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namisin · 19 days

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❝ TOUCH ME, FEEL ME. . .

⚝ pairing : nanami kento x reader.

⚝ synopsis : it's date night, and the food isn't the only thing kento wants to devour.

⚝ content : 18+, fem reader, soft/pleasure dom kento, pὁrn with a literal sprinkle of plot, oral, car sėx, inspired by this song, praise, a good bit of it, semi-public, he's simply down bad ur honour, established relationship, mention of squirting, some size diff if you squint, overstim too squint real good, MDNI.

⚝ word count : 1.8k | 6.4 min read.

⚝ a/n : whats up whats up whats uppp ! this is my very first public fic after lurking on this side of fandom for... forever ? really hope u guys enjoy it ♡ likes, reblogs &/or comments are mega appreciated !!

𝐘𝐎𝐔 were trying to kill him.

that had to be the reason you turned up to your and nanami's weekly date night wearing that dress. red silk flowed around your curves like water and parted around your thigh like the sea moses allegedly split — a crimson sea of pure temptation that shifted dangerously with each step you took back to his car.

"you look gorgeous," he'd murmured in your ear when you'd met up earlier that night, teeth clenched and eyes wavering with the urge to wander. you gave him a glossy grin in return that nearly ripped his resolve in two, and thanked him in a sugary tone that made his pants that much more uncomfortable.

nanami opened the door for you, as usual, and held your hand to help you take your rightful position in his passenger seat. you sank into the cool leather while he rounded the car to the driver's side, toying with the smooth gem pendant on the necklace he'd gifted you forever ago. wordlessly, he settled before pulling his seatbelt into place. his eyes flitted instinctively to you, routinely double-checking that you'd fastened your own seatbelt too (it would become a habit for anyone after dating for well over a year). not long after, he pushed the sleek button that made his bmw m850i hum to life.

for you, the ride was quiet, save for the muted melody playing through the radio and the soft "clink!" of acrylic on smooth gemstone. for nanami, the rush of need in his head was deafening. the squishy mass between his ears swarmed with the cacophony of sounds you'd make if he touched you just right; how you'd squeal his name once he buried his face far enough between your thighs; the sticky squelches that would fill his eardrums once he finally slid home inside you, where he so desperately wanted to be.

for the moment, the sorcerer settled for clasping a calloused hand around your thigh.

"i can see you trying not to stare," your glacéed laughter broke through (what he thought was) his private musings, making his eyes widen a fraction on what was otherwise a stoic expression.

"can you blame me, darling? i meant it when i said you look gorgeous," nanami retorted in teasing stride after sobering; the corner of his lip quirked as his grip tightened on your thigh, "it's hard to keep my eyes off you."

an appreciative warmth crawled across your cheeks, curling the smile on your own lips further up.

"you should be focusing on the road, kento. would suck to crash 'cause you couldn't keep it in your pants," you snorted. he only huffed a breath of a laugh. his hand strayed further up.

"i think i'm a better driver than that. i'd still prefer to focus on you, though," he spoke in a bassy murmur, full of the gravel of lust he held for you. a particularly cold waft of air gusted at you from the air con, but you weren't so sure that was the real reason you shivered. you covered it up with another snort—

cut short by the warmth of nanami's hand eclipsing your clothed cunt.

a shaky breath blew from your chest. it was your turn to sneak glances between the road ahead and your boyfriend. your hips itched to circle in tandem with his fingers ghosting over your clit.

"ken..." you started.

"hm? what is it, precious? 'm trying to focus on the road."

you would've cracked a grin at his sass if not for the fact that your bottom lip was trapped between your teeth. the heat from your face cut a straight path downward, pooling in your abdomen and clinging to the crotch of your panties.

nanami ripped a broken sound from your throat by digging further into the fabric separating you, pressing the pads of his fingers down onto your clit. even from where he sat, he could see the patch of wetness that betrayed your arousal... it sapped any trace of amusement left in him and replaced it quickly with a spate of lust.

his fingers stilled, almost making you whine, until you realized he was pulling over onto a soft shoulder.

"w-wait ken, we shouldn't—"

"it's late, doll. no one'll see us. and besides," he released his seatbelt, then yours, "if you keep making pretty sounds like that, we will end up crashing."

burying your face in your hands, you almost missed the sound of his door opening.

"coming?" he called once he opened yours, holding a hand out for you.

"where're we goin'?"

the back door of his coupe opening answered your question.

you landed on your back with an "oof," the most jelly-like parts of you bounced for a moment before they stilled. there was barely another moment of reprieve before nanami's lips were on yours, slotting to fit just as his body did between your pliant legs. he licked at the full seam of your lips until you opened up to allow him exploration access. and explore he did — from the roof of your mouth, to the backs of your teeth, to wrapping his tongue around yours. your man was an absolutely filthy kisser, at least if the gloss smearing across both your mouths was any indication.

he pulled away from you with a wet "smack!" and like a lost puppy, you followed the warmth. hoarse laughter rumbled from his chest at your expense, drawing a pout to your swollen lips.

"oh, don't pout, sweet girl," he cooed after pecking it away, "you know i could never leave you wanting for anything."

"now, be good for me," nanami breathed into the heated skin of your neck before following up with his lips. you shifted your head to the other side easily. thrills of shudders raced along your spine at the way his lips pressed up against your sensitive spots. he took his time to work his way down, from your neck to your collarbones, then down to the deep v-cut of your dress. dark eyes, swimming wildly with desire and adoration for you, met yours over the gentle peaks of your tits, the same ones he slowly pulled the silk of your dress away from to expose to the air con.

"perfect fuckin' girl," he grunted. you would've protested (feebly), but he cut you off yet again when his lips suctioned around a hardened nipple. you hands found their way to his perfectly-coiffed hair, mussing it up in seconds.

"kuh-ken," again, you whimpered for him, feeling the telltale pulsing of a growing ache in your cunt.

"tell her i'm comin'," he warbled around the opposite nipple, satiated by the amount of saliva covering the other. as he suckled away, he reached down to shuck your dress up over your hips until it came to bunch at your tummy. you could tell he was reluctant to move on from your tits, though he had something he craved much more waiting for him.

you felt hot puffs of breath fan across your clothed slit, and that alone had you hiccupping out a whine.

"you wear these tonight for me?"

"d-don't tease, i can't—"

"as if you haven't been teasing me the whole night in this damn dress?"

the urge to roll your eyes and buck your hips up into his face were equally strong, however you stayed still and docile enough for him to cave and give you what you wanted.

he always did in the end.

you were almost right on the money, too. he lolled his tongue out to run it over your panties, growing the small wet patch into a much longer-spanning one. nanami mouthed and licked at you through the fabric just long enough to make you mewl, squirm and wrap your legs just a bit closer around his head, all in an attempt to be subtle in your push for him to give you more. impatient girl.

he didn't bother with pulling your panties off; contrary to the way he acted, he was just as impatient as his darling. every soft, needy sound you made only ticked off the amount of time he was still willing to put you both through the agony of waiting.

instead, he yanked the so-thin-it-was-almost-useless cloth to the side, pausing for a mere moment to admire the way your treacly arousal glistened in the low light of the moon. translucent strings of it connected you to your panties and pooled temptingly around your entrance.

with a gruff moan, he burrowed his way into your folds, nose bumping up against your clit. a deep gasp tore its way up your throat at his fervor.

he went from running his tongue along your slit to sucking on your clit, pursing his lips and tongue around the sensitive nub in the way he knew you liked. nanami licked a continuous path up and down, passing between that and sucking the daylight out of that bundle of nerves. he worked a finger, then two, into your fluttering hole while on the latter half of the rotation — that got your back to bow off the padded seat, just how he liked.

"don't stop, mmph! please don't stop, holy fuck-"

he couldn't help his chuckles, more hot puffs hit your now-exposed flesh in a way that made you retake your grip in his hair with one hand and sink your nails into his expensive leather seat with the other.

"'m so, so close- please!"

nanami took that as his cue to wrap his hands around your hips in a tight grip, forcing you down against his mouth and giving you no choice but to take everything he aimed to give you. he didn't let up even as you were quivering in his hold, your body tensed and his scalp stinging beneath your tight fist, nor as you squealed—

"cuh-cumming, ken! cummin'-!"

the warmth that pooled in your belly rushed throughout the rest of your body in waves, making you huff shortly in between wailing, cracked sobs of "ohmigodohmigodohmigod"s and "puh-lease, kento"s. stars blinked in and out behind your eyelids, your ears rang with the songs of angels and you swam in dizziness even though you were still laid on your back. the bliss that enveloped you numbed you to the point you barely noticed just how much you gushed around his fingers and tongue, nor how much you constricted around him.

slowly, very slowly, you came back to, vision zeroing back in on a proudly-smirking nanami. the lower half of his face dripped obscenely, a mirror of the cunt he was pulling his fingers free of.

"that's my girl," he muttered against your lips, "so fuckin' pretty. all fuckin' mine."

he left you to recoup on the backseat of the coupe after peppering you with more kisses and hushed praise, wrapped up in his jacket and curled into a blissed-out little ball. you watched him clean his face up with a handkerchief from the rearview with hooded eyes, and noted he still couldn't wipe the pleased look off his face.

"oh, don't get too comfortable yet, darling," he hummed while steering back onto asphalt, "i'm finishing what i started once i get you home."

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yandere-wishes · 2 months

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⭒ㅤׂ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʀᴜɪɴɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ʟɪꜰᴇㅤׂ ⭒

⭒⌒★ Yandere!Dune Men x Reader ★⌒⭒

゜。♡ 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓏𝑒 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒴𝑜𝓊 ♡ ｡゜

☾⋆ Paul Muad'Dib Atreides | پل معادب آتریدس

He dreamed of you again tonight. Something cathartic laying across the sands. Your touch haunts his skin, tracing scars and stars across his cheeks. He wonders what you see him as, something sacred or something exotic. Neither matters so long as you love him...

Paul's a volatile star, always one breath away from exploding. You're scared to touch the golden boy, lest your fingers return burned and your skull rattles with the echo of the cosmos. Still, it's hard to miss the devotion when his lips grace your knuckles. Hard to miss the cacophony of his heart as it reverberates across the desert.

ᯓ★ Leto Atreides | لتو آتریدس

Leto kisses butterflies into your shoulder, the taste of your skin feels like nectar on his tongue. His mind is always racing vying for your affection, your attention, your adherence. He traces your name across his star maps, each letter scribbled in a melancholy blue. You grace his chambers again tonight, it feels so wrong to only see your silhouette, to not feel your love bleeding like his does. He kisses you again, something akin to devotion. He needs to feel you under him again, needs to feel the softness of your flesh under his fingers. Something in him shatters, something inside him rearranges. You make him feel so erratic. Why must he love you this way?

𓆩⚝𓆪 Duncan Idaho | دانکن آیداهو

his lips taste of chaos, he pours his passion into you.

He feels you rattle inside his bones. Feels you coursing through his veins like unaltered spice. He's on another mission, laying in the sand and daubing your essence into constellations. He dreams of your fingers running over his muscles pushing adoration into him with a rusted kitchen knife. Your eyes never gaze at him for long. And yet each stare holds the weight of a nebula. He falls asleep to the phantom melody of your sweet voice. Dreaming of returning to you once more.

༺🕸༻ Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen | فید روتا هارکونن

There's a blade in his hand, blood marring pale fingers again. In every droplet, he sees your face. Phantom pains rampage when he hears your name. He dreams of you holding a knife to this chest, breaking the skin, and riving through muscle. Each night your ghost plagues him. Hurting him in all the ways he craves. He dubs you ecstasy, overdosing on everything he wants to do to you. Everything he wants you to do to him. He etches your name upon his bones, dedicating each open wound to you. He's going mad over the notion of you between his sheets, limbs entwined in a bloody mess. His tongue craves the taste of your flesh, starved like the trees on Arakkis. He must have you, he will have you.

-`𖤓´- Stillgar | ستیلگار

Stillgar's love is a desert tune, the winds rustling through the grains before the breaching of a sandworm. He falls harder and harder with each soulful gaze. He's spent his whole life chasing prophecies that he's forgotten how to wholly love something not written in blood and legend. He prays upon every star, that the maker has written your names together. That maybe some prophecy exists where you are to become his. He watches you sitting across the dunes, watching as the sunset pales compared to you. He whispers prayers beneath his breath, hoping you'll be with him soon.

݁˖☘︎ Gurney Halleck | گارنی هالک

He stiffens under your touch, under the sonority of your voice. His battered heart rattles in your presence, the air in his lungs freezes and he momentarily forgets that he is a soldier, a protector, a tool carved to fight for the Atreides. He's not meant to love, to crush, he's meant to kill, to teach, to follow. A weapon in every sense of the word. And yet he'd throw the world at your feet for a sliver of your attention. Gurney can't help the flames that grow within him. The raging pyro each night when he catches a rogue glimpse of you through the crack of your door. He wishes to kiss you, to hold you. To make you his in every way he knows he can't.

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peachesofteal · 1 year

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Mermaids

Simon Riley masterlist

Simon Riley/mermaid!reader 8.2k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. Dark themes. Magical beings eating human hearts. Magic. Blood, Violence. Explicit sex. Blood kink. Breeding kink. Creampie. Dubious consent. Possessive Simon Riley. "And with your mermaid hair and your teeth so sharp, you crawled from the sea to break that sailor's heart" - F+TM

It begins early this year.

Earlier than usual, when your hunting ground in the mortal world was just starting to turn green, shaking its frosted and frozen branches free to make room for bright blooms and emerald leaves. Just as the steps of Brighton Pier changed from ice slick ledges to waterlogged, weeping wooden planks, and human clothing shifted from long coverings that protected their fragile membranes from the bitter wind to soft and flowing fabrics that allowed their bodies to breathe.

This time of the year the mortal world was alive. Full of rebirth and growth, strong and vibrant.

Vibrant, like the song that began early this year, the frequency echoing deep below the water’s surface to where you waited for its pull. The siren song of a true treasure, far beyond any other, the melody of your chosen, the ebb and flow of the rhythm that is not unlike the sea. The siren song of a mortal’s heart, the cacophony able to reach you and your sisters far below the swell and crash of the ocean, far beyond where the light ceases, the melody possessing the ability to pull you to the surface once a year.

Once a year, to hunt.

One a year, to dance and drink and fall in love, if only for a night.

Once a year, to sacrifice a human heart.

Your eldest sister holds you tight to her body in an embrace as the sun rises. Elegant fingers fuss with your hair, smoothing and tugging and pulling, a vain attempt at taming something wilder than her own heart. Her face is grim, a black void that reflects no joy or excitement, just dread. It is a mirror of yourself. It is a pain that you know too well.

“What bothers you?”

You are the last two left on the beach. The others have all gone, eager to stretch their legs and seek their own songs, the trill of the blood bubbling up in their veins, their bodies pulled like magnets to the source. One heart, one song, one human male for each sister, poor mortals who have no idea what awaits them today, their ignorance bliss on the last night of their lives. Your sisters, as well as you, all live for this night. The joy of the love, the thrill of the hunt, the taste of the ichor that sustains you. The anticipation of this night fills your dreams with swirls of violent songbird chords and sweet melodies of affection. It is all you talk about for cycles, leading up to the day when you leave the water at sunrise and your tail shifts and shatters to reveal two very human looking legs.

“I am weary.” She tells you plainly, an announcement that does not come as a surprise. You have watched how she fades. Watched her linger in the darkness of the caves, watched her float lifelessly on slow currents, gaze hollow, vigor lost. “My song is faint.” She pushes further, holding your hand tightly as she releases you from her embrace. “I think I may not take a heart this year.” But we must. Must we? It was a question unanswered, but one that plagued you both. How else could you live, if not for these sacrifices?

“You would choose to die.” You surmise and she gives you a curt nod, as if it is obvious. As if her admission does not rattle you down to your very bones. Perhaps you too, one day, would make this choice. Would choose not to hunt. Choose not to love and lose. The notion pains you, fills you with sorrow as it has for many, many years. This was not an unknown feeling, even though you still experienced the joy, the bliss of your hunting, of the harvesting, you still felt the pang of loss every time, stronger and stronger as the years ticked by.

“It aches now, knowing I will fall in love this night, just for it to end as the sun rises.” The sea crashes onto the beach behind the two of you, and her lips part with a smile before she leans in to graze a kiss along your cheek. “Happy hunting, my sister.”

The song encourages you onward, leading you through a maze of streets and buildings while the sun rises and lingers in the sky. You comb the city for your male, following the electric hum of the song through alleys and neighborhoods, stopping to enjoy the day, your one day on land, as often as you can. You relish in the things that are rare for you, the taste of coffee and human food, the smell of flowers in the park, the feel of grass on the bare pads of your feet. The dress you’ve chosen flutters in the breeze, allowing the cool air to caress your skin softly, and the sun beams down on your exposed limbs, warming you under its light as you indulge in mortal world. It is nice, you decide while you bask in its rays, to feel the sun as humans do. Such spoiled creatures, being so close to something that gives so much life.

That same sun begins to sink lower behind the skyline and you’re still mindlessly gazing at small insects and diving birds when your heart trills, the force of the song slamming between your ribs, a smattering of warning bells going off within you. He’s close, your blood croons, so, so close. The incessant rattle, the insistent pull is enough to bring you to your feet and anxiously smooth the wrinkles of your clothing, eyes darting wildly around while you hunt for the source, feet flying beneath you. So close, so close.

You come to a stop in front of a pub where a black door is propped open, music and revelry echoing from inside. Here. He’s here. The supersonic vibrato that hums in your own blood draws you into the dimly lit bar, and you hear the song in his veins grow even stronger when you step through across the threshold. He is not hard to find, this close, and your magic strings out before you, weaving and seeking past the bodies that dance closely on the floor, each as desperate for one another as you have grown for your mortal and his song.

He stands in the back, half covered by shadow, the dark pitch of the room matching his clothes and the mask he wears over most of his face. Everything about him is bigger than the males that have called to you in the past, his height, his arms, the width of his shoulders, even the feeling of him in this place. Everywhere you venture, every spot you position yourself in, you feel his eyes on you. He is unusual, and watches, from his vantage point, his companions, other humans, the bartender.

You perch atop a barstool on the opposite side of the room to study him. His eyes carry a ferocity, a heaviness of emotion that stirs the blood running through your own veins until it is pounding in your ears. The severity of him nearly intimidates you, the level of his awareness, the pools of his amber rich brown eyes occasionally flicking over to where your fingers wrap around a glass of beer, the heat of his gaze searing away at your skin underneath the dress. The mask confuses but does not caution you, and your own heart now beats in time with his due to your proximity. Handsome. You muse to yourself, caught up in tracing the outline of his cheekbones. Beautiful, in a dark way.

There is something about him. Something ruinous, something different. Something you cannot name.

It is of no consequence. You are the huntress. You will have your prize, your immortality, the taste of his heart on your tongue. His death becomes your life. His love, his heart, becomes yours, for eternity.

But how nice, might it be, to keep this one? It is an impossible thought, a dreamless idea, but one that still crosses your mind. The fantasy of falling in love for eternity, of having more than one night, more than the blood and violence that follows, more than the loss that would sustain you. If it were to be one, you know you’d choose this one. Your thoughts stray to your sister for a moment, imagining her alone beneath the surface, mourning the centuries of life she has lived, the centuries of love she has lost. Did she know this feeling? This hopelessness, this despair. Your lips tug downward as you consider her words. It aches. It aches, knowing I will fall in love this night, only for it to end as the sun rises. Gloom washes through you, your own yearning itching inside your soul, your desperation for your human itching at your skin. It aches. It aches, it ach-

“Hello.” Someone says from behind you, a deep, distinct voice, and you snap upwards, straightening your posture to turn into the body that crowds you. You jerk backwards on the stool when you realize how close he is, the action unsettling you from your seat, and you slip forward, nearly falling free from your wooden perch. Balance on land is difficult, and yours is perpetually off, a skill you've never mastered. A massive hand wraps around your elbow to right you, gently steadying you, and your jaw goes slack when you finally look up.

It's him.

“Hi.” You smile, trying to recover from your less than graceful impression. Your heart thunders in your chest, and the melody inside him screams for you.

“I’m Ghost.” He motions to your mostly empty beer and raises his completely barren one in return. “Buy you another?”

The indulgent smile that scrawls across your face is practically involuntary as you give your answer.

“Sure.”

His name isn’t Ghost, but he keeps his true name close and won’t give it to you. You give him a nickname, one you usually use on land, and he doesn’t bat an eye, even when you tell him it’s a pet name and not your real one with a wink. The name Ghost doesn’t strike you as odd, after learning what he does, why he keeps it tucked away, and you marvel at him while he tells gives you bits and piece of himself, occasionally peeling his mask up to drink. He’s a solider, a Lieutenant in a special task force, some of which he happens to be out with tonight. He likes bourbon, specifically from a certain region in America, and he smells like the forest. You lean closer, completely unable to stop yourself, inhaling as deeply as you can, breathing in the mossy, earthy, green scent that hovers in the air around him. It was heady, and endless, and wrapped you in a dizzying cocoon of memories that you couldn’t place, but clearly envisioned. Forests, teeming with life and glowing chartreuse from top to bottom, oceans with aquamarine waters, shallow pools for you to bathe in under the sun, the water crisp and cold, your skin eagerly soaking it up its potent brine. Sapphire skies, the beaches stretching on and on, their seas fathomless, their bounties endless. You push closer, nosing as near as you can to his skin and take a lungful of the air. Strange. You knew humans wore things to mask or change their scents, but had never encountered one so… affecting.

“Alright, love?” He brushes the lightest contact of his fingers against yours, and you straighten, eyes ducking down in embarrassment.

“Yes, sorry. I- I was… distracted.”

Unusual indeed.

One drink turns to many, and you carefully note how Ghost’s posture becomes more relaxed, shoulders less tense as the two of you indulge. He continues to surveil the room, observing and cataloguing, and you find it dangerously appealing, how in tune he is to his surroundings. How vigilant. Your hand lays gently on his thigh when you can no longer hold off the desire for physical touch, and he inclines his head to speak above your ear, the warmth of his cheek behind the fabric pressed casually to your head.

“D’ya want to go somewhere else?” Yes. You nod, and he motions to his group before excusing himself, his large body cutting a path through the packed room like he’s parting the sea.

You note the couplings around the bar as Ghost approaches his companions, leaning down to speak to one who is seated, legs spread wide on a faux velvet chair. He has a mohawk, and cerulean blue eyes that trace you from head to toe after Ghost begins to walk back towards where you're seated. You break the eye contact hastily, observing the others, pity pulling on your heart strings over a distraught female who sits in a corner, watching another with longing. The state of her broken heart is written all over face, her body rife with grief. The object of her affection, another stunningly beautiful female, dances with a different mortal, her artfully woven hair spiraling from her shoulders in tune to the way she moves her body. They have it so hard, you think. The song does all the work for us. You never have to woo your mortals, just provide them with the opportunity to find you. The song pushes them to seek you out, drives them to near madness unless they are in your company. They don’t always love you back, as you love them, certainly. But you never have to vie for their attention, never have to posture for their affection.

A large hand takes yours, warm and beating with the pulse of his heart, the rhythm of the song.

“Ready?” You open your mouth to say yes but nothing comes out, and the feeling of dread, the ache swamps you for a passing second. I think I may not take a heart this year. All you can do is nod.

As he leads you through the crowd, you cannot help but reach forward with your free hand and clasp onto the dancing woman. She pauses, eyes lighting wantonly when she sees you, but you push a sprinkle of magic through her, sparking desire in the base of her consciousness for the mournful dove in the chair.

You don’t look back at either of them as you leave, and silently pray to no one that they find happiness in love, that they relish it and keep one another, if only for you.

You bring him to the beach, as is your custom. It was where you felt safest, closest to the ocean, it’s where your power felt most pure should you need it, should something go wrong. You shiver at the thought, shoving down the memories that threaten your balance, and you clutch Ghost’s hand.

“Come down here often?” He inquires and you shrug, a response you know mortals are fond of.

“I like it here.” You offer, and he hums in acknowledgement. You tug him towards the overhang of the pier, where the shadows will shield you, where no one dares to venture. The only light comes from the moon, it’s silver glow glittering dimly through worn wooden pier slats, and you watch it catch his eye, his pupil expanding and contracting as you step closer and closer. “I want to kiss you.” you implore. “Will you remove your mask?” The song. You’re depending on the song to help you with this, depending on his desire, the power of the melody in his veins to urge him to comply with your request, and when he tilts his head like he’s considering you, you hold your breath.

It happens quickly. He removes the mask in a fluid motion, and then his lips are upon yours, hot and seeking, tongue exploring your mouth while yours opens for him, your body clenching with dizzying desire at the feel of his touch against your skin.

“I knew it.” You gasp when you pull away and trace the fine point of a fingernail down his jaw. “I knew you were breathtaking under there.” He chuckles.

“Happy you think so.”

Your mouths melt together as he holds you around the waist, your bodies getting closer and closer until you can feel the hardness of his cock in his jeans, feel the scorching heat of him through his clothes. You are desperate for this mortal, your desire to feel him moving inside of you nearly as strong as the lust you feel to taste his heart. You sink to the sand together, a dance of limbs and movements that have you panting astride him when he settles, propped up on his elbows.

“Simon.” He says mid breath. “That’s my name. Want ya to have it.” Simon.

“Simon.” You whisper it, and he nods before pulling you back to him, two large palms cradling your face like you’re a delicate creature. It makes you feel special, makes you feel cherished, like you’re something gentle to be treasured, and not a monster out for his life. You kiss him tenderly, one more time, as softly as you can manage, your heart trembling inside your chest, before your teeth bite into his lip, the ferocious intensity of the act returned by him, his mouth meeting yours full force. You bite again, and this time his flesh gives way, bright, mineral rich blood bubbling from the tiny cut and you eagerly lap at it, the ichor coating your tongue and exploding across your senses. He laughs, the echo of it rumbling deep in his chest, and you place your hand against his heart greedily, the vigor of its beating nearly making your eyes roll back into your head. The length of his cock throbs between your legs, where only the fabric of his jeans separates you, and you rut against him helplessly. Sparks ignite between you, your body shuddering when his hands hook into your hip, strong grip guiding your movements against him. Your magic swells inside of you, and your head spins.

Take him, take him. Take his heart, take his song. Have him, his love, his heart, for eternity, forever.

You push him onto his back, dress rucked up around your hips, fabric pooling around the two of you.

“I want you.” you tell him, fingers fussing with his clothes, encouraging him to strip his shirt free and then unbutton his jeans. It’s messy, uncoordinated, and sloppy but you can’t find a care. You’re too filled with want, overflowing with desire for your mortal, your desperation mounting as he stills you, tracing a finger over your ribs and then down your pubic bone to where your slick, silken folds wait to be touched.

“Simon.” you whisper his name again, the word close to begging, and he shushes you, swirling a finger down where you’re leaking, circling the swollen bud of your clit with agonizing strokes that fill your senses with electricity.

“Shhh. I know what you need.” He soothes, and deftly pushes a finger inside of you, stroking along your walls. You shiver, face dropping into the crook his neck, and he turns his head so that the soft puff of his breath wafts over your skin as you whimper. “Does that feel good?” He asks, pressing another inside, his thumb flicking over your clit in lackadaisical patterns. You moan, body welcoming his touch, and you nip at the skin of his shoulder, eager to tear it apart, to taste his blood again. His other hand pushes at the back of your head, until your teeth are flush with his skin. “Go on.” He urges, and your eyes slip closed with bliss while you break the thin membrane, blood pooling to the surface as he lets out a small grunt. Your tongue swirls in it, painting his skin ruby, and you drag your lips downward, over where his heart pounds wildly in his chest. For you. It pounds for you. It sings for you.

“I need you inside me.” He pulls at the straps of the dress, divesting you of the top, exposing your breasts to the cool air and silver light of the moon. His thumb rolls one of your nipples and you feel for him, already free from his under garment, the things humans wear under their outside clothes, and you swallow when you feel the size in your fingers.

You sink down onto him with a hiss, body stretching for the intrusion, cunt spasming around the width and length as it fights to make room. He pets your hip soothingly, and you sit straight up, letting out a cry when you feel the true length of his cock inside you, the absolute fullness of it nearly seated in your belly. When you look back down, your eyes trace the smear of blood from his lips and shoulder, and your tongue darts out against your own skin, seeking the flavor of ichor that waits on the corner of your mouth.

Something glitters in his eyes, something shifting as if he finally recognizes the danger he’s in. Even here, with you astride him, split open his cock, hips stuttering in slow circles, wariness flexes across his face as if he knows, finally, that he is the prey and you the predator.

“It’s okay, do not be afraid.” You reassure him, stroking a fingernail over his breastbone, to where his heart flutters beneath your touch. He blinks, eyes blissfully blank, the firm grip of his hand on your hip relaxing before he says:

“Will you not tell me your name?” A long sigh slips between your teeth. Mortals. So hung up on familiarity. But how could you refuse a dying man his last request? Your lips kiss the shell of his ear as you give it to him, the point of your fingernail pressing into his delicate flesh, desperate to seek the strong muscle beneath, the song in his blood echoing through your own bones with supersonic vibration. The sounds and colors of the mortal realm all increase, too bright, too loud, everything shaking like the earth is suddenly trembling and then-

Something snaps inside of you. Magic, raw and powerful, a force unlike anything you’ve ever felt spills into you, your body being washed over with the rush of floodwaters, your heart and blood now singing for him, yearning for him, desperate to be consumed by him.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

The claim burns beneath your skin, your magic twisting away into something completely new, something more powerful as your mind grapples with the changing reality.

In the next moment, you’re spinning, tumbling through the air until you’re on your back, splayed beneath him, hands trapped at your sides. Your legs are folded underneath the width of his torso, your body opened for him just so, the head of his cock pressing against your cervix, stretching the slick walls of your cunt with each punishing thrust.

“I-“ the words are cut off sharply when he seals his mouth to yours, teeth gnashing and gnawing down from your lips to your jaw and then up to you ear.

“You,” He punctuates the word with a sharp thrust, and you gasp. “are mine, little huntress.” It is a vow, snarled through clenched teeth, and your own body betrays you by tightening around him, eager and willing to be claimed. The air is hot, humid and electric with magic, the burning effects of your error travelling through your every vein, every cell of skin. The utterance of your name, the act of your own foolishness strings heavily between you, while your body tenses underneath him.

“Simon.” You breathe and he only nods, holding your cheek in a gentle palm, stroking a loving touch across your face.

“Sweet little Nereid...” He names your kind with a growl, and your heart slams in your chest, his cock thrusting into your cunt wildly, desperately. “More beautiful than the sea herself.” The laugh is crooned, like the satisfying scratch of a needle against a record, and his fingers stroke your clit while he presses himself to you, your hips pinned beneath his weight, your body immobile. “Did you truly believe me to be a mortal?” He smiles darkly, lips curling with sinister satisfaction, and you feel the cold hand of fate reaching into your own chest cavity, rooting around in your soul until magic is searing across your skin, a bending and scraping feeling digging underneath your ribs, your own magic twisting and clawing until it burns away into something new, something changed, something imbued with him.

No. It’s not possible.

“You… you’re-“

“Yes.”

Simon cares little for the mortal realm. It’s pace and its noise and its scents are all cloying to him, obnoxious and foreign, the general rush of its inhabitants and their lack of care for their world offensive to him and his kind. They do not care for their realm, and do not take care of it ether, instead choosing to let it rot and fester beneath their feet, their drive and determination to outdo one another single handedly responsible for the destruction of most of their world. They call it something here, 'capitalism', like naming it will excuse it, while Simon just calls it murder, and greed.

Mortals and their extreme indifference do allow him certain things, however. Their love of violence and obsession with wealth put even the most well-off of his kind to shame at times. His kind loved things that shone, certainly. But mortals? They loved things that bled. It was this lust for power, this ravenous streak of greed that gave him the opportunity to position himself as he has.

As a hunter. A killer. A ghost.

Simon had been hunting for the thing he loved for a very, very long time.

And tonight, he was finally going to bring you home.

The first time Simon saw you; over a century ago, it was beneath Brighton Pier. You had a human male panting after you as you walked beneath the wooden overhang, your hand cupping his cheek softly, eyes full of tenderness and love. Simon, and the man, were both entranced by your beauty, the way your body moved under the night sky, how your skin seemed to glitter against the sand. Simon watched as you led him to where the moon couldn’t reach, beneath the shield of the slats, the dark of the evening hiding you from all prying, curious eyes, except for his.

He watched you take the male inside your body, watched you lavish your tongue across his neck and chest, watched your lips form sweet words of reassurance and honey while you tasted his blood. He watched the nails of your fingers gleam in the low light, watched them sharpen and then dig, scratching and clawing beneath the threads of the male’s skin, until you held an ichor rich organ in your palm, a complex system of vessels and ventricles, it’s sinew glowing red beneath your touch. He stood in awe as you devoured it, your feeding turning into a frenzy as you consumed it piece by piece, the male bleeding out and dying slowly, all while still buried inside your cunt.

After your feast, you dragged the male’s lifeless body down the sand to the water with you, where you pulled it beneath the waves, never to be seen again. Surprised, and intrigued, he stood at the water’s edge, watching the tide that was tinged red lap calmly at the shore. He knew humans had a taste for blood, but this was another desire onto itself. What were you?

The following year, Simon couldn’t help but return to the same area in hopes of spotting you again, the creature unknown to him, a mystery begging to be unraveled. You appeared at dawn on the same day, with a horde of others, who then dispersed into the city and surrounding areas, following the sound of a song he could not hear. He became a creature obsessed, tracking your every movement, watching your every hunt and sacrifice. He stood in the dark while you made love to the mortals whose lives you would take, watched you hunt with wild abandon, watched you enjoy the small, tiny things in your eternal life that others often overlook. He began to know you, began to learn what you liked and didn't, began to learn what made you smile.

You became the brightest spot in his own too long existence, the yearly reminder of love, of vitality, of life. He loved you, desperately, recklessly so. His dreams were filled with soft, sweet visions of you, bloody moments of passion and adoring, lingering kisses that he swore he could still feel when he woke.

It took time, too long of a time, before he discovered who, or what, you were. He spent a century trying to learn how to lure you to the surface. Simon tore apart libraries, bargained favors across dimensions, granted wishes and wove powerful spells just to trade for information on you and your sisters, the Nereids, the lasting remnant of a forgotten power, reclusive magic lurking inside the deepest depths, a realm inside a realm, never to be discovered unless you wished it so. And even then, the additional answers he sought were scarce.

Every year, he returned to the human realm to see you, tucking himself away in cloaks of magic and darkness so that he could creep as close as possible to you. Every year, he watched you hunt, watched you capture your prey effortlessly and consume their heart. He watched you shed a tear for them. Watched your drag their corpses down the beach to the sea, where you carried them into the water with you before disappearing all together.

Eventually, time began to change you. He watched you regard your lovers, your mortals with callousness, and cruelty. He watched you treat them with tenderness, and adoration, caring for them, making their ends sweet and soothing their fears. He watched you stand on the beach for hours at dawn and try to fight the urge to hunt. He burned to take you away from this world, to sever you from your ocean, bring you home to him, but your kind did not live in his realm. He was unsure how to sustain your life, and the search for answers was slow. Years went by, and the soft dreams that he had always welcomed turned to nightmares, fueled by the fear he’d lose you before he even had the chance to try to bring you home.

A decade ago, he watched you falter. Your body trembled as you took your sacrifice, your cries so hysterical he was certain you’d draw the entire block to where you hid in the shadow of someone’s gaff. His own body was rigid with tense, untethered magic that sought to lash out, and he was rife with worry that you’d give yourself away, you’d be caught by some mortal force and unable to return to the sea when the sun rose. The fear he felt was unreasonable, uncontainable. He'd level the city to protect you, to keep you safe, and he nearly did. He almost took you, that night. Was quite close, so close that he was crossing the street in front of vehicles and preparing to pull you into his realm when you composed yourself and completed your harvest, the glowing organ in your hands proof of your will to live, to love.

He rarely left the mortal realm after that. Only to seek his final answer and solidify his plan, his masquerade as the masked Ghost allowing him to exist in the realm indefinitely, giving him the availability to be close for when the time was right, for when you would be ready.

A year ago, you were the last to return to the water, your steps slow and clumsy, your eyes tired and weepy. You appeared satisfied, but as you looked back on the city from the shoreline, he saw the hint of desolation in your eyes, the shadow of dejection haunting your face.

It was more than enough, to spring him into action. More than enough, to find your promised mortal for next year and steal his song, bringing it into himself by a small piece of blood magic, something so simple and obvious Simon cursed himself for not realizing sooner.

This morning, as he observed you and your sister on the beach, he knew he had been right. He could see it in your face. The pain of sadness, of loss twisting your elegance into an ache, those feelings compounded by the admission of your eldest sibling. This could be your last hunt.

It was time to bring you home. Forever.

“That her then?” Johnny nods, indicating he’s looking the same direction as Simon, watching you walk down the curb, paper coffee cup clutched in your hands, face smiling at the sun.

“Yes.” Simon answers, shifting uncomfortably. The bloody song has been heating his flesh for weeks, boiling in his veins and driving him practically mad. Nymph magic. Its incessant hum has been battling his own power, jockeying for position as it worked to pull you to the surface. Combined with his own, he wasn’t surprised it possessed the ability to bring you up earlier than normal, encouraging you and your sisters through the depths and to the shore. If his blood was singing, then so was every other poor sod’s in this city.

You cross the street into the park, dress swaying around your hips, and he indulgently stares at the form of your body, the set of your shoulders, the texture of your hair. He closes his eyes to breathe, reaching into himself to get a handle on the battle of will going on in his blood, the warring magic factions pushing and pulling beneath his skin, begging to be let out, trying to lash out. Soon. He reassures himself. She will be with him soon.

He can smell you from here. You’re ripe. Overflowing, your scent is like a flickering ocean breeze, briny and cold but full of life, of promise. You’re ready, ready to be taken from this awful realm, ready to be bent underneath his body, ready to be crying on his cock as you come while he floods your womb with himself and his power, tying you to him for all eternity.

That is, if he can get you to relinquish your name.

It is a key piece of his plan, and the one that worries him the most.

He knows you do not give it freely; knows you keep it guarded. It’s like you’re already aware that he waits in the shadows for you, watching, keeping track of every step you take, every year, from sunup to the next, until you slink beneath the water where he cannot follow.

The pressure inside his body is nearly unbearable by the time you step into the pub. Dozens of heads turn towards you, mortals’ eyes roving all over your body like you’re a treat for them, like you’re something delicious they’ll have an opportunity to taste. Foolish, greedy mortals, too busy staring dreamily at you to recognize the predator that you are, or the predator he is, oblivious to the two hunters in the room with them right now. He wonders, if you'd bathe in their blood, given an opportunity. The image makes him smile.

Johnny clears his throat expectantly, and Simon nods, casting a glance over to where Gaz sits with a pretty female on his lap, her attentions focused solely on him, her eyes heavily lidded with lust. Johnny gives him a nod.

“Good luck.” He offers and Simon waves him off. He’s no need for luck. His blood sings your song.

“Ready?” He nearly loses control when he watches your face fill with despair for a moment after his question, his aching need to soothe and comfort you almost forcing his hands out to touch you. I'm here, little huntress. You are not alone anymore. He cannot tell you this, not yet. So instead, he applies pressure to your hand gently and waits. When you nod, he breathes just a tiny bit easier.

He cannot stay in this place any longer. The eyes, the mortals, their inane thirst for alcohol and violence starting to scratch underneath his skin. He needed you, needed your name, needed to take you home to his realm, and all this noise and smoke and foul-smelling liquor stood in his way. The feeling of your hand in his soothes him, calms the anxious explosion that’s building in his chest, but it’s not enough. Nothing will be enough, until he has what he wants.

On the way out, he does not miss your little spell. He is, and has been, the most powerful creature in this room. He has felt every ounce of magic used, by you, by Johnny, by Kyle, all night long. It makes his heart swell when he feels your effort to push the dancing female into the arms of her scorned lover, makes his heart soar when he realizes perhaps, you have not given up on love, on life. Perhaps, you just need something else, something other than the hunt, to live for.

He allows you to take your time beneath the Pier. He cannot rush you, cannot allow you the feeling of anything being amiss, being off. You are so close to the sea, so close to the edge of the water that if he spooks you, it will be too easy for you to slip away. Too easy for you to be lost beneath the surface, again, just as you have been for hundreds of years.

When your teeth tear into his flesh he nearly moans, almost loses control again, but tamps down the urge to spring forward and toss you into the sand beneath him. He needs your name, needs your name so bloody badly it has his head spinning, his entire being desperately urging him to act, to claim, to take you. Your cunt is searing hot around his cock, your body shivering in his arms as you rock your hips delicately, eyes watching him half addled, crazed with the lust for his blood, for his heart.

“Will you not tell me your name?” He thrusts slowly up into you, and pity flashes across your features as you bend forward to brush your mouth against your ear. He feels your lips part, hears the intake of your breath and then-

You’re his. The magic begins immediately, bonding you to him, searing you into his soul and vice versa, the song in his blood slipping away until all he feels is the combined force of your power and his, the melding of souls and magic that will guarantee your existence in his realm, by his side, guaranteeing your survival, your ability to thrive. He takes advantage of your confusion, of the chaos that rises in your heart and flips you on your back, spreading your thighs wide beneath him and plunging his cock as deep as he can. So close. So, so close, and then you will be truly his, for as long as you both shall live.

“I-“

“You,” he thrusts harder, desperate to claim you. “are mine, little huntress.” He hisses it, pushing the words forward with the brunt of his power, and you gasp before whispering his name.

“Sweet little Nereid…more beautiful than the sea herself.” He kisses your throat, stroking your clit at a torturous pace while your confused gaze tracks his every movement. “Did you truly believe me to be a mortal?” The magic pushes through your blood and bones, continuing to stitch and sear you to him, and he can’t help the feelings of possession that come over him.

His. His. His.

His magic cuts and gnaws at your own, ripping and shredding it to bits until it’s infected with him, the strength of your name, your free admission to him, turning you inside out, changing the very chemistry of your body. He watches with dark satisfactions as your face shifts, your lips parting with understanding, eyes widening with your knowledge of the truth.

“You… You’re-“ Clever little huntress.

“Yes.” He purrs, and punches his cock back up inside of you, pressing close to your cervix, your body wet and needy, just for him. You shudder and blink hazily, confusion flickering across your features while his magic roots around inside of you and binds you to him, cell by cell. He can still smell you, smell the cool salt air of the sea that comes from your skin, smell the ripeness of your body, your willingness spilling forward in the air, the scent of sweet honeysuckle and sea holly. Your thighs tighten around his hips, your body rocking swiftly in time with him while your brow furrows, like you’re not sure what you should be doing. He licks at the stain of his blood on your lips, his tongue pushing into your mouth, and you let out a sharp whine, small hands flexing against his chest.

“No.” you admonish, face stricken. “No. No, you t-tricked me.”

“I did.” He agrees, reaching between the two of you to rub your clit in a swift circle, your breath hitching. Your face twists into something sour, but your cunt clenches around him, and his lips curl into a crescent moon smirk. “Are you going to come on my cock, sweet one?”

“Unnf.” You moan nonsense, turning your face away from him but he does not stop, hips snapping against yours, his body working to bring yours closer and closer to its climax.

“I think you are.” He hisses and grips your jaw to turn your eyes back to him. They’re wet with tears, but he doesn’t see fear in them, doesn’t see the despair. Only flares of rage, and the heat of desire, the electricity of the magic that is now shared between the two of you. He smiles triumphantly. “I think,” he relaxes his pace, dragging his cock out of you painstakingly slowly, gaze never leaving your lovely face. “you’re going to come for me, and then I’m going to breed you, little huntress.” You tense around him, squeezing his cock, the words pulling a delicious, physical reaction from you that shakes his focus for a moment. His palm lays flat over your lower belly, low enough that his thumb can feel the hardness of your clit, can stroke around it’s hood while you gasp and convulse in his arms. You shake your head stubbornly, chest heaving for breath, and he slams himself back into you, your spine curling forward into his chest.

“Gods.” You cry out, fingers scrambling for something to hold onto, finding his shoulders and sinking deep, deep enough that he knows you're drawing blood. It oozes from the tiny wounds, tracing down his skin and when you pull away, your fingers have been darkened with it.

He watches with small wonder as you slip them into your mouth, face going slack with bliss, cunt spasming around him while he strokes deep. His skin prickles, mouth finding yours again, and you moan into him, uninhibited, full of abandon.

“I have watched you for over a century, my sweet Nereid. Watched you hunt, watched you love, watched you lose.” He slows to look down at you, caressing your face with a gentle touch. “I have watched the light fade from your eyes, watched despair take over your existence.” Your gaze widens, mouth dropping open in surprise, and then closing abruptly, eyes softening around the corners.

“Simon.” You murmur, pressing your finger to the weeping wound from your teeth.

“My huntress. You will never be alone again.” He noses your jaw, licking and sucking against your skin, cold brine exploding against his tongue. Your scent crests, peaking with the honey flower and salt, your body yearning beneath him, cunt milking his cock. “Come for me.” He encourages when he knows it’s time, when he sees the glossy want all over your face. It doesn’t take much urging, another stroke of your clit and you’re coming, body locking up around him, muscles straining as you cry out, face full of bliss and legs tense around his hips. You clamp down around him, holding him deep inside your body like a vice but he works you through it, thrusting slowly inside your scorching cunt, your walls desperately trying to keep him inside. “There you go.” He soothes, fucking you through the aftershocks, your face still twisted up. “That’s just what I needed.” The orgasm makes your more pliable, more soft and less angry, and he sees in your eyes what he knows to be true. You want this. Perhaps this is not what you would have chosen at first, perhaps the magic was too strong in your veins in the beginning, but your body knows what your mind works to accept. You are choosing this, choosing him, over the hunt. Over the sacrifice. Over the immortal life of loss.

So, so close.

He folds your legs towards your chest, opening you deeper and you mewl, lips parted in dazed, post orgasm glow. He can’t help but kiss you again and again, his painfully slow thrusts forcing irritated breaths to puff from your nose.

“Something you want?” He teases, and you nod, pressing your face into his shoulder and groaning into his skin.

“Simon. Please.” You voice breaks, and he feels your cunt pool around him, liquid heat forcing him to grit his teeth in an effort to stave off his own orgasm.

Ask me for it, little huntress.

“Please, what?” He mocks, thumb pressing down on your clit hard, causing you to keen. He doesn’t move, just stays steady inside of you, your cunt working pull him deeper.

“Please, please. I want-“ you gasp when he bites the skin of your neck, and he smiles wickedly. Your cunt practically strangles him now, body working to drag his orgasm from him, magic singing in both of your hearts.

His. His. His.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

Your scent overpowers him, the swell of the ocean behind him combined with the salt of your essence pulling him harder into your gravity.

“What do you want?”

“I want your come.” You beg and he snarls, finally losing control, fucking into your eager body with abandon, hard and punishing while you moan and cry beneath him. He takes your earlobe in his teeth before whispering a vow:

“Then you shall have it.” He plays with your clit, the intensity of his strokes matching the pace of his thrusts and you pant eagerly. “You shall have it every day until you are full of me, full with my child.”

“Yes.” You moan, and he feels you moving towards another climax, your muscles spasming and eyes slipping shut.

“I’m going to breed you, give you my baby, sweetling. Make you mine, forever.” Your back arches and you wail, your cunt clamping down on him again, and he thrusts as deep as he can, chasing his release, fueling his burning desire to empty himself inside of you. He lets go completely, untethers his magic, lets it fully fuse with yours as he spills inside of you, the pressure of his orgasm working against your aftershocks, and your own magic that wraps itself wildly around him, clawing at the seat of his power, desperate to attach itself.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

His. His. His.

You fall asleep on his chest, body relaxed and sated, mouth open in a small o. He needs to get you up, needs to get you ready to travel to his realm but in this moment, he’s content to sit here, against the old wooden pier, timing the rise and fall of your breathing and planning for the future, for eternity.

“Will you care for her?” A musical voice asks from a short distance, and his head snaps up to see your sister, the one you stood with on the beach this morning, inclining her head towards your peaceful, sated body that sits snugly in his arms.

“Always.” He promises, and she nods, eyes looking down the shoreline.

“I am happy for her.” She looks sad, forlorn, not unlike how you appeared hours ago.

“It is not too late, for you to hunt. There is still plenty of time before the sunrise.” He tries to encourage, and she nods.

“Perhaps.” Simon briefly wonders if Kyle or Johnny are still in town, a sinister idea forming in his mind, taking shape before his very eyes. He pushes, just the gentlest bit of magic, the piece that’s mixed with yours, towards her. A long moment passes, and then, “I think I’ll walk.” She motions up the pier and gives a goodbye nod, as he strokes a hand down your spine when you shiver in his arms.

You do not stir until she is a speck on the horizon, and when you do, you lift your head wearily, like you’ve slept for a thousand years.

“What’s going on?” you murmur, shifting your dress so it covers your thighs. He presses a light kiss to your forehead before giving an answer.

“We’re going home now, little huntress.”

#peaches writes #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x female reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #mw2 #ghost call of duty #mermaids #mermaids au #magic au #ghost x reader #cod fanfic

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devonpink · 3 months

Text

Straight Boy.MP3 Part 2

Pierre was chilling on his bed, scrolling his phone in utter boredom when suddenly he got a text from his best friend, Mason, a link to an untitled mp3. His eyes perked up, wondering what it could be. While putting on his headphones, he got another text from Mason. The text read, "Bro!!! Listen to this immediately, bro!!! It's fucking life changing, bro!!!" Pierre raised an eyebrow of confusion, perplexed at why Mason unexpectedly sounded like an annoying cliché of a dumb straight boy. "Well, if it's that amazing," Pierre scoffed, rolling his eyes. He laid back and curiously pressed play, smugly assured in knowing no song is genuinely life-changing. Poor Pierre, how wrong he'd soon be.

After a few seconds of ambient build-up, the song went right into the hook: a cacophony of vibrant hypnotic melodies piercing Pierre's mind like neon lightning. It was loud and violent, yet incredibly arousing. In a panic, Pierre tried removing his noise-canceling headphones, but they wouldn't budge. He wanted to get up, confused and frightened, but his body wouldn't let him; his backside and legs felt like they were cemented to the bed. The more he tried to budge, the weaker his body became. His arms soon fell to his sides, limp with exhaustion. All he could do was listen in agonizing terror as his 10" cock became instantly rock hard, creating a stiff pitch tent in his thin grey sweatpants.

"What the fuck?!" Pierre winced as the song's repetitious beat assaulted his ears. He clutched his bedspread in discomfort, feeling incredibly lightheaded but, surprisingly, with no headache. His eyes rolled back in anguish, feeling his whole body tingle and tighten. Even in such misery, nothing could stop the mysterious intensity of aching arousal igniting within him, a massive pre cum stain forming at the tip of his throbbing pitch tent.

"Cum, dumb straight boy!" An unrecognizable male singer abruptly and loudly sang, frightening the hell out of Pierre. His hard cock quivered, instantly responding to the song's command. His cock suddenly felt on the brink of eruption, making him spasm with a severe euphoric chill. In the pit of his stomach, he knew something terrible was going to happen if he shot his load. He clutched his bedspread harder, trying desperately to resist, but his body wouldn't have it. With a moan of great sexual agony, he blasted through his grey sweatpants and made a huge mess of himself and his bedspread with his white sticky cum.

"Holy fuck, bro!" Pierre moaned, his voice slightly deeper. He couldn't believe what had just come out of his mouth, but it was the only thing his brain could muster. The song then went right into the bridge, grabbing back his attention. "Dumb boy. Dumb, dumb boy." The lyrics sang. "What the fuck?!" Pierre gasped, feeling his cock stiffen back up. "Dumb boy. Dumb, straight boy. Cum out all your brains, dumb boy." The lyrics sang. His cock quivered and throbbed, aching for release. "Fuck, no! Fuck, bro-" Pierre uttering that word again sent a chill down his spine, cutting off all thought. "Holy fuck, bro." Pierre moaned, his mind suddenly feeling like mush. His hips began to thrust forward on their own, his cock rubbing against the sticky wet cum in his sweatpants. He could feel his resistance slipping, giving him unexpected pleasure. "Fuck, bro!!!" he moaned, his cock erupting another blast of hot sticky cum.

"Dumb boy. Dumb, straight boy." The lyrics sang, bringing a dumb smile to Pierre's sweaty face. "Holy fuck, bro!" Pierre chuckled, his head feeling even lighter. He unclenched from his bedspread, feeling more relaxed. Pierre then closed his eyes, seeing them go fuzzy. A few seconds ago, Pierre felt like he was in a living nightmare, but now he felt like he had just finished having the best full-body massage of his life. "Fuck, bro." He moaned in satisfaction. However, the song wasn't over. Pierre wasn't complete yet.

"Straight boy. I'm a straight boy." The lyrics sang, widening Pierre's dumb smile. "I'm a straight boy." Pierre harmonized. Pierre's eyes opened in shock, instantly snapping out of his joy. A drop of cold sweat ran down his face, dread pouring over him. "I'm gay." Pierre protested. "You're a straight boy." The lyrics immediately sang back, responding to him. Pierre's heart quickened, unable to believe what was happening. "I'm-" Before Peirre couldn't finish, the song fastly interrupted, "-straight. You're a straight boy." Pierre's cock stiffened back up to full mast, throbbing and quivering for release. He clutched his bedspread again, knowing the next ejaculation would be the last. What lay on the other side of that orgasm, he could only fear the worst.

"Cum, straight boy!" The song commanded. Pierre clutched his soaked bedspread harder, trying with all his might to resist. "Cum, boy. Cum, straight boy. Cum out all your gay, straight boy!" The song commanded, sounding malevolent. Pierre groaned, feeling his hips thrust forward on their own again. His hard cock rubbing against the sticky wet cum in his sweatpants felt magnificent, the pleasure beyond hard to resist. "Cum, Pierre! Join us, bro!" The song commanded. Pierre's heart skipped a beat, the song uttering his name frightening the hell out of him. His hips thrust harder, humping faster. He could feel the cum building up, his cock ready to erupt for the final time. "Please, no!" Pierre protested in agony, tears forming in his eyes. "CUM!" The song demanded, sounding like the devil himself. Pierre clutched as hard as he could, the pleasure overpowering all fear. "FUCK, BRO!!!" Pierre roared like a mighty manly beast, firing off his hot sticky white cum for the third and final time.

The song blasted off its final beat as Pierre passed out in a pool of sweat and cum. He awoke a few minutes later feeling like a brand-new man. Pierre was a new man. The previous intelligent gay Pierre was permanently gone forever, and the new dumb straight Pierre was here to stay. With all memory of his mental transformation erased, Pierre was dumbfounded as to why he was drenched in sweat and cum. But now, being as dumb as a brick, he didn't overthink it and got off his bed to clean himself. Instead of bathing like an intellectual, he grabbed a used towel and poorly whipped the cum and sweat off his chiseled body.

Pierre then rushed over to his closet to quickly change into his trunks. It was still a hot, sunny day, and the slutty babes at the beach were calling. He needed pussy and badly! But before going out, Pierre sent all his gay friends a link to his brand-new favorite song, an untitled mp3.

#gay to straight #transformation #tf story #male tf story #male transformation #mental transformation

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sharkiethrts · 1 month

Text

prompt: meeting highschool sweetheart! sunday for the first time. oh, just how charming he tried to be

relations: sunday x reader

notes: this is modern au! with little relation to the actual story. There are NO YANDERE THEMES in this particular work, I'm more focused on picturing the human side of Sunday (without the detrimental effects of the dream master's manipulations).

warnings: none.

He talks a lot. Though you find that every word he says tend to fill with immense knowledge that seemed to peruse all the right places that clicked all the content your teacher had tried to impart upon the class. At this point, he made the teachers' comments seem more like an add on to his lessons. A rendition, almost.

He doesn't seem to have ever possessed a single vacuous thought in his life.

He's resplendent, too. Which added onto the charm, even if the classmate had found the subject particularly boring, they'd have to focus their gaze on him at least. If his charms hadn't worked (how, even), then his commanding presence should do the trick. Even when he wasn't speaking, you found that your gaze often found their way so incredibly naturally to him.

You think he knows of his charm. Otherwise, why would he be so confident in offering to relay the summary of Kafka's 'metamorphosis' so eagerly to you as an accompaniment to your reading.

"Kafka's self esteem has essentially pledged itself upon the approval of his family, which led to the derelict condition of his heart at the post-climax of the story..."

His voice is nice too. If the noises of the library are a cacophony of miserable sounds, his seems to have conducted all of it into an irie melody. You find yourself wondering whether his interactions with you have been a combination of polite passes and a shackled formality to maintain with another. You aren't an idiot, though you can be rather forgiving to details, you certainly haven't missed the unctuous smile and words he gifts to another.

You'd like to think that you'd be able to catch it when his facade starts showing but with the way his golden eyes introduce you to a drowning reverie, you start to doubt it.

It's not your first interaction, since his eager summarisation of Great Expectations two months ago, he hasn't stopped approaching you.

A part of you start to suspect that he had planned this. Every Friday, twelve forty-five, at the fiction corner.

You'd once change your schedule, moving it an hour later and happened upon Sunday impatiently waiting by the non-fiction corner, just two steps away from the fiction corner. When your eyes met, you think you saw a hint of splendor relief. You had quickly turned away. So you missed the rest.

"Are you perhaps tired?" His questions brings you back to reality, your eyes blinking furiously from how dry it had gotten by the past minute of you completing gazing off, "I understand that you had biology just prior to this, so I'd understand if you'd prefer to talk about something... easier to swallow... Macbeth, perhaps?"

There it is again. His not-so-subtle-now-that-you've-caught-on way of leading your time together to become a plethora of unending adventures. He doesn't offer to walk away but rather, a simple remedy of a new book. Sometimes a longer one, he had tried to sneak Harry Potter in once. Sneaky boy.

Seriously though? Macbeth for an 'easier-to-swallow' alternative? Now he's getting sloppy.

You test him.

"How about we part ways for now?" His eyes turned cautious. You decide to push it further, "I don't wish to burden your... already crowded responsibilities," you're certainly aware of his role as the golden boy of the Oak family, "Nor do I wish to force more ingratiating words out of you," You're certainly aware of his hidden affections for you by now, "Now that I think of it, haven't this been going on for... three months? That doesn't sound too fair to you-"

"-Two months," He cuts you off, his eyes now looking slightly strained. His posture taut, "You shouldn't be worrying of anything of the sorts, I'm completely happy to revise any type of stories you're interested in..."

That reminds you, your lie of being interested in Metamorphosis. You're sure that he hasn't read of it, yet, with his superb recounting of it to you? He must have spent his week revising.

"You don't need to be so... genteel," You smile, knowing exactly what a fool you're making of him, "I'm not exactly the most exciting conversation partner."

"Nonsense!" He cuts you off again, suddenly forgetting his manners, "You make me feel excitable things, I can assure you-" His cheeks suddenly turn red. His mouth closes. Then opens. And shuts again.

You let out the cheekiest smile you can possibly muster, "... Excitable, you say?"

You watch his neatly folded collar wrinkle for the first time.

"Nothing scandalous!"

You weren't thinking of such but now you're certainly curious, "I'm not quite sure I believe you."

Oh, did his tie loosen? A new sight to behold indeed.

Best to come at twelve forty-five sharp next week then.

#sunday hsr #sunday x reader #sharkie works ; all honkai #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr x you #modern soft! sunday #highschool sweetheart!sunday #soft!sunday

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morallyinept · 1 month

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Veneration - A Frankie Morales x Deaf F!Reader One Shot

Written as part of my B O D I E S Series 🤎

BODIES MASTERLIST

Summary: Living in a world with no sound, you meet an incredible man who is able to communicate with you on a deeper level, transcending spoken words.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Deaf F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader in terms of ethnicity, Reader does have hair. Reader is deaf and only has one functional ear.)

Word Count: 6.6k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️ “It's the emergence, of."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here

Triggers & Warnings: Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/oral M & F receiving/fingering/Reader is deaf and only has one functional ear/mentions of scars/alcohol consumption/burly men fighting in a ring for sport.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: It's important to me that all types of readers are represented in my work, therefore this collection of stories is written for readers with REAL bodies. However, anyone can enjoy them. Whilst this story may not specifically represent your own personal journey, it is my hope that it resonates and offers comfort and enjoyment. The condition/disability mentioned in this story is not 'one size fits all' - everyone's journey is personal and unique, and I have undertaken as much research as I can to write accurately and respectfully. 🤎

MAIN MASTERLIST | FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

The sultry night air of the Floridian dusk hangs swampy over the bustling streets, thick with the scent of saltwater and sunscreen as you and your rag-tag bunch of friends amble your way towards the local arena.

The palm-fringed boulevards are slowly dyed in pastel pinks and golden hues from the setting sun as you navigate through the gritty streets and wayward bodies, their conversations echoing off the walls around you like shards of shattered glass.

Each fragment carries a piece of the shrapnel cacophony that threatens to pierce through the fragile barrier of your senses. The discordant strains of country music from a nearby honky-tonk drifts through the crackled air as you pass, their twangy melodies a familiar backdrop to the rhythm of everyday life in Fort Walton Beach.

You catch jarred snippets of conversation as you struggle to keep pace, the incessant buzzing in your ear like a droning hornet where your aid is kicking up a stink; the constant hum of static and feedback grates on your nerves like sandpaper rubbed furiously against your ear canal.

It’s been doing this for a while and you really should get a new one, chastising yourself for your put off till tomorrow mantra. The aid emits a disconcerting array of noises as it’s been slowly malfunctioning, enduring weeks of pitchy screeches and low humming din.

It started with a subtle crackling, like the static of a radio searching for a signal between undecided stations. Then accompanied by intermittent bursts of high-pitched metallic screams, akin to feedback from a microphone placed too close to a speaker.

Occasionally, you’ll hear distorted fuzzes of conversation or ambient sounds either unbearably loud, or warped and muffled as if heard underwater. These fragmented noises only add to your frustration, teasing you with glimpses of the auditory world that lies just beyond your reach without your trusty hearing aid.

As the malfunction worsens, the noises grow more erratic and pronounced, escalating into a chaotic riot of glitches and distortions. It’s as if your hearing aid is rebelling like a stroppy teenager and plunging you into a whirlwind of loud and jarring sounds that make you physically jump.

You wince as the noise grows louder, accompanied by unpredictable bursts of high-pitched squeals that bore into your skull down to the frayed nerves of your teeth.

"Is everything okay?" One of your friends asks, concern evident in their hazy voice as they throw you a glance over their shoulder.

Or at least you assume that’s what they say, on the account of the incessant squealing going on inside your only ear canal.

You force a smile, trying to push aside the discomfort. "Just a little pitchy," you reply, using your hands to convey the words as you sound them out, barely able to hear your voice and hoping to downplay the severity of the situation.

But if anything you’re expecting it to get worse, especially in the arena. The prospect of navigating the crowds in there with your errant device fills you with frenetic dread.

You would’ve preferred to have been sequestered away this evening, curled around a book and a nice glass of wine, slobbing it out in comfy sweats. Instead your friends have rail-roaded you into an impromptu night out, snatching up tickets to an MMA fight. Something you have no interest in whatsoever.

However the constant peer pressure in the group chat had forced you - seemingly at gunpoint - to embark on this manic adventure into uncharted territory of brawny muscle and sweat.

It's going to be so much fun! They’d exclaimed, their eyes shining with anticipation, and you feigned an enthused nod back when they’d picked you up.

They’re not bad people, you love that they want to include you so much, even if it can be mildly suffocating at times. But occasionally, your friends can make assumptions about your abilities that leave you feeling frustrated and misunderstood.

Born with only one functional ear, you’ve never known the stereo sound that most people take for granted. Instead, you navigate the world with one - the other not formed in the womb and blessing you with a little fleshy nubbin in place of a full ear, that your mom still to this day calls cute, even though you’re a fully grown ass woman - and relying on your other senses to fill the void left by your deafness.

Why don't you just turn up your hearing aid? They’ll ask, not realising that your device can't "fix" your deafness entirely, or that it often struggles to filter out loud background noise. There’s no happy medium - you either hear far too much or not enough with it.

You strain to follow their conversations amidst the cacophony of voices and background sounds bleeding in at the best of times. But despite your efforts, you’re often struggling to keep up, and it creates a sense of frustration building inside you.

Your friends can often forget to speak clearly, or to face you directly when speaking, making it difficult for you to follow along if you can't lip read. And though you know that your scatterbrain chums love you dearly, there are moments when their lack of awareness about accessibility leaves you feeling isolated and unseen.

Despite these challenges, you cherish your friendships deeply. You know that their intentions are always rooted in love and kindness, even if they sometimes fall short of understanding the unique experiences and needs associated with your deafness.

And venues with loud noises are probably the worst places they drag you to.

You know all too well the challenges that await you in environments like nightclubs - throbbing music, flashing lights, and crowded dance floors - all of which threaten to overload your already strained senses. More often than not, you go along anyway despite your reservations, not wanting to dampen their spirits or, more importantly, feel left out.

But moments like those are a stark reminder of the invisible barriers you face as someone living with hearing loss. Trying to steer the world around you, there are times when the overwhelming sensory input threatens to engulf you entirely, leaving you feeling alone in a crowd of well-meaning friends.

Your journey with hearing loss hasn't just impacted your friendships - it’s also left its mark on your romantic encounters. Over the years, you’ve experienced your fair share of heartaches as you've traversed the complexities of love and intimacy. Encountered many partners who struggled to understand the daily realities of living with hearing loss. Some were well-meaning but clueless, their attempts at communication often falling flat as they failed to grasp the nuances of your unique experiences.

Others were less understanding, their impatience and frustration bubbling to the surface whenever you struggled to hear or communicate effectively. And you’d endured countless arguments and misunderstandings, your self-esteem taking a hit with each passing day as you wondered if you’d ever find someone who truly accepted you for who you are.

But despite the setbacks and disappointments, you refuse to give up hope. The right person will come along. At some point.

As you reach the entrance to the moderately local and small arena, your patience reaches its breaking point as a loud, shrill screech rips through your ear making you audibly grumble.

Crowds of enthusiastic spectators, dressed in an array of attire, ranging from casual jeans to flashy sequined dresses, stream towards the entrance, their excitement palpable in the air. Inside, the atmosphere crackles with anticipation and mingles with the faint scent of sweat and spilled beer.

The walls are adorned with posters advertising past events, their colours faded with age, but their messages still bold and enticing. The floor is scuffed and worn from years of use and mildly sticky under the soles of your sneakers.

At the centre of it all stands the ring, bathed in a chalky spotlight that illuminates the weathered canvas like a stage awaiting its performers. Despite its moderate size, the arena is filled to the brim with eager fight fans, their voices rising in anticipation as they await the evening's main grapple event.

Your friends scatter, some heading for the bar, others pulling you with them further into the crowd as it grows. As the arena lights dim, casting shadows across the sea of faces around you, two fighters emerge from opposite corners of the ring, their presence commanding attention.

And it’s at this moment your aid decides to completely flip out as you clutch your head in searing pain.

With little choice and a swift motion, you reach in and pluck the offending device from your ear, relief flooding through you as the noise abruptly ceases. In the absence of the chaotic glitches and distortions, your ear strains to detect even the faintest whisper of sound.

The world around you seems to lose its shape and form, dissolving into a hazy blur of muted colours and indistinct shapes. The perpetual silence that now greets you is jarring and disorienting, encountering a profound emptiness, a void where once there had been a relentless assault on your senses, now reduced to a fuzzed quiet.

Despite the presence of people milling about around you, you suddenly feel utterly alone, trapped in a silent prison of your own making.

With each passing moment, your perception of the world shifts, shrinking away from you almost, your other senses recalibrating to the newfound peace that envelops you.

Your friend nudges you and points to the ring, mouthing words at you that you can’t read from their lips in the dark shadows, or hear. So you shrug and point to your broken aid in your fingers, and they pout sympathetically at you, turning their gaze back to the ring, leaving you somewhat bereft.

With little else to do, you watch the fight full of disdain. The first fighter, a towering figure with muscles rippling beneath his skin, exudes confidence with every step.

His jaw is set in determination, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on his opponent and honey hair slicked back. Your friend nudges you again, silently giggling and you assume it’s because she thinks he’s attractive and you roll your eyes with a lazy smirk.

With lightning-fast reflexes, the fighter launches himself forward, unleashing a flurry of punches aimed at his opponent's defences. His fists move like pistons, each strike packed with raw power and precision and it makes you wince.

The atmosphere reaches a fever pitch, the crowd erupting into silent cheers and applause around you with each punch exchanged between the combatants.

You find yourself swept up in the spectacle, eyes fixed on the action unfolding before you and imagining how bad those punches must sound. You can feel the energy of the crowd pulsating through you, a primal rhythm that resonates on a visceral level as you glance about at focused faces pulled back into enthusiastic snarls and fists pumping the air.

You reach for your purse slung across your shoulder, intending to stow the broken hearing aid away until you can have it replaced.

But just as you’re about to tuck it safely inside, a sudden jolt sends you stumbling forward, your fingers losing their grip on the fragile device.

Time seems to slow as you watch in horror as the hearing aid slips from your grasp, tumbling down into a dark sea of denim clad legs.

No!

Desperately, you reach out to grab the falling device, but it’s too late. Your hearing aid lands on the hard floor, disappearing amidst the crowd of stamping spectators.

Heart pounding, you push your way through, frantically searching for any sign of it. But amidst the chaos and darkness of the arena, it’s impossible to spot.

You turn to get your friends' attention but they're not there, realising you’ve been swept further into the crowd and closer to the ring as it surges. You can’t spot their faces so obviously and it starts to panic you.

Fighting your way through towards a gap, you feel a soft tap on your shoulder and turn abruptly to see a man standing before you.

He’s holding out the broken aid in what seems to be a gigantic palm, with a sympathetic expression.

The silence suddenly becomes deafening, save for the gentle thudding felt in your chest.

With rugged tan features softened by a warm smile, his face is lined with bronzed skin and a dusting of stubble across his jawline that’s greying in patches.

A well-groomed moustache adorns his upper lip. Beneath a worn, navy baseball cap, tufts of brown curls peek out, framing his face in a halo of unruly waves.

His eyes, a piercing dark brown, sparkle with a hint of mischief behind the steely gaze.

With a mixture of relief and trepidation, you accept the aid, your fingers trembling as you inspect the damage. The casing is cracked, the delicate components exposed to the harsh arena lights as they strobe.

Before you can try to communicate your thanks, the man’s hands move with a fluid grace as he offers his assistance.

“Are you okay?” He signs to you, his eyes full of concern.

You raise your eyebrows back with a stunned look. With a shaky smile and nodding, you sign back, “thank you.”

The man's eyes remain fixed on you as you finally tuck the aid into your purse for safekeeping and then sigh in defeat, noting his expression is one of genuine concern.

He signs again, his hands moving with confidence through the air. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

You keep his gaze with a mixture of gratitude and uncertainty. "I don't think so." You sign back, your hands moving hesitantly as you try to convey your frustration. "It's broken."

"I'm sorry it got damaged." He signs.

Despite your immense disappointment, you can't help but feel a sense of warmth towards the stranger who’s come to your assistance.

"Thank you for finding it, I really appreciate it," you sign, your hands moving with more confidence.

A smile tugs at the corners of the man's lips as he signs back. "Of course. I'm glad I could." His eyes twinkle with a hint of mischief as he adds, "can I buy you a drink to make up for the disappointment at least?"

Your heart skips a beat at the unexpected offer. You hesitate for a moment, throwing a glance over your shoulder for one last look for your friends, before nodding, a shy smile playing at your lips.

"Sure. I'd like that," your hands betray your nervousness as they dance through the air.

He leads you through the crowd, throwing a smile back over his shoulder as you follow him to the bar.

“Do you drink beer?” He asks with his fingers shaping into words.

“A beer would be great.” You nod.

You watch as he leans in over the bar to the tender and fishes his wallet out from his back pocket. Your eyes take to wandering over his broad frame swathed in a mustard corded jacket and long legs in scuffed denim. He offers you a red plastic cup and you thank him.

“Are you deaf, too?” You tentatively ask him.

He shakes his head and his expression softens as he responds, “I learned ASL in the military.”

“Oh, the army?”

“Yeah. Or I was. Retired now.”

You smile. “Were you based at Eglin?”

“Yeah, sometimes. More away than at home though.” He nods over to the ring as the two guys are still going at it and signs some more. "Are you enjoying the fight?"

“My friends dragged me out. It’s not really my thing.” You sign with a crooked chuckle.

He nods, smiling. “Yeah, me either. My friend is in the fight. The one in blue. His brother coaches him, we were all in the army together. Show of camaraderie, I guess. I dunno, I’ve seen enough violence.” He shrugs and then sips his beer.

His eyes dart towards the ring and then back at you where he smiles again. You can feel yourself warming all over, captivated by the man before you, drawn to the quiet strength and undeniable charisma that seems to emanate from every fibre of his being.

He exudes an effortless coolness that belies his military background, while his easy demeanour suggests a man comfortable in his own skin.

But it’s his smile that truly sets him apart, a crooked grin that lights up his face as you both peep and gaze curiously at one another. There's a sincerity to his expression that draws you in, a sense of kindness around a prominent hooked nose, and compassion that transcends the rugged exterior.

“I’m sorry, I forgot to introduce myself, my name’s Francisco.” He signs.

“Nice to meet you.” You introduce yourself back and he smiles at your name.

“My friends call me Frankie. Or Catfish.” He spells out with thick fingers.

“Catfish? Do I even want to know?” You query.

“Callsign, mostly.” He smirks with glittery eyes. “Do you have anyone that can fix your aid?”

You shrug. “I’ve been meaning to get a new one. Might finally force me to now.”

He nods as he sups at his beer, wet pink lips shining at you as he licks foam from them.

Your breath catches in your throat, coming in shallow gasps as you struggle to compose yourself in the presence of this captivating man who won’t stop looking at you.

“Will your friends be missing you?” You enquire, swallowing through a dry throat no matter how much cool beer you gulp down.

He shakes his head, reaching an arm up to scratch idly at the back of it as he repositions his cap.

“No. Too busy with Benny.” He nods over to the ring. “Will yours be missing you?”

“Probably not.” you sign dismally, aware that you can see them now in the crowd and they're all enthralled in the fight, completely unaware you’re missing.

“Good. Then we can have another drink together.” Frankie signs smiling, and you nod eagerly, feeling dizzy with tingly anticipation.

As the fights unfold in the ring, you and Frankie find yourselves drawn together for most of the night at the bar, engaged in silent conversation and signing with an ease that colours your recent acquaintance vividly.

With each swift and confident exchange, you delve deeper into your experience of navigating a world you can’t hear most of the time.

You learn that Frankie is completely fluent in American Sign Language, due to his time in a division in the army he calls Delta Force, explaining it was crucial for missions where he had to be completely silent, while Frankie discovers that you’ve been deaf since birth.

You talk about music and favourite bands, leaning into the commonality of being Fleetwood Mac aficionados. You both love dogs and loathe cats, and he doesn’t have children, but has a nephew he adores like his own, and shows you a goofy picture of the two of them pulling faces as his phone lock screen.

Despite the intensity of the fight unfolding before you, you’re both immersed in your own shared bubble, the fluid movements of your hands and smiles a stark contrast to the roar of the crowd around you both.

And you find that neither of you can stop smiling at one another. When Frankie smiles at you, it's like a burst of warmth illuminating the dimly lit arena like a solar flare. His eyes, alight with genuine kindness, crinkle at the corners into layered crow’s feet as his lips curve into a gentle, yet enticing arc.

And you feel a connection blooming between you as you discover common ground, unlike any you’ve experienced before. He makes you laugh, you feel it from the depths of your belly as it vibrates at the back of your throat.

He winks as he smirks at you, his dark chocolaty eyes linger on yours over the rim of his red plastic cup, that seems so tiny in his giant hands. He’s felt gently on your lower back, palm guiding you in closer to him to avoid getting knocked into by over-zealous patrons, and he smells so amazing up close.

The enticing scent of cloves and leather, like stepping into a well worn, yet loved jacket. Something spicy lingers under it, tickling your nose with its warm sweetness.

Your friends eventually find you at the bar as the lights come up a little later, and one realises you haven't got your aid in when you sign to greet them.

“Are you ready to leave?” They sign back to you and you turn towards Frankie hesitantly to say your farewell.

“Actually, if you want, we could go get a bite to eat? I could drop you home later?” He suggests to you with adept hands, much to your friends’ surprise as they observe the both of you communicating in ASL quickly and confidently.

Smiling, and wanting nothing more than to spend more time with him too, you nod at him before turning to your friends.

“I’m gonna stay with Frankie for a bit. You guys go on ahead. Talk to you later.” You sign to them.

“Get it, girl.” One of them mouths and you smirk, hoping he doesn’t lip read too.

Together, you both decide to head to a nearby burger joint, drawn in by the promise of hearty comfort food and casual ambiance.

And Frankie reaches for your hand, entwining your fingers in his through the crowds as the arena empties, and doesn’t actually let go until you’re sliding into the booth opposite him in the diner.

Your pulse quickens beneath your skin, thrumming in time with the rapid beat of your heart as you find yourself drawn inexorably closer to the explicitly gorgeous man before you.

Finding a cosy setting near the window, you both settle in, your silent conversation flowing effortlessly as you peruse the menu; the scent of sizzling beef and toasted buns wafting through the air.

Your mouth waters at the thought of sinking your teeth into a juicy burger piled high with all the fixings, while Frankie's eyes light up at the prospect of indulging in some chilli cheese fries on the side to share.

As Frankie places the order with the waitress, you find yourself feeling more relaxed and at ease than you have in a long time. There's something comforting about the simple pleasure of sharing a meal with a new friend, the warmth of your connection filling the air alongside the aroma of freshly cooked cow.

His easy laughter and genuine warmth, coupled with the ability to engage with you confidently in ASL, makes him seem like the perfect companion, someone who understands you in a way that few others do.

He’s insanely attractive too, older and wiser, the grey in his beard indicating he might be in his mid-forties, a small swell of his tummy overhangs his jeans straining against the grey t-shirt underneath, as he sits back in the booth regarding you with a smile as you sign and share jokes. And he's so broad that it makes your insides clench each time your eyes skim over his shoulders.

But then you can't help but feel a flicker of self-consciousness creep in when he gently asks about your ear. A little nubbin of stumped skin revealed as you brush your hair past it, realising that you’ve forgotten all about it - so caught up in the connection you share that it no longer seems to matter.

But it's a part of yourself that you’ve spent years trying to hide, tucking it away beneath the layers of your hair like a secret you’re ashamed to reveal.

You brace yourself for his reaction, half-expecting a look of pity or discomfort to cross his face. But instead, you’re met with a warm smile and a gentle touch as he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair away.

Frankie signs with a tender reassurance. "You don't have to hide it from me. I think you’re beautiful."

You smile, feeling incredibly heated as you reach for your drink.

"You know," he signs, "I used to be a little self-conscious about something too."

Curiosity flickers in your eyes as you watch him sign. "Really?" You respond.

"Yeah. I was serving in the army," he begins, his gaze somewhat distant as he recalls the memories. "There was an explosion. I was lucky to survive, but I was pretty messed up. Ended up with horrific scarring from the burns. Had to have a skin graft.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the gravity of his words. You can't imagine the horrors he must have endured, the pain and suffering etched into every line of his tired, yet striking, face.

And yet, there's a strength and resilience in Frankie that you find utterly captivating - a bravery that shines through in the way he holds himself, despite the scars he carries, even if they’re not outwardly obvious.

"You're a hero," you sign, your hands trembling slightly with emotion. "Thank you for your service, soldier."

“Actually, it’s captain.” He simply salutes at you, fingers brushing the rim of his cap with a buoyant smirk and then a little wink as the waitress puts down your plates in front of you both.

“Captain Catfish.” You salute back, chuckling.

You watch Frankie take a big bite of his burger, and your laughter suddenly bubbles up from deep within your chest. It's not his charming smile or his witty banter that elicits this sudden burst of amusement - it's the way he eats his pickle.

With a playful twinkle in his eye, Frankie takes a dramatic bite of the pickle, exaggerating the crunch with an over-the-top flourish. His eyes crinkle at the corners as he chews, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

You can't help but laugh at the sight, your heart swelling with affection for this man who seems to delight in the simple pleasures of life. In that moment, watching him enjoy his pickle with such gusto, you feel yourself falling hard for him already.

“What?” He mouths with a curious grin.

“I can’t stand pickles.” You wrinkle your nose after sticking your tongue out in mock disgust, as he wipes his furry lips with a napkin.

“Oh, shit…” he signs. You watch his smile dip and you query as to what’s wrong with that statement.

“Well,” Frankie signs with deeply intense eyes, “if I taste of pickles, it means you won’t enjoy it when I kiss you.”

You baulk. “You… want to kiss me?”

He nods with a gleam. “I mean, I’ve wanted to kiss you since the moment I saw you.”

You put your half-eaten burger down on your plate, completely stunned and feeling even more hot. Suddenly stifling inside the diner.

His casual declaration sends a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins, mingled with a hint of nervousness that quickens your breath and sets your pulse racing again.

There's a magnetic pull between you, a chemistry that you can't ignore. You can't shun the way your skin prickles, all the way down your spine, how you’re squeezing your thighs together under the table so much that it throbs and feels delicious at the thought of him in between them.

You can’t deny that you haven't thought about kissing him yourself all night as your eyes drop to his lips as he licks them free of salt and ketchup.

You want to know what he’ll taste like, how that moustache will feel against your lips, how his scruff will feel between your thighs.

How gentle he’ll kiss you, how hard he’ll fuck you…

You sense he’s thinking the same thing because Frankie plops his burger down on his plate too and suggests getting out of here, to which you’re only too eager to agree.

And outside, Frankie makes good on his word about kissing you as he pulls you back gently by the elbow, cups your face in his giant hands and presses his lips to yours.

The taste of each other is a sweet and heady blend of anticipation and desire. You taste the faint remnants of the burgers, mixed with the tang of Frankie's salty breath from the pickle, and the subtle hint of his cologne.

It's a delicious concoction that fills your senses, leaving you craving more and melding yourself to him with every passing moment.

Frankie's gentle touch traces patterns along your spine, the warmth of his skin pressing against you as he envelops you closer to him; his wet and explorative tongue circling around your own and your toes buzzing as you stand on tiptoes to reach him.

Pulling away, and smirking, he signs if you want to go back to his place or to yours. You suggest yours, more for your own comfort and he agrees, taking your hand and leading you back to his Pickup.

Once inside your home, it’s a frantic tug of removing clothes in between hot, wet kisses and tangles of trembling limbs. Your hands trail over his smooth, bronzed skin, card through his curls after knocking his cap off, and his own hands squeeze your hips and ass greedily.

“You okay? Is this too fast?” Frankie signs, eyes dilated and lips plushly swollen from bruising kisses.

You shake your head and signal that you want to continue. That you want him here. That you just want him inside of you.

You barely make it up the stairs, stopping as you both fumble and tug at clothes and grope hot flesh. Crashing on the bed, you watch breathlessly as he pulls your jeans and panties off, kissing up the insides of your thighs.

Propped up in the pillows, you watch him keenly between your legs as he slowly makes out with your skin.

Kissing and mouthing over your thighs as he pushes them up and apart, opening you up for him. Running his nose around and inhaling over your mound as his eyes flick up to you, dark and chasm-like as he smirks insidiously.

Frankie looks up at you as his tongue glides slowly through your folds, big brown eyes glazed darkly as your fingers twist inside his messy curls. Adept wet tongue rolling softly, but purposefully, over the throbbing nub of your clit, and you gasp as your legs shake on his broad shoulders, a jolt of electricity speeding through them.

“You taste so good,” he signs with his fingers quickly before nuzzling his nose against your pussy again.

His grip around your thighs tighten as he delves deeper, tongue dipping into your hole and sliding all the way up to your clit.

You sigh out, head lolling back as your body shudders. He sucks intensely, lips vacuumed around it as you can feel his tongue gliding back and forth over it in his mouth.

You pull tighter on his hair, panting and feeling the coil tighten and pull inside your core.

He looks up at you again as his middle finger slides into you with ease, you’re soaked. He nods at you with a raised brow and mouths “good?” around shiny lips.

You nod with a breathy smile and gasp as he slides in another, using his fingers to pry you open so he can stroke and fuck whilst he licks and sucks.

You moan out as he pumps and licks at your pussy, bringing you to a giddy and twinkly orgasm as you shake and buck, pulling tighter on his curls. Your thighs thrum around his head, and he watches you whilst latched to your cunt, spilling warm slick into his mouth.

You tug his chin towards you, soft scruff soaked, devouring his mouth with yours as you whine and taste yourself around his lips.

You reach for his belt before he pulls away, leaving you chasing the ghost of his kiss as he stands.

Shucking his jeans off your eyes fall onto the large cluster of scars that adorn the left side of his hip, thigh and lower leg. Puckered white slashes that mar his tanned flesh, and he smiles softly at you as you reach out to stroke over them.

Faded, craggy lines in his skin as he strokes through your hair and his thumb brushes back and forth against your little nubbin for an ear.

"Beautiful," he mouths at you with soft eyes as the feel of it makes your skin tingle.

Glancing up at him, he’s biting his lip; eyes dark like oil as he guides your hand across his hip to the thick cock tenting in his boxers.

He’s so hard as you stroke and squeeze gently, a dark patch soiling his boxers where he’s leaking arousal into them.

Frankie submits as you pull him down onto the bed and crawl over him, kissing over his chest into the soft swell of his stomach. Mouthing and stroking explorative digits over his golden skin.

Flat and spread with his neck craning up to watch you reveal him - a swollen, tanned cock with a pink, dripping head. Lips curling back over incisors as he watches you lick over the swollen tip of him and you groan in delight at his taste.

You can see him gasping, lips parted in a small ‘o’ as he breathes, watching you suck him down.

You wish so much that you could have your aid in right now to hear the noises he’s making. You can see him, head back on the pillow, mouth open and eyes closed in bliss as his cock fills your mouth whilst you suck and lick all around it.

You feel his fingers snake in your hair until he pulls you upright and kisses you, tongues knotted together again.

“Fuck me, Frankie.” You sign quickly with abject need.

Rolling with you, he lines up, guiding himself into you with a gentle shunt forward of his hips and you gasp.

“Too much?” He mouths at you and you instantly shake your head and grip his ass, pulling him into you.

“So good,” you mouth back to him and he smiles.

Your hands frame his hips, feeling the change in skin texture from his scars. Feeling them work as he drives in deep, curls tickling your nose as his forehead rests on yours, breath pelting your face.

You look down between you to see his cock continually disappearing inside you and he feels so good as he bottoms out inside you, not quite believing this is actually happening.

Until it happens.

A wave crashing into you, warm and tingling as your body arches into him, your grip becoming tighter and your back sweating as you shake and tense before uncoiling. Letting go as your orgasm takes you and flings you up into the ether.

You feel him press a kiss to your temple, his scruff silken against your cheek. You wrap your legs around his waist and grip harder on his ass as you pant and see stars behind your eyes.

He flattens his palms on the bed and works faster, hitting that spot inside you that makes you cry out louder.

Frankie slows down to kiss you, grinding his hips so your clit brushes against that soft thatch of hairs at the base of him. He can’t stop kissing you as he gently thrusts, lips gliding over your mouth, your cheeks, your throat. His patchy beard brushing against your ear, your eyelashes… he’s everywhere.

You cling onto him, hands splayed and fingers digging into broad, toned flesh as you build. He smiles as you squirm, blissed brown peepers and a crooked grin flashing at you as your breathing and gasping intensifies.

Cock bringing you to the edge once more and he watches the moment you leap off and fly. He mouths the word “beautiful” again at you before you clutch his face, shaking and kissing him desperately.

You nod at him as you watch him strain, and the tension in his neck and shoulders tightens. You mouth the word “come” and his mouth opens, baring teeth as his lips curl back.

Frankie looks incredible when he comes, biting down on those flush lips, veins in his neck bulging. His grip on you becomes tighter, his hips fucking you more frantic as his mouth slacks and his eyes roll back.

You see him utter the word “fuck” and it sends shockwaves to your core. "Inside?"

You nod frantically wanting him to fill you up.

He pulls out slightly and grabs a hold of his cock as it pumps inside you, pulling out so just the tip stays inside, flooding you. Watching in awe as it drips around your hole and uses his fingers to scoop it up and push it back inside as he leans over you for a kiss.

Flopping down beside you, you ask him if he wants to stay, and he nods with flushed cheeks and pulls you into his broad arms as he crushes you to him.

“You better not hog the duvet,” you sign to him, and you feel his chest rumble under you as he laughs.

Splayed, untamed curls stick out in all directions and he’s never looked so good, and you wonder how these events have transpired over the course of the last few hours where you’re tucked up in his arms, still twitching from an intense slew of orgasms.

"I really like you," he signs with a sleepy smile.

"I really like you too." You sign back.

You lay there, noses nuzzling as Frankie’s fingers stroke across your navel until you finally succumb to sleep.

As the soft morning light filters through the curtains, you slowly begin to stir from a satiated slumber; your other senses gradually awakening to the world around you.

As you stretch and yawn, you feel a sense of contentment wash over you - a snug warmth that lingers from the heady events of the night before, and emanates from the broad body beside you.

You stir to see Frankie propped up on an elbow and gazing down at you, a gentle smile playing at the corners of his lips. His fingers are in your hair, stoking gently over the nub of your ear delicately.

You allow yourself to bask in it for a few moments, not shying away or worried about covering it up. Just revelling in the feel of his gentle, unabashed touch.

“Morning,” you sign to him with sleepy eyes.

“I have something for you,” he signs back, reaching behind him and presenting you with an open palm.

Resting on it now is your hearing aid. The casing is still cracked, but all the components and wires are tucked safely back inside.

"I hope you don't mind," Frankie signs, "I fixed it for you this morning while you were sleeping. I have a few tools kicking about in my truck. It’s not a permanent fix, was fiddly as hell, but it should help you out until you get your new one at least..."

A surge of gratitude floods your heart as you take the hearing aid from him with awe, your fingers tracing the familiar contours of the device with a sense of wonder.

“You fixed it?” You sign, completely floored.

“Well, I hope I did.” He signs back, sheepishly. You watch as he scratches under his jaw lazily and smiles at you. “Put it in, let’s see.”

With trembling fingers, you place the hearing aid in your ear, your breath catching in your throat as you wait for the moment of truth.

And then, as if by magic, the world around you slowly fuzzes alive with familiar sounds - the soft rustle of the sheets, the distant chirping of birds through the open window, the gentle rhythm of Frankie’s breathing beside you.

“Hey, can you hear me?” Frankie smiles eagerly at you.

As you hear his voice for the first time, you’re struck by its exquisite tone and timbre, like the gentle strumming of a finely tuned guitar. There's a deep richness to it, a depth that resonates within you, rain on gravel, velvet against skin.

“Hey,” you reply with a widening smile. “So good to finally hear you.”

“You too. But I’m just grateful you didn’t hear me snore.” Frankie chuckles, and you giggle with him as he nuzzles into you.

“Thank you,” you say before he kisses you, igniting sparks inside your chest again as he rolls on top of you, body warm and blanketing you.

"It was nothing, really."

“No, it's everything." You smile as he brushes his nose against yours. "Can I make you some breakfast, as a way of thanks?” You ask him as you feel his lips run over your neck, teeth gently nipping at the flesh there and hearing him hum out is exquisite.

“I’d love that.” His breath is all hot and muffled against your throat.

You can feel the thickness of him slipping between your soaked folds, grunting deeply as he slides back in, filling you up once more - a delicious, deep sound that reverberates and floods every nerve of your being.

Your world is alight with colour once more with the way he whines as you scratch inside his roots. The way he snuffles against your skin as he sucks in mouthfuls of it.

The sounds of him cursing through his pleasure, "fuck, baby," and "you feel so fuckin' good around my cock." His filth is exquisite.

You cry out as he fills you full, fingers grappling against his skin and mewling his name in hypnotic chants as he drives deep and hard. You can't get enough and never want to let him go.

“Mmm, I think this is a good way you can thank me right now, hermosa...”

I really hope you enjoyed reading this story with Frankie, and welcome your comments/thoughts. I'd appreciate a re-blog if you liked it so others can find it on their dash to read and enjoy too - thank you very much! 🖤

BODIES MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

FRANKIE MORALES MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal characters #frankie morales x you #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fluff #triple frontier fic #bodies series #diversity #inclusion #every body is beautiful #jett's writing

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lvoryingrid · 5 months

Text

The Cabin In The Woods

Levi x fem!Reader

Synopsis: In the midst of a Titan battle, Levi Ackerman and (Y/n) seek shelter in a forest cabin. The rivalry between them turns into an unexpected intimacy as subtle touches escalate.

Warning: 🔞 minors do not read/interact : contains 18+ content, smut/erotica

The battlefield was a symphony of chaos, with the metallic scent of blood lingering in the air. Levi Ackerman, humanity's greatest hope, moved with unparalleled grace, his blades dancing through the tumult like a deadly waltz. Thunderous roars of Titans reverberated around him, accompanied by the desperate cries of soldiers caught in the merciless grip of the war.

Amidst the swirling dust and smoke, Levi's steel-blue gaze focused on (Y/n)’s face. Her movements were a ballet of survival, each strike a testament to her unyielding determination. As their eyes met in a fleeting moment, a silent understanding passed between them, a recognition of the shared struggle against a common enemy.

"(Y/n)! Watch your left flank!" Levi's voice cut through the cacophony, a sharp command born of necessity rather than animosity. She shot him a quick glance, a mixture of irritation and acknowledgment in her eyes. "I don't need you to babysit me, Captain!"

The Titans closed in, and Levi fought with a controlled fury, dispatching the colossal foes with calculated precision. Yet, in the back of his mind, a growing unease nagged at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that time was slipping away, that the stakes were higher than ever.

In the midst of the relentless battle, Levi and (Y/n) found themselves back to back, defending each other against the onslaught. The clash of steel against Titan flesh created a chaotic melody, punctuated by the occasional exchange of glances and shared determination.

Levi smirked, a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his lips. "Just making sure you don't get yourself killed. Wouldn't want you to miss out on the chance to lose to me again."

Her response was a scoff, but there was a glimmer of a smirk hidden beneath the exterior. "You wish, Captain. I can handle myself just fine. I just don't want to waste my energy saving your sorry ass," she shot back, a glint of camaraderie in her eyes."

Levi raised an eyebrow, a hint of annoyance breaking through his stern expression. "Don't get too cocky. We've got a long way to go."

The battlefield gradually fell silent as Levi and (Y/n) found themselves veering away from the main force, their surroundings becoming a dense forest. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting an eerie glow over the landscape as ominous clouds gathered overhead. The first droplets of rain splattered against their uniforms, gradually evolving into a relentless downpour.

Levi cast a sideways glance at (Y/n), raindrops clinging to her disheveled (h/c) hair. "We need to find shelter before we get drenched. HQ can wait until tomorrow."

(Y/n) shot him a defiant look, raindrops clinging to her disheveled hair. "I don't need you to state the obvious, Captain. I'm not stupid."

Levi rolled his eyes, his annoyance evident. "Just follow my lead and try not to slow me down."

They trudged deeper into the forest, the tension between them palpable. The rain intensified, turning the path ahead into a muddy quagmire. The sound of raindrops pelting leaves and the distant rumble of thunder echoed through the trees, creating an atmosphere thick with unease.

Levi's sharp eyes scanned the surroundings, looking for any sign of shelter. "There should be a safehouse not too far from here. We can regroup and head to HQ in the morning."

As they ventured deeper, the tension between them gave way to an unspoken understanding. The rivalry that had defined their interactions now danced on the edge of something more—a raw and unexplored passion simmering beneath the surface.

Finally, through the dense trees, a dilapidated cabin emerged. The wood creaked and groaned under the rain, but it seemed like the only refuge they had. Levi pushed the door open, and they entered, their soaked uniforms clinging to their bodies.

The cabin's interior was dimly lit, shadows playing on the worn walls. Levi couldn't ignore the flicker of vulnerability in (Y/n)'s eyes, her guard momentarily down. "We'll stay here for the night. Tomorrow, we head to HQ."

(Y/n) nodded, the gravity of the situation sinking in. The air in the cabin crackled with tension as they realized the close quarters they'd be sharing. The rivalry that had fueled their interactions now seemed like a thin veil hiding a deeper connection.

As the storm outside intensified, the two found themselves huddled in the cabin, the air thick with unspoken words. The flickering lantern cast shadows on Levi's face, accentuating the lines of fatigue and determination.

"I never thought I'd find myself stuck in a creepy cabin with you," (Y/n) teased, a small smile playing on her lips.

Levi's stoic exterior cracked just a bit, a subtle smirk appearing. "Consider it a special fucking treat."

Levi's keen eyes scanned the dimly lit cabin, searching for any available resources. Spotting a stack of old planks in the corner, he gathered them and set to work on starting a fire. The flickering flames cast a warm glow across the worn interior, revealing the exhaustion etched on both their faces.

As the fire began to crackle, Levi glanced over at (Y/n), who stood shivering in the corner, her wet clothes clinging to her like a second skin. With a barely audible sigh, he got up, his movements purposeful. "Stay put."

(Y/n) shot him a skeptical look but complied, watching as Levi disappeared into the shadows of the cabin. He returned moments later, holding a dusty, moth-eaten blanket. Without a word, he tossed it towards her.

"Here, wrap yourself in this. Your clothes are soaked, remove them" Levi instructed, his tone gruff but carrying an underlying concern.

(Y/n) caught the blanket, eyeing him warily. "You're not planning to play the hero, are you?"

Levi raised an eyebrow, his expression unchanging. "Don't get any ideas. I'm not doing this for you; it's for my own peace of mind. I don't need you catching a cold and slowing us down tomorrow."

She rolled her eyes, attempting to brush off the subtle act of kindness. "Well, aren't you just a gentleman in shining armor."

Levi scowled, irritation flickering across his features. "Quit the sarcasm and do as I say. It's practical, not chivalry."

Levi's gaze flickered away as (Y/n) began to peel off her wet clothes, the fire's dim light casting an ethereal glow on her silhouette. She could feel the weight of his discomfort, a strange mixture of vulnerability and an unfamiliar tension in the air.

"(Y/n), don't make this more awkward than it needs to be. Just get dry," Levi muttered, his eyes fixed on the fire in a futile attempt to avoid the scene unfolding before him.

(Y/n) shot him a wry grin, her usual defiance cutting through the air. "Oh, Captain, can't handle a little skin? I thought you were supposed to be a tough guy."

Levi scowled, irritation evident. "This isn't the time for your sarcasm. Just get yourself warmed up and get some rest. We have a long day ahead."

As she covered herself with the blanket, the glow of the fire outlined the curves and scars on her body. Levi couldn't help but steal a glance, the flicker of the flames highlighting the strength and resilience etched into every mark. For a moment, the intensity of their rivalry faded, and Levi found himself oddly captivated by the vulnerability in front of him.

(Y/n) caught the fleeting look in his eyes, a playful smirk dancing on her lips. "Captain, I never thought I'd see the day when the great Levi, would be caught ogling."

Levi's cheeks tinged with a hint of red, a rare occurrence for the stoic soldier. "I'm not ogling. Just making sure you're not going to collapse from exhaustion."

She chuckled, the sound echoing in the quiet cabin. "Sure, Captain. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

The rain continued its relentless assault on the cabin's roof, creating a soothing backdrop to the awkward tension that hung in the air. As (Y/n) settled under the blanket, she couldn't resist the opportunity to further tease Levi, who was doing his best to avoid eye contact.

"Captain," she called out with a mischievous glint in her eyes, "aren't you feeling a bit chilly yourself? You look like you've taken a swim in the river."

Levi shot her an annoyed glare, his irritation evident. "I'm fine. This isn't a cozy campfire, and I'm not here for your entertainment."

(Y/n) chuckled, undeterred by his gruff demeanor. "Oh, come on, Captain. We wouldn't want you catching a cold now, would we? That'd be a tragedy."

Levi clenched his jaw, his annoyance reaching new heights. "I don't need your concern, and I certainly don't need your commentary. Just get some rest."

But (Y/n), never one to back down from a little banter, decided to up the ante. With a sly smile, she shifted under the blanket, feigning a shiver. "You sure about that, Captain? Your teeth seem to be doing a little dance there. Maybe we should huddle together for warmth."

Levi's eyes narrowed, a barely audible growl escaping his throat. "I said, I'm fine."

Undeterred, she continued to playfully prod him. "You know, it's scientifically proven that body heat is the best way to stay warm. Just saying."

Levi shot her a withering look, his annoyance now accompanied by a faint blush. "I don't need your suggestions, and I certainly don't need to 'scientifically prove' anything with you."

(Y/n) couldn't help but laugh at his expense. "Relax, Captain. I'm just messing with you. No need to get all hot and bothered."

Levi rolled his eyes, his frustration evident. "I'm not bothered. Just get some rest before I decide to leave you out in the rain."

She grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, Captain, if you change your mind and decide you need some warmth, I'll be right here."

The rain outside showed no signs of letting up, and despite Levi's attempts to brush off the chill, his trembling form betrayed the cold that had settled into his bones. (Y/n), under the worn-out blanket, couldn't help but notice the subtle shivers that ran through him.

"You're freezing, Captain," she remarked with a raised eyebrow, her teasing tone giving way to genuine concern.

Levi shot her a glare, his pride evident. "I've faced worse than a bit of rain."

(Y/n) sighed, a hint of exasperation in her voice. "You can drop the tough act, Levi. We're not in the middle of a battlefield now. We're just two people trying to stay warm."

Levi scowled but didn't offer any further protest. The truth was, the relentless rain had taken its toll, and his ego was the only thing keeping him from admitting it. With a begrudging acknowledgment, he finally mumbled, "Fine, but don't get any ideas."

(Y/n) chuckled, shifting to make room for him under the blanket. "No promises, Captain. Just trying to survive the night."

Levi shot her a warning look before begrudgingly starting to remove his wet clothes. The fire's dim light flickered over his scars and the defined muscles that spoke of years of battles. As he shuffled into the blanket, (Y/n) couldn't help but smirk at the irony of their situation.

"See? That's not so bad, is it?" she teased, her eyes gleaming with amusement.

Levi grunted in response, avoiding eye contact. "This doesn't change anything. I'm only doing this to shut you up."

The fire's dying embers cast a soft glow across the cabin, and with every flicker, Levi and (Y/n) found themselves drawn closer under the blanket. The initial distance that had defined their makeshift alliance began to close, replaced by a palpable tension that hung in the air like the storm outside.

Levi, still maintaining a semblance of stoicism, shifted slightly, unintentionally brushing against (Y/n). The brief contact sent a shiver down both their spines, an electric charge that neither could ignore. The subtle touches, once accidental, now held a weight of unspoken possibilities.

"(Y/n), watch where you're putting your damn elbows," Levi grumbled, his attempt to mask the underlying tension evident in the gruffness of his voice.

She shot him a sidelong glance, a playful glint in her eyes. "Captain, I can't control where my elbows go. Maybe you're just too close."

Levi scowled but didn't pull away, the proximity between them amplifying the uncharted territory they found themselves navigating. The cabin, once just a refuge from the storm, became a space where the lines between rivalry and something more blurred.

As the rain outside dwindled to a gentle patter, the quiet cabin seemed to amplify the sound of their breaths. The air became charged with a quiet anticipation, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.

(Y/n) couldn't resist the temptation, her hand subtly finding its way to Levi's arm. The touch, feather-light and seemingly innocent, sent a shockwave through both of them. Levi's gaze flickered towards her, a silent acknowledgment of the shift in dynamics.

Levi cleared his throat, attempting to break the tension. "Keep your damn hands to yourself."

(Y/n) smirked, her fingers tracing absentminded patterns on his arm. "I'm just trying to stay warm."

Levi, irritated by the unexpected turn of events and the unsettling tension in the air, decided to retaliate in his own way. With a calculated smirk, he shifted closer to (Y/n), his fingers gently trailing along her arm in a manner that mirrored her earlier touch.

"Don't get too comfortable. This isn't an invitation," Levi remarked, his voice carrying a mix of annoyance and amusement.

She raised an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving her face. "Oh, Captain, didn't know you had it in you. Looks like the great Captain can't resist a little intimacy."

Levi scowled, attempting to maintain his composure. "This is purely practical. Don't read too much into it."

The banter continued, each subtle touch carrying an undercurrent of challenge. As the cabin remained shrouded in the quiet sounds of the rain and crackling fire, the atmosphere became charged with an unexpected energy.

In a moment of boldness, (Y/n) decided to turn the tables. Her fingers trailed along Levi's jawline, a playful glint in her eyes. "Captain, you're not fooling anyone. I can feel the heat radiating off you."

Levi's breath caught in his throat for a split second, his usual stoic facade momentarily faltering. "I told you, it's for warmth. Nothing more."

But (Y/n) wasn't deterred, her touch becoming more deliberate. "You know, Captain, sometimes actions speak louder than words."

"You're pushing your luck," Levi growled, the lines of annoyance and desire blurring in his eyes.

She met his gaze with a challenging stare, her lips curving into a sly smile. "Is that a threat, Captain? Or perhaps an invitation?"

Levi, not one to back down, closed the remaining distance between them, grabbing her by her hair. The frustration that had simmered beneath the surface now boiled over, fueling a passion neither had expected. In a moment of heated intensity, their lips collided, a clash of desire that silenced the banter and left only the echoes of their shared breaths.

The kiss, at first fueled by frustration, quickly morphed into something deeper—an exploration of uncharted territories and emotions that neither had dared to acknowledge. As their lips moved in a rhythm born of a newfound connection, the storm outside seemed to mirror the tempest of emotions within the cabin.

When they finally broke apart, (Y/n) and Levi were left breathless, their eyes locked in a silent understanding that transcended words. The fire, though now reduced to embers, seemed to burn brighter in the aftermath of their passionate exchange.

Levi, his usual composure momentarily shattered, struggled to find the right words. "This... doesn't change anything. We're not suddenly buddy buddy because of a kiss."

(Y/n), a flush of warmth coloring her cheeks, smiled with a hint of mischief. "Who said it had to? Maybe it's just something between us, Captain."

Her words sent a thrill of anticipation through Levi, and he felt himself grow hard against her. Unable to contain himself any longer, Levi roughly pushed (Y/n) back against the floor, pinning her beneath him. Her eyes widened in surprise, but there was a spark of anticipation in their depths that told him she wasn't entirely opposed to this development.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against her neck, as he whispered "Is that what you want?" he growled, his voice gruff, rough with desire. "Do you want me to touch you, that bad?" As he felt her nipples harden beneath his palms. He cupped her breasts, playing with them before lifting them so he could kiss and suckle her nipples.

(Y/n) arched her back, pressing her breasts further into Levi's hands as his lips and tongue teased her nipples mercilessly. She could feel the heat rising within her, spreading like electricity through her entire body. "Levi" she moaned, her voice breathy and needy. "Yes, please, touch me."

"Do you want me to make you feel good?" His fingers, reached down her body playing with her pussy, as he continued the relentless teasing, and she could feel the pressure building inside her, making her body tremble with anticipation. "Oh, please, yes," she moaned a hint of impatience in her voice, arching her back even further, her fingernails digging into his shoulders. "I want you."

Levi smiled wickedly, his eyes glinting with lust. "Tell me what you want," he commanded, still teasing her with his fingers. "Tell me how bad you want this."

"I want you inside me," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart. "I want you to fuck me so hard I can't think about anything else." Her hips bucked upward, seeking the connection she ached for, and his thumb brushed against her clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through her.

With one swift movement, Levi positioned himself between her spread legs, his erection pressing against her wet folds. Smirking at the thought that he barely touched her and she was that wet for him. He leaned in, his lips finding her ear, and growled, "I've wanted this since the moment I fucking met you. Fuck you so hard you won't be able to say anything else but my name" With that, he pushed himself inside her, filling her up in one deep stroke that made her cry out in pleasure.

As Levi thrust into her, the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in this small, intimate space. The sounds of their bodies colliding and the wet slapping of skin on skin, filled the air. He moved with a savage grace that sent waves of pleasure coursing through her veins, his powerful body braced above hers. Her fingernails dug into his shoulders as she met his thrusts, their hips moving in perfect rhythm.

Her breath came in ragged gasps, her eyes squeezed shut as she surrendered to the overwhelming sensations. The tension that had built up within her since their confrontation finally released, coursing through her like an electric current. She arched her back off the floor, her nails digging deeper into his shoulders as she felt the familiar tightening in her core.

"Oh, god, Levi," she moaned, her voice hoarse from the effort of keeping up with his pace. "Don't stop." she said as her hands found their way to his dark hair.

He growled, his lips finding her neck, leaving a mark as he thrust harder, deeper. "I'm not going to stop. Not until you're screaming for more." His hips slammed against hers again and again, the friction building up with each passing second.

The air in the room seemed to crackle with the intensity of their passion, and she could feel the heat of his body against hers, his sweat mingling with hers. Her muscles began to quiver, her orgasm barreling down on her like a runaway train.

"Levi," she cried out, her body tensing as the wave of pleasure washed over her.

His movements became even more frenzied, his thrusts more urgent as he felt her body begin to convulse around him. With a harsh groan, he threw his head back, his eyes squeezed shut, and emptied himself inside her.

As the last shudders of pleasure subsided, Levi collapsed on top of her, his weight pressing her into the carpet. He held her close, his breathing labored as he tried to catch his breath. After a moment, he looked down at her with a satisfied smirk and muttered, "You're such a fucking brat."

Despite the harsh words, there was a possessive fondness in his tone that she couldn't help but feel warm inside. He rolled off her, propping himself up on one elbow as he gazed down at her, his eyes trailing down her body.

"Next time, it'll be in a cleaner environment," he said with a wink. "I'll make sure we have a bed or something."

"You're unbelievable," she remarked, her eyes meeting Levi's with a mixture of amusement and warmth. The flickering light cast a gentle glow over the scene, highlighting the vulnerability beneath their tough exteriors.

With a swift motion, he covered their bodies with the blanket, the warmth of the fabric cocooning them in a shared space. "You know, your scientific facts might have some truth to them."

Masterlist

#levi x reader #levi ackerman #aot x reader #levi aot #captain levi #aot levi #levi attack on titan #levi heichou #snk levi #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #levi x y/n #one shot #smut #aot smut #levi smut

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eldritchcuddles · 2 years

Text

also...

doing polishing edits right now on Ch 5 to get it ready for posting annnnd

this damn thing’s gonna hit 10k isn’t it ._.

it’s okay, we’re wrapping up the first arc, I’ll have another run of more reasonably sized chapters again but auuugh I don’t want to have this story accordion out of control on me and get bogged down

light candles for me and my adhd hellbrain so we stop trying to do all the things at once @_@ 🕯️

#There's a place I've seen where the soul burns clean #writing update #and some small whining but i'm allowed lol #melodious cacophonies #pacing is hard T_T

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matrixbearer2024 · 3 months

Text

Karaoke Cacophony

Vox x CollegeStudent!Reader

A/N: This song is legitimately the reason why I ended up posting the poll that I did lmao- but if you check the lyric translations- it oddly fits the vibe for both Vox and Reader. Though it's only going to embarrass our resident TV man since our dear (Y/N) has absolutely no idea what the song actually means. Just that it sounds nice and it's something they heard over the radio back then when growing up. Vox has a built-in google translate thing so he can understand others better no matter what language, it just so happens that this hits him like a double-edged sword where he has no idea if he would've been better off not understanding the song and just appreciating the melody of your voice. BTW this interlude features an HC I have for Vox where he cooks sometimes because the systematic way it's done helps calm him down, it's inspired by something I read before but yeah- ALSO ALSO- some part kind of features reader being cracked out of their minds with pickup lines I pulled from one of @voxsremotec0ck's posts LMAO.

A/N: Also my cousin has had a HEAVY hand to play in this song choice, though her reasoning was mostly because of Angel's initial comment that watching Vox and Reader's interactions were like seeing a romcom plot unfold live. So why not go a little bit off tangent and relate them to a romantic fairytale? I also may have sorta kinda written a lot of this chapter while I myself was on a hyperactive streak because of some caffeine- Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this interlude and as always- Happy Reading!

youtube

After a while and back and forth of those games, you and Vox eventually stopped joining in despite the others still continuing to play.

You and your partner in crime had become preoccupied with laughing at memes or poking fun at whatever stupid trend was currently a fad online.

You were currently leaning against the technology overlord while he had one arm around you, the other using to poke at your phone every now and again.

The two of you were practically cuddling at this point from how close you both were but neither noticed nor even seem to care.

"They have the tidepod challenge too? Geez, people are kind of-"

"Idiotic? Stupid? Batshit crazy?"

"Pretty much."

"This is hell dollface, I'm not sure why you expected any different."

You just casually shrugged in reply, soon laughing at a dumb video you found whilst scrolling.

Vox couldn't help but subtly stare at you, especially when you seemed to be so cheerful just messing around or doing whatever.

Seeing your smile always made his day just a little bit brighter.

"Hey Vox! Stop being absolutely whipped for a second and help me out over here!"

The overlord in question just sputtered in confusion at Lucifer's words.

He wasn't whipped!

He just- admired you a lot.

Even you had raised eyebrows at the odd word choice, whipped- wasn't exactly what you would use to describe your flatscreen companion.

Not when you kind of had an inkling to what it meant.

"What are you even doing??"

Vox called back, finally taking his eyes off you and your phone to just look over in the kitchen's general direction.

Lucifer did mention about making a snack earlier, but why would the king of hell need his help of all people??

What was he planning this time???

"Something! Just get over here!!"

You just gave your companion a shrug when he looked back to you, encouraging him to just go and get it over with.

Besides, you guys could always just continue doing this and messing around when he was finished with... whatever Lucifer needed him for.

Well, that was until your brain immediately stomped on the brakes when you looked at Vox again.

He'd undone his cuffs to roll up the sleeves of his dress shirt to his elbows, revealing some... bare forearms.

Before he just nonchalantly stood up and walked off towards the kitchen when the king of hell called for him again.

He didn't seem to have noticed your shattered mental-

You had dropped your phone at that point, just blinking and spacing out like an idiot before Angel noticed.

"Woaaah, what happened to (Y/N)?"

"Huh, I didn't think we'd ever see them actually speechless."

"Oooh oooh! Does that mean (Y/N) likes bad boys?!"

You shook your head in an attempt to snap out of it but couldn't stop the blush from creeping up your neck.

Oh. My. God.

You were completely in the gutter now-

Similarly to Alastor, you noticed Vox was always wearing long-sleeves or an outfit that concealed any skin at all.

And while it left you wondering what he had to hide, that consequently would lead you to imagine how he'd look like without a shirt on.

Was he just a mess of wires or something?

Did he conceal so much because he was robotic to a degree?

You had no clue how Vox's biology even worked and you didn't know how to ask without sounding weird.

Not to mention how he's able to wear some kinds of shirts given his obnoxiously sized head-

It's just curiosity is all!

You could only slap Angel's hands away when he started cautiously poking you, and you were practically steaming out of your ears from embarrassment.

It wasn't the fact that your flatscreened friend seemed to show some skin that set you off-

It was the fact your brain somehow went autopilot and registered it as HOT.

You were sure Velvette had fashioned him the outfit so it didn't surprise you that Vox looked all dapper and smart.

Dare you even say the fucking TV looked handsome-

You just didn't think he could look any better.

Until he did that.

And consequently nuked the rest of your sanity with it.

"Yep, they're totally broken-"

"Angel shut up before I beat you to death with a pillow I swear to god-"

"Oh good, you're finally reacting toots."

You merely flipped him the bird and just hid your face in your other hand, why was everything in your body trying to go on overdrive?!

"What's got you all blushy anyway? It's like you've just watched a racy porno."

"What?! No! I just- you- I don't even fucking know-"

Angel was about to continue poking at you before Lucifer and Vox finally returned.

Both chatting amiably while holding what seems to be a plate or two of treats and snacks.

So that's where they both went-

And that was when the spider noticed your gaze practically zero in on your techno-centric friend.

Ha, friend-

Yeah nobody in the hotel with half a brain believed that for even a second-

Though there didn't seem to be any differences with Vox-

His outfit was still the same, just his sleeves were...

Oh.

OH.

"WOW TOOTS YOU'RE SUCH A FUCKING PRUDE OH MY GOD-"

You just shrieked incoherently at Angel and started whacking him with a couch cushion while everyone else kind of just watched you both confused.

Not to mention that you were pretty much a tomato from how red you've become.

The arachnid couldn't stop himself from just devolving into a loud laughing fit.

You had completely lost it because of some forearms, he could only imagine what your reaction would be if a certain technology overlord decided to undo some shirt buttons.

You'd probably just die on the spot!

"Uh... what happened?"

"No idea, but it sure as hell is entertaining."

By the time you were able to relatively calm down, you were still red when Vox just sat down next to you again.

"Soooo, any reason for trying to murder Angel with a pillow?"

"None that concerns you."

"Oh come on, it's gotta be something crazy if you don't tell even me."

You just adamantly shake your head and refuse to say anything no matter what Vox tried.

It was kind of cute seeing you try so hard, despite the fact the overlord knew he could always just ask the others about it later.

He didn't think it was anything too big, after all you would embarrassed by a lot of random things.

So he didn't even bother guessing at this point.

"What did you and Lucifer make anyway?"

"Hm? Chocolate strawberries, do you want some?"

"Seriously? That's what he needed help with?"

"I'm just as confused as you are doll, anyway- open your mouth."

Vox just chuckles when you shyly follow his instructions, forcing himself to look away before grabbing one of the strawberries and placing it into your mouth.

He'd be lying if he said the way you looked didn't give him other ideas.

You seeming insanely kissable being just one of them.

While the overlord knew making the treat consumed more time than just going out and probably buying it-

Seeing your eyes sparkle when you bit down made him consider that it was a little more worth it to put in that extra homemade touch.

"Didn't pin you for a guy that could cook."

You remarked, taking the plate from him and just eagerly chowing down.

Vox just chuckled, watching you so happily munch away.

You were just really cute in your own little way, not that he would ever say so.

Especially when you seemed so pleased at just such a simple snack.

"I'm not surprised, I don't exactly... have that vibe? I can cook though, it's something I do on the off chance to calm down."

"And still you eat that McDonald's garbage-"

"It's not garbage! I'm just too busy to actually cook sometimes! Running a media empire isn't easy dollface."

"The next time you do cook, I wanna try your food."

"Hm? What makes you say that?"

"Dunno, just wanna try it."

The overlord simply raised an eyebrow at you, though he didn't seem to mind your words much.

And as you scarfed down on the strawberries, he noticed a smear of chocolate streaking across your cheek.

How it got there- Vox wasn't entirely sure.

Possibly from your enthusiastic eating but he didn't really care enough at the moment to find out.

"Wait, you've got some chocolate on your face."

You looked at your companion with wide eyes when he gingerly raised a hand to wipe at your face.

The way his gaze was both calm and focused at you made your heart skip a beat.

The plate of treats in front of you now mostly forgotten.

"There. Didn't think you'd be such a messy eater doll."

He didn't seem to notice your mind kind of stall, picking up a chocolate strawberry himself to eat it.

It was a little too sweet for his taste, which was odd considering his already innate knack for deserts.

You seemed to like it though, so he didn't say anything.

And that was when Vox also noticed your more than obvious staring.

You weren't even trying to hide it were you?

Admittedly, the overlord got a little embarrassed because of it.

"Take a picture darling, it'll last longer."

"Nah, I think I would much rather look at the real thing. A picture can only do so much."

You smirked when you saw his screen proceed to tinge pink, especially when you heard his fans kick to life.

He never could get the upper hand with you, which was hilariously cute in it's own way.

It didn't take long for you to eventually get used to Vox's charm over the while you've known him.

Even if at times it would strike you when you least expected it.

You simply went back to snacking contentedly.

After a short while, all the treats were gone and you were practically bouncing off the walls with energy.

So what did you do with that sugar rush?

Absolutely torment and flirt the life out of Vox.

Slamming pickup line after pickup line into his already preoccupied mind space.

Well it was preoccupied with you to begin with but let's not mention that-

"Hey Vox- Hey Vox- Hey Vox-"

"What is it dollface?"

"Do you have a bandaid?"

"No...? Why?"

"Because I think I scraped my knee falling for you!"

He buffered a little bit but just played off being flustered with a scoff.

The rest of the hotel crew were not so subtly watching all of this go down just waiting for your overlord friend to crack.

Angel and Husker already made bets on how fast he would go down glitching -

"That was horrible."

"Nah nah nah wait I got another one-"

The overlord didn't really mind it at first, aside from the fact he was a little surprised.

Until the point it got so stupidly suggestive and then he actually had trouble dealing with the provocative ideas he got from you.

"You know, I'm just gonna start calling you my big toe."

"Your... what??"

"My big toe, so I can bang you all over the place."

The overlord had to actually ignore the snickering and hushed laughter from your spectators, why were you doing this to him of all people?!

Though as horrible as the pickup lines were, Vox would be lying if he said they weren't hitting their mark.

He was just... a little better at hiding it.

And that wasn't even the end of your tomfoolery-

Actually far from it.

Vox made a mental note to watch out for your sugar rush episodes from this point onwards.

You weren't ever this bad from what he could remember either-

Well, you would just blitz through nearly everything during a hyperactive episode before the impending sugar crash.

But never tried to flirt the socks off him!

"Are you a fitted sheet?"

"A fitted sheet? What's that got to do with-"

"Cuz you're complicated as fuck but I still need you spread across my bed."

Vox stared at you wide-eyed for a whole ass second-

Before his screen predictably started showing errors and he glitched uncontrollably.

Angel just keeled over from laughter at that point when the overlord's face went absolutely haywire.

He didn't quite bluescreen, but his screen did buffer and spazz a whole lot for a minute or so.

To which you just celebrated and cheered.

"HELL YEAAAAH! I BROKE HIM IN FIVE FUCKING SECONDS!"

That just made your arachnid friend laugh even harder.

You were an unbridled chaotic ball of energy hyped up on sugar-

But Charlie- being Charlie-

Felt a little bad for Vox being the target of your madness- and stepped in and try to direct your hyperactivity elsewhere.

However, because she had done it on a whim- she actually had no ideas what to do with you.

So she just randomly suggested karaoke.

Which seemed to get your attention anyway.

When Vox finally came crashing back into reality, he was surprised to see both you and Lucifer just tormenting a very staticky and clearly very irritated Alastor.

"YOU'RE A LOOOOSER BAMBI- A LOOOOSER-"

What even was that song?

"Huh, you were out for a while."

"What- did I miss something?? What happened?"

"Your hyperactive lover just being a menace to Alastor, other than that nothing much."

"They're not my-"

"Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that."

Vox doesn't even have the opportunity to fully retort before you suddenly ran over to him with a grin.

Apparently you noticed he was fine again-

This time he was just the slightest bit worried.

You were literally shaking from the sugar rush- oh goodness-

"Oh good you're awake! I wanted to show you something!"

Vox didn't have the option to refuse when you just dragged him over to the couch and plopped him down next to everyone else.

"Okay okay! There's this song I used to listen to because I loved the melody and how nice it sounded but I actually have no idea what it means because it's not in English and-"

Safe to say the overlord spaced out during your rambling, only picking up the important bits of your spiel.

Which TL;DR, was just that you had a song you wanted to sing but didn't actually understand.

He only snapped out of his trance when he finally heard your voice slow down to the soft piano melody.

Well, the words you were saying definitely weren't in English-

So Vox secretly decided to translate what you were saying.

Having the internet being an extension of his conscious mind was a little bit of advantage here.

Then he figured out what the lyrics were.

And almost crashed again.

"I've forgotten how long it's been since I heard you telling me, your favorite story~"

He didn't really know whether his curiosity was a good or bad thing here.

Especially when it hit him that this was a love song.

The overlord was absolutely not prepared for this at all.

"I have been thinking for a long time, I started to panic."

Sure, the lyrics weren't exactly a fit to you-

But for him?

Especially when you had still been alive?

A 100% coincidental match.

Or he thinks it's mere coincidence.

"Have I done something wrong~?"

Oh god no do not look at him like that-

Nope nope nope nope-

It took every ounce of control for Vox to just not crash again right then and there.

"You said to me full of tears: 'Fairy tales are all lies.'"

You'd memorized the song, so it made sense that you didn't need to look at the lyrics to sing.

But could you seriously stop looking at him so fondly?

You didn't even know the words you were saying, this was so unfair.

"I couldn't possibly be your prince."

That just made him think back on all the past times he was trying to be... "friendly".

Well, almost borderline romantic even when he was willing to throw down nearly everything for your sake if you so much as asked.

Not that you noticed, Vox doubted you ever would even if it slapped you in the face.

"Perhaps you won't understand- ever since you said you loved me!"

Angel just smirked when he heard the signature whirring of computer fans.

Though he wasn't sure if it was because the overlord got flustered from your singing or because he understood.

Well, it wasn't his problem-

Because it was downright hilarious how insanely oblivious you were.

"The stars in my sky shine brightly!"

Where you were concerned, that was always the case.

Not at the start of course-

But it became adamantly clear when Vox found himself eager to see what kind of chaos you would stir up next.

"I'm willing to become the angel of the fairytale that you love-"

You extended your hand out to him, a silent invite to the tech overlord asking to dance.

He chuckled and smiled at you.

Of course he'd take up that offer.

"Spread up my hands that become wings to protect you~"

The two of you just swayed and danced around to the melody, becoming engrossed once more in your own little world.

You didn't even know what you were singing, but judging by the fond look Vox had directed at you-

It seemed he was enjoying it.

So you continued to indulge him.

"You have to believe, believe that we can be like in the fairy tale!"

You blushed a little bit when he'd twirled you around, after all-

You'd never really danced like this before.

It was like a... different kind of waltz.

Still, it made you feel so dainty.

His gaze just made you feel like the most beautiful thing in the world.

"Happy and joyful in the ending~"

The rest of your friends were amused seeing the two of you pretty much being the plot to a convoluted romcom.

Especially when they realized you and Vox kind of forgot they were actually there.

Charlie thought your relationship was endearingly cute-

Vaggie just reacted like her theory had been entirely confirmed.

Alastor felt like it was kinda disgusting-

And Lucifer nearly decked him for trying to ruin your moment.

Angel, Husker and Nifty were busy placing bets on who between the either of you would confess to the other first.

Though by the time the song ended, everyone couldn't help but groan or facepalm.

"Soooo- how'd I do?"

"It's okay, I'd say there's still room for lots of improvement."

"Oh fuck you Vox-"

"Like you'd ever actually go through with that."

"HA- don't try me you slutty-waisted lanky TV-"

"I've been called worse by better, get creative!"

You were both fucking idiots.

And at this point-

It was like your romantic dance hadn't even happened at all.

#Youtube #vox x reader #hazbin hotel #vox #get off my screen series #hazbin hotel vox #vox x you #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin vox #hazbin vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox x reader

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