand from your throat and got away you had nowhere to go. Just outside the door of his bedroom were an endless number of guards. They would easily stop you and bring you back.

Those same nimble fingers that touched at the edge of your cunt now moved between your folds. A soft whimper left your throat that you wish you would have swallowed back down. The pads of calloused fingers grazing your swollen clit wasn’t enough friction for release, but it was enough to bring your desire flaring up.

Enishi pulled his hand back from you to find it covered in your juices. You watched as he played with it, his fingers scissoring to make a slow string appear. It was lewd. Vile. Yet you couldn’t tear your eyes away. Your heart now thundering for another reason as you watched him take your body’s betrayal between his lips and suck his fingers clean.

Like clockwork, you heard him pull out. The lack of sound of skin on skin made the room achingly quiet. His words were sharp, demanding, and harsh as he took her by the head and pushed her towards his cock. His hand fisted it as he pulled long hard jerks leaving strings of come to lace over her waiting tongue - with his eyes glued to you.

You fought not to shiver or let your hands curl in your lap as your heart hammered in your chest.

Steady breathing. Deep…steady…breaths…

You faintly heard him dismiss her. Your eyes catch her hurrying back into her kimono and tying it sloppily. However, the look Enishi was giving her was enough to inform her plainly her usefulness was over.

You’d seen what he could do that day he tore your world apart. The finesse he carried shattering bones and the ease of snuffing out life. You’d seen it in the way he handled some of the women he brought to his bed. All it took was one wrong move - word - and their moans turned to sharp whimpers before they were dismissed.

There wasn’t any denying that Enishi was a man possessed by the devil and full of rage. He was terrifying, but also…

The sound of the door slamming shut behind the concubine brought you back to the room. Your heart was beginning to race as you realized you’d zoned out, leaving yourself unprepared for whatever was about to happen. A majority of the time he left you alone. He’d stare at you or move around you like you weren’t even in his room, except yesterday was different.

Today felt different.

Enishi wasn’t anywhere near you, however, and you felt yourself breathe easier. Maybe you would get lucky and he would go back to treating you like a nuisance trapped inside his room. A nuisance he created.

He was standing next to his desk and it only took a flick of your eyes to know he wasn’t dressed. He was still naked. It only meant one thing. Suddenly, you were confident to try and run away from this room - from him. The alarm in your head only grew louder as he poured himself a drink from the whiskey canter and set it back on the desk.

He’d started talking and you weren’t sure if it was at you or to you. It was growing increasingly difficult to not grow more frustrated at the language barrier between you. The only good thing was spitting and the middle finger was a universal “fuck you” from the universe.

You dared to spare a look up from where you sat on his bed. It was then you saw the wakizashi in his hand. The sheath missing and the blade glinted angrily in the light. Your mouth was suddenly dry, and you couldn’t stop yourself from trying to retreat. Your hands flew back on the soft sheets to try and pull you away; desperate to get some space.

In one swift motion, Enishi tipped what was left in his glass into his mouth and launched it against the wall. The glass shattered immediately on impact and sent sharp fragments flying across the room with one scratching across your face. You screamed as you felt the sting of the air as it entered the fresh cut. You were concerned about whether you would crawl back into the glass when a hand wrapped around your bare ankle and tugged.

A fresh scream rose in your throat and just as you were about to release it, the wakizashi was pressed tightly against your throat. It was close enough that if you swallowed too hard you might just get cut. Enishi pulled you back down to the bed with your legs spread to make room for him. The duvet that had bunched at the end from your struggle was the only thing that saved you from feeling his cock pressed against you.

Enishi waited until he had your ass barely on the edge of the bed, the rest hanging off and controlled by his waist. This was the closest you’d ever been to him. Your eyes hungrily took in the sight of the muscles in his stomach and the definition in his chest. The veins in his arms that shamelessly matched the veins in his cock.

Enishi was raw power and if it wasn’t for the fact he had the wakizashi to your throat maybe you would’ve appreciated him more. What were you even thinking? This was the man who’d set your whole world on fire. Kidnapped you and left you a prisoner in a foreign land and at his mercy.

A fire of rage lit up inside you and you no longer cared about being complacent. Safe. You wanted to tear him apart. Enishi noticed the change because a wry smile of a challenge lit up his face and when you went to move away from him, your hands clawing at his chest, he easily grabbed your arms and pressed them down. He did the same with the blade of the wakizashi and you felt the first warm trickles of blood slide down the side of your throat.

He leaned forward until your faces were almost touching. His eyes peeked out from the blades of his air like a tiger in the grass. The richness of his voice smoked across your skin. All words you couldn’t understand, but the body language you could.

He would kill you if you did it again. You were kept alive on the whim of entertainment for him. You wanted to spit at him. Tell him to fuck off just to see if he would do it. Death had to be better than this.

The train of reasoning and fury came to an end when you felt the first traces of his fingers at your entrance. Panic flooded you while you realized he’d worked the skirts of your dress up leaving you exposed to the room - to him.

“No.”

It came out rushed and through your nose. You tried to pull your arms free from under the forearm that held them, blade at your throat be damned, but Enishi was a mountain of strength and you had none left. You were still wet and you hated the way it made you seem wanton.

Enishi mumbled one last thing before you felt two fingers push their way inside you. The reaction he received was instant. A moan sharp and wild burst from your mouth and enveloped the room. The sound was all the permission Enishi needed to start thrusting his fingers in and out of your cunt.

You wanted to tell him to stop - to tell yourself that you didn’t want this as Enishi buried his fingers knuckle deep over and over. His fingers curved upwards deliciously and you found your back arching against the sheets. A fresh sting from the blade carving across your skin as one hand grabs at his forearm and the other bunch in the sheets.

God, you hated the way you were coming undone for him. The way your cunt tightened hungrily around his fingers to pull him in deeper in hopes of feeling fuller. The only way that would happen would be to feel the delicious stretch only his cock could provide. You wouldn’t go there. Wouldn’t allow this monster anymore of your body.

With the hand on his forearm, you tried to make him stop and only succeeded in feeling the muscles work below the skin with each thrust from his wrist.

Slowly, he removed the wakizashi from your neck and drew the blade across your collarbone. Even lower it continued until you heard the sound of fabric ripping as it was sliced open. Enishi timed each shred into the fabric with each pump from his wrist. When he finished the whole front of your dress - the last of the life you’d owned - was bared open exposing your breasts to him.

One minute the blade was there then gone and replaced with the rough pads of his hand as they groped each breast. His fingers took the raised buds between calloused fingers that gently pinched.

Your body reacted to every touch of his hand on your skin and the demands it placed on it. Your hips were now moving in a desperate rhythm to meet his fingers. Your hand still locked on his forearm while the sheet was fisted in your hands. The duvet cradling around your head and practically smothering you as a throaty moan of, “Fuck,” came from you. You tried to smother it inside the duvet, refusing to let him hear just how good you felt with his fingers knuckle deep inside you.

You pulled the duvet closer with your head turning to greet the soft fabric when it was ripped painfully out of your hand. The hand that had been at your breasts now was at your face squeezing it hard and forcing you to look at him.

Enishi growled something - you could only assume it dealt with ownership. Whatever sounds you made belong to him and for him alone because as he spoke his thumb pressed down against your clit and rubbed in circles as the pace between your thighs grew brutal. The stimulation tore a moan from you instantly and you tried to pull your face away but Enishi held tight forcing you to fall apart as he watched.

With the dual stimulation, it didn’t take long for your orgasm to build. Your walls fluttered around his fingers as your breathing became labored.

Again, he spoke to you. His voice caresses along your skin like an extension of his hands. His thumb flicked up on your clit and he released his hold on your face allowing it to fall back on the pillows. This time you didn’t try and cover all the sounds he fucked out of you with his fingers.

Just as your orgasm was about to crest Enishi brought his mouth down against his breast and bit down. His teeth tearing into the soft flesh turning your panting moans into a scream. Suddenly, your orgasm hit you with a violent intensity. The feeling of you gushing all over his hand - his bed - made your body feel euphoric as your orgasm rolled through you but the violence of his teeth imprinting against the tender flesh of your breast edged it towards pain.

You knew he was marking you on purpose. One part because he could and the other because you were property - his property.

When the aftershocks of your orgasm began to fade you were greeted with pain. Enishi pulled his mouth away from your breast and a wicked smile beamed down to greet you- a tint of your blood staining his lips. Again he spoke to you and again you wished you knew either the Japanese he spoke or the Cantonese he used whenever he spoke to most of the men who entered his office. You wish you could tell him how much you hated him and that he could claim you like this as many times as he wanted, but that hatred would never dull or fade.

He must have seen it on your face because that smile spread into laughter as he pulled away from you. He was still completely nude and uncaring as he grabbed a towel and tossed it in your direction. Enishi gave you one last look before his bare feet padded towards the bathroom.

You’d been dismissed. Just another toy he proved to himself he could have in the many at his disposal. You tried to remain calm as you sat up at the edge of the bed. Your hands shook uncontrollably as you took the towel he’d tossed and began to clean up what you could.

The front of your dress was completely ruined. You weren’t even able to fold it over you. Fresh tears sprang to your eyes as you realized you had nothing left and maybe that was how Enishi wanted it. No family to come looking for you. Lost in a foreign land and kidnapped by the head of a criminal organization. He would take what he wanted because you weren’t strong enough to fight him or deny him. And maybe Enishi’s goal all along was to make the only person you could depend on be him.

_________

As always, thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are always appreciated.

_________

#Violent Delights #enishi yukishiro #enishi yukishiro x reader #enishi yukishiro x you #enishi x reader #enishi x you #rurouni kenshin #mackenyu #enishi yukishiro smut #enishi yukishiro fanfiction #dubious consent #smut smut smut #99% smut and 1% filth

214 notes · View notes

ladyluscinia · 6 months

Text

My hottest take from trying to delve into David Jenkins's interviews and piece together where he's going with this is that - for all he and everyone else are consistent about describing this show as a romance and a romcom (and The Muppets) - I don't think he finds the romance compelling??? At least, not the healthy endgame version.

Like, the one interview where he dropped that he was planning an unrequited romance in all those pitches of his until they shot the bathtub scene in 1x06...? Wild twist, but also it kind of makes sense.

Look at the comparisons he makes. Titanic (where Jack dies). Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (where both leads die). Shows like Insecure and Grey's Anatomy, where relationships get messy breakups constantly. He's excited about fanvids set to Olivia Rodrigo's "Favorite Crime". Writes an episode based on Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, a 1966 film of a play that attacks the concept of happy marriages. He mentions A Star Is Born repeatedly in reference to S2, a movie where the disaster marriage ends in suicide and heartbreak.

And even broad spectrum - he repeatedly explains that he's not compelled by pirate stories. Accuses the genre of being "creaky" and "hard to budge", and then claims to want to subvert it in one interview and shrugs about how "it's a pirate story" as reasoning in others. But the part he seems interested in...? Well it's the oncoming end of the Golden Age aspect, and also maybe the short and violent life of organized crime. He's drawing comparisons to mob movies and Westerns - two things I think we can say trend toward the bittersweet to tragic scale with endings. His examples certainly do.

I'm no longer surprised he was really compelled by the Edward and Izzy toxic divorce in S1 and the idea of doing an arc about "Can Izzy find himself outside of this toxic relationship?" only to answer "No." It seems right in his wheelhouse, tbh. Definitely enough that if he felt like Izzy ought to die due to vibes, I doubt he was looking too hard for an alternative.

For all his talk about "Can BlackBonnet put the work into this relationship?" I'm really getting the impression he thinks the more compelling answer is also "No." He likes the idea of a happy ending maybe, but he doesn't really seem into that as a story.

Now, he does seem to have gotten a crash course in "Maybe don't bury your gays?" and he's not lying about wanting to avoid the specific kinds of coming out and queer trauma stories - those are different kinds of tragedies - but I am... skeptical, perhaps, that the forced happy ending feeling of S2 will do anything but repeat in S3.

Just because, like, if I was scrolling these takes on a fic author's blog, I'd put majority odds on the main couple hanging in the final chapter, and I bet a happy sunset ending would come kinda out of nowhere...

Not really a recipe for satisfying, you know?

#it does still leave me irritated though #like there's playing around with genre expectations and then there's just straight up misleading marketing and tone #and idk how i would word it but this feels like the latter. or forcing a story into a different mold and pretending there's no issue #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd critical #david jenkins #ofmd meta #ladyluscinia #genre

186 notes · View notes

soraviie · 1 year

Text

tugging at his hair.txt

━ type: bts x gn! reader ━ navigation

━ about: angst, fluff, (themes of) smut, the holy trifecta ━ pictures taken from Pinterest

━ a/n: may or may not have seen Yoongi's insta pic...may or may not be feeling very normal about it

━ previously posted on soraviii

NAMJOON: Atypically, your boyfriend was actually quite the whiny guy. Friday evening, time - 20:30. Thanks to some uncanny miracle, Namjoon was free this night and you’d been eager to soak up each other’s company. You sat largely silent, tucked into his side and openly staring, merely breathing an infrequent “yeah” and “no way” so he wouldn’t suspect you were not listening. Though you were not listening, catching the jumping cadence of his offended voice only with the tip of your ears. Far too engrossed in admiring the glowing shade of his skin and furiously working cheeks, you felt your mind slip. Never before have you thought that someone resting on the couch, passively aggressively minding on chips could make your heart bleed with love. But everything about Namjoon was soft and comfortable.

Unwittingly, you zeroed in on the tuft of his hair, poking out from underneath his hoodie. Without fully registering, you trailed your fingers down the hood, pulling it down and proceeded to tug at the back of his hair. Namjoon’s cheeks froze and with mouth full, he glanced at your side.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t know,” you shrugged. “You’re compelling like that.”

He returned back to the chips, completely unperturbed by the looks of it.

“You need to condition them more,” noting absent-mindedly, you played with whatever strand called your fancy. He rolled his eyes, pinching your bare thigh.

“Ow!

“You should be whispering sweet nothings in my ear,” he grumbled. “Confess how much you adore me, how hot I am.”

“Right,” you agreed, leaning into his expectant expression. “Your hair is also greasy as fuck. You should shower more.”

Violently, he hurled you into the decorative pillows scrunched from your combined weight, frowning at the easy laughter bubbling from your throat.

“I’m dating a bully,” he muttered bitterly, yet when you nosed at his neck, he craned it with no small amount of enthusiasm, playing with the hem of your shirt.

“Sure are,” you purred. “Can I play with your greasy hair more? Pretty please?” His eyes lingered, firmly set on the playing movie, but you reckoned his neck did grow increasingly warmer.

“You’ll do it no matter what I say.”

“‘Cause you’ve never said “no” to me.”

At that, he heaved a tormented sigh.

“True. I’m but a lowly servant of love.”

You chuckled, pushing the black hair away from his forehead, messing it up. After a moment, with a barely concealed grin, he offered:

“Maybe now I can card through your leg hair.”

“Not funny,” you glared at him but Namjoon merely sniggered further on.

“A little funny.”

YOONGI: Your hand was practically aching as it laid listlessly by your side, partially sinking into the plush sofa of his studio. Fully drowned in work, he sat by the monitor, one hand coming to rest by his lips, the other - tinkering with the beat. And his hair - the hair - curled around him like a ring of halo. He drew a heavy sigh, reaching up to muss the chief objects of unease further. Yet you couldn’t just follow the delirious caprice. Yoongi was a guarded man, he liked his personal space and, despite how much you longed for it, you couldn’t just tug at his long hair. The relationship was still fresh and had to be trodden like a melting glacier - nice and easy. Crossing the itching arms over your stomach, you huffed in discontent.

“What?” he suddenly hummed, and you recoiled, assuming he was blissfully ignorant of your lingering stare.

“Nothing,” you replied, but his chair turned, a pair of disbelieving eyes falling your way.

“Just say it.”

“I want to tug at your hair,” the sentence practically rushed out as though your body was actively disregarding your own orders.

“Why don’t you just do it?”

You nibbled with your fingers suddenly feeling rather foolish.

“I want to be respectful,” you muttered underneath the nose, and a second later, you grasped what sound Yoongi was making. Laughing.

He was laughing at you.

Resting his forehead against the desk, you saw his shoulders wag in muffled glee.

“You know,” he faced you, eyes twinkling in amusement. “Most couples grope each other the first chance they get.”

“Oh, shut it,” groaning, you sank into the sofa, only for all objections to wither into the ether once Yoongi lowered his head with a soft “come ‘ere”.

Cautiously, fearing the dream could shatter at the moment’s passing, you made your way to where he sat and with bated breath curled your palm around his fluffy curls, giving them a tender yet generous pull. Something akin to instant relief flooded your system, making the tips of your fingers tingle.

“Enjoying yourself?” Yoongi wondered, the curve of his smile suggesting he was barely holding himself back from teasing you into oblivion. You tugged at his hair once more, this time harder, and a prolonged moan left his lips, startling you both.

“Not as much as you, it seems,” you smirked down at him, enjoying how his eyes flitted away from you, self-conscious red dusting his cheeks.

“Just go for it next time,” he grumbled shyly, making no move to pull away. “Before you give yourself an IBS.”

JIN: He knew what you wanted by the frankly terrifying gleam hidden behind your eye. There was something entirely transfixed passing your expression as you stared at his head with steely determination. Ordinarily, Jin was content with your inexplicable obsession. Rather this than pulling at his cheeks, he reckoned, however, now…

“I won’t pry ________ off of me,” he whined, gazing into a mirror. Even to his completely normal and unscrambled brain, the permed curls resting atop his forehead seemed inviting. Fluffy. Moussed. Reasonably asking to be tugged.

“Oh, what a torture,” Namjoon dragged aridly, perched in the corner, not unlike a sullen owl. “You have someone to go home to who loves to play with your hair. Poor you.”

Graciously ignoring the seeping sarcasm, JIn breathed a tormented sigh.

“I know right.”

Namjoon merely rolled his eyes, returning back to his quiet moping.

When Jin crossed the threshold, he found you immersed in laundry, folding it and turning to greet him home like always.

“Hello!” you exclaimed cheerfully. “How was your da-”

Frightfully, he swallowed. Your expression grew distant and in spite of his jerky movements, your attention never wavered from the top of his head.

“May I eat at least?” he mewled weakly and you nodded just not before actually thinking about it.

After eating in peace, the last one he’d get for the evening, Jin slowly trodded to the bedroom, shoulders hung low in premature defeat. On the other side of the door, you were waiting for him already, blinking expectantly from underneath the covers. After a prolonged groan, he obliged your whims and settled his head on your lap. To get it over with.

Instantly, your fingers delved deep into his curls, tugging and twirling them to your heart’s strange desire.

“How cute,” you gushed. “So fluffy!”

Jin closed his eyes, trying to suppress the blossoming smile. Perhaps, he didn’t entirely hate being coddled in such a fashion but you didn’t need to know that. Unbeknownst, to him, you were more than aware as, in spite of his efforts to mask the pleased grimace, he failed to conceal the ears burning bright red.

HOSEOK: “Sorry,” he said, squirming and glancing to the side. “But no.”

Well, no was no and you just had to learn how to live with it. Every time your hand subconsciously reached to grasp a strand of his hair between your fingers, not really meaning anything good or bad, just doing so out of instinct, you reigned it back, forcing the treasonous hand to ultimately fall unused. It may or may not have taken you a whole year to timidly wonder aloud:

“Why don’t you like for me to touch your hair?”

Hoseok was practically asleep - his voice came crackling from the other side of the bed.

“It’s nothing personal,” he sighed, cracking one eye open, glancing at your demure expression through the dark. “It’s just…” then he fell silent. Only after a pregnant pause, one long enough for you to assume he’d succumbed to sleep, he casually brushed it off:

“It’s just a preference.”

He rolled on the side and the conversation ended there.

“Hey, ______________!” Jimin greeted you brightly the second you took a step inside the partially hidden makeup studio. Being nearly four in the morning, filming’s end, sparsely anyone was present and even those few people didn’t bother acknowledging you through the haze of insomnia.

“What are you doing here?”

He smirked, all cheek as always.

“Could ask the same for you. It’s really late.”

You shrugged, enjoying the distraction of easy chatter.

“Couldn’t sleep. Supposed Hoseok would appreciate some company home.”

“Ah, dear ______________,” Jimin snaked a hand around your shoulder. “Geniuses think alike.”

“Oh no,” you laughed, scurrying away from his treacherous hold. “Don’t try to seduce me into being your fangirl. It won’t happen.”

What was with Jimin and his tenacious will to make himself your bias you did not know and you never quite asked either, although it provided plenty of icebreakers across the slew of accidental meetings.

“Shame,” he drawled. “Maybe better though. Hoseok would kill me.”

To properly lament the wretched situation, Jimin sighed and reached to rake a hand through his hair. Hair that had been growing out and now sat shining with silver highlights. Unwittingly, your hand jolted by the side of your thigh.

“You want to touch?” he offered, sporting a grin too devious for your peace of mind. You probably shouldn’t but what’s the big deal…It’s just hair…

Doors to the room sprang open with a great bang and you crossed gazes with Hoseok, instantly swallowing in guilt. With expression previously lax, now growing cloudy, he flitted between you and Jimin.

“What’s going on?” with narrowed glare, he questioned, voice falling in a carefully curated tone which was, of course, far more menacing.

“Just waiting for you superstar,” Jimin laughed thinly only to wither when placed underneath Hoseok’s chilling frown. “On second thought, I’ll get home on my lonesome. Goodbye!”

And without giving anyone the time to even blink, Jimin had already disappeared into thin air. No, he was definitely not winning any favours from you.

The drive back home was spent in fraught silence, with Hoseok’s hands gripping the wheel so tight, every now and then it heaved a maltreated scream. Any minute soon the wrath bubbling underneath his skin would surge like pressurised water out of a geyser. However, Hoseok wasn’t a jealous person, even less when it came to the members. Both were trusted explicitly. Was it stress perhaps?

Finally, he crumbled.

“What is it with you and hair?” he sneered sharply. Straight away you bristled at the unspoken accusation.

“Nothing. Better yet what’s with you? I can’t even talk to Jimin now?”

“You went to him with the one thing, I couldn’t give you,” he countered as the car surged with tension.

“I did not go to him!” you squalled in frustration. “Are you even hearing yourself?!”

“It’s our thing!”

“No, it’s mine! You hate -!”

“It’s because of my ex, okay?!”

An awkward silence settled in the space between you. Red light pooled through the windshield.

“She liked to play with my hair,” he explained, anger abating as it was quickly seized by contrite embarrassment. “And I was afraid that if you’d do it, I would unwillingly think of her. You deserve better than that.”

You bit your lip to stop the growing smile, simply breathing: “I see.” Then -

“However, how would I know what you’re thinking?”

He stared ahead, lips thinning identical to yours.

“Probably wouldn’t,” he sighed. “But I’d feel at blame.”

You hummed and gazed outside the window, still battling the blossoming smile, though it was nothing compared to the warmth churning within your chest. A hand reached for yours and Hoseok guided your fingers towards his hair. It was finer than you realized but nice. It was Hoseok after all.

“Are you thinking of her?” you gently pondered.

“Not at all,” he whispered in a breathy voice, eyes briefly falling shut. “You’re the only one for me.”

JIMIN: Instead of happiness, his lips pursed into a thin line, gaze becoming evasive.

“Thank you, but I’m too tired.”

“I’ll help you.”

“I…I’m not in the mood for sex either.”

“It’s not that,” you sighed forlornly, literally feeling him slip through the cracks of your fingers. “Just…get in, and I’ll take care of you,” in a smaller voice, you added. “Like you do of me.”

Standing in the cracked gap of the bathroom door, he contemplated for a second, before breathing a heavy exhale, one expressing the entire weight of the world. Water sloshed as he got in the bath you drew up, and the window soon was covered by a thick layer of condensation, the deep black night growing matted behind it.

“You don’t have to do this,” he tossed over the bare shoulder, but you brushed his concerns away.

“I want to.”

“If it's because what I said -”

“It’s not.”

“- then I was out of line.”

“You were not.”

“I take it back.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“But -”

Every time he spoke, his head turned to steal a glimpse of you, perhaps entirely on instinct, the water doused you with a heavy wave, drenching the floor and dumping the rose petals out with it. You grasped his head between your palms, keeping him still at least long enough to apologize sans the pain of his scrutinising gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you confessed, letting your forehead rest on the back of his neck. “I won’t ever let you feel like taken for granted.”

He sat unmoving for a long time and you gasped shakily, trying to swallow the budding tears. Well, obviously you would self-sabotage the only good thing in your life. Only naturally at this point in life...

…but this was Jimin and it didn’t matter whether you tucked yourself away in a locked room or an ocean away, he’d extend you the same kindness you were so eager to return. Pulling your arms around his neck, he smiled, laying a tender kiss upon your trembling knuckles.

“Nothing to forgive,” he muttered. “We were never in the wrong.”

You choked back a sob. Nonetheless, the night was still about him.

“Right,” you sobered up, pushing him lower in the water. “Just try to relax.”

“Are you planning to kill me?” he teased tiredly. “Besides, it’s a bit difficult given that my cock is just…out here,” he gestured vaguely at his lower part and you chuckled thinly.

“Nothing new to me. This is just…romantic.”

“Well, you certainly know the befitting aesthetic,” pointedly, he peered across the dozens of scent-free candles littered over every available surface of the bathroom and the pink petals now displayed haphazardly between the bath and the grey mat beside it.

Pressing a handful of shampoo in his hair, you hissed with mock annoyance: “oh, zip it.”

You kept working in now pleasant silence. Peace was in the house, at least it was until…

His groan was near explicit and watching Jimin throw his head back, nuzzling deeper into your hands, you knew you’d never forget the sight. It didn’t even seem like he’d registered it and soon enough the curiosity overwhelmed you. You rinsed his hair and then scratched lightly across the scalp. Another moan, even longer and somehow so filthy you could swear your entire body flushed.

“So…” he chuckled, strangely nervous. “Did I just give you a quick way to control my entire nervous system?”

You laid a kiss on his nape and the water rippled from his shudder.

“Sure did.”

The moons now adorning his spine were entirely at fault here or so you insisted, tugging his styled hair between your fingers, occasionally scratching just to see the struggle to keep his eyes open.

“The stylist is going to kill you,” he warned breathily but Jimin was never more grateful for losing his composure, that day in the bath than he was at this moment. Like grime washed away by a wet towel, your presence eased his worry into the void, while your fingers twirling his hair kept him there. How strange that such a small thing could do so much but then again if it did not, then would Jimin have bought a ring that now laid in his jacket pocket, heavy and searing like the infinite weight of Cosmos.

“Worth it,” you hummed. He couldn’t agree more.

TAEHYUNG: Frankly, the question of your enjoyment never made it into the equation as before you could even wonder of the idea, Taehyung had shamelessly thrust his head into your lap.

“I don’t wanna,” you whined by now not needing a verbal order to know what he craved.

“Too bad,” retorting without so much as an ounce of empathy, he grasped your fingers, bringing them down upon his head. Five minutes later he was snoring on your legs and no amount of force could rouse him, divine or otherwise. It was a language of his, one he talked exclusively with you.

Trees breezed past the rolling car and sitting still, you watched them blur into wide, rushing lines. At first innocent, his palm intertwined with yours, gaze locked on the road ahead. You hummed. He liked to hold hands, and so did you, only for yours to suddenly be submerged within his dark curls.

“Seriously?!” you yelped, and he chuckled with no small amount of glee.

The door smacked behind, or it would have if Taehyung had not been hot on your heels the entire way home.

“I’m sorry,” Taehyung mumbled, by now so many times it didn’t remotely even sound like a proper sentence.

“Not accepted,” you sneered, yanking off the jacket, maybe tearing a button or two in the process. “You embarrassed me! And for what?! Some childish caveman display of jealousy?”

The rest of the insult is expressed through a hardened scowl. As you jostled, enraged and unthinking, to peel off the stifling layers, Taehyung enclosed you into a hug, towering above you, his head lowered into the crook of your neck.

“Please, don’t be mad at me,” pitifully he muttered, a warm breath ghosting over your collarbone. “Take it out on me but promise you won’t be mad afterwards.”

Without even quite thinking, you wrenched out of his grasp and seized his hair, yanking it harshly towards you. At the back of your mind, panic took root - were you hurting him? Was this not wrong? But Taehyung grew positively limp, pliant, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously as his widened eyes tracked your every movement.

“I’m really angry,” you whispered with a frown.

“I’m sorry,” uselessly, he whimpered when you grasped at his locks. “It’s just…”

All you have to do is tug again for a high-pitched squeal to rip from the depths of his chest. “Don’t want to lose you.”

Something in the near incoherent way he breathed it, made your heart soften.

“Why are you crying?” you asked quietly, wiping the stray tear off his cheek.

Early morning hued the sky pink as you lay beside each other, relishing in the muted stillness of the room.

“Don’t know,” Taehyung sniffled. “Felt like it.”

You reached to brush his hair and soon enough he was slumbering again - all tears faded into the dawning cold.

JUNGKOOK: Frankly, you didn’t grasp why in situations such as these the other partner always offered sex. You were far more willing to simply lug this nightstand at Jungkook’s head. Without knocking you cracked open the doors to his gaming room, discerning the explosive sounds of combat swirling around the room.

“Jungkook, you promised!” you complained and he held out a hand, gaze locked on the game.

“I’ll be there soon, babe,” he lied in between strangled curses. “Just one more round.”

He’d muttered that already two fruitless hours ago.

“No, now!” you threatened, coming to stand by his chair, watching the battle unfold, thoroughly unimpressed by it. He offered some incoherent noise that lacked any meaning, and in a flash of swirling annoyance, you yanked at his hair, forcing his eyes to land upside down upon your face.

“Now.”

Most people would hastily become upset at such a gesture but the little masochist grinned from cheek to cheek, expression gaining a certain twinkle. You groaned at his satisfaction. Couldn’t even playfully torment him. The brat enjoyed it.

“Okay, folks,” he spoke into the headset, with your hand still firmly latched in his shaggy hair. “It’s been a pleasure, but I’ve got to go.”

Someone hollered in the chat but it went entirely unheard. Pushing the chair away from the desk, he reached to pull your other arm to rest on top of his thundering heart.

“What’s up, babe?”

For someone who was jerked by the roots of his hair, Jungkook appeared entirely too delighted.

“I need you -”

“Oh, you need me?”

“To hammer in the nails to the nightstand. Brat,” saying so, your grip on his hair grew harsher. All that came of it was Jungkook’s raspy laughter, eyes briefly fluttering shut and lips carving a sharp line in his dimpled cheeks.

“Couldn’t you just do it yourself?”

“Well if injury is to happen, I’d prefer it is you, not me.”

“Liar,” he smirked. “You cried when I tripped.”

Traitorous heat snuck its way onto your cheeks.

“I thought your leg broke,” you muttered before nudging him outside. “Now get to working.”

“Yes, my liege,” he curtsied, proceeding then to wring his tattooed hands around your waist, making you hobble like some sort of overtly humped creature. His nose quickly delved into its reserved spot in the crook of your neck.

“Always smell so good,” hazily, Jungkook muttered and you shook your head at his antics.

“You’re so weird.”

“Says the one who's constantly trying to dom me by hair pulling.”

“It’s not a dom thing!”

“Sure, baby,” he rasped, planting a wet kiss against your neck. “Whatever you say. Just remember you now owe me three hair pulls in return.”

571 notes · View notes