#may I offer: a subtle finger touch? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gubsbuubs · 3 months

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Friendly Cupid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~ 5K

Warnings/Tags: Fluff, slow burn? smut, creampie.

Summary: Despite their closeness, Y/N and Spencer's relationship always stayed within the bounds of friendship. That's until a very fateful Valentine's Day, when a friend decided to play cupid.

A/N: Hi my loves! The "Friends to Lovers" trope won the poll, thanks to your votes. Any thoughts or suggestions for what's next? I hope you all enjoy it, and any and all comments are appreciated 🍒

My requests are open!

English is not my first language.

The team basked in a mix of exhaustion and accomplishment as we settled into our seats on the jet, heading back home after successfully closing another case. The subtle hum of the engines seemed to echo the collective satisfaction that enveloped us.

We had just finished a case where the unsub targeted individuals with a deep passion for books. Each victim was chosen based on their preference for a particular literary work. The killer orchestrated scenarios inspired by famous novels, challenging us to decipher the connections between the crime scenes and the literary references.

From my seat across from his, at the meeting table in the Nevada police department's, I observed Spencer in awe. His deep concentration, the way his fingers danced over the pages, and the thoughtful furrow of his brow—he looked so handsome, absorbed in the task of perusing a pile of books that would have taken me at least two years to read.

I cherished watching Spencer at work; his intellect, passion, and dedication were captivating. There was an undeniable admiration that had grown within me as we spent countless hours in shared pursuit of justice.

I vividly recall the first time our connection became something more. After a grueling case left him drained, slowly succumbing to fatigue, his head found refuge on my shoulder during the flight back. It was an unexpectedly intimate encounter—his tousled hair brushing against my neck and the faint scent of lemon shampoo lingering close to my nose. Though innocent, the closeness left an indelible mark, and often I think about the weight of his head resting against me.

Fast forward to another sweet moment; it was forever engraved in my mind when I first noticed that he cared for me. Spencer and I were staked out in a park that an unsub used to frequent in Boston. The autumn winds whispered through the colorful foliage, and the chilling breeze made my arms shiver. It was getting cold, and I scolded myself for not bringing my jacket. Spencer, ever observant, noticed how I hugged myself for warmth and asked, "Hey, are you cold?"

"What? No, it's just a bit chilly, but I can take it," I chuckled, my teeth almost clacking against each other as I shivered.

"I can clearly see you're cold, Y/N."

"Okay, fine. I may be a little bit cold; we left in a hurry, and I forgot my jacket," I admitted.

Without hesitation, he took off his FBI jacket and handed it to me. "No, Spencer, I can't accept this. If it's cold for me, it will be cold for you too," I protested.

"Compared to men, women have less muscle, which is a natural heat producer. They also have 6 to 11 percent more body fat than men, which keeps the inner organs toasty but blocks the flow of blood carrying heat to the skin and extremities." He started to ramble while holding the jacket in front of me.

So I gave up, not wanting to hear him talk about this for the rest of the night, and accepted his offer. As the jacket touched my body, I could still feel his warmth, and the scent of his perfume enveloped me. His tall stature made the jacket too big for me, and I struggled with the oversized jacket's zipper. Looking down as I tried to zip it, I felt his hand on mine. "Hey, come here! Let me help you." I looked up to meet his beautiful brown eyes as he held his gaze on mine. His gentle hands zipped up the jacket. "There you go; now you'll feel warm," he added with a sweet smile.

We had a connection—an undeniable force drawing us together. For example, with Spencer and I, the casual "sorry, Y/n, passing through" was never just a phrase; it accompanied the gentle press of his hand on my side.

When shared laughter ensued, it almost always led to a playful nudge against my shoulder, a light and affectionate gesture.

And there were times when Spencer would reach out with a reassuring touch on my arm during tense discussions or a challenging moment. His fingertips, feather-light yet grounding, conveyed a silent reassurance that we were in this together.

I’d like to think that our connection extended beyond the realm of solving cases and catching serial killers, finding roots in those quiet spaces between words, because unspoken sentiments resonated louder than any conversation we had.

These simple and innocent touches left me curious, especially considering Spencer's general aversion to physical contact, often sidestepping handshakes. Each touch, though understated, carried a significance that lingered, prompting me to ponder the depths of our friendship.

Yet, somehow, we were never more than friends. Perhaps because of the lingering fear of disrupting the delicate balance we had, I hesitated to act upon the emotions that quietly blossomed within.

So, Spencer and I stayed comfortably within the boundaries of friendship, keeping the unexplored depths of our connection confined to the realm of what-ifs and maybes.

Rather than risking it all, I chose the simplicity of silent observation and opted for the quiet intimacy of just watching him while he worked. There was an unspoken fascination with witnessing Spencer's mind at play.

The breakthrough came when Spencer uncovered a pattern in the victims' book preferences, his face lighting up at the realization. The Unsub, it seemed, orchestrated his killings based on the ominous narratives found within these chosen novels. Each victim unwittingly acquired a literary prelude to their tragic end as the killer turned the pages of their lives into a haunting script of their own demise.

With this knowledge, we were able to predict the next target and swoop in just in time to prevent another tragedy. The final confrontation took place in an abandoned library, where the unsub attempted to stage his twisted interpretation of a tragic love story. With swift and coordinated action, we thwarted his plans and brought justice to the victims.

So, with the unsub's twisted plans foiled, we found solace in the fact that we had saved the couple from his dark intentions.

Amidst the chatter on the jet, the mood shifted to a more relaxed and celebratory tone. The weight of the case had dissipated, replaced by a comforting conversation and shared laughter.

"Hey, Prentiss, any hot plans for Valentine's Day? Morgan teased, giving Emily a mischievous grin.

"Valentine's Day? Seriously, Morgan? After all the chaos of this week, I just want a quiet night with a good bottle of wine," Emily responded, leaning further into her seat.

"Valentine's Day is this weekend, and I completely forgot! Will and I will have to just stay at home," JJ confessed, sounding a bit bummed.

"Well, Beth and I will be taking Jack to the cinema to watch a movie. Would you like us to also take Henry so you and Will can have a date?" Hotch offered.

"Oh, Hotch, that’s very sweet. If you don't mind, yes! We would really appreciate it," JJ replied gratefully.

"What about you, pretty boy? Got any plans?" Morgan playfully mussed up Spencer's hair.

"Well… I…” He cleared his throat. "I, um… I actually do have a date," Spencer stammered, his face immediately turning a bright shade of red.

"A date, Reid? Come on, spill the details. What's her name?" Morgan proceeded to probe.

“It's a blind date, so I'd rather not jinx it by talking about it.” Spencer spoke with a faint smile.

As I learned about Spencer's date, I couldn't help but laugh to myself at the sheer coincidence—both of us had blind dates on Valentine's Day. What were the odds?

Then it hit me, and as much as I tried to dismiss it, there was a subtle pang of envy that Spencer also had a date. I understood the irony of feeling jealous while I was also going on a blind date this weekend.

Earlier that week, my friend from the previous division I worked in—International Affairs and Counterterrorism—set me up with a guy. According to him, this guy was perfect for me—smart, kind, and seemingly attuned to my taste. So, I've decided to give it a shot and go on this date. It was Valentine's Day after all. So yes, I was also going on a date, and I acknowledged how contradictory it sounded to feel envious of Spencer's date. Nevertheless, a twinge of jealousy lingered.

Yet, in the grand scheme, I genuinely wished for Spencer to have a fantastic time this weekend. After all, we were nothing more than friends, and his happiness was something I truly valued.

Morgan, with a playful glint in his eye, turned his attention to me and chimed, "Alright, Reid's stepping into the world of romance, so what's the deal, Y/N? Any Valentine's plans on your agenda?"

"No, I don't really have plans. It'll be a normal weekend for me." I spoke with a smile, gently sidestepping Morgan's inquiry. I preferred to keep certain aspects of my life private, especially when it came to matters of the heart.

Saturday night came around pretty quickly.

I chose a simple red dress and black stilettos for the occasion—it was Valentine's Day, after all, and opportunities for dates were not a frequent occurrence for me. Since joining the FBI, I haven't had many opportunities to look like this. Typically reserved for pantsuits and white shirts, it was refreshing to see myself look so put-together.

What awaited me on this evening could be a mistake or, just maybe, the start of something unexpectedly wonderful. Despite the flutter of reservations in my stomach, I resolved to push through the uncertainty.

Before stepping inside, I paused at the entrance, reminding myself to take a deep breath; it was just a date after all—no need to be nervous. The restaurant, my absolute favorite, bore the name "Bella Luna," renowned for its delectable pastas. It had become my go-to spot for a delightful meal, offering a perfect blend of cozy ambiance and culinary excellence.

My friend, the mastermind behind this blind date, had given the gentleman a specific directive: reserve the table with a view of the river—my favorite spot in the house. This strategic move not only catered to my preferences but also had the practical benefit of simplifying the identification of my date.

As I stood by the entrance, lost in my thoughts, I almost jumped, caught by surprise, as someone bumped into me. "Hey, where were you goi..."

“Y/N! Hi!” His eyes were widening with surprise as he recognized me.

“Spencer! Hi! I didn't expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same thing. Didn’t you say you didn’t have plans?” He asked in an inquisitive tone.

"Yeah!" I laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I, uh, decided to give in to the Valentine's Day spirit, I suppose." Spencer chuckled softly, his warm demeanor putting me at ease.

"How are you anyway, feeling good about your blind date?" I inquired, genuinely curious about his well-being.

"To be honest," he admitted, "I'm actually kind of nervous."

"What? Why?"

He hesitated before sharing, "What if she doesn't like me?"

"Why wouldn't she like you?" The words left my mouth so fast, a testament to my incomprehension of how someone could not like the guy standing before me.

"Because I'm weird. I slouch; my hair's too long; my tie's perpetually crooked." His words were almost a whisper, revealing a vulnerability I hadn't seen before.

I smiled softly, reaching my hands to fix his crooked tie. "Here, your tie is now straight. And Spencer, you're not weird; you look really good tonight. I think you'll do very well."

He smiled softly, thanking me, and said, "Well, you do too! You look very beautiful tonight, Y/N.” My heart skipped a beat at the unexpected compliment. He blushed slightly before adding, “I should really get going. I don't want to be late for my date.”

“Go get him, tiger,” I encouraged with a smile as I stayed behind, watching him leave.

Fuck, he looked so good; his dark blue suit fit him in all the right places. Though not a radical departure from his usual attire, the effort put into his appearance fueled my jealousy. The realization that he was heading on a date with someone else lingered in my thoughts, intensifying the sting.

To make matters worse, we´re at the same restaurant, and I would have to endure the evening watching him, attempting to engage in my own date while inwardly yearning for his company.

The challenge would be to keep my eyes from straying towards him, wishing the girl by his side was me.

Shaking my head to dispel thoughts of Spencer, I took a deep breath before entering the restaurant. I traversed the restaurant, consciously keeping my head down until I arrived at the table with the view of the river, and it was only then that I allowed myself to look around.

To my surprise, when I looked at the table, I found Spencer sitting there.

Confusion clouded my mind as I stood there, staring at Spencer, seated at the table, facing away from me. Disbelief hung in the air like a heavy fog. This had to be a misunderstanding; it couldn't be Spencer. My friend John specifically directed the blind date; he arranged for me to sit at this table, but Spencer was here.

The possibilities raced through my mind like a whirlwind of uncertainty. Did the receptionist make an error? Could there be another table with a view of the river where they seated my actual blind date? Could this guy look a lot like Spencer from behind? My thoughts spiraled into a maze of questions, each more perplexing than the last. I was caught in a web of doubt, trying to grasp the reality of the situation.

Could Spencer and John know each other? How would they even know each other? Although we all work at the FBI, they work in totally different divisions.

As I approached the table, just a few feet away, I confirmed my suspicion: it was him—Spencer. Even though he wasn't facing me, I recognized his curls, almost catching a whiff of his distinctive perfume. It was undeniably him. How did this happen?

My heels clacked on the ground, a sound that drew Spencer's attention. His gaze shifted, expecting another woman, preparing for a polite greeting. "Hi, nice to meet y…” His words now caught in his throat.

As I pulled the chair and sat down in front of him, he halted his movements, confusion etched on his face. It seemed like he was ready to stand up, perhaps shake hands, and greet another person. But as he realized it was me, his expression transformed into one of utter bewilderment.

"Y/N, what is going on?" Spencer asked, his face a mix of confusion and concern as he settled back into his chair.

I leaned forward, my elbows resting on the table. "How do you know John Watters, Jonathan Watters?" I questioned, peering at him with an intense gaze.

"What? What do you mean, Y/N?" Spencer replied, clearly confused by the sudden turn of events.

"Spencer, how do you know John?" I repeated, my eyes locked onto his, seeking an explanation for the unexpected twist in our supposed blind date.

"John Watters and I play chess in the park. We met a couple of months ago, and now we play together regularly," Spencer explained, his confusion still evident in his expression. “Y/N, what is going on?” he added, his brow furrowing in concern.

“Spencer…” I began, a faint smile creeping onto my face as it reddened, my hands immediately meeting my face. It dawned on me; John had set us both up, and it seemed he might not have known Spencer and I already knew each other.

I could see the wheels turning in his head, his eyes widening. He seemed to have a eureka moment. "Do you know him?" he asked, his tone still a little unsure. I only nodded, my faint smile hidden behind my fingers, covering how embarrassed I was.

Then Spencer fired questions left and right. "What? How do you know John?” He set you up with me. Like… did you know? You wanted to have a date with me and asked him to do it? I mean, I have talked…." He was blushing like crazy, so I decided to interrupt.

"No, No... I mean, yes, but..." I stumbled on my words as I tried to answer. "I do know John, yes, but I didn't know he set us up... But yes, I wouldn't... I wouldn’t mind a date with you." The last part slipped my tongue way too quickly, the confession escaping my lips.

"Are you serious? A date with me?" He sounded excited but mostly surprised.

"I mean, we're already here, so we might as well do it. He clearly thought we were a good pair," I offered, keeping my head down. My face felt hot, and I was smiling like a stupid little kid.

“I can't believe this; I can't believe this is happening. You don't know how long I've been trying to gather the courage to ask you out, and now this is happening." His head fell back as he inhaled deeply. “Is this real? Can you pinch me, Y/N? You look so pretty, so beautiful. I can't believe this is actually happening. I must be dreaming." His excitement was palpable, and his gaze was fixed on me with a mix of joy and disbelief.

“You're definitely awake; this is real!” I reached out my hand to him and held his hand. “See, this is real—a very strange coincidence, but undeniably real.”

The evening unfolded gracefully. Spencer took my recommendation, and we ordered the Carbonara, complemented by a shared bottle of Cabernet. I couldn't help but savor the moments when our laughter harmonized, creating a melody of shared joy. A subtle warmth spread across our faces, not just from the ambiance but also from the wine. Our laughter became a touch more carefree, perhaps a little tipsy, adding an extra layer of delight to the evening. The restaurant seemed to fade into the background as we continued to enjoy each other’s company.

As the plates were cleared away and the restaurant emptied out, Spencer's gaze remained locked on mine. We sat in silence for a little bit as a warm feeling settled, enjoying the lingering aura of the evening. Spencer smiled softly, leaning closer to me and taking my hands in his. "Let me walk you home," he suggests. "It's a beautiful night, and I'd love to spend more time with you."

As we stepped out into the crisp night air, the city lights played on the surface of the river, casting a gentle glow on our path. Spencer and I began to stroll along the riverbank towards my apartment. The soft murmur of the water provided a soothing background to our conversation, and amidst our banter, our attention was drawn to an old lady with a basket of roses.

"Hello there," the old lady said, greeting Spencer with a twinkle in her eye. "Would you like to buy a rose for your beautiful girlfriend?"

"Oh, but I'm not his girlf..." Before I could clarify, Spencer, wearing a confident smile, chimed in, "Yet..." He told the sweet lady "So yes, I would love to buy her a rose." He turned to me with a playful glint in his eyes.

The old lady chuckled warmly. "Here you go, young man, a rose for your not-yet-girlfriend. May your love bloom as beautifully as this rose," she said, handing the vibrant flower to Spencer.

I thanked him as he handed me the rose, appreciating the beautiful gesture. We then continued our walk, the soft glow of the city lights guiding our way.

"So, a rose for the 'not-yet-girlfriend'," I teased, a playful smile on my lips.

"Well," he began, "I thought a rose might be a good start, but who's to say what the future holds?"

"Fair enough," I replied, a teasing glint in my eye. "A rose is a good start but what's your plan for the rest of our 'not-yet' journey?"

"Well, I've had a lot of time to think about this," he began, a sly grin playing on his lips. "I won't disappoint you, that's for sure."

I felt a subtle warmth spread—a mixture of curiosity and excitement. "Is that so?" I replied with a playful glint in my eye. "I guess I'll have to wait and see what surprises you have in store.”

As we continued our walk to my apartment and reached my doorstep, the night seemed to invite us to linger a little longer.

"I had a lot of fun, Y/N. I regretted every moment we weren't doing this sooner," Spencer confessed.

"I loved this night too, Spencer," I began, a genuine warmth in my voice. "This is not how I imagined my night ending at all; I definitely never expected you to be my blind date."

"I just can't believe this happened. Who would have thought you would go on a date with me?" His soft hand reached for mine; his touch was warm and inviting.

"Well, Jonathan apparently did," I laughed, the surreal nature of the evening sinking in.

"Of course, he thinks I want to date you. I talk about you all the time..." Spencer shyly admitted, his gaze avoiding mine.

"Wait! You talk about me?" My voice lifted with happiness.

"Well, I just tell him about my day... and how I love being by your side. You're so understanding, always listening to me. Your attentive gaze makes my heart skip a beat, and your eyes, Y/N, they sparkle so beautifully. And your smile—oh, it's the prettiest I've ever seen." His words were tender, and his brown eyes never left mine. "Jonathan never told me he knew you; I guess he sensed I was too scared to act upon my feelings and took matters in to his own hands." He chuckled. "And now you're here, and we went on this date—a wonderful date, may I add—and you look absolutely stunning."

As Spencer's words lingered in the quiet night, I felt a soft warmth enveloping us and an unspoken connection deepening.

"I would really to kiss you." He whisperd. His gaze held a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability, mirroring the sentiments that resonated within me.

"You know what, Spence?" I began, a gentle smile playing on my lips. "I'd really like that too."

His eyes brightened with joy, and as if a shared understanding passed between us, he leaned in slowly. His hands cradled my face, creating an intimate connection as he closed the remaining space between us. The world around us faded into a soft blur as our lips finally met.

The kiss was tender, his lips warm and inviting, and the sensation sent a pleasant shiver down my spine.

As we pulled away, a shared smile painted across our faces, our foreheads pressed together in a moment of quiet closeness.

"Wow," Spencer whispered.

"Wow indeed," I replied, my heart echoing the sentiment.

"I've been waiting so long to do this," he said, kissing me again, this time with more force and desire.

The kiss deepened, his lips pressing against mine with a newfound intensity, fueled by the longing we had both harbored for so long. It was a fusion of heat and tenderness, with each movement deliberate and purposeful.

His hands, which had cradled my face so gently before, now moved with a purpose, exploring the contours of my back and waist. The taste of him was intoxicating—a blend of warmth and desire that left me breathless.

"Spencer," I began, feeling our breaths mingle. "Would you like to come in?

Spencer's eyes darkened in response, his nod signaling his agreement.

As the door shut behind us, I carefully placed the rose he gave me on a small side table by the entrance, wanting to preserve the sweet gesture. Spencer, without saying a word, pulled me against him again.

I guided us through the familiar space of my home with an urgency that spoke of unspoken desires. As we reached the bedroom, our bodies entwined again.

I laid back on the bed, letting my body sink into the softness of the mattress. Spencer's body was right above mine, and our lips met in a hot, messy kiss. It was like everything else melted away, and all that was left was us in this moment. I could feel the heat of his body on top of mine, and the rush of intimacy was palpable. I wanted this moment to last forever, clinging tight to his every touch.

Spencer's hands glided along the curves of my body, caressing me with an intimacy that left me wanting more. His lips left mine to roam lower, descending slowly towards my breasts. A shiver of anticipation ran down my spine, and my breath caught in my chest.

Spencer's voice broke through the intensity. "Are you sure?"

A smile played on my lips as I whispered, "Yes, please Spence."

The sudden touch of his finger on my skin sent a shiver down my spine as his hand slowly drifted down my shoulder and pulled the strap of my dress down. As my nipple became exposed, he kissed it gently, sending a wave of arousal through my body.

He looked so pretty like this; his smooth hand cradled my breast as his lips left soft kisses. His slow hums of satisfaction were accompanied by the thrusts of his hips against my clothed core.

Sensing the escalating desire between us, Spencer then took the initiative, smoothly pulling my dress off. I felt exposed as his hands traveled down my body, lowering himself and planting soft kisses on my stomach.

"You look so beautiful and you smell so good." His whispers of admiration filled the air. "I bet you taste even better." He placed a soft kiss where I wanted him the most. I moaned at his words, not expecting them.

He then proceeded to slide my panties to the side, slowly licking a long stripe. The warmth of his tongue against my skin sent shivers through my body, and the anticipation built with every teasing touch.

“Fuck, it's even better than I imagined." His words were muffled as he spoke from between my legs, looking into my eyes. My moans filled the room, joined by the sound of his mouth devouring my wetness. My hands met his hair as I pulled him closer by his curls.

"Spencer..." My voice caught in my throat.

"What, baby?" The enduring name leaving his lips made my heart flutter.

"I need you," I pleaded.

"Need me to what, baby?" His middle finger breached my entrance. "Use your words," he said, caressing my opening. The sensation of his finger chills of pleasure down my spine. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, and I could feel a rush of arousal building inside me. "I need you inside, please," I begged, moving my body against his.

Sensing my urge, he stood, undressing me and then himself. "Since you asked so nicely," he lined up and slowly sank in, his head resting on my shoulder, and his soft moan muffled on my neck.

Our kisses were slow and passionate, our lips brushing against each other with every movement of our bodies. His hands caressed my body, sending a wave of pleasure through me that only increased with every thrust.

Each rhythmic movement brought us closer to the edge, the intensity growing with each caress and whispered word. "You feel so good, Y/N; it’s like you were made for me." Spencer's voice was laden with desire as I moaned into his lips.

The intensity grew with each passionate thrust, and we were both lost in a world of pleasure. Our bodies were tightly intertwined, pressed up against each other as we let our emotions take over. Our moans filled the room, and our breathing became shallow and fast. We both wanted this moment to last forever, clinging to each other with all the strength we could muster.

"Spencer, I can't,” I cried out.

"Can you hold it for me, just a little, pretty girl?" he said, looking into my eyes. My eyes fluttered, closing at the words.

"No, no, no, keep your eyes on me," he said. "Yes, just like that." He kept thrusting with force, and I couldn't take it anymore. “I want to see your pretty face as you cum, baby.”

"Spence... please inside." I begged him, and that was all it took. I didn't have to wait any longer. The tension in the room reached its peak, and I could feel him release, his climax echoing mine.

Our bodies trembled together in the aftermath, the shared intensity of the moment lingering in the air. The room was filled with the sounds of our rapid breaths and the soft rustle of sheets as we came down from the euphoric high.

As we lay there, a playful smile crossed Spencer's lips. "So, about that 'not-yet-girlfriend' situation..." he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

I chuckled, tracing circles on his chest. "Well, it looks like we just fast-tracked that process."

Spencer grinned. "Guess we skipped a few steps."

I gave him a playful look. "Steps? Who needs steps when you have Jonathan playing cupid?”.

Spencer gave a playful shrug. "Well, I'll be sure to thank the man.”

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trappolia · 3 months

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HOT THINGS HE DOES ── ace trappola + gn!reader, 540

i. quite literally doesn’t care about your personal space, in a way that makes your heart flutter. even long before you start dating, he takes every opportunity to wrap his arms around you, pulling you against him or onto his lap. the way he touches you is casual and subtle — an arm around your shoulders or his chin on your shoulder — but it’s obvious enough that the new students at nrc automatically assume the two of you are dating when they first see you together.

ii. grins whenever he sees you. no matter how bad his rbf is or how sour is mood may be may be, it’s always resolved with a simple look at you. his lips pull into a lopsided grin when your eyes meet across the room, and he always offers you a two-finger salute in greeting. sometimes, when he feels extra playful, his grin becomes eerily similar to a smirk, and instead of giving you a salute, he’ll wink at you. it’s ridiculous, but it makes your cheeks warm anyway. you’re convinced that everything he does in life is to get a reaction out of you, one way or another.

iii. gossips with you, a lot. the way he whispers into your ear without taking his eyes off the person he’s talking about is uncannily similar to the mean girls you see on tv, which is why you’re embarrassed to admit that the way his breath brushes against your skin as he leans close to talk about that guy’s horrible sense of colour coordination makes your heart flutter. it’s even worse when he decides to go an extra mile for whatever reason and wrap his arm around your waist rather than simply leaning to you, pulling you closer and make your heart do all sorts of flips in your chest.

iv. slaps your butt. it’s stupid and immature and he literally has no reason to do it! but he does it anyway. he does it when you’re picking something up in front of him, or when he passes by you, or even just as a greeting. it’s a quick smack that is only loud enough for the people in close proximity to notice, but it’s still embarrassing. it doesn’t help that he has no shame, simply smirking whenever you turn to give him a look.

v. has a fixation with your lips. whenever he zones out around you, his eyes always end up on your lips— though, you’re not quite sure if he’s actually zoning out. whenever he realises that you’ve caught him staring, he simply gives you a lopsided smile and continues on with his day. he’s also the type of guy who carries the type of lip balm that you dip your finger in to apply it, and there’s nothing to stop him from applying it on you when he notices that your lips are dry or chapped. his eyes are focused as he drags his finger across your lips, and he has an odd habit of dragging your bottom lip down slightly as a finishing touch. you end up being the one staring, and when he notices, he simply quirks a brow with a smirk and asks, “what? d’you want a kiss?”

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grandlinedreams · 2 months

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Hi hello unplanned acotar drabble bc I'm exhausted 'n why not use the 'can't sleep' trope? I don't remember if coffee is a thing in acotar but it is now

warnings: uhh poor sleeping habits, tiny touch of angst, reader is Made fae/archeron sibling, fluff

You haven't been sleeping well.

Correction ㅡ you're not sure if you've ever slept well in your life, but you've been sleeping worse as of late.

As in not at all.

Not for lack of trying, quiet plea to Madja for a tonic or tips to help you sleep ㅡ all to no avail. And so you spend most nights wide awake, listening to the soft creak of the other inhabitants and staring up at the ceiling.

It isn't your favorite way to spend so much time given that there's only so much you can think of before you're sinking back into thoughts you've tried so hard to let go of. They cling to you like a second skin, seep and chill your bones like black, brackish water, like ㅡ

You quickly find other ways to occupy your time. Velaris' night sky is beautiful, patchwork blanket of deep blue with silver pinprick stars that you count, try to match constellations with ones you know, catalogued in worn paper from another lifetime. (That often spirals too.)

Perhaps the Cauldron feels bad for what has been done to you, or perhaps it's simply the house taking pity on you ㅡ but as of late when you drag yourself from your room and downstairs, there is a mug of warmth waiting for you.

Steam always curls from the top of it, dark liquid that eddies with just enough cream and sugar to make it pleasant. It chases away the sticky darkness of your thoughts, replaces it with a warmth that spirals from the inside out ㅡ a comfort, when so many things as of late have not been.

With that unspoken charm of warm ceramic at your fingers, you're more content to whittle the hours away in silence. You pretend that you've just woken up when someone else stirs ㅡ often times it's Nesta, who watches you for so long that you wonder if she knows. (She doesn't ask, and you don't tell. Maybe she doesn't have to, the other side of your coin.)

Tonight, however, is different.

Tonight you find yourself with an entirely different sort of company ㅡ in the form of sleek, wisps of shadow ㅡ alive, whirling gently against your cheek, your hair, your hands. And then they're gone, back to their master ㅡ who appears shortly after.

Azriel doesn't announce his presence, but he doesn't have to. You've gotten used to the fact that you can hear him now, can hear most everything ㅡ aware of more than you ever used to be.

All you do is allow the slide of your eyes over his face, his wings, his hands ㅡ and then away. "Good morning."

A flicker of amusement in the gleam of his eyes, the soft huff of air. "It's two in the morning."

You remain steadfast. "Still morning."

He doesn't push further as he approaches, and you can feel his eyes on you ㅡ the clothing you're still getting used to, a subtle opulence that still makes you feel untethered at times ㅡ and the mug nestled between your hands.

"Can't sleep?"

It's an innocent question, a gentle probe at where you are in terms of emotion ㅡ eggshell floor that tends to be how everyone walks around you, Nesta, and Elain as of late.

You shrug. "Something like that." You lapse into silence, and it's Azriel is turning to leave (presumably) that you speak. "I have...strange dreams. And if it isn't that, it's nightmares. So I figure thisㅡ" You gesture, "is better than either of those."

Azriel is silent long enough that you're beginning to feel stupid for saying anything ㅡ and then he says quietly, "May I show you something?"

The something ends up being the offer of taking you for a flight ㅡ only after Azriel has made sure that you're appropriately bundled before he lifts you into his arms. His scent that makes you think of pine and hoarfrost is almost overwhelming ㅡ but his wings are snapping out before you can change your mind, and then you're airborne.

This is so much different than what Feyre had called winnowing ㅡ wind whips at your face and hair, tangling it as you tuck yourself tighter against Azriel's chest. His grip is firm on you, not so much as to hurt or be inappropriate, but enough that you don't feel as though he's going to drop you.

The stars gleam above you, enticing you to look up at them ㅡ and with your face tucked so close to his neck, Azriel doesn't struggle to hear you when you speak.

"I managed to save some of the star charts in my father's office when we..." You trail off for a moment, uncertain of what all he knows from Feyre ㅡ and you point at the glittering cosmos above. "It looks the same."

"Is that a bad thing?"

You press your face against his shoulder, inhaling his pine scent. "No."

Azriel is quiet as he spares a glance at you. You're so very different than your sisters ㅡ not quite as wild as Feyre, nor as angry as Nesta, nor as quiet as Elain. He wishes he could say he doesn't remember much of watching each of you be tossed into the Cauldron ㅡ but he does, everything whispered to him by his shadows.

That you'd come out of it glowing ㅡ briefly, just enough to give the impression of a star, just like the ones above.

"Azriel?" Your call makes him look down, the flick of his eyes over the delicate arch of your ears, the reflection of starlight in your eyes that makes the beat of his wings falter for a brief second. "Will this get easier?"

He doesn't have to ask you what you mean. He could lie to you, placate you with empty words ㅡ but he can't bring himself to do that. So he tightens his grip just a little, tucks you a little firmer to him. "I hope so."

#ㅡmine.#acotar x reader #Az x reader #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader

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florencemtrash · 4 months

Text

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Four

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warning: Fluff and violence

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel didn’t have any reason to show up on your doorstep the next day, but he still flew through the pouring rain and waited patiently for you to answer.

“Hi.” You said, breathlessly.

“Hi.” He answered, dripping water onto the doormat.

Azriel filled up too much space in your apartment, but maybe that was just the constriction of your thumping heart. Az smelled like fresh rain and cedar. Your mother had once taken you to the mountains on the western coast. Citrus fruits sticky and tart in your palms as you sat by the edge of the cliffs and tasted the salt water in the air. It made sense that Azriel should smell like one of your best memories.

“I wanted to give you these.” Azriel said once he’d stepped inside, a quick spell of yours drying the rain off his clothes. Cradled beneath his arms were a bouquet of yellow flowers and a box of pastries from your favorite bakery down the street. The box was soft and supple, but he’d shielded them from the worst of the rain.

“Oh? What’s the occasion?”

He cocked his head to the side, “Does there need to be an occasion? I thought you might like them.”

Liar. He knew you liked them. He was the Shadowsinger after all and the first thing he’d done this morning was track down Cherp.

“Well… no,” You said, gingerly accepting both packages from him. Shadows darted out from his gloved hands, slinking up your arms like living jewelry, cool and comforting. “No, I suppose there doesn’t need to be an occasion.”

“Think of it as a thank you gift. For everything you've done for my family.”

You blushed, “That was really nothing.”

“Rhys and Feyre would disagree. I would disagree. And if Rhys were here he’d probably offer you a dress made of diamonds as a gift instead.”

You blinked, “That seems excessive.”

“That’s Rhys.”

“Then I will consider myself lucky that you’re here instead.”

Azriel seemed pleased with that answer, dipping his head in a subtle bow.

He started off at the kitchen counter, pouring himself a cup of tea as you snipped the flowers and arranged them in a vase. But soon he was drifting around the room, setting your heart alight whenever his fingers would graze the mantle, linger on the pages of an open book, or brush your handwritten notes. It all felt too intimate. The way he could make your breath catch in your throat with every rustle of his wings, the soft sigh of leather as he bent over to look at your scribbled handwriting and smiled. He may as well have grabbed you by the waist and kissed you breathless. Not that you were thinking about kissing him...

You hovered by the kitchen, then moved as close to him as you dared, close enough that Azriel could smell the orange icing that clung to your lips and fingertips. He wanted to taste you.

He shook his head, moving aside and pointing to the newest of your notes. He read, “Immunity - the innate biological process of recognizing and protecting against foreign entities - is a phenomenon that can be extended and applied to magic. From mating bonds to daemati powers to shielding, everything related to magic can be made analogous to the function of a biological immune system.”

He gave you a look - a silent act of permission to continue reading to himself. And before you could think it through, you were nodding.

Azriel took up a spot on your couch, wings cramped against the velvet backing and long legs bumping into the coffee table. You wordlessly moved the furniture and started to pace the floor, busying yourself with the theatrics of organizing notes when you were really keeping an eye on him.

He had a careful look of concentration on his face, lips silently forming the words as his eyes raked over the pages.

You’d presented it to Cherps last summer, and as kind and forgiving as he could be when it came to intellectual exploration, he’d told you flat out that the manuscript was a waste of time.

It was a review paper in its earliest stages, stringing together the connections between different forms of magic and basic biological processes - namely the immune system. The greatest force working against you was the simple fact that fae didn’t concern themselves with such things. Sickness was an inconvenience at worst, nonexistent at best, and any possible fears were quickly wiped out in the face of immortality.

But humans were a different story. Their time on this earth was short and precious. Their weaknesses made them curious, fueled by a desperation for more time - more health - that fae held in spades.

It fascinated you to no end. And after the war against Hybern you’d gotten your hands on some manuscripts from the Human Lands and the Continent.

The concept of white blood cells searching through blood for foreign pathogens didn’t seem so far off from spells designed to unearth enemies hidden on a battlefield. The power wielded by daemati analogous to some virus able to hijack existing cellular machinery for its own purpose. You’d even heard of a blacksmith in the Dawn Court capable of imbuing her magical signature into weapons so that only she would be able to wield them. What better example of immune system magic was there?

Your heart hammered in your chest as Azriel continued to flip through the pages. Long, nimble fingers fluttering along the edges of the pieced together manuscript. His shadows curled around the paper like curious children.

Perhaps it was a mistake showing it to him. It was a rather weak and pathetic argument anyhow. You’d be ridiculed for presenting your ideas at any respectable meeting of the-

“Brilliant.” Azriel breathed.

You snapped your head up in shock.

He looked at you, something like awe in his eyes. “You’re brilliant.” Gloved fingers flipped through the pages once more, marveling.

“It’s not finished yet.” You admitted, wringing your hands together, “It’s barely even begun, and I’d have to fight tooth and nail to get it published. If I ever managed to get it published.” You muttered the last part beneath your breath.

“Why wouldn’t they want to read it? You present a convincing case.”

You tipped your hair to the side, as if the answer was obvious, “Fae don’t like bringing humans into the conversation. They think the work they accomplish is beneath any respectable Librarian. Unworthy of study.”

Az chuckled, “My High Lady would probably say otherwise.”

The High Lady was a curious case - a human soul housed in one of the strongest bodies Prythian had ever known.

“I’m sure.” You said, excited that you had found someone who approved of your ideas for once, “It sounds contradictory, but I believe we could learn more about magic by studying humans.” You were standing now, pacing in front of Az.

He’d managed to crack some forgotten dam inside of you and words began pouring out.

“I have another hypothesis that spell-cleaving comes from the very specific ability to identify and imitate the magical signatures of others. I mean, just imagine! If you could change your magical signature to match that of another fae, any spell crafted, any barrier built-” You made a motion with your hands, “Pff! Useless. You can’t keep yourself out in a spell. Or you can try to at least, but any respectable fae would leave a backdoor for themselves in case something went wrong-”

You rambled on - the biology of immunization and its function in the last war, the Dawn Court artificer, Helion and Feyre’s powers - before finishing with, “I suspect my own powers have something to do with it.”

“What are your powers?” Azriel asked curiously. He leaned forward ever so slightly. “Aside from being brilliant, of course.”

You blinked in surprise. You hadn’t meant to say that. You’d meant to keep it in your mind, quiet and hidden. You swallowed thickly, picking at bitten fingernails.

Azriel swore internally upon seeing the way you flinched, “You don’t… you don’t need to tell me. I’m sorry I-.”

“No! No. I-''

He stared at you openly. Or at least as openly as a person like him could. There was a softness to his eyes you suspected didn't come naturally to him, like he was trying very very hard to convince you to trust him... And it was working.

His hazel eyes were a swirl of gold touched by the first kisses of Autumn.

“Can you… can you promise not to tell anyone? Truly promise.”

He stilled - the very picture of seriousness. Even his shadows seemed to stiffen in the air and become less translucent, “I swear on my life, Y/n. I won’t tell a soul.”

And you knew he wouldn’t. You could feel his honesty in the air, as if something was tugging at your chest and gingerly pulling you open.

You swayed gently, fingers crunching your linen skirts.

“I’m a Clairvoyant.” You admitted, as if it was a shameful thing, “I can touch things - people, objects - and gain knowledge from them. Usually it’s memories or emotions or something else I can’t quite describe.” The scattered books were beginning to make more sense to the Shadowsinger. You pointed to them with open hands, “It’s useful for work… overwhelming when it comes to everything else. Especially after the war with what everyone went through.”

You hesitated. You waited for him to say what you’d been told your entire life: It’s an incredible power. You should be so proud. The Mother has blessed you with this gift. You’re special Y/n.

But Azriel only looked down to your tightly clasped hands, and then to his own.

“That must be quite a burden. To be exposed to all of that.”

Your eyes snapped up to him as he quietly tugged at his gloves.

“It is.” You murmured beneath your breath, feeling tears begin to prick at your eyes.

Azriel’s heart clenched in his chest.

“Is that why you won’t touch anyone? Why you ran away from the party?”

Why you ran away from me that night?

You nodded guiltily.

Azriel sighed, eyes closing in relief. All this time he’d been terrified that you hated him, thinking that you’d seen him for what he truly was - a monster.

“It was nothing to do with you.” You said quickly, leaning closer.

Your hands shot out towards him before freezing midway. You wanted to touch him. You wanted to hold his hands. You felt him tugging at the edges of your heart, like a curious hand pulling at fraying threads. You’d known him less than a week and already you’d spoken more with him than anyone else in the past year. Spent more time with him. Shared your secrets with all the recklessness of young love. What were you thinking?

You pulled away, lips tightening into a flat, angry line. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair. You hadn’t asked for this power, even though others never failed to envy you for it. It was a terrible gift that you couldn’t return when the real thing you wanted was the simple joy of holding Azriel’s hand.

But that wouldn’t be fair to him either.

He was a Shadowsinger - a Spymaster to be exact - filled with enough secrets to break the world three times over. To touch him… to kiss him, would be the worst invasion of privacy. Even if you didn’t intend for it to happen.

Azriel finally spoke and his voice filled the silence with a music you wanted to hear more of, “Being a Shadowsinger… It's not easy. I’ve had plenty of people tell me I should be grateful for it. Grateful for my power and the prestige it's brought me. But sometimes I can’t help but wonder if it was worth the cost.” You stared at him, eyes so wide he swore they could swallow him whole, “I understand, Y/n. I know it’s not exactly the same… but I understand.”

“Do you think you’d be happier, Azriel, if you hadn’t been born a Shadowsinger?”

He shrugged, “I don’t think that’s the way it works, Y/n.”

“No… no I suppose you’re right about that.” You murmured, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

He gently nudged the coffee table and it lightly tapped your shins.

“It’s not all bad.” You raised your eyebrows, urging him to continue, “If I wasn’t a Shadowsinger, I wouldn’t have met you.”

You chuckled, a stray tear slipping out and dripping onto the rug. You brushed the rest of the moisture away.

“Maybe you would have. Maybe you would have come to the Day Court to study.” Azriel snorted. The sun would sooner rise in the west and set in the east before anyone called Azriel an academic. “Maybe we would have gotten into arguments about research and books.”

“About the historical accuracy of chicken eggs?”

“About the anatomical considerations of having sex with a dragon-born.” You clarified. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” Azriel said, smiling.

He’d never been born for the quiet life. Shadowsinger or not, he was a warrior through and through. But looking around at the plush sofa and the faelights flooding in from the athenaeum, he couldn’t help but imagine what kinds of peace you’d bring into his life if he ever mustered up the courage to tell you the truth.

You’re my mate.

The words kept rattling around in his mind as the pair of you spent the day holed up in your apartment.

It was a comfortable haze. You didn’t ask why he lingered, although he felt your burning curiosity through the bond, and he never offered you an explanation. The truth was, no matter his reason for sitting on the couch reading his own sensitive reports, you liked his company… and you wanted him to stay. He saw it in the way your eyes always latched onto him when he stood up, only relaxing when he settled back down.

It was a comforting pain to know that you wanted him, even if you didn’t know why and even if he was too much of a coward to do anything about it.

He didn’t eat, politely declining every stubborn offer of yours until you finally gave up. He wouldn’t be accepting any food from you from here on out. It wasn’t until you made the mistake of yawning from your spot on the floor, papers radiating out from you like a sunburst, that he made any effort to leave.

He looked towards the window. Long, sharp shadows crept along the floor and mingled with his own.

Fuck. He promised Rhys he’d be back by mid-afternoon.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stay so long.” He stood up, wings stretching out so you could see every ripple of muscle, every inky vein that ran through the thin membrane like offshoots from a river.

You scrambled to your feet, pressing an open book to your chest like that would stop your pounding heart. Time had passed too quickly.

“There’s no need to apologize. I-I liked your company. I like your company. Present tense.” You sighed without thinking, “It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone around.”

Cruel, malicious voices rang in Azriel’s mind. They sounded like his half-brothers and the asshole he was unfortunate enough to call a father.

Don’t do it. You’ll ruin this. You’ll ruin this like you ruin everything.

Look at this place. You don’t belong here. You don’t belong with her. You’ll never be worthy of-

“May I come see you tomorrow then?” Azriel’s words were loud, laced with hope. “I’ll bring breakfast.” He said, quieter this time.

You blushed and tried to sound nonchalant when you answered, “I would like that.”

With the promise of another day hanging in the air, that tight coil in your chest loosened, even as Azriel bowed his head and stepped outside. You gasped when he unfurled his wings, the faint glow of the street lights shining through the membrane.

There were few things Azriel loved about himself, but his wings? His wings were his pride and joy. The one beauty he felt he possessed. So when he saw the awe in your gaze, he took off a little harder than usual, delight shooting through his heart when he turned around to see you laughing and brushing the hair from your eyes.

You watched him and he watched you as he climbed higher and higher into the sky before fading into nothing.

There were three books you treasured above all else: The Natural Trials and Tribulations of Leonora Bedroot, Three Knocks for A Kiss, and A Touch of Cinnamon. They’d been your mother’s favorite novels - comforting, slice of life books that promised a happy ending no matter the sorrows that came before. Dog-eared, finger-print stained, and loved beyond measure, your mother had read them to you over and over and over again. Her notes were still scrawled in the margins, her joy still pressed between the pages like preserved flowers.

Being a Clairvoyant meant you could tap into the essence of objects, and objects held memories and emotions just as readily as people. When you thrummed your fingers over the clothbound books you got flashes of your mother. Flashes of her scent. Flashes of her affection for you.

You relied on that familiar comfort as you sat by the window and watched the sky. Every swirl in the clouds looked like Azriel to you. As if he’d swoop down from the heavens and burst through your door so you could wrap your mind around that scent of rainfall and cedar.

You buried your face in your knees and cried out in frustration. You’d wanted to crawl into his lap the entire day. To feel the warmth of his wings wrapped around you like a blanket.

Stupid stupid stupid.

You knocked your head against the worn leather-bound books. One look at his windswept hair and faint smile this morning and you’d been lost.

What would your mother say? Three days and you were already drunk on him. Were flowers, sweet treats, and a modicum of undivided attention all it took for you to fall for someone?

But it wasn’t just a bouquet of flowers - they were daisies picked from the florist down the street with the lilac doorway and hand-painted cards. It wasn’t just a box of pastries - they were from your favorite bakery with the orange icing so heavenly that for years you’d ignored cake on your birthday in favor of them.

Such detail required more than a modicum of attention. If you were right, Azriel would have needed to fly around the city inquiring after you and your mother to gain such information.

But why would he do that? Why would he bother?

The window was cool against your skin, whisking away the heat that had gathered in your cheeks after hours of thinking about the Shadowsinger.

It was a quiet night, as most nights were in the Day Court, and aside from the three Librarians who had entered The Alcove for a late night of reading, you hadn’t seen a soul. The streets were as still as a painting.

Someone drunkenly staggered out of The Alcove.

Meryl. The Alcove’s Bookkeeper.

You frowned in distaste.

Meryl was a middling Librarian at best, although he was skilled enough at the sword to have been selected for Bookkeeper training. Standing easily over six-feet tall with the strong legs of a bison and horns to match, he’d chosen the simple life presiding over The Alcove where he could drink and fuck to his heart’s desire. After all, who would care enough to attack an athenaeum dedicated to boring fiction?

Meryl clopped forward another three feet, one hand pressed to his throat. His red-trimmed robes swayed in the breeze. But his robes weren’t meant to be that red.

He stumbled to the side, close to the base of your front steps, and his eyes locked with yours.

His ears were missing, two gaping holes where the gentle slope of the cartilage should be. His lips parted in a silent scream and blood bubbled out hot and thick.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Did I steal the *hi* from Heartstopper because I've been rewatching it for the fourth time this week?................. Maybe???

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755 @sidthedollface2 @auggiesolovey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @transparentmoonglitter @ang-taylorsversion @ssmay123 @just-m-2 @sevikas-whore @lalalucha @svtwonwoow @user707sthings @cherryinsalemverse @evylynny @decrepit-bees-knees

#azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x mate reader #azriel acotar #the shadowsinger and the inkbird #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel x you #azriel mate #azriel spymaster #azriel fanfic #the day court

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mrsdarkandyandere7 · 1 month

Text

Hunger

Pairing: Dark Dabi x (female) Reader

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female Reader

SUMMARY: Leaving you with an empty stomach is the first step for Dabi’s plan to break you.

WARNINGS: Implied Kidnapping; Starvation; Manipulation.

AN: Please, reblog and give me feedback.

Finally entering the Bnha fandom. Give me more ideas, pls, a girl doesn't know what to write :)

–

You wince at the pain that blossoms in your middle.

Your stomach far too tired to growl properly, having resigned to prolonged painful pangs - a pitiful form of begging to which you can’t answer. Your whole body feels weak, no strength left in your limbs aside from a dizzy mind that keeps drifting away.

You can’t even remember when was the last time you ate something - courtesy from Dabi. He is a vindictive asshole, you knew that from the start.

Wasn't that the reason you got yourself kidnapped? Your constant refusal to his advances snapping him off enough to kidnap you.

But you didn’t think he’d make you starve for days as retaliation for all the yelling and shouting the nastiest insults you could find at the black-haired man.

You’d kill for a single bite of that delicious crusty pizza you ate that one time. Or that mouth-watering hamburger that so often appears in television advertisements.

Just the memory of food has your stomach hurting even more and you curl your arms around your body in the bed, feeling yourself getting weaker by the minute.

As time tediously drags by, you fall into a light slumber, wincing at the regular stomach aches.

The faint noise of the apartment door opening barely means anything to you, however the subtle aroma of warm food that reaches your nose triggers your eyes open.

It floats through the small apartment, the smell of delicious cuisine bringing water to your dry mouth and you gulp. Are you dreaming?

Footsteps and the chickling of plates is all your ears catch and it doesn’t take long before Dabi appears at the door, holding a plastic tupperware.

“Wakey wakey, sweetheart. Look what I got here.”

You sniff, head rising fragilely and your stomach growls loudly. Dabi chuckles at that, stepping closer to you.

“Looks like someone is hungry.” he opens the container and you almost choke when the luscious smell of seasoned food hits your nostrils.

One of your hands unconsciously raises, fingers greedily reaching for the tupperware but Dabi is quick in moving it away from your reach, placing it on the floor behind him, knowing there’s no way for you to reach it given the heavy chain attached to your ankle.

“Now, now, sweetheart, where are your manners?”

“I’m hungry…” your weak voice brings a feline smile on Dabi’s voice, features twisting with pleasure at the hunger in your face, your cheeks slightly sunken with malnutrition.

“Not so strong now, are we? What happened? Got yourself into a diet?” he maliciously retorts.

He slowly sits at the edge of the bed, blue eyes attentive to your reaction but you offer him none.

You’re too tired, too hungry to put up with him. The pit in your belly only worsens with each second and you’re about to beg Dabi when his hand reaches for your face, tenderly caressing your cheek.

The momentaneous satisfaction in his disfigured face is broken into irritation when you recoil, pulling your face away from him, avoiding his touch.

His fingers harden into an angry fist and he scowls for a moment before forcing himself to calm down.

“Always an ungrateful brat, aren’t you? An ungrateful stupid brat.” his eyes get colder as he glares at you. “Never able to appreciate all the things I do for you, huh? Always so-”

He stops, shaking his head before straightening his back and then he smiles - a wicked terrifying smile that has you forgetting about your devastating hunger - as he shrugs his shoulders.

“Nah, but you know what? Brats don’t deserve to eat anyways.” he shakes some invisible dust off his long jacket, sighing as he starts to stand up,

“Well, guess I’m just gonna eat all that delicious food all by myself since I got no one to share it with. I even bought those delicious crispy chips you liked so much, but oh well.”

You blink, panic and hunger bubbling in your body as you hopelessly reach for the cloth of his jacket.

“No, Dabi, please!” you cry out, swallowing the last of your pride and honor as you beg, and he slowly sits back on the bed, “I’m sorry, okay? Please…”

His jaw twitches with enjoyment and the corner of his lips curl.

“Yeah, is that so? Little brat wants to be a good girl now?”

You nod eagerly despite the knot that tightens in your heart, but you can’t afford to think about any of this. You have to eat.

“You sure about that? I’m not forcing you or anything, right?”

The irony of his words would make you roll your eyes if you had the energy for such.

“Then say it. Loud and clear, so there’s no doubt left.”

“I-” you lose track of the words at the sight of his electrifying blue eyes, “I want to be a good girl.”

“Then you can start by acting like a good girl. Come here.” he taps his lap, his hand latching onto your wrist and you don’t resist when Dabi softly tugs you towards him.

A whimper escapes you when your frail muscles are forced to move using the last of your scarce energies but at the end you find yourself perched on top of Dabi’s lap, one leg awkwardly bent while the other lays straight, the chain on your ankle fully stretched.

His arms waste no time wrapping themselves around your waist, your arms getting caught in the way. He nuzzles into your neck, humming in delight despite the obvious tension in your body

“Are you sure you want to be fed? Cause you sure don’t seem very enthusiastic.” his dab is enough to snap you out of your transe and you turn your face towards him, pressing a small kiss to his cheek, cringing when your lips touch the cold staples.

“That’s better.” he opens into a wide smile. “Wasn’t so hard, after all, huh?”

The rumble from your stomach has you wincing. “Can I eat now?”

Dabi doesn’t mind you, too busy peppering kisses over the expanse of your shoulder.

“Dabi?”

“Hum, maybe in a while.” he winks at you, and you feel sick to your stomach despite having eaten nothing.

“I need to make sure that my good girl doesn’t turn bad.”

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ssahotchnerr · 1 year

Note

one more aaron hc: if you're someone who constantly needs to be playing with something (hair elastic, jewelry, etc) but you have none available, he would let you play with his fingers.

not even in a sexual way-- more like he would let you trace his palm, touch his fingertips, even let you pick at his fingernails.

here and now

okay i'm putting an anxious!reader take on this🥺 cw; established relationship, description of anxiety, so much fluff i want to cry

your quickened breath. that was the first thing aaron noticed.

as subtle as it was- extremely quiet as you were attempting to keep it maintained and discrete- it didn't fail to invade his ears. it also helped that he was seated right beside you, and besides, he knew you and all your tells.

and so, his eyes shot downwards to your lap, to your hands more specifically. as he expected, you were repeatedly clenching your fist, while attempting to hold your focus to the conversation at hand. every so often you changed tactics, your thumbnail pushing into the side of your index finger for a second or two, and then your knuckles would constrict again. more so, you were trying to hold onto something.

aaron's eyes lifted back to reid, who was going off on a tangent on how a mathematical sequence related to the geographical profile and to the unsub's comfort zone as a whole. keeping his gaze forward, his hand snuck below the table, easily finding the one that was his perfect fit.

as his hands were large, twice the size of yours, his palm completely enveloped your hand as a whole. quickly, he slipped his fingers under your own, resting between your fingers and palm.

at the contact, you nearly pried your hand away, glancing at aaron and widening your eyes in slight alarm. while in the field and to both your agreement, pda was kept to the absolute minimum. there were the rare occasions the rule was broken, in instances of high concern or danger, but it rarely happened. so aaron crossing that boundary, was almost unheard of.

you met his eyes, your own full of question and confusion.

what are you doing? here? now?

aaron shook his head briefly at your silent words. the two of you understood each other so well, there were times you didn't need words to communicate. loaded looks, variating different meanings appropriate to whatever the situation may be, did all the talking. it was more than enough.

his gaze softened deeply, those brown eyes you loved dearly expressing so much you couldn't put an accurate word to fully summarize it. all you knew, it made you feel safe. loved.

it's okay. i know what i'm doing.

you instantly relaxed at this, your shoulders dropping from the tension plaguing them. you hadn't even realized how much they had stiffened. or quite honestly, you hadn't recognized your anxious tendencies either until aaron had addressed them.

your fingers relaxed in his instantly this time.

at the touch his hand was rough, yet so incredibly gentle at the same time. it was a signature you only knew as aaron's. likewise, they offered you a familiarity that immediately grounded you, beginning to rebalance your raised heart rate.

still unnoticed by the others in the room, you pulled his hand further onto your lap, granting yourself more access. aaron even scooted his chair a few centimeters closer to yours.

your fingertips began to lightly trace his palm, falling into a cycle between moving to his fingers and back again. as you did so your clouded mind began to clear, the discussion at the table beginning to make more sense as you slowly refocused.

next, your fingers grabbed ahold of aaron's. your fingertips danced along his, playing with them gently before folding your hand into his.

once fingers were intertwined together, aaron lightly squeezed your hand. he longed to bring a kiss to your knuckles, and was disappointed the setting prevented him from doing so, but that was a matter he could easily solve later at the privacy of the hotel. or even sneakily attempt once everyone rose from the conference table, distracted.

this time when you peeked at aaron, his lips were raised into a small smile. it would go unknown amongst the others, but you recognized it. again, a subtle characteristic of aaron's only you would know.

just as he had, you returned the gesture and tightened your grip on his hand for a couple seconds, relaying your thankfulness and how much love you held for him.

again, the two of you didn't need words. he knew.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x you

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usedtobecooler · 1 year

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the sex is good | fboy!eddie munson x fem!reader

Pairing | Eddie Munson x chubby/plus size Fem!Reader

Warnings | sexual content 18+ minors dni, unprotected piv sex, oral f receiving, oral m receiving, praise kink, slight degradation, possessiveness, multiple orgasms, alcohol use, drug use, minor fatphobia. fboy!eddie and his shithead friends.

Word Count | 3.7k (sorry)

A/N | fboy!eddie haunts my dreams, this ones for you @newlips

He’s been watching you slinking around Rick’s house all night, hips swaying and ass jiggling with every step — and he wants you. So fucking bad his cock is throbbing already, just thinking about getting you on your knees for him. He’s never seen you around, and you’re like nothing he’s seen before.

You’re overdressed for such a small party, sure. A midnight green satin dress cinching your waist in, tits spilling out the low neck, thick thighs rubbing together as you sway on your feet. Your hair fans over your shoulders, cascades down your back in effortless curls. You’re giggling, laughing at something your leggy blonde friend has said, nude glossy lips smacking together.

“Dude, you could do so much better,” The voice is off to the side of him, he doesn’t even care who it is that’s talking because they’re lying, tonight he wants you and in his eyes you’re the best thing there, “Carol is literally right there, Eddie. Have you seen her ass in those jeans?”

“If you think she looks so good, why don’t you go fuck her?” Eddie snarks, not once taking his eyes off of you. He doesn’t mean that, and his friend knows it too — he may not want Carol tonight, but she was his, too. Anybody lay hands on her and they’d know about it.

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow as Harrington makes an appearance from behind the doorway, two red solo cups in hand as he flashes a glint of pearly white teeth at you and your friend, offering the cups out. Eddie watches as you flush red at the attention, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, thanking Steve when he hands over the alcohol.

He doesn’t like it. The way Harrington’s clearly flirting with you, bumping his shoulder into yours as you laugh together like he just said the funniest shit ever. He shouldn’t have been shocked, Steve was always competition for him.

“Fuck it,” Eddie mutters to himself, finally having enough of the exchange going on right in front of his eyes, clambering off of the couch and slapping his friends knee in the process, “If it’s that easy for Harrington to charm the pants off of her, this should be a walk in the fucking park.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that, Eddie. She’ll be happy to have the attention,” One of his goons pipes up from the other side, resulting in a less than subtle middle finger raised in his direction.

Eddie didn’t discriminate when it came to women — he loved them all. Chubby or thin, tall or short, big tits or little tits, he didn’t care. If you were hot, you were hot.

And you absolutely were, just what he needed on this particular night. And he loved the thrill of chasing new tail, which was adding to his overall attraction to you.

It’s almost like God is on his side, when Steve leans down to peck you on the cheek lightly before bidding you and your friend goodbye. Eddie hides the clench of his jaw, knowing that regardless of how Steve touched or kissed you, he was gone now and out of the picture for the foreseeable. Leaving you wide open for him to pounce in and make his move.

“Oh for God sake,” Your friend rolls her eyes, utter disgust in her voice, folding her arms over her chest when he arrives at your side, “Hey, Eddie. This is —”

“The hottest babe in this place,” Eddie cuts her off, winking at you. He looks at you unabashedly, drinking you in with heavy eyes full of clear lust. You fluster under his gaze — he’s very intimidating. He’s clearly very sure of himself.

You blush, flipping your hair over your shoulder and fanning your face with your perfectly manicured nails. You were even better up close, plump lips in a constant pout, eyes sultry behind the dark makeup. The satin of your dress hugged to the curve of your belly cutely, cinching in your waist enough to have your plump frame shaped slightly more hourglass than usual.

Your friend blinks at you slowly, eyeing you both before making her decision, “I’m gonna go find Rick, see you bozos later.”

“I thought she’d never leave,” Eddie’s voice has a mocking, sarcastic tone behind it as he speaks. He takes her place, standing in front of you, only closer, enough so that his whisky laced breath fans your face — he pouts, “I don’t think your friend likes me very much.”

“She did warn me that you might be here,” You laugh, taking a sip of your drink, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste the tequila leaves behind on your tongue, “I was told before I came here to watch out for you, I’ve heard you’re bad news around these parts.”

“Aw sweetheart, m’not bad news. I just like to fuck and it kinda gets me in trouble,” He says it like it’s just that easy and it shocks you, how open and bold he is.

You school your face, “Ah, so that’s what you’ve slid over here for? In hopes of getting in my panties? And here I was, thinking you wanted to make friends.”

“Was it not obvious?” Eddie replies smoothly, slowly backing you up until you’re flush against the wall with nowhere to go — he towers over you, a hand coming out so he can brace himself against the drywall.

You glance to the side, taking in the sight of his thick fingers clad in harsh rings quickly before allowing your eyes to settle heavily on his own for the first time, properly taking in his appearance.

He’s hot, but you’re aware he already knows that himself. Looks like he stepped out of an ‘80s rock mag with the shaggy haircut, a scruffy beard, tattoos lacing his neck in harsh splatters of black and grey. He has a lip ring, tugs on it between his teeth — it makes your cunt flutter, and you have to clench your thighs together to relieve the throb of your clit, suddenly all too aware of your own arousal.

“I mean, I’m flattered really,” You smile sweetly and put on your best doe eyes, not letting on for even a second that you’re interested, “I was kinda hoping Steve would come back, though. He’s real cute, and I’ve heard he’s got a big dick. I wanna see what the fuss is about.”

Eddie narrows his eyes at you, a flash of annoyance swiping his features, “Harrington has all the equipment and doesn’t know what to do with it, sweetheart. You’re not missing out on much.”

Lies. Lies. Lies. But he can’t have you slithering from his grasp, not now that he’s actually had to put some fucking effort in when there are at least ten other chicks in this house who would fuck him without a second thought.

“Aw, I’m disappointed,” You pout, jutting out your glossed bottom lip, pretending like you even believed a word of what he just said, “Take me somewhere and show me a good time then, Munson. I’m bored of this back and forth.”

His hands are everywhere on you the second he kicks the door shut with his boot, crowding up into your body and gripping at your waist, fingertips squeezing the doughy flesh, “Let me show you how I fuck, babe. Swear you’ll never so much as think about any other cock again.”

You’re hazy from the alcohol, trying to keep your face neutral, but clearly even you aren’t immune to Eddie’s charm. Not now that his big palms are engulfing you and making you feel tiny, his lips almost brushing your own as he invades your space. A small whimper escapes your lips before you can even stop it.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Eddie grins, backing you up against the bed until the backs of your knees are knocking the edge. His left hand slides along the soft satin of your dress, gliding down your back and pulling the material up along with his wandering fingers. Leaving your ass bare for grabbing — which he does, taking a large handful of your supple fat and squeezing tightly, pulling you flush to him.

“Is that a gun in your pants or are you just happy to see me?” You joke, though your voice quivers from the nerves, a gasp leaving you when you feel the hard outline of his cock pressing into your lower belly.

Eddie rolls his eyes, slapping his hand down on your ass and earning a quiet moan from you, the same hand coming back to soothe the stinging skin just as quickly, “That smart mouth needs shutting up before it gets you in trouble, sweetheart.”

You pull a face and oh, he doesn’t like that. Something darkens behind Eddie’s eyes as he pushes you back onto the mattress, knocking the breath out of your lungs and startling you slightly.

His wandering hands roughen slightly as he rucks up the material of your dress up the pudge of your belly, dropping to his knees on the hardwood floor, spreading your thighs and pulling your panties to the side.

Eddie buries his face into your pussy, the burn of his harsh stubble on your sensitive folds a surprisingly pleasurable feeling. You’re shocked — never in your life had a man like Eddie ever been known for eating pussy, yet here he was, tongue slithering out and lapping at your wet hole.

“Oh fuck, Eddie,” You whimper, fingers winding tightly in the sheets as he licks at your slit with the flat of his tongue, pointing it when he reaches your clit, flicking the sensitive nub hard.

One of his hands grips at the meat of your thigh to keep your legs spread, the other lays flat over the bump of your tummy to hold you down, stop you from bucking up off of the mattress and away from the pleasure of his tongue.

You can’t hold back your moans as he goes down on you with ridiculous enthusiasm, finding a perfect rhythm almost immediately — like he knows your body and knows what you want without even having to try. He maps you out quickly, figures you like your clit being sucked, his tongue sliding into the tight heat of your cunt.

“Shit, shit,” You tremble, eyes watering as your hips twitch up into Eddie’s mouth, unable to help it. He doesn’t stop you either, buries his face in even deeper and suckles at your clit harder. You slide a hand into his hair tentatively and he keens into it, lets you drag your fingers through his tresses and tug lightly.

He moans into the heat of your cunt, the vibrations catching you off guard and dragging you towards the edge ridiculously quickly. “Eddie, m’gonna cum,” You warn, tugging his hair harder as the winding in your tummy builds.

Your orgasm crescendos, deafening in your ears as your tummy coils and unravels just as quickly, a gush of slick spilling from your fluttering hole and making a mess of Eddie’s mouth and chin. He laps it up like a man starved, pushing his face even tighter into your pussy to get every last bit.

You can barely comprehend what’s happening as you shiver through it, body going limp and floppy as Eddie sucks your clit as a final act, before leaning back on his haunches and slapping your inner thigh.

“Up on the bed and on all fours, now,” Eddie commands, and you do as you’re told, flipping onto all fours and arching your back for him. Your tits spill out of your dress at this angle, tight nipples sliding teasingly against the material of the comforter beneath you.

You hear him unbuckling his belt, and you can’t help the way the nerves wrack through your body in anticipation. You can’t see anything from this angle, can only hear as his clothes hit the floor and feel as the bed dips under the weight of him pushing between your legs. He pulls your panties even further to the side, completely soaked in your cum, snagging the head of his cock along your cunt, getting himself wet with your slick.

He slides into the tight heat of your pussy with minimal resistance, bottoming out with a grunt. You wiggle your hips, a shaky breath escaping your lips as you try to adjust to the size of his cock — he’s really big, bigger than you anticipated, fitting snug in your walls. Your cunt flutters and he hisses, gripping onto your hip tight;

“Don’t do that shit,” Eddie scolds, punching his hips forward and knocking the breath out of you. His ego won’t let him admit that the tightness of your pussy is getting the better of him, and has him close to his release embarrassingly fast.

“Y’can move,” You whine, desperate to feel him split you apart from the inside. He doesn’t hesitate for even a second, sliding out of you almost fully and immediately sliding back in, ripping an erratic moan from your open mouth. You grasp at the sheets tightly, arching your back for him, “Fuck, you’re so big.”

“You’re tight,” Eddie comments, voice barely wavering as he builds a brutal pace, rolling his hips into the flesh of your ass. Your needy cunt sucks him in with every harsh slap of his hips, and you squirm under the grip, cheeks flushing with every slick noise your pussy makes, “Fuckin’ takin’ it like a good girl.”

You cry out, the praise unexpected. For once, you’re at a loss for words, unable to comprehend anything or feel anything other than Eddie’s bruising grip on your hips and his cock splitting you open. You push back into his next thrust, losing yourself in the feeling.

“Oh shit, just like that,” Eddie grunts, choking on his own tongue as you throw your ass back on him, the slap of skin on skin suddenly deafening in your ears. He grabs a handful of your left cheek, squeezing before he’s slapping his hand down on the rippling flesh, eliciting a whimper from you, “You like that, don’t you sweetheart?”

“Fuckin’ love it,” You cry — you can feel your velvet walls hugging the sheer girth of him so well that every pulse of his cock is easily made out. You’re being stretched so far, yet the initial burn turned pleasurable at an alarming rate, his blunt head gliding along the soft bump of your frontal wall making you dizzy, a deep heat blooming in your belly.

“Can feel you squeezing my cock, baby,” You can hear the grin in his voice, and you can’t even find it in your to be annoyed as you hurtle towards your release fast, “Y’gonna soak me in your cum?”

That’s what does it for you — your entire body dissolving into pleasure as your climax wracks through you, a high-pitched cry spilling from your lips. Your hips stutter as your walls flutter uncontrollably, Eddie’s cock fucking you through it. You feel your cum drool from you, slicking down your mound and making everything impossibly wetter.

“There she is, fuckin’ soaking for me,” Eddie guffaws, cock slipping out momentarily from the sheer slick of your pussy. He grabs hold of himself by the base once more, pushing back into your spasming walls and punching a moan from you.

You go limp after that, pushing your face into the pillow and letting Eddie use you, his grunts filling the air. You need to get up before he gets bored, the little voice in the back of your head niggles at you to do it.

“Pull out, need to taste your cock,” You mumble, drunk and fucked out on the sheer girth of Eddie’s cock fucking you. You’re sensitive, legs quivering and trying to close on their own, and you know you can’t handle much more.

Eddie doesn’t argue, thrusting into the tight heat of your cunt once more before he’s sliding out with a slight hiss — he could never say no to a girl willingly wanting to blow him.

It also meant there was absolutely zero chance of a pregnancy scare. It was a win-win in his book.

You maneuver yourselves until he’s sitting back against the pillows, you perched prettily on your knees between his spread legs. He’s littered in tattoos, covering most of his body, and it makes the pretty pink of his cock stand out even more when it’s flush against the porcelain and black.

You grasp a hold of the thick base in your hand, working your hand up and down slowly, using your own cum as lube. The extra glide from his foreskin helps too, and you suddenly can’t help but wish every man you’d ever been with was uncut — it was just so pretty.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Eddie asks, looking barely bothered by your hands on him as he produces a tin from the bedside drawer, a pre-rolled joint and a lighter inside. You shrug, too busy working up his cock to care about it.

You feel dumb — he’s left you in an absolute mess.

Vaguely aware of a lighter clicking in the background, you lean down and engulf the head of Eddie’s cock in the tight wetness of your mouth, tongue slithering over the slit, cheeks hollowing as you slide down further.

“That’s it sweetheart, you’re fucking filthy,” Eddie almost sounds impressed, watching behind hazy eyes as he takes a drag of his joint, fingers running through your hair and massaging your scalp, gently guiding you down, “You can take more, right?”

You take that as a challenge, relaxing so you can sink down lower, spit spilling from the corners of your mouth, sputtering on your mouthful when the head finally hits the back of your throat.

“Look at me,” Eddie commands, grunting and tugging your tresses between his fingers until your watery eyes are sparkling open. His own orbs are almost black as he watches you with pure lust — his stomach jolts as your glossy lips leave behind pink rings on his cock, “You’re such a pretty mess for me, sweetheart.”

You keen into the praise, sinking down the last of the way until your lips hit your fist. You alternate between sucking and bobbing your head with Eddie’s guidance, relishing in every little moan and whimper you’re punching out of him. He doesn’t give much away, but you can feel his hips growing restless, kicking up slightly.

He smokes away languidly as you absolutely fucking devour his cock — and then something unexpected happens. Eddie hits your gag reflex and your throat closes around your mouthful, squeezing his cock so tight that he’s choking out a deep growl, hips fucking up into your mouth harshly.

“That’s it, baby, taking me like a fuckin’ champ,” Eddie’s voice drips in arousal, and almost a hint of pride there too — no girl had ever been able to take so much of him at once without zero issue, and it was sending him hurtling towards the edge faster than he’d like to admit.

Your nails dig into the meat of his thigh, trying to ground yourself as he completely loses it and uses your mouth. You keep your eyes on him fully, crying around his girth and moaning, hand jerking what little of him is left — you can feel his salty release sliding down your throat and you know he’s close now.

He watches you with hazy eyes, hand fisted tightly in your hair and keeping you pushed down until you’re spluttering so much your throat is spasming around him, “Fuck, babe. M’gonna cum, you gonna let me blow my load in your pretty little mouth?”

You whine around your mouthful, feeling your spit spill from the edges of your stretched lips uncontrollably as he uses you, hips jerking into your mouth, speeding up as he reaches the edge. You nod, swallowing around his cock until he’s grunting.

“Yeah?” Eddie’s grinning, brings the joint to his lips to take another hit — and then you do something completely out of left field, ghosting your fingertips over the taut skin of his balls. He pushes you down onto his cock with a harsh hand, “You’re making me — oh fuck, fuckfuckfuck.”

The thick ropes of his cum fill your mouth at an alarming rate, gagging you in the process as you’re kept in place with a harsh hand and spasming hips. You watch behind tear clouded eyes, a deep heat in your belly as you watch Eddie’s eyes roll into the back of his head, tummy clenching as he just keeps cumming.

Eddie eventually lets you come up for air when you start to slap at his leg, desperately sucking in a breath through your nose. He actually almost looks apologetic when you finally slide off of his flaccid length, swiping at your soaked chin. You know your makeup is ruined now, there’s no way you can return to the party.

“Get yourself cleaned up, sweetheart. I’ll take you back to your little friend and she can take you home, yeah?” He speaks nonchalantly, stubbing out the end of the joint on the corner of the bedside table and leaving the butt behind.

You scoff, rolling your eyes — not even so much as a ‘thanks, bud’, in return for what clearly was the best blowjob of his fucking life, given the state of his reaction to it, “I can make my own way back downstairs, don’t need you to chaperone me, Eddie.”

Eddie chuckles darkly, bending over the side of the bed to retrieve his strewn clothes, “Oh baby, I know. But if I take you then I know you’re not gonna end up with Harrington — you know you can’t fuck him now, right?”

prick #1: ur girl from ricks is fuckin harrington bro

prick #1: he just came in here sayin shes got REAL good pussy

prick #1: does he kno u fucked???

Eddie seethes as he reads the texts, slamming a hand down on his steering wheel in anger, nostrils flaring.

He thought his words made it pretty crystal fucking clear — you were his girl now, didn’t you know that?!

His fingers fly across the screen as he types furiously. You didn’t give him your number, but your friend was happy enough to hand it over not even a day after the party. She was stupid for that, really.

get dressed and be ready in ten. don’t even try to play dumb you know who this is.

You needed to be reminded who you belonged to.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #newlipsmilestoneoflove #x reader #my fanfic #my work #mine

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cuubism · 2 months

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touch-starved dream in a universe where any human who touches the endless falls to ruin. 6k. E.

Hob had always felt that his stranger was untouchable.

He was too beautiful, for one. The kind of face you imagined when you were young and dreaming of marriage (or, less respectably, when you were young and jerking off). The kind of face that didn’t appear in reality because real beauty had flaws—that was kind of what made it real.

Hob’s stranger’s beauty was a fall of light easily dashed by a hand. Impossible to touch.

For another thing: it was a bad idea to touch him. You didn’t go around offering yourself to strange beautiful things you met in the woods (or in a tavern). That was how you ended up a not-so-virgin sacrifice, or a meal, or a soul traded for riches. That sort of beauty was a lure. That was just common sense.

Hob had never had much of that. Hob very much did go and offer himself to a strange and beautiful thing he met in a tavern. A thing which never touched him, it must be said, but only offered an enigmatic smile, and a promise of a later meeting.

And then Hob dreamed of him. In his dream they were touching, in his dream Hob pulled his long robes away from his pale, slim thighs and took him in his mouth. He touched him a lot in that dream. Lips spread over his cock, hands wrapped around his thighs, his stranger’s nails scraping over his scalp.

In 1489, his stranger didn’t touch him, though the twinkle in his eye suggested their late rendezvous may have been slightly more than a dream.

In dreams that night, Hob had him as close as two creatures could possibly be, his stranger thrusting into him, one long-fingered hand wrapped loosely around Hob’s cock, the other around his throat, and it felt strangely like approval. Like appreciation.

In 1589, Hob didn’t expect his stranger to touch him, and he didn’t.

His dreams were absent, too, but for a flash of starlight eyes, a hushed growl, the ghostly, erotic drag of claws up his spine and over the back of his skull.

In 1689, Hob wondered if, maybe, his stranger would extend a hand. He didn’t, but for the first time there was a hesitant curl to his fingers.

In dreams, Hob was held, and sobbed with the lack of shame inherent to dreaming, because it had been so long since he had been touched kindly. And the dream repeated, in subtle variations, for many years after his stranger had gone again.

In 1789, Hob thought he’d be pinned against a wall. To be bitten, or fucked, or have his throat clawed out, he was really unsure. His stranger’s gaze held teeth. Disapproval. Heat. Appreciation of Hob’s swift if unneeded defense. A war of emotions, and Hob felt appraised, wanted, derided, devoured, and would have accepted any pleasure or pain his stranger saw fit to deal out, would have taken it gladly, on his knees, over a table, against a wall. Again, his stranger did not touch him, but his eyes were hot as coals.

In their dreams, he had his stranger on his back, fucked roughly into him, and it felt like judgment. Does that make you feel powerful, Hob? But his stranger’s moans were loud and his body tight and hot and his gaze haughty, and Hob knew he was enjoying himself.

Afterward, he combed his fingers through Hob’s hair, like Hob might still be redeemable. Hob didn’t know, but at least his stranger was touching him.

In 1889, Hob tried to touch him.

Just to lay their hands together on the table. Just to say, I know there’s something there between us and whatever it is, I’m telling you that I see it. Hob reached.

His stranger yanked his hands back.

He stood up, eyes flashing. Hob understood how colossally he’d fucked up before his stranger spoke a word. Before he stormed out, taking Hob’s hope that this might be anything with him.

He had the strangest dream that night. The only one of his stranger that could not actually be of his stranger. It must have been a fabrication of Hob’s mind, that time. A way to provide himself with closure that he wasn’t going to get otherwise.

In the dream, they were sitting again in the White Horse. Hob reached out his hands, palms up. His stranger hesitated. He did not look offended, this time. He looked—afraid. And wanting.

Slowly he reached out his hands, and laid them in Hob’s. Hob tangled their fingers together. Squeezed. And his stranger smiled.

His stranger didn’t come in 1989, and Hob didn’t dream of him either, no matter how much he wanted to. No matter how much he wanted to tell him, I won’t touch you if you don’t want. I think you do want, but it’s no matter. Just come back to me.

No matter. Hob would wait.

No human had touched Dream in many, many years. The last to try had been his captors. Burgess’s guards, as they tried to move him into his glass prison. Even with Dream’s magic bound, they had met the same terrible fate Dream had expected.

One could not look directly into the sun without burning one’s eyes. One could not stare into the swirling core of all dreams and nightmares without going mad.

The guards had clawed off their clothes, torn out their own eyes, scratched at their temples until broken nails pushed through bone to blood and brain matter and the knowing, the seeing, finally stopped.

It was not for living things to touch Dream while waking.

Thereafter the living guards had chased him with cattle prods to get him into his prison. Dream had held his ground for a long time, staring into their eyes as they coursed electricity through his nonhuman body, just to see their resolve weaken, to witness their terror. For them, he was the uncanny, the rabid dog fearing nothing, whose touch meant death. Still, they eventually maneuvered him into his prison.

No matter.

Dream was now free. Dream had his tools again, and his realm. And still he felt like that feral animal, poisonous to touch.

Worse that it was true.

He almost did not follow his sister’s suggestion to find Hob again. He did not trust himself. He no longer knew how to maintain a safe distance. After how Hob had touched him in their last shared dream, after Dream had fled from him, held his hands and later his body against his chest, Dream did not know how to keep his hands away. But he must. For Hob’s sake, he must.

Eventually, he found himself at the New Inn. Hungry. Starving. Cold. Would Hob welcome him back? Even if only in dreams?

At least in dreams, Dream’s touch could not burn him.

Dream found Hob sitting in the inn, like he had been waiting there all that while. The smile that graced Hob’s face when he saw Dream was beautiful, was terrible, for it bore the care Dream had not allowed himself to see, and the danger that care put Hob in.

And then Hob got up, and came around the table, and—before Dream could move away, or perhaps Dream just stood and watched it happen, awaited the immolation—Hob hugged him.

“No,” Dream whispered, and Hob chuckled, one arm wrapped around Dream’s waist, the other cradling the back of his neck, over his collar.

“I know, I know, you’re touchy about being touched—ha. Indulge me for a second, won’t you? I’ve been worried about you.”

“Worried?” Dream repeated at a whisper, for Hob had yet to run screaming, clawing out his own eyes.

“Haven’t seen you for a hundred thirty years, yeah, I was a bit worried. Even if I can imagine you taking that long just to think something over.”

He released Dream, then, and gestured for Dream to sit down. Which Dream did, still awash with confusion, and then realized:

Oh. Hob had only touched his coat, not his skin. Dream’s clothes were made of dream stuff, and, as was true of his tools, could cause madness or eternal sleep when possessed by humans for any significant duration. But a brief touch would not harm them. Not like touching Dream himself.

Hob had not come into direct contact with him. Dream hated that he felt disappointed, and not relieved, as he should.

Hob deserved an explanation, though. At least to be sure he would not try to touch Dream again.

“It is not that I wish for you not to hug me,” he said. Indeed, he had thought of their nighttime rendezvouses often, in his prison. Hob kissing him. Holding him. As no one had for many, many years. Perhaps, if Hob truly forgave him, they could have it again in dreams.

But he would first have to explain what he was, would he not?

“You don’t?” said Hob, looking surprised, but pleased. And then, with typical audacity, he took Dream’s hands.

“Do not!” Dream’s voice cracked with power, with desperation, but it was too—

Hob was standing on a vast field of black sand. A vast, empty field, glimmering and iridescent, the sky an utterly blank white, like light shining through an empty monitor. Like a blank sheet of printer paper, missing ink. The air was utterly still.

And standing before him was his stranger.

This was not the stranger Hob had met in dreams, that he had held and bedded in sheets of silken dream stuff, or sat across from in the inn. This version of his stranger was… magnificent.

He was robed all in black fabric that draped in illogical swirls and lines. He was tall and thin and angular, with hands sharp like claws, his hair blowing about without wind, and his eyes were terrible. Bottomless black void that made Hob feel like he was falling upwards into the sky.

He was beautiful.

“Hell of a place for a date, stranger,” Hob said, nervous despite himself. But at least he wasn’t here, wherever here was, alone.

“I am sorry, Hob,” said his stranger. Now Hob recognized the look on his face. It was grief. He had seen it once, in 1689.

“Why?” Hob asked, and then his stranger took his hands. The movement had an inevitability to it: Hob had done it in the inn, and now his stranger was bidden to do it, too, here.

He took Hob’s hands in his, those soft, fragile hands that Hob had always longed to hold when out of dreams, at their meetings. Hob ran his thumbs over his knuckles, and his stranger’s expression cracked, an iridescent tear slipping down his cheek.

Hob raised his stranger’s hands to his lips, and kissed his knuckles. And—

Oh.

There was his stranger. Hob could see him now. Truly.

The strange being before him, his stranger, not so strange anymore—he was… everything. He was stars, Hob could see all of them wheeling, and he was music, a collision of notes all upon each other, and flowers in bloom, and children playing pretend, and meticulously typed memoirs, memories held by trees, and root networks, and insects singing. He was proposals, he was invention, and flickering film reel, and dance. And not only that, but shadow, and all of Hob’s fears of being left, and a bite to the throat, a claw to the chest, a haunting memory, and he was beautiful.

Hob came back to himself, to that blank, open space, head full of infinite visions, heart full of his stranger. His stranger was still looking at him with that grief. Did he really hate being seen that badly?

“I missed you,” Hob whispered, voice thick. He squeezed his stranger’s hands. He could still feel it. The massive everything of him.

His stranger’s eyes widened. “You… are not mad.”

“What, in general? I’m certifiably mad, I’m sorry to tell you.”

His stranger stepped forward, sudden as a flicker of light, and took Hob’s face between his hands.

“You should be ruined,” he said, staring into Hob’s eyes, that endless void of him.

Hob laughed nervously. “Should I?”

And then his friend threw himself at him. Hob could never have expected him to move so ungracefully. He clawed at Hob’s shoulders, pressed their bodies together, shoved his face into Hob’s throat. The clawed points of his fingers ripped holes in Hob’s jacket, drew blood from his skin, but he didn’t care.

Hob wrapped his arms around him, rubbed his back. “Is that all?” he said gently.

“All,” croaked his stranger, and then suddenly they were sitting in the New Inn again, but his friend had crawled into his lap and had his face pressed into Hob’s throat, just as in the dream.

Hob shook his head, working out the dizziness, then looked down at him. “You okay, love?”

“Hob Gadling, you are a marvel, and you do not understand.”

Hob definitely didn’t understand anything, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Not for now. He had his friend back, after all.

“Does that mean I get to touch you now, for real?” Hob asked. “Now that I’ve beheld your magnificence? Is that how it works?”

His friend pulled far enough away to look at him. He wasn’t crying, but his eyes looked raw. “Your dreams were real,” he said. Even though Hob had always known that, had felt it.

“Good.” He took his friend’s face in his hand, ran a thumb over his lower lip. Beautiful thing, him. “Hell of a waste not to be shared, those dreams.”

His friend’s eyes were blue here, but as deep as in the dream. “Indeed.”

Hob leaned in to kiss him. They were making an absolute scene here in the inn, with his friend in his lap, but Hob couldn’t care less. He drank of his stranger’s mouth, head tipped back, taking of those soft lips, that giving mouth, that wanting tongue. His friend whimpered against him, fingers wrapped loosely around the back of Hob’s neck.

“No humans can touch me,” whispered his stranger, pressing their foreheads together. “Not while waking.”

“No humans can live forever,” Hob pointed out, and his stranger gave a small laugh.

“Truly.”

“I always wanted to do this,” Hob confessed, stroking his hands over his stranger’s back. “Always wanted to touch you—outside of dreams. Just wasn’t sure you would want that.”

Tears beaded along his friend’s eyes. So much feeling from him today. “I did not, but only because it should be impossible. I am Endless, Hob Gadling. I am not a creature for humans to come so close to. You all visit my realm, but to perceive this concentration of my being—it can only harm you. It would drive you mad.”

“I’m quite mad already,” Hob reminded him, but his heart hurt for his friend. No one could touch him? Could hug him? Or bring him pleasure, like they had done in their dreams?

“I have seen men claw out their own eyes after seeing me,” said his stranger, with the inevitable intonation of a storm. “I have watched them crack their own skulls, take Death’s hand, so they would no longer have to know. And you wonder why I would forbid you to touch me.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to know you?” Hob asked. Yeah, yeah, the forbidden knowledge of the universe and so on. Hob still wanted to see it. Whatever writhing power existed at the heart of his eternal friend. Wanted to know it. To touch it.

“Thing is,” he continued, when his friend merely stared at him incredulously, “I wouldn’t claw out my eyes, ‘cause I want to see it. See you.”

“Even if I were to blind you?”

Hob gave him a cheeky grin. Not unlike the one he’d given him in a fourteenth century tavern, when for a moment he’d really thought he could charm the strange creature he’d encountered into his bed. “Darling, I was blinded by you the moment I saw you.”

His friend kissed him. Desperate enough that his teeth dug into Hob’s lip. Hob laughed. “Can’t believe that terrible line actually worked on you.”

“It is working,” said his friend, face still pressed tight to Hob’s, hands gripping his shoulders, sharp fingertips digging in.

“Wanna touch you more,” Hob murmured, and his friend nodded feverishly. “But they don’t love exhibitionism in this day and age.”

His friend looked up and around at the inn, as if suddenly remembering where they were. He did not seem embarrassed, but perhaps startled to have forgotten himself.

“Besides, I don’t want to share you,” Hob said. “Come upstairs with me?”

He held out a hand. His friend—lover?—took it, and they disentangled themselves, and Hob led him upstairs.

In his bedroom, Hob pushed his friend’s coat off his shoulders. In disbelief this was happening. His stranger, really here, in the soft lamplight, looking at him with wide, dark eyes. Looking like he had been starved. Recently I have seen men driven mad, he had said. Who had tried to touch him? Why?

“What’s your name, darling?” Hob asked. Just a bit choked up. “You never did tell me.”

“Oh.” Under the coat, he was wearing only a t-shirt. Hob wondered if he was cold. “I am Dream.”

Dream. Look into the heart of dreams and know it. How could that drive you mad? Wouldn’t it be brilliant?

“Dream,” Hob sighed, and kissed him again. This time it was soft, a meeting of lips in the semi-dark. Dream’s hands found his jacket, pushed it off, then stole under his shirt to press flat to the warmth of Hob’s chest. His fingers were cold. Hob pulled his shirt off entirely and tugged him close, wrapping Dream’s arms around himself, tucking Dream’s nose into his throat. He let out a low whine that reverberated through Hob’s chest.

“Come on,” Hob murmured. “Come.” He got both their shoes off, and maneuvered them up onto the bed, where Dream pulled him down to drape Hob’s body over his.

It was not like any of the times Hob had been with him in dreams. Their dreams had been ephemeral, diaphanous moments spun of longing, where ultimately Hob woke aching and hard and lonely.

This was present and physical. Dream’s body was bony and real under his, each moment forced to connect in linear time so he could not miss or forget any touch of his old stranger’s.

Hob kissed him again, hungrily. He thought he would never tire of it. Dream’s long fingers skated up his back to tangle in his hair. He moaned into Hob’s mouth. Shivering. Oversensitive.

“Okay, love?” Hob asked, and Dream nodded.

“Do not stop.” It would have been an order were it not for the thread of desperation wound through it.

“I’d be mad to want to stop touching you. Madder than I am.”

“Be no more mad than you are, then,” Dream said. “Please.”

So Hob laid his hands on Dream’s body, held his narrow hips, pet his hard flank, pressed down on his soft, concave belly. He dipped his fingers under the waistband of Dream’s dark jeans to feel the bend of his hipbone and the sensitive crease of his thigh. He kept expecting to feel something strange, or wrong, a bone that bent the wrong way, something to mark Dream’s otherness, but for now, it seemed, he was human. Nor did he feel again the vastness of him that he’d seen on those sands, though he knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that it was still there.

“Take it off,” Dream breathed, and before Hob could, he let his jeans dissolve back into whatever dream stuff made them up.

“You’re showing me up,” Hob laughed, as he wiggled out of his jeans and briefs the normal, awkward way. Then he was naked with his stranger, and while they had been so before, in dreams, it had never felt so physical, and Hob had never been able to see all of him, only impressions, fleeting glimpses and sensations.

Hob was shocked by how much he just looked like a person. An otherworldly person, true, but a person all the same.

“Christ, you’re gorgeous,” he breathed. He thought Dream might have blushed, though it was too dark to really tell. “Truly no one’s been able to touch you like this? At all?” Hob couldn’t possibly imagine anyone not wanting to, so it must be a matter of ability.

“Not in this realm,” confirmed Dream. “You… are new to me.”

Hob didn’t like the idea of Dream held at a remove, unable to get even a hug, but he did, selfishly, like the idea of being new. Of being special, the only one to have Dream like this.

He’d have to be sure to do right by him.

He kissed his way down Dream’s chest and stomach, watching his skin jump at each press of his lips, each skim of his teeth. Dream wrapped his arms around him even as he moved, as if to pull away from Hob would see him cast away from a temporary warmth, into the cold.

“Won’t let go of you,” he promised as Dream kept clutching at his shoulders. Dream only held him tighter at that, fingertips digging in. Hob didn’t mind. Let him hold tight, it was what Hob wanted anyway.

He relished in the feeling of Dream’s legs wrapped around him as he kissed the jut of his hipbone, the vee of his pelvis, the soft skin of his inner thigh. Nuzzled the tender skin at the base of his cock, as Dream pleaded above him, hands in Hob’s hair, “Hob, please—”

So much for the domineering creature that had once taken Hob to bed in his dreams; this was a wanting, needy thing, a man desperate enough to beg for he hadn’t had in so long, or ever.

Hob hushed him, stroked his thighs. Dream was shivering now, though Hob had barely touched him. His fingers shook in Hob’s hair. But Hob did not think he wanted him to stop.

Instead, he devoted himself to making Dream fall apart. He wouldn’t have to go without, not with Hob around. Hob would touch him so much his skin would burn.

He licked up Dream’s cock, an echo of how he had once pleasured him in a dream, but this was a different kind of worship. Dream made a mewling sound above him, so Hob took him in his mouth, bobbed his head, swirled his tongue over the slit. Silent stoic stranger, if you don’t cry for me I won’t have done my job right. Dream would cry in pleasure and never know what it was to lack it again.

Dream’s hips thrust up, bumping the back of Hob’s throat, a jerky motion that felt involuntary as he tripped over into pleasure, but Hob hummed and encouraged him to do it again. To take what he wanted, what made him feel good. Dream groaned but did, thrusting into the back of Hob’s mouth, legs twisted around his shoulders. Hob greedily took the heft and pressure of him, the knock of Dream inside him. He felt only more euphoric the less control Dream’s motions had.

But. He did have other ideas, too.

He pulled off, crawled up his body to meet him in a kiss, turned Dream’s face to his and swallowed his whine, which was so high and sweet. Dream’s kiss was soft and pliant, his eyes closed. When they were close, when Hob broke the kiss but kept his hands on him, their faces together, he looked at peace. Blissful. Languid and warm, as of a late morning spent pleasantly sleeping in. Just from closeness, he looked that way.

Hob turned him on his side and pressed their bodies together, back to front. Like this, they could touch from ankles to hips, bellies to chests to shoulders, and Dream sighed into him, going boneless.

Hob held him close, Dream’s head pillowed on his arm, kissed marks over his shoulder and up his throat. Worshiped his skin. Meanwhile he slipped a hand in the tight space between their bodies and pressed an exploratory fingertip to Dream’s entrance.

Dream shivered all over and pushed his hips back against Hob’s hand. Thrilled, emboldened, Hob pushed the tip of his finger inside him. Much more and he would need to get lube, but that would require moving, and he did not particularly want—

“You need not,” murmured Dream and, as if Hob didn’t understand what he meant, pushed himself back on Hob’s fingers with another groan. “I. Can take you.”

Hob was inclined to take his word for it. Not least because he himself was desperately hard, and to be so close to Dream, to be inside him, was too enticing to resist.

So he lined up and slowly pressed in, still with Dream held tight to his front. Dream sucked in a gasp but his body gave to Hob’s. So easily and so beautifully. By some presumably dream-logic, Dream was already loose and wet for him, like he had been waiting with held breath for just this moment. Hob slid into him like he’d spent ages prepping, and it wasn’t until he was all the way in that he took a breath.

“Feel so good, love,” he breathed.

“Hob,” Dream croaked, a broken sound. He clutched desperately at Hob’s hand when Hob laid it flat on his stomach. If he pressed down he could feel himself inside Dream—oh, Christ.

“I have you,” Hob promised, his own voice shaky. “You okay, love?”

“I am,” said Dream, still squeezing Hob’s hand. “I am. Overwhelmed.”

Hob knew he had done this before—he had fucked Dream himself in his dreams in the past—but this world seemed to be so much louder for Dream. Each touch was like a scream—but Dream did not pull away from him. He held Hob to him and submitted himself to the maelstrom.

“It’s okay,” Hob assured him, kissing the back of his neck.

“I do not know if it is,” Dream confessed. “I am used to it not being.”

Hob kissed the hinge of his jaw, leaned over him to speak there. “It is. I want to touch you, remember? What could be wrong with that? Nothing bad’s going to happen. You believe me?”

“I trust you,” Dream whispered, which was not the same thing, but the more meaningful for it. Hob’s heart hurt to think of him so uncertain it was okay to have such a simple thing as touch.

But perhaps it wasn’t so simple after all.

“It’s okay, love,” Hob said. You can have what you want this time, please believe that.

“‘Love,’” Dream repeated, and released a long shuddering breath that drained the tension from his body. He took Hob’s hand and brought it close to his mouth, kissing and nuzzling at his fingers. “Please don’t stop.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Dream chuckled. It was a lovely sound.

And so Hob started moving in him. His first few thrusts dragged a strangled groan from Dream’s throat, so he increased his pace, Dream’s impossible magic slicking the way, like a dream where there were no barriers to touching him. He lost himself to the heady feeling of having him in truth, the addictive heat of Dream’s body and the even more delicious moans pulled from his lungs, louder as he grew bolder in his pleasure. Hob spoke to him mindlessly, praise and sweet nothings against the nape of his neck, you’re doing so well, darling, you’re so beautiful, does that feel good? When he caught the right angle to hit his prostate, Dream’s body went tense and he let out a ragged cry. Hob smiled against his neck. Perfect, you’re perfect, everything about you is all I’ve ever wanted.

“Hob,” Dream moaned, “Hob, please—”

Hob redoubled his efforts to break him apart. He would have taken him in hand but Dream seemed more inclined to keep Hob’s hand in his own grasp. So Hob squeezed his hand and kissed a bruise into the side of his neck, and moved within him until Dream was writing and pushing back against him, torn between pulling away and desperately grabbing for more.

“I’m—” he gasped, then broke off in another moan. There was nothing better, Hob thought, than hearing his eloquent stranger broken into gasps of pleasure.

“Close, darling,” Hob panted against the back of his neck. The sight of Dream so wanting, combined with the heat of his body, had him balancing on the edge, holding on only because continuing to touch Dream was more delicious than letting go.

“Please,” Dream breathed, tears pooling along his eyes.

To reduce his once-stranger to such base expressions of emotion was too much for Hob, and he came inside him with a groan. At the feeling Dream clutched at his hand and came untouched, crying out.

And then he truly did cry, tears spilling over and streaming down his cheeks.

Hob clutched him tightly, arms around his middle, still coming down from his own climax. But he recognized the crash Dream was feeling. He’d experienced it himself, coming down off of certain drugs, collapsing in a war camp during a lull at battle—the absolute plummeting drop of adrenaline, of dopamine, after something so very intense. Dream hadn’t had anything in so long, and now he’d thrown himself on the fire of it, and that he wasn’t human didn’t matter when it came to getting burned.

Hob turned him, gathered him close, tucked Dream’s face into his throat, ignoring the mess between them. Dream sobbed raggedly as Hob pulled out, but still went, tangling his legs in Hob’s, tucking his fingers between Hob’s body and the mattress.

“Sweetheart,” Hob murmured, stroking his back as Dream shook against him.

“Help,” Dream whispered. A frightening word to come out of his mouth, truly. “I— I cannot—”

“Shhh. You’re okay.” Hob drew a blanket up over them. “You’re okay, my love. It’ll pass.”

He did know the feeling of that adrenaline crash, after all, though not how it felt for someone like Dream. Nor how long Dream had gone without any touch. A long time indeed. His heart, his throat hurt at the thought, and at the feeling of Dream shaking, even though he knew that, ultimately, this was good, a good thing, a cathartic thing. “I am not,” Dream insisted, but Hob shushed him again.

“You are, you are, sweetheart, I promise. Just breathe.”

He felt Dream, whom he was fairly certain didn’t need to breathe, take a breath. Then he let it out shakily. Then another, more slowly.

“There you are,” Hob soothed. Perhaps that had all been too much, too fast. Perhaps he should have eased him into it. Hob had never been very good at moderation.

Dream didn’t seem displeased, though. Merely overwhelmed. He was still clutching at Hob. And Hob was more than happy to hold him as long as he wanted. Forever, even.

“Breathe,” he reminded him. “There’s a love.” And finally Dream seemed to slump against him, his body unsticking from itself, and he let out a heaving breath, like a great animal finally allowing its massive lungs to rest.

“Alright, love?” Hob asked, and Dream nodded against his neck. “Bit overstimulated?”

“Yes,” Dream replied, quietly.

“I’m sorry.”

“No. It was—” he contemplated. “No,” he finally said, minimally verbal again.

Alright, then.

“Hope you’re staying a while,” Hob said, instead of asking if he wanted to. “Might need to pry me off you otherwise.”

He felt a tiny smile against his throat.

“Yes,” said Dream. Hob dragged his fingers through his hair. A fully body shiver ran through Dream at the touch.

“I would not care to give up this succor,” Dream continued, when they had lain together for some more minutes, apparently having recovered his voice. “I am too selfish to let it go, after all that has happened.”

“After all that’s happened?” Hob echoed, and Dream stiffened, realizing all at once that he had let slip something he had not previously revealed.

“No, don’t go,” Hob begged, desperation rising as he clutched Dream close before he could melt himself away. “Stay. Tell me what happened?”

Dream was silent for what felt like several full minutes as he thought. Hob waited.

“I was imprisoned,” Dream said at last.

Hob stiffened, holding him tighter, nails digging into his skin. Dream hummed in a way that suggested he found this pleasurable rather than painful.

“You were—” Hob repeated, choked. “What?” But he had heard him. He had heard.

“It kept me from our meeting,” Dream continued, too matter of fact for Hob’s comfort. “And reminded me once more of what happens to any man who comes too close.”

Hob felt ill. he didn’t even know the details, and he still felt sick. Dream, caged.

“Dream…” he didn’t know what to say.

“It reminded me, too, that to most humans in the waking, I am… a terror.” This, quieter. “So you see my astonishment that you should even want to touch me, never mind be able to, and how I will not be able to take my teeth from your throat now that I have tasted blood.”

That... sounded more appealing to Hob than Dream had probably meant it to. He recalled the eerie, otherworldly Dream of his past, the awesome Dream that had met him on that strange desert. If that Dream wanted to feed on him, he didn’t think he minded.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Dream... God.” Imprisoned. “You say that like I could possibly want you to go.”

Sharp teeth pricked at his throat. “You will.”

“No.” Imprisoned. I am a terror. What happens to men who touch me. “I won’t.” He squeezed Dream tighter, wrapping a leg around the back of Dream’s thigh. “I won’t.”

“You would keep me, then.” Half desire, half threat.

“Yeah. I would.”

Finally, Dream’s teeth left his skin. “Good,” he said, almost a growl, almost a purr. Then pressed himself in closer, more demanding now than needy.

“Imprisoned,” Hob echoed, at last.

“In iron and glass,” Dream agreed. “I have known… only hardness, this century. Before that, I suppose, nothing.”

“But our dreams,” said Hob.

“I am dreams. I cannot have, or experience them as you do.”

Didn’t that hurt. “Experience it now, then.”

Dream seemed to agree, for he kept his body tucked against Hob’s. His tears were now dry, but Hob could only imagine the well of pain within him. Held at a remove for so long.

He could not fix it all in one moment, though. Especially not for a being as grand, as magnificent, as eternal as Dream was. So he kissed the top of Dream’s head, tucked his nose into his hair, and like that, Hob tried to warm him, at least for a time.

Dream was untouchable. Until.

Dream was lying upon a fire. Every nerve in his affected body sang in pleasure and pain both. He wanted more. He could not handle more. Still he wanted it.

Until Hob dared to find him in dreams.

Hob was still holding him, and it was… everything. The most privileged balm after a century on cold glass. He had ceased crying, recovered, mostly, from the wave of stimulation that had swept through him, but still he was nearly overcome with the wealth of touch. And so easily bestowed.

Dared to chase him.

How much more might he be allowed? Was there truly an infinite depth of it, as infinite as his very being?

Dared to welcome him, hug him, see him.

“Hob?” he murmured. The King of Dreams should not be so needy, and yet.

Dared to know him.

“Yeah, darling?”

Dream had ruined men, burned away eyes, unmade neurons, made those who looked on him bleed as they clawed themselves apart. Had witnessed the annihilation of small worlds caused just by his wanting.

“Truly you wish me to stay?”

Hob could not be clawed apart, not even when Dream got his talons in him. Hob had proven resistant to annihilation.

Hob took his hand, and kissed his knuckles, the way he had done in a dream.

Now Dream himself was burning with hands on and in him and skin pressed everywhere to skin, and he knew why others were ruined. How he, himself, had already been in ashes.

“More than anything,” Hob said.

He suckled the blood of Hob’s veins and the succor of his fingertips. The grounding warmth of his skin. He sank into the bliss of being wanted.

“Very well, then,” Dream murmured, and laid his head back down on Hob’s chest.

Dream did not truly have blood, or fingertips, or warmth or skin, but. He was not meant to experience bliss or wanting, but. He was a terror, a nightmare, an ephemeral thing, and he could not be touched, could not be held, could not be kept.

But.

#dreamling #my writing #dream of the endless #hob gadling

237 notes · View notes

quizzicalwriter · 5 months

Note

can u plsss do smut dallas x reader where he ties a vibrator to you? thank uuuu

Torment

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: Dallas had never been one for toys, but your cute pleading may have swayed him - maybe.

Warnings: SMUT. MDNI. Porn with very little plot. Kissing, touching, fingering, rough sex, titty attention, toys. A whole lotta stuff.

A/N: Thank you for the request!

Word Count: 3.7k

Curiosity had always been your weak point, pure stupid curiosity. It’d wound you and Dallas up in your fair share of odd and semi-expensive situations; one he’d never let you live down being the impromptu visit to a restaurant in the middle of town, the very place where you’d spit your food into your napkin and pouted at the shitty quality until Dallas relented and drove you to a nearby hole-in-the-wall diner that served way better food for half the price.

Sometimes, to your benefit, your curiosity led you to funny or pleasurable paths - which was the main contender for why Dallas could never turn you down, that and your pout worked on him better than an offer of a cigarette. That said pout was exactly how you wound up in the passenger side of Buck’s T-Bird, humming absentmindedly to whatever song buzzed across the static-ridden radio during your thirty-minute drive into the center of town.

“I suppose I’m buying this thing?” Dallas asked around his cigarette, eyes half-squinted from the blaring overhead sun. You smiled over at him, bright smile and all as you nodded. He shook his head through a laugh, removing his cigarette from between his lips to rid the end of its built-up ash. “It better be worth the money.”

You knew it would be, how could it not? You and Dallas were fairly adventurous in bed, so when you prompted the idea of including a ‘toy’ into your time beneath the sheets he was naturally curious himself - until he heard the price. You’d ended up begging, peppering his still-tired face with small kisses until he relented and pushed your face away with a grunted-out laugh.

That’s how you got him to drive you nearly forty minutes into the town over, the only town that had a sex toy store. It was still new, something that wasn’t relatively talked about, but your friends had been raving about the thing and you couldn’t help but want one of your own. You’d promised Dallas that you two could try it out as soon as you’d gotten back to his apartment, something that noticeably excited him, his excitement made ever so apparent by the subtle bulge against the denim of his jeans.

If there was one thing you were eternally grateful for when it came to Dallas, it was his nonchalant nature. You’d seen the man trip and bust his ass right outside of a grocery store, only to get up and pick up his cigarette and continue walking off as if nothing had happened - that and he’d done his fair share of voicing his foul-mouthed opinions loud enough for the damn neighbor to hear. In all honesty, you didn’t think he could care what others thought of him. You admired him for it.

It certainly came in handy when he pulled into the semi-vacant parking lot, right outside the store that overtly advertised what it sold indoors. Sex toys; vibrators, dildos, lube - everything you could need and more, and by God did everyone and their grandmother watch as you two exited the car. Dallas smiled over his shoulder, flicking his now-dead cigarette to the asphalt below before snubbing it out with his heel. His arm hooked around your waist, escorting you inside and away from prying eyes.

“Hello!” Sounded an employee from behind the counter, a very kind-looking older woman, someone you wouldn’t have expected to work in such a store. “Do you two need any help?”

Dallas waved her off with a small smile, leading you through the aisles as his eyes drifted over the various items. You could feel yourself flush, despite there being nobody else in the store besides you three, you couldn’t help but feel bashful over it - especially when Dallas loudly laughed as you both passed an aisle that had nothing but pornographic movies. Very, very lewdly labeled pornographic movies.

“Should we get one?” He joked, smiling over at you as he picked up a box, waving it like he’d just scored something worth hundreds of dollars. You scoffed out a laugh, pushing his hand down with a giggled, “Put that away, Dal.”

It didn’t take long to find the aisle that seemed to be dedicated to vibrators, they ranged from all sizes, from pinkie length to nearly a foot. You knew exactly which one you’d come for, the infamous body wand. It was a hefty thing, the box as long as your forearm. Dallas looked over to you, raising his eyebrows as you held the box to your chest.

“You want that one?” He asked, hand reaching behind himself to grab his wallet. You smiled, nodding as you rocked forward onto your toes. He sighed out a laugh, free hand moving to the small of your back as he guided you toward the front of the store.

You’d hardly placed the box down on the front counter before the woman gasped, a bright smile on her face as she rang up your purchase with a hushed, “I’ve sold so many of those! Nearly twenty this week alone!”

The words made you laugh, the two of you exchanging pleasantries until you and Dallas left the store, merchandise hidden in a discreet brown paper bag. As you situated yourself in the passenger side seat, you peeked into the bag, reading over the claims that’d been etched into the side of the box. The reviews alone had you giddy to try it out, thighs clenching together in excitement as Dallas started the car, peeling out of the parking lot less than a second later.

“How’s that thing work anyhow?” Dallas asked, eyebrows furrowed together as he looked between you and the road. You shrugged, freeing the box from the paper bag before twisting the package around, face flushing slightly at the look of the thing.

“Says you plug it in,” you mumbled, eyes squinting as you read the finer print near the edge of the box. “Plug in and enjoy, that’s all it says.”

Dallas choked back a snort at the instructions, eyebrows lifting in both amusement and intrigue as he pulled down his street. It was only four in the afternoon, so Buck’s bar would surely have quite a few people in attendance. It’d never stopped you two before and Buck sure as hell never complained, not that he had any right to, you and Dallas had heard your fair share of Buck’s lady friends he kept well into three in the morning.

The air felt charged around you as Dallas pulled into the half-filled parking lot, his eyes flickering over to you with every chance he could grab. You couldn’t ignore the budding arousal and excitement settling heavy in your stomach, each step toward the bar leaving your legs feeling weak beneath you. Your heart thudded in your chest, hard enough to be felt in your throat as Dallas’s hand pressed against the small of your back, gently guiding you through the bar and toward the back steps.

Neither of you stopped to greet anyone, but luckily for you both everyone was either inebriated or caught up in a game of pool or poker. By the time you reached Dallas’s room, your underwear were slick to your cunt, soaked in your arousal. You kicked your shoes off, tossing the paper bag onto his bed as Dallas closed the door behind you.

“Nervous?” He asked, noticing your jittery behavior as he moved behind you. You huffed, trying to hide your feelings but failing miserably. Dallas only hummed, brushing your hair back from your neck, leaning down a fraction to press delicate kisses along the curve of your throat.

You brought your hand up and behind you, threading your fingers through his thick hair as he kissed and nipped at your neck, his hands working on unbuttoning your jeans. You let your head fall back against his shoulder, giving him full access to your throat as he pushed your jeans down your thighs. You did the rest, kicking the denim to the floor along with your soaked underwear.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, pulling away only to pull your shirt up and over your head, leaving you completely nude while he remained dressed.

You obeyed, hurrying over to his bed as fast as your feet would carry you. The bag sat toward the end of the bed, soon lifted and opened by Dallas who tossed the bag over his shoulder, attention focused solely on the semi-heavy box in his hands. You crossed your legs, shifting your hips in anticipation as he took out the body wand.

You’d been right in the car, there were no other needed instructions besides plugging it in. Dallas gave you a brief smile, moving beside the bed to plug the body wand into the wall outlet. The cord connecting the wand to the outlet was relatively long, long enough for you to use it comfortably on the bed - or for Dallas to use it on you.

He situated himself behind you, helping you to lean back against his chest. His warmth radiated through his clothing, calming you immensely as you settled back against him. The coolness of the body wand startled you as Dallas rested it against your thigh. He didn’t seem intent on using it on you just then.

His hands brushed over your body, fingertips trailing over your stomach, down your hips, and onto your thighs. Each touch was followed by a shiver on your part, your arousal thick enough to leave you shaking, desperate for some form of attention to your eager cunt.

Sensing your desperation, his right hand dipped between your thighs, touch featherlight against your soaked folds. Your hips bucked, a mumbled plea for more leaving you as he grazed his index finger over your clit.

Your plea was not met with mercy, instead, Dallas pulled his hand back, his touch drifting upward to your breasts. His lips met the nape of your neck, kisses slow and methodical as he kneaded your breasts, brushing his thumbs over your hardened nipples.

“You can wait,” he whispered.

You weren’t sure you could, your cunt clenched around nothing and dripped cum onto the bedspread beneath you. A heavy pang of need throbbed between your thighs, clit aching with each leisurely touch of his hands, focusing everywhere except where you needed him most.

Just when you thought you’d sob from the torment, his right hand moved back between your thighs, finding your cunt drenched in your juices. You could feel him smile against the nape of your neck, a breathy laugh leaving him as he circled your clit.

The soft pads of his fingers against your clit moved in slow, deliberate circles. His lips were hot, leaving lingering kisses along your throat as your head lulled back against his shoulder, giving yourself over to the ecstasy he gave freely. His free hand continued gently kneading the soft flesh of your breast in tandem with his fingers. His thumb and forefinger gently tweaked your nipple, the other hand busying itself swirling around your clit. Your hips bucked up into his touch, desperate for some form of release as his fingers glistened with your arousal. Instead of relief, he gave you cruelty, removing his fingers from your aching cunt with a click of his tongue against his teeth.

“So desperate,” He cooed, tone ever so condescending. The cruel words went straight to your cunt, leaving you clenching around nothing as he watched on in lust-riddled amazement. Your back arched from his chest, unable to do anything further with the position he’d put you in. Laughter rumbled in his chest, the noise making you pout as your eyes batted open to look at him. He feigned a pout, bringing his hand up to cup your chin with a soft, “Poor thing.”

Only when you felt tears lining your vision did he relent, resuming the same featherlight touches against your throbbing clit. It felt perfect, almost enough to bring you to the brink of an orgasm – but nowhere near enough to push you over the edge. A desperate whine fell from your lips, eyes squeezing shut as you begged yourself not to cry over being fingered – it felt stupid, but in your orgasm-deprived mind you were certain you’d go insane if he didn’t let you cum.

With a kiss against your shoulder, he curled his middle and ring finger into you, fingers meeting no resistance as he pushed them up against a spot within you that had your knees bending, thighs clenching together in a silent plea for him to never remove his fingers from your cunt. You could feel him smile against your skin, his thumb brushing against your clit as he slowly pumped his fingers into you, the lewd sound of your cum coating his fingers echoing throughout the room. He could feel you holding back, the way your eyebrows would scrunch together, how your breath caught in your throat, all for a soft, nearly inaudible whine to fall past your parted lips.

“Let them hear you,” he urged, tone nearly pleading. “Let them hear how good I make you feel.”

Dallas wasn’t one to beg, yet the way he spoke conveyed the desperation he poorly concealed underneath his reserved facade. You could only nod as his tempo increased, fingers slicking in and out of your cunt at a pace that left you delirious. Your head rolled back against his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as moans fell from you, pleas for him to go faster, harder – neither you were sure you wanted, but you needed him and everything he could give you.

He obliged.

“That’s it,” he whispered against the shell of your ear, placing a chaste kiss on your temple as he pumped his fingers into you. “Can feel you clenching around my fingers, doll.”

His crude words pulled another moan from you, one that caught in your throat as your hips rocked with the thrust of his fingers. His other arm hooked around your waist, keeping you pulled back against him as his hand worked between your legs, expertly bringing you to the cusp of your orgasm. Your thighs began to shake, calves tensing as he pushed his fingers deeper into you, the heel of his palm bumping rhythmically into your clit. Your arm moved up to encircle the back of his neck as you buried your face into his throat, moans and whimpers of his name tumbling past your lips like a broken prayer. Before you could register the feeling, you were coming undone around his fingers, cunt pulsing around the thick digits as your voice broke off into a silent scream. You could feel your cum coating his fingers, gushing out of you and onto the bedsheets below. He whispered words of praise, still fucking his fingers into you throughout the throes of your orgasm, not bothering to slow down an inch until your thighs were twitching against the soaked bedsheets.

Your cunt twitched with oversensitivity as he removed his fingers, bringing the wet digits up to your lips. You took them without objection, breath labored as you sucked them clean. He groaned at the feeling, your tongue laving the underside of his fingers as you stared up at him, expression the picture of fucked out.

He slowly lowered his hand from your face, your lips glistening with saliva and cum. He couldn’t help but lean in, capturing you in a wet kiss as his hips rocked against your ass. The subtle friction pulled a grunt from him, his brows furrowing as his hold around your middle tightened. He could taste you on his tongue as he pulled away.

“Lean forward,” he instructed, words barely audible over his heaving breaths. You obeyed, looking over your shoulder toward him as you bent over a nearby pillow, your hips comfortably resting against the fabric. He moved from behind you, sorting through the bedsheets, cursing under his breath until he found what he’d been looking for. You watched; curiosity peaked as he moved to sit down beside you. He smiled at you, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead with a hushed, “Can’t let my money go to waste.”

His hand guided your hip up, nestling the head of the vibrator against your cunt, just above your clit. With a kiss on your shoulder, he helped you settle back down against the pillow, pushing the vibrator flush with your skin. The metallic clang of his belt buckle hitting the floor and the subtle sound of his zipper being undone followed. You arched your back, face pushed to the soft bedding beneath you. He hummed at the sight, right hand grasping your hip tight as the other trailed the back of his fingers along your folds, the touch causing your hips to quiver.

His arm looped around your middle, hand fumbling with the base of the wand until it buzzed to life, the sudden vibration pulling a yelp from you as your hips jerked away from the sensation. You’d thought you were no longer sensitive from your previous orgasm, but the vibrator pulled that confidence right out from under you. Dallas only stifled a laugh, his hand moving to the small of your back where he pressed down, forcing you flush with the vibrator. A broken moan fell from your lips as your hands grasped at the tangled bedsheets, knuckles white as the large silicone head of the vibrator shuddered against your clit.

“You’re alright,” Dallas taunted, right hand still steady on your hip as he pumped himself with his left, thumb swiping over his tip. You could hardly focus on the lascivious moans coming from Dallas due to the intense vibration of the body wand. He pushed your legs farther apart with his knee, shifting himself behind you until his thighs were flush with the plush of your ass. He swiped his tip along your folds, gathering your slick cum against himself before stroking it down his shaft.

Your cunt twitched, clenching around nothing in anticipation as he slowly pushed himself into you, easing in each inch. The moan that came from you once he’d bottomed out was near pornographic, with pure relief and ecstasy flooding your veins before he’d even had the chance to rock his hips. You pushed back into him, the movement earning you a groan as he grabbed at your hips, stopping you from moving any further.

“Wait,” he ordered, tone strained. You’d half a mind to disregard his words, but the steady pulse of his cock inside of you rendered you obedient, mindlessly whining into the warm bedsheets as you waited for him to move. Only when your breathing settled did he pull out, slowly pushing himself back in after – repeating those movements until your hips were rutting into the vibrator beneath you.

You could feel your cunt stretching around his cock, desperately trying to accommodate his addictive size as he pushed into you, each thrust being paired with a choked-back grunt from Dallas. His fingers dug into your skin as he quickened his pace, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing throughout his bedroom. His hold on your hips grew tighter with each thrust, effectively keeping you cemented to the bed and the vibrator beneath you.

The tip of his cock pushed against your cervix, leaving you clenching around him whenever he’d pull out, your cum leaving a veneer against his shaft, steadily dripping down his body and onto the bedsheets below. The vibration of the body wand thrummed against your clit, your hands tightening their grasp on the bedsheets as you felt your orgasm building in your lower stomach. Each thrust of his hips left you breathless, the position causing him to hit impossibly deep inside of you.

He could feel you clenching around him, the sound of your moans picking up an octave, your hips involuntarily rutting back to meet his thrusts. His hands moved from your hips to the small of your back, pushing you flush with the pillow and vibrator beneath you as he slammed into you. The pace was brutal, small whines forced from your lungs as he stretched you again and again – hitting that same spot within you that sprung pleasure-fueled tears to your eyes. You were left sobbing into the bedding, hands moving behind you to grasp aimlessly at his body as you came undone around his cock.

“Fuck yes,” he grunted, not slowing his pace in the slightest as you gushed around his cock, soaking the bedsheets along with the pillow beneath you. Your eyes squeezed shut as he fucked you through your orgasm, the pleasure soon giving way to mind-numbing oversensitivity. A low laugh reverberated within his chest at your fucked-out state, his hand moved to cup your jaw as he rutted into you with a groaned, “You take me so good, so fucking good.”

All you could manage was a broken-off moan of his name at the words, cunt squeezing around him. He buried his face into your shoulder, choking back moans of his own as he pumped you full of his cum. You let your head fall forward into the bedding, heavy pants muffled by the sheets, hips lifting yourself away from the persistent vibration of the body wand below you. As if reading your mind, his arm hooked around your stomach, shutting off the body wand a second later before pushing it to the floor. He rested back down against you, pressing gentle kisses to your shoulders and along the nape of your neck, only pulling out when his cock had finally stopped twitching inside of your cunt.

“Did so good,” he whispered, hand smoothing up the curve of your back as he rested back on his knees. “So good, doll.”

You hummed, the best response you could manage in your current state. He chuckled, swatting your ass before moving from the bed. You didn’t bother watching where he went, knowing him well enough to know he’d disappeared into the bathroom. Only a moment had passed before you felt the bed dip beside you, followed by the coolness of a wet washcloth against you as he cleaned you up. Once he’d cleaned himself, he hooked an arm around your middle, pulling your back flush to his chest, his free hand moving up to wipe your damp hair from your face.

“You alright?” He asked, words so quiet you’d hardly heard him. You tilted your head back, meeting his gaze with a tired smile and nod. He returned your smile, pressing a kiss to your temple as you resituated yourself against him.

“Definitely worth it.”

A/N: I had to research 70s sex toys for this. Because if Dallas didn’t have the whole gunshot ordeal he would’ve lived to see the 70s and the rise of sexual liberation - and by golly gee were there a LOT of sex toys. Anyways, I hope you guys liked this one! I don’t write rough smut too often so I hope I did this one good. I appreciate all the love and support you guys show my work, more than you know! You can find all my work over on my AO3 under the user, “Unscriptural.” Thank you again!

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moonlight-prose · 8 months

Note

I love all of the prompts for your Sinful Soiree! It's so hard to choose one!

May I please request 💕 Steven Grant 💕 with the prompt: 🌹 "i’m not wearing any underwear. thought you’d like to know." 🌹

I picked what I think would fluster him because i have the feminine urge to make that man ✨blush ✨

Thank you, love!

SUBTLE THINGS

a/n: when i say i meant to finish this within the first week of me doing the event. i had half of it written but steven's inspo vanished for some reason. honestly this fic is just porn very little plot. i tried to add some, but i don't know if i was entirely successful. given that it's steven being needy and a little bit greedy. i hope you enjoy it darling! (also yes that gif was entirely necessary. it shut off my brain seeing it so i had to use it).

summary: "steven wasn’t greedy by nature. but something about you flipped a switch in his mind, and suddenly he was a starved man, begging for a taste of whatever you had to offer."

word count: 1.8k+

pairing: steven grant x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, teasing, steven being hopelessly in love, fluff, oral (f receiving), cum eating, cumplay, masturbation, slight sub!steven vibes.

He was never subtle about the way he looked at you. Stealing glances as if he couldn’t get enough—addicted to the sight in front of him. Date night was a regular occurrence when it came to your relationship. A small routine to give yourselves something to look forward to.

If anything it gave you a chance to leave the flat for a change; most nights spent curled up on his couch in pajamas. You cherished moments like that, but you relished in times like this. Where you sat across from him done up as if it was the first time you were doing this, the sparks flying between you stronger than that night.

The same night he walked you to your place, only to come back an hour later per your request.

You smiled, sipping on the wine he picked and delighting in the fruity tang of it. Wishing more than anything that you were tasting it off his tongue. He watched your throat as you swallowed, his tongue peeking out to swipe against his lips as his fingers drummed on the table. He seemed antsy, ready to leave at a moment’s notice.

Steven was first nervous when you were together, wanting to please you however you wanted. But then things shifted. He gained confidence in how he could render you speechless with just his touch alone. How you lost your breath with a single look in your direction. Except there were still moments when you were able to bring back that stuttering man you fell in love with—watching his eyes dilate, chest heaving with anticipation.

“Dinner was delicious,” you said, pushing away the now empty plate of food.

He nodded, his lips pulling up into that precious grin. “I found this place in a guidebook. A bit old fashioned if I do say so myself.”

“Old fashioned is good though.”

His smile grew, mouth opening to continue telling you the details of the guidebook in particular, but your foot running up the length of his leg caused him to freeze. You could practically see the words die on his tongue as his eyes widened, his breath stuttering in his chest. There were only a handful of times where you acted this brazen out in public—this needy for his attention. His affection.

Steven could replay them in his mind with ease—each moment burned into his brain.

“Love…”

“I have a little detail of my own,” you stated as if you were about to tell him the most mundane fact known to man.

“Yeah?” he asked, breathless to the way you ran your finger along your bottom lip, cleaning up the smudged lipstick that was there. He found himself wanting to lick it off your mouth.

You nodded with a sly smile. “I’m not wearing any underwear.” He choked on this spit and you watched in glee. His chest heaving as he coughed—cheeks flushing a dark red. “Thought you’d like to know.”

“You’re…” His eyes dropped to the part of the table that covered your lap and you could practically see the gears in his head moving.

Steven thought for a second his heart would burst out of his chest. The knowledge that you were sitting there, bare for him to touch, to taste. He was a reserved man. Believing that you deserved the utmost respect when it came to where you two made love. But there were nights when he felt himself slip—desire overcoming any sort of sense that might have been running through his brain.

Before he could get a coherent string of words together, you stood from the table. The words bathroom and be right back being uttered. Except he wasn’t paying attention, eyes focusing on the slight sway of your hips when you walked. His thoughts immediately fell to what you looked like beneath your dress. Were you wet for him? Were you dripping down the inside of your thighs?

He was standing abruptly and following you before he could get a hold on himself.

Thankfully he was always one to be prepared. Paying for the bill before either of you finished your meals, because he knew you weren’t one to have dessert at the restaurant. Too invested in the thought of finally getting home where Steven spent the better part of the night between your thighs. He could practically taste you on his tongue, see your head tilted back in bliss as your thighs shook around his head.

His fist was rapping against the wooden door of the women’s bathroom in mere minutes. Waiting for you to open it for him.

“Took you long enough,” you practically purred, tugging him in by the lapels on his blazer.

He was pushed against the door, your lips sliding against his in a way that had his body going lax, a whine building up in his throat. In a quick haphazard move, he managed to lock the door before grasping for your hips—walking you back until your waist met the sink. His tongue licked into your mouth, your wet needy moan muffled as he took and took and took.

Steven wasn’t greedy by nature. But something about you flipped a switch in his mind, and suddenly he was a starved man, begging for a taste of whatever you had to offer. He pushed the skirt of your dress up, his chest heaving as he took in air like he’d never get it again. And there it was. The truth of your little detail all shiny with your slick—your inner thighs practically coated as well.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, eyes snapping up to see your lips spread into a smile, your hand grasping onto his wrist to tug him closer.

He groaned when his fingers slid along your cunt, the warmth of you practically seeping into his palm. There was no doubt now that Steven wouldn’t wait until the two of you got home. Not when you were willing and ready for him to take you now. Finding your clit with ease he grinned when your high pitched moan echoed off the walls of the bathroom. You canted your hips against him with a fervor he shared, your lips parting with small gasps of air.

“S-Steven,” you begged, teeth coming out to dig into your bottom lip.

“I’m here.” He wanted to devour you. To drink down the taste of you as if you were the best fucking dessert in this restaurant, because to Steven…you were.

“I need—f-fuck—need you baby.”

He nodded and before you could stop him, he was falling to his knees and spreading your legs wide enough for him to fit. With a dazed look in his eyes, he watched his fingers spread your slick up to your clit—his cock twitching painfully in his pants. What he wouldn’t give to spend hours right here, but you had a limited amount of time and he wanted to get you home.

Licking a broad stripe up to your clit, Steven felt the control snap inside of his body. Your hand slapped against your mouth effectively muffling your cry as he sucked your clit into his mouth. Two fingers dipping into you and curling as if on instinct. For him this was exactly that. He knew where to touch, what to do to bring you right to the end and back again.

He wanted to drive you to the edge and watch you fly off. The sight had become an addiction to him ever since the first time he saw it; now adamant on witnessing such beauty over and over again.

You dug your fingers into his curls, your hips rolling over his mouth and his eyes fluttered shut. A soft moan reverberating against your cunt as he licked at you, fingers pumping in and out at a rapid pace. He was drunk, desperate to have you entirely spread on his tongue. Until you couldn’t take it anymore. Sucking your lips into his mouth, he let them go with a pop, a wide grin spreading across his lips when your whole body jerked—a cry echoing behind your hand.

“Taste so good,” he mumbled, curving his fingers even more—watching in awe as your thighs trembled.

Words evaded you at that point. Your mind, a mess of nothing but Steven and the building pressure in your torso. He dove back in, doubling down on his efforts to have you cum into his mouth—your taste, something he wanted permanently stuck on his taste buds.

It’s when you began to rock your hips along his tongue with reckless abandon, moving him how you wanted, is when he felt it. The painful throbbing in his pants. Unbuckling his belt with one hand he managed to wrap his hand around his cock—alleviating some of the pressure. It wasn’t enough, but Steven didn’t care. His sole focus wasn’t on getting himself off tonight. No, he wanted to watch you crumble.

To scream his name so the whole restaurant heard you.

“Steven—” you gasped sharply, head falling back. “I’m gonna—oh fuck—”

He dragged his teeth lightly along your clit, pressing down on your g-spot and you shattered. Sobbing his name as your fingers tightened on his curls—pain blooming in his scalp and shoving him right over the edge with you. He grunted, hips thrusting into his hand as he spilled over his palm. A bright heat flooded his body, your slick now gushing into his awaiting mouth, and Steven felt like he’d ascended into pure bliss.

There was no bringing him down from this cloud, no saving him from you consuming him whole.

“Ah fuck love,” he grunted, biting into your thigh as he pumped his hand to reach that delicious point of overstimulation you usually brought him to.

“Did you…” Your face was fucked out, eyes hazy and blissed out, but still you watched as he continued to touch himself in front of you.

Something about the sight of Steven on his knees, so desperate to have you he couldn’t wait, shifting your entire mind. You bit your lip, tilting his head back as he gasped in pleasure—his cheeks red and flushed. It happened before you understood entirely what you were doing.

“Look at you baby,” you cooed, spreading your legs a bit more to show him the mess he made of you. “Open wide,” you breathed.

He followed your words without hesitation, his mouth parting. Sliding your fingers through your cum, you pressed your now shiny digits into his mouth, moaning when he sucked them clean. His whole body responded to you as it always did.

“Take me home Steven.” You wanted him inside you—aching to have him fill your now dripping cunt.

Getting to his feet, he tucked himself back into his pants and gathered you close. Pressing a deep kiss to your lips, licking into your mouth and spreading your own taste along your tongue. That familiar heady feeling returned, flooding your entire body until you practically hummed. He wasn’t subtle in the way he touched you, how he made it clear how much he wanted you.

Yet that’s what made you love him even more.

#steven grant x f!reader #steven grant x reader #steven grant x you #steven grant x y/n #steven grant smut #steven grant #steven grant fic #moon knight #my writing #sinful soiree🥀#not me fighting the urge to add spitplay to this #the temptation was there #but oof my brain said 'too filthy'

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stylesharrys · 8 months

Text

liquid courage

summary: y/n and harry go camping and the flirting finally comes to ahead.

word count: 5,154

warnings: swearing, teasing, smut; dirty talk, kissing, daddy kink, light spanking, fingering, oral (both receiving), unprotected sex.

a/n: this is a very old fic from yeaaaars ago, freshly rewritten and edited for your consumption may angels. a few warnings, this is fairly smutty with mentions of alcohol and weed use. but I hope you enjoy!

The night’s young as Y/N sips on Sarah’s margaritas, a sigh escaping her lips. Her surroundings are illuminated by the twinkling stars and burning fire in the middle of the pit. She’s perched on one of the three logs that surrounds their heat source, listening haphazardly to the chatter around her as the substance settles into her veins.

Y/N always felt more confident after a few drinks, resulting in herself becoming much more daring than usual. She’s insanely laid back when she’s been drinking, a stark contrast to her usual anxious and sometimes moronic self.

Although she’s only had two drinks, the alcohol has already begun taking its toll on her. Y/N can feel her hormones overtaking, dirty thoughts invading her mind as her eyes surveyed the camp for one person in particular.

Harry.

He’s leaning against the tree trunk across from her, his knees slightly bent at his slouched position and a small smirk plays on his lips. Y/N can’t seem to tear her eyes away, she doesn’t want to.

Harry’s always been a sight for sore eyes and tonight is no different. She notices the way his smirk grows into a smile at something Mitch says, and it sets off a violent rumble in the pit of her stomach that aches all the way down between her legs.

Y/N watches the way he reaches for the joint that Mitch offers him, eyes following as he brings it to his lips and takes a drag. She pinches her legs shut tight.

Harry’s always most careless on the annual camping trips, not having to worry about the consequences of the media exposure if he does something stupid. It’s really the only time he can get absolutely shitfaced without the worry of his mistakes and drunken antics making the headlines.

Y/N whines to herself silently, bottom lip tugging between her teeth when she catches sight of the visible veins protruding from Harry’s arms. Without a second thought, she guzzles the rest of her drink, setting the cup onto the dirty ground beneath her and standing from the log.

She’s got a sly smirk smeared across her lips as she makes her way through the small camp, catching the eyes of most the boys — including the guys with Harry. Mitch hits his shoulder gently to get his attention, a subtle warning that she’s approaching.

Everyone knows there’s something between Y/N and Harry. The girls knew she liked him, and the boys knew he liked her. It was just a matter of telling one another how they felt, but it had never been as simple as they. Instead, they allowed themselves the torture of silent, mutual pining.

But Y/N’s growing tired of the flirty stares and risque touches. She wants him and she knows he wants her. It’s all a matter of who makes the first move. And for the first time in her life, it’s gonna be her.

Y/N’s legs carry her gracefully to the men as Harry turns with slightly squinted, hooded lids and a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Evening boys,” Harry eyes her, drinking her in. That godforsaken smirk only grows as he notices the slight shy grin Y/N shoots him.

“And how can we help you, pretty lady?” Mitch queries, eyebrows raised slightly and Y/N swears she could’ve heard a low growl slip from Harry’s lips.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” she speaks slowly, inching toward Mitch and placing a hand on his chest, rubbing her thumb against the dirty fabric of his shirt.

Mitch gawks at the motion, swallowing thickly as he shifts uncontrollably on the spot, his cheeks blushing crimson as Sarah stifles a laugh at her boyfriend's clear awkwardness from across the fire. Y/N turns to Harry, eyebrows raised but his smirk never falling.

Harry wonders if she’s trying to make him jealous, but quickly shakes the thought from his head. It’s Mitch, Sarah’s boyfriend – Y/N’s friend. But, still… he much prefers the idea of her rubbing his chest instead.

“Unfortunately, I’m not here for you, Mitch,” she sighs out, hands toying with the beige shirt that clings perfectly to Harry’s toned chest.

Y/N hums to herself, cheeks burning from both the alcohol and newfound confidence, and her panties are pooling at the thought of tearing that shirt off him.

She snaps back to reality at the sound of Harry’s voice. “Then what are you here for, honey? Wanna torture any more of the boys?” he teases, tone light but there’s a snarl in the back of his throat.

“Hm, maybe just one more.”

She keeps her eyes locked on Harry’s, silence falling upon them as she nibbles ever so slightly at her bottom lip. Harry squints at her slightly in an attempt to mask the flush of arousal that shoots through him at the sight of her.

“How much have you had to drink?” Harry asks.

Y/N grins. “Enough to still know what I’m doing,” she answers in a soft, teasing voice.

A deep sigh from beside them catches their attention. Mitch stares with wide eyes, Sam and Ryan grinning hysterically to one another as if to say finally, it’s happening.

“Mind if I borrow the rockstar for a while?”

No one protests as Harry gnaws on the inside of his cheek. He takes one last drag of the joint and hands it back to Mitch.

“Lead the way, princess.”

Y/N turns, leading the way as she walks in front of him. Harry doesn’t hide the way he watches her hips sway with every step; eyes glued to her ass. He offers his friends a boyish grin before following Y/N back through the camp.

“So where exactly are you taking me, sweetheart?” he asks.

His voice is barely above a husky whisper, his breath fanning out across Y/n’s ear and neck, sending shivers down her spine and right to her soaking core.

He knows exactly where she’s taking him – out of the way from everyone else, where their tents are set up for the night and just far enough so they can’t hear everyone, and everyone can’t hear them.

“I have something to show you,” she informs him, brushing off his question as she pushes him gently into the tent.

Turning her back on him, she zips the tent flap up before giving him his undivided attention.

Harry’s eyes are dark, heart racing against his chest and he knows what’s about to happen. Y/N slowly stalks toward him, placing a gentle hand to his chest and she backs him up until his calves knock against the side of her makeshift bed.

Harry takes that as an invitation to sit, his thick, muscly thighs spread just wide enough for her to stand between them.

Staring up at her through his thick lashes, Y/N bends over slightly, allowing him a perfect view of her cleavage. Harry licks his lips hungrily, watching the way she hikes her legs around his waist and sits on his lap.

His hands are quick to find her hips, the pads of his fingers gripping against her skin and she hums at the pressure he enforces. Y/N’s hands wind around the back of Harry’s neck, tugging teasingly at the dark curls that sit at the nape of his neck.

“Did you bring me here to show me you’re a tease? ‘Cause I already knew that princess,” Harry rasps out, his eyes hooded and excitement rushes through his veins.

Y/N hums at him, her smirk growing as she moves slightly in his lap. Her heart is racing, and for the first time, they’re so close that Y/N wonders if he can hear her heartbeat, her blood rushing.

His grip on her tightens as she brings her wet lips to his neck, breath fanning over the warm skin until her nose rubs against his ear. Licking the shell of his ear, Harry lets out a whimpering whine, gripping her tighter on his lap.

She feels his cock hardening against her thigh.

“I brought you here, to show you a good time,” she tells him slowly, nibbling at his earlobe gently and pulling away reluctantly.

Harry’s thumb rubs patterns on the skin beneath Y/N’s shirt, his forehead resting against hers and eyes gazing darkly into one another’s.

"A good time, is it?” he questions with a smirk. “We’ve been playing this game for a long time, petal. I won’t be going easy on you.

Another jolt of excitement surges through Y/N’s body and to her core at his suggestive words. Leaning forward until her lips gently brush against his, she speaks again.

“I was counting on you saying that.”

She grinds her clothed core against his.

“Because I’ve been a bad bad girl…” she brings her lips closer to his, parting them just enough to swipe her tongue across his bottom lip, “a very bad girl, daddy.”

Harry’s heart stops for a brief second, shock coursing through his veins, though he doesn’t know what he’s more shocked about. Y/N calling him daddy? Or the fact that he revels in the new nickname?

Without a second thought, Harry’s lips crash into hers, his grip on her hips tightening harder and Y/N whines against his lips.

“Hmm, you gonna punish me, H?” Y/N moans against his lips.

She’s grinding her hips to his as he growls into her mouth. Their tongues clash in a messy dance, a heated kiss – her fingers tugging on his dark curls and his hands finds her ass.

“You have no idea, princess,” Harry grunts back.

He lets his hands grip at her ass, relishes in the way Y/N bucks her hips into him even more, tugging harder at his hair as her fingernails scratch at his scalp. He pulls away quickly, lips descending from hers and down her jaw to her neck, where he suckles and nibbles at the soft skin.

She throws her head back, entire body flaming hot at the sensation of his lips on her skin. His tongue drags over the bruises he’s sucked before pulling away and pressing another kiss to her swollen lips.

“Strip for me, baby.”

It’s not a request and Y/N’s eyebrows raise at the demand. She doesn’t argue though, she could never. She pulls her hands away from the back of his neck to the base of his throat, squeezing just slightly before dropping her hands to her sides and standing from his lap.

Harry sits on her bed, leaning back on his elbows and watching with hungry eyes. It’s almost pitch black, the only light being from the lantern by the bed. The light reflects against the orange tarp of the tent, casting a tanned glow over their bodies, as though they’re still by the fire outside by the camp.

Her fingers find the hem of her shirt and she slowly brings it up and over her head, throwing it to one side and never once taking her eyes off Harry’s.

He shifts in anticipation, his cock hardening at the sight of her stripping before him. Harry can’t take his eyes off her clothed chest, the way the swell of her breasts cries out to be kissed and sucked.

Y/N notices the inner torment he has with himself. She grins wickedly at the man, slowly unbuttoning her pants, and within seconds, they’re pooled at her ankles and she’s carefully stepping out of them.

Staring with hungry eyes, Harry palms himself through his shorts, letting out a groan of pleasure and Y/N whines at the sight, another rush of excitement pooling in her panties. She reaches behind her back, unclasping her bra as the straps slip down her arms until it falls to the ground.

Her breasts sit proudly upon her chest, nipples hardening as the cold air envelopes them. Y/N hooks her fingers in the waist of her painties, ready to pull them down before Harry’s voice stops her.

“Leave them on. I want to take them off myself.”

She gushes at the instruction, tugging her bottom lip between her teeth. Slowly, Y/N stalks back toward him, climbing up his legs until she’s straddling his hips again.

Harry’s still leaning back on his elbows, the hand he once used to stroke his cock through his pants now placed tightly on Y/N’s waist as he stares up at her breasts.

She squints at him. “Are you just gonna stare at me all night, or are you gonna touch me?”

His eyes grow darker with every word she speaks and he leans up, his face level with her tits and he growls beneath his breath.

Harry drags his hands up and down her back until they come to the front of her chest, fondling her breasts as he gropes with a tender squeeze. Y/N let out a sigh of satisfaction, loving the feeling of his cold, rough hands on her body.

“So perfect,” Harry mumbles to himself, but she still hears his whimpers. His thumbs graze over her sensitive nipples, a relieved sigh slipping from Y/N’s lips and Harry peers up at her.

With a smirk on his face, he envelopes her left nipple into his mouth, lips locking over the hardened nub as he licks and sucks, drawing out a string of wonton moans from her mouth.

Y/N pulls at his hair, arching her back and pressing her chest closer to his face. Harry hums against her in appreciation, nibbling lightly against her nipple and she whimpers at the sensation.

She feels his hard cock pressing against her thigh through his shorts, finds herself wanting nothing more than to free him from his tight confinements. Within seconds, Harry switches; sucking on her right nipple and groping her left breast.

Y/N grows tired of the limited amount of pleasure she’s receiving, and without a second thought, she begins to roll her hips against his, enticing a low moan from his lips that vibrates to her core.

"Stop that,” Harry growls, biting harder on her nub so she cries out in slight pain. “What are you gonna do?” She teases back. Harry pulls away from her chest, glaring in warning and she smirks at the sight.

“Spank me?” It’s a near whisper, but he hears it.

Harry’s eyes darken and before she can even comprehend what’s happening, Harry has her laying across his lap with her ass in the air.

His hand gently smooths over her panty clad rear, an excited squeal sounding from Y/N’s lips and she throws her head back just enough to get a look of his face as she awaits her punishment.

Harry’s jaw clenches, the sight unholy to him and Y/N can feel her panties pooling once again. Without warning, Harry’s rough hand strikes down on her ass, her whole body jolting at the sudden assault and she chokes out a moan.

He growls at the sound of her whining moans, his cock straining against his tight shorts as his large hand smooths over the red print that’s forming on her ass cheek.

“Such a perfect ass, baby.”

Y/N can’t help her eyes from rolling to the back of her head at his words, pleasure coursing through her veins and she nibbles on her bottom lip, looking at him over her shoulder.

Harry turns to her, his free hand brushing the stray strands of hair out of her face and his eyes darken at the sight of her lip caught between her teeth. “You’re so naughty, princess,” his voice is entirely raspy and Y/N can’t help but moan at the sound of it.

He cocks an eyebrow.

"You like that? When I talk dirty to you, baby? You like when daddy spanks your pretty little ass?” his hand strikes down on her again and she cries out, hands gripping on the sheets beside them.

“Yes,” Y/N pants breathlessly, wiggling her ass in attempts to tell him she wants more.

“Yes, what?” Harry seethes, keeping a tight grip on her ass cheek and she can feel his nails digging into the sensitive skin.

“Yes, daddy!”

The words spill from her hot lips in a desperate cry, earning another spank twice as hard as the one before. Y/N cries out again, not even an ounce ashamed of the noises that reverberate through the tent.

Harry’s large hand smooths over her ass and she hums at him, turning so she can watch him with hooded eyes. He smirks down at her slightly, his fingers curling in the hem of her panties and he slowly slides them down, his lips parting in hunger.

Y/N’s breathing begins to quicken with excitement as he pulls them completely off her legs and discards them to the opposite side of the tent. A deep chuckle bubbles from his chest and she inhales a shaky breath, preparing herself for whatever is next to come.

Just from looking at her glistening pussy, Harry can tell she’s already close to coming undone. “You’re dripping, baby. All I did was spank you,” Harry notes, licking his lips at the sight.

Both his hands run over her ass, until one sneaks between her legs and his middle finger swirls around in her juices. Y/N hums out, eyes fluttering closed as he teases at her entrance.

"Hm, I’m gonna enjoy spending the night between your thighs, baby. Just look at you,” he hums in appreciation.

Harry pushes his middle finger through her folds, her warm walls contracting around him and Y/N moans at the feeling of his single digit filling her.

“Holy shit, you’re so fucking tight."

He takes a second to compose himself. If she’s this tight around his finger, he wonders how tight she’ll be around his cock, something that excites him more than anything. Y/N grows impatient, pushing her hips into his hand so his finger digs deeper, curling against her g-spot and she whimpers out a filthy little whine.

Harry’s eyes light up at the sound, the fire within him sparking and he decides he can’t wait much longer. He’s wanted this for the longest time and he’ll be damned if he waits any longer. He tugs her off his lap, shoving Y/N onto her knees and he stands abruptly.

She sits on her legs, hands resting patiently on her knees as she stares up at Harry. His fingers loop around his shirt and she watches as he tears it off his body, his muscles flexing as he does so and Y/N let out a shaky breath at the sight of him – she’s seen him topless plenty of times but from this angle, she thinks she’s about to burst.

Throwing his shirt across the tent, Harry kicks off his sneakers and socks, unbuckling his belt and holding the leather strap in his hands. He looks down at Y/N, an eyebrow raised and she bites back her smirk.

She knows exactly what he’s telling you to do, so she does it. She holds her hands up to him, allowing him to tie them together with the leather belt he once wore on his waist. Y/N drops her hands back to her lap before he orders her to stand.

Reluctantly, she does, feeling his hungry gaze on her bare body. With his hands on her hips, Harry slowly turns the both of them around, gently pushing her onto the bed until she’s sprawled out beneath him.

It’s as though everything is moving in slow motion. Y/N watches Harry unbutton his pants before they slip down his thick thighs and he steps out of them as they pooled at the ground.

She can’t tear her eyes away from the dark patch of precum that seeps through the thin fabric of his boxers. The outline of his cock is mouthwatering, and she shifts her thighs against each other in an attempt to relieve some tension between her legs.

Her tied hands travel down her stomach and are about to play with her pussy until Harry grabs her wrists and shakes his head. “Hands above your head, princess,” he rasped, a pout forming on Y/N’s lips, but she does as she’s told.

Harry stands back, admiring her gorgeous naked body as he rubs his cock through his boxers. Y/N moans at the sight, rubbing her thighs together harder until Harry leans forward and nudges her knees apart slightly.

“Open your legs for me, baby,” Harry smirks down at her, watching as she spreads her legs as wide as she can.

He lowers to his knees, hands spreading her legs further and he presses soft open mouthed kisses along her thighs, his dark curls tickling her core as strands gently brushed across it.

Y/N’s hands involuntarily shoot down to her cunt, fingers tangling into Harry’s long curls as she tugs on them, urging him to touch her properly. He growls in response, looking up through his lashes and she swallows back a moan.

“Hands above your head, princess. I won’t tell you again,” Harry’s voice is much deeper now, causing another shock of excitement to surge its way through her body and she happily complies to his earlier demand.

Smirking up at Y/N once more, Harry finally dives in; his tongue lapping up the arousal between her folds and she lets out a sudden gasp at the insane amount of pleasure she’s receiving.

Her back arches from the makeshift bed, a string of profanities slipping off her tongue as his nose rubs against her aching clit. She’s a writhing mess beneath him, and it’s a sight he never wants to take his eyes off.

The muffled vibrations of his moans course through her entire being, an animalistic moan crying from her lips and she grips her hands at the pillow, fighting every urge that tells her to grip Harry’s dark curls instead.

"You taste so good, princess,” Harry praises, another cry tearing through her throat and she can feel her legs begin to shake.

Harry’s quick to pull away, causing Y/N to whine at the loss of contact. He stands to his feet, smirking down at her glistening cunt.

“On your knees, gorgeous.”

Excitement rushes through her body and Y/N’s quick to scramble to her knees, tied hands sitting patiently on her thighs and she stares up at Harry through her lashes.

“What a pretty sight. You, on your knees… waiting for my cock,” Harry rasps, goosebumps riddling his skin as he brings a hand to her head, brushing a few strands of hair from her face.

With his other hand, he tugs down his boxers, his cock straining out of its confinements and Harry lets out a gasp of relief. Y/N swallows back a moan, ogling at his hardened cock, his tip swollen and red and smothered in precum.

“Now, suck.”

Harry grabs a fistful of Y/N’s hair and shoves her face closer to his hard cock. She grins to herself, lips parting and tongue poking out slightly. Harry grunts at the sight, guiding his cock to her lips as his tip sits atop her warm tongue.

She can taste the salty precum as she teases her tongue over his slit, wrapping her lips around his tip and sucking gently. “Fuck, so good,” Harry whimpers, more to himself, and Y/N hums around him.

She stares up at him innocently, eyelashes battering with every blink and she slowly takes him deeper into her mouth. Harry can’t tear his eyes away, loving the way she watches him as she takes his cock.

His grip on Y/N’s hair tightens and he tugs it slightly, eliciting a moan as she hums around his shaft. She slowly begins to take more of him into her mouth, his tip hitting the back of her throat and she convulses around him.

Harry lets out a choked cry of pleasure, his hips slowly beginning to thrust forward as Y/N lets him fuck her mouth. With her tied hands, she gently cradles his balls, massaging them gently as she sucks his cock at the same pace his hips thrust into her mouth.

Her eyes begin to water, stray tears slipping from the corners of her eyes and she struggles to maintain eye contact with him. Harry’s a moaning mess above her, does nothing to hide the filthy whines that tear through his throat.

Harry quickly pulls her mouth off him, allowing her to gasp for breath for a few seconds before he rammed himself back down her throat. Y/N can’t help but choke around his length, evoking wonton groans from the man above her as he grips her hair tighter.

“Fuck! I’m so fucking close, baby. Keep going! So fucking good!” he praises breathlessly, his head thrown back and he revels in the pleasure she’s giving him.

It isn’t until Y/N feels him twitch on her tongue that she gathers up all the strength she can to pull herself off him. Harry’s eyes fly open at the sudden loss of warmth, and he pants heavily while glaring at Y/N as she catches her breath.

“I didn’t get to cum, so neither do you,” she states simply, although her eyebrows raise in a challenging manner and Harry’s eyes darken at her words and actions.

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, princess,” Harry coos in a surprisingly calming tone, taking her hands and helping her stand to her feet. Y/N gazes up at him, her nipples barely brushing against his toned chest.

“Maybe I’m just tired of games,” she teases back with a cocked eyebrow. Her lips pepper wet kissing to Harry’s neck, a relaxed sigh slipping from his tongue.

Y/N can’t help but squeal out when a large hand strikes down on her ass and her whole body jolts forward into Harry’s chest. He’squick to wrap his strong arms around her, legs curling around his waist and Harry’s hands grope at Y/N’s ass.

In one swift motion, she’s straddling Harry on the makeshift bed, lips on his feverishly as she grinds her hips into his hard cock. Harry lets out a low groan as his cock slides through her soaked folds, tip brushing against her swollen clit.

“You like that, daddy?” She asks against his lips.

Harry’s grip on her ass tightens as he spreads her cheeks, loving the feeling of her wetness coating his hard on.

“Want you to ride me, baby,” his voice croaks, Y/N’s eyes lighting up at his request. Wiggling her ass slightly, she sits up on his lap, using her tied hands to guide his cock to her entrance.

Without letting her adjust to his tip, Harry surges his hips upward, his cock buried deep into her tight cunt, evoking a sharp gasp from her lips at the sudden feeling.

“Oh, fuck!” Y/N gasped out, allowing Harry to thrust up and into her at a dangerously fast pace.

The sounds of Harry’s grunts and Y/N’s whines, along with the loud slapping of skin bounces off the tarp walls of the tent. Her head falls back, eyes rolling to the back of her head as she bounces on his cock.

Harry watches with hooded eyes and parted lips, his gaze torn between her bouncing tits and his cock pounding in and out of her pussy. Leaning up, his hands grip Y/N’s breasts, fingers pinching and twisting at her nipples and she shrieks out as he hits a certain spot that causes her to see white.

“Shit, you like that, baby?” Harry pants.

His hips thrust faster as Y/N screws screws her eyes shut, head thrown back as her pussy clenches around his cock. “Yeah! Fuck, yeah. Don’t stop!” She begs frantically, her sounds becoming uncontrollable as her whole body begins to shake.

“So fucking tight!” Harry seethes through gritted teeth, his dark matted curls clinging to his forehead. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna come!” Y/N cries out breathlessly, her pace beginning to falter slightly as her walls tighten around Harry’s cock.

“Oh God, Oh God! Right there, daddy! Fuck!”

It’s a filthy scream, her vision spotting as she reaches her climax. A string of animalistic moans tear through her throat as Harry continues to pound into her, helping her to ride out her orgasm.

It’s seconds later that her whole body falls limp and Harry rolls them both over, pounding into her as Y/N’s back arches, her stomach pressing against the makeshift bed. Harry grunts out, gripping her hips with one hand and using the other arm to wrap around her front and rub fast circles on her swollen clit.

Y/N flinches at the feeling, crying out at the pleasure and she feels the same fire ignite in her stomach again. “Harry! Fuck, I can’t- I’m gonna cum again!” She breathes, body convulsing as she begins to lose all control.

“Hold it,” Harry spits, his cock twitching between the tight walls of her cunt and she sobs.

“I can’t!” Her cries are muffled by the covers, grip on the pillow tightening as Harry smacks his hand across her ass.

His cock twitches between her walls, hips thrusting sporadically and she knows he’s close. “Please! I need to cum!” Y/N begs, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes as he continues to pound against her g-spot.

Harry lets out a moan, pinching her clit in his fingers and bottoming out. “Cum all over my cock, princess,” he encourages, a cry tearing through Y/N’s throat as her whole body spasms and she’s sent into a whirlwind of pleasure.

Harry pulls out with a moan, pumping his cock a few times before he comes all over her ass and the small of her back. She’s completely and entirely worn out, falling to the side slightly as Harry chuckles, grabbing his shirt.

He pulls Y/N closer to him as she lays on her stomach, propping himself up on his elbows as he gently cleans her up. Her eyes are heavy, breathing finally steadying and she nuzzles her face into the sheets, arms aching and she lets out a wince.

Harry immediately notices, throwing the shirt to the ground and untying her wrists, gently massaging and kissing the irritated skin. Y/N hums at the feeling, a content smile pulling on her lips as Harry carefully pulls her up so she lays beside him, head resting on his chest.

His fingers brush through her matted hair, his heartbeat drumming peacefully in her ear and she tiredly slings an arm over his waist, cuddling into Harry’s side and he smiles down at her.

“Don’t leave,” Y/N mumbles, his arm around her tightening.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

thank you for reading, feedback is always appreciated and I also wanna know what sort of things you'd like to see in future writings!!

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fic

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sanjisblackasswife · 1 year

Note

The reader's first time with Law?

How Losing Your Virginity to Law Would Be Like(NSFW/FLUFF)

Black Fem Reader in Mind

CW: Vanila Smut, Law is awkward, I tried my best to match his character so forgive me if it’s not accurate.

Allowing Law, a long time friend of yours since childhood to be the one to take something so sacred to you. And choosing him was something he didn’t take lightly.

The conversation was awkward, you both had feelings towards each other but never acted upon them due to the fact that he didn’t seem like the type to want to be in a relationship.

“Losing your virginity to me doesn’t seem horrible to you? Because it is.”

In the back of his mind though, he was malfunctioning, he’s not the most traditional guy, but he did become celibate awaiting for his future wife.

He can’t even remember the last time he had sex and here you are. Beautiful and doe eye’d as ever offering yourself to him because you wanted to rid it to someone you trusted.

Sure he could have just said “no” and sent you on your way, but

Something wanted it to.

He’s a man. He has needs. And he’ll never admit it to you, but on his loneliness and horniest nights. He thinks of you.

He thinks of your pretty perfume, your body, your eyes, your smile, your laugh.

Your possible scent when his nose is landed right above your clit as you sit on him, your thighs jiggling as you are under him, the tears that prickle right when you’ve had enough and are abou to c—

He has thought about you in more ways than one to say the least.

Law doesn’t say yes to you at first, he waits a while. A few weeks even, but if you’re patient for him then you are truly a special girl, because once you tell him you waited he damn near explodes in his mind.

So. Here you are. On your back, fingers running through your captain’s thick scalp of his unkept hair, his lips transfer from sucking and nibbling on your breast and collarbone to your soft plump lips, his already stained with the nude gloss you wore on your date with him.

He of course had to take you out. You deserved it, you both had what normal people would call a “date”, but Law called it an off day between you both. He treated you like a princess, even took your hand a few times.

“Law..” You hummed out of your lips, he finally met the sweet spot on your neck, you felt the tent in his pants bump into your crotch with each subtle grind he gave as he kept his lips attached to your skin.

You felt so smooth to him, his tatted tanned fingers couldn’t stop rubbing up and down your body.

“May I take these off?” His breathing is heavy, index and middle finger looping into your panties to gently pull, he’d be a liar to admit when he seen the way your thighs jiggled when he placed you on your back turned him on so embarrassingly quick.

“Yes, please.” You lifted your hips, and watched him gaze at how your underwear slowly tore away from your skin, he did a small gasp finally seeing all of you “Everything okay?”

“What?—oh! Yes yes you’re fine…you’re..” his touch was so delicate, he treated your body like fragile glass kissing your inners thighs with caution.

You were in awe with your captain, his stoic demeanor now diminished , but his eyes are now softer, his cheeks won’t stop being pink each time he sees you twitch, moan, or otherwise.

He started with slow kitten licks, trying to hide the fact that he never actually went down on a woman so he is careful not to use teeth if anything, your hips buck into his mouth by natural reaction and he immediately latches to your clit.

“Oh!” You moan, hands thrown to his head. This was a new feeling! His beard tickled you a little the same way his sideburns tickles your thighs as you squeeze him in.

You tasted fantastic cumming into his mouth like the good girl you were.

Law finally begins to free himself. He’s a nervous wreck, mouth shinny from your slick, hair frazzled from your grabs and rubs, and constant clearing of the throat and he anxiously takes off his bottoms.

“Wow..” you say in your head. Almost like he read your mind he smirks at you reaction, there’s a little ego boost for him as he puts on the condom in front of you.

He crawls to you slowly not looking away from your eyes, it was almost like he was telling you to lay back and you did as such, throwing the blanket over you both, you’re caged between his arms, finally your nervousness began to show.

“Hey..” he softly holds your cheek, “Just….yell stop if it’s too much.”

He gives you one last reassurance kiss on the lips, it was so slow, gentle and soft. Looking down he slowly inches inside you, immediately seeing the contort in your face.

“Look at me, okay?” Law’s voice is lower, but you can hear the worry in the back of his throat, he doesn’t stop pressing inside you, looking at you and giving more kisses of the face to soothe the sharp sting.

“A-ah!” Your back arches and Law immediately places his arm under you for support, looking down at the small bloody mess in between you both.

When he finally bottoms out he is still making sure you give him the okay.

Once he does, he goes at a decent pace. Not wanting to hurt you anymore than you already are, but once you beg and plead for more you begin to finally hear more than just skin slapping and heavy breathing.

You sounded gorgeous in his ear, his hand creeps to meet yours , your stiff legs have loosened and are wrapped around his waist, it was a painful pleasure for you and you were so grateful Law was the one to give it to you.

“I’m..so…i’m not ganna last…ah..Y/N!”

Neither do you, it felt indescribable, Law’s kisses became needy, rocking you both back and fourth in the creaky bed for a riding out the orgasm.

After sex the tatted pirate is nothing, but a talking mess. Asking if it felt okay, as he cleans you and tosses the condom, letting you know how good you were as he washes you up, telling you the importance of safe sex as he holds you to sleep on his chest.

Law just hopes he made it memorable for you, that’s all.

And maybe.

He can continue to make more memories with you.

#one piece #TimikosLaw #black reader #one piece headcanons #one piece x female reader #one piece smut #one piece fluff #one piece scenario #one piece imagine #law scenarios #law smut #law fluff #one piece law #trafalgar law #law headcanons #trafalgar d law x reader #law x you

1K notes · View notes

paradiseismine · 2 months

Text

Finn Wolfhard Headcanons

Pairing: Finn Wolfhard x f!reader

Warnings: a bit of fluff + lots of smut (but mostly soft smut, cause Finn is a gentleman)

Love note from Nina: I’ve just started this side blog due to the recent lack of new Finn smut content on here. Basically, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Requests are open and I’ll write for all of Finn’s characters (and Finn himself, duh), except for Richie. I hope you all like it, I can also take constructive criticism quite well (English is not my first language) :) anyways:

Fluff

- Finn Wolfhard was definitely born in the wrong era: you couldn’t believe that one of gen Z’s most prominent stars would simply love to show off some old timey chivalry.

- Whenever he’s going to drive you somewhere, he always gets out of his car, walks around it and opens the car door for you. When you reach the destination of each drive, he does the same thing, but also offers his hand to help you stand up.

- If he takes you to a restaurant, he’s also going to pull up your chair so you can sit - and, for God’s sake, you’re not even touching that bill. It’s always his treat. He just wants to make his girl happy, and you must let him, of course.

- Despite fame and all it includes, Finn is not hesitant in holding your hand or having his arm around your waist in public - as long as you’re okay with it. He loves to show you off, he’s so proud to have you as his girlfriend. Everyone around you must know that.

- Being a rising star, your schedules don’t always match perfectly, so he’s bound to spend a few weeks away every once in a while to film/direct something. That being said, one of his main love languages is gift giving: he loves to bring you little presents from all his work trips - mostly small dainty jewelry, beautifully knitted sweaters and well, basically anything that made him think of you while he was away.

Smut

- Whenever he gets back from a work trip, you already know what to expect: being showered in gifts and physical touch. He missed you a lot and you must know how much he did.

- Neck kisses are a must. Finn knows the exact spot that makes your knees buckle, and he’s not afraid to use that knowledge in his favor.

- There’s usually lots of whispering in your ear about how much he missed you, how good you smell, how smooth and perfect your skin is. Your earlobes are also getting plenty of nibbles and gentle sucking. He’s all about those pretty moans he gets out of your lips.

- When it comes to taking clothes off, Finn is always subtle and delicate. His fingers lightly trace your dress’ thin straps and pull them down slowly, giving you plenty of time to stop him if you want - but you’re always as hungry for him as he is for you.

- Each little piece of newly exposed skin gets its round of kisses and gentle touching. Finn worships your body and your soul more than anything else in the world. He wants you to know how much he appreciates you, he wants to make you feel safe in his arms at all times.

- When the time comes, Finn loves to eat your pussy. He loves the smell, the taste, the texture, everything. The way you shiver under his touch, hissing and squirming, always gets him hard in a split second. His big warm hands know their way both around and inside you: the perfect speed, pressure and angle. That boy is sure to make you cum and suck off his own fingers afterwards - you taste so good he can’t get enough.

- Finn’s a gentleman, of course, so he takes the “ladies first” thing quite seriously. If you haven’t already cum at least three times, your pussy is not soaking wet and you’re not begging him to enter you, you’re not ready for him yet. He takes his sweet time driving you crazy before claiming you.

- As he lines up with your sweet entrance, he always always always looks you in the eye and asks, his voice faint with lust “may I?” As desperate as he is to get engulfed by your delicious cunt, he still finds consent to be the hottest thing ever - and so do you.

- After he gets a verbal response (‘cause I swear that boy can be such a tease if you simply moan), he usually starts off gently, letting your body adjust to both his length and girth. His dick is so thick it still needs some patience and adjusting, even after all this time you’ve been together.

- He keeps his thrusts at a slow pace until you’re satisfied. Then, and only then, he speeds up and allows himself to release. Finn absolutely loves to spill into you, filling you up with warm ropes of his cum. You’re his and only his, and somehow, he feels as if cumming inside you is a way to show you that. To show you that he owns you.

- After you two come down from your highs, it’s all cuddles and pillow talk. Finn is mostly a big spoon, but won’t mind being a little spoon if you want him to.

- In the end, all he wants is to have you in his arms as long as possible, savoring the peace and the warmth he gets from feeling your heartbeat and your body touching his. You’re everything he’s ever wanted.

#finn wolfhard x reader #mike wheeler x reader #finn wolfhard smut #Finn fluff #finn wolfhard fluff #fluff #smut #headcanon #finn headcanons #miles fairchild #trevor spengler #mike wheeler #female reader #imagine #rockstar girlfriend #and yes I’ve just tagged this rockstar girlfriend cause Finn is #he is a rockstar

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lollixp0p · 2 months

Text

Valentine's lovin' (18+)

Pairing: Bf!Jung Wooyoung x afab!reader

Genre: Romance, fluffy, smut (MNDI)

Word count: Just over 3k!!

Warnings: Idol!au, established relationship, sub!Wooyoung (subtle though), nipple play (m rec.), hair pulling (m rec.), cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!!), riding, creampie, (reader gets called my love, baby and other variations of it, Wooyoung gets called kitty, good boy)

Summary: It's your first Valentine's day as a couple and Wooyoung decides to take you on the best date of your life, so of course you have to reward him for his efforts ;)

Note: Happy Valentine's day everyone!! It's lovely Wooyoung time, I hope everyone who reads this enjoys (ignore any errors, I'm too lazy to check for them properly right now) :) Please comment, reblog etc. and give me feedback so I know if you liked it!🙏

Please do not under any circumstance copy, translate, or repost my works!

The entire week up to today Wooyoung had been a stressed mess, wanting to make sure everything was in order for your special date. Why special, you may ask? Well because it was Valentine's day and he'd wanted everything to be as perfect as possible.

He'd made sure to move every practice or other schedule from that day to a different one, although their managers had not been very pleased about the information.

He had to nag Hongjoong and Jongho to be out of their dorm by seven pm at the latest, so you two could relax after the date with an amateur spa session and then watch your favorite movies until the two of you fell asleep cuddled on his bed. They'd finally agreed on the promise of free dinner paid by him the next day (much to Wooyoungs dismay).

Even though he had been all over the place on the days before it, the actual date was far more magical you could have ever imagined.

Wooyoung showed up to the door of your apartment in a fancy black suit holding a large bouquet of red roses, to signify his undying love and passion for you.

Although the lower half of his face was covered by a black face mask he looked so incredibly handsome you just wanted to drag him straight to your room and skip the entire date.

"Happy Valentine's day my love, I hope you're ready for the most romantic day of your life! These are for you, the most gorgeous person I've ever had the pleasure of seeing", Wooyoung says, pulling his mask down and grinning at you. He hands you the gorgeous bouquet and waits by the door as you go inside to put them in a vase.

"Thank you Wooyoungie... they're so beautiful", you smile at him bashfully. No matter how long it's been he still manages to make your stomach fill with butterflies and twist and turn in the most wonderful ways. The months you've been together have truly been the happiest of your life and you really can't wait to see what he has in store for you for your first Valentine's together.

Wooyoung tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and leaves his hand on your cheek, caressing it softly. He leans in until your noses are touching, but holds still until you try to look away in shyness at his intense gaze.

Chuckling to himself and muttering a 'silly baby' under his breath, he turns your face towards him and finally closes the gap between you, kissing you passionately. Once he breaks off the kiss you're left breathless and dazed... 'What a little brat...' you think, but he's yours so you don't mind him teasing you like this.

He offers you his arm and after making sure you have everything you need with you, you finally grab it, close the door and he leads you to the company car driving you two to the expensive looking barbeque restaurant he'd booked a private room from.

During the entire ride Wooyoung couldn't stop gushing about how gorgeous you looked and you couldn't help but feel flattered that someone whose looks rivaled that of the suns could see such wonder in you.

When you'd gotten close enough to the restaurant Wooyoung put his mask and baseball cap on to hide his identity, slightly ruining his perfectly placed hair. 'The unfortunate realities of going on dates with an idol', you think to yourself, but ultimately understand it being for both of your safety and privacy.

After checking in at the front desk a waiter leads you to your private room and Wooyoung finally takes both the cap and mask fully off.

He fluffs his hair and helps you take your jacket off as you stare at him in wonder, itching to touch the perfectly fallen curls of his hair.

"Thank you Youngie", you smile up at him. He places the coat on the rack next to the door and pauses for a moment, looking you up and down and smiles back at you. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, feeling flustered at how taken he is by you.

"You're welcome pretty baby... I didn't realise you still had the jacket I lent you a month ago, I've been wondering where it went", he chuckles to you while pulling your chair back and pushing it closer to the desk once you're seated.

The restaurant staff had obviously known of your arrival beforehand, and made the room ready for use in advance. He sits down as a different waiter arrives and listens to them explain the menu. The both of you decide to split a slightly bigger meal so you wouldn't be too full by the time you got to the dorms.

Wooyoung had picked an incredible place to eat, as the food had looked mouthwatering the moment it arrived in the room, even if the meat had been raw at that point. His cooking skills had really shined through and you suspect that had been a part of the reason he wanted to take you there, fishing for compliments as he grills the meat for both of you.

While eating you exchanged about a thousand kisses with each other, even as you whined at him to stop so you could chew your food. Though he did make up for it by feeding you with his chopsticks and making sure you drank enough in between, smiling endearingly at you as he wipes any stray sauce off your cheeks, kissing them after.

The conversation was flowing so naturally that at times you'd completely forget to eat or sip the wine you had, due to your excitement and interest in the things you were talking about, making his show of affection very helpful even.

Once you had finally finished you'd put away any trash you managed to make and set your cutlery nicely on the table, to make the waiters job easier. Wooyoung got himself ready to leave and then handed you your jacket. He made sure to let the company staff driving your ride know the car could be driven to the front.

The two of you left after thanking the restaurant staff and once outside Wooyoung opened the door for you to get into the car before him.

You found yourself flustered by how he had upped his charm to what must be a thousand percent for this special day. It was clear this day was very important to him, wanting to impress you so.

In the car Wooyoung kept leaving sweet pecks to your cheeks and lips, telling you how much he loved you. It was obvious the shared wine had gotten him a bit buzzed but you could tell he wasn't drunk, just in that stage where he wanted to kiss you until you both were one, entangled in each others love.

Sitting on the right of you, little by little, his right hand drifts down to your thighs, until he's gripping the inner thigh of your right leg. Moving it towards him slowly, he slightly spreads your legs. Though to your relief (and dissapointment) that's all he does.

By now you know him well enough to know that normally he'd be cheeky enough to try finger you in the backseat, but you're glad he knows better right now. Wooyoung must realise that if he keeps his hands to himself, you'll rock his world as a thanks for the best date you'd ever had together yet.

Despite being a little brat that needs to be put in his place every once in a while, you know there's nothing Wooyoung loves more than getting taken care of and pampered, being controlled.

The car coming to a stop is what gets him to stop drowning you in kisses and he gathers himself, taking his hand off your thigh and winking at you. 'God he looks delicious', you find yourself thinking as he's fixing his hair. You have to remind yourself there's someone else in the car with you so you don't take him right here.

Wooyoung opens the door and gets out, then helps you out of the car by holding your hand. After thanking the driver and telling him to have a great night, the car drives off.

He takes off the mask again and shoves it into his pocket, grinning at you when he notices your intense staring. Even if it's meant to be teasing his smile truly is the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.

The two of you walk up to the front door of the dorm he shares with the leader and the maknae of his group. After the move that divided the eight of them into three separate places, meeting him at the dorm had become a lot less stressful.

Before there was no privacy at all and the rest of the men would tease Wooyoung any chance they'd get. Sure, it was out of love for him but the amount of times one of the seven had walked in on a makeout session was starting to become ridiculous.

Wooyoung pulls out his keys and as he tries to get the dorm key in the lock, the focused look on his face makes you snap and finally jump him. He manages to get the door open just as you turn his head towards you and slot your mouths together. He lets out surprised gasp at your enthusiasm and you use the opportunity to shove your tongue into his mouth.

The two of you stumble into the dark apartment with your lips locked. You kiss him harder and he whimpers, loving the feel of you on him. Wooyoung has his hands holding tightly onto your hips and eyes shut in pleasure but despite that he still manages to turn the lights on in the hallway, very telling of how often you've done this together.

You tap him lightly on the shoulder and he gets your signal, your minds and bodies dancing in harmony, something that makes your heart feel warm and fuzzy. He removes your jacket while you take off his and start unbuttoning the shirt underneath. Leaving everything extra at the front door the two of you run to his room hand in hand giggling to each other with lovesick eyes.

Fuck it, the spa session and movies can wait until later.

He opens the bedroom door, pushes you in and closes it behind you both. Crowding him in against the door you continue making out. You run your hands through his silky hair, tug on it and Wooyoung lets out a pathetic whimper, grinding his already hardening dick against your leg. You push his open shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground.

"Hey... no fair, you have to take yours off too!", he breaks the kiss to pout at you.

"Oh, I'm sorry Youngie... I thought I was in control here? When did you get so demanding, huh?"

He stays quiet and looks down, you can almost see the conflict in his eyes. Should he keep teasing you and risk a punishment or listen like a good boy and get his reward for being such an incredibly thoughtful and sweet boyfriend today?

"Well? How's it gonna be little kitty, are you gonna be good and listen to me?"

He looks up at you through the hair covering his beautiful brown eyes, "... Yeah... yes please, baby," Wooyoung whispers, "I'll- I'll listen- I want you, please."

"Mmm, my good boy, thank you...", you coo at him and kiss him on the cheek. "I'll take such good care of you Woo." His whole face down to his neck flushes red in excitement and arousal. He's so greedy for praise and compliments...

"Take off your clothes and get on the bed for me, won't you kitty?", you tilt his face towards you and he shivers, nodding. He does as told and situates himself in the middle of the bed, looking at you while you stand at the foot of the bed. Slowly you take your clothes off and his eyes widen.

Taking in the sexy red lingerie, barely covering anything, he gulps and grips the knees of his pants, "A-ah shit, what the fuck... You're so sexy...", his face scrunches, shuddering breaths leaving his mouth. You giggle at his obvious arousal, cupping your tits in your hands and groping them. His hands twitch, like he's itching to move them to his very noticeable erection.

"Thank you, sweet kitty. I thought I'd give you a nice little surprise today...", your hands run lower on your body and to the back, leaving them on your ass.

Turning around, you bend over to show off exactly what he wants to see. "Would you like your treat now?", you ask as you run your other hand lower towards your already eager pussy. He takes in a breath through his gritted teeth and watches you stand up straight to take off the bra top of the red set. You get on the bed and he turns towards you as you do, never taking his eyes off of you.

"Come get your treat then kitty", you spread your legs as he crashes down on the mattress, panting like a dog in heat. Not waiting another second he brings his hands down to your hips to take off the remaining piece of clothing.

Wooyoung lowers his mouth to your dripping cunt, moaning in delight at finally getting a taste of you. He pushes his tongue in your hole and thrusts it in and out for a bit gathering your wetness on his tongue.

Him moaning into your pussy makes your legs shake and do your best to keep them from shutting around his face. Seeing you you so lost in the feeling of his talented tongue makes him grind his crotch against the mattress, losing himself in the feeling and taste of you on his mouth. He lifts his face for a moment to take a breath.

"I love you so much... my baby, fuck... You taste so good", he buries his face between your legs again, gripping tightly onto your thighs to keep you as close as possible. Lapping at your clit, he groans in satisfaction.

"F-fuck Youngie... You're so g- so good for me", you gather the hair on the back of his head into your hands and guide him even closer to your wet heat, so that he's buried nose deep in you.

The pressure makes him groan into you and the vibrations of his voice in turn make your legs twitch shut around his head for a moment.

"Shit! My good... fuck, good boy! Doing so well for me kitty", your voice shudders, hands gripping his hair harder.

Soon you find yourself craving something more. "Ah, fingers too kitty...", you tell him, desperately needing any part of him in you, craving to be closer to him in any way possible. And just like the good boy he can, he listens to your command immediately.

Going straight for two to properly stretch you for his cock, he pushes them in and scissors them, sucking on your clit at the same time.

He continues to play with your pussy and it doesn't take you long to get close from his skilled hands. In just a couple more moves of his fingers your pussy throbs and you come around them, making you moan his name loudly in pleasure.

You don't wait long to come down, instead you sit up and push him down by his chest and straddle him, running your hands over his smooth skin.

"Wooyoungie... Let me take care of you ok? You'll let me, right?", you coo at him sweetly, seeing his eyes cloud over in ecstasy as your fingers find his sensitive brown nipples.

"Haa- ah! Yeah yeah, please, hah!", he thrashes his head from side to side on the pillow, eyes squeezing shut in pleasure. You grind your wet pussy against his hard cock and his whole body jolts under you. He lets out a long wound out moan at the promise of getting to be inside you soon. Finally you take him in your hand, position him under you and start lowering yourself on his dick.

His head tilts back as he groans at the feel of you around him, hands immediately flying to your hips to hold onto anything, as you don't wait to start moving on him. He bucks his hips up towards you and you decide to let him, for the sake of Valentine's day.

You put your hands on the sides of his head and lower your face to his, kissing him with fervour as you keep moving your bodies in tandem.

You move your other hand to his hair again and tug on it, making him whimper. He lets go of your kiss to bare his neck to you and you move your mouth to it to mark him to your liking. Already feeling close after your first orgasm it doesn't take very long to feel it building up again and seeing how Wooyoung can barely contain himself it's obvious he's not that far off either.

"You- ah, you gonna come ki-itty? For me yeah??", you lick along his collar bone and tug hard on his hair.

All that he can let out is a silent scream as he throws his head back further and comes in you, mouthing out something along the lines of 'please, yes, yes god, please!!'.

Seeing his brain shut off in pleasure makes you come around him as well and you stop bouncing on his cock, letting him stay in you as you both come down for your highs together, feeling his cum in you.

"Happy Valentine's my good boy, I love you so much", you kiss him on the lips even if he's barely able to reciprocate, running his hands along your back to ground himself.

You decide to rest with him a bit, not having enough energy to get yourselves clean just yet. For now, you just want to feel him close to you.

Your sweet, caring, thoughtful boyfriend.

#cupid♡writing #sub!idol #ateez x reader #ateez smut #ateez hard hours #jung wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung smut #wooyoung x reader #wooyoung smut #dividers by cafekitsune

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