What you can expect to see: Fanfics/ oneshots for a lot of different fandoms, oc x reader, ALOT of submissive boy things, random girl/ black girl reposts, sims 4 things.
DNI If; You are Maga, anti-black/ racist and homophobic.
Requests are open, feel free to ask questions!
If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.
the creature seeks company, not knowing they’re as lonely as he is.
warning: reader does sw, smut, teratophilia, loss of virginity (his), spit as lube, minor spit kink??, frankie is kinda a sub, unprotected sex, implication of past assault/s
word count: 4.8k
a/n: Even though the reader is gender neutral, they present in a feminine manner and wear feminine clothing and makeup. In the smut, penetration is involved but I only refer to it as a hole. And no matter how tall you are, do you think you’ll be taller than the creature?? So yeah hopefully this is inclusive lol please tell me if there’s anything biased I didn’t catch in my writing
For the past week, two shadows follow you. Yours and a bigger one that lags behind a few yards or so. You’ve felt his eyes on you without fail since six nights ago. At first, your stalker unnerved you–and rightfully so–until he proved to you that he didn’t mean no harm by simply not going anywhere near you.
You lean against the brick wall, your form softly illuminated by the lamppost nearby. One scuffed pump on the brick and one on the rain-slick pavement as you leisurely smoked. Like your shoes, your mink coat has seen better days, though it barely sees the sun anymore. You can still feel eyes on you.
Then, the shadow emerges from hiding. He’s a tall fella, probably much bigger than you despite being hunched over. He’s an imposing figure in his black leather coat as he slowly walks towards you in a way that would almost suggest he’s shy. He keeps his head low, his face completely obscured by the darkness of the streets and his hat.
You watch him with narrowed eyes, tilting your head in interest at the mysterious creature. Due to your profession, you’ve seen men of all kinds, but this one still catches your attention. You cross your arms and take a long drag from your cigarette as he steps closer.
“You've been watchin’ me for nights now, big fella. Finally wanna try out the goods?” you asked teasingly.
Your shadow is now two feet near you. He towers over you, which means you have to crane your neck to look at him. Your brows furrow when you see he’s wearing a cloth around his face like a mask. Something is amiss… but you don’t run.
“Yes,” he answers, voice rough and unsteady with what seems to be disuse and anxiety. “I want… I want to be with you.”
He shakily reaches into a pocket in his coat and he fumbles with a twenty dollar bill before holding it out to you. Your eyes widen at the number. That’s so much more than your nightly earnings. In fact, that’s more than a month’s rent at your walk-up apartment. Is he insane? Wealthy? A first-timer?
Well, at the very least, the twenty sweetens the pot.
“Well, come on, honey,” you take the bill and stuff it in your purse before he changes his mind, “We don’t got all night.”
On the way to the flophouse you rent a room at, you attempt small talk. However, you quickly learn that the big guy is a very reserved gentleman, albeit awkward. Despite his formidable form and deep voice, he speaks softly and respectfully–very much unlike your usual johns. He even walks on the side of the pavement next to the road.
The room is dingy, dim, and dodgy. The wallpaper is in the process of peeling itself away from the walls, the tiny dresser in the corner is chipped to hell, and the sheets are thinner than paper. But it’s what you can afford and nobody complains as long as they get their fill.
When you enter the room, you smoothly take off your coat and put out your cigarette on the ashtray waiting for you. You move with a practised ease. You know every nook and cranny of this room. You can feel his watchful eyes observe you from behind.
The sole chair in the room creaks as he sits down, the crumbling wood barely able to support his weight. Oddly, he doesn’t take anything off, even keeping his head bowed as if to hide himself from you. He simply sits with his forearms resting on the armrests, his pale hands joined together.
Nevertheless, he paid and you’re not one to cheat money out of a man. It’s nice that he’s waiting for you, though. Pleasant change of pace from the forceful drunkards pouncing you.
“Alright, big fella. You paid. Let’s not drag it out,” you say matter-of-factly, which makes him look up at you with his sunken hazel eyes. Huh, his eyes are hazel.
You take a split second to check your makeup while you lie sideways on the bed, unbuttoning the collar of your dress. He visibly tenses up and his lovely hazel eyes widen. You smirk at his reaction. A man is a man, after all.
“What– What are you doing?” he asks, quite panicked.
You recoil, startled and confused by his question. Nobody in the history of your career has ever asked that, especially in that manner.
“What do you think? This is what you paid me for,” you respond defensively.
You don’t even bother fastening your buttons again, your body being on display second nature to you now. Your bralette peeks through the undone collar, a promise of more to reveal. But he can hardly look at you.
He bows his head again, seemingly embarrassed. He stares at his wringing hands.
“I didn’t know…” he says quietly. “I just wanted to talk.”
“Talk?” you repeat incredulously.
You calmly but quickly get up from the bed and close the distance between you, which isn’t a feat in a room this tiny. You stand before him, observing him like a specimen for a second before you lift his chin up with a hand. There’s a small, amused smirk on your dark red lips.
“You know your money’s as good as the others’, right?”
You study him. Pale skin stands out against the black cloth veiling everything under his sunken eyes. No wonder the poor guy is so inept–he doesn’t go out!
He has pretty eyes, at least. Bright hazel irises framed by long eyelashes. They stare up at you like you hung the moon and stars, like you’re someone more than you are. Wait, is that a deep scar you see? But he suddenly blinks, shaking his head as if to banish his thoughts, and he hastily bows his head again.
“Please, don’t look at me too much. You won’t like it,” he mutters as his huge, pale hand comes up to adjust the cloth on his face.
“Alright,” you of all people would know the value of consent, so you back off, “So, you just want to talk, huh?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It’s the second time he’s said it but it still throws you off-guard. Just talking? Nobody has ever asked that from you before. And for a pretty penny too. Or perhaps he likes long foreplay and that’s why he paid you for your entire night. Either way, it’s unbelievable.
Or maybe uncomfortable is the word. You sit down on the bed across from him silently, not knowing what to say. You squirm instead. This is not what you’re used to; you’re more familiar with talking using your body, putting on a performance. You don’t want to talk. Talking requires the real you.
“If we’re gonna talk, I gotta see your face, at least,” you say.
“You won’t like it,” he replies sadly, shaking his head.
You laugh, which sounds more like a scoff. He’s so pathetically timid, especially for someone his size.
“I’ve seen men of all shapes and sizes. Come on, big guy.”
“Are you sure?” A tinge of hope laces his tone.
“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”
A beat of silence passes between the both of you. Maybe you’ll be different; maybe you won’t scream like the others when they see his face. He clears his throat, which sounds like a lion’s growl. He slowly, hesitantly undoes the knot behind his head, taking the dark fabric off his face.
You gasp, flinching backwards at the sight.
He’s… grotesque. It’s the only way to describe him. Scars, deep and shallow, litter his face like slashes. His nose looks broken, the bridge veering off to the side at the top. Staples form lines down and around his neck, distorting his skin even further. Like he’s made of patchwork, his skin is pulled into many different directions where your eyes can see.
His expression falls and he hangs his head again. He should’ve known you’d be frightened of him. He fumbles with his mask, trying to tie it up again as he stands. Now that you’re sat and he’s standing, he towers over you again but he hunches in a poor attempt to make himself smaller.
“I apologise. I’ll go.” He heads to the door with no hesitation.
“Wait! You don’t have to,” you interject, rising and reaching out to him with an outstretched hand. He stops–but doesn’t face you. “It’s just that… you don’t look like the usual type of men that… avail my services, you know.”
“I know what I look like,” he whispers, his voice cracking.
“I just wasn’t ready, is all,” you softly, continuing on your half-lies. You walk up behind him, laying a tentative hand on the back of his heavily scuffed coat.
He lets out a shaky breath at your gentle touch. It comes from the deepest depths of his soul. Nobody has touched him without the purpose of killing him. He can barely feel it through the thick leather yet it reaches into his heart.
“Please, don’t leave,” you quietly plead.
“You don’t mean that. You people will always scream and run.”
His clear insecurity and fear of rejection tugs at your heartstrings. Despite his towering size and macabre features, he’s a gentle soul. He doesn’t deserve to be an object of fear.
Besides, you know how it feels to be treated like garbage. Women look at you with disgust and men leer and paw at you like they’re entitled to you.
“I won’t, I promise. Let’s talk, come on,” you reassure him. You muster up a lighter tone, adding, “You paid. You gotta get your money’s worth.”
He hesitantly turns around, eyes watery and brows furrowed. His hand squeezes the fabric so hard it would’ve been wrung back to white at the pressure. He looks more scared than you when you saw his face earlier.
You give him a small smile, the most genuine one yet tonight despite its subtlety. At the sight of your gentle smile, he slowly loosens his tense grip.
“Get comfortable, ‘kay? I saw you know. You can lose the coat and the hat now, too.”
“You won’t–”
“Oh, to hell with it. Do what you want, then. Just don’t leave.”
Something resembling a smile graces his lips. He’s more pleasant to the eyes when he smiles, you can admit.
With a trembling hand, he takes his hat off, revealing large staples encircling his head through his forehead and temples. To your credit, you don’t react, though you are internally screaming. Encouraged by your silent acceptance, he takes his coat off too, revealing an awkwardly-tailored linen suit. Well, at least he looks comfortable now.
You urge him to sit down next to you on the edge of the bed, which he does, but he puts a large distance between you by sitting on a completely different side of the mattress. You don’t complain. In fact, you’re pleased at his timidity and courteous behavior. It’s probably why you didn’t let him leave. You can’t let a good thing go.
“Can I ask?” you break the silence.
He immediately notices your uncharacteristic apprehension. Worry flashes in his mind about what you might ask him but he nods.
“Why’d you buy my time if you didn’t want anybody seeing you?” you ask.
“I wanted to talk.” Matter-of-fact. So straightforward in delivery that he sounds naive. And maybe he is.
“That’s not what men usually pay me to do,” you remind him with a wry chuckle. “But I can see why you’d seek someone like me out after following me around like my shadow.”
He falls silent. You take the time to look at him, to acclimate yourself to his appearance. You don’t realise you’re staring, but he does, even though he’s only looking at you through his periphery. If his blood were red, he’d be pink now.
“I… I don’t know what you do with them. I only saw that they pay you and you take them somewhere else. I thought you talked. You look approachable and you didn’t refuse anybody.”
His confession takes you aback, your brows furrowing and lips frowning. You can hardly believe it but he sounds so sincere and ashamed of his ignorance.
“They pay to use me,” you tell him. There’s no use in going in circles.
“But you don’t love them.”
A good-natured chuckle rises from your chest at his enviable innocence. Oh, how you wish you can view intimacy in his lens rather than yours.
“No.”
“Do they make you happy?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
His soft gaze lands on you, full of empathy. For the first time since he showed his face, he looks you square in the eye. He sounds sad about it, which he is. He doesn’t think someone as beautiful as you should be compelled to be in the presence a monster like him, especially for money. Deep inside, a part of him is shattered too, born from the fact that his misconception about love and intimacy is shattered. It’s hard to reconcile with the notion of sex existing without love–of touches not meaning anything.
“Don’t be. I could’ve let you go, didn’t I? But you’re still here. I want you here.” This time, you’re being fully truthful.
His eyes water again. On instinct, he bows his head, hiding himself from view. The corners of your lips quirk up on instinct, finding the gentle giant endearing.
“I look–I’m a monster,” he whispers, voice thick like there’s a lump in his throat. “How can you bear to look at me? To let me stay?”
“You’re not a monster,” you shake your head, “Believe me, I’ve seen real monsters. Some of those sons of bitches don’t even look like it.”
It takes a while for him to accept what you’re saying, and when it happens, you’re not sure if it was completely. But he nods solemnly, reverently like your word is gospel.
If he has to be honest, he doesn’t take your words to heart completely. Nevertheless, it’s a moment of reprieve from his poisonous thoughts and he can almost imagine a world where he isn’t the way he is. Halfway through his brief contemplation, he realises the implication of what you said and his heart jumps in horror because a flower like you deserves nothing but care and pleasant attention.
“I’m sorry about them too,” is what he says and you barely stifle your laugh. He’s so sweet. If only everyone can look past his appearance and see the adorable man that he is.
At your little giggle, a flash of fear appears in his expression and he hangs his head again away from your view.
“Oh, come on, big fella, I wasn’t laughing at you,” you coo as if comforting a puppy. “I just find you adorable, is all.”
“Adorable?” he asks and it almost makes you coo again. He sounds like he can’t believe it.
Due to the great distance he put between you on the bed, you crawl to him to get nearer. You don’t dare touch him, not knowing how he would react to that. You wouldn’t want to be touched if you don’t want it, either. And he tries hiding himself from you again, but you’re too close.
“Yes, very endearing,” you confirm.
“You’re too kind.” He can’t believe it at all.
“No, I’m not kind. I’m just being honest.”
“You were lying to me earlier.”
Oh, so he noticed, indeed. Hurt twinges in your chest but you can’t be offended. You were scared of his malformed features.
“I’m being honest now.”
Your tone takes on a sincere aspect to it that he has never heard from you before. Meanwhile, your eyes seek his as he stares at the linoleum floor. From the side like this, he looks… well… normal. It makes you think he was handsome before whatever happened to him.
“Come on, I’m tellin’ the truth. Look at me–stop sulking.” You come back to your usual demeanour. And it works.
He hesitantly looks up, finally meeting your gaze again. He’s bracing for impact, waiting for you to get tired of him and kick him out the door.
“Do you want me to prove it to you?” you ask, raising your brows in challenge.
“You don’t have to–”
You boldly lean in and kiss him, turning his head to yours with a hand on his cheek. His skin is cold; you blame it on the rainy night. He smells like cherries; he wears a peculiar perfume.
He tenses up immediately but he gradually returns the favour. Like a baby deer getting up on its legs. He tilts his head and his lips softly and delicately dance with yours, though he keeps his hands off you even now.
You pull away, dark red lipstick smudged around your lips in a tempting manner. His eyes are glued onto your lips, softly panting like a man dying of thirst.
“Do you still wanna talk? Or do you want me to show you what I get paid to do?” you ask lowly.
Despite your bluntness, it’s the most erotic question he has ever heard in his life. Nonetheless, he shakes his head no, a worried look on his face. He remembers what you told him earlier and he’ll be damned if he’s the cause of your misery.
“I don’t want to use you,” he whispers.
He doesn’t mention that he’s never been with anyone in that way. He won’t know what to do. Not only will lying with him make you miserable, he also won’t satisfy you. Besides, even if he were the most skilful lover, no one would be able to look at him and feel pleasure.
“Is that what you truly want?”
Do his ears deceive him or do you sound dejected at his refusal?
“I just want you to be happy. That’s what I want.”
The desire in his gaze betrays his turndown. Perhaps he does want you, but he wants you untroubled even more.
“Make me happy, then.”
You take his hand, large and pale–and trembling in trepidation, and lead it to rest on your cheek. He feels how warm and soft you are, a stark contrast to his own flesh. Eventually, he softly brushes his thumb against your cheekbone, stunned by the feel of you. He holds your face like you’re a fragile porcelain doll.
He lifts another hand, holding it mid-air as if to ask for permission. You nod with a gentle, close-lipped smile. He caresses your hair, running his hand over it with reverence. His hand lands on the nape of your neck, his touch barely ghosting over you.
He slowly leans in and your lips meet once again. You deepen the kiss, taking the lead between you, which he willingly relinquishes.
But he gradually gets more eager, his grip on you getting tighter and tighter. His mouth finally gains control over yours, his tongue exploring your mouth hungrily. When his excited hold on you starts to hurt, you gasp out and push him away.
“I’m sorry… I’ve never… done… this… before,” he breathes out, voice so rough with need that it’s almost guttural. “I’m sorry.”
“‘S fine. Just remember your strength, honey.”
You will never admit it to yourself, much less to anybody, but there’s a part of you that’s satisfied about the fact that he’s never been with anybody before. It means he doesn’t already have a preconceived expectation of what you should give him–or what he thinks he’s entitled to take from you. However, if you think about it for too long, the reality he lives in is saddening to you.
You climb onto his lap and pull away from his mouth to pepper wet kisses on his cheek, his jaw, his neck. It’s a novel sensation, feeling the ridges of his scars and the coolness of those small pieces of steel against your lips. Concurrently, your hands make themselves busy on his shirt, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.
He’s astonished. He never thought anyone could stomach touching him, much less kiss his skin. It’s surreal that someone as beautiful as you is on his lap, slowly disrobing him without a care.
“You’re thinking too loud.”
“I am? Sorry.”
“Stop apologising,” you say with a chuckle.
You climb off his lap and, before he can start thinking it’s because you’re mad at him, you begin taking your dress off in front of him. You grin like cheshire as you take in the sight of him, disheveled with his shirt fully open, his chest heaving, and his eyes wide.
When your dress pools around your high heel-clad feet, you move onto your bralette and your tap pants, leaving you in just your thigh high stockings. You step off your shoes as you stand between his legs. You wordlessly urge him to undress as well, which he quickly follows, taking his shirt off at the same time as his jacket.
You run your hands over his shoulders–strong, broad, and scarred. Your eyes roam his bare torso, soaking up the sight of his deformed body. Now, you see dark veins snaking under his skin, meeting his scars held together by the staples that you’re very much familiar with by now. He’s not frightening to you anymore. The most horrifying aspect of this is that you’re not disgusted by him any longer.
Finally, when both of you are fully nude, you lie him down, straddling his thighs. You figure there won’t be any risk of him losing control of his strength if you’re on top. He doesn’t seem to mind, anyway. In fact, he looks terribly delighted at seeing you on top of him, enjoying the view.
Teasingly looking into his eyes, you lick your hand from the palm to your fingers. You gently grasp his cock by the base, which makes him hiss in a mixture of uncontrollable desire and relief that he’s finally being touched. He’s big–not absurdly long but impossibly thick. His tip is an angry reddish purple, precum dribbling desperately down his length. Your mouth begins watering hungrily and you swallow down your saliva.
You run your fist up and down, stroking him at a gradually increasing pace. His breathing stutters, guttural groans escaping his chest. His response encourages you more and you tighten your grip around him as you continue touching him. More precum drips out of him in precious pearls and you use them to lubricate your hand.
You wonder if you should use a rubber. You always do but right now, you wonder if you should just take the risk. He seems too big to fit in one, anyway, you think. Why not?
“You want me?”
“Y–yes, yes, I do.” He nods fervently like he’s aching for it. His hips jerk up as if it’s chasing your hand.
A smirk pulls at the corner of your lips. You oblige happily, straddling his hips. You open your mouth, spit flowing down your tongue down to his length. He watches you with bated breath, aroused by the display.
Finally, you guide him into your hole. His blunt tip presses against your entrance and when he finally breaches, you both groan. You feel so much better than your hand. You’re so wet, so warm, so nothing like he’s ever felt. He’s big, stretching you inch by inch as you slowly descend on him. He’s so girthy that you can clearly feel him twitching inside you when your hips eventually meet.
“F–fuck, big guy,” you mutter. “You’re really full of surprises, aren’t ya?”
With your hands on his chest supporting you, you slowly grind your hips against his, gasping at the delicious stretch of his cock and the friction of it pushing and dragging against your walls. He looks at you like you’re a deity, admiring the way you move on top of him and the way you feel wrapped around him.
His hands, which were once clenched on the sheets, move to your hips. His grip is strong but controlled, painfully remembering when he almost hurt you earlier.
Gasps and moans fill the room. The smell of sex mingles with the lingering cigarette smoke. The bed creaks with every movement but neither of you can hear it, your ears only tuned to each other’s noises of pleasure.
With brows furrowed and eyes half-lidded, you watch him as he throws his head back with his eyes squeezed shut and mouth agape in ecstasy. He’s positively overwhelmed, having never felt this way before. If you had the capacity, you’d chuckle in amusement. But you can’t, also intoxicated.
Suddenly, his strong hands lift you off him, completely pulling himself out and earning a whine from you. His seed spurts out of him, more coming out with every twitch of his length. Thick white fluid runs down his cock to the sheets. It escapes you that he hasn’t gone flaccid.
He actually doesn’t know if he can have children due to his method of creation but he doesn’t want to explain to you how he was “born” nor does he want to risk making you bear a child. Thankfully, even in the middle of orgasm, he has half a mind to pull out.
“... Thanks for doing that,” is all you can say, until you start softly laughing.
He looks puzzled, a confused look on his face while he pants as he recovers from his climax. You, still chuckling, brush his brown hair away from his sweaty forehead.
“I should’ve known it wouldn’t take you long. It’s your first time, right?”
He nods, a purple blush on his scarred cheeks.
“Oh, how cute.”
You lean down to kiss him and he eagerly accepts your mouth on his. His hand comes back to the back of your neck, gently keeping you in place. You’re glad he took your reminder from earlier to heart.
And it seems like he still wants more, his tongue gingerly asking for permission against your lips. You part them, letting him in. You let out a moan as his tongue dances with yours, your loins throbbing with unresolved desire.
He may not know much, but he can feel the need radiating off you. His hand leaves your neck, reaches between you, and strokes his still half-hard cock, stirring it back to life. His hand, the one that stayed on your hip, guides you back down on him again.
You gasp against his mouth as his girth stretches you again, but his entry is easier now.
“Please, let me…” he begins breathlessly, desperately.
“Let you what?” You ache just as much.
“Let me be on top of you.”
“Yes.”
With one smooth move, he manhandles you into position. You instinctively wrap your legs around his hips, pulling him closer, which makes you moan at how much deeper he’s reaching inside you.
“How should I move?”
“Just try and I'll tell you.”
He awkwardly starts but eventually, he finds his rhythm and you don’t even need to tell him he’s doing it right. He can tell by your gasps, your moans, and the way you arch off the bed. Your eyes close shut and noises spill from your smudged red lips, the pleasure taking over your inhibitions.
His thrusts are steady but deep, his hips powerfully snapping to yours. He grunts with every piston of his hips, drunk at the sight of you and all the new sensations he’s feeling inside you. One hand supports himself on the mattress beside your head and the other softly caresses your face as if he’s afraid you’ll suddenly vanish into thin air and that this is a dream.
Your eyes open, albeit still quite half-lidded, and pull him down to kiss him. Your arms snake under his own, your palms on his scarred back. With every move, you can feel the muscles ripple under his skin.
His hips don’t stop driving into yours, his toned muscles tense as he holds another orgasm back. He wants you happy; he wants you satisfied. His breathing is ragged, growling like a panther against your lips.
You let out a long, drawn-out whine as you come, back arching to the heavens as you see white flash behind your lids. Your blunt nails dig into his back and hopefully, you didn’t reopen a scar.
He lets you ride through your climax, slowly and gently working his length into you. When he’s sure you’re alright, he pulls out and finally lets go once again, adding more to the fluids staining the sheets.
He sits on his haunches as you both recover. He doesn’t attempt to lie down next to you, thinking of it as him being a nuisance. On top of that, he enjoys the view, staring at your exhausted form to remember it forever.
Meanwhile, you deflate on the mattress, chest heaving. You’re utterly blissed out, wrecked by this strong, mysterious creature.
After a while, he speaks.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
“I should be the one thanking you,” you reply breathlessly. “It’s nice finally having a choice on who to sleep with.”
“I’m–”
“I swear, if you’re apologising again, I’ll attack you.”
He smiles fully at that, showing off endearingly crooked teeth and steel crowns.
Tags: NSFW, Stripper, strip club, swearing, use of pet name (Baby, love), frank begging, softdom reader, virgin Frank, oral sex ( giving )
A/N: WHY IS THERE BARELY ANYTHING FOR HIM?! My first time writing him so bear with me. Please tell me if there are any errors.
Pt2? let me know!
The music was loud overhead, the sound of heels clicking on wood was even louder. There were strippers and lonely men everywhere, the bar, booths, the small rooms with the curtains and the sound of moaning could be heard from the back.
And in the middle of the club in a purple, sparkling bikini and six inch clear heels with a silver gun as the heel was you.
You made your usual rounds around the club, stealing glances of your friends and checking in with a few lone men.
Your heels clicked on the floor as you rounded the corner to a table of men. Drunk, unsteady and clearly the entitled type.
“Aye, come here.” one of the drunk man said, waving you over.
Mentally you were rolling your eyes but as part of your job you went over anyways.
They wanted the usual, a show so that’s what you gave them but not before they paid you a hundred.
Once the transaction was made and the bill was secure on the strip of your bikini did you begin to move your body. Your hands moved with practiced ease down your body, hands exploring, your breast, your slim waist, and down your long legs.
You let yourself get lost in the music, focusing on it instead of the drunk and entitled men in front of you.
You turned so your back was to them and bend over, showing off your long legs and giving them a sneak peak at your cleanly shaved cunt that was hidden behind your bikini bottoms.
As you shook your ass in their direction, something or rather someone caught your eye.
A man was sitting at the bar watching you, which wasn’t what caught your eye.
He was dressed in a dark grey suit, white button up with brown scuffed boots. But again that’s not what caught you, it was the black cloth like scarf that hid his lower face from view and the line of stitches across his forehead.
He also wasn’t looking at you like you were a piece of meat or with lust. He looked at you like you were an actually person, he looked at you like you were…beautiful. There was also a look of sadness that didn’t go unnoticed by you.
You finished your dance, keeping slight eye contact with him, not really even sparing a glance at the men as you made your way over to him.
When he saw you approach, it was like his body went still and he immediately ducked his head. He looked ashamed, no he almost looked scared.
“Hey, love. What your name?” you said, tilting your head slightly to try to catch his gaze but he only ducked his head farther.
It was quiet for a long moment as you stared at him, “Frank..” he said quietly that you almost didn’t hear him over the sound of the club.
“M’sorry…i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or stare… I’m sorry.” he quickly added
“Don’t apologize, you didn’t do anything wrong.” you told him, that seductive voice that you used for your clients slipping just a fraction.
“You mustn’t look at me. I am a monster and pitiful.” he added, stealing a small glance at you before hanging his head.
“You don’t look like a monster. And i don’t your think that you’re pitiful maybe just lonely.” You told him, raising your hand to his shoulder. You immediately felt him tense before slowly leaning into your touch like a broken animal finally getting some kindness.
Thats when you did something that you’ve never done before. You reached down to grab his hand, feeling the calloused and rough skin, pulling him out of the stool and towards the back of the club.
Not to a booth or one of the small rooms with just a curtain for privacy. To the back of the club where there was a heavy door that insured that there would be no interruptions.
You locked the door behind both you, sitting him down on the plush couch, watching the way his eyes looked back at yours with confusion.
You then stood before him, hands starting to move on yourself as you started to dance for him. And piece by piece you stripped down for him, which didn’t take very long since you were already almost nude.
You got down on your hands and knees, crawling over to him, keeping your eyes locked on his even as you sat between his spread knees.
“I…I don’t deserve this. I didn’t pay farther more I am nothing but a monster that people run from.”
“It’s on the house,” you said, keeping your eyes looked on his, “You look like you need this.”
He kept quiet for a long moments before finally, “Please..”
“Please what, baby? tell me what you want.”
“I…I want you. I want to be with you but…I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” he says, his head hanging once more, avoiding your eyes. You assumed that he had been rejected so much that he just learned to expect it even after all of this.
You looked down at his crotch, seeing his hands covering it like he was ashamed of his desire. This poor man, you thought.
“Then let me give you what you want.” you told him, your hand coming up to remove his from his crotch, his boner immediately coming into view.
He didn’t looked giant but he definitely wasn’t small. He looked a little above average.
You lifted you hand further to his belt, looking up at him for permission which he gave after a moment. You unbuckled him and pulled his slacks down, just enough to pull his cock out.
You were correct, definitely above average, thick and veiny. You felt yourself clench around nothing, something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Nothing amused you like this anymore but this, him, he was different.
You wrapped a hand around him, already feeling the drizzle of pre cum smear on your fist. You stroked him once, stopping at the tip and rubbing your thumb slowly over the slit.
You then looked back at him. His eyes were focused on you, searching for any signs of disgust or discomfort but there were none in your eyes.
“You ever done this before?” you asked him. He looked confused for a moment before shaking his head.
“Anyone put their mouth on you?”
he shook his head.
“Ever been inside someone?”
He shook his head once more.
These were questions you asked every client before you put your mouth on them. It wasn’t in the club rules to do this but you’d be damed if you caught something and you knew how unkept and dirty some men could be.
And clients that were desperate enough, you told them to go wash off in the small bathroom which they did with little to no questions.
“Good.” you said, flashing him a soft smile before leaning down and taking him into your mouth, having to open your mouth bigger than usual to accommodate how thick he was.
You sucked him off, wrapping your tongue around him, dragging it up his length which earned a loud whimper for him. He was vocal, something you loved in men.
You looked at him through the veil of your lashes, his mouth was ajar and his hazel depths were heavy lidded but focused on you like you were the only thing in the world.
Once again you felt yourself clench around nothing, looking back down and seeing the way his hands clutched the fabric of the couch, knuckles turning white.
This again surprised you. Most men would either be holding you down or pulling your hair but not him.
“Ca-can I touch y-you please? I’ll be good.” he muttered, the pleasure he was feeling clear by the way his voice had changed. Broken, shaky and breathless.
You hummed in response and with some hesitation, you felt his large hand rest on your cheek. It wasn’t rough, or demanding. It was gentle and sweet, like he was still scared even with permission.
A loud whimper escaped his lips that made you look up at him again, he was crying. Real tears. You didn’t know if it was because he was a virgin or something else but you didn’t question him.
I'm SICK and TIRED of the Kento Nanami mischaracterization.
(Now playing, "Sweet" - Cigarettes After Sex)
(MDNI! Lots of nsfw/sex talk, Husband!Nanami, fluff, comfort(?), smut, short drabble, Reader is heavily implied fem, pregnancy talk, I suppose? Just soft sex with Nanami.)
Kento Nanami does not fuck.
This man is not coming home after a hard day at work and "fucking the shit out of you." Half the time, he can barely get the dinner you made him in his stomach before he's crashing.
This man is not getting off on being called daddy. Or spanking you while calling you his "good little girl."
Nanami views the idea of coming home to you as the only good thing about leaving in the first place. So when he does come back home to you, he expects softness. Comfort. Not lust.
Nanami isn't a lustful man. This isn't to say he doesn't like sex. He adores it. With the right person, of course. But it's not something he does for his own greed. Kento does not fuck. He makes love.
As cheesy as he knows he'd sound if he ever said it out loud, it's the only descriptive that's ever felt right to him. Nanami doesn't want to grab you by your legs and pin you to the wall and "fuck" you. That sounds aggressive, degrading. As if his spouse, his love, his reason for coming home at all, was something to be used.
Nanami pours all of his love into having sex with you. (Literally and figuratively)
He's not grabbing your chin and spitting into your mouth. He's interlocking your fingers, his lips ghosting over yours as his forehead rests against your own.
He's not saying "look at this pretty fuckin' thing..." while admiring the way your cunt clenches around him. He's saying, "You're so pretty... my angel.." while looking into your teary eyes.
Yes, Nanami is Cumming inside of you. But it's not because he wants to "claim" you or prove he "owns" you. But because he wishes to one day start a family with you. A real family. With the love of his life.
This man isn't rolling over and falling asleep on the opposite side of the bed after sex. Nanami cleans you up as if the touch of water on its own will make you disintegrate like cotton candy. He wraps you up in his big arms, knowing there's not a single place on earth you could be safer. He's kissing the top of your head and rubbing your back as you both fall asleep.
《A/N: stop headcannoning Nanami as some weird lowk abusive freaky BDSM husband 🙏 SUKUNA IS RIGHT THERE.》
hi lol sorry I meant a blk!reader who tans the same way I do, so gets a whole ass 5 shades darker in the sad british sun while cook turns reeeed…
A/N: Hi! so sorry this took so long. Also This is kinda rushed, sorry 😭.
It was summer in Bristol.
which meant summer break for the group that had barely passed the year.
So per Pandora’s suggestion, they were spending the first day off at some random beach. They slipped on their bathing suits under their clothes, packed a bag of snacks and cramped into Katie’s older boyfriend’s car, ready for the long ride.
Katie in the driver and Emily in the passenger. Pandora, Thomas, JJ, noami, freddy, effy, cook and Y/N In the backseat, bodies practically toppling each other.
At one end of the car, Effy and Freddy were talking quietly by the window in those hushed tones like no one could hear the obvious flirting. But at the other end of the car, Cook sat squished against the door and after they went over a speed bum resulting in his head hitting the window, he just couldn’t take it anymore.
He shifted uncomfortably, his hands slipping out of his pockets and reaching out for your waist, pulling you up and plopping you on down on his lap. He had been wanting to do it since he saw you come out your house, tight denim skirt, flip flops and hips swaying in a way that made his heart skip a beat. The extra room was just a bonus.
“Comfy, yeah?” was all he said, shifting once in the newfound space before looking back out the window, his hand splattered across your waist. And when you didn’t pull away instead just leaning back into his chest, a small smirk formed on his lips.
After a final turn, they arrived at the beaches edge. Everyone quickly filed out the car, sand slipping into sandals as they hit the ground. Pandora was the first to run off towards the water, her smile bright and her hands in the air while Thomas trailed behind her.
Then one by one everyone made their way to the cool ocean water, all except Cook and you.
He had laid out a big towel on the warm sand for the two of you, the scorching sun beaming down on them.
Their fingers brushed so slightly that it barely even registered to you until he loosely laced your fingers together.
After twenty minutes passed of pure silence, save for the sound of the waves crashing and distance laughter of the group, Cook turned to look at you.
He stared at your laced fingers, eyes trailing up your bare arm until they landed on your face. But something was off, you looked darker, like five shades darker.
He propped himself up on his elbow, turning his full body towards you to make sure he wasn’t just imagining things due to the drugs he had taken earlier but no you were significantly darker.
You were still prettiest girl he had ever seen but because had never been around a black person during the summer, James cook was curious.
“Y/N, Why your skin look darker?” his accent thick and sounding genuinely curious as he watched your eyes finally opened and you turn to look at him.
“The same reason you’re sunburnt.” you retorted with a lopsided smile, gesturing towards the reddened skin of his arm that was a vast contrast to the way he looked earlier.
“Am not- oh.” he cut himself off, looking down at his arms, a slight smile spreading on his lips as a laugh escaped his lips, revealing his vampire like teeth.
Fun Fact: During the police parade The Joker easily blended in with the officers because without his face paint he just looked like a man who had been injured in the line of duty.
omg ok hiii I have a request :33 I’m afro-latina and during summer when the sun hits I get a full 4-5 shades darker (even in the fuckass sad european sun where I’m at) I basically go from being lightskin to being brownskin in the span of a couple of days
would I be able to request a fic of. Cook with a blk!reader who tans the same during like the first few sunny days in Bristol’s sad ass climate and meanwhile Cook’s just instantly gotten sunburnt 😭😭
Hi! i’m kinda confused, You want one where you stay the same shade while cook gets sunburnt? or one where you grow darker due to the sunny while cook just gets sunburnt?
It was actually ten minutes after the scheduled closing time. The only reason you were still here was because it was raining hard and you just so happened to have forgotten your umbrella so you thought to just wait it out.
Though it didn’t look like it was stopping anytime soon.
Fortunately, you weren’t here by yourself. Max was here, your coworker who had a crush on you that he didn’t try to hide. He’d flirt with you during every shift even after you’d reject him.
Except today, he was unusual quiet. He didn’t flirt with you or even speak when he brushed past you on his way to the back sometimes in the middle of the shift. And although you’d never admit it, you kinda missed his compliments and corny jokes.
Finally, you looked up from the register after counting and recounting the money for the fifteenth time, glancing towards the window, watching some of the droplets roll down it slowly.
You sighed to yourself, glancing over at Max who was standing off to the side, phone in hand and head buried in it. What was up with him?
“Max I’m just going to go, i don’t think it’s going to let up.” you said, grabbing your things and rounding the register.
Only then did he finally look at you, his eyes lingered on you for a moment before he turned to grab his belongings. “I’ll go with you.”
You felt a slight smile flicker on your lips but you pushed it away, watching as he approached you at the door.
Then he did something unexpected.
He unzipped his jacket, pulling it off and raising it up so it draped over your head. “Okay, let’s go.” he muttered.
You pushed the door opening, the chilly air immediately kissing both of your skin but you couldn’t focus on that as you both sprinted through the rain towards your car, water splashing the hem on your jeans.
You quickly unlocked it, slipping inside while he stood there, the jacket still raised to protect you until the door closed and you were safely inside.
You cracked your window slightly, “Thank you.” you said to a now drenched Max. But he didn’t even seemed fazed, his ash blonde hair sticking to his forehead and his once light blue polo now dark. He looked conflicted, like something was weight on him.
“Y/N, can I ask you something?”
You nod once, tense and still shaking slight from the cold air.
“Will you ever give me a chance?” he said weakly, a tear slipping from his eye and mixing with the rain on his cheeks.
“Because I’m so tired of hoping, thinking maybe one day you’ll change your mind, that maybe you won’t just see me as a coworker who can’t take a hint.” he continued, his voice dropping down to a whisper that was barely audible over the sound of the rain and passing cars.
He then raised a hand to his heart, “This has been yours for so long…and I don’t know what more I can do or even should do to change your mind. So p-please just tell me, will you ever be able to love me?”
You were quiet for a moment, just staring at him and the way the light of the street pose hit his face, making the tears glistening.
“I-I..” you started before you closed your mouth.
“Get in the car.”
His face almost immediately lit up and he started moving, quickly rounding the hood, stumbling a bit as he pulled the door open and climbed inside.
You leaned over the console, lips quick to find his while your hand moved up, tangling in his soaked strands
He placed his hand on your waist, gripping your polo like he never wanted to let go of you or this moment.
The kiss deepened, your tongue slipping between his lips and dancing with his as he pulled you onto his lap, feeling his soaked jeans beneath you.
“I-I love you..” you heard him whisper into the kiss.
۶ৎ YOONBUM had Hanahaki Disease, a disease that causes a person to cough up flowers from one sided love. But instead of flowers, it was blood and it wasn’t just a little bit, sometimes it would fill and soak a tissue until the white disappeared.
He’d had it for so long that it had just became apart of his life but that never made it easier.
Y/N L/N was on the other end of that one sided love. They had met during high school. He had accidentally bumped into a boy, a jock, who seemly was already having a bad day and before he could even muster up an apology, he hit the floor. Then the kicks came, sharp, rough and mean. He had curled in on himself, trying to use his legs as a barrier but it was no use. The kicks hit his stomach, his rips and some even reached his head, it was to the point where he started coughing up blood.
Yoonbum had been so close to passing out, his vision swimming and darkening around the edges. But then he heard her, her sandals slapping loudly against the tile as she rushed towards him and it seemed to pulled him back from the darkness. He could still hear those footsteps even years later.
The kicks had stopped abruptly and he could finally feel his lungs start to expand as air rushed back into them. she had pushed the jock with so much force he had landed flat on his ass.
His eyes were barely open, fluttering but he caught a glimpse of her and god was she beautiful, Yoonbum had thought he was dreaming. The way she crouched in front of him and her palm pressed to his cheek. That touch had been the most gentlest thing he’d ever felt in his life, it made the aches that lingered, fade instantly as if it had never beed there in the first place.
When he woke up, he was in the nurses office, laying on his back, an ice pack on his rips and bandages around his head. But he didn’t care about any of that not even the sharp pains he felt when he shifted, searching for her to confirm that it hadn’t been so kind of cruel dream.
He didn’t have to look very far, only a turn of the head and he saw her sitting in a chair next to his bed, concern painting her face.
Her eyes met his and it was over from there.
A few years passed, they had been inseparable. It was rare that you saw her with him glued to her hip, those devoted puppy dog eyes glued to her like she was the only thing in the world.
That was until it was time to go off to college and he had been dreading it. He didn’t want to be separated from her for a few minutes, let alone four years.
It wasn’t like he didn’t try to live without her, he did. He had went to college and she had went to a different one. It was fine for about 2 weeks before he felt a sharp sensation in his chest, more specifically in his heart that never seemed to go away. And shortly after there was blood soaked tissues filling his trash can.
The following week, he was transferring to her college.
—————————
Y/N had been at his apartment all day, watching movies with him, gaming, etc. He was so consumed by her presence that he had almost forgotten about that disease.
But when it was time for her to leave and he was watching her put her shoes on, it finally. hit him.
A violently and nasty cough, erupted from his throat. He quickly grabbed a few tissues from a side table and watched the fabric turn crimson. It must have been so disturbing that Y/N had stopped what she was doing, turing her head to look at him. That same look of concern on her face as the day they met.
Yoonbum quickly pushed the tissue in his hoodie pocket, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.
“Are you okay?” she said as she approached him, her hands cupping his face. He leaned into them instinctively, his eyes now flickering with devotion and admiration. She was so beautiful. He didn’t deserve her, he didn’t deserve to have her delicate hands on him.
“Yoonbum.” he heard her say, pulling him out of his thoughts. His attention flickered back up to her, brown eyes searching hers as his brought his hands up to her wrists.
“Y-yes Y/N?” he asked, his dropping so low that it was almost inaudible.
“Are you okay?” she repeated.
“P-please don’t leave…don’t leave me…” he whispered, tears pricking his eyes as he pressed his cheek to her chest, his trembling hands hesitating at her waist.
She placed her hands on his shoulder, pulling back only slightly to look into his eyes once more. Her brows kneeling slightly in a mix of genuine concern.
“Yoonbum..what’s going on? tell me.”
“I have… Hanahkai Disease...” he finally blurted out, his voice so quiet that she thought she didn’t hear him correctly.
He couldn’t look up at her, couldn’t stand the thought of what he might see. Disgust? Anger? Rejection? But when she tilted his head up, forcing his eyes to met hers, he saw none of those things.
“How long?” was all she said after a long moment.
“9 years...”
“Since college? why didn’t you say anything?” she said, her voice shaky.
“Because I-I didn’t want you to look at me like I was a freak!” He cried, his voice raising only slightly as all his emotions started to surface.
“P-please don’t think I’m a freak…I-l love you so much.” he pleaded, pressing his face back into her chest. His arms finally wrapping around her waist, his grip surprisingly strong for how skinny he was.
His tears started to flow freely now, like a dam had just broke within him.
But it wasn’t a dam, it was just a boy that was terrified of losing the only person that had ever kind to him in this cruel world.
Then he felt her kiss him, her lips pressing tenderly to his. He felt his heart stop. It was like the disease had disappeared in those few moments.
After a moment, his lips started to move and it quickly turned from tender to messy, sloppy. He kisses her like he was hungry but it had nothing to do with food. He whimpered into the kiss like even now he was begging her not to leave him.
Somewhere in the haze of kisses, they had made their way to his room. Clothes were discarded and scattered across the floor, leading to the bed.
Was this love? he thought as she pushed him down on the bed and crawled onto his lap, another whimper escaping his kiss swollen lips.
His eyes dropped from her eyes to her exposed breasts that sat so pretty. His hands rose to them, feeling the soft mounts under his sweaty palms.
As his eyes finally found their way back up to hers, he saw her staring down at him, her curls falling to one side. She looked enteral, like a goddess that had fallen from the heavens and somehow ended up in his shitty apartment.
“P-please..” he was all he could say, his eyes flickering with longing and admiration.
He then felt her hand grasp his cock with one hand, guiding it to her entrance and sinking down. It was like everything faded into the background and his world narrowed to her.
He was so loud, the neighbors could probably hear him through the paper thin walls. Yet he didn’t care, he couldn’t even focused on anything but her and the way she felt wrapped around him, gummy walls clenching.
As soon as she started to move, it was over for him. He wasn’t thinking clearly anymore, eyes rolling back in his head as he gripped her hips so hard his knuckles he feared that he’d leave bruises. He never wanted it to end.
But it did come to an end and quickly.
she slammed down on him, he couldn’t hold it anymore. He came hard, ropes of cum slipping deep inside her followed by a scream that anything but quiet.
He was in utter bliss that he didn’t even feel her lean down until her lips pressed to his again and he whimpered into the kiss.
“I-i’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…so fast. I-I can last longer,.” he said into the kiss though it was soon proved that he couldn’t as when she started moving he came almost instantly.
