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randomwriteronline · 2 years

Text

(I Missed You)

(WARNING for a long paragraph featuring depersonalization, derealization and mentions of medication. Begins a little after Ingo was home again. Medication mentions continue until the end.)

The desk across from him was dusty.

Emmet blinked slowly, grabbing the covers idly between his fingers. His eyes wandered about: Excadrill was curled up on her side, Chandelure sat on the pillow with her beady eyes closed; Crustle had discarded his own house on the floor in an unexpected display of vulnerability in favor of hiding under Durant’s steel exoskeleton as if she were a weighted blanket. Galvantula cradled Archeops in her front legs, mandibles nibbling ever so slightly at his feathers, while Eelektross had his tail wrapped around Klingklang’s core, pulling it down to hover closer to the bed; too big to lay on it without either taking up all of its space or breaking its frame, Haxorus and Garbodor sat at its ends, heads leaning on it no matter how awkward the angle might have been, their own vast bodies acting as mattresses for Gurdurr and Boldore respectively.

Well.

This was a brand new low.

Sleeping in Ingo’s bed.

He had managed to avoid doing something that pathetic until now. Even made it through the first year - arguably the worst one - without ending up like this.

The vivid dreams, the ones where he hugged a living man and the ones where he hugged a body bag, where he sank to the bottom of a bog with it and where a Zoroark lured him in its den through his own blind despair - those had happened. He could not control that.

(This had been such a long and pleasant one.)

What had brought him to scrape so hard at the bottom of the barrel, anyways? Emmet struggled to remember the date, but still he was certain it was not around the time of the anniversary of his brother’s disappearance. He drew a blank on whatever he might have seen or listened to that could have reminded him of his twin being there - a song, a movie, a piece of art of sorts… Maybe his coat. Yes, it had to be his coat, he could feel it under his fingertips, under his arm.

God, even worse than he thought.

Taking his brother’s coat and curling up in his bed, like a distraught Lillipup desperately trying to sorround itself with the scent of its trainer.

He raised himself to sit up; a handful of Joltiks clinged harder to his shirt.

He hadn’t even changed himself.

What a fucking joke.

Emmet removed the ‘tiks slowly, gently, one by one, sitting them next to their much larger, evolved sister.

(They had had two Joltiks, both little ladies; in Opelucid, another kid had traded a Spinarak for Emmet’s, and Ingo had gifted his brother his own electric bug. Haxorus had belonged to both of them when he was still an Axew, and so had Garbodor when she was still a Trubbish, but Ingo was the one more involved in their training, so without Joltik Emmet would have remained one Pokémon short - which was unacceptable. When they evolved into Ariados and Galvantula they began a courting of sorts; Emmet followed their relationship as intently as an old lady follows a soap opera, and kept every batch of eggs. His brother had noted they were lucky Emmet had only evolved one of those that hatched, or they might have been drowning in Galvantulas instead.)

(Which would have been much less manageable.)

Now he stared at the dusty pavement where a square block of rock laid, its inhabitant busy sleeping on clean covers.

Both their teams were there. The poor things must have confused him for Ingo. Not that he blamed them, far from it - they were more than allowed to grieve, to have their judgement clouded enough to believe such a poor illusion. He hoped they were having good dreams. Hopefully that would have sweetened the disappointment and heartbreak when they woke up.

His legs shook a little when he stood (at least he’d had the decency of taking his shoes off) and began wobbling his way to his own room.

He vaguely remembered crying so much he had no tears left. His body must have been trying to find an alternative outlet that wasn’t screaming by making him near incapable of moving his feet.

It was 3 in the morning, the alarm let him know with its dull glowing digits.

He thanked it by staring at it for a little longer.

Two hours and a half.

What was he to do for two hours and a half before opening time?

Going back to sleep would have been impossible. He had tried before and it did not work.

He could have just gotten properly dressed and sneaked into the station to do some early work, which on the other hand always worked, at the expense of his breakfast and lunch being forgotten and the blinds remaining closed for the whole day. See if the coffee machine was full, if maintenance had been properly scheduled. Check the lights, the trains, the routes, the timetable and shifts.

Make sure depot agent Jackie had not managed to once again get locked inside on purpose to sleep in the main room for the sake of validating the weird shit they liked to tell challengers about having never been out of the station even just once in his entire life - although that had stopped happening now that the substitute had made it clear through horrendous promises and examples of grievous bodily harm that she was very willing to physically remove him from the premises with a literal kick up his ass.

Emmet pawed at the nightstand to find his Xtransceiver; then, remembering he had not changed into his pijamas, he checked his wrist. The smooth plastic and glass had his fingers sliding over it.

He didn’t even need to look. He found the contact and called.

One ring.

One whistle.

Two rings.

Two whistles.

Three rings.

Three whistles.

Emmet covered the device, brows furrowed, to muffle the sound.

Four whistles.

Pause.

Five whistles.

Pause.

Six whistles.

Like a very insistent steam locomotive.

He turned around, quickly, walked like a fury back in the empty dusty room.

Ingo laid curled on his side under clean blankets, snoring softly, arms reaching out ever so slightly. He looked so tired, with his tattered coat strewn on top of him to keep him warmer somehow, with his Pokémon curling around him so protectively. Close to his legs the sheets were ruffled and pressed where the younger twin had been just a few moments before.

Emmet gazed at his older brother sleeping for what felt like an eternity.

Then the Xtransceiver gave a twelfth ring, and he hurried to close the call before it would wake up any of the resting bodies.

Was he still asleep? Dreaming? His eyes fell back onto the man in his twin’s bed. His hand shook a little as he approached him, fingers bent, arm completely paralysed halfway to the other’s shoulder.

Was this really his brother? So all of that - Elesa telling him the news, Burgh filling him in, learning about the amnesia from Cheren, making all those calls, the nerve-wracking wait, seeing him again, holding him, crying, crying, crying - all of that had been real, and not just an elaborate fantasy? His palm hovered above the body without even grazing it, a horrid thought sliding in his ears to clog his throat and tie it in a knot: would he have woken up, if he touched his brother? Would he have been thrown back into reality if Ingo stirred awake in this dream and found himself on the floor of his twin’s bedroom, alone?

His entire body trembled hard enough to give him spasms. He bit down at his finger to calm himself, almost shoving it whole in his mouth: his teeth gnawed at the bone and left craters on the pulled skin.

Should he risk it? He wanted to. So bad. So bad. The memory - or dream - of holding Ingo lingered at the back of his head. He needed to know he was real. He needed to know this wasn’t fake. And if it was? No. It had to be real. He had to be real. He had to try. He had to. Even if he was scared.

Fingertips grazed the sleeping limb. Then they pressed upon it some more.

Ingo kept groaning intermittently like a train, unbothered.

Emmet laid his palm on the shoulder, cupped it in his hand whilst making sure not to shake it. It was stiff, hard and bony, but its muscles were relaxed.

It was real.

He finally let go of a raspy breath that had lodged itself in his throat and let himself drop to sit back on the mattress.

He caressed his brother’s shoulder mechanically, slowly, softly, trapped in a sort of trance. It wasn’t quite like being drunk, the lightheaded feeling that had him almost ooze out of his own body, or losing his grip on reality – overwhelmed, that was the word: he was overwhelmed, with relief and with such a heavy kind of love falling in chunks out of his chest. Ingo was there. Ingo was alright.

Ingo was back with him.

His hair was longer. At least, it sort of looked like that in the poor lighting. Emmet reached out slowly and caught a white lock in his fingers, twisting and curling it around them. It was clean. A little soft. So unlike Ingo, to have hair like this.

He could have had a mullet now, like he wanted when they were kids. He was too afraid to commit to it fully back then. Maybe this was the right time.

Emmet blinked.

What kind of thought was that, he asked himself in what would have been a laugh if he had been present enough in his own head to muster one. His brother is back after years of being missing, and the first thing he notices is his haircut. If he weren’t aromantic he’d make for a good boyfriend, he assumed - wasn’t it a cliché, that of a girl cutting her hair to make a boy notice and failing. Not that he’d know if that really happened to real people.

He registered all that slowly, distractedly. His own words were white noise against the deafening silence of his senses as he took in his twin’s concrete existence piece by piece, as if composing a puzzle.

He was… Mostly well kept, unlike his clothes. Which was a relief, even if his cheeks seemed a bit too shallow, and his palms and fingertips were cut all over, and his eyes were circled by a faint purple shadow. Emmet cupped the side of his face in his palm, carding through Ingo’s sideburns in the process. His thumb stroked the pale skin softly, carefully; his brother let him coddle him as he pleased, continuing to sleep without a single worry to crease his brow.

The notable loss of mass and the beard made him seem much older. Not frail, somehow - but he still appeared so, to his younger twin; maybe it was how his knuckles peeked through the skin, or how he slept on his side half curled up on himself, as they had stopped doing a little after moving in with their uncle…

Emmet shook his head slightly. Maybe he was just projecting.

He wanted to lay down and fall asleep again, wrapped in a hug around Ingo, but for that he would have had to move Excadrill and he could not fathom doing such an awful thing to her.

She had missed him so much.

(That must have been the real reason she had taken care of him.)

(In her grief she must have convinced herself he was Ingo.)

(Poor sweet thing.)

(Emmet didn’t know that if Excadrill had heard him she would have jabbed him in the stomach with her claw and yelled at him to never think such a thing again.)

The lights from streetlamps outside casted bright shadows through the blinds, distorting colors into colder hues. It made their skin gain a cyanotic undertone, similar to the blue of veins snaking towards knuckles; but Ingo telegraphed each of his breaths by expanding his ribcage with every inhale and snoring softly at every exhale, and Emmet juxtaposed his own breathing cycle with his brother’s, and so he knew they were both alive, there, together.

Then Ingo groaned, whined, stirred; his eye opened and lit the room with how white it was.

Emmet felt his chest implode.

His brother’s scarred hand rose in the air in a clumsy manner: “Emmet,” he called, blindly, grasping at nothing until he was caught by another set of much smoother fingers. His elbow punted itself against the mattress as he tried to stand up: “Emmet – sorry, I’m late - no delays on, on the schedule, I’ll–”

He found himself getting pushed back down gently, with a long slew of hushed monotone no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no‘s almost lulling him back to sleep instantly.

“It’s early,” he heard his little twin say in that voice he had completely forgotten yet missed so much, “Verrry early.”

“Verrry early,” he repeated absentmindedly. It was so immediately familiar.

Emmet nodded, feverish, panicked: “Verrry early. I could not sleep. I woke you up. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”

“It’s fine,” Ingo reassured him, “It’s fine…”

“Go back to sleep. I woke you up, I’m sorry. Go back to sleep. It’s early. It’s…”

He quieted down as his palm was squeezed intermittently. The fear of waking up from a dream now that Ingo was awake began to wobble, to shrink and wane like an image on distorted water.

“It’s fine,” his older brother repeated.

For a little bit, all they did was hold each other’s hand in the dark.

Then Ingo’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he looked up to Emmet from where he laid on his side, and held his hand a little tighter.

His twin felt a knot in his throat, a sudden shame coiling around him, and murmured sheepishly: “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s alright, really,” the older brother replied, “Don’t worry about that.”

“You should sleep. You’re… You were tired. Verrry tired. You should sleep…”

“You should too. It won’t do you good to lose sleep like that...”

“I - I’m not…” he didn’t want to lie to him - he didn’t want to worry him, either. “I can’t sleep.”

The rough voice came to him kindly: “Can I stay awake with you, then?”

Emmet nodded with a bit of difficulty. Ingo’s fingertips were rough and calloused on the back of his hand. Suddenly it felt like he was a teen again, and Ingo was their uncle (must have been the beard...), half dozing back off and grumbling but still listening to the night together.

The thought made his heart clench in guilt, and he held his brother’s hand a little tighter to get rid of his musings.

The older twin held his gaze on him for a moment more, swinging their arms slightly. Then his clear eyes turned curiously to look around the room, to the glimpses of furniture the poor lighting showed off through silhouettes and angles reflecting vague sources of cold light in a sort of fuzzy way.

“I don’t… Think, I fell asleep here,” he noted absentmindedly

“You didn’t,” his brother explained: “You were on the couch. I made you wait. I had to change the sheets. They were dusty. I’m sorry.”

His piercing stare returned on the face mirroring his, words soft with puzzlement: “For what?”

“Making you wait. But the sheets were dusty. You couldn’t…” Emmet played with his lined nails for a second or two, tracing them with the thumbs of both his hands. “You couldn’t sleep on that.”

Just for that? Oh, but it was no reason to be sorry...

“You didn’t have to fuss about something that small for me,” Ingo reprimanded him without bite, kindly, though it sounded more like a reassurance than anything else: “It wouldn’t have been a problem…”

“But they were dusty.” his twin insisted. He made it sound like it was an awfully important thing, that they were dusty. That Ingo could have never slept on them because they were dusty, like that would have been an insult to him.

He blew a huff through barely parted lips, like a complaint; Emmet gave an unamused stubborn hum in return.

They were playing with one another’s hands now - tracing and caressing fingers, tickling lightly the skin folding and creasing between index and thumb, circling knuckles, running along the lines carved along their palms, along thin scars, along what remained of the mending left by medical stitches, along thin crusts of punctures pierced open by teeth.

Ingo looked around the dimly lit bedroom.

“This is… My room?” he asked.

His brother nodded.

“You carried me here?”

Now he shook his head. He lifted his gaze a little, to direct the older twin’s attention to the dragon slumbering with deep breaths on the bed’s headrest: “Haxorus did.”

The razor sharp mandibles at the side of the beast’s head felt like smooth bone when he ran a hand over them. Haxorus grumbled lightly, shifting in his sleep so that his scaly head would bump against the pale knuckles; Gurdurr held a little tighter onto him with his own strong fists.

Ingo looked at him with a sweet sort of melancholic awe: “He used to be an egg,” he muttered.

Emmet wheezed a chuckle: “He did,” he nodded. “We saw him hatch.”

“A great honor,” his brother whispered. His neck strained a little trying to get a better look at the Pokémon held by draconic limbs: “And who’s that…? Tim… Con… Gur…”

“Gurdurr.”

Ingo snorted a bit, a stunted, sleepy laugh escaping him: “Could you say that again, please?” he asked while failing to contain his amusement.

Emmet repeated, rolling his Rs as much as he could: “Gurrr-durrr.”

His brother’s hiccuping giggles were music to his ears.

So he pointed behind himself, to the dark blue and reddish amalgamate of rocks laying on a pile of literal toxic garbage: “And over there,” he said, and he stressed the letter as far as he could again, “There’s Bol-dorrre.”

Ingo laughed softly, hiding his mouth behind tthe back of his hand, muffling his voice as if he was afraid he was being unpolite when his younger brother so clearly was putting every ounce of his phonetic ability to vibrate the trilling consonant just to amuse him as much as possible.

“That’s the little one,” he remembered, “That’s him… And the big- the large one there - she is… Ah, I know it, I know it…Bo, bo… Odor...?”

“Garrr-bo-dorrr,” Emmet nodded, making him chuckle a little more. His thumb stroked his brother’s metacarpal bones through his skin while his chest jumped and trembled with mirth, and a sense of elation like he though he had never felt it before seized him right before adding: “She eats trash.”

“Oh!” at that his twin shook his head against the pillow, still giggly yet now murmuring with slight worry: “Oh, that cannot be good for her…”

“No, it’s fine - it helps her poison,” he was reassured. “And she eats normal things, too.”

“That’s a relief…”

His free hand dug into short, dense fur; with a quiet whirr similar to a purr, the enormous mole at his side shifted a little, removing metal claws to showcase the soft unprotected belly, immediately seized by vicious sleepy scritches.

Ingo watched her kick a little in her sleep as he tried to recall her name: “Drill… Excadrill,” he attempted, turning to Emmet to check if he was right. When his brother nodded he shifted his attention onto the purplish flames barely crackling in the dark, their master in deep slumber: “Chandelure…” he murmured reverently, overwhelmed for just a moment by her beauty.

Something with an exoskeleton rustled a moment as if adjusting itself, making him turn again. He squinted at the indistinct mass, recognizing a pair of bulbous eyes: “That’s - Crust, I think… Crustle... Ah - oh dear,” and now he covered his own eyes, embarassed: “He’s naked.”

Emmet raised a palm to contain the laugh leaping out of his mouth like a playful Tympole, but he could not keep it from spilling all over the covers in a shower of irregular pearls.

“No!” he hiccuped out, trying to direct his focus to the metal sheen above the rock bug: “No, he’s covered, see!”

His brother peeked through his fingers: “Not much…” he lamented, though his tone was delighted as he listened to the stunted chuckles still falling off of equally pale lips. The iron carapace attracted his attention, and he tried his hand at remembering the name attached to the fearsome mandibles glinting dimly in the dark: “That’s… Something about heat, that’s the one who eats her, right?…”

“Yup,” his twin nodded. He took in a breath to regain composure: “She’s Durant.”

“Durant, Durant… A bug,” Ingo noted. His finger rose all the way up to Emmet’s head, curling a strand of hair around itself and pulling lightly, to tease him - getting a silly grimace out of him: “You have an awful fondness for bugs. You have… A whole lot of them. Way too many, really... And they’re everywhere, all the time… In your pockets…”

“I do,” his brother admitted, “And they are.”

As if knowing they were the subject of the conversation at hand, a few weak squeaks arose from a yellow mass just behind Emmet, maybe vexed by a few bad dreams that dissipated once the crying bundle of static-y fuzz was wrapped in a warm palm.

He presented the quieted down pest to his brother: “You meant these?”

Ingo squinted to see the small insect in the dark: “Hmmm-hm, yes, that’s the one... It’s those - they are… Ah-” he clicked his tongue; his finger twitched a little to point behind the small heap, to the huge legs holding something between a lizard and a bird: “The big one’s called… Galvantula, I think. I can’t remember the... Hmmm...”

“Tiks?” Emmet helped.

His twin hummed and screwed his brow: “Tiks - tik, Jol? Tik? Is it Joltik?”

“Yup.”

He nodded, pensively: “We have so many of them… You have so many of them… They keep- they eat the, the… The lightbulbs.”

“Those are too big for them,” his brother replied. He very carefully placed the little soul-sucker on Ingo’s shoulder, picking another one to keep it company: “They like chewing cables though.”

“Ah, you’re right,” the older twin agreed. “They cost us a lot, don’t they.”

“Not anymore. They learned to behave.”

Ingo hummed approvingly as his shirt was nibbled slowly by little mandibles.

His brows furrowed now as he looked at the flying lizard gekkering in its sleep. He struggled to get something out of himself - a gaping hole in his memory swallowed the thin, almost snake-like head whole, leaving him only with a vague blunt noise - and he hated that.

“There’s...” he still tried, pointing at him: “There’s a hard sound in there.”

Emmet followed the clean line of his index: “That’s Archeops,” he filled in the blank for him.

That... Ingo furrowed his brows: “Not ‘chen’?”

“No,” his brother replied patiently, “Archeops. He used to be Archen, but he’s Archeops now.”

It sounded neither right nor wrong to him - though it was most certainly right, because it was Emmet who said that, and Emmet had not lost his memories. The uncertainty made him uneasy.

Now he was focused on a round mouth squashed on itself, fangs peeking through and slimy limbs sustaining the head, indiscernible from the rest of the neck and spine, upon which laid a long crest of sorts. It was huffing regularly in its sleep, eyes closed, with a slight gurgle like boiling water coming from the recesses of its throat. It was his brother’s, he believed.

And no matter how hard he tried, no matter how much he felt like it was important to his twin, no matter how hard he screwed his face in thought, he could not for the life of him recall its name.

He detested that.

“Eelektross.” Emmet helped.

It could have been any other for as much as he knew.

“He is my ace,” his brother’s voice explained: “Like Chandelure is yours.”

Ingo nodded, apologizing softly for not being able to remember on his own. No matter - no matter, he did not want to worry anybody with a fould mood. His eyes fell on the complex metal creature hovering sleepily under the enormous electric lamprey, and he lightened up slightly as he gave a fond huff of recognition: “I know that one,” he said, pointing at it, “Its name is a bit silly - my brain makes that sound when I think… Kling-klang, kling-klang, kling-klang…”

That made Emmet snicker: “Does it?”

“Hm-hm,” he nodded as he repeated, overly amused with himself: “Klingkang, Klingklang, Klingklang…”

A long sigh filled Ingo’s chest and deflated him softly, and Emmet watched as that glowing semblance of happiness melted slowly off of his face, as his scarred thumb drew circles on the younger twin’s knuckles, almost mournful.

The distraction had not worked.

It- he was Emmet’s ace, and he had not remembered that. Had not known that. Not felt that - only barely, vaguely, that he had some kind of importance, but nothing more. Ingo should have remembered that. He should have. Just like he should have not needed Haxorus’ name to remember they had seen him hatch, or like he should have not needed any clues to figure out Joltik, or Durant, or Garbodor, or Gurdurr, or Boldore, or Archeops. It should have been easy. It should have been immediate. Instinctive. Like recognizing his own room, and the objects within it - another task he horribly failed at the more he took in his shadowy sorroundings.

“I don’t know enough…” he growled softly at himself. He sounded heartbroken.

His twin held Ingo’s palm a little tighter and brought it to his mouth, to press his lips on it.

“It’s fine,” he murmured against the bony phalanxes comfortingly, “You know a lot. It’s good. You’re doing good, trying to remember. It’s fine if it’s not all at once. It’s better. And you’re here. You’re right here. It’s fine.”

Ingo hummed. He wasn’t that sure of it.

But he remained quiet, stroking his brother’s index with his thumb. He felt the gentle grip tighten slightly and release, tighten slightly and release, to ease his thoughts. Ah - that’s where that quirk of his came from. He had not even noticed how he had squeezed the nervousness out of his little twin at first.

The back of his hand was kissed kindly again. It made the knot around his heart a little easier to digest, enough to think of somethinge else he wanted to remember in some way.

“Is it just us?” he asked quietly.

His brother hummed: “We live alone, yup.”

The silence was filled with the sleep-chatter of their Pokémon. It was comfortable, in a way; but not the point.

“And in our family?” Ingo continued. “Is it just us?”

Ah - of course, that’s what he meant, Emmet thought to himself, of course. He would word himself very specifically usually, to make sure Emmet had no trouble understanding what he meant - but he was so awfully tired, and he was ever so slightly careless when he was tired, so he would lose a little in the translation between thoughts and words, even though he never meant to be unnecessarily obscure or incomprehensible.

But, if this was about family, then he better get - sitting like this was fine, but not for this. He had to... Hold on--

“Hold on,” he murmured, placing his brother’s hand back down on the covers with a careful pat before untangling his own from it as he stood up: “Hold on, I need a chair. It’s not comfy like this. I’ll take a chair. Hold on.”

The older twin followed him with his gaze and immediately disagreed as he started dragging the swiveling chair closer: “Not that one - it’s dusty…”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.”

“No - it’s dusty,” Ingo insisted (he made it sound like it was an awfully important thing, that it was dusty, that Emmet could have never sat on it because it was dusty, like that would have been an insult to him). “You’ll get dirty…”

“It’s fine. I’ll shake it off,” his brother just assured him. A fleeting thought made it out of his mouth before he could stop it: “I need to dust your room.”

“I can do that later…”

“No. I’ll do that. You need to rest.”

Ingo grumbled in displeasure; Emmet replied by blowing a raspberry at him.

He never lets me help, they both thought. One day he’ll collapse from fatigue and I’ll have to tuck him in to sleep so tight he won’t be able to get out of bed for a month.

A scratched palm reached out once the chair was close enough; fingers still healing from self-inflicted bites caught it tight.

“I’m here,” Emmet assured Ingo as he took his seat next to the pillow: “I’m here. You’re here. I’m here.”

His elbows slid across the pillowcase until his chin was resting upon it as well, snug and comfortable as he leaned his whole back forward. He smiled for a moment, a strange huff leaving him, like a need to cough out a sudden unexplained giddiness, and his grin just grew as he took in the same silly excitement in the slight curve of his brother’s frown. They struggled a second more still with that sudden feeling of complicity, like kids sneaking into one another’s hiding spot in secret - trying to get as comfortable as possible - and finally, finally, Emmet hummed and hawed and bit his lip a little, trying to figure out where to start.

In the end, he decided the best way to do this was chronologically - from oldest to youngest. Hopefully he would not forget anybody.

“We have an uncle,” he began: “Drayden. He’s a gym leader, Dragon type.”

“The one in Opelucid city? Like Skyla said?” his twin interrupted him briefly.

“Yup. And we have a cousin, and a cousin-in-law too. They have two children. Half-siblings. We grew up with them.”

“We did?”

“Yup. The oldest is... uh... eight?” yes, that seemed right. “Eight years younger than us.”

His brother seemed very surprised at that: “We are that much younger than our cousin? Than our uncle’s-?”

“Yup, yup! He had our cousin early. Verrry early. And we were born... I think late. Not sure. But we have younger cousins too. The half-siblings. We’re not proper cousins, but we call them that and they call us that back. The older one is Marshal and the younger one is Iris. They’re both verrry strong. We should battle them again these days, if we can. It would be fun. They’re verrry serious in their battles. Iris was born when we were sixteen.”

“Ah... Then we--” Ingo’s eyes widened suddenly. He gasped quietly at an unspoken realization, and tried propping himself up on one arm as he whispered, leaning a little closer to Emmet, white irises breaking through the darkness with a sort of excited glimmer emphasizing their clarity: “Did we get to hold her? When she was a baby?”

Emmet popped his mouth: “Yup.”

“And how was she?”

“Like a little prune.”

His brother’s awe cracked a little when he snorted: “That’s not nice!”

“It’s the truth. She yelled a lot, so you would yell with her and she would stop. And then you’d stop and she’d start all over again. It was terrible.” and he pushed his nose against the older twin’s, making his head fall back on the pillow while he stared into his pupils with eyes enormous to the point where his expression was comical: “Terrrible.”

Their cackles caused quite the quiet commotion around the twelve sleeping bodies curled up with them, making them all turn and whine and hiss and grumble in a concert of varied calls, and the two men fumbled to reach out their hands and shut each other up, pressing palms to their amused mouths.

Fortunately, none of their beloved beasts awoke.

Emmet kept laughing softly for a moment more, a little stunted, in short bursts, and one of his eyes squinted as it was caught in a square of blueish light peeking through the blinds, another one missing the other eye just barely. He wheezed a little - he had a wheezy laugh, breathy and intermittent, and Ingo instead was prone to long snorts that rattled his throat and face, and in a way it was something they complemented each other in, one of many other little things.

It was a comforting thing to know. To remember.

Like having a family.

“And that’s all of them?” he pressed on. “All our relatives?”

“Yup. For us. Iris and Marshal, they have other cousins too, I think. Proper cousins. Not sorta cousins like us.”

“But they’re not our cousins as well, right?”

“No, not ours. We’ve never met them.”

“That’s a shame.”

His twin hummed in agreement. From what Marshal had vaguely explained a few years ago, the older seemed very serious about battling as well, and the younger was very eager to surpass him. A multi battle... Twins against brothers. All four, very serious. That would have been fun. Verrry fun. The idea curled nicely in his mind like a strand of hair tucked behind the ear.

“Do we have parents?”

Emmet hushed for a moment.

“They’re alive, probably.” he answered quietly.

Ingo understood, as he always did.

“They’re dead to us.”

“Yes.”

Neither were going to talk about this again. Judging by tone alone, there was no need for it.

“Was it our uncle? Who raised us?” he asked instead.

“No. But we lived with him.” a tug at his heart. “He’s a good man.”

Ingo’s hand slipped in his hair, and it felt so very real. He felt it scratch gently at his scalp, soon joined by its mismatched twin with a little difficulty, as the arm had to snake rather awkwardly out from underneath his body; Emmet let him play with his head, let him sway it in his hold and pull it a little closer to his own, until his brother’s beard was almost in his eyes while he pressed his mouth to his forehead. Despite the foreign sensation it felt comforting, it felt real. It felt good and heavy on his shoulders when those scarred arms wrapped around them. He closed his eyes as he embraced him back and soaked into the everything around him, the warmth, the texture, the weight. He smelled like nothing and held him tight enough not to hurt. The phantoms of bruises his brother had sunk in his back when they had first seen each other pulsed dully and sang, reassuringly, that all of it was alright.

“I’m sorry.” Ingo murmured against his skin.

It froze his blood solid.

Like icicles injected in his veins.

“That this… That all of this happened.” he heard him again. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean for it to happen. I swear. I’m sorry. I’m… I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

Emmet held him as tight as he could.

“It’s fine. You’re here.” that’s what matters, he wanted to say, but something made it so that he couldn’t bring the words to leave his mouth. So he just repeated it: “You’re here,” he said, as his fingers dug gently into his brother’s hair, comfortingly, “You’re here. I’m here. You’re here. You’re here. It’s fine. You’re here.”

But it didn’t help: “I’m sorry…”

“You’re here. It’s fine. I know. I know. You’re here. You’re here. You’re with me. We’re here. You’re here.”

“I didn’t mean to forget…” you, he didn’t manage to breathe out. “I didn’t want…”

“I know you didn’t. You wouldn’t. I know. It’s fine-” a horrid doubt came to him - why was he apologizing? Why would Ingo apologize? There was no way for him to have cause his own amnesia and disappearance like that, so why? Was this really happening. Was this real. “Ingo - you’re here. It’s fine. You’re here. You’re here. We’re here. You’re here. You’re here. With me. You’re here with me. We’re here. You’re here. You’re here. You’re home. You’re here. You’re here with me. With me. You’re here. You’re here.”

Maybe if he said it enough times it would come true.

Ingo could not cry, but he tried. He tried as he held tight onto his brother’s back, like a child, as he felt Emmet kiss the side of his head and comb through his hair to assure both of them of something he could not vocalize.

“I love you a lot,” he sobbed for the both of them.

His twin tightened the hold around his head and laid the bridge of his nose on his temple. He did not say anything: his neck was tied in a knot; that horrible question spiraled further on its own.

“I love you a lot,” Ingo sobbed again. “I love you so much. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Emmet must have cried too hard the evening before, because he had no more tears in his eyes to shed.

His brother’s voice was muffled: “I’m sorry…”

He kissed his cheek in complete silence. I love you a lot too.

This was too good.

Ingo was there.

Ingo was in his arms.

Ingo was home again.

This was too good to be true.

He was going to wake up at any moment, wasn’t he? He was going to get up and fall off of bed, he was going to go out and talk about how happy he was that his brother was back only to be met with concerned stares and reminders that there were no news regarding his twin’s whereabouts – no, reminders that they had found Ingo’s body, just his body, just his lifeless body, and he was going to be put on medication so that he wouldn’t kill himself directly or through a slow decline into some kind of addiction, because a dream so good could have only come as a misguided attempt at comforting after something indescribably horrid - he must have drunk, must have eaten something, consumed something, to have such a dream, or such a hallucination, he must have, he must have, and now it was making him spiral into the delusion that Ingo was there, that he had changed the sheets for nobody, that he had not been talking to thin air, that he was not pathetically hunched over his brother’s bed imagining to hug him like a madman – they must have already put him on medication, they must have done that a month ago, when they found the body, and yesterday he thought he didn’t need it anymore, that he was fine, and he didn’t take it, and now look at him, like this… Serves him right, serves him right, serves him right - he needs it, he needs the medicine, he needs it, he needs it, he doesn’t want to be like this, he doesn’t want to be like this, he wants to live, even if it hurts, he wants to like, he doesn’t want to be like this, he doesn’t want to curl up in the idea that his brother is there and solid and real and warm and breathing and sobbing and holding him and telling him he loves him a lot if it means he’ll drown in it and destroy himself in it – Ingo would hate that, Ingo would blame himself, he would be devastated, he would cry, he cannot give Ingo this grief, not when he’s dead, not now that he’s supposed to be sleeping peacefully for as long as he wants without any pesky schedule waking him up early every morning, he shouldn’t have to get up just to haunt his brother to make him function, he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t, he should sleep, he should be let sleep, he’s so tired… Life is so tiring, he should sleep… He should be allowed to sleep… Ingo is asleep… Forever, forever, he’s asleep… He should not worry him… He should not worry him… The medication, now, he needs it, he needs his medication - Ingo should be allowed to sleep… To sleep…

Emmet tried to stand, to pry himself away from the hold of warm arms that tightened ever so slightly when he tried to leave (it was not real, no matter how solid it felt, no matter how much he wanted to melt into it), shaking so much he could barely move.

“I need to go,” he muttered, struggling to get the words out of his mouth. He needed his medication. Now. “I need to – get… Get ready. For- for work.”

“You said it was early,” Ingo murmured, worried, scared, holding him.

The hand squeezing his shoulder to calm his uncontrollable shivering felt real. It felt heavy, it felt comforting. He could not fall for it, he needed his medication, he needed to get himself back on track: “It’s- not- I- I need to-”

But Ingo – the hallucination, it insisted: “What time is it?”

Through some miracle, he managed to get his Xtrans to his face. It was barely 3:45. One hour and forty-five minutes.

He still had an hour and forty-five minutes.

“It’s early,” his - not his brother, said, and he- it insisted, reassuring, gentle, terrified of having done something wrong, of being alone, “It’s still early… It’s still early - Emmet, sit down, it’s early, you’re tired… It’s useless getting ready right now, you’ll have time later…”

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

He had to go. He had to. He had to. Before he drowned. His throat felt dry as he tried his best to think and hack out something that made sense.

“Wash… Face…”

Now he was in the bathroom.

His head hurt and his eyes were burning.

He had promised to go back once he was done.

He squeezed his eyelids shut and managed to cry just a little bit more.

His shaking hands struggled to open the cabinet, searched feverishly through whatever was in there. It should have rattled if it had the pills in it, right? It should have - this? No, no, no, bandaids, bandaids, tape, this...? He knocked something over and cursed at himself. This one - this one rattled, it must have been this one. He unscrewed the lid and blindly dumped as many capsules in his hand as possible; then he stopped.

No. Moderation. Safety first and foremost. Safety through moderation.

He counted the pills as he dropped them back into their container, as if the slow and repetitive motion coupled with his own shaking monotone could have helped steady his nerves, until he had only one still in his hand. Just one. Just one would have worked fine.

Most of the water he slammed down with it ended up splashed all over his face. It didn’t feel unpleasant. Even his shaking seemed to be slowing down just a little bit. Maybe the medicine was working already.

“Emmet,” called the voice from Ingo’s bedroom.

Emmet should have ignored it, should have waited for it to melt away with the chemical aftertaste. But he walked back anyways, exhausted; he sat back on that dusty chair, fell back in those arms that could never be real. He could allow himself this, he thought to himself, leaning into his brother’s hold, just this once... Just one sweet dream. Just one. Safety in moderation. Just one, and then he would have gone back to having lost his twin. Just one nice, sweet dream.

Ingo (if this was him) kissed his forehead. It was soft. It was so soft...

“Try to sleep a little more,” Emmet heard him murmur, almost with a tinge of concern: “It’s still early...”

He held onto that body that shouldn’t have felt as solid as it did.

“I will... Be, off. At work. The whole day,” he stumbled on his words, struggling as he chastised himself a little for warning a dream that he would have never had again anyways. His head felt heavy and light at the same time. “I will be back... Late. At night. Don’t wait up for me. Ok? You need to sleep well. Regularly. ‘s important. El... Elesa will come. At noon, to bring groceries.”

“Elesa?” the voice swam in his ears.

He nodded a little: “Our friend. Dear friend. Dearest. Like... A sister. Sweetheart. Verrry pretty. Verrry pretty... Verrry... She has... We gave her keys. So she won’t.... Phone. Or bother you. You need... To sleep. Skeep- sleep. It’s early. It’s... Go... Go to sleep. You need that.”

His face was sunked back into the crook of a neck: “You need that too...”

“Hm. Hm. Yes. I will... I will...” he should have gone to his own room. Distancing and all. But he felt so sluggish. So tired... Just one dream... Just one... “Can I... Can I stay here? With you?”

The hold seemed to tighten ever so slightly.

If Ingo said anything past that, Emmet wouldn’t have known. The single sleeping pill had him breathing deeply, calmly, wrapped tightly in his brother’s very real hug, in a dusty nest of clean sheets and their tangled Pokémon.

#pokémon #pokemon legends arceus #submas ingo #submas emmet #random writing #derealisation tw #depersonalisation tw #medication mention #this chapter features a lot of physical affection. NONE OF IT is romantic.#if you refuse to read as platonic or insist on reading as romantic please find something that actually caters to your tastes instead of this #otherwise i will pull you apart like fabric #anyways im very unsatisfied with this #i could have done way better but i cant. figure out WHAT bugs me and if i do i dont have the strength to change this #it was supposed to be longer but the other half will be another chapter #mmight have been the uhhhhhhh fucking exam im preparing #and also the fact that everybody else is updating at like a normal pace and im a slug #also somebody criticized the presence of my ingo chapters #which is a valid opinion to have ofc #but also ive poured my soul into those so it was like hm! alright! i wish i had never thought of making them!

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unproduciblesmackdown · 2 years

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Asia Kate Dillon as Lucifer again in Opus For All, Opus 4, Our Better Angels

#call this Confusing Compromise for all...focusing on shots of akd & adding text. these are sequential but not continuous moments lol #i.e. hope it's disjointed enough / it is clear there's other shots & more dialogue b/w these #might be possible to fit this whole video into one gifset lol. make them smaller; longer; combine some side by side into one...#just wanna give a lil taste of that dialogue / enhance visuals with Some context. evocative enough i hope #asia kate dillon #lucifer our better angels #could've put a caption like [resolving heavenly chord] lol if i knew what chord it is exactly...not nearly knowledgable enough to guess #the [ending on that chord and cutting away just as lucifer looks like they're about to cry]....chefs? kiss #there's just so much to dig into here and then start speculating about in your own continued story for it lol so fun truly #like i said: boy i love when the devil is a dynamic character atheistic satanism style i.e. exploring the / A human experience through them #and like i said b/w the mysteries lucifer and this lucifer we can have it all / cover so much ground w/akd lucifers....#the other night i think i had a dream that it was just a fun fact they'd also been lucifer some third time lmao...i wish #speaking of wishing one of these gifs is 9.9 mb and i'm just making it tumblr's problem. so i hope it actually works #sooo embarrassing if it's frozen on the first frame and i gotta fix it lol. don't look at me...but tell me fr if i don't notice #potentially tricky b/c it's like ''is it just my slowass connection On My End or is the gif broken'' like added layer of mystery #when sometimes even if you have a fine connection you gotta ask the audience like how's it look on your end...#jlsdf JUST noticed they're sitting by that tag ft. 666 #the new satanic symbol? backwards Cool S. more on that in the next post #yeah someone might get stuck trying to decipher this as though it's walking us continuously through a scene lol but alas. c'est la vie

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oatbugs · 2 years

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leaving holes (grief-deep clawmarks) on quincentenarian floors

#i saw my friend whom i met here the night b4 last night she gave me her bracelet ill think abt her forever #she was sipping on amaretto and she almost started crying she was talking abt how she wishes she didnt have to leave #and last year she hated it here and she grew to love it this year and actually globalisation and the transient nature of our #lives doesnt allow us to settle down and while its a wonderful opportunity she is tired of grieving everything she left behind #i know some constellations but ive not been able to identify in them in the sky for a while #3 days ago i traced the tattoo of someone with white hair and brown roots and piercings and a deep sense of guilt and a deeper addiction #of transient experiences . i looked up at the night sky (one hand in theirs their eyes on my neck) and i could finally see it #little bear on their arms in the sky in our eyes #a girl with black eyeliner and black hair and red lipstick marks all over her face told me about futile efforts and the way in which #transient experiences are the reason you weep and so by extension are the reason you grin . no laughter without the wailing.#stroked a cat i left behind i made a star on their hand watched the sunrise over the sea over and over and over and it was never enough #i grew up by the ocean and i become trapped when i leave the saltwater taste of it behind i grew up in a city and i become trapped when #i am not inhaling every kind of cancerous smoke there is. around people in a rush around random eye contact around the 4-minute friendships #in the underground around the million transient experiences you are hosted to . youve been here for 2 years youve been here your whole life #i wanted to kiss her so bad. or maybe i was fascinated by the idea of biting her collarbones . i wish i had slept in her house longer.#transience holds you like a gun.

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livingdarlingliving · 1 year

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i hate the feeling of wanting to fall more than anything but not knowing whether i can trust another person to catch me

#mine #c #i can touch your skin and brush your hair back from your face and kiss you and taste you thick on my tongue but you aren't mine #my body and my pussy and my heart and my brain are all fighting with each other because they all know different truyhs #i wish we never slept together it's making things so much worse #i don't know how much longer i can do this before it starts ripping me apart #i dont understand how it can be so easy sometimes and then a moment later be so fucking hard #im so full of love and agony that there's no room for anything else

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blackpearlblast · 5 months

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[ID: drawings of a golem animated by a palestinian flag painted on its forehead. it is seen: holding out its arms protectively in front of a crowd of children, the children also hold each other supportively; catching an air strike missile from the air and throwing it away or crushing it in its fist; turning its back so that a child can warm her hands by the earth oven built into its back, food in a pot is cooking on the fire and a boy holds a cup of steaming tea to his face and enjoys the aroma; clearing away rubble so a man can help up his wife who was buried underneath, she is clutching a baby to her chest; stooping down to look at a kitten a young boy is holding up to show it; and dissolving small flakes of clay from its finger into a glass of water, purifying it. end ID]

@fairuzfan asked people to create and share art for the strike. i wrote an artist statement and then set about trying to draw what i envisioned. artist statement below.

This golem is a protector that I wish I could gift to the children and adults in Gaza. The flag on its forehead is to show that love for the Palestinian people is an animating force for people fighting for a free Palestine all over the world, especially for those in Palestine who are trying to free themselves and their people. Love is the motivation for the call for a free Palestine, not hatred like people try to claim. It is very strong and fast and can catch air strikes out of midair and crush them to dust or throw them back in the direction they came from. It can lift all the rubble of a collapsed building very quickly so nobody can get trapped underneath. It has an earth oven in its back with an ever-burning flame that people can use to warm themselves and cook food and heat water to use to bathe themselves or make tea. Pieces of its clay can be crumbled up and mixed into water to make even the most brackish and unclean water pure and safe to drink.

The golem is always a bit of a tragic figure so I don't imagine it staying around forever once Palestine is free and it is no longer needed. I think it would use its great strength to help rebuild the destroyed houses, churches, schools, universities, hospitals, and mosques and then dive into the Jordan river and dissolve. It would clean the river of all pollution and make the water splash up over all the newly replanted fruit trees, causing them to grow big and strong. Its love for Palestine and its people can be tasted in the fruit they grow for generations.

I choose a specifically Jewish icon of protection because of how it feels to witness such horrors done in the supposed name of Judaism and the Jewish people. For many anti-zionist Jews, we feel like we are acting directly within the teachings of our stories and communities by opposing this genocide. It is difficult to understand how the very people and institutions who taught us these values now fight against them so fiercely. While obviously I would still oppose Israel were I not Jewish, the way I oppose Israel is directly informed by my Jewishness. I hope that someday, somehow, Judaism can bring as much joy and support to the Palestinian people as it has brought grief and destruction. That Jewish symbols used in the name of love and justice will bear more significance than the ones used in shows of hatred. Knowing the depth of the harm caused, I do not know if this is possible. But this artwork and everything I have dedicated myself to these past few months and continue to dedicate myself to in the future is born from this hope. I love you. Thank you for being on this planet with me. From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free! And it will be beautiful.

#cosmo art #palestine strike art

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fairy-hub · 6 months

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𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭, 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: quiet nerd!pleasure dom!choso, heavy praise/light degradation, dacryphilia, choso has a size kink, choso’s pov, oral (giving and receiving), knife play/no blood, light pain kink, pussy drunk/obsessed choso, squirting, fingering, light begging, light choking

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 @vampress7; Hi baby girl I hope you’re doing well, I have an idea: nerdy, loner, and unassuming freak choso who absolutely wrecks reader after class during a study session ((I need this so badly))

‘He is wearing those sweat pants, I keep sneaking glances at his cock, I wanna see it. No need to see it, I'm dying of thirst! He can feed me his cum! I don't really care much for giving blow jobs but something about Choso makes me wanna gobble his cock till he is a whiny mess.’

‘Damn ily but you’re down too bad for a man you haven't even touched.’

‘I cant help it! Have you seen Choso?! I want to hear how he sounds when he cums.’

‘Aren’t yall supposed to study for friday’s exam you can’t fail this one!’

Writen in your text bar; ‘its hard to focus on what he’s saying. Choso’s thick arms in his black muscle t-shirt’

Choso’s cheeks are burning, his ego swelling, nerves churning, and disbelief whispering. Sliding his fingers through his hair, there is no denying you want him.

Glancing down at his cock, perfectly outlined by his thin sweats. His cock is getting warmer, longer, and thicker with each soft pulse. If you want his cock, you can have it any way you’re willing to take it.

You come back holding the fuzzy stripped criminal. “He broke my lamp, got it cleaned up but he’s ground.” You bend over for Jasper to jump to the floor, running away from you with his fluffy tail in the air.

Your shorts rising up your soft ass. “I’d hit ya from the back if I didn't want to see the face you make when you take my fat cock first the first time.” Your beautiful eyes widen, locking onto your phone in his hands.

Grabbing his hard cock, stroking himself through his sweats. You glance down. “Im torn between wanting to fuck that bratty mouth outta ya and eating you out till you’re trembling.” Your mouth looks so sweet and fuckable. You’d look so beautiful sucking his cock with tears running down your face.

“For me to be a good teacher I need to help you focus. If I help you cum will you pay attention more. We can snuggle while we study.” Holding your phone out for you to grab. Quickly discarding it on the coffee table.

His heart beating faster when you get on your knees in front of him. “If you were paying attention to the text then you’d know,” tugging his sweatpants down, “I won't be able to pay attention until I hear what sounds come out of that pretty mouth of yours.”

Moaning when you grab his cock, your hand soft, in your hand his cock has never looked so big before. “You can hear me moaning in your soft cunt. I don't think you understand nnn!” Loudly moaning when you take his cock into your hot wet mouth.

Bobbing your head, taking him deeper with slow strokes soothing the uncomfortable tighteness building in his of his cock. “Honeybun I jerked off to the thought of eating you out before comin’.” Cupping your cheek, jerking hips fucking your soft wet mouth.

“Been slutting you out in my head since ya walked into class.” Choso leans his head back, sliding his fingers through his soft dark hair. “We can do both, Im dying to taste ya sloppy cunt. I'll gag you with my fat cock nnnn oh fuck that’s iiittt! Grabbing a handful of your hair, fucking your soft mouth till spit is dripping down your chin.

Choso is getting off on your beautiful eyes sparkling with tears that trickle down your cheeks. “Are ya gonna be my whore help me take care of my fat cock?” Pulling you off his cock with a soft pop. His too heavy to stand up, hitting his cock.

Grabbing his cock, smacking his tip on your lips. “Wish it stood up, but what can ya do?” He knees wobble when you cup his balls. Lovingly kissing along his cock, easing the ache and tension, with sweet soft pleasure.

Your hand feels so good, his cock softly tingling. Smiling up at him. He can feel his heartbeat in the quickly pulse of his cock. “You’re so perfectly thick and heavy that you hang, nothing wrong with that handsome.” Licking up his cock, swirling your tongue around his fat head. He groans when watches himself slip inside.

Letting go of your hair, slipping his hands beneath your shoulders. Picking you up, you wrap your soft thighs around his waist. He feels strong holding you close, keeping you safe. “Gonna take good care of you, and your sloppy cunt.”

Squeezing your ass, carrying you with one hand. You grab a handful of his hair, and a tingle shoots down his spine when he feels your nails. “Bedroom is the last room on the right.” Taking you down the hall. “Please all I want is you. Wanna be your whore, ruin anyone else for me with your fat cock.” Trailing loving kissing along his jaw, his cheeks burning.

Opening and shutting the door behind himself. “Ill show you how badly I've been needing ya.” Gently setting you down, closing your curtains. Taking his shirt off, dropping it on the floor.

You’re making quick work of taking your shirt and shorts off. Admiring your beautiful body Choso forgets everything he’s doing. You give him one thought when you spread your legs showing him your soft wet cunt.

He needs to make you cum.

Kneeling, grabbing your soft thighs putting them over his shoulder. “So so so beautiful.” Kissing your soft clit, gently sucking, steadily stroking you with his tongue. Making sure his barbell rubs your clit with his swipe.

Nudging a thick finger into your tight cunt. You’re perfectly soft and wet, clenching his finger. Slowly pumping his finger, he’s going to find your g-spot. Clenching his head with your soft thighs. Grabbing his hair tugging, he groans from the sweet pain.

Focusing on your sweet spot. Taking pride in how easily you tremble because of his tongue and finger.

“They say the quiet ones are freaky, what about you? What do you think about when you're touching yourself?” Choso doesn't want to take his face out from between your legs. He’s found heaven, but he can't ignore your question.

Rising up, causing you to fall on your back, your legs over his broad shoulders. His cock hangs, his tip lightly grazing your soft, wet cunt. “Wanna take you to mine, get you high, give you a safe word,” trapping your head in between his hands, “tie you up, drag a knife across your skin, see you squirm, help you cum, hear you cry and beg to be my sweet little whore.”

His cock aches from having you folded up beneath him. “I wouldn’t mind trying some freak shit, get a knife from the kitchen.” Kissing your forehead, cheeks, and soft cunt. Carefully slipping your legs off his shoulders.

Choso is quick to grab a large knife from your kitchen.

Leaning over you, “Safe word is red.” Lining his cock with your soft cunt, rolling his hip. Dragging the knife up your side, gently kissing your soft lips. Groaning, grinding his thick cock on your sloppy cunt.

Squeezing your neck, pinning your hips with his, keeping you from squirming too much. Slipping his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss. You’re so needy, and desperate, digging your nails into his back.

Loosening his grasp on your neck. “Ya good sweetheart?” Dragging the knife over your soft nipple, pulling his cock away. You’re so sexy, stuffing two thick fingers in your sweet cunt. “You’re getting so sloppy for me.” Curling his fingers, remember where your sweet spot is.

Smirking with pride when you moan, “Chooo please please please!” Gliding the knife down your stomach. Marveling at how you squirm, your cunt getting so tight around his thick fingers.

Your cunt’s lips and puffy clit wet, soft and beautiful. “I’m obsessed with how sexy you are begging’ for me, clenching my fingers.” Pressing the side of the knife to your clit, lightly rubbing your clit.

“I’ve been waiting long enough please please fuck me. Need to feel your fat cock in my cunt!” Choso’s cheeks burn with how you’re looking at him. He wants to remember the look of adoration, lust and pleasure on your beautiful face forever.

Lifting the knife off your clit, kissing her. “I didn’t prep ya enough yet sweetheart.” Dragging the knife along your thigh, adding more pressure than before testing what limits you have.

Stroking your clit with his thumb. “Nnnn oh fuck.” Pumping his fingers faster. - the pain- pleasure-I didn’t think!” You trail off moaning louder, biting your bottom lip, closing your eyes.

Holding the knifes to your neck, “Look at me or I’m stopping, look at whose making your tight little cunt feel so good.” Smiling when you look at him. “That’s it beautiful, lemme see the sweet look into your eyes when you cum. Whose slut are you?”

Rubbing your soft clit faster. “Your’s! All yours my tits, mouth, ass and cunt are all yours.” Dragging the knife down your neck, between your collarbones and swirling around your nipple.

“What are you? Need to hear you say it beautiful.” Messaging your sweet spot at a steady pace. You’re quivering, your cunt squelching, making his cock ache with how hard he is. His pulse quickens, making his head throb.

Swiping your nipple with the knife. “I’m your sexy good lil’ slutttt!!! Nnnn!” You’re squirting on his fingers, fingering your soft, squelching tight cunt. Playing with your puffy clit.

Jerking your hips away, he drags the knife down above your belly. Forcing you to have to keep still, your thick cum trickling from your spasming cunt. “There are so many nasty things I wanna do to you. I’m gonna ruin you, make your cunt crave my cock.” Gliding his fingers out.

Sucking your thick cum off his fingers, groaning from the flavor. Dragging the knife to your sloppy, sensitive cunt, sliding the knife around your sweet cunt. Groaning when your soft cunt clenches around nothing. “Beg for my cock.”

Oreo creampie’s m.list

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cordeliawhohung · 4 months

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consider this short drabble a thank you gift for 1.5k followers!

mafia!141 masterlist

mafia!Simon x shy!fem!Reader: smut, oral (m receiving), brief p in v

"Can I suck your dick?"

Simon had just lined himself up at your entrance when those words left your mouth and he became as still as a statue when they registered in his mind. Positioned underneath him on the bed, you looked up at him with slightly wide eyes as if your request shocked even yourself. It was something you had thought about for quite some time; how Simon always seemed to give and yet rarely ask for anything in return, and you wanted to change that.

You just didn't think you'd blurt your thoughts out so suddenly like that.

Surprised, Simon leaned back to look at you while his hand still gripped his hardened cock. Shifting under his gaze, you propped yourself up on your elbows as you waited for his answer. You wished you hadn't said it so suddenly like you did, but the thought most likely would have never passed your lips if you had attempted to do it any other way.

"That what you want?" he asked.

Though he questioned you to ensure that was something you wanted of your own accord, you could see the dark glint of want in his eyes. Saw the way his tongue lightly wet his lips and how his hand squeezed the tip of his cock like he already imagined your mouth around him. Eagerly, you nodded as you pushed yourself up into a sitting position, mind already racing about how you were supposed to do it properly.

"Yes... please."

After placing a short and heavy kiss on your lips, Simon slipped to the side, reversing your positions. He propped himself up on the plush pillows near the headboard while you sat between his legs where his thick and powerful thighs kept your corralled like an animal. With one hand still holding himself, Simon reached for your face with the other as he caressed your cheek with his thumb.

"Take your time, yeah?" he prompted. His dark eyes looked at you adoringly while his hips impatiently bucked under his own stimulation. "You can stop whenever you want."

Once again you nodded as you breathed out a simple confirmation before your hand replaced his. While you settled between his legs, you slowly stroked at him as you thumbed over the smooth jewelry of his piercings. Eventually your lips brushed against the warm tip of his cock, wetting your mouth with his precum.

As your mouth gently dropped open, you tried not to think too hard about everything. Simon always told you that type of stuff was supposed to come easy and natural, to not force it and just let your desires take control. So you did just that as you slowly lowered yourself onto him, mouth opening impossibly wide in order to accommodate the sheer girth of him.

He tasted salty, almost refreshingly so, and you couldn't help but swirl your tongue around his glands in an attempt to soak up more of that flavor. Simon's thighs tensed on either side of you, and his breathy sigh didn't go unnoticed by you. You wanted more, to draw out more of those pitchy moans, to make him feel just as good as he always made you, so you pressed forward to take more of him into your mouth. He brushed against your soft palate similar to how he always pressed against your cervix, and the unfamiliar feeling made you gag.

"Easy sweetheart," he warned as he gently pushed you back. "Go slower... yes, fuck just like that..."

Eventually you found your rhythm. Whatever you couldn't take in your mouth you used your hands to make up for as you bobbed your head along his length. Simon's breathing became strained like he had to hold himself back from fucking up into your mouth like a madman, but you noticed that every time your swirled your tongue around the piercings on his glands, it forced his hips to buck ever so slightly.

A tingling sensation settled over your lips the longer you worked at him and your jaw began to ache from the awkward position but you pushed forward. You felt his hand rest gently on the back of your head, carefully guiding you along him as he aided you in setting a pace that felt good but wasn't too much for you. His quieted moans eventually transformed into unrestrained grunts as you brought him closer to the edge. The warmth of your mouth and soft lips around him was enough to drive him to insanity, and just as his stomach tensed, just as he was about to spill into your mouth, he gently pulled you off of him.

Panting, you sat back on your haunches as you gave Simon a glazed yet confused look. A long stream of spit dribbled down your chin and you quickly wiped it away on the back of your hand as you tried to catch your breath in order to ask him what was wrong. His cock glistened with your saliva and it seemed to twitch in frustration at the sudden absence of pleasure.

"C'mere," he said, his voice dark and husky. His hands were already on your waist where he excitedly pulled you closer to him, forcing you to straddle his hips.

"But I wasn't done," you attempted to retort.

Simon chuckled at you as he once more lined his cock up against your heat, drawing a sharp gasp out of you. In an attempt to keep yourself steady, your hands came up to rest on his shoulders as he ever so slowly lowered you onto him, sliding into you with ease due to how well you slicked him up.

"You can suck me off properly another time, sweetheart," he said with a tight jaw. He hissed as your cunt began to swallow him, tight muscles pulling him into you like he never belonged anywhere else. "Did you really think you could make me feel that good and get nothin' in return?"

Your head fell forward and into his shoulder with a soft gasp as he bottomed out, filling you with ease and to the brim. As he began to gently move you up and down, his hips bucked up to meet you halfway where he kissed your cervix with each thrust.

"Fuck... no, no. I reward my girl for bein' good, yeah?"

#mafia!simon #mafia!ghost #mafia!141 #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon riley x reader smut #simon riley smut #ghost x reader smut

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anantaru · 6 months

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OH BABY! PLEASE BE MY BABY DADDY

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — the very moment wriothesley first saw you, he had already dreamt about starting a family with you, and now at present, when you were celebrating your two year anniversary, it appeared like he couldn't stop himself from showing you just how much he craved it.

— ꒰ word count ꒱ — 2.1k

— ꒰ warnings ꒱ — [ns]fw, fem! reader, established relationship, very strong breeding kink, mentions of pregnancy & mentions of starting a family with you (planning your future), madly in love wriothesley, rough syx, unprotected and hitting it raw, some teasing here and there, overstimulation, cumming inside

"‘had me all figured out, didn't you?"

wriothesley was a strong man, big and muscular from an external perspective and fundamentally— if you weren't quite familiar with the handsome duke and his deep characteristics and only knew of him through his significant work occupation.

in essence, you have known him for a little over two years now, in fact, your anniversary was just taking place this very moment, his absorbed little countenance fixated on no other than your ethereal beauty— on top of that, a trace was playing hard on the impulses lingering on your lower areas as wriothesley settles himself in between your legs, feeling a rising of your hips grinding over his exposed erection, throbbing in time to his quickening pulse.

how fast a day could fly by, and you wished for it to go on much longer— just show him the love that surged from your core and resides inside of you, or the soft tremor building on your knees whenever he kisses you, or when he at last, catches the shuddering sweetness wringing off your toes.

for wriothesley, you ignited his heart, it was you that made love warm for him— as he always claimed it should be, and on the coldest nights of his life, he had sought after your familiar glow— much deeper could he barely await the day for you both to start a family, have children of your own and live a fulfilled life somewhere outside the city, perhaps a house on the outskirts of fontaine, with a large blossoming garden bristling of rainbow roses, where your children could play to their hearts content.

within this deep fantasy, although yet ungrasped, wriothesley found this to be his perfect goal— no matter how near, how far away, it shall never be forgotten.

you slowly press two palms on top of his cheeks as he looms over you with a raised eyebrow that he lazily flashed at you with a hum.

"you say it like it's a bad thing that i knew you were gonna surprise me, baby,"

you add, "it's our anniversary after all," with a steady glide of fingers through his silken hair, "i hope you didn't think I forgot all about it,"

a low purr hums over your lips as your boyfriend clicks his tongue through a deep chuckle as a response, vibrating his sounds against a breathless gasp as he places a featherlight kiss on your bottom lip. you feel how the pad of his thumb crosses firmly over the shape of your curves as your heart begins to thump faster at the privilege of having such breathtakingly handsome and ravishing man in between your legs.

"of course i know you didn't forget," wriothesley's hand inches towards the inside of your thigh to touch the skin while simultaneously parting your legs a little more as he kisses the bridge of your nose,

"happy anniversary, baby,"

you giggle, kissing him needfully as you slide your naked folds through his aching length when he effortlessly cages you in between two muscular arms, pressing his throbbing member all against you until his constricted balls bounce on your ass, eliciting a needful, much longing groan from the man towering on top of you.

"i need you," you complain now, "please baby, don't keep me waiting now,"

you squeal loudly at the temporary relief of your drenched cunt slicking him up with your arousal— and the more you'd douse him up, the better it would feel like, the finer you could taste and sense his throbbing veins grazing at your sensitive walls while he stuffs you— and every mindless urge wriothesley had fantasized about was manifesting itself, the dream to greedily pull apart and taste every soft piece of your body trembling under his much larger one growing.

or the lewd dream of cramming you with his milky whites, jamming his salty cum all into the pits of your wet sex until he's sure you'll end up pregnant, until you will feel your womb be all warm and jammed up.

"you make me the happiest man alive," wriothesley says soothingly, drawing the leaking head of his cock against your hole before brushing a kiss over your lips, fuck, just the smell of you, or those candid whines and begs of yours that would drive him mad, turning him on so damn much that his groin was beginning to ache and swell even more.

"so baby.." wriothesley whispers in one slow, silent motion, when he claims the space between your spread thighs with all his body surging forward and crowding your cunt.

"please let me show you just how happy you make me,"

you whine out as your back arches into his chest, your weeping cunt clenching down when he rubs his cock through your walls without much effort, the copious amounts of wetness aiding him wonderfully as the deep friction of getting stuffed turned you terribly delicious to him, your eyes criss crossed from being fucked with repeated thrusts into your cunt plugging his thick shaft deep.

"—still so sensitive," he coos, and you feel your face grow hot as your boyfriend smirks down at you through assured pairs of eyes, your body itching to feel more of that sensation, more of skin to skin as you slip each little noise falling from the tip of your tongue right into wriothesley's parted mouth gasping for air.

a dizzying contrast from the firing shoves through the tight ring of muscles on your cunt made his rigid erection go deeper than ever, with his hand remaining firmly beneath your cheek, forcing your gaze straight ahead— so you could look at him, so wriothesley could make sure he drinks in everything that you gave him, each crumbling moan of his name and higher pitch of your voice.

do you wonder why? of course, such question was easy to answer:

the sole reason being that for wriothesley— this was a privilege, that you allowed him to pleasure you, rub firmly over the shape of your walls while his wet tongue blindly maps into your mouth, your body rapidly growing addicted to the impossible smoothness of his skin greedily imposing true bliss on your body.

"i want— fuck," he groans through gritted teeth, "i want us to start a family," he speaks again, "want to put a baby in you," this time louder but with an added amount of gravel to his voice as your legs wrap and close around him as the burning stretch of his thick shaft parting you had you turn absolutely mad and dizzy.

you whine out, completely lost in the pleasure of getting fucked that open wide and especially through his lewd admittance, his hips rolling hard against your used pussy in relentless fucks forward, almost possessively to match his large weight that he kept from bouncing on top of you with his hands keeping him from crushing down and practically collapsing on you.

"i love you," you cry when your pussy twitches wildly, your hot and sticky arousal messing him up, "please, please do!" your breath burning hot and ragged against your throat, "please put a baby in me!" as wriothesley groans— wanting you more than ever, thrusting his length down to a raw, quivering need that shook your limbs apart and tore lewd sounds from the gaps between frantic gulps of air.

your body bounces back and forth the bed, your moans now much louder and broken as wriothesley pants hotly against your clenched jaw, your impatient hands finding refuge in his silken hair as you force him into a kiss, his cock ruthlessly battering your velvety walls— drawing his hips back and forth, back and forth, always nudging his cockhead against the sponge of your sweet spot.

"almost there," wriothesley rasps urgently, "going to fill you up so fucking nicely," he smirks and cuts off your needy gasps with another sharp, punctuated thrust.

the duke was indulging in how warm and soft you were, how nice it felt to be milked by a wet cunt smearing dozen amounts of fluids on the thin skin of his shaft, how you grip him with your weeping cunt, holding onto him so tightly that the duke thought he was about to pass out before you suddenly lessen the clench on his shaft, now alternating between gaping and constricting your pussy hole.

with a flurry full of intense spasms that you felt more inside than out, you cling on to wriothesley's defined back as his body kept going, his addictive thrusts infusing a bone-deep shudder that pinched your upcoming release— the precise attention he always have you, utterly intoxicating, dragging his fully hard cock in and out, in and out, his eyes darkened and drunk from pleasure as he groans out each time your cunt constricts around him, your addictive gasps aiding his pleasure as you moan out beautifully, your hole completely open as he pushes you over the edge with alarming speed.

his cock plunges and fuses into you as far as it could possibly go as he turns your stomach around, hitting the bristling bubble that had long since developed in the depths of your belly when it finally popped into a million pieces, your overstimulated hips helplessly rutting upwards as he swallows those tasteful mewls of yours, your hands tugging his face closer to you.

your orgasm slams you hard with a roaring intensity that nearly doubled you over, your fingers tugging so sharply at wriothesley's hair that you felt a softly pained groan vibrate through his lips as he kisses you in fierce hunger, keeping the pace of his cock steady and surging back and forth, your parted lips looking swollen and flushed with use as you kiss him with all the burning need climbing between your frames when you come undone together.

"there you go, sweetheart," he groans proudly, a slow smile breaking across his ruined lips when he fills you up with his warm seed— watching how you're so fucking drunk on his cock that you make him fill up each inch of space in between your weeping pussy, an engaging hotness coursing into your womb as you thread your fingers through his tousled hair gone and disheveled with sweat and the scent of you.

ugh, you realize you want it as bad as he did, always wanted his thrumming cock to crowd you up just as it did now, with his messy and sticky mess oozing down your hole and seeping everywhere— just how you actually longed for it to be everywhere, slithering from your skin into every curve and crevice, so wriothesley could not only knock you up, but also claim you— in some sort of demonstration of his undying love and his desire, the searing fervour of his white cum making you wince as tears collect in your eyes, the slow pumps of his cock overwhelming you as your walls hug him tight.

wriothesley keeps himself nestled deep in your cunt at your afterglow— and the reason was not unlikely to be revealed, because he believed that if he never were to pull out, you'd definitely get pregnant since the majority of sticky cum had no chance to ever exit your swollen pussy when he just keeps himself plugged in for much longer.

the gravel in his voice adopts a sultriness, spelling sweet nothings into your ear, calling you his good girl as he spilled it aöl into your lips when you smile at him all sweetly and shy, all flustered too with the mess in between your legs dousing down the soiled mattress.

"just imagine, my love," this particular delivery of his sentence was different now, each wording was practically dripping of adoration and hefty of his love for ypu, it was much softer as well despite wriothesley still being out of breath— and you simply look at him through a meaningful smile, heels resting against his back as you could still feel him deeply pulsate inside of you.

"imagining it right now," you respond when he silently slides one large palm down to your stomach before pressing hot kisses on your lips.

"i hope our little one gets your pretty eyes," he whispers lowly, his lips meeting yours right after.

it's quite silly, wriothesley thinks, that he cannot stop talking about it, nor stop dreaming about it either, or how unbelievably madly in love he was, how there would always be a beast inside of him that resided in his heart, that would crave you so badly.

after all the suffering in his life, you are his souls greatest desire, his bodies, his minds biggest passion, and for you to one day carry his child, was everything he wished for.

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #genshin drabbles #genshin impact x you #wriothesley x you #genshin x you #genshin impact wriothesley x reader #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin impact fanfics #wriothesley x y/n

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bi-writes · 11 days

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what you want you cannot find. so you let someone else find it for you. (18+, dark!simon x curvy!fem!reader, arranged marriage)

you don't really know what you were thinking when you answered the ad. it is many things, maybe, why you chose to apply. why you were grateful to be chosen.

the loneliness, it aches. you cannot find yourself in anyone else, you cannot find the thing that should move you and hold you. you cannot find what it is that should ignite what is asleep, the thing nestled between your ribs that feels like it beats to a rhythm that you cannot hear.

the bitterness, too. there is something sour that you taste. there is acid under your tongue, something rotten between your teeth, and you wish for anything that you would stop tasting it because it reminds you of how alone you are, how alone you'll remain, the inevitable thing that you wish you weren't but that you unfortunately are.

it is the thing you cannot die for because there isn't anything to die for. you live, and you breathe, and you exist, but there isn't anything there. this is nothing that makes you want to gnaw on your own flesh, there is no life you would take in sake of another, there is no purpose to your existence except the hope that perhaps there is still time to have what you want more than anything.

but you don't know what you want. you don't know because everything that you thought you wanted, you do not want any longer. you never feel anything with other men. they are beneath you. they maim what they shouldn't. they complain about things that they can fix. they stare at a problem head-on, with the solution at their back, and they chase their tails. they do not know their right from their left. you hate them. but you want it. you want something. you want one of them, but you don't know which, so maybe if you don't choose, you will find what it is that you don't know you're looking for.

you're alone in the room. they gave you a bouquet of white roses. you hold them nervously between clammy palms. you wear a silk white dress that skims the floor, fabric falling soft over the curve of your waist and gentle along the swell of your cleavage. your hair is loose, and there is a short veil over your head, covering your face.

you stare at your handler. he's dressed in his military fatigues, tactical vest still strapped with the Union Jack across his chest. he has introduced himself as captain john price, and he is the one who arranged for your arrival. he is the one who told you to wear white, and he is the one who gave you the roses.

captain john price is rugged. captain john price is kind. and captain john price is not what you want. you are grateful that you are not yet disappointed with your match.

the door opens behind you. you straighten your posture that extra inch when you hear his heavy gait. there is a pause as the door shuts behind him, and you see his captain nod to a figure that you cannot see. his boots hit the floor low, and you swallow when the sunlight that comes through the window is blocked entirely by the size of him as he stands at your side.

the vows are short. you say your i do first, soft voice that hits his ears in a way that makes him nearly purr. when it is his turn to say i do, your eyes sparkle. he speaks in such a low voice, a Manchester accent that makes your toes curl in the white kitten heels that you wear. a drawl that you can feel in your chest, an accent that ticks a corner of your brain you did not know was there.

"you may kiss your bride."

you turn away from the captain. you tilt your head to look up at him, and you let out a soft breath when you realize the sheer breadth of this man.

he is barely a man. he must be something else. he is dressed all in black, and he wears all of his gear. his tactical vest is stocked well, magazines tucked into their pockets, a grenade dangling from one strap, a handgun tucked into its holster on his chest and around his thick thigh. his belt is heavy with more, knives in sheathes, devices in their places. even without all of the weight, you know the size of him won't shrink.

you cannot see his face. he covers it with a mask, one that resembles the front face of a skull. it is dirty. you aren't certain if it is blood or soot or dirt. maybe it is all of that and more. you cannot see his eyes through the veil either, but they are dark, and they are intense.

you keep your eyes fixed on his as he lifts your veil. the delicate fabric settles over your head, and you see him without obstruction.

there he is.

it is like seeing a man for the first time. it is like being in the presence of the dream you've always had and could never remember.

he tilts his head to the side, curious. he is seeing your face for the first time, too. soft eyes. glossy lips. the curve of your mouth. the untouched skin of your cheeks, the unmarred flesh that you wear. he follows the line of your throat to the peek of your tits dressed in silk. you are a present wrapped in luxury. hand delivered goods, of the finest quality.

his bride. his wife. something he will have forever. he does not know if he has ever been able to say that about anything else. he's never had anything except for his life. nothing except for himself has ever belonged to him, but even now, not even his life is his own, it belongs to someone far away, someone in an office somewhere, who moves the chess pieces of his world around, where he cannot do anything but follow.

you stand on your toes to get closer to him. he thinks for just a second you will ask him to remove his mask, but you don't. you cant your head, and you kiss him over the mask, sticky gloss leaving a light imprint on the fabric. you settle back onto your heels, and your breath hitches when one of his gloved hands comes to settle at the dip of your waist.

"she's all mine now, eh, cap'n?"

you blink, your eyes still on his. you don't move, and you don't say anything. you wonder, if you could see his face, if he would smile.

"all yours, simon."

you let him drag you closer, shuffling on your feet until your hips press against his. your back arches gently as he uses both hands, gripping you around the middle and feeling the soft flesh underneath your silk dress. he is a rabid dog, his next meal at his fingertips. she is his, and he wants to take her home. if his captain was not standing at his back, he knows he would take you on this very floor.

she is mine. she is mine. she is mine.

he has studied your picture. he has memorized your name. he has been waiting for you. he is too awkward to leave base. he is too quiet to attract birds, birds that matter, birds that sing. he is too ravenous to be anything but permanent, he isn't capable of the mundane, of casual. it is everything or nothing at all, and at the sound of permanence, he foamed at the mouth.

at the thought of something to keep, he was blinded. when beasts lose control, they call their keeper, and he had none. this change could be good. this change would do him well. when he ignores the order of a commanding officer, he will bend to yours, because he is bound, wrapped, tied to you with something invisible that weaves between his bones.

you do not know what you were before, but you know what you are now.

you follow after him. he turns to leave, and you let him lead. your heels click as you walk, and when it is hard for you to keep up, you reach for his hand. he grunts when you do, but he doesn't push you away. you hold wilting roses in one hand, and you clutch him in the other. recruits and privates stop to salute or step out of your way, and they stare when they see a trailing angel behind their lieutenant, a pretty girl in a pretty white dress with a veil fluttering against the breeze as you try and keep up with your husband's long strides.

the door he stops in front of is plain and unmarked. he fits a key into the lock, turning it and opening it, and he invites you over a threshold that no one else has ever stepped over. you stand on the other side, holding the roses to your chest. he turns when you don't follow him inside. you get a glimpse of him as a whole, the man that he is, big and menacing and taken. you wonder if he will wear his ring under his glove or if he will put it on the chain that holds his dog tags.

"is this where you live?" you ask. you stay on the other side, looking in, a little timid as you stand there.

he nods, silent. he crosses his arms over his chest, and you admire the bulge of them, the paint of skeleton bones along the fingers of his gloves. you look him up and down before smiling a little.

"is this where i will live, too?"

he shakes his head, a no.

"can't have a thing like y'here," he murmurs. "boys'll eat y'up."

you tilt your head to the side.

"i find that hard to believe," you quip. "do people often eat what's yours, lieutenant?"

he snarls, narrowing his eyes. "no one takes wot's mine."

"then what are you so afraid of?"

"that 'f y'r 'ere, i won't get any fuckin' work done."

you break out into a big smile, pearly white teeth flashing, and he clicks his tongue at your reaction. he reaches up and lifts his mask, pushing it up until it rests over his nose. his nose is crooked from being broken so many times. his face is scarred, as if someone took a blade and carved out the skin and muscle. a deep one stretches from somewhere under the mask to his lip, where it looks as if the skin was haphazardly stitched back together. another long jagged grey streak comes over the line of his cheek down his jaw, as if someone tried to peel his face off.

he grins. it's ugly and unsettling, as if he sees prey that he knows he will catch. your own smile does not fade. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you want to taste him. beast, bear, killing machine, the boogeyman, a ghost that haunts, you do not know exactly what he is, but you know, immediately, that he is what you have been searching for.

you do not know him. you do not love him yet, but you will. you are sure of this. you are sure that he is missing piece. he will fill the spaces that you have always felt hollow. he will scratch a place in your head that has always itched. there is something in his eyes, you're not exactly sure what it is, but you can't wait to discover it. you can't wait to explore, to indulge, to lick the salt of his skin and know that everything he is has been waiting for something like you.

you did not choose him, but he chose you, and now you see it clearly. you see this thing, and you know the truth of what's been hiding from you all your life. the curtain has been taken down. the veil is off. the walls are invisible.

"come 'ere," he says lowly. "won't ask so nicely next time."

you drop the flowers onto the floor, crossing the doorway. you kick the door shut, hearing it click, and he comes closer, until you can feel his breath fanning your nose.

"will you love me?" you ask, wringing your hands together nervously. "do you think maybe...do you think maybe that's possible?"

he licks over his teeth, humming. he leans down, knocking your chin up, and your breath hitches when he licks up the side of your jaw, taking in a whiff of your perfume and the sweetness of his bride.

"what a stupid word," he mutters, biting at the curve of your bottom lip. "meaningless. love. bloody hell."

"w-what...what?"

"a meaningless fuckin' word for the things i would do for ya," he continues. "the things i would kill. the heads i would step on. the sorry fucks i would get rid of...just to see y'smile."

your eyes flutter. yes, yes, yes--the unconditional devotion. the terrifyingly beautiful reality of through sickness and in health, until death do us part.

"is it really that easy, simon?" you ask. his gloved hands slip over your throat, sliding low and skimming the silk of your dress before he cups both sides of your ass and squeezes, drawing you closer until you are uncomfortably pressed up against him. his gear digs into your softness, sharp edges cutting into you, but you ignore it as he begins to draw up the skirt of your dress. "is it really that easy to say you'll do all of that for me? isn't it...it's wrong, isn't it? to do those things for me?"

he laughs. humorless, condescending. as if that is the stupidest thing you could have ever said.

"'s olright, swee'eart. gonna take all those ideas outta y'r pretty lil' head."

you relax when you feel his gloved hand under the hem of your white lace panties. your eyes shut, and you reach forward and grip his vest for stability.

"christ..." he hisses. "y'r soaked..."

you are. you have been since you first laid eyes on him, on everything he is. you know why you are here, and he knows why he is here, and that is because there were two people so desperate to find one another, that they let someone else choose. the gods, fate, whatever they want to be called.

matched by design, together by choice.

you lean forward and kiss beside his lips, and you whine when his big fingers slide between your folds, soft on your clit before he fits two fingers inside of you. his gloves are warm, and you wet them easily.

"wot a good girl," he breathes. "knew y'were the right one."

"y-you did?"

"could see it in y'r eyes, dove. could see wot y'needed. could see it plain as fuckin' day. dyin' inside, just like me, aye?"

you shake your head.

"n-not anymore...not anymore..." you gasp, and he tsks as he steps backward, the weight of him heavy as he takes a seat on his perfectly made bed, bringing you with him. you fall into his lap, unafraid to because you know someone of his size can carry you easily, and he hums as you spread your thighs apart. you straddle him, pressed up against the gun holstered to his chest, and you moan softly against his scarred face as he fucks you open with three unforgiving fingers.

"not anymore," he echos, baring his teeth as he pumps his hand. the squelch of it is filthy, but it isn't enough. he wants you to soak his arm, his thighs, his bed, let the slick of you stain him from the outside in. "not anymore. not as my wife."

you scramble. you rip the veil out of your hair, untie the corset of your dress. there's a naked angel in his lap, perky tits and soft figure, giving way to the gorgeous place you keep hidden by white, wet lace. the place that is his, the place that belongs to him, a pretty pussy that will keep him satiated until he breathes no longer.

after he tears apart his enemy, he will have you. after he tastes the blood he desires to see run, he will have you. the adrenaline, the fire, the shout of every order and the sound of their cries, it won't exist anymore in this place, he knows it.

"y'll never want for anythin'," he mutters. "y'll never be lonely. always get wot y'want...wot y'need...wot y'deserve..."

you reach up and cup his cheeks gently, pressing your mouth to his as you ride his fingers eagerly. you want him, you want this, you want all of it, even if it isn't what's right. but something brought you here, right into his arms, and this is what you deserve.

he's not even human, you don't think. he must be something else. with how good he makes you feel, with the sheer precision that he rocks his fingers into you, the way he smiles, he must be made of only something synthetic, something not organic.

you feel so small underneath him. he tosses you onto the bed, your head hitting the pillow gently. you giggle, and his grin widens. he has a warm pink tongue, and it's between his teeth, and you giggle again when he moves his head from side to side, staring down at you. he's studying you. you assume he has seen photos of you, but this is his first time seeing his bride for all that she is. soft, pretty, unscathed by war. at least on the outside--but on the inside, you are not as you seem.

there's a parasite in you. something that slithers behind your eyes and settles in that corner of your brain that only he can touch. he knows that feeling well. he feels it every time he is in the field, and he feels it now, with you. he chases this tick when he works. it knocks his senses just right, makes him feel good and big, like the reaper that he really is. he can be this with a rifle in his hand, and he can be this without it, with the weight of his wife in his hands.

you smile, biting your lip, and you spread your legs for him. his eyes fall between your thighs, and he chuckles. he brings his gloved hand up to his mouth, the one that smells like you, and you watch as he slips it inside, sucking on it for a moment before he uses his teeth to take both gloves off.

he bends, still in all his military glory, and he sticks his tongue out, licking a fat stripe up the seam of your cunt, using one thumb to pull the puffy lip apart and suckle on your clit for just a moment.

you gasp, arching your back, and he stands to his full height again, laughing.

"oh, y'taste sweet," he purrs. "y'taste good. hard t'believe i'll have this cunny for m'whole fuckin' life."

"believe it, baby," you coo, and he sighs. he nods his head, reaching low, gripping himself through his cargo pants and squeezing his cock. you follow his movements, watching him pay special attention to the tip of him, running his finger over where you guess the slit is as he watches you squirm. "why are you so far away, simon? don't you want me?"

he laughs again, smiling wide, and he nods.

"course i want ya, swee'eart. who wouldn't want ya, huh? who wouldn't want this?"

you meet his eyes. the question is a sound one, but it never mattered that you were wanted, what mattered is that you never wanted. not really. not until now.

you watch him as he reaches for his zipper. he undoes it easily, unbuttoning his pants and shoving them low. they won't go very low, thanks to the holsters around his thighs, but it's enough that you watch his cock stand at attention, the red tip of him leaking down the sides, making the bulging vein on the underside of him shine.

you whine a little, and he growls happily, watching as you cup the swell of your tits and squeeze them in anticipation. perfect, perfect, perfect girl, practically a mail-order bride that checks every single fucking box.

he grips you by the thighs, yanking you to the edge of the bed. you whimper when he slides the tip through your folds, letting it catch at the entrance before smirking down at you.

"'s big," you hiccup, and he tsks, shaking his head.

"y'can take it, swee'eart," he murmurs. "y'r a riley now, luvvie. y'know what tha' means?" you shake your head, your eyes a little watery, and he smooths a hand up your sternum, gripping you around the throat gently. "gonna find out...gonna find out how well a riley takes wot they're given."

"simon--"

"'s alright, luv, we'll start nice, yeah?" he breathes. you grip onto his forearms when he feeds you his cock, slowly, and your back bows at a sharp angle as you squeeze him for everything he is. "fuckin' hell...yeah, just the tip, yeah? oh, good girl..."

good girl, yeah...i'm a good girl--

you cry out, digging your nails into him when he mutters fuck it and bottoms out. his palm flattens just under your belly button, a choked groan leaving him as he presses down, a rush of something fucking glorious running down his spine. it's a high--he's so fucking high, as if he is popping fucking pills.

"feel me here, yeah?" he drags his hips back, smoothing a hand further up your stomach until he paws one of your tits, squeezing it firmly. you nod, sliding your hands up his arms, fisting the fabric of his mask at the base of his neck. you feel him everywhere, you feel him in your chest, running down your spine, you feel him in your mouth and in your head, and it feels so good, it feels so so so so good.

"yes--yes!" you gasp. fuck, he's huge, he's putting a shadow over you. you're naked, bare underneath him, and his gear rocks with every thrust, and it's filthy because you wonder if he worked, you wonder if he didn't even change before he went to marry his perfectly-picked bride, you wonder if he got off the tarmac not even an hour after killing his target to go and take what is his.

how long ago was it that he last fired his weapon? the gun on his chest, did he use it before he saw you?

i bet he did. i bet he used it. i bet he smoked the cigarette that i smell on him, and i bet he came here, and then he married me, and now he's all mine, and he's fucking me six ways to fucking sunday--

you think you're drooling. your lips are wet, and with every smack of his hips against yours, you feel a little more trickle down the side of your face. you're moaning, gripping his neck, pulling him further down on top of you. you want him all around you, you want him inside, you want him to come every day wearing this terrifying fucking uniform and to fuck you so stupid, you forget everything except for the name he has given you.

you want to know nothing except for his name. simon. riley. simon. riley.

you want to know nothing except for what you are. his wife. his wife. his wife.

it's so hard to remember to breathe. his hands grip you tight around the hips, and he's losing momentum, hissing, letting out choked groans as he brands the shape of his cock into you. he never wants you to forget what he feels like--he never wants you to know anything except for him, for the rest of your life.

"simon--" you whine, and he smirks, reaching up to hold your face in one big hand, keeping you still as you chase the grind of his pelvis against your puffy clit. "simon--!"

"tha'sit, luvvie...yeah..." he nods, "look at me--look at me," he leans down, a big weight over you, suffocating you, "good girl, yeah..." he clicks his tongue, "cum f'me, swee'eart. cum f'y'r husband, yeah?"

you lean up, chasing after him, gripping onto the sides of his face as you kiss him hard. it is the first time you really kiss him. slotting your mouth over his, slipping your tongue into his mouth, the sting of your wedding ring cooling his warm face as you taste him for the very first time.

it is gone. the bitterness that you always taste, the acid and the sourness and everything that always is so unpleasant under your tongue, it is gone when you have him. he takes it out of your mouth completely, and you chase after this just as you chase after the harsh grind of your clit against his pelvis.

he is carrying you. you're lifting, coming over some kind of sweet, exhilarating euphoria, and you're blinded by it, by the feeling, by him. you want more, more, you want it all, and he said you could have anything you want, that you'll never need anything ever again, he said, he said, he said--!

he laughs when you come. he swallows your moans, hisses when you soak his pants. you are the prettiest thing he could ever hope for, the personification of the things he does not deserve and could never have, and it is selfish that he has taken you this way, but he does not fucking care.

the things we cannot have are the sweetest, the most desirable. and simon is nothing if he isn't a thief.

he is nothing if he doesn't just take what he wants. he likes to think that perhaps he adopts the "ask for forgiveness, and not for permission" philosophy, but he does not ask for forgiveness. and he has never asked for permission.

"please--simon--" you gasp, looking up at him. your eyes are wet, and a few tears wet his hand around your face. "please--inside me, please..."

"'s olright, luv--" he grunts, pumping faster, his pretty little wife just begging for him, for more, and how could he say no to that? "easy, baby...i'll give it t'ya, don't worry, fuck--" he hisses, "lieutenant's wife gets woteva she wants..."

"please--inside--" you choke. "simon, inside, i-i want it inside--"

fuck, that is all he needed. he nestles deep, pressing his hips to yours, and you kiss him once more when you go blind again. a second high, when he stuffs you full. just as you should be. just as you always should be.

"yeah, fuck--" he breathes. "tha' wot y'wanted, yeah? nice and full, good girl..." he licks his lips, standing up straight, and just when you think he is pulling out, he yanks you back towards him, cum leaking down your thighs as you cry out from being so sensitive.

"simon!" you gasp, giggling, and he grins, patting your ass gently before pulling out. you let your knees fall onto the cot, swallowing hard as you watch him tuck himself back into his pants and zip them up. he brings the mask back down, and you watch as he slips his gloves back on. "hmm..."

he tilts his head to the side, sighing as he watches you settle there. something warm settles in his stomach, something satisfied.

"like havin' y'in my bed," he says lowly. "look nice there."

you smile, and he holds out one hand, beckoning you to sit up. you do, slowly, a little shaky as you try and compose yourself, and he leans down and kisses you through the mask. you close your eyes, humming, leaning into his touch.

"so i can stay?" you ask, and he chuckles.

"mmm...y'r so cute, luvvie..." he rumbles. "a doll, yeah? can't say no to ya."

you look down at the ring on your finger, a solid gold band complete with a precious diamond. you will have to get used to this--you are his wife, you can ask things of him, and you don't think he'll say no.

you look up at him when he tosses something at you. an army green shirt of his, and you slip it on, letting the fabric fall, and you lay back down in his cot as he moves around his room. you lay in comfortable silence, watching as the thing that calls himself your husband looks for files on his desk, adjusts the gun strapped to his thigh, shuffles his boots across the linoleum. you are mesmerized by what he is, and you haven't known him even a day.

you don't believe this is your vision askew. the honeymoon phase. the sugary sweet moments in time at the beginning where nothing is wrong, where all is well. simon riley is a practical man. he does not lie. he does not do things he does not want to do, and he does not say things he does not want to say. he is not in the business of comfort and ease, that much is clear to you.

simon riley is practical and resourceful. you think maybe he counts his words. that he doesn't say more than he has to. waste his energy on things that don't require it.

his wife. i'm his wife. his wife.

"why..." you swallow. "why...why did you pick me?"

he pauses as he stands in front of a locker. when he opens it, you see shelves of personal weapons stashed away, handguns of different sizes and shapes, knives of differing steel, toys that with a small push of a finger could destroy whatever building they went off inside. you don't flinch, don't blink, don't feel fear. you don't know why, but you just don't. you don't think it's possible.

he doesn't look at you as he surveys what lines the walls of it.

"just knew y'were the one f'me, swee'eart," he mutters. he shuts the locker, and the lock clicks. he comes closer, twirling a small blade between his fingers, and you don't cower away when he flicks it towards you, holding your chin up with the sharp tip of it. he hums appreciatively at this. "in all honesty, had no idea really until i saw ya, 'f you'd be mine."

he bends down, leans close, and you follow the curve of the blade with your head, keeping your eyes on his. there is no timidness in your gaze, and for that, he beams under the mask. perfection in one woman.

"and what would you have done if i wasn't the one?"

he shrugs.

"would've killed ya, luv."

"just like that?"

"just like tha'."

the tip of his blade drags, sliding up the length of your throat, along the line of your jaw. your lips part as he traces your mouth with it, and you tilt your head to the side as you trace the edge of it with your tongue. he leans forward more, pressing his forehead to yours, and you can see where the eye-black around his eyes fades into his pale skin under the balaclava. you see yourself in those eyes. the you that you have been waiting for. the you that you have missed for your entire life. the you that has been hiding, too scared to come out, too afraid of what might be said if someone saw the real you.

she had not been hiding. just lying dormant, in someone else, waiting for you to come home.

you smile, big, and simon presses his mouth to yours again through the mask, kissing you there, growling from deep in his chest, a purr that only emanates the contentment and the relief he feels because he has found that thing to live for. it is so easy to die. it is so easy to give oneself for what they believe. it is not hard to give the best of yourself away, he knows that.

what he has never been able to do is find something that will keep him alive. he has only ever lived because he found dying pathetic. he found it cowardly. but the alternative had been just as unforgiving, just as unfulfilling. but not this. not you.

you will make it difficult to die. you will make death a challenge. and when he eyes that smile, this one that you give only to him, he is happy to be given this new objective.

"but don't worry y'r pretty head about all tha', luv."

you give him those eyes, and he drinks it all in, all that you are. finally, finally, finally--

"until death do we part, yeah?"

1K notes · View notes

chilumi-shipper · 1 year

Text

From Me, For You

Childe x GN!Reader / Alhaitham x GN!Reader

Summary: You love creating something special for them, it's your love language to say the least, it's the way you show love for them. But at some point, it seems like they stopped caring for the things you make, and in a moment where the stress was getting to them, they even said something so hurtful about your favorite thing to do for them.

Tags: Angst to Fluff, Hurt with Comfort, Crying, Childe coming home with blood covering him, Hurtful Comments

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Childe

Your relationship with him is... surprising, to say the least.

You're just a baker in Liyue that happened to sell one of the best Shezhnayan pastries that a certain homesick Harbinger was really craving. One thing led to another, and now you're in love and in a relationship with a Fatui Harbinger.

It's not like you didn't try your damn hardest not to fall for his charms, but seeing him eat the pastries you make and jokingly sob about his home, with the pastry's filling staining the corners of his lip, it just touched your heart.

But you forgot for a bit... he's a Harbinger...

He's not always gonna be the Ajax that taste test your baked goods every other day and would give the biggest smile with the usual comment of "Everything is perfect! You're perfect!"

And that's increasingly becoming more prominent.

You looked at the Shezhnayan baking book intently, making sure you follow the way of making a local pastry filling to a T. This is very important to you, your boyfriend's birthday is just around the corner, and you really really wanted to give him a taste of home since he wouldn't be able to make it back to his home nation.

You have to make sure to not screw up, so you're practicing early on.

The sound of your front door opening perked your ears up, making you put down the bowl of filling you were working on and skip on to your living room.

"Jax!" You affectionately called for him before you could even see him clearly.

The sight that greeted you, however, promptly stopped you from jumping at him for a hug.

Blood...

Whether his or someone else's, it mortified you. You were speechless.

"What...?" Childe scoffed at the sight of your shocked expression. "This is what being a Harbinger is." He looked down at his soiled clothes, feeling rather uncomfortable. "You should get used to this, babe."

The usual warmth of his presence in your house changed into an atmosphere that made you sick to the stomach.

"Please..." You started, your heart beating rapidly and your voice laced with disbelief. "Wash up... I..." After such a sight, could you really ask him to taste test one of your many endeavors in baking again?

This man... this Harbinger... he wasn't the Ajax you wished to see. But that's still him, just not the version he made you become privy to.

However, after so many days and nights that he showed up like... that, you got used to it, got used to the slow uprising of a worse version of him, the version of him that didn't give a fuck about what brought you together in the first place, the version of him that no longer accepted welcoming hugs and kisses, the version of him that made you feel so... worthless.

"Are you baking again? I know it's your job and all, but could you like... just not bring it home?" The ginger said that one time, rather hypocritically considering that he brought that terrible attitude from his job to your home.

"I'm working on something important..." You excused his rather hurtful words, you were rather sensitive when someone mentions something negative to you about the hobby that made you so happy. "Can you try it and tell me what you think?"

"Not in the mood." You knew that he was rather tired from taking care of something for his job, but that dismissive tone made your heart ache... and just when you think you've finally perfected his childhood favorite treat.

A moment of silence fills the room before a quiet "Please..." escapes you in a very hesitant tone. You worked so hard... finding an actual Snezhnayan baking book with local recipes, practicing over and over to make it perfect, even making sure to add your own little touch that compliments the taste.

Maybe you shouldn't have said that, otherwise, he wouldn't have stood up from the couch to face your smaller figure holding onto the tray of baked goods, looking up at his looming figure.

"You know, Y/N..." Your breathing already became heavy at the cold call of your name. "There are so many more useful things you could do than bake all day. This..." A gasp escaped your mouth when he grabbed the tray from your hands and threw it down on the kitchen island.

"This is just worthless."

Tears welled up in your eyes at his words, and you could no longer hold in the sob in your throat, as you started crying pathetically right in front of him. You whimpered as you tried to control your falling tears and your harsh breathing.

You couldn't say anything back, your cheeks and nose only reddening at the rapid emotion that's escaping you. No longer being able to handle being right in front of him, you ran up to your room, closing the door and face planting on the bed, muffling your cries with the sheets.

Back downstairs, Childe was still processing everything.

"There's nothing to process, you are a dick." His inner self told him, and he completely agrees as he sighs, dragging his fingers along his ginger hair in frustration in himself.

Why did he do that? Why did he say those hurtful things? Why did he treat you like you were one of his targets that he was assigned to manipulate?

Work got to him, it has been for weeks, but it was no excuse. He brought a monster he couldn't control into your house, and now... you were hurt.

His blue eyes darted to the pastries he haphazardly threw on the counter, most were still on the tray, in a mess and no longer in a firm order in which you like to arranger your treats.

A realization hit him... they look a lot like...

Childe then remembered the look on your face when you whispered a plea. Your eyes were hopeful when he stood up, and then your body shook when you realized he wasn't intending on tasting anything.

A memory flashed in his mind, even intensifying when he picked up a treat and bit into it, a sweet, warm filling coating the inside of his mouth. It was delicious... and just like in your Y/N way, everything you make made him feel better.

His senses getting better meant the pit in his stomach got worse, the regret of going off on you consuming him more and more.

He then hurried up to your room, gently opening your door to not startle you. His heart broke at the sight of you, your face buried into your pillows, your shoulders shaking and indicating that you're crying still. He knows that after what he did, he has no right to even feel hurt at the sight of you... but he loves you! And he knows he hasn't been showing it.

Without a word, without turning around to face him, you spoke. "P-please... L-le-leave me a-alone." Your words were muffled, and you were stuttering due to the sobs you still couldn't control.

"Baby, I... I'm so sorry..." Childe knew that those words could never be enough to make you feel better, but he at least needed a chance to say his piece, even though he may not deserve it. "Work has been... it's been making me like this... but, I know I can't use that as an excuse..."

"I've been a prick..." You didn't respond to him, but your sobs did die down to little sniffles. "And I don't deserve someone like you..."

"You just made the perfect replica of one of my favorite treats, and you probably did so much for this. Archons, babe, you're amazing. And so so caring." Ajax felt tears starting to form, his vision getting cloudy as his eyes water. If you forced him to leave, he would, but he wanted to pour everything in his heart for you out, and finally finally let out the emotion he had to keep in due to his job.

"I love you so much, Y/N... for being such an amazing person that lit up my life." He walked closer to you, prompting to sit on the bed beside you. Still, you give no response. "And the fact that you love me... that... you loved me...."

"I'm so honored that you even let me be your taste tester." The ginger chuckled a bit, reveling in the sweet memory.

"And I can't fucking believe that I just hurt you like that. I'm so s-sorry, Y/N." Finally, the tears in his eyes fell, and his voice broke when he spoke.

He wasn't use to fear, but at that moment, he truly felt the fear of you rejecting him.

After a few seconds, you turned to him, and he felt even more guilty to see your tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes.

"C-Couch..." You whispered while pointing at him, making the ginger tilt his head in confusion. "S-Sleep on the couch." You stuttered out, and Childe immediately nodded, accepting your statement.

"A-And no more hugs and kisses, no p-pastries either." You firmly stated (as firm as your sniffly state could say at least). "For a month."

"Okay.... Yes, understood!" Childe wiped the tears on his face, answering you with determination. If that's what it took for you to forgive him, he's gonna do it with ease.

"And no coming home with b-blood on you. Please..." He got off the bed to get on his knees in front of you.

"I promise..." With many of his promises, he had an instinct to kiss your forehead as a reassurance, but you avoided his hand before he could hold your head to go in to press a kiss.

"Wait a month." You let out a strained giggle, and he smiled at how sweet it was despite his lips tingling in the anticipation of a kiss.

The whole no hugs and kisses is gonna be hard, and the no pastries means that he's not gonna get a taste of your love for an entire month!

But he will persevere, just for you.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Alhaitham

You have a knack for crafting little momentos and preserving memories by creatively incorporating moments into the trinkets that you make.

It's your favorite hobby! And you're rather proud that you can make such cute little things that don't look tacky.

Kaveh was actually pleased the very first time Alhaitham came home with a decor you made, an embroidery of an irritated dendro slime reading a thick book that he can hang on a wall. You presented it to him with all smiles, saying that that was how you saw him the first time you saw him in the House of Deana.

"Finally! You actually got something to hang up that doesn't embody your atrocious taste!" Kaveh was enthusiastic, yet still managed to diss the gray haired scholar while giving out a compliment.

The first thing you ever made for him was that embroidery. And Archon's did your heart flutter and leaped with joy when he actually accepted it. What you were expecting was a comment from him like "I think it's silly to represent me with a slime. I would say that my IQ level is much higher than those elemental lifeforms."

You were both just acquaintances when you gave him that gift, but that sparked something between you. You were smart, creative, and didn't speak to him all stiff and nervous like many of your peers. You make the atmosphere easy to be in, and Alhaitham happens to like it when things are easy for him.

You liked his company just as much, finding his calmness and straightforwardness so tranquil and refreshing, not to mention his funny smarty pants attitude. You liked him so much that you would sit by him in the Akademiya or in the library and do your handy work.

it basically progressed from that. "I enjoy being with you, and you kissed me that one time and I liked it. And I can see that you enjoy being with me too. So we're together now." He stated, and you were in shock, he's always been straightforward, but that was truly unexpected.

"Y-You haven't even... taken me out on a date yet!" That was the first thing that you thought to say, still processing everything.

Alhaitham raised an eyebrow, "You don't call this and our every other meeting a date? We are together and we're doing what we want to do." Damn it, he made a good point.

"B-But..." You stuttered, making him sigh.

"Do you not want to be with me?"

"No! I-I mean... yes... Yes! I do, but you just dropped it all out of nowhere." You argued, seriously having a love-hate relationship with his unapologetic honesty.

He ignored your comment, only choosing to hear that you want to be with him. "Good, you're my partner now."

And then... with you being you, every milestone, every special event in your relationship, you'd make something for him.

First anniversary? A custom picture frame with 12 pictures of both of you in it to remind him of the 12 months you've been together.

His birthday? A crochet little plant in a pot, the plant seemingly just sprouting.

Just a random day? Well, you got something for him anyway. :D

You love him to bits and you wanted to show them in your very own love language, crafting little gifts!

Each one, Alhaitham accepted in an uncharacteristically bashful yet still pleased manner, muttering a "Thank you..." or a "You never fail to impress me." and then you are presented with a great honor of a smile from the scribe.

Making him feel happy and warm inside (though he would never admit that he was, but he really was) by making things for him made you so happy!

You managed to fill his desk with your creations, not just decor, but some useful trinkets too! Like a functional hourglass, a lamp that he can write on, and an organizer for books because you swear that he literally just lets the books litter his office since he reads lots of them on and off, and you needed to do something about it.

The main thing is... he loves your love for creativity.

At least... that's what you thought...

But ever since he became the Acting Grand Sage...

Alhaitham has always been an honest person, never one to beat around the bush or spare anyone's feeling by keeping his opinions to himself.

And he sure has gotten colder, much more poky, probing at the weaknesses and insecurities of many scholars in an attempt to only let researches and works he finds worthy to continue. The rest shall no longer be conducted.

Apparently, that included your work.

"I don't see a use for such an object. I prefer things in my desk to be practical."

"The way you designed it is rather... silly. Far too childish to be of sensible use."

"Decors are not necessary, there's better use of your time."

You took all of his critiques, from then and now, to heart, making sure to reflect on his words to improve. But when he was still the Scribe, he at least commented on how to improve.

Now, it's like... he wants you to stop.

You're currently in the office of the Acting Grand Sage, you brought your crocheting kit with you to pass the time, hoping to just have a quiet afternoon with him while you both do your work, much like what you did in the past.

"Alhaitham, what'cha up to?" You asked innocently, still working on your crochet as you were seated on the floor. He was working on something on his desk, his brows pulled together as he frowned at the report in front of him.

That was what you usually do, ask some questions about each other's business, encourage each other if it's really stressing you out, or jab at how you could never do his work, and he would not have even a quarter of your patience to finish a craft.

This time, however, he does not grace you with a response, preserving the quietness of the room. You got the message, so you opted to keep quiet and keep on crocheting a blanket with a print that you were planning to give him, maybe a fluffy blanket will keep out his cold mood.

A few minutes later though, you don't know exactly what made him snap, you don't know why he suddenly called your name, and you don't know why he looked at you with such a frustrated look.

"Y/N, just drop it." Alhaitham suddenly blurted out to you. Making you jump and pause what you're doing.

"W-What?" You stuttered, confused and worried at the same time.

"I saw that you've been struggling on that thing for hours, can't you just move on to something more useful?" The gray haired man sighed. "You're so creative, and you're wasting your time with that." He said it like so condescendingly, that such a calm sounding comment penetrated your heart more than an actual insult could.

"I mean, look at all this." He motions to his desk. "A bunch of junk that serves no purpose. I really don't see why you need to do all this." Tears started collecting in your eyes, and you heard his words as if you're the junk that serves no purpose.

"B-But... those are all presents for... y-you." Your voice was shaking, and you could only manage to whisper. "I wanted to make them for you."

"Then perhaps it is me that don't want to receive them anymore."

And that's what got to you. What you do to show your love, what you try to do for him, he doesn't even like. So does he even love you at all?

Tears streamed down your face, and what initially started as sniffles turned into sobs that echoed around the large room. You stood up, stuffing your things into your bag before aggressively wiping your tears away, though more seem to fall anyway.

Without another word, you ran to the elevator before rushing out of the Akademiya, running back home with a broken heart. It was a miracle you didn't trip with how cloudy your vision got from the tears.

...

"What are you doing here?" Alhaitham raised a brow, seeing Kaveh in his office, sweeping everything on his desk into a large bag.

The blond architect ignored him, clearing out the desk before heading for the wall with a few of your works filled the space.

"Did Y/N make this?" Kaveh questioned, finally looking at his roommate. Alhaitham merely nodded, though even more confused when the architect took the pieces and shoved them in the bag too.

"What are you doing?"

Kaveh scoffed, shaking his head at the Acting Grand Sage's pathetic ignorance. "You don't deserve these things!" He then proceeded to glare at him. "Saying such mean things at Y/N, they did nothing wrong and you started acting like some obnoxious fucker that just wanna bring people down."

"I mean, I know you like doing that. But to Y/N?" Kaveh questioned in disbelief. "Yeah, you don't deserve any of this."

And so Alhaitham was reminded of his words from yesterday, as well as you're crying face as you ran out of his office. He (rather stupidly) thought that you'd get over the comments, after all, you didn't mind his critiques from before.

"I wanted to make them for you." He remembers what you said, all the things Kaveh had in the large bag were for him. You wanted to make those for him.

You made them because... you love him...

And he fucked up.

Kaveh was done with his sweep, leaving him in a eerily empty room, free of everything that made it a bearable to work in. He hated the office of the Grand Sage, but your presence, the presence of your creations... made it that much better.

He had to fix this.

...

You heard knocking at your door, but after looking at the peephole and seeing a gray haired scholar for the fifth time that day, you didn't bother opening the door.

"Darling?" You ignored the endearment muffled by the wall separating the both of you.

On the other side, Alhaitham sighed before resting his head on your door. He's been trying to talk to you properly for five hours, but he didn't just want to say what he wanted to at your door, risking you not hearing what he has to say for himself.

"Listen, Y/N, I'll just be here... working." He didn't leave just yet. "You can join me, if you want. Just like before."

He sat back down on the bench that was right in front of your house. He brought the work he has to get done with him, and trying to swallow down the guilt yet again, he proceeded to work into the well hours of the night before leaving with yet another unsuccessful day of trying to talk to you.

For many days, it was like that, he stayed outside your home. Whenever you needed to go out, you ignored him, even if he followed you, even if he tried to talk to you, you wouldn't give him the time of day.

"I think this type of yarn would be good for structure." Alhaitham held a roll of yarn in his hand, looking you and anticipating a response.

Though you said nothing, you confirmed that you at least listen when you plucked up another roll of the same yarn and paid for it. He smiled a little, though you didn't wish to humor him further.

Everyday, Alhaitham would be working in front of your house, maybe knocking once in a while to check in on you. It was rather heartbreaking to see, from your window, you saw him sit there, looking like he isn't even getting work done, just staring at the reports and trying to make something of it.

And finally, it was night yet again, a particularly cold one this time around. The cold breeze as the sun sets in for the night sent goosebumps down the Acting Grand Sage's spine, but it was far too early to leave, so he didn't budge.

You don't get it, you don't want to feel sorry for him, he couldn't just say something so harsh yet act so stubborn to force you to forgive him!

But tonight... he does look rather cold, and from what you learned the days before, nothing will make him move from that bench until you let him talk to you properly.

There was a soft warmth that ingulfed Alhaitham as he was busy with his work, from his peripherals he could see the makings of a blanket, effectively shielding him from the cold.

Looking back, he saw you dressed in your pajamas, not bothering to make eye contact with him. "You looked cold." were the only words that you said to him.

Unbeknownst to him, while he was working in front of your house, you joined in on his day, finishing the blanket you were planning to give him before his outburst.

It felt like such a waste to scrap it, especially since you were half done with it already...

He stood up from the bench, looking uncharacteristically enthused at you. "Thanks..." He was looking fondly at you, but you still refused to meet his gaze.

You also noticed from watching him a bit that he wasn't really eating much throughout the day, so before you could stop yourself...

"Would you like to come in for dinner?"

...

You were quiet for most of the meal, but his ears perked at the occasional sniffles you let out, implying that you were trying not to cry. Alhaitham felt shitty for thinking he even had the right to feel bad when he was the one that caused all this.

After dinner, it was still silent, but Alhaitham proceeded to evaluate the blanket you gave him in your living room. It was crochet with, yet again, an irritated dendro slime on top of a building that resembles the Akademiya, you must have observed him and his sour mood from being the Acting Grand Sage.

"Do I get to keep this?" He asked, looking at you expectantly.

You bit your lip, anxiously twiddling your thumbs. "Umm... It's... not of much use." You replied, earning a sigh from him.

With your comment, Alhaitham made his way right in front of you, making it perfectly clear for him see that tears have started to fall from your eyes. "I-I think... it would be best if you g-go now."

You were looking down, still trying to cover your face despite knowing that he knew you were crying.

"Would it be okay if I talk to you properly first?" Something in you wanted him to leave because you thought that he deserved it, but you still wanted answers. Why did he say all those mean things to you? Why did he hate what you make so much? Why was he persistently outside your house all the time to persuade you to finally talk to him?

You didn't answer, but didn't motion at all for him to leave, so he took his chance before it was too late. "There's nothing I love more in the world than you. And to lash out on you for doing something you love was absolutely idiotic of me."

He took your hands in his, "I hated being the Grand Sage, I hated having to deal with the shit I don't care about. That hate just continued to build up, and I... you were the one that unfairly received it all."

"You didn't deserve any of that. And I know I can't use being stressed as an excuse for hurting you, that was my own stupid act. But I am truly sorry."

"I-I would have stopped making things for you if you hated them so much." You finally looked up at him with wet doe eyes, effectively clenching his heart even more.

"No, no, darling... I love what you make, every single one. Because I know that making them makes you happy, and I love seeing you happy." He lets go of one of your hands to wipe your tears away. "I'm so sorry about everything I said, darling. The moment Kaveh took everything from my office, I realized how empty it was... without you..."

"He did that?" You asked in disbelief, your question laced with a strained chuckle. He nodded, a pout forming on his face.

"Yeah, and I realized how terrible it was..."

You laughed, though your cheeks were still stained by dried tears. "Do you like the blanket I made you?" You asked him, and he gave you a rare genuine smile.

"I love it, you're a star for making it for me." He closed the gap between the both of you, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you in a warm embrace.

"I love everything you gift me. I love you..." He whispered as he hugged you warmly.

"Even the plushie on your desk that doesn't do anything and always falls over?"

"Even that..." Your heart fluttered, your body cuddling with his to receive more of his warmth.

"Okay..." You responded, smiling against him. "You can tell Kaveh to stop keeping my gifts hostage..."

...

"There's somethings missing..." Alhaitham gave Kaveh a pointed look, making his blond roommate scoff.

"Well, everything I took I brought back here! If you lost a few things then that's you're fault!" Kaveh has always been a big fan of your crafts, and Alhaitham has a gut feeling that he liked a few things that he took.

The gray haired scholar merely raised a brow, making Kaveh sigh dramatically.

"Fine! But I'm keeping the plushie!" He left before Alhaitham could argue with him, leaving him only to sigh.

Your giggle occupied the room for a bit. "I'll tell him I can make one for him."

"Alright, but I'll appreciate if his isn't as cute as mine. Thanks." He said, and though you know he's joking, he still had that stoic face that makes you laugh when he says those unserious things.

"I'll keep that in mind."

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

This is like almost 20k words, so I really hope that you guys liked it :D

It's been a while, (as always with my writing, but it's summer, so apart from work, I've been pretty free to write, which makes me really happy) enjoy!

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact #genshin impact angst #genshin angst #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact childe #childe angst #childe fluff #childe x reader #genshin impact alhaitham #alhaitham angst #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham x reader

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shaguro · 1 month

Note

I HOPE NOBODY REQUESTED THIS. needy geto :)) he’s a whiner, he begs, he’s so hard that it hurts - i hope this was good 🥹🙏🏾

synposis: you use geto’s unusual, needy mood to your advantage.

ੈ✩‧₊˚tags: needy whiney geto! (with a soft dom!fem reader. p in v, riding, choking (geto receiving), dirty talk, creampies, pet names used (mama, baby and good boy) slightt overstim but not really. — wc: 1.5k

an: i actually like this one fr. hope u enjoy it mirahhh 🩷

“fuck, i . . . i need you so bad, mama. stop t-teasin’ me.”

you don’t know what’s gotten into your boyfriend but by no means are you complaining. a sight this rare, you wish it could last forever if possible — geto completely at your mercy, a stuttering mess as you arch over his lap, a dainty hand on his thick base as you stroke him tantalizingly slow, dragging his angry tip along your puffy folds, just missing your entrance.

“aww, need me bad, huh?” you coo, purely teasing. your free hand reaches for his cheek, the pad of your thumb resting on his plush bottom lip. “i’ll give you what you want, if you say please.”

this is definitely geto’s karma.

a taste of his own medicine. all the times he’d tease you, edge you till you were on the brink of tears? they’re coming back to bite him right in the ass. really, he couldn’t be mad. not when he’s so hard it fucking hurts — maybe you’d see just how desperate he is, go a little easy on him, even though geto knows he’s undeserving of such humility.

and with that deceivingly sweet smile on your face? geto knows you’re gonna give him hell.

“couldn’t wait for the opportunity to g-get back at me . . . you’re really enjoyin’ this, huh?” he murmurs, rolling his eyes when you respond with a quick yes. his hands are on your hips now, idly rubbing circles into the soft skin. he knows better than to move without permission because if you’re anything like him, you’ll make him suffer longer.

he mutters out a “. . . please.” so low and meek, you almost didn’t catch it.

clicking your tongue, you lean forward slightly — just enough to align his leaky tip with your hole. “now, suguru . . . you can do better than that.” and that’s when he feels it — warm, gummy walls suddenly mold around his aching length, so perfectly that geto sucks in a sharp breath, tilts his head back onto the headboard. god, he’s been waiting for this all day.

you sink down slowly, biting your lip as you adjust to the stinging stretch of his dick. so insanely thick and long, it takes a few long minutes before he completely bottoms out, inch after inch until you’re stuffed full.

geto quirks a brow, his breaths short and uneven as he studies your pretty face intently. “why . . . why’d you stop?”

you simper, your palms planted firmly on his pecs to steady yourself. “told you, baby. you can do better and ‘m not moving till you say it right.” giggling at his annoyed, flushed expression, you tilt your head to the side all innocent, waiting and watching. “say pretty please.”

just impatient, geto kisses his teeth, biting back a moan as his eyes land on where your bodies connect, the lewd view of his cock sheathed so comfortably in your cunt. he wants, no, needs more and at this point, he’ll do whatever it takes to get it.

even if that means he has to beg.

“i want you to fuck me, want you so bad right now, mama . . want you to make me feel good, pretty please?”

just what you wanted to hear.

“good boy.” your honeyed praise had his dick pulsing inside you, brick as ever. wholly satisfied, you lift your hips a fraction before slamming them back down suddenly and geto whines — trimmed fingernails dig crescents into your love handles as you repeat that motion, again and again.

once you get a good groove, the pace you set is steady, sensual — manicured nails anchored into his toned pectorals leave red cat-like marks on the smooh skin as you let out your own sweet moans, mending with the addicting melody of your plush ass clapping on his thighs with each calculated bounce and geto is losing the little sanity he has left.

and, as hard as he tries, he can’t swallow the pretty, broken sounds you’re eliciting from his throat. “fuck, mama. fuckk,” his mouth is stretched in the shape of an “o” and glistening pupils, blown wide are staring up at you through thick, black eyelashes. stray, shiny hairs stick to his sweaty forehead. a few shiny beads trickle from his temple, down the side of his sharp jaw when he mutters a raspy, “ngh-uh, don’t stop, please.”

who would’ve known that suguru geto was such a needy whore?

“love the way this pussy feels, huh?” you pant out, a smug smile stretched from each end of your face, cheek to cheek. he gives a half nod, too fucked out to remember his manners. suguru’s eyes are too focused on your bouncing tits, ricocheting off your ribcage as your hips gyrate, round n round in rhythmic circles — a sight so obscene, he’s convinced you’re heaven-sent, an angel of some sort. “tell me, baby. let me hear you.”

no . . . you’re more like a demon, that’s what you are.

suguru does, indeed, love the way your pussy feels. you’re wicked to think he could even voice such thoughts while you’re literally fucking the shit out of him. so wicked, downright foul. no fair, no fair.

“i said,” snapping him out his reverie, you lean down — hand rising to cup his cheeks between your thumb and other fingers, his lips puff and purse. “tell me how much you love this pussy.”

that’s when you do something new. moving from his face to his neck, your hand curls around the column of his throat, right over his adam’s apple. glassy obsidians filt to your face, widening as that hand squeezes snug against his windpipe and suguru inhales deeply, you feel the lift and expand of his lungs under your palm, the vibration rattling your fingers when suguru finally exhales a strained moan that physically hurt to hold.

to suguru’s surprise, he doesn’t paint your insides white with cum.

“i love-“ he gasps when the pressure on his neck intensifies, vision blurred and speckled with twinkly stars. “i love this p-pussy, so so-“ another inhale, exhale as he breathes out “muchhh.”

“i know baby, i know.” you knew that he’s close, too. a telltale sign, it’s as though his cock swelled in size and god, did it feel fucking good — dragging along the grooves of your inner walls, throbbing and throbbing, with every single drop of your hips, his balls smack dead on your globes — dripping with your milky cream, tight and full with the kids you desperately wanted him to gift you. “gonna cum for me? gonna fill this pussy up, mm?”

“yes, yes, yes,” dribble forms on the corner of his lips, he doesn’t bother to wipe it as he incessantly babbles, “gonna be g-good for you, fuuuck, feels so fucking good, baby, need it, need you, please-“

his breath hitches in his throat when the bed shifts, the mattress dipping under your weight as you plant your feet into the soft memory foam. you bounce, bounce, bounce until you adjust to the new, deep angle this position provided. just like suguru, you feel your own orgasm building. fighting the urge to roll your eyes back into the depths of your skull, you divert your attention back to suguru who’s staring at you dazedly, mouth agape.

he is so, so pretty like this.

“s’pretty under me like this, suguru.” you voice your thoughts in a salacious purr, a pretty smile curls on your lips. “doing so good f’me.”

shaky hands find themselves beneath the curve of your ass and suguru’s legs move into a bend, lifting you slightly so he can match your rhythm, the movement smooth and fluid from how wet you are. “mm, shit.” suguru’s head tilts back into cushiony pillows, eyes screwed shut. heat bubbles in his stomach, tingling through his bones. it’s coming. “don’t think ‘m gonna l-last, mama.” he’s almost distracted by the filthy sound of your cunny, singing a tune akin to gooey macaroni. “c-can’t hold it, g-god.”

“then don’t.”

suguru’s toes flex and twitch, muscles in his thighs jumping simultaneously.

“already told you to fill me up, right? d-do it, don’t hold back.”

fuck, fuck, fuck.

“s’your pussy, sugu . . . all yours. so take what’s yours.”

fuck!

with a long, pitchy groan, suguru’s back arches, whole body wracked with quivers and tremors as he shoots his heavy thick load deep inside your awaiting cunt and you don’t stop moving, no — in fact, you grind harder, milking every last drop of cum from his balls. that’s what brings you to your end, the warmth spreading deep within your tummy as you cry out your boyfriends name — a sticky gush flowing down his glistening length, uncontrollable as you ride out your high.

there’s a mess between your bodies, a nasty mix of fluids on thighs, stomachs, all over the bed beneath you. albeit, neither of you care, electing to lay in the mess you’ve created, a tangle of sore, weak limbs.

you let out a soft hiss as you pull off suguru’s softening cock, shakily resting your weight atop him. one of his arms wrapped around the small of your back and your fingertips skim across the surface of his chest, right over his heart, the beat of it a slow, soothing drum. with suguru’s cheek on your forehead, his eyes settle on the ceiling, lids heavy as sleep calls him.

suguru decides he’ll let you take control more often.

@screampied @preciousamethyst since yall wanted a tagggg

#geto smut #geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x reader #jjk geto smut #jjk x you #jjk x y/n

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ro-is-struggling · 1 month

Text

Earn It || Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: While Spencer was away on a case, you had no better idea than to send him spicy pictures of yourself as a way to encourage him to work harder to get home fast. You ignored his warnings and orders to stop and now that he was back home it was time to face the consequences of acting like a spoiled brat.

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, porn without plot, established relationship, dom!spencer, sexting, masturbation, bondage, dirty talk, cum eating, deprivation of touch used as punishment (if that makes sense? idk it's just porn)

English is not my first language

Word count: 3300

Notes: idk what this is, I have had this idea in my mind for a while now and I only wrote it because someone left me a nice message praising my spencer smut, so enjoy, I guess

You were buzzing with anticipation, counting down the minutes until Spencer got home. You knew you'd be in trouble —it was clear from the short messages he'd sent you—, but that was part of the fun. You had crossed the line this time. The messages you had sent him while he was stuck at work could only be described as torture. But you couldn't be held accountable for your actions, at least not completely. You missed him-his touch, his lips on yours, the sound of his voice calling your name-and you wanted to make sure he knew it.

Spencer had been away from home for too long, working a few states over to catch a killer who targeted young, blonde women. It was apparently a tough case so for the last few weeks you had to settle for talking to him on the phone late at night. Hearing his voice before bedtime was nice, comforting, but over time it stopped being enough. You missed having him by your side at night, feeling his warmth and the touch of his fingers on your skin. You missed his kisses, his soft lips caressing your body while you whispered his name into the darkness of the night....

It was clear that phone calls were no longer enough to satiate your need for him, so in a moment of impulsive arousal you decided to give him a little incentive to work harder to come home to you. You were simply showing him what he was missing.

The first picture you sent him was simple and tasteful, a conscious choice intended to lure him into your trap. It only showed the lower half of your face, your lips drawn into a sad pout. It also showed part of your chest which was covered by one of Spencer's shirts. It had the first few buttons undone, showing your collarbone and the mound of your breasts, but nothing more. You sent it with a simple 'I miss you', hoping he had his phone nearby to see it.

His reply came not long after, and you almost felt bad for what you were about to do when you read his innocent and oblivious 'I miss you too :(‘. You replied with another photo, this time much more revealing. The shirt was unbuttoned now, revealing the cute red lace bra that hugged your breasts. It was Spencer's favorite and you knew it was going to have the desired effect on him. 'I wish you were here...' you wrote before you sent it. And without waiting for a reply you sent him another picture, this time showing the full lingerie being, posing in a provocative way. Without hesitation you wrote 'to rip it off my body' and pressed send.

You knew your little plan had worked because Spencer didn't answer for quite a while. He had seen the messages, but he was probably too stunned and busy to reply to you. When he finally did, it was a warning. 'Behave.' was all he wrote back, but you ignored it. In the next picture you sent him you had removed your bra, your hard nipples framed perfectly in the picture. Two of your fingers were lost between your lips, the red lipstick slightly smudged at the corners. 'I wish they were your fingers' you typed and Spencer's reply was another warning. 'But I guess mine will have to do for now' you ignored him once again, sending him a video of you burying those same fingers inside you as you moaned his name.

Your provocative messages didn't stop until you came, but even though you knew Spencer had seen them, he didn't reply. Nor did he call you that night like he had been doing every day. He was silent for two whole days. Two long days in which you kept wondering if maybe you had taken things too far. It was torture waiting for some kind of sign from him that would bring you some relief, but when you read the message he sent you knew that had been his intention all along.

'I'm on my way home. I want you in bed wearing the red set by the time I get there.' was all he wrote and you knew he was angry. Spencer was going to make you pay for behaving so badly and you couldn't help but wonder what method he would use to teach you a lesson. Punishments were always creative with him. Spencer wasn't very keen on violence during intimacy, it reminded him too much of his job, you supposed. He was rough in bed when he was in the mood for it and never objected to giving you a spanking or two when you deserved it, but he didn't enjoy making you cry in pain or leaving severe marks on your skin.

Spencer was more of a soft, pleasure dom, which meant that most of the time he was more intense than aggressive. He loved the irony of using pleasure to create pain, often overstimulating you to the point that your body would scream for him to stop. His domination over you was more subtle, more psychological, so his punishments always had a hint of irony in them. The worst one —and at the same time, the best one– had been once you had come without his permission. His way of teaching you a lesson that time was forcing you to cum over and over again, attacking your abused pussy with his fingers, his tongue and a vibrator without giving you hardly any time to recover between orgasms.

You wondered if Spencer had something similar in mind, the very idea frightening and exciting you at the same time. Your clit throbbed between your legs, your panties ruined with your arousal before Spencer even got to lay a finger on you. That was the effect he had on you. All he had to do was send you a stupid message and your whole body would begin to tingle with anticipation, waiting for his command.

When you heard the sound of the apartment door opening you almost jumped out of bed with joy. There was nothing you wanted more than to run into your boyfriend's arms and shower him with kisses as you told him how much you had missed him. But you knew you couldn't —or, rather, shouldn't— do that. Spencer wanted you in bed, wearing his favorite lingerie, and that's exactly what you did. Even though it was a little late to play nice now, you didn't want to give him any more reason to prolong your punishment —whatever it was. So you settled on the bed, putting yourself in a suggestive pose and waited patiently for Spencer to enter the room.

He took his time and you knew he was doing it on purpose. Your punishment had begun the moment you decided to ignore his warnings and now you had no choice but to accept it. Listening to his footsteps walking around the apartment, knowing that he was only a couple of feet away without being able to do anything about it was a real torture, but you deserved it.

"I'm disappointed in you," was the first thing Spencer said when he finally entered the room. He had that hard look in his eyes that he always gave you when you disobeyed him - the one that told you it was in your best interests to listen to him. His pupils were widened, the beautiful hazel color almost completely taken over by the darkness of desire in his eyes. You shifted nervously on the bed, suddenly feeling small under his intense gaze. Spencer walked toward you and you felt like an animal trapped by the predator that wanted to eat it. There was nowhere to run.

"You've been a very bad girl," he clicked his tongue in disapproval, bringing his hands to his neck to loosen the knot of his tie. "Teasing me with those pictures while I was at work, ignoring my warnings, cuming without my permission." Spencer shook his head and you sunk your teeth into your lower lip. The tone in his voice —too calm for someone in his position— almost made you regret your little stunt. Almost. "If you want to act like a spoiled brat, I'll treat you like one."

Spencer ordered you to sit on the bed with your back against the headboard. You obeyed without question, knowing that this was not the best time to complain. You watched him remove his tie in one tug, twisting the soft fabric in his hands before approaching you. He was careful in tying your wrists to the headboard, his fingers barely grazing your skin as he made sure to limit your movements, leaving you completely at his mercy. It was torture to feel him so close and not be able to touch him. Not to mention how incredibly frustrating it was that his hands barely rested on you when it was strictly necessary, as if your skin was burning him. You hated it, but when you let out a whine of protest, Spencer gave you a look that let you know it was best to keep your mouth shut.

"You're going to stay there and keep your eyes on me at all times." He stated with a calmness in his voice that should have alarmed you. But instead of wondering what he was up to —and what that calm meant to you— your mind was distracted by the slow movement of his hands as he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing himself to you. " Now you'll know how I felt when I saw your pictures and those videos of you pleasuring yourself while I was stuck at work, unable to do anything about it."

Spencer moved closer to you, leaning down to be at eye level with you. The air caught in your throat as you stared at him, fearing that your mere breath might somehow cause him to pull away from you again. His gaze was firm, intimidating, but hidden among all the desire and lust you could still make out a glimmer of the characteristic softness in his eyes. It was an interesting contrast, captivating. It reminded you that no matter how rough he might be at the moment, the sweet, loving, everyday Spencer was just a word away.

You could hardly believe he was touching you when he took your face in one of his hands. His warm, slender fingers pressed over your cheeks, forcing your lips into a pout. He used his grip to tilt your head up to make sure your eyes never left his at any time. He had you trapped between his hand and his eyes, frozen still as you anxiously awaited his next words.

"Now you'll be the helpless one. You'll be the one that has to sit back and watch as I pleasure myself, tied to the bed, unable to do anything to relieve the pressure between your legs."

After removing the last of his clothes, Spencer settled himself on the opposite side of the bed. He made sure you had the best view of him and his hard cock before he began to pleasure himself. Your eyes followed the movement of his hand as if you were being hypnotized. Up and down, up and down, his hand moved along his shaft while his mouth let out the sweetest moans you had ever heard. Every little gasp he let out went straight to your center, that throbbed desperate for attention. Spencer sounded desperate and you wondered if he hadn't relieved himself since you had sent him those pictures.

You fought your bonds without even realizing it, your body responding in its own accords to Spencer's stimulation. He didn't scold you for it, on the contrary he seemed to enjoy it. He increased the pace of his hand slightly, his eyes never leaving your figure. The way they roamed over your body —slowly moving down from your face to your neck, stopping at the curve of your breasts before trailing their way down your abdomen and to your legs— almost felt like his caresses. If you concentrated hard enough you could feel the ghost of his fingers following the path of his eyes. But it wasn't enough, not when you were trapped listening to Spencer's moans, watching his hand move up and down his cock as his tip leaked precum. Your mouth watered at the sight, yearning to feel the weight of his cock against your tongue. You could almost taste the salty treat on your tongue, your brain recreating it as best it could. It was criminal that he wouldn't let you touch him when he was so close to you.

"Like what you see?" Spencer mocked you as a pathetic whimper managed to escape your lips. "It's such a shame you were so bad 'cause right now you could be the one touching me... And I could be pleasuring you."

"Yes, please! I'm sorry, I won't do it again. Just please, I need it." you begged, momentarily excited by the mention of him pleasuring you. You were willing to do anything to end this torture.

But Spencer wouldn't budge. "Oh, I know you do, baby. I can see the wet spot in your panties from here. But I can't give it to you. Only good, obedient girls get what they want and you have been very, very bad."

He enjoyed every second of your torture, delighting in the whimpers you let out and the way you struggled against your bonds. Your body squirmed deliciously on the bed, protesting against the lack of attention. Spencer responded to your whimpers with moans, being more vocal than usual to prolong your torture. Every sound he let out increased the fire in your stomach along with your frustration. Your pussy tightened around nothing, desperate for attention. The pressure in your tummy was too much, almost unbearable. You needed relief, whatever would help you take the edge off.

You didn't even realize you were squeezing your legs together until it was too late. You were desperate and while the little friction your thighs provided as you squirmed was not enough, it was better than nothing. Your clit pulsed with every little movement, your juices trickling down your legs and making your job easier. You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate on the subtle tingling between your legs to see if you could increase the pleasure that way somehow. The moan that fell from your lips was pathetic, a mixture of pleasure and frustration that alerted Spencer to your little trick just as you were getting somewhere.

You snapped your eyes open as you felt the impact of his hand against your calf. Spencer gave you a stern look, his expression blank as he forced your legs apart again. "You do that again and I won't let you cum tonight, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir!" you whimpered, feeling your hope renewing at the promise of a future orgasm. "I'm sorry! I'll be good, I promise."

It was real torture to have Spencer so close, naked and stroking his cock inches away without being able to touch it. His moans were getting louder and louder, his words dirtier and more condescending —praising your expression of desperation and mocking the way you twisted against your bonds. Your desperation increased along with the speed of his hands, which worked increasingly faster to bring him to the edge of pleasure. He was close, you could feel it, and as pathetic as it sounded, so were you. Your underwear was ruined, soaked with the juices of your arousal. Spencer hadn't touched you, but you were sure that a simple brush against your clit was all you needed to reach your climax.

"Was it worth it, baby?" He managed to say between gasps. "Was it worth it to disobey me? Sending all those pictures just to end up like this, tied to the bed, forced to watch me pleasure myself while you get nothing."

Oh Spencer was enjoying torturing you way too much. He wanted to break you, push you to your very limit and hear you beg for his forgiveness. He wanted you to earn your relief just as you had earned your punishment and he wasn't going to stop until you begged for mercy. In another circumstance you might have put up more of a fight, after all, it was always fun to riled him up. But you were far too desperate to feel his touch to play hard to get. You needed him, you'd been apart too long and you couldn't stand the distance a second longer.

"No, it wasn't! I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done it. I should have listened to you. I won't do it again, I promise! I'll behave! Just, please... please." There was no way to hide the pathetic tone in your voice. You were so frustrated, so needy for attention, that you could almost feel the tears burning in your eyes. You were willing to cry if that's what it took to earn Spencer's forgiveness. You would do anything to feel his hands on you.

"Oh yeah? You'll behave?" He spoke as if he didn't believe you, a wicked smile playing on his lips as he increased the pace of his hand. "Will you stop acting like a spoiled brat and be my good, obedient little girl?"

"Yes! I'll be your good girl, I promise! I'll be so good for you, sir! Please."

Suddenly, Spencer stood up from his place on the bed, approaching you in a couple of steps. "Open up then." He commanded bringing the head of his dripping, reddened cock close to your lips. You didn't need him to tell you twice, tilting your face up as you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, eagerly waiting to taste him.

"That's it, that's a good girl... swallow it, swallow all of me... good girl." Spencer moaned as he came in your mouth, his hand stroking himself until he shot the very last drop of cum on your tongue. The squeal of bliss you let out at the taste of his salty flavor was pathetic, but you were too far gone to care. You eagerly swallowed everything he gave you, devouring it as if it were the sweetest candy.

Spencer mumbled sweet praises as he came down from his high, caressing your head with his usual softness. It was a small action, but you missed his touch so much that it was enough to fill you with joy. You thought you were finally in the clear, that you had received your punishment so well that Spencer would show you mercy and finally let you touch him. But when he sat down across from you again and looked into your eyes, you noticed that the intimidating darkness was still present in them. You struggled against your bonds once more to see if he would take pity on you and untie you. But he answered you with a click of his tongue that stopped you immediately.

"You did such a good job for me, baby." Spencer's voice was barely a husky whisper. He brought one of his fingers up to your cheek, collecting the drops of his cum that hadn't made it into your mouth. You tried to lean into his touch, but he removed his hand quickly, bringing his finger to your lips. He didn't have to tell you what to do, you automatically opened your mouth and wrapped your tongue around his finger, tasting his relief.

"But your punishment isn't over yet. You earned your relief, but haven't earned my forgiveness yet. You still don't get to touch me. Now open those pretty legs for me. I'll give you what you want and we'll see how much you can take."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid #criminal minds

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yeonzzzn · 2 months

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hii I have an idea in mind ><

hee as your ex watching you ride his best friend jake

but instead of hee freaking out and being jealous, he will join them and ask y/n to show jake how good she can ride him

tysm !!

anon, I literally cannot thank you enough for blessing my askbox with this rq. I was drooling the entire time writing this.

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a good ride: heeseung / jaeyun

pairing: hee x afab!reader x jake word count: 2.4k

The last thing Heeseung expected to see when he returned back to the apartment was seeing you—his ex-girlfriend—riding Jake’s—his best friend—cock.

Heeseung wasn’t even surprised in the slightest. He’s known Jake had the hots for you. He’s seen the way Jake would look at you when you were over like you were a piece of meat he wanted to get his mouth on badly. Has seen how Jake would check you out thinking nobody else had noticed it.

Heeseung wasn’t even mad. Not at all. You and him have been broken up for a good three months now and Heeseung has accepted the end of the relationship. He figured Jake would snake his way to you somehow, wanting to have a taste of that sweet pussy of yours and even do it behind his back. Heeseung just didn’t think he’d catch you both in the act.

Does he still love and care for you? Absolutely. Does he miss you? Of course. Does he wish nothing but the best for you even if that’s riding the fuck out of his best friend's dick? Also a yes. Would he do anything to fuck you again? Also a major yes.

Which is why Heeseung kept quiet, watching carefully as you bounced on Jake’s cock, your head flung back as loud moans escaped your lips. Knuckles turning white from the grip you had on Jake’s shoulders.

Jake was also completely fucked out. His eyes closed tightly with furrowed brows, panting and moaning like a bitch in heat with his hands attached to your waist. Your name spills from his lips following up with “Yeah, that’s it, baby,” and “Yessss, just like that, fuck.”

Heeseung found this situation way too hot. Because like, is that how you looked when you rode him? Heeseung has only ever seen how you look when he was beneath you, never from the side like the angle of view he has right now. And boy was it a sight to see.

Heeseung tried to keep quiet as he palmed his growing hard-clothed cock, steadying himself against the wall. He wanted to touch you, wanted Jake to watch him touch you. Show him how to touch you properly and in all the right places. Wanted Jake to see how you lose yourself on his cock.

He pushed himself from the wall, his mind on autopilot as he now stood behind you, neither you nor Jake even realizing Heeseung was there. And neither of you didn’t until Heeseung’s hands cupped your breasts.

You jolted to a stop, and leaned yourself back against Heeseung’s chest, already knowing it was his hands that were touching you, and on pure instinct you fell back onto him, letting out a gasped moan.

It was Jake’s reaction to you no longer moving, seeing how his eyes widened out of fear that you realized what actually was happening, your body now tensed as you tried to push away from Heeseung.

Oh god, what did you get yourself into? He was going to kill Jake and then you for this. You could tell Jake had the same thoughts. How could he not? He was railing his best friend's ex-girlfriend. You were supposed to be off limits, something Jake couldn’t have because of the bro code. Jake couldn’t help himself when it came to you, mostly after how upset you were after the breakup, he didn’t leave you alone and when the moment came for him to finally get his cock deep inside you, he took it. But at the cost of his best friend standing behind you now.

“Why did you stop moving pretty?” Heeseung cooed into your ear, his fingers squeezing the plush of your breasts, “Go on, keep riding him.”

You looked at Jake in confusion but continued to slowly move on him. This was the last thing you expected.

Heeseung dipped his head to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses up the skin and to your jaw, “I’ve missed touching you baby,” he whispered, “And I love seeing the way you ride my best friend.”

Jake’s hands on your waist squeezed tighter, something about the way Heeseung is just…letting this continue did something. You were clenching around his dick tighter, and the angle you sat on his lap now made him fuck so much deeper as you leaned into Heeseung’s touch.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Jake chanted, “Fuck she feels so good.”

“Doesn’t she?” Heeseung snickered, tracing his tongue up the side of your face, “Cum on his cock, YN,” he kissed your brow before dropping one of your tits to connect that hand to your jaw and force you to look at him, “Make him cum too, then you’ll wrap yourself around me, understand?”

Your head spun at the thought of getting to feel Heeseung deep inside you again. Jake might be big, but Heeseung was big. You ached for that stretch his cock will give you.

You clenched around Jake tighter at the thought, bouncing faster on his dick.

“Jake,” Heeseung said, leaning his face closer to you, his hot breath touching your lips, “Rub her clit,”

Jake listened, releasing one hand from your waist and snaking it down to your clit, rubbing fast circles.

You jolted your body upward, a wet moan escaping your lips only to be halfway muffled by Heeseung’s lips connecting to yours. His tongue shoved down your throat.

Jake felt you clench around him, causing him to throw his head back onto the couch, “she’s fixing to cum,” he moaned, “fuck she’s about to cum.”

Heeseung pulled from your face, both your tongues still hung out your mouths, a string of salvia connecting your tongues together. Jake lost it at seeing that sight, seeing you so desperate to kiss his friend again, imagining you wanting to be that desperate over him instead.

Heeseung ran his hand down to your heat and on top of Jake’s hand, helping him rub your clit faster, “Cum for us baby,” Heeseung whispered, “Show him how you can make a mess.”

You leaned your head back onto Heeseung’s shoulder, keeping eye contact with Jake as he bucks his hips up into you, mouth gaped open and pants getting heavier. Jake loved how you stared at him, loved seeing how you bit your lip and whimpered as you came undone around his cock, keeping your eyes connected to him the entire time.

Heeseung released his hand from Jake’s, the biggest smirk on his lips as his hands fly back to your tits, squeezing them and kissing your neck again, “Such a good girl baby, taking Jake’s cock so good.”

“Fuck,” Jake moaned, his hands slipping to your hips and bucking faster, “M’cumming,” he pants more, dropping his head down, furrowing his brows, and squeezing his eyes shut, “Fuck I’m cumming.”

Jake unloaded into you, pressing your hips down onto him, making sure every drop of his cum was shot deep inside you.

“Good,” Heeseung cooed, “Make out with her while I undress myself.”

Jake was confused as to why this was all even happening, but who was he to say no? He just fucked you in front of Heeseung, might as well keep going.

Jake cups one hand to your neck and brings you to him, lips moving against yours, his aching cock getting hard again as you sit there and cock warm him. His hand at your hips slides to your thigh, squeezing the plush as you shove your tongue down his throat.

“Fuck that’s so hot,” Heeseung groans, slipping his jacket off his body and tossing it to the floor, seeing how yours and Jake’s cum dripped out your cunt and pooled on Jake’s thighs and legs, “You both came so much.”

Heeseung stripped himself of the rest of his clothes, sitting beside Jake, “Come here, baby.”

You release your lips from Jake and look over at your ex-boyfriend, your body shaking as you shift yourself from Jake’s lap to Heeseung, loving how Heeseung’s cock was already twitching, so red and angry as it waits for you to suck it into your pussy.

Heeseung places his hands on your hips softly, and tucked his bottom lip between his teeth, keeping his eyes locked with yours as you take his cock between your hands and lined himself up to your entrance, slowly sliding down onto him.

You gasp at the stretch, your hands flying to Heeseung’s shoulders as he fills you completely.

Heeseung furrowed his brows when his tip hits your cervix, fighting back the urge to close his eyes and release the loudest moan at feeling you wrapped around him, “Fuck, YN. Missed this cunt so fucking much.”

“Missed this cock too,” you whisper, giving yourself time to adjust to his length and size.

“Shit,” Jake hisses, taking his cock between his hands and pumping himself, your cum still covering his dick making it the perfect lube to help his hand slide up and down with ease.

“Okay baby,” Heeseung said, “Show Jake just how good you ride my cock, ya?”

You nodded, starting slow, letting your cunt shape itself perfectly to Heeseung’s size until you slid up and down his length with no problem then bounced on him.

Jake was losing his mind, stroking his cock at the same speed you rode Heeseung. Jake knew the sexual chemistry between you and Heeseung would never be on the same level as you and him. Heeseung knew your body inside and out. Has had years to figure out how to work your body with his hands, mouth, cock, and the entirety of his body. Jake only had the few times he’s gotten to make out with you after the breakup and then today. But was Jake jealous to see you riding Heeseung? No, not one bit. All it did was give Jake silent pointers on how to fuck you better next time.

Heeseung started moving his hips in sync with yours, his fingers digging into your hips, pants leaving his mouth and at a worse rate than what Jake was not even five minutes ago.

Heeseung might have your body figured out, but he was such a sucker for your pussy. No other cunt will ever feel like yours or replace yours. He was weak for your fuckhole and probably always will be.

“Fuck I’ve missed this pussy,” he groans, flinging his head back onto the couch, “Missed the way it feels wrapped around me, missed how fucking wet it gets, how it fits my cock so perfectly. Fuck. I’ve missed you. All of you.”

Heeseung was so in love with you still, and the fact he was balls deep inside you after months of being away from you drove him to the edge.

You were also still in love with him, losing yourself on his cock and bouncing faster and faster, wanting to feel him come undone beneath you.

“Jake,” Heeseung hissed, trying to steady his breath but it came out shakey anyways, “Touch her, rub her clit again. I can’t cum before her, wanna feel her cum first. Fuck.”

Jake stood quickly from the couch, pressing his chest to your back, cock twitching at the pressure of your skin against it. One hand wrapped around the front of your neck, pushing your head to his shoulder, while the other hand ran back to your clit, middle finger circling faster than he did earlier.

You moaned out, one hand leaving Heeseung’s shoulder and finding its place on Jake’s hand around your neck. He wasn’t choking you, but the pressure there was driving you crazy.

The feelings you have for both these men were driving you up a wall. And here you were, having the greatest threesome sex with them.

Your skin felt hot at their touches, breathing became uneven. You tilted your head up to Jake’s, taking his lips back to yours, kissing him so desperately as if you needed to steal the oxygen from him.

“Faster,” Heeseung groaned, feeling his climax reaching faster than he wanted it to, “Touch her faster.”

“Fuck,” Jake moaned against your lips, working his finger on your clit faster, your mouth parting and hand gripping his wrist harder, “Fuck look at you, coming so undone by us,” Jake kisses you harder, “You’re so fucking sexy. Being so good at taking our cocks and fingers.” Jake started rubbing his cock against your back, knowing he was close to his second orgasm.

You clenched around Heeseung’s cock, “I’m cumming,” you moaned into Jake’s mouth, “I’m cumming.”

“Yesssss,” Heeseung hisses, fucking into you faster until he felt your cum wrap around him and seep out your hole and onto his thighs, “Gonna fill this pretty cunt to the brim, gonna show you just how much I’ve missed you.”

Heeseung fucked into you harder, being nearly seconds away from spilling his seed. Jake was now moaning into your mouth, the friction of your body moving from Heeseung fucking you and him bucking his hips against your back had him shooting his hot cum up your back, curses falling out of Jake’s lips as he drops his head down to your shoulder, biting hard on the skin from the high of his second time cumming.

Your help from Jake’s bite sent Heeseung over, his cum painting your gummy walls white as if you were the canvas and he was the painter.

The perfect painting that belonged in a museum.

Heeseung slumped his body back onto the couch, the grip on your hips softening as his thumbs now do figure eights against the skin, “I love you,” he finally admits, “I still love you.”

Before you tell him you still love him, Heeseung pulls you closer to his body, with no inch left of space, and falls to his side on the couch, grabbing Jake’s arm to force him to lay behind you, filling up every inch of the couch.

“We’re dating again,” Heeseung growled, taking your chin between his fingers, “And you’re going to date Jake too.”

Jake widened his eyes, staring at his best friend as if this was even remotely okay, “We are sharing?”

Heeseung chuckles, giving a nod, “You already fucked her, I want to keep fucking her. We might as well share.”

Jake just smiles, his lips connecting back to your shoulder as his index finger traces up and down your side, “I’m fine with that.”

You felt dizzy as you were sandwiched between your boyfriends, feeling as if you were on cloud 9.

Heeseung shifted, his cock still inside you twitching, “Jake, ready to ruin her again?”

Your eyes widened, fixing to protest but feeling Jake’s fingers sliding into your mouth, shutting you up. His cock against your back hardened, “Fuck I want to keep ruining her.”

This was your life now, but you couldn’t complain. Not when they both bent you over in multiple different positions and gave you praises.

You could get used to this.

#yeonzzzn asks #— 🎠 anon #heeseung #sim jake #sim jaeyun #enhypen #enhypen smut #heeseung smut #sim jake smut #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #heeseung x reader #reader x heeseung #jake x reader #reader x jake #enhypen x reader #reader x enhypen #yeonzzzn writing

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