#after feeling bad it feels good to feel good lmao
Note
lmao i’m a lil embarrassed for asking but i can’t help it now that i saw you said to send in a request. can we have more virgin!eddie x experienced!reader? maybe she’s teaching him how to eat her out properly and she’s surprised by how into he is and how eager he is to please? with some cute puppy eddie fluff pleeeease 😇 lol doesn’t have to be this at all tbh, just anything with that pairing fr 😅
No need to be embarrassed, lovely! I absolutely love this request and pairing! I was actually thinking about writing more about them, if people are interested!
virgin!Eddie x experienced!reader
cw: oral (f receiving)
This is a continuation of this post!
After your first time with Eddie, you had made it a very regular thing. It didn’t matter whose place you ended up at, but you’d always end up in bed together. You’d be tangled up in the sheets either until the early morning or until you couldn’t walk, whichever came first.
And there was never any foreplay or much kissing involved either. You’d just get straight into the act, desperate to have Eddie’s dick inside you every single time. And you were addicted to the feeling, loving how confident he was becoming after you had been sleeping together for a while.
He was now shameless about the noises he made and it almost seemed like he was making them supper loud because he knew just how wet it always made you. He was getting really good, almost better than you which you didn’t think was possible.
There was something about being with him that felt so different from being with anyone else. He actually seemed to want to enjoy his time with you as opposed to the others who were just looking to take whatever it was that they wanted from you. Eddie was actually concerned about making you feel good and wanted to be sure that you were enjoying it just as much as him.
You and Eddie were in your bed for the third time that week and but found yourselves only making out. No clothes had been removed and the two of you seemed pretty content with just kissing while sensual music played in the background.
His lips moved with yours and your mind started to wonder what his mouth would feel like on your cunt. You knew he hadn’t eaten anyone out, but maybe you could have taught him. Maybe if he told him exactly what to do, he’d be able to do it, making you feel so much pleasure.
You pulled away from him and looked at his face. His pupils were blown and his lips were pink and swollen from all the kisses you had shared. He was so adorable that it hurt with his big brown eyes that were always filled with so much love and his hair that was always messy even after he had just brushed it.
“I did something wrong, didn’t I?” He was always asking that and it made you feel bad that that was always a thought in the back of his head. Even if he did do something “wrong” you would tell him nicely and help him correct it.
“No, no,” you shook your head and moved your hand up to wrap one of his curls around your finger, twirling it around the digit. “I was just wondering if maybe you wanted to…eat me out?”
Eddie nodded his head vigorously and his eyes went wide. He was definitely more up for it than you had anticipated and that made you feel better about the whole thing.
“I can definitely do that,” he nodded again. “But…I don’t know how.”
“I could coach you through it,” you told him, a small smile kicked up at the corner of his mouth.
“You’d do that?” Of course you would have.
“Mhm,” you replied. “Do you want to?” He wanted nothing more and was getting so hard thinking about having his head between your thighs.
“So bad, baby,” his hands squeezed your hips. “You have no idea.”
You both sat up and Eddie got off of you, unsure where to place himself and you took him by the hands, wanting to have a discussion before anything started. You wanted to make sure that he knew that he could back out at any point and that he didn’t have to do it just to please you if he wasn’t enjoying it.
He nodded along as you spoke, taking in every single word as if they were very important to him. All of the talks you had had about consent were just as important to him to listen as they were to you to speak them.
“Alright, um, you’re going to want to get on your knees at the foot of the bed.” He listened and quickly got off the bed and lowered himself to his knees on the rug underneath him. You followed and placed yourself in front of him and took him by the hands.
You guided them up to the band of your panties and he slowly pulled them down your legs before setting them on the floor. He then slowly rested his hands on your knees and spread your legs, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time to make sure that it was okay. His eyes then drifted to your sopping wet pussy and you could see his cheeks blush.
“You’re soaked,” he let out a chuckle.
“Mhm,” you bit your bottom lip. “And it’s all for you, baby.” His cheeks flushed even more and you thought it was funny that you could make him do that just form a little comment. “Whenever you’re ready, drape a leg over each shoulder.
He did the action so quickly so you could tell that he was eager to get to it. He had definitely wanted it just as much as you did and that made you even more wet.
“Now when you get your face into it, use your tongue and lick back and forth to start.” He buried his face into your pussy and you let out a gasp as his nose brushed the sensitive skin.
He licked back and forth and you clutched the blanket underneath you as pleasure rolled through you. He kept going and you told him to suck on the spot which he did, eliciting a moan from you. He licked and sucked and you gripped the blanket even harder as your back arched in euphoria.
“You taste so good,” he told you before diving back in and you felt his teeth graze the sensitive spot, wondering where the hell he had learned that, but before you could ask, another moan fell from your lips.
“Sh-shit, Eddie.”
“You like that?” He laughed, loving that he was able to make you come undone for a change.
“Fuck, do that again.” He was quick to oblige and shoved his face back into your cunt, grazing it with his teeth once more and you reached your climax, letting out what Eddie thought was the loudest moan he had ever heard and was eager to hear it again.
“Could eat you all night, darling. Swear to god. Taste so fucking good.” He then replaced his teeth with his tongue, shoving as much of the muscle as he could inside of you and your back arched again as your knees pressed against his head.
Your moans has been muffled by your knees, but he could still hear them clearly as he continued to lick, suck, and graze it with his teeth. You had been eaten out more time than you could count, but this one was definitely the best out of them all. First off, he seemed so eager to please you, wanting to make you feel good. And he also loved the way you tasted, making sure to let you know while others didn’t seem to care enough to.
That was the difference. Eddie cared. He cared so much and always felt the need to tell you how much he was enjoying himself while making sure that you felt the same. It was all so important to him and that made you feel special even though you knew he would have done the same for anyone else.
Eddie removed his face from your cunt and you sat up, your breathing still labored as you looked down at him. You noticed slick dripping from his chin and just as you were about to let him know, he made direct eye contact with you and ran his tongue along his chin, getting every last drop before pulling his tongue back into his mouth.
“You’re so fucking hot,” you told him and pushed him to the ground before pressing your lips to his in a bruising kiss before licking into his mouth. “And by the way, you can eat me out anytime you want.”
“Oh, I intend to,” he grinned and you pulled him into another kiss, neither of you bothering to get back into the bed as you removed your clothes for the first fuck of the night, knowing that Eddie could please you just as much as you pleased him.
#stranger things#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x fem!reader#virgin!eddie munson#experienced!reader#virgin!eddie munson x experienced!reader
165 notes
·
View notes
Text
FEELING BETTER?
feat. satoru, suguru, utahime
this takes obvious inspiration from im right here? by @satoruluvies ! all credit belongs to her <3
word count: 1159
summary: you're sick, and they come by to make sure you're okay.
a/n: ignore the way this kind of qualifies as a sequel to something someone else wrote … also if you see this, thank you for letting me post this with credits <3 i’m notoriously shy and too pussy to ask without anon lmao
cw: mentions of throwing up
“Come on, let me in. I promise, it’s okay.”
“Suguru,” you whine, “I’m sick. I feel awful. I look awful. I threw up on Haibara earlier and he got so grossed out he threw up too. I don’t want you to get sick. Did I mention I look awful?”
“So Haibara can see you like that but I can’t?”
“Yes, because you’re my super pretty boyfriend and he’s my underclassman from high school. There’s a difference.”
Suguru sighs softly, repeating your name in that warm, tender tone he always uses. It leaves your knees weak. “Come on, angel. You know I’m not going to judge you. I just want to take care of you. I’d be a shit boyfriend to neglect you while you’re sick.”
“You’re not neglecting me, Suguru.” You huff. You hesitate, though, his sweet words are enough to have your hand hovering over the doorknob. “...I haven’t showered in two days. I’m snotty. My voice sounds like shit. I haven’t brushed my teeth from the last time I threw up.”
“Baby,” he says, “let me in. I’ll take care of you, okay?”
“Okay,” you whisper, your voice hoarse and thick. The door groans softly as you open the door, peering at Suguru stands. You probably smell awful. Still, he steps into your space and presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “Sorry for the mess.”
“Don’t worry about it.” His hand wraps around the back of your neck, pressing one more kiss to your temple before pulling away. “When was the last time you ate?”
You wince. “Can’t remember. I don’t think I can hold any food down.”
“Let’s just try, okay? You take a shower then lie down, and I’ll make you some bread and soup. Can you do that for me?”
“You treat me so well,” you mumble. “Sorry for not letting you in earlier.”
“It’s okay. I’m here now.”
“Did you seriously invite Gojou over to take care of you?” Utahime complains idly as she grabs two dirty mugs off the coffee table to move them to the kitchen. You feel bad making her clean up after your sick self, but you’ve been banished to the couch - cocooned in a large blanket, your nose sniffling with every other word. “Honestly, did he even do anything? This place is a mess.”
“He held my hair while I was throwing up?”
Given the scowl that contorts her features, that was obviously not the thing you were supposed to say. “Seriously? Did he make sure you ate? Did he even get you the proper meds?”
“He’s not that incompetent,” you say mildly, “and I didn’t want to bother you. You were in Kyoto, Hime.”
“You know I’d travel the distance for you anyday,” she replies softly, “you didn’t need to go to Gojou. I’m here for you.”
“I know. I just… you care so much about your kids. I feel bad stealing your attention from them.”
“They’re my students. You’re my girlfriend.”
You sniffle. “I love you.”
Utahime softens, scooping another mug off the coffee table. “I love you too. You know I’m always a call away, right? I wouldn’t leave you to fend for yourself while you’re sick.”
“Yeah. I just haven’t been thinking straight.”
“Clearly.” She smiles at you, her eyes crinkling with affection. Your heart swells three sizes, like you’re the Grinch or something. “I made you some soup. Do you think you can keep it down?”
You nod slowly. “I think so. My stomach’s feeling better.”
“Good. I’ve taken the next two days off, alright? Let’s just focus on you getting better.”
“Hime–”
“I’m serious.” She reaches over, hand squeezing yours where you’re clutching at the edge of the blanket. “The kids can wait. You’re more important.”
“You’re going to make me cry,” you sniffle, “you have a poor, sick girlfriend, and you’re making them cry.”
Satoru shows up at your door within the hour. He’s in flattering disarray; his hair is still down and messy, rectangular glasses cover his eyes, he’s dressed down in a soft shirt he normally wears to sleep, and there’s a plastic bag in his hand overflowing with some purchases he must’ve made on his way over. You squint at it, and just barely see a new box of paracetamol, right next to a pack of your favourite tea.
“Hi,” you say quietly, wincing at the way you sound. “Sorry. I’m still feeling sick.”
“That’s fine.” He lifts the bag, and it sways from side to side as it hangs in the air between you two. “I bought some stuff. Now let me in. When did you last eat? How’ve you been feeling? Were you lonely, rotting away in bed alone without me there for company?”
“I had Nanami run to grab me some painkillers,” you reply, stepping to the side so he can come in. He quickly makes himself at home, kicking his shoes off at the door before shutting it for you. “I threw up on him at some point. I still feel bad.”
“He can deal. I’d have helped you, you know?”
“Yeah, but-” Your brows furrow as you look into the bag, taking in everything. He’d really gone all out - instead of just painkillers and tea, there’s also lemon and ginger tea, a stuffed toy, roughly three different desserts he must’ve picked up on the way, and three steaming thermos’. You’re impressed he was so willing to just drop them in there with everything, not even scared about them spilling. “You didn’t need to get all of this. I swear, it’s not that bad.”
“Of course I did. Since my lovely partner didn’t want to tell me they were sick–”
“Satoru, you were in Belgium.” Your snotty, clogged nose ruins any possible emotion you could put into those words. “You were busy, and I didn’t want to bother you. I’m sorry.”
“Still. Nanami?” He says, and oh god, is he whining?
“Would you rather I called Suguru?”
“I want you to call me.” His hand snatches your own, fingers settling between the gaps of your own. “Is it so bad I want to be the one taking care of you when you’re sick?”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you first. I just really didn’t want you to worry.”
“It’s my job to worry.” He tugs you closer by the hand, his other moving to cup your cheek as his bag of gifts slides down to his elbow. He leans in, and you quickly press your hand over his face.
“Don’t kiss me, you’ll get sick.”
He pulls your hand away. “You’re a horrible partner. First I don���t know you’re sick, then you’re refusing to kiss me - what next? Are you going to eat my dessert? Are you going to kick me out? I got your favourites!”
You snort. “Don’t be too dramatic, baby. I just don’t want you getting sick too.”
“We can be sick together then! Come on–”
hi. fun fact i misread a due date for one of my assignments and thought it was due last night. it was due two weeks ago. anyways i panicked and emailed my professor and she was nice enough to give me an extension to friday .. thank you my lord and saviour. i'm sorry i stress wrote fanfiction instead of working on the assignment worth 30% of my grade.
#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x reader#gojou satoru x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojou x reader#satoru x reader#satoru gojou x reader#suguru getou x reader#suguru geto x reader#getou suguru x reader#geto suguru x reader#suguru x reader#getou x reader#geto x reader#iori utahime x reader#utahime iori x reader#utahime x reader#utahime x you
387 notes
·
View notes
Text
AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART III
━─━────༺༻────━─━
|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.8k || ao3 || <- part ii || masterlist ||
minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only
━─━────༺༻────━─━
“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”
***
Suguru tries to tame you.
━─━────༺༻────━─━
✧ SPRING FEVER collab ✧
cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader, biting, blood, marking, one slap from the reader to suguru and he sorta likes it, fainting, fainting from lack of food, reader refuses to eat because she doesn't want getou to feed her, getou does not let reader eat unless he feeds them; forced feeding. forced bathing, smut; masturbation, dirty talk, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?
a/n: happy mother's day to alpha suguru getou <3 this is the third and final part of this lil series for @lorelune 's spring fever collab! pls mind the warnings, i added some! i will be honest this part feels like a fever dream to myself lol...,.not beta read..,.i barely read it back bc im terrified of my own smut JFDKLSK enjoy LMAO but on a real note, thank you to everyone who has reached out and been so kind ab this fic! i hope you enjoy this last part! let me know your thoughts <33
━─━────༺༻────━─━
When Suguru first offers you food from his own hand, you push it away. He cooked it for you and you refuse it, turn your nose up at him and shut your mouth resolutely, feel your lips cage your teeth like a muzzle
“I’ll do it myself.” You tell him firmly.
But then he holds the food away from you.
You go nearly a day and a half, feverish and woozy, without eating.
You do not plan on conceding, but end up fainting not long after. Your body is under too much stress; you need sustenance. You need food and water.
So he begins to feed you as your lashes flutter and you are too weak to deny him this time.
It’s easier, when you can hardly keep your eyes open. His hands are impossibly gentle. You feel his fingers against your lips, careful, and loving.
When you’re feeling better, you glower at him.
He is rather pleased, though.
The next time he tries to feed you by hand, you turn and bite his hand, sink your teeth into the meat of it.
He laughs warmly, fondly.
“Feel better to get that out of your system?” He asks, when you finally pull away.
You don’t respond to him.
He grabs your face swiftly then, big hand fitting around your jaw and bearing down. This time, he holds you steady, and brings the slice of orange to your mouth.
You squirm, but he says, “I will not have you fainting again.”
“Let me feed myself then.” You manage to get out, but he holds you tighter, presses at your jaw to get it to unhinge.
The orange pops into your mouth.
“You’re insufferable.” You say around it, cheek puffed with the fruit.
Unfortunately, it’s good. Sweet. A little cool. Refreshing. You do want more.
“This doesn’t have to be so difficult.” He responds evenly, peeling away the next piece of the orange. It looks so small in his hands.
You swallow the piece in your mouth.
“You’re right,” you respond stubbornly, “it doesn’t.” You reach for the next piece but he holds it away from you.
Frustration overcomes you, chokes you like thorny vines strangling out the softer plants around them. Heat hits your face again and you have to wonder if you’ll ever get over it all. If he’ll ever stop making you feel this way.
Tears prick your eyes again.
You turn your face away from him. He sighs.
“It isn’t so bad,” he says softly, “if you’d just give in.”
You sniff. “I could say the same of you.”
“I’m trying to take care of you,” he says, “and at every turn, you are still trying to refuse it.”
“I don’t need—”
“But don’t you want it?” He asks gently, hand reaching out slowly, knuckles first, so they skim your cheek. “It’s okay to want.”
Stubbornly, you remain silent.
“You’ve been so alone, for so long, my little stray. It’s okay to be taken care of.” He consoles softly, voice just a rumble that warms to your ears.
“I’ll not think you any less strong, if you let me feed you now.” He promises, “if you let me care for you this week.”
You don’t know why, but a tear slips down your cheek. There’s a lump in your throat, hard and aching, and threatening your resolve.
He catches your tear with a thumb. “Poor thing, so torn up.”
You sniff hard, trying to hold everything in. It’s trembling and tender, though, your heart. The ache in your chest.
You don’t think you’ll win this one—
Your head is foggy and throbbing. You don’t even know what you’re winning or losing. Or what you’re fighting for, when he puts it that way.
You feel silly for denying him.
Perhaps worse for agreeing.
Finally, in a voice smaller than intended? you ask, “can I have another piece?”
Suguru studies you for a moment.
He lifts the curved bend of the orange up to your lips, testing. Waiting. It's a half moon curve, ripe and tempting.
You give in and part your lips, accept the crescent into your mouth like holding the moon on your tongue for him.
He presses it inside, on your tongue, and you accept the crescent like holding a soft, tangerine moon in your mouth for him. His fingers skim your teeth, placing a world there, on your tongue.
“Good girl,” he says, pleased and warm, when you close around the slice.
And then you obediently swallow it down—worldeater that you are, hungry dog that you are.
Another tear slips free as you chew it slowly. It’s tangy and sweet and lovely. You feel the well of emotions inside you open up, threatening to drag you down into its depths—you think if you start to cry now, you won’t ever stop.
Suguru dutifully peels off another piece of orange, making sure it’s free of rind or unwanted seeds.
When he lifts it to your mouth, you open readily for it now. Close your lips around his fingers gently, around the sweet orange.
With tears in your eyes, you look up at him, through wet lashes.
His scent has darkened, pungent and spicier. It lingers in the back of your mouth. It’s—it makes your head spin.
And there's a strange look in his eyes now.
Almost hungry himself, if you didn’t know better.
A cramp rolls through you, hips and lower back churning, and you whimper, reaching for him.
He takes hold of you easily.
“Hurts?” He muses softly.
You nod, tense and quick.
“Breathe,” he urges, shifting between your knees from where you’re sitting perched on his counter.
Instinctively, you cling to him.
You let yourself pull him closer, fit himself to you—
“Breathe,” he says again gently.
But you can feel him between your legs, you can feel his own desire, and it strikes you like a bolt of lightning. Like crashing to earth.
He’s hard and heat sweeps through you in a whirlwind, so fast it makes you feel dizzy. Your head spins as you sink your nails deep into him, bear down with your strength like a bad dog, like you could get him to stay.
Distantly, you think he’s such a strange, awful man.
Is he so turned on from feeding you? Or from the fight?
“Suguru,” you mewl, clinging to him desperately. And he holds you, keeps you close, until your hips twitch.
You seek friction and he denies you.
Frustratingly, tears spring to your eyes again.
“You’re so—“ you try to get out, “why are you also denying yourself?”
“Because I made you a promise.” Suguru responds evenly. He pauses, eyes flickering over you, a lightning flash of violet, “and, perhaps,” he squeezes your waist, “to teach you a lesson.”
A noise of frustration works its way out of you, a little growl or whine, somewhere in the back of your throat.
“Won’t you do anything to help me?” You get out, pawing at his shoulders, his chest.
“I’m feeding you,” he says, “I’m caring for you.”
And then he draws away, back to the orange, and your fingers grip the edge of the counter until pain presses into them. You have to force air into your lungs, try and make your head stop spinning.
The wooziness and the aching is perhaps the worst part. You feel out of your mind, wish you could crawl out of your body.
When Suguru returns, he has another piece of orange between his fingers.
You glare up at him with glassy eyes.
“Open,” he says, warm and low.
Pleased.
Turned on.
Your lips part and you accept the fruit and his fingers into your mouth. You let yourself close around them, feel his knuckles on the inside of your warm, wet cheek.
You’re slow about it, or maybe he is.
You hold his gaze furiously.
Maybe it was time you taught him a lesson, too. You bite down hard into the orange. It bursts in your mouth.
***
The third day is perhaps the worst.
You’re so hot and somehow both overstimulated and undertouched. Your skin crawls until Suguru touches you. You ache in a way that makes you fear for your own health; several times you start to cry—not just cry, but bawl—from the pain. From the frustration.
At one point, you beg Suguru to take you to the hospital. To help you. To save you.
You babble that you’re going to split apart. You’re going to lose your mind.
Like a colicky baby, you can’t calm down.
And this time, he can’t quite seem to soothe you, either.
You twist and turn and pull at your clothes and your hair. You dig your nails into your own skin and drag them down in vicious, curving marks.
You press and scratch at inflamed, painful scent glands.
Your jaw hurts strangely in the joints.
(You realize you want something in your mouth. Maybe you want it between your teeth.)
Suguru tries to hold your hands away from yourself, tries to keep you from tearing into your own skin, but it only worsens you. It only makes you fight harder and cry harder. You lash out more, using more force with yourself, with him.
When he snaps finally, pinning you roughly and with a flash of his sharper, greater canines, something inside of you howls.
All you can do is beg and plead and cry. Press up against him desperately. Sink your face into his throat and inhale and—
Bite.
Your teeth close around the skin of his throat and bear down harshly.
He inhales sharply, spine going rigid with the pain for a moment.
You taste his blood on your tongue and feel your eyes roll blissfully to the back of your head. Darkness as your lashes flutter shut. You whimper into his throat—
“Is that what you needed?” He hisses, slipping his hand behind you to cradle your head to him, to keep you at his throat, “you just needed to get your teeth into me?”
As if in response, you twine yourself around him, hitching your legs around his waist. Your arms winding around his broad shoulders, as if you could absorb him into your very body, your very soul.
“Too bad it won’t take, hm?” Suguru muses, unmoving, allowing himself to melt into your vice grip on him.
You make a soft noise; one that would be embarrassing if you didn’t—if you weren’t so—
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To Mark me properly?” He continues, voice bedroom soft, “you want to scar me with your own teeth?”
As if in response, you try and fasten your mouth down harder, grinder your teeth into his flesh until he groans. The sound reverberates through you, rattles around inside your head until you’re mindless with it.
When you finally manage to unlatch your teeth, he hisses and pulls away to grab your jaw.
“What a little beast,” he sneers at you, “with my blood all over your mouth.”
Something inside of you snaps.
Unintentionally, you shudder into your cursed form—teeth elongating, nails sharpening. Strength rips through your otherwise feeble, heat-laddled body. In a sudden move of power, you shove him hard, and throw him off you.
In an instant, you are back atop him.
This time, when your teeth sink into the juncture of his other shoulder, they are far longer.
He actually cries out in pain.
The sound sparks beneath your skin, roars to life like a sudden fire and when he tries to grab your jaw and pry you off him, your claws sink into his wrist.
You struggle with each other, using your cursed energy, using all the strength you have.
Blood drips down his chest, dampening the collar of his shirt.
He barks out a pained laugh, “you really are a curse.”
And then he is forcing you off of him, wrenching your teeth out of his skin in a brutal drag, shoving you away from him.
You hiss, baring your dripping fangs at him and he growls back. The sound low and primal. Warning bells ping around your head, but you lunge for him again.
This time, he isn’t so ill-prepared.
He grapples with you on the bed, shoving you down into it with his forearm bearing down hard into your chest.
You make a noise of pain but he doesn’t let up.
He’s panting and bleeding, his long hair slipping from its usual half-up appearance.
Something inside of you is quite pleased at the image of him.
Not so pristine.
Perhaps unsure, for once in all the time you’ve known him.
“Calm down.” He says low and soft. Part growl, part purr. “Your aggression is misguided.”
Your teeth are bared in a snarl, “you are my tormentor.”
“I am only respecting your wishes.” Suguru says and there is a horrible, smug lift to the corner of his lips. Maybe it’s more a threat of his teeth, which gleam in the lowlight. “I made you a promise and I’m keeping it.”
“Let me up,” you snap.
“Will you be good?” Suguru asks.
Your fever spikes, tears pricking again at your eyes, and you finally lose your transformation. It melts from you, until you are fangless and drained once more.
So drained, in fact, that your eyes gutter.
Suguru is off you in an instant. Air rushes into your lungs, the pressure from your chest lifting and he lets you heave for breath rough and hard.
You don’t catch him move, but suddenly a glass of water is brought to your lips. When you can breathe, you drink. You let him guide it to your lips. And this time, when you try to pull away, he stops you.
His hand cradles the back of your head, keeping your mouth to the glass.
“More,” he presses, “you’re weaker than you know.”
And for once, you don’t fight him.
You gulp down the rest of it, some of it slipping from your mouth, down your chin, rolling down your working throat. It’s cool but barely a balm to the oppressive heat inside of you.
When you finish, Suguru pulls the glass away. He sets it down and studies you.
He tsks softly, “you’re a mess.”
You take him in, though your eyes are growing heavy, all of that fighting took a lot out of you. It’s catching up with you quickly now.
But your eyes land on the bite marks you’ve littered him with. The one, specifically, that is still ringed and bleeding, dripping down his chest.
“So are you.” You reply, words slurring.
You don’t catch what he says next, muffled, as you fade from consciousness. Darkness sweeps in to cradle you, much the way Suguru is now, and you fall into a restless sleep.
***
Suguru wakes you at some point.
It’s pitch black outside the window; there is very little light in the room at all, which adds to your confusion. Your head is throbbing.
You whimper.
“Sit up for me,” his voice is a hush, “can you do that?”
“Let me sleep,” you reply, pushing weakly at him as he forces you up. Everything swims. Your head lolls like a doll and he catches it so you don’t give yourself whiplash.
“You’re burning up,” he replies, “I need to get the fever down.”
You don’t have the wherewithal to understand this.
For a moment, you hope that he means—
“I’m going to give you a bath.”
You make another noise, this one in disagreement. Fussy.
He tuts softly at you, the way mothers do at bad children, and then he disappears, allowing you to fall back against the bed once more.
You’re not sure for how long, but you doze off again, unable to keep your eyes open. You only awake when Suguru lifts you clear from the bed and into his arms. Again, you make a noise of protest, pushing weakly at him, but he pays you no mind.
You open your eyes and wince against the bathroom light.
The bath is running, filling with water. You frown and squirm in his hold, just as he gently sets you on the floor beside the tub.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he murmurs and you push his hands away.
“No,” you snap, “leave.”
He sighs, “you can hardly sit up right now. I don’t trust you in the bath alone.”
“I’m not a child,” you protest.
“No, but you’re experiencing a compounded Heat, after years of not having one and you don’t have a knot to soothe you.” Suguru’s voice is cool. His eyes are, too.
You level him with the best glare you can manage, “and whose fault is that?”
“I’m only keeping my promise.” He almost sings.
You swat at him but he catches your wrist easily and pulls you up further as you begin to slouch further and further down against the edge of the tub. “Come,” he says, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
This time, when he reaches to remove your shirt, you only grumble in protest. He peels it from you carefully, revealing bare skin. Despite how hot you are, you shiver hard.
You ache.
This is the worst fever you’ve ever had. Perhaps, this is one of the worst you’ve felt ever.
You can hardly move enough to allow Suguru to slip your bottoms off and you feel so miserable that you can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed or frustrated or angry.
Tears bead at your eyes again but it’s purely because you are in so much pain.
Suguru lifts you into the bath.
It’s lukewarm. Tufts of bubbles smell like lavender. The water is milky and gentle.
You don’t realize it, but you’ve started to cry again, reaching out for Suguru. You realize he’s cleaned and bandaged his bite mark. He also coos to you, rolling up his sleeves to reach you in the water, stroking at your throat, your cheek.
And then he takes a wash cloth in hand and begins to do the same. He bathes you with a strange gentleness. A gentleness you have not given him. Your tears continue, tracking down your face, which he dutifully washes, too. He wipes away your tears, any sweat and grime, until you feel shining and new.
Eventually, you rest your arms on the lip of the bathtub, folded, and lay your cheek against them. You’re exhausted and still hurting, but at least quiet for now. At least you are cleaned and—
Suguru strokes at your cheek, traces the curve and folds of your ear, gently strokes through your hair.
“Poor thing,” Suguru murmurs, knuckles drawing across your jaw, down your throat. When he passes along your scent gland, you shiver, you wince a little.
“Hurts,” you get out and he coos more to you.
Babying you.
And you don’t have the strength to deny him any longer, so you let yourself be babied. You whimper at him and let him try to soothe you, you let him quiet and pet you.
You’re looking at each other rather frankly, through the haze of your Heat, through all the lust or aggression or fear. In a rare moment of peace, you gaze up at his face and he looks down into yours.
“Do you hate me?” You ask and your voice is rather raw from all the crying, “is that why you’ve led me here?”
A strangely fond smile touches his lips, “on the contrary,” Suguru replies, fingers careful along your cheek, “I adore you.”
“You have such a strange way of showing it.” You tell him.
“I’m only keeping my promise,” he says again and all you have in you is a deep, dejected sigh.
“I’m going to make you pay for this, Suguru.” And though your tone is docile, even sleepy, it is a promise.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll try.” He agrees, touch growing stronger, bolder, as he pets down your throat, your shoulder. You lean into the touch like a cat, too exhausted to deny it. “And I’ll still be here after—your ire or punishment will not scare me away.”
You look at him for a moment, long and hard, and only find the truth there. Something strangely raw.
After a moment, you say, “I know.”
He hums softly, leaning forward to give your burning forehead a rare and gentle kiss, “do your worst, then.”
You pick your head up barely, tilt your face to his and catch him in a sudden, burning kiss.
You pull away as quickly as you’d done it.
You can tell you’ve surprised him only momentarily, it passes over his features like a bird flickering through the sky, there and gone.
And you say, “no,” soft, and against his lips, “I’ll do my best this time.”
He pulls away, creating carefully controlled distance. “Come,” he says, urging you up and out of the bath, “let’s get you to bed.”
“Carry me?” You ask as he bundles you into a soft towel. “Let me wear your shirt?”
His eyes glint violet, dark and quick, but he says, “of course.” And indulges you.
He even holds you all night and lets you sleep in late.
The fever only worsens.
And you can’t tell if your resolve crumbles or strengthens; but either way, you’re born anew with the sun the next day.
***
Suguru woke up before you. He let you sleep in. But now you're awake and waiting for him. When Suguru returns to wake you in the early afternoon, instead of sleeping, you are half-lidded and sun-warmed, laying in his sheets still. The fever has reached a pitch inside you. You’re sure it’s done irreparable damage to your mind and psyche because of how you find yourself.
Because of how Suguru finds you.
The shirt of his you’d worn to bed is pushed up to your chin, revealing your bare chest, your stomach, flexing and twitching, with your legs spread. Your fingers between them, working messily against yourself, against where you’ve needed since your Heat began.
For once, you have shocked Suguru.
Enough that his lips part.
Just a flash, a ripple of his features, before he smooths them out quickly. Effortlessly. But it is enough to spur you on regardless, to feel just slightly triumphant.
You keen softly, arching your back, pushing your fingers gently through silken folds.
“Suguru,” you mewl his name, all soft and broken, arching your hips into your own touch desperately. Beyond your desire for revenge, is simply your desire, the need to feel full, to feel pleasure like this. And you reasoned with yourself, all night, and all morning, that you’d win regardless; either you’d wrestle his tightly held control from his grasp, and get what you so desperately want from him, or you’d still get to touch yourself and find some brief moment of reprieve.
Beyond either of those two things, you could not think. They ran around your mind like wild, starved dogs hunting down the possibility of a rabbit.
(Or are you the rabbit? Running around and around your mind, trying to escape the bite? Or are you looking for it?)
“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks and for a moment, he doesn’t dare step closer to you or the bed.
You push a finger inside yourself, it goes in easy—so slick and easy—that the next pass, you add a second and gasp.
What are you doing? You feel half out of your mind.
“Can’t help it—” you get out, “it hurts so bad. It’s—I’m so—”
You watch a muscle in his jaw feather and tick. His scent is—
It hits you like a blow to the chest, the way he smells. It’s dark and spiced with warmth; tobacco and the oud in his scent has become heavier. You can almost taste it in the air.
“Suguru—“ you mewl again, pleading and cloying. You tilt your hips up towards your hand, towards him. You’re trying to entice him.
You can nearly hear the way his teeth grind together.
“You’re a brat,” he hisses but you can sense the way his control has slipped and thinned. You can nearly feel it fraying in his voice alone.
You practically purr, fingers pushing desperately inside yourself.
“I haven’t done anything wrong,” you simper, “I’ve been so good letting you feed me and bathe me—I’m wearing the shirt you put me in, too.”
For a moment, you watch as his eyes slowly dip down the length of your body, to where your fingers are. You watch his expression flicker, the tilt of his eyebrows, the slight parting of his lips. You whimper, knowing he’s watching, and try to curl your fingers.
But they don’t reach as deep as his might—not thick enough, either, and the ache inside you grows monstrously.
Perhaps only soothed by the way, for once, you’ve rendered Suguru Getou rather speechless. You toss your head back and moan at the thought.
“Suguru—won’t you help me? Even a little?” You arch off the bed and catch his gaze when his eyes fly back up to your face.
“No,” he snaps quickly, “I promised you—“
“Then tell me what to do—talk to me.” You beg, “it hurts so bad, Suguru—“
The muscle in his jaw feathers again. But this time, he wades carefully into the room, stepping closer to the edge of the bed.
The moment he’s there, you adjust so he can see you better, move so your foot is just nearly touching his thigh at the end of the bed. And even that small potential for touch has you crying out again.
“I’m not sure I should, after the way you’ve been acting.” He says and though he’s trying for casualness, you can sense the tension lurking underneath.
“Touch yourself then,” you breathe, your own eyes drifting down to his sweatpants—to the noticeable bulge—
In a bold move, you place your foot on his lower abdomen, looking up at him through your lashes as your fingers gently push in and out, walls fluttering desperately around them.
He catches your ankle before you can move another inch. The way he squeezes you makes a thrill run through you, race up your spine, pool somewhere low and hot in the depths of you.
“Is this your way of trying to make me suffer?” He asks and despite everything, a hint of a smile flickers across your heated, panting face.
“Is it working?” You ask.
All he does is hum, thumb stroking along the bone of your ankle.
Even that is enough for pleasure to skitter and flare beneath your skin.
“Wanna see you,” you get out, breathy and soft, “wanna see what I’m missing.”
Suguru curses and you laugh, delirious and soft.
Pleasure blushes and surges beneath your skin.
“No,” he says again but he has to grind the word out, pull it and wrestle it from his own mouth. “You won’t get the better of me here.”
“Don’t you get tired of your tightly wound control?” You get out, twisting a little so that you might free your ankle from his grasp, but he holds firm.
“I should be asking the same of you—but clearly,” his eyes flicker again, “you do.”
“Need you so bad—“ you get out, almost pouting.
You can nearly hear his teeth grind together. He inhales sharply, as if to try and steady himself, but you can tell it only worsens him. Your scent must be thick in the air, sweetened and cloying.
Your fingers slip messily, desperately, over your clit, down inside of yourself and back out. You whine, a little frustrated, trying again and again to satiate the ache inside of you. But anything you do, isn’t enough.
It almost feels as if it’s made it worse.
“Poor thing,” Suguru finally says and you realize, he’s regained some of his composure, “look what you’ve done to yourself.”
You curse this time.
But you press on, unwilling to give up your win yet, “you’ve also done this—because you wanted the upper hand so bad.” You press inside yourself, hips lifting towards your fingers, “you didn’t have to take the suppressants.”
His brow flickers up, “I did it for you.”
“Did you?” You gasp, adding a second finger.
He swallows, eyes falling to the apex of your thighs, watching, as you fitfully try to pleasure yourself.
“You didn’t have to—you could’ve let me trigger your Rut. Then we both would’ve been like this—” your voice hitches, “then you would’ve gotten what you wanted sooner and you could’ve feigned innocence.”
“You didn’t want that,” he says, watching you carefully, “who's to say you won’t come out of this Heat and resist me again?”
“I won’t,” you breathe, “I did—” you mewl, hips arching and falling, trying so hard, working yourself up so horribly.
You bite off a groan.
Suguru clicks his tongue, makes a soft, disapproving noise. “And now look at you,” his hand slides along your calf, so large, and—
“Don’t even know how to properly touch yourself.”
“Suguru—”
Suddenly, he tugs you gently, so you’re down at the edge of the bed, your legs on either side of his thighs as he stands above you.
He leans down slightly and you sit up, towards him, hoping, desperate—
“Such a terrible, little Omega. Do you need me to teach you this, too? Do you need me to help you?”
You cry out, kitten soft, as needy and tender as a child.
“Please,” you beg, “please, I need you—”
His hand traces up the outside of your calf, up to your thigh and you squirm, hope fluttering, heart racing—
“Don’t move,” he murmurs, “or I won’t help you.”
“Suguru,” you growl in frustration.
“Ah, ah, I thought you were being good?”
Your head spins—you have no idea how he managed to flip it on you so sharply, but suddenly he has, and suddenly you're nearly underneath him, and he’s leaning over you and watching so intensely—so—
You try to go still for him. Your chest is heaving.
“That’s it,” he murmurs and his hand slowly arcs over the bend of your hip, and towards your stomach. Your hips twitch and he stills, “careful—” he warns.
You force yourself to freeze, still panting.
And then he lays the broadness of his hand on your lower stomach, his thumb just barely brushing your mound.
“This is as far as I’ll go,” he says and with the way you almost fall into a frustrated groan, he seizes your chin with his other hand, “I’ll not touch you sexually. This is all I’ll give you—be grateful for even this.”
You sneer at him and he takes his hand away.
Instantly, you miss the warmth, the pressure, the—
“Be good, or I’ll leave the room now and let you suffer even worse than before—see what you’ve done to yourself? Worked yourself up so horribly, and all for what?” Suguru’s voice is soft and smooth and so, horribly in control again. When did he get it back? When did he take it from you?
“My attention? The hopes that I’d give in?” He asks.
When you don’t respond, he squeezes your face, prompting you, “answer me, pet.”
“Yes—I want your attention. I want—” the words break over you like a wave, the realization like a blow. You want.
You desire.
You want him. You want an Alpha and not just any Alpha but Suguru, despite everything, maybe because of everything. Maybe because you made him chase, and he did. Maybe because you have run your whole life from this—this attention and this desire and this intimacy—and you have finally found someone willing to hunt you down like a fox, and in the face of your gnashing teeth and growling and yipping, to treat you gently. Like you’re a beloved house pet and not a snarling, wild beast.
“I want you,” you say honestly and his hold slackens on your cheeks to let you speak, “I hate you and I want you and—there’s no one but you—it’s only you and you’re awful but I am, too, and I need—”
It cracks out of you, voice raw, a half-sob.
Your tears make him smile.
He hushes you gently, “oh, sweet girl,” he soothes, and his other hand slowly returns to its place on your trembling, lower stomach, “you’re so torn up about this. How much grief have you given yourself? Hm? Just for wanting?”
You heave, unable to respond, suddenly reaching with your free hand for him, pulling on his shirt, closer to you.
He gives in and goes, lets you claw at his back and bury your face in his shoulder. He finally lets go of your face, in favor of letting you fall to pieces beneath him. His knee dips on the mattress. But he holds himself above you still.
“I’ll guide you now,” he murmurs and his voice is by your ear. He turns his nose to nudge against your temple, inhaling slowly.
You can feel the rumble of a groan through him that he holds back, a soft growl.
And then, “look at me.”
You sniffle and with a great deal of reluctance, you pull your face away from the safety of his shoulder to find his gaze. Midnight violet. Depthless.
“Hate me all you want,” he says, “but I adore you—no matter how you are. Willing and pliant, or vicious and biting. I’ll always adore you. And I’ll always do what’s best for you.”
Something inside of you cleaves open. Fractures in a way that is irreparable.
You want to say something but you don’t know what, you have something so tremendous and terrifying inside of you, because of him—all you can get out is a soft cry.
“Now,” he continues, eyes flickering over your body, and his thumb gently strokes over your lower stomach. “You feel empty, don’t you?”
A whimper eeks out of you. You nod slowly. Empty and torn apart and open and aching.
“Use three fingers, not two.” He commands gently, “you want something bigger, hm? I’m sure it hurts so badly—you’re so wet.”
Without thinking, you obey him.
You press three fingers carefully inside of you and it’s the first stretch you’ve gotten, the first spark of relief.
You cry out, clinging to him.
“That’s it,” he encourages, “in and out for me.”
You tilt your hips up into his hand, towards your fingers, and he doesn’t scold you. The pressure on your lower stomach makes pleasure bloom and strengthen there. For a moment, it’s just the soft, slick noises of yourself, and it’s so—
Embarrassing. So horrible.
You must look out of your depth, you must look lost or terrified, because he finally speaks again, “curl your fingers for me, darling.”
You do just that and moan the moment you press deeper inside yourself.
“Good girl,” he praises, “does that feel better? Answer me.”
“Yes—yeah.” You get out, crooking your fingers inside yourself. “I still want—”
“More?” He murmurs, pressing his hand gently against your lower stomach, “this time, you have to make do with just this.”
You bite back your whine or complaint, head hazy—fingers moving desperately. But you don’t complain, you don’t fuss.
He smiles when he realizes how you’ve caught yourself, “oh, look at that,” he purrs, “you can be tamed after all.”
And before you can ruin it for yourself, Suguru sweeps his thumb just barely over your mound again, and says, “rock your hips now, gentle.”
The moment you do, the friction against your palm makes you moan, head falling back, baring your throat.
Perhaps without thinking, he dips forward, nose tracing over the cure of your neck, following instinct. You make another soft noise, and in your haze, wish desperately that he would just bite down—
All you get is the brief skim of his warm, soft lips. No teeth and you miss them, achingly.
He presses his hand down just a little more and—
Pleasure bursts beneath your skin with enough force that your back bows off the bed, mouth parted.
You sob.
You feel your walls flutter uselessly around your fingers, feel your body desperate for something you can’t have this time, and fall apart.
Suguru is there to catch you.
He coos to you, soft and easy, and even kisses at your damp, tear-struck cheeks. He lets you arch and twist and chase your pleasure, lets you be wanton and shameless and desperate. He lets you claw him and bite him and cry into his shoulder.
And when you begin to quiet, he suddenly hitches your legs around his waist and lifts you clear from the bed. You lope your arms weakly around his neck and bury your face into his throat.
You don’t protest or fight him, you are grateful and eager for all the places you touch, feeling incredibly fragile in his broad arms.
You don’t bother to look where he’s taking you—can’t find it in yourself to care, if you can feel him against your center, feel where he’s hard and aching himself, even with the suppressants—
But between one breath and the next, you’re in the bathtub again, and the water from the shower blasts on from above.
Ice cold water pours on you.
You shriek and Suguru has the nerve to laugh, which makes you lunge for him, yanking him towards the spray of water.
It soaks his shirt, his hair, as he holds himself over you, before stepping carefully into the tub to join you.
He sits with you, beneath the cold water, and pushes his hair out of his face as you clamber into his lap.
You pull at his wet shirt and he lets you take it off of him, throw it over the side of the tub in a heap.
He reaches to do the same to you, ridding you of the only article of clothing you’d had on.
You grit your teeth, “does it have to be so cold?” You ask, feeling the spray now rain against your back, your shoulders. You lean away from it, into his arms.
“You needed this.” He says fondly. And then, as he strokes your wet hair, “I did, too.”
“You’re an awful man,” you curse him, shivering.
“I know,” he agrees with a soft, fond smile.
You look at him, hair inky and dark, lashes damp against his cheek, and the pleased way he smiles. Like an insufferable, giant cat. You’re aching and furious and freezing and so—so tender.
“I hate you,” you tell him but it sounds more like a confession, soft around the edges.
He kisses your temple, lingers there, and you can feel the curve of his smile. You can hear it color his voice;
“I know.”
***
Something shifts between the two of you after that. And the following day, your Heat finally begins to wane slightly.
You try to touch yourself again and Suguru forbids it this time. You fight and snarl with him, but you let him hold you and lull you to sleep. You let him feed you. And bathe you. You sleep bare against his naked chest and are soothed by it the way a fussy baby is calmed by the bare skin of their mother.
You feel infinitely closer to him.
You lounge with him in bed, in his living room, hanging off him all that you can.
He indulges this behavior, encourages it, even.
And on the eighth day, your Heat finally breaks.
When you wake, still curled on his chest, with his hands stroking tenderly over your bare back, he asks, “how do you feel?”
“Sane, I think.” You murmur it into his chest.
“Your Heat broke in the night.” He says and touches your head, your forehead, like he’s taking your temperature. “You’re still a little warmer, but it’s over now, I think.”
Slowly, you pick yourself up to look at him. To hover over him.
He looks up at you, too, uncertain. Waiting. You’re sure he’s waiting to see if you’ll return to your usual self, if you’ll snap or snarl or chew him out—will you storm out? Or seethe? Will you fight him still, after everything, even as he holds you in his arms now?
“Thank you for respecting my wishes,” you say instead and lean down to suddenly press your lips to his.
You feel his surprise, the way his lips part, the way he freezes and you sink down into it. For a moment, you worry he won’t reciprocate again.
But then, his hand comes up to cradle your face, and he nudges into the kiss. Hungry. Deep.
You give into him, you encourage him, coaxing him with soft tongue and eager mouth.
When you pull away, you grab his face this time, the way he always grabs yours, squeezing his lips into a little pout, “but if you ever make me suffer like that again through a Heat,” your nails dig into his cheek, “I’ll fucking kill you.”
He laughs, canines flashing, and surges forward to kiss you again. Harder. Meaner.
It’s all teeth and heat, a little vicious, the way you are. He wrestles you beneath him, kisses you into the mattress. And when he pulls away, he says;
“If you ever make me suffer like that again, you’ll wish you’d killed me first.”
You feel your own smile against his neck, against one of the ridges of your own bite mark, and with all the satisfaction in the world, you sink your teeth down into it again.
It’s like a key coming up against a lock, fitting snugly to their own indents, and finding their own, well-worn place.
It’s like finally coming home.
#suguru getou x reader#getou x reader#suguru geto x reader#geto x reader#getou suguru x reader#suguru getou x you#getou x you#getou suguru x you#jjk x you#jjk x reader#cw: omegaverse#cielo's writing!#cielo writes!
86 notes
·
View notes
Note
ok bookie this might seem weird but trust me😔🙏 2009 bill (dreads) x fem reader and theyre getting freaky. like shes riding him, hes fingering her, she sucks his dick, he eats her out, and then they go doggy style and bill accidentally pounds into the reader so hard she falls off the bed and gets a little owie. then bill starts apologizing and he feels really bad so they cuddle for the rest of the night
its ok if u dont wanna do this lmao😭
HAHAHAH YES OMG ILY
Me and Bill has been fucking for hours, it started off with me teasing him at a dinner party, running my foot up and down his leg, palming his cock under the table. He got fed up and made us leave early, storming out and dragging me with him, leaving everyone confused.
When we got home he pushed me onto the bed, dragging my dress off and ripping my panties off, he started to eat me out like a starved man, absolutely devouring my pussy.
Then he pushed me onto my knees, grabbing his cock out and shoving it down my throat, making me gag and choke, shooting his hot load into my mouth.
Once he was finished with that he dragged me back onto the bed, shoving his fingers into my pussy, thrusting harshly, "oh Bill!" I cried out, feeling his fingers stretch my needy pussy out.
"So naughty.." he groaned, pistoning his fingers in my sopping cunt, juices leaking everywhere. "Mmm! Bill!" I whimpered, legs trembling.
I was super tired at this point, my body giving out, yet he still wanted more, pent up with energy from my facade earlier. He slammed me onto his cock, making me ride his big cock, screams and sobs coming from my lips as he stretched me out even more, his tip stabbing into my g spot.
After shooting another load into me he let me rest for a bit, wanting to gain some energy back himself.
"Give me one more orgasm, ok baby?" he smirked, flipping me over and starting to roughly pound into me from behind, his hold on my hips brutal, nails digging into the flesh.
"You feel so good around my cock..so tight" he groaned, smacking my ass harshly, his tip once again slamming into my sweet spot, sending waves of pleasure throughout my whole body.
I desperatly held onto the sheets, my moans getting louder at each thrust, mascara filled tears dripping down my cheeks. "Such a bad girl.." he growled, slamming his hips into my ass, balls slapping against my pussy roughly.
"Ohh fuck!" I whined, my tits bouncing like crazy with how hard he was fucking me, his cock felt so good in me, hitting all the spots I loved. "Cum for me baby.." he demanded, his thrusts only getting harsher, the sound of skin slapping filling the room, drowning out any other noise.
"Ohhh fuck!" Bill took his hands off my hips for a split second, he pounded into me too harshly, sending me flying off the bed and onto the cold, wooden floor.
"Ah!" I yelped, scraping my arm in the process. Bill snorted a little, not realizing how hurt I was until I started to tear up, "oh baby..fuck..." he rushed to my side, picking me up and placing me on the bed with him, coming behind me and spooning me.
"I'm so sorry baby..I shouldn't of been so harsh on you" he sighed, caressing my stomach softly, kissing my neck repeatedly. He frowned at my scrape, kissing it softly.
I turned around, nuzzling my face into his bare chest, holding onto him tightly, "are you ok now schatz? I'm so so sorry honey" he winced, kissing the top of my head gently.
"I'm fine baby..can we just cuddle..I'm not in the mood anymore" I looked up at him, he nodded quickly, wrapping his arm around my back and holding me close, whispering sweet nothings into my ear.
E/N: the other sex acts that wasnt doggy were rushed cause i feel like that's how you wanted it, if it isn't just msg me and i can recreate it :)
tags: @itsmealaiah @itsangelll @kaulitzsbabyy @tomsonlyslut @ballhair @estxkios @ge-billsgf @charliesgoodboy @bkaulitzlover
#tom kaulitz#tokiohotel#bill kaulitz#georg listing#gustav schäfer#smut#bill kaulitz x female reader#bill kaulitz x reader#bill kaulitz x you#bill kaulitz x y/n#bill kaulitz smut#bill kaulitz fanfic#bill#billy#smut drabble#tokio hotel smut#short smut#smutty smut smut#rough smut#fell#fallingoffbed#wet and gushy#wet and needy#soaking wet#wet ass pussy#ilovebillkaulitzhessosexyiwanthimtopoundmypussysoharditbreaksapart#ilovebillkaulitzmymanmymanmymanmyman#i love him#tokio hotel fluff#fluff at the end
60 notes
·
View notes
Note
"See how he reacts to the silent treatment."
Girl you're just asking for a death sentence!!! 😂😵💫 Rip to you lmao
A/N: this was entirely written on my phone. Reader is gender neutral, no physical descriptions.
Warnings: angst? Let me know if I missed any!
💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚
The house is unusually quiet and not just because you were giving Lloyd the silent treatment. You'd warned him that the last slice of cheesecake was for you. You'd set it aside specifically as a reward for your day of unending meetings.
When you had gotten home, exhausted, the one treat you'd been looking forward to was gone. You found the plate in the sink with the telltale crumbs. Confronting Lloyd led to him grinning as he confessed, "what are you gonna do about it, Pumpkin?"
Clearly he was expecting something along the lines of you smacking his ass or exchanging orgasms for forgiveness but you were exhausted and angry. So instead of responding you storm off to change into pajamas and go to bed. He pesters you the entire time but you maintain your silence, ignoring him the best you can.
As you lay down and try to sleep Lloyd goes to cuddle and you push him away. He tries all of his go-to moves and phrases but eventually you get up and go to sleep on the couch.
"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Lloyd scoffs as you lay down, back to him. "It was just a slice of cheesecake!"
He changes tactics to make you lash out at him. As much as he's stoking the flames of your ire, you're aware enough to realize what you're doing is working. It helps you to keep ignoring him.
Eventually he huffs and backs off, letting you get some actual sleep.
When you wake up the next morning, a little sore from the couch, it's eerily quiet. From the looks of things Lloyd's already gone to work. No kiss goodbye or anything. You feel bad but damnit, you're stubborn enough to keep this up until he apologizes.
You arrive at your office and there are several bouquets of your favorite flowers. You don't need to check the cards to know who they're from. None of the cards contain an apology so you pass out the bouquets to some of your workers who you know will appreciate them.
Around lunchtime good gets delivered to your office. Again, no apology note so, again, you give the food to your employees.
You're genuinely not surprised when, after work, you find your car missing. In its place is Lloyd in his car. You briefly contemplate calling an Uber but you do genuinely feel safer taking the ride from Lloyd and get into the passenger seat.
He makes several attempts to get you to talk, his knuckles turning white from how hard he's gripping the wheel. He says several things but none of them are an apology so you continue to give him the silent treatment.
By the time you get home he's fully tense with rage. As soon as the door is unlocked you get out of the car and head inside. There's a veritable feast waiting for you in the dining room. Lloyd must've spent the whole day cooking for you. Again, you feel a little bad, but he still hasn't apologized so you grab a bowl of cereal to eat for dinner.
"Oh come on, Pumpkin," Lloyd yells at you. "It was just a slice of cheesecake! You're really gonna pass off all of the shit I've been getting you for a slice of cheesecake?!"
You ignore him and continue eating your cereal.
"You're killing me here! What do you want? You want an apology? I'm fucking sorry I ate the cheesecake--"
Before he can say anything else you stand up and give a dramatic, "oh thank God!" You march over to him, grab his face and pull him in for a kiss. You can't see his eyebrows raise when you go so far as to shove your tongue into his mouth.
When you break the kiss you smack his ass, "do you have any idea how much I missed you?" You spank him again. "How much I wanted to thank you for the flowers and food?" Another smack. "How difficult it was to get to sleep without cuddles? I fucking missed you, Lloyd!"
He looks at you, torn between being dumbfounded and being turned on by your attitude, stubbornness and arm strength.
"Thank you for finally apologizing," you tell him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna pig out on this feast that I know will be delectable because you're the best damn cook I know." You give him another kiss.
As you turn to get a plate Lloyd grabs you and spins you towards him. "You think you can just do that and walk away from me? I'm already half hard!"
"Then I guess I'll have to moan even louder than usual as I eat and get you fully erect."
As you walk away you hear Lloyd mumble, "fuck I love you."
💚💚💚💚💚💚💚
Tagging @alicedopey and @icefrozendeadlyqueen because I promised I would.
52 notes
·
View notes
Text
Bachelors (sdv) x reader on their period
Gender neutral, but purely because of the prompt, afab reader. I'd say everything I write is gender neutral besides the very rare Trans masc reader ☆
Not proofread and I wrote this in like 25 min- I'll update this when I'm less tired.
Harvey
• A literal doctor.
• Is not weirded out like at all. He is all like, "Oh okay! Do you need anything at all?" And moved on with life
• Maybe has a little blush when you first talk about it? It's a completely normal thing at work (and in life), but it's just because it's you that he wants to make sure he handles it well.
• Would probably get you chocolate. And a heating pad. And blankets. And all the things.
• Aka would just spoil you a bit more than normal, periods suck and he knows-
• If you had any like disorder involving you Period he would be extra on top of stuff.
• Will make sure you are well stocked on and properly take pain meds!
Elliott
• Would just absolutely spoil you!
• Runs a bath, gets chocolate, threw your pajamas in the dryer to get them extra warm, heating pad.
• Might give you a massage if they are super painful? Probably would do it regardless but he would definitely offer if he knew that got bad.
• Idk why he knows so much, maybe it's because of Leah? I don't really write about the bachelotettes, but I feel like she would be super open about it so that's why Elliott knows a lot.
• But yeah he'd be super good to you! Would make you food just because. He is great at spoiling people, but not actually great at knowing what to do physically haha. (I think I mentioned in a previous fic where he just makes you soup if your in pain, he would do that here too)
Shane
• So if I just take Shane as a standalone character I don't think he'd know a lot / want to know/ care.
• But!
• Jas. I'm not sure what age she is supposed to be (literally anywhere from 7-12 imo) but I feel like Shane would have read up on Period stuff in preparation.
• So he would actually be more informed than Elliott!
• Now onto the actual stuff lol-
• He wouldn't be super pamper-y like Elliott and Harvey, but he would definitely help around the house more.
• Animals are all taken care of, crops are all watered, took care of some weeds, etc.
• He would also probably be a bit more physically affectionate purely because he knows you like it.
• Might be a bit embarrassed about it at first but after the first one he gets the gist of what to do.
Alex
• Would be relatively informed just because he is a health nut, but also doesn't know what to do because the most important woman in his life is postmenopausal-
• Probably would just give you chocolate and hugs because he knows like. Emotional and cravings.
• If they were super bad he would ask his grandma for help!
• Wouldn't be embarrassed about it! Once again. Health nut. Gets you pain meds!
Sebastian
• Okay. So. Sebastian.
• Literally lives with 2 ladies. Both very strong confident women. He wouldn't be uninformed by any means, but he probably is still awkward around the topic lmao
• Like if you were complaining he would be like "...." "am I supposed to do something about that?"
• AND HE DIDNT MEAN IT IN A RUDE WAY he was genuinely asking. But he just doesn't know and also is an awkward guy?
• Would do the least out of all the Bachelor's. Maybe just be more emotionally available because Period mood swings be rough. Makes more time to talk about things with you.
• Grabs you ibuprofen or Tylenol, whatever you have in the house.
Sam
• So Sam lives with a kind of coddling mom, does not have sisters, so like. His mom wouldn't talk to him about it. He has no 'personal' experience with it.
• Would be the most clueless-
• But he would definitely be like, "oh babe that sucks let me know what I can do"
• Gives you more cuddles, helps on the farm.
• Super enthusiastic about making you comfortable! He makes it into a way bigger deal than it is but he is genuinely curious about stuff so you think it's cute.
• After your first one when your together he is much better prepared / informed so he isn't all over the place.
• Just very cute and well meaning.
An* I hope this was at least a little cute / silly / comforting / whateveryouwantedoutofthis! I base everything off of personal experience because, like, it's all I got- but more people should be comfortable talking about this! It's completely normal and just a basic human function. So if yours is different than what others describe, that's okay! If yours is exactly the same, also okay! Idk where I'm going with this, but there is no shame in having a period, and that's on that!
This also came off way more dramatic than I meant it to be, but I live for the drama so it's okay (this applies to both the fic and the author's note-)
Masterlist
#sdv#sdv elliott#sdv sebastian#sdv shane#sdv x reader#sdv harvey#sdv sam#sdv alex#x reader#stardew sam#stardew alex#stardew shane#stardew valley x reader#stardew valley#stardew harvey#stardew sebastian#stardew elliott#reader on period#period fic#fanfiction
44 notes
·
View notes
Text
Ghoap god type au part 3!
part 1 part 2
Their first official meeting face to… well, almost face. Soap’s doing his best.
[Disclaimer: I have been fiddling with this for ages, and just like everything else i’ve written, i’m not quite happy with it but i’m done looking at it. sorry if it’s awful lmao. also it’s around 5 goddamn thousand words]
Another battle won, another victory to add to the general’s reputation, and another fight that left Ghost feeling empty.
Part of him hated that he had become a disciple for the god of death. It was hard not to notice the changes that started after he first left an offering for the god. The way he felt a little less alone, the way enemy arrows would occasionally miss their target, the way the aches of battle faded much sooner, the way the world seemed a bit brighter. The way it gave him hope.
Hope was a dangerous thing. It tricked him into thinking he was meant for more than just dying on the battlefield. Made him believe that he could have a happy ending.
In reality however, Ghost would live and die a prisoner, having forgotten the taste of freedom. The world was not bright. It was cruel. If there were any good in the world, the other side would have won. Would have slaughtered them like pigs.
Instead, they lived to fight another day. Once the wounded were stable, they moved on. Found a spot to camp on a riverbank. As always, Ghost ran off. Let himself indulge in the falsity of hope.
By now, everyone in the camp was used to his routine. The only one brave enough to confront him was the general and so long as he returned to be his rabid dog whenever he needed, he learned not to care.
So, he left. Continued his search for more temples that once housed devout believers of the god of death. He appreciated the distraction from the real world, a short respite found in half-mindless wandering through abandoned cities or overgrown forests.
Ghost still knew very little about the god. While he knew the story of why the god had been forgotten, he still knew next to nothing about who the god was. They didn’t seem too bad at least; Ghost was still alive and has yet to be punished to an eternity of suffering.
He knew if he tried asking the god, (if he received an answer at all) it would all be what he wanted to hear and not the truth. So, he searched.
Most temples were too dilapidated to glean any information, but the little he had gathered seemed to point in a mostly positive direction. But he still needed to know more. He didn’t even know the god’s name for fuck’s sake.
Wandering through the forest, he wasn’t too worried about getting lost. It wasn’t so dense that shadows swallowed it whole and he could always follow the river to find his way back out.
Over the months spent on this routine, he’d learned a lot about how to find the temples, especially in forests like this one. It was rather simple: find a trail of slightly younger trees and follow them.
The much bigger, much older trees would outline a path that had long been lost to time. While hundreds upon hundreds of years have passed since the god was praised, the evidence was still dug into the earth.
Sure enough, after an hour or two of following a line of newer trees, he found a temple. It was the most intact one he’d found yet, all four walls still up, even if they looked ready to cave in at any moment. The only structural integrity was likely from the amount of vines slithering in through the cracks, acting as rope to hold together a building that wanted nothing more than to collapse.
The inside was surprisingly well lit. The holes in the roof that had been filled with various plants let in a soft green light. In the middle, extending from the back wall was a pedestal atop which sat crumbled rocks. As he guessed, taking a closer look proved it to have once been a statue that had either fallen prey to the passage of time or the anger of the locals.
Turning his attention to the walls, on his right was another doorway that would have led to a balcony overlooking the surroundings. Now, however, it was a simple curtain of vines leading to a pile of rubble falling down the hill. On his left was a wall of vines that was so thick, he wasn’t even sure if the wall was still there. But just peeking out towards the bottom looked to be the bottom edge of something that had been carved into the rock.
Curiosity piqued, he walked over and tugged at the ivy. Most didn’t even budge, but he was able to move enough to see that it was likely a mural of some sort. He hoped it was, at least. He was desperate for any information on who or what he’s been helping.
Pulling at the vines only resulted in his hands becoming covered in ants that had been hiding and he had a vague thought about setting fire to it, but there’s no way it would catch and if by some miracle it did, it would likely cause a forest fire. No other option readily available, he sighed and drew his knife, beginning the long and arduous process of hacking through each individual branch.
There was no easy way to do it. They clung to the wall so tightly that to try and slash them would just scrape the edge of his knife on the stone and ruin the edge. The brambles on them made him very grateful for his gloves saving him from turning his fingers into mincemeat. He worked carefully, pulling far enough to get his knife under the stems and cutting through them one by one.
It took hours of meticulous removal and a smarter man would have stopped a long time ago. But Ghost was determined now, he started the process and he couldn’t leave until it was finished.
He didn’t pay too much attention to the actual mural as he worked his way through them, waiting until he could see the full thing. At some point, he had to stop to light a small torch. Darkness having begun to set in, he didn’t notice he had cleared most of it until he took a step back.
As he suspected, it was a mural of the god, depicting some of his godly deeds. The original carving was already rather simplistic and the aging didn't help in deciphering what story it was telling. He was worried that in brushing off the dirt, the carvings would come with it, so instead he brought his torch closer and tried to figure out what he was looking at.
It seemed to be a set of stories, all of which featured the god as kind, helping people who were suffering. The first carving was of an old man on his deathbed, the god putting his hand over his eyes. The next was of parents watching as the god kissed their newborn on the forehead. The third grabbed his attention.
It was a soldier with a knife in his chest, the god holding his hand.
Months ago, Ghost had been in that exact situation. Dying was certain, and yet instead of doing whatever it is the god of death does when someone is dying, the god saved him. Healed a fatal wound with a golden scar. (And put a flower behind his ear, but he often elected not to think about that when remembering the event.)
All of the carvings were different tellings of the same story. For months he had been asking the same question with no answer: Why was Ghost’s story different?
Ghost shook his head. As always when trying to think about the why of it all, he concluded to not think about it. To just push it aside and ignore it. Whatever snake was hiding in the grass waiting to strike was too hidden for Ghost to see. Until the day comes that he gets bit, he will forget about it.
Pulling himself away from the third image, he turned back to the statue. The mural didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know and hoped the collapsed statue would hold some answers.
Sure enough, it was still just as collapsed as before. There were marks in the rocks that proved it wasn’t the passage of time that felled it, but the anger of a mob.
Now looking at the pedestal with the torch, he saw the shadow of inscriptions on a plaque near the bottom. Kneeling down to get a better visual, he saw that it was four words written in an ancient language.
ᓭ𝙹ᔑ!¡, ˧𝙹⟍̅ 𝙹⎓ ⟍̅ᒷᔑℸ ̣⍑.
He remembered little of the translation, recognizing the third word was “of,” and after scraping through his memory, he was pretty sure the second word was “god.” Either that or fish. His memory is not that great.
____, GOD OF _____.
Well, it didn’t take a genius to deduce what the rest of it said. While he was iffy on the translations, he knew the phonetics well. Excited to possibly have the god's name in front of him, Ghost made a mistake.
Which, he would like to clarify, he knows that he’s an idiot. Stupid, dumb, anything and everything between. Obviously, common sense dictates that when you find strange writing anywhere, but especially in an ancient temple, you DO NOT READ IT OUT LOUD.
However, as previously stated, stupid dumb idiot and all that. In his defense, he wasn’t fully aware he was doing it. It had been a while since reading the dead language and the old carving made it hard to decipher the glyphs.
So, not thinking, he sounded them out. Out loud. Reading a random sentence in an abandoned temple of the god of death, who was abandoned after claims of being a monster. It was not Ghost’s proudest moment.
But, he did manage to read it, saying to an empty temple, “Sau— No… Soap, God of… Death?”
He didn’t know if he read it properly. When he had learned the script, it had been taught with handwritten letters. How they looked on a pen and paper was very different to how they looked carved into stone. He decided to risk delicately brushing away some of the dirt, following the indentation of the letters.
He was still trying to read the plaque when he became aware of someone behind him.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he carefully maintained his position, not giving away that he had noticed the person. Looking out of the corner of his eye, he could see their shadow behind him and to the right.
Forcefully maintaining his casualness, he dropped his hand from the plaque and rested it on the ground as if he were just balancing himself. The other went to nonchalantly rest on the buttcap of his sword, holding it like it was happenstance for that to be the more comfortable position. He waited.
They did nothing. They did not move, didn’t take advantage of his weakness, he couldn’t even hear them breathing.
He had a sinking feeling that he already knew what was behind him. And if he was right, his sword would not save him.
Steeling himself, he stood and turned, drawing his sword. At first glance, they were not a soldier, thief, or mercenary. They drew no weapon and barely even reacted to his sudden advance.
It wasn’t human either. It… It “smiled” at him. Every fiber of Ghost’s being was telling him to run, run far away from this thing before it mauled him.
He stood still. No one can outrun Death.
His vision blurred but only when trying to look directly at the god. He was almost… translucent. When he risked a glance to the door, his image began to vibrate, like he didn’t need to hold himself together anymore.
Later, trying to recall any specific features would draw a blank. Eyes, hair, height — anything. He would question if the god had any physical form at all or if he just imagined it.
He needed to get out of there.
It seemed the god was examining him just as closely. Ghost tried to slowly back away, to inch closer to the door, but was stopped by the god circling him. Not having a secure exit made his skin crawl and he was sure to keep the being in his sights the entire time.
In the same way his eyes were warring over whether the god was there or not, he didn’t know how nervous he needed to be. The months spent offering whatever he had in exchange for company and help on the battlefield made him want to relax, to talk to him like he was an old friend.
The lifetime he spent being betrayed and getting used made him want to attack first. The back of his neck prickled at the reminder that he still owed the thing his life. He was not an old friend. He was a deity, the god of death, and would be able to kill him with ease. Ghost kept his sword level with the god despite being all too familiar with its futility.
The god, Soap, stopped his circling and stood in front of him, far too close for comfort. When Ghost backed away, he watched like he was observing a bug he found interesting.
The comparison was far more apt than Ghost wanted to think about.
“Your fellow soldiers call you Ghost, yes?”
It was the first time actually hearing the god speak and it was just as unsettling as he thought it would be. The voice reflected his flickering form, oddly deep and reverberating like it wasn’t meant for this plane.
Subconsciously, his sword slowly drifted down, no longer threatening an attack.
“…Yeah. How do you know that?” He didn’t bother trying to keep the accusatory tone out of his voice.
“I’ve been watching.”
Ghost didn’t like this. Not at all. Everything in his bones was screaming at him to get the fuck out of there. He readjusted his grip on the sword but forgot to raise it. He needs to get out. Now.
The god laughed.
“Don’t give me that look. You’re the first follower I have had in an age. What else was I supposed to do?”
Part of what made his voice sound off finally hit Ghost.
“The god of death is Scottish?” The incredulous tone probably wasn’t doing his life expectancy any favors.
“Aye. And you’re British.”
The god turned and began inspecting the rest of the temple. Ghost didn’t feel the true weight of the god’s stare until it was gone, now taking in several deep breaths as the pressure went away.
“Thanks, I didn’t notice.”
“I thought we were pointing out the obvious.”
The god smiled at him like it was a simple joke. But the annoyance was there. Even if the god was laughing now, that doesn’t mean he would still find Ghost’s disrespect funny in a few minutes. He needs to watch himself and be careful.
“Why do you look all… weird and shit?” Good job, Ghost. Real good about being careful and making sure to overthink his wording. Fucking hell, his own idiocy is going to kill him.
The god pouted his lip. Looking at Ghost with deceptively sad eyes, he asked, “Aw, are you calling me ugly?”
The god returned to examining the ruined temple. Even though he wasn’t looking, Ghost shook his head and raised his hand in a pause gesture. Gods have wiped out entire villages over less. He forced his breathing to remain normal, having to manually count it so as to not panic. Before he could backtrack and likely dig himself in a deeper hole, the god spoke.
“I am still weak. This is the first time I’ve managed to hold onto a tangible form.” Tangible was certainly one way to put it. When he ran his fingers over the ledges on the wall, the dirt and debris didn’t move. Brushing his hands through the vines led to them swaying slightly as if there were a breeze.
Ghost reminded him, “I tried giving you food. You didn’t accept it.”
The god laughed, “I know. The starving man giving the god food.” Ghost wasn’t sure if his tone was meant to be insulting or annoyed.
“Yeah?”
Soap sent him a look he couldn’t decipher, explaining, “Gods don’t eat. Not the way you do. Keep your food.” He made pointed eye contact with Ghost and winked as he said, “I prefer flowers and trinkets anyways.” He turned his attention back to the ruined mural. His eyes were wrong.
Ghost fucking hates gods. What the fuck does that mean?
He pointed out, “If you’re weak, don’t you need everything?”
“I am not that weak. Saving you hurt.”
Ghost prickled further at the reminder, taking a step back. Gripping the handle of his sword tighter, he defensively stated, “I don’t need your help.”
The god scoffed and walked towards him. Ghost tried to back up but the god was faster. The divine being put his hand on his ribs, right where the golden scar sat. With a furrowed brow he angrily stated, “This says otherwise.”
Ghost instinctively jerked away from the touch. It was staticky and cold. Wrong. It was somehow worse than human touch. He was tense, looking to see the gods reaction.
This was worse than dealing with an impatient, angry god. Those were predictable. This one has yet to give him any indication of his limits. Ghost didn’t know what would be the tipping point and could only hope that when it hit, the god would be kind enough to kill him quickly.
To his surprise, the god looked sad. His flash of anger gone and now quieter, he continued, “I was barely in time to save you.” If Ghost didn’t know any better, he’d say the god actually gave a damn about him.
But Ghost did know better. He stared at the third image on the mural. He asked the question that had been plaguing him since waking up from a deadly sleep, “You’re the god of death. Why… Why would you have run out of time? Why save me?”
He sighed, “Healing an otherwise healthy person is easy. Resurrection? Not so much. I do not control death the way people seem to think I do,” the god paused and sadly looked to the broken statue, “…or did. I can help people on their path but not change their course.”
The god was slowly walking closer. Ghost didn’t have much more space to back up, almost cornering himself, he had to angle himself more towards the door, following the wall. It allowed the god to get closer, much closer than Ghost would’ve liked, but it also allowed him to have a realistic escape plan.
Not that he’d be able to run from any god for long. The hope of success was a fickle thing.
Unaware or uncaring of his internal plight, the god happily continued explaining, “You were still on the same path, just veering to the left. Bringing someone back is possible, but not always worth it.”
Not yet learning his lesson about letting sleeping dogs lie, he poked back, “What? ‘They come back different?’”
The god gave a slight nod, “Sometimes, if their soul has been rotted or corrupted. But I meant the cost. Saving you was easy to do with all that you had given. To bring someone back from the dead… Well, there are some fates crueler than death.”
Ghost's eyes hardened, “I’m aware.” The god looked all sad again but he continued before he could interrupt, “But why did you save me?”
The god paused for a moment before simply stating, “You’re kind.”
Ghost scoffed and incredulously repeated, “I’m kind.” He nodded. Ghost continued, “So, you betrayed your own kingdom, domain, whatever to make sure I didn’t die because ‘I’m kind.’”
Soap smiled and for the first time since trying to touch his scar, reached out to him. “Exactly. I like you. You are kinder than someone in your shoes should be. That’s why I saved you.”
His hand hovered next to Ghost’s left. He was waiting for something. The god was still smiling softly at him.
He wants me to close the distance.
He’d rather the god have just grabbed him. Why was he waiting? Why was a god waiting on a mortal? Gods do not ask. They take. Why was this one any different?
When he was a kid, he’d run around trying to pet any and every dog that would let him. He would approach them slowly, holding out his hand for them to sniff. Some would approach immediately, but most took some time. They were half feral and scared of people, hesitant to even approach him.
At that moment, Ghost felt like a scared feral dog. He felt doomed, like there was no way out alive. He didn’t know if the deity was offering safety and comfort, or a quicker and less painful end. Soap’s hand was still extended, still smiling softly.
When a god asks, if you do not give, they will take. And will take more than they would have if you had handed it over to begin with. It’s best to give in before the consequences become worse.
He moved his hand into the god’s hold. It grinned. He tried not to shake.
The god rubbed his thumb along his hand, fingers trailing after an older wound that was on its way to scarring. The touch became slightly more bearable as he grew more accustomed to the peculiarities of the sensation.
After a pause, Ghost shakily contested, “I am not kind. I have more blood on my hands than everyone in the military camp combined.”
Soap, unperturbed, continued messing with his hand, watching the way his fingers bent and twitched. Not looking up, “I said kind, not a pacifist.”
Ghost tried to speak up. The god interrupted. The touch graduated into practically feeling each individual muscle in his arm, like he was trying to remember how a human body is supposed to look.
“However, if you want a more tangible reason, I did, and somewhat still do, owe you.”
Ghost didn't buy it for a second. "What? A god owing a mortal?"
Soap made eye contact once more. Ghost didn’t realize how close he had gotten. The god looked more human, but more wispy as well. His eyes didn’t make Ghost want to turn away before he turned to flame, but he could also see more of the temple through him. Perhaps their meeting would not last much longer.
“I’m sure you are aware that gods can die. the only reason I was still alive was because people would pass the ruins of my temples and remember me.”
He shifted to Ghost’s right and reached for his other arm. Doing the same hovering hesitation, Ghost simply nodded in approval. The god turned his focus to his right hand now, letting go of the left. He did the same examination as before, feeling over his knuckles and trailing what veins he could see up his arm.
…When had Ghost sheathed his sword?
His left arm tingled. He had to tell himself that he did not miss the touch.
“But no one believed in me. I was waiting for another thousand years when I’d be forgotten and could finally die. You not only saved me, but you gave me hope as well.” He accentuated the word by squeezing his arm, or trying to at least. He seemed to be fading fast.
With something in his eyes more earnest than Ghost was used to seeing on even a mortal, the god said, “So yes, I still very much owe you.”
The earnestness was gone and in its place, a joking tone as he continued, “Though, if it’s you I am indebted to, I don’t think that’s too bad of a fate.”
Ghost asked, “So… I don’t owe you a debt?”
Soap looked genuinely confused, “Why would you owe me?” With the way he tilted his head, he almost looked like a confused puppy.
Ghost was at a loss, having no idea how to answer that. The idea that gods just wanted to fuck over everyone they could for their own amusement was so ingrained that to try and put it into words felt impossible.
When he didn’t answer, Soap spoke again, “I like you alive.” His hands moved, one going to feel the pulse point on his wrist and the other sitting over the left side of his chest, feeling his heart. Like he was making sure he was still alive.
The confused furrow did not leave Ghost’s brow at the explanation and he was sure Soap could feel the way his breathing and heart rate kicked up at the touch. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to lean into it and beg him to never let go or skin himself to be rid of the feeling.
“Besides,” Soap said, making eye contact once more. He grinned. It didn’t look human. “I’m not letting you go that easy.”
Ghost ripped himself away, finally in the doorway of the ruined temple. The orange light indicated that dawn was well on its way. He could not hear any birds chirping nor any leaves rustling. It was still smiling from the edge of the shadows.
The god spoke, “I hope we can meet like this again. I had fun.” With that, the divine being stepped forward into the light and fully faded at last.
Ghost took in several deep lungfuls of air. He stood frozen, watching as if waiting to make sure the god did not return. In truth, he was frozen. When it came to fight, flight, or freeze, he thought he had trained himself out of the latter two options.
But he stood there, terrified to move. He didn’t even shift his weight. It felt like to move was to acknowledge what had just happened, and to acknowledge it was to cement it as reality.
A childish part of him hoped he would wake up to find it was all a dream. Forcing himself to turn his back to the door, he ignored the way his back burned at being exposed and unprotected.
He absentmindedly made the long trek down the hill and to the river. He detached his scabbard and kneeled, splashing his face with water, the coolness of it shocking his system.
He turned to the left and vomited. He was shaking so much he almost collapsed. Locking his elbow, he was barely able to balance just to wipe his mouth.
He turned back to the water. Took in a deep breath and submerged his face. He stayed there, pushing the limit of how long he could stay under. His heart was racing, demanding air. He could feel it rattling against his lungs.
Just as the dizziness and weakness began to take hold, he ripped himself up. Taking long, heavy deep breaths, he looked up. Watched as the last of the stars faded into an orange and blue sky.
Stories and warnings from priests came crawling back to him. About what the presence of The Old Gods could do to a mortal. If he was shaking, vomiting, and scared stiff from seeing him while he was still weak…
Good gods, how powerful can this stupid motherfucker get?
He hasn’t felt so… so… so much in a long time. His brain was warring with itself over how he should feel about the interaction. Part of him felt hopeful, thinking that perhaps he might now have someone who actually cares about him and not what he can do for them. Part of him felt so hopeless that he didn’t see the point in getting up, in doing anything other than trying to die before he could cement his fate as a god’s new favorite human plaything.
He blinked and forced his mind to stop. The birds had returned, singing once more. He stood shakily, grabbing his sword and using it to help him up. It sank slightly in the mud.
Day officially broke. In the forest, shadows turned and ran to hide behind the trees. Animals were just starting to wake, some heading to the river to drink.
Ghost stepped into the water, following it downstream and letting the rush of water cover his tracks. The rapids threatened to sweep him away with every step, rocks underfoot falling prey to the force.
By mid morning, the river led him back to the camp.
The other soldiers stopped and stared upon noticing him but did not say a word. In fact, they fell completely silent seeing him wading through water that would drown a lesser man, muddy sheath in hand, soaked to the bone.
He stepped onto the shore, walking at the same slow speed he had in the water. The general, having noticed the sudden silence stepped out of his tent, demanding to know what the problem was. Seeing Ghost, he hesitated before demanding his attention.
Ghost was already on the path towards him. Face to face, the general hesitated, mouth moving but no words spilling forth. Ghost informed him that he was going to go to sleep. The general had yet to find his voice.
Ghost walked to his tent. Dropped his sword. Lied on his cot. He stared at the canvas above him, forgetting to remove his armor and gear.
When he got like this, feeling disconnected from not just his body but his soul as well, he tried to take stock of himself. Mentally document every ache and pain, how his clothes felt, even what the weather was like.
Instead he became aware of one sensation in particular, one clinging to both of his arms, his chest, and a small part of his lower ribs.
Everywhere the god had touched him felt electric.
How long has it been since someone touched me without hurting me?
He wondered why his skin still tingled. Why he missed the feeling.
#soap is kicking his feet twirling his hair and ghost is scared for his life#soaps doing his best alright#old gods this old gods that. simon pretty much went into sensory overload because someone was nice to him#and two things:#yes the mural was inspired by the painting of the grim reaper in white#and this will be the last update to this but just for a bit cause i want to try to do something for mermay#emphasis on try#words have not been wording#ghostsoap#soapghost#ghoap#queue#forgotten death au#me try not to over tag and over explain everything challenge (impossible)#once more posting this right before i sleep#if you’re reading these tags goodnight drink water and i hope sleep comes easily to you when you lie down
34 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi! Sorry if this has been asked before/you’ve answered this before, but I’m curious what you think of how Sokka acts just… overall.
To me, he’s always read as being someone who’s emotionally repressed, and doesn’t quite know how to deal with his emotions and blames himself for a lot, and micromanages as a way to try and overcompensate for things in his past that have been out of his control. (And he’s definitely a prodigy. I don’t think that, especially after the massacre, the southern water tribe would have many scrolls to read on, so it’s my personal hc to believe he taught himself physics lmao. But even without that, definitely a prodigy.) Who is, unfortunately, doomed by the narrative. But he’s still a loving guy, and very protective over his family.
But I’d love to see how someone else sees it! He’s one of my favorites ever lmao.
sorry for leaving this ask to fester in my inbox for over a month (hastily shoves away the asks i’ve been sitting on for multiple years) but at the time I had received a bunch of asks about sokka’s tormented psyche in quick succession, and I was trying to get through those first before approaching this broader, more open-ended question. I mean, obviously you could always just peruse my sokka tag, because at this point I’ve clocked so many hours analyzing him that it’s actually quite dire, and I’m pretty sure that you already have. but if I was to distill “sokka’s whole deal” into a few key sentences, I would first emphasize that his survivor’s guilt/martyr complex really underscores who he is and how he operates in any given situation in a crucial way.
I don’t think any of what you said in this ask is remotely incorrect, for the record, but focalizing the formative traumas that defined him: his mother’s sacrifice, and his father then passing that mantle onto him (in fairness, not deliberately on hakoda’s part, but when kya sets such a blatant precedent for what it means to “protect your sister,” it’s hard not to internalize that logic). he feels personally responsible and implicated in every single thing that could go wrong, because unlike katara, who (very understandably) gets angry when bad things happen and are done to her, sokka gets guilty. he was never able to process his grief in a remotely healthy way, so he has internalized that his singular role above all else is to die so that others may live, without ever actually acknowledging that this mentality is a byproduct of his trauma (because, like you said, he is absurdly repressed), and he feels guilty every time he is unable to prevent anything bad that happens to anyone he cares about, whether it’s remotely his fault or not.
he wants control over every situation because he feels responsible and thus guilty no matter what happens. not only is control the one thing he has, but he’s even more controlling when leaving his tribe because unlike with his grandmother, whom he trusts, he does not trust 99% of people on the planet, and is constantly wary of any ulterior motives they may have (which is why it’s a very good thing that all his friends are so sincere it’s almost concerning), or just their sheer stupidity leading them (and him by association) into trouble (in fact I think sokka would far rather ally with a two faced bitch than with an idiot, because at least you can reason with a two faced bitch). as katara rightfully points out (frequently), sokka is a paranoid cynic, but it’s hard not to be a paranoid cynic when the last time you had any shred of hope whatsoever is when you thought the southern raiders were retreating from your village and then you went home to find your mother’s charred corpse in the living room.
moreover, his trauma at the hands of imperialist violence has informed so much of who he is to the point that he genuinely feels that he isn’t, because that’s how throughly he has been dehumanized by the fire nation’s colonial project. it’s not just that he feels worthless, it’s that he feels unpersoned. due to assuming the mantle of protector before he was old enough to form a coherent sense of self, that role became his entire sense of self, and now he feels that he is nothing more than a shield with which he can protect katara (and others, but mainly katara), and can’t detach himself from that role even though it’s unhelpful and unhealthy, because (in his mind, at least) it is truly all he has.
so in summary, he’s a paranoid, miserable, depressed misanthrope who is repressing a fuck ton of grief and trauma to simply get through the day, including the fact that he feels it is his duty to die for his people and his loved ones—especially katara, to the point that he has an unhealthy codependent attachment towards her because he stakes his entire identity to her existence—and has no sense of self beyond his role as provider, protector, and (inevitable) martyr. obviously that’s just what his deal is psychologically, which is different from his personality (cue the, here I was thinking he’s just a fun, silly guy!) but you will also never get anywhere in understanding sokka if you think that he somehow has less trauma than katara, rather than the fact that unlike katara, who is able to process her emotions in an open and healthier way, sokka simply ignores it. but he also does a pretty bad job of hiding it most of the time, because he literally acts like a trapped prey animal in basically every situation once you look past the sarcasm and witticisms that provide his favorite tried and true coping/deflection mechanism. you just have to care enough to look past the surface, which most people don’t, including himself.
#luriuan#asks#sokka#analysis#obviously I have so much more to say but I’m pretty sure I’ll never stop stuffing the sokka + analysis tags with my thoughts so … tbc ..#cptsd fish…. swimming in circles#hes just a nice silly guy who kills people sometimes don’t worry about it
25 notes
·
View notes
Note
I'm still crying about "you're exhausting", if we get a "he's not your son" I might not make it out alive lol but something has to go really wrong for eddie to realize what he's doing, so 😭 I just hope they can make it back from that and this time, it won't be buck begging for forgiveness
mm tbh Eddie's been going off the rails slowly but surely when it comes to his relationships, but now with his family supposedly getting involved... I feel like he'll be making bad decision after bad decision, which hey... his youth has been lost to the military and raising Chris, so he does have some stupid shit to make up for I guess
and whatever goes down between him and Buck, I have zero doubts that they can come back from it; it's more of a question of a when and what exactly will be said than anything
I for one cannot wait! give me a good, loud, balls to the walls buddie fight and then have Buck complain to anyone who would listen about it lmao
27 notes
·
View notes
Note
I have a confession to make because as much as I like to rag on some fans for having terrible reading comprehension, it took me until way after WCI to realize that the arc had family abuse as a consistent running theme. I honestly don't even know how I missed that hhhhhh. Will the council of fans forgive me what do you think
THIS ANON COULDN'T FIND THE THEMATIC CONNECTIONS IN WCI
No but in all serious anon don't feel bad about that Oda is very good at layering and layering and LAYERING his themes under colourful lands and characters LMAO
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
more sebastian sallow headcanons!
I imagine Anne doesn't really like MC (and, really, why should she? Sebastian goes from her playfully mischievous brother to an angry caster of Unforgivables in between visits, which only happens once MC enters his life and they've developed a friendship—so why should she like them?) and I feel like this would stress Sebastian out
Sure, he comes across as charming and even a bit flirty with MC, but make no mistake—Sebastian is OBLIVIOUS when someone has a crush on him, ESPECIALLY if the crush is mutual lmao
Sebastian has pretty good friendships with the other fifth-years, outside of Ominis and MC, so Quidditch game days and trips to Hogsmeade are always fun: he and Imelda usually exchange some love-hate snark (unless she's zipping around the pitch) while he and Poppy like to pop into Brood and Peck to see what new beasts Ellie might have. He used to go to Zonko's a lot with Anne, but since she fell ill he usually just gets her a little something and waits with Amit, Natty, and Ominis at The Three Broomsticks while the others check out the joke shop. Garreth often asks him to test out his new concoctions but, after The Incident in third year, Sebastian is careful to avoid being his guinea pig. He usually finds Leander is bearable enough, though the exceptions lie in anything related to dueling and the House rivalry (Sebastian almost feels sorry for the lad, struggling as much as he does with what could only be a bad case of jealousy—almost).
He always takes his classmates' well wishes for Anne in stride, thanking them with a somber nod and a promise to pass them onto her in his next letter home. His composure in those moments are his first and last defense against a complete public breakdown the second someone says her name. He always manages to hold it together until he's tucked away in bed for the night, when he can safely hide behind his curtains and cast a silencing charm strong enough to block out his enraged cries.
#hogwarts legacy#sebastian sallow headcanon#sebastian sallow x mc#hl headcanon#imelda reyes#natty onai#poppy sweeting#amit thakkar#ominis gaunt#leander prewett#anne sallow#garreth weasley
23 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello! (*^^*) I think you should post the deleted scenes. I think that It will be quite fun to read them, and I kinda think that it would be a bit of a waste not to post them since you put your time and effort into them even tho they aren't part of the story anymore. But of course, only post the ones that you're comfortable with since I like to think that every once in a while, writers write a story that might be too embarrassing for them to post (lmao)
Take care and have a good day/night!
(σ≧▽≦)σ
That's why I asked!
The thing with deleted scenes, is that some of them just straight don't happen in the actual storyline, they're like alternate version of what could've been. So I didn't want to confuse people on what actually happens in the main story.
Be that as it may, here's a deleted scene of the Wanderer ruminating over his own blessing. An alternate ending to Part 5, where he doesn't get dismissed by Nahida and gets grilled a lil bit.
~~~~~
Deleted Scene from Part 5, not canon to main storyline
The two watch the Traveler and Paimon leave, the Wanderer suppresses the urge to tap his feet in impatience. The Dendro Archon has made a point to ask him to stick around after their departures and whilst he had a sneaking suspicion why, he knew he probably wouldn’t like it.
Lesser Lord Kusanali turns to him with a sly smile on her face.
He already could already tell this was going to be bad.
“Just another tool you say,” she smiled innocently, parroting his stance from earlier.
The puppet looks away, unwilling to meet her eyes.
“You already know how I feel about divine favor,” he mocks, “The gods aren't guided by any kind of rationality or moral compass, it was probably done out of curiosity or on a whim,”
“Maybe so,” the Dendro Archon acknowledged, “But just because it’s out of curiosity or on a whim doesn’t mean it can’t be meaningful.”
He had no response to that.
“-and besides, don’t think I didn’t notice how smug you were when you discovered how much stronger your blessing was compared to Tighnari.” She added teasingly.
He didn’t know she noticed. Not that he cared, it was only natural he’d have more favor, frankly he’d be insulted if a mere forest watcher managed to succeed him. Besides it's not like he was comparing them or anything.
Lesser Lord Kusanali smiled at his silence.
“Can I go back to my essay now,” he grumbled, wanting to leave this conversation.
“Ah, but you didn’t answer my question,” she interjected.
“I already told- ”
“I didn’t ask what you think of your blessing,” she shook her head, “I asked how it felt receiving it,”
Deep down he knew the answer, he just didn’t want to acknowledge it, didn’t want to get his hopes up only for it to be crushed by the merciless hand of fate.
But he knew that she wouldn’t let him go until he answered, he also knew that if he submitted his essay late, he’d risk falling behind on the class rankings.
“I felt like I had the gnosis again,” he snapped, “Happy?”
She blinked at him, face unreadable.
“What!” he bristled,
“Is that something you still want?” She asked gently,
His mouth opened and closed, he wanted to say ‘Of course’, but well.
He wasn’t really sure anymore, it seemed that she realized it too since she dismissed him from her office soon after.
His mind was in turmoil as he stomped his way back to The House of Daena.
If he concentrated, he could feel the flickering spark of divine energy cradled in his hollow chest.
Why are you here, he wanted to ask.
Why me?
Why now?
~~~
Hope you enjoy!
22 notes
·
View notes
Text
now that i know how to add a read more cut ima ramble abt mental health and school real quick
so like long story short, i wanted to apply for a graduate student association club thing, but i got hella triggered last night and its due today and i wasnt finished.
i thought for sure i wasnt going to be able to get it done, i gave up last night. but i woke up today, and did it!!!
i finished writing the statement of interest and submited it like hours before the deadline (i work later so lmao) but like this is huge, this feels huge for me
Ive technically been in school all summer but i havent been (able to) do work. Last night i was literally thinking of dropping out (a frequent conversation with myself, any other grad students feel that? Lol) i know i wanna try to get through the fall term before taking another break/time off but it just feels impossible.
but this momment, whether i get it or not, is so validating. i can do it!! I can write words and sound academic and meet deadlines. im basking in this feeling because i havent felt it in sooo long and next time i struggle i want to use this as motivation
Idk what my semester holds as i continue to figure wtf do to with my mental health (like next time im triggered/relapse idk if ill be able to get to work, i didnt think i could) but this indicates that i can do it. and if i get the position it means im still good at it. 😭😭😭💕🥰
#rambles#borderline tmi but i feel good honestly#after feeling bad it feels good to feel good lmao#idk if ima delete tbh besties#but im currently still in happy dance mode#it doesnt make up for how shitty yesterday was#i also finished my weekly newspaper word search but thats other news
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
you win. try again?
#homestuck#home2t4ck#hom3stuck#dave strider#bro strider#beta bro#abuse#blood#admin draws#fanart#uhh i dont usually say this but please dont tag as ship lmao#i usually live and let live but this is a domestic abuse situation. i wouldnt really be cool with that.#that out of the way. so many thoughts about these 2#its like. bro is a bad guardian right. hes just more than shit at it.#but it never felt to me like it was malicious. hes doing irreparable damage but its something he thinks is necessary#or is unaware of the extent of it. either way.#i feel like in this situation he'd be proud of his little bro. lil guy did something impressive after all.#who cares that he himself got hurt for it. like even tho he might realize this is upsetting for dave. he might hope that its vindicating#but its not. dave is just horrified. because its just violence#defeating the villain and being the hero doesnt feel good. it never has#OUGHGHG anyways i drew more. today it felt like pulling teeth but i have too many ideas and theyre getting otu on the canvas one way#or another
194 notes
·
View notes
Text
siren
#bakuspecial#cw: nudity#cw: body horror#monster#siren! I think. they're bird to me#I think this has been brewing since that stream mim did of drawing dnd monsters only from official text description#and when the official art for the sirens were shown I was like. oh thats just a woman with wings#lmao like. granted. its an official dnd book available for all audience. you cant make it too Bad To Look At#(I do not agree with this but it wasnt about me. if its about me its gonna be about very few people lmao)#but yeah. after that I got slightly too into the idea of putting more bird into birdwoman#but I also do genuinely love monsters that are Rearranged Human Parts so. I couldnt commit too much to the bird scales Im so sorry#I wanted the fleshiness. the feel. textural experience of holding her hands and being like oh that's a human#even when ur eyes tell u otherwise. mmm#...I looked to my right as I was typing these tags and saw. the fucked up pikmin I tried to sculpt the other day along with the pin#and got startled#its so. its so fucked up. gods. dusty white naked grainy parsnip#I used to have that one doll I butchered wanting to customize in a box next to me and thats way less upsetting than this. man#its perfect actually I will never throw this thing away. anyways#now. now I go to bed. its sleep time for the baku#have a good night lads! you CAN have it both way easily you just need a big bat
513 notes
·
View notes
Note
so my giant of a bf (6’6) of 4 months and i had sex for the first time and im tellin you— i saw IT on my belly. faintly but still. it was THERE (was so fuckin hot but my brain short circuited like i was there but i wasnt at the same time) and im thinking like… ps!ghost… yknow… gnawing at the bars of my enclosure actually
— 🩰
bestie be so serious right now. are you kidding me?? I'm not surprised at all that you short-circuited like me too just fucking reading this. I'm—??? christ
you know what, I used to never be into really tall and broad guys. not that I minded, but it was never my type per se. but after discovering simon fucking riley I think I might be a changed woman? I think I need me a giant of a man. 🧍♀️🧍🏼♂️
#was this your first time together or your first time ever? if it was the ladder and you wanna talk more about it please know that you can!#next day edit: why did no one TELL ME I said ‘ladder’ instead of ‘latter’ lmao I’m humbled 😭 probs a good thing#(wait you can tell me more anyway lmao just to clarify but)#I was freaking out after my first-first time because it made me feel all the feels (good and bad) so !! just wanted to offer mwah 💗#lo answers#🩰#THANK YOU for sharing
155 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
spazz-tastic
Spazz-tastic!
invisibleones
Kingdom Keepers
emmgood
That’s What I Like
kimwipaa-blog
Untitled
revmolly
Holy Spirit Portality