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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 6 months

Text

Hallowed

Pairing: Michael Gavey (Saltburn) x f!reader Warnings: Toxic relationship dynamics, face sitting, smut. Word count: ~1.3k

Summary: Her Early Medieval Literature essay is due, and Michael has his own cruel way of ensuring she stays focused.

Author's note: Can be read as part two of this fic, but also works as a standalone. Day six of the Smuffmas prompts - "future and face sitting". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

She lounges on Michael’s bed, clad in only knickers and one of his t-shirts, a copy of the Canterbury Tales grasped lightly between her fingers. Her eyes move over the words of Chaucer, but take none of them in, how could they? His long fingers draw lazy circles on her ankle, her legs stretched out up to the pillows where he reclines, the duvet wrapped around his bare midriff while he reads from a textbook called the Book of Proof.

Life feels simpler since Michael has entered it, despite the turbulent beginnings. She has given up her friends, under his advice, and there is now far less pressure to conform. Her only focuses are her studies and pleasing him, the latter of the two she takes great pleasure in.

It is always on his terms; when they see each other, what they do, how they do it, and despite his obvious initial inexperience he is a fast learner. His ability to make her fall apart, to make her relinquish all control is something he does expertly. The slight fear she feels towards him only adds to the excitement; he could destroy her if he wanted to, but if she plays nicely then he won’t, and she is more than happy to play nicely when the rewards for doing so are as satisfying as they are.

She sighs, his fingers upon her flesh making her core throb with want, even from the simple gesture of absentmindedly touching her leg. She lets her book slip from her fingers, raising up on her elbow to look at him.

“Michael…” she whines.

He looks at her impassively, adjusting his glasses. “The first of your three essays is due soon, isn’t it?”

“Mmm,” she responds with a roll of her eyes, flopping back down and stretching her arms above her head. “Early Medieval Literature.”

His hand moves from her ankle, fingertips ghosting over the exposed skin between the hem of his t-shirt and the waistband of her underwear. “And what have you written?”

She shivers beneath his touch, squirming slightly. “Am I really here to study?”

“I’ve no interest in sleeping with a failing literature student,” he pulls his hand away and she immediately misses his warmth. “So tell me.”

She groans in frustration. “Oh, I don’t know. Probably something about irony in the Merchant’s Tale.”

His textbook thuds closed and she hears the heavy sound of him dropping it onto the bedside table. When she chances to glance up at him she sees he is sitting straighter in the bed, his gaze hardened as he looks at her. “Probably?! You mean you haven’t started it? Have you even thought about your thesis statement, your in-depth analysis or how you’re going to conclude your ideas, if you’ve even had any?”

“Oh, come on,” she says softly, sitting up and reaching for him. “There’s still time. Can’t we just–”

“No,” he cuts her off. “I’ve been spoiling you, and it’s made you stupid.”

“I’m not stupid!” She protests. “If I remember correctly, it was you who called my degree a ‘glorified book club’.”

“You still need to try,” he tells her, frowning.

“You don’t try,” she argues with a shrug,” and marks in your first year don’t count towards the final degree.”

“I don’t have to try, but I still get firsts in everything. Marks this year may not count towards the final degree you get, but they count towards you keeping your scholarship. Think about your future instead of being a fucking brat for once in your life.”

His words are a sharp sting to her already fragile ego, and she lowers her gaze, fighting the sudden urge to cry.

“I’m not touching you again until your essay’s handed in and I’ve seen what your mark is.”

Her head snaps up, eyes wide with disbelief as she looks at him, searching his features for any indication that he’s being unserious. She finds none; he really means it.

“And you’re not to touch yourself. I’ll know.”

The next two weeks are torturous for her. On the occasions that Michael does invite her to his room, there is no more casual half dressed lounging on his bed. Instead, he has a study space set up for her at his desk, and won’t allow her to speak or leave until she has at least a thousand words written.

They meet up in the library during free periods so that he can read through what she’s written, and her skin burns hot with humiliation each time he screws up a page and throws it into the waste paper bin, calling her arguments “lazy” and “uninspired”.

It lights a fire of determination beneath her, but bubbling under the surface is also a heightened state of arousal, driven by the lack of intimacy, and the fact that she finds that she likes it when he is so authoritative over her.

By the time she has finished, she has produced an essay that both her and Michael are satisfied with; it discusses the use of irony in Chaucer’s poem, the Merchant's Tale. She has used a number of excerpts and lines from the poem for analysis, revealing the instances of irony in each, and from this has determined that the irony Chaucer used in the Merchant's Tale is controlled.

Her eyes light up when Professor Ware hands it back, and she sees the 85% that’s circled at the top of it.

A first.

She feels giddy with excitement as she knocks on Michael’s door that evening, brandishing the now dog-eared pages at him as he opens the door.

“A first, I got a first!” She squeals, watching as he takes the essay from her, his eyes moving slowly over the top page.

“Hmmm,” he settles it down on the desk, removing his glasses and placing them on top. “Take off your jeans and underwear.”

“Wha–what?” She stammers, her grin fading.

“You want your reward, don’t you?” He asks, moving to lay back on the bed.

She swallows thickly, excitement fluttering in her lower belly, as she quickly complies, ridding herself of the clothing that covers her lower half.

“Come here,” he commands softly.

She joins him on the bed, a gasp leaving her as he manhandles her until her knees are positioned either side of his head.

“My clever girl,” he whispers. His words could be mistaken for softness, were they not directly juxtaposed by the rapid darkening of his blue eyes, and the way his thumbs drag across the indentations between her thighs and pelvis. “I knew you could do it, you just needed a little…push.”

He drags his tongue from her opening all the way to her pearl, and her jaw goes slack, the wet sensation making her clench as she falls forward, hands clawing at the wall in front of her.

His grip on her thighs tightens and he tugs her flush against his face, the sloppy sounds of him devouring her are lewd combined with the wanton cries of pleasure that tumble from her lips.

She feels her mind go blank as he inserts his tongue inside of her, keeping it rigid as she begins to grind herself in a circular motion, keeping his nose pressed against where she needs it most, desperately chasing the release she’s needed the last couple of weeks.

His hum of appreciation reverberates through her core, and as he withdraws from her, plush lips wrapping around her sensitive bundle of nerves she feels herself fall apart as the growing ache intensifies, completely at his mercy as he laps at her, while white hot waves of pleasure wash over her.

She raises up when it becomes too much, jerking at how oversensitive she feels and gazes down at him through heavy lidded eyes, breathless.

He looks like an utterly different person without his glasses, almost kind, though she knows better. His chin is shiny with her slick as he smirks up at her.

“You’ve worked so hard,” he says quietly, though the edge of malevolence to his voice is unmistakable. “But don’t worry, you can give that pretty little mind of yours a rest while I fuck you stupid again.”

She is powerless to resist as he tugs her back to his face once more, beginning the exquisite torture all over again.

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honeyhoshi · 3 months

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you do it naturally

summary: the hiding, the secrets, and staying back to watch him shine has never been an issue. until today.

it’s the night before the biggest show of his life, but it’s soonyoung's turn to show her that he’s her biggest fan.

this is a part of the playlist universe

genre: social media au/trad fic hybrid, solo idol au, celebrity x non-celebrity

wordcount: 4,606

pairing: solo idol!hoshi x afab!reader

warnings: discussions about self-esteem issues, body image/weight, feelings of jealousy, plenty of frustrated tears, afab reader, female anatomy, fingering, squirting, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, crying during sex (good!!), dirty talk (lovingly), pussy drunk hoshi (canon), implied chubby/bigger reader

author's notes: unfortunately i am horribly in love with hoshi so this is my humble contribution to his smut tag

As someone whose life revolved around sugar, butter, and flour, this was a new world. The tension in the air is palpable and the flurry of activity is so different from the kind of rush you’re used to. You’re nearly tripping over your feet trying to catch up to the member of the staff who's been sent to assist you. This must be so out of their scope of work, it's almost embarrassing how clueless you are to all of this.

It’s been three years since you started dating Soonyoung, and while you’ve never missed one of his shows in Seoul, this is your first time attending one of his rehearsals. He’s notorious for being laser focused and demanding of his team, making sure everyone remembered their collective goal of an amazing show. You never wanted to get in the way of that or to be considered a distraction.

In fact, that’s always how you’ve operated as his girlfriend. You understand where you stand, what your role is, and when it’s time to work, you will stand back and let him shine.

But when you make it to the front of the stage, taking a seat close to Soonyoung’s managers after giving them a friendly smile, you can’t help the wave of pride that comes over you as you take everything in. The stage is massive, the largest Soonyoung’s ever had, and over thirty dancers are on stage with him as he adjusts the blocking and tweaks steps.

Then he catches your eye.

His eyes disappear as he smiles and you can’t help but do the same. You fight off the urge to wave, wanting him to get back to what he’s doing knowing full well they have limited time to go over everything before resting for the evening. You can’t take your eyes off him though. Preparations for concerts usually take him away from you for weeks at a time, and with the scale of this one, you hadn’t seen each other in the flesh for a month.

Just seeing him in front of you now already makes you feel sated.

“Can we do another run of the new song with the pair choreo. We just want to see which works better,” the director calls from the tech booth.

“Nari-ssi, please come up. Everyone else, take 5,” the choreographer on stage with them calls into her mic.

Soonyoung had mentioned he was debuting a new song at the concert. It was something he and Jihoon had worked on last minute that he couldn’t stop talking about, wanting to drop hints but also saying he wanted it to be a surprise for when you would see it at the show. He had dropped the topic dead a few weeks ago.

Nari bounds up the stage with a glorious spring in her step, bare faced but glowing. Her practice clothes fit her like a glove and her overall vibe gives off the energy that she herself was an idol.

That ugly feeling starts to simmer in your stomach as what you suppose is the song starts to play. The intro is slow and sultry and the sweat in your palms starts to grow uncomfortable. Only an idiot wouldn’t understand the sensuality of this song from the get go.

The love of your life is standing right there but you can’t take your eyes off of Nari as she finds her blocking before the verse starts. Nari smiles at Soonyoung and makes a comment you can’t hear from your seat. You feel sick.

Soonyoung and Nari are facing each other with one of his hands on her chin, lifting her gaze to him. His other hand is resting on her slender hip and in a three count from their choreographer, they move in unison.

“Three, four, five, ‘oh baby, cause I’ da, da da!”

The MR only covers the backing vocals but still you know that’s Soonyoung’s crooning and matched with the way his and Nari’s hands and bodies move, you’re transfixed. Horribly.

You avert your eyes, unable to focus and try to play it off as replying to an urgent message, but you’re startled when you hear a loud “SOONYOUNG FOCUS!”

Your head flies up to find Soonyoung staring you down from the stage, eyebrows furrowed and looking, dare you say, nervous.

“We need to see how this is actually going to look like tomorrow, so please let’s put more effort into this. Poor Nari’s giving it her all, Nyoung-ah.”

Soonyoung tries to communicate with you wordlessly but your unwillingness to keep eye contact makes it difficult for Soonyoung to get whatever it is across.

The music plays back again and they return to their starting positions and you know he’s turned it On.

The look on his face, the focus in his eyes. This is what he looks like when he’s locked in, and when his body starts to move, everything falls away.

But Nari.

They move seamlessly, sensually, and just Right. She matches every beat, wave, and touch he gives her. And gives back that same sultry energy with a flick of her wrist, dip of her hip, and when she leans her head back on his shoulder, allowing him to move her body to the music.

You could never move like that. You could never fit in his arms like that.

The song ends and the dancers around them hoot and jeer and Nari blushes as she and Soonyoung finally break their grazes, breathless.

They would never cheer for you like that.

This has never gotten to you this badly. Usually, the distance between the two of you allows you to compose yourself when things get muddled in your head, able to piece yourself together when the fear and insecurity claw up your throat. But your usual proximity is nonexistent and the gap has been closed.

Being with an internationally acclaimed artist meant busy schedules and only being able to squeeze in the littlest dates every now and then. You had time to prepare for those, give yourself the pep talk of It’s been three years. If he wanted you gone, he’d have said something by now.

In preparation for the show you two had made prior plans you would stay with him, an impromptu long weekend “getaway” you had put in at work almost 3 months ago. But now it feels like you’re trapped. You’ve been short with him since his rehearsals wrapped and you’d met up with him in his private dressing room. You could only stomach to say surface level good jobs and you’re always so amazing!

There’s no way he hasn’t picked up on it yet because the air in the car was nonexistent. It was stifling and you could feel the waves of anger simmering underneath Soonyoung’s skin, just waiting to burst forth the moment the two of you were alone.

He knew something was wrong. He always knew.

The ride up the elevator to his unit felt like the longest and shortest elevator ride of both of your lives and the second Soonyoung had let you into his place and locked the door behind him, you wanted to cry.

“Can we finally talk about this?” He starts.

“What?”

“Babe.”

“Soonyoung.”

“Are we really doing this?” He sighs, exasperated.

You feel bad. But the sadness is gnawing at your head and heart and neither are working correctly.

“We’re not ‘doing’ anything, Soonyoung.” You say as you toe off your shoes and put down your bag before facing him.

And what a glorious face it is. He’s always been the most handsome man you’ve ever seen. He looks best like this, you think. Soft and free of makeup and tired and home.

“I’m sorry,” you start, face beginning to crumple and the sting of hot fresh tears threaten to spill.

“No, no, no, baby. Come on, come here,” Soonyoung’s scrambling to pull you into his arms, “Hey, hey, shhh. Look at me, talk to me.”

He pulls her face into his hands and tries to lift her gaze towards him. But she fights and tries to keep her head down.

“Baby, you have to talk to me, okay? You have to talk to me and tell me what I did wrong, hmm?” He respects your refusal to look at him and instead hugs your head to his chest, resting his chin atop the crown of your head.

Soonyoung wraps his other hand around your shoulders and maneuvers the two of you to lay on the couch, You’re still sobbing, large tears falling from your eyes and dampening the shirt he’s wearing.

When he moves to lay down on one of your favorite spots to cuddle in his home, you freeze in his arms, sobs stopping and shoulders going rigid. You push yourself off of him, hands going up to brush the tears off the face.

“No, no, I’m too heavy, I'll crush you.” It is almost business-like how you snap back into this cold tone.

Soonyoung stops, sits up straight, “What are you talking about?”

You groan, “Soonyoung, I don’t want to get into it. Please, you’ve had a long day, tomorrow is going to be—“

“No,” he cuts you off, “We don’t get to talk about tomorrow until we talk about today. Until we talk about what’s going on right now.”

“Soonyoung—I just. I don’t know how to talk about this. I’m just blowing things out of proportion. It’s nothing, I swea—“

“It isn’t nothing, though, is it?” He says, softer now. He reaches up for your hand, “You’re upset. You’ve been upset since I saw you after rehearsals. We have to talk about this, baby. We promised each other we’d talk things through.”

Your eyes sting again, a fresh batch of tears ready and threatening to make their appearance. That sharp feeling in your nose is there, any second now.

“Tell me how I can make it better, baby.”

The dam breaks and you fall boneless into Soonyoung’s embrace. You straddle his lap and wraps your arms around him, pressing the two of you chest to chest.

You bury you face in Soonyoung’s neck and let out a shuddering sob.

“I’m sorry, I’m being so, so immature and so unreasonable. You didn’t do anything,” you say, still slightly unintelligible from the tears.

“You’ve never done anything that’s made me sad or angry, Soonyoung. It’s me, it’s me and my stupid brain.”

“Hey, hey, no. Please please don’t say that, hmm? Let’s work this out together,” Soonyoung coos.

“I-i-i just felt so horrible, Soonyoung!” You finally cry, “She looked so beautiful and perfect and just so RIGHT in your arms and God, the way you two moved and how everyone watched the two of you.”

Soonyoung pulls away, grasping you face in his hands and finally locking eyes with you.

“I know I said I’m okay keeping this a secret and keeping everything simple and under wraps, and it’s fine! I promise, it really isn’t that.”

“Then what is it, baby?”

You’re quiet for a bit as Soonyoung traces the path of your tears with his thumbs, wiping them away.

“I’ll never be able to do what she can. Nari. I’ll never look like her or act like her or move like her. I can’t even dance with you without looking like a fool.”

Soonyoung feels his heart sink. His own eyes start to grow bleary and when he blinks a tear falls to his cheek. He drops his head to your chest and breathes you in.

“I’m sorry—“

“Oh no, Soonyoung it isn’t yo—“

“I’m sorry that things have gotten this far that you’ve grown to feel that way. I’m sorry because I know in some way or form all of this has become that and I didn’t catch it.”

When he lifts his head, tear tracks mark his pretty face and his nose is red.

“But you have to know,” he starts, eyes very serious, and not daring to look away from you, “You have to know that you are everything. You are everything to me. You’re even more than that.”

“And we are going to dance. Oh we are going to dance all the time. I am going to dance with you in the kitchen when we’re waiting for focaccia to bake, we are going to dance in the bedroom when we change the sheets, and we are going to dance when I marry you. And everyone will have their eyes on you and they will clap and cheer because just look at the woman I love.”

“Soonyoung—“

He stands with a start and you instinctively wrap your arms around him, elbows hooking over his shoulders. His hands are under your thighs, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. He’s carrying you into his room.

The lights automatically flicker on as he enters and kicks the door closed behind you, “In fact, baby, why don’t we start now hmm?”

“What, start what?”

He grins and any semblance of sadness has vanished from his face. He smiles and something in your heart is elated.

“Dancing, of course.”

Soonyoung is known in the industry as an ace — able to sing, rap, compose, choreograph, and above all things, dance. And dance with you he does.

The way he can make your body move is unexplainable because once he placed you at the center of his bed, he’d strummed at your body, mouthed at your pulse and had gotten you out of your top and jeans before you could even fully comprehend.

His mouth is hot on yours and he breathes in your air as soon as you exhale and you’re growing lightheaded as his hands continue to undress you. In an attempt to get some air in both your lungs, he pulls away to frantically tear his shirt over his head, not daring to take his eyes off you. He flings it over his shoulder unceremoniously, not a care in the world where it lands and makes quick work of his sweatpants.

“What, you thought you’d get lucky tonight?” You quip at him, “Even when you knew I was feeling tilted?

He’d gone commando.

“Good mood, bad mood, whatever the fuck mood, I want you,” he laughs as dives back in to kiss you.

His hands are everywhere, like he doesn’t know what and where to touch, wanting to feel you everywhere before settling on the thickness of your thighs. He spreads your legs slightly so he could slot himself in between them, cock pressed perfectly to your center.

And then he grinds. The head of his cock nudges perfectly at your clothed clit and you let out a mewl.

“There you go, let me hear you,” he groans into your ear, “Y’sound so good for me, sweetheart.”

“Soonyoooouung,” you can’t control the drawn out moan of his name. After everything you’re pent up and everything feels too much already.

He lets his mouth trail wet, open mouthed kisses from your jaw to your neck as his hands busy themselves undoing the hook of your bra. He scrambles to get it off of you and immediately pulls one nipple in his mouth, nipping and soothing it with a slow lave of his tongue.

He grips your other breast in his palm and squeezes, biting his lip at how your flesh molds to his touch.

“Fuck your tits are fucking perfect.”

This man was groping and grinding against you, and you blush as he compliments your breasts.

He continues kissing down the valley between your breasts and you hold your breath as he starts pressing his lips onto your stomach. It dips and springs back as he moves and your eyes zero in on the deeper colored lines of your stretch marks. There are more on your thighs to match.

But he makes no comment.

He instead groans whenever he stops to suck a bruise and to run his tongue over the mark he’s made.

“You’re so,” he starts, almost breathless, “You’re everything.” He laughs at his own inarticulate thoughts before hooking his thumbs into the elastic of your underwear.

He pulls them off and moves back up to press a deep kiss to your mouth, “I want to make you come three times, love.”

“What?” You’re dazed.

His right hand moves down to trace your ass and hook under your knee so he can spread you open.

“First, I’m going to fuck you open on my fingers,” he breathes, “then when you’re nice and wet and open for me, I want you to sit on my face, alright?”

With all his talk distracting you, you’re suddenly startled when you feel his thumb on your lower lips, starting to spread you apart.

“Then when you’ve come all over my face, I’m going to fuck my come into you, just how you like it. Right, baby?”

He slips in two fingers into you with no warning and you keen, high and wanton and uncontrollable.

Soonyoung is rough and quick when he fingers you and no matter how slow and sensual the lovemaking is, this will always be fast, hard, and messy.

While one hand is busy pumping two fingers into you, the other pinches your clit and quickly rubs, wanting your first orgasm to come as quickly as possible.

Your lower lip is close to bleeding as you try to keep your voice down but Soonyoung only chuckles when he sees your attempts at restraint.

“Baby we’re soundproofed in here. Make all the noise you want.”

You want to slap at his chest playfully at least, get him to feel some semblance of shame, but just as you try to make some quick remark, his fingers brush that spot inside of you and he presses down hard.

You’re unable to hold in the scream that rips through your throat as his arm flexes and he roughly thrusts his fingers in and out of you.

You clench your eyes shut as you finally let him have your first release. It’s almost explosive and you spill messily all over his fingers and arm, his other hand making a bigger mess, spraying drops of your release letting them fly further.

Breathing comes hard but he’s already pulling out of you and moving your body around until you’re on your knees.

Soonyoung lays on his back and tugs at your hands to grip at his headboard, “Fuck I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Soonyoung, what if—“

“If you want to stop, we’ll stop. Just say the word,” he says, propping himself up with his elbow.

“You have to do the same,” you say shakily, still trying to get your bearings after the mind blowing first orgasm.

“Unlikely, but you know I’ll tell you everything, love.”

And just like that he lays back again, looking more eager than you could have ever imagined. You kneel over his chest and slowly inch upwards before lowering yourself over his mouth.

Soonyoung’s always loved eating you out. He loves when sex is wet and messy and loud. He loves the taste of you and making so much noise while he’s pressed up against your pussy it almost seems like he’s the one getting release.

Every flex and curl of his tongue has you whimpering and you can’t help the way you throw your head back as his nose nudges at your clit, still sensitive from your first orgasm.

He coaxes this second one slower but it hits you just as strongly as he continues to mouth at your core even when you’re crying and shaking from the sensitivity. You almost topple off the bed as you climb off Soonyoung to lay back next to him on the bed.

You turn your head to Soonyoung and the entirety of his lower face is wet with your release and your face burns. But Soonyoung is aglow with arousal and just so much love.

He coaxes your mouth to meet his own and it is a reprieve from how quickly he moved for you to reach your high twice in such a short period of time.

You can taste yourself on his mouth but it makes you groan as his tongue pushes its way to mingle with your own.

Despite the desperation at which you both moved, this is slow and quiet. Just you lips moving against each other and the sheets rustling fills the space.

Soonyoung pushes himself off the bed cautiously, desperate to keep his lips on you as he positions himself between your thighs.

Just like that a switch flips and the urgency to have him starts once more. He pressed his cock against your entrance and let the underside slide against your wet cunt. It offers you little relief, the friction hardly enough to get you there.

He pulls away and brings one hand to your face as the other holds him over your body.

Soonyoung’s hooded lids and glazed eyes are a sight to behold. His hair is damp and the shorter strands that frame his face are plastered onto his forehead. There’s a bead of sweat that’s clinging to the cut of his jaw and you ache to press your mouth to it.

His thumb traces the curve of your cheek, the plumpness of your lower lip, and slowly he’s pressing the finger between your teeth. You press your tongue against the pad of his thumb and wrap your lips around the finger, and suck.

God, I love this man. I will always only love this man.

“I love you,” he gasps as he finally presses in and sinks into you.

Any other day and it would be embarrassing how close you both are to the edge, but you both know that his evening was far from normal. Your heart is hammering in your chest so hard you feel like it’ll rip itself out of its confines. Everything feels too good and too much and you want it. You want this every single day if you could.

Soonyoung sits up and uses both hands to grip onto your hips and to brace himself. What he does next makes your head spin.

“I’m so close, baby. You gotta say it.” He stands on his knees, changing the angle slightly. Then he lifts your hips just right and the noise you let out as his cock sinks into you perfectly is completely pitiful.

“Say it.”

“Soonyoung!” you cry out. It’s a sob, really. Depraved, almost, in the desperation and the raw fucking feeling thats burning through your nerves.

“Just say it baby, you know the words. Say it and I’ll make good on the very last fucking promise I made tonight,” he says, the edge in his voice making itself known. He wanted to make this evening soft, slow, and for every movement to have meaning. But he has always been hungry.

Hungry for the stage, bigger venues, brighter lights, more challenging steps, and of course for you.

He breathes in through his nose sharply and tries to exhale slowly and paced, “Just say it baby, I know you can.”

“You’re mine.”

“That’s it. I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.”

The years of precise practice and this industry expertise has made the man you love into the most exquisite lover.

He thrusts quick and deep and the undulations of his hips have you seeing stars and tearing up once more. He’s everywhere, in your eyes, head, lungs, heart and you’ll be damned if you ever let him go.

The insecurities and the problems and the people will always be there, they will always cause uncertainties but this is one thing you will always be sure of. You will always be sure of him.

Soonyoung comes with a cry of your name and the most beautiful gasp against your mouth as he pumps you full of his cum, pushing you over the edge and he swallows the cry you let out.

He pulls away to press breathless kisses against your face and any other part of you he can get his lips on mumbling, “I’m yours, I’m yours. I’ll always only be yours.”

It starts slowly, warm, and comfortable. The rustling of the sheets and the hot wet press of his mouth slowly coaxing you into that soft space of barely awake, but able to slip back to sleep if you stayed quiet enough.

“I gotta go, baby,” is Soonyoung’s whisper, cheek resting atop your head.

You hum in response, not fully coherent to put together words after he’d pulled endless strings of moans and cries from your lips the night prior.

He presses a kiss to your hair, “Didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye. I’ll see you tonight, gorgeous.”

You feel the way the bed dips and the blankets move as he goes to stand. He slips on his shoes and, unable to leave so easily, moves back towards the bed and kneels by where your head rests on a pillow.

“I love you, think about what I said last night, okay?”

You tried to keep yourself collected, keep the frantic energy sizzling in your veins at bay. Soonyoung had put on the show of his life, something that happens just a few times in a performer’s life, you’re sure. Pride had swelled so grandly in your heart. You had been so lovestruck watching him that it felt like he could see you whenever he had turned his head in your general direction.

Backstage is still abuzz from the end of the show. You’re sure people are still running around making sure the egress goes smoothly, that all the fans are able to exit the stadium safely. But everything comes second the moment you hear his voice.

“Has she been escorted from her se—“

You can’t help it. You’re so happy, so excited, and so in love with him. You’re running toward him. He’s changed out of his encore outfit and into a sweater—oversized the way he likes them— and sweatpants. He could slip into bed any second now it looks like.

“Soonyoung!” You call out, stealing his attention.

He turns to you and the most breathtaking smile spreads on his face and you throw yourself into his arms. He catches you and you wrap your legs around his slender waist.

“It was amazing, you’re so amazing. Congratulations, oh my god!” You’re blabbing, you can feel your mouth going a million miles an hour but you can’t stop.

You pull him into a crushing hug as he gently puts your feet back on the ground, keeping your arms around his neck.

“And that new song, Jesus you weren’t kidding, it’s so good and the choreo! The way you moved! You changed the choreo last minu—“ In a split second, his lips are on yours and you can’t help but smile against him.

You break away, breathless when you remember, “Soonyoung, everyone can see.”

He gives you a silly quizzical look, “Only thinking about that now and not when you jumped into my arms?”

You’re speechless. He’s right.

“I’d be happy if everyone knew,” Soonyoung says simply and pulls you in again for another kiss.

When you pull away, you suck in a large breath and say, “Okay.”

There’s a small smile that he can’t hide as he asks, “Okay…? To what, exactly?”

You blush and bury your head in his chest. You want to while, he’s so annoying.

“To everything. To everything you said last night,” you mumble into his chest, trying to muster enough confidence to keep going.

“Okay, I’ll move in with you. Okay, I’ll tell all my friends about you. Okay, let’s make us public.”

-`✮´- if you've come this far, thank you. if you’d like to drop a like or reblog this, it would mean the world to this new author!

#frizzy fiction #hoshi x reader #hoshi smut #hoshi smau #hoshi imagines #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung scenarios #soonyoung smut #soonyoung imagines #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #seventeen smut #seventeen scenarios

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mydearlybeloathed · 7 months

Note

I loved your fic where the reader is Sanji's little sister!! I could do more of this but with something more angst? (I'm crazy about angst, forgive me 😭😭😭)

𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you would have thought your birthday would keep zeff and sanji from bickering—well, you thought wrong.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sanji x littlesister!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.7k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: pre-opla, reader is sixteen atm, swearing, reader is at the end of her rope

𝐚/𝐧: you're forgiven anon i also enjoy my fair share of angst 🥰

Turning sixteen had never been so awful for anyone in the entire world. You felt for certain of that.

The water of the sea lapped at your bare feet, dangling off the docks of the Baratie. Silence sat over everything, the moon hung high above you. You kicked at the water, angry at it for some reason, and scoffed at the face of the world.

You swore that if you listened hard enough, you could still hear Sanji and Zeff fighting all the way in the kitchens. The sound of their shouting had driven you out here into the fresh sea air, but it hardly helped the frustration welling up in your gut.

When you heard the footsteps coming up behind you, half of you hoped it was Sanji, coming to apologize and wish you a happy fucking birthday.

You peered over your shoulder to find Patty looming over you, a plate in hand. “Hey, kid.”

“Hi,” you murmured, slouching back over as he knelt down beside you.

You glanced over as he set the plate beside you, grinning a bit at the slice of cake. “How’s the birthday?”

Scoffing, you said, “Shitty. Per usual.”

Patty pursed his lips, sighing out his frustration, cursing the two idiots who’d driven you out here on your birthday. Still, he looked out at the sea, and told you, “He’s looking for you.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“Zeff is too.”

“They took a break from their precious bickering?” You couldn’t help but roll you eyes. “I’m frickin’ honored.”

The chef nudged your shoulder before rising to his feet. “Come on. It’s getting cold.”

You hugged your legs, having no intention of moving. “I’ll freeze.”

“Aww, don’t go all moody teen on me.” Patty half grinned. “I’m barely surviving Sanji.”

Turning your face away from him, you fought down the tears welling up in your eyes. “Go away, Patty.”

The longest moment past, before his footsteps retreated back into the Baratie, and you were left alone. Another birthday down the drain. And all you’d wanted was to spend time with your little family.

જ⁀➴

Patty walked back into the kitchen, brows taut and frown evident. He threw open the doors and glared at the young blond boy who whipped around.

“We’re not rea—”

“Your plan didn’t work,” Patty snapped. “She’s pissed.”

Zeff appeared from around the corner. “So she’s not coming?”

Patty deadpanned, somehow fighting the urge to slap him, if only because Zeff was his boss. “No. She’s not coming.”

Sanji and Zeff turned to each other, each donning an expression of awkward guilt. Sanji sighed. “We messed up.”

“No kiddin’,” Zeff scoffed.

And Patty rolled his eyes, moving to finish setting up this little party. “I’ll finish up.” He glared over at Sanji. “You go fix this.”

“Why me?” Sanji had the nerve to ask.

“She’s your kid sister!” Patty gritted out. “And this was your bright idea! Let’s start fighting even though we know it makes her sad so we’ll have time to throw a surprise! Yeah, great idea. Now she’s wallowin’ on the docks.”

Your brother’s face fell, the image painted for him flashing across his eyes, and he hated it. This was a bad idea, after all. He’d just wanted to surprise you, but you were too quick for that these days. Sanji thought it’d be fine… “Shit.”

He was halfway through throwing off his apron when Zeff dropped everything and beat him to it. He set a heavy hand on Sanji’s shoulder and shoved him back toward the half decorated cake. “I’ll handle it. Just don’t fuck up the cake with yer shaky hands.”

Sanji stumbled into the counter, eyes narrowed, but he didn’t bother arguing. So Zeff trudged out of the kitchen, face sullen, wondering how the hell he’s supposed to console a teenage girl.

He’d figure it out, he hoped. He was a pirate after all, and pirates don't get scared. Then he stepped out into the midnight air and spotted you swinging your legs off the dock.

Pirates don’t get scared. Except, maybe, of their upset daughters.

You heard him before you saw him, tensing up as the sound of Zeff’s peg leg hobbling up behind you. You didn’t say a word and stared out at the crisp black waters, not knowing why he even bothered as he plopped himself down beside you, moving your untouched plate of cake to the space behind you.

“Hey, Pip,” he started, testing the waters.

“‘Sup.” You were irritated, that’s for sure, but not completely shut off. If you wanted him to go, you’d have said so already, or punched him or jumped into the water or something like that. Zeff didn’t pretend to understand youth these days. Typically, your silence was a good sign.

If Zeff knew you at all, and he ought to after all these years, he’d wager you didn’t want to be alone at all.

His peg leg kicked up some water, disturbing the peace. “You cold?”

It was the warmest night the sea had seen in some time, and he expected you to snap back that it was a stupid question. But you just shifted away and muttered, “Nope.”

Maybe you weren’t as open to talking as he’d thought.

“Listen,” he huffed. “I’m sorry. We both are. It’s just, you know how he gets…”

Your sudden glare shut him up, the set in your jaw a tad bit worrying. “I know how he gets, Zeff. But I still wouldn’t throw a pan at him on your birthday.”

Touche.

Zeff grimaced. Maybe he overdid it a bit. “Yeah, I’m sorry ‘bout that.”

“Whatever.” You started to tug at your hair, and Zeff noticed how you’d ditched the ol’ pigtail braids. Now, your hair was pulled back into a single braid a bit on the messy side. There was a white ribbon tying it off.

His stare turned an odd sort of soft, one you didn’t catch often. You glanced up at him quickly, unnerved. “What?”

Zeff didn’t answer right away, choosing to instead take a breath and savor this moment. But you grew impatient, eyes narrow. “What is it, Zeff? Have I got somethin’ on my face?”

Oh, how to explain. How was Zeff to explain just what he thought of you?

You’d surely grown from the little demon who’d bitten him and left a nasty scar on his arm—grown into not so much a demon, but a woman with just the same fire. On odd days he longed for the times when you were small and thought the world of him. When you would come to him for anything and everything.

When you slipped up and called him “Dad.”

That never happened anymore. You were careful now.

You were growing too fast. If he could hide how awful the world was from you, he would, but it was too late. You were giving up on learning the ways of a chef and instead leaning toward waiting tables, learning to pickpocket like a seasoned criminal when you thought no one was watching. And with every passing day Zeff could see that starvation for something more grow brighter and brighter.

Sometimes he wondered if allowing you to work in his restaurant had been a mistake—he had a rule against women working in such a dangerous establishment as his could be, after all—but you were long past the age of listening to a word Zeff had to say. You and Sanji were alike in that manner.

Zeff shook his head. How did he explain how he had thought he’d been so strong until the day you’d come red faced to him, no older than nine, with just a skinned knee. You weren’t crying, not ever letting a tear fall, but you wanted to, he saw it in your eyes.

The former captain of the Cook Pirates had felt so strong until he had no clue how to fix what was wrong.

Zeff hated kids. He hated them, but you and that eggplant of a boy had become exceptions. The pair of you, as frustrating as you could be, had weaseled your way into the old man’s heart. He thinks he’d do just about anything for you, specifically.

How could Zeff begin to explain how much it scared him that his daughter was getting older?

“Zeff?”

“Sorry,” he said. “Got lost a bit.”

You lowered your gaze and shifted, reaching behind you to pick up the cake. There was a singular bite taken out of it. You messed around with the fork. “Patty made this?”

Zeff nodded. “Think so.”

“It’s good. You could do better,” you grinned, setting the plate back down. You’d finish it off later; you never dared to waste food.

“Yeah?” Zeff chuckled. “Probably.”

You kicked at the water again. “I haven’t decided if I forgive you yet.”

“As expected. Just don’t take too long.” After a moment of thought, and an observation at how you returned to your surly demeanor, he made a decision. “We’ve got somewhere to be.” Zeff turned away the moment you whipped your head around to give him that curious look of yours.

“What do you mean?” you asked, skeptical.

“Can’t say. It’s a surprise.” He rolled his eyes. “Sanji’s been insistent on a surprise for days. You’re too nosey to keep secrets from, so we needed to get you out of the kitchen…”

He waited for the realization to sink in, and then you were punching his arm with a gasp. “No way! No way you were faking! You’re the worst!” You couldn’t decide between being angry or amused, letting out a laughing scoff at their complete idiocy. “I was about to cry, you bastards!”

Zeff couldn’t help it. He laughed—no, cackled whilst he gently blocked your tiny fist. “Language, Pipsqueak.”

You raised your middle finger and fought hard to hide your growing smile. “I don’t believe you. You’re just covering for yourselves. That fight was real.”

“Or we’re just that skilled at actin’,” he countered. He did admit that after a minute the argument was more real than not. “It was his idea.”

“Zeff.”

“We meant well.” He rerouted his defense. “He’s been going on and on ‘bout this surprise—”

“That you’ve now spoiled.”

“I had to! I wasn’t gonna deal with his moping when you never showed.” You started to protest, making him scoff. “You weren’t gonna show. You’re stubborn.”

You huffed, lunging over to scoop up the sea and splash it in Zeff’s face. The old man sputtered before he reached out a hand and pushed you into the water with barely a shove. You squealed and sank under the water, coming up gasping as thinly veiled hilarity broke past your anger.

Flapping around in the water, you gaped up at Zeff as he wheezed, barely able to get enough air through his laughter. Your own laugh bubbled out of you. “What the fuck, Zeff?”

“You–you started it!” He was still catching his breath, eyes crinkled. “Didn’t mean to push you in.”

Like you believed him. Rolling your eyes, you held out a hand and awaited your rescue. The old man stood to his mismatched feet and gripped your wrist, hoisting you up. You were airborne for at least three seconds with the momentum of his pull, giggling as your feet touched the dock again.

“I should tell Sanji you ratted him out,” you mused as the night air hit you, shivers running up and down your spine.

“You won’t,” he said, though there was a slight hope in his eyes that you really were bluffing. You were, of course. As much as you fought with Sanji, you would never dare to ruin his fun—and if planning a surprise for you was fun for him, so be it.

“I won’t,” you agreed. “But I should.”

You started back into the Baratie, crossing your arms tightly to condense what was left of your body heat. Zeff fell into step beside you, his chef’s coat draped over your shoulders not a second later. Stepping inside wasn’t an escape from the cold; if anything, the chill grew worse.

As much as you hated being cold… you were curious as to what Sanji had cooked up.

So you braved the frigid walk through the empty dining room, weaving in and out of tables and chairs, and rushed ahead of Zeff to enter the kitchen first. You gave the doors a shove and came face to face with a platoon of balloons bobbing around the ceiling.

Little purple flowers poked out of various crystal glasses. A sweet smell filled the room. You froze in the doorway, taking it all in, and noticed Sanji at the counter, finishing off the icing on a small cake. He glanced up and blew his hair out of his face, a smile splitting onto his face when he saw you.

“Pip!” His eyes ran you up and down, confusion clouding his blue eyed gaze. “What happened to you?”

You let out a huff and slipped your arms into the too big coat. “Went for a swim.”

Zeff chuckled suspiciously and swept toward the cake, inspecting it briefly. “Just like I said. The icing’s uneven.”

Sanji threw down the icing. “It is—”

“Stop!” you shouted. “I swear.”

That shut them up, each of them rolling their eyes. Children, you thought. Taking another look around, a little smile grew on your face. “Is it someone’s birthday?”

For a moment, Sanji’s confidence faltered, as if he was really questioning what day it was, before he caught your sly grin and relaxed. “Only yours, so I really don’t know why I bothered with all this.”

“Ouch,” you laughed. The kitchen was empty save for you, Zeff, and Sanji. It reminded you of quiet nights similar to this one, back when the Baratie was in its early years. Back when Zeff and Sanji didn’t fight as much as they did now.

In the gentle quiet to follow, you did admit: growing older wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

You blinked and Zeff had lit a candle and poked it into the top of the cake, causing Sanji to grumble at how he’d messed up the swirl design he’d crafted. Zeff ignored him and bumped your shoulder. “Too old to make a wish?”

“As if.” You were almost offended he’d asked, leaning forward to blow out the candles, squeezing closed your eyes and uttering a wish in your head. When you were done, Sanji gave you a questioning look.

“So? What was it?”

Every year he asked, and every year you shook your head. “Can’t say. It’ll break the magic.”

The night grew old, as night always does, and it aged with laughter and thrown icing and sleepy eyes, before it died to make way for the sun. And by then, you and Sanji were passed out on piles of flour sacks, side by side and snoring in tune.

The Baratie was to open in five hours. In one hour, the chefs would file in to prepare for the breakfast run. For now, though, there was peace as Zeff pulled up a stool to the countertop and observed the pair with increasing, sickening fondness.

The plan had never been to raise two of the possibly most difficult children on the seas… but now that you weren’t children anymore, there was a significant amount of pride welling up in Zeff’s chest.

He knew neither of you were destined to remain at the Baratie all your lives. To keep you there was to imprison you. Someday, you and Sanji would leave this place, and Zeff could only hope it wouldn’t be tomorrow as each day came to a close.

And someday, a year down the road, his hope would be in vain as the next morning your annual birthday wish was granted in the form of a grand ship with the masthead of a goat—the ship that would sail you and Sanji away.

But that was a year away, and no one knew of what fate had in store. You only knew that maybe turning sixteen wasn’t so bad.

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fiber-optic-alligator · 5 months

Text

Ready Or Not, Here I Come

Pairing: TFP Knockout x Human Reader

WARNING: This story contains mentions of soft vore. If this makes you uncomfortable, please do not read this story.

Word Count: 2875

Summary: Being kidnapped by a giant alien robot who also happens to be one of the most narcissistic assholes on this side of the galaxy wasn't something you planned for today. Unfortunately, things happen, and now you must hide and escape from a mech who certainly doesn't want to let you go.

Knockout fic time ya'll eat up. This is actually my first time writing for him and I did A LOT of research on his mannerisms and personality to make sure I got him right. I also really wanted to play into the fearplay factor and show how terrifying it would be for one of us humans to be hunted by what is essentially an apex predator that has its notoriety spread to numerous planets who have interacted with Cybertronians, especially Decepticons. Feedback and comments are much appreciated! Enjoy trying to escape from this handsome idiot :)

You are screwed.

Like, absolutely, positively screwed.

You huddle in the corner of the empty boxcar, your entire body shivering from cold and fear. The evening is dark, with no light except from the moon to illuminate the deserted trainyard around you. Your breath is labored and quick, coming out in puffs of dragon’s smoke while you tremble and hug yourself tighter, sinking into the little warmth your winter coat provides.

You feel a vibration pulse beneath you.

All of your senses are on overdrive. You go still while you strain your ears for the slightest sound of movement, holding your breath and pressing your hands into your forearms.

Silence.

There’s only the roar of your own heart.

Maybe it was from a car, you think to yourself. Or a truck. There’s a road not far from here. It had to be that.

Convincing yourself you are safe is not working.

Your body still shakes, and your instincts know, they can sense that you aren’t out of the woods yet. The thing that took you is still out there.

You want to mutually sob and laugh from the utter disbelief of it. Monsters are real. And you are being hunted by one.

“Boom.”

The boxcar trembles.

Your heart stops and you feel the chilling sensation of numbness prickle over your skin.

The night is silent.

“Boom.”

Footsteps echo in the distance.

They aren’t human. They’re too heavy, too loud.

He knows where you are. He’s coming for you.

Panic sets in. Scrambling to your feet, you leave your little corner and poke your head out of the boxcar’s open door. Fog has set in and turned the trainyard into an eerie maze with paths draped in mist. Your sense of direction is thrown off by the hazy images of the other boxcars all around you. Everything looks exactly the same. This place is huge; how are you supposed to find your way out of it? You can’t even recall the way you took to get to this point!

“Boom.”

He’s getting closer.

“Shitshitshit.” You turn in a circle and pull at your hair while your chest constricts and you feel a familiar tugging from behind your eyes that means oncoming tears. You don’t know what to do. What can you do? How are you supposed to get out of this? You're running out of time!

Don’t panic. That’s rule number one. Panicking will only make you an easier target. You force your arms to drop. Inhaling deep through your nose and letting it out of your mouth, you close your eyes and urge yourself to relax.

You will find a way out of here. When the creature brought you here, you saw a gas station about a mile away down the main road that borders the trainyard. If you can make it there, someone will have to help you. You just have to remain unseen until then.

“BOOM.”

The boxcar shakes. You wobble a little, and your hope drops.

“Helloooo!” A prim male voice announces itself. “Little human! I know you're here!”

You duck out of view and press yourself against the boxcar’s wall. Footsteps echo with the smooth whirrr of mechanical joints moving a massive robotic body through the alleyways of train cars.

You don’t understand why he’s doing this. You were minding your own business, going about your life like any regular person does, when all of a sudden this…car zoomed straight for you and flashed you with a blinding blue light. Everything had gone black then, and when you woke up, you were trapped in a vehicle with no driver. A vehicle that was talking. Thank god it was still a vehicle with a steering wheel and brakes, because you managed to get into the front seat and crash it into a ditch. That’s how you ended up here. You were running and hiding from a car-turned-giant robot who’s probably pissed you scuffed up his paint job.

You hear a growl that sends shivers down your spine.

Okay. He’s definitely pissed.

“Oh, I know you fleshies love your little games,” the robot lilts, “but I’m not particularly in the mood to play one. So, either you come out now, or I will have to force you out of hiding. Trust me human, you really don’t want to know what I’m like when I get serious.”

You have to get out of here. If you don’t run now, he’s going to find you, and you’ll never have another chance to escape again. Gathering up what little courage you have, you once again peek outside.

A pair of massive red eyes stare right back at you.

A scream is ripped from your lungs. You fall flat on your ass, pushing yourself away from the giant robot looking in. The mech cackles. “Oh, that was priceless! You fleshies are so easy to startle!”

“F-Fuck off!” you yell hoarsely at him. “Get the fuck away from me!”

He laughs again and reaches a clawed hand into the boxcar. You shriek and fumble to avoid the oncoming digits. The corner once again becomes your safe haven when you curl up into it, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

The robot smirks. “All bark and no bite, hmm? I was expecting that. All of you fleshbags are the same. You think you're so tough, until something bigger comes along to snap at you.”

You give him the most withering glare you can muster, but you guess it doesn’t exactly do the job, since he only chuckles. “If you weren’t such a revolting mass of organic waste, I would actually find you rather cute, you know. Ah, shame. And here I was thinking about being rather gentle with you.”

“W-What do you want with me?!” You stand up on shaky legs that nearly give out beneath you. “Why did you kidnap me? What did I do?”

“You really want to know the truth?” he asks.

“Yes, obviously!”

He shrugs. “Alright. I was bored. I saw you and decided, hey, why not have a little bit of fun before I go? Is that a satisfactory answer for you, human?”

You blink dumbfoundedly. “So you…you kidnapped me and drove me out into the middle of bumblefuck nowhere because you were bored?!”

“Well, I hardly think being bored is a simple reason,” he replies matter-of-factly. “Boredom can be quite the bane to one’s existence. It can lead to all sorts of medical complications. Depression, stress, irritable tank syndrome-”

“Cut the crap!” You interrupt him with a gnash of your teeth. “This isn’t funny! Take me back to where you picked me up, right now!”

“It’s quite funny to me.” The mech drums his claws idly against the boxcar’s floor. “You know what else is funny? The fact that you actually think you're in control of this situation. Tell me, what if I were to say no?”

You open your mouth to retort, but find no sound comes out. The mech raises an eyebrow. His shit-eating grin widens. “What, got nothing to say? That’s fine, I really didn’t expect you to have an answer. Here’s the thing: You're not going anywhere right now. So, kick back, relax. Maybe if you're a good little meatbag, I’ll consider letting you go.”

“I’m not a meatbag!” You're really starting to hate this guy. “I’m a person! A human being!”

“Human, meatbag, it’s all the same.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Now, are you going to make this easy for yourself? Or are we going to keep up this argument that is not only petty, but also rather meaningless?”

You slump back down and draw your knees close to your chest, lowering your head a little and wishing you weren’t shaking with fear. The mech takes great delight in this. He inhales deeply and sighs, shuddering ecstatically. “Ah, there it is again. That wonderful scent of terror. It’s absolutely tantalizing.”

Your head shoots up. “Wait. What?”

“You heard me. I didn’t take you just because I was bored, you know. I was also on the lookout for a snack.”

“You…eat humans?” You gape at him, horrified.

“Not typically. But ever since my home planet decided to, well, blow up ages ago, my kind have had to resort to some…secondary methods in order to survive.”

“So, you’re-you’re an alien?”

“No. I’m just a normal Aston Martin.” He oozes narcissism while he runs a hand expressingly down his shoulder armor. “Notice the expensive color? The gold rims? I’m a real work of art, you know. You should appreciate me more.”

You feel like you are ready to explode. “Be serious! What are you?”

He rolls his eyes. “Hmph. No sense of humor. Typical humans. Fine, since you want to be such a downer about everything, I’ll tell you. I’m a Cybertronian, fleshbag. My name is Knockout.” He tapped his chest like you were a child he was teaching basic English to. “And you are?”

You grumble, reluctant to give up your identity, but feeling obligated to since he just revealed his. “It’s…Y/N.”

“Hm. Y/N. Pretty name.” He smiles. “So, Y/N. Ready to come out of there and face the music?”

You shake your head fervently. “N-No way!”

His eyes glint with sinister mischief. “What if we were to play a little game?”

“I’m not interested in playing any game with you.”

“Come on. It’s not like you have anything better to do. Just hear me out. I’ll give you twenty Earth minutes to find your way out of here. If you do, I won’t follow you, and I’ll let you go. But if I do find you…” He slowly gouges his claws against the boxcar’s floor. The wood splits and shatters, leaving behind deep, messy wounds. An impending sense of doom fills you.

“If I do find you, you're mine,” he says. “And you will accept that with no opposition.”

You stand up in protest. “That's a terrible game!”

He shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s perfectly reasonable. I’m giving you a chance to prove you aren’t as pathetic as you make yourself look. Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?”

“The worst that could happen would be me being eaten by a giant fucking alien robot!”

“You won’t die.” His voice grows uncharacteristically soft. For a moment, you actually think you see a hint of genuineness in his eyes. “I can promise you that. I don’t digest organics. It’s not good for my systems.”

You scoff. “Yeah, right. As if I’d believe you.”

“I can prove I’ll be fair with this.” He rises and takes a few steps back. “I’ll stay right here and even give you a head start! How thoughtful of me. I don’t display generosity like this very often, so my advice would be to take advantage of it.”

You hesitate and consider your odds. If you remain in here, not only are you essentially trapped, but the mech can also easily shake you out. But if you take up his offer…you might actually have a chance to escape.

The mech taps his foot impatiently. “I don’t have all night, Y/N. Come out, or I’ll drag you out.”

Slowly, you inch out of the boxcar. He towers over you, a massive red giant who, now that you fully perceive him, looks more and more alien by the second. Cherry red and silver with accents of yellow peeking out between joints that come together to create something that should not be possible. He’s bulky, yet slim at the same time, with spiky points neatly jutting up from his knees and shoulders. The finials on his head give him a sharp, shark-like look. There’s an equal mixture of danger and beauty surrounding him, and it makes you even more uncomfortable with him being around you. You full heartedly believe he could snap you up in one bite if he wishes.

He tilts his head with an air of curiosity and offers you a charming smile. “There you are,” he coos. “Look at you. I knew you could do it. Good little human. You like what you see?”

You have to look away so he won’t see the way your cheeks flush red. “No, I don’t,” you shakily retort. “Don’t patronize me.”

“Aww, you're flustered. Don’t be embarrassed. There’s no shame in admitting you're attracted to me. I’m a real knockout when it comes to looks.”

“Oh my god.” You slap a hand over your face. “Oh my god. You are horrible.”

Knockout throws his head back and laughs. “Get used to it, fleshy. Your feelings will grow for me sooner or later. Now, go on, scurry along now. Remember, five minutes and I’m coming for you.”

You can’t believe you’ve agreed to this. You don’t want to believe this is happening. A giant alien robot from outer space wants to hunt you down and take you away from your life. How the hell could your day have gone so wrong?

You find yourself running. You’ve agreed to this game. Now you have to go through with it. You don’t want to know what will happen if you don’t.

Your feet clumsily hit the ground and create loud, uneven steps. Too loud. Too obvious. How long has it been? A minute? Or thirty seconds? Nervous sweat beads your brow. Hiding within another boxcar would be too easy. You must use this maze to your advantage. There is no elaborate plan of deception rising up within your mind. When you spontaneously decide to shimmy your way beneath a boxcar, only one thing is certain: you just need to hide.

The tracks are cold and uncomfortable to lay over. You squirm and hiss through your teeth when the metal presses up against your stomach and legs, but you bear with it and remain in place. There is no sound. Just your breath. Just your heart.

“Boom. Boom. Boom.”

Mighty steps shake the ground forcefully. A twin pair of mechanical red-and-silver feet stomp past you, a methodical movement thundering down the line of cars as that of an animal pacing back and forth with hungry impatience, watching first one boxcar and then another, alert for movement inside. There is laughter beyond your cover, mocking you.

The thunder fades to simple vibrations. You must move. You roll out and stand, going in the opposite direction as Knockout. Steady footsteps. You must remain calm. But your breathing is still uneven and your heart still fights within your chest like a caged bird. You are afraid. So, so afraid.

“Scccccccrrraaape.”

Metal screeches. You can hear him dragging his claws across a boxcar’s top.

“I can smell you, you know,” he gloats sardonically. Hair prickles up the back of your neck. “Do you know what you smell like?” he continues. “Do you want to know?”

“Boom. Boom. Boom.”

“The purest energon from the richest of mines. So delicious, so tasty. Oh, I cannot wait to get my jaws around you, little human.”

You aimlessly turn a corner and see a hulking vermillion frame right in front of you.

You just…freeze. Like a deer caught in the headlights, you can do nothing but stare at the gigantic robot. He’s crouched on one knee, peering into a boxcar with his back turned to you. You make the terrible mistake of releasing a soft gasp. It’s no louder than the faintest of whispers, but he hears. Of course he hears.

The robot’s head snaps towards you. Unblinking crimson eyes search for you in the dark, pupils expanding and contracting repeatedly. You remain still. The tension in your muscles burns, yet you refuse to take your eyes off of him.

He is a piece of tech beyond your understanding. But even robotics can have trouble seeing through fog.

The mech inhales deeply through his mouth. His pupils become so large they nearly swallow up the red of his eyes. A wide, toothy grin spreads across his face.

“Hm. Using the fog to your advantage. Clever little one. You're making this much more fun.” He stands. “Unfortunately for you, this liquid vapor does not hide everything.”

You are whipcord tight, standing there with your feet nailed to the ground. There is a disconnection between your brain and your limbs. The mech has you under a spell, crafting your fear into a paralyzing weapon. You are too terrified to even utter a sound.

He approaches you, slowly. You have to crane your neck to meet his gaze when he stands directly over you. “My, my,” he croons. “Such a fragile, delicate little thing. You make this too easy for me. Oh yeah, I’m definitely keeping you.”

Your voice cracks a little. “I thought I was just a revolting mass of organic waste?”

“You are. But, I’m willing to change my mind. After all, you’ve made this such an entertaining night for me. I’ve come to realize that…I need to see your fear again. This can’t be a one-time thing. It makes me far too…hungry.”

Your hands shake when you raise them pleadingly. “H-How hungry?”

He smiles wickedly, tongue running over his teeth. “Starved.”

You don’t have time to even think about screaming before he lunges, claws caging you in and mouth descending for you, ready to swallow you whole.

#gator writes #transformers #transformers prime #knockout x reader #transformers knockout #reader insert #tfp knockout #tfp x reader #transformers prime x reader #maccadam #transformers g/t #soft vore #safe vore #g/t fearplay #don't worry you'll be fiiine #he's not gonna hurt you #just rough you up a little

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bisexual-horror-fan · 5 months

Note

Hear me out!

Sam’s killer side is more dormant and her bloodlust is out of control and she’s feeling the overwhelming need to kill someone. By this point, she’d stopped trying to fight it. Reader is a friend/girlfriend who knows enough about Sam and her urges to offer her a substitute; letting her fuck you stupid. As kinky as you can think of with sprinkles of blood play, knife play, heavy degradation and praise. Sam 100% has a strap, she just does and loooooves to make her choke on it. You didn’t really believe Sam would hurt anyone and you’d never seen her kill anybody first hand before but by the time she was finished with you, you knew that she was far more than capable and the thought of that was nothing short of a turn on.

Oh, Anon. You were the first person to submit for the Ghostface Sam fic prompts, and you nailed it in one. So here we are! My first Sam Carpenter fic! And the first fic of the new year! Let's get into it, I hope this is dirty enough for you!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 3.8K. Ghostface! Sam Carpenter X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Blood. Mentions Of Murder. Begging. Oral Sex. Cunnilingus. Face Sitting. Cum Eating. Strap On Sex. Spanking. Knife Play. Blood Play. Knife Used As A Makeshift Sex Toy. Multiple Orgasms. Squirting. Praise. Degradation. Dirty Talk. Rough Sex. Sam Is Mean. You Love It. Edging. Mild Orgasm Denial. Asking For Permission.

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"Make It Hurt."

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The itch is becoming completely unbearable. How is she meant to cope with this? Nothing is able to keep her mind off the intense want to maim and destroy.

She should be happy. Her last spree went so well, she got away scott-fucking-free, everyone views her as the helpless survivor of an attack when in reality she did it and framed the real victims. It’s been months, far too long, and she is feeling the urges bubbling up inside of her once again. She can’t go around killing without some sort of plan, it’s just asking to get caught and if she ends up in jail then she’ll never get to again. A complete nightmare, and one she wants to do everything possible to prevent.

It is to the point she is having trouble sleeping. Other hobbies are dull and lifeless, she has low motivation, food is bland, her mind is just consumed with thoughts of running through warm bodies with cold steel, of slicing, cutting, draining every single last drop of blood from a person. She needs to plan appropriately so she can hopefully satisfy her bloodlust, but she’s waited too long, the planning stage isn’t working as it normally is, it’s not fun, it’s frustrating her even further. She doesn’t want to plot, she just wants satisfaction now, she wants to feel the hot spray of blood hitting her face, soaking into her clothes, she isn’t able to pull the creative resources she needs from herself to do what the job would require, the well is dry.

You wake up to find her side of the bed empty and long gone cold, rolling over your check your phone, it’s past 3 AM. You groan and sit up, why isn’t she in bed? Furthermore, you’d insisted she get some sleep with you tonight, she’d been up late a lot this week, and you could see how restless and antsy she was getting, irritable and unable to keep her mood even. You get out of bed, pausing to get your robe off the hook on the back of the door, you pull it on and tie up the belt at your waist as you leave to go find her.

Sam is unable to sleep, she’s in the living room in the dark, a favoured gore fest of a horror movie on the TV and her favourite knife in her hand. She has her feet up, one hand is playing with a lock of her hair curling it around her finger, winding and unwinding it over and over, the opposite hand occupied with flipping the knife, a casual but impressive trick, the flick of her wrist practised, natural, complete muscle memory. She is still dressed in what she wore to bed, braless in the well fitting and tight white t-shirt, cotton dove grey shorts that creep high up her thighs. You lean against the wall and watch her for a moment.

You know what this is, you can see it in her body language, the tension is radiating off of her. She is unfulfilled, she is craving to hurt, she wants to kill, enact things she is watching on the screen, the desire to spill blood is overtaking her. She is smart, calculating, she knows that now is not the right time, but that doesn’t change the frustration she feels. You wish she could do what she really wanted to, but you know just as well as her it’s a bad fucking idea.

You knock quietly on the wall, and it makes her react immediately, sitting up, even more tense, she stops flipping the knife, gripping the handle, her head turns and upon seeing you she relaxes slightly. She slumps back into her original position, still holding the knife, she says quietly, “Hey.”

You walk over, returning her greeting, “Hey yourself.” Taking the seat next to her, you look over to her, a hand rests on her thigh, and you ask, “You okay?”

“Can’t sleep.” She sighs, and you laugh lightly, your hand squeezes her thigh, “Yeah, I can see that.”

“Sorry, I know you hate waking up alone I just, I couldn’t keep lying in bed awake-” Her dark brown eyes meet your gaze, and you lean closer, shushing her, “Stop that, you’ve got a lot on your mind right now clearly, stop worrying so much about me.”

You are much more concerned about her than yourself, you adjust, one knee on the couch, you lean over further, one hand still firmly on her thigh and the other on the backrest of the couch. “I know what’s up with you-”

A dip of your head, your lips brush hers, a small peck before you pull back, continuing your thought, “-all pent-up, like you are locked in a cage, unable to do what you really want.”

She leans up, steals a kiss, and you indulge her momentarily before breaking it again, “We both know you can’t, not till you relieve some of this stress, so…”

Your hand leaves her thigh, fingers curl around her wrist and pulling up her hand, you have her slip her fingers through the opening of your robe over your chest, let her get a handful of you, arching closer into her touch you offer yourself up, “Take it all out on me.”

Her breath hitches, she doesn’t pull away, in fact her touch gets bolder, greedier, feeling you up, your lips barely an inch apart as she responds, “Baby, I can’t do that, I’ll hurt you-”

“I want you to hurt me. You need to draw blood to feel better? Why not mine?” Your hand is off her wrist, instead it latches onto her hand, the one holding the knife. Your head moves, gives some more breathing room, you hold the blade to your own thigh, exposed between the folds of your robe, the one you are kneeling on. You press, drag the unyielding silver over flesh, and you gasp from the jolt of pain, both of you watch as the skin splits and crimson begins to drip. Her resolve is splintering, you whimper out, “Please Sam?”

Those two words, that plea, begging, unlocks something in her. Makes some part of her snap, the last vestiges of self-control are abandoned in short order.

She practically drags you back to the bedroom.

You think at first she is going to have you on the bed, toss you onto the comforter and plush sheets, no that is apparently too good for you when she is in the mood, and you know that because she tells you as much. She pushes you down onto the dark hardwood floor, your eyes are questioning, which leads her to tell you, “C’mon sweetheart, you told me you wanted it to hurt, and I’m going to give you just what you asked for.”

She’s standing over you, passing the knife from hand to hand, sadistic smile playing on her lips and as she stares down at you, her look tattles on her thoughts, she's considering what to do with you, playing around mentally with just what she wants to do to you first. You watch as she starts to take her shorts off, knife still in one hand, she drops the fabric onto the floor and then next she is removing that all lace black panties she had on underneath, and you are already salivating at the view of her.

Your eyes are locked between her legs, you love every single part of her, but you’d be a filthy fucking liar if you couldn’t be honest about how much you adored her bare like this. You roam, from the well maintained patch of black hair to her prominent clitoral hood and the plump lips you could suck and toy with for hours.

You get your wish, she knows you well and what you are craving. She moves, standing over you and then lowers herself down, her knees on either side of your head as she straddles your face. Hands move on instinct, you reach up and grip her hips, moaning against her as soon as the flavour of her hits your tongue. Swiping up through her folds, getting a better taste before passing over her clit, you hum indulgently and repeat the motion. Over and over, taking care to spend more time focusing on that most sensitive part of her. She is moving her hips, grinding herself down on your lips and tongue, with a deep moan, “Fuck, you are the best little cunt eater around.”

You preen under her praise, it makes you work harder to please her, sucking deeply, eyes falling closed with another hum that makes her body buck on top of you. She is loving this, riding your pretty face, and you love it too, the taste of her, getting her wetter and wetter, listening to her moans and feeling her thighs clenching around your head. It is bliss, it is your purpose, to be used for her pleasure and enjoyment, nothing is better.

She reaches back and her fingers press on the cut on your thigh, the blood had slowed significantly and the rush of pain makes you moan louder against her. “What a pain slut you are. I bet if it touched you that you’d be fucking soaked.”

You know that to be true, your thighs rub together, and you feel the wetness staining them, you want some attention for yourself, but you want to keep pleasing her much, much more. You forget your own leaking cunt and choose to continue focusing on her instead.

She rolls her body again, her wetness is all over your face, it had started to run down your chin, you feel it on your neck. Your fingers squeeze her hips, and you continue to eat her out, you knew you were affecting her, her dirty talk is becoming more fractured, moaning much more. “God yeah-ugh-there you go, jus-just like that, ohhh, suck that fucking clit like you mean it.”

Her body starts to react in that way that you know all too well, tensing, breath coming in shorter gasps. She hadn’t even been riding your face for that long, but you were exceptionally skilled at this, had more than enough practice and knew how to get her off quickly, adept at giving her powerful orgasms with nothing more than your mouth. Knowing much better than to stop now, you keep going, unrelenting, feverish, you continue your current action, having pulled her clit into your mouth, tongue flicking over it while it is encased in the wet heat of you and in less than a minute more you are rewarded with her cumming on your face. You never grew tired of this, of her shuddering on top of you through her release, the minute movements as she wrung out every bit of sensation she could, the near guttural moan of your name that would pass through her lips.

It made you leak more, clench around nothing, long to feel the same.

Her body becomes still, but her breathing is still erratic, she raises up on her knees a little to give you some breathing room. You are staring up at her, you watch with rapt interest as she removes her shirt and tosses it, leaving her totally naked still on top of you. She is looking back down at you, a half smile playing on her features, one that is dangerous. She sets the knife down on the floor, and you know better than to even think about going for it. After a moment more to recover, she is getting up, ordering you firmly to, “Stay.”

You do as you are told. Laying there on the floor as you watch her move, she steps over you and out of your line of sight, you don’t even dare to turn your head to follow where she goes. You hear the opening of some drawers, you know what she is after. You hear her speak from somewhere behind you, “Strip.”

Hands scramble, rushing to comply, you take your robe off and toss it into the far corner of the room, leaving you totally bare. Sam insists you sleep naked, much prefers having you open and exposed, something you do not mind at all and do for her willingly. The floor feels hard and cool against your back, you have no real time to rest, you hear her footsteps coming close again and then there are fingers in your hair, they twine and twist, she pulls, tugging hard, “On your knees' whore, now”

You suck in a harsh inhale through your teeth, the sharp stab of pain radiating down the base of your skull, and you do as asked, getting up onto your knees, her firm hand guiding you. She’s back in your field of vision now, and she’s gotten her favourite toy to use with you, her strapless strap on.

It is dark purple and looks striking, totally stunning against her skin, it’s long and thick as it sits heavy between her legs, jutting outwards, it’s ribbed and whenever she has you it fills you up beautifully, hits all the best spots. In short, it makes you into a totally blissed out well fucked mess whenever she fucks you with it. With no straps, the way it is secured is with a curved and rather bulbous end that she inserts into herself, gives her something to clench on and when she gets into a good rhythm with fucking you it presses over and over into her g-spot. Further still, the toy contours and curves with her body, a textured pad right behind the shaft that pushes against her clit, giving her a completely perfect way to stimulate herself with ease while she is fucking you, every thrust in and pull out, hitting her both externally and internally.

You knew this next part very well. You needed to prep her strap for you to take it, you were soaked, totally dripping, but with how rough she was every bit helped. She pulls you near, and you move willingly, mouth opens, and with her other hand on the base of the toy she guides it between your lips. Cool silicone passes over your tongue as you close around it, you bob your head down, taking about half of the toy before pulling back, keeping just the tip between your lips. You loved when she made you blow her, she keeps pulling on your hair, guiding you, making you slide up and down her shaft, coating it in spit as you suck it. “You are so perfect, you know that? Just as cock hungry, right?”

You nod, eyes looking up at her as you work, focusing on blowing her and putting on a good show, but more than that too, when she makes you take it deeper? A hand on the back of your head, forcing you to take it as deep as you could, you choke and gag, when it hits the back of your throat she moans, you know this part feels the best. Whenever the tip of that dildo hits on something more solid, it provides a delectable jolt of pleasure for her. Both her hands are in your hair too, tugging and pulling, leading you to suck, drool is running down, drops landing on your own chest as she picks up the pace, moving her hips, fucking your face.

You gag so hard you start to tear up, “Pretty, pretty girl, you look best with tears all over that face.” You loved how she spoke to you, the mix she strikes of praise and degradation, of warmth and filth, it makes your blood sing.

When you gag again, a bit too hard, that kind of gag that makes your pace falter and the tears finally start to fall she clucks her tongue disapprovingly, “Are you even trying?”

You nod and Sam urges, “Show me then. Prove me wrong.” There is a light slap to your cheek that makes you inhale sharply though your nose and work harder. You want to please her, you do the tricks you know, you try to get a handle on your breathing, you squeeze your thumbs in your fists to help tame your gag reflex, and you push yourself. When she is moaning in that particular pitch, you know you are doing well.

You are doing so well in fact that she pulls the spit soaked shaft from your mouth, and she pushes you down, “Face down ass up.”

Your face is put down right there, into the mess that has collected, drips of spit and her arousal staining the wood, and your cheek is put into it, and you don’t fight it. She gets behind you, a rough slap to your ass that makes you groan, she loves how it sounds so she lays down a few more as she gets on her own knees.

“You are leaking everywhere oh my God-” She laughs, but there is no malice in it, she spanks you again, the pain is slight but strong, burning, you take it just as she wants you to and then all of a sudden hurt gives way to ecstasy. She slid inside of you with no issue, complete ease, because just as she said you are drenched. How could you not be, after all the build up and what she said to you? How she treated you. Her hips are flush with your ass, she is completely inside of you, and she moans, grinding herself against you, and you moan too, after inhaling you finally push out that sound showing how good it felt.

She pulls out halfway before slamming back into you to the hilt, the sensation rockets up your spine, the force of her thrust makes your body move, your cheek drags through the mess it is resting in and you moan. “Awe, you like that?”

You nod weakly, inhaling shakily, and the end breaks off into another choked off sob, “Course you do. You are so nasty, getting fucked face down in a puddle of drool.” She starts an even and steady pace, her hips slamming into yours, the sound of skin on skin filling the space of your shared bedroom.

“Depraved, disgusting-” She changes the angle, brushes that place inside you that makes your nails bite into the wood below you and cry out, “Right there!”

Another hit to your ass so hard that you yelp, she degrades you further, “I know where it is. You are stupidly easy to please, then again, all bitches like you are.”

“Sam, oh my God-” You gasp, and she laughs, “Sam, oh my Godddd-” she taunts, parroting back what you said, letting you really hear how needy and pathetic you are.

“Aren’t you even a little embarrassed?” She asks, and you moan out, “Noo-ooohhhh-”

“Course you aren’t, you’ve got entirely no shame.” She muses, her breathing is picking up as she is slamming into you, knowing she has found a particularly good rhythm that is working for her just as well. You are so consumed with everything she is doing to you that you don’t hear the sound of metal scraping, you don’t register her picking up the knife.

You feel it.

She cuts, desperate to harm and see more blood. The cuts are quick, light, surface level and each one is punctuated with another brutal thrust into you. One over your hip, outer thigh, the curve of your breast, you sob from each cut, hiccuping and wet and moan, deep and long from each hit of the head of her false cock on that swollen spot inside of you. The blood pours, it joins the mess on the floor, she presses her fingers to the wounds, causes more pain, you clench around her, she holds pace, but it gets messier, sloppier, she’s going to cum and you are so fucking close.

You are a pain slut, but the bright bursts of hurt are keeping you on the opposite side of the edge, she can tell, you are struggling, crying, desperate, “Awe, you havin’ trouble cumming baby?”

“Ye-yes!” You whine, she tsk’s, “Need some help?”

“Puh-lease?!” You don’t give a shit how pathetic you sound any longer, all you know is the intense and all consuming need to cum already. You are dripping down your thighs, totally frustrated and keyed up, you feel like if you don’t cum soon you might die, it’s hard to breathe, as if you are drowning, choking on sensation itself.

“Okay, I’ll help you, sweet thing.” You feel her move, her tits press into your back, her arms loop around you, one around your middle, over your waist and the other hand, the one still holding the knife is between your legs. The smooth and rounded end of the knife is dragged over the fresh cut on your thigh, it hurts, you yelp again, she catches the mess of blood, and then it is pressed to you. She used the blood for lube, the end of the knife was being pressed to your straining clit, she moves it in tight circles in time with her thrusts and having both spots abused inside and out has you falling apart in less than ten more thrusts.

You don’t forget yourself, still, before you do tip over, you are good, you ask, “Sa-Sam, close, please? Fuck, fuck, please?!” It spills out in a rushed babble, breathless, she is panting too, and you can tell by the tone of voice in her reply she is near her end too, “Fuck yeah, good girl do it, you’ve earned it-”

That’s more than you need for it to happen. You cum so hard, you make a mess, moaning incoherently and loud enough you are positive you will get a noise complaint, thighs feeling like they will give out, shaking, sweaty, bloody, cunt spasming around her shaft still driving in and out of you as you squirt onto the floor.

She loves when she makes you squirt, she is fucking you through your complete high, the mess is on her too, running down her toy and over her own slit, down her thighs, and it is enough to make her reach her end too. Your name stains her tongue as she peaks and holds deep, she grinds through the aftershocks of your orgasm, your body feels heavy and weak, the only thing holding her up is you. She doesn’t relent, over stimulation starts to set in, and you beg, “Stop, fuck-”

She drops the knife onto the floor, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Her hips have completely stopped, she is just sitting inside of you. Both of you are catching your breath, you ask, “Feeling better?”

“It’s a start.” She hums, and you laugh lightly, eyes falling closed, she slowly pulls out, and you wince slightly, feeling fucked out and sore in the best way, “Don’t get too comfortable, you have to clean me up still.”

You knew she meant not only the end that was just inside you, but the one that was still resting snugly inside of her.

#Ghostface x reader #Sam Carpenter x reader #Slasher x reader #BHF asks #BHF writing #HERE WE ARE #ENJOY THE FILTH #Scream 6 x reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

Don't Speak 41

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, stalking, manipulation, reclusive behaviour, disordered eating, dissociation, allusions to abuse, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Reader is a reclusive loner who ventures down to the library on a simple mission. Her task is complicated by the man she meets there. (f!short!reader)

Character: librarian!Andy Barber

Note: powering through.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

Your tongue sticks to the roof of your mouth. You peel it away as Dr. Kemp’s gravelly timbre tickles you. A tremor flows through you. You can barely think as your mind centers on the feeling of his hand on your knee. Firm but gentle, exactly how you imagined it.

“...and…” you quiver out a breath, “we’re laying down. You… you have your arms around me,” you squeeze your eyes tighter, embarrassed as you describe your sacred fantasy, “and my hands are on your chest and…”

“Mhmm,” he hums in encouragement, his thumb rubbing through the thin stocking.

“And we’re kissing,” you have to hold back a giggle. You’re all bubbly as you get closer and closer to the good part. To the scary part. “And… and–andddddd…” you warble, trying to keep control, “we’re naked!”

You clap your hands over your mouth and open your eyes. You bat your lashes at him. You curl your fingers and press your fingernails into your lower lip.

“What else happens?” He asks.

You feel dizzy, but not like earlier. Not weak, almost enlivened. Thrilled at your own unraveling.

“And you touch me…” you lower your chin, “here,” you drop your hands just over your chest, “and…” you point with a single finger to your lap, “down there.”

He nods and leans forward, his hand caressing above your knee now. You squirm but don’t pull away. You don’t want him to stop.

“With my hands?” He wonders.

You gulp and laugh again, “with what else?”

“Well… doesn’t… I could use my mouth, right?”

You flinch as you clutch your hands together, “only… only in the fantasy. Yes.”

“Yes, obviously,” he agrees, "so, in your fantasy, do I?”

You chew your lip and twist your fingers. You nod.

“And you enjoy it?”

Your head bops up and down vigorously.

“And next? Do I… do more?”

You squeak and wiggle in the spot. You feel the heat nestling in your lap. You can barely sit still.

“Do I get on top of you?”

“We’re beside each other,” you correct him. He bows, urging you on. “And you’re feeling me, I’m feeling you and…” you close your eyes again, “I have my leg around you,” your hips tilt slightly without meaning to as he kneads your thigh, “and you're…”

You don’t know how to say it. Not in the right away. You pull your hands apart and spread them wide. You shake your head and let your lashes flick open again.

“I’m inside you,” he growls, “fucking you, right?”

You choke and slap your hands down on your thighs. You grind against the cushion as your fingertips touch his thick knuckles. You recoil but he catches your hand and pulls it back. He clings to you as he slides closer.

“It’s okay, sweetheart, it’s only in your head, right?”

“I suppose…”

“It would only be wrong if I kissed you right now,” he leans in, his voice softening, “if I let my hand go a little higher…” you can taste his breath, “if I put you down on this couch and did everything you dream of.”

You feel like you’re going to faint. His cheeks dimple and he grins, chuckling as he sits back. He squeezes your hand and lets you go.

“But you’re a good girl and you won’t do that,” he sighs, “and I’m your doctor, so I won’t either.”

You deflate, shoulders slouching, as you watch him. He doesn’t look at you as he turns straight and leans back. He purses his lips as his smile turns bittersweet.

“I’ll still think of you,” he says, “if you think of me.”

“I… I… okay,” you utter.

“Our little secret.”

“Yes,” you agree, “secret.”

He brings his hand to his chest and presses it flat. He drags it down his stomach as he exhales. You see how his pants bulge and the sight inflames you. That’s for you.

“Alright,” he peels his hand away and checks his watch, “can you go get Andy? It’s his turn.”

“Uh…” you flinch, “oh. Yeah…”

You stand, your thighs jittery. You move stiffly, pivoting on the balls of your feet. You pull the dress down as you shuffle towards the door.

“Sweetheart,” he calls to you before you can cross the office, “look what you did.”

You turn as he points to the cushion. You see the dark sheen where you’d sat, you feel the same slickness in your panties, seeping through. Your mouth falls open in shock.

“I’m sorry–”

He swipes his fingers along the streak and rubs the wet leather. He lifts his fingertips and leans forward, tasting you as he purrs. He pops his fingers out and winks.

“I’ll clean up your mess,” he smirks, “Andy won’t even notice.”

You snap your mouth shut and stagger. You turn away before you let that fire licking in your thighs get the best of you. You pull open the door and rush outside, nearly tripping as you do. Andy looks up from his phone, a brow tweaking in surprise.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Your turn,” you declare tersely and spin to sit on a chair.

“Alright,” he lowers his phone hesitantly, “everything good?”

“Yes, Andy, it’s good,” you chirp, “I love you.”

He stands and his fingers flutter at his side. “Love you too,” he words are stunted.

You stare at your toes until he’s gone. Until you’re certain the door is shut and you’re safe. You peek over at the nameplate and just reading his name makes you quiver. You’re no good at keeping secrets, but this one wouldn’t just hurt you, it would hurt Andy more.

🕊️

The weekend drags by sluggishly slow. Like those days when you used to sit and watch the shadows, too defeated to do anything else. Maybe it’s because you’re so restless or maybe because you feel like you’re carrying around some terrible weight. After your appointment, you just can’t escape yourself.

Every time you look at Andy, you feel a pang of shame. So you do your best to do better, just like you promised. You wash the dishes, mop the floors, twice before realising you already did that, and make every meal.

And you do the other stuff. The stuff Andy really likes but you can’t bring yourself to think of Dr. Kemp again. Even after he said it’s okay. Even if it makes it easier.

Sunday night, Andy falls asleep beside you. You’re awake, just as unsettled as the last day and a half. You toss and turn as he snores. You envy his oblivion. You wish you could have that. It seems so easy for him to just sleep. Like everything else in life, what’s near impossible for you, is simple for everyone else.

You huff and lay on your stomach, hoping to snuff yourself out with the pillow. It’s all those thoughts that just won’t stop. That undoneness. You tried but you just couldn’t get there with Andy.

You surrender and sit up. You’re not going to sleep. Despite your promises, despite your effort and desperation, you just can’t. You peek over your shoulder at Andy. His chest rises and falls as his snores keep tempo.

You stand, careful not to jostle the bed, and wrap yourself in a short pink robe. You wring your hands as you wade through the darkness. You’ll just watch some television or something, just until that fuzzy makes your eyes want to close.

You let yourself into the hall, shutting the door gently behind you. You take your tablet from the table where it charges and unlock it. You can do a bit of drawing too. You need to keep your hands and mind busy.

Downstairs, you settle in on the couch. You put on a syndicated sitcom and sit sideways against the armrest. You take your pen and scribble. That beak doesn’t look right and those feathers are all wrong. No! Why are its feet so uneven?

You slide the cover closed and throw your head back. You can’t even draw! You pout and turn to the television. You watch the figures on the screen but you don’t care about the story line. You already know what happens.

You shut it off and take the tablet to the kitchen. You enter the kitchen and put on the kettle. You bounce around as you wait for it to steam. Finally, you pour the water over a bag of chamomile. That’s what Amber always used to suggest; tea and a hot bath.

That’s it. A nice bath would do you well. You head upstairs, with your tablet and tea, and tiptoe into the bathroom. The house is so quiet it’s unnerving.

You set down the mug, the tag of the tea bag brushing your knuckle. You place your tablet flat on the edge of the counter and back up. You undress, the silence ringing in your ears. You can hear yourself swallow, hear the stickiness in your dry mouth, and the beating of your heart.

You bend over the tub and twist on the faucet. The water pours out and splashes off the porcelain. You stand up and shake off the droplets. It’s so violent and loud like a thunderstorm.

You shiver and rub your upper arms, hugging yourself. Your eyes wander to the steam wisping from the cup then along the tiled wall. Your attention pinpoints on the speaker. The little white square almost blends right into the tile.

When the tub’s full, you could listen to some music. Something quiet. You flick open the tablet and punch in the code. You pull down the menu and open your bluetooth settings. You hit search and wait for the devices to appear.

Several pop up. The television downstairs and a few smart lights you didn’t know about. A phone and lastly a device simply labeled ‘bathroom’. Strange. You don’t think much of it and tap connect.

A warning pops up; ‘To pair, the associated device app must be installed. Do you wish to proceed?’ You don’t think much of it. Everything these days is an additional download. You hit yet and open the app store.

Ojo. That’s a different name for an app. There’s an icon that looks like an eye. Hmmmm. You press install and wait for the little wheel to buffer.

You turn and check the temperature of the tub as the water gets higher. You add some soap for bubbles and return to the download. Done. You require only a quick update before it opens.

‘Device is full. Would you like to back up saved files to the cloud?’

You reread the prompt several times. You don’t understand. What files? It’s a speaker, isn’t it? Amber had a cheap one like it in the kitchen that she got out of a case of soda.

You hit yes, just wanting to get rid of the hovering window. The pop-up closes and you’re faced with a whole screen of thumbnails. A library of files. Videos. You don’t think much of it until you recognise yourself in one of them. Your face staring right back at you.

You reach for the screen but hesitate to touch it. You’re frozen in disbelief and denial. You don’t want this to be real. You bring your finger down and just as quickly rescind your arm.

You watch the video fill the screen as you appear clearer. You back up, completely naked as you hold a bottle of soap. You’re completely unaware of being observed as you squeeze out a dollop and lather up your skin.

You frantically hit back and lift the tablet. You bring it closer as you squint at the other thumbnails. It’s you, over and over, bathing, showering, even scrubbing down the tub. And then, that other video. You and Andy.

You want to scream and you almost do. It’s not a speaker at all! He lied to you. He knows you struggle. That being naked just in front of him is torture. He knows all that and he still did this.

You hear a drip and wince. Shoot! You quickly twist off the faucet as the tub begins to overflow. You reach into the water and pull the stopper. The sleeve and half the robe are soaked.

You back up and grip the sink behind you. Your face contorts with unspent tears. You feel a snap inside. Sharp and jarring.

What do you do? Break the camera? Tell Andy you know? Tell him to take it down? And how will that go?

Just like the water in the tub, it all comes flooding in. Andy lied! If he could lie about that darn speaker, he must be lying about everything.

And he knows. He always knows how much you hate everything and he does it anyway. It’s clear now and you don’t know why you ever believed him. Why you do any of this?

You were just so desperate for things to work. You only ever wanted to figure your life out. So you convinced yourself that he would save you. You're just as stupid as you ever were.

No, no, you’re spiraling. You’re not thinking straight. He must have a good reason for all this, right? Maybe it has nothing to do with you? It’s a security camera. In the bathroom?

You grab the tablet and rush out of the bathroom. You scurry downstairs and into the living room. You pace around, hugging the tablet in one arm as you try to sort out your thoughts. You’re humiliated, angry, hurt, everything all at once. You’re almost delirious as you try to sort through it.

You don’t know what to think anymore. You stop and grip the tablet firmly. You flick through the menu and tap on the messenger app. The chat log is gone. All of it. But Dr. Kemp remains in your contacts.

You open the conversation. He won’t answer this late but you can wait for an answer. As long as you get one.

‘He lied.’

That’s all you can type out. It’s the only way you can put it into words. Your chest hurts and your stomach is sour. You want to puke, you want to stop breathing, you want to cry and shout and break things.

‘Are you okay, sweetheart?’ His message blips up. You don’t think about how late it is, you don’t care.

‘No.’ You answer bluntly.

His next reply isn’t so quick. You think maybe he won’t respond. Your eyes begin to burn as tears threaten to spill over. You look around and bile rises in your throat. Acid brews inside of you and boils to fury.

You hate this place. You hate it and you always have. You never should have come.

You don’t wait for an answer.

‘Get me out of here.’

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #don't speak #steve kemp #fresh #au #library au #series #fic #defending jacob #dark fic #dark!fic

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winchesterandpie · 2 years

Text

Careful Hands, Precious Cargo

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader

Word Count: 1522

Warnings: highly self-indulgent, very soft Jake, tiny bit of angst, mostly really sweet

A/N: I had this floating around in my head and I had to write it. I just really would like for someone to hold my face, and Jake Seresin will do the trick. I'm so sorry my posting is erratic, we just finished all the orientation stuff for my program and next week is going to be super hectic with the start of classes and lab rotations. I think I have another fic for Bradley ready to go, so I'll probably post it sometime this weekend. Anyways, I really enjoyed writing this fic and I hope you all enjoy reading it!

The first time Jake cupped your face in both hands, your response caught him off guard.

It was a few weeks after he asked you out, and only a few days after he’d asked you to be his girlfriend. You were both in your kitchen and you had just taken a sip of the hot cocoa you made. He was leaning against the counter across from you, grinning as he dropped marshmallows into his own mug.

“Hey, sweetheart, save me some, will you?” you teased at how many he was getting.

He didn’t hear anything past ‘sweetheart.’ In an instant, he was in front of you, lifting his hands to your cheeks.

Jake may have short-circuited at the nickname, but when thumbs skimmed across your face, it was like you did a hard reset. Your whole body melted, and your head weighed heavy into his touch. He would have been lying if he said it didn’t affect him. Though you hadn’t known each other long, it was a signal of your trust to let him support you.

He kissed you so sweetly that night.

From then on, he kept the trick in his back pocket and even experimented a little. One hand alone never elicited the same response. A tight hug came close, and playing with your hair for long enough came closer still. But nothing quite released you like holding your face between his hands.

Jake used that knowledge to his advantage.

One night, after the two of you moved in together, he came home to find you staring at your computer, your fingers tapping against the keys without typing. He slid his arms around your shoulders from behind. You tipped your head back as he nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“Hey, sweets,” he greeted you quietly.

“Hey.” He heard it in your voice--how you were trying to sound okay.

A quick glance at the screen of your laptop revealed that you were looking at the task you had told him about yesterday. You had told him you weren’t looking forward to it and that it stressed you out. From the looks of it, you were still trying to start.

“How was work?”

“Eh.” You shrugged.

Jake pressed a kiss to your shoulder before moving to crouch in front of you.

“Darlin’, talk to me.” he offered, waiting just a little longer to pull out his secret weapon.

When you could only shrug again, he struck. Jake’s hands were sliding up to hold your face and after a second or two, everything released. From the outside, it looked like you were curling in on yourself, but he could see how the tension drained from your whole body.

He let you sag against him, happy to take on the burden if it would give you peace.

“That’s it,” he murmured into your ear. “I’ve got you.”

Somewhere amid the low light, Jake’s quiet reassurances, and his hands on your face, your nerves eased. With Jake at your side, you were brave enough to start the task at last. For his praise when you finished, you would have done the dreaded thing several times over. As it was, you only had to do it the one time before you could fall into his arms.

Jake never mentioned it to you, knowing you would get embarrassed. He loved the bashful way you would duck your head and glance between him and the floor, but this? The way you just settled into his hands was unmatched. He couldn’t stand if you started guarding your reaction in embarrassment.

It wasn’t easy to not give away. He found himself regularly fighting the urge to lift his hands to your cheeks. Still, he couldn’t stop himself every time. Jake reached for you as often as he didn’t, but always in private. He wasn’t about to share that part of you with anyone else.

He reached for you again on the beach. You had planned a picnic for him as a surprise. You’d brought all his favorites in a little basket and he was ready to drop down on one knee and propose on the spot, even before he saw that you’d brought slices of rich chocolate cake for dessert.

“You spoil me,” he told you with a twinkle in his blue-green eyes.

“You deserve to be spoiled,” you replied simply.

You were gazing at him with so much love he thought his heart would burst. His hands found your face, bringing your forehead to his as his thumbs brushed back and forth almost instinctively. Your eyes drifted shut how they always did as you relaxed into him.

“I love you.” Jake left a gentle kiss on your lips. You returned it without hesitation, though it only deepened when one hand slipped from the side of your face to your waist. He kept it tender, unwilling to push it further when you were just so pliant in his hands.

When your lungs begged for air, you pulled back just a little to look at him. “I love you too.”

He was so blindingly in love with you that it hurt sometimes. You held his heart as tenderly as he held you. You were the first person he had truly trusted with that cargo, and Jake knew he was in safe hands.

Sometimes, the way the two of you showed that love was more complex. When he left on assignments, you were often worried. He worried about you too. Because of that mutual worry, the two of you could get into arguments before he left.

Today, Jake couldn’t bear to part from you on a sour note.

“Look, I don’t want to fight right now,” he said, his chin dropping as he pushed a hand through his hair. “Come here, please?”

What were you supposed to say to that when you hadn’t really wanted to fight either? His arms opened to you and you went into them easily. He held you tightly to his chest, pressing a kiss to your head.

When you started crying, his hands shifted to your shoulders, pushing you back just far enough to look at you.

“Darlin’,” Jake said softly, taking your face into his hands.

The tears kept coming, even as you relaxed in his hold. His thumbs brushed back and forth slowly, evenly, soothingly across your cheeks.

“I’m scared, Jake.” The confession fell from your lips, drawn there by his gentle hands. “I know you’re damn good at what you do, and I trust that.” You paused, and he waited for you to continue. “It just scares me that anything could happen to you and I…” When you broke off this time, shaking your head like you couldn’t go on, he spoke up quietly.

“I get scared too,” he admitted to you. “Anything could happen here, not just up in the air. I worry about both of us every time I leave.”

You reached up to hold his face, finding the few tears that slipped from his sea-green eyes. He leaned into your touch and pressed a quick kiss to your palm.

“Really?”

“Really.”

You were both quiet for a moment, tension melting from both of you.

“If I could stay, I would,” he said at last. “I hate leaving you.”

“I know.” You sighed, lettting your head tip forward against his. “And I also know that you love what you do. I want you to have flying, I really do.”

“I know,” he echoed with a small flash of his usually-broad grin. “I’ll be able to call on this assignment.”

“I’ll still miss you, sweetheart.”

Jake stilled only briefly at the nickname, then tipped your chin so your lips met his briefly. “I’ll miss you too, sweets. I always miss you.”

“I’m sorry,” you said after another moment. “I shouldn’t have picked a fight.”

He kissed you again in reassurance. “S’okay. I get it.”

“It’s just easier to let you go when I can convince myself that I’m mad.”

“Why do you think I argue back? I do it too.”

You chuckled weakly, the silent tears finally subsiding. “We make quite the pair, don’t we?”

“Pair of fools.” He laughed too.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He felt your head bob in a nod in his hands, signalling that you were okay, at least for now. “I’ll come back to you. I’ll be home before you know it.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

When he was away from you, he missed everything about you. It caught him off guard when he found he especially missed holding your face in his hands. He missed the way you relaxed, missed how every worry in your eyes eased.

You felt safe with him, and it made him feel safe too.

So when he came home, he spent almost the entire evening just holding you, holding your face. His heart eased with every second he passed with you. Every pass of his thumb, a heartbeat. Every slow breath that fanned across his skin, a confession. Every moment together, a promise.

You both held precious cargo, and neither of you would let go.

Top Gun Taglist:

@malindacath

#jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #hangman #i'm so soft for soft jake #where do I acquire one in real life?#anybody know?#top gun #top gun maverick

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aspiring-artist-em · 11 months

Text

Crimson Rivers, is it back? What now? Does that mean Zar is back?

So, like a normal, sane reader, when I get an AO3 notification, I immediately drop everything and check it out. In my little tiny brain filled with angst and smut, I was thinking that it was maybe a chapter being updated, or maybe someone I love replying to a comment I left about how their writing is so fantastic and giving them vivid descriptions of how I wish to burn it into my brain because how good it is. Turns out, that was not the case.

It was a fucking notification about Crimson Rivers being posted.

I sat on my bed, and just stared. My brain wasn’t working. I was halfway though a bag of chips that my dog really wanted and staring at an email that bizarrestars fucking posted Crimson Rivers.

And Best Friend’s Brother.

And Just Lovers.

And all of those fics I was dying to read were back. All the fics that had me frothing at the mouth with want and the insatiable urge to consume everything he put back out into the world. And so, I followed the link in my email and oh my god-

They were back.

All of them.

Every single one of their fics was back up and I was fucking psyched because I have an AO3 account and I have access to it again. Me, along with many other fans of his works and readers in this fandom, texted friends and loved ones. We smiled and downloaded the files, swearing that we will never lose those works again.

___

So, like a normal, sane author, when I get an AO3 notification, I immediately drop everything and check it out. In my little pea brain filled with ways to torture my readers and ways to get them off through my words, I was thinking that maybe someone had kindly left a kudos on my work, or maybe even comment on it. All my works are ongoing and to be honest, I was a little scared to open my email because what if it's a negative comment? What if it’s someone telling me that they hate me because I’m sick and twisted, writing the filth I do. What if it’s someone telling me that they hate how I made a certain character bisexual because in their mind, bisexual women can't also be attracted to women? What if it’s someone telling me that the trauma I write about is misrepresented and that I am an awful person for romanticizing it when I swear I’m not, when I know that I’m drawing from experience. What if it’s someone saying the aforementioned trauma is too dramatized, and that the way that I write it as something to be worked through, doesn’t fit their “one kiss and all the bad memories go away” narrative they have in their head. What if it’s someone telling me I should be ashamed, telling me that I am disgusting, telling me that I shouldn't write what I write even though I have hyperlinks embedded in my fics and even though I have additional warnings per chapter and even though I have so many tags the plot is given away. Turns out, that is not the case.

It was a fucking notification about Crimson Rivers being posted.

I sat on my bed, and just stared. My brain wasn’t working. I was halfway though a bag of chips that my dog really wanted and staring at an email that bizarrestars fucking posted Crimson Rivers.

And Best Friend’s Brother.

And Just Lovers.

And all of those fics people were dying to read were back. All the fics that had people online frothing at the mouth with want and the insatiable urge to consume everything he put back out into the world. And so, I followed the link in my email and

oh my god-

They were back.

All of them.

Every single one of their fics was back up and I was filled with fucking dread, because all I could focus on is how there’s a shiny new prongsfoot fic right there on the top of their page, the first thing people will see. All I could think about is how they talked about people not respecting their wishes with their fics and how people on the internet are fucking relentless. All I could think about are the videos I will see with people complaining that they can’t read it because they don't have an AO3 account and people attacking them for the two chapter prongsfoot fic right there, and how people fucking idolized the guy, putting him on a pedestal and hailing him as the “best fanfic writer ever, right there along with misskingbean (who may or may not be Taylor swift (I swear, Taylor is NOT misskingbean))”All I could think about is the exit he, and MANY OTHER authors made because people got ahold of their work and were fucking rude about it. All I could think of is someone who was practically pushed off the internet for doing what he loves so well that people started hating when he wrote what he wanted to write, and how now, he’s back and honestly, it scares me a little bit because he didn’t deserve the hell people put him through.

___

Crimson rivers, is it back? What now? Does that mean Zar is back? Short answer, yes, yes, and yes. Long answer, yes but only if you have an AO3 account and ONLY IF people can be fucking nice this time around and maybe remember that zar is a fucking person with fucking feelings and something called a fucking mental health to take care of. Authors have feelings too, we aren’t some mindless fic generator. If you want that, go to chat gtp or some shit. We put our hearts and souls into our work and share it because we want to put it out there, not because we want to get bullied.

Now, I know what you're going to say, “oh, but I just really loved the guy, he was like the second coming of christ with his words like I just really wanted to read more because I loved him so much, like I forgot he was a human because I just loved him and a little love never hurt anyone.”

But like, that’s also really fucking problematic and actually obsessive. Just think about it. Like this guy is a person and like, maybe you shouldn’t treat him like he is anything more OR ANYTHING LESS. Like honestly, he probably didn't start posting his work to gain fame, like this was probably really unexpected for him. AND EVEN IF HE DID, IT DOESN’T MEAN YOU GET TO TREAT HIM LIKE A FUCKING PRODUCT GOD DAMN. Like, this is a PERSON. Imagine if your best friend or little sibling came to you and was talking about people putting enormous pressure on them and being obsessed with everything they do and how they feel like they have to be perfect and please everyone because if they don't, they’ll get harassed online and like, it’s genuinely damaging their mental health. Like, imagine if that happened to you. What would you tell them? Well, hopefully, you would tell them that those people are fucking obsessed and that they need to take a break and maybe, just maybe remove the works so they could put their mind to rest, because that’s better than this. Like come on everyone, can’t you fucking see the problem with that? Idolization and bullying go hand in hand and the poor guy has been though enough.

Also, remember, be kind to the guy and like, idk, treat him with fucking human decency? Don't deadname him maybe? Don't like, idolize him? Don't get mad when he writes what he wants to fucking write because you don't like it? And maybe like, respect his wishes? It should be pretty fucking simple tbh, but apparently it's a difficult task for some of you. He isn’t a fucking god and maybe like, before you comment, actually sit there and reflect on what you are going to say to him.

SO MAYBE, BEFORE YOU COMMENT SHIT, REMEMBER THAT ZAR’S, (and, for the record, every other author’s) MENTAL HEALTH IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN A 800K WORD STORY ABOUT DEAD WIZARDS. LIKE PLEASE, YOU CAN FUCKING LIVE WITHOUT ONE SPECIFIC FIC WHEN THERE ARE SO MANY OTHER FICS OUT THERE, AND SO MAYBE LIKE, REMEMBER TO RESPECT THE AUTHORS WHO WRITE YOUR STORIES.

MAYBE, JUST MAYBE, BEFORE YOU SAY SHIT, THINK ABOUT WHY HE FUCKING LEFT IN THE FIRST PLACE, DEAR GOD.

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beewolfwrites · 1 year

Note

you’re one of my favorite authors so i’m so glad you’re active again! <33 I’ve started rereading awiaf just to remind myself why it’s my favorite fic ever so thank you for feeding into my brain rot since you started awiaf until now.

on the other side of this ask

I have worms for brains and I desperately need chishiya trying to drop hints that he likes the reader but just… is so terrible at it and gets frustrated because if it. He probably doesn’t even know the first thing about flirting, let’s all be honest.

Hey Anon! This probably strayed a little from your request, but if you'd rather have a fluffier version, I'm happy to redo it :)

The idea of Kuina being a horrified wingwoman to Chishiya's terrible flirting attempts was just too funny not to write about.

(Chishiya x gn reader)

(Kuina = losing hope in all humanity)

________________________________________________

It was killing her to watch.

She’d given him more expert advice than she’d ever given anyone - heaven only knew that boy needed it - but he was still so stiff, so standoffish, and so goddamn terrible. And now, hiding behind a pillar in the hotel lobby, Kuina felt like crawling into a corner and burying her head in the sand.

‘Thanks… That’s really nice of you Chishiya.’

The words had come out in the same awkward tone that one might use when humouring children, or fending off an over-familiar stranger on the bus. And what’s worse, Chishiya hadn’t even realised.

‘You just pull the pin and it should work,’ he explained, showing off the “pin”, which was actually a keyring attached to a piece of string.

‘Great,’ (Y/N) said, eyebrows drawing in bizarre confusion. ‘I guess it’s useful to have… maybe.’

Kuina bit her hand, fighting the urge to drag him away at his heels. Luckily, she didn’t have to, because without even saying goodbye, or ending the conversation whatsoever, he was now walking away, smiling with satisfaction and leaving (Y/N) standing in the hotel lobby looking utterly bewildered by the events that just occurred. As Chishiya passed the pillar, she grabbed his white hood.

He shook her off immediately. ‘Was that really necessary?’

‘What the hell was that?’ Kuina hissed. ‘What about everything we practiced?’

He shrugged lazily. ‘I thought it went well.’

You can’t be serious?

‘That right there? That was a car crash. You can’t just walk up to someone and give them a bomb as a present. They think you’re insane now.’

‘I doubt that. I left a note in their room beforehand.’

Kuina felt the colour drain from her face. ‘You did what now?’

Chishiya gave a knowing smile. ‘While the games were on, I left a note on the bed explaining that I had a gift. It was hardly a surprise.’

Oh my god… This is a disaster.

She placed both hands on his shoulders, locking him in a firm grip that he couldn’t escape from no matter how much he tried to squirm away.

‘Chishiya, listen to me now. Normal people don’t do things like this. You don’t know (Y/N) well enough to just walk into their room. You’re gonna end up with some really weird rumours going around, and I don’t want to be part of that.’

He finally broke away with a scowl. ‘You’re overreacting. If you’re not going to help, you can find somebody else to annoy.’

‘I’m literally trying my hardest to help you, but you’re impossible. This is impossible.’

He made a small noise of irritation and stared aimlessly at the white lobby wall. ‘Do you have any other suggestions then?’

‘What about telling the truth?’

‘No.’

‘It’s not that bad. Tell them how you really feel. Admit that you weren’t sure how to show it, and you screwed up —‘

‘I didn’t.’

‘Yeah, you did. You haven’t got a clue how to flirt, and that was a horror show to watch.’

He averted his gaze, looking anywhere but at Kuina. ‘Any other bright ideas?’

She rubbed her temple. ‘I’ll see what I can think of,’ she said. ‘Just let me work on it, okay?’

As she parted ways with Chishiya in the lobby, Kuina didn’t have much hope. The situation was eating away at her, because believe it or not, she wanted Chishiya to be happy, even if he was an asshole sometimes. Well, most of the time. However, even after borrowing all of her expert advice and tips, he still couldn’t quite make flirting seem natural.

And worse, he actually did like (Y/N), even if he had never really shared the depths of his feelings. But Kuina wasn’t blind. She’d seen the way his eyes trailed after them, no matter where they were in the room. He would only ask how Kuina’s games had been whenever (Y/N) was placed in the same group. Anybody else wouldn’t have noticed. Except Kuina wasn’t just anybody.

I think I might actually feel bad for him.

Stepping into the elevator, she pressed the button for the sixth floor. She was so lost in her thoughts that when the doors opened, it took her a good few seconds to realise that she was standing face to face with the object of those thoughts - the object of Chishiya’s affection.

‘Oh! Hey Kuina, this is actually kind of cool. I was just looking for you.’

Oh no.

Kuina could already see where this was going. ‘Really? We can go into my room if you want to talk,’ she suggested. ‘It’s better than standing out here.’

They must have been knocking on Kuina’s door, and since the timing was right, that could only mean one thing. There would be a very long conversation ahead. The two shut themselves away in the privacy of Kuina’s room, sitting on two small chairs in front of the window.

‘Sorry for the mess.’ Kuina began scooping up the array of lipsticks rolling around on the desk behind her. ‘I think I already know why you’re here.’

There’s no point beating around the bush.

(Y/N) tried to hide a grimace behind their hand. ‘It’s… well. Have you noticed Chishiya-san acting strange recently?’

‘Strange?’

‘It’s just that - this is so weird. He stares at me so much, and earlier when I came back from my game, I found a note from him on my pillow. I didn’t even know he’d been in my room.’

Seriously, Chishiya? The pillow?!

Kuina feigned surprise. ‘What did the note say?’

‘He wanted to meet with me in the lobby, so I did. Just now, actually, and…’ (Y/N) pulled out a soda can with red and blue wires stretching from the lip to the base, and a tiny pull ring on top. ‘He gave me a homemade grenade.’

‘I’m so sorry.’ It was the only thing Kuina could bring herself to say. ‘I really am. I can have a word with him if you want?’

‘That’s not all,’ they added. ‘The other day when I woke up I found something in front of my door too. I don’t have it here, but it was a… a shank, I think?’

Kuina fought the urge to put her head in her hands and cry. Chishiya hadn’t told her about this, probably knowing she would disapprove. And disapprove, she did.

‘I don’t have it with me, but it’s a piece of shaved metal tied to a screwdriver. There wasn’t a note but I think it was him. I didn’t really know what to say to him before. I just, I’m a little confused. I always thought he was kind of cute, but all of this is weirding me out…’

Hold on.

Kuina’s eyes widened. She replayed that last sentence in her head.

Hold on just one second.

‘I’m only asking because I care,’ they said, ‘but is he okay, you know, mentally?’

‘Look,’ Kuina interrupted. ‘This is going to sound crazy, but hear me out.’

Maybe honesty really is the best policy.

She took a deep breath. ‘Chishiya actually likes you. As in, he likes likes you. He’s just fucking awful at flirting.’

(Y/N)’s whole body froze, eyes flashing with hope. ‘You mean he likes me in that way? He has feelings for me?’

Kuina nodded and leaned back in her chair. It was like a huge weight had suddenly been lifted from her chest.

‘I wasn’t going to say anything since it’s not really my place, but the two of you are getting nowhere like this. I know how he looks, but Chishiya’s not made of stone. I think he just wasn’t sure how to tell you and decided to make you weapons for protection. He’s really logical like that. I guess he figured regular gifts didn’t have any value in this place.’

Have I ruined it?

She had tried to explain the best she could, to put Chishiya in a good light and dissolve any rumours of him being a homemade weapon-obsessed stalker. But by doing this, did she also sabotage his chances?

(Y/N) smiled gently. ‘I guess when you think about it that way, it’s actually kind of sweet.’

Kuina was perplexed, to say the least. There was no way in heaven or hell that Chishiya was sweet. Not a chance. The man was cold, stoic, calculating, basically anything but boyfriend material. But she wasn’t going to say this to the one person who might actually be able to change him.

(Y/N) stood up and grinned at Kuina. ‘Thank you! I think, I might actually go and talk to him now. His room is just down the hall, isn’t it?’

“It’s room nine,’ Kuina got to her feet too. ‘I’ll come with you, but I’ll be hiding around the corner. If it’s okay with you, I want to see how this works out.’

‘That’s okay,’ they said. ‘I’d like you to come. It’ll be good having you there, for support.’

The pair left Kuina’s room and headed down the hallway towards room nine. Judging from the vague shuffling noises they could hear through the door, Chishiya was inside. Kuina gave a wink of encouragement and hid just behind the corner, the perfect place to listen in and spy from afar. (Y/N) knocked on the door, holding the soda can between both hands.

The shuffling noises paused, then the door opened, revealing Chishiya. When he saw who was on the other side, his lips parted in mild surprise.

‘Hey Chishiya.’ (Y/N) shuffled awkwardly. ‘I just wanted to stop by to say I’m sorry about before, if I seemed off. I was still kind of thinking about my game earlier.’ They held up the soda can. ‘Really, thank you for this. It’ll be really handy in a pinch.’

To anybody else, Chishiya’s expression would seem static, bored even. But Kuina saw the vague tug of a smile on his lips; she knew better.

‘If you use it in your next game, I can make you another one,’ he replied. ‘Or if you need a knife that you can hide in your jacket. Tasers too.’

‘Tasers?’

He smirked. ‘All you need is an electronic device. It’s a simple rewiring trick.’

The two spoke in hushed tones, Chishiya faintly smirking and (Y/N) taking in every word he spoke. Watching from behind the corner, Kuina was delighted to finally see her efforts come to fruition, and she had to admit, these two oddballs kind of suited each other. Who would’ve known?

(Y/N) peered over Chishiya’s shoulder, their face lighting up. ‘Wait, is that your workbench? Can I see it?’

‘Sure.’ He opened his door wider and (Y/N) slipped inside.

This is the cutest thing I’ve seen in ages, Kuina thought. Maybe I should become a professional matchmaker.

And then she froze.

She froze because Chishiya didn’t close the door behind him. Instead, his eyes jumped over to where she was standing, looking at her squarely.

Busted!

She gave him an awkward wave of her fingers. However, instead of scowling at her for meddling too much in his affairs, he gave her the briefest of nods - a small thank you for the world’s greatest wingwoman.

#alice in borderland #chishiya #aib #kuina #imawa no kuni no arisu #chishiya x reader

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darkinfinity · 6 days

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Happy 28! Here are all the fics I read and enjoyed this past month!

☁ Call out my name by lesbidirection (E, 101k)

Apparently, it's bad PR to fall in love with the omega you hired to help you through your rut.

Harry Styles begs to differ.

A soulmate AU where two lovers find each other entirly by accident, featuring photoshoots, Gucci suits, too many takeaways, having sex and feeling sad, an alpha who feels lost, and the omega that finds him. It shouldn't be this easy, but it is.

☁ don't be afraid to love (and love again) by @voulezloux (T, 83k)

All Louis’ life, he’s known he’s been different. There’s always been something at odds about how he felt.

As the eldest daughter of seven kids, he knew something was wrong with his body. Something was off, he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. His mum dressed him in dresses and tights, plaits in his hair as he wandered around with the local neighborhood boys. They called him a girl, called him she and Rosemary when his name is Louis. He had told the boys as such, but they would tell him Louis is a boy’s name, not a girl’s.

Louis is a boy. He knows he is.

or the one where louis is trans and afraid, harry is cis and brave, and being 100% yourself is easier said than done.

☁ Wither & Bloom by @dizzy-pixie17 (E, 65k)

No one knows that legendary Harry Styles is an omega. The record label, the fans, and even his family have no idea, leading to a very isolated and very lonely life for Harry. He knows it's for the best. Otherwise, he'd never have the career he wanted and he contents himself in the knowledge that he's not the only one. But when Harry injures his voice during a performance, his manager hires a new vocal coach to help put him to rights. Cue Louis Tomlinson, the sweetest, sexiest, kindest alpha in the world, stepped right out of Harry's dizziest daydreams. While Louis tries to figure out why there's something so incredibly un-alpha-like about 'Alpha-King of Pop' Harry Styles, Harry is busy trying to control his omega's undeniable urge to throw himself at the object of his infatuation.

Amid an accidental misgendering, getting slick in public, tour bus snuggles with awkward boners, and unprovoked drops, Harry will have to choose whether he wants to keep living a lie for the sake of remaining in the spotlight or if he'll sacrifice everything to be with the man he loves… Assuming Louis ever comes back.

☁ Give me love by @falsegoodnight & @soldouthaz (E, 41k)

Despite being an omega, Louis’ always had a blatant dislike of alphas.

Or, Louis doesn't feel like a good omega, Harry doesn't remember how to be an alpha, and they figure it out together.

☁ Freeway of love (in a pink Cadillac) by @mizzhydes (E, 33k)

Louis was on his way to Miami to visit an old friend. Harry was going there for a little R&R and take in the sights and sounds. A sudden upgrade in seating brought these polar opposites together. The universe works in mysterious ways and they are unknowingly about to embark on an adventure they will surely remember for a lifetime.

Prompt 107: Sugar daddy AU inspired by this tweet: “going to sit next to the richest looking middle aged man on my flight and scroll through my nudes for three hours straight” with rich daddy Harry and bratty baby Louis

☁ this brokenness inside me might start healing by @loveislarryislove (T, 29k)

Louis grew up in a tiny town, where everyone knew everyone -- or at least, they think they do. Then he left, and became a successful singer-songwriter, a star that everyone in the country knows -- or at least, they think they do.

But when Louis returns home for the birth of his first nibling, he meets a librarian who doesn't know him at all. And that's all Louis could ask for.

☁ Cuddlebug by sun_flowr (Not rated, 19k)

When the call from the adoption agency finally calls, Harry and Louis are surprised to discover that they have been tentatively paired with a young pup named Rami, who suffers from a multitude of issues stemming from the abandonment he’s suffered. But no matter the challenges, they know they will do everything they can to care for and love this pup as if he was their own.

Prompt: a/b/o established relationship where they finally go adopt a child and find a toddler with touch depri/abandonment issues and they build him a nest and comfort him

☁ Stars will align for us by @2tiedships2 (Not rated, 15k)

"The serial monogamist is single," Niall said by way of introduction when he sat down across from Harry in the canteen.

Harry sipped his chocolate milk. "What are you going on about?"

"Your alpha dream boat," Niall said. "That tiny little footie player? I heard from Hannah that he's broken it off with his boyfriend so he’s single and ready to flamingle. Now's the time to make your move."

Harry sipped his chocolate milk harder to keep himself from replying.

Or the one where Harry is an omega at a loss of how to get past his pining and gain the attention of Louis…especially considering the alpha is always in a relationship.

☁ now i'm tracin' all my steps to you by @alwaysxlarrie (T, 5k)

Of all the things Harry was prepared for this summer, Louis Tomlinson and his wonderful, wonderful scent isn't one of them. It probably shouldn't be as shocking as it is that it makes Harry want to nest. There's only one slight problem -- Harry and nesting aren't exactly on familiar terms. At all.

This does not stop Harry from borrowing ("borrowing") Louis' things all throughout summer, though. Oops?

☁ Send me your pillow (the one that you dream on) by fairytalefemme (G, 3k)

Harry is embarrassed to realize he's nesting but can't stop stealing Louis' things for his nest.

Short fluffy o/o gaybo drabble with lots of cuddles and softness and sock stealing <3

#28th appreciation #fic rec #larry fics #may fic rec #larry fanfiction

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ivystoryweaver · 4 months

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The Only One

Episode 5

prev | Fic Masterlist | My Masterlist | next

Summary: Date number 2 brings you closer to Poe

Pairing: Poe Dameron x female original character. Fic is written in second person, but the female "you" has a name (It reads basically the same as any other xreader)

Word Count: 1.7k

Content: fluff, no warnings really, Elia is just too hard on herself, not beta'd

PREVIOUSLY on "The Only One"...

"I know you, Ells," he said softly, tenderly smiling as you actually looked up at him

"Give me a chance? I'm not so bad after date number four." He winked and you burst out laughing.

There was something so comforting about the way you were always so consistently...you.

Poe once again met you in the hangar for date number 2, smiling to himself as he approached you.

"Poe!" You excitedly called, bouncing on your toes as you tugged at your backpack straps. Twin buns, unlaced boots - same as always.

"Hey, you made it," Poe grinned, pausing before he gave into the urge to greet you with a hug or a kiss on the cheek. Still working on that personal space thing. "Perrha said you had to work late."

"Got done just in time," you confessed.

"Come on," he offered, extending his hand. He respected your boundaries, but if he wanted to date you for real, he had to know exactly where those boundaries were.

You chewed on your lip in concentration, a cute wrinkle appearing between your eyebrows. Slowly loosening your clutch on your backpack strap, you reached out to accept his hand.

His face glowed with warmth and adoration as he wrapped his fingers around yours. "This okay?"

"I think it feels safe right now," you honestly replied, and Poe thought it might be the best description he'd ever heard for holding someone's hand.

"I like when you do that," he playfully smirked over at you, leading you out of the hangar with his hand wrapped securely around yours.

"Do what?"

"Tell me the truth. No games. It's rare," he explained.

You felt him squeeze your joined hands and it made something inside you bloom to life. Poe Dameron wanted to hold your hand. Why, you would never know, but you held on for dear life, resting your cheek against his arm as you walked - the warmth of his skin seeping through his sleeve.

"I know I'm different," you slowly answered. "But you are too. When I'm with you, I feel like there's nothing wrong with me."

Poe stopped short, jarring you out of your semi snuggle. "Elia, there is nothing wrong with you."

Your gaze dropped to your boots as you shifted uncomfortably. "Don't stare at me," you mumbled.

"Sorry," he softly returned, reaching for your hand again. "Come on."

The two of you walked toward your destination in silence - the only change when Poe slid his fingers through yours.

"I can't help staring at you sometimes," he confessed, his thumb caressing yours gently. "Don't get too upset with me, okay?"

"I'm not upset," you defended, bristling as you were so prone to do.

"Be patient with me, Ells," he pleaded. "You're really pretty and it's hard for me to look away sometimes."

A tingling sensation rippled through your body at that confession. Your instinct was to deflect, deny and assume he was mocking you, but Poe had proven his sincerity enough that his actions were starting to override your brain's hard wiring.

You couldn't think of anything to say. Poe Dameron had rendered you speechless. What a gift.

There was also the the fact that he was simply mistaken. Maybe he liked your hair, or you face, for whatever reason. You felt certain you were average looking. But if he ever saw the rest of you, he would never say you were pretty ever again, because you weren't.

There was nothing wrong with not being human - plenty of Resistance fighters weren't. You weren't so shallow as to be solely wrapped up in looking a little different. No, it was a much deeper and darker history than that.

Your lineage was stained with darkness, oppression and aggression. And a source of power having everything to do with what you covered on your back. You simply could not allow yourself to follow in the footsteps of your ancestors. It's why you worked so hard to keep yourself closed off from the powerful energy flow and why you could never let your body full develop.

So you said nothing.

Poe would probably think you didn't like him back if you kept acting...well, like yourself. Lost in your head, and in self-loathing. Maybe you should try harder.

But this thing between you - could it ever go anywhere? Poe probably wanted a normal relationship. Someone he could gaze at - someone he could take to bed. You could never. It's not that you had never, but this was Poe. Not with him. So what was the point in trying?

Still...you weren't foolish enough to let someone like Poe slip away so easily.

"Here we are," he announced, seeming to have forgotten that you never responded to his compliment, even to contradict it.

"What's this?" You questioned, unable to discern anything about the type of establishment you'd wandered to. You'd walked here pretty quickly, so it was fairly close to base.

"This is just where I stashed some supplies," Poe confessed. It was some kind of storage shed. No wonder it looked so unremarkable. Pretty soon, his arms were full of supplies and the two of you started walking again.

"Didn't want to go too far tonight, since I have a solo mission in the morning," he explained. "I made us a picnic."

"How did you get all this food?" You asked Poe, once the two of you settled on a blanket in the safest part of the nearby jungle. "This is more than we usually eat in three days."

"I've been saving up," he shrugged. "Called in some favors. I thought a nice meal would feel good for a change. I think I got all the foods you like - the ones you're always eating."

Your heart burned with affection at the odd little gathering of foods your very picky tastebuds preferred, with the textures that didn't make you gag.

"I do love these, and I'm starving, thank you." Happy to stuff your face with your favorite foods, you reveled in the moments you didn't feel the need to speak. Of course this left you mind free to wander...and worry.

The blanket you shared with Poe was just to sit on, right? And nothing else. Even if you had a human body and had hopes to be with Poe in that way, the second date would still be too soon for you.

Probably best to start a conversation.

"Solo mission, huh?" You began. "What's that about?"

Poe swallowed his bite and slowly nodded. "It's, uh...actually, it's classified. I would tell you if I could."

"Oh." Something important then. "Is it dangerous? Why do you have to go alone?"

"Can't talk about it right now, but...maybe when I get back. I probably wasn't supposed to tell you there even was a mission, but..." He trailed off, reaching for his beverage.

"But what?"

Moonlight reflected in his bright, brown eyes as they found your gaze. "I didn't want you to worry."

A fizzy warmth stirred in the center of you. "I won't worry," you bluntly returned. "You're the best pilot in the Resistance. I've never seen anyone better on missions. Or in training. It should be you going."

The corners of Poe's mouth curled in amusement.

"I will miss you though," you sweetly added. "I hope you come back soon."

A satisfied smile warmed his handsome face. "I'll miss you too. We'll do this again when I get back...okay?" Dark eyebrows shot up hopefully.

"Okay," you agreed.

The rest of your date turned into more of a hangout. Poe tried to ask you a few questions about your past but you were pretty clear in letting him know you weren't going to talk about it. You asked him some more questions about his childhood on Yavin 4 and it brought you to the topic of his favorite little buddy - his orange and white droid BB-8.

"He's been on Castilon for months. I miss him like crazy."

"He must be special if you miss him so much," you commented.

"I think so. Can't wait for you to meet him. I'm picking him up on my way to my mission."

You adored watching Poe as he talked, especially about something important to him. His eyes lit up, his mouth looked so kissable and he always gestured animatedly with his hands.

If only you were normal, you might actually have a real chance with Poe. Maybe someday you could tell him the truth about yourself - your body, your species, your past...

Maybe when the war was over.

Poe walked you back to base, holding your hand. Even though you knew you couldn't be the kind of girlfriend he deserved, you wanted to tell him something before he left on his classified mission. A way for him to understand how important he was becoming to you.

"Thank you for tonight - for our picnic," you told him as you neared base. "I love being with you, Poe. I...I hope you come back soon, and you're safe out there. I'll miss you."

"I love being with you too," he sweetly replied, squeezing your fingers while reaching for your other hand. He gently caressed your fingers, gazing down into your eyes, really wishing he could give you an end-of-date kiss. Or at least a goodbye kiss.

He stared a little too long, however, and the two of you ended up sharing a nervous laugh. "Was this okay tonight? Holding your hands?"

"Yeah, it's okay."

"Good...good," he nodded, exhaling in a rush, his lips curling in a sexy smile. "Really wanna kiss you though." His tongue swiped over his bottom lip as he shifted toward you smoothly.

"Oh," you swallowed, eyes wide and blinking. "Um, I - "

"Or maybe a hug? If that feels safer..." He was trying to offer you a less intimate alternative, but you physically withdrew, folding your arms over your chest. Being held by him was a bad idea. Not until you could explain your...back.

Chewing on your lip in a mild panic, you spontaneously leaned forward, spreading your palms over the solid warmth of his chest and pressing your mouth to his.

Stunned, Poe barely had time to register the feel of your sweet lips before you withdrew, rocking on your heels before yanking hard on your frayed backpack straps.

"Goodnight, Poe," you blurted, already turning to rush away. "Be safe."

Planting his boots firmly to keep from going after you, he tried to say goodbye, but he was Poe Dameron. He had to say something.

"Ells!" He called after you, "You kissed me."

"Bye, Poe!" You repeated, scurrying toward base.

Laughter bubbled up and erupted from his chest as he said goodbye back to you.

He let you go. For now.

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dojunie · 1 year

Text

into you; hrj [sneak peek]

[★]; YOU LIKE HUANG RENJUN MORE THAN YOU’VE PROBABLY LIKED ANYTHING IN YOUR ENTIRE LIFE. Sure, you've only been more than friends for like, two weeks— a title-less thing that has you hanging out nearly every day but still hovering in the gray space between people who kiss sometimes and something a little more concrete— but it didn’t take you long to realize that he's pretty much everything you've ever wanted. What you’ve got going on with him right now is perfect in its own way, even if you find yourself almost overwhelmed with how much you like him these days… but considering that Renjun seems perfectly fine with the way things are, you’re not really gunning to tell him that.

(Though, after an incident at a party has you blowing up on your ex for a less than savory dig at your relationship— however unofficial it may be— you might not have to tell Renjun anything at all.)

info;

huang renjun x fem!reader

college au but no learning is going on

oneshot

genre/about; friends-who-kiss-sometimes to lovers, semi-established relationship but much pining is to be had, mc is Smitten, the full fic will have nsfw elements

teaser wc; 1k / full fic wc; 8-10k…ish (5k already written, woo, short fic era incoming)

[a/n: here is a very brief peek into a renjun fic that came to me in a fever dream, the one i’ve been working on non stop for like four days straight!!! renchins and others pls leave your thoughts in the replies or send me an ask, i beg]

YOU'VE SIMMERED DOWN EVEN FURTHER BY THE TIME YOU'VE GOTTEN INSIDE HIS APARTMENT AND TAKEN A LONG, HOT SHOWER; scouring both the party and Jihoon’s touch from your skin, the nearly burning water is a welcome cleanse from the nights earlier events. (Though, if you’re being completely honest, the reason your face is so warm isn’t only because of the heat.)

Upon opening the front door and hustling inside, not a second had passed after toeing off your shoes off before Renjun spun you around kissed you.

And it wasn’t— It wasn’t rare for him to kiss you first. You didn’t want to make it seem like you had to chase him down for a smooch. But Renjun, as you’d guessed from his personality even before you started dancing around each other like this, was much more reserved than you were. He chose his moments for affection purposefully; a hand held here, a kiss on the cheek there, or (on more delicate occasions) a press of his lips against yours, mainly whenever you’d drop you off late at night, a quiet goodbye whispered against your mouth.

So it wasn’t rare but it wasn’t an exact science either, which is precisely why you didn't know what was happening until it was already over. The giant, dopey smile on his face only served to explain that he’d known exactly what he was doing by surprising you like that, and you held back the urge to launch yourself at him.

“That was my thank you,” Renjun started airily, teasing but still looking a little pink around the edges himself, “For trying to fight someone twice your size on my behalf. No one’s ever done that for me before. However, I would be very happy if you never did it again, because if you got hurt I would be very mad. Do you understand?”

You only stared at him. Your lips were tingling.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured. “Do you want to shower first?”

“…Yes,” you said lowly, finaly finding your voice. God. “Yeah. You take forever.”

“Well then I’ll get you something to change into,” he said. Then, terrifyingly, he leaned in as if he was going to kiss you again— but right when he was close enough for your eyes to cross, waiting, waiting, unwilling to not be ready this time— “What are you waiting for?" he whispered. "You’re blocking the closet. Go.”

He laughed when you ran, cursing him the whole way.

Once you were out, sufficiently clean and doused head to toe in Renjun’s clothes (despite the fact that after like, the tenth time you’d been here, you brought a change of clothes to keep in his closet for spontaneous nights exactly like these), you found yourself both alone and introspective for the first time since the Jihoon incident. It was only expected that your mind would wander to how you got yourself to this point in the first place, draped across the couch of a guy you hadn’t even known the name of three months ago—

And it had started as a seating chart.

Seating charts were always a risky game. You could either be stuck next to the too-loud or the too-quiet, the cheaters with wandering eyes or the chatty kids who didn’t understand that class wasn’t only for socializing— or you could be put near an angel, someone would end up changing your life in a way that you never would have expected from that first day of classes.

Thankfully, in Chinese Literature 201, it was the latter.

Renjun was a Language Study major; the pretty guy with soft brown hair, a pair of big silver glasses perched on his face and a sweet little smile to match— the quiet student who sat across the aisle from you in the lecture hall. Being dismissed by row after collecting your midterm practice grades meant that, out in the lobby, he had a front row seat to catch you pulling your hair out over your less than desirable grade— and seemingly out of nowhere, he tapped you on the shoulder and asked if you wanted a little help. Grateful (and frankly terrified by the idea of failing Chi Lit and having to take it again if you bombed this midterm), you’d taken him up on his offer: three times a week in the Sulim Library from 6 to 8PM.

The rest was pretty much history.

You got to know him outside of just flashcards and extra assigned readings, learned that he liked to sing and did ballet for four years in high school and hated the taste of matcha anything. You learned who his friends were and what he liked to do on campus. Renjun wasn’t like any guy you’d— actually no, scratch that, he wasn’t like any person you’d ever met before. He was quiet, but he wasn’t shy. He was able to shut you up with startling accuracy; an ability your friends even found miraculous when you told them after the first few tutoring sessions, a dumb smile on your face and swinging your feet, that you’d finally found someone who could argue better than you could.

Renjun could bring a smile to your face by saying your name alone. He was nice and he was sweet and he was thoughtful, but he had a temper that matched yours and the most endearing frustrated face you've ever seen on another person.

You often left his side feeling almost ill with awe that one person could be so… perfect. As awfully mushy as that sounds.

Thankfully, after a few weeks of woo-ing him with your roguish charm, when you bit the bullet and told him you liked him, he replied with a smile and a challenge— because Renjun was nothing if not focused on the goal of actually tutoring you— he told you that if you passed the midterm with a grade of B or above, he’d let you take him on a date.

Easy fucking money. There wasn’t a chance you were going to let this opportunity slip away from you. You studied so hard for that test that for nearly six days you only came out of your room to eat and pee.

(You got a 96%— A big, beautiful red A+ on the midterm and a professors recommendation for your accompanying essay. Renjun only later told you that the alternative to a good grade was him taking you out instead, the prick; and he laughed so hard at the look on your face that you thought he was going to throw up.)

[a/n; crying screaming i'm so excited to post this lol]

[will put full fic link here when posted] [other works]

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mushhroooms · 3 days

Text

Concern (Leon Kennedy x Self harming! Reader)

❥Content warning: depression, panic attacks, and self-harm (cutting on the thighs specifically).

❥ !! Authors note: Depression, self-harm, and Panic attacks are different for everyone, I based this on my personal experiences and what helps me so if someone is going through these things what I wrote may not be helpful to others so please don’t do any of this without making sure they are ok with it and that it would help them first. !!

❥I’ve been feeling horrible so I decided to write comfort for myself.

❥This is a long fic: 1323 words

/)/)

( . .)

( づ♡ If you are going through any of this please look for help or talk to someone you trust.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Nothing was or went wrong, but it was like a huge weight had been placed on your heart.

You couldn’t feel anything other than the overwhelming sadness that flowed in your veins and swam in your brain.

There was nothing wrong, but you couldn’t shake the pure despair that overtook you.

You found it hard to do stuff and before you knew it, you had a work pile the size of a T-rex.

The added stressor only made you feel worse.

That’s when the thoughts came back.

Your brain spoke despite your heart’s protest and urged you

‘Come on, it won’t be too bad’ ‘Just a little cut won’t be too bad’

‘Just a little cut will make everything feel better’

And you shamefully listened.

Your thighs burned.

But you didn’t say a thing.

You couldn’t and no matter how much you wanted to scream and beg for help.

You couldn’t bring yourself to tell anyone.

Due to the utter shame you felt.

Not even your boyfriend, who you trusted with your whole being.

He’s seen hell on earth and didn’t need your problems weighing on him as well.

You sobbed as you tore through your skin.

The small piece of your pencil sharpener razor that you broke off sat in your palm as you watched the droplets come to the surface.

You couldn’t help it, the knives just didn’t give you the right burn.

Your brain had screamed at you that this would make you feel better, but yet. You didn’t.

And you couldn’t bring yourself to stop.

A knock on the door pulls you out of your world-crushing despair and you panic

“Hey, sweetheart. You okay in there?”

“Yeah Leon! Why?”

“Thought I heard you crying”

“No!”

“Ok”

You sigh in relief when you hear him walking away, that was close. Far too close for your liking.

So as much as everything in you screamed to keep tearing your flesh open, you stopped and cleaned up.

When you walk out Leon is sitting on the bed, looking at you.

His face is covered painfully in concern.

You don’t want him to know, you can’t have him know.

Your weak, so weak.

Leon has seen the worst of the world and yet here you are, breaking slowly for a reason you don’t know.

“What’s really going on?”

“Nothing Leon”

He gets up and walks over to you, your heartbeat speeds up in fear.

Your not scared of Leon, of course not.

Your afraid, no. Terrified of what would happen when he founds out.

“Please, I’m worried about you”

“It’s nothing.” you feel yourself grow annoyed at his concern, but your brain tells you it’s not concern.

It’s pity, he’s looking down on you

“Yes It is-”

You cut him off sharply

“It’s nothing Leon, just drop it already” You snap

And it only fuels your despair.

Here you are snapping at Leon just for caring.

But then your brain corrects you.

You're not doing a single thing wrong.

You're simply snapping at his superiority.

“Ok, fine. I’ll drop it”

You feel your body, your muscles, and your mind, loosen in relief.

You and Leon walk out to the living room

“Do you want to watch a movie”

“Sure.”

You sit down as he puts on the movie.

He pulls you close, sitting you on his lap and resting his head on your shoulder.

You try to hold it back, you try to stop the dam from breaking, but it’s so hard, his warmth, his love, it’s too much.

And you can’t stop it.

You snap. You break.

You sob.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?” His voice is laced with concern, fearing that he might have hurt you even with just a simple touch.

You can’t find words.

You don’t deserve him.

You don’t deserve anything.

The air in your lungs is definitely something you don’t deserve.

You collapse into his chest as you wail.

You don’t want him to know, He can’t know.

But at the same time, you want to scream and give your heart and brain to him to see everything wrong with you.

You shake your head violently and Leon wraps his arms around you.

You can’t tell him, He shouldn’t know.

He’d leave, he’d leave you when he saw the disgusting threads that were carved into your skin.

He cups your face gently and looks into your eyes.

“Please sweetheart, I’m worried about you. What’s wrong?” His voice is shaky and his icy blue eyes are teared up.

It only makes you sob harder, makes your brain convince you to be angrier.

You push away from him and begin to run.

You can’t stand his judgment.

His condescendence.

But he grabs you.

“I’m not letting this go on any longer. What’s wrong!?”

He’s not angry, he’s just concerned for your well-being.

Something is very wrong with you and he’s worried.

“I don’t need your pity!” you scream and look at him

You’re angry, your brain tells you. But Leon sees through it.

Your glare is not angry but sorrow-filled.

“I’m not pitying you, I’m concerned!”

You pound and push against his chest.

You want to hide and curl into yourself but his arms around you won’t allow you to do so.

He holds you there, against him till you can’t bring yourself to struggle for freedom anymore and sob against him.

He’s crying as well now, he’s worried about you.

You’re so important to him and he’s so scared.

He’s scared that he’s losing you and he decides to voice it.

“Please just tell me what’s wrong. I can’t lose you”

“I-I can’t”

“Why not?” he begs desperately.

“The words- I can’t find the words” you whisper shakily

He puts his hand gently under your chin and lifts your head.

“No matter what, I love you. I won’t be angry, I will only ever be concerned”

Your mind is clearer now, finally understanding that he’s genuinely concerned and not looking down on you.

But the words still cut your throat up when you try to speak them.

“I can’t”

His expression softens.

“Why?”

“It hurts to say…” You trail off before looking away

“I’m scared. I’m Terrified. I don’t want you to leave”

He makes you look at him again “I won’t, I promise”

You inhale before attempting to speak

“I’ve been-” You choke on the words.

Your mind won’t let you tell him, despite his promise. You're still terrified.

Terrified of being alone.

Your mind won’t let you speak.

So reluctantly you grab his hand.

Your mind stops you, You can’t show him.

He can’t know.

“In the bathroom under my deodorant bottle” You speak

Your mind wasn’t prepared for that, it couldn’t stop you this time.

Leon gets up hesitantly and walks away, In the back of his mind, that nagging voice, he knows what he’ll find.

And he does.

Your brain is screaming

‘How!? How could you tell him!?’ ‘He’ll be gone in an hour now’

You wail and hit yourself in the head.

“Shut up! Shut up!” You scream

You find yourself unable to hit yourself further when Leon gently grabs your wrists.

He pulls you into an embrace and you scream as your body feels like it’s about to shatter.

“I’ve got you”

After an hour, an hour of wailing, screaming, and despair. You finally begin to calm down and fall limp in his arms.

“We’ll get through this together, I won’t leave you alone” He whispers as he picks you up.

He walks to the bedroom before he gently places you on the bed.

He lays next to you and pulls you close to him.

“Tomorrow morning we’ll look for some help, do you want that?”

You shrug, your brain is still in denial and telling you that you don’t need it and you’re too tired to really think about it.

“We can talk about it tomorrow” he whispers as he places a kiss on your forehead

“I love you, sweetheart, I love you more than anything” he cuddles into you further, holding you as close as possible.

“I love you too Leon” You whisper before your body finally rests from exhaustion.

#resident evil x reader #resident evil fluff #resident evil comfort #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy comfort #leon s kennedy x you #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy fluff #tw self h4rm #tw sh

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strangemischieff · 11 months

Text

She’s Always a Woman To Me—Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: When Steve’s parents come home unexpectedly, he runs to his friend’s house for safety. (First posted fic, feel free to roast.)

A heavy breath escaped Steve’s lips as he pulled into the driveway of her trailer. The only way he knew for sure it was hers was the old blue truck he pulled in behind. He has only been here once before, just to drop her off, so he wasn’t totally sure of himself when he drove there. In fact, he wasn’t totally sure he knew why he drove here. In the past, when he needed somewhere to go, it’d be wherever his friend group was boozing at the moment, but that wasn’t an option anymore. He’d never thought he was bothered by that until this very moment while he was trying to work up the courage to knock on her front door.

She wouldn’t even know you were here, he thought to himself, if you turned and ran right now she’d never know and you can act like everything is normal and stop bothering her about something that’s not even a huge--he got out of the car.

Walking closer to the front door, he could hear music coming through the window in the back—The Pretenders—he almost laughed out loud. The urge to smile at the thought of her spinning records alone on a night before she’d have to spend the whole day in a record store was louder than the thoughts in his head telling him to leave her alone, she never given you any reason to think she likes you enough to help you out tonight, especially when it’s not even--he knocks 3 times.

Quickly, the music was lowered. Through the crisp air and buzzing of the summer evening, Steve could hear glasses clinking and muttered curses as small steps rushed closer to the door separating him from potential safety. Or, she could laugh in your face and kick you out. There are probably plenty of other people she’d rather be around tonight, especially after—

“Harrington?” Steve looked down with a tight lipped smile to see the girl that appeared behind the swinging door. He noticed her voice wasn’t condescending or at all teasing when she asked, “What are you doing here? Did something happen?”

“Naaah, I just, I-I-I thought I’d stop over because I, uh,” Wherever bridge Steve’s train of thought was careening off of was suddenly gone, replaced only with the question, “What the hell am I interrupting?”

Every strand of her hair was messily thrown into varying sizes of velcro rollers, her t-shirt was damp and hung to her knee, and there was a smear of something muddy on her face. Although he doesn’t think he’d ever seen her without black smudges around her lashes, darkly lined lips, and big red boots on, Steve Harrington wasn’t one to be shocked by a girl with no makeup on. He’d seen plenty of girls “before and after” a night out, so he had no explanation for why he couldn’t stop staring at her.

“Ha-ha, don’t answer my question with a dumber one,” she replied, leaning against the door frame. “Why are you here?”

Again, her tone was just soft enough to make him want to tell her everything that was pounding through his brain like horse hooves on a racetrack. Couldn’t do it, though. “I was in the neighborhood.” He was lying through his teeth and she knew it, and he knew that she knew it, which is why his heart swelled a bit when she told him to come in instead of questioning him further.

He didn’t think it was possible for a trailer to look like this from the inside. In fact, if you’d asked anyone in their graduating class to guess what the inside of her trailer would look like, no one would have come anywhere close. With the records lining the walls on shelves, big pillows and plush blankets on the couch, dim lighting, and photos and posters covering the walls, Steve thinks it’s the coziest place he’s ever been.

He wanted to tell her that; wanted to say thank you for letting him see her home and for answering the door at all and that he’s sorry people didn’t treat her well enough in high school just because they didn’t know any better and that he wishes he could have helped and he doesn’t really deserve to be standing in here at all, but instead he said, “what’s on your cheek?”

She turned her eyes, which looked like they were trying to read something on his face, to the mirror on the wall next to her. “Oh, it’s a facemask. I was kinda having a ‘me night’ before you got here.”

“Hence the new Pretender album I could hear from outside?” he teased, knowing she was going to question why he was there and trying as hard as he could to prolong that.

“Yeah!” she barked a laugh. “I finally got enough saved to snag one of the copies we have in the shop without having to skip out on groceries. Which I was totally considering, by the way.” This earns another big breath from Steve, both a laugh and of some relief at his success. After some silence between the two of them, she continues, “um, you could join me? If you want?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

———

“And this is supposed to do…what, exactly?” Steve scrunched his nose at the slowly hardening gray goop covering his cheeks. He was seated on her bed, hair pinned away from his face as he sipped on the glass of wine in his hand. She was across the room, leafing through the milk crate of vinyls under her desk.

“I don’t know, make your skin better? Close your pores? Something like that.” She waved it off, turning to him. “Stop doing that, relax your face. Hall and Oates okay?” She held the record up for him to see.

He nodded as she approached the record player. Did she know they were one of his favorites? “I’m offended that you think my skin needs the help.”

“Shut up, it’s more for fun than anything else,” she walked over to him as the static faded into the familiar opening chords of You're Out of Touch. As she put a hand on his cheek, the poetic timing of that particular song was not lost on him, especially while he was trying his hardest not to think about it. “I think we’re good to take it off now anyway. Follow me.”

He did so, into the tight space as she turned on the sink. She waited for the water to warm up, then dipped a washcloth into the stream, hopping up onto the counter next to the sink to face him. Resting her hand on the spot between his neck and shoulder, she began to wipe the facemask off of his skin.

“Am I hurting you?’

“No.”

“Then stop doing that scrunchie face again.”

Whether it was the glass and a half of chardonnay he had since getting to her place, or the steady rhythm of her dipping the cloth into the warm water, cleaning off his skin, rinsing the gray stuff off the cloth, and repeating, Steve’s tension had almost totally eased. So, he was caught off guard when she said, softly, “do you want to tell me why you came here?”

Steve held his breath and she must have noticed because she continued in the same tone, “you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want. But I know just talking about things usually helps me, makes my brain quieter. Or we don’t have to.”

Steve took a deep breath. She wasn’t watching him, staying vigilant to clean his face (which was quickly warming up, and he is blaming that entirely on the warm water and nothing else). But was looking right at her, and he decided he wasn’t afraid. In this tiny bathroom, he didn’t need to be.

“My parents came home,” he finally admitted. She didn’t pause her process, or speak, and Steve assumes she was waiting to see if he wanted to say more. “I didn’t expect them to, and as soon as they started talking to me I just…needed somewhere else to go. I didn’t want to be in my house anymore.”

She looked like she was thinking for a moment, before she said, “I know they’re not usually there. Do you prefer that?”

“You got that right,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, obviously I don’t get along well with my parents either,” she vaguely gestured to the trailer she lived in by herself, “But I don’t know how I’d handle my parents popping in and playing house all of the sudden,” she was looking at him with her big eyes.

Steve didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like it was okay to complain about his family, with how well off they were compared to people like her and the Byers. His mouth was opening and nothing was coming out. She hopped off the counter. “I don’t blame you for running out of there. But there’s no one to antagonize you like that here.” she laughed.

As she hung the cloth on the drying rack and handed him a fluffy towel for his face (telling him sternly to “pat, don’t rub,”) and began to rinse her own face in the sink, Steve continued, “I guess I just didn’t want to act like I was feeling sorry for myself. But the thought of staying in the house with them made me, I don’t know, panic. I just wasn’t ready to deal with it.

“I totally get it! You shouldn’t have to put up with that shit out of nowhere!” she raised her voice slightly to make sure he heard her over the rushing water.

Like the flowing of water from the faucet, Steve let his words flow from his mouth without stopping them, “They always want to grill me about my life, you know? And no matter what I’m doing, it’s never enough. Hell, I could tell them I’ve been elected president and they’d find a reason why I’m not doing enough! And what if I don’t want to think that far into my future just yet? What if I just want to ‘live for today’ or whatever. Oh, and don’t even get me started on how they acted when I told them about the breakup with Nancy. They NEVER take interest in my personal life until I mention that I’m single again, and all of the sudden they just want to talk about how I couldn't even keep a relationship with such a nice and promising young lady. And if I even try to defend myself my father will..”

Quickly snapping off the tap, she turned to face him, water dripping off of her chin. She seemed to be holding her breath, clearly expecting the worst. Although she might not have been too far off, he decided he’d maybe want to keep the details to himself for now, and waved himself off.

“You can stay here, if you wanna,” she told him when he didn’t resume the rant, “That way you don’t have to think about going back until you’re ready.”

Steve’s heart swelled at the offer, and despite feeling like it was more than what he deserved for this situation, he nodded his head, and she grinned. Looking at her, he noticed she missed a spot right under her eye, so he grabbed the cloth she used on his face, held her chin with his other hand, and gently wiped her skin clean. As she watched him carefully, she quietly told him, “you don’t deserve that, you know. I mean, no one does, but you really don’t.”

“Yeah?” he murmured softly, eyes flicking over to hers before returning to his task.

“Yeah. I think you’re doing just fine. Better than they’d pay attention enough to notice,” they stayed looking at each other.

“I’m still sorry for complaining,” he admitted, tone still soft. “I wouldn’t blame someone like you for being annoyed when someone like me complains.”

“Now you’re not giving yourself enough credit,” she pointed out, rolling forward on her toes and almost bumping her nose against his. “Besides, just because I might have some shit, it doesn’t make your shit any less…shitty.” Steve laughed, clearly confused, and she threw her head back in a laugh as well, tossing her wrist over his shoulder. “I just mean that two things can be sad at the same time. And you can tell me anything. I…I’m happy to listen.”

Steve looked down at their feet, both of them in a pair of her fuzzy socks (“they’re essential,” she had told him), and reached a hand up to wrap around her forearm. “Thank you,” he spoke deliberately as he brought his eyes back up to hers. “I think…I think I know that. I mean, that I can tell you…stuff.”

“Good,” she smiled. “Okay, let’s go, if you’re spending the night you’re watching ‘Raiders of the Lost Arc’ with me.”

The movie choice didn’t matter, by the end of the night. The two of them talked over it, and the next one, and the next; they talked about their parents or exes or the things that kept them up at night here and there, when one of them felt like they needed to. They laughed those laughs that make your face get all hot and make you feel like you’ve just run the mile in gym. Steve couldn’t remember the last time he laughed like that, and it was certainly more laughs than he would have had with his parents at home. They talked to each other until they couldn’t keep their eyes open anymore. And the next morning, when Steve wakes up on the couch with her feet on his lap, he decides that he’d never felt more at home.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington one shot #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #Steve Harrington x reader fluff

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daisies-and-domming · 2 years

Text

Control (NSFW)

Summary: Barbatos believes in the unwavering, whether it’s his loyalty or his belief that he is in control. GN!MC shows him otherwise.

Warnings: smut, dom!reader, name-calling, Barb has a vent (and two cocks), CBT, masochism (Barbatos), a little bit of edging, swearing

Let me know if you think I missed anything!!

All characters are over 18 :)

This is technically my first smut fic but I posted the Belphie one first because this one is vile. Like shit's nasty, buckle up y'all. I’m OBSESSED with the whole cast of obey me, so expect more of these in the future, oopsie ;P Obey Me requests are always welcome!

– – –

“Your tea, my lord.”

As Barbatos bows to Lord Diavolo, you watch with interest, thoughts clearly elsewhere. About how maybe you could bend him over like that. Or even possibly-

“I’ll be just outside the door if you need me, my lord.”

This snaps you out of your thoughts. You were at a private meeting with the Lord of the Devildom itself, for Diavolo's sake! You shake yourself out of your stupor and give Barbatos a polite smile, watching him (or rather, his ass) as he walks out of the room, the door shutting softly behind him. Turning your attention to Diavolo, you realize he’s been staring. You hope he hasn’t been watching for long enough to follow your eyes.

“Are you and Barbatos together?”

Clearly you hadn’t evaded his gaze. Panicking, a simple, “Pardon?” is all you can stutter out.

“Are you and Barbatos together?” he asks again, unfazed by your reddening cheeks. He even had the audacity to look a little amused, that son of a bitch.

You and Barbatos had agreed to let the brothers connect the dots themselves. However, you hadn’t discussed the inevitability of the Devildom’s ruler finding out. “Uhm…”

“It seems my suspicions were right!” he says, a large grin spreading across his face. “Congratulations!”

“Uh, thank you, my lord,” you respond, unclear on the point of this little meeting you were having. “Is that why you called me here…?”

He looks at you, a little stunned, but quickly snaps back into his typical self. “Of course not! This is about student council work. Lucifer is one stubborn man, but even he can’t carry all the work himself. You’ve seen how his other brothers are, so would you mind-”

“Picking up some of his work?” you finish, smiling gently when he nods. “I’m one hundred percent willing, that poor man needed a break, like, a century ago.”

Diavolo sends you another smile, noticeably relaxing a bit, “Your help is really appreciated MC! I’ll have Barbatos drop by with the documents later.” He shoots you a wink and you fluster, still not used to Diavolo’s casualty about your relationship with Barbatos. You should probably warn him that the brothers have no idea whatsoever, but he’s already calling Barbatos back to show you out. You thank Dia for his hospitality, bow once for good measure, and follow Barbatos out, resisting the urge to grab his ass in front of the literal king of the Devildom.

After the door shuts, you melt into Barbatos, letting yourself bask in his comfort.

“Is everything alright, darling?”

God, he’s too sweet sometimes. “Of course Barb! It’s not like I just had a private meeting with the Lord of the Devildom or something.”

He snorts softly, wrapping a gentle arm around you. “What did he want to discuss?”

“Luci, that poor soul, is overworking himself again,” you say, feeling him nod against you. “I’m picking up some of his workloads so he can have some more downtime.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“I try my best,” you murmur, snuggling further into him as you finally begin to make your way through the castle corridors. “And Luci deserves some help, he’s already got those brothers of his to handle.”

Barbatos smiles gently down at you, and you decide not to mention the fact that Dia knows about your relationship. It’s a conversation for another time, you decide, letting Barbatos lead you towards the door. As you approach the exit, he slows down, reluctant to let you go.

“Must you be leaving so soon?”

“I’m sorry sweetheart, but I’d rather not overstay my welcome,” you say, kissing him softly on the cheek. “And Dia said he would send you to the HoL with Lucy’s work overflow, so we’ll see each other soon!”

Before you can get fully out the door, Barbatos pulls you back, breathlessly kissing you. “Then I will see you later, darling.”

The door closes behind him and you are left standing, flushed, outside the castle. Slapping your cheeks, you make your way back to the HoL, praying that none of the brothers notice your physical (or emotional) state. Damn your sexy butler boyfriend, he would be the death of you.

– – –

Impatiently scrolling through your Devilgram feed, you once again check the clock. 8:30 pm. While it wasn’t necessarily late, it seemed strange that Lord Diavolo hadn’t sent Barbatos out yet. Maybe he won’t be coming today…

A knock on your door interrupts your thoughts, causing you to spring to your feet. You bolt over to the door, flinging it open with fervor, grinning when you spot your stunning boyfriend. He smiles back and, after a cursory glance to make sure no one else was in the hallway, he steps into your room. The door closes behind him, the gentle click of the lock signaling that tonight might be just as fun as you’d hoped. He hands you a stack of papers that you haphazardly place on your desk, pulling him into a fierce kiss.

He pulls back, panting. “You should probably go over those papers-”

“When do you have to be back?” you say, staring up at him. “Do I have enough time to ruin you?”

“The young lord gave me the rest of the night off,” he says, his grin turning feral. “And I believe that I will be doing the ruining, darling.”

That just wouldn’t do. With a smirk, you spin him around and push him onto the bed, enjoying the sputtering you get back. Straddling his hips, you dive down to press a passionate kiss to his lips, all teeth and tongue. Your one hand cups his cheek while the other begins to pull his outfit apart, nearly ripping the buttons out in the process. Breaking for air, he gives you a watery smile, moving your hand out of the way and pulling the rest of his top off. You run a soft hand up and down his chest before twisting his nipple harshly, reveling in the moan your action tears out of him. Moving down, you focus your whole attention on his chest, until Barb’s nipples are puffy and his pecs are littered with marks. He paws at your shirt and you comply, already beginning to feel a taste of impatience. You roll your eyes at him but clearly aren’t objecting to getting this train moving, opting to remove the rest of your clothes while you could. He eyes you hungrily, reaching out to you in an attempt to pull you back on top of him again.

“Hands off, pretty boy,” you say, smacking his hand away. “You’ll only touch me with my permission, do you understand?”

He nods, and you shake your head in faux disappointment. “Words, baby.”

“Yes! Yes, I understand, darling, please touch me, please please please-”

You lightly smack his vent, still hidden under a few layers of clothing. Barbatos jolts, a wet patch forming at the front of his pants. You grin wide, sadistic, and land another well-placed smack on his clothed sex. You go on like this a few more times, enjoying the way his head lolled back and his pretty green eyes crossed every time you landed a hit.

“You like this, huh, pretty boy?” He nods desperately, bucking up into empty air. “Beg me, and maybe I’ll consider smacking your little vent while it’s bare. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He writhes underneath you, already falling apart. “Darling please, please smack my vent again, I’ve been good, please darling!”

“You could do better than that. Try again.”

He absolutely wails, debauched. “Please, please, I’m begging you, need you to smack my dirty little vent again, wan’ it to hurt, wan’ you to show me my place-”

You yank his pants down in one swoop and hit him, hard, smiling when his cocks begin to peek out of his vent. “Such a desperate little pain slut, aren’t you?”

“YES, yes, I’m your little slut,” he cries. “Wan’ you to hurt me more, please, wanna be your good boy.”

“What happened to that cocky behavior, hm? Thought you were going to ruin me,” you say, frowning down at him. “I’m waiting, pretty baby.”

“M’sorry darling, I didn’ mean it, didn’ mean to lie,” he all but sobs, crocodile tears streaming down his face as you land another smack, making sure to tease his cocks on your way back. “‘M just your little bitch boy, just your toy-”

You grab his cocks, giving them a tug. He squeezes his eyes shut, back arching and a low moan rolling off his tongue. You grin, feral, loving the way he squirmed in your grasp, eyes begging for more. He jerks his hips up and you pout, letting go of his cocks. He lets out a screaming sob, frustration evident on his tear-streaked face.

“What happened to my good boy, huh?” you murmur, a sadistic grin imprinting itself on your face.

“‘m sorry!!” he yelps, eyes wide and staring right up at you. “I can do better darling, I promise, please let me show you-”

“Shut up,” is the only warning he gets before you hover your sex over his face. “If you can’t even beg me properly, then you might as well do something with that dirty mouth of yours, huh, slut?”

He whines but doesn’t object, licking and sucking at your sex with such reverence that you can’t help but buck into him, letting out an involuntary whimper. Damn your boyfriend and his talented mouth.

He groans at your little noises, sending a jolt up your spine. You grab his hair harshly, reminding him who was in control.

“That’s it, baby,” you moan out, gritting your teeth. “Just like that, want to make me cum, don’t you, pretty boy? Keep going, yes, that’s it-”

Your orgasm hits like a train, your mouth opening in a silent scream as Barbatos works you through it, mouthing at you until you’re sensitive and very much overstimulated. Yanking his hair back, you feel yourself clench at the fucked out look on his face. Eyes unfocused, he blearily looks at you, a dopey grin spread across his face. You grip his hair a little harder, loving the pitchy moan that leaves his throat.

“Look at you,” you coo, moving your weary legs so that you're straddling his thighs once again. “Such a pretty little painslut, hm? Just so wet for me, can’t get off without me pushing you around.”

He nods, almost frantic, pleading for your touch, “Please darling, ‘ve been so good, such a good boy for you, please, please, touch me, touch me, I need it, need you so bad-”

He’s cut off by your hand finding one of his cocks, pulling hard. He screams, his vent spurting out copious amounts of precum. Jolting into your touch, you shove two fingers into his vent without warning, reveling in the way his back arches and his body shakes, holding back his impending orgasm.

“Aw, does my pretty little whore wanna cum?”

“Please, please, please, can’ hold much longer, need to cum, wanna cum for you-”

He sobs as you slow your pace, pulling your fingers out of his vent but leaving your other hand on his cock. You rear back your free hand and smack his other cock, grinning as he sputters and cries. Landing another well-timed smack on his cock, your other hand begins to tug at him at ungodly speeds.

“You gonna cum, pretty baby?” His head bobs, no words but ‘please’ and ‘MC’ left in his vocabulary. “That’s it, let go for me, you can do it, sweetheart.”

He wails, both cocks jumping as you land one final smack. He explodes all over himself, coating his chest and your hands a sticky white. He can’t stop thanking you, and you stroke his hair, letting him come down from his orgasm. Sliding off his thighs, you sit next to him on the bed, smiling softly as he snuggles into your lap. You pet his hair and whisper sweet nothings to him. As he comes back down, you wiggle your way out of his hold, softening at his whine.

“I just need to clean us up, okay pretty boy?” you say, pulling open the bottom drawer on your nightstand. “Look, see? Just need to wipe us down and then we can cuddle, okay lovely?”

He nods, reluctant, and lets you wipe him down. He watches intently the whole time, clearly beginning to drift. Once you finish with him, you haphazardly wipe yourself off, knowing Barbatos isn’t going to let you go long enough for you to shower. Throwing the soiled wipes vaguely in the direction of the trash can, you help Barbatos under the blankets and slide in next to him, pulling him to your chest.

“Good night, love.”

All you get is a snore in return.

Word Count: 2143

#barbatos obey me #barbatos x reader #barbatos smut #sub!barbatos #dom!reader #smut #obey me smut #sub obey me #obey me swd #barb has vents bc i said so :D

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