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pupkashi · 7 months

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scars

gojo learns to love the scars on his body

a/n: hi friends ! here is sweet and soft lil something about our favorite white haired sorcerer <33 thank u for the request and i hope u guys enjoy :3

wordcount: 1,547

masterlist

he stares at it every morning. when he pushes his hair back to fix it and put on his blindfold, when he wears a shirt that isn’t his Jujutsu uniform. his eyes seem drawn to the faint scars on his forehead, neck and chest.

they seem jagged and out of place compared to the rest of his smooth and perfect skin, serving as a reminder of his failures and losses.

“g’morning pretty boy,” you mumble, walking past him and sitting on the toilet, too asleep to notice the way satoru jumped, quickly letting his hair fall to cover the scar.

the pet name seems unfitting as his eyes move back to the mirror, his reflection staring back at him. “morning sweets” he finally answers, washing his face and grabbing his toothbrush.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, still as intuitive as ever when it came to your lover.

“‘m fine, just a bit stressed,” a tight lipped smile as he hands you the toothpaste. you don’t believe him, but you decide to hold off until at least after you’ve woken up a bit more.

you don’t say anything as the two of you continue to get ready, letting your gaze linger on satoru. there was nothing you could think of that could’ve made him upset so early

it’s a bit quiet as you both make your way into the living room, flowing easily as you two make breakfast, making each others coffee, with satoru carrying the plates to the table and you the coffees. (the last time he carried the coffees burned his hand and spilled both cups everywhere.)

and as he’s about to head out the door you’re pulling him by his collar, fixing it a bit and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. satoru melts into your touch, hands slipping around your waist and all worries being thrown out the window.

“have a good day angel boy,” you mumble, pressing on last kiss to his lips before pulling away.

“cant be that good if I’m not with you,” he pouts, not bothering to make a motion to leave, not until you’re forcing him out the door as he whines ‘just one more kiss!’

it’s anytime there’s a reflective surface, he’s stealing a glance, making sure his neck is covered. he’s so careful about it, wanting to keep his scars hidden, too ashamed to show them to the world.

“sensei is that a scar on your neck? that’s so cool how’d you get it?!” yuji’s voice is enthusiastic and his eyes are glimmering as he stares up at his teacher.

satoru physically tenses at the acknowledgment of the scar on his neck, quickl flashes of that day coming into his mind. geto, riko, where it all went wrong.

“just a nasty fight is all” he shrugs his shoulders, hoping the younger boy would drop the topic.

“but if you have infinity how’s that happen?” his brows furrowed as satoru tries to calm himself down.

“yuji come look! megumi found something!” nobara calls out, the pink haired boy rushing to her side as making their way to their other friend.

satoru’s hand unconsciously brushes over the raised skin, recalling how he’d tried so hard to get the skin back to normal, begging shoko to help him.

that afternoon he’s wearing a bigger sweater, letting his messy bangs fall over his forehead and trying his best to cover up his neck when he catches you staring at him.

“what?” he asks, a nervous smile on his lips. did you realize how ugly they were? were you finally done calling him pretty?

“nothin’ you just look so pretty” you sigh, smiling as you press a kiss to his cheek, hand reaching to push his bangs out of his eyes. satoru stops you immediately, his much larger hand wrapping around your wrist, eyes wide as he realized what he’d done.

“I’m sorry” he mumbles, hand shaking slightly as he lets go of you, rushing into the restroom and taking deep breaths. you were gonna hate him after that, you would realize how fucked up he was and you were gonna leave him and-

three soft knocks on the door pulls him from his thoughts, “angel boy? you okay?” you sounded worried, and he couldn’t help the tears filling his eyes.

“I’m sorry if i overstepped, i didn’t mean to” your voice smaller, satoru opened the door immediately, almost instantly pulling you into his arms.

“no you didn’t” a shaky breath leaving his lips as he debates on where to go from here. “it’s just, i don’t really like my scars,” he frowns, eyes averting your gaze.

you gently take his hand in yours, leading him back to the couch, watching as he tentatively fiddles with the hem of his sweater, pulling it off of him.

there’s a scar running from his neck down his chest, the skin raised ever so slightly. he shrinks as your eyes land on the skin, clenching his jaw when he lifts his bands and reveals the smaller scar on his forehead to you.

“they ruin everything,” he whispers, watching as your fingers ghost over the skin.

“may i?” you’re looking up at him, and he doesn’t know what the emotions swirling behind your eyes are, but he nods anyway. shivering when your fingers make contact with the skin, trailing down the entire length of it.

he jumps a bit when you place a feathery kiss to the top of the scar, he watches as you continue to kiss down his chest, following until the end of the scar. your hands feel cold compared to his now flushed skin, watching as you look up at him.

you don’t say anything as you cup his face in your hands, pressing a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. “they don’t ruin anything, pretty boy,” your words laced with love.

“but-” he begins, the shake of your head cuts him off, the slight furrow of you brows is enough to have him stay quiet.

“no, i don’t wanna hear it,” you frown, “they don’t make you any less attractive, they don’t make you any less of my pretty boy,” the words comfort him in a way he never thought words could. the warmth blooming in his chest has his eyes watering slightly. “in a way they show how much you’ve grown, what you’ve learned and lost” you begin, your fingers intwined with his, grip tightening a bit.

“you don’t think they look, i don’t know, ugly or out of place?” he pouts, still not daring to look into your eyes.

“don’t be silly angel boy,” you grin, pushing his bangs out of his face, pressing a kiss on his forehead, atop his small scar, “nothing about you could ever be ugly, you’re the prettiest.”

his cheeks are dusted pink as a small giggle slips past his lips, finally meeting your gaze when you gently lift his chin with your index finger.

“but as much as i love you, you smell like sweat,” you scrunch your nose up, “so go shower,” laughing when his jaw drops, letting go of your hand and sniffing himself, scrunching his nose in agreement.

satoru doesn’t hesitate to wrap himself around you, smothering you in a hug, laughing loudly as you struggle to free yourself.

after his shower satoru’s eyes linger on his scars, the dewy mirror distorting his reflection slightly. for the first time since he can remember, satoru doesn’t think about that time when his eyes land on his scars, rather he thinks of the love of his life, the one who comforted him through it all, the one waiting for him now.

a small smile on his lips when you welcome him into bed, clinging to him as soon as he slips under the covers. you pull him close to you, peppering kisses along his jaw, then his cheeks and finally landing on his lips.

“you’re my pretty, angel boy,” you whisper, eyes staring into his cerulean ones, “i don’t want you to ever think otherwise,” pressing one last kiss to his lips before cuddling into his chest.

instead of flinching away, he lets you. he lets himself relax as your hand rests over the scar, only the thin fabric of his t shirt separating your fingers from grazing the skin. he relaxes into your touch, smiling when you press kisses to any open you see, whispering compliments into his ear, comments reserved for only him.

slowly satoru finds himself not even glancing at his scars in the mirror, he no longer tugs at his shirt collars, and he doesn’t dread staring at the mirror. he doesn’t sleep with a shirt anymore, and he walks around shirtless, a boost of confidence shooting through him when he catches you staring.

they no longer feel out of place or ugly. not as you kiss them, each press of your lips more filled with love and tenderness than the last. not as your fingers ghost over them, giggling when he flexed his abs under your touch. not when you accidentally let slip that you think he looks hotter with scars.

not when you’re there to kiss away any insecurities he has, to push away any doubts in his mind with a shower of compliments.

taglist (send an ask to be added!): @chilichopsticks @anime-for-the-sleepless @4sat0ruu @safaia-47 @nanamikentoseyebags @fushironi @nineooooo @the-mom-friend-dot-com @gojoshooter @sat6ru @beautiful-is-boring @luna0713hunter @torusmochi

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jeonqkooks · 1 year

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a little taste | jjk

the one with the stress-relieving lollipop.

[ ‘ a little taste ’ series masterpost ]

pairing: jungkook x f!reader

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genre/warnings: established relationship, basically pwp!, but a lil fluffy i guess, oral seggs (m. receiving), face fooking, 0.1 second of dirty talk?, what else what else hmmmm oH it's unedited as heck lol

word count: 1.6k

note: nobody look at me after i post smut please i'm just gonna leave this here and dip ⛷ but fr time flies wtf?? it took me almost a year to post the second part of this series what have i been doing lmao. buuuuuuut yeah yk this series is for the horndawgs sOoOoOo have fun lol

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

You could tell that something was wrong the minute Jungkook walked through the door.

From the way the door was shut a little too harshly, the sound of his keys hitting the ceramic bowl in your entryway a little too loudly. The way he came up from behind as you were cooking but his arms held you a little too tightly, like he just needed you to ground him.

He was off all throughout dinner, trying (and failing) to come up with proper responses to your attempts at making conversation.

Even now, as you snuggle up against him on the couch, you can feel the tension radiating off him. He presses absentminded kisses into your hair every now and then, but his arm around you is stiff, his jaw is perpetually clenched, his breathing a little too even like he’s trying to control it. At this point, you’re pretty sure that neither of you is really watching the TV.

“Alright, that’s it,” you say, pushing yourself away from his body to get a good look at his face. “Out with it, what’s wrong?”

Jungkook peers at you, clearly having been broken out of his train of thought. He exhales once, then pulls you back into his side. This time, he keeps you there.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he says, fingers drumming rigidly on your hips. “Just had a shitty day at work. Don’t worry about it.”

You frown slightly, trying to wiggle out of his grip but his strong arm pins you to his body. He squeezes your hips, as if telling you to hold still.

“Wanna talk about it?” you ask.

“No,” he answers, voice somewhat strained. You know he’s just simmering in there, thoughts racing, anxiety spiking.

He tends to keep things to himself because he doesn’t want to bother you with his troubles. But he’s your partner, that’s what he’s supposed to do - talk to you, let it out, work together.

When you huff out a breath, he placates you with, “Maybe in the morning.”

You’re not entirely pleased that he’s shutting you out, but this is just how he is. There’s not much you can do; Jungkook isn’t a talk-about-your-feelings kind of person. Once you remind yourself that he’ll open up when he wants to, you press a comforting kiss to his jaw in response, and he hums in appreciation.

You stay like that for a while, with the TV serving as background noise. You slip your hand under his shirt to trace odd patterns on his abs, like you often do whenever you’re cuddled up against him like this.

It’s innocent, until he does the same to you.

You’re sure he doesn’t mean to start anything, but when his fingers touch your bare skin, you have an instant lightbulb moment.

He kneads your skin like you’re a human stress ball, then loosens his grip when he remembers that you’re not.

Your hand stills on his abdomen. Lightbulb, for sure.

“Want me to make you feel better?” you ask, peeking up at him through your lashes with faux innocence.

Jungkook glances down at you, suspicious. “How?”

“Well…” Your fingers pick up where they left off, tracing his abs for a moment before they trail downward to toy with the waistband of his sweatpants. “You know how.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but his legs unconsciously (or not) spread a little wider. “I’m not even hard,” he says, even as he sinks further into the cushions of the couch, getting into position.

“I think I can fix that,” you mumble, inching closer to his face until your mouths meet. You feel him melting into the kiss, letting you take over him instead of the stress. When his tongue slips into your mouth, your hand palms him through the material of both his sweats and boxers. He rolls his hips against your hand, seeking friction as he gives you a muffled groan. You can still faintly taste the beer he had earlier after dinner. You don’t even like beer, but you love Jungkook.

“Fuck.” He throws his head back, eyes closed, bottom lip held hostage by his teeth. You lean closer to his neck, press a few kisses to the skin you find there while your hand rubs him until he hardens.

It doesn’t take very long before he grows bigger and heavier under your fingers. “Fine,” he rasps out, urging down to the carpeted floor on your knees. “I suppose you may suck my dick.”

You give him a particularly hard squeeze just for that, making him choke on a breath. “You’re not cute,” you say. He only gives you a grin in response before he lifts up his hips to help you shimmy his trousers and boxer down. He doesn’t even bother taking them off properly, just lets them pool around his ankles while he waits for you. His cock stands tall and proud, desperately begging to be touched. All because of you. All for you.

You spit into your hand, then wrap your fingers around him, slowly pumping him until precum leaks from his tip. His hips buck into your grip, silently demanding more. Impatiently, he weaves his fingers into your hair and gently guides your head to where he needs you the most.

“Y/N, c’mon, do something,” Jungkook groans, brows knitted together as he looks down at you. “Isn’t this supposed to be about me?”

“You’re right,” you say with a chuckle. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

You give the tip of his cock a kiss to emphasize your apology before you take him into your mouth, sinking down on him on your first go until he hits the back of your throat. The airy, needy moan that he lets out sounds nothing less than heavenly to your ears. If he doesn’t want to talk about his troubles, then this might as well be the next best thing.

You pull back after holding him there for a few seconds, only to start bobbing up and down his length that’s now slick with your spit, drawing continuous moans from his mouth. It boosts your ego a bit, knowing how good you’re making this gorgeous man feel.

“God, fuck,” Jungkook drawls, as his hand in your hand tightens. “Baby, can I?”

You try to give him a nod as best as you can, what with his cock shoved into your mouth like this. You look up to find him already gazing at you with that fucked out look on his face. He holds your head still, then slowly bucks his hips into your mouth experimentally so you don’t choke on it.

Although, he does want you to choke on it.

Maybe you kinda want to choke on it too.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” he says, voice rough with desire. He’s always so attractive like this, when he sounds like he wants nothing more than to completely ruin you, absolutely delectable yet somehow, still your wonderfully caring Jungkook. Your core clenches painfully around nothing as he thrusts into your mouth, not breaking eye contact even once.

You feel tears pricking every time his cock nudges its way down your throat, until your eyes are all glassy and eventually your cheeks are stained with two clear lines streaming down.

Profanities tumble from his mouth clumsily, breathlessly, that you don’t catch most of what he’s saying.

“Baby,” he keens, and that’s when you notice that his lashes are wet too. Something swells within your chest that’s akin to pride. You could laugh if you weren’t so… preoccupied. Leave it to the both of you to cry during a blowjob.

At one point, it does get a little too much, right when he was almost there. You could tell from the way his stomach clenches and his balls tighten, his teeth digging into his bottom lip in concentration. You have to hold onto his wrist and tap his bare thigh so he could ease up on you. He untangles his fingers from your hair instantly, mumbling an apology while he catches his breath. You pull away from him to inhale deeply and let your throat relax for a minute, but your hand reaches for his length again while your mouth is temporarily out of commission.

He continues to shallowly thrust into your hand as you jerk him off, determined to make him fall right over the edge of pure bliss. Even when he’s about 0.5 second away from blowing his load, Jungkook is still mindful of you. He reaches down to wipe the tears from your face, a touch which you immediately lean into gratefully.

“Fuck, I-I’m gonna come,” he grunts out when you gather more spit from your mouth to add onto his already slickened cock, making it even messier, but easier for you amp up your speed.

“Where do you want it?” you ask, thoroughly enjoying the pleasure etched on his face and the sounds you’re pulling from you.

“M-mouth,” he manages to say. “In your mouth, please.”

At that, you wrap your lips around him again. As your fingers move up and down his length, alternating between fast pumps and harder squeezes, you suck on just the tip like he’s your own Jungkook-flavored lollipop. You hum in appreciation at the taste, eager for what he has to give you.

Your name falls from his lips over and over again, like a mantra, like a cry, until he’s painting your mouth with warmth, overwhelming your tastebuds with your favorite flavor of him. You keep up with your movements until you’re sure that you’ve milked every single drop from him. When you release him from your mouth, he grabs your face and kisses you deeply. He moans, muffled against you, when he finds the residual taste of himself on your tongue.

“Love you,” you tell him, bumping your nose against his.. “Feel better now?”

“Much better,” he says, albeit a little hoarsely after the… vocal training he just received. He grins at you lazily, clearly spent and visibly more relaxed than before. “Love you too, my dream girl.”

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devilmademewriteit · 1 year

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completely inspired by a gif set u reblogged. Javi helping you into a bullet proof/tactical vest. you’re scared and he just says a gentle “arms up” as he secures the velcro. he’s scared as well, doesn’t wanna lose you, doesn’t want you to get hurt. but it’s like the fear, the adrenaline, has your emotions haywire and you look into his eyes as he takes hold of your hand so gently and tells you that you’re gonna be okay, and you just want to kiss him, and he wants to kiss you too, but then it’s time to go, and he tells you “later”

IDK WHAT THIS IS LMFAO Javi brings the slut outta me

you’ve inspired me anon here is a TINY FIC/DRABBLE YEEEEEEEE

pairing: javier peña x fem!afab!reader

warnings: fem!afab!reader; use of pet name ‘sweetheart’; canon-typical allusions to violence; language; ANGSTY POO

omg I can’t believe there’s no smut. GUYS I WROTE SOMETHING WITHOUT SMUT. I loooove writing my javi tho so while im busting my ass working on Salvatore part 3 feel so free to leave me lil thingies like this.

-em<3

—

“Hope is a dangerous thing for a woman like me to have, but—”

It was never supposed to be like this.

It was just a summer job — something safe, boring, admin and agendas and addendums. Should’ve known better, taking a government job in the world’s most dangerous city.

She should’ve known better, taking a government job in the world’s most dangerous city. Shit. My chest feels like it’s on fire, burnin’ through kerosene.

Is she gonna clock how unsteady I am?

Javi’s footsteps echo down the nearby hallway; you recognize them immediately, and their slanted, hard-right-drag-left rhythm. He comes lumbering through the door, cradling tactical gear between his big, bulging biceps. God, you’d had… thoughts about those biceps.

Even now, with the embassy under cartel-siege, it’s oh-so-hard to push away the x-rated daydreams swirling inside your stress-addled mind.

And he doesn’t look scared.

Fuck, she looks so scared.

“Here,” he says, extending the protective vest towards you. Gingerly peeling your hips off of the desk at your back, you extend your fingers to greet and grab at the rough, thick canvas. The sheer weight of it makes your heart lurch into your throat. Neither one of you lowers your hands.

The dark-green-death-sweater you’d seen him wear so many times, cursing yourself for registering, for caring about what it meant.

That it meant Peña — schmoozing, cocky, effortlessly crude Javier Peña — was going into the field.

So neither of you let go.

The stupid vest had always served as a kind of divining rod, leading you both to the real source of your constant bickering, your irritation and the look of mutual, unabashed worry you had shared as a soldier came bursting into the office, panting in tune with the sirens, carrying news of the currently unfolding attack.

Caring without meaning to.

Giving a shit without wanting to.

“I-“ you swallow, trailing off, cursing the swelling bubble forming at neck-breaking speed inside your throat, “I don’t know what to do with this.”

Of course she doesn’t. That one’s on me. ‘Thing like her should never have to wear one of these.

Shouldn’t even have to see one of these.

“S’okay,” he mutters, taking the burden of the gear into his hands, brow furrowing into a look of delicate responsibility. “Turn around.”

Under different circumstances, those words might’ve (embarrassingly enough) enticed a very different feeling from you.

Now, they were simply effective.

Acceding, you rotate, painfully slowly as every hair along your spine lifts, one after the other. Peña shuffles, adjusting both himself and the gear to stand close — too close — behind you.

“Arms up, sweetheart.”

You listen, dragging your arms up into the static air, trying to ignore the soft edge in his voice. It reminds you of something.

Something like resistance.

Stifled want.

Desire with a sock shoved down its bone-dry throat.

And it’s so level, so calm. How is he so calm?

Can she tell I’m totally freaking out?

Your shoulders sag under the weight of the vest. Jesus. It’s so much heavier than you’d imagined. Not quite as heavy as the feeling of doom settling over you, grief from the naive sense of safety you’d walked into work with.

Just this morning.

Javi busies himself with the Velcro, uncharacteristically silent. His knuckles brush the insides of your wrists, and you try to resist it — God, you really do — but all efforts to keep those prickling tears at bay are undertaken in vain.

You quiver slightly, face burning in shame.

Is she shaking?

Gentle, unusually gentle when his fingers wrap around your upper arm, spinning you around to face him once more.

“Look at me.”

You do. His shadowed eyes swim, dance, rage with experience, and you’re left envious, wishing that you’d hardened yourself to the world in the same way. How many times had this man woken up, driven to work, drunk his morning coffee and smoked his morning smoke, accepting that it could be his last?

Knowing Peña, he probably found ways not to think about it.

For sure, he didn’t think about it.

But you did.

Every time that vest came out.

“Everything’s gonna be fine, alright?”

It’s an almost whisper, a mere brush of air against your brow. His own creases in earnestness as he utters the pledge.

“How can you do this for a living?”

You don’t mean for it to come out so rough and jagged, hissing for help like a neglected kettle on the stove. Javi offers you a smile of understanding as though remembering his own first time.

Then, before either of you can stop it, he places the flat of his palm to your cheek.

And you can’t keep from noticing how easily the calloused pad of his thumb molds to your complying skin.

“You get used to it,” he returns, and every word is coated, soaked in the sad, tragic truth. “Though this part’s always hard.”

Nothing exists beyond the smell of tobacco on his breath and the total absorption in his eyes. You’re sure the latter is mirrored in your own, too.

Timid, uneasy, begging him to ease the discomfort for you. “What part is this?”

The part where I lie to you. The part where I bubble-wrap the only thing in this country worth protecting into a shitty, almost useless accessory of war.

The part where I remember—

Is it the part where we remember how easily we could lose each other?

And we don’t even have each other, for God’s sake. Lookin’ up at me as if she can trust me, and the only thing I’ve been able to trust for years is that the moment will come, that moment where it all just gets to be too much and fuck—is this it? Maybe—

This is the part where we—

Kiss her, God, I just wanna fuckin’ kiss her—

Kiss?

“Peña! Time to move!”

Murphy’s voice slices — easily — through the tentative moment of uncertainty. It erodes the softness of Javi’s features into that familiar, hardened stone.

His hand drops from your face, but the tracings linger.

If you couldn’t trust the world outside, maybe you could trust Javi inside. Maybe he’d learned to live without something to lean on, but you weren’t yet prepared to go on—

She doesn’t know how much I fuckin’ need her. Or how many times I’ve tried to say it—and in so many ways—but every time I open my goddamn mouth it just comes out… wrong. Like it’s not enough. Like it’s not true that I can finally fuckin’ breathe when she’s… just… existing around me. Like losing her wouldn’t mean goin’ on—

Faithlessly. Radically accepting the confusing, overwhelming uncertainty of the world.

He clears his throat.

“I’ll see you after.”

Your gaze tumbles down, averting the twinge of dishonesty in his own at his promise.

“Yeah—yeah, see you after.”

He backs away without turning. For a moment, you think he’s gearing up to say something. Something like he always says, like, don’t be a fuckin’ idiot, or use your head or maybe even a smile, sweetheart.

But he doesn’t. He just shakes his head, his dark hair tumbling around and exaggerating his hesitation. Although it hurts, you force yourself to watch as he walks away. How he bows his crown, brings a hand up to anxiously rub at the side of his jaw, the roundness of his shoulder responding and near-bulging under the blue cotton.

Admittedly, a kiss from Javier Peña would’ve been nice.

But to be cradled between those arms, wrapped up in him instead of the goddamn tactical gear squeezing, robbing the air from your lungs…

That would’ve been it.

When this is all over, you think to yourself.

And as Javi greets Steve, apologizing for the delay, the hand squeezing his gun feels strangely empty, haunted by the novelty of touching your burning skin.

When this is all over, he thinks to himself.

Anyways, isn’t that what faith is? Making plans for later, as if anyone’s ‘later’ is promised, a guarantee? As if either of you could count on tomorrow?

Yeah, that’s gotta be it.

Joining the gaggle of scared, hopeless government employees, desperate for reassurance, for the realization blooming inside the depths of your knowing; you pause, letting it hit you, translating it into words…

“—I have it.”

—

#javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x female reader #javier peña #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier peña x y/n #javier peña angst #javier pena narcos #javier peña fic #javier pena x y/n #javier pena #narcos #narcos fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you

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magicxc · 7 months

Text

Stay With You

Pairings: Trevante Rhodes x Black Reader x Aldis Hodge

Word Count: 1652

Warnings: double penetration, hand job, cream pies

BBJ Masterlist

“Y’all when I said let's go camping, I was thinking something along the lines of smores, maybe even a cute lil bonfire,” I ranted. “But to be out here in natures ass crack, the possible meal of a grizzly bear is where I draw the line.

“Y/N, we’re in a makeshift tent in the backyard, I doubt a grizzly is making it this far into the city,” Aldis sighed.

“And if he does, we’ll hear him,” Trevante added.

“Was that supposed to make me feel better?”

“This is practice Y/N, you stay complaining like this on the real campsite and a grizzly will be the least of your worries.”

“Aldi, is that a threat?” I gasped.

“No, it’s a warning, so take heed.”

“Ohhh Aldiii, you giving out warnings now?” Trevante mocked.

Deadpanning Tre, I look over to Aldis to assess what the problem really is.

“Aldi, you know I don’t do the whole nature thing, but I’m legitimately trying FOR YOU."

“You ain’t gotta try if all you gone do is keep complaining,” he protested.

“I AM -“

“Hey hey hey y’all enough,” Tre interrupted. “Let's put a pin in it before one of us says something we can’t take back.

Always the peacemaker that one. Trevante is quite literally the definition of lover not a fighter, whereas Aldis on the other hand is my little hot head. We tend to clash from time to time, but we’re learning which buttons not to push.

He’s been begging us to go camping for a minute now and I finally gave in last weekend, opting to do this only if I could work my way up there. Tre is no more keen to do it than I am, but pushed those feelings to the side for all the times Aldis has been so willing to try something for us. I guess it didn’t help that I’ve been bitching since we crawled inside here.

Sighing, I apologized for my earlier whining and creeped over to his side of the tent to seal it with a kiss. He accepts it with a grumble, but the scowl on his face tells a different story.

“Baby, I am so sorry for not coming in here with an open mind and if you let me, I’ll have us all making noises a grizzly wouldn’t dare interrupt.”

I get a small smile in return, but it’s not the heart melting one I’m used to seeing.

“Please, forgive me and come morning I’ll fix your favorite breakfast.”

“There are no stoves in the woods,” Tre reminded.

“Right, well I’ll do whatever it takes to survive in nature,” I promised. “No soap, no toothpaste, just a knife and my killer instincts.”

A chorus of woahs follows from both men, Aldis urging me to relax, emphasizing the idea that living in nature surrenders the use of modern technology not hygiene.

“Yeah well I’ll stay clean ONLY if you forgive me,” I bargained.

Chuckling, he leans in and pecks me on the lips, formally forgiving my prior tantrum.

“Moving forward, I don’t wanna hear no lip and you’ll do exactly as I say,” he demanded.

Wrapping my arms around his neck I lean in for another kiss, mumbling a yes sir. Deepening it, I feel Tre’s palm run across my ass, caressing its curves in the softest way.

Aldis’ arms wrap around my waist, pulling me in closer as his lips run over mine, trailing down to my chin, my neck, and stopping just shy of my breast.

“Now, tell me more about those non interrupting grizzly noises,” he says through light pecks.

Shuffling off the floor Tre gets behind me, locking me in between them, sprinkling his fair share of kisses along my back in agreement with Aldis.

Turning so that my body faces forward, I rest my arms on the shoulder of each man; leaning firstly into Tre and then into Aldi to swap a little bit of spit.

“Well, for starters we’d need less clothes.“

“Like this shirt for instance,” Tre proposed as he tugged it off me.

“And these pants,” Aldis added, unbuckling them. “They don’t really serve much purpose do they?”

Shaking my head no, I help them shed the rest of the clothes by ridding myself of the remaining undergarments. Now in my birthday suit, I watch as each man's clothing finds itself in a pile next to mine.

Tongue slipping between teeth and over my lips, I can’t help the jolt of excitement that washes over me as I ready myself for both my men. Leaning over to Tre, I sink my teeth into his skin as I suck on his sweet spot, no doubt leaving a hickey - eager to mark him in the sexiest way.

He breathes out soft, shy pants and I reach down to grab his semi hard dick as I stroke it back and forth. Dribbles of precum ooze from the tip and I drag my thumb forward to smear it against his length, allowing me to jerk him off a little more smoothly.

Tilting over to my left, I lean into Aldis and dip my head into the firm arch of his shoulder blade, peppering his jaw in open mouth kisses; spots of saliva left behind after each one.

He then grabs my left breast, his mouth swirling around the hardened nipple as my head tips back at the delicious sensation, quiet mewling tumbling past my lips. Tre follows suit with my other breast, tweaking and kneading before taking the nipple into his warm mouth.

Hand gliding down Aldis’ lap, I stop at his girthy member, tracing over each thick vein while I softly run my hand over his nuts. Bringing my hand to my face, I spit in the palm and return it back to his length, this time stroking him with ease.

Breathy moans follow, but it comes out muffled around my nipple and I take this chance to speed up in pace on both men, hoping to see their creamy finish.

“Tell me how good this feels,” I whimpered. “Matter of fact, cum for me so I know it’s real.”

Heated lips run along my skin, tongues leaving wet trails in their paths while hands get entangled with limbs and moans get engulfed into the noiseless night. My body feels hot with desire, eyelids fluttering closed, and mouth ajar, I couldn’t tell who was doing what but my movements never ceased; eager to bring my men over the edge.

Their heavy breathing becomes more erratic, my cooing and encouragement having them spill onto me as my hands come to a slow stop and I lick each fist clean.

Grabbing the back of my neck, Aldis pulls me in for a kiss, thumbs spreading my lips open to taste himself. Pulling away, I turn over to Tre and dive in for another round of tongue twisting, saliva trailing down our chins as we pull apart.

“On all fours Y/N, you know wassup,” Aldi directed.

“Yes sirrrr, Tre you on the bottom baby?”

“I’m wherever you want me,” he winked.

Lying down on his back, he helps position me on top of him, dick in hand as he watches me slowly slide down his length. A heavy gasp leaves us both at the heated feeling of being connected. After we adjust, he gives me a lazy smile, mouthing a quick I love you to which I eagerly return it.

“Ready for me angel?”

“Go for it Aldi.”

“I’ll be your genie, Y/N, every fucking day if you let me,” he confides, smearing his cum between my ass.

“Your every wish would be my command,” he continued, entering first with his finger.

“You’re my beacon of light honey,” he insisted, adding in another digit. “In an otherwise bleak and cruel world.”

“You both reassure me that all is not lost,” he chanted, driving his fingers into me, the pace deliciously unwavering.

“Y’all have given me the joy to call you guys family,” he admitted, removing his fingers entirely.

“But this ass? Oh this ass Y/N is what I can call home,” Aldis ended as he thrusted to the hilt.

No matter how many times he’s entered my backdoor, I can never get used to his sheer size. He always knocks the wind out of me and I find myself planted face first into Tre’s chest, his hands cradling my jaws as I seep back into reality. Sweet nothings are whispered into my ear but it’s the driving force of their dicks that fully reels me into the present.

“There she is,” Tre snickered. “I got you baby girl, don’t you worry.”

I barely recognize the sounds coming from me, my words now indecipherable, cockdrunk and drooling as they tear me apart. Aldis wraps his hand around my throat, drawing me in to plaster my lips with sloppy kisses while Tre takes a hold of my waist to drive his dick further into me, my pussy stretched around his dick as his tongue explores the shape of my neck.

My fingers are embedded into skin, whose I don’t know, but the crescent shaped marks will reveal it sooner or later. Tongue sliding against Aldis’ while Tre’s fingers dance every which way across my waist and thighs, I can’t help the howl that escapes me; grizzly bear be damned, my body feels worked over past its limits.

The peak that I hit seems never ending, my soul paralyzed and heartbeat accelerating, while everything around me ceases to exist. I come down just in time enough to feel them splatter my walls simultaneously which elicits a minigasm of my own.

Loud, labored panting is all that I hear. Rough, calloused hands is all that I feel. Navy blue sky littered with twinkling stars is the view that meets me and I must admit that camping isn’t so bad after all.

#Emmy Writes #Emmy Tries #My Drabbles #Black Boy Joy #Trevante Rhodes x Black Reader #Trevante Rhodes x Black!Fem!Reader #Trevante Rhodes #Aldis Hodge x Black Reader #Aldis Hodge x Black!Fem!Reader #Aldis Hodge #Trevante Rhodes x Black Reader x Aldis Hodge #Trevante Rhodes x Black!Fem!Reader x Aldis Hodge #Black Reader #Black!Fem!Reader #3 some tings #why am I like this lmfao

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thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels · 7 months

Text

It isn't always easy (but how lucky I am to be known)

comfort came against my will - series masterlist here

pairing: dick grayson x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.1k

genre: fluff, emotional comfort

warnings: reader is vaguely mentally ill, dick is insecure but it's ok in the end

a/n: this can be read on its own. lil bit more about reader and what they do in life. I don't know if I write stories or just weird character studies anymore. whatever lemme know if you like it

"Are you sure you want to go to this, baby? Dick asks you gently as you stare at your reflection in your bathroom mirror, smoothing out your hair one final time.

"I don't really have a choice, babe. The gala is for my company - it looks bad if I don't show." You sigh before spinning around to face him, leaning against the counter and looking up at him, cupping his cheek in your palm and smoothing out the worry lines in his forehead with your thumb. "I'll be okay," you assure gently.

Dick sighs in defeat and presses a kiss to your cheek, content to go with you and keep an eye on you. It had been… one of those days. One of those times when your brain just doesn't work the way you want it to, when your own mental illnesses wrap around your throat and strangle you from the inside out. Most days, he finds himself impressed by the way you strong-arm your own psyche into bending to your will, but he knows it can't always happen. He just wishes the world would understand that, too.

Dick continues to think this as your car pulls up outside the gala, your door opening and you sliding out, him in tow. It mesmerizes him always, the mask you slip on, the way you smile and charm and stand tall in front of the never-ending flashes of cameras and pushing questions of reporters. He's always been impressed by it, but he finds himself even more swept off his feet now that he knows what's come before. It's difficult, sometimes, for him to put this image of you next to the one he'd seen this morning - the one of you with tear tracks down your cheeks and unable to get out of bed.

You turn briefly to him to make sure he's still close by, and although you both know the press will see it as nothing more than a second of love between a couple, Dick knows what you're doing. He knows that you're holding him to his word - making sure that he meant it when he said he'd be by your side the whole night. He doesn't mind that you're checking. He has no intentions of breaking his promise.

The night progresses normally, flutes of champagne being passed around and small talk floating through the air. You charm and dazzle and glide around the way you normally do, but the grip you keep on Dick's hand serves as a constant reminder that you're not okay. When you go to pull your hand away from his, he finds himself unconsciously holding it tighter, not wanting to let you go.

"I have to go up and speak," you speak quietly in his ear, nodding towards the raised stage and the microphone that sits ominously atop it. Dick knows how these things go - he's been to enough Wayne galas growing up and has accompanied you to enough of your own that he knows the host, at some point, has to go up and make a speech.

He just wishes, tonight, that it wasn't your company, and that it wasn't your speech.

But he kisses your hand gently before releasing it, letting you stray too far away from him, and his stomach twists with something akin to panic.

And the feeling doesn't go away as he watches you speak. You're as poised and clear as you always are, the epitome of a successful leader - and if he didn't know that something was wrong, not even he would ever be able to guess that you're struggling.

The panic in his gut, he finds… twists into something else. Doubt, maybe. Insecurity, probably. How well does he actually know you? If you can slip on masks this easily, who's to say you don't have more hidden underneath?

Dick tries to shake the thoughts from his head, reminds himself that he's your partner and you love him and you've never done anything to make him doubt that. But as you waltz off the stage and people clap and you flash commanding smiles toward people, he finds he can't banish his thoughts as easily as he could.

But then you're back by his side, gripping his hand in a way that makes him think you need him, and the night must go on. He pulls up his own mask, making polite conversation and flitting around like a socialite with you all night and he wonders if he's really any different from you. And then he wonders why he suddenly thinks that's a bad thing.

By the time the night ends and your driver pulls up and lets the two of you into your car, his face hurts from smiling and his feet ache from standing, but you squeeze his hand tightly before letting it go so that you can slide into the back seat and his stomach twists again as he slides in beside you, the door closing behind him.

But then… you change. He watches as you pull up the divider so that your driver can't see you, and then you exhale heavily, letting your shoulders drop and your eyes close as the formal pleasantness melts off your face. Your hand searches for his again and he takes it quickly, squeezing it to remind you that he's here, even if his head is spinning from the removal of his own mask.

"What are you thinking about?" You murmur, your eyes fluttering open to look at him with a flash of concern. Dick takes the hand that's not holding yours and cups your cheek gently, smoothing out the worry lines in your forehead with his thumb.

"Just thinking about how much I love you," he murmurs back, and his heart thumps loudly in his chest as he remembers how true that statement is - how much he loves you and how honoured he feels that you take off your masks for him. He kisses your hand where it's interlocked with his own. "I'm just thinking about how lucky I am to be the one who gets to know you like this."

You smile lazily at him, a knowing look settling in your eyes.

"Ah," you begin. "This isn't always easy, I know."

Dick exhales at your words, wondering how you always pin what he's feeling so easily. You bring your hand up to brush your thumb along the apple of his cheek.

"I'm the lucky one, Dick. I should be thanking you for wanting to know me like this."

Dick smiles at your words, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you closer to him in the back of the car. "We're both lucky to have found each other, I guess," He murmurs into your hair, pressing kisses to the crown of your head.

"Yea," you smile. "I guess we are."

#dick grayson #dick grayson x reader #smsn.writes #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #dick grayson imagine #dick grayson fluff #dick grayson fanfiction #richard grayson #nightwing #nightwing x reader #nightwing fluff #nightwing imagines #nightwing fanfiction #nightwing x you #nightwing x y/n

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jellipuff · 3 months

Text

Soft discovery.

Pairing: Jeonghan x reader

Genre: Smut (18+, Minors dni!).

Wordcount: 1.5k

Summary: Jeonghan has been called things in bed. Daddy is the one his partners usually go for. Is it his attitude that they think fits the word or how he seems guarded because many didn't like that he cared too much? So why are you loving him for that exact reason while calling him something else?

Warnings: Mean(?) soft-dom!Jeonghan, afab reader, men being referred to as mommy (because I love that it's so sweet n cute.), plus women can be called daddy so if that doesn't make you mad then this shouldn't, so: Jeonghan’s called mommy, reader referred to as a toy but lovingly, mentions of bottom jeonghan, mentions of you filling him up. (I think that's it? This is just a short lil fic about soft!dom jeonghan who is a lil mean and has a kink discovery.)

A/n: Hi guys! Jeonghan is so father? So mother? So everything? That I NEEDED to write about him being a lil soft dom meanie with a mommy kink. I hope you like it! Also, don't like, don't read‼️ No need to burn me at the stake friend🫡 Feedback is appreciated :)

How do we feel about soft!dom Jeonghan who's a little mean with a mommy kink.

Yet the title is never for you, not even a slip of the tongue directs it at you.

Mean soft!dom Jeonghan who loves being called mommy.

(walk with me)

Jeonghan has been called things in bed though not many. The usual is daddy, his attitude and nature must give him the energy that the people he has been with feel match him to that. It's fine he supposes nothing wrong with it. In past relationships daddy was a title he was familiar with, hearing it be moaned in bed and whispered in his ear at dinner dates. He’s been called it by hookups too but it was never something he needed to hear. The name didn't give him an extra push to his orgasm or increase his efforts.

It was simply just a title that was nice to hear.

So when Jeonghan started dating you naturally he expected the same. Daddy moaned from your lips as he fucks against your G-spot, you whispering it to him as you both sit at a new dinner in town, all of it was what he expected.

Except it never came and you weren’t anything he expected.

You were someone who made Jeonghan feel safe in such a short while. Your aurora seemed bright and warm resulting in him falling into it comfortably like a cat in sunshine. Your love made Jeonghan feel wanted and needed. Always going out of your way to do so much for him, thinking of him at the smallest things.

Cute wallets, cozy hoodies, and bunny items soon found their way into his possession all because they reminded you of him. Jeonghan realized very quickly why your love felt different, why even though his dominance never faltered or changed it suddenly felt foreign.

It's because Jeonghan feels soft in the entirety of the word. He feels soft in your love, in your touches, in your words, in your arms.

He has never gotten to feel soft seeming only worthy of making others feel it. So to be loved by you and being allowed to be not only soft but soft with the same dominance he loves is why he considered himself the luckiest man alive.

When the subject of kinks randomly came up Jeonghan knew he’d hear something unexpected from you but he didn't think it'd be that unexpected.

“Mommy?” he repeated back and you didn't seem fazed by his confusion and slight hesitance. “Yeah, when I sometimes dom I don’t mind many titles. Daddy, mommy, master, miss, and sir are all okay with me. I also don’t mind calling my partner any of those either and the few times we’ve had sex the title Mommy seemed to be on the tip of my tongue.” you admit with no embarrassment and Jeonghan can’t say the same.

“But…I’m a man?” he questions making you nod. “That’s true, so if it makes you uncomfortable we don’t have to try it at all. Men can be called feminine terms and titles just as women can be called masculine ones. They all serve us differently you know? I just wanted to mention it because it’s something I’ve wanted to use with you so I wanted to hear your thoughts.” you reassure and he adores how you value communication.

He doesn’t answer yet, mind filling with thoughts quickly. Jeonghan doesn’t necessarily feel put off by it but he’s never thought of being called that. He doesn’t know how it would feel to be called that. What if it turns him off and he has to stop the moment leaving you without an orgasm?

It just seems too brand new for him…yet he can’t seem to shake off the feeling of wanting to try it, wanting to hear you say it. He knows if he wanted to hear anyone say it, it’d be you.

“Why did it pop into your head for me?” he wonders aloud. You smile at his question and just like that Jeonghan doesn't feel too worried. “I think it's cause you're so lovely Jeonghan. You're gentle in the way you guide me, gentle in the way you control the pace of my hips. You’re so gentle yet so suffocating. Your presence makes me forget what I wanted to beg for, what I was supposed to do. You're so powerful yet so safe that no other title comes to mind when we’re together.”

Your words alone heat Jeonghan from the inside out. Making his cock begin to stiffen at the way you describe him so lovingly and what Jeonghan thinks to be so perfect.

After some thought, he agrees to try it. You grin happily but you don't forget to check in with him, making sure he isn't pushing himself to agree to something for your sake. He assures you that's not the case and that he's just curious (and slightly excited.)

Days pass and then one night he begins kissing you. He knows what you might call him tonight and his mouth moves against your feverishly. Hoping to get a taste of what the title tastes like on your tongue. The need in the way your hips buck up at his kiss only makes him grow hungrier. He pulls back, letting you both catch your breath before he guides his fingers to your pretty lips beckoning you to open them.

You open your mouth letting his fingers slide in. Swirling your tongue on the digits before sucking them. Jeonghan groans at the sight and feeling. Taking his fingers away he guides them to where your legs are spread. He taps his finger on your clit enjoying the way you whine at the shock. He continues his ministrations, toying with you as he pleases.

Then you say it and Jeonghan freezes for not even a second before he picks up his pace, his fingers fucking into you faster. He needs to hear it repeated again, and again, and again.

“Mommy! W..wait, t’much” you whimper and he thinks he might go insane if you say it again. Jeonghan thinks he might want to go insane.

Something about hearing it fall from your lips as he takes his fingers out from your hole to rub quick circles on your clit, dipping his fingers down to spread your wetness making you feel how messy you are makes him feel like he is on fire.

“So good Mommy!” you cry out and he feels close as if you were touching him as if it's not only his fingers feeling.

“Yeah?” he laughs breathlessly and you nod. “Tou.. touching me so good, take care of me so well Mommy. Want you in my mouth.” you rush out, managing to articulate the horny thoughts that fill your mind and they're all about him.

Jeonghan thinks you look so pretty like this. Holding his hand tightly as he kisses you deeply, stimulating that gummy spot inside you that has you dripping all over him.

His messy girl, Mommy’s messy girl.

─﹒☆﹒─

Mean soft!dom Jeonghan who tries to be a little meaner sometimes but you don't even notice, don't even care because you live to make him feel good. Even if your body is shaken and your mind fuzzy from being edged for too long or if the black ribbon Jeonghan ties to your wrist is stinging a little too much, you still manage to think of pleasuring him. Of being a good toy for him because nothing is too much for you when it involves him. If anything it adds to your pleasure.

Mean soft!dom Jeonghan who tends to love bottoming because you like it like that and oh, Jeonghan loves it like that.

Watching you try your hardest to not buck your hips as he rides you because he told you to stay still. Told you to be a good and let him use you, let him lift his hips and drop them to make himself feel good.

He told you to listen and wait until he tells you when you're allowed to feel good, wait until Mommy lets you feel good.

He loves making you a whiny mess as he controls your pleasure. Controlling when you get to move, what you get to do, and how much of him you get to have.

Controlling your pleasure leaves him feeling confident. You trust him full-heartedly, and that makes him happy.

You’re his love, he treats you with so much care that you'd think he’d run out one day but he never does and he never will. He knows how smitten you are for him and is the same.

You gave him a space to be soft, to be so caring without hearing you complain about it being overwhelming, a space to feel loved and cared for in the way he makes others.

You make him insane and powerful, your words and actions never failing to make him feel on fire. You listen so well, you take him so appreciatively, you stuff him so full.

You're always so good for him, always so good for Mommy.

#jeonghan x reader #dom!jeonghan x reader #i suppose with a twist #bottom!jeonghan #svt fanfic #svt fluff #svt smut #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt drabbles #dom!idol #jeonghan smut #jeonghan fluff #jeonghan fic #jeonghan imagines

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yourtamaki · 1 year

Note

sunny 🥺 I can’t stop thinking about sanji and how he loves to overstimulate you,,, not even in a sadistic way,, just likes to see you completely drunk on pleasure. anyways I am very sleepy and wanted to share this lil thot on main

oh,, oh my god,,,

your senses are slow to come back to you. the sound of your own breathing, ragged and shallow though you can hardly hear it over the blood pounding in your ears. a warm chest against your back, firm thighs beneath your trembling ones keeping you spread open. his cologne, woody and spiced, blends with the faded scent of tobacco that always lingers on him and your head spins as you breathe him in.

there’s nothing but sanji, sanji, sanji all around you, holding you to him while you come down from your high.

his hand comes up to cup your cheek and turn your head until you meet his gaze, the same hand that had just made you gush like it was nothing. you should cringe from the wetness that coats his fingers but instead the gentle hold he has on you only makes you feel wholly and utterly claimed.

“easy, angel, you’re okay. come back to me.”

“sanji,” your tongue feels too big in your mouth, muscles still tense and rigid. you’d be embarrassed at how dumb you must sound, how dumb you must look, if it wasn’t for the awe and reverence etched across his face. sanji looks at you like he could drink in the sight of you for a lifetime and still be left wanting more. his other hand rubs your thighs one by one, working them until they relax under his touch and leave you melting back against him.

“that was a big one, wasn’t it? how are you feeling?”

there’s something lurking in his voice, a misplaced worry that makes you sit up further to lean in and kiss him. one on his jaw, another on the corner of his mouth before your lips finally meet. sanji gives you so much, would serve you the moon and the stars on a silver platter if you asked him to, and yet he still wonders if he’s doing enough. it’s gotten easier over time to assuage those fears. now, a searing kiss is all it takes to chase away the doubt and bring him back to you.

“good. you always make me feel so good.”

the effect is instantaneous. the tension leaves him at all once, leaving him with only flushed cheeks and a familiar hungry glint in his eyes. you jerk when his hand starts to drift between your legs, where you somehow still ache for him to be. you try to glance down to watch but between his grip on your chin and all-consuming gaze, you’re pinned in place.

“are you ready for more, then?” a shudder runs through you at his tone, low and longing for your ears alone. you told him, once, when your relationship was a new, fragile thing made of spun glass that you felt guilty with all the pleasure he drowned you in.

“i don’t want to be greedy,” you’d said and the words were hardly out of your mouth before sanji took your hands in his and kissed your palms.

“angel,” he’d whispered into your hands, “you’re not the one being greedy.”

you didn’t understand back then what he had meant. but as he pushes two fingers back inside you and grinds the heel of his palm against your oversensitive clit, eyes boring into yours like he’s trying to commit every twitch and gasp to memory, you think you finally do.

lightening races up your spine, setting all your nerves alight as he works a third finger in and curls them until he’s working the same spot inside you that made you soak the bed not minutes before. it’s too much, too fast, and you can do nothing but stare up at sanji and take it.

“i know,” he says, “it feels better like this, doesn’t it? i’ve hardly done anything and you’re already so close.”

you let out a quiet whimper because he’s right. your orgasm was looming above you like a tsunami, threatening to crash down on you at any moment, and you clench down tight around him at the sweet reminder that sanji knows your body better than you do.

“don’t fight it, baby, it’s okay,” he leans in until your lips brush and you’re all but panting into each other’s mouths, “be a good girl and let go for me.”

the wave crashes over you and the world slips through your grasp as you’re pulled under. your cloud-stuffed mind is already floating away even as you twitch and kick while sanji helps you ride out the high. murmured words wash over you but it all seems so far away. instead, its all you can do to stretch out your senses and try to ground yourself back to the earth.

a warm chest against your back. cologne and tobacco in the air.

sanji, sanji, sanji.

#kat.💕#iruka’s wifey #sanji smut #one piece smut #sanji x reader #one piece x reader

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magic-hcs · 1 year

Note

Can I have a lil scenario of all my favorite things combined? 👀

Charon + meeting soulmate + ANGST 😈

PS: I absolutely adore your blog, your energy and writing always make my day 🥰

of course you can my dear anon! I loved writing this and accidentally wrote more than I thought I would. I hope you like it!

And Oh god, when i tried to save it to edit it a bit more on a different device it got deleted and i was about to yeet my laptop into space, and rage quit for a while (since I'm still healing from that writing burnout) and cry, luckily search history didn't let me down and I took back everything I just wanted to do in anger and sadness. deadass I copy and pasted everything I edited on a doc before trying anything again. So truly I hope you all enjoy!

Charon: Underfell Papyrus

warnings: angst, no comfort, Charon is rude, instant regret, first words are written on the body, maybe more

Time to cast some magic and see what we'll get!✨

✨✨

Charon: Ever had the feelings of regret becoming so strong it makes you bend your back at the sudden weight that whacks you upside the head and rams into you like a train?

Today had been one hell of a rough day. Despite the urge to scream his frustration to the heavens, he pushes on. He had to go shopping for dinner tonight, Charon refuses to do takeout. Healthy food made by Charon is superior to the sort of grub those order places serve up any day of the week. So to the store Charon goes, feeling like even the slightest inconvenience would set him off. Right when Charon couldn't find a specific ingredient a human walks up to him. you opened your mouth but Charon was faster.

"GET LOST HUMAN" Charon barked in your face. Hoping that you would leave him alone after this. But the reaction that he received from you wasn't you scuttling away in fear, or a face frowned in anger. Instead, it was a face of expected shock and unexpected devastated sadness mixed with resignation. Charon noticed your eyes were close to tears as you avert your gaze. With a sniff you roll your shoulders and straighten your back, as if wanting to push through some unbearable hardship. "Alright," you mumble, sniffing one last time and turning to the aisle they both were next to. "I'll get these myself then..." Right as you reach out your arm to grab at the can standing way too high up for your reach, Charon sees it: There on the inside of your arm where the ink black words spelling out in Charon's font 'GET LOST HUMAN.' And a realization hits Charon immediately after. On his own body, the words you had just uttered to him start to pleasantly tingle. Those words had given hope to Charon to find his soulmate. It was supposed to be wonderful to you too...But it brought you only heartache for so long long. It was supposed to be an incredible unforgettable thing. Now it just makes Charon sick. And it feels as if a train rams into him and slams down upon his back. Charon almost stumbles.

He unwillingly watches you strain your arm trying to reach that stupid can standing so high upon the shelf, watches your face be furrowed at the brows, and your resilient eyes desperately keeping the frustrating tears at the bay, sees the way you clench your jaw, holding in so much, throwing up a wall of pretense nonchalance. Charon begs himself to avert his gaze, begs his body to tear itself from the ground and to turn and never come back, begs for a time machine and redo it all over, begs for something, anything at all.

…

Your frustrated huff and a whispered “Goddammit" unshackled him from the confines of his stupor, making him reach out a hand that halts before even getting far. Mouth open but no noise comes out.

What could be done or said to undo a wrong that had been hurting you every day, an ugly reminder of how you’d never get to have a beautifully romantic fated meeting like how it was supposed to be.

…

The answer is simple; he can’t.

With a small flick of his phalanges the can behind the one you were reaching for gets illuminated by magic, and softly pushes the can in front of it. Inching it slightly over the board, right at the exact moment your fingers reached just below it. You tilted it from its perch, grabbing it just before it could fall. Charon turned away, swallowing down the knot that had formed inside his nonexistent throat.

“My Behavior Was Uncalled For, I Apologize.”

You turned to the voice that spoke up, expecting to see the skeleton man standing next to you. Only to find your eyes meeting a receding back.

Every step was a stab to the soul, clenching his teeth tighter, one would worry they’d crack. Your soft sniffles, the resignation on your face, it burns inside his mind, forcing him to watch it again and again. You didn’t deserve this. You didn’t deserve what has been done to you. What he has done to you.

The deepest part of him, the kindest part of him that he’s been hiding for so long wants to turn around and run to you. It wants to hold you, beg for forgiveness and swear that’ll hell do good, that he won’t ever treat you like that again.

But that would be selfish.

Once outside, Charon leans against the nearest wall and a shuddering breath leaves him. Subtly gripping the fabric of his clothes right above where his aching soul is located. Who would have thought that the pain he experienced the moment he got his trademark scratch mark across his socket would ever be surpassed?

A humorless chuckle leaves Charon. He shakes his head, pushing air past his teeth, forcing himself to be grounded, to get it together. Ignoring the ache he takes a few steps before realizing a big fact.

He had left his basket behind…and there were no groceries at home…and going back there, chancing seeing you again was not something Charon was looking forward to.

…

A big sigh leaves him.

It looks like takeout would have to do today…ugh…

BONUS:

Lounging on the couch, staring at a true crime documentary on tv is Red, scratching a sharp phalange along his teeth. There’s a bored scowl on his face, the constant loud tick tocks of the clock hanging on the wall deepens the frown. A few seconds pass. Red ‘tsks’ and snatches the remote to turn up the volume once more. He throws the remote back on the couch, in reach, as if he knew he would use it again at any moment.

Red started to tap his phalange at the small gap between his golden tooth and the other normal ones. An unconscious snrrk fills the room as Red can already guess what Charon would say when he sees what his older brother is doing.

‘Brother, If You Continue That Horrid Habit Of Yours You’ll End Up With Two Golden Teeth Instead Of One.’

His imaginary brother’s nagging sounds as irritating as the real deal.

Another snort leaves Red. A few seconds pass and this time it’s a huff before red eyelights flit over to the clock.

Two hours and thirty minutes.

It’s taking way too long. Red shakes his head. Stomping the thoughts away. A few minutes later the door clicks open and Red refuses to admit that the phalange that he had been jagging between his teeth slipped from his mouth, and that his shoulders had sagged at the noise of the familiar steps of Charon’s boots.

“lemme guess, couldn’t decide which fuckin’ salad dressing to take this time?” Red snarked over his shoulder, when he got no reply his shoulders bobbed in silent chuckle. Thinking the silence was just Charon refusing to go along with Red’s bicker he continued on. “boss, i swear, they all taste the freakin’ same.”

Still no reply. Red’s grin wavered slightly. “bro?” The steps thud up the stairs and there’s an uncharacteristically quiet click of a door. The once disappeared scowl returns in the shape of a confused and slightly concerned frown.

…

“…what in the fuck?”

Now, there is an unspoken ground rule in this house. A boundary none of them have crossed before.

Never enter the other’s room without the other’s knowledge or permission

Red has been knocking on this door for the last six minutes or so, at first asking in the form of jabs like “are ya cryin’ like a babe in there?” It got no indignant shriek from the other side of the door. So it was time to change tactics.

“do i need ta dust a fucker?” No harrumph of “I Don’t Need You To Do My Dirty Work, Brother. I Am Not Weak.” Or something along the likes. Just absolute silence.

…okaayy…something’s up.

“should i whip some up..?” Red refused to admit that slight worried crack in his voice. There was shuffling in the room, however, not one reply was made. “…bro…?”

….

never enter eachother’s room without permission.

…

’fuck it.’

Red shortcuts inside Charon’s room. Ready to be shouted at. Prepared to dodge some objects being hurled at him. But nothing came. Just this deafening quiet. Red finds Charon siting on his bed, knees tucked to his chest, arms dropped next to his side like a ragdoll having lost its strings keeping its arms alive.

“bro?” There are no tears, no grinding of the teeth, no frown or any indication or trace of any emotion at all. The look in Charon’s sockets terrify Red. Mostly because there is no look. It’s empty, vacant of eyelights, devoid of life. And he’s staring straight through Red, as if he’s not even there.

A chill shoots through Red's spine, making him shiver as if something’s crawling along his back. Red rushes towards his brother. Grabbing him by the shoulders and giving him a shake. “bro?” He shakes some more. “bro, fuck off this ain’t fuckin’ funny.” The voice sounds nothing like Red. It’s desperate. A humorless chuckle that sounds more like a manic cackle filled with nerves fills the room. It sends Red’s soul racing, not realizing it was him making the sound. “charon-“

“…” Everything freezes. Red freezes. It was so quiet.

“what?” Its a gasp that leaves Red. The mumbles start up again. Charon’s head tilts slightly. Red just knows that his brother’s empty sockets are now looking at him. “…messed…ed..”

“what?” Its the only thing Red finds in his current vocabulary. He leans closer towards Charon. “…i messed up, red…”

It’s quiet for a long time. Red swallows. “…wh-what didya mes-mess up, bro?” Red finally asks, nervously stumbling over his words. He watched as Charon tilted his head slightly down towards his collar bone.

the place where the words proudly been tattooed on.

Red’s eyelights shrink. It couldn’t be…

“messed everything up…”

oh. no…

Red felt his non-existent stomach drop. And it kept dropping.

✨✨

Thank you for participating in this spell, I hope it was to your satisfaction.

#undertale #papyrus #magical prompts #sans #undertale x reader #papyrus x reader #undertale hc #underfell #underfell sans #underfell papyrus x reader #underfell papyrus #underfell x reader #soulmate au #angst #no comfort #Charon

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the-s1lly-corner · 4 months

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Could I get something for eyeless jack with an s/o who's also a demon?

Not the same as him and definitely more human looking, but they are definitely NOT human

What if they fed off human emotions instead of human flesh? Would he get along better with another demon or would he be kind of put off?

Would he feel differently if they turned into a demon in a similar fashion to him

Eyeless Jack x reader whos a demon who feeds off human emotion!

ooooo this one is going to be interesting because while i do call jack a demon i dont think he is one.. at least not fully yet.. i mean oh yeah hes definitely cursed with something in my sillay hc but shrugs; sometimes labels are overrated that said i hope you enjoy this anon!

oh he would be so so put off. like yeah sure he knows he has no where to speak since hes literally slowly turning into something that cant be called human. he admits that he doesnt have much room to speak when it comes to others, but he mostly says that in the face of humans... but to a demon? ohhoho this is going to be interesting

i think a lot of times in the beginning hes going to be very wary of you and maybe even avoid you, its going to take some time for the two of you to get to know one another and get on speaking terms... its probably going to take a real hard shove to bring you two together

while im getting into this i may as well drop my personal lore on demon/non human creepypasta characters that may or may not change a lot of things

i know i brought this up before in a few posts, primarily my zalgo post

anyways tldr; zalgo made all the non human characters in the universe and/or planted a means to make them non human (ex. giving ben the means to come back as a ghost, providing the thing thats fucking up ej, ect ect) i think the only real exception is laughing jack since he was made to be good originally before following in the steps of the kid he was assigned to. shrugs. characters like the proxies get roped in my another character (ex. masky and the others by slenderman); while characters like jeff are your regular old krillers. non human/demon stuff just IS in thiis universe, simply another piece of nature blah blah yeah

^so naturally if we're following that hc for this post the reader falls under this... but even if you dont, you didnt really ask to be a demon , much like jack didnt

ponders

i dont think you can feed off his emotions even if you wanted to/tried, i think after a certain point he stops being considered and recognized as human

GOD can you imagine him receiving that news? he decides to give himself up so you can feed only for you both to discover that hes no longer an option. like an official sign that hes too far gone

though i think overall he tries to push for you guys to eat separately; outside of his offer he doesnt really want to know how you feed... and he doesnt want you to see how he feeds (for obvious reasons)

ponders

i think you would be safe when he goes a lil feral during his feeding/hunger frenzies since he knows youre not a human and/or can still sense youre not even when hes not mentally there fully so hey look at it this way! the chance of him attacking you is very low

back to actual relationship stuff i think it would be a very tense relationship for the first chunk

oooo imagine you tell him about the whole zalgo thing and kind of provide him with knowledge of whats going on; i mean jack is still very much in the dark about a lot of stuff regarding the topic and who knows it might build some trust (winks)

as for that last bit in your request... what if you werent born a demon or created? what if you were in a similar situation as him?

while i do think he would have some sympathy and you guys might possibly bond over having similar trauma; but i think. at least on jacks end. it would serve too much of a reminder of what happened to him

it sounds horrible, and he acknowledges its a horrible thing to think and feel but he cant stop that feeling.. he wouldnt exactly fully turn his back on you, but i do think he would hold his distance at least a little longer than the other option as a means to protect himself mentally

its harsh but it is what it is (slaps ej. this bad boy can hold so much angst potential)

#creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x you #creepypasta imagine #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack imagine

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soleilnomoon · 11 months

Note

Hi again! Still absolutely adore your Kid fic from your last event 💜 Never got around to asking for a Sanji one, so here I am again😅 But seriously, congrats on over 550 followers!! Love seeing your blog grow, cause you’re really talented and deserve them all and legit can’t wait til you hit 1k+ 🥰

For the event order, may I please ask for a #1 with my boi Sanji, with anmitsu, konpeito, and keylime pie and with honey, please? 🥹 i hate this but need some sanji angst 😭

I also dunno if these three would work particularly well together for a prompt, so you can choose whatever! just really feeling angst and sanji rn and maybe comfort if you’d like 🥰

Thank you for all your works you’ve done so far 💜💜

hiiii omg haha i loved that fic fr (i'm obsessed w that man!!!) also ily for requesting sanji i don't write him nearly enough 🥰️ but thank you sm!! 😭 making me all soft and i am so so sorry this took forever, as u know i am so slow but!!! i had fun tormenting sanji w the angst ngl 💓💓💓💓 also those were great choices for the prompt, i wanted to write more but it would've been 8k words before i finished and who has time for that (i do, but listen... that's besides the point) ✨

2k words, fem reader (honestly gn too now that i think abt it), sfw (SHOCKING i know), 18+ mdni, a lil bit suggestive but nothing wild, angst angst angst city babey, fluff if you squint, also i gave u comfort bc u deserve it bb 💗(and sanji does too); feat. sanji being in denial forever and ever, mutual pining, fake unrequited love, reader is determined and sanji is a coward; also i made myself sad writing this but a good sad bc sanji deserves happiness and i'll fight oda if he doesn't get it i s2g... (if u see grammar mistakes/spelling errors... no u didn't 💗)

“loving each other began this way: threading / loneliness into loneliness / patiently, our hands trembling and precise.” — yehuda amichai

STEP 01:

what does it take to kill a soul? —

a question that’s posed unironically, without a hint of remorse or tact, the words precise and venomous, slicing through the thick veneer that he’s carefully crafted. he’s never been able to answer that question — not at six years old, not twelve or fifteen, and not at twenty-one. his siblings took pleasure in taunting him with seemingly philosophical questions, ones that clamped down onto his thoughts with heavy shackles.

even after he’s extracted himself from that life, he can’t scrub those memories from his mind — no matter how hard he tries. they sit, still raw and bloody, giving rise to unpleasant emotions that make his stomach churn from so many things left unsaid. he never set out to be a pirate, but piracy has given him the sort of freedom that he could only wish for as a child.

it’s with tender hands, with nimble yet graceful fingers, and with a fastidiousness that puts him in a category of his own, that he creates and creates and creates —

he’s told he’s an artist, which only pushes him to work harder, to be better. and when he asks himself why, he doesn’t have an answer. or, rather, the answer he does have only serves as a punishing reminder that he’ll never be good enough. no matter how many times his crew mates thank him — their emphatic, genuine praise a soft, warm breeze against his heart, gentle caresses that he commits to memory — despair still manages to infiltrate, a darkness choking out what little light he has left inside of him.

STEP 02:

how far are you willing to go to reach the truth? —

when you join the crew, he’s unnerved by your presence, which is wholly unlike him. usually, he’s able to put on his façade of the flirtatious cook, one that’s jovial and sociable, that lives to serve and please those around him. his first conversation with you ends in disaster; he spills the drink he tried to pour for you, despite your insistence that you are perfectly capable of pouring your own drink — and he knows it’s not out of malice, but it cuts into him all the same.

he tries again and again, bringing you little treats that you only agree to eating if he sits and eats with you; confusion eats away at his mind, and when he opens his mouth to decline, you pat the seat next to you and he acquiesces. he sits stiffly, at first, unsure of why he always feels on edge around you — an irritating need to impress you in a way he’s never wanted to for others grows stronger by the day.

you think it’s cute that he always seems flustered around you — that he stumbles over his words, refuses to hold eye contact with you for longer than thirty seconds — you also think it’s cute that the false bravado that he puts on for the world, diminishes immediately the second you come close to him. if he’s skittish, it’s because you always catch him staring at you; despite his quick reflexes, his reactions around you are slow but pure — childish, almost.

lately he’s clumsier and scatterbrained, nearly burning dinner when you decide to keep him company. you lean against the countertop, a teasing smile on your face — the same one that that caused him to bump his forehead against the cabinet door earlier — as you prattle on about a dream you had. he can barely keep up, his eyes drifting from the skillet to your face, gliding around the curve of your cheek, dipping lower in a slow descent along your neck.

he blinks repeatedly when he reaches your clavicle, stunned at his restraint; and it’s only when you call his name loudly that he realizes he’s left the heat on for too long.

“are you okay?” you ask when you see that he’s fussing over how best to save the dish, mouth moving as he quietly mutters to himself. he barely registers your voice, as an insidious one whispers harshly into his ears about his perpetual incompetence and lack of talent.

you can see that he’s retreated even further into his mind, a feat that also leaves you frustrated. you want to shake him but refrain and grab his hand instead. he snaps out of whatever stupor that held him captive just moments ago, lips parting as he sighs softly before glancing down at you.

“thank you.”

the words are quiet, but impactful, as he didn’t think he’d be able to get them out. you let go of his hand too soon, but he doesn’t say anything else, choosing to focus on cooking than embarrassing himself again in front of you.

you take his silence as a silent dismissal, but you don’t fight him on it — it’s bitter, that sort of rejection, and you swallow back your argument with great difficulty.

STEP 03:

what’s the difference between cowardice and self-preservation? —

frustration bubbles underneath his skin when he can’t find where he placed his lighter; he runs a hand through his hair and tugs on impulse, accidentally ripping a few strands from his scalp. they swirl and tumble onto the ground, pathetic in a way — just like me, but he never really says that out loud. he doesn’t hear your footsteps, although you did your best to remain as quiet as possible.

a cigarette sits in between his lips, and he has half a mind to toss it over the railing of the ship, but a warmth suddenly appears in front of him in the form of a flame. you found his lighter on the floor earlier and meant to give it to him, but every time you got closer, he found every excuse to leave. you don’t realize the impact you have on him — not really, anyway — because he’s genuinely surprised that you can’t hear the heavy beats of his heart that grow more intolerable the longer he hangs around you.

always afraid of being found out, he opts to keep his distance. it’s easier this way, he tells himself, better. but he doesn’t quite believe that; the evidence is plain as day when his tongue feels like its grown three sizes in the span of seconds, where his words get lost and forgotten. it’s all your fault, he reasons; you who insists on talking candidly with him, who insists on listening to him ramble about his dreams, who absolutely insists on stubbornly tearing down his walls, steadily chipping away without a care in the world. he looks at you as if you are the source of all his problems, but he also looks at you as if you’re the solution.

the intensity behind his stare makes your hands tremble slightly, it’s a miracle you’ve managed to keep yourself composed for this long. you light the end of his cigarette with ease, as if you’ve done this for him hundreds of times —and place the lighter into his pants pocket afterwards. if he wasn’t so used to you getting in his personal space all the time, he’d retreat immediately. the proximity is almost too much for him, but he doesn’t step back; you take that as a good sign and keep him company for a few minutes.

you don’t care for the smell of smoke, but on him it smells good. you almost tell him that, but instead bite down on your lip and keep your comment at bay, nerves getting the best of you as you nearly choke on the possibility that your feelings won’t be reciprocated.

another time, maybe. cheeks flushed, you turn your face to look elsewhere. although, you wonder if there ever will be another time. with him, you never know.

he’s still trying to figure you out and why he feels a different sort of calm around you; it’s alarming and new, drumming up an irrational fear within him. he doesn’t think he’s deserving of your attention or affection, and he’s convinced himself that you don’t harbor any romantic feelings for him. and why would you?

one by one, his thoughts pummel into him, acerbic and overwhelming. he exhales a sliver of smoke and puts the cigarette out. he gives you a quick, apologetic look before telling you goodnight, the smile on his face is melancholic and barely existent. you don’t dare say a word, keep your lips pressed together stubbornly; exasperated and dejected, you don’t know what’s worse — his inability to lower his guard around you for longer than ten minutes, or your inability to stop yourself from trying to carve pieces of yourself to give to him.

maybe if you helped him fill the gaping holes in his heart, he’d truly understand how you feel.

STEP 04:

if you had to do it all over again, would you do anything differently? —

sleep evades you after that night, and the night after that, and so forth; it gets so bad that you’re yawning in the middle of the day, falling asleep before you can have a cup of coffee or tea. this does not go unnoticed by the others, and after talking with nami, you feel less out of your element and finally can see the parts of sanji that he wants to keep hidden. her advice is simple: approach slowly and with intent; corner him and don’t let him escape.

you bide your time, full confident that you can find a moment to sit down with him and talk this all out. it doesn’t come easy, but franky mysteriously swaps sanji for the night’s watch — something that should strike you as odd, but it’s a small opening that you take without thinking as you hurriedly climb up to the crow’s nest with a renewed sort of energy.

even with his eyes closed, as he sits lazily on the bench with head tilted back against the wall, he knows it’s you.

“go back to bed,” he says firmly, refusing to look at you.

your stubbornness, unfortunately, wins out. “i’m staying.” at that he sits up, his attention completely on you as his eyes widen at your words. he wants to ask you why, but cowardice wins out — again. as his features soften, a flush crawls along his face, lightly painting his cheeks pink. he closes his eyes again, tries to steady his breathing as he counts backwards, only for his efforts to be obliterated with ease the moment you sit next to him.

as your thigh presses against his, you take his hand and on impulse you trace your fingertip along the lines on his palm. he watches you with a morbid fascination that scares him; but then you start to say things like, “you will live a very long life,” and “you are courageous, and you have a big heart.”

a small part of him wants to pull his hand away, so you won’t say anything else — but he remains put, so still that you almost think he’s stopped breathing. your voice is sweet and disarming, even when you carry on this charade of reading his palm. a belated realization hits him forcefully, making him blink several times; it dawns on him that you’ve always been so kind and gentle with him, even when you teased him. he’s spent all this time overthinking and hiding behind his past, that it never occurred to him that he could have simply let you in. you’ve never given him reason to believe that you’d betray or harm him intentionally.

he takes a deep breath, voice a little uneven, “i—”

you lean in close, adoration dripping onto your words as you interrupt him. “hey, have i told you?” the question glides along his skin, the words seeping into him as you continue, the lilt in your voice a honeyed, melodic spell. “you remind me of starlight and the mysteries of space.” your lips brush against his when you tell him that, and a warmth settles into the middle of his chest, makes it hard to focus. he doesn’t think when he curls his fingers around yours and doesn’t think when heleans down to kiss you — tender yet electrifying all the same.

the move disarms you in a way that doesn’t quite make sense to you, so you simply hum in approval and lean your head against his shoulder. a comfortable silence settles around you both, but you don’t mind that at all; it’s nice, not having to tip-toe around him anymore, and the demons that plagued him for so long don’t seem so intimidating with you by his side.

#fic request #milestone event #500+ followers event #🍭✨🍨sticky & sweet event🧁✨🍭#one piece angst #one piece fluff #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #vinsmoke sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji x y/n #sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #sanji angst #sanji fluff #i love sanji a normal amt as u can tell

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itookyoudown · 2 months

Note

coming in with givenson for the ask game with the numbers 8, 10, 19, 14, and 48!

What happens if one of them gets sick?

Illness is a huge example of both Raylan and Tim's mutually stubborn nature rearing its ugly head. Both of them would rather chew off his own arm than pick up the phone to make a damn doctor's appointment. Both of them will push through it and only call out when they're sent home from work or they've gotten to the point where they're a danger to themselves or others in the field.

Raylan likes being cooed and pampered and cared for + cuddled when he's sick, but he hates asking for it even if he wants it more than anything. No lie, having Tim check in on him, preparing his medicine and serving him soup and getting him a wet washcloth reminds him of how his mama look care of him when he was sick. It makes him feel loved.

Lucky for Raylan, Tim's really good at doting caretaking like that since acts of service is his love language. Though he can spoil it a lil by being mouthy while Raylan is suffering lol.

Even when they're both sick as a dog, I can't see them not giving each other shit even while they're being nice.

Tim's less inclined to accept caretaking and it takes him being REALLY sick to accept Raylan making him food or doing the tidying around the house. Tim is the type of person that keeps a "sick box" for himself that has everything he needs pre-prepared for suddenly falling sick. Tim's too used to taking care of himself and doesn't expect anyone else to do it for him, so he struggles letting Raylan take over.

Tim's the type to live out on the couch while he's sick. He just wants to watch cartoons until his body stops trying to kill him.

Describe their first date.

Their first proper date, not just a drunken hookup, would absolutely be the shooting range followed by lunch. They'd go to an indoor shooting range and only shoot their pistols because Tim would joke he doesn't want Raylan thinking he's "some type of slut" by going to the rifle range on the first date. Probably burgers and fries or sandwiches and chips. Raylan, of course, orders them ice cream too as they leave and they'll eat it in Tim's vehicle because it's roomier. Tim will, of course, blow Raylan in the backseat.

"And here I was behavin' like the gentleman under an assumption you weren't the slutty kind," Raylan will grin like the cat getting the cream.

"I ain't that type of slut," Tim will drawl, "but I am this type of slut."

How do they feel about PDA?

Raylan loves it so long as he's not in a place or among people that are going to give him shit for it. He'll refrain from it if he feels it isn't safe or if he's somewhere that he's going to get in trouble if he flashes his firearm at someone looking to commit a hatecrime. Handholding, slipping his arm around Tim's shoulder, pulling his waist, quick kisses, etc. Raylan loves all that shit. He relishes touching Tim in public and showing everyone this is his boy.

Tim? Not so much. He can't let his guard down or stop himself from thinking the worst. He doesn't even stand too close to Raylan in the grocery store least someone notices they're a couple. Tim's only truly fine with PDA after he's had a few drinks and they're in someplace like a gay bar.

Who's the better driver?

See, they both would argue it's Raylan but that's just because Raylan drives faster. Tim's actually the better driver and does most of their driving for them. He has a the better mindset for it. Though when he's going through a rough patch with his PTSD it's the first practical daily skill that goes out the window. Tim gets too nervous and hyper-vigilant behind the wheel and won't trust himself to drive anymore. So while Tim might be better, he's not reliable to always be good to drive.

Also as awful as it is of them but let's be real about who they are even if it's illegal and stupid ... Raylan is absolutely the best drunk driver between them.

(obligatory OTP asks meme)

#💌#tooks.txt #givenson

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newcomernewcums · 1 year

Note

Can I get a combo of "A kiss from someone the other didn't think thought of them that way" "A kiss stemmed from jealousy" & "An angry kiss in the rain" from the Kiss Promt list perhaps? W/ Price × reader idc if it's sfw or not. Ya girl just needs a lil angst 🤤 I may be asking for too much but..😶‍🌫️

two ppl asked for kissing in the rain so i’m combining it into this! Happy valentine’s yall im eating so much chocolate

Price x reader (MOSTLY sfw (i’m reading this back there’s one lil implied fantasy whoops im so sorry im keeping it tho), age difference, lil’ angsty with a happy ending):

He shouldn’t’ve entertained it in the first place. As soon as he noticed the way you stared at him he should’ve pulled you aside, stopped talking to you, anything to nip it in the bud. It’s wrong on so many levels, he’s your superior, he’s training you, he’s…significantly older.

He doesn’t do anything to stop it, though. Can’t even bring himself to care about the age difference when his mind wanders to what his hands would look like wrapped around your waste, what you would look like pressed into his pubic hair, throat constricting around his—

It’s a problem now. He has to shut it down.

It’s valentine’s day and he’s sitting in his office, pouring over papers utterly alone. It doesn’t get to him, really, it’s just… not a fun day.

His head shoots up at a knock on the door, and then his heart sinks as you step into the room. It’s in his stomach when he glances down to see you holding a single rose in a tiny round glass. Where the fuck did you get a rose on base? He doesn’t say anything as you place it on the edge of his desk, stays quiet as you confess your feelings, eyes sweet and hopeful.

Any why wouldn’t you be hopeful? He’s indulged you too much, indulged himself. Allowed smalltalk to led to deeper conversations, let you sit on the roof with him as he smokes, told you to call him John, put his jacket around your shoulders when you got cold. He’s been so fucking stupid, and now you’re here with a red rose on valentine’s day and he has to break your heart.

You’re crying as you leave his office.

He’s pulled to the party against his better judgement. Ends up standing in the corner, talking to Soap and Gaz as he looks at the pitiful cut-out hearts and streamers taped to the ceiling. Last minute decorations since it had to be moved inside when it started raining. He ruefully thinks that that’s apt.

He’s trying to ignore you across the room, stop his eyes from wandering over everytime Soap goes on another tangent. He’s failing miserably. He thought he had more control, but you’re dressed up—taking advantage of one of the only times you don’t have to be in uniform—and surrounded by other recruits. Your friends, he guesses as he pushes down the jealous twinge in his stomach everytime you smile at one of them.

You look…happy. Genuinely happy, the kind of happy that makes his heart skip a beat every time he draws it out of you. That should be good, he knows he should be glad that whatever you were feeling for him was just a schoolyard crush, but it just makes his blood boil.

He tries to convince himself it’s fine. He’s not thinking about you. He’s not regretting every action that led him here—and he’s definitely not thinking about the rose he has tucked in a shelf in his desk where nobody else can see it—as one of your “friends” takes the liberty to wrap an arm around your lower back to lean in and whisper something in your ear.

But his feet are moving as soon as he sees you leave the group, following you into the small kitchen on base, effectively blocking you in as you try to refill your drink.

You feel him immediately, stiffening up, turning towards him with wide and confused eyes.

“John-?”

“Your friends seem pretty comfortable around you,” comes out before he can stop it.

“W-what?” You look cute when you’re confused, nose scrunching up as you take a step backwards. It only serves to make him angrier.

“Just thought you needed a reminder of appropriate relations,” he growls, crossing his arms as your confusion starts to morph into anger, “I was prepared to let your little stunt go earlier, but if you’re slutting yourself out all over base-“

“Fuck you, Price,” you push past him, out the doors towards the barracks. The look on your face is seared into his brain, there was only a second of anger before your eyes were welling with tears and you just looked broken.

He’s chasing you before he can think. The rain is heavy, immediately soaking through his clothes straight to his skin but he doesn’t fucking care. He catches up to you easily, grabbing your arm and spinning you around to say something, but you’re yelling at him before he can figure out what to say.

And he knows he’s cruel, and he knows you should hate him, he knows they were just your friends, and he overreacted, and you don’t say it, but he knows an old man like him really really doesn’t deserve someone as sweet and caring and honest as you. Someone who would confess their feelings on valentines day, who would bring him a flower—nobody’s ever gotten him flowers before—who would stay up late to listen to his old stories, and continue to sit there with him when he got quiet as the memories got too painful.

He just can’t say that. Because he’s too old for you, and it’s not allowed, and he’s too much of a chicken. And you look so beautiful, hair matted to your head, a couple strands sticking to your face as you yell over the rain. So he does the only thing he’s thinking about right now, grabs you by the waist and pulls you in.

You stiffen for a second, hands coming up to his pecs, and he thinks you’re going to push him away, yell at him some more. He thinks that this is all he’ll ever get of you, but then you’re melting against his, pulling him closer, as your lips start to move against his.

Your lips are red and swollen when you break apart, and he can’t tell if the wetness is from the rain or his spit. He rests his forehead against yours, winds his arm around you.

“‘m sorry, ‘m so sorry,” he whispers, hoping that he’ll never have to let you go again.

#ask #valentines asks #john price x reader #price x reader #we love old man price #god im so in the mood to hurt u guys #dw all the other prompts were rly cute and happy (and a lil more slutty)

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pilesofpillows · 1 year

Text

Stars Aglow Ch. 2 || Okoye x Attuma

A Sea of Stars ~ Part 3 of 3

Ch. 1

Summary: It's time! Okoye is in labor, and everyone gets a lil panicky.

Warnings: Fluff, Family Feels, Pregnancy, Childbirth

Tags: @theeblackmedusa @theemfingmenace @xenokattz @tvreadsandsleep @mickimomo @xblackreader @ariyannah @iccedays @karimk2 @mamajankyy @dontruinmymorning @formyloveoflove @princess-of-gondor

A/N: Remember how I said we would meet the babies in this chapter? Yeah... I was wrong. 😅 Technically (!) its not my fault. The muse was musing and I had to flow with her. I also didn't want to drop a beastly 6k word chapter on y'all.

Anywho!! Babies for abso-frickin-lutely in Part 3, I pinky swear.

It started slowly.

She didn't even notice at first.

Small twinges in her back and side were ignored. Light cramps left her winded momentarily, but they were a near-daily occurrence, so she pushed through. Pain and discomfort were old friends.

Then, she, Nakia, and Junior were having lunch at an old favorite when a longer cramp hit, making her wince visibly.

"Sisi? " Nakia froze and put her fork down, quiet concern in her voice.

Okoye's fork hovered over her plate of cassava ravioli, and she braced one hand on her stomach. "I'm fine," she held up a finger to stop her sister's protests, "The children are just active today."

Nakia looked disbelieving but didn't push. They finished their meal and wrapped up to pay when she was struck with another cramp. She breathed through it silently, not wanting to draw attention to herself. As the trio made their way back to Okoye's house, she felt a third cramp. The fourth and fifth came after parking Toussaint in front of the television and heading to the nursery to fold and coo over baby clothing. They were short, a little over 30 seconds, but they were steady and consistent, one coming every half hour.

She glanced at the elaborate sun-shaped clock on the nursery wall, a gift from Attuma's brother, silently counting how long she'd been having contractions.

"Four hours," Nakia said, answering her unvoiced question.

Okoye's eyes snapped to hers, and she swallowed thickly. "When did you start counting?"

"You had one just before Attuma left this morning. And one more shortly before we headed to the Square. I wasn't certain until we were seated for lunch."

Okoye stared blankly for a moment, setting down the stack of infant-sized tee shirts in her hands. Her mind raced as she realized what this all meant.

She needed to call Attuma.

"Sisi? Ulungile? [Are you okay?]" Nakia's voice was a distant thing.

Another glance at the clock told her he would be home in less than an hour. She could wait until then. There was time; Dr. Langeni told them she could be in labor for 48 hours. But then again, they didn't know how quickly things would move, especially considering her children could be enhanced. They were the first to be born between the surface and the sea. And despite the gambit of tests that had been run on her, Attuma, and the babies, there were more than a few unknowns. Her heart began to race as the next contraction hit, the sixth since lunch. This one came a little faster than the last and lasted longer than the others.

She needed to call her mother.

"Okoye." Nakia was standing in front of her, hands gripping hers. "Listen to me, usisi. I need you to breathe."

She exhaled slowly and felt her eyes watering.

She wanted Attuma.

"Can you-," she started. Her voice was a choked whisper as she fought back the tears that would most assuredly prove useless and tried again. "I need-," The words were stuck in her throat. Her breathing was rapid and uneven, and her eyes burned.

Panic serves no one. Ramonda's voice was clear and crisp, resonating in her mind. A reminder from the early days of her Dora training, one that had served her well from War Dog extractions to alien battlefields. She clung to it ruthlessly, letting the Queen's voice anchor her drifting thoughts.

Fear is acceptable; falling apart is not. She would not fall apart.

Closing her eyes, Okoye took a deep breath. She held it for four seconds and exhaled for six. Again, in for four, out for six. Nakia realized what she was doing and went silent, breathing in tandem. A few more cycles, and she felt her heart slow and her mind calm.

Find your strength and conquer your fears. Fear was acceptable and conquerable, and she would conquer hers.

Okoye opened her eyes to see the familiar brown she'd known since childhood. Nakia was here, steady as the river of her home. Her sister nodded with a small smile and helped her into the rocking recliner in the corner of the room.

She squatted in front of her. "Tell me what you want, 'Koye," Nakia said, squeezing her fingers. "Should I call Attuma? Or would you like me to activate the protocol? I know it's early, but we can go in now; everyone is ready."

Okoye considered her options. Activating the protocol would only incite panic; she'd only agreed to it in case of emergencies, and this was not emergent. Calling Attuma would also be futile. He would be home soon, and they could head to the palace then.

"Call Mama," she told Nakia quietly. "Attuma will be home in less than an hour, and we'll all go together."

Nakia didn't hesitate. "Okay."

When Attuma entered their home 43 minutes later, he froze, momentarily caught off guard by the extra bodies in their house. Afternoons were typically reserved for the two of them; their walk, nap, and hammock time were practically ritual, and while deviations occurred, they were rare and communicated ahead of time. He dried himself off and stored his armor. He passed by Toussaint, placing an affectionate hand on his head. Their nephew barely moved, thoroughly engrossed in whatever was playing on the holographic screen before him as he intensely colored a map of Wakanda. Attuma leaned over her quickly to greet her mother, who stood behind their sofa, pecking her on the cheek and muttering a polite, if confused hello. He glanced down, watching her mother as she wove her braids together to keep them out of her face while she labored. Okoye wondered if he would notice the reason for their presence before she told him.

Her beloved watched for a few more moments before dropping to a knee in front of her and cupping her face, kissing her gently. "In K'iino'." Her easy smile was rewarded with another kiss before he moved his hands down to her belly. "In eek'o'obo'. [My stars.]" he murmured, placing three kisses across her bump and smiling proudly when he felt his children respond, pushing back on his palms.

Okoye marveled at the peace that stole over her at the familiar greeting. Her mother's arrival had helped settle some of her nerves, but her heart had ached for him. And now, here he was, smiling up at her with unmatched adoration and devotion.

She wanted him forever.

"Welcome home, sithandwa sam," she smiled, running her fingers through his hair and cupping his cheek. His eyes were the loveliest shade of brown she'd ever seen, and they shone with love so deep, she thought she'd drown. Her thumb found the scar from their first encounter, her scar, and she traced it gently, utterly enraptured by him.

Okoye's mother cleared her throat, breaking their reverie, and announced that her work was done. Attuma's eyes darted up, and he smiled at the woman before grasping Okoye's hand and kissing the center of her palm sweetly as he stood. He moved to sit with her on the sofa, and she let out a quiet hiss, another contraction hitting her sharply.

Attuma's reaction was immediate. He dropped back down to his knees, cradling her face and belly with wide, panicked eyes. "In yakunaj? Ma'alobech? [Are you well?]"

As the contraction passed, she let out a low hum and smiled wanly at him. "I was going to wait until after you took a shower, but I suppose now is as good a time as any." She covered his hand with her own. "It seems your stars are finally ready to make an appearance."

Okoye watched him process her words, fighting back a snort, and failed to stifle her amusement as his eyes widened, darting between her face and belly.

"Truly? Is it-? Are you-?"

"Yes, sithandwa, my labor has begun," she confirmed with a smile.

"Then we must go to the Citadel. Immediately!" Attuma urged, his words tumbling out in a rush. He looked beyond Okoye to her mother. "Mama, would you activate the protocol and take Chan Báalam ? I will carry our bags and in K'iino . Where is Nakia? Are we taking the transport? Of course not, it is not safe. Can you call Nacom Ayo or perhaps Ixjaw Shuri? One of them could fly a hovercraft here. We must-"

Okoye grabbed his face in both hands and kissed him, silencing his panicked rambling. She released his lips slowly, drawing back."Breathe, Attuma."

He blinked, letting out a deep breath, and she slid her hands to the nape of his neck, massaging the base of his skull. "Nakia went to collect her and Junior's things; she will return soon. Mama is going to call Ayo while you shower, and when you're done, you can carry me and the bags wherever we need to go."

"The protocol-"

"-can be activated from anywhere on the surface or below. It will certainly work aboard the hovercraft."

His brow was creased, dark eyes staring up at her, worry bleeding into his tone as he pleaded, " In K'iino' ..."

Bast help her if their children ever fixed her with the same pitiful look on her beloved's face.

"In Xook … I promise you; no harm will come to me or our children if you take 30 minutes to wash the day away. I will be right here when you return," she assured him.

Attuma looked intensely torn, his face downturned in a frown. He sighed deeply and kissed her once more before rising to his feet.

"I will return in 15 minutes. I don't wish to delay any longer," he said and strode quickly out of the room.

Okoye watched him leave, shaking her head lightly. She held back her chuckles until she locked eyes with her mother. They stared at each other for a moment before bursting into peals of laughter, drawing Toussaint's attention from his place on the floor.

"What's so funny, umakhulu?" he asked, removing his headphones and drawing himself to his knees.

Okoye's laughter intensified at his question, and it fell to her mother to answer him. Her mother pressed her lips together, trying to contain her amusement as their laughs faded into snickers, and she wiped a tear from her eye as she sat down beside Okoye. "Just your uncle, umfana omnandi [sweet boy]. Your umakazi loves a very dramatic man."

T'Challa looked utterly confused by the statement. "What's dramatic?"

Okoye's laughter rang throughout the house once more.

~~~

They left their home 27 minutes later.

Nakia returned with her bags and Aneka as Attuma emerged from their bedroom. Aneka informed them that her wife was five minutes out, and Okoye rolled her eyes at the absurdity of using the royal hovercraft to go from her house to the palace. She attempted to get up from the sofa to collect her things but was immediately stopped by every adult in the room. A trio of stern gazes and one worried look from Aneka made her stay put, breathing carefully through another contraction as her family gathered everything on the detailed checklists her mother had made nearly two months ago.

Aneka assisted Toussaint with packing up his things, and he petitioned her to hang his brightly colored map on Okoye's refrigerator. Her sister-in-arms took the picture after a nod from Okoye and strode over to do as he asked. Her nephew settled himself between her legs, taking it upon himself to have one more conversation with the babies before they were born, instructing them to be good and to come quick because he was excited to meet them and play. She kissed his head sweetly, explaining that the babies would not be ready to play for a long while once they were born.

T'Challa nodded sagely. “That’s okay, umakazi.” He leaned down, cupping his mouth as if telling a secret. "When I am six," he attempted to whisper to her belly, "I will teach you all Go Fish."

Okoye giggled into her fist, then bit down, her amusement turning to a hushed groan as a contraction struck fiercely. Attuma's head snapped toward her, having heard the muted sound of pain, and she held up a hand, assuring him she was alright. As the cramping sensation passed, the quiet whoosh of the hovercraft landing announced Ayo's arrival, and they filed out to the ship, Attuma carrying her into the Royal Talon Fighter as promised.

As they landed in the palace courtyard, Toussaint hugged her and Attuma goodbye. He would be staying with M’Baku for the duration of her labor, and Nakia squeezed her hand, saying she would meet them in the Amnio after dropping him off. Ayo and Aneka parted ways with them once they entered the palace, the General heading off to change out of her uniform into something more suitable for supporting one of her oldest friends while she birthed new lives.

Shuri and Dr. Langeni met them at the elevator bay, the princess chewing on her lower lip nervously while her obstetrician greeted them with a wide smile and asked about her early labor. Okoye filled her in on the duration and length between her contractions elevator ride, ignoring Attuma's pointed stare as she informed her that she'd likely been having contractions since the late morning. Dr. Langeni let out a huff of laughter and assured them that she'd had more than a few mothers who mistook early labor signs as day-to-day pregnancy discomforts.

"Ixtli and her team are already getting set up in the Amnio, and the other half of our team is on standby, ready to jump in when we need them. Let's get you set up, and once we get a better idea of how far along you are and how the babies are doing, we can talk about what to expect. Sound good?"

"Sounds good," Okoye said, glancing up at Attuma, who nodded once.

The older woman gave her a wide, reassuring smile. "Good! Then let's go have some babies."

~~~

Several hours and too many contractions later, she and Attuma were on their third lap of the Royal Gardens, trying to move things along. Her contractions were getting longer and closer together, but her water had yet to break, so things were stalled for the moment.

“Have you given any more thought to names?” Attuma asked her as they passed by the sweet-smelling peonies.

Okoye blew out a breath; names were a topic they’d stalled on many times. They both knew names were burdensome things, and she wanted to see her children’s eyes before giving them a name that might not fit. Attuma had agreed with her, but now it seemed something had changed. She looked at him, studying the set of his jaw in the soft moonlight. “Have you?”

He was silent for a moment, looking to the stars before answering her. “I know we agreed to wait and know our children before we have them names, and I still wish this.” He gazed back down at her with pleading eyes. “I also wish to name one of our sons after my father. He was an honorable war chief with a courageous spirit.”

“So confident in your assertions that we will have sons, krebe,” Okoye said through grit teeth, tightening her grip on his hand as a long contraction rippled through her. Attuma paused their walking and braced a hand on her back, silently supporting her as she continued their conversation as though nothing was happening. “What will you do if we have a daughter?”

“Pray to Bast, Chaac, and perhaps Hanuman as well that she is not nearly as lethal or stubborn as her mother,” he quipped back.

She shot him an unimpressed glare and pressed on with their walk after the pain passed, meandering through the proteas. Okoye quietly considered his request, already knowing her answer. She recalled the story of Attuma’s father sacrificing himself to protect Talokan when her beloved was just a boy and how his loss shaped the man he was now.

Okoye hummed and ran her thumb over Attuma’s knuckles, voicing her approval. “Cadmael is a strong name, my love.”

“May Chaac & Bast help him to live up to it,” he replied, squeezing her hand.

Okoye squeezed back. “If he has even a tenth of your courage, I know for certain he will.”

Attuma’s smile was brighter than the stars, and he kissed her tenderly, murmuring his thanks against her mouth. Their lips parted, and she smiled as he pressed another kiss to her forehead. They continued down the path, coming to the marble and vibranium fountain in the garden’s center, and Attuma stopped to grab a drink of water.

“Well, at least one of our children has a name,” she chuckled before sobering, staring at the panthers wrought from Bast’s gift, remembering simpler days when she, T’Challa, and Nakia would play in the wide basin. They’d splash each other until they were drenched, then lay under the sun on the warm cobblestones to dry off. The pang of his loss resonated in her heart.

“I think… I would like to honor T’Challa.” Her voice wavered. “I know Toussaint carries his name, but I want to give our children a piece of him as well.”

Attuma pulled her into his arms, holding her as close as he could, resting on the ledge of the fountain’s basin. She tucked her head under his chin, letting the rumble of his voice soothe her. “I know he was more than a king to you, in yakunaj. Your brother was an honorable man, a noble one. I believe that whatever piece you choose to impart on our child will honor him and our son.”

A gentle breeze blew over them, and somehow, Okoye knew it was T’Challa. Accepting the blessing for what it was, she shut her eyes tightly, letting the bittersweet tears spill down her cheeks. Attuma stood as a silent sentry to her grief, allowing her the space to mourn without judgment. T’Challa’s body was gone, but his spirit remained, and she clung to it. Okoye took a deep breath and opened her eyes.

She stepped back slightly and glanced at the stars, resting her hand on her lower belly. “Perhaps,” she started, “if we have another son, we might name him T’Khwezi.”

Attuma cupped the back of her neck and brought their foreheads together, placing his hand over hers. “A king of stars,” he whispered. “It is fitting, in K’iino’.”

Okoye laughed wetly. “That it is, ukrebe wam.”

His hand slid around her waist, resting on the curve of her back, and they lingered there for a moment longer. A strong contraction broke them out of their reverie, and she leaned into Attuma’s hold, bracing her hands on his shoulders. Okoye clenched her jaw as she felt the ripple of pain in her back. Attuma began singing a quiet tune he used to soothe sore muscles and aches, and she sighed at the small amount of relief it brought. Okoye straightened slowly as the cramping faded into a dull ache and shifted her stance.

“Back inside?” Attuma’s question was more of a gentle suggestion, and she nodded. He stood to his full height, and they began their slow stroll back into the Citadel.

As they rounded the corner past the bush lilies, Okoye stopped suddenly, gasping as the sudden rush of wet between her legs alerted them to her water breaking. Her face heated in embarrassment, but the fierce tightening in her abdomen pushed any thoughts of humiliation from her mind, and she groaned.

“I think,” Okoye said, breathing heavily, “it may be time to get in the pool.”

Attuma’s eyes were filled with trepidation and concern as he waited for the contraction to pass. He made to pick her up, silently asking for permission, and she nodded curtly, wrapping an arm around his neck as he scooped her into his arms and carried her back into the palace.

A/N 2:

Nakia notices all things. It's why she's a really great spy.

Panicky Attuma fit the bill; argue with a wall.

You can pry adorable, no concept of time having Junior from my cold dead hands.

Yes, T'Khwezi is an entirely made-up name (thank you to @theemfingmenace) Khewzi means star in Xhosa and the T' prefix is a tribute to our fallen king (RIP CB 💕)

Ch. 3

#attoye #attuma x okoye #okoye x attuma fanfiction #okoye x attuma #mcu okoye #attuma of talokan #bpwf #black panther wakanda forever fanfiction #floofy floof #babies are coming i swear #a sea of stars #pilesofpillows

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chvnnie · 2 years

Text

Skyway Avenue

lee felix x reader

part 3/8 - come on fuck me emo boy. find the playlist here

word count: 3.5k

genre: smut, but mostly just fluff. MINORS DNI

warnings: strangers to lovers, mention of minor injuries and blood, mentions of past life love/soulmates, kind sub!felix, sex in a public place (but there’s no one else around), protected sex, soft dirty talk, very soft, short sex scene, use of pet name: good boy. that’s honestly it. if i missed anything, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.

summary: who knew a skateboard crash could make felix feel so alive?

a/n: me and @lix-ables? posting soft lixie on the same day? wow bestie behavior. anyway, i went a lil hard on this one, so sorry that it’s a bit longer than part one or two. i really needed the fluff, ok. i really hope you’re enjoying the series so far <3 pls reblog/send feedback to let me know how you’re feeling about it!

this is a work of fiction. this fic in no way represents lee felix as a person or stray kids as a whole. you are responsible for the media you consume. please read responsibly.

taglist: @lix-ables, @rachalixie, @agustd-essert, @fthan, @chaitae-bae, @cloudyybinin, @lix001, @dnadoublefelixx, @cyder-puff, @whatudowhennooneseesyou, @metalchick529, @stranger-thighs - please send ask/comment to be added

Gravel crunched under the wheels of Felix’s skateboard, the grinding noise soothing his overwhelmed brain. It reminded him that he was moving, that he was alive and breathing, and getting away.

When it came to fight or flight, Felix tended to lean towards the former. He’s usually a very passive person, not quick to anger or to confront others, but when his brain goes into panic, he doesn't go down without a fight. Which was why tonight was so weird - the urge to fight was gone. The urge to run was strong.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been gone. He wasn’t even quite sure where he was. Abandoned buildings greeting him in blurs, ghosts of memories hollowing out of their broken windows. It was eerily comforting, the chills the buildings gave him. For the first time in a while, he didn’t feel so alone.

A yellow street light glowed in the distance, urging him to keep going. He really needed to figure out where he was though. As he inched closer, he saw the light hung over a bench. A bus stop. Felix would get there, then he would figure out his next move. He just had to get there-

He saw the crack in the sidewalk a second too late.

Felix flew off the board, hands out to stop his head from colliding with the concrete. They only helped a bit; palms and knees colliding with the broken sidewalk and rubbing them raw. His head didn’t quite slam, but it did hit the ground, leaving him with a large scratch underneath his right eye.

A whiny groan built up in his throat, the sound getting lost in the sidewalk crack. Felix put his head down, willing his tears not to fall. It had been so nice. He left. He got to be with his thoughts. Then he stupidly stopped paying attention, and the rips in his jeans would serve as a constant reminder of this awful evening that apparently, is only getting worse.

The gravel crunched again, only softer this time, as if someone was walking on it. He should be more concerned about the possibility that it’s well past 10:00 PM and he wasn’t alone in this abandoned industrial parking lot, but Felix couldn’t find it in him to care. The pain, both physical and emotional, was too much. He couldn’t take it anymore. No matter what this person, or ghost, wanted with him, Felix would go along with it. He just didn’t care anymore.

“I know you didn’t fall hard enough to knock yourself unconscious.” Felix turned his head to the left, nose bumping into a pair of stained white converse. “Do you want some help? Or are you content with laying face down on a dirty sidewalk?”

He pressed his palms on the ground, hissing at the stinging pain in his hands, and pushed himself up. “I’m good. Tha-“ His mouth was suddenly dry, the last syllable of his words disappearing in thin air as he made eye contact with you.

You were squatting next to him, face cold as stone but eyes burning with concern. The two of you were dressed similar; ripped jeans and denim jackets, your exposed knees showing off scrapes that Felix was fairly certain matched the ones on his. Your hair was pushed over one shoulder, blowing slightly in the chilly breeze. The hair, plus the yellow glow of the street light, framed your face in a way that made you look angel. Otherworldly.

Which, you very well could be, seeing as you appeared out of nowhere.

Felix pushed himself up into a seated position. He groaned and pulled his skinned knees up to his chest to inspect the damage. “Where did you come from? I thought I was alone.”

You nodded your head in the direction of the bus stop. “I was over there when you ate it. Decided to come over and make sure I didn’t have to call the police to report a dead bod- holy shit, you’re bleeding.”

Felix looked at his knees. A little red, but dry. His palms were the same, if not slightly more bruised. He shot you a confused look, head cocking to the left as he tried to figure out where you saw blood.

“Your face.” You said, pulling your backpack. “Did you hit your face when you fell?”

You pulled a water bottle and a pack of tissues out of your bag, wetting the thin towels before pressing it to his face. He hissed at the contact, body tempted to jerk away from the tissue.

But then he felt your skin against his, the brief touch sending shivers down his spine and unconsciously moving his body forward. Closer to you.

You, the stranger who was now on your knees, face close to his as you carefully cleaned up the blood sliding down his cheeks.

“Where were you going, anyway?” You got rid of the stained tissue and replaced it with a clean one. “There’s nothing past that bus stop - you would’ve gotten lost in the woods.”

Your face was close to his again, the smell of rainwater and cotton filling his nostrils the closer you got. Where had he been going? Did Felix even know? Everything before you was starting to blur, the memories of today so out of reach that they were no longer painful.

“I don’t know.” He answered truthfully. “I just needed to… go.”

You pulled your hand back from his face, softly smiling at him before you began to rummage through your bag again. “I get it.” You said while pulling a bandage out.

When you flipped the bandage over, revealing the pattern printed on it, Felix’s laugh echoed off the abandoned buildings surrounding the two of you.

“Dinosaurs?” He said through huffed breaths, hand coming to his stomach to try and stop the cramps.

“What’s wrong with dinosaur bandaids?” You asked defensively, grin widening as you resisted laughing with him. “Dinosaurs don’t make you feel better? Maybe I should've left you, and then you wouldn’t have a dino bandaid.”

“No, please.” He couldn’t stop himself from grabbing your wrist, suddenly scared to be alone. “Dinosaurs do make me feel better. Please, put it on.”

You rolled your eyes, a laugh finally leaving your lips as you brought the bandage up to his face. Was Felix crazy, or were you closer to him than before? He swore your knees weren’t bumping together like this earlier.

“There.” You said, patting the edges of the bandaid down. “All fixed.”

“Thanks.”

You nodded, slowly moving out of his space and onto your bottom to sit. He watched as you turned your head to the left, head lazily resting on your own shoulders as you started at the building the two of you sat in front of. The old brick building had ivy growing up the front, lacing in and out of broken windows, giving it both a charming and unsettling front.

“You picked a good place to run off to.” You said, bringing Felix’s attention from the building back to you. “It’s quiet. Nobody bothers you here.”

“Is that why you’re here?” The question felt invasive, something he shouldn’t be asking someone he met literally five minutes ago. But something made Felix feel like this wasn’t your first time meeting. Like you had always been there, waiting for him to show up.

You hummed, running your fingers through your hair as you continued to study the building. “It’s easy to think here, ya know? It’s easy to be yourself here.”

It’s easy to be yourself here.

Maybe this cracked sidewalk was where Felix was meant to be all along.

“I want to go in.” Felix said mostly to himself, but still had pulled your attention back to him. “Something about the building seems so…inviting.”

You smiled at him, eyes dancing with a mischief that both terrified and excited him. Standing to your full height, you held a hand out to him. He also envied you, so willing to run into an empty building in a shady area with a person you just met. Maybe that’s why he grabbed your hand. Maybe that’s why he let you drag him into the musty building and up a staircase that shook under your weights.

Maybe he was sick of thinking and not doing.

The door to the roof was metal, the hinges rusting from years of rain and simply not being cared for or used. There was a hole where the handle should be, which concerned Felix. He was just about to question how to open it when you pushed your body against it, using your body to open the door. You propped the heavy door with a rock before gesturing out to the roof.

“After you.”

Felix walked past you onto the flat roof. Unlike the door, it seemed the roof had been somewhat cared for. The ground was bare of any trash, and the ivy that climbed the exterior walls was trimmed, banning the plant from covering anything other than the ledges. Somebody tended to it, keeping it clean and almost livable.

It was loved. This abandoned roof was loved, cherished, kept safe by someone. It was a sanctuary, your sanctuary, that you willingly brought Felix into.

Was he crazy? Or did you feel what he did? This connection to a complete stranger, a familiarity that only came with years of knowing someone, or loving someone. It’s like you knew him, like he knows you. Like you’ve spent all this time, caring for this roof just to show him. Just for him.

Like you’ve been searching for him all along.

Felix felt your shoulder brush against his arm as you walked past him, straight to the ledge of the building. You climbed onto it and sat, hanging your feet off the side. Palms resting at the sides, you looked up at the night sky.

“Sit with me?”

His body moved before he could answer, finding his place next to you.

“The best part about this rooftop is the sky.” You whispered as you adjusted your hand, the edge of your palm lightly pressing on Felix’s. “You can see everything from this high up. Look how much brighter the stars are here.”

But while your eyes were fixed on the stars, Felix’s were fixed on your. The way the moonlight made your skin glow, wide eyes sparkling with starlight. He couldn’t look away from you; he wanted to reach out and touch you. Trace the sharp edges of your jaw, feel the softness of your nose. He considered taking a picture of you, but knew no camera could capture what he was seeing. What he felt when he looked at you.

Was this love?

You lifted a hand, a thin finger pointing to the north. “Do you see that star?” Only then did Felix look away, turning in the direction of your finger. It would be hard to miss that star; while small, the light it gave off was bright. Instead of glowing white, it had a slight blue tint to it, setting it aside from the rest. “It reminds me of you.”

Felix found himself speechless, a squeaky “Me?” slipping past his lips.

You turned to look at him, a shy smile on your face as you locked eyes. “The way it subtly demands your attention, drawing you in and making you feel…warm. Like the way you fell - while less than subtle - but it drew me in. And then, I don’t know. It’s kind of silly. But you looked at me and I felt warm. Safe. You felt like a-“

“Home.” Felix softly cut you off. “Like a home.”

You nodded your head, lip trembling slightly as you spoke. “Is that crazy? I don’t even know your name-“

“It’s not.” He gripped your hand, no longer able to hold himself back from touching you. “It’s like, even though we just met, and we may only know each other for tonight, you’re more of a home to me than any person or place has ever been.”

Slinging one leg back onto the roof, you straddled the ledge, now face to face with Felix. “Exactly.” You whispered, shifting closer as he mirrored your position.

Felix’s knees bumped into yours as he leaned in, hands steady for the first time all night as he brushed a strand of hair out of your face. Never has he, the most nervous man in the country, felt so confident or bold. So…

Alive.

“Can I kiss you?” Felix asked in a hushed whisper, as if afraid the question would get lost in the space between you and him.

Your hand grabbed his wrist, holding his hand against your cheek and nuzzling into it. Your eyes fluttered shut as you sighed happily. “Please?”

His lips crashed against yours, pressure firm but pace slow. He wanted you to feel him, but didn’t want to rush anything. You shifted your weight to kiss him better as Felix teased the bottom of your lip, begging for entrance. Your lips parted slightly, letting him take the lead.

The taste of you was hypnotizing, pulling him in closer and making him dizzy. Felix really didn’t want to rush things - he wanted to take his time kissing you. But then your tongue brushed against his just right, a low moan filling both of your mouths, and Felix couldn’t find the strength to be hesitant anymore.

Lips moved faster. Breathes got heavier. Your hands were pushing Felix’s jacket off before he could even register what was happening. The denim material fell onto the rooftop, your matching one following. The evening chill, and the way your fingers twisted his white shirt to pull him closer, gave Felix goosebumps. How did he get here? How did he end up with someone like you in his arms, pleasure pulsing through his body, on the worst night of his life?

How did you make it better without even really trying?

You broke the kiss, hands falling asleep from how hard you were gripping his shirt. “Can we move off the edge? I’m all for thrills, but I'd rather not fall trying to undress you.”

It didn’t take long for you to end up on your back, the jackets serving as a barrier between you and the cold concrete. Both of your shirts had disappeared at some point during the transition, neither of you caring very much about their destination. Felix’s hands worked on the button of your jeans, lips moving steadily down your body.

“Wanna kiss you.” He mumbled, pants finally undone and slipping down your legs. “Wanna kiss every inch of you before I fuck you.”

He kissed you like you were made of glass, delicate and gentle as he canvased your body. Lips traveling from your neck to your shoulders, down to the swells of your breast and back up. Goosebumps painted your skin, back arching at the feeling of his lips.

When he reached the hem of your panties, hands flew up to his shoulders to stop him.

“No.” You said, pushing yourself up to a seated position. “Need to feel you, too.”

Your fingers moved over his skin like you were painting him, gently brushing down towards his lower body. Felix rolled his head back, sighing contently as you made sure not an inch of him went without your touch.

He helped you undo his belt, helped you remove his pants until he was as bare as you. Your lips found his, kisses laced with a need that made Felix’s heart ache. Kisses that were confirmation that you needed Felix as much as he needed you. If not more.

Felix laid you back down on the pile of clothes, kisses not faltering as he removed the last bit of your clothing and his. Once you were both nude, he broke the kiss.

The moonlight was highlighting every curve of your body. His eyes took in every inch of you, from the dimples in your skin to the scars of past injuries. Everything about your body had his knees weak. Nipples hardening under his gaze, lips swollen and red, sparkling doe eyes staring up at him like he was the only thing that mattered in this world.

“You're beautiful.” He whispered.

One of your hands cupped his face, thumb running across his bottom lip as you stared into his eyes. “So are you.”

Felix searched for his jeans, fumbling in the pockets for his wallet. He pulled the condom out, double checking the expiration date before he slid it on his length.

“Are you sure?” He held the tip at the entrance, ready to either pull away or push in depending on your answer.

The yes you gave was barely audible over the pounding of his heart, but he heard it nonetheless, slowly easing himself into your tight walls.

He fell onto his elbows, holding his body above you as he gently pushed himself deeper in. The way your body reacted to him was his new favorite sight - your eyes kept fluttering shut, unable to stay open, as your mouth formed an o-shape and let him hear every little sound you made.

“Fuck.” You moaned, chills running down your spine. “You feel so good.”

The praise went straight to his head, making Felix crave more. “Yeah?”

You whined in response, a hand shooting up to grip one of his. “Yes. Yes. You’re fucking me so good. So big and- goddamn it.” The last part of your sentence was more of a scream as he hit your g-spot with just the right amount of pressure. “God, right there. Fuck, can you do it again? Can you give me more?”

Felix nodded, pace speeding up slightly to continuously hit that spot. You squeezed his hand tighter, your moans and the way you tighten around him setting his body aflame. The flames were hot, burning his skin marvelously as he began to shake, overwhelmed with the fire that you had lit inside of him.

“Good?” His voice was breaking, deep voice slowly beginning to fade into high pitched whines. “Is it-am I-“

“So good.” Your other hand flew to his chin, tilting it in your direction to look at him. “You’re such a good boy, baby.”

The fire was beginning to melt him, pace slowing and hips faltering. Felix’s eyes shut, giving himself over to the pleasure that was rapidly approaching.

“Fuck, I need-I mean-can I-I cum? Please?”

You answered by giving him the sweetest kiss he’s ever received, lips moving at the same tempo of his hips. The taste of you was so sweet, the tenderness behind your movements making Felix feel like he was flying. His lips vibrated when you moaned, pushing him over the edge.

Felix thinks he cried when he came, body trembling as he emptied himself into the condom. Felix thinks he crashed on top of you, growing dizzy from the way your walls constricted around him. He thinks he remembers you kissing his hairline as you praised him. Everything that happened after he finished blurred together, leaving him with only the clear memory of clutching onto you as he fell asleep.

The morning sun woke him up, the rays burning into his eyes and ripping him out of sleep. Or maybe it was the birds, who’s chirping was loud enough to make his head throb. Fuck, what time was it?

Felix sat up on the pile of his clothes, the rooftop empty save for a few birds picking at the ivy. Something felt wrong. Something was making him uneasy. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. Everything seemed safe - the door was still propped up, his skateboard was still in one piece, his clothes were all here. In fact, he was even somewhat clothed, though he can’t remember if it was you or him who put his boxers on.

Wait. That’s what was wrong.

You.

Where were you?

There was no trace of you on this rooftop. Your clothes were gone, your bag was gone, you were gone. It was like you were never here - nothing more than a dream.

The loneliness hit him like a train, tears threatening to pour as he fell into a pit of despair. Felix knew. He knew the possibility of never seeing you again was greater than loving you for longer than a night. He fucking knew, and he still let himself believe that maybe he would get lucky. Maybe you wouldn’t leave him.

He let himself cry. Fucking stupid Felix. How could he have been so dumb? Why did he do this to himself? He brought a hand to his face, pausing when he noticed the black ink that was staining his skin.

A heart was drawn on the back of his hand. Around the top was a string of numbers, ending with what he assumed was your name written in neat letters. He ran his thumb across the ink, whispering your name himself. It rolled off his tongue easily as he repeated it over and over, the smile on his face growing wider each time he said it.

Felix pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. It must have cracked during the fall, little shards of glass finding home in his fingers as he quickly cleared the numerous notifications he had. He couldn’t find it in him to care who was trying to find him, especially not when you answered the phone on the second ring, immediately feeling at peace when he heard your voice.

“Hey. It’s me, Felix.”

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