#his other eye is there its just hard to see
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prompt: construction worker ghost and his elementary school teacher neighbour who made the poor decision to start feeding him (nsfw, 2k)
[based on this old ask] [on ao3 here]
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They say not to feed wild animals.
It makes them grow soft, lazy. Alters their behaviour. Takes an animal previously capable of finding its own food dependent on humans for sustenance. Makes them lose their natural fear of humans and nearly always results in an increase in human-wildlife conflicts as they start to seek out people. It’s a known fact. You can’t go to a park without seeing it plastered on posters in the bathroom and on the sides of the vending machines under the gazebos where you purchase your post-hike iced tea and veggie roll to eat on a nearby bench.
You know this. So you really don’t know what possessed you to leave a cooler full of sandwiches on your neighbour’s doormat before turning in for the night.
He wakes up preternaturally early and leaves every morning around four-thirty or five o’clock on the dot. Sometimes in the fog of sleep, you wake to hear the door to the apartment beside yours crack open and slam shut, and then the sound of lumbering footsteps down the hall towards the staircase before that door opens and slams shut too.
He never comes home before four o’clock at the earliest. That’s around when you come home from work as well, meaning that you sometimes catch him at the door, him covered in grime and reeking of old sweat while you come flouncing down the hall in whatever colourful dress you’d donned that morning, inevitably paint-splattered by the end of the day. Always something appropriate to wear at an elementary school but colourful enough to keep the kids’ eyes and attention on you.
You’ve caught his name in half-whispered conversations with the property manager, but aside from that, all you know about Simon Riley is that he works in construction. He certainly looks the part: big, calloused hands with blunt, dirt-caked nails and cut up fingers, knuckles always swollen and thick. Body all strength and brawn. Hard hat tucked under his armpit and decorated with countless stickers from old job sites, the same way his forearm is covered in tattoos.
You’ve even passed by his current job site once or twice—some new condo complex going up by the canal that’s forced you and hundreds of other commuters to leave an extra thirty minutes early to account for the road closures. You pointedly don’t bring that up in conversation though. That would just be rude.
At least it would be something to talk about though.
It’s not like the two of you talk. You’re not close by any means. Though you moved in a few months ago, you haven’t had much luck mustering up the confidence to squeak out more than a hi to him in passing. When he grunts back something approximating a hello, it’s all you can do not to break your key in the lock when you hurry into your apartment and slam the door shut behind you, heart beating frantically in your chest.
It’s humiliating. You’re a grown woman and you’ve talked to plenty of men before. You’ve dated plenty of men before. Just because this one speaks in monosyllables and stares at you with an intensity that makes your stomach churn and your palms grow sweaty doesn’t change anything. Just because this one is built like a redwood with wrists thick enough that you’d need both hands to wrap around doesn’t make him any different than any other person.
And yet, when Simon asks you for your name on a rainy June afternoon after you’ve come in after him for a change only to find him sifting through letters at the mailbox, you garble out something that sounds nothing like your name before scurrying up the stairs to your flat.
It’s humiliating. It’s humid outside and your dress is sticking to all the wrong places (namely, your nipples and the inside of your thighs when the skirt swishes between your legs with each stride) and now you’ve made an ass of yourself in front of the only hot guy in your building. There are serial arsonists with more charm than you.
So maybe the sandwiches are an apology letter or an olive branch. Or maybe it just makes your heart race to think of Simon opening up the cooler and finding four wax paper-wrapped sandwiches tucked neatly over ice packs.
All you know is that when you step out of your apartment the next morning, the cooler is empty on your doormat, the lid propped open. He must have taken them with him.
You smile. A job well done. Apology served fresh, with cucumber slices in the middle.
The problem starts when you don’t leave him another cooler full of sandwiches on his doormat the next day.
You didn’t consider that he might think you’d make it a habit. Perhaps that’s partially on you for not leaving a note on the cooler the first time to explain that it was just a one-off; just a way to apologize for being less than chipper around him. But instead of shrugging it off, you come home after a long day to find him standing right outside your apartment, arms crossed over his chest, thick biceps straining against his sweat-stained shirt.
“Open the door,” Simon commands, nostrils flaring as he glares down at you. He jerks his head towards your door when you just frown, not following. “Been starving here waiting for you to show up.”
You open your mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. You’re at a loss for words, never mind that your whole job involves talking. He leaves you speechless though.
Simon doesn’t move when you step close enough to unlock the door. You try to keep your body angled away so as not to brush up against him, but it’s inevitable. He doesn’t move when the door opens either, forcing you to squeeze by him.
He goes straight to the kitchen and drags a chair out, letting it scrape across the floor like men always do before taking a seat. You follow after him nervously, apprehensive at having a man in your space. Not just a man, but Simon Riley. It feels sacrilege—not like he has no right being in your space, but you can’t imagine him here, sitting at your tiny dining room table like he comes over for dinner every Sunday.
When he catches you standing under the archway to the kitchen just staring at him, he barks, “Well?”
That has you scurrying over to the fridge to pull out the cold cuts and pickled red onions. There’s a loaf of bread already on the counter, the bag twisted and tucked underneath because you had to leave in a rush this morning. You don’t know half of what you pile on the sandwiches, but whatever you serve him must satisfy him because Simon digs in with gusto, finishing the plate off in only a few bites while you wash the cutlery in the sink. You watch him out of the corner of your eye the whole while.
He leaves not too long after that, only a light warning for you to not miss tomorrow’s lunch before heading back over to his own apartment. You don’t even get a word in edgewise.
It becomes something of a routine after that and not one you have any control over. Every night before bed, you leave him a cooler full of sandwiches and other things like cut up fruit or slices of cheese on his doormat, and every afternoon you rock up to him waiting on your doorstep, demanding to be let in.
He takes to giving you a wet kiss before he leaves, all tongue and his fingers curled around the nape of your neck, holding you in place. When you try to cover his mouth with your hand, he nips at your fingers until you move them and let him slip you some tongue.
The day you make him a casserole for supper, he bends you over the back of your couch and eats you out. Simon eats like a man starving, glutting himself on the wetness between your legs, licking even over the furl of your asshole and chuckling under his breath when you squeal and flail, your toes just brushing against the floor.
In the aftermath, you sit panting in his lap while he eats. He gets up only briefly to get the bowl of strawberries and cream you left chilling in the fridge before lifting you up and putting you right back in his lap. You stare bleary-eyed when he holds a finger covered in cream up to your lips.
“Clean me up, pet,” he says, then watches you with half-lidded eyes while you lick his finger clean.
He makes you suck his fingers too, to keep things even. He does it when you’re angled half off the bed, thick digits stuffed down your throat until your eyes leak big, fat tears that he licks away, hungry for those too. The man is always hungry, always keen to fill his belly.
The arrangement continues on long enough to become normal, even routine. Simon shows up at your door every day after work waiting to be fed, and then makes you come a couple times before he leaves, a little thank you to repay you for the food. He never really says all that much when he comes around, not a conversationalist of a man. His preference is to eat, fuck, and leave, which you’re happy to accommodate, still too tongue-tied yourself to broach a real conversation.
That’s all before he starts helping himself to your bed for a quick nap after a big supper. Then for naps that turn into a full night’s sleep, snoring like a chainsaw under the covers with you tucked under his arm, naked breasts pressed against his side, keeping you awake most of the night until you pass out somewhere around one A.M.
Just as you suspected, Simon gets up at around four or five to be at the jobsite on time, but at your place, he gets up a bit earlier to help himself to breakfast. He doesn't even bother waking you up, just turns you over onto your tummy and spreads your legs before sinking his dick into where you're still stretched out from the night before. If you wake up or squirm, he just leans down and murmurs, “S'alright, pet…just need a pick me up before work. Go back to sleep, you’re okay,” and ruts between your thighs until he comes inside you and leaves you all wet in bed with one last messy kiss to your temple.
The door slams shut on his way out.
Because you feed him, he keeps coming back. The workday passes in a blur: attendance, a spelling test, recess, maths in the afternoon, and then you’re driving home in the same daze that has you slamming on the brakes before rear ending an old woman who stopped two cars behind the truck at the redlight ahead.
You’re home earlier than him for a change, so you unlock the door quickly while there’s still a chance to avoid him. No such luck. When Simon turns up, he pounds on the door until you let him in. And you do.
It’s a wonder you haven’t come apart at the seams, horny and pent up after this morning. You were too sleepy to come after all, rode hard and put away wet. Still, you flit nervously around the apartment, looking everywhere but at him.
He always smells rich after working all day in the sun, like sweat and dirt. It's not a particularly nice smell, but it still kind of gets you going. He goes for a shower and then collapses on the couch after, beckoning you over to you crawl into his lap and grind yourself on his thigh because he knows of course. Simon can probably smell it on you, the ache. He shushes you when you whine about it, big hands fitting around your hips and pressing you down until your clit rubs deliciously against the muscle of his thigh and your head goes cloudy, cheek mushed against the pillow of his chest.
When you come, Simon tips your chin up with his knuckle and murmurs, “Knickers off, love. Haven’t got my fill.”
He feeds you your own slick from his fingers when he kneels on the floor in front of the couch, your legs draped over his shoulders. Your fingers scratch helplessly over shorn blond hair, buzzed almost to the scalp. It’s prickly under your fingertips.
Simon’s a messy eater. Your slick dribbles down his lips and glistens on his chin. It makes the blood roar under your skin, feverishly hot.
“Please, Simon,” you whine, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “It hurts.”
You feel his lips quirk up against the folds of your pussy, the flat of his tongue running up the seam and flicking over your clit. He chuckles when your hips jerk. “Greedy aren’t you, pet? Didn’t even say thank you for getting on my knees.”
“You didn’t make me come!”
His voice borders on mocking when he coos, “Poor little thing. It’s gonna be a lot longer ‘til she gets to come if you don’t say thank you.”
Your brain goes staticy, fingers twitching on his scalp. His words echo back in your head. It’s rubbish, is what it is. All this time and he’s never said thank you once for the countless meals you’ve fed him. Indignation bubbles up in you, rising to the surface like fat on the cream, and you raise a hand to rub the tears from your eyes, a harsh rebuke on the tip of your tongue.
The protest dies on your lips when he meets your gaze. It’s hungrier than anything you’ve ever seen. Whatever animal lives under his skin stares back at you with black eyes, drool leaking from its jowls. It’s mindless, intent only on slaking its hunger. Filling its empty belly. And it is not afraid of you anymore. It knows you’ll feed it until it’s full. It knows you won’t let it go hungry anymore.
So, always leery of the bigger animal in the room, you mumble out a chest-thick, “Thank you,” and shiver when he grins.
There’s a reason they tell you not to feed strays. They often come back for more.
#ceil writing#cod mw2#cod x reader#ghost x reader#ghost/reader#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley/reader
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PostOutbreak!Joel likes reader but he tries to hide it because of the age gap. To try and put us off, he can be a bit standoffish/mean but Ellie can tell it’s a facade and tells him to drop it and the age thing doesn’t matter if you really like each other. Then a fluffy confession omggg
Pairing: PostOutbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader
Warnings: unspecified age gap, joel being a lil insecure and scared, and Ellie being a menace, but its mostly all fluff who am i kidding
a/n: this was the cutest fucking request ever, thank you anon
You know those books or movies where it's painfully clear to everyone but the two main characters that they love each other, and you keep reading or watching thinking "How could anyone not see that he likes her?" as you increasingly get more frustrated and annoyed?
Well, this is a bit like that,
not a bit actually, completely so.
And in this metaphor, you and Joel were the two oblivious main characters, while Ellie, poor Ellie, was the unfortunate witness of your blindness.
It was so incredibly clear to her that she sometimes struggled not to laugh at your interactions.
I mean the first time Joel saw you was the very first time she'd seen him blush and forget how to speak in the span of a second- it was hilarious.
And then when he'd catch him staring at you or pretend not to purposely take the longer route home just to catch a glimpse of you outside the bakery... it was hard to only chuckle underneath her breath, but she managed...
until today
Joel slammed the door as he got it, like really loud, not like his usual slam.
"what's wrong?" Ellie asked, her brows frowning in suspicion as he kicked his boots off his feet before halfheartedly dragging them to the kitchen where she was sitting.
"nothin'" he grumbled,
Now that made Ellie sigh with annoyance,
he was always the one to blab about how she could always confide in him, and if that was the truth, then that meant it went both ways.
"Y'know a grumpy old man once told me that it's good to share how you're feeling" She tilted her head to the side, raising her brow as Joel rolled his eyes, filling a glass with water "Would be real hypocritical of him to not take his own advice..."
Said old man, was now rolling his eyes even harder, drowning the full glass in a second
"'s nothing, don't worry 'bout it"
"Joel" Ellie only glared at him,
and as always when it was her,
he was convinced faster than he liked to admit
He sighed, before speaking "It's stupid" he said
"I don't care" Ellie shrugged, placing her elbows on the kitchen counter where she sat and using her hands to support her head, her whole focus on Joel,
who sighed, again.
"I just-" he placed the glass in the sink before turning back to her "I just saw y/n talking to I guy I-"
"Oh my god you're jealous!" she said it with such enthusiasm and with such a smile pulling at her lips that you would have guessed she'd just won the lottery
"no" Joel frowned, shaking his head "What are you on about? I'm not jealous, I just don't like the guy"
"yeah" Ellie snorted "I'm sure you just "don't like the guy"" she air quoted as she laughed
"Why would I be jealous?" Joel went on pretending,
perhaps lying to himself together with her, the jury was still out.
"I'm just worried for her-" he argued "she's too kind and too fucking nice and Jake's an asshole"
again, Ellie only smiled as she watched him lie so blatantly
"why would you be jealous?" she pondered his question with amusement "well I don't know... maybe 'cause you have the biggest fucking crush on her"
"What!?" he spat "I don't know what's going on with you today, where did you get all these ideas? I-"
"Oh my god please shut up Joel" she groaned, rolling her eyes "That rude asshole act you do around y/n may work with her, but you don't fool me, Miller"
Ellie could swear she saw a hint of panic in his eyes
"I know you like her, just like I know she likes you" She finally said, done with this little act "I honestly don't get why you two don't just declare your love to one another and live happily ever after or some shit"
It was like he froze,
and while Ellie thought it was because he'd just been busted by a 14-year-old, it was for a wholly different reason
"she doesn't like me" he stated
And at that, at that Ellie could just groan as her palm descended dramatically down the length of her face
God, she'd always known he wasn't the brightest, but this? This is a little too much even for him
"Are you blind or something?" she threw her hands out for emphasis "She's definitely better at hiding it than you, I'll give you that, but I mean, still... it's fucking obvious dude!"
"Ellie" Joel only shook his head "you 'don't know whatcha talkin' 'bout"
Ellie was now very close to yelling at him.
"Joel I'm serious, she likes likes you!" she argued, "why do you find that so hard to believe?"
But of course, Ellie couldn't have known what was going on in Joel's mind, how certain he was that it wasn't true,
about how he knew he didn't deserve someone like you, someone so kind and beautiful and smart,
how he had spent months trying to get the thought of you to leave his tainted mind,
how he'd decided to be mean, rough, rude to you in the hopes that you would stop being so nice to him, in the hopes that you would start to avoid him, to hate him, and he'd never have to see you or that gorgeous smile again.
And finally, Ellie didn't know about how he was too incredibly, terribly old for you, for such a pretty young woman.
Half his hair was gray for god's sake, he never had a chance
"I could be her father Ellie" he finally confessed what had been eating up at him for so long "I'm too fuckin' old"
Ellie didn't even need a moment to take that it, she listened, thought about it, and immediately rolled her eyes
"SO WHAT?"
You don't understand how long she had to pretend not to want to give the both of you a good shake,
it was only right for her to finally shout it out
"First of all, you're not that old" she started listing, "second of all, she obviously doesn't care" she continued "and finally Joel, if you really like her, and if she really likes you, then it doesn't matter!"
But Joel was not convinced, he'd spent too long telling himself the opposite, and he couldn't even fathom the possibility of what Ellie was saying
"you just have to tell her"
she said it like it was easy, like the mere thought of it didn't give Joel a minor heart attack, like he hadn't woken up from multiple dreams where he would confess his love and you would laugh at his face, or worse, tell him you felt the same, something Joel knew not to be the truth.
Also, Joel had no idea when exactly throughout this conversation he'd admitted to liking you, but I guess it didn't matter now, it made no sense to keep the farse on.
"I can't Ellie, I-"
"oh my god you're such a chicken" she moaned "You're the one that always tells me to be brave!"
"that's different"
"how!?" she bugged her eyes, holding her palms up in show of her frustration "I get that it's scary, but what's the worst thing that could happen?"
And that, for some reason, stuck with him,
He really had nothing to lose,
It's not like you were friends or you would talk often, it's not like he would be ruining a relationship, there wasn't one,
And yet... yet it still terrified him,
"Ellie... I don't know"
"c'mon man, but your big boy pants on" she groaned "I'm telling you, she fucking likes you"
__ __ __
Joel didn't do it.
He couldn't. He just-
You were perfect, you were perfect in a way that made him feel all the more dirty,
like being close to you, talking to you, touching you... would be like plucking a flower with torn-up hands,
And fuck him, but Joel was scared, like he'd gone back 40 years and become 16 all over again.
He couldn't do it, he couldn't, wouldn't do it, and he'd set his mind to that, made peace with his cowardness and dread.
Until of course, Ellie's twisted mind came up with a way to force his fears to life.
"Howdy"
The kid was smiling so broadly that she looked like a child with a brand-new toy,
but Joel's eyes were somewhere else,
he was looking at you
"Hi Joel" you smiled, punching a knife into his gut
You were at his front door with his kid, who was very clearly plotting something, and Joel wondered for a moment if this was what would finally make his heart give out.
"Hi," he said, his voice sounding distant
Why is she here?
"Aren't you gonna let us in?" Ellie urged,
Us?
"Uhm, I-"
but Ellie had already sneaked inside, dragging you behind
And now the awkward scene was even more awkward, just at the entrance of his home.
"All alright" Ellie clapped her hands, watching Joel stare at you as you tried to avoid his gaze "I'm gonna go to my room," she said, shouldering him not so subtly
"Cool down dude" she mumbled, before disappearing upstairs.
What the fuc-
"I'm sorry to barge in like this" you finally spoke, a gentle smile on your lips "Ellie said you needed to tell me something, so I just... came here I guess" you finished with an awkward laugh
Fuck-fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck-
"If it's too much trouble I'll just go-"
"no," Joel said, before he could stop himself, finally realizing he was still holding the door's knob, and in a spur of bravery, deciding to use it to close the door.
"Oh, ok" you mumbled, puzzled by his demeanor "so uhm, what is it you needed to tell me?"
God damn that fucking trick-playing kid of his
"do you- do you want something to drink?"
the question took you aback, but then you did something that stunned Joel even more, you laughed,
you laughed softly, quickly, like you were letting out all this stupid awkwardness in a simple gesture
because that's how you were: Magical
"Sure" you shrugged, grinning "some water would be nice"
If Joel had to watch your face for an instant more he feared he was gonna explode, so he did all he could think of, he walked to the kitchen, only glancing at you again when he handed you your drink,
to his dismay, finding a smile still drawn on your lips.
"thank you" you said, taking a sip
god, even the way your lips wrapped around the rim made him want to drop to his knees.
He needed to get a grip.
"so... are you gonna tell me or do I have to guess?" you joked, your fingers drawing patterns on the glass
Was this really happening?
Was this hell?
"I..." he trailed off, running a hand through his hair as he glanced from the counter to you on repeat "I wanted to tell you that..."
"that?"
"that- the uhm-" he shut his eyes for a second, searching for words "the...bread you gave us this week was real good"
Goddamnit
"oh"
Even you couldn't hide your disappointment
I mean, you certainly didn't expect it. A compliment from Joel Miller? What universe were you in?
Just like you didn't expect any of this... him actually letting you in his house or offering you water...
You had half expected him to shut the door in your face,
The most he had ever given you was a half smile at a joke you told him while he was picking up bread, the rest were all rude grumbles or just a bunch of stoic looks...
and yet... yet a part of you couldn't help but have set expectations a little higher.
What a silly fool you'd been,
hoping for a love confession from a man who has made it very clear he despises you,
but still- a girl can dream, right?
"thank you" you mumbled, as Joel cursed himself over and over in his head "that's very nice of you," you smiled, stalling a second to see if he was gonna say something else, interrupt you at some point,
but he remained silent
"well if that's all, I'm gonna go then, thank you for the water I-"
Until he wasn't
"no-stop- I-"
Ellie was right.
He had to do this, he had to win his fear and try at least, or he was gonna regret it for the rest of his life, and he already had too many of those.
The problem was that you looked really beautiful today, and he'd never been good with words
Fuck it- if he was gonna make a fool of himself so be it,
He had nothing to lose and everything to win,
he had you to win.
"Yes?" you asked, trying to tame your hopes down
Think Joel, think
how the fuck do you tell a woman you like her?
"There's one other thing I've been meaning to tell ya" he cleared his throat, standing up straighter as he took a step closer to you.
"'m not great at doing this type of thing" he admitted, shaking his head slightly "but Ellie... she's right, I'm always tellin' her to be brave and everythin', so... I guess it's my turn now," he said, letting out a short, anxious laugh "I don't even know- I guess what I'm tryna say is that I'm gonna be honest now, but I want you to know that- that I know what you're gonna say and it's ok" he swallowed thickly, preparing himself from your inevitable rejection "I understand, really, I just- I thought I should try at least"
What was going on?
What the fuck was he saying?
"Joel, what are you talking about?"
This was it.
It was now or never.
"Y/n I-"
his heart was beating out of his chest, and his legs felt like jelly, but he had to do it, he had to take a leap of faith-
"Y/n I like you" he breathed like the words longed to be out of his mouth "I like you a lot, I have for a while now"
he watched your mouth part, your whole face filling with shock as you blinked over and over, trying to make sure this was really happening.
"Y-you like me?"
"yes" he nodded "And as I said, I know you don't feel the same, I know I'm old, and I've been an asshole to you all this time, so it's ok, really I-"
"stop talking Joel" you huffed a laugh, stepping closer, and then closer again, until your hand was on his arm "please just-" you bit down a smile, and he was so confused, so fucking confused, "say it again," you asked
"I like you y/n" he murmured, trying to get his mind to start working again,
but you were leaning closer,
and who cared what his name was anyway
"you were rude to me"
"I was, I'm sorry I-"
You pretended to be thinking about it, glancing upwards as you pursed your lips together
But who were you kidding?
"you're forgiven" you smiled, looking up at him as you slowly raised yourself on your tiptoes to gently, oh so gently, press your lips to his.
Joel was certain he had just died.
But then he opened his eyes again, and you were still there, beaming up at him, and he felt such a wave of happiness that he could have started crying right there,
only he took on a different route and grabbed each side of your face with his hands, crashing his lips with yours and kissing you, kissing you like he'd been dreaming of for months
exactly how you imagined he would,
better than you imagined, actually
so much better.
"Ha! I told you, Joel!"
He groaned as he leaned away, shooting Ellie an annoyed glance
"What are you doin' here?"
"just came here to gloat" she shrugged, watching you two with a grin plastered on her face
"I think you've done enough of that" he muttered, but you could only smile
"thank you, Ellie," you grinned "Thank you for doing this"
She raised her brows, looking at Joel as if saying "See, she's thanking me, why aren't you?", but then her expression got more genuine as she shot you a smile
"you're welcome" she smiled "Better having to see you kiss than having to put up with Joel being all sad 'cause you're talking to Jack or any other guy"
You gasped with amusement as Joel shut his eyes in embarrassment, his cheeks tainting with red
"Ellie-" Joel grumbled,
A soft giggle flowed through the room as Ellie turned away and went back up to her room, seemingly satisfied with her work
"You were jealous?" you teased him, your hands on his chest, while he'd moved one of his from your face to your waist.
"maybe I was" he fessed up
You smiled even brighter
"And you like me?" you asked for the thousandth time
"yes, sweetheart, I really fuckin' like you" he smiled too now, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that made time stand still and the world spin around
"I like you too Joel" you finally said, giving the man an actual mini-stroke.
"say it again"
#sorry for not posting lately im not going through the best time at the moment#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller fluff#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfic#joel miller x fem!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x y/n#joel miller smut#joel miller x you#smut#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader#fluff#joel miller imagine#joel miller blurb#joel miller angst#fanfiction#the last of us#tlou#the last of us hbo#tlou hbo#joel miller x f!reader
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nerd! scara with a big cock? 😳
Just wanted to write something to make up for my lack of posting, it's definitely not as good as my usual writing 😭
✧･ﾟ:* ->Nerd! Scaramouche x Fem! Reader
✧･ﾟ:* ->¡Warnings!: NSFW, He has a big dick, Belly bulge, Touch of praise (he calls you 'good girl'), Super duper short!
You can't really decide if you're just abnormally small or if he's just annoyingly big, or both.
You never expected the nerd of the class to be walking around with all that in his pants. When you finally agreed to take him for the first time, you didn't even bother to prep, insisting that you'd be able to take it like any other dick. Boy, were you in for a shock.
He wasn't even half way in yet and you already had tears in your eyes from how much the stretch hurt, knuckles paling from how hard you gripped the sheets. You almost considered telling him to pull out, but despite the burn of practically being torn in two, the pleasure was still undeniable.
The way his cock kissed every sweet spot inside of you made your eyes roll back, body arching whenever the tip bullied its way past your cervix. With each thrust it was as if you were being split apart, but in the best way possible. You were breathless, moans and cries falling from your agape mouth. Scaramouche couldn't deny that it was adorable to see your mind crumble just from a couple pumps of his dick, he had barely picked up the pace yet!
But when he did, you felt like you were on cloud nine. The bed creaked and groaned beneath you with every grind of his hips against yours. your chest heaved with each breath you took, unable to focus on anything but him and his cock. As Scaramouche began to move faster inside of you, his length filling you up to the brim with each thrust.
It didn't take long for the knot in your stomach to form, the coil threatening to snap as the minutes wore by. He could tell that you were getting close from your incoherent mumbling and whining. His hands moved to cup the underside of one of your thighs, nails digging into the plush skin as he lifted it so that it was over his shoulder. The new position allowed him to reach all kinds of new angles that made you cry out as you finally squirted around him.
The sight of you coming undone was so beautiful to him as he leaned down to press a kiss to your sweaty forehead, grinning at the way your body shuddered beneath him. His pace slowed a bit, rocking his hips against your own till he finally came inside you with a groan. Cum flooded your pussy, mixing with your own juices and making your entire lower region feel warm but he didn't pull out just yet.
Scaramouche's hand trailed across your body, stopping when his fingers brushed over the bulge in your stomach where he was nestled deep within you. Smirking, he gently pressed into it with his palm, relishing the sweet wail that came from your throat.
"You're so adorable, y'know that? Taking me all the way like a good girl. Now let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"
#genshin smut#smut#x reader smut#genshin impact smut#genshin impact x reader smut#scaramouche smut#scara smut#scara x reader smut#scaramouche x reader smut#✧･ﾟ:* meena's memos! ✧･ﾟ:*
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CW: sub! nanami, bondage, body worship, praise, oral sex (m! receiving), reader is sick in love n kento is adorable, more just power dyanmics then actually sex bc idk
A/N: I wrote this drabble while taking a biology quiz. girl boss. unedited like all my drabbles bc fuck it we ball
"I'm not so sure about this..."
You look up from your task, cocking your head to the side at your lover's slightly frowned face. He was lying plaint against your headboard while you were carefully tying his hands to the posts. But you immediately stop your actions and kiss his cheek. "Dont be scared, Kento. I'm not going to do anything you dont like."
Nanami slightly furrows his brows. "I like to be able to touch my lover."
You pepper another kiss to his cheek, giggling. "Well, not tonight! We are going to focus all on you and your pleasure. Relax, I promise you'll love it."
He looks away, almost pouting. Its cute, seeing the stoic man look upset at the idea of being unable to touch you. But you pay no mind to it and instead continue to tie his wrists up.
When you're happy with the result, you glance down at the blond and see him staring at you, blinking, and waiting. He was wearing just his boxers, chest completely bare, and his cock half hard. You run your fingers up his chest, swirling the nipples that makes him slightly jump. You've trained him to be sensitive there; it was cute.
"Should I also tie your legs to each post?" you muse out loud, looking behind you. "Keep you from trying to close your legs…"
To this, he blushes. It's subtle, but it turns his cheeks a deep pink, and his eyes seem to glance everywhere but you. The idea of him being forced to be so exposed was incredibly embarrassing to the man. So he gulps and says, "Please don't tease me anymore. It's not fair."
You let out a giggle, pressing another kiss to his jaw, and he swallows, furrowing his eyebrow. "You are so cute, Kento; I could just eat you up."
He is used to be talking to this like he was some sort of pet, and so he doesn't bat an eye. "I don't understand what you find appealing about all of this."
You stare at your lips, eyes glazed with lust, before smiling softly at him. Distracted by the hunger on your face, Nanami fails to notice the hand that trailed down to where his boxers lay. You trace the outline of his cock, and he hisses out in surprise, mouth slightly open.
"It's fun to see you like this," you muse out loud, brushing back his blond hair with your other hand. "And besides," you grip at his cock, hard and throbbing behind the black fabric, "you find it just as appealing as I do, hmm?"
To this, he stays silent, but the tips of his ears burn red. He does like it more than he should. He likes the purr of your voice, the hunger in your eyes, the way you made him feel like he was your pet. It made him feel desired, and with that, arousal pooled deep inside him.
You slide off of his boxers, and his cock immediately flops against his abdomen, letting out a lewd plap sound. It was red and pulsing, pre beginning to bead at the tip. Nanami shifts in his restraints, unable to stay still under your watchful gaze.
You were fully clothed, and he was completely bare in front of you. No matter how long the two of you have been lovers, he will never grow out of this embarrassment of being nude in front of you.
But you don't seem to mind; in fact, you encourage it. Your tongue drags along his V line up to the top of his abs, staring at him the entire time. His whole body racks with shivers, and his cock twitches pathetically with the lack of attention.
"You are so pretty," you sigh like you haven't said it to him at least a million times already. "It's almost unfair how good you look, Kento."
You press a kiss to the tip of his cock, as if it was simply just another body part to praise. He jumps, hips trying to buck into your mouth instinctually. He immediately wishes he that he could hid his face in shame when you laugh at his reaction.
"Please don't say such ridiculous things," he manages to recover, "You praise me too highly."
You rest your face on his thigh, nearly inches from his groin, and use your hand to play with his cock lazily like a cat toying with its prey. Tracing along it and watching it bobble back and forth, ignoring the way the blonde's body jerks with the small stimulation.
You peer up at him, looking at the red hue of his face and smiling at him. "No, I don't think so. You know I don't spew meaningless things, especially to someone like you."
Your eyes go back to his cock, watching another glob of pre dribble down the base. You barely were touching the thing, but the gentle movements seemed to be driving him insane. How cute.
"I guess I'll have to show you how much I seem to worship you," you sigh, and without much hesitation, your lips wrap around the shaft. The ropes pull at the headboard, and Kento lets out a string of curses, pulling a laugh from deep in your throat and a moan from him.
#mello.writes#sub nanami#nanami smut#sub jjk#jjk x reader#nanami x reader#nanami x reader smut#sub! nanami kento#sub nanami kento#nanami kento smut#jjk smut
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when the curtains close
a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader
words: 5.3k
summary: (post-tlt) The one where you lose two people in the Labyrinth that day. All strings are cut. (Pollux, Annabeth, Percy, and Mr. D find out the biggest difference between you and Luke.) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)
a/n: yeah to me this fic sounds and feels like that tiktok of the girl humming to her microwave. split povs: pollux, annabeth, your depictions of the titular battle of the labyrinth at CHB, some blood/gore, death & grief. the usual. you forced me to by lizzy mcalpine. references to cat on a hot tin roof by tennessee williams if you squint
(posted 5/14/24, semi edited—def coming back to this)
—
The first time Pollux has a panic attack, time seems to stop and the world keeps moving on without him.
He’s reminded of a time when you rambled on about how anxiety takes possession of the senses like a moment frozen in a snapshot meant for you to identify. In the memory, you had your feet kicked up on the dash flipping through a DSM-5 while he and Castor took turns speeding up and down Farm Road (totally normal older sister behavior from you, and when a cop pulled you over, the three of you narrowly escaped a ticket by talking in riddles and godly smoke that smelled like grapes). Pollux still remembers the sound of laughter in the car blending like three different chords to an archaic melody (or squawking crows in the strawberry fields)— the bond between you three laid out before time knew limits and was always meant to be.
It’s still his favorite song. You’re their favorite (and only) sister, they love to joke. These are facts that will never change.
“You two have each other, and well, I’ve got this,” you had said, the Zippo flicking open and closed against your thumb in the blossoming darkness of the car. Pink and purple rays of waning light blanketed the old hatchback as it steadily made its way back towards Half-Blood Hill, comfortable silence shared in the way only siblings can stand to be quiet—when there are no words needed to get a point across. But you’ve always set yourself apart from the pack, not needing anyone like how they need each other.
Not since Luke left, at least. The growing distance between you three since your untimely resignation from camp was proof enough. Pollux’s eyes met Castor’s in the rearview mirror as they both noticed your sad smile. His brother’s voice broke through the silence then, having always been the one blunt enough to say what was on his mind, “You’ve got us too if you let us see you more often.” Your fidgeting stops.
“It’s not you two, it’s just hard to be back here sometimes. I see things for what they used to be instead of how they really are now. Now it’s just… it has to be all business.”
Pollux cracked a smile, “S’what you get for growing up. Soon we’ll just be annoying voices in your head like you are to us.” Shutting your textbook, you turned to look at them from the passenger seat, eyes that match theirs darting between their blond heads, “All of us have to grow up eventually. Except maybe you two— I prefer you in my nightmares like the kids from The Shining. Whenever you get sick of Dad, come see me. Gods know that camp deserves a break from the two of you too.” Your knuckles knocked against both of their heads affectionately as he put the car in park, “My built-in bodyguards, huh? Always looking out for me.”
All words and meaning escape Pollux now as he stands in the greenery of the North Woods with battle gear ill-fitted to his large frame. It’s the first siege he’s ever taken part in, the first time he’s had to use battle strategies outside of Capture the Flag and the first time he’s slashed his way through monsters and demigods with the intent to try and kill or be killed. Sword and Shield could have never prepared any of them for this—as his eyes meet Castor’s and then yours with all of you thinking the same thing, the three of you join the sea of iridescent orange through mind-numbing black moving like a sharp three-pronged sword.
This type of stuff isn’t typical for him, he thinks. He and Castor are used to being comedic relief— being the source of laughs and juice boxes for pesky little campers instead of facing the real world outside the boundaries of the Mist. Perhaps your father babied them to make up for the time he lost with you, but there’s a moment where he wonders how being kept soft will keep him alive in a world as harsh as this one.
Childlike innocence is ripped away from them in the bubble they’ve inhabited until this moment. Home is now a warzone and like lambs set up for slaughter, the twins both turn to look at you as a shuddering gasp leaves your mouth at the carnage in your surroundings, monster blood and fallen friends and enemies at your feet. Breaking away from formation to take a deep breath, he looks at the sky and wonders where your father is, but smoke and soot fill his lungs and he coughs desperately for a breath of fresh air.
Pollux thinks he must have stopped breathing before Castor took his last breath. It wasn’t supposed to be a competition, but sometimes life was just funny like that.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1.
Just like you told him.
Castor was always the more manic one while Pollux knew how to endure. Children of Dionysus are forced to befriend insanity before it makes an enemy out of them—twisting the ugly into what’s real and creating something beautiful out of the deranged. You’ve shown the boys how you detach from emotion by recognizing the details—separating fact and fiction, a methodical process only describable by the blood that runs through your veins. Pollux doesn’t know where to start—everything happens so fast but it plays out in front of him like someone put the pieces together to a stop-motion animation.
He sees Castor’s sword fall to the ground when he gets slashed on the forearm and sees him get clubbed over the head with a metal weapon he’s only seen bad renditions forged for theater practices and hanging on the walls of the armory. Castor falls first to his knees, and then into the dirt with a thud. He never knew there could be that much blood coming out of a person, much less a mirror image of himself. Pollux sees your face come into his line of vision, deep maroon splatters on your face glittering with hints of ichor and then you’re moving because he can’t. The enemy is coming back for him now, and for a moment he wonders if Castor will be mad if he lets him. He sees you turn in an instant, swinging your sword down on the neck of the aggressor, a teenager not much older than he and his brother are—were. It’s funny how his brain immediately makes the switch to past tense, and how he can’t stop thinking about how he’ll now and forever be older than his twin. Pollux then sees you catch the body of the boy you just killed as life seeps out of him slower than it did for Castor.
It doesn’t make him feel any better, though.
His knees hit the ground next to his twin, touching the sludge of dirt soft like quicksand and moist with what he hopes is not blood, but Pollux is not quite sure of what else there is to hope for. His fist is wrapped around Castor’s shirtsleeve, touching faded orange and sweat as he holds on for dear life. Maybe if he tries hard enough his soul will still be intertwined with his. Your hand touches his shoulder, five fingers reaching out to brush the back of his neck and the feeling of your skin helps him refocus a bit, even if you’re saying something he can’t make out. Then the metal of your Zippo lighter feels cool to the touch within his palm and he knows what he needs to do.
The battle isn’t over, but for the three of you, everything stops here. There is no going forward without your brother. You were never meant to be children of war.
Pollux hears the sound of his heartbeat thundering through his ears, blood rushing through his veins and can’t help but notice the silence amid the chaos. There are no words fit for this—and even if there were, Castor and you were always the more talkative ones. He hears the spark of the purple flame between his fingers, blowing the smoke over him and his brother’s body, and their father’s powers blanket them like how you used to tuck them into bed, warm and safe. This is what your family is—unconventional and unending even in different realms of existence. And then Grover’s scream of panic echoes through the air and everyone hears that. Hysteria ensues as monsters and demigods alike run amok, and Pollux realizes he’s stopped shaking. In his father’s domain, he will always find comfort.
You stand above him now directing campers calmly with a free hand—a brewing storm crackling underneath your skin that he now understands. Hidden by the illusion of smoke, Pollux’s tired bones rest alongside his brother’s dead ones— together as they always were meant to be.
The three of you together, his little family—that is a fact he hoped would never change.
The smell of grapes envelops him as he leans his forehead against your muddy leg… when did the battle end? It almost masks the scent of death that rips through the air as your hand brushes through his sandy hair. Pollux stinks of sweat and you stifle a laugh as you see him smell his armpit. You three were always the same type of fucked up. He doesn’t look down at Castor laid across his lap but knows he would’ve found it funny too. Ignorance of reality even for a moment serves as a comfort. Purple meets purple as he looks up at you with a smile that doesn’t fit his face anymore and he croaks, “Wonder what dad would say about our first battle…”
Glory was never meant to be this bittersweet—it tastes like blood in his mouth until he wipes it away from his cheek and realizes it’s Castor’s. In a way, it’s his too, everything about him and within him is exactly the same down to the star stuff the fates wove them from.
“I’ll be the one to tell him. You take care of Castor,” you answer, as if there’s anything else he would want to do and then he realizes you’re crying— and he’s seeing all of the pieces put together in front of him in this photograph in his mind.
Pollux blinks slowly.
Suddenly the image he has of you is more defined— there is new meaning to the sadness you could never shake off all these years, and he is too young to lose his greatest love, which makes him realize then that so were you.
How long does this have to go on? he wonders, grabbing onto your hand with an eagerness only comparable to the feeling he got when you and Luke whisked him and Castor away from Florida all those years ago. This punishment of living while half of his soul does not—what is he supposed to do next? This was supposed to be the safe place. There is nowhere left to run. His thumb rubs circles into the back of your shaking blood-soaked hand, a secret within the smoke.
Pollux thinks there will always be a part of him frozen in time now, a memory of this day hung up in his mind like a portrait as he holds Castor’s cold hand in his warm one.
—
Annabeth finds you in the middle of the strawberry fields before the sun sets. She knows you won’t be sleeping tonight, not if you can fight it— not when there’s so much to do. You’ve long grown out of your ripped-up and tie-dyed camp shirts, and the one slung on your frame is newly pressed and starchy from the storage room of the Big House, still stiff against your freshly washed skin. When she’s close enough to touch you, you’ve been scrubbed clean of today.
She doesn’t have to be a daughter of Athena to know that you know that she’s there even if you can’t see her, but for once she feels like she has to hide. For once, Annabeth Chase doesn’t know what to say. How can she explain the feeling of guilt that coils around her brain like barbed wire—how can she even begin to apologize for the thing wearing her brother’s skin, knowing that it killed yours? For once, her hubris is crushed by the sinking feeling of humiliation.
“Was your first quest all you thought it would be, Annie?”
As she takes her navy cap off, silver braided strands around her face wave in the wind as a reminder of what Luke put her through. Though as she looks at you now with your berry-stained fingers plucking at stems one by one instead of using your powers, she thinks that your mind is elsewhere—anywhere but here, where everything is a painful reminder of your five years as a camper.
Five years with Luke.
Mourning him isn’t a new feeling for either of you, even though he comes in and out of your lives like a poltergeist you want to bash across the head, just always out of reach. But he’s a constant, even when he’s not here and he’s what binds you two together as you huddle hidden away from the rest of camp.
“He did this for you.”
It’s not a question, more so a fact out of Annie’s mouth when you finally meet her eyes and sigh, “Luke’s always had a way going about things. The most stubborn man to ever live.” You toss another strawberry into the crate at your feet. No one’s working right now, trying to tend to the injured and the dead. Everyone’s doing their best to chase away the nightmares that are bound to come, and she knows you’ll be making rounds with her on the night shift to ease everyone’s anxieties. But there’s a thought so strong it makes her head hurt, bursting at the seams until she can’t stop with her last-ditch effort to fix her found family.
“Maybe if we find him, we can save—”
“He’s been out of time for a while now, Annabeth. We both knew that,” you say, voice firm and unwavering. You’ve never sounded so monotone before, and it hits her as her mouth falls agape, “You’re giving up on him? Why…why would you give up on him?” Anger courses through her veins like fire and she’s mad that she’s at the center of this prophecy, of Hermes’s anger for his doomed son who will love you until the ends of the earth.
And what of her?
What of the hope she has in happy endings, how is it that you’re so damn calm? Annabeth kicks at the crate, strawberries rolling out in different directions and your jaw tightens as you let her be petulant, let her scream and yell until her inner child can catch up with the reality of the world around you.
“How could you?”
Your name echoes as she repeats it, grabbing at your shoulders and she’s as desperate as the truth that shakes her when you cup her face in your hands and wipe her tears.
“You’ve carried the weight of the world Annabeth– you know what it feels like to let it go. It’s time to let him go. There’s nothing I can do or say to fix this.”
Then it hits her that you knew of his fate and yet this was still the outcome. There was nothing else to do but watch him be puppeteered by a Titan and have to fight evil while it wears his face.
“He came to you after he saw me, didn’t he? Why didn’t you tell me? Why don’t you love him anymore?”
Because it wouldn’t have changed a thing, your eyes say. Instead, you grimace as you say, “Wouldn’t that be funny if it were true?” You lean down and pick up the fallen berries, some bruised and covered in dirt, and then you look at her again with teary eyes.
“Some prophecy huh? To lose a love to worse than death. What could we have done besides love him until the end?”
“He’s still in there. I know you know that too. Don’t talk about him like he’s not,” Annabeth insists, and a sad smile settles upon your face. It’s as gentle as the kiss of the breeze on your cheeks.
“I lost a brother today, Annie.”
“Me too.”
—
The funny thing about planning funerals is that with all the fuss it takes to organize one, you still find extra time on your hands. Barely getting any sleep and dragging yourself out of your dad’s bed, Pollux snores loudly next to you after hours of working on Castor’s shroud. Sleep wasn’t expected for either of you, but being unconscious was the only way of giving your brains a reprieve. The both of you have been busy doubling down on the preparations, even if it means Mr. D won’t be back in time while he’s out rallying gods for war.
The faster Castor’s earthly body is reconnected with his soul, the easier his trip will be into the Underworld, Nico says, and it’s funny how comforting the little emo pipsqueak can be when it comes to matters of death.
Perhaps this is the solace you bring to others with things you’re able to control—keeping camp afloat is something you were always good at, and helping every traumatized child that comes up to you for a juice box or a lullaby eases the guilt that follows you. Walking around Camp Half-Blood for more than a weekend made you feel like a judge, jury, and executioner. Though most of the campers from almost five years ago have either aged out, defected, or died—the ones that remain still look at you like you’re trouble.
Perhaps you always will be.
You even found yourself with the time to pray to Hermes last night for your brother’s safe passage into the afterlife, though if he’s angry at Annabeth, he must hate you for letting Luke go. Dinner didn’t seem appetizing enough anyway, so your whole plate was tossed into the hearth. You hope he likes chicken and rice.
But if a god can’t fight fate, what did he expect you to do?
The Iris Message to your dad last night was difficult, to say the least. Pollux’s hands shook as he continued to paint grape vines onto the silk cloth and the both of you didn’t say anything when your father started to cry. He out of all of the gods knows what it’s like to be tested to the limits—to endure pain and it’s a gift you and your brother are grateful for in times like these. Watching the god display the human emotion that either of you couldn’t as freely made it more real though.
There was also the interesting predicament of Chris Rodriguez being locked up in the basement of the Big House. Replacing screaming fits with serenity was almost second nature, and your gentle hands were what got Clarisse to truly respect you again for the first time in years. You could hear her sneak downstairs and talk to him while he slept (and the look in her eyes when you’d greet her with a cup of coffee made it known to you that she finally understands what it means to love someone who’s lost—two demigod daughters filled with a lot of rage and hurt were more alike than they think).
So the morning of your little brother’s funeral, you found yourself on the shoreline of Canoe Lake, setting your Redbull against the post of the dock and looking out onto the water.
You needed to do something with your hands. In the past few days, if your fingers were not occupied by pen and paper, a guitar, supply crates, or anything else that was helpful to others and all the more distracting for you, it’s been so easy to pick at any little thing. Perhaps it was your subconscious trying to reflect the damage on the inside, but today, your nail polish was chipped beyond belief. A small price to pay to not lose it without a signature boyish smile to ease your worries and amber eyes that could help you escape from the routine.
Running camp was always easier back then with your runaway boy and his scarred cheek.
How pathetic.
Crouched over in the sand, you plucked stones and filled your pockets with them. They knocked against each other — weighing your pockets down as you walked closer to the dock. Swinging your feet off the side and chucking them into the water, you could barely achieve a ripple.
It’s so quiet that you end up wondering if the rocks in your pockets would weigh you down to the bottom of the lake. It must be nice down there, to exist away from everything.
Bubbles surface slowly in front of you, then Percy’s head bobs in the water as he squints at you through sunlight.
“You chucked a rock at my head!”
A smile tugs at your lips, almost indiscernible but definitely there, “I was trying to skip them. Didn’t know you were doing water tricks in there, kid.” His grin gleams like freshwater pearls, pulling himself up onto the dock as his hand clasps yours. Shaking his sopping hair, Percy’s gangly frame sits next to yours like a wet bag of sand—all wrinkly and misshapen and sprinkling you with lakewater.
“Maybe next time don’t pick rocks the size of your fist. How many have you got in there? Your aim is scarily accurate,” he laughs and you huff and shake your head when his hand sticks into your pocket and takes out a few smooth ones to roll around in his hand. You mirror him, watching him skip a few stones into the water that reach a good distance before sinking into the depths of the lake.
There’s something sad about feeling comfortable to trauma dump on the teenage son of Poseidon, but with the way he grabs your arm at your third unsuccessful toss of a rock, you can’t do anything else but sigh.
“Why didn’t any of you call me, Percy?”
He was waiting for this question—it’s been banging around in his head since the beginning of Annabeth’s quest, and perhaps her talk with you yesterday didn’t go as expected so once again he’s left with the difficult part.
Things happen to turn out pretty difficult for him a lot, he's noticed.
Many things could have been made easier in the past few weeks: Ariadne being your stepmother and her blessing to you would’ve made the Labyrinth easier to navigate, and having another demigod to fight alongside him instead of a mortal girl would’ve been a plus too. But he looks at you with ocean eyes and a smaller smile that reminds you of how he looked at you when you dropped him off in Montauk the summer you met him and quit your head counselor job.
“You’ve already made a lot of difficult decisions. We weren’t sure if…”
The rotten wood beneath you creaks under your shifting weight as you turn to him, tucking your legs underneath your bottom.
“Didn’t think I could handle it?”
He shakes his head, “The opposite, actually. Annabeth has this notion that you’re the only one that can save him. You know, back on my first quest I met Luke’s dad and he told me something…”
You swallow instead of answering. There’s no way Percy is giving you Hermes’s advice right now. Somehow this feels like karmic retribution after years of spiting that asshole, and what he tells you next is more of a sign that it must be true.
“He said, ‘Do you know what that feels like? To be so close to someone you love knowing neither of you has any choice but to keep hurting each other?’ I didn’t get it then, but I do now.”
“With Luke and his mom?” you ask, picking at the remaining slivers of varnish on your thumbnail.
“With you and Luke. I didn’t call you, because… why would I want to see you hurt after everything?” Percy says this like it’s something he would do for everyone.
Perhaps it is, but the knot that forms in your throat feels as heavy as the boulder you almost sunk into his skull. He’s tall enough to lean your head against now, and you don’t mind the water spots that will form along the side of your funeral outfit. The shape of him it leaves will remind you of the little brother you gained through so much loss.
“Plus he has a new girlfriend. Absolute horse of a girl,” he jokes. It slips over your head but you still giggle, “I could’ve taken her.”
“I know, that was Grover’s worry. You’re prettier anyway…” Percy pauses, and then clears his throat, “You’ve always taken care of this place, y’know? Even after….I just think someone ought to take care of you.”
Your shoulder bumps against his as you finally skip a rock. It only bounces across the water twice and you think Percy might have had something to do with it, but you’re not bothered by the help this time around.
—
You wake up in the dark of night to see your dad looming in the doorway to his office. With drool and a post-it stuck to your cheek, he comes over to ruffle your hair in amicable silence.
“Hard at work or hardly working?” he chuckles, leaning over your shoulder to scan over the paperwork sorted into piles for him to sign from his absence.
“Hm. You wish,” you scoff, leaning against your arm as you look at him. He’s not in his usual eyesore of attire, wearing a clean-pressed suit with his hair slightly slicked back.
“You look good. The meeting went okay?”
“Grover will be. The Council of Cloven Elders? Not so much. Neither are the gods ready to take sides. Putting out little fires everywhere as we speak.”
The wheels of the office chair roll as you swing your feet, and if you both listen closely enough you can hear Pollux snoring upstairs. Chiron loved the earplugs you gave him.
Your father’s face smooths out a bit at the sight of you and the sound of his son’s breathing upstairs and he asks, “Are you? Good?”
A shrug slides off your shoulders, “How does one be good in a world like this one?”
A startling scream echoes off the walls of the Big House, rattling the floorboards from below as your father grimaces.
The work is never done for you two.
“Don’t look at me like that. It was worse when he first came here.”
“Don’t doubt it,” he mumbles, brushing lint off your shirt before he notices you’re donning neon orange. “Didn’t do laundry, princess?”
“Pollux and I haven’t gone back to our cabin since... I can wake him up if you—”
Mr. D shakes his head and goes to toss his body onto the couch against the window, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath.
“Dad? Do you think Chris is a bad person?”
A beat passes and you think he may have fallen asleep, but then his voice sounds like gravel scraping up his throat.
“I don’t think anyone can be bad, kid. I think it is more often that people get lost. What Rodriguez needs is someone to take hold of him gently, and hand his life back to him—you…Clarisse… that’s what we’re giving him.”
Now you’re silent, staring at the dust on his name placard at the edge of the desk.
“Do you think otherwise?”
He calls your name again, and you look up like you’re about to lie to him but don’t have the energy to.
“Princess, do you think you’re a bad person?”
He stands up and walks around to your side of the desk, sitting on the edge so you have to look at him.
“I killed someone. During the battle. Didn’t even think twice about it, slashed his neck as soon as Castor went down and…” you sniff. “I kill monsters, not children, Dad. How does that make me any different?”
The last time blood was on your hands like this it was Luke’s in the Garden of Hesperides. All these years later you ended up being right— the only person you vowed to get bloody for is Luke Castellan, and now in a twisted turn of fate, you’ve bloodied your hands because of him.
“Because you did it for your brother. There are no other explanations needed.”
He sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the drop in your shoulders, but your dad also sees the strength in your bones that spans generations and he knows you and Pollux are strong because you are both his.
“Humans believe in life everlasting—glory, as some call it, but they’re too focused on achieving it on earth instead of enjoying what life has to offer,” he scoffs, “Everyone has the guts to die, but no one has the guts to truly live. How sad.”
“His name was Rowan. Son of Hecate. I taught him how to whistle the summer I left. This is all my fault, Dad,” you say shakily as he comes near and pulls you into his side. He shushes you but you relent.
“Luke’s killing all these people to fulfill a promise he made for me. I’m just fucking disgusted with myself for being the cause of it all. What good life can I deserve when wherever I go I leave a trail of blood?”
Love and addiction must be so alike; to know that to be sober you can’t indulge in the vice ever again—not only does it hurt you, but others around you. But through the years you’ve always kept the taste of his name in your mouth, the feeling of his skin under your fingertips, and the knowledge of why he’s destroying the world so he can make you a better one. Insanity stems from fighting for so long that you embrace the pain; feeling something so intensely that when it consumes you you’re able to walk out the other side and wear it as armor.
Not everyone is hardwired to persevere. There are moments like a night like these where it would be easy to give up. Instead, you pour two glasses of whiskey you’ve conjured and hand one to your dad. You both sip on your drinks slowly, embracing the crawling feeling of the burn.
“Liquor is one way out and death is another,” your dad sighs blissfully. He almost looks rejuvenated by the alcohol he knows he’ll hear about from Zeus later, but perhaps the death of his son is a good enough pardon.
“For some of us, we don’t have to think about the answer.”
Mr. D grabs a pen off the desk and starts signing papers to do something with his hands, and then you speak again, “I think I’d rather die than for people I love,” and your dad’s attention whips to your blank face staring at the moon outside the window. “Instead of killing for them. I’ve never been a good soldier, Dad.”
Mr. D looks at you thoughtfully and wonders where all the time has gone that you sit there in front of him with more knowledge than him at your mortal age before saying, “You’re my daughter. You’re a fighter. Death is for chumps anyway.”
He lifts you by the arm to try to usher you up the stairs but you stay in his office chair swatting his hands away.
“Got work to do, you and I. Not getting rid of me until it’s done.”
“When are you going home?” he asks, pulling up a chair next to yours.
“I am home.”
You don’t look up from the papers you were filing, stubbornness leaking through your voice.
“If there is a war coming, I want to be home as much as I can. I’m finishing my last semester and I’ll be here before and after classes. You can’t stop me, dad.”
And he knows that too.
There is no such thing as leaving Camp Half-Blood for you.
Never for too long. Your love for it is scattered everywhere campers can see.
—
In all these years, you never believed I loved you. And I did. I did so much. I did love you. I even loved your hate and your hardness. - Tennessee Williams
#luke castellan x reader#trouble!verse#made by ma1dita ♥︎#pjo x reader#percy jackon and the olympians#luke castellan angst
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Desserts, Served.
[Bon Appétit Pt.2]
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Alastor x Female Reader
[What to expect/Warnings: NSFW MDNI!!Blood, begging, P in V, you get restrained by his tendrils, soft ending, dirty talk, idk its tame for how I write Alastor LOL]
[Part 1 Here]
[Link to full drawing here]
Hello! Oh my goodness I am just utterly speechless by the positivity within this little horny community!
Thank you to everyone who liked my first post and who commented wanting a part two. This is for you guys <3 I’m sorry it took FOREVER to finish but I was nervous about disappointing lol.
But I needed to get this posted cause I have SO much planned for the future >:3
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You watched as his long fingers hook under each suspender, slowly slinking them off his shoulders. He sent a toothy grin down to your disheveled form. As if the red of his eyes were literal hell-fire, you felt his gaze rake over your body, heat quickly following wherever they went. “What do you say, darling, are you ready for dessert?” His voice was low and heavy, the sound settling in your ears but you were unable to process what he exactly said. Your own rapid heart rate was all you could focus on as you tried to calm yourself down from the overdose of dopamine you just experienced.
A chuckle rattled from him as he reached a hand out, talons holding your chin to direct your gaze at him. His ears twitched as he cocked his head to the side, staring into your wide and glossy gaze. “Hello~? Still with me? I don’t recall eating that tongue of yours.”
Your head was foggy from your release and eyes too focused on how beautiful he looked right now. The room was dark save for the soft lighting of a lamp on a far table. His eyes glowing ethereally and his smile softening around the edges.
Alastor leaned, pressing his hips further against you. The feeling of his clothed hard-on against your exposed flesh was more than enough to wake you from your dreamy state. Glancing down trying to see him pressed into you. “W-What?”
“I asked you a question.” Pinching your chin his claws dug in slightly, trying to get your eyes back up to his. “It’s not a proper meal without dessert, you know.” He hummed a tune you didn’t recognize as he leaned back and away from you. “But if you’re full-“ He physically withdrew himself from you, reusing the same manipulation tactic he used earlier.
Just as he hoped, it brought panic to your eyes. Once again the idea of losing his touch rocked you to your core, literally. Suddenly realizing how cold and empty you felt without him and his addicting touch. The exhaustion you once felt melted away as you pushed yourself up from resting on your elbows. You lurched forward, fingers yanking Alastor in by his shirt. Crashing your lips into his you wrapped your legs around his waist pulling him into you, ensuring he couldn’t back away any further.
He watched with wide eyes for only a moment before he quickly melted into the kiss. One arm wrapped around your waist to press you flush to his chest. His other hand came to hold you by the back of your neck with a firm pressure.
His half-lidded gaze never left you as he swiped his tongue over your lips, asking entrance. To his dismay, however, you instead pulled away from him. His long fingers tightening at your neck as you struggled to pull your lips from his, his own hunger and greed showing.
You slowly slipped your eyes open to find him already staring at you. Having leaned away from his lips just enough to ghost words across them. “I’ll never count a meal as satisfying until I’m feeling stuffed.” You could feel his grin grow as he narrowed his eyes on you. “And I’m famished.”
Once again you felt the air around you grow heavy. Static began to prick at your skin as it buzzed in your ears. The lamp flickered in the background as the entire room grew darker. “Oh, Mon Cher…” his words were so heavily filtered you could barely hear him, the static began to rise further. His claws danced from the back of your neck as his hand nestled to your front. His large palm gripping you by your throat as he pressed his forehead against yours. “I'm going to fuck you stupid.” Instantly, blood rushed to your cheeks. He dropped the innuendos and the shock from it had you frozen like a deer in headlights.
You felt him tighten his grip around your throat, lips parting to gasp air instinctively. The room grew dark, too dark, as the space was completely shrouded in shadows. The only presence was Alastor, his glowing gaze seeming brighter than before. His little antlers began to grow above you. Perhaps, you thought, you were indulging him too much.
Fear flooded your senses as he drew himself up from you, stature taller than before. Suddenly, you were being thrown down against the desk by your throat. Body tensing as you braced for a hard impact of wood and vintage radio equipment. Your hands flew to grip his wrist as you were thrown back. But the pain you expected never came as instead a plush softness enveloped you. You blinked, darting your gaze around as the shadows withdrew, allowing light back in.
The sound of a zipper and a rattling laugh snapped your attention back to Alastor. He loomed over where you laid on the edge of a soft surface. “Oh ho! You should’ve seen yourself just now!” His shoulders bounced, his genuine laughter had you squeezing your thighs together. “Fear looks good on you, my dear.” He’d coo over you.
Confused, you glance away from him as you begin to crawl backwards, you turn your attention to the room. Realizing you were no longer in his radio tower. Instead, you were resting on a soft bed in a familiar room, your room. “Wha-” You turned back to Alastor squinting up at him. “Oh, fuck you! You think you’re so funny?” You tried to keep the playful squint but you couldn’t stop the smile that wanted to form.
You pushed yourself up into a sitting position, eyes glued to the open zipper as he untucked his shirt. The bed dipped as he stalked closer, his knee settling on the mattress. “I know I’m funny, darling.” You had just barely caught a glimpse of his dark happy trail before you came face to face with Alastor, who had crawled over to you. One black palm settled flush against your chest. A devious smirk returning to his features as he pushed you back down on your back.
A huff of air left your lungs as you were knocked down. Eyes scanning over his face as he situated himself above you. As you felt his hands pry your legs open at your knees, you let out a scoff. “Tch yeah…funny-looking..” you would taunt under your breath.
He quirked a brow at you as he sat on his knees between your legs. “Ha. Ha.” One of his hands worked on removing his bow tie whilst the other flicked the bite he left on your inner thigh. Chuckling when you flinched and yelped in reaction, the wound still raw and tender.
Your gaze lingered lower as he began popping the first few buttons of his shirt open. “You know? Maybe I should eat that naughty tongue of yours.” When your gaze snapped back up his bones cracked, antlers reaching out like dead tree limbs. He fell onto his palms as his large body caged you against the bed.
A nervous smile crossed your expression as that similar fear rose in you. But it wasn’t typical fear, no, this feeling was something raw and instinctual. The fear a prey would feel when cornered by a predator, with a sprinkle of lustful anticipation. Your body tensed under him as one hand grabbed your jaw, fingers that somehow grew longer squish your cheeks forward. “You’d miss it.” You’d mumble out with your lips being forced to purse.
“I don’t know, my dear, you can still moan without one~“ releasing your face, his hand trailed down between your breasts and settling on the softness of your stomach.
Your breath caught in your throat as you heard it before you realized what he was doing. Goosebumps littered your skin at the sound of ripping fabric. “Alastor!-“ a gasp of his name left you. He tore your nightgown straight down the middle and sliced the remains of your underwear that clung around your waist.
“I would, however, miss that.” His eyes fell from yours and followed down the dip of your breasts.
Just as quickly as you went to cover your exposed chest did his shadow-y tendrils appear. Multiple jutted out from his back as they wormed their way towards you, slipping around your wrists and tangling all the way down your elbows. You fought against them at first but they were stronger than you, as they yanked your arms above your head pressing them into the bed. Your back arches as you weakly struggle against his hold, mostly just testing him. But your body freezes as you feel something hot and hard smack against your pubis area.
One hand holds his exposed cock at the base where it pokes out from above his pants. A toothy grin as he watches you jolt with each smack of his swollen tip against the hood of your clit. The mere sight of him had your arousal re-awakening, needy cunt clenching around nothing.
“C’mon.” He slowly pumped his cock, spreading the precum that eagerly dripped from his tip. “Be a good girl and tell me what you want.”
Your jaw clenched at his vulgar request as you felt your whole body flush. Though your eyes never left the monster he held against you, swallowing nervously as your lips parted slowly. You found it difficult to ask for something so depraved. Not to mention you were growing more nervous at the realization that when his body grew larger, everything grew.
He saw your hesitation, and usually he’d take time to enjoy your dismay and embarrassment. But right now? He needed you completely and he was done stalling.
Lazily he rubbed his cock up and down your slit, mixing his pre-cum with your slick. When he saw your face contort he moved with more intention, his cock twitching in his hand as he rubbed against your clit slowly.
“Please..” you pleaded meekly as your eyes rose to meet his. The look he sent down to you sent a tingling feeling through your body. There was such a deep hunger in them that you were certain he was just as desperate for this as you were. The thought of The Radio Demon nearing a breaking point to have you? That had a small smirk forming across your face. You felt him twitch and throb against you as soon as you smiled.
“Alastor, Please.” His grin strained as he watched a cocky glint appear in your eyes. “You said you’d fuck me stupid. Aren’t you a man of your word?” You stretched as much as you could as you rolled your hips up against him. “Or is the scary Radio Demon a-“
A growl interrupted your taunting, a choking gasp leaving you. Without warning he thrusted into you with his hands shifting to grip your hips. Thankfully, you were thoroughly lubricated. However, you were not prepared for the burning stretch you felt as his thick member fought against your tight walls. Tears welled in your eyes from the overwhelming feeling and you were shocked to see he wasn’t even halfway in.
Trailing claws scratched down your tense thighs as his hands cupped under your knees. In one quick movement he had your knees pressed against your chest, ass lifting from the bed slightly. With this movement alone you felt him slip in just a little more, were you panting? “To think I ever planned on being gentle. You don’t want gentle, do you?” His glowing red gaze flickered as darkness flooded them. The air in the room began to tingle and prick at your skin as his filter grew heavier once again. Something that you were noticing indicated a strong surge of emotions coming from Alastor. As if what he felt was so heavy it practically oozed from him, sticking to your skin. You tried to control your breathing but he was making it difficult in more ways than one.
Tears slipped down the sides of your face as you tried to blink away the blur they caused. Trying to focus on Alastor who loomed above you like a monster. Body unnaturally large, grin spread tightly across his face and his dark eyes spun with red dials at their center. That confidence to poke the bear melted away quickly as you tugged at the tendrils around your arms. But they only responded by pressing your hands into the bed further. Your lips parted to try and frantically babble some weak reply. But any words you planned on saying were distorted into a yelp-like scream. With a sudden snap of his hips he buried his ungodly length into you, sinking to the hilt. Through bleary vision you saw the shape of him pushing up your stomach from where it reached deep inside of you. For the first time in your afterlife you thanked God you were dead, knowing well that Alastor did not intend on going easy on you.
Just as you thought, he did not give you the luxury to adjust. His claws dug into your skin where he held your legs. All you felt was the intense fullness, unaware of the small cuts his hands left as blood slowly began to drip down onto your chest. Gritting his teeth he fought against your tight hole to wrench himself out before snapping back into you. The force of it involuntarily rips a moan from you as your eyes roll back before slipping closed altogether.
Like a well trained dog your eyes snapped back open, missing their momentary rest already. Your obedience won, however, as you instantly looked up to him at the sound of your name. A sweet staticky purr rumbling from him as he spoke. “Eyes on me, Mon Cher, I want to witness your descent into madness.”
Your heart fluttered and he sucked in sharply as he felt you clench around him. How did he manage to be so alluring whilst being so demonically horrid? Perhaps that was a fault on your part and your questionable desires.
“Hm~? You like that?” His voice, the air, your body and his body on yours, everything felt heavy and hot. The heat of it all coated your skin in sweat as you felt your thoughts literally melt away into pathetic puddles. Panting, trying to will your body to grow accustomed to his size, you couldn’t do anything but look up at him with pleading eyes. “The thought of me corrupting you? Ruining you?” You felt warmth slither under your back as more tendrils worked their way to you. Pushing your lower half up from the bed completely as he contorted you. He shifted, sitting up on his knees as he buried himself deep inside you. The lifted angle had you seeing stars, swearing that he’d pierce through your womb completely.
You choked, spittle running over your lips as he rutted into you. He started a deep and focused pace. Laughing sadistically at the sounds of your choked out moans and the squelching of your cunt. Tendrils replaced the hold under your knees as they held your legs open wide for him. Talons now free to rake up your body as he enjoyed your quivering response.
“P-Please-“ you wheezed out between gasping breaths. “T-Too much-“ despite your pleas, you both felt how eagerly your walls twitched around him. Your cunt had a firm grip on him, making it difficult to even pull out for a shallow thrust. Even with the slower pace you felt that coil begin to twist in your stomach.
“What do you mean, darling? Did you not say you wanted to be stuffed?” You bit your bottom lip, trying to hold in the cry you wanted to let out. Your own hubris has come to bite you in the ass, like it often does. All you could do is whine, meekly shaking your head. “You poor little thing. Have you gone stupid already? Because despite what that mouth says- down here?” Another deep thrust rocks your whole body but he doesn’t pull back. Grinding his hips down into yours so roughly you swore your bones were bruising. “Down here is begging for the exact opposite.”
“F-Fuck- please-” Somehow he managed to grind right into your sweet spot. His breathing became ragged above you as he felt his last little bit of restraint leave him. A static hiss left him as he drew his hips back only to drive his cock roughly back in. Frantics pleas tumbled from you as you were begging for your second release.
“Say it-” his thrusts were hard and fast as he fucked into your cunt, chasing his own pleasure. “Say my name- fuck,” his filter dropped as your ears were blessed with his raw voice. At some point more and more tendrils leaked from him as they wrapped around you, their warm grip flexing with every thrust.
He had you completely bound by his tendrils, forced to be nothing but a hole for his cock. His hands were so tight on you and right now he could care less if it hurt. Alastor watched you wheeze under him as he grew frantic and sloppy with his thrusts. As one of the shadows slithered between your bodies to lovingly rub against your clit, you felt your orgasm come to its cusp. You screeched his name like a dying animal as every muscle in your body tensed. His thrusts became shallow and deep as your cunt spasmed around him. Your second rush of dopamine settled over your body in waves as he continued fucking you through your orgasm.
His hips stuttered as he panted out a laugh and brought a hand down to grab your face. Keeping your head still as he bore into your fucked-dumb eyes, watching them widen as he reached his peak with a grunt. Your legs spasmed and a deep warmth flooded your abdomen as he pumped his cum into you. Your release tipped into overstimulation as he didnt stop fucking into you even after cumming. “My sweet girl.” A long moment passed before he finally slowed his assault. Coming to a full stop once he saw your eyes fully glaze over as he knew he was losing you again. His chest rose and fell rapidly as each tendril slowly left your body, gently lowering you back onto the bed. “Youre my sweet girl, right?” He wanted to see if you were still listening.
You blinked through tears as you watched his body shrink back to its original size, albeit still large compared to you. You nodded up to him slowly and winced when he removed his claws from where they dug shallow cuts into you. His smile was soft as he slipped himself out from you. He couldn't stop his eyes snapping down to watch his seed seep from your lips.
A silence fell between you as you laid there trying to lower your heart rate. Your eyes watched him as he cleaned himself up before tending to you. His touch was much gentler on you as he scooped you up to tuck you under your blankets. As your mind began to clear you began to worry- was your deal just for one night? “Alastor?”
He hummed a response as he looked you over. He saw that familiar fear, the fear of him leaving. An amused sigh left him as he settled into the bed beside you. “Hush now, dear, you need to get some rest.” He snapped his fingers to turn the lights off before pulling you into his chest. “Afterall, I intend on sharing many more meals with you.”
You felt him bury his lips into the top of your head as your anxiety melted away. Within the dark you wore a soft smile as you let your eyes close. “I’ll hold you to that.” All you felt was comfort and warmth as you let yourself drift to sleep to the sound of Alastors heart.
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[Tags for those who asked for PT. 2 <3: @saturn-alone @lustylita @karmakillz @saint-altruist ]
#alastor#alastor the radio demon#hazbin hotel#alastor x you#the radio demon#alastor x reader smut#alastor x reader#alastor smut#hazbin hotel x you#hazbin hotel smut#hazbin hotel x reader
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mr. sandman, bring me a dream
��� pairing 7 dream x reader
✧ genre/tw fluff fluffy fluff fluff, what i think dating them would be like <3 an embarrassing amount of run-on sentences i'm sure.... the dreamies being the most perfect boyfriends to exist, mostly unedited
✧ w/c 2293 (about 300 words each!!)
✧ a/n back to my roots writing for nct... also,,, not the dreamies being my ult group but my last group to do these headcanons for :/ i have so much fun writing these little ideas and dreams about them let me know if you want more!
MARK truly the definition of wrapped around your finger… tells everyone about you every day of his life. Smiles at everything you say and calls you the cutest names. Makes sure everyone knows that you’re taken for life–no ifs about it. Tells you about his whole day, down to the most unimportant details. Kisses you all around your face and gets red seeing you so flustered. Constantly saying the worst pickup lines. Always always makes time for you even with his busy schedule. Talks to your family on the phone and becomes best friends with your siblings. Lets you win during video games and pretends that you’re just so much better than him. Never comes empty-handed–if you invite him over he’s bringing some sort of present he can’t help it. Wraps you up in at least three layers when it looks a little cold outside. Starts bringing up ideas for a Halloween couple’s costume in January. Celebrates your birthdays and accomplishments like his own. Holds you close to him in any moment of rest, the members are around? He’s only bringing you in closer. I’m sorry to say this, but he is definitely one of those people who refer to you as a “we”... “we watched that movie last week!” or “sorry, we can’t come, we have plans.” Would never even think about fighting with you and when it can’t be avoided, he is always the first to apologize. Walks around draped over you, his neck falling onto your shoulder and clumsily shuffling you along. Steals your phone to take silly pictures of himself, and you end up having 500 selfies of Mark making the same five kissy faces. Fixes your clothes/jewelry/hair as the day takes its toll. Kisses your wrist whenever you hold hands. Lovely and forever committed to giving you the sweetest existence possible.
RENJUN My angel boy<3 would be the most loving boyfriend if you’re able to get past him giving you sm attitude. Lovingly scolds you 24/7 365. Pouts if you don’t say you love him back or forget to kiss him before you leave. Steals your sweaters and jewelry. Makes you laugh so hard you cry, then kisses the tears away. Has the worst case of cute aggression when he see’s you like he can’t help but take a bite out of you. Whenever you ask him to do something he’ll roll his eyes and scoff but still gets up to do it anyway. Says your name so sweetly and with so much love it could be a term of endearment. Sings to you when you’re sad. Holds you so tight when you sleep, like he could absorb you into his own skin. Carries a picture of you in his wallet everywhere he goes. Gets genuinely annoyed when other people know something about you that he didn’t–wants to know everything, especially the embarrassing stuff. Acts of service king, does things for you and expects nothing but a kiss in return. Gives you the first bite of his food. Forehead kisses 100% of the time. Extremely tenderhearted, wants to be loved and love in return with nothing holding him back. Knows your schedule down to a T. Shakes his head at every joke you tell, but still grants you a laugh. Kisses you slowly and earnestly even if theres people around. Drops the most earth-shattering confessions of love at random moments and just expects you to move on. Matching accessories are a must!! And he will be ready to break up if your forget it one day (we have seen how he is with the dreamies friendship rings). Wraps himself completely around you when no one is around, and stays that way until one of you has to get up. Loves completely and wholeheartedly and is a perfect perfect boy.
JENO Shy and perpetually flustered, cannot believe he got you fr. Alternates between the cockiest boy you’ve ever met and the most oblivious creature around. Is so in awe of you, cannot get over you choosing him. A big baby of a boyfriend. Body slouched over yours at all times. Tells everyone it isn’t obvious how unbelievably whipped he is for you than giggles when you call him a pet name. Loves when you fawn over him lol, would feel so good about himself when you laugh at his jokes or wear an outfit because he said you looked pretty in it. Definitely the kind of boy who gets you a necklace with his initials on it. Is somehow even more smiley when you’re around. His love language is 100% acts of service–helping you with chores and making dinner, he desperately wants to wash your hair and help take your makeup off. Always takes you home himself and makes you call him before you go to bed. Kisses you all over when you’re sad and squeezes you so tight you can’t breathe. Puts his lips right over your ear and whispers so you can hear him in loud places, sometimes telling terrible jokes to see you laugh. Constantly on the phone with you–will get yelled at by his members and staff to focus on his schedule. Takes you on long drives and lets you have the aux the whole time, smiles even when he hates the song. Snuggles up to you and has you in an iron grip all night; wakes up periodically to tell you to stop wiggling. Literally a broken record of “oh my s/o would like this!” and “you would never believe what my s/o told me…” Tucks you into his sweater when you’re cold and always carries extra clothes because he knows you’ll forget. Could never hide his feelings for you, it’s written all over–hairbands and your favorite snacks in his cabinets. Is so so so in love with you, and would never even think about being embarrassed of it. <3
HAECHAN Sweet as cherry pie. Silly and charming and the kindest boy you know. Lives his life attached to you, hands on your hips and kisses pressed everywhere he can reach. Never goes a day without telling you he loves you in the most sickeningly sweet ways possible. Listens to every word you say, goes as far as telling other people to be quiet so he can hear you better. Serenades you with the most obnoxious renditions of love songs and coos when you make faces at him. Teases you endlessly–tickles and jokes and ridiculous nicknames, but would never let anyone else make a joke at your expense. Sleeps fully on top of you, head pressed under your chin and hands slipped under your sleep shirt. Celebrates you and your relationship with all of him, always the loudest voice singing happy birthday and the prettiest flowers congratulating you for an achievement at work or school. Speaks to you so softly and with so much compassion you almost get whiplash when you see him around the dreamies. Brings home sweet treats and little keepsakes from his day out. Will watch a movie or listen to a new song and note all the parts you’d like so he can play it for you later and speak to you about it. Unbelievably protective, not in a toxic way, but he wants so much to be able to take care of you and keep you safe–hand pressed on your back while you walk through crowds, and his hand protecting you from hitting your head as you get in the car. Has lists of important days in his notes app, cataloging gifts he could get you and your order at all your favorite restaurants. The perfect silly boyfriend, caring and lovely and everything you need
JAEMIN Marry this man. Has been committed and steadfast in his dedication to you since you met. Extremely serious when it comes to your heart and your feelings. The first to say I love you or to apologize after a fight–would never raise his voice at you or say things he didn’t mean. Is always feeding you, either a complete meal that took him an hour to make or the most perfect bowl of ramyeon you’ve ever had. Constantly sending you pictures of the cats. LOVES pda–kisses you in front of everyone and laughs when they groan, cuddles with you on the practice room couch, and rolls his eyes when the dreamies gag. Always kisses you with soft hands on your cheeks and the prettiest smile. Buys you a keepsake from everywhere they go on tour and gives it to you in a huge suitcase and will not feel ashamed in the slightest. Somehow finds out how to bring you up in every conversation, “oh they really like this song” or “thats actually their favorite movie you know…” you would truly never have to worry about anything with this man, he’s gonna take care of everything, a future airport dad if i’ve ever seen one. Sends tiktoks of cute animals and pouts if you don’t like them right away. Buys you silly sweatshirts and phonecases and demands you wear them proudly as a symbol of his everlasting love. Out of all of the boys, I feel like he is the most likely to give you a promise ring, and in my heart, I know he would have his name engraved on the inside–a quiet confession only the two of you know about. Sleeps directly on top of you, I just know it… holds onto you in every crowd. So many conversations between little kisses and I love yous. Always carries your things, whether it be a bag or shoes that got too uncomfortable his hands are open and ready whenever you need them. The most perfect boy in the world, and whose surprised?
CHENLE truly your best friend in the entire world, f2l in its entirety… would roast you every minute of every day but if anyone else even dared he is shutting that shit down right away. His arm has a permanent residence on your waist. Giggles at you when you’re annoyed at him but apologizes anyway. Makes you watch him play basketball at 11 pm and laughs when you say you're cold and sleepy, but takes you home right away. Will kiss you in front of anyone–loves it when you get all shy and flustered. Always trying to give you expensive presents and rolling his eyes when you tell him to reign it in. dog dates with Daegal!!! Talks about you so causally that the dreamies didn’t realize you were his girlfriend until he kissed you goodbye, and they were all so dumbfounded. Will watch anything if you like it and will tell you it sucked with a smile on his face before kissing you as an apology. Huge bouquets for any anniversary or birthday. Wraps his arms around you and rocks you around, whispering sweet words that he’d deny if you told anyone about. Stares at you 24/7 and gives you his 100-watt smile. Goes out of his way to help you–buys your groceries, helps wash your hair, picks you up, and takes you wherever you need to go–but always denies it. Begs you to wear his clothes, bonus points if it’s something that has his name on it, or some nct merch. Has an iron grip on your hand at any given point and giggles when you try to get free. Will listen to literally anything you tell him. Smiles into kisses and sighs when you pull away. Is so domestic and lovely in everything he does, even if sometimes he is the biggest menace.
JISUNG so so so shy, truly does not know how to have a s/o in public lmao. When you’re alone he’s the cutest most confident boy in the world but as soon as there is another person around he does not know you. He makes it obvious that it's just because he’s awkward, but sometimes you definitely do have to tell him to stop being a weirdo and to hold your hand. Constantly makes fun of people with you and is always ready to hear some hot goss. Is always listening to you–even if everyone in the room is talking over you, he will be looking at you with his full attention and urging you to go on. Laughs at everything you say even if it's not funny. Kisses your cheek every morning first thing, and thinks you look so cute cuddled up into the covers. Piggy-backs you everywhere: you drank a little too much or it's too early… up you go! You being comfortable and happy is his priority in any situation, and if anyone including himself is disrupting that he is dealing with it immediately. Whether that means complaining to one of hyungs to help him or going straight to the source of the issue, he’s going to try and help you, even if it’s not like him to speak up for himself–you’re the most important thing to him. Tries to teach you nct dances and gets unbearable secondhand embarrassment when he sees you mess up. Almost exposes your relationship once a month. Is wrapped around you every single moment you’re alone, even if it’s just for a second–someone leaves the room? Jisung is suddenly fully enveloping you. Thinks pda is so embarrassing but would try so hard to be more openly affectionate with you. Blushes to his roots when you sweet talk him no matter how long you’ve been together. Kisses your hands when it’s cold outside and wouldn’t even think about giving you anything of his if you needed it. The sweetest, shyest boy, and so wonderful–loving him and being loved in return would be the loveliest gift.
© LUVTAK
#k-labels#nct x reader#nct dream x reader#nct fluff#nct dream fluff#nct scenarios#nct imagines#nct dream imagines#jeno x reader#mark x reader#jaemin x reader#haechan x reader#chenle x reader#park jisung x reader#nct dream#nct
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my aphrodite
words: 900
warnings: 18+ only, smut, established relationship, husband!rafe, pregnant!reader, pregnancy sex but not really pregnancy kink, female receiving oral, p in v sex, unprotected sex, brief mentions of issues with pregnancy (just at the very beginning, its rafes anxiety)
“oh thank god you're home.” you rush up to rafe the second the front door shuts behind him.
“what's wrong?” rafe asks, eyes widening, thoughts immediately shifting to what could possibly be the problem. “is it the baby? are you bleeding?”
rafe reaches for your stomach, looking over your body.
“god, nothing like that.” you shake your head. “the baby is fine im not fine though.” before rafe can interrupt you, you quickly continue. “im so horny, babe. like so fucking horny. my hormones are- god, like im already wet just from seeing you i need you to fuck me.”
“jesus.” rafe presses a hand against his chest, feeling how fast his heart is beating. “yeah, of course, let's go upstairs.”
“too far.” you grasp rafes hand, tugging him into the kitchen. you lean over the counter and flip up the bottom of your maternity dress, showing off your already bare and wet pussy.
“jesus.” rafe says again, this time his tone light as he laughs. “you really are needy.”
“do something. do something, im going crazy.” you plead, arms resting on the countertop.
your head drops to the cold marble as rafe gets down on his knees behind you, pressing his face between the opening of your thighs.
“oh, fuck.” you moan out as rafes mouth meets your pussy, smearing your juices across his chin as he eats you out.
what you can't see is rafe pulling his cock out of his pants, stroking himself to hardness just from your taste on his tongue.
rafe turns his attention to your clit, teasingly running the tip of his tongue around it in wide circles before closing in, pressing kisses to your most sensitive part.
“more.” you beg, and rafe is quick to listen as he sucks your clit into his mouth, both hands coming to hold your thighs now that he's sufficiently hard.
you let out a satisfied moan, glad to finally have rafes attention where youve been craving it all day, but it isn't what you truly want.
“fuck me. need your cock, rafey. need it so bad. want you to put another baby in me.” you whine out, knowing while it may not be possible, you need to be filled with him in every way possible.
rafe stands quickly, scrambling to his feet as he pushes his cock into you, moaning when he sinks into your wetness, soft and open for him as he immediately begins to push his hips forward into you.
“god, finally.” you squeal.
“next time just call me, ill come home from work to fuck you.” rafe laughs, watching the way your hands are gripping the marble, trying to find something to hold but only finding the smooth surface.
“maybe ill just tell the secretary im bringing you in lunch and you can fuck me in your office.” you laugh airly.
“except we both know you can't be quiet.” rafe grunts as he speeds his hips up to keep you satisfied.
“mhm exactly.” you smile, looking back over your shoulder at rafe. “remind everyone in your office that you're mine.”
rafe just nods. he knows no one has forgotten, not when you come in every other day to drop him off lunch, telling him how bored you are when he's not home and how much you desperately miss him.
you keep your head turned as rafe unbuttons his shirt, his hips still pushing forward as he lets the fabric fall from his shoulders, revealing his sculpted torso.
“you're like a damn greek god.” you moan out, finding your husband even more attractive now that you're pregnant with his baby, something you didn't even realize was possible.
“then you're my aphrodite.” rafe bends over your back, pressing a kiss to your lips that you graciously accept.
you let out a whine when he pulls away, only for rafe to quickly maneuver you, flipping you over and picking you up so you're sat on the countertop.
“need to keep kissing you.” rafe says, grabbing his cock and realigning himself with your pussy as his mouth dominates yours.
“god, yes.” you whine, pressing yourself as close to rafe as you can with your pregnant belly, hips at the very edge of the marble slab.
rafe takes over your entire body, pushing into your pussy while his mouth leaves you with no other room to think about anything other than him.
“i love you baby.” rafe moans, barely pulling his mouth away to talk. “you're so beautiful.”
“cum in me.” you whine. “please, need it.”
“yeah, i got you.” rafe grunts, putting all his focus into pressing inside of you, determined to make you cum.
he sighs with relief when he feels you squeeze around him, your pussy clenching as your high hits, entire body shuddering with pleasure as rafe allows the wall to fall as he moans out your name and cums inside of you.
“fuck! baby!” rafe shouts, pushing as deep inside of you as he can, it's not like he needs to worry about getting you pregnant when you're already filled with his baby.
“ah, shit.” you whine, laying back against the countertop, splayed out, maternity dress still pushes up, showing off your belly and dripping pussy as rafe carefully pulls out.
“come on, let's get you in the bath.” rafe scoops you up in his arms, biceps bulging as he carries you up the stairs.
“remember, no hot water.” you hum as rafe sets you down in the chair he dragged into the bathroom just for you, not wanting you to have to stand while doing your makeup or brushing your teeth.
“i know.” rafe laughs softly, having learned everything about pregnancy in order to help you. he leans down over the chair, hands on either arm. “but thanks for the reminder, beautiful.”
you wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him back into another kiss. the bath will have to wait.
#rafe smut#rafe cameron smut#obx smut#outer banks smut#rafe fic#rafe fanfic#rafe fanfiction#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron fanfic#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe x you#rafe x y/n#rafe x oc#rafe x reader#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x oc#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron x y/n#rafe blurb#rafe drabble#rafe imagine#rafe one shot#rafe cameron blurb#rafe cameron drabble#rafe cameron one shot#rafe cameron imagine#rafe x fem!reader#rafe cameron x female reader
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cult leader geto x black jujustu sorcerer reader
a/n: based on that lil snippet ^ decided to make an actual post ⊂(￣▽￣)⊃
warnings: heavy exhibitionism, cockwarming, he’s such a gentle man, mentions of suicide, joker and harley type beat without the domestic violence, hints of yandere, ya’ll worship each other and therefore people worship you, married asf with kids, creampie
2.1k words.
masterlist
Suguru’s interest in you has been unusually intense since he was a student at Jujustu Tech. Without a doubt, you were beautiful. But unlike those around him, you were also quiet, calm, and collected. His approach to you was pure curiosity, without any malice. He was curious about you, your thoughts, and your mannerisms.
However, you rarely paid him any mind, thinking he was just trying to increase the number of girls he sleeps with. So, he made it possible for him to coincidentally be everywhere you were; you surely couldn’t ignore him that way.
You were getting some mochi downtown? That’s crazy. He was just picking up some for his best friend at the same spot. He did tell you he really likes sweets. You were shopping for a new pair of shoes at the mall? Realizing his pair is worn out, he’s checking out the section opposite yours. He was there to end your fight when you got tossed around by some special grade, so you couldn’t even go on a mission by yourself. He was impossible to ignore.
He couldn’t understand exactly what it was, but he wanted to be around you more than he cared to admit. Despite you being a first-grade sorcerer, he would use the excuse of “protecting” you. His group, Shoko, Utahime, or even the proclaimed strongest, Gojo Satoru, weren’t close to you. Until he defected, he deliberately kept you away from them. They only knew you as the girl he loves— his words.
You eventually fell for Suguru, and you fell hard. He didn’t catch you, but he fell with you, for you. Suguru made it a point to call you whenever possible, even though you were not part of the Riko mission. Upon his return, you felt devastated as he was distressed by the possibility of losing his best friend. Distressed at the possibility of not seeing you again. That frightened him the most. You witnessed him losing himself, having sleepless nights, and even attempting to end his life. You were always there for him, fixing him tea and listening to his ideas.
Being with Suguru was something you became open to, and with the way you were always around him, everyone thought you were. He never put a title on.. whatever the nature of your relationship was. But you never really saw him with any other girl except for you, and he would take care of any sorcerer who tried to get close to you. At some point, you recall asking him why he does it, and the only response he gave you was,
“You have me.”
You didn’t bother to ask what that meant, thinking that he would give you another cryptic answer or simply send you a sleazy smile. But in more ways than one, you realized that you did have Suguru. He was a person who provided. He never missed an opportunity to care for you, buy you your favorite things unexpectedly, take you out for dinner, and even carry you like a princess just because.
You never inquired about the reason; you just offered him a kiss on the cheek as a gesture of thanks. Suguru liked it when you did that. Your soft, glossy lips always had a nice feel on his skin. The basis of your relationship changed when he asked you to kiss him on the lips as a thank you instead.
“R-Really?”
His ears are pierced by your soft voice. Your beautiful eyes were always on him as he sat on the flatbed in your dorm. You had the box in your hands of the necklace that you had been admiring while you and Suguru were passing by a jewelry store. The price tag was a whopping $6,000, so it wasn’t cheap. That’s why you walked away after staring for about ten seconds. He didn’t, though. The next morning, he made a single phone call, and the necklace you were eyeing made its way to your doorstep that same day.
“Really.” He grasps your gentle hands with both of his hands, dropping the box carelessly on your bed.
“I never want to force you to do anything.” You had a genuine belief that you would follow Suguru to the end of the earth. You were steadfast in your devotion to him, even before he became a cult leader. You have reason to believe that you were his first devotee. Your love for him was undeniable, which is why you didn’t hesitate to bring his lips to yours for a gentle peck.
Suguru didn’t anticipate the sweetness of your lips on that day, nor did he anticipate how he would crave the sensation of them every second. He was unaware of how addictive you could be because, honestly, you two didn’t stop at just a peck. One turned into two, two turned into five, and five turned into an impromptu make-out session on your mattress.
It was the first night that he showed you pleasure beneath the layers of your clothes. The first night, he showed you exactly what you do to him. The long-haired man showed you ecstasy that was unmatched by any other. Before anything else, he prepared you by slobbering all over your pink clit and fingering you so hard, so deep, that you squirted at least three times on his awaiting face.
And when he finally forced his dick inside your wet hole... It was like a paradise on earth, you swear. You could feel every vein of his cock brushing against the deepest parts of your core. He reaches so deep, his cock basically drilling into your bruised cervix. His drooling lips sucking at your perfectly manicured french tipped toes. Every time he fucked you, which was almost every day, it was like this. They all carried out the same action, whether it was a slow thrust or a quick, desperate one.
He’s grown addicted to the feel of your cunt, to the faces you make when he’s fucking you. Suguru has tainted you and transformed you into a being who would do anything for him. He never forgot to express that you did the same for him. The day he killed his parents, he came to you with two little girls, scared shitless and clinging onto his kāṣāya garment over the black yukata robes. And when you asked him what happened, he only told you,
“There are our children now. Don’t worry, we will have one of our own soon. I promise, my love.”
You knew about Suguru’s plans to eradicate almost 95% of the world’s population, but you didn’t think he would actually go through with it. You should have left and probably ran away from this man when he showed you what he did. But you couldn’t, too devoted and blinded by love. So, you followed him and watched him create an operation where people worshipped his entire being. That’s what should have been the case.
Suguru was never without you. He made his followers kiss the ground you walked on, just as they worshiped him. You were given respect, love, and even admiration. For almost ten years, your life consisted of being taken care of by your lover, being devoted to humans, and taking care of your four children. Suguru did end up giving you the children he promised you. He was content with his life as it was, and honestly, he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. His happiness was made possible by you.
Take today as an example, it marks the anniversary of Suguru putting a shiny blood diamond on your finger. The temple’s blue curtains are being blown by the wind while the birds chirp. Your bare body rested on Suguru’s lap, facing forward. His cock impaled you while you were sitting on him, creating a stream of pussy juice that dripped onto the floor. Your soft thighs were spread wide over his legs, restricting you from any movement. Such an intimate position should undoubtedly be shared only by the two, but it wasn’t.
Far from it, in fact. There were 20– maybe 50 people kneeling with gifts in their hands, in front of your lover, in front of you. You were too consumed to pay attention to them, too full to do anything but whine out beautiful cries that echoed around the whole compound. It was impossible for anyone to not know what was happening.
For some time now, he’s been laying his cock inside of you and refusing to move. Suguru’s view was of your sparkling back, soft, and with a tattoo of his name if he shifted his gaze slightly lower. He didn’t have to see you to know how beautiful you look right now, and of course, he didn’t have an issue telling you.
“Such a gorgeous girl. Gets you wet knowing these people would die to fuck you, doesn’t it?” He squeezes your fat tits, pinching one of your nipples, causing you to let out a squeal. He continues on with a raspy voice,
“But they can’t, can they? And they never will. Why is that, sweetheart?”
You whine, grasping at his thighs because you just want him to move. The pressure of his fat cock inside you makes you desperate for the intense fucking that only he can give you. But your man doesn’t want that as an answer, he wants to hear your angelic voice, so he slaps your clit as punishment.
“B-Because m’yours!” It seems you said the right answer, or maybe Suguru was finally getting as desperate as you are because he slowly starts moving his dick in and out of your tight cunt. He takes his time moving his hand so that the next visitor can come forward and present their gifts. Just to keep up with his image. He doesn’t bother looking at them, believing that anything that’s not from you is a waste. Utter trash.
He kisses the side of your cheek and whispers in your ear, tone desperate and pleading, “All mine. Tell me you love me, and only me. Please, I need to hear it.”
He paces himself slowly inside of you to avoid ruining you in front of these ’ monkeys.’ You lean your head back against his neck, your nails tugging at the hair you love so much. His throat tightens with a groan when at the action, fuck. You really don’t know what you do to him.
Despite being pushed a little past your limit, you manage to steady your voice so Suguru can hear your following words clearly, “Love you, baby. I’ll only ever love you.”
Regardless of how many times you tell him this, it always manages to make Suguru’s heart race. He can’t believe you’re all his. Such a goddess that you are. Fuck, he could cum right here, right now, inside your dripping cunt. Since he flushed out your birth control after your first pregnancy, you wouldn’t need much to get pregnant. His brain is racing with the prospect of your tits swelling with milk and your belly rounding to carry his offspring.
He groans when the image runs through his mind, and now Suguru has a new mission. “What about another baby, hm? I’ll take care of you, just like I did the last two times. Won’t have you lift a finger, sweetheart. Please.”
His pace speeds up a bit, and the thought of seeing you like that is causing his mind to reel. Your tight pussy squeezing around him was as if you were attempting to milk his cock for all it’s worth. On the other hand, you were anticipating your lover would say something like this. You were nodding your head in his shoulder before he finished his sentence.
“P-Please! Whatever- Anything you w-want.” You tremble, completely ignoring the people still kneeling in front of you. Close enough to see, but just far enough so your juices won’t reach them. They are not worthy of any inch— any spec of your sweet wetness. You hear Suguru’s whimper as his finger sneakily reaches your swollen clit, gently rubbing tight circles around it.
“That’s what I love to hear, baby. I love you so fucking much, so fucking much. I love you, I love you-” You moan out, your pussy squeezing infinitely tighter around him as you squirt all over the empty space between you and your devotees. The feeling causes Suguru to release a deep moan as his balls churn and his thick cum pushes past your womb. Fuck, it’s so much. There’s no doubt that it reached your uterus.
Your lover isn’t convinced, though, so he immediately stands holding you in a bridal position. He walks past the crowd, leaving them there while his cock and cum are still out and dripping from your sore pussy.
“Think I need to pump you full again. Make sure you really get pregnant, yeah?” The only thing you can do is nod and mentally prepare yourself for the night ahead of you.
#geto suguru#jjk x black reader#lumiwrites#jjk smut#geto x black reader#suguru geto smut#geto suguru smut#getou suguru x reader#geto suguru x black reader smut#jujutsu geto#geto smut#geto x reader#geto x y/n#jjk geto#jjk fanfic#fanfic#geto x you
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Hello! I hope you’re having a good day. I heard you were taking requests so I have an idea!!
How about a Spencer Reid x Fem!shy!reader who is really quiet around the team? And so she doesn’t talk to them much? (Especially Spencer because she likes him!)
So to show her love/affection she does small things for him but doesn’t admit she was the one who did so. (Like making his coffee, secretly organizing his desk, like little kind things)
I want the confession to happen but I don’t know how I want it so you can decide! Have a little fun with it if you will.
I hope you can write this, and I’m so so sorry if it’s something you don’t want to write or feel uncomfortable with it. I just wanted to give you an idea for a story! Let me know if you don’t want to or if you will either way is fine with me!
I’m sorry if I didn’t include enough details and thank you for taking the time to read this!
Have a lovely day. 💕
(ALSO I READ YOUR OTHER SPENCER STORIES THEY WERE SPECTACULAR)
I LOVE YOU SO MUCH STOP IT MOST POLITE ASK EVERRR
this is genius btw and ive been writing so much to avoid things i actually have to do so… THANK YOU FOR FEEDING ME LMAO
acts of service | spencer reid x f!reader
let me know what you think <33
~~~~
The BAU office buzzed with its usual energy as Spencer Reid meticulously poured over case files, his mind racing through complex connections only he could decipher. Among the team, a shy figure often went unnoticed, working hard behind the scenes. Y/N, the quiet and reserved member of the team, kept to herself, her actions speaking volumes that words couldn't describe.
Spencer often found his desk mysteriously tidied up, papers organized, and his favorite pens neatly arranged. Coffee appeared magically beside his laptop, always sickeningly sweet, just how he liked it. At first, he attributed it to the office fairy, a playful term Morgan coined. However, as time passed and the small acts of service continued, Spencer couldn't ignore the pattern.
One evening, as the team gathered after a long day, Derek leaned back in his chair, eyes glinting with mischief. "Hey, pretty boy, you ever notice how Y/N here keeps your world in order without saying a word?"
"What do you mean?" Spencer furrowed his brow, glancing at her, who was discreetly arranging files nearby.
Derek chuckled, nudging Spencer. "Come on, Reid. The coffee, the desk, all those little things. It's like having a secret admirer right under your nose."
Spencer's gaze softened as realization dawned on him. He watched you for a moment, noticing the slight blush that dusted her cheeks as she worked. In that moment, he saw beyond the quiet demeanor, understanding the depth of these silent gestures.
The next morning, Spencer arrived at the office earlier than usual, a determined gleam in his eyes. He set about making coffee, meticulously following Y/N’s routine, ensuring every detail was perfect. As she entered, surprised to see him there, he offered a shy smile, holding out a mug of freshly brewed coffee.
"Morning," he greeted softly, his usually fast-paced words slowed by a newfound nervousness.
Y/N blinked in astonishment, taking the mug from his outstretched hand. "Th-thank you, Spencer.”
He nodded, his cheeks tinged with pink. "I just wanted to say... I appreciate everything you do. Your actions speak louder than words, and they haven't gone unnoticed, I just hope you meant it in the way I interpreted it."
A smile bloomed on her face, warmth spreading through her chest. Finally feeling understood, she replied, "I like you too, Spencer. And not just for the coffee."
From that day forward, Spencer and Y/N shared more than just a quiet understanding. Silent acts of love were now met with drawn out conversation and reciprocated gestures, creating a bond that spoke volumes even when rooted in the absence of sound.
#criminal minds#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x you#spencer reid blurb#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#paisleypens
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13. hello yellow
frankie morales x f!reader | chapter thirteen of do me yourself
summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.
wordcount: 4.3k (she became a biggie)
chapter warnings: reference to anxious!reader. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n.
an: this is the one you've been waiting for... .
prev chapter | series masterlist
key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics
It grows on your tongue on a cooler morning—the birds having only just begun chirping, the sun really only just rising. But he's there, truck parked outside as he brings you coffee, for no other reason than just because.
It's almost hard not to say the three words.
They thicken in your throat when you surprise him at work, having already spoken to Harry, asking if you can steal him for an extra half an hour. His face brightens, practically illuminating when he sees you at the register. It continues to do so when you take him back to the place where the two of you had lunch, his face beaming.
You’re not sure how the words don’t escape there and then.
There are a bunch of moments saying them could have been right. It would be so easy to let them slip out, but then he'll say something that makes you laugh, or his phone will go off and the conversation shifts, and you wait a little longer.
But you don’t just want right, you want perfect.
Just like him.
You know how we love Harold?
Yes?
He might have recommended me to a friend of his for some paintwork.
This sounds like a good thing, yet it feels very bad for me.
The only date the man can do is the day I said we’d go to the beach.
If this isn’t you asking me to come and help you be your a-paint-tice I’m going to be really let down.
You want to come paint a man’s house with me?
I want to do anything with you, Butterscotch.
It vibrates from two rooms away—buzzing, buzzing, buzzing.
Your feet rush for you, socks almost making you a health hazard as you round the corner from your bedroom to the hallway. A laugh trying to escape from giddiness as your palms press into your off-white walls, before using it for leverage to continue.
Moving, almost running, not looking where you’re going, only realising at the last second when your foot collides with it.
Pain.
It pulses and makes tears spring to your eyes instantly. The hurt is more than radiating, it erodes, grows and pounds.
Fucking toolbox.
Hand grasping it as you half-hobble to the little side table where your phone almost topples off.
Butterscotch <3
A caller ID that usually brings an immediate smile to your face, and still, even as you clutch your foot in your hand and drag your finger across the screen, it somehow still does.
“Hey, I’m almost there—did you want lunch in or out?”
Stuffing a wince down your throat, you blink back fresh tears as your thumb presses down on a particular spot. “I need to show you something but maybe out?”
“You okay?” No, you want to hiss—wanting to add extra O’s and everything. “You sound off?”
Swallowing bitterness, you try to smile as you lower your foot—putting some weight on it as you suddenly become warm, and uncomfortable.
“Rainy?”
“Butterscotch, I bet you’re one street—you’re literally pulling up.”
You swear you hear him grin. Almost being able to tell even from the way he puts his vehicle in park that his smile is growing into his cheeks and cascading over his eyes. It makes your own appear, somehow rising to the surface and kicking its feet furiously to appear.
By the time you’d end the call, quickly check your foot inside your sock and put it back in place, your eyes catch his coming through your front door. Letting in amber streams of sunlight that paint across the hardwood in warm, honeyed hues. Bringing in warmth, a calmness, the pain suddenly non-existent when you see him slide out the key from the keyhole—the one you’d told him to keep, the one you’d give him, told him to use.
The sight pulls at something inside of you, making it easier to smile, to beam as he closes it behind him and walks himself up to you—mouth pressing to yours. The taste of coffee and mint flooding your mouth, your fingers full of his curls as his hand presses to your lower spine—bodies flush, his keys clanging in the air.
“You know I think you’re beautiful,” he whispers, teeth teasing your bottom lip before releasing it with a pop. “But, baby, what are you wearing?”
His hand slides down the plastic, water-proof full-body overalls you have on. It rustles, making your skin even warmer when he takes another long look at you, and laughs.
Not a giggle.
Not a quiet, hidden and disguised laugh. A full-on roar of laughter.
“I got it for next week,” you exclaim, heat rising up your neck. “You told me I’d need to wear something that would cover me—wanted to make sure it was okay.”
“Baby, I meant not your romper—'cause you’ll get paint on your legs. I didn't mean a… hazmat suit?”
Folding your arms, you take a step back, face scrunching in a wince you’re not sure he notices as you roll your eyes before turning on your heels to change. “I’m new to this.”
“I know, I know,” he says, trying to stifle his laugh, hand reaching out. “Baby, wait, I’m sorry. Okay? You just don’t need—fuck, Rainy. I can see your ass through this.”
“No, you cannot.”
“I fucking can.”
Letting him pull you into his arms, you shake your head, stupidly unable to stop yourself from grinning, before his lips brush over yours. Your nails digging into the t-shirt on his waist, mouth parting as he eases you back, a grimace hidden against his tongue as his knee nudges between your plastic-covered thighs.
“Frankie,” you whisper, it leaving your tongue like a whine.
He only hums in response, it vibrating against you, fingers tightening in his curls as his knee rises that bit more, friction so readily there, easily able to rock your hips if you so want to. Until it rustles, furrows, a noise so unsexy you feel him slowly grin against your mouth.
“Can’t believe you just wore underwear under this,” he teases, dropping his knee.
Your breath finds your lungs with more ease as you roll your lower lip between your teeth, admiring him, unable to stop ogling the man who is very much all yours after the position he just had you in.
“I should change before we go out for lunch,” you mumble. “Before I flash everyone.”
Moving away from him before he can stop you, you let out a groan as your bad foot flattens, unable to hide the misstep. Hearing him call your name, you're quick to wave him off. Digging your nails into your palm as you take (what feels like a thousand) steps until you’re unzipping the ridiculous plastic, all-in-one, and begin yanking drawers and doors open until you’re standing in something more appropriate for lunch.
Half-closing your bedroom door behind you, you don’t need to call for him, you know where he’ll be. Finding him exactly where you expected, tape measure in hand—right in front of one of the office windows.
“Thought you could do that in your head.”
Snorting, shooting you a look over his shoulder, he grins. “Wanna make sure I’m exact.”
“For me?”
“For you.”
Leaning against the frame, not obviously showing you’re taking the weight from your now pulsing foot, you try to smile. Listening as he begins telling you about getting something for your windows, instead of thinking how you should ice it, get him to wrap it, maybe ask him—politely—if he’d put his fucking toolbox away between visits before you actually break something.
Somehow, you hear enough to follow what he’s saying, about how blinds would help, that they’d give you more daylight while also shielding you if you wish to work in the dark—they’d be more flexible, modern. He could help you fit them.
And it dawns on you, that while you've had it in your head about curtains, this is a thing you should have thought of yourself.
A thing which feels so obvious now he’s said it that it irks you that you haven’t. Because blinds would be better. Digging a hole in you, making you feel silly, stupid, and foolish—
The realisation makes you pinch your forearm and take a deep breath. You re-centre yourself, thinking about the one image that inspired all of this, imagining it with blinds instead of what had remained fixed in your head, hung and stuck.
The problem with desiring something inspirational is that it isn’t always tailored to the person who desires it. To you, who will be using the room. Yet, Frankie has thought of you—like the considerate, beautiful man that he is.
“From your face, you don’t want blinds?” he asks.
Your mouth opens, before closing. Putting some weight down as your eye narrows in pain—it floods through you as you try not to frown. “It’s not that—I just thought curtains. Thought I preferred the way curtains look, is all.”
Frankie shrugs, staring out of the window, before glancing back. “Curtains it is then.”
“But, blinds do make sense.”
And you can see it, the way he chews his tongue—the way he swallows words he wishes to say. It flares something within. Rolling his head on his shoulders, and scratching the back of his head, he smiles.
“But you want curtains.”
“I did.”
“Then have curtains.”
He’s being nice—that’s what you remind yourself. He’s being kind and thoughtful. He’s taking what you’re saying and giving you exactly that.
Yet it feels… bad.
It makes you all of a sudden not want it—anger bubbling, trying to grow wider in your stomach. Instead, wanting him to tell you that you should have blinds, for all the reasons he’s listed, because it makes sense. They’re practical, and easy; it’ll block the sun out if it’s a bright day. They’ll even look modern; following the theme of the room.
And the fact he isn’t reminding you of that makes you mad. So much you feel it clawing up your throat, all ash and brimstone; flames and bonfire.
But you’re not mad at him.
You’re mad at yourself for not looking.
You’re not mad at him, just his toolbox.
You’re not mad at him. You’re mad—
It repeating. Swirling. Shifting around the imaginary plug hole in your head as you wait for it to fall through and douse whatever it is that is brewing inside of you.
“I didn’t think of it like you did, so let’s have blinds.”
“It’s okay, it’s really—”
“But, they make sense, Frankie. You just said so.”
Jaw tightening, he hides his annoyance with a smile. “But, baby, you don’t want blinds, so let me just measure for—”
Standing straight, unable to hide the miniature sob from pain, you follow it with: “Stop being nice to me.”
He blinks. Both at your tone and the words that snap through the air as your palm pushes against your forehead, hoping to quiet it, the simmering anger that bubbles and thickens like soup.
“Rainy—”
“You don’t… I’m not broken, Frankie. Sometimes we can just… disagree. You can tell me I’m wrong.”
“I know that.”
He says it so quickly, all with a colder edge to his words. Ice threatening to wrap around them, freeze, as they go to land, pellet. Bruise against you.
Tilting your head, you stare at him—knowing you should stop. Remove your finger from the metaphorical scab. “Do you? Because ever since the other month you’ve been… extra nice.”
“And that’s a problem?”
“It is when I’m furious with you,” you snap, it’s out now, you think.
Chest tight, things unfurling and uncoiling, flames ripping through you as though all the emergency doors have flung open and allowed it to breathe through every part of you.
“When I’m mad that I tripped over your toolbox again because you didn’t put it away. Because you likely did something nice for me and forgot. But now I’ve really hurt my foot—”
“—Baby, why didn’t you—”
But you ignore him. Not even waving him off, just continuing, “—and that I can’t decide if I want curtains or blinds and yet you make a very good argument for blinds that I hadn’t considered and you always do that—have amazing ideas, great insight, plus, you seemingly know me better than I know me, which is so lovely, but I'm mad at myself for not thinking of it. But, you, you didn't do that, because you understand me.”
“Is this a bad thing?”
No, you think as your mouth jams shut. Staring. Blinking. Because of course, it isn’t. It’s just that it’s never been something you’ve had, never experienced, never thought could possibly be given to you.
A thing that you both love, so much, but also feel is going to be ripped from you at any moment. Better not to have it, than lose it. No skill to prepare for this level of care, so used to having to make decisions and choices and have no one offer to help.
But he’s not going.
He’s standing, hands at his sides, line between his brows. Confusion trying to crawl over him and lather his features, but he seems to be fighting it, stopping it. His eyes somehow remain soft even as your mouth hands open, more words set to spit and fire—
“I need. I need a moment.”
And you don’t wait for the okay or the sight of his face falling.
Just moving, hurrying. Feet trying to carry you through to the kitchen as your palms use the wall as a crutch to do so, finding a counter to rest on, to lean on, to breathe against as thick, uncontrollable tears begin to paint your cheeks. Whether from the pain or the fact you’d snapped. Unable to hold them back from rumbling out when your forehead presses against cool wood as you take breaths in and out, in and out.
Doing so until the pain dries on your cheeks and you’re merely resting, taking the moment you said you needed before you hear him clear his throat. Before he asks if he can come closer and if he can look at your foot, two things you quickly nod for—wanting to take it back, apologise, even explain. Instead, you let him aid you up onto the counter, slide the sock from your foot assess it and turn it, finger brushing over your skin as light as a feather as he asks does it hurt here, or what about here?
It makes your heart flutter.
Makes it even harder not to blurt three words at him, when really he deserves a chorus of them for what in the hell just happened. So, you lead with:
“I’ve decided that I don’t like fighting with you.”
Snorting, he picks up the sock from the floor, easing it slowly back over your toes. “It’s not my favourite thing we do together either.”
Smirking, you stare down at him. Watching him. “I don’t want you to think I’m fragile. That’s all.
“That you can’t challenge me just because of what happened the other month. Because it’ll happen again. But I can still make choices, you can still tell me I’m wrong—sometimes, I need you to tell me I’m wrong, because if you agree with me all the time, you won’t push me to be better. I’ll just stay stagnant, and choose curtains when I really think I’ll regret it and want blinds.”
Standing, he places his hands on either side of your thighs on the counter, letting out a heavy exhale as he looks at you, as he stares from eye to eye, before whispering your name. The one which sounds so kind in his mouth, that sounds like it matters—that it holds importance and weight, even if you prefer Rainy.
“I don’t think you’re fragile,” he whispers as you slide your hand over his, watching his eyes soften, heal. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I did.”
Half-smiling, you nod. Eyes searching his, waiting to see if the lie appears when he blinks, whether it spreads out like paint touching water and if it makes his truthful eyes murky. But it never comes. Instead, his hand cups your cheek, in a way that centres you and makes you only want to look at him.
Exhaling, he smiles. “I just don't want to make you choose something you don't want. That's all, baby.”
Eyeing him chewing words, weighing up whether it’s worth it to speak them or let them slide back into the crevice they slithered from. Because it’s painful, maybe far too much truth for him, can see it in the way it makes lines appear across his face, as though it’s fracturing him to remember.
“I wasn’t really mad at you.”
Slowly, a grin breaks out. “Yes, you was.”
“Okay, a little bit, but it wasn’t your fault. So, I’m sorry. But I am mad at your toolbox, it really hurt.”
“I’ll be sure to tell it.”
Narrowing your eyes, you slowly part your legs, tugging on him to move between them, wrapping them around his waist as he shyly smiles. “Been thinking.”
“About how you now want curtains again?”
Pinching him, hearing him hiss, you smirk. “Too soon, Morales. No. I’ve been thinking that the cupboard closest to the office door.” He hums in response, it vibrating against your collarbone as he kisses it. “Think that’s where your toolbox should live.”
You feel him grin against your skin, blow warm air in an exhale against it. “You making room for my tools now.”
Lifting his chin, nose bumping against the tip of his, you mirror his smile. “I want to make room for all of you, Frankie.”
“Yeah?”
Pressing a peck to his lips, you wipe your thumb over it. “Yeah.”
Babe, what is the attire for a kid's soccer match?
Comfort. It’s a lot of standing at the sidelines and hopeful cheering.
So knee-high socks and tight shorts are a no?
Fuck. That’s a fucking image.
Help me, because what I’ve Googled isn’t helping me.
I have a spare shirt you can wear.
Does it have Morales on the back?
It actually does.
Frankie, did you make adult versions of your son’s soccer team kit?
Does it make me lame if I say yes?
No, it makes me want to ask you if you can grab me fifteen minutes earlier so my mouth can show you how not-lame that is.
You'll be pleased to know I've sent the email and I am no longer working with 'prickly-puta', as you so lovingly called him.
I'm really proud of you. You okay?
I'd be better if I could celebrate with you, but I can wait.
How would you want to celebrate?
You sure you want to know?
Always, baby.
Well, I was thinking about showing you my power tools.
Maybe even using them? Letting you see what I do with them. It's very different from what you do with yours.
You there, I can see the typing bubble keep popping up.
Give me ten and I can video chat.
Oh no, you don't get an advanced preview.
Might let you listen though.
Fuck me.
That's what I'd be saying if you were here right now.
You don't mind that painting ruined the beach because the rain is unrelenting.
The grey of the day filters through the bare windows, spreading itself as far as it can as Frankie prepares the second room of the three the two of you were set to do.
You don’t mind the sound of rain; you never have. You find it peaceful how it cascades down from the drains and runs in marathons down the glass. Right now, the sound trickles in through the open window, while the room is suffused with the scent of fresh paint from the kitchen, mingling with the aroma of the third pot of coffee Frankie’s been brewing.
Even if he doesn't admit it, you swear he's only making as many so he can take a moment to kiss you. To run his hands over your waist and slide them over your romper-covered ass—
“Have I told you how good your ass looks in this?”
Sipping your coffee, tasting each note of it, you reply, “Twice, actually.”
“Not enough then.”
Between acting like teenagers in a stranger’s home (including him leaving a large handprint firmly on your denim-covered ass), the paint goes on in thick strokes. You cut in, trying to match the rhythm of the song playing out on the radio—a game only you are playing to distract yourself—because the sight of Frankie using the roller is ruining you.
Unable to stop staring at the way his arms flex with each motion; how his shirt stretches out across his back to the point you're not sure how the threads haven't ripped.
“Want to see the colour for this room?”
It’s a serene shade of yellow, reminiscent of a summer’s day. It'll brighten the room, glide nicely over the old, smothering secrets and old stories, offering something new. Fitting, you think from the drive over when Frankie told you the situation.
“It's perfect.”
“Isn't it?”
Arm around his waist, fingers stroking up and down his side. “Did you pick it, Morales?”
Shyness breaks out then, smile lopsided, eyes averting before whispering, “Maybe.”
You made a note to tell him later what an eye for colour he has.
Dipping the tip of the brush in the paint tray, you swipe it against the corner where two walls meet, finding his eyes on you again.
“Stop marvelling at my paintwork and focus on your own, Morales.”
“S’not your paint skills I’m staring at.”
Smirking, you look over your shoulder at him, nose scrunching. “Who knew watching me paint was your kink.”
You like the sound of his laugh mingling with the yellow on the walls. It makes you smile wider, a thing you find yourself doing each time you refill your paint tray as torture him with your terrible singing.
The only other noise is the rain, the clink of a paint can and the rustle of plastic drop cloths as the transformation happens before your very eyes. It’s not even dried, and it already looks far better than the cigarette-stained walls and palm-covered handprints you hadn’t wanted to guess why they were there, yet had done all the same.
“Maybe he’s measuring how tall he is with his hands.”
Frankie snorts. “What if he wipes his dirty hands on the wall? Finishes his food, wipes. Gets something on his finger, wipes. Has a sticky hand—well.”
You’re about to tell him not to finish that thought, when the radio plays the beginning notes of something that steals your attention.
It hooks in the corner of your lips and drags it up your cheeks as the familiar melody of an old favourite drifts from the speakers, wrapping the space in a cosy embrace—both taking you back and rooting you here in a new memory.
You try not to, but you can’t help the movement in your hips. The way you begin whispering—hushed voice mingling with the music, filling the room with a gentle, attempted harmony as your pitch gets higher, and higher.
Then, you're swaying to the rhythm, lost in it, catching a glimpse of Frankie out of the corner of your eye as he leans against the doorway, arms folded across his chest, a soft smile tugging at his lips.
There's something in his eyes, you can see it. A tender look, one that makes your heart skip a beat.
But you close your eyes, and let the music carry you away, your voice rising and falling with the lyrics as they spill from your lips effortlessly. Opening your eyes at the bridge, finding him still watching, in awe, gaze unwavering.
And there's a softness there in his expression that you've never seen before, a quiet intensity that takes your breath away. It's as if the world has faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in this sunshine-filled room, back-lit by a horrid stormy day.
Yet, it feels perfect.
More so as you begin to sing to him, unable to stop staring as he takes a step closer, eyes never leaving yours. His fingers slide under yours, taking the tray and brush from your hands, placing it aside as his smile widens, eyes crinkling at the corners, looking at you as if you're the most precious thing in the world.
“What?”
He reaches out, gently brushing his knuckles on your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. “I love you,” he murmurs, his voice soft and steady.
For a moment, the room seems to stand still.
A flicker of something sparks inside you. Those same words have been so close to your tongue for days now that you almost need to pinch yourself to see if you've really heard them.
But, you know you heard it. The declaration hanging in the air, weighty and profound, making the actual music fade into the background, you swear time itself pauses, allowing the enormity of his words to sink in.
Frankie slides his arm around your waist, still smiling, tugging you closer—a thing your body gives with all but ease. And he repeats it. Those three words.
This time, your heart skips a beat. Emotions swirl within you like a tempestuous sea. One that calms under the stroke of his thumb as your fingers wrapping around his wrist, drawing a soft shape there.
“I love you too, Morales.”
“Yeah?”
Nodding, a grin breaking out like the sun on the walls. “I’ve been in love with you for a while.”
Then you hear it, the velvety, smooth sound of him saying good, as he kisses you to the last notes and chorus of an old, but new favourite song.
NEXT CHAPTER ->
#frankie morales x reader#francisco morales x reader#frankie morales x f!reader#frankie morales x you#pedro pascal character fanfiction#triple frontier x reader#francisco morales fanfiction#frankie morales#triple frontier fanfiction#pedro pascal characters#francisco catfish morales x reader#catfish morales x reader#pedrostories#jo: dmy#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal
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Cruel Summer
Summary: After a two-year absence from your family, you return home for your father's birthday and unexpectedly reconnect with his friend, John Price. A serendipitous attraction emerges, leading to a challenging summer.
Pair: 'Captain' DBF!John Price x AFAB!Reader
WC: 2,008
Warnings: Minors DNI 18+, Age gap. Reader is 26 and John is 37, swearing, longing, some fluff...? Lemme know if I missed any
A/N: I fear it's been a minute since I wrote anything for this blog. This fic might be a few parts. It's been sitting in my drafts for freaking months and I was too excited to get the first part out.
BY CLICKING KEEP READING, YOU ARE CONFIRMING THAT YOU'RE 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
"Come on, honey," Your mother's voice resonates in the emptiness of your small kitchen, and the sting in your eyes makes it hard to focus, vision blurring with a haze of murkiness.
With the heel of your palm, you brush away the lamentation on your lashes, heedless in your movements, as you shove a couple of hoodies, books, and other insignificant items into a box—a box of your ex's things. The things he left behind.
"Your dad hasn't seen you in two years. His birthday is coming up in a couple of days, and the only thing he talks about missing his little girl."
That manages to make you smile, if only for a moment. A fleeting glimpse of happiness amidst your heartbreak. "Ryder's there. Dad can have his little boy there instead."
Ryder—your older brother. He was only five years older than you, but while growing up together, you two were inseparable. There was the occasional bickering and fighting, but like all siblings, you grew apart.
He had his life, and you had yours.
"I can hear your dumbass, you know that, don't you?" He tuts through the speaker of your cell phone, and it causes you to snort. He was already with the rest of your family since flying in the night before. Ryder's remark is met with hushes from your mom before she playfully shoves him to continue the phone call with you. Just like old times.
"I don't know, ma..." You mumble, trying your bestest to make it sound like you aren't crying. You knew she worried about you. More than you would've liked, but she was your mother. My job is to worry. She would say. "I've got a lot going on over here and—"
She cuts you off before you can finish.
"Please? I will have to tell your dad when he asks, and he'll start crying and... just come. Even if it's for a day or two. He really wants to see you, and so do I. I miss my baby."
A heavy sigh escapes you, letting your face fall into your palms to wipe the rest of your tears with the tips of your fingers. As badly as you want to refuse, the guilt of not seeing your family in so long starts to creep in, trying to gnaw its way into your conscience.
"Okay, Mom," You finally relent after a couple minutes of silence. You knew how much your parents missed you, and you'd let the lust for independence take you away from the people you loved most, and that was something to feel guilty about. "I'll come."
Your mother's excited squeal makes you flinch, and for some reason, her felicity causes a few more tears to slip down your cheeks, even if you manage a soft chuckle. "Oh, I'm so excited. Your dad is going to flip. I gotta make up your room and—Ryder! I'll talk to you soon, baby. We can't wait to see you."
There were a plethora of responsibilities John had to fulfill when he agreed to attend his best friend’s birthday. He had a job; a task force to forefront. A war to conquer. Nevertheless, he was here, in the backyard of said friends' beach house.
He was used to noise. The bustling crowds of civilians, obnoxious music, and the occasional yelps of children chasing each other around. It all resonated as white noise; his ears filtering out what wasn’t of import.
The smell of grilled hamburger patties permeated the air, his eyes focused on the finesse of each flip.
The tap of his fingers drummed rhythmically against the neck of his beer bottle, smiling and nodding as your father went on and on about his endeavors during his time in the Army.
A broken record; really. The stories weren’t new, at least, not to him—having been a part of those tales himself. The hardships and challenges of having to partake in such horrific adventures. If you can even call them that. Your father had such a colorful vernacular.
John’s eyes looked up in a lazy sweep as he heard the sound of your mother’s voice emitting as the back door slid open. As he took another swig of his beer, there you were.
The man almost choked. The beer comes back up in a fit of coughs, earning a few swats on the back from your father.
“You okay, John?” Your father eyed him humorously, chuckling as he flipped a couple more burgers.
John couldn’t speak, solely nodding as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, mindful of drying off his facial hair.
Fucking hell…
Clad in a cream-colored sundress, every dip and curve of your body was accentuated, the swell of your assets making his mouth water. You were an absolute dream. A fantasy he couldn’t imagine ever thinking of. You were stunning.
He let his eyes trace the outline of your body, from the cherry pattern on your dress to the pretty little red ballet flats you had on.
John had prided himself in being devout to his career. Nothing came between him or it. In his thirty-seven years of being alive, he never once tried to settle down or even dabble in a relationship for fear of never giving enough or never being present. He’d have the occasional fuck, but that was once in a while.
His life wasn’t promised; not in the way he had any control over. Then again, who does?
For the first time since joining the Army, he thought of marriage, and he immediately shook that thought away.
He nudged your father, making him turn toward the profile of his face. With his hand still wrapped around the neck of the bottle, he gestured towards you. “Is that—“
“Ah, there she is!” Your father rejoiced, setting down the spatula as you headed towards where they both stood, your mother trailing behind. John stood idle as he watched you move into your dad’s arms with a semi-forced smile.
“Hey, Dad.” You greet him, letting him rock you back and forth in a tight embrace. “Happy birthday.” Regardless if you’d arrived the day before, your dad was still excited that you were here.
"Thank you, pumpkin."
John watched the interaction from the corner of his eye, a strange feeling tugging at his gut. You were no longer that little girl he remembered—you were a woman now. He took another swig of his beer, curiosity and desire brewing within him.
Once your father had released you from his bear hug, your eyes met with John's. A surprised expression graced your face, recognition flashing across your eyes as if you had completely forgotten that he could also be there. "John?" You questioned, your voice softer than he remembered. 'That you?" There was a hint of a tremble, but it was quickly masked by a polite smile.
"Hey there, sweetheart." He greeted, his voice firm yet gentle. He couldn't help but let his eyes wander over you once more, drinking in the sight of you. It was almost as if he was seeing you for the first time. "Aye. It's me."
You chuckled softly, shaking your head in disbelief. "I can't believe it's been fifteen years. You haven't changed much, you know."
John couldn't help but chuckle at your comment, feeling a sense of warmth spreading through him. Fifteen years…
You had to be around twenty-six now.
"I would say the same about you, but—" he replied, letting his gaze linger on yours for a moment longer than necessary. "You've grown up beautifully."
The compliment seemed to take you by surprise, your cheeks flushing a soft tinge. You quickly turned your gaze away from him, focusing on your father who was grilling the patties. "Thanks, John." You muttered, the unease in your voice not going unnoticed by him. Neither did that color on your cheeks.
You could recall the little girl crush you used to have on him all those years ago, when it was adolescent, innocent, and pure. Something to laugh off because it was cute.
But now, standing here as an adult, the feelings that stirred within you when John's gaze lingered on you were anything but innocent. It was a confusing, frightening, yet somehow thrilling realization—one that you knew you would have to confront sooner or later.
Your mother, who had been watching the entire exchange with the sharp eyes of a hawk, nudged you gently, whispering something about helping her out in the kitchen. You took the opportunity to escape, excusing yourself from the men's company. As you turned to leave, you felt John's eyes on you, following your retreating figure. A shiver ran down your spine, but you forced yourself to ignore it.
After you'd left, an awkward silence fell between the two men. John took another swig of his beer, trying to shake off the strange feelings that your presence had stirred up within him. The tension was palpable, a thick fog of unspoken words and hidden desires. It wasn't like him to be so affected, and yet, there was something about you that left him in a state of bewilderment.
His gaze lingered on the spot where you had stood moments ago, the image of your flushed cheeks and the softness of your voice etched into his mind. He raked a hand through his hair, a sigh escaping his lips. This was dangerous territory. He knew it but seemed powerless to pull himself away from the allure.
Your father, completely oblivious to his friend's internal struggle, continued flipping burgers, a contented smile on his face. He hummed a tune under his breath, his eyes bright with happiness. Every now and then, he would glance towards the kitchen door, awaiting your return.
"John," He started, his voice pulling John out of his reverie. "You've gone quiet on me, mate." Your father’s jovial tone contrasted starkly with the turmoil raging within John.
John managed a weak smile, forcing out a chuckle. "Just lost in thought, I guess," he replied, not meeting your father's gaze. He took another sip of his beer, the cold liquid doing little to ease the heat creeping up his neck.
Your father simply laughed, shaking his head. "You've always been a bit of a daydreamer, haven't you?" He said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Just don't go getting lost in your thoughts. We've got a party to enjoy."
John nodded, forcing himself to focus on the present, on the sizzle of the burgers, the sound of laughter from the crowd...anything but his best friend's daughter. But no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts were preoccupied with you.
As the sun began to set, the party continued in full swing. The laughter and chatter grew louder, the music more upbeat, and the atmosphere more festive. But amidst the sea of faces, John's gaze kept drifting back to you.
Your laughter echoed in his ears, your smile imprinted in his memory. Every now and then, he would catch glimpses of you, your silhouette illuminated by the setting sun, your face glowing with genuine happiness. You were like a beacon of light, drawing him in, and he found himself unable to resist.
You were everywhere he looked, in every corner he turned. With each passing moment, the pull he felt towards you grew stronger, more potent. It was like a magnetic force that seemed impossible to resist. It scared him, baffled him, yet excited him in a way he had never experienced before.
He watched as you interacted with the guests, your laughter filling the air. Your eyes sparkled with mirth, your cheeks flushed with excitement. You were the life of the party, and he couldn't help but be captivated by you.
And as he watched you in the warm candlelight of your father's birthday cake, your smile wide as you sang along with your family, he knew he was in trouble. Because for the first time in a long time, he found himself wanting something he knew he couldn't have.
You.
Oh god. It's so embarrassing how long this took to actually write. Please please lemme know what ya'll think. Feedback is greatly appreciated. Should I continue this? ;) Enjoyxx
#john price x reader#john price smut#captain john price#captain johnathan price#captain john price x female reader#john price#john price cod#johnathan price#cod mw22#cod x reader#age g4p#captain price#price cod#captain john price smut#dbf!price#afab reader
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ripped straight from the dms with @femalefemur (thank u cyn my beloved)
best friend!johnny mactavish x gender neutral!reader thoughts below...
tw: alcohol mention, pining like whoa, little bit of jealousy, johnny being a possessive little shit, allusions to off-screen sex, fluff, "bonnie" used as a pet name.
unedited and written straight into the drafts for a rush of adrenaline. intended to be gender neutral reader but i may have slipped up somewhere!
word count: 777 words
just thinking about how you and johnny are practically attached at the hip.
he's constantly over your place for takeaways and bad telly or he's dragging you out to clamber up some hill or through a national trust park "for the fresh air, bonnie!"
johnny sends you endless voice notes talking about his day, about the mischief he's gotten up to with kyle or how simon had run him ragged at the gym. in return you send him silly memes or links to tiktok trends and your own rambling voice notes complaining about how your favourite contestant had been eliminated from the silly reality show you'd been watching.
your camera roll is filled with shirtless sweaty gym pics from where they'd saved automatically from your messages. his camera roll is full of answering photos of you half awake and mugging for the camera from the comfort of your bed, your hair a mess and pillow creases on your face.
just thinking about how both of you are super tactile with each other. you mindlessly play with his hair when you're sat next to him at the pub, squished up on one side of the booth opposite simon and kyle. johnny slings his arm around your shoulders and watches the way you gesticulate as you bicker with simon. (neither of you notice kyle's glances between the two of you or catch the sneaky fist bump with simon as a wager is placed when you and johhny come back from the bar with a fresh round for everyone)
just thinking about how your stomach sinks a little bit and how your smile feels brittle every time johnny tells you he's met someone. it's a little bit harder than normal to enjoy johnny's presence when you have to share it with the woman he's seeing but you try anyway. you try not to be "that friend", you try to keep the anecdotes about past nights out or silly stories that only you and johnny know to a minimum. you pull away a little bit from all the usual casual touches you'd normally lean into, aware that her eyes are on you. and you don't want to ruin your friend's happiness with someone else, you really don't, even when you feel your lips twitch with a tiny involuntary frown when he kisses her in front of you.
i'm just thinking about how the people johnny date don't seem to stick around for long after they've met you. you ask him about it once when you're slumped together on your sofa, something lighthearted and daft playing on tv in the background. johnny just shrugs and says something about how they wanted different things (because there's no way he's telling you that his latest ex screamed in his face about how it was so fucking obvious that he was in love with you, even as he denied it and said that you were just good friends).
i'm thinking about what would happen if you started to see someone casually and johnny asks to meet them. how unlike you when you meet his dates, he seems to dial up the friendly touches. he dominates the conversation with stories that always end with "remember that, bonnie?" and a wicked grin. he even pulls up a video of him hitting a new personal record for his hip thrusts at the gym and mean mugs the shit out of your date as you watch the video and praise him for his hard work.
i'm thinking about how you'd pop to the bathroom at some point and by the time you come back your date is gone and johnny's shrugging it off like its no big deal. and yeah, you're a little bit disappointed but johnny comes back to your place with you and settles onto the sofa like he belongs there, leaning up against your side all solid and dependable and quintessentially johnny.
(and in the morning when you check your messages you're not surprised that your date has called it off with you, but you can't bring yourself to care as a thick forearm snakes around your waist and pulls you back against a warm naked body. the gravelly voice of your best friend johnny rumbling in your ear and peppering kisses down your neck...)
(the next time you and johnny meet up with simon and kyle for drinks at the pub, you walk in together hand in hand. simon silently holds out an open palm to kyle as kyle rifles through his wallet and complains that if you had just waited one more week he would've won the bet. bloody selfish of the pair of you.)
#pfh headcannons#oh look p's writing fluff who would've thought?#john soap mactavish x reader#john mactavish x reader#gender neutral reader#x reader fic#jm#thank you cyn! i send you hearts now 💕💕💕💕
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"If you want me to talk solely about the manga vs anime skk"
I do, actually.
Please.
Pretty please with a cherry on top.
PART 1.
Aight!! I will be just pointing out some differences/stuff that was deleted from the anime.
Under the cut
THE DUNGEON SCENE:
-When they first meet again in the manga, they throw some silly jokes at each other (like Dazai asking Chuuya if he's hiding a bald spot. And Chuuya just taking his hat off to show him he's, in fact, not balding)
-In the manga when Chuuya calls Dazai the youngest mafia executive, in his mind Dazai is wearing his ADA clothes but keeps the black coat and the bandaged eye. I think it's a very silly detail
-In the anime, in anger Chuuya actually cuts Dazai's cheek with his knife. In the manga, the moment he starts getting angry he jumps away from Dazai and then throws the knife to the floor, not touching him at all
-Manga Chuuya falls to his knees (basically standing on all 4s), having a lil crisis after realizing Dazai only stayed in the dunegon to meet him. He gets up in a while, just to yet again squat on the floor after Dazai yapps more
-Obviously the pigeon-stand scene: in the manga Dazai is laughing to tears at this, while in the anime he stays silent. (Tho i must say i find it funny that Chuuya gets angry over Dazai not laughing,, like he tried so hard and this guy just :| him)
LOVECRAFT FIGHT:
-This is not about skk but lord yall know that panel where Chuuya ie standing on all these Guild ppl being all like im gonna beat ur ass next. He's just standing normally on the floor in the anime. Aughhhhh this panel is so good aughhhh. Ok anyway back to skk
-When Dazai nullifies John's ability, in the anime Chuuya just kicks Steinbeck from behind. In the manga, skk perform that silly move where Chuuya jumps from behind Dazai. It just shows how even after 4 years of not working with each other, they instantly work together as well as before
-Skk arguing about who's walking next to who like some preschoolers ('dont walk next to me' 'its you who's standing next to me' typa thing) then deciding that they're gonna stay at least 2 metres away from each other
-The manga clearly shows Chuuya's expression when he's talking about 'being happy when Dazai left'. He definitely doesn't look very happy. (In the anime we just get some background drawings)
-Manga Chuuya's lil blush when Dazai compliments his taste in shoes 😭😭
-When Dazai asks for Chuuya's knife, in the manga Chuuya just goes 'oh sure lemme find it' and is actually ready to give him the knife. In the anime? Chuuya doesn't search for the knife, instead he just gets annoyed
-Anime deleted the scene where Dazai talks to Chuuya about recording Kunikida while he was cursed with Q's ability. Chuuya going bruh he also annoys ppl in the agency
-those two idiots calling each other stupid nicknames for half of a page
-Chuuya mentioning keeping a track of women Dazai made cry and threatening him with sending them Dazai's address????
-Dazai telling Chuuya that his intelligence will be consumed by his hat (im currently looking at my polish version of the manga so the translation may be a bit off but anyway)
-Before activating Corruption, they yet again call each other a bunch of stupid nicknames (ahah consider this a silly form of goodbye if anything happens)
-Remember my post about Dazai keeping his eyes on Chuuya at all times during Corruption in the manga? In the anime he looks either at John or at Lovecraft, no puppy eyed loser
-Just a mention that in the manga we see Chuuya sleeping while he's sitting, he doesn't flop passed out to the ground (until later)
Well i will stop there for now bc it's past midnight and umm this is gonna be long af if i continue with the rest so,, i will add the differences in the next skk interactions tomorrow or something muah
#sab q&a#bsd#bungou stray dogs#bsd chuuya#chuuya nakahara#skk#soukoku#bsd dazai#dazai osamu#tagging this more this time bc aughh i need ppl to read the manga to see all the differences#i dont think dead apple is very different#15 has A LOT of differnces so it will take a while to go thru#there's also some tiny differences in the Meursault arc but yesh#anyway goodnight#hope this will be enough for tonight muah#sab yapping
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Tell Me What To Do
A/N: okay you all convinced me. Daryl is inexperienced when it comes to sex. Bless.
Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Prison Era
WC: 2.6K
Warnings: smut, masturbation (both), fingering, inexperienced Daryl, light voyeurism, premature ejaculation
Summary: when you need some help, Daryl is happy to offer his assistance and learn exactly what you need.
It was bad. It was hot, sweaty, and torturous and it was driving her to tears. It was like her own body was against her, making her crazy for a release that was too stubborn to come.
Pun intended.
By now, she had shoved a rag between her teeth which she bit down on relentlessly in both frustration and an attempt to smother any whimpers that unwittingly left her. It took everything in her not to tear the cloth to shreds.
Everyone around her was asleep, she was sure of it. It was an ungodly hour, after all. She was on the top level of the block and the cell next to hers was empty- newly empty. But that didn’t cross her mind right now. The only thing in her head right now was please please please…
Carol slept in the next cell block over, but she had taken over the night watch shift from (Y/N), which made this an optimal time to take care of this… need. This feeling that swelled deep in her gut and needed to be expelled.
She just couldn’t reach.
Her entire body trembled and her legs downright shook in the bed as her heels dug in and held her up. The curve of her back ached all the way up to her neck from its perpetual arching. She’d been so close for so long now, why couldn’t she just let go?
Out of breath, she laid out flat for a moment and stared at the ceiling, trying to imagine what had brought her to this point in the first place. She pictured strong, dirty hands, a slim mouth, and narrowed eyes. Deep in her mind, she heard grunts and curses. She even imagined whimpers.
It was too much. She tried again.
***
He’d seen her like that before. He didn’t do it on purpose, he certainly didn’t go looking. It’s just that the privacy screens on the cell doors only did so much, even when she yanked the ends of the curtain all the way to each side. He could still see.
And his tracker’s ears- they could still hear even when she did everything in her power to stay quiet. Just her breathing- as ragged as it was hushed- tipped him off.
Once he had just been passing by, grabbing Zack for his watch shift in the middle of the night. Luckily the kid was passed out, deep in sleep, and had no idea what she was doing just next door to him. It made Daryl’s chest light up with a jealous, protective fire that fueled him to push Zack silently along the balcony and out to the watchtower, none the wiser.
Daryl, though, was wise to it. To her touching herself in the dark. He wasn’t completely daft, he knew everyone did it and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t wonder about you previously. While he didn’t return to peek again- he wouldn’t, he respected you too much- he did rush back to his own cell like a grounded teenager sneaking back into the house at midnight. With shaking hands, he slammed his curtain up against the walls of his cell and leaned his back against the pillar of his bed.
He didn’t want to. It made him feel like a sleaze. She was nothing like anyone he’s experienced before- in his old life, his other life. And he thanked fuck for that. But he knew this aching hard on, the one that had so quickly spurred to life at the sight of her- that one tiny peek of her- wouldn’t go away without a fight. He had to take care of it. Had to rub one out right there, standing just inside the door of his cell, fly open and boxers pulled down just enough to get his fist around the base of his cock.
It was quick and dirty and he tried not to include her in his fantasies, but he failed. He pictured what he had seen that night, which was so similar to what he saw this night when he finally got the courage to peek through the sliver sized gap between the privacy shield and the wall of her cell.
***
The top level of the cell block was empty except for Daryl and her. He’d just laid down for the night- later than usual after returning from a run that evening- and he heard a breath catch.
He stood immediately, grabbing his crossbow from its perch on the ground right beside his pillow. Exiting his cell, he viewed with block from above, assessing any threat but he quickly realized there wasn’t one. Well, nothing more than a threat to his own sanity, that is.
He followed the noise, though she was successful in being almost silent despite her activities. He leaned against the wall, needing the support as he listened. He was sure there was only one person in the cell, no one else joined you, no other threat imminent.
One mouth hanging open, one set of lungs gasping for air, two feet sliding against the sheet, one her begging for orgasm. Though it was clear she couldn’t find it.
Just the sound of her had him losing his breath. And when his head slowly swiveled to the doorway, that was it for him.
Standing there outside her cell, he could imagine what caused her to make those struggling sounds. He could picture what her hands might be doing, where they could be touching, how she may have been trembling. Or shining with slick.
Now, however, he could see it all exactly. The saliva dampening the rag stuck in her mouth, the tears tracking their way down her cheeks, her breasts squeezed together like two mounds under her shirt as her arms reached and reached down between her legs. A sharp crack busted open in his chest as he watched her struggle. While he stood there with two good, free hands.
***
She was too lost in desperation to notice him slide past the curtain and into her cell. The hunter, after all, was silent. He set his weapon down on her clean desk and knelt at her bedside, taking in her furrowed brow and tangled hair. A moment passed as he simply watched her up close.
She only opened her eyes when he tugged the rag from her mouth. She jolted from him, shocked.
“Daryl-“
“Shh, s’alrigh’.” He wiped the tears from her face as he whispered to her.
“Is something- did I wake you? I’m sorry, I-��
He stopped her from shuffling the sheets closer to her body, but he himself tugged her shirt down to shield her from him. As if the image wasn’t burned in his mind already.
“I can help,” he said, taking her chin in his rough fingertips. “Yer workin’ so hard here,” he smirked.
“No,” she said.
His hands left her at the word. “Want me ta leave?”
“No.” She grabbed his arm, bringing his hand back to her face. “No, don’t leave.”
A grunt grumbled in his chest and left his throat. “Tell me what I can do. Tell me what ya want.”
She stared at him, taking in the face she’d been picturing all night and every other time she touched herself since meeting him. And now, he was right here. Offering to help. It sent a wave of slick down to her core.
Eyes falling into a lazy, needy haze, she moved his fingers from the tip of her chin to her lips. She sucked his middle two into her mouth, swirling her tongue around them and drenching them with her saliva.
“Shit,” Daryl groaned, feeling painfully hard in his filled out pants already. “Shit-cher such a pretty girl.”
She hummed around his digits, smiling at the praise. It was just as she imagined it might be.
With her feet, she kicked down the sheets and opened her legs for him so shyly. Just a bit.
“Please-“
“Tell me,” he said.
He’d fucked girls before, but it was just to get himself off. It was quick and sloppy and he barely used his hands, just his dick. He’d never worked for a woman’s pleasure before. He needed her to tell him what she wanted. He needed to feel her.
Her fingers never left him, wrapped tight around his wrist as she lowered his hand to the wet spot between her thighs. “I want your fingers in me,” she said.
The moment he touched her thigh, her knees fell wide open and he could have come right there and then, untouched. His cock jumped against the fly of his pants at the sight- at how wet she was for him.
“Jus-just one? Er-“
“Both. Please.”
The pads of his fingers rubbed at her entrance. He took a minute to explore her and she sighed happily, finally not needing to work so hard for her own pleasure. It was like a dream- he was like a dream to her.
Only when she nodded did his fingers slowly plunge into her. She was so warm and soft and spongy inside and when he pulled his fingers out, he felt her pussy suck him back in.
“Fuck,” he said.
She whined in answer, chasing his fingers and scooting her ass down the cot to be closer to him.
His fingers dove back in. “M’righ’ ‘ere,” he mumbled, leaning over her body as he knelt on the floor. He tucked his arm under her neck, his strong, round forearm acting as her pillow.
“M-fuck-yes,” she whined. “Yer fingers are so big, so long, yes-“
“Ya like tha’?”
“Yes, Daryl, please.”
He was drunk on her sounds. Drunk on the way her eyes squeezed shut and her teeth sunk into her lip and her back arched into him, curving to the side until it brushed against his chest. She wanted him so close.
She lifted her free hand- the hand that wasn’t practically tearing his shirt- and put her fingers in the air. She curled them up against her palm, showing him what she wanted him to do to her. Inside her.
“C-curl them, please, yes- like that.”
She was practically wrapping herself around him. After releasing these soft, high pitched whines, she moved into deep, guttural grunts and groans that had him falling over the cot, at her mercy.
“Fuck me, Daryl.”
“Whatever you want, baby. M’I doin’ good fer ya? Huh? Gotta be quiet now, good girl.”
She nodded, turning her head into him, kissing and sucking on his arm. He pulled her closer until the bulge of his bicep was flexed and right there for her to sink her teeth into.
It was all he could do to keep her on the bed. She was so sexy, so hot and pretty like this, he’d do anything for her. He already felt that way without this intimacy, but this night clinched it. He was hers.
He rested his cheek on her head and whispered to her, kissing her hair. “Ya gonna come fer me, baby? Huh?”
She nodded fiercely against his chest.
“Use yer words, girl.”
“Yes, Dare. Please, make me come.”
“Tell me wha’ I gotta do.”
She fell back on the cot, flat again like when they began this dance. “Don’t stop, please.”
He watched with hungry, black eyes as her hand trailed down her side to the little bundle right above the spot where his own fingers worked. His jaw dropped with a silent, knowing groan.
“Gonna rub yer clit fer me? Make yerself come ‘round my fat fingers, huh?”
She whined in confirmation. “Shit- please, please-“
“I gotcha, baby. Ya tell me, tell me what’cha want.”
“Harder.”
Fuck. That was it for him. He ground against the side of the bed, letting the friction finally touch his hard, oozing cock as he watched her. His fingers disappeared deep in her and he worked so hard to curl them the way she liked, the way that made her whine for him. But as she got closer to her orgasm, he felt that spongy spot on the top of her walls grow bigger and harder and it became more difficult for him to move his fingers. His hand felt as if it would cramp up and his veins were popping through the underside of his sore and tired forearm, but he’d die before letting his girl down.
This girl. Maybe at least for this stolen moment in the night she was his.
He watched her expertly draw little circles into what he knew was her clit- yes, there it was- and again, his barely touched cock twitched hard against his jeans.
“Fuck,” he ground out in a low growl. “Fuck me, (Y/N), look at me.”
She so quickly obeyed. Her eyes popped open and she bit her lip hard, but he couldn’t stand to see it so abused. His mouth crashed down to hers, sucking her bottom lip away from her teeth and soothing it with his tongue. He didn’t want to kiss her tonight, he didn’t want to ruin it with his sloppy, untamed mouth, but he couldn’t help it.
She moaned deep into his mouth and he ground into the side of the cot and came, shooting his cum into his pants.
Just as he was about to beg for her, she followed him into oblivion, ripping her mouth from his to suck in a gasp. She came whining his name and it was the best sound he’d ever heard. He wanted it tattooed on his skin so it would never leave him. Just the sound of her blissed out, fuck drunk voice.
Her hand shot down to his, where his fingers were still working inside her. “Slow, slow, please,” she said, trembling.
“Fuck, m’sorry-“
She kissed him again, this time softer against his lips. Her hands on his face smelled of her cum and he felt his cock blooming to hardness again.
“Thank you,” she said, exhausted and timid.
He chuckled as he sucked on his pruned, salty fingers, enjoying the taste of her and what he helped her do. “No problem.”
“You know, I can help with that,” she said, eyeing the bulge in his jeans. He thanked fuck that his boxers formed a barrier between his cock and his pants so she couldn’t see he’d already come once just at the sight of her, practically untouched.
“Next time,” he said, standing. He could see she was already fading, tired from the exertion. “Git sum sleep, girl.”
He turned his back to her, lifting his crossbow from her desk as quietly as he could, wincing at the uncomfortable, drying cum in his pants.
“Daryl,” she said from the bed. He expected her to fall asleep immediately, as he always did, but she’d sat up on the cot.
“Wha? Did I hurt ya?”
“No,” she said with a shy smile. “No, I’m good. But are we? Good?”
He shrugged, hiding his smile with a slanted smirk. “More n’ good.”
“Okay. Good. I’ll see ya in the morning, then.”
He nodded. “See ya.”
He ducked out the way he came in, silent with his crossbow on his back. His dick pressed stubbornly against his fly again and he knew he’d quickly take care of it by just closing his eyes and studying the image of her that was now burned into his eyelids. Sweet deal.
Maybe he’d actually be able to touch himself this time.
Before he made it to his cell, however, he passed Carol’s. She was already back from watch- how long had he been in (Y/N)’s cell?
Carol stood just inside her doorway leaning against it. “‘Bout damn time,” was all she said.
“Shut up,” Daryl said, as his whole body flushed red.
#daryl dixon x reader#daryl dixon#daryl dixon smut#daryl dixon fanfiction#daryl#daryl twd#daryl fanfiction#twd daryl#the walking dead daryl dixon#twd daryl dixon#the walking dead daryl#daryl x female reader#daryl dixion imagine#daryl x you#daryl x reader#daryl imagines#daryl x y/n#daryl dixon twd#twd fanfiction#twd#the walking dead daryl dixon x reader#the walking dead fanfiction#the walking dead#smut#daryl smut
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Werewolf Ghost looses control on the full moon and fucks the new recruit. New recruit doesnt know who it was cause they were face down in the dirt the whole time getting the best fuck of their lives.
Brainrot
Animal Like Rage
Werewolf Ghost x Fem Reader
Summary: As a new recruit you hear alot of tales and stories about Ghost on the feild. You chalked it up to overexaterations based on his intimidating apearance. After being paired for a mission with him, you see first hand these account, if anything played-down.
Word Count: 1.0k+
Ref Account: @kaionyx
TW: Rough Smut, Sex in Forest, Masocistic Ghost, Blood Kink.
<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3
Everyone knew that there was some underlying reason why they called Simon ‘Ghost’. As a new recruit you heard stories about seeing Ghost do remarkable things on missions. Ripping a man's throat out with his teeth. Beating men twice his size into an unrecognizable pile of messy flesh. While hanging out with other recruits, they would exchange rumors heard about him. After hearing all the tales you came to the conclusion that it was all just over exaggerations. Maybe you were just telling yourself that in order to comfort yourself for the upcoming mission you had with Ghost. All your friends were making a big deal of it.
As if he was going to chew you up and spit you out or something. The two of you were driving towards the perimeter you’d be guarding. It was actually quite a picturesque section of forest. Lots of trees and wildlife living among them. The mission was to simply look out for the assailants if they fled in your said direction. The two of you both knew it would be a boring night. The sun had set about an hour ago, and the moon was beautiful. Full and completely illuminated the sky with its burnt yellow tone.
“It’s really nice tonight right I mean, look at the moon-” you started to make conversation but then realized Ghost was no longer with you.
Your initial reaction was that he was fucking with you. Trying to pull a fast one on you so he could entertain his friends with a story of a gullible recruit. You called out his name a couple times over coms but got no response. Yelling his name out wasn’t an option, seeing as that could give away your location. For about 20 minutes you continued to check the perimeter of the area but to no avail. Eventually you decided to go into the forest to look for him. Starting to get uneasy, feeling like you were seeing things out of the corner of your eye. You stumbled across both of Ghost’s guns placed upright against a tree.
Immediately you bend down to investigate the scene. As soon as your knees hit the ground, you felt someone on top of you. Hitting the ground so hard, it knocked the wind out of you; rendering you completely disoriented. The taste of copper started to flood your mouth. Immediately you assume it’s one of the target’s men. Especially when he ripped the radio off your vest. You reach down for your knife and go to fight back. However, he uses his palm against your back; shoving your upper body against the dirt. You tried to get up but the person’s strength was unparalleled, like a cement wall. Heavy breathing and growls could be heard from above you.
Ghost’s mind was wrapped in a fog of lust and greed. Ever since he first saw you, he knew he wanted to lay much more than his eyes on your body. He had so much pent up sexual aggression that he’d been carrying for weeks. He was practically shaking with anticipation, he ripped your pants off. His claws leave abrasions on your hips and upper thighs. Blood starts to create droplets along the vertical lines. Only to be smeared by his hands gripping your sides, lifting your body and forcing you to change positions. Grabbing your hips and forcing you onto your knees. The dirt and mulch from the forest floor cutting up your skin.
He grabs your ass and spreads you apart, watching as you desperately try to get away. Not wasting any time, he shoves his cock into your entrance. Loving the way you squirm and clench around him; not used to the burning and stretching. Most of you was scared but there was a small part that found this exhilarating. Being bent over in the middle of the forest while you were supposed to be on guard. Apart of one of the deadliest task forces to ever exist but still being used like a bitch in heat.
He began rocking his hips in and out of you, loving how your tight pussy hugged his length. Like you didn’t want to let his member go. His bloody hands grip onto your ass, his claws digging into the soft flesh. He was growling and snarling; drool dripping from his mouth and onto your back. He’d been watching you for a while, walking around the barracks practically half naked. He’d been waiting for an opportunity to get you alone and when he found out you two were together on this mission… It was like fate was trying to satisfy his hunger. He loved watching you, completely in submission for him. Your face was buried in the dirt and your blinks were slow. Gradually becoming more braindead and pliable. So cock-drunk that you were pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts.
“Such a little pain slut, you want more?” he asked, voice raspy and low.
His thrusts were so hard his thighs were spanking your ass, starting to leave the skin reddened and raw. His hip bones leave bruises from them assaulting your skin. You were going in and out of consciousness, his tip hitting your cervix is what brought you back whenever things went black. He was starting to get sloppy, losing rhythm and frantically groping your body. Pushing your body flat against the ground and pile driving you. You never felt someone so deep inside you, like he could literally rip through you.
Having no control of the situation but loving every fucking second of it. The burning feeling in your stomach boils into your climax. Holding your breath while trying to rub yourself against the ground; overstimulated and desperate for any type of friction. Seeing you becoming so disheveled and desperate made him cum. Letting his body weight fall onto you, bucking his hips and growling into your ear. Once he’d finished up, he got the both of you dressed and carried you back to the safe house. Where you were treated for injuries sustained by a ‘animal attack’.
#cod ghost#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty smut#cod#ghost call of duty#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#ghost x y/n#simon ghost x reader#ghost x you#ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon riley x y/n#simon riley imagine#tw blood
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