#curved led screen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deanbrainrotwritings · 13 days

Text

— seven

SUMMARY : dean would rather be doing something else with his time rather than doing research, he’d rather be doing her

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : sam winchester, donna handscum

WARNINGS : smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up, losers), fluff, the plot is abandoned :’(

WORD COUNT : 5.2k

A/N : yes, seven by jungkook. this fills the square for new position on my @jacklesversebingo card. this position is called ‘rocking horse’, lmao, very hot

She was staring at the screen of her laptop, every link was now purple instead of blue from having explored them all on her journey to research all there was to know about the Egyptian goddess Taweret. Still, she found nothing on how to weaken, stop, or kill the hippo. Taweret’s distorted usage of her abilities was getting too out of hand.

Too many pregnant people. Too many old people getting young again. Especially couples. For now, at least, that’s all that’s happened.

Typically Sam, Dean, and Y/N dealt with the killing, the death, and the blood, but Donna managed to pick this up on her own and called the brothers for backup because it was starting to get way too ridiculous—terrifying, really. Reapers were overwhelmed and while the Winchesters and Y/N didn’t really care about how they were feeling, it was a major problem—when speaking about the universal rules: what is, what should be, what was, what should never be, etcetera.

Unfortunately, the research has led to no real or useful information for how to stop the Goddess, not even how to kill her. And once Dean started to hum Travelling Riverside Blues while shaking his leg impatiently in the fourth hour, she couldn’t focus on anything else anymore.

Now that same song was stuck in her head and she glared at her laptop while trying to get a different song to replace Led Zeppelin’s in her mind. It wasn’t a bad song, but it got irritating, and every song somehow morphed right back to Travelling Riverside Blues. Her and Dean had been so good about focusing on the research, but sometimes one of them always made it impossible for the other to maintain that amount of silence and focus around each other.

It usually started with some small conversations: How’s the research going? Have you found anything yet? Hey, remember when…? Are you hungry? I’m kinda hungry. Aren’t you tired? And so on.

Then there were glances. From a distance, they’d stare at each other when the other isn’t looking, wondering if enough time has passed to not feel guilty for wanting to take a break. They’d smile to themselves, catching cute little habits in body language or facial expressions.

Sometimes—most of the time—there was some sexualisation. If she’s wearing a skirt or a dress, he’d stare at the curve of her legs in some really sexy heels. He’d wish to have them wrapped around his waist as he fucks her or thrown over his shoulders with his face buried between her legs. He’d have to subtly place a hand over his crotch and hope his erection would go away or stop getting harder.

If the neck of her clothes was low enough to show some cleavage, he’d spend his time analysing the size of them, the roundness and perkiness of them in the clothes she wore. Or remembering the way they felt in his hands, warm and soft, and the way she looked so hot when he’d tease her sensitive nipples with his fingers, the noises she made playing in his head until he was hot and red in the face.

And his mind would drift endlessly to the memory of her naked body. The perfect dip of her waist when he holds her there and the way she squirms when he does it. The softness of her skin when his hands and his mouth are exploring, sucking, licking, biting, tasting her as his mouth waters hungrily; touching, squeezing, scraping, possibly bruising her body so she could always remember him. So she could always feel him and where he had been.

He’d stare at her hands as she typed away at the laptop, expertly pressing the keys with those swift and elegant fingers of her. She’d keep her nails relatively short and occasionally did them nicely. Currently, they were painted a mossy green colour that matched the gem of the silver ring she wore, one he’d picked out for her. Both of them knew the nail polish wouldn’t last, but he liked when she felt beautiful, it somehow made her a billion times more beautiful.

It was the memory of them slowly moving across his body, worshipping while soft and sometimes cold, smaller than his, that made him bite his lip. Even the gentle caresses to his face when he was on the brink of breaking apart into dust in grief and despair. Her hand in his whenever they went somewhere, while they slept, in the Bunker, in the Impala, during sex.

If he’s rolled up the sleeves of a white dress shirt, she’ll stare at the way the material stretches over his chest and broad shoulders, tightening around his arms when he flexes his hands and arms as a result of a cramp or the like. With that tiny fucking waist of his accentuated by the shirt tucked into his slacks, she couldn’t decide if she wanted to fuck him senseless or hold him gently in her arms.

If he walked around to get a beer, she’d stare at the tightness of the black slacks over his ass, over his strong thighs when he’d bend over to reach down for the bottle. She’d have to hold back a moan and squeeze her thighs together to stop herself from jumping his bones or actually moaning out loud.

Even his fucking fingers turned her on. It was fucking annoying, when he’d brush his thumb across his plump bottom lip to swipe away droplets of beer. It was embarrassing the way her walls clenched around nothing just at the memory of having his thick fingers inside her, pushing and stroking, quick and steadfast. Her panties soaked through with arousal with every bit of motion from his hands. Even when he’s cleaning their weapons.

But the one thing that truly made her lose her mind were his lips. They were so distracting. All the time. Whenever he speaks, her eyes are glued on his lips, but he doesn’t think much of it because she does it often with everyone in order to focus on what they’re saying. He just doesn’t understand how much that doesn’t work for her when it’s his lips she’s looking at.

All she can think about is how kissable they look, how soft they’d feel against hers, and how funny it would be if she just kissed him mid-sentence. He’d have that cute, bewildered, but pleased look on his face. He bit them often when he was deep in thought, slowly releasing it, turning it red and swollen, just slightly covered in his spit.

He had the cutest habits with his mouth. Puckering them when he’s eating, pouting all the time, sometimes he said certain words they’d pout even more, and when he was pissed or focused. And then he did that model thing with his lips, leaving them slightly parted as he stared at nothing or was considering something seriously.

He was fucking delicious. And that mouth of his was ridiculously talented. Really, very yummy…

It was unfair that he looked as sinful and as fuckable as he did without having to try. Even after waking up, with his soft hair spiked up in some places and flat in others. When his voice was thick and hot with sleep and he’d murmur half-irritated words if he was woken too early, or hot and loving things being mumbled against her ear when he was in a mood.

After all that staring and longing, there would be trips to the fridge, when either one of them grabbed snacks for the other. Hands and fingers brushing against each other when passing over the snacks or drinks. Little smiles were exchanged and yearning sparkled in their eyes, but neither of them did or said anything about it, so the tension grew and grew.

Maybe one of them might get closer to the other, pretending to curiously look at the work they were doing. Slowly, their eyes would drift innocently to each other and there would be an exchange of teasing and amused smiles. And then they’d bring their laptop or books closer and stay there, slowly legs would start to touch each other.

It was like a circuit of lust. The endless tensions and the electricity that made them shiver, skin prickling, hair sticking up; for her: nipples tightening and tingly cunt dampening her panties; for him: cock stirring, slowly hardening and straining in his boxers. Their breaths became noticeably heavier and their eyes would be heavy with desire, and their arms and hands would touch to increase the voltage on each other’s skin until they just couldn’t take it and had to do something about it.

They weren’t quite there yet, but they were both thinking about it. They already knew themselves and how things progressed from years of being together. It was nice.

“This is so fucking boring!” Dean whined abruptly, throwing his head back and running his hands down his face. “We shoulda stayed with Sammy and Donna to talk to witnesses.” He slumped down in his chair with a pout and then turned to look at his girlfriend who pursed her lips to stop a smile from spreading across her tinted lips.

“You told Sam your knee was still hurting from the last hunt and wanted to come back here,” she reminded him with a laugh, moving the laptop off her lap to twist her torso left and right until the crack of her spine made her sigh happily.

“Yeah, well now my ass hurts, too,” he complained, arching his back in the chair and flattening his hands down his backside as it became numb.

“Then stop sitting and walk around for a bit,” she suggested, stretching her legs underneath the table so their feet knocked against each other.

“Ugh, fine,” he grunted petulantly, tapping his foot against hers in retaliation before getting up. He shut his laptop, taking the now-warm beer on the table with him. He squatted for a few seconds and she laughed through her nose, stretching in the chair while she watched him try to ease the pain on his butt from sitting.

“Fuck, this feels so good… and painful, all at once,” he chuckled, pursing his lips so his little dimples appeared above his lips. He hissed when he strained his sore knee and then sighed when he was satisfied. When he stood up straight, he scrunched up his cute nose when something popped pleasantly, and slapped his own ass with both hands—at the same time.

“Better?” She asked with a grin.

“Not really,” he frowned dramatically, hunching his back.

“Aw, come ‘ere then, sweetheart.” She mimicked his pout, moved her chair back from the table and patted her lap. “Come sit on daddy’s lap,” she said with a grin, then snorted. He let out a loud laugh and stood up straight again, placing his beer back on the table to make his way onto her lap. “Oh, sweet Jesus, you’re heavy,” she whispered playfully when he sat on her legs.

“Shudup,” he said with a soft laugh, wrapping one arm around her shoulders to play with her hair and resting his over hand on her waist, his thumb brushing back and forth distractedly.

“So, how’s it going?” She asked, a soft smile growing on her lips as she looked up at him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, intertwining her fingers to keep her hands from slipping away.

“I’m bored,” he mumbled, lifting his hand from her waist to play with the thin strap of her red dress.

“Yeah, you said that.” She stared at him for a moment, watching the way his eyes drifted from her hair, to her shoulder, and finally her breasts.

“Do you have any idea how much I wanna fuck you?” Dean asked unexpectedly, his eyes snapping back up to hers to capture her reaction. She blinked at him in astonishment, a smile slowly growing on her face. “How much I’ve wanted to bend you over every counter we’ve come across?” He murmured, cupping the back of her head to gently tilt her head back, her lips parting and her heartbeat rising in response. She tightened her entwined fingers, staring into both of his eyes, waiting for his lips to meet hers. “How badly I wanna taste you? Kiss your lips? And touch every inch of your sexy body?”

“Dean,” she uttered breathily.

He smirked, teasing her by keeping his face inches away from hers, refusing her the pleasure of a kiss. His fingers slipped away from the strap of her dress to sneak into the top, but as his hands turned downward to cup her breasts, his fingers brushed against coarse material.

“Fucking boobtape,” he whispered and she laughed.

“My tits have to stay up somehow and not slip out if I have to fight,” she reasoned, feeling his fingers start to pick at the sticky tape. “Plus, a bra won’t make this dress look very nice. I mean… it’s got you this needy and hard...” She bit her lip and untangled her fingers to slide a hand between his legs. He became stiff and his breath hitched when she patted his hardening dick. “Get off me,” she murmured lightheartedly, letting him go completely.

“Y-yeah, okay,” he stammered, swiftly standing up off her lap.

He’d barely straightened up in front of her when she was starting to pull at the dark green tie to bring his lips down to hers in a rough kiss. He all but moaned against her mouth, grasping her hips desperately to pull the thin and silky cloth up so it bunched up at her waist, exposing some seamless, red panties that nearly matched the softness of the blood-red dress.

“Bed,” she murmured airily against his lips.

Dean nodded and quickly pressed his lips against hers again, moving with her as she made her way backwards, his hands groping and touching her body, hers pulling and tugging at his hair, their teeth clashing and tongues licking into each other's mouths. Lost in eachother, she ended up pressed against the wall with his knee shoved between her legs.

He pulled away, just to keep teasing her, “think I can make you cum on my thigh again?” He kissed down her jawline, his stubble tickling her soft skin, setting her nerves alight when he got to her neck, kissing softly and gently nipping at her pulse.

“I don’t doubt it,” she moaned, tilting her head back for him to stay there longer. He began rocking his knee back and forth, wrapped his arm around her waist and jutted her hips out slightly to position her perfectly on the tensing muscle of his thigh.

She grabbed at his hips with both hands and gasped at the friction on her clit. She started to roll her hips to match his movements, fumbling with his belt, struggling only because he wouldn’t keep still and her hands were shaking with desire, but she got it off eventually.

He pulled away from her before she could unbutton his pants and she pouted at him.

“Come sit on daddy’s lap,” he mocked her words from earlier with a laugh, sitting down on the bed. He patted his thigh for her to continue riding, and while the thought of that was hot, she was hung up on him calling himself daddy, even if it was a joke.

“Ewww,” she complained, holding back laughter. Still, she made her way between his legs and straddled one of his thighs, kissing his cheeks and forehead rather than plopping down and riding his thigh.

“Can I take the titty tape off?” He asked, lowering the neck of her dress to peek at the tape that matched her skin tone. She nodded, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter, and settled onto his thigh, busying herself with loosening his tie and unbuttoning his shirt.

“What if I tattoo your name on my body?” She murmured. Dean shifted his gaze away from her chest to look at her inquisitively, blindly and carefully peeling off the tape from the skin of her breast. “Not a tacky tattoo, maybe Times New Roman, font size 10,” she replied playfully, dropping a chaste kiss to his parted lips.

“Oh,” he uttered shyly, and stayed quiet for a couple of moments. “Where?” He finally asked, giving her time to think before moving to her other breast to remove the tape there. She pondered for a while and then shrugged.

“Maybe… my finger,” she answered, wiggling her middle finger mischievously at him—as if flipping him off. He laughed at her, balled up the tape now that he was done, and threw it on the floor.

“No….” He disagreed gently, grabbing her hand to close her fist, then kissed her knuckles. She bit her lip, smiling shyly when he looked up at her through his thick lashes.

“No?” She questioned, rolling her hips against his thigh, her knee gently brushing against his erection. He shook his head and moaned, leaning forward to press hot and wet kisses along her neck.

“Maybe here,” he murmured against the sensitive skin of her neck, nipping at her pulse point. She gasped and squirmed against his thigh, fisting his white t-shirt in one hand and burying her fingers into his hair with the other. “Or here,” he suggested, squeezing her breast, “maybe here would be better,” he added, then slapped her ass hard enough for her to yelp and jump.

“All three of those places, then?” She teased breathlessly, rolling her hips slowly and sensually. He sucked softly at her clavicle, then dropped a few kisses onto her breasts.

“Definitely,” he approved, dragging his lips up to her shoulders, letting his mouth push away the thin straps of her dress. “My favourite places.” She chuckled, squirming impatiently on his thigh. She guided his lips back up to hers by tugging at the short strands of his hair, choosing to nibble on his lip teasingly until he crashed his mouth against hers. “Need you…” he whispered between needy kisses, and slowly started to lift her dress upwards.

While she removed the dress, he shrugged off the white dress shirt, struggled a little when the sleeve got caught around his watch. “Fucken…” he grunted, unbuttoning the cuff with irritation.

“Don’t worry, baby, I love taking my time with you,” she laughed, pulling the t-shirt out from where it was tucked into his pants.

“Well, me personally? I don’t wanna have to pull out halfway through sex because Sammy’s on his way back. Not again,” he said seriously, lifting his arms to help her remove his shirt. She gave him an empathetic smile which quickly turned into an amused one when she remembered how uncomfortable and sensitive he had been the rest of the day. “It’s not funny, I was about to come, but fucken Sam had to text…” he pouted, then smiled when she started to laugh.

“Yeah… as funny as that was, I really need to come right now,” she conceded and climbed off his lap to remove her underwear. Dean reached out excitedly for them, playfully brushing her hands out of the way to pull her underwear down swiftly.

“I want you to come, too,” he said, licking his lips. She laughed quietly, holding his shoulders for balance, lifting her knee up so he could take her underwear off completely. “On my dick, though, not in my thigh,” he clarified, immediately pulling her back into him.

He dropped impatient kisses along her waist, forcing her to climb onto the bed on her knees, before moving his mouth upwards, his hands exploring her smooth body. She wrapped her arms around his neck, closed her eyes and unsuccessfully tried to steady her breath. She held him close to her, let him slowly pull her down onto his lap until their hips met.

“Dean, you gotta get your pants off,” she sighed.

“Stay,” he breathed, rolling his hips up into hers as a promise of what he’d give her. She moaned in surprise, whining when he pulled away and spread his legs, forcing her to do the same. Cool air passed between her soaked folds and she gasped.

Awkwardly, he fumbled with his slacks’ button between their bodies, careful not to make her shift or fall back with his brisk and eager movements. He shoved the pants down his legs, boxers sliding down right along with them, and kicked them off his feet.

He didn’t care about doing it properly and immediately drew her close to him when he heard the sound of his clothes hitting the floor. She laughed against his mouth, reached down between their bodies to wrap her hand around his cock.

He cursed softly against her mouth, grabbed her hips roughly and moved her hastily onto her back. It didn’t stop her from playing with him, teasing him by rubbing the hot and hard length of him through her folds. When she made a ring with her forefinger and thumb, he roughly sank his teeth into her shoulder and groaned loudly, freezing at the overwhelming pleasure of her fingers tightening around him and moving upwards in precise twists.

“Goddamnit,” he hissed, “shouldn’t have… told you I like—ah, shit!” He jolted, bucking his hips involuntarily when she started to massage underneath the head of his cock, nearly losing himself and nearly giving into the threat of his orgasm. “No.. wait,” he whined, weakly stopping her with his hands around her wrist.

“You sound so fucking hot when I do that,” she chuckled, “you know I can’t help myself, Dean.” Still, she let go of him and licked her fingers clean of the precum that coated them.

“I have something in mind,” he started suggestively, placing a rough kiss on her lips. She hummed softly and sucked on his lip, watching him move down her body with his lips and hands. He pulled away from her completely and positioned himself in the centre of the bed, patting the spot between his legs.

“You and your slutty little imagination,” she teased, crawling up to him. She parted his thighs, kissed along the inside of his soft—slightly scarred—skin and licked up a stripe of the underside of his cock. He groaned, reaching out for her arm when she twirled her tongue around the leaking tip, sucking gently on the soft head.

“Enough of that, beautiful,” he murmured, tugging her upwards by her arm and away from his dick. She pouted, letting go of his cock with a loud and obscenely wet pop that made him groan. “Lean back,” he instructed delicately, licking his lips when she brushed her wet lips against his teasingly.

With a small ‘okay’, she complied, leaning back with her hands flat behind her on the bed, her two thighs resting on either side of him. “Now, what?” Dean wrapped his hands around her knees instead of replying, and started to bend them upwards. She wiggled around slightly, moving with him and bit her lip when he slid his hands beneath her knees to hold her waist.

One of his hands migrated from her waist to wrap around his cock, guiding himself slowly and teasingly through her folds. She became flustered, staring at him with her knees bent over his forearms.

“This is…” she trailed off, cheeks red and heart beating wildly behind the cage of her ribs.

“Very hot,” Dean finished for her. He let go of his cock just to reach over to the bedside table where his phone was resting. She looked curious at him, thinking maybe he’d check on Sam before they got started, but instead he opened the camera and swiped until he was on the video recording section. “Is this okay, babe?” He asked, gazing back into her eyes, his thumb hovering over the red button.

“Yeah, D.” She nodded, chewing shyly on her lips. “Do you have way more videos of us fucking than of us doing.. ya know, cute romantic shit?” She asked, not caring that he was already recording. He scoffed, positioning the camera to capture her dripping folds, her breasts, and the bottom half of her face rather than his body.

“This is romantic,” he told her matter-of-factly.

“Mm, yeah.. right,” she snickered and lifted herself up using the strength of her arms so she could then lower herself on his cock.

“You don’t think so?” He grunted, watching lewdly as he stretched her pussy open, slowly disappearing inside her warmth. “I think it’s pretty romantic, watchin’ videos of how I fucked you… jerking off to them when I miss you. Listening to how needy and desperate you get for me when you’re about to come…” He explained explicitly, holding her waist tightly, when their hips met completely.

“It’s not just about the sex, baby,” he added, gazing into her eyes. She bit her lip and slowly started to lift herself back up again. “It’s about how it makes me feel. How you make me feel. It’s about time. Makin’ you mine, givin’ myself to you, lovin’ you, you lovin’ me in return, us.. being vulnerable.” She squeezed around him tightly and sank back down, her gaze soft. “It’s romantic that there’s no adios afterward, nothin’ for us to hide from each other during, just you and me barin’ our souls to one another… it’s about us.” He pulled her even closer just to kiss her passionately. Her thighs were practically pressed against the front of her body, somehow he managed to sink deeper into her, and he rocked his hips upwards so her clit brushed against his pelvic bone.

“Oh, fuck,” she gasped, moving one arm to wrap her arm around his neck instead. He smiled against her mouth, and blindly set the phone down on the nightstand, skilfully getting enough in the shot without much fumbling.

“C’mon, baby, you said you needed to come…” he whispered against her jawline, “so make yourself cum.” Dutifully, she began moving a little faster, trying to find a perfect cadence in this new position.

He mouthed at the skin of her neck and chest that he could reach, careful to leave very light marks so she could wear that sexy little dress again, and let her take control of everything. Almost immediately, she was able to move at the perfect pace, towards her orgasm and his.

Gasps and grunts, moaning and groaning, they held onto each other trying to bring each other toward their orgasms unhurriedly. She tipped her head back and tried to pull him impossibly close. With the impact of their hips, her clit was stimulated with a pleasant grind of his hips moving upwards, and this time, rather than doing what they always did—slowing down when they were close to extend the proximity of their organs, increasing the intensity of it—he breathily encouraged her to keep going.

He mindlessly praised her and confessed his love like he always did when he was close, meeting her thrusts far gentler than she was. Still, with one hand behind her and the other in his hair, she tugged on the hairs at the top of his head hard enough to make him moan loudly. His bruising grip on her waist didn’t let up, and his blunt nails dug into her back, waiting for her to cum before he could.

A few more strokes of his cock against her g-spot had her walls pulsing around him, gasping and panting his name, and pressing her forehead against his shoulder as her orgasm finally crashed over her.

She dropped kisses along his shoulder and neck, shuddering from her orgasm, and with a loud grunt of her name, Dean came inside of her. Slowly, they stopped moving and tried to catch their breaths while holding each other closely. She played with his hair and he soothed her bruised waist with calloused palms, then leaned forward all the way until she was laying on her back to kiss her face lovingly.

“Porn worthy?” She teased quietly, resting her hands on his waist waiting as he made a cute path along her face with kisses to reach her lips.

“I could go a second round,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her. He slowly rolled his hips against hers, still buried deep inside her. She groaned softly and wrapped her legs around his waist, encouraging him to keep moving, and wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss anything vulgar he was about to say.

Dean froze above her when he heard footsteps from outside their hotel room, pleading internally that it was random people passing by, but deflated when he heard Sam speak to Donna. “…I hope they found something.”

“Shit!” Y/n whispered, trying to push Dean off her when the doorknob began to rattle, but Dean didn’t budge, knowing it was no use and wanting to use his body as a shield.

“Well, the jig is up,” he joked, watching her throw her arms over her chest instead, glaring at him half-heartedly.

“Dean, your phone!” She reminded him, but Dean shrugged just as Sam swung the door open and stopped mid-sentence with Donna exclaiming some sort of phrase in surprise. Y/n would have laughed at whatever it was she said—Donna’s refusal to actually say a swear word—but she just groaned in annoyance.

“Seriously, guys? Every time!” Sam shouted, apologising to Donna quietly who brushed it off with a quiet ‘it’s okay’.

Donna sneaked one tiny glimpse at the naked couple just as Sam turned around for them to get dressed. Dean smirked smugly and winked at Donna, then looked away to watch as he pulled out of his girlfriend, their cum spilling out of her. His cock was hard again and Y/n shook her head, waiting for Dean to get the phone and get moving.

“You do realise that it could've been Taweret making you guys…” Sam scolded, filling the silence up as Dean gathered their clothes. Donna blushed and turned around as well, grateful that Sam didn’t mention her hesitation in turning around sooner.

“Uh,” Y/n stammered, pulling her clothes on when Dean handed it to her.

“You have a point, Sammy, but we usually do this, anyway, so…” Dean spoke up, giving Y/n a hand so she could stand on slightly shaky legs beside him. “‘sides, I did find something…” Dean announced, pointing to his laptop on the table. With a hard slap on Y/n’s ass, Dean walked to the bathroom to get cleaned up, grasping her small hand with his to bring her with him.

“Sorry,” Y/n laughed, apologetically bowing her head before following Dean to get herself cleaned up as well. As she walked, she could feel Dean’s cum drip out of her, her panties wet and cool between her legs made her uncomfortable but she kept them on, washing her hands with Dean standing next to her doing the same.

“Well, they’re still cute,” Donna said brightly, trying to brighten Sam’s sour mood, but it only worsened when he opened Dean’s laptop and the open tab was a sex page with a list of positions to try.

“Seriously, Dean? Close the damn tabs!”

“Whoops,” Dean snickered, gazing at Y/n who only rolled her eyes at him, affectionately smiling. “Gonna play this video real loud tonight,” he whispered with a grin, shaking his phone in his hand, leaning down to give her a kiss on the forehead.

“That’s really funny, but no,” she chuckled, bringing him down for a soft kiss when he pouted at her childishly.

taglist

@rominaszh @livingdeadmak @lanassmarty @murdockscumsock @zepskies @candy-coated-misery0731 @stxrgazer03 @epsilonsagittarii @lyarr24 @spnfamily-j2 @globetrotter28 @deansbbyx @lickmybawls @jackles010378 @winchstrdean @deanwinchestersgirl87 @the-achievementhunter @deanfreakingwinchester @k-slla @madzzz0797 @laylaackles @fanfic-n-tabulous @kristophalis @mrlonelycat @taylortots-world @evznackles @ohnosy @angelbabyyy99 @girls-alias @kezibear @kaleldobrev @iwishiwasntreal @blackcherrywhiskey @dayhsdreaming @littlemadamred @xshortputax @il0vebeingdelulu @isadumbass @wandamaximofenthusiast @take-it-on-the-run @impala1967rollingthroughtown @pasteldecrack @imsapphine @gravesphillip @illicithallways @saturnsooya

or follow @deanbrainrotlibrary for fic notifications

main masterlist

dean winchester masterlist

do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x female!reader #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester fanfiction

416 notes · View notes

cybersunnie · 2 months

Text

So Divine ✶ Steve Harrington

18+ / MDNI — literally just smut w/ some fluff, f!reader, petnames (sweetheart, baby) got inspired by @/season4steve's comments (wc: 1k)

Steve was a gentle lover.

Compliments, spontaneous gifts, late-night calls because he wanted to hear your voice before bed. He was always soft and sweet with you, all boyish charm and smiles.

With his parents out of town again, you and Steve had the house all to yourselves. It started innocently. A movie night at his place, cuddling on the couch, the light touch on your hip growing more greedy as the night went on. You tried to ignore it, eyes trained on the screen, but you were still all too aware of his glances and smirks that meant no good.

Your efforts were pointless.

The cheesy horror flick Steve had mindlessly picked out at work turned into background noise when he leaned in and kissed you slow, testing the waters. Your lips melted between his, warmth blossoming in your chest, your skin tingling. Whispers of I want you filled your ears, and you were suddenly putty in his hands—a mindless thing made of flesh and bones.

One thing led to another, and the both of you stumbled up the stairs and to his bedroom, giggling into the other’s mouth.

Your curves and edges, and his scars and birthmarks.

Steve had you pinned beneath him, his sheets wrinkled and a mess, clothes discarded and forgotten. You gasped so prettily for him, your face crumbling with ecstasy every time his hips snapped forward to meet yours, the slow drag of his cock making your head spin.

Even as he took you, Steve was nothing but gentle. Every kiss and touch ghosted over your skin like he was afraid to hurt you.

As if you were a delicate flower, each limb a petal he wanted to preserve, to dote on.

“You’re so pretty,” he rasped out, his nose nudging yours, urging you to look at him.

You keened, cheeks burning, eyes hazy with pleasure. How Steve looked at you was overwhelming—like you were the only good thing in the world.

"Yeah? You like being my pretty girl?"

You nodded and held him tighter, not wanting this to end. Your nails dug into his back, the crescent indents adding to his constellation of moles and freckles.

With Steve, all you saw were stars.

His gaze softened, a crinkle between his brows. "I know you do," he murmured, ducking his head down and kissing your jaw. Steve felt you shiver, your cunt squeezing his cock, snug and warm. He fought the urge to bite your shoulder as he buried himself deeper inside of you. "Fuck, sweetheart. You're killing me."

You wondered if Steve knew how much control he had over you. If he knew that his voice made everything around you feel light. If he knew that, in your mind, he embodied the night sky.

That he was timeless. Divine. A mysterious beauty.

He deserved to know.

But your voice was gone, the words stuck in your throat. The knot in your stomach grew tighter. The inevitable inched closer. You could only utter a meek whimper of his name with your fingers digging into his flesh.

Steve pulled his face from your neck and looked at you, stilling himself. “What, baby?”

He sounded so concerned, so sincere—it just made you want him more.

You whined and pressed the heels of your feet against his ass, begging him to move, to keep fucking you. Thankfully, Steve took the hint, pulling out a few inches before pushing back in, his heart swelling with pride when you whimpered.

Steve knew you were close. He could fucking feel it.

"Keep squeezing me like that—holy shit," Steve groaned, almost whining, as your cunt pulsated around his cock. "You're close, huh? You gonna come for me?"

Overwhelmed, you shut your eyes. It was too much. Steve's body flushed with yours, your ears buzzing, your heart pounding so hard it rattled your ribcage—it was all too much.

And Steve noticed. He always noticed.

Soft and soothing, he whispered your name and grasped your chin, your skin warming under his fingertips.

"Look at me."

Reluctantly, you opened your eyes. Steve smiled the same smile that swept you off your feet the first time you met him. He leaned his forehead against yours, his usual sweet brown eyes hardened with lust, with the desire to please you.

"There we go," Steve murmured, kissing your lips. He let go of your chin and moved his hand, his large palm enveloping the side of your face. You leaned into his touch, your brows drawing tightly together as Steve kept fucking you nice and slow. "You still with me, yeah?"

You nodded, mind-numbing.

"Yeah," he cooed, his mouth hovering over yours, breaths mingling. A pitiful whine escaped you, and he swallowed it with another kiss. "You're okay. You're doing so good."

It was all tangled heat and longing. Your hands trailed into his hair, soft and roots drenched with sweat. Mouths hung open, moans and gasps, your hearts becoming one.

Steve grunted, head dipping down into the crook of your neck, his hips rocking into yours. "C'mon, baby, give it to me."

You were at his mercy, unprotected, bare of armor.

The knot snapped.

Pleasure erupted in the pit of your belly and wrecked through you. You cried out his name in gasps and moans, your legs locking around his waist, fingers tugging at his hair. Steve whimpered as if he was wounded, his thrusts faltering, tongue swirling over your pulse points, and teeth nipping at your skin.

Wrapped up in the other and your sweaty limbs entangled, the intensity died down, heavy breaths filling the air. Neither of you moved—a silent agreement to stay connected a little longer.

"I love you," Steve whispered, leaving a trail of kisses along your jaw until he reached your mouth. He stared at you with adore-filled eyes, his cheeks flushed and hair disheveled from your own doing. "I love you so much."

Through your haze, you grinned, fingers sowing through his hair, "I love you more."

Steve snorted, shaking his head. "Impossible."

author's note: yay i finally finished something!!!!! it had been such a long time since i wrote smut so i'm sorry if this wasn't up to par LMAO but i love me some soft and sappy sex

anyways i hope you enjoyed this!!! tysm for reading! <3

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #stranger things fic #✶ — sunnie writes st!#✶ — steve harrington

505 notes · View notes

diejager · 2 months

Note

Okay so I have kinda a prompt...and I was wondering if you could work your magic and like make it a story.. please :)

Okay so like, *reader* was at a restaurant waiting for ghost, the first date had gone so well, you were thinking of dating him seriously. However, 20 minutes had gone by and he hadn't shown up, nor was he replying to your texts. You glanced down at your phone trying to call him once more when suddenly a familiar skull mask was placed on the table. So you look up with a smile, expecting it to be ghost but it turns out to be könig, and he sits beside you and places a hand on your thigh before whispering, "I think you should be seeing someone else" or something...

Cw: DARKFIC, stalking, implied murder, implied death, obsession, possessive behaviour, tell me if I missed any.

You’d been doing so well, leaving behind the man who’d broken you, who took and took until all that was left was a dried carcass of what you used to be, a fragile version of who you once were. You cut ties with him, left him in the rubble of a shattered relationship and picked up whatever was left of your as you moved away, another city, another province and another country, as far away as you could from the monster.

And here, you met a gentle man, as scarred and broken as you, only his were physically present, people would gawk and stare at him when yours were hidden, buried beneath your skin and sinew, chained in a spiraling mind of terror and nightmares, but you understood him and he understood you. It was a mutual understanding that you built on, stacking every moment of sorrow and agony, tearful calls and sobbing voice, making it into a tower of affection that you worked beautifully on.

You called him Simon, and he called you love.

It was perfect, the first shards of friendship that soon became love, an intimacy you were both afraid to commit, but were willing to try, to dip your toes in shark infested waters and test your luck. It started out with subtle touches, his fingertips brushing against yours in fleeting signs of affection; then the gentle pull of his voice, calling your name whenever you were near; and the small tokens of servitude he gave away to you, spoiling you rotten with the money he has.

It was perfect, the miracle you had always dreamed of, the beautiful thing that filled our bleak world with vibrant coloursand liveliness. You shared a kiss, your soft ones pressed against his dried ones, feeling the coarseness and curve of his lips when they moved against yours. It was a passionate one, filled with worship and love that you were both tempted with. That led to a date, lost in each other’s eyes while you swooned at him, doe-eyed and hopeful for more than what you were unafraid to give, sipping on tea and coffee for any kind of distraction for falling further into the throes of love and devotion.

You left feeling happy, a smile shining brightly on your face until you got home and screamed out to your heart’s content, confessing to your plants and the ghosts that lived in your walls. You’d been giddy, excited for the second date, seeing the first one went so well, planning the dates and places the second day, organised half a month in advance because you were high on the pleasure. You were ecstatic, jumping to and from the walls and ceiling, like a puppy promised treats.

And when the day arrived, you dressed up, dolled yourself up for a man your heart came to love and got to the restaurant early —too early. Seated at the reserved table and encouraging yourself with a quick monologue, unaware of the time, the ticking minutes passing in a blink until you realised Simon was twenty minutes late. You knew he wouldn’t stand you up, he was too soft with you for that, he emphasised too much with you to let you go so abruptly, but he hadn’t sent anything, no message or call. You were left wondering and worried, lost in your thoughts with no one but the screen that showed Simon’s number. You might have to-

Something was rudely dropped before you, a black fabric placed in the middle of the your table, it was familiar, but many things were black. You turned, frowning and brows pinched, ready to question the person who’d trashed your table.

“What-” you choked back a whimper, eyes cloudy as you stared up at cold eyes, a chilling blue that would have frozen seas, “You-”

Your throat closed on itself, breath stuck at the back of it as you stammered, unable to utter a single word towards the giant in your nightmares. You could see the glee in his eyes, the squinted lids that screamed of a cruel grin, malicious yet jovial.

“It’s time to come back home, Spotzi,” his tone was low, a deep monotone that portrayed nothing, not even a single crumb for you to decipher how he truly felt, “You’ve had your fun with him, nh?” [Sparrow]

Him? You didn’t understand what he meant. Had he meant Simon? König couldn’t be serious, you’d finally found someone who felt the same and emphasised with you, and König wanted to take it all away like he did with your life? You stared down, away from his piercing blues, the chill that ripped through you whenever you gaze at it, wandering down to his bloodied palm- They were bloody, bruised and battered. It couldn’t be, no, you couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t dare —he would, he’d always whispered promises about beating other men to a pulp if they got in the way of his affection - obsession - for you.

Your eyes fearfully strayed from his towering form, glancing at the familiar cloth, catching the faded white of a skull dirtied with streaks of red, spotty and ripped. You recognised it, being so, so familiar with the mask as you were with the man who wore it, the soft browns and fluffy blond, the heavy bags and scars. It was Simon’s mask. A tear rolled down your cheek, falling from the fluttering of your lashes, only to be brushed away by the rough thumb of your captor.

“Do not cry, it’d eventually happen,” his attempts of soothing you were flawed, it only made you cry more, lips shaky and breathlessly choking and whimpering, “If not now, then later.”

He crouched to meet your eyes, head tilted up by your chin for König to admire you, roving over your dolled up face and the clothes you decided to wear for a man that was probably dead in an alley.

“Come, Spotzi. I have your things packed.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

#tw: dark content #dark content #dead dove do not eat #x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #konig x reader #konig mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #Stalker!könig #Kidnapper!könig #konig cod #könig x reader #könig mw2 #tw: kidnapping

532 notes · View notes

azzibuckets · 1 month

Text

Paper Rings [Part 5/10 | Paige Bueckers]

paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary: the morning after

a/n: i love making people cry so some pretty angsty stuff up ahead 😁 forgive me for turning paige into a slight asshole

word count: 1.8k

masterlist w/ all parts

FLASHBACK: 1 YEAR AGO

The green LED light on Paige’s alarm clock blinked 3:07 AM. Paige had been up for the past two hours. Tossing and turning seemed like the right phrase, but she didn’t want to wake you, so all the turmoil stayed inside her head.

A burst of warmth ran through her body and flooded her senses whenever she looked at you. You were curled up against her side, lightly snoring. You looked so soft in the moonlight, and Paige wanted to take a photo of you like this and ingrain it inside her brain. But her mind’s been running non stop for the past 120 minutes, overcome with regret over what you two had just done.

Paige had always known of her tendencies. She wouldn’t call herself a player, because she never intentionally led girls on. She always made it clear to her one night stands what they were - a hookup, with no strings attached. But some girls never seemed to get it. Every so often there would be someone who got attached to Paige after just one night together and ended up leaving her apartment in tears, cursing her name. She hated when that happened, hated seeing them cry.

So she vowed to herself never to sleep with you. Not because she didn’t want you, because God knows how many sleepless nights she spent in this very bed, dreaming about the pink of your lips and the curve of your hips. But because she knew how complicated things would get. Your friendship was the one thing that had remained stable in Paige’s life the past few years. There mere thought of losing you made her heart pound and head throb.

So Paige had stayed strong. Never mind all those moments where her hands had lingered on your waist a little too long, or the fact that the wallpaper of her lock screen and home screen were both pictures with you, or the fact that you were the only person pinned on her messages app besides her family. She knew she couldn’t have you.

Paige brushed a strand of hair from your eyes, letting the pad of her thumb trail down your cheek. You stirred in your sleep, a smile drifting faintly across your lips, and shifted closer to her, burying your face in her abdomen. And in that moment, Paige realized two things.

#1. She was in love with you. Yeah, she’d always loved you as a friend. You were thoughtful and supportive, a best friend a person could ask for. But beyond that, you made her feel seen. To you, Paige wasn’t just a basketball player or a pretty face. You had broken through her barriers and made the effort to know her on every level, and that was what Paige in love with you.

#2. She didn’t deserve you. Paige thought back to all those times she’d canceled on movie nights because somehow she’d ended up again at the bar with her teammates, flirting with pretty girls while the prettiest girl sat alone in her room. Or when she’d briefly dated Anna, who had apparently been cold to you for their entire relationship, always making snide comments when Paige wasn’t around. But you had saw how happy Paige was (but not as happy as she was whenever she was with you), and had kept silent, not wanting to ruin Paige’s relationship. And even though Paige had broken up with Anna as soon as she’d found out about her behavior, she couldn’t quiet the voices in her head blaming her for letting someone treat you like that. You were the best person in the world, Paige thought. And you deserve someone who can give you all of that. Not me.

So after having come to those two conclusions, Paige knew what she had to do.

——————————-

You woke up in a daze. Checking your phone, you realized it was only 8 AM. Tired, you slumped back into the pilllow. The events of last night only came back to you when you moved the sheets of Paige’s bed and saw your bra.

You couldn’t help but smile as memories of fisted sheets, shaking legs, and hands intertwined in each other’s hairs came flooding back. You pressed your fingers to your lips, the lips that Paige had kissed over and over again just hours before. You and Paige had slept together, and everything had felt so right. And god, that was the best head you’d ever gotten.

Getting up, you heard clattering in the kitchen and footsteps outside. Assuming it was Paige, you didn’t bother to cover up when the door swung open, but your mouth fell open when you came face to face with Azzi.

“Oh my god!” Azzi shrieked. Both of you stared at each other for a second before you grabbed the comforter off Paige’s bed to cover your body. “Get out, get out, get out!” you yelled.

Azzi slammed the door. Heart beating fast, you rushed to find your clothes. “Did I just see what I thought I saw?” Azzi yelled from the other side of the door.

“Azzi Fudd, I will smack you,” you yelled back as you started to pull on your jeans.

“Did you and Paige sleep together?” She screamed. “Oh my god, she’ll kill me if she finds out I walked in on you like this.”

You fiddled with the buttons on your jeans. “That’s why we’re gonna keep this a secret. You’re not gonna tell anyone we slept together.”

“What?! But now Aaliyah and Nika owe me twenty dollars,” she complained.

You tugged on your shirt. “I’m gonna pretend that you didn’t just tell me that three of our closest friends made a bet on us sleeping together.” You opened the door and glared at a sheepish Azzi. “Now where the hell is Paige?”

“I dunno. I heard her leaving an hour ago. I thought I was home alone. You scared the shit out of me,” Azzi side eyed your sex and bed hair, and you ran your hand through it, trying to make it look less messy. “So, how was it?” Azzi leaned towards you with a sly smirk on her face. “Was it good?”

“Oh my god, Azzi.” You pushed her out of the way and grabbed your purse from the couch. “I’m leaving. You better keep your mouth shut.”

“No promises!” Azzi called after you, cackling as you left the apartment.

—————————

5 DAYS LATER

“Open the fucking door, Bueckers.” You rapped on the door of Paige’s apartment, impatiently tapping your foot as you waited.

After you heard noises from inside but she still refused to open the door, you knocked even harder. “I know you’re in there, asshole. Azzi told me you’ve been in here the entire day.”

Finally the door swung open, and I laid eyes on Paige for the first time since we’d slept together 5 days ago. Her hair was in a messy low bun, and she was wearing her grey UConn sweatpants and a sports bra. You ignored the blush that rose from your neck from seeing her bare abdomen, all sculpted and taut, and instead glared at her.

“What the fuck, Paige? You haven’t responded to any of my texts and calls in the last week. Are you seriously ghosting me?” You pushed past her into the apartment.

Paige stared at you, still not saying anything. The last five days had been hell. You knew that sleeping with your best friend would change things. It would be awkward, and unsure, but you and Paige have always been able to figure everything out. So you didn’t expect for her to drop all communication with you, leaving you alone in bed the morning after and then ignoring all your attempts to talk to her after.

Paige smirked at you, but it wasn’t tantalizing and seductive like the last time you saw her. It was sharp, calculated, like she knew something that you didn’t. “Damn, I was that good, wasn’t I?”

“Paige, I need you to be serious right now.” Your voice was rising in pitch, your frustration showing. “We need to talk about us.”

Paige folded her arms, and she had never looked so distant. “What is there to talk about?”

You pushed her, not hard, but enough for her to stumble back. “Okay, so you fucked your best friend, and now you don’t even wanna talk about it?”

Paige swallowed, and she looked away. “We lost in the Final Four that night.”

“Yeah, so?” Your face was flushed red with anger, and you felt hot all over. “What’s that gotta do with anything?”

She turned back to look at you. Her face was impassive now, and you wondered at who this girl in front of you was. It seemed like you didn’t even know her, this version of Paige. “It was a tough game,” she said curtly. “I needed to blow off some steam, and you were there.”

I needed to blow off some steam, and you were there.

You physically recoiled. Those words resounded in your mind, ricocheting from every corner, repeating itself until you went numb. You tasted something bitter in your mouth, a confirmation of what you had been worrying yourself sick about 24/7 for the past several days. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

Paige regarded you coolly. “I’m starting to get the feeling that you thought that night was a declaration of love or something. I mean yeah, you weren’t bad for your first time, but it was just sex.”

A jumble of something terrible and bitter began brewing in your stomach. It was a mixture of anger, and horror, and shock and pain, threatening to spill over. You didn’t know whether you wanted to sob or throw up. That night you had basically admitted to Paige that you had wanted her for so long but…had you been so foolish to believe that she actually liked you back?

“You’re really nothing but a slut, huh,” you scoffed. You felt like a dagger was stabbing you, brutally piercing you in the heart as those words were spit from your mouth, but you were so angry, so furious, you couldn’t stop. “You don’t care about anything but getting laid. You’re so fucking shallow.”

For a moment, you thought you saw hurt flash through Paige’s eyes. But she quickly recovered, and her face turned stony again. “I’m not the one who was like a little fan girl, so desperate that you jumped on me as soon as I gave you the chance.” Her lip curled.

We, whatever we were, were over, and we both knew it. We were throwing out insults, maiming each other in an attempt to mollify our own hurt. We were drowning, and you knew it, god you knew it, your lungs felt on fire and you felt like you were losing everything in my life all at once. And you were too weak to stop it. Too cowardly to apologize, to take all your words back, to tell her you loved her so much, that you would be willing to stay friends and only friends and ignore the fact that you were heads over heels for her, just so she would stay in your life and you could go back to what you were before you made the most stupid decision of your lives.

But none of that came out. Instead, you said words that you didn’t mean.

“Don’t talk to me ever again, Bueckers. I fucking hate you.”

“Gladly.”

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x you #uconnwbb #friends to lovers #enemies to lovers #wbb #wcbb

219 notes · View notes

meiyadled · 5 months

Text

P1.25 indoor flexible arc led screen 3360*1440mm Realize your eye-catching design Large stock available with low price and good quality

#led screen #led display #meiyad #led wall #led video wall #led sign #video wall #led panel #led board #led sign board #flexible led screen #flexible led display #curved led screen #curved led display #arc led screen #arc led display

1 note · View note

visualkingsg · 2 months

Text

The BEST Places to Buy a Curved LED Screen in Singapore (2024 Update)

Craving that next-level cinematic experience at home or looking to grab attention at your next business event? Look no further than a led screen curve! These immersive displays are taking Singapore by storm, and for good reason. But with so many options on the market, where do you even begin to look? Don't worry, I've got you covered. Here's a breakdown of some of the top contenders for Curved LED Screen Shops Singapore in 2024, along with some helpful tips to guide your purchase.

Finding the Perfect Fit:

Before diving headfirst into the world of curved LED screens, consider your needs. What screen size will work best for your space? What kind of resolution are you looking for? Do you need additional features like built-in soundbars or touch functionality? Answering these questions will help narrow down your options and ensure you get the most out of your investment.

Top contenders for Curved LED Screens in Singapore:

Visual King: When it comes to curved LED technology, Visual King stands out from the crowd. They offer a wide range of top-quality curved LED display panel Singapore, from consumer-friendly home theater options to jaw-dropping commercial displays. Their team of experts can help you choose the perfect screen for your needs and budget, and they even provide comprehensive installation services.

Pro tip: Check out their website for current promotions and special deals on curved LED screens.

Beyond the Big Names:

While established players like Visual King are a safe bet, don't be afraid to explore other options. Here are some additional factors to consider:

Online Retailers: Several online retailers in Singapore offer curved LED screens. This can be a great option for finding competitive prices, but be sure to check the seller's reputation and return policy before making a purchase.

Direct from Manufacturers: Cutting out the middleman can sometimes lead to better deals. Researching led screen curved manufacturers in Singapore might unearth hidden gems.

Remember:

Warranty: A good warranty is essential, especially for such a significant investment. Make sure the curved LED screen you purchase comes with a comprehensive warranty that covers parts and labor.

After-sales service: What kind of after-sales service does the seller offer? This is important for getting help with installation, troubleshooting, and future maintenance.

Read reviews: Before making a final decision, take some time to read online reviews of different curved LED screen shops Singapore and the specific models you're considering. This can give you valuable insights from other customers.

Conclusion

With a little research and these handy tips, you'll be well on your way to finding the perfect curved LED screen to elevate your home entertainment or business presentations.

#led screen supplier #conference room led display #curved led screen #curved led panels

0 notes

b1rds3ye · 9 months

Note

Hi! Hello! I'm not sure if I can make a request, but if I can here's my request!

Can you do an LED mask reader who has a workshop underneath the base that the 141 doesn't know about (except Price, he approved it he just didn't tell the others, he didn't tell Shepherd too)

And when someone breaks something (like a gadget) they tell them to come to their workshop so they can fix it

It's okay if you don't do this! I just really like the idea :)

YES YES YES PLS THIS IS SO CUTE!! (Also PLEASE don't be afraid to invade my askbox, it's always open for brainrot, requests and the such~) Unfortunately I couldn't really incorporate the mask into this, just reader being a lil gremlin I hope that's okay 😭

The base has bunkers in case of an emergency and evacuation, but there are some passages and dead-ends that have become completely neglected. Price doesn't know how the hell you caught wind of those abandoned rooms but with his authority combined with Laswell's, they manage to allocate a space for you without the knowledge of any stuffy generals like Shepherd.

While it takes some months until anyone else in the 141 is invited to your underground workshop, they do know something is up. One minute you're around and then the next you've disappeared and unreachable (the first few weeks when you cleaned up the bunkers there was absolutely no signal underground). However they had enough faith in you and Price's lack of concern was signal enough to calm down.

It was only when Soap had come back from a mission, he could only groan in despair at his battered hardware. He's normally a clean demolitions expert, but a mission going south quicker than he could blink meant that his typical tools had succumbed to the explosions he set off. Unable to say no to Johnny's pout as he looked around at everyone like a kicked puppy, you eventually give him a reassuring pat on the back.

"See me downstairs, I'll fix it."

... what?

Johnny - as well as Gaz and Ghost who watched the exchange - just stare at you silently as you walk away. Downstairs? You mean the run down evacuation tunnels that are so run down and poorly maintained they're probably more of a death trap than whatever could be up above? But sure enough, you walk in the direction to one of the known entrances to the bunkers and they hastily chase after you (Price also following a little behind because he just knows this is going to be entertaining).

When they find you downstairs, even Price is in awe of what you've done with the place. It's filled with various forms of high-end tech. An impressive blend of both software running automatically on clean screens and gritty hardware that's sprawled across various workbenches and occasionally forgotten on the ground. There's only a singular hanging light at the center of the ceiling, but with a fresh bulb and the ambient light of all your other technology, the place is lit more than enough.

"Bloody hell..." Kyle pulls away from the rest of the 141 and joins you, his eyes following the curves and dips of a nearby piece of machinery he has never seen before but the general shape has him half convinced it's a bloody bomb.

"Like what you see?" You turn to the rest of the task force. You can't stop yourself from straightening your back in pride as the boys were clearly in awe of your handiwork.

"You were hiding this from us?" Simon asks. His voice always has a bite but you could tell that he was just stupefied, his question not just directed to you as he shoots a look to Price who stifles a smug smirk.

"We had some spare space," Price explains. "Thought it could use the renovation."

"Renovation? You rebuilt this from the ground up," Johnny exclaims, taking in the room as if it was a hidden hoard of treasures.

"Say, you'd let us pay you a visit down here, yeah?" Kyle turns back to you, eyes gleaming. The rest of the task force join in their own way. Johnny's nodding enthusiastically, John cocks an eyebrow at you, and even Simon tilts his head in curiosity, waiting for your next words.

"Hm..." you look away, bringing a finger to your chin and tapping it in contemplation. Eventually you let out a huff as you snatch Johnny's broken gear from his hands and start shooing them out. "I'll have to think about it. I'll get back to you in five to seven business days."

Johnny starts animatedly protesting but lets himself be pushed by you out of the door. Kyle laughs while Price hushes them all. Below all the commotion was an underlying understanding and agreement. You don't even need to say it aloud but they'll all certainly be crashing at your underground workshop and they were more than welcome to. In truth, as much as you loved having your private workshop, the only thing that could make it better was entrusting it with the dearest people in your lives.

Call of Duty Masterlist

#call of duty x reader #cod x reader #task force 141 x reader #call of duty #john price x reader #captain price x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #gaz x reader #kyle garrick x reader #/*avery actually writes*/#/*avery checks the mailbox*/

760 notes · View notes

roses-for-rosalyn · 10 months

Note

ngl my brain kinda goes crazy at the thought of mafia!abby. I don't know why but HER IN A SUIT lord have mercy.

put all my favorite tropes in a blender and I give you:

City Lights

Part 2

a/n: not my best work but it is my horniest work, so riddle me that.

cw: Mafia! Abby, dbf! Abby 🤭, little age gap (reader in early 20s Abby is later 30s), feminine reader (specifically refers to reader as girl), sort of innocent reader, Abby walking in on reader using vibe 🤭, Abby referred to as Ms. Anderson or miss, reader gets roofied BUT is saved and nothing ensues, general mafia coded violence, make out session, (smut in part 2 I'm sorry my darlings)

Minors DNI (I will jump out at you through your screen i stg)

wc: 4.8k (woah)

———————————————————————

You watch as the sun falls from the city sky, lights slowly flickering on signaling the end of a day and the start of a long night. You can’t help but marvel at the sea of lights shimmering in front of you creating a sort of man made night sky, stars replaced by the warm glow of living room and bedroom lights from various apartments. You had lived in this penthouse for a while, but watching the city come alive at night would never get old.

“Hey!” your friend, Dina, waves a hand in front of your face. She must have called you a few times before she finally got your attention. Your eyes reluctantly move from the glowing city to your friend looking down at you, a playful expression on her face. “Girl, you have to get out of your head for your own good.” She lends a hand to you, “Let’s go drink our problems away.” She smirks and you giggle before grabbing her hand and standing up.

“Alright, but you can’t leave me tonight. It's girls night.” She would almost always end up with someone by the end of the night, leaving you to make your way home alone at fucking 3 AM. It definitely helped that her dad wasn’t in the same line of work as yours, you couldn’t exactly hook up with just anyone. Apparently it was “dangerous” your dad was fucking paranoid, but it’s not like you could ignore him and rebel. He always found out somehow and you’d end up being whisked away by one of his bodyguards he hired to follow you around. It was a compromise that the guards were at a distance too, if it were up to you they wouldn’t be there at all.

“I’m not leaving you tonight because you’re going to find someone to go home with.” She has a mischievous smile on her face, like she’s already planned your fate for the night.

“Dina-” you start to say, but she interrupts, “Hush, forget about your dad for a few hours of your life, we’ll figure it out.” She smiles genuinely this time and steps back to dramatically look you up and down. “Listen, you look hot, I look hot, let’s go have fun and be hot together.” She wasn’t wrong, you were wearing one of your favorite black dresses. It perfectly accentuated your curves and flaunted just the right amount of cleavage. Dina always looked good, tonight she was wearing a little black dress as well and you two made quite the alluring pair.

Dina handed you your clutch and led you out of the apartment and into the bustling city. A car is ready for you as soon as you walk out of the lobby– one of the perks of your paranoid father’s line of work. You and her climb in giggling and reflecting on past nights filled with loud music and colorful lights.

The car slows and you and Dina exit onto the sidewalk. Your heels obnoxiously click against the pavement as you both make your way to the door, skipping the line. The bouncer immediately recognizes and encourages you in with a friendly nod. You glance up at the muscley man with a grateful smile and a wink before you enter with your friend in tow.

You walk into an empty marble lobby, dimly lit with no furniture. The sound of both your and Dina’s Heels now echoing throughout the grand empty room. Straight ahead there is a small elevator and to the left of it are stairs. The stairs have little lights lining them, illuminating the way up. You and Dina look at eachother, “No way I’m taking those stairs in these heels.”

She giggles “I agree, I don't think I could make it the 15th floor.” You click the button to call the elevator and the doors immediately open. You and Dina walk into the poorly lit mirror covered box and you press the button for the top floor. Turns out she was wrong. It was more like 20 floors, you had scaled those stairs before, but all those times you were very drunk and going down not up. You adjust your hair and pick at your makeup as the elevator slowly ascends. A soft ding sounds and the door opens slowly revealing the bustling nightclub.

The only lighting in the room was cool colored spotlights, the overwhelming sound of music causing the floor to vibrate under your feet. Most of the light flooded in through the windows that lined the walls. The city lights filtered in, illuminating the room. It almost felt like the club was somehow floating in the middle of the bustling urban area. The floor to ceiling windows made it feel much more spacious despite it being packed with writhing bodies. It was the reason this club was your favorite; it perfectly embraced its beautiful location at the top of a skyscraper.

You both wander into the crowd hand in hand, making a beeline for the bar. You order two vodka shots each and two drinks, wanting to get the festivities of the night started as quickly as possible. The bartender quickly delivers your orders and you look at your friend nodding before downing a shot. Dina beats you to the second, but you quickly follow, giggling. Your face involuntarily scrunches up as the offensive flavor of pure vodka hits your tongue. She leans in close to your ear and says in a low, mischievous voice “Let’s go have some fun.” and at that you both disappear into the crowd.

You’re not sure how much time has passed at this point. Apparently enough time for sweat to start to perspire on your skin, the warmth of bodies writhing together causing the temperature to rise throughout the night. A slight dizziness causes your vision to soften, the figures of people around you blurring together. Dancing had become easier and easier as your body relaxed from the alcohol flooding through your veins, the music leading your body movements. You had realized at some point you must have lost Dina, you pause your dancing and make your way to the booths. You spot her in between a man and women, clearly flirting with both of them, with her hands on each of their thighs, laughing comfortably with one another. It was clear she was going home with both of them tonight. Fucking impressive. And annoying.

It’s probably been years since you flirted with someone like that, at a certain point you gave up, letting other people approach you. It never ended in anything though. You envied Dina in her ability to execute that kind of thing.

You walk up, hesitantly interrupting. She spots you and pauses her heavy petting on her new friends. “Oh shit, I forgot I don’t have to-”

You hold up your hand and smile “Don’t worry about it, I’m having fun. Just text me later.” you wink and she smiles and nods. You walk over to the bar for your last drink of the night and to close your tab. You look around as you wait for your drink, scanning the VIP section for any familiar faces. Unsurprisingly you spot one of your father’s associates Ms. Anderson. She was here pretty regularly and maybe that’s why you were also here pretty regularly. There was an unspoken, forbidden attraction between you two. Stolen glances and tense conversations made it obvious it was mutual. It was also obvious that nothing could happen besides the occasional sexually charged staring contest, your father might murder her–in a more literal sense than most dads would murder their daughters' lovers. So you resorted to touching yourselves with each other’s names on the tip of your tongues, fingers teasing the ache that grew between your legs at the thought of the other.

She was wearing her usual suit minus a tie. Her white shirt was mostly unbuttoned, giving her a more casual, careless look. She sat with her legs spread, arms carelessly strung along the back of the couch she was sitting in, a glass of neat whiskey in her large hand. A woman sat next to her–well practically on top of her– in a scantily clad outfit, Ms. Anderson hardly made an effort to look at her eyes. She was surrounded by multiple men, clearly negotiating something, barely paying attention to them. And yet despite her disinterest in their words you could sense the respect that was held towards the blonde woman. They didn’t care that she wasn’t intently listening, they were grateful to even be heard at all. You could tell they must be low in the ranks, especially considering Ms. Anderson’s bored expression as they spoke to her. She caught you staring at her and her bored expression turned into a devilish smirk, her eyes meeting with yours. You look away embarrassed and pray your drink comes sooner rather than later. After a few minutes the bartender sets it down in front of you, you grab your drink off the counter gulping the whole thing down in a few sips. You step into the mass of bodies dancing to the loud music and begin moving in sync with the warm figures. Soon your vision turns concerningly blurry, you immediately try to stumble towards the bar, your legs starting to fail you. You were unfortunately familiar with what was happening which only made you panic all the more, trying to fight through the tiredness that is taking over your body. In a last ditch attempt you lug your failing body towards Ms. Anderson, praying to a god you didn’t believe in that someone noticed.

You hadn’t spotted Ms. Anderson earlier, but she noticed you. She had been watching you all night, specifically taking note of the way your body guards were distanced from you. She watched the bartender make your drink. Right as she watched him slip some sort of powder into it she left in the middle of her conversation. It didn’t matter at that point, all that mattered was getting to you before he did. She nodded at her bodyguards whispering in each of their ears what to do. One went with Abby to help you while the other went to grab the bartender.

Abby bent down underneath you to support you under your shoulder and you felt dread fill your body as she grabbed you, not recognizing who it was. You manage to loll your head to the side and see her face, your panic subsides and you begin to give in to the drug. As your body grows heavier Abby picks you up in the air bridal style, initially she didn’t want to cause a scene, but now it would be impossible to get you out of here any other way. You feel her warmth radiate through her shirt and your head leans against her strong chest as your vision slowly fades to black.

You startle awake, panicking as you realize you're sitting up in someone’s car. Adrenaline takes over as your breathing quickens and your heart rate picks up. You take in your surroundings, lights blur together as you look out the window, desperately trying to discern your location. When you look to your left your breathing immediately slows, remembering you were rescued by Ms. Anderson before you collapsed in the middle of the club. She looks over at you, slightly surprised by your wide panicked eyes being open, she expected you to sleep through the night given the amount of drugs that must be swirling around in your system. You were obviously quite the stubborn girl.

You begin to say something before the blonde cuts you off, “I found your phone and texted Dina and your father already. Your Father thinks you're staying over at Dina’s and Dina knows you’re safe and with me.” She immediately reassures you, somehow knowing exactly why you shot awake in the midst of a drug induced haze. You nod and relax, letting her take control of your fate. “I’m taking you back to my place, you need someone to make sure you stay breathing through the night.” You watch as her bloodstained knuckles harshly grip the steering wheel. What you didn’t know is Abby had laid you in the car, leaving you with one of her bodyguards before tending to the bartender herself. She made quick work of him, swiftly cutting off limb after limb as she gathered information. Abby was surprised at how quickly her rage consumed her, not realizing how protective she was of you. She snickered at him as he screamed and begged for his life. All she could see as she disassembled the poor excuse for a man was your weak body crumpling to the floor in front of her. She found out he was taking out a sort of hit on you. Trying to hurt your father by hurting you, she learned the name of his boss and sent the information to your father to have it taken care of. Of course she didn’t mention it was you who he tried to kidnap and do who knows what with, she only mentioned it was one of the daughters of someone in the inner circle.

He didn’t usually ask questions anyways, your father delighted in ridding this world of men who liked to hurt women. The things your father did were dark, but he never ever fucked with women, it was an unspoken rule in the Organization, one that Abby greatly appreciated and respected as well as you. You didn’t like what your father was involved in, but the thought that he had some sense of morals helped you sleep a little better at night.

You allow your eyes to close once again as Ms. Anderson drives you to her apartment. You float in and out of consciousness as she picks you up out of the car and carries you inside. You can sense the changes in lighting from behind your eyelids, you use sounds to estimate where you might be. Soon keys jingle and a door is opened. Muffled voices surround you and you are handed over to someone else's arms. You feel your dress being gently peeled from your body and you whimper, barely fighting for your dignity. A soft feminine voice hushes you and upon realizing it was a woman you return to your half conscious state. You are placed down onto cold porcelain and you shiver before warm water runs over your body. It felt heavenly, the water massaging your skin warming you from the outside in. You finally fall completely unconscious feeling a sense of security washing over you as the water did.

You blink open your eyes slowly, bright light penetrating your vision. You have to squint for a moment until your eyes adjust to your surroundings. You’re laying in an incredibly comfortable bed with soft white sheets and a puffy white comforter. Your dress has been replaced by an incredibly oversized matching set of pajamas. You tentatively lift up the hem of your pants and… yup this wasn't even your underwear. God how fucking humiliating. The room is large with tall ceilings and light gray walls. Bright morning light floods in from a giant window overlooking the city. A green couch faces a large TV suspended on the wall above a fireplace. To your left is a nightstand with a tall glass of water and ibuprofen. Upon seeing the glass of water you feel your tongue sticking to the inside of your mouth, your throat so dry you could barely swallow. You gulp down the water along with the pain meds greedily. Upon a second glance you realize the room has no personality, almost like a hotel room or a guest room. It didn’t seem like someplace one would sleep every night. You hear the doorknob being slowly twisted before the door opens revealing Ms. Anderson. She commanded so much space with her presence in her perfectly fitted and pressed suits complete with a tie and matching pocket square. Her hair was pulled back into a perfect, neat braid, little pieces of hair framing her face. Her strong arms and broad shoulders made her posture appear so confident she almost seemed unapproachable. Upon seeing you awake she smiles “Morning.” She says as she makes her way towards you.

“Morning.” Your voice was still heavy with sleep.

“How are you feeling?” She asks as she sits on the edge of the bed by your feet.

“Pretty good all things considered.” You manage a dry laugh.

“I would start scolding you about the proximity of your body guards, but I feel like I should let you wake up a little first.” She watches as you poorly attempt to rub the sleep out of your eyes, yawning a little as you do.

“No, no you’re definitely right, learned my lesson.” You pause for a moment as you remember the question that was lurking in the back of your mind since you woke up. Should you even ask?

“My clothes…” You start to say, not exactly sure how to approach this conversation.

“Oh yeah,” Ms. Anderson blushes a bit “One of my maids, Clara, she was the one who changed you and stuff, I-I didn’t um-” Jesus Christ you managed to fluster this 30 something year old woman, reducing her to an incoherent mumbling mess. “Your dress is over there.” She points to the nightstand. “I would have had it washed, but I wasn’t sure if there was a special way you liked it done or something. Wouldn’t want to ruin it since it looked so good on you.” She smirks and now you’re the one blushing.

“Th-thank you, I appreciate not having to sleep in that.” You look at her through your lashes, a flirtatious smirk pulling at your lips. You and Abby get lost in one of your staring contests gazing at each other as a silence falls over the both of you.

Abby is the one to snap out of it, “Oh-uh I should get going I’m going to be late. I arranged a ride home for you. My driver is waiting at the front.” She gets up fiddling with her shirt cuffs as she starts walking out of the room. “And if you want to talk about what happened with someone, just let me know. I’m a good listener.” She smiles for a moment before it falls into a frown. “I wish I didn’t have to leave. I feel like a dick, but I swear I have an important meeting, I-”

“It’s ok,” You smile, cutting her off before she continues apologizing. “I have Dina to talk to. Go to your meeting, don't be late because of me.”

“Ok I’ll see you soon.” She smiles and stares at you for just a moment too long before leaving the bedroom, closing the door behind her. Holy shit what a night.

As soon as you get home you have a debrief with Dina over the phone, ranting to her about the whole thing. It starts out lighthearted as you and your best friend over-analyze every one of Ms. Andersons’ actions, feeding into your crush on her. Dina makes sure to throw in an occasional “She’s literally in love with you” and “You have to make a move on her or something she wants you”. You laugh her off, but you secretly enjoy her feeding into your delusions. The discussion inevitably turns into a bit of a therapy session. You can’t stop the tears slipping from your eyes as you realize that a simple night out can so easily turn deadly for you. Being a normal woman in her 20s able to party and go out to clubs was so far out of your grasp. You almost died last night and it wasn’t even that rattling, you constantly end up as a damsel in distress despite your best efforts. You knew how to fight well, knew how to use a gun and knives, and yet it was never enough.

Dina tells you about her night in excruciating detail, but you liked to live vicariously through her. Her descriptions of her experiences made you feel a little more informed and a little less like an innocent virgin. She never made you feel lesser than her for your lack of experience though, she rarely even talked about your lack of experience. She was a good friend like that: smart, but didn’t make you feel dumb, beautiful without making you feel like shit, she always made sure you knew you were her equal.

For the rest of the day you allow yourself to mope in your room and recover from the toll the previous night took on your body and mind. You daydream about Ms. Anderson and her strong arms, imagining how she could use them to pin you down as she did whatever she wanted to you. You wonder if she might use her tie to restrain you as she fucked you dumb with her strap, or teasing you with a vibrator until you were begging her to let you come, completely at her mercy.

Unbeknownst to you Abby had come to your apartment to check on you. When you didn’t answer the door she assumed you were asleep and used the spare she asked for from your bodyguard last night. She had debated bringing you back to your own place, but couldn’t resist the opportunity to have you sleep in her bed. She felt gross using that situation as an excuse to be able to smell you on her sheets, but she was getting desperate. She was looking forward to coming home all day and fucking herself with her fingers whilst pressing her nose to the sheets. Ultimately she decided to visit you first, not being able to resist an excuse to see you.

She walks in and immediately notes the homey feeling that resonates throughout the large apartment. Colorful rugs, warm lighting and plants immediately make her feel at ease. It felt like you, it made sense. She envied the ability to capture personality through decorations.

Abby makes her way to what she assumes in your bedroom. As she gets closer she hears you whimpering, she peeks through the crack in the door worried you were having a nightmare or were in pain, but oh she was so delightfully wrong. She saw the beautiful sight of you squirming under your sheets, the soft buzz of a vibrator humming through the dark room. Your eyes were closed, head tilted back as you pressed the vibrator to your clit. Abby couldn’t look away, it felt so incredibly wrong and dirty but she could not bring herself to walk away. She watched as you spread your legs further apart, begging for more. Your whimpers morph into quiet moans as you turn up the setting and Abby is starting to feel an unbearable ache grow between her legs at the sight. You let out a quiet, whiney “Oh fuck” and Abby almost cums in her pants. You turn up the setting even further and Abby can’t help but wonder how much you could take, imagining overstimulating you to the point of tears. She absent mindedly allows her hand to cup her cunt as she continues observing you. Suddenly she hears you whimper Ms. Anderson please, and she is immediately grounded. She rushes out of the apartment, quietly closing the door behind her. She gets home and locks herself in her room, stuffing her fingers into her dripping cunt and cumming over and over to the memory of your sweet voice calling her name.

The next time you see Ms. Anderson, you weren’t expecting her. You were at a dinner with all the men from the inner circle and their daughters. Abby was the only woman and didn’t have children, so naturally you had assumed she wouldn’t be there. But here she sat, listening intently as one of the men told a story about some deal gone wrong. She was across from you, and she was just so captivating to look at. Her usual suit was swapped for a white button down, dark gray vest and black tie. Her muscular arms strained against the fabric, making you practically drool. Her sleeves were rolled up to her elbows perfectly displaying her forearms. You let your eyes follow the veins from under her sleeves to her hands, trying to memorize the way her hands looked as they rested on the table. She hadn’t caught you staring yet, so you decided to be bold, sliding your foot under her pant leg. She didn’t move. You start to move it up, higher, higher, until Abby subtly shakes you off. You accept the rejection, feeling slightly embarrassed until she moves her foot to touch yours. She slowly slides it up and down your bare leg, still refusing to stray her attention away from her current conversation. You shake her off and kick her lightly under the table before getting up and heading to the restroom. She finally averts her gaze to look at you as you get up.

As you walk to the bathroom you silently hope she understood your invitation. To be honest you really didn’t know exactly what you were asking for, all you knew is the tension between you has grown to an almost unbearable point and you were tired of waiting and yearning. You walk into the ladies room, purposefully not locking the door behind you. You face the mirror and begin to fix your makeup, fixing any smeared mascara or eyeliner. You lightly wet your hair trying to tame any fly-aways. Just as you begin to give up waiting the door opens. You turn around, back to the sink, and face the door. It could have been anyone, but thank fuck it was her. She has a slightly frustrated expression on her face as she looks at you. She closes the door behind her, locks it and turns to face you. She leaves mere inches between you two despite the ample space in the bathroom. She looks down at you for a moment, her size was even more staggering when you were this close. You feel a sort of powerlessness, but it wasn’t a negative feeling, it was thrilling. Ms. Anderson gently grips your chin between her thumb and index finger and forces you to look up at her.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing princess?” She asks in a low, hushed tone. You can’t answer, all you can manage to do is look up at her as a smirk appears on her face. “You really have no idea how tempting you are with your little dresses and this little innocent girl act.” She inches closer to you, her lips centimeters from yours. “I’m not even sure it’s an act.” She laughs, “and on top of it all I’m not allowed to have you,” She uses her other hand to caress the side of your thigh and you let out a small gasp at the feeling on her hand touching your bare skin. “To be honest that just makes me want you more.” She uses her grip on your thigh to lift your leg up, hooking it around her waist. Your back is pressed into the sink, hands gripping the edge of the porcelain, her body pressed against yours. She still hasn’t moved any closer, her lips barely grazing yours. You can feel every breath and word she utters from her lips on yours. Neither of you dare move, scared to shatter the moment that each of you have been craving for so long.

“Ms. Anderson?” you breathe out, the words fanning onto her soft lips. Abby sighs at the sound of her name coming from your mouth.

“Fuck it.” She kisses you. Perfectly.

It’s not too soft, not too hard, it was just what you needed. She was so soft and warm, you couldn’t help but melt into her strong body. You whimper softly and she deepens the kiss, her tongue teasing your mouth open. Her grip on your thigh tightens a bit at each little sound you make. Her hand moves from your chin to your jaw, her grip is so, so gentle, like she’s scared to break you. You move one of your hands from the sink and press it against her chest, trying to keep yourself steady.

Abby is the first one to break away, even though it’s the last thing she wants to do. “W-we can’t do this here.”

You look at her, desperation taking over every fiber of your being “Please Miss, I can’t-”

Abby sighs “Just wait until the end of dinner, go home- I won't be far behind you- and I'll meet you there. Sound good?” You nod eagerly “Words princess.”

“Yes, sounds really good.” Abby smiles and peels herself away from you. She smoothes out her clothes before heading for the door.

“See you soon, princess.” She says before slipping out the door and heading back to dinner like nothing happened.

lmk what y'all think! reposts and notes always appreciated 💕💕💕

#abby x you #abby anderson #abby tlou #abby anderson smut #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby the last of us #the last of us 2 #mafia! abby #the last of us

483 notes · View notes

520cafe · 11 months

Text

sour grapes. lost in your eyes

whilst waiting anxiously outside of the library, your eyes have been reading the same lines of text messages that has been exchanged between you and blade over and over again, like a never-ending loop and spiral of words flowing in and out of your head.

after a short while, as in defeat, you let out a sigh which apparently carried an overwhelming sense of dread for the events to come. finally mustering up some form of courage and calling upon a fake spirit, you turned a corner out of your hiding spot where you immediately caught glimpse of that all too familiar figure.

his head was down and leaning against the palm of his hand, with his navy hair covering his ruby-like eyes. yet, this did not hide his undeniable attractiveness and charm. he has not seemed to notice you slowly descend towards the table, his eyes were instead concentrated and fixed on his computer screen. it was when you pulled the chair in front of him where he eventually looked up and saw you, your eyes meeting his.

“you’re late,” blade’s deep voice was monotonous yet clear, just as you remembered. you almost felt weirdly relieved that there were no changes to this.

“i’m not late, you’re just early.” you sent him a small smile before getting your computer out of your bag, like a poorly executed attempt of trying to avoid his direct gaze. “i literally was on time.”

however, you were only responded with silence. when you moved your eyes after logging into your computer, you were met with his red eyes lazing into yours. a slight heat made its way to tint your ears a lighter shade of the falling cherry blossoms outside but he did not seemed phased at all as he continued to study your features instead of the powerpoint on his screen.

he leaned back and you managed to sneak glance at the way the corners of his lips curved upwards, feeling satisfied by your reaction to his actions. as if nothing happened, blade turned his computer towards you which displayed the details for the project. “we have a month for the project, that’s enough time. we can just focus each week on a certain task.” blade calmly explained. “for this week, i can focus on topic 1 while you can do topic 2.”

you nodded in agreement but, that does not simply erase the last few minutes that just took place, nor does it halt breaks to the millions of unpredictable and boundless thoughts that are rushing around your head like a marathon.

“don’t worry, we’ll help each other too.” a chilling voice faintly drifts to your ears as it’s soft landing sends shivers to the rest of your body. this time, the smile on blade’s face was much more prominent and evident, sending you a quiet yet reassuring message.

all you were able to do was to nod and smile back him, any awkward tensions that surrounded the air was beginning to wear off. at last, you let out one final sigh that managed to put your mind and speeding heartbeat at ease.

🍇 SOUR GRAPES 〈 06 lost in your eyes

━━ MASTERLIST. ╱ PREV. ╱ NEXT.

╰► SYNOPSIS. after being in the same tight-knit friend group for over a few months now, suspicions begin to rise when march, seele and bronya start to notice the awkward tensions between you and dan heng. little did they know, you and dan heng were once high-school sweethearts who shared a romantic and fairytale-like past where the pages only lasted for a year. this heartbreak led you to meet another unfortunate victim of cupid but that chapter flew away as quick as stardust. yet, it appears that you two were also destined to cross paths once more.

╰► [ a/n ] : went to my first anime con yesterday! my feet are killing me but it’s lowkey my fault lmao 😭 i managed to bring home many genshin, hsr and even some vtuber pins, badges and prints! anyway, i hope you all enjoyed this chapter and i hope my writing is okay?? i’m pleasantly surprised by the amount of attention the previous chapter received so tysm <3

━━ TAGLIST. @lauvwar-r @sunsethw4 @shizu-c @amyena @zephestia @loudeggbananaranch @lunavixia @twistedrxses @shinjuuz @danhenglovebot @flos-veritatis @sammy-hammy @kiwidoves @aeongiies @heartswonder @lilactaro @lunnaeclipse @m1lley0ns @hansel-the-pierrot @astro-pioneer @aquatikk @obervation-subject-753 @vellichxrr6782 @rubberduckieyourtheone @viovya @stayriki @ceylestia @starryeyedkoko @theflameofyoursoul @kalims @liminalimmortal

#🍇 ━━ SOUR GRAPES !#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #hsr dan heng #dan heng x reader #hsr blade #blade x reader #honkai star rail smau #hsr smau #honkai star rail fanfic #hsr fanfic #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader

505 notes · View notes

yeyinde · 5 months

Text

LEASH CALLED YOU

PUPPY (RUINER) x F!Reader | 18+ Good dogs get rewards, and Puppy thinks you are the best prize to be found in this hovel. So, he takes you.

WARNINGS: smut | P-in-V, rough sex; D/s undertones; VERY HEAVY DUBCON!!; slight breathplay. female gendered anatomy. implied/referenced human trafficking, sex work. canon typical violence. implied threat of violence. loss of agency. obsessive behaviour. this is basically playing house with a psychopath who decides you're his. and he pretty much killed half the city and the guy who was kinda a god. or a king. or something. so like, what are you gonna do? say no? Pff. WORD COUNT: 7,4k imagine writing like, 7k for Some Guy after seeing one (1) gifset of him.

He finds you in South Rengkok.

Nestled amongst a conglomerate of seedy, black market shops in the red light district, you gaze out at the sea of people from a vaulted window in a seamy bordello. A voyeuristic view into the coquettish bedroom they placed you in—red satin sheets and pink, heart-shaped pillows. All dolled up and pretty.

The harsh light cuts shadows under your eyes and frames you in a heavy, oversaturated glow. You look like you're bathing in red. In blood.

The sight makes something curdle in his stomach. He isn't sure why. There's not much of a difference between you and the other workers—all locked up tight; enticing passersby to join in on the garish body auction set to take place soon—but where they see the dollar signs in this, dancing and swaying their hips, pressing their palms flat against the window plane and fluttering their lashes, all lovely and coy, at the men who press back, you sit. Motionless. A little doll.

You don't belong here, he thinks. You're something much too soft and fine, like silk in his hands, and much too delicate to be in this part of town that stinks like wet, oxidising metal and saltpetre.

The slip of your black, lacy kimono barely covers your skin. He tracks it. The shadows, the dips. The curves. His eyes fix on the protrusion of your collarbones beneath the moody fabric, pushed to the side, and hanging off your shoulder in what, he guesses, is meant to be enticing. Kittenish.

They dolled you up to skirt this line between sultry vixen and twee innocence. The sight of it does something to his guts. Has them rolling over each other in tandem with each heavy thud of his heart. It's the way you look that catches his attention, sure, but more than that, it's the look in your eyes.

They glow under the neon smear, hazy and drifting far away, turned inward. Lost.

And then you look up. Catch his gaze through the glass.

There's a moment when everything inside of him dims, quiets. Thoughts, missions. Reason, purpose. It falls under a thick blanket of whisper-soft snow. It's just him—something, nothing—and you. This little cosm of his own making.

You make a motion, then, as if to entice him inside but you hesitate, staring back at him instead. He knows the LED screen on his mask is doing something funny, voicing the thoughts he can't say, because your lips quirk slightly at the corners—bemusement, maybe; he's never been good at reading people—but then HER is husking out orders in his head, all biting witticism, and acerbic humour.

Later, Puppy, comes the clandestine whisper—hot oil down his nape—and he catches the warbled curiosity as it trickles through. Good Puppy’s get rewards. But there's work to do.

Work. Yes, work.

His helmet flashes. He catches the red flicker on the smeared reflection of the window. Garish red. Kill, kill, kill.

You see it, and you flinch.

Good, is the sudden thought. Good.

Puppy isn't sure about much—not anymore, and maybe not ever—but he knows this: he likes the way your eyes widen. Fear, undoubtedly. Round and doe-eyed as you take in the horrible words scribbled in neon.

Fright, dread. It looks good on you.

Pretty, pretty, pretty.

His hands shake. He thinks about how you'd feel under him. How he'd feel inside of you. And—

Purpose, he thinks. Purpose.

There's an emptiness inside of his heart. A hole left over from the remains of LITTLE BROTHER. The dream, the reason, turned into a ghost. Shrapnel in his chest.

He doesn't blame HER for his absence. For the machinations, the schemes. It all led somewhere in the end, even if that place was here. Alone. Stuck, now, with a gaping wound in his chest.

But—

Not for long, maybe.

It'll be an awkward fit—BROTHER was this unknowable, untouchable shadow that lingered in his peripheral vision; a driving force keeping him moving. The space carved inside Puppy for him feels like a cavernous chasm. You're so slight, so small, in comparison to that gaping void, that he wonders if you'll be enough to quench the hunger that brims up from those depths. Rapacious. Wanting.

It's different, of course. You are real. BROTHER was—

Not.

He satiated himself on artificial dreams and empty memories. Those spectral, hallucinatory feelings of desperation to save his younger brother carried him to the very end.

But BROTHER was always chimerical.

You are something he can touch. Have. Keep.

He sees the flash of uncertainty etched into the painted lines of your face as you look around the cesspit you've fallen into, and he knows that you, too, could be that for him. Purpose. Purpose. Purpose.

(His, his, HIS.)

The people wandering around, perusing the shops, stop and stare at you. At this little wisp, all shaken and terrified, and in need of saving. Needing him—

His hand clenches around the pipe.

You're too good for their eyes. For this place.

He'll kill them all, and come for you.

The room that houses his new target is in a penthouse on the better side of the city. Vaulted ceilings. Golden chandeliers. Crystalline glass in a mosaic of iridescent pastel. It looks blemishless, clean, in comparison to the hovel that is South Rengkok. It scrapes against the chalky insides of his skull as he slinks forward, and emerges from the shadows.

He makes his way through the levels, one by one, until all that remains behind him is a river of blood and a breadcrumb trail of dead bodies. Boss’ finest. It's all mostly just—

Cleanup.

A necessary evil, HER calls it, and so, he sees it through.

When he gets to the top, he hears noises. High-pitched, elongated. A sharp grunt.

He finds his target sitting down on a sprawling chaise, knees notched apart. A woman sits in his lap, hands pressed against his chest.

Both of them are naked. Their clothes are in a messy pile by the door.

Puppy watches for a moment. Enthralled, almost, by the sharp juxtaposition their bodies make, and then—

Confusion.

She looks just like you.

His meaty hands are tight around her waist, jerking her down with each sloppy cant of his wide hips. Dwarfing her frame in his bearish paws. She mewls into the room, the reecho of her synthetic moans daggers into his temple.

The pipe in his hand jerks with the rough spasm of his fingers.

Puppy doesn't care much for killing. Doesn't care much for anything at all, really, except for HER, BROTHER. The mission. His objectives.

Cold, they call him. Unfeeling.

He thinks, suddenly, of Wizard. About something he'd said back when Puppy didn't have a name.

You're—heh, you're a killing machine! It must feel so good, you know? To kill.

It doesn't. He feels nothing at all. Neither pity, nor guilt. Regret is an abstract concept in his mind; intangible. Unreachable.

He's—

Ambivalent, HER once supplied. You feel nothing, Puppy, because you are nothing.

Yes. Yes, he thinks. And yet—

There's a strange heat in his veins. A caustic feeling welling deep inside of his guts at the sight of them coupling. His hands on her body is an affront. An insult.

It makes him angry. Furious.

He'll kill him, he'll—

(Go, Puppy!)

In the man's hands, she looks soft. Delicate. Breakable.

Yes, so breakable. So—

She moans, then, and he jerks his chin up, catching her reflection in the marble pillar.

Ah, he thinks. Ah.

She isn't you.

He gets to work.

The success of his mission has HER offering a bleak congratulations in the back of his head. Job well done. He takes it all in, feeling a distinct thrum in his bones that is usually absent following his massacres. Its place, in the hollow gaps of his ribs, is strange. Foreign.

Excitement, he finds. How peculiar.

It offsets the adrenaline rush, the lingering anger coursing through his veins. Killing the Target, his companion who was entirely too similar to you, leaves him feeling satiated and starved at the same time. A paradoxical sensation that shouldn't exist together, but somehow found a way, a home, within the slurry of his chest.

He wants to find you. Has this pulsing need in the back of his head to make sure that the woman he killed wasn't really you. But you are contralateral to his current mission. His objective.

Almost pityingly, the route HER generates takes him right past you: a tantalising tease.

Puppy isn't sure what to call this. Madness, perhaps. Don't be stupid, Puppy, comes the choppy, mechanical whir in the back of his head. You are—human, after all.

The way it's said by HER has his hackles rising, but he doesn't have enough insight on the topic to pursue the strange cadence any further.

Indulge. You earned it.

Your face flashes before him—different, this time. Gone is the thick gold on the crease of your eyelids, the heavy red on your lips. You're barefaced. Gaunt. Your complexion reminds him of the bruised blue of the sky above. Midnight. Iridescent rainbows in an oil spill.

He wants to touch you. His hands shake.

A series of numbers flicker at the bottom. The price, he surmises, for you.

An auction. Right.

Tonight, HER supplies. He feels the clinical amusement in the back of his head. Oh, but Puppy—

To offset the generosity, HER pulls up the amount he carries on him. Cruel. Mocking. It's compared and contrasted. The difference is staggering. He can't afford you. Doesn't even come close to the asking price.

(Couldn't even afford the entrance fee.)

Sorry, Puppy—

The mechanised warble is pushed down before it can start.

That's fine, he reasons, dismissing it all. Dismissing HER.

He has no intention of paying for what's rightfully his, anyway.

The bordello—boasting some strange mix between classic geisha-sensualism and modern sex appeal (and somehow missing the mark for both)—appears closed for the night.

A fallacy, of course, as everyone is just inside. Squirrelled away with cheap vodka, cigars. Waiting their turn to cash in their victory tokens.

He looks at your window, shutters closed with a looping scrawl on neon pink that says be back soon~!, and makes his approach.

There's no plan for this. Not that he's ever really had any to begin with—most of what he does is driven by an endless need to fulfil someone else's objective through the brutal physicality he wields—but he makes an effort to go stealthier than usual.

He doesn't want to risk triggering a failsafe that will keep him away from you any longer than he needs to be.

Not that it matters—

These lowlives—some assemblage of Creeps, local gangsters, and general nobodies—are mere nuisances in the face of his ice-cold ire. His rage. Tearing through them is nothing. The fight they put up is flimsy. Tissue paper defences. He supposes they never really anticipated him showing up to reap his dues at an event that has been advertised for several weeks now (how he missed your face on those gaudy billboards hanging above the taverns in the red light district, he'll never know). A high-class event, they snicker from behind the thin doorways.

Politicians gambling away public funds to buy pretty prizes. Gangsters, pimps, all looking to pocket more flesh for their own abattoirs.

Killing them is insubstantial to this cleanup mission, he knows, but there's a thrum of vindictiveness that roars through his chest when they squeal, begging for forgiveness that they must know won't come.

(He's barely merciful on a good day.)

HER is a cheerleader in his ear, egging him on. Go, Puppy! Get your prize, Puppy! and he lets it fuel himself forward until he's covered in viscera and gore—a jaw bone breaks off, tacks on to the lip of his boot; blood drenches the sleeves of his leather jacket, stains his collar—and surrounded by pulpy, broken bodies. Alone.

It's quiet, now. The only sound is his heavy, ragged breath muffled by the mask covering his head. The harsh thud of his pulse cottons his ears, blotting out everything except the heady rush of blood raging in his veins.

HER watches with an alien sense of amusement that prickles in the back of his head. Wrongness permeates from their mirth as they take in the carnage spread out amongst the halls.

It all means nothing to him. A means to an end.

Nothing to them, either. To HER. This is a game.

The wet end of the pipe drags against the herringbone floor in a metallic squeal done to announce his presence from anyone unlucky enough to survive the brutal apathy of his initial assault. He hears nothing. Just the grind of rusting metal on wood. Porous. Hollow.

It all ends in a muted bloodbath. A bloodied trail of bodies leads right to your door.

Untouched, despite the garish horror painting the walls in rotting red. Congealed blood blackened under the thin oxygen in the room.

There's no movement from within, but he knows you're here. Can feel you through the wood. Catch the rabbiting of your heart. Your gasping breath.

With the hand not clutching the pipe, he reaches for the handle, turns. Locked. He expected it. You must have propped something up against the knob during the first onslaught of his fury. Smart.

But it's not enough to keep him out.

He pries open the door to your room with one hand, shattering the flimsy back of the vanity stool you jimmied beneath the handle. Cute. Resourceful. His heart pounds in his chest. He can't wait to have you.

Go, Puppy!

He takes a moment to shut the door behind him—no escape—before he slowly swivels his head toward you. Taking you in.

(Finally.)

You stare at him with that same look on your face as before. Terror, he reasons, and tries to piece it together on the men who looked at him as he cracked skulls open with the blunt end of his pipe, tore jugulars out with his bare hand. Fear, he thinks. They look at him with fear. Loathing.

But you're missing that one. There's no hatred on your face, no curses spat out even when he stalks forward with the same steady gait as always, the bloody end of his pipe leaving a macabre breadcrumb trail for anyone to follow.

There's a sea of dead bodies behind him. Businessmen. Lowlives. Commonfolk. The other girls. It didn't matter.

They were in the way.

All of them.

(The man, too, who came to collect you like a prize winner at a seedy casino. His head, in particular, is rendered into nothing but a pulpy mess of grey matter, tissue, blood, and bone.)

He thinks you might cry, but you don't. You stare. Owlish. Wary. Between the thick, brick wall—your cage—and him, there's nowhere for you to run. He slows at that, coming to a stop several paces away. Watching you back. Assessing. Calculating.

You're nervous. Shaken. He's under no disillusionment that you hadn’t heard the screams just outside of your door. Heard the thuds. The cracking of skulls. The breaking of bones. A bloodbath only several paces away. A massacre. Scary enough to you that it made you try to save yourself, to lock whatever it was that stalked the halls from getting to you.

How terrified you must have been.

Puppy doesn't feel much for anyone. Maybe the odd moment of sympathy for the inhabitants of his city, the ones who beg and plead for his help with the things they can't control, can't fight back against. He extends small mercies where he sees fit.

But for some odd, unfathomable reason, he has the sudden inkling to reach out. Pity. You're so pitiful to him. Poor thing. You poor, poor—

In a moment of pure absurdity, the words: are you good? flash across the curved plain of his mask, and you make a noise somewhere between a yelp and snort. Mangled in the back of your throat.

“Does it matter?”

And, oh—

Your voice does something to him. Turns his insides liquid. He's melting, he thinks. Burning up and turning to a heap of molten ore by your feet.

He tries to reign himself back in, forcing himself to focus. Focus. Puppy ponders your question for a moment before ultimately deciding that it doesn't.

(Or, rather, it does; but maybe not in the way you'd want it to.)

In the end, he gives you a shrug. Banal. Dismissive. It makes your brows furrow. A valley forms between them. Irritation bleeds through the flat apathy you forged.

There's a scoff. He thinks you look prettier like this—a feral, hissing cat. He wants you beneath him, clawing at his chest. Spitting curses in his name.

(Wants to try to tame you. Wants to fail.)

“Of course,” you hiss, hands fisting in the sheer fabric of your kimono. “You're no different from anyone else, are you?”

Puppy shakes his head in response. He isn't a good man. He's made of spare parts stitched together to create an amalgamation of likeness to some king he barely even knows. A megalomaniac. A madman.

In all honesty, there probably isn't much that separates him and the men who vied for your affection, paid for your attention. Threw coins toward an auction just for the possibility of taking you home.

But there is a difference.

Puppy will have you. This he is certain of.

There's nowhere for you to go. This city doesn't want you. Doesn't deserve you. He'll take you with him, chained at the wrist if he has to. Shackled. Caged.

You are so funny, Puppy, HER intones, amused. A puppy with a puppy.

Yes, he decides. His puppy. All his.

He found you first.

Puppy lets the pipe—drenched in blood, bone; in viscera that makes you recoil sharply with a flinch—fall to the floor with a metallic clang. With his hands free, soaked, he lifts them up, offering his palms to you.

It's not a peace offering, but he's seen what untamed cats can do when cornered. And while you're no match for his unfathomable physicality, he'd rather you didn't hurt yourself trying to maim him.

Still—

Mine, mine, mine flashes, lightspeed, across his visor. He gives you a moment to let the words, the meaning sink in.

—you’re his. With that ironclad notion comes the freedom to do whatever he wants.

Whenever he wants.

And then he moves.

The difference in your size is almost hideous. Grotesque. He towers above you—a looming mountain—and knows that it would take at least three of you side by side to even hope to match the width of him.

His hands, too, dwarf you.

It curls something noxious inside of his guts. A poison-soaked miasma that subsumes in his bloodstream, pulses in the base of his spine. A hunger. A heat. You're so small in comparison to him. So delicate. He could break you in two, shatter every bone in your body.

And there's not much you could ever hope to do to stop it.

He shudders at the thought, and knows he likes it more than he should.

Later, though. Soon. He wants your hands on his skin. Wants to see you come to terms with the vastitude of him, and watch as the realisation that you are well and truly his sinks in.

He reaches out, palms upward, and waits.

It doesn't take long.

(Well-trained, is the hiss. He ignores it, lest he claw his own skin off.)

You flick a scathing glare in his direction first, caustic and hateful, but you bend to his whims without a word. You touch him hesitantly, running the soft pads of your fingers over the metal of his hand, feeling the bumps. The groves in his circuitry.

Everyone so far has tried to chisel in his head. Galvanise him down into a mindless toy (HER makes a noise, he ignores it), but you seem to avoid his head. Touching the places on his arms not smeared with blood or gun oil, running down the thick wires in his artificial arm. The veins on his real one. The hair dusting his knuckles.

Then you spot the blood caked, dried and blackened, under his nails, and you recoil slightly. Pulling back. Dropping to his chest.

His breath whirs out in a deep tremble when you shiver at the muscles—hard iron, brass—that hums under your palms. It's tentative. Soft, almost. Exploratory as you navigate the newness of his body and this strange situation you've found yourself in.

There's a fractured look on your face that he can't quite place when you slide the cup of your hand over his beating heart.

(Surprise, maybe. You must have thought him a machine.)

You stay there for a moment, quiet. Pensive. Gaze inward as you mull something over, something he can't fathom, can't ascertain.

“You…” your voice comes out on a stilted breath after a brief silence. “You killed them all.”

It's not really a question. He grunts his affirmative, anyway, and reaches out to settle his hands on your hips. You jump when he touches you. Tense and angry in his arms, but you let him pull you in close. Are almost docile when he tucks his chin against your crown, lets his hands slide to the small of your back.

You make no move to pull away. He lets that notion marinate in the back of his head, bending reality to suit his whims when he decides that you must not want to. He hugs you tighter, nuzzling the top of your head when you shudder.

He's not sure where you're going with this particular line of thought. Doesn't, entirely, see why it matters much. Everyone is dead except him, you. The only two breathing in this disgusting bordello that reeks of thick, spicy incense and myrrh to hide the scent of sweat, stale cigarettes, and sex. Something plastic. Synthetic. Lubricant, he imagines. Latex.

Knowing that you spent an insurmountable time in this cesspool has anger spiking inside of him once more, but it's quelled, immediately, when remembers what the other men who lurked in these dilapidated corners look like now. Viscera, tissue, and bones are now all painting the cheap panelled walls in a deep maroon splatter.

(He'll burn it all down before he leaves tomorrow.)

He keeps you close, shackled. A parody of a lover's embrace.

Your hand drifts up, a slow crawl to the base of his neck. Puppy lifts his chin. The bright red question mark shading the room in an ethereal neon glow.

“You killed them,” you repeat, knuckles grazing the over-sensitive skin where his mask melds to flesh. “But you didn't kill me. Why?”

He feels the press against his jugular. A soft ache in his throat. It doesn't hurt, but he knows you want it to.

Puppy's puppy has fangs.

Puppy reaches up, snatching your wrist in his mechanical hand. Feels, instantly, the grind of delicate bone under harsh, unyielding metal.

You don't flinch.

“Why?”

Under the harsh edges of your anger, your feigned indifference, he catches sight of the look that drew him to you in the first place. Absolute despondency. A vacancy in the hollow of your eyes. Misery, maybe.

If he were someone else, he might have felt pity for you. Ripped from the arms of whatever birthed you into existence, thrown into this disgusting hovel, and now—

A pet for a pet.

Kept. Chained.

Puppy will keep you forever. He knows this just as sure as he knows his heart pulses in his chest. The sun rises. Falls. He'll take you with him, wherever he goes.

You're his.

A fine consolation prize you've found for yourself, HER quips, and he's content to ignore it for now. Their amusement is clinical, a kittenish scratch in the back of his head.

But he does agree. You're a fine prize, aren't you? His little treasure found in a trash heap.

His, his, his

all his, all his, all his—

(You look at the promises, the answers, flickering across the surface of his visor, and shudder—)

Puppy doesn't say anything when you lead him by the wrist to sit on your bed, simply opting to follow along with your demands for now. It's cute, he finds, the way you try to bully him around even when your hands shake, knees tremble.

He rests his forearms on his thighs, letting his hands dangle in the space between his spread knees—the picture of ease; the manufactured torpor of predator—and he waits. Watching, rapturously, as you flit in front of him. All soft and pensive as you look him over. Taking stock of the blood on his leather jacket. The stains on his pants. The flat surface of his mask, broken only by the protrusion of his nose.

Boss was a megalomaniac. A narcissist. Knowing that he's made in his image, his likeness (spare parts; a fractured failsafe), he can only assume you like what you see when you look at these scraps that make him whole.

Whatever you find, it shades the appraising glance in a hue of calculative decision—suddenly firm, now: wily.

“Okay,” you say, and bring your hands to the sash holding the sheer kimono in place. “I'll be yours—” his hands twitch; reaching for you already. You dance out of the way from his grasping knuckles with a scoff. “Only if you're mine, too.”

If he had a mouth, he might have grinned.

You seem content to take the lead after a noncommittal response to your demand of shared ownership (the idea alone of which has him thickening in his slacks), placing your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself before swinging your thigh over his lap, taking (what he hopes becomes) your rightful seat.

It places your barely covered centre right against his prominent bulge, sending an electric buzz down the base of his spine. The look when you feel him throb against you is equally as scathing as it is feverish, and nearly comes undone at your glare alone, panting harshly against your collarbones.

“Down boy,” you murmur silkily before dropping your cunt right over him.

Whiteout. Static. He sees nothing but blurry slashes of red, red, red—

His hands are bruising on your waist, and he's not sure if he's pulling you closer to him or pushing him away. Maybe both. Tugging, tugging, until he can feel the red-hot heat of you burning through the fabric of his trousers.

You can't kiss him so you pepper sweet, soft kisses against the column of his throat, teeth nipping the seam where metal meets flesh. Marking the column of his pale throat up with the brand of your claim. Your ownership.

A collar in red, black, yellow, and blue—

He doesn't have a mouth to claim you back, but his hands punch your flesh until it's pressed harshly against bone. Bursting blood vessels under your skin. It puddles there. He runs his fingers against the pool of blood that softens your skin, and understands, then, why the sting in his neck feels so fucking good.

He feels consumed. In a tailspin. You grind against him, and he sees stars.

Puppy can't think when you do that, and you seem to know this because you don't stop rolling your hips over his straining cock, pinched tight in his slacks. It's too much.

He wants you. Wants you. Wants you.

You pull back, and huff at the projection on his face.

“You're impatient,” you say, but you're slipping your hand inside the waistband of his pants in spite of your exasperation, fingers dancing over the soft skin of his groin.

It feels molten when you touch the base of his cock with your knuckle. Just a nudge. Just a press. He thinks he could come undone like this. Just like this. With your hands on him. Soft, dewy skin.

But he wants you pinned under him, taking him. Has thought about nothing except your knees spread, thighs open. Pussy bare to him. Full of him. Nothing but him. Him, him. It made him ache. Burn. A low grade fever in his guts at the enticing image of you beneath him. Pretty lips open, moaning. Eyes wide, doeish.

“You’re too—”

You start to say something, but he can't take this anymore. It's too soft. Too gentle. He wants you bent over. Wants to be inside of you already.

And so, he follows through.

You make a noise in the back of your throat when he gets his hands on the underside of your knees, and unceremoniously tips you back onto the velveteen sheets. The flimsy silk of your kimono spreads, unveiling the softness of your body. Your bare breasts, nipples pebbling under his stare.

With it haloed around you in an inky black spill over your arms, leaking from beneath your body, he thinks you look ethereal. Unreal. Otherworldly.

The slip covering your pussy is barely in the way. He can see dewy lips peeking out from the sliver of black nestled across your slit, wet and red. Red. Red—

“P–Puppy—!” You yelp when he tugs his trousers down with one hand, the other keeping your leg up, pinched tight on the underside of your knee. Spread open. Nearly bare.

He presses the heel of your foot where his neck meets shoulder, keeping it in place with a soft pat to your calf, before dropping his hand down to join the other in ripping the thin scrap of fabric keeping you from him. He's graced with another yelp, but it isn't in pain or distress, and he ignores it outright.

Mindless, it seems, in this pursuit to be inside of you as quickly as possible.

Your panties—if they could even be considered such a thing—are pushed deep into his back pocket. Saved for later.

And then he turns back to you. Spread open. Waiting and willing under him. The sight of you like this steals his breath from his lungs. Sparks embers in his guts that smoulder, billowing smoke through the hollow of his chest.

He tastes ash in the back of his throat. Wishes, suddenly, that he could quench it on the slick, hot taste of you—

Gripping himself in one hand, he presses the blunt head of his cock against your slit, glistening from your wetness in the jaundiced glow of the moody light above your head. He's glad he didn't cut the power to this shithole because the way you quiver beneath him as he rubs between your folds is nothing short of mesmerising.

You're wet. Soaked. All for him, even if you keep hissing out that this is just a bodily reaction to stimulus, don't be so full of yourself, you psychopath—

His hand drops. The flat side of his thumb pressed against your clit. You arch so prettily when he touches you like this, knees shaking, eyes fluttering. He presses harder, makes small circles against your sensitive flesh that have you whimpering. Whining.

“No more, no more, no more—”

He can feel the molten centre of you flutter around his weeping tip. Silken, inviting. He wants more. Knows that you want it just as bad, too.

Impatient now, he lifts his fingers from your clit, and wraps it tight around your thigh, gaining leverage before he slowly, agonizingly, begins to presses inside—just the tip, the first inch—but the way you wrap around him (all tight, wet silk) makes his mind grow fuzzy around the edges. Electricity rockets down his spine.

He thinks he blacks out for a second, short-circuiting at the white-hot pleasure of being inside of you, because when his eyes focus, he's pushed all the way inside, trembling above you.

You're whining his name with tears dripping down your temples, legs quivering around him, and he wonders if this is that version of heaven, the real one, he'd read about once.

It's too much. Not enough. He rolls back on his hunches to see the way you swallow him down to the base. Pulled taut, and far too pretty for what he's doing to you. Poor, pitiful thing. He'll ruin you, he's sure. Mess you up so badly, no one else would ever be able to touch you without thinking of him. Only him.

It's a thought that sends a thrill down his spine, and he rolls his hips just to watch you squirm. Builds up a sickeningly sweet momentum as he forces your body to acclimate to his girth, to the unyielding stretch of his cock. You're too tight around him, and he worries that the taut stretch might be too much for you, but it's passing. Temporal. He knows he doesn't really care. You'll take it all. All of him.

Nothing will tear him away from this pretty cunt of yours.

It flicks against a long dormant part inside of his hindbrain, and he pants for it. Chasing this feeling, this high.

The slow crawl within you isn't enough to satiate himself. His belly rumbles. His throat burns.

Puppy gives you no warning before he snaps his hips into you as hard as he can.

Your wet cries start the beginning notes of his new ascension, and he pounds into you harder. Faster. He fucks you like he's starved for it. Aching. Desperate. Belatedly, he thinks about your pleasure, about bringing you to the same highs the tight clutch of your pussy is bringing him, but he can't focus. Can't think. It's mindless, this lust. Turns him inside out and makes him greedy. Selfish.

He wants, wants—

Never, in all of his insignificant life, has he ever wanted something as much as this. As you. Pressed beneath him, mewling out his name as he forces himself inside of you, as deep as he can reach—

(and then deeper still because Puppy wants to crawl inside of you; want to nestle against your heart, tucked under the bracket of your ribs and with the way he fucks into you like this, bed whining in protest with each furious, sloppy snap of his hips, he just might make that dream a reality—)

—and fuck. Fuck.

Somewhere in the tangled web of his thoughts, all white-noise, static pleasure, he can hear HER utter things in secret under the heavy pants of his ragged breath (things like, you deserve this, Puppy; good boy, Puppy; treat your toy—kindly—Puppy), and it spurns him on. Makes him ache to drive those mechanised whispers out of his head, filling the space they leave behind with the sweet echo of your voice in ear.

Scream. For. Me flashes across the visor in bloody red, and he sees when it registers in your glossy, wet-eyed stare. Cuts through the haze of sex, the lashings of fear that still curl in the shaded valleys when you look at him, and digs its talons into tissue, bisecting the chemical slurry turning your thoughts to mush. There's a moment of clarity. Brief, ephemeral, because he's pressing in as deep as he can once more, grinding against some spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll, and your head drop.

Name

It flashes again, and finally—

Your pretty mouth drops open, spittle running down the corners as you struggle to keep up with his frantic, feverish pace, but nothing comes out—nothing he wants to hear, at least. Please, you beg, and he feels the plea like a punch to his gut.

You're so pretty when you beg.

But that's not what he wants.

Bad girl

It comes as a warbling flicker. Distorted in his anger.

You shudder under him, eyes widening when he drops his hands down to your throat, palm swallowing you whole from chin to sternum. For him, it's as gentle as he could be, but you gasp for breath, tears pebbling in the corner of your eyes. Hazy, murky, with fear and pleasure; the warring sensations separated only a hairline fracture, a thin sliver.

He shifts forward and has you take on more of his weight, stifling more air from your lungs, and making you feel the power flex of his massive body cocooning you entirely. No escape.

Your hands unfurl from the white-knuckled grip on the sheets, slamming against his shoulders as you try, futilely, to push him away. You're frenzied. Desperate.

Puppy finds it endlessly charming.

His hand lifts, offering a slight respite that you seize eagerly, greedily, gulping down wet, feverish lungfuls of air.

“Y–you bastard—”

He likes it when you cuss at him. A feral, hissing cat. He falls over you once more, shadowing you under his bulk, and pistons his hips into the apex of your thighs, feeling the slickness of your cunt drench his groin.

Angry, spitting thing. And yet—

You're so fucking wet for him.

You like this. The way he bends you mercilessly to his whims. Folds you in half.

His hand stays around your throat, feeling each breath and moan that reverberates up his arm. The other drops from your knee, falling to the black, iron headboard that grinds into the wall with each thrust. Centering himself. Gaining more leverage.

Puppy fucks you like this. Trapped beneath him—a tumulus over you—and unable to do much except take his cock however he decides to give it to you. And give it to you, he does—

(Mercilessly. Pounding you so hard, your breasts jerk, and your eyes flash vividly as you struggle to stay afloat in that equinox of pleasure-pain that rages over you.)

HER says he doesn't have a face, and maybe that's true. It might just be a flat mess of wires sutured to flesh. But

Puppy wants to devour you. Swallow you whole. Wants to taste the sweetness of your cunt on his tongue. Feel your lips on his. He wants to pry apart your chest and suckle from the marrow in your ribs.

He wants you.

Wants you. Wants you—

He's not entirely sure if he's human, but he breathes like you. Heaves. Gasps. Can feel the wet, molten clench of your pussy around the thickness of his cock as he spears you open. Pleasure blooms at the base of his spine. Punches through his groin. Bludgeons him. It makes his head feel heavy, fuzzy. Somnolent with the mindless drive ticking in the back that pushes him forward. Makes him want to imbue himself in whatever it was that made you. A pithy god of old. Stardust.

He wants to remake himself in your image. Spare parts just for you—

How romantic, Puppy.

“Fuck—!”

Your voice is saccharine in his ear. A velvet gust of smoke curls in the back of his head.

With his hand around your throat, he feels the words before he hears them. It sends a thrill down his spine—dancing fingers pressing tight to each vertebra as it splits open the ventricles housing his spinal fluid, letting it all leak out into his bloodstream.

It's ecstasy, maybe. Or the closest thing to it he could ever reach.

“What are you doing to me?” You slur the words out against his metal cheek, hushed and fractured. Raw. “It feels so—good—oh, Puppy—!”

He shifts his pelvis into the bracket of your thighs. The head of his cock rubbing over that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back, and your cunt squeeze him tight. A pretty box wrapped, velveteen, around him.

There's friction in the pit of his stomach. Tension in his groin. It pulls taut, feels heavy.

He's close. So, so close—

You seem to realise this, too, your eyes growing wide once more as he twitches inside of you, pressed deep. Cockhead nudging into your seal.

“No, no—”

Despite your protests, your body is tightening up, quivering under him.

He takes it as an invitation.

Puppy's hips stutter to a slow grind as he hits the apex of his pleasure, cock throbbing, spitting his release, deep inside of you.

Around him, beneath him, you tremble. Shake. He can feel the tremors of your own hastily reached climax when you squeeze his cock tight in a vice, undulating pulses that seem to rocket from the sensitive nerve endings around him all the way to his brainstem.

It's good. Too good.

He doesn't have any other ambition right now outside of burying himself inside of you over and over again.

He wonders how deep his spare parts go for a belated second, how much of himself was forged in Boss’ likeness, but dismisses it immediately. It's unimportant to him.

“You're awful,” you gasp sweetly in his ear. “Terrible. A terrible man—” And fuck. He wants to ruin you again.

Puppy pulls you close, pawing at you until you're situated in his arms. Manoeuvred around like a little doll. He finds you precious, really. So malleable. So soft. He presses you flat to the lumpy mattress and folds himself over you. Thick thigh strewn over your hip, pinning you down. An arm tucked under your nape, bent at the elbow to curl over your shoulder, fingers brushing your collarbones. Shackled.

This is new. Foreign. He's never felt this before—all soft edges; sickeningly sweet. Unable to help himself, he bears his weight down, arching above you. Staring, openly and unabashedly. Drinking you in.

He wants to crawl inside of you. Worm his way to the place where you burn.

You're stiff in his arms. Silent.

But that's fine. That's okay. He'll melt you eventually. Make you understand that Puppy is yours now, silly. All yours. And you're—

All his.

Just like you wanted.

He owns you. And in turn, is owned by you.

It's fitting, he finds, considering all his miserable existence was spent handing his leash off to whoever grabbed it quick enough. Their hands were rough. Indelicate. He takes your hand in his, knuckles bleached white from the quivering fist you've rolled them into, and pries your fingers loose. Threads his between the gaps before you can swat him away.

He can feel your pulse like this, pressed palm to palm. A precious little thing. So fleeting. A hummingbird in an ivory cage.

Poor thing.

“What—what are you going to do?” You rasp, voice hoarse from the grip he had on your neck. The sound of it—gritty sand, smoke—makes him shiver. He likes it, he finds. Wonders if you'll sound the same if he scraped your throat raw with the tips of his fingers.

His cock.

You huff when you feel him twitch against your hipbone—cock tacky from his cum, your wet cunt—but make no move to pull away.

He purrs.

Keep you, is projected and you suck in a sharp breath like you'd expected that. Then, he adds a heart. A red one. Mine.

“I'm not yours. I'm not anyone's—” he doesn't bother correcting you. You'll learn soon enough. “And you don't even know me. Why do you even want this? I could be a liability. I could kill you in your sleep—”

Could, not should, he notes, fondly.

Hahahaha passes by and you let out an aggrieved snarl at the sight. “You're so fucking horrible—!”

He nods in response, and presses the jut of his nose to your sweat-slicked hairline. Breathes you in. Amber. Humus. Loam. You smell like ozone. The streets after a heavy rainstorm.

You smell good. Like home.

“Do you even like me? Or am I just something to fuck?” is whispered so softly into the air that he might have missed it if he hadn't been trying to suffuse atoms.

He hears the fragility in your voice. The paper-thin foundation holding you aloft.

In all honesty, he doesn't know what he feels for you. It's all—

Abstract, perhaps. Grainy smears of feelings, sensation, all roiled around inside of him. Intangible.

He just knows he wants you. Has wanted you since he first saw you, sitting all pretty in a glass cage. Untouchable to anyone except the highest bidder in your upcoming auction.

(Spare parts. A pretty bird in a cage.)

What a pair you make.

He likes that, though. The way you fill this barren hole in his chest. Pilliating the listlessness that rolls like a marble inside of him. In turn, he wants to do the same. To stuff you full of him. So full, there's room for nothing else. No one else.

There are flickers of life buried deep within you that he longs to dredge up. He thinks you'd be beautiful with your hands wrapped around his pipe (disgusting, Puppy), and that, for him, is enough.

He's sure one day you'll feel the same.

Until then—

His fingers tighten around yours and you wince at the pressure before gasping when the metal gears in his joints begin locking in place. Stiffening. Shackled to him, now, until he decides to release you.

Goodnight flashes. He sees the words reflected in the glossy canyons of your eyes. Smeared red bleeding into the dawning realisation that you are his.

And no one else's.

There's no escape.

#Puppy (Ruiner) x Reader #Puppy x Reader #ruiner #huuuuu #imagine staying up all night writing unhinged smut for puppy from ruiner after seeing one gifset lmao #and doing it while the wips i've promised to finish weep from neglect in the background #am so tired and this is so so niche but i need to flex my smut skills for some upcoming fics and this was the best time to do it me thinks

299 notes · View notes

shibaraki · 1 year

Text

QUEST FOR YOUR HEART ┊ SHIGARAKI TOMURA

tags: GN reader, established relationship, fluffy fluff, gaming together, animal crossing!!!, cute aggression

wc: 1K+

A gentle whirring fills the room. The fan turns on its neck, blowing a soft breeze across the room, lit up mostly by the LED lights hung across the walls. You shy away from the chill by burrowing into Tomura’s hoodie, intentionally oversized and lined with fleece.

Your boyfriend is a warm, grounding weight at your back. You’re laid together on his bed, atop blankets and covers left unmade, consoles in hand. A quiet melodic tune carries through the speakers. Tomura turns to shape himself around your frame. You smile as he nuzzles the nape of your neck, lips brushing the skin there.

His words are muffled. Repeated, still unheard when he refuses to move even an inch. “Come to my island,” he mutters.

You make a soft, curious sound, too fixated on the mindless action of your little character digging hole after hole, planting new seedlings for your villagers. Frustrated, Tomura exhales out of his nose, and the short breath makes you shiver.

He tilts his head, “I said come to my island”.

“Oh,” you mumble, blinking into focus, “Okay baby”. The buttons click as your thumbs move, guiding your character towards the airport. “Are your gates already open?”

Tomura grunts an affirmative. You let your eyes flutter closed to the idle brush of his nose along the curve of your throat while the loading screen runs. When he moves away, presumably returning to his own device, you open them again. Your character ambles out into the airport, greeted by the dodo working the gates.

Tomura’s character waits outside. Their look is somewhat inspired by himself. Messy silvery blue hair, dark tattered clothes. A black mask covers the lower part of their face. You smile at the white bunny ears that sit on his head at your request. Cute.

You flick the right stick and begin to run circles around him excitedly, to which he hits you with his butterfly net. “Stop bein’ dumb and follow me,” Tomura mutters without malice, working his ankle between your legs beneath the covers. You hum and trail after him.

The island is… pristine. Not at all the way you remember it. Skilfully terraformed to resemble a Super Mario level, custom patterns and themed items laid across the land. Everything had been intentionally placed. His villagers were navigating the space happily—though he still stops to smack them all, and they spin in place, stunned.

You’re amazed. He’d only started playing alongside you a week ago after finally giving in to your pleas. Watching him play was nice and all, but you wanted something to share together. He protested that animal crossing was pointless, boring and a waste of precious time that could be otherwise spent farming. But while he might not admit it, Tomura is weak for you. A little besotted by you. A few days of whining could go a long way.

Though you can’t help feeling a twinge of petty regret. A pout pulls at your lips when you see the lily of the valley flower standing proud by the fenced entrance to the beach. You’d known he was good at video games but you hadn’t expected him to reach five stars this fast.

Just ahead, Tomura’s character skids to a stop and turns back. A musical note rings through the speakers as a blue question mark appears above their head. Tomura shifts behind you and curls in between your shoulder blades, insistently nudging his cheek to your spine.

“Hey,” his voice comes after a pregnant pause, gravely and hesitant. “You fall asleep or something?”

“No,” you mumble, tucking your face into his pillow. The mattress dips as he braces on his elbow to lean over you, crowding into your space, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you from squirming away. “Tomu—!” crimson eyes squint against his crooked grin, colour rising to his skin. He dips, snaggy teeth sinking around the swell of your cheek.

The light indentations left behind are soothed by the shameless swipe of his tongue. “Gross,” you grimace, only to be licked again. He sneers.

“I’ll lick you when I want,” he says. And then continues with some pride, “You’re sulking about my island”.

“Am not”.

“Are too,” Tomura’s forefinger pokes at your soft waist. In the dim light you can still see his pinky half raised. “Idiot. Why’d you ask me to play if you were gonna get mad at me for being better?”

“You’re not better you just time jumped,” you argue reflexively, overcome by the urge to hide in his hoodie. The upbeat tune pouring from the island softens as day turns to night and you sigh. “I’m not actually mad, baby. I don’t know. It’s just…”

Tomura hums. You suppose he would understand your incomprehensible pettiness more than anyone. Warmth encompasses your body once again as he slips his arm beneath your head, tucking his knees behind your legs, bringing his console around to hold it out above yours.

Tomura’s character slaps the floor with their net. “Come on,” he coaxes. You swallow, moving the sticks clumsily to amble after him. You’re taken along a stretch of beach. The horizon curves to reveal lines upon lines of items. Money bags and white gift boxes tied neatly with red ribbon.

“Who do you think I got so good for?” your fingers flex, startled by lips brushing the shell of your ear. He kisses you there, featherlight, enough that he could deny it. “Take all of it. Do multiple trips if you need to, I don’t care”.

“All this is for me?”

Louder, and directly into your ear, he groused, “Not gonna say it again”.

You dissolve into a fit of laughter, recoiling from his voice, game briefly forgotten. Tomura bites back a smile. He wraps his limbs around your body as though he were trying to consume you. Brings you into his chest and holds you there, locked in place, heartbeat reaching for you through his ribs.

After catching your breath, with a mouthful of his shirt you murmur, “Thanks baby”.

Above, Tomura kisses your crown and replies, “Whatever”.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki tomura x reader

823 notes · View notes

updownlately · 1 year

Text

it’s gonna take me a minute (but i could get used to this)

| alessia russo x reader | fluff (fluffity fluff fluff) | 2.8k | inspo: used to this by camila cabello | a/n: first req! lets gooo! s/o to @awfcolivia for this one! this was really fun to write and i hope i did it justice! couldn't decide between fluff or fluff overdose so i just went with the latter :)

~~~

You weren’t a morning person. You really weren’t.

The idea of waking up early, to be cold, to be miserable, was frighteningly unappealing to you. Plus, the mere thought of having a to-do list pester you mentally before the rest of the world was awake was downright abusive in your opinion.

It’s why you had been a late riser all your life, why you had dreaded high school and why your one and only year at university solely consisted of afternoon and evening classes.

All in all, you really didn’t enjoy early mornings. Not until now at least.

Now? Now, you chose to wake up early, albeit more by force than by choice.

These days, your mornings dutifully started at 7am, an outrageous time protested not only by the old you, but your official cuddle buddy as well, yet it was something you chose to stick to.

Surprisingly, ever since you had signed your first pro contract in the NWSL, you had taken the initiative to take soccer even more seriously, if that was even possible. Altering your whole daily routine, diet, and especially sleep schedule, you had strived from your first official practice to be a better you, a better player.

Your transformation had been difficult for you, taking months to perfect and leaving a hole in your wallet from when you paid your teammates to help keep you in check, but it had been well worth it. The eventual betterment of yourself had not only helped you improve on the pitch, but it had led you to a starting spot in a top WSL team across the pond, playing high class football. An even better result of your efforts though, you thought, was the bed you got to share on the nightly with your own human teddy bear.

Said human teddy bear who was still tangled in the sheets beside you, sleep shirt half ridden up, face scrunched up adorably.

As you slowly gained consciousness, the cold waking you, you let your eyes wander over to your lover. The taller girl was sleeping soundly next to you, her golden locks disheveled, lower back on display as she faced away from you.

Your eyes traced the curves of her barely visible visage, following the slope of her jawline, appreciative of how it met so perfectly with the slope of her nape. You took note of how the crook of her neck looked so inviting, the one spot you knew drove her crazy tempting you, nearly begging to be kissed.

However, your admiration was soon cruelly interrupted, a gust of a chilly English breeze that you still hadn’t grown accustomed to making you shiver and hug the comforter a tad bit tighter whilst a few profanities silently slipped past your lips.

Accompanied by a grimace, you mentally cursed the weather, then yourself for not closing the window properly the night before as another blast of ice cold air came in, resulting in you further snuggling under the covers in search of warmth.

Taking a few measured deep breaths in, you reached for your phone, willing yourself to check the time. You knew for a fact your alarm for six forty-five hadn’t gone off, yet you prayed that maybe, just maybe, you had magically missed it, and it was in fact later in the morning.

Unfortunately, or fortunately for you, your memory served you correctly, the bright digits on your screen read a mere quarter past six, much earlier than you needed to be up.

Quietly groaning, you gently slammed your phone on the nightstand and contemplated between sleeping for the last whatever minutes you had left or getting your day started. In the end though, neither option won, your attention quickly getting stolen by the striker beside you who had just sleepily shuffled over onto her right side, inching closer to you and extending an arm out in search of your body, almost as if she could sense your displeasure.

You shook your head in amusement, your mood indubitably improving, leaving you smiling softly to yourself at the limb that was mindlessly shot out in your direction.

Reaching out, you intertwined your hand with your girlfriend’s, fingers caressing the ridges between her knuckles. Craning your neck down, you placed a gentle kiss on each of the joints convincing yourself that maybe this early morning wouldn’t be so bad after all if it got you your fill of your Lessi cuddles.

Making your decision then and there, you dropped your interlaced hands down to your chest once more before delicately tugging Alessia’s arm in a wordless invite, knowing she was just barely awake enough to understand.

Shifting your body in order to comfortably catch the oncoming ‘Lessi-bear flop’ as you infamously called it, you screwed one eye shut, anticipating the force that you knew was undisputedly headed your way.

Within seconds of you opening your arms to the slightly conscious striker you could feel the whole mattress shift as a tired Alessia comprehended your tug and body movement, putting two and two together to comply with your silent request, much to her enjoyment.

Even in her fatigue, she managed to lazily pick up her body, balancing in almost a plank position for a split second before pushing off her hands and pivoting at her knees, letting herself fall onto you with a loud thump.

And even though you had braced yourself for the impact, it still managed to knock the wind out of you, leaving you slightly wheezing, adjusting to the weight of the 5’9” striker now near-completely resting on your body.

“Good morning to you too love,” you chuckled softly, your breath evening out slowly.

In lieu of her raspy morning voice however, you instead were met with a gentle grunt, the blonde clearly not awake enough to be holding conversation, not that she wanted to be.

In fact, if Alessia had it her way, you both would be staying in bed till at least nine, if not ten, especially on days like this where you had no training or events to get to. She knew that you weren’t a late riser anymore and she wouldn’t tell you this, but if she had it her way, if she could, she’d hold you hostage each morning, wrapping you in her arms, forcing you to stay if it meant she’d get to spend a little more time with you.

It was the way you’d softly wake her up on the rare mornings where hers and your alarm would align, tiresome trainings causing you to skip the early morning run. The tender kisses you’d press to her face, quiet cuddles being shared, seeking out warmth before the coolness around you would cause shivers down both your spines. The way you’d whisper her name, calling out to wake her up. How her name never sounded sweeter than when you’d say it after you’d kiss her a final time, a promise of more unsaid but communicated thoroughly as you’d pull her out of the shared bed, leading her to the bathroom.

Regardless of how much she yearned for those calm mornings on the daily, she let you be, for your sake if anything.

She knew that your career was important to you, as much, if not more than hers was to her, so she understood. Thus, each morning that you opted rather to go on a run and leave her alone, cold, with nobody to cuddle with, something she would tease you about whenever given the opportunity, she never minded. She would be more than happy to let you spend the next few years waking early so that the pair of you could spend the rest of your lives waking up late, a promise of forever in each morning that she woke up to an empty bed.

It’s why when you let Alessia cuddle you as she was now, her whole body on top of your smaller frame, her head tucked in the crook of your neck, legs intertwined, an arm wrapped around your midriff, she drowsily basked in the moment, knowing it was few and far between.

“Sleep. Stay…sleep,” she mumbled, tightening her hold on you, slowly succumbing to the sleep that plagued her, hoping she could enjoy this moment for as long as possible.

You hummed in response, choosing not to outwardly say anything, running your finger over her tattoo, aware that you’d have to leave your koala of a girlfriend in a little bit to go start your day.

Deciding to indulge for a short while however, you chose to instead stop your mindless tracing and reach your hands up, one coming to graze the blonde’s back, the other running through her messy locks, gently working their way through the tangles and scratching her scalp, a tried and true method you know would calm your girl.

Faithful to the past, you could hear the blonde sigh at your ministrations, sinking imperceptibly further into your hold, her grip just slightly loosening up as sleep overtook her once again.

You didn’t doubt that when it came time for you to get up that it would be a battle, if not war, especially now that the forward had you in her favourite cuddling position. And you weren’t wrong.

As the clock struck closer to seven, you mentally prepared yourself to extract yourself from the endearing girl wrapped in your arms.

Taking one look down at where she lay, not having moved an inch from where she fell asleep a short while ago, you couldn’t help but place a gentle kiss on the top of her head, letting your lips linger, not wanting the serene moment to end even though it had to.

However, when you shifted slightly while trying to angle your torso in order to somewhat slide the Englishwoman off of you, you realised your misjudgement. You should’ve known better. It wasn’t going to be that easy. Not with the stubborn blonde that you called yours.

“No…stay,” a whine rumbling against your neck, the arm holding your waist quickly tightening.

“Less, my angel, I need to get up,” you whispered, heart melting at her display of adorableness.

“No you don’t. It's a day off. Day offs are for rest.”

“Lessi, baby I-“

“No. Stay. Please.”

You willed yourself to not look down at Alessia's pleading, already feeling a pout on her lips from where she was nestled against you.

Eyes cast upward, the ceiling currently your best friend, you tried to reason again.

“My beautiful snuggle monster. Less, my love, my angel, the love of my life, my pretty girl, I need to go on my run. Please let me go? I promise I'll make it up to you later.”

You knew that if you stayed in bed any minute longer, you wouldn’t be making it out until much much later, something, it appeared, that your girlfriend was also aware of.

“Five more minutes…”

“Love, we both know it’s not going to be just five…”

“Then stay. One day of rest won’t kill you…” This time, Alessia lifted her head from where it was resting, calloused fingers lovingly grasping your cheek, pulling your gaze down, drawing your attention to her. Letting her aquamarine eyes meet yours, she tried one more time.

“Please? I want you here. I want you to stay,” The whisper of words, accompanied by the return of her pout, this time in full force, to her sleep-dazed face hit you hard. The Englishwoman looked absolutely precious if you had to say yourself, truly testing your willpower, and you knew for a fact that it would be something that she'd win against.

“You’re a bad influence aren’t you Ms. Russo,” you sighed, a smile fighting its way onto your face as you give up, knowing you weren’t going to emerge victorious from this one, especially not when you couldn’t even move. Alessia had held you captive in more ways than one, unaware of the grasp that she had on your heart.

Doing a little shimmy to celebrate her success, something that resembled more of a struggling worm due to her laying down on top of you, the blue-eyed girl let a drowsy smile appear on her face at your statement, paving the way for you to mirror her with a matching grin adorning your own.

“Y’know you’re lucky you’re so cute? Can’t do anything when I got you in my arms I swear,” you jest, faux exasperation lining your tone.

Lowering herself once more, Alessia positioned herself on top of you, settling into the space between your legs, her torso completely engulfing yours, blonde head comfortably tucked under your neck.

As you let your arms circle her waist, wrapping around her once more, pulling her impossibly closer to you, Alessia continued to smile in triumph.

“They say bad girls are attractive don’t they?”

You let out a quiet chuckle, shaking your head fondly. “Well you have the attractive part down already, I wouldn’t worry too much about it,” you tease, cheeks beginning to hurt from how much you were smiling.

“Alright flirt…calm down now,” the words being accompanied by a gentle smack to your bicep, followed by a yawn. Dear god the duality of this woman was going to kill you.

“Hey...you started it. Anyways, I think you at least owe me a kiss now,” it was your turn to pout, the ghost of a smirk playing on your lips. “If I kiss you, you have to stay in bed till I'm ready to get up.”

“That's quite an offer. let me think about this…” you smiled, the both of you aware you were just messing with her.

The striker moved onto her arms, trapping you between the mattress and herself, lips inches apart from yours, her forelimbs acting as a cage. Leaning in, you could feel her breath fan across your lips. “How about a few kisses?”

“Hmm. I don't know…”

“Baby…” She dragged out the word, causing you to nearly break your facade.

“You drive a hard bargain but you got yourself a deal pretty girl.”

This time when Alessia pressed close, you gladly accepted her warmth, reaching up and pulling her in to yourself, soft kisses being traded between the pair of you. You let the faint scent of her perfume envelop you in a tender bubble, her body providing you comfort, the familiar arms and lips nudging you to rest, to relax.

When Alessia eventually gingerly pulled away, air becoming a necessity, you made sure to take a note of her eyes, the calming orbs laced adorably with sheer drowsiness.

Wanting to make sure that regardless of your early morning shenanigans, that your love still got her rest, you quickly laid a loving kiss to her forehead and ushered the forward to get comfortable once again, your hands working to cover your entangled limbs with the comforter once more.

You began to run your fingers through her hair once again, the other hand finding purchase splayed across her back, faintly rubbing the expanse of skin underneath her sleep shirt.

Feeling her heartbeat slowly even out, you whispered out a quick admission of your love, hoping that even in her drowsy state she would be able to feel the never-ending love you held for her.

“I love you so so so much Less. Don't you ever forget it."

The way Alessia hugged your t-shirt just a little tighter, hands coming to fist the sides, pulling you closer, you knew she understood.

And when you’d wake up again a few hours later, inevitably before Alessia, you’d let yourself smile, amazed at how what once was you fighting demons to wake yourself up early turned into you begging the universe to dedicate you a few more hours of morning light, a few more hours of soft times, of murmured confessions of love and sweet kisses with the indisputable love of your life.

Finally allowing yourself to relax for the time being however, you loosened your muscles and let your thoughts run free, mind imagining the future of your dreams with the angel in your arms.

You could vividly picture a series of perfect mornings, a handful of years down the line where the pair of you would stay wrapped up in each other’s arms, in each other’s love long after the sun has risen. Gentle mornings where cuddles would be a must, after which the pair of you would start your days slowly, never too far apart, never too rushed, nowhere to be but bathing in the glowing warmth of your love.

You knew it would happen all in due time. You knew that it was your stubbornness of the sport that withheld those flawless mornings from you. But you also knew that it would be worth it in the end. That those perfect mornings would eventually come, that the love between you two would extend far beyond your love for football ever would.

One day at a time, a couple hundred more mornings to go, then your love would be all yours, and you hers. You’d just have to patiently wait to achieve it.

It would take you a minute but you’d eventually get used to it.

#alessia russo x reader #alessia russo imagine #alessia russo #woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #fluff #x reader #reader insert #my writing #fic #igtmam #fic req

507 notes · View notes