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isuckatwritingsobenice · 4 months

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𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞.

Synopsis: What I think Alastors wife would be like, if he had one of course.

Warnings: mentions of blood, pinning, harassment?, Alastor being himself, not in a specific time period but at some point shifts to hell? Let me know if anyone is interested in a part two!!

Navigation!! // Masterlist!! // Serendipity Writes (event)

Alastors wife probably didnt like him at first, and that’s a guarantee. He likes a challenge, but Alastor also likes being liked by people. It fills his ego, makes him feel good about himself. He likes to watch people stumble and fall but quite literally cracks under the pressure of doing just that when it comes to winning you over. Chances were he was constantly trying to figure you out, for two reasons. One, being that he didn’t understand how you couldn’t like him. I mean come on, look at him! He’s got the charm, the manners, the style and the class, the status. What more could you want? The second reason being, the more you denied him, the more he took it as a challenge, the more he wanted you.

Well, surprise surprise, you dont like people with an image to keep up; and to his dismay, that’s exactly what he does. He projects an image. One he refuses to change, and even after marrying you, still doesn’t drop the image, but starts to become more real and honest with himself.

“People who project an image of themselves to others are just trying to fool themselves into being someone they aren’t.” Was what you told him.

Alastor had also asked you out multiple times before you finally said yes. Everyone knows Alastor is very picky with the people he chooses to surround himself with. Everyone he associates with is either there to serve him, or to provide him with something, even if they’re unaware of it. Which only made you trust him less. What purpose did you serve him? What if one day he found you no longer useful and tossed you to the side? Well what were you to do then?

Denying him proved to be a challenge in itself, seeing that he’s quite literally everywhere all at once.

He’d try cheap tricks first. Buying you gifts, constantly showing up at your doorstep with a bouquet of flowers or a stuffed animal. One time he even got you a whole gift basket of your favorite treats. How sweet~ if it was actually about you and not him just trying to patch up his ego. Well at least that was what you thought on the matter.

If that didnt work he’d resort to going ghost. After all, people only miss you when you’re gone right? Well not in this case. He had left you alone physically, at least to your knowledge, but he had still kept a close watch on you. Why, he just knew it would bother you that he suddenly stopped! Until he overheard you speaking with a friend about how happy you were to finally get some peace and quiet. Well that simply wouldn’t do. After all, you should always make an impact, and what kind of impact would he be leaving on you if you went back to your old boring life? No no that just wont do dear.

He’ll start showing back up at your doorstep, taking you on surprise outing to force you to spend time with him. He’ll take you on a walk around a nearby park, a restaurant one day, the picture show the next. He has a long list of places to take you, so you’ll never go to the same place twice! Get your dancing shoes because he’s gonna take you out to the town for the night, after all the city never sleeps! This is when he becomes less forceful, but more of a decent calm. He begins to listen more when you speak, and you actually begin to care about what he’s saying, what a shock!

It’s almost like a switch flips after your outings. He’ll take you to an orchestra show, snickering to himself when he sees your eyes begin to water as the show closes out. He’ll force you to hold onto his arm as he walks you across the street on a rainy night, making sure you don’t slip or trip on the wet pavement. If you ever do, he’ll try his best to catch you and if he doesn’t? Oh what a nightmare, it seems he’s fallen too! For you that is~

You two begin to feel closer, not only physically but emotionally. He gets you to open up about your personal struggles, and in turn, he’ll share some of his own, but not too much. He doesn’t allow himself to be fully and completely vulnerable with you, not yet. But he does try his best to sympathize with you when you share your piece of mind with him. He feels accomplished to know this part of you, and his ego is the last thing on his mind anymore, but instead you take up all the space.

He doesn’t use pet names for you, not cute ones anyway. He’ll call you his devilish belladonna, especially if you love flowers. His creepy spider Lillie. He’ll often speak in the ‘language of flowers’, and will educate you on it if you don’t know so you know exactly what he’s talking about.

He’s the type of person to correct people in public to make them feel stupid, but he never does that with you. Instead he’ll wait until it’s just the two of you and tell you jokingly how wrong you were. You’ll get upset because he let you look like a fool, but in his mind he’s just protecting your feelings. If anyone else corrects you, they’ll have their mouth sewn shut that’s for sure!

He never gets you the same bouquet of flowers. They’re always different, and every week or so you have a new one. He keeps a separate batch for himself so he knows when to get you another. That being said he also makes the bouquets himself, he does not buy them for you already made.

When you finally take Alastor up on his offer to court you properly, he is over the moon about it! Finally, you seem to be coming to your senses dear! Though you quickly follow that comment up with a “Let the blood rush to your head first.” He just bats his lashes at you with a smile. You always know how to make him feel so loved!

Gets very jealous very easily. If he sees you laughing with someone that isn’t him, he’ll size them up before deciding if they’re a threat or not. Heaven forbid anyone actually put their hands on you and uh oh! Limb of the floor someone come get it!

His possessive nature is rooted in abandonment, and thus being said, he has deep attachment issues to you. You are never out of his sight when you two begin dating, and you’re hardly ever far from him in general. You two dress similarly too, especially if you’re from the same era. He’ll switch up your wardrobe slowly so it complements his.

He isn’t one for strong PDA unless he feels like he needs too or just has a strong want too. Usually it’s an arm around your waist, or you hanging onto his arm loosely. The most he’ll ever really do is a kiss on the back of your hand or to your temple. That being said, he’s like this for various reasons.

One, he has a lot of enemies, which means that not not only does that put you in danger, but if you’re also a powerful overlord, it puts him at risk too, though he doesn’t care much about that part.

Second, he doesn’t like physical contact much, and though he always makes an exception for you, he has his image and pristine reputation to keep up. Which you extremely dislike but tolerate because it’s Alastor and if he hasn’t changed much in centuries, nothings going to change ever.

Alastor is very very fond of you, whether you believe it or not. Your fiery attitude has him whipped more than he likes to admit. He’ll joke with other sinners that he’d sacrifice you to save himself but you both know that isn’t true, his nervous ticks prove it to be false, if you do say so yourself.

He’s very fidgety. He’ll tug a piece of your clothing or twirl a strand of your hair between his claws. If you claim he’s messing up your hair he’ll cast a tornado of shadows around you to fuck it up even more, and then smiling at you lovingly when you threaten to cut his ears off because you can’t tell if they’re his hair or just furry ass ears. You always give him a good laugh.

Other sinners are actually convinced you both hate each other, but turf wars on the news show that you two are the most in love when you’re wreaking havoc on innocent sinners for no possible reason other than the fact you two had an argument and the best way to settle it? Dancing in the rain, which actually isn’t rain, just blood falling from the sky because you like to kill people for fun.

“My darling looks the best in red if I do say so myself! Especially if she’s dressed by another’s remains, oh the beauty!”

Alastor has and will continue to get in his feelings about you and his mother getting along so well. He loves you both to pieces, so seeing his two favorite people together makes his dead heart swell with joy.

He’ll ask you to accompany him to the tailors, he values your opinion more than others so you often make adjustments to his suit and he’s just like ‘Whatever she says that’s what’s going on the suit.’ You also make him your personal dressing doll, trying different patterns and styles on him for fun. Alastor is a true skinny jeans hater and he will die on that hill, again. He really appreciates the 60’s style, but prefers to stick to his own decade.

He will take you out hunting with him, and the two of you share breakfast together with the fresh meat you’ve caught. He only gets the best quality for you because he refuses to have you two ‘eating like chums’. A restaurant tried to lie to the two of you, saying their meat was high quality and fresh. Alastor killed everyone in it and you two shared remains like a true power couple. Hells finest of course. ;)

He’s very critical of picking out jewelry for you. Hunting for the perfect ring for you took him ages, mainly because he knew exactly what he wanted but no jeweler had what he wanted all in one ring. So instead he forces them to make him a custom one. Torn limbs and bloody parts later, you have the ring that Alastor worked so hard to give you. He proposes to you Extermination day, claiming he’d love to spend another year in hell with you before the angels come to rip you two apart from each other. It was such a sweet day, at least to you it was.

The type of relationship where he plays the piano and you sing. He loves when you sing and will gush about you to anyone in sight even if he doesn’t know them.

Is very needy in private. He’s a stage 10000 clinger, and will stick to you like his life depends on it, but will be damned if anyone catches him. You don’t tell anyone about it, you like the private life.

You two have cook offs all the time. You make the hotel staff judge, and ultimately Niffty is the tie breaker because she’s brutally honest. Once she told Alastor he should stay out of the kitchen because women were better at it for a reason… harsh!

He was fine though, he got her back by ridding the hotel of bugs. He knows she likes chasing them around and for that she sobbed at his feet for ten minutes asking him to bring them back. It didn’t take much actually, Sir Pentious brought them back on his own, much to Charlies dismay.

He loves to read with you. You two often read a book and once you both finish you have a tea session over it. It starts off being about the book and then somehow shifts to just gossiping and talking shit about the other overlords, except for Rosie, we love Rosie in this household.

Speaking of, Rosie is usually where you get your clothes from. She’s a sweetheart when she isn’t picking pieces of muscle from her teeth, that sharp smile is a killer! She loves to talk about Alastor with you, and usually she’s where you go after you two have had an argument. You’re also her personal Barbie doll. She puts you in outfits and she and Alastor judge over them. Nine times out of ten you leave her boutique with a new wardrobe every time.

Now let’s talk about Vox.

Honestly the whole reason Vox knows about you is probably because he was digging through Alastors shit. But when he sees you? Oh lord, this man is HOOKED.

He doesn’t even know how Alastor managed to get you entangled with him. He finds out about you when you and Alastor aren’t dating yet, and he basically jumps at his chance to try to be with you.

Vox will forever consider you the one that got away, you can’t change my mind.

Alastor has proven time and time again that he’s basically better than Vox. He took a seven year back, came on the radio one day and boom all his viewers were back. In Alastors mind there’s no competition, just Vox being obsessed with the fact Alastor said no.

Valentino uses it against Vox all the time, and it will always make Vox buffer.

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin demon #alastor #Alastor and vox #Hazbin hotel #helluva boss vox #hazbin hotel rosie #hazbin valentino #charlie morningstar #hazbin niffty

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wildwheezy · 3 months

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that should be me ✧ s.r.

spencer reid x fem!reader

[2.0k] summary: on a night out with the team, you find yourself bothered by spencer's newfound female attention

The bar was buzzing with loud music overhead and conversations between strangers. The lights were dim, casting a warm ambiance around the room as people ordered drinks, danced, and chatted with those around them. You scratched at the label on your beer bottle with your thumb as you looked around, eyes flitting from person to person, searching. You sat at a table over in the corner with Emily and Penelope, waiting for Spencer and Derek to return with the next round of drinks.

“Where the hell are Reid and Morgan?”

You glanced over at Emily, shrugging your shoulders, taking the last swig of your beer. They’ve been gone for almost thirty minutes. Your eyes scanned the bar again, searching for the familiar duo.

“Oh, I think I see them,” Penelope said, pointing toward the other end of the bar.

You shifted your gaze in the direction of her finger and felt your breath catch in your throat. Indeed, there they were. With two girls. Two very pretty girls.

“I am not surprised in the slightest,” Emily commented, shaking her head.

You didn’t pay much attention to the girl talking to Derek, instead staying focused on the brunette girl that was currently laughing at something Spencer said. She was on the shorter side, not even reaching Spencer’s shoulders, and was wearing a short purple dress that hugged her petite figure. You watched as she pushed her chest out, leaning in closer to him as he continued to talk, wide smile plastered on her face. Lord knows what he was even saying to her, probably something about the effects alcohol can have on the brain.

“That one girl is all over Reid,” Penelope pointed out.

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” you replied, voice tense. Then, “Do you think he looks into her?”

“It’s Reid. He probably has no idea that girl’s even into him,” Emily said, chuckling softly.

You shifted in your seat, uncomfortable with the situation occurring across the bar. Your lips tugged down in a frown, a displeased expression growing on your face.

“I mean, yeah, but do you think he’d like... go home with her?” you asked, twisting your empty beer bottle between your hands, trying to sound nonchalant.

Emily and Penelope shared knowing looks at that. They could read you like a book.

“It sounds like someone’s feeling a little upset that boy wonder’s attention isn’t all on her tonight like it usually is,” Penelope teased, eyeing you across the table. Emily hummed in agreement.

Your mouth dropped open, heat rising to your cheeks. “His attention is not always on me,” you defended weakly.

“Oh, bullshit,” Emily laughed. “We’re like chopped liver to him whenever it comes to you.”

Your relationship with Spencer was…a little complicated, to put it simply. You weren’t exactly together, but there was something between the two of you. It was kind of an unspoken thing. There was an obvious attraction there, but neither of you were brave enough to actually act on it. So, instead, you skirted around each other with flirtatious comments here and there and fleeting, accidental touches. You two were always wrapped up in each other, like you were in a bubble that shielded you from the outside world. Nothing has ever happened, though, despite how much you would like it to. It was almost painful, how much you wanted him.

You glanced back over at Spencer, watching him laugh with his new companion. They looked closer together than they were two minutes ago, and you felt your heart sink in your chest. “I guess he’s switching it up for the night,” you sighed, feeling defeated.

You technically weren’t even together, so you shouldn’t feel as hurt as you do, but you couldn’t ignore that twisted feeling in your gut.

Penelope frowned at you. “No, kiddo, don’t think like that. Try not to read too much into it, I’m sure he’s just being nice.” She reached over to rest her hand on your arm, trying her best to be comforting. “Besides, she’s not even that pretty.”

You side-eyed her. “Yeah, right,” you scoffed.

Penelope winced. “Okay, maybe that was a lie. But still, there’s no way he’s into her like that.”

“Yeah, that boy only has eyes for you,” Emily reassured, giving you a soft smile.

You appreciated your friends’ effort to make you feel better, but it was hard to believe them when he was still across the bar with this new mystery girl. “How come he’s still talking to her, then?”

“Okay, now you’re just torturing yourself. Let’s try to not focus on where Reid is and what he’s doing and go dance instead.” Penelope stood up from the table abruptly, tugging on your arm for you to do the same.

You hesitated, unsure. “I don’t know, Pen.”

“C’mon, it’ll keep you distracted,” she reasoned, voice sing-songy.

“Fine,” you said reluctantly, slowly standing up from your seat. “I’m gonna need a drink first, though.”

“Say no more. You coming, Em?”

Emily was already standing before she finished her sentence. “Of course, I am. What kind of question is that?”

________

Penelope was right: dancing was the perfect distraction. You were about four drinks in now, feeling the rhythm of the music and rocking your body in tune to it. Your clothes were starting to stick to your body, the air around you hot and thick as you moved with the people around you. You had no idea if Spencer was still with that girl but you hadn’t really thought much about it, not while you were feeling this good.

And so what if he was? Yeah, sure, it bothered you, but you really had no place to pass judgment given your current situation with each other. He was free to do whatever, and whoever, he wanted. Even if you hated it.

You downed the rest of your drink, twirling around to face your friends to let them know you needed another one. Penelope and Emily held their own drinks up in response, signaling that they were also ready for another round. You nodded then maneuvered your way through moving bodies, careful not to bump into anyone, and walked over to the bar.

It was crowded, making it a challenge to get the bartender’s attention. You stumbled a little where you stood, feeling the effects of the alcohol more now that you were no longer dancing. You looked around trying to see if you could spot Spencer or Derek, but no luck. You tried to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach as your mind started to wander about where Spencer could be. He probably left with her.

A hand touched the small of your back, causing you to startle and drawing you back to the present. You quickly turned, catching a glimpse of the culprit who caused your heart to jump into your throat. Your eyes roamed over the familiar tall figure, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. Relief flooded your body as you realized who it was.

“Jesus, Spence, you scared me,” you said, slowly regaining control of your breathing.

“Sorry,” he chuckled. His hand played with the thin strap of your shirt, fixing it from where it was sliding off your shoulder. “Where have you been? You’re all sweaty.”

“Oh, uh,” you started, pointing over to where Emily and Penelople were. “I was dancing.”

The corners of his lips tugged up in an amused smile. “You? Dancing? Who’s idea was that?”

“Hey!” you exclaimed, teasingly elbowing him in the ribs. “I’m a good dancer.”

His eyebrows raised, giving you a look that clearly meant he didn’t believe you. “In your dreams, maybe.”

“Shut up,” you said playfully, slightly offended. Your face dropped then, remembering why you were dancing in the first place. You turned away from him and back toward the bar, finally close enough to order your drinks. “So…where’s that girl you’ve been talking to all night?”

Spencer reached a hand up and rubbed at the back of his neck: a nervous habit of his that you've picked up on over the years. “I think she left. I told her I needed to get back to my friends.”

“Wow. I can’t believe you blew her off, she seemed like was all over you,” you replied, trying your best to keep your tone even.

“She was nice, just…not really my type,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“No? Why were you with her for so long then?” you asked, a hint of jealousy laced throughout your voice.

Spencer shot you a questioning look at that. “Are you okay? You seem…off.”

“You study behavior for a living and that’s the best you could come up with? That I seem off?” His eyes widened at your response and you sighed, regretting your choice of words. “Sorry, that was mean.”

You felt his hand on your arm, pulling you away from the bar and over toward the table you all were at when you first got here.

“What are you doing? I need to get the drinks,” you protested, pouting.

“The drinks can wait. What’s going on with you?”

You avoided eye contact with him, instead looking down at your shoes, focusing on the scuff mark near your big toe. “Nothing,” you mumbled.

His fingers brushed along the underside of your jaw, tilting your chin upwards to look at him. “It’s not nothing,” he said softly. “Talk to me.”

It was hard not to give in with those brown eyes staring into your soul. You could fight him off as much as you wanted, but you knew you would cave eventually. You reached up to grab at the hand on your chin, pushing it away, and confessed, “It bothered me…seeing you with her.” You’re not even sure why you told him that, but you blamed it on the liquid courage currently flowing through your veins. Stupid alcohol.

“Why?” he asked.

You looked at him, pleading. “You know why.”

“I know, but I wanna hear you say it.”

“Spence,” you whispered. You doubt he even heard you with all the noise around you.

As much as you would love to tell him how much he means to you and what you feel for him, it was too hard. Like telling him would ruin the cute, flirty bubble you two found yourself in a majority of the time. And what would the team think, if you two were to actually get together? How would that affect the dynamic between all of you? It was just too risky, and you weren’t sure if you were ready to take that leap.

But then again, fuck it.

Your eyes searched his before you reached forward and grabbed his face with both hands, surging up to crush your mouths together. Your lips slotted against his, letting out a sigh as his hands wrapped around your waist to pull you closer. Every thought you had in your head vanished, completely focused on the man in front of you. One of your hands slipped back to tangle in his hair as you explored his mouth, stomach tingling with the sensation, feeling warm all over.

Hesitantly, Spencer pulled away, a sound of protest slipping from your lips. His chest was moving up and down, eyes hooded as he looked down at you. He opened his mouth to say something, but you beat him to it.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” you said, breathless, smiling up at him.

“You should’ve done it sooner.” He grinned back at you, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes and behind your ear. “And just so you know, I haven’t been interested in anyone but you for a very long time.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, warming your face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he affirmed, nodding.

“Good.” You leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips, soft and gentle. “Wanna get out of here with me?”

“Absolutely. I’ve wanted to leave since we first got here,” he said, face completely serious.

You chuckled at that, grabbing his hand and leading him out of the bar. This is not how you anticipated your night ending, but you really couldn’t complain.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #wheezy writes

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mandalhoerian · 1 year

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moth to a flame | leon kennedy x reader

pairing: leon kennedy x f!reader

summary: Break-ups are never easy. Thankfully, you've been preparing for yours for a long time. Leon doesn't let this revelation go for reasons you cannot fathom when he's the one who wants to leave.

word count: 9K

warnings: angst, smut, thigh riding, p in v, kinda body worship, switch leon, he subs for like a moment and goes this better not awaken anything in me

notes: i winged this please don't judge me. also, "plot"-wise, this is an extension of my leon love language post. header template can be found here. enjoy the filth

🌀 read on ao3!

📍 continue to the BAD ENDING!

📍 continue to the GOOD ENDING!

In hindsight, you’ve seen this coming. Your face barely moves at your on and off situationship of two years forcing out, “I think we should break this off.”

So faint and unsure it’s barely above a whisper.

He looks so uncomfortable hunching over, forearms resting on the countertop, breakfast untouched, as if trying to make himself smaller than you, it’s absurd considering the nerves of steel you envy him for, and sure, he’s adorably awkward sometimes for a man of his looks, but not like this. Never vulnerable like this.

The kitchen is gloomy despite the bright winter sun seeping through the windows, almost suffocating because of his uncharacteristically transparent malaise. Leon isn’t one to openly squirm, and in turn, it’s making you all the more nervous — nothing about this is fair when you were thinking you got all the practice needed from imaginary scenarios and possibilities on all the directions the eventual separation would go.

He can’t look at you, shaking his head nervously, choked by the silence. “Say something.”

How funny it is that he’s the most fit man you’ve ever known, could lift you with one arm without breaking a sweat— one bicep literally the size of your head, yet looks like he’d cry if someone touched him right now. It’s a hard to swallow, unreal pill that you’re the one doing this to Leon, making him weak like this.

You’ve never known you had that kind of power over him until now, how he says he wants to break up but would throw up if you actually say yes.

You shift in your seat, the wood of the chair suddenly digs sharply into your skin with how hyperaware your body is of all the surroundings to deviate your attention from Leon, folding your hands on your lap.

The answer is at the tip of your tongue, it was stashed away there months ago. Of course you’ll let him go.

What makes it easier for you is having consented to how absent and private he warned half the things involving him was going to be, or it’s that you knew from the start your time with him would be limited. You just don’t question it; completely skipping the first four stages of grief and jumping readily to acceptance.

The lamb knew it would be slaughtered by the nurturing, kind humans, and yet it still got attached to them; Homer straight up told the readers how the story would end right at the start of Iliad, yet the fall of Patroclus and the rage of Achilles burned the same, if not worse — you knew Leon would inevitably fall apart and run away one day, yet chose to cherish your limited time with him all the same.

It can’t be called a tragedy if you agreed to how it would end in the first place.

Leon Kennedy is ephemeral in his nature, daydream-present and lucid-absent in your life all at once. You thought of him as an outdoors cat, never really yours in the first place, randomly shows up whenever he wants to, reluctantly leaves out of nowhere — a flighty, mysterious companion who’s happy and eager to be there but withdrawn when poked and prodded.

You accept him as such, love him all the same.

You’re not sure if he loves you just as much.

Fondness and like is there, enough for him to have stuck around for this long, but you figure it’s because you’re safe and constant. You’re happy to have provided him with at least that because you’re not sure what he saw in you, to be honest.

What’s happening is painless enough to go through exactly because of this, you hadn’t let yourself get too attached to Leon knowing he isn’t into you as much as you are into him. Maybe you are deluding yourself, maybe you are numb and not as apathetic like you thought you are, but you’re convinced this is how it should go — how it’s meant to go. What’s the point when you’re aware your name won’t be at the top of his list?

The insecurity surely is a small part of the ‘Leon Kennedy Breakup First-Aid Package’ you’ve been cultivating over time in preparation to cushion your own fall when the time would naturally come, but it doesn’t cover the shape Leon is in that even when he’s the one breaking your heart, he looks like he’s shouldering the pain you’re going through on top of his.

This is why you can’t ever be mad at him. You wanted to be with him knowing the way he is, after all.

Leon is a mess despite trying not to show it, his messy straw-blond hair doesn’t shine like it usually does, he hasn’t conditioned it, the golden sheen to it wilted almost. His bloodshot, red rimmed eyes are dim in their blue, laser-focused on the black coffee mug he’s tightly gripping, the skin underneath his lower lashes spread out in faded pink-purple half-rings and it only ever happens when he hasn’t gotten enough sleep in more than a couple days’ time whenever he has to be away for an unprecedented amount of time, or gets buried too long in his paperwork. His thumbs are wiping at the place he puts his lips on and have a sip at the contents of it you’ve seen he fed some liquor to a few minutes prior. He’s awfully domestic in his black sweater and pants, not at all looking like he just asked for a breakup.

You take pity on him.

“I see. Alright.”

His head shoots up, eyes immediately finding yours, no longer blank. He doesn’t seem sure if he heard you right, expression disbelieving. “What?”

“How do you want to do this?” Mirroring Leon’s anxious movements, your own fingers trace the rim of your own teacup. “You could start gathering your things today, but if you want to call it a day, I don’t mind—”

“No—wait—what are you saying?”

“I’m saying okay, Leon.”

He winces at the name, gaze escaping from you again momentarily and he has to blink, the lack of your usual pet name for him must have hurt him, you presume. He has to swallow before talking. “This is it?”

You’re not sure if it’s directed at the end of your relationship or you letting him off easy. “I don’t understand. What else was I supposed to say?”

“I don’t know, I just—”

This isn’t being hopeful, but you ask anyway. “What did you want me to say?”

He sighs in return, tearing away his gaze and hiding it with a hand that wipes at his forehead.

Yeah, it isn’t your hopes that were crushed. You adamantly tell yourself it isn’t. He’s being nice as he always is, of course he’d question how agreeable you’re being, it’s not like his resolve is going to change. “I’m just being cooperative so we can—”

“Aren’t you angry with me?”

That was the problem?

“I’m not, Leon.”

“How can you not be?”

“Well, I…” It’s because you love him, but bringing this up would only make it harder. “I’m not sure. You’ve been that good to me along the way, I guess. I don’t resent you for anything.”

He has that subtle sarcastic look on his face you would take as mocking if you were a total stranger, but you know better. He’s being self-deprecating. You could read it. But you should, he’s thinking. You should resent me.

You don’t.

The thing with Leon is he’s too good to be true that his only flaw is being a literal ghost. A well-meaning ghost who’d send presents upon presents and work his ass off to make extra time for what he had to give up on every time your plans falls through with unexpected shit that came up from his mystery job at the White House he never talks about that has him battered and bruised each time he turns up after prolonged leaves.

Which is an oxymoron considering how attentive and absent he is at the same time. Sometimes you wondered if he’d fix his habit of being a clam about everything concerning himself after you guys were through, but imagining him becoming more open and changing for someone else hurt too much.

“Don’t you want to know why? I mean—god, why are you just taking it?”

“What do you mean taking it? You’re not doing this to hurt me, look at you, Leon, when have you last slept? It’s hard on you too.”

“That really doesn’t have to do with anything right now,” he dismisses. “How are you this unaffected? I’ll take it if it’s to get back at me…”

“It’s not.” You stand up, appetite lost. You want to wrap your food up and put it in the fridge to eat later, and this way, you don’t have to look at him while saying the sentences you have rehearsed for so long. “If you want to break up, I can’t force you to stay—or into anything you don’t want to. It’s not fair for either of us. You’ll be stuck with someone who you don’t want, and I’ll have to live with the knowledge I’m with someone who doesn’t want me.”

You find him staring at you when you’re done, your hand stays wrapped around the handle of the fridge door at how tortured he is. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He shakes his head, blond strands framing his face gently swishing in the air. He does the angry eyebrow scrunch whenever he disagrees with you strongly on something you’ve said, but decides not to at the last minute, and you find yourself the tiniest bit disappointed at him not refusing he doesn’t want you. “You always— you always do this... Be angry. You have to be angry at me.”

You find refuge in the kitchen sink, washing your hands. “Stop it. I don’t want to fight, please.”

“So you are angry.”

“I’m not!” You slam the water shut a bit too forceful and you breathe for a second before turning to him. “I’m not. Angry. I’m sad, yeah. An understatement. Who wouldn’t be?”

He just says, “I’m sorry,” at that, and hates it’s the only thing he can manage to give you, it’s blatant in his face.

You take a seat at the chair directly next to him, you both need the intimacy of good communication at the moment. “But I had a lot of time to mourn, alright? It’s not that I’m taking it or being passive or whatever—”

“Mourn?”

His eyes search yours for a second, and the realization leaves him breathless, the insides of his brows raise up, making him look younger and more innocent. “You were expecting this.”

“Yeah, I mean.” Your lips press together, and you chew the insides before hopelessly shrugging, a small smile doing its best to put itself together. “Look at us. It was never going to work out in the long term. Not really. I consider two years a miracle, to be honest. I don’t know how we got this far.”

“All this time we were together.” Leon’s voice is thick, on the verge of shaking, you weren’t expecting him to take this so badly. His pupils devour all the blue from his eyes, he has never looked at you this hostile before all the hair on your arms rise up. “You were just thinking about breaking up? Have I only ever made you insecure?”

“Not all the time—it’s just—” You swallow. ““Why are you angry at me now? What did I do? You are the one breaking up with me.”

“And here you are okay with this. You’re telling me you didn’t think we’d ever work out when I—” He huffs. “I didn’t even notice a thing. You weren’t happy at all. Ever? You were uneasy all this time?”

“No, Leon, you’re not listening to me. What I expected was that you would leave one day, eventually. Because that’s how you are. That’s how your life is.” He leans back when he gets what you are alluding at, rubbing his face with a hand, refusing to look at you — but out of anger this time around. “I know you wouldn’t be able to stand being in limbo about not letting yourself go and wanting to at the same time. I know you felt bad about everything. I guess it’s just not the right time?”

You don’t say, right person and wrong time, it’s wishful thinking on your part—Leon probably doesn’t think that, someone else seems to take that crown in his heart, you know that all too well.

The muscles on his arm closest to you flexes, he must be thinking about taking your hand in his, so you remove them off the table and nestle them between your thighs. Any physical contact from him might lead to you crying in the end.

“I’m sorry I made you go through all that,” he laments. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

Your head tilts sideways. “It wasn’t about me, Leon. Suppose I sat you down and complained you weren’t open with me, you were distant. Especially when you weren’t ready for the conversation. I’ll tell you what would have happened. Two weeks of radio silence.”

“Ah, c’mon…”

“It’s not something you haven’t done before. You said it was work, but… You know. I get it.”

Leon exhales from his nose and lowers his head, broad chest puffing up with rapid breaths, his neck is getting redder by the second. You’ve never taken him for someone with an explosive anger, but it looks like that could change any second.

“I wish you wouldn’t take this to heart, I’m not saying this to hurt you when I say I knew this was always going to happen.” You’re talking like you’re trying to soothe a tiger, and he especially looks to hate it. “You can’t possibly have expected me to ignore it. And it wasn’t going to come from me either, I’m happy to be with you either way, but—”

“That’s the problem.” He has his head between his hands, like that could possibly hide him away from the conversation. “I treat you like this and you still say that.”

You wish he wouldn’t be this hard on himself.

“I signed up for this.” He tilts his head at that, accusatory, and you get more agitated in return. “I know your circumstances. You can’t help being absent most of the time, I understand. I understand more than you think.” His forearms hit the counter loudly, he looks about to spit fire any second, but you don’t let it happen. “However. It’s no way to continue a relationship, I know that too. My perspective is that it shouldn’t be guilt that comes to your mind whenever you think of me. I wish things could be different. I wish I could be a priority to you—”

Leon’s face sours, and you stop talking when you see it.

You didn’t mean for the words to hurt him as they did, explanations becoming distraught. “Look, I like you, you know this. Possibly too much. More than I should. You have to understand that’s why I’m being this amicable with you right now. Break-ups don’t always have to end in fights, sometimes things just don’t work out, and that’s what’s happening right now, isn’t it?”

It doesn’t reach Leon. His gaze is faraway, defined jawline locked clenching and unclenching.

“If it makes you feel better, I was angry for a while.” His hand comes down from rubbing a circle in the middle of his brows, eyes shifting back to yours. “But it is what it is.”

“You’re not even gonna ask?” he says, defeated.

“Would you tell me anything different from what I know?”

He opens his mouth, but the only thing that comes out is a sigh, one of his legs shaking, and his head falls forward, curtains of dark blond hair covering your view of his face. For a moment, all you want is to slip your fingers into the silky strands and comb them back, take his heat away, the pads of your fingers on his smooth cheekbones, you know he’d melt into your touch straight away and his expression would lose weight of the strain he carries you can only imagine the root of most of the time, but you abstain.

He wouldn’t appreciate it on the brink of a break-up, you were about to become nothing but strangers.

That’s why it’s abrupt when he leans forward and captures your lips in an unfair, unfair kiss, the force of it makes his teeth clack against yours and you grimace, retreating to break it. His hand slips to the side of your neck to pull you back in, the drag of calluses and heat against the skin of your neck sends goosebumps all over your body, his thumb caresses your cheek in a loving way that hurts but his lips are frantic in their gentler search to open your mouth to his, and suddenly you can’t breathe from how much Leon keeps advancing.

Turning your face away to break the assertive, overwhelming liplock, you take in lungfuls of air as you look as away from him as you can, panicking at the way he presses his forehead to your temple and the way his nose nudges your burning cheek, he doesn’t budge when you attempt to push him off the second you realize you’re enjoying this. He’s built like a fucking tank. “Leon—”

“Say no if you don’t want it,” he breathes, right into your neck, the tickle is mixed with something dangerous that sears your skin along with the low rumble to his voice directly in your ear, and you have to stop yourself from squirming, a coil of incandescence binds its threads together in the depths of your stomach. “Say it and I’ll stop.” One muscular arm hooks around the back of your upper thigh and one around your waist, he quite literally snatches you off your chair and plops you down on his lap, each of your legs hang from the sides of his hips, and you yelp at how effortlessly Leon seems to arrange you to his liking.

He’s needlessly, uncharacteristically cruel. You would always want him. Leon knows this.

“You’re so—” Your breath hitches when his fingers bypass your shirt and sneak up the bare skin of your waist and his other arm readjusts you as he buries his forehead in your shoulder and you gaze at the top of his golden hair kissed by morning sunlight and take in the familiar scent of him and his shampoo. His body against yours leaves a festering sweet longing. ��So unfair—you were just breaking up with me—”

He bites down at the meat of your clavicle and you draw in a short breath, the dig of his teeth sting, but he immediately soothes it with a lick and his tongue is hot, too hot. “Unfair?” he groans, you contain the shudder at the emotion he keeps at bay and at the path his blunt fingernails make above the clothing from your hips to the sides of your legs, he’s never been like this. “You already left me in your mind before this and I don’t even know exactly when.” The tip of his nose faintly traces the curve of where your neck meets the shoulder, the tickle is unbearable, aching, you wish he would have left marks instead. “You were always thinking of leaving— our time together didn’t matter to you. What do you think that makes me feel like?”

“That’s not—” You grip both of his biceps and feel the protruding veins and the flex of the muscle underneath the skin, intimidated as always by how both of your hands added together were too small to form a full hold around one. I work out a lot, was his excuse while you were first getting to know each other as acquaintances, and you’d thought how this man belonged with someone of his league. “You’re the one—”

“You dummy, I’m not leaving you because I want to.” Leon’s arms circle your waist and pulls your body flush against his in a crushing hug, his head finding home under your chin and against your chest. It’s innocent and you feel the helplessness, the desire to hold but not be seen, but you don’t know what to do in return, his words don’t quite register. “Why would I ever when I—“ He cuts himself off, breathing shaky as the rest of the sentence dies at his throat. “Jesus, I can’t believe this.”

You tentatively hold his shoulders, surprised at how taut they are. How winded he is like some wire. “I don’t understand.”

“You are just letting me leave like that. Like some business deal done and gone, you just…”

You can’t help the sound that escapes as he bites your earlobe. Why does he keep biting?

“Ow!—“ Leon starts sucking, the wet sounds and his breathing directly in your ear sending shivers down your spine, and you’ve had enough of his thought processes ending up being completed by his lips on your body.

He’s easily able to overpower you, but obeys when he feels you’re genuinely pushing him away, some strands of your hair get stuck on his face and the view of the detained obscenity of his expression —the half-closed eyes and the missing blue, the flush of his cheekbones, glistening of his pinked lips— sends a hot wave downstairs. “It’s you. You! You’re the one leaving, Leon, I don’t get it—“

Some clarity through the pinkish haze of want dawns back to him, and he gingerly combs the threads of hair away from your face, some of them behind your ear. “I don’t want to. That’s the thing. I thought it was clear as day.” Leon searches your eyes, looking down at the details of your face, your heart races as his stare gets stuck at your lips the longest, he isn’t even aware he’s doing it and you feel feverishly desired from his insatiable look, from the slow movement of his Adam’s apple. “But—“

“You can’t help it. Right?” Your thoughts are blurring together, and he’s a black hole pulling you in. “I understand—“

Leon kisses you again, and your stolen exhale turns into a pleased hum. “Stop saying that,” he whispers with inches between your lips, eyes closed, so close your breath is his.

“What do you want me to say?“

“Stay.” He takes your hand and brings it up, planting a singular kiss at the inside of your wrist, and then rests his cheek against your palm. You can only stare at the vulnerability he’s offering you on a silver platter, the tormenting softness is blinding. “Stay.”

Your heart soars. God, you’ve longed for him to give away that he wants to be with you all this time, the insecurity is a blanket you’ve hidden under, this is it, but he’s so torn and you don’t get his struggle, what he must be hiding for such a visceral reaction. He wants to, but he can’t, and you don’t know why, having accepted he wouldn’t tell you from the start anyway.

But you ask. You ask anyway. Hope is a flightless bird waiting for her wings to grow each day. “Will you?”

Something shifts, a delicate moment broken, and Leon draws back, his eyelashes flutter as if he’s shaking off some daydream — and then he’s upset, a pinch in his brow. “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I can’t—“ You’re grabbed from the arms and scooted away from his lap, putting some distance between the two of you. Leon is physically pained, unable to meet your eyes. “I don’t know why I’m being like this.” He holds your hands between the two of you, and you get whiplash from the passion just mere seconds ago and the tenderness of this touch. “I can’t keep doing this to you. I don’t know why I’m this unreasonable, it’s so childish— Shit. I’m sorry, I’ll just—“

“No.” You cup his face in both hands and he looks like an abused puppy tasting kindness for the first time. “Stay for a bit.” Your heartstrings are tugged by the way Leon’s eyes are lit up. “I want to have you. One last time. Is that alright?”

A beat passes.

“Yeah,” he says, blanking out at first, but then repeats stronger, his fingers sink into the plush of your thighs as he licks his lips. “Yeah.” He turns his head and kisses your palm, somber. “You can have me however you want.”

Leon doesn’t look like he’s particularly looking forward to it. “You sure?”

“I’ll always want you, any day, any time,” he says, and you’re flabbergasted at the burden of his meaning. But you force yourself to look past it, look past the unguarded and unarmed honesty, choosing to interpret it in the language of lust.

“Not here, though.” You get up from his lap and he doesn’t stop you. “It’s kinda cramped.”

“We can make it work if you’re up for it,” he half-teases, one corner of his lips curling up, his eyes are humorless.

You snort. Easy for him to say. He’s fit, you aren’t, that’s why being on top can’t last half the time without his assistance. “You can. I certainly can’t.”

“You keep saying I can’t to me, knowing I take it as a personal challenge.” Leon’s touch moves up your forearm and in one swift move, he pulls you in between his legs. He leaves a kiss at the lower valley between your clothed breasts. “Maybe you’re doing it on purpose?”

You’re heating up right away. “I’m not—”

Leon pats his right leg, pulling up the sleeve of his shorts all the way up to the hipbone, exposing the well-endowed, firm thigh. “Sit here.”

“Your leg’s gonna get a cramp,” you say, but it’s hardly a complaint, your crotch has begun to contract at the thought of feeling the flawless skin slipping against your slick folds and how he would mold the tendons to fit just right for your pleasure. Expectation was pulling you tight right from the start where he had you hanging from his every word.

Leon’s almost offended. “It won’t.” But his encouragement is gentle. “Come on, sweet girl.” Hooking one arm between the two layers of the bands of your underwear and pants, he lets them snap back against your skin after he pulls considerably. “And you’re taking off all that.”

You let it go. Immediately. “Fuck, okay.”

It’s morning. You’re in the middle of the kitchen. And you’ve forgotten all of that, head lost in the beginnings of a dull throb between your legs. Your dignity would have been trampled on if you were too enthusiastic, so you try to take your time, and he asks, “How do you want to go about this?”

“Huh?”

His hands ride up your knee and inch up, his thumbs in the line of your inner thighs, and your first instinct is to press them together to alleviate the ache, but Leon’s forcing them apart. “You can have my tongue or fingers first. To help the friction.” You swallow when the nail of his thumb scratches the material of your panties and feels the slight dampness, and he’s watching your reactions very closely. “Or you could just sit down.”

You don’t have strength left in your knees anymore, head spinning with the way his darkened, narrowed gaze is simultaneously bearing down on and looking up at you, and Leon helps you settle your weight on his leg after sliding your underwear down your legs, the warmth of his palms on your naked hips alone is vexing enough and it’s embarrassing that he feels the particularly strong pulse of your sex.

He angles his leg up and you slide forward with the gathered moisture, arms catching onto his neck in surprise from the sudden jolt of pleasure. “Eager, are we?”

You aren’t normally bold like this, would let him keep softly teasing rather than give the same energy back, but there’s a certain finality to this time, your brain is liquid smooth from the tantalizing delight of his touch, and you don’t hold back to inform just what he does to you breathily. “Always for you.”

The movement of his leg staggers and you look up to see him caught completely off guard. And the next thing you know, Leon has you in a bruising kiss, or you think it has the strength to bruise, he hasn’t been this rough before, and you certainly haven’t been craved to this extent in your entire life before him.

This time you accept his tongue willingly into the cavern of your mouth, his fervent licks and gasps rise the question of who’s really the more eager one here, but it doesn’t really occupy space in your mind, limbs stilling overall from how he steals away all bodily functions with just kisses that radiate desperation.

Leon ushers your hips to languidly move when you fail as a multitasker all the while the swirl of your tongues continue to tangle, and it proves difficult as your slide against him becomes smoother and wetter with him finding just how to pull the hood of your mound while you’re pulling back and drag against it in the correct angle, flexing his thigh accordingly.

He pecks your jaw. “Faster?”

Skin contact goes straight to the tightening spiral in your stomach like this. “I can’t—”

“Don’t say you can’t.” He does something that has you dropping down from heights by circling his leg, and completely out of your control, small noises emerge from the back of your throat and you can’t kiss him back anymore. “Do you want it faster or not?”

You try to hum in agreement, but he catches you in the middle of it and jerks you forward, the sharp zap electrifies all your nerves and grants him a startled moan, you can barely see the satisfaction in his face from the sudden tears. You were somehow in control of the pace previously, but once he knows you want it faster, it’s him that anchors your hips to the edge of the stars, a man on a mission.

Leon begins to leave open-mouthed, wet kisses on your neck that has you tilting your head to give him more room, and you’re glad his heavy gaze isn’t drinking in your bliss-stricken expression anymore. “You hear that?” His question is thick. “Listen.”

The noises your wetness make sliding across the muscles of his thigh in a rapid speed makes some of the blood rush up to your cheeks, and the knot is stretched so agonizingly beyond the point of no return that you’re hurling towards absolution, legs beginning to shake and your whines become sweeter. “Leon,” you pant, the fever to keep going as he is conveyed in one singular word reaches him. “Leon—ah, mmh— I’m— Leon!”

“Yeah, I got you.” Adoring kisses are peppered along your jawline and your fingers clutch to his blond hair, pulling him in, your stiffened, perked up nipples are smushed in the press of his chest against yours, and you arch into him like a cat, lost in the ascending ecstasy. “Just let go.” He bites down and your sore walls clench around nothing, the pulsating increasing in intensity. You’re on a thrill ride, shooting up, up, up— “Come for me, sweet girl, come on, give it to me.”

With a sharp, choked cry, and the throw of your head back, the coil explodes and unravels, white sparkles in your vision, and Leon holds you down when your body tries to fly off with the force of your orgasm, the sinking of his hands into your sensitive flesh only heightens and sends crashing waves as he helps you ride through it, rocking lazily with you back and forth.

“Oh god,” you shiver, clinging to him, upper body basically draped across his chest as the pleasure rolls into a stinging ache of pain with the overstimulation, bones jiggly from the floaty feeling to get away yourself. “Too much. Leon. Too much.”

His voice is croaky. “Yeah, we’re not done yet.”

He stands up with his arms supporting your legs around his waist, and you hold on for dear life. It scares every single time he does this. Leon makes it look so easy to carry you around from room to room without breaking a sweat.

The full meaning of his words only get to you when you’re thrown on the bed, wind knocked out of you. “Leon, wait, aren’t you going to Spain tomorrow, don’t you have to prepare—”

“I’m preparing,” he says, putting one knee on the bed and oh god, the shine on his thigh, the drench, that was all you—- “Need to get my fill of you to last for the whole trip, yeah?”

It’s more like he’s saying, ‘To last for the rest of my life’, the hunger and melancholy makes for a Frankenstein’s monster of ravenous, unquenchable yearning when you’re right in front of him and your flame is rekindled.

More than one round with him is uncommon most times because he’s simply busy and moves around a lot, you weren’t used to the practice, build wired to exhaustion taking over when he was finally done with you, either hot, heavy and fast or sweet and intense, each time leaving you with honeyed sore bones and the best sleep following right after.

Arousal pools in the pit of your belly thinking about what comes next.

Kneeling at your feet, he taps your tight-locked knees. “Open up for me.”

It’s morning. He could see every detail of imperfection in this light and uncertainty washes over you for a second before you do as he wishes, the sheets crinkling and rustling beneath your shifting, and he gets on his stomach and puts one of your legs to his shoulder when you thought he would be entering you already.

Flustered, you get up on your elbows. “Leon, you don’t have to.”

“Didn’t think you wanted to get it over with right away.” Sliding his hand up, he fans his fingers on your tummy, thumb pulling at the skin dipping into your vulva, and looks up at you from his eyelashes. Little sparks of pleasure light up at each stroke. The weight of his arm is wonderful. “Breaking my heart over here.”

“It’s not that, I…”

He scooches up, and the knowingly feather-light kiss he leaves on the inside of your thigh, close — right there but not there, makes your leg twitch. “Oh, you wanted something else?” The teasing view of Leon inches away from where you wanted him was a sight for sore eyes, but his sudden hot breath on your post-orgasmic sopping heat broke your daze, making your hips attempt to jump up, but his arm had you absolutely pinned on the mattress. “Well?”

It’s not something you’d planned, but his wanton beauty looking up at you shoves an image inside your brain unexpectedly, reminding you how you’d said you wanted to have him, not the other way around. This is going to be the last time Leon would be like this with you, and there were so many things left unexplored. What would it feel like to have this feline-gracious, strapping man underneath you, to run your lips through his unbelievably sturdy body all over and return the kindness on how good he’s been taking care of you? Leon was always perfect to you. Is perfect. Your wish to present him with how exactly on top of the world he has you feeling for your final time, to return the favor.

Leon has stopped moving and it’s because of your lack of reaction and the long look of contemplation regarding him. You lift his hair away from his eyes. “Can you lay down on your back?”

“You wanna get on top?” he asks, but doesn’t object to it, moving up on the bed and sitting up, getting the hint on taking off his clothes, enamored, you watch his abdomen flex and limbs stretch like a cat’s as he slips his shirt off and throws it away and shimmy off his briefs. Every single movement of his is a wonder.

“No, I want to touch you,” you say, stare not knowing where to focus on him and his half-hard dick jumps at your words. “Explore you.”

He meets your eyes, pupils blown, and swallows, nodding. “You’re gonna kill me.”

“I wanted to have you, remember?”

There’s a semblance of a laugh and Leon rolls on his back, one knee up and hands on his stomach, blond hair fanning around his head on the sheets. He looks like a sculpture. “And how will you have me?”

“Pleasured without thinking of pleasuring,” you explain, he’d be better at the dirty-talk in your position, perhaps say something like ‘Crying for me’, but you’re way too fascinated by him to think about what would have him helplessly turned on. “Vulnerable.”

You would be lucky if you are able to push him to the point of not even one thought behind those pretty blue eyes, but you just want to make him feel good, and with that in mind, reach a hand and trail the tips of your fingers through the prominent web of veins along his forearm, his fingers jump, and you continue through his upper arm, lingering on the sharp lines of lighter-colored small scars until you reach his shoulder, feeling the cluster of the goosebumps that rise in his skin.

“Seriously?” he says with an annoyed timbre and you see him having gone completely hard, eyebrows shooting up in shock. “You’re going this slow? Am I some package you’re unboxing?”

“You seem to be enjoying it,” you murmur in interest, and Leon sulks at how you run all five of your fingernails all the way down the lower of his belly button and how it’s hardly even a graze at all. His abs keep contracting. “I barely touched you.”

“You, haah,” he sighs at you straddling and hovering above him. “Don’t need to point that out.”

Leon tries to hold onto your thighs but you maneuver him away, and unsurprisingly, he isn’t pleased by that, groaning. “Oh we’re doing this?”

“I’m touching you. Stay still like a good boy.”

It’s your usual banter, but for some reason, he turns his face away and closes his eyes for a second, wetting his lips as if his mouth is dry. The line of his neck clenches and unclenches and you feel the brush of his dick lightly hit the inside of your leg. You’re fascinated again. He likes this more than you expected. “God, you really want to kill me.”

Leon could stop it if he wanted to. Switch it around. It’s not like he hasn’t done it before. All the times you’ve attempted to ride him and your knees and calves failed you, he ended up sitting up and hugging you close, fucking up into you and kneading your insides from below and littering your shoulders with angry red marks, taking control of the pace, especially riled up from how endearing and sexy you were trying your best to pleasure him, in his words. He can do it again, but doesn’t. Just lies there, all for you, stuck between a rock and a hard place — which, in this case, is his discomfort and enjoyment. The lack of stimulation gets him going.

You lean down and nip at the corner of his mouth, and he responds immediately, turning back to you, chasing the kiss. His hands come up to your waist but you take them off, pinning them to his sides, and Leon complains through sharply breathing into your mouth. “I’ll only,” Kiss. “Hold you.” Kiss. “Please, just let me—” You lightly bite his tongue.

As if he couldn’t do it if he truly wanted to. He is letting you do this to him. Pleading. In that tone of voice, too. You’re in over your head, what is happening?

“No,” you say, kissing his jaw and caressing the hinge of his opposite jaw with your thumb, sounding stern but feeling silly inside, unsure if he’s amused by you deep down. But Leon huffs again like a spoiled brat not getting what he wants.

You’re shell-shocked, but continue your pursuit to find out what else he likes, settling on his ear, making a line through the outer rim of soft tissue with your tongue and sucking kisses until he’s shifting around, you can hear how he’s trying to level out his breathing, then you bite, and he hisses as you repeat it over and over again.

You’ve heard that some men enjoy getting their nipples played with, and you caress and massage, knead and fondle all over his torso with both hands as the switching of your gentle and silky mouth and the needling pleasure of teeth assault his ear, and you listen to his heavy breathing the occasional hitch of it until you circle around one nub, and flick it, rubbing down and pressing the pebbled nipple inwards, just like how he does it to you, and twist the other one. His face hides itself in your neck, and you let him have that, at least.

His exhale turns into sound and he shuts it down pretty quickly, opting to speak up instead. “Can you—” he begins, and then tuts, sounding nonchalant, but you hear it. You hear the thickness of contained arousal. “Can you move on already?”

“You want the other ear?”

His head jerks in your position at you saying that straight into his ear and breathing into it, you know the thin sheen of saliva coating it makes the sensation sharp and cool and warming at the same time. “No—” he says, but you ignore him, cutting the rejection off by taking his other earlobe between your teeth. “Jesus Christ, this isn’t necessary—”

“If it isn’t, why is this wet?” You ask, watching him closely, tapping the pearl of clear liquid gathered at the tip of his ramrod straight hardness. It’s scalding hot, throbbing at the contact. Leon hisses between his teeth, trying to contain it, and sighs as your index finger circles the tip to spread it around, another bead of precum swelling in the wake of your touch. His eyebrows are scrunched, lips thinning and returning to their usual plushness with him pushing them together, a dust of pink coloring his complexion, a weak glare is on you. “Just enjoy it.”

“I could if you actually did something already.”

You wrap a tight hand around Leon’s needy cock, heavy and thick, and he shouts, the cry turning into a high-pitched whine you would never dream of coming from him and he clamps a hand on his mouth right in the middle of it, hips bucking into you, head thrown back, blown eyes horrified at what he just did. His breaths are loud and shaky, face turning red in seconds, and you watch, utterly captivated. You’ve seen adorable sides of him before when he lets himself be light and his brow isn’t hanging close to his eyes in that grumpy mood, but what you have right here…

You’re drunk on this side of his, nibbling at his exposed throat. “You’ll take what I give you.”

“God,” he whispers behind his palm, with a subtle tremble when you squeeze once and let go. His hips stutter up before falling back. Leon’s embarrassed. “Fuck.”

He doesn’t retort back, all of the sass packed and left. You can’t believe this is working. That Leon’s obeying you like this. He’s leaked all over your hand. Oh my god.

And you’ve really barely even done anything to him.

You can’t help but wonder if this is you doing this to Leon or he’s just into being bossed around in general.

How further can you push?

“Look, you’ve wet my hand,” you say, bringing your glistening palm up and separating your fingers after circling the gathered precum around, a thin thread forming between the digits. Like a hawk, he watches you lap it all up and you don’t take your eyes off of his, hearing him grip the sheets. “Still gonna act like this isn’t doing anything for you?”

Leon’s voice is gravelly as he rasps, “Kiss me.” It’s something between a request and a demand that if you don’t do it, he will.

You oblige, pushing down on his chest to get him to lie down again when it’s apparently too slow and soft for him, and he avidly presses forward to make it rougher, intertwining his tongue with yours harsher to the point of your mixed drool sliding down his chin for more.

He’s yanking and pulling on his clasp on the dreadfully wrinkled covers in self-restraint as he bites and licks and pulls at your lips, butterflies light up the pit of your stomach and thrash against the liquefied rapture that throbs in your pussy and seeps out, the need for attention growing impatient by the minute.

You go down and focus on kissing his neck, alternating between openmouthed licks and bites, careful not to leave marks, insides doing a summersault at the small noise of disappointment he makes that transitions into husky gasps. Leon still is concerned with suppressing any kind of unbecoming sounds he’s appalled to come out of him, and you’re bothered by that. Pressing your palm on the head of his cock and twisting sure does the trick to vocalize him a bit, restoring your confidence.

“Ah… Can’t you just directly touch it,” he sighs gruffly. “This isn’t enough—”

“You aren’t asking nicely enough.”

His head snaps down, brows raised in disbelief, self-consciousness clouding the teased promise of bliss that edges him on, and you stare back at him pointedly — however, on the inside, you’re worried if he’d ever beg at all.

You twist your palm with added pressure enough to alleviate the pain, but not enough to carry him to the peak he wants to get to, and his shoulders jump up, “Ah!” Biting down on his momentarily trembling lower lip and shaking his head with closed eyes as if he doesn’t want to see you watch him be like this, he mutters, “I’m gonna get you for this…”

You grip the base of his cock so hard his hands fly up to your wrists and with a shuddering whimper, stop at the last second before he touches you and he drapes his forearms on his reddened face instead, his back rises from the bed involuntarily, Leon’s flat-on squirming and hating it.

“That’s not nice,” you tease, pressing your legs together in momentary relief and waves of pleasure that slip on your skin like silk, and narrowly stopping the moan. You breathily add, “What do we say?”

“Please,” so fast and quiet, humiliated. You understand, but don’t let him off.

“I didn’t catch that.”

“Fuck, please, come on, please.” His hands ball into fists and his arm veins pop out and his right knee curls upwards. “You can’t keep doing this to me—AHH—mhhmh—!”

His sentence gets cut off into incomprehensible babbling once you start pumping your fist up and down his neglected erection, not even needing lotion for it, he’s drenched enough to make the slide beyond slippery. You add your other hand into the mix and begin teasing the tip, and his chest, having developed a thin layer of sweat and gleaming in the sunlight, is heaving, and he can’t swallow the gasps and noises anymore, fingernails digging into his palms. You can only see his puffed, rufescent lips from the way he’s covering his face.

“Wasn’t what I had in mind, but I’ll take it,” you say, and it’s genuine. This much alone was too much, way beyond what you thought could happen. Leon is always in control, he has it together so brilliantly that this is actually him falling apart, it’s an enthralling, spellbinding natural disaster so beautiful you can’t look away, want to touch yourself to the sight.

“I’ll show you what I have in mind,” Leon all but snarls, and he has you on your back and pulls you towards him by your legs harshly even before shivers can go down your spine. “Let’s see if you can take that.”

You pushed him past his limit it seems, and he darkly stares you down, eyebrows scrunched and beads of sweat rolling down his temples. sweat-dampened hair curtains his face from both sides. His hand slips behind both of your knees and scratches at the smooth skin of the crevice, shooting lightning directly into your core, and he hikes them up to hook over his shoulder and hugs one bulging arm around to hold them together, lining himself up with your slit with a trembling hand, dragging the cherry red, furious tip up and down, slipping it in for a bit, catching your insides in a tantalizing drag, and then taking it out next, making your toes curl in the air and drawing squeals out of you.

Leon would normally send you to the underground and back from how horribly he’d tease you for being this drenched for him, but he’s strained and silent now, snapping his hips against yours and burying himself to the hilt in the spasming cavern of your pussy in one go, with no resistance from how ready for him you were, ripping a fractured cry from you as your vision blacks and stars dance behind your eyes. He groans gutturally, cock pulsing inside, and you feel the sound in your body. You’re overly sensitive from head to toe, and even the sheets sliding against your burning skin makes your clit throb painfully, deliciously.

He doesn’t start slow or build to something, it’s quick and rough right off the bat as he’s ramming into you with no mercy, and he’s basically catapulting you into glorious completion, but you need more stimulation, more, something more—

He slaps your hand away when you try to reach down to your clit to slip two fingers between your tightly shut legs and falls on his forearms, “No way I’m letting you do that.” Leon arranges your legs to wrap around his waist, grinding against you.

His attention then shifts to something else and he pulls on the sleeve of your shirt that’s still on, a scheming shine comes to the blue of his eyes that worry you, and then he’s leaning in and forcing it up. It’s hard for you to move your back and slip it off with the way he’s pinning you down, and it dawns on you late after you make the mistake of raising your arms that it’s what he wants after all. After getting your head out, Leon turns it inside out around the entire length of your arms that act as a makeshift restraint and leaves it like that, you’re incapacitated with your hands over your head like this.

You whine, this is so about not letting him touch you, and he thrusts up sharply to shut you up, sucking blossoming reds into the crook of your neck, hands pulling and pinching at your nipples. It’s building up. It’s building up, but— “You’re going to come like this.”

The frantic slap of skin against skin is echoing in the room and you struggle against the bunched up shirt around your arms. “Can’t—”

“You’re doing it on purpose at this point.” He laces his fingers into your hair on top of your head, thumb on your forehead in little caresses, contrasting how he fucks you shallow and fast, his voice a couple octaves higher than it usually is as he angles your hips upwards to hit deeper, and your moans are a metronome in beat to his ruthless pace.

“Yeah, that’s right, take it!” Eyes glazed over, mouth agape, the muscles in his thighs jumping, body pulled taut, wrecked and somehow begging, Leon doesn’t leave a single spot unkissed on your face and throat and he’s hurling towards an uncontrolled craze, he’s so close himself. “More? You want more? Too bad, this is it—mmm—for what you just did to me, and you’re gonna take it!”

You’re clamping down on him and he hisses in your ear as you repeat it like a mantra, Leon is wrenching a merciless orgasm from you and you have no control over it, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, can’tcan’tcan’tcan’t—!”

Leon’s delectable weight pins you down as you shoot up with the detonation of the pleasure into a thousand pieces, rippling through your body in building waves, your pussy clenching down on him catches him off guard and he unceremoniously spills into you with a choked, staccato shout shuddering, the succulent warmth coating your insides and adding to the ecstasy, and it just keeps coming, his load is too heavy and too much. Your stiffened legs lock the shivering man in place and tremble around his waist as he languidly rides his bliss out, forehead sticky against your clavicle, the sheer strength with which he holds you against him is euphoric rather than suffocating.

“God, what the fuck was that,” he mumbles at some point, collapsing on top of you and turning you around with him so he won’t crush you, pulling you to his sweaty chest and putting his chin on top of your head. His scent has you in a fuzzy daze. “What did you do to me?”

You don’t respond, consciousness slipping from your fingers and pulling you deep into the sweet comfort of the dark.

You feel his hand on your cheek, lightly nudging. “Hey, you okay?”

“Mhm,” you manage to make out. “Wanna sleep…”

“Okay, sweet girl, I got you,” he says, soft and endeared, from far, far away.

And with that, you’re out like a light.

When you wake up, you find yourself thoroughly cleaned up, in comfortable, cotton pajamas, with no Leon in sight and a small note left on your nightstand with the keys to your apartment on top of it.

It reads: Had to go. I’m sorry about not staying until you woke up. Talk to you when I get back.

You plop back on your fluffy pillows and sigh, chest hurting. It was always going to end this way. In hindsight, you’ve seen it coming.

Your heart doesn’t agree, tears freely falling from your eyes. It’s really over. Leon really left like that. Just as he came into your life.

You don’t have the right to complain. You’d agreed to it in the first place.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s. kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy headcanons #leon s. kennedy headcanons #resident evil 4 #re4 remake

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rose-tinted-kalopsia · 11 days

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≡;-꒰ 𝐑𝐀𝐅𝐀𝐘𝐄𝐋 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I 𝑴𝒖𝒔𝒆

╰┈➤ ❝ rafayel x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : pwp (without plot), softdom!rafayel, but also kiiind of switch!rafayel, kissing and making out, teasing, guided masturbation, inappropriate use of a paintbrush, clit play, nipple play, slight overstimulation, slight edging if you squint, thigh riding, praise, cursing, dirty talk, use of pet names "my muse" "princess" "baby", lmk if i missed any tags !! ((unedited))

wc : 3.2k

taglist : @zaynesaurora @darlingdummycassandra (+ @seaofgoldensand mwah) | sign up here!

an : guys bc ,,,,,, i swear you never truly realize how daunting it can be to act as an impromptu live model for someone.. until you try it...

You underestimate the intimacy of eye-contact.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

There was nothing but silence in the air, only occasionally interrupted by a tap of his shoe on the floor, or a squeaking of the chair when he moved. There was the tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall, and the faint, hushed sound of delicste brushstrokes on the canvas...

These were the only things you could focus on, if not at the way that he looked at you.

Rafayel's stare was intense.

Anytime he would shift his gaze from the canvas and back to you; anytime you'd catch the way his eyes would take in the shape of your figure...

You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt; this was just part of the process. He was only being professional, after all—of course an artist needed to look at his model!

...But it was less about what he felt; this was something that you, yourself couldn't take.

"Eyes up here, princess," came his voice, the familiar sing-songy tone to it triggering a bout of butterflies.

You were torn, somewhat.

You wished you could wipe that knowing smile right off of his face, but simultaneously felt that you could cave underneath even just that stupid, stupid gaze of his.

...And you knew that you had brought this upon yourself.

Whatever bickering had started with his whine about a "lack of inspiration" and a roll of your eyes in response, had settled with you offering to be his model.

You even recalled how surprised he was, the concern that etched on his features—

"Hm? But it could take a while, you know. Might be uncomfortable for you to sit for so long."

You figured it couldn't hurt. You were willing to get through it if it meant finally bringing your partner out of his rut, and in turn, his willingness to paint you—when he had sworn that portraits were never even his thing—felt like a little treat.

However, as much as you believed you'd have the upper hand in this situation, you severely underestimated it.

Now, you sat atop a cushioned chair, assuming a position you were comfortable with holding for a time unspecified. You donned normal, unnassuming clothing, just your everyday top and jeans. And in front of you sat a painter and his canvas, his hands moving tastefully over the piece he crafted, a certain twinkle in his eye that already had you reeling.

Rafayel was painting you, and by all means did nothing about this set up look the least bit intimate to either of you—

But you felt like it was.

It was a private moment, just the two if you in this room, gazes meeting with an intensity that made you want to squeeze something.

You didn't know if you had to owe it to how attractive he was, but staying like this, with nothing else to focus your attention on, you could only notice how pretty he was. Soft, layered hair so perfectly styled into place, his signature low-cut shirt framing his figure so nicely...

And his eyes.

God, his eyes.

Rafayel had the most captivating eyes you'd ever seen—A mix of a deep magenta and cerise, of mulberry and wine... So unrelenting in their allure that though the intensity had your heart beating wildly in your chest, you could never, for the life of you, ever tear your gaze away.

It was visceral.

It sent a tingle down your spine.

You could curse all the memories that would flood to your head just because of it, those images and sensations of your nights together. The way he'd look at you, with lust, and love, such passion imbued with every roll of his hips against yours... This wasn't the time to be thinking of such things, you knew that. They brought an obvious hue of pink to your cheeks that you knew he'd notice, but you almost couldn't help it—

Was a siren's allure truly so confining?

You had nowhere to run.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you could almost think this was...

Intentional.

"Little muse, you're blushing."

If you thought it couldn't get any worse, you were clearly wrong.

Rafayel's brushstrokes had paused, and the mirth that danced in his eyes set off all the warning bells that your brain could manage.

"...Shut up, you're imagining things," you mumbled, willing youself to turn your head away from him.

"Ah ah ah~ I'm not done yet, don't move, princess."

And to think that when you'd started, he'd been concerned for you.

Despite yourself, you fidgeted in your seat.

You couldn't take any more of this.

You'd been at it for close to an hour by now, the silence, the staring, the butterflies—

A slight shift in your position made you painfully aware of the wetness that had pooled between your thighs, and you wanted to crawl into a cave.

"Hey. You tired?"

Rafayel was searching your expression, reading you.

It wasn't helping.

"N-no," you managed to nearly choke out, your obvious fluster making your cheeks feel warmer.

And in all this time that you've known him, been with him—you knew that he could put two and two together.

A smirk spread over his features.

You were in for it.

"I'll allow some movement," he hummed, setting his brush down momentarily, "but it looks like you want something a little more... specific..."

"Rafayel, if you don't shut up—"

He grinned.

"Why? We can take a break, yeah? I'm just giving you free space to do as you want."

You watched his eyes rake over your figure, lingering over the way your legs were pressed more tightly together than you'd started with.

"Don't tell me you need me to guide you, princess..."

You wished you could slap that smile off his face.

Rafayel folded his arms, leaning back a little. The shine in his eyes didn't budge even a millimeter; his gaze remained steely on you.

"You know, if I didn't know any better, my muse, I'd say you've gotten a little needy."

You didn't know why you bothered to stay put in your seat, when the paintbrush was not even in his hands anymore.

And he noticed.

"Yeah? I'm right, aren't I?" he chuckled. "So why don't you release some of your stress before we continue? Since you're not getting up, you might as well do something for my motivation..."

The way he gestured towards the canvas, wearing that infuriating little smirk of his, had the heat rushing to your face.

"As if you could take watching me touch myself," you shot back, mirroring his pose and crossing your arms.

You cheered in silent victory at the momentary lapse in his expression, though it settled back into his smile within seconds.

"Mmn... Then we'll have to do something about that later, if it comes to it," he shrugged. "But this is about you, princess."

For a while there was no response from either of you, just staring silently at each other, daring one to make a move—

Until his gaze made you squirm, and he let out a snort.

"Oh, princess..." he started, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm not going to touch you when I still intend to get back to finishing this piece. So if you want to use our little break to do something about this... You'll have to do it yourself. Come on, now. Undress for me, yeah?"

He was infuriating.

A menace.

This was karma for all the times you've rendered him speechless, and he was enjoying it.

You clicked your tongue, the challenge in your eyes winning over the embarrassment that stirred in the pit of your stomach.

"Fine! Don't blame me if you'll never finish that painting..."

Frustrated though you might have been, and perhaps, ever determined to pay back his teasing, the look in his eyes remained bewitching.

It was foul play.

Your fingers trembled as you deftly pushed your panties to the side, your jeans kicked down to your ankles, your legs spread. Rafayel had seen you—used you—many times before... But there was something unnervingly intimate about doing this for him, when he was a number of laces away from you, watching, observing.

It was as if you were... a show.

"You're dripping," he commented, voice quiet and low, unable to keep himself from leaning forward as if to get a better look at you.

His words sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. You could only shoot him a glare, your blush betraying otherwise the effect that his heated gaze on you had.

"Go ahead, princess... I bet you're aching to be touched."

You almost didn't want to admit it, the way his voice played in your ear so sweetly that your heart could simply burst out of your chest. He made you weak, and you could barely think straight, and he could... see it all.

You chewed on your lip, shakily dipping a finger just barely into your heat, sliding up between your folds with a trail of obvious slick left in its wake.

"Shit..." you cursed under your breath.

You were almost scared to look back up at him, knowing you'd see those god-foresaken eyes again, so heated as they took in your every movement, your every action—

"That's it, princess," Rafayel murmured. "Play with yourself. Rub your clit for me, yeah?"

Your eyes closed as you found yourself doing exactly as you were told.

Soft pants fell from your lips, your middle finger drawing upwards to circle your sensitive nub. Just slow, gentle rubs, easing you into a rhythm of pleasure... You dared to open your eyes, catching the way his gaze remained fixated on your movements, his own eyes darkening, his lips parted slightly.

"You're so wet, baby..." His voice was hoarse now, clearly just as affected by the situation as you were. "Can you put a finger in? Please?"

Your features schooled into a small smile; victorious, in a way, despite your own obvious display of need. "But, why, Rafa?" you teased. "I don't wanna rush..."

The groan that he let out was delicious, and your eyes narrowed in satisfaction.

"C'mon, princess... I wanna see. Do it for me? Just one finger, yeah?"

"You're so easy to get all worked up, Rafa~" you found yourself cooing at him, taking note of his flushed cheeks, the heat in his eyes mirroring your own.You were the one touching yourself, and yet, he was the one begging. It was amusing, in a sense—how just the simplest things reduced him to this sort of mess.

"Just a little taste of your own medicine," you quipped.

But you did as he said, anyway.

The first push of a finger into your cunt had you moaning. The glide was easy, smooth, your walls accepting of your own intrusion, almost aching for even more.

"Fuck... that's it, baby, in and out, just like that."

It was almost amusing to hear him speak that way, so enraptured by the way you pleasured yourself, lost in the thought of you coming undone right in front of him. You didn't need his words of guidance; you knew exactly which spots had you keening, how to gradually bring yourself over the edge. Yet, he would still offer up words of such praise to you anyway, guiding you, telling you what to do, how to please yourself.

And there was something, just something, about the rawness in his voice that got to you.

Your eyes met as you began to buck your hips into your hand, sliding against the cushion, willing to give yourself more stimulation. Your breath fell out in puffs of quick pants, your heart rate accelerating, the pierce in his gaze so daunting and intimidating, yet so... arousing.

"R-Rafayel..."

Your eyes went hazy, unable to bring yourself to turn away from the hypnotic quality of his gaze.

"Keep going, princess, I'm here."

Your fingers moved faster, curling into your heat, emphasizing the obscene sounds of wetness that filled the studio. Your thumb moveed over to brush your clit, your other hand gripping the seat impossibly tighter, and then—

"R-Rafa!" You threw your head back, hips stuttering. "I-I'm close!"

In your peripheral vision you could see him lick his lips, his voice coming out hoarse, full of want. "Yeah? You are, huh? Come on, princess, just a little more. Work those fingers for me."

His words proved enough.

"Shit—fuck—!" A string of curses left your lips. You felt it as the pleasure rolled through your body, eliciting a gasp, causing you to nearly double over.

"There we go. Such a pretty little muse. That expression on your face is beautiful."

His words soothed you from your high, a gentle coo of praise as you took your fingers from out of your wetness. When you looked up at him, he was smiling, hand outstretched as if to beckon you. "C'mere, princess. You did so well for me, let me taste those pretty fingers of yours."

You almost clapped back at him, as if the urge to bicker—to one-up him—rose up just by instinct. Yet, there were those eyes again. That particular look that was magnetizing. It was more than a beckon. It felt like an allure. You were almost certain you'd moved on your own, slow steps into his arms, gently allowing yourself to be pulled onto his lap, the glisten from your earlier orgasm immediately coating the fabric of his pants.

He did as he promised, guiding your fingers into his mouth, looking straight at you with eyes full of lust. His tongue swirled over the pads of your fingers, and you twisted them for him. Watching him suck on your digits, slowly moving them in and out, promising him the taste he so desperately wanted... before you pulled them away with a wet pop.

"Give me one more," he whispered immediately, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "One more, before I finish this painting. Think you can do that?"

You'd nearly forgotten about the painting. It was behind you, your back turned towards it, your eyes only focused on the man before you. You didn't look back—didn't need to, not now. Not when his offer was so... tempting.

"'Kay," you mumbled. Your response was just as instant, your hips moving to glide over his thigh.

But he smirked.

A hand went to your back to support you, hold you in place, and your eyes widened when a clean, unused paintbrush found its way into his other hand.

"R- Rafayel...?"

"Just want to have a little bit of fun," he said breezily, gently trailing the brush from your jawline, all the way down over your collarbone. The sensation made you shiver. "Go on, princess. Don't mind me..."

Don't mind me.

He had the audacity to say that as he let you move all over his thigh, the bristles of his brush leaving a trail of goosebumps with every little stroke on your skin. Just light, feathery, teasing flicks, enough to add to your stimulation... It felt nice, and you'd never admit it to his face, but you could fold.

"You'd be so lovely to paint, look at you," he murmured. And he enjoyed the way your body jolted at his words, the chuckle enough of a testament. "Yeah? You like that idea, don't you, princess? Next time, maybe, I can have even more fun with you..."

The paintbrush began to venture lower, flicking against your nipples.

Your eyes went wide.

"W-wait—!" You gasped, gripping his shoulders, feeling him repeat the motions. Again, and again—the brush circled around your pert, sensitive nub, his gaze turning thoughtful, his little tool giving you more sensations than you knew were even possible.

"Hm? What's wrong?"

It acted like a soft caress, one so foreign to you that it made your head spin.

And he didn't dare stop there.

He must have gotten incredibly worked up, you thought, as he stilled your hips and leaned you back. You could guess where things were going; the way his hand supported your back from toppling into the canvas was firm and determined, your position already having your dripping cunt a little bit more on display for him.

"Look at me, princess," he whispered.

And you felt it—the paintbrush gliding lower and lower, gentle strokes over the skin of your abdomen, pausing just above your clit.

Your breath hitched.

Anticipation hung in the air, your eyes barely managing to stay locked onto his as your face seemed to fume with embarrassment.

"Rafayel," you huffed. "Seriously, you...!"

He circled the brush, a smirk tugging on his features. Feathery bristles brushed against you clit, and you let out a cry. There was a pattern, almost: he'd move the brush gently down the side of your folds, fluttering back up to your nub, pressing against it with a certain kind pressure he knew you always loved... Teasing, always teasing, never lingering for too long in a single spot.

It had you moaning almost immediately.

"What was that, my muse?" he grinned.

You'd never wanted to slap that expression off of his face any more than you did now, yet he had you helpless. You felt like putty in his hands, melting with every movement of his little brush, your thighs tensing over his. You didn't even need to move, anymore; the sensitivity from your previous orgasm had your senses heightening scarily quick, the coil steadily beginning to tighten in your stomach.

It felt as if he'd barely been doing anything.

Just that goddamned brush teasing you in all the right places, flicking against your clit, as he watched you clench around nothing.

"Please!" you swallowed your pride down deep enough to beg, the look in your eyes harboring a frustrated glare of want. "Stop teasing, Rafa, I need...!"

"Yeah? Need what, hm?"

Oh, he was having fun.

"N-need to cum! Need... Need something, Rafa, c'mon—!"

The brush set back aside, and he kissed you.

All tongue, even teeth, just messy, and deep, a pure display of the lust that had taken both of you hostage. His hands were in your hair, your body pressed so close against him, hips beginning to move again over his thigh. A few more soft, hushed, groans, and wet noises of passion, and you were gone.

You felt it snap, pulling back from the kiss only to fall forward onto his shoulder, muffling your moans into his shirt. It was insane, you thought, how he could rip out such a visceral reaction from you, a pleasure so overwhelming as you squeeze your legs over his thigh.

Easing you down, he rubbed soothing circles into your back, hushed words of praise tumbling from his lips.

Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment.

"My perfect little muse, so pretty, so beautiful," he sighed, hugging you close. "I can't wait to paint all your greedy desires onto my canvas."

⁺₊ / an: phew!! overdue and i feel like this isn't my best best work, but it doesss represent the chokehold this fish has on me 🙄 a girl's just gotta satisfy her rafayel cravings i guess!!

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

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help-itrappedmyself · 25 days

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Dead On Main Part 11

Masterpost

Danny was woken up a little after seven in the morning by Tim. Not on purpose, but he had gotten into another argument with Dick and Bruce. Tim was driving now, and apparently it was time for a shift change, but they were only about an hour away now, so Tim didn’t want to stop.

“We should probably stop for breakfast anyway.” Danny interjected as soon as he could be sure he wasn’t going to be talking over someone.

“Morning, Danny.”

“How did you sleep Danny?” Bruce asked.

“I slept great!” Danny answered. “But if you have any interest at all in eating, we should do it before we get to my house.”

“Well, that does solve our other problem.”

They argued for a while about where to eat, but eventually they were back in the car for the final stretch. Back in their original positions, Tim is actually doing something on his tablet now, while Dick checks his phone.

Danny decides to check his phone too, it has a few messages, but Danny realizes he doesn’t know the password to this phone that isn’t actually his when he goes to try and read them.

Tim is able to solve that problem for him, unlocking the phone and then handing it back.

Danny sees the texts are from his phone.

Hey so we’ve had a bit of a problem

How do I get you to stop being green?

“Shit.” Danny murmured under his breath. He didn’t notice Tim glancing at him or Dick and Bruce’s shared look.

Are you there?

Hey, never mind we figured it out

This isn’t really my place, but we ran into someone named Vlad earlier and he was acting creepy and strange, are you okay?

If he’s bothering you I promise I can help.

“Creepy vulture-loving vampire.” Danny’s mumbles as he texts back.

What did he do? Are you okay?

I'm fine. Jazz and I handled it.

But you're not really inspiring confidence here.

Do I need to take care of this guy for you?

I'll deal with the fruitloop when I get back

“Danny, can you direct us to your house?” Bruce asks from the driver’s seat.

“Of course.” Danny puts his phone away and leans into the middle seat to look out the window.

They get to the house quickly after getting into town. They parked in front of the house. They all gaped at the questionable architecture, but to their credit, no one said anything as they walked up the steps.

Danny, knowing that the front door is almost never actually locked, goes on autopilot and just walks in. He heads for the kitchen, leading the others to sit down at the table. “Jazz?” He calls into the house.

Jazz comes into the room cautiously, holding the creep stick. “Jazz, It’s Danny! We made it. Do you know where my body is?”

“Wow.” Jazz says, looking Danny up and down. Danny realizes belatedly that she’s looking at Jason.

Jason comes in, waving at his family, who eye him curiously. Danny goes to step in front of him.

“Hi.” Danny is sheepish, looking down at himself. He is so much shorter than Jason.

“Hey.” Jason gives him a quick head nod in greeting. “Are you ready to switch back?”

“So ready.” Danny breathes out. He reaches a hand out and Jason goes to shake it. When their hands connect, they are frozen for a second. Danny blinks.

#my writing #fanfiction #batman #danny phantom #dpxdc #dcxdp #dead on main #soulmate au #red hood

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priyajoyyy · 3 months

Text

Rough waters

Literally what is that name?

Clarisse la rue x mermaid!fem!reader

Very certain the perspectives makes sense, but may not.

It switches between what reader and what Clarisse are thinking and doing but is always in readers perspective, if parts are wrong, don’t be afraid to let me know.

Sorry about the ending I think it’s kinda shit.

Warnings:

Mentions of past trauma, protective siblings, eventually protective!Clarisse, poor writing, drowning, cannon typical violence, Clarisse isn’t toxic to reader for once 🥰🤩, implied nudity (the mermaids become human at one point and don’t really have clothing but it’s normal to them, they don’t expect any humans to actually see them and I’m not describing anything), mentions of anxiety and loneliness

Clarisse knew there were plenty of mythical creatures living in the forest and waters surrounding camp halfblood, but she had never realised the lake also habituated mermaids, and especially not pretty ones…

Clarisse hadn’t properly seen all of the creatures in the forest surrounding camp half blood drying her stay, mainly because a lot wouldn’t be very favourable to half bloods invading their space.

But she believed she at least knew of most of the other inhabitants of the camp, Chiron made sure to make all the campers aware of which to avoid and which would be keeping and eye on them and stopping them from misbehaving, so she assumed he wouldn’t miss any out.

It wasn’t till the middle of summer she learnt that mermaids lived in the camp lake, hiding away from the halfbloods and only surfacing when they knew nobody was about.

It had been hot the day she’s first seen them, she noticed someone swimming near the rocks while they were meant to be training.

Clarisses younger sister had gone to the toilet half an hour ago and hadn’t been seen since and she thought that it must be her in the waters, skiving to have fun instead of her punishment for their recent loss in capture the flag.

She stormed over towards the figure, expecting her sister to appear clearer as she got closer, only to realise it wasn’t her sister at all, and this person didn’t appear to have legs.

She watched from afar at first, listening and looking to see if she could approach any further.

She had seen you, laying by the side of the beach, your tail laid in the water while the top half of you lounged in the sun on the rock side.

Your eyes were shut, sun bathing and relaxing while what looked like your brother, sat on the rock to your side, watching over the lot of you.

Your sisters were through the bushes, chatting and dancing around, their tails now gone and replaced with legs, and carrying them through the small area of forest they dared venture in.

She watched you for a while, standing hidden behind the trees, looking at your face which rested on your hands and shifted every-once in a while, watching your tail flicker and flow around in the water.

She wasn’t sure how long she was there, observing and waiting for you to do something, but she was shaken out of her thoughts when she heard your sister shouting your name. Waking you up and telling you that they were all leaving.

“Come on y/n” your brother told you as you woke up, “we’re going back”

“I’ll stay a little longer” you responded in a mumble groggily, resting your head back down on your arms again and turning away from your siblings.

Your sister dived into the water then, swimming back up to the surface to splash you with water, laughing, “come on, you’ve done enough sunbathing for today”

You splashed your tail in the water in response, hitting her with water and causing her to swim backwards and grumble.

“I don’t want to, I’ll leave later” you responded rolling your eyes and then closing them.

“We’re not leaving you out here alone” your brother stated simply, raising his eyebrows at you as you ignored him.

“I’ll be fine, promise” you stated, before pushing yourself up and around to face him in annoyance, “I swear, I’ll be fine, I’m sitting by the water, if anyone comes by I can just swim off”

Clarisse knew then it would be a bad idea to try talk to you. But she couldn’t help but want to, she hadn’t felt this way about anyone before, especially not by just looking at them.

She thought about it, and she wondered if maybe it was because you were a mermaid, like how the Aphrodite girls could make people fall in love with them with their charmspeak, perhaps you had a natural version of that?

She had heard of sirens before, tempting people to their deaths with their voices, making people fall so deeply in love with them they loose their senses.

Perhaps you were one of those. Well perhaps not a siren, while there were some dangerous creatures when provoked in the forest, Chiron would never allow sirens to lure campers to their deaths.

But a mermaid that made people fall in love with them? She supposed that made sense.

Yes, that had to be it, it was the only reason why she felt so compelled to watch you, to have the need to speak, to you to kiss you.

“Honest, I’ll be fine” you reassured again, one of the girls in the water, rolling their eyes and finally swimming off.

“Scream if you need help” the boy said in full seriousness, causing you to laugh at his behaviour.

“Oh stop being so dramatic” your sister spoke laughing, giving you a quick grin and diving into the lake.

“I will” you responded as you turned back around to go back to resting, ignoring your brothers overprotectiveness and letting him swim off.

You knew he had reason to be worried, all of you had a distaste for humans and halfbloods, but he knew you particularly had a big fear of them.

You had good reason to be, humans could be cruel, halfbloods in particular, some of them were bitter and hateful, their parents habits reflecting on children they hardly raised.

You’d experienced this cruelty first hand, and ever since, your siblings had been more protective over you, especially when you ventured to the shores of the lake you lived in.

Of course, not all halfbloods were like this, but it didn’t make you any less cautious, hiding in the hidden parts of the shore and avoiding them like the plague.

The only time you voluntarily spent time near halfbloods was when you were trying to save them. Being the one out of your siblings that tended to save the younger children from drowning the most.

You found when they couldn’t breathe, they were much nicer to be around.

You had calmed down again on your rock, relaxing under the sun on such a nice day, you stayed still there for quite a while before you heard a noise.

Clarisse hadn’t meant to step on anything, infact she was normally quite agile.

She had deciding to leave, realising it was beyond creepy that she had been staring at you in silence for as long as she had and that her siblings would be waiting for her, but stepped on a twig as she took her first step.

You jumped up quickly, turning to look around you in fear, noticing her in the trees, frozen with a pained expression on her face.

You went to jump away, flinching as she turned to face you beginning to apologise.

“W-wait stop, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to do that” Clarisse stuttered out, she didn’t know what was wrong with her, she never stuttered.

“I swear I’m not gonna hurt you…I just saw you in the distance and decided to see who was by the lake during training.

Against your better judgement, you stayed for a moment, watching and listening to her with wide eyes.

Clarisse could tell you were scared, despite the warmth you shook, and your hands clenched together onto one rock.

“I didn’t mean to scare you” Clarisse gently told you, “my names Clarisse…what’s your name?”

“I know what your name is” you mumbled, watching the girl like a hawk.

“You do?”

“You make the children do pushups by the lake” you stated quietly like it was obvious as to why she knew of you.

She looked confused at that, how many things must you have seen and she didn’t even know you were there for.

“You were there last week too” you told her, “you screamed”

Clarisse certainly didn’t need help to work out what the girl meant, everyone in camp had heard her scream, and everyone had been receiving the brunt of her anger since her spear had been broken by the new son of Poseidon.

After a long pause, you finally told her your name, Clarisse could tell you had relaxed a little, inching back to where you had originally sat rather than the edge of the rock as far as you could get from her.

You both chatted for a while, Clarisse with lots of questions and explanations, and you with short answers that slowly got a little longer.

You opened up as the time went on, still cautious but somewhat excited to have a friend that wasn’t one of your brothers or sisters.

Eventually you both decide it was time for you to go, both needing to get back to your siblings waiting on you, but Clarisse, not wanting to never see you again after this point, asked to meet again the next day.

Neither of you told anyone about your daily meet ups, you knew your siblings wouldn’t approve, stopping you from going up to the surface for a long time.

Clarisse knew she’d never tell anyone else, word would reach everyone in camp about a family of mermaids living in the lake in a matter of hours.

She also knew you had a large fear of other people. It was clear something had happened to you, and she had a feeling it had something to do with the camper that washed up to shore last summer.

She’d not gotten specifics from you, she always tried not to push you too far but she was so curious. She just put two and two together. The boy was horrid, rude to girls and she even had a couple of her younger sisters complain to her about him in the past, he wasn’t exactly missed by anyone when they found out he had drowned.

Of course she didn’t think you had done anything to him, not intentionally at least. you didn’t seem like you could even touch a half blood without trying to swim as far as you could.

However after observing your siblings around you for only a few minutes, she got the feeling they could certainly have been apart of it.

She knew she couldn’t let any of them know about you, they’d only hurt you and then all the progress you’d both made on her fear of half bloods would be for nothing.

So they continued to meet up on the daily. Sometimes you would wait until your siblings had left to transform your tail into legs, and meet with Clarisse slightly deeper into the woods.

Other times, she’d meet you by the shore, sneaking away after dinner and before bed, even letting you teach her how to swim.

It was a perfect summer, and it certainly helped Clarisse with dealing with the arrival and quick departure of Percy Jackson. And you with your loneliness and anxiety.

Now you just had to tell your siblings…

Ending is kinda shit but I didn’t know how to end it lol, Let me know if you’d like a part 2!! Feel like I have some more ideas but I have a series in the works so may focus on that instead

Taglist:

@slaggylemon @yourmom-25s-blog

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meatonfork · 1 year

Note

Hi! Can I request for a grim au where, grim goes missing and the whole squad is freaking out. Then, grim just comes out of no where, covered in blood from head to toe after surviving an ambush. They take care of her and after she’s taken care of, they get ready to absolutely destroy the people who hurt her.

How Copy?

————————————————————————————————————————

pairings: platonic 141 x grim

warnings: cod violence, blood, angsty, nudity (not sexual)

summary: when grim goes missing, the task force fears the worst of their friend.

————————————————————————————————————————

“grim, how copy?” soap heard ghost’s voice crackle through the comms. his heart sank upon not hearing a response.

“grim! how copy?” again, soap and ghost were met with silence.

“god, damn it. soap, you have eyes on them?”

“no, sir.” a sigh left soap’s mouth as his brows furrowed upon the realization that you weren’t going to respond anytime soon.

the last they’d heard from you was when you’d announced that gaz had been right, and this had in fact been an ambush. that was over twenty minutes ago, and nothing since.

rubble surrounded soap’s boots, crunching under his weight as he scanned his surroundings. fallen buildings and ash littered the ground as smoke bellowed into the air. sweat had started to form at his hairline from not only running around, but worry at your lack of response.

“can we look for them?” gaz asked as he lifted his foot over a large piece of building.

“no. we need to go to the rendezvous, we can come up with something there. mission comes first, you know that, gaz.” price’s voice was strained as he answered. he didn’t like the answer he had to give, but emotion couldn’t take control. they had a mission to finish, and then you came next. they could only hope they weren’t too late by the time they’d find you.

reluctantly, gaz answered his captain’s command, “yes, sir.”

and, to the rendezvous point they went.

it was right after sunset, the four men gathered around a table as they figured out their next move. the targets had been detained. a russian operating force who was in the process of getting a new weapon that could wipe out countries at the flick of a switch.

now you.

“you think they were taken? grim isn’t dumb enough to turn off their comms.” gaz was getting frustrated. he had come to a quick conclusion that they were going around in circles. no one could decide on what to do, which was rather odd for their group considering who they were. but they were frazzled. someone so important to them has gone missing, and they all only wanted the best outcome from this incident.

“no. absolutely not. they’re too quick. no way they would’ve gotten taken. they could be hiding.” soap quickly countered back.

“then why the fuck aren’t they answering?” gaz quickly stood from his chair.

“they could be compromised. unable to answer.” soap stared him in the eye, daring him to lash out.

gaz’s nostrils flared as his eye twitched.

“calm down. now. we can’t help them if we’re arguing.” price cut in, hands up as if to prepare to physically diffuse the situation.

“well, let’s stop goi-“ soap was cut off at the sound of a thump outside the front door.

ghost was on watch, “i don’t see anything. there’s no one there.” his eyes narrowed from behind his mask as he looked through the scope of his rifle. shifting ever so slightly as he scanned the immediate area.

“then what the fuck was that?” price stood, and made his way to ghost.

“no ide-“

the door slamming open startled all four men, weapons drawing in the direction of the door.

everyone froze as you entered the room, blood covering your small shaking figure.

your hair was matted with dirt and blood, eyes wide and darting around the room. your black fitted shirt was torn, and that was made the men notice your tactical vest was missing.

you right arm was raised to your left bicep, blood seeping from between your fingers. a sizable cut made home on your throat, making the guys’ eyes immediately hone in on it.

“grim? are you okay?” price gently reached for your figure, pausing when you flinched back.

“please don’t. please don’t touch me.” a raspy breath shuttered from your cracked lips.

your eyes wouldn’t meet any of theirs, a steady tremor racking your body made it almost impossible for you to continue standing on your own.

“grim, you wanna come sit down? we gotta check out your wounds, kid.” gaz stayed where he stood, slowly raising his hands to show he was no threat to you.

standing there a second longer, you nodded. no one made a move to help you, fearing you’d lash out. instead, they let you have your moment of silence and independence before bothering to help you.

soft murmurs from deep voices met your ears, but you made no move to see who was talking. you could barely even feel your own hand gripping your arm with white knuckles.

the couch cushion under your bottom barely even registered in your mind. you sat there, unmoving as you slowly made your way back to reality. five grueling minutes before you finally came down from the adrenaline flooding your system.

a sob wracked your body, making the men in the room turn to your hunched over figure sat on the edge of the couch.

“gaz,” a whisper left your mouth, “please. kyle, please help me.”

kyle’s hair stood on end as a shiver ran over his body. he’d never heard you call for him so desperately. you’d never used his name unless it was absolutely necessary. if asked how he felt right then, he would say he was terrified. no one actually knew what had happened to you while you were missing. anything could’ve happened in those long hours you were gone.

he quickly, but steadily made his way to you; crouching in front of you, as to not startle you.

“what do you need me to do, grim?” his voice held desperation.

“i need to change. i need to get out of these clothes, please.” your hand reached out to grip his shirt, knuckles whitening.

“okay.” he nodded.

helping you off the couch, he took you to the bathroom.

under your shirt was more blood. small nicks here and there littered your skin. nothing too major, gaz had noted.

“do you want to shower? i think it would help.”

you’d only nodded, and he turned to start the shower. making sure the water wouldn’t be too hot nor too cold.

he helped you undress and step into the tub. and when you meekly asked him to help you with your hair, he did it with no hesitation. you needed help, and he was there to do so.

after you washed the blood and ash from your skin, he helped you change into a pair of his sweats and a t-shirt.

“we gotta look at your wounds, kid. ghost can help with that.” gaz’s eyes were kind, and his touch on your lower back was barely noticeable from how soft he was being.

“okay.”

stepping out, you made a beeline to the giant lieutenant.

“can you help me with these?” your shaky hand pointed to your neck and arm.

he looked you over. you looked like shit. blood seeping from your wounds and onto your freshly clean skin. a nasty bruise was forming beneath your left eye and around your neck.

“yeah, c’mon.” he beckoned you over to the table.

he made quick work, cleaning and stitching the wounds. his touch was gentle, which was a stark contrast to the anger radiating from his form.

you cleared your throat as he wrapped gauze around your bicep, “are you… are you mad at me?”

his eyes widened and snapped to yours, “what?”

his harsh tone made you flinch.

he sighed at your movement, “i mean, no. why the hell would i be mad at you?”

“i didn’t answer my comms.”

he stared at you, dumbfounded. “kid, i’m not mad at you at all. we don’t even know what the fuck happened to you. why would i be mad at you for getting hurt?” he continued wrapping your arm, quickly starting on your throat.

“i don’t know.” you whispered back. tears pooled in your waterline. “i was really scared. they just came from nowhere. i wanted to answer back, i promise! i just couldn’t. and then- and then they broke my earpiece, so i couldn’t hear you. and-“

“kid, hush. it’s okay. you’re okay. we’re here. we’re safe.” his hand latched onto your shoulder, lightly squeezing.

you took a deep breath in, “thank you, simon.”

“of course. now, let’s go find the sons of bitches who did this, and go home. yeah?”

“they’re dead.”

silence overtook the room.

“what?” price moved to stand next to you, eyes locking onto yours.

“i killed them. i wouldn’t be here if i hadn’t.” you shakily ran your hand through your wet hair. “they’re dead. all of them.”

“okay, then.” price cleared his throat.

you watched in silence as ghost packed up the med kit.

“can we go home?”

“we’re leaving in the morning, kid. come eat and then you can get some rest, mkay?” price helped you up from your seat.

“okay.”

————————————————————————————————————————

a/n: mmmm idk if i like this that much LMAO

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dreamauri · 10 months

Text

♪ — 𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗡𝗞 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗡𝗢𝗧 f1 grid [platonic] x fem! driver! reader (fluff) “. . . you musn't stay in a place where you aren't valuable.”

( main masterlist ) ( requests | taglist )

You sat quietly, watching from afar as the Mercedes garage celebrated your twin brother's birthday. A sigh escaped your lips as you shifted around in the foldable chair, pulling your knees up to your chest. "Must be nice." Lando commented, a smile on his face as he watched your brother receive a cake to his face.

"Yeah." You replied, mustering a smile. Your teammate patted your shoulder gently before bidding you a goodnight. You got up soon after, putting away the chair and picking up your bag before leaving the track.

Barley having up enough will power to return to the hotel with the swirl in your chest and the grey clouding your thoughts, you flop on your bed, looking out the window at the busy city despite the time being after dark.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Climbing out of your p4 spot, you sighed as your team cheered on Lando, hugging and him along with throwing praises left and right. Were they forgetting that you had been defending him from any attackers since starting in P11? Not, 'job well done, Y/N' 'couldn't have done it without you Y/N', not even a thank you. Not even an acknowledgment.

Were you that much of a background character? An extra? Your weight was taken and you were given the go to go back to the motorhome, sitting in your driver's room silently, laying on the floor facing up. What were you doing with your life? Seven years into this sport and you've only become invisible.

'This is wrong.' You thought with your blurred own vision, tears flowing down the side of your face. This was indeed wrong, and you were going to figure something out. You always do. That's how the second ones survive. And sadly, you were always second. Second child, second driver, second position, second best, second choice, second important. Second second second second second. Second.

You want to be first! And so you decided, switching out the car route. And so, you grabbed your helmet and turned it into a canvas.

★☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Although it was too late into the championship to be a runner up you proudly parked your McLaren in the P3 spot, your starting position for tomorrows race. You jumped out of your car jumping heavily in excitement as you pulled of your head protection and the fabric underneath. You gently kissed the redesigned helmet, before setting on the given table.

It was certainly a surprise to see you so high up on the grid since you usually kept behind your teammate to help him climb through the rankings. Your team was clapping in the background, but not for you. And you couldn't care less, reading the words you drew on the helmet. 'The Last Laps' you read again, which only widened your smile.

"You changed the design of your helmet. Can you tell us the meaning behind it?" "No." You replied bluntly, your smile permanent on your face. The word felt so reliving. Now that you quit the team and wont be returning next year, you drove for yourself, and no one else. "It speaks for itself."

Max and Charles watched you intrigued, never expecting to be sitting in this room with you. And what surprised them more was how little you were entertaining the media. You usually give them what you want, and this is the first time someone has ever heard you say no, especially this excessive.

"Is it true that this will be your last season with McLaren?" An interviewer asked and you nodded smiling. "Which team will you be going to next year." "Team? Who said anything about teams?" You chuckled leaning back in your chair relaxed. Max couldn't stop glancing at you. Something stirred in his stomach knowing you wouldn't be there next season.

youruser

liked by pieregasly sebastianvettel and 5.6M others youruser grace likes boat rides

user dont leave! ↳ youruser you had me for seven years

user we're going to miss you <3 ↳ youruser you wont <3

mclaren we all love captain grace 🫡 → youruser deleted this comment

user you're so pretty <3 ↳ youruser i am, thank you <3

★☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"An amazing win for the the McLaren driver." The commentators praised as you beat Max Verstappen to the checkered flag. You were screaming and shouting from euphoria and adrenaline as you began your cool down, feeling your heartbeat in your ears and your blood flowing through your fingers.

"This is her first win in five years, she must be- oh she's doing donuts." Reaching the end of your lap, you did a quick donut to celebrate. The commentator laughed as you parked your car in the P1 spot, getting up and dancing on your halo.

You were jumping, screaming and shouting. You couldn't be more happier as you jumped down. Pulling your helmet and balaclava off you watched as you brother parked in the P3 spot behind your car. He looked at you for two seconds before putting a thumbs up. You could only scoff and roll your eyes.

"That was a close call, on the last lap with Max." "It was very fun." You nodded happily, brushing a few stands out off your face as your face showed on the big screen. "I haven't felt like this since the rookie days. And I cant wait for the next races to come so I can beat you all again." You giggled before walking away.

Lando slammed his hand on the steering wheel frustrated, falling from P5 to P9 did not look good at all, he never realized how much you worked to keep defend him. And now he lost his wall of protection.

★☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Max patted your head once you got out of your car from free practice. Looking up at your former teammate, you patted his shoulder before walking back to your garage. Next to come greet you was Lewis, who pulled you in a side hug, giving you a praise. And soon, half of the grid stopped by to cheer you on.

You could only laugh at yourself. Where they only noticing you now? With two more weekends before your ultimate retirement. hopping in an ice bath in the back somewhere, you scrolled through your phone, looking interestingly at the the comments of people begging you to stay and wishing you good luck alike. And when you were in the fan zone, taking selfies and signing merch and flags. "Happy late birthday!" Snapping your head up to the voice, you met eyes with a stranger who could only smile at you brightly.

You could only giggle as he held out a decorated bag with a birthday decorations. "What's this? Do you want me to sigh it?" "No, it's for you." He exclaimed happily with an accent you could not quite put your finger on, gesturing for you to take it. "I didn't have enough money to stop by on your actual birthday week. But I'm here now!"

"Aww, you didn't have to." Your smile was genuine as you looked at him, taking your cap off and signing it along with leaving a message and your number. "Call, me and I'll pay you back I promise." You put the cap on his head for him, before kissing his cheek and giving him a warm hug which he gladly returned.

This was the start of something new, a brand and clean chapter.

★☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"What will you be doing after you retire?" "None of your business." You leaned forward on the desk, leaning your chin on your palm. "All you need to know is that I'm not driving again and you probably won't see or hear from me ever again." You smiled cheekily watching the reporter pull an annoyed and dissapointed expression.

Charles, Carlos, Max, Lewis and Alex were all sitting, scattered to each of your side looking at you with an explainable expression, one that was close to sadness or regret. "Do you think you'll be able to get P1 in quali and keep the lead throughout the whole race?"

"Of course I do, but that's boring. Hopefully the Ferrari boys put up a good fight or Max even, he's doing really well this season, yeah?" You leaned forward to look at the boy a few seats away. "It's always fun with Max around." You nodded smiling, the boy quickly nodding and returning your smile.

"Question to everyone, how do you feel about Y/N's retirement?" Charles could only sigh deeply a small smile.

"Y/N was my uh, first teammate. She's the first friend I made in my racing career during my karting days, she helped me ease into Formula one and taught me the ropes and has has always been by mu side no matter what. It will certainly feel empty without her, but I respect her decision and reasons."

"I think I speak for all of us when we say we will all miss Y/N. It definitely won't feel the same without her. Y/N had been my teammate several times with different teams, and hopefully she'll answer my calls when I invite her for Christmas dinner." The Spaniard came second.

"I had the most fun when Y/N was my teammate. Out of the car she's really a force to be reckoned with and she makes it look so easy to make people smile. I am going to miss her around and her jokes. And hopefully we stay in touch and picks up the phone." Lewis after that.

"I personally owe my three world titles to Y/N, she's always had my back. On and off track, and I will always remember her for that. I'll defiantly miss when she cooked for me, cause I don't know how I'm not going to poison myself without her. I think- I think" Max leaned forword so he could look at you. "You were teammates with almost everyone on the grid yeah?" You nodded smiling. "Yeah, It's going to feel bland without her, I don't even want to imagine that."

"I owe my whole career to Y/N, There was this one time-" He interrupted himself with his own laugh. "My kart was junked before quali and I remember Y/N fixing it for me. And I know that, if she never helped me, I would've never reached to where I am now."

A few people laughed as the boys that could reach you patted your shoulder and head proudly. Hearing their words almost made your heart warm, where have these kind words been for the past 5 years you wonder as you exited the room alongside your PR manager "Very emotional," you commented sighing.

★☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Arriving on the track you see all the drivers lined up in two lines for you to pass through. A smile spread on your lips as they chanted your name. Quickly putting your arms through the second half of your race suit you began going through the list of drivers hugging Max (who gently nudged your ass with his foot, a red bull tradition), Carlos, Charles, Lewis, Daniel, Alex. When you got to Lando he gave you a bone crushing hug, which made you tear up as you returned the embrace.

When you hopped in your car, pulling on your helmet that was now professionally redesigned with the words 'The Final Drive' written on with several images containing memories scattered around. You felt warm tears run down your eyes as you watched the red lights flicker.

The sport that you have fought and lost so much for. The Life you bled for, cried for, sold yourself to.

Here it was, coming to an end.

you were free.

"Voi ieși cu tine într-o secundă." [I'll be out with you in a second] The four boys sighed as they leaned against the broken down car. "Does anyone speak that language." Lando frowned at the unfamiliar tongue. Out of the four languages in Switzerland, their aid spoke one they have never heard before.

"I don't even know what that is." Carlos sighed running his hand over his face. "Maybe she understands German?" Daniel suggested to Max who only pursed his lips. "Verzeihung." [excuse me] The Dutch man tried, his accent and pronunciation off.

"I can speak English." You confirmed walking out of the garage, freezing upon your eyes landing on your former teammates, the wrench you held falling out of your grip with a loud clank.

"Mama, esti bine?" [mama, are you okay].

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mareastrorum · 4 months

Text

I have never enjoyed a D&D series more than Misfits & Magic and it's entirely because of Brennan Lee Mulligan. I am fully aware that most viewers thought Evan Kelmp was ridiculously over the top and played up for laughs. I'm sure so many people thought it was for comedy.

I have never seen a poverty-stricken and violence-afflicted character portrayed so well.

People who have not experienced that level of desperation rarely ever comprehend the constant level of fear, but Brennan was locked in on it wonderfully.

Every moment is fixated on food, safety, and shelter. It takes so much effort and emotional vulnerability to shift attention from it. Free food? Gotta gently press to get more and more and more and more, but you can't ask too quick or people might kick you out. Someone's a threat? Gotta make it 100% clear that you will not be fucked with, and it does not matter what it costs you socially. Need to do something long term? Gotta figure out where and how you're going to sleep without anyone to watch your back; can you lock yourself in somewhere? Can it be somewhere alone? Where can you hide?

What will this cost?

The strained politeness and immediate switch to a fight response was excellent. People who want to help you do not trigger violent responses. People that do not want to help you and are in your business need to be dealt with. Brennan knew exactly how to demonstrate the tension of usually being treated as a dangerous animal rather than a person. It instills a script to be as perfect a person as possible, and as soon as anyone veers off the social script, be exactly what they're afraid of: a monster. Better to be a monster than a victim.

The one mistake was during the holiday special that he said credit cards instead of (stolen) gift cards for making a shank with razor blades. You'd get a secured one at 18, but not before then. Otherwise would have been perfect. (Duct tape's expensive, but not too hard to steal. I carried a bag with my laundry coins as an impromptu weapon. As soon as he ordered any drink with a glass bottle, I yelled, "Make a shank!" AND HE FUCKING DELIVERED.)

I often get so annoyed at terrible portrayals of children that grew up in impoverished, violent circumstances, but this is the first time I legitimately enjoyed myself.

Well done.

#dimension 20 #misfits and magic #evan kelmp #brennan lee mulligan

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kittievampire · 1 year

Note

Nightbringer! Virgin! Asmo’s first time is with MC? And once he realizes how HEAVENLY MC feels it’s almost as if he can’t stop?

Absolutely 🥵🥵🥵

Lemme see what I have in my bag, my dear~

Click here if ya wanna request!

Lust's First

Warnings: Cursing, Smut, Virgin!Asmodeus x Fem!MC, Switch!Asmodeus, Face-Fucking, Overstim, Light teasing, Asmodeus is very fucking horny

Enjoy.

It was only logical that the Avatar of Lust was a virgin at one point, right?

It was logical, yet the concept still confused you. Asmodeus was standing before you in your room, late at night, a tent in his pants, and a blush on his face. He was trying to read your expression at the news of his innocence, feeling embarrassed despite only being given his title of sin fairly recently.

"MC?" He called out softly, making you snap out of your thoughts. The two of you locked eyes in the dark room. You could barely make out the outline of his figure, yet his eyes glowed, and you could see that he'd shifted into his demon form. You could feel it too. The aura of raw lust couldn't be more evident, what with how it plunged the entire room in its sweet aroma.

In his sweet aroma.

"I think the Demon King mentioned something like this... That my body would do something weird like this every now and then," He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. "But I wasn't paying attention! I was too busy trying to figure out how to make my wings look more fabulous with gemstones and now I don't know what to do!" He rambled, not even paying any mind to his, now messy, hair.

You breathed in his scent, the calming air filling your lungs and coursing through your body, arousal beginning to pool in your gut. You were familiar with this kind of thing, Asmodeus from the present would talk to you about his ability to charm in multiple different ways, some less controllable than others. He'd explained that every now and then, his body will release pheremones similar to aphrodisiac perfume. Over the years, he'd learned how to detect and control this odd happening, so he'd only release such strong chemicals purposefully.

One of the key details that you remembered was that this can affect himself as well if not controlled.

"And you're a virgin," You repeated softly, earning a nod from the Avatar of Lust. "I can't go around, being the sin I am, asking for someone to take my virginity! Do you understand how compromising that'd be? Besides, I want to remember my first time!" You didn't even see him move toward you, you only felt him grasp your hands, shakily placing one at his crotch. "Please, MC? Would you be my first, Darling?" You could see the way his eyes glowed in the room that had been plunged in darkness, the sweet smell that lingered making you shiver under its weight. You couldn't deny him if you wanted to, not that you did.

You never took Asmodeus for being loud in bed, mainly because the one you'd grown to know was experienced and knew how to keep his voice in check, but this one? His sounds made your pussy clench around nothing, and you only sucked more of his cock into your mouth. You lathered his length in your saliva, pressing a sloppy kiss to the tip before taking it into your mouth once more.

His fingers were tangled in the locks of your hair, tugging on it as he whined and cried out incoherent sentences. Asmo bucked his hips, his tip hitting the back of your throat as his free hand joined the other in your hair. "So good! So goooood!" He whined, his head pushing against the wooden headboard as he thrusted his hips upward and into your mouth, seeking more of the warmth it provided. You'd manage to catch a glimpse of his expression, and the sight almost made you cum on the spot. His eyes were rolled back and teary, his cheeks were a bright red, his forehead had beads of sweat forming, and there was saliva running down his chin. "M'almost there! Almost there, please!"

You'd be lying if you said this wasn't out of the ordinary. When you'd spend nights with Asmodeus from the present, he'd only submit to you if you begged him to. Even then, he'd never allow himself to look this unkempt. The smell that had overwhelmed your senses prior to the events unfolding had yet to dissipate, making your body even more hot, your pussy even more wet.

The fourth-born sin was fucking your face mercilessly, his length pushing down your throat, making you gag. "Your mouth, it— Nnnh!— Feels so good, Darling!" He mewled out, balls clapping against your chin as more saliva was fucked out of your mouth. "Yes, yes, yes!" He shoved his entire length down your throat, making your throat constrict around his cock as he came. Thick white ropes of his seed gushed down your throat, and the grip he had on the back of your head kept you down, so all you could do was swallow.

He bucked his hips a few more times, clenching his teeth in an attempt to regain control of at least his voice, before he slowly pulled out. You coughed a few times, trying to clear your lungs so you could breathe properly. Once you caught your breath, you saw Asmodeus on his knees before you, eyes glowing, and a blush dusting across his face. "MC," He muttered out softly, dazed smile unwavering. "Let me take you now! I don't think I can hold back any longer!"

The Avatar of Lust leaned forward, tugging on your legs so you'd fall to your back on the bed with his hard cock grinding against your sopping folds. He let out a lewd noise that was between a moan and a shaky sigh, completely dazed from the pleasure you brought to him. "Wanna feel... This tight pussy around me," He whimpered out, gripping your thighs and spreading them. Hesitantly, his gaze flicked upward to look at you. The pure, raw lust that was emitted from his form, the thing that filled your senses so sweetly, the thing that made his eyes glow brightly in the dark and his wings flap excitedly. You couldn't deny him. You wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.

With a slow nod of your head, Asmodeus leaned forward to capture your lips in a sweet kiss, gripping your hips tightly as he pushed the blunt tip of his cock into you slowly. The warmth of your walls enveloped his cock, greeting him in it's tight velvet.

You grasped Asmo's shoulders tightly, pulling away from him and letting out a sharp gasp at the stretch as he bottomed out. He let out a sigh in bliss, blush darkening along with his eyes. "You feel amazing, Darling!" He moaned out, leaning forward to attack your neck with his teeth as he bucked his hips forward. His pace was erratic and desperate, almost as if he'd die if he didn't fuck you. The flapping of his wings only caused the tainted air around you to circulate, the sweet aroma of lust and sex filling your senses just as his cock filled your tight cunt deliciously. His moans were on par with yours, your mixed cries of ecstasy bouncing off of the walls, no doubt alerting anyone nearby.

But you didn't care.

At this point, all your fuzzy mind could think about was how fucking deep his cock was driving into you. The brutal pace didn't help your situation whatsoever, and you were reduced to tears, saliva, and lewd cries of his name.

Asmodeus found it difficult not to get off on your noises alone; They were like a forbidden melody to his ears that he didn't want to end. He couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. He wanted to stay buried deep inside of the sweet warmth that your pussy provided for all eternity, figuring that he'd die happy if he died at all. His erratic thrusting didn't cease, and the number of marks he left on your neck and clavicle was evidence enough of his raging lust for you. "You feel so good, MC!" He declared once more, letting out a soft whine. "M'already s-so close, Darling," He whimpered, slamming the tip of his cock against the spongey spot that made you scream. You arched your back, breasts pushing against his chest as you wrapped your legs around him, digging your fingers into the bedsheets with gritted teeth. "You want me to fill you up?" He gasped out, bringing your hand up to his face and gently nibbling on your knuckle. "Or maybe you'd prefer I cover you in my cum, hm?"

Both options sounded amazing, but there was something about the second option that made your walls flutter around his cock, and for your arm to shoot up over your eyes in embarrassment. Asmodeus gasped. "I see," His cock twitched, and his hips slammed against yours even faster. "You'll look so beautiful, Darling! Absolutely— Nnhh!— Stunning!" His voice quivered.

His cock's relentless pace, the bullying of his tip against your cervix, and the pressure that his lust put you under made you scream his name as your orgasm racked through your body. Your legs trembled as your juices coated his cock in your essence.

Asmo's grip on your thighs was unwavering as he leaned back to angle himself properly. He thrusted into you a few more times before pulling out, pushing your thighs together around his cock to give it a nice cushion before cumming. He let out lewd gasps as thick, white ropes of his cum shot out onto your stomach and breasts, his cock twitching as his orgasm washed over him.

You were left panting heavily. Your throat was still raw from his face-fucking earlier, and now, your pussy was wrecked as well. You felt him push passed your folds again and you gripped the sheets, letting out a sharp gasp as he plunged deep inside of your warmth once more.

It suddenly felt like the heat around you only increased in temperature, the sweet smell from earlier becoming ten times as intoxicating. He looked down at you, lust filling his expression alongside an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, MC. Could we maybe do just a few more rounds? I can't seem to calm down." You would have rolled your eyes at the fact that he asked for permission after doing the deed, but the way your pussy clenched in reaction to the overstimulation made your head all fuzzy again.

"Fuck," You whimpered out, knowing that this would be a long night.

He really did try to stop after the seventh round, but fuck. Your pussy just felt too good.

Whimpered apologies and the sound of skin slapping against skin went through the door from the small crack at the bottom.

That's when Lucifer decided that maybe it was best to install sound-proof walls and doors.

Hope you liked it, anon!

Masterlist

#obey me #obey me mc #obey me asmodeus #asmodeus smut #asmo smut #obey me asmodeus smut #obey me asmo smut #obey me asmodeus x you #asmodeus x reader #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me asmodeus x mc #obey me smut #asmodeus obey me smut

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ashessonfire · 1 year

Note

Part two of 'Intruder' <3

'Intruder' Kaz Brekker x Reader (part 2)

Prompt - A few months had passed since you stumbled into the crow club, leaving the crows curious as to who they were. How will the crows react to the most vulnerable secret of Kaz Brekker finally being revealed?

- Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Civilian!Reader (Gender neutral) - Warnings: none? again just Kaz being soft, some mentions of the break in but literally PURE FLUFF

A/N: Once again i am incredibly grateful for all the love and support, and hopefully i have done justice with this part two! it can be read as a stand alone, some of the context will be confusing, but hopefully still just as cute! if you haven't read the first part, you can find it here!!

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

A couple of months had passed since your less than ideal first meeting with the crows. Since that frantic day, your locks had been switched to the latest designs, being inspected thoroughly by your lover until even he, the master of his trade, struggled to crack them.

Although you were still paranoid beyond belief each time you turned the key to your home, the knowledge that Kaz had thoroughly ensured your protection settled the nerves fluttering in your chest. Frequent visits from your husband weren’t unusual, often slipping away from his desk during the earliest hours to bask in your company, allowing you to bathe him with love and affection, something he had slowly accepted and found he thoroughly enjoyed, only on one condition.

It had to be from you.

But since that night, he came over more frequently, stopping off after heists with gifts he had ‘bought’, or dropping in to work on blueprints, stating that there was too much paper cluttering the desk in his usual space, making you smile at his blatant lies just to be closer to you.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

Kaz vigorously battled with his mind on the night you visited the crow club, having to repress his heart's wishes to stay with you, for your safety, and his peace of mind.

However, he dragged himself back, leg stiffening in the frigid air, sending sharp bolts of pain through to his bone. Yet that wasn’t what plagued the man as he limped back to the slat. What haunted him most was the idea that he would have to confront his crows about his one true weakness.

Evidently being you.

Kaz demanded each crow's presence, ordering them to his office as soon as the sun began to slowly bleed its light into the impenetrable darkness of Ketterdam. Once they were situated in the cramped room, he hardened his gaze and lowered his voice, morphing it into a deadly tone.

“I am aware that last night may have surprised you, however you are not to speak a word of it to anyone. Not to dregs, customers, or civilians. Do I make myself clear?” Kaz bit out, leading Jesper to swallow thickly, Nina to shift her gaze to the condensation on the windowpane, and Inej and Wylan to both find wonderfully interesting specks of dirt on the panels of the floor.

The crows remained true to their word, still in awe at the mysterious figure who seemed to have tamed the Bastard of the Barrel, but far more scared of the consequences that may come with disobeying their boss’s order. However, Kaz had made a grave mistake with his command, demanding your existence to remain unbeknownst to the dregs, but never specifying that they were forbidden from discussing you with each other.

You became somewhat of a legend amongst the crows, appearing frequently in gossip which they housed in their cramped rooms at the slat, waiting for the clicking sound of a cane and heavy footsteps to disappear into their owner’s office to begin discussion.

“How long do you reckon they've been together for? I mean, I have never seen Kaz holding anyone’s hand before,” Nina mumbled through a mouthful of pastry, whilst wearing a highly quizzical look.

Jesper smirked at the group, “How did Kaz even manage to find someone like that, furthermore, how did Kaz keep it a secret for so long?” the sharpshooter questioned, one eyebrow raised far above the other. “They seemed so lovely, its surprising Kaz would let someone like that so close to him,” Inej chimed in, sharing a similar curiosity towards you.

As the weeks rolled on, the crows began dropping subtle hints to their leader of their interest in meeting you formally, evidently following the rules of the warning he dealt on the night of the intrusion. Curiosity was consuming the group, and even Kaz couldn’t deny his intensifying wish to display his proudest achievement to his closest friends, his relationship with you.

Unbeknownst to the crows, you too had been troubling Kaz about meeting his friends, desperate to erase your first impression on them and truly show yourself, not the terrified stranger begging for comfort.

After several nights of thorough bargaining with your husband, he reluctantly agreed to introduce his group to you, on the condition that you would be far from the Barrel’s hotspots, somewhere unreachable by rival gang’s watchful eyes. Squeezing Kaz’s hands tight, and giving him an appreciative kiss, you bound off to prepare for tomorrows event, leaving a softly smiling husband in your wake.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

Kaz couldn’t decipher his emotions as they rushed through him at an alarming pace, feeling anxious, excited, and fearful all at once. The pair of you had settled for your favourite café, a small establishment on the outskirts of the city, residing on a flower ridden street, colourful lanterns hanging like falling stars from ropes above the houses. The sight was a direct juxtaposition of the intensity found in your husband’s usual Barrel life, but a contrast which never failed to warm Kaz’s heart whenever he stepped foot there with you.

Dressed in your finest, you waited anxiously at the largest table the cramped café had to offer, adorned with scented candles, besides an array of flowers you had picked early that morning, dew still dripping from a few of the glistening forget-me-nots. You sat beside Kaz, gripping tightly to his gloved hand, the other fidgeting with the edge of his coat as a distraction.

Kaz instantly picked up on your nervous state, squeezing your hand in reassurance and brushing a whisp of fallen hair out of your gently lit eyes, staring long enough to just catch the flicker of the candles within your irises. “They’re only my crew, darling. If they do anything wrong I will…” Kaz began, but he was cut short by your breathy laugh. Apparently, the wrath of your husband against those who threatened you extended even to his closest and most trustworthy companions.

The door swung open, revealing a well dressed set of crows, their eyes steering directly to the couple before they briskly made their way over to you. A sudden fear rose within you, but you refused to display the same expression you had at the crow club, willing to give your best performance until the feeling subsided. You shot each one a welcoming smile, exchanging pleasantries as they made themselves comfortable.

The fear shattered within you as you took each of the crow’s expressions in, which all seemed to strangely resemble awe? Excitement? Your initial confusion was brought to a standstill as Kaz turned to them, stating clearly, “Everyone, this is Y/N, my wife,” offering a tight-lipped smile to his friends.

Nina suddenly spat out her drink, eyes bulging as Jesper made a choking sound somewhere in the back of his throat. Inej and Wylan sat looking dumbfounded, the boy’s jaw hanging slightly open.

“Uhmm. Excuse me, let’s take a few steps back, shall we? Wife?!” Jesper exclaimed, completely in astonishment. Kaz took a deep breath in before tightening his hold on your hand, clearly apprehensive to reveal his most vulnerable softness to his friends, who had rarely seen more than a smirk from their stoic boss. As the crows gathered their thoughts and tried to configure logical reasoning as to what had been revealed, the elderly owner of the café hobbled over, giving Kaz a toothy grin.

“It’s been a while Mr Brekker! I was wondering when we would be graced with your presence again, I have already prepared your regular, peach pie with…” The woman began but was cut off sharply by a “Thank you,” from Kaz, as he turned his head to hide his embarrassment. Nina let out a snort as the other three simultaneously burst into giggles, causing you to fall victim to the contagiousness of the laughter.

By this point Kaz was beyond mortified, being called out as a ‘regular’ at a joyful family-run café at the edge of the Barrel, as well as having his guilty pleasure exposed to his crew who he was positive would never let this go.

Despite this humiliation, Kaz felt a drop of warmth seep into his chest at the sight of you conversing with his friends, immediately connecting with each one of them. He felt something moving inside of him, deciding it was probably you, chipping away at his apparently impenetrable walls.

As the late afternoon clouds faded into the evening haze, the group departed with delighted goodbyes and warm hugs, establishing the beginning of many trips to visit Kaz’s (now) not-so-secret wife. You left them armed with new candles for the slat, baked goods, and most impressively, trinkets from the market which you had bought personally for each crow, going solely off your husband's descriptions of each individual.

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A glowing warmth radiated from the couple as you both walked, fingers entwined, back to your home, taking in the constellations which lit up the tranquil streets you winded through. Kaz decided to reward himself with a rare but well-earnt night in, with the single intent of being doused in your affection.

Kaz smiled lovingly down at you, as you peacefully slept wrapped in his shirt and coat, wiped out by the intense emotions that poured through you that day.

Crouching down slowly, your husband fiddled with a stray piece of your hair, admiring how the serene glow from the fire softened your features, catching in your figure perfectly, framing your face in a halo of light.

He settled down next to you, exhausted but proud. Proud of how far you two had come, which flooded him with a sense of relief. Because as it turns out, his crows could undoubtedly see the same beauty he was blinded by within you.

And it was clear in this moment, both to him and his crew, that Kaz Brekker was more than just in love with you. His entire existence was plagued with sentiment for you, and for once Kaz couldn’t seem to view it as a weakness, rather a sign that something deep inside him was healing.

“I love you, darling of my heart,” Kaz whispered as he kissed you goodnight.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

tag list: @chaoticbeanz @kryptonitewizard @alanis-altair @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy <33

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x reader fluff #kaz brekker #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x reader imagines #six of crows x reader #six of crows imagine #six of crows #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone #kaz brekker x you #ashessonfire #shadow and bone season 2

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mostlysignssomeportents · 15 days

Text

Paying for it doesn't make it a market

I'm touring my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me SATURDAY (Apr 27) in MARIN COUNTY, then Winnipeg (May 2), Calgary (May 3), Vancouver (May 4), and beyond!

Anyone who says "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product" has been suckered in by Big Tech, whose cargo-cult version of markets and the discipline they impose on companies.

Here's the way that story goes: companies that fear losing your business will treat you better, because treating you worse will cost them money. Since ad-supported media gets paid by advertisers, they are fine with abusing you to make advertisers happy, because the advertiser is the customer, and you are the product.

This represents a profound misunderstanding of how even capitalism's champions describe its workings. The purported virtue of capitalism is that it transforms the capitalist's greed into something of broad public value, by appealing to the capitalist's fear. A successful capitalist isn't merely someone figures out how to please their customers – they're also someone who figures out how to please their suppliers.

That's why tech platforms were – until recently – very good to (some of) their workforce. Technical labor was scarce and so platforms built whimsical "campuses" for tech workers, with amenities ranging from stock options to gourmet cafeterias to egg-freezing services for those workers planning to stay at their desks through their fertile years. Those workers weren't the "customer" – but they were treated better than any advertiser or user.

But when it came to easily replaced labor – testers, cleaning crew, the staff in those fancy cafeterias – the situation was much worse. Those workers were hired through cut-out shell companies, denied benefits, even made to enter via separate entrances on shifts that were scheduled to minimize the chance that they would ever interact with one of the highly paid tech workers at the firm.

Likewise, advertisers may be the tech companies' "customers" but that doesn't mean the platforms treat them well. Advertisers get ripped off just like the rest of us. The platforms gouge them on price, lie to them about advertising reach, and collude with one another to fix prices and defraud advertisers:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/10/05/florida-man/#wannamakers-ghost

Now, it's true that the advertisers used to get a good deal from the platforms, and that it came at the expense of the users. Facebook lured in users by falsely promising never to spy on them. Then, once the users were locked in, Facebook flipped a switch, started spying on users from asshole to appetite, and then offered rock-bottom-priced, fine-grained, highly reliable ad-targeting to advertisers:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3247362

But once those advertisers were locked in, Facebook turned on them, too. Of course they did. The point of monopoly power isn't just getting too big to fail and too big to jail – it's getting too big to care:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/04/teach-me-how-to-shruggie/#kagi

This is the thing that "if you're not paying for the product, you're the product" fails to comprehend. "If you're not paying for the product" is grounded in a cartoonish vision of markets in which "the customer is king" and successful businesses are those who cater to their customers – even at the expense of their workers and suppliers – will succeed.

In this frame, the advertiser is the platforms' customer, the customer is king, the platform inflicts unlimited harm upon all other stakeholders in service to those advertisers, the advertisers are so pleased with this white-glove service that they willingly pay a handsome premium to use the platform, and so the platform grows unimaginably wealthy.

But of course, if the platforms inflict unlimited harms upon their users, those users will depart, and then no amount of obsequious catering to advertisers will convince them to spend money on ads that no one sees. In the cargo-cult conception of platform capitalism, the platforms are able to solve this problem by "hacking our dopamine loops" – depriving us of our free will with "addictive" technologies that keep us locked to their platforms even when they grow so terrible that we all hate using them.

This means that we can divide the platform economy into "capitalists" who sell you things, and "surveillance capitalists" who use surveillance data to control your mind, then sell your compulsive use of their products to their cherished customers, the advertisers.

Surveillance capitalists like Google are thus said to have only been shamming when they offered us a high-quality product. That was just a means to an end: the good service Google offered in its golden age was just bait to trick us into handing over enough surveillance data that they could tune their mind-control technology, strip us of our free will, and then sell us to their beloved advertisers, for whom nothing is too good.

Meanwhile, the traditional capitalists – the companies that sell you things – are the good capitalists. Apple and Microsoft are disciplined by market dynamics. They won't spy on you because you're their customer, and so they have to keep you happy.

All this leads to an inexorable conclusion: unless we pay for things with money, we are doomed. Any attempt to pay with attention will end in a free-for-all where the platforms use their Big Data mind-control rays to drain us of all our attention. It is only when we pay with money that we can dicker over price and arrive at a fair and freely chosen offer.

This theory is great for tech companies: it elevates giving them money to a democracy-preserving virtue. It reframes handing your cash over to a multi-trillion dollar tech monopolist as good civics. It's easy to see why those tech giants would like that story, but boy, are you a sap if you buy it.

Because all capitalists are surveillance capitalists…when they can get away with it. Sure, Apple blocked Facebook from spying on Ios users…and then started illegally, secretly spying on those users and lying about it, in order to target ads to those users:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/14/luxury-surveillance/#liar-liar

And Microsoft spies on every Office 365 user and rats them out to their bosses ("Marge, this analytics dashboard says you're the division's eleventh-worst speller and twelfth-worst typist. Shape up or ship out!"). But the joke's on your boss: Microsoft also spies on your whole company and sells the data about it to your competitors:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/11/25/the-peoples-amazon/#clippys-revengel

The platforms screw anyone they can. Sure, they lured in advertisers with good treatment, but once those advertisers were locked in, they fucked them over just as surely as they fucked over their users.

The surveillance capitalism hypothesis depends on the existence of a hypothetical – and wildly improbably – Big Data mind-control technology that keeps users locked to platforms even when the platform decays. Mind-control rays are an extraordinary claim supported by the thinnest of evidence (marketing materials from the companies as they seek to justify charging a premium to advertisers, combined with the self-serving humblebrags of millionaire Prodigal Tech Bros who claim to have awakened to the evil of using their dopamine-hacking sorcerous powers on behalf of their billionaire employers).

There is a much simpler explanation for why users stay on platforms even as they decline in quality: they are enmeshed in a social service that encompasses their friends, loved ones, customers, and communities. Even if everyone in this sprawling set of interlocking communities agrees that the platform is terrible, they will struggle to agree on what to do about it: where to go next and when to leave. This is the economists' "collective action problem" – a phenomenon with a much better evidentiary basis than the hypothetical, far-fetched "dopamine loop" theory.

To understand whom a platform treats well and whom it abuses, look not to who pays it and who doesn't. Instead, ask yourself: who has the platform managed to lock in? The more any stakeholder to a platform stands to lose by leaving, the worse the platform can treat them without risking their departure. Thus the beneficent face that tech companies turn to their most cherished tech workers, and the hierarchy of progressively more-abusive conditions for other workers – worse treatment for those whose work-visas are tied to their employment, and the very worst treatment for contractors testing the code, writing the documentation, labelling the data or cleaning the toilets.

If you care about how people are treated by platforms, you can't just tell them to pay for services instead of using ad-supported media. The most important factor in getting decent treatment out of a tech company isn't whether you pay with cash instead of attention – it's whether you're locked in, and thus a flight risk whom the platform must cater to.

It's perfectly possible for market dynamics to play out in a system in which we pay with our attention by watching ads. More than 50% of all web users have installed an ad-blocker, the largest boycott in the history of civilization:

https://doc.searls.com/2023/11/11/how-is-the-worlds-biggest-boycott-doing/

Ad-supported companies make an offer: How about in exchange for looking at this content, you let us spy on you in ways that would make Orwell blush and then cram a torrent of targeted ads into your eyeballs?" Ad-blockers let you make a counter-offer: "How about 'nah'?"

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2019/07/adblocking-how-about-nah

But ad-blocking is only possible on an open platform. A closed, locked-down platform that is illegal to modify isn't a walled garden, a fortress that keeps out the bad guys – it's a walled prison that locks you in, a prisoner of the worst impulses of the tech giant that built it. Apple can defend you from other companies' spying ways, but when Apple decides to spy on you, it's a felony to jailbreak your Iphone and block Apple's surveillance:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/05/battery-vampire/#drained

I am no true believer in markets – but the people who say that paying for products will "align incentives" and make tech better claim to believe in the power of markets to make everyone better off. But real markets aren't just places where companies sell things – they're also places where companies buy things. Monopolies short-circuit the power of customer choice to force companies to do better. But monopsonies – markets dominated by powerful buyers – are just as poisonous to the claimed benefits of markets.

Even if you are "the product" – that is, even if you're selling your attention to a platform to package up and sell to an advertiser – that in no way precludes your getting decent treatment from the platform. A world where we can avail ourselves of blockers, where interoperablity eases our exodus from abusive platforms, where privacy law sets a floor below which we cannot bargain is a world where it doesn't matter if you're "the product" or "the customer" – you can still get a square deal.

The platforms used to treat us well and now treat us badly. That's not because they were setting a patient trap, luring us in with good treatment in the expectation of locking us in and turning on us. Tech bosses do not have the executive function to lie in wait for years and years.

Rather, as tech platforms eliminated competition, captured their regulators and expanded their IP rights so that interoperability was no longer a threat, they became too big to care whether any of their stakeholders were happy. First they came for the users, sure, but then they turned on the publishers, the advertisers, and finally, even their once-pampered tech workers:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/10/the-proletarianization-of-tech-workers/

MLK said that "the law can't make a man love me, but it can stop him from lynching me." It's impossible to get tech bosses to believe you deserve care and decency, but you can stop them from abusing you. The way to do that is by making them fear you – by abolishing the laws that create lock-in, by legally enshrining a right to privacy, by protecting competition.

It's not by giving them money. Paying for a service does not make a company fear you, and anyone who thinks they can buy a platform's loyalty by paying for a service is a simp. A corporation is an immortal, transhuman colony organism that uses us as inconvenient gut-flora: no matter how much you love it, it will never love you back. It can't experience love – only fear.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/22/kargo-kult-kaptialism/#dont-buy-it

#pluralistic #if youre not paying for the product youre the product #competition #capitalists hate capitalism #discipline #market discipline #the old good internet

188 notes · View notes

gojoath · 23 days

Text

ಣ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ HELLO, YOU OKKOTSU YŪTA

you think it’s a funny stroke of fate that you keep running into the same pretty stranger, albeit not in your best moments. little do you know, he’s known you for months before that.

summary. fem reader. yandere yūta. stalking. obsession. manipulation. aged up characters. no smut this part. reader is oblivious. switching perspectives. how it begins. yuta's name isn't mentioned during your first meeting because you don't know it yet. wc, 2.6k.

note. reposting the og yandere yūta series here for you just so you have it & i’ve received a lot of asks asking so :)

you’re beautiful, yuuta thinks as he watches you. you’ve stopped him in his tracks quite literally despite the cursed spirit guts that coat his white shirt— drying against his pale skin. but he feels numb when he takes his first glance at you.

he’s on the sidewalk opposite the cafe and you’re at the window seat, it’s a rainy day today— he’ll always remember it because it’s the day he met you. he thinks it’s funny, the way the earth wills for two souls to be together. he can feel the way yours is calling out to him, like it’s fateand you’re like a vision, his future and somewhere for all of his love to fester and feast.

you must feel it too— because your face scrunches up from where you’re looking at the screen of your phone and even just from your side profile, yuuta knows he wants to be by your side forever. half of your face is enough to have him hooked, maybe the saying is true that soulmates always meet eventually, they have the same hiding place afterall.

he readjusts the katana over his shoulder as he shifts his weight from foot to foot, he’s still watching you. he can’t pull away, he can already imagine the way you’d smile at him if he was sat opposite you in that empty chair. he hopes you’re alone, waiting for him— he’s finally found you. you don’t have to wait anymore.

yuuta watches your features closely as you lift your head from your phone and you look around the cafe cutely, you can probably feel him close by— his gaze is on you and he’s sure he can feel your heart beating for him. you really are so beautiful, he needs you all to himself. your next look is finally out the window to your right and he watches the way your features scan the street like you’re looking for someone, like you feel someone staring.

but it’s weird, the opposite side of the street is empty. you could’ve sworn someone was there.

—

it’s 11am as you browse the aisle’s in your usual grocery store, just a regular wednesday— wrapped away in your own little world with your headphones on as let yourself squeeze at the avocado’s in the fruit section to check if they’re ripe. it’s colder today, you’re wrapped in your scarf and a jacket but there’s something fresh and crisp about the air despite the chill.

another squeeze of the fruits in your hand and your brows furrow as you frown into the fabric of your scarf. you’ve squeezed every avocado in this section and you swear they all feel like rocks.

you go to turn away, to face the embarrassment and disappointment of leaving empty handed and avocado-less despite the way the grocery store was mostly empty at this time of day anyway. but instead, you almost collide completely with the figure to your right, you hadn’t even realised he was there— how long has he even been standing beside you?

you look up at him to apologise quickly, but his eyes look at you in a way that wills you not to leave yet. you watch the way his lips move as he points at the fruit and gives you a kind-hearted smile, but the words go unheard as the music in your headphones still plays.

you apologise— for the second time, before you’re pushing them around your neck, fumbling a little awkwardly as the music dies and the sound of the world fill back up and you’re still staring up at the dark-haired stranger. “i couldn’t hear you, sorry!”

“oh, ah— you can have these ones.” his voice is a lot softer than you expect it to be, maybe it’s the look in his eyes that gives you the impression of something darker but his tone is kind. your eyes scan him at his words, urging you to look into his other hand that holds a pack of the same avocados you’ve just spent forever staring at.

“these ones are ready. i must’ve got the last ones, sorry.” you’re blinking up at him now, a little bit in disbelief but also embarrassed that a stranger— a cute stranger at that, felt the need to save you from your misery like this. isn’t this how it normally goes in the romance manga?

“oh, are you sure? i don’t want to steal your groceries.” you smile as you fidget with your headphones over your scarf again but the man opposite you just gives you another smile.

“it’s fine, i don’t actually like them that much.”

“really? thank you so much, i owe you one.” you’re not sure if it’s just the cold today, but you swear he’s blushing. you bow your head slightly as you take the avocados, feeling his hand brush yours and you smile softly with another thank you before you go to turn away again.

but then that same soft tone calls you back before you can.

“so, do you like them?” he asks as he smiles down at you and you can’t hide the way the question makes you blink. you’re a little confused, caught off guard by the fact you’re pulled back into conversation again as your head turns to look at him over your shoulder.

you think he picks up on that because his hand points innocently at the avocado’s in your own before you find yourself feeling suddenly warm. obviously he’s talking about the avocados.

“oh.. uh, yeah. they’re good. but yeah, thanks again. i should probably..” now you’re definitely embarrassed, so much so that you can’t help but find yourself cutting the conversation short. you hope it doesn’t come across as rude or ungrateful, but he still manages another smile as he scratches at the back of his neck before you turn to leave with a wave.

“oh. yeah, i’m sorry.” you feel a little bad when he apologises though, you didn’t even manage to get his name.

but it’s weird. you feel like he looks a little familiar.

yuuta watches you leave, he doesn’t leave that spot infront of the aisle at the grocery store because he’s finally been able to speak to you. to see you up close. he’s so glad that he followed you here, he knows this is your routine, he’s studied it for weeks, months. this is your favourite time to go shopping and he’d made sure to get there early to pick out the ripest avocados. he knew you’d come looking. your skin felt soft when he’d brushed his fingertips against yours.

it was perfect. you are perfect.

“ah, that went well.” he lets his palm rest over his chest as he feels the way his heart is beating against his ribs, like it’s about to jump out of his skin entirely to reach for you, to pull you back. he likes the way love feels with you,

he can’t wait to finally have you.

—

you can feel your heartbeat in your ears as you walk quickly down the sidewalk towards your usual cafe, you know you’ve got to get to lunch with your friends in just under an hour— it’d been so long since you’d seen them, you were excited to catch up. but ofcourse, you’d planned a quick coffee break into your schedule, well.. until you’d slept in.

which leaves you where you are now— rushing down the busy street towards the cafe that you know does the best coffee, because you need atleast a little bit of caffeine in your system before you can even think about taking on the day.

it’s hotter now than it has been the past few weeks and the sun feels warm against your figure as you finally turn to stand outside the door to your destination. but something feels cold against your skin still, like a stare that makes you look back over your shoulder despite the way you come up empty handed. there’s no creep in an alley like you’d expect, but the feeling remains before you’re shrugging and pushing through the door to caffeinated heaven— forgetting it entirely.

you exhale a sigh of relief when you notice the cafe isn’t as busy as it normally is, taking your place in line behind the man infront of you before you’re sending your friends a quick text back to let them know your eta.

it only takes a few minutes for you to get to the cashier, to order your little cup of brewed heaven with a smile and you’re basically vibrating with how excited you are for it. making sure to leave the worker behind the desk a generous tip before you’re making your way back to the door to leave.

but you’re a little too giddy to notice the way someone’s coming in just as you go to exit. the door opening suddenly almost makes you stumble, almost dropping the takeout cup in your palms before you’re pulled back steady by a weight around your waist that saves both you and your coffee as you gasp.

“i’m so sorry!” your head whips around as you look around for whoever just basically saved your life— your own little hero at this point, considering you almost just made a complete fool of yourself and spilled a completely full cup of coffee. your eta for your friends would’ve been an impossibility if you would’ve ended up covered in your drink.

though the gaze you’re met with is familiar as you gain your footing and you don’t realise how close you’re standing to the man that just saved your life until you’re blinking up at him. your chest is almost against his and you clear your throat a little awkwardly when you realise his arms are still around you too.

“oh, it’s you again, avocado guy! hah, looks like i owe you another one.. uh?” you smile and your words urge him to let his hands fall by his side again, albeit begrudgingly. he’d probably think you were a complete weirdo if you told him it felt kind of nice actually. you don’t even know the guys name yet.

“oh, i’m okkotsu yuuta. it’s nice to meet you.” yuuta’s hand reaches out to shake yours and his grip is tighter, colderthan you expect it to be. you start to wonder if he’s going to let go of your hand at all when it’s still there after a few stretched seconds. he’s just staring at you now, before you begin to pull yours back and surprisingly, he lets you.

you’ve met before, but this seems like the first time you’ve let yourself truly look at him. he’s a little awkward, but he’s pretty in that same way, his hair is pushed back but it still falls into a sort of relaxed, effortless style that frames his features nicely. his skin is pale and he’s taller than you remember, but it’s his eyes you can’t quite tear yourself away from.

they’re cold, haunting in a particular sort of way that you can’t quite place. it’s like they don’t quite fit yuuta’s demeanour, like they’re looking through you entirely and the chilling gaze makes something sharp rip at your spine before you’re readjusting your feet and ignoring it. you barely know the guy, he seems nice enough. maybe you should stop assuming kind strangers have some alterier motive.

“okkotsu yuuta? thats a nice name.” you smile and you swear he’s blushing again as he looks away from you, pushing a hand through his hair in a way that makes you burn hot yourself. he’s got really, really nice hands.

“really? do you think so.. ah, thank you. i—“ your conversation is cut short, and your train of thought when your phone vibrates and you’re reminded of your ever fast approaching lunch date. you give yuuta a wide-eyed look and another apologetic smile before you’re taking a step back, feeling the cold air brush through the growing space between you both as you thank him for saving you, again.

“oh, im really sorry, okkotsu— i have to run! i have a lunch to get too,” at this point he’s going to think you’re running from him as you turn to leave. but just as you do, you feel something cold wrap around your wrist that urges you to stay.

“wait, who are you going with?” the question catches you a little off guard, but the press of yuuta’s hand around your wrist distracts you from it completely when your head whips around to frown at him. just as quickly as your gaze touches his, his hand leaves your skin and the expression that follows on his face is like a wordless apology for grabbing you. he doesn’t even know you afterall.

“what?” your words come out a little shorter than you expect them too, but you find the momentary rage about being stopped physically by a stranger melt away when he sends you another one of his soft smiles. curse him for being so pretty.

“i’m sorry, did that scare you?” yuuta’s voice sounds gentle and dreamy. you want to tell him it did—that he could atleast take you to dinner first before grabbing you back—but instead, you just find yourself looking up at him. so he continues,

“i just wanted to talk more with you, is that weird?” maybe he can tell you were a little caught off guard by the gesture. sure, he was handsome— you just didn’t expect to be pulled back into another conversation, quite literally.

“i feel drawn to you in a way.” yuuta brushes his hair back again and there’s an intriguing sort of glow to his gaze as he looks over your features, something that makes you take a small sort of step towards him when you find yourself smiling again as he speaks. “you’re really pretty.”

his compliment feel like it warms you from the inside out and suddenly you wish it was a little colder outside again, just so you could blame your ever growing body temperature on the weather — instead of the way this guy you’ve just met is flustering you instead. you press your coffee cup between your palms and exhale when you feel the sudden pace of your heart quicken.

“me too.. uh, how about i give you my number. call me?” suddenly, you can’t meet his gaze— it feels like it cuts through you and just because he thinks you’re pretty doesn’t necessarily mean he wants to date you. so you let the question hang there with bated breath, although yuuta seems to answer a little too quickly for him to even have considered it fully. maybe he was waiting for you to ask.

“ye—yeah, okay. i’d really like that.” there’s something cheerful in his tone and the smile he shows you next is toothy and sweet as you outstretch your hands to take his phone from him. you can feel him staring at you as you type it in and it makes a slight tremble settle in your fingertips at the attention he gives you before you hand it back. his hand lingers on yours a little longer when you do.

“and it’s just my friends i’m meeting for lunch, to answer your question.” you know you don’t owe yuuta an explanation but it’s his eyes, you think. they look at you like he’s peeling the truth from you with every blink, suddenly you want to strip yourself of every secret you’ve ever kept in the hopes he’ll forgive you for them all.

“oh, hah. that’s good.” you think you could get used to the sound of his voice, maybe you’re moving a little too fast— developing a crush on a man that to the best of yourknowledge, you’ve only met twice. so to save yourself anymore skips of your ever increasing heart rate, you leave at that and he lets you this time with a gentle wave, because maybe you’ll introduce him to those same friends soon too.

he’s glad it wasn’t a guy you’re meeting, that’s why he asked— he had to be sure, but he knows you wouldn’t do that to him.

he hopes your friends will like him as much as you do. he knows it can be annoying to have people telling you he might not be good for you, but he’ll be sure to make a good impression so they can’t say anything that may sway your heart. they don’t know you like he does afterall— how are they supposed to know what’s best?

okkotsu yuuta will always be whats best for you. even if you don’t know that yourself yet.

#cw yandere #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #okkotsu yuuta smut #okkotsu yuuta x you #okkotsu yuuta x reader #okkotsu yuta smut #okkotsu yuta x you #okkotsu yuta x reader #yuuta smut #yuuta x you #yuuta x reader

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sameschmidtdiffname · 2 months

Note

MIKE SMUT SMTH ABT HIS THIGHS AND HE S ALSO SUBBY PLSSSSS

DAAAAAAAAAARLIIIIIIIIIIING!

GUESS WHO JUST BROKE THEIR TWO WEEK BREEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAK!

Pretty

Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: Men are so pretty. And they can be so stupid. And who doesn't like stupid, pretty toys?

Tags: No specified sex for Reader, Reader is referred to with a male title at one point for sexual purposes (which one I won't say, but it's not daddy! I will say that), otherwise no gendered pronouns used for Reader, sub! Mike, dom! Reader, dynamic switch, accidental kink reveal, thigh admiration (this was not as focused on thighs as I intended, honestly. I'm sorry lmao), Mike gets used like a BITCH, and I mean a BITCH. Bro gets DOGGED, bro gets USED, bro may be PREGNANT after this (he ain't, no mpreg, I'm just being funny), humping, biting, french kissing, marking, choking, just have fun with this. It's a treat for all!

Notes: I'M STILL ON A BREAK! BUT, you guys have been so sweet and so nice. So, a drabble, because I love you all and you deserve it <3

▪︎◇{¤♧■♧¤}◇▪︎

I've always admired hands.

Strong hands, working hands. One of the first things I look for in men is if their hands look like they're capable of long lasting, almost back breaking labor.

The second thing I look for is shoulders. Preferably broad, capable of holding the third thing I look for. Which would be

Thighs.

I don't even have a particular taste for what those look like. The desire doesn't lie within the looks, although I could certainly spend a fair amount of my time stealing glances towards a fine, large pair. Straining against the material of their pants, spread out over a chair, doubling in size once someone sits. No, the desire lies in how sensitive they seem to be. Just a ghostly touch of your hands or lips upon the soft skin can usually send someone reeling. Can make someone sing such a soft, quiet note so raw and genuine before you've even drawn near to the area they want you the most.

I should've touched him sooner like this.

Mike Schmidt doesn't pretend to be a macho man. He's not insecure of his masculinity, he raises his little sister, goes to work, comes to bed. He doesn't have time to worry about being a man's man.

I can attest, however. Once in the bedroom, he has absolutely no issue with expressing his masculinity.

In any way, shape or form.

"Touch me," he moans breathily, bucking his fully clothed hips towards me in a desperate, needing manner.

I never said masculinity involves domination.

It'd just started with us cuddling on the couch. Abby out at a friend's, us snuggled under a warm blanket at home on the couch. The comforter to his bed, to be specific. Everything else was too small or too cold for us, so we just dragged it out. The old TV in front of us displaying a rerun of a movie we were only halfway paying attention to, both of us beginning to drift in and out of sleep. Mike had wrapped me under his arm, placing a soft kiss on my forehead every now and then when he decided it'd been too long since he last had. I was pressed against his side, one hand on his thigh, absentmindedly rubbing circles.

Here's the fun thing about guys. Half the time they are so touch starved, it takes nothing to get them going. And that's fun.

I didn't realize why Mike was beginning to shift in his seat some. Why his heartbeat against my ear had picked up, why his breathing was getting somewhat shaky. Tell tale signs of something, but honestly I figured it was the movie. It wasn't until he pressed a lingering kiss to my forehead, then trailed down to my cheek, my jaw, and began nipping at my neck that it began to dawn on me.

"What's got you in a mood?" I chuckled, my fingers digging I just a little more to his warm, covered flesh.

"Nothing," he said breathily in my ear, his tongue beginning to trace my jawline. "Just thought you looked pretty."

I call his bluff when I dig into a tense muscle, a loud, pathetic moan escaping him that he tries to quickly stiffle in my neck. Moaning and biting at me, his hand beginning to search my chest to graze his fingers against my sensitive nipples, easy to play with under the smooth material of Mike's stolen, cotton shirt.

"Ah," I say, continuing to rub as he pants eagerly against me. "I see."

Mike's trying to maneuver us so that he can position himself on top of me, and regularly I would agree, but I'm not quite done with my new toy just yet.

"Let me up," I say into his ear, trying to pull away. Mike simply moans into my skin, biting harder as his fingers finally wrap around my already stiff nipple, tugging at it, making me moan in harmony to him. "Mike," I say, trying to ground us both.

Mike doesn't care, his other hand searching for my thighs, knowing how much I like for mine to be played with before he spends hours between my legs, gasping, choking, and grinning ear to ear with pride after swallowing whatever amount of cum I'd given him. His teeth sink into my neck again, this time not just playful. Digging in and making me cry out in slight pain, yet pleasure coursing through me as my eyes roll back into my head.

"So pretty," Mike moans against me, his voice soft and high. His lashes flutter butterfly kisses against my forming bruises while his lips trail to my collarbone, his stiff cock brushing against my hand as he shifts.

This is what settles the idea in my mind.

My hand snaps up, pulling harshly at Mike's dark, almost black curls, tugging until his head had snapped all the way backwards, exposing the tan skin of his throat to me. Eagerly, I lick a long, wide stripe up his throat, from bottom to top until I can clearly feel the prickly stubble of his facial hair on my tongue. His adams apple bobs under the wet muscle as he moans openly, a moan that only increases in volume and pitch once I bite roughly into the side of his neck, not allowing him a chance to escape as I keep my tight grip on his curls.

"Fu-ck," he drawls, his voice breaking as he begins to allow me to guide him to my desires, laying him on his back against the worn down couch, his hips subconsciously rolling towards me in anxiety for my touch.

"So pretty," I breathe in his ear, a soft whimper escaping him as his blush deepens, accenting the subtle freckles that decorate his skin like the stars decorate the night sky. I've tried to kiss each one, knowing the task was futile, but was well rewarded by the puddle of mush he'd dissolved into as my lips had trailed against his tan skin. Mike tries to turn his face away from me to hide the blush, unsure of how else to handle the compliment.

God, I love men. They're idiots.

I grab his jaw, forcing his mouth open and adoring the pathetic whine that escapes him as I shove my tongue into his mouth, his eyes half open, watching me as he gives in to the kiss, his hands tugging at my shirt as he humps against nothing, pent up and stupid underneath of me.

They're so cute, right?

When I pull away, a long string of spit still connects us, his eyes obediently trained on me as I pin him down against the couch by his throat, anticipating my next move. I move myself to tower over him, his mouth still open as he pants, and I spit into his mouth. His eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn't complain. Hell, by the glint in his eyes, you'd think he'd thank me. Though he doesn't.

It's fine. He will soon enough.

I lower myself along his body, my hands once more finding his thick thighs and squeezing them, admiring the firmness underneath of his shorts.

"Have I told you I love your thighs?" I ask, my breath fanning against his covered erection. Mike simply moans.

"I do. Watch them all the time. Don't even realize I'm doing it, honestly," I say. I lean down, placing a feather light kiss on his hip. He whines. "They're so pretty. Just like the rest of you."

His hips buck towards me, his cock obviously twitching underneath the material.

"Touch me," he moans, his face pink and halfway covered with his hand. I reach up and grab his hand away, smacking swiftly at his thigh.

"Be good," I snap, earning me a sharp gasp as he writhes underneath of me, mumbling some sort of agreement.

"Good," I praise softly. "Good. See, that wasn't so hard."

My lips start at his knee, kissing there and beginning to work their way up as he clasps his hands above his head, teeth gritted in an attempt to stay quiet.

"You can moan," I tell him, my other hand slipping underneath the pant legs of his shorts. "I like the pretty sounds you make."

Pretty. I didn't know that was his trick word. The word that could force him into a pathetic, begging mess that can't even keep eye contact. Oh, he's beautiful. Bite marks blooming against his skin, such a deep blush, tossled curls. His soft abdomen shutters with each unsteady breath, slightly exposed, his happy trail dark against his skin and leading to the place that shows how he wants me. His tongue darting out to lick his lips so often they'll be chapped by the end of the night from overstimulation. That's his tell that he's close.

"What, pretty boy gonna cum in his pants?" I ask, my hand trailing along his hot skin and digging my nails in to make him sing. His back arches slightly, eyes trained on the ceiling as his mouth opens in an almost silent gasp.

"No," he clearly lies, his hips subtly moving of their own accord.

"You look like such a pretty mess!" I chuckle against his skin, pressing a soft kiss on his lower thigh. "I wouldn't blame you if you did."

He doesn't respond to this, clearly lost in his thoughts.

"Michael," I say, voice slightly firm. "Look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Mike rolls his eyes, huffing and not obeying. Aw. Cute.

My hands grip underneath of his knees, quickly shoving them to meet his shoulders, eyes wide as he gasps at the maneuver he's done to me so many times I can't even count. Shoved into a mating press, I grind my hips against him, pounding against him quickly and harshly, relishing the broken sounds he makes as I hump him hard enough his head is bouncing against the arm of the couch, his eyes fluttering shut as they roll into the back of his head.

"It's a simple request," I hiss against his skin, rewarded with a loud moan. "I didn't ask for your fuckin' attitude."

The glint in his eyes when they open unintentionally shows he's fine with this response, happy to take more and more until he really does cum with hardly any stimulation to his cock. His mouth is open, tongue peaking out from behind his bottom teeth, his breathing on the cusp of hyperventilating as he submits to my touch.

"Is it so hard?" I ask, keeping even time with my abusive pace. "To just listen to me?"

"No, sir," Mike moans happily.

Oh?

"What was that?" I ask, leaning closer as I shove his knees harder against his shoulders. His eyes snap open, dead ahead on the ceiling as his mind clearly tries to process what to say next.

"Nothing," he says quickly.

"Bullshit," I snap, adjusting my grip so one arm pins his knees so that my hand can snake down between us and smack at his ass in scolding. "Repeat yourself."

"I don't know what I said," he says quickly, avoiding eye contact.

I smack again, this time hard enough he cries out.

"Say it," I seethe, increasing my tempo and pounding harder against him until he looks like he may cry, his eyes squeezed shut and mouth open as he pants like a whore underneath of me.

"Sir," he finally admits, shame burning bright in his cheeks. "I called you sir."

I toss his legs onto my shoulders, my hand now finding his throat as I hump him into the bed, rewarding his honestly.

"I see," I drawl, not relenting my pace nor strength. "Someone's into getting used."

This seems to roll him over the edge, his face bright and relaxing as his eyes flutter shut, only for me to bite at his bottom lip, causing them to open again.

"Watch me," I command, biting harshly into his lip. "I wanna see how pretty you look when you cum like a good toy."

His eyes widen slightly, his mouth slack as he obeys. The moment I release his lip his tongue darts out to wet it, lingering over the soft bite marks.

"It's alright, you can do it," I say softly, choking him slightly harder. "Let me watch, then I'll let you fuck me however you want."

His eyes are pleading, begging for more.

"You want something? Use your words," I tell him, slamming particularly hard this time, hard enough his head slams into the couch concerningly. But he doesn't mind, does he?

"Kiss me," he breathes, so light, the request sounds innocent and sweet compared to the way I'm abusing him on his own couch. I comply, pressing my lips against his in a soft, sweet kiss that he whines into, his lips parting and tongue slipping against my lips in a sloppy, pleading, silent request. And how can I say no?

I part my lips for him, enjoying the way he arches into the kiss, moaning as our tongues slide together in a messy, graceless fight for control. My lips trap the tip of his tongue, sucking on it and tugging it upwards harshly as he cries out, his hips beating against mine as his lashes flutter shut once more, but this time I don't scold him. I simply grind against him as hard and as fast as my tiring body will allow, guiding him through his overwhelming orgasm, the sounds of his crystal clear moans cutting through the air, perfectly complimenting his red face, glistening eyes and shaking body.

"That's it," I coo in his ear. "That's a good toy. Just let me fuck you."

He's stupid and lost to the world, his cock twitching pathetically as thick ropes of cum decorate the inside of his shorts, making the material stick to his skin, overstimulating him as I begin to lessen my pace, beginning to give him grace he no longer has words to ask for.

"So pretty," I whisper as I try to kiss each tiny freckle on his beet red nose, his breath hot against my throat as he tries to regain his focus. "So pretty, and mine."

"Where the fuck did that come from?" Mike slurs stupidly underneath of me, his legs still trembling on my shoulders.

I giggle, smiling as I lean down to place another kiss, sweet this time, against Mike's swollen, glossy lips.

"I dunno," I say, shrugging. Mike whimpers as I pull away.

"Guess I just thought you were pretty."

¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

I'm 100% gonna be late for work because of this, but worth it

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@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool . Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

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