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ghoulphile · 24 days

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sticky fingers | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, dirty talk, degradation kink, fingering, squirting, rough sex, size kink, standing doggystyle, overstimulation, teasing, choking, dacryphilia, cooper howard is his own warning (he nasty y'all), canon compliant - takes place around ep 7, a grab bag mix of the show and the games ➥ summary | “Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal.” ➥ notes | i love my men like i love my beef jerky 🫠 i wrote this over 16 fevered hours after finishing the finale. hope you enjoy~ minor edits 4/22/24 | x posted to ao3 | masterlist | feedback is always appreciated ❤️ feel free to send in thots, questions, requests!

It begins, as most things in the Southwest Commonwealth do, with a fight for survival.

City life is tough to be sure, but here on the outskirts of pocket civilizations where there’s nothing but long stretches of desolate wasteland - arid, sunbaked earth and scorched shrubbery - for miles around?

Well, if the ferals, fiends, and super mutants don’t get you in the night, then the desert itself will. During the day the sun burns overhead so nuclear hot, heat glimmers on the horizon in dancing waves.

Unforgiving, relentless as blink-and-you-miss-it mirages are swallowed by ever shifting sands.

It’s easy to get lost.

Even easier to boil alive in your armor if you’re unprepared.

Far too many travelers from the Eastern Commonwealths have met their demise here, where shade is sparse, and water even moreso. The rain - if it does blow in over the mountains - brings rad sickness.

If you’re lucky enough to still be alive, the only reprieve from the heat is in the stooped bones of bombed buildings and ramshackle shacks... where you're just as likely to catch a knife in the back from a chem fried addict as you are relief.

Because here, in the Wastes, danger lurks in sand and shadow alike.

You don’t trek out into the flats half-cocked: a fact all locals know. And if you do decide to? Well, you learn one way or another.

No, only the truly ignorant - or the desperate - dare to tempt man and nature.

Consequently, as you dust off the crumbs from the last half of a Fancy Lads Snack Cake and suck a melted smear of icing from your thumb, you're of the latter half.

You tried holding off for as long as you could. But once the shakes started, you knew you couldn’t put off eating lest you pass out and wake up in a slaver camp.

Well, shit, you think as you rattle a dented canister of purified water. This fucking sucks.

Almost going cross-eyed, your tongue hovers under the rim as you watch the last lazy drop fall free. You catch it with a grimace, smacking your lips. The water tastes metal warm in your sour mouth, barely enough to wet your whistle - let alone your thirst.

You began rationing the last of your supplies days ago, and it’s been a battle against light-headedness ever since. Pretty soon you won’t have the strength to defend yourself, scavving be damned.

Come on. Think - gotta think. What can I scrap for caps?

Not only is Filly more than half a day away, Ma June isn’t one for charity cases. The fact she offered twenty extra caps last time for some burnt books and bent bobby pins was as close as you were ever going to get to a Wasteland miracle.

Sunken cheeks and pleading eyes can only get you so far; everyone’s gotta eat.

"Fuck..." The palms of your hands grind into your eye sockets until you see stars. "FUCK!"

There are two unspoken laws in this otherwise lawless land: steal or starve, live or die. A grim reminder that surrounds you in old bleached bones, empty bullet casings, and scraps of cloth fluttering in the breeze.

Someone always has to be top dog. If you’re lucky, they might be willing to share their spoils.

It’s as you’re considering what pieces of yourself you’re willing to barter that you see them. On the horizon, coming from the west, are two dark blobs.

Stark against the flat plains - a shining beacon of salvation - is a man in a ratty duster and cowboy hat. The saddlebag tossed over his shoulder bounces with his steps while a dog trots beside him, its sable coat rippling with muscle.

Pay dirt.

Making sure to keep low and distant, you stalk them. Watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

When the sun dips low, the sky a swath of pale pink and gold, they make camp at a blown-out Drumlin Diner. Off in the distance, thunder rumbles and sickly clouds gather.

Dark and roiling, acid green; a Radstorm brewing.

Electricity cracks at your skin, stands your hair on end. You scrub your hands over your arms, huddling into yourself for warmth. Meanwhile, the stranger seems to luxuriate in the budding promise of rad rain.

He lounges under an awning, his back pressed against a defunct Nuka Cola fridge. He gazes in the direction of the oncoming weather while mindlessly running his fingers through the dog’s fur as it curls up against his legs.

Occasionally, its ears twitch, and its eyes crack open.

Whenever it glances in your direction, you hold your breath and squeeze your eyes shut but it never gives any other indication that it notices your presence.

A small mercy you’re thankful for.

While you’re a pretty good shot, your body is weak with hunger. Besides, you have quick hands and light feet. There’s no doubt you can stealth your way in and out before he realizes his pack is lighter than he left it.

You’ll only take what you need - not interested in causing any more trouble than is necessary. Some food, maybe something to drink if he can spare it, and something to pawn. Just enough supplies to get you sorted in Filly.

Anyway, he certainly isn’t hurting for it by the look of things.

Any guilt you felt was short-lived when he settled down after dropping his pack inside, walking out with an inhaler of Jet in one hand and a can of Cram in the other.

Watched, greedy, as he cracked it open and picked at the tin of meat with lazy fingers. Salivated as he sucked them clean in between deep pulls of chem.

Soon, you decide, licking your lips as he chews, swallows. Soon.

However when push comes to shove, the stranger proves far more keen than you give him credit for.

The world spins like a hit of Daytripper, a kaleidoscope of color as your skull bounces off the wall with a loud crack. Air rushes from your lungs as something huge - hot and heavy - slams into you from behind.

Pins you against the wall with ease as your ears ring.

Something rattles loose; your teeth too large and your tongue too thick. Warm metal floods your mouth as the side of your face throbs in time with the rabbit fast stutter of your heartbeat.

Pain sparks and your stomach rolls.

"Wha's?" you slur, thoughts dripping like wax. "Wh-at's..."

Meanwhile, a gloved hand lassos around your throat like a collar. Brute fingers squeeze the tender flesh of your jugular until you hear your pulse in your ears. Senses struggling - sluggish to adjust in the encroaching night - as tiny cavities eat at your vision, little pockets of darkness.

“Lil girls should know it’s rude ta steal," a gruff voice mocks. “Betcha thought you was real slick, huh? Tch. You ask me, you’re dumber than shit, Darlin'.”

Trying to regain your bearings, you shake your head only to groan. “I don’t - ‘m not -” It’s difficult to concentrate, a throbbing tempo taking up residence in your temples. The words come slow. “Wha’d you mean?”

He whistles, long and low-pitched, "D’ya have any idea who you're fucking with?"

“N-No…”

“How’s about I show you, then?”

Warm breath puffs over the shell of your ear, a tongue sliding out to trace along the lobe. You jolt, squirming in discomfort as he crowds closer.

“Tasty lil thing like you, wrapped up all nice and pretty just for me." He chuckles. "Why, it must be Christmas.”

What the hell is he talking about?

It’s hard to breathe with his heavy weight suffocating you; the scent of gunpowder and bitter smoke clogging your nostrils with every labored inhale. His lips - ragged - scrape over the nape of your neck.

The grip on your throat squeezes once, twice; leather sticks to your sweaty skin.

You squint your sore eyes, taking in the faint flickers of firelight that spill through the open doorway. The desert chill of night has settled in, creeping through the busted out windows to dig beneath your padded armor.

Thunder rumbles directly overhead as lightning follows in flashes of acid green. It’s only a matter of time before sheets of rain come pouring down; the air sticky with humidity, trembling with energy.

The Radstorm has finally arrived.

You’ll undoubtedly get sick if you leave the shelter of the diner - might even die from it if you can’t afford or find any RadAway. But as the stranger’s chest digs into your shoulders, and the dog curls up in the corner - uncaring of your plight as its nose tucks into the whip-thin tail - you think you’ll take your chances.

Tilting back to glance at him from over your shoulder through damp eyes, you say, “Look--”

Only his hand moves, viper quick, as it slides from the front of your neck to the nape. Strong fingers clamp down like a vice, like scuffing an unruly dog.

He grinds your face into the wall, rough metal shredding your cheek.

You cry out, a soft, pained little thing that echoes through the empty diner.

“Now why’d you gotta go an' make me do that?”

A phantom glimpse told you all you needed to know; broad jaw, thin lips, a hollow nasal ridge, creeping radiation burns and cracked skin. Ghoul.

“Let’s try this again, Sugar.”

His free hand - sans glove - creeps over the curve of your hip to splay along the swell of your belly, fingers tucking up under the hem of your shirt. You shiver at the stroke of roughened skin.

“Don’t take another peep or I might jus' have ta pluck out those pretty eyes of yours.”

Dread pools low in your gut, a leaden ball.

Everything in you screams: RUN, RUN, RUN.

Alarms blare but you freeze. Stare straight ahead at the featureless wall, eyes wide and unseeing. Through the foggy mire of your thoughts - half formed and shapeless - you have enough presence to understand the precarious nature of your position.

Heart hammering, you plead for mercy, “Please, I’m - I’m sorry.”

"Aw, ain't that real sweet?" He remains impassive, unmoved. "The little thief does got some manners after all."

Without warning, the sharp toe of his cowboy boot kicks apart your feet. In the ensuing empty space between your thighs, his leg slots into place. Spurs dig into the tender meat of your ankle, little kisses of pain, as his hips rut forward against your ass.

You choke on your spit, pulse jumping in your throat.

"H-Hey, that's..." You attempt to shove at any part of him you can reach to no avail. Built and broad with compact muscle, it's like trying to move a brick wall. "I said I was sorry, okay!"

He ignores you, burying his face into the space behind your ear. A deep inhale sounds next to your head, the expansion of his chest against your back so firm you're not sure you won't fuse together.

The whiskey rough groan he releases does wicked things, makes your mind wander to places it shouldn't. Full of grit and gravel as his cock twitches against your backside, a burning line of heat.

A shiver ricochets down your spine.

He grunts, says, "Mm, you smell good enough ta eat."

The cap of his knee nudges up against your clit with a sudden jolt, shocks of pleasure electrifying your body. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and a sob threatens to scrape its way up from the depths of your throat.

You swallow, mouth desert dry. "Come on, let's just forget all about this, yeah?" you reason. "No harm done. I'll even give you whatever I've got left so - so..."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat, the vibration rattling through your chest. "So?" he prompts, plucking at the waistband of your trousers.

"So let me go?"

"Now why would I go an' do an asinine thing like that?" he replies. "If you think you can buy your freedom, think again, Sweetheart."

Rain pings off the metal roof, the smell of pungent ozone and rusting metal wafting in through busted windows and open doors.

“'Sides,” he pauses to turn your attention outside, “I’d hate ta have you yakin’ before the fun’s even started.”

There’s no way to misconstrue his meaning when he punctuates the statement with a teasing rut of his hips. Those rugged fingers tug open the clasp of your trousers, yank until the material goes slack and pools around your ankles.

“Hey, wait--!”

You jolt, hands scrambling for purchase as he slides his leg against your core. The friction of his pants through your thin cotton underwear makes you ache.

Ripping through your bottom lip, blood beading to the surface, you choke on a high-pitched whimper. "I..."

There's no way he can't feel your reaction.

How quickly you're getting wet as he drags you along the length of his thigh while yanking your hips back into the cradle of his pelvis. You meet him in a slow grind that boils your blood and steals the breath from your lungs.

It’s been - shit - far too long since you’ve felt anything other than hunger, thirst; the animal drive to keep pushing forward.

"You like this, don'tcha?"

You hear the dagger-sharp smile hidden in his words.

He croons, "What would your fellow smoothies think, huh? Here you are lettin’ a ghoul get you all hot n bothered - and you’re lovin’ it. Ain't you?"

You throb in response, heat stealing its way into your cheeks as you turn your head away in shame. His dark chuckle lets you know he felt the squeeze of your thighs, the rock and dip of your hips against his knee.

"I - I don't..." you stutter, struggling for a retort. “I’m not--”

A tremble works its way through your body, crushed as you are between the rad warm burn of his body and the wall. Completely at his mercy as you try to figure out where it all went wrong and what you can do to worm your way out of this one.

Terrified of what'll happen if you stay, terrified of what'll happen if you go; stuck in limbo as what was meant to be a simple grab-and-dash devolved into this confusing cluster of shame and lust.

You loathe the embers of desire kindling to life low in your belly.

"You really outta start bein' more honest, Sweetheart."

A large hand dips beneath the worn band of your underwear, and you wait with baited breath. Helpless as calloused fingertips brush over the swell of your mond.

Your inner thighs are uncomfortably sticky with slick, and your eyes burn in humiliation. Your throat trembles around all the words you want to say.

"Didn't anyone teach you lyin' was bad?" he asks rhetorically as his fingers slip down to play with the swollen bud of your clit, tapping lightly.

You keen, low and wounded.

Short nails dig into your palms as you flex your hands for want of something to grab onto.

“I am being honest,” you bite out through grit teeth. Sweat dapples your furrowed brow. “Just lemme go, please.”

"I find that hard ta believe," he replies. "Sorry to say, but you're shit at lyin'. Just look how hungry your lil cunt is for me."

It’s the only warning you get before those long digits plunge deep inside, two becoming three as they stretch you wide. Hollow you out; knuckles massaging your entrance as the tips prod along the sensitive front wall of your cunt.

You clamp down with a strangled moan. “Shit!”

This is a horrible idea - but it’s been forever and a day since you’ve felt anything other than your own touch.

Whether it be the bone-deep loneliness you’ve been shoving down for months or the sudden, inexplicable need for contact, you long for a reminder that you’re still alive.

That you’re not some wrath of the Wasteland filled with sand and blood, doing whatever it takes to survive in a place that would rather see you fail.

“I - I’m not sure.”

He snorts but offers no council or reassurances, using his free hand to yank at the back of your head in impatience. While it might’ve been a fairer fight if you weren’t in such bad shape, there’s no denying that he’s proven himself to be more adept.

Stronger, quicker.

This is going to happen either way.

And that turns you on - even though you feel like it shouldn’t.

If you give in, if he forces you to give in, it’s not really your fault then, is it? You can enjoy it because you have no choice.

Fuck it, you think, closing your eyes and tilting your head to the side in submission.

Like a doll with cut strings, all the fight drains from your body and you’re left sharing space. The ghoul is a furnace of heat behind you, barely any space to breathe he’s crowded so close.

His cock thickens where it digs into the soft fat of your ass, as large and intimidating as the man himself. “Now stay still for me.”

The or else goes unspoken.

Then he’s stepping away, a rush of cold air filling the empty space at your back.

You shiver, tempted to turn around. Maybe make a run for it. The only thing stopping you is the awareness that his threats aren’t so idle. In your experience, it’s far better to befriend the monster than to anger it.

So you comply, waiting an eternity as your senses strain to pick up on anything other than the murmuring hush of rain, the rumble of thunder, as the Radstorm continues to blow its way through.

Though just when you think he might’ve left, ready to chance moving, you hear the clink of a belt buckle clicking open. The scuff of boots across the linoleum before broad hands shove up under your shirt, scarred palms bare as they settle on your hips.

You tense before forcing yourself to relax.

“You ain’t as stupid as I thought,” he says. “Good girl.”

A test.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“I can listen,” you mumble, keeping calm as his hands explore the plains of your stomach, pluck at the waistband of your panties. “Promise ‘m not gonna do anything else.”

Learned my lesson the first time. Got my skull cracked open for it.

“That’s what I like ta hear.”

Without warning, your panties are being ripped from you, scraps of fabric fluttering useless to the floor. You squawk in indignation but then a heavy hand settles between your shoulder blades.

He presses down, and you follow without complaint, finding yourself bent in half.

And then the fat head of his cock is right there, teasing at your entrance. He plays with your cunt, slipping the shaft between your wet folds. Dragging up the length of you to tap at your swollen clit.

Jerking in his hold, you whine and try to bear down with all your weight. “Please,” you squirm. “Please, c’mon…”

His grip remains firm, bruising as he exhales next to your ear, a pleased little grumble. “Thatta girl. Now tell me, who’s my pretty lil thief?”

Every hard ridge of his body bites into the softness of yours, your stiff nipples dragging against the rough material of your shirt. Zings of pleasure shoot through you; bursting in your bloodstream, fizzy like warm Nuka Cola.

“I-”

“Go on now, Sweetheart: say it.” Fingers dig into your hips so hard your bones ache. “Or I jus' might be tempted ta take a bite outta your pretty lil backside instead.”

He’s bluffing, you think, half delirious, … Right? He wouldn’t--

You swallow, throat clicking, and squirm against him.

Is that a chance you’re willing to take?

No, no it’s not.

“Y-Yours - I’m - I’m your little thief.”

The unexpected flare of satisfaction in his voice is almost your undoing. A hand pets down your flank, swatting the outside of your thigh playfully.

“Good girl.” He demands, “Say it again.”

Sharp hip bones kick forward against your ass as he lines himself up and starts to bully his way inside.

“I’m - YOURS!”

Your soft, gummy walls flutter, squeeze until giving in with a pop under the hard pressure of the fat head. His cock stretches you out, thick and girthy.

Ridges of scar tissue and patches of rough friction pockmark his shaft, massaging tender places as he fills you up, fucking you open.

He feeds you inch after inch… until he can’t.

“Wait!”

Accommodating his girth is a struggle, your cunt filled to the brim by the time he’s halfway inside. No amount of slick could make him fit, so he makes do with harsh little jerks of his hips. Forces himself deeper and deeper until he glides home nice and smooth, sheathing himself to the base with a sigh of satisfaction.

You clamp down hard with a hiccupy whine, walls furtively trying to push him out. “A-Ah!”

“Goddamn,” he huffs, hands kneading your ass, “You’re a tight fit.”

Tears prick your lash line, your hips shifting as you try to stop him from moving. Begging for a moment of reprieve. You’ve never taken something so big and thick, so textured before.

Coupled with the minimal foreplay, it feels like he’s punched his way through your body. Hollowed you out to make a home for himself.

Pussy aching, a low burning tightness creeps over your lower belly as tender flesh pulses uncomfortably around the unforgiving heft of his cock seated deep inside. You swear you feel him poking your belly button.

“Please,” you pant, heat settling into your cheeks. “J-Just wait a sec-ond! I can’t - oh shit.”

“Aw, look at you.” Fingers reach around to brush over your cheeks, gather the tears that’ve slipped free. “Didn’t mean ta make you cry,” he lies.

The sound of him sucking his fingers clean reaches your ears. Your stomach swoops, and your clit throbs. Dazed as you wonder what his mouth would feel like on your pussy.

"Hah - too much, you're - fuck - you're too big."

He snickers. “Can’t be helped, I guess.” Body rippling in a shrug, his hands re-settling on your hips. “But that’s all right - I like it better when they cry.”

Before you can retort, he pulls his hips back.

Your toes curl in your boots, feet squeaking across the linoleum floor as your sweaty forehead grinds into the cool metal of the wall. The texture of his shaft burns as it slides through your swollen folds, dragging against sensitive spots you didn’t even know existed.

You can’t tell if it’s the best you’ve ever felt or the worst, but you nearly sob all the same, nerves alight with liquid fire. Want him as deep inside as he can go; a frenzy of desperation that needs him to stuff you so full you choke.

“See for all your whining, you’re takin’ me so well. What did I say about bein' honest?”

You sniffle, blurry eyes creaking open to stare out the window.

Your body throbs in time with your pulse, your pussy so stretched out you can’t clench down when he thrusts in deep. The fat mushroom head teases your cervix, a faint whisper, before he’s drawing back again.

“T-Too fast,” you stutter, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder. Your thighs tremble, knees going soft. “Slow down, slow down.”

“Sh, you can take it. I know you can.”

With a grunt, he surges forward. Wasting no time in starting up a brutal pace that rattles your bones. He drives you hard into the side of the diner; tits crushed and face smashed, a disgusting mixture of tears and drool wetting your cheek.

“Just like that, Sweetheart.”

You do little more than hold on, all thoughts driven from your mind as he fucks you swollen and bruised. Cunt a sticky mess as your slick eases the way, clinging to your inner thighs and dripping down his heavy balls.

Every thrust punches little sounds from you, and he grunts. “Fuck!”

Your hands cling to the sides of his hips, focusing on the shift of muscle beneath heavy fabric. “I can’t,” you slur, eyes cloudy as you glance up into his, gazes meeting for the first time. “Please, I - ah!”

His thrusts turn punishing, even more so than they already were, hips meet your ass with enough force to leave bruises. “What did I say about sneakin' a peek?”

While the words sound threatening, his voice is heated and breathy. For all his talk, he doesn’t look away. In fact, his hips slow into languid rolls, grinding close. When your eyes slide from his, he reaches down to pinch your clit between his fingers.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he chides. “You keep those eyes on me.”

Pretty, you think, dazed.

Glinting in the slants of firelight like wet sand or a Nuka Cola bottle in the sun; bourbon warm as they peer at you from beneath a heavy brow bone.

“That’s it, there’s my good girl."

Eyes fluttering when he flexes his hips in reward, the tip massaging along your g-spot, your mouth drops open on a whine.

“O-Oh! Right there, I - fuck, please don’t stop. ‘m so close.” F-Feels s'good.

His bare hand reaches up to curl around your jaw, gnarled fingers pushing their way past the open circle of your swollen lips. They compress your tongue as they gather saliva, stroking along your tastebuds.

Gritty, rough; he tastes of dirt, blood, and gunpowder.

You sneak a kiss to his scarred knuckle when he pulls free.

“Shit, I’ll be damned. You’re just a nasty lil freak, ain't you?”

You moan in response, stretching up on your tip-toes and arching your hips to change the angle. Your palms rest beside your head, docile.

A crazed grin cracks the corners of his lips, his teeth bared like an animal. “I like that,” he husks. “Now be a peach…”

Then those soaked digits are finding their way between your thighs, ghosting over your skin to smear spit onto your abused clit. The tender bud throbs beneath his fingertips, swollen and begging for attention.

He hitches his hips forward to feel you jerk, pulsing beneath his touch as he resumes a fast, jolting pace that has you smacking into the wall.

“And cum for me.”

A deep rumble escapes his throat, the sloppy, wet sounds of him fucking you ringing loud in your ears. Your hips roll, unsure if you want to press forward into the swirl of his fingers or back into the rut of his cock.

Tears stream down your cheeks, your chest heaving with weak sobs.

“Please,” you whine, his shaft pinching your walls uncomfortably. You feel swollen, rubbed raw. “A-Almost there.”

A nip to the ear is all it takes.

“Hhaah, I’m--!”

The liquid heat that’s been pooling low in your belly - building and building - finally bursts in a gush of slick that soaks his hand. Darkens the crotch of his pants as it drips down your thighs to splash against the tile.

You sob, a full body tremor zipping through you like bottled lightening.

In the aftermath, your cunt twitches in time with your heartbeat. Hands numb and head full of cotton as cramps bloom between your hips. Sharp little stabs shoot up behind your navel.

“Shit, I’ve got myself a gusher,” he laughs, a nasty little smirk tugging at his lips. “Look at the mess you made. Now if you ask real sweet-like, maybe I’ll let you clean it up with your tongue.”

You sag, too boneless to be ashamed as electric aftershocks tingle along your nerves. All the while, his pace never falters, quickly fucking you into overstimulation.

Your clit twitches pathetically when the fat head of his cock drags along your g-spot. "No more," you mumble weakly, letting him maneuver your body how he likes. "Please."

“Heh, let’s see if you can do that again.”

You whimper, “Oh, oh, please n-no. I - I can’t. You’ll break me.”

“That’s real cute,” his lips, harsh and rasping, drag over the shell of your ear, “but I wasn’t askin’.”

The grip on your hips tightens to the point of pain, digging in and marking you up.

“Now, why don’ we have some real fun, Darlin'?”

#cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x reader #fallout smut #the ghoul x you #cooper howard x you #the ghoul #cooper howard #fallout #fallout fanfic

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bbytamaki · 1 month

Text

BLOW OUT YOUR CANDLES — eren yeager

genre: nsfw (mdni)

content: eren yeager x fem reader, always blk coded reader but anyone is welcome to read, pet names (baby, baby doll) throat fucking, rough sex but soft eren (ofc), mentioned fingering, consensual photography, whiny eren crumbs, not proofread (lmk if i missed anything!)

note: idk if i like this one but happy birthday to my sweetheart !! 🎂

the slices of cake on your nightstand with burnt out candles had been long forgotten by the time eren had gotten ahold of you.

eren’s large palm gripped your tear stained cheek while you laid on your back with your head hanging over the edge of the bed.

you’d only tried it a few times, but this had become one of his favorite positions that you’d suggested — he loved to fuck your throat up while he watched you cum on his fingers.

you were such a sweet girl letting him have his way with you for his birthday. his heart melted watching your eyes roll back and your neck and chin shine with your own spit. he watched his fingers glisten from your last two orgasms.

your whines reverbed around his length as his tip bruised the back of your throat. his pace was brutal — he could be so mean but always made you feel so good. eren wiped the tears from your face. “shhh, you’re a big girl, y/n. you can take it.”

eren’s praise made your heart flutter. you knew he was close when he slightly slowed down his thrusts. it was so typical of him to savor every moment. you tapped his arm twice to let him know you needed to breathe and rolled onto your stomach. eren couldn’t take it. you just looked so beautiful, even coughing while catching your breath after doing your best to take all of him. you sat up and rested comfortably on your knees.

eren’s hand roughly clutched your soft curls (which he proudly helped you wrap every night) and pulled your head back to look at him while he stroked himself above you. you kissed his hipbones and smiled up at him with those pretty eyes.

“my needy baby.” eren grunted and thrusted into his fist. his girl was so perfect for him. he wanted to love and cherish you forever.

his deep groans faded into quick, sharp whimpers as he neared his orgasm. the sounds he made were your favorite. who knew such a meanie could be so whiny?

you knew that despite how harsh he acted, he was weak for you and folded just by looking at you. the thought brought a smile to your face as you prepared your final move. eren’s jaw fell slack as you slowly leaned forward to kiss his tip. that was his pretty slut.

eren grabbed your chin firmly. “such a messy girl. want me to cum all on that pretty face, baby doll? gonna let me take a picture?” you continued with sloppy kisses around his dripping tip while never breaking eye contact.

“yes, please,” you held out your tongue for him. with a muffled moan, eren spilled sticky ropes of his cum all over your face. he reached clumsily for his phone and pointed the camera toward you. the flash temporarily blinded you, making you roll your eyes playfully.

after taking his picture, eren leaned down to your level. with two fingers, her slowly dragged his seed from your cheek and pushed past your lips. you flattened your tongue and let him massage the inside of your mouth. the taste of the two of you combined was something you’d never forget. eren finished by pulling you in for a long, slow kiss that made your body melt against his.

eren pulled away from your lips and quickly began to clean you up. after, he laid back in bed with you wrapped tightly in his arms. “do you know how much i love you baby?”

“you show me everyday but i’m not sure yet .”

eren nudged your shoulder playfully. “i mean it. you really made today special for me.”

“you know i’d do anything for you, ren. you deserve this.”

eren kissed your forehead and looked down at you with a mischievous smile.

“so are we going again?”

#eren x reader #eren smut #eren x black reader #aot smut #aot x reader #aot x black reader #aot headcanons #eren headcanons #minors look away #eren yeager #eren aot #connie x black reader #jean x black reader #attack on titan

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appleblueberry-pie · 2 months

Text

Yandere Toji Fushiguro Concept

Concept: Broke Toji obsessed with you.

Toji was everywhere, all at once. He was a balance between the good and the bad. At both his lowest and highest, he had nothing to his name that he would proudly tell off was his. When he was in the Zen'in clan, he was worthless, nothing to his name but his body and seemingly useless mind, no matter how much money he was provided with. When he was on the streets, doing assassinations to make enough money to get by, he would spend it all in his own flurry of pleasure. Essentially, in both of his lives he was nothing. Yet, he was defiant. Only he could tell you how many times someone tried to gain his trust just to stab him in the back. Only he could relay how people played kiss-ass for so so long, only to toss him out of their home and mind. Only he could state how many invisible monsters he had to let mangle him just to bring himself back to his own feet.

He doesn't know a damn thing about the jujutsu world or even the real world. But if there was one thing he could say confidently, it is that no one ever gave a single fuck about him. No one. But he never seemed to be able to die. Or even move. No one could reach him, even if he had 2 pennies in his back pocket. No one could match his power if they wanted to. The Zen'in misogynist could only dream of being anything similar to him, and he never got there. Toji was nothing and everything. That balance. He flourished in his own twisted way. But it's not like he cared what would happen, anyways.

That's what he would've said if it wasn't for the hot, one thousand needles that sunk deeper into his cold, dead heart every time he attempted to deny his fate of meeting you. He remembers when he first started working with the shitty organization that pays him. He always wanted to strangle the two men behind the front desk that tried to negotiate the price on his paycheck that was supposed to be finalized. He always left with a little less than he was supposed to receive. That building would've been burnt to the ground by his hands if it wasn't for your sexy ass always strolling past him in your little work uniform. Your little shoes clacking as you pass by, your beautiful legs that he wanted to touch, your ass, your neck, your face that he couldn't stop staring at. Toji always got there when you clocked out of your shift, and he realizes why the two jackasses fuck him over out of his money. You were a huge distraction, more of one than he was willing to admit. Whenever you pass the three arguing, Toji always made sure to greet you when you walk out, giving his most "innocent" smile he could to you. You would beam back at him and even wave, your scent rewriting his brain chemistry and making his cock twitch. He wanted you all to himself, but for now, he'd control himself.

It's not like he was stalking you. Not like he would snatch his money-filled envelope and follow you back to your car. Not like he took assassination missions around your city in hopes of seeing you in the crowd of thousands of people walking around. Not like he threatened the people that paid him to give all of your personal information to him so he could stalk you more than he already was.

But it was never enough. Even if he had your address and would stroke himself in front of your window that gave him direct access to your bedroom, even he followed you to and from work everyday, stalked your socials and pretended to be someone else just to talk with you, it wasn't like having you right there. He needed to feel you, touch you, hear you more, see you more. It almost made his skin crawl when he realized some people are seeing you for almost 8 hours a day when he was left with crumbs of you. He felt embarrassed. He felt ashamed, humiliated, vulnerable and felt that same thick passion rush through his veins: it really makes him SWEAT when he accidentally admits to himself for the 15,000th time that day that he is so fucking in love with you.

And he knew that he would never be the man that you wanted. Broke, fucking homeless, a shitty personality and a sly tongue. The type of person a regular woman would shame for even having the audacity of showing themselves in the light of day. He killed and often dragged himself back to the place he could barely call a living space meant for people just to do it all over again in the morning. He couldn't take it anymore. But still, he did another mission. A horrible one, really. But it was worth sitting in an alleyway, cold, hungry, and in excruciating pain when you found him close to death, laying against the wall of some random building.

"Oh my god!!!" You exclaimed as you ran up to Toji, scared to touch his wounds, but knowing you had to do something. "No," He said, shaking his head slowly. "Leave me." You stuttered in fear, wrapping one of his arms around the back of your neck to attempt to lift him to his feet. "I can't just- just leave you here! You're bleeding out, and dying, and-" You grunted as you managed to slowly pull him to his feet, turning around to drag him out of the alleyway. He stared down at you as you rounded the corner, your place only half a block away. "You need to leave me here. Just go home and go to sleep, doll. I'll be fine." His deep voice sounded scratchy as he spoke. You tried so hard to ignore the blood seeping through your clothes and even falling down his soaked shirt. You couldn't leave him like this. "I've been through worse. Shit is like nothing to me."

You looked over at him in worry at his words, knowing this is already crossing many lines for you. This wasn't that bad?? You couldn't even imagine what else he could've gone through. Toji was in heaven currently. He was practically rubbing against you as you both walked, if he let his head hang enough, he'd feel your warm breath on his forehead. He wanted so badly to stay like this with you, letting his open wounds rub against you, but he wanted you to be safe. And you can't be safe like this. Not with him around.

Toji felt his heart leap with joy when you opened your front door, bringing him to your couch to drop him. This place was so much nicer now that he was inside of it. Everything. Everything smelled like you. Everything was placed in places it felt like you would put them. And you were here to take care of him to. He didn't know whether to let you take care of him, or just take over entirely, keeping you locked up in your own house and let him take care of you. He decided to let you just do what you want. He didn't want you to be scared of him, because it seemed like you really wanted him around at the moment, reasonably so. So, for now, he'll see how long this heaven will last until he has to take the reigns.

[I genuinely wanted to write more for this, but like I don't know how to continue the story without making it sound corny. I physically felt my writing become bad as I was writing this, so i stopped there. I like what I have going on here, so if anyone has oneshot ideas based on how i characterized him here, send some in.]

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wakatshi · 2 years

Text

UNTOUCHABLE

𖥾 ゚ ࣭ SIMON “GHOST” RILEY | &. — fem! reader, you’re angry with simon, teasing, smoking, clitoral stimulation, thigh riding, dry humping | wc 1.3k words | masterlist

simon riley is a stranger — it’s a thought you can’t ignore anymore.

he doesn’t laugh. he doesn’t smile. not enough. now that you think of it, you’ve never heard simon riley laugh. it’s not his thing. it feels impossible, utterly unrealistic. the idea itself is laughable. it’s always a smirk and it’s almost invisible. too sardonic. too sarcastic and not sincere enough.

you ache for a reaction, a crumb of the real him, but he doesn’t give it you. his caustic attitude is so maddening. exasperation grows inside of you, you’re frustrated and somehow feeling closer and closer to an imminent defeat.

simon riley is too much of a stranger. but ghost isn’t. you’ve seen his face before, but it feels like he constantly hides something; himself, away from you. he’s always on guard. his skin, his deep, visible scars, his every pore, his mouth, his nose, you’ve felt them all under the touch of your very own fingers. he didn’t run away, he stayed, but touching ghost like that simply doesn’t do it anymore.

and how can that be enough when simon is not far from being a complete stranger? his humanity itself is buried somewhere deep inside, it’s a secret hidden behind a annoyingly high wall. simon is there, but is he, really?

this evening is unusually silent, the air is crisp and cold, you wonder where soap went, he swore to defeat you in a poker game yesterday. he wouldn’t have, but still, enthusiasm got ahead of you. captain price isn’t here either. in fact, it’s just you and simon.

you find yourself lazying on a timeworn couch next to him, but he’s too busy. he’s thinking, smoking. acting like you’re not there. you wonder what could go through the mind of a man of his caliber.

“want a cig?” with the pack in his hand, simon breaks the silence, he waits for you to make up your mind.

“no, thanks. why don’t you put that away anyways? that’s your third cig.”

“why?”

“fuck off, simon.”

his gaze shifts away from you for quite some time, the cigar rests between his lips and he inhales the burnt tobacco, smoke drifts away and dissipates in the air. the smell persists and you’re used to it, ghost carries the scent of heavy smoking with him. it’s a constant thing.

“why?”

“i said fuck off. if you don’t wanna, just don’t.”

how stupid. it’s not the cigar, nor this situation in particular. maybe you’re too clingy — you worry. he’s not into that lovey-dovey shit. naturally, he’s ghost after all.

“fucking hell, why are you so angry over a cig? tell me.”

“you don’t… touch me. this… this shit we’re doing isn’t enough. you’re not even talking to me.”

“i don’t touch you?”

simon’s beginning to become self aware. he throws the lit cigar on the ground and crushes it with his boot. “come here,” he meant his lap.

as soon as you make yourself comfortable, his muscular arms begin to move, big, gloved hands linger on the fabric of your shirt and fall on your hips. they stay there, firmly, the lieutenant pulls your body towards him, as close as possible. “relax.”

he’s too attractive.

his body is strong, that of a man who’s seen and fought it all, built for survival and warfare. his mental wounds are yet to be unveiled, but you know simon hides them and it’s beyond you. his forearms thick and veiny, his left arm tattooed, his thighs sturdy, big.

but the man known as ghost treats you like you’re a piece of glass threatening to be broken. he doesn’t think you’re weak— how could he? that’s insanity. how could he think you’re fragile and unskilled when you carry out the missions so well. ghost fears he’s the one who might push you away, and he dreads the flaws of his own being.

“gloves off, simon.”

“gloves off...” he repeats. or rather whispers to himself mindlessly as if you’re giving him instructions. he follows them immediately.

“you’re not funny.”

you grind against his thighs, but there’s some sort of hesitation in your act. he looks untouchable. he’s ghost, not simon, with his mask still on and covering most of his face, except for his mouth and eyes — he follows your movements closely, his eyes wander all over you body, the exposed crook of your neck, your shirt, the waist his hands are holding too tightly. but you don’t complain.

you could’ve made it less obvious that you’re trying to get off on his pants at least. it’s experimental, you’ve never done this before and not with simon. you’re testing the waters. your heart beats annoyingly fast, your chest is heavy and breathing gets harder - it’s almost impossible to resist simon when he touches you like this, even if you tried to hide it, your body would betray any attempt to conceal how much be turns you on. from his body to his voice, everything about him arouses you.

he’d fuck you right here and right now. just tell him and he will. he’d unzip his pants, fill your pussy up to the brim with his cock and make you orgasm in every corner of this room. but for now, he won’t. simon gets some sort of pleasure out of watching you make a mess out of yourself.

it takes a huge amount of self-restraint to oppose whatever is happening right now. he’s well aware and he’s more than used to it.

“come on, i know you wanna do it. i thought we got past that stage.”

“what stage, simon?”

“you shying away from me. i’ve been inside your pussy too many fuckin’ times and you’re still doing this.”

“i hate you.”

“i’m sure you do. now focus, love.”

the feeling of elation comes almost instantly with the friction. you grind your clothed pussy against his pants like you��ve never felt the touch of a man before and you don’t know how to behave. or what to do with yourself. it’s truly embarrassing, a mix between arousal and curiosity.

you’re soaking wet, so, so impatient and you’re filled with a primal urge — to use his body to reach climax.

“say my name, love. louder, don’t be shy.”

“simon!”

it doesn’t take him too long to find his way to your jeans. he unbuckles them and slides his index and middle finger inside, “so wet.”

you feel heavy, your body grows tired and your head falls on his shoulder as your arms wrap around his neck. he pulls you quickly, a prompt don’t escapes his mouth.

“i can’t do this! i’m getting tired.”

“you can. look at me.”

that’s such an easy thing to say coming from a man who’s been sitting and doing nothing but watching you humping his thigh. ghost doesn’t give you a break. he’s merciless, he rubs your clit just fast enough to get a sudden moan out of you. it’s like his fingers were made to play with you pussy and not for what he does out there. they’ve been resting too much under those gloves — they’re warm, but you’re burning.

“feels good? you’re so fuckin’ pretty when you moan my name. say it again.”

“simon…”

“fuck, i could cum in my pants only by looking at you. such a brave girl.” there’s a sarcastic note in his voice, but you ignore it.

simon looks at you the entire time. his gaze pierces through every layer, it’s worse when he wears the mask. your body temperature goes up, you’re close, too close, it’s an explosion, a firework show you’re obsessively craving like nothing else. and it’s here, finally, you’re thankful he stopped you from dry humping his thigh. warm juices drip on his fingers and inside your panties when you orgasm.

“you said i don’t touch you.”

“i wasn’t talking about sex.”

“i know.”

likes, reblogs & feedback are very appreciated! 🤍

𖥾 ゚ ࣭ &. — TAGGING : @touyyes @suget @itachislut @boyfrwenz @xiiaoww @stoner-with-a-boner @pinheadswhore @cherryppick @qrtmin @cosmicfairygirl @introloves @acc-cal

𖥾 ゚ ࣭ &. — NOTE : this i was supposed to be shorter, but i got sooo distracted </3 i plan to write a second part… maybe !!

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #call of duty x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley fic #cod x reader #cod

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wreckmetoji · 1 year

Text

Don’t Call Me Friend

A fic in which you find a cynical man desperately needing medical attention

↳ Millions Knives/Reader

content warning. gender-neutral pronouns, afab reader, mild overstimulation, unprotected sex, profanity, shameless smut, slight fluff, alien genitalia, oral (m!receiving), fingering, creampie, knives has never seen a pussy in his life, probably missing some tags but it’s 8 in the am and im tired

this is a fic trade piece dedicated to @strbrmlk! Go show them some love, they have lots of Knives content!

minors DNI

8.7k words

The light was unlike anything you had ever seen. It was cataclysmic, swallowing a city whole and whoever dared to remain, and even from so far away the shockwave winded you and made your eyes burn. Bright scorching purple, a light so pure and refined you had half a mind to think it was cast down from heaven itself. A shaky sigh pushed from your lips, shoulders sagging at the weight of the realization the city you were heading to had just been completely leveled, now nothing but a crater.

Perhaps you would take advantage of the night and keep traveling. Your bones ached, legs begged you to stop and rest, but now there was no refuge. You had to persist. Fuck, how far away was the next city, the voice in the back of your mind nagged as you began packing up your few belongings. You were nearly out of supplies, running dangerously low on water and even worse off for food. It was fine, everything would be fine, you always managed to scrape by no matter how dire or desperate.

With a low grumble, you hiked your bag over your shoulders, adjusting the straps before spinning on your heel and making your way back. Only upon glancing over your shoulder one last time, did you see a second impact several yards away. It was smaller, much smaller, and you would have missed it had you not seen the plume of sand that flew into the air as a result. Was it rubble left over from the blast? Had anything managed to survive that? Curiosity got the better of you, sliding down and climbing over dunes hastily to see what had landed so close. Maybe, if you were lucky, it was some intact supplies. Wishful thinking, maybe.

Upon reaching whatever- no, whoever- had landed, your hands flew up to your mouth as you gasped. A body, unidentifiable, completely burnt and scorched to a crisp, missing flesh in his arms and face. You inched closer, tiny steps carrying you nearer as you gave him a good glance over. Usually the sight and smell alone would leave you gagging, but you were compelled, maybe they were alive?

A slow rise and fall of their chest was all you needed, luck be on their side. Not on yours however, considering your survivors guilt would eat you alive if you had just left the poor man, so now not only were you stuck trekking across a barren desert with little to no supplies, you were doing so with a dying man that was in desperate need for medical attention you were most certainly not qualified to execute. Still, you did your best to wrap him in the comfort of your sleeping bag, tactfully tying it up with some spare rope and wrapping around your waist and arms. The chances of him surviving were less than slim, but you would be damned if you didn't at least try to save his life.

This conclusion nearly killed you, several times throughout your trek back to the small town you came from did you encounter obstacle after obstacle. Hungry vultures preying on the smell of death, inconspicuous bandits waiting around every rock and dune, and the fact you hadn't had a crumb of food or drop of water the entire way. At some point you must have started hallucinating, because you swear you could see the burnt skin on the stranger's face stretch in some unexpressed emotion when you poured the last droplets of water in his mouth. Regardless, the sight of the town flags waving in the wind was enough to nearly bring you to tears. Glancing back at your injured traveling companion, you huffed out a relieved sigh, whispering, "We'll get you some help, friend. Don't worry."

As it turned out, medical professionals were just as shocked as you to see someone in such horrible condition to still be living and breathing, and even responsive. Perhaps you weren't hallucinating when you saw him move earlier.

It took hours to get him in a bed, wrapped in bandages and gauze, leaving you to sit in the tiny room with him and sweat over the quadruple digit medical bill resting in your hands. No good deed goes unpunished, you thought to yourself, gently sighing and reclining in the bedside chair next to the mysterious man. You had money, sure, maybe enough to put a down payment and work the rest off over the next couple weeks running odd jobs around the small town. Maybe you could borrow a car and make some money off of supply runs, now that July was destroyed you could imagine They were just as desperate to help as some off-the-map backwash towns.

Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention, seeing a tenderly gauze wrapped arm shift, attempting to raise up with weak urgency. You stood from your chair, sliding onto your knees beside the bed, resting your hand as tenderly as you could on him. "Hey, it's okay," You called out, to which you could see him tense ever so slightly, "It's okay, you're all patched up. Don't be afraid, you're in good hands. I promise."

Recovery was speedy, the doctors had mentioned. The mystery man was making amazing progress, and the speed in which his scorched skin was healing was inhuman. What would have taken months, years, if at all, was taking less than weeks. Those weeks you spent working at a local baked goods shop during the day, and a bar at night, keeping you endlessly busy and then some. Still, though, you would find time at the end of every shift to slip by the medical clinic in which the mystery traveler was stationed at, sitting with him for a bit and talking. It was odd, you noted, telling someone so much about yourself, the things you're interested in, all the way from your name to your favorite book you've managed to forage out of the odd pawn shop. It was odd having someone know so much about you, and you didn't even know what they looked like, who they were, how they sounded.

Still, you liked to think he enjoyed your company as much as you enjoyed his, even if he couldn't say anything.

The day you could no longer keep up with the payments for his care was the day the weight on your shoulders tripled. The nurses were empathetic, stressing over the steps you would need to take if you were to do it yourself, but emphasized the clinic wasn't a charity. Only slightly concerned one of the nurses mentioned he did have to be sedated nearly every time they changed his bandages, or he would put up too much of a fight, how the hell were you going to get sedatives? In all, you understood, and part of you knew this would be where you ended up, considering two minimum wage jobs could only get you so far. At least now instead of exorbitant medical fees, you could house him with you in your shitty little rental. Now you could see him more often too, you just hoped that his bandages would be fine through the day, or maybe you would have to start taking your lunch breaks to come home and tend to him. He was your responsibility, after all, and you had made peace with that.

Honestly, you were expecting the first day to be the worst. You stood from your kneeling position beside your bed in which the man was currently occupying, taking a deep breath and mentally going over all your steps on top of he puts up a fuss, don't be surprised. The second your hand made contact with his covered shoulder, he flinched, and you mimicked the reaction, squeaking a quiet, "Sorry! I should have said I was going to touch you." You sighed again, resting the supplies on the bed. "I've never done this before, so... Please be patient with me. I'm just trying to help, friend."

Unsure if maybe it was a familiar voice, or your reassuring words, but he definitely wasn't a nightmare like the nurses mentioned he would be. You unwrapped, washed, put on the required prescription ointment, and then re-wrapped both of his arms, quickly moving to his head. Your fingers hesitated, hands hovering over his neck for a moment. You could still see his scorched face, the missing skin, and showing bone. Still, it had to be done. After steeling yourself, and verbalizing where you were going to be touching next, you began to work the bandages from around his neck, then his jawline, slowly revealing him to you.

It was a sight you didn't think you could have ever prepared yourself for. You'd been told he was making a speedy recovery, not a freakishly inhuman recovery, but the skin on his face had nearly completely healed over. The skin was fresh and stretched and definitely not an accurate representation of the man he once was, and the voice in the back of your head silently wondered if it would scar like that, but his eyes. You couldn't stop the quiet gasp that left your mouth as your hands dropped, his right eye being revealed to you. Despite the wounds, the scaring, he was beautiful, even as he fixed you with a confused glare. "Oh," You found yourself saying, cheeks ruddy and thoughts scrambled at the way he stared at you, "S-Sorry, I just- I wasn't expecting..."

Unable to finish your sentence, your hand reached up instinctively to touch at the healed patch of skin at his jaw. Turquoise gaze shot down, hand flying up to intercept your course of action, snatching at your wrist in a tight hold. You couldn't will yourself to be shocked, or scared at the amount of strength behind his grip, only staring at his exposed eye with silent wonder. Finally, you whispered, "Sorry... You're just... Your eyes are very beautiful. Please let me change the rest of your bandages?" To your surprise, he did, his eyes glancing out the window as you removed and replaced his bandaging. When you asked if he would prefer to have the bandages off or over his eyes, he didn't reply, only continuing his hardened forlorn gaze out into the streets below. So, you decided for him, leaving his eyes uncovered. It was a hardened decision to leave him a stack of bandages to change whatever was under the waist and above the thigh, not wanting to impede on his privacy more than you already had.

After you finished up, you sighed, standing and cracking your back. "I have to go to work now, bills don't pay themselves. There's some pre-made meals in the fridge, and some bottled water as well," You smiled at him, his gaze refusing to meet yours. You took note of the slightly disgusted scrunch of his face, your lips curling in a sad, empathetic smile. "Please... Make yourself at home. What's mine is yours." You gathered up the used bandages, throwing them away, shuffling about for a bit, before leaving for your day.

When you came back on your lunch break, you took note that he hadn't eaten anything. You would have found it odd, if not for everything else that surrounded him in his shroud of mystery.

Life continued like this, and even if you were working yourself to the bone and absolutely exhausted at the end of every day, you found satisfaction in the recovery of your anonymous guest at your hand. It was enough to keep you going, knowing someone needed you. Even if sometimes you caught his frustrated glares, or looks of disgust out of the corner of your eye, you found it hard to take them personally. You wouldn't exactly be thrilled to be in his position, and accepting help was difficult for some people. Nevertheless, every scowl and glower he gave you was met with that same sympathetic smile, brows upturned, radiating nothing but unending kindness and compassion. You couldn't pinpoint when, unsure exactly how it came to be, but his dirty looks became less and less, slowly being replaced by what could be misconstrued as disinterest, but there was something else. Curiosity, maybe?

"Okay," You called over your shoulder, sliding your shoes on at your front door, "I'm headed to work now! I'll be home a bit later than usual, I need to pick up groceries, so if there's anything you want I- I..." You patted down your pockets, brows furrowing at the realization you had misplaced your wallet at some point in your rush to get ready.

"Here," A baritone called out from behind you, scaring the living daylights out of you.

You shrieked, whipping around with your hands up and out, as if you had any grace or tact to defend yourself against a potential intruder. Instead, you were met with a broad bandaged chest, eyes glancing up slightly to see that same look of indifference with something. What came out of your mouth was more a puff of air than a laugh, disbelief convincing you that you had just heard things considering up until now you had assumed he was mute.

"Th....thank you," You muttered, gingerly plucking your wallet from the palm of his bandaged hand. Meeting your eyes for just a moment too long, you found yourself searching. Searching for that unnamed emotion you saw whenever he looked out the window, or when you caught him watching you eat your food out of your peripherals, or whenever you gave him your understanding, endlessly kind smile. His abhorrence was apparent, before he turned around and headed back to your room.

Most of your day was spent thinking about your auditory hallucination, or at least that's what you chalked it up to be. It was deep, authoritative, and had a chill running down your spine. It also really couldn't have been anything else, and you had thoroughly gaslit yourself into believing you were crazy until you heard him speak a few days later.

The stress of having two mouths to feed was quickly smothered upon realizing the man you had taken in didn't require food to survive. You wondered just what kind of being he was if not human, and the words fallen angel briefly passed through your mind. There was no such thing, and the thought alone was silly in itself. Still, it never stopped you from wondering just what you had gotten yourself into. Distracted thoughts wandered, resulting in you slicing at the tip of your finger as you prepared your dinner. You yelped, quickly sticking your index finger in your mouth purely on reflex.

"Stupid creature," Came that same baritone, your gaze shooting up and meeting the hardened gaze of your guest. Your mouth fell open, blinking stupidly at him, before your brain caught up to what he was saying. All you did was laugh, pathetically, and nod your head.

"Yeah, it was a stupid mistake, wasn't it?"

He seemed taken aback by this, downcast brows raising slightly as he watched you rinse out your cut, but not take the time to patch yourself up. You simply went back about your business making food, avoiding using your injured finger as you continued. He scoffed, which garnered your attention for a second time, your gaze coming back up only to see him turning on his heel and walking back to your bedroom.

After dinner, you gently knocked on the bedroom door, slowly emerging with an armful of supplies. Unsurprisingly, he was on the bed as he usually was, looking out the window. Pattering your way over, you dumped the supplies beside him on the bed, kneeling on the floor to sort through everything, noting the fact he was already sticking his arm out for you to begin your work. This had been your routine for weeks, but even after all this time he never once willingly complied. The sight made you smile, a small laugh escaping your lips as you unwrapped him, put on the cream, then re-wrapped him.

"You're making fantastic progress, I'd say you probably won't have to wear so many bandages anymore after this week," You mused, working on the bandages on his chest next. "It's crazy, your hair is growing insanely fast, your skin is basically as good as new-"

"Why do you persist?"

The question caught you off guard, his voice scratchy from lack of use, but the deep rumble of him rattled your body. You paused, unable to answer right away. "Because... I saw someone out in the middle of nowhere gravely injured. I wouldn't have been able to forgive myself if I just left you there."

"So you pity me? You think you're superior, and this is for your own satisfaction?"

Despite the venom tainting his voice, you couldn't help but smile, shaking your head as you applied more cream to him. "No, absolutely not. I don't think I'm better than anybody. I saw someone hurting, and I know how it feels to have people turn a blind eye when one is in need of help." Your eyes glanced up, a lump in your throat forming when you caught him gazing down at you. "Humanity is... lost, I think. Everyone is caught up in themselves and their wealth and their own general wellbeing, we forget to take care of the people and things around us. We forget that we can't just take, and there has to be some give. So this is me trying to be a giver in a world full of takers, I guess."

"It's pointless. You're insignificant." He scoffed, lifting his arms as you worked your way down.

"Yeah, maybe. Maybe I'm never going to amount to anything, and I'll have spent my life trying to make up for humanity's shortcomings and regret it later on, but I'm willing to accept that when the time comes. For now, I'd just like to help you get back up on your feet," You emphasized your words by tying a little knot in the gauze, holding it into place. Standing, you reached for his neck, your hand being intercepted for not the first time. He held it there, not as hard, but there was a threatening aura if you disobeyed his silent request. You stood, quietly, nodding for him to say his unspoken words.

"You didn't bandage your hand earlier," It was more a statement than a question, but you understood the connotation behind it regardless.

With a shrug, and a smile, you braved through the threat and pushed your hand forwards, unwrapping him. He let you, surprisingly, with an unreadable expression. "I would much rather have all the supplies I need to take care of people that need help more than me. It's just a small cut, after all." He was quiet, watchful eyes peering at you as you unwrapped his now growing tufts of platinum blond hair. It was coming through smooth, even, as if he hadn't been scarred from head to toe in burns. "Besides," You continued, decidedly leaving the bandages off his head, "Why would I waste perfectly good supplies on someone insignificant?"

Maybe it was because he wasn't expecting your self deprecating answer, or throwing his description of you back at him, but he seemed genuinely surprised. You didn't take the time to enjoy it, simply flashing him another smile before gathering up the used bandages and supplies and leaving him to his solitude he seemed to enjoy.

In the following days, he became a bit more chatty. At first you only noticed his presence, hovering around you in your general space, and part of you wanted to laugh at how similarly he behaved to a cat. The second you would acknowledge him, or glance in his general direction, he would leave the area, as if he didn't want you to perceive the fact he seemed to be curious about you and what you were doing. It was cute, despite the dangerous aura he seemed to exude sometimes, and you found yourself looking forward to just being able to exist in the same space as him. Once he managed to warm up to the fact you didn't seem to want or expect anything out of him, he became more obvious in your space, offering a roll of his eyes as you spoke to him about nothing at all in particular. Sometimes it was your day, your coworkers, something interesting you saw at the market. You never asked anything of him though, not even his name. He had given you a stern look one morning, asking why you never wanted information out of him. I'd like to think if you want to tell me something, you'll tell me when you want to, you said softly, who am I to make demands and take what I want from anyone?

He never really had much to say when you answered his questions, but you could always sense the surprise. The realization came to you quickly, the side eye he would give you when you smiled at his otherwise hurtful comments or cynical view on you and your species speaking volumes. It was like he had already formed an opinion of who you were, a predisposition to fall into simple categories of "good", and "bad", with humanity, including you, falling into "bad". Nevertheless, you continued to surprise him, constantly going out of your way to make him a priority, put his comfort above yours to the point where you had been damned to sleep on your lumpy, three-times thrifted couch. Never once did you complain about the crick in your neck, or your sore shoulder, or the tweak in your back that made you wince when you knelt down to change his dressings. You were doing this of your own volition, after all, simply happy to help someone that was obviously deeply wounded by people before you.

The day you came back dirty and defeated and worse for wear was the day something significant change in him.

Pushing through your apartment doors as normal, you saw him sitting on your couch, brows furrowing at the state of you. Your face was dirty, palms and forearms scraped and bloody, a small cut on your cheek and matching cuts in your work clothes. Despite your appearance, you greeted him with a weak smile. "I'm sorry," You huffed, setting a paper bag on the counter, walking over to the kitchen and washing up your hands, "Let's go change your bandages quick."

Leaving no room for argument, not that you were sure he would do that anyways, you gathered up the necessary supplies and crouched in front of him on the floor. Trying desperately, but failing, you winced as you gloved your scraped palms, and this time finding yourself unable or willing to meet his gaze, You could feel him watching you, calculating your every movement. You had finished up quickly, now that he was more man and less bandage it was an easier process. Finishing up, you gathered all the used supplies in a pile, tossing it into the garbage. Looping back around the couch, you took a final look at him before nodding, a forced smile through pursed lips. "Alright, I'll get dinner start-"

An iron grip encased your wrist as you began walking back around the couch, holding you firmly in place. You winced again, his fingers encasing a particularly nasty scrape. You didn't resist though, simply staring at him with a confused expression while he stood from his sitting position. He dwarfed you completely, despite the lack of exercise and movement he was still built and arguably massive, so you found yourself staring in awe whenever you were in relatively close proximity.

"Clean yourself up. It's an eyesore."

Perhaps his words stung more than they should have, but you sighed, nodding slowly. He released your wrist, letting you walk to your room to grab a change of clothes. Unlike his previous mannerism, existing in your general space without getting too close, this time he was hot on your heels, directly behind you the entire time. Plucking up some comfy pants and a loose shirt, along with a towel, you trudged your way over to the bathroom. Once you reached the door, you went to close it, eyeing him suspiciously as he stood in place with his arms crossed just past the threshold. Closing the door with a click, you stripped, turning the taps on and hopping in. Feeling the tears well up that you had been staving off were harder and harder to fight back, deep in and out breaths only helping so much before the cloud over your head began to storm. Before you could let it consume you, you washed yourself up, dried yourself off, and got changed, deciding distracting yourself would be better than wallowing in self pity at the loss of your wallet, groceries, and dignity.

Upon opening the door, your guest was still firmly stood in place, completely unmoved from his last position you saw him in. You stared back, taking a small step forward and hoping he would get out of your way. His eyes were watchful, knowing, and the way they peered down at your scrapes and bruises, then came back up to your eyes was enough to tell you what he wanted from you, and that he had no intention of getting out of your way until then.

You didn't know why, you didn't know why that was what broke the dam, why the smallest glance had tears pooling in your eyes and falling down your cheeks. You stood there, staring at each other as tears bubbled past your eyes and cascaded down your cheeks, until a soft sob left your lips. Hanging your head, you watched your tears hit the tile of the bathroom floor. Perhaps because you were clouded with stress and regret, you could justify taking a step forward. Perhaps, because you have been trying so hard for so long, you just needed someone to tell you that you were doing a good job, you could justify resting your forehead on his chest, loosely wrapping your arms around his waist. For the first time in the months you had known him, you took, and you felt a deep guilt about it.

"I'm sorry," You whispered into him, closing your eyes as you went to pull back. A hand at the back of your head stopped you, pulling you back into your weak, one sided embrace. Despite the fact he didn't rest his arm around you, despite the fact all he did was put a hand in your hair, you found yourself tearing at the seams, coming undone and sobbing against him.

After a couple minutes, your shoulders stopped quaking, your sniffles began to subside, and you heard that deep voice in the crevice of his chest speak.

"Finish cleaning yourself up," His voice was low and assertive, to which you let out a small saccharine laugh, nodding your head against his chest.

"Okay. Thank you, friend," You slowly took a step back, looking up at his firm expression. Brows upturned, you offered your signature bittersweet smile, still teary eyed and ruddy cheeked as you wiped your face. His expression fell, lips downturned at your harmless name for him. It was visible, the cogs turning in his head as his eyes watched you brush the tears from your face, glance down at your pouty lips and wet jaw, then back up to your eyes.

"Nai."

"P... Pardon?" You paused, watching him take a step towards you.

"Call me Nai," He took another step forwards, crowding you in his space against the bathroom counter. You found yourself bending back a bit, eyes wide and glassy as you watched him lean into you.

"N-Nai," You repeated back to him, watching his eyes search you again. This time it was more frantic, his mouth hanging open, obvious distress on his face until he was nearly nose to nose with you.

"Again."

"Nai... What are- mmf-"

All it took was a blink. You blinked, and his lips were crushed up against yours in a searing kiss. It was desperate, needy, forceful, expressing every emotion he had kept bottled up in the back of his mind. White knuckle gripping the edge of your bathroom counter, you leaned back even more, spine bent over the surface at an uncomfortable angle. You tried pulling back, tried to ask him what he was doing and if he was okay, only for a hand to come up and firmly grip your jaw, holding you in place. The hand on your face squeezed, prying open your mouth with ease, his tongue licking into your open mouth before pressing his tongue against yours. Just as you let your eyes shut, just as you began to press back up into him, he ripped away, taking a stride back. Panting and delirious, you blinked through your daze, seeing the disgusted scrunch of his nose and downturned brows as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Flinging the partially closed door open, Nai stormed out in a heated rush, leaving the door to hit the wall and bounce nearly to a close again. All you could do was stare at the empty space where he was once standing, your mind having to work double time to catch up with everything that happened. Taking a deep, shaky breath, your fingertips ghosted across your lips in stunned silence. He looked so desperate, so hurt, and more than anything your heart ached at the expression that had graced his smooth, angelic features when you had spoken his name to him. Completely torn, unable to weigh the pros and cons of simply just leaving him be, or being at his side, you decided against your better judgement and slowly exited the bathroom. Your hair was still wet, cold droplets penetrating the thin fabric of your night shirt. Steeling yourself, you pushed through the threshold of your bedroom, only to see the tall man ripping off the bandages on his arms and chest. You sprung into action immediately, concerned for his healing process.

"Nai, stop that-"

"Do not!" He yelled, turning around and facing you. His eyes were wide, stress evident on his face due to his inner turmoil. When you swallowed, taking another step forward with an outstretched hand, he snarled, clenching his jaw.

"Please, Nai, let me fix your bandages-"

"Why do you persist?!" He asked for a second time, "You are a disgusting, unworthy creature. You are insignificant and meaningless! You have no right being so similar to him!" Insult after insult, he stepped closer, never lowering his voice, "Your kind are repulsive, you do nothing but take, nothing but steal, nothing but hurt."

The fact you only pursed your lips, unmoving in front of him, seemed to escalate his fury.

"What makes you so different?" He growled, impeding on your space for a second time this evening, the malicious aura surrounding him different as his hand shot up, clasping around your throat and fingers digging into your jaw. Still, you did not move, only wincing when he tilted your head back at an angle stressful on your weary muscles.

Your docile, unintimidated nature broke down his walls, his grip wavering, before loosening completely. He kept his hand in place, his chest heaving from his one-sided outburst. Quiet, much more quiet than he had been, he whispered, "Why are you so different?"

Slowly, as not to shock him, you raised a hand, eyes downcast at a portion of his arm that was scratched and bloody, most likely from his frantic half attempted escape out of his dressings. You were careful, wrapping the ripped dangling bandage around that spot, lifting your other hand to tie it off. Grip slipping, his hand slowly slid down the column of your throat, the heel of his palm resting on your collar bone while his fingers brushed your pulse points. He was impossibly close again, but this time there was no distress. There was no urgency. Only disbelief, and that familiar inkling of something else you had gotten used to finding in his eyes.

"I understand," You breathed, taking his sagging shoulders as an okay to keep going, "I understand that... People are cruel, and evil- I know. I encounter it every day. I know. It's tragic, and horrible, and that's why I try so hard to make up for others' shortcomings. I try my best to be the good I want to see in this world."

Turquoise eyes watched your hands continue tying off frayed ends, watched your lips purse and eyes grow glassy at the state of him, and he huffed a sardonic laugh. "It's pointless."

"I know. But that doesn't mean I'll ever stop trying."

Only met with silence, you scanned his expression, seeing that same bewilderment you were met with nearly every time you surpassed his expectations. It made you smile your signature smile, a small puff of amused air leaving your lips as his fingers twitched against your skin, enclosing the base of your throat in a loose grip. There you stood in silence with him, letting him mull over whatever he needed to sort through internally, you would be patient in letting him take his time. Gaining trust was never an easy process. He noticed this, brows furrowing as your hand came up and gently caressed the rough tattered fabric clinging to his arms. He swallowed, and just as you opened your mouth to ask if he wanted you to fix it for him, he was barking a quick order.

"Get on the bed."

Instantly you were bashful, cheeks heating up in a vibrant blush, ears warm and expression puzzled. Still, you listened, watching his hand fall from your neck before stepping over to the bed. You crawled on, settling yourself in the center of the mattress before spinning around and facing him, folding your hands in your lap as you awaited his next request. You never ended up receiving one, simply shuffling up closer to the pillows as he climbed on with you. Once again, he was caging you in, eyes searching you for any dishonesty, as if he still had his doubts about you but was unsure how to prove you wrong when you were so irrevocably good. His interest seemed to outweigh his suspicion, or maybe there was something else that had him gravitating towards your melancholic, teary eyed optimism. Perhaps that him he had mentioned was not so different from yourself.

Unsure what to expect, you simply blinked at him, slowly leaning back on your forearms, before laying down, his body unmoving as he watched you shifted your weight to lay on your side. Your eyes stared out the window towards the starry night sky, listening to the rustling of fabric sheets, before the mattress was sinking lower behind you. The sudden shift in weight had you pressed back against him feeling an arm come around, elbow resting on your waist, forearm tucked around your waist and hand dipped under your side, you inhaled sharply, tensing slightly. His uncertainty and back and forth had you confused, unsure exactly what he wanted to do or what he thought of you, but the closeness and physical touch had your throat growing tight and those familiar tears welling up.

"Nai... What are you doing?" You asked, barely above a whisper, unsure exactly what his intentions were with you at this point. Only met with silence for a short while, you closed your eyes, soaking in his warmth- because God was he warm- appreciatively.

"This helped my brother when we were young."

Understanding he probably wasn't going to elaborate further, you simply huffed a small, weak laugh at the insinuation he was treating you like a child, but you were grateful nonetheless. You weren't expecting him to have the capacity or compulsion to help you, considering many occasions had come up in the weeks you knew him where you had been in a position of needing help and he would only watch scornfully with crossed arms. A cheeky smile cracked your features, daring to turn your head and glance back at him at the risk you would be pushing him away. You were going to say something about him treating you like a child, but your smile fell the second you saw the expression on his face. His brows were downturned, but he looked tired, a twinge of sadness he poorly masked as irritation.

"Your brother must have been lucky to have you," You whispered, unsure what else you could have said, unsure if there's anything you could say to take away his pain and sadness. "I know I am."

There was a spark of recognition, realization, a switch being flipped in the back of his mind you barely managed to catch before he was leaning into you, slotting his lips against yours. You were surprised by him again, but much more accepting to his advances now that you got a brief glance into the window of his mind. He had so much inner turmoil, internalized emotion he masked with anger or irritation or indifference. Pushing into him, only enough to reciprocate, the arm around your waist tightened before turning your body, flipping you on your back. Gasping when your back hit the bed, the old springs below groaned in retaliation as Nai made space for himself between your legs, forcing them apart with flat, firm palms. His short, platinum blond hair illuminated by the moonlight made him seem even more angelic, the pale white light accentuating every dip and crease and crevice of his fit physique laying underneath tattered, torn bandages. You breathed as he leaned down, unable to contain your quiet, "Beautiful..."

It was difficult for you to comprehend, the languid kiss becoming more tongue, his teeth bared and biting at your lower lip when you pushed back, threatening to invade the space of his mouth. Strong hands came up to the small of your waist, grabbing at you in such a way it made you vividly aware of the fact he was so much bigger than you. He seemed to realize this too, pulling back from your spit ridden kiss to glance down at your much smaller body so pliant in his hands. His brows furrowed, mouth hanging open slightly as he squeezed. It wasn't hard, only enough to make you squeak, his eyes shooting up to glance at you through his light lashes. His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, pushing it up and past the swell of your breasts despite your flustered protests. Not even realizing your eyes had clamped shut, you cracked an eye open to glance up at him, surprised to see him transfixed. His hands grabbed, squeezed, brushed, every bit of skin, setting your nerves on end when he always nearly avoided touching the most sensitive parts of you.

The thought of has he not done this before briefly crossed your mind, but was dismissed when he thumbed over your nipple, eliciting a drawn out whine from your throat. You were half expecting him to have a negative reaction, considering every time you had an innately human reaction to something, he was quick to scrunch his nose and turn away. Instead, he repeated the action, leaning down to shove his tongue in your mouth in the process. It was easy, your gasp and whine allowing him immediate access, and your eyes were rolling back at the feeling of him caressing and squeezing you. Another whine pulled from your throat, this time muffled by his mouth and tongue, you gently placed your hands on his wrists. He tensed, but didn't stop, a silent affirmation that you could keep going. Your hands skated up his arms, over his shoulders, arms winding around his neck, nails slowly dragging up the top of his spine. He groaned, squeezing your breasts in his hands, before his hands shot down to your hips, pulling you up and into him to meet the roll of his hips.

"Ah! N-Nai!" You gasped, glancing down at the pair of oversized borrowed sweatpants he had donned nearly every day living with you. Never had you been so happy to own a piece of clothing from an ex, and the satisfaction of watching your house guest fill them out much better was a treat in itself.

"Again," He demanded, watching your expression scrunch and release as he rolled his hips into you again.

"Nai," You breathed, throwing your head back against the pillows, nails digging further into his back. The noise he emitted was animalistic, grip wavering on your hips. You heard a rip, eyes shooting open and glancing down to see your shorts and underwear in tatters on the bed. It looked as if they had been put through a shredder, and all you could do is stare with absolute bewilderment as to how he had managed that so quick.

However, you were unable to say anything, now being zoned in on the heave of his chest, or how his eyes locked on the line of your pussy. A lump formed in your throat, wondering if maybe something was wrong, if maybe he thought you looked weird, or gross, and subconsciously you tried to tuck your legs up to close them, but with him occupying that space there was simply no room. He glanced up at your eyes again, then down, a hand abandoning its place on your hip to thumb over your already embarrassingly wet cunt and part you. Sitting back on his haunches, using his knees to push your legs apart further, his other hand came down, spreading you with both thumbs to observe. The embarrassed noise that left your lips didn't tear his attention away, hands coming up to hover over your mouth as you watched him, once again begging the question...

"Have you never seen one before?" You blurted out, cheeks rosy and eyes half lidded. Really it was the only explanation, as far as you were aware you weren't completely abnormal down there, at least not that you were told. Almost immediately regretting your decision, the slow slide of his eyes up to your face, he didn't answer, but there was a tinge of pink at the tips of his ears that spoke for him. "Here," You bit your lip, a hand coming down and slowly sliding your fingers down, then up, gathering some of your slick before rubbing at your sensitive bundle of nerves, "Like that."

Nai seemed to look apprehensive, confused, only for a moment before he mimicked your actions. You keened, back arching slightly as he pressed his fingers just a bit too hard. Reaching down, your fingers encased his wrist, holding it back slightly. "Gentler, you have to be gentle... Please."

A frustrated scoff was all you received, nevertheless his actions seemed much more careful, gentler, and you were only moderately concerned that the thought made your heart swell. With his middle and ring finger moving in slow, deliberate circles, you arched your hips into him, eyes sliding shut once again as he toyed with you, his fingers quickening in pace. His name was a mantra on your lips, syllable after syllable egging him on, before his fingers came to dip down like yours had. They dipped down a bit too quick, too hard, his fingers dipping into your aching core up until the second knuckle. A choked out scream was ripped from your throat, not expecting the sudden intrusion, but his curiosity gave you no respite. His fingers delved deeper, then pulled back out, all the while you were gaping at the ceiling at how well only two of his fingers seemed to fill you.

"T-That's- N-Nai, it's sensit-ah! " You bucked your hips when his fingers delved back in, seeming to get the idea quicker than you were hoping he would. Crying out a moan, you whined for him, keened for him, peering at him through your lashes as he fucked you with his fingers. Despite being rough around the edges, his fingers managed to reach a specific spot that you were sure was going to make you cum soon if he kept abusing it. As if he had done this plenty of times before, his eyes were locked onto yours, his other hand pressing down into his tented pants. The pants were loose around his hips, baggy on anyone that wore them really, so you didn't know if he was really that fucking big or if it was the moonlight playing tricks on you. It made your mouth water.

"Nai," You called out to him desperately, hand clasped around his wrist once again, "I want to touch you too," Your voice was quiet, raspy, sweet, and the smile gracing your features made his furrowed brows and focused scowl falter. Pushing yourself up on your forearms, you reached down, finger hooking in the waistband of his pants. Seemingly growing confidence, or more likely it was his ego shining through, he sat up on his knees, allowing your hands to pull the fabric down.

It was a visceral effort not to have the same reaction he did to you when you were met with sticky white petals encasing what would have been a normal, albeit massive, cock, absolutely shocked beyond comprehension. You always entertained the thought he was non human, considering how often he spoke lowly of humans and his incredibly short healing period. The glyphs running up the length of him left you breathless, the slow ooze and drip of endless precum coming from the tip making you lick your lips. When your hand gripped him at the base, the glyphs pulsed and glowed, the surrounding sticky petals curling in and around your hand. The glyphs began to spread, across his pelvis, down his thighs, and then you realized where you had seen these markings before...

A Plant. He's a Plant. His otherworldly beauty and distain towards people suddenly made so much sense, and you couldn't fault him for it.

Pushing yourself up onto your knees, but still not matching his height, you slowly moved your hand, a quick, deep exhale coming from his slightly parted lips. His cheeks were much more ruddy, a stark contrast to his pale skin and hair, and you couldn't help but smile softly at him as you gripped your fist a little tighter, the slide up and down slick and smooth with how much liquid was dribbling out of him. All you could do was watch, stare, transfixed by the dribble, the glow, before you couldn't take it anymore.

"Can you sit back for me?" You were sure he wouldn't be so willing to relinquish control, but the kind words coming out of your mouth weren't unalike the gentle words that you muttered whenever you would wrap him up or tend to his wounds. So, he did, kicking his sweatpants off and sitting back against the wall for you. Leaning down, you continued to pump the length of him. Testing the waters, you gave the head a kitten lick, pleasantly surprised by the sweet taste of the viscous liquid coming out of him. It reminded you of honey, or nectar, the floral scent behind it completely bewitching. Your lips encased the tip, a low groan being punched out from his lungs as you did so, hands working what you weren't immediately fitting into your mouth.

Really, it didn't take much to completely unravel him, only managing to hollow your cheeks and move down about half way before his hands were grabbing at your hair and forcing you the rest of the way. Unsure exactly why, even as you gagged you were moaning around him, earning noises from him in return, but you were completely enamored by him and his cock that you didn't care he was pushing his hips up to meet you half way, fucking your face. He was rough, tugging your head down in time with his upwards thrusts, his grunts and groans increasing in frequency as you completely lost yourself in him. Hand reaching down, spinning circles around your clit, you felt his hips stutter and falter before he let out a long, primal groan, pumping your mouth and throat full of cum. You spun your fingers faster, chasing your high desperately as he gave quick, shallow thrusts into your throat, but it wasn't enough. It didn't stop, and you thought you might drown in him before he was pulling out of your mouth, globs of sweet liquid pouring out of from your lips, clinging to your face and bed.

"Fuck, that-" Interrupted, you were grabbed by your bicep, being hauled up and tossed back. Your head hung over the side of the bed, addled brain trying to catch up to your sudden upside-down visual. When you felt weight on top of you, you strained to lift your neck, watching as Nai wrapped his arms around your thighs, tugging you into him. The slide was easy, instant, completely sheathing himself in you with one strong thrust. You wanted to scream, but the position you were in coupled with your throat being fucked raw, all that came out was a pathetic squeak. He grunted, setting a brutal pace, tugging you in time to meet his thrusts by your thighs. You moaned, gasped, sputtered, tried calling to him to slow down, please, but it fell on deaf ears.

Completely unexpected was the hand that came down between your legs, thumbing at your clit. That seemed to be enough for you, your mind running blank and seeing stars as he continued to fuck you through your earth shattering orgasm. Your legs seized, muscles spasming and tensing as you felt an unfamiliar wetness between your legs. A deep grunt and growl was immediately followed by a pair of strong hands grabbing at your waist, tugging you up and into him as if you weighed nothing at all. Delirious, mind spent, you could barely register the fact you had thrown your arms over his shoulders, a hand gripping your hip so tight it was certainly going to bruise as he fucked up into you. His other hand grabbed at your cheeks, squeezing and forcing you to look into his piercing gaze. He was beautiful, his eyes, the crease of his brow, the snarl on his lips and his bared teeth, primal and angelic.

"You're mine," He growled, your mind spinning as you moaned and whimpered for him, "I'll keep you, pet, I'll protect you, but you're mine. Do you understand?"

Barely able to nod in his grip, you simply swallowed, choking on a raspy yes.

"Say my name."

You didn't think you would be able to, mind hazy and voice weak, but one hard thrust up had your voice punched out. "Nai!" You keened, eyes sliding shut as you felt your second orgasm creeping up on you so soon. "Nai, please I'm go-gonna- cum!"

The firm grip he had on your face moved back, fisting your hair and pushing your lips up into his as he groaned into your mouth. His cock twitched inside of you, pumping you to the brim with more cum. He never stopped, hips humping up into you through his orgasm, pushing you over the edge on your second, and you were completely devoured by him.

Stilling, Nai pulled back, his heaving breaths fanning over your cum and sweat sticky face. His eyes scanned you, and all you could do was stare dumbly in return. Slowly, he lifted you, grunting when his softening cock slid out of you, petals curling and wrapping up to encase him. The slow dribble down your thighs made him huff a seemingly amused exhale, keeping you close in his arms as he laid back on the bed, you on top of him. Nothing was said, only the wind and chirp of bugs outside encasing you in a melody perfect to drift off to. You sighed, adjusting your head so your face was tucked into the crook of his neck. He tensed, but said nothing, so instead you filled the silence.

"I'll be yours, Nai. I'll take care of you."

#knives x reader smut #millions knives x reader smut #millions knives x reader #knives x reader #millions knives trigun #knives trigun #trigun x reader #trigun x reader smut

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lovebugism · 5 months

Note

"s'mores are perfect when the marshmallows are burnt" "you jsut can't cook" + eddie munson for blurbcember ❄️

ty for requesting! :D — you freeze your ass off to spend some time alone with eddie; he learns you love him more than s'mores (established relationships, fluff, 1.6k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

You and Eddie sit stranded in Steve’s backyard, the only ones brave enough to weather the late-night cold.

The bursting bonfire died down to a couple of sparkling orange embers, and the party followed accordingly. While your friends sought shelter in the warm living room, unfreezing their fingers around cups of hot cocoa, you and Eddie remained outside in the navy blue winter — too stubborn to tread behind them.

“But wait— we haven’t made s’mores yet!” you’d whined. The shivering bodies of your friends rushed by you and into the heated house, anyway. Eddie was the only one to stay with you after the fact. ‘Cause his girl was gonna get her s’mores even if it was the last thing he ever did.

He makes the first one perfectly. Mostly because that one was for you.

You sit patiently in the slanted wooden chair, knees up to your chest, drowning in the thick leather jacket Eddie gave you for warmth. It smells just like him — like pine and childhood. It keeps you as warm as the smoky marshmallow on your tongue.

The melted sugar gets caught in your teeth, along with the chewed-up graham cracker and gooey milk chocolate. You smile with it all anyway when Eddie’s second batch doesn’t turn out nearly as good as his first.

“Eds, that’s burnt!” you laugh with your mouth still full as he smacks a blackened marshmallow between two square cookies.

In several layers of dark flannel, the boy shrugs lazily. He plops onto the adirondack beside yours and shoots you a lopsided smile, tinted pink and softly chapped. His skin, made more pale by the dark and wintery night, rivals that of the shining full moon. It makes his flushed cheeks that much more rosy.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about— s’mores are perfect when the marshmallows are burnt.”

He takes a too big bite to make a point. You grimace at the crunch of the over-cooked confection, then smile when the melted sugar sticks to Eddie’s chin. “No, you just can’t cook,” you retort with a lovesick grin.

“But I’m right!” he insists, black crumbs sticking to the corners of his mouth.

He’s too hardheaded, and you’re too in love with him to argue about it any further. You just smile and shake your head, so full of adoration you’re sparkling with it. “You’re so cute,” you murmur, features warm and visibly fond.

He grins wide, never minding the food caught in his teeth. “I know.”

“Should we make everyone else one?” you wonder, nose scrunched as you spare a look over your shoulder.

Through the sliding glass door, you can see into the golden-lit living room. Everyone’s lazing under blankets, crammed onto couches or lounging on the floor. You can’t tell if they’re sleeping or not. You feel the need to take care of them anyway.

Eddie scoffs with his mouth still full. “Hell no! Those cowards chickened out on us,” he answers bitterly, then in a deeper and posher accent, continues. “Only the bravest of warriors can be rewarded with such fine delicacies.”

“Getting hypothermia makes us ‘the bravest of warriors’?”

“You’re the one who wanted to stay out here!”

“I did,” you argue with a laugh. “But not for the stupid s’mores.”

He gets cartoonishly confused. His bushy brows furrow and his winter-kissed features swirl together. If you weren’t weathering the winter for his obviously unmatched cheffing skills, then what exactly were you out here for?

“Then… for what?” he wonders slowly and with his dark eyes squinted.

You roll your eyes at your oblivious boy. A smile hints at the corners of your mouth. “Eddie…” you murmur, hoping your sudden sheepishness might give him some sort of hint. Telling him, ‘I’m out here in the freezing cold because being next to you makes me feel warm’ is far too sweet and not at all on brand for either of you.

“What?” he says with a faint laugh, still visibly clueless.

“I stayed out here because of you, you idiot,” you confess, giggling softly when it makes his doe eyes get all squishy around the edges.

“Oh,” he hums, then grins all wide and giddy. “Sweet.”

It’s too easy to forget how much you like him sometimes. Mostly because he doesn’t feel very deserving of you at all. He just takes all the sweet moments alone with you that he can get, then tries not to explode every time you remind him that you love him back.

“I am starting to get cold, though,” you murmur, jaw tense to keep your teeth from chattering.

A crisp breeze rolls by and shoves its teeth into every inch of exposed skin it can bite. Your cheeks and lips have long gone numb with it. You can only wrap Eddie’s jacket around you so much before it stops helping.

“Well, I know something that’ll warm us up…” the boy beside you croons with an audible smirk.

Your face scrunches at the implication. “Eddie…” you grouse.

“Get your head out of the gutter— I’m talking about booze.”

You squint at him. He reaches between his many layers and pulls out something from the inner pocket. It glimmers beneath the moonlight for a moment until you realize what it is — a glass, small and polygonal, half-filled with amber liquid.

“I picked the lock to Steve’s dad’s liquor cabinet,” he confesses, twinkling with boyish excitement. “This looked the fanciest, so…”

At a loss for words, you shake your head. “You’re insane,” you tell him, even though your smile says that you’re in love with him and all his crazy.

“I’m surprised it took you this long to figure that out,” he quips and unscrews the glass cap. He sniffs the liquid inside, then takes a sip without fear. He winces at the taste.

“Is it good?” you ask, hiding your laugh behind your palm.

“It’s great—” His answer comes wedged between coughs.

When he passes the small glass off to you, you take your own baby sip of the alcohol, with much more hesitation than the boy beside you. The bitter taste coats your tongue and stings going down. The burn makes you cough. Your chest blooms with warmth.

Eddie’s brows raise expectantly. His lip quirks at the edges. “Good?”

“It tastes like rubbing alcohol,” you grimace and hand the thing back to him.

“That’s how you know it’s good!” he insists. He takes another sip and doesn’t flinch this time around. “Like— this is the shit rich people spend hundreds of dollars on just to pretend it tastes good.”

“Being rich must suck,” you observe with your face screwed up.

“Oh, totally,” the boy scoffs. He goes to take a swig, then sends you a worried glance with the glass up to his lips. “Are you warm yet, at least?”

“Not really… My throat just kinda burns.”

“C’mere. Before you end up like that psycho from The Shining.”

Eddie slouches softly in his seat and holds his arms out beside him. The invitation is a hard one to turn down. Hair wild, cheeks rosy, and dressed all snug — he looks so visibly warm. You want to curl into his chest like a cat and stay there forever.

“You want me to sit in your lap?” you wonder with your brows pinched.

He nods.

“Eddie. I’ll crush you.”

His features swirl with hurt. “I’m offended that you’re doubting my strength right now, sweetheart.”

“Shut up.”

“Get over here before I cause a scene.”

There’s not much of a scene to cause. Both of you know this. You rise on rigid, frozen limbs anyway and walk the short distance to him.

His palms are oddly warm as they curl around your hips. You sit hesitantly on his lap at first, as tense as a rock, until he pulls you down completely. His arms settle around your waist like they were always meant to be there, hands fitting with you like a puzzle piece. It doesn’t take long for you to melt against him.

Eddie grins at the comforting weight of you. “See? This isn’t so bad, right?”

You try to bite back the beam tugging at your lips. This kind of love makes you feel like a teenager again — heart singing like it’s never been stung before.

“I mean, yeah, but Steve and Robin are watching us through the blinds,” you tell him as a laugh sputters from your lips.

You can tell they’re trying to be discreet, but their eyes showing through the slats — at two varying heights — are a dead giveaway. It took the two of them ages to get you and Eddie together, so you’re not entirely surprised by their snooping. They’re nothing if not your biggest cheerleaders. Even if it does make them a couple of creeps sometimes.

Eddie doesn’t bother to look over his shoulder at them. He just tilts his chin up at you and smiles with all his teeth. “Wanna give ‘em a show?”

You smile. Then press your tingling lips to the cold skin of his rosy cheek.

You know that isn’t exactly what he was asking for, so his plea for another doesn’t surprise you.

“One more?” he wonders quietly, chocolate eyes glimmering with boyish hope.

Happily, you lean in for another peck to his cheek. He turns his head at the very last second and smacks a proper kiss to your mouth.

You pull back, face agape with shock, like he’s never kissed you before. “Eddie!” you gasp.

His doe eyes sparkle with feigned innocence. “What?”

“You’re incorrigible,” you insist and settle further into him.

His contented sigh brushes your temple when you rest your head against him. His ringed fingers give your sides a squeeze. “That’s a real big word, sweetheart. Means you like me, right?”

You let yourself smile wide. He can’t see how lovesick you are from this angle, or else he’d know that you do a whole lot more than just like him. “Yeah, Eds. That’s exactly what it means.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble #event: blurbcember

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