#every time i draw him his eyes get more... Wet Cat like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thegnomelord · 3 months

Note

just read about demon hunter reader and demon ghost cuddling, and the first thing i thought was how ghost would react if, one of these times, reader ends up having a wet dream and dry humping his ass 😋

about time that our demon thinks of getting laid, he's disgusted and turned on at the same time

Sorry this took a while lads :Dd, I'm getting back into writing after all that shit with my school but I got a summer job as an assistant medical worker with 12h shifts every other day so It might take a bit for me to write stuff.

Hush, Hunter

CW:NSFW, MDNI, demon Simon Ghost Riley x male hunter reader, grinding, wet dreams, handjob, blowjob, size difference (demon ghost is like 11 feet tall.)

Your ‘husband’ is strange, even by demon standards.

He grumbles about the inconvenience brought on by your mortal failings and fragility, growling whenever you have to stop at a gas station to buy food or at some dingy motel to sleep. He grumbles even more about being confined in the stolen human skin suit he's forced to wear to blend in.

You can ignore the stranger with the stolen face and hellfire eyes throwing dark glares at you for the most part, except for when the demon decides to make the binding ring around your finger heat up when you spend too long talking to the pretty cashier. And it only takes a few more seconds of not paying heed to the incessant burn before Ghost Simon looms behind you, glaring at the flustered cashier like she’s a fey trying to trick you into the Fey Lord’s court.

And the big bastard never gives you any explanation on why he’s acting like that, just drags you back to your car, slamming the doors closed with enough strength to shake the entire vehicle. He’s like a cat honestly; hisses at you, but doesn’t want to let you out of his sight or claws.

But when your nightmares get so bad your only chance of sleeping is on the floor, well hidden behind the bed with your back flush with the dingy motel wall, Ghost surprises you by laying down with you. Sure he grumbles about the demeaning position - laying like some mongrel dog - but he still does it.

Ghost is on his side, his broad muscular back to you, rough inky scales swallowing all the moonlight that filters through the blinds and turning him into a pitch black wall of muscle. He’s so still you might even think he’s sleeping – you know he’s not; demons aren’t tied to mortal laws, nor are they subject to time’s iron grip, that’s what makes hunting demons so dangerous. The only indication you have that he’s awake is the occasional twitch of his tail and the slight shuffle of his wings when you accidentally get closer to him in your attempt to get a comfortable position.

You flinch when his one wing spreads out and back, but the blanket of black and blood dyed feathers soon eases the tension in your body. Probably too quickly, definitely too quickly, but Ghost doesn’t draw attention to it and neither do you and the night is cold and he is blissfully warm and he stays stock still when you shuffle a bit closer. You're glad he pays no attention to you when you get comfortable against him, barely an inch of space between you two.

His feathers tickle your face, they’re softer than you’d expect a wrath demon to have, fluffy like the down of chicks. His scent invades your nose, rough leather and steel oil and something distinctly demonic you can’t name. . . but it’s strangely comforting.

Laying only an inch or two away from a demon goes against everything you’ve ever been taught. Your nerves should be on a razor’s edge, but instead you’re calm. You don’t know why your fucked up mind finds comfort in the fact a possible threat would need to go through half a ton of murderous wrath demon to get to you. And you don’t want to think about it either, you’ve had far too many sleepless nights for your brain to care how you manage to sleep so long as you do. And the moment you close your eyes, you’re out like a light.

Ghost has gotten used to your nightmares.

Just like his father’s absent love, your nightmares are consistent. He’s almost impressed how such a frail thing like you could hunt the likes of hydras and Hell Dukes when you barely sleep a wink most nights. The longest you’ve gone is a couple of hours of restful sleep before you woke up trying to claw your eyes out. You never talk about it, nor does he, Ghost may be a demon but he knows far too well how the mind can haunt someone.

And Ghost has gotten good at telling apart the individual nightmares by how you squirm in your sleep.

It takes a little longer for the nightmare to start than usual, but he knows you’re neck deep in it when you heart starts it’s frantic drumming in your chest. He ruffles his feathers as your hands grip his sides, your breath fanning over his skin. He thinks it might be the basilisk haunting you this time by the way you press yourself flush with his back, burying your face into the space between his shoulder blades until your nose is flush with his spine, back hunching to further shield your eyes.

Ghost doesn’t, nor will he ever, mention the low happy rumble that escapes him when you snuggle up to him. His feathers fluff up, the scratchy hair of his tail flattening down - about as silk soft as he can make them. It’s little better than throwing pearls before swine, you won’t remember any of this after all, but doing this strangely doesn’t feel as much of a burden as it should.

Usually the low deep purring growling will chase away your nightmares and lull you into a dreamless sleep for a little while, but not this time. You squirm against his back like an eel, muscles tensing to grip his sides until dregs of pain dance along his spine. Your breath fans across his scales, your heart pounding in his ears like that of a rabbit’s caught in a snare. He’s just about ready to turn around and wake you before he feels it—

Your arousal pokes his back, hard like iron.

Only now does he pick up the slight sweetness of arousal in your adrenaline rich scent. “Hm- fuck.” You mumble as you roll your hips to grind your cock against him. “Slow- fuck fuck- slow down.” You breathe out, and Ghost swears this must be another part of his father’s eternal punishment. The sudden thought that your dream is of a sexual nature smites him with all the intensity of his father’s rage.

Who do you think you are, taking his little mercies for granted? Who do you think you are, grinding against him like some mongrel mutt? Who do you think you are holding him as if you are more than the eventual reward for the maggots fervent prayers? Who do you think you are—

“Ghost- Simon. . .” His name, his original name, leaves your lips; it’s the softest he’s ever heard you speak.

“Human.” He seethes and rolls around, pushing the warm feeling –warm like a campfire compared to the blistering pits down below that usually dwell in his chest– out of his mind. “Disgusting.” You’re so small compared to him, your head could easily fit in his rough hand, a momentary lapse in the binding’s protection all that it would take for his flesh rending claws to cleave through your skull. He’s thought about it often, of the look in your eyes as your life fades, of how good your blood would taste, of how nice your shoulder would look with his teeth marks on it. . .

His hand is gentle as he reaches to brush your cheek, like he’s handling glass, rumbling when you lean into the touch. “Wretched thing.” He growls, hand sliding from your cheek to your back and pulling you close. He feels you nuzzle into his wide chest, carefully bullying his thigh between yours, steel hard muscle tensing to give you a good surface to grind on. “Nothing more but a mongrel waste of flesh.” He doesn’t notice how quickly his voice has lost heat, barely above a murmur as he listens to your breathless gasp and watches your back arch.

For someone usually so guarded, you are painfully naked in flesh and soul, responding so wantonly to his touches; from low moans to soft little murmurs of ‘Simon’ and ‘more’ that has him mindlessly rubbing his thigh against your crotch in hopes of getting more of those so painfully human sounds. You moan and nuzzle into his chest, your body like soft clay in his hands now that you’re no longer shackled by the chains of pride and prejudice that your mind conjures around him

You’re like a strange bug to him; a part of him wants to pin you down, to tear you apart with vicious claws and see if there’s anything different in the way your heart beats, in the way your lungs move, in the way you exist — something substantial to show why holding you in his arms doesn’t feel as degrading as it should.

He wonders, briefly, if this is what God saw that made him love Adam so much. Why God did not have the heart to kill Adam for his disobedience.

Greed moves his hands like they’re puppets on strings, flesh rending claws carefully tracing the bumps of old and fresh scars that dot your abdomen — perhaps you aren’t so pathetic, it takes strength to survive this long. Your skin prickles from his touch, your breath fanning over the rough belly scales protecting his front as his hand slowly moves down. He hooks a claw under the band of your underwear and pulls down until your cock springs out right into Ghost’s hand.

Ghost hasn’t seen many cocks before, why would he?, but a low sound comes from his chest at how neatly your cock fits in his hand, how neatly all of you fit against him. And only now does it dawn on him that he doesn’t know how to do this— he’s a wrath demon for fuck’s sake, he understands war and bloodshed like it’s the back of his hand, but this? This is new territory.

Well, he’s never been one to back down when he’s gotten this far.

His hand slowly closes into a fist, just a little loose around you. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t be anything but gentle in the way he strokes you. Your hips move on their own, gentle little rocks to fuck your cock into his fist and he follows along with the motion. It’s a little rough at first, he feels how the dry slide of his hand makes you shiver, but he soon finds a nice pace as your precum eases the glide of flesh on flesh.

He wants to see your face when you moan, but he can’t bring himself to pull you away from his chest when you cling to him so sweetly, your lips mindlessly ghosting over his scales. So he contends himself with coiling his tail around your leg, draping a wing over you so there’s a barrier between you and the rest of the world, so no creature from heaven high or deep below may entertain the thought of taking what’s his.

No good thing lasts for long.

He feels you wake like the first thaw in spring, slow and gradual, eyes fluttering open, mind still clouded with pleasure to really understand the position you’re in. He takes advantage of that, gripping your hip to keep you close, swirling his tumb in the precum beading at your head and squeezing his hand just right to coerce a breathless moan from your chest.

Then your eyes snap open, realisation hitting you with the same intensity as the punch you throw at his skull. But the ‘marriage’ turns that show of force into a gentle caress of the skull cheek of his ‘face’. “Ghost what the fuck are you-” You begin, cut off as another clench of his hand has you gripping his forearm and biting your lip to silence yourself.

“Oh hush hunter.” Ghost rumbles low in his throat, his wing tensing behind your back to bring you in closer, soft blood dyed feathers encasing you in a cocoon of warmth against his cool belly scales. “No need to wake the other worms.” Disdain and mockery drip from his voice like molasses, yet strangely it doesn’t feel aimed at you. . . it must just be the pleasure making you believe that.

“You- bastard!” You snarl, trying to summon the hunter savagery that had been meticulously beaten into you, but it slumbers like a fat cat. “Fuck off- get away from me.” You aim to slam your fist against his scaled abdomen, just a little lower and to the side where the floating ribs should be, but all you manage is a slow caress of his side and back up his chest where you can feel his eternal soul burning beneath the flesh.

He laughs and slides his hand down, rolling your balls in his wide hand and squeezing just enough to be at the edge of pain– shit, that should not feel so good. You hiss and throw your head back despite the inherent danger of exposing your throat. He tilts his head down, ghostly breath washing over your ear, “We both know if you wanted this to stop you would have done so.” Oh, now you can just feel the mockery in his voice, sweet like honey that it is.

Some petulant part of you thinks of arguing, anything to retain what remains of your damn pride, but then he slides his hand back up, pressing your cock against your stomach and grinding the palm of his hand against your shaft and all the thoughts of arguing are pushed to the side by the tide of pleasure. Fuck, it’s been far too long since you ‘took care’ of things, it’s not like you have much time to wank off, let alone with Ghost hanging over your shoulder like some grim reaper. And hell, if any other hunter heard you let a damn demon jack you off, yours would be the next head put on the stake but. . . but Ghost is surprisingly gentle with you, not a single hint of pain coming from his touches, not even from his claws gently running down your side.

“Fine-” You suck in a sharp breath, head fixed to stare directly at his chest. “Make it quick.”

You feel him smirk against your ear, “As you wish, hunter.” He laughs lowly, like you’re nothing but a cute puppy chewing on his shoelaces, “Though, you should thank me for debasing myself like this.” He growls, and with a sharp move of his wing he rolls you on your back.

You gasp as your back hits the sleeping mat, and before you can even struggle Ghost looms over you, a wall of muscle and dark scaled flesh. “Fuck no.” You growl, some scraps of pride still clinging to your mind, though even those are threatened when his broad hand returns to stroking your cock, faster this time, the drag of his palm making pleasure sizzle up your spine. Your head rolls back to rest on the mat and you don’t even notice when you close your eyes. You’re not sure how Ghost is so good at this, something sharp like jealousy curling in your stomach at the thought of him doing this to someone else. But it’s hard to think when you can feel and hear him purring, his claws gently tracing your stomach and leaving lingering heat everywhere they touch.

You jump as something slick brushes over your balls, “Look, good hunter.” He growls and you listen without thought, eyes wide when you see his tongue— it extends from the darkness of his head just beneath the rotten upper teeth of his skull, long, black, thick strings of oil coloured spit dripping off his tongue. “That’s better,” He purrs; you’re not sure how he can talk, and you’re unable to ask because he leans in closer until your cock rests against his skull, his hellfire eyes burning in the darkness and giving just enough light for you to see his long black tongue curl around your base like a snake.

Shit– he wants to kill you.

“Holy fuck Ghost-” You breathe out, lungs burning before you remember how to breathe. His tongue moves, squeezing your base and sliding lower to lap at your balls. You’re forced to bite your finger to stop the painfully pathetic sound burning on your tongue.

He stops moving and you’re thankful he doesn’t mention the whine that slips past your lips. “Simon.” He demands, oily spit clinging to your skin and making it tingle with heat.

“Simon.” You nod along dumbly, “Fuck- Simon.”

“Good.” You imagine he’s smiling when he says that, his hand returning to stroke your cock in reward. “Call me that again.” He says, a purr rumbling in his chest and you can’t help but moan at how the vibrations travel through his tongue, making it act like a vibrating toy.

Your hands fly to grip his horns, the pleasure making you throw your head back yet you try to keep your eyes on him, hiccuping his name between harsh breaths. He doesn’t mind the touch on his horns, leaning into the touch before flicking his tongue at your taint. He rewards you for each time you say his old name, tongue and hand working in tandem to slowly and steadily march you towards release.

You try to tug on his horns to warn him, or maybe to pull him away, but he pays no heed; he doubles his efforts, wetly slurping at your balls and base while his hand toys with your crown, his free hand holding your hips down so all you can do is weather the pleasure until you’re finally pulled under the waves. “Simon-” You gasp, cum spurting all over his hand and your stomach.

You watch through lidded eyes as he retracts his hand, keeping his gaze on you as he lazily licks up your cum from his hand. “Better than I expected.” He rumbles, more to himself than you, leaning up to drag his long slimy tongue across your stomach to gather up all your cum.

Shit, that sight got you hard again before you could even soften.

You’re not sure if the greed you see spark in his eyes makes you scared or even harder, but you’re not left any room to think further about it before his tongue wraps around your cock again.

Unfortunately for you, demons have no concept of time as mortals know it, so his ‘quick’ ends up being the entire rest of the night. At one point you get to the point you’re sure Ghost is trying to kill you with all the pleasure, spit polishing your cock until he’s satisfied and by that point the sun is rising and your voice is hoarse.

You can’t meet the gaze of the motel receptionist in the morning, but Ghost Simon, looks smug like the cat who ate the canary.

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luveline · 3 months

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Hey if you're still taking requests could I get any sort if angst to comfort for zombie au steve? Been feeling down lately and I've always loved that series!

ty for requesting! zombie au. fem, 1.5k

The new pencils are oil-cored, as opposed to his last ones, which had been wax. They were just fine, but these oil pencils allow him to blend colours and shades with more finesse than ever. He can pour twenty different colours into the tone of your skin and have them blend into a real, phototechnical you.

He’s pretty proud of this one.

He wakes up first every morning, allowing for time where you’re unaware and he’s got nothing to do. He’s sketched you so many times it comes naturally. Steve probably wouldn’t need to look, but watching you sleep is half the joy of drawing you.

You're drooling a little.

Steve puts the handful of pencils he’d been using to colour your neck back into his pen case. He puts the case and his sketchbook on top of his main bag, shoving it into a corner of your tent with the rest of the bags to climb back onto the bed. It’s a portable cushioning made for camping, and it’s nothing like a mattress, but it is much kinder to your backs than sleeping on the ground. Warmer, too.

He pushes your head back, knowing it will wake you, his thumb to the little drool line to wipe it away, his palm on your cheek to hold it.

“Hello.” He kisses your other cheek as your lashes twitch. Doesn’t even think about not doing it. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” you mumble strangely.

“What’s that?” he says, soft to match your quiet. His breath kisses your lips. “What’s wrong? You sound sad.”

You force your eyes apart, and you feel along the mattress with your hand. Steve watches in real time as your eyes fill with tears, huge, heavy tears that well in the corner of your left and spill from the right to wet the pillow under your head.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, the effort expended to stay calm so gutting he has to squeeze the pillow just shy of your head.

You grab for him, blankets and your half-open sleeping bag crinkling but not too thick to feel the force of your fingers gripping his sides.

You must’ve had a bad dream, that’s what he thinks. He’s had enough of them, and he’s unfortunately cried after almost all of them. Sometimes you’ve seen it, sometimes you haven’t, but you look at him with love no matter what —he can forget dreams of losing you when you’re murmuring niceness in his ear, and he can give it back to you.

“It’s okay,” he says, letting you squeeze him hard. “Don’t cry.” And that’s a little awkward of him, that sneaking panic, but he’s never claimed to be a professional.

You cry in a weird breath that borders a gag. “I’m so-sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine. I have bad dreams too. You know that.”

Steve attempts to get both arms behind your shoulders, pulling you into him, sitting you up. He can’t cope with how quickly you’ve fallen apart. To wake up crying, how scary the dream must’ve been, he hates it.

“It’s okay,” he says.

“It was a good dream,” you say.

Steve frowns. “Okay, so what’s the problem?”

“We had a house. We had a dog. I don’t– don’t even know if you like cats, but you had a dog, and we,” —you sob between words, not too loudly as to travel far, but aching— “were planning a trip. It felt so real, Steve. You were so happy.”

Steve tries to process it as fast as he can. “Oh,” he says softly, hand lax where it had been rubbing your shoulder.

“You were so happy,” you say again, burying the tip of your nose into his neck. You’re practically crawling atop him, but he’s strong enough to stop you from laying him down.

“It’s okay, honey. Jesus,” he says, patting your back again. “It’s alright. It’s okay.”

“We’ll never have those things.”

“Baby, who says so?” he asks in a murmur.

“We’ll never get to go anywhere together–”

“It feels like we’ve seen pretty much all of America,” he says. He’s joking, but travelling with you from place to place has felt expansive. You’ve seen forests and lakes, a thousand different houses, hundreds of neighbourhoods, and street art and installations and billboards for movies that were never screened. Steve’s seen about as much of the world as he wants to see. “I’d just stay in this tent with you forever if they let us, we don’t need to go anywhere else.”

“You wanted to see palm trees,” you say, sniffling and pained as your tears warm the curve of his trap.

“I’ve seen them,” Steve says. “Don’t worry. I’ve already seen palm trees. A whole bunch of them. Don’t worry about what I wanted in the dream, it was just a dream.”

He gives you a quick kiss, his lips to the very edge of your temple.

“I feel like I’m gonna be sick.”

Steve nods. He draws from you reluctantly and opens the tent, ushering you on knees to sit out in the cool air. He sits next to you, dewdrops from the grass wetting his jeans, the sky a humming of early morning colours; the sun rises in bands of orange and raspberry pink, darkness above, sun rays kissing the sides of tents and the portables in the distance.

You take deep breaths. Steve holds your hand, the two of you looking up at the strange sky.

“We’ll never be that happy,” you say.

Steve can hear your agony, and he knows what you mean. He thinks of that life with you and never lets himself think far. You would've gone to college, maybe, and Steve would’ve drove to visit you —he would’ve moved. Maybe in your second year you’d live together in a suburb just between college and his job, whatever it is he’d ended up doing, in a house you chose, with a ring on your finger. Steve wants kids but if you don’t then perhaps you’d have had none, but he still likes to picture you with your babies, a big family, years later. And maybe he’d have a dog. A silly looking one with bark worse than its bite.

And you’d be together. You would be happy. Nothing to hurt you. Nothing to lose you to. You’d never worry where your next meal was coming from, you’d never feel cold.

Steve breathes out. Sniffs biting air. “We’ll never be that happy. That kind of happy. We’re never gonna go on trips, maybe we won’t ever have a house, but–“ He pulls your hand toward him, your eyes latching on to his. “But maybe we will. We might not get to watch cable, but we can have a tv, in a living room. We can live together, and maybe we will take trips. I don’t know. I don’t know what we’ll have, but I’m already happy. You don’t have to cry about me being happy.” He shakes his head. “Shit, you shouldn’t. I want that life with you so much I dream about it too, but I have this one.”

“You think we’ll have a house?” you ask hopefully.

“We can’t live like this forever.” He’s promising it. “Something has to give.”

“I want us to have more,” you say.

A weak confession, your cheeks wet with tears but eyes thankfully drying, your eyelids puffy already from sleep and crying alike. Steve wants you to have everything, even if everything is a stupid thing to think you’ll have.

“We will.” Steve closes one eye, a sort of prolonged wink of pain as his nose wrinkles. “But this is enough for now, right?”

“No.”

You’re kidding, to Steve’s relief.

He laughs and elbows you, glad to see your smile as you evade poorly. “Say it’s enough!”

“No way.”

You don’t wait for him to pull you in or ask if it’s alright, flopping without ceremony into his lap, and then turning toward him to hug his stomach. He looks down at you fondly, hand rubbing up your warm back. You’re still clammy from sleeping, but you’re not crying anymore.

“It’s really cold out here.”

“I know.” He blows a warm breath in your ear. “Do you still feel sick? Don’t barf in my lap.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. It just felt so real.”

His voice turns to a silky whisper he’s only ever used in love. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. We never would’ve… I’d never get to be here,” —you squeeze him around the waist— “if we were in a world where we also get the house and the dog and… the family…”

“But it would’ve been nice,” Steve finishes, looking up from your back to watch as the raspberry bands of pink turn to blue.

“It would’ve been perfect.”

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things

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rainba · 5 months

Text

Desperate Kairos ❤

I mentioned some of the kinks of my sillies in a previous ask, but I wanna write/expand on them just a little bit.~

For this one, I wanna focus on Kairos’ praise + worshiping kinks. ((Mostly praise.)) So... Same as always, Kairos being Kairos.

To be honest, this is kind of just me rambling lol

There are two versions here! First one is a fem darling, the second one has a male darling.

18+ NSFW, MDNI

Kairos would typically imagine himself being the one to do the worshipping, but he absolutely loves the idea of his love worshiping him, too. The thought of being praised for anything still sounds like such a foreign concept to him– so when you do it, he becomes instantly obsessed.

If you praise him once, he’ll beg you to do it some more, asking you to repeat yourself over and over just so the sentiment can settle in. And if you worship him during sex just once, he’ll do absolutely anything to have you do it again. He’ll get on his knees and plead with you, he’ll give you all of his money, draw you anything you’d like– whatever you want from him, he’ll give you it.

Just… Please, please, please, worship him again.

Let him sit on the edge of the bed with his cute cock out as you toy with him. He’ll wear whatever you want– thigh highs, cat ears, a bunny suit, literally anything. Kairos gently pets you as he begs you to praise him.

“I’m… I’m your good boy, right..? Y-you love me, right? Only me?”

Call him your master. Call him your owner. Call him an angel. Tell him he’s the only person in this world for you, and that nobody else can compare to him. Those words alone might be enough to make him cum on the spot.

“P-please, keep going,” he’ll pathetically whimper as he tries to guide your mouth to his throbbing cock, desperate for you to give it love and attention. If you tease him too much, he might grip the back of your head and force you to take his entire length at once. He’ll be apologizing while he does so, but the guilt doesn’t outweigh the carnal need to fuck your tight throat.

Part of him so badly desires for you to tell him just how much you love it. If you tell him something along the lines of, “your dick looks so tasty, so perfect,” he won’t be able to stop thinking about it for weeks after. And every time he thinks about it, he becomes incredibly hot and bothered.

Sucking on the tip and licking up and down his length will have him gripping the sheets and mewling. It just feels so, so good. He’ll beg you to kiss it as well, and he’ll also tell you to lick up the precum that’s leaking from his needy cock. Then he’d ask you if it tastes good.

And when you answer with a yes, his entire body will tense up as he stifles a high-pitched moan.

Kairos won’t make you do all the praising, though. He can’t help but praise and worship you as well.

“G-good girl, you’re… You’ll b-be a perfect wife! I… I love you s-so much!”

When he’s desperate to make you feel good, he’s always quick to use his mouth rather than his hands. He just loves to taste you– it feels so personal, so loving. He absolutely loves eating you out, but there’s also something else he loves: sucking on your breasts.

The first time you let him suck on your tits, it’s like he gets addicted. They’re so soft in his hands, and so soft in his mouth. Kairos gets all hot and shaky as he sits on your lap and loves on your tits… It’s one of his deepest fantasies coming to life.

Kairos closes his eyes in bliss as he warmly sucks and licks them, occasionally leaving tiny love bites. He moans sweetly the entire time, all while grinding his cock against your thigh. If you ever want him to stop, you basically have to force him off of you. When you push his head away from your tits, he’ll immediately dive back down and start sucking on them again while mumbling the words "n-no, please, more."

The only times he pauses is when he wants to praise you.

“Th-they’re so beautiful,” he’ll mumble as he softly flicks one of your nipples with his wet tongue. “A-and they’re mine… All mine.”

Right before he’s about to cum, he’ll ask you permission to do so.

When he genuinely wants to fuck you, though, he’ll become a reckless mess. Kairos will fervently push you into the bed and pin you down as he practically tears off your clothing. He loves all the foreplay, truly, he does– but sometimes he yearns for more. He can’t help but feel that he needs to be deep inside of your soaking wet pussy immediately.

Oh, and… Please, pretty please, praise him as he fucks you senselessly into the bed. When he’s desperate, his thrusts become messy, and his pace is inconsistent– he’s just doing what feels good at the moment- but he’s trying his best...!

All he craves is to feel your inner walls squeezing his cock and milking it dry. He desperately needs to fill your cunt to the brim with his seed.

“So warm.. So t-tight… Ah…” He harshly bites down on his bottom lip. “Please, tell me you love this… P-please.”

The more you praise him, the more erratic he becomes. His small hands will grip your shoulders as he ruts into you like crazy. He might wrap his hands around your neck and choke you instead– if you’ll let him.

“S-such… Such a perfect pussy… You’re so… So perfect.” Kairos leaves little kisses all over your chest as he keeps going.

His left hand will then reach down and lovingly rub sloppy circles around your clit. There’s nothing more he wants in the world than for you to both cum at the same time. It’d just be so romantic!

He’ll do anything to please you. He’ll do anything to be worthy of your praise.

Since he’s not that experienced, he might accidentally make you cum first– which makes him tear up, because he so badly wanted to cum in unison with you. So, if this happens, he might just end up overstimulating you until he climaxes himself.

But if he cums first..? God, he will be extremely embarrassed.

He mumbles a long line of apologies as he cums deep inside of you, panting heavily as he still tries to make you climax too.

If his hand isn’t enough, he’ll spread your legs apart and bury his face between your thighs, excitedly and sloppily eating you out. It doesn’t matter that his cum is dripping out of your pussy as he does so– in fact, he secretly likes it. He’ll try to push his cum back inside of you with his tongue as he looks up at you for encouragement.

And as a way to apologize, he’d make you cum twice, all while praising you. He’d also be thanking you for letting him fuck you.

But he’d also be begging you to forgive him.

“Y-you’re so kind to me… Y-you’re like an angel, I… I don’t deserve you,” he slowly runs his tongue over your slit as he pushes two fingers inside of you, curling them and gauging your reactions the entire time. He’s determined to memorize all of the things that make you come undone.

And Kairos also loves watching you orgasm on his fingers– the sight of it drives him crazy. Plus, it gives a tiny boost to his ego.

For weeks and weeks after that, he’ll constantly find himself replaying lewd scenes of you in his head, sometimes even drawing it on paper. Then he won’t stop thinking about how he’s gonna make you cum even harder the next time he fucks you.

(Male Darling)

Kairos would typically imagine himself being the one to do the worshipping, but he absolutely loves the idea of his love worshiping him, too! The thought of being praised for anything still sounds like such a foreign concept to him– so when you do it, he becomes instantly obsessed.

Just… Please, please, please, worship him again.

“I’m… I’m your good boy, right..? Y-you love me, right?”

And when you answer with a yes, his entire body will tense up as he stifles a high-pitched moan.

Kairos won’t make you do all the praising, though. He can’t help but praise and worship you as well.

“G-good boy, you’re… You'll be s-such a perfect husband! I… I love you s-so much!”

When he’s desperate to make you feel good, he’s always quick to use his mouth rather than his hands. He just loves to taste you– it feels so personal, so loving. He absolutely loves sucking you off. The feeling of your cock invading his small mouth is one of the best feelings ever to him. And when you choke him with it? It makes him so fucking hard. But there’s also something else he loves: sucking on your nipples and leaving marks all over your body.

The first time you let him suck on your chest, it’s like he gets addicted. Every time he leaves a small mark on your skin, it feels like he’s marking his territory. He’s letting the entire world know that you belong to him.

Kairos closes his eyes in bliss as he warmly sucks and licks your chest, occasionally leaving tiny love bites and large hickeys. He moans and whimpers the entire time, all while rubbing his cock against your thigh. If you ever want him to stop, you basically have to force him off of you. When you push his head away from your body, he’ll immediately dive back down and start sucking on your skin again while mumbling the words, “n-no, please, more. I… You look so p-perfect, covered in marks.”

The only times he pauses is when he wants to praise you.

“You’re so perfect,” he’ll mumble as he softly flicks one of your nipples with his tongue. “A-and you’re mine… All mine.”

Right before he’s about to cum, he’ll ask you permission to do so.

When he genuinely wants to fuck you, though, he’ll be a reckless mess. Kairos will fervently push you into the bed and pin you down as he practically tears off your clothing. He loves all the foreplay, truly, he does– but he craves more. He can’t help but feel that he needs to be deep inside of your tight ass immediately.

Oh, and… Please, pretty please, praise him as he fucks you senselessly into the bed. When he’s desperate, his thrusts become messy and his pace is inconsistent– he’s just doing what feels good at the moment. But he’s trying his best...!

All he yearns for is to feel your inner walls squeezing his cock. He desperately needs to fill your hole to the brim with his seed.

“So warm.. So t-tight… Ah…” He harshly bites down on his bottom lip. “Please, tell me you love this… P-please.”

“S-such… Such a perfect body… You’re so… So perfect.” Kairos leaves little kisses all over your sweaty skin as he keeps going.

His left hand will then reach down and sloppily stroke your cock, occasionally squeezing and giving extra attention to the tip. There’s nothing more he wants in the world than for you to both cum at the same time. It’d just be so romantic!

He’ll do anything to please you. He’ll do anything to be worthy of your praise.

But if he cums first...? God, he will be extremely embarrassed.

He mumbles a long line of apologies as he cums deep inside of you, panting heavily as he still tries to make you climax too.

If his hand isn’t enough, he’ll simply flip you onto your back and ease your cock into his ass, happily riding you until you cum. He tells you to just relax as he bounces up and down, a look of pure ecstasy plastered on his face.

And as a way to apologize, he’d make you cum twice, all while praising you. He’d also be thanking you for letting him fuck you.

But he’d also be begging you to forgive him.

“Y-you’re so kind to me… Y-you’re like an angel, I… I don’t deserve you,” he tightens around your cock as he tries to play with your nipples, pinching and rubbing them between his fingers. He’s determined to memorize all of the things that make you come undone.

One of his favorite things in the world is the feeling of your hot cum filling him up. It’s borderline addicting. So, please– use him all you like. He’ll worship you even more if you fuck him until he can’t move.

#kairos posting #yandere male #yandere oc #yandere x reader #kairos being kairos #he's so silly #reader inserts #yandere imagines #yandere oc x reader

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shaisuki · 1 year

Text

｡‧˚ʚ°ɞ˚‧｡ ─── TO SHARE IS TO CARE

boyfriend yuuji who coaxes you in thinking that megumi is kind under that cold exterior of his, which he is, and he just wants megumi to meet people, well not exactly people but get closer to itadori's chubby gf.

under that cold/blunt nature of megumi. he's a huge perv. always thinking about how cute and soft you are. stares at you with nothing but the most filthiest thought anyone can think about you.

itadori may be an idiot and act like an idiot but he's no idiot when it comes to anyone who shows the slightest interest in his cute, chubby gf. itadori knows all too well the effect you can have on people despite your skittish behavior. a simple tug on his shirt, chewing your lips or whenever you need comfort from him in situations you're uncomfortable with. you're just too cute not to draw people attention to you and that includes megumi.

stoic megumi who can't help but be jealous to itadori for having a cutie like you. who dotes on him, gives the sweetest kisses before and after missions, who have you in his lap in every minute. it's almost annoying for him but it always starts in denial and like any other denials, megumi also wants that.

it doesn't take long before itadori noticed the stares megumi steals when you weren't looking. the abrupt change of his gaze when he caught him and the sudden redness of his cheeks. megumi thinks he's discreet but he's not so subtle in hiding this from him and with the little interest megumi had on you, compiled all the common sense he have, megumi likes you and it doesn't bother him at all. confrontation is what he needed to confirm all of it.

and so here they are. itadori cradling your sleeping form. your chubby cheeks smooched in his chest, his hand on your plush waist and megumi sits a few meters apart. your little snooze can be heard in the room.

"fushiguro." he calls out to the boy in front of him and megumi's emerald eyes looks back at him. the tension is thick and megumi knows it would be something more, judging from how itadori's voice sound. the seriousness and megumi may know what will be the center of this.

"say fushiguro, do you like my girlfriend?"

there's a silence followed by a pin being dropped somewhere. he contemplates for a bit. he sees this an opportunity but what of his and itadori's companionship. ruined by his desire of something's not his let alone belonging to someone else. itadori asked, could he lie? the cat's out of the box now so need for denial. megumi's narrowed eyes looking directly at itadori any signs for sarcasm but it doesn't. itadori was serious at the question. megumi coughs, closing the book he was holding in before straightening his posture in the chair and without a beat, fushiguro drops the answer itadori was waiting for.

"what if i say, i do." he says with no hesitation. there's that anticipation of being swung by itadori's fist in a heartbeat but it never happened. itadori blinks then his lips curl in a smile before chuckling. his brows furrowing at itadori's reaction, that's it? aren't you supposed to be upset or jealous that someone is telling you openly about desiring your girlfriend.

"i am too, fushiguro. thanks for being honest." itadori mutters, admiring at your sleeping form.

that was days ago and itadori couldn't shake the thought of megumi openly admitting he likes you. he did asked the question and megumi have been his friend for a long time now and he's open of megumi going down of you, only if you wishes so.

there's much more things to worry about when you're moving your hips sensually against his bulge. the friction leaving him to sink his fingers deeper in the flesh of your hips. guiding you to the depths of pleasure you were trying to get out from him, in which he gladly do so. teeth almost clashing and spits exchanging until your lips are wet from it. gripping his hair, making him groan and the sweet, breathy moans coming from you.

"c-cumming yuu!" you moan, signalling your impending orgasm and he coos, sings you praises how you were doing so good for him. his teeth finding home in the crook of your neck. biting into the flesh and your hands finding it's way to the strands of his pale pink hair and with a scream. grinding roughly on his length, hips moving into circles and with the rutting of his hips, you came undone. soiling your panties damp with your essence and his followed suit. busting his nut inside and he groans, feeling the stickiness of it. you both stared at each other. catching your breaths from the dry high.

itadori kisses your nose, then to your cherubic cheeks. eliciting the most sweetest giggles coming from you and he doesn't waste in telling you about something, someone.

"what do you think of fushiguro?" he brought up and the name earning a frown from you. confusion and your brows crinkles at the question. "what about fushiguro?" you asked back at him. he draws patterns at the skin of your waist. averting his gaze at you whenever in deep thought.

a silly but a possible idea popped up in your mind. "do you have hots for megumi, yuuji?" making a disbelief expression in your face as a way to tease him and a horrified expression morphs into his face. sputtering a quick no and shaking his head. "it's not like that, actually talked about you." he confesses.

"me?" he nods then explains the whole situation to you. about megumi liking you and his want for you to be with him. "are you pimping me to your friend?" you asked confused at the absurdity of the whole ordeal. "no, it's not like that. i just want him to be happy."

"and do you think it's the best idea?" he nods, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. the idea scares you and it will be megumi out of all people. it's not like you hated the guy. you were just simply intimated at his nature but he's a good guy and yuuji and him openly discussing he desires you. you're yuuji's girlfriend and admitting he likes you in front of yuuji. he sure have guts. it made you unsure and how itadori agrees with this. your mind running in gears with the question is this totally fine? in which itadori says so.

"will it make you happy?" the sound of your voice gentle and his heart skips a beat. considerate of what he wants, such a doting girlfriend he have. "if it is, okay." you added and that's the confirmation he need before swooping you for a heated kiss. the night ending in a good note.

there's a nagging voice inside his head. the gulps of a invisible lump in his throat and did the air seems to be humid than it is? he's speechless. you were kneeling, hands in your lap while you look at him. you were presented to him like a gift.

is this for real? he thought itadori was just kidding when he presented the idea of sharing you with him and with your consent. he can barely wait to sink his teeth into yours.

"be good for us." itadori whispers, biting the shell of your ear before dipping for a kiss, peering at his classmate, disbelief painting in his face. "come on fushiguro." the pink-haired boy calls out to him. moving to the side and megumi hesitantly sinks into the mattress. facing the girl he desires for months.

biting your lips unconsciously and megumi instinctively caress your cheeks with his hands and so ever gently pressed a kiss to your lips. he waits for a reaction, you never pushed him and he moves his lips, nibbles your lower lip and you're already in a daze.

itadori smiles at your reaction. looking relax and you're already accepting megumi. he can't help but to cup your jaw and move it to the side to kiss you deeply. there's that whine and mewling. your spit connecting to his and megumi finds it hot. looking so adorable and needy for the both of them. pushing you down to the soft mattress and he sucks on the skin in your pulse point in which earned him a delectable moan from you.

his nimble fingers unbuttoning your top and did he find the sight so appetizing. your chest in display, stomach riddled with stretch marks. you're a temptation. he can't help but to lick his lips. discarding his shirt and throwing it to the other side of the room.

you peered at your boyfriend and he meet your gaze in which he smiled. telling how good you are and it make your heart flutters. holding his hands for what to come when the spiked-haired boy is already nipping on your soft skin.

itadori joins in. his tongue swirling all over the expanse of your body. he looks at fushiguro. "you're not the only one who can enjoy my baby, fushiguro." in which the latter grunted. focusing on the way your body reacts to his ministrations.

it's to good to be a dream and megumi swallows your moans while swirling his tongue inside your mouth. your eyes turning glossy and there's a cry. itadori making his way to your sopping cunt. in which he didn't let your boyfriend do as he pleases with his tongue. his fingers replacing and that your cries gets louder while he pumps his thick fingers inside you.

it starts to get competitive between the two. their greediness baring it's fangs and there's a silent clash between them who can bring you the most pleasure. megumi could get more what he bargained for but it doesn't mean he couldn't be greedy when you're presented in front of him. itadori who knows your body than you, agrees with him.

let's just hope you can take what they'll give to you.

#ᝰ.ᐟ shai's drabbles #chubby reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x chubby reader #plus size reader #itadori x reader x fushiguro #itafushi x reader #itadori x reader #megumi x reader

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first-class-feral · 2 months

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brad dourif scrungly feature analysis: eyes

from the “Boys” dourif-hottie supercut music video:

I’d love to see an artist break this down!

For now, let me write you a novel about Brad's spectacular eyes...

The Strangeness

(Skip if you want to preserve the mystery.) BD's right eye is placed a little higher, and turned up as if tugged from the outer corner. I think it's part of that subtle something that immediately sets him apart. This unique, catlike, romantic asymmetry snatches your attention.

The glow

His striking, chameleonic blues capture light — even in B&W — which directors loooooove to exploit by lighting him obliquely:

It's a great way to crank up the eerie vibe of any scene, and I respect Star Trek for trashing that option outright with all-black contacts. (Of course, he still served an incredibly compelling outsider.)

(Edit: I put up a post just about this effect because they seriously do it all the damn time) (...because it's awesome)

Set in shadows

He has hooded eyes, deep-set and accentuated by heavy eye bags. The shadows and textures draw you in toward those luminescent irises, like picture frames that amplify each motion of his eyes.

Contrast

Sometimes he pops them wide open, creating these huge, expressive magnets...

...Or squints lopsidedly...

...Or interrogates, challenges, threatens — alert but defensive, like a prey animal on the edge of lashing out.

He’s said he chooses roles that "turn him on" (pretty clearly in an artistic sense); many of these blend menace and vulnerability, and our boy dumps emotion into every. single. line. This can manifest as an intense, wary, combative look, with eyes wide under neutral or furrowed brows:

Cry, baby

...And that's all before we mention the tears. He cries, of course, at will and liberally, and his eyes go red-rimmed and wet, highlighting them even more as he pins someone's soul to the wall with his gaze.

When he hovers right on the edge, they seem to shine in the dark.

Bared

At times, his fair eyelashes almost vanish, compounding his unusual look with a birdlike or reptilian tinge.

Obviously, the shaved brows in LOTR add to this effect.

A couple more things you'll notice here: he'll hold his eyes wide open for much longer than normal, drawing out these moments and making him seem even more alien.

And when he gets up-close in someone's face (which is often), he's constantly switching his gaze between their eyes — totally fixated, as if scanning for emotional feedback. In my opinion, it adds to that vulnerability: to the object of his attention, he must seem like a predator freezing them in place... but it's also desperate, like a prey animal trying to decipher the other person's intent, all senses tuned to pick up their slightest signal. (Gríma Wormtongue and Jack Dante especially have this pathetic air about them: grasping at sources of warmth while lashing out at the harsh, unintelligible world around them, allying themselves with uncontrollable destructive forces in an attempt to establish a place for themselves........)

TL;DR

The eyes — and how he uses them — are the standout scrungly feature, the main reason we can’t look away from this unforgettable weirdo.

The cat-eye asymmetry pulls focus;

His ice-blue irises are light traps, framed in textured shadow;

His full-bore emotional commitment ramps up the anguish and torment to an aching crescendo that's impossible to ignore.

Eventually I'll follow up on other contributing factors, but for now, I'll leave you with a couple of article snippets about The Eyes:

Imagi-Movies: Vol 1 No 2 — Winter 1993/94. Pages 11-13: "Traumatic - Brad Dourif". Link

SoHo News: November-December 1981. "Tension and mercy - Brad Dourif glowers for our sins" (an article all about his eyes! But they don't mention the asymmetry.)

[Gifs were mostly stolen from the GOAT, @exdeputysonso — with some of my own, mostly the square ones. Shout-out to @dragonsbloodsnowcone for inspiring this word vomit.]

Thanks for reading!

#brad dourif #BradDourif #whoowee that was a ride #written with the maximum possible respect and affection #possibly too much of those in fact #big tragic eyes club #in this essay i will #my bradrot

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potentialheartofdarkness · 2 years

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Eddie heard Steve singing completely on accident. He’d been sitting up in bed, the bed Steve so graciously let him stay in after they got too high to go anywhere, waiting for Steve to shower when he heard it.

The angelic voice he’d never once heard before from Steve of all people.

Now don’t get him wrong, Eddie was and had been for a while; head over heels in love with Steve. They’d become friends after Vecna, bonded by trauma or whatever Dustin kept calling it, and had slowly developed into this weird in between stage. Eddie was trying not to overdo it and scare Steve away, and it seemed like Steve was doing the same. Every tiny roll of Steve’s eyes as he ducked his head to hide a smile or blush at Eddie’s words, felt like a huge win.

He’d seen a lot of Steve lately, learnt a lot about him. They dropped any pretence of sleeping in separate rooms after the nightmares, waking in a pile of tangled limbs and hurriedly pulling apart with muttered apologies. They didn’t address the fact that their apologies felt hollow. He’d learnt that Steve wasn’t sure what his favourites of anything was, always forced to go with the flow of his friends. He’d recently discovered some music he enjoyed and who was Eddie to deny the sparkling eyes of Steve begging him to listen to it with him. He was good with the kids, listening intently and keeping note of their current interests. He’d joined a few hellfire nights, drawing their characters for them. He’d discovered he had a real talent for that and Eddie had to see more of it. He convinced Steve to help draw characters and enemies for dnd nights, and design posters for Corroded Coffin gigs. He’d help Steve along, find some things he liked and helped him explore who he was as a person. Robin did too, the pair of them endlessly recommending things for him to try. Things for him to wear, possible hobbies he could do like baking and even crocheting.

Steve loved it.

But Eddie had never heard him sing before. Not until now. His voice was good, he could keep a tune, he had some natural talent. Not too high, not too low, just scratchy enough to hit the singers sweet spot. Before he knew it he was on his feet and throwing open the bathroom door.

“Stop screaming, Stevie, it’s just me.” He said and Steve peaked his head around the curtain.

“Jesus Ed’s, scared the shit out of me.” His fear melted into mild annoyance and confusion. “Why are you here?”

“You didn’t tell me you can sing!” Eddie accused and Steve flushed, pulling his head back behind the curtain. Eddie heard him start rinsing his hair and immediately went red when he realized their position.

“I didn’t realize that warranted busting down the door when I’m mid shower.” Steve grumbled before he sighed, apparently finished with the water and he shut the tap off. “I’m stepping out.” He warned.

“Steve Harrington, fresh out of a shower and completely nude? My heart won’t stand the sight.” Eddie tried to go for flirtatious to hide his embarrassment but it didn’t quite hit. “I’ll wait outside.” He shut the door behind him. Less than a minute later Steve was opening the door, towel wrapped around his waist and hair still dripping wet. Eddie’s mouth went dry. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Steve shirtless, what with the Lovers Lake incident and then countless days spent in his swimming pool during the summer. But it always left Eddie sort of breathless, words caught in his throat, heart pounding in his chest.

“Cat got your tongue?” Steve asked, smirk tugging at his lips, as Eddie realized he’d been staring a little too long to be subtle.

“You didn’t tell me you could sing! And I mean really sing, Stevie, like you’re good.” Eddie followed him back to the bedroom and Steve laughed lightly.

“Yeah, church choir and all that when I was little.” He replied, searching his drawers for some sweatpants and one of his yellow sweaters. “I don’t usually sing much anymore, my parents hated it and I didn’t have any songs I liked.” He shrugged and Eddie spun to face the wall when Steve started to drop his towel. He looked at the roof and prayed to any god that could hear him that his face wasn’t as red as it felt.

“Well I like it.” Eddie’s voice was quiet and with his back to Steve he didn’t see the way his hands fumbled the sweater before pulling it over his head. “And, it’s the perfect kind of voice for some background vocals we’re looking for.” Steve tapped him on the shoulder and he turned back around to face him.

“Background vocals?” Steve perched himself on the edge of his bed as Eddie started pacing, talking with his hands as he tried to explain.

“Okay so, we have this gig coming up and they’re going to let us record an album, like an actual professional album, and we need some background vocals on the tracks.” He stopped and pointed at Steve. “And you, sweet beautiful amazing you, Steve Harrington, have the best fucking vocals for the background track that I have been looking for for months!” Steve stared at him, his face was unreadable and Eddie felt a bit of anxiety pool in his stomach.

“You think I’m beautiful?” Steve asked, and Eddie groaned, running his fingers across his face.

“That’s not the point Steve, I’m asking if you’d do the background vocals.” Eddie took two steps forwards and poked Steve in the forehead and Steve swatted his hand away.

“No lets go back to that. You think I’m beautiful.” Eddie’s face went red and he looked away towards the window.

“It was a slip of the tongue.” He protested before attempting to change the subject. “Look all I’m saying is that, you’re perfect.” Steve’s face broke out into a grin and he rushed to continue his sentence. “I mean for the track! Your voice! It’s perfect! God, whatever. We don’t even have to put your name on it, and if you want to do even more than background vocals maybe we could do that too.” He grumbled, burying his face in his hands to hide the vibrant red screaming off his cheeks.

“So you think I’m perfect, and beautiful.” Eddie dropped his hands to give Steve the most incredulous look, only to be met with a shit eating grin and a raised eyebrow.

“Fuck you.” He went to take a step away but Steve caught him by the wrist.

“I’ll do it.”

“What?” Eddie spun back around. “You will?”

“Yeah why not, maybe it will be fun.” Steve shrugged, aiming for nonchalant but Eddie could see a pleased grin tugging at his mouth. His eyes sparkled with interest and oh god, Eddie was so far gone.

“Steve Harrington I could kiss you right now, holy shit.” Eddie breathed, filled with excitement and anticipation.

“Okay.”

“Wait, what?”

“I said okay.” Steve met Eddie’s eyes again, a little bit of hope and fear stirring underneath the brown irises and well, Eddie didn’t need to be told twice.

(They recorded the album a week later, and Steve even had a side part in a song Eddie had written about him, though he didn’t know it was about him until a few weeks later when Dustin mentioned it.)

#steddie au #steddie ficlet #steddie #stranger things au #guys idk what this is it was supposed to be small and now it’s this #i’m going insane anyone want anything #remy speaks #season 1 steve singing to nancy just #lives in my head rent free why don’t we see more of that

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not-your-fucking-kacchan · 2 years

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♡︎𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮♡︎

Day 7 of Kinktober 2022

Summary: Katsuki wants to see you come undone with just the help of his thigh.

Props to my beta reader for today @sasualblxd - thank you for your amazing help! Bae I couldn't have done this without you <3

987 words.

Katsuki wants to try something new. He's dressed all smart after a formal meeting concerning hero work, clad in a pretty, light grey suit - tailored perfectly to wrap around muscular thighs like a glove. The colour reminds you of the sky on a wintery afternoon, accompanied by a smart black shirt underneath that complements him much more than the standard white. He's in his business casual, and obviously, you're obsessed. But you might have a biased opinion.

One of his signature smirks tugs at the corner of his lips, dimpling his cheek and threatening to turn your world upside down with the swift 'come hither' of his fingers. The smug ash blonde summons you forward with the enticing motion, drawing all of your attention and delighting in it. He loves to be the very centre of all your thoughts.

The meeting has since come to a close, and thus Katsuki teases you in your shared room after work, placing firm, rough hands on wide hips and guiding you to sit on just one of his thighs. Every now and again he would shake his leg beneath you, knowing exactly what he's doing to you in the process, your skirt pooling over his pelvis.

He delights in the fact that you're only wearing a thin pair of underwear underneath, and slowly, he grabs your waist with steady hands like he has many times before, pulling you forward and guiding you to straddle him.

Now that you were finally home, the thought did cross his mind to simply strip you and take you against the front door, but he was feeling especially evil. Is it horrible that he just wants to see you squirm?

You're already wet from just the hungry looks he'd been giving you on the way home, and desperately wanted to just jump his bones the second you got home. All you've been able to think about is how fucking irresistible he looks in a suit. He exudes confidence and competence in waves and the bulging muscle that strains beneath that shirt naturally has your eyes locked on him and your belly on fire like a cat in heat. You just need to be taken care of by this man, and you've been so close to tearing your hair out in frustration all day.

There's a dark spot on your underwear which brings to attention just how long you've been waiting for this, and he fully understands the anticipation. Only God knows how much mental strain was put behind trying to ward off a boner mid-meeting. You have been driving him fucking nuts. Now it's time for punishment.

Soft kisses spark at his skin and echo through the room while you grind on his thigh, your body pressed flush against his chest and your breasts cushioning his chin. You couldn't be happier to finally be getting some sort of relief, needily rutting your hips against his soft, squishy quadricep.

"That's it, baby, want you to ride my thigh."

Oh, how your stomach ties knots at the sound of his voice. It's gruff and underlined by lust, his hands firmly on your sides and helping you move against him smoothly, a wet patch of your anticipation starting to form on his pant leg. He groans as you grind on him, pressing a kiss to your neck and smoothing his hand to slip under your shirt.

The dip of your waist fits perfectly in his hand, it's almost like you were made for him.

The most delectable little gasps and moans leave your mouth as you do exactly what you were told, and Katsuki drinks them all up as he kisses you like a man addicted to your taste. His lips trail down your jaw and your neck to your breasts which press against his face, and he clicks his tongue at the fact that your shirt is buttoned, guiding you to undo those buttons for him.

When the top of your cleavage finally begins to show, Katsuki immadiately decides that he wants to paint your breasts with his hickeys and love bites, making your pussy clench against him. He can feel you twitching and throbbing against him and his own need twitches in the confines of his suit pants, creating a noticeable bulge.

Katsuki isn't quite the most patient of men, however, and slowly his hand slips under the pleated, black fabric of your skirt and past soft, cotton underwear to play with your clit. He's always prided himself in being the only one in his friend group who can actually find the clit, except Mina, obviously. But you failed to notice the impact that had on his ego until it was far too late.

It's kind of sexy, in a way. He gets off on being a good lover. It's the kind of trait in a man most women can only dream of. So you really didn't mind.

What you do mind, though, is the fact that you're already close to cumming in your underwear after barely minutes of this. Soft panted moans fill the room as you struggle to keep your composure, amusing your boyfriend as he presses his fingers down harder into your clit to tease you.

"Yeah, that's it, baby. You like that? Come on, I want you to cum, you think you can do that for me?..."

It only takes a few more seconds of his ministrations and the feeling of his breath agains your neck, sending shivers down your spine, for you to unravel in his arms.

Your thighs tremble and shake as your essence drips between your legs, Katsuki's pants soaked in your need. The sight causes as low chuckle to rumble in his chest even despite the little crescent moons you dig into his his back in your attempt at grounding yourself.

"Fuck-... 'so fuckin' sexy... 'm gonna fuckin' wreck you, baby."

All you can manage in response is a little whimper.

◃ 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 | 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 ▹

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crazylittlejester · 1 month

Text

Summary: Maybe it was stupid of Time to have tried to beat Warriors in a game of strategy- And maybe it was an even worse decision to have made a bet with the man. Obviously he didn’t win. (ft. Wars’s cats)

“Captain, is this-” Time cut himself off with a pained noise as his brother accidentally pulled his hair a little too hard and whispered an apology to him with a sympathetic wince. “Is this really necessary?”

“Yes,” Warriors nodded, placing a hand just above Time’s eyebrows so none of the water he was pouring on his hair would get into his eyes.

He couldn’t help but groan in response, shifting around on the cold tile floor to relieve some of the pressure on his tailbone. His neck was also starting to hurt from the angle at which it was leaning against the rounded edge of the most exquisite wash tub Time had ever seen in his life. Warriors had not been kidding when he’d said his queen had offered him quite the extravagant living quarters in the palace.

The captain kept his space neat and organized, except for his desk drawer, but the space certainly didn’t feel bare, instead giving off a comforting, cozy aura despite the lavishness of it all. Time usually felt uncomfortable being surrounded by the glamor and riches of being inside a castle, associating it with the stiffness of the strict nobles who lived there, but Warriors’s room felt like… well, it felt like being surrounded by the captain himself. The man was certainly wealthy and that was shown in the quality of his belongings, but he didn’t have things for the sake of having them, he had simple decorations and dedicated space for his cats’ things. There were also little things of sentimental value and importance, like some drawings Time recognized as gifts he himself had given the captain during the war that hung on the wall by the man’s desk. He’d teared up a little when he recognized what they were when he’d passed them on his way into Warriors’s bathroom.

The room was huge, but his brother had put a lot of work into making it feel safe and warm. However, nothing about how inviting the space was was making Time more comfortable in his current position.

“I just washed my hair yesterday, I’m not sure why you have to wash it again,” Time grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest while Warriors unscrewed the cap on another bottle. He was starting to feel really uncomfortable with the way his wet shirt collar was rubbing up against the back of his neck every time Warriors had him tilt his head back and scoot up because he’d accidentally slid down too far.

“Some of the products won’t work on dry hair,” the captain told him, rubbing whatever on earth he’d just poured out of the bottle all over his hands before sticking them in Time’s hair.

“Some??” His eye widened in shock. “How many are you using??”

[read the rest on AO3!!]

#jes talks #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu warriors #lu wars #lu time #lu fic #linked universe fic #jes fic

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notroosterbradshaw · 2 years

Text

The Relationship Experience - five

part of: The Boyfriend Experience universe

four.

Things continued well for the next month weeks or so. Rooster would come to your place most nights straight from work, domesticity at its finest. You’d cook, watch tv, tease each other unmercifully and you’d fuck until you fell asleep, wrapped up together until he snuck out quietly the next morning. You continued playing the same cat-and-mouse game around your friends. You knew they were starting to wise up that you were pretty much inseparable but never gave them the benefit of the doubt to arrive and leave together or be found away from the group at the same time.

You owed Natasha a lot to help throw your friends off the scent, but she couldn’t do much about you two flirting quietly together or if the longing looks you’d be swept into. Bradley Bradshaw just got more handsome every time you looked at him. It was criminal.

You were almost busted by Payback after you blew Rooster at Phoenix’s early Friendsgiving dinner in her bathroom. Having him across from you at the table was just too much, watching him laugh, drink, and relax among your friends. And not to mention his cream Henley was just a little too tight over his tanned chest and arms. You were a goner. If no one could see the heart eyes that you had for Rooster that night… well, that was on them. He watched you across the table, failing to hide his grin behind his wine glass as your foot crept against his calf. Yes, you were playing footsie and you both fucking loved it. He slouched a little in his chair, getting just a little lower to your reach. All you wanted to do was get him naked. It was just so simple.

“You can do that any time you like,” Rooster grinned like a Cheshire cat, his palms holding your chin roughly as he kissed you wildly a few moments after he’d cum. “Christ, that was incredible,” he chuckled quietly as he tucked himself back into his boxer briefs and zipped up his jeans. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I fuckin’ like it,” he kissed your neck as you turned away from him to smooth your hair that Rooster had gripped in his fist to keep from crying out while you made his dreams come true in the mirror. “I’m almost speechless.”

“And that never happens,” you taunted back at him in the mirror, watching as he left wet kisses on your jugular, his honey-coloured eyes watching you keenly in the reflection, his palms squeezing your hips and drawing your body back to his. Your knees were weak, and your eyes fluttered closed. “Bradley, I…” you tried.

“Bradley I, what?” he repeated softly, watching you intently, as he wrapped his strong arms around your waist to support you. “You smell so good,” he was a little lightheaded himself.

“I…” you tried again. The words were failing you. Fuck it.

He ceased his ministrations and raised his eyebrow gently. “You okay, sweet girl?”

I’m completely in love with you, Bradley. “I’m okay,” you turned and kissed him softly, confusing him with the change of tone after you practically devoured him moments earlier. “I’ll go out first, okay?”

He sighed, cupping your jaw. “Okay. That was amazing. Can we do that every dinner party?”

“You can repay the favour any time you like.”

“Well, don’t leave and lose your undies,” he started to move to his knees as you giggled and used your index finger to bring him back to you by the chin.

“Bradley Bradshaw,” you sighed. “Is there anything you wouldn’t do for me?”

“Anything, without hesitation,” he declared.

You kissed him. “I don’t deserve you.”

He smiled, the rose in his cheek flushing. “You deserve everything,” he kissed you again and he drew you into his strong arms. “Forgive me. I can’t keep my fuckin’ hands off you.”

“I don’t want you to let me go anyway.”

“Sure you wanna escape?”

“Everyone will be looking for us.”

"They’re gonna have to find out sometime.”

“You want them to find us with your head between my legs?”

His eyes twinkled, flooding with mischief. “I love how you think I would be embarrassed by that.”

“You’re not making this easy,” you rolled your eyes, trying not to laugh.

“Here’s a counter, at least. Meet me back here in 15 minutes and I will make you cum so hard, you’ll see stars…” he licked your top lip. “Can’t wait to taste you.”

“At ease, big boy.”

He groped his crotch, a little uncomfy. “This is on you and that…” he breathed. “This dress. It’s almost… Jesus. It’s so hot, you’re actually paining me,” he knocked the strap off your shoulder and nuzzled up your clavicle to your pulse.

“Rooster,” you dragged out, losing your fingers to his messy curls. “You need to stop.”

“Ask me again and I will, I promise,” his hands bunched into the skirt of the dress, drifting the material higher in your thighs.

“We will be caught.”

He laughed into your skin. “Still not a threat.”

You begrudgingly stepped away from him and he made grabby hands to try and lure you back to him. “I’ll go out first,” you kissed him once more as he used his thumb to wipe away some lip gloss that smudged.

“You’re thoroughly debauched. No one will believe you weren’t completely indecent in here,” Rooster grinned widely, clicking his tongue. “Maybe they will even think you were by yourself,” he groaned at the thought of you touching yourself and he swore he was hard again.

“Then leave me alone!” You hissed, slapping his hands away gently.

He held his palms up. “I give,” he promised. “Until I get you back to that apartment and you show me what’s under this… sorry, sorry excuse for a dress. Fuck, you look so good. Please get out,” he begged. “I’m hard again and I have to… not be.”

Laughing quietly, you slipped out of his arms and opened the door slowly, hoping for no one on the other side. Success, you thought about the slip back in and let know Rooster know the coast was clear.

“Hey!” Payback grinned, wandering towards you.

“Oh, hey Reuben,” you smiled, quickly slamming the door after you, hoping Rooster heard you. There was nowhere for the poor bastard to escape.

He chuckled. “You good? Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

You forced a loud laugh. “Red wine has gotten to me a bit, I suppose.”

“Ahh, I hear that,” he said, looking over your shoulder to get in behind you. “May I?”

“Umm, I think someone is in there.”

“You were just in there,” he frowned then smiled wide, his smile was phenomenal, and you found yourself distracted for a moment. Fuck, how much had you had to drink? “Maybe you are a little hammered. Want me to drop you back at your apartment or something? I don’t think you should drive,” he squeezed in as the front door rang. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

You heard the commotion at the front door as Mickey opened it for Rooster, who broadcasted his excuse of locking himself out after needing to get something from his car. You later learned he’d booked it out the bathroom window, catching a neighbour’s rose bush on the way past in the dark. He was surprised you couldn’t hear him curse a litany of profanities with it.

It’s how he got the scar on his hip he named after you.

It was jagged and deep, and he loved it.

But time was starting to run out when Rooster got a text from your sister one evening the week of Thanksgiving.

“Huh,” Rooster huffed a laugh as you brought him a glass of wine and you sat together on the couch after you’d showered from work, dinner still a while away. “Thank you, sweet girl.”

“No problem,” you cupped his face and kissed him gently. God, you loved his soft lips. He smiled against yours and showed you his phone.

“Your sister texted me…” he explained.

“Why does she have your number?”

“I’ve had this number for too many years,” he admitted with a shrug. “She and I wear friends before I wore you down,” he teased as you rolled your eyes.

“What does Annie want?”

“She asked me to Thanksgiving. Looks like I won’t have to spend it on base alone,” he murmured, teasing you. “That’s very kind of her.”

You nodded, knowing you’d have to hide your panic a bit better than this if you didn’t want anyone to know you were dating yet. “You wouldn’t have to spend it on base,” you took a seat next to him as he placed his palm on your chin and kissed you gently. “I would have invited you to our family dinner.”

But why hadn’t you? Was it just implied that he goes where you do now? Shit.

“Look at you, freaking the fuck out,” he laughed quietly. “I love it.”

“I’m not freaking out,” you stated. Of course you were.

“Sure you aren’t,” he replied, texting Annie back out loud and very much in spite of you. “‘Annie, thank you so much for the invite. That sounds great if I’m not imposing.’ Send.”

“Do you write every text out loud?” you sniped.

“Only the ones you are shitting yourself about,” he retorted. “Now,” he sipped his wine, massaging your calf. “Explain to me why you don’t want to tell your family about us. Pretend I’m an idiot.”

“What are you talking about?” you downplayed the situation and he raised an eyebrow as you sighed. “It’s only because my family are crazy and when we tell them… you’ll get it too. Engagements, weddings, babies, funerals, cemetery plots,” you exaggerated and he laughed.

“You know, if I had a family to tell, I would have told them already,” and for a guy that was orphaned at 18, he looked awfully smug about it.

Oof. That was rough. “Oh, Bradley,” you grimaced, covering your eyes, pained as he laughed a little louder. Goddamn masochist. “Rooster.”

“Baby,” he matched your tone. “Only I’m allowed to say that, by the way.”

“Okay, okay.”

“So why are you hesitating?”

“I just don’t want to tell them all yet. There’s so many of them, and I never really brought guys home to meet them unless they really meant something.”

“And I don’t really mean something?” he quirked his eyebrow. “Shit.”

“Of course you do,” you said quickly. “Please don’t put words in my mouth.”

He frowned. “Are you embarrassed by me or something?”

Aghast, you replied, “Oh, my God. No. Why – how could you ever think that?”

“Well, I’m not a bad guy. Your family knows me. I thought it would have been easier for you to introduce me as your boyfriend than some other guy.”

“Why would I have to introduce you?” you asked him. “Everyone has known you forever.”

“Do you not want to tell your family we’re together?” he asked, a little concerned. “Do you think we’re just fucking around here?” he asked, voice low.

“No, of course not,” you replied. You sipped your wine eagerly.

“We are together every night. This has been a wonderful secret, but I’m ready to yell from the rooftops that you’re mine, that we’re together. Sweetheart, your family has no idea about us.”

“Rooster, please,” you said evenly. The pressure hit hard and fast. “I get it.”

“No, you clearly don’t,” he protested. “I want this. I want you; I want us. Don’t you?” he asked warily and adjusted his posture to sit up straight.

“More than anything.”

“Then why are you hesitating?” he continued to push.

“Well,” you paused, realising how much you enjoyed this little bubble of love the two of you’d created. It was private, it was fun. “I like that it’s just us, you know?”

“The holidays are coming. Many of them. I mean, I might not be here for Christmas, it’s pretty unlikely at this point. But I’d like to spend them with you, my girlfriend… and I guess that means your family too,” he smiled easily. “If you change your mind, of course.”

It all seemed so obvious. To now, it had been so stress-free not to mention Rooster to Annie, your mother, and your grandparents. But now it seemed so confronting, a little exciting, but mostly terrifying the deal they'd make. Wait, girlfriend? “Girlfriend?” you played off coolly. Rooster grinned, knowingly. This gorgeous asshole before you was purely enjoying himself now. You hadn’t been a girlfriend for a long time. It felt strange to be referred to as one and he was thriving on it.

“What, you’re not?” he teased. “Did we have to have the conversation about how serious this was before or after you gave me your apartment key?”

“Well, that was to make sure I was safe when you left before sunrise every day.”

“True, would never want anything to happen to you,” he joshed along. But you were certainly not joking the way he was. “You’re still doing the confused face, and I don’t know why,” he retreated a little.

“I know we’re serious.”

“Good,” Rooster smiled. “Because you were acting like this was the first time you’d thought that I was your boyfriend,” he chuckled quietly. He cursed and rubbed his eyes when you only look at him. “Aw, shit. I knew it.”

“What?”

“You are still in that… how do I say this?” he smoothed his moustache and moved back to the other end of the couch that felt like it was a mile away. “You’re freakin’ out about us.”

“I’m not freaking out,” but you weren’t convincing him or yourself.

He gave a small smile. “Look, it’s okay. It’s early days. But isn’t exactly rocket science… unless I’m moving way too fast,” he realised. It was hard to admit, but he was definitely moving a lot quicker than you were. He took your foot and dragged you down the couch to him, moving you in close and perching you deliberately on his lap, forcing you to keep his gaze. “Am I going a bit too quick?”

The thing was, he wasn’t. Everything seemed to be going at the exact speed that felt comfortable for you both, yet you were hesitating. “I love being with you.”

He nodded simply. “Me too. But…” he urged. When you didn’t continue, he breathed deeply. “Okay, mature, adult conversation coming up. It’ll be painless, I swear.”

“Fuck,” you muttered, sipping again. “Okay.”

“Baby steps, I promise. I don’t want to scare you or feel like I’m forcing something in to you that you aren’t ready for,” he said softly.

“I really love every moment we spend together,” you admitted and he brightened a little.

“But we are dating, correct?”

“Correct.”

“We have an amazing time together.”

“Definitely.”

“You are very satisfied sexually.”

“Rooster,” you smacked his chest as he laughed, breaking the ice.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Also, me too,” he winked. You high-fived him. He caught your hand and held it to his heart. “I’m here every night.”

“Yes...”

“Then who am I to you?”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Pal?”

“No.”

“Fuck buddy?”

You cocked your head to the side. He muttered your name and shook his head dismally. “Baby, please!” he tried not to laugh.

“Okay,” you rolled your eyes. “No, I guess. But we’re very good in that department.”

Rooster concurred. “So, I’m not your pal,” he counted on his finger. “And I’m not your buddy… who is Bradley Bradshaw to you?”

“You’re everything,” you told him simply and he was. A fond smile crossed his face, and you thought maybe he was satisfied with your response.

“Good answer,” he admitted and reached across to kiss you. “Boyfriend doesn’t seem so big in context, huh?”

“Probably not,” you admitted as he laughed.

“God, you’re hard work,” he playfully rolled his eyes. “Come on, let me fuck you senseless to celebrate this new arrangement,” in a true feat of strength, he stood and hoofed you over his brawny shoulder as you giggled all the way to the bedroom. Was hard to argue when he laid it out like that…

“Bradley,” Viper extended his hand that Rooster willingly shook. “So glad you could join us, son.”

“Thank you, sir. Appreciate the invite as always.”

“The door is always opened,” Viper told him as he moved to hold your face and kiss your forehead. “Hi, sweetheart. Where have you been hiding lately, huh?”

“Sorry, Grandpa,” you said meekly. “Work has been busy and you know...”

“Life,” he smiled widely.

“Life,” you repeated with a nod. That works.

“Good time to get here together,” Viper said, humoured.

“We drove together, sir,” Rooster said as you gripped the sweet potatoes a little tighter.

“Oh, handy,” he said, taking Rooster inside, Viper’s hand on his shoulder, guiding him in, chatting immediately about work. You sighed and left at the doorway.

“It begins,” you muttered to yourself.

But to be honest, it was all going okay, you realised later in the day. Nana had enlisted Rooster to help her trim the tree; you had time to snuggle with your niece, Ava, all the while discreetly watching Rooster’s body moving in perfect motion as he reached, ducked and bent for decorations in those jeans that were a little less conducive to tree decorating, while your nephew Oscar had claimed Rooster as the best person going around, not helping Rooster at all but if Rooster could put up with you, he could certainly deal with an eager three-year-old.

...until dinner time.

“So, are you seeing anyone, Bradley, sweetheart?” your mother asked, mid-meal. You tried not to give him your attention and reached for a side.

“Umm, actually…” he said, looking anywhere but at you. He was trying so hard to respect your wishes that you’d tell your family today, and in your time, but you both knew the questions were starting to get more and more purposeful and detracting from them was only pushing your family closer to figuring it out themselves. “Kind of, yes.”

Dammit, Rooster.

“Oh, why didn’t you tell us?” Annie asked, the sarcasm evident in her voice, and looked directly at you. “I would have told you to invite her too.”

BRUTAL.

“Oh, that’s wonderful! Tell us about her!” your mother continued excitedly. He chewed his lip. Rooster didn’t get nervous easily, he oozed confidence and charisma and could fake it until he made it in extreme situations but right now, all allusions and aspirations to keep up appearances were almost out the window.

“Bet we do. I mean, it’s a small town, right?” Annie taunted. She said your name, demanding your attention. “You probably know her really well.”

“Why are you like this?” you asked her, she had you exactly where she wanted you.

“You know why.”

“Is it because you’re an asshole?” you muttered as Nana tutted you.

“Can the abuse wait until we’ve finished the meal?” Grandpa added. “And knock it off, Annie. Don’t upset your sister.”

“I’m not doing anything, Grandpa,” she laughed quietly as Arron nudged her to behave. “I’m sorry,” but you and everyone at the table sure as shit knew she didn’t mean it.

Silence remained for a moment, and with the pressure entirely on you, you sighed. “Fine. Okay, you win.”

Annie was almost bursting with excitement. The same could be said for Rooster beside you, although he was containing it a little better than your sister. Annie beamed. “Be our guest, the table is yours.”

You looked at Rooster and he gave you a fond smile, encouraging you. “Bradley and I are…” you started, kind of lost in his hopefulness. His eyes were so warm and reaffirmed just how in love with him you were. The arm he rested on the back of your chair moved to sweetly massage the nape of your neck. But he wasn’t going to help you. This was your news; he was just there to support you.

“You two are dating,” Annie announced before you. Groaning, your eyes dropped. If Annie was good for one thing, it was her inability to keep her trap shut.

“You’re dating?” Nana asked. It begins.

“How long has this been going on?” your mother asked, looking between you and Rooster expectedly.

“Wedding, at least!” Annie exclaimed. “I friggin’ knew it! Ma, I told you they were into each other!”

Rooster giggled quietly behind you as you put your head in your hands. “This serious?” Viper asked sternly from the end of the table and Rooster straightened up. He didn’t know who was supposed to answer so he did.

“Yessir.”

“How long?”

“It’s new. Six weeks?” you finally spoke up. “Things changed after the wedding and now we pretty much spend all our time together.”

The silence in the room was unexpected and didn’t make you feel any better about the situation. You looked at Grandpa, the only person at the table not smiling… and you’d never quite seen Grandpa like this. Not when Annie brought Arron home, not when your mother announced she was getting married again. Having Grandpa arc up was… maybe a little expected, but the look on his face took you back 20 years, cross at something from work and a storm in a teacup. Rooster gently let go of you and placed his hands in his lap. He could feel the air in the room change too.

“I don’t understand why this had to be a secret.”

Rooster looked at you pointedly.

Annie laughed. “Grandpa, it was a secret because we’re all little nuts here. You know she’s private.”

“Grandpa,” you said, ignoring Annie trying to make the situation easier in her convoluted way. “Can we talk outside?”

“I’d appreciate that,” he pushed his chair out and left the table. You felt about two inches tall as you thanked Annie again.

“Dad, give her a break. They’re young and still figuring it out,” your mother called after him. “Don’t worry, Bradley, darling. Dad is just a little protective.”

“I understand,” Rooster said softly. He took your hand gently. “You okay?”

“I’m okay,” you kissed his temple as Annie yipped with joy and you threw your hands up. “Nana, I hate to swear, but Annie, you’re an asshole. This could have been done any other time.”

“When you’re 90?” Annie challenged.

“It wouldn’t matter, because it’s still my – ours,” you stood behind Rooster and rested your hands on his shoulders. “It’s our news.”

Annie sighed across from you as your mother nodded and reprimanded your sister.

“I’m going to speak to Grandpa,” you kissed Rooster gently and he nodded. “You have full reign to savage Annie if needed.”

He laughed. “It’s okay, really. It’s all out there now. Go talk to Viper.”

You gave Annie the finger as she sighed and gave a meek apology. You wandered outside, taking a seat on the porch step where Viper was seated, staring out towards the ocean. The mid-afternoon sun was disappearing with the clouds coming in off the water. You both stayed silent for a while. You offered him your hand and he willingly took it.

“You don’t hold my hand much,” he noted. You didn’t really know what to say to that. “But I guess you’re not the baby anymore.”

“Well, there are literal and figurative babies in the family now,” you gently reminded him.

Grandpa chuckled quietly. “I suppose so.”

“Are you upset?”

“About Bradley?” he asked, patting your joined hands. “Not at all… but if there was anyone I tried to make you keep your space from… It was a Navy man.”

“You’re a Navy man,” you reminded him.

“Yeah, but I’m one of the good ones,” he teased back.

“So is Bradley,” you stood up for Rooster. Grandpa smirked. You knew he was giving you shit. “I didn’t exactly see this coming, Grandpa. It just happened.”

“I know Bradley is a good man, sweetheart. You have my blessing, not that you need it. But I feel like Bradley thinks he does. I couldn’t be happier for you. But all I could ever ask, sweetheart… you happy?”

“We are, Grandpa.”

“Do you love him?”

“I think so…” you admitted softly.

“You think so?” Viper repeated.

“Well, we haven’t... said that yet,” you admitted bashfully. He nodded, slowly.

“Do you think he loves you? Because of the way he looked at you when you made your little announcement inside? Sweetheart, he looks at you like you hung the moon. I was watching him while Nana was ordering him around the lounge room, and decorating the tree. He can’t keep his fondness off his face, darling.”

You laughed quietly, and Viper could swear, he saw the cheeky toddler who thought he was the best thing ever. was before him again. “I really need you to be okay with this.”

“What makes you think I’m not?”

“Well, you got kind of cross inside.”

“Well, I just don’t understand the secrecy. You two arrive together and pretend your just friends when it’s clear to everyone that you’re everything but?” he smiled.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Darling, it’s written all over your face how much affection you have for him. No one missed the jibes as you teased him while decorating the tree.”

You wondered how many other people knew and were just being polite if your family knew immediately. “You guys are the first people we’ve told. Aside from a few of Rooster’s teammates. This means a lot to me. I need to know you’re okay with this.”

He frowned. “You’ve never been so bothered by my opinion on your companions before.”

“Grandpa… Bradley isn’t my companion. This isn’t just a passing fling,” you looked up at the overcast sky above you, grey and stormy, while Viper remained quiet and you added, “I see my future with him.”

He hummed. “I think he sees his future with you too,” Viper conceded. “I sincerely think that Bradley is deeply in love with you. Maybe more than you realise he is.”

“I’ve never felt about anyone like I do Bradley,” you confided.

“It’s very serious, very quickly.”

“I guess so.”

“He’s not based here, sweetheart. You’re not thinking about leaving us, are you?”

“He got a transfer a few months back.”

Viper laughed. “It’s like you’ve thought of everything, huh?”

“I personally think Ice helped get the quick transition, but it’s just a hunch.”

“Sounds like Ice,” Viper sighed. “He’d do anything for Bradley with Mav still out of the picture after all these years. I’ll never forget the night Bradley came here and asked why I denied his access to the Naval Academy. He was so desperate for me to do anything to revoke Maverick’s recommendation.”

“Could you have done anything?”

“I was retired, darling. I knew I still held influence... but I surely did not hold authority. In hindsight, it was probably best for Bradley to go to university after his mother’s death. He needed to see the world without the Navy guiding him,” Viper sighed solemnly. “I know it breaks Mav’s heart that Bradley couldn’t understand it. But one day they will find common ground again, I’m sure of it.”

“Hope so, Grandpa,” but you knew the unadulterated rage Rooster still carried for Pete Mitchell and it would take hell freezing over for that to change.

“Come on, let’s not let Bradley sweat. You know I’m going to give him a hard time though? He doesn’t get to sail through anymore.”

You sighed. “Poor Bradley.”

“Yes. Poor Bradley,” Viper grinned wide. The old man was going to enjoy this.

Your mother stood beside Rooster as he washed the dishes later that evening. You’d excused yourself for baby cuddles and helping Annie put Ava to sleep. “I can see you’re deeply in love, Bradley,” she told him quietly. He looked at her and smiled kindly.

“Guess it’s pretty obvious, huh?”

Your mother laughed quietly, taking the cutlery in Rooster’s hands and drying it for him. “Very much so.”

“I’ve never felt this way before, ma’am,” he admitted for the first time aloud. “Your daughter is very special to me.”

“That’s all I need to know, sweetheart. She’s a tough cookie, but she will come around. She has been alone for a long time. The emotional stuff was never her thing. Her first broken heart is her everlasting one.”

“Her old man?” he figured, taking the dish towel and drying his hands as your mother nodded.

“Just be patient with her. She knows more than anyone she’s hard work. She doesn’t mean to be but…”

“I’ve got all the time in the world,” he replied, piling a dish carefully into the drainer.

“You’ve got such a good heart, Bradley. I’m so proud to see the man you’ve grown into… and Carole and Nick would be too. It makes me so sad that they don’t get to see the kind, charming, intelligent man you are,” your mother stopped to wipe away the single tear that fell.

Rooster pursed his lips together. He heard things like that all the time but hearing it from your mother, someone who was so close to Carole, shook him a little. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Bradley, for Christ’s sake… you’re in your 30’s. You can call me Liv,” she sighed, biting back a laugh.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said again. “Sorry… Liv,” he corrected himself, nervously.

“Take care of my baby, okay?”

“Always.”

She patted his cheek and studied him momentarily. “With the moustache, you know how much you look like your dad. He was so funny and incredibly insightful. He would have done anything for you and your mother and I see so much of that in you. But Bradley, I need you to remember something, okay?”

He stayed quiet, a little overwhelmed by your mother’s sweet words.

“You are more than your parents' legacy. You have been so blessed to have your parent’s good looks, Goose’s wit, Carole’s good heart. But they would be so proud to see you grow into the man you are today. And you are so loved. By so many. Cherish that, okay?”

Rooster remained silent. He was sure if he said something, he would probably break down. You sighed from the other side of the wall where you hid when you heard your mother speaking to Rooster.

Not that you were eavesdropping, because you were without a shadow of a doubt, but hearing her carefully constructed words and her affection for him enveloped you with such warmth.

“You’re a good man, Bradley Bradshaw. You sleep well at night knowing that, okay?” you held your heart as your mother continued. And suddenly she was before you and shook her head in a joking tutt before heading back to the living room. You poked your head in to see Rooster staring into the sink, his knuckles white as he gripped the porcelain sink.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly as he looked over his shoulder at you and stood to his height.

“Hi,” he said as you walked to him and raised your arms to hold him and you could swear you felt him shake beneath you.

“Hi,” you kissed his temple as you smoothed his hair. “She has always been more of a sister than a mom,” you told him quietly. “But when she brings out the big guns, beware, because she dropped you head first down an emotional rabbit hole.”

His body shook with laughter as he looked at you. “So that’s where you get it, huh?”

Staring into his honey eyes, you wiped away the single tear that hadn’t melted into your shirt. You pouted and nodded softly. “Guess so,” you kissed him sweetly. “You really okay?”

“So fucking good,” he admitted quietly. “Thank you for today. Best Thanksgiving in years.”

You ran your fingers through his slicked-back curls and he nestled into you. “I’m glad it’s out there now. No more pressure.”

He smirked. “Wrong.”

“Wrong?” you repeated.

“I still have to cop so much heat about banging the admiral’s granddaughter yet,” he murmured in your ear.

Breathing to steady yourself, you asked, “Wanna take me home and bang me then so you’ll feel better about it?” you offered as he nuzzled your pulse.

“I was thinking we re-visit the bathroom...” he hinted with a whisper.

“Are you fucking kidding me? It will be a cold day in hell if you try getting into my undies here, big boy.”

He cackled. “Oh, one hundred per cent,” and just like that, Rooster Bradshaw was before you again as Viper wandered in and he pounced off you. “Sir.”

“Hmm,” Viper replied drily, grabbing a bottle of wine from the bench top. “Some decorum please, Bradshaw?” he muttered, walking out as you bit back hysterical laughter at the fear that crossed Rooster’s face.

“Not even worth the joke, baby,” you kissed him and left him to finish the dishes alone.

You studied Rooster as he drove back to your apartment later that night. His gaze kept to the road but he could feel your eyes on him and he looked at you, a wary smile playing on his lips as he spoke, “What?”

“Today went really well,” you reached for his hand on the gear shift.

He nodded. “Viper hates me, but your mom and Nana love me so I hope I can be spared somehow.”

“Grandpa just wants to give you shit, you know he doesn’t mean any harm.”

“Hmm,” Rooster said with a forced grin. “I’ll bet.”

You traced the thick veins on the top of his hand and he wriggled his fingers for yours to hold. “No,” you told him, content to learn his hands, long slender fingers, the freckle on his ring finger. You’d spent plenty of time memorising the curves and ridges of his back, his chest and abs.

“Okay, weirdo,” he chuckled quietly.

“I’ve decided I’m quietly obsessed with your hands.”

“My hands,” he gave you a side glance.

“Yeah, they do some incredible things. Help fast planes go zoom,” you teased as he snorted.

“Coming from you, I’d advise you never let anyone else hear that in this town.”

You chuckled loudly. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah. What else do they do?”

“They hold my hand, touch me. They make me cum,” you said mindlessly memorising their strength of them and jolted as he overcorrected the car. “Jesus, Rooster... you okay?” you grabbed his bicep to steady him.

He straightened, clearing his throat. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay,” you sat back in your seat, slightly concerned it was because of you he almost drove you off the road.

“Say that again?”

Smirking as you watched the dark road before you, you replied, “Which part?”

“You know what I’m talking about...”

Oh. “They make me cum?” you asked, your fingers walking up to this wrist, tracing over the face of his watch.

"When I least expect it, you just floor me,” he stifled a laugh.

“Someone has to keep you on your toes, right?”

“Suppose so,” he shook his head with a faint smile as he pulled into the lot of your apartment building. He shut off the engine and leaned across to kiss you. “Can I take you inside and show you what else these hands can do?”

“Bye, baby. I’ll see you tonight,” Rooster gently smoothed your hair and smiled into the kiss he placed on your forehead as you dozed. Desperate to wake and say goodbye, but also… it was so nice in bed, snuggled into his pillow, his smell all around you. “Thank you for the best Thanksgiving ever.”

You huffed a tired laugh. “Happy to bring any drama as long as it makes you smile, baby,” you couldn’t keep your eyes open. You couldn’t maintain these wake-ups and had no idea how he could do it every day without hesitation. “Have a good day. Be safe,” you yawned as he chuckled quietly into your hair.

“Go back to sleep, sleepyhead. I love you,” he said, softly before standing and leaving quietly.

Your eyes flicked open and you sat up as the front door closed. Now you were well and truly awake, sleep be damned.

six.

masterlist.

A/N: the tag list no longer exists. To keep up to date, give @notroosterbradshaw-library a follow x

#notroosterbradshaw #rooster #rooster x reader #rooster x you #rooster x oc #rooster x female reader #bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #rooster fanfic #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fic #top gun fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #rooster fluff #rooster imagine #smut if you squint

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sodamnradd · 1 year

Text

Near midnight Draco yanks his front door open, wand in hand, suspicion etched all over his face.

Hermione stands on the top step, a rather sorry cupcake melting in her hand. “You didn’t come.”

She’s zipped into a little black dress with crisscross straps all along the sides and a swooping neckline he spends a breath too long gawking at.

“You never said it was mandatory.”

She wobbles on the edge of her heel, but when Draco reaches for her, she pulls back, scowling.

“Happy birthday.” She hands him the sorry cupcake.

He stares at the sticky mushy thing and notices a goopy swirl that might be a blazing comet on a bed of Slytherin green. “What’s that?”

“A Snitch. They ate the rest at the surprise party you didn’t show up to.”

His heart sinks. “I didn’t know.”

“Rather the point of a surprise party.”

“Who was there?”

He can’t imagine anyone showing up except for maybe Potter because she’s got some kind of magnetic pull over him. Draco suspects he’s suffering from a similar syndrome. Because, say, if Granger had insisted he show up tonight, Draco would have. He almost asks why she didn’t demand it of him.

“Everyone. My friends. Yours.”

“You spoke to my friends?” he asks, jarred.

“They were amused when we thought you were late. Then they all seemed sorry for me. Thought I was delusional for misinterpreting our relationship.”

“…our… relationship…” It’s not what she means. Of course, it isn’t.

‘Our’ pangs in his brain until it becomes rhythmic. A marching band beat of our, our, our.

His eyes wander. Her outfits are never so short, though they ought to be because Granger’s thighs are magnificent. He envisions dragging icing over them and running his tongue—

His face flames. “I’m sorry, Granger. I just wanted to spend my birthday alone.”

“Why? You love to be pampered.”

True. He grins. “Were you going to pamper me?”

A curl falls over her face as she lowers her chin, and he feels the burning need to tuck it behind her ear. But as the rest tumble forward, he realises she’s hiding. His chest tightens. He feels awful for making her feel small. She’s a mammoth in his mind. All five foot two of her. All the time.

“I don’t know why I came. See you on Monday.”

He feels like an arse. A tongue-tied, idiot arse who doesn’t know what to say to her and instead blurts out: “I didn’t want to spend my birthday watching every bloke at your party try to take you home. It’s bad enough at work. But when there’s liquor and strappy dresses and your thighs… I just needed a day off.”

“A day off from me.”

“From the side-effects of spending time with you.”

“Side-effects? Like I’m some sort of disease?”

“Probably!”

“Wow, Draco.” She glowers. “Just wow.”

“Nobody makes me feel this way. My palms are always sweaty. My stomach is in knots. I can’t speak properly around you half the time. It takes ages to focus because I’ll spot a lipstick stain on your stupid S.P.E.W mug and my mind launches into space. Like this fucking comet.”

“It’s a Snitch.” She steps forward, cat-like. Close enough to smell the perfume on her neck. His trousers are suddenly too tight. And that’s before she swirls her finger through the comet-Snitch icing and draws it to her mouth. “Butterscotch.”

He gulps. His favourite.

She drags her finger through it again, offering it to him. “Want some?”

His lips part and holy shit Hermione’s finger is in his mouth and he’s seconds away from coming in his fucking pants.

He tears back.

She steps forward.

“Granger,” he snipes like a spooked animal.

“Don’t be rude, Draco. I baked them just for you.”

Oh Gods.

She dunks her finger into the cupcake again. “Just a little more.”

“Stop.”

“Be that way.” She drags her finger between her lips and makes a moaning noise that joins ‘our’ in sounds he’ll never get out of his head.

“Ask me.” She’s looking up at him with her career confidence. Mouth wet.

He shakes his head, dazed. “What?”

“You said you didn’t want to see other blokes trying to take me home. Well, here I am at your doorstep and you haven’t even asked if I’d like to come inside.”

“Would you like to come inside?” he manages roughly, wondering if he’s hallucinating.

Hermione snatches the smeared cupcake from his hand and waves at the door. “It’s still your birthday for seven minutes. Think we can make them count?”

Oh, they make them count.

(768 words, prompt: you didn't come)

#sodamnrad #dramione #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #dhr #dramione drabble #sodamnraddrabbles

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there-must-be-a-lock · 3 months

Text

Jason Todd/Frank Castle ship manifesto and rec list!

For @dc-marvel-crossovers Pool Noodle Party.

These two are both scary motherfuckers when they want to be. Between the guns and the vengeance — yeah, the surface-level similarities are clear. But they’re also people whose core motivations are a) loss and b) a sense of justice. They lost faith in the ability of others to protect the people they love, and so they decided to do it themselves. They get a lot of shit from the other vigilantes in their respective circles for their methods of doing so; I think the lack of judgment coming from the other person would absolutely draw them together.

And at first glance, I think they can both easily be written off as angry characters, but both of them have a massive soft, caring streak under all that Kevlar and grumbling. It comes out mostly in the way they look out for (and fight on behalf of) the innocent — women, children, dogs… they’re both natural caretakers, but they’re rarely allowed to express it, and I think that caretaking is a huge part of what I love about the idea of their dynamic. They only allow themselves to be soft and to be taken care of because they’re with someone who also respects their strength.

Fic recs! Most of this tag belongs to the amazing @mightymightygnomepriest and @bittercape! Please go check out their work if you want more of this pairing — every one of their fics is great, not just the ones I’m quoting here.

forever trusting who we are by @bittercape - like I said, it’s the caretaking for me! This is peak softness, and I love the lived-in feel of the unspoken communication that comes from a long term relationship.

The rhythm of checking and mending gear is a familiar one, and Jason is comforted by the hiss of the whetstone against an already-sharp blade, as familiar as breathing.

Slightly less familiar is the way Frank leans against him when he comes back from packing up their gear. His weight is heavy against Jason’s back, seeking contact like a big cat.

can’t start a fire without a spark by @mightymightygnomepriest - Frank is literally in the rain trying to rescue a puppy in this. It’s so ridiculously endearing. There’s also caretaking (of course) and some sexy sexy sex.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason catches sight of a calendar. He wonders if he’s been a good enough boy this year that Santa’s delivered him a dilf.

Probably not.

Even if We’re Just Dancing in the Dark by @daddyswickedqueen - a remix of the previous fic on the list, but god damn I love Sagacity’s take on this premise. The inner voices of both characters are so well done.

There’s a low laugh that could, in other meteorological conditions, make Jason shiver. Right now it’s too fucking cold and wet to tell.

Jason stays right where he is. This goddamn puppy is going to be warm and dry tonight or he’s going to commit war crimes. Again.

Parting is all we know of Heaven, (—and all we need of Hell.) by llamallamaduck - Witcher fusion! I know very little about the Witcher fandom but was able to follow without problems, and the glimpse at the world was more than enough to have me wanting more. Great characterizations.

“I’ve been around for a while, kid,” says the Witcher, shifting. Automatically, Jason’s eyes snap to track the movement. You can’t not pay attention to that shit. He’s not even making any threatening gestures; he’s rubbing his temples with one hand and is propped up by the other. Nevertheless, Jason wants to curl his shoulders, bare his teeth and show he’s not easy prey.

Make This Easy by @thepartyresponsible - it has once again been 0 days since somebody in the crossover server recced a TPR fic, and for good reason. Significantly darker than the others on this list; this is not a happy story. But it involves one of my favorite descriptions of Jason of all time:

There’s some kind of predator under his skin, the same way there’s one under Frank’s. Maybe this kid’s teeth run a little closer to the surface, but Frank still recognizes his own. It’s just weird as hell to find someone like him caged up in a body like that. He wonders if that’s what he looked like in his early twenties, some unholy mashup of empty eyes and soft edges, baby fat barely lingering on a body already smelted into a weapon.

He was never that pretty, but Russo used to be. Maybe that burning match energy is something boys like them learn early. Self-immolation as a form of self-protection. Nobody’s going to get their hands on them if they’re already on fire.

#fic rec #jason todd #Frank castle #red hood #punisher #pool noodle party #dc marvel crossover #dc #marvel #dcu #mcu #dcu x mcu #rarepair #crossover

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spiderispunk · 1 year

Text

Dangerous

Pairing: Billy Russo x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings: Smut (18+ only please). Knife Play. D/s Dynamics. Restraints. Oral Sex (f!receiving). Fingering. Unprotected Sex. Teeny Tiny Breeding Kink. Aftercare.

A/N: I have no defense for this. Billy with knives just makes me brain go brrrrrrrrr. This is a continuation of my 2021 Kinktober fic. All typos and mistakes are my own.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Billy asks for what has to have been the 20th time in the last five minutes. He looms over you, checking the silk ties that secure your hands above your head. “Because we can stop. Just say the word.”

You look up at him, bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you eye the slender silver knife– one of a twin set– he holds in his hand. “Yes.” The word leaves you in an embarrassingly breathless squeak.

You were more than sure.

You’ve wanted this ever since you saw him train with the same knives a few months ago. There was something equal parts dangerous and alluring about him at that moment. The way Billy sliced and jabbed with such precision. The sharp blades slashing through the fabric of the burlap dummies, spilling tufts of cotton onto the floor. The beautiful, yet menacing, arc of the steel knife as it whistled through the air and embedded itself in the wooden post across the room. You could barely suppress the fire you felt as you watched Billy lunge and strike, fluid and graceful like a lethal dancer.

Then came the dreams. Short and lustful things. The delicious slide of cool steel along your skin. The skate of the knife on your skin; not sharp enough to draw blood, but just enough pressure for you to feel it. The intoxicating lull of risk, the thrill of being under Billy’s control. The filthy snapshots had provided enough fodder for your sessions of self-gratification to last weeks.

Yes, you’d wanted this for a while. It just took a couple drinks and a risky game of Truth or Dare to get you to work up the courage and say it out loud. And Billy, well, he had just grinned slyly like the cat that got the cream.

“If we do this,” Billy mumbles, running his fingertips over the hollow of your throat to trace the dips of your collarbone. “You’re gonna have to stay completely still. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not into that.”

You twist your wrists, testing the strength of Billy’s knots. They hold fast. No way you’re going anywhere until he sets you free. You draw your lips into a pout.

“Don’t give me that look,” Billy says with a sharp shake of his head. “I want you to enjoy this. I want to enjoy this. So stay still, you understand?”

“Okay.” You nod.

Billy goes rigid. He rolls his shoulders back and tilts his head to the side. “‘Okay?’” There’s an authoritative edge on his tongue, and his eyebrow ticks upwards sharply.

You swallow thickly, heat already building in your stomach at the switch in demeanor. “Yes, sir.” Your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip.

“Good girl.” Billy squeezes your chin. “Safeword?”

“Starfish.” You respond.

“Color?”

“Green,” you huff impatiently, trying to rub your thighs together, but the weight of his body on top of yours stops you.

Billy presses his lips to yours softly, and sucks on your bottom lip in lieu of a reward. “We’ll take it slow, okay?”

Even though taking it slow is the last thing you want him to do right now, you nod.

He holds the knife in front of your face, letting it catch the light, so you can see what he’s doing. Then, slowly, he turns the blade over so the blunt side is facing you and lowers it ever so slightly.

You let out the most desperate noise when the knife touches your throat, and it takes every bit of strength inside of you to remain motionless as Billy drags the blade down the slope of your neck. He holds it against your pulse for a moment, relishing in the hitch in your chest as the smooth bit shallowly presses into your skin. His dark eyes follow your every move, fascination etching itself into his furrowed brow and clenched jaw.

Billy’s free hand reaches behind him to slide up your thigh and comes to rest between your legs. He pushes your panties to the side and delves a finger between your dripping folds. The knife stays frozen in place, his hand holding steady, even as he plays with the slick between your thighs.

He’s completely in control. Exactly how he likes to be. Exactly how you want him.

“You like this, don’t you?” Billy breathes, circling a finger around your throbbing clit. “Me pressing a knife to your throat while I play with your pussy?”

“I do.” Your voice is broken.

“Fuck, beautiful. You’re not even fighting it.” He puts more pressure on your clit and you whine. “You’re just gonna let me do whatever I want to you as long as I have this, hm?” The knife glides a little lower, caressing the curve of your shoulder.

You tilt your head back, baring your throat to him. “I trust you.”

You do. You really do. You’ve never doubted him for a moment. Not his love for you, not his promise to take care of you. He is so confident in his movements, so sure. The knife he holds is almost an extension of his body. Caressing your skin exactly like his fingertips would. You feel completely safe.

Billy lets out a noncommittal hum, but you can tell the words mean a lot to him by the light flush that dances over his jaw. He slips the knife under the strap of the thin lacy bra you’re wearing and flicks his wrist. The band breaks as easily as if it were made of butter.

You don’t even have it in you to scold him for ruining the lingerie, you just sit there limply and whimper. He repeats the motion with the other band and traces the blade over the top of your breasts.

Billy chuckles darkly. “You’re soaking.” He easily presses his fingers into your cunt and curls them slightly.

Understatement of the century. You think this is the wettest you’ve ever been. You can feel the warmth of it dripping down your inner thighs and pooling on the sheets.

“Breathe, baby,” he chides, digging the blade against your sternum and slicing up between the cups of your bra. The lacy material falls away in two parts and Billy lifts the knife away from your skin, giving you a chance to move.

You exhale and shift under Billy’s weight. “Shit.”

You’re on cloud 9 right now. Dizzy and weightless with pleasure. Your heart flits in your chest, and adrenaline courses through your body. You feel as if you’ve just run a marathon, and Billy’s barely even touched you yet.

“Open.” Billy teases his fingers against your lips.

You suck them into your mouth, eager for the taste of you on his skin. You swirl your tongue around the pad of his fingers, and Billy pushes them deeper into your mouth. You gag slightly, eyelids fluttering shut.

“Good girl,” he mumbles, smearing your own spit onto your cheeks and chin. “Still green?” He searches your gaze for any sign of hesitation.

“Yes,” you all but whimper. “Can we keep going? Please?” You ask. Anticipation builds in your chest, and your stomach turns and flips with butterflies.

He chuckles, low and quiet. “Look at you begging for it.” He presses the knife flat against the side of your breast. “Should have ran from the room screaming. Any other sane person would’ve, but not you. Not my dirty girl,” Billy murmurs, pride lacing his voice.

You preen at the praise, give him a heavy-lidded look that makes him curse under his breath. Your eyes slide down his body, to the obvious erection he’s sporting in his boxers.

Billy follows your gaze and snorts. “See what you do to me?” He asks, rolling his hips against your stomach with a groan. “Drive me fucking crazy. You’re the prettiest girl in the whole goddamn world. Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you.”

“I want you to touch me.”

“Where?” His eyes dart down your body.

“Anywhere. Just–fuck–please.”

Billy hums. His fingers move again, charting a path down your body.

You strain your neck to watch him trace your body with the knife’s blade. Silver against your supple skin. He takes his time, following every dip and curve. You let out a whimper when the cool edge rolls over the peaked bud of your nipples, fight the urge to jump when it trails over your stomach. Everywhere the knife goes, it leaves goosebumps in its wake.

He shimmies down the bed to kneel between your parted legs and pushes your thighs further apart. Two fingers fill your aching pussy, thrusting slowly, as if he means to savor every moment.

“Fucking beautiful,” Billy murmurs, and kisses the inside of your knee.

His fingers fill you deliciously. Perfectly fucking you with slow drags. In. Out. His practiced touch sets your body aflame. Between the knife on your skin and his fingers inside of you, you’re already embarrassingly close to coming.

Billy runs the knife over the waistband of your panties and you buck your hips forward. You can’t help it. The promise of more sets your blood aflame.

“Hey,” he warns, voice clipped.

“Sorry,” you whisper sheepishly.

“You’re such a mess, baby,” Billy says with a cocky grin. He hooks the blade into the elastic. “What do you want?”

You don’t speak--you can’t. You’re too choked up with lust, the most you can muster is a quiet whisper of his name.

Billy’s fingers still within you. “That’s not an answer. I asked what you wanted.” He clicks his tongue. “Use your words.”

“I--I want--” You stutter. “I want you.”

“Want me to what?” He rewards you with a slow thrust of his fingers. “Hm? What should I do to you?” His lips brush up along the inside of your quivering thighs. Billy buries his nose into the damp fabric and moans. “Talk to me, pretty girl. Tell me what you want,” he whispers.

You shudder as his warm breath fans over your panties, seeps through the soaking fabric and over your cunt.

“Fuck me.” You finally gather up the strength to say. “I want you to fuck me. Press that knife against my throat while you make me come.”

Billy makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat at your words. His eyes meet yours, dark in their intensity which matches the fevered pitch of your voice. A slow smirk spreads over his face, and when he speaks, his tone is tight and measured.

“I will, baby. I promise. I just want to get my mouth on you, yeah?” he mumbles. “That alright with you? Can I taste your sweet pussy? Make you come on my tongue first?”

You throw your head back against the pillow, bite your bottom lip so hard you might draw blood. “Fuck, Billy, please.”

His large hand lands on your clit. The impact stings and you cry out.

“Who?” He snaps.

“Sir.” You correct yourself. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh. It’s okay, beautiful.” Billy soothes the sting away with his thumb. “Let’s try again, yeah? I asked if you were gonna let me taste your pretty pussy, and you say?” His eyebrows raise expectantly.

You swallow thickly. “Yes, sir.”

“There she is,” He whispers against the crux of your thigh. “That’s a good girl. Now, relax, baby. Let me take care of you.”

The knife saws through the soaked lace of your underwear. He tugs the scraps down and off your legs, and settles between your thighs once more. His thumb swirls around your clit again, the pressure just enough to keep you on edge, but not take you over.

Billy starts at your knee, kissing the side of it. Then his lips trail down your thighs, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your heated skin. His tongue dips out for a taste, swirling and swirling and driving you into a frenzy. A frenzy intensified when he bites down, leaving perfect crescent marks behind. He stays like this, teasing you slowly, until you’re a whimpering mess beneath him.

It’s all too much. The warm, wet slick of his tongue. The rough scrape of his beard. The subtle circling of his thumb on your clit. And there, hanging over all of it, the cool press of the knife against your body. A silent assertion of control.

Your whispered, desperate pleas, don’t have your intended effect of hurrying him along. If anything, he slows down further. Watching the internal battle you wage to stay still, even as you’re being slowly wound up, with a dark grin on his face. Savoring the sight of you so shameless, so wanton.

Just when his lips finally reach your aching pussy– just when you start to think that maybe he’ll have mercy on you and give you some kind of relief– Billy switches to your other thigh, and the taunting ritual starts all over again.

You huff impatiently, grinding your hips up against his thumb for more friction. The fog of lust that washes over your mind leaves no room for rational thought of warnings or consequences.

Billy sighs. “Oh, sweetheart. Wish you hadn’t done that. Wish you woulda just stayed still for me.” His thumb stops, and he sits back on his knees.

“No, no, no,” you whine, tears springing to your eyes. “It was an accident.”

“Oh,” Billy coos. “Is that right? Looked like you were getting greedy, honey.”

You blink up at him, eyes wide and apologetic. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Please, I just need you so badly.”

“That’s twice tonight, honey. I think you’re forgetting who’s calling the shots here.” Billy twirls the knife deftly between his fingers, reminding you of the power he has over you. “Do I need to remind you?”

You shake your head, tongue darting out to wet your lips. You watch the blade glint in the light of the room. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

Billy leans over you. His lips brush your own when he speaks, just a harsh whisper pushed out between gritted teeth. “Who’s in charge?” The cold steel of the knife slides across your jaw. “Answer me.”

“You are,” you choke out.

“I’m what?” His breath fans over your face, making your head spin.

“You’re in charge,” you whisper hoarsely. And then to sweeten the deal, you add. “I’m sorry, sir. I won’t do it again. I’ll be a good girl.”

Billy cocks his head to the side, and studies you for a moment. To forgive or not forgive? That is the question. You’re just on the verge of antysness, when he slowly smiles.

“You’re lucky you’re so pretty, and I’m just as wound up as you are.” His lips move to your ear. “But forget the rules again, and I won’t be so nice.”

All traces of patient, teasing Billy are gone when he rests between your legs again. His mouth latches onto your clit immediately, lips sucking and slurping against the sensitive bud until you’re shaking. It’s a lot, it’s too much. Too fast. Almost like he’s making up for lost time. As if there’s a lesson buried in the quick flicks of his tongue that send fire racing up your spine.

Be careful what you wish for.

Your breath catches in your throat, finally working its way out in a scream of unintelligible syllables. His name amongst other things. Pleas to keep going. Praises. Curses.

“Fuck, it’s so good. Your mouth feels so good,” you whimper.

Billy pulls away for just a moment to say, “Attagirl. Tell me how much you like it when I put my mouth on you.” Then his lips are back on you, all over you, in you. The thrust of his tongue inside your cunt nearly sends you over the edge.

You’re burning alive. Skin heated, body humming like a live wire. And Billy’s at the center of it all. The epicenter of the earthquake rumbling through you, threatening to knock you off kilter. To tear you apart and reduce you to rubble.

You lean into the chaos. The sensation of his lips sliding over your slick pussy. The greedy smacks of his mouth, the sated moans he tucks into you. It wouldn’t take you long to come all over his face, not if he kept this up.

“Please,” you whine, legs shaking under the weight of your impending orgasm. “Can I come, please?”

“Look who’s found some manners,” he mumbles, a teasing lilt coloring his words. “Go on, baby. Since you asked so nicely. Show me how pretty you look when you come.” He slides two fingers into your dripping cunt and slurps your clit back into his mouth.

The curl of his fingers inside of you is the breaking point. Permission granted, you squeeze your eyes shut and give yourself over to the warmth welling up inside you. Heat bursts in your stomach, coursing through your veins. Up your spine, and out to your fingers, your toes.

Your back arches, hips nearly lifting off of the mattress as your orgasm washes over you. Billy drops the knife and roughly grabs your waist. He holds you down, wrenching wave after wave of pleasure from your body with his fingers and tongue. Taking and taking all that he can from you until he’s satisfied and sure you’re thoroughly fucked out.

You see stars, body twitching against the sensations that are both so good but too much. The silk ties dig into your wrists from the way you tug at them. Your clipped nails dig red crescents into your palms. Your bottom lip, bruised and ragged from your teeth, prickles with the sharp taste of blood. You must’ve finally split the skin.

You’re still shaking with the aftershocks of your blissful orgasm, when Billy finally pulls back. He sits up on his knees to take in the sight of you. His wild eyes flit over your glistening body. Dark strands of his hair stick to his forehead with sweat. His swollen lips shine with a filthy mix of his spit and your cum.

“Th-thank you.” Your words slur, nearly running together.

He cups your chin and swipes his thumb over your split lip. “Did so good for me, honey. ‘M proud of you.”

A bashful smile spreads over your face. The weight of his words burrowing deep into your chest and filling you with warmth.

“Pretty girl,” he coos, hand sliding down the front of your body once more. “Color?”

“Still green.”

“Good. I think you’re ready to take my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod eagerly.

Billy shoves his boxers down his legs and grabs the fallen knife once more. You ogle him shamelessly. Eyes following the sharply carved muscles of his lower stomach, down to the light, neatly trimmed, patch of hair. Then the curve of his cock, hard and aching. Your mouth waters at the sight.

He shifts up your body, eyes glued to your splayed form. Gently, he places the knife back on your throat, and then fists his hand around his waiting cock. Billy groans, both at the sight of you and at the slow strokes he gives himself. Not enough to make himself come, but just the right amount of pressure to hold him off so he wouldn’t explode as soon as he thrust into you.

With Billy, it was all about control. Balance.

You watch him, lips parted and mouth dry. Watch the precum that drips onto your stomach. Watch lightning crackle in his nearly black eyes. The deep flush that washes over his face, down his neck, his scarred chest. The slack of his jaw as he starts to lose himself. The subtle thrust of his hips into his hands.

A private show, just for you. You take it all in.

And then Billy’s decided he’s had enough of his hand, and only wants the real thing. He sits between your spread legs and slides a pillow under your hips.

“Gonna fuck you now.” He whispers, carefully positioning your body the way he wants you. “And I can’t be gentle.”

Good. You don’t want him to be. You want him hard, and fast, and rough, and just on the verge of pain. You want the bed frame to squeal, and the headboard to knock against the wall. You want bruises and bite marks that you’ll have to cover in the morning before work. You want the thrill of having to look your neighbors in the eyes, knowing they heard every single moan and scream that Billy pulled out of you.

Most of all, you want that knife pressed against your throat, danger hanging low above your head, but just out of reach.

Billy chuckles, reading the thoughts hidden in your needy gaze. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll give it to you.”

He slides into you slowly, relishing the tight warmth. Twin exhales of reverence fill the room. You whine as his cock slowly fills your cunt. The stretch of your walls as he bottoms out is intoxicating. The fullness makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

He thrusts slowly, pulling all the way out before slowly filling you again. Taking his time to just feel your greedy cunt swallow him again. Edging himself and teasing you. Billy loves the hungry huff you let out each time he pulls away. Loves to hear it morph into a sated whine when he seats himself deeply inside of you again.

But you’re impatient and tired of going slow. You want him to fuck your brains out and make you scream, and you want it now.

“Harder,” you whine. “Faster. Please.”

That’s what he was waiting for.

“Love hearing you beg for what you want,” Billy mumbles. “Drives me fucking crazy.”

He wraps one of your legs around his waist. The other finds a home on his shoulder. He bites your calf sharply as his thrusts pick up speed. The angle allows him to reach that treasured spot deep inside of you, blissfully unattainable without him. In no time, you’re babbling nonsense; your brain turned to mush by the brutal precision of Billy’s hips.

“Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease,” you almost scream. “Keep going.”

“I know, baby,” he says, and there’s pride in his voice. “Feels good, huh? Don’t I make you feel good? Don’t I take care of you?”

“Always,” you sob.

“Yeah. Always. I always take care of my girl.” He says through gritted teeth, and you know he must be close. He has to be after teasing you and making you come. You saw the way he nearly came all over his hand only minutes earlier.

You want him to come. You want to watch him unravel so badly you ache with the desire. You want to be the cause of it.

“Feel so good inside me. So fucking deep,” you whisper. “I love it when you fuck me like this. When you take me and you make me yours.”

Billy thrusts into you sharply, his perfect rhythm shattered. “Christ,” he groans.

“‘M all yours. I love being yours.” You pair your words with a clench of your walls and Billy nearly falls forward. But the knife never slips. “Love your cock so much, I dream about it. Sometimes I think I can still feel you in me for days after.”

His eyes hold your gaze, and you shiver at the dark intensity you find there. “You’d better stop, or this’ll be over a hell of a lot sooner.”

“But I want your cum. Want it deep inside me. Wanna make you feel good.”

He curses under his breath. The fingers holding your hip dig bruises into the skin. “Fuck, honey. You do make me feel good.”

“Then come inside me, please,” you beg. “I need you.”

Billy’s hand drops down to where your bodies join, and he rubs your clit in quick, merciless circles. “Not without you,” he says, though the effort to abstain looks like it hurts.

Good. What’s pleasure without a little pain?

“Get there, baby. I know you’re close,” Billy coaxes. “Let me see.” He spreads your legs a little wider, and spits on your clit, rubbing faster.

The room fills with the sounds of debauchery. The slap of Billy’s hips meeting yours. The protest of the bed frame squealing beneath the weight of your bodies mixes with Billy’s rough groans. Your own stilted moans and cries bubble from your throat as every harsh thrust pushes you closer and closer to bliss.

Your legs begin to shake, toes curling. “Billy,” you cry, and he doesn’t even correct you.

“I know, honey. I know,” he mumbles. “That’s my girl. Come for me. Wanna feel you come all over my cock. Give it to me.”

The effect of his words is almost instantaneous. Your orgasm bursts from within you, shocking you into silence. Your jaw falls slack in a silent scream as the world dissolves around you. Billy fucks you through it. Each roll of his hips sends you deeper into your blissful spiral.

Watching you fall apart sets Billy off. He tosses the knife away and falls forward, covering your body with his own. He pins you to the bed, elbows digging into the mattress on either side of your head. You wrap your legs around his hips, rocking up into him, aching for more friction.

“You feel fucking amazing when you come,” he mumbles against your lips. “Sound so pretty.” He grunts, jaw clenching. “Gonna make me come. You want it?”

“Yes, sir.” You long to run your fingers through his hair and hold him closer against you. “Fill me up. Wanna drip with it.”

“Fuck,” Billy bites your shoulder. “Gonna give it to you. Gonna make you mine.”

He gives a few more sloppy, deep thrusts before he’s coming with a rough cry of your name. You whine, toes curling as Billy fills you with warmth. Claiming you. His hips roll languidly, pumping his cum deep inside of you. And then with one last deep thrust he collapses on top of you.

Billy stays on top of you for a moment, catching his breath, and letting you come back down to earth. His body is hot and sweaty against yours. Billy’s hair is a mess, despite your bound hands. The strands tickle your neck and shoulders. You want to run your fingers through the dark locks, tug on them and make him groan.

When his heartbeat has settled, Billy goes to work undoing the knots holding your arms up. You wince as the blood finally begins to flow freely. Billy massages your wrists and shoulders, pressing light kisses to the shallow marks the satin has made. He continues his inspection of your body, fingertips brushing over each bruise and tender spot. Filling out the mental tally sheet for later, when he’ll kiss and rub away the soreness.

“You did so good for me, baby,” he whispers and rolls onto his back, taking you with him. His fingers continue to rub patterns into your hips and stomach.

You sigh, and bury your face into his neck, fingers finally playing with his hair. You inhale deeply. The smell of sweat and sandalwood calms you instantly.

“So…how was it?” Billy prods. Is that…worry you hear in his voice?

You lift your head to meet his eyes. “I loved it.”

“Yeah?” He lifts an eyebrow. “I wasn’t too much?”

“No.” You shake your head. “It was perfect. You were perfect. Thank you.”

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “Anything we need to change for next time?” He cups your chin, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“I’d like my arms free. I like touching you.”

Billy hums and plays with a bit of your hair. “We can talk about it. Didn’t want you to accidentally hurt yourself. But you were pretty good at keeping still.”

Satisfied you rest your head back on his chest.

“You still owe me three, though.” Billy mumbles and squeezes your ass. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten. We’ll talk about your punishment later too.”

You swallow thickly. You kind of were hoping he’d forgotten about that. But that’s all part of the game. You misbehave, he puts you in your place.

That’s the enticing thrill of the danger.

#billy russo x reader #billy russo x you #billy russo smut #billy russo #ben barnes #the punisher #rion writes

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