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blondeboyfriend · 1 year

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𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Meguru Bachira x reader [ SYNOPSIS ] You're Bachira's good luck charm. idk there's no plot, don't think too hard about it. [ WORD COUNT ] 1.6k [ CONTENT ] Aged up!Bachira, he went pro (ayyyy), knife play, blood play, sadomasochism, praise, marking, scars, y/n is kinda needy (but so is he), vaginal sex, size kink (I believe in big dick Bachira), teasing, nipple play, overstimulation, pet names (baby), creampie.

You hated away games, loathed them. They were an inevitable occurrence, something you should have grown used to over time. But still the night before every flight you spiraled, lamenting that you couldn’t follow Bachira around. It wasn’t because you were insecure or lacked trust; you just hated sleeping alone. There was nothing more disappointing than rolling over in bed at three in the morning, reaching for him, and then remembering, Ah, yeah. He’s in Sapporo. You had always assumed you’d build up a callus, one to protect you from the melancholy known to overwhelm you on those lonely nights.

Unfortunately every away game was a wound reopened.

In six hours Bachira would be flying first class to Fukuoka, sleeping with his face pressed against the window. His team’s manager was less than enthused with this arrangement. He thought it was ridiculous to spend an extra day at home and fly out the day of the game, but denying the left back was easier said than done. Bachira’s beguiling whimsy and immense talent rendered most people under his spell. The world was effectively his for the taking, his manager no different.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you sighed.

You tried to ignore the looming dread that hung around you, but it was nigh impossible while straddling him. He fluttered his long, dark eyelashes and looked up, leaving you bewitched by his golden gaze. It radiated a fervent adoration no other man was capable of. He was artful in his mastery, his affection unmatched.

“I know,” he said, pinching your cheek.

You batted his hand away.

“You sure you don’t want to get some rest? I’ll feel moderately guilty if you fuck up tomorrow.”

“Stop,” he whined. “I’ll be fine. It’s a short flight and it’s not like I’m gonna be playing the second I get there.”

He would be fine, he always was. He had his ways; the absurd things he did in the name of good luck never failed him. So you surrendered yourself and bought into his vision like you had many times before. There was nothing to worry about, all you needed to do was trust him.

Still you couldn’t hide your melancholic expression. You’d miss him all the same, win or lose.

“C’mon. You believe in me, don’t you?” he asked. He gave you a cat-like grin, one that would make you sign your life over to him.

“Yes, yes, yes. I believe you.”

“Then what is it?” he asked, tickling your sides.

You groaned. “I’m—ugh—I told you. I'm going to miss you, alright”

“Aww. I could come inside you if that’ll help,” he teased.

“You were going to do that anyway!”

He playfully stuck out his tongue as he slipped his hands under your shirt. His hands were big and weighty, but his fingers were elegant. His palms rough; his touch tender. He tugged at the hem of the shirt and giggled.

“You thief,” he said, pulling it off of you. “I was looking for this while I was packing.”

“Not my fault it’s the perfect nightgown.”

He tossed it in the general location of his half-packed suitcase.

“At least it’ll smell like me now,” you said coyly.

He sat up and buried his face in your neck, taking in the scent of your skin. He let out a dreamy sigh as he exhaled. It was such a lovely noise, one you wanted to hear again and again. You reached down and stroked his soft cock. You pulled back his foreskin and rubbed your thumb around his sensitive tip. He shivered with delight.

“I need all my stuff to smell like you. Go roll around in my suitcase for a little bit.”

“How about I give you some pairs of dirty underwear to remember me by instead?” you snickered as you squeezed the base of his cock.

He rutted against your fist. “Fine, but they have to be those tiny, cotton ones. They feel the best against my skin.”

“Anything for you.”

He looked so sweet lying beneath you. You braced yourself, placing your hands on his pecs, and felt the rise and fall of his chest. His warm skin was dappled with water, his sinewy body fresh out of the shower. The towel he haphazardly wrapped around his hair had unraveled, each strand exuding the scent of your shampoo. His cheeks were glassy, a sure sign he slathered on your facial serum and night cream. Even his skin smelled like yours. He wriggled under you, trying to guide your attention to his semi-erect cock. You decided you wanted to tease him a bit, make him earn it.

“Don’t you need a good night’s rest so you can win tomorrow?” you asked, dropping your arms to your sides.

He scoffed. “I have my ways,” he said, eyes fixed on the thin scars etched on your upper chest.

You decided to change your tune. Wasting time was criminal.

“Hm. Remind me of what those are. I forgot.”

He grinned and began to dig around the bedside table for his tools. He pulled out a wooden box with a floret of goldenrod painted on the lid. Inside were some single-use scalpels and a modest first aid kit. He pulled you close, hand resting on the small of your back, and licked the cluster of scars. Each one was a thin line about an inch in length and spaced close together like tally marks. They were all perfectly straight, the handiwork of a master. You were proud to bear them.

Bachira held the scalpel between his fingers, his eyes narrowed and focused. You froze like a statue awaiting the chisel of a sculptor. The blade glided across your skin; you barely registered the sensation.

“Deeper,” you urged.

He ran the blade across the slit once more. Blood trickled freely from the wound. He made another cut underneath. It was deeper and hurt more than the first one. He watched as the blood made its way down your breasts and let out a giddy whine as it clung to your nipple. Unable to contain himself he swirled his tongue around it. Your cunt throbbed as he held it in between his teeth. He looked up at you, his eyes wild with adoration. You loved seeing him like this. You felt special, like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

He licked up the trails of blood before rolling his tongue against the cuts. It was like getting stung by bees. You loved finding ecstasy in the ache. You’d forever be in debt to Bachira for aiding you in your libertine awakening, for leading you hand-in-hand down the proverbial primrose path. He was the first to show how to walk the line between pain and pleasure.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” he whimpered before sucking on your breast once more.

You lifted his chin and kissed him. You ran your tongue over his lips, the taste of your blood still lingering on them. He eagerly opened his mouth, overtaking yours. His kisses were always sloppy, wet, and needy. His desperate passion knew no bounds and you wouldn't have it any other way. You slowly stroked his cock, his precum sliding in between your fingers.

He panted, “I need it now.”

You kissed his forehead and slid his cock inside your dripping cunt. He tossed his head back and let out a heavenly moan. You bounced up and down, driving his cocktip into your cervix. His girth was a gift from god. You felt so full, almost like you would burst at the seams.

He lapped at the blood trickling from your cuts. You tangled your fingers in his damp hair, letting the strands snake around them. You wanted to become a part of him, for your bodies to meld into one. Both of you were swept up in a euphoric frenzy. As he rutted against you he pinched your swollen clit. He couldn’t help but smile in the face of your desperate yelps.

“Gentle! Gentle!” you said, squirming.

It was too strong a sensation. You were so full as it was; you weren’t sure you could weather another intense sensation. You felt like his cock was buried deep in your stomach.

“Ah,” you winced. “Me—Meguru, it’s too mu—”

He forced you to look at him, his yellow eyes overwhelmed by dark pupils, and sweetly said, “Your body can take it.”

Five words was all it took to bewitch you. He alternated between pinching your clit and massaging it. You felt like you were ascending as your orgasm inched closer.

“You gonna come all over my cock?” he asked.

“Uh-huh,” you whined.

His thrusts were relentless, not a hint of mercy in his touch. It was maddening. You kept babbling his name, begging him for more. Shame was a concept neither of you were familiar with. Neither of you could quiet yourselves. It was a chorus of panting, whimpering, and moaning. As your orgasm crescendoed all you could do was choke out a few expletives and drool.

“That’s it, baby,” Bachira said, jaw clenched and completely charmed by your demeanor.

He held you close and took the lead, driving his cock into your cunt, lips pressed against your still bleeding cuts. You felt like you were operating on a different plane of existence. The only thing that brought you back to reality was the warm feeling of Bachira’s cum filling you up. You collapsed in his arms, and tried to catch your breath.

“Was… that… helpful?” you murmured.

“Oh yeah. I’m gonna bring you home a win,” he purred against your ear.

#bachira meguru x reader #meguru bachira x reader #bachira x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk smut #blue lock smut #bachira smut #.fics #.bllk #.bachira #x reader #reader insert

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miasmaghoul · 8 months

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anything little dick mountain.... PLEEEEASE

anything you say?

okay.

how about little dick mountain and nonbinary intersex mist getting stoned and fuckin around in the woods?

thats something.

"This is nice," Mountain murmurs, twirling a lock of fine silver hair between two fingers.

"Always is," Mist lilts in reply, plucking the half-burned joint from Mountain's other hand. They offer him a slow wink, and Mountain grins.

They've been here for a while now, naked and sprawled out beside Mist's favorite stream deep in the woods. It's a tranquil place, serene and nearly silent. The babble of the water soothes something deep in Mountain's core, as does the late spring sun filtering through the boughs above. The warm light dapples Mist's pale skin, washes them in an ethereal glow, and stoned as he is Mountain can't help but touch.

Mist hums on an inhale as a large hand caresses their shoulder, rough fingers tracing the intricate lines of the tattoo there - a sea serpent with fangs sharp enough that even the ink threatens to cut. Mountain could study it for hours, could spend an age gliding his fingertips along every curve. From the tip of the tongue that sits just above the barely-there swell of Mist's chest to the tail that ends at the small of their back.

Mist's slight hand rests on Mountain's chest, delicate fingers fiddling with his chest hair, and he takes a moment to admire them.

They look exquisite; silver-blue eyes reddened and heavy, hollow cheeks crested with pink, gills rippling as heady smoke flows from them in entracing waves. Mountain lowers his head to drink it down, his hand sliding around to rest between Mist's shoulders while he noses at their throat.

"Greedy," they tease, voice light. Mountain chuffs, dragging the tip of his tongue along their jaw. Mist sighs, tilting their head and taking another deep pull, burning the joint to its end. Mountain feels their lungs fill under his touch, and something about it makes him throb.

"Can you blame me when you taste so good?" Another lick, and Mist trills, amused.

"Not even a little."

Another plume escapes Mist's gills and Mountain sucks it down, holds it in. He pulls away with a curl to his lips and finds Mist peering up at him expectantly, the tip of their tongue poking out between needle-sharp fangs. Mountain threads long fingers into soft hair, grips gently, and when their lips join it's in a cloud of sweet smoke.

It's slow. Languid. A relaxed meeting of tongues, an exchange of breath and saliva alike. Mountain's hand glides down the length of their spine, a brief journey that ends with his palm on Mist's sharp hip, fingers dimpling the subtle curve of their ass. They shift a bit, hook a leg over his thigh, and Mountain chuckles at the almost imperceptible weight of it. He smiles against their lips.

"I always forget how small you are," he murmurs, and Mist rewards him with a sharp tug to his chest hair. He gives them a hiss, one that fades into a pleased hum when cool, bony fingers drift down over his stomach.

"No you don't," they say, clearly amused. Mountain pulls back just enough to catch the sparkle in their eyes, a glint of brilliant sapphire in those pale irises.

They're right, of course. It's impossible to forget how tiny Mist is in comparison to him, how seemingly frail. Elegant limbs, bony joints, slender from head to toe. He has a solid two feet on them, and who knows how much weight, but on the rare occasion Mist hunts him down for these trysts it's never them that seems to feel small.

That wandering hand vanishes between their bodies, and Mountain lets his own hand travel down the creamy thigh over his hip, squeezing along the way. Mist licks their lips, gives him a sharp smile.

"But I could say the same about you, big guy."

They punctuate that statement by wrapping deft fingers around his cock, and Mountain groans as he feels them engulf him completely. The one place where he is decidedly not big.

"Oh, someone's excited," Mist sing-songs, giving his little stiffy a nice squeeze. He shivers with it, hips rolling already.

Mountain can't deny it - truth be told he's been chubby since Mist caught him on his way back to the abbey, arms full of freshly snipped roses that Primo had requested for his chambers. He'd pawned that task off on a nearby sibling, content to follow his dick and the stunning ghoul before him instead. Mist thumbs over his sticky head and Mountain huffs out a tight sigh.

"Sensitive as ever," Mist taunts, loosening their grip and giving him a couple of soft little pumps that have Mountain's eyes rolling back. "Planning to blame the weed?"

He always does, but they both know better.

"I can if you want," he rumbles, hitching Mist's leg higher on his hip. "But it's easier to blame you."

Mist laughs, loud and bright in the surrounding silence. They shift closer, close enough that Mountain can feel the brush of their pebbled nipples against his chest, their piercings pressing chilly into his overwarm skin. Mountain drags blunt nails up their thigh, relishing the goosebumps that appear in his wake. He slips his own hand between their bodies, and Mist smiles. They wrap a spindly arm around his neck, arch their back, and with a loose rock of their hips Mountain feels the firm length of their dick press into his thigh

"Looking to return the favor, sycamore?"

Mountain doesn't try to hide his whine, there's no point. He always gets noisy when they do this, and all the high does is make him more willing to let it out. He wraps an eager hand around Mist's already slick length, and they reward him with a tighter grip on his own. Mountain groans deep in his chest, leaning down to knock their horns together.

"You're really hard," he murmurs, the hand in Mist's hair drifting down to settle at the back of their neck, angling their lovely, handsome face towards his own. "Gonna blame that on the weed?"

Mist doesn't deign to answer, getting a nice handful of his hair and licking a wide stripe over his stubbled cheek instead. Mountain feels himself throb in their hand, feels Mist leak over his knuckles, and as they catch him in a decidedly more hungry kiss Mountain lets himself be overwhelmed.

It's easy to do. The smooth swipe of their tongue along his own and behind his fangs drags him further and further down. The slowly tightening channel of Mist's hand pulls pearl after pearl of pre from his firm little cock, the slick sound of both of their hands filling his head with static. Mist's nails rake over his scalp, just sharp enough to provide the hint of a sting, and Mountain doesn't even try to hold back his moan.

It's nice like this. No rushing, no frantic urgency, no pleading for more. No need for it. They both know Mist controls the pace of these stolen moments, and Mountain has absolutely no problem with it. He lets himself enjoy the kiss, the taste of Mist filling his mouth. Fresh and clean with a specific sort of bitterness Mountain has come to crave, all of it accentuated by the herbal flavor of their shared smokable. It's intoxicating, and before Mountain knows it he's panting into their mouth, starved for more.

He pauses on a downstroke, wraps a finger and thumb around the base of Mist's twitching length and slips two fingers back between their legs. He moans out a curse at the slick heat he finds there, swiping his digits through their folds. He dips just one inside, and the tightness he finds there has his stomach swooping.

Mist purrs into the kiss when he swirls it inside, abandoning their grip on his short length in favor of grabbing his wrist. Mountain doesn't fight when they pull his slippery hand from their body, maneuvering it instead to hold the both of them together.

Mountain has to pull back then, chest heaving and eyes glassy as Mist guides him to stroke. The feel of it is exquisite - his large palm is rough, callused, but Mist leaks so much that it eases the glide in moments. The sensation wrings a pained gurgle from him, and Mountain can't keep himself from rocking his hips. From letting his tip kiss the underside of Mist's, every drag of their cocks against one another sending his head spinning and forcing heat to swirl through his belly.

"Fuck," he breathes, long and low. "Mist, fuck -"

"Feeling good, aren't you?" Mist sounds entirely too calm, as they always do, but the way they pulse in his hand betrays them. "Think the little guy's ready for me yet?"

They rock their hips just as Mountain does, ruts their cocks together, and Mountain makes the most embarrassing sound. He gives a quick nod, sucking his lower lip between his fangs, and before he can do anything more Mist is rolling him onto his back. Straddling his hips. Moving him like he isn't at least twice their size everywhere except where it counts.

"That's better," Mist says on a sigh. They settle on their knees, palms flat on his chest, and Mountain gazes up at them with what can only be called unabashed adoration. Mist smiles down at him, tossing the silver curtain of their hair over their shoulder. Mountain rests his hands on their waist, loving the way his thumbs overlap just below their navel. "Don't you think?"

Mountain offers up a dumb little sound of confirmation, too busy visually feasting on the little ghoul above him. Soaking in every angle and curve, every ridge of their gills, the sparkle of their nipple rings and the shimmering black scales decorating their collarbones and the vee of their hips. His gaze halts there, caught completely on the way their shiny pink cock sticks straight out between their skinny thighs.

Mist doesn't miss it, their lips curling into a positively cheshire smile while they scoot forward. While they settle themselves over his own aching length where it lays on his stomach, leaking pre into the smattering of hair there. Mountain chokes on a moan when they shift just enough to drag their dripping cunt over his little cock, and it's a miracle he doesn't cum right then and there.

Not that Mist would allow that, of course. He knows better.

"So warm," they murmur, moving their hips in gentle circles that have Mountain's thighs quivering. "How badly does he want it, hmm?"

"Bad," Mountain rasps, doing his absolute best not to hump up against Mist's inviting body. "He wants in so bad."

Mist trills, a deeply pleased sound. They raise up just enough for Mountain to see the thick trail of slick that connects their bodies, and his cock kicks so hard he grunts.

"Looks like it," Mist chuckles, gripping him again and giving a slow stroke. A blurt of pre leaks over their fingers, and Mountain's balls ache. "Little thing's drooling all over."

Mist is one to talk, their own dick dribbling a nearly constant stream of sticky fluid that pools in Mountain's belly button. He can't get his breath under control as they raise up, pointing his needy little cock up into the air while they line up.

Mountain isn't sure which of them moans louder when Mist sinks down onto him, impossibly tight and so, so slick. He grips them tight, fingertips digging firm into their back, their stomach. He watches the flat plane of it tense when they bottom out, taking his few inches with an ease that leaves his toes curling.

"There we go," Mist coos, narrow chest flushed pink as their leaking tip. They pluck at their nipples, rolling the stiff buds between their fingers and sighing. "You always fill me just right, don't you?" Mountain nods furtively, not trusting his voice when Mist clenches around him. "A perfect little cuntful."

Mountain lets his head thud back against the warm earth, swallows hard, and when Mist starts riding in an achingly slow rhythm he swears the world tilts.

"Be a good boy and make me cum," they say, low and sultry, peeling one of his hands from their waist and moving it to their swaying cock. "If you do well enough I'll even let you eat your load out of me."

Mountain whimpers, starts to stroke, and silently adores the way Mist laughs at him when he drools.

#miasma's work #the band ghost ficlets #mountain ghoul #mist ghoulette #mountain/mist #mountain x mist #what a weird pairing lmao #what do we call them? misty mountain? that feels derivative.#will think on it later

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gojosatoruwifey · 8 months

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ㅡchung myung and his canon big hands.

✑ why, hello there (˵◕ ɛ ◕˵✿)

✿ MINORS DNI

📜🖋️🎀SUPPORT MY KO-FI🎀🖋️📜

✿ warning/s: nsfw hcs, explicit, fingering (f!receiving) , manhandling, teasing, body worship, squirting ,choking, aftercare, let me know if i missed something!

i just know this man unknowingly flexes them

the veins?? the size??? the heat??? everything— they be wrapping around with so ease it’s making you think about something else

he can manhandle you and he doesn't even realize it

but aside from that, he is really good with them like cooking, knitting, etc.

so when he cooks (a rare occurrence really), the proportions are well-cut and made with careful considerations (the amount of salt to put, what size to shape, etc. )

his hands can be your necklace

chung myung is grabber

the best waist grabber out there. the type to grab (gently of course but he has his moments) your throat and kiss you. he’ll make out with you anytime, anywhere. he has no shame. thigh grabber too. when he pins you on the wall? his hands are already on your flesh for him to knead and lay hold on them to wrap around in that slutty waist of his.

loves holding your hands too. talking? his hands are already playing with yours, occasionally brushing his fingertip on the lines in your palm and massaging them.

if he have your back facing him, you bet one of chung myung’s hands is already sliding down in the middle of your lower abdomen and feel you ;>

professional on fingering (hello??? they are so thick and long and veiny and calloused and so elegant—). bs majoring on making your walls clamp down on him and minor on letting you squirting (please he loves messing you up)

chung myung owns a doctorate degree on aftercares with a satisfied grin of course. taking care of your sore body and carrying to a warm bath, pitch of water to hydrate you, some light snacks or if you’re too sleepy and just wants to cuddle, he’ll settle on wiping you and caressing your muscles, pressing you against his chest and sleep

#return of the mount hua sect #return of the blossoming blade #rotmhs #rotbb #chung myung #cheong myeong #chung myung x reader #cheong myeong x reader #return of the mount hua sect x reader #return of the blossoming blade x reader #chung myung smut

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seasonsbloom · 2 years

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if devotion is a river (then i'm floating away) . hangman

pairing ; jake seresin x female!reader

synopsis ; in your bedroom on a saturday night, jake reminds you what it is to be alive.

wc ; 4.5k

warnings ; 18+ only, minors do NOT interact; explicit language, explicit sexual content (p in v, daddy kink, finger sucking, dom/sub dynamic, reader might be in subspace??, unprotected sex), this is all v consensual and they're both aware of what to do to tap out but it's not explicitly stated

note: i'm going to hell. i am SO sorry. also pls don't spring kinks on your partner out of nowhere, y'all gotta discuss that first, this is only okay in fiction ashdhfjkgjr

desertsagecelestial aka sol... you're my rock (star).

It goes like this: When he touches me, I feel like a song… drifting, shifting, dancing through the air.

It goes like this: When he touches me, I feel like a river… flowing, rushing, pouring into the sea.

It goes like this: When he touches me, I feel like summer… blooming, beaming, glowing.

All this to say: It’s an accident, the first time it happens.

“You like that, hmm, honey?” Jake asks, his voice drifting to you from far, far away. “Missed my cock?”

It’s all soft in your bedroom on this Saturday night - soft light, soft sheets, soft moonlight spilling in through half-closed curtains. You’re soft too, soft in the nightgown he got you last Christmas, the fabric rucked up all the way over your breasts, where his spit is still drying on your nipples. Soft with your hair down and your mind fuzzy and your lips loose.

It’s all soft in your bedroom on this Saturday night. All of it, except Jake. Jake who is unyielding, relentless. Edges in the streamlined world you’ve lived in while he was gone. A rock in a rushing river.

You can’t answer. There’s so much to say that you can’t find the words for any of it, can barely hold onto the tether of reality that anchors you to who you are. You’re drifting now - a balloon cut loose.

Jake’s been gone for two weeks. Just two weeks… If you total it up, count it against the stretch of your life, all the days and all the months and all the years, it’s insignificant. A blip. A heartbeat.

But that’s not how it felt while you were in it. While you were walking through the days like a sleepwalker, a constant hum beneath your skin, an itch you couldn’t scratch. Something that built and expended and grew until your skin felt too small to hold you. Until the expensive sheets rubbed you raw. Until you stared at your computer at work every day without seeing anything, spoke to coworkers without hearing, did your groceries and your dishes and your laundry without remembering why or how or when.

It doesn’t always happen. But sometimes, when Jake’s gone, you stop feeling like a person and start feeling like a concept instead.

It’s a strange feeling, a scary space of mind. Where everything’s too much, all the noise and the people and the light. Where you go loopy and jumpy and irritable and can’t even recognize yourself in mirrors. When you need somebody to help you, need somebody to take care of you.

Need Jake to take care of you. Fuck the feeling out of you.

Need Jake to put his hands on you and tell you you’re here and you’re real, and I won’t let you drift away from me.

Jake plunges his cock deeper into you, hand sliding from your hip to your stomach. He’s got big hands, elegant ones, long fingers, and blunt, short nails. Palm spreading flat, fingers splayed, it feels like he can reach from hipbone to hipbone.

Your answering sound is pathetic. In fact, you feel pretty pathetic right now. The sound of your slick, needy pussy sucking him in, again and again, the involuntary noises it punches out of you. The opened mouth, the face pressed into the mattress. You don’t even have the strength to raise your head.

“Asked you a question, honey,” Jake says, leaning down to press an open-mouthed, hot kiss to the slope of your shoulder. “You’re not even gonna answer? Did I fuck the brains out of you already?”

Your lips move, but no words come. He presses his hand a little harder against your stomach, and you wonder if he can feel his own cock moving beneath the skin there. The thought has your eyes crossing, your ears ringing.

It doesn’t really matter. Nothing really matters, you think, a streak of fatalism shining through, nothing but the feeling of Jake’s cock in you. You never want him to stop, want him to keep fucking you forever, always riding that razor’s edge, slow-dancing on that precipice, want him to…

Abruptly, Jake stops moving. He’s still and thick and impossibly deep inside of you, and it’s so sudden it lurches you, lunges at you from the fog that’s gathered around your mind. You make a garbled sound, almost a shout, try to move your hips backward, try to fuck yourself on him, get that friction back, that thing that makes you feel real, but Jake stills you with the hand on your hip, holds you in place right there. On your knees beneath him.

“Be a good girl, and I’ll give you my cock again,” he promises, the fingers on your stomach tapping against your skin gently. “Just tell me, honey. You miss me?”

In the ruin of yourself, you can’t find your voice. So you just nod, again and again, head still pressed against the sheets, nose squished down. You’ve spent the past two weeks afraid of the moment when the pillows and blankets stop smelling of him, and it’s good to know that, at the very least, tomorrow you won’t have to worry about that anymore.

The fingers around your hip tighten, nails biting down for just a second, and you yelp, then moan, body twitching as you can’t decide whether to move into the feeling or away from it. You imagine him leaving a mark, imagine the imprint of his hand on your skin, and suddenly you feel dizzy.

“Out loud,” Jake reminds you, steel in his voice. “Tell me you missed my cock.”

You’ll start crying soon, you can feel it—that tell-tale tingling behind the bridge of your nose, the burning in your eyes. Frantically, you try to remember how to speak, how to move your tongue.

His dog tags dangle between you, tracing over the ladder of your spine like fingers of ice. You shiver.

“Yes,” you croak finally, voice like gravel, voice like a gasp. “Missed you. Always miss you, Jake, miss you...”

He hums, fingers tapping once, twice, three times against your hip. “Not the right answer, honey.”

In your chest, your heart squeezes to the point of pain. It’s so difficult to form a single coherent thought. Like you’re wading through molasses, through marshland, seeing him standing far, far on the shore, and you want to get to him, want to run, but you just can’t move fast enough. Can’t even put one foot in front of the other.

“Jake…” you whisper.

He doesn’t even say anything, just makes a sound above you, a soft, scolding, displeased tsk, and it has your stomach swooping. Is he upset? He sounds upset. You don’t want him to be upset. You want to be good for him, want to make him happy the same way he makes you happy. You want to be his best girl, always, always, always.

The thought that you’re being bad, you’re doing something wrong, bounces around your empty head like a tennis ball. You’re frantic now, desperate, on the verge of a great, big fall.

It takes all you have, but somehow you manage to say, “Please. Please, Jake, I missed you, I need you, missed your cock, I missed you, missed you….”

Jake sighs, shushes you as his palm wanders up and up and up, from your stomach over your ribs, flattens to your chest, right where your heart is thundering like it’s trying to press a pattern into his skin.

“Good girl,” he whispers, “I’ll give it to you. Give you anything you need.”

The words have you preening, some knot you didn’t even know existed, loosening in your stomach.

And then finally, mercifully, blissfully, he starts to move again.

The first plunge of his cock through your wetness lights you on fire, ignites something in you. You clench around him, push your face into the sheets that smell like him, and wish he could be closer, wish you could kiss him or hold his hand or climb into his bloodstream. It’s a liquid heat - one that shifts and flows through you, that courses through your veins, that consumes you.

Like he can read your thoughts, Jake leans down, covers you with his body. It’s his chest pressing to your back, hot and a little sticky with sweat. It’s the cold metal of the dog tags shoved against your spine, the thought of his name imprinted on your back. It’s the sound of his quick breaths in your ear. It’s the feeling of the belt buckle pressing against the soft meat of your thigh, clanging against you with each thrust.

Jake always knows what you need. He always gives it to you eventually.

“That good?” he asks, voice pressed against the shell of your ear. “That’s what you need, isn’t it, honey?”

And you just moan, then nod, then move your hips back against him and babble, “Yes, yes, yes, Jake, so good, thank you, thank you….”

Under any other circumstances, it would be embarrassing. Humiliating.

Like this, you don’t care.

In this bedroom, with Jake deeper inside of you than anybody before - everywhere, your heart and your cunt and your soul - there’s not really a choice anyway. Eventually, the truth comes spilling from you always—no secrets between him and you.

Jolted by the force of his hips fucking into you, his hand on your chest slips an inch or two, dry palm rasping over your hard nipple, and you let out a strangled sound, a moan or a shout or a whimper, fingers tugging at the top sheet, cunt squeezing around him like a vice, and suddenly you’re so, so close. At every thrust forward, your clit pushes against the firm mattress. At every pull backward, it catches on the fabric beneath you.

Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

“Tell me,” Jake says, his voice finding you, always finding you, even when you feel like you’re millions of miles away from this bedroom, even when you feel like you might as well have entered a different universe. His hand tightens around your breast, almost to the point of pain but all it does is send another jolt of electricity straight to your clit. “Tell me, honey. Pretty pussy’s so fucking wet, god. This is what you needed, right? This is what you’ve been thinking about all this time I was gone? Wanted me to fuck this needy little cunt, wanted me to take care of you, didn’t you?”

You want to say, yes, Jake. You should say, yes, Jake.

But your head is so empty, your whole consciousness reduced to nothing but the sensation of it all - the wet glide of his cock in your pussy. The hitched rhythm of his heart against your back. The pressure of his lips against the nape of your neck. The metal of the dog tags, the belt. The way you’ve barely held on for the past few weeks, have turned into a shell of yourself, have forgotten what it feels like to enjoy, to feel, to do anything but follow a routine, and how he’s back now, how Jake’s here, how he holds you together, helps you do what you can’t do yourself. How he takes care of you, always, always, always.

So what you say instead, what tumbles from your lips like something secret, like something forbidden, something you didn’t even know you carried inside you, what punches out of you on a desperate gasp, is, “Daddy.”

Behind you, above you, inside you, Jake freezes.

It’s not even much of a sound at all, whimpered into the sheets as it is, too little air left in your lungs to make it loud. And still. He’s heard, definitely.

The panic is instantaneous. It trickles into you like somebody upended a bucket of ice cubes over you. Claws along your bones. Burrows into your chest.

Oh god. What did I just do?

“Honey,” Jake says, and his voice is very quiet, very low, impossible to decipher when your ears are ringing, and your heart is thundering, and your head is spinning, spinning, spinning.

“No,” you say almost immediately. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, I didn’t….”

Jake pulls out of you with a slick, gross sound, and even through it all, through the mortification, the humiliation, the horror, you can’t help but whimper at the loss of him.

For a moment, you just lie there, face hidden in the mattress, thinking, this is it. This is where I went too far. He’s going to hate me, he’s going to…

And then Jake rolls you around. Hands on your hips as you go from your stomach to your back, as the room spins around you. He leaves your legs splayed wide open, pushes between them, and the belt buckle swings between you, slaps against your clit, and this time you can’t bite back the shout, stars reeling in front of your eyes.

Jake’s face appears above you, and you can do nothing but blink at him, the shame still rampant in your chest.

And then it’s his hips pressing between your thighs, his cock, still wet with your arousal, pushing against your pussy, it’s his chest against yours, and his mouth opening over your own, tongue plunging between your parted lips, his fingers sinking into your hair.

He pulls back, pupils blown so wide his eyes look almost black, cheeks flushed, lips pink and rosy from your kiss, and he says, “Say it again.”

“It…” you stutter, whimper, try again, “I’m sorry, Jake, I’m sorry, I….”

The panic has cleared your head somewhat, but you’re still under the surface, tons and tons of water dragging you ever deeper towards that ocean floor where everything is quiet and nothing hurts. You’re still lost somewhere in that haze.

Jake is shaking his head, and in the twilight of your bedroom, his eyes gleam.

“Not that,” he says, pushing his hips forward, so the tip of his cock drags slowly, torturously over your clit, so your eyes roll back in your head, “what you said before. Call me that again.”

It’s not difficult to read that tone of voice, to understand the fingers grasping at your collarbone, the insistent, relentless rubbing against your center. To interpret it as desire.

But something’s shifted now, something that makes you hide your face in his neck, shake your head, hope he doesn’t look at you. Suddenly, the truth eludes you.

“No,” you say again, even though you both know you’re lying. “It’s… I didn’t mean it.”

Without warning, Jake slides back inside of you, slides back home, and you sob with it, legs wrapping instinctively around his hips, ankle hooking around his thigh to open yourself wider. Nerves on fire.

“It’s okay, honey,” he whispers into your ear, lips soft against the side of your jaw. “I got you. You can let go.”

But you shake your head, grasp him tighter, wrap both arms around his neck. Hold onto the last shreds of your sanity with desperation. Sometimes it’s scary to let control slip away so completely.

Jake’s fingers slide around to cup the back of your neck, fingertips teasing over the short hairs at the nape, and then he squeezes, applies the tiniest bit of pressure, and says, “Who’s got you, honey?”

And in the end, you always do what he asks you to. You always give in. Because when you’re good for him - that’s when he makes it so, so good for you.

It spills from you, unstoppably, the truth like a river that rushes forth.

“Daddy,” you gasp. “Please.”

The reaction is visceral - Jake groans, shudders against you, cock jumping where he’s buried in you. For a moment, you think he’s going to cum, but then he just moans, traces his lips over your throat, and starts moving.

He wastes no time with teasing, too wound-up himself, doesn’t go at the slow, steady pace he’d kept up before. Instead, it’s raw and frantic and desperate, it’s quick and deep, his hips rutting against yours, his gasps by your ear.

Through a fog, through a haze, through an ocean, you realize that while Jake always gives you what you need, you give it right back to him. Even the things neither of you knew hid inside of you.

It’s the sweetest kind of torture. A slow death that keeps climbing, that carries you higher and higher and higher. He’s so thick inside of you, spearing you open over and over, and your chest feels warm, warmer, hot, your mind fizzling out at the edges, your mouth opening.

Distantly, you’re aware of all the noise you’re making, the sobs and the whines and the moans, the groans from Jake, the squelch of your pussy as he plunges in and out in and out in and out. It only sends you spiraling higher.

Jake grabs one of your legs just below the knee, fingers tight, draws back to hook it over his shoulder, and then he sinks even deeper, goes just a bit harder. Hips pistoning against your own, belt buckle leaving indentations on your thighs. How insane, you think, that he’s still wearing his pants. That they’re still somewhere around his knees, that you’re so bare, so spread-open, so naked in front of him, and he’s still wearing his fucking pants. It sends another jolt through you.

Some sudden presence of mind, some remote, belated compassion for your neighbors has you biting your lower lip to keep the mewls at bay. The sharp sting of your teeth against the tender skin is almost grounding, almost leveling.

Jake’s thumb finds your mouth almost immediately, tugs your lip gently from beneath the pressure of your teeth.

“Gonna hurt yourself, baby,” he says softly. As if he doesn’t like hurting you sometimes. As if he doesn’t like seeing it.

Regardless. There’s a gentleness to it, a tenderness, that has your stomach rolling, your muscles bearing down on him, your head rearing back.

You just do what he says, the way you pretty much always do when he’s balls-deep in you, suppress the instinct to bite down. Instead, your mouth stays hanging open, lips parted wide, and suddenly you feel so empty, so goddamn empty that you ache with it in a way you can’t explain.

A whine escapes you, a pathetic, pleading little thing, and you open even wider, hoping that somehow he’ll know what you want without having to verbalize it.

And, like always, he does.

“I got you, honey,” he whispers, and two fingers slip between your parted lips, press down on your tongue. “Always got you, don’t I?”

You just moan around the digits in your mouth, drawing it a little deeper, sucking on it, lathering your tongue all over the callouses on his fingertips. It feels good to know he’s everywhere, to feel so full, to have him inside and above and to smell him everywhere after the absence of the past weeks, after the longing and the yearning. The motion of his fingers in your mouth has saliva dripping from the corners of your lips, but you can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed anymore.

Jake’s fucked any trace of shame out of you.

“You wanna come, honey?” he asks, his voice breathless, his thrusts stuttering.

You moan around his fingers in answer, nipping at the tips. He hisses, and then he’s drawing his fingers out, replacing them with his tongue, reaching down between your bodies to rub your own drool into your clit.

The touch of his fingertips, the figure eights he draws against the swollen bundle of nerves, the punch of his cock, the unrelenting rhythm of it all has you keening. You turn your head to the side, his lips catching your cheek instead, squeeze your eyes shut, press your face into the mattress, and marvel at the galaxies swimming by rapidly in front of you.

“Good girl,” Jake whispers, and you mewl, nod along, because you are good, good for him, his best girl, always, always, and you know it, feel it when he’s inside of you, and you’re drowning, pushed down by the currents of all this pleasure, and you don’t care not one bit, happy to die like this, happy to…

“Let go now, honey,” Jake says, kisses you so sweetly, lets his lips wander up and down the column of your throat, presses his mouth to your cheekbone like you’re standing in the vegetable section at the supermarket, like you’re getting drinks in a bar, like you’re watching the sunset at the beach, like he isn’t fucking your brains out, like he isn’t moving you like a puppet, all your strings pulled by him. “Let go for daddy, baby. I wanna feel it, wanna feel you squeezing my cock, wanna….”

It barrels into you. Waves knocking you over, currents pulling you under, vision sizzling at the edges, black eating its way towards the center. A film caught on fire.

You clench around him, back arching off the mattress, chest straining into him, arms and legs tightening, fingers spasming, and you’re babbling nonsense, babbling daddy, daddy, please, yesyesyes, please, Jake, I can’t…

And then it’s just slick, it’s just wet, it’s just white-hot relief sucker-punching you, coursing through you, and it’s lifting into the air like a song, it’s rushing like a river, it’s hot like summer, and you sob into his neck, tears mingling with the sweat and the spit and it feels like it’ll never end, like it’ll keep going and going forever and ever and ever.

Jake moans loudly, hips punching forward of their own accord, whispering praise and filth and anything that comes to mind, once, twice, three times, and then he stills, buried to the hilt, shoulders rounding as he curves over you, around you, as it bowls him over, as he spills deep inside of you.

The warmth of it, spreading through you, has you whimpering, clinging to him. And you’re so full, you never want it to end, never want to feel anything but this again.

And Jake’s trembling in your arms, panting, both of you trying to come down from your highs as you hold each other, as you lie in the mess of the sheets and your own spend, heads spinning, hearts soaring, pressed together from chest to stomach to thighs.

When his weight threatens to crush you, Jake brushes a tender kiss to the side of your shin before carefully moving it from his shoulder. You gasp, the strain finally catching up to you, feeling the rawness of all your muscles. You’re aching all over, in the best of ways.

“Jesus,” he whispers, leaning down to press kisses to your face, to your nose, your eyebrow, the edge of your jaw. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

In the aftermath, there’s nothing but a quiet, pleasant buzz in your brain. White noise. Like zapping through radio stations and finding only static.

“I’m…” You search for some semblance of words within you, tightening your legs around his waist to keep him in place. To keep him from slipping from you before you feel like a whole person again. “Sorry, I… I don’t know….”

And Jake laughs, leans down again to rub his nose over yours, to brush a single, tender kiss to your mouth.

“Honey,” he says, voice soft, touch soft, eyes gleaming in the soft, soft light of the bedside lamp. “Don’t apologize. You did so good.”

You can’t really look at him. The reality of it all is catching up quickly, and part of you wants to be embarrassed, but the rest of you is too full, too satisfied, too happy to really care.

“I just… it wasn’t too much?”

You didn’t even know that this was something you wanted. Sure, your thoughts had toyed with the idea once or twice when you were all alone in your room with your fingers in your panties, but it had been so far-fetched you hadn’t ever broached the topic with Jake. Hadn’t even considered it.

And now it hangs between you, all of a sudden undeniable. All of a sudden so very real.

You’re still so dizzy. So far removed from yourself. So confused by it all.

Jake cups your cheek, fingertips sliding into your hair, and he tilts your face up so you can’t look anywhere but at him. His familiar face, his eyes filled with love, his mouth curving downward with concern.

“Honey,” he says, very gently, very earnestly, “that was the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed. You’re always, always so good for me.”

And you don’t know why. Can’t explain it. But it makes you sob, makes the tears spill over, all the emotions crowding in your mouth, making your tongue heavy like lead, making it impossible to speak. You feel raw and hollowed-out in a strange way, drained of energy and so overwhelmed by the intensity of it all, by how good it was, by how much you love him, by how he accepts you, always, without question.

Jake gathers you in his arms, gets his knees under him so he can draw you into his lap, so you can cling to him like a monkey, like an octopus, like something else unattractive that latches onto things. His softened cock slips from you, a gush of wetness following that makes you whimper, and when he withdraws, stupid as it is, it’s like he takes a piece of you with him.

For a while, he just holds you, mumbling sweet nothings into your hair, saying you’re my good girl, I love you, honey, I love you so much, you’re always, always so good for me, my best girl, my love, you’re all mine, yeah? Never gonna let you go, never, never…

You just cry it out into his neck, listening to the steady hum of his voice, the rumble in his chest, let the warmth of the words wash over you until finally, slowly, for the first time since he left, the feeling returns into you. Until finally, it’s like you’re almost whole again, right there in his arms.

Eyes dry, nose runny, exhausted beyond words, you turn your head a little, face lolling against his collarbone, and you say, “Thank you, Jake.”

There’s so much in it. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for holding me together when I can’t do it myself.

And he smiles, face tender, arms tightening around you, holding you like he never wants to let go.

He says, “Always, honey. Always.”

#hangman x reader #hangman fic #jake seresin x reader #hangman #jake seresin #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin #fic #writing #mine #top gun maverick #fic: idiar

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call-sign-shark · 5 months

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Bird of A Feather || Peaky Blinders x OCs

A short story for the wonderful @evita-shelby inspired by her moodboard gift Bird of A Feather.

Words: less than 1k

TW: Tommy and Heaven together (this is real warning for any HYE reader😂), allusions to drugs, overdose and sex. Ethical slur because of the show. Also this is not proof read, we die like men.

Notes: Reference to this chapter of HYE.

None of this was supposed to happen.

It was what Heaven thought when she watched her own reflection in the mirror of the ridiculously expensive suite's bathroom Mr. Shelby had booked for their stay in Boston. As she reflected on her new life, her slender fingers nervously tried to untangle the long gold and diamond earring chain Tommy had gifted her prior the trip. The vortex of her raging thoughts was so wild that she didn't hear the door opening, nor the husky and charming voice that called her name. Her body suddenly jerked when she felt one strong yet warm hand resting on her shoulder — She turned around in one vivid movement, the angelic complexions of her face only relaxing when they met with familiar turquoise eyes.

"Are you ready?" Tommy asked, one of his brow slightly arched as his piercing and ice-cold iris carefully observed the white-haired woman's features.

"Almost, but I can't seem to get rid out of this damn knot."

"Let me check." Three words again, said with the same collected tone whose deep and sultry voice sent shivers down her spine. Without wasting more saliva, Tommy brought his hands to the jewel and started to untangle it. "Don't you like it?" He broke the silence, "You always wear gold, but diamonds make a delightful echo to your crystal eyes." The thought of Tommy noticing such trivial details about her still felt odd considering how profound their mutual hatred had been for years. But Lizzie taking the kids had given them a little push.

"I do." She reassured, offering him a faint smile. They were so close that she could feel the heat radiating off him, as well as the elegant fragrances of his cologne tingling her nostrils.

"So why do you look so unhappy, ay?" He finally succeed in rearranging her earring, his calloused fingers gently grazing her reddened earlobe before finding rest on one of her cold cheeks. Tenderly. Lovingly.

"I'm just a bit anxious. I always hated big gatherings, let alone when the whole crowd is made of political figures, rich heirs and nobs." The way her lips pouted and her expression turned into a childish one as she pressed her face harder against his comforting palm snatched an amused snort from him, and yet… Tommy understood — her wild soul belonged to the forest and mountains no matter the expensive jewels and finest, seductive dresses. Heaven was not cut for this hypocritical world. The gangster leaned over her dainty frame and brought his face closer until their fiery breathe mixed and their nose touched.

“Think of them as your stupid little preys, just like you did in the forest. You might be on their territory but you are the predator here, and they should be the ones quivering with fear. Not you.” He pronounced this in intoxicating whispers that manage to lull her anxiety — or maybe it was because she was focusing on how his breath had quickened now that their mouths were so close. Batting her eyelashes, the white witch slowly nodded: they would be the real menace of the whole ballroom. Tommy drowned himself in the frost desert of her eyes for a bit, his thumb slightly pulling her fleshy lower lip down, “And if it is not enough, remember that I’ll stay by your side and keep you out of sorrow.” As he concluded, his placid face split in a wide and fierce grin that showcased his teeth. A genuine Tommy Shelby’s smile, scarcer than the rarest gem.

“And I’ll keep you out of it too.” She replied, mirroring his smile but with a more moderate one.

“That’s it, Devil.” He affectionately called the petite witch before his sweet liquored lips crashed against hers, the whisky taste blinding all her other senses and making the world outside fade to black. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, surges of electricity cursing through her body as the infamous gangster deepened the embrace. Amidst the chaos they had left behind in Birmingham they stood, his free hand pressing on her lower back to pull her closer until his strong chest flattened her small breast and every of their curves fit snugly altogether. After all that separated them, Tommy had finally won: his brother’s beloved angel belonged to him and only him… Conquered and with her wings pinned, Heaven forgot how wrong it felt and gave in, her tongue shyly waltzing with her old enemy’s. With that wicked brother-in-law she wished to see dead not that long ago. When their mouth parted and Heaven tried to break the embrace to go back dolling herself up, Tommy grabbed her wrist firmly, pupils dilated with pride and lust.

“No. Kiss me again.” His husky voice ordered.

The whole party was probably the most boring one she had ever attended and to make her evening worst, Americans proved that their awful tastes also encompassed alcohol. Not the smallest bottle of red wine had been put on tables, only dry and bitter champagne they were proud to show off as if it was the pinnacle of the French culture. Heaven winced after the first sip and immediately put the glass back where she had taken it, hoping no one had notice her bad manners — she definitely wasn’t one of them, and navigating among the upper-class crowd was not as easy as Tommy made it look. Her mind started to form the words “Arthur would never…” but soon her heart tightened in her chest and she forced herself to chase away the thought of her beloved former husband. “Arthur is not here anymore.” Tommy’s voice echoed in her head. In truth, the lanky gangster had stopped being there the moment he relapsed in drug again, trading cocaine for opium. It had been too much and, loyal to her principles, Heaven left. Never ever she would have imagined that Arthur would be found months later in the Chinese quarters with a syringe in his arm, devoid of life. And while she was spitefully musing over and over again on these cursed memories, two vicious pair of eyes stared at her.

“She looks like she’s about to murder everyone here.” A bewitching feminine voice resounded, catching the attention of the tall American man standing next to her, “I like that.” Eva added, bringing the fine crystal of her glass to her blood-red lips to sip the fancy cocktail she had ordered. At her words, Jack’s mouth curled in a shark-like smile, the scar on his upper lip stretching as he did.

“And she’s hot.” He said, the couple giving each other a conspiratorial glance, “That’s what you were about to say, weren’t you, Goddess?” His manly hand discreetly slipped from her lower back to her ass, grabbing one of her cheeks firmly. Eva snort in reply, side-eying her cheeky husband before focusing her attention on the delicate but wild angel that was impatiently waiting for Tommy to come back from his smoke outside. Lost in her contemplation for a short while, the Mexican witch wondered how such a seraph-looking creature could wear a stare that cold. How could she radiate off something that… Unsettling? Anxiety-inducing? Threatening? She couldn’t even find the right word.

“Feeling sinful, Daddy?” The Mexican beauty, sublimed by an overtly expensive red dress, cooed with a sultry tone that would have turned the meanest man to a brainless drooling dog.

“With you? Always, Goddess.” He winked at her before leaning for a kiss on her temple but a few seconds later the two future presidential couple saw their new associate coming back to the ballroom and heading straight to the lonely white-haired brat, “So you were right, she’s Thomas Shelby’s sweetheart. The Gypsie bastard got himself a fucking pretty pussy.”

“A witch.” Eva corrected, her tone stricter as she pronounced the word, “And he’s rather handsome too. Both are highly fuckable.” She mused, her dark eyes never leaving the newlyweds.

“Well, let me introduce you to them then! After all, we’re in business together now.” Jack suggested, burying his nose in his wife’s long dark hair to relish on her enchanting perfume. Fuck — if they weren’t that busy he would have ruined her cunt in another room right now.

“Excellent idea, Jack. Introduce me to them.” Eva emphasizes on the word, finally looking at the tall American with the flames of sin dancing in her evil eyes. It was all it took for Jack to understand his wife’s intentions… And they were in total harmony with his. “I hope we could officialize our partnership with them in a more intimate and fun way than just a handshake.” As possessive as they were together — as possessive as the English and French mirror facing them — Eva foresaw their agreement about her perverse suggestion, but the truth was there was no need to be a clairvoyant witch for guessing right.

The four of them were all sinners.

#Peaky blinders #Tommy Shelby #Tommy Shelby Imagine #Peaky blinders imagine #Tommy Shelby x oc #Tommy Shelby x reader #Cillian murphy #Jack Nelson #Jack Nelson x Oc #Eva Smith Riley #Heaven Shelby

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pix3lplays · 11 months

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DAN HENG SPOILER WARNING!!!

request: “Dragon Dan heng has been flooding my mind PLEASE

PLEASE JUST ANYTHING ABOUT DRAGON DAN HENG PLEASE😭😭😭

Ofc only if you're comfortable”

I’ve been WAITING for a request like this!!

I don’t really know anything about his dragon form yet beyond I’m so so excited and he’s so so beautiful so I’m just gonna…go off the very little I know!

Ok so there’s some reason he’s hiding it from you. Whether it’s to protect the crew, or he just didn’t feel ready to reveal such a big secret, it still kinda eats away at him that he’s being so dishonest and secretive.

Especially when it comes to you. He knows he should tell you. But he fears your reaction.

I mean…he’s been lying to you for so long, will you even want to be with him after that?? He would understand if you didn’t. He’d get it if you thought he was just some…liar.

But eventually he decides he HAS to show you the truth. He worries you’ll believe he’s a traitor. Because in a way, he feels he has betrayed you by starting a relationship with you without telling you about his Vidyadhara heritage.

He just…had to hide it from you. To keep you safe.

But now here he is, revealing his true form to you, your eyes are wide, this was NOT what you were expecting from your husband when he said he had to confess something to you before stepping into a backroom for a moment and re-emerging like this.

“…well…?” he prompts anxiously after the silence lasts too long. “What do you have to say to me, now that you know I’ve been lying to you since I’ve met you?”

“Dan Heng…” you breathe. “You’re beautiful…” it sounds silly, but it’s the first thing you could think of to say. He really was elegant and regal looking in his new form, and he seemed knocked off his eternal balance when you blurted out such an awkward, unexpected compliment.

“You’re not furious at me, for hiding my identity from you for so long?” now his beautiful eyes are wide, confused. He tilts his graceful head at you.

“Why…why would I be mad?” you’re staring, mesmerized by him. You subconsciously reach up to touch one of the horns on his forehead, and he at first flinches away before allowing you to touch him.

“I don’t understand how you can’t be angry…” he murmurs as you admire his new dragon-like features. “How are you not upset?”

“I’m just not, Dan Heng…I trust you, and I know you had a reason to not tell me you’re a…” you can’t even bring yourself to say it. It’s just…crazy…you had no idea, not even a suspicion that THIS was the secret your beloved husband was hiding from you.

You trace your fingers down his cheek. “I’m not mad,” you repeat again when you see the look in his face. It is full of shame and regret for not telling you sooner, especially now that he sees how unfounded his fears were of your reaction. You smile at him and cup his cheek in your palm. “I’m not mad. In fact, I think you look really good. Better than ever. And…I’m happy you finally told me…”

“Thank you,” even though you give them to him all the time he’s still not used to receiving compliments. “And yes, I’m glad too…I’m glad that…you get to see me like this.”

He presses his forehead to yours.

“You mustn’t tell the others. Not yet.”

“I understand,” you say, feeling all sorts of emotions. Sadness that the crew of the Astral Express are missing out on Dan Heng’s true form. And happiness because you get to keep this little secret all to yourself.

“I just have…so many questions…” you murmur, gazing into his eyes. They are more piercing and enchanting than before. It’s amazing.

“Then I’m here to answer you…ask away…”

And the two of you remain, locked in the archives, discussing this new revelation eagerly, and the new chapter this opens in your lives. He answers all your questions to the best of his ability.

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #dan heng #dan heng x reader #Honkai star rail Dan Heng x reader #Hsr Dan heng #hsr Dan Heng x reader #My writing

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steddiebang · 8 months

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(You got me) in the palm of your hand

Author: @just-my-latest-hyperfixation l Artist: @jul2ja l Artist: @peachypurr Posting on Wednesday, October 4

"Fortunes told, futures unfold." The sign at the local ren faire looks tempting. After all, Steve is one year out of high school and has no idea where his life is going. Sometimes he wishes someone could just gaze into the future and figure it out for him. In the fortune teller’s tent, Steve has a run-in with his past. And if he doesn’t turn on his heel and leave, it has absolutely nothing to do with how pretty Eddie Munson looks in his costume, all gleaming jewelry and dark tendrils of hair spilling out from under a patterned headscarf. He lets Eddie read his palm, because why the hell not? It’s all bogus anyway! Except, as the summer goes on, Steve finds that Eddie’s cryptic predictions somehow, inexplicably keep coming true. As they keep running into each other, almost as if orchestrated by an invisible force, Steve can’t help but be intrigued with the other boy. He also can’t seem to forget how pretty Eddie’s eyes look in black liner, or the way his fingers feel on his skin, but that is an entirely different problem.

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

Eddie gasps in mock-offense and clutches a hand to his chest. His bracelets jingle with the movement.

"So he's a non-believer, our king. Nevermind, I shall convince you of my skills yet." That smile turns just a little sly. He leans forward slowly, eyes shining with mirth. His rings gleam in the light of the lanterns as he lays his hands out on the table, palms up. “Give me your hands.”

Steve can practically feel himself blush.

“I, erm .. what?” he sputters.

Eddie quirks an elegant eyebrow at him and the corner of his mouth curls up into a toothy grin.

“Don’t fret, my liege, no uncouth intentions here. I’m merely going to introduce you to the ancient art of palmistry.”

"Palmi- what now?"

The question has made its way past his lips before he can think better of it. Steve gulps down the embarrassed lump that threatens to clog his throat and steels himself for the inevitable eye roll, maybe an exasperated explanation.

Eddie merely smiles, a hint of that sweet, genuine thing from before, and fucking winks at him.

"Our fate is written in the lines of our hands," he claims. "It is but an open book to those who know how to read it. If my king would ever-so-graciously allow me to demonstrate?"

On the table, his fingers wiggle invitingly.

A strange feeling flutters in Steve’s chest. He's tempted to say it's fondness, but that would be ridiculous, wouldn’t it? He hardly knows the guy. He undeniable is weirdly charming though, with his theatrical mannerisms and big brown eyes framed in black liner. Before he can think better of it, Steve finds his own hands reaching out to meet Eddie’s.

The other boy makes a small pleased sound and gently turns Steve’s hands so that the palms are facing up, Eddie's hands cupping his from beneath, fingers lightly brushing his wrists. And fuck, even his hands are nice. Smaller than Steve’s, but lean and slightly calloused, with long, nimble fingers. Steve wonders fleetingly if it's from all the guitar playing. His rings are not cold as he thought they would be, but warm from his body heat.

"Now …" Eddie’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts. "Which one would be your sword hand?"

"I, um…" says Steve. One hand tries to twitch up to run through his hair awkwardly, but Eddie holds it in place with gentle pressure. "I'm right-handed, if that's what …"

Eddie nods and lifts Steve’s right lightly, lets go of his left so that he can point out what he is looking at.

"See, your dominant hand tells me all about your character," he explains. "This, for example, would be your life line."

The pad of a slender index finger runs a barely there touch along one of the lines close to Steve’s thumb. He jolts reflexively and snorts a laugh at the ticklish sensation. Eddie glances up at him and tuts in mock-admonishment.

"From what I garner here," he then says, focusing back on Steve’s hand, and Steve catches himself leaning forward curiously, so that their foreheads almost touch. "You are very energetic. Strong of body, quite obviously, but also of head and heart. There's not much one can do to deter you from a decision once made. Some may call you stubborn, obstinate even. Others will say you are exceptionally determined, and loyal to those you hold dear."

Steve scoffs and glances up to give him a look, flinches back just slightly when he realizes how close they suddenly are.

"Uh-huh, impressive. And you read all of that from my palm, of course."

Another toothy grin.

"Of course," Eddie says seriously. "Just like your heart line - that's the one over here - tells me that you tend to fall in love quickly, but deeply. You're no stranger to heartbreak, are you?"

Steve rolls his eyes. Sure. Just about every single student at Hawkins High must know this much about him, especially after the absolute car wreck that was his break-up with Nancy.

"Whatever," he mutters and tries to conceal his embarrassment behind a careless shrug. "I already know all that. What about my future, then?"

"Now this," says Eddie and takes a hold of Steve’s left with a soft sound of his bracelets, "is where we turn to your other hand, Your Grace. Let me see what I can divine from here."

He regards Steve’s palm for a while and in the meantime, Steve watches his face. How his brow wrinkles in thought. How a few tendrils of dark hair slip out from under the headscarf to curl around his shoulders. How his bottom lip juts out in concentration. How the tip of a pink tongue comes poking out to lick it, leaves a shining trail of moisture.

"Interesting," Eddie concludes at length. "Very interesting indeed. You have quite the exciting summer ahead of you."

"Y- yeah?" Steve blinks out of his trance, forgets to sound cocky for a second.

Eddie nods. "Certainly. I see conflict here. A former friend may step back into your life, but they will have turned against you, so watch your steps."

"Huh," says Steve. "Sounds like a fun time. Lucky me, I guess."

Eddie glances up at him and smiles coyly before turning back to his hand.

"Speaking of lucky … I do see adventure, too. You will get to know someone. Someone who intrigues and excites you. You may even make a conquest, if you play your cards right. And then … I see something more profound, even. A new love."

Read more on October 4!

#steddiebang23 #steddiebang23 upcoming projects

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silverbladexyz · 15 days

Text

Tears to Shed

It's a coincidence how this is posted on Chuuya's birthday. I hope you guys enjoy! This is a Corpse Bride!AU, and I highly recommend that you watch this to get the gist of what is happening.

TW: Mentions of death, implied cheating (?), female reader. It all makes sense once you read the fic and watch the video. Massive thanks to @justcallmesakira, @saelique and @my-amaz-fanfics for proofreading this :)

“Oh my! I’ve spent so long in the dark… I’d almost forgotten how beautiful the moonlight is.”

The cool night air went unnoticed as you stood on the snow. A small perk of being dead was that the cold wasn’t an annoyance anymore.

A breeze blew through the trees, sending a ghastly shiver up their wooden trunks. Their ancient roots dug into the ground that was blanketed with a soft layer of snow. Gnarled branches twisted into the sky, much like the claws of a cat. The entire forest seemed eerie- but to you, it was like home.

Your bony hand tightly grasped around a warm palm. The exact same hand that slid the wedding ring onto your finger with so much love and passion that you immediately burst forth from the grave with a ‘yes’. There were a few murmurs of disapproval in the Underworld, but nobody could deny the fact that you two truly loved each other. Afterall, why would your husband choose to marry you if he disliked you in the first place?

A butterfly fluttered past, catching your attention. You admired the beautiful, complex patterns that swirled on it’s wings, prompting an involuntary chuckle from you. The land of the living sure was a breath of fresh air sometimes. Thanks to the gracious Elder of the underworld, you were able to go back up and meet your lover’s parents.

You let go of your husband’s hand, and started to do an elegant dance on the snow. Despite being dead, the dancing lessons you took were not for nothing. Why, you could probably even surpass the best dancer of the 1800s! Excitement filled you as you imagined yourself waltzing with your lover, showing him everything that you were capable of. Many men loved a talented woman, and you weren’t about to let yours down.

Perhaps you were a bit too immersed in your daydream, because your foot got caught under a tree branch and snapped your entire lower leg off.

“Ah!”

You let out a small yelp, tumbling onto the soft, thick snow. Horrified, you looked up towards your husband still standing on the snow- you couldn’t let him freak out over a small accident!

But he didn’t seem to realise what had happened; instead, his back was faced towards you.

Embarrassed, you quickly reconnected your leg, and resumed your graceful twirl around him. The wedding dress that you always donned flowed behind you, adding extra elegance to your dance. You felt his eyes on you- he was definitely intrigued by your charm.

The next moment, warmth landed on your shoulders, and your husband gently sat you down on a fallen log in the snow.

If you had a heart, it definitely would’ve skipped a beat. His gorgeous blue eyes and stunning ginger hair must have been a gift from the gods themselves. Chuuya Nakahara sure was a man admired by many, and he chose you. Life finally seemed to favour you this time.

“... I think I should prepare my parents for the big news of our marriage. I’ll go ahead, and you can wait here.”

His azure eyes stared into yours, patiently waiting for your response. His hands had lifted off from your shoulders, but you didn’t pay it any mind. Just simply being with your spouse was enough for you.

“Perfect! I’ll stay right here.” You smiled at Chuuya with the innocence of a child. He looked taken aback for a moment, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

Seizing this opportunity, the male quickly stalked off through the forest, running towards the only person that he knew would help him. You giggled a little at his rush; you weren’t going anywhere, afterall. The thought that the male wanted to introduce you to his parents as quickly as possible brought a smile to your face.

The minutes slowly dragged by. What once was gleeful anticipation soon turned into bored waiting, with nothing changing in your surroundings. With your cheek propped in your hand, you let out a small sigh, wondering what on earth was taking Chuuya so long.

“This is the voice of your conscience. Listen to what I say. I have a bad feeling about that boy.”

Your pupils widened a little at the sudden voice, but you quickly rolled your eyes once you realised who it was. Lifting your hand towards your head, you knocked a fist against it several times. It didn’t take long for the culprit to tumble out.

“You know he is a little- AGH!”

The culprit being a small green string-like thing that shot out of your ear and into the snow.

It was your close friend, Maggot, who lived inside your head ever since you died. And quite literally, too. You couldn’t recall a day in the Land of the Dead without him interjecting with sarcastic remarks that only you could hear.

“Go chew someone else’s ear for a while. Chuuya’s got to see his parents, just like he said.”

You were a tad bit irritated at what Maggot implied. How could he think that your dear husband was a liar? Chuuya was anything but that. Your friend, however, clearly thought otherwise.

“If I hadn’t just been sitting in it, I’d think that you’ve lost your mind-”

“I’m sure that Chuuya has a pretty good reason… for taking so long.”

You sighed a little, and that didn’t go unnoticed by Maggot. You’d never admit it, but you were starting to wonder if the worm was right in some regard. What if Chuuya got attacked or ran into trouble?

You brushed that thought off. Your husband was obviously stronger than most men around; why, he probably could defeat an opponent twice his size without breaking a sweat. But that still didn’t stop the slight bit of panic that settled within you.

“Well, why don’t you go ask him?”

Maggot’s voice broke you out of your thoughts, and you gazed back at him indignantly.

“Alright, I will.”

If he was so desperately insisting that Chuuya was a liar, then you’d have to prove him wrong.

Oh, how naive you were to not believe a word of what he said.

~~~

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting it’s pleasant heat into the room. Coldness could not come near it, for the flame merely devoured the frost before continuing to burn as brightly as before.

Not a word was said between the individuals that sat in front of the fireplace. Countless thoughts were running in Chuuya’s mind, mashing together in one confused heap. It didn’t help that butterflies fluttered in his stomach at what he was planning to say next.

“Yasuko… I must confess that I was terrified of marriage this morning.”

The female blinked. Sensing her confusion, the male continued speaking.

“But upon meeting you… I felt that I should be with you always. And that our wedding couldn’t come sooner enough.”

It was the truth, afterall. Even when they had just met each other, the spark of attraction between them could not be denied. She was surely the yin to his yang, the key to his heart, and his complete other half that he had been searching for his whole life.

“Chuuya… I feel the same.”

The girl whom he was properly betrothed to smiled at him. A real smile, one that was full of life and not death. Despite being born to snobby aristocratic parents, she was a true diamond amongst the rubble. Kind, polite, and courteous- whoever married her would strike gold.

“Yasuko…” He murmured, his gaze not leaving hers.

Slowly, she started to lean in, closing her eyes.

Chuuya’s heartbeat quickened as he unconsciously drew her in. They were so close… their breath upon each other’s lips. Just a second away from getting lost in the bliss of love and forgetting everything that stood in their path.

Suddenly, Chuuya stiffened, turning his face towards the window.

Yasuko’s lips met his jaw instead, and her eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. Opening her eyes, she noticed that her lover’s gaze was focused on something behind her. But before she could turn her head around, Chuuya’s warm hands cradled her face.

Cerulean blue eyes met lovely brown ones, each having their own questions to ask.

“Yasuko, you must understand that this is all rather unexpected-”

He was cut off by the booming sound of lightning. Both individuals turned toward the window, which was forced open by none other than… you. Stepping into the room, you lifted the wedding veil from your face, hope evident in your demeanour.

“Darling, I just wanted to meet-”

Two pairs of eyes stared back at you in horror. Like you were a monster- an unwanted being who was the object of disgust.

You noticed the girl standing behind Chuuya, and your eyes widened to the same size as hers. No doubt shocked at how accurate Maggot was about the male.

“... Darling, who’s this?”

Barely containing your anger, you sauntered over to your husband, clinging onto his arm. If you had blood, it would definitely be boiling by now- but you weren’t going to embarrass yourself in front of Chuuya today. No, you absolutely had to stay calm and show the woman who she was messing with!

“Who is she?!”

Looks like she didn’t have an inkling about you either. Well, no matter. Letting go of Chuuya’s elbow, you presented your bony arm in front of you with a proud smirk.

“I’m his wife.”

Your gold ring shone brightly on your fourth finger, a signet of the vow that bound you with Chuuya forever.

The girl looked towards him in disbelief.

“Chuuya?-”

“Yasuko, hold on, you don’t understand. As you can see, she’s dead. It was clearly a misunderstanding-”

A misunderstanding?

He was cut off as you yanked him towards you, eyes narrowing in ire at this ‘Yasuko’ girl. Your husband wasn’t off the hook, but for now, you couldn’t risk Yasuko stealing your love away from you. Heartbreak was not an option this time.

A shadow loomed over your face, lightning striking the sky as if in response to your fury.

You uttered the word that could bring this madness to an end.

“Hopscotch.”

A murder of crows immediately surrounded the two of you, magic already working upon the utterance of the order. Amidst the chaos, you didn’t fail to notice how Chuuya called out to Yasuko, his arm outstretched towards her.

Your feet touched the solid ground of the Elder’s office, the last of the crows flying away after their duty was finished.

With all your might, you pushed Chuuya away from you, hands curling into fists at your sides.

“You lied to me! Just to get back to that other woman!”

The male merely lifted his hands up, gesturing towards you.

“... Don’t you understand? You’re the other woman.”

“!”

It was as if a sudden jolt of electricity had zapped you, only leaving behind your stunned self. Eyes widened in stupefaction stared at the one you once thought loved you.

In your incredulity, you desperately attempted to convince him otherwise.

“No! You’re married to me; she’s the other woman!”

Clear, salty liquid brimmed in your eyes, blurring your vision to be a mixture of jarring colours. You turned away from him, unable to hold it in any longer.

“A-and I thought… I thought that this was all going so well!”

Your sobs filled the air- great convulsing gasps that masked the sound of teardrops hitting the ground. Nobody said or did anything, and quite frankly, you didn’t care. The last thing that you wanted was pity from the one who betrayed your trust.

“Look, I’m sorry, but this just can’t work.” Chuuya approached you cautiously, not wanting to provoke you any further.

“Why not?” You spun around to face him, stifling your tears.

“Under different circumstances, then probably it can work out. But we’re just too different. I mean, you’re dead.”

“... You should’ve thought about that before you asked me to marry you!”

Shaking his head, Chuuya throwed his hands up with exasperation.

“Why can’t you understand that it was a mistake? I would never marry you.”

Silence filled the air. Time seemed to stand still, as if preparing the moment for a camera to photograph. And how you wished that everything could just freeze in place- to suspend those feelings that tore you inside out.

Chuuya himself seemed dumbfounded at what he just said. He knew that he should apologise, offer you a better explanation than that; but he found that he couldn’t form any words. No amount of lies could ever cover up the truth once it was exposed.

He readied himself for your shouting, your tears, your unbridled anger at the nerve of him daring to go back to the one he truly loved. And he deserved it, because nothing could excuse the fact that he hurt you. Even when it was all just one big misunderstanding.

But instead of reacting in the way he expected you to, you merely sighed in defeat and walked off. Not noticing the way Chuuya gazed at your disappearing self.

It didn’t take long for you to find a place to be alone. The dead may be many, but the underworld was vast. You could always sit down on an empty coffin with nobody in a ten metre radius from you. Perfect for a broken-hearted lonely soul.

Bringing the bouquet of flowers beside you up to your face, you gazed at the blossoms with disdain. Their beautiful patterns only seemed to mock your ugly fate, cursed with never being loved as someone’s bride. Life, which was mostly cruel, decided to trample you under its feet. Always waiting for the perfect opportunity to crush your dreams and hopes in a single second.

With a scoff, you lifted your other hand, and started to pluck away at the florets one by one. The petals fell freely through your fingers, landing onto the ground without a care in the world. Becoming nothing but a nuisance in someone else’s path.

“Roses, for eternal love. Lilies, for sweetness. Baby’s breath…” You inhaled shakily, fighting back the lump in your throat.

With a sigh, you tossed the bouquet away, head lowered down in melancholy.

“Maybe Chuuya’s right. Maybe we are too different.” You muttered sorrowfully, looking at your palms. One of old flesh, and one of bone.

“Maybe he should have his head examined. I could do it.”

Maggot crawled onto your shoulder, looking earnestly into your eyes. You didn’t even have the heart to roll your eyes at his statement.

“Oh, but he does belong with her. That little miss living, with her beautiful cheeks… and her beating heart.” Propping your head in your hands, you gave a bitter chuckle.

Hope. Something that was desired by all- both alive and dead.

Most people hoped for a happy and stable life. Some aspired to be wealthy and successful. Others wished to keep what they had as of present.

You had simply hoped for a husband who truly loved you.

That dream made you scoff now. Every last bit of hope you harboured had vanished alongside your ‘husband’s’ love and concern. He was no better than your previous lover, who had promised you a lifetime of joy and fondness if you’d run away with him.

How foolish and naive you were to believe that he was genuine. It was only after he had left you for dead did you realise that you’d played right into his trap. A bride whose dreams were stolen from her, and who never got the chance for proper justice to be delivered.

You’d have thought that Chuuya would be different- that he was finally the one to fulfil your hopes of being married. Being loved and cherished by him for eternity as you shared wonderful experiences together as husband and wife. Modelled as the perfect couple whom the souls in the Realm of the Dead smiled at, commenting on how cute the two of you were. Were things as common as those too much to ask for?

You wanted to be the girl that Chuuya looked at with genuine love in his eyes. Just like that ‘Yasuko’ girl you met earlier- whose stupidly beautiful eyes and sickly sweet face had captivated your lover in the first place. Just what did she have that you didn’t have double? Good looks? A lovely personality? Simply being alive? She probably couldn’t dance half as well as you did.

Yasuko wasn’t even wearing his ring. The very same ring that you now held in your palm, begging to be placed back on the hand of its rightful owner. Did it matter that you were the one who Chuuya said his vows to? Not anymore, because he clearly adored his other woman more than you.

You slowly laid down in the coffin, your vision going blurry once again. Although you didn’t have a physical heart, you could certainly feel it breaking. Even when you were dead, it seemed that you still had some tears to shed.

Maggot watched you worriedly, but he didn’t know how exactly to comfort you or cheer you up. Nothing he said or did could deny the obvious truth. The truth that sat on the tip of your tongue, just waiting to be let out.

You loved Chuuya, but he wasn’t yours. Because…

“I’m always the bridesmaid, never the bride.”

Would really appreciate feedback on this ❤️ Not too proud on how I wrote this tbh

@circinuus @little-miss-chaoss @sariel626 @rusmii @atlasnessie @luvfy0dor-main (sorry if I forgot to tag you ;w;)

#silverbladexyz #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #bungou stray dogs x you #bsd x female reader #bsd x you #unrequited love spinoff

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al-astakbar · 7 months

Note

Can I request a size kink with a sprinkle of choking w our favorite blueberry man 🥺 (your thrawn fics made my day lol)

> title ☆ Lucky

> summary ☆ The warlord Grand Admiral Thrawn chooses you to keep his bed warm.

> pairing ☆ Thrawn x reader ☆ word count [2.1k] ☆ warnings ☆ size kink; big cock; size difference; very mild choking (consensual hand on throat, no squeezing or breathplay); butt plug; mildly dubcon because of the circumstance/power imbalance

> posted on ao3

You are lucky to be a warlord’s prize. Luckier still that the warlord in question is Grand Admiral Thrawn.

“I frighten you,” he says. Not a question.

You nod, because he does. He’s broad shouldered and tall, his uniform stretched over his back and chest and as you stand in front of him, the top of your head barely reaches his collarbone. He gazes down at you from such a height, his red eyes glowing and his expression glacially, ominously calm.

But he intrigues you for all the same reasons. Perhaps that’s why he had chosen you.

Perhaps he could tell how your pulse had spiked the first time you’d ever seen him. How your breath had caught at how sharply handsome he was, and how very alien he seemed, with those unsettling, bright eyes and blue skin and forehead ridges. Even more than his stature, Thrawn commands power. It is honed and imposing, evident in every movement, every word.

He had pointed to you out of a lineup, silently. An elegant, almost lazy gesture of his white-gloved hand. He wanted that one-- you-- and two of his stormtroopers had hauled you off to his shuttle.

He steals you away from everything you know. You did not think he would be so gentle with you.

“Come,” he orders, indicating his lap. “Sit.”

In thin socks and your thin shift, you approach him, heart beating wildly. This won’t be so bad. He only wants you close, a little pet to keep him company. He chose you, he explains calmly, because you looked like you might be particularly responsive to stimulation… and he was right.

Trembling, you don’t dare flinch away from his touch. But he quickly convinces you that you wouldn’t want to. Why had you ever wanted to?

He plays with you absently for a while, running his fingers through your hair. Palming your breasts over the fabric and rolling your nipples, pinching and tugging them until you whine. All the while he has a data pad in his other hand, and he punishes you with a sharp slap to your thigh if you get too loud or impatient. You feel small in his lap, like a little toy, something tactile for him to play with.

Sit nicely, be pretty. The more you wriggle in his lap, the more you feel something firm and big pressing against your butt. Too big. Enticing. You squeeze your thighs together, desire mounting with the heady knowledge that he could so easily overpower you and take what he wants.

After a while, when you are restless, he turns you, ass up over his knee, smooths his hands up your thighs as he pushes them apart without resistance. He hmms at the sight of you. So unashamed and needy, all slick and shaking and ripe. Instead of touching you like you want, he works a plug into your ass, tells you “we’ll save that for later”, and sits you on his back on his lap. He is careful not to hurt you, but at the same time he takes no heed of your protests. Bounces his knee every so often so you don’t get too used to the plug. He wants to make sure you can always feel it, a reminder of what’s to come.

He gets you wet and messy on his tongue first before he even undoes his trousers. You can see his erection tenting the fabric when he stands up. Big. This promises to be painful if he isn’t careful, and you can’t will the tension out of your body, even after he tastes you and opens you with his long fingers. One fits nicely. Two of them stretch you, bigger than anything or anyone you’ve had before. Three. Too much, but he tells you that you must, because his cock is even bigger and for it to feel good, he must take the time to prepare you.

But you feel so small under him, so unyieldingly tight.

When he decides you’re prepared enough, he stands, his mouth glistening with your arousal. He doesn’t bother fully undressing, just tucks the hem of his tunic up in his belt and--

You can’t help staring when pulls out his cock.

Thick and long, and much less human than you expected. It has ridges, seemingly made for pleasure. Made to fuck deep and stay deep, to fill so you so well you’ll never be happy with anything else. The shaft is particularly thick, around the middle. You don’t know how it’s supposed to fit in you or anyone.

He lifts you easily. Urges you to wrap your legs around his waist, which you do with apprehension.

He notches the head of his cock at your entrance, where it feels impossibly big.

“It won’t fit,” you tell him in a small voice. “Please, it won’t--”

Instead of pressing up, he lowers you, as if you weigh nothing. You squirm at the intrusion, whimpering too big too big please~ the thick head pushes, then slips. Thrawn gives a low growl, tries again. This time, he holds you securely, lets you drop slowly. He splits you open, inch by torturous inch, until the head is in.

He stills. “Breathe. Take a deep breath.”

On your exhale, he lets you down a little lower.

You whine, and as you slide down more-- a little more-- you’ve never had anything this big, had never even imagined it. You throb around it, squeezing your eyes shut. Thrawn’s hands grip your ass, spreading you apart wide, but even like this the plug doesn’t come out.

Your body does not let the thickest part of him in easily. You know better than to struggle, you just have to relax and take it, but you shake with the effort, skin bright with a sheen of exertion.

Blood roars behind your ears. Your cunt pulses around him uselessly.

It’s too much.

He gives a slight jerk of his hips and--

A slick, obscene sound, and your own incoherent, shocked moan. Overwhelming pressure. You’re fully speared on his cock.

Thrawn’s approval is a purr. An unbroken string of words in his low, soft voice. In Basic, first, but he lapses to something alien.

You have your arms slung around his shoulders, which are so broad you can barely reach your hands. Your face buried against his neck, mouth slack. You’re drooling slightly, drooling on his pristine white uniform.

“Look at me,” he says.

You raise your head, eyes bleary and unfocused. His lips are parted, cheeks flushed purple.

“How do you feel?”

“G-good. And…” the plug in your ass plus Thrawn’s cock -- your body sings with arousal. “Full.” And, against everything you expected, safe.

He smiles. “Yes, you are quite full. I can feel how you squeeze. But…You can take more, can’t you. You want more.”

“Y-yes.”

“Good girl.”

And you melt. Lucky, indeed.

He doesn’t kiss you at first. He waits until this moment, until you are fully impaled on his cock, to slant his mouth over yours in a hungry, claiming kiss. His lips and tongue are hot. He licks into your mouth, swallows down your little moans and answers with his own.

He lifts you up, and your inner muscles tremble.

He fucks you like you’re a toy. No need to thrust his hips when he’s strong enough to simply move you how he wants. Lift up- pull down.

The pulse in your core races. Makes every in-out of his cock that much more immediate, makes you feel how you barely fit around him, you’re too small and tight and he’s much, much too large. Sweat beads across your skin, hot and prickly all over.

He’s so big, moving faster now, you can’t quite catch your breath. With every stroke his ridged cock drags a shivery pleasure over the most sensitive spot inside you, stretching you, pressing everywhere.

He cums once, fast. His hips jerk and his cock twitches and swells and overfills you. He doesn’t stop. Barely even slows down even as his viscous cum drips out of you. And soon, with a needy, broken moan, he cums again. He’s not going to stop. He’s going to keep going, keep fucking you until he feels your pleasure unravel around him.

When you are nice and pliant, he pulls out. Your body misses him right away. An empty ache where his cock should be. And you can’t quite stand on your own, your legs wobbly and coltish. His cum and your arousal drips down, you feel it and hear it squelching inside you. You sag against him.

He puts you on the bed, which is neatly made with a military-style coarse wool blanket pulled over crisp, taut white sheets.

You watch him, transfixed, spread your legs for him.

His cock is still hard, a deep bruised purple but now streaked and sticky with his spend, with a line of it dripping down his balls too.

Deliberate and meticulous, he undresses. Stripping off his belt and boots and tunic to fold and put aside with care.

A uniform, on some people, lends charisma and authority they don’t actually have. Not Thrawn. He doesn’t look any shorter without his boots. His shoulders and chest are just as broad and well-defined without the sharp lines of the tunic accentuating them.

There is a perceptive gleam in his glowing red eyes. He knows his size excites you.

He helps you turn over, onto your front. You feel the bed dip as he kneels, and you spread your legs wider, showing him the plug just above your glistening, well-fucked pussy.

“You are proving delightfully willing.” His voice is warm with praise. “And so very… eager.”

He has to hold you up, just drags you up by your waist and pushes back in.

You clench at the intrusion but there is no pain. Only sweet, aching fullness.

Even better when he puts his thumb on the base of the plug and just— pushes. Pulses it into your ass in time with his thrusts while he fucks your pussy.

He slips his arm underneath you, his hand easily spans your chest, covering your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers one and then the other.

You bare your neck to him. His red eyes burn brighter. This act of submission intrigues him.

He moves his hand up, and places it at your neck. Just— holds you there, forcing you to arch your back as he pumps you with measured strokes.

“More… please.”

Thrawn huffs out a low, almost desperate sound, lets his weight over you carry him deeper. On the next stroke, deeper again.

You pant his name over and over, and he encourages you, his voice tender and soft but his words filthy. More…. Yes. Such a tight, sweet pussy, taking me so well. Already so full but greedy for more…

At last he is as deep as he can go, his heavy balls pressed against you. He circles his hips, drawing a gasp from you, because in addition to his cock you can feel his hips press the plug in harder, deeper.

He gives shuddering moans as he begins to thrust into you, as if he’s been holding himself back. His shaft slides fully in and out with ease, still thick and heavy, his balls slapping wetly against your clit.

Thrawn rides you, reams you. He has hold of you by your neck, your back flush against his chest, possessing you completely.

Heat builds in your core. Thrawn stokes it to a blaze. At the same time, his fingers tighten by a degree. Just to remind you. His control is absolute— your breath lighter, shorter— but warm and careful.

He owns your senses. His hand at your waist slips down, finds your clit. All it takes is one little circle of his finger to make you feel— everything.

And your mind blisses out.

You clench around him strongly, back arching away from him as you strain but he keeps you where he wants you.

Pleasure burns brightly through you like a wildfire, searing every nerve and for a moment, there is nothing other than pure sensation. He doesn’t stop when you cry out. He fucks you through it, praise spilling from his lips while he splits you open, enjoying how your tight, slick pussy takes all of the driving force of his cock. He draws it out, with longer, slower strokes. Until you’re whimpering and trembling, raw from overstimulation.

You could have been passed over. He could have pointed to someone else, and you’d have been shipped off to work in one of the factories like all the others.

And yet here you are. Warm and sated just from coming on a big cock and getting told what a good girl you are. The Grand Admiral lets you rest for a few minutes, brings you water, wipes your face with a soft cloth before pulling the plug out with a slick pop. You know what’s next. Your body hums with desire. Lucky.

☆join tag list☆ <- this is the easiest way to make sure your request is recorded, however anyone is also welcome to dm me if they want to be added.

@thrawns-babygirl @vibratingskull @thrawns-teef-weef @aethersecho @exoplorationn @elc3004 @littlecrowtime @twilekchiss @saber-slutt @projectdreamwalker @ele-millennial-weirdo @vaarians @shoe-bag @thrawnspetgoose @nomercyforthewarrior @pb-jellybeans @twincesskorisoka @jewelliffer @cecilyjmorgenstern @mandinlore @bobaprint @bluechiss @andrakass2 @nocturneabyss @khapikat222 @echostastyass @bookipsies @jamiethenerdymonster @starryevermore @sev-on-kamino

#thrawn #thrawn x reader #thrawn x you #thrawn x y/n #grand admiral thrawn #mitth'raw'nuruodo #thrawn fic #thrawn fanfiction #ask #anon ask

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heartcereql · 1 year

Text

am i the girl that you dream of?

✩ xavier thorpe x f!reader

SYNOPSIS- all over the summer, xavier has been having dreams of a certain girl, who, much to his surprise, arrives at nevermore for the new school year.

CW- lowercase intended, cursing, bianca and xavier don’t have any history, also divina may be a bit ooc since we didn’t get much of her.

A/N- i know it doesn’t really follow pretty when i cry (the song i got the prompt from) but i loved how it turned out. sorry in advance, it’s pretty long LMAO. also feel free to send request for wednesday characters! :)

moonlight bathed her features. her eyes glistened, reflecting the stars. hands delicately mused, fingers interwinned, softly caressing the other hand. her chest rose up and down, inhaling midnight air, fueling her lungs with the pure atmosphere that surrounded her figure.

dreams always felt surreal. but when she was in them? they went beyond that. xavier stretched his hand towards her. slowly, his fingertips grazed her shoulder. and then he saw.

his vision suddenly flooded with flashing memories. dazzling blue lights, very muffled chattering, hands, lips, figures, were all his senses were taking in.

4:39 AM

xavier woke up covered in sweat once again. the sun wasn’t up yet. dim light from the stars came through his window.

he hadn’t been thrilled about going home for summer holidays. he thought he’d be staying at ajax’s or be sent to a summer camp. he would’ve liked that. but his father had kept him home. all. fucking. summer. and then the dreams started to appear. the first one, he doesn’t even remember. he just brushed it off. but then they continued appearing. and he found himself enhanced. for almost two months, he’d drawn the girl from his dreams. wether it were only sketches of herwaist, or doodles of herparted lips. he even had an unfinished painting of her moonlit face in a big canvas. anybody who had seen his latest pieces would’ve thought he was a stalker. he was just trapped in his house. it only conforted him how close the beginning of the new school year was.

back at nevermore, xavier felt at ease again. getting back on track carried an euphoric feeling for him. settling everything in his dorm, catching up with ajax and rowan, cleaning his art shed, it all gave him a sense of belonging that he wouldn’t change for anything. the dreams even went away.

and, in one of his conversations, he found out. about your arrival. though, at first, he paid no mind to it. ajax had said something about two transfer students incorporating this year.

“yeah, one of them will be here in a couple days. i heard the other’s application is still pending or something like that” rowan added.

“damn, does everyone know but me?” he said. he meant it as a joke, but, deep down, he was worried he’d been living under a rock the whole summer.

“it’s not that big of a deal” ajax shrugged “but most likely.”

xavier groaned and mentally face-palmed himself. he could’ve checked enid’s blog. idiot.

✩✩✩✩

meanwhile you were talking to principal larissa weems alongside your parents. the woman before you had an elegant and intimidating beauty and her words came out graceful and confident.

she’d explained how the school worked, what the classes consisted in and the insitute’s norms. your parents were delighted with weems, relieved she would be in charge of your security and safety. she seemed trustworthy. she inspired comfort, but also discipline and respect.

“now, now, y/n, it is time for you to meet your roommate and she will give you a tour around school. i’ll leave you sometime with your family to say your goodbyes” weems spoke with a warm smile.

your parents nodded and thanked her as she escorted you out of her office.

✩✩✩✩

as you were seeing your parents’ car drive away, a presence approached you. you turned around to meet a girl with chestnut, shoulder lenght hair and pale blue eyes.

“hey! you must be y/n. i’m divina, your roommate” she gave you an enchanting smile as she offered her hand.

“charmed to meet you” you smiled back as you shook her hands.

“i think your belongings have already been moved into our dorm, so let’s take a look at the school first, shall we?” she asked, linking your arm with hers as you nodded, delighted.

✩✩✩✩

xavier was working on his latest project very near the quad. it had been half his and half weems’s idea. a mural adorning one of the walls adjacent to the quad. his mind ran free as he painted some details in a crow.

as he changed some of his used brushes for clean ones, his eyes scanned the quad. some girls chatting in a bench nearby, a group of gorgons in the back of the quad, and then his eyes made their way towards two moving figures.

was that divina? she indeed was. and she was talking to a girl, who was looking for something in her bag. she was not wearing the uniform. she must have been one of the transfers. xavier stopped whatever he was doing to take a proper look at the pair.

as the new girl found what she was looking for, her face now exposed, xavier realised. it was you. the girl he’d been dreaming of all summer. too shocked to react, he could only watch you walk away towards thelxiepeia hall.

✩✩✩✩

september passed by faster than everyone had wanted.

you and divina had become quite close and she’d introduced you to bianca, yoko, enid and kent. you’d even thrown a slumber party at your shared dorm; the girls helped you settle in and decorate your side.

xavier, on the other hand, had been thinking of how to approach you, if he even should. he hadn’t wanted to be affected by it, not wanting to start the neverending cycle this past summer had been, filled with incognitas about you. but the dreams came back. and they were different. you actually spoke to him in this new dreams. nothing that he could comprehend though. sometimes you spoke in unsolveable riddles, sometimes in a language he couldn’t understand.

“it is time for you to make the very first project of this semester” professor Cross, horror literature’s teacher anounced, earning a groan from all the students. “it could’ve been an exam, no need to be so dramatic. the couples assigned and the book assigned for each are displayed on the classroom door. have nice evenings!” and with that, he vanished from the class.

you and bianca made your way towards the door. she was the only one from your friend group who had horror literature in this period.

“i’m up here and you, oh here!” she pointed at your names.

she got paired with a girl named iris. your name was written nexto to ‘xavier thorpe’.

“it’s perfect that i got Lovecraft. i mean, i’ve loved him since i was merely in the womb. i spent all summer reading-” bianca was rambling about lovecraft before you interrupted her.

“hey, b, who is xavier thorpe?” you asked her, fidgeting with a sticky note in which you’d written his name along with ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’.

“you know that kid who’s painting a mural in the quad? that’s him. i think he’s super good at literature , so you’re gonna ace this” she responded, walking you to the quad.

as you and her were about to start a conversation as to which outfit you should choose for your girls’ evening out, someone catched up to you.

“hey, you’re y/n, right?” a tall boy, with sharp features and long hair, asked, locking eyes with you.

you felt a sensation of déjà vu run through you as you could only nod, enhanced by his figure.

“i’m xavier” the boy smiled. “we are partners for this project, so, um, maybe you want to schedule for some days to work on it?”

“sure, sure” you reciprocated the smile, taking in the way his made you feel. “i’ll catch you later, bi” you said to your friend as she nodded and walked away.

“so, uh, when are you free?” he asked as you turned back to him. “for the project, i mean”

“i think i have this afternoon free, and next one as well, if it works for you” you spoke.

you sounded exactly like what he’d dreamt. your silk soft voice reverberating in his ears, sending goosebumps down his body.

“sounds perfect. library, 4pm?” xavier said, observing your features in the sun, rather than the moonlight, admiring you. not a product of his imagination. just you.

✩✩✩✩

xavier got to the library at the very time he’d told you. scanning the place, he finally found your figure. your bag was placed in a chair, and you were browsing through the shelves, looking for some books.

“hey” he greeted.

words caught up in your throat when you looked at him. he loved the way your eyes fluttered around, finally settling down on his.

“hi” you responded. “so. i’ve been collecting a few books about poe, you know, so we can make a deep analysis on the piece”

“cool, cool. i feel like the old man has a lot of connotations-” he started.

“wait you’ve read the tell-tale heart?” you asked, smiling. you loved poe’s works.

“yeah, everyone should” he chuckled. “i find poe inspiring. all of his horror pieces itch all the right places in my brain” he shrugged, licking his lips.

“i love poe too. i went to a summer camp this summer about him and it wa...”

xavier let your words run through his mind as he focused on your excited expression, talking about something you were so keen on.

both of you sat now next to each other, rambling about nonsense, enjoying the other’s company, your assignment long forgotten.

✩✩✩✩

and so the two of you had to meet again the next day and over the weekend, rushing your assignment.

but neither of you minded it. you grew closer, learning about each other. xavier found out about your passion for astronomy and your connection to the night. and you learnt about his relationship with his dad and his coping mechanism: painting. you’d even seen some of them, and you were captivated by them.

he showed you his ability and he’d swear your reaction was his favorite thing ever. how your eyes widened in suprise, lips parted slightly, an amazed smile making its way.

and he told you about his visions. he trusted you enough.

✩✩✩✩

“and, you know, sometimes i have dreams, but they’re real. the people, the creatures are real” he said, almost a whisper.

you two were walking around the school’s surroundings, october’s cold breeze hitting your rosy cheeks.

“like visions?” you asked

“sort of. the scenarios are barely real, but the people i see are. and lately, this girl has been appearing”

“is she a sleep nymph? i heard of them once, they’re pretty cool” he could feel your eyes piercing him as he looked forward.

“no, no, i don’t think she is. at first i thought she was just something i imagined, but then i saw her” he looked down at you as he spoke.

“what were your dreams like?” you softly posed the question.

“i saw her, laying down under the stars. i could only see her in a blue palette. and then, i saw her memories. and i just can’t get her out of my head”

you went quiet. he feared he’d scared you, and he was about to start rambling apologies when you stopped walking and took his hand.

“xavier?” you looked up at him “am i the girl that you dream of?”

his heart skipped a beat. he wanted the ground to swallow him. he couldn’t scape.

“how’d you know?”

“i’ve been seeing you too. in the stars.”

he stared at you blankly. so he hadn’t creeped you out. he finally reacted, smirking.

his hands made his way to your face, holding your cold cheeks. you looked up at him, hands around his neck. he wanted that moment, that sight to last forever.

he leaned down and kissed you for an instant. he pulled away, just to watch your features before you pulled him down and kissed him again, loving the feeling of his lips on yours, like they were made for each other.

#xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe x reader #wednesday netflix #xavier thorpe imagine #heartcereql

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nonobadcat · 9 months

Text

For @oklolnoty

With special thanks to @krystalwithakay for writing an entire, working Javascript program just to make a joke in a fanfiction. May 2D murderers ever throw themselves at your illustrious feet.

Down the Rabbit Hole - Five Chapters - 20k words - Yandere Shigaraki Tomura x Rabbit Quirk Female Reader

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Rating: 18+ readers only - Minors DNI

Final Chapter : Accessory - 6.1k words

TW: Noncon, yandere with kidnapping, canon typical threats of violence (reader directed), canon typical death (nonreader directed), oral (receive), PnV (doggie), breeding, and expensive designer clothing everywhere.

“Honey-chan! Come here! Come here!”

From the far side of the bar, Nyanko waved you over. Pochi and Nyanko sat scattered between a group of three middle-aged men and one woman. The short, squat one on the right had to be the Kiba, if the amorous attention he lavished on Pochi was anything to go by. You knew he’d been the one to introduce Oshida to the club, but the rest of the party didn’t look much like heroes or marketing managers. Beside Kiba, a tall, chiseled man with rumpled salt and pepper hair wore hideous seafoam green scrubs. Next to him, a thick necked work-out-aholic still had his hospital badge on his pocket clip. The only woman was a few years older than Mama-san with a small, oval face, Cupid’s bow lips and glossy chestnut hair. While she easily could have passed for a former hostess, the long, white lab coat draped over her seat revealed her real profession.

You pushed away an exhausted frown and very bitter “I haven’t even put down my bag, ho!” in favor of a cheery grin and bouncy step. Sliding onto the couch next to them, you clicked your tongue.

“Meh, what’s up, Docs?”

Green scrubs belted out a hearty laugh. “You were right, Nyanko-chan, she is very witty.”

Nyanko scratched the air. “Remember your paw-mise, Yamamoto-sensei. You’re nya-t allowed to fall for anyone but me-ow-kay?

“O-okay,” he murmured, pushing up his glasses.

Nyanko giggled.

“Honey Bunny, this is Kiba-san from the Buster Hero Agency,” Pochi explained, gesturing to each guest in order. “Yamamoto-sensei, Hora-san and Sawa-sensei all work in the Pediatric Trauma Unit at Metropolitan Hospital. Hora-san is the director. Yamamoto-sensei and Sawa-sensei are his top surgeons.”

“Oh wow! How amazing!” you gushed. “So when kids get injured in a villain attack, you’re the people that save them?”

“Yes. They’re the real heroes,” Kiba proclaimed proudly, sloshing his Old Fashioned.

“We’re negotiating a collaboration with the Buster agency,” Hora explained. “We’re going to feature them in our literature and they’ll be doing daily hospital appearances for the kids.”

“Now, now—” Kiba wagged his finger “—I never promised daily visits. Our heroes are very busy and I need to be respectful of their time.”

Hora slapped him on the back with a loud laugh. “If you can still say that, I need to buy you another drink, my friend.”

“Careful what you offer.” Pochi’s fanged grin pricked her rosy lips as she draped herself around her prey’s arm. “My Kiba can really hold his liquor. You better watch yourself, Hora-san.”

Kiba roared with laughter. “You tell them Pochi-chan!”

You giggled into your palm to hide the snide smirk. Billed for her mature sensuality and elegance, Pochi was Animal Instinct's number one Hostess for a reason. Notorious for her ability to smooth over even the most heated contract negotiations with her wit and grace, her clients included some of the largest corporate big wigs in the city. Drinking with her would do to your budget what trying to put out a fire with gasoline would, but if you could bankroll her tastes, her companionship paid literal dividends.

The only question was, which party suggested the hostess club for negotiations?

You studied the faces of each guest in turn. Kiba, being the regular, seemed like the likely candidate, but Hora’s comment about the drinks implied he was footing the bill. Nyanko’s “here, kitty, kitty” act left Yamamoto too spellbound. While he would probably be back again, this was clearly his first run in with her cattitude. When your eyes rolled to the last person at the table, you caught a calculating grin on a botoxed smile.

Like a boss, Sawa-sensei. Like a boss.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Nyanko gasped. “Honey-chan, show Sawa-sensei your new purse, paw-eeze?”

Sawa-sensei’s gaze drifted to the crook of your elbow where the bag hung like the white elephant in the room. You hoisted it up, setting it on the table for her inspection. Tiny palladium feet clinked on the glass top.

“Well now,” she turned it this way and that. “I think I still like the Retoupe better than the Sellier, but the size looks perfect and that color is so...”

“It goes with everything, right?” Nyanko agreed.

Sawa-sensei nodded. “Everybody gushes over the bubblegum pink but I think the Etain/Etoupe color lines are the perfect neutral.” She passed the bag back to you. “Very classic. Do you shop at Hermés often?”

“Oh! No, no!” you explained, with a cheery laugh. “A client bought it for me a few days ago.”

Sawa raised a painted brow. “She must be well connected.”

“He,” Nyanko corrected. “His son comes in to learn how to talk to women. Of all of us, Honey-chan was the first to really bring him out of his shell.”

You cringed, glancing at Kiba. Hopefully that little comment didn’t make it back to Oshida. Logically, the man had to know you had other clients, but when it came to you, he could be more territorial than a bull elephant seal. Still, it made for good tips and a girl had to eat.

Thumbing her chin, she studied your purse like a general analyzing enemy troop movements. “Your sponsor seems to understand women well and have exquisite taste.” She winked at you. “Lucky girl.”

“Huh.” Hora inspected the bag. “That looks like a nice laptop bag. Maybe I should get one for my wife.”

“I’m sure she’d like it,” Sawa replied coolly, sipping her martini. “That’s the 35 cm. They start at about 2 million yen.”

His face paled.

“Of course, that doesn’t include the money you have to spend to even be offered the chance to buy,” she continued. “Hermés boutiques only get a limited delivery twice a year and only their top clients are considered. I think I owned fifteen of their scarves, two pairs of shoes, and the entire collection of their perfumes before I got the option. Even then, it was mostly because my mother buys their saddles for her Gypsy Vanners.”

WHAT THE HECK HIGH SPEC FAMILY DID THIS WOMAN COME FROM?!

“Their scarves are so lovely,” Pochi cooed. “Kiba got me the Grise Nacré colorway of Chorus Stellarum last week. It’s a must have for any pastel goth.”

“How much did that set you back?” Hora asked.

Kiba coughed into his glass. “56,000.”

“He’s a doll, right?” Pochi gushed, patting him on the cheek.

Considering Pochi had to talk him out of buying his wife an unsolicited vacuum cleaner for her birthday, you really wondered about that.

“Maybe a scarf then,” Hora agreed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh,” Pochi turned to Kiba. “What about little scarves or bandanas as favors for the kids? They wouldn’t be too expensive to print if you outsource and they’d look like little capes! Super on brand, right?”

“Pochi-chan! You’re a genius!”

Her tail wagged so hard the seat swayed. “Oh, Kiba-san. Stop it! ”

Sawa-sensei smirked at the exchange and elbowed Hora. He nodded at her before turning to you. “Could you get us some champagne, Honey-chan?”

With a sparkling grin and an under the table fist pump, you replied: “Of course!”

“Pochi-sama!” Nyanko whined, her flushed face buried in the other Hostess’s arm. “I bow before you and beg for your continued protection.”

You clapped your hands together like a woman in prayer. “High holy Pochi-sama, Goddess of the Golden Tip. We offer you our eternal devotion.”

Pochi twirled her hair and loosed a cartoon villainess’s laugh. “Fear not, my darlings. True believers shall always receive my blessing.”

“We are unworthy,” the two of you repeated in synchrony.

“Thank you, thank yo—oooop!

Nyanko’s drunken cackles rang into the night as Pochi tripped into the back alley. “So graceful!”

“Elegance in her every step,” you agreed.

“Silence, mortals,” Pochi commanded, steadying herself on the dumpster. She thumbed her chest. “I have the skills that pay the -hic- bills.”

You giggled.

“Hey, Honey-chan?”

“Hmmm?”

Nyanko pointed to your empty arms. “Forgetting something?”

You slapped your forehead. “Oh. Duh. It’s still on the table.” Black heels wedged themselves into the self-locking fire door before it snapped shut. “Last train leaves soon. You guys go ahead without me.”

“You sure?”

Pochi swallowed, clapping a hand over her mouth.

“I’m fine!” you insisted, shooing them off. “Get her holiness back to the temple before she has to worship the porcelain god.”

“Whoops! No worries, Pochi-sama! I got your back!” Nyanko replied, wiping out a scrunchie. She scooped up Pochi’s dangling ears and tied them in a bow. Then, your friend turned back to you. “Careful going home with all that cash, kay, bunny girl?”

You nodded. “Thanks, Nyanko. You’re a queen.”

She purred before wrapping Pochi’s arm over one shoulder. Swaying together, they stumbled out onto the main drag before making a right towards the station.

Finding the bag took no time at all. You checked your wallet, only to see a fat stack of untouched 5000 yen notes. Basking in the glory of financial security, you whistled the item get theme from Legend of Zelda before strutting back to the door. The 1812 Overture blared from Mama-san’s office, drowning out the world. You bowed to her. Waving like an empress greeting the great unwashed, she returned to tallying the daily total.

Snickering, you ducked out the exit.

When the fire door clanged shut, your hackles stood on end. The smell of sweat and woody citrus wafted on the breeze. A tall silhouette blocked the entrance to the alley. Panting like a dog, Oshida, clad in his spandex leotard, leaned against the brickwork. Dark shadows from his furrowed brow turned his brown eyes a bottomless jet black.

“O-Oshida-san?” you stammered, taking one step back. “What are you doing here?!”

“Nice bag.” He stalked down the alleyway, his hard stare never leaving the offending object. “Some other guy bought that for you, huh?”

You swallowed, unsure what to say to the hard bite in his tone.

He drew up in front of you, rolling his broad shoulders back to accentuate his full height. Wordlessly, he snatched up your wrist and inspected the leather craftsmanship. “Grey?” he scoffed. “How generic. That moron doesn’t know you at all does he?”

Out of seemingly nowhere, he produced a small, black leather box with a push button latch. Lowering himself to one knee, he snapped open the lid. A gaudy round-cut diamond, solitaire set in a rose gold band with pink sapphire trimmings, stared up at you like the eye of some great beast. Even in the dim, orange glow of hazy streetlamps, all three carats sparkled with near flawless clarity.

“Baby pink suits my baby girl much better then some ugly grey purse,” he cooed, slipping the ring onto your left hand.

Frozen in shock, you gapped at the garish, glittering stones.

Oh…

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no no no no no no no no!

“So… will you tell me your name now?”

Rigid tension shook your entire body. Sharp nails curled into tightly balled fists. “Oshida-san…”

He cupped your hand, stroking his thumb up and down yours. “Call me Hideki,” he purred.

Your head snapped up, wide eyes bulging. “Oshida-san, this is very sudden.”

He laughed. “Well, when Kiba told me everything that happened, I figured there was no time like the present.”

Heavy stones left the loose band sagging on your finger. Your heart sank along with it. Alarm bells blared as every part of your brain scrambled for an excuse that wouldn’t cost you a meal ticket. They clawed their way through pliant pacifications, tossing out line after line.

“But marrying a hostess would be terrible for your reputation. What would the press say?”

“Kiba will handle it.” A paparazzi worthy smile twinkled at you. “He’s great at his job.”

Screaming internally, you toed the ground and looked away. “Your parents would never approve. I don’t want to be the person who comes between a man and his family.”

He squeezed your hand. “Once they see how sweet you are, they’ll fall as deeply in love with you as I have.”

“I-I’m no good at anything housey though! I burn everything I cook, I always mix up the white and the colors, and I’m awful at cleaning!” You sniffled, pretending to cry into your hands. “You’d be so ashamed of a wife like me.”

“So I’ll hire a maid and a chef.” He chuckled, patting your hand. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over it, Princess. There are all kinds of wifely duties you can do for me.”

Oh my gosh. You were going to barf.

“Can you just not, you chauvinistic troglodyte?”

“What?”

Um... Girl. You just said the quiet part out loud.

You blinked. “What?”

Oshida blankly stared at you. “What did you just call me?”

Welp… guess the bunny was out of the burrow now. Better just roll with it.

Yanking off the ring, you ripped open his hand and dropped it into his palm. “I have precious little interest in marrying a callow narcissist who thinks I can be bought by the highest bidder, so you should march yourself on over to the first fangirl with a nice rack and toss your baggage her way.”

He stared at you. “Huh?”

“Are you for real?!” You threw your hands into the air. “No, you boorish sac of sexual harassment!” A manicured finger stabbed at the end of the alleyway. “I’m not the brainless bunny bimbo you think I am, so take a hint and take a hike!”

Slowly, the well rusted gears in Oshida-san’s head began to grind through your words. Head low, he rose to his feet and hovered in silence like a spandex coated scarecrow. As the blood in your ears slipped from a violent roar to a muted rumble, the man before you lifted his chin. Dark, bottomless eyes and a hard snarl were your only warning. Thick fingers clamped down on your wrist with bruising force.

“I ASKED YOU WHAT YOU JUST CALLED ME YOU LITTLE SLUT!” he roared.

A sallow hand shot out, grabbing Oshida's head with four fingers.

“Come on now, it’s not her fault that you can’t take a hint,” a grating voice rasped in your ear.

“W-wait!” Oshida’s face turned snow white. “Aren’t you—?”

Croaking laughter filled the alley. “I mean seriously, she had to spam the Clue-by-Four just to get it through your thick skull.” Tomura’s eerie smile seemed to glow in the dark. “Tell me hero, how do you live with yourself when you’re that stupid?”

Your heart stopped as his pointer pressed against Oshida’s cheek. Crumbling grey ash scattered in the breeze.

Tomura sneered. “Guess you don’t have to now.”

Shaking hands clutched your face. “T-Tomura, what have you done?” you whispered.

“Rekt the n00b?”

“You just killed a hero, Tomura!” you yelled. “What the heck were you thinking?!”

Cocking his head, he stared at you. “Why are you upset? Do I need to save scum or something?”

“You can’t save scum IRL!”

Tomura scratched his neck. “Reality is lame.”

You crumpled to the ground. Terrified words tumbled from your lips. “Now I’m out a client and an accessory to murder!”

“So… I picked the wrong option?”

You glared up at him with bloodshot, watery eyes. “I’m a pro-hostess! Handling angry drunks and sexual harassment is my rice and miso!” you snarled.

Tomura puzzled over your words, weighing your complaints carefully. After a few, slow blinks he smacked his fist into his palm. “Oh. You think I was trying to be heroic like that bad choice in your game, don’t you?”

“Yeah, good on you for remembering now.” You moaned, burying your face in your hands. “Screwed! I'm so screwed!”

A firm, four fingered grip dragged you to your feet. You fell flat against a lean chest.

“Come on then, let’s go,” he stated, tugging you toward the end of the alley.

“Oh no. No. Absolutely not! I’m not a princess and I don’t need to be saved!” you insisted, pulling hard against his hold. “My fluffy butt is gonna stay right here, remain silent, and Google a good defense attorney.”

A cold chuckle set your hair on end. You looked up, only to see red eyes bulging out of his skull. Primordial terror sent your heart flailing against your ribs.

“You don’t understand, do you?”

A hard arm caught you in the stomach. You gasped. The world spun. Peeling lips curled in delight as Tomura swept you over his boney shoulder.

“I’m no hero,” he rasped. “I’m the villain and I just didn’t want some moron touching what’s mine.”

You thrashed against him, hammering his black hoodie with your fists. “TOMURA! PUT ME DOWN!”

Cold fingers dug into your bare, inner thigh. “I don’t have an amputee fetish but I wouldn’t find you less attractive without your legs.”

You froze solid.

“Smart move.” The hold on your thigh receded. He reached into his hoodie pocket and extracted his phone. “By the way, settle a bet.” Painfully bright blue light spilled into the dark alley as he swiped through the contact list. “I know you were lying about the lemon sours and champagne. Tell me your real favorite.”

Your eyes darted this way and that looking for a weapon. There was nothing within reach. Looks like you’d only survive by your wits alone which, given being witty put you in this position, didn’t seem all that promising.

“S-sake bomb,” you stammered out.

“What are you, a salaryman or something?” he teased.

Your face burned hot. “Shut up, Orange Cassis!”

He lifted the microphone to smirking lips. “Hey, Kurogiri. I’m bringing my girlfriend back. Do we have the stuff for sake bombs?”

Girlfriend?!

When a low voice burbled through the line, you snapped back to reality.

“Oh. Yeah. Hold on.” Tomura’s gaze swept the alley until he spotted the bag, lying forgotten on the pavement. “My hands are full. Grab it for me when you open the portal. It’s by my left shoe.”

“Portal? What are you—?”

Before you could finish, purple smoke engulfed the alley, swallowing your startled scream.

When the thick smoke cleared, you found yourself in a dank, beige room. The only light came from the hazy glow of dual OLED monitors atop a minimalist brown desk. Above this, tacked to the wall with enough dossiers to please even the most obsessive conspiracy theorist, was a well worn world map pockmarked with pin holes. Overcrowded shelves, packed with precariously leaning books and muscle-bound action figures hung above a squat, overflowing garbage can. To your right, a thin, stained carpet and well scratched chabudai sat on the floor. Ripe with the smell of stale cup ramen and sweaty bed sheets, the room howled “man child”.

Tomura kicked off his red sneakers, letting them thunk against one of the many overstuffed trash bags. It flopped to its side, knocking over empty two liters like a line of bowling pins. He shuffled past the clutter and set you on a rumpled pile of bedsheets. The mattress groaned. He crossed his arms.

“Don’t whine about the mess. That hero idiot forced me to speed run. I didn’t exactly have time to clean up.”

You stared at him. “Speed run?”

Ratty nails raked his neck. “I was going to follow you for a while. You know. Get a feel for what you liked before I brought you home.” He pointed to a shopping bag laying near the bed. “That was all I managed.”

“It’s… for me?”

The scratching intensified. “No, I just like cross dressing,” he snapped, jabbing his hand at the package again. “Yes, they’re for you. I had to talk Sensei out of some expensive silk crap, so be grateful.”

Holding your breath, you tore the plastic open and upended the contents into your lap. Crafted from super soft, fluffy polyester, a fuzzy pajama set spilled into your lap. The V neck crop tank and high waisted shorts looked like something an e-girl would use to cosplay a kawaii teddy bear. A matching thigh-length robe, complete with oversized hood and baggy sleeves, took the look from “my furry fantasy” to “comfy cozy”.

…this actually looked like something you would wear.

You held the tank against your chest. The fit was alarmingly correct. When you glanced up, Tomura’s excited smile wrinkled his nose.

“You casual-up cute.”

Steam poured from your ears

He leaned forward, reaching for the zipper of your dress. You scooted back, colliding with the wall. With an eye roll, Tomura kneeled on the bed, crawling toward you. One hand caught your shoulder. The other grabbed for the tab.

“So you can touch me but not the other way around? Did you honestly expect me to be okay with that?”

“That’s normal for a hostess and client!” you protested.

He sneered, his husky voice rasping in your ear. “You went pretty far out of your way to lose me as a client, remember ?”

Tooth by tooth, the zipper crawled down to your hemline. Tomura peeled open the slinky outfit. Red eyes roamed over your flesh toned satin bra and simple, smooth seamed panties. He sniggered, his fingers trailing down your waist.

“Wow… talk about low effort.”

You glared at him.

“Oh come on. I’m not mad or anything. Pretty obvious you never meant for any of those guys to see these. Makes me feel pretty special.” He hooked his thumbs under the waistline of your panties and began to shuffle them down. “Besides, it’s not like you’ll be needing them anyways.”

A shaking hand caught his shoulder. "W-what are you doing?!"

He glared at you. “I want to see,” he demanded, yanking harder.

"Then look at hentai or something!”

“You got to see mine,” he deadpanned.

“You got a blow job out of it!”

Tomura clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “...and you left me with blue balls.”

“You got more than I did!”

He broke into an eerie grin. “Oh? Did you want more?”

You froze.

Five fingers clamped down on the stretchy fabric. Powder ash tickled across your thighs.

Shadows filled his wrinkled smile. “I can do that," he declared, pointing to his nose.

"Hey! Hold on!" You shoved his shoulder. It was like pushing on a brick wall.

Tomura leaned in, reaching for your bra. Your leg jerked. He bucked up and caught your knee just below his crotch. He growled, squeezing hard in the divots on both sides of the joint.

"Did you forget what happens if you jump around too much?"

Panicked eyes flashed to long, calloused fingers before jumping to his face. The predatory, blood red stare pinned you like a bear trap. Burning breath caught in your chest. Numb lips opened, closed and opened again. With no air to carry the words, you squeezed your eyes shut. Tears welled in your lashes.

“Hey… come on now.” His thumb hooked under your chin, lifting your head. “I wouldn’t make you my girlfriend if I wanted to kill you.” He patted your cheek. “You can move all you want in a minute. Just let me check something first.”

“Check what?” you whispered.

He snorted. “You’re the one that told me to Google it.”

Grabbing your other knee, Tomura pried your legs centimeter by centimeter. Scratchy hands scraped down your bare, inner thighs. Goosebumps prickled across your arms. By the time he’d butterflied you open to his hungry gaze, you felt the tickle and torn nails on sensitive skin. With a crooked finger on either side, he parted your lower lips, staring deep inside. He paused, shifting his body until the pale light of the dual monitors drove away the shadows. You stiffened when one pointer tapped the tacky tissue.

“Should have known,” he muttered, sitting back on his haunches. “The color isn’t right and you’re not wet.”

Your face caught fire. “You actually Googled the receptive period signs?! Seriously?!”

Shigaraki ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. “Guess it was too much to ask for a high spec target like you to give me beginner mode, huh?”

High spec, huh? Okay.... Bonus points for that, crusty boy.

“Beginner… mode?” You puzzled over the word for a moment before a startling conclusion slammed into your brain. Sweat beaded down your neck. Your words stumbled out. “Wait… I knew you were bad with girls but… are you… are you really a…?”

Tomura scowled at you, scratching his neck. “So what? You gonna look down on me or something?”

Oh… so… you let touch starved, crazy, virgin stick his dick in you? Your mind whirled, quickly calculating what fresh hell you had brought upon yourself.

public static void calculateChanceOfEscape(int levelOfCrazy, boolean isFirstLove, int qualityOfPreviousBlowjob){int abilityToEscape =0; if (isFirstLove==true){ int touchStarvedFactor = qualityOfPreviousBlowjob*2; abilityToEscape= levelOfCrazy*touchStarvedFactor; } Else{ abilityToEscape = levelOfCrazy*10; } int chanceOfEscape = 100 - abilityToEscape; System.out.println("Your chance of escape is "+chanceOfEscape+ "%"); } public static void main(String[] args) { calculateChanceOfEscape(10, true, 10); } CalculateChanceOfEscape(levelOfCrazy 10, isFirstLove: true, qualityOfPreviousBlowjob 10);

…

Output - Chance Of Escape = -100%

Sweat beaded down your brow. Slowly, softly, you started to speak. “Hey… Tomura. I swear, I didn’t mean to—”

A hard hand slammed into the wall beside you. Crumbling paint dusted your shoulder. Bulging, bloodshot eyes stared into your soul. “Didn’t mean to what ?!”

Craaaaaaaappppppppppppp!

As you whimpered, his dead stare softened to a confused head tilt. “Oh. Wait. Of course you didn’t. It’s not like you can control what time of the month it is.” He broke into an eerie grin. “Ah… so that’s why you put me through that tutorial, right?”

…tutorial? What was he—?

“If I just do the things you had the player do in game, you should be able to warm up without any problems.” He cackled, ruffling your hair. “Geeze. Next time, just say something if you need me to grind first.”

In one sweep, Tomura slammed you down onto the mattress. Old springs squealed in protest as grey swirls over took your vision. Fighting through the ringing in your ears, you squinted up at him.

“Ooops. I’m used to going PvP with Tanks, but your build is more of a Glass Cannon, huh?” [8]

You groped for a hold on old, pilling sheets. Tomura shuffled between your legs. Five fingers plucked your bra strap. Warm breath fanned across your ribs. Dust tumbled from your body.

“You’re lucky I read a lot of walk-throughs.”

Pinky up, Tomura grabbed your breasts with both hands, squeezing the soft tissue with excessive force. When you whined, he lifted his head and raised an eyebrow.

“Still too hard, huh?” he muttered, shifting himself against your bare core. “Right. I’ll lower the input then.”

Loosing his boney grip, he rolled his hands over your breast before raising them a few milliliters. Back and forth, his palm tickled across your skin. As your nipples began to harden, well chewed thumbs circled their tips. Pinching the nub between thumb and forefinger, he teased both sides of you into puckered peaks.

Electric pleasure clamped tight into already tense muscles. Your back arched. An airy gasp escaped.

“Oh? Like that, huh?”

Waves of pale blue tickled your skin. Sour breath wrinkled your nose. You tried to scoot out of his grasp. It was no use. One hand pulled away from your chest before clamping on your thigh.

“Kinda hot when you squirm for me,” he groaned. “Just no sudden movements, all right?”

Before you could reply, Tomura’s mouth engulfed the tip of your breast. Slow suction teased raw skin between his teeth. As sharp teeth trapped the taunt nipple, nimble fingers continued their relentless assault on the other side.

“Tomura—!” you yelped. “Time out! Time out!”

The man above you shivered. “You really expect me to stop when you say my name like that?”

“Seriously Tomu-AH!”

Frantic protests melted into an embarrassing moan when a moist tongue flicked over hot flesh. Your hands balled into the sheets. His head bobbed with each erotic suckle, leaving you writhing into musky bedding. His flat pillow felt crusty under your cheek. Like he was trying to eat you alive, Tomura nipped a bruising trail down your body.

“Tomura. Please,” you begged. “Please listen to me.”

He paused, resting his cheek against your inner thigh. Scratchy hairs from his five o’clock shadow scraped delicate skin. You shuddered. Whiney words slipped from dry lips as you stared up at him through tear -eyes.

“Not like this. This is too fast.”

Tomura scowled. “You need me to slow it down more?” He grumbled to himself, hitching your hips higher. “Fine. I guess you did it for me after all.”

His slick tongue dove between your lower lips. A needy gasp torn from your throat. Your hips bucked. Pinkies still raised, Tomura clamped down on your body, leaving deep dents in your thighs. His wide, flat tongue stroked from bottom to top in languid laps. When he reached the tender nub at the top, you jolted again. He paused and swirled over the area a second time. One whimper from you and a naughty grin slipped onto his face.

“Well, that wasn’t that hard to find.”

Electric pleasure shot up your nerves as cracking lips encircled your swollen clit. Every wet suck dragged the air from your lungs. Trembling legs clenched around his shoulders, burning him in a vice grip of quivering thighs. A moment's reprieve gave you just enough time to watch him flatten his tongue before redoubling his efforts. Time blurred. Errant thoughts caught in a cloud of lewd indulgence. By the time he pulled away, your drool stained his pillow.

Slowly staggering from the fog, your hazy focus drifted down to the man between your legs. Stray curses accompanied violent efforts to shed skin tight jeans. A vicious tug tore the tab off his zipper. With a feral snarl he slapped a hand to his newfound enemy, decaying the denim into a pile of ash. Ratty cotton briefs landed in a pile on the floor.

Tomura’s swollen cock bobbed against your mound, leaving a pool of sticky precum on your skin. He pumped himself twice, licking his dry lips. As the slick tip prodded your twitching entrance, a wave of panic slammed you back to reality.

“NO!”

Tomura caught your wrists. You clawed the air mere centimeters from his face.

“Condom!” you demanded breathlessly. “You have to use a condom!”

“Huh?” He wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

“Rabbits are induced ovulators, remember?” you stressed, pulling against him. “It’s the act that causes the egg to drop, not the time of the month!”

Tomura froze. Red eyes stared through you. “You… don’t… have safe days?”

“Yes! Exactly!” You sighed with relief, flopping back into the mattress. “Geeze. Don’t scare me like that. I thought I’d never get through to you.”

Wait. Why did your hands feel numb?

All at once, a bone chilling cold blanketed your body. You turned your head. Tomura’s fingers dug hard into your wrists. You tried to wiggle your fingers. The bones creaked against his ruthless grip. As you strained against him, his body started to tremble.

“Hey… Tomura? A-are you okay?” you whispered.

Glowing red eyes locked onto yours. Horrified, you watched as a hideous grin split his face from ear to ear. With a savage yank, he dragged your mouth to his. The ravenous kiss split your lip. You yelped. He lapped at the blood with a low moan. More biting than caressing, his embrace left your skin burning. Panting, he finally pulled away. Hot, sour breath fanned your cheek.

In an instant, the world turned upside down. Forced face first into crusty cotton, his filthy sheets stifled your startled squeak. You climbed to your elbows, only to be yanked backwards into his boney lap. Tomura hurriedly shoved his shabby pillow underneath your body. As soon as you were properly propped, he grabbed your hips with bruising force. He leaned over your body, pinning you with his weight.

“So,” he rasped in your ear. “If I knock you up, you’d have to stay with me right?”

Your heart screeched to a halt.

“Wait. No.” Dark chuckles poured from his chest. “You’d want to stay with me, so I can take care of you.” He buried his head against your spine, grinning madly into your back. “I don’t dislike that idea.”

“Wait a second! That’s not what I—”

His moist cock prodded your entrance. “Doesn’t matter what you meant. You put the idea in my head.” Sinister giggling shook both of you. “You better take responsibi~lity. ❤”

With a hiss, Tomura sunk himself inside you. Traitorous folds, soft and pliable from his earlier attentions, parted easily with each stilted thrust. Terrified to struggle one finger too far, you went limp in his hold. It did you little good. Clamped down tight on the wings of your hips, Tomura dragged your listless body further and further along his shaft. Slimy drool spilled from cracking lips, weaving a cold, tickling trail down the side of your ribs.

“You feel so good,” he moaned.

Cheek pressed into the mattress, every pop of your spine left you gritting your teeth. His blankets balled in your fists. Tender nipples grazed the bedding, back and forth until the unmistakable tingle of pleasure rippled across your skin. The coarse cotton cover of his musty pillow clipped your clit. Raw friction burned your nerves.

When Tomura rutted against your deepest wall, you barely muffled your breathy shriek.

He reached down, turning your jaw. “Oh come on. Don’t be like that.” With a husky purr, he untagged the stray strands caught in the corner of your mouth. “I wanna hear them. The little noises you make just for me.”

You whimpered, twisting into the mattress.

With a snarl, he wrapped his arms around your chest and dragged you up onto your elbows.

“I said, I want to hear you,” he growled, grinding into your body.

You gasped.

“See? Not so hard, was it?”

Tomura slowed himself, taking long drags instead of bouncing beats. He pulled out to the tip. A crooked finger stretched your entrance open. His spongey head circled for a second, painting your skin with the mix of your fluids. The cold air battered your exposed core, sending shivers up your spine. He paused, trailing the digit down your cunt like an artist, admiring his work. Then, he plunged back in, stretching you over his length.

Slow thrusts pushed you back into the scraggly pillow. Tears rolled down your cheeks. With each deep dive, your aching clit grated against scratchy fabric. Crawling need clawed its way up your body, merging with the tingling at your breasts. Tense teeth parted as a strained whine slipped from your lips.

“Oh?”

He shifted forward, pressing you harder against the bedding. The next plunge strained against your walls, leaving you trapped between twin pleasures. Shaking knees buckled into the foam. Back arching, your cunt clenched tight around him.

Tomura sneered, bringing his full weight to bare on your back. “That’s it. Don’t think. Just focus on how good it feels to be full of my cock.”

Tangled in his vice grip, there was nothing you could do but accept his pace. Languid teasing turned into firm friction. Tomura groped for your breast. Boney fingers rubbed hard circles into your sensitive nub. Wet, erotic clicks from between your legs laid the backbeat of a blissful melody. The world slipped away until only desperate need filled your every thought.

“T-Tomura.” You squirmed under him, toes curled in the air. “Ah— So close... I…”

“Do it. Come on my cock.” He panted in your ear. Teeth gnashing, he clutched you tight. “Wanna feel you milking me. Hah… Taking my cum so deep.”

Ice flooded your veins. “Stop!” you begged, shoving against him with all your strength. “Please, stop!”

He grunted, his movements speeding inside you. “Couldn’t—ha! Even if I w-wanted to.”

“No! ” you shrieked, clawing at the blankets. “Pull out! Take it out, Tomura!”

Locking himself cheek to cheek, he canted his pelvis to a steeper angle. Shallow, sharp pulses reverberated through your body, sending shockwaves of pleasure twitching through your flesh. His swollen head bore down on your front wall, dragging your puffy clit against his pillow. Swirling vision speckled as tipped over the edge.

“Ah… Gonna breed you.” He pounded into your hips. “Fill your cunt with my cum.”

With one last groan, Tomura’s cock pulsed, painting your insides with his release.

Quivering in his arms, salty tears dribbled down your jaw. You buried your face in the blankets. Wretched sobbing shook your frame.

“Hey now,” he purred, petting your rumpled hair. “It’s okay.” He rolled onto his side, yanking you into his chest. He squeezed you once before letting his hand wander to your belly. “I told you I’d take care of you and I meant it.”

You sniffled and loosed a bitter whine.

“It’ll be fine.” He shushed you like a child, tracing delicate circles across your belly. “We'll raise the kid, and then we can raze this whole society, together. After all, I want to give my girlfriend what she really wants.”

You stiffened in his grasp.

He pressed a scratchy kiss to your raw cheek before muttering: “Way more you than some tacky pink rock.”

🐇 ~Fin~ 🐇

Need more dark romance with hot yandere villains? Check out my original reader insert novel:

Maid For Your Master by Afipia Felis

Available world wide in paperback and ebook.

CW available here

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Artwork:

Chapter Seven Excerpt By NoNoBadCat

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wolfpants · 10 months

Text

obedience (drarry, 1261 words)

Carrying on from my previous post, here's another 2k-or-less-Drarry-smutlet from my recent Kinkuary. Rated: E/nsfw Tags: D/s, Dom Draco/sub Harry, cock rings, humiliation, blow jobs, facials, possessive Draco, pet names, Ministry of Magic, parties, Healer Harry, Lawyer Draco In their relationship, Harry always does as he's told. ao3 link here, or keep reading

🥀🎭🍾🖤

The Ministry cafeteria is abuzz with activity.

“I want you to wear this for me.”

From his pocket, Draco produces a thin, coiled strap of handsome brown leather.

He sets it on the table between his court documents and Harry’s lanyard from Mungo’s.

“Tonight,” he says as Harry quickly covers the strap with the palm of his hand, dragging it off the table to inspect it out of sight. It has a small brass buckle no larger than the tip of his thumb. It’s subtle, simplistic, fairly easy to hide, with the right fall of fabric.

“Underneath your dress robes,” Draco says.

“And this goes…”

Harry trails off and slips his finger under the buckle.

“Yes,” says Draco. “Put it on five minutes before you’re due onstage. No sooner. Okay?”

Harry’s cheeks bloom with heat. He fiddles with the frames of his glasses, adjusting them against the bridge of his nose, suddenly a bit slippy with sweat.

“Yes, okay,” he says softly, folding his fingers over the leather in his hand to conceal it completely.

Draco picks up his tea—black, with a slice of lemon—and sips it slowly. Beneath the table, he taps Harry’s shin with the toe of his smart black brogue.

“Good boy,” he says appraisingly.

Harry finds Draco at the bar.

“Well?” Draco asks.

He’s leaning casually against the bartop on one elbow, flute held loosely between dangling fingers adorned with delicate silver rings. His hair’s down for a change, the ends brushing his shoulders; the perfect picture of cool elegance.

“I’m wearing it,” Harry says, just loud enough for Draco to hear. “I put it on in the gent’s.” He turns his back against the bar and points his eyes straight ahead. The room is full of the most important people in British Wixen society, each of them getting drunker and drunker as the hours drag on. The hospital’s donations hang in the balance of what Harry does onstage in the next five minutes.

“Are you nervous?” Draco asks with a twist of a smirk.

Harry laughs roughly, accepting the glass of champagne Draco presses into his hand. He takes a sip.

“About what, exactly?”

Draco’s hand lingers and he slips his ring finger subtly beneath the hem of Harry’s jacket to touch the buttons of his dress shirt. He sidles closer, his mouth inches from Harry’s ear, his breath hot.

“Your speech?”

Harry suppresses a shudder and peers into his glass, bubbles melting against his tongue, sweet and sharp and strong.

“That’s old hat now,” he says. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, then.” Draco slips his finger through a gap between Harry’s buttons, gently scraping the edge of his short, neatly manicured nail against Harry’s stomach. Heat immediately floods to Harry’s prick and he bites the inside of his lip to stop himself from moaning out loud.

“Are you nervous about being hard in front of all these people?” Draco asks him hotly. “And not being able to do anything about it?”

Harry swallows. “No."

Draco hums. “You’re so good for me.” He drops his hand from Harry’s chest. “You’ll meet me outside after. Immediately.”

“Yes.”

A soft whisper, “Do you belong to me, Harry?”

A returning breath, “Yes.”

Harry spares Draco a quick glance. His grey eyes are alight, his cheeks rose-pink.

Draco presses a single, gentle kiss to the corner of Harry’s lips. “Break a leg, darling.”

When Harry stumbles out of the theatre and onto the quiet cobbled street, he’s gasping for air, gulping great big lungfuls of the stuff.

It’s freezing.

Draco is waiting for him on the corner, fingering the face of his antique pocket watch that he slips into the pocket of his heavy winter coat when Harry approaches.

“How long’s it been?” Harry asks, sweat prickling his temples, his skin suddenly taking on a chill. He shivers, and Draco lifts the edge of his cloak, pulling Harry into it.

Harry groans, dropping his forehead against Draco’s collar, his cock hard and leaking and so fucking sensitive where it presses to Draco’s hip.

“Fifteen minutes, sweetheart,” Draco says softly. “Come on.”

And with a ripple of magic and a tug of gravity, they’re gone.

The old grandfather clock tick-tocks to the rhythm of Harry’s heart, currently roaring in his ears as Draco undresses him.

Draco slides each article of clothing off with care, his touches slow and caressing as he slips off Harry’s shoes one by one, his socks, his robes, shirt, belt, trousers.

His pants come off next, and Draco gets on his knees on the expensive rug to do it, both of them standing in the heart of their bedroom and surrounded by what must be two dozen candles Draco had set alight with magic as soon as they made it upstairs.

Draco is careful. He pulls Harry’s underwear off slowly, stretching the waistband so it doesn’t rub against the sensitive head of Harry’s cock.

The leather strap is buckled tight, wrapped around the shaft of Harry’s prick, tucked under his balls.

Draco hums appreciatively, slipping the tip of his finger up and down the length of Harry’s cock, his skin tight and hot.

“Where would you like to put it, darling?” Draco slides his hands over Harry’s bare thighs, cupping his arse and slowly pulling his cheeks apart to pet at his dry hole. “Would you like me to ride it? Swallow it?”

Harry’s eyelids flutter, and he touches the top of Draco’s head, dizzy with want.

“Mouth,” he says roughly.

Draco’s fingers dig harder against Harry’s buttocks. “Hm?”

“Please,” Harry says.

“That’s a good boy,” Draco says, slurring the words, sticking out his tongue and lapping upwards from the leather-strapped base of Harry’s cock to the tip, sucking him back down into the wet bliss of his mouth.

Harry whimpers. "Please." He chokes on a moan as Draco wriggles the tip of his index finger inside him. He’s sweating, shaking, his vision going blurry. He puts a hand on top of Draco’s head for balance. “Please, Draco—I feel… I feel faint… please…”

Draco cups his fingers beneath Harry’s balls, now throbbing in pain, in pleasure, and he slowly unbuckles the strap of leather to set Harry free, all while pressing the flat of his tongue to the underside of Harry’s prick.

Harry’s orgasm is explosive. He shudders, falling forward, shooting hard and hot from the tip of his dick in thick spurts that splash onto Draco’s tongue, his lips, his cheek.

Draco laughs, a low sound, and nuzzles his face in against Harry’s hip, sucking a mark into his skin.

He drops the strap to the floor, hugging his arms protectively around Harry’s waist as Harry slumps forward, boneless.

“Let’s take care of me now, hm?” Draco asks.

Harry nods his obedience.

Later, in bed, sweating and thoroughly shagged out, Harry rolls close to Draco and fits himself in against his narrow chest.

He used to hate this.

Not Draco with his arms around him—never that. But his own… neediness. His deep desire for approval, for affection and attention.

That is, until he discovered Draco’s deep desire to offer it.

Draco laces their fingers together.

“You were so good tonight,” he says quietly, kissing the top of Harry’s head. “Everyone loved you.”

“Do you love me?” Harry asks him, a whisper.

Draco’s eyes darken and he tightens his arm around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him closer still. He presses a soft kiss to Harry’s lips, hands sliding possessively over Harry’s back. “More than anyone ever could, my darling,” he says, and Harry believes him.

#drarry #drarry fic #drarry drabble #kinkuary #wolfpants kinkuary '23 #draco/harry #harry/draco #harry potter #draco malfoy #hp fic

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