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bloodchapell · 4 months ago

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drunk n party - armin a.

brief summary: armin finally decides its time to introduce you to his friends, and the perfect occasion is the party eren invited him to. the party is the perfect occasion for other, far more important, matters.

what to expect: alt and very nerdy reader, equally nerdy armin, mutual pinning, physical touch, lots of tension, touching kissing, things escalating but not to THAT point

your sword's note: my princesses, it is now time 🙏🏻. all past and future parts of this au series available in my mistresslist, also sorry for the delay, life has been bizarre

As some kind of miracle, both you and Armin’s friends, independently of course, finally convinced him to introduce you to each other. He agreed to attend a party (shocker) and accepted passing on the invitation to you as his friends had always requested (bigger shocker).

“I don’t know what to wear!” You cried out going back and forth in your dorm, “They will think I am weird!!”

“I promise they won’t…”He said knowing that his friends would almost instantly love you. He was starting to regret the whole thing because he had a feeling that someone would tell you every detail about his feelings; he was biting down on his lip piercing like every time he was nervous now, he used to bite the skin off his lips but after getting his lip pierced he had acquired the new habit. “Anything you choose will be a good option, they are still impressed by insects so that is not a problem.”

You nodded and selected some pieces of clothing to then try them on, while Armin stood outside of course. When you were done, he walked back in and you applied some makeup and put some jewelry on, the makeup that you would practice, goth, vkei or straight up clown makeup was too much, so you decided to go for a simple look.

Finally you both walked out of your dorm, the contrast between you and Armin was impacting, though he already had gotten another pair of earlobe piercings and his vertical labret shined in his lips, he dressed the same as always, gray dress pants and a navy sweater over a white button up on comparison to your vintage bondage pants and corset jacket set.

“Are you sure I don’t look like an abomination? You look like Mr. Peabody if he was human and I am this...bizarre entity.”

“I don’t know if I should be honored or disgraced by that comparison.” He chuckled walking besides you to the house of the party. “It doesn’t really matter, the fashion student here is you, and apart of Mikasa, the rest of them dress relatively average.”

If there was something Armin loved about you, was your style and fashion sense, it was otherworldly for him, everything, your confidence and bravery to wear stuff that people normally don’t and that they judge, your ability to make any outfit work, that kin eye you had to elevate any look… he was a little envious of that ability since he started hanging out with you and diving into more alternative music and culture in general; he was still trying to build courage to ask you for help with renovating his closet.

“Your hand looks sad, let me just…” Taking of some of your rings off you mentioned before placing them in his fingers. He wore the silver ring you had given him on the day you two first hung out every single day, but apart from that he didn't wear any sort of necklaces or bracelets.

“I wish I had gotten the armor ring.” He joked knowing that it didn't fit him.

Walking into the party was a little awkward as Armin had insisted to arrive early, technically before it even started, so there was only a few people. When you two walked in everyone stayed silent and turned around almost breaking their necks to take a glance at the millenary event: Armin with a girl.

“Umm, hi.” You introduced yourself briefly and everyone waved.

“Well Hello!” Soon a tall guy jumped to greet both of you. “My name is Jean I am practically Armin’s twin, nice to finally meet you.”

“This… this is beautiful!” Connie said about the whole scene.

Soon faces started matching names, Armin gave a seriously scary look to everyone and he sat down quietly by Mikasa’s side so you sat besides him. You knew Mikasa was Mikasa because she matched the description Armin gave of her perfectly and you were soon complimenting her v-shaped bangs and she smiled and complimented you back; knowing that Mikasa wouldn’t say any unnecessary comments, Armin felt instantly calmer.

"The alc is here!” Eren celebrated walking into the house, showing two bottles, one in each hand as trophy’s.

“What if we actually got drunk?” You asked Armin knowing that neither of you had ever been genuinely drunk and he seemed hesitant for a second but ended up agreeing.

“I just hope I don’t do anything embarrassing.”

“He will for sure do sum embarrassing shit!” Eren laughed launching at the sofa. "Did you not invite Tiffany?"

"No she is busy studying..." You said turning to take a glance at Armin whose eyes were wide open.

Inevitably people started walking in and the real party started. Loud music and the so called alc that Eren and Sasha brought being passed around in clichey red cups.

“What is this again?” Armin asked yelling, pointing at his cup for a second.

“Malibu rum.” Eren answered.

You took a sip of the tasty liquor and stayed seating, there were some people dancing already but you and Armin just looked at each other laughing.

“How was your piercing been?” You asked seeing that he kept biting on it.

“It’s almost healed but I can’t stop playing with it.” He admitted defeated. “So what are we supposed to do here?”

“I would like to know… We are so smart and still can’t figure it out!” You exclaimed throwing your arm over his shoulder and pulling him a little closer to hug him sideways.

“I think I wanna dye my hair… I’ve been too corrupted. If me from a year ago saw me now, he’d have a heart attack.”

“For sure, from how cute you are.” You smiled and he looked away embarrassed. Since you both didn’t know what else to do, you started sipping slowly from the cup and since Eren made sure to fill it up every time he noticed, you two were already somewhat tipsy. “I will dye your hair, but not all of it.”

“Can I have a…uhm, vkei cut?” He asked and you nodded, “And some dye.”

“Do you think we are becoming stupid?” You asked out of nowhere and seeing him nodding lit your lips in laughter. Then, absorbed by the influence of the alcohol, you decided to stand up and extend your hand to ask him up too. He took a good while denying but eventually stood up lightly holding on to your hand, asking why you were making him stand up. “Let’s take a breath outside.”

You held his hand across the people jumping around and reached the door, there were some people smoking and chatting but you stood away from them and simply leaned on the wall.

“Have you read a fanfic about a party and wished you were there but now that we are in a party it’s kinda dumb?”

“What makes you think I read fan fiction?” Armin asked back to your question laughing; he was organizing his hair and his concentrated face made him look really attractive. “I really don’t mind it here if I can just be with you.”

“Oh really?” You tried to ask after the liquid in your mouth escaped to your throat making you cough for air, he nodded in a very serious manner.

“Let’s stay for a little and then leave… we can read… or watch a movie or have our own party.”

“You’re so unhinged when you’re drunk.” You laughed and he immediately argued that he wasn’t drunk.

Eventually you went back to the house, and after seating in the same spot and talking with Armin while Eren kept refilling your cups for a good while, you both agreed to leave and spend your time in a place you two felt more comfortable in.

“Mikasa said she left my jacket upstairs, I’ll go get it.” You said after coming back from talking with her, Armin said he’d go with you and you agreed. You immediately grabbed his hand to not get lost from each other and went upstairs. Mikasa had said she left the jacket in the last room of the corridor. People were doing a line to go to the bathroom and trying to get in a room, so when one of the doors opened someone ran to go in and pushed you. Luckily Armin was still holding your hand and prevented you from falling.

“Oh God I could’ve fallen…” You stayed still for a moment and in your intoxicated state decided that it was best to thank Armin by hugging him. “Thanks ‘Min.”

He was oddly not so shy to receive the hug and corresponded by hugging you back. He was so drunk and he felt oddly decided about life so all timidity had vanished from his nervous system.

“You don’t need to thank me, how am I going to let you fall right in front of me?” He mentioned still clinging to his cup in one hand while with the other one he held onto the entirety of your waist, whispering in your ear just to make sure that you could listen regardless of how loud the music was.

“Armin shut up…” You moved away shyly.

“So when I do hug you back you don’t like it?” He held somewhat firmly to you. “Do you not like me back?”

“What…?” Your heart dropped when hearing his words. “What do you mean?”

“Answer my question first.” He demanded, in a serious manner. His hair was sticking to his forehead and his cologne impregnating onto your clothes too, his eyebrows were furrowed over his eyes and his mouth still had the bittersweet taste of the rum. He was gone. “Why don’t you like me back?”

“Armin…” you felt slightly suffocated by his arm holding you, but his words reverberated in your brain. Since the moment you saw him in class you liked him, since he was shy to talk, since he met you in the library, since the beginning you had liked him. “I do like you.”

His eyes slowly opened when the realization hit, almost enough to sober him up for a whole second.

“What…?” It was him now asking, his heart about to kill him.

“I don’t know where you got that idea of me not liking you, but I do, I like you.”

He stayed silent for a good time, the grip of his arm on your waist softening up and his eyes locked in yours because if he looked away once he wouldn’t be able to look back at you.

“I’m sorry… I already ruined it.” He finally averted his gaze to look at the floor.

“Armin it’s okay, you didn’t ruin anything.” Though you tried to make him look back at you, he refused to, so you lifted your hands from his neck to his face to make him look at you. “I won’t stop liking you just because you get silly.”

He kept silent so you decided to give up everything and approach him softly to kiss him. A soft and quick peck.

“I’ve been liking you since I saw you.” You confessed, his lips remained slightly opened and his intense eyes went back to yours, “I’ve been about to kiss you many times before but I just wasn’t brave enough... but I really, really, like you."

The door of the room in the back suddenly opened and since you saw some girl walking to get in, you grabbed Armin's hand and ran towards the room. Once inside you closed the door and looked at him. “So like you back, you said?”

His overall mood seemed enhanced, but he was as embarrassed as he could be.

“I like you a lot… but thought I had no chance.”

“Sometimes you forget to charge your brain.” You close the distance by walking to him, he closes his eyes as to avoid looking at you so you hung your hands on his neck. “I had a feeling you liked me but didn’t know how to act with this situation… I should have confessed…”

“Do you really like me?” He asked opening his eyes and you softly squeezed his cheek.

“Really!? How could I not? You are the smartest person I know, you have a wonderful personality, you are insanely attractive and cute…” You held his face now and forced him to look at you. You let your fingers caress his soft skin, his eyes were focused on your face, all over, analyzing every feature of yours like he had done a million times before, memorizing the exact shape of your lips because he couldn’t look away from them… how had he felt them, how dare he, he had been blessed… but he already started to forget the feeling.

“You are just drunk.”

“I am drunk but that is unrelated.” You said serious. “Ask me tomorrow. Ask me any day. I don’t know why you’re doubting me.”

“I’m not doubting you… I just don’t get it.” Armin kept talking bout you were quick to shush him.

“I don’t wanna hear it.” You said firmly and he nodded almost obediently. “This is what will happen. I take my jacket and sit in the bed for a minute to catch my breath, if you want to continue denying that I like you, you can leave. If you accept that I like you without questioning my reasons, you can sit besides me and give me a kiss back.”

After hearing the options, it seemed clear that he had made his choice, yet it took him some long seconds of finding his balance standing up and then sitting besides you.

"There." He softly kissed your cheek, clearly too embarrassed to give you a real kiss and you cursed not having specified that the kiss should have been on the lips. "I can't yet bring myself to dare kiss you, I hope that suffices."

"You little mischievous leprechaun." You scolded him and he couldn't help but laugh at the odd wording of your insult. "It does not really suffice."

He looked at you clearly thinking of what to do but you were quick to grab his hand and kiss him again.

You had never talked about romantic stuff, both of you too embarrassed to ever bring it up, but from kissing him you noticed his relative lack of experience: he didn't move his lips much and simply held your hand.

"Am I hurting your lip baby?" You asked carefully brushing a strand of his hair behind his ear and he denied, shockwaves making him shiver at the way you called him; he sighed strongly as to calm down his nerves. He gently passed his tongue across his piercing as to move it back to the place he liked it. You went back to kissing him and now it seemed he had picked up what you had done before, his lips were gently sucking on your bottom lip and his free hand was placed gently on your cheek while the other one still held onto yours. Both of you seemed eager to finally kiss after months of suffering and hiding your feelings, the warm alcohol running through your veins turned you bold.

"You picked that up already?" You asked pulling away after finally noticing that he had learned from the short kiss you had given him before. He nodded.

"You kissed me like that and it felt good, so I replicated it."

"I should be scared of you." You laughed nervously.

"I may be inexperienced but I am not dumb." His statement sent shivers down your spine. You stopped for a moment to look at his eyes that were consumed in determination like you had never seen them.

"You can't possibly win..." You muttered and he laughed saying that it was not about winning but you gently pushed his back towards the mattress, his expression changing fast at the sudden movement. He blinked once and when he opened his eyes you had shifted from his side to his lap. He gave a simple look at his lap, your knees to each side of his hips and your weight resting on him. He looked up and saw your gaze, on him like a predator, his pupils expanded. He quite did not know you were this type of lover, it looked like it was not just because you were drunk.

"You are much of a fast learner," You complained tying up your hair as to take the long strands out of your face. "If I am not careful with you, soon you will have me subdued." You pointed at him and he bit your finger. You both erupted in laughter as you approached him to kiss again. His eyes expectant of your movements, so you gave him a loud kiss in the cheek before going back to his lips that were impatient to have yours again. He made sure to let you know that he had missed them, tangling his arms around your neck and interlocking his lips on yours in a wet kiss. After pulling away a few inches to breath, you switched to encage his bottom lip now and he corresponded with your upper, gently licking your lip before opening his eyes daring. You caught the glimpse of his gaze and reciprocated the daring look before opening your mouth and meeting his tongue with yours.

While he got lost in the moment, tasting your mouth and exploring cautiously, a thought creeped in the back of his head; he knew he was acting oddly and realized that he was in fact drunk. Something in him ought to decelerate the moment but he lost his determination when your lips gently moved from his lips to his neck and your hand started trailing down his jawline, to his chest and to the waistband of his pants.

The door then opened abruptly and though your first instinct was to yell that the room was occupied, when you and Armin turned to look at the door, you saw Mikasa and a disheveled Eren almost holding tears, both in shock at finding his friend finally getting some action.

Both you and Armin immediately sat straight and he moved you from his lap back to the bed.

"What happened?" You attempted to say.

"Eren has separation anxiety." Mikasa rolled her eyes as Eren clung to her. "He refused to go home without finding him first."

You looked at Armin, who seemed almost angry. You both got up as if you had agreed mentally and walked towards the door.

"I didn't know though," The look in Eren faced changed immediately from sorrowful to a malicious grin.

"Whatever." Armin pushed his friend out of the way.

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lotusapple-xia · 1 month ago

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LADS Men x Goth Reader

✰ synopsis: lads men x goth reader headcanons

✰ pairing: lads men x reader

✰ content: fluff, established relationships, mentions of tattoos and piercings, some parts mention specific substyles of gothic styles

✰ w/c: 641 (100-140 for each)

✰ notes: for @liz9898 <3, dividers by @kodaswrld

🪷Reblogs, comments and likes are always appreciated!🪷

Xavier loves literature of all kinds. Despite the countless degrees and diplomas, he has a thirst for knowledge that he loves to indulge in. It works out that you both love reading. You have a collection of gothic novels and films that you view often. Xavier loves reading your books. Not only can he escape to a new world within each book, but he also learns and understands more about you. He’s used sticky notes to annotate your books. Each chapter has a poetic note waiting for you when he returns it after finishing. After a tough mission, Xavier sets up the couch with comfy blankets and pillows to wind down. He picks a movie from your collection to play and snuggles into your chest as the night falls.

Rafayel would love to do your makeup. Whether it’s modern trad goth or cabaret goth he’d make it his mission to make an original and unique design for you. He’d sit you directly in front of him on the bed, an array of palettes and brushes next to him. Rafayel would gently press the eyeliner to your eyelid, making sure not to hurt you and focusing on keeping his hand steady. He presses the dark lipstick to your lips and dabs some eyeshadow on top to create a chrome effect. After some time, he prompts you to look in the mirror. Intricate swirls of black and sharp, clean lines decorate your face. You look back at Rafayel, who’s looking at you like you’re the most stunning piece of art ever created.

Zayne helps you to care of any tattoos and piercings you decide to get. No matter if it’s a small fine-line tattoo, big blackwork piece or a new piercing, Zayne will be prepped with all the aftercare essentials. He’ll apply tattoo salve twice a day on the new artwork and will help you to wash it in the shower after gently peeling back the second skin. He would also apply the saline solution to your fresh piercings. But, most of all, Zayne would research the best studios to get these done because he wants you to be safe and healthy most of all.

Sylus loves to buy accessories and outfits for you, especially if you’re into Victorian goth or gothic Lolita styles. He’d purchase from trusted and high-quality boutiques and support the original creators of the outfit designs. If you prefer lace, he’d source garments from an ethical lace-making business that creates their pieces by hand. If you lean towards velvet, he’d find a shop offering original designs tailored to your body. Sylus enjoys adorning you in ornate black and red jewellery, and he loves to match your style. Whenever you both go on dates, people stare. Not with any ill intention, but rather in awe. Two seemingly intimidating figures—one of which is the leader of Onychinus—that are adorned with rich, dark colours. But little do they know that Sylus is gushing over his wife like a schoolboy in love.

Caleb always puts on your favourite artist when it’s storming outside. He understands very well that thunderstorms make you freeze up in fear. To combat this, he makes sure you both are touching in some way, to make sure you’re grounded. Caleb puts on your favourite song to drown out the harsh sounds of the thunder. You both like listening to gothic music, you enjoy the sounds, and he enjoys how each song reminds him of you. He pulls you up gently and sways you both to the rhythm of the song. You two wave your arms up and move instinctively to the beat. You imagine a dark ballroom where it’s just you and Caleb dancing. He spins you gently while you fall into his embrace. The moon lit sky and flashes of lightning illuminates both your lovesick smiles.

i imagined that these were the gothic styles that reader had with each guy!

Xavier – mall/pastel/trad

Rafayel – cabaret/trad/whimsy

Zayne – corporate/gothabilly

Sylus – Victorian/gothic Lolita/vampire

Caleb – romantic/perky

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stethosc0pe · 21 days ago

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like a stone

frank langdon x goth!reader

wc: 6k

content/warnings: MDNI/18+ NSFW, sub!langdon, canon typical gore, smut, PUSSY EATING PUSSY EATING, GET YOUR MESSY PUSSY EATING HERE, oral (f receiving), masturbating (m), possible seed planted for marking kink, landgon being desperate for that thang, eating it thru the panties, excruciatingly dialogue heavy with smut at the end, fluff, yearning, angst?, early established relationship, divorce, Frank has no kids, rehab, alcohol mention, reader is PGY-5, reader has a Buick LeSabre, reader wears all black, reader has black hair, hopefully no exclusionary language (no mention of hair texture, skin color, weight or height) except that reader has a vagina!

a/n: frank langdon is a smug little man and i feel he needs to be humbled by an intimidating woman! that woman just happens to be you, y/n Harker. named after Mina Harker (nee murray) from dracula. all of my previous fics have been about down bad men. i cannot write a dominant man. i just can’t. that is disgusting. #ToMe . reader in this fic is the boss !!!!! and he loves it !!!!

i am a goth so i made this character a goth cuz there’s not enough goth readers inserts! when u click the link to a y/n’s outfit and its like.. i would never wear that baby blue dress you have projected onto me! and i would never stutter and get flustered in front of a man!

though it is mentioned reader has black hair and a vagina, there is no specific image for her in my mind, like, no mention of size, height, or race. goths come in all different forms! oh, and all of my readers are bisexual even if not explicitly stated in the fic.

i was thinking about making a series of this, like harker x langdon. if you guys have any requests for that maybe….. haha…… idk…. bye

7:45 am

Frank Langdon watches you float through the hallways. Around central. In and out of doorways. You peek in on the cases the still-green doctors have asked you for help on. This time, it’s Whitaker. Langdon can’t hear what you say to him, he can only see the back of you and Whitaker’s perpetual, helpless, orphan-like gaze. When you back out of the room you’re leaning in on, you smile at both the patient and Whitaker reassuringly. And once you turn around and they can’t see your face anymore, your smile relaxes and fades, and the familiar furrow to your brow returns.

You have a resting bitch face. It’s chronic. You don’t frown, per se. Your eyes frown for you, slanting and squinting and making perfunctory eye contact when needed. Your eyebrows come over your eyes like rainy clouds, the left one arching up when you’re listening.

You have a darker disposition. You’ve always been that way. A loner in high school. Harder to get close to. It keeps the creeps away, you learned in your youth, so you leaned into it harder. Headphones in and angry looking. It’s habit now.

But for your patients… for the families, for the bright eyed, scared student doctors… you brighten. It’s kind. It’s conscious.

It’s so fucking… sexy.

Langdon should be helping a sickly individual, but god, he’s been distracted lately. The black hair doesnt help. The clean laundry slash faded perfume smell doesn’t help. The fitted black long-sleeve under your scrubs does not help.

He realized some time ago that he wants, so feverishly, to see that brow unfurl when he makes you laugh. To be the one you like more than anybody else.

It wasn’t romantic then. And then he was sent to rehab. He did a lot of begrudging introspection during his stay. And with your semi-frequent visits, he realized things he’d been refusing. He also got a divorce, so. That made things a little easier in some places, a little more painful in others.

You and Langdon had just gotten together. Just put a label on it. A desperate confession from him, not even six months after his divorce was finalized. He was overly tired and wearing thin. Composure lost to the wind. You took him home. Since then, he hasn’t really left your apartment. It’s been five weeks. He’s obsessed.

And now… he wants to see that brow crease again in focus when he’s got his mouth at your core.

He’s going to let the lease on his own shitty apartment run out.

You head to a computer to type something up. He’s uninterested in what. He follows you, and when you crash down into the chair, he drags another one over to you so he can be level with you. You don’t look at him. He loves it when you don’t look at him. He feels like he has to work for it.

‘I wanna fuck you.’ Frank Langdon whispers to you, front completely facing your profile, basically speaking into your ear as you type. Your head jerks, angles towards him at the abruptly vulgarity in your very sophisticated workplace. But your eyes say on the computer. You recover quickly, and that killer poker face comes back.

‘No.’

‘I want to eat you out.’

‘No.’ You don’t spare him a glance. You barely dignify him with a response. You know he’s a smooth talker, and you’ve fallen into bed at many inopportune times because of it.

He knows you a little too well by this point. He’s been with you nonstop; going from work to your apartment, from the apartment to your Buick LaSabre— which you won’t even let him drive once because you’ve seen him make a turn without slowing down— and back to work.

You were friends before, too.

You started working at Pittsburg Medical Trauma Center five years ago when Frank was still an intern and you were a second year resident transfer from a different hospital. Technically, you were his senior, being a year ahead of him. That made him competitive at first. He’d been in this ER since med school and now you show up, what– with your near perfect success rate with patients and your… arresting energy. Pfft.

Quickly, the insecurity wore off, and he stopped trying to deny that you were magnetic, like nobody else he’d ever met. It took some time to get you to friendship status. But he did. And it really, really stuck.

All there was to learn about you that he didn’t already know was how you looked naked, and how you liked your eggs in the morning.

And now, when you go home together, he follows your lead. When you get up to start getting ready for bed, he falls beside you at the sink, brushing his teeth while you pee. You pull your bedding over both of you and ensure it covers his shoulders because you like it colder in your apartment. You ask him if he’s warm enough. You don’t change the temperature for anyone, but you’ll make warm accommodations just for him.

You wake up to a clean set of scrubs set on the counter for you in the bathroom. When you come out, freshly showered, you find him already ready, pouring you both cereal. Walking up close behind him, you press your front to his back and snake your freezing hands up his scrub shirt. He jumps a little.

Getting up from your chair, you beeline for your next case. And of course, Frank bounds behind you, unable to give up. Ambition, after all, is a virtue in this industry.

‘Honey-!’ He stops in front of you so you can’t advance any further. ‘You’re killin’ me.’

Frank puts his hands out before him, palms up, in a pleading gesture. He knows he’s being unreasonable.

‘What do you want me to do? Tell me. I’ll do it.’

‘We’re at work. Your job.’ You cross your arms over your chest. It doesn’t deter him any.

‘There’s empty rooms. We could go upstairs.’ He follows your eyes with his whole head as you look around to make sure nobody has heard him and wave him a be quiet motion.

‘Don’t you have patients?’ You poke him square in the chest and start walking again. He walks backwards with you.

‘No, I have absolutely no patience when it comes to you. You smell so good.’ He says the last part as you walk past him. You hear him and break a smile he can’t see. He hopes nobody heard that. He scratches the back of his neck, embarrassed once you’re around the corner and he’s thrust back into the sterile white of work again, glancing about and trying to seem busy.

You linger around him. It must be your pheromones. You think you’re ovulating.

But maybe he’s just in love.

8:30 am

‘Can you tell your guy to stop moping around like someone took his lunch money? He’s bringing down staff morale.’ Says Dana with a pitying look, peering at you over her glasses. It seems she’s dealt with men like this before.

‘Our staff doesn’t have morale.’ You raise an eyebrow. She chuckles her raspy Dana chuckle. ‘And are you sure that’s not just his face?’

‘Rich comin’ from you, Wednesday.’

9:01 am

You stare up at the screen full of patients and ailments, deciding on which one to take. Really you’re just resting a little, leaning against the counter. Frank is next to you, of course, mirroring you, watching the board all the same.

Placing your glasses on top of your head, you rub at your eyes and sigh a little. You’re nursing a migraine, and the hideaway from the fluorescents behind your eyelids is a brief respite.

‘What’s the matter?’ Frank asks from beside you, your arms touching.

‘Just… headache.’

‘I can help with that. I know a remedy for headaches.’

‘Yeah? So do I. You know I’m a doctor too, right?’

‘An orgasm. Multiple, if possible.’ You gawk at him. Your mouth opens in honest shock with the corners of your mouth upturned. You’re thoroughly amused but… he’s getting bold. To be honest, you thought he’d dropped this after the first mention.

‘Relieves migraines, better sleep, helps with cramps, and helps to satiate excited boyfriends, too.’ He goes on… and on…

‘Oh, my god.’ You shake your head in disbelief and huff a single wry laugh.

‘Let’s-’ You cover his mouth with your hand. Well, if there wasn’t enough blood pooling in his dick before…

‘If Dana hears you, I’m never gonna live it down, you caveman.’ He smiles under your hand at the name-calling. You let him go, a little bit of Langdon spit on your palm.

‘I love it when you call me that.’

You point to the board. And he follows your finger.

‘There’s sudden vomiting, diarrhea, and body aches in south sixteen. Why don’t you take that? Could be norovirus. That’s fun!’ You turn to face him and lean on the counter with your hip instead, ‘Have at it, big guy.’ You slap his shoulder with facetious encouragement.

‘It’s gastroenteritis and you know it. Y’know-‘ He huffs, ‘Why are you torturing me? Do you take pleasure in torturing me?’

‘What a stupid question.’ You say as you exhale, ‘Of course I do.’

‘Where’s Harker?’ You hear in the distance, sounding all too similar to a grumpy attending you know.

‘You’re a sadist.’ You stand up to leave and press a smooch to his lips right as he finishes talking, barely giving him time to react.

Langdon makes decisions all day.

Where to cut, when to cut.

Dosage. Pressure. Time of death. Second opinion. Hold compressions. Pull, stitch, cauterize.

How to break a less than hopeful diagnosis to the parents of a toddler.

He notices the way you operate. He trusts it. A lot of times, at home, he wants you to make the decisions. He wants to fold like tissue and collapse in your hands. He’s been an unwavering champion of the ER all day, and he wants to know that when he goes home, or is simply in your presence, he can falter, and it’ll be okay. It feels— you feel— like the safety on a pistol that’s loaded. With one in the chamber.

And, of course, you don’t mind. Because… as a woman, the world as you know it is full of men who want you to be pliant and subservient to them. Just a little dumber so they feel a little smarter.

Not him. You are wanted, badly, just as you are. And that’s offputting and ready and jaded and wry and… oftentimes the most capable person in the room.

‘Makes you a masochist, I guess. I gotta go, baby.’

11:31 am

‘Doctor Harker?’ Mel King holds the tablet, looking at your patients chart curiously. You’re palpating a gym bro’s dislocated shoulder. Feeling at the knotted and tense muscles and the misplaced joint.

‘It’s Y/N for you, Mel.’ You smile quickly at her and go back to your task, tongue peeking out the right side of your mouth in fixation on the shoulder. She smiles quickly back. She still hasn’t been able to bring herself to call anyone by their first name, although she insists on it herself. Honestly, you find it nice to know someone who defaults to being respectful. You and Mel have become fast friends, but at work she still gets a little formal sometimes.

‘Right… are you aware that Doctor Langdon has been staring at you for…’ She checks her watch. ‘Four minutes?’

‘Relax at the elbow. Good.’ You guide the patient through. You steal a glance to the outside world for a second and scan for Frank. You see him across the way at central in a swivel chair looking like he’s got nothing better to do. His elbow rests on the desk in front of him and he clicks a pen in his hand. When you meet his eyes, he doesn’t falter. You can’t really tell what’s going on in his head. Maybe he’s zoned out on you, thinking of something wildly different. He could feel threatened by the Skarsgard-looking man you’re working on. Maybe he’s ogling you. But no, it doesn’t feel like a lustful gaze at this very moment. Although, knowing him, it could turn at any second.

You think maybe he just looks for you when you’re not there. And when he finds you, he makes your visage his home. It’s comfortable.

You’ve been independent a long time now. And you haven’t been in a relationship for a long time, either. You hope to settle back into this. Being needed. Wanted. Looked for. It feels good for once.

‘Let him. He’s not bothering me.’ You brace both your hands on the guy’s wrist and shoulder. ‘Deep breath in– and… out.’ You rotate the arm up until the ball pops back into place. Your patient grunts as expected, and you’re sweating a little after holding this dude’s buff arm up for so long. Otherwise, another satisfied customer.

Mel starts to wrap up the affected shoulder to stabilize it for a little while. She realizes that this whole time she’s never actually fully fleshed out your relationship with Frank. She’s been busy. And he was at rehab for a long time. ‘Is he…? Are you guys like… enemies?’

‘While I think he’s a little upset at me right now, unfortunately he is my lover.’

You flash back to this morning. You woke up slowly together for once. You snoozed your alarm, but woke again to Frank pulling you against him and smushing his mouth lovingly to your neck and shoulder. He was steady at half-mast, his hand skated across your skin until it danced its way into your underwear and fell between your lips, pressing and circling with the precision of an ER doctor. And then… your second alarm started to buzz, vibrating the bed.

You bounded out of the bed and away from his attentive fingers. You got ready for work with some urgency now, breaking out of your momentary sex trance.

Unfortunately, Frank never left it.

‘Okay, good. Because I was getting nervous.’ Mel utters to you, a glimmer in her eyes, like she’s able to find it funny now, ‘And… unfortunately?’

“Yeah, have you met him?’

12:58 pm

Frank finds you again after you've just led a procedure that had been particularly bloody. You're washing you're hands alone, room cleaned up and ready for another case. You’re the last one out, and you seem to have forgotten to take off your viscera-splattered glasses in your absorption.

You sense the tall, warm presence behind you.

‘Sometimes I wonder how you find the time to always be exactly where I am.’ You don't turn around yet.

’Are you mad at me?’

‘Why would I be mad at you, House?’

‘You’re ignoring me.’

‘I’m not. We just can’t have sex at work. And you know that.' Now you're drying your hands off with the noisy, crinkly paper towels. 'You know, when I started working here, they told me you would blow me away with your big doctor brain.’ You chuck the paper towels in the trash.

He notices that you always seem to be doing something when he's bothering you at work. Being productive in some way. And he can't help himself but be temporarily, fully occupied by your company. You two becoming intertwined has been detrimental to his time management.

‘Oh, I’ll blow ya.’ He nods once and impishly smiles like a little-shit kid. You start making your way over to him from the sink. He has your full attention right now. It feels like a rare occurrence here so, he really feels it. Physically.

In reality, it's not a rare occurrence. He's just spoiled.

‘Is this your first time talking to a girl?’

He ignores you, nipping at your heels to get his next verbal chess move in.

‘I just like to check in. You could be the happiest woman alive and we’d never know.’

‘I am happy!’ You mock offense, hands on your hips.

‘Did you tell your face?’

‘No.’ Your hands drop from your hips in forfeit. You stalk even closer to him. You like to get up close with him. See everything. ‘And you’ll be able to detect when I’m angry.’

‘How?’ He pulls the glasses off your face and chucks them in a bin to be washed.

‘Mmm… for one, I’ll start calling you Langdon again. Like the olden days. And someone once told me that when I’m pissed off, thunder booms in the distance.’

‘Oh, yeah? I’m takin’ notes, see?’ He mimes jotting down your tips on his hand (notepad).

1:30 pm

It slows down midday, so while you’re not needed, you decide to take lunch in the staff lounge. You set out two very big red apples in front of you.

Frank saunters in, stripping off his gloves and basketball-ing them into the trash can. He slides into the chair next to you.

‘Can you start this for me?’ You gesture with the first apple.

‘Mhm.’ He bites it while it’s still in your hand, making it easier to bite on the new edges for you. You have sensitive teeth. He takes the other apple and bites it for himself, taking a big chunk.

‘I’m guessing… five-hundred IV with Zofran and sent home with Imodium? For south sixteen?’

‘I didn't take south sixteen. I took fifty-three year old acute arrhythmia and lethargy.’

‘Oh… cardioversion?’

‘…Yeah.’

Pulling out your phone, you open the New York Times app and pull your chair closer to him so he can see. You click on Connections. It’s Frank’s favorite. You personally like Strands, but you like doing Connections more if he’s there. You eat your apples together with noisy crunches and mumble ideas for the possible categories to each other.

While you hold the phone, Langdon pokes at the screen with his index, the rest of his fingers holding his apple. He solves the yellow line with ease. Starting off strong.

answer, fix, remedy, solution (ways of solving a problem)

As you think about the puzzle, you chew on the inside of your cheek and… those brows come down. He loves to watch you. You’re his favorite show. There’s something so… animalistic about you. You’re wholly yourself around him. Free of tension for the moment and elbow propped up on your knee– the respective leg of which is propped up on the seat of your chair.

You don’t fake smiles for him. You rest your face. You’re relaxed. Though you’re happy to do it for others, you don’t have to manufacture a grin around him because he’s always liked you and your angry face. And when he makes you smile, he knows it’s real. Because it’s big and toothy and accompanied by other expressions. When you don’t want to laugh at what he said because it’s so stupid, but you do, and your eyebrows draw together and peak up in disbelief as if to say you’re lucky you’re pretty. When he compliments you and the smile rises to your face slowly like you’re fighting it.

He likes making you break a smile. But he likes the rest too. He loves that furrowed brow. That’s what makes this— you, together— so easy.

You solve the blue line: eraser, eyedropper, lasso, magic wand (photoshop tools)

‘D’you… still have a headache?’

Your mouth cracks open into a big laugh, dying down into little giggles after a few seconds, shoulders shaking. It’s funny to you because it feels like a stand-up comedy call back. It feels like he’s been sitting on that one, waiting for the right time. You took a migraine pill hours ago and it’s since been forgotten, but he doesn’t know that. You sigh with a Hmmmm in the afterglow of the laughter. Your eyes crease hard and your cheeks dust pink, raised higher by your grin. You’re leaning into the moment and its warmth. You rest your head in your hand and look at him for what feels like a long time. You pin him with your gaze like you’re thinking hard. He feels paralyzed.

Looking at him is nice. Usually, on busy days, the majority of the times you see each other are blurry shapes you think are Frank. He’s still and steadfast in front of you now. It helps that he’s pretty. You’ve never been one for blue eyes, but… they don’t look empty on him. It helps that without the obvious sex appeal, you really do love being with him. He was a good friend. He’s a good boyfriend. He’s a great doctor.

It helps that there’s nothing sexier in the whole wide world than a funny man.

It helps that you like him more than anyone else.

‘Go…’ He readies himself for another no, and prepares to pout. ‘…find a room. I’ll be there as soon as I can, okay?’

‘Really?’

‘Go.’

He walks out of the room with his fist held high like Bender at the end of The Breakfast Club.

1:38 pm

Coming out of the stairwell, you enter the hospitals empty wing. It’s quiet, you knew it’d be quiet, but it shocks you every time. One or two of the lights in the long hallway flickers. It’s kinda setting the mood for you.

You continue on, trying to figure out where Frank could be, and he appears in the doorway to your right.

‘Well, hello.’ He says, leaning against the doorway with an endearing, faux-debonair voice. He can barely contain his excitement, a big smile peeking out. You approach him with your arms crossed over your chest, all guarded from the neck down, but your eyes are soft and you’re definitely, visibly in love. You take your hair down.

Once you’re within a foot of him he grabs your hands and pulls you backwards into the room with him. He crashes his lips down to yours in a kiss that you would expect mid-make out session. Not the appetizer. But he's already there. He's been there.

‘You’re so annoying. But I really do love you.’ You say, and he's got his hands cradling your face with barely any pressure at all, but enough to tilt your head up a bit to expose your neck and shoulder. He drags his mouth all along your jaw, and you smile and out comes a broken laugh because it's such a wet, tickly kiss. Your hands cover his where he holds you, squeezing.

‘Mm- love you.’ Says he, with his hands under both of your shirts and his voice dampened by your neck. ‘I couldn’t stop thinking about you.’

‘Couldn’t stop thinking about me or her?’ You pointed straight down to your vagina, weeping a little already at the thought of what’s to come.

‘Yes.’ He rushes out, cupping the her you speak of. He feels the warmth of your core and he can’t believe it’s real, that he convinced you finally to fuck him at work.

Langdon drops down to his knees and his hands slide around to the back of your thighs. He opens his mouth and bites the loose end of the bow of your pants drawstrings. He looks up at you like he's being knighted by a monarch.

‘Jesus Christ, Frank.’

He pulls it apart with his teeth until it gives, and when it does he hooks one finger into each side of your scrub pants and drags them down slowly. He looks at you the whole while, your idle hands becoming ambulatory by carding them through his hair. His eyelashes only flutter then.

‘Call me Langdon.’ He’s stopped his ministrations, looking at you expectantly. You stay silent, smiling down at him, and he thinks you aren’t gonna throw him this bone.

‘Fuck, you’re mean.’

‘Langdon.’ You give in, calling to him adoringly. There’s only so much you can deny to a man like this.

Langdon lets out a Mmh, muffling as he presses his mouth and nose over your panties. Those grey, cotton, brief-cut panties. You have a cutesy black lace pair. He’s seen them in your laundry. And even though you’ve been having sex nearly everyday, you still don’t feel the need to put them on. You know he just wants you like this. Comfortable.

Or maybe you don’t care at all. The panties are going to come off anyways.

He licks you through your briefs, making the grey material darker with his wet tongue. He moves against your pussy like he’s kissing your mouth.

‘Lay down.’ Frank says when he can pull himself away, and you find yourself on the forgotten-about hospital bed that comes with the room. You sit midway on the bed, and he tugs you down to the edge by your thighs, leaving you laying half diagonal across the bed. You let an Oof!

Your legs have nowhere to sit until he’s kneeling and plants himself between your thighs. He puts them on either side of his head. He’s been activated, the moment snapped open, and he’s like a dog off his leash.

He's dragging his tongue and teeth up one thigh and down the other, leaving wet trails. You take the opportunity to sit up a little and pull his shirt up his back until he shrugs it off. When he returns to his ministrations on your thighs, he uses his unoccupied hand that's not holding your thigh to his mouth to thumb your cleft, still clothed, top to bottom.

He's had a smile since you took his shirt off. You admire the long, still red scratches that go all the way down to mid-spine. You really did a number on him last night. The thought is abandoned as he starts dragging your panties down your legs, watching them stick to your wet core. Once they're not touching your center anymore, he pulls them off quickly. They are thrown over his shoulder, discarded somewhere in the dusty room.

You thank your past self for always packing extra underwear everywhere you go.

‘How could you just leave me in bed like that? Don’t you have any idea what you do to me?’ He looks up at you from his station, pupils blown wide with lust, ‘How fucked up I am about you?’

‘M’sorry. Didn’t know it was so bad.’

He licks a wide, deep, pressing stripe up your cunt. You sigh in pleasure, a little sound catching in your vocal chords. He lavishes you freely in this. With others, Frank had been known to be a teasing lover, but with you, he wanted it now. He wanted to do it now.

‘It’s really bad.’ He moans out.

One of your hands is stable at the back of his head, one keeping your shirt up above your navel. He takes the latter and places it on his naked shoulder.

‘Touch me.’ He asks of you. He is so fucking horny, cracked wide open and all apart, unable to hold anything in. You start to move. Hands carding through that hair you love so much. Fingers scraping at all the skin you can reach, letting him know you’re there. You have what he needs, and you’ll give it when he truly, wantonly needs it. And when you deem it right. You let your nails drag along him, but you make sure your fingers fall to their pads when you reach his back, dancing with attentive pressure. He’s hurt there. In a good way. Red lines decorate him. Up and down and diagonal and horizontal. They’re only superficial. You won’t leave any scars.

He’ll heal, and he’ll ask for it again.

But for now, you will relent. You will put your claws away.

‘So pretty… oh, my god.’ You purr in pure admiration, unable to resist telling him. He loves, loves, loves it. Keep talking, his actions say. He gathers a good amount of your slick from the depths of your pussy with his tongue and sends it back down his throat, and he looks up at you through his eyebrows, eyes flitting back and forth, looking at you like you're doing something equally vulgar. And he's got a trail of your slick down his chin. You try not to let your eyes close.

The sight of him, the sight of that…

'You're demented.' You whisper. You love it. You love him more for it.

You tug his hair to pull him up and let your legs fall off his shoulders so you can kiss him stupid. Your hands cradle his face, and he braces himself on the bed. You can taste yourself on him. Skin and sweat and salt and highly recognizable sweet.

He gives a clipped moan at your mouth against his. It feels like a reward. And it is, you’re pulling him away from where you need him most just to show him pure and altruistic affection. His tongue goes into your mouth and your spit is mixing. His mouth tastes like pussy. You’ve eaten pussy before, it’s a specific thing, but you can almost see yourself from his point of view right now.

He really is good to you. Like syrup, sweet and stuck to you.

‘More.’ You lay back down and your fingers wrap into his hair and you place him back where he fits perfectly as you arch your back in anticipation. Your heartbeat thrums warmly. He returns dutifully.

There is no complaint from him, only a Fuck, Y/N and pussy-drunk whimpers. Your thighs go back around his head— to where they belong. He lowers back down and gestures back and forth with his head, burying his face and tongue back in where they were before, like he’s making up for the lost time spent kissing you. He licks and licks and licks you. Mouth going deep and then tending to your clit, sucking and circling and covering it fully with his tongue and then nudging it lovingly with his nose when he’s gone back lower.

It’s almost already over for him, really. He’s been strangely tolerant of the straining fabric over his bulge. For a while now, he’s been humping at the air, desperate for friction from his pants. But he dives deeper into the black, chases you there. One of Frank’s hands leaves your thigh and you let it. Because he’s being so thorough and good.

He touches himself rough and harsh. He fucks his fist over and over again. He tears his tongue out of you just to drop spit and slick on his cock and hand. He goes right back to you.

This is a wet, disgusting, sex-addled display of together and us and make me feel good, please.

You call to him, Langdon, quiet but loud enough so you know he can hear it over the wet eating of you. Those brows are coming down hard over squeezed shut, dark eyes, and it’s the nail in his coffin.

‘Langdon.’ Your hips start to move of their own accord and you grip his hair, putting him in the exact right place. Over and over. Nose pressing against your clit and his entire mouth covering the rest of you, lapping and vicious.

Holy fuck, yes. Hold me here. Let me die. Wear those cotton underwear to my funeral.

Touch yourself on my grave.

In between blinks and closed eyes, you try to steal glances of him when you can. And it’s almost too much. He’s started fucking you with his tongue so, he’s buried in there. You can only see that hair you love so much, and those eyes.

‘Oh, god.’ You utter to yourself.

And of course, he's been watching you too. More than you have him. It's what he's been asking for this whole time. He hopes and half-knows that he's the only one to ever make you feel this good. Your hair is splayed out on the bed beneath you and it'll be a fuckin' mess when he's done. He reaches out with one hand and paws at your abdomen, the side of your boob, your sternum, the plush of your belly.

‘Yeah… M’yeah, mmph-‘ He croons against your cunt, voice muddled and dripping in you as he's currently fucking you with his tongue. Under your hands, to can feel his jaw contracting and releasing to swallow you whole.

You feel like you’re being swallowed whole.

‘You gonna come?’ He manages to moan out when he feels your cunt start to flutter like rain. Hoping the answer is yes, yes, yes.

‘You’re so smart, baby.’ You poke at him breathlessly as best you can, voice raspy with pleasure. It only spurs him on.

‘Yeah?’

After that, you can’t make out his words anymore. Some seem to be yes’s and fuck’s and some are just guttural sounds, but they’re in the tone and volume that you’re sure he’s about to make a mess of himself.

You think to yourself that this really feels like love. He’s so deep in your most vulnerable, sensitive parts right now. And you’re not even halfway through a twelve hour shift, rings around your eyes from your sleepless profession. Your hair has been up all day until now and it’s been years since you could be bothered to put on makeup. And he’s in there. It feels like love.

Everyone’s greatest fear, at the end of the day, is that they won’t be deemed adequate. And when you get like this, it’s glaringly obvious that you’re both so far beyond adequate to each other.

‘Stay there- right there-‘

Frank Langdon hopes to a god he doesn't believe in that you'll say his name again.

‘Langdon-‘ Frank comes then and there, aligning your cry with a final thrust into his fist. He moans and raves and grunts into you, the vibrations of his voice sending you over the edge. And you can hear him down there enjoying himself thoroughly, loudly. Which only gets you there faster. You rock yourself over his face one last time, and then you’re finally there, sent swimming into the deep dark behind your eyes, twitching and tensing in bodily elation as you always do. As he always brings upon you.

Frank paints his hand and lower abs in come. Aforementioned abs are stuttering and clenching. Your collective sweat and your slick and his come. Just everywhere.

His face stays stationary as you fuck yourself through your own orgasm, but it’s not like he could easily move away with your climax-induced iron grip on his hair. And he’s still got a hold of his cock, barely stroking now but wanting to eke out the last licks of pleasure he can.

You're both panting and wracked with aftershocks. Becoming still after an orgasm tears through you while your heart still pounds hard is a hell of a feeling.

He stays on his knees, not wanting to move yet. He rests the side of his face against your knee, back hunched in relaxation, tension gone and forgotten.

There’s a close, warm moment. Like you’re bound together by a heavy blanket that covers you both. There’s heat from bodies and cool air from the vents. You both feel like you could fall asleep right now. And that makes it all the more intimate, knowing that when you go home, you will fall asleep together.

‘I’ve never had anybody go down on me so much.’ You speak into the quiet, caressing the back of his neck.

‘Anything to say about the quality, or just the quantity?’

‘You’re the Pitt’s leading cunnilinguist.’

‘Thanks.’

You straighten yourselves up to go back to work, a little hazy but satisfied. You look over to find him wet from nose to chin.

‘You’ve got pussy all over your face.’ You try to wipe the bottom half of his face off with your hand, fussing over him, and you barely get to his bottom lip.

‘Stop! That’s mine, I earned that!’ He protests, shooing you away.

In your house, I long to be

Room by room, patiently

I'll wait for you there like a stone

I'll wait for you there alone, alone

my requests are open!

#frank langdon x reader #frank langdon #patrick ball #the pitt #the pitt x reader #michael robinavitch #dana evans #mel king #x reader #dennis whitaker #jack abbot x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #smut #goth reader #Spotify

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milkcookiekin · 1 year ago

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boombox x sub!goth!reader nsfw hcs

- he’s normally very gentle and friendly, but as soon as you guys are alone, he’s bending you over and fucking into you with no restraint.

- you’d think boombox would be a bottom, but he’s closer to a switch than anything else.

- he loves edging you and seeing you beg and cry as you’re ruining your mascara..

- he also loves the little bits of lipstick you leave on his body.

- he doesn’t know what it is, but seeing you all fucked out and your makeup all ruined just does something to him.

- he won’t let you leave him until he’s had his fill, so get that wheelchair ready, he’s gonna creampie you until his cum’s spilling out of you.

“aww, you look so cute like this… you were bothering me just because you wanted to be stuffed with cock..”

“what a nasty whore..”

#phighting x reader #boombox x reader #boombox x reader phighting #boombox phighting #boombox smut #goth reader

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whiskeyghoul · 1 year ago

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She blinded me with science || [Spencer Reid X Goth!reader]

A/N: self indulgent little fic here. I have been in a writing slump for a few weeks and needed to do something just a little self indulgent. So we have this which has been on my mind for ever. I love Abby Sciuto from NCIS and thought how fun it would be to see our little nerd fall in love with the alternative lab rat of the FBI. This is not proof read or anything so it might not be the absolute best but I just wanted to put something out here again.

WC: 1737

Tags: fluff, crush, first meeting, love at first sight possibly, multiple parts, opposites attract, self indulgent fic, reader is described as female, reader is alternative

Warnings: Mention of human remains.

Read part 2 here, read part 3 here

The music coming from the lab was muffled. Even through the closed door Spencer could hear the barely legible lyrics as he got closer and closer. As he reached the door and knocked there seemed to be no answer. Certain his knocking wouldn’t be heard over the noise that he now recognized as Siouxsie and the banshees. He opened the door. As soon as the barrier between him and the music was lifted it sounded so clear. It was turned up to 11 and he wondered how anyone could even focus with music that loud.

That was until he saw you, swaying along to the music, the white coat exaggerated the movements. Swishing from side to side as you reach for a pasteur pipette while bobbing your head along to the music. You seemed absorbed in the music, focussed on your work leaning over the bench and carefully dripping a clear substance on a piece of paper while still perfectly on beat with the music. Spencer cleared his throat loudly, hoping to make himself known before he interrupted you in whatever you seemed to be doing. Though it didn’t quite reach the decibel level to alert you. “L/N” he called out your last name but once again no response. So he took a few steps closer. Once Spencer was close enough he reached out and softly tapped your shoulder. You jumped in response, whirling around in shock with the pipette in your hands raised like a weapon. Like somehow you would be able to defend yourself with the lab instrument. A yelp falling from your lips.

“Oh my god! Can’t you knock!” You accused, eyes wide as you placed your free hand on the top of your chest, taking a deep breath. “I did. I also tried to clear my throat to not scare you.” Spencer retorted, his voice raised a little louder so you could hear him over the music. You twirled around, placing the pipette in the holder. “I’m Doctor Reid, from the BAU.” He continued loudly. You turned, holding your left hand up to shush him. Your right fishing the remote from your coat pocket. It gave Spencer some time to look you over.

Your lab coat was about the only light thing you wore. The outfit underneath was black on black on black. A band tee with illegible writing that peeked over a corset, layered with a ripped fishnet top underneath. The abundance of necklaces of all different lengths, cascading down your neck like silver waterfalls. Ripped jeans he wasn’t quite sure were safe for the lab environment, but the skin of your thigh caught his attention. Something inside of him stirring. He fidgeted with his hands in front of his body.

“So… you were saying?” You spoke. Spencer’s eyes snapped back to your face. You looked up at him with big eyes, a small smile accompanying them. The music was turned down now giving him room to think. Though your eyes still made it difficult to really focus. “Oh, I am Doctor Reid, from the BAU.” He answered after swallowing for a moment. “Ah! You are here for the clothing analysis, right? Penelope mentioned one of the team would come pick it up. Normally it's her or Derek, though I think Derek has complained about hearing loss.” You whirled around while rambling on, pony tail waving behind as you turned, bounding over to a table with scattered papers. Spencer followed close behind, not focussing on the words rather just the tone of your voice, a slight intrigue towards you. He didn’t even know your first name, yet somehow your mannerisms, your unconventional style, it made him want to know more. “Right.” He said, realizing he hadn’t technically answered your questions.

Spencer looked over your shoulder as you picked up a stack of papers neatly stapled together. He thought he might be a bit too close as he could smell the subtle perfume wafting off of you. Though he also strangely enjoyed it. It was sweet but not overly so. A hint of cherry that was fitting in his eyes. The color of the fruit matching that of your lipstick. As you looked over the paper and began to talk again, “So, the substance that was on the clothes seems to be turpentine. Commonly used in oil painting. The vapors can already cause irritation to the eyes, skin, and airways if exposed to them for longer periods of time.” you rambled off the words as you read them. “There were some other things found on the clothes that coincide with the oil painting. Different pigments and paint residue.” You turned, eyes still on the paper nearly bumping into Spencer as he had been standing so close. When you looked up at him surprised he could feel a tightening in his chest. “Oops, sorry.” You apologized, a small smile on your lips.

You apologized to him while he was the one in your way. “Oh it was my fault. Shouldn’t have stood so close. Sorry.” He muttered. The words falling from his lips unceremoniously. He felt like half of his intelligence had up and left his brain as he talked to you. Not really knowing what to say at that moment. His hands fidgeted at his sides again. His left hand playing with the hem of his cardigan sleeve. He cursed himself internally for being reduced to a stumbling mess in front of you. You kept standing there though. Clearly you had turned around to go somewhere and Spencer had been in your way. Yet he was nailed in place and so, it seemed to him, were you. “Did you know they used to make oil paints with human remains?” You spoke excitedly. Like you had been waiting to tell someone, anyone, that little fact. He knew that. He knew that for a long time yet seeing you, tell him a fact with such delight, made him want to lie. “Now I do.” He answered, his smile matching yours.

“It was called mummy brown. They ground up mummies, both human and animal, and put it in the paint.” You continued. Your voice trailing off slightly after the word animal. You held up the stack of papers to him. “Everything you need is in there. If you need me to clarify something just give me a call. Or stop by whenever you want.” Spencer nods after your sentence. Taking the papers from you his hand touched yours ever so slightly. His brain short circuited for a moment before the neurons started firing accordingly again. “I eh- I don’t have your number.” he stumbled over the words.

As if you realized that in that moment you took a step aside and walked past him. Walking over to a desk and rummaging through a drawer. Spencer walked a bit closer to your desk. No longer being nailed in place by some unspeakable force. You pulled out a thin sharpie, and Spencer raised a brow ever so slightly at that. You walked back over, holding out your hand to grasp his. Spencer placed his hand in yours. His mouth felt incredibly dry for a moment. His tongue was uncomfortable in his mouth. His heartbeat raced faster. Nothing like he had ever really felt before. You could have done it on the papers, or maybe even a sticky note. Yet you decided that his hand would be the perfect place to write down your number. He thought about it for a moment, your hand was soft and warm. You twisted his hand, writing down your phone number along with your name. Once you finished you let go off his hand. Spencer looked at the black numbers, committing them to memory, and your name. God your name would be bouncing around his head for days. “Y/N.” He said, testing the name. It felt right.

“That’s me, you better put that in your phone. These markers are not nearly as permanent on skin. It’s the oils.” You went on, capping the marker as you spoke. “I will. Thank you.” Spencer said and smiled. He stayed standing in place for another moment. Trying to commit you to memory just in case his eidetic memory failed him. He realized he was staring a little and cleared his throat. “I eh… I have to go.” pointing his thumb to the door. You giggled a little, a sound that made Spencer’s cheek heat up a little. “Right, pretty boy, head on out. I need to get back to work too.” You smiled casually. Spencer’s face was only heating up more. He swallowed. The nickname the others used for him sounded so much better when it came from you. He turned around to hide his ever heating face from your sight, walking over to the door quickly. Once in the opening he quickly looked back, giving an awkward wave that you returned with a smile.

When Spencer entered the bullpen his face had calmed down a little. Not feeling nearly as hot as before. He was able to think clearly again, but when he looked at your number and name on his hand he felt giddy inside. Reaching his desk he sat down, placing the analysis file on his desk. “That took you long enough, pretty boy.” Derek called out from his desk, humor in his voice. The nickname had no effect when he said it. “Sorry, the lab tech… she was explaining some things to me.” Spencer quickly lied. “Alright, can I get the file?” Derek had his hand already out. Spencer gave him the file and Derek’s brows raised at the number scribbled on his hand. “You got her number?” He smirked. Spencer pulled his hand back covering the numbers and your name with his other hand. “If something needed more clearing up.” He retorted. Derek merely chuckled at his awkwardness, “She’s friends with Garcia, you wouldn’t have needed her phone number.” He added with a smirk. Spencer felt his face heat up a little again, embarrassed. He knew that. He knew that he had known that. But in that moment he couldn’t think.

He looked back at his hand. Your name on his skin. A little flutter in his chest kicked up when he did. Derek cleared his throat, making Spencer look up again. Derek pointed at him with his pen, before opening his mouth. “You better call her soon.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #criminal minds fic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #Goth reader #self indulgent fic #fanfic writer #tumblr writer

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imababblekat · 1 year ago

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Bayverse Tmnt X Goth Lesbian Friend; Hc's

@ittybittytittycomitte ,"Hey may I please request the bayverse tmnt boys with a goth friend? Bonus points if she’s a lesbian (😚). If not that all good just have a good day and remember to drink water 😚"

~xXx~

the boys find you to be a breath of fresh air, seemingly normal if not intriguing to you upon first meeting versus the usual freak out they're used to receiving

they might not always get or understand some of your interest, but it doesn't mean they aren't interested

you're so different from the humans they have met, and are very open to hearing about your ideals and are especially a fan of your darker themed outfits

Mikey practically begged you to do his make up and make him look goth like you to which you happily agreed

before you knew it, you had the three other brothers following suit in trying out parts of your life style

if witchcraft is a part of your life, Leo definitely falls in love with it

while he might not identify as pagan or such, he's very interested in all that you can teach him in things such as the different properties of crystals, etc

you introduced Donnie to gothic opera music and he now has a whole new genera to listen to when he wants to get into a spooky scientist mood

Raphael, to no surprise, is all about the spiked jewelry you wear; as a gift you got him his own spiked bracelet and started referring to him as Bowser when he wore it

he'd act like he hated the nickname, but he never took off the bracelets and other spiked articles you'd gift him

if anyone knows what it's like to be viewed as something negative, it's them, so you have nothing to worry about when you tell them you're lesbian

if anything, you coming out to them brings y'all closer

Mikey is 1000% your wingman, whether you want him to be or not! he may or may not have tried to hook you up with April at one point

these boys are ready to throw hands for you, let some bigot give them the opportunity!

Donnie makes special pepper spray he calls "Bigot Away Spray, and pretty much any kind of self defense gadgets just for you

Leo becomes your sensei in a way, always up and ready to teach some new form of martial art that he knows

Raph definitely teaches you boxing, but he's also hanging in the shadows when you go out with friends, just waiting for some bigot to fuck around an find out

all in all, these ninja brothers love and embrace you for who you are and definitely take you in as a sister figure

#bayverse mikey x reader #bayverse michelangelo x reader #bayverse raph x reader #bayverse raphael x reader #bayverse donnie x reader #bayverse donatello x reader #bayverse leo x reader #bayverse leonardo x reader #bayverse tmnt x reader #tmnt x reader #aged up tmnt #platonic #goth reader #lesbian reader #@ittybittytittycomitte #imababblekat's writing

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greengoblinswifey · 7 months ago

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Blessed Are The Tempted—Father Charlie Mayhew x Fem!Reader

summary— after partially denouncing your faith, you decide to make one last trip to see if you could feel a connection to it and God. all you left feeling was your new God’s cum deep inside you. based on this request.

warnings— sacrilege, blasphemy, father kink, daddy kink, Charlie being praised/referred to as God, objectification, ass slapping, mentions of bruises and welts, choking, face slapping, hair pulling, face fucking, fingering, spitting degrading kink, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink.

a/n— took a break from being depressed over finals to write this! working on the other requests so enjoy this while i take my time <3

The night was heavy, and your heels clicked loudly as you walked toward the church. Clad in a black skirt and a long black coat covering your bare skin underneath, your goth aesthetic stood out against the backdrop of the ancient stone structure. The heels you wore were intricately designed, each one featuring a subtle cross etched into the side—a nod to the symbolism that had always intrigued you, even if you’d long since stopped believing.

As you approached the church, you noticed how still the world felt. There was something almost reverent about the emptiness, the silence that wrapped itself around the tall, pointed spires. You hadn’t been here in ages. The heavy wooden door creaked as you pushed it open, the scent of incense lingering in the air, mixed with something else, something familiar.

You had called earlier, and the voice on the other end had been low, almost too smooth—Charlie. It stirred something in you, a curiosity, a feeling you hadn’t realized you missed. That’s why you were here now—one last chance to feel something, anything, before you walked away forever.

As you stepped inside, the cool air embraced you. You walked down the aisle, your heels making soft but deliberate sounds on the stone floor. Every step felt deliberate, as if you were walking toward a decision you hadn’t fully made yet.

And then you saw him. Father Charlie, standing at the altar, watching you with an intensity that made your breath catch. His eyes followed you as you walked closer, and you could feel the weight of his gaze—the same way you could feel the weight of everything that had led you here tonight.

“You came,” he said, his voice smooth, but with an edge of something else you couldn’t place. There was no judgment in his tone, just an acknowledgment of your presence, and something about that made you feel strangely seen.

“I did,” you said, standing just a few feet away from him now. The silence between you was heavy, but it was comfortable, as if you both knew there was something unspoken between you—something that neither of you were quite ready to voice.

You couldn’t ignore the way his eyes lingered on your attire, how they traced the lines of your outfit, the crosses that hung from your neck. His gaze softened just slightly, and for a moment, you saw the human side of the man who had been your confessor.

“I didn’t expect you to come back,” he admitted quietly, taking a step closer. His voice lowered as if he didn’t want to disturb the sacred silence of the church. “What made you change your mind?”

You hesitated for a moment, looking up at him through your lashes, feeling the pull of something you couldn’t quite name.

“I wanted to feel something,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, but he heard it. His eyes flashed with something—maybe understanding, maybe surprise.

He nodded slowly and for a moment, you both stood there, suspended in time. Then, as if pulling back from the edge of something, he stepped away, but not before giving you one last look—one that left a mark on you, something you couldn’t shake off.

“Whatever you need, it’s here,” he said quietly, his voice almost a promise.

You weren’t sure if you believed him, but for now, you didn’t have to.

The church was quiet, except for the soft rustling of the pages as Father Charlie read aloud from the Bible. His voice echoed through the empty pews, each word heavy with the weight of ancient teachings. Your all-black attire, with its gothic undertones, felt almost out of place here, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that this place, this moment, was meant to answer something inside you.

Father Charlie’s voice broke through your thoughts. “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” he read, his eyes drifting up to meet yours. There was a tension in the air, an almost unspoken connection that lingered between you.

You tilted your head, stepping forward into the dim light. “Temptation,” you said softly, your voice playful yet tinged with a hint of challenge. “So, blessed are the pure, huh? What about those who are tempted? Are they blessed too? Or is that only for the pure?”

He faltered, his gaze dropping slightly as he shifted uncomfortably. You could see the internal battle in his eyes, but he said nothing.

The silence hung heavy between you as you stepped closer. “You preach about purity and grace, but what does it really mean?” you continued. “Does the flesh have no place in this kingdom you speak of? Or is it something man-made to make us feel something?” Your voice had dropped, the edge now sharp and questioning.

Father Charlie didn’t answer. His eyes were focused on the Bible in his hands, his knuckles white from gripping it too tightly. He was struggling—his faith, his beliefs, they all seemed to waver under your gaze. And that realization hit you hard. There was nothing here for you. The words he spoke, the symbols of faith, they meant little to you now. They were just constructs, meant to give people a sense of purpose, but you felt nothing.

A hollow laugh escaped your lips, and you shook your head. “You’re pathetic,” you muttered under your breath, your gaze moving past him. “This is all just a game, a way to make people feel like they’re in control when they’re not. You should know that.”

Father Charlie’s jaw clenched, his breath catching in his throat. “Not in the house of God,” he said, his voice low, filled with a mix of anger and frustration.

You took a step forward, your black coat sweeping around you as you moved. You could feel the tension building, the confrontation nearing its peak. You caught his gaze again, daring him to say more. “House of who?” you whispered, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “What is He going to do about it?”

The space between you seemed to stretch, and in that moment, you knew. The boundary he had drawn, the one he believed in so firmly, meant nothing to you. You had turned away from it long ago, and now, it seemed almost laughable that he still clung to it.

The silence was thick, and for a moment, you both simply stood there, facing each other. You didn’t need this place, nor the beliefs that it offered. Father Charlie seemed to sense that, his expression darkening as the tension between you only deepened. But you no longer cared. You had found your truth, and it didn’t belong here. Not in this church, not in this faith. It made what you craved to do all the more daunting.

Slowly, with his eyes on you, you pulled your coat, revealing your bare skin underneath, your nipples only covered by a chain. The rosary hanging around your neck was a stark contrast to the sinful act you’d just committed.

In a blur of frustration and fury, he grabbed you by the hair, pulling you down to your knees on the cold marble floor. His voice was sharp as he demanded, “Confess. Beg for forgiveness for your blasphemy and sexual immorality.”

But you only smirked up at him, defiant. “Pathetic,” you muttered, the word cutting through the air like a blade.

His fingers tightened in your curls, and his face was a mixture of conflict and control. “You’re playing with fire,” he warned, his voice a low growl. “Repent, or you’ll burn.”

“I don’t have time for your fairytales, I’ll be doing no such thing, Father,” you chuckled, looking up at him with big doe eyes, “but I’d bet having a holy man like you all over me would make me holy too.”

“I rebuke the spirit of Jezebel inside you,” he bellowed.

You laughed, voice thick with mockery, “fuck it out of me, make me holy, Father.”

That was it, Father Charlie had enough. He grabbed you by the curls, pulling you to the sacred chair he would sit in during the sermons you’d come to for just five minutes max. He plopped down, frantically fumbling with his pants and belt.

“I only hope God will forgive me for what I’m about to do—no, He will. Blessed are the tempted,” he muttered, looking to the cross above him.

Your eyes panned to how hard and thick he was. But you knew you could take him, you’d show him just how good temptation felt. You’d have him crawling back for more. He was already aching for you, though the battle within himself did not waver.

The priest groaned as he shoved you onto his leaking cock, immediately hitting the back of your throat and making you gag. “That’s right bitch, gag on it. This is what you wanted. This is what you get for being a temptress,” he groaned.

You moaned, doing your best to drag your tongue along his shaft as he used your hair to glide along it. He was not going easy on you, you knew he was trying to break you. Little did he know, you couldn’t be broken, this was what you wanted.

He moved you to his balls, looking down at you with dark eyes as you took the sacks into your mouth then continued your assault on his shaft. As he went back to fucking your throat, you made sure your eyes were on him so he could see how he had you. Eyes teary, black mascara running down your cheeks, salvia and pre cum running down your chin and onto your boobs. You were completely at his mercy.

“Disgusting whore,” he moaned, as you spat onto his cock then glided your tongue over every inch of him, “y-you’re really enjoying this.”

“Mm— tell me more, tell me I’m your dirty bitch,” you pleaded.

“Fuck, you’re my dirty bitch, you’re my cock sucking bitch,” he gasped, bucking his hips as he was practically down your throat.

You suctioned your lips around him tightly, feeling the way he throbbed under the touch of your soft hands squeezing his balls. They tightened as he tipped his head back, staring up at the cross and you could feel how close he was.

“Cum for me daddy,” you moaned, bobbing your head as your dark eyes pierced into at him.

“Fucking hell,” he gasped at the nickname you gave him.

He couldn’t hold back even if he tried, as you deep throated him, his warm seed spurted down your throat, his cock throbbing. He held you down onto him, your nose touching his pubic hair as you savored the taste of the holy man’s cum you had just swallowed.

No amount of post nut clarity could prevent him from aching for more. As he stared down at you on your knees for him, he knew he needed more. This wasn’t sinful—blessed were the tempted. Right?

You shrugged off your coat and the jewelry covering your nipples and pulled down your skirt, heat rippling through your body as Charlie’s eyes raked over your figure. Left in only your thigh high stockings and your cross heels, you sat on Charlie’s lap, your back facing him.

His hand instinctively went to wrap around your throat, while the other groped you, roughly. “I should have you stoned to death for what you’re doing to me,” he murmured.

“Then I’ll see you in hell when your time comes,” you retorted.

Your wit didn’t last long as you felt two of his fingers plunge into you, and his hand tightened around your throat.

“Yes daddy, finger fuck me in front of the altar,” you moaned.

His hand snapped across your cheek, causing your head to whip to the side. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

You squirmed against him, feeling how his fingers stretched your walls. The sound of your wet pussy shamelessly filled the church causing pure desire to swell inside you. You were defiling this sacred space and this sacred man, the thought made your pussy even wetter.

“Look at you, look at what you’re forcing me to do to you,” Charlie sneered into your ear.

“If that’s what you tell yourself,” you chucked, earning another slap across the face.

“Fucking whore, your pussy is leaking all over the chair,” he uttered.

His thumb circled your clit roughly as his other fingers curled inside you, toying with the spongy spot that had you screaming his title.

“Fuck— Father. Faster, harder, make me cum,” you moaned, your head dropping to his shoulder.

His fingers thrusted into you faster and his hand gripped your neck so tight, you couldn’t breathe. “Take it bitch, this is what you wanted. This is what whores like you get.”

His efforts became too much and your body arched in his lap as your orgasm came crashing down. Your fluids spurted from your pussy, coating the floor the congregation would kneel on to pray. Charlie continued rubbing your clit, drawing every sound and every drop of your cum out of you.

“That’s a good little whore, that’s all you’re good for, being used like you’re nothing,” he cooed.

He brought his shaky fingers up to his lips, sucking your juices. “How can a slut like you taste like Heaven?”

“It’s my blessing and your curse.”

Charlie held your body against him as he stood from the chair then he laid you down, shoving your face into the floor while your upper body was still pressed against him. He sat back down, slightly leaning over as he admired your body in an uncomfortable position all for his pleasure.

“I don’t care if you’re in pain, you’re going to take whatever I give you and you’re going to praise me like I’m your God,” he bellowed, “you’ve denounced Catholicism and now you will worship me.”

His grip on your hips was bruising, surely to leave dark bruises when he was finished with you. A gasp left your lips as he slammed into you, pulling you onto his cock at the same time.

“Thank you Father, I— I worship you and praise you for everything you do to me,” you moaned.

You felt his cock throb inside you at your words. Hell would definitely be his resting place. You held up your body by your hands as Charlie slid in and out of you like an animal. He slapped your ass, welts slowly beginning to form as he moaned at the sight of his shaft being covered in your cream.

“That feels so good daddy, please. Hit me again, I’m just your servant, a vessel for you to use and fuck,” you cried.

“That’s right bitch, you’re nothing. You.are.nothing,” he growled, each word emphasized by a hard thrust into you and slaps on your ass.

You did your best to bounce on his cock as you felt the lingering stings from his hand coming down on you.

“Your ass looks so much better getting all marked up from my hand,” he chuckled, his hips snapping to meet you even faster.

All you could do was moan, your pussy fluttering around his length from how wrong it was to have him defile you in his church.

“Daddy, I— I’m gonna cum,” you cried, “please let me cum, oh God, my God, please let me cum.”

“Cum all over your God’s cock,” he muttered, his hand coming down on your ass with a stinging smack.

You shuddered underneath him, your pussy twitching as your orgasm overtook you. He reached under, rubbing circles on your clit as you squirmed and thanked him for giving you permission to cum.

As soon as you came down from your high, he pulled you up by your curls and shoved you into the seat to take his position.

“Spread your fucking legs whore, I know it’s what you do best.”

Who were you to disobey your God? You spread your legs for him, each hanging over the arm of the chair and he watched in awe as your fluids glistened on your pussy, leaking to your asshole and your thigh highs smeared.

His hand slipped around your throat and he thrusted into you harshly, giving you no time to adjust to his size in this new position. You cried out, struggling to breathe and take his assault on you.

“Shut the fuck up, this is what you wanted, you’re an object and a whore, so you will be treated as such,” he groaned, squeezing your throat tighter.

You wanted to be obedient and so, you spread your legs even wider, giving him free rein to tear your pussy apart.

“T-thank you Father, thank you for fucking me,” you stammered.

He moaned, watching his thick cock disappear inside you and seeing the outline of himself moving in your belly.

“Only your God can be this deep inside you, slut,” he laughed in mockery.

He pressed his forehead against yours, your breaths mingling as he pounded into you harshly. The sound of shameless skin slapping filled the church and you could already feel the coil in your abdomen tighten.

“Shit, I can feel your wet pussy tightening around me, beg me to cum,” he muttered, still fucking into you, “beg your God to cum.”

“Please daddy, please God, I just want to be a good slut for you, please let me cum,” you begged, your eyes pleading.

He slapped the heavy tip on your clit and that was all it took for your juices to begin squirting all over him as your orgasm came down upon you. Your pussy twitched and he leaned down, sucking as you squirted then squeezed your jaw open to spit it into your mouth.

“Swallow it like a good slut.” You did as you were instructed to then stuck out your tongue, revealing to Charlie that you could be an obedient servant for him.

His hand was tangled in your curls again as he dragged you, pulling you off the chair and taking your position.

“Ride me. Ride my cock and show me how much you worship me,” he demanded.

Eager to please, you straddled him, making sure your legs were on either side of the chair, your heels clinking against it as you left your pussy at the mercy of his cock.

His hand snaked around your throat, gripping harshly as you slowly sank onto him. The new position made you feel as though he would rip you apart but you dared not to say anything. You just wanted to show him how obedient you could be to your God.

You lifted your body, gliding roughly up and down his cock while he thrusted up into you, increasing your pleasure.

“I love your cock, oh God, I love it so much, it’s so perfect, you’re so perfect,” you whimpered, as he continuously slammed into your cervix and the sweet spot inside you all at once.

“That’s it bitch, I’m your perfect God, all for you to worship and be used by.”

Your head fell forward on his shoulder, your pussy still grinding and bouncing on him but he pushed you back and slapped you hard across the cheek.

“You’re going to look at your God while he fucks you, keep your fucking head up,” he growled.

“Yes daddy, anything for you,” you croaked out.

Your heart and pussy fluttered as he smiled at you, his rough pace not faltering as he met your bounces with harsh thrusts. With his hand still around your neck, he leaned down, swirling his tongue around your hardened nipples. You arched into him, grinding on his cock and giving your clit the attention it ached for as he continued increasing your pleasure.

You could feel how Charlie throbbed and twitched inside you, he was just as close as you were.

“Daddy, please cum with me, please breed me,” you begged, “let’s make the anti-christ.”

Charlie’s jaw fell agape at your filthy words, breathy moans leaving his lips and he pounded into you hard, chasing his orgasm.

Your pace faltered but his didn’t and you cried out as you pussy creamed and squirted all over his cock. His orgasm followed and he held you down onto him, ropes of his warm load spurting deep inside you, surely to impregnate you and create the anti-christ you so desperately wanted to mother.

His forehead pressed against yours and you stared into each other’s eyes as you came.

“Thank you Father, thank you God for using me.”

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just-agirl-lol · 2 years ago

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Hidden Room | Hobie B. 𖨆❤︎𖨆

‧̍̊˙· .° ｡˚♡Masterlist♡˚｡ °. ·˙‧

Pairing: SpiderPunk!Hobie Brown x fem!SpiderGoth!reader

Summary: Where SpiderGoth and SpiderPunk sneak into a hidden room from time to time to makeout.

Genre: Fluff 🦇

Warnings: Heated makeout session and I think that's it.

Word count: 365

A/N: I AM FINALLY BACK!!! it feels like I have been gone for ages, I am so happy to finally be back I'll be definitely active from now on.

Enjoy <3

Hobie Brown, the one and only SpiderPunk, and you, the outstanding Spider-Goth, found yourselves in a hidden room almost nobody knew about at HQ. The room, without everybody seeing you, became the perfect place for stolen moments shared between the two of you.

As the door closed behind you, anticipation filled the air. The tension between you was more than noticeable, your eyes locked with intensity. Without hesitation, Hobie closed the distance between you, his hands gently cupping your face as he claimed your lips in a passionate kiss.

The room radiated an electric energy as your bodies pressed against each other, aching to be closer. Hobie's hands roamed your sides, leaving a trail of tingling sensations behind. Your fingers tangled in his hair, deepening the kiss as your tongues danced.

Moans and sighs filled the room, the air thick with desire. The outside world long ago forgotten as the connection between you and him intensified.

Lost in the moment, time became irrelevant. Each touch, each caress, initiated a fire within you that burned brighter than any star. The hidden room became a place where you and Hobie could freely express your passion for the other, unbothered by the world outside.

As the intensity grew, the boundaries between you blurred, and the lines that separated SpiderPunk and SpiderGoth became indistinguishable. In this private sanctuary, you were simply two souls united in a passionate embrace, connected by the love and passion for each other.

Minutes turned into hours, and breathless whispers of affection echoed in the room. The room became a sacred space, a spot where the two of you could revel in the boundless affection you held for one another.

Finally, as the heat of the moment reached its peak, you reluctantly broke apart, your chests heaving. Your gazes met, a mix of love, lust and passion reflected on them.

Hobie leaned his forehead against yours, his voice husky with emotion. "You're everything to me, love. In this room, it's just you and me, no masks, no responsibilities, no anyone. I love you."

You smiled, your heart overflowing with love for the rebellious SpiderPunk before you.

This boy was gonna be the death of you

ᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘𐡏~♡♡ Love, Mars ♡♡

A/N: My first time writing for Hobie or anything spiderman related but I didn't hate the result as much I thought I would so there's that.

Hope you have a nice day/night ෂ

#spider punk #spiderman #spider punk x y/n #spider punk x reader #spider punk x you #goth reader #spiderman atsv #hobie brown atsv #atsv hobie #atsv fic #hobie brown #hobie brown x you #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x y/n

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necrobunni · 26 days ago

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pt. 2 to this lovely post

im exhausted if its fucked dont say anything

pairing: Morticia & Gomez Addams x Fem! stoner reader

summary: you wake up in their bed, very thoroughly claimed. breakfast, morning-after chaos, flirty shower antics, and your little sister already plotting your return.

You wake up draped in silk and sin.

The sheets are a black satin crime scene and your thighs are sore in the best possible way. Someone's teeth left blooming violets on your hips. Your lip gloss is gone. Your body glitter has migrated across multiple necks.

You're warm. Boneless. Claimed.

You try to shift and your stomach tightens at the memory: Morticia’s tongue against your throat, Gomez between your thighs like he was starved for centuries and you were the last luxury on earth. Their voices still echo in your ears—praise and poetry and filth in equal measure.

You remember the way Morticia’s lipstick smeared across your jaw when she kissed you—deliberate and unhurried—before whispering, “Sleep in our bed, darling. We’ll take care of everything.”

You do not remember making it to the guest room.

---

You barely get time to gather your thoughts before a hand—cool, gentle, possessive—glides across your waist.

“Good morning, cara mia,” Gomez purrs against your bare shoulder. “You were divine last night.”

A hum from the other side of the bed. “She still is,” Morticia murmurs, her voice low, velvety. She stretches like a cat, her fingers tracing the swell of your thigh. “And she smells like heaven.”

You blink up at the canopy.

You’re sandwiched between them. One of Gomez’s robes barely clings to your frame, untied and useless, your skin a mural of red lipstick and faint bruises. Morticia is lounging beside you like a painting, wearing a sheer dressing gown and zero shame. She smiles when your eyes catch hers, slow and reverent.

“We let you sleep in,” she says. “You earned it.”

Gomez presses a kiss to your shoulder. “You moaned poetry in your sleep.”

“I did not.”

“You did,” Morticia confirms. “And begged quite beautifully.”

You bury your face in your hands. “I can never look at my sister again.”

“Darling,” Morticia drawls, slipping off the bed like a nightmare in silk. “Your sister high-fived me last night and said, and I quote, ‘Get her, queen.’”

---

The shower is warm. Steamy. Unfair.

Morticia joins you first, hair pinned up, lips painted black like temptation. She lathers your body with practiced ease, like worship. Her hands are respectful—until they’re not. They pause at your thighs, linger at your breasts, thumb across the curve of your belly like she’s memorizing it.

“She’ll want to mark you again,” Gomez says casually as he steps in, utterly unbothered and equally naked. “But perhaps after breakfast.”

You forget how to stand for a moment.

You lean back against Gomez’s chest, mouth parted as Morticia trails kisses down your front, and it’s so unfair—how good they are at this. At you.

“Tell us if it’s too much,” she whispers, licking a slow stripe up your sternum. “We’ll wait.”

You don’t say stop.

You say her name.

---

Breakfast is an unholy miracle.

You’re still wearing the robe, but now Morticia has tied it for you and kissed the knot. Your hair is in a loose bun and you’re not sure who twisted it up—Morticia or Gomez—but it doesn’t matter. You’re still glowing. Still aching sweetly. You sip dark coffee like it’s your last tether to reality.

Your little sister plops down next to you with a plate of fruit, smug as hell.

“You look happy,” she grins.

“I should ground you.”

“No you shouldn’t. You’re in love.”

Morticia floats past in a high-collared black gown, humming a waltz. Gomez flips an omelet with one hand and kisses your cheek with the other. Pugsley walks by and offers you a fist bump. Wednesday raises a brow but nods once, which from her is basically a blessing.

“I told you they’d love you,” your sister says, biting a strawberry. “Can we come back next week?”

“You mean so I can be seduced into another threesome while you braid Wednesday’s hair?”

“Exactly.”

---

You don’t say yes.

But you don’t say no.

Not when Gomez feeds you a bite of omelet with a flourish. Not when Morticia runs her nails down your spine and whispers about plans for tonight. Not when your sister leans over and whispers: “They like like you.”

You glance up at the Addamses—dark, devoted, watching you like the sun rose just for them to see you bask in it.

You’re in so much trouble.

And maybe—just maybe—you like it here.

#black!reader #black reader #x black reader #goth reader #plus size reader #x plus size reader #chubby reader #x chubby reader #x reader #gomez addams #morticia addams #gomez x morticia #gomez and morticia #gomez addams x reader #morticia addams x reader #morticia and gomez #poly!addams #xenos masterlist #the crypt

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konigsm · 2 months ago

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soap x goth f!reader

recently read something with simon and a goth girlie and the brain worms have eaten me alive

The bar was loud.

Soap was here catching up with his old school mates, something about reunion.

Mess of drunken laughter echoing from the back booth where they were on their eighth round. He’s grinning, flushed from the whisky, but something—someone—catches his eye.

You.

Perched at the bar like a vision straight out of a Tim Burton fantasy. Long black dress hugging every inch like it was stitched onto you, a slit daring up your thigh, corset-tight bodice, ink-dark lipstick. You're leaning over your drink, murmuring something to your friend—a pink-haired punkette with a matching glare. You’re untouchable. Mysterious. Deadly.

And Johnny?

Absolutely fucked.

He mutters something to his mate, slides off the stool, and stalks toward you—half buzzed, all cocky.

He leans his forearm on the bar beside you, shoulder brushing yours just enough to say I meant that, and flashes a lopsided grin.

“You alright, love?” he said, and his voice was low, warm with that gravelly Scottish undertone that made heads turn. “Can I buy you a drink?”

You didn’t look at him straight away. Just blinked lazily, as if being approached by men in bars was more tedious than anything else. Then you turned, giving him a slow once-over. Your eyes lingered a little at his jawline, the scruff, the curve of his mouth still ghosting a smile. You cocked a brow.

“Can you?”

It wasn’t rude. It was worse. It was amused. Confident. Like you were the one choosing whether he got to stay in your atmosphere, not the other way round.

Johnny chuckled under his breath. That was new. That was fun.

He flagged down the bartender with a flick of his fingers. “Get her something bloody red,” he said without looking away from you. “Looks like the kind of thing she’d like.”

Your lips quirked, but you said nothing.

He let his gaze roam. Not subtle, but not crass either—somewhere between admiration and curiosity. He leaned in just a little, caught a whiff of your perfume—something spicy and rich, like clove and smoke—and tilted his head.

“you look pretty hot for a dead girl, don’t you?” he said, voice dipping just a touch,

That earned him a pause. You stare. Blink once. He thinks he’s fumbled it. And then—you laugh.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

Your drink arrived, dark as sin and garnished with something red and bleeding sugar. You picked it up, letting your fingers trail over the chilled glass.

He’s smitten. He doesn’t even know your name but he’s already leaning in like "So, do all vampires drink cranberry margarita, or just the fit ones?"

You turned to face him fully now, propping your elbow on the bar, chin resting in your palm. “Do you always flirt like a man in a straight-to-DVD vampire flick?”

He grinned, shameless. “Only when it works.”

You didn’t reply right away—just sipped, your lipstick leaving a perfect mark on the rim. Then your gaze flicked up at him again, slow and measuring.

“You’re either very bold,” you said, voice lower now, “or very stupid.”

“I’m Scottish,” he said, as if that explained anythjng.

And somehow, it did.

#john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #goth reader #cod #soap x reader #sopa brainrot #like hes so skdhsjjs

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bookvvitch · 5 months ago

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How To Make Two Lovers Of Friends

Words: 11,569

Synopsis:

Aizawa is taking a much-needed break after the war with Shigaraki and All For One. He isn't looking for anything in particular; that is, until he spots you in a goth themed coffee house. A whirlwind romance ensues in this one shot, filled to the brim with sexual tension, fluff, and smut.

Alternative/goth fem! Reader

Fair warning, this one is the first fic I'd ever written, so it isn't my best work. It does hold a special place in my heart though and I hope it's enjoyable for someone!

Morning light came dappled through the windows as you took your favorite seat at the coffee house, just like you did every morning to start your day. This coffee shop went by the name Bauhaus; probably a nonsequedor to most, but a familiar homage to a band for you. It had this witchy aesthetic, filled with books and old vinyls that made you feel at peace. You never really saw places like this when you still lived in America, at least not in your neck of the woods. How absolutely lucky that you lived just a few blocks away!

You ordered yourself the special for this month: The Headless Horseman, an iced pumpkin and caramel breve to celebrate the upcoming fall season, a welcome respite from the August heat. Smoothing away the creases on your black velvet dress, you thanked the barista, who you typically made small talk with but were not quite on a first name basis with just yet, and took your seat once again to finish reading your book. The leaves rattled in the wind outside and rapped against the building like old bones in a wooden sarcophagus.

"A storm is coming soon," you say quietly to yourself.

Gentle thunder thrums in the distance like the soft beating of a lambskin drum, and a small grin makes itself at home on your lips.

Perfect reading weather.

Adjusting yourself on the bench beneath your legs, your mouth curved at the edges, eliciting a slight hum from your lips.

Ah.

Spooky, scary peace.

Outside the confines of the coffee house, though, the weather was much less enjoyable. The heroes Eraserhead and Present Mic both trudged through heavy raindrops, soaked like wet dogs, caught off guard by the sudden change in weather. Aizawa scowled at his mess of dark hair getting drenched.

"Damn, this weather is nasty!" Said Mic, voice unintentionally booming.

He looked around and scouted for shelter as the thunder rolled, and settled on the closest bit of light he could see, pointing his finger at Bauhaus so as to motion for Aizawa to head that way.

They stopped at the overhang to dry off a bit before entering when Aizawa got a peek inside the shop. He took note of the band posters and bookshelves littering the walls, the violet-hued plants hanging from the ceiling and shelves, the generally alternative vibe that exuded from the place.

"I don't know, Hizashi," he stated hesitantly, shifting his weight to his good leg.

"What's the big deal? It's not like you'll look out of place," Hizashi was frank, opening the door with no apprehension. He gave a quick chuckle that sounded like taps on a hot microphone.

It was true, Aizawa typically dressed in all black. Now that he was taking a break, though, he didn't always have his capture weapon on him. He was instead accompanied by a patch over his eye and a prosthetic leg. He felt like he usually stood out like a sore thumb these days, which was problematic for someone who had always tried to keep such a low profile in the past.

Aizawa fiddled with his eyepatch and thought about how nice it would be to blend in once more. He had always tried to stay out of the spotlight, but after the intense battle with Shigaraki, it was harder to avoid the media. Maybe a place like this wasn't such a bad idea. He continued to zone out as Mic spoke much too loudly for the space they were in, as usual, and talked (mostly to himself) about if he should get a coffee or a smoothie.

Aizawa grew slightly embarrassed by his friend's actions as he looked around the room to see if his boisterous voice was bothering the other patrons. It was 6am, still early, so Bauhaus was lingering with the vestiges of sleep, waking with the rest of Musutafu. There was a green haired person on their laptop in the back corner, tucked away, uninvolved in the rest of the shop and seemingly unbothered. Empty seats. A full cup on a table that meant someone would be right back.

Then there was you.

Right beneath the window seat near the front of the shop, a purple vining plant hanging above you, crushed velvet bell sleeves rested upon the table as your fingers gripped the pages of a well-worn copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. Your face was aglow like the moon, scattered with a few freckles that danced across rosy cheeks, long lashes that arched over your half-lidded eyes. The bass of the music swelling over the speakers seemed to engulf Aizawa, thumping in his head, your silken locks being brushed to settle behind your ear as his mouth suddenly dried.

Then, as if on que, you looked up at him just in time for him to hear "oh Lucretia, my reflection", and everything seemed to stand still. He could feel his pulse in his fingertips. You had these gorgeous doe eyes, these pouty little lips that gave a gamine smile to him while he held his gaze for much too long, he was sure of it. You were a vision. A blooming Queen Of The Night. A siren out in the storm.

"Quit staring at her and tell me what you want to drink!"

Aizawa was snapped out of his delusion. Flustered at the comment, he groaned, his eye twitching. Unwilling to break the eye contact with you just yet, your smile grew, and you exchanged glances with him again, causing pink heat to bloom over his face. You sat down your book and made your posture more swanlike as you maintained eye contact with him. His breath hitched at this.

You snuck looks at him for the rest of the time the two were in the shop. You weren't enough of a go-getter to approach him--nor were you brave enough to blatantly ask him out--but you really hoped that maybe he would come in again.

————

As mortified as he was by Mic's statement, he knew he had to try to see you again.

Not because he wanted to get to know you or anything.

No.

You just seemed... interesting. You seemed interesting and he felt very comfortable in Bauhaus. In fact, it probably had very little to do with you at all. He was more than likely just transferring these feelings of comfort onto you. After all, it's been a while since he's been able to go out and not feel like he was the one being stared at.

Yes.

This is rational.

This is why he needed to go back. You were just there by happenstance.

Every single weekday morning--and on weekends when he wasn't watching Eri--for an entire month, he was at the shop.

That's just how comfortable he was there. That's how good their plain black coffee was. That's what it meant to have a routine.

It was just a coincidence that he couldn't help but to notice you.

You were always there in that same cozy nook. Some days you were dressed in a band t-shirt and jeans. Some days you were in a plaid skirt and combat boots. Some days you were in a mossy green dress that went to the floor. Some days you wore causal yoga pants that were surely comfortable but made him sweat like a sinner in church. He never knew what exactly he would see you in next, but it was usually the same kind of style. And you always had a book to read, which Aizawa greatly admired. You were studious and attentive with your literature, but also a little bit goofy, judging by the laughter between you and the barista when you picked up your drinks.

But he had also come to find that you were very kind. Although you didn't appear to be a hero, you helped in other ways. You would pay for people's orders if they didn't have enough to cover their purchase. Twice, he watched you pay for the food of a homeless man, and then you sat with this man as an equal, outside on the curb, as the two of you ate breakfast sandwiches and talked. You were softspoken and gentle in your manner of speech, making him feel as though you were reading him to sleep as you talked between bites of food.

He noticed you had the biggest soft spot for animals, though.

You would watch out the window at around 6:15 to see if your little cat friend would show up that day. You would give them a drink of water from your own bottle and cap, offer them bits of bread and meat, and coo at them in a lovely sing-song voice as they ate. The cat didn't want to be touched, they were scarred and matted all to hell; but you were patient every single time. What a beautiful soul you seemed to have.

Aizawa was normally pessimistic, but you made him feel hopeful in humanity. He was certain that you had flaws, as people do, but your acts of kindness always made sure he had a good start to his day. He was always ready to protect you if you ever needed it. The world could use more good people, after all.

One morning in particular, as Aizawa picked up his drink, he noticed a man lazily stroll up to you at your regular nook. This happened to you every so often now that you were in Japan. You were approached by men, and very occasionally other women, maybe a handful of times in your entire life back in the United States. Your best guess is that here you were considered "exotic" since you looked different from most. You almost never saw someone with features like yours, and you were certainly taller than most of the women here, with noticeably longer limbs; all things that weren't exactly beauty standards in America but seemed to garner attention in Japan.

Unfortunately, the attention wasn't usually the kind that you enjoyed, and this guy was no different. He was dressed in an athletic shirt and basketball shorts. Not that you were one to judge, because hell, sometimes you showed up in pastels if the mood so struck you. People weren't bound to the confines of fashion. However, in your experience, men dressed in this clothing who came into Bauhaus tended to be... unsavory. Usually someone looking to fulfill their fetishes.

"Ooo, Cara Mia," he taunted as he approached you.

An Addams Family reference would have otherwise been right up your alley, but when he said the quote, it felt icky somehow. You knew he had to have kept this line in his back pocket regardless of who he came across, anyway. You were in a long sleeved sheer top with a lavender camisole and pair of black bell bottoms. More Stevie Nicks than Morticia Addams. So you did the rational thing and ignored him. You weren't there to be someone's Big Tiddy Goth Girlfriend.

He didn't like that much.

"Hey. I'm talking to you," he spat his words at you with barely concealed contempt.

"I heard you," you flicked your eyes up at him sharply.

Aizawa's body tensed in preparation to spring into action, taking a step forward in your direction. Who the fuck did this guy think he was?

"I was just being nice. Not like anyone else is going to talk to your ugly old ass," his words were meant to bite at you, but you didn't budge.

"Old? Why, because I dared to live past 16? God, you are disgusting," you sat down your book and shook your head disapprovingly, "creeps like you are always projecting your own insecurities. How sad for you. Fuck off,"

He looked shocked, furious, like he was about to scream something in your face--but stopped abruptly when you started to hum. It was a haunting melody, something akin to a nocturne.

"I think you should go now," you stated plainly.

With this, the man walked out the door in what appeared to be a fugue-like state. And you calmly went back to your book.

Huh. Maybe you didn't need Aizawa's protection.

You just kept getting more and more intriguing.

On his fourth straight week of coming in, a Friday in early September, you decided to finally talk to him since it seemed like you were both regular patrons of the shop now. You made sure to finger-comb your hair before you turned to look at him. He was in his usual black on black sweatpants and sweatshirt, this time with his hair pulled back to reveal his jawline. He was very handsome, you thought.

"Hey there, you," you said after he placed his order of a single black coffee.

He turned around, a bit shocked at the sudden start of such a casual conversation.

"I see you in here a lot lately. I'm not sure if you have the time, but would you like to come sit with me?"

You smiled delicately in an attempt to seem welcoming.

"It would be nice to have some company for a change," you say.

His dark eye bore into you like a bullet coming straight for your gaze. After a moment of collecting his words, he finally settled on replying back:

"Yeah, sure. That would be fine,"

Aizawa tried his best to remain calm and cool, stoic even, refusing to let something so nonchalant shake him.

However, truth be told, you felt a bit shaken yourself. You weren't sure if he would accept your offer or reject it and then stop coming in. You could be so straightforward sometimes, and you felt like you could accidentally make things awkward. But you had a feeling he might at least be interested in getting to know you after your initial interaction with him.

You introduce yourself as you stirred your latte with a tiny silver spoon.

"Shota Aizawa," he gave in return.

"Nice to finally meet you," you say with a slight tease in your inflection and a mischievous look.

A blush crept across his face. God, of course you remembered when you two first saw one another. It felt as if he were sitting on pins and needles thinking about it.

"Do you like sitting under the stars?" You ask to cut the silence.

Aizawa looked perplexed. It seemed like an odd thing to ask him. Maybe you liked the outdoors?

"I've never actually been camping. Never really seemed that fun to me," he was eager to continue talking to you, though he wasn't sure exactly why.

You had this glint in your eye, like you knew the punchline to a joke you hadn't even told yet, along with a playful smile. Setting down your cup, you pointed up. That's when he noticed that the ceiling was matte black and painted with silver glittering stars.

"It's one of my favorite things about coming here," you disclosed this information to him, almost as if it were a secret.

It was then that he knew for sure that you weren't like most people.

You two met like this, discussing books and hobbies and music, for another month and a half. Every morning at 6am you could expect to see him waiting at Bauhaus for you, rain or shine. You would get some kind of breve or latte and he would get a strongly brewed black coffee. Sometimes you spoke for an hour before one of you had to go, sometimes you two were there until you were both hungry for lunch. Although the days all started at Bauhaus, occasionally, the day would take the two of you to a nearby ramen shop, a corner store, or a short walk down the block. Anywhere you wanted to go, he was there.

————

He now knew that you liked horror movies and would read just about anything you could get your hands on, that you loved animals, you moved here two years ago to help with the mental health crisis in Japan as a grief counselor, and you thoroughly enjoyed humor.

You came to know that he liked cats, was a teacher, liked the smell of rain, he was generally pretty introverted, read comic books as a kid, and had a liking for dark jokes. He had mentioned that he was a hero, a pro hero actually, when the shop was empty one morning. You said that was "so cool" and beamed with pride that you knew him, but you seemed unfamiliar with the Erasure Hero.

You continued to treat him exactly the same.

This was mesmerizing to Aizawa.

Today was one of the days that stretched on like a sleeping cat in a sunny patch. You'd already met once in the morning, breaked for work, and then met again in the late evening. The golden-hour sun was pouring in its warm light, backing you like some kind of seraphem, and painting him in a spreading halo of honeyed peach. The way the flecks of rainbow from the slanted glass flitted over his skin bewitched you.

And you, there at your place, drenched in marigold light that kissed down upon your flawless skin, made him shudder. Your eyes nearly glowed in the light. You appeared fragile, breakable, like spun glass; though he knew you were sturdier than your languid demeanor would let on.

He stuffed down the feelings he was starting to have for you like a snake eating a too large mouse. This was more than just lust, infatuation, or attraction. As scary as it was, he liked you. The butterflies stirred in his belly when you called his name from your window nook and the moths fluttered in yours when he said "I thought I might find you here, y/n," with the slightest upturn of his mouth. You were both nervous about this tension that was building between the two of you, but he was more reserved, whereas you tended to wear your heart on your sleeve. You knew that you would have to be the one to address it.

"Aizawa," you say to him, circling the rim of your cup with your fingertip as you place your other hand in front of his on the table, "I have some errands to run tomorrow... would you maybe want to come with me? It can be hard for me to carry heavy things all the way into my place on my own, and I really want to get some pumpkins to carve,"

This seemed utilitarian enough that he might feel more at ease accepting the invitation, but still deliciously domestic.

Aizawa felt the breath leave his lungs. Going to a pumpkin patch? Carving pumpkins? Like a cute little date?

"You don't have to, if you don't have the time," you stated reassuringly.

"Oh, no. It's nothing like that," His voice broke as he uttered out an answer, "I can go. I'll make the time if I don't have it,"

"Great! Can we meet up around 10?"

"I'll be there,"

"You always are,"

The air hung around the two of you with a lightness for a few seconds. Aizawa could see his reflection in your big glass-like eyes, causing his heart to beat wildly in his chest. You gave a small laugh, crinkling your nose, very aware of the closeness of your faces. He felt like maybe he should kiss you. But did you even like him that way? You could just be friendly and kissing you would be a huge mistake. Everything would come crashing down if he did that. Your trust would be gone. You would be gone. He couldn't take that risk.

But oh, how you wanted him to lean in and touch his lips to your own. You wondered how his stubble would feel against your skin, and if he would taste like that black coffee he was always sipping on. A knot formed in your stomach, this familiar aching, a longing, a fear of the unknown feelings he had for you, and excitement that he might feel the same way. How long had it been since you felt this way? Was it ever this intense?

You bit your bottom lip in anticipation, your heart racing. You could feel that something was bubbling up. Something was about to happen. You were going to lean in closer when the door to the coffee house flew open, and in walked Hizashi.

"I thought I'd find you here, Eraser! You sure love this place lately!" His voice nearly shook the entryway.

Tension gone.

Goodbye, mood.

Aizawa sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, fully aware that Mic was about to say something daft.

"Watcha got here?" Mic asked enthusiastically, gesturing toward you with a gloved hand, "Shota, do you have a girlfriend you never told me about?"

Fucking Mic.

Aizawa looked pale, sick even.

Of course he wanted you to be his girlfriend. Especially when he was about to go to sleep, or saw some stuffed animal he knew you would like, or when he was in the shower and thinking of how he'd like to see those sultry eyes looking up at him as you put your mouth on his...

"Hizashi, for someone who's entire Quirk is based on sound, you are so damn tonedeaf," Aizawa cut his thoughts loose with this retort.

"Woah, easy there," Mic continued, "I didn't mean to ruffle any feathers. If you guys aren't hooking up, how about I shoot my shot then?" He waggled his brows at you.

Aizawa gritted his teeth and his eye twitched. Like a deer in the headlights, stunned at this brazen show of complete and total assclownery, he sat still in his seat as Hizashi made fools of them both. The lanky devil just didn't know when to stop tap dancing on his last nerve.

Present Mic leaned over the table as you furrowed your brow in response.

"Wanna see why they call me Magic Mic?" He gave a wide grin with this question.

You made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh.

"Why, did I pique your interest when you saw me bathing on the roof? Did my beauty and the moonlight overthrow you?"

"Bathing on the roof, you say!" Another waggle.

"Careful there, Sisyphus. That boulder's heavier than it looks," you chime back, scribbling something on a napkin.

Aizawa was amused at your quip. It was impressive how quick on your feet you were in conversation, and how well you handled yourself. He knew that Mic was blabbering on in the background, something about alternative chicks and their spicy attitudes, but he couldn't concentrate on anything other than you.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Aizawa," you stated while getting up from your seat, "here's my number. Text me and I'll send you my address so you can meet me at my place, okay?"

Aizawa swallowed the lump in his throat and then nodded in agreement. He took the napkin in his hand and noticed you put a little heart next to your number.

Fuck.

Please let this be a date.

————

The next morning, at 10am sharp, Aizawa reached the front door to your apartment. He didn't even need to look at the number when he saw the fall wreath, covered in leaves and mini pumpkins, suspended from its metal hook. He slicked back his raven hair with his palms, attempting to keep his locks captured in a ponytail, all the while his stomach churned in anticipation. He gave a knock at the door, and you were there almost immediately. Had you been waiting for him?

In reality, yes, you had been. You were ready by 9:30 and then paced around your room before you sat by the door and waited for him to show up. You gave him a big grin as you greeted him, admiring his forearms with his sleeves rolled up. You looked him over, half covered in the shade of your awning, hair pulled back, his trim figure cut well in his dark jeans and gray sweater. Oh my god, he even shaved! That was so cute to you. He shaved for your pumpkin patch adventure. You swooned and felt that tension in your belly build back up. It made you feel like a teenager again, having a crush like that. You kicked at some rocks on your porch in a bashful display.

God how he wanted to put his hands on you when he saw you stepping out of your doorway. You were wearing a burnt orange sundress, a black cardigan with pumpkins lining the bodice, thigh high black pantihose, with black Mary Janes and a wide-brimmed felt hat. You always knew what flattered your figure, what colors brought out your eyes and complimented your skintone. He felt so typical, like such a stereotype, because that sundress was doing something for him.

"You okay with me driving?" You asked, taking a step closer to him.

He tensed at the prospect of being touched by you, and nodded in agreement. Grabbing your keyfob, you pressed twice to start your vehicle, a completely black car with darkly tinted windows. It was very bold, very dark, and very you.

"You can mess with the volume however you'd like. I don't mind," you told him as you started flipping through your music on the car's touchscreen radio.

Aizawa took note of how eclectic your music was. You seemed to like songs with lots of bass and rumble, and you listened to plenty of Sisters of Mercy, but you also had music that took him off guard: hyper-pop, musical numbers, heavy metal--a smorgasbord of songs on a hodgepodge of a playlist. He could never quite pin you down. As soon as he thought he knew your next move, you pulled an Uno Reverse card, and it was enthralling. He liked a challenge.

He was captured by you as you settled on Love Me by The 1975 and enthusiastically sang along to every word, miming exaggerated faces when the beat picked up. You rolled the windows down and threw your hat in the back seat to feel the wind through your hair.

You glanced over at him briefly as you sang, smiling, glowing, just letting loose with him in a way that felt more intimate than he would've imagined a car ride could feel. Your hair flipped, twisting around your face in the breeze.

He noticed how careful you were with your car, how gingerly you braked at stoplights, and joked "I think my grandpa might actually drive faster than you do,"

"Hey," you replied "I pay a lot of money for this car," you felt a bit embarrassed tagging on the next part of "besides.. it's important to follow traffic laws."

He couldn't help but admire how pragmatic you were about this. You were so soft. Willing to stand up for yourself, but always making sure everyone else was safe. You had a hero heart.

You went back to singing to music, this time Can't Hold Me by Emily King. You always seemed so in your element when music was involved.

"You have a really nice voice," Aizawa stated without thinking. It rolled off of his tongue in an easy sort of way that didn't normally come naturally to him.

"Oh, thanks. It's part of my quirk I guess,"

"You have a quirk?" It was more of a statement than a question. He was pretty positive he'd already seen your quirk in action.

"Well, yeah; but I don't use it much. It's one of those quirks that when you tell people about it they think you're a villain," your voice trailed off a bit and he looked at you with one raised brow.

A sigh escaped your lips.

"If I sing a certain melody, I can make people do whatever I want. They become really pliable and easy to manipulate. But I can only use it on one person at a time, and it's only the one song, and you would know if I was using it," you tried your best to make sure he knew you weren't using it to make him talk to you, or to make him come with you today.

"Quirks are what you make of them. And I don't think that you would ever purposefully hurt someone, y/n. You're better than that,"

On impulse, upon parking the car at the pumpkin patch, you grabbed his hand with Eat Sleep Wake by Bombay Bicycle Club playing softly in the background. The first real physical contact you two had that wasn't accidental. It was warm, and sweet, and electric. Breathing felt like there was a weight on your chest when you realized what happened, and it caught in your throat when he squeezed your hand back.

Eat.

Sleep.

Wake.

Nothing but you.

God, please just kiss me, you thought. Kiss me. Better yet, take me into this pumpkin patch and peel these pantihose off with your teeth. You were getting to the point where all of this constant winding you up had you wanting him to fuck you absolutely stupid.

Aizawa felt warm, feverish. Like he was going to melt through the seat of the car and burn to cinders on the ground. He was smoldering like a pile of ash in your hand. Goddamn it was hard to concentrate now. Where was he at? Was there a world around the two of you? Did he even care? He wasn't sure if it was right to think of you like this, though, and it happened nearly every day since meeting you. That part of him had been lying dormant for what felt like years and now suddenly these feelings were coming for him with a vengeance. He wasn't sure what to do.

"We should.. we should grab some pumpkins. Do you... like the lumpy ones?"

Shit. Did he really just ask you that? God, you must have thought he was stupid.

But you didn't. You were eating this up.

"Dude. I love me a lumpy pumpkin," was your reply.

The two of you took in the crisp autumn air and October's bright blue sky as you sipped on a warm apple cider from the drink stand. Much to his initial disapproval, you finally got him to take a sip from your cup. His heart skipped a beat drinking from the same spout where your mouth had been just a few seconds prior. You took two small pumpkins from the display they had on top of some hay bales, slipped them into a big burlap tote bag, and then headed to the field to pick out bigger pumpkins for carving.

"Do you think frogs have friends?"

"I... what?"

He wasn't sure if you were being genuine with this question.

"Well, cows make friends, and.. I don't know, I was just thinking about how maybe when frogs start to get ready for the cold weather, they find another frog that they like, and then they hibernate next to them in the mud," your statement was matter-of-fact, "or I guess technically the frogs we have here go into a state of topor, not full hibernation. But still,"

Aizawa was taken aback at this topic. You were actually wondering about the loneliness of amphibians.

"Y/n, I don't think frogs get lonely. I doubt they have high enough brain functioning to care,"

"Or maybe they do, and we'll never know, because nobody stopped to find out,"

He enjoyed that you always spoke your mind. Even if someone didn't like what you had to say, you just started a conversation based on whatever thoughts you had in your head. You were smart, but whimsical. It was so easy to talk to you and have a logical dialogue without feeling like it was getting stale.

You kicked at rocks, marveled at the fall leaves, and had this general sense of wonder. Aizawa found it fascinating how dichotomous you were. You were kind of mysterious, but you still had this youthful charm about you. He found himself to be more apathetic than anything. It wasn't necessarily that he didn't see the beauty in the things around him, he just didn't tend to pay attention at all. He was always burning the candle at both ends and pushing himself to his absolute limits, so what was the point? Who cared of frogs had friends?

"I wish I shared your passion for life," he commented.

"My grandparents were like this, and they raised me, so I guess it rubbed off. Actually, they're kind of why I came here. My grandpa always spoke about how beautiful Okinawa was. After they passed, I jumped at the opportunity to come see Japan for myself,"

You hadn't talked about anything that wasn't skin deep in what seemed like an eternity, and you felt like he was really listening, processing your words.

"Oh!" You stopped in your tracks, "I can't believe I forgot to give you this,"

From the bottom of your burlap sack, you pulled out a bag of salty black licorice.

"This is for you,"

His favorite snack.

Aizawa reached out his hand and took it delicately, as if it were precious to him.

"How did you know?"

"I saw you eyeing some once at a corner store. When I saw they had some here, I had to get it for you. They make it in house, so I bet it's delicious!" You sounded so excited over a bag of licorice.

Feeling a bit silly over frogs and candy, you blushed, cheeks already slightly ruddy from all of the walking.

"But we should probably go back to picking out some pumpkins, I guess," your words came out much smaller than you intended them to.

His heart swelled. You were paying attention to him, too.

The gourds were all shapes and sizes, all the colors from striking persimmon to pale yellow, from perfectly round to as lumpy as the night was long.

Clearly, you picked the lumpiest.

Loading your goods into the car, a flash of color at another stand caught Aizawa's eye.

"You stay here. I'll be right back," he commanded.

"Okay. Just let me know if you want any help,"

The stand was full of handmade trinkets: wooden hair combs, decorative mirrors with widdled handles, and silk kimonos. One garment stood out to him--emerald green with goldenrod flowers patterned over it--that, for some reason, made him think of frogs. This would do nicely.

Upon his return, he found that he really wasn't sure how to give you a gift. This was certainly not his forte. He couldn't even remember the last time he gave someone a present. Then again, he couldn't recall that last time he had received one before this day, either. Besides, you were worth the uncomfortability.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words wouldn't form. You looked slightly amused, which made him even more nervous.

"I have something for you. To repay you for the gift you gave me earlier," his voice uttered out much smaller than he remembered.

The joy that spread from cheek to cheek was practically tangible for him as he handed you the paper bag. Your eyes were alight like fireworks.

"You got me a present?"

You felt a fluttering in your chest. You didn't even care what it was, he explicitly thought of you, and that made you happy in earnest.

The container was compact enough that you figured there was some kind of candy to be retrieved from it, but you opened it to see green and yellow fabric. You were stunned when you recognized it from the stand you two had passed on your way out. It had to have been expensive.

"Aizawa.. this is too much. I-I can't accept this," you stammered.

"Yes you can. Like I said, it's for the licorice,"

"This isn't exactly in the same category as candy, though, I--"

"Just try it on," he interrupted you, his hand raised as if to stop any further protesting.

And you thought about protesting--you really did--but caved, knowing he wouldn't give up until you accepted it. Your attempts to dispute his gift would be futile. So you marveled at the silk garment, feeling its slick material between your fingers. You'd never owned something like this before. You took off your cardigan and draped the kimono over your body, savoring how soft and airy it was on your skin, feeling like a princess.

"I'm not sure if this is a color you like, so if you don't like it, we can go exchange it," his voice had a hushed tone.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes.

"No. No, it's perfect. I absolutely love it. Thank you so much, this was so sweet of you," your words rang out like a bell.

The breeze picked up and blew the soft locks of your hair as you stood there in your gown, picturesque, cottony clouds lining the skies.

You looked like a painting.

"Alright then," you said with vigor, "takoyaki is on me!"

————

When you returned home, you carved Aizawa's pumpkin together (a very classic orange pumpkin, perfect for Jack O Lanterns), swatting your cats off of the counter as they came to sniff at the seedy innards laid out on a sheet of parchment paper. You felt at home like this. You felt safe, content, like this is how life was meant to be.

You watched him as he placed the carved Jack O Lantern out on your porch, and took notice of the strands of raven hair that were falling out of his messy bun, delicately sweeping over his strong jaw and neck. The knot in your stomach returned, and with it came a sensation like you were on the downhill slope of a rollercoaster. It was a feeling of passion welling up inside of you, ready to tear open at your seams.

And you wanted more.

You wanted him to want you.

Worried that he might go home now that the sun had set, you asked if he would want to watch a movie with you. He was elated at the idea of cuddling up with you on the couch. How could he say no to that?

"Okay. What did you have in mind?"

"Have you ever watched Hocus Pocus?"

"No, never heard of it,"

"What?! It's a Halloween classic! I'll change into some house clothes and then we'll get started. Be right back, Shota,"

A chill ran down his spine, prickling the back of his neck at the sound of you saying his name. You called him Shota. And now you were comfortable enough with him to change into pajamas. He felt almost floaty.

Aizawa was expecting you to come out in sweatpants and a t-shirt, something comfy, something plain. He enjoyed the prospect of you coming out in soft pants and fuzzy socks. There was something so heartwarming and cozy about it that he--holy fucking shit.

You came out, as casual as humanly possible, in a pair of tiny little sleeping shorts and a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt with no bra. The shirt was soft, but snug, and showed off every curve of your body through the semi-sheer fabric. He had already gotten a good look (or ten) at your ass in a nice pair of pants, but this.. were you trying to kill him? You were already all legs, and now the shorts... Aizawa scanned your body to see that you were wearing stockings that hugged your legs and made divots in the plush flesh of your upper thighs. They were Ninja Turtle green and woven like a tubesock.

Of course you were wearing these fuck me socks. That way, you could definitely say that you were completely covered from head to toe, that these were normal house clothes. Nothing here but regular old pajamas. And look, see, you totally did like green!

Your couch was small, but Aizawa sat on one end, hoping that you would sit alllll the way on the other end so that he could curl up as much as possible and you wouldn't see... things. But you weren't having it. You wanted to be able to cut the tension with a knife. You wanted to make sure this sexual frustration was palpable until it drove him to action. So you snuggled up next to him and rested your head on his chest.

He took notice that the shorts nearly disappeared when you sat down, and thought about what they might look like if you were bending over. Your tits looked great through your clothes, but your ass drove him wild. He wished for the TV to mess up somehow so you would have to get down on all fours to fix it, maybe even spread your legs just enough that your sex would peek over the side of the material, sopping and messy and begging for him.

Oh lord Jesus, Vishnu, Thor, whoever the fuck was up there just give him strength. Give his waistband extra elasticity and give his poor heart a rest so that maybe you wouldn't hear it pounding through his chest. But you did hear it. You knew exactly what you were doing when you placed your hand on his thigh and traced your fingertips down to his knee while you stared ahead at the TV screen.

Under the guise of laughing at a witch riding a vacuum cleaner, you squeezed his leg, and he jumped in his seat.

Oh.

This was torture for him.

And you liked that.

A lot.

He made a pathetic attempt to stealthily lean into you, just enough so that he could get a better whiff of your hair. You smelled like vanilla and something a little floral and spicy, like a jasmine rice desert. The thought crossed his mind that you might taste just as sweet.

"Doing okay, Shota?" Your voice this time was chesty, sensual, almost like an invitation rather than a question, and you could feel him shudder in response.

There it was again. Shota. He fucking loved the way his name dripped from your lips like honey. He nodded in agreement and you patted his leg to let him know you felt the nod.

You could feel your shorts heating up and your breathing changing pace when you heard him let out little sputters of air at your touch. It was intoxicating, hearing him get excited, smelling the sweat building between the two of you in this blissful hell of your own making.

Small beads of liquid made a wet spot up near his waistband while he took in your body heat, trying his best to focus on the screen and not the friction of you against him, or the fact that he could see your nipples plainly through your shirt. Readjusting yourself, you stretched and let out a whine in the process, and your elbow brushed up against something in his lap.

With a quick grunt, he stood up suddenly, and said "I need to use the restroom. I'll be right back,"

You gave him an "okay", and paused the movie for him. Maybe it was just in your imagination, but you could swear you saw a tent in his pants when he got up.

What you wouldn't give to toy with him for just a little while longer.

He shuts the door behind him slowly, calmly, before he's pawing at the buttons of his pants. A curse leaves his lips as he wrestles his leaking member from the confines of his boxers.

"Little fucking cocktease," he grits, burying the words into his lower lip.

God, he just couldn't take it anymore. He thought about you moaning, whining, mewling into his ear, your bodies entangling. How would he take you? If he had the option, he thinks he'd really like to watch you ride his cock, see the look on your face when you take all of him inside of you.

"Gonna have you begging for it. Fuck, do you even know what you do to me?" His voice trails into a groan, and he folds forward, bucking into his hand and holding onto the sink to steady himself.

A few whispers of your name fall from his lips, and he swipes at the slit of his aching length, smearing his precum along his shaft for lubrication. He's close. In an embarrassingly short amount of time, he's already feeling that knot within him frayed, about to snap. Just a few more strokes and he's jerking back his head, ropes of his release now dripping across his palm.

He finished in record time, expecting to have a sense of relief, but only finding that he craved more. Guilt took ahold of him when the thought crossed his mind that he shouldn't be thinking of you this way. This was so shameful, what he just did, making his hand all sticky from thinking of you. He rinsed his face with cool water to get rid of some of the sweat, and exited, stating that he needed to head home due to not feeling well.

Your heart sank, and the realization hit you that you may have made him uneasy with your forwardness. Maybe he didn't like you that way after all. You hoped that you hadn't just ruined things between the two of you.

Aizawa didn't want to hurt your feelings, and he could tell that he probably did; but he needed to get out of your apartment before he bent you over the couch.

So he left your place after an entire 12 hours together, beating himself up for not making a move, harboring resentment for his own lack of initiative. He was used to coming after villains, but this whole "love" thing really scared him. Love? He mulled the word over in his head. Worried it between his teeth. You two hadn't spent a single day without seeing each other in like two months. And he sure as hell didn't see himself picking out pumpkins with Hizashi any time soon.

He laid there in bed, trying his best to fall asleep, but the day just replayed in his head on a loop. His mattress was normally soft and welcoming, something that could easily lull him to sleep, but tonight it felt empty. Tonight, he felt alone. Until his phone buzzed from his nightstand.

You: is it too soon to text you?

Him: it's never too soon for you to talk to me.

You: good :) I was worried when you left in such a hurry.

You: and I miss you already.

Aizawa sat up in bed after reading your most recent message. You... missed him. He wasn't sure if he was reading that right. The blue light from his phone illuminated his face, now standing apart from the inky blackness of his room. He could feel you radiating from it.

Him: maybe you should stop by my place tomorrow afternoon then.

You: I'd really like that.

You: good night, Shota. <3

Him: see you soon.

————

He made sure to take care of himself in the shower before the next afternoon, not wanting a repeat of the previous night. Best case scenario, now he would last longer if you two ended up fooling around. He even double checked that Eri was in the dorms at UA again today. That was just wishful thinking, though. Sex these days would probably only come from pity for him. Poor washed-up hero, missing an eye, missing a leg. That's the last thing he needed right now.

He cleaned up around his apartment, wiping down the counters and making the area look welcoming for you. Why did he want to impress you so badly? Ugh, this was so embarrassing. He never worried about what people thought of him in any other scenario, but now, here he was, fluffing his brand new throw pillows and applying cologne to his neck and chest.

You knocked on the door, straightening the skirt of your dress, the same one you were wearing the morning you two first met. Aizawa answered the door in a gray t-shirt and black sweatpants, his hair loose and his eyes heavy-lidded when he looked down at you. That dress again. Clingy, short, nipped at the waist to show off your curves. Christ, you were beautiful. He welcomed you in, the smell of bergamot wafting from him.

His apartment was bigger than yours by quite a bit. It had a floating island in the kitchen, slate colored walls, a black sectional positioned in the living room atop a white shag rug, and circular lights that were recessed within the ceiling.

"Wow, your place is so nice. Shit. I'm sorry I made you come to my hovel last night," you partially joked, impressed with how well his home was put together.

"That's stupid. I liked being at your place,"

You saw something moving out of the corner of your eye through the doorway of the other room.

"Is that a punching bag?" You asked with a wry smile.

"Gotta keep myself in shape. Want to give it a go?" His voice was low, almost challenging you to take him up on the offer.

"Oh, I don't know. I lift weights but I don't really do a lot of cardio. I'd just end up humiliating myself, honestly," you said sheepishly.

"Come on, y/n, spar with me. I'll go easy on you,"

"Okay, okay," you gave in and walked toward the next room, which you could see upon closer inspection was full of gym equipment. You felt out of your element, but you were willing to make yourself look like a fool if it meant he was enjoying himself.

You gave the bag a light punch as Aizawa held onto it, half afraid that you would mess it up somehow, or maybe even break your damn hand. It felt like it was full of some kind of particulate. Maybe sand? Oh god, you probably looked like some kind of lazy sack, not even knowing how to punch a fucking bag.

"I know you can do better than that. You've got more power in you. Come on,"

You punched again.

"Harder. Don't hold back!" He growled.

That was really fucking sexy, actually, and now you were a little distracted. You balled your hand into a fist, made sure your thumb was facing outside, and used all of this pent up frustration to wallop the daylights out of the bag. Your knuckles made contact with a padded thud, and you let out a small grunt.

"Atta girl," he praised you, his voice like whisky.

God, hearing him say that was like a dopamine hit. You were disoriented. You were already clumsy, and now your brain felt like a can of cranberry sauce splattered out onto a plate.

Aizawa stepped away from the bag, a terse expression plastered onto his face.

"Now act like I'm coming after you and try to pin me. Remember, it doesn't matter that I'm bigger than you. Use strategy to overpower me,"

You mustered up all of your strength, all of your courage, and leapt toward his torso. He didn't try to block you, so you knew he was going easy on you... but you also knew you didn't do it right when you went off to the side and started to veer straight for the wall. He grabbed you by both wrists and wedged himself between your legs in order to cushion your fall, and you landed upright, straddling him as he lay on his back.

You were both panting, eyes dilated, a wildness boiling within you like animals. He let go of your wrists and your hands softly found their rest on his chest as it heaved.

"Y/n," he laughed, "that was awful,"

You rolled your eyes and shifted your weight into less of a stiff position.

"I told you I was bad at this. I am a lover, not a fighter," you pressed your hand to your chest as you spoke.

Moving ever so slightly on top of him, you saw his eye widen, his lips parted to let a small gasp escape from them. Panic has set in.

"Get up. Please," his tone is highly-strung and fearful.

He looks genuinely terrified, scrambling beneath you, the only reason you're still in his lap like this due to his apprehension to hurt you by accident.

"Shota, wha--" your question is cut off by the feeling of something poking against your clothed sex.

Oh.

A red hue painted his entire face at the realization of the situation he was in, his blood pulsing through his body rapidly, the sound of it rushing in his ears.

"Why," you said breathily "don't you want me?"

Overstimulated, his brain didn't process what you'd just said to him.

Your lungs feel like they're about to lunge straight out of your chest, your core aching to be filled. You'll have to make sure that he really gets the point. Now was the time to be honest with him, maybe even be a little dirty. It's now or never.

"I want to know.. I mean.." talking felt hard. Your blood supply seemed starved from your brain.

"Do you touch yourself when you think of me?"

He was trembling like a leaf beneath you, caged in by the plush of your thighs. Was this a trick question? Yes, he just fucked himself to you this morning, AND last night in YOUR bathroom. Is that what he was supposed to say? He swallowed thickly, clamoring to gather up some kind of sentient thought to say to you.

"I do," you filled the gap of silence, "I think of you that way. A lot, actually,"

You ground your pelvis up and down his length, the fabric of his pants rough against him, eliciting a grunt through his gritted teeth.

"I.. f-fuck, I-I dunno how to.. answer that," he's been reduced to this mumbling mess on the floor, that silver tongue suppressed by the sweet press of your warmth to his cock.

You took his shaking hand and placed it between your thighs, right on the dampness that was spreading at your center, sopping through what little material covered them.

"I want you, Shota. I want you bad," your words were like poetry spouting from your lips.

He rubbed you through your wet panties, soaked and clinging to you like a second skin. Were you this wet for him? He delights in the way your breath hitches, how you squirm atop him, your eyes heavy and lustful. Shota gives one last languid stroke up the lace and then pulls them to the side for easier access to your clit. He rubs light circles around it and watches you writhe, taking in the noises you were making, so painfully hard he felt as though he would cum in his pants just from watching you. He stopped his teasing and placed both hands on your hips, the pair of you frenzied for more.

You crashed your lips to his, both of you giving in to a hungry kiss, passionate and blistering with heat, tongues swirling and teeth clashing. You cupped his face in your hands, pulling him into you, starved for his taste. He keened into your touch as if it would soon disappear. Leaving the rough stubble of his cheeks only to grab a handful of his mussed hair, you tugged at it, causing him to moan into your mouth, and you swallowd down each noise greedily. He explored your body with haste, grabbing your ass, sinking the pads of his fingers into your skin. You could feel him throbbing underneath you, so you palmed him through his pants, and with a swift jerk, he threw his head back onto the floor, not even caring to register the pain of it.

"Fuck. Y/n. If you keep going..."

You tugged at the waist of his pants, then dragged featherlight touches across his exposed cock teasingly. He felt you smile against his skin as you nuzzled the crook of his neck, and he lets out a muffled groan that tapered off into a high-pitched whine, desperate and needy.

He let out an involuntary whimper, almost pitiful with how much yearning was within it.

"You gonna cum for me already? Hmm?"

That was it.

He couldn't fucking take it anymore.

Something within him snapped and a growl poured from him, rumbling up from somewhere deep in his chest.

With hurried hands, he pulls your dress over top your head, revealing that you were wearing nothing but lacy black panties underneath. You were stunning. Like a Greek statue of Aphrodite herself. He was never able to fully imagine your naked form before, and this was a perfect frame of reference for later. He wanted nothing more than to get absolutely drunk off of you. And he gets you all to himself. He can't hardly believe his luck.

"Tell me what you want me to do to you," his voice was raw and saturated with desire, a gravel to it, burning like whisky.

"I want you to touch me," you murmur, suddenly feeling shy in the sweltering heat of his gaze.

"Touch you?" Aizawa said with a chuckle, "I'm going to devour you,"

Before you were given the chance to react, he bucked into you, then slid you from his lap and onto the floor, gripping your underwear and throwing them off on your way down. He took off his shirt expeditiously to reveal his muscular form, and you admire the lines that bisect his abdomen, eyes nearly rolling into your skull when they land at the tent in his pants. He looks big. Like, concerningly big. You ran your fingers across the scars on his chest, which gave an almost tickling sensation, all the way down to the hair that trailed from his naval to his pants. He was beautiful. So fit that he looked like he could play himself in a movie.

Casting the clothing aside, he lays you flat onto the floor, kissing from your lips, to your neck, to your nipple where he sucked and flicked his tongue, using his free hand to caress the other, groping hungrily at your plush flesh. You moaned, breathy and meek, at his touch. Separating from you, his pupil was blown out as your pheromones hit him in the face, and he pulled your legs apart to fully expose you.

"Look at your pretty little pussy,"

He slipped a digit inside of you and did a curling motion until he found the spot that made you whimper underneath him, watched as your face went from shocked to a look of pleading for more, lashes fluttering.

He clicked his tongue.

"And look at you. So fucking needy. So ready for me to take you,"

He removed his finger and used it to play with your clit, making waves of pleasure shoot through your body, a white-hot coil tightening in your core just above where he was touching.

"Sh-Shota... please, fuck me," you begged, nearly mewling.

He hissed through his teeth, peering down at you as if you were prey. The look on his face is wolfish, starving, nearly pained to be holding himself back. There's a wilderness within him that begs to be let loose. You want nothing more than to be destroyed by it, left a carnal mess upon the floor.

"Oh, I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you until you can't even sit without thinking of me," he taps your clit with his fingertips, "But first, I'm going to make you cum on my tongue," he was serious with his words, meticulous, making sure you knew exactly what he had planned for you. Sweet, slow burning anticipation sent tingles up and down your spine.

He put your legs on his shoulders and went back to the spot inside of you that made you cry, this time sucking on your clit in tandem, fully encapturing it within his lips. Your mouth was now agape in a breathy scream as you clamp down on his fingers, moving your hips in time with him, riding waves of pleasure as he brings you closer to the edge. He lets out an appreciative groan as you say his name, the noises coming out of you so lewd and sinful that you hope the neighbors don't call someone for a wellness check.

Aizawa absentmindedly pressed himself against the floor, nearly frantic for some kind of touch while he watched you squirming beneath him, but it does little to quell the ache he has in his center. You tasted like sweet tarts and made these lustful gasps, and it drove him absolutely mad to know he was doing that to you, that these reactions were from his own touch.

"Say my name," he speaks this phrase into the throbbing bud at your apex, and you shiver, close to careening off of the edge he'd just brought you to.

"Shota.. fuck, keep going, please," you mewl, rolling your hips.

He nips at your inner thigh, velvet flesh pillowing between his teeth, and then drags the length of his tongue up your clit in one torturously long stroke.

"Louder. I want everyone to know who's about to make you cum," the steel in his gaze is sharp enough to slice you.

So you oblige him, moaning his name, chanting it like a mantra as he continues to lap at you once more. You can feel the pressure building, building, building until it finally spills over like a dam. He moans at the realization, feeling your pussy spasm under his tongue.

"Oh my god.. Oh fuck, Shota!" You cry out for him as you melt into his mouth.

He's breathless as he pulls himself away from you, mouth slick, still slipping his fingers in and out of you in an allowance to ride out the rest of your orgasm. He looks feral. Like he could tear into you. Destroy you.

He drags his cheek across your thigh.

"Good girl," he grunts, "good fucking girl,"

You look up at him with your mouth partially open, your eyes heavy with want, and with one fell swoop you sit up and pull down his sweatpants to reveal his throbbing cock, wet and dripping from the tip. You take the whole thing into your mouth, sucking, swirling your tongue, cranking your hand around his shaft like you're ready to milk the soul straight out of him. He gasps, moving his hips to pump into your mouth as you open wider, holding out your tongue so you can take in as much of his length as possible. He brought you closer until you were practically flush against him, all the while you were committing the look on his face to memory.

You can tell this is about to break him, so you tighten your grip in a pulsating pattern, moaning on his length to send vibrations through him. His movements are becoming erratic, fervent, and you cannot fucking wait to see him come apart at your doing. You run the flat of your tongue across a particularly sensitive spot along his shaft, your arousal building once more when you see the way he pinches his brows together, how he ruts into your mouth like some inexperienced virgin. You just feel too fucking good.

Suddenly, he pulls himself from your mouth with a vulgar pop, and you're gasping for sweet breaths of air after some of the sloppiest head you've given in your life.

"I knew you'd be good at that," Aizawa chokes out, his dick bobbing in front of you, "but we're not done yet,"

He lightly pushed you back onto the ground and placed your ankles up onto his shoulders, putting his tip right up against your entrance. His muscles twitched in anticipation and you reveled in his godlike form.

"Is this okay?" He asked you, gently.

You laughed a bit at the question.

With all the heat and want you can channel, you look up at him from your place on the floor and rasp "ruin me, Shota,"

He gives you a wicked smile, one you've never seen him wear before, and pushes himself inside of your aching pussy, holding onto your leg for leverage. You can feel yourself stretching to accommodate him, a bit unprepared for his full girth inside of you. It doesn't take long for you to start moving along with him though, and he begins to thrust harder, pounding into you like his life depended on it.

Biting your lower lip, you throw your head back, attempting to keep from screaming as he delves into you. He removes his hand from your leg to grab your jaw, and locking eyes says, "Eyes on me. I want to see the fucking look on your face when I make you cum,"

This coaxes a moan from you, and he gives a gutteral response to his cock being squeezed.

"Good girl. You're taking me so well. God, you're so tight, fuck," his voice is husky and deep.

Your cunt hugs him tighter with every word.

He needed more.

Aizawa takes his free hand and starts to rub your clit in circles, still sensitive from your previous orgasm, and you can feel that knot in your stomach forming again. You're about to come undone already, and he can feel you clamping around him like a vice.

"Fuck that feels so good," your voice is heady and needful.

His pacing became erratic once more and his ministrations on your clit became almost desperate. He was barely holding on, whimpering, sweat dotting his brow.

"I knew you were fucking teasing me. Coming out in those tiny shorts. Know what I shoulda done? Should've fucked you right there on the couch. Should've bred your tight little cunt," he leans down to fill some of the gap between you, a few tendrils of his raven hair falling to cling to his face.

He pistons into you harder, "Swear to god, I'm gonna fuck every single thought out of that pretty little head. Wanna tease me like that? Take your fucking punishment. I.. f-fuck!" He feels you come unraveled all over his cock as you ride him from there on the floor, making sounds that hitch in your throat like ragged bleats. He made note of your blissed-out expression and then let out a sharp gasp, your walls almost too snug for him to handle.

You whined in a small voice, still finishing, your gaze not breaking when you tell him, "make a mess in me,"

That's all it took for him to lose it, giving into his pleasure and allowing himself to fill you up with what felt like gallons of cum, letting out strangled moans as his entire body throbs.

Panting, he pulls out of you, watching as his release leaks from between your legs. He wasn't usually interested in sex at all after getting off, but seeing you like this, glowing with sweat and hormones, covered in him. It made him weak. He pulls apart your cunt with his thumbs, watches your glistening sex twitch, cum dripping. He's going to remember this if he ever needs to get off in two seconds flat.

The two of you lay in the floor together, floating, riding the high in a breathless haze.

"Be my girlfriend, y/n," Aizawa was the first to speak.

You were taken aback.

"What?"

You never thought him to be the type to be alright with labels.

"I like you. Not just in the way that I want to have sex with you. I want to make love to you. And I want you to be my girlfriend. Will you be with me?"

You ran your fingers across his jawline as a warm smile spread across your face.

"I'll be your girlfriend. But there are stipulations,"

"Anything. Whatever you want, it's yours," Aizawa hopes that his longing isn't too obvious, that he isn't too eager, but another part of him doesn't even care anymore.

"You have to be my boyfriend," your words are like a breeze through a windchime.

His eye takes purchase in your face as he leans into you, the kiss he offers you this time languid, lazy, loving instead of a mess of teeth and lips.

I love you, he thought, pulling away enough that your foreheads touch. God, how I love you. Just allow me to worship at the altar of your body once more.

Before you can stop yourself, and as if you can read his mind, you speak to him in a voice that's almost a whisper, "I think I love you,"

He looks dumbfounded, awestruck.

He finds his voice enough to say, simply, "I love you," followed by a kiss pressed to your nose.

The day that follows is soft and halcyon. You bask in one another like the afterglow is your lifeline, here in your own private world, all stardust and warmth. You don't know what the future holds. You stopped living in a world of 'what ifs' a long time ago. But you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, you'll be there with him.

And he'll be there with you.

Like he always is.

#fanfic #fanfiction #mha #boku no hero academia #aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #fem reader #smut #smut writing #mha smut #aizawa smut #goth reader #fluff #romance #mutual pining

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