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daylite-writes · 6 months

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Welcoming Legacy (It welcomes you) - SAGAU ft. Foul Legacy Tartaglia

Ever since you woke up in Teyvat, you’ve been… confused. The memories of your previous life fading, leaving you to wander. One thing was for certain though, the people here despised you for the face you wore. That was, until waking in the Snezhnayan wilderness after another death, a certain abyssal harbingers saves you from the cold.

cw: imposter au SAGAU shenanigans, temporary death, hyperthermia, passing out, not very yandere (but from his perspective it definitely would be), hurt/comfort, Capitano cameo! Written to be x reader ish, but it’s vague and ur kinda cold so can be read as Romantic or Platonic! Will be tagging as both lemme know if it shouldn’t be.

1.5k words

~~~

It’s almost funny, you think, how he’s the one who reconsized you first.

No. Not recognised. This was the first time you’d met any of them. The vision holders, the ‘characters’ that you once fawned over and held very dear. They wouldn’t know your name, your face—except for the fact they did. And they hated you for it. “Impersonator”, “Heretic”, “Damned”, “Witch.”

They all looked at you as if you’d committed a grave crime. A slight that could not be forgiven. But how could you have? You were given this name, and born with this face.

And yet you were hunted. And yet you were killed. Arrow through the heart, spear through the back, claymore to the ribs. The pain was unbearable, but death wasn’t the end. Each time you closed your eyes, hoping for an end to the nightmare, you awoke somewhere new.

You recognized the landscape from hours spent playing the game, and quickly learned to avoid settlements, villages, and most importantly, vision holders. The pain of death was too much, leaving your body trembling with sobs and quietly pleading to whatever force put you on Teyvat to just let you go home.

After the fourth death—at the hands of an electro charged spear, courtesy of a certain mahamantra—you woke up, shaking uncontrollably. Only this time, not from phantom pains or the emotional toll of death. This time, is was due to a heavy, bone deep, unnatural cold.

Snezhnaya.

Of course it had to be Snezhnaya.

You whimpered, cursing your luck. This would be a slow, painful death if you couldn’t find shelter and fast.

Stumbling to your feet—bare, the clothes that stayed with you after death did not include them—you looked around pitifully. A snowy forest. Beautiful, but useless, and hard to see far in. You’d never been to Snezhnaya in game either, so there was no way you’d be able to find shelter. Pitifully, you dragged yourself under a tree, curling into yourself under the pine’s branches, hoping it wouldn’t be too painful. Achingly, you let your eyes close, waiting for the next place.

Only, before the cold took you, a rumbling call broke through the tranquil silence of the forest.

Blearily, you opened your eyes. Some kind of beast? It wasn’t like you were familiar with the creatures of Snezhnaya. But it didn’t sound like a normal enemy monster. It was sad, keening… longing.

It called out again. You… would rather die quickly to a beast than slowly to hypothermia, you supposed.

“Here,” you called out weakly. You clicked your tongue a few times, as if luring in a cat. “Come on.”

You laughed slightly. Had delusion from hypothermia set in so quickly? You were making kissy noises at the monster in the forest. Luring in your death with soft sweet noises.

The forest was still for a moment. And then it wasn’t.

Snow crunched underfoot of what was undoubtedly a large creature. You were pretty sure you heard the waning bend of pine trees as it shoved pass.

Was this a mistake? Probably. You were too cold to care. Maybe its claws would be warm as it tore you apart. Ha. Wouldn’t that be nice?

At some point your eyes had slipped closed again, but it was close now. You could hear it. So close—you waited for the sink of claws into your flesh—

It came to a stop in front of you, inches away, maybe, if the warm breath on your skin was any indication.

In a raspy, warbling tone, it spoke English. “Creator?”

What?

You opened your eyes again, and gasped as you saw… Tartaglia? No, not him, exactly. But, his Foul Legacy. The rough plates of armor adorning his limbs, the red mask with a singular clouded pearl eye in the center, the sheer size of him.

“Ajax?” You mumbled.

“Creator!” It said again, rough, desperate, as if it had a throat not made for speaking.

“Hi.” You said simply, before your eyes slipped closed.

Warmth.

There was warmth.

A lot of warmth.

Fire.

You sighed, not daring to open your eyes for fear it might disappear. That you might still be laying in the snow, your blood crystallizing in your veins.

A smooth, clawed hand cupped your cheek, then your jaw, tilting your head back. Was this when the pain would come? You stirred a bit, but little nothing happened. The thing holding you sighed, gently pressing the sides of your cheek to open your jaw. What? What was happening? You hardly had time to panic before something warm was poured into your mouth, and his inhuman hand latched around your mouth to keep it shut.

You whimpered, eyes still closed—gods you really didn’t want to open them. You really couldn’t mentally confront what was happening. For now, it needed to stay invisible, it needed to not be real—as the liquid sat in your mouth. You refused to swallow, but it tasted like broth? Was it broth? You decided you didn’t care, not so long as you were being forced to drink—

That was, until its other hand came up and began to massage your throat. You sputtered, the rough finger pads gently rubbing against your throat forcing you to swallow after a moment.

It’s… nice. Warm but not hot, and definitely just some sort of broth now that you think about it. The next time the edge of a bowl is set against your lips, you drink of your own volition.

Whatever was caring for you seemed happy, as its rumbling chest, reminiscent of a cat's purr, seemed to indicate. Honestly, you were too, going slack against it, hiding your face in what you think is it’s neck, lined with a mane of fur, as it rubbed circles into your scars. The old aches of death soothing under its fingerpads.

Sleep came easy.

The next time you woke up, you weren’t so afraid to open your eyes.

Strangely calm, you didn’t even jump at the sight in front of you.

Probably seven feet tall, with thick, armored plates running up his body, a mix of purples, blues, blacks and reds coloring his body. His mask was a dull red, and an abyssal blue, almost jewel like eye was set in the center.

Foul legacy. Tartaglia’s abyssal form. This was Childe, no—

“Ajax?”

He practically melted, wrapping around you at the raspy croak of his own name.

You sighed, snuggling into the small fur mane around his neck.

“What are… what are you doing here?” Wasn’t he out of the country? You weren’t sure what point in the story you arrived during, but none of them had him in his homeland for long. “Isn’t being in that form for too long dangerous?”

He smiled. Well, ‘smile’ was a bad term. He curled back his lips and opened his plated maw, one you didn’t know he had. It was hidden among the red armor of his mask, which you were now convinced were just, ya know, his face when in foul legacy. His maw, black and almost a void inside, lined with row after row of sharp, shark-like teeth. He yawned, wide, before snapping his mouth shut with a little clack.

You couldn’t help the small giggle that bubbled up from your throat.

He seemed to like that, purring as he set his chin atop your head.

Your giggle faded away, and your face fell. You gave a soft sigh, body aching slightly. With a quiet voice, you could help but ask what’d been gnawing at you since you woke.

“Why… Why are you helping me?”

“Because the ones who hurt you are fools.”

That was not Ajax.

You turned your head, towards the entrance of the cave Ajax had holed the two of you up in.

When you saw who it was, you shied into the arms of Foul Legacy, who was happy enough to wrap his arms around you.

Capitano’s intimidating figure blocked the entrance of the cave, mask glinting in the fire light.

“I apologize for the late arrival, I was combing the west side of the valley for you. Tartaglia seemed to find you first.”

“I…” What?

Capitano stepped deeper into the cave, his steps were confident, but the closer he got, he lowered his head. It almost looked like a sign of respect.

A mere few strides away, he reached a hand out—to greet you? Touch you? You were sure, as before he could do anything, Ajax dragged you closer and responded to Capitano with a guttural growl.

“Quiet, eleventh.” Capitano commanded. Despite his unhappiness, Ajax obliged, letting Capitano closer.

A cold metal gauntlet approached your face slowly, before cupping your face. Gently, it tilted your jaw up, forcing you to meet the void of his mask.

You didn’t know that when the firelight hit your irises, they glittered with constellations, or that the veins barely visible against the white of your eyes were gold.

What you did see through, was the way his heavy shoulders dropped, and you heard a reverent sigh of relief. He dipped his head lower, and you swore crystal blue eyes blinked slowly down at you.

“Welcome to the waking world, dear Creator. Celestia has kept you asleep and unseeing for far too long.”

~~~

Omg this had so much more but the plot got out of hand so I just took the first bits and left the rest out. TECHNICALLY there’s lord and explanations but I know I’d never finish a cohesive plot so here we are! My first attempt as SAGAU!

Gonna update my ask specifics soon as well as answer one!

ALSO IVE BEEN TRYING TO FIND THIS SOULMATE AU SCARA FIC WHERE HE FINDS READER LIKE TIED OUT AS A SACRIFICE AND FINDS OUT SHES HIS SOULMATE AND HE LIKE BRINGS HER ALONG WITH HIM AND SHE IS LIKE SICK FROM THE COLD AND HES ALL WORRIED AND LIKE “FORGET THEM THEY BTRAYED TOU” AND I CANT FIND IT AGAINNN AAAA anyways if you’ve read it and know pls tell me

#genshin fanfic #platonic yandere #romantic yandere #soft yandere #genshin sagau #imposter au #genshin tartagalia #childe #Capitano (brief)#foul legacy

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fic-over-cannon · 6 months

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Words Left Unsaid

jason todd x f!reader

ao3 link

summary: jason todd is your childhood best friend. he dies before his Words come in, the first words his soulmate will say to him, and you have to pick up the pieces.

tags: soulmate au, major character death (temporary), grief

rated mature | wc: 8.8k

a/n: so this monster of a story was based on an ask i sent to @jasonsmirrorball a while back (don’t read for spoilers). it pretty much took on a life of its own, and now here we are nearly 9k later. it does get pretty dark in its exploration of grief, so please take care of yourselves my lovelies.

Everyone’s born with Words somewhere on their body, unreadable at first. The skin is shiny, like an old scar, the words blurry and undefined. One day, you’ll see the first words you’ll ever hear your soulmate say to you, that shiny patch of skin blooming like ink (there’s superstitions about the colour your Words fade into, as popular as astrology). The trick of the thing is, you won’t find out what your Words are until you’ve become the person who is meant to hear them. You could meet your soulmate a hundred times and not know it, not until you’ve both grown into the people you need to be. The youngest person to get their Words was seven, and the oldest 92 years young. Or so the stories go. When you’re young, still poking at your loose front tooth with your tongue, it’s a story that comforts you. It’s the story you beg your parents for before bed every night. It’s the carrot they use to get you to try new things and go new places. What if you meet your soulmate at the new movie theatre downtown? How do you know eating your veggies won’t develop you into who your soulmate needs you to be?

It’s what your mother uses to try and coax you out of the car for your first day at a new school. She’s driven you to school for your first day, a one off so she can finish up your admittance paperwork. In this moment you hate her for it. It’s February and the year is more than halfway over. The snow has melted into dirty grey slush in the streets and the pinching Mary Janes the school mandates as part of the uniform are going to provide no protection. It’s halfway through the year and you’re certain no one is going to be your friend at a new school in a new city. You’re twelve years old and to you this is the end of the world. You’re trying so hard not to cry, hugging yourself together and burying your chin in your chest.

“Come on, honey, this is a school. It’ll help you become who you need to be.”

Your mother’s voice is cajoling, trying to coax you out the same way she coaxed a stray cat into her arms. It worked on the cat, now named Haley after the comet, but it doesn’t work on you. She tries to catch your eye in the rear view mirror but you stubbornly turn your head to look out the window instead.

“Please. Work with me here. We’ll go in together, you’ll have a wonderful day and make so many friends. And after school, I’ll take you out for donuts and you can tell me all about it before your Dad gets home.”

You keep silent, continue to stare out the window at all the other kids walking into the building.

“Honey, please. Can you just do this one thing for me, please.”

She’s almost begging now, and you hate the way it makes her sound. You want to tell her how scared you are, how there’s nothing more you want to do except huddle under your covers in your unfamiliar bed and hold Haley close. But your fear is a hot ball in your chest, choking off any words that might come out. You look at her though, plead with her with your eyes to understand how much you don’t want to do this. She stares back at you, an exhausted slump to her shoulders and lines around her eyes you don’t remember being there. Slowly, you unwrap your arms from around your rib cage. Place a hand on each knobbly knee and slowly curl them into fists before nodding, once, sharply, eyes firmly fixed on the car seat in front of you. Your eyes burn, but the sigh of relief your mother heaves out is worth it.

Gotham Academy is housed in a collection of gothic stone buildings which should have been strange in a large city like Gotham but weirdly works. You just think it’s creepy. Head down, you follow your mother’s back weaving through the crowds of students. You don’t want to see the stares, but you can already feel them boring into you. Sitting in the secretary’s office, you pick at invisible lint on your knitted tights. You know your mother’s having a conversation with the secretary but it all flies over your head in shushing murmurs. Your back aches from the overstuffed chair. The Mary Janes do pinch, makes you worried that you’ve already twisted your ankles from the way they throb.

“I’ve got to get to work now sweet pea, but I just now you’re going to have a great first day. I’ll pick you up at 4:00 and we can go get those donuts okay?”

Your mother’s crouched down in front of you, eyes searching your face for any kind of reaction. She looks worried and that’s what causes you to crack. You fling yourself out of the chair and into her arms, allow yourself one great heaving sob into her shoulder. She strokes your hair and hushes you, squeezes you tight like she could make you part of her.

“Oh honey. Everything’s scary right now but I promise it’s not going to stay that way. I believe in you and you’re going to get through this.”

You draw back from her, scrub at your face with your fists. Heaving breaths don’t help but they don’t make it worse. You go with the secretary, new schedule twisted tight in your hands. She lets you discard your coat and backpack in a locker, before walking you to your new homeroom. You only hope that you’ll remember the locker combination.

You hate the way your new homeroom teacher makes you stand at the front of the room. Mr. Mulligan won’t let you sit down until you introduce yourself to the class, a thing he could have done so easily himself. Pulling at your sleeves and trying not to make eye contact with anyone, you stutter out a few basic facts. Hate the way you can feel the other students catalogue you, the way your hair doesn’t look shiny and straight like its fresh out of a salon, your too small shoes, the unfashionably long length of your skirt and the lack of designer accessories. Your cheeks and eyes are burning by the time you can slide down into your assigned seat near the back of the class. There’s only one other person sitting in your row, a boy with dark curling hair and a shy grin. He leans over to your desk just Mr. Mulligan starts the lecture.

Whispers, “Hi! My name’s Jason. I already know your name, figured if we’re going to be seat mates its only fair you know mine.”

You smile tightly and turn back to the lesson. You’re desperate not to miss anything, already feeling like you’ve been left behind. At your old school, you were in the middle of The Great Gatsby, but Gotham Academy is doing Romeo and Juliet for their seventh grade English class. You don’t have the play book, have no idea what part of the text they’re talking about, and this is the first time you’ve actually heard Shakespeare read out loud. Writing as fast you can, you try to keep up but it doesn’t matter how good your notes are if you don’t understand what the teacher’s talking about.

Usually you love English class, how uncovering symbolism and hidden meanings make you feel like you’re uncovering secret messages sent by the authors years in the past. Now it’s all going over your head and you hate it here so much already. The one class that you might have been looking forward to and you’re overwhelmed by it. You press too hard with your pencil, tear through the sheet of paper in front of you.

A notebook slides across your desk. Messy but legible writing on the first few scenes of the Act are written on it. Looking in the direction it came from, you make eye contact with Jason. He grins toothily before turning back to the front, Mr. Mulligan having moved on to a different quotation. The gesture makes your chest tight.

The rest of the class goes by uneventfully if still a challenge. There’s a short break between classes in which you frantically copy down the notes and slide the notebook back to him before your next teacher arrives. The next class isn’t so bad, still difficult and you’ve never liked math as much as you probably should, but it’s less intimidating than English. Someone must have fiddled with the thermostat during the break because the room feels colder than before. You wish you were on your old school’s schedule with shorter classes and more breaks. Sitting still for so long at your desk is making your back ache and cramp up. Math is almost over, Miss Lewis writing out the assigned homework on the board, when a wave of something comes over you. It’s an effort of will not to curl up on your desk.

The bell rings for lunch break and you just about bolt to the first bathroom you can find. Something’s wrong with you, more than just nerves over the first day. You’re cold but you’re sweating, nausea burning at the back of your throat. The ache in your back and stomach are almost unbearable, makes you want to curl into the fetal position to ward off invisible blows. Rolling down your tights in a hurry, you sit down on the cold toilet as fast as you can. Your hand is wet, and for a moment you worry that you’d lost control of your bladder on the way to the bathroom. But the stain on your hand is dark, matches the blood slick crotch of your panties. You hang your head and can feel the tears you’ve been holding onto all morning drop onto the floor. Just another thing you can’t control in this shitty new town and its stupid new school. Your first period.

The bathroom is cold, hard tile under your feet and wintery sunlight weak through the windows near the ceiling. The blood on your fingers is cold and tacky now. There’s a boundary here, between childhood and being an adult that you aren’t ready to cross yet. I want my mom, you think, only on the edge of hysteria. But she’s at work, wouldn’t be able to come if you called.

So you do what needs to be done, stop your tears as best as you can and sniffle. Wipe your face clean with the back of your sleeve and do your best to dab at your underwear with the single ply toilet paper. Layer sheets of toilet paper between your tights and underwear, build a makeshift pad in your sort-of dry underwear out of toilet paper and hope that it will hold up. Luckily you’ve escaped staining the regulation uniform skirt, so no one should be able to tell what happened. You get transfixed by the swirls of blood washing down the sink drain, hands gone numb under the stream of water. Splash cold water on your face in the vain hope it’ll calm down your puffy eyes. As ready as you can be in this situation, you eye yourself in the mirror and tell yourself to get moving before the bell for third period rings.

The boy from the back row is waiting outside the classroom for you. He looks nervous until he sees you, lights up with that shy smile again.

“Hi! I uh noticed you weren’t at lunch today so I grabbed you an apple in case you didn’t grab anything to eat.”

He’s babbling on about the cafeteria food not being that bad if you’d just try it, even though finding a table the first time can be rough. All you can do is stare at the apple in his hands, transfixed. You’re only shaken out of your stupor by the sound of him calling your name.

“So… are you going to take it? The bell’s going to ring soon and the teachers really don’t like us eating during class.”

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely shocked and touched.

He goes a little bashful at that, looks away as you take the apple from him. The apple’s good, sweet and crisp under your teeth. You make quick work of it in the hallway, finishing it up just as the bell rings. Jason stands right in front of you the whole time, hides you from the penetrating eyes of your classmates.

“All done? We should probably find our seats now. Monty,” and here he adopts a snooty British accent, “Archibald the Third is a real stickler for being on time. He’ll mark you late if you’re not sitting in your seat, even if you’re in the classroom.”

His impression makes you snicker and forget, just for a moment, how miserable you are. Mr. Archibald the Third is just as ridiculous as Jason’s impression of him predicted, but you get through it by making eye contact with Jason over the most ridiculous moments. Mr. Archibald really does have you call him “the Third”. It’s probably got something to do with his Words, a flowing script running vertically down the side of his face reading, “The Third, dear God how many of you are there?”. History with Mr. Archibald manages to be fun despite his absurd demeanor and your own private hurt seeming less terrible for a few scattered moments.

The final class of the day drags on, the pain in your front and back growing. Your hand moves across the page but your mind isn’t really paying attention. There’s a commotion as people gather their things and stand, already streaming out the door. You blink, stupefied, then slowly gather your things.

“Same time, same place tomorrow then?”

“—Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow Jason.”

Your mother’s waiting for you in front of the school, car idling puffs of smoke into the darkening afternoon. Your backpack lands in the back seat and you crush your face into her coat across the console. Her hands come to your back, patting and rubbing circles until your breath comes in long, even draws.

“Honey I’m so proud of you. Your first day done! Let’s go celebrate, hmm? How was it? Did you make any new friends?”

“Can we get the donuts to go? I— uh, um I— I might have started my period today?”

Your voice lifts on the end of the sentence, suddenly absurdly worried about her reaction. You needn’t have worried though.

“Oh sweet pea, on your first day too? We can go home, get you a bath and something for your cramps.”

“No, I just really want to go get donuts with you because today kind of sucked and I’ll still feel kinda shitty but at least then I get donuts while I feel bad.”

“No more swearing and we’ll get a whole box to go, okay?”

Lying in bed that night, wrapped around a hot water bottle with Haley on your feet, you think that your day wasn’t that bad. It could have been a lot worse, and Jason was surprisingly nice. You stare at the shiny patch of skin on your wrist and hope that one day it will all be worth it. You drift off to the thought of blue eyes.

For the rest of that week you join Jason at his corner in the cafeteria. Between Math and History you slowly start to get to know one another. He offers to let you borrow his notes for the upcoming test in English, gets a little sheepish when he mentions that he practically knows the content by heart anyway. Jason’s sweet and funny and by Friday you two are the best of friends.

Once your mother is confident that you can handle the commute to school on your own, she doesn’t mind if you’re home late as long as you send a text first. Something about socializing with more kids your age being good for you, not that you’re listening too distracted in the haze of victory. So the two of you hang out after school, the city your shared playground. Jason treats you to your first chili dog and laughs when you get some on your nose. In revenge, you dare him to cover his lunch in chili oil at lunch the next day. The way Mr. Archibald threatens you both with detention for being disruptive is so worth it.

It’s not until the middle of April that you get the courage to ask Jason why you. Why out of everyone in the school he chose to reach out to the new kid and make her his friend. It’s probably the most personal thing you’ve asked him yet.

“It’s ‘cause no one else would’ve. Most of the kids here, their families founded Gotham and they’re not keen on outsiders. Most of the scholarship kids, they start at the same time, form a group so the rich kids don’t pick on them so much.” He pauses here, has to look away before he goes on. “Most of the others don’t like me ‘cause I don’t really fit into either category, you know? Like my dad’s a big name in Gotham but he only just adopted me so I’m not really one the rich kids but he’s doing more than just paying my school fees. You looked just as lonely as I was,” here he turns to grin, “and I wasn’t going to give up an opportunity to make someone carry my lunch tray.”

“Hey, idiot, if I remember right it was you bringing me lunch the first time.” You shove at him indignantly, but he dodges too quickly for you.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t remember, on account of me being an idiot.” He flicks you on the tip of the nose and goes running.

And then it’s on. You chase him around the park, laughing and swearing to get your revenge on him. The two of you collapse breathlessly onto a mostly dry patch of dirt under a skeletal tree. Staring up at the sky and trying to catch your breath, you feel Jason nudge at your should beside you.

“So what about you? What brought you to the happiest place on earth?”

“My dad got headhunted for a promotion. He’s researching something for Wayne Industries and all of us had to move here for it. So mom gets a new job and I get transferred to a new school.” You sit up suddenly, look down at Jason lying in the grass. “Promise not to tell anyone?” You wait for him to nod first before continuing. “I only got into Gotham Academy because of my dad. I heard him and my mom arguing about it; he made it part of his contract that I’d get to go to school there if he accepted the job.”

“So? I’m only at GA because of my dad too. You think a kid from Crime Alley gets to go to private school without a little nepotism?”

You slump back down on to the grass, stretch a hand out to the sky and look up at it.

“To nepotism I guess.”

A hand reaches up to the sky next to yours. Slowly, ever so slowly he reaches a pinky out and links it with yours.

“To two misfits only here because of nepotism.”

School lets out in June, the city air ridiculously hot and humid. You can’t say that you’ve made any good friends outside of Jason, but there’s some girls you say hello to in the halls. You mourn not being able to see Jason everyday, but the plans you have to meet up are enough to soothe the ache.

He takes you to an arcade first, the two of you spending hours trying to beat each other at Pac Man. Tired but happy you split a basket of fries at the attached cafeteria. You’re enjoying the greasy fried goodness of the snack but you notice Jason isn’t reaching for the basket as quickly as you are. Looking over at him, you notice him staring at a pair of brothers playing a game. The younger whoops, jumps up and down in excitement. The older one ruffles his brother’s hair and challenges him to a new round. You toss a fry in Jason’s direction, surprised when he actually manages to catch it.

“You good?”

“—Yeah. It’s just, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it? But I kind of have an older brother and he was supposed to take me to the arcade last weekend but he got in a fight with Dad and just left.”

“That’s a real dick move, ditching you over his issues.” At that, Jason breaks out in hysterical laughter, almost choking on the fry in his mouth. There are tears in his eyes by the time he stops coughing but he looks slightly less like a kicked puppy.

“It really, really was. You don’t know how much it was.”

Happy that the mood has lifted, the two of you finish off the basket of fries. You challenge Jason to Dance Dance Revolution and he wipes the floor with you. He’s way more athletic than you’d expected from him. The two of you part ways happy, already planning your next hang out. It is enough.

You meet up almost every week that summer. Jason shows you the Gotham he knows, little hidden gems only locals know about. A movie theatre that only shows movies made before 1980, a diner with the best milkshakes you’ve ever tasted, the best places in the public library to read undisturbed. Teaches you about the safest places to evacuate when disaster hits, which parts of the city are most dangerous. The park and its chili dog stand quickly become a favourite for you, a place to just hang out without any responsibilities. It also becomes a kind of confessional of sorts, where you end up telling each other your worst fears and secret hopes.

You confess once, after riding out your first Rogue attack with your fingers buried in Jason’s T-shirt, that you’re worried you’ll never feel at home again. That you can never go back now to your old house and feel at home there now, but that Gotham still feels too alien to be called home yet. Your darkest fear, that you’ll end up alone one day, deserted by everyone that you know and love. Jason tells you about his fears that one day all of this, Bruce and Alfred, the manor, school, will disappear one day. That the big brother he looks up to will never start to like him. Every time the two of you bare your souls to each other, Jason will hook his pinky over yours and squeeze. It’s a friendship built on shared secrets, on fears assuaged, and worries made better.

Your last year of middle school is largely uneventful. You got to classes, have lunch with Jason, hang out after class with Jason, text Jason. You get into a routine and that brings you comfort. There’s a slight period of awkwardness right before the 8th grade formal. A weird tension envelopes you both, the nebulous question of if you’re going together hanging over you. You don’t like it, the way Jason seems almost hesitant in all your conversations these days. It sets your teeth to itching and you can’t stand it anymore.

Slamming down your textbook, you say “Okay that’s it. I can’t stand whatever this is. You and I are going to the formal as friends. We’ll get all dressed up and if it’s lame we can ditch and go get Batburgers.”

“Oh thank God. I didn’t want to say anything in case it made it awkward but then it was just getting more awkward and then I just didn’t know what to do.”

The party is lame, but the burgers make up for it. Your dress is nice though. Your mother helped you pick it out, the fitted bodice and loose swing of the skirt making you feel passably pretty. It’s been hard to feel pretty with the way your body’s changed over the year, hips widening and chest starting to grow in ways you can’t predict. Jason cleans up nice, though whoever slicked back his hair went overboard on the gel. You pose for a picture all dressed up together, faces pulled into silly expressions, your burgers held in front of you like trophies. You pin a copy of the photo up in your bedroom. It makes you smile every time you see it, something warm in your chest.

The first day of high school brings back those first day jitters. You’re not even transferring schools, just switching to a different building and still your palms are sweating. It’s not until you see Jason, sitting in the back row with an empty seat behind him that you can release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It’s different teachers and different subjects, but in some ways it’s like the day you met again. Scribbling notes until your hands cramp, Jason passing you notes in class, struggling to keep up with what the teachers are saying. At lunch, you and Jason even split an apple between you. It’s terrifying and familiar and all the more bearable because you aren’t going through it alone.

High school is different. Everyone’s more aware of each other in ways they weren’t in middle school. Girls wear brighter lip glosses and flaunt the shiny spaces where their marks will come in. Boys douse themselves in too much body spray and start eyeing up anything that moves. But through out it all, your friendship remains the same. Something about high school solidifies things, has you go from You and Jason to YouandJason. At school you’re a unit, almost impossible to think of you as separate beings. After school, you still spend time together, still explore the city, still message all the time. But you’ve still never been to each other’s houses. Never met each other’s families yet.

Jason offers, once, to have you over to the manor during the winter break, but you’re not keen on it. Crinkle up your nose and ask to think about it.

“It’s not that I don’t want to see you over the holiday, or meet your family Jason. It’s just that I kind of like the way things are? My family knows that you’re my best friend, they’ve seen pictures of us, but the way things are now, you’re still entirely mine. Our friendship’s just for us. Meeting your family kind of changes that.”

“I like us being us. But would it really be that different to come hang out for a few hours? You could come over when Dad’s out and it’d just be me and Alfred.”

Eventually you agree, spend an afternoon with Jason at the manor to cram for your next round of tests. Mr. Pennyworth is lovely, keeps bringing snacks up to the library as an excuse to check up on you. Bent over your books, you miss the significant looks Alfred is sending Jason over your head and the blush that lights up his face in response. Mr. Wayne is thankfully not home. You’re not sure you could have handled meeting Jason’s grandfather and father in the same visit.

Jason makes it over to your apartment a few times over the spring semester. Your father’s always working, but your mother likes him well enough. She makes him stay over for dinner, won’t let him leave without feeding him first. She calls him a nice boy and tells him to come back any time. Still, you two prefer going out to coffee shops or the library to hang out, uninterrupted by well-meaning adults.

It’s on one of those summer nights, the two of you some of the last people in the public library, that the subject of your Words comes up. The skin across your left wrist catches the warm light of the lamps in a way that’s distracting. You’re startled by the feeling of fingers tracing featherlight over still-shiny skin.

“You ever wonder it about it sometimes? What it’ll say or who’ll say it?” The tone is unreadable but Jason’s voice is above the whisper he usually uses in the library, but with so few people around you figure there’s no harm in mimicking his volume.

“I used to. I was obsessed with Words when I was little. Couldn’t go to sleep without hearing about them as a bed time story.”

“Used to?” And Jason’s fingers are still there, drawing maddening little patterns across the thin skin of your wrist.

“Well, I’ve got other things to think about now, things that are actually within my control.”

Jason presses down, gently, with the broad of his thumb on your pulse. You snatch back your wrist, cradle it to your chest, uncertain of how intimate that gesture felt.

“Fair’s fair. I showed you mine, now you’ve gotta show me yours.” Your tone is teasing, trying to capture the earlier lightness of the afternoon.

“Oh I do, do I?”

He reaches for the top button on his uniform button down, starts undoing two more. Horrified, you reach across the table and grab at his hands.

“What are you doing?! You can’t just go around stripping in public!” Your hissed whisper may not have been said at all for all the impact it makes. Jason shakes off your hands and goes back to undoing his shirt.

“Not all of us are blessed with easily accessible Words. Relax, I just have to get the shirt wide enough to show how far the Words will go.”

Across his collarbone is a thin strip of shiny skin, reaching from one side of his neck to the other like a necklace. Whatever it will say looks pretty lengthy for someone’s Words. Mesmerized, you reach out to trace it with your fingertips. Jason shifts back before you can make contact.

“Gotta buy me dinner first sweetheart. I’m a classy lady like that.”

You flush at the term of endearment, but cover it with indignation.

“Hey! What do you call the tacos I bought for us yesterday?”

He laughs it off and the tense moment is broken. You pack up your things, smiling at the ground. You like the way sweetheart sounds coming from Jason, not that you’d give him that to tease you with. Despite how much you tell each other, there’s one secret you haven’t told him yet. That privately you hope your Words will be his. It’s so easy to fall in love with Jason, or at least what passes for love at this age. The light in his eyes when he rants about the latest book he’s read, when he shares the biscuits Alfred packs for him, the way he listens to you so intently even if he doesn’t have all the answers. You can admit to yourself that you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend, but never out loud. Your friendship is one of the most important things in your life and you are terrified of destroying it.

You don’t see Jason much after that, that summer. Your texts and calls still get answered, but he’s frustratingly vague about meeting up. He says that his dad has him in a kind of summer school, wants him to learn from private tutors before school starts up in the Fall again. Asking about what it is that he’s supposed to learn (his marks are already incredibly good) makes him cagey about it. You don’t want to push, but it feels like he’s pulling away from you. Phone calls get shorter, sentences more clipped. Your offers to just drop by the manor to see him get turned down automatically. It’s the longest you’ve gone without seeing him since you’ve met. You’re terrified that he’s done with you. That for some unnameable reason he’s decided to end your years of friendship and there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening. Gotham seems colder without Jason at your side, the dangers more obvious and your usual haunts less welcoming.

Finally, after nearly two months you manage to pin him down, get him to agree to meet the day after his birthday. Your heart is in your mouth as you wait for him on a bench in the park. There’s a trickle of sweat running down your back. It’s a hot day but the park is a lush green, an after effect from an Ivy attack the night before. You release your grip on your present for Jason, smooth the envelope and hope you didn’t crease it with your sweaty fingers. A voice is calling your name.

Jason’s been changed by the weeks apart. He’s a few inches taller now, filled out in the shoulders more. You have to crane your neck back to see his face. The anxiety in you is reflected in his face, the way he nervously runs his fingers through his hair, his darting eyes. Uncertain how to proceed, you thrust the envelope out between you.

“Happy Birthday.”

“I— thank you.”

There’s silence again, and the awkwardness between you is a tangible thing. It’s worse than it was in eighth grade only this time you don’t know how to bridge the gap. You look down at your shoes, the toes scuffed.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you.” It comes out of him in a rush. “I’ve been a really shitty friend lately. Just, all summer my dad’s been on me about studying with these private tutors except they’re all friends with Dick so nothing I do can ever be good enough in comparison and every day I’ve felt like crap but I didn’t want you to see me like this which only made me feel worse ‘cause then I basically had to avoid you all the time which is the exact opposite of what I wanted to do and all I wanted to do was have you tell me there’s nothing wrong with me and they can all go kick dirt but then I’d have to talk to you about it which I wasn’t ‘cause I was already embarrassed.” He has to pause here to catch his breath, words running together at the speed which he was going.

“You planning to breathe any time soon?”

He deflates, collapses onto the bench next to you, an arm tucked around his right side awkwardly holding the card so it doesn’t get crushed. You sigh, heavily.

“I thought you didn’t want to be friends anymore.” Your confession is barely above a whisper. You can’t even look at him as you say it.

“I didn’t— I wouldn’t. I need you to know that I never, ever don’t want to be your friend okay? I was an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“Promise not to cut me out again and that you won’t take out your own issues on our friendship, and maybe I’ll consider forgiving you.”

“Pinky promise.”

Jason places the card in his lap, goes to link your fingers together, then winces at the movement of his arm. Suddenly sirens are going off in your brain.

“What’s wrong with your side?”

“Nothing, must have just pulled a muscle or something.” He tries to laugh it off nervously, but you can tell when he’s lying. His eyes dart to the left over your head, knee bounces almost imperceptibly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you know he’s not telling you the truth.

“You can’t even go a full minute without cutting me out! Jason, I know something is wrong. Now tell me.”

He hesitates, and you’ve had it with the lies and the avoidance and the being kept in the dark. You fingers go to the hem of his shirt and you start tugging.

“Hey! Wh-what are you doing?”

He tries to squirm away, batting at your hands but you get his shirt up far enough to see the bruise on his ribs in the shape of a boot. It’s purple going a sickly yellow, mottled and stark against the dips of his ribs. You can feel all the blood drain from your face. Jason’s pushed up against the far side of the bench, pulling his shirt down with shaking hands.

“Jason. Jason if someone is hurting you, you need to tell someone. If it's your dad or one of the tutors, we can find someone to tell together.”

“No one— no one’s hurting me, all right? I just didn’t get out of the way fast enough during a Rogue attack. I didn’t want to worry you, that’s all. No one’s abusing me, okay?”

“But you’d tell me if they were?”

“I tell you everything important.”

It’s not enough, not nearly for you. From the look in his eyes Jason knows this too, but its all he’s willing to give. There’s a crossroads in your relationship here, a road where you push and push until you get the full story but shatter the tattered strands of your friendship or you accept that you’ll never have all of Jason but maybe your friendship will survive. So you do what needs to be done.

“Okay. If you say that’s what happened then I trust you.”

It’s a low blow, to twist your trust in him like a knife, but it’s your only way to express your frustration with him. You gesture to the envelope, fishing around to change the subject.

“So you going to open that or what?”

And just like that, there’s a new normal. You see Jason everyday in class but he begs off your after school hangouts as often as you two actually spend time together. Conversation is stilted, hidden undercurrents to them of subjects neither one of you wants to address. You’re wary, suspicious of every bump and bruise Jason shows up with. The ease to your friendship has gone, disappeared to the realm of the past.

At the end of October, Jason becomes obsessed with the news. Keeps checking headlines and obituaries, fearful like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. The death of Felipe Garzonas makes the news and the tension in Jason ratchets up. He’s irritable, stops paying attention in classes, blows up when you try to feel out what’s wrong. He’s apologetic every time, promises it won’t happen again until you eventually stop trying to ask questions. Hope that your presence is enough to steady him through whatever it is that is tormenting him.

He asks you once, if you’d believe in his word, no matter what the evidence of something told you otherwise. You tell him you would, always, but that answer doesn’t seem to make a difference.

Winter break comes and goes, without an invitation to visit this time. If anything, Jason comes back more irritable and closed lipped. Mutters something about a fight over Christmas dinner, his brother and Bruce clashing over something. You’re worried about him all the time now. He’s more reckless with himself, won’t look before crossing the road, reacts aggressively to every perceived challenge, throws things when he gets frustrated. He’s changing into someone you don’t recognize in front of your eyes.

April comes and there’s a new light in his eyes. It’s manic and hopeful and the first emotion you’ve seen in him other than fear in months. He won’t tell you what it is, just that there’s something new he’s found out, something about his mother. This time you hope, fingers crossed and a wish on every star that whatever has brought him this hope won’t hurt him.

On Monday, Jason doesn’t come to school. He doesn’t answer your messages or pick up any of your calls. Even when he’s been out sick he at least lets you know. On Tuesday you get called into the office in the middle of first period. You haven’t been back to the secretary’s office since the day you enrolled. The seats are still as overstuffed as you remember. The secretary is the same, a few more grey streaks in her perfectly set hair. Her eyes are red, and she’s got one of those old fashioned handkerchiefs in her hands.

“I’ve got some bad news honey, and I— I think it would be best if you sit down for it.”

“Oh— will this take long? Only I got pulled out of class and we’re reviewing for the exam next week.”

“Oh honey.” She has to pause to dab at her eyes before continuing. “You’re going to be excused from all exams next week, okay? I need you to know that the school will do whatever we can to support you through this.”

Now, now you are scared. “Support me through what? It’s not my mom is it?”

“Honey it’s Jason, Jason Todd. I’m so sorry but he passed away yesterday. I’ve contacted your parents and your mother is on the way to come pick you up.”

Her words don’t make any sense.

“But he can’t be. I saw him on Saturday. There’s been a mistake. He’s not dead.” Your legs don’t work anymore and you hit the couch, hard, sliding off the overstuffed pillows to kneel on the floor. You don’t feel any of it. There’s copper in your mouth, you must have bitten your tongue on the way down but you can’t feel it. There’s movement in your peripheries, and your mother crouches down into your field of vision.

“Mom, mom they made a mistake. She’s— she’s saying that Jason’s dead, but he can’t be. Mom he’s not dead.”

“Sweet pea, I’m so, so sorry. It’s been on the news all morning.”

It rips through you then, grief. Sobs shake your whole body, your mother doing her best to hold you together. There’s a roaring in your ears like you’re caught in a vacuum. You can’t see through the tears. Your body is trembling violently and you can’t care enough to try and stop it. Nothing matters anymore. Jason’s dead.

To get to the car, your mother has to half carry you. There’s no point in moving. You’re not sure how you end up in your bed at home but you do. You don’t sleep but you aren’t really awake either. The tears don’t stop coming. You’re nothing but an open wound, not even really a whole person. The world’s burned down to ash and you’re just floating through it. You know your parents come in to talk to you, can hear the murmur of their voices but you don’t care. There’s food put in front of you but it holds no interest to you. You might have had sips of water, maybe some broth but you don’t remember and you don’t care. The only thing you really register is Haley, nestling up to you and making biscuits with his paws in your blankets.

Jason’s funeral is on Friday and you can’t get out of bed to go. Jason’s not in that coffin, not really. He won’t be there and so you won’t be. Jason’s never coming home. Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead plays on a loop. You never got to tell him. He died without knowing you loved him. His death has ripped you open like nothing ever has before, regret a constant salt in the wound. He never told you that he was thinking of leaving, of going anywhere. It feels wrong at this point, to interrupt his family in their grief, another stranger claiming to have known their son. After all, how well did you really know him if you didn’t even know he was going to leave?

Grief swallows you whole, but over time you learn to live with it. Days blur together. The tears dry up but the not caring doesn’t. Inside of your head is a wall, separating you from the reality of a world without Jason. You’re wrapped in wool and safe behind glass, unable to care about anything. It’s easier that way.

The school passes you for the year, citing personal tragedy, and you don’t care. Summer comes and the only difference is that your mother comes in and throws your windows open every morning. It’s Jason’s birthday soon, too soon. He’ll never be sixteen but you will be. He’ll never have his Words come in. He’ll never get the chance to do all the things he talked about, make Gotham a better place, travel the world. But you can.

It makes no sense to live for a dead boy but it’s all you’ve got. So you do what you have to do. It gets you to leave your bed for the first time in months. To start eating again, even if there’s no taste to the food in your mouth. To shower and take care of yourself for the first time in ages. Your room is clean for the first time in months and the first thing you do is take down your photograph from the 8th grade formal and put it away in a desk drawer.

By September, you have gathered yourself enough to return to school despite the worried looks of your family. It is hard, the hardest thing you have ever done but you do it for the boy that will never graduate high school. You sit by yourself at your desk, you eat lunch by yourself, you go straight home after class without any detours. The school play this year is Romeo and Juliet. You take home the sign up flyer and consider it, hard. In the end you decide to leave it. Jason may have always wanted to try out for the play but you won’t survive torturing yourself with this. On opening night you tell your parents you’re going to see it and get drunk on the gymnasium roof.

You make it through your last two years of high school a ghost. Administration tries to pressure you into meeting with a therapist but you refuse. You don’t want to experience your grief at all. Numbness is the only way you are going to survive this, your new reality. You do take them up on their suggestion of volunteering. Working with the Martha Wayne Foundation for Underprivileged Children gives you a sense of purpose. Of helping other Crime Alley kids without the benefit of nepotism to get them into places like Gotham Academy. It stokes the first emotion in you other than numbness, and that’s rage for all the ways in which these kids have been failed.

You accept a full scholarship to Gotham University. Your parents couldn’t be more proud of your achievement but you can barely muster the energy to smile. Keep up the volunteer work while rushing through your degree in two years instead of four. With nothing else to drive you, you’ve got nothing but time for school. The Martha Wayne Foundation offers you a position in fundraising, and you accept. It’s not what you envisioned for yourself, but it’s a path forward with purpose.

You move out, into your own apartment in an area that’s probably too dangerous for a girl of your age but you can’t stand to be at home anymore. The job consumes your life and you are grateful for it. It’s important work, even if some of the policy meetings on accepting donations from the Red Hood make you want to fall asleep. You make use of your Gotham Prep connections, rubbing elbows with the rich for just as long as it takes to pry open their wallets. It’s ridiculous but the higher ups trot you out to entertain at fundraising events, a pretty young face to pull in more donors. Occasionally you see Bruce, or Dick, or the newest ward Tim at functions, always across the room before you quickly excuse yourself. The numbness carries you through your life but there are limits to it and you’re not eager to test them.

Even five years later, you can’t go back to the park. You’ve never had another chili dog, though you’ll hire the vendor to cater community events. You’ve worked your way back into the public library, but still avoid the alcove on the second floor in the encyclopedia section. There’s a handful of arcade tokens in a plastic bag in your apartment still unused. Batburger is still your favourite, but you still can’t set foot in the location nearest to the Academy.

You keep yourself so busy that when your Words come in, “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know…”, you barely give it a thought, just pulling the cuff of your shirt lower to cover your wrist. Carry on with the rest of your morning routine and head into the office. From that point on, your sleeves are always long and your gala outfits gain elbow length opera gloves. You never bother trying to read the rest of it. It doesn’t matter anymore.

It’s a cold February morning. The bus broke down two stops from the office and now you have to walk the rest of the way in the snow. Standing at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change, you pass the time by scanning the headlines on the nearest newsstand. “Lost Wayne son found alive” screams out at you, tearing into your heart bloody. You lose grip of your work bag, but manage not to lose your mind in the street. Picking your bag up out of the slush, you run into the nearest bodega bathroom and lock the door with trembling hands. Shove a fist into your mouth and scream as the tears pour down your face. You’re shaking, worse than you were all those years ago. Snot blocks your nose and you have to stop screaming to breathe. So you do what needs to be done. Fumbling with your coat pocket, you pull out your phone and call the office, call out sick. It’s the only time you’ve done it in all the time your supervisor has known you but the tremor in your voice and frequent sniffles must alarm her enough.

In a fog, you somehow make it from the bodega bathroom to the front gate of Wayne manor. It doesn’t look like it’s changed at all since your last visit over five years ago, except for the heaving mass of press. You circle round the property and enter through the bushes, the way Jason showed you years ago on a tour of the property. You slip on the snow, fall to your knees but get back up. This is the only thing that matters now. The back door has an elaborate knocker that takes both of your hands to lift. It takes what feels like ages for someone to answer the door. It’s poor Mr. Pennyworth, looking more ruffled than you’ve ever seen him. You’re indescribably rude to the poor man, pushing right past him and into the building. Only one thing matters now and your vision has narrowed out anything outside of achieving your goal.

There’s voices coming from somewhere inside, up the stairs and in the direction of the library. A hand, probably Mr. Pennyworth’s, tries to grab at your wrist but you’re too quick for that. You’re running now, clutching at the bannister as though it will pull you up the stairs faster. A shout from behind and the tone of the voices change, a door slamming in the distance. Finally, finally you reach the library but a body tries to come between you, stopping you in your tracks. Years of grief, anger, and battered hope come roaring through you at the thought of being denied seeing Jason, alive after all this time.

Your voice when it leaves you is dangerously low. “Dick, I presume? You don’t know me, and I’ve heard very little about you from Jason and what I did hear I didn’t like. I’m going to make this simple.” The door behind him cracks open, but you soldier on anyway. “Jason Todd was my best friend and first love.” The body stiffens, but that doesn’t matter in this moment. “You are going to step aside and-” anything else doesn’t matter because a door is thrown open and there is Jason.

Eyes wild, a good deal older and more scarred than before, but he’s alive. And then nothing else matters but the feel of his arms warm around you, the imprint of his jacket on your face, the smell of him largely unchanged. He’s alive and he’s real and you can touch him. You draw back to look at him, drink in the sharpened angle of his jaw, the blue-green of his eyes, the white streak in his hair. He’s grown taller and broader than he had over that wretched summer so many years ago. What catches your eye is the writing at the hollow of his throat, a stark black spreading across his collarbones exposed by the v of his t-shirt. Jason Todd was my best friend and first love, it reads.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know you felt the same.” He says and your wrist starts to burn.

#jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd x fem!reader #red hood x you #red hood x reader #jason todd fic #jason todd imagine #jason todd #soulmate au #tw grief #sunnie writes 🌻

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garoujo · 1 year

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✩ ˛˚ . NAGI SEISHIRO ; — nagi always seems to go pouty & quiet whenever he gets turned on at you doing the most mundane things

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings: f!reader, all characters written 22+, nothing too bad it’s literally just nagi getting hard over you eating a popsicle. ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note: i cant even eat a popsicle by the pool in peace without thinking about this man, so consider this a gift from pool emmie :3

it’s too hot, nagi thinks to himself as he rests in the space next to you in the park — giving you a sleepy look from under his cap as he hides from the beating rays of the sun. he can feel the oversized fabric of his shirt sticking slightly to his skin but he’s trying his best not to complain because you look real pretty under that same sky, pretty grin on your face as you drink up the ice cold popsicle that you both bought from the convenience store a few blocks back.

he remembers the cute little smile you wore when you handed him his own, making sure to take it out the packaging for him because you know he always found them a hassle — giggling when he stuffed the iced treat between his lips with a muffled little “thanks. wanna sit down now.” as he let you drag him towards the park.

nagi doesn’t realise he’s zoned out, staring at you until he’s fixated on the way you pucker your lips around the flavoured stick between your fingers— it’s like you’re deliberately trying to be intoxicating. you lean back slightly onto the grass, distracted momentarily by the people in the distance before you gasp quietly when the juice seems to trail cool down your skin.

your lips trail deeper, swiping at the sweet droplets that paint along your skin as they suckle along the space and suddenly he can’t look away— he’s too obsessed with the way your eyes flutter, tongue curling around the length of your fingers next and it’s embarrassing the way he feels his cock twitch at the movement.

nagi’s breathing stutters and he almost chokes on his own popsicle as he urges himself to look away, feeling a flush sting at his cheeks as he casts you a glance — wondering if you noticed the effect just you cleaning yourself up seems to have on him as he sighs to himself. he readjusts his shorts as he tries to subtly press his palm into the slight bulge, swallowing with the slight friction and he swears he can feel every rapid beat of his heart in his ears as he twitches needily.

“seishiro~ are you too hot?” your voice pipes into the clouded thoughts of his mind and he turns to you just as you close your lips around your popsicle again, making his eyes drop to the movement as you bob your head to suckle at it before you pull back with a pop again.

“huh? nah ‘ts just no fair.” nagi says but he pouts with his words before he’s turning away from you again, trying his best to ignore just how cringe this whole interaction is for him right now. “why you gotta eat it like that? ‘ts such a bother.”

“huh? like what?” you reply innocently and you watch him cast you a sidewards glance before he’s swallowing and readjusting himself again. the outline of his cock becomes even more visible with every swipe of your tongue and flutter of your lashes, and suddenly he’s missing the usual oversized fit of his hoodies and sweats despite the way he’d probably pass out if he wore them in this heat.

“eh, like that. ‘ts a pain.” nagi tilts his head towards you as your lips wrap around the tip of your popsicle again and his shoulders drop with his next mumble.

“you’re not making sense, sei.” he really isn’t, this is how everyone eats them, except it’s you and you’re pretty and even watching you just doing the most mundane things seem to have an effect on him as he feels want bubble in his abdomen. you give him a look, taking in his puffed out cheeks and pouty lips under his slightly damp snowy bangs and you giggle as you lean back into the sun.

“hey, ‘s not funny. don’t laugh at me.”

nagi leans in a little, pressing himself into your side until his lips are ghosting yours when you turn your head to meet him and you’re surprised at the sudden public display of affection as his eyes take in your features. his gaze eventually falls still on your lips and he can’t help but imagine how much better the popsicle would taste along your tongue.

“watch, sei! it’s leaking. you’re gonna end up all sticky, you dummy!” you gasp and the moment of intimacy is broken as you jolt forward when you feel the sudden drip of your boyfriends popsicle smear along your thigh.

“eh, ‘ts fine. we can just have a bath.. ‘m all sweaty anyway, too much sun is such a pain.” although he’s pretty sure the heat building in his stomach is making him even warmer, curling to lick at the base of his spine as nagi tries to subtly readjust his shorts—but shit, you don’t make it easy.

it’s swift and instinctive the way you ignore him to grab at his hand, bringing it to your lips before you’re licking up the trail of sweet liquid that runs over his skin. he’s frozen, almost— except for the throb in his cock and the race of his heart when your eyes flutter to look up at him and he wishes he could push you even lower, feeling your lips press suckled kisses along his skin before your tongue is curling around the base of his lolly to clean it up.

nagi’s too hot and so fucking hard, feeling a twitch in his abdomen when your lips pop as you pull away and he clears his throat with the next, almost painful throb in his shorts — this is so cringe.

“see, no fair. you’re teasin’ me and ‘ts bothersome, angel.” he readjusts himself again before he’s giving you a drowsy, lidded look and leaning in once more, finally pressing his lips against yours before he’s pushing his tongue between your lips— languidly as he savours the sweet syrupy taste of you.

nagi melts into you as he kisses you, like he always does as he almost knocks you both over onto the grass and you try to steady yourself as he pulls away to breathe, grumbling before he’s licking at his lips and looking at you like he wants even more.

“tastes so good, i wanna go back to my room now, please. wanna taste more.”

#݁ . ࿓ : sealed#blue lock x reader #blue lock smut #blue lock x you #bllk x reader #bllk smut #bllk x you #nagi x reader #nagi x you #nagi smut #nagi seishiro x you #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro smut

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tasteracha · 1 year

Text

bite me.

a/n: you give in to the urge to bite minho, and quickly learn why that wasn’t a good idea.

warnings: contains smut - MINORS DNI. pet names, reader is called good girl, orgasm denial

the first time you do it, it’s really because you can’t resist the urge. you’ve been thinking about it lately, about biting his skin outside of leaving hickeys all over him just because you can. he’s sitting with you, your body curled up around his side as he reads a novel with gold rimmed glasses on his face and -

you can’t stop yourself from sinking your teeth into his bicep, the part you can reach right under the sleeve of the tight workout t-shirt he’s been in for the past few hours.

he looks at you with a side eye, quirking a brow at you as if he was amused. he very well could be, you’re sure you make quite the vision with your teeth still locked into his skin as you drool a bit. he goes back to his reading once you detach yourself and go back to playing games on your phone, and that was that.

except, it wasn’t.

it hits you again when you’re grocery shopping for dinner, right in the middle of the dairy aisle while he internally debates which non-dairy milk would make the best sauce for the pasta he’s chosen to make. he looks so cute, pretty lips pursed into a pout shrouded under the hood he has pulled up over his head, small tufts of hair peeking out around his eyes. you’re already standing so close, your head is practically over his shoulder and you lean in a little more and let your teeth latch onto his muscle. you mostly get a mouthful of hoodie material, so you bite just a little bit harder and he yelps a little, shuddering under you.

you let the material leave your mouth, spitting out bits of lint and frowning at the dryness. he looks at you as if to say it’s your own fault, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“really?” he says, his face stern but his tone teasing. “in public?”

“mm,” you admire the wet patch you left on his shoulder. “couldn’t help it.”

it’s his own fault he’s so biteable, is what you don’t say.

the last straw breaks when you’re washing dishes together after dinner. he’s soaping and you’re drying, and he’s teasing you with small flicks of water in your direction every time you turn. you retaliate by swatting him with a towel several times until he takes it from you and says he’ll finish it up himself if you’re going to be silly.

silly. as if he didn’t start it in the first place.

you resort to wrapping your arms around his waist from behind as he works, enjoying the flex of his abs whenever he has to scrub particularly hard at a certain spot. his neck is right there though, and you can’t be blamed for the way your mouth moves to bite at the vein there. this isn’t the first time you’ve bitten him today, but it is the first time he reacts to it.

he turns abruptly, ripping himself out of your arms as he calmly dries his hands with the towel you were using to swipe his ass earlier. he puts it down, stalking towards you like a predator.

“so you want to be playful tonight, kitten?” he says as he backs you up against the counter behind you. his hands come to brace either side of you. trapping you in place, and you’re mesmerized by the way the veins pop in his forearms. his eyes are dark, hooded and almost dangerous, and you can feel your own pulse skyrocket. “bad kitties get punished, you know that right?”

if he were a cat, his claws would certainly be out.

he dips in for a kiss, looming over you and making you arch your back to keep up with him. it’s deep, dirty, his tongue is prodding at your bottom lip and you can’t do anything else but let him in. his hands move to your waist, fingers digging in just right and he bends down a bit to hike you up onto the counter and you moan into his mouth and take his bottom lip between your teeth and -

he stops.

a whine claws out from the back of your throat and you stare at him in annoyance.

“you just can’t stop, can you?” he says, clicking his tongue while he looks at you in pity. his voice is sharp and mocking and it sends flames licking up your spine. “pretty baby can’t even control herself.”

oh. you bit him, again?

“in front of me.” he orders, guiding your body away from the counter to lean against his, your back flush against his chest. you can feel his hard-on against your ass, but he makes no move to do anything about it.

you gulp - it’s sinking in that this does not bode well for you.

he pushes his hands under your shirt, hands smoothing their way up your stomach to reach your breasts. he fondles your breasts a bit, pushing out a moan from you and you tip your head back to rest against him.

without warning, he pinches both of your nipples hard, making you gasp and double over. or, you try, but his strong arms keep you locked into place while he unrelentingly squeezes your skin between his fingers. it burns, the sensation taking over your entire body, making your eyes roll back.

“feels good?” his voice is dark and low and sickly sweet, right in your ear. you moan in response, squirming to get away. he squeezes harder when you don’t answer, and tears begin to prick in your eyes. “i asked you a question, didn’t i?”

“y-yes!” you push out, salty tears slipping out when he relents and lets go, rubbing at your stomach in an apology. your breath is trembling and your legs are shaking, and his touch grounds you as you calm down.

“are you going to be good now?” he says, hands drifting down towards your waistband. your breath hitches as you nod; it’s his way of asking are you okay? should we keep going? do you want to stop? “that’s my good girl.”

he nuzzles your neck with his nose as he pushes your pants down, fingertips creeping into your panties. his other arm comes up to wrap around your chest, and you reach up to grip at his forearm.

he starts slowly, parting your folds and sneaking his digits inside, the wetness you’ve accumulated helping them slide along your clit. you breathe out a moan when he circles around it in teasing circles, the pressure light against you.

“f-faster,” you croak, voice hoarse, “harder.”

you’re surprised when he actually listens. his fingers almost flutter with how quickly they work you, and with how turned on you’ve been since this started you’re close already. you clutch harder at his arm, moving it down and it brushes against your nipples, still sore and sensitive from his brutal treatment earlier. the feeling sends you over the edge, and you’re riding out the waves of pleasure and grinding down against his hand as they crescendo. you breathe harshly, waiting for him to stop moving his fingers so you could relax and bask in the afterglow of your orgasm.

except, he doesn’t stop. he keeps going, with more fervor than before, fingers moving to dip inside of you and curl into your heat at a brutal pace. he knows exactly where to move his fingers, knows the contours of your body better than anyone: a blessing and a curse. you can almost feel the smirk he’s wearing against your neck before he sinks his teeth into your neck.

you’re shaking in overstimulation, the feeling almost too much, on the edge of painful, until it slowly morphs back into burning pleasure. you’re panting against his skin, nails digging into his arm as you hold on for dear life. you don’t feel any part of your body that he isn’t touching, can’t feel how hard you’re holding onto him, can’t feel your bare feet on the floor. you feel your high coming up again, too much too soon, the lack of control leaving you reeling as he takes what he wants from you.

until he stops. again.

“no!” you cry out, slumping against him as the waves of pleasure weaned back. you let out a sob, utterly confused and desperate, in need of something. he slaps your pussy lightly, one, two, three times, punching cries out of you with every strike.

“oh, baby,” he croons, “you didn’t think your punishment was done, did you?”

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #lee know smut #lee minho smut #stray kids fluff

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tyunphoria · 1 year

Text

🌪️ wearing something that turns skz on — lee know, hyunjin

[NSFW CONTENT AHEAD ‼️]

- - - - -

INCLUDES: AFAB! reader x dom! lino and hyunjin, booty hunter lino, hyunjin stuffing y/n full with his fingers🤭, spanking, mentions of choking(lino), mentions of voyeurism(hyun), slightly jealous and protective hyun.

other part(s): bang chan + changbin

- - - - -

Lee Know

you always forget that wearing gym tights around lee know is a goddamn risk. doing yoga always results to getting a harsh smack on your ass, the soft flesh jiggling under the force of his hand which leaves a stinging print on your skin that can last up to hours. the first time you wore them, his members started snickering as they pulled you outside to warn you of your boyfriend’s odd antics of smacking peoples ass. they would complain about it everytime. except, your case is much more special. when you first started dating, he was always so respectful (and he still is!) but ever since you started doing yoga, it gets harder and harder for him to hold back his urges.

“I can never finish my lessons because of you.” you grunt as he bends you over on the mat, your head pressed up against the yoga block with your back arched perfectly. not to mention your behind already being abused and squeezed by his impatient hands through the thin fabric. he pulls the tights down to your thighs, eyes lighting up as your ass spills over the waistband.

“then stop wearing these tights.” he scoffs. you can hear the sound of a belt unbuckling behind you. “then what am i supposed to fucking wear? jeans to yoga?—“ he cuts you off as he fully sheaths himself inside you. the motion makes you gasp, and your voice is suddenly lost due to the feeling of him. he thinks you look pretty with the look of ecstasy on your face right now as his cock hits all of the parts of you that make your toes curl.

his hand slides up to the column of your throat, tears brim in your eyes to the feeling of another harsh stinging sensation brought on your left cheek. he brings his hand down again, then again, then again. until there’s a huge blush covering your ass which made him almost come from such pretty sight. your knees buckle due to the pain and euphoria, the stimulation you were receiving was too much as his hips continue to move faster with his cock slamming into your cunt. you walls squeeze around him as he savors the delicious moans spilling out your mouth. “lino, ‘s too much…” you reach a hand behind you to swat the hand that was gripping onto your ass and tell him to slow down.

“then don’t start something you can’t finish.”

Hyunjin

“Wait! Hyun, your group’s about to come on stage!” You say, barely above a squeak as he trails his slender fingers up your skirt. hyunjin plays a smile on his lips, swiping his tongue around the hickey he painted beautifully on your neck. “Such a pretty little thing…” hyunjin was chosen to be one of the MC’s of Inkigayo. when he found out that your group was performing on the show for your comeback stage, he couldn’t get any happier and was eager to see you perform. hyunjin took note of the way your short skirt would ride up every time you moved and swayed your hips to the song. he bit his cheek throughout the whole performance. the performance was broadcasted live for thousands and thousands of fans watching; and the thought of thousands of perverts probably drooling over his partner made him furious and accidentally dig through the leather cushioned seat. “You good?” changbin asked but hyunjin only excused himself to use the restroom but instead he quietly trails behind you backstage. they tell him to hurry since they’re performing next but sparing a few minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?

he moves your underwear aside, thumb circling around your clit as he hungrily attacks your lips. “this skirt looks so beautiful on you, baby. but it’s a bit short, don’t you think? do you enjoy having people watch your ass jiggle on stage because of how slutty this skirt is? it makes really angry, y/n.” You part your lips to apologize but it was replaced by a moan as hyunjin plunges his ring and middle fingers in your already sopping wet cunt. “m’ sorry, hyun…”

He twists his wrist, pressing his long fingers into you–reveling against the shaky moan you let out in response. “fuck, baby. you’re getting so tight. how am i gonna stuff you full with my cock if i won’t be able to get the tip in?” Your mouth hangs slack as he meanly flicks his wrist, pressing his two fingers even deeper inside you and spreading them in a scissoring motion. he tucks his nose against the crook of your neck, sucking a mark against your skin, you can’t help the way you clench around him.

hyunjin finally takes his fingers out, a whine leaving your swollen lips from biting down onto your bottom lip too hard. his thumb presses down on your swollen clit, as he begins to softly rub over the aching nub. the new feeling of pleasure is mind-melting, and the urge to grind against his hand is overwhelming. you watch as his eyes fixate on the mess between your thighs, how he finally took note to how his cock is stiff in his boxers. he sits on the vanity chair , pulling you on his lap.

“let me watch you bounce on my cock, pretty baby. keep your skirt on and try to be quiet.”

#reader insert #skz x y/n #skz smut #stray kids smut #lee know x reader #lee know smut #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin smut #established relationship #x reader #kpop imagines #kpop x reader #kpop oneshots #x reader oneshot #stray kids scenarios #kpop scenarios

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autisticlancemcclain · 9 months

Text

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing.”

Vaguely, Lance registers that he’s far too loud, that his dead-of-night shout has people peeking out their doors, rubbing groggy eyes. He knows he should tone it down and handle this gracefully and he meant to, thought about it in the hour or so he spent crouched but his door, waiting, straining his ears for the sound of Keith’s silent footsteps, convinced something would go down tonight.

Correct.

Keith jumps, duffel bag slipping off his shoulder and thumping as it hits the floor. He whirls around to meet Lance’s eyes and the shock melts quickly into stubbornness, into something defensive and irritated.

“Go back to bed, Lance,” he says evenly, and Lance envisions punching him. Lance envisions gripping the sleeve of his jacket and holding him in place. Both visions fight for standing ground in his mind, blurring into each other. His fists curl at his sides and he has to hold himself back, physically, root himself in place.

He thinks about saying, I know you’re afraid.

He thinks about saying, you will always have a place here.

He thinks about saying, please don’t leave me.

He says, “You’re running,” and it comes out sharp and accusatory, and there is a hiss from somewhere beside them, quick inhale through the teeth, but the world feels narrow, blurry around the edges, and Keith is the only one in focus, the only one Lance can see.

Keith’s face drops into something menacing, something as flat as it is furious, something familiar and almost comforting.

“Coward,” Lance spits before he can say anything. The cruelty of the words leaves a bitter taste in his mouth and he relishes in it, sucking it off his teeth.

He watches as Keith’s shoulders shift, an aborted lunge, as his chest inhales and exhales with a measured and practice breath. Watches as he calms himself, visibly, yanks himself back from the edge. Lance prepares to yank him right the hell back.

(Anything to keep him from going. To distract him, enrage him, occupy him.)

(Anything to make him stay.)

“You don’t know a goddamn thing about me,” Keith says, angry and short, less fiery than Lance expected, more controlled than he’s ever seen.

Lance panics. Keith tears his eyes away and bends down, wrapping his hand around the forgotten duffel bag strap, swinging it back over his shoulder. He turns and walks — stomps — away, heading down the hall, towards the hangars. Leaving.

Lance loses control of his mouth. A sound fights its way out of his throat, something croaking and furious and desperate, and like a cork shooting off a champagne bottle there is nothing he can do to stop what comes next.

“Your voice cracks when you lie.”

The anger has practically fled from his voice. In its place is pleading, begging, vulnerable. He chokes it back and tries to swallow and it does nothing, it bubbles out of him, spilling down his face and dripping onto the floor and soaking his bare feet, the ankles of his silk pajama pants. It comes all the way back up to his neck and chokes him, instead.

Keith freezes.

The champagne keeps bubbling.

“You — duck your head when you smile. And when you’re confident you snap your fingers on your left hand. When you read you mouth along to the words, except when you get really into a book, which is always, and then you stop. You always end up hiccuping after you eat because you fucking — hoover them back, you animal.“

Lance sniffles. The lump in his throat gets harder and harder to speak around, but the urge didn’t go away, the intense need to spill his guts, to slice himself open and spill at the ground by Keith’s feet.

Stay. Stay. Stay.

“You’re not as elusive as you think, you fucker.”

He forces himself to stop, then, bites his tongue until he tastes blood, until the words stop flowing. He inhales big and long and holds it, lets the air go stale in his lungs, lets his heart start to pound.

“I want to go,” Keith says, back still turned.

His voice cracks on ‘want’.

Lance gasps an exhale. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Keith’s turn is slow, and Lance can’t help but think it’s on purpose. To torture him, to test him. To say I don’t believe you. To say when I turn back you’re going to break character.

It’s heartbreaking, a little. And the heartbreak is written all over Lance’s face, and he watches as Keith sees it.

“You saw the problem first,” Keith argues, weakly. Lance hears what he doesn’t say: I’m leaving or else you’ll have to.

And Lance knows he was the one to go to Keith with his pinky finger extended and wide worried eyes. He knows he was the one who planted the idea of leaving in Keith’s head, never meaning for him to be the one to go but expecting him to try anyway. He knows he’s the one who’s standing here, in the middle of the hallway, arguing around the subject, half-conscious of his friends’ stares, their acknowledgment that more is being said than just their words.

And Lance shoves that all back, and says: “I told you I’d be your Red.”

Paladin. Your Red Paladin. But the words don’t come all the way out.

Keith swallows. “I know.”

“I won’t be anyone else’s.”

“…I know.”

Lance’s hands shake. “So you can’t leave me, you motherfucker.”

The duffel drops to the floor again. This time it’s intentional. This time it’s shoved off Keith’s shoulders.

He takes three great strides forward, grasping Lance’s face in his perpetually burning hands, and shoves their lips together, bruising.

“If I leave then the math checks out,” he whispers, pulling back, eyes closed, breathing heavy. His forehead is pressed to Lance’s like he can beam his thoughts into his brain.

Lance sighs. “If you leave I’ll follow.” His eyes flutter shut. “You goddamn suck at math.”

Keith snorts. “A little.”

“Stop trying to fix my problems without me.”

“It’s — I want to. Fix your problems.”

“I want you here.”

“…Okay.”

“Promise me, Keith.”

“Okay,” Keith says again, quieter. “I’ll stay, Red.” He kisses Lance again and this time it’s soft, loving instead of desperate. “I’ll stay.”

———

animatic by @jiveyuncle

#vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #keith #keith kogane #klance #s4 klance #red paladin lance #black paladin keith #klangst #keith angst #lance angst #langst #my writing #fic #longpost #THERE IS ART NOW???

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undercoverpena · 8 months

Text

v. call me at night

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter five of i like the way you

best friend! friends with benefits! frankie morales summary: what starts off as an offhand remark, quickly becomes a regular, scheduled 'stress relief'. the only problem is, both of you are in denial that you feel anything outside of friendship for the other.

warnings: friends with benefits. fwb! rules. flirting. idiots who are so in love it’s stupid. feelings. smut. cunnilingus. p in v (mention). fingering (self-pleasure). praise kink. phone sex - frankie talking you through it. tasting yourself (post phone sex).

word count: 3.2k

an: thank you, as always, to @thetriumphantpanda for reading this after i told her "i think this is the hottest thing I've ever written" and her going, "yes."

He wakes with you curled against him—breathing softly, deeply. No line between your brow, no scrunched forehead, just peace and content etched into your features.

It pulls a smile from him. Teases at the edges, sewing string, until it’s pulled and he finds himself grinning

That’s when Frankie realises this is one of those moments he’ll replay—because it’s a morning that will forever cast others into the shadows.

It seems that mid-sleep, you’d thrown the pillow (that you’d insisted on) from between the two of you. Your leg has been thrown over him, cheek to his chest, fingers tucked into the place where his ribs meet the mattress.

It’s perfect, normal, far too romantic—especially for whatever this all is.

A part of him knowing this the more he lays there—being as still as he fucking could, letting minutes tick smoothly into an hour. Thinking, as his fingers slide against your skin, that he most definitely has slidden past falling and landed somewhere into fallen.

He’d always been close.

Frankie has been skirting the lines of his feelings for you for longer than he will ever care to admit.

Right now, it’s harder to fight when you’re pressed against him, all bare except for the barrier of your underwear. It all feeling too normal. Too right.

He supposes it’s why, when you do wake, he doesn’t let you second guess this. Just lets his lips find yours, his body moving yours until you’re on your back—fingers tangling back in his hair—and he’s descending, feeling the grip lesson until his fingers are sliding the fabric back down your gorgeous thighs.

Pressing a kiss to each leg, both on the top and on the inner leg, he catches a wispy whine of his name from your lips. Just as he catches the light scent of his body wash—the one you’d lathered on yourself after their fun last night before sliding into bed—on your skin.

I’m staying in your bed as a friend.

Sure, querida.

He takes one last look up at you, capturing it, and gripping it in his greedy hands—because fuck, you look beautiful, empyreal, exquisite. In truth, he’s constantly in awe of the way you stare at him, and right now, it makes his tongue heavy, his throat dry.

To the point, Frankie isn’t sure how long he stares, but when he blinks, he has to move. Fingers spreading you, parting you, the soles of your feet meeting his mattress before his mouth is on you, flattening his tongue, making your spine lift from the sheets.

You moan, and his cock twitches against the bed.

Mixed chants of his name, fuck, and a pleading—a collection of sounds, a record of them—all flowing from your mouth to his ears. One he would, and could, happily play on loop, over and over, never tiring of it, never tiring of you.

He’s sure he’s communicating that. His own moans travelling up, escaping, vibrating against you as your nails scrape in his hair, leaving little marks he’ll keep hidden, brush his touch over when missing you reaches a new peak.

Dipping his tongue into you, he spreads one of your thighs from squeezing his skull. Knowing you, your tells now, the little ways you tell him you’re close without muttering them—rendering you useless, breathless, almost fucking boneless.

Mixing up his play, he keeps you hovering, dangling, nerves lit up and sparkling, but not quite exploding, until he needs it as much as you. Rutting his cock against the mattress, groaning your name against your own core, fingers curling inside you, tongue lapping and lapping—

And then you fall, crash, shatter.

“Fuck,” he whispers.

Your skin shimmering with perspiration, glistening in the arriving morning. A sight, a beauty that is breathing and gasping because of him.

“Fuck,” he repeats.

“Fuck,” you murmur, breathless, a lazy, content smile passing over, fluttering across your mouth until your eyes flash open.

And he can taste you on his lips, knowing they’re glistening too. Not willing to wipe them just yet, licking what he can as you stare at him, more hungry than when he’d begun it this morning.

“Querida, you… that was so hot,” he whispers.

And, your eyes flick from his face to his cock, swallowing, all dark and lustful.

“You coming undone on my tongue, fuck, baby.”

His palms pressing into the mattress, crawling back up to you—hovering over you, watching your eyes slide from his face to his cock.

“I need you inside me. Wanna come round your cock,” you interrupt, tilting your head, and tracing your tongue over your bottom lip. “Please, Frankie.”

Your palm rises, cupping his cheek, and he curls into your touch, just for a moment. Temporarily allowing himself to imagine that there’s no deadline to the day, that he doesn’t have to take you home.

And then he crashes his lips to yours.

You tell him you should go home, once the two of you have caught your breaths.

There’s a soft smile, one put there by him, by the several rounds the two of you endured before 9 a.m greeting him, even if your words wound.

Frankie blames the smile for why he kissed you over breakfast, thumb wiping the sauce from your lip. It’s why he walked you (hand in hand) to the car, doing what you asked, and taking you home.

He also guesses it’s why he drove you back in silence, heart heavy. His shoulders sinking when all he was left with was the memories of last night, the scent of your perfume on his shirt and the knowledge he has to wait to see you like this again.

The moment he’s alone with himself, he replays the last few times he’s found himself able to enjoy you, sink himself inside of you, earn the little gasp you make when he sheaths himself fully in you.

Each time he does, his mind moves to the look you gave him once you’d shut the car door, lingering, hovering. It being so far removed from the one you usually give him when your nails are dug into his chest, slowly rocking yourself on him—eyes mixed with lust and adoration, love there, shining down on him. This one was different, unreadable.

“Always make me feel good, Frankie.”

His palms grip the steering wheel at the echo of your voice, wishing the wheel were your waist—holding, aiding. Guiding you as you rock against him, your words coating him, making it harder to hold on and not paint your walls in white.

“So good to me. For me. Think your cock was made for me.”

Fuck, he wants to go back. Turn the car around and hammer his fist on your door. Tell you all the things he thinks all the time—the ones he talks himself out of.

“You’re so deep, Frankie. Feels good.”

The sounds you make roam around his mind, haunting him—having done so all the way home, worsening when he slumps himself down in front of the television. Puts a show on to distract him, but his gaze remains unfocused, the sound not reaching him.

Because he’s just thinking about you.

The way your lips part when you moan his name. The look you give him, the smile which reaches your eyes before your lips when you've caught your breath.

He wants you back here.

Half-tempted to get his ass off the sofa and spend the rest of the day buried to the hilt inside of you. Dedicate himself to you, down on his knees, whispering prayers into your pussy until you’re chanting his name like a hymn.

He’d even be happy with just stuffing you, filling you, keeping you there, twitching and kissing him. Thighs on either side of his.

Frankie had half hoped that’s what you were asking him for when your message came through.

His heart sinks when it isn’t.

We didn’t really talk about it, but I’m away next weekend. I‘ve seen, it’s been a while since you had a girls weekend. I know. And the following one is bar night. I can pick you up for that. You don’t have to, I can get you this time. I already have to be away from you for two weeks, don't fight with me too, querida. Such a flirt, Morales.

Letting his head fall back, his hand runs across his face, massaging the aching spots on his skull. The ones that have appeared since he’d left you, each time coming in the moment he’s left with his thoughts.

The ones hammering.

Trying to focus on the ache he can rid himself of—the one hardening in his shorts. The one he finds he can’t alleviate now unless he thinks of you—unless he pictures your face or the angle of your body.

He’s fucked. More than fucked.

More so when your face outside the car comes back to him, and he wonders, if maybe you’d wanted him to ask you to stay.

You’d never been a good sleeper in a bed that wasn’t your own.

Franke’s had been always been an exception.

Even back when the two of you were friends. When you’d drank too much and he’d build a wall of pillows between the two of you, because you’re not getting a cab home, hermosa.

You’d re-learned that fact now, when you were in fresh hotel linen, eyes open, all wide at 2 in the morning. Body thrumming with unspent energy and the lingering taste of that tequila shot on your tongue. The laughter is still there on your face from hours with your other best friend. The one you’re not in an entanglement with.

She did well not to ask until you were full of food and joy, the question posed quietly, almost sneakily with a draw on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes.

So, you and Morales?

It doesn’t matter that you said nothing was happening, your body lied. It lit up, practically squirmed as it gave into thoughts of him—ones you’d tried not to think about. Especially when you hadn’t seen him in the week, the only free opening he had was tonight.

So, you and Benny?

You’d fired right back. She had just been able to be a little more honest than you. Explaining how the two of them were having fun, getting to know one another—something easy, simple.

Two things you couldn’t really put as descriptions for whatever the fuck you were doing with Frankie.

If she suspected something, more than she usually does, she says nothing. Instead, she orders water, some fries for the table, her hand covering yours before adding: you look happy, whatever it is.

Whatever it is being him.

The one thing you can’t stop thinking about.

You’d even noticed you’d become giddy when he texts, even if you know those are no different than before. You’d spotted an excitement bubbling when the days decrease until that green spot in your calendar, counting the hours, minutes.

Now, as you lay awake in soft, crinkling bedsheets, you don’t even try to not think about him. Losing yourself in the memories of the way he feels, the way he’s solid, toned, but soft—broad, firm and warm. How it feels to have your fingers in his hair when he‘s kissing a path to your pleasure.

The way he’s whispering promises he’ll keep, gonna make you feel good. Adding your name to the end, tailoring it, personalising the experience further to topple you over the edge before his mouth has even latched itself onto your pussy.

Sliding your hand down your body, you half-wonder if your arrangement can spread to the phone or if it only applies in person.

The thought running and running; fluttering and fluttering. Toying your bottom lip with your teeth, you allow your fingers to skirt over your underwear—somehow knowing, as awake and as needy as you were, you knew all you wanted and needed was him.

Frankie, as expected, answers in two rings.

No chance to end the call, to take it back—

“Hey…”

“Can’t sleep?”

You smile, fingers toying over the lace of your underwear. “Think your bed ruined me.”

“Just my bed?”

Smiling, you run the back of your palm across your face. Feeling the heat flushing over your cheeks.

“No. Not just your bed.”

He chuckles, deep, and you swear you can almost feel it ghost over your features.

“Kinda hate that next weekend is the bar night,” you say, somewhat out of the blue. An array of thoughts mix in your mind.

Ones you can’t ignore, all desperate to say.

I miss you. And not just as a friend, being the main one. The one that clags in the back of your throat, that sits there simmering, thumping. It adds to the long list of things you’re sure you should have said to him by now.

This situation, this beautiful, fucking perfect situation (that you’re sure could only become more perfect if you were honest) doing a number on you.

Frankie just laughs—a chuckle—a little noise he covers with a cough. “I can work around a deadline.”

“I bet you can.”

It’s more flirty than you mean. It escapes, hitting the air.

The two of you don’t do this. Don’t flirt outside of the pre-arranged calendar slots you both make. It’s friends then—just banter, jibes and inside jokes.

But, that wasn’t either of those two things.

“You call me because you need me, querida?”

Yes, you want to respond. Your teeth bite down on your lip, fearful of the way it’ll leave your lips. Whether it’ll escape all breathless, more of a moan, a whimper, than an actual word.

Because fucking yes, Francisco. Yes.

“You want me to help you sleep, baby?”

You let out a breath, it all shaky, nodding against the plump pillows before you’re able to whisper a yes. But, as soon as you let it out, he’s there—commanding, that same tone you imagine he used when he was knees deep in mud and clutching a weapon; the tone you envision he uses when he’s up in the air, switching things, pressing buttons—

“You listenin’, querida?”

Swallowing, you blink.

“Put me on loudspeaker, next to your head. Can you do that for me?”

You do. A thrum of nervousness and adrenaline both crashing into you, creating a storm, a current.

But, he washes it away, smothers it. His voice flows from the speaker, asking you to remove everything but what lay between your thighs. A thing you do, quickly, purposefully discarding it onto the floor before telling him you’ve done it.

“That’s my girl.”

Fuck. You close your eyes, half imagining the dip in the mattress, the way his stare feels on your skin, especially as he begins to guide you. You begin to paint the scene out, capturing him perfectly, creating a false version of him that can accompany the very real voice flowing from the speaker.

The one which is currently telling you where to place your hand. The one which is talking you through the path he wishes you to travel on—it whispering, darkly, almost gruffly, to slide your fingers across your collarbone (two, because he’s being particular), before he asks you to draw your thumb down your breastbone.

It’s precise, the movements he tells you to make.

Cup yourself, circle this, before Frankie asks you to lick a stripe on your thumb, before drawing a lazy shape over one of your peaked nipples—your choice, querida.

Then you’re descending, fingers raised, wrist being part of you making contact with your skin, as you go further down, feeling yourself flutter in despair for your touch—his touch.

“Now, pull them to the side and touch yourself for me.”

A gasp flutters from your lips, back arching as you do so. You’re wet, soaked. Lifting your hips into your own touch, before his voice cuts through. Direct, solid—his directions all clear. Obeying to his highest order as you dip your middle finger in, sliding it back up, brushing over your clit.

Each movement decided by him, and you’re willingly being putty in his hands all these miles away. Following each step, even if your body is thrumming, a knot coils in your stomach before he tells you to touch somewhere else. Keeping you hanging, beautifully edging you as though making you face a punishment for making plans that coincide with when the two of you could have been together.

“Slide two inside of you,” he says, voice deeper, more husky.

Both his tone and his instruction undoing you, another thread snapping off inside of you, adding to the fire that had begun in your spine.

You moan his name, quietly, worrying about your wall neighbours, but loud enough for him. Loud enough to spark a noise from him, one that must have risen from his chest to your ear, because it’s more a growl, an elongated moan of your name that makes you pump your fingers quicker inside of you.

“Wish they were yours.”

“Yeah?” he asks. “Missing my thick fingers?”

It was louder this time, the pathetic whine of his name that rushes past your lips. Your hips move, shifting with your ministrations as your head tilts towards the phone more, closer to his voice, pleading in whimpers for him to speak.

“Bet you feel so good—you’re always so tight, baby. Don’t think I can ever fuck anyone ever again, that’s how perfect you are, you ruined me.”

“Jesus, Frankie.”

He snorts, it travelling down your ear—furthering the flames that lick violently up your spine. More so, when he tells you to add another finger, curling them inside of you, annoyed that they’re not as thick as his, not as precise, not as good, nice or perfect.

“Wish you were here,” you say, letting it fall out in a moan.

It is too late to retract. To take back. Not even caring that it’s out there.

He stammers, you hear it—light, barely smothered, until he says, “I wish I was there too.”

His words continue. How he’d fuck you with his tongue, have you on all fours, fingers splayed over your back. Interconnecting his words with directions, your other hand drawing swirling, flicking as your walls tighten around the fingers buried inside of you.

“Need you.”

“I know, baby. I know. You’re so good for me.”

Your eyes clenched shut, feeling it building, rising, practically smothering up from your toes to your stomach—it all warm, hot—

“Please, baby,” he adds.

Let go. Let me have it. Come for me.

All words he doesn’t say, but barrel into you and shove you over the edge. Your breath hitching, body tensing—walls tightening around the fingers stuffed inside of you as you begin free falling, descending, swallowed by fire that smothers every part of you as your brain empties, body becoming more noodle than muscle and tendons.

Because of him.

For him.

“Bet you taste sweet,” he whispers, a noticeable shift in his voice, a little break between the words.

You let yourself smirk. It sliding over the soft smile that had appeared from how relaxed you now felt.

Because you know. Can tell from the little breaths he tries to keep from you—the tiny tells he thinks he’s a master at disguising.

“Want me to try?” you ask, voice dropping, low, husky. “Want me to taste myself?”

He pleads, more a whisper, a breath, than any word. But it’s there, please.

And you do. Tongue around the digits, swirling, tasting what he did to you, from all those miles away. Unsure what he has awoken in you, your body flushing under the praise which rolls from him in tandem, hoping to fuck he never calls you a good girl around the others.

CHAPTER SIX ->

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales smut #Frankie morales x reader smut #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #jo: iltwy #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #frankie morales smut #triple frontier smut #frankie morales x f!reader smut #pedrostories

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cevansbrat0007 · 1 year

Text

Promises, Promises

Summary: Ari exacts a promise from you as a reward for his patience.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Needy Ari Levinson, Implied Smut, Light Oral Sex (fem rec), Allusions to Public Sex, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: Written for my sweet friend, @curls-and-eyeliner. Just a little Ari Levinson goodness. Not sure if it has a place, but for now it's going to fall in line with my Trio Series.

___

“C’mon. C’mon.” You murmur as you try and fail yet again to maneuver the thin leather strap of your heel through the small silver buckle. “Almost – you little piece of shit!” While the shoes were wearing tonight paired phenomenally with your dress, you were starting to feel like the effort to fasten them just wasn’t worth it anymore.

Sometimes you really fucking hated heels.

Huffing out a breath, you allow your body to go limp before collapsing back against the chair in defeat. You’d been at it for the better part of ten minutes. And frankly, at this point, you’d much rather go barefoot than have to fuck with this shoe one more time.

Ari would just have to understand. Maybe if you asked nicely your man would get onboard with you rocking a pair of sneakers to tonight’s medal ceremony – even if they did manage to clash with your overall look.

“Ready to go, Bird?” Ari calls out from the bathroom. “I don’t want us to be late.”

“Almost!” Comes your frustrated reply, just in time for him to rejoin you in the bedroom. He gives you a thorough onceover, his soulful blue eyes darkening as he scans you from head to toe. Grinning, he runs his fingers through his already tousled chestnut brown locks.

Ari Levinson was virtually hopeless when it came to styling his own hair. The moment he got even a little remotely agitated or flustered he became unable to keep his hands out of it. Lucky for him, he somehow always managed to look positively sinful no matter what.

And tonight was no exception.

“Fuck, baby…” He rasps.

“I swear I’m almost ready.” You hurry to reassure him, thinking that he might be annoyed with you. “It’s this damn shoe, though. I can’t seem to fasten the stupid strap and it’s pissing me off.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do with you?” He mumbles, seemingly to himself.

“Well you could either give me another minute or you could help…” You trail off when your beast of a man drops to his knees in front of you before plucking the offending heel from your grasp. It drops to the floor with a soft thud. “...me with this clasp. What–what are you doing?”

“How am I supposed to take you out now, looking like this?” His already deep voice lowers several more octaves. The comforting weight of his large palms go to rest on the tops of your thighs.

A sinking feeling enters the pit of your stomach. Perhaps you should’ve given your boyfriend a peek at your outfit beforehand instead of waiting until tonight. That way if he didn’t like it you would’ve had time to figure out a backup dress.

“What’s wrong with the way I look, Ari?”

“Absolutely nothing.” His intoxicating gaze bores into you, making you feel dizzy even as goosebumps raise across your flesh. “You look stunning, sweetheart. Like a vision and a wet dream rolled into one.”

“Oh.” Is all you can seem to manage, his whispered compliment taking you by surprise.

Although you’re not quite sure why. You could walk around wearing a pair of his boxers and a raincoat and this man would still be ready to bend you over the nearest flat surface and fuck you stupid.

“And honestly, as excited as I am to have you on my arm this evening, I don’t know if I still want to go.” One hand slowly trails down your leg, the slightly roughened pads of his fingers smoothing their way over your calf to gently grip your ankle.

“B–but…tonight’s supposed to be a celebration. And you’re the guest of honor.” You rasp, your mouth suddenly dry as Ari presses a tender kiss to the inside of your bare foot.

“So?” He gifts you with another kiss, this one accompanied by the faint brush of his tongue along the inside of your ankle. “You and this dress have me thinking about all the ways we can celebrate right here. From the comfort of our home.” You feel your pulse begin to quicken.

“We can’t.” You gently admonish as you try to pull away. But his hold remains steadfast. “Besides, if you stay down there much longer –” you gesture towards his position on his knees – “you’re going to wrinkle your pants, assuming you haven’t already ruined the crease.” Your big beast of a man quirks an amused brow in response.

“I’m serious, Ari Levinson.” You blow out a shaky breath, wishing you sounded more confident. “Now, you help me with this shoe so we can get out of here. At the rate we’re going, we’ll be lucky if we’re only fashionably late.”

“Is that right?” Ari’s eyes light up at your words, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. “That an order, baby?”

“Uh huh.” Of its own accord, your hand reaches out to caress his freshly trimmed beard. Ari sighs quietly and leans into your touch. “You’d better believe it, Beast.” He growls low in his throat, the animalistic sound making your nipples pebble through the material of your bra.

“Well then I guess I better do as my lady says.” A hint of mischief creeps into his tone, coupled with a smile. “Wouldn’t want to upset my gorgeous girl now would I? But before I do that, I’m also thinking I’m gonna need you to make me a promise. Can you do that for me?”

Ari loosens his hold on your ankle only to drape your leg over one of his broad shoulders. And then his hands move to the hem of your dress, slowly rucking it up your thighs to stop just below your hips – revealing the lacy scrap of black fabric hidden beneath.

“Y-yes.”

“In return for being such a good boy, I’m gonna need you to promise you’ll let me fuck you tonight. And when I do, I want you wearing nothing but these heels.” He leans forward and buries his face in the sweet juncture located between your parted thighs.

“Okay.” You could definitely do that.

“I get to choose the time and the place. But don’t worry, baby. You have my promise to keep you wet and ready for me until I decide on the perfect moment.” He then inhales your scent, nuzzling his nose against the increasingly damp lace. A muffled groan escapes when he does it again. His grip tightens as his fingers dig into your skin.

Almost as if he’s already regretting his decision to agree to leave the house.

“Ari.” His name emerges as whimper, soft and pleading.

“Promise me, Bird. Promise you’ll reward me for being so good. For showing restraint.” Each spoken word feels like a heated lash against your panty-covered clit. “Please.” Ari sucks the bud into his warm mouth, making you cry out as your thighs clench around his head.

“Yes!” You hiss as he continues to tease.

“Say my name again.” He rasps, flicking the swollen nub with his tongue. “Say it just like that when you make your promise.”

“Ooh, Ari!” Your hips buck and writhe beneath his sensual assault. “Yes, okay? I promise!”

A primal sound bursts forth from his chest – a something between a snarl and a purr – as he forces himself to pull away. “Okay.” He grunts, his breathing slightly labored.

Ari doesn’t say another word as he goes about picking up your forgotten heel. He slips it on your foot and deftly buckles the strap as if he does it all the time. Your body is on fire as you prepare to sit up and fix your dress, only for your man to stop you with a hand on your belly.

“I plan to wear you out tonight, baby.” Two long, thick fingers hook themselves into the waistband of your panties. “Swear to God, you’re gonna feel me for days.”

The sight of your man’s feral grin is your only warning before the flimsy piece of lingerie is all but ripped from your skin, eliciting a shocked gasp from you. Ari rises and tucks the ruined lace into his pocket before helping you stand on shaky legs.

Ever a beast, he proceeds to haul you against his solid chest. And then your eyes flutter closed as his mouth descends over yours in a searing kiss. You melt against him as your hands fall to his biceps, holding on to him while he takes his time with you. His talented tongue dues with your own in short, playful thrusts. One of his hands slips to your ass, giving you a rough squeeze.

When it’s over, you’re both breathless. And the impressive bulge in Ari’s slacks makes it obvious that he’s ready for more. A clock chimes in the distance, breaking your reverie. It’s a not-so-subtle reminder that you two needed to leave soon. As in now.

“Guess we’ll just have to pick this up later.” You murmur, even though you have yet to move.

“Damned right we will.” Ari growls, his eyes glittering with unbridled lust. “So you’d better keep your promise.”

“And if I don’t?” You tease, finally finding the resolve to pull away. He lets you go before walking over to the bed to snag your clutch. Meanwhile, you busy yourself with fixing your dress.

“You will.” Your man hands it over before linking his fingers through yours and leading you down the hall towards the stairs.

"I mean, but what if I change my mind?" You tamp down a giggle. Now probably wasn't the best time to tease your man, but you just couldn't seem to help yourself.

"You won't." Ari assures you once more before halting his movements. He turns to face you again before tenderly grasping your chin in his hand. "You'd never do that to me, sweet girl. But if you did, I suppose I'd just have to remind you of what happens to little brats who break their promises to their men now wouldn't I?" His lidded eyes practically dare you to disagree.

"Y-yes." You whisper, swallowing thickly as he brushes his thumb across your bottom lip. "I'll be good."

"Well, thank goodness for that. I'm so glad we have an understanding, baby." Ari purrs, allowing his hand to fall away as you resume your procession towards the door. "Because I'd be pretty pissed if I had to fuck you in the middle of the banquet hall in full view of everyone." He opens the door and ushers you into the garage, smacking your ass for good measure.

"But that also doesn't mean I won't."

END

1K notes · View notes

ughgoaway · 5 months

Text

An encounter

content warnings; smut (duh), threesome, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, slight cumplay maybe? swearing, drinking and possibly mediocre writing. and also probably more things I'm forgetting...

a/n; idk why, but I have actually never been more nervous to post a fic?? maybe I'm just insecure because JESUS CHRIST writing threesomes is so fucking difficult. I'm just thankful there was only one dick involved in this one. also i fear i made this a little too gay... i mention the girlfriend A LOT. soooo... sorry about that <3

anyway special thanks to @think0fmehigh for being the nicest human ever and encouraging me to try and write this!! she is to blame if this is awful (jk it is all my fault lol)

word count; 5k -ish

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Sweaty bodies press into your sides, the beat of the music pumps through the room, and you can feel the vibrations moving within you. With a heavy sigh and a wide smile, you throw your head back, letting your body move to the song carelessly.

The music was swirling in your brain, and you were carelessly dancing, paying no attention to anyone else around you. So when you feel someone bump into you from behind, you immediately go to apologise.

Before you get a chance, you feel a pair of hands slide around your waist. You flick your eyes down and see perfectly manicured red nails spreading across your stomach, almost as if they were asking permission to pull you back into their body.

Maybe it's the alcohol running through your veins, or the music pumping in your ears, or perhaps the fact that you haven't had a good fuck in 4 months. But you lean back into the mystery person's grip, pressing yourself against their hot body.

A wave of floral perfume overtakes your senses. The sickly sweet scent causes goosebumps to spread over your skin as you fight the urge to throw your head back and bury your head in her neck. sharp nails dig deeper into your skin, and you feel yourself hoping that she leaves crescent-shaped marks behind, to prove that this feeling is real.

After a few minutes of moving together, you gain the confidence to flick your eyes back, to finally see the woman who has been practically fucking you in the middle of a crowded club Heavy eyeliner surrounded her hooded eyes and a deep red lipstick was smudged over her lips. Long curls of hair fell down her neck and chest, and even in the dark lights of the club, you could see her glowing skin, each pulsing light highlighted the thin sheen covering her.

With this newfound confidence, you press your body back against hers, your sticky skin sliding together as you grind against her. The rumble of a groan rips through her chest, and you can feel the vibrations as she presses herself even closer to you. Power thrums through your veins, and you can't help but giggle at the feeling of heat pulsating through you.

After a few minutes of dancing together, you feel her bend down to your ear. You prepare yourself for her hot breath in your ear, for her to whisper filthy things that make you drip down your thighs. You swear you can almost hear her inviting her back to her place, asking if she can bury her face between your legs until you're a sobbing mess.

Instead, she traces the outline of your ear with her tongue and begins pressing kisses to the outside of your neck, nipping and sucking your damp skin.

You let out a shuddered gasp at the sensation, and you can feel a smirk dancing across her lips. She slides her hands down from your waist to the tops of your thighs, inching dangerously close to your barely covered core.

The short skirt you were wearing didn't leave much to the imagination, and you wouldn't be shocked if she’d already caught a glimpse of your red panties from the way you were moving against her.

Once the song ends, you feel her grip around you loosen, and images of her spinning you around and shoving her tongue in your mouth as she gropes your exposed skin come to mind.

Except, before you can process the loss of her, she's slinked off into the crowd, leaving you breathless and annoyingly turned on.

Fucking hell. time for a drink.

You manage to part the sea of bodies and stumble to the bar, you shout over the pumping music and order a vodka cranberry. It might be a basic drink, but it was cheap and cheerful, and just what you need after being pied off by one of the hottest women you've ever seen.

“Put it on my tab mate, what's one more drink?” you hear a deep voice from behind you say, the timbre of his voice makes your pulse skitter. It was silky smooth and dripping with something you couldn't quite put your finger on. It wasn't confidence or hunger, not even lust. It was just something.

you feel his body press up against you before he slides onto the stool to your left, his hot breath dances over the back of your neck, and you almost shiver at the sensation. But you were more than ready to shoot him down, you didn't come expecting anything tonight, and after dancing with that girl for 10 minutes you're not sure a man could fill the hole she’d left behind.

However, when you flick your eyes over to him, any sense of apprehension melts away and is replaced with pure lust. His dark eyes still managed to glow in the low lights of the club, and his pretty wine-stained lips were already begging to be bitten and kissed. Perfect ringlets framed his face, dark but with swirls of grey dancing through them. A light spattering of facial hair covered his jaw, just enough to scratch your skin deliciously.

“Thanks” you say, smirking over at the mystery man. You pause and wait for him to fill in his name, but he doesn't. Simply smiling smugly and taking a sip of his red wine, you watch a droplet fall on his lips and study the way his tongue darts out to catch it.

His intense eye contact makes you nervous, and you almost pull your eyes away. His heavy gaze was confident, as if he knew something you didn't. You almost scoff at his obvious bravado, but that dies in your throat when you see the woman you were dancing with earlier slink up to his side.

His calloused fingers slide around her waist, and you can see the tension in his grip, his almost white fingertips letting everyone know he was staking his claim on her.

“Hey baby,” she says, bending down and kissing the mystery man messily. You can see their tongues dancing in each other's mouths. The kiss is filthy, all teeth and tongues, perfectly wet and sticky, strings of saliva trailing between the pair.

You can feel yourself yearning to be involved somehow, to be pressed between them. You want to be both of them. You want to feel the grip of his hand around your neck like it is on hers, the subtle display of dominance making your pulse race. But you also want that dominance rattling through your bones. You want to overpower her and let her know who owns who.

The bartender slamming your glass on the bar in from of you pulls you out of the trance you were in, and you already feel a flush covering your cheeks. The heat spreads down your neck and chest, a pretty pink haze covering every piece of your skin. Fucking hell, you hope they didn't notice the way you were gawking at them.

They did, of course.

You start gulping down your drink, needing whatever liquid courage you can get right now. The man grabs your glass to stop you, gripping the base forcefully, “Woah, slow down there, love. Dont want you drinking too much tonight.”

You eye him suspiciously and place the glass down, “no? Why’s that?” You smirk over at the pair of them, tracing the rim of your cup with your ring finger. The girl bites her lips, leaving you completely entranced by the view of them both in front of you.

The throaty laugh from the man in front of you pulls you back once again, and you can see in his eyes that he knows you want her. And that you want him to.

“Well, not to be a cliche,” she starts, tracing your body with her eyes shamelessly, lingering as long as she pleases, “but we saw you across the bar and thought you were beautiful” She finished her sentence with a smirk and a lick of her lips.

You can see the man's hands tense again, pulling her in even closer to his side. The light dances over her exposed legs as she slides into his lap without a second thought, draping herself over him. You can't help but follow the line of her legs all the way up, your eyes catch at the highest slither of skin, and you imagine that if she moved her leg ever so slightly you would be able to see what underwear she was wearing.

But based on how tight her dress was and the lack of panty lines, you would guess the answer is none.

You snort out a laugh at her wording, fanning yourself as the heat of the club begins to get to you, "This is starting to sound like the start of a shit porno”

You gulp down the remainder of your drink and hold eye contact with the man as you do, and you revel in the way his irises darken even further at your teasing actions. You know you couldn't keep up this faux-dominant act much longer, but his reactions were too tantalising to stop. The way his shoulder tensed and his pupils blew out.

You could see his chest shake with laughter every time you pretended to be in control. He could see right fucking through you.

“We were hoping it would end up being more like a good porno,” he drawls out, “if you agree to come home with us, that is” You follow his hand as it runs through his hair, before dropping to his wine glass and wrapping around it.

You can see the glimmer of a tattoo poking out of his sleeve, and you find yourself yearning to know if he has any more. Or if his pretty girlfriend does. Maybe you could trace each one with your tongue, holding eye contact with them as you did.

You know you should mull this over more, make them work for it. But honestly, any fight you might have put up disappeared about 3 months ago.

“Call a cab then, let's go have a little fun”

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The poor cab driver is trying his best to keep his eyes on the road, but he can't help but flick them up to the rearview mirror every once in a while to catch the movie playing out behind him.

You’re sitting in between the two of them, Matty's lips are hot against your neck, licking and sucking every piece of exposed skin. He kisses over the lipstick stains left by Scarlett, smiling as he thinks about sharing you between them. Your face is stained with smudged red as her lips work fervently against yours. The taste of her is almost overtaking your senses. The sweet strawberry flavour fills your mouth.

You only learnt their names when you were desperately kissing Matty outside the club, and you heard Scarlett groan it from behind you. Was it kind of slutty to agree to a threesome before you knew either of their names? Maybe, but you never claimed to not be a slut.

Matty works diligently behind your ear, sucking a deep purple hickey into your soft skin. You moan wantonly at the sensation, and you can feel the smirk on Scarlett's lips at your needy noises. Matty pulls from your neck and twists your head away from Scarlett, pushing his lips against yours harshly and licking inside your mouth.

He snaps away with a heaving chest and smirks over to his girlfriend, “Can fucking taste you on her tongue. Do you like that angel? I can already tell she’s been all over you” You whimper needily, nodding desperately at Matty and pulling his curls, craving his lips back on yours.

Scarlett's hands slide over your chest, palming your boobs and thumbing over your nipples through the thin mesh of your shirt. The scratch of the fabric against your sensitive skin was dizzying, and you had to fight every urge to fall back into her and moan helplessly.

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you both stumbled into the house messily, following Matty's every command. Which led you here, kneeling on the bed in front of him, panting, staring at Scarlett with lust-blown eyes.

“Put on a little performance for me ladies, c'mon” Matty demands, sitting back against the pillows and watching you both wordlessly, his eyes growing dark at the scene playing out in front of him.

Scarlett peels off her poor excuse for a dress, and you watch with wide eyes, tracing over every inch of her body. She tugs at your clothes, and you follow her silent order, ripping off your tiny skirt and flimsy shirt quickly.

You see her hold in a moan at the sight of you just in your panties, her teeth scraping over her lips as she hungrily eyes you over. Your shirt looked bad with a bra, so you decided to forgo one tonight, much to her delight.

She surges forward and pushes you onto the bed below, hovering over you with dark eyes before kissing your neck hungrily, marking you wherever she can reach. With featherlight kisses, she begins moving down your body, flicking her eyes up to you and grinning at the blissed-out look on your face.

Matty hisses as he palms himself over his jeans, the pressure of the heavy fabric against his hard cock was making his head hazy. But he kept teasing himself, watching as his girlfriend began to make her way down your exposed chest. Every new patch of skin was explored, tracing it with her tongue and mouthing over you, nipping and soothing as she moved.

Breathy moans leave your lips at the sensation of her mouth on your skin, the way her hot breath dances over you . Goosebumps arise all over your body. The heat was pulsing in your veins, and it kept growing hotter the further down she moved. Her heavy breathing over your clothed core made you feel as if you were burning from the inside out.

Scarlett flicked her eyes up to Matty and wordlessly asked his permission. After a hasty nod, she grabbed the string of your panties with her teeth and began tugging them down your shaking thighs. Your jaw dropped as you watched the vision in front of you, thoughtlessly you lifted your hips to help her drag your underwear off you.

The cold air against your wet cunt made you gasp, your slick spreading over your inner thighs as you writhed helplessly. With a heavy smirk, Scarlett came crawling back up the bed, gripping your knees and ripping your legs apart, you saw her eyes grow darker at the sight of you all spread out for her.

“Such a pretty pussy, can I taste?” you open your mouth to answer, but before you can get a word out you hear Matty’s voice all around you,

“Go on baby, let me see you eat her”

You feel Matty moving behind you as Scarlett edges closer to your core, pressing wet kisses up your thighs, tasting the slick spread over them. You open your eyes to Matty looming over you, his eyelids heavy, and his chest heaving.

His once perfectly manicured curls are now frazzled from your hands running through them, pulling and revelling in the grunts that were ripped from his throat. His neck was already blooming with purple hickies, scratches framing them perfectly from Scarlett's hands desperately pawing at him.

Scarlett finally puts her mouth on you, licking a broad stripe up your pussy before sucking your clit harshly, moaning desperately at the taste of you, as if she would die without you filling her senses.

She mouthed at you like you were a delicate fruit, spreading your lips with her tongue and tasting every inch she could. Your slick was dripping down her chin, like juice from a peach. She burrowed herself deeper in your pussy, flicking her tongue over your clit and teasing it with the tip.

Just as Scarlett begins her assault on your cunt, Matty crashes his lips onto yours, moving harshly and licking needily at the seam of your closed mouth. He bites down on your bottom lip gently, causing a gasp to fall from your mouth.

Matty seizes the opportunity to shove his tongue inside, smirking at the feeling of you meeting him and tangling them together. He pulls back, panting, trying to catch what little breath he has. When you finally open your eyes again, he can barely see the colour of them, black pupils overtaking every inch.

The fog surrounding you made you feel like you were underwater. All you could hear was your muffled groans and deliciously wet and sticky noses from Scarlett between your legs. Matty pulled your attention back with a cruel laugh as he brought his thumb up to your bottom lip, coaxing your mouth open delicately.

You watch as spit falls from his lips, the light catching it as it drops into your waiting mouth. A loud cry falls rips out of your chest as you swallow diligently, and Matty growls as he slams his lips back against yours, chasing the taste of himself.

Scarlett continues to devour you with a sly smirk on her face, listening to your cries muffled by Matty’s lips. He can feel the vibrations of every pretty noise you make. Part of him wants to separate so he can hear your cries, but he can't bring himself to pull away from your waiting mouth.

Eventually, his lack of oxygen means Matty drags himself away from you again, strings of spit spreading between you gleaming in the light. Matty’s lips were puffy and ruby-red from your harsh kisses. They pulled into a familiar smile as he flicked his eyes down to his girlfriend between your thighs.

She holds his eye contact, and you can feel her smile against your core. They ignore you as they stare at each other, treating you as if you're simply there as a toy for their pleasure.

“Does that feel good, angel?” Matty asks teasingly. Just as you whimper out a response, he moves his hands down your chest, pulling and teasing your nipples. You cry weakly, squirming at the onslaught of sensations on your pebbled skin.

The whites of your eyes are all matty can see as you whimper and moan, your jaw drops as he tugs at your tits, and it shakes as he soothes them with his palms

Scarlett continues to consume you, fucking you with her tongue mercilessly, your sopping hole welcoming her hungrily. Each motion brought you closer to the edge, and Matty could tell by your hazy eyes and wrecked moans. But he didn't want you to cum just yet, he needed to drag this out a little longer.

With a harsh tug, he drags Scarlett out from between your thighs, a garbled moan leaves her lips, and Matty can see your wetness covering the bottom half of her face.

You cry at the loss of sensation, but any complaints leave you when you see the image in front of you. Scarlett’s hair was a mess from your hands pulling at it needily, her eyes were hooded and you could see the remnants of her lipstick smudged over her cheeks and chin, the Ruby-woo framing her mouth beautifully.

Matty grunts at the sight and pulls her in roughly, desperately licking in her mouth and devouring her, chasing the taste of you. The musky taste fills his mouth, and they both moan needily, your slick spreading over their faces as they move their mouths together.

You lay there helplessly as they made out above you, entranced by how fucking filthy they looked. Any orgasm that was building within you was quickly fading but you couldn't care less as you watched them in awe.

With a filthy smirk, Matty pulls away from her, flicking his eyes down to you before his grin grows even more. “Get on your hands and knees,” he orders, clicking his fingers at you. Laughing as you immediately begin to scramble, following his every demand.

“Lie down in front of her, she's gonna eat your pretty cunt now, sweetheart” Scarlett nods in a haze, moving without a second thought.

✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿

You lap desperately at her clit, teasing it with the tip of your tongue and sucking on it hungrily. A mixture of her slick and your saliva is dripping down your chin, but all you can focus on is fucking her with your tongue.

But soon your focus is ripped away from you as you feel Matty sink into your needy pussy, you feel your walls welcome him easily, pulsing around his shaft.

Matty stands behind you and smooths his hands over your ass, watching the skin pull under his palms as he pounds into you. Jckhammering his hips as he stares in awe, studying how you desperately mouth at his girlfriend's pussy.

Every swirl of your tongue drives you crazier, the distinctly sweet taste overtakes your senses, and you can't help but eat her out like a woman starved.

The pleading whimpers falling from your lips are muffled by Scarlett's pussy, she feels the vibrations of your begging against her. With each moment the coil in her stomach is only winding tighter and tighter.

She cracked her eyes open to take in the scene in front of her, you mouthing at her between her legs and Matty pumping into you with a merciless rhythm. Part of her wishes Matty was fucking her rather than you, but she soon forgets that when you bury your tongue as deep as you can into her hole and lick her walls, chasing her g-spot greedily. She kicks her legs helplessly at the feeling, ecstasy bubbling in her gut.

Your eyes are closed in bliss as shockwaves rattle through you. Electricity is running through your veins with every thrust. You can tell you’re already nearing the edge, Scarlett's mouth having already brought you so close only minutes earlier. Warning bells go off in your head telling you to warn Matty, but the combination of his deep thrusts and her delicious cunt was dizzying, making it impossible for you to pull away.

If you didn't know better you'd think Matty was in your fucking guts, every thrust feels deeper than the last. He's brutally pumping into you, not giving you any rest before pressing himself as deep as he can inside you.

Somehow, he finds that spot inside of you with each roll of his hips, causing stars to dance across your vision whenever he buries himself inside you to the hilt. You can hear his animalistic grunts behind you every time your warm walls welcome him inside.

Beads of sweat drip from his neck down his chest pooling in his collarbones as he ruts into you, and he can feel your racing pulse in your pussy.

“That feel good angel? You like it when I fuck you this? So. Fucking. Deep.” he punctuates each word with a hard thrust, skin slapping skin and moans are all you can hear in the room, cutting through the thick, hazy air.

Scarlett feels your moans get more are more needy against her she knows you're nearing the edge. The fire pooling in your abdomen is growing too hot to ignore.

Only you can't bring yourself to pull away from her delicious nectar, moaning as you continue to eat her out furiously. Not letting her have a moment of peace, swapping between fucking her hole with your tongue and sucking on her puffy clit. Your fingers grip her thighs tightly, sliding your hands up her legs to pull apart her folds so you can drive further into her cunt.

“She’s- f-fuck. Little slut’s about to cum. I can fucking feel her- ugh- her desperate fucking whines against my cunt.” Scarlett can't help the cry that falls from her lips when she finishes speaking, her words only driving you harder.

Matty laughs cruelly at you both, ripping his hands away from his tight grip on your hips to clasp the back of your head.

“Oh yeah? Is that right angel? You have to make her cum first before you can, sweet girl. C’mon, make her cum all over your pretty face” Matty pushes your head further into her overstimulated cunt, making you both whine and cry out powerlessly.

Scarlett’s words seemingly do the same thing for Matty that they did to you, and you can feel his speed up even more, sinking into you feverishly. The tip of his dick massages your walls as he fucks you.

The burning in Matty's thighs is nothing but an afterthought, all he can focus on is making you feel so good that you can't help but make Scarlett cum. He wants to watch her fall apart in front of him whilst he pumps another girl full of his cum. “You're such a slut, letting us use you like a fucking sex toy. Just here for our- shit- our amusement.” he laughs wickedly at his words, and at the muffled whimper he hears from you afterwards.

Maybe it's Matty’s words or the way your tongue is driving into her mercilessly, but Scarlett finally feels the rubber band inside of her snap. With a shout, she squirts all over your face, covering you and the sheets below in her juices.

She would swear on whatever God there might be that she's never felt this fucking good, every nerve ending is on fire and she can feel a tingle from her toes all the way up to her scalp. Her legs kick helplessly as the sensation continues, dragging on for what feels like forever.

As soon as you feel her release on your face, you can help cumming. Crying into her cunt as you fall apart around Matty’s cock. You're practically convulsing at the feeling, especially when Matty continues to fuck into you with abandon.

But you can’t pull yourself away from Scarlett, so you understand the primal need to keep going. You can feel your pulse in your head, racing as Matty continues to pound into you, the sound of your pumping blood swirling in your ears.

Matty groans and throws his head back. Your wet walls pulsing around him were almost enough to push him over the edge. But Scarlett yanking you by your hair off of her pussy and moving down until she was licking her juices off your face, all whilst holding eye contact with Matty, was the final fucking straw.

With a heavy grunt, Matty empties himself inside of you, each pulse of your walls around him milking his cock. Shockwaves gripped his body as Matty continued his shallow thrusts inside you, the slight overstimulation making his vision blur.

With a heaving chest, Matty stops moving, throwing his head back in ecstasy just as the feelings blooming within him start to dissipate.

Scarlett flops back on the bed unceremoniously, her body aching as she lets out an airy giggle at the absurdity of what just happened. You can't help but join her, breathless giggles falling from your lips, which are only interrupted by a sharp hiss when Matty pulls out of you.

“I know, sorry angel.” Matty pouts as he speaks, but very quickly gets distracted.

“Fuck.” he whispers, watching his cum drip from your weeping hole. The pearly streams of his release fall out of you, leaving milky trails in their wake, decorating your skin beautifully.

“Come over here baby, look how fucking filthy she is” Matty waves Scarlett over and she scrambles up immediately, crawling over the bed to stare at your pussy.

She moans at the sight of her boyfriend's cum dripping out of you, she imagines the taste of him combining with the sweet taste of your cunt from earlier, and the idea makes her mouth water.

Without a second thought, she leant forward and started lapping at your hole, cleaning you up with her tongue. You cry out at the feeling, gripping the sheets so hard your knuckles turn white, and your jaw shakes as the sensations rattle through your bones.

“Stop,” you protest weakly, “if I cum again i think i'll die” You whimper at the feeling of Scarlett's breathy laugh against you, even the puff of hot air feels like too much.

Thankfully, she pulls away quickly, slotting her mouth against Matty’s, dripping his cum from her tongue onto his as she kisses him. He grunts at the feeling, marvelling at the taste of all three of you in his mouth.

Matty briefly thinks that this night might be one of the hottest things to ever happen to him, but his girlfriend moaning against his lips brings him back to earth.

“I'm so fucking glad I went to the club tonight,” you say as you flop forward onto the blanket, flipping over to see Matty and Scarlett sitting at the end, licking into each other's mouths with abandon.

She pulls away with a filthy smirk, eyeing Matty before turning to you and crawling over, “We are too. Turned out better than a shit porno, no?” she giggles as she quotes your words earlier in the night. You see Matty move his hand and lightly slap her ass, smirking at her weak cry.

“Cheeky, but true. It was very nice meeting you…” Matty pauses and in that moment realises he hadn't thought to ask your name this whole night.

You look up at him with a teasing smirk and shake your head, “Y/n. Thanks for asking, by the way,” you turn your focus to Scarlett, pressing your lips against hers with a light giggle.

“y/n, yes. Meant to ask that.” he says with a smirk, following Scarlett's lead and moving up the bed to meet the two of you.

#oopsie i hate this ahhhhh #i think... its not great #but i put too much work into this to not post it #but if we all hate it... i will delete #anyway shut up ace here you gooooo #hope all the queers of 75 tumblr enjoy #matty healy smut #matty healy fic #matty healy x oc x you #matty healy x reader #the 1975 smut #matty healy fanfiction

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kiwicopia · 9 months

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🔞 MDNI | Kinktober: Monster 🔞

🎃 Vampire!Aizen x Noble!Fem!Reader 🎃

TW: Monster fucking, some blood, reader gets fed on a little, use of vampiric powers, reader gets gagged, wall fucking, some praise, reader tasting her own blood, slight non-con, use of a pet name, creampie.

tags: @stygianoir @shes-so-insane @byakuyawifey @uzxotic

Sosuke Aizen was a man completely shrouded in mystery. No one knew who he was or where he had come from. Or rather, no one knew where his wealth came from. He wasn’t tied to any of the noble houses within the city, nor was it known whether he could have been a distant relative of someone living here. All anyone knew was that he was rich enough to host such grand and extravagant masquerade balls almost every week. It wouldn’t have struck you as peculiar if the host attended his parties most of the time, yet each time he was nowhere to be seen. Not that it bothered any of his guests. After all, almost all of them were far too drunk and engrossed with the party to even care. Except you.

You noticed how he would disappear right before things would start—typically before the first dance—and he wouldn’t return until most of his guests had left. What was even stranger was the fact that he would be accompanied by a young woman each time, only that it would be a different one every week. No one thought anything of it, and neither did you, until those women were noted as missing in the papers. Still, no one thought about who it could have been or how it could have happened—except for you. You knew. Which was why you decided to investigate the matter.

His routine was the same every time. Host the party, mingle for a few moments, whisk a young woman away, and then return by himself to dismiss the guests. You had his routine down like clockwork, yet you never expected him to suddenly change things up this time. The party started off the same as any other. Aizen thanked all his guests for attending before setting out to mingle amongst a few of them. His lips curled into a smile that would give the devil a run for his money, and you watched as he chuckled softly at something a man said. However, the mood quickly shifted when something else was said, and you noticed the way the brunet’s brows furrowed in response. His lips were a taut line, and you could visibly see that he was now angered at what was said.

You weren’t able to hear what, exactly, they spoke of next, but you watched as the host whispered to the man before leading him elsewhere and away from the party. It was strange. Usually he took a woman, yet this time it was a man. With narrowed eyes, you followed them, making sure to keep your distance so neither would notice your presence. You weaved through the crowds of noblemen and women and eventually followed the pair into a dimly lit hallway.

The chattering of the guests was but faint sounds at this distance, and you quickly pressed yourself back against the wall as the pair stopped. They talked a bit too low for you to hear and, shortly after Aizen stepped closer to him, the man let out a deafening scream. Sadly, no one heard it—only you—and you watched as blood trickled down and stained the noble’s shirt.

You weren’t sure what was happening and, before you turned to leave, you saw them. The brunet turned slightly and gave you full view of his new appearance. Those warm eyes of his were now crimson, and a pair of fangs glinted faintly in the dim lighting as Aizen ran his tongue along them, lapping up any remaining blood. He feasted on that man. Drank his blood. Just what in the world was he?

“Are you going to stand there, my dear, or are you going to show yourself?” His voice brought you out of your thoughts, and you stared at him as he turned to face you. The man’s body crumpled to the floor, but Aizen paid no attention to it as his sole focus was now on you. You stepped out from your spot against the wall and watched as his lips curled into a slight smile. “That’s better,” he said, crimson eyes slowly looking you up and down. It made you feel uncomfortable, especially after witnessing what he had done to that man. “I didn’t expect to be found out so soon, and by a little lamb no less.”

He took a step forward and you took one backwards. “What are you?” Your question elicited a small chuckle from him as he stopped and gestured to his face, at which his mouth opened to reveal his fangs once more.

“Is it not obvious?” He asked. When you didn’t reply, he sighed. “I am called many things, my dear.” Aizen took another step forward, yet you remained in place. “A demon, a leech, a beast,” he paused momentarily as he took another step closer to you, “a vampire.”

Your brows furrowed in response to his claim. Such creatures were fables, were they not? Then again, he had just fed on a man right before your eyes. That was all the proof needed to back his words. “Did you do the same thing to those women that you did to him?” You asked. The brunet ceased his movements as his crimson eyes stared intently at you. He didn’t think anyone noticed him sneak off.

Aizen’s lips curled into a slight smile before he spoke. “Yes,” he replied, “although I was far gentler with them than I was with him.” He came closer once more and you backed away, again. You assumed that he planned to deal with you the same way he did the others. After all, you knew his little secret. You could try and run away from him. Perhaps you could make it back to the party and reveal the monster that he truly is. Though with your lack of a response, he figured your thoughts out before you could turn away from him. “I wouldn’t, dear. You won’t make it very far.”

You frowned at him, and he mimicked it and sighed when you disobeyed. Your body barely made it down the dimly lit hallway towards the ballroom before being shoved against the wall, and his hand clamped over your mouth to keep you quiet. Your sounds were muffled against his hold, and even more so with the loud laughter of the other partygoers.

“I tried to tell you,” he sighed, “though I should know by now that little lambs never listen.” You struggled against him in an attempt to break free from his hold, yet he was far too strong to relent. Aizen clicked his tongue at your squirming and tightened his hold on you before he leaned close, his nose barely touching yours. “Be still,” he commanded.

His pupils dilated as his crimson eyes bore into yours, and you suddenly felt a strange feeling wash over you. It was a sudden calmness that you knew he somehow forced. Your body felt more relaxed as the fear from earlier slowly ebbed away. It felt like magic, and you were inclined to believe he had some sort of power. When he felt your body cease its tedious wriggling, he smirked lightly.

“Good girl,” he whispered. Aizen’s face then moved to the side of your neck. You knew he was going to bite you, yet there was nothing you could do. Your body felt so heavy under his little spell. The only thing you were able to do was let out a shaky breath when his tongue slid a fat stripe from your collarbone and up your neck. Your reaction caused him to chuckle lightly. “I’m still a bit parched, my dear, so you won’t mind if I have a little drink, right?” The brunet didn’t wait for an answer and dove right in. His mouth stretched a bit as his fangs poked out, and he slid them down your neck, allowing them to scrape against your skin.

A small gasp fell from your lips as his fangs broke your skin, causing blood to slowly seep out. His tongue made quick work of the wound as it slowly lapped up the crimson substance. He hummed in delight at the sweet taste of your blood. It was far sweeter than that of the other women—or anyone for that matter—that he had fed on. It was delicious, and he let out a soft growl shortly after realizing just how euphoric feeding from you was starting to become.

For you, the experience was nothing short of odd yet satisfying. While it pained you when he first started, it was now becoming oddly arousing. You wondered if he could tell. Aizen pulled away from your neck and sighed in such content before glancing at you from the side. “You're quite delicious, little lamb,” he whispered, bringing his lips close to yours, “you should have a taste.” Without warning, his lips crashed against yours, and his tongue roughly pushed past your lips to taste you further. He still had remnants of your blood on his mouth, and you could easily recognize the harsh metallic taste it carried.

Though a simple kiss wasn’t what he intended. At least not at this moment. Initially, Aizen thought about killing you for finding the truth about what he was, however, his mind quickly changed the second he got a taste of your sweet, sweet blood. In all his years of being alive—or rather, undead—he had never tasted someone quite as delicious as you. No, he couldn’t kill you now. He’d keep you. Feeding on you wasn’t enough, though, and he knew that. You felt his arm snake itself around your waist while his other hand cupped your face as he pulled away from you.

“I am going to indulge myself with you,” he whispered, crimson eyes staring deeply into yours, “so relax yourself, little lamb, and enjoy.” The hand on your waist slid further down, grabbing a fistful of your dress and hiking it up and over your hips. You didn’t utter a single sound in response, and Aizen took note of that. “Don’t be so quiet, dear,” he said, “I want to hear you.” His other hand then removed itself from your face and slid down to your exposed thigh, gripping it with enough force to elicit a small moan from you. “That’s better, now put your arms around me.”

Your body moved on its own accord, and your arms immediately wrapped around his neck. This caused the brunet’s lips to curl into a slight smirk as he leaned in and kissed you, again. The distraction gave him enough time to not only pull down your panties, but for him to unzip his pants. Your brain was distracted to the point that you didn’t register what he was doing, until you felt his tip push past your folds as he buried himself inside of you. There was no warning, no preparation, nothing. You couldn’t deny the pleasure that came shortly after, though, mixing itself with the little bit of pain until it was all you could feel. Until it was the only thing you could feel.

A deep, guttural growl came from Aizen as he gripped your thighs a bit tighter now. You were so deliciously tight that he had to fight back the urge to cum that very second. As much as he wanted to repeatedly drill into you, he decided to take his time.His lips remained locked with yours, his tongue exploring every little crevice within your mouth before rubbing your tongue. You felt utterly divine to him. Not only with your blood but your body, too. It was almost as if you were made just for him.

Aizen’s body shuddered when you moaned against his lips, and he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting into you. His grip on your thighs tightened to the point where his nails dug into your skin, but that only seemed to draw out even more noises from you. It spurred him on. His movements were slow and sensual at first, as if savoring the way your insides molded perfectly with his length.

His body pressed into yours, keeping you balanced in-between him and the wall as he fucked you. The brunet kept your legs lifted, though his hands slid to your hips when they wrapped around his waist. Your constant moaning egged him on, your little noises nothing but absolute music to his ears. He couldn't recall the last time he had such a good fuck with a woman—or anyone.

“Little lamb,” he cooed, pulling away from your lips, “you’re making such sweet sounds for me.” His face leaned closer, his lips against your ear. “But I can’t have you being too noisy. Stragglers could find us, and I’d hate to have to kill them for interrupting our pleasure.” You then felt him pry your lips apart as he stuck a piece of cloth in your mouth. The material felt familiar, and it soon registered in your little mind that it was your panties. It did well to muffle your moans as Aizen started thrusting into you again.

His cock reached deeper and deeper, his tip kissing your cervix with each thrust. His pace was faster now, sliding in and out of your slick hole with relative ease now. Oh, he certainly believed you were made for him now. Your arms tightened around his neck as your jaw clenched from the pleasure, causing you to bite down on the panties in your mouth.

A muffled moan slipped out of you when you felt his fangs graze your neck, slicing into the same spot from earlier. The sensation of him not only drinking from you but also fucking you was unbearable, and it didn’t seem as though he would be letting up anytime soon. No, he kept going, and you kept moaning. However, when your body started lightly shaking, Aizen ceased feeding from you.

“Mm, you’re close, aren’t you?” He asked. When you gave a weak sound in response, he only smirked and picked up his pace. His arms wrapped around your waist as he shoved his face into your neck, and his body practically squished you up against the wall as he fucked you even harder. His cock continuously drilled itself into your soaked cunt, and his animalistic grunts filled your ears. Your walls sucked him each time he pounded into you. “Such a greedy little lamb,” he teased.

He pleased you in a way you didn’t think was even possible, and you loved every single second of it. With one small and final moan, albeit muffled against your gag, you came undone. The little spasm from your body sent the brunet over the edge, and he shoved himself into you one last time as his cum spilled out, filling your insides. He panted softly and kissed your neck as your walls clamped down on him, milking him for every drop of cum he had.

Aizen moved his head back so that he could see the look on your face. The complete and utter fucked-out-of-your-mind expression you held caused him to chuckle in response. “I believe you enjoyed it more than I,” he chuckled, again. His grip on your waist loosened as he pulled out of you, but he kept a hand in place while the other slid himself back into his pants. Your body felt so lightweight now, and you held onto him tightly, not wanting to let go.

What control he had over you earlier slowly ebbed away as your muddled thoughts returned to normal. The haziness from whatever power he used on you dissipated, and you stared at him with tired, half-lidded eyes. You had quite a few questions for this man, if you could even call him that now. “Why did you do it?” You asked in-between your soft panting.

“The women?” He raised a brow at you. “Food, of course,” he replied, “but that should have been a given. I’d say the same could be said for the man, but he didn’t taste as good as I thought. Now, as for you, little lamb, I’m quite certain you know what I was going to do to you.”

“Yet you didn’t, why?”

Aizen leaned his face closer to yours and smirked. “You have such a unique taste and feel, and so it would be a waste if I simply killed you.”

Your brows furrowed in response to his words. “Then what will you do to me?”

“I’m going to keep you, of course,” he replied. The smirk never left his face, and you frowned. “You’ll be mine, little lamb, forever.”

#bleach #bleach x reader #bleach x female reader #bleach x you #bleach x y/n #bleach aizen #aizen sousuke #sousuke aizen #aizen x reader #aizen sosuke x reader #aizen x y/n #aizen x you #aizen smut #aizen sosuke smut #bleach kinktober #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #mdni #kiwicopia writes

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mermaidgirl30 · 4 months

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✨Welcome to the Moulin Rouge✨

A/N: I have been wanting to write a Joel inspired Moulin Rouge story for a couple months now. Didn’t know what the storyline would be, didn’t know how to quite put it together until I was listening to “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers. Needless to say, the song majorly inspired this one shot. So I hope you enjoy all the angsty Joel feelings since this is in his POV 🥰 We love a good angsty, jealous Joel. Enjoy, lovelies! This might very well turn into a full series once I finish up some of my other wips if people are interested ❤️ Comments and reblogs always make my day 💕

“His eyes upon your face. His hand upon your hand. His lips caress your skin. It’s more than I can stand.”

- “El Tango De Roxanne” from Moulin Rouge

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Pairings: Joel Miller x Moulin Rouge fem dancer! reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Tags: Angst, longing, love, jealousy, flashbacks, no outbreak! Joel, Joel’s POV

Summary: Welcome to the Moulin Rouge where touches and gazing eyes turn to feelings and longing that overpowers all senses. That’s where Joel meets you, the girl of all his desires. The girl that starts a fire inside him that he can’t control. But he’s not the only one after her. No. And he’ll have to share even though it destroys him.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The night is dark, foggy, a haze of misty rainfall that pelts against his thin tan jacket. Drip, drip. The rain comes down harder, beating against the slicked back tousled curls that now lay flat against his head. The air is cold, numbing, just like his chest feels now. It’s as icy as his begrudging, still beating heart.

He can hear it, feel it. Almost like he’s there in the room right now with you. He can feel the way the other man claws at your soft skin, hears the stadistic words that spray like venom out of his dirty mouth to you, can taste the way he dips his vicious tongue into your inviting mouth as you swallow the guilt and disgust away deep down your closed-up throat. It burns like hot lava, burns like the back of a knife that cuts deep into his skin that smothers all nerve endings in one slice.

He can hear your faint cries of moans, feel you come apart around the other man, taste the stench of regret on your binded hands. You’re supposed to be his, not the other man’s. Mine, mine, mine. That’s all that plays in his aching head.

Jealousy. That’s what this is, that’s what it’s always been. Ever since he found out that you belonged to him. Terrance. The other man. The absolute pain in his spine. And it wasn’t by choice, it was never by choice. It was arranged, an untieable agreement that was set in place by your uncle long before Joel even knew about it.

It was about money. It was always about the fucking money. It was to save your future, to get you out of the Moulin Rouge. But it was also about all the wealth your uncle would get out of the arrangement. And it was so fucked that he couldn’t quite wrap his head around the mess he was tangled in, but he wanted you. He wanted you so goddamn bad and nothing could keep him from having you.

The rain continues, lightning crackling in the near distance as the Moulin Rouge sign blinks big red shaded letters over the whole city to see. It’s pulling the men in, calling their names to invite them into the twisted little fantasy where they’ll spend all their money and pay anything to sleep with the beautiful women of the Moulin Rouge.

The jealousy eats at him, consumes him as it twists its suffocating roots around his wrists and binds him to the ground where he has to watch you go into that back room of the Moulin Rouge with Terrance night after night.

It’s dismantling, unnerving to watch when there’s nothing he can do. He’s just a poor carpenter. He has no money to save you from this hell, has nothing to give except himself. But you always tell him that’s enough, that he’s enough for you. Because you want him, just like he wants you. He tells you he’s not good enough for you, can’t give you a bright future that you deserve. But you tell him he’s enough, more than enough. And it shakes him to the core every single time you tell him this.

His fingernails dig into the backs of his palms, almost to the point of feeling warm blood all over his hands. It’s too much, this is too much. He can hardly stand to even think of you in another man's arms. It burns, stings, pulls at him as his mind breaks apart. Ticking and ticking until he’s almost combusted into dust and remorse.

He needs to feel you, needs to wrap you in his arms as he holds you close in his little barely affordable single bedroom apartment. You always say you don’t care about the money, always say you just want him. And it makes the yearning even worse. Makes it barely tolerable.

You’ll come back, run to him when it’s all over, tell him how much you hate Terrance. Tell him how mean and cruel he is and that he just uses your body like a piece of meat, a golden trophy to display to all the rich, entitled pricks in the burlesque. It makes him sick, sicker than a starving dog. He wants to wring Terrance’s neck until he stops breathing, wants to really make him feel the pain that he does when you’re rolling around the sheets with Terrance, forced to perform for him. It makes him sick to death.

He takes a drag of his cheap Marlboro and inhales the toxic smoke as it soothes his racing heart, slowly blowing it out to try and clear his foggy, lovesick brain. He can almost smell the expensive brand of Cuban cigars Terrance lights after he fucks you, can almost see the way you lay there cold, lonely, in a heap of shame against the damp sheets. And it makes his skin absolutely boil with fury and resentment.

He’s not like Terrance. No. He cares about you, deeply, irrevocably. He’s always so careful with you, always so gentle and soothing and loving. He never does anything to hurt you, always puts your needs first, always takes care of you after he makes love to you in his tiny apartment. He loves you. Just like you love him, immensely.

He remembers the first night he came to the burlesque. He wasn’t even supposed to be here, but he found a group of unlikely writers that dragged him to the Moulin Rouge, to his doom. Remembers how he bought a bottle of whiskey that was so expensive he didn’t eat for two days after. He remembers the night so clearly, just like it was yesterday. Just like it was happening now.

He remembers seeing you for the first time up on that lit up stage, remembers how you kept glancing his way, eyes locking with his as you pulled him into a trance that was so strong that nothing could break it. He was hooked on the first look of your long waves that spiraled down your back, entranced by your big, beautiful eyes that called to him like a siren’s forbidden song, captured with the way your short, flowy pink dress hiked up your smooth thighs as tall, translucent heels wrapped around your feet as tight as they latched onto him.

He wasn’t supposed to end up in that dark room alone with you, wasn’t supposed to put his calloused hands on your smooth porcelain skin, wasn’t meant to dance with you to that slow, romantic song as he wrapped his arms around you and breathed in your sweet vanilla perfume. He wasn’t supposed to cup your chin and pull your lips up to his wanting mouth, wasn’t supposed to chase his tongue with yours as he drank down your cherry flavored taste, wasn’t supposed to get lost in your lips as he kissed and nipped at the plush skin, getting drunk off your taste, off your scent, off your skin.

He wasn't supposed to fall for you after one kiss, wasn’t supposed to tear off your dress and throw you on the bed as he crawled onto the silky sheets and crowded your body with his own. He wasn’t supposed to make love to you, wasn’t supposed to even be near you, but he did. He did. And it was the best thing he ever decided to do in his miserable life.

He was hooked right off the bat by your charm and your beautiful smile and the way you talked about your love of books. He wasn’t supposed to keep seeing you in secret, wasn’t supposed to keep coming back to you inside the burlesque, wasn’t supposed to fall for you when you had your entire life mapped out already.

He wasn’t supposed to fall completely in love with you. But he did, he did. So he’d take what he could, even if it was forbidden. Even if it meant there was a chance of getting caught. It was worth it to him, you were worth it. If he was caught, Terrance would surely put a gun to his head and pull the trigger, end the suffering he has to endure day after day. But he can’t stay away from you. No. You were his, and he was yours. Two doomed souls to walk the eternities of hell at the Moulin Rouge. Two fiery souls that burned for the other, pined for each other.

Forbidden love is like a bad habit that takes over every bleeding thought of the day. Inescapable, paralyzing, intoxicating. It feeds on you like a slow, corrupting disease. Consumes every part of your anxious, debilitating thoughts. But if that means he can have you, he’ll suffer. For you. For you he’ll do anything. Cross the entire ocean just to see your bright, starry eyes one last time. For you he’ll do it all. Anything. For you are his perfect diamond in the rough, his constant. Just as he is yours. The forbidden fruit you were never allowed to taste. But you did, you did.

Welcome to the Moulin Rouge where tainted dreams die and longing for the unreachable becomes your worst nightmare. The only thing that holds you up now is him. Only him. Your favorite forbidden desire. Your escape. Your lover.

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