#fresh linen scent is so good too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adelheidvonschicksal · 2 months

Note

Nsfw scenarios/hcs for the LADS boys with their MC in ABO!AU (Idl if I wrote this right 😅) please? Like how they marked their mates, how they treated their mates during the rut and heat, etc.

+ Omegaverse, sexual content, alpha boys/omega reader, female reader

General

9/10 possessiveness level

Xavier is the most possessive of the main boys and gets jealous the easiest. He may seem calm about other alphas standing a little too close or talking a little too long to his mate, but the tension in the air is thick and unpleasant. There's a specific eery calmness to his face and falsely polite tone to his voice when he happens to cut into the conversation. He always wants to know the topic of conversation when you talk to anyone who has his suspicion. Xavier suddenly gets a little needier than usual, always trying to figure out a way to draw your attention back to himself. Or, purposely sliding an arm around your waist and holding you close in a silent hint that whoever is talking to you should back off, or he will drop his head against your shoulder, saying he’s tired, and asking you to hurry up so you can go home together, he emphasizes. His last resort isn't pretty.

While calm, he has a little of a competitive streak with others, whether that means scoring higher in your hunter team battles or building the largest snowman together. He is competitive for your attention against those he thinks are interested in you; and when he has you alone, he insists on scenting you or mating you. You better be prepared to hide large bite marks or hickeys by the time he’s done claiming you.

Protective Level: 6/10

Xavier has no problem with you running about your daily life. He has confidence that you’re strong and don’t necessarily need much protection. He only insists on coming with for two things: (one) if he’s jealous of the person you’re meeting or (two) if you’re going somewhere to fight on your own.

As long as he’s around, he’s confident that things will work out fine. However, he gets extremely protective when you’re hurt, asking for you to stay behind him, rushing ahead to be the vanguard, and trying to take on the brunt of everything himself. And if you get hurt being rash, prepare for him to be upset with you and insist that you allow him to protect you more.

Scenting

Scent: Fresh Linen

Xavier smells good, but there isn’t something to pinpoint about his scent that is unique to him. Simply put, he smells clean, like freshly dried laundry with a touch of lavender.

Xavier loves covering you in his scent, cuddling and sleeping with you until you’re no longer entirely sure what your scent smells like not mixed with his. He scents your things, like your plushies, before you even need to ask.

He likes to tease you, asking if you want him to scent his hoodies even more since you take them so much, and he’s always happy to oblige. His first instinct to calm you down consists of three options: scenting, cuddles, and food, in that order.

Mating

Xavier already likes to mate with his partner a lot, like a constant rut minus the attitude that comes with it; always wrapping his arms around you, nudging the back of your neck, and lightly coercing the situation to where he wants it to end up whenever the opportunity shows itself.

In a rut, he’s twice as easy to rile up and much more direct about wanting to be alone with you, wanting to hold you and shove his head into the divot of your neck, and audibly inhaling your scent. You can already feel him against you in more ways than one.

He doesn’t waste his time trying to play games with you during this time, choosing to show you exactly how much he wants you before taking charge. You’re burnt out by his energy when you’re used to him napping right after a round or two. This time he isn’t letting up, but he promises that he’ll treat you so well, promises that he’ll get you there twice in exchange for letting him have one more time, as if you're aren't already overstimulated with jellied legs.

He asks if you're already tired. He'll let you sleep but can he at least squeeze and kiss you while he uses his hand. He promises to clean his mess if it gets on you. He'll be good, he swears, and he's so puppy eyed that you let him.

When he finally is tired, he’ll fall asleep while inside you. His knot stopped swelling a long time ago, but he enjoys your warmth around him as he nuzzles the back of your head.

Xavier does his best to tend to his mate when they’re in heat. He’ll get warm compresses and try his best to cook for you (most likely failing) and offer to nap with you when you’re in pain. He’ll let you use him how you want as long as it makes you feel better, whether that’s using his hands, mouth, or knotting you.

There’s a small bit of worry from him, with the way he asks,

“Where do you need it?” “Like this?” “Are you sure you only want my fingers? It’s okay to ask for more.” “Open your legs wider. You don’t have to be embarrassed. It's only me." "Next time, I'll let you take care of me, deal?

You’re so cute like this, needing and wanting him, but he hates how it causes you pain.

General

3/10 possessiveness level

Rafayel tends to have confidence that he can have you before anyone else, trusting your judgment to take care of yourself. He also has pretty high esteem of himself when it comes to the social world. A few properly chosen words is usually enough to get any seducer to back off. Rafayel can’t believe someone else could possibly think they’d have a chance with you when you have him.

As repentance, he wants you to do things for him after little incidents like that. It’s so exhausting chasing lesser alphas off, after all. Whether he’s serious or not when he says he could use some affection after his omega so cruelly ignored him for another alpha remains to be determined.

If there ever is a time where he feels insecure or jealous, he isn’t above trying to cut off someone’s relationship with you. If it comes to threats so be it, but it will end. It doesn’t matter if it’s from your side or the pursuer. It’s an ultimatum, either him or the other person, but not both.

He has a bigger concern about you not needing or growing bored of him than falling in love with someone else. Otherwise, he tends to have faith in you.

Protectiveness Level: 8/10

Rafayel knows you’re strong. Trust him—a twisted arm and playfights abound—he knows. But you are also bulledheaded and naïve. He worries you might end up getting yourself injured; or worse, killed.

So, he’s observant as always, watching for any suspicious activities with the people you’re around, whether warranted or not. He wouldn’t just do that for anyone, only for his precious mate and also for his precious peace of mind. He tends to operate from the background to not be too overbearing, but he doesn’t mind being the one to step in—to get hurt—if it means keeping you safe.

Scenting

Scent: Beach Sand with a Hint of Citrus

Rafayel smells of white beach sand and tropical fruit. He smells like the first hint of salt air and the ocean breeze and mineral. It reminds you of family vacations and old memories. He insists most Lemurians have scents like these, but his is special! It's the only one that mixes so lovely with yours.

He does scent you when you ask, but he requests that you do the same. It’d be much better for you to scent each other. He loves to tease you when you ask him to scent things for you.

“If you like it so much maybe I should make it into a perfume.” But he’d hate it if you actually agree. “Wait, let’s not be too hasty. A perfume really can’t compete with the natural source.”

Mating

Rafayel dislikes his mating cycle only because he dislikes losing his sense of control over himself. But when you’re there, with your scent clouding his mind, it’s all bets off. He’s so needy and HAS to have you. He feels like he’ll die if he isn’t burying himself in your scent, your presence, in you. He needs to feel your hands on him and isn’t below demeaning himself or being more forceful than usual to get it.

He’ll constantly seek you out, calling you late at night. He has nothing to say. He just needed to hear your voice, just keep breathing for him, he’s almost there. He needs you to come over to his place right now. It’s all your fault he’s burning like this. You need to get there immediately and take responsibility before he goes insane. He's already dizzy and his hand isn’t cutting it anymore.

In person, he grabs your hand, and the look in his eyes is begging in place of his mouth that’s too heavy with pants to talk straight as he savors your touch, desperate and gluttonous.

“Right there...don't make me beg…just a little bit longer.” “I need to feel you. There. You feel incredible.” “If you want my knot, you can have it. Say you want it for me, and I’ll give it to you. Say it.”

When it’s your turn to go manic, he’s going to have his revenge for all the bullying and petting you did while he was rutting. He’s going to coo and fawn over how much you need him, and make you ask him nicely for his touch, but he’ll always give in to his little mate. He knows what’ll make you feel good, and he’s going to give it to you in due time. He thinks you look so pretty when you’re about to cum, covered in sweat, body tensing, the shallow, quick breaths.

“I wish I could paint you like this, but I don’t want to look away.” “Do you really want me to breed you that bad? Don’t say you didn’t ask for it.”

Rafayel is going to make sure you have an easy time, clearing out your schedule for you and letting you stay in the studio with him. Thomas' calls are going to go unanswered for a while.

General

6/10 possessiveness level

Zayne is able to get jealous; however, he isn’t one to distrust you. It’s other people he doesn’t trust. He’ll drop hints he doesn’t like something you’re doing, a sarcastic jab here, a polite warning there, and even a “you should be careful of the company you keep.”. He always introduces himself as your mate to ensure there are no misconceptions about your relationship with him.

Zayne occasionally has to remind you that he’s your partner especially when you insist on teasing him and being a brat, poking at that jealous side of his to rile him up. It doesn’t take long for you to get the idea after having him between your legs. It’s really more of a funny thing, seeing him possessive, because he becomes a lot more short-tempered but absolutely refuses to admit he’s being possessive.

However, he calms relatively easy with some reassurance, and he doesn’t care as much if someone likes you after he knows you have zero interest in them. It’s more of an annoyance than something for him to fear.

Protectiveness Level: 10/10

Zayne is always so worried about you. He always has to tell you to be careful, to watch where you’re stepping so you don’t trip, to not drink too much without him there to take you home, and to watch for injuries. It might be a bit of his doctor attitude coming out, but it’s so much worse when it comes to you. You know no one else who adds the weather of the city you’re in to confirm you’re okay.

He’s also protective of your mental wellbeing; he tends to be the rock you rely on. If someone is bothering you, you can tell him, and he’ll be sure to handle the issue immediately.

Scenting

Scent: Bamboo Forest

Zayne smells like bamboo forests, a mix of floral and earthy. It kind of reminds you of him, calm and quiet but strong and solid like the earth. Fresh, green, and slightly woody. It smells like nature.

He scents you when you ask, and he quietly scents you when he wants, always overthinking if it’s something you want him to do or appropriate at a given point in time. It doesn’t take long for him to become better at knowing when you want it, when to leave something with his scent for you when you’re upset, and when to simply cradle you against him. His mood improves exponentially whenever you shove your face into his chest and mumble about how good he smells.

Zayne loves the way you smell. It’s a familiar and comforting thing to have your scent greeting him after a hard day at work. It lets him know you’re doing okay, and he gets worried whenever your scent is off. He can usually tell the slightest changes of your mood, and it makes him agitated whenever you try to pretend you’re fine when he can clearly tell different from smell alone.

Mating

Zayne tries his best to control himself and avoid you during his ruts. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you, which leads him to being too restrained whenever he’s with you to the point where you can tell he’s not handling himself well.

It’s going to take a few times to convince him that you can handle it, that he can let go and give you everything before he finally allows himself to dive into his hormones, throw you against the bed, and kiss you hard. It's almost like a completely different side of him. Sure, he could always be dominant in the bedroom but there was always a control to it. Instead, he's instinctive, running off the rush of endorphins to reach the peak he desperately wants to tumble over, harsh and tunnel visioned as he chases the sensation of you clamping down around his knot.

“Hold it there, we’re almost there. You can handle it.” “Let me have you a few more times. Then, you can rest.” “Good girl. You’re doing so well. So good to me.”

During your time, he is meticulous. Zayne knows you almost as well as you know yourself, knows what sweets you like to eat, what positions make you the most comfortable, and tips on how to keep yourself together.

That only works so long, however, and soon he takes a more hands on approach in helping you through your heat cycle. His fingers curled up inside you, pushing that sweet springy spot inside you that has your juices pouring over his palm. He shushes you as you beg for him to give you more and more, to please stop this edging and fuck you already.

He promises he’ll make it good, but he has to slowly work you up first, so you won’t get overstimulated. Then, he’ll give you what you want until you pass out.

“Hold still, or do you want me to stop?” “Does it feel that good? I’ll be sure to remember that for next time.” “See what happens when you follow directions?” “You’ll have your reward soon. Which do you prefer to have—my fingers or my knot?”

Zayne also takes special care of you no matter the situation, making sure to wipe you off and hold a warm rag to your swollen and puffy cunt as he makes out with you. He scents you heavily afterward and lets you fall asleep against him until it all starts over again.

#rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #lads x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lnd x reader #xavier smut #rafayel smut #zayne smut #adelssmut #notsfw #omegaverse #abo #tw: omegaverse #female reader

2K notes · View notes

wesstars · 8 months

Text

touch

jenna ortega x fem!reader (no pronouns)

summary: jenna, your lovely girlfriend, has been away filming for far too long, in your opinion. she thinks so, too. wc: 2.6k tags: explicit, MINORS DNI. all characters are 18+. phone sex, masturbation, bad dirty talk lmao, this is basically all bad dirty talk, light D/s dynamics, name calling/slight degradation, praise, reader is a soft dom, strap-on referred to as “cock,” horribly excessive use of italics, feels a bit odd writing rpf… a/n: @crazyoffher :) returning the favor!

masterlist

6:01 pm

call u in a sec?

A grin lighting up your face at the text, you hurriedly type an affirmative reply as you unlock your apartment door. Dropping your bag, you kick your shoes off, sighing as you shed your coat. Making a beeline for your bedroom, your eyes slide shut as you flop down on your gigantic bed. You’d washed the sheets earlier, and they were feeling extra soft. If Jenna were here, she’d be rolling around in them, covering her own scent with one of fresh linen.

Usually, she was—you were lounging in your shared apartment, a wide open space near the top of a sleek, tall building. Every evening in LA, the two of you could be found here, the appeal of a night in far exceeding that of a night out. A bottle of wine and a packet of popcorn to share wasn’t rare either, the expensive drink wasted on you two young lovers.

Everything had happened so quickly, but you loved it. A chance meeting on a plane had led to a long conversation about anything and everything, so common for new couples, and one-drink dates across busy nights had culminated into a fateful party invitation and an equally fateful blushing confession. Your relationship was wild, and crazy, and everything you could’ve wanted. A year later, Jenna had surprised you with a set of keys. It was a certain kind of promise that made those long nights, waiting for a phone call from half a world away, so worth it.

As if on cue, your phone buzzes in your pocket. Seeing the ID, you instantly pick up.

“Jenna?”

“Hey,” her familiar voice comes shyly through the speaker, a comforting sound. “Are you busy?”

“No, I just got home from work.”

Jenna hums in a way that tells you she’s plotting something, and her little stifled giggle just confirms your suspicions. You fake a sigh, happy to venture into her ploy.

“Jenna, did you have something to drink?”

“No.” She huffs a laugh. “I just miss you. Tired of me already?” She asks, with innocent veneer.

“Of course not,” you say. “It’s good to hear from you, you're so busy now, I had to talk to your secretary,” you teased. She was busy, but you’d already done the calculation of Jenna’s timezone to yours—for her, filming would’ve just wrapped up in the midnight hours. For you, the setting sun was just beginning to stream through the glass walls, and you pressed the button on the nightstand to draw the curtains.

“Well, if you’re not busy,” Jenna presses on casually, “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Jenna,” you smile. It was a dialogue you two had often, something you never tired of.

“Mmm,” Jenna’s voice tugs in your stomach, lilting into a whine at the end of her emission, “I miss you, baby.”

Your mouth goes dry; it’s an automatic reaction. Damnit, this girl—she knew what kind of effect she had on you. You were glad the room was dark, because if you had to face your own blushing cheeks in the light, you might’ve just collapsed. You pull the phone away from your ear long enough to take a deep breath. “Do you, Jen?” Keeping your voice composed, you roll the end of the duvet between your fingers to keep you grounded.

“Miss you so much,” she says, the rustling in the background telling you she’s rolling on the covers. She lets out a lilting laugh, the sound sending a swooping, giddy feeling into your stomach. Jenna’s trying to lure you in; it was her game: enticing you with that docile, persuasive tone.

You decided to play, though you held back just a bit. “How much?”

“Some of your clothes still smell like you,” she says in lieu of a direct answer. “So I’m wearing your big shirt, the black one.” You’d been wondering where that shirt went, one you often slept in. Even now, you can see in your head how Jenna looked when she stole that shirt: it cut off at her thighs, the kind of sacrilegious short that inspired crimes. It reminds you of countless times she’d surprised you, when you slid your hands up under the hem to find—

“What else, Jen?”

“No bra,” she replies sweetly, laughing lightly at the end.

“No bra, huh,” you repeat. You can practically feel your pupils dilating, the heat around your collar. “Good.”

“And this,” Jenna sighs, “lace number I got here; it looks like the one you gave me last year.”

Your jaw clenches, and you glance at the clock, looking but not seeing. You remember what she’s talking about—a pair of panties, an expensive little excuse for fabric that grew dark at the slightest moisture. Jenna’s birthday had ended in a long, long night.

“It’s red,” she says, “just like my nails.”

Fuck. Everything feels hot, and you can just picture her in that standard issue trailer, lights dimmed, alone in a way that should be illegal. “How much time do you have?”

“Not a lot… got an early morning tomorrow.” There's a trailing edge of disappointment in her voice, but you’re familiar with her—she’s looking, hoping for you to guide her, to push her in the way only you know how.

You breathe in, deeply, your own desire quickly falling prey to Jenna’s. She had you wrapped around her little finger, that’s for sure, but she trusted you to hold her down. “Hand in your hair, Jenna. Gentle,” you instruct.

You hear her sharp inhale, but you have no question that she’ll listen. When Jenna gets like this, playful but pliant, you know she’s willing to go with just about anything you ask. It’s torture for you, each second you wait. “Now pull.”

Her responding whimper sends a bolt of heat down your neck, and you let out a silent breath. Jenna loved it when you would touch her hair, even when it was as innocent as just braiding it. The haze in her eyes when you’d tug on her locks, telling her how good she feels, was your favorite. “Harder. Do you like it?”

She breathes out, “yeah.”

“Good,” you say. “Tell me what’s been on your mind to get you eager like this.” She’s shy, you hear it in her sigh, even though her hands are still running in her hair. “C’mon.”

“I miss your mouth on my neck.” The words tumble out of her almost immediately, and you dare to wonder if that’s been on her mind all day. The bruises you’d left there before filming started were long gone, no doubt. She’d begged you to make them darker, and you were all too happy to please. “I miss the car, before the airport…”

Those frantic, heated ten minutes you two were able to spare in the car before Jenna’s flight were chastised by her manager and makeup team, but you wouldn’t have traded them for anything. “That’s perfect Jen,” you coax gently. She liked your encouragement, you knew.

“And…” it’s as if something snaps in the air on the telephone line, pushing both you and Jenna’s inhibitions to the ground. “I wish you were here,” she whispers, the cliche line sending equally cliche butterflies rushing through your lower stomach. “I’d be on my knees for your cock right now, and you’d pull my hair, so I’d-” she whines, a small and breathless noise-“suck it so good ‘cause I know where it’s going next—”

“Fingers in your mouth,” you interrupt, blood rushing in your ears. “And listen to me.” If you’d let Jenna keep going, you might’ve just booked a plane ticket right then and there. You can hear her obey you through the speaker, moaning softly. “Play with your nipples under your shirt. Be gentle.” It’s a warning, you know she knows, and a reminder that you control her pace.

“Mmm,” she hums, complying. It’s practically confession on bended knee, how her muffled whimper makes something shoot through your lower stomach.

“Press down on your tongue.” You hear her breath shaking, right in your ear. It makes you bite your tongue to keep from moaning out loud. “Don’t gag, don’t be greedy, Jenna.” She whines around her fingers, and you know her telltale little cry as she touches herself as instructed. You can hear that she’s not being as gentle as you wanted, but you had always been weak for your girl.

“You wanna put on a show for me, honey? Twist.” You wouldn’t know it, but Jenna instantly closes her eyes at the word show, her pulse spiking.

Jenna’s uneven breaths are pure song to you through the speaker, and it puts your every nerve on edge, remembering how she would sprawl on your sheets, just like how you were now, happy to be over or under you. She’s so vocal tonight, every exhale coming out with a small oh, and it makes you wonder if it’s because of something more than just the distance and time between you two.

The cadence of her breathing matches your stuttering heart. “For someone that likes having her mouth stuffed,” you mutter, “you sure wanna talk real bad.”

The whimper Jenna lets out is enough of an answer.

“Alright babydoll, you can take your fingers out.” Almost immediately, you can hear her panting. You keep your voice even, despite the heat on your cheeks. “I bet you’re soaked, aren’t you?”

Her voice is raspy when she speaks. “I am…”

“Two fingers in your cunt.”

“What about-” you can hear her swallow- “what about my underwear?”

“Push it to the side,” you say, dismissive. You could practically see Jenna like this, warm brown hair splayed on the pillows, shirt rucked up to her breasts, with enough want to end a war.

It’s silent on the other side of the line, save for the shallow breaths you hear her taking. “Are you waiting, good girl?”

She hums an affirmative.

“Go ahead, I won’t make you beg right now,” you say with a nonchalance you absolutely do not have, “fuck yourself.”

Her breathy laugh in response would drive a saint to sin, and she’s only all too eager to comply. Jenna’s shudder comes out in her moan as she shoves two fingers in herself, shameless in her need.

You close your eyes, her quiet little moan telling you all you need to know. The impatient groan she gives you is just vulnerable enough to be desperate, and it makes your head swim.

Jenna’s voice is small. “You know…”

“What is it, darling?”

“Wish I could put this on a camera for you, baby,” she whines, breath hitching. “Wish you could watch me right now.”

The mere thought of it is enough to have you biting your lip, hard enough to bleed. With the way that Jenna loved to perform, the idea had occurred to you before, but you were always too hesitant to bring it up. “You want me to see you, don’t you? Blushing and wanting all by yourself,” you mock, your arousal overriding your rationality, “you need someone to fuck you, is that it?”

“I need you to fuck me, fuck me so hard that I don’t remember it all, and,” her voice breaks, “you’ll make me watch our video later, to make me like this again.” You close your eyes again, your knuckles growing white around the sheets fisted in your hand.

“Like what, Jenna?”

“Messy, and-” her voice climbs higher with a gasp-“needy.”

The words cling in your mind, ivy on a terrace. It only takes half a moment for your mind to conjure her up again, flushed cheeks and two fingers deep in her pussy, framed by red lace.

“Is that what you are, mmm?”

She gives a moan, and you laugh because she’s embarrassed. It’s nearly pathetic, how bad you wish you could see Jenna’s face.

“Want…” There’s a hesitant pause. “Want your hand around my throat, too.”

God, no one knew how to play you quite like Jenna did. “Jenna,” you groan, your facade rapidly crumbling, “you’d look so pretty like that, baby.”

“Yeah,” Jenna agrees mindlessly, “I like it ‘cause…” her voice is strained in a way that you just know she has her head thrown back, strong and delicate, “you’re so gentle.” It’s with a bleeding intimacy that momentarily makes you forget you’re thousands of miles away from Jenna, and the only thing you can think of is her warm eyes on yours, just begging for you to touch her.

She quiets down, and in the damning silence that follows, you hear her fucking herself. And because you know your girl, you know she wants you to hear.

“That’s filthy, Jen,” you say, matter-of-factly. It makes your head spin, the knot in your stomach tightening.

“I know,” she whines, and you can hear her going just that bit faster. “Fuck-” she exhales sharply- “I’m—I’m close.”

“Already?”

“I’m sorry,” Jenna whispers, and you know with every hitched moan, she’s hitting that spot inside of her. She’s not sorry, and you certainly aren’t either. “I can’t help it…”

You hum noncommittally, feeling anything but. “Don’t come until I say, alright?”

Jenna moans right into the receiver, and you can tell she’s frustrated to high hell. You laugh lowly, something cruel, and it only serves to fuel the way your fingers crave the smooth of her skin, how your tongue wants for her taste.

But that’s when you hear it, blazing through the fog in your mind, of brown eyes and pink lips. “Please…”

“Please what?”

She falters, breathing ragged. “Please let me…” A beat.

“Let you…?” You press on.

“Please,” her voice edges on the right side of desperate, the side that makes all of you pulse. “Baby, I’m so close…”

“I know,” you say simply.

There’s a silence that hangs in the air, and you know without seeing that Jenna’s cheeks are so red with her embarrassment that you could’ve slapped her and not gotten that same glow. You wait, patiently, nails biting into your skin.

“Let me come, please.” Her voice comes out like a quiet sob, resistance broken by her desire.

Letting out a long breath, you press the phone harder to your ear, feeling your fingers tremble. “You’re such a needy slut, Jenna.” She whines again, pleading and keening.

“I know,” she’s soft with it, “I am… so, please?”

You bite your lip, mind swimming, letting her plea hang in the air.

“Come for me, Jenna.”

It's quiet, at first, and then you hear it—a soft, little ah from where she’s clapped a hand over her mouth, and then muffled moans spilling out from behind as she tries so desperately to not let anyone else hear. You clench your jaw, wanting so bad to tear Jenna’s hand from her mouth just so you can take in every little whimper, quiet her with your mouth instead. But you whisper praises into the phone instead, coaxing her through her orgasm. She comes hard, you can hear it in the way she pants after she’s calmed down.

Jenna’s breathing evens out, and you know it before she does—she’s asleep. Your eyes close again, fist clenched in your bedsheets. It wasn’t the first time that she’d fallen asleep right after she came, and it makes a soft little grin play on your lips. The other end of the line is a loving, sated silence. You keep your voice low, not wanting to wake her.

“God, the things I’m gonna do to you, Jenna.”

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

masterlist

#project wes #fanfiction #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega smut #smut #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader smut #reader insert #self insert #jenna ortega fanfic #jenna ortega fanfiction #jenna ortega fic #lgbtq #jenna ortega x y/n #wednesday addams x reader #how can I snooze and miss the moment you’re just too important #tara carpenter x reader

2K notes · View notes

sopebubbles · 1 year

Text

One

Master list

Synopsis: in a world where alphas, betas, and omegas live along side modern humans as second class citizens, you've fallen through the cracks of a society that wants to take everything wonderful from you. Luckily a timely encounter with the boys just might save your life.

Chapter summary: you shouldn't be out in your condition, but at least Jungkook and Jimin are there to save you.

Warnings: assault/violence, ngl m/c is basically unconscious for this whole chapter, language, nudity, straight panic

Word count: 5k

Jimin fought the skip in his step so as not to embarrass Jungkook as they walked down the street to a relatively new nightclub that was supposed to be friendly to Lykos. Although it was technically illegal to deny anyone access to most spaces based on subspecies or secondary gender, there were still many places in the city where alphas, betas and omegas alike were looked down on or outright harassed. This new club was located closer to their home than most of the nightlife in the city, and Jimin couldn't help but be excited about checking it out. It had been a long week for the beta, as most weeks were, and as much as he loved relaxing at home with his pack, he was grateful that his fellow beta was willing to accompany him for a night of letting loose. Jungkook had also seen his fair share of Sapien bullshit this week while on duty, and he frankly needed to blow off some steam.

Being a cop was an oddly perfect job for a beta, not that the ordinary Saps Jungkook worked with always saw it that way. He managed to remain calm in situations that neither alphas or even regular Sapiens could. The calming pheromones he exuded with his subtle, fresh linen scent worked even on the Saps who didn't know when it affected them. But this week there must have been something in the air causing an uptick in Sapien-Lykos violence, and even Jungkook's ability to de-escalate most situations failed to save the life of a young omega male. He died right in front of Jungkook before he could even react. So when Jimin suggested they go out for a few drinks, Jungkook didn't hesitate.

Another thing that made Jungkook a good cop was his ability to smell trouble. He liked it much better on duty than in his freetime. When the hair on the back of his neck stood on end, he wished he could ignore it. He knew that something was wrong several seconds before his brain was able to fully process the scents carrying around the corner from the alley they were coming up on. Two aggressive alphas and one omega. An omega in heat. It was an incredibly alarming smell to encounter on the street at night. What omega in their right mind would dare to go out of the house at such a time? What alpha would let them?

It took Jimin a moment after Jungkook to catch on, but when he did, they shared a heavy look. Their steps slowed as they approached the opening of the alleyway, and when their footsteps silenced they could hear the gruff voice of one of the alphas speak.

"What's a pretty little omega like you doing out all alone in this state?"

"M not," a weak female voice whimpered in response. "Please, I'm not."

"Of course you are, sweetheart. It's no use hiding. Let us take you home and take care of you. Alpha will give you what you need."

A muffled no was choked off with a gurgling sound. Jimin looked pleadingly up at Jungkook, who knew that he couldn't hesitate any longer.

"Police! Put your hands up!" Jungkook called in his most commanding voice as he stepped around the corner and into the alleyway. He felt somewhat foolish, holding his hands up like a gun toward the other men, not knowing if they were armed. But faking it was all he could do at the moment.

The two men paused to look briefly in Jungkook's direction, but the light in the alley was too dim to give his ruse away. Instead, the alpha that had his hand around your throat squeezed tighter and pulled you closer just to slam your head back against the wall. He let you fall like a sack of potatoes to the concrete before he and his friend ran toward the other end of the alley, hoping that the "officer" would focus on helping you and not on catching them. It was a smart bet.

As the alphas' footsteps faded away onto another street, Jimin slipped past Jungkook to get to you first. He knelt down to the concrete beside you and asked in a shaking voice, "Miss, are you alright?"

Panic threatened to cloud his mind, but Jimin was used to dealing with Lykos in crisis from his job as a social worker with homeless Lykos youths. He leaned in closer to hear that you were still breathing while he pressed two fingers to your throat. You were positively burning and your heart was racing. You were definitely in heat. But what were you doing out here on your own?

"Should we call the police?" Jimin asked, turning his head to look up at his pack member.

Jungkook tensed. He'd love to say that the cops would be able to help, but the police were still more or less ignorant when it came to things like heats and ruts. They were still considered taboo to Saps. "They're less likely to get her to a safe place than to lock her up for public disturbance." Jungkook shook his head. "Maybe we can take her to the hospital."

"They'll turn her away. Heat isn't a medical emergency, and it will actually cause a public disturbance."

"Fuck."

Jimin stood with his hands on his hips and shared a look with Jungkook that had the taller beta shaking his head before Jimin even made a sound. "We gotta take her home."

"We can't take a random omega home, Jimin."

"We can't leave a vulnerable omega alone on the street either!" Jimin let out a quiet whine that had Jungkook clenching his fists.

"Don't fucking start. We'll take her home and have Yoongi check on her and see if we can get her coherent enough to get her home."

"Thank you, Kook," Jimin sighed.

Jungkook let out his own heavy breath as he stooped to pick you up in his arms and carry you back to the pack's house. He wasn't doing this for Jimin, or for you, but for his own conscience. He couldn't watch another omega die this week.

You weren't heavy, but you made the walk back to their house feel longer than before. You seemed to come around again as they returned home, and for a moment you felt disoriented, but Jungkook fluffed out his fresh linen scent as soon as he realized it, and it was enough to keep your frantic, homoronal mind down for a few more minutes as you nuzzled unconsciously into his neck. When they started up the sidewalk to the house, Yoongi's face appeared in the glass pane to the left of the entrance. He quickly opened and closed the door, hurrying down the steps to confirm that there was indeed a limp body in his youngest packmate's arms.

"What's going on?" Yoongi's voice came out in a hiss, but even that couldn't hide his natural concern. Any decent alpha would be concerned for an omega in your state.

Jungkook pushed past him and up the steps to set you down on the soft outdoor couch. Your head lolled as he pulled away. Your nose sought out his scent with a whimper.

"We were passing by when this omega was being assaulted," Jimin explained.

"So you brought her here?" Yoongi's voice was hushed but tense.

"We didn't know where else we could take her, hyung," Jimin shrugged.

"She's in heat!"

"No shit, Sherlock," Jungkook grumbled. He'd been able to breathe in nothing but you the whole way here, and while the smell of an omega in heat was far from unpleasant, even to a beta, it had him on edge. Yoongi glared at him. "We need you to take a look at her hyung. There were a couple alphas with her when we found them. Just, check to see if she's hurt please."

Yoongi stared at him in frustration for a moment before he sighed and bent to look at you. He had worked as an EMT for enough years to be able to control himself around an omega smelling as sweet as you, but that didn't mean it was easy for him. When Yoongi pressed his fingers to the pulse point just next to your swollen scent gland you let out another weak cry. He cursed silently as he tried to get a read on the rhythm of your heart.

Meanwhile, Jungkook took the purse that they had found beside you from Jimin and dug his hand inside. He pulled out a wallet and a phone a moment later. Opening your wallet first, he pulled out your ID and held it out to compare the picture on the card with the troubled face before him. "It looks like her name is Y/N," he informed the others.

You made a sound of recognition at hearing your name, but it didn't come close to being a word.

"Check her head, hyung. The guy who attacked her hit her pretty good."

Yoongi's deft fingers pressed lightly around your skull until he reached the back of your head and you winced at the tenderness. He pulled one hand back to check for blood, but there was only a small amount, indicating you didn't have a serious head wound, although he was sure it hurt. Before he could pull his other hand out of your tangled hair, you turned your nose into his wrist and breathed in his citrusy scent.

"Alpha," you moaned, low and quiet, with a breath-taking neediness that even Yoongi struggled to ignore.

"Fuck," he breathed as you nuzzled against his skin. Yoongi fought to keep a grip on his senses. "Why the hell did you bring this fucking omega here?" He groaned and forced himself to pull his hands away before he could get caught up in your smell. He wanted it covering his skin. He wanted it all over him like it was all over Jungkook.

"What else were we supposed to do? Just leave her there?" Jimin knew it wasn't the greatest idea, but you were in a crisis, and any port in a storm would do.

"No," Yoongi groaned, hanging onto the edge of his sanity by his fingertips. "Who would even let an omega out of their sight in a state like this?" It was unfathomable, unconscionable. Even now Yoongi's instincts were screaming at him. Get her inside the house. Get her in the nest. Protect omega. Breed her. He forced himself to take several steps away from you and gulps of what he hoped would be fresh air. Just enough for his rational brain to remind him that he could not and would not breed a random omega he just met. No matter how good she smelled.

Jungkook couldn't help but feel a little grateful he hadn't been an alpha. It wasn't the first time he thought so, but watching the elder male struggle now, he was keenly aware of it. "Jimin, go calm Yoongi hyung down before he mounts the poor girl."

Yoongi let a low growl start in his chest and neither of them were sure if it was toward Jungkook or the image his words conjured. Jimin obeyed and went to pin Yoongi between himself and the wall of the house. Jimin's lavender had never been strong, but he did his best to exude as much of the calming scent as possible, and Yoongi buried his nose against Jimin's scent gland until he was able to think more clearly.

Meanwhile Jungkook had managed to open your phone and was looking through your phonebook in search of an emergency contact. None was designated, but that was less surprising than the fact that there were almost no saved numbers in your phone. All of the names in the list had "(work)" beside them. Seeing no other choice, Jungkook tapped on the first contact on the list and held the phone to his ear. It rang four times before someone answered.

"Bitch, where are you? Your shift started two hours ago!" A voice on the other line responded.

Jungkook suppressed a snort. "Hi. I'm calling on behalf of Y/N. You work with her?"

"Uh, yeah? I'm supposed to be working with her right now. Where is she? Who is this?"

"I'm trying to help her. I need to get-"

"Is she okay?" The voice interrupted over the loud music in the background.

"I think she's okay. She must have unexpectedly gone into heat. Do you know how to get in touch with her pack?"

There was nothing but the noise of what must have been a bar on the other end of the line while Jungkook waited for an answer. "Hello?" He asked. He looked up to meet Yoongi's eyes across the porch. They were clearer now, but filled with confusion.

"Sorry, did you say Y/N went into heat?" The voice on the phone asked. They must have gone somewhere quieter, since their voice was much clearer and louder.

"Yeah. She-"

"But Y/N is Sapien," the person stated.

Jungkook's jaw dropped open a fraction. He had incontrovertible proof to the contrary, unless this person wasn't Y/N. It took him a moment to recover. "I'm sorry, do you have a number for her emergency contact?"

Jungkook could hear the person on the other end swallow before speaking. "I'm sorry. You must have the wrong person. I have to go."

The call ended abruptly, leaving Jungkook feeling more confused than ever.

"What happened?" Jimin questioned as the beta stared blankly at the screen.

Jungkook didn't answer, but dove his hand back into your bag, searching for answers.

Before he could find any, the front door was yanked open, revealing the pack's other three alphas, and one very annoyed omega. From the doorway, all Hoseok could see was Jungkook, and all he could smell was your heat-sweet scent coating the beta's body.

"What the hell is going on? And why the fuck do you smell like another omega?" Hobi demanded, hands on his hips. He had made sure to scent both his betas well before they left, even though he knew they would inevitably come home smelling like strangers from the club. That wasn't an excuse for why Jungkook smelled like fresh hot apple pie and sex. For God's sake, they hadn't been gone more than an hour. Jungkook froze in his search with wide eyes.

"It's not what you think, hyung," Jimin defended, turning to look at the rest of his pack, but not moving away from Yoongi.

"Jimin, what are you doing?" Hoseok's eyes examined the way Jimin held Yoongi against the wall with his body.

"Listen, we're just trying to help someone in need. There's nothing suspicious going on." Jimin held out his hands in a placating gesture. Hoseok was possessive, even for an omega, and he was already pouty about the betas wanting to go out earlier. Jimin should have known that he would be extra touchy about the situation, but he would just have to deal with it. "We found an omega in need and we brought her here. That's all."

Hoseok sucked in an annoyed breath, and that's when he caught it. Your warm apple scent had a sour edge that it shouldn't, not in heat, not unless you were feeling stressed. He leaned around Jungkook to look at your limp form resting on the couch. Fuck. "Bring her inside before every alpha in the neighborhood comes prowling around the yard," he huffed in spite of himself. More than one pack member let out a sigh he didn't know he was holding.

Jungkook slung your purse over his shoulder before bending to pick you up again while the others turned to go inside. Hoseok held the door open with a glare while he ushered you in, careful not to bump your head on the doorframe. It was embarrassing, truly, how affected Hoseok could see all the alphas already were by your scent filling the warm house. They bounded off toward the bedroom. If they had them, their tails would be wagging. Pathetic.

"Take her to the spare room," Hoseok instructed. No way was he letting you into his nest. He'd just washed everything today and it would only drive the alphas more crazy anyway. You would be better off in the spare room, which was cozy, and most often used by Jungkook and Yoongi when they came home in the middle of night and either didn't want to disturb the pack or didn't want to be suffocated by them. Taehyung also slept there sometimes when he painted late into the night. It often made Hoseok prickly not to have his two youngest mates in his nest, but he tried not to take it personally, and he made sure the room was well taken care of with items from each member of the pack. He hadn't washed the bedding this week, but Jungkook's scent was calming–Hoseok knew from experience, especially during heat–so you probably wouldn't mind. Not that the other omega cared if you minded, to be frank. You were an interloper and all that mattered to him was getting you out of here as soon as possible with minimal impact on his pack. Hoseok followed Jungkook into the bedroom and then stood in the doorway, arms braced against the frame as he faced his alphas, forming a formidable wall in front of them.

"You all get back to the living room right now," the omega ordered.

A distinctly Yoongi whine rose from the back of the group. He hadn't forgotten your scent or your warmth or the fact that you needed him. Needed alpha to help you. Needed him to—

"Jimin," Hoseok barked through Yoongi's haze. "Get these idiots settled in the living room, and Jungkook and I will take care of things here."

Quiet groans sounded, but Jimin just chuckled as he took Yoongi and Taehyung's wrists and coaxed them away. "Be nice, hyung. It's not their fault the pheromones make them dumb." He pushed Taehyung down into the corner of the couch before pressing Yoongi into his lap. The two didn't hesitate to touch and nuzzle each other, anything to take the edge off the neediness that you aroused in them.

Jin and Namjoon were more difficult to drag away, big dumb alphas that they were. They stood obstinately in front of the door. "Let us in, Hobah," Jin pleaded, not sounding at all like the pack alpha he was. "She needs her alpha."

Hoseok choked on his spit before he held up a hand in front of Jin. "You are not her alpha, Seokjin. And if you don't walk your ass over to the couch this instant you won't be my alpha either."

Jin ducked his head, properly chastised. He didn't know why he said that. He couldn't help it. It just slipped out. He grabbed Namjoon's arm, and the two wisely walked away.

Hoseok closed the door and turned to help Jungkook. As soon as he had set you down on the mattress, you had begun to squirm. Although he had initially been concerned about you having a concussion, he could see now that you were just deep down in the heat headspace, one ruled by instincts that had you seeking out comfort and relief. Your clothes were becoming soaked with sweat and your hair clung to your forehead. Jungkook watched as you flopped over onto your belly and followed your nose around in search of a nice spot on the bed. You found Yoongi's pillow and breathed in deep, followed by a muffled moan. "Alpha."

Jungkook began to feel uncomfortable, a tightness in his chest coiling as he watched you struggle in vain. But it also felt wrong to see. He had never seen a strange omega go into heat before. The only heats he had ever actually participated in were Hobi's, but before that he had only seen relatives in a state as vulnerable as this. Your shirt slid up your torso and you lifted your backside into the air and Jungkook flushed.

"Hyung," he said with quiet urgency.

Hoseok was picking up some discarded items from the floor in an attempt to clean up the room, but he looked up at the youngest's voice. "Can we do anything for her?"

Hoseok bit back another sarcastic comment and sighed. He reminded himself to find some compassion. You were in a dreadful state. He couldn't even imagine how distressing it would be to be around strangers, away from your pack in a heat as strong as you were clearly having.

"She might be more comfortable if she got out of those clothes."

As if in response to his words, you rolled over onto your back once more and began to fumble with the button on your pants. Little puffs of air left your mouth in huffs of frustration.

"Hyung, is she about to take her clothes off?" An edge of panic laced his voice. Hoseok rolled his eyes at the bashful beta. He had to do everything himself.

"You go get a couple of bottles of Gatorade from the kitchen. She'll be needing the electrolytes. I'll try to get her…settled." Jungkook nodded at the orders. "Oh, and take these and drop them in the washer," Hobi added before Jungkook turned to leave and held out the bundle of dirty clothes for him to take.

Jungkook hesitated. "Maybe we should leave them for her. They might help a little."

A pulse of possessiveness tweaked Hoseok's muscles and he gripped the cloth tighter in his hands. What right did you have to his pack's soothing scents? But he pushed it down and nodded, letting the younger man go. He left the pile of clothes at the foot of the bed and went to sit beside you. You still hadn't managed to remove any of your clothes yourself. Hoseok knew that some heats could be worse than others, especially when he was younger, or when the pack first started to form with Jin and Namjoon. He could see you were completely out of your senses, so far down into primal lust that you couldn't think straight or string three words together. Every now and then your face shifted in confusion, just for a second while your brain tried and failed to recognize anything familiar or comforting in your surroundings. The pained look finally brought Hoseok around to his empathy, and it kicked in with a surge in anger. He finally realized why Jimin and Jungkook had to bring you here, because truly who could let a helpless thing like you out of their sight? Hoseok reached out his hand to brush the hair away from your blazing skin. You keened into his cool touch, and he laid his palm flesh against your forehead. You relaxed for a moment, ceasing your constant wriggling.

"You are burning up, pup. We should get you out of these terrible clothes so you'll be more comfortable." You didn't respond but began to shift again without making any move to remove your clothing. "Is it okay if I help, little one?"

Again you didn't speak but your face morphed into a dopey expression that was almost a smile. Your glassy eyes seemed to sparkle. Hoseok couldn't even help the small smile that tugged his lips.

"I promise this is all business," he said as he began to unbutton your pants and then slowly tugged them down. When he had finally pulled your jeans off your feet you kicked them cutely in the air. You sat up on your knees, more energetically than you had been since he'd seen you. You reached down and pulled your shirt clumsily over your head, bringing a rush of blood to Hoseok's cheeks.

In spite of the fact that their pack was all male, most of them had been with women, just not Hoseok. He was young when he met Jin, so it wasn't that he wasn't interested or attracted, it just so happened that no women had come into their lives in any important way for Hoseok. And he definitely wasn't prepared for you stripping in front of him. He sat in stunned silence so long that he didn't realize what you had truly wanted was to get out of your bra until he heard you whine and noticed you clawing clumsily at your back, unable to even comprehend the clasp. Before he could move to help you there was a thud against the door.

"Do you need help, Hobi hyung?" Taehyung's voice carried through the wood. He must have been called by your whines too.

"Go back to the couch, Tae," the omega barked and heard a defeated whimper before footsteps moving away. "Let me help you, pup," he said more gently and twisted you around to access the tricky clasps. He wasn't much better than you due to his inexperience, but eventually he got it done. You slipped the offensive article down your arms and turned to him, inching closer as if to climb into his lap, not caring one bit that he was a stranger and you were nearly naked. Hoseok slipped off the bed to stand away from you. He picked up your shirt and held it out to you.

"Maybe you should put this back on now," he offered nervously. He tried desperately not to look down at your swollen, peaked nipples that were just begging for attention. Your apple pie smell turned sweeter, warmer, filling up the room.

Jesus. He wasn't even an alpha and you were still affecting him. He tried to hold the shirt up to cover you from his view and his omega brain came back online. This shirt was rough and had been tight fitting. It was the last thing you would want when your skin was so sensitive.

"I'll…I'll go get you something softer to wear," he said shakily. He dropped your shirt to the floor and looked around for something until his eyes fell on the clothes he had pulled up. He spread them out in front of you. "Here, you can wear any one of these in the meantime. I'll be right back."

To his relief you instantly brought one of the shirts to your nose and inhaled deeply before picking another and doing the same. It made a perfect distraction, and he was able to slip out the door. Outside, he took a deep breath and sighed in relief. Then he opened his eyes to a wide-eyed Jungkook and nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Is she okay?" The younger man asked, holding two different flavors of sports drink in his hands.

"She's okay for now but you do not want to go in there right now."

"I'll just go give her these," he said, holding up the two bottles.

"Leave them outside the door. We need to talk with the pack," Hoseok replied, regaining his composure. The beta did as he was told and followed his hyung to the living room where the others waited on the edge of their seats.

"Jimin, can you tell me what happened and where you found this poor girl?" Hoseok prompted. The four alphas tried hard to focus as Jimin quickly informed them on what had happened.

"Where is her pack? What if those men were her alphas?" Jin wondered aloud and hoped that wasn't true.

"It doesn't seem likely," Jungkook said. "If it was they would have tried to explain but they just ran off and left her."

"It doesn't make any sense. Why would she go out if she was going into heat? They can come on fast, but not that fast. Why wouldn't her alpha keep her at home? They must have smelled her." Hoseok stroked his chin while he spoke, searching for an answer he couldn't fathom.

"She must have been heading into work," Jungkook offered, recalling the bizarre conversation he had with your coworker earlier.

"Isn't that what heat leave is for?" Hoseok asked. Not that he would know. He'd grown up in a fairly traditional pack and never had an outside job a day in his life. He enjoyed staying at home and taking care of his pack. But he knew it was a luxury, and one he was grateful the pack could provide it.

"Heat leave still isn't a right for omegas. Not all employers offer it, nor are they legally obligated to," Jin informed them.

Jungkook nodded. "The woman I spoke to on the phone didn't even seem to know Y/N was an omega."

Taehyung's ears perked up. "Y/N?"

"That's what her driver's license said. Do you know her?"

Taehyung shook his head regretfully. "No. It's just a nice name," he murmured. Jin reached out to ruffle his hair.

"So how do we find her pack?" Namjoon asked.

"She didn't have any non-work numbers in her phone, so I think the next step should be to go to the address on her license and ask there." Jungkook got up to retrieve your ID from where he had shoved it in his pocket. "This address is only a few miles from here."

"I'll drive you," Jin offered, but Yoongi put his hand on the older alpha's shoulder.

"You should stay here with the pack, just in case anything happens. I'll go with Jungkook."

Jin gave him a grateful nod and Hoseok couldn't hide his relief either. Helpless and pathetic as you might be, it wouldn't have felt safe to have a stranger in the house without the pack alpha home.

"Do you want me to come with you guys?" Jimin offered. He didn't know what he would be able to do but he felt invested.

Yoongi cupped his cheek. "You're needed here, in case one of these guys breaks their chain," he grinned before he leaned in to kiss the pretty beta's lips. "We'll be back as soon as we can," he assured Hoseok with a kiss to the worried crease of his forehead.

"You be sure to read that alpha the riot act when you find them," Hoseok said.

"Sure thing, love," Yoongi winked before following Jungkook out the door.

A/n: thanks for checking out chapter one! Please send me lots of nice comments and questions! They help me figure things out and motivate me to keep writing! Check back for chapter 2, in which m/c is still mostly unconscious 😅

Permanent taglist: @halesandy @burningupp-replies @lilacdreams-00 @minclangyyy @yonkimint @wholockian1 @cbgdoll @babycoffeefire @theatren3rd @bri-mal @armytwist @hwayne2294 @crish-mac @kazufuyusluv @dis-tru6tion @hey-itsmina @jikooksgirl19 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @lxvelyjiminie @marvelfamily3000 @borahae-reads @shadowyjellyfishfest @yoongiigolden @staerryminimini

Taglist: @ellesalazar @rinkud @osakis-gf @scuzmunkie @queen-in-the-shadows @toughbook @zariaskz @chansbaybygirl @cryingpages @coralmusicblaze @alex--awesome--22 @singukieee @welcometomyworld13 @juju-227592 @bangtanflirt @wittyreader @nyrovieeie @welcome418 @guinhosletters @lifeistooshorttowasteyourtime

#lone wolf #bts fic #bts fan fiction #bts angst #bts omegaverse au #bts a/b/o #bts series #bts jungkook #bts jimin #bts yoongi #bts hoseok #bts jin #bts namjoon #bts taehyung #bts x reader #bts poly au #bts ot7 #sopebubbles 🧼

1K notes · View notes

cosmal · 2 years

Text

KINKTOBER DAY ONE — BREEDING WITH STEVE HARRINTON

*:･ﾟkinktober masterlist

*:･ﾟsummary — steve harrington loves to cum in you. keep every last drop inside.

*:･ﾟwarnings/tags — fem!reader, she/her pronouns, unprotected sex, p in v

*:･ﾟword count — 1.3k

Heady cologne and fresh linen, something like lavender scented laundry detergent, and the musk of sex is enough to have you dizzied with your face pressed into Steve’s mattress. Your back is arched, only held up enough by Steve’s meaty palms, the swell of flesh dips between his fingers. You suspected if his grip weren’t rugged, and so strong, you’d struggle to keep yourself held in the air.

“St…’’ His name dies on your lips, swallowed by another strangled moan. Each time there’s a thwap in the air, you want to tell him how good it feels, tell him how amazing he is, but all you can manage is a moan. A high-pitched noise that you know he loves.

“Feel good, baby?” A nickname you know all too well in the constraints of his bedroom when you’re stripped down to nothing. His voice is rugged, strained with rasp and want.

“Good,” You whimper. He rocks in again.

“Fuck you’re so pretty. This cunt is so pretty.” He ruts in to punctuate his words.

“Again?” You ask, no plead, and why would he so no to a cunt and a pretty girl like that? So he pushes in, again, just how you like.

“You feel okay?” He asks.

Your face rubs against his bed in what you hope looks like a nod. His sheets are expensive and feel like silk against your red cheeks. Your hair bunches beneath the weight of your head and Steve releases one side of your hips to reach down and brush it away from where it’s stuck to your sweaty face.

When he bends, his pelvis presses into your ass and he’s hitting a different spot against your spongy walls. You feel warped around him like you’d be moulded.

Your arm reaches forwards above your head to grab at his pillow. “So, so good, Stevie.” You’re so fucked out, it’s all you can manage. There are so many thoughts and praises in your mind but there’s not a lot you can force past your wet lips.

He pushes in further in his new position and you fall further into the bed, expected to be embossed with the wrinkles of his sheets when you finish. He hoists one leg up, foot flat against the bed to hit in further, and the other dangles over the edge.

You keen and moan, feeling there’s no deeper he could go but proves you wrong with every hard thrust. “Fuck, so tight.” He groans, words disrupted by pants. You can hear the clench in his jaw.

You want nothing but to spur him on, wanting nothing more than to be full of him, “Harder, Steve. Please. Please.”

“Yeah?” He says and his movements don’t flag. Not a single falter. You envy but also detest his stamina. He pushes in, harder than all the others and you gargle into his bed. “Like that?”

“Like. Uh-huh. Like that, baby,”

His hands come around to squeeze the dough of your ass, squeezing harder as it bounces against his frame. He pulls you back onto him, fucks you onto him when he can tell you’re struggling to meet his movements. Your knees ache and your legs quiver and you’re thankful he’s there holding you.

You clench around him as to say, thanks baby, and he groans. A low, grunt in the back of his throat. “So full.” You mewl, trying your best to circle your hips, “So, so full,’ You echo, though this time it’s much quieter and hard to be heard over Steve’s moans.

He pulls you back onto him again, “You feel fucking amazing. Fuck.”

You were an absolute mess, wet dribbling down your legs and when you reach down to circle your clit, your fingers slip and struggle to find purchase. Steve tuts at your lazy movements and swats your hand away to replace it with his own.

He sets a pace with his hand and cock, slowing to become shallow and sharp. Rocking in and before he even pulls halfway out, snaps back in and it pulls the prettiest noises from you. You can feel a warmth building and with his double ministrations, you expect it to bleed through your body soon.

Just like you expected. He thrusts in no more than five more times and says, “Cum, baby.” and you do. You slide down the bed until you’re flat, arms bent above your head. You squeeze and twitch around his cock and try to push your knees together as he rides you through it.

You think you can hear praises in the air but your ears are muffled like they're cotton-filled and all you can think about is how swollen he feels inside you.

You feel his cock twitch inside you as you clench your pulpy walls around him. He stutters and bends over you to press his abdomen to your lower back, his breathy moans break the barrier around your head and he sounds heavenly.

You lay there, rocking into the bed and you turn your head down to look at him. Watch as his abs clench, “Gonna cum in me, baby?” You ask, eyes wet at the corners, glistening like your bitten lips.

He looks up at you, “You want me to?” He rasps. You wished you could capture his sex-drunk voice on record. Sear it into your mind.

“Please. Please.” You beg, raising your ass as if to say, I’m ready. Do it.

“Yeah?” You can tell he’s close. Relishing in the feeling of his ruddy cock as it pushes in and twitches harder. You feel so overwhelmed and sensitive. “Want me to fill this pretty pussy up? Make her all full, hmm?”

You bat your eyelashes and bite your lip in what you're hoping is your most seductive face. You think it works as he groans out. “Please, baby.”

“Fill you up with my babies.” He groans and his words strain as you feel him come undone. Spurting inside you as you milk him for every last drop. Clenching and swivelling against him as he stills. Both arms are beside you to hold himslef up, making sure he keeps everything inside.

When he stops twitching, balls empty and drained completely. He pulls out gently, sitting back on his haunches as you keen at the sudden empty feeling. One you’d never get used to after sex. A stark contrast to how deep he had felt only minutes earlier.

You watch him as he looks at your swollen, fluttering pussy. As cum dribbles out when you clench. You snake an arm underneath your stomach to reach down between the apex of your thighs. Spread your folds with your fingers before you curl them to push the seeping cum back inside you.

You hold his gaze as you swivel and fuck yourself on your hand, fingers as deep as they can go. He groans, completely in awe as you mewl and your eyes flutter closed. He pushes your hand away and you sigh lightly.

Leaning forward with his softening cock in his hand to push down your slit to the bump of your clit, you jolt forward with a whimper before he slides down to collect everything you’d missed and push it back inside.

He pulls out once more and falls down next to you, spent and fucked out. You lay a hand across his chest and he snakes his own down your back and over the swell of your ass to give it a light squeeze.

“How was that?” He murmurs, voice strained even more now.

You chuckle, voice as soft as his palm now feels against your skin. Worse than before, “I thought I almost passed out when I came. Couldn’t see.”

Steve laughs too, “So it was good?”

“Did you just hear what I said?”

He gives you another squeeze, “I’m glad you had fun.”

You sigh, “Did you have fun? Was I good?”

Steve grins so wide you’d think his face would split, “Fucking amazing baby. I fucking love you.”

gif werewolfsteve !

#steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabbles #steve harrington drabble #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington kinktober #steve harrington x female reader smut #stranger things smut #kinktober #kinktober 2022

4K notes · View notes

yunjardi · 8 months

Text

------------------------------

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝!𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐱 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 [𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢], 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱 [𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞], 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤, 𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥, 𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤 [𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐦𝐲𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 😞]

𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐚/𝐧: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚 𝐟𝐞𝐰 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 '𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝' 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 :)

------------------------------

jake is still as lovely as ever.

he still kept the house tidy, the plants watered, the laundry done, all that good stuff.

he still always greets you with a warm hug and passionate kiss when you arrive home from work, excited to be able to spend the evening with you after being apart all day long.

he still does everything in his power to be the best husband in the world (to which he, of course, succeeds).

he's still your cute puppy.

however, the one thing that has changed about jake was his confidence in the bedroom.

previously timid and wary of being the first to make a move, jake was now usually the first to initiate anything of sexual nature.

jake has always had a high sex drive, but he used to let his bashfulness get the best of him. so now that he was more confident about expressing himself, sex became even more prevalent in your relationship.

------------------------------

"i missed you so much, my love," jake expressed whilst hugging you tightly, leaving soft kisses on the top of your head.

you hugged him back just as tight, or arguably even tighter, letting your head rest against his chest as you breathed in his scent.

you could tell it was a laundry day for him from the whiff of fresh linen-scented detergent that he uses on the clothes and various other fabrics that go through the washing machine.

after breaking your embrace with jake, you placed a kiss on his pretty lips before taking off your coat and hanging it on the coat rack.

jake seemed to perk up at the sight of the tight long sleeve shirt that was previously hidden underneath your jacket. he practically drooled at the way it hugged your curves perfectly with every move you made. soon, his eyes wandered downward to the trousers you wore; form-fitting at the waist and hips but flared out near the bottom. you looked perfect. but to be fair, to him, you always looked perfect.

"how did i score such a pretty wife?" jake suddenly blurted out, catching you by surprise. he pulled you back toward him until your back was resting against his chest, giving him a chance to hug you from behind.

"and how did i score such a perfect husband?" you asked rhetorically in response to his sweet comment.

jake chuckled as he brought his hands down to your waist, clutching you closer.

the moment was so tender, endearing, loving, but that didn't stop jake's infamous cheekiness from waltzing in and ruining the sweetness.

jake was too much of a perv when it came to you, so it was far from a surprise when you suddenly felt something poke your lower back.

he really couldn't help himself.

like come on, who wouldn't pop a boner when looking at their precious wife being unintentionally sexy?

"jakey?" you giggled with fake innocence, "is there something you want to tell me?" you cozied yourself into his embrace even deeper.

jake lucked out on the fact that you were unable to see how red his face had become. the combination of your words and his actions made adrenaline rush throughout his body.

"get in the bedroom," jake managed to state boldly despite his bashfulness, "don't keep me waiting, sweetheart."

------------------------------

you were quite surprised at how quickly the situation turned sexual considering the fact that you had just come home from work, but you weren't complaining in the slightest.

there's no better way to be welcomed home than having your sweet husband kneeling between your legs eating your pussy while finger-fucking you, right?

jake's tongue worked wonders against your needy cunt all while his fingers were buried deep inside you, causing you to moan out loud for him.

"baby," you breathed out as you laced your fingers into jake's soft brown hair, "i need you inside me. now, please."

jake smirked against your warmth before pulling his fingers out of you and licking them clean, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time which made your heart race as your poor, needy pussy clenched around nothing.

"you're so cute when you're needy," jake chuckled sexily before pulling his newly-washed shirt over his head, revealing his toned torso. you gulped at the sight of how alluring he looked, becoming increasingly needier with each passing second.

"are you ready, angel?" jake asked amorously against your ear, causing you to whimper in response as you squirmed underneath him.

you gasped at the way his thick base felt when splitting open your tight cunt. your cute whimpers and moans caused a rampant flame to spark in jake's core, turned on to the max at how you were already feeling overwhelmed with pleasure. his cock slid in and out of your aching pussy at a perfect pace as you held tightly onto jake's forearms. jake's eyes were dark with lust as he adored the way he fucked you so hard that your boobs were beginning to pop out of the pretty bra that he bought for you.

"mmm, right there," you mewled out as jake's hips pistoned roughly against yours, his pretty tip poking at your sweet spot with every thrust, "fuck, that feels so good, daddy." you moaned out uncontrollably, not even noticing that you let the word 'daddy' slip out of your lips.

"daddy, hm?" jake smirked, causing you to turn your head away, blushing, "is that what you wanna call me, angel? want me to cream your pussy so i'll be a real daddy?"

all you could do was let out pathetic choked moans in response to his dirty talk.

jake was surprised at how well he was able to uphold his dom-like demeanor considering how weak he felt after hearing you refer to him as 'daddy'; a major turn-on for the guy.

"now turn around for daddy," jake commanded you as he pulled his wet cock out of your cunt, giving you a chance to turn around and arch your back for him, "yeah, that's right. just like that, that's my girl." jake praised you whilst teasing your clit with his swollen tip, using his free hand to squeeze your pretty ass before landing a spank on it, sliding himself back in right after.

"fuck," you moaned airily at the feeling, jake's head falling back and jaw dropping at the way your walls immediately gripped onto his length. jake's back shots sent your body into a frenzy, you walls throbbing all over his cock as your arousal slowly dropped down the base. "that's it, that's my girl," jake groaned out at the feeling of your cum leaking down his shaft, "yeah, keep cumming for daddy." you tried your best not to close your legs from the overstimulation that you were experiencing so that jake could continue.

jake gently helped you sit up so that he could pull you onto his lap, guiding you back down onto his dick, your thighs trembling gently with every inch that passed through you until he fully bottomed out.

after shifting your hips around to find a comfortable position, you began to sit yourself up and down on jake's throbbing shaft, fucking yourself on him. you paid close attention to the way he dug his nails into your hips as his eyes rolled back, his body becoming overtaken by pleasure.

"are you gonna cum, daddy?" you whined, jake's thick cock deep inside you, "i want it inside me, please." you begged loosely, only making jake lose his mind even more. "keep doing what you're doing and you're gonna end up having my babies," jake growled against your neck before leaving gentle bites and kisses on your supple skin.

at this point, it was becoming painful to hold back his orgasm, so without thinking, jake let himself blow his load inside you, holding your hips firmly against his until he was fully finished. you let out a high-pitched moan at the sensation of jake's cum being pressed deep inside you before gently picking your hip movements back up for the last few seconds, wanting to make sure you received every last drop of his seed. still slightly panting, jake let his head fall back onto the headboard of the bed.

"you did so good for me, jakey," you cooed, still sat down on his lap as you kissed his pretty lips, making his cheeks warm up and turn red. only you could make him do a complete 180 like this; his brain went from sophisticated househusband to full-on porn star.

now he was back on 'sophisticated househusband' mode.

"i love fucking you so much that i got a little carried away," jake chuckled sheepishly, now feeling shy and avoiding eye contact, "i just hope we didn't get anything on the bedsheets; i just washed them, and i'd hate to have to redo everything before sleeping tonight."

you let out a content sigh followed by giving jake another chaste kiss on the lips.

that's the househusband you knew and loved.

------------------------------

a/n: hi gang <3 i hope this was okay enough and that you enjoyed it! i just wanted to start off with something smaller before jumping back into my bigger projects since i've been busy with school :,) i love you always and thank you for your support <3

taglist: @axartia @jjhmk @valiantwastelanddelusion @jayroseyy @ayohahaha @asaheyow @lhsng @i-dalso @bunhoons @red-xherry @duolingofanaccount @lix-freckle3 @l0st-h0p3s @leeis @muffinminnie @green-orangeade @imbaeksbae @sunghoonmybeloved @tum73er @dilftime @qoh3 @sh1mja4yun @leeheeheeseung

*bolded could not be tagged and will be removed from taglist in my next post. pls send an ask to be added to the permanent taglist & let me know if there's an issue with your tag settings! <3

©yunjardi on tumblr

941 notes · View notes

tyunkus · 9 months

Text

hshdbsbfb m thinking about hooking up w taehyun at some hs reunion or something 🥲🥲🥲 so much pent up horniness and desire that he takes out on u 🥲🥲 AGH

“You make me feel insane just by existing,” Taehyun mumbles, leaning in closer. He smells exactly like he used to back in high school—fresh linen and honeysuckle-scented fabric softener. He breathes out sharply, his gaze shifting from your torso to your face. “Can I touch you, baby?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and you can’t help the way your voice cracks mid-syllable, your hands latching onto his shoulders. “Yes, please.”

“Yeah? Do you want me to?” He smiles as he says it, the corners of his lips raising just a tiny bit, and then you meet eyes. You have never seen him like this, dark and sultry gaze on yours.

“Fuck off,” you whine, and Taehyun giggles, finally placing both palms over your waist. You try to steady your breathing, but it trails off into a whimper as you move your hands down to his biceps and graze your fingernails lightly over the tan skin. Fuck. Fuck. “You’re so—fucking—I—”

“Can’t think already?” Taehyun teases, his hands lowering to your hips, then sliding over right above your ass. He presses a kiss to your neck, breathing you in, and you are entirely obsessed with the warmth, the gentleness of it. He kisses you several more times on your neck, your throat, your collarbones, your jaw—irregular, but you cant your hips forward, wanting more. “It’s okay, baby. Feel so good you’re having a hard time, huh? I can see it. But you don’t need to think, angel, not when you have me. I’ll take care of you, dumb you down a bit, does that sound good?”

“Taehyun—”

He bites down below your collarbone, places a kiss right after. “How do you want it, princess?”

You can’t breathe. Literally, you feel out of breath with every touch, and he just keeps giving. You’re so wet your panties are practically sticking to you, but you can’t let him know now, not when you haven’t even had your fun yet. “However you want it,” you tell him, reaching a hand up to run through his hair, then tugging gently. “I’ll take whatever you give to me.”

“You sure?”

“Mmhm.”

“What if I give it to you slow? Kiss you and touch your waist and tits and neck but never touch your pretty pussy? You’ll take that? Be a good girl and let it happen? You won’t start crying for my cock, right?” His hands have moved up to cup your cheeks and you feel your body relaxing with each filthy thought he feeds into your brain. Taehyun smiles, apparently still not done yet, and lands a soft smack against the side of your face, effectively grabbing your attention. “And what if I gave it to you rough, huh? Would you take it then, too? If I spank you until you’re pretty pink and edge you until you’re a crying little mess from my fingers you’ll still want more? Still gonna be all sweet and wet for me? Even if I treat you like a toy?”

You keen, embarrassingly, nodding with fervor. His fingers graze your tummy before they slip underneath your underwear, and his gaze lights up at yout wetness.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he says, absolutely delighted, dipping a finger in. Your knees buckle, but he keeps a firm grip on you. “So fucking wet and I’ve barely even done anything. What a dirty girl.”

#txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt smut #taehyun hard hours #taehyun smut #taehyun hard thoughts

424 notes · View notes

the-hopeless-haze · 1 year

Text

my only one

Summary: You and Aaron are getting married in a month. An unplanned accident brings up other questions for you.

Warning: if you do not support a woman’s right to choose do not read this. you will not like what you find here

Word Count: 5.3k

You were so careful. So very careful.

It didn’t matter now.

You tried. You failed. Better women than you had found themselves in this exact position you’re in now. Shocked numb and staring at yourself in the mirror like you were a ghost, outside of your own body, a figment of your own imagination.

This couldn’t be real.

It had to be fake. A hoax. You were dreaming.

You had to be.

With trembling hands, with vision blurred by tears, with an ache behind your eyes, you manage to flush the toilet and then turn back around, gripping the edge of the counter for dear life. It hurts to breathe, to think, to exist.

This is the last thing you want to be thinking about right now.

“Honey? Are you almost done in there?” you hear his voice, his gentle knock at the door. “I left my shirt hanging. Can I come and get it?”

You shouldn’t have done this before work. You shouldn’t have done this at all.

But that’s stupid, too, isn’t it? What were you going to do? This wouldn’t have just gone away on its own if you ignored it.

Aaron calls your name and you can’t find your voice to respond. “Why aren’t you answering me? I’m coming in there.”

Oh shit oh shit oh shit.

There’s no way to hide from him that you just had a mental breakdown. Your face is puffy, your skin is blotchy and you’re still trembling like a wet dog.

So you do what’s ill-advised, trying to hide the obvious from a profiler, and you attempt to brush past him and exit the bathroom without him being able to get a look at your face.

Too late. He grabs your arm gently, pulling you back to face him.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you, looking at you with concern.

“Nothing,” you lie, swallowing thickly against the tightness in your throat.

“Something’s obviously wrong,” he murmurs, brushing your hair back and kissing the top of your head.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you say, blinking away tears.

“Honey, we can’t go to work like this. I’m going to be worried sick all day. Please tell me.”

“Aaron… I… I can’t talk about it,” you say, squeezing your eyes shut so you don’t have to look at him.

He pulls you into an embrace, and you smell the freshness of his aftershave against his neck, the linen scent of the detergent on his plain white t-shirt, and you feel his warmth, his body heat. It serves to calm you some.

But then you look over his shoulder and you see it.

You can’t stay wrapped in his arms forever.

You have to handle this.

In the midst of your overwhelm you forgot to throw it out, trying to exit the bathroom as quickly as you could, and there it sat on the counter. Two angry pink lines screaming at you, still visible from where you stand now. Aaron’s back is turned to it. If you… if you just grabbed it… if he didn’t ever have to know, ever have to find out…

You shrug out of the hug and lean up and kiss him, trying to smile even though your stomach is turning. “Honey. I just need… I just need another minute alone. Can you please just…?”

You trail off. There’s no good reason why he can’t be in the bathroom with you when you’re washing your face or fixing your hair you had raked through thoroughly with your fingers.

Well.

There is.

But you can’t say it.

“You’re making me worried,” Aaron says, taking your hand in his and squeezing it gently, holding it with his against his chest.

“I know,” you admit hollowly, because you’re making yourself worried, too.

“So, tell me, honey. Whatever it is, we can face it together. Please,” he says, running his thumb over the engagement ring on your hand. The ring he put there. The ring you accepted.

Shouldn’t you want this, then? Shouldn’t you be happy? Why does this fill you with dread, and make you seize up with fear?

Why do you not want this?

How quickly ambivalence turns to fear.

“Aaron, please,” you sputter. “Please just let me be alone.”

He nods dejectedly, grabbing his shirt from where it hung on the side of the closet, but he follows your line of gaze to where you’re staring, transfixed.

Oh. Oh no.

“Honey, is that—"

“If you love me, Aaron, you’ll walk out of this room and pretend you didn’t see anything,” you say quickly, cutting him off, grabbing it off the counter so he can’t get a better look.

“I think that’s what I would do if I didn’t love you,” he says calmly.

“Aaron. Just let it slide. Forget about it.”

“Forget about it? You have a pregnancy test in your hand and you want me to forget about it? We’re getting married in a month. To each other. And you want me to forget about this?”

He said the words out loud. Made it real. Made it something that didn’t just exist in your head or your body.

Pregnancy.

That’s what it was.

There was no hiding anymore.

You give in, give up, give it to him. Hand him the test.

Aaron stares at it without saying a word for a few moments and you never particularly want to spend time in his head, but right now you’d like to get in there if only for a second to know what was running through it. What did he think about you? Shouldn’t you be happy? Was he happy? You wish he would give you something, any hint of a reaction, but he doesn’t say anything.

“How do you feel?” he asks quietly, finally breaking the silence.

“How do I feel?” you ask, your voice coming out in a hysterical shriek, contrast to his cool, calm demeanor. “Look at me. Take a guess.”

Putting the test back on the counter he nods, wrapping his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Okay? Aaron, how can you say that?”

“Because we’re going to get through this. We don’t have a choice.”

“I just got promoted. Neither of us are ever home. Either one of us quits or… or this child doesn’t have parents,” you say. “I’m not going to get through this. I’m going to have a psychotic break.”

“Hey. Hey. Shh. I need you to breathe. Okay? Shh,” he says, smoothing your hair with the palm of his hand.

“Aaron. Don’t tell me to calm down right now,” you sob.

“I’m not. I need you to breathe, though. Okay? Good. Just like that,” he says gingerly, breathing slowly himself in an attempt to get you to stop hyperventilating.

Son of a bitch. Always meeting your hysterics with peace, even when you wanted nothing more than to fight against it. “Let’s go sit down and talk about this on the couch. Okay? I’ll make you a tea.”

“We have to be in the office—"

“We’re both supervisors, now. We get a little leeway,” he grins, kissing the top of your head. “We may as well use it. We need to talk about this. I don’t know about you, but I can’t go into work until we have a game plan here.”

You nod, swallowing, blinking away tears.

You were meant to be the hot power couple, the Hotchners, who get gossiped about behind closed doors throughout departments, “Hey, did you hear who’s heading the BAU together?” Not that you were doing this all for recognition, but the last thing you wanted people to say about you was, “Well, I guess she gave it all up to raise children instead. Just like women when you put a ring on their finger.”

Not that that’s a bad thing. It’s a noble pursuit.

But it’s not something you think you can handle. Giving up the position you just received for a child you didn’t plan to have?

You sit on the couch alone, hearing Aaron in the kitchen, and you’re glad to be away from the tangibility, the pregnancy test left in the bathroom on the counter, out of sight but not forgotten.

“Here you go, honey,” Aaron says, handing you the hot mug of tea that you accept gratefully.

“What are we going to do?” you ask hollowly.

“What do you think is the best course of action, here?”

“How do you feel?”

“Honey, it’s not my decision to make.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You’re half the reason that test is positive,” you say. “Tell me what you want.”

“I… I’m in support either way.”

“Don’t give me a bullshit answer. Do you want another kid or not?”

Aaron shrugs, runs his hand over his face, and sighs. “It’s not a bullshit answer. And it isn’t my decision to make. I don’t want to sway you and make you do something you don’t want to do for me.”

“Aaron. Yes or no. Simple,” you say curtly.

He exhales heavily again, placing his hand on your knee. “Honey. You know you don’t have to do this, right? You’re not a bad person if this isn’t something you want. I didn’t ask you to marry me because I wanted you to have my children. I already have Jack, and I knew this was something you weren’t sure if you wanted. I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me if I knew that having kids was going to be a dealbreaker for us. I’d be happy if we had a child but I’m just as happy with you if we don’t.”

“But if… if we did this, how would it work?” you ask quietly, pursing your lips as you blow on the cup of tea and sip at it.

“I don’t know, honey,” he admits. “You know how I feel about Jack. How I feel like I’ve been failing him since he was born. It’s not… it isn’t easy, with this job to raise kids, and it’ll be even harder with both of us working this job. It’s something I’m willing to try if this is what you want. But it’s going to be stressful. It’s going to be difficult. We’re both likely going to have to take time off, swap off cases, be single parents when the other person is away. We wouldn’t see each other often. It’s going to be a strain. It was a strain with Jack and it was just me in this position.”

It ended his marriage.

He doesn’t say that out loud. But it ended his marriage.

You don’t want this to have a death sentence before it even starts.

As much as he loved Haley, as much as he loved Jack, they couldn’t make it work as a family. Granted, Jack wasn’t the main issue, how could you blame an innocent child for all your marital strife? They were on the rocks before he was conceived. But you know having Jack didn’t make anything better, made it strain until it bent, until it snapped under the pressure.

It doesn’t help shake the guilt you feel. How you know there are women that would kill to be in your position, women who wanted to have kids but couldn’t, women who tried so hard to do what you did by accident.

“I just… isn’t it selfish? I mean, we’re getting married. We’re financially secure. If it were ever the right time…”

“If we both keep having to take time off of work our financial situation is going to change,” he points out. “And… I don’t know if I agree with you. You’re adjusting to your supervisory role. The team is adjusting to taking orders from you, too. Getting married is a change, too. It’s good stress, but it’s still stressful. If we added a child… that’s three huge changes in your life at once.”

“Do you think we could make it work?” you ask, looking him in the eyes, searching for a reaction.

“We could. I believe that. But it’s a sacrifice. And just because we could make it work doesn’t mean we have to if it’s something you don’t want,” he assures you, squeezing your knee. “Whatever you decide is no judgment on your character. I’m still going to love you just the same. I’m still going to be waiting for you to walk down that aisle to me a month from now.”

“It should be… our decision.”

“It is. I’m in full support of whatever you decide. Like I said.”

“But that’s a cop-out.”

“No. I’m telling you the truth, honey, and I need you to accept that. I’m allowed to not feel as strongly as you either way. That’s what being a man in this situation is. Stepping back, here. Even if I break my back trying to make my share of the burden equal to yours… I’ll never be able to do it. It’s something you have to want more than anything else. It’s nine months. It’s months where toward the end you might be on bed rest and I might be away. Months of being sick. Months of not being cleared for field work once you get further along.”

“Well. That sounds terrible.”

“It does. It would break my heart to be away when you would need me. But it’s the reality. And then it’s another eighteen years of sacrifices upon sacrifices.”

You don’t say anything. You drink your tea. You breathe through your nose. In. Out. Through. Deep.

“Did I ever tell you about when I had Jack?” he offers, moving his hand from your knee to take your hand in his.

“No. Not really.”

“I… I didn’t want to be a father. Haley always wanted to be a mother and we had been together for a long time before we started trying because I kept trying to get her to move on. I felt like after what I endured with my own father… I didn’t want to have that responsibility, the potential to screw somebody up for the rest of their lives. And I was busy, too, working, and I knew I wasn’t going to be there like I should be. I knew I was going to fail him before he was even born. She felt like it was what was going to make or break our marriage. Which… she was right, she just didn’t know… but, anyway, when he was born, when I fully realized that that was my own flesh and blood… it’s something I can’t explain. It changes everything. How you see the world, how you interact with people, how you decide to manage your time, and your sense of identity. It’s… I would say it’s something I think everyone should experience, but given our line of work it’s very clear some people should not.”

“Do you… do you regret it? I know that sounds awful, but I…” You trail off as if stopping your sentence will make what said have less weight.

Aaron sighs. “No. It’s something about what I said, the way it shifts your whole worldview to the left a little bit. It prevents you from regretting it entirely. Jack is… it’s unconditional love, and I don’t think you understand that until you have kids, because then you feel that. You know there’s nothing they can do wrong that would prevent you from loving them. I’m always…sorry that I didn’t prevent Haley from doing this, that I didn’t fight with her enough, that I didn’t look her in the eyes and tell her bringing a child into an already failing marriage wasn’t going to fix it. It wasn’t going to make me come home and stay home. But I’ll always be grateful that I have Jack, even if he was born from unfortunate circumstances. I mean, it’s the way of the world, right? I’d been married for years, and it’s the expectation for a married couple to have children. It was always family members asking her if she was having infertility struggles, asking me if I really loved her if I wasn’t willing to make her a mother. Just because the expectation is there doesn’t mean we have to fulfill it if it’s something you don’t want to do.”

“You won’t be upset if you don’t have a child with me? At all?” you ask softly. “Because… I don’t know, Aaron. I guess sometimes you don’t know the answer until it’s happening. I don’t know if I can ever do this.”

“I’m perfectly fine with that, honey,” he assures you. “I’m already a father. It would… it would be an honor to father your children. But it’s truly, honestly enough for me to be your husband in a month, and it’s just as much of an honor for you to wear my ring on my finger.”

“Do you think I’ll regret this?”

“If you find that you do, we can always try again when things are calmer,” he says, leaning over and kissing your temple. “You’re still young. It doesn’t have to be right now because it happened right now.”

“You don’t… you don’t think I’m being selfish?” you ask, desperate for reassurance.

“No. No. I think it’s more selfish to bring a child into the world when you’re expecting them to fix something before they’re even born. If you were to go through with this… why? What would your reasons be?”

“Because I feel guilty,” you say instantly, getting it off your chest.

“And that’s selfish. To bring a child into this world in an attempt to resolve your own guilt. And… it won’t work, honey. Because you’ll feel guilty all your life, anyway. Guilty when you miss birthdays, holidays, their first day of school,” Aaron says, swallowing audibly, and you hear him sniffle. You avert your gaze to him and take his face in your hands.

“Are you crying?” you ask, but you don’t need to. You see the tear he sheds before he wipes it away quickly.

You can’t put him through the trials and tribulations of self-imposed penitence for another eighteen years.

More importantly, you can’t put yourself through that. You realize for the first time, for all the good Jack has given him, he’s also given him equal amounts of pain.

And you don’t need any more agony, anxiety, or tension in your life.

Neither of you do.

This is going to hurt.

But eighteen years of failing to live up to expectations is going to hurt a lot more.

“I’m in full support of whatever you decide, honey,” he says again, rubbing your back.

“I… I need to do this, then. I need to get an abortion,” you say, with strengthened resolve, with the knowledge this is the best option for the two of you in this moment, with the way your lives are set up right now.

Abortion.

A so-called shameful, dirty word, when it was just a healthcare procedure. How many victims had the two of you encountered that you encouraged to go through with this, so they wouldn’t have to carry a monster’s baby to term?

It wasn’t just for that. It wasn’t always a decision brought about by evil men who rape innocent women, or poverty, or adultery. Sometimes it was a decision made with the utmost devotion and care, by a couple that loves each other and knows their limits.

“Okay,” Aaron agrees, pressing his mouth to your temple again. “We can make an appointment right now. You can’t be far along. You may be able to get the pill and do it here.”

“Is this what you wanted?” you ask. “Be honest.”

“It is,” he admits. “But more for your sake. I think you could handle it. You could handle anything. You’re strong and capable. But I think it would stretch you. It would take all you have. You wouldn’t be happy. And I want you to be happy.”

Aaron calls in and says the two of you are taking the day off due to a family emergency, and that comforts you, that the two of you can be considered a family unit together, just the two of you, soon-to-be husband and wife. While he calls in, you call for an appointment at the nearest clinic, and you’re eternally grateful they can get you in this afternoon for the consultation and blood work.

Aaron takes you out to brunch and you try to calm your nerves over coffee and pancakes. But looking at him, changed into cargo shorts and his plain white t-shirt, looking as casual as he’d ever look if he wasn’t running… you feel okay. Like he was right to meet your whirlwind of emotions with a blanket of tranquility.

Predictably, when you get there, there are protesters with signs with misconstrued Bible verses scrawled in large capital letters, and your stomach churns again at the thought of walking past them.

“I can clear them out,” he says quietly, judging your silence for fear.

“No. We don’t need to go in guns blazing. I’ll be okay,” you say, giving him a small smile, and he leans over and presses his mouth to it.

“I love you, honey. I love you. And I want you to know how brave I think you are, in this moment, for taking your needs into consideration and account,” Aaron tells you, kissing the side of your mouth gently.

“I love you, too, Aaron,” you reply, kissing him back and squeezing his hand, the fingers that you would slip a ring on weeks from now. “Don’t they have anything better to do?” you ask, shaking your head. “I mean. It’s sweltering out here.”

He shrugs but then both of you see it. A girl, walking through this crowd alone. Couldn’t be older than 16, and you guessed she was probably younger than that. She was thin, red curly hair frizzed up in the humidity, thin enough you could see the slight swell of her stomach under her tank top. Granted, it wasn’t a large group of people, but it was enough to intimidate somebody, more women than men, some children, and they start screaming at her, trying to hand her pamphlets.

“Maybe we will have to go in guns blazing,” you say through gritted teeth, opening the car door and trying not to slam it in your haste.

You’re walking quickly, too quick for Aaron to catch up immediately, and you don’t say anything, just walk up and walk through, two middle fingers up at the two lines of protesters.

“Oh, nice, what a nice example you’re setting for this young lady,” one of the women says, and you turn to her, scoffing.

“No better than you,” you retort. “By the way. Exodus 21 22-25. Take a look at it someday, will you? Funny how the Bible says only a fine is owed if you cause a miscarriage, but it’s a life for a life if you kill somebody. Funny, hm? Makes you think. Come on, honey,” you say, putting your arm around this girl’s shoulder as you walk into the building, just in time for Aaron to catch up with you and catch your other hand.

“How did you know that?” he asks.

“Reid,” you respond and grin. “I pay attention to him. It comes in handy.”

Aaron chuckles, shaking his head and kissing the top of yours. “I love you.”

You let the girl sign in at the front first, wondering where she was getting the strength to do this alone at her age.

Well.

You suppose either way, for her, she would be alone.

Still. You’re eternally grateful for Aaron in this moment.

He should be here. He was half of the reason this was needed. Any man whose partner wants an abortion should be with them. But looking around… you see most of the women are alone, one other couple there besides you and Aaron.

Granted, this clinic provided other services besides abortions. But it’s so often seen as a woman’s solitary affair, something she “has to take care of” alone, in secret, terrified. How many mistresses drive here alone, paying for it with their own money while their lover kisses his wife good morning? How many teenagers like this girl have to scrape up the funds, try to avoid the suspicion of their parents, and do this alone?

“Thank you,” the girl says quietly, as you sit down with Aaron across from her. She’s bouncing her knee at a rapid pace, crossing her arms over her belly.

“You’re welcome, honey. Any time,” you respond. “What’s your name?”

“Deana,” she answers, looking nervously between you and Aaron.

You introduce yourself to her, shaking her sweaty hand.

“Are you… are you here for the same reason?” she asks.

“I think so.”

“I’m afraid,” she admits, not that she needed to, all wide-eyed and trembling like you were hours ago. “Are you? Aren’t you scared?”

“Yes,” you admit. “But you will get past this.”

“How do you know? Have you done this before?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “No. But I know, honey.”

You can’t and shouldn’t credit Aaron with all your growth over the years you’ve known him. You’ve done a lot of work yourself. You’re still prone to heightened emotions, anxiety, even depression at times. Aaron isn’t medication, he isn’t therapy, no, but he does serve to help, some.

He makes you better, because he loves you, and you make him better, too. You make him happier. You make his iron grip on life a little looser. You help him feel younger, lighter on his feet.

Even if it’s when he knows just his presence is needed. He’s helping. Like here. He’s quiet, listening to you and Deana talk while you wait for the nurse. Deana’s a high school student, predictably. A sophomore. She had a fake ID made to be able to get the procedure without parental consent. (This she whispered in your ear lest there were eavesdropping receptionists). She slept with the senior quarterback. Lost her virginity at a party. Trusted the pullout method. Didn’t have the money to get this until now.

“I’ve been wearing sweatshirts all summer,” she says, finally smiling. “I’ll be glad for that to be over.”

“You’re very brave,” you tell her, and you mean it. You can’t imagine being in her position.

Not that you could have imagined being in yours even a day ago.

But this is what women do. You push through or you won’t make it. You make the best decision you can at the time. It’s one foot after another.

You shoot her a reassuring smile as the nurse calls her in. She takes a deep breath, finds her resolve, and she walks with her.

Aaron turns to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulder, his body heat welcome what with the air condition blasting. “You were good with her.”

“She’s so young,” you murmur. “I feel bad for her.”

“I do, too. But she’s got a good head on her shoulders. She’ll be okay.”

And.

Just like that.

You hear your name called.

It’s your turn.

And he gets up to go with you. Holds your hand physically. The burden, he's shouldering as much as he can. Metaphorically. —————— “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” you say, holding the heating pad to your abdomen, laying horizontally on the couch.

The cramps don’t feel amazing. But. Again. You were glad to have Aaron here. Glad he took the same amount of time you had to take the pills and let it run its course at home.

And he’s so good. Making sure you’re staying hydrated. Cooking you meals. Getting you ibuprofen and ice cream. Being present. Making sacrifices.

It makes you wonder if maybe… maybe you could’ve done this, had the baby. But one day isn’t eighteen years. He’s great right now, he can do right now, but he can’t call out for eighteen years anymore than you can.

When you both return to the office, there are questions. Of course there are questions. “Are you both okay? Is there anything I can do? Do you want to talk about it?”

Yes. No. Absolutely not. —————— You don’t think about it as much until your wedding day, when you’re wondering if your dress would have had to have been altered. If you would’ve been sick with more than just nerves. If you would’ve regretted it.

You don’t regret a thing now, popping a bottle of champagne maybe a little too early with your mother, just a glass to soothe the wedding jitters.

“He seems like he really loves you,” your mom says. “Too bad I’ll never see you if you decide to have children.”

You nearly spit out your champagne, and you struggle not to let her see your reaction. “I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that, Mom. We have Jack.”

“Not yours.”

You shrug. “In a way, he is. I’m marrying his father.”

“Maybe you’ll surprise me. I never thought you’d tolerate a man enough to walk down the aisle. Or that a man would tolerate you enough, to be quite honest,” she says, grinning at your scowl.

It’s a small wedding, only close family, friends, and the team, really. No big declarations of love when you say your vows. It’s delightfully understated. Because you don’t need words to prove what’s already palpable.

Even your first dance, the song you chose, “Indian Summer” by The Doors, is beautiful in its simplicity.

I love you The best Better than all The rest.

Clear. Concise. To the point.

“I had other vows,” he confesses to you as Jim Morrison continues to croon on. “I just didn’t want to say them in front of everyone else.”

“Then say them to me now,” you whisper as he sways you around the room.

“Remember what I said about unconditional love? It’s not just… it isn’t just that any wrongdoing would be forgiven, that you’d still love them just the same. It’s that you would love them, no matter what. Even if they don’t love you anymore. And… that’s how I feel about you. No matter what.”

“Aaron. I just married you,” you tease. “I love you. I don’t think I’m leaving.”

“You… you don’t… see, this is why I didn’t want to say them in front of everybody,” he sputters, a blush creeping across his cheeks. “It’s… it’s that I know I would. If anything happened… I would still love you. Always. I thought… I thought it was reserved for children, and that was why I didn’t feel that way in my first marriage. But…. I don’t know. I’m happy to report that that is not the case. It’s a different kind of love, of course, but it’s still unconditional. We… we just went through something that tests even the strongest of couples and we handled it without any issues.”

“We did,” you agree.

“It was almost… romantic."

"Well, let's make sure we hit all the abortion clinics on the way to our honeymoon," you say, smiling at him teasingly.

Aaron scoffs. "Not what I meant. I mean, when I was younger, I never would have thought that could be something that would prove you love somebody. It's treated as a cop-out, a last resort, something you do if the relationship itself isn't going to work out... but for us, it was the right thing. The brave thing. And we did it together. That I could be there for you, in ways I couldn't have been if we had gone through with it. And... that's what makes it romantic. Right?"

You don't really have any eloquent words to say in response. You just love this man. For understanding. For knowing you. For not wanting you to jeopardize your career for something unplanned. For letting you take the reigns.

"Right," you agree, and you kiss him, letting him deepen the kiss, listening to Morgan whistle in the background.

"Yeah, Hotchners! Get a room next time."

"I think we can fire him if we join forces," you say, grinning when he laughs.

I love you the best Better than all the rest

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x you #hotchner x you #hotch x you #hotchner x reader #aaron hotch imagine #hotch x reader

663 notes · View notes

yuellii · 6 months

Text

02. / Fate : SACRIFICE

werewolf wriothesley / gn reader . completely sfw . tw gore

Fontaine : DARK BLOOD ; supernatural series m.list

"Good day, Mr. Wolf."

The scent of fresh bread through the trees; he inhales the delight that steams from the linens of your wooden basket.

"Good day," says he. A forest predator, so misbehaved with the size of his body that he immediately encroaches your personal space without proper permission. But what's different about your presence, he notes, is that you don't seem to mind. There was significant lack of fear for the claws on his fingers and the fangs of his teeth, most desirably. "You seem to be out all alone again," he muses, and it's his voice that contains the low, smirking growl of an animal. "Running a delivery?"

Your simple smile is all but sinister, just as polite as it always is during these past few months you've come to pass through these woods. "To my grandmother, as usual."

His nose leads him downwards towards your hands, a scent so sweet secreting from your basket of goods.

"And what have you brought this time?" His words are slowly slurred together, low rumbles pleasantly charming with the pop out of his canines between his lips. His hand slowly lifts your wrists with the basket as the length of his nails feel cold against your skin. "It smells so sweet," he almost drools with the lick of his lips. "I'm already delighted."

You seem to hesitate. And when you reluctantly open your basket for him, he sees why. "No sweets today, good sir..." Your shifting eyes gesture to the bare loafs of bread in the basket. "No sugar. Just plain sourdough, plain wheat," you list onwards, and the wolf can't help but notice how nervous you suddenly grow; he notes this is the first you've actually shown such a physical uncomfortableness before. You shift to grab your other arm, and that's when he sees it.

"What's this?" Without warning, he dives to grasp your other arm tightly, forcing a threatened gasp from your throat. And suddenly, the sweet scent grows stronger tenfold—he catches himself before he might begin salivating. There it is: a bandage wrapped around a fresh wound at the front of your palm. Still stained red, a bright and delightfully wet color.

"Oh!" you stutter, painfully retracting your arm from the iron grip of his hold. "It was just a small mishap," you laugh sheepishly, "nothing to worry about."

He finds a lack of worry within himself for the intention you specified. No, the worry he felt was from the trickling trails of his own saliva pooling by his lower teeth; A worry that he might've just devoured you—you, and the scent of your flesh that was so sickeningly enticing, he feels his body jolt in excitement of a meal. An animalistic instinct that leaves him drunk-dazed from the mere tease of your taste. He can't ignore how delightful the sudden mental image is—of sinking his teeth into that wound of yours.

“Wriothesley?” you voice out, and he feels his stomach lunge to his throat as the scent becomes stronger once more, only to find your wounded hand placed atop his forehead. Wet. He was sweating. “Are you alright? Do you have a fever?”

Flustered, he clears his throat. "You should clean that wound of yours a bit more thoroughly." So curiously to your notice, his eyes flicker to the side—anywhere but you. “And you might want to start running along now, don’t keep your grandmother waiting,” he further advises, “before it gets too dark.”

Before you can sound out another word, he flees off into the lonesome woods.

Garden shears, so clean and so pristine: a heavy contrast to the dark shadows as he loomed over the flowerbed. “This is a lovely little cottage,” he remarks. “And the tea your grandmother serves is quite good, too.”

“See?” you laugh wholeheartedly, hands clamping around rubber to cut lingering wilted roses away with sterling silver. Both your gazes cast downwards, and there was a stream of unwanted thoughts clouding his head. “I told you, she wouldn’t be scared of you.” The reassurance spills easy from your mouth, and he can only force himself to respond positively through a hum.

He jokes, “Does that mean I’m accepted into the family?”

You playfully bump his arm, and that’s when it happens—that smell, once again. Much more powerful this time, like the smell of freshly cut meat that was so overpowering, still raw with trickling blood that his tongue just yearns to wrap around. So sickening, he could feel the insides of his stomach writhe and clench just for a bite. And when he looks down just to see that you’ve accidentally cut yourself with the gardening shears, his instincts as a wolf almost collapses his sense of stability.

Your skin. It looks delicious running with blood. The feeling of his teeth ripping you apart into pieces is just within reach. His mouth feels dry in a way it craves for your flavor, and he does not realize he’s already grabbed you until the scent is so overpoweringly close that his saliva trickled down at the bottom of his chin.

A creature so disgustingly hungry for meat; he only snaps out of his daze when sounds of whimpers and fear emit from your body.

And yet, he can’t help but feel even more enticed. The sounds of your squeals, the fear woven into your features—he feels more starved by your horror-stricken expression to devour your body whole in a single bite.

“Wriothesley…” you choke out to him. The shakiness in your voice holds a fear you’ve never shown for him before, but perhaps fear was how it should be between a human and a wolf. “That really hurts,” you stuttered to him, “Please, let me go.”

He’s trembling. He, the big bad scary wolf, was trembling in place as he was merely moments away from devouring you. Your arm was now littered in new cuts, all from his nails digging deep into the skin of your arm to rip several more wounds. Above the cut from the shears, and his breathing blew right to your wrist. Had he let go, the limbs of your very soul would have been shredded between his teeth by now.

“Listen to me,” he says, voice a low whisper through seethed canines; and through your horrified tears, you see his eyes are pleading, begging you like a chained dog running feral on disobedience. “Please.” His other hand reaches down to meet yours—clutching desperately the gardening shears in your hand. Silver, completely poisonously deadly to werewolves. “Please, kill me.”

You stay silent, completely stunned to move in his grasp. Not when his nails still gashed holes of crescents into your arm.

“Please,” he further prayed, his mutters close to something of a growl as his lips were shaking, even as they leaned in to kiss the bleeding gash of your hand. One taste of you, just one. But his lips. They stung. “My mind is twisted. I fear I might suffocate the longer I’m with you.” His grip around the gardening shears is loose and rigid, and yet he holds them right up for you, urging you to take them. He practically pushes it to your chest, pressing the only form of a weapon you may have against him. He repeats, “Save me.”

Please, kill me.

Looking down at you with his mouth against your wound, lips tinted in your own blood that he laps up hungrily with his tongue, you realize this is the first time you really saw him as what he truly was: a feral animal.

“Or else fate will guide me to devour you whole.”

Blood moon, the cottage door is wide open.

“…Grandmother?”

The smell of iron hits your nose so sharply, yet the light sounds of metal rumbling and clothes shuffling were not enough to turn you away. No, your feet did not allow you to make such drastic movements in the suspense of the night, not when one movement may alert the inside presences.

But you find very quickly you do not need such caution. Because when you creek the door open even further…

Moonlight fails to illuminate the glowing eyes at the corner of the room.

But what you see in the darkness of the house was an entanglement of bitten limbs and clothing scattered into a corner pile on the ground, severed like the chew toy meal of a starving dog. And above it all glowed a pair of familiar eyes so wide and bloodshot, rimmed with the red crusted veins and tears of an animal. The filth around his mouth, the heavy breaths he released through the grotesque bits and pieces of breathed bloodied flesh stuck between his teeth. All with no mercy as strings of organs fell from his lips to his chin. So sickening, the smell of his iron breath in the air—and you only look away for a second to gag vomit back down your throat.

There is an animalistic instinct in his eyes that deadlocks you into place, lacking its typical playful compassion and instead showing the layers of insatiable hunger for human flesh. His breathing is still ragged upon his look of shock, like a deer caught in bright lights.

It’s far too late when you notice he’s drooling. Since the moment you stepped in, it was only his cravings that stunned him silent; you were so near now, so close: the final dessert to his meal. You couldn’t kill a man like him. But a monster could consume the likes of you. And it was only a rush of wind until the back of your head slammed down against the bloodstained wood of the floor, his body a heavy weight atop your own.

He was smiling. Smiling so widely that his tongue jutted out to lick his lips just at the sight of you trapped under him. His eyes, looking at you like another scrap of food in the wilderness.

But the first thing you felt before the rip of barred teeth, was indeed the salty droplets of tears that fell atop your skin.

Fontaine : DARK BLOOD ; supernatural series m.list

#🗡️ : Fontaine — DRK BLD #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #wriothesley imagines #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin x gender neutral reader

187 notes · View notes

certifiedfreec · 1 month

Text

thinking about some of the jjk men and their fragrance preferences….

because gojo probably smells really good all the time.

and like, normally it’s obnoxious when people go overboard with their fragrance, but there’s something about the way his cologne lingers that’s absolutely delicious. it’s sweet, maybe with some hints of cinnamon, but there’s also a spice in it that complements his brazen demeanor. it’s probably high quality- it has lots of natural elements without that artificial sting that comes with lots of big name brands. if you’re his partner, you’ll carry around his shirts or wear them whenever he’s away, sniffing them every once in a while to remind yourself of him. and, because he’s satoru gojo, it’s the one thing he gatekeeps too; you’ve asked dozens of times where in the world he’s found such a unique scent, and he only answers with that self-assured smirk and a casual shrug. “sorry, that’s confidential.” what you don’t know is that he doesn’t tell you because he loves seeing you wrapped up so adorably in his clothes; it makes that infinity-guarded heart of his fill with a new kind of warmth, and he doesn’t want that scent traveling anywhere else.

and don’t get me started on nanami. oh, this man prides himself on always smelling good.

you’ll watch him get ready for work every morning and before date nights, noticing how meticulously he spritzes his cologne on at his pulse points, how he’s careful to pat not rub the fragrance into his skin because it dulls the top notes that way. (he explained it to you one time, because of course he would know information like that.) the scent lingers in his car, in his office, and he definitely invested in it. it’s a simple yet clean fragrance- i’m thinking linen meets vetiver with a hint of mint. however, the price tag doesn’t mean that much to him; he’d happily douse your pillowcase or sheets with it so you can think of him while he’s out working overtime- anything to always associate that fresh, clean scent with him and only him.

and choso? you might’ve had to help him pick a cologne out at his quiet request, only because that little brother of his told him that most guys wear it and that there’s a ton he can choose from.

you held the practically endless sample cards up to his nose that day in the mall, only for him to visibly wince at over half the new scents that filled his darkly marked nose. it was a funny and almost endearing scene, up until he finally settled on one that he really liked and still uses to this day. it’s a little smoky, probably with some jasmine notes and sandalwood, and you think it fits his reserved personality pretty well. he didn’t quite get the concept of “a little goes a long way” at first, but now he knows just how much to apply. if you ask, he’ll spray it wherever you want to be reminded of him- your plushies, your pillows, he’ll even let you wear it. you joke that if he keeps using the cologne as often as he does, it’ll start to seep into his blood; he simply tells you he can make that happen if you like it that much.

#ryn’s rambles #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #nanami kento #nanami x reader #kento nanami #jjk nanami #jjk imagines #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #choso kamo #choso kamo x reader #choso x reader #choso kamo x you #i just love cologne and man scents #brain go brrrrrr

100 notes · View notes

perpetuelledaydreaming · 9 months

Text

Mamma mia | chapter four

listen to: Good for you - Selena Gomez | Chiquitita - Abba (playlist here)

warnings: accidental pregnancy, smut 18+, raising a child alone. warnings will be added as the story progresses. For this chapter smut.

series masterlist + read the next chapter early on my ko-fi!!

Jake was the first one to wake up. When you woke up, you traced the warm shadow of his body, left on the soft linen bed sheets. Inhaling the scent of lemon and wood, the smell of the sea as it filled your room through to your open window, you thought about Jake’s warm lips from the night before. Both of you fell asleep before you could continue, but as you passed your fingers over your lips, you felt your body growing hot.

Your mind goes back to Bob and then back to Jake. You didn’t really know either but there was something about both of them. Fondness was the only word you could conjure to describe how you felt about both of them. Fondness. Autumn. Orange of the sky. You couldn’t afford further, you’d promised yourself to be the person you weren’t, to live the lives you hadn’t lived this summer, for the future lives you wouldn’t live once you were gone. And so, as you raised from your bed carefully, you felt somehow grateful that Jake had left as the sun started to crack the sky, that he wouldn’t complicate things.

He wasn’t that thoughtful.

By the time you reached the spiral stairs, you realized that both Augustine’s and James’ bedrooms were closed and that the smell of something cooking was an act from a third party. The mostly quiet house was interrupted by clattering noise coming from the kitchen, the sound of oil burning something up, and crickets and birds accompanying the symphony. Walking slowly, partly afraid, your eyes fall on him in the kitchen.

The sun entering the big glass windows of the kitchen and the living room next to it allow you to watch him fully, without the haze of the alcohol you can see all the edges and ridges that you touched the night before, that you slept against. The golden locks seem prettier under the morning sun, he looks like the morning sun. He’s focused, you can tell as you watch him from afar. Fresh-cut strawberries, apples with honey, and kiwis on the table pancake mix next to him. He shouldn’t be cooking so close to hot oil without a shirt but you can’t blame him. If you looked like him you would walk naked too.

And then he turned around as he finished the batch of pancakes, and he was frozen in place as he stares at you. It should be unfair for someone to look as beautiful as you do just waking up. It’s strange how his heart swells as he watches you smiling timidly, naked legs, only a shirt covering your body. Tangled limbs from the night before, the heat of your kisses, your soft breathing. It’s outré. He just met you yesterday but he already wants to know you for so much longer.

“I made breakfast, baby,” he teases as you climb down the stairs, shaking your head.

“You’re aware that we didn’t sleep together, right?” you ask him as you take a strawberry from a bowl and bite it while holding Jake’s gaze.

Jake frowns slightly as he continues with the second batch of pancakes. “I know,” he said. “I’m just nice like that,” he shrugs.

“Sure you are, cowboy,” you teased him.

Jake turns to you, amusement covering his features. He stares at you for longer than you’d liked, enough for the air to shift slightly. Like it did when you kissed him, more intimate than anything before.

But then you hear the giggling from the stares. Eyes widening, you catch a glimpse of barely naked bodies, underwear covering their skin in the right places but you were fairly sure that they were about to come off as you cringed slightly at the moan James let out as Javy continued to kiss her neck on the stairs, a hand on her stomach, another one tearing the strap of her bra. And then, Jake cleared his throat. Javy’s eyes widened slightly, clearing his throat as he stares at the both of you looking at the scene. Javy’s jaw is set but James’, her eyes are gleaming.

“Sorry for the show, now just leave the sunroom alone for 15 minutes, okay?” James said in a hurry as she grabs Javy’s hand and pulls him downstairs and towards the small frame leading to the living room and then the sunroom.

There’s a slight carelessness and trust when it came to James. Better regret doing it than regret not doing it, she often said to you on the phone as you rejected multiple dates in order to study. You couldn’t bare looking back now and thinking about the things you missed.

“Please, don’t fuck on communal surfaces!” you scream from the counter as you shake your head, a slight smile on your face.

Jake’s laugh though, it’s a little bit too loud to ignore. You raise your eyebrow at him, another strawberry, another batch of pancakes. Jake turns to see you, the way you’re staring at him. There’s a slight blush creeping over his neck and climbing onto his cheeks. Your eyes are serious but tender, there’s a certain sinlessness to your eyes, he can tell.

“What?” you asked.

Jake shrugged slightly. The same smirk you saw the day prior drawn on his face, is softer than before but you can detect the duplicitous nature of it. Your eyes wander his body for a second, the tan skin, the heat irradiating from the kitchen. Honey now, honey and an apple.

“Never heard that before,” he said.

You don’t understand at first if he was never told if he couldn’t do it or if there weren’t any lines for him. If he’d done it in all the places but then you see his eyes. The sea-foam green, eyes wide, pupils blown as his eyes trail your body, the curve of your ass as you lean into the table, licking the honey away from your fingers, staring at him like that.

It’s only then, you know it’s the latter.

“Where’s the best one you’d done it at?” you asked, voice sounder smaller than you intended.

You wished for a second you didn’t sound so inexperienced. Jake doesn’t mind, his smirk only grows as he takes a strawberry and bites it. He stares at you for a moment, you tilted your head up now that he was closer.

“Kitchen table,” he said.

The warmth feeling on your belly seems to come alive, heat pooling between your legs as he leans down and kisses you deeply, eagerly. It’s a clear contrast from the night before. It’s all red desire as he cups your face and begins to kiss his way down your neck. You moan softly as he maneuvers you, pressing his chest against your back, pressing into you harder in your back. You try to stay steady on your feet as you cling to the kitchen table.

Scorching kisses are left on your soft skin as he wraps your hair tightly around his hand, giving him the space to pull down your shirt just enough for him to kiss your collarbones. Then Jake’s hand cups your throat, fingers gripping the back of your neck and you’re a goner. Your heartbeat is erratic as he presses the sides of your throat slightly and a moan breaks through your lips. It’s hard being as inexperienced as you are and pretending that you’re not, that no one has touched you like he is touching you right now.

Your mind is dizzy, your breathing hard, skin hot. It’s too much and he knows. You can basically feel him smirking against your skin as his other hand quickly presses against your body, travels across your stomach, over the curve of your breast, circling your nipple, not purposeful enough, not enough for you.

You whine. “Jake,” you whimper impatiently. His smile only grows wider, his hand moves across your chest and repeats the same featherlight motion over your other breast.

“Don’t be bossy,” Jake whispers against your ear, licking and then biting your neck. Another moan, loud, but the two of you are in your own world, you don’t care if anyone hears you, you can barely hear anything but the soft noises Jake lets out of his lips, your heart beating so hard like the waves crashing against the sand.

“Jake,” you huff again as his hand traces small circles on your exposed thighs, so close. “Please,”

That’s what does it to him, your closed eyes, rosy cheeks, brows furrowing, you begging. He smiles as he drags one finger gently over your covered clit and a satisfied moan fills the room. Your jaw slacks slightly as the pleasure rolls through your body.

“More,”

You don’t mean it as an order, more as a plead and you aren’t really sure how he takes it but complies immediately, as he finally moves your underwear to the side, his two fingers caressing your slick, gathering your excitement before finally plunging them inside of you.

“Fuck,” Jake mutters as he feels you wrapping around him so perfectly.

He kisses and touches you with devotion, a devotion you’d never experienced before. You only met him yesterday, devotion shouldn’t be part of the deal but as he continues to work you open, your mind doesn’t care.

Damn whatever the rules are for having flings, it doesn’t matter if he keeps touching you like this.

Suddenly, though, Jake’s hand slips out of you, gasping you barely register the moment he pushes you up into the table and then the way he pulls you forward and kisses you senseless. He then begins to kiss your face, your collarbone, your nipples over that oversize shirt, then lower, your rib cage, your belly button, and then he’s rising the shirt. Your thighs, your hipbone and then he’s on his knees.

You watch him, how delicate his eyes look under these lights but how his pupils are blown wide from the lust. You watch him as he hudges your legs apart so softly without looking away from you. You watch him smile as his eyes for one-second gaze at the wrecked panties and then you watch him, very tenderly, sliding your underwear to the side again and pulling you towards his mouth.

Cathexis. Everything around you is gone. You are only aware of the way his hands are resting on your thigh, his skin and yours, you’re only aware of how his tongue is licking and sucking your pussy, how it plunges inside of you, how his fingers press against your clit, how his mouth works eagerly against your folds.

“Jesus Christ,” you barely manage to listen to him against you.

The overwhelming pleasure begins to cloud your sight, white dots, your belly tensing up. His tongue runs between your folds, circling your clit slowly. With another sharp cry, your body feels like it’s burning. Engulfed in the flames being ignited by him. Surrendering control of your body you fall to the table, shaking, some plates fall on the floor. Strawberries. He tasted like strawberries. It’s all you can think of as you feel his hands snaking to your ass, squeezing it, and pulling you closer to him. Devouring like a man starved.

“Yes, yes,” you chant.

Hands flying quickly to pull his blonde locks, you pull his hair hard, a broken cry leaving your lips and a groan that replicates waves of pleasure over your body, makes you cry harder. Without warning, with an unchanging pace, while you’re moving your hips to ride his face, he throws you over the edge with four words.

“Taste so fucking sweet, Honey,” he moans against you.

Screaming, and shaking, your body yields. It can’t handle more. You tighten, you scream, lights overwhelm your sight, everything throbs, your trash, your blood is filled with pleasure and heat. Your ears are ringing, vaguely aware that he’s pulled out his tongue when you feel the loss of heat. You whimpered as he fixes your wrecked underwear. It’s useless but you let him.

“Honey?” he calls your name as he leans over and kisses your lips, his body is warm and he nudges your jaw with his nose, pressing soft kisses to your skin.

Lemon and Wood. The sun. You smile as your eyes flutter open. His grinning, arousal over his chin, your cheeks hot as you watch him, his adoring eyes.

“That good, huh?” he says, the cockiness dripping from his eyes.

Carefully he helps you sit up as you glance at him, he’s still hard but doesn’t seem in any hurry that you take care of that. Eyes, still with white lights on your sight, holding each other.

“I’ve had better,” you lie with a smirk as he holds your hips. Jake shakes his head, biting his lip as he laughs before leaning down and kissing you.

It’s softer like the night before but so purposeful that you place your hand over the back of his neck while arching your back towards him as he grabs you by your ass and pulls you closer. The intensity grows but then you hear the steps above and then on the stairs.

“Are you okay?” Augustine asked, barely awake. “I heard some screaming and I,”

She takes in the scene, your rosy cheeks, glassy eyes. The food on the floor, Jake barely dressed, the table empty in a space just to fit your body. She doesn’t have to see far to see the hard-on that Jake has. And then, she hears James screaming, honestly, moaning from the sun door, all of you snap your head towards the door. She closes her eyes for a moment, breathing hard.

“WHAT DID WE SAY ABOUT FUCKING ON COMMUNAL SURFACES!?”

SEVEN YEARS LATER

It’s 11:00 pm, it’s already late but you know that they’re right there. They’ve been there since twenty minutes ago when you’d left Inés’ room after putting her to sleep. Silently you stared at the bedroom door, it was closed but you could see the shadows of their bodies on the space between the floor and the door.

You think about the day that you found out that you were pregnant. The way you barely made it inside the house after seeing Bradley. The way your body began to shake as it dawned on you that you hadn’t had your period. James and Augustine home to see you crying in your bathroom. They undressed you as if you were a child, god, you still were. You stepped inside the warm water. They stayed with you, on the edge of the bathtub, silently until you finally spoke.

“I think I’m pregnant,”

As you stared at their shadows behind the door, you thought about what they would say. The fidelity between the three of you was fierce. You fiercely loved each other. No one had been as loyal as they were, ever. But this was so complicated. The awful cold feeling of shame, you couldn’t bare it. They didn’t know. They didn’t know and you’d lied to them about it.

Your chest aches as you recall that summer while you nurse on the wine you’d served. Wash away that summer. You wanted them gone, those ghosts that haunted you. The nights you’d met each one. Their eyes. You wanted to wash away their touch from your skin, their kisses, their empty promises. Gone. Each and every one of them out of your life, of your memories. Gone.

But you couldn’t.

One of them had gave you the best thing in your life. James and August were still behind that door, they were waiting for you.

You fight your way out of your bed, literally, and walk through the door, opening it slowly, abashed.

James looks up from her phone first and then Augustine, they could see the stain of tears on your cheeks, they were a bit hollower than they were the day you told them that you were pregnant.

“Are you finally telling us what’s wrong?” James asks.

You nodded softly, looking down at the glass of wine. Augustine quickly takes your hand and pulls you inside the room, so softly as if you were made of porcelain. You did feel like that. Fragile. Your poor heart, full of scars after everything.

“Here, come,” Augustine says while placing you on your bed, her next to you. James closes the door softly and climbs into bed with the two of you.

Snuggle between your two best friends, you feel exhausted as you lean on Augustine’s shoulder and James caresses your hair.

“Are you finally going to tell us the truth?” James says.

“You saw them, right?” Augustine asks. “You saw Bradley and Bob, and,”

You nod. “Jake,” you whispered, tears streaming down your eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell us, Honey?” Augustine asks, her hug turning tighter.

“I, I couldn’t,” you whisper, fidgeting with your hands.

“Yes, you could, you can tell us anything,”

“Are you scared they might find out about Inés?” James asks softly, moving her hand towards yours, she holds your hand.

“I don’t know how to tell,” you say, words don’t come out of your throat. “Remember how I told you,” a hiccup escapes your lips and you groan in frustration as you lay in the bed. “I knew who Inés father was?”

Augustine frowns slightly, her gaze shoots up at James slightly. She’s looking back at Augustine with the same puzzled look. They are holding their breaths. You never told them and they never questioned you. But now, now you’re allowing this conversation, and the tension in the air grows by the second.

“Bradley?” James asks.

“So, Jake,” Augustine says.

They both snapped their eyes at each other and you then covered your face with your hands as more tears fall from your eyes. The realization overwhelms them, you know. They stare at each other for a moment, mouths agape, waiting for you.

“It might be Bob for all I know,” you confess. Your hands are still covering your hands as you wait for them, but you can feel, the shock in their faces. “I’m, I’m such an awful mom for not knowing, I’m an awful person,”

“Honey, don’t say that,” Augustine hushes you, as she pulls your hands from your face.

“But I am!” you say. “Who doesn’t know who is the father of her daughter?”

“Honey, a lot more people than you think!” James says, trying to sound upbeat but you quickly glare at her.

“And now they all are here,” you say as you raise from your bed and walk to your vanity, wiping the tears from your face softly while you look at your puffy eyes. “It’s a hideous trick of faith!”

“Do they know about Inés?” Augustine asks from the bed, crawling from it.

“No, of course not, they just saw me and James,” you say as you stare at yourself in the mirror. “They can’t know just by looking at me, right?” you ask as you turned towards them, posing awkwardly.

“Babe, you don’t have ‘Mom’ tattooed on your face,” James answers raising her eyebrow. You roll your eyes at her.

“I can’t let them find out about Inés, imagine all the questions they’ll be asking if they see her or me again,” you say as you sit down at the table while James and Augustine stare at each other for a second. “Imagine how Inés' life will change. She will hate me,”

“Honey, if you might tell them, then everything would be just,”

“Awful,” you snap. “What can I say? Here Inés, you have three possible dads because your mom was a stupid, reckless little slut!”

“HONEY!” Augustine gasped, she lets out a giggle as she watches you.

“You sound like a grandma!” James adds with laughter.

“It’s not funny!” you say but a little laugh escapes your lips, a smile tugging on the corners of your lips.

Before you all notice, you all erupt into laughter. The sound fills the room, bouncing off the walls and ceiling like a game of ping-pong. It’s a burst of hearty, genuine laughter that comes from deep within your belly, the kind that leaves you gasping for air. Augustine’s face lights up with joy, the corners of her lips and cheeks hurt, and James' eyes crinkle at the corner as she basks in the sound of your collective mirth. From all that pain, all that ache that came from the last few days, it’s the first time that you feel like yourself.

Even a bit like before.

“We’ll help you, Honey,” Augustine says as she stands up and embraces you warmly. A sense of contentment settles over you.

“Yeah,” James agrees. “How hard is it to avoid a couple of Top Gun Pilots,” she adds as she surrounds Augutine and you with her arms, wrapping you up.

“They’ll never find out,” you declare.

It’s wishful thinking, though.

You realize that quietly as you fall asleep. It’s a feeling that can’t be replicated or manufactured, a deep, deep knowledge inside of you, something you just happen to know, not a believe a fact. You know that it is only a matter of time.

author's note: Thank you so much for your patience, honestly the last two months have been really hard and i didn't feel like i could write but I'm so excited to listen to your thoughts on how this is story is going! thank youuu so much!

taglist: @not-two-shrimp @startrekfangirl2233 @caitsymichelle13 @callsign-cherrybomb @books-are-escapes @siriusfahey @fulla02 @bananas1234michaelclifford-blog @michaelclifford-blog @2525sc @grxcisxhy-wp @cottagecori @shawnsblue @rogersbarnesxx @safeikik @mimisparkle12 @darkheartcherry @brokenhearts-world-blog @fudosl @lovingjakeseresin @strwbhrrygarfield @twsssmlmaa @wearewhoweare28 @ittydoor @lnmp89 @mickeygs-world @actuallyazriel @laracrofted @railmerooster @tempt-ress @eli2447 @callsign-cherrybomb @fulla02reads @saramaple @caidi-paris @astronomeoww @andromeda-starship @endofdays56 @hollydaddy @msunnyblog @cottagecori @deadgirl02 @flashyourgreeneyesatme @abaker74 @thesimpybitch @pinkpantheris @na-ta-sh-aa @zonkie-bee @shanimallina87 @i-wanna-be-your-muse @endofdays56 @wildxwidow

236 notes · View notes

phantomenby · 1 year

Text

Spring Cleaning

Anonymous asked:

Can I make a request for a poly lost boys x reader were the boys hate it when the reader washes her bedding. When she does all they wanna do is lay in the nest with the reader all night because they can’t stand the nest smelling like anything but them.

CW// mild smut, aggression

It had been a great day, glorious even by your own standards.

The sun had been shining, but not too hot that it made you feel clammy and gross on your way outside, even the roads were clear enough to get up and down the coast quickly in less than ten minutes each way.

Not that you ever really followed the speed limit.

And even fucking better, the laundromat in town was doing fifty percent off for some dumb holiday event.

So naturally, you took as many pieces of clothing as you could find and all of your bedding down in your van, dousing it all in cleaning powder you had stolen from a convenience store, and going to the nearest diner until it was all done.

Now, eight hours later, you were rolling around in the sweet blissful scent of vanilla and fresh linen.

Oh, this is the dream you thought, hugging your newly washed blanket to your chest.

You still had a good few hours before sundown, and before you had any sort of commitments with your roommates since they had become rather big fans of sleeping in these past few weeks.

Checking the little watch you kept by your bed you saw it was only just gone five in the afternoon, with the sun still casting a luminous warmth throughout the cave as it began its slow descent towards the sea.

You didn't remember falling asleep, but you do remember waking up.

It started slowly, calmly, the usual. Slow pitter-patter echoing around the cavern as large forms came out of the upper passageways, hair tousled and mussed from a long sleep.

Normally they would surround you, one or two wrapping their bodies around your own. David preferred to smoke first, Marko going to the front of the cave to check on his prized pets while Paul hunted for something to eat in his chest of plenty by the fountain.

Dwayne was the cuddliest, the most openly affectionate when he was confined to his private spaces. So it was him who smelt it, that vile pungent scent.

"What the hell?!-"

The exclamation was followed by a deep growl, the noise startling you out of your dozy lethargic state as you shot up, looking at Dwayne in confusion as he seethed at the edge of your nest

With a quick glance around you tried to see what he was so angry about, finding nothing more than a freshly made bed and a few scattered pieces of clothing that he couldn't surely be mad about.

David returned from his smoke break to come to stand beside Dwayne, his senses still clouded from smoke and nicotine.

"What. Did. You. Do." Your eyes returned to Dwayne as he spat the words out. Well, he wasn't mad, instead, the brunette looked stressed..?

His shoulders were tense and heaved with each breath he took, while his hands were poised at his sides with his fingers twitching in discomfort, claws jutting out sharper than ever.

When you didn't respond he let out a warning growl, making you flush, repeating himself slowly as he began to shed his clothing.

You began to flush even deeper at his actions as you tried questioning what he was doing, "w-what-", finding yourself tongue twisted and growing even more flustered instead.

He threw his jacket towards you, tugging off his shoes as David began sniffing the air in search of what Dwayne was getting.

Finally getting a whiff of it David snarled, mimicking Dwayne's actions as the final of the two showed up in interest, "why would you do this huh? Feeling rebellious or somethin?"

The both of them climbed into the nest, reaching for a few of the surrounding blankets and pillows that still smelt of them, placing them around you.

When they were done David pulled you against him, nose dragging across your skull while he huffed deep cold breaths against your skin like a angry bull.

"Can you two cut it out, this is nice but-"

"Cut it out?" And there was Paul, "how can we do that when this entire place smells so...so...so human. It's disgusting."

You thought on his words, brain working slower than ever as Dwayne joined in on feeling you up, the feel of his tongue pressing to your jugular making you short circuit.

"Oh-" his tongue moved away from you, allowing you a moment to think, bringing you to the realization that they were acting this way because of your recent laundry trip.

It didn't matter anyway, Marko had finally returned to this side of the cave and was already holding a large pile of blankets he had huddled together from the couches by the fountain, a dark grin on his face as he dropped them on top of your form.

Safe to say it was the first day in many months that none of them had let you leave the cave.

#tlb #the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #david tlb #david the lost boys #dwayne tlb #marko tlb #paul tlb #the lost boys paul #paul x reader #spicy

661 notes · View notes

bumpkinspice0 · 9 months

Text

Miguel O'Hara x Spider!FemReader

No use of y/n

Rating: explicit (MINORS DNI!!!!!)

Word Count: 5285

Summary: There's a massive breach to Spider Tower, Miguel needs the help of the entire spiderverse to contain it.

Warnings: Previous traumatic accident (Wound and pain from such but nothing too descriptive), I don't know how healing works it's the future shut up, angst, pining, protective!Miguel SMUT! Sexy shower time, fingering, praise kink, kinda body worship, Miguel takes GOOD care of you, don't look at me

A/N: Sorry this took longer to update than usual, life really started lifin' there. Also I didn't know how to write the shift in relationship dynamic good so you'll gotta deal with that too. ENJOY

Previous. Next

Series Masterlist

AO3

_______________

Chapter 10

Let Me Take Care of You

You drift lazily on the waves of consciousness for what felt like hours, your eye’s only forming blurry images as you attempt to force yourself to wake up. The smell is the first thing you notice. Fresh, clean linens and something else you recognize but can’t put your finger on. It wasn’t quite sterile , like a hospital, but not completely welcoming like a home either. When you finally burst fully from the veil of sleep, it’s a room you’ve never seen before. Smooth and sleek futuristic architecture like the tower. All accented in crisp white and grays, almost no color— but it’s not a hospital room like you suspected. You’d been to the infirmary in the tower a handful of times, and this wasn’t it

It takes all your effort to simply turn your head to the side, and there on the nightstand is your answer. A framed photograph of Miguel and Gabe. They look younger than you know them. Maybe ten years ago. This was his room.

You were in Miguel's house.

You take another deep breath, bringing the sheets to your nose and finally recognize his scent amongst the clean white linens— like rich red wine. The smell of Miguel.

Why on earth were you here? You move to roll out of the massive bed, but a sharp pain in your side stops you. And in your shoulder— and your head— pretty much all of you.

You look down at your hands for the first time and see several bandages scattered up your arms. You had a particularly big one you recognized on your hand— you’d had an IV in at some point. Your clunky multiverse watch had been replaced with a day pass. Your suit had been replace with a cotton tee and shorts.

Ever so slowly you come up to a seated position. The worst pain was coming from your right side. You lift your plain gray cotton shirt to reveal more bandages wrapped around your abdomen and several ugly purple bruises peeking out from beneath.

“What the hell happened?” you whisper to yourself.

“You got blown up,” a familiar cheeky voice informs you. Lyla materializes at the end of the bed. She’s not a small little hovering woman though. She’s a full-sized person. You never seen her appear larger than a soda can and now she looked like you could practically touch her. “Well, the nanotech took most of the blow. You’re lucky.”

“Nanotech? The suit?” You run your hand over your face, feeling a few other bandaids taped down. One on your eyebrow and another on the cheek. Was there any part of you that wasn’t hurt?

You squeeze your eye’s shut trying to recall anything. There was a fight— I big one. You were called into the tower. It was a blur but you know you made it out. You remember laughing with Jess and Gwen afterward. You’d won. You even found Miguel afterward and he told you to… ah, there it was. Some freak explosion from the rubble by his room. Wrong place at the wrong time. This was gonna be embarrassing to come back from.

Any normal person would be in shock right now. You hadn’t been a normal person for nearly a decade. If you had a dime for every near-death experience you’d had since starting this job, you’d be able to buy the entirety of New York City. This wasn’t your first time waking up bruised and battered and it certainly won’t be the last.

All in all, not the worst you’d been banged up on the job, but still not great it landed you bedridden for god knows how long. You felt sluggish and tired but knew if you didn’t try to move around at least a little, you’d regret it later. Get the blood pumping, that always helped.

You’d really been in this situation too many times.

You slowly move the edge of the bed again. Lyla glitches in front of you.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, where do you think you’re going?” She places her hands on her hips.

“To get some water. I’m thirsty,” You shakily stand and walk right through her pixelated form. Your legs might as well be jello but you make it work.

“This is a fully automated house!” She forms back in front of you when you're just at the door, “I’ll get you the water.”

“I’m a big girl, I can get my own drink,” You sigh and walk/ limp through her again.

“Oh! You just wanna snoop!” she accuses.

Ah, she got you. Yeah, you wanted to move a little, yes, but this was a rare opportunity you weren’t going to pass up. You were in his house. His house! Alone!

“And so what if I do?”

She raises her hands in defeat. “Hey, I’m not stopping ya then.”

You slide the foggy glass door out of the way and leave Miguel’s bedroom. You walk out onto a lofted balcony overlooking the rest of his home. It matched the bedroom with its sleek white glossy and gray tones— and it was massive. Twenty-foot ceilings, Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the far wall, overlooking the city. Wherever you were, you were very high up. A modest living room sat in the center with sleek charcoal furniture. The floors were a glossy deep black. The second-floor balcony lined the entirety of the living space, with several doors and hallways leading to other parts of the house along its path. You make your way across the second level and down the sleek glass stairs— gripping the railing for dear life.

“How long was I out?” You ask Lyla, noticing the weakness in your legs again.

“Three days,” She answers, glitching to the bottom of the stairs. “You were in the infirmary until the swelling went down then the big guy brought you here.”

“What swelling?” You ask, almost afraid of the answer.

“In your brain. Minor. Should be fine now with all the drugs and advanced healing,” She says so nonchalantly it almost puts you at ease— almost.

Sounds like you had a concussion. Awesome. That explains the pulsing headache that was on the rise and your less-than-stellar vision. Your advanced healing can only do so much. You have brain fog to look forward to for the next 2 weeks. Even more awesome, “Might wanna take a week off after this.”

You made it to the bottom floor, spotting the kitchen underneath the stairs. It was sleek and clean like the rest of the house.

“Me? Take a week off? Nah, I’m unstoppable.” You joke as you round the kitchen island with the speed of a tortoise. A cabinet automatically opens for you, revealing the glasses. You grab one and fill it up at the sink. You chug the liquid down in a very unladylike way, immediately refilling the glass. Damn, you were actually extremely thirsty.

“Miggy’s gonna force you to take a month off with the way he’s been hovering over you.”

Your cheeks instantly heat up at her casual statement. She takes notice, a smirk pulling at her pixelated mouth.

“Where is Miguel?” You ask sheepishly.

“Called into the tower,” she casually glances down at her nails, “Had to go do something only he could do , I don’t know. He’s been at your bedside every day and night. He’s gonna be pissed when he gets back to see you finally awake when he wasn’t here. In fact, you should get back to bed.”

“How long ‘til he’s back?” You ask, completely disregarding her suggestion.

“No idea,” She shrugs, her expression still smug. She was having fun seeing your schoolgirl crush. Lyla knew everything from the beginning. She knew all the rules of the agreement too. Miguel brought you to his home. You’d slept in his bed. You’d stayed in this dimension well past the 48-hour limit. He was breaking rules for you— Miguel didn’t break rules.

You take your water and head to the massive windows. There was a large balcony just beyond the apartment. Lyla, seemingly reading your mind, opened the door for you— well not exactly a door. A rectangle of glass dissipates right next to you, leading outside. Guess they don’t do doors the same way in 2099.

The air is fresher than you expected for a city balcony, you attribute it to being so high up. This view was easily head and shoulders above any of the surrounding buildings. It was cold and a little windy, but it felt nice on your arching, bedridden body.

The view was spectacular. You’d been to Nueva York dozens of times before, technically, but you spent all your time in spider tower. You’d caught glimpses of the city, of course, but you never really took the time to appreciate it.

New York in 2099. A futuristic version of your home. It looked nothing like your New York. Everything was so sleek and rounded— taller than your world's cities. There are a few things you can recognize from this height. The green of Central Park is still cut out in the center of the towering Skyscrapers. You’re in Manhattan, not far from the park. The rivers converging around the islands— okay maybe you only recognize a few things. The buildings and streets you know were likely engulfed amongst the behemoth futuristic towers that now make up this New York.

No, this wasn’t your New York. This was Nueva York, and it was incredible.

“Lyla,” You ask and she automatically blips to your side, “Where are we? Like, where is his apartment?”

“You’re still in the tower,” She confirms, “The penthouse suite.”

She confirms your suspicions. You may not have seen much of the city, but you were certain Spider Tower was one of the tallest buildings in it.

Miguel lived and worked here. You wonder if he ever left the grounds in anything other than a portal. Did he have friends? Did he like to go out to dinner? What silly little life did he live outside of being Spider-Man? You suspect he doesn’t have one. You want to ask Lyla but you feel like you’ve already invaded enough of his personal life simply by being here. Then again… he apparently brought you here.

“Why am I here, Lyla?”

She raises her eyebrows over lidded, unamused eyes, “Do you really need an advanced AI to tell you that, girl?”

You don’t, but you also don’t want to dwell on the deeper implications of this unholy shit show.

“What do you think of… this? Of us?”

“Try being a little less vague if you can.” The AI rolls her eyes.

“Fair enough.” you mull over your next words, “But just… why would Miguel bring me here? He’s broken almost every rule.”

“Ya know, it amazes me how dense you humans can be,” She leans against the railing next to you, “Before you came along, Gabe and I were his only close friends. Though, I’m not sure I count.”

“You count.” You inform her immediately.

“Well, thank you,” Some comical blush circles pop up on her face and disappear in an instant, “Miguel cares a lot, despite trying to make people think he’s made of stone. You’re the only other person that’s… been in his life this way. He looks out for his own. Something bad happened to you— and he got scared. And he took control like he always does. Humans aren't always rational. That’s something you all need to accept.”

For a programmed interface, she was a really good therapist. It was all things you already knew but just didn’t want to admit to. You were just human. Miguel cared. You both cared— and that made everything more complicated.

“Was he really with me the whole time?” You ask Lyla, suddenly feeling like a tween gushing over a crush again.

She peeks her eyes over her obnoxious heart-shaped glasses and rolls her head to the side, “Why don’t you ask him yourself.” and in a flash, she’s gone.

As soon as she vanishes, you feel the spider-sense ring in your head, and butterflies instantly rise in your stomach. You turn around to see Miguel standing at the door, still in his spider suit with an almost heartbreaking look on his face.

“What are you doing out here?” it takes him only four long strides to stand at your side, “Lyla shouldn’t have let you out of bed.”

“To Lyla’s credit, she did try,” You smile at him. He doesn’t smile back, worry painted over his features.

“Stubborn woman.” He reaches out to you but quickly pauses his movements as if he’s afraid he’ll break you. “Please, come back inside. It’s freezing out here.”

You nod and head back towards the door. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how slow and awkward your walking is. He slowly walks at your side the whole time, hovering a hand behind you as if you’ll fall at any second. You catch a glimpse of your full body in the reflection of the windows and you can see why he’s so cautious around you. You looked like a minefield of bandages and bruises. It was jarring to see all at once.

The door closes behind you with a sleek ring as the glass reforms in an instant. You’ll never get used to that.

Miguel’s in front of you again, ghosting his hands over your body, “I can’t believe you’re up and walking. How are you feeling? How’s your vision? They stopped the internal bleeding right away but there still might be—”

He shuts up when he meets your eyes. His were wide but still soft somehow. Caring in a way you hadn’t seen before— deep, lustful red eyes.

“Hi,” you simply say.

“Hi,” he responds with the faintest of smiles. You’d seen his face flash through a series of emotions since he saw you, but he seems to have finally settled on relief.

“I… Like your house.”

“Uh, Thanks,” He stands up straight again, scratching the back of his head, “Will you— I need to— Can you just sit in the living room for me?”

“Um, sure, yeah,” you make your way to the living room just in front of you, he hovers next to you the entire way. He helps you to a seated position on the couch. You swear he holds himself back from fluffing the pillows too.

“I’m sorry, I just didn’t expect you to be–” He slowly sits down next to you, taking a deep breath. Shouldn’t you be the one freaking out? Today, apparently not, “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” You say with slightly forced cheerfulness, “I mean… good considering…” you look down at the bandages scattering your body.

His gaze drops away from yours, “Yeah.”

You weren’t lying. Sure, you were achy and groggy with some bad scrapes and bruises, but overall… not bad. You’d likely experienced a critical accident just days ago. Even with advanced healing, you shouldn’t be as chipper as you are.

“I mean… how am I feeling this good ?” You ask, simultaneously questioning yourself and Miguel. “Lyla said it’s only been 3 days.”

“Four days now.” Miguel’s eyes shoot back to yours, “Partially because of your suit. The nanotech acted as a shield for the most part, preventing any burns and such. You’re also in the twenty-second century with access to the multiverse. We can heal anything.”

That’s… a fair point. Well, future medicine fucking rocked.

He scoots closer to you, reaching out his hand toward your wrist. He pauses, waiting for your permission and you simply place your arm in his hand.

“For example. Here…” He gently runs his thumb along a faint silvery line on your forearm, “You had stitches. I removed them this morning. The rest of these,” He runs a thumb over one of your bandages, “Are cautionary until this evening.”

“That’s amazing,” You look down at your other arm with scattered marks and bandages. Just a matter of hours and you’d be back to normal—for the most part. Like nothing ever happened at all.

“Still,” Miguel’s gaze drops again, “I don’t change the fact that you shouldn’t have been—”

“Don’t,” You cut him off, already knowing where this is going. “Shit happens. Shit always just happens with this job. I’m a big girl, I’ve been through this before. If you turn my freak accident into self-loathing man pain I’m gonna fucking kick your ass, O’Hara.”

You don’t want to focus on the gravity of it all. You don’t want some protective speech, you don’t want assurances that everything will be okay when you know it will be. His actions have spoken louder than his words ever could. You just… want him to stop looking at you like that— Like you’re helpless.

He says nothing. Shock briefly pulls at his stern features until he settles into a smile. You smile back.

“You’re probably hungry.” He says.

Right on cue, your stomach growls like a beast and you’re suddenly fully aware of the aching hollowness inside you.

“Starving.”

____________

Thank god Thai food still tasted the same in the future. You made the request and Lyla had it delivered in less than thirty minutes. It was Miguel’s favorite place in the city, apparently. He had a favorite restaurant, just more proof to you that he wasn’t completely a workaholic robot. There was a regular human underneath that rugged persona, just like you’d always suspected.

You heartily enjoy a red curry and a few dumplings, Miguel has some noodle dish he sets aside for later.

As you finish your meal Miguel returns with a kit of medical supplies, graciously asking if he could check your progress. You agree, not turning away from your dinner for a second. He scans your body with a small tool you’d never seen before.

“Inflammation down 20 percent, vitals normal, advanced healing progressing as expected,” Lyla’s ambient voice announces, “She’s doing great, despite not listening.”

“I’m a rebel, what can I say,” you chuckle lightly. The scan finishes and several small projections hover around Miguel.

“Okay, yeah, this is all good. Really good,” He says, reading over the results. He’d changed out of his suit, opting for a loose pair of sweats and a shirt with a band you don’t recognize. Strangely enough, he looked more attractive in normal clothes than in a skintight suit. He was comfortable. He wasn’t Spider-Man or a leader he was just— Miguel. You liked just Miguel.

He rummages around back in the kit and pulls out a syringe with pale blue liquid.

Oh hell no.

“What’s that?” You ask with apprehension.

“Painkiller and something that’ll speed up your healing,” He scoots closer to you at the dinner table, “This is your last round of it.”

“I don’t think—”

He jabs it into your shoulder before you can properly protest. Despite the pain from the needle, you swear you can feel relief instantly once it’s injected.

“Ouch.” You grumble, taking the last bite of your rich curry.

“Oh, do you need a lollipop?” he tuts, packing away the kit— infuriating man.

“No, but maybe something else to suck on,” You joke. His cheeks flush in an instant. Victory. “Actually what I’d like most is a shower,” you admit.

After four days of stewing motionless in a bed, you can practically smell yourself— which means Miguel could definitely smell you.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re still a fainting risk and I don’t want to leave you—”

“Okay, then come with me.” You counter instantly. His protective nature is not going to keep you from a hot shower. And well… It felt nice to have him close.

He pauses, raising his eyebrows at you. His cheeks are still faintly red, “I mean, I guess I—”

“Great,” You stand and make your way to the stairs, “Let’s go.”

You pause at the foot of the stairs, remembering what a slow challenge they were earlier. Sure, you were feeling better than earlier— you’d had a meal and whatever was in that needle was fucking magic— but your legs still felt like compacted jelly.

Before you can take the first step you feel Miguel behind you, his hands caressing down the back of your legs and up your back. He gently scoops you into his arms with ease and strides up the steps without missing a beat. Your spider-sense sighs in gratitude.

“Sure. Let’s go.” He grins, glancing down at you.

He walks you both back through his bedroom and into the master bath. A sleek glossy room that matched the rest of the penthouse, every inch of it covered in black marble. The massive shower was on your left and the counter with a ceiling-height mirror was to your right. He seats you on the counter next to the sink. The rainfall shower starts up behind him.

“Okay, let’s get these off you,” he says as he kneels down and gently pulls off one of the bandages from your leg. The flesh underneath is practically healed. You start to remove the ones from your arms, grazing your fingers over the already faint pink marks underneath them. Some were faint scabs and cuts, others were almost entirely healed over. Just four days and this is what was left.

He stands, finished with your legs. He grabs the hem of your shirt and gingerly pulls it off of you. All that remained was the bandages wrapping your abdomen. He slowly starts to unroll them. You wince slightly. He pauses but you nod for him to continue. This was the worst area. The bruises you saw peaking out earlier were already fading away from their previous deep purple. A faint wound still remained on your left side, red tendrils from it reaching over your stomach. You notice small pricks lining the larger portions of the wound. You’d had stitches here too— and now it looked like it’d been healing for weeks.

You shake your head, not wanting to stare at the damage any longer. Later. You’d think about it all later. You had a beautiful man and a shower that were calling your name.

You slide off the counter and pull at the hem of Miguel's shirt. He leans down and you pull it off his body, revealing that gorgeous toned torso. He runs his fingers along the elastic of your shorts and shimmies them off your hips. You do the same with his sweats. A silent ballet you both were deeply familiar with at this point. He cradles your hands as he guides you both backward into the waiting shower.

The steaming water feels like heaven as soon as it hits your body, the rainfall drenching you both in an instant. Your sore limbs instantly feel relief. Your buzzing mind was put at ease. All the anxieties of the day melted away and spiraled down the drain.

You pause there, just letting the sensation consume you. Time slows down and the crackling sound of water hitting stone fades away. You feel like you can properly think for the first time since you woke up hours ago— and it all hits you at once.

You fought. You almost died— and Miguel saved you. If he wasn’t right there when it happened, who knows what would have happened to you. You wouldn’t be here in his house, that’s for sure. He’d stayed by your side, he exhausted every resource to heal you. And he was still by your side right now.

He looks out for his own. Something bad happened to you— and he got scared.

Lyla’s words from earlier echo in your head. He was scared to lose you. You were scared to ever lose him. Not just as a fellow spider but as… something more maybe. You’d felt the feelings pulling at you when you hunted him down in the multiverse those weeks ago. Terrified you’d find him injured or even dead. It was more than a spider-sense. More than this forced proximity you’d both had… well, it wasn’t so forced anymore, was it.

You feel your weakened legs start to wobble and Miguel's hands are instantly on you, pulling you close to him.

“Easy, arañita,” he coos ever so softly.

You look up at him, watching the water cascade over his stern face. His fluffy hair was now drenched down over his forehead. Those crimson eyes filled with concern.

You sigh and rest your head on his chest. “Thank you… for everything.”

“You don’t need to thank me,” He runs a hand over your head and down your back. “Consider us even for saving me… if that helps.”

And there it is, the Miguel you knew. Trying to step away from the gravity of the situation. From feelings becoming too real. This was all supposed to be temporary after all, maybe you should take a page from his book.

Still, you were both here in each other's arms— and that meant something.

“ Déjame cuidarte .” He says just above a whisper.

Miguel trails his hands down your arms, his touch somehow hotter than the water. You close your eyes at the combined sensation. You feel him reach overhead, grabbing something. His hands come back to you, now trailing through your hair. You feel a foamy lather as he does so and the faint smell of flowers hits your nose.

Miguel was washing your hair.

His fingers move slowly and with purpose as they crawl along your scalp. This wasn’t about getting you clean, this was about making you feel good. He was trying to comfort you. To make you forget about… well, everything.

You melt into him, trailing your hands along his stomach. One of his hands trails down your back while the other works the shampoo through your hair. He holds you close. He takes care of you.

He leans your head to the side, the soap rinsing from your hair. He walks you both further into the stream of water and turns you around. Your back is flush with his torso as his hands ever so gently trail over your healing body.

You feel suds foaming from his touch. When had he grabbed that soap? You decide you don’t really care.

He leans down, lips caressing your temples. “Do you feel good, little spider?”

“Yes,” You sigh.

“Do you want to feel better?” you feel one of his hands trail down your stomach and gently ghost over your waiting cunt. A pulse of arousal surges through your whole body.

“Please,” You moan, pulling his head further down. You lean back and pull him into a kiss. His fingers plunge down and run through your folds. You gasp for air at the sensation.

His fingers come up and circle lazily around your clit, already wet and wanting for his touch. He holds you. He plays with you.

Something’s missing this time. Something that was always there when you were both in the most intimate of positions— The spider-sense. You felt its presents, as you always did with Miguel, but you didn’t feel its pull. It’s seemingly innate nature to make you and Miguel go at each other like animals.

He wasn’t doing any of this because he felt like he had to, he was doing this because wanted to. He wanted to make you feel good. He wanted to see you squirm and come undone by his hands.

Later— Think about it later. Just enjoy this. Enjoy him.

He slowly pushes his middle finger inside you. You grind yourself into his palm as he slowly works in and out of you. His free hand comes up to cradle your breasts. He backs you both into the closest wall, the water still cascading over you. His knee comes up between your legs, spreading you wider.

“I’ve got you, arañita. Te tengo, está bien .” He moans against you. You're completely leaning against him as he holds you close. As he works you faster.

You see a glimpse of the both of you in the mirror past the quickly fogging glass— it’s absolutely filthy and you love it. His massive hulking form curled around you wantonly. Your serine, blissed-out face. You adored this man.

“I want you,” You moan, “W-want more.”

“No,” He says just a little too quickly, “Not yet.”

“Please.” You beg breathlessly.

“Not yet, sweet girl,” He sighs, pressing a kiss against your temple. “Finish healing. Get better for me, then you can have whatever you want.”

You don’t entirely dislike the sound of that. You're suddenly aware of your aching body again after being so caught up in the moment. With how fast you were healing it wouldn’t be long at all.

“P-promise?” you barely gasp out.

“I promise.” He curls his finger inside you, grinding his palm against your clit. You gasp, arching further into his touch. “Good girl.”

He was playing you like a fiddle. Familiar with every part of you like the back of his hand. He holds you there against him for what felt like hours, slowly working you. Letting the pressure build and fade as he saw fit— making you feel good.

You eventually come with a shaky sigh, your mind completely melting away. He holds you up, letting the warm water wash over you a few minutes more. You were spent, you were tired. The shower stops. Miguel wraps you in a towel and carries you to the bed.

He sets you on the mattress and gently runs the towel over your body. He cradles your leg, kissing down the length of it as the towel wicks away the beads of moisture. He does the same with your other leg and your arms. He takes his time, giving attention to every part of you. You watch him as he does so, feeling your heart race faster with every gentle touch.

He said he would take care of you. He said he wanted you to feel good.

When he finishes you hold each other's gaze for a moment. Both still completely naked, you now dry and him still sopping wet. It was a little ridiculous, but you’d never felt more comfortable around someone in your life than with this lumbering man kneeling at your feet.

He stands eventually, running the now useless towel over his damp hair. “I should—”

“Stay,” you reach out to him, grabbing his wrist. “Stay with me tonight. Please.”

He pauses, looking down at you. You can’t help but feel so small and meek under his gaze. He’d just unspokenly catered to your every need and now you were begging him to sleep with you. Pathetic, maybe, but you don’t fucking care. You just didn’t want him to leave— and you don’t think he does either.

He closes his eyes with a small smile, “Alright. One moment, please.”

He disappears back into the bathroom to grab a fresh towel and comes back out dry with a pair of black briefs on. You curl under the crisp white covers as he rounds the other side of his massive bed. The lights dim as he crawls in next to you. You roll onto your side and he pulls you into him. You feel his steady breathing against your back and it sends a wave of comfort over the normally buzzing spider-sense. He was so close. You were in his bed— with him.

“Miguel—”

“Shhhh,” he hums, resting his chin just above your head, “Duerme querida.”

You close your mouth, opting just to enjoy the rare moment with him. The feel of his body completely engulfing yours. His thumb tenderly rubbing comforting circles against your stomach. His alluring, amazing scent. Everything— just everything about him right now. You commit it to memory and lock it away.

You were in deep shit.

__________

Déjame cuidarte: Let me take care of you Te tengo, está bien: I’ve got you, it’s okay. Duerme, querida: Sleep, my dear.

And of course, do correct me if any of this is wrong!

I could think of literally no other way to get our Arañita in his house other than some dramatic near death experience, okay

_________

Taglist:

@ineedgarlicbread @pinkiemme @thesilenthill @bontensbabygirl @fallenangelsongwolf @raerorigel @littlefreakymunson @viriexo

@w33ni3

#miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x spiderwoman!reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara smut #across the spiderverse #miguel x reader #parallels fic

146 notes · View notes

hannahlikeso741 · 10 months

Text

HL Boys smelling female MC's perfume.

Female MC has a signature scent that seems to have an effect on the boys. Inspired by @cranberryletters perfume post and @hogwartslegacyreactions, will list a perfume for each character.

Boys Edition : Part 2

Girl's edition : Part 1, Part 2

Sebastian Sallow : (Penhaligon's Lavandula)

"You got it wrong again." He has been trying to teach MC a new spell, and MC isn't getting it right. That's it, he had enough. He grabs MC by the arm, pulling her closer towards him. He corrects her wand movements at first by holding her hands, and just as he was instructing her on the incantation, his breath inhaled something from the back of her ear. It was a warm, calming scent. That trail of spicy cinnamon and pepper gave way to the soothing lavender and vanilla. That scent dances gently on MC's skin, as if it was made for her. It made him forget to exhale for a bit, relishing in the comfort of that scent, as if it soothed his aching soul. But MC gave a shudder when she felt his breath, making him clear his throat and backed away. MC casted the spell again, this time getting it right. He made a mental note to try and smell that scent again.

Ominis Gaunt : (Chanel's No 5)

He caught the smell of powder when he first heard MC's voice. Strange, powder always was too floral for his liking, but for some reason, there was a unique twist to that powdered scent. It smelt... strange to him. Ominis is a lot more sensitive to smells, after all. Whenever he met MC, he tries to figure out what composed of her scent. So far he only was able to note a hint of rose and jasmine, but that wasn't it. That scent has a distinct note that he couldn't pinpoint. It shouldn't bother him but it does. So much so that he memorized MC's scent so well he could smell her from a distance, only she can wear that scent. It was classy yet it made her stood out from everyone. Not that he doesn't mind. It would give him more time to figure out why that scent bothers him at all.

Garreth Weasley : (Replica's Lazy Sunday Morning)

He got into another potion explosion again. Naturally not that he mind, but seeing professor Sharp telling him to clean himself off in the toilets, MC took pity on Garreth and passed to him her handkerchief. He managed to wash his face just fine and just when he was about to wipe his face clean, he caught MC's perfume. It reminded him of fresh linen bedsheets for some reason. It felt like MC was on his bed, talking about their shared dreams and goals. The scent was soapy, clean yet the powdery, musky note to it made it so intimate that Garreth gulped for a bit, taking a while to compose himself and get himself clean. Maybe he can try to recreate that scent. That would be a good idea. MC still wonders when Garreth would give back her handkerchief.

Amit Thakkar : (Diptyque Tam Dao)

It was a bold choice for her to wear THAT scent. At the Astronomy tower, Amit and MC were looking into a constellation that night. Amit gotten too obsessive into his work that he didn't realize he bumped into MC. He apologized, try to pick up the papers when he got too close with her. That particular smell... sandalwood. He knew that scent well. It brought him home to his native India for a bit, recalling that scent from his childhood memories of religious rituals, visiting temples and him wearing it as a sign of devotion to the goddess Lakshmi during festivities. He couldn't find that scent here, too strong and powerful that it might gag someone. Not on MC, surprisingly. It was so subtle that one has to be close up to smell it. For Amit, he gave a little smile to himself as he put away his papers, finding comfort in a childhood scent.

Leander Prewett : (Goutal's Petite Cherie)

He can do this. He got better at dueling, he is sure he can beat MC again. He had sent the challenge invite via owl, and sure enough MC did show up to begin their duel. Except this time, sure enough, MC won with a Flipendo, causing Leander to land on his back. That hurt. MC rushed to his side, giving him her hand to help him get up. Leander sighed and admitted defeat, taking her hand... and scent. He felt that lump in her throat when his nose smelt that fresh citrus from peaches and pears, which slowly gave way to a floral notes of roses. It felt like a comforting scent, which MC always does when he looses to her, be it in dueling or summoner's court. It didn't over power his nose, but it most certainly left an impression as he tidied himself up and walked away. He will send another challenge to MC. Surely she is up for a round of Summoner's Court?

Everett Clopton : (Loewe 001)

That was quite the broom race! During free period MC allowed Everett to borrow her old broom as they raced the Irondale course together. It has been a fun ride, with them being neck to neck at the finishing line. They landed to catch their breath, laughing as they described how the course was like. Everett joked that he stinks, and MC replied she must stink too, needing a bath. Everett didn't think that. Her sweat actually amplified whatever perfume she was wearing, it smelt like a strong citrus that met with amber coated linen. It subtly danced on her skin at first, but MC's increased body heat made that perfume radiate his nose even stronger. For the first time, Everett ran out of words to say, just waving his hands goodbye as MC went back to Hogwarts. But then he caught a wiff of himself. He should invest in some cologne.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy characters #character reacts #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow #amit thakkar #garreth weasley #everett clopton #leander prewett #female mc #hogwarts legacy headcanons

299 notes · View notes

bullet-prooflove · 1 year

Text

Botany: Angel Reyes x Reader

Tagging: @witches-unruly-heart @annetje @infinity-mars @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @the-wandering-lunatic @anime-weeb-4-life @vannabanana1995 @multifandomloversworld @camelia35 @harperdoodle @queeniesdiary @laylasbunbunny @est1887 @briefpersonenemy @lilvampirina @creativitybeware @genius2050 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @spaghettificationandpretzels @nu1freakshow @oureternalbond @rubes2323

Angel always washes his sheets when he knows you’re coming over, there’s something about being surrounded by the scent of fresh laundry and you that completely ruins him. He finds he sleeps better in clean linen, and it becomes a weekly thing instead of fortnightly, even when the two of you haven’t made plans.

He drinks less these days, his fridge actually full of food instead of orange juice and beer because he likes to make you breakfast in the aftermath, sometimes you like to cook when you come over. He enjoys having you around, he looks forward to the nights where you’re his and only his.

There’s a domesticity to the relationship, one that he’s never allowed himself to have before. The women he’s been with since Luisa are fast and fleeting, a place to drown himself when the world becomes too much to bear, and he needs to lose himself.

It’s when he comes home to you, wrist deep in dirt, pulling weeds from the flower beds that line the front of his house that he realises how serious shit has got between the two of you.

“Sorry.” You tell him, using the back of your hand to brush a strand of your hair away from your face. “It’s been bothering me for a while.”

“Yea, no it’s fine.” He tells you, kneeling down and taking up residence next to you. He looks at you wearing one of his shirts thrown over a strap top and those Levi’s that fit you just right. You’re completely in your element, your face streaked with soil, hair tied back as you work. His lover, the kush farmer, the gardener, the botanist.

“We need to prep the soil.” You tell him, letting the gritty, dry earth slip through your fingers. “All of this is devoid of nutrients, I’ll get some compost from the farm, maybe some manure from the horses up by Riz’s place, dig it out and liven it up a bit. Is that ok with you?”

“What will you grow?” His voice rough as he speaks because he’s never had someone so invested. He thinks it means that you’re here to stay because you know, he sure as shit has no fucking idea how to keep something other than himself alive.

“I was thinking we could choose something together.” You say, nudging your shoulder with his. “Play into your vibe, probably some succulents and cacti. I don’t think you’re a lilacs kinda guy, although they are a great pollinator, you’d probably end up with some butterflies and bees. They’re pretty good at smothering weeds too and the smell when summer hits…” You trail off, your cheeks colouring as you tilt your head to meet his gaze. “Sorry I’m getting ahead of myself. Your garden, your rules.”

Fuck you’re captivating to watch. He doesn’t know anything about this horticulture shit but for you it’s a passion, you light up when you talk about it, you’re in your element with your fingers in the earth. He doesn’t know what the hell he did to deserve you.

“I love you.” He blurts out suddenly and he expects you to be taken aback, to reel away from the force of the words that leave his mouth.

“I know,” You tell him, a smile gracing your features as you take in his surprised expression. “You think I don’t see it?”

He’s got nothing to say to that, he really hasn’t. He knows he’s not the most forthcoming of men, he plays his cards close to his chest when it comes to his feelings because he’s been burned before. However, he is impulsive, emotion driven, he feels deeply. He’s not surprised that it bleeds into his physical actions.

“The shit you do for me, it means the world. Making sure I eat in the morning, when you know I’m about to spend a day in the fields, giving me a ride home when I’m too tired to function, running a bath when you know I’m sore. I’ve never been with someone so attuned to me. So, yea, I love you too, and this…” you point at the flowerbed. “is my way of showing it. I’m just really shit at expressing myself, hence why I’m letting you pick the plants instead of just throwing myself into it.”

He laughs because what you don’t realise is that all of these things you’ve listed reflect the shit you do for him. The nights you hold him close in the darkness after he’s had a nightmare, hands soothing over his back as you whisper in his ear, the fact you know he always needs physical reassurance when the two of you are together. You never judge him for it, you never make him feel needy or clingy.

“C’mere.” He mutters, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and drawing you close. You smell like fresh earth, musky and rich, he buries his face in your hair, the contours of your body fitting perfectly against him. “I love you and you can plant whatever the fuck you want.”

Love Angel? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#angel reyes x reader #angel reyes x you #angel mayans #angel reyes

201 notes · View notes

violetpixiedust · 2 years

Text

thinking about soft!boyfriend steve. who grabs whatever inanimate object is closest to him and sings a silly little song into it whenever you’re sad just to see you break into a smile. who bundles you up in the coziest scarf he owns at the slightest inclination that you’re cold, he keeps it in the trunk of his car for you just in case. steve, who cuts off your self deprecating speech with a head spinning spearmint flavoured kiss because he adores you so incredibly much, and he knows that no words he could ever say would speak louder at that particular moment. steve, who reaches up wordlessly with a veiny hand to grab anything off the top shelf before you can even lean onto your tip toes. steve, who’s crafted from stardust, donning constellations made up of moles and freckles, scattered across his sun kissed complexion for you to trace, kiss, and memorize. steve is the act of selflessly switching ice creams or even sandwiches with you when you end up not liking yours. a rosy flush never fails to adorn his cheeks the day after, when you sweetly drop off coffee and baked goods at family video for him and robin to share as a thank you. steve is the colour of sunshine. paisley, warm and illuminating. steve is the epitome of lovesick when you laugh a bit too loud, knowing that you learned to shed your fear of doing so after you told him an ex of yours loathed it. he would give anything to hear you laugh like that every time. steve is the type of boyfriend who twirls you with his arms wrapped tightly around your waistline after spending fifteen minutes apart from you. who goes helplessly weak in the knees when you kiss him, because every time feels like the first time with you. who fiddles with the hem of your clothing, a lock of your hair, your dainty jewellery, anything to be closer to you while you speak to him. who reads with you from behind your shoulder, and quietly kisses the crook of your neck to let you know that you can turn the page. who promptly kneels onto the floor in front of you no matter where you are before fixing your shoelace or heel strap when he notices it’s come undone, much to your appreciative embarrassment. who lifts you up onto the nearest surface before he protectively bandages your wounds no matter how small, even if it was just a little scrape from when you clumsily banged into one of the cupboards, placing a tender kiss to the area after he ensures the edges of the plaster are smooth, wiping away your tears if any. steve, who feels the garden of his chest bloom with fresh wildflowers every time you say you love him, because he knows that you mean it, he can feel it, also because you’re so endearingly bad at telling even the whitest of lies. he drifts off to sleep whenever you play with his silky hair at the end of a long day, your manicured fingers gently scratching his scalp as he leans into the safety of being taken care of. steve is sticky lipgloss coated kisses on the cheek, intertwined fingers, dusky almond toned eyes brimmed with infatuation, fresh linen scented lullabies, bottled springtime, bouquets of your favourite flowers at any hour, stray flowers picked by you innocently placed behind his ears or braided through his hair. unbeknownst to the both of you, you’ve each started your own flower pressing journals, preserving every single petal that you’ve ever received from the other. steve is confidently mispronounced words that have you rolling in giggles and falling for him impossibly harder. he’s rose water scented love letters, time capsule polaroids of you in every nook of his burgundy bmw despite max saying that it looks like a shrine, slow dancing tipsily as dinner cooks on the stove, teary eyes at animal shelter commercials between bubblegum dramas, stolen kisses in broad daylight, absentmindedly humming along to the radio on the drive to lovers lake, fleeting confessions in the purple dawn. finally, steve is the schoolgirl type of love that has you twirling and daydreaming airily before opening your window for him when he sneaks into your childhood bedroom. lovestruck forever.

*soft!boyfriend stevie owns my ♡*

#steve harrington i- ♡#pixie’s works * ੈ✩‧₊˚#steve harrington brainrot #steve harrington headcanon #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #soft!boyfriend steve harrington #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fluff #steve harrington

889 notes · View notes

lou-struck · 7 months

Text

Spooky Spikes

Kotaro Bokuto x reader

Flufftober Day 3- Halloween Practice

~Bokuto is excited for you to come to his Halloween volleyball practice so he can show off the costume you gave him.

Warnings: Bare butt cheeks (No Smut I promise very SFW), Bokuto is taller and has a bigger butt than the reader, Cursing.

There’s something about the fall that makes your little kitchen coffee corner feel just a bit cozier. The warm scents of cinnamon, cloves, and cardamom fill your nose as you brew yourself a steaming cup of chai tea. The ceramic mug is warm in your hand as you grip the pumpkin-shaped handle. Carefully walking it over to the sun-soaked kitchen table, the large window giving you the perfect view of your neighbor’s old apple tree. The leaves are just beginning to change from deep green to a crisp yellow around the slightly pathetic-looking fruits.

You raise the cup to your lips, letting your eyes flutter shut as you breathe in what can only be described as ‘Liquid Autumn.’ Blowing slightly on the wisps of steam to take your first sip. You hear a loud thudding sound coming from down the hall and pause.

Usually, you would be concerned and follow the noise, but you live with your lovingly klutzy boyfriend Kotaro Bokuto. The Volleyball player has never been the quietest in the morning when he is getting ready for morning practice.

“Babeeee, I need help.” his boisterous voice calls from behind you, the sound causing you to jolt as a bit of your tea splatters over the lip of the cup, down your hand, and onto the previously clean tabletop.

“Kou, what do you need ~” You turn your head mid-sentence and lose your train of thought when you see the tall form of your boyfriend. But instead of his defined muscles and owlish two-toned hair, all you see is a long white sheet draped over him; the only thing you are able to see of him behind the sheet is bare feet that poke out from .” What the hell are you wearing?”

“Boo!” he yells, too elated to answer your question, the happy yet slightly muffled sounds bouncing off the walls and throwing his sheet-covered arms up into the air. “Did I scare ya? I can’t see very well in this thing, so you’ll have to tell me what you think of my costume.”

Oh, right. Today is the MSBY Jackals’ annual Halloween practice. It’s just like any other practice, but the players get to wear some costumes as they play. Judging by your lovable boyfriend’s costume, he has forgotten that he actually needs to be able to play in his costume.

“Are you going as a ghost?” You ask, gently pulling up the sheet to reveal his thick gray eyebrows, pinkish cheeks, and ruffled two-toned hair. It must be pretty hot under there.

“Yeah, pretty iconic, don’t you think?” he winks, leaning in to give you a minty fresh kiss. “It’s a bit hard to see, though. Can you help me make some eye holes?” he asks, reaching a muscled arm just past you over to the knife block. Your stomach drops at the continuation he is making when he grabs your well-loved kitchen scissors.

“Babe, these are our good sheets.” you giggle, gently prying the kitchen scissors from his much larger hands. “We can’t just cut holes into them. And you are definitely not going to be able to play volleyball in that thing. You can’t even lift your arms to Spike.”

His features fall in the most heartbreaking way as he looks down at the linen sheet, mourning the loss of his Halloween costume idea. “But that was my big plan. I thought of it the other day when one of the trainers said that my spikes were scary.” His golden gaze drifts to the glowing green numbers on the stovetop. “Shoot, Practice starts in an hour and I don’t have another costume. What do I do?”

You place a comforting hand on his bicep and give him a reassuring smile. “We still have time to think of something for you, what did you wear last year? I don’t remember you telling me.”

“I-I can’t tell you that,” he says quickly, his large hand coming up to hide the rapidly spreading blush on his cheeks; it’s too embarrassing to talk about.”

“But not embarrassing enough to not wear it to the gym surrounded by at least twenty people?”

He still shakes his head adamantly. “I don’t have that costume anymore, we gotta think of something else.”

You furrow your brow in thought,

“Wait, come with me; I think I have an idea.” You smile, grabbing his hand and pulling him down the hallway eagerly. The still pristine bedsheet flows behind the two of you.

In the back of your closet lies a clear plastic tub filled with old costumes and pieces from years past. You dig through the animal masks and wizard robes until you find what you are looking for. Your old Skeleton costume consists of an oversized black t-shirt and a pair of leggings; a realistic skeletal system print covers the entire thing.

“Would these work?” you ask, holding up the pieces for him to take. The costume was baggy on you, but the stretchy material means that it most likely could fit your much taller, much more beefy boyfriend.

His eyes light up when he sees the costume, and nods eagerly. “This will be great. I can actually play in these. He picks you up easily and spins you around the cramped closet space. “You��re so amazing Y/n. Where would I be without you?”

“ single and costumeless.” You giggle, returning his bear hug with as much strength as you can muster. “Wait, hang on,” you place your hands on his shoulders as you are hit with your second moment of brilliance that morning. “I think I have some face paint underneath the sink.”

After buying you a fresh tea to replace the one you hadn’t gotten to enjoy earlier, Kotaro insisted on dragging you to practice with him so you can see just how awesome his costume looks in comparison to his other teammates.

As the nosy little thing you are, it didn’t take much persuading to come with him. The scent of icy hot reaches your nose as the two of you pass the athletic training room where a few players are getting taped for today’s session.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna wear your shorts over the leggings? “You ask, noticing just how tight the leggings are on his muscled bottom.

“No, I don’t need it,” he says, looking down and giving his butt a playful little smack. “It would ruin the vibe of my Amazing costume.”

“I can’t argue with that,” you giggle as he dances towards the sound of volleyball. He certainly is the happiest volleyball-playing skeleton you’ve ever seen.

“Okay, babe, wish me luck.” Kotaro grins, stopping just outside the gymnasium doors, leaning in towards you with his now skeletal-painted lips puckered.

You place your hand on his chest and push him back lightly, “Wait, you don’t want to mess up your face paint. You say quickly, noticing the puppy dog eyes he is giving you.

“I don’t care about that if it means I don’t get a kiss,” he says with a pout, crossing his arms in usual Bokuto fashion. He is already leaning in for your kiss. He knows just how effective his pouty face is on you.

“Good luck,” you smile, leaning in on your tiptoes to give him a kiss.

He is so happy he practically skips into the gym, pushing open the doors and waving to you one more time before he goes to work.

Now alone, you turn away from the sound of squeaking shoes and spikes to walk up the steps to the upper bleachers, where certain spectators are allowed to watch without distracting the players.

You are now looking over the whole court and see the dozens of players scattered around as practice begins. Costume-wise, it looks like the majority of the players are wearing masks of some sort, making it hard to tell who is who. But eventually, you do see familiar faces.

The blond head of Atsumu Miya grabs your attention as he takes his place by the net, a long, flowing red and black vampire cape tied behind his neck. And judging by how muffled his on-the-court communication is, he must be wearing some of those cheap vampire fangs as well.

Shoyo Hinata Is wearing all black with a large pair of black feathered wings tethered to his back with little elastic strings. They flap clumsily as they fail to keep up with the redhead’s speed as he runs about the court with boundless energy.

The Third Person you are able to make out is Sakusa Kiyoomi, a true master of disguise. He is wearing his normal practice clothes and really looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. The only thing out of place on his clean frame is the hastily stuck red and white name tag that sits crookedly on his chest.

With those great options to compete with, you can safely say that Bokuto’s costume is by far the best. You watch as the team tries to play. Atsumu keeps tripping over his cape when he jumps, and Little feathers from Hinata’s wings keep littering the court as he bounds around, and the other players keep having to take off their rubber monster masks to breathe and truly look miserable. It keeps you thoroughly entertained throughout the training session.

In between sets in their practice scrimmage, Bokuto and a few others end up by your bench, and you’re able to hear a little bit of your boyfriend’s not-so-quiet conversation.

“Omi, do you like my faceeee?” He gushes, pointing to his slightly sweaty face paint. “Y/n did it this morning; Arent they sooooo amazing.”

His honest declarations of his love for you are one of the many reasons why you love him. He effortlessly brings a smile to your lips as he continues to show off his painted face. The design really wasn’t that difficult to make. You just looked up a quick tutorial of how to do it online earlier and were able to copy it fairly well.

“No fair,” Hinata whines, coming over to look at the carefully painted design you made. He looks up at you and waves with a big grin. “Hey Y/n, can you paint my face next year too?”

“I guess I can,” you call back to him. “I’m not a professional or anything so I~”

“Helloooo? Your boyfriends jealousy interrupts, waving his hand in front of the shorter man’s face, “They’re mine, getting my face painted by them is a Boyfriend perk.”

“Oh shoot, is that a thing?” The ginger responds with wide eyes as the two of them finish their water break and jog back onto the court.

“Watch me, Babe,” he calls, trying to shoot you a wink as he takes his place by the net. The ball is set, and you watch as Bokuto begins his approach; the ball is set high over the net as the owl-haired man leaps for it. Soaring high above the double block in his way, he brings his hand down onto the poor volleyball with a frightening force. The ball hits the ground and bounces off in the opposite direction.

But Bokuto’s kill is robbed of any kind of celebration because the minute his powerful legs land on solid ground, the impact causes those little skeleton-printed leggings of yours to rippppp right down the middle, revealing two things to you and the rest of the gym as a deafening silence falls all around you.

One, Kotaro Bokuto was not wearing any underwear underneath your now-ruined leggings.

And Two, his muscular ass cheeks.

He feels the breeziness down below and looks at you with wide eyes, clearly too stunned to speak, or move, or cover up.

You are in the same boat as him as your jaw hits the floor and your eyes go right to the rip.

As you are captivated by the scene in front of you, no one else says a word. Some are too fixated on Kotaro’s bare ass cheeks that seem to shine under the fluorescent lights of the stadium, and others are wondering where the hell the volleyball he spiked went off to

A player in a rubbery haunted pumpkin mask steps forward, his footsteps echoing across the silent gymnasium, breaking the silence. His hand flies up to take off the mask, revealing a head of slicked-back black hair.

Captain Shūgo Meian sighs, Looking completely done as he tosses your poor boyfriend a towel to cover the rip as he speaks. “Bokuto, while this situation is uhhh… unfortunate. It is still not nearly as bad as what happened last year.”

Tagging: @eussstasss @enchantedforest-network

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #bokuto x reader #x reader #flufftober 2023 #bokuto kotaro x reader #kotaro bokuto x reader #haikyuu!!#bokuto kotaro #msby bokuto #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff

146 notes · View notes