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#*myfics
glystenangel · 9 months
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Hi! I would love to request a Sukuna x Sorcerer Reader oneshot where the reader gets called in to help to fight against Sukuna. When the reader arrives to fight, Sukuna took a liking towards her and flirts with her while fighting. Also, this would be enemies to lovers, smut and romance, a spicy vibe to it, and I'm okay with you posting this oneshot publicly ^^ - ☀️💖👑
In the Heat of Battle
Sukuna x Sorceror&Afab!Reader
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, everything in the ask but also i did this in a historical au bc...i like them, sitting in a hot spring with sukuna, SEX, cunnilingus, degradation/praise, edging😇, dirty talk, cussing, ridin', bratty reader, cumeating, sukunas got his 4 arms, half smut half fluff, i get a bit philosophical in the middle sorry, mentions of murder, injuries, and blood, etc.
~ 10k i got a lil too excited mayhaps bc this is not oneshot length but whatever
thanks for requesting, i hope you like<3
_________________
Fighting a curse like Sukuna meant you were lucky to be alive for this long.
Of course, you never had much need for luck.
“Ooh, so close.” Sukuna laughs into an effortless dodge, so agile that you can feel the air gliding underneath your palm for an irritatingly brief moment.
His voice is deep and so closely threaded with power the entire town practically shudders with the sound. 
“I’ll get you next time.” You spit, gritting your teeth and preparing yourself for the next series of attacks.
Sukuna opens his hands wide, “You can have me anytime you want.”
Ever since you got called into battle, your opponent took it upon himself to flirt with you more than he fought with you. Even as you beat him to a pulp, he would persist. It was nothing short of maddening.
You glare at him, cursed energy coursing through you as you ready yourself once more, “Shut up already!”
“Hm,” He licks the ivory tip on one of his canines with a rough stroke of his tongue, as if savoring the threat, “Happy to have a pretty girl like you shut me up too.”
“I’ll shut you up for good, and you won’t like how I do it. Trust me.”
“Come on, sweetheart. You’re good, but good enough to beat me? Be honest with yourself-”
Before he can finish, the cursed spirit’s neck is in your hands and you’re relishing the way his pupils shrink in alarm at your successful grab. Despite his shock, Sukuna manages to minimize any possible damage by dragging you with him as his body is forced backwards from the impact of your ambush. The instinctive maneuver is enough to pull you into the wall with him.
Rubble from the area you and Sukuna crash into cascades around your fallen figures. The fear of injury stings through your body, and you only register it when you instinctively push out your arms to get yourself back on your feet.
“Not so fast.” Sukuna’s arms entangle you again, and you belatedly realize he had landed beside you. 
He also rises to his feet more quickly than you can, pinning you to the chalky remains of the wall and sneering at your frantic clawing along the tops of his knuckles.
You hazily hear the gravelly reverberation of Sukuna’s laughter, and return to the rest of your senses, “Get the fuck off me!”
“Watch your temper.” 
He keeps you in his grip with his four arms, and you continue to struggle in their collective grasp. The veins of his arms are tense and pronounced from the rest of his olive skin.
“...And your modesty.” He pinches the hem of your collar between a few fingers, the tease emphasized by the slide of fabric across your skin. 
The heat that follows the motion enrages you.
Sukuna looks down at you with continued bemusement, and you follow his line of sight to find your shirt ripped open.
There’s a slight wrinkle in his nose that indents into the small black slash across it, and it’s caused by the smug expression on Sukuna’s face. His grin seems to have a cunning bite to it, and the corners perfectly complement the shape of his jaw.
As much as you hate to admit it, he has a nice smile. Nice enough to make your heart skip a beat.
Too bad you had to get rid of it.
Wrestling him to the ground, the impact leaves you breathless and a loud ringing enters your ears subsequent to you rolling yourself onto your back. You must have slammed your head, because you can feel the back of your scalp becoming sore. 
Out of the corner of your eye, you notice your fellow sorcerers retreating and collecting the wounded. After your requested arrival, you had been exchanging violent maneuvers with Sukuna for what felt like hours.
In reality, you know that it probably hadn’t been any more than 10 minutes since you tackled the curse and began delivering blows with your curse abilities. 
Everything is on fire.
You have to finish the job.
“Looks like you hurt yourself pretty good.” You hear through your blurring vision, “Can you keep going?”
What?
Part of you strains to hear, and the other half retains enough instinct to push away Sukuna’s broad shoulders as he approaches.
You’re still trying to land attacks as your consciousness fades and he catches each one, making you resist even more and inadvertently expend your remaining energy.
“Stop. You’re cute for trying but don't.” He snarls.
A nice, square blow to his cheek grants you some satisfaction as you finally lose consciousness.
_________________
When you wake up, dozens of local sorcerers and townspeople are flocked to your side and hurriedly checking your vitals from where you lay on the ground.
“How long was I out?”
“About a minute.” A villager answers, dusting the debris off of your clothes.
“It’s fine, I’m fine.” You brush them off, the pounding in your head matching the one in your chest.
Although dazed, you scan beyond the crowd for any trace of Sukuna.
“He’s gone, don’t worry.” Someone says.
Even so, you contine to look for him.
Though you’re not sure why.
_________________
In spite of your bewilderment, you continue to search for Sukuna throughout the days succeeding the fight.
However, he seems to be searching for you too.
As luck would have it, he finds you first.
_________________
You dunk your wounds in the warm water, trying to relax into the hot spring and let the steam clear your mind.
Thanks to a healing sorcerer named Shoko, most of your wounds were able to be skillfully closed up, but they seem to still ache as though they were fresh.
So, you had ventured into the woods to the secret hot spring you had found years ago. The countryside was littered with them, and this one was your favorite due to the privacy brought by the trees and the soothing temperature. You were convinced that it had some sort of healing properties due to the mineral content that clouded the water, but you didn’t expend too much thought on that theory.
No one else seems to know about it either, so you trust the serenity of your secret hiding place enough to rest your head on the rocks and drift off.
As sleep begins to kiss your eyelids, a nearby rustle has them snapping back. You freeze, not wanting any splashing to alert the possible intruder.
Breathing slowly, you scrutinize the area that appears to be the source of the noise. You feel your battle worn joints scream in protest, but your gut instinct tells you that you may have to prepare to defend yourself.
The shadows of the trees drag over a tall figure, and your eyes widen at the familiar outline.
“Oh shit.”
Your thoughts mirror the words delivered by that unmistakable voice ingrained in your recent memory.
It’s Sukuna.
He has a bruise trailing along his jawline, and you recognize the blooms of purple as your handiwork among the other scrapes and scars dotting his person. It seems most of them have healed less neatly than yours have. Sukuna takes a step forward, and you note that he has a limp in his gait. The robes he wears are clean however, ivory and slate gray in color, seemingly too pure for someone as malicious as him. He rotates his neck and shoulders, the movement of those broad muscles prompting the stretch and pull of his pecs. His eyes stay trained on yours, the color of autumn leaves burning into your wary hues. Even with his obvious injuries, his presence brings chills to your body. He still looks strong. 
The sudden appearance has you ducking lower into the misty water with a not so subtle splash.
“Don’t look!”
You internally wince at your unplanned plea, expecting him to laugh or roll his eyes, but it only makes him pause.
The struggling rise and fall of your chest becomes ignored as you make out his face through the steam, which lacks emotion or mercy of any sort. 
Then, he covers his eyes with a large hand draped over the bridge of his nose.
“Okay.” Sukuna says, the agreement is accommodating yet inflected with a nonchalance that forces you to blink hard.
Another silence falls over you both, and you place a hand on one of the stones bordering the pool. Tufts of grass poke between the coarse gray, and you can feel a few get caught under your knuckle white grip.
You can’t fight him like this, so you have half a mind to run.
The thought is interrupted when the curse speaks again, “Can I come in?”
The ask jolts you back into that perilous place between fight or flight, “No fucking way!”
“I’ll keep my eyes to myself, promise.” 
No irony laces his speech, and true to his word, his eyes remain covered. 
Before you can retort, he says again, “Besides, I don’t think either of us are in any condition to fight…you more so than me. Don’t you agree?”
His lips move beneath the curve of his hand, and you follow the shape of them with little interest. They’re split with a line of scabbed blood, and his hand has green bruising patched over the back of it.
He somehow looks worse than you do. 
“I don’t think you’re in any condition to insult me either.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry.”
The water continues to rush over your body, and you feel it easing the tension within. Nature eroding every facet of pain into smooth relief. 
It would be a first for you to share such consolation.
“Fine. But, don’t come near me. Or look.” You acquiesce, though just in case you assume a stance that resembles offense somewhat.
Honestly, you feel ridiculous.
Sukuna smiles widely, and then he continues walking until he senses the edge of the water by the heat on the bottoms of his feet. You briefly shield your own eyes when he disrobes, and he slips into the opposite side of the spring so gracefully you wonder if he’s secretly peeking through his fingers. His sheer mass displaces some of the liquid, and it hits your shoulders as he settles in.
Once he’s waist deep, and to your surprise, he turns away to rest his chin over crossed arms. His other two arms swim through the spring, feeling what little current there was running across his palms.
Feeling awkward, you do the same, but periodically look back to see if he wasn’t going to rip your heart out from behind.
His back is lined with deep grooves of strength and the dark marks tattooed onto his skin, water puddling over the dips and then spreading thin into glossy sheens as it evaporates.
Your throat wets with saliva at the magnificent view.
Every part of Sukuna seems perfectly sculpted to fight and conquer. A sadistic culmination of poetry in motion.
You examine your own figure wrought with power and evidence of your training. The same water decorating him was lapping at you too.
An even match, you think.
“You’re being awfully quiet, getting dirty thoughts about me already?”
The croon shifts your focus, and you whip around to flick water between his shoulder blades. The shot hits its target, though he hardly seems to register the miniscule shot.
What an annoying guy.
“Hey. Don’t make me come over there.”
“I’d like to see you try.” You roll your eyes and return your sights to the treeline when you sense movement behind you.
As soon as your peripheral picks up on Sukuna rushing towards you, you manage to lift your hands in time to catch Sukuna’s.
Large globs of water hang off of the thick elbows he hoists into the air, the liquid trickling down to his ribs and then rippling the surrounding water. His height is nothing short of monstrous as you glower at the smirking curse.
Moisture is also loosely braided into his petal hued hair, which glistens in the sunlight before fading into a dark, cropped shadow around his ears and above his neck. He looks…different up close and without the rigid aura of battle.
Your fingers interlock tightly together, no words easing the moment. Speaking seems impossible, and the prolonged clasp has you swallowing hard.
The stare Sukuna uses to capture your eyes is unreadable. Every secret you’ve ever held seems to be pulled nearer, threads sinking into the garnet depths like those fabled red strings of fate. However after scanning down your neck and then back up to your face, a satisfied glint emerges.
“That’s what I thought.” He tuts, as if disappointed, “You humans have no conviction. Pathetic little creatures.”
With that, he lets out a wolfish chuckle and releases you. The amusement fades in the air as he goes back to his previous seat, the broad shape of his back facing away from you once more.
The silence holds for a while, just the gurgle of water and occasional slosh from you or Sukuna cupping water over yourselves.
Only the damned curse behind you seems to like taking the lead in breaking each quiet stretch of time.
“So, you really gonna kill me?” 
You sigh, running a hand over your cheek, “I hope so.”
“Don’t you want to get it over with? I’m right here.”
You chance another glance at him from over your shoulder, resting your temple on a fist.
Sukuna doesn’t move. You can’t see his face or imagine what kind of expression is laid across it.
All you see are the slashes you inflicted upon him, and the slightly pink scars beneath from past sorcerers who died in their attempts to rid the world of Sukuna’s terror once and for all.
As if he can feel where you’re gawking, he scratches the spot with a long black nail and lets out a discontent mumble.
Oddly enough, you find him both pitiful and loathsome. He won’t live for much longer, and surviving that final brawl certainly won’t leave you untouched. Once you take his life, you highly doubt that you’ll be able to keep yours for much longer after that.
There is an intimacy in knowing that you’ll die with someone. That you will be the last person each one will feel under each other’s hands and see as you draw the same, last breath.
Because of that, you find that you can’t look at him anymore.
“I don’t want it to be like this.” You finally admit, cutting the disdain from your voice and tapping the top of a stone.
The smile on his countenance is something you swear you can hear now, “We’ll keep this a secret then, yeah?”
“What secret?”
“This place, stupid.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Well, you’re acting like it. Now me? If I were you, I would’ve reached over and snapped my neck. Injuries be damned. I get it though, must be that so-called honor you humans adore indulging in. Can’t say it hasn’t infected me unfortunately, I didn’t really feel like finishing you off after you hit your head either. It would’ve been an empty victory. Pretty lame way to get out of it if I’m being honest.”
You tilt your head with a squint, searching for his eyes again and finding them as he drops his head back to send you a cheeky simper. 
“Just saying.”
You tear away from him, sinking into the water before rising again to rearrange the soaked strands of your hair.
“I won’t kill you, yet.”
“Well then,” Sukuna preens, derision oozing into his cadence, “I’m looking forward to your next attempt.”
_________________
You and Sukuna begin to meet there consistently.
Just until you heal, you promise yourself.
It isn’t even as though every meeting is on purpose, he just so happens to be in the area when you are.
A wordless, regular cadence where you bathe and Sukuna does the same, except you stay back to back.
At first, you don’t break apart the silences by bringing up sorcerers or most other related circumstances, it just comes off much too taboo.
You also didn’t want to give him any advantages for future fights.
So, you talk about everything else.
What the clouds are shaped like, his philosophies on the world, your hometown.
Sukuna knew quite a lot, you suppose due to his years spent roaming the country.
It makes you more and more curious about how he came to be what he is. You try to not address it, but it gnaws at you. Dancing at the tip of your tongue.
He seems to feel the same way, being quite frank and open with his own questions and replies.
Despite your efforts, one day Sukuna offhandedly mentions that he was once a sorcerer.
Just like you.
_________________
“All you sorcerers are the same. You lie to yourselves and everyone around you.” He rolls a pebble between his fingers and occasionally tosses it in the air.
You can see it arc over the top of his head, plummet down and start again. Sukuna had begun this cycle as soon as you had said something he disagreed with, likely something banal and harmless like how helping the weak is what sorcerers do.
“You make so many baseless assumptions, do you ever get tired of jumping to conclusions so often?”
“Baseless?” The pebble falls and he swipes it into his hand, “Not at all. I used to be a sorcerer, so I can make all the fucking assumptions I would like.”
That piques your full interest.
You openly stare at him now, ignoring the pounding in your ears from such an arbitrary, shared confession.
“So why do you do it?”
“What?”
“Everything.”
He shrugs, and it’s all loose heaves of muscle in that small gesture.
“I want power.”
“For what?”
“Same reason anyone probably does. Isn’t that why you’re a sorcerer? For power to do with what you want?”
He crosses his arms behind his head, leaning to look at you as he rests back on the woven appendages.
The insinuation makes you press your lips together before speaking.
“Yes, but not like you. You kill innocent people, sorcerers and nonsorcerers alike, and you show complete disregard for them. It’s hateful.”
“I don’t hate them,” Sukuna meets your eyes, and you dutifully ignore the burning scarlet held within them, “They’re just in my way. Plus, innocence is subjective. Don’t act like sorcerers or humans you know haven’t thought the same. Done even worse.”
“Well, not on the mass scale you have.”
“Not that you know of.” He scoffs.
“Do you know? Since you used to be a sorcerer and seem to know every goddamn thing about it-”
“I know because I killed those sons of bitches years ago.” His hands fall back into the water, “Look, I’m no saint, we’ve established that. But is having strength so evil? Sorcerers and curses know what that answer is, we’re just waiting to see who will get out of the way first. After that, who knows what will happen. Whoever wins will decide what is considered right, and that’ll be it.”
Sukuna hums in thought, and then rolls his shoulders back with a grumble.
“Whether that includes heart or morals, who fucking cares. The definitions keep changing anyway.”
You scowl at his aloof attitude, “I like the kinder definitions.”
The rebuttal has Sukuna’s nose scrunching with revulsion, “No offense, but there’s hundreds completely different from it. Doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.” 
The argument comes out like your heart bared between your teeth.
Sukuna is firm as he looks down his nose at you, “You aren’t the world.”
As if you expected him to say otherwise.
Even so, the snide point hits its mark, “I never said I was. I’m no saint either, but I like to think the world can be much more than you described.”
“It’s not. This is all we got.” He opens his hands wide, and the sun weaves through his fingers.
Flashes of verdant trees and distant villages scattered below snow capped mountain tops dance across the edges of his arms.
Unspeakable beauty that you swore to protect.
“It’s all you’ve got.”
You raise your chin, absorbing the outlines of the villages before whipping your head back to the grimacing curse.
“You’re right, we’re going to constantly be keeping the balance between sorcerers, humans, and curses. It’s precarious and annoying as all hell, but these are people’s lives. You may think they’re weak, but to know the world is terrible and yet choose to live among all of the curse related incidents and regular bullshit anyway is power. And what are you doing? Sure, what are some sorcerers doing? Preying on that bravery while hiding behind some preconceived notion of what power really is and what it should give them. You may try to twist your logic into justifying that humans are in the way or useless to the overall battle between stronger forces outside of their control, but my god is that not fucking exhausting and pointless as well? That’s great for you if you don’t mind it, but I do. Kill, don’t kill. If it truly doesn’t matter- If it’s all the same, why do any of it? Why choose to intentionally perpetuate more suffering if it’s going to happen without your help? You’re just- It’s fucking despicable, you know that?”
Anger burns the back of your throat and flushes your forehead with thin perspiration. 
“Maybe,” You finally say, “Yes, we are the same. I’ve done awful, irreversible things. Killed when it wasn’t necessary, but I still try. I want to keep trying to be better for the people who deserve it. Like this village. Can you understand that?”
The water stills with a silence so palpable you can feel it pressing on your chest. The spray of steam relieves little tension with its hushed puffs into the solemn, thickened air.
You don’t say anything more, and eventually Sukuna leaves the hot spring.
_________________
He doesn’t return for days.
You don’t mind it.
In fact, you hope it stays that way.
You entertain the thought with a smile, ruffling the ends of your hair to shake the water out.
The amusement follows you as you walk through the forest back home, but then you hear a noise in the trees.
“Sukuna?”
As soon as you say the name, you cover your mouth as if you’ve just accidentally uttered a secret meant only for the dead to hear. Your shoulders tense up by your ears, and you stop in the middle of the forest floor. You wait, doing your best to listen past the chirp of birds and the overbearing rhythm in your chest.
The wind is the only answer you get, however, so you manage to relax until you hear a twig snap.
You jerk your head around, and that’s when the air rushes out of your chest.
Of course, it’s him.
It’s always him.
You’re beginning to toy with the idea that this forest is haunted by an emptiness, save for you two.
“Hi.” 
Sukuna waves in a casual manner more adjacent to two friends who had unexpectedly run into each other at the market rather than a curse and the sorcerer tasked with hunting him.
“What?” You glare, crossing your arms over your chest.
“It’s very nice to see you too.”
That cheeky comment makes you roll your eyes, “Move or speak, I don’t care which one you choose.”
“You’re so scary, you know that?” He leans in close, showing all of his teeth and mimicking curling his fingers into claws around his jaw.
Another glare.
“Fine, fine.” Sukuna throws his hands up in exasperation, and then scratches the top of his head.
“Yes?”
The curse rolls his shoulders back, shifting his weight between his feet.
He seems…nervous. But that can’t be right.
The uncertain revelation is startled out of your mind by his next few words, “I was thinking about what you said. You were right.”
The words rush out in jilted succession, like he forced them to escape before he held them in for the rest of his days.
You can only stare at him, and his eyes seem stuck on yours. Like he’s searching for something akin to approval.
“A child was lost in the woods here yesterday. I came across it and…it asked if I was a bear.” He laughs at the memory, and the sound of it without any sort of mirth or irony was unnervingly pleasant and normal.
“Such a feisty little thing, calling me a rude beast and demanding a piggyback ride home to their mother. Since, according to the kid, she would be sad that they got eaten by an ugly bear. It reminded me of what you said. Humans do everything they can to live despite unfathomable conditions. It’s a power many curses lack-”
“What did you do with the child?”
You know of one local boy that matched that description, Megumi Fushigurou, all sass and adorable chubby cheeks with a penchant for berry picking in the forest until sundown and his mother feared he was lost.
“I carried it back to the village, the damn thing complained the whole way but we made it safe and sound.” Sukuna rubs the back of his neck with disdain hissing out from his canines, “Did I mention it’s a pretty convincing power?”
You swallow in epiphany, he wasn’t lying.
You had seen the little boy with his mother earlier in the day. The village hadn’t had any cases of missing residents or violent crimes for a while either.
You don’t know how Sukuna manages to read your face, but he steps forward close enough to make your breath hitch. 
“I’m apologizing, if you couldn’t tell.” He rests a hand on top of your head, a heavy warmth that matches the sudden softness of his tone.
“I’m…trying. Just like you.”
The touch is brief due to Sukuna retracting it as soon as you register the weight of his palm. Your vision startles to the curse above you, and it becomes instantly captivated.
Every inhale is noticeable, the taut expanse of his chest rising and falling more delicately than you would have guessed for a murderer like him.
Sukuna’s lashes almost brush the structured perch of his cheeks when he looks at you, and you turn on your heel as soon as the sight breaches your field of vision.
Something about how unexpectedly pretty Sukuna is always causes your stomach to churn.
“Denial goes a long way.” You shrug, and the robe you donned earlier slips off one of your shoulders, “But, you’re welcome.”
You can feel Sukuna following the fall of fabric with his eyes, “Yes, thank you.”
“Thank you too…for listening, even though I was kind of mean.”
“You’re welcome, I needed to hear it.”
Before you can help it, you peer at him from over your exposed shoulder and fail to tug the corners of your lips down to neutralize your expression.
“Does this mean you’ll stop being a murdering, pillaging asshole?”
“Maybe.” He grins and opens his arms wide, “Will you?”
You’re punching him in a heartbeat, and he guffaws so loud and openly that your resolve drops in your stomach.
It’s uncertain whether it was only for a moment then, or completely.
_________________
Sorcerers are crowded around a table, pounding its surface and causing the paper maps strewn across to crinkle and fly.
The meeting had started almost two hours ago, and both you and the elder sitting at the head of the conference looked exhausted by the possibility of being there for another second.
“He’s been too quiet.” One says, staring at the inked out rivers and mountains surrounding the town.
“Thank her for that.” Another juts his thumb at you, and you lean forward to feign biting it off before he flinches his hand back into his lap.
“We haven’t gotten any attacks since you fought him.” He mumbles, and you sit up at that fact.
“Really?”
“Yeah, we have nothing to go on. Because you didn’t finish the job, he probably fucking left.”
You blankly stare at him, and he shies away in embarrassment after the elder speaks up.
“That’s not true. The surrounding villages haven’t had any incidents. He must still be here. Laying low.”
You process the statements and theories, your mind spinning.
Right. Laying low.
Nodding along to the shouts and conversations, you pretend to agree while imagining Sukuna’s laugh.
His eyes shut in contentment while his head is thrown back and his hands clutching at his stomach or chest, the sun filtering through his hair and skirting over the immaculate planes of his face.
You can picture it so well you could practically reach out and touch him. Memorizing his features had been part of your mission while hunting for him, but lately your mind was beginning to conjure so many more different images of him than before.
Not just how he looks, but how he smells and feels. The way water and the forest laps at the tattoos on his skin.
A calming, yet incredibly distinct combination of senses.
One you hope sparks more spite the next time the curse crosses your mind.
The knowledge that Sukuna’s death is your duty simmers your temper as the sorcerers around you bicker.
You don’t grasp any desire within you to have anyone else involved.
“Calm yourselves,” You shake your head, “He’s laying low, but no one can hide forever. I’m already tracking him.”
_________________
Time only continues to pass in that perfect, little bubble you and Sukuna have created for yourselves.
The entire experience is bringing you a puzzling agony you grow less and less tolerant of.
Physically, you heal quicker than expected, and Sukuna only continues to become bolder and bolder following his own healing.
“You seem upset today.”
“Not.” The answer leaves you as forcefully as the clumps of grass you’ve been pulling out of the ground while sitting on the edge of the hot spring.
Your feet agitatedly swirl in the water, and you flick another handful of blades off to the side.
“So you are.” He wades over to you, and you place a protective hand on the hem of your robe resting across your thigh.
The act only makes him grin, so you return your focus to the decimated plants under your other palm. However,  you soon yelp in surprise when Sukuna dives head first into the water and then suddenly resurfaces between your knees.
He wraps his fingers around the curve of your thigh, “Need some relief? You being more of a brat than usual is really getting on my nerves.”
“I’m not mad. Just thinking.” You huff, sounding immensely angry.
Sukuna only seems to register the fact that you’re staying under his touch, and he sinks in his nails a bit. Not enough to draw blood, just to test the bounce of your skin and how the water transfers from his touch.
The warm water glosses over the plush of your legs, and to your horror, Sukuna bends down to observe the shifting luster more closely, the swell of his bottom lip drawing heat as it hovers near your core.
It suddenly feels too hot.
The hunger in his eyes isn’t lost on you when he tilts his head up. You didn’t know rose petals could bloom away from the earth, but the crimson of Sukuna’s eyes begs you to reconsider. Once he seems to have his fill of your shaky gaze, he ducks his head back to your lap.
“Normally, it’s kind of cute when you’re upset.” His thumbs rub circles all the way beneath your clothing and up to your hips.
The motion only ignites more fire in you, “But I’m getting concerned. The forest won’t survive if you keep tearing it up like that.”
A chuckle is imprinted in the kiss he presses to the top of your thigh, and you let out a gasp so close to a whispery soft whimper that you pray to the gods Sukuna didn’t hear it.
“I can help you feel better.” Rumbles of dark desire coat the purr of his throat as his lips tread inward, “You sound like you want to. Am I wrong?”
He heard.
Then, in one swift motion, he hoists your calves over his shoulders, and water is streaming off of his body and down the lines of his chin as his eyes meet yours.
Every drop racing down his figure incites petty jealousy in you. You want to touch him. Not in any familiar, destructive way you have previously. Gently and sinfully, with languid licks to the crevices of muscle gathering water. You want to feel his body twitch and contract, and how he groans at the rugged texture of your tongue. Your throat hollows in response to that epiphany, and then it becomes saturated with ill controlled saliva. 
At that, you swing your legs off of him, and he catches you in the crook of one of his arms as you attempt to scramble to your feet.
“Get away from me!”
The hissed out words indicate otherwise, as neither of you escape from your holds on each other.
Sukuna’s hand is bracing your forearm, and he has others wrapped around one of your ankles, on the small of your back. 
Every point of contact absolutely burns.
“You hate me, don’t you?” 
The word hate seems to have a poison specifically sharpened for your conscience.
But the answer doesn’t come to mind.
You should know the answer.
It should be easy, laughably so, rather than something bitter choking your throat.
Where did it go? Where did it leave you?
“You still do.”
It’s not an accusation from him this time, more of a wounded statement.
Murky silence is the only companion to his words, and you offer no other to join them.
Once Sukuna’s grip loosens, you manage to steady yourself and leave.
_________________
The forest clearing greets you with the chirps of crickets and birds the next time you manage to drag yourself back.
Even the bubbling of the hot spring is lively, the steam coating the air and any bare skin you have exposed.
You wait beside it in your everyday attire, needing some semblance of a barrier between you and Sukuna if he ever chose to make his appearance. The loose fitting fabric was thicker than your bathing robes, but less rigid and formal than your sorcerer uniform.
You had spent some time over the passing days to toil over your last conversation with the curse. Sukuna’s question concerning the hatred you held for him being the major thought occupying your mind.
The answer was actually quite obvious, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it any louder than the soft echo in your head yet.
Practicing it seems pathetic, but when you open your mouth to try Sukuna is striding towards you.
He has no humor in his face, all harsh corners and lines, but that entire demeanor vanishes upon seeing you stand and give him a hesitant wave in greeting.
“What’s this?” Sukuna approaches close enough to pinch the fine cloth gathered at your elbow, “You know I like what I see, you don’t have to cover up.”
The contact makes you flinch away, and a tortured look knits Sukuna’s eyebrows together.
He backs up, holding up his hands and covering up his expression with a half hearted smile.
You never thought your chest would ache at any hint of him being unhappy.
“Okay, okay. Tell you what. Kill me if you’d like.” He bargains, running a hand through his hair, “I know you hate me.”
That word again.
So much bite and emotion to it that it floods your chest with the fresh sting of tears.
“I can’t hate you!”
The outburst forces Sukuna back, and the impact seems to force his eyes wide open. 
You swallow your next few words, rethink them, swallow again.
Finally, they crawl out of your chest, “At least, not anymore.”
Truthfully you had always been better with your fists than your words, and you had never wished for the opposite until now.
Sukuna seems to register your claim, but remains silent.
You think he’s going to say something, bracing yourself for it by sweeping your eyes to the tree tops and then to the pebbles speckling the ground.
Still, Sukuna is silent.
The air becomes colder, blades of grass and your shoulders trembling. A desperation deep seated within you blooms in one last attempt to escape this mortifying mess.
“Why aren’t you saying anything?”
A passive stretch of time is the only response you get.
Motherfucker.
As if your own shame and embarrassment wasn’t enough.
Lunging at him, your hands encase his neck with a strangled sound of utter frustration.
You have your full strength now.
You could kill him now.
Then, Sukuna places his hands over yours.
Instead of tensing, you relax completely.
He runs his thumbs over your knuckles, tempering the rage encased inside.
The sentiment in his eyes is far too soft for the murderous narrowing of your own.
It’s as infuriating as it is endearing. 
You catch yourself wondering why you hold the power here, but it feels hopelessly lost when Sukuna holds you like this.
One of his hands travels across your arm, finding home in the cup of your cheek.
There it is again, his thumb stroking your skin like the shining facet of a jewel he can’t quite yet catch in the light. A breeze follows the placating touch, and you can’t tell which causes you to shiver.
He sighs, so defeated and low that you feel it mirrored in the tightness of your chest.
“If I say something…We’ll do something.”
The words ghost across his lips in the sweetest mumble you’ve ever heard. 
You blink distractedly at the movement of his mouth, pink flesh moving over white teeth, “Do what?”
Saliva pools under your tongue, and you bite down on the swell of your bottom lip to suppress the gnawing appetite rising in your stomach. 
His stare falters, his lashes fluttering down with peeks of ardent vermillion between, and then falls to the ground wordlessly.
You feel the comforting weight of it dissipate, and suddenly you’re weaker than before.
“Can you-” Your hands falter, lowering to grab at the collar of his clothing, the fabric clumping in your wobbly hands, “Just show me?”
Sukuna deftly reaches back, placing his hands along your hips and pulling you close.
You can sense fire pulsing under your skin as he continues in deliberate, measured fragments. His eyes never leave yours, all dilated pupils and honeyed warmth. He cups your lower back, the fabric beneath his palms shifting.
Gradually, he starts inching them up the sides of your waist. Squeezing and gripping portions of your curves with airy hums of thought.
You can’t breathe. 
This silence is more purposeful than the last.
You both know what it implies, though Sukuna seems intent on making that knowledge undeniably transparent.
The kiss arrives as your eyes flutter shut, and Sukuna’s lips on yours taste like mutual devastation.
He tilts his head, the kiss deepening and unfurling butterflies in your stomach.
You lightly bite down on his bottom lip before swiping your tongue across the achingly soft surface, and he immediately grants you access with a low groan. 
You don’t want to fight anymore. You want to surrender.
Curious hands roam along your body as the kiss deepens, stroking your cheek, the back of your neck and encircling your torso.
For someone so feared and strong, he possesses an astonishing gentleness that any prior replication of affection you’ve ever received now seems poor and revolting.
The tips of his fingertips skirt the hems of your clothing, and then they’re against bare skin. Soft tugs have your robes sliding down, and you gasp as the frigid temperature of air raises goosebumps over your skin. Chills kiss at your shoulder blades and up to the back of your neck.
Sukuna draws back, hooking his fingers into the fabric slung across his shoulder as he drags it over his head and reveals the familiar lines of muscle carved into his sides. The latter disappears into his pants, which reveals the tented mound between his legs. Despite the brief interruption, he presses you close to his chest the instant his top half is free from the restrictive material.
And he kisses you.
Kiss after kiss after kiss.
You occasionally flit your eyes open between locks of tongue and curse words stuck to the roof of your mouth, only to squeeze your eyes shut from enduring Sukuna firmly grabbing fistfuls of your hair.
His nails lightly graze your scalp, and he alternates between rough tugs and careful consolations down the back of your neck. 
“I’ve never desired anyone or anything more than you.” He pants, and you wince at the desperate rasp of the declaration.
Your pussy is sapped with want, and your hips sway when he rests his hands past them.
“Fuck.” Sukuna sighs, fondling the soft mounds of your ass in his palms.
He spreads them apart, and a jolt of adrenaline shoots up your spine.
“You flinched.” He chuckles, biting your ear lobe.
The electricity in the point of his canine nicking your skin has you throwing your arms around his neck, and you hide in the nape of his neck with a whimper.
Sukuna acknowledges the sound by carefully holding up your wrists one by one and then rolling your sleeves up to your forearms to undress you. The abandoned robes petal around your ankles onto the forest floor, and Sukuna returns your arms to crossing behind his neck.
He tilts his head, his eyes simmering as they rake over your bare skin,” Well, look at you.” 
Your elbows lock as your knees buckle, a sequence of motion vastly contrasting the vexed way you had gripped his neck only moments ago.
Sukuna catches you instinctively, hoisting your legs around his waist and clasping you to his front.
Your pussy drools at the flush of rigid heat pressed in the middle of your thighs, and you can hear Sukuna licking his lips as his hips support your weight, “Can you take it? I’m sure you can.”
The curve of his neck hides your face, but you know he can feel the warmth blooming on your cheeks when you stare down the scars of his back to see him tucking a thumb into his waistband.
The empty pocket between his skin and his pants only becomes more revealing, and you swallow as his entire frame soon becomes bare.
Sukuna keeps you settled close against his body, even when the cotton threads you sopped with your arousal get tugged away from you.
Then, you’re skin to skin.
You can sense his hardness before you even get a glimpse.
“F…fuck.”
The word is breathy and pained in your ear, and your own mouth falls open in a soundless gasp.
Every touch is scorching and placating at the same time, like every nerve in your body is perked and alert. So sensitive and ready that no point of contact goes unrecognized.
You want more. Need more. You can feel the ask escape your lips even as the thought fogs your mind.
The tops of your thighs are molded together by Sukuna’s heavy grip around them, and you use that to leverage your hips forward and back.
The bottom of your slit kisses the base of his cock as the length of it throbs against your stomach, and you slot your tongue into Sukuna’s mouth with reckless abandon.
“You-” Sukuna begins, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip, “Are so cute like this. All desperate and needy.”
“Shut up.” You reply simply, sucking at the corner of his mouth with continued fervor.
The meaningless command has him chuckling, but then the back of your neck is wrapped in his palm.
“Sure, I’ll shut you up.”
He deepens the kiss the next time his cupid’s bow meets your own, and your mind is so fuzzy you hardly register that Sukuna has carried you into the hot spring.
The humid heat of it rises along your waist, and Sukuna trails a few affectionate kisses along your jawline and down behind your ear before swiveling your hips to have you face away from him.
Droplets of water cascade down the slope of your back, and a wanton cry escapes your throat when Sukuna stripes them up to your shoulder blades with the point of his tongue.
You buck your hips back at the touch, whining when you feel his length behind you.
This seems to encourage him to explore your back with consideration, eventually lifting your hips and hissing out a strained sound of gratification when the tip of his cock prods at your entrance.
Strings of water and precum adorn the crown of his swollen cockhead, and you slightly wriggle your hips to get more of it inside.
“Put it in.” You demand softly, biting your lip as you attempt to peek over your shoulder and down your back.
Sukuna automatically brings your hips lower, and your eyelashes flutter as he gradually guides you onto his girth.
“Mhm- Yeah, put it in. More.” Your tongue unfurls, and Sukuna swears from the excitement in your voice.
“Oh fuck yes.” He lets out a gasp so full of primal wonder that it comes out as more of a growl, his eyelids flitting over his rolled up eyes.
The whites of his gaze belatedly return to those scarlet irises you adore, his mouth remaining slacked with a strained moan when he draws his hips back.
“Feels good?” You manage to pant, digging your nails into the back of his wrists.
“I love it. Thank you, the sweetest girl for me.”
The sting of his cock stretching open your walls is so addictive that the languid slides into your slick heat are audible.
“Thank you-mm. Fuck, thank you.”
Sukuna crouches to lick at the shell of your ear with a lengthy curl of his tongue, “Best pussy I’ve ever fucking felt.”
You spend some time drinking in each other’s moans, how your bodies fit together and the symphony of movement driving your shared pleasure.
Little time is spared by you for further speaking, and Sukuna quickly learns how to read your every flinch and wail.
He finds the perfect pace to bounce you up and down his cock, the aching preference you have for his tongue twisting around yours as you ride out your orgasms along the thick spine of his girth.
“Is this good?” He asks, full well knowing the answer, “Is this spot good?”
“You’re doing it wrong.” You huff, sarcasm punctuating the lie.
An immediate pause.
“Am I?” Sukuna grinds lazily against your sticky walls, “This isn’t the right way?”
Your mouth falls open, and you spread your legs wider as your insides wind snugly around his cock. 
He plunges inside more slowly, nudging at your cheek with his nose, “Tell me how wrong it is.”
Utterly stuffed, no other argument escapes you.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” The curse smirks, but even the upturned corner of his mouth in your peripheral wobbles.
It’s incredibly adorable, but you have little time to dwell on it when Sukuna begins to slam into you faster.
You can sense him everywhere now, gripping your arms, his lips sucking soft spots onto your neck, and his hips grinding into yours until your mind is foggy and your screams turn coarse.
“God, your pussy just melts on my cock. Such a bratty cunt, but fuck - Think I like spoling you. Giving you what you need even when you can't ask for it.”
He draws out the curse, gunning into your cunt recklessly. You can feel the plush of your ass rippling against the constant pistoning of his hips.
“You feel that too? You feeling my dick? Good. Good.”
Every compliment hangs off of his tongue like he doesn’t want it to leave before he can get another quick and purposeful thrust in. Threads of thick saliva and precum knit your mutual bliss together, and you can feel his unruly cockhead rubbing creamy circles into the ceiling of your pussy.
“So wet.” Sukuna’s tongue clicks beside your ear while he continues fucking you up and down his lap in buzzing pulses.
He has an uncanny sense of when you’re close to the edge, as he’ll reel his hips back and only resume motion after your tightness minimally subsides. 
The lack of release has you feeling entirely helpless, even though every time Sukuna is back to ramming your insides to near completion, you become so stupidly out of touch you forget the consequences and take it.
Every. Fucking. Time.
Not talking was a choice before, but now it’s an impossibility, only your cries punctuating the air with shamelessness.
Your pussy is runny and sloppy from the overflow of desperation. The loud squish of it is echoed by the excited hums of approval Sukuna allows to coat the back of your neck.
“Hey, I love you. You know that right?”
Sukuna bends your throat up higher, kissing and tonguing at the spots of it that he can access between his fingers. 
“I love you. You’re mine.”
“You love me?” The question comes out garbled and pathetic, but it makes Sukuna kiss behind your earlobe with a tenderness you never thought could exist.
“I do. I love you. Just look at you.” He strains, one of his hands pressing down on your stomach.
“Oh God,” You observe the brutal penetration beneath you with awe, “What do I do?”
You don’t know why you’re asking, you just feel as though you have to ask him.
“What - do I -” The question is barely comprehensible with cries and ecstatic moans, but Sukuna answers you anyway.
“Take it. Take it all.”
The simple suggestion has your muscles clenching before you fully relax.
“That’s it. T-That’s it. Just like you’ve been doing-shit. Right there, yeah? I got it.” Sukuna pants, and when you crane your cheek back you catch a glimpse of the wild carnage in his glossy, dilated pupils.
It feeds your ego much more than it should.
“You’ve done it. You’re killing me.” He shudders, shoving you onto his cock with so much need that you can hardly tell one thrust from the next.
You gasp out as you clutch at the back of Sukuna’s neck, staring at him with widely blown out pupils and shaky breaths.
“Then, die for me.”
His lips are on yours before you can even finish the sentiment, as if he was eager to accept the total mercy of death as long as it was under your hand.
Sukuna’s hips continue gunning upwards into your flooded cunt, his tongue slotting into your mouth with whiny urgency and his arms tightening around your convulsing figure.
You feel like you’re bursting at the seams, cloudy and dumb with nothing but the heat of Sukuna’s body in your head.
You can feel yourself all over the fat, greedy rushes of his cock.
A warm and gushy mess saturated with praise and pleasure.
“Sukuna!”
The name leaves your mouth with an eruption of paradise springing from your sex, and Sukuna holds you as your body seizes with quivers.
He keeps you upright, doing those slow pumps that drove you crazy back when you were desperate to cum.
Now, they are soothing and filling. Sensual.
Sukuna lets you ride out your high until you’re loose and hoarse in his hold.
Feeling totally spent, you let him rearrange you against his frame and he gives the crown of your head a soft kiss once your cheek is leaning against his collarbone.
“Can I see?” He taps your lower back, voice rough and entreating.
You raise your head, and then provide him with a sleepy nod.
Sukuna pecks your forehead with a grin, and then effortlessly picks you up to rest your thighs over his shoulders.
“Oh wow.” He says, as if witnessing something so wondrous and rare that he can’t tear his gaze away from the sight.
The low exclamation makes you involuntarily squeeze and drip, creamy traces of Sukuna’s fluids oozing out with your own.
You can almost see the want spark in his eyes, deep maroon and curious.
He interlocks two of his hands behind your spine, using another hand to spread your lips apart and swallowing hard when your pussy seeps out more of your shared arousal. 
The last of his hands reaches out to rub at your clit with the pad of a finger, and Sukuna licks his lips when you wind your hips down to meet his finger faster.
He looks up at you, a wordless ask, and you answer by tugging his head toward your core.
Sukuna reacts with a muffled grunt, lolling out his tongue and loudly lapping up your juices the second his tongue gets a taste of you.
You squirm in his hold, “Oh god, Sukuna!”
He pinches your slippery nub between his fingers, poking his tongue into the bottom of your leaking slit and then scooping his tongue upwards through the seams.
His taste buds sweep against the grip of your walls, and harsh breaths line your throat as he selfishly explores every inch of your pussy that he already laid to waste with his cock.
“Finish one more time for me.” He rapidly murmurs, his nails digging into your thighs.
“I d-don’t think I can!” You squeak, afraid that the knot in your stomach will snap much more intensely than the first time.
Sukuna seems to take that as a challenge.
He’s undeniable, scorching your flesh with determination and ardent gulps. The tip and flat of his tongue aggressively writhe inside and squelch along your wetness. It’s nearly unbelievable how turned on you are from seeing one of the most powerful curses in the world buried in your cunt.
Your center only becomes more and more taut, which forces Sukuna to act even more starved. The point of Sukuna’s nose bumps against your engorged nub, and he spends such a dedicated amount of time outlining your most sensitive spots with his tongue that your eyes roll into black.
He latches his mouth around your sore bud, flicking and swirling his tongue around it until you mewl his name over and over again.
Liquid bliss coats his tongue, and you can vaguely feel the tired smirk when he makes you cum in his mouth one last time.
Exhaustion sets in hard for you as well, and Sukuna catches you in his arms to return you to his lap.
Once you’re settled again, Sukuna grants you another passionate kiss on the lips. Tasting yourself on his tongue has you wanting more of him, but the heavy drag of your eyelids dissuades you from asking for more.
Although you know now that he would do anything for you.
“I was always looking for you.” You breathe, the authenticity of your admission lighting up Sukuna’s visage.
He is so beautiful like that, eyes glistening with obvious affection and a weary beam. The blossom shade of his hair is damp and raked back, and the olive of his skin is covered with streams of water from the hot spring. A light sheen of sweat also adorns the nape of his neck and biceps, and you can start to see the extensive sanguine marks you raked over his toned body. One traverses from the dark, buzzed undercut behind his ear to the top of the black design on his shoulder.
You weakly raise a hand to relieve the broken skin there, but Sukuna catches your hand in his.
He moves stray strands of hair from around your eyes, pressing his lips wherever he can under your eyes and across your cheeks.
“Thank you for always letting me find you.”
Sleep comes to you remarkably easy after that.
_________________
Morning sun skims the dips of your face once you wake up.
You squint your eyes, wondering why you no longer smell the earthiness of the forest.
“Good morning.”
The drowsy greeting catches your attention instantly, and you sit up to find yourself in your own bed.
“How-?”
You turn and nearly collide your nose with his chest.
“Easy.” He encircles your shoulders, comfortingly enveloping you in a warm embrace, “First, say good morning back.”
You relax, tentatively reaching up to return the hug, “Good morning.”
Somehow, you can sense the charmed smile spreading across his face, even as he rests his chin atop your head.
He deeply inhales, his large hands moving along your back as you breathe alongside him.
“Better?” Sukuna prompts after a brief passage of time.
“So much better.”
His smile widens, “Good.”
“How did we get here?” You yawn, peering over his shoulder at the scattered sunlight in your bedroom.
“I carried you.” 
You reel back to gape at him with a dubious raise of your brow, “You know where I live?” 
“I followed you home once.” He states matter-of-factly.
Clear offense sprawls across your facial features, “No, you didn’t. I would have sensed you.” 
“Not when you were all pouty and angry with me. It was cute seeing you stomp into your house.”
“Uh huh.” You somewhat acquiesce.
Sukuna’s solid frame shakes with a hearty laugh before he addresses you with a more remorseful tone, “I just had to make sure you got home safely. You’re perfectly capable alone, but you didn’t seem to be in your right mind...I’m sorry, I swear I left as soon as you went in.”
He runs his fingers through your hair as you listen, but all you can think about is how difficult it is to have any lasting anger towards him.
Forgiveness punctuates your subsequent sigh, a drawn out and desolate sound, “I don’t know what to do now. With all the hatred I had for you.”
“For me it’s the same passion, only the direction has changed.” Sukuna softens your shoulder with a delicate kiss.
You reach up to cradle his jaw in the heel of your palm, lightly scratching his hair with your other hand, “What are we going to do?” 
“What would you like for us to do?”
“I want to kill you.” You admit honestly, but with no malice.
Sukuna shrugs with a smitten beam, “You’re the only one who could.”
You smack his bicep, “Sukuna I’m serious! What are we going to do?”
The curse shrugs again, cracking his neck to one side, “We can stage our deaths and run away I suppose. Build a home in the mountains and live there until we’re old and gray. Or, we can live from place to place, see everything there is to see. You’re smarter than me, so whatever you decide. I just don’t want to fight anymore, now that I have you to take care of.”
He twirls a piece of your hair around his finger, watching the light shift in your eyes as you take in the candid suggestions.
“What do you think of that, sweetheart?”
Appreciation floods your chest, “I like those ideas, actually.”
The corners of his eyes crescent with amusement, and then he lets out a thoughtful hum as he draws random shapes into your cheek.
“There will be time for all of that later though. For now, what do you want to do?”
You pause to think over his question, and then resolve to snuggle back into his embrace.
“I want to stay right here. Just like this.”
Sukuna lightly strokes the back of your scalp and then kisses your temple with a content sigh, his lips moving reverently over the skin there.
“How did I get so lucky?”
_________________
End Notes:
hahahaha. i liked this. it just kept getting longer and longer so i just gave in😩😩 it's p much a multichapter fic lowkey LOL but thanks again for requesting! really enjoyed writing this one :)💖💞
ps. i'd like to talk about this one a bit more so if anyone wants to comment or send an ask about it i will reply in-depth!!💝 tyyy<3
2K notes · View notes
yeyinde · 1 year
Text
in undertow | Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!Reader
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They won’t shut up about why he wears the mask. 
This isn't anything new. You've heard it all before. 
Maybe, then, it's the rookie inside of you still burning to be included, to be acknowledged, accepted, that makes you flick your mic on with a single press of your stupid little finger. Makes you open your stupid little mouth, and say: 
"You're all wrong, boys; he's just keeping my seat warm." 
(a joke at your lieutenant's expense has unexpected consequences.)
part ii
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tw: gratuitous smut; unfettered filth; face-sitting: oral - f!receiving; female!reader; male-solo: Ghost makes himself cum whilst drowning in pussy; some plot. kinda. but it’s mostly 7K+ of clownfoolery
notes: Ghost eats pussy like he’s starving. that’s it. that’s all, folks. 
(also, this is so thirsty. this man is making me feral. send help pls)
*bonnie-scottish term of endearment, kinda similar to hen or lass, and is not a name. MC is not named.
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  It's not uncommon to tune into a channel on downtime, and hear your Lieutenant being mentioned in some manner or another. 
Ghost is infamous. Legendary. The men in your unit, and the ones you ally up with, are–in equal measure–his biggest fan, and his bitter rival. 
It's all one-sided, of course. If Ghost was any other man, you'd confidently say that he didn't even know who they were, but he isn't. And he does. Which, of course, makes the rivalry all that more bitter, blistering, when he refuses to acknowledge their challenges. 
He proves himself time and time again, and isn't even trying to. 
So, they flex their arms– see, bigger than yours –but he hardly notices, much to their chagrin. 
Sometimes, they'd turn to you–the unofficial arbitrator, a denomination that seemed unanimously decided on by the whole team; Ghost, bemusingly, included–and ask stupid questions:
Who's arms are bigger? Mine, come have a feel, lass. 
Ghost seemed decidedly tolerant of these moments, watching with those dangerous eyes as your hands flexed around the bulk of your teammates' bicep, cooing cloyingly at him. Ooh, working out, I see. Feels like the leg of a fawn!  
Now 'im, they'd say, your heart would warble in your chest.
A strange, off-rhythm pulse that almost hurt. He'd match your gaze when you looked over your shoulder, peering at the imposing man lurking in the midst of everyone else. Firm, steady. Unflinching. He'd hold it, always.
He does that, doesn't he? 
When Ghost looks at you, the air in your lungs dissipates; dissolves into ashes, then into smoke. 
(Sometimes, he stares at you, and it feels like a challenge. Like he's waiting for something.) 
Your smile folds, wan. Lieutenant–
Go on, then! He ain't bigger than me.
It turns several shades of apologetic when you slide up to him, palms spread flat, docile. Walking up to him feels like approaching a predator. Any sudden movements, and he'll have your neck between his jowls. He never would, you know this deep down. But still. 
You, uh, don't have to let me. 
His head would duck down–too tall to look at you without bringing a kink to his neck–and his eyes would waver in the light. Midnight black to charcoal. Smoke. Ash. The same taste in your lungs. 
S'alright. He'd prop his arm up for you, eyes dancing. Best get it done with before these geezers get into a fit.
He doesn't look away. Doesn't break contact. It's intense. Too much. 
You demure.
You're not submissive to anyone. Your teammates, the enemy, politicians–no one makes you break. No one makes your chin lower to your chest, your eyes drop. You can't–not, really. Not here. Not in this world where everyone is looking at you like you're too soft, too vulnerable, to be of any use. When even your teammates slip sometimes, try to carry you despite knowing how capable you are on your own. 
The hurdle you have to fling yourself over just to prove yourself to your teammates, your backers, is a skyscraper. 
They call you Nile –the moniker born from the startling resemblance to the aggressive, territorial crocodiles that live in the water–and you do your best to live up to the comparison. 
You don't shy away from anyone. 
Except him. 
Your eyes fix on your feet. Hands tremble as they slide over the hard muscle of his biceps–firm, unyielding: flesh-covered iron. Your stomach in knots. Chest too tight. 
Ghost's eyes are glued to your face. His muscles flex under your exploratory fingers. Ticking, bulging. His flesh jumps when you touch him. The heat of his skin sear your fingertips, so hot you think it might burn the prints off your hands. 
You both love and hate these moments. 
When hypoxia flashes through your head–dizzying, nauseating–you step back, clear your throat, and stammer out the winner. 
Ghost, always Ghost.
His eyes are shades lighter. Slate-grey, now. Amusement, you think. 
The men around you riot, demanding a rematch. 
(You blame it on testosterone.)
One such occurrence happens to be right now. The comm is clogged with feverish conspiracy theories as to why Ghost wears the mask ranging from the grounded (to conceal his identity–he's a big OP: can't go showing his ugly mug to everyone) to the absurd (he's probably hideously deformed; heard he took a hit to the face–considering what I heard is under there, I'd say he's doing us all a favour), and everything in-between. 
This isn't anything new. You've heard it all before. 
Maybe, then, it's the rookie inside of you still burning to be included, to be acknowledged, accepted, that makes you flick your mic on with a single press of your stupid little finger. Makes you open your stupid little mouth, and say: 
"You're all wrong, boys," you purr, eyes fixed on the weapon you were tinkering with. "He's just keeping my seat warm." 
The line goes pin-drop silent. A poignant shush. It's so eerily, unnaturally quiet on the comm, that you look up, blinking. Was it frozen? 
You glance at the computer, checking the channel to see if you'd changed it by accident. It's on. And–
Open, it says. Open mic. Open broadcast. 
It never occurred to you to check the channel they were using. 
It's not a private one between groups; it's the main one. 
Why would these bellends use the main comm to talk about a man, their superior officer, on the channel he preferred, the one he was always tuned into? 
You pale. Stupid, stupid, stupid. 
You blame your stupid little mouth, and testosterone. Mostly, testosterone. 
Maybe, Ghost wasn't listening. Maybe, he –
"Jesus Christ," Soap groans after several agonising seconds. Soap, who was on recon with Ghost. Soap, who was with Ghost. Soap who –
The line falls dead once more. No one says anything. Not even a murmur of how well and truly fucked you are. Then, it crackles again. You jump, tensing. Please be some stupid rookie. Please be someone else. Please don't be–
"Fuckin' hell," comes the brassy timbre, the sandpaper tone scratching your ear. 
You shiver. You're fired. No, no–they can't fire you, you know too much. You're dead. You're–
"Rookie," he barks. You struggle to stifle a whimper. "Report to me when I get back." 
You weakly stammer out a yes, sir, Lieutenant, sir.
"And everyone else – get off the main channel." 
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    Nervous would be an understatement. 
It's the crushing weight of utter humiliation, embarrassment, and shame all admixing into an imbroglio of dire consequences looming ahead. Your stomach is in knots. 
There are murmurs of sympathy from the others when they eventually make their way back into the pseudo-compound, but you notice none of it. Eyes fixed on a crack in the concrete. Shoulders up to your ears. Cheeks stained the colour of the Russian oligarch you gunned down the night prior. 
Nile is nowhere to be found. You're no longer the wet-behind-the-ears Rookie, barely of legal age, as you clamber through the ranks in a spiteful, feverish effort to prove yourself. Now, a fully fleshed adult: moulded by your determination and grit to persevere.
You're the little girl pushed to the pavement. Skinned knees, blistered palms. Drenched in rain, and told you're not enough. 
"Fuck me," comes the slurred drawl of Soap. You flinch. 
"Yeah," you agree. 
No words need to be said. You're done. Over. You stroke the barrel of your rifle, and wonder if you'll be forced into an office job, running the numbers, working in a barren cubicle that sinks of fresh paper and ink. The only action comes from Martha's affair with Josh in Finance. 
"Y'know…," he adds, because apparently, some words need to be said. Your gaze flickers toward him. He leans against the metal pillar, arms folded. "Never seen the Lieutenant speechless before." 
You let out a whimper. Fucked, royally, of course–Soap only confirms what you already know. What you've known the moment you looked up, a stupid little smirk on your stupid little face, and saw the meagre amount of respect you clobbered together from your Lonewolf–actions have consequences and if it were you or the mission, don't even bother asking what his choice is Lieutenant being summarily flushed down into the depths. Obliterated because you couldn't keep your stupid little mouth shut. 
Because you heard ugly and deformed and immediately thought of smoke. Ashes. Gasoline. Gunpowder. Firm biceps that leapt at your touch–the only man to do so when you feigned annoyance and reluctantly felt them up–and the velvet steel of his bulk. Your hands didn't fit around the thick of him. It made your head dizzy. Made your heart ache. Heat throbbing between your legs in a way that most men never even accomplished with you spread out and willing. And–
Eyes darker than the ocean, framed by ashen lashes that fluttered when he glanced down at you, brushing over the coal smeared around his face. 
You thought of him–that stupid Cockney mouth and those stupid jokes–and how – how stupid he makes you, and you – 
Stupid.
Full stop. End. Done. Fin. 
Maybe, you can grovel for transfer. Please don't kick me out completely, I've done so much to simply prove myself – more than most of the men here because I've had to, and I don't want to lose it all because I'm–
"Stupid." You spit the word like a curse. 
Beside you, Soap huffs. 
"Ain't the only one, bonnie."
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    Shame blisters your cheeks, and the burn of it makes you a coward. Weak. 
You spend the rest of the day idling away in your makeshift quarters (a closet, really) in the compound loaned by the government who requested your aid. Stiff-limbed, you lay back on the cot, and try to commit everything around you to memory. 
Noises from the men downstairs. Chatter and laughter. Loud and raucous. The heady scent of testosterone is thick in the air, mixing with the cloying tang of cigarette smoke, cigars, and the bitter taste of gun oil. Kerosene rich, and stifling. 
The bed is lumpy, but in the middle of nowhere luxury is hardly needed when you're making a massacre of men who want to start a war. It's far more than you'd gotten before. Alvarez jokes, saying at least it isn't the ground. You're inclined to agree. 
Your gear sits in the corner, tightly packed as it had been when you'd first arrived, and dropped it there. You never unpack your things. Experience gives you the foresight to know it's useless, dangerous. Your location can be slipped at a moment's notice. Gunfire ripping through the metal on a whim. 
Ghost never unpacks, either. Soap. Most of the men here don't.
But now you wish you had.
The pile of it feels like an omen as it sits, mocking you; ready to go when you're given the boot. 
You wrench your eyes away from it when the salty burn of tears you haven't shed since Porthmadog rear. It's fine. You clench your fists into tight balls by your side. It'll be okay. You'll get on–your experience and insight make you a desirable name to have; someone lusted after when they needed intel only you managed to wiggle out, and get. Another team will be easy to find once the politicians paying for them read about your exploits. 
On paper, anyway. 
Nile is a name that makes their fingers spasm. 
You, however, are a name that makes them hesitate. 
You'll have to start at the bottom again. Kissing the gravel with your palms once more; struggling to find your foothold along the chossy that wants you weak. Wants you broken, and docile. Obedient. 
Ghost never asked that of you. 
He looked at you, hands curled into half-moons by your side, eyes unwavering as you glared at the man backing the mission, and ground out your accomplishments like you were spitting in his face. 
"I don't know…" he started, hesitating; his eyes flickering down the length of your body. Too small compared to the men they'd seen before you. Too fragile. Giving. 
All at once, you were back in Porthmadog. Salt on your cheeks. In the air. Your throat. Gravel digging into your palms. Broken down into a crushed shell with nothing inside. It was the day you realised you were empty. Hollow. Nothing. Vacant. A vacuum. 
Worthless. 
What good is a man if he has nothing to lose? Ghost speaks for the first time, and your eyes find his through the palpable cloud of rejection. So, what've you got to lose, soldier? 
Soldier. Not girl, not Dame, not Duchess, Princess. Soldier. 
You square your shoulders, eyes blazing. Everything, you vow. All the substance you pushed inside of the barren landscape of who you once were, filling it with purpose, and dignity. A reason to live. A reason to be. Everything. 
His head tipped back. The whites of his eyes were fuller under the flushed lamp on the desk. 
Inside, you could almost glimpse that same emptiness you found when they'd broken you into pieces, and nothing spilt out. 
"A'right." He nods. "Welcome to the team." 
The team. The patchwork family of people far too unhinged to fit into the rest of the world. Names and faces came and went. Many were lost to the effort, to the cause. Time to mourn took place outside of this microcosm when no one was around to see you break. 
You'll miss them. It rings out in the hollow gap between your rib and your heart, an aching sting that has your hands spasming around the sheets to stem the sudden hurt. Fuck, you'll really miss these goddamn idiots. 
And Ghost, too.
The prickly leader who says he'd sacrifice all of you if it meant finishing the mission, but still throws himself into the fire so none of you gets burnt. The man who bites at your heels, snaps at your attempts to get closer, but brushes his fingers along the seam of your arm, chin jerking toward the only closet in the compound where he'd dropped your cot. 
Up there, soldier.  
He's a bastard of the worst kind. Surly, mean, and gruff around the edges, but he's a good man despite what he says. He's a great leader–the best, undoubtedly, that you've ever had. That you will have. 
And you might be a little bit in too deep already. Washed out to sea in the middle of a hurricane, and left floundering as waves crashed over you in the form of a brutal, off-limits affection for a man who keeps everyone at a distance. 
Maybe, this is for the best. Leaving here now, when these feelings are simply tugging at you, and not yet dragging you under. It might be a better alternative than being discovered with your head under the waves, and your lungs filled with salt from the sea. 
It's better this way, then. 
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    The call comes hours later. The compound is empty. Silent. Your comm rings, and it feels like a guillotine being hoisted into position. 
Right. 
You haul yourself out of the cot, and go meet your end. 
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    You will yourself not to demure under the heavy slate of his eyes, but it's futile. You wilt, pathetically submissive to this behemoth of a man. Face downcast, shoulders hunched. 
"Let's not fuck about, alright?" the gritty timber of his voice makes your chest shudder. 
You nod. Sharp, and deep. Dutiful soldier. You brace yourself for it. He won't draw it out. He isn't the type. 
But you falter when his hands tug on the end of his mask. 
"Keepin' it warm, huh?" He asks, but you know by the tone alone that it's rhetorical. 
"Sir, I–" you falter, stammering into a terse silence. What excuse do you have? 
"Well," he asks, lifting his head. Eyes brand your body. The command is clear. "Aren't you comin' to take your seat, Rookie?"
You sputter. Shattering. The world as you know it flips on its axis. Upside down and wrong. 
It's a joke. It has to be. A cruel one. A bad dream that will leave you in aching shambles when you wake, stealing with it a piece of yourself that you'll never reclaim. Another etch in the exterior of who you are. A fracture. 
"S-sir–," you gasp, choking on the word when his hands lift, pulling up the bottom of his mask until a full, pink mouth is revealed to you. "What–"
"It's gettin' cold, now." 
Seeing him speak is blindsiding. You're so used to painted jowls moving, a mockery of bared, white teeth, and a warped jawbone. This is – this is too much. This is – 
Not good. 
Ghost doesn't seem bothered at all when he settles, leaning on the back of the desk, eyes burning through you. Bulging forearms cross over his massive chest. The ripple of ink flexing, breathing, with his impatience that thrums in the air like a heartbeat. 
"Best hurry up." His tongue–his fucking tongue; blood-red and wet –flicks out, gliding over chapped lips.
"Lieutenant–," his title is a strangled wince from the depths of your bewilderment, flavoured with uncertainty. "This is–is a joke, yeah?"
His head tilts. "Do I look like the joking type?"
And that's such a misleading question. So utterly stupid, you choke a little on a bark of hysterical laughter. 
"How am I supposed to answer that?"
"Or were you joking, soldier?" 
The breath sucked in between clenched teeth is audible. 
"Fuckin' hell," he rasps in response. "Then stop muckin' about and get over here if you want it."
If you want it. 
He addresses the power imbalance by placing the choice in your hands. By giving you the freedom to decide what to do with this. Take the step, or leave his office, and never speak of this moment again. 
If you stay– sit on his face –you're not entirely sure how you'll handle being around him afterwards. Will it be a–a thing? A one-off? 
And could it just be a one-time thing for you? Once you have him so intimately, can you forget it, move on? Go back to the pining. The slow descent into an inescapable chasm where you have feelings– blasphemous –for your Lieutenant. For Ghost.
But could you just walk away from this? 
You don't know. Neither question has a clear answer, and you're once again treading frothing waters. Left to sink or swim all on your own. 
Ghost says nothing while you mull it over, but there's a weight in his gaze that makes your stomach prickle with want. A heaviness inside the inky black of his stare that makes your thighs squeeze together, pussy aching with need. 
The choice is pretty obvious.
Your hands drop to your trousers, fingers peeling off the buttons. 
For once, your eyes never leave his. 
For the first time, Ghost is the one to look away. 
His tongue slides out again when you wiggle out of your pants, thumbs crooked in the band of your panties, until you're bared before him. Your trousers pooling at your ankles. Panties caught on your calves. 
His swallow is a gunshot. It clicks in his throat. 
"Christ, Princess." 
You step out of them, licking your lips. "No muckin' about." 
His eyes darken at your words. "Get the fuck over here, then." 
"Is that an order?" 
"Affirmative, soldier."
With your approach, he sinks to his knees on the floor, eyes only for you. His breath is haggard when he catches a glimpse of your cunt when you're less than an arm length away from him, eyes fixed on your mound. 
"M'gonna touch you, now." His head lifts, stare bores into you. 
The brass in his voice makes your belly tingle, makes heat bloom inside of you. It has you whimpering your consent, and the moment it leaves your throat, his hands–fever hot and rough–are on you. 
They settle, heavy and firm, on your hips, pulling your stomach into his face. The plastic of his mask digs into your skin when he presses his covered nose above your mound, breathing in deeply. 
His eyes flutter shut. Ashen lashes brush over the bulge of his mask where it sits, piled up, on the bridge of his nose. You want to reach out, and touch. Slip your fingers through his hair. Cup his jaw. You want to press your mouth against his, and taste the flavour of his tongue. You want, you want – 
His eyes snap open. Black holes. Unfathomably deep, and quivering around the edges. 
"C'mon, Princess," his voice sounds like it was wrenched through barbed wire, smokey and thick. "Kept it nice and warm for you." 
You can't stop the shiver that rockets down your spine at his tone, dark and primal. He looks at you, and you feel like a meal. A lavish banquet in face of a man starved. 
"Fuck, Ghost–" you moan, your hips jerking in his hold. 
"Simon," he rasps, tongue flicking over to taste the skin of your mound. You feel the knick of teeth, grazing and blunt, and it almost wrecks you. He hadn't even started, and your knees are practically knocking together; cunt dripping slick down your thighs. 
His hand glides down the curve of your flesh until he meets the seam of your legs. "Spread 'em, pet. I wanna see your pretty cunt." 
Fuck–
Your knees quiver, almost giving out under you at the base tone, drenched in the slick coil of want, hunger. He's there, hands firm and unyielding on your body, a low chuckle falling from his lips when he catches the shake in your legs. 
"Little fawn is just achin' for it, ain't you?" 
"Please, Simon –" he pulls your thighs apart, peering at the apex where your glistening sex is waiting for him. 
He buries his head in your belly, groaning at the sight of you–all pretty and pink for him, and so wet he can see where it leaks out, drenching your flesh. 
"Fuck, pet," he grinds the words out from between clenched teeth, inhaling deeply as if he can't get enough of your scent. "You're gonna make a mess outta me, aren't you?" 
You've never heard him sound so excited before. The tremble in his voice is enough to keel you over, sending you toppling down into an inescapable abyss where his eyes brand your flesh, and his mouth devours you whole. 
Your hands fall to his shoulders. The plea you utter is painted in the colour of desperation, and it makes his eyes flutter again, makes them spume with that white-hot desire, that dark promise of how much he's going to ruin you. 
He takes one last breath, nose pushed against the bottom of your mound, as close to your pussy as he can get, and he moves. 
One of the things you've never really understood was how a man so massive managed to move the way he did. Agile, lithe. Like his body was elastic. Liquid. 
He's on the floor, mask pulled up high until his nose and mouth are bared to you, and then he's beckoning you forward with a crook of his finger. His eyes burn like wildfires when you tremble down beside him–all of your honed, practised grace dissolving into nothing with just a flick of his too-red tongue wetting his lips for you. 
You fumble, pussy clenching with the thought of having his mouth on you–soon, so soon; and yet, not nearly quick enough–and settle before him, kneeling by his head. 
"C'mon," he snarls, the bite in his tone blistering. 
It has you whimpering, cunt spasming at the urgency, the impatience, in your once-cold leader. Distant, unshakable. You've never seen him so eager, nearly driven mad by the frustration of not already having your weeping slit on him, the taste of you on his tongue. 
You've never sat on someone's face before. When you tell him this, his eyes shudder, blunt teeth digging into his lower lip to keep the filthy groan from rolling out. 
You can't say shit like that, he grouses, his hands gripping your hip, pulling you closer. 
He helps you settle over him, thighs spread over his head, ass resting on his chest.
His eyes are glued to your cunt as it opens up for him. 
There is a war raging inside of you, one that taints the room with the scent of ichor. It fuels you, makes you bite your lip, coy and playful, and notch your knees further apart until you're bared, fully, to him. Fingers slipping over the hem of your shirt, hiking it up so he can see all of you. Teeth sink into the end of it, keeping it up as your hands drop–one to your covered nipple, the other to your soaked pussy. Two fingers glide over your mound, your clit sitting in the V. You spread them slowly, splitting your folds apart. 
Your cunt pulses with the vibrations of his chest as he groans again, low and deep, at the sight of you spread out before him. A breath away from his lips. 
It feels like a battle when his hand grips your flesh until it bubbles between his fingers. You'll be bruised when he's finished–a mosaic of black and blue and purple and yellow; a palette startlingly similar to his own–and it's the notion of his mark on your body, the proof of that his indomitable man, this untouchable entity, was between your thighs, gazing at you as if he wanted nothing more than the pink folds of your swollen slit on his tongue. 
You shiver. Pleasure stroking through your body as your knuckles graze your clit. 
You're not submissive to anyone–can't afford to be in this world–and you feel the swell of that intoxicating confidence return to you, the incipient spume of what made them liken you to an apex predator, one who hunted human men for sport pooling inside of you. 
Does he see it when his lids lift, eyes seeking yours instantly. Does he read in the list of your head? The flutter of your lashes. You drop your shirt. Your hand falls to the side of his face, the brush of his skin on your fingertips somehow more intimate than this. He's warm. Feverish. You burn, too. 
"Is my seat ready?" You purr, belly filling with victory when his eyes twitch, lowering back to your aching cunt. 
"Always," he grunts, a soft sound polluting the word with the noxious promise of more.  
You shudder, panting, now as you rock forward onto your knees, arched over his mouth. 
Ghost's hands settle on the outside of your spread thighs, fingers gripping your flesh. He tugs, harsh and demanding, and you quickly settle, body turning into malleable polymer in his burning hands. He manoeuvres you until your pussy is right where he wants it, eyes flickering up, catching your glossy gaze. He holds it, lashes fluttering as he inhales, deep and long, and then breathes it out through his mouth, warm breath ghosting over your exposed, slick cunt. 
"Well?" He drawls, the word nearly shredded and raw when it slips out of his throat. "You gonna take your seat, pet?"
You shudder again, shoulders tensing so tight, it aches. Pet. Pet. Pet. Fuck – 
"Yeah," it's a whisper, a gasp. Needy and quivering. 
Your hand moves from his face, fingers chilled without his warm skin against them, and you settle it on the desk beside you, muscles in your thighs straining as you slowly position your sopping wet cunt over your Lieutenant's waiting mouth. 
His lips brush the seam of your pussy, and the groan he lets out rumbles over your flesh. Liquid pleasure blooms. He hasn't even touched you yet, and you're already aching for release. Already inching toward that precipice. 
When you're close enough, he pulls; glueing you to his mouth. He wastes no time before diving in. 
His tongue laves over your drenched folds, dipping inside your swollen pussy to dance over your aching clit, your throbbing hole. You press your wrist to your mouth, biting down hard to stifle the moans that threaten to spill out–somehow more taboo than having your Lieutenant eating your pussy out like he's starved for it. 
Pain blooms on the fat of your ass cheek, your surprised gasp swallowing the sound of his hand smacking your flesh.
"I want to hear you," he growls into your cunt, wrecked and drunk off your taste. His words are slurred, accent thick and heavy. Almost incoherent. 
His eyes are pits. Little black holes. The pupil completely eclipsed his irises. Desire spumes. 
When you pull your hand away, settling it on the corner of the desk instead, he flashes his approval, and then buries his face back into you. His tongue is demanding as it licks over your folds, circling your throbbing clit. 
Liquid pleasure seeps from the tip of his tongue to the base of your spine, where it pools into a molten puddle of bliss. It's good. No, it's better than that. It's –
Your head drops back, hips rutting into his mouth, chasing that euphoria his tongue brings when it toys with your flesh, then slips down, pushing into your drenched, fluttering hole. He fucks you with just the tip, groaning when your hips cant into his face, smearing your wetness all over his chin, jaws. He'll be drenched in your slick by the time this is over. 
He's still your superior. Still your boss, technically, but fuck –
Your hand drops from the desk, sliding into the fabric of his mask until a fistful sits in your grasp. A tug makes his eyes snap open, darting up to meet yours. Is this okay? you want to ask, but the question is swallowed by the filthy groan he lets out into your cunt when you pull a little harder, accidentally snatching the hair beneath.
It's good, then. You pull a little more. His mouth drops, panting into you. 
You whine when he stops, hips bucking into his mouth. "Please, please, don't stop–"
"Fuck, Princess," he slurs. "That's it. Ride my face, c'mon."
You're a good soldier. So, so good. You could never deny a command from your superior officer. 
It's clumsy at first–hesitant. A slow roll of your hips, too afraid of smothering your Lieutenant, and having to fess up to being the one to murder him with your cunt keeps you from pushing your core into his face, taking your pleasure. You want to, though. Want to so bad your thighs quiver with the effort of holding back. 
The room is filled with the sticky slick sounds of your sopping centre dragging over his eager mouth. Breathless pants spill from your throat at the obscene pleasure that burrows into your core. 
And his groans. 
God, his noises are enough to make you whimper. Filthy growls into your aching pussy as he eats you up, as if he can't get enough of your taste. As if he's parched and your wetness is the first drink he'd had in years. 
It rumbles through the slick, softness of his tongue, and straight into your clit. The vibrations make your head numb, fuzzy, until you're stupid off the way he devours you whole. 
"Fuckin' hell," he breathes into you–voice reverent as his molten tongue slips inside again, as if he can't get enough of it. "Gimme this pretty lil'pussy. C'mon… yeah, that's it…"
His voice is muffled when your hips rock faster against him, but the praise in his tenor has you shamelessly bucking into his mouth, against his tongue. The sounds wrenched from your throat are wonton, and needy, a breathless plea for more. Fuck, so much more –
His tongue parts your folds, gliding through the drenched slick until he's pressing the tip into your aching hole, splitting you apart. It pushes into you–quick flicks, a pistoning motion; a facsimile of what you want his cock to do to you so badly. It has you keening. Has you riding his face, unbothered whether or not he suffocates between your thighs so long as he keeps doing what he's doing with that sinful fucking tongue that has you singing, has your eyes rolling back in your head, reaching so far you can see the cosmos. 
It's a deep, toe-curling pleasure. The dangerous kind–the one that teases, that makes dark promises against your core about how badly it'll mess you up, get you hooked on the taste of it, and then absolutely delivers. The kind of bliss that has your stomach clenching, roiling with molten heat that happens too fast, you barely have enough time to warn him before you're begging for it, whining for the thickness of his tongue inside of your throbbing cunt. 
His fingers bruise your thighs when they grip your flesh between his fingers, dragging your puffy, drenched pussy over his mouth to suckle on your aching clit until Nirvana flashes behind your eyelids. A whiteout so divine, you nearly slip into him when your knees give out. 
His responding grunt sends pleasure blistering through your core when you lose yourself in the rasp of his tongue sweeping over your weeping slit. 
Ghost's hand leaves your thigh as you tremble through the shockwaves sputtering out, leaking molten bliss through each synapse, each nerve, until you're moaning, shameless and desperate with the release that bludgeons through you.
The world dissolves into white noise. The buzz of it rings in your head as you break apart, ground, once more, down to atoms and molecules that burst with the undulating wave of molten euphoria that drags over you. 
The white static in your head fades in a gradual ebb and flow as the world slowly pieces itself back together again. 
His mouth hasn't stopped. 
He rides you through it all, tongue laving over you as you clench around nothing but the phantom thought of how good his cock would feel inside of your soft, fluttering walls. 
You pant, heaving for air, and grip the edge of the desk tight when his insistent licks become too much. 
"Simon," you whine, but he doesn't stop. He doesn't slow. 
His tongue drags through your folds, thrusting back into you. You clench around the thick muscle, whimpering as whips of pleasure spark through your core once more. 
It's too much, too intense; the pleasure is battered into you until you're forced to accept it, forced to take the bliss he flicks into you with a quivering gasp, and trembling thighs. 
He's not done with you. The taste wasn't enough. 
You lean back, almost desperate to get away from that greedy mouth that consumes you, but the slick sound from behind you makes you pause. 
Pleasure rolls through you again; a molten pulse of agonising want, pulling taut and snapping against you like a rubber band. 
He's touching himself. 
To the taste of you. To the feeling of your pussy drenching his face. 
Fuck. Fuck –
You peer over your shoulder, whimpering when you catch sight of his furious strokes over his hard, weeping cock. The tip is flushed blood-red, leaking spend all over the mushroomed head, and down the long, thick length of him. Your thighs snap together, knees pressed taut to his ears. 
He grunts into you but doesn't stop. Doesn't slow down. His tongue fucks into you at the same pace as his almost brutal strokes. Thick prepend puddles around the base of him, soaking his trousers, his hands. His fist. 
"Fuck, Simon," you purr, too blissed, too far gone, to think properly. "You're so big." You grind down against him, eyes fixed on his hand. "I want you inside me. I want you fuck my pussy with your fat cock–"
He makes noises against you that sound like a wounded animal–low bellows into your swollen lips, groans of a starving man–and his relentless devouring of your cunt has your belly fluttering with the lashing of pleasure spooling in your core. It's everything–the hungry sounds he makes as he consumes your taste; the furious, almost desperate way he fists his throbbing cock in his hand, hips jerking into the tight seal of his palm as if he was imagining how the clutch of you would feel around him. 
He could have taken his pleasure in reciprocity. Had you on your knees, sucking him off until he came down your throat. He could have bent you over the desk, and fucked into you like he so clearly wants. 
He could've had you any way he wanted; he put you in any position he desired, and you would have gone willingly, eagerly. 
But he doesn't. 
His mouth glues to you like he can't get enough, like he doesn't want to stop, and he takes his pleasure from the taste of you alone. 
It's –
It's so agonisingly hot. 
The mask is rough between your fingers when you grip it tight, rolling your hips against his mouth–a tease of how you would ride him if he let you–and the sight of him, hips battering into his hand when you move, sinful groans whispered into your slit, sends you plunging into those depths once more. 
It takes you by surprise: the orgasm is ripped from you, stolen by the sight of his cock twitching, spitting out ropes of cum all over his hand, his stomach. 
You keen, toes curling as he squeezes every last drop out, panting into you as he rides himself through it, nose pressed taut to your raw clit, swollen and so sensitive it hurts. 
He grounds out your name, a wrecked whisper into your pulsing slit, and the sound of it has your head dropping, gaze cresting down to gaze at him. 
Simon's eyes are lidded. Heavy. All black. Endlessly so. They flicker up, as if he can feel your stare, and the glazing of pleasure in those slate-grey eyes makes you lose your footing once more, hurtling over the edge of a precipice too steep to climb out of.  
A chill grazes your spine. Fuck. You're fucked. You're absolutely, utterly, irrevocably fucked. 
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    He's a mess, absolutely drenched. Slick with your wetness, and covered in his own cum. 
You hate how enticing he looks.
You sit on the ground, knees pressed together, watching him as he cleans up, wiping his hand on his shirt, and then dragging the hem up to his mouth. 
The muscles in his thick abdomen make you squeeze your thighs together, a low throb brimming up at the sight of his inked, bulky flesh. Fuck. He's good-looking. Maybe. You only saw a peak of his face. A glimpse of his chest. But God, it's enough. 
He could be a troglodyte under there, with just a handsome chin, and full pink lips, a long, curved nose, and you wouldn't care. 
You'd gladly sit on his ugly mug any day. 
He releases the bottom of his filthy shirt, and tugs the ends of his mask down. You wonder if he still smells you under there. If it whets his appetite as much as the thought of it does yours. 
There are things you want to say, questions you want to ask, but they slip, reluctant, and–for the first time since Porthmadog– fearfully into the recesses that broke open when you'd said those stupid words. When you came face to face with the hideousness of wanting a man who wasn't allowed to want you back. 
Simon– Ghost, now; Lieutenant–is an amalgamation of every bad decision. He's wrong and off-limits personified. 
It's not that he's a bad man. Far from it. If there were any good men left in this world, then he was undoubtedly one of them. 
But he's an illicit drink. Ambrosia. A forbidden elixir. 
He's a man you're not allowed to want—a man you're not allowed to touch, to covet, to need. 
It's all moot. Rendered out into ashes, dust. You can't have him. 
You turn away when he straightens out. Ghost has the uncanny ability to read you unlike anyone else. He'll see this moment of weakness when your defences are in shambles. 
"Y'alright?"
Your chest thunders at the rawness in his voice. "Y-yeah…"
"Good," he murmurs, hands falling to his sides, shoulders straight. 
You pull yourself together. Try to, anyway, but it's hard when he's staring at your sticky thighs when you shakily stand up, and wrench your pants on. 
"Hey," he calls, softer than you'd ever heard him speak. It makes you tense; the blistering sting of rejection is already there in the periphery. 
"Yeah?" 
He's quiet for a moment, and you risk a peek over your shoulder. It's –
Well. 
It's fleeting. There for a second, and then gone the next. Barely a flicker. Had you not spent a whole year in the desert with him dodging scorpions, and men with machine guns and a lust for blood, you might have missed it. 
But it was there. You saw it in passing. 
His resolve seals over the fissure. His eyes are blown black and distant. 
"We move out tomorrow." 
You respect the fact that he doesn't press, doesn't push. He doesn't ask if you're good, if you're okay. Doesn't try to hash things out when you have death looming over you in a few short hours. He compartmentalises. Draws a thick delineation in the sand, and picks a side. Instant. Effortless. 
Right. 
Your fist quivers. You shove it in the pocket of your trousers. 
When you look up, the gleaming gaze of a crocodile lurking in the murky waters stares back. 
"Roger that, Lieutenant." 
And you leave. It's simple. Effortless. 
(Another hole in the veneer. Nothing leaks out.) 
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    A week later, and the world around you is at peace once more. Mission: successful. 
You keep your feelings a tightly guarded secret, and tuck them inside your ribs for safekeeping, unwilling to let them go quite yet. 
You're a dutiful soldier. A professional. You look him in the eye, and don't flinch. You face the men around you, and pretend you don't know what Ghost sounds like when he grunts your name in pleasure. He, in turn, acts as if his breath doesn't carry the taste of you. As if you don't linger behind his front teeth; piquant and damning. 
It's a dance. 
The choreography is new, but the rhythm is the same. You follow the beats, and let him lead you around the ballroom until the cracks inside have been plastered over. Something normal settles–or, rather: something as close to normal as you can get when you can still feel the ghost of his touch on your skin. 
Soap looks on with something a bit too keen in his eyes, but mercifully says nothing at all. He isn't the type to pry–least of all when it comes to Ghost. 
The others pick at it like a scab, watching it peel and bleed for their amusement. To them, nothing happened. You got reamed out, reprimanded, and that's all. A slip of the tongue; a joke gone too far. It's nothing new. Stuck in a foreign country with men trying to kill you at every corner, tempers fly. Fists, too. 
When the dust settles, all is forgotten. New again. 
They hear you call out to Ghost over the comm, and when he responds back–tone pinched and gruff like it always is–they know it's done. Dealt with. 
Sometimes, they mock you. 
Never in front of him, of course: not when the last man to do so, tapping his chin with a toothy grin, and a singsong, gotta seat for you right here, doll falling from his lips, was met with the brunt of his Lieutenant's anger. Scathing words that slash, deadly and sharp, pointed enough to vivisect a man clean through the gut. 
"I hope you have a brain in your skull to use instead of just that tiny pecker in your trousers, because if that's the only one you got, I think it's safe to say we're all fucked, aren't we?"
And with that, it's over. Done. 
The world goes back to shades of espionage and counterterrorism. Games of poker between putting a bullet in a man's head. A drink after cutting the throat of a shady politician. Drenched in blood. Dressed in metals. 
When the mission finishes, you find yourself staring at your bags already packed up in the corner, and wonder if you'll ever unpack them one day. 
(You wonder if he ever will, either.)
It's Soap who knocks on the door. "Wheels up in twenty." 
"Roger." 
Soap doesn't usually linger, but today he hesitates. 
You lift your chin and meet his pinched expression. 
"Alright, bonnie?"
The bags mock you. Filled to the brim with things that should be a necessity, but haven't been used in years. It's bursting. Chock full. Pushed to its mettle. And yet, decidedly empty at the same time. 
A picture of what you do, what you are. 
Your head lists to the side. "I think so." 
His nod, too, is sharp and deep. A soldier, a brother in arms. 
"Hey… you, uh… what did you mean by–um." You falter. It's your turn to hesitate. 
"What?" 
"Before, you know… with Ghost." 
The confusion slips deftly into understanding. And then a distinct grimace. "Why?" 
"Curious, is all."
There is a weight in his stare, too, but it's different from your Lieutenant's. Less intense. Invasive. Soap looks at you like you're an idiot. A wet-behind-the-ears rookie nursing a crush on the one man who is firmly off-limits. And really, that's what you are, in a sense. 
In that single degree of separation, you think you find the substance you were looking for all along. You think it's been there the whole time. Mocking you like the bags in the corner. Untouched. Unnoticed. Waiting. 
You suck in a breath at the thought. 
It's not enough. Not yet. You need to know–
You do what you’re good at. You gather the intel.
Soap shakes his head. An imperceptible movement, almost missed. 
But you catch it. 
"Bonnie," he says, heavy. His shoulder sags against the door frame. Then he sighs. Shakes his head. "There are very few people out there that can distract him from a task. From a mission." 
Your heart is in your throat, featherlight. The wings of a small bird preening its plumage. 
Your breath shudders out of you. 
Mission, you think–
"Better know what you're gettin' into."
You smile, wide and bright. Bigger than any you'd carried with you in Porthmadog. "I think I do."  
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    He always sits alone on the plane unless he needs to go over the game plan, or discuss positions with others. Head always turned. Eyes shuttered, fixed out the window. 
He never looks up. Never moves. 
You think about that thing you saw. The vague glimmer in his eyes. It's the bolstering confidence you need, the one that carries you. 
What good is a man if he has nothing to lose? It propels you forward–a mantra, a gospel–and you use it, now, in this sleepy jet that reeks of men, gunpowder, and sweat. They're all riding high on the success of a victory–one with no casualties on your side: a rarity–and most of them are out cold, or blubbering over finally going home to their family. 
It's an earned break. Deserved. 
You don't know what to do with it. Where to go. Home hadn't felt like home since you sunk your palms into the pavement, and stained the gravel with your blood. Years on the move, living in the shadow, has reduced the idea to a whim, an evanescent thing. You don't quite mourn its loss, but you miss the compunction that used to sit low in your belly when you turned your back to the place, and shouldered your duffle bag. 
Now, it's just another city on the list of many. 
His head lifts when you approach. Your heart stammers, featherlight, and heavy as a paperweight. 
You find his eyes over the pews that separate you. 
Slate. Charcoal. Black holes.
You wonder if he'll tear you apart if you get too close. 
Your fingers ache to find out. 
"Rookie," he grouses, hoarse from the meagre sleep the night prior. It's a bland acknowledgement in itself, but his look alone belies the nonchalance in his greeting. There's a question there. 
You have one, too. 
The sun crests over the plane when it rises, drenching him in ochre. Your smile feels a little too full and a touch too wobbly, when it quirks on your lips. 
His shoulders ease. Eyes drop, lidded and heavy. Unguarded, disarmed, for the first time in years. 
You think if he could, he'd be smiling, too. 
"Is this seat taken?" 
6K notes · View notes
taintandviolent · 11 months
Text
In the end of the night, I can feel your warmth. (Kyle Spencer x Reader)
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summary: zombies eat brains... not pussies. WRONG. they actually eat them really well. 2.9K words!
warnings: 18+ below the cut!! smut (female receiveing), heavy heavy cunnilingus, s*xual guiding/coaching, praise (male receiving), carnal instincts, unga bunga brain Frankenkyle because it’s a serious problem I have, uhhhhhhh.
tags: @darlingjimmy @petersevans @kaiju-superstar @redwoodghost @kaismanwich @elsamars @thewolveswithin @marylovesevanpeters @80strashbag @iluwmycats @kai-slut @kaissweetlamb @twinkiemaximoff @evanpetersfansblog @spill-the-t @eventually27 @stucktothetwo @kai-andersons-blog @kai-anderson-whore @evansb1tch @viharmonscorner @yesdevineruler @anonymous0316 @enchanting-evan @fuckedbykai @nova-kayne67
ao3 link here! Full link below the cut!! Thank you to @redwoodghost​ and @kaiju-superstar​ for yet AGAIN beta-reading and sending me to the clouds.
“Mmmph….”
Three days earlier.
After a series of life altering events, you’d finally thrown your hands up and run away from home. The destination? Miss Robichaux’s School for Gifted Young Women, located in the mysterious city of New Orleans. As you rode the bus, one backpack stuffed with clothes and jewellery clutched tightly to your chest like a child, vibrant images of vampires, witches and voodoo danced in your dreams.
You saw yourself as a plain Jane who had been a little too influenced by the occult at a young age. A typical girl who had grown up on Stevie Nicks and tarot cards, you had never considered yourself particularly remarkable, though you’d always had a knack for making things happen a little too easily. Teachers and parents had always described you as an influential young woman — a deceptive umbrella term that hardly scratched the surface. You weren’t writing persuasive essays or excelling in Speech and Debate, you were sticking your fingers into someone’s mind like playdoh and rewiring it to do exactly what you wanted.
It was that deceptive umbrella term that brought you to Louisiana to begin with; you’d felt unheard, unseen, and misunderstood. You were struggling and nobody had the capacity to unravel your problems.
Cordelia, who was easily one of the most beautiful women you’d ever seen, welcomed you into her office. The interview was brief but compassionate. She’d asked you to explain what brought you to her home, what you felt your “powers” were, and reached to touch the top of your hand when you struggled with that word. She lingered, staring deeply at your fingers. After a moment, she inhaled and spoke again.
“Nothing is silly here. You’re safe. Everything you’ve thought was make-believe or… or childish isn’t. The world runs on magic.”
Cordelia had called one of the other girls into her office and given you an encouraging nod. The girl, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen, had jet black hair, and large glasses. She looked deeply frightened and you almost felt bad when you made her crawl on the floor like a crab before standing up and clapping excitedly. It took very little effort for you, Cordelia noted and wrote something on a piece of paper in your file.
Whatever you’d done, you’d done it correctly. Shortly after that, a girl named Zoe showed you to your new room. She was sweet, kind — the sort of woman that you thought would listen to every side of every story before making any judgements. She used to be a student witch here, she explained as you two walked, but she'd risen in the ranks and become so busy with being the Council — something very important, a hierarchy of witches — that she didn’t have time for the things she used to focus on.  
Zoe opened the tall door, letting you step in first. Well-lit by the large and ornately trimmed windows, the room was white, matching the scheme of the rest of the mansion. Sparsely decorated, there were the necessities in terms of furniture and nothing else. There were two beds at opposite sides of the room… and a blonde boy sat cross-legged on the one closest to the door. His expression was blank, but his brows were laced together, conveying some sort of unknown sadness.
“This is Kyle. He…” she trailed off, her voice sounding unsteady. “He died. Madison and I, we… we put him back together and brought him back.”
You snapped your head to face her, jaw hanging slack in disbelief. “Put him back together? Like Frankenstein?”
Zoe nodded, and reached out to stroke his fluffy blonde curls. While he remained stoic, you noticed the tiniest flinch in his cheek muscles. The way she looked at him… you crossed your arms over your chest uncomfortably. There was history here. “He’s not the same. He tries though.”
She straightened out her frown, visibly trying to move on from the memories.
“This used to be my room. But…” She dropped her hand to her side. He flinched more visibly. “It’s yours now.”
Zoe had told you that all Kyle needed was macaroni, kid’s shows on YouTube, and he wouldn’t bother you. For the first night, you conceded with those recommendations because his outbursts overwhelmed you.
On the second night, you woke up to the sound of rustling. Kyle sat upright in his bed, sheets draped over his lap, staring towards the window. You sat up in bed, pulling the sheets up to your chest. He turned to look at you and shrunk away from your gaze, ashamed. He quickly returned to a lying position, like a child who had gotten yelled at. The apprehension you possessed on the first night had morphed into wonderment. A reanimated boy, who despite being pieced together still had some semblance of sentience and emotion. It may have been cliche to analyze it through a Shelley-esque eye… but with sentience, came love. And with love, agony was sure to follow. You’d always been particularly enraptured with the idea of a monster needing love, trying desperately to understand it.
A line from Frankenstein came to mind as you watched him staring straight up at the ceiling, hoping you wouldn’t notice he wasn’t asleep. “I have a love in me the likes of which can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”
So… what if you satisfied the first? Perhaps all he needed was some tenderness, some attentiveness.  
“Kyle?”
No response. You swung your legs out from underneath the covers, planting your bare feet on the wooden floors. In only your nightgown, the chill of the air bit at your exposed limbs, prompting you to slip your arms into the lacy, green sleeves of your robe.
“Kyle? You wanna look at the moon?”
This time, he turned his head on the pillow to look at you. You began moving carefully towards him.
“You want to? The moon?” You asked again, making a circle shape with your hands and then unrolling them to point towards the window. He nodded, showing understanding. Clumsily, he threw the covers off him and got to his feet.
You took one step. He followed, ambling heavily behind you until you both stood close enough to the window to feel the chill that permeated the glass. He sighed heavily, the sound resonating in his broad chest. It was the first time you’d heard any sort of happy sound from him. His knuckles brushed against yours, but despite the quivering in your abdomen, you didn’t reach out to hold his hand. You wanted to, though. Very, very much.
On the third night, you woke up to the sounds.
“Mmmmmph! Mmm…arrr…. Mmmm…. ow.”
You rubbed your eyes, rousing yourself. Instead of being in his own bed, like he usually was, Kyle sat at the foot of yours, his legs pulled to his chest. “What? What’s wrong?”
He grunted again, scooting closer to you on the bed. Although the room was dark, the small night light in the corner illuminated just enough of his face to show the pained expression, the stress in his dark eyes.
“Kyle? What’s the matter? Try…” You whispered. “Are you hurt?”
He nodded. Then shook his head. “Hmmmph… I’m……”
“You’re what? What is it?”
He struggled to speak, but what did come out sounded distinctly like your own name.
Kyle’s head dropped heavily to his chest, shamefully looking down at his erection as it tented his boxers. He lifted his eyes, staring at you from underneath his heavy brow and fluffy locks. Both hands clenched into fists, he pressed down into his groin, moaning.
Oh…. Oh fuck, you thought. Oh my fucking god, he’s got a boner.
“It’s okay,” you reassured. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of… it’s normal. O-kay.”
Poor thing. He doesn’t know what to do…. He’s asking for help. He looked into your eyes with the most soulful, desperate pleading you’d ever seen. No man, even more together than him, had ever asked you for help like this. There was something underneath, another stain on his heart. You could feel it when your eyes locked for a second too long — but that wasn’t important. It didn’t change what you were about to do.
You fingered the ruched elastic of his boxers, scooping it towards you. The taut skin of his stomach was warm, and the heat increased as you neared the bush of hair. Kyle groaned and cloddishly bucked his hips to force your hand farther down. The searing hot tip slipped against the back of your hand, leaving a streak of precum on your skin.
“P……l…eaaasse…..” His chest was heaving up and down, forcing excited little breaths out of his open mouth.
You swallowed the lump in your throat and gripped his cock gently. It twitched against your hand and you felt another hot, viscid ribbon coat your knuckles. Oh fuck. He jerked his hips again as you began stroking, smearing his wetness along the shaft. He slackened the muscles in his neck, letting his head fall onto your shoulder.
“Good? Does that feel better?”
His head moved on you, up and down, so you assumed it did. You decided to test it by going a little faster, and squeezing his cock a little harder. Instead of the guttural, almost pained groans  he’d given you before, the most pathetic little whimper left his throat. You lifted your gaze to the ceiling, rolling your eyes back. He was putty in your grip, begging for you with every muscle in his body. And that… drove you insane.
Carefully, quietly… you reached to your legs, gathering the edge of your nightgown into your palm, pulling it up your thigh until you had enough room to reach your own arousal. Wasting no time, you circled your clit slowly, slipping a finger inside between rotations.
“AAAAAGUHHH!”
You clapped your hand over Kyle’s mouth, eyes widening like saucers in the dark. You whispered louder than you ever had in your entire life. “Shhh! Kyle! Shhh!” He breathed hard out his nose. ��I can’t help you if you’re loud… they’ll hear you.”
Underneath your fingers, Kyle’s plush lips parted just enough for you to notice. You froze. He looked down as far as his ocular anatomy allowed and his pupils dilated, the blackness consuming the already deep brown. His tongue swept across the underside of your fingers before forcing itself between them. He gripped your hand tightly at the wrist and yanked it down in a startling display of his inhuman strength.
“Wuh…. Want.”
You jerked your head back, confused. “What?”
He brought your hand back up, and like a child claiming that a toy was his, Kyle licked your pointer and index finger from the base to the tip of them. He swallowed.
“Waant….”
Holy shit. You realised. You realised what it was he wanted…. The hand you’d used to cover his mouth was that hand that you’d previously been fingering yourself with, the fingers that were coated in your own wetness. He wanted… that.
Nervously, you pulled your hand from his boxers, the elastic snapping against his tummy. You nodded once and inhaled a deep breath through your nose, a feeble attempt at pacifying the bundle of live wires you called your nerves. Kyle’s eyes never left yours, watching you intently as you planted your hands on either side of your body as leverage to push yourself back towards the head of the bed. You laid back on the pillow, knees touching and obscuring Kyle.
When you opened them, your breath rushed out from your lungs. He was so pretty, the way the moonlight illuminated his curls like an angel’s halo, outlining his broad form. His plaid shirt hung open, teasing at the body beneath. And then, of course, there was the erection. The fabric of his boxers were pulled tight.
You tilted your head down, pressing your chin against your chest. Your eyes were misty, doe-like, and you almost stuck your fingers in his mind to tell him to come to you. But he did it on his own accord and your heart gave an adoring flutter. Coming forward onto his hands, Kyle crawled on the bed to you, and you welcomed him in between your thighs. He lowered himself down onto his stomach.
“Good boy,” you whispered. “You’re so good, Kyle…”
Kyle opened his mouth on your pussy, lapping at it hungrily. The smoothness of his teeth grazed your clit, and the heat of your arousal was unimaginable, burning deep within your core. You’d been eaten out, but not eaten out. Not like this. Zombies ate brains, not pussies.
And yet… you were being devoured within an inch of your life. Every clench brought out more cum, and Kyle was there to drink it up, flicking his tongue from your entrance to your clit repeatedly, until your vision went blurry with twinkling stars. Every time his tongue returned to its starting position, he always lingered and sometimes slipped in, delving into something he wanted more of. He was tasting you over and over again. Your mouth opened, at first giving nothing but the sound of your breath. His lips closed around your clit, his tongue driving up into your entrance, and a high pitched whine clawed its way out of your throat.
And just like that, the pleasure was gone. Kyle pulled away, panicked.
“Bad?!”  
You shook your head quickly, panting. “No, no…. Good. Very good, Kyle.”
His worried expression softened slightly, but he still looked unsure and scared to keep going. The sound you’d made… all he knew told him it was that he’d done something wrong and he’d hurt you.
“B….buh….. bad…… sssssound…..”
“Nonononono. Very… very good. I made that sound because it feels good. You’re doing a good job.”
He huffed out a breath, the warmth of it washing over you. You writhed, the backs of your thighs rubbing against his bare shoulders. Bent at the elbows, Kyle wrapped his forearms around your legs, wide hands twitching ever so slightly as they caressed you. There was something overwhelmingly erotic in the way he fearfully looked up at you from between your legs. You drew your bottom lip in, biting down as hard as you could to stifle the moan that threatened.
“Please,” you whined. “You’re doing so good, Kyle. It feels so good. You like it, right?”
He nodded, dropping his gaze to look at your cunt, a puddle forming on sheets below. His jaw hung slack as he went back in, his lips enveloping you fully. His tongue was hot and you were sensitive, writhing in his grip. You weren’t aware that you were writhing away from him until his fingers came to life, digging deep into the soft flesh of your thighs.
You arched your back as you came on his tongue, taking fistfuls of the sheets and tightening until you felt the fibres squeak against each other. Kyle growled into your cunt, pulling you closer into him. His tongue flattening against you, feeling the pulsating clenches as they happened.
Kyle straightened up to his knees, stiffly pulling his boxers down over the curve of his ass. His stiff cock sprung free, the swollen head, red and leaking. He seemed to know what he wanted to do, but didn’t know where to start. You scooted down, pressing your legs further open. Kyle shuffled forward on the bed, the springs creaking underneath you.
“It’s okay, Kyle… it’s okay.” Keeping your eyes on him, you took hold of his cock again and gently guided it towards your wet slit. “I’ll make you feel better.”
He allowed himself to be guided, following your direction. His squishy tip slipped in, compressed by your tight walls. The sound that Kyle made — something between a choking breath and a groan — was the only warning you got that a switch had flipped. He knew exactly what to do.
Kyle sunk his length into you, taking only a moment to revel in the feeling of your warm, wet insides. He quickly found his rhythm, bucking in and out with steady intention as he watched you with half-lidded eyes, mouth hanging slack. His pelvis slapped against yours, knocking against your clit each time your bodies met. The visual drove you insane, sending streaks of hot arousal right to your core.
“Gggoooooodddd….” He groaned. “G-good.”
He picked up speed, and you desperately tried to maintain coherency, nodding. Your nails dug into his back, holding on as tight as you could. “Guh-HOHm- my god. Good, yes. G-good, baby.”
Kyle’s large hands snaked their way to your shoulders, encasing them in a steely grip. He pulled himself into you, harder and harder until you felt an unfamiliar ache in your insides, where he could go no farther. You came for a second time with a high-pitched whimper and Kyle kept his pace, grunting. Your wetness splashed against your thighs as he thrust into you, and when you lifted your hips up slightly, Kyle’s fingers curled in, clamping down on your shoulders with a crushing strength. You held back your cries of pain, grinding your hips against his as he pumped into you. Just hold on… let him finish….  
Finally, he released his hold on you, collapsing onto your chest with a heavy breath. Once the vigorous movement had subsided, your sweat-soaked bodies were no longer immune to the lithe, chilly fingers of temperature. Still, you were warm underneath him.
So, so warm.
Kyle fell asleep with his cock inside you. And for the first time in three nights, he didn’t wake up once.
1K notes · View notes
hoe-for-hopper · 27 days
Text
just pure eddie filth
Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader
WARNINGS: rough sex, some mentions of weed
Word Count: 365
Summary: this is just super short, straight to the point, eddie filth
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SMUT BELOW THE CUT~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Your head is spinning. Your hips are aching. You try to speak, but your words are lost in the moans falling from your mouth. 
Eddie has you bent over the kitchen counter, furiously ramming into you. He violently pumps his thick cock in and out of you and you’re not sure how much longer you can take it before you break.
You’re really not sure how you ended up in this position. Ten minutes ago you and your dealer were smoking a joint in his living room. And now you’re soaking him with your wetness.
“Take. It.” Eddie bends over and growls in your ear before slapping your ass so hard that you’re sure a red mark is already forming. He continues drilling into you while pulling you up and back toward him to whisper into your ear, “Yeah? Is this what you wanted?”
Oh. That’s right. You’d been teasing Eddie from the time you called him up to ask if you could buy from him. You’d worn a short little skirt and made sure to bat your lashes at him while asking if you guys could smoke before you left. After letting your hand linger on his arm for just a second too long, it didn’t take long for things to escalate from there. You’d walked into his kitchen to grab a bottle of water and he’d followed behind you, pushing you over the counter and pulling your panties to your ankles.
You could feel yourself quickly coming undone and pretty soon your walls were clenching him and you were gushing around him. “Eddie.” You gasped before slumping onto the counter.
“You’re doing so good, darling.” Eddie pulled out of you, spun you around, and pushed you to your knees before unloading himself on your face. “That’s it, you look so pretty like that.” He reached behind you to grab a dish towel to wipe your face clean.
He helped you up and led you back to the living room. “Do you wanna finish the joint?” He asked as you fell to the couch, utterly exhausted.
“Mhm.” You replied. You knew this wouldn’t be the last time you teased Eddie until his breaking point.
237 notes · View notes
eshayteaparty · 1 month
Text
Priceless (weeks, years, decades searching for you).
~Fandom(s): Hazbin Hotel
~Warning(s): swearing, tooth-decaying fluff, some angst (painful memories)
~Ship(s): Lucifer x f!reader 
~Word count: 2,630
~In which Charlie has decided to host a ball in the lobby of the Hazbin Hotel in hopes of attracting new sinners to a party, and neither you nor Lucifer have a partner for the night’s festivities- bringing you together and opening him up.
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-♥+♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥+♥-
Since the start of the trust exercises programme in the Hazbin Hotel, Charlie had been seeing…less changes in her ‘clients’ than she would’ve hoped for. Steady changes, but minimal ones, easily reversed by one bad trip. 
This is what inspired her to host at a different time- games during the night, instead of the day, when people were busy. Like…a party. 
A ball.
When she had told Lucifer about this idea, he had been overjoyed. He had loved the celebration gracing the halls when the new hotel had finished being rebuilt, and had strived to keep up the positivity around the hotel as much as his daughter was. He had organised the ball with Charlie five minutes after she had suggested it, creating a whole poster on their collective ideas. Once they had a date that suited all who resided in the hotel- which just happened to be that same night- the plan was afoot.
Naturally, some sinners there asked each other to the ball, that along the lines of Charlie to Vaggie, Husk to Angeldust (which came as a shock to most), and Mimzy to Alastor, who was rejected and asked Rosie to have his hand instead. The sweet, platonic proposal led to a quarter of Cannibal Town attending as well, which of course meant some…’diverse’ decisions had to be made about the food. 
Despite playing a large part in organising the festivities, Lucifer hadn’t found a partner of his own to accompany him. Originally he was going to ask Charlie for a dance with his daughter, whom he found out was very much occupied. Aside from that, he couldn’t really think of anybody else. He even planned to ask Alastor for shits and giggles. 
You had tossed your coin into the pond, hoping for a slice of luck or good karma, but unfortunately, it seemed that people outside of the hotel weren’t exactly easily-approached. Even timid, Sir ‘I’m having sex with everyone here’ Pentious had managed to score a date- but that was fair, you supposed. Why wouldn’t Cherry accept after that loving kiss on ex-extermination day?
For the past couple hours of the day, you had been distracting yourself with helping Charlie and Lucifer with decorations.You knew he was single, but you hadn’t allowed yourself to shoot your shot, one out of respect for Lilith, the woman ever present on Lucifer’s ring finger, and two because Lucifer had loudly announced his partner was to be…Razzle. You had felt your heart sink. You were there, you talked to him more often than not, and you were yet not enough of a companion to be acknowledged more than an air headed goat guardian. 
As you were hanging streamers, trying to get your predicament out of your head in favour of the promise of delicious food on the table that night, you felt a tap on your shoulder, and were swiftly met with the smiling, slightly sweaty face of the princess morning star.
“Y/n! Hey, don’t you want to go get ready?” Charlie herself was dressed in a beautiful crimson suit, even shinier than her battle costume. You smiled wistfully at the sight of her outfit.
You shake your head. “I’m not gonna stick around tonight, princess. I’ll be sleeping during the ball.”
Charlie looks mortified, and you hate to see her frown, even more so than the own one etched into your face. “But you have to come, y/n!” she presses on, and shakes you by the shoulders, making you a little winded. “At least tell me why not!”
“Because I don’t have anybody, Charlie!” The words come out before you can stop them, loud and shaky. “Nobody wants to go with me to this fuckin’ thing!” you sigh, looking down at your clenched hands and starting to walk away. “I’m better off on the side. Bein’ backstage was always my thing anyway.” 
As this conversation was going down, Lucifer had been working on the other side of the room, talking with Rosie- they had struck an unlikely friendship, resulting from manners and mutual respect. His eyes had gone wide as he had recognised the sound of you in distress, and as he watches you move hastily up the stairs, he feels his heart flutter. If only he was braver, he would’ve asked you in a tick.
With this mentality hammered in, he shakes Rosie’s hand and follows you up the stairs, down the hallway to where he’s memorised the location of your room- it isn’t hard to find you either way, and you slammed the door shut loud enough that it resonated through the first floor. He peeks through the crack in your door, his eyes meeting your back as you lie in a ball on your bed. Seeing you so demotivated makes him feel just as sluggish. With you usually being so uplifting and genuine, this is an unwelcome change.
He steps inside quietly, remembering you had said once that he was welcome any time, and he doesn’t greet you at first. Instead, he sifts discreetly through your open closet, biting his bottom lip.
“You don’t have any dresses, my dear.” His tone comes out as soft and caring. He holds out a few pieces of long fabric from your hanging clothing, thinking at first they’d be something fit for a ballroom, but the fanciest thing he can find is a dark, navy blazer with missing buttons. He turns to look at you on your bed. “I thought you might have at least a few.”
“I don’t need them.” you say raspily, wiping away lingering tear tracks from your cheeks. “I d-don’t go to clubs.”
He tuts gently at you, disappointed by this revelation. “Is it just because of how you identify? If that was the case, I’d imagine you have a suit, instead…don’t you?”
You sit up on your bed, huffing. “Why are you even in here?”
Lucifer simply smiles at you, hoping his expression appears comforting and not malicious. “I can’t have you missing out on his ball, darling. You were so very helpful in preparation. Your efforts simply shant go to waste.”
His eyes fall back on your closet, now looking for something different. “You certainly wear a lot of (colour).” he mutters, and a design forms in his head. He turns to you. “What size are you, darling?”
“Um…” you look down at yourself, a little embarrassed. “A…a (s/m/l)?” you just want him to get out already, but you’re alright to humour him for now. He looks you up and down, as if confirming for himself, and smiles softly. He presses his hands together, then slowly draws them apart, and soft, liquid gold light manifests between his fingertips. A soft, silky, beautiful (colour) dress, with off the shoulder, clear ruffle sleeves and a modest cut where your left thigh would be falls limp in his arms. He holds it up to you as your eyes soften with awe. 
“Is it to your liking, my dear?” he asks, bringing it over to you and holding it up by your body. “It’ll be a perfect fit, if my eyes aren’t deceiving me.”
You take the dress, biting your lip to suppress your giddy smile. “T-thankyou. Genuinely I…this is beautiful.” then you remember your predicament, and your expression tightens up again. “But I- I still don’t get why you’re doing this for me.”
Lucifer sighs fondly, coming forward to you and tilting your chin down so you have to meet his eyes. A nervous smile overtakes his lips. “Don’t you get it, my dear?” he asks gently. “I want you to accompany me to this ball. It doesn’t have to be a date yet, as I’m sorting out my own issues before I’m ready to….to cross that bridge again, but…I’d love for you to be mine for tonight.” he takes your hands into his own, holding them in his own, warm and safe. “Please.”
Lucifer, the boss of hell himself, devoted to a woman who left him years ago, has just asked you to a ball. Your heart starts to beat a little faster, and you nod, trying not to sniffle. “I wish you’d a-asked me sooner. I didn’t prepare anything because I d-didn’t plan to go.”
He looks guilty now. “I'm so sorry, dear. I was…nervous. I thought asking Razzle would be easier.” he chuckles, which causes your own laughter to swell in your chest.
The newfound joy in your heart makes you reconsider. It rekindles the flickering fire inside of you, the one that yearns for his company.
"I'll come. I can't say no, now. Not after you've....you made this outfit for me."
He beams at you. “Fantastic! Now get ready, my starlet. The ball has already begun!” he turns on his heel, just as giddy as you, and leaves the room, shutting the door behind him for your privacy.
You slip into the dress he had left on your closet door for you, and it fits just right, hugging your every curve and making you feel more beautiful than you ever had. Looking in the mirror you felt as if it were your wedding day, even though you were only attending a party in the lobby of the hotel you’re staying in. you do a quick face of makeup, patting your cheeks and squealing again when you see just how pretty you are again- and after collecting yourself, you slowly open your door, meeting the glistening eyes of your date.
“You…” 
‘Your beauty is ethereal, my darling. If I could spend the rest of my immortal life gazing into your porcelain eyes, I would trade in all that I own for it. You make me feel something I haven’t since…her’. 
He shakes his head free of those thoughts. Overkill. 
“You look breathtaking, my dear.” He offers out his hand, and you take it. “Away we go.” 
As the two of you leave the hallway and descend the stairs, you can feel eyes start to fall on you. Somehow, so much time had passed during your chat with King Morningstar, that the sky outside has already dimmed to the smokey grey of passing clouds. You smile shyly down at your friends and acquaintances below, feeling your cheeks heat up as you approach them at the last step. “Hi guys.”
Charlie and Angeldust come for you at once, breaking you out of Lucifer’s tender hold, and you squeak as they wrap you up in a warm embrace. 
“You’re fuckin’ owning it, toots!” Angeldust gently tugs on your transparent sleeve. “Holy hell! It’s only a party, doll!”
“It’s t-too much?” you ask slowly, seeking encouragement. Your friends are right there to give you just that.
“Never!” he says hastily. “Never too much. You’re beautiful.” Angel stoops down a little, pecking you on the forehead before turning away and trotting back over to Husker. You’re left with Charlie, who still hasn’t let you go.
“I-I know this is just a…a party…y/n…but…” her words grow heavy, and you come to find out she’s crying- you cuddle her back, as Lucifer’s arm winds itself around your lower back. “I-I’d be h-happy if you wanted to pursue my dad.”
Hearing this makes your heartbeat flicker. Words can be so strong, no matter how loud- and hers were uttered in only a whisper, in fear of her making her Dad feel guilty over his decisions in the past again. You nod, and sniffle yourself, cuddling her tighter as you express gratitude for her blessing. “You’re a real gem, Charlotte. Thank you so much.” 
She sighs, and embraces her dad, whispering to him too before walking back to join Vaggie and wiping her eyes. Lucifer takes your hand again, leading you towards the floor where Rosie is waiting. She sweeps you up into a hug, twirling you and making you shriek at her pure strength. 
“Oh my stars, y/n!” she hollers, her sharp teeth making her smile all the more brighter. “Ya look like royalty right here!” 
“Thank you.” you reply, your voice shaking with happiness. You fiddle with the slit in the dress just above your knee. “Lucifer designed it for me.”
Rosie kisses your cheeks, then bends down towards Lucifer, shaking both of his hands. “You’ve done her justice, ya highness! Look at this! Are we sure she ain’t one of Adam’s exes?”
Both you and Lucifer end up laughing at this, and he shakes his head, running his hand up your back. “I’m sure,” he says softly, with a cheeky undertone, “she was mine from the start, Miss Rosie.” 
Rosie opens her mouth to say more, but the music has changed to a slow dance. She gasps, overjoyed. “That’s the couple’s queue! I gotta find Alastor!” she tucks your hair behind your ears, smiling at you. “I hope to see ya dancin’, lovey!~ ta ta!” she picks up her own burgundy gown, and hurries off, her heels clacking as the slow, romantic song starts to blare out around the lobby and couples take each other in their arms. 
Lucifer looks up at you, holding out his hand. 
“Would you care to dance with me, y/n?”
You smile softly, and take his shoulders in your hands, his own around your waist. He walks you around the room, twirling you rhythmically to the beat of the music and looking up at you like he’s just seen the northern lights for the very first time, dancing in his vision. He moves you with grace and care, as if you were made of glass in the window of a church. Stained with a messy, tragic story, but formatted in the glossy, unmatchable shape and beauty of an abstract mosaic. In his eyes, you were priceless. 
You long to kiss him, you truly do. You long to have your lips on yours, but the shiny, year-old band on his finger is a harrowing reminder- this is all supposed to be platonic.
He can sense that you’re feeling down. He can see it in your eyes; the way your demeanour droops like a wilting flower. He gently angles your chin back to where it was, just so he can see your eyes again. 
“What weighs on your soul, my dear?”
“I…” you swallow, holding him a little tighter. “I’m sorry. I’m selfish, aren’t I? I-I want-” your breath gets stuck in your throat, like hot toffee has blocked up your oesophagus. “I want to…kiss you. But I know I can’t.”
Lucifer’s thoughts start to tick by a mile a minute. A kiss. You genuinely want to kiss him, to take that next step. For him, though, it’d be a leap. A leap away from what he knows. From what he trusts. From the last decade he’s lived, the changes made up until this point all threadbare. Away from the day his nightmare became reality, seven years ago.
Away from Lilith.
He fidgets with the golden chain around his finger for only a moment, before the music starts to swell. To pick up, from piano to mezzo forte. 
In that moment, the beat is only one of the three things that drops. 
The second one is his facade. The one he’s put up for years. The one of hope, the one of happiness, the one that told the few people he held a little closer than a distance that he was alright. He was fine. Occupied by the physical silence, but driven crazy by the uneven orchestra bashing cymbals in his skull every day of his life, a constant symphony of grief and regret. Rubbed out. Erased. 
He was not fine.
But the third and final thing to drop was you. Up on his hip, your back pressing against his left forearm as he lowered you by the floor and blossomed anew, pressing his mouth to yours with longing that had lasted for just under a decade, though it had felt like the span of an entire lifetime. 
And in that moment, he was.
-♥+♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥.♥+♥-
This took me so long to write, but I hope you guys like it because I think it’s genuinely beautiful. Thank you for reading this and please repost it to spread it around if you want. Xx
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shou-jpeg · 2 months
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The Care and Keeping of Weird Guys
by disast3rtransp0rt
AO3 | 2,092 words | T rating
Summary:
Chay once read online somewhere that you can lure skittish cats back home with blankets that smell like their favorite human. Looking down at the huge ergonomic beanbag and blanket he has 'casually tossed' (very carefully positioned) near the corner of his room where Kim pretends he isn't Edward Cullen for 1-2 hours every night, he crosses his fingers that the same tactic will work on his adorable not-quite-burglar/not-quite boyfriend. --- On a mission to gather information about Kinn's newest bodyguard and his Father's strange behavior as of late, Kim stumbles upon one (totally not adorable beyond all reason) boy who poses a couple problems. The first is that he's a major security risk if Porsche shares intel. The second is that Kim can't stop thinking about him.
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@live-from-flaturn and I work together bring you a healthy dose of nonsense.
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larry-hiatus · 4 months
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You Need Me, I Don’t Need You At All
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Explicit ~ 14.3K
Written for @bhficfest
Harry was once Louis' boyfriend and sub, but they've been broken up for a couple of months. When Louis gets an "I need you" text from Harry out of nowhere, he's more than a little caught off guard. Maybe he can put his feelings aside for one night to dom Harry the way he used to...
Read it on AO3!
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smittenwithlouis · 5 months
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Heart Eyes
Main Pairing: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson Rating: Explicit Status: Complete Word Count: 21k Summary: What the fuck did he just do?
“Harry?” the demon asks as he tries to catch his breath. Louis looks like he’s been fucked to hell and back. His eyes are half-lidded in what Harry can only describe as erotic bliss, even as his crumpled form lies on the dirty ground.
The incubus truly is a sight for sore eyes. He’s gazing up at Harry with those infuriatingly pretty heart eyes as if he's hung the very moon.
This is wrong.
This is all so fucking wrong.
Or: Harry is a dedicated sentinel with a strong aversion to demons, and Louis is the lovesick incubus who will go to any lengths to win Harry's heart.
Written for the @bottomlouisficfest 🍓⚔️
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indestinatus · 28 days
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I'll crawl home to her
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summary: The long-awaited Reunion. Ziva reunites with her family. 
We deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people. And we’ve suffered enough.
read it on ao3
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elusivewildflower · 2 years
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Needy | Court Gentry/Six x Reader
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Pairing: Court Gentry/Six x F! Reader
Summary: Court is tired and just wants to sleep, you have something else in mind.
Warnings: pure smut, I’m not sorry. unprotected piv, cockwarming, lil bit of masturbation. 18+ only.
Word Count: 916
A/N: I woke up with the need to write some filth. I hope you enjoy this short little fic. Could kinda be seen as in The Other Fitzroy! verse somewhere in the future. Also not beta’d or proofread so I’m sorry y’all. 
MINORS DNI
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You had been in bed for over an hour, tossing and turning as you tried to fall asleep. Court was tired, and you knew it, as he had fallen asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. You, on the other hand, couldn’t get comfortable. Your skin was hot and damp with sweat, and you were undeniably horny. You pressed your thighs together as you laid on your side, trying to give yourself some kind of relief–but it wasn’t working. You needed more. Feeling only slightly guilty about it, you scooted yourself closer to Court’s sleeping form and pressed your hips into his. He knew your body better than you and could have you coming within minutes–something you desperately needed. You were thankful that the two of you had opted to sleep naked due to the summer heat–it made what you wanted easier to obtain. It only took a few circles of your hips on his for him to wake, a soft groan rumbling in his chest as his cock twitched against your ass. His large hand came to rest upon your waist, his lips pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. 
“I’m tired, baby,” he murmured into your skin, another groan emitting from him as you continued to roll your hips into his. His cock was growing harder by the second. The hand that rested on your waist gripped you tightly, ceasing the gyrating movements of your hips. 
You let out a whine. “Court, please,” you begged. Your clit was throbbing with need, your walls already clenching around nothing.
He hummed softly in response, shifting his hips so that the head of his cock lined up with your slick entrance. “Keep me warm and I’ll fuck you in the morning,” he promised, giving one swift thrust that sheathed him inside of you completely. Both of you let out a moan as he filled you up. You could feel every inch of his thick, veiny, cock deep within you, but it still wasn’t enough. Your velvety walls clenched around him, but Court didn’t react. He was probably already asleep again. You silently cursed him for being able to sleep through almost any situation. You wished you could do the same. But the throbbing desire to cum returned and you couldn’t control yourself. You rocked your hips back and forth, gently fucking yourself on his cock. Court’s hand upon your waist tightened again, halting you. You let forth another whine in response, your hand snaking down your torso and sliding between your folds. Circling your swollen clit with your fingers, you felt the muscles in your lower stomach begin to tighten. Your walls fluttered around Court’s cock erratically, causing him to twitch deep within you. 
Court breathed out a laugh as he realized what you were doing. “Really?” He questioned softly.
“Need to cum,” you panted, fingers pressing harder against your clit. 
Court sunk his teeth into your neck, making you moan wantonly. “So needy,” he scolded playfully. His hand slid from your waist to under your thigh, lifting your leg up so that he could thrust into you. 
“Oh, fuck,” you moaned as his hips snapped into yours, each stroke of his cock brushing against the spot that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your back arched as you neared your orgasm, your fingers working in harsh circles on your clit as Court’s thrusts picked up pace. Finally, the coils in your lower stomach snapped, your orgasm washing over you in waves as Court fucked you through it. Your hand fell to the sheets as soon as your clit became sensitive, but Court quickly replaced it with his own. You let out a cry at the overstimulation, trying to run from his touch. He only pressed his fingertips to your clit harder in response, nipping at your neck once again. 
“One more, baby,” he panted against you, soothing the skin that he had just nipped with his tongue. 
You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes from the mix of pain and pleasure. “No, I can’t.” 
“Yes, you can. I know you can,” he encouraged, his cock beginning to swell and twitch deep inside as he pistons in and out of you. Your body begins to tense as your second orgasm builds, your fingers clutching at the damp sheets beneath you as you rock your hips to meet his thrusts. It all feels too good, too quickly, and your walls clamp tightly around him. You’re squeezing him so tightly that his thrusts falter as you fall over the edge. 
“Fuck, Court!” You cry out, your legs shaking as an intense orgasm courses through you. Court resumes his pace after your walls relax, now chasing his own release. Groans and growls rumble from his chest, increasingly growing in volume as he nears his peak. A few thrusts of his hips later and he’s cumming deep inside of you with a final growl. His cock pulses as rope after rope of his hot seed fills you. He takes a moment to catch his breath before he pulls his softening cock from you, his cum immediately leaking onto the sheets. You make a mental note to throw them into the wash in the morning. 
He presses a kiss to your shoulder as his hand slaps your ass gently. “Now let me sleep,” he murmured into your skin. You giggled in response, snuggling yourself into the covers as you finally feel sleepiness overcome you.
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heycalaboz · 1 year
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•CRAWLING FOR YOU•
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“Na qual Harry é o dono de uma multinacional e deveria ser o cara que manda mas acaba sendo nada além de uma cadela para seu empregado Louis, o funcionário responsável por gerenciar todas as filiais da empresa na América"
Avisos: Dinâmica d/s, hbottom, humilhação e etc! enfim mandem asks e queria dizer que a próxima é h!inter omega e que até agora é minha fav e espero posta-la o mais breve possível
🍃
- Sim, senhor. – Harry mordeu o interior das bochechas assim que percebeu o que havia dito, a mesa de vidro refletindo seu rosto e o dos outros quatro diretores ao seu redor de repente ficou maior e mais intimidante. A sala toda agora estava em silêncio e ele sentiu o calor da vergonha se espalhar por sua cara. Considerando que ele era o chefe e que podia mandar e desmandar a hora que quisesse se referir a um dos seus subordinados como senhor era no mínimo estranho.
Ele normalmente era quem gritava e designava as ordens, e fazia com que seus empregados
abaixassem o olhar quando passava.
Seu inferno pessoal mal tinha começado e ele já estava agindo como um garoto de dezesseis anos na puberdade. Era a porra do dono daquela merda e mandava em todos ali, então que agisse de acordo.
Suspirou, esse era apenas o primeiro dia.
Quando finalmente tomou a coragem de desviar o olhar dos papéis e dos contratos à sua frente, notou que Louis o encarava curioso. Era óbvio que ele estava acostumado com as pessoas o tratando por títulos, ele só não esperava que seu próprio chefe o fizesse.
Harry se esforçou o máximo possível e abriu a boca para continuar falando, e de uma maneira que possa ser considerada normal dar seguimento a reunião.
Tudo o que cruzava sua mente enquanto ele balbuciava sobre o desenvolvimento de alguns novos projetos, era que ele teria que passar mais um mês ao lado do moreno de olhos azuis que sempre o fazia amolecer.
Pelo menos uma vez ao ano Harry tinha o dever de ficar durante um mês acompanhando o trabalho de seus diretores ao redor do mundo, em abril ele tinha estado com Niall Horan e assistido todo o desenvolvimento da Lellos no Reino Unido. E agora, em Julho ficaria com Louis analisando a parte Americana de sua empresa, o que não seria uma tarefa tão fácil.
Todo ano ele passava pelo mesmo tormento de ter que viver com seu corpo se tornando extra sensível. Sua mente virava um lugar de pensamentos duvidosos e estranhos, tudo por conta de um cara que era hétero e namorava.
O pior era que demitir Louis para nunca mais ter que olhar em sua cara era uma hipótese que já havia lhe cruzado a cabeça várias vezes, mas ele não tinha coragem de a cumprir por saber que era errado em todos os níveis deixar alguém que tinha um trabalho impecável desempregado pelo motivo de que ele não conseguia parar de agir como uma cadelinha no cio perto da pessoa.
Saiu de seus devaneios quando ouviu um de seus subdiretores que estava ao seu lado questionar algo, ele apenas suspirou e indicou com a cabeça para que Louis respondesse, já que a pergunta era da sua área e ele só estava lá para acompanhar as coisas de perto.
Harry não via a hora de sair daquela sala que parecia extremamente sufocante e se enfiar em seu escritório provisório para evitar pelas próximas horas de cruzar com o demônio sexual que trabalhava para si.
Esse iria ser um mês e tanto.
——
Seu pescoço estalou audivelmente e ele sentiu a coluna repuxar de uma maneira dolorida. Já deveria ser por volta das nove da noite e ele mal enxergava as letras brilhando no computador à sua frente. A visão e o corpo cansados eram o resultado de um dia longo e infernal.
Era fechamento de mês, e após ter havido um curto circuito em seu escritório ele havia ganhado um lugar exclusivo na sala de Louis, esse que estava do outro lado do cômodo sendo a personificação de seus desejos mais obscuros, usando uma camisa social enrolada até a metade do braço com uma gravata um pouco solta e dedos digitando numa velocidade astronômica.
Olhar para o deus grego sentado a sua frente era muito melhor do que qualquer outra coisa.
Seu dia havia sido deveras estranho, Louis o tratava de um jeito diferente a cada hora. De manhã quando chegou ele lhe deu um bom dia simples e perguntou se sua noite havia sido boa, tudo de uma maneira extremamente educada. Já na hora do almoço o de olhos azuis mal olhou em sua cara antes de sair para seu almoço e quando voltou estava falando em seu telefone, o que acabou deixando Harry extremamente curioso, já que ao invés de ser apenas uma das milhares ligações de negócios que ele havia visto o outro atender, nessa ele falava de maneira suave e usava termos como anjo e amor. O que fez com que mesmo contra sua vontade uma pontada de ciúmes surgisse por presumir que ele estava falando com sua namorada, uma tal de Annie, que havia sido mencionado na festa de final de ano, no ano passado.
Quando finalmente Louis veio falar com ele para o perguntar se já tinha almoçado, a expressão fechada estava presa em sua própria cara agora.
Louis apenas o encarou por alguns segundos antes de receber uma resposta seca que o fez lançar um olhar curioso para Harry antes de virar de costas e ir para a própria mesa, local onde ignorou arduamente o de cabelos longos pelo resto da tarde.
Harry não soube por quanto tempo ficou encarando o corpo do homem à sua frente enquanto pensava e só percebeu o que o estava fazendo por ter os olhos azuis penetrantes presos aos seu enquanto o dono dos mesmo pigarreava.
Sentiu o constrangimento ir tomando conta do seu corpo a cada segundo que passavam se encarando e lutou com todas as suas forças para não abaixar a cabeça. A sensação era eletrizante e poderosa, como se uma corrente os unisse.
Aquele jogo de poder parecia fazer com que seu corpo fosse explodir e por mais que não quisesse demonstrar como apenas ter o homem que desejava o olhando mexia consigo ele foi incapaz de manter a pose.
Desviou a atenção para seu próprio colo por alguns instantes, antes de suspirar e se afundar na cadeira, tentando se esconder da forma perturbadora que Louis mexia com seus sentidos.
Aquilo era definitivamente ridículo, ele era uns bons centímetros mais alto que o outro e não deveria se sentir como uma criatura pequena e frágil, mas o problema era justamente esse. Ele amava esse sentimento e ansiava por ele a cada segundo.
Queria e estava agindo como tudo aquilo que havia sido ensinado a não ser, a vontade de apenas se manter de cabeça baixa e acatar qualquer ordem que viesse do homem à sua frente, como um subordinado qualquer fazia seu corpo tremer. Sua família com certeza o odiaria e diria que ele era uma aberração por querer o que queria e Louis devia estar pensando como ele era patético.
Quando finalmente teve coragem de olhar para onde o moreno estava sentiu vontade de morrer. Louis mantinha uma de suas sobrancelhas levantadas, em forma questionamento e a boca numa linha reta com os lábios pressionados firmemente. A áurea ao seu redor era extremamente forte e isso apenas piorou a situação já caótica de Harry.
Suas coxas se esfregaram involuntariamente e ele corou forte enquanto mordia o lábio para suprimir a vontade de gemer como uma putinha para o seu empregado.
- Você pode ir embora se quiser, eu sei que é o seu trabalho supervisionar as coisas por aqui, mas em plena sexta à noite imagino que você deva ter coisas muito melhores e interessantes para fazer do que ficar vendo seu empregado trabalhar. – Harry sabia que ele estava tirando uma com a sua cara pela maneira como tinha pronunciado a palavra empregado, mas isso não impediu seu pênis de pulsar dentro da calça. Uma parte de sua mente tinha medo que isso não passasse de uma piada ou zombaria extremamente maldosa, mas a outra parte que saia do fundo de seu âmago insistia em dizer que era tudo uma merda de provocação e que se Harry deixasse Louis teria a capacidade de levar aquilo adiante e humilha-lo de um jeito muito pior. O que era exatamente o que o cacheado almejava.
- Sabe... – Harry mordeu o interior da bochecha e encarou Louis piscando lentamente e colocando todo o deboche que conseguia em sua voz – Ao invés de dizer que eu posso ir embora, você deveria trabalhar mais rápido para não manter seu chefe preso aqui.
O de olhos verde engoliu em seco assim que a última palavra saiu de sua boca, ele não sabia de onde tinha vindo toda aquela coragem, mas apenas o sabor de ver o leve choque que cruzou a cara de Louis foi impagável, mesmo que agora seus dedos tremessem levemente e uma sensação de medo se apossasse do seu ser. Racionalmente ele sabia que Louis nunca faria nada de mal para si, mas seu inconsciente não parava de murmurar o quão atrevido ele tinha sido e o quanto Louis iria o punir por isso.
- Claro, chefe. – A voz sombria ecoou de uma maneira extremamente firme e irônica através da sala e o barulho da cadeira de Louis arrastando para trás fez todos os seus pelos arrepiarem, a visão de seu empregado em pé, segurando uma folha de papel com uma expressão tão cortante quanto a mandíbula que marcava seu rosto bonito era estonteante.
Harry tinha plena consciência de que tinha feito e que teria que aguentar as consequências, só que tudo se tornou demais quando ainda o analisando de cima a baixo, Louis deu o primeiro passo em sua direção. Ele não conseguiu segurar o olhar vindo do outro e abaixou a cabeça, suas mãos indo para seu colo e se entrelaçando enquanto escutava os passos lentos do outro homem vindo até si, de repente ele tinha noção de seu próprio corpo se retraindo, de como Louis estava cada vez mais próximo e até da própria respiração desregulada.
Se encolheu ainda mais na cadeira estofada e analisou o próprio colo como se fosse a coisa mais interessante do mundo.
Quando Louis deu a volta em sua mesa e parou ao seu lado ele só podia ver a calça preta social e os sapatos lustrados. Suas mãos suavam levemente em antecipação e seu corpo inteiro estava tenso e excitado. Ele estava extremamente ansioso ainda que não tivesse a coragem de levantar a cabeça para encarar o outro de volta.
Parecia que uma eternidade tinha se passado quando ele sentiu a mão livre de Louis envolver seu queixo, os dedos apertando sua pele eram firmes e quentes e a sensação foi tão surpreendentemente boa que um suspiro escapou de seus lábios. Os dedos fizeram um pouco mais de pressão em sua pele e o obrigaram a levantar a cabeça, seu olhar se prendeu ao do empregado e uma corrente elétrica o atravessou causando arrepios pelo seu seu corpo. Os olhos azuis chamuscavam tesão e dureza e Harry sentiu seu corpo todo se acender ainda mais por saber que seus desejos eram recíprocos.
A mão do outro soltou seu queixo e passeou pela sua bochecha, seu polegar fazendo vários círculos em uma caricia leve.
Harry sentia seu corpo todo sensível com os toques de Louis, seu pau fisgava a cada círculo feito em sua bochecha e seus mamilos estavam tão duros dentro da camisa social branca que podiam ser vistos marcando de longe, sentia vontade de gemer cada vez que o tecido roçava neles lhe dando mais tesão.
Sua boca se entreabriu automaticamente no momento em que sentiu Louis roçar o indicador e dedo médio sobre seus lábios, aquilo era tudo o que ele tinha desejado por dias e agora estava ganhando, os dedos do outro deslizaram para dentro de si e ele gemeu em deleite, sugando com vontade, sentindo os vincos em suas bochechas se formarem. Louis mantinha a expressão dura e os olhos ainda grudados ao seus, enquanto Harry rodava a língua ao redor de seus dedos de forma provocativa e fazia questão de gemer manhoso, como um gatinho brincando com seu dono.
Harry era um misto de desespero e necessidade, feliz por finalmente estar ganhando algo que tinha almejado desde que o conheceu e por outro lado desesperado, por que só aquilo ainda não era o suficiente, ele não queria dedos, ele queria o pau de Louis se enterrando fundo em sua garganta e lhe fazendo engasgar com gozo.
Gemeu em frustração, sentindo seu próprio pau melar a cueca e fechou os olhos. Os dedos em sua boca foram mais fundo e ele sentiu o reflexo da garganta antes de gemer e começar a respirar pelo nariz, seu queixo e a mão de Louis ficando uma bagunça molhada com sua saliva. Gemeu o nome do homem a sua frente pela primeira vez em desespero completo.
Sentiu o outro tirar os dedos de sua boca e voltar a segurar seu queixo com força, o que fez com que seus olhos se abrissem e procurassem pelos de Louis em um questionamento mudo, tentando entender o que estava havendo ali.
- Você tem lábios de puta, Boneca.- A mão melada que segurava seu queixo o soltou e ele a seguiu com os olhos, gemendo manhosamente quando viu Louis limpar os resquícios de sua saliva sobre o próprio pau coberto pela calça, deixando uma marca molhada escura lá.
Antes que pudesse ter qualquer reação o moreno de olhos azuis deu um passo para trás e encarou Harry com um olhar frio, a folha branca que ele segurava na outra mão desde a hora que havia saído de sua mesa, sendo colocada em sua frente junto com outros documentos que Harry tinha ali. Ele ainda se encontrava perdido e tremendo de tesão quando viu que se tratava de uma planilha. Sua testa se franziu em dúvida e ele abriu a boca para perguntar o que era.
- Você pediu para que eu trabalhasse mais rápido então aí está a última planilha de hoje. – A expressão de desejo misturado com poder e desdém na cara de Louis eram fortes – Meu trabalho aqui acabou, aproveite seu final de semana, chefinho.
Harry não teve tempo de reagir enquanto assistia Louis virar de costas e ir embora, apenas sentiu uma lágrima escorrer por sua bochecha. Seu pau se encontrava duro e pulsante, seus lábios vermelhos e molhados com a própria saliva e seu corpo inteiro sensível. Ele queria gritar, necessitado e frustrado em todos os níveis que se podem medir respirou fundo tentando não desabar em uma crise de choro.
Definitivamente, de todas as punições e reações possíveis que pensou que Louis pudesse ter, essa nunca tinha lhe cruzado a mente.
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Depois do que Louis havia feito consigo na sexta feira, tudo havia se tornado pior, ele ainda não sabia como tinha conseguido as forças necessárias para chegar em casa, e ao se lembrar da maneira que seu corpo e mente eram um misto de desespero e frustração tão grandes, que quando ele entrou no apartamento apenas teve tempo de se jogar no sofá ainda com a roupa que estava e chorado se masturbar até gozar, ele queria morrer.
Era uma memória humilhante demais para um cara de quase trinta anos.
O bom era que ter se aliviado em seu surto necessitado tinha trazido uma paz para si que não sentia desde quando havia pisado em Nova York para o começo do seu mês supervisionando as coisas.
Sua tranquilidade não tinha durado mais do que algumas horas porque logo pela manhã, acordou tremendo na cama, todo suado e excitado por conta de um dos sonhos mais intenso que já tinha tido na vida.
Seu sábado nem havia começado e seus pensamentos já estavam tomados pelo outro. E Deus, ele só precisava que Louis o fodesse até o fazer esquecer o próprio nome.
Para ajudar ainda mais a sanidade que ele não possuía, depois que havia se levantado, Harry não tinha tido um minuto sequer de paz. Uma manhã turbulenta com seu corpo estando desejoso e com pessoas do outro lado do mundo ligando para resolver problemas da empresa, não era o que ele esperava ou queria.
Ele já devia ter respirado fundo umas mil vezes e ainda nem se passava das dez da manhã, tudo o que ele almejava era passar um sábado tranquilo e descansar um pouco da tortura psicológica que tinha se submetido durante os últimos dias, mas como ultimamente ter o que desejava nunca parecia possível, um pouco de paz seria a última coisa que ele teria.
Quando finalmente conseguiu resolver tudo aquilo que pedia sua atenção, já se passava das duas da tarde e ele se sentia exausto, os problemas do trabalho tinham tirado sua atenção do homem que nos últimos dias parecia ser o dono de sua cabeça, mas agora sozinho em seu sofá de couro preto, num apartamento extremamente grande para uma única pessoa ele havia começado a se perguntar como Louis era fora do ambiente de trabalho e fazer esses questionamentos a si próprio, junto com toda a situação de sexta, fez com que ele tivesse a ideia de ir pesquisar mais sobre o ser de olhos azuis que lhe intrigava tanto.
Para sanar toda a sua curiosidade sobre a vida alheia nada seria melhor do que stalkear as redes sociais do outro, certo?
Tudo tinha começado calmo, a maioria das fotos em seu facebook eram dele sozinho em paisagens ao redor do mundo ou selfies mais descontraídas.
Sua pesquisa estava indo muito bem, ele havia descoberto que o outro tinha uma vasta coleção de tatuagens, amava viagens e festas, e era um grande gostoso tanto de camisa social quanto de regata.
Isso é, até ele encontrar uma foto onde Louis havia sido marcado por um amigo.
Na imagem ele estava sentado num banco com um outro cara, que era cheio de piercings, tinha cabelo comprido e segurava um copo de bebida, mantendo uma expressão séria. Louis, por outro lado, sorria levemente e mantinha as duas mãos sobre as coxas que eram cobertas por um jeans de lavagem escura. Porém o que lhe chamou a atenção foi o lugar onde eles estavam que aparecia na publicação. Clicou rapidamente sobre o nome Angels Club, para ver sobre o que se tratava e quase engasgou com a própria saliva.
O lugar era nada menos que a porra de um clube BDSM.
Depois de receber essa informação, Harry sentiu como se seu cérebro tivesse entrado em curto circuito, ele não sabia mais como agir, a única coisa que rondava sua mente era uma vontade assustadora de ligar para o outro homem e pedir que ele viesse até seu apartamento, para que assim ele pudesse cair de joelhos em sua frente e implorar que fizesse de si seu submisso. Pelo menos por uma cena que fosse.
Fazia meses desde que ele tinha estado em um clube, ser o dono de empresas famosas ao redor do mundo não lhe dava muito tempo livre, e ter a imprensa no seu pé, sempre lhe pintando como o cara de ouro, não permitia que ele frequentasse qualquer lugar já que para os olhos de todos ele era o cara dominante que tinha quem quisesse . Nunca poderia deixar que descobrissem que na realidade era ao contrário.
Mas Louis era um dominador e seu cérebro não conseguia pensar em nada que não fosse isso.
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O elevador de metal parecia nunca chegar ao último andar e isso estava deixando o homem de olhos verdes muito impaciente, olhar seu próprio reflexo naqueles espelhos enormes não ajudava em nada, porque a pessoa que ele via não correspondia com a maneira que ele estava se sentindo naquele momento.
Seu terno cinza claro de alfaiataria lhe dava um tom extremamente sério, o cabelo bem arrumado transmitia uma clareza e força que Harry não sabia se realmente tinha para lidar com aquela situação, segunda-feira finalmente tinha chegado e ele ainda não tinha ideia de como encararia Louis. O elevador parou e ele desceu, passando pela secretária que estava em seu lugar de costume e que lhe deu um bom dia educado, avisando que Louis já se encontrava na sala deles e havia pedido para não ser incomodado pelas próximas horas já que ambos teriam uma reunião.
Harry franziu o cenho com a informação, ele tinha a certeza de que havia checado sua agenda várias vezes e que hoje eles não tinham nada de importante além da revisão de alguns contratos.
Ainda parado sobre a porta de madeira escura e brilhante, com seus nervos à flor da pele ele respirou fundo uma última vez, a coisa que ele mais pedia aos céus, era para que Louis não o ignorasse, afinal tinha tido os dedos dele fundo em sua garganta exatos dois dias antes e era humanamente impossível tratar isso como algo corriqueiro.
Fechou a porta atrás de si e parou sem entender nada. Louis estava lá, só que ao invés de estar em sua mesa como sempre, ele estava com seu terno e topetes impecáveis, sentado um uma das poltronas de couro que ficavam no canto oposto da sala e que davam uma visão privilegiada dos arranhas-céus e prédios de Nova York, digitando algo sem parar no notebook em seu colo, nem se dando ao trabalho de desviar o olhar da tela para lhe dar um mísero oi.
- Bom dia pra você também. – Harry não soube de onde tinha vindo o sarcasmo em sua voz, mas ele se sentia como um animal machucado por ser ignorado. O que era ridículo, mas ele não conseguia controlar. - Nós temos uma reunião surpresa?
- Lembrou que sabe conversar e me perguntar as coisas ao invés de só ficar bisbilhotando minha vida para descobrir os lugares que eu frequento?
- O..que? Como...? – Louis ainda não havia tirado os olhos do aparelho para lhe olhar e Harry estava congelado no lugar sem saber o que dizer ou fazer.
- Você curtiu a foto.- O rosto do de olhos verdes, estava extremamente corado e ele mal achava que sabia como respirar, enquanto o homem de olhos azuis não deixava uma única emoção transparecer e tampouco olhava para ele enquanto falava. - Eu sabia que você estava desesperado depois de sexta, mas não achei que fosse tanto, quantas vezes você se imaginou estando naquele clube comigo? Desde quando você sonha em me ter te comendo?
- Eu... eu... – Harry não era nada mais que um amontoado de necessidade e vergonha, toda a frustração dos últimos dias sendo descarregada diretamente no seu corpo, os seus mamilos já duros e eriçados, suas pernas parecendo gelatina e seu corpo todo necessitando de atenção. Deus, ele se sentia fodido e Louis ainda nem olhado pra ele tinha.
⁃ Desde quando eu te conheci. - Disse Harry, com a voz baixa.
⁃ Você gostaria que eu te fodesse agora?
⁃Sim. - Louis mal tinha tido tempo de terminar de falar, antes que a resposta do outro cortasse a sala.- Por favor. Olhe para mim... eu só... por favor.
O pedido era uma súplica manhosa e humilhada, então pela primeira vez desde que Harry tinha entrado ali naquele dia, Louis havia o olhado.
- Uma pena que agora eu tenha uma reunião. - O moreno disse lentamente encarando o outro. - Mas sabe já que você é chefe de tudo aqui, poderia passar a agir como um e me arrumar um apoio para os pés? Já que a minha sala não tem uma mesinha de centro que preste.
Os olhos azuis que estavam grudados aos seus, voltaram ao computador e a lhe ignorar novamente. Harry olhou para os sapatos sociais de Louis enquanto sentia seus músculos tencionarem. Havia entendido muito bem a mensagem.
Seu corpo estava num estado vibrante de excitação e ele não conseguia dar a mínima pro terno que usava ou qualquer outra coisa. Ele só queria ser útil.
Andou lentamente até a frente da poltrona em que Louis estava sentado, deixando a maleta que carregava com documentos no chão e caindo de joelhos ali, se ajeitando em seguida e ficando de quatro
O outro desviou o olhar da sala de reunião on-line que acabara de entrar pela internet. Harry podia ouvir a voz de seus outros diretores dando bom dia saindo do computador. Louis o encarou.
- Você conhece o sistema das cores?
- Sim.
- Então use-as se precisar.
Foi a única coisa que o outro disse antes de afundar os pés em suas costas, Harry pode sentir o peso das pernas dele com vontade sobre si, seu terno caríssimo sendo amarrotado pelos sapatos sociais e suas costas se curvando um pouco pela maneira que o outro literalmente lhe pisava.
Em algum ponto naquela posição ele havia perdido a noção do tempo, escutar Louis conversando com outros caras cujo ele também era chefe enquanto tinha os pés dele em si, tinha o levado para um outro estado mental, um que era meio desconexo e o deixava flutuante mas que lhe dava tesão pra caralho mesmo assim.
Os minutos foram passando de forma tortuosa mas sabia que estava lá a um bom tempo já que suas pernas e braços tremiam pra caralho pela dor e cansaço, seu pau estava tão duro encharcando sua cueca e todo seu corpo todo tão dolorido e excitado que ele não tinha mais força para levantar a cabeça, seus joelhos e mãos formigavam e a cada segundo que passava sua cabeça era uma mescla entre querer gritar a palavra vermelho e ser um bom.
As lágrimas em seu rosto já escorriam livres por conta da dor quando ele finalmente ouviu as vozes pararem de sair do notebook de Louis, o peso sendo retirado das suas costas alguns segundos depois.
Ele não conseguia se mexer e antes que pudesse juntar consciência para falar algo, ele estava sendo puxado para o colo de Louis na poltrona, seu corpo todo relaxando, ao que sentia o outro lhe aconchegar.
Gemeu com vontade ao sentir a ereção pressionada sobre sua bunda e lembrou do quanto o próprio pau estava necessitado.
- Você é tão bom. - Louis sussurrou em seu ouvido e continuou distribuindo beijos por seu pescoço - Tão bem treinado para mim.
Harry sorriu com isso, se sentindo orgulhoso de si, o prazer em saber que tinha deixado Louis satisfeito tomando conta de cada poro seu.
Sentiu a boca do outro na sua e gemeu em deleite, era um beijo molhado e cheio de língua, extremamente bom. A boca de Louis extremamente exigente na sua, mordendo seu lábio inferior e chupando sua língua, fazendo sons obscenos que lhe deixavam ainda mais duro e molhado.
- Para minha mesa, agora.
Com as pernas ainda doloridas pelo esforço de se manter de quatro por tanto tempo, ele se levantou do colo de Louis, seu corpo imediatamente sentindo falta do contato quente que tinham antes.
Andou meio cambaleante até chegar à mesa que estava do lado oposto da sala e respirou fundo.
Ele ainda estava completamente vestido e sentia o tecido da camisa social branca por baixo do terno grudar em seu corpo quente mas não era isso que lhe incomodava, o seu pau preso na cueca melada com seu pré gozo, pulsando e clamando por atenção era o que lhe deixava insano.
Harry sentia como se estivesse ficado duro por horas e que qualquer contato fosse lhe fazer gozar, o que não era completamente improvável.
Sentiu Louis atrás de si e arrepiou, empinando a bunda e se roçando nele com vontade enquanto o homem beijava seu pescoço, era gostoso mas não era o suficiente, tinha muita roupa ali e ele não aguentava mais almejar por um contato mais firme de pele com pele. Ele era uma putinha sedenta.
- Louis, oh meu deus. - O nome do outro tinha saído como uma súplica, a diferença de altura entre eles se tornando mais explícita e perfeita para posição que estavam.
Harry arqueou completamente seu pescoço sobre o ombro do de olhos azuis, lhe dando mais passagem e gemeu com vontade assim que sentiu os dentes dele lhe mordendo - Me fode... por favor, eu...eu preciso muito de você em mim.
O fantasma do desespero de ser deixado assim outra vez lhe assombrava e a necessidade dos toques do outro em seu corpo lhe deixava doente, ele só queria ser fodido ao ponto de não conseguir andar depois.
E apenas Louis seria capaz de sanar essa vontade, somente ele.
Seu pescoço foi deixado de lado e as mãos do outro engancharam em sua calça e cueca, as puxando para baixo de uma vez. Ter seu pau finalmente livre lhe fez gemer.
- Você não tem noção de quantas vezes eu me segurei para não te tocar. - Um tapa forte estralou em sua bunda, fazendo uma sensação elétrica correr por suas veias e ele se empinar ainda mais em busca de contato. Tinha certeza que seria capaz de gozar apanhando se Louis continuasse. - O que você acha que as pessoas iam pensar se te vissem assim Harry? Você grita ordens no telefone o tempo todo, finge que ama mandar e faz com que todos achem que você gosta de ter as pessoas ao seus pés.
Outro tapa e ele foi empurrado até estar deitado sobre a mesa, uma mão de Louis em seu pescoço forçando sua cara contra a mesa e a outra acariciando sua bunda desnuda.
- O que os outros diretores iriam achar se soubessem que enquanto eles faziam uma reunião, na qual estavam se referindo a você com todo o cuidado você estava de quatro, como um cachorrinho sendo o meu capacho particular? - Os dedos de Louis tinham começado a circular seu cuzinho e ele estava pulsando tanto de ter o outro lhe humilhando que era até embaraçoso mas as não havia nada que pudesse fazer sobre isso porque sua mente estava dividida entre a vergonha e o prazer de ouvir alguém lhe pondo em seu lugar - Cadela desesperada.
Gemeu com tanta vontade, ele nunca pensou que ia se sentir tão perto de um orgasmo só de ter alguém falando.
Tentou olhar sobre os ombros para Louis quando ele tirou a mão de seu pescoço e se afastou, mas desistiu e voltou a encarar a pilha de contratos que estava ao seu lado. Sua respiração totalmente desregulada e a pele ardendo onde havia apanhado.
Empenhou-se o máximo que conseguiu para ficar quieto quando sentiu as mãos do de olhos azuis abrindo sua bunda e lhe deixando exposto mas gritou quando sentiu a boca do outro deixar um beijo e cuspir em sua entrada piscante.
- Eu vou gozar - Falou desesperado, sentindo a língua alheia lhe circular, ele não ia conseguir aguentar aquilo, seu corpo tinha passado dias demais querendo os toques de Louis e ele sabia que não ia aguentar isso.
- Não, você não vai. - Foi a resposta simples que recebeu enquanto mais uma dúzia de gemidos e xingamentos desesperados deixaram sua boca. Os movimentos de penetração da língua do outro em si e o pau pressionado no vidro estavam lhe levando ao limite rápido demais. - A não ser que você queira que sua empresa toda saiba que você é minha vadia particular, eu sugiro que seja mais silencioso, amor.
Ele quis chorar, era muito óbvio que Louis estava lhe torturando e por mais que quisesse se esgoelar de gemer e gozar sabia que não podia, ele tinha desejado aquilo por tempo demais para desobedecer o outro mas não sabia se tinha tanto auto-controle assim para conseguir se segurar.
Agarrou a própria mão e mordeu com força tentando ser mais quieto e quando o primeiro dedo do outro entrou em si, mordeu o lábio inferior com tanta força que sentiu o gosto de sangue inundar seu paladar.
Seja bom para ele.
A frase rodava sua cabeça a cada segundo e depois do terceiro dedo haviam lágrimas caindo de seu rosto e manchando papéis abaixo de si enquanto seu corpo tremia pelo esforço em não vir. Sua próstata estava sendo surrada sem dó pelos dedos que iam fundo em si.
Os pedidos de por favor saiam da sua boca sem parar, e sua tentativa de ser silencioso tinha sido abandonada a tempos porque ele não tinha como ser quieto quando seu próprio corpo era uma bomba relógio de sensibilidade aos tapas, beijos e dedos. Ele só queria que Louis lhe usasse como uma puta e o deixasse aberto e dolorido por dias.
Quando a tortura teve fim e Louis retirou os dedos de dentro de si, ele lamuriou triste se sentindo vazio. A sala ficou em silencio sem seus gemidos e ele se tornou extremamente consciente disso.
Sabia que o outro homem estava em algum lugar atrás de si por conta do barulho de respiração e passos mas a falta de contato pele a pele estava lhe deixando com medo. Ele confiava em Louis mas o que tinha acontecido na sexta-feira o tinha deixado traumatizado, ele sabia que era irracional mas não queria ser deixado sozinho e necessitado de novo.
Ele tinha sido um bom garoto e não merecia ficar nesse estado, ele merecia gozar, ele merecia que Louis lhe desse o orgasmo que a dias necessitava, mesmo que-
- Harry. - A voz de Louis estava mais doce e ele fazia carinho levemente sobre sua bochecha com o polegar- Qual é a sua cor amor?
Franziu o cenho para a pergunta porque ele estava tão desesperado para ser comido e com medo de ser abandonado que não tinha se dado conta que estava chorando. Olhos azuis lhe encaravam levemente preocupados e atenciosos, esperando sua resposta.
- Verde - Sua voz saiu quebrada e ele respirou fundo sentindo o pânico que estava em seu corpo e mente se esvair - Você vai me foder? Bem gostosinho?
- Sim. - O pacote de camisinha nas mãos de seu mestre era a explicação pela qual ele havia parado de lhe tocar. Harry olhou para o pau marcado pela calça social preta dele e gemeu desejoso o assistindo tirar o cinto.
E poucos segundos depois de abaixar o zíper ele saiu de sua linha de visão o que fez com que um gemido frustrado saísse de sua boca que só não durou mais porquê o de olhos verdes ouviu o som do pacote de camisinha rasgando.
Usou toda sua força que seu corpo dolorido tinha para olhar para trás e ver Louis a desenrolar sobre o pau grande e grosso. Sua entrada se contraiu em antecipação.
Deitou a cabeça novamente no vidro quando sentiu Louis jogar lubrificante e pincelar sua entrada com a cabeça do pau.
- Você pode gozar a qualquer momento desde que seja depois de mim. - O grunhido que largou a boca de Harry ao ouvir isso foi alto e bravo, e o tapa ardido que estalou sua bunda em seguida mais ainda. - Prefere ficar sem vir?
Só ouvir isso o fez choramingar e ele negou com a cabeça.
- Não senhor.
E então ele sentiu o pau de Louis afundar dentro de si de uma vez por todas, queimando e o esticando do jeito que ele gostava, sem dar tempo para Harry pensar ou se adaptar Louis começou o foder, indo fundo e acertando sua próstata diversas vezes, fazendo sua mente nublar e sua boca abrir em um gemido mudo de tanto prazer.
As estocadas de Louis eram fortes e precisas, e as mãos dele no seu quadril o apertavam sem dó deixando marcas vermelhas que logo estariam roxas.
- Não sabe o quanto eu imaginei te ter assim... toda vez que eu olhava para essa boca de puta ou pra suas pernas em alguma calça colada – Dois tapas estalaram em sua bunda enquanto o outro falava - Eu pensei em te ligar assim que vi que você tinha curtido aquela foto sabia? Mas não fiz porque quanto mais desesperado você estivesse, melhor seria para te comer.
Harry gemeu alto, seu pau sendo pressionado na mesa vazando sem parar e seu couro cabeludo doendo prazerosamente porque estava sendo repuxado, ele estava tão sensível que se Louis lhe mandasse gozar agora ele faria instantaneamente sem nem ter que se tocar.
Lágrimas gordas sujavam seu rosto, se sentia caindo aos pedaços sobre o ritmo impiedoso de Louis, sua entrada se contraindo a cada estocada e seu corpo todo tremendo. Nunca havia sido tão bem fodido.
Ele conseguiu escutar o homem em cima de si xingar sobre o quão apertado ele é, mas sua visão estava nublada demais pelo choro e seu corpo tremelicando a cada segundo para segurar o próprio orgasmo.
Ele sabe que vai gozar a qualquer momento porque seu pau lateja e suas bolas se apertam, esteve em seu limite por muito tempo e não consegue se segurar mais. Seus pensamentos estão embaralhados e ele está prestes a quebrar a ordem que foi lhe dada quando boca de Louis gruda em seu ombro cravando os dentes com vontade conforme goza dentro da camisinha.
Não demora meio segundo para que Harry esteja gozando. Seu corpo todo se contrai e sua visão escurece, ele tem certeza que nunca teve um orgasmo tão forte assim e o alívio que o atinge lhe deixa mole, as estocadas sendo prolongadas dentro de si faz com que seu orgasmo dure mais ainda e ele está prestes a desmaiar pela hipersensibilidade quando Louis sai de dentro de si.
Alguns segundos depois ele é virado para frente, seu abdômen está sujo de porra assim como a mesa e todos os papéis que estavam embaixo de si. Ele ainda está tentando voltar a sua completa consciência quando a boca do menor encontra a sua num beijo demorado.
Harry sorri, se sentindo menos aéreo e extremamente satisfeito. Louis puxa a cadeira almofadada e senta nela, o puxando da mesa para seu colo e deixando o chefe se aconchegar em si.
- Você é perfeito. - Ele murmura entre um beijo e outro, o que faz Harry sorrir e lhe beijar novamente. Eles se separam e o ser de olhos verdes deita a cabeça em seu ombro suspirando ainda meio grogue por tudo que eles fizeram. Louis acaricia suas costas e deixa pequenos selinhos por toda sua bochecha até o pé de sua orelha onde murmura: - Será que é antiético chamar meu chefe bonito para um jantar?
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glystenangel · 8 months
Text
🤍dumb-dumb🤍
ServiceDom!Gojo x Afab!Reader
tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, pillow princess behavior, cunnilingus, p*ssydrunk!gojo, short and smuttyyy
summary:
~400 words
________________
Gojo needs to be stupid every now and then.
Really fucking needs it.
His favorite place to accomplish stupidity is between your thighs.
When he comes home from particularly strenuous missions, he just wants to eat you out for hours and become completely dumb.
He loves getting pussy drunk from the sheer taste of you. Loves emptying his mind and filling you with pleasure.
Gojo always starts by stroking the point of his tongue inside, delving between your folds and languidly caressing your walls.
Then, he’ll start sucking on your soft, swollen bud. Swirling his tongue around the nub until your pussy tightens around nothing and you’re whimpering into every touch. After that, his mind starts to blank and he tongues at your pussy with reckless abandon, only thinking about how cute you sound and how much of your sweet precum sticks to his needy tongue. He desperately thrusts the pink muscle inside and swallows your honeyed trembles and flinches. As you grip his pale locks in your fists, Gojo whines into your pussy like every feverish grind of your hips onto his tongue is nothing short of pure bliss.
Even after he draws out your first orgasm and gulps it down, he can’t help himself. He can’t be satiated by anything that doesn’t involve how fucking good you taste. So, he keeps pinning your hips down with his hands and moaning into your cunt.
Sometimes, he likes to watch you leak and drip onto the sheets, briefly raising his chin up and waiting for you to stain the material with what he did to you. Ocean eyes hazily drinking in the heady satisfaction and fluid spilling out of your quivering sex. His next thought, or rather instinct, is that he wants to make you cum again. Wants to see how much he can make you cry and dribble into his pretty, eager mouth.
Gojo only stops once your entire frame is wracked with undeniable ecstasy and subsequently, utter exhaustion. He soothes your overstimulated figure with tender kisses to your inner thighs, tracing affectionate lines over your skin and carefully moving up to your face. There, he presses a grateful kiss to your lips, mumbling about the happiness you bring him. How you make him so stupid and in love.
As he holds you securely in his arms, you whisper sweet nothings to each other until you fall asleep.
________________
End Notes: yeah,,..i have no excuse for this😄😚💓
thank you for reading and hope u enjoyed! <333
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taintandviolent · 4 months
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morally violating ; Kai Anderson x reader
warnings: kai is the warning. okay okay, real warnings: hatefuck (surprise, surprise), female receiving, clothed sex, rough sex, spanking, aggression, choking, degrading language, unprotected sex. a/n: 2.7k words! turned out to be part 2 to my howlin' for you fic. i feel like an anon requested this, but I'll be damned if I can remember which one. if it was you -- here you go! it's late, but who cares. you guys don't care, it's Kai. was originally part of my lazy (and embarrasingly late at this point) kinktober. week two AND three; spanking, clothed sex and degradation. so uh... enjoy. sorry if it's clunky and bad and weird and rushed!
full fic & taglist under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! /
​​You swept the blush brush over your cheeks and heaved a sigh. Ultimately, you were disgusted with yourself. Right? It might not have been surface-level, but somewhere, deep down, you really were. You had to be. It was sickening that you hadn’t stopped thinking about the furious fuck you two had had almost two weeks ago. You, as a proud feminist woman, found that very morally violating. Actually, you found Kai very morally violating. And yet, here you were, threading the ribbon of a Red Riding Hood costume through the faux-corset front. You knotted it tightly and gazed in the mirror.
You made a cute Red Riding Hood and your tits sat nicely in this corset. At least there was that. There was the possibility that he wasn’t even going to come, which was probably the best option. There was also the possibility that he would walk through the door with Winter. If the latter happened, you’d feel like a fool in front of your friend, and an absolute pathetic, begging whore in front of her brother.
Which is what you were. You knew Kai would make sure to tell you that.
You heard the first ding of the doorbell. Giving yourself a final once-over, you turned and bolted down the stairs. Your eyes swept over your living room, making sure it was presentable. You’d decorated modestly. Streamers of orange, black and purple hung from the ceiling, those little table top decorations were clustered on your coffee table. Carved pumpkins greeted guests at the door.
With a bright smile on your face, you swung open the door. A cluster of friends from college stood on your doorstep; hugs were exchanged before you ushered them inside. It was non-stop after that. Your guests flooded into your home, and before you knew it, you had to hold your drink above your head to navigate. Within a few hours, you had yourself, by all definitions, a successful party. You were two Red Solo cups deep, and you still hadn’t spotted either of the Anderson siblings.
Your eyes unfocused, watching the throngs of people as they undulated to music and clustered in corners of the room. Reminiscent activities of a college party, some playfully slapped each other, some made out, while others danced, feeling the beat of the song playing. Others had taken to sitting on the staircase, lounging against the wall and the bannister as they chatted.
“Hey there, little Red Riding Hood…” a voice said. Your eyes refocused onto a particular head of blue hair, wavy locks hanging on either side of his face. His dark, brown eyes penetrated — no, violated yours.
“You sure are looking good.” Song quote. Cute. Not.
Everything he said sounded so threatening, even when it was complimentary. Especially when it was complimentary. He was scanning your body like a drill sergeant examining a soldier, scrutinising every minute detail. Intentionally, you puffed your chest out, lifting your cleavage and squaring your shoulders.
“Did you let yourself into my house?” You snapped, incredulously. “Where’s Winter?”
He stiffened, obviously put off by your immediate attitude. “She’ll be here. Later. Had something I needed her to do.”
“The fuck?”
A beat.
“…did you let yourself into my fucking house, Kai?”
“Did you intentionally dress up like Little Red Riding Hood after I dressed up as a wolf?”
Your open mouth closed wordlessly, lips rolling inwards. The question was rhetorical, and answering would only humiliate you further.
“Why don’t we go discuss your choices upstairs?”
You stared at him, a vicious fire burning behind your eyes. Hoping he’d… what? Retract his statement? Run back out the door, finally realising that you weren’t one to be fucked with? Doubtful. He never backed down in front of a woman. Besides, if he did, you’d likely stop him, catching his arm at his bicep and yanking him back towards yourself — because you didn’t want him to leave. And you knew it.
With a huff and a sharp turn, you headed up the stairs, navigating around the people that sat on the steps. Every feminist cell in your body screamed perilously at you as he followed you up your carpeted steps, the heavy stomp of his boots following closely behind you.
You were in no mood to self-rationalise, you were too busy trying to calm the drooling monster between your legs. You squeezed your eyes shut, silencing the thoughts as you opened the door. The guests would entertain themselves — this wouldn’t take long. It didn’t last time.
He began surveying your room, walking it with his hands behind his back as if grading you. When he came to your bathroom, he toed open the door with his boot, and peeked his head inside. He seemed satisfied with whatever he saw — maybe his own reflection. All of this made you acutely uncomfortable. You shifted your weight, flipping the frill of one of your petticoats.
“Come here.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said… come…. Here.” He repeated, more sternly than before.
For whatever stupid reason, you obeyed him. You marched your sorry little ass over to where he was standing, staring up at him like a lost puppy. The bathroom door was still ajar, and you could see inside, courtesy of the little butterfly night light that was plugged in above the sink.
Kai reached in, flattening his hand against the wall and flipped the light switch.  
“Put your hands on the counter.”
You hesitated. This didn’t sound good. But as soon as Kai jerked his head in the direction of the countertop, you hurriedly flattened your hands on the counter, keeping your eyes locked on his reflection.
“Good. Good. Now we’re getting somewhere. You’ve thought about our little encounter at Winter’s party often, haven’t you?”
You shook your head.
THWACK!
Your jaw dropped, stunned, as a burning red welt swelled on your right ass cheek, the flesh tingling with pinpricks of pain as the blood rushed to the surface. There had been no warning for the first, and there wasn’t a warning for the second, or the third.
“Let’s try that — wait. Oh. You like this.” He spat. “Don’t you?”
You shook your head again, indignantly, and Kai reared his hand back. You flinched and tightened your muscles, waiting for the impending impact. You knew it would piss him off — maybe that’s why you did it. Filling your mind with horrible things that would hopefully keep the arousal at bay wasn't working. You were failing… miserably. Spanking wasn’t something you’d explored in the past, never would have thought to. But the way that he was leaving large, burning handprints on your ass cheeks had you leaking out into your underwear. You could feel it, you knew it. Fuck, so wet… fuckfuckfuck.
As if he could hear your thoughts — a terrifying thought — Kai hooked one finger around the crotch of your panties and harshly yanked them to the side, exposing your slick folds. The tip of his middle finger explored curiously, unsurprisingly finding the beginnings of a juice-fest. Slippery, clear liquid oozed from your opening, and you heard Kai chuckle through his nose.
“Oh, no? What’s this?” He asked, knowingly. You had yet again lied to him. You personally didn’t see it as a lie but as a vicious betrayal from your own body. A wet, vicious betrayal.
“Nothing,” you rasped, ashamed, and knowing full well what was coming.
“What was that?”
“I said… nothing.” Might as well accept your fate now. You gripped the edge of the counter, bracing for impact.
THWACK! THWACK! THWACK! Your knees buckled in pain, a desperate whimper falling from your lips. Welts rose until your entire backside was a crimson, burning masterpiece of his hands.
“Clearly, you haven’t caught on. Allow me to explain this to you. Every time you lie to me, you’re going to be punished. And I know what you’re thinking. ‘Oh, but Kai, I like it when you spank me like the disobedient bitch I am.’ Maybe so.”
You didn’t appreciate the mockery of your voice.
Kai flattened his palm on the searing mound of flesh, caressing it tenderly as if deep in thought. Somehow though, the gentle touch made it sting more than before. You writhed away from his hand, only getting an inch or two away before he crudely yanked you back into place. Tossing you around like some sort of rag doll. “But, eventually, pleasure turns to pain. It’s up to you if you reach that point.”
Condemn yourself or liberate yourself? The answer was obvious. You sought pleasure not pain, and if Kai was willing… You met his eyes in the mirror, boring deep into them. You bent your arms at the elbows, stretching them across the counter and arching your back, pressing the curve of your juicy ass against his groin.
“Just fuck me,” You begged. Pathetically, desperately, whiningly. “That’s all we both want. It’s why we’re — why we’re here. There’s your truth, Kai.”
For a moment, Kai didn’t speak, he just stared. Just… watched you in the mirror. You drew your bottom lip in and bit down hard, hoping to entice him further. Slowly, his large hands slid up your back, going as far as the fabric would allow before dragging them back down again, his nails raking against your bare skin. Abruptly, he took hold of your ass, squeezing the soft flesh too hard, twisting your expression into one of pain. With the still warm pain of the spanks, you couldn’t help but wince at the sensation.
“Is that really wha—
“Don’t ask me if it’s what I want,” you groaned. “Don’t fucking ask me that.”
That launched him into action; his hands leaving your body. He unbuttoned his jeans, reaching in to pull his throbbing cock free. His gaze drifted from you to himself, looking down at it. Decently hard, but could be harder. The chase hadn’t been as long as last time, giving him less time to get worked up. He gave it a few angry pumps before lining it up with your slit. 
This was the second time you were going to fuck Kai Anderson — and in a similar way; pissed off and completely clothed. Behind you, Kai used the tip of his cock as a toy, slapping it messily against your swollen, blushing cunt, threads of precum stringing from your clit to his head.
You shuddered. Kai dragged his cock down, pressing the bulbous tip into your pink, weeping slit. Gushy and searing hot, the spongy walls clenched, forcing it back out. Kai grit his teeth and pushed the head in harder, breaching it. Slithery warmth washed over him, gripping it tight. His cock twitched inside of you, seeking out depth. “Ohhhhh…. Fuck. Fu-”
With the head of his now rock-hard cock planted inside you, he no longer needed his hands and let go, moving them up to sweep his hair out of his face. He was embedded inside of you now, slick walls gripping his shaft, carnally begging for more. Using only the strength of his core, Kai backed out and plunged his cock back in repeatedly, popping the head in and out of your wet pussy. With one determinate thrust and a deep groan, he pushed himself all the way in, his lower abdomen bumping against the fullness of your ass cheeks. 
His hands dropped heavily to your ass, taking fistfuls and pulling the cheeks apart to watch as it slid in and out, coated in your arousal. You whimpered, eyes rolling back, lids fluttering speedily. You hated him so much, but it felt so good. To turn dick down this good… would just be a waste. Not only was it long enough to hit your cervix, his cock was thick and veiny and massaged your insides in all the right spots.
“Look at yourself,” he growled, reaching one hand around to pinch your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. Your lips puckered out like a fish. “Look at what a little whore you are.”
Slowly, you lifted your eyes to the mirror. You couldn’t deny your reflection; your red and white petticoats fluffed up around your waist, your previously perfect curls knotted in his fist, and your face distorted in a whorish display. The cherry on top was every time Kai’s cock bottomed out inside you, you winced and let out the most pathetic, whimpering moan. It was like a bad porn moan, and it was coming from you. Kai’s hand retreated from your face, slithering down to your neck, where he gave a firm, warning squeeze before returning to its place on your hip.
“I bet…” He paused, thrusting hard into your cunt a few times. His words were breathy and laboured. “I bet you’ve been thinking about this since that night. You like this.”
You had — that part was true. The other part about ‘liking’ it? Up for debate. Your pussy certainly did with the way that she clenched her slick walls around his thick cock, hungrily gripping it every time he tried to slide out.
“You fuckin’,” You clenched around him, letting out a shrill moan through gritted teeth. Your voice cracked. “You fuckin’ wish, Kai.”
THWACK!
That one really hurt. Hot tears welled up before streaming down your cheeks, leaving lines in the rouge. Kai slowly leaned over you, pressing his toned stomach against your back and even through clothes, you felt the muscles tensing.  He angled his lips right next to your ear, and hissed: “I don’t have to wish for anything. I get everything I want.”
His hot whisper made you shiver violently. And he didn’t — he was right. You were giving him everything he wanted, everything he asked for. Just like one of his little pathetic, whinging groupies. He started pulling you onto his cock, hard, and your entire body seized up, your walls shuddering, pulsing, quivering with the sensation. You pressed your head into the countertop, moaning loud into the sink. The wet, slapping sounds drifted into a singular dull thudding noise; your ears were ringing, your chest heaving. His pace quickened, his thrusts merciless. The taut coil in your tummy wound tighter, creating a deep pressure above your bladder. Your thighs quivered, knees feeling like jello as you tried to hold yourself up against the counter.
“Fuck, Kai - fuck-fuck-I’m gonna’ fucking—
With a winded groan, Kai tensed up, and plunged himself as deep as he could go, pulling your hips hard onto his cock. Hot, white euphoria erupted inside of you, filling you up and oozing out the sides of your cunt with each unsparing thrust he gave. Unable to hold it any longer, you arched, screaming towards the mirror. Kai leaned back and pulled out slightly, just enough to watch as your pathetic little cunt clenched through your own orgasm, fluttering desperately around the tip of his dick. He gathered your underwear again and pulled them up, before snapping them down on your ass. The strings of cum that dripped from you seeped into the fabric, sticky and warm.
Kai reached around again, lifting you up by your neck. This time, his cheek pressed against yours, rubbing it like a dog nuzzling its owner. “You’re going to spend the rest of your little gathering feeling that, understood?”
You said nothing and he gripped harder; slight pressure on your windpipe.
“Understood?” Again, nothing and Kai pressed his palm against your throat until you gasped, thrashing your head up and down in a panic. “SAY IT.”
A weird whine came from your throat as you desperately gasped for air. Your pupils dilated. Finally, you croaked: “I-I’m going to feel your c-cum between my… my-legs all night long.”   
The pressure released, and Kai had turned away from you, busy stuffing his heavy, flaccid cock back into his dark jeans. Shakily, you straightened up, pulling your skirts back down where they were intended to sit. Thankfully, he hadn’t fucked up your makeup like he did last time - you could pass as just a tipsy girl who had just smeared her mascara a little.
Once you two were downstairs, you paused at the bottom of the stairs. The party thrived; nobody had noticed you were gone. You heaved a sigh of relief, knowing that now, nobody could pin it against you. No questions, no accusations. Me? Fucking Kai Anderson? Absolutely not, I’d rather die. Gag.
“We’ll have to discuss your constant lying at a later date.” And with that, he was gone. Gone to spread the good word of his weird little fucked up cult, and get more people to campaign for him, or whatever it is he did. You watched him, eyes narrowed, as he manoeuvred through the groups of people. He’d done it again. Motherfucker. You shifted your weight, feeling the sticky mess between your legs as dried into the fabric of your panties.
Coming down off the orgasm was one of the worst feelings; reality set in, and you were painfully reminded that you’d just fucked your sworn enemy. A poster boy of toxic masculinity had just filled you up with his seed. Sickening. A voice from behind jolted you out of your fuming stupor — Winter.
“You should really stop lying to him.”
You barked out a flabbergasted laugh. “That’s what I should stop, Winter? Lying to him?”
“Yeah,” she muttered lowly. “He hates liars.”
t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @garykingz/ @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @tatesdisasterofalover / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @enchanting-evan / @yesdevineruler / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake / @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @demxnicprxncess / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randominstake / @throwinginmythai / @hyperharlz / @poltoreveur
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hoe-for-hopper · 28 days
Text
Forget About Eddie
Bestfriend!SteveHarrington x Fem!Reader
WARNINGS: mentions of Eddie being a fuckboy, a lil fluff and a lil smut.
Word Count: 2247
Summary: You and Eddie have just broken up, but you're still hung up on him. Steve hates seeing you so down and just wants to make you feel better (better than Eddie could).
A/N: idk i'm on a smut writing spree, expect some more fics tomorrow (maybe some eddie, maybe some slashers, who really knows). i hardly edited this and i feel like the ending might be a lil rushed, but hey, smut is smut.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~SMUT BELOW THE CUT~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“I just don’t really know what to do, you know?” You and your best friend, Steve Harrington are walking to his car after your shift at Scoops. You’ve been upset all night over a fight you had with your ex-boyfriend, Eddie. 
You and Eddie had been broken up for a couple of months now, but you were still sneaking over to his trailer in the middle of the night. You couldn’t help it, you were young, horny, and Eddie was pretty good in bed. It was easy enough, until you had to get dressed and do the walk of shame across the trailer park. You know keeping this up wasn’t a smart idea, but a part of you also still loved Eddie. Even if you knew that he was just using you to get what he wanted.
“I don’t know why you’re still so hung up on that loser. You’ve always been too good for him and he didn’t deserve you.” Steve says as he unlocks the car doors and slides into the driver’s seat. He looks over at you and seeing your sad face says, “Alright, we’re going back to my place and having a movie night. I’ll call Robin and see if she’ll come over. You need to have some fun.”
You almost protest, but that does sound like it’ll get your mind off things. And if you’re at Steve’s  you won’t be as tempted to go to Eddie’s.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Well Robin can’t come over. She’s got a date or something. So I guess it’s just you and me.” He says as he places a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of you. “What do you wanna watch first? I just got a tape of The Outsiders. Remember that movie?” 
“Yeah that sounds good. Thanks for the popcorn.” You reach for the bowl as Steve sits down next to you.
Throughout the movie you can feel Steve looking over at you until he finally reaches over to slide his arm around your shoulders. “Hey, I know you’re upset, but just try to forget about Eddie and whatever stupid fight you guys have had.”
“I know, Steve, It’s just really hard. I miss him and I can’t seem to stay away. I keep going over whenever he calls like I’m just some booty call and not his ex-girlfriend of TWO YEARS! It’s like that’s all he wanted me for in the first place!” You put your hands over your face and shake your head.
“Wait. You’re still going over there and sleeping with him? Why would you do that? You’re way too good to be waiting around for his phone calls just so he can get off and leave you upset.” Steve pauses the movie and turns toward you. You didn’t mean to tell him all of that, you’d been telling Steve and Robin that you hadn’t seen Eddie since the breakup. You never told them that you two had been secretly fucking every other night.
“Uh… I mean it’s hard, Steve! We were together for a long time, I can’t just stop seeing him!” You reach for the remote to play the movie again, but Steve grabs your wrist to stop you.
As you look up at him he says, “I know. I’m sure it is hard. But he can’t be that great that you’re still doing…that with him.” Steve’s arm tightens around your shoulders. He’s staring down at you with a look you’ve never seen from him before. His right hand moves from your wrist to your cheek as he brushes his thumb down to your chin.
“I mean…I don’t know.” It’s hard for you to get words out. Steve has been your best friend since you guys were kids. But all of a sudden something feels a little bit more with him. The way he’s looking at you and lightly gripping your chin is making you dizzy. You’ve never thought about him in any other way, but now your heart is beginning to flutter.
Steve notices it too, his eyes go to where his hand rests on your chin before looking back into your eyes. He slowly tilts your chin up and leans down to plant a gentle kiss on your lips. 
You kiss him back before he pulls away and says “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I think I just got carried away.” He drops his hands, grabs the remote and flips the movie back on.
“It’s… it’s okay.” You can’t think of anything else to say so you sink back into the couch and continue to watch the movie like nothing happened.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ When you get home later that night, you can’t stop replaying that kiss in your head. You’ve never even thought about doing anything like that with Steve. He’s your best friend. You two have practically known each other since you two were in diapers. And besides, he isn’t your type at all. Apparently your type is self obsessed bad boys who break your heart yet still call you up at 1 in the morning. Look where that’s gotten me, you think. Steve is sweet, nice, caring. Everything that Eddie turned out not to be. 
You fall asleep thinking about what would have happened had Steve not come to his senses.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Steve has been thinking about the kiss since he dropped you off at your apartment. He’s not sure what came over him at that moment. But he does know that he enjoyed it. He knows that he definitely wanted more. But he also knows that you’re his best friend and you’re still getting over that asshole, Eddie Munson. He doesn’t want to force you into anything else.
But he still can’t see what you see in that guy. He didn’t know Eddie that well. They ran in different circles when they were in high school, but he still didn’t notice anything particularly great about the guy. 
And he was so tired of seeing you heartbroken over it. Steve thought you deserved so much more than Eddie.
Steve knew he could make you feel better than Eddie ever could.
Steve continued to think about that kiss as his hand slipped beneath the fabric of his boxers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Two days go by before you see Steve again. He’s giving you a ride home from Robin’s house after a girls night.
“You know, you really didn’t have to come pick me up. I would’ve been fine walking home.” You say as you meet him outside.
“I know, but Robin’s is on my way home from work.”
Not much is said on the drive to your house. You’re still thinking about the kiss from the other night and you’re not sure if Steve is thinking about it as well. And if he is, you’re not sure what he’s thinking about it. Does he think it was a mistake? Does he want to do it again? You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t realize you’ve pulled up in front of your house until you hear Steve saying “Hellooooo. Did you hear me? I asked if you were okay with me coming in and hanging out for a while?”
“Oh. Um. Absolutely, that’s totally fine.” Both of you got out of the car and walked into your small apartment. “So uh, what did you want to do?” You weren’t sure why you were this nervous. You felt like the dynamic between you and your best friend had completely changed since the other night, yet Steve seemed perfectly normal.
“I was actually just wanting to talk to you. You know, make sure you’re doing okay? After that fight with Eddie?” Steve sat down on your small sofa and kicked his shoes off.
You sat down next to Steve, taking your shoes off as well. “Yeah, actually I’m doing a lot better. He hasn’t called since the fight which helps too. I’ve still thought about calling him though.”
Steve just stares at you. You recognize the look on his face as the same one from the other night. The look right before you kissed you. You’re trying not to get your hopes up that it’ll happen again, but your heart is beating a thousand beats per minute. Finally, he says “Look, I hate seeing you like this. I know you two were together for a long time, but he doesn’t deserve you. He never has. He took you completely for granted.”
You weren’t sure what to say. Steve continued, inching closer to you, “I guess I just don’t see what’s so great about Eddie.” He placed his hand on top of your thigh and slowly inched his other hand along the tops of your shoulder. He said what he’d been thinking about the other night. “I bet I could make you feel better than he ever did.” Steve tilted your head up once again and kissed your lips. Rougher than the first time, but still tender. He didn’t pull away this time. 
You reached up to grab his face in your hands, kissing him with more force. Steve took hold of your hips, pulling you onto his lap before running his hands through your hair. The two of you were holding so tightly onto each other it was almost painful.
You were the first to pull away, gasping for breath. “Are we… is this…” the words died on your lips as you noticed the way Steve was looking at you with lust filled eyes.
“It’s okay. Let me make you feel good. Let me make you forget about him.” Steve lifted you up and sat you down on the couch, pushing your legs open so he could kneel between them. He peppered kisses from your neck to the top of your jeans. He began unbuttoning your pants and slipping them off of you as he looked up at you through his long lashes. He pulled down your panties and tossed them to the side before trailing his fingers around your swollen clit.
You almost couldn’t believe what was happening. Steve Harrington, your best friend, was on his knees with his face dangerously close to your core. Steve Harrington was rubbing circles on your sensitive bud. You threw your head back and let your moans escape.
“That’s it, baby.” Steve continued rubbing circles as he leaned forward and inserted his tongue inside your soaking hole. Your hands flew down to grab and pull at his hair and he hummed in response sending vibrations throughout your body.
You almost couldn’t take it anymore, you had to have him now. You were too impatient, too needy, for something you didn’t even know you wanted until right now. “Steve.” you breathed as you pulled him back up to you, foreheads touching.
“Shh.” Steve unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down just enough to release his hard cock. He kissed you one last time, letting his lips linger on yours as he lined himself up with your entrance.
He pushed himself into you slowly, gently, taking his time and relishing the feeling of your walls clenching around him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, moaning into his ear. “God, you feel amazing. I bet I feel better than him.” He said it with a sneer as he pumped in and out of you. You couldn’t respond, you just continued to moan. “Mhm, that’s what I thought.” 
Steve leaned back and started rubbing circles around your clit. You almost couldn’t hold yourself together any longer. The tension that had been building in your stomach was about to explode. “Steve, I- I’m gonna come.” You managed to breathe out in between your moans.
“Come for me, baby, come on.” Steve’s thrusts grow faster as you reach your climax. He puts his hands on your face, the pads of his thumbs gently caressing your cheeks as you come down from your high. “That’s it, sweetheart.” 
He bends forward to kiss your forehead before moving his hands to your hips, gripping them a little too hard. His thrusts grow more erratic as his own climax nears. Steve’s mouth grazes your ear as he continues to pump in and out of you. “Fuck, baby. You feel so good.” He almost can’t hold himself together any longer. He pumps one last time before pulling out and shooting thick white ropes onto your stomach. He slumps forward laying next to your side and runs his hands through his hair. 
Steve stands up and pulls his jeans back up. He takes his shirt off and wipes your stomach clean before sitting on the couch next to you and pulling you towards him. With your head resting on his chest, you say, “Wow. I…wow.”
You can feel his eyes looking down on you as he brushes his hand through your hair. “I know. I’ve been thinking about you since the other night.”
You nuzzled tighter into his chest, “Do you want to stay the night?”
He chuckles as he picks you up and begins carrying you to your room. “Of course, babe.” He lays you down on your bed and slips under the blankets with you, pulling you to his chest once more. You feel so at home cuddled into Steve’s chest.
“So tired, Steve.” You mumble as your eyes begin to close.
“That’s alright baby, get some rest. We can talk in the morning.”
As you start to drift to sleep you can hear Steve say, “So, did you forget about Eddie?”
135 notes · View notes
eshayteaparty · 1 month
Text
Cats, claws and cards
~Fandom(s): Hazbin Hotel
~Warning(s): swearing 
~Ship(s): Husk x Angeldust 
~Word count: 1,606
~Starring gn, young!reader 
~In which you are bored in the hotel, with no other sinners your age really around, and luckily for you, Husk has a few tricks ready for the stage- or in this case, the lobby. A magnificent display, starring his famous, multi-armed assistant! 
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You’d think being in hell would be a little more interesting, with all the constant and r-rated activity going on, but as you had appeared down here as a younger child and had just happened to run into the princess of hell herself looking around, you are being confined for your safety to these child-proofed walls- much to your dismay.
Charlie didn’t always have time to play with you, no matter how much she wanted to. It was easy to fall victim to your juvenile charms. But today, you are left alone to…what? Think over your choices in life? That wasn’t how you worked.
You sit up at the bar, struggling to get up onto the high stool at first, and peek over the countertop at the grouchy, crusty old cat opposite you, cleaning glasses. Husker. The two of you rarely interacted, because of course Charlie wouldn’t let a child near the bar…but Charlie wasn’t here today. 
You thought you ought to at least show manners.
“Mister kitty?” you had heard the fuzzy white bombshell of a resident, Angeldust, call him that before, and you had assumed it was out of respect, though you realized how sorely you were mistaken when he turned to face you with his ears back against his head and a scowl on his face.
He sighs. “Yeah, kid?” he isn’t going to tell you off as he would Angel, obviously. Who would do that to a kid?
…him, in most cases. But you were different. You hadn’t annoyed him too much so far, as your age led you to be shy around the others. Quiet was a good trait in his books.
“Can we play something?”
His eyebrows furrow. “Play- you wanna play? With me? I ain’t got time for games, kiddo.” he turns back around, his eyes on the bitter-smelling dishes. “Ask the princess, er' somethin’.” 
“But spidey told me you could do card tricks.”
Husker’s ears twitch, and he glances at you in his peripheral, his expression wary. “...Legs told you I-” he shakes his head. “No. no, I…I’m guessing you mean magic, don’t you? I ain’t got tricks. You shouldn’t be sittin’ up here, y/n. Someone’ll think I'm serving you.” 
You stretch your arms out on the countertop, whining as your hair flops over your eyes. “I’m borrrreeeed.”
He sighs. If anyone, you remind him most of Angel. He situates the damp towel he was using to clean over his shoulder, turning to face you as his ears twitch. He starts to smile, his eyes half-lidded.
“Bored, huh?” His tone is one that says he’s teasing you. “Really, really bored?”
You nod, spreading your fingers. “Yessss.” 
Husker sighs, thinking this over. He could either go on with getting the dishes clean, and have you sit there until you inevitably got sad from being ignored and went away.
Or…he could indulge in your suggestion. He could use some practice, after all. It'd been a while since he’d put on a show. And who were you to judge? You were a child. It would be easy to make you laugh. Win-win. 
He comes around the bar to stand beside you on your chair, then takes a hold of you under your arms, lifting you down from the stool like a doll. “Then let’s go, kid. Cmon. I've got some free time.” 
You giggle, and follow him towards the lounge in the lobby, where he had thought there’d be some free space…key word being thought. 
“Pussy cat!~” Angel cheers, swinging his long legs over the edge of the couch. Husker sighs loudly. Not him, anyone but him. 
You wave shyly at the spider demon, making him snicker. He had grown to be quite fond of you as well, despite your opposite personalities. That was what attracted, he guessed. “And company! What, is this another bootleg Disney movie night?” he reaches out to scruff up your hair gently. “Don’t tell me it’s Descendants again, y/n, baby.”
You giggle softly, shaking your head, and sit down beside him as he makes room for you on the couch. Husk pads over to the centre of the room, cracking his back and shoulders with a sigh. Angel dust’s many eyes widen with glee, and he sits up straighter, drawing his knees up to his chest. “No fucking way.”
“Language, Legs.” Husk grins fondly. “We’ve got a kid in the audience.” both you and Angeldust squeal. 
“Alright, so…” the cat rubs his paws together, and cards appear in his hands, just like that. Your heart starts to beat a little faster out of excitement, and you squeal again, clutching one of Angeldust’s lower hands. Husk grumbles. “Welcome to the show, uh…you two.” Angel cups his upper hands to his mouth. “Address us properly!!”
“Lady and Gentleman.” you start to giggle all over again. Husk shuffles his deck of cards, sniffing. 
“I'm gonna need an assistant.” he says dryly, and his lemon eyes flit between the two of you. Angeldust starts to furiously jump up and down on the couch, kicking his feet on the floor.
“Me! Me me me me me!!” he shrieks, making Husk’s ears flatten down and you fall into helpless peals of laughter. The bartender sighs, and signals Angel up to the ‘stage’ with his claw. 
He holds out his shuffled cards up to Angeldust, forcing back a smile. “Please, good sir, pick a card. Any card.” Angel starts to laugh, and pretends to mull over the decision for a long time, watching in the corner of his eye for a positive reaction from you- which he got. It delighted the two of them to see you smile, as you’re usually so withdrawn. With this, they decide to keep it up.
Angel scratches his head, and Husk grits his teeth in an ingenuine beam. “Any day now, good sir!” more laughter explodes from your mouth, childish, bubbly giggles echoing around the hotel’s lobby. Angel laughs, wiggling his fingers over the cards and bending down a little to be closer to Husk’s height.
“I’ll take this one!” he says cheerfully, pressing it to his fluffy chest. Husker grins, raising his eyebrows.
“Good, good. Keep hiding it, alright? Don’t let anybody see it.” 
As he says this, he notices Angel dust sneaking you a peek, and he covers your eyes with his paw. “I said nobody could see it! No looking, kiddo!”
You huff, but settle back into the couch, folding your arms as the show goes on. Both Angel and Husk start to smile at each other.
“Alright, mister dust.” Husk begins, his voice gravelly and mysterious. He closes in his patterned wings, making you coo in intrigue. “Tell me…was this….your card?”
He opens up his wings again, and reveals hundreds of replicas of Angel’s card stuck to the insides of them. You and Angel gasp, and you clap your hands together in praise, giggling in awe. Angel nods with vigour.
“It was my card!” angel hollers, and flashes you his card- the two of hearts. He turns back to Husk, and embraces him, spinning him around. “My king!! How did you know!?” 
Husk isn’t exactly a fan of the action, but as he sees your wide, happy smile, he flutters his wings, letting the cards fly everywhere. “I couldn’t tell you, sir. A magician never reveals his secrets.”
You catch hold of a few of the cards, cradling them in your arms. You get up from the couch to show the both of them, and they clap for you, too. You jump up and down frantically beside Husk. “That was so so cool!! You told me you couldn’t do magic!!” 
“That…uhh…” Husk scratches the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. He gently rubs your hair. “That was…that was a trick too, kiddo. A magic trick.” 
You think it must be over now, but suddenly, Husk’s pupils dilate. He stares past you, making you tilt your head. “What’s wrong?”
“You’ve…” he bites back a grin, flexing his claws. “You’ve got somethin’...” Angel starts to catch on, and laughs, lifting his fingers towards your jaw.
“You’ve got a lil somethin’ right there, y/n…” he says softly, his accent sticking out as he lowers his tone. Your eyes flicker with concern, and you back up, getting scared.
“W-what? What is it?”
Husker smiles at you as Angel coaxes you back towards him, still giggling. “Hold on, I can pick it out. Stay still~”
Angel reaches behind your ear, producing a shiny gold coin from thin air. You shriek in amazement, and they’re sent into helpless laughter witnessing your reaction.
“You’re makin’ bank and didn’t even notice, kiddo.” Husk says, and takes the coin from Angel, putting it gently in your hand, making your smile even wider “Keep that one. An’ keep the cards, too. I don’t wanna clean them up. Make a….I dunno. A tower, or somethin’.  
You nod, biting your lip so you don’t overreact again. “That’s so cool!! You can both do magic, that’s awesome!” Angel reaches out one of his lower hands to Husk as you rant, and Husk takes it, squeezing it in triumph. His heart seems to beat a little easier when Angeldust is around, no matter what’s going on.
Angeldust then scoops you up into his arms, and you squeal, laughing. He spins you around. “What’s next, lil darlin’? Hm? You’ve gotta pick the next game too, yaknow~”
As you look between the two of them, up and down, you squeal, waving your hands around. “I got it, I got it!!”
They both look expectantly over at you.
“Dress up! And mister Alastor can play!!” 
((will be a part two))
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So cute hehehe thank u for reading pookies 
More coming soon!
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oddree13 · 1 month
Text
To Find a Kiss of Yours
[Read on AO3]
Steve remembers his first Valentine's Day. He was in first grade and spent the day prior decorating a shoebox to act as a makeshift mailbox. The next day the class had a party where all the cards were passed out, but throughout the gathering, girls came up to give him extra candy. One girl even kissed him on the cheek and ran off. 
Steve felt butterflies in his stomach for the first time that day and decided Valentine’s wasn’t all that bad. 
As the years went on, Steve looked forward to the holiday for reasons beyond extra candy. February 14 was used to fill the void of affection his parents were slowly taking from him.
And once Steve started middle school, and class-wide valentines were no longer mandatory, he realized the holiday was different for him than other boys. He’d get more cards and candy than some of his friends, and in seventh grade, a girl pulled Steve aside to let him know how much she liked him. Steve only knew the girl because they shared a couple of classes, but figured he should be polite and ask her out. After all, that is what all the boys around him would do. 
Years later Robin would unpack just how wrong this was to do. 
In short, Steve always looked forward to Valentine's Day and even kept a box under his bed where he kept his favorites - the standouts among the mass-printed, store-bought postcards that were delivered to Steve with a personal touch.
When he started Hawkins High a part of him was nervous that one of his steady sources of affection would dry up, but Steve found the exact opposite. The school encouraged the holiday by allowing students to send each other candy-grams and flowers throughout the day. Even among the students, there was a buzz. In the days leading up to V-day, photocopied maps of lockers would be passed around where people could write their friend’s name on it, in the hopes that it would encourage more personal gifts and confessions. 
In his four years at Hawkins High Steve’s name always made it on the map before he could write it. 
During his freshman year, Steve gets more than a few candy-grams in homeroom, prompting Tommy and Carol to tease him as they steal his candy. 
In between classes, he takes more trips than usual to his locker to collect the cards and notes left for him. Some are signed, some are just a phone number with a name and a lipstick print. Steve can’t help but get high off the constant reminders of want as the day goes on.
Needing to kill time before the bus towards Loch Nora arrives, Steve heads to his locker after basketball practice. Sure it could have waited until morning, but Steve’s never been a patient man. 
Inside his locker are a few more notes, but among the pink and pastels that have filled his vision all day, the crimson card stands out. He opens the front flap to find the card is actually an origami note, and not wanting to rip it, carefully unfolds the missive. 
His eyes are immediately pulled to the drawing at the bottom: a half-sun and half-moon face on a backdrop of stars. His eyes then wander up to the note to find not a letter, but a short poem - 
Some people say my love cannot be true Please believe me, my love, and I'll show you I will give you those things you thought unreal The sun, the moon, the stars all bear my seal
It takes Steve a few times to read it to get the gist of the meaning, and he can’t help but blush. Either the writer is talented or she copied someone. Either way, Steve knows this is making it into his special box. Before folding it back Steve’s eyes searched the page for a name or phone number, only to find a small “E” at the corner of the note. 
Steve spends the rest of the week wracking his brain for all the girls in his class and even the year above whose name starts with an E, even going so far as to approach a few of them. 
When he gets no answer other than a few dates he puts it out of his mind. 
*
Sophomore year is almost an identical repeat of the year before. Candygrams were delivered and stolen by Tommy and Carol. Notes stuffed in his locker, getting more lascivious as the day goes on. It seems his reputation preceded him, and there are more than a few propositions in letter form.
And just like the year before there is a crimson note waiting for him after practice. Steve wasn’t even anticipating the note, figuring it was a one-off from the year prior. But seeing it sitting on top of his books, Steve can’t help but ignore all the other letters and notes in favor of opening another message from E.
Like last time there’s a drawing, this time of a detailed headstone citing a kiss as the cause of death, the skull atop bearing a lip print. And just like the year before is a poem - 
To find a kiss of yours what would I give A kiss that strayed from your lips dead to love
Steve restarts his attempts to find E, only this time he goes for a more subtle approach, flirting with instead of confronting any girl whose name starts with the offending letter. 
It doesn’t end with Steve solving the mystery but does end with Steve going on dates with Elizabeth, Evelyn, Emily, and Erin. 
*
The Valentines of his junior year is an interesting one. Sure he’s been dating Nancy for almost three months now, but that doesn’t stop some very ambitious girls from sending candy and cards his way. He details each gift to Nancy as the day goes on because that's what a good boyfriend would do, right? And sure, he wishes Nancy would look more perturbed, but all he gets is small kisses on his cheek with her saying they can use the candy as dessert when she makes him dinner this weekend. 
The only thing Steve keeps to himself though is his hope for a third crimson note.
Sure Steve hasn’t gotten any luck with finding out who the sender is. And even if he did find out this year he couldn’t act on it. But there's something about the effort that Steve craves. That someone cares enough about Steve to write, draw, and fold the letter each year. 
And just like the years prior the note is there, drawing and all.
Looking up at the stars, I know quite well That, for all they care, I can go to hell, But on earth indifference is the least We have to dread from man or beast.   How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me.   Admirer as I think I am Of stars that do not give a damn, I cannot, now I see them, say I missed one terribly all day.   Were all stars to disappear or die, I should learn to look at an empty sky And feel its total dark sublime, Though this might take me a little time.
Not only is this year's poem longer, but the drawing also intrigues Steve. The picture is of a winged man, gazing up at the words written above him with an almost longing expression, while flames dance at his feet. Steve can’t help but examine the detail that went into the drawing, and even blushes at how handsome he is. 
So the next day when Nancy drags him to the library to study, he sneaks away to ask the librarian if she recognizes the poem (without showing her the note). She walks him over to the poetry section and hands him a collection of British poetry, turning to the section on W.H. Auden. 
Steve reads a brief description of the poem, about the unrequited love between the poet and the stars. He bitterly thinks that this love might not be unrequited if he could figure out who his secret admirer was. 
Years later Steve would realize two things - Indiana public school books didn't care to mention that W.H. Auden was gay and that he really should have looked at the checkout card inside the book cover.
Steve contemplates staying home for the last Valentine's Day of his high school career. He's certain he won't get any grams now that he’s fallen from grace and taken no steps to climb back up. 
But despite how obnoxious sharing court with Hargrove is, basketball practice is the only thing keeping him sane as he counts down the days till graduation. 
Steve didn't even mean to go back to his locker that day not wanting to be disappointed by the lack of a crimson note. But he needs his notes to study for chemistry, and as he pulls out the binder the crimson letter falls to the floor. 
Steve can't help the way his heart clenches at the sight. How such a simple thing can remind him why he loves his holiday so much? 
He then figures that the sender. Must be someone in his grade if they've kept these notes coming all four years. 
Passing stranger! You do not know how longingly I look upon you, You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,) I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you, All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured, You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me , I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only, You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return, I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone, I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again, I am to see to it that I do not lose you.
Steve sinks onto the floor as he reads the poem over and over again. He can't help but smirk at how the bits about girls are stricken through, but also that it's a farewell of sorts. It leaves Steve with a bittersweet feeling to know he'll never find out the sender's identity. 
Over piles of discount candy in 1986, Steve shares with Robin the details of the crimson notes tucked under his bed. Robin can't help but laugh as she looks through them pointing out to Steve how fucking homo erotic all the poems are. 
After a bit of denial, Steve finally admits that Robin may be right and kicks himself for only searching for girls back when he was in high school. Realizing he didn't bother to get a copy of the yearbook he asks Robin if he can come one day to search the pages at her house for clues. But a few weeks later literal hell breaks loose and he forgets all about it
Part of Steve wishes he actually bothered to get a copy of the yearbook so he could search the pages, but a few weeks later literal hell breaks loose and he forgets all about it
*
It's February 1987 and Steve is wondering how he's spending Valentine's Day Eve cleaning up his kitchen after the party wraps their D&D session for the night. 
Eddie is helping him tidy as he recounts how on the ride over to Steve's, Dustin was explaining how nervous he was about his radio date with Suzie the next day wanting to do something special but not cheesy. 
“I told him he should recite some poetry and he told me that's lame,” Eddie says in a way that expresses their mutual frustration with Henderson. 
“It's not lame. If it's done right,” Steve agrees. 
“The little shit then told me that metal lyrics don't count as poetry and I told him that I know more than just metal lyrics.” 
Steve can't help but look amused and gestures for Eddie to regale him with a poem. 
Eddie clears his throat and begins, “To find a kiss of yours what I would give…”
“A kiss that strayed from your lips...dead to love,” Steve finishes unthinking. After all, he read those words hundreds of times. 
That's when it clicks for Steve. The E written in the corner of all those notes stood for Eddie. 
Eddie's eyes catch Steve's and he visibly swallows. His complexion pails and he looks like he's about to run for it, but Steve sputters out his confession. 
“I kept them all.” 
Eddie's eyes widened even further at that as if he couldn't believe what Steve was saying.
“You did?”
“Yeah. Want to see them? They're in my room.”
“That's quite a line, Harrington”
“Well not all of us can be poets.”
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