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luminnara · 3 years

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It’s Been A Long, Long Time | Alpha!Bucky x Omega! reader Part 2

Summary: When HYDRA had their prized asset, the Winter Soldier, they did something no one ever thought was possible: they gave super soldier serum to an omega. With the sole purpose of tending to him during his ruts, she spends decades living in HYDRA facilities, denied her humanity and her life. Now, years later, Bucky Barnes has his mind and his own life back...and the last thing he ever expects is to see a familiar omega again. Bucky/OC, a little angsty but mostly smutty/fluffy/romantic!

Part one | Part two | Part three |

Warnings: NSFW, Knotting, ABO

Tags: @kyrah-williams @oceanmermaidwitch

The soldier’s rut seemed to come around on a perfect schedule. Like clockwork, every few months Amoretta would be pulled out of her usual living space and sent to the rutting cell to wait for him. Sometimes, he came in smelling fresh and clean, like they had just hosed him down. Other times, he was covered in dirt and blood, most of which didn’t seem to be his own. She didn’t care; her heart soared every time she heard his heavy boots stomping towards her, and she always faced him with a confident, even gaze.

They would spend his rut together, the soldier knotting her over and over until it passed. He grew bolder with her, showing her affection she never thought he was capable of. He would carefully lay her down on her side so that he could curl around her, waiting for his knot to go down so that he could start all over again. His hands became increasingly gentle, calloused fingertips brushing over her folds carefully as he tried to pull those beautiful moans out of her throat.

He often succeeded; Amoretta woke up to his touch more times than she could count, her thighs already trembling as he played with her clit. The soldier was good at getting her ready for him, though she was almost always prepared to take his cock anyways. Her body responded to him eagerly, slick always pooling between her legs whenever he was nearby. She couldn’t even imagine what it would feel like if HYDRA didn’t have her on so many heat suppressants.

Even without her hormones raging, she was falling for him. He was big and strong and protective, always putting himself between her and the guards whenever they appeared in the doorway. If it weren’t for his trigger words, Amoretta was positive he would tear them apart before they even got close to her. Did that mean he felt the same way about her, too? Or was she just being a silly omega, stuck in a cold series of tunnels, latching onto the only alpha she was ever permitted contact with?

She couldn’t tell.

She didn’t really care.

All she knew was that she wanted him. She had begun looking forward to his ruts, and by the end of her first year in captivity, her body had begun being able to predict when they were coming without the use of a calendar. It was like waking up on Christmas Day, excitement flooding her while she waited for the guards to come let her out of her cell. It always put her in a good mood, knowing that she was about to see the one person who seemed to care about her in that godforsaken place.

And he did.

He cared.

Whenever he saw her, the soldier felt his chest swelling with happiness. There were no bond marks on either of them, but she was his, and she knew it. His omega knew that he was there to keep her safe. He was driven by a simple urge to take care of her whenever he saw her, his need to protect her always taking over his mind. She was so much smaller than him, but she took him so well and fit so perfectly against his chest when they laid together. He never wanted it to end.

“Alpha?” She asked one night, voice barely louder than a whisper.

His knot had gone down a little while earlier, but he was too exhausted by a full day of fucking to go at it again yet. Instead, he was dozing, an arm draped over her protectively while she snuggled up against his chest.

“Hm?” He grunted, cracking an eye open.

“Do you…” she sighed. “Never mind.”

He was fully awake now, both eyes open as he looked at her. “Do I what?”

She bit her lip, feeling stupid. “Do you think we would be together outside of this place?”

He was silent as he thought about it. He didn’t know anything other than HYDRA. Shit, he had never stopped to wonder if there was anything other than HYDRA. Did he have a life besides killing? He had no memory of it, if he did.

“I’m sorry, it’s dumb.” Amoretta said, burying her face against his chest. “Forget it.”

“‘Mega,” his chest rumbled with the word. “It’s not dumb.”

“Then why didn’t you answer?” She huffed.

He snorted quietly. There it was again. That brazen attitude she always had.

“Because...I don’t remember anything outside of this.” He finally said.

Amoretta looked at him. “Nothing at all?”

“It’s always been HYDRA.” He didn’t sound too concerned.

She frowned. “Well...if it wasn’t. If we were just two normal people.”

“Normal?”

“You know.” She couldn’t help but smile a little. “Just...two people, living in a city—“

“New York.” He interrupted quietly.

She paused. “New York?”

“A city. To live in.” He said. “New York.”

Her brow furrowed slightly. Why would he choose New York? It was a large city, to be sure, but it seemed out of character for him to interrupt with something like that, especially considering that they were currently being kept somewhere under Eastern Europe. They were as far away from the States as they could get, and she had expected to be talking about someplace like Paris, or Moscow, or Berlin.

She knew the soldier was someone HYDRA had captured a while ago, which meant he had to have had some sort of life before they pumped him full of the serum. Could this be part of it? Was he...remembering? If he was, she wanted to know more. All HYDRA used her for was getting their asset through his ruts, so she had plenty of time to think, and plenty more time to be curious. The most interesting thing in the compound with her was him, and she had spent hours just wondering about him. This could be her chance to actually get him talking about something other than rutting, and she wanted to encourage more.

“Okay, New York.” She said, a reassuring hand on his arm. “What part?”

He thought for a moment, trying to concentrate. “Brooklyn.”

“Why Brooklyn?”

The soldier shrugged. “Heard about it. I think.”

“Never been there?”

“...I don’t know.”

“Hmph.” She played with a strand of his dark hair. “If we lived in Brooklyn, what kind of life would we have?”

“A house,” he said.

“We’d have a house?”

He nodded, his nose finding the scent gland on her neck and rubbing against it. “Filled with lots...and lots...of pups…”

Her heart skipped a beat and she immediately felt heat coiling around in her belly. She couldn’t help it; she was pre programmed to get excited at the concept of being bred. Even without her heats, the thought filled her chest with butterflies.

“Wanna breed you…” his voice pulled her back to reality.

Amoretta licked her lips, grinning. “Then breed me, Alpha.”

He let out a playful growl, somehow finding the strength to roll her onto her front and grab her hips. He held onto her tightly enough to leave little red marks, but he never had to worry; she was strong. She was made for him. He knew that she could take whatever he gave her.

“Want my knot?” The soldier asked, toying with her wet folds for a few moments before he shoved his cock inside of her.

“Y-yes, Alpha!” She squealed, pussy immediately tightening around him. She had grown so used to his size by now, she hardly even needed any preparation to take him. Her body accepted his girth eagerly, wanting nothing more than to feel his knot catching on her.

He groaned appreciatively as he began thrusting in and out of her, setting a lazy pace for himself. “‘M gonna fill you up, Omega...gonna fill you up, get you nice and pupped…”

Her cheeks were flushed as she listened to him, skin burning as her alpha fucked her. She loved the sound of his voice. She loved everything about him.

“Please,” she moaned, melting down against the sheets.

“Yeah?” He let go of her hips, moving both hands to hold her ass. He gave it a squeeze, chest rumbling happily at the feeling of so much supple flesh in his grip. “Fuck, omega...my pretty ‘mega…”

She sighed happily, her pussy squeezing his cock as a little orgasm fluttered through her. He was good at that, and giving her those tiny little ones every so often with nothing but his words.

He snarled at the feeling. He wanted more.

A metal hand snaked around her front, finding her clit and rubbing it roughly. She immediately cried out, surprised by the sudden stimulation, and it wasn’t long before her thighs were shaking and she was a moaning, crying mess underneath her soldier. How did he know what to do? Why did he even care if she got off, when she was only there to please him?

He had to be more than just a flesh and bone HYDRA machine. She knew he had to be.

As she tipped over the edge, he followed close behind, his breath hot on the back of her neck as he bit into her shoulder. The pain felt dull, despite his massive fangs tearing into her. It always did; Amoretta was never worried about it, often sporting bruises and bite marks after her soldier mounted her. With the quickened healing abilities her body now had, nothing lasted very long before fading anyways.

She wished they would stick around, though. She wanted to feel claimed.

She felt his knot swelling and she sighed happily, slumping down onto the cot as he pressed his chest against her back. He began lazily licking at her shoulder, swiping his tongue over the bloody wound to soothe it.

“One day,” he grumbled, “One day, ‘m gonna mark you.”

Her breath caught in her throat.

“Wh-what?” She asked, looking back at him.

He nodded, sure of himself. “You’re my omega. An’ one day, I’m gonna make sure everybody knows.”

—

How many years did she spend there, in HYDRA’S compounds? After the first, it was easy to lose track. She was kept on a monotonous schedule that consisted of a few feedings a day, exercise sessions, and the occasional “doctor’s visit.” Those always just meant that her suppressants were being increased, as her body was growing steadily angrier about them. She was building up a tolerance, the doctor said, and they would simply have to keep ramping up her dosage.

She dared to ask why they couldn’t just let her have heats like normal, and the answer was simply that they didn’t have the facilities ready to raise super soldier pups. The thought of being separated from her own offspring mortified her; it was bad enough that she was always so far away from her alpha, and she knew she couldn’t bear to give up her pups for some twisted HYDRA program.

So she shut up, and learned to deal with the side effects of the suppressants. They made her constantly nauseous, not enough to make her vomit, but definitely enough that she was uncomfortable all day. As her dosage increased, so did her headaches, and there were moments she considered begging the doctors to take her off of them so that she could feel at least some relief.

But she knew that would be a bad idea. She had to continue acting like she had absolutely no interest in returning to her normal heat cycle, or else risk HYDRA thinking about how quickly they could get things ready to start a new super soldier program. Amoretta wanted to keep their minds off of it for as long as she possibly could, and it seemed like she was successful; it never came up during her visits to the lab, the doctors seeming much more focused on how to keep her from getting pregnant at all.

It was for the best. She knew that. But part of her whined and yearned to be allowed to start a little family with her alpha, even though he hadn’t given her a bond mark. With every rut she spent with him, she felt herself growing more and more comfortable at his side, wishing more and more that they were normal people. She wanted to live that life in Brooklyn with him, to smell fresh air again instead of the recycled oxygen they pumped through the compound.

Sometimes, Amoretta was moved to different facilities. They were always underground, always just as gray and dingy as all the others. The guards always tranquilized her in order to transport her, and she would wake up in a similar, yet different cell from the last, groggy and even more nauseous than usual. She figured they were moving both her and the soldier around, depending on where they wanted to send him off on missions. She just wished that she could go outside once in a while, too.

One night, she got her chance.

She woke up early, her body fighting off the tranquilizer she had been given. She could tell that she was in a cramped, dark transport crate, moonlight filtering in through the air holes on the top of it. Fresh air was coming in, too, the scent of grass and pine filling her nose. It smelled so delicious that she was gulping in lungfulls, immediately shifting to press her face up against one of the holes.

It was small, barely large enough for her to see out of it, but she could spot a few twinkling stars up above her.

She wanted more.

The crate was heavy, reinforced with metal bars meant to keep her in and the soldier out, but she was determined. She hadn’t seen the outdoors in...shit, decades?

A few good kicks was all it took before she was scrambling out, bare toes digging into the dirt as she stood and looked around. She was in the middle of nowhere, it seemed, a few trucks idling nearby as HYDRA workers moved supplies into the compound.

As soon as they noticed her, she ran, sprinting off into the trees. She could hear shouting behind her, but she didn’t stop, too excited by the feeling of the wind against her bare skin. The night air was cool and refreshing, and as she skidded to a stop at the edge of a field, she could hardly believe she was really outside.

Turning her eyes up to the sky, she let out a happy gasp. The moon was full and bright, an entire galaxy of stars twinkling in the inky blackness of space. Amoretta hadn’t realized how much she missed it.

Heavy footsteps drew her attention away from the stars, but she didn’t turn to look. She could smell her alpha approaching, his scent seeming more curious than angry now that he had found her. He was alone, free of the entourage of guards she had expected to come after her.

“Omega,” he growled, his low voice rumbling.

“Look at them,” she sighed.

He stepped up next to her, his side brushing hers. “At what?” His blue eyes were scanning the treeline, searching for anything that could be threatening his omega. When he found nothing, he tilted his head to look down at her curiously. “What is it?”

“The stars,” she sighed again.

Stars?

He watched her face for a moment, surprised to find her smiling up at the sky. When he finally followed her gaze, he paused to admire the stars. He never really did that, did he? Whenever HYDRA let him out, he was sent with strict orders. There was never any time for stargazing. Though...it was nice, and the look on his omega’s face was even nicer.

“That’s Ursa Major,” she said, pointing up to a collection of stars. “See? It’s a bear.”

The soldier snorted. “I don’t see a bear.”

“Then look harder.”

She glanced over to see him actually squinting, the lower half of his face obscured by the black mask he wore on missions. The sight made her laugh, quiet giggles quickly turning into full, hearty laughter that had her gripping her sides. There he was, a huge, terrifying super soldier, the most dangerous assassin in the world, and he was trying to figure out constellations.

“What?” his head whipped around to look down at her.

“N-nothing,” she giggled.

He gave her an exasperated look. “Are you laughing at me?”

“I might be.” she nudged his side with her shoulder. “You’re just...cute. That’s all.”

She could see him raise an eyebrow. “Cute?”

“Mhm. You know, this is the first time I’ve seen you outside of a rut.” she leaned against him, looking up with big doe eyes. “I like it.”

His chest puffed up a little as he looked down at her. “You do?”

“Of course.”

“Good,” his throat rumbled with a low purr. “I have to take you back now.”

She deflated with a sigh. “Already?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Not safe out here.”

“There’s nothing out here scarier than you, Alpha.”

His purr grew louder, a little more smug. “You’re right. But I have orders.”

“Can we stay for just another minute?” she pleaded. “Then you can drag me back.”

The soldier considered her offer. He really did enjoy watching her gaze up at the stars, and he had no idea when he would get this chance again. “...Fine.”

Amoretta smiled. “Thank you, Alpha.”

His arm found its way around her waist, pulling her up against him. “You like stars, omega?”

“I used to sit outside and look at them every night back home,” she said. “Well, when it was clear.”

“Back home?”

She nodded. “I grew up in this quaint little village, tucked away in the mountains...at the foot of the alps.”

He cocked his head. Something about the alps...it felt like there was a memory nudging at the back of his mind, but he didn’t know why. Maybe he had gone there on a mission? HYDRA was good at always wiping his memory between outings. It was hard to tell where he had been.

“Let’s go.” he said, suddenly uncomfortable.

Amoretta didn’t resist as he scooped her up, instead resting her cheek against his chest and trying to surround herself with his scent while he walked. She could tell that something was bothering him, but with no idea what, and with him nearing the HYDRA base, there was little she could do to try and pry it out of him.

She would just have to wait and try again during his next rut.

#alpha bucky #alpha bucky barnes #abo #omegaverse #it's been a long long time #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x oc #avengers x reader #avengers x oc

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cantalouupe · 4 years

Text

burn

nsfw!!! diluc x gn!reader

wax play, mean diluc, diluc is referred to as “master”

PART 1 OF 2

Drip.

“You’re such a mess like this.”

Drip, drip.

A loud cry and the chain links clinking together sounds within the confines of the bedroom.

Drip.

Heat blossoms under soft skin, droplets of lava burning holes while you thrash in response to it.

Drip.

Hot liquid falls onto your body, where it collects and sticks to you in a way that makes it impossible to get away. Every drop on your chest and stomach has you jolting, eyes closed shut tight while you anticipate the next gentle burn.

Drip.

Above you, Diluc stands, watching you whilst tilting a lit candle so that the melting wax splatters on your torso, creating a beautiful pattern of white droplets that solidified against your skin.

Drip, drip, drip.

They come more quickly now, creating lines of wax that streak along the length of your body rather than the carefully aimed drops from earlier on. You cried out with every new splash of molten. It was becoming harder to control how your body reacted.

You struggle against metal cuffs that keep your arms raised, pulling at them so you could attempt to move away from the flaring heat that continuously hits your skin.

“Stop squirming,” he warns, dripping another hot line of wax from under your chest down to your bellybutton.

You can’t help it, you want to tell him, not with the constant bursts of heat - all that comes out is whines and more twisting against the bed sheets below you.

He seems displeased with that and tips the candle in hand so more splatters, letting a lot fall until you were sounding pained and louder than before.

“Does it hurt?”

You nod. Not like the way it hurts when he hits you, but a type of hurt that burned - stung, lingering there long after it is first administered. Even after the wax cools, the pain from it remains, attaching to you like a leech.

While pushing your legs apart to fit between them, he responds; “Good.”

You didn’t need him to say that to know that he enjoyed seeing you in pain - not when it was so obvious. He never tried to hide it, anyway, always making a point to hit you until you cried and bruised and ached the next day.

Luckily for him, you were just as addicted to the pain as he was. You’d let him do nearly anything to get to hear him harshly tell you how much of a good slut you are for getting off on something like this.

Another stripe of wax and your sobbing with the sensation, arching and tugging on your restraints either to get away or move into it, you didn’t know.

Diluc takes this time of you struggling against the burning feeling to slip his cock inside your hole, pushing all the way in one smooth thrust. It was all too much, so deep inside, stretching you and adding to the confusing pleasure-pain you were feeling.

“Oh my- Wait-“ You struggle to make words, mouth falling open and legs spreading more to accommodate him.

He continues, hips pulling out as soon as he’s seated all the way inside you. With steady and careful hands, he spills more of the candles melted wax onto your body - as soon as it hits you, your making a loud noise and shaking your head.

“Stop acting like you don’t want this,” he tells you, gyrating his hips in a slow way that has his dick rubbing deliciously against your walls. “We both know that you do.”

That was true - you had even been the one to ask for him to use the wax. It was just overwhelming, the combination of feelings you got and your body didn’t know how to really react.

Another tip of the candle and more wax lands, over your chest, right on your nipple and a sob rips from your throat - you were always so sensitive there.

“I’m going to use you now,” his hips hit in hard punctuation. “And you’re going to be good and take it and not come, or else I’ll leave you here like this for one of the maids to find you.”

You felt even hotter than the wax against you at his words.

Breathless, you nod, whimpering that “I’ll be good, I will.”

“Will you really?” He asks, and you jump in shock at the next strip of wax that connects with the space below your bellybutton. “Or are you going to act like a brat and test my patience?”

The chain that connects your handcuffs together clacks against the bedpost they’re wrapped around when you try to pull your arms down. You want to touch him, grab him, have something to hold onto when he really starts fucking you.

He’s so mean for restricting your movements like this, told him as soon as he clicked them around your wrists. “No, no, Master please,” you had begged, but with an amused tone he reminded you that you’ll move around too much without them. He needed you still so he could play with you, he had told you, so you reluctantly let him chain you to the bedpost.

Now, though, you regret it, pulling hard against the metal cuffs until it hurt from them digging into your flesh. “Master-“

Droplets of the hot liquid fall higher this time, up on your collar bones and neck, silencing you.

“Knock it off.”

You take a shaky inhale and attempt to relax your body, eyes fluttering open to look at him while your chest heaves in big breaths in. He’s already looking right back at you, his hips pushed against yours and a half spent white candle in hand.

Quieter, he reiterates. “Behave while I fuck you.”

Then he begins moving, and your gone.

Somehow, even with your walls squeezing tight around him, he holds his composure, still dripping wax onto your body while he slides in and out of you.

You, on the other hand, are a mess, each thrust awarded with a loud moan and each droplet of wax forcing out a cry while you jolt from the heat.

“You take the pain so well.”

God, were you close already. All this extra stimulation from the candle and his words had you driving fast towards the edge. He knows it, he has to know, and he’ll stop because he knows you can’t last-

He’s not stopping, though. Paying no mind to you or your voice that was becoming panicked with your oncoming orgasm.

So you come.

And he knows.

With a surprised sound, he stops all movement and sits still. Moments pass and you keep your eyes squeezed shut with anxiety - he’ll punish you for this, he told you not to come.

You expect a slap, words of disapproval that would sit heavy in your mind but instead- instead-

He leaves.

Calmly, relaxed, he pulls out, cleans himself up, gets dressed, and leans into you to give you a tender kiss on the lips. “I told you the consequences,” he murmurs “and you didn’t take them seriously, did you?”

You blink; he was going to have you lay here? to be found by someone?

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he turns to exit the room, “I have some things to attend to downstairs. Be good while I’m gone and maybe then we can finish what we started.”

With a humiliated whimper, you shake your head.

“When I get back, we’ll have to teach you how to hold it back, since you can’t seem to follow directions.”

#genshin x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact diluc #diluc x reader #diluc smut

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faevi · 3 years

Note

Is it too late to send a thirst?? Eren getting worked up over his cute girlfriend’s little skirt before she goes out to hang with her friends. He’s unrelenting, he just needs to get a taste before she leaves. Pushing her up against the wall and eating her out type beat

never too late! i'm sorry to the other two in my inbox, which i will happily do. for some reason this one just made me spit it out quickly despite the same level excitement for all of them. aka a lot. uwu ANYWAYS. phew, this got me feeling all kinds of things, oh to have eren devouring your pussy like a starved man )))): and so of course, i rambled >< i hope you like it kat !! i hope it's okay, eeeeeeeee.

eren x reader.

scenario: you wear a cute skirt and eren turns into a feral beast ready for your pussy.

word count: 2,700+.

trigger/content warning: NSFW MINORS DNI. consensual. cunnilingus, strength kink (?), praising, degrading, filthy wet mess (just mean reader is hella wet??), size difference mention, slight manipulation play if you think about it, possessiveness, tiny bit of aftercare, dirty talk, dumbification, dacryphilia, orgasm denial. hint of sacrilege or viewing another human potentially as a god. / i think that's it.

“Damn, baby. You’re wearing that?”

You blink innocently from hearing your boyfriend’s voice. His tone holding no malice and sounding like he’s both wildly fascinated and pleased. Your hands smooth down the soft fabric of your short skirt, it only covered your ass and well about mid-thigh but in your defence, you’ll be wearing stockings as well. Not that you’d ever care about your clothing length when you’re in public, It’s your choice after all. You pout playfully, turning to face Eren.

He’s leaning against the doorframe rather casually, hair loosely pulled up into a bun with strands of hair free and shaping around his face. Your gaze lingers on his toned arms, bicep muscles flexing with each movement. “What? Is it bad?” You ask through a huff, turning back to inspect yourself in the mirror. The skirt is black and a thin belt looped through the holes, white button-up blouse tucked in.

“Nah, it’s perfect. My issue is how am I supposed to resist?” Eren sighs out dramatically, leaning forward until his body is falling and then he takes a few steps, standing behind you. You look towards him in the mirror and he’s perfectly tall enough to bend down slightly and rest his chin on top of your head. You grin widely, pleased by his words and it prompts a soft giggle.

“Well, you have to resist because I have to leave in forty.” You sigh out softly, only wishing you could call it off and spend the night with him. It’s not that you don’t love hanging out with your friends but, 1. You’re clingy and, 2. It’s been a while for alone time with Eren. His large hands glide over your hips before shifting to snake his arms around your waist, pulling you in until you’re pressed flushed against him.

You could feel the already prominent tent in his tracksuit pants pressing against your ass. Eren’s chin rests on your shoulder, hunched over you to make you feel smaller in his arms. You’re not even tiny. He’s just tall and has the body of a sculptured god. “Baby girl, that’s plenty of time for me.” He whispers tenderly against your ear, his tongue teasingly dragging across the shell of your ear.

You shiver in his embrace and it only encourages him to hold you even tighter, crushing you against him. Just the way you like it, leaving you feeling safe and grounded. One hand travels down, the tips of Eren’s fingers brushing the hem of the short skirt before grasping firmly onto the supple flesh of your thigh. “You’re teasing me, aren’t you? You wanted to wear something so scandalous to leave me riled up just before you left. You wanted me to think about your sweet, dripping cunt as I watched you walk through the door.”

You whimper in response to both his filthy words and the bruising grip on your thigh. Maybe it’s true. Maybe you found the skirt in the shops and thought it would be perfect to wear with the intent of teasing the male. How foolish of you to forget that Eren gets what he wants because you happily give it. “I just think the skirt is cute.” You whine out breathlessly and Eren only laughs mockingly from hearing your pitiful excuse. Both of you knew there was more to the story.

“It’s very cute, princess. I have zero complaints about you wearing it. I admit to feeling possessive over the thought of disgusting men seeing you in something adorable. You call me if you run into trouble. Now that aside..”

He drifts off, your heart hammering from both his possessiveness perfectly balanced with his protective urges. His nails drag along the flesh of your inner thigh and soon the index finger is pressing down against the damp fabric of your panties. Eren feigns surprise, gently rubbing along and his warm breath fanning against your ear. “Tempting me further. Feel how fucking wet you are? Filthy girl.” He groans, already feeling as if he’s already intoxicated by the knowledge of your wetness.

“You want it, don’t you? Hm, my little dumb baby? You want me to eat out that pretty pussy of yours?”

Your face is feeling hot, mind pleasantly clouded with the vivid images of one of your favourite sights to see. Eren between your legs. You feel the tip of his finger press between the crease of where your thigh meets your womanhood, sliding beneath the thin fabric and you couldn’t take it anymore. You’ve never been a patient person and the brown-haired male thrives off of that every single time.

“Eren, yes! God, hurry up and do it.” You whine out loudly and an amused chuckle falls from his tiers. “I mean, I can be your God if you want me to be.” Eren’s lips brush against your jaw, his free hand coming up to cup your chin and angle your face towards him, eagerly pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips. Your lips part willingly and he licks into your mouth, nails digging into the flesh of your face and you thrive off of the subtle sting, trying to lean in for a deeper kiss but Eren pulls away.

“No, no. The only one getting the pleasure of a meal right now is me, baby.”

You barely processed his words, wondering how could he possibly be the one so selfishly receiving the pleasure when it’s your pussy that will be throbbing with need. Eren didn’t give you time to question, turning you around until he takes you by surprise, slamming you firmly against the wall beside the mirror, one hand gracefully cradling your head to stop the impact. the rest of your body aches pleasantly from the impact, reminding you of just how much you adore when he’s roughly handling you because you know, even with that happening, you’ll always be his girl that he cherishes.

Eren’s gaze darkens as he lowers himself slowly, trailing kisses over your blouse until he’s kneeling before you. You had to bite down on your lip to muffle the sounds that were threatening to escape. “All mine to devour.” Eren lets out a low growl, one hand gently holding onto your right leg before guiding your left to slide over his shoulder. You manage to balance in ease, eyes widening at the sight of saliva already dripping from his lower lip. He reminds you of an untamed beast feasting on their first meal in a lifetime. Eyes wide and wild like thunderstorms.

The long-haired male buries his face against your covered cunt and breathes in deeply. “Mine.” He groans out, sweetly delirious for the moment over your scent and your hand comes down to swiftly untie his hair; threading your fingers through his silky locks as you angle your hips to press against his mouth, causing him to moan, being muffled by the panties and the skirt hiding the rest of his face. Eren despised the panties being a shield of what he truly wants and so his hands grip on either side of the cotton panties and with one swift tug, Eren rips them off completely and you gasp out of surprise from hearing the loud tear of clothing.

Eren blindly throws it over his shoulder before he drags the flat of his tongue across your dripping, slick folds and sparking shivers run up his spine. The heel of your left foot presses against his back and only pushes him further closer to you. His tongue is consistently dragging flat across your folds as he hungrily drinks up your sweet juices, moaning at the taste. Your trembling fingers gather the skirt to press against your stomach, desperate to his face.

Your breath hitches when his eyes lock with yours, lower face already dripping with your slick from how eager he is with burying his face against it. A hand comes up to gently part your folds with two long fingers. “Look at your pretty cunt, baby girl. All mine. Going to swallow you whole.” Eren groans out loudly, deeply fascinated by the way your juices drip from your parted folds.

Your clit throbs with need and just like that, his tongue makes contact and swirls teasingly around it and moans spill from your lips, pleasure surging through your body and you’re curling your toes in, back arching off of the wall. His wet muscle continues to flick and swirl around the sensitive nerve and his hands grasp onto the outside of your thighs, stabilising your position. There are loud slurping noises and it’s only a given for your face to feel hot from seeing Eren not caring about the mess that drips from both your cunt and his mouth.

Nails drag along the back of your thighs, leaving a sweet burning sensation spread across the flesh. Eren drinks up your juices that fill his mouth. His mouth is relentless, never giving you time to process as waves crash over your already trembling body, your nails dragging along his scalp and pulling hard on his soft strands. Eren moans against your pussy, dragging his tongue a few times along your slick folds before he decides to try something new.

Eren stands up. Slowly. He makes sure your back slides up the wall, guiding your other leg over his shoulder until both of your thighs are pressed against his shoulders and closing in tight around his face. He loves the thought of being suffocated by your thighs and so he invites it. With his height, your head is a good foot away from the ceiling and you couldn’t help but gasp at his bold move.

The male pulls away for a moment, head tilted upwards but still nestled between your thighs, his hands lightly holding you up just for the extra sense of safety. You trust him to not drop you. “E-Eren, this is—“

You stutter out, voice softly fainting and his lips twist to form a small smirk. “It’s perfect, baby girl. Can see your pretty pussy even better.” Eren teases with another swipe of his tongue, enjoying the soft sounds of your whimper.

He’s strong and so, he can hold you up with ease, the muscles in his arms flexing as he holds you flat against the wall. Eren didn’t care at all over the extreme. He’d happily try out any position, so long as you’re feeling some form of pleasure. With his head tilted, his tongue lazily swirls around the tight entrance of your hole, brown orbs gazing up at you and the skirt still tugged close to your body to not prevent the heavenly sight of what he wants to see.

Eren slowly pushes his tongue against the rim of your hole, sinking into the velvety goodness and he couldn’t hold back another groan from the taste of your juice pooling into his mouth and containing the entirety of his mouth. Your chest is rising and falling with each deep pant, eyes closing tightly and your face scrunches, unable to contain the ecstasy that pulls through you completely. Goosebumps appear across your arms but you’re completely in bliss, too out of it to even notice or care.

His tongue could never reach deep compared to his beautiful, thick cock (the one you severely wish was buried inside of you right now) but Eren is a God when it comes to oral. He could bring the air out of you and leave you breathless, high-pitch moans escaping as he eats you out, always like a starved man. His tongue glides across your inner walls slowly, a hand snaking along your hip and across your stomach and down towards your needy cunt.

It’s only been minutes and you feel dizzy, stomach taut as you hold back your orgasm that steadily approaches. Eren’s thumb presses down on your clit and the sudden contact makes you squeeze around his teasing tongue and you whimper. Eren could feel your nails digging into his scalp and pulling on the strands of his hair, encouraging him to fuck his tongue into you slowly, his thumb rubbing in circular motions against your clit.

Your aroused juices are dribbling down his chin and onto his shirt and he didn’t care. Eren is a lover of being covered in your mess. “Eren, wan’—“ You were cut off by his amused laugh. “No, baby.” His words were muffled and you could only whine, thighs trembling as you hold it off further. Your body already aching with the need to burst; desperate to fall over the cliff and dive into your orgasm.

His tongue slides out of your hole, prodding against the clenching entrance. Eren presses sloppy kisses to your puffy lips, pinching your clit and causing you to squeak. Tears appear and glue to your long, fluttering lashes and you’re desperate to just release. Eren? No. He’s a sadist and loves to take his time admiring your pussy that he adores so deeply. His thumb continues to slowly drag in circles against your pulsating clit.

“Filthy girl. My dirty little slut, hm?”

You whimper, head barely able to nod and a few tears gliding down your cheeks, gazing at the man beneath you and his stare is dark, clouded heavily with his desires. His hand lightly taps against your sensitive pussy, prompting your hips to buck from the contact. He’s teasing again, turned on by the tears that are rolling down your cheeks.

“Do you deserve to cum?”

“Y-Yes, I’ve been so good, please... Always be good for you.”

Your words slur out, barely able to concentrate on anything but his touch. With a glance at the clock, Eren huffs out of annoyance. There’s not much time left and God, did he want to drag this out for eternity, just basking in the pleasure that he gives you. Your ankles hook together around him to keep you in place. Two of his long fingers travel down to your hole. “Fuck your schedules,” Eren growls lowly before he thrusts his digits deep inside of your wet cunt, the squelching sound mixing with your loud moans.

It’s as if he knows by heart where to find that sweet spot and so his fingers curl and rub against the bundle of your nerves and his tongue rapidly flicks against your still throbbing clit. “Come for me, princess.” Eren purrs out and you swear you saw stars floating in front of you. The overwhelming pleasure is blinding as it races through your body in waves. They crash and pull you into the infinite tide of ecstasy and you could barely recognise your cry of pleasure that rips out of your chest.

Eren breathes out against your womanhood, trying to contain himself when he feels your hot walls squeeze tightly around his long digits. Your body is trembling hard, barely able to hold yourself against the wall and grudgingly, Eren slowly pulls his fingers out of your hole and with careful guidance, he lowers you down back to your feet. Instantly, you slump against him from your leg muscles feeling weak, panting softly, lazily snuggling against his chest before looking up shyly. You still feel like you’re on cloud nine, warm and tingly.

The second your eyes meet, Eren brings his fingers up to lips and slowly sucks your mess off of his fingers, moaning at the taste. You notice now, just how filthy his face is with your wetness. He got his feed for the night and his free hand is rubbing soothingly against your back. “You should wear short skirts around me more often, Y/N.” A playful grin tugs at his lips, swooping in to press a loving kiss to your lips and he guides you towards the end of the bed. Gracefully, he pulls your currently weak body onto his lap, toned arms around your waist. “Thank you, Eren. Nn, you always know how to please me.”

“You have ten minutes so lemme’ cuddle you.” Eren huffs out childishly, burying his face against your covered breasts. You couldn’t help but giggle softly, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, fingers brushing through his long hair. “Mm, I think I can be a few minutes late.” You hum softly, thigh muscles still quivering and your skirt covered in stains. You'll need to change again. Eren smiles wide, falling and pulling you into his embrace properly.

“That’s my girl.”

--------

#fae's writing #fae; request.#fae; eren.#eren x reader #eren scenario #tw sex #aot writing #aot scenario #aot thirst #eren thirst #eren writing #i hope everyone likes it #do lemme know your thoughts ehe?#fae; spice.#why do i ramble btw #anime scenario #anime writing #fae; kat🥰.

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cal-puddies · 4 years

Text

Run Your Hands Through My Hair // Calum Hood

I made a joke about writing this. But there was enough requests that I finally did. Of course @kindahoping4forever was a champ in helping me with some of these ideas. <3

Warnings: Scenes including unprotected sex, female oral sex, slight bondage but mostly just sex.

Word Count: 5389

Cass & Crystal’s Masterlist

Let us know what you think!

Cal groans from the hallway.

You wrap the blanket from the bed around your naked body, annoyed that your boyfriend got up to groan and make too much noise in the hall.

“Bubba.” You say, standing in the hallway to look at him, “what’s up?” He's clad in only gray sweatpants, slung too low (or perfectly low for your preference, but no one else needed to see him that way), on his hips.

“The curls are too much.” He groans.

“Excuse me?” You ask.

He turns and looks at you, recognizing your tone. “What?”

“The curls? On the top of your head?” You clarify.

“Yes baby, it’s a lot, want you to shave my head.” He says, running his fingers through the thick curls trying to prove his point.

“No.” You say, swiftly turning back into the bedroom. You get back in bed and pull the blanket over your head.

“What do you mean, no?” He follows you in the bedroom, and sits on the edge of the bed, resting his hand on your side.

You pull the blanket down, “I won’t do it.”

“Yeah I heard you, but why not?” He lays against you and rests his head on your shoulder.

“Baby… if you wanna shave your head, you’re gonna have to call someone else that doesn’t like to yank on your hair when you’re eating their pussy. How about that? Or someone who doesn’t think our sex has been more bomb with your hair grown out.”

“What? How is our sex more ‘bomb’ when my hair is longer?”

You scoot away from him so you can turn and face him. “You probably don’t notice the way your hips drive harder when I pull your hair, or that you moan louder when we fuck, or you man handle me more. But I notice and enjoy all of those things. So if you shave your head, then we both lose.”

“I… don’t think that’s true.” Cal challenges.

“And how do you propose we test this theory?” You cock your eyebrow at him.

Cal smirks and pulls you to him, and under him, “I’m sure I can come up with a couple ideas to restrain you so we can test it.”

“And what if I’m right?”

“If you’re right, and the sex is more ‘bomb’ as you said,” he stops to press his lips to yours briefly, “then I’ll reward you with more bomb sex, and I’ll just get it trimmed.” He pecks your lips again, “but if I’m right and the sex is the same bombness, then you still get bomb sex and you’re shaving my head.” He pecks your lips again.

“When shall we commence?”

“You gotta eat first. I’ll make ya breakfast.” He kisses your cheek and rolls off of you, he grabs his tshirt from the day before and tosses it to you before adjusting his sweatpants higher on his hips.

He walks out of the room leaving you in bed alone. You have half a mind to go back to sleep and he can wake you when whatever he cooks is ready, but you eventually give in, throwing his shirt on and heading for the kitchen.

“I’ve decided on a two tiered approach.” He informs you as you pour coffee. He sets some already crispy bacon near you, “after breakfast, we’ll try the experiment, and after lunch, we’ll try with your hands untied.”

“If you wanted to fuck all day, why didn’t you just say so?” You smirk, grabbing a piece of bacon.

“Well, it wasn’t my original plan for the day, but I can work with what you need.” He explains, taking his eyes off the pancakes long enough to pull you in for a hug and a kiss.

“Is this all you’re making?” You ask, looking at the bacon and pancakes.

“Is there something more you’d like?”

“I mean… if we’re fucking, might need some protein.” You shrug, kissing his jaw.

“Oh I can give you protein.” He grabs your ass and his lips find yours.

You both smirk, “yeah, I was thinking like food protein, not a protein shot from your cock.” You wink, pulling away to get eggs.

“You might get one of those anyway.” He makes room for you at the stove, and nods when you hold the egg up, “2 please, the normal way.”

You nod and set to work making eggs, while he focuses on the pancakes and bacon. “I mean you’d probably deserve a blowie with how many times you’re gonna have to eat my pussy.” You shrug.

He wraps his arms around you from behind, “no no no baby, I want to eat your pussy as much as possible. There’s no room for ‘have to.’” He presses soft kisses to the back of your neck and you shiver. He gently bites the skin before moving away so you can make the eggs and he can finish the pancakes.

He stacks plates for the two of you under the plate with the pancakes and bacon and grabs both coffee mugs while you grab the syrup, forks and pan with the eggs. Cal’s already got plates made up so he grabs the pan from you and serves eggs.

You eat quietly, enjoying each other’s company. When you're done you take it upon yourself to climb into Cal’s lap, straddling him, you tuck your face into his neck. “You ok?” He murmurs against your ear.

“Just wanted to be close to you.”

“You’re gonna spend all day close to me.” He says quietly, moving the hair off your neck so he can kiss behind your ear.

“Not like this though.” You murmur, lips tickling his neck.

“Should I reschedule the experimental fucking? Is this what you need today?” He wonders.

“Mmm… just want you, however I can have you.” You pull back from him, sliding your hips forward as you lean back against the table. You rest your hands on his bare chest, and his fingers tease under the hem of the shirt on your body,

Cal leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your lips. You hold his face and deepen it, swiping your tongue across his lip so he’ll open up. He keeps it short between the two of you, pulling away and resting his forehead against yours. “You can have me however you want. You just say so.” He reminds you.

“I know… but right now, I’m more curious on how you’ll have me.” You smirk. “For the sake of science, I need to know what the plan is so we can make sure we’re recreating correctly.” You gently run your fingers through his hair.

“Gotta eat…” he murmurs, “and figured we’d do something chest to chest.” He preens a bit as you run your nails against his scalp.

“Sounds logical,” you respond quietly, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips before draping yourself over him again.

Cal takes the opportunity to hold you, you don’t spend a lot of time like this, he wants to take advantage of your willingness to sit still with him.

Cal doesn’t rush you, he lets you sit with him like that.

And then you’re doing the dishes together, flirty banter continues. He grabs a couple bottles of water from the fridge and then your hand. “C’mon beautiful… we’ve got work to do.” He mumbles, pressing his lips to your cheek and then pulling you toward the bedroom. You sit on the bed and watch as he goes to the closet and pulls out the toy box, you watch curiously, because toys weren’t part of the plan.

He pulls out the silk ties you vaguely remember buying together. “Shit, I forgot about those.” You chuckle. He hands them to you so he can put the box back.

“I only thought of them during breakfast. I was gonna do the belt but that hurts too much after one round and I can’t have you walking around with bruised wrists again.” He grins before slipping in the bathroom to grab the lube.

“You mean you didn’t enjoy explaining to our friends why it looked like someone tied my hands behind my back with a belt and had their way with me.” You call to him, obvious smirk in your tone.

“Ash knew. He just knew.” Cal smirks, coming back in “Luke took a little explaining.”

“Oh god, you corrupted the baby?” You tease.

“No Love, I’m the baby, and you corrupted me.” He leans in for a kiss, pulling the ties away from you.

“Bullshit! If anything we further corrupted each other.” You giggle into the kiss.

“I can agree with that.” He murmurs, crawling on the bed with you and laying you back.

You enjoy the slow make out session, handsy but not overly eager. Cal slips his shirt off your body, and rolls you on top of him. He sighs as you pull back and hold your wrists out for him. He gently but firmly ties your wrists together and then helps you get comfortable on the pillows before tying them to the headboard.

“You’ll tell me if these need loosened?” He asks quietly, looking at you.

“Of course.” You nod.

Cal leans back for a kiss. He cups your face when he pulls back, just looking at you for a beat, and then his plump lips are on your neck, and he kisses down your body. He stops to pay attention to your tits, gently squeezing one while his mouth engulfs the soft flesh and he sucks, his other hand gently teases your other nipple, he kisses across your chest, doing the same on the other side, you let out a breathy moan and he looks up to you. “Doin ok, m’love?”

“You better be planning to be this loving about it later.” You bite your lip as he gently bites just below your tit before swirling his tongue over it.

“I will… I’m sure you’ll remind me.” He grins before continuing his trail down your body. Cal nibbles at both of your hips, and then he’s pushing your thighs up. He kisses down the back of one and gently bites, and then kisses down the back of the other, his hand soothingly caressing the other. He gives a bit harder of a bite and he’s surprised by your minor moan instead of a squeal. “You feelin it baby?”

You tug at your hands because you already wanna run your fingers through his fluffy curls, Cal notices, and before you can answer him, he wraps an arm around your thigh and licks through your folds, you watch his head dip and feel his mouth setting to work to please you. He stops and you whine, he notices it’s the loudest sound you’ve made thus far.

He grabs the headband off the table and quickly puts it on, you usually hold the hair out of his eyes. He quickly sets back to work, listening for your whines and whimpers. He watches you close, he always does, but this time to see if you’re right. He notices you pulling your hands and getting frustrated, and he’s ready to give in, he’s just started and you aren’t having the reaction he’d hoped for, usually tieing you up is a fun thing for the two of you.

He tries not to think about it as he lets his fingers start working you, two in and thumb on your clit while he kisses on your thighs. He sucks a hickey into your thigh, and finally as he curls his fingers into your g-spot you have a reaction he expects, it’s a breathy moan of his name as you start bucking your hips. “Finally,” he mumbles gently biting your thigh and using his mouth to replace his fingers.

“Cal… please.” You moan.

He focuses his tongue and lips over your clit, bringing you to what he determines to be a lackluster orgasm. Not a lot of whining or whimpering, he can’t tell if you’re being stubborn or it really just isn’t as good, and he doesn’t know if that is his fault.

He kisses his way back up to your lips. “You ready for my cock or do you wanna wait a bit?” He murmurs.

“I’m ready.” You assure him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Cal situates himself between your thighs, sitting on his knees. He runs his palms against your thighs and grins at you. “Your arms ok doll?”

“Yeah, handsome, I’m good.” You smile softly at him.

He grabs for the lube, slicking his cock up before teasing it through your folds. He takes it slow to start, pushing in as far as you’ll take him before pulling out and pushing back in, this time getting a bit further.

He watches you bite your lip, enjoying the fullness as he settles all the way in. Cal runs his hands along your thighs and up over your belly, you hum. “I love the way you feel.” You murmur, dopey smile crossing your face.

“Me too, love.” He murmurs, leaning forward to kiss you. He gently starts rocking his hips, building his rhythm. He listens for you, hears your breathing pick up a touch as he moves a bit faster. After a few more minutes and several kisses to your neck, he turns his mouth towards your arms, kisses and little bites along your skin. “Still ok?” He checks.

“It’s actually getting a bit uncomfortable.” You admit.

He stops what he’s doing and sits up. “Do you need it loosened?” Pushing his hands up your skin soothingly, to the ties.

“It’s not too tight, my arms are just burning from being like this.”

He undoes the tie holding your arms up and lets them come down, resting against the pillows above your head. “Better?” He watches you nod, “mmmkay, no hair pulling.” He reminds you and you nod. He leans forward and works back up to his pace, but he can tell something still isn’t quite working for you. “What is it, gorgeous?” He murmurs.

“We just don’t do chest to chest a lot and when we do it’s not for something like this so it feels a bit weird. Do you not feel it?” You ask, getting a bit self conscious about it.

“No baby I do, but I thought you were just being stubborn because you wanna be right.” He smirks.

“Oh I am right, but I’m not trying to ruin your experiment.” You tease.

“Let’s switch this up then.” He grins. He pulls out and pushes you onto your side and settles behind you, putting your back to his chest. His hand skims down your side, grabbing at your knee to spread you. He slips in and works up to his previous pace, he can already tell it feels better for you.

“Calum,” you moan, turning your face toward his. He presses his lips to yours. “Fuck.” You whimper against his mouth.

Cal likes that this is better. You’re definitely into this more. He watches you pull your arms down so you can start rubbing your clit, and he decides to step up his game, pounding into you. “Feels so fuckin good.” He groans in your ear before biting your shoulder.

“Oh fuck… I’m gonna cum.” You whimper. “Please please please.” You beg.

Cals hand replaces yours at your clit, his other hand comes up to massage your tits, and he leans in to groan in your ear, “I knew this stubborn little pussy couldn’t hold out for much longer.”

“Cal…” you moan.

“C’mon… squeeze that cunt around my cock.” He growls.

“Holy fuck…” you whine, letting the orgasm wash over you.

He thrusts a few more times, “milking my cock so good.” He groans, “you love it when I fill you don’t ya baby?” He moans in your ear, pressing his hips hard into yours as he finishes.

You turn your face into his and desperately kiss him, “I do… I really fuckin do.” You moan against his lips.

Cal stays buried in you, wrapping one arm around your waist and using the other to cradle your head, keeping you in the kiss. He lets you catch your breath and then unties your hands, “told you the sex was still good when you couldn’t pull my hair.” He gloats.

“That wasn’t the argument.” You grin, “I said the sex was better, but that was not to insinuate that it wasn’t good in the first place.”

“Fair point.” He hums, kissing your shoulder, “c’mon let’s get cleaned up and we can watch a movie and rest up.”

Cal likes it as you immediately cuddle into him on the couch, he pulls a blanket over the two of you.

“I like our choices for the day.” You hum, turning your head up to kiss along his jaw.

“Oh yeah? What do you want to do tonight then?”

“Depends on how our afternoon goes, I suppose.” You shrug, smiling innocently while pushing your fingers into the waistband of his underwear.

“My little troublemaker.” He murmurs, resting a hand on top of yours, stopping you from going further, “I forget if you wake up for sex youre horny all day.” He chuckles.

“Used to be something you liked about me.” You tease.

“Oh, I love that about you. Just didn't factor it in for today.” He chuckles.

“Hmm.. that’s too bad, because I have this scene in my head of sitting on your face and threading my fingers in your hair… pulling it so you’ll groan into my pussy and lick up into me the way only you can.” You smirk.

“Oh?” He nods, “I’m sure I can accommodate you.” He pinches your ass. “But we’re supposed to be resting.”

“How am I supposed to rest against your half naked bod when all I can think about is how hard I’m gonna get you to fuck me?” You chuckle.

“I don’t know where this doubt comes from that I won’t take care of you but I honestly don’t like it.” He chuckles.

“If you don’t, there are plenty of toys that can.” You wink.

“And I bought us most of those toys… see still taking care of you.” He grins.

You smile, letting out a little laugh, one that Cal loves, “I like you.”

“I like you.” Cal grins, pulling you in to kiss your forehead, holding you tight to his body. He feels you relax into him and within a few minutes you’re asleep. “Knew you’d be tired.” He murmurs.

You sleep for about an hour, and when you get up to go to the bathroom, Cal gets up to make some sandwiches for lunch. He meets you back on the couch and he sits right next to you. “Did you have a nice nap?” He checks, leaning in to kiss your cheek.

“I did.” You grin, “thanks for the sandwich.”

“Anytime love.” He hums, “Ash invited us for dinner. Do you think you’ll wanna?”

“Probably… taco night?” You grin

“I’ll request.” He chuckles.

The two of you keep watching tv until Cal gets up to clean up. He comes back and pulls the blanket off your lap, dropping to his knees in front of you, he pulls your underwear down over your ankles and grins while watching your eyes light up. He kisses over your thighs, helps you pull your t-shirt off.

He leans up, pressing his lips to yours for a kiss before murmuring, “finally, what I really wanted for lunch.” He smirks and works his lips down your body.

You bite your lip and gently grip into his hair, pulling his head up. His tongue briefly lulls out of his mouth. “No one was stopping you.”

“You'd let me use your body till you starved if I let you.” He smirks.

“Mmm, I’d still be happy, but youre the same way baby boy.” You smile coyly.

“I happen to know what I like.” He winks, and in one quick motion pushes your legs wide and angles your hips up.

You adjust your grip in his hair, gently running your fingers through the curls before gripping.

Cal takes his first lick, flattening his tongue against your wet opening and then up over your clit, he uses the tip to tease your clit a bit before fully sucking on your clit.

Cal makes sure to pay very close attention to your body. He notices the way you tug his hair and grip into his skin, grabbing his bicep or forearm, reaching for the back of his neck, pulling him and closer as you get louder for him and arch your back off the couch. He quickly realizes how much he enjoys your touches and your sounds, and he starts thinking you might be right.

“Damn baby, so sweet.” He murmurs, working his fingers in, kissing up over your belly to your mouth. “Think your mostly right though, think you just like to touch.” He admits against your lips.

“I won’t concede on this. I like your hair.”

“I hear you gorgeous.” He promises. “But I’m still gonna get it trimmed. Is that ok with you?”

“Just make sure I can still pull.” You murmur against his mouth. “I like how you conceded before the experiment was over.”

“Well, I’m not done yet.” He promises, giving a quick open mouth kiss before kissing back down your belly. “Actually…” he grabs a pillow from the couch and lays back, “someone wanted to sit on my face.”

“Oh fuck yes.” You moan, jumping up from the couch to get on your knees over Calum’s head. “Baby boy.” You coo, looking down at him as he pulls you down on his face.

Cal’s an enthusiastic eater, it’s one of the things you love about him. And he adores having you over him like this, or spread for him, his tongue curiously exploring every inch of you even though he’s had you like this a thousand times.

Cal is immediately moaning into you, talking about your sweet cunt. You love watching him like this, his hands move between your ass and your hips, wrap around your thighs to pull you closer, his hands push up to your breasts to squeeze and pinch your nipples. As always, him eating your pussy is a full body experience. You cum as soon as Calum starts licking up into you, the tip of his tongue pushing into you instead of just fluttering around your opening and and teasing your clit, he recognizes it immediately, the way you shudder and pull his hair, he loves it, pulling you closer and not letting up, letting you feel every bit of his tongue he can get inside of you.

“Oh god.” You moan, “so good handsome,” tugging his hair between your fingers. You try to push away but Cal��s not having it, and before you know it, “no no no no Cal… I’m gonna..” and before you finish the sentence, you’re squirting on his face. He finally lets you go and he’s grinning so wide as you push away from him, landing on your ass next to him. “I’m so sorry bubba.” You say, slightly embarrassed.

He hums in amusement, grin spread wide across his face as he sits up, one hand immediately reaches for you while the other grabs for the shirt you were wearing so he could wipe his face. His hand pushes up your thigh, and he gently teases your clit for a moment before pulling you in at the waist, “I knew you were getting there.” He murmurs, kissing your cheek. “I love when you do that.”

You pout, “I always feel bad for making a mess.”

“It’s always a mess I’m glad you made.” Cal counters, “why don’t you head to the bedroom and I’ll clean this up. Then… I’m aching to get my cock in you.” He smirks and you stop pouting.

Cal takes a little longer than you expect cleaning up, and you’re laying on your stomach facing the door, humming to yourself, just kind of staring off into space. He walks in and you can see the way his hard on strains against his sweatpants and you reach out for him, licking your lips. He moves closer and even as well as he knows you, he still wasn’t expecting you to pull his pants down and get your mouth on his cock. His fingers thread into your hair as you lick the smeared precum off the tip of his cock.

“Love the way you taste.” You grin up at him.

“You’re not supposed to be doing that.” He coos.

“Can’t help myself.” You wink, rolling over onto your back and hanging your head off the edge of the bed. You push his pants the rest of the way down and pull on the back of his thighs so he’ll step closer. You open your mouth and without thinking, Cal’s doing exactly what you want, putting his cock in your mouth. He waits patiently while you slick him up, tongue lavishing over every part of his hot, hard cock. “C’mon baby boy… you know what to do.” You murmur, gently pinching his thigh.

Calum begins to move his hips, gently at first, allowing you to get used to the feeling of his cock in your throat. His body shudders when he feels you moan around him. And it eggs him on, his mind is blank but he can hear his own labored breathing, he doesn’t remember exactly what is supposed to be happening at the moment, but as he looks over your body, he can tell you’re turned on, and enjoying letting him fuck your throat. Your nipples are hard and you keep opening and closing your legs, trying to find a way to get friction. He uses one hand to trail his fingers up from your belly button, over each of your breasts, letting it stop at your throat. He holds it gently, groaning while feeling his cock as it pushes into the tight space beneath your skin. He pulls his cock back as your face turns red and tears spill from your eyes. You grab his slick cock in your hand and start tugging, moving your mouth to his balls, Cal enjoys it briefly, before realizing, “hey… I’m supposed to be fucking you.” He accuses with a slight chuckle, running his fingers through your hair.

You pull off his balls with a pop, “technically you still are.”

He rolls his eyes and casts a disdainful glance down at you, pulling out of your reach. “You know what I mean.”

“C’mon baby boy.,. Just want a taste.” You whine, rolling back onto your stomach, reaching for him.

“I’ll make sure you get a taste… when it’s dripping out of you.” He decides. He gets his pants off the rest of the way and steps to you, “com’ere little one. Show me your sweet cunt.” You turn your body on the bed, bending your knees and spreading your thighs. Cal kneels on the bed, “I never ever get tired of this sight.” He grins, gently swiping the head of his cock through your slick folds. “Dripping for me, pretty girl.”

He’s barely sunk himself in before you decide he’s taking too long, using the leverage you have from your feet to fuck yourself on his cock. Cal smacks your thighs and you moan out, grabbing your breasts, pulling at your hard nipples, “fuck… yessss…” you moan.

“I’m supposed to be fuckin you, naughty little one.”

“Then fuckin come here and do it, Calum.” You reach out for him.

Calum lowers himself so he’s against your chest, his chains dangling against your skin. “So mean when you want it.” he chuckles, kissing you.

You wrap your arms around him, pulling his hair and his head away from you so you can attach your lips to his neck, while his hips pound against yours. “Harder.” you whimper, digging your fingers into his skin.

Cal grunts in response, but his hips respond in the way you asked.

Each request of “harder” is met with harder thrusts, his hips ultimately hitting yours hard enough to bruise both of you.

“Harder… deeper….” you whimper, tugging on his hair, nails digging into his bicep.

“God dammit.” He groans, knowing you don’t get this way often. He easily lifts you from the bed, surprising you, he bounces you on his cock a couple of times while deciding between the wall and the bedside table. He makes a split second decision and holds you still against him, swiping an arm across the bedside table. It’s not the first time he’s replaced the lamp and it won’t be the last. He sets you on top of it, moving you so your legs are pressed against his chest.

You immediately grip into him, “fuck… that’s perfect,” you whimper and it’s met with a growl from Calum and his grip on your hips tightens. He watches your head fall back against the wall as you mutter breathy confirmations about how good it is around his name and just general utterances of ‘fuck’.

He watches your body, he knows you’re close. He lets one hand trail up your body, cups your tit and pinches your nipple, and then he lets his hand rest gently at your neck. He gently moves his hand up higher and grabs your jaw, pulling you to look at him, “cum” he growls, and you do… loudly, long drawl of his name as you clench so tight around his cock. He pushes your legs to either side and you do your best to wrap them around Calum. You keep your eyes on him while he works on finishing, and he holds an intense gaze with you.

“C’mon baby boy, fill me with cum.” You coo at him. His face falters for a second and a growl leaves his mouth, and with two more thrusts and a grunt, he’s cumming. “Fuck that feels so good.” You murmur. Cal pulls you in against his heaving chest, “see, I told you.” You kiss his chest.

“Well then.” He kisses the top of your head, “you were clearly correct, though I think the data may be skewed, but I’ll allow it.” He murmurs.

You grin at him, and then kiss the middle of his chest, you kiss over to the right and flick your tongue over his nipple and he grabs your hair, pulling your head back. “Mmm mmm baby, four in one day is a lot for you, if we go for five you’ll be cranky at dinner.” He tsks.

“No, I won't!” You protest.

“Yes you will.” He nods at you, “you get cranky when you're tired and i've been working this body all day. Maybe when we get home and I put you to bed.”

“You’re gonna put me to bed?” You challenge.

“Yeah, ‘cause your tired ass won’t do it yourself. So I’ll do it.” He nods, “now,” he gently trails his thumb over your lips, “put this sassy mouth to work and clean my cock.”

You lick the tip of his thumb as he pulls out and away from you. You get on your knees and clean the mixed cum off his cock, squeezing the last bit of his cum out onto your tongue. Without saying a word he reaches down and picks you up under your arms, once you’re on your feet he turns you around and bends you over the bedside table, dropping to his knees to clean the cum from your pussy. He shares it in a kiss before tucking you in for a nap.

“Wait, where are you going?” You murmur, exhaustion taking over.

“I’m gonna shower and go get my hair trimmed. I’ll be back quick, love. You’ll probably still be asleep.” He promises.

“Cal..” you whine.

“Rest you up love, if you’re not your normal sassy self Ash is gonna know something is up.” He chuckles.

“Hopefully it’s you.” You grin sleepily at him.

“Insatiable huh?”

“Sometimes it be like that, Hood.” You reach for his hand, “I love you. Thanks for hearing me out before shaving your head.”

“Well you saved me from the biggest mistake of my life, so I should be thanking you.” He kisses your palm, “love you too baby girl.” He murmurs.

#calum hood smut #5 seconds of summer #5sos smut #calum hood #5 seconds of summer smut #calum and the curls #run your hands through my hair

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siriusmydeer · 4 years

Text

james potter smut alphabet

james potter x fem!reader

a/n: that took from 9:45pm-12:pm then 7am-9:20am THAT TOOK SO LONG OMG

i’m sorry if it’s bad

warning: literally pure sex smut all that jazz

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

that man is the softest dom, literally the DEFINITION. he gives u so many kisses, he praises u, he will shower with you, wash your hair, gives u his clothes LITERALLY THE BEST.

“mhm jamie, too tired” you murmur. your body melting into the mattress as you speak, all worn down. “but, love.” he pushes your hair behind your ears, pulling you up. “gotta get you all nice and clean f’me.”

he pulls you up, his calloused hands gripping onto your thighs, bringing you into the bathroom. the shower already nice and warm ready for the both of you. he’s holding you under the warm water to the point where you might collapse if it wasn’t for his grip.

“you did good love, so so good all f’me.” he says sponging kisses on your forehead, both of his hands on your lower back holding you.

“i love you, my sweets.”

“you’re the only one f’me.”

you were so tired, so vulnerable just allowing james to take care of you because that’s all he wanted to do.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

his biceps, simple. he does A LOT of quidditch training to get to his strength. he also takes pride in being able to just fuck you against the lockers from his strength. it also inflates his ego when he catches you staring at his biceps. or when he’s taking you underneath him your gripping his biceps like your life depended on it.

“james- fuck.” you moaned into his neck, his lips sucking dark hues into your collar bones and his left forearm resting right beside your head and his other gripping around your waist.

he started going slower, but deeper. he hit a new angle inside of you almost hitting your cervix. you let out a strangled moan gripping his bicep almost digging your nails into the flesh.

his head dipping out from beneath your neck to slot your plush reddened lips with his.

that man and you’re THIGHS. he’s a thigh man don’t tell me other wise. whether ur in your school skirt, jeans, leggings, underwear ;) his legs AND HANDS always divert to the soft plush skin of your thigh.

your ankles insticntly went to lock around james’ head, he had been in between your thighs for hours on end without a stop.

“james- i’m gonna cum.” you breathed out in a moan. his hands squeezing at the flesh on your thigh, they were reddened and begging to lightly bruise from him doing those similar actions for the last hour and a half.

“cum darling, cum for me.”

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

so, esentially speaking theres wizard potions to block out pregnancy. so he would be CUMMING INSIDE OF U. not nessesarily a breeding kink but he likes when your full and stuffed with his cum. he also loves to cum on your chest or thighs because he likes the contrast to your skin and he think it makes you so utterly pretty.

the wave of euphoria and stars dancing across your vision had almost come to an end as your boyfriends thrust got sloppy and rigid.

“pretty girl where do you want it, where do you want my cum?” he panted to you, close to his release.

“i want you to cum inside me jamie, please. fill me up.” you let out a small moan at his constant friction when you felt ropes of seed shoot into you, he rode out his orgasam then pulled out. you clenched around nothing as he came face to you cunt.

he pushed his fingers into you, a small moan leaving your mouth as you made eye contact with him.

“gotta keep you all nice and full, yeah?”

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

there’s nothing he would want more than a lap dance. you in you your lingerie you had just bought giving him a little show after one of a quidditch wins.

“mhm, sit f’me.” you whispered into his ear, placing him to hit at the end of his four poster bed.

“and what have you got going on darling? a suprise?” he said, leaning against his two hands watching you pry at your tie and slip it off.

slowly unbuttoning your school blouse, flinging it on the floor. he lets out a small groan at the sight of you almost naked in your skirt. you walk towards him shuffling onto his lap.

“you did win after all, and winners get rewards.” you said circling your hips onto his clothed cock .

“fuck... the things you do to me.” he groaned into your ear as you continued.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

i’m gonna be honest i don’t think that much when you first get together. i mean there’s been ladies he’s a marauder but he’s only ever wanted to you so i feel like he just gets to know your body really well and he sort of just has instincts. like during your first time there’s those little awkward moments but you both make it run all good and smoothly

“s’gonna hurt y/n.” he murmured to you, situating himself in between your legs as you lock your ankles behind his back.

“i know, but i want this. i want you. i need you inside me.” you whisper in desperation for him, needing to feel him.

“you ready?”

“mhm, please.”

he slowly started to slide into you, when you let out your first hiss of discomfort, he slotted his fingers between yours and slightly halted his movements.

“keep going jamie.” you encouraged

he slid his way into your cunt until he was fully in.

“move please, i need to feel you.” he did his first pulse, light movements when you let an involuntary moan escape the threshold of your lips.

“mhm- jamie, keep going.”

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

missionary bc he just wants to see your beautiful face, against the quidditch lockers so he can just hold you against them or doggy bc he likes to choke you or pull you up so he can see your back arch for him.

you heard the bang of metal as james took you against the quidditch lockers and you tried to muffle your moans against his lips.

“gotta- gotta be quiet love. wouldn’t want anyone to know what we’re doing in here.” he panted into you ear. he continued as he angled your leg higher, hitting you g-spot as he continued his pace.

“james fuck- so good. so fucking good.”

“you look so fucking beautiful like this y/n.”

“j-james i- i cant hold on much longer. s’too much.” you moaned and whimpered from the back of your throat.

“pretty girl cum for me.”

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

there’s 2 kinds of sex with james, giggly super soft lovie sex. not necessarily making jokes but just giggling because he just tickled your side my accident or accidentally bumping noses. or there’s big dom daddy james where it’s very PASSIONATE but he’s very dominate.

his hand ran down the depth of your curves, a little giggle bubbling through your throat. he looked at you with a cocked brow, repeating his action as his chin rested on your stomach a small smirk on his lips.

you giggled again, your hand running through his hair. you brought his face to your lips as your finger tips danced under his jaw.

he giggled at your actions as well, also seemingly ticklish under his neck.

“you’re so distracting james potter.” you groaned as he continued to pulse through you while giggling at you.

“i’m distractingly beautiful y/n y/l/n”

“quite insuffer- fuck!” you were caught off with a moan as his fingertips danced on your clit. stimulating you.

“hmmm darling, cat got your tongue?”

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

so james has that thick mangle of tresses on his head, so i feel like he’s quite cleanly shaven, maybe just a bit of a stubble? but i feel like he would shave not only to make it more comfortable for him but for you seemingly easier and more comfortable.

i don’t think he would care if you were shaved or not, as long as you were comfortable your natural body hair is not stopping him from going down on your or having sex with you.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

ROMANCE KING ILL SAY IT ONCE ILL SAY IT TWICE ILL SAY IT THREE TIMES IF HE COULD EVERYTIME HE WOULD SPREAD ROSE PETALS AND CANDLES AND LIGHT FIRE PLACES AND E V E R Y T H I N G. during the whole thing your hands would e interlocked with his, chests pressed against eachother, eye contact, soft touches, soft kisses and mumbles of praise like whew.

“jamie- what’s this?” you asked, your eyes scanning around the room with floating candles and rose petals on the floor.

“well i figured i’d make it special, i dunno.” he murmured shoving his hands in his pockets. you turned towards him with a grin your face.

you grasped his face between your palms lightly kissing his lips before speaking.

“a real sap you are potter, my sap.”

“correct, 10 points go y/h.”

“thanks professor potter.” you teased before leaning in to kiss his lips again.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

i feel like he would A LOT and you would catch him A LOT. somwtimes u aren’t always there but u know what is there, a picture of you and his hands and he makes due when he needs too. but normally he just goes to you because he would rather anyways but sometimes there are bigger priorities then his random hard ons.

“y/n- fuck me...” he moaned, his hand pumping his cock in one hand and the other gripping his bed post, knuckles turning a shade of white.

his only thought being the way you looked under him, on top of him, infront of him, you’re beautiful beautiful body. you were currently occupied helping mcgonagall with extra transfiguration while james was in need... of you.

you had finished early, waltzing into james’ room like normal except you were met with a familiar sight of james pumping his cock in his hand while his head was slightly leant back and his jaw was slack.

you cleared your throat, crossing your arms and a smirk on your lips with an eyebrow raise. “couldnt wait atleast an hour could you?” you teased, walking closer.

“well now that your here, could you lend a hand?”

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

james has a daddy kink😐 literally that’s one of his most prominent kinks. i mean your his angel, his darling girl he would do anything for you i mean he just wants to make you happy. and i mean you calling him daddy while withering under him just makes him 😁

“daddy... please.” you begged him.

“ive been a good girl. i promise!” you were almost yelling at him, wanting him to understand.

“sweetheart we’re you a good girl when flirting with sirius?” his face got seemingly close to yours, asking you the question while raising one of his eyebrows.

“no daddy.” you said, embarassed. you had been waiting for james attention all night long but instead he was stuck all up in detention for a prank against snape.

and then when he finally arrived to the common room he barely spared you a word, so you did what you had to do to grab his attention and... it worked.

“so tell me baby, whyd you break the rules?”

“i just wanted your attention daddy! i just wanted you!”

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

i think his fave would be the dorms in the bed. but the prefects bath is a very close second. and he surely doesn’t mind the common room or broom closets that are very open to public where you both could get caught in comprising positions.

you heard the slosh of the water beside you, as you moved your hips onto james’ submerged underneath the prefects bath water as u straddled him.

his hands came to steady your hips as your buried your head in his neck, and continuously grinding your cunt onto james’ dick.

“fuck angel... just like that.” he moaned while tightening his grip

“f-fuck jamie-“ you whimpered in his ear, clawing at his shoulders.

“you’re doing amazing pretty girl, keep doing- fuck- you feel so good around me.” he praised you while groaning.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

SO JAMES LOVES HAVING HIS HAIR PULLED IN BED; WHEN HES GOING DOWN ON YOU, IN MISSIONAIRY, WHEN YOUR RIDING HIM JUST ALL THE TIME SO WHEN U PLAY WITH THAT MANZ HAIR HE COULD THROW YOU OVER IN SECONDS AND GET U ON THAT BED.

“so fucking tired.” james muttered walking into the common room after a two hour detention with filch.

he saw your body displayed on the vermillion couch, very opening that his body could just rest on yours while you were in a conversation with remus and sirius.

he quietly sprawled his head on your lap, his arms arranging around your waist as he gor comfortable.

you mindlessly started caressing his hair, and pulling on the tuffs lovingly, that was until you felt a hard pressure pressing against your calf that you remembered james’ small dirty secret.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

i don’t feel like he would be into hurting you? like slapping, knife kinks, seeing you hurt i don’t think he would find that arousing he would more just be concerned because he doesn’t like to see your hurting. i think he would still like spankings but i don’t think he would slap you in the face or anything.

“so y/n, d’you think you’d try it?” sirius asked you, while your eyes paid more attention on the potions text book infront of you.

“try what?” you muttered, clearly disinterested in the conversation.

“knives in bed.”

you brought your head up to look at him, cocking an eyebrow confused at his question.

“um, probably not. i don’t know that’s an odd question pads.” you muttered turning your attention back to your potions book.

“but wouldnt that like... hurt her?” you heard james say in a concerned and confused tone to sirius.

“could if you wanted too, but it’s more of the thrill.” sirius replied to james.

“no, i don’t think i want the ‘thrill’ m’good, thanks.” he agitatedly replied to sirius and looked at his own book.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

i feel like he would like both equally but he’s more of a giver at heart. it’s kind of whatever happens in the moment because when your thighs are wrapped around his head it’s like heaven but your pretty lips wrapped around his cock? also heaven.

your hands braced his thighs as your plunged your mouth deeper onto his girth, trying to take him all in while breathing for your knows.

“you take my cock so well pretty girl.” he praises to you, his hand in a makeshift pony tail holding your hair away from your face.

you went back to his tip, kissing and swirling your tongue around trying to catch your breath before pushing your mouth onto him keeping a fast past.

“i’m gonna cum-“ he groaned and his own release shooting ropes of cum down youve throat cut him off.

he slowly rid out his high as you continue to suck and then swirled your tongue around the tip and opening your mouth to show that you had swallowed his release.

“good girl.”

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

i feel like he changes pace a lot? sometimes it’s really fast, and deep but sometimes very slow and passionate and deep and loving. he’s a man of many talents and whatever the mood is he can keep that pace.

his hand had one firm grasp on your waist as he pounded you from behind and the other gripped the root of your hair.

“you gonna be a messy little girl?” he taunted you through gritted teeth

“y-yes.” you muttered through moans.

he had just lost a quidditch match to slytherin and you offered a solution.

something nice and rough.

and that’s exactly what the both of you wanted.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

i feel like they would happen from time to time but i feel like he would be more into proper sex because you are literally his only priority like getting you off is all he cares about so maybe there’s a quick a few times but definitely not all the time.

“shh if you’re not quiet someone’s going to walk walk by and hear.” james taunted you, your legs wrapped around his waist and your head dug into his neck trying to hold back your moans.

“james- i- i cant s’too much, too much.” you said while biting your lip, unable to see much do you the darkness of the broom closet.

“well sweet girl that’s what happens when you get needy during school hm? is my pretty little slut gonna cum all over my cock while anyone could walk in?” he began to mock you.

“mhm- yes.” your lip becoming dry and chapped from all the incessant biting, “please can i cum?”

“go on, cum y/n.”

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

i feel as long as it wasn’t hurting you or it ended up with you or him like getting with other people he would try it?

“are you sure, m’scared i might hurt you.” james murmured while tying your hands up to the bed post.

“m’fine, promise.” you assured him, that night you were trying something new. both of you had previously talked about ties and bondage and you wanted to try it once to see if you’d both like it.

you pulled on the ropes a bit making sure they weren’t cutting off the circulation of your wrists.

“see? m’good jamie.”

“ok but if something happens tell me, i don’t want you to hold back because i might be enjoying it you’re not.”

“james i promise.”

“i love you, y/n.”

“i love you too.”

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

that man happens to be a QUIDDITCH PRODIGY. HE IS A SEEKER. WHICH MEANS HE CAN LAST AWHILE. i believe that he would stop when you wanted to stop, like he could fuck you all night if he wanted too.

“one more darling, one more f’me.” his voice hoarse from the previous three rounds.

he wanted to know if you could go any more, ready to stop at any time.

“one more?” you said breathily to him.

“just one.”

“yes daddy, i want you, please.” you plead to your bespectacled boyfriend, you began clenching around nothing feeling empty again.

“mhm please, please i want you.”

“alright darling, no need to fret. m’right here.” he assured.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

i think he’s more like “why would you need those when you have me.” type of guy. like i don’t feel like he would have them even for punishments he would rather do it himself, even because he would feel closer to you like he’d rather fuck and tease you then silicone (bruh 😭)

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

i feel like you would do more of the teasing because he would automatically become obdient to you. if he was teasing it wouldn’t be for long because he would fuck himself from watching you squirm and tease you.

his palm rested on the inside of your thigh, tracing little shapes as goosebumps rose onto your skin.

“nervous, darling?” he teased in your ear while you were trying to converse with peter about arithmancy homework during dinner at the great hall.

“james. stop. teasing.” you said through gritted teeth, your legs squirming at his fingers grazing your panties.

“but you’re so beautiful like this, about to make a mess during dinner? think that’s polite y/n?” he mocked you, he loved that he had that effect on you.

you turned towards his face that was almost touching the shell of your ear.

“if you keep doing this i won’t fuck you for a month.” you whispered, venom like words leaving your throat.

his sapphire eyes quickly widened as he moved his hand by the cap of your knee. you smirked as he was almost frantic by your words.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

he wants the whole hogwarts castle to know that you’re his so he is loud. he groans, he moans, he dirty talks, he moans your name like he is EXTRA with it. sometimes you almost have to shush him but he’s not having any of that.

“james, hush! you’re going to get all the prefrecfs scrambling around the room if you’re to loud!” you said covering his mouth, feeling him smirk against your palm.

“but darling, that’s the whole point. don’t you want everyone to know who you belong to?” you flushed and pulled your hand away from his face.

“that’s what i thought love.”

“you know sirius will never let us live this down, bet he can hear from the common room.”

“then let’s give him a show, shall we?”

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

cockwarming. if you’re being a brat that’s one of the ways he’s gonna punish you, while he’s working on a prank and his arm is just around your waist to make you stop squirming.

“if you’re going to be a brat angel, i’m gonna start treating you like one.” he murmured to your squirming figure as he tried to figure out a new prank on snape.

you were sat on top of his cock, clenching and squirming almost begging for him to touch you.

“jamie please i need you, please, please please.” you begged him, yet no avail. a determined look on his face as he was scribbling on the parchment.

he swatted your bum, you jolted a bit at the sudden friction of his hand and began to whine.

he looked at you, a dark look in his eyes which shut you up immediately because you knew what that look meant.

“hmm, so you can listen to the rules? good girl.”

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

that man is big and thick and he KNOWS HE IS. i’d say 8inches hard?

you rested your bum on to your calves before scooching up to this belt buckle as he was standing, holding a faux-ponytail of your hair between his calloused fingers.

“are you sure, y/n? you don’t have to if you don’t want too.” he looked down at you, puling your eyes to look in his sapphire ones.

“m’sure james.” you assured him, undoing the buckle and swiftly pulling down his boxers and uniform pants at the same time.

his shirt discarded on the floor earlier, his dick slapping his clenched stomach. he was already hard from your teasing and grinding earlier.

your eyes widened at his size, nervous how you would fit it all in your mouth.

“what’s wrong darling?” he started to get concerned at your frozen state.

“nothing.. y-your just, so big.” you said looking at his cock and hearing a chuckle in the backround.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

i feel like it’s pretty high but it’s always depending on you, he would rather die than force you to do anything if you weren’t feeling it or just didn’t want too. so if you’re up for anything than so is he.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

if it’s during the day i don’t think he would get that tired, but if it was during the night and he just finished aftercare i feel like you would lay on his chest if he hadn’t worked you hard enough and you guys would just talk about anthing. but if you guys did a lot of rounds and you were on the verge of slumber he would just kiss your hairline and praise you as you fell asleep.

“my good girl.” he said while kissing your forehead. “i love you so so much, you’re the only one for me.” his hand dragging against the arch of your back, the only thing seperating him from your skin was the shirt he put on you.

“my sweets, does everything for me. how could i have gotten so lucky.” he whispered on the shell of your ear.

“hmm, jamie been asking myself the same thing.” you murmured, sleep almost pulling you under but not enough for you to reply to him.

“goodnight james. i love you.”

“i love you more, my sweets.”

taglist: @mushroomfleur @fathermarty @kittykylax @famdomhideout @90steaology

if you’re username is crossed out that means the blog name is incorrect and you need to resubmit your form form my taglist!

#james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #james & peter & remus & sirius #james potter x oc #james potter x you #james potter #james potter x y/n #james potter one shot #james potter smut #james potter supremacy #james potter series #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter smut #harry potter

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yuujism · 4 years

Text

ryomen sukuna - relationship headcanons pt. 2

Part 1 (sfw)

REQUEST @shoganaiiii: Hello!! I love reading ur works 😊 I was wondering if you can make a part 2 of the sukuna x sweet reader relationship headcannon centering n*fw?? 👀 how would sukuna treat her when they’re getting intimate?? 🤔 thank you! 🥺

| PAIRINGS: ryōmen sukuna x sweet fem!reader

| WARNINGS: explicit language, bulging, size difference, cuminflation rough, pure filth tbh kinda cute but filth, unprotected (be safe), grammar errors

| WORD COUNT: 1,110

A/N: well damn i kinda went off with this one and for what?? sorry for takng this long )): anyway sukuna really awakening the deepest nastiest things inside me with this one anyway!!! i hope you enjoy <3

• So remember how I said Sukuna loves anything you do to him

• This curse of a man secretly loves when your small hands grab his face and you brought him close to you for a sweet kiss

• It ignited a fire in his heart that went off a long time ago

• So when he smirked against your lips between the kiss, wide hands reaching your hips, you knew he was in that mood

• Sukuna loved the way your fragile body submitted to him instantly without any doubt

• He would totally make you sit on his lap during these make out sessions

• Sukuna’s big hands would grip your hips as if his life depended on it, pushing you down against his already hard cock

• He chuckled deeply at your reaction of pleasure and embarrassment

• If there was something he loved more than making you embarrassed, it was covering your small body in marks

• Finger bruises, hickeys, bite marks, you name it.

• You loved it and he knew it

• Cheeks flushed pink from the ministrations of his cock rubbing against your clothed pussy and soft hands pressed against his bare chest for support

• You were perfect to him

• “My perfect little slut” Sukuna would say, moving one hand from your hips to caress the side of your face without ever stopping your movements

• He just couldn’t help the way his heart reacted when your big pleading eyes connected with his

• Your mouth falling open in a small whine when Sukuna wrapped his hand around your neck, the size difference being noticeable

• You were just so compliant and responsive to him

• Always wanting to satisfy him without expecting anything in return

• You were just so caring and loving to him.

• How could he not love-

• Oh.

• What was he saying.

• Sukuna decided to ignore that slip up

• Still grabbing you by the neck, Sukuna changed positions, manhandling you to lay on top of the bed

• A sly smirk adorned his face before he ripped your dress open, leaving you in nothing but your underwear

• Your heart almost stopped in anticipation, not caring about clothes gone to waste

• Because Sukuna was going to ruin you in every good way possible

• He wouldn’t let you form a word at all when he was fucking your pussy with his fingers, abusing that sweet spot repeatedly until he saw tears in your eyes

• Sukuna was really into making you cry from pleasure and babble non-sense

• He loved when you smiled at him and filled his face with short kisses

• But, god, he loved you stupid and lost on his cock even more

• So when you were prepped and ready to take him, you knew you were close to your breaking point

• Even if sukuna loved seeing your face, he would sometimes position you on all fours, making you grab the headboard of the bed for support you surely will need

• He just couldn’t handle the feeling of his heart bursting inside his chest every time he saw you come undone

• And today was one of those times

• “This is what you get for teasing me, little human”

• And he would enter you from behind, watching as his cock disappeared inside you inch by inch as your small body tried to handle it

• You always took him so nicely, wrapping yourself around him and squeezing him so tight it was almost painful

• You would let out the prettiest of moans, no longer holding in the tears from the overstimulation that was taking over you

• And Sukuna was well aware of this and would take advantage of it

• It seems like he actually wanted you to pass out by the way he grabbed you by your hair and pulled you up

• Chest pressed against your back, hips slamming against your ass in a quick deep pace

• You could feel him breathing down your neck and you knew Sukuna had that smirk plastered on his face

• The smirk that meant he was going to break you over and over again

• “Tightest cunt I’ve ever fucked” He would laugh mockingly at your sobs as his cock kept abusing your cunny merciless, hand leaving your hair as it wrapped around your neck once again

• By this point, your mind started going blank by the tightening grip pressing the sides of your throat along the feeling of the tip of his cock hitting your womb constantly

• Sukuna would take notice of this. He always did

• “Look at you now” His free hand would place over your stomach, pressing it down and lips brushing behind your ear “I can feel myself right here”

• And even if you were drooling and babbling all over his hand now, Sukuna knew you were embarrassed by the way your body could barely take his whole cock

• And that drove Sukuna crazy as well

• He usually had good stamina and could last a long time without cumming

• But the need to fill your womb up to the brim was stronger than ruining you even more

• “You’re gonna cream all over my cock as I fill you up, baby. No need for me to touch you, just take every drop”

• Your eyes widen in surprise, not because you didn’t want it but because this was new

• And as he let your body fall down limp, head pressed down against the mattress as he kept abusing your pussy

• You clenched your walls around Sukuna, gaining a loud groan from him and a smack in your left ass cheek

• “Gonna fill you up so good, my little slut. You will be leaking for days and everyone will know you are fucking a curse like me. Take it all”

• His hips slammed harder and sloppier against your behind, coming to a stop and letting out an animalistic growl

• His cum felt hot and thick inside you

• Sukuna’s head fell to the back of your shoulder as his fangs harshly bit down on your flesh as you kept milking his cock with your clenching walls

• And maybe it was the way the pain mixed perfectly with pleasure

• Or the way you could feel your stomach bulging from all the cum he was pushing into you

• But you came untouched just like he ordered, tears on your cheeks as you started seeing white

• Coating his cock with your juices and mixing with his own seed, feeling it dribble down your lips and landing on the mattress as you sobbed in pleasure

• Sukuna just laughs at the fact you’re so lost because of him

• Just like it should be from now on.

• “You will always be mine, Y/N. You’re never getting away from me.”

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna smut #jujutsu kaisen writing #jjk smut

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thelittlepoetprincess · 3 years

Text

ᴘᴏɪꜱᴏɴᴏᴜꜱ ʟᴏᴠᴇ [Dabi x Reader]

Author's Note: I personally am not a fan of Lizard king here but go off. This took a long ass time to write not to mention proofread and edit. No idea if I'm making another part to this. Also, a lot of this is therapy wagon material. If you want to be tagged in these just say so.

Warnings: Fluff for a bit, Implied depression, mild spoilers, light mental manipulation, degrading, power play, oral sex(F receiving), hate sex, death mentions, arson, and physical abuse.

Summary: You chose your job over Dabi, and then severely regret it once he survives.

The numbness of grief was overwhelming, even more so when the one you were grieving was your lover. You settled onto the sofa, watching the news drone on about the recent death of Villian Dabi, confirmed now to be Touya Todoroki. You'd turn off the TV and lie on your back, not needing the extraneous details of his death. After all, you killed him.

The memory of it haunted you like ghosts dancing in your memories: the heated warmth of his palms that threatened to burn you but never did, the way he always wore worn down leather or rough worn down jackets, everything about him attracted you and only made his death hit you harder.

You were a lesser-known hero with a restoration quirk, able to numb large areas and heal minor wounds while still using it in large quantities. You'd met Dabi while out on a mission to recover a kidnapped hero, and you couldn't keep your hands off his wounds. Not like he'd let you after he felt your gentle touch ease his pain for once.

Six months, it only took six months for the bad boy to entangle himself into your life. He snuck into your old apartment all the time, made you comfortable, and he'd break down in front of you. He was a surprisingly affectionate lover, despite his many flaws. You'd feel something in your throw blanket, shaking it loose to find the leather jacket he always wore.

The navy blue leather faded slightly and burnt in specific areas where he couldn't control his flames.

You felt the fresh hot tears welling up behind your eyes as you clutched the jacket to your chest. It was much larger than you since Dabi was slightly taller, so your face nuzzled into where his neck would be. It still smelled of cigarettes and burnt flesh, the scent you grew to love so much.

You took a deep inhale, the tears starting to flow as you replayed your shared memories, unable to help the grief overwhelming you. Suddenly, you had no energy nor will to do anything except sleep, even moving was deemed too much to handle. The scent of your boyfriend lulled you to sleep, though it'd be one of the last times it'd do so.

Dabi wrapped his hands around your waist before hoisting you high in the air while the wind blew at your hair in the flowy white lace dress you wore. The undetailed field of wildflowers went on far beyond your sight as he twirled you around before falling on his back with you. You'd both be laughing in the hazy daze of love before sharing a loving kiss as the gentle grass blades tickled your skin.

You felt a leathery hand touch the skin of your cheek, the thick smell of cigarette smoke tickling your nose and making you sneeze before you gently smacked away the hand. You hear a deep, raspy chuckle before the person mysteriously pulls the coat on you like a blanket.

"Little hero, do you love me?" You'd mumble a yes subconsciously, something saddeningly familiar about whoever it was looming over your sleeping form. "Ha, cute. . ." You heard something about leaving and the door shut with a click, leaving you to sleep once again.

Your peaceful sleep is dreadfully short as your friends came in, yanking you from the grasp of sleep with their tumultuous noise.

You quickly hid the jacket, sleepily rubbing at your eyes as they opened your curtains and turned on the TV. It droned on about the agency you worked at and fire. However, you didn't have the energy nor will to care since you planned on quitting anyway.

They droned on about how you'd slept for two days straight and needed to get out, and you agreed. Maybe it would take your mind off of Dabi and the arsenic incident, also the five missed calls from your agency from two days ago. You'd shower and change, pulling your hair back out of your face for the first time for days.

The curls were dry against your fingers so you oiled your hands and massaged them into the brown mass you called hair, plucking it out to its full shape. You pulled on the black and blue dress, noticing how the dress hugged your hips a bit then flowed out to your mid-thigh. Perhaps you've gained a bit of weight these past 2 months.

Tired bags were under your eyes from sleeping for so long. After some light makeup, you left with them to the carnival.

Lights illuminated the dark navy blue sky as you got dragged about, the fun temporarily blinding you from the sadness overwhelming you. They led you into the Maze of Mirrors, their bodies contorting and bending around you confusedly while you searched for them until they disappeared. Their goofy laughter faded into an eerie silence with only your echoing footsteps left to fill the silence. You froze as you smelled a familiar scent: burnt flesh and cigarette smoke.

His chuckles were all around you as you saw the flashes of black and navy blue in the mirrors before he was suddenly standing in front of you.

He was pissed, you knew that snarky glare anywhere. It made you nervous as he closed the distance between the two of you without speaking a word until he backed you against the cold glass. He gently pressed himself against you, giving you no real way to escape him with his arms on both sides of your head. "Dabi-" "Shh, I don't wanna hear it. At least not here, too many people. They're already looking for me since I disappeared. We aren't safe, come on." He didn't ask as he hoisted you over his shoulders to carry you out the back exit.

He seemed gentle while he carried you, he wasn't rough at all. The heat you felt radiating from his palms as he held said otherwise as you worriedly fretted about him burning a hole in your clothes. Though you felt some relief knowing he wasn't dead: he was your love after all. You knew what was coming to you for feeding him arsenic wasn't going to be a gentle, loving reunion of star-crossed lovers. Dabi wasn't that kind of guy.

He made it back to your new apartment after knocking out the security guard at the gate and threw you onto the bed. He'd seemed to get angrier as he got closer to your apartment. Your hair messily fell around your face to make a curly halo around it. He was on top of you before you could attempt to sit up, his warm breath huffing down the side of your neck.

"Now what the fuck were you thinking, huh? An arsenic cupcake? You really wanna get rid of me that badly you snake." He seethed, and you felt the familiar feeling of your wrists being burnt by his flames. You cry out in pain, squirming under his grip with tears in your eyes.

"Oh you're crying, now you're crying. How do you think I felt getting sick and finding out my girlfriend poisoned me?" He'd growl out, as you stopped squirming and sucked it up. He was right, you deserved this. You tried to kill him, and all he'd done was be beside you and attempt to be somewhat of a lover to you. You looked up to him, his blue eyes lacking any gentleness or affection. It was hate, resentment, and importantly: lust.

That's when it hit you that you were a stress reliever for him. Everything that he kept pent up he always let it out on you, and for about a month now he hasn't had it. You'd reach out, gently tracing your fingers along his scars using your quirk to calm him and watch his eyes soften as he quite literally melted under your touch. He'd land on top of you, caging you underneath him with his arms, he exhaled a strained snarl before snatching your hands from his skin.

You couldn't help wincing once you felt the familiar burning sensation of Dabi's quirk in action yet again as the blue flames licked against your skin, at least it wasn't a third-degree this time.

"It was you, wasn't it? My agency, they called then it went up in flames." He didn't answer but you knew the answer by the way he buried into the side of your neck. He always did that when you accused him and he was guilty. You'd chuckle to yourself but yelp when you felt his teeth against the soft skin of your neck, suckling your skin.

You'd squirm as a familiar heat settled itself in the pit of your stomach. He huffed as he finally moved away from the purple bruise he left on your skin. His lips trailed down until he reached your exposed collarbone, chuckling before tracing his hands against your caramel skin sending chills down your spine. He'd kiss, lovingly at that, along the caramel curve of your breasts.

He'd yank you to the edge of the bed, moving between your legs with a focused look in his glimmering eyes. "Dabi, are you mad at me?" He'd chuckle before you'd feel a burn against your thighs while sinking his teeth into the soft plushness of your inner thigh. "Oh darling, I'm fucking furious." The sweet name rolled off his tongue, making you quiver when paired with his teasing licks over your soaked panties.

He paid no attention to your face, his main focus being on the slickness accumulating from your dripping hole. His hands traced up over the stretch marks gently decorating your skin so beautifully before burning off the panties, his tongue grazing the soaked slit before sliding his tongue up to your neglected clit. His mouth was warm and wet against your sensitive bud, making it grow under his expert tongue his suckling sent waves of pleasure coursing through your entire body, and core. The entire room felt hot, and it wasn't helping wherever his hands traced left heated burn trails. You'd run your fingers into hair, yanking it to where his tongue pressed against your hole. "Dabi, please I want it. . ."

"Shut it, I'm still pissed at you." He'd yank your arms away again, pressing his tongue into your hole. Your flavor flooded his tongue, making him lick and devour you hungrily. Your eyes rolled back, your hips subconsciously bucking against his tongue as it buried into your wet hole. Ecstasy, that's all you could describe the feeling at this moment. The waves of heat that swallowed you and threatened to keep you at this moment while your climax built up in that tight ball. You panted like a bitch in heat, your legs trembling as your fingers intertwined in his black hair. "Dabi, I'm. . . .I'm-!"

"Shut up, loud-ass slut. Come if you wanna come so bad!"

He'd say before continuing to devour you, his tongue digging into your spot just enough to send you tottering over the edge in waves of heat. You'd throw your head back, sending your curls flying wildly behind you as you rode out your orgasm and Dabi's face. Your legs closed around his head like a vice, keeping his tongue in your hole while he drank you greedily. He moaned into your nether lips, finally able to pull away with an exasperated breath.

His lips and chin were a mess of your nectar and saliva, but a smirk was on his face now. He'd notice his jacket hidden poorly, but laugh as he moved to take it and pull it on. He'd once again hoist you over his shoulder, humming as he slid his fingers along the walls setting them ablaze. "Dabi-?! What are you doing?! My apartment!" "I let you have too much freedom last time, but don't worry. I'll make it so that I'm the only one you can lean on. Then you'll never leave again."

He'd laugh as he carried you away, ignoring your cries and pleas while the building went up in flames along with everything you'd known up until now. His sick, twisted laughter filled your ears before you felt a hard force against your head, the inky blackness flooding your senses and knocking you out.

#bnha dabi #mha dabi #dabi lemon #Dabi #dabi smut #dabi my hero academia #bnha #dabi x reader #dabi fluff

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classic80sand90smovieloves2 · 4 years

Text

NSFW Headcanons~ Spike

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- Spike hasn’t had a ton of different partners over the; many, years but he’s explored and done a lot with the few that he’s had.

- If we’re being entirely honest here; you and spike are most likely frenemies with benefits before you’re dating. He would rather have you in some way than have you completely reject and shut him out. Yeah, it’s torment but it temporarily satisfies his need for your companionship.

- Lets hope that you have a strong will because you won’t be able to leave his bed if you don’t. He’s mastered the art of seduction and has a high sex drive; you won’t stand a chance against him, not that you’ll want to half the time.

- Tear his shirt open, please. Having you want him so badly pushes all of his lingering anxieties about you not loving him out of the window. Pull him into a kiss, run your hands all over him, tell him; or show him, how badly you want him; it helps him fully realize that your relationship isn’t one sided.

- He genuinely does actually prefer going down on you but he can’t deny that he loves having you give him a blow/handjob. Slipping your hand down to palm at his jeans is an easy way to turn him on.

- If you’re giving him head then there’s two sides of him. 1) a teeth clenching, hair pulling, aggressive boy and 2) a soft, hair stroking, whispering praises boy.

- He does that ridiculously attractive fuckboy thing where he pushes you up against a wall and slides his hands into your pants or up your skirt, looking straight into your eyes and not letting you look away from him.

- He loves pleasuring you, especially when he can get something in return though your moans are oftentimes enough of a reward for him.

- If you want him on his knees then you’re going to have to put him there yourself; at least the first few times. Although, if he wants it bad enough, he’ll fall at your feet all on his own.

- Most of the time, the two of you usually wind up rolling around the sheets and taking turns fighting for dominance. He deeply loves being both submissive and dominant though he’s less willing to admit that he likes having you take control, especially when you first start sleeping with each other.

- Desperate, passionate, full of heat. He’s versatile, switching from rough to gentle and loving at the drop of a hat, but there’s one thing that always remains the same and that’s how much intensity is involved when the two of you are beneath the sheets. He’s a man starved and you’re a full course meal laid out in front of him.

- Lets talk about the first time you ever slept with him. When the two of you finally gave in to all of that undeniable tension and let both your walls fall down around you. You should have seen him when he finally entered you for the first time, practically losing all the strength in his body and looking at you like you were the entire goddamn world. There’s no turning back after that.

- Everything about you drives him crazy but the way you smell is like a drug to him. Sometimes he’ll just keep his face pressed against your skin, taking in the scent of your perfume, the shampoo you use, your arousal. It’s enough to make him want to take you until there’s nothing left for you to give.

- Taking turns pinning each other down. All he really needs is his hands but you might want to get yourself a pair of handcuffs.

- Hickeys, bruises, bitemarks. He likes when you’re rough with him, he likes when you make it hurt.

- God, does he love when he can feel his back all torn up from your nails. The sight and feel of those angry red marks are always a delicious reminder of what you did together and he never gets tired of them.

- Choke him, just do it. Like I said, he likes it rough and if you do to, then he’ll gladly do it back.

- You might as well gag him while you’re at it as well. I suggest some type of fabric, he likes it better than anything else.

- If you’re mortal, than he’s a bit concerned with hurting you though if that’s what you want, who is he to deny you that pleasure? He’ll just make sure he’s being carefully violent.

- He likes taunting and teasing you. He wants you looking at him; or whatever he tells you to, while he does so. He’ll ask you questions that make you feel dirty, pressing himself against you and feeling the heat radiate off of your body as his rumbling voice speaks low in your ear.

- He’s got a thing for dirty talk though he likes to keep it fairly tasteful, calling you love and pet, smugly insisting that you’ve never had it so good, and recounting raunchy memories that the two of you have shared. Oftentimes, he’ll delicately trace his fingers along your skin as he does so, a sense of smug pride filling him when he sees you shiver.

- He slips in that you belong with him, that you’re his; especially when he’s jealous, telling you that no other man could make you feel half of the things that he can. You can’t help but agree.

- He’s a voyeur, he likes fucking or fingering you in public; albeit fairly discreetly since he doesn’t actually want to get caught. He’ll find you; or drag you, to some dark, secluded area, moving close behind you and running his hands along your body, grinding up against you while he kisses your bare skin.

“Look at them, look at your friends, and tell me you dont love getting away with this.”

- Your moans fuel him. He enjoys making you squeal from sudden movements and hearing you scream, especially when it’s his name.

- He doesn’t really have a favorite position, the two of you usually change how you’re going at it several times anyway so it doesn’t even matter.

- The closest thing he has to a favorite position is when he’s spooning you, your body pressed fully against him while he enters you.

- Other positions include: you riding him; usually as he strokes your thighs and backs, having you bent over something, and having you wrapped around him while he takes you against a wall.

- Big dick. Huge dick. Wonderful, oddly pretty, perfect dick that he loves keeping inside you for long periods of time.

- Cockwarming. He especially loves it after you’ve finished and you’re both just lying there sleepily, still connected in the best way possible. Sometimes he’ll teasingly rock his hips into you every now and again, othertimes he’ll just remain still, savoring the feel of you wrapped around him.

- Above all, he wants to please you so he’ll do whatever you ask him to, even if it’s not exactly his usual cup of tea. He’s pretty open to new things anyways.

- If you say you love him during sex he will; quite literally, have to stop himself from cumming. It’s your best weapon. Say it while he’s nearing the edge and you’ll make him crumble above you. Either that or you can say it just before you get down to things and he’ll give you everything he’s got, as though he’s rewarding you for saying it.

- As much as he likes being rough, he loves making love to you as well. Slow, deep thrusts, whispered sweet nothings, chest kisses; he yearns for it all and is willing to give it all to you.

- So many rounds. You’ll go at it until you’re motionless puddy under his hands, your entire body buzzing as he kisses your bare skin and strokes your back, a grin permanently plastered across his perfect face.

- When you’re making love, he likes to finish deep inside you but when your sexual encounter is less than romantic, he enjoys cumming across your face or chest.

- He never wants you to leave after you finish, always trying to convince you to stay a bit longer. If you’re friends with benefits then he’ll try; and usually be pretty bad at, pretending that it’s just because he wants to go another round.

- Dont be surprised if you can’t find your panties when you get up to get dressed. They’ll most likely be found in his back pocket. He may or may not be trying to prolong your little visit.

- He loves aftercare. He’s happy anytime you let him love and take care of you to the fullest. He’ll go and grab whatever you need before coming back and kissing your bare skin, stroking your flesh, and spooning or cradling you in his arms. Its one of the only times he allows himself to be completely visibly and fully in love with you.

#spike imagine #spike headcanon #spike headcanons #btvs imagine #btvs headcanons #btvs headcanon #buffy the vampire slayer imagine #buffy the vampire slayer headcanon #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #buffy the vampire slayer headcanons #90s tv headcanons #90s tv show imagine #90s tv imagine #90s tv show headcanons #90s tv show imagines

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imissjoongsmullet · 5 years

Text

Too Far

Pairing: Bang Chan x reader

Genre: smut

Summary: You’d told yourself you’d never fuck with an arrogant dick like Chan, but when your stubborn ass tries to shut him up at a party, things get out of hand and you pay the price for provoking him.

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Warnings: graphic sexual content (duh), swearing, unprotected sex (don’t be like chan peeps), spanking, choking, degradation but also praise, um, what else.. overstimulation and maybe that’s it??

Word Count: 3.5K

Author’s Note: this was supposed to be a drabble but it got way out of hand listen I clearly needed to get this out of my system. Also wow I suck at titles somebody help me anyways, enjoy ♥ and happy holidays I guess!

►

“Come on,” he says, smiling coyly as he poked you in the side a little, “name one person in this room better-looking than me.” He gestured to the crowd of other people partying it up in the hotel suite.

You squint your eyes at him. “Fuck off,” you reply, turning to move away from him but he catches your forearm and pulls you back.

“Just cause you know I’m right,” he chuckles and puckers his lips like the dumbass he is, “I mean, have you seen these juicy babies?”

“You are so full of shit,” you let out, throwing your head back in exasperation.

He’s not fazed. He continues to smirk at you, fingers squeezing into your arm slightly, “maybe so but that won’t stop me from getting under your skin. I saw the way you were looking at me back at the club,” he leans into you, “you want me,” he coos and the smug look on his face makes you want to smack him over the head with the nearest object.

Christopher Bang was the kind of guy that made you want to stick a fork in your eye. He was loud and obnoxious with an ego more inflated than a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade float. To your undying frustration, he was also undeniably sexy, but you’d never tell him that. Nope, because you didn’t fuck with boys like him.

Well, you were trying your hardest not to anyways.

“No,” you reply at once, completely done with his act, “you are full of shit, I’m telling you,” you let out a dry laugh, “you’ve been hitting on me all night, talking all this crap about how you’re the man and you can get any woman you like. But that’s all you are: a boy with a big mouth.”

“No, I’m not,” he retorts, sounding suddenly disgruntled, the amusement trickling out of his features.

“Fine,” you say, taking a bold step towards him, closing the small gap between the two of you, “then kiss me.”

Chan looks a little perplexed at first but the next moment his expression falls back into its signature smugness. “So you do want me,” he says, still toying with your arm.

“I never said that,” you raise your eyebrows at him.

He shakes his head. “You’re a liar,” he says and slowly, his smile disappears as he leans in closer and closer, clearly trying to knock down your confidence. But you weren’t about to let him win. You stay right where you are.

“You don’t intimidate me,” you scoff, not moving an inch, “you’re just words.”

The humor finally drains completely out of Chan’s eyes at that remark.

“Oh yeah?” he scowls down at you as he starts to drive you back into a small alcove towards the bathroom, getting you out of sight, “would you like me to prove you otherwise?” he whispers, his breath now hot against your cheek, “I would love nothing more,” his fingers come to your waist, where they caress the strip of skin between your top and your jeans, “and if I had my way with you, just know I’d do a little more than kiss you.”

You feel your cheeks heat up but don’t let it stunt you. The lighting in the hotel room is dim enough for him not to notice exactly how much his words are getting to you, so you decide to put some more fuel on the fire.

“Fine,” you whisper back, looking right up into his hooded eyes, “what exactly would you like to do to me?” you mused, bringing your lips dangerously close to his, “what would you do, huh? Lick me? Tease me? Spank me?” You watch his eyes go from shock to full-on hunger, which only spurs you on more. “Spread my legs? Would you stick a few fingers in me first or would you rather use that thing that’s poking out from between your legs?”

This is when he snaps. He grabs your wrist, squeezing much tighter than necessary and pulls you through the crowded room, not caring about the strange looks the two of you are getting from the other party-goers.

Once in the hallway he doesn’t stop. He’s in a hurry and you have no choice but to stumble along after him.

“What are you doing?” you whisper hotly.

He yanks to closer to him in return, bringing his free hand around your shoulder.

“Proving a point,” he snarls in your ear.

He opens the door to what you can only guess is his room for the night, and shoves you in, following suit. You hear the bang of the door behind you and his hand is on you again, jerking you back harshly. You hit the hard wooden surface with a thump and the next thing you know his frame is hovered over you. You look into his eyes twinkling mischievously in the dark for the smallest moment before his lips crash into yours with a passion that takes you completely off guard. His hands dig into your waist possessively and it doesn’t take long for your top to rise up over your belly, his hands exploring your skin. He can’t get enough, squeezing you close as his lips mold into yours hungrily. You’re completely overwhelmed by him; his sweet scent enveloping you, the faint taste of champagne on his tongue filling your mouth as he grinds his hips into you. He’s nearly growling into your mouth, a monster torn free of its leash. There’s a fervor in his every action that makes your knees grow weak already and you curse yourself for not being stronger.

One of his hands snakes up over your belly, your chest, grazing your neck before closing in just under your jaw, holding you in place.

“You’ve brought this on yourself, baby girl,” he says, eyes heavy on you as he smirks against your lips. You’re forced to stare at him as his other hand moves down from your waist to play with the hem of your jeans. He keeps his eyes locked on you, dark and commanding. You feel his fingers dip into your jeans a little, only to come back out the next moment. He repeats this action a couple of times as he smugly watches your breath grow heavy.

“Stop teasing,” you breathe out finally.

His eyes flash hot and his fingers move abruptly. The button of your jeans pops open. He grins at the shock in your face, taking advantage of your parted lips to kiss you deeply, slipping his tongue inside with a low groan. He keeps one hand tight on your hips as the other continues fumbling with your pants. You feel him tug at your zipper, the purr of the metal coming undone loud in the empty hotel room. His fingers slide over the skin at your hip bone and lower as they open up the fabric, pulling your jeans down just enough so he can toy with the edge of your panties next.

“Lacy,” he mumbles against your lips before deepening the kiss, slipping both his hands inside your panties to grab your ass. He squeezes into the skin harshly and you have to stifle a moan already. Pleased, noticing how ready you were for him, he breaks the kiss.

“Knew you wanted me,” he says in that cocky tone of his, making your blood boil.

“I don’t,” you reply, more out of stubbornness than anything but the effect is grand.

Chan grabs you and shoves you down onto the bed. You barely have time to realize what’s happening when he’s already managed to both pull your pants off and turn on the warm bedside lamp on the nightstand. You push yourself up on your elbows but he crawls over you, taking his shirt off in the process and forcing you back down. He’s fast to pin your one wrist to the mattress, his hips dipping down to prevent you from moving at all. A coarse finger is trailing down your cheek, stopping at your lips to press against the soft flesh.

“You don’t want me?” he asks in a pretend sweet way. His finger dips between your lips and you can’t help but suckle on the digit, something that sends a signal all the way down between your legs.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he chuckles, “whatever you say.”

You want to resist but the way his hard length is already pressing into your barely-covered crotch is throwing all logic out the window. As if he’s reading your mind, he starts to roll his hips into you, slowly, so you feel every single inch of him. You turn your head to the side, his finger coming out with a wet pop but he won’t have that. He grasps your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“What is that?” he says, looking down at you unblinkingly, “you like it when I do that?” he grinds down on you again, painstakingly slow, the thin fabric of your panties letting you feel too much. You want to look away but he’s got you completely locked. You bite the inside of your lip to which he smirks, his tongue darting out to lick at your swollen mouth.

“You sure you’re not into this, baby?” he breathes heavily, rubbing himself on you shamelessly. Your mind is in overdrive, waging war between your stupid pride and your desire to get your brains fucked out by this asshole. He shouldn’t be this hot; it’s not fair. A moan escapes your lips when his hand finds its way under your shirt and bra to tweak your nipple. To make things worse, his lips dip down to your neck, sucking at the skin like he’s been yearning to do so all his life. Your skin tingles deliciously and you know his actions will leave bruises, but this only fuels your desperation.

“Yeah,” he moans into your skin and you can tell he’s still wearing that stupid smug grin of his, “I guess you’re not really into this maybe I should sto—”

“Oh my god, you complete ass-wipe just fuck me already!” you groan loudly, squirming under him in total aggravation.

His face comes to hover just over yours.

“Good girl.”

In one smooth movement, he flips you over onto your belly. You hear the sound of his pants dropping to the floor and the next moment he’s on top of you, his hot, exposed cock hard against your ass. He grabs a fist full of your hair and tugs up so he can latch onto your neck again. His dick slips between your legs as he pulls his hips back a little, before pushing back into you and letting his length massage your by-now-drenched pussy.

You moan out his name and he chuckles against your skin.

“You’re that needy for me already, huh?” he growls, biting down into your neck, “you want my cock?”

His fist tightens in your hair when you don’t reply.

“Yes,” you breathe, starting to push back against him.

“Such a bad girl,” he says, placing one last sloppy kiss to your neck, “getting ahead of yourself.”

His body moves away and the next moment his hands are on you, tugging you up, turning you around to face him.

“Suck,” he orders and a hand at the back of your neck pushes you down onto his ready cock.

He’s bigger than you’d thought he would be but he does not seem to care about what you’re thinking. The moment your lips wrap around his leaking head, he forces you down until he fills you all the way up to the back of your throat. You gag and choke but he keeps you there for a few seconds, groaning out in satisfaction.

“You’ve got to earn it, sweetie,” he breathes heavily.

When he finally lets go you shoot up gasping for air, a trail of saliva hanging from your parted lips.

He runs a hand through your hair, gently this time, almost soothingly. “You know what to do. Be a good girl and get back down there.”

You take the base of his dick in your hand and move down on him again, this time first licking your way up and down his shaft, slicking him up. You stroke his base slowly as you work your way around and hear him sigh out above you when you come back up to the head. His hand is still in your hair but he doesn’t force you down. When you look up at him and see the stern look in his eyes, however, you understand what is expected of you. You take him in again, stretching your lips over his skin, loving the feel of him in your mouth. The back of your mouth already feels sore from having him forced onto you earlier but you make your way down nonetheless, relishing the sound it evokes from him. His fingers caress your ears, your cheeks, your throat as you suck him, dragging your tongue over his length, swirling it around the tip and going back down, trying to take in as much of him as you could while your hand busied itself at his base.

“That’s right, baby girl,” he says, playing with your hair, “just like that.”

You feel him pulse inside you, which rouses you to quicken your pace. You feel his body move along with you, taking the new pleasure gladly but then, without warning, the hand at the back of your head hardens against you.

“Fuck,’ you hear him groan and, without warning, you’re being shoved down on him again. This time he moves you up and down along his shaft himself, jerking you around roughly and you can only cry out around his cock, tears starting to sting behind your eyes. You try to take him as well as you can as you whine and choke and this only gets him off more. He spews a chorus of curses down at you and starts to buck into your spent mouth. Just when you think you can’t take it anymore he pulls you off, bringing your face close to his.

His lips claim you hungrily, lapping up the saliva that had started spilling from your swollen lips. You don’t have a moment to catch your breath because the instant his lips leave yours he pulls your legs out from under you so you fall back onto the mattress. Finally, he tugs off your wetter-than-wet panties, throwing them over his shoulder because he has better things to look at. He holds both your legs in the air, spreading you open for him.

But then he doesn’t move. He just stares down at you, eyes twinkling mischievously.

“How bad do you want this, sweetie?”

“Fuck off,” you whine out in reply, patience running out.

He gives your pussy a quick, little slap that sends jolts of pain and pleasure through your system.

“Wrong answer,” he snarls, his hand coming back to your leg, steadying you as he leans in a bit closer over your helpless form, “try again, baby girl,” his fingers dig into your calves, “how much do you want this cock stretching you open? How much do you want me pounding into that pretty little pussy of yours, huh?”

“Fuck,” you cry under him, the lack of attention at your dripping core torturous, “just get in me, just fuck me, do whatever you want with me, fuck I need—” your speech is interrupted by your own shriek as he suddenly enters you all the way, not wasting any time letting you adjust. His tempo is fast and his thrusts hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room and mixing in with your cries of pleasure. He’s looking down at you intensely with plump parted lips.

“You look so pretty under me,” he groans in between pants, “so desperate for my cock,” he shifts more of his weight on you, bending you legs farther back and finding an even better angle. You whine out wildly as you feel him hit you just right.

“Desperate like the little slut you are.”

One of his hands lets go of a leg to push up your shirt and bra so he can toy with your nipples. You wince when he squeezes the sensitive bud at first but the startling sensation soon rolls over, joining in the incredible pleasure coursing through you.

You've completely let your pride slip away from you, shaking and moaning under him. You want him to use you like a sex toy, heartless and cold, bending you any way he wants. You've completely given yourself over to him and it clearly turns him on how weak you are for him. His eyes move over your body lustfully as he exhales heavy breaths. A single bead of sweat starts to roll down from his temple and he bites his lower lip.

"fuck," he groans as he pushes deep into you once more, staying there to relish the feel of your walls clamping around him for a moment.

He blinks down at you and pulls out, turning you over on all fours. He spanks you once, hard enough for you to squeal and cower. Then his hands wrap around your hips, fingers digging deep and shoves his cock inside without pause. Your back arches, you cry out and he lets out a dark chuckle in return. Once he's got a steady rhythmn going, he pulls one of your arms back so you arch up against him. His other hand slides over your neck, keeping you locked in place as he pounds into you from behind.

"Do you like this?" he grunts in your ear, fingers tightening around your neck, "you like being a little cum slut for me? Fuck, you do, don't you?" He bites into your ear hard and you whine for him. He lets go suddenly and the next moment you feel his hand at the back of your neck pushing you down into the mattress. His other hand is still clasping your hip hard enough to leave bruises, keeping your ass up for him to fuck into. Your cries are muffled into the pillow and you can barely breathe but you don't want him to stop.

"Well," he hisses, squeezing the back of your neck viciously, "do you?"

"Yes," you moan desperately, not even sure he can understand you through the pillow, "yes, please don't stop. Fuck me."

Fingers tangle in your hair and yank your face up.

"What's that, baby girl? I can't hear you," he hums.

"Fuck me harder," you manage to say but whatever you were planning to add on is lost because he quickens his pace, snapping his hips into you mercilessly so all you can do is let out shaky moans to his rhythmn. He smacks your ass again, groaning at the way it makes you shudder and does it again, harder.

Your whole body feels full of him, everything he's done to you and is still doing to you piled up inside you threatening to spill over. You moan out his name helplessly but this only makes him go wilder. You feel your core tighten, the faliliar tingling sensation taking over your skin the moment before you explode and your mind goes deliciously blank.

It is pure extacy as he rides you through your orgasm but once the pleasure has petered out you start to struggle underneath him, your sensitive core unable to take him anymore.

He notices your struggle but doesn't stop. He merely tightens his grip on you, one hand still bruising your hip, the other pushing down your back, squishing your lungs.

"Please," you whine, "it hurts."

He bends over you. "Patience , baby," he sighs and you can tell by his tone that he's far gone. His thrusts are erratic and the pain in your core is already being replaced by a brand new wave of pleasure. He's getting louder and louder above you, clearly losing control and you can only moan with him, letting him ride out his own orgasm inside of you.

"Fuck, baby," he grunts, letting himself fall on top of you, "fuck."

"You can say that again," you groan, your whole body weak in the afterglow of everything that just happened.

He slowly pulls out of you, collapsing beside you on the bed, looking spent like a motherfucker. When his eyes meet you though, they start to glint wickedly.

"So you did want me," he grins and you roll your eyes.

"Oh fuck all the way off!" you let out, pressing a pillow into his stupidly sexy face and rolling away from him.

You may just have had the fuck of the century but that didn't mean you had to go confessing truths to a guy like Christopher Bang. Nope; cause you didn't fuck with guys like him. Well...

#bang chan #bang chan smut #smut #stray kids #stray kids smut #bang chan x reader #christopher bang #mr bang #lol #merry christmas

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victimeyez · 4 years

Text

Buck and Fletcher 2: Electric Boogaloo

Fanfic for @knivestothroats In The Woods Somewhere - click for masterlist

This one is actually so long I had to break it into parts, tags will be listed at the beginning of each chapter for the chapter, and links to the other parts here:

Part 1: X Part 2: X Part 3: X Part 4: X Part 5: Here

Fletcher returns to find what the trainees have done with Buck, and decides to make it up to him. MIND THE TAGS- THIS ONE GETS SPICY

Concept inspired by @deadupondaylight ‘s fic HERE

Tags: Captive whumpee, multiple whumpers, post shock torture, post water torture, Buck’s no good very bad day, intimate whumper, OOC, noncon/dubcon, explicit sex acts, scratching, gore, sadism, sorry Buck :c

Fletcher opened the door, wiping their feet on the mat. They almost called for Buck out of habit, but then remembered he had been locked in his room. The kitchen table was empty except for a mostly-empty bowl with a spoon, and a porcelain hot plate pad.

Okay, so they must have found the key.

They checked Buck’s room anyways. The door was halfway open, no Buck inside.

Fletcher padded into the community room, where Dayal and Petrova were watching a movie, enjoying their day off.

“Where’s Buck?”

Dayal acknowledged them, but Petrova responded without taking her eyes off the screen.

“Taking a bath.”

“In the bathroom by his room?”

“Yes.”

“Is he conscious?”

Petrova shrugged, and Dayal smirked.

“If you killed him, you’re doing his yardwork.”

Dayal scowled but Petrova didn’t react, and Fletcher walked back to the bathroom. The door was cracked open, like it had only lightly started to swing shut rather than intended to be kept either open or closed. They knocked lightly on the door, and when there was no response, they swung the door open.

Buck was taking a bath, yes, but fully clothed, except for a shirt ripped open over a chest covered in fading bruises and a collection of fresh burns. His nose was busted, half-dried blood trickling down into the water and dissolving in little pink swirls.

“Buck?”

He didn’t respond, and Fletcher stepped closer. There was a battery sitting on the closed toilet seat, and a pair of clamps detached and abandoned on the floor beside it.

Fletcher pushed their sleeve up and reached down, touching Buck’s neck. There was definitely a pulse there, and at their touch Buck stirred, opening his swollen eyes puffy from crying, and groaning wordlessly.

There was a knock behind them.

“Hey, did they have my deodorant in stock?”

Fletcher turned around, O’Connor standing in the doorway looking none-too-surprised by Buck’s state.

“No, I picked a different one, but it’s still lavender. What did you all do to Buck this time?”

“We did an experiment, dry electrocution VS wet. I took notes.”

Fletcher sighed, pushing their sleeve back down to their wrist.

“And what was your conclusion?”

“Can’t be too sure since we did them back to back, but Buck could take way more in the kitchen than he could in the tub. We had to stop before we were even halfway done.”

Fletcher hummed.

“Alright, well, you and the others are going to have to put groceries away, now that I have to tend to this one. If he gets sick, I’m blaming all of you.”

O’Connor shrugged. “We unbound him and filled it with warm water once we were done, he should be fine.”

Fletcher dismissed her to go unload groceries with the others and looked down at Buck with a sigh.

“Alright, well, don’t want the water to get too cold, do we?”

They reached down, sacrificing their shirt to get wet, and grabbed Buck under the arms. The water was already cool, but hopefully he wouldn’t catch a chill. They pulled him to sit up, then grabbed one of his arms and pulled it around their shoulder, lifting him slowly to a standing position.

“Come on. Can you walk?”

Buck made an uncertain noise, but did try to get his feet under him. He was shaky and still had to lean heavily on Fletcher, but they managed to walk him back to his room.

They dropped Buck on the bed and pulled their pocket knife, allowing themselves a momentary rush as Buck’s eyes saw it and widened.

“No-”

“You ever tried to pull wet jeans off of someone? Hold still.”

Buck looked anxious but didn’t protest when Fletcher cut the last tatters of his shirt off and pulled them out from underneath him, tossing them into a heap on the floor.

Buck whined when they started on his pants, the razor’s edge of the knife making quick work of the side seam. Down the same on his other side, and Fletcher pulled them free. Buck’s shaky hands fluttered to cover himself, his wet underwear leaving little to the imagination.

Fletcher rolled their eyes.

“You seriously want to keep those on?”

Buck nodded weakly and Fletcher sighed.

“Alright, well, you can rest for a bit. I’ll…. tuck you in here, I guess.”

Fletcher pulled the covers out from under Buck with a little jostling, until they were able to peel them to the side.

“Why?”

Fletcher glanced back up, catching Buck’s eyes on them. They watered with fresh tears and he looked so genuinely distraught Fletcher had to suppress a laugh.

“So you don’t catch a cold, dummy.”

“No. Why...did you lie?”

Fletcher sighed, exasperated, and pulled back, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“What, the key?”

“You could have just said no. Why didn’t you just tell me no? Did you just….have to get my hopes up? Is it not enough to hurt me every other way anymore?”

“Spare me the theatrics, I just forgot it, okay?”

“I thought I could trust your word, at least.”

Fletcher hated how that made them feel.

“It was a simple mistake, I hardly think that makes me untrustworthy.”

Fletcher had seen Buck hurt a million times over in a million different ways, but Buck had never, ever looked at them with a look so profoundly wounded.

They rubbed the back of their neck. The tiny nag of...not guilt, but, close, was being swallowed up by a general feeling of being pissed off.

“Okay, yeah. It was...kind of a dick move. You asked me nicely, and I did tell you yes. If it had been intentional, that would have been pretty shitty.”

With some effort, Buck rolled onto his side, his back to Fletcher, still sitting by his legs.

“Please, please just let me sleep.”

Fletcher felt angry. They wanted to stand up and walk out and leave Buck to his little pity party.

They felt really angry that they didn’t want to do that.

With a sigh, they pushed their wet sleeves back up, prickling with irritation.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry you couldn’t trust me this one time.”

Buck didn’t respond.

“Are you going to mope about this all week?”

Buck closed his eyes, a defeated look on his face. His voice was low when he murmured back.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Fletcher replied automatically.

“I mean...look, I just don’t want you pouting about this. It’s really fucking annoying.”

Buck looked somehow sadder, and Fletcher thought they’d seen few things so pathetic.

“I’ll make it up to you.”

Buck’s eyes flicked over to theirs again. That got his attention.

“You feel bad, because of me, sort of. So just… just try to relax.”

Fletcher’s hand caught his hip, and in one smooth motion, they caught the tip of their blade under the side of his boxers, splitting them.

“What-” Buck startled, immediately scrambling to cover himself, but Fletcher pushed his hip back to force him to lay back against the mattress.

“F- Fletcher, what are you-”

“You feel bad, so, this will feel good. You better enjoy it, because it won’t be happening again.”

Fletcher tugged the last of Buck’s modesty out of the way, and he hated how pathetic he sounded when he squeaked, too weak to fend them off. Fletcher kneeled on the bed, straddling one of his thighs to pin him back with his legs spread. They reached behind themselves, pulling something else from their pocket, and produced a small bottle.

Buck didn’t know what it was until Fletcher uncapped it, squeezing out a line of it onto their finger.

“What the - what the fuck-” Buck breathed, squirming weakly underneath them.

“Relax, it’s lube.”

“Why the fuck do you have that?”

“Seriously, relax, I got it for your scars. Best way to get silicone into your skin. Though it does have other uses, of course.”

Buck keened in distress when Fletcher’s hand closed around his cock, gently stroking him.

The lube was cold but Fletcher’s hand was very warm, and after so long without any intimacy, Buck felt unbearably sensitive to their touch.

Buck’s mind was already reeling from a miserable day of torture, and this development proved to be too much for him. He clasped his hands over his mouth, trying to suppress his soft sounds even as Fletcher easily coaxed him to erection.

Fletcher sighed and stopped, scooching down Buck’s leg a little, their legs folded underneath them.

“Enjoy it while it lasts, ‘cause seriously, never again.”

“What-” Fletcher crawled forwards, gripping his cock in their hand and in one smooth motion, leaned down and licked a stripe from base to tip.

They failed to suppress a smile against Buck’s indignant squeak.

They sucked the head into their mouth, ignoring the bittersweet taste of the lube, and hollowing out their cheeks as they sucked him in a few inches.

For a moment Buck imagined Fletcher biting down, severing his flesh and smirking at him with blood down their chin, and his stomach churned. Before he could unfreeze from his fear though, Fletcher pressed his cock deeper in their mouth and sucked.

Buck keened, his shaky hands fluttering anxiously in Fletcher’s periphery.

“Fuck, fuck, what-” Fletcher pulled off with a little pop of their lips.

“If your hands touch my head, I’m cutting them off. Just lay back and enjoy.”

Buck gave a wordless whimper, his hands falling down to his sides.

Fletcher returned to their ministrations, rubbing the tip of their tongue on the sensitive spot under the head of his cock, making him mewl.

“F-FFuuuuccckkk-” Buck gasped, his hands curling into fists in the sheets at his sides.

This was wrong, this felt so wrong, but fuck, he was so exhausted, he had no energy to fight, he had spent every minute of his imprisonment here in pain, and Fletcher’s mouth was so warm and soft, and he so desperately just wanted to feel good again, even a little bit, even just for a moment….

Fletcher hummed around their mouthful and Buck whimpered as they took most of him in.

Quietly, Fletcher delighted in Buck’s little sounds. His busted nose meant he couldn’t breathe except through his mouth, so he couldn’t stifle the pathetic little moans and whimpers Fletcher drew out of him. Buck’s thighs trembled beneath him, and he was making such sweet little gasps and sobs of pleasure. Fletcher was pleased to learn Buck largely made the same noises being pleasured as he did being tortured.

Buck felt Fletcher’s hand stray underneath him, and he flinched when he felt Fletcher’s still-lubed finger press against his opening.

“W-wait- f-fuck, fuck-” Buck couldn’t form a coherant thought before Fletcher pushed a finger inside of him. He gasped, and Fletcher took his moment of surprise away from him, pushing his cock into the back of their throat. His thighs seized under Fletcher’s other hand and they felt it, indulging themselves by digging their fingernails hard into the sensitive skin there. Buck cried out in pain at that, and Fletcher used the momentary distraction to push another finger into him. Buck choked off a harsh moan and Fletcher backed off to tease the head with their tongue while they started moving their fingers inside him, gently scissoring them to stretch him open.

The sound Buck made sounded - familiar, when had they heard it?

When he was cut particularly deep, that was about the same sound he made.

They grinned around their mouthful and prodded a third finger in. Buck was gasping and panting, desperate breathy moans with every breath he let out. His hips twitched underneath Fletcher, wanting to buck forwards into their mouth, wanting to press back on their fingers, wanting and needing and being too damn tired and scared to do anything about it. Fletcher pushed their fingers as deep as they could and then pulled back, pushing back in and letting their fingertips brush against his prostate. Buck’s thighs were trembling so terribly they thought the poor boy might faint.

Fletcher rubbed the pads of their fingers against his prostate and sucked his cock down nearly to the root. At the same time, they dug their fingernails deep into his hip and raked them down his thigh hard enough to split the skin. Buck screamed, the pleasure becoming too much for him even as his scratches welled with blood. He tipped his head back, crying out as Fletcher swallowed around him, their fingers fucking him mercilessly through his orgasm. He shuddered with the aftershocks, his whimpers turning to whines of discomfort as Fletcher pushed him past oversensitivity.

Fletcher pulled away, wiping their mouth with the back of their hand.

“That was fast. I guess it’s been a while though, huh?”

Buck flushed in shame, his hands reaching up to cover his face, and he turned onto his side, shuddering. Fletcher chuckled, giving him a pat on the ass that he flinched at like an abused puppy.

“There, we’re even, and I don’t want to hear about this shit again. Be up in time for dinner dishes.”

With shaking hands, Buck tugged his blankets over himself, trembling with exhaustion. Somehow he felt...used, even though it was supposed to be a treat.

“Really? Bad manners, Buck. What do we say?”

Buck’s thigh throbbed where the cuts oozed blood.

“Th-thank you..”

Fletcher smirked, the glint in their eyes the same Buck saw every time they hurt him.

“That’a boy. Sleep tight...” They closed the door behind them.

Buck somehow doubted he would.

#intimate whumper #OOC #dubcon/noncon #butcher #in the woods somewhere #knivestothroats #fanfic

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shiftytracts · 4 years

Text

Stop Wanting More, part 1 of 2 (T/M/A fic)

In which season-four Jon tries to quiet his hunger for live statements by gorging himself on paper ones, and Daisy tells him what she used to do when she got shaky between hunts. Part two here.

…For almost ten thousand words (~5.1k in this half, ~4.3 in the other), beeeecause of course I did.

Content warnings:

Disordered eating (mainly of the statement variety, but mentions also the literal kind)

Nausea, and brief descriptions of prior vomiting

Brief but not-ungraphic description of Jon’s (canon) Boneturning incident—so, injury, very mild body horror

Vague discussion of Daisy’s passive suicidality (in part two)

Animal cruelty and death: Daisy talks about hunting rats for sport (in part two)

—

Jon paused the tape recorder, closed his eyes, and tried to breathe. A statement’s second-to-last page was the hardest to get down. The dull ache that had begun under his ribs twenty minutes before now stretched down far enough to converge with the one in his stiff hips. His pulse throbbed in his stomach; he could feel it swell and recede beneath his hand with every beat. Nausea boomeranged up from somewhere under his navel. He reminded himself he could stop for now, finish this later—and, as always, that thought made him feel even colder than the sludge of other people’s fear pooling in his stomach. With his free hand Jon pressed Record again, and turned to 0101702’s final page. Oh, god, there was barely anything on it. Just the rest of this paragraph and then one more. He kept his eyes on the page, didn’t stop speaking its words, but fumbled blindly for another statement with his fingers.

“Knock knock,” Daisy said as she entered. “Christ—you’re still recording?”

In a flash Jon folded his hands on the table, sat up a little straighter, tried to suck in his gut. “Er—”

“Thought you said you were gonna do one more.”

“I’m almost done.”

“You’ve got another one right there.”

“I…” he considered I’m sorry, but then she’d say For what. “I don’t know what to tell you. It is my office.”

“Yeah, and your home,” Daisy scoffed—“and mine. Sort of.”

“D—did you want…? You’re welcome, to. Sit down, or….”

She did, on the arm of his couch. “I know, Jon. That’s not what I meant.”

“Okay.” To show he’d meant his welcome, Jon pushed his chair back from his desk and turned in it to face Daisy. Hopefully she’d remember he couldn’t ask What did you mean.

“I mean, don’t pretend this is work. How many statements have you had today? You don’t think that one can wait til tomorrow?”

Seven? Or would this one be eight. Jon forced himself to exhale out the portion of gut he’d been holding back since she arrived; it hurt too much to keep sucking in anyway. “A lot. I’m just.”

“Hungry, yeah.”

“Even when I’m stuffed I’m hungry.” He snarled a laugh, and set a rueful hand over his stomach like a fig leaf.

At first he’d tried sating the hunger with garden-variety food. That didn’t help much. Way back when he’d first transferred to the Archives Jon had fallen back into the old habit of forgetting to eat—which, yeah, not great, but, it did mean he remembered well how amazing it used to feel to cram down even a stale biscuit after too many hours’ inanition. All the hidden notes he’d found in yogurt and dry toast. He even remembered tearing up once at the taste of a banana, early in 2016. Before that he’d been sure he didn’t like bananas; afterward, for a short while he’d eaten one nearly every day, hoping vainly to recapture the ecstasy of banana after 14-hour fast. No luck, of course. After a few weeks he’d concluded he still didn’t much like banana as final course of healthy lunch. He’d especially disliked peeling them: how sometimes the stems bent without breaking, and the more times you tried the warmer, softer, more flexible they got. How little strings of peel still clung to the banana after you peeled off its main body, like static when you pull off a jumper. Or like the lint it leaves behind on your shirt. And the way bananas bruise, like people do. All these vestiges of its previous life—reminders it had lived to feed itself rather than him.

Since the coma, all people food—er. That was, all food intended for human consumption—tasted like that chase after a faded spark. Cloying and mushy and… organic, reminding him too much of the garden it came from. And the way it landed in his stomach was far worse. The original banana, the one Martin had pressed on him in the Archives in April 2016, had gone down like nectar, ambrosia, manna from heaven, &c.; the ones afterward, like an unwanted dessert always does. (Cloying. Mushy. A biology lesson mildly tapping its watch.) These days, though, eating regular dinner on a stomach empty of other people’s trauma felt like trying to fill up on cake. Not like cake after fourteen hours of nothing; Jon was pretty sure his 2016 stomach would have welcomed that. But like cake at dinner time. When you’re expecting, you know. Dinner. It gave him the brief, fake-seeming energy of a sugar high, and made him sick before it made him full.

Especially when he was otherwise ailing, for some reason? After Hopworth he’d treated himself to a lie down and a sandwich. The rest had helped, but he’d squandered most of the energy it gave him on the effort to keep the sandwich down. At that moment nothing, not even the coffin, had scared him so much as the thought of what it would feel like to throw up when you had only ten ribs on one side. He hadn’t expected losing them to hurt, at least not for long—had expected the rib to flow out of his skin into Jared Hopworth’s hand like an ice cube through water, which in retrospect was stupid given the testimony of Mr. Pryor in statement 0081103, but he hadn’t had time to reread that one beforehand and at the time Jon remembered only that Hopworth didn’t break his victims’ skin when he pulled out their bones. Turned out that wasn’t much comfort: he’d still had to break the ligaments attaching Jon’s ribs to his spine and chest. It had felt like a bad dislocation (four of them, technically), only instead of the feeling of bone pressing on things it shouldn’t there was an equally violating sense of tissue wallowing in holes that shouldn’t be there. He’d had this horror that if he were sick the flesh would crumple and pop where his ribs used to be, like when you try to suck the remaining water out of a near-empty bottle.

A few months after that he’d caught cold. (A point in the still-human column, Daisy had called it.) You know the first day or two of a cold, before the encroaching mucus takes out your ability to smell or taste properly, how innocuous olfactory phenomena like cheddar and laundry soap suddenly become Bad Smells, on par with the olive bar at a posh supermarket? Well, in a similar way, this one seemed to sharpen the dichotomy in his body’s opinions of people food and monster food. His lack-of-ribs had mostly healed by then though, so either vomiting with only ten ribs on one side did not cause the anomaly he’d feared, or, if it did, it hadn’t hurt enough for him to notice it in the cacophony (pucophony?) of other sensations.

(Daisy liked to play on words, so he’d been doing it more lately. This project the Eye seemed happy to help with, though in this case the suggestion arrived in his mind at the exact same moment as a reminder that, technically, the word cacophony can apply to sensations other than sound only by synecdoche.)

And then, a few weeks ago, when the whole Archives went down with norovirus… well, it wasn’t a fun time. He’d at first mistook the lethargy, weakness, trouble concentrating for signs of hunger—the new kind of hunger. Ms. Mullen-Jones’ statement about the Divine Chains cult hadn’t seemed all that bad, when he’d first recorded it. Scarier than if he’d read its events in a novel, of course; that was just how statements worked. He experienced them more vividly than stories, though less so than the events of his own life. (Because the people they happened to thought they were real! he’d told himself when he first took this job. It’s empathy, that’s all. Nope, sorry—evil magic.) When he read a paper statement these days, though, the knowledge it wouldn’t give him nightmares never quite left him. And he’d thought he was growing desensitized to the kinds of horror most people came to the Institute to report. Coming back up, though—maybe it was the fever, but god, the visions he got on that statement’s way out, of Agape and the soft, sticky hivecorpse of Claude Vilakazi’s followers—the way it made the donut he’d shoved down that morning (in a show of team spirit, god help him) come back up tasting like rotten rice wine—it was worse than the dreams. Worse, he could have sworn, than even the first time he ever dreamt Naomi Herne’s empty graveyard.

While hanging over the bowl of the Archives’ toilet waiting to see if he’d got it all up or if there was still more to come, Jon remembered thinking again of the banana Martin had given him. A few days earlier Daisy had made him watch the video of the I don’t understand this meme and at this point I’m too afraid to ask man vore-ing a banana; Jon had confessed to her, in a conspiratorial whisper-laugh, that for him vore itself had been one such meme until that very second, when the Eye had seen fit to inform him. But when applied to a banana, the term apparently just meant eating it peel and all. In 2016 Martin had broken the banana’s stem and pulled back a section of peel before handing it to Jon, so as to brook no argument. Was it really the banana itself he’d cried over? Not the gesture of friendship, when Jon deserved it so little? The thought of someone caring for him enough that when he got hangry at them they handed him a snack. Martin had been living in the Archives then, like Jon did now. Sleeping in Document Storage—a guest in a room owned by pieces of paper. Those bananas may have been the only thing that felt like his.

A Guest for Mr. Spider was about vore, technically. Not an uncommon topic in children’s literature. Some surmised that was where the fetish came from, though others maintained kinks like that were inborn, and the stories merely alerted their hosts to them for the first time. Red riding hood, three little pigs, little old lady who swallowed a fly. The Leitner touch was only the part where he drew you to his real-life lair and real-life ate you.

Looking back, that was probably the first thing he’d ever admired about Martin—how easy he’d made it look to skin a fruit. Not at the time admired, of course, but in those weeks afterward, when every banana Jon ate made him claw at the peel til his finger joints throbbed.

That stomach bug had struck the Archives with serendipitous timing, though. If he’d not found out how thin abstinence from the Hunt had made Daisy on the same day he’d barfed up a statement, Jon might not have pieced together what their combined evidence meant. Until then he’d put down his own post-coma weight loss to the fact he rarely ate more people food than a donut in twenty-four hours. Lots of avatars were scrawny, after all. Jane Prentiss, Mike Crew, Justin Gough, Annabelle Cane, John Amherst, Simon Fairchild. Jude Perry and Jared Hopworth could mold their respective fleshes however they wanted, so he didn’t count them as exceptions. True, Trevor Herbert’s bulk had struck him as odd; surely a homeless man wouldn’t waste cash on food his body no longer wanted. And what about Breekon and Hope? Did butterflies and a quartermaster’s pen and tongue sustain them? But maybe, Jon had told himself, it was like with alcohol. Maybe the avatars with more flesh on their bones had worked to develop a tolerance for (air quotes, heavy sarcasm) people food, for the sake of their physiques, or. So they could, he didn't know, eat socially? Without feeling sick, like Jon did whenever one of the others brought donuts.

Preposterously stupid, this theory seemed in retrospect. The truth was much simpler. It was like Jude Perry’d told him. She was strong and he was weak, because she fed her god with her actions, while Jon’s had had to resort to eating his flesh.

He wasn’t going back to live statements! That wasn’t an option; he knew that. He couldn’t feed his god with his actions. But he could have more paper ones. Maybe they were like the candles poor Eugene Vanderstock used to bring Agnes—the ones she’d sat over for hours. Hours and hours, inhaling the suffering that made them. They’d kept her strong enough, right? At least in body. All those people in charge of her care, all so much in her thrall—if she’d looked hungry one of them would’ve mentioned it in a statement.

During Jon’s school days, back when he was still trying to learn how to be a girl, this brief window had opened up right around age thirteen where the girls around him had enough self-consciousness to start developing eating disorders? But not enough to keep them secret. Thirteen had been this phase of, like, I’m a teenager now, see? I’ve got the teen angst now—SEE?! Where after they’d finished the day’s maths assignment, or while setting up microscope slides, one could overhear girls swapping self-harm anecdotes and tips for how best not to eat. Anne, whom he’d been almost friends with, went through two packs of chewing gum a day for a while. She would shove three or four sticks at a time in her mouth, then spit them back out into their wrappers as soon as they lost their flavor. Eventually they made her sick, and she switched to chain-sucking butterscotch discs. (Most artificial sweeteners, as the Eye now informed him, had mild laxative properties—including those used in gum.) Other acquaintances had brought comically large thermoses of coffee to school every day, and scurried to the toilet between classes. But it was another polyurious crowd that Jon kept thinking of, these days—the kids who would chug water every time they felt hungry. Trying to fill up on paper statements felt just like that.

He’d never understood that urge until now. Hunger was already a bad sensation; why would it help to add the further bad sensations of nausea and stomachache and cold? But now it made sense: feeling better was not the point. The point was to stop wanting more. He couldn’t get rid of the hunger, exactly—not in a way that mattered. Not the shards of glass in his belly, not the itch in his esophagus like a finger tapping behind his gag reflex, not the way simple motions like soaping his hands made his whole body ache. Not the sharpening of his senses to such a fine point that he jumped whenever Thérèse in the office above him shut her desk’s sticky drawer. (He hadn’t known that was what made the squeaky noise until a few weeks ago when the Eye decided he might like some office gossip. Even now he didn’t know which of the faces he sometimes passed up there belonged to Thérèse. She had no statements to make.) Nor the fog in his mind, though he tried sometimes to blame that on the Lonely. He couldn’t sate his hunger with paper statements—couldn’t make himself full, in the rosy way we usually connote that word. All warm and carefree and pleasantly sleepy. But he could cram the hole inside him with enough stale horrors that the temptation to chase down a fresh one momentarily left him.

And that was the new plan—to stuff himself with paper statements.

Tomorrow would mark two weeks since the day he’d first tried it. Brian from Artefact Storage had a statement to give him, Jon could feel—either Stranger or Spiral, it was hard to tell quite which. Something that caused paranoia. Not a great fit for that department. Good fit for a temple of the Eye, Jon supposed, remembering Tim and Michael Shelley. But Artefact Storage? God help him. He wondered if Elias had done it on purpose, hiring a paranoid man to work in a room full of objects that wanted him hurt. If so it must’ve been this one—this purpose. And on Wednesday mornings Brian manned the place all alone. Poor soul was already clinging to this job by a thread, though (so, Web…? That could cause paranoia too, as Jon well knew). Surely if Jon made him relive his trauma that would break it. Though perhaps that’d be a mercy. And but besides, two weeks ago Melanie had still lived here, and sat all morning between Jon’s office and Artefact Storage. Until she went to lunch. But by that time the woman whose laugh Jon could sometimes hear through the walls (Pooja, the Eye had since told him her name was) would have joined Brian. And it’d just be too weird, too risky, to go in and ask him about it with a third person in the room. Even if it wasn’t also evil.

So he’d read 0132210—the statement of Sierra Talbot, regarding a swimming pool whose depth changed every time she entered it—in hopes that’d make him quit thinking about the paranoid man down the hall. It didn’t, not really; paper statements didn’t take up as much of his attention as they used to. But he couldn’t get up and walk to Artefact Storage in the middle of one. When he finished and still couldn’t think of anything but Brian, he dug out another statement (this one from 1938, regarding a bad penny). Just to keep himself chained to his desk til lunch. And then a third (Liza Ho, attack of the killer seagulls). And by the end of that one he felt too heavy and cold inside to want to go anywhere but the couch. It made his stomach swell until it hurt to sit up straight, and the thought of shoving anything more inside made him feel sick—exactly like chugging water every time he felt hungry.

Basira had said maybe the Web just wanted to keep them so afraid of their own impulses they sat and did nothing so they couldn’t be puppeted. Maybe she was right. He’d never felt more like a spider, with his weak, skinny limbs and bloated stomach. Lying on the couch massaging other people’s horrors into more comfortable shapes inside him. Thank god he’d already given up tucking in his shirts, when he came back after the coma. Jon had worn the same trousers for three days in a row, now—shucked them off at the end of the day, hoping if he left them on the floor that’d convince him they were too dirty to wear again, and then slipped them back on over clean boxers in the morning. They were the only trousers he had that stayed up with the button left unfastened.

(Technically, the noun bloat refers to the feeling of weight or tightness in the abdomen. To describe a belly which has expanded beyond its typical size, one should use the word distended. Though these phenomena can occur separately, most people conflate them under the single word bloated. This trivia had seemed worthless when Beholding told him of it. But now he knew better. Every morning he woke up feeling like he’d had his whole torso replaced with the aching void of space, empty but for silver glints of pain that were the stars. And then he’d look down and find his belly still distended.)

Melanie and Basira didn’t know—at least not officially. They both seemed to have noticed how much more often lately they’d walked in on him recording, but Jon was pretty sure they suspected him less of bingeing on statements, more of pretending to record so as to avoid talking to them. He welcomed this misapprehension.

It was also possible they knew but declined to comment, since. Well, it was kind of a pathetic habit? Physically, a bit pathetic. Morally, though, such a big improvement over compelling statements by force that maybe they figured they ought to let him have it. If so he should be grateful, he reminded himself. Their pity, after all, was humiliating only in principle; Daisy’s teasing and concerned questions embarrassed him in practice.

“Enough navelgazing,” Daisy scoffed, but when Jon looked over at her he could see a smile creeping its way onto her face. “Look—finish the one you’re on, then come over here and I’ll. Tell you a story.”

“I—what?”

“Don’t know if it’ll count as a ‘statement,’” she said, with air quotes; “not much fear in it, more just.” She looked at the floor, then shrugged. “But it seems worth a try, yeah? Might make you feel better.”

“I-I, er. I really shouldn’t?” He meant in case it had a taste of human blood effect, but set his hand on his stomach again in hopes she’d think he meant he was too full.

“Yeah, you should. I want you to hear it.” Daisy shrugged again. “Think it might do you good to know.”

Jon turned back to his desk, unpaused the recording and wrapped up the statement. He’d quit bothering to record end notes on most of these—told himself he could add them in later, like he used to when he’d first taken this job. How proud 2016 Jon would have been to see how many statements the 2018 Archivist got through in a week.

He paused for a moment before standing up, to take as deep a breath as he could manage when stuffed full of paper. The end of that statement had gone down easier, since he’d had that few minutes’ break talking to Daisy, but he still didn’t love the idea of standing and walking. Especially since he knew once he got to the couch he’d be glued there by fatigue. If he didn’t pee now, he’d spend most of the night far enough into sleep to be paralyzed, but not far enough to numb his bladder. He excused himself to Daisy, promising to come right back. Then hauled himself up, with help from his cane and one arm of his chair.

Six limbs it took to maneuver this body now. Two more and he’d’ve gone full spider.

Three quarters of the way to the bathroom—that’s how long it took before the ache in his legs outpaced that in his stomach. He arrived on the toilet seat shaky and out of breath, as always. Months ago he’d given up standing to pee. When you sat you could rock back and forth, and cross your arms tight over waves of quease.

Not much came out, as was also usual lately. As far as Jon could tell, his body now required only enough water to keep his mouth from drying out while recording. Dehydration no longer made his head hurt, so, why bother. Good thing, too, he supposed—the last two weeks he hadn’t needed much non-metaphorical water inside for his body to parse that as needing to pee.

He let his trousers stay pooled around his ankles until after he’d washed and dried his hands. Then pulled up his shirt, to judge from his reflection whether they’d stay up with the fly undone. If he kept his hands in his pockets, yeah. Could you tell the difference, visually, once he put his shirt tails back down? Not for such a short distance. They wouldn’t have time to get disarranged.

It didn’t matter; Basira didn’t even glance at him on his way back, and all Institute staff who didn’t live here had gone home.

Jon opened the door to his office, said hello to Daisy but didn’t manage to look at her, and sat himself down on the other side of the couch. From the corner of his eye (or someone’s anyway) he saw her rise to her feet. “I’m gonna pee too,” she told him, picking her way toward the door; “get yourself comfortable, like you’re going to bed.”

“Where will you sit.”

“I’ll squeeze in.”

“I don’t mind leaving room for—?” Finally he made himself look up at her, in time to see her shake her head. Daisy hadn’t been strong on her feet either, since the Buried; she held herself up now with a hand on the doorjamb, elbow bent so her shoulder leant against that wrist. He regretted quibbling. “Never mind; I’ll just.”

“Really? You’re comfortable like that? You look like a sheep in clover.”

The knowledge came to him before he could ask her what that meant—complete with a nasty visual of what happens in cases acute enough to require rumenotomy. Jon swore he could feel himself swelling to accommodate this tidbit. His eye twitched in discomfort.

“Think I prefer ‘windbag,’ if it’s all the same to you.”

She made a face like that was grosser than what she had said. “You ruined my joke. I was gonna say I won’t let you have any more leaves til you look less like you might explode.”

“Sheep in clover suffocate,” Jon frowned; “they don’t explode. You must be thinking of how they cure them when—”

“Leaves. In. A. Book, Jon. That joke.”

“Oh. Yes, I see.” He made himself chuckle.

Daisy sighed and shifted on her feet. “I’ll be right back. Just lie down, alright? Like you’re going to bed.”

Jon agreed to lie down, but couldn’t decide whether to face the wall (as he would to sleep), leaving her to slide in between him and the back of the couch the way she had a few times before when she’d walked in on him catnapping, or whether he should lie on his back, where he could see her as soon as she opened the door. It was important to make sure she knew he appreciated her offer to give him a statement. Or, no—to tell him her story, he meant.

Ultimately he picked the latter course.

“You sleep like that?”

“Sometimes."

“I’ve never seen you sleep like that. You always face the wall.” Daisy crossed her arms, blew hair out of her face. “That for the tummy ache, or for me?”

“Uh….”

“Would it hurt you to face the wall.”

“No, I just.”

“Turn around, then. I’ll squeeze in,” she said again.

“I-if you’re sure.”

He rolled onto his side, gritting his teeth as the cramps in his stomach swirled in new directions. What made it slosh like that, he wondered. While he fought to regain his breath Jon watched Daisy climb up onto the back of the couch on shaking elbows and knees, then avalanche down hands- and feet-first so she fit between him and its cushions. He’d never watched her do this before—always either startled out of a doze at the sound of her thumping down next to him, or simply woken up to find her there.

“You’re just like the Admiral,” he informed her.

“True words spoken in jest,” muttered Daisy. Too quietly for him to hear what she said over the couch’s tortured creaks, but half a second after she finished speaking the words appeared before his mind, in white, all-capital letters with a black background like closed captions on the news. “That’s Georgie’s cat, right?” she said aloud.

“Yes.”

Her knee jostled the cap of his; when it made him gasp she snarled under her breath. “Sorry. Can you move your leg?”

“Yes, it’s fine, just—”

“I mean would you move your leg.”

“Oh.” He did so.

“Thanks. Ugh—you’re cold,” Daisy accused him; “where’s that blanket.” He pointed behind her to the arm of the couch where it lay folded. She shook it out, and draped it over both of them. Reached around behind him to make sure it covered his whole back. Jon tried to ignore the way his stomach lurched every time Daisy’s weight shifted against the cushions. Finally she settled next to him to catch her breath. Their foreheads touched; her stomach pressed into his, though not as tightly as the last time they’d lain like this. “Can you breathe or am I crushing you?”

“Not at all, you’re fine—in fact, if the couch cushions are chafing you too much you can—”

Daisy huffed, and scooted herself in closer to him. “That better?” She set her warm hand down right where his belly diverged from pelvis. Jon tried to keep both voice and tremor out of his exhale. Since the coffin, Daisy’s hands and feet suffered at night and after any exertion from the same excess of heat his sometimes did. So the cold inside him probably felt nice on her hand, if not to the rest of her.

(Like snuggling up to a hotel mattress, she’d described it, after the first time she joined him for a nap when he’d just had a statement. Cold, hard, covered in lumps and dents, and creaks when you roll over on it. “I’d prefer you didn’t,” he’d replied, while praying her elbow wouldn’t come any closer to the crevasse where his ribs used to be.)

“Christ you’re stuffed,” commented Daisy. For emphasis she lifted her fingers, then set them back down on his gut.

“I don’t know what you expected.”

“You won’t pop if I tell you a story?”

“Not literally,” Jon said, blinking.

“Of course not literally,” she scoffed; “you know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Will it make you sick. Don’t want you throwing up on me; this is Melanie’s shirt. If you ruin it she’ll hit us with her cane, and I don’t trust you to hit as hard back with yours.”

“Mine’s shorter and thicker,” he mused. “I don’t have to hit as hard.”

“Stop. Avoiding. The question.”

Jon sighed to show her he capitulated. Then thought about it. He felt cold and sick, but the idea of saying no to a statement made those feelings worse, not better. And the sharp clusters of pain in his belly were harder to sleep through than quease.

“I’ll be fine,” he decided. “It’ll help.”

“Alright. When you’re ready, ask me what I used to do when I got shaky between hunts.”

Read part two here.

#stuffing #nausea #stomachache #hunger kink #a shifty tract #nonsearchable tma tag #other titles i. jocoseriously considered include 'divine chains' (like the cult from 153 get it?);#'too much information' and 'a movable-type feast'.#also for a long time the file on my computer was called 'statement eating: the moive' because alas i was a teenage h/omes/tuck

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lady-of-the-lotus · 3 years

Text

Xue Yang is asleep. It would be so easy to reach across the bed, take the knife the animal keeps on the headboard and silently slit his throat. Watch him bleed out, listen to the musical drip-drip-drip of blood pooling under the bed...

No. That would be too simple.

Too easy.

Xuexiao - E - Chapter 1 on Tumblr - Read on AO3! (<- heed the tags)

Chapter 2/2

Xue Yang is at his side in an instant, offering him fresh water, removing the jug of vomit, giving him a handful of raisins to clear his mouth.

Looking so solicitous, so worried, so sincere, even as he laughs and says, “A little warning next time, maybe?”

Xiao Xingchen swallows a raisin. It almost chokes him. “I want be alone,” he says. His voice is weak, scratchy, almost inaudible, but strangely calm.

"You don’t look too good, daozhang.”

A surge of something approaching hysteria. “Leave me alone!”

Xue Yang sits on the edge of the bed. “You’re not well, daozhang. I’ll just sit here quietly. I promise not to talk.”

That would be a first, Xingchen thinks, but, afraid that he’ll burst out with recriminations if he keeps speaking, he lies back down silently. Light pours in through the windows, filling the room with uncomfortable brightness, and it’s all too much after spending so long in darkness, too overwhelming. He tucks the rest of the paperman down into the darkness of his robe and tries to pull a second coherent thread of thought from the tangled snarl in his brain.

Nothing.

All he can focus on is that it’s Xue Yang, it’s Xue Yang. The monster, the murderer, the subhuman animal, sitting not three feet from him, one hand tapping worriedly on the bed, the same hand that had touched his tongue—his face—his—his—

And Xingchen’s mouth between Xue Yang’s legs, Xue Yang’s cum on his tongue—

A nightmarish eternity passes, an unbearable whirlpool of betrayal and horror, and then he feels that hand on his.

“Feel any better, daozhang?”

Xiao Xingchen allows the paperman to peep above the rim of his collar, just enough to look out without being seen. The room is black, Xue Yang’s head silhouetted against the dark gray of the window.

“Head injuries do a number on you,” Xue Yang says, and he sounds so normal, so exactly like Chengmei, that it’s all Xingchen can do to keep from shoving him away from, knocking him to the floor, driving his heel through his teeth—

A stab of heat in his brain. He should do it, smash Xue Yang’s face in, crush his skull to a bloody gray and pink pulp—

Xue Yang’s face is just barely visible in the dim gray starlight. His regrettably fine black eyes are gazing fixedly at Xiao Xingchen.

The eyes come closer, catching the faint light from the window, gleaming like demon eyes, stopping mere inches from his face.

Then they start to move again, floating downward past Xiao Xingchen’s lips, and he feels the brush of skin against his throat, a faint suction, and knows Xue Yang has kissed him, is kissing his way down his chest, down to—

“I’ll take care of you, daozhang,” whispers Xue Yang, his breath warm against Xiao Xingchen’s cool skin, and he licks Xiao Xingchen’s nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive nub.

Tingles spread throughout Xiao Xingchen’s groin as a painful rush of blood engorges his cock.

He moves his hand, meaning to grab a fistful of hair, rip Xue Yang off of him, fling him across the room, but Xue Yang’s mouth is on his cock, sucking it hard, and instead Xiao Xingchen feels a bloody tear slip down his cheek as he comes almost instantly, filling Xue Yang’s mouth.

Xue Yang laughs, swallowing with an obscene gulping sound. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Someone’s eager tonight,” he grins. “Was that all that was wrong?” The delinquent is straddling Xiao Xingchen, wearing just a half-open inner robe as he gazes fondly down at him in the darkness. “You can tell me these things now. Anything you want, I’ll do it.”

I don’t want anything from you, don’t touch me! Xingchen screams inside his head, but he can’t move, can’t speak, disgust choking the air out of him.

Supporting himself on his good hand, hair trailing down over Xiao Xingchen’s midsection like a silky black curtain, Xue Yang begins to move, rubbing his stiff pink cock over Xiao Xingchen’s still half-erect one. There’s something wet there—oil? Precum?—that eases the friction on his oversensitive member and makes it pleasurable instead—

Pleasurable. Xiao Xingchen wants to rip his own brain out through his ears at the thought. And yet he just lies there, rocking his hips slightly, as Xue Yang thrusts down at him with smooth quick movements, their bobbing cocks rubbing together, shafts sliding up and down, until Xue Yang comes with a little gasp, cum speckling Xiao Xingchen’s stomach.

Immediately Xue Yang is bent over him, Xingchen’s hardening cock cradled in the curve of his throat and shoulder, licking the cum from Xiao Xingchen’s stomach in long broad strokes, wiping it off where he can’t reach with his tongue and sucking it off his fingers.

“You look so beautiful like this, daozhang,” he whispers between each swipe of tongue. “As if you’re only half in this world…”

If that’s true, then it’s loathing taking Xiao Xingchen out of himself, a searing hatred that keeps Xiao Xingchen floating somewhere between pleasure and revulsion. He wants to savor the disgust, bathe in the venom before snapping Xue Yang’s neck between his legs—

Xue Yang tucks Xiao Xingchen’s cock more firmly under his chin, fondling his balls with his good hand, and rubs up and down with his chin, turning his face to brush his lips over the swollen flesh. Inhales deeply as if trying to breathe Xiao Xingchen into him, kisses the tip, sucks it gently.

“I like how you feel against my mouth,” he says, and Xiao Xingchen sputters all over his hair, his face, his eyelashes, coating him in a splattered layer of sticky white cum. Grinning, Xue Yang licks what he can off and wipes the rest on the sheets.

“Laundry tomorrow, I think,” he says, curling up beside Xiao Xingchen. He pulls the blanket over the half-naked daozhang. “My robes from last night have been soaking. Maybe we can use the spirit beast’s core to get the bloodstains out, haha…”

He drifts off.

Xiao Xingchen begins to shake.

A few touches of stickiness remain between his legs, and he wants to scrub himself clean, tear his own skin off—

Xue Yang is asleep. It would be so easy to reach across the bed, take the knife Xue Yang always keeps on the headboard and silently slit his throat. Watch him bleed out, lie there listening to the musical drip-drip-drip of blood pooling under the bed...

A flash of heat in his skull. No. That would be too simple.

Too easy.

Xue Yang must be planning something. He has to find out what. It’s been almost two years since he first came to Yi City with—with—

A chill of horror.

A-Qing.

He can’t let her come home to this. Can’t let her get caught in whatever trap Xue Yang is laying—

A few days. She won’t be back for a day or so. She likes her space—

Tomorrow he’ll put up a paperman at the courtyard gate. Have an early warning, be able to head her off.

In the meantime—

He sets up two more papermen in the morning, one in the Coffin House, one looking out over the courtyard, making sure they’re well-hidden. He can’t quite get used to the triply-split vision, and ends up maneuvering them so their vision is blocked, all but the one peeking from his robe.

The rest of the morning is spent sitting on the porch steps, just looking at everything, trying to get used to the unsettling sensation of not blinking. The dusty coffins, the clear blue spring sky, the ghostly white scraps of funeral banners, the bobbing funeral lanterns on sticks—all swim before him, and he has to take a break, tucking the paperman down fully into his robe when everything overwhelms him.

It’s hot out on the porch. Too hot. The heat seems to be coming from inside him, but that must be his imagination. He bathes his face with water and pulls the collar of his robe open and remains there, sitting, waiting.

He’s not sure what he’s waiting for. It’s hard to think straight, his mind stretched between three papermen. Little red lines mar the edges of his vision, pulsing slightly with little flecks of crimson light.

He tries to meditate, soothe himself, do something to cool the heat in his brain, settle himself enough that he can fully enjoy the novelty of being able to see again after years of darkness, but all he can think of is A-Qing, A-Qing, I have to protect A-Qing, and the memory of letting that monster put his hands on him, his mouth on him, cup the most private part of him against his throat. Let him whisper sweet nothings to him in mockery of—of—

No. He had not had true feelings for this disgusting animal. Friendship, perhaps, but that was it.

Against his will, his body stirs at the memory of Xue Yang’s mouth, and in a fit of self-loathing he digs his fingernails into the bruises on his ribs, focusing on the pain.

An enormous silver moon has climbed high over the city by the time Xue Yang returns.

“We’ve got to clean that blindfold of yours,” he says, tilting his head at the bloodstained bandages covering Xiao Xingchen’s eyes. Xingchen wants to cut his own dick off at the way his entire body comes alive in Xue Yang’s presence. “I totally forgot about the laundry. Anyway, I flew over half of Shudong, but I found you this.” He dangles a small black pouch from his fingers, grinning. “Medicinal tea, for your head.”

A stab of rage. How dare he do this, how dare he try to take care of Xiao Xingchen—how dare he continue trying to manipulate him—

“Daozhang?”

He forces a smile. Can’t give himself away just yet. “Thank you, Chengmei.”

“Can’t have you dying on me before you sew up my robes, at any rate.” Laughing, Xue Yang enters the house. A few minutes later he exits with a cup of tea steaming in his hand. “Here, daozhang.”

“You should have some too,” Xiao Xingchen says, making no move to take the cup. He knows it’s ridiculous, that someone like Xue Yang would never kill someone by poisoning their food, but—

“I bought it for you, daozhang.”

“Please, A-Mei. A sip. For me.”

Xue Yang almost melts at the A-Mei, blinking at Xiao Xingchen with liquid black eyes. For a moment Xiao Xingchen wonders if he knows he can see, for him to be keeping up his act without an audience. Xue Yang leans towards him as if he wants to touch him again, and a tingle of disgust spreads from the backs of Xiao Xingchen's knees.

“Just a sip, then,” says Xue Yang, twisting a length of hair around a finger, and he takes a small sip. He swallows dramatically to make sure Xiao Xingchen knows he's done as asked, and the tingle of disgust turns to one of arousal, throbbing gently between Xingchen's legs.

Xiao Xingchen downs the tea, sets the cup down on the steps, picks up Shuanghua, and flies up into the night sky.

He gazes down on Yi City. The grim funeral town is beautiful from this height, silver moonlight frosting the sloping rooftops and imbuing it with a mysterious, unearthly air. Starlight illuminates the surrounding forests, their boughs waving gently in the soft breeze, and in the distance he sees the curve of the river that supplies the city with its water.

“Would you like me to describe it to you?” Xue Yang is beside him, balanced effortlessly on Jiangzai. “It’s nice up here.” His voice is so soft that Xiao Xingchen has to fight the urge to shove him off his sword, watch him plummet to the earth, break open on the stone of the Coffin House courtyard in an explosion of blood and bone.

Xiao Xingchen recognizes Jiangzai’s dark energy now. He should have known sooner, should have known —

The red veins edging his vision throb gently, shedding a halo of crimson light, tinting the silver moonlight like blood smeared over a windowpane.

Xue Yang doesn't wait for a response. “It's all silvery. Lots of stars. Mountains in the distance, dark against the sky. Faint pink light still clinging to the horizon. Bats wheeling to the east, a silver ribbon of water to the west…”

Xiao Xingchen can’t listen to this discordant drivel anymore, not from someone standing atop a sword gorged on the blood of countless innocents.

“Get down,” he hears himself saying.

“To go make dinner? I bought some dried fish."

“Down on your knees.”

Without another word Xue Yang drops to his knees on the blade, good hand gripping the hilt for support.

Xiao Xingchen slips his hands inside his robes, takes out his cock. The mere sight of his enemy kneeling before him has him fully erect, and it’s almost painfully sensitive to handle.

“Kiss it,” he orders, and Xue Yang leans forward eagerly and closes his mouth around the tip, tongue caressing the swollen pink flesh.

Xiao Xingchen jerks his head back roughly by the hair. The malignant red light is all around him now, pulsing hot in his brain, and he wants to rip Xue Yang’s scalp off. “I said kiss it!”

Xue Yang is shaking all over now, high color in his cheeks. He gazes up at Xiao Xingchen with a worshipful look that makes Xingchen want to plant his foot on his throat. Gently, so gently, Xue Yang leans forward and presses a kiss to the underside of Xiao Xingchen’s cock. He touches the very tip with his tongue. flicking it back and forth, lapping at the milky beads of precum.

“You have the most magnificent cock,” he says, licking the precum from his lips and running a finger along an engorged vein. He gives a little laugh. “Majestic. You wouldn’t think it to look at you but you could use this thing as a club. They ought to carve jade replicas for the women. Hell, men too. I’d buy one.” He hesitates, waiting for Xingchen to laugh, then, giving up, he kisses the underside, right at the root, and reaches down into his own robes.

Xiao Xingchen tugs roughly at his hair again. “Did I say you could touch yourself?”

Touch yourself. Such vulgar words, but they sound right in this moment. Xue Yang looks up, still trembling, eager for this new game.

“Just for that, open your mouth.”

Xue Yang opens his mouth obediently, and Xiao Xingchen thrusts deeply into his mouth, his cock fitting snugly in Xue Yang’s throat. He grips Xue Yang’s hair as he fucks his mouth, jerking his head farther down on his cock, holding him steady as he fills his throat, heedless of Xue Yang’s strangled gagging.

He pulls out, and Xue Yang draws in a rasping lungful of air.

“Mouth open!” he orders before Xue Yang can catch his breath, and Xue Yang, breath coming in a thin whistle, obediently parts his lips.

Xiao Xingchen pumps his own cock, a few quick strokes, and then he’s coming in Xue Yang’s waiting mouth, on his tongue, his lips.

Marking him.

The red haze fades slightly as he spends himself, the heat in his brain cooling slightly.

“Swallow,” he orders, and Xue Yang does so, eyes bright, entire body quivering with arousal. A few drops of cum have gone astray, landing in his long thick eyelashes.

“Thank you, daozhang,” he says, licking his lips, and Xiao Xingchen would get hard again if it were physically possible.

He reaches down into the courtyard, stirs the paperman outside the Coffin House, looks up through its eyes.

He is standing tall against the brilliant silver moon, white robes and black hair flowing out behind him. Xue Yang, the murderer, the monster, kneels at his feet, gazing up at him, one shaking hand extended slightly as if to touch the hem of his gown, sully the white linen with his filthy fingers.

Xiao Xingchen turns and flies back down to the courtyard. As if nothing had happened he strains the rice Xue Yang had boiled along with the tea and seats himself at the table, his mind a curious blank.

Xue Yang steps over the threshold. He’s not fully erect anymore, but Xiao Xingchen can tell he hasn’t touched himself, either, and his cheeks are still flushed. He glances at Xiao Xingchen, that same oddly soft look on his face, and fills a bowl with rice. He bites his lip as he does so, hesitating for a fraction of a second. In all their time together, Xingchen has never once taken a bowl of food for himself without setting one out for Xue Yang and A-Qing.

A-Qing—

No. He has time to handle Xue Yang. He has time to protect her—

Xue Yang pulls his chair out, and Xiao Xingchen shakes his head.

“Did I say you could sit at the table?” he says sharply. It’s a tone he’s never heard from himself before tonight. “The table is for people.” He sets his own half-eaten bowl on the floor and takes Xue Yang’s full one from his hands.

Xue Yang grins and settles down on the floor, thrilled at this new game, at being taken care of by the daozhang, a favored pet. His back rests lightly against Xiao Xingchen’s leg, warm and solid and far too alive.

It would be so easy to reach down, plunge an ivory chopstick into Xue Yang’s ear—not his ear. His eyes—take his like he took Song Lan’s. Ivory chopsticks, slick with his blood—

Ivory chopsticks. Xiao Xingchen glances down at the smooth white sticks in his hand. He’s never thought twice about the chopsticks “Chengmei” had brought home one day as a gift for him. Stolen, no doubt. Had he murdered the owner? Killed them for a pair of chopsticks, a gift for the daozhang—

Of course he did.

The only other gifts he had ever received from anyone other than Xue Yang had been Song Lan's horsetail whisk and Shifu's parting gift.

He reaches down, rests a hand on Xue Yang’s head. Xue Yang makes a small sound in the back of his throat, and Xiao Xingchen removes his hand.

He hands Xue Yang his bowl when he’s done, watches as he washes the bowls and chopsticks.

“We should do laundry tomorrow,” Xue Yang says as he dries them. “And move your coffin out of the house—” He glances at Xiao Xingchen expectantly, as if wondering if he’s gone to too far, expecting Xiao Xingchen to remain in his bed, and Xiao Xingchen nods and crosses the room, undresses, lies down.

Grinning, Xue Yang strips off all but his inner robe and scrambles into bed beside him.

“Foot of the bed,” Xiao Xingchen orders.

Obediently, Xue Yang curls up at his feet. Through the eyes of the Coffin House paperman Xiao Xingchen can see the swollen flesh pressing up against his inner robe, the bright moonlight gleaming off the bulge, a small wet spot staining the green silk. His robe is half-open, and Xiao Xingchen sees his bloodstained bandages.

How could I have forgotten to wash his wounds, change his bandages—

The thought is gone almost as quickly as it appears, but it leaves a scar of shame and rage behind. The moonlight is bloodying again as he reaches out to the paperman in his robe and the one across the room, looking through their eyes.

He likes the sight of Xue Yang curled up like a docile dog at the foot of his bed. A rabid animal brought low, kept sniffing his hand, until he decides to put him down.

Another quick, flitting thought: this is not like Xingchen. Mercy is. Not forgiveness, perhaps; not after what Xue Yang has done, but a quick death. Not playing with his prey, not delighting in this—this perversion—

The veins on the edges of his vision throb hotly, clamping his head in a skull-crushing vise.

“Don’t move until I tell you to,” he commands, and he goes to sleep.

Xue Yang is still curled up in the same spot when he wakes the next morning. Clouds have rolled in during the night, and rain taps on the windowpanes. The room is cool, shrouded in grim gray light, dampness seeping in under the door and around the windows.

Xiao Xingchen has always liked rainy days. The peace, the coziness of the Coffin House, Xingchen holding in a laugh as he listens to Chengmei try not to curse as he stuffs the cracks he’s already fixed a dozen times before. A small fire, Chengmei telling stories, A-Qing pretending not to listen but secretly entranced—

A-Qing. Where is she? It’s rainy out, she should be home early—

He glances at Xue Yang. His eyes are open, gazing across the bed at Xiao Xingchen with that same bizarrely soft look. There’s something else there, too, that Xiao Xingchen can’t decipher.

He doesn’t bother trying.

Without a word to Xue Yang he dresses and leaves the Coffin House with a fourth paperman infused with the spirit beast's core. Carefully, he carves off another section of his mind and slips it into the paperman.

He drops his umbrella at the sudden jolt of blinding, searing, world-reddening pain, staggering backwards, one foot crushing the bamboo spokes of the umbrella, tearing the delicately-painted paper.

Umbrella. Another gift from Xue Yang—

He steps on it again, again, smashing, stomping it to splinters, then places the paperman in a dry alcove of the courtyard wall and returns to the house.

He’s a bit shakier than he’d like to admit, everything still tinted red, little pulses of light racing along the veins on the edge of his vision. He takes a moment to steady himself before entering the Coffin House.

“Get up,” he says shortly. A buzzing, crackling, energy is in the thick cool air, and when he grabs Xue Yang’s ear, yanking him up, he feels a spark of lightning jump between them, intensifying the heat in his brain.

Xue Yang scrambles to his feet, stumbling slightly, either from having lain so still or from the blood Xiao Xingchen notices seeping through the bandages on his side.

“Clean the house before I get back,” orders Xiao Xingchen, because he can’t stay another second in that house with Xue Yang. He loathes how his traitorous body still lights up around the repulsive creature, can’t stomach how the mere sight of him sends his blood rising, from lust or hatred or a mix of the two he doesn’t know. A flare of heat and he’s seized by a sudden desire to pin the dog down, fuck his wounds, brand him from the inside, fuck his side open, rip his bones out one by one—

“Daozhang?” Xue Yang is sitting on the edge of the bed. His face is pale, good hand on his bleeding side. “I…” He stops. “Where are you going?”

“Did I say you could talk?” Xiao Xingchen says coldly, and a look just as odd as that horrible soft one creeps across Xue Yang’s face. “Should get you a muzzle—”

Ugly words, foul words, words that feel foreign in his mouth, but ones that send a thrill through him.

Fuck the murderer like a dog, treat him as he deserves to be treated—

Xue Yang removes his hand from his ribs, glancing down at the blood staining his palm. “I’m not a…”

Xiao Xingchen’s mouth is set in a thin hard line. That heat is back, turning the hairline fractures along the edges of his vision a violent scarlet. “Rabid dogs are good for one thing only, and it’s not talking.”

Xue Yang glances up at Xiao Xingchen, that same odd look still on his face. There’s no bulge in his robe this morning, and his scarred skin is bone-white and streaked with blood from his side, as if his meridians half opened during the night.

Xiao Xingchen smiles.

It is not a nice expression, but all Xue Yang sees is the smile. He revives like a wilted flower, a smile of his own splitting his face. The game is back on.

“Tell me you’ll obey,” demands Xiao Xingchen, pointing at the floor, and Xue Yang gets down on his knees, shaking with excitement.

“I swear I will, anything you say—”

“Take a bath. Clean that blood. I’ll be back for you later.”

A flicker of a frown—Xiao Xingchen has always tended his wounds—but it quickly disappears. Xiao Xingchen knows what he’s thinking: all part of the game. The daozhang knows he’s all right, that the stitches half-tearing is nothing to Xue Yang, how he’s survived far worse—

Xingchen heads out. Flies over the walls of the city to walk under the trees, tries to absorb the peace of the forest. It’s the first time he’s seen greenery like this in years, but there’s a mounting pressure in his skull, and the leaves appear to be coated in blood, dripping—

The paperman is hot against his collarbone, searing the bruises Xue Yang left on his skin. He tucks the paperman fully into his robe and casts his consciousness back to the Coffin House paperman. It’s agonizing, white-hot heat blooming in his brain, but he can see Xue Yang stripping the bed, hauling the sheets out into the rain. He switches to the courtyard paperman and watches Xue Yang scrub the sheets with his one good hand, frowning at the bloodstains, whistling off-key, smiling when he gets the white streaks off the brown cotton.

Peaceful. Domestic.

A filthy lie.

For hours he paces under the dripping trees, swallowed by the growing shades of twilight as his thoughts blaze bright and hot.

A lie. A lie. All just a filthy lie—

The heat in his brain builds, expands, searing the inside of his skull.

If only A-Qing were back. Knowing she was safe, he could settle things once and for all—

A-Qing is not coming back.

The thought, cold and calm and blue against the scarlet of his mind, sits there, hands folded, staring at him with clear eyes.

A-Qing is not coming back.

Chengmei’s voice returns to him: “Good thing A-Qing isn’t home…”

He had killed her.

Xiao Xingchen knows it like he knows his own name.

Xue Yang had murdered A-Qing.

Murdered an innocent girl in order to get the daozhang alone. Alone to—to—

His hand on his hip, his mouth on his cock—

Xingchen doesn’t remember the flight back to the house. He steps inside, heat flaring through every inch of him despite the wet chill, and stares down at Xue Yang.

Xue Yang looks up at him, eyes bright. Three candles flicker cheerfully on the table, sending black shadows dancing through the room. Rice is cooling on the stove, a mound of fruit on the table. Xue Yang has been carving them into shapes with a long silver knife, fitting them together into little animals.

A-Qing’s favorite.

A-Qing—

“Give me the knife, strip, and get on the bed,” Xiao Xingchen says, and Xue Yang goes rigid, mouth opening. He closes it with a snapping sound and is across the room in an instant, shedding his robes. He lies naked and eager on the bed’s fresh blankets, swallowing convulsively.

Waiting for Xiao Xingchen.

Xiao Xingchen snuffs out all but one of the candles and sets it on the floor beside the bed. Rain dashes itself against the windowpanes and hammers the stone courtyard, the only sound in the house as he slips off his soaked robes.

“Just tell me what to do,” says Xue Yang, already breathless. His burning eyes are fixed on Xiao Xingchen’s face as if devouring him, hunger in the lines of his mouth. He’s already hard, cock swollen and heavy between his legs, just visible in the glow of the candle on the floor.

Slowly, Xiao Xingchen removes the white jade hairpiece Baoshan Sanren gave him as a parting gift, wraps it in a handkerchief, sets it on a shelf. Combs out his wet hair, letting it fall around his bare shoulders. Lays Xue Yang’s knife on the headboard along with a small bottle of soybean oil from the pantry.

Unties his bloody blindfold, lets it drop to the floor.

Xue Yang’s eyes widen and Xingchen thinks the animal might come on the spot. He’s never seen Xiao Xingchen’s true face like this before, fully exposed, bare. Xiao Xingchen can see himself as Xue Yang does, long white body wreathed in candlelight and shadow, purple bruises mottling the faint outlines of his ribs, dark hollows swallowing half his bony, beautiful face. Stern, cold.

Pitiless.

A hazy look enters Xue Yang’s eyes, softening their usual intensity. He reaches up towards Xiao Xingchen’s face, and Xiao Xingchen finds himself leaning over him. Xue Yang tilts his face at Xingchen, fingertips grazing the rims of his empty eye socks.

“You’re even more beautiful like this,” he breathes, and he leans up to kiss Xiao Xingchen, their first real kiss, full on the mouth. Warm and soft—

Xiao Xingchen feels himself returning the kiss, the heat in his mind cooling. Watches himself lean over Xue Yang, watches Xue Yang’s long pale fingers tangled in his dark hair, watches himself slip between Xue Yang’s legs, one hand resting on the bandages, the other bracing himself on Xue Yang’s bent knee. Xue Yang’s cock is trapped between them, hot and hard against his stomach.

Solid. Alive.

Xue Yang bucks into Xiao Xingchen, rocking his hips. There’s increasing desperation in his kiss, his legs tightening around Xingchen as he ruts against him. He comes quickly, long-neglected cock spurting up onto Xiao Xingchen’s stomach.

“You didn’t mean what you said before, did you?” Xue Yang whispers into his throat. Haltingly, as if still hesitant to ask despite their intimacy loosening his tongue. “This morning.”

Rabid dogs are good for one thing only, and it’s not talking.

That morning. It seems like an eternity ago. Before Xiao Xingchen had left the house, before he had realized—had realized—

A-Qing.

Xiao Xingchen straightens up. Xue Yang’s cum is hot on his stomach, burning the skin. Tainting him, marking him. Gritting his teeth, he leans back, straddling Xue Yang, gazing down at him in the flickering glow of the candle.

“Did I say you could finish?” he asks. He wants to wipe the cum off but can’t bear to give Xue Yang the satisfaction. “Did I give you permission?”

Xue Yang looks up in confusion. “Daozhang…”

Xiao Xingchen smiles.

Xue Yang’s eyes widen but then, reading something in Xiao Xingchen’s face he’s certain isn’t actually there, he relaxes, tilting his head and grinning back.

“Now, stay quiet for me,” Xiao Xingchen tells him, because he can’t bear the sound of Xue Yang’s voice, Chengmei’s voice. The heat is returning, red splotches pulsing along the edges of his vision, scorching his empty eye sockets. “Keep your mouth shut for once.”

“I will, I won’t make a sound—”

“I said be quiet.”

Xue Yang’s grin stretches wider. “I promise, I'll be so quiet you won’t even know I’m here.”

“Shut up!”

“Make me.”

Xiao Xingchen extends a hand, and the spirit-binding rope inside his folded robes snakes ribbon-like through the air toward him. Before Xue Yang can react his ankle is bound to the bed frame, a little noose on the end of a long rope.

And the hooligan laughs. “So that’s what you’re into, daozhang? Can’t say I didn’t suspect it, after the past few days. Should probably tighten in a bit, though. Ha, could you imagine if A-Qing walked in right now—”

A-Qing.

A-Qing, lying dead in a shallow grave, tossed on the side of the road for the dogs, carved up in pieces and scattered for the crows—

Gripping him roughly, Xiao Xingchen rolls him over onto his front, yanking him up onto his knees. Xue Yang’s shattered arm jerks into the mattress and he gives a muffled grunt, but not a word of complaint escapes his lips as Xiao Xingchen takes the knife from the headboard and slices the bandages off Xue Yang’s wounded side, fingernails digging into his half-torn stitches.

“I told you to take better care of yourself,” he says and rips the stitches out.

Blood dribbles over his hand as Xue Yang gasps, muscles in his bare back standing out like whipcords as every inch of his body clenches. Xiao Xingchen slicks his hand with blood and oil and rubs it roughly over Xue Yang’s hole, nails scratching the delicate skin, digging deep inside him, working him open.

Xue Yang remains silent, every muscle tensed, then moves back, sliding Xiao Xingchen’s fingers deeper inside him.

The degenerate is… aroused by this.

Gritting his teeth, Xiao Xingchen grips Xue Yang’s wounded side tighter.

A wet tearing sound as his finger digs deeper into the gouge wound.

A second gasp. “Daozhang—”

“Don’t talk. Don’t you like this?”

Xue Yang’s cock has grown fat and hard, dripping precum onto the sheets beneath him. “Anything you want, I’ll do anything—”

"What I want—" Xiao Xingchen shoves him forward, pinning the shoulder of his bad arm into the mattress, Xue Yang’s cheek pressed into the sheets, cock crushed at a painful angle "—is for you to be a good dog for your daozhang, Xue Yang.”

Xue Yang’s body jerks in shock at the sound of his name, and Xiao Xingchen plunges his cock inside him. It’s tight, too tight, and Xue Yang twitches spasmodically beneath him.

Xiao Xingchen grabs a fistful of hair, wraps it leash-like around Xue Yang’s throat, and begins to move, thrusting hard into Xue Yang’s tight heat, yanking hard on the leash as Xue Yang’s good hand scrabbles uselessly at the noose of hair around his throat.

“Rabid animal, killing A-Qing—I’ll treat you like one—”

“I—didn’t—” Xue Yang chokes out. He’s bleeding heavily from his side, spirit-binding rope unsealing his blood-stopping meridians. “I—”

Xingchen loosens the collar slightly, allowing him to speak. “Didn’t lie to me all this time?”

“ I lied to you ? You lied to me, pretending you—”

Xingchen cuts him off, yanking on the collar, cutting off his air. Xue Yang’s bloodied teeth are bared, veins standing out in his temple as he chokes, a sudden flash of hatred burning in his eyes.

“Lying dog! So you didn’t slaughter Baixue Temple, murder A-Qing—you blinded Song Lan, set him against me—”

“You did that all by yourself—” Xue Yang chokes.

“Shut up!”

“That bastard deserved it, taking your eyes—”

“You took him from me—”

Xue Yang's voice is barely audible, a faint wheezing gasp. “That over-saturated blanket? You ought to thank me!”

“Shut up!” He releases the hair collar and instead presses Xue Yang’s head hard into the mattress and thrusts into him savagely, hurting both of them. He barely feels it through the heat blazing bright and red inside him, swallowing all else in an inferno of hate and betrayal and rage. “Shut the fuck up, you subhuman animal —”

Xue Yang manages to turn his head, gasps in a deep breath of air, laughs as if this is funny. Blood sprays the blanket. “Am I delirious, or is the daozhang cursing?”

“I ought to gouge out your eyes, let you bleed to death on this bed; nobody would mourn you, no tears would be shed, just another dog tossed in a roadside ditch. Carve your lying tongue out—”

More laughter, Xue Yang’s body shaking beneath his, accelerating the spread of the blood blooming over the mattress. “I have a collection I can show you.”

“You—”

More laughter, more blood spraying across the blanket. “You fucking gullible idiot—”

Xiao Xingchen flips him over his back so he can look him full in the face. A fresh trickle of blood is leaking from between Xue Yang’s legs. He’d torn something down there. Good. But Xue Yang makes no sign of pain, doesn’t resist as Xiao Xingchen pins him down, one hand on his broken arm, the other on his wounded side, fingers twisting at the torn flesh, digging deeper, clawing their way down to bone.

“My beautiful daozhang,” says Xue Yang sarcastically. His voice catches in his throat, as if he finally fully feels the pain in the raw red mess on his side. “My pure white dove with bloodstained wings.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Xue Yang tilts his head at him. His face is lily-white, the blood on his cheek shockingly bright even in the candle’s flickering glow. His eyes are rimmed with pink, hair a matted mess, and Xiao Xingchen almost comes at the sight of him. “Do you really want to know?”

And suddenly Xiao Xingchen does not want to know. It doesn’t matter, not anymore. A-Qing is dead, Song Lan is gone.

But Xue Yang is beneath him. Warm.

Alive.

Staring up at him fixedly, making no move to push him off. A sneer is plastered over his face, but if Xiao Xingchen didn’t know better he’d think tears were glistening in those fine black eyes.

He reaches down, touches Xue Yang’s face, leaves a trail of scarlet on his white cheek. Brushes his finger over his mouth, reaching past his bloodless lips, easing his teeth open, forcing his fingers in his mouth, stroking his tongue with a finger. Pierces it with his nail, removes his hand, wipes the blood on Xue Yang’s hair.

“You look so pretty with blood on your face,” he says, and begins to move inside him again.

“Fuck me like you mean it, daozhang,” Xue Yang grins, and Xiao Xingchen grips him by the throat, choking Chengmei’s voice out of him. Lets go to flip him on all fours again, then reaches around to grip him by the blood-slick throat again, fucks him violently from behind like an animal.

And Xue Yang laughs, laughs as Xiao Xingchen crushes his throat, laughs as his shattered arm is rocked into the mattress, laughs as he saturates the bed with blood.

Xiao Xingchen can feel nothing but the blazing, all-consuming heat devouring him from the inside, a foreign, malignant presence smothering his mind with rage.

Filthy lie—all a lie—all a lie—

“Not just me,” says Xue Yang, as if he can hear his thoughts, and Xiao Xingchen’s fingers tighten around his throat.

“I didn’t lie,” he hisses. “I did care about you, you subhuman animal, you made me think I loved you—”

Xue Yang ragged choking laugh breaks off and he spams, thrashing beneath Xingchen. A spurt of white splatters over the crimson of the bed. His muscles clench around Xiao Xingchen’s cock as he comes and Xiao Xingchen spills inside him with a shudder, yanking Xue Yang’s head back so sharply he almost snaps his neck in half.

Panting, he shoves Xue Yang flat on his chest, still locked inside him, and takes a moment to examine the tableau he’s created.

Xue Yang, spread out beneath him. The red-soaked sheets. Xiao Xingchen, damp black hair cascading loose over his white back. The glow from the candle on the floor, gilding the edge of the bed, painting the wet windows with gold.

He inhales deeply, the heady scent of blood mixing with the pounding red inside his skull.

“Had enough?” he says. He bends down, turns Xue Yang’s head to the side. “Enjoyed being fucked like the dog you are, my friend?”

Xue Yang stares glassily up at the window.

“Xue Yang?”

Nothing.

He touches the dark purple bruises ringing his throat.

Nothing.

He remains very still, still as the corpse beneath him, then pulls out of Xue Yang’s limp body with an obscenely wet sound. Carefully, very carefully, he moves the corpse, dragging it up to the head of the bed, placing it gently in his arms.

It’s rapidly growing cool, a combination of the massive blood loss and chill of the rainy night. He slides it under the blood-soaked covers beside him and kisses its ivory forehead.

“Good dog,” he says, and he begins to laugh.

He can’t stop.

He laughs until his bruised ribs threaten to separate and the blood covering Xue Yang’s body has grown cold and sticky. His mind is cooling too, but the pressure in his head is growing, swelling, threatening to burst his skull into a thousand shards. Icy-hot, it stabs at him as he reaches out to the paperman in the courtyard, the paperman behind the bed, across the room, at the gate—

No need for them now.

With an agonizing wrench, he severs the connection.

Coolness like water rushes into his mind, extinguishing the flames, banishing the malign presence, and darkness swallows the world again.

It’s comforting, somehow. Familiar.

Safe.

He moves slightly, and is surprised to find that his arm is pinned.

Pinned beneath Xue Yang’s body.

Xue Yang’s cold, lifeless body.

Chengmei’s cold, lifeless body—

A shudder runs through him.

“I had to,” he whispers. “A-Qing, A-Qing, I had to avenge her, I had to…”

He cradles the body in his arms, rocking it gently back and forth as he mumbles to himself.

“I had to…I had to…”

Had to had to had to had to—

Had to. Had to.

Had to.

Dawn is breaking when he hears the familiar tap-tap-tap of a stick on the stone of the courtyard.

A-Qing’s stick.

A-Qing’s—

Xiao Xingchen begins to cry.

#xue yang #xiao xingchen #xuexiao #this is very E rated so be aware #also I'm sorry #katie after dark #borderline dead dove #mdzs fanfiction #cql fanfic #You Look So Pretty With Blood On Your Face #lotus writes

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thewhumperinwhite · 3 years

Text

ATTD: The Wolf Pup, Without His Pack (2)

previous // masterlist

@whump-cravings @favwhumpstuff @whumpitywhumpwhump

TW for: minor whumpee (nonhuman); nonhuman whumpee; use of it pronouns; implied parental neglect/Bad Parenting In General; referenced parental death.

----

Old Cruci hated humans.

Usually it was hard to see what Old Cruci was feeling. Old Cruci said things like “I have sworn on my life to protect you” and “Your coat is dirty; clean it” in the same tone of voice. Saren had never seen Old Cruci smile, and even his frown was often hard to see—just a twitch down at the corner of his mouth, and up in the middle of one of his eyebrows. The only time, really, that Saren could tell what Cruci was thinking was when he spoke of humans.

“They are like flies,” Cruci said once, when Saren had asked him too many times. His lip curled up, to show his pointed teeth, and his nose wrinkled, like he was smelling something bad. “They breed like flies, and die like flies. One is easily swatted, but more are always coming. They eat dead flesh and carry disease.” Then he met Saren’s eyes—Saren froze, right down to his marrow, for Cruci had never looked at him like that before—and narrowed his violet eyes. “You have seen flies, pup. Then you need never see a human. One is as good as the other. Do not ask of this again.”

That had made Saren relax, a little. Old Cruci said “do not ask of this again” often enough that it was no longer frightening. In fact, it might be that Cruci said “do not ask of this again” more often than he said anything else, at least to Saren.

Saren had reasons to hate humans, too. He was small when the Betrayer slew the Great Wolf, and burned the old Den to the ground. He never met the man himself. But Saren remembered the Great Wolf—remembered the Great Wolf’s dimpled smile and bright easy laugh; remembered clinging to the Great Wolf’s back as they ran through the trees, faster than lightning; remembered riding on the Great Wolf’s shoulders and the smell of the Great Wolf’s pelt when he carried Saren, half asleep, to bed. Saren knew what humans had taken from the Wolves, and what the Betrayer had taken from him, as well.

But Saren remembered the Great Wolf, and he knew that his father would not wish him to hate a people he had never seen.

So he didn’t ask Old Cruci where the humans lived, or whether he could go, and see them for himself. Cruci was not his father; Cruci could not decide who Saren would hate. And, anyway, Cruci had said himself that Saren was not to ask him of humans again.

Saren didn’t realize until after the iron-tipped arrow had torn into his shoulder that since he had not told Cruci where he was going, all the promises in the world would not let Old Cruci come and save him, now.

The human den was like nothing Saren had ever seen before—huge and labyrinthine, a thousand times more than the caves around the Wolf Den, which he had thought himself so clever for mastering. And Old Cruci was right about at least one thing: there were too many humans. He must have seen a hundred of them, by now, and more every time he turned a corner, and at least a dozen carrying weapons, and running after him now, and shouting in a language he did not understand.

Saren was a Wolf, on of Those That Chase, he should have been able to leave all these men in their clanging armor behind in an instant. But the arrow was tipped in iron, and his shoulder still burned, even though he had pulled it out, and now his feet were clumsy and slow, and he could not stop even long enough to pull his pelt back around him and be a proper Wolf again. And he was entirely lost, now, with no idea which way was back to the gate, or even where the wall was; and he couldn’t scale it now, not before they could all reload their bows, and—

There was a human in the middle of the road. Saren barreled into it at full speed, landing on the dirt in a heap, then scrambled to gather up his pelt and turned, ran through the first open door he saw.

The building was empty, thank all Fathers. There were boxes, made of wood, scattered around, mainly empty, though a few had straw or bits of canvas or ceramic in them. Saren found one, tipped over on its side, that was just bigger than himself—in this shape, anyway, which was a little smaller—and folded himself into it. He pulled his pelt around his shoulders, wanting to be in his own shape again—to have his proper teeth and claws at least—but the box was too small; there was no room to sink into his pelt and change back.

Outside, a harsh voice barked an order Saren didn’t understand. A softer voice followed it. Saren curled tightly in on himself and covered his head with both hands, tucked his face into his pelt.

As though that would help. He was the son of the Great Wolf, and ought to rise to meet them. Even this many humans would not have overwhelmed his father—the Betrayer had done it only through lies and trickery. Old Cruci would see this many humans and roll his eyes and burn them all to ash.

The humans clattered in their armor, yelling again.

At least Old Cruci wasn’t here to see him cry, he thought.

It was strangely quiet, then, for a little two long. The box was very small; Saren had the mad thought that humans must have been cruel after all, to leave him here to get cramp before they took his head and put it on their coat of arms.

Then the building’s door creaked quietly open, and Saren heard the faint noise of bare feet on the packed-earth floor.

He still didn’t understand the voice that called out. But it was quiet, soft with dry-rusted edges; not very like the soldiers’ terrifying barks at all.

Then, after a moment, the same voice cleared its throat, and called softly, “Little Demon? Are you here?”

Saren had understood not one word since he had come to the humans’ den, but this was clear as day. He jumped, a little, and tapped his head lightly against the box, and then its lid slid free and slapped loudly against the floor, kicking up a cloud of dust, which made Saren cough.

Saren froze.

There was a pause, and then the bare foot steps approached, light and slow. Saren tried to fold himself even further into the box, but there was nowhere left to go. He wrapped his pelt around his shoulders, and bared his teeth, ready to bite.

The human knelt in front of Saren’s box. It did not step as close as he had feared. There was room to run past it, even, if he dared.

Saren stared at it.

It wasn’t the littlest human he had seen—right at the beginning, when he was clinging to the top of the wall around the human den, he had seen two humans littler than him, colored like Cruci with black hair and brown skin, heads bent together, laughing. This human was taller, and older—though not much, Saren reminded himself, since humans aged so much like flies—and colored different, with messy yellow hair cropped short, and pale pinkish skin, torn and red in places. It was taller, but a thousand times thinner, swimming in spun-cloth clothes far to big for its narrow sharp-boned frame.

Its pale skeleton’s face went soft the moment it could see Saren in the darkness. A sword hung at its hip, but the hand it held out toward Saren was empty.

“Hello, little one,” the human said softly, and smiled.

----

The demon, visible mainly as a pair of shiny cat-eyes, stared out of the crate at the boy called Will.

“…you speak human,” it said after a moment. Will almost laughed.

It was a child’s voice, clear enough. And it had looked like a child, out on the street. And it had left a little trail of blood inside this empty storefront. Will could just see the shape of it, now, curled with its knees to its chest, like a child hiding in a closet.

The thought of it made his chest ache.

“Here, little one,” he said, his voice as gentle as he could make it. “Isn’t that box a little small for you?”

The demon narrowed its cat-pupiled eyes very slightly, and said nothing.

“The guards are off away, for now,” Will told it. “I’d like to help you, if you’ll let me.”

The demon stared at him, and leaned forward a little out of its tightly-curled position. Light from the empty windows landed on a lock of storm-gray hair; it seemed to be wearing a cloak of matching gray fur around its shoulders.

“Why?” it said, half accusing and half curious.

“You’re a child,” Will said, before he could think better of it. “And they hurt you, didn’t they?”

The demon crept further out of the crate, in order to give Will a deeply skeptical look.

“I am not a child,” it said, sounding less insulted and more—like it thought Will might be deeply stupid. “I am a Wolf. And only barely littler than you, any—oh!”

When it tried to put weight on its left arm, it winced badly, clutching at its shoulder. Will moved forward immediately, without thinking; the wolf moved quickly back, baring its teeth—but so clearly frightened, rather than angry, that Will did not even move back, only raised his hands, to show that they were empty.

“I won’t hurt you, little wolf,” he said softly. “I—"

(Another, smaller voice, saying: “You Promise?”

And himself, on his knees again, smiling with bruised lips: “I Promise.”)

The demon was staring at him, tilting its head slightly. Will had no idea what his face had been doing. He swallowed hard, and remembered how to smile with a little effort.

“I—” His voice was hoarse; he cleared his throat, flushing. “You have my word.”

The demon studied him with open curiosity. It opened its mouth, its small fangs just visible.

“Captain!—Look, there’s a whole trail of blood here, it must be—”

The first guard’s voice was high and excited; the best-armored guard, who must have been the captain, did not sound angry either, though Will had no doubt that part would come.

“What on earth’s the meaning of this, boy?” the guard captain said.

He was standing in the storefront’s doorway, his hand resting idly on his sword, gaping at Will. He hadn’t even really seen the demon yet; it was already disappearing into the crate.

There were a dozen guards on the street, now, wondering why their captain had stopped in the doorway, when there were children to kill inside.

Will felt his hand drop to the hilt of his sword, without entirely deciding it should do so.

“There must be a back door,” he said softly, his eyes still on the guard captain. “Find it, and stick to the back alleys. There’s an inn two streets down; stay out of sight, until you see a man come out, wearing a green shirt, like this one.”

“What the hell are you doing?” the guard captain said, just now beginning to raise his voice.

Will got carefully to his feet. He heard the wolf-child gasp, behind him, but put his back to it.

“I might ask you the same thing,” Will said, coldly, and drew his sword.

#all those that dance #whump #original whump #fantasy whump #minor whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #death of a parent

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