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demonpiratehuntress · 3 months

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I am actually so mad. I was working on this and for some reason it didn't save correctly and ended up posting a blank draft while deleting the stuff I had already written! I'm so sorry it took so long, @tiaramarijadhkxdyi755, but here it is! i hope this is close to what you wanted, because i wasn't sure how to go about it 🙈

taglist - @kabloswrld

patience with the Straw Hats

featuring - Zoro x F!Reader, Luffy x F!Reader, Sanji x F!Reader, Usopp x F!Reader

summary - the ask above

warnings - mean/careless/neglectful Straw Hats, im sorry, i changed Luffy's and Usopp's because I don't imagine them ever screaming at or getting angry with their s/o 💕

ZORO

Zoro has a short fuse, and that's common knowledge. Everyone knows just how grumpy and aggressive he can be after a hard fight or a difficult day training. He's snapped at everyone more than once, but you seem to take the brunt of it since you're the closest to him, and today was no different.

"For fucks sake just leave me alone!" Zoro could be heard yelling at you all throughout the Sunny. "You're too damn clingy and I don't need your help right now!" He stormed off.

You stood there in shock, having just asked him if he was okay, and taken aback by the response you had gotten. It wasn't unusual for him to be angry, but he was really upset today for some reason. You decided to give him space, but you had to admit you weren't really hurt or upset. More so disappointed that he had once again pushed you away.

"Zoro-"

"What?!" He snapped, glaring at you as you came up into the crow's nest with some food. "I'm not hungry, just leave."

"But-" You started, until he did something unexpected.

He smacked the food out of your hands, sending it all over your face. Your eyes widened and you stumbled back a bit, stunned.

"Okay, I'm sorry," you apologised, giving him a soft smile, "I'll have food in the room once you're ready to eat."

You waited a long time until Zoro finally entered your shared room, looking embarrassed and guilty about his outbursts today. He didn't say anything as he crossed the room and sat down beside you, but when he took your hand in his and brought it to his lips you knew he was apologising.

"It's okay," you smiled gently, "I'm not upset. Just disappointed that you won't let me help you."

"I know I know," he admitted. "I'll work on it, I promise."

"What made you so angry anyway?" You squeezed his hand.

He sighed, "You almost got hurt in our last fight because I was distracted. It's been haunting me, and I just don't want it to happen again. I snapped because I wanted to train harder instead of resting or eating, so I can properly protect you."

You smiled at him again, "But you always do, that was not your fault babe."

He was so grateful to have such a patient, understanding and loving girlfriend.

SANJI

Sanji usually never snapped at or yelled at you. He didn't ever want to, and never had any reason to. He was sweet, loving and doting just like you were, but unlike you he did have his days where he went against his promise to never lash out at you or hurt you in any way. Today was one of those days. Usopp had pulled him away from some girls who were fawning over him, and he was irritated.

"Why did you do that?" He glared at the sniper. "I was having fun."

"You also have a girlfriend," Usopp reminded him, gesturing towards you. He was nervous now, because Sanji looked pissed off.

"So?" The cook scowled. "I can appreciate and talk to other women without cheating on her!" He spoke like you weren't right next to him. "Right, (Name)?"

"Right," you smiled, a bit disappointed but not showing it.

Then he was off, returning to those women to apologise and your crew turned to you, looking at you quizzically. Nami set her hand on your arm reassuringly.

"It's okay," you told them with a smile, "It doesn't bother me."

Sanji then returned, but was quick to notice the disappointed look you had on your face. He was about to ask but you shook your head and kissed his cheek, continuing your exploration of the island.

"Okay what's your problem?" He suddenly asked, annoyed, when you looked disappointed at another interaction between him and a pretty woman.

Your eyes widened, "I'm not-"

He rolled his eyes, "I'm not stupid, (Name). You're obviously hiding the fact that you want to control my every move and stop me from ever talking to other women again."

That claim was so preposterous, you frowned, "I wouldn't-"

He quickly realised what he had said and his eyes widened, "No no no, my love I didn't mean that! I don't know why I said, I-I-" He fumbled for an excuse but sighed when he didn't have any. "I'm sorry, my love. Let me make it up to you, with your favourite dinner."

"Deal."

LUFFY

In all honesty, I don't see Luffy getting angry with or yelling at you. I think he's more of the neglectful type, when faced with certain situations like facing Boa Hancock out on the sea. She claimed she didn't know you guys would be there, but you're pretty sure she was stalking his movements. Luffy wouldn't listen though.

"It's okay, (Name)!" He replied cheerily when you voiced your concerns, "Hammock's really nice! And she has yummy food!"

And then he was off, leaving you to shake your head and sigh. You retired to your shared room, hoping that Luffy would eventually realise her intentions and come back.

He never did, and after a few hours you were starting to get lonely. So you ventured out to find him, only to see him giving her a tour of the Sunny.

"Luffy!" You called, but frowned when he seemingly ignored you as Hancock said something to him.

That was pretty much how the day went. You were ignored entirely by your boyfriend, simply because Hancock wouldn't let him pay attention to you. But you were disappointed in him too, for not telling her that you were dating and for not coming to spend time with you on his own.

When the day ended and Hancock retreated to her ship, bidding Luffy goodbye, the captain finally made his way to you. You weren't upset or sad, but Luffy could see on your face that you weren't feeling anything good.

"Are you alright, (Name)?" He questioned, hugging you.

"I'm disappointed, Luffy," you told him, but hugged him back and smiled anyway, happy to have him back.

"Disappointed?" He frowned. "Why?"

You sighed, "You didn't make any effort to come and see me for even a few minutes today. You spent the whole day with her. I'm not upset, because she helped you a lot, but I am disappointed that you ignored me."

He hugged you even tighter, "I'm sorry, (Name), really. We can spend the whole day together tomorrow!"

You smiled and nodded, not having the heart to tell him that's what you guys did everyday when Boa wasn't around.

USOPP

Usopp is another Straw Hat that I don't see getting angry or yelling easily. He's very patient with you, and he's understanding. He also doesn't have any aggravating circumstances, but the one thing he can be that disappoints you sometimes is careless. He can be very careless when it comes to what he says or does, because he usually acts on emotion.

And today, it seemed, he was missing his old crush Kaya. Because while you were shopping for clothes on one store, seeking to replace your torn and burnt ones, he kept yapping on about how Kaya had this and Kaya had that, and that hers were all real and genuine.

"I'm sorry I'm not Kaya, or as rich as her," you politely reminded him, not upset but starting to feel uncomfortable.

"It's okay!" He smiled, ignoring the subtle hint for him to stop talking about her. "I love you anyway!"

"Love you too," you smiled, but in your disappointment it didn't quite reach your eyes like it usually did. Still, you persevered, hoping he would stop by the next shop.

He did not.

"Kaya had something like this," he looked at the dress you were holding up, "But much prettier."

You frowned, again disappointed that he didn't like it. And that he had once again compared it to someone in his past that should be staying in said past.

Usopp noticed your expression, and his smile faltered, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you smiled, shaking your head, "It's just not my style."

His eyes widened, "Woah, (Name), I didn't mean-"

"It's okay, Usopp," you kissed his cheek, "Let's go, I think we're done."

"No we're not," he took the dress, "This will look so much nicer on you than Kaya."

You opened your mouth to say something, but giggled when he refused to let you and bought it for you, dragging you back to the Sunny so you could show him just how much prettier you were than Kaya.

#one piece #op #zoro x reader #zoro x you #one piece x reader #one piece x you #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #sanji x you #usopp x you #usopp x reader #usopp #monkey d luffy #luffy x reader #luffy x you

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halemerry · 9 months

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On the Bookshop, the Concept of Home, and Going Too Fast

So, weirdly enough, I want to start with a scene that has very little to do with the actual Bookshop: 1967. We get Crowley planning a heist and being interrupted by an angel clutching a thermos full of holy water and promising that someday, maybe, they could let themselves have the life they want together. And we get that line. You know the one. You go too fast for me.

This one line of dialogue went a very long way to cementing the fanon perception of their roles in the relationship as we've largely been shown them - Crowley gently pushes and gives Aziraphale space to slowly feel comfortable setting his own boundaries or adjusting his worldview. And I’m not saying this is wrong - it’s definitely what we're primed to expect in their pattern - but I do think it ignores a fairly common variation of their pattern. See, sometimes, Aziraphale is actually the faster of the two of them - he's just not quite as flashy about it.

Crowley very rarely actually does any pushing without getting some kind of signal from Aziraphale first. Aziraphale, whether consciously or otherwise, quite frequently is the player making the first move on their metaphorical chess board. We see that he's the first to push for them to work together in the story of Job. We see that he's the first to invite Crowley to socialize together in Rome. We see as early as the Globe that Aziraphale has discovered and weaponized how to ask Crowley for things with a simple look and that Crowley has gotten very good at reading those asks. We actually see this dynamic in real time as Aziraphale drops signals to Crowley on how he should form his deception of the angels in the Book of Job. Even the Arrangement itself is something Crowley doesn't push for until he knows explicitly that Aziraphale isn't happy with the terms of his work. In other words, Aziraphale sets a cue, Crowley picks up on it and adapts.

So what does this have to do with the Bookshop?

Well. The Bookshop is a prime example of Aziraphale getting there faster. Because the bookshop, whether he knows it at the time or not, is absolutely a nest.

Nesting is behavior typically associated with birds, but is actually something lots of animals do. Even humans exhibit this behavior to some degree. It’s functionally gathering a bunch of stuff to create a safe, comfortable place, typically constructed for the purpose of raising children or attracting a mate. In other words: the creation of a home.

Because the Bookshop is their home. It is their safe space and sanctuary. It is a space for them to meet and just Exist without worrying about being seen. A home base where they can just Be themselves. It’s a constant in a world ever shifting around them. It’s a place for them to come back to. A place that will always be waiting for them both. And a place that they both have to be able to check in on each other. This is why the Bookshop burning hit as hard as it did. Their home was destroyed in fire and flame. And they both know it. Every expression and shift in tone when they talk about it speaks to the gravity of that loss - even if it was only temporary. And I think it was always intended to be just that on some level from the very start.

So timeline wise the closest scene we know about to Aziraphale starting his plans for the shop is the scene at the Globe. This takes place in 1601 and features the two of them being very conscious of being seen and the potential consequences thereof. They pick going to the Globe expecting it to be busy enough to blend into the crowd and Aziraphale's objection re the Arrangement has shifted onto the idea of Hell destroying Crowley.

It is less than a century later that Aziraphale buys the land that will eventually become the bookshop. In 1630 he purchases the land with his own money. That’s his money. Money that he made mostly the human way. Although this space would eventually become an embassy to Heaven it was made via earthly means. It’s his, not Heaven’s. Less than 30 years after we first see them express concern for how dangerous it would be to be seen Aziraphale starts making a space for them to retreat to.

And he does it slowly. He spends decades slowly buying up the land in the area. In fact, it’s nearly 200 years before the Bookshop will be ready to open. By the time we hit the Bastille, he’s clearly decided on a bookshop and has clearly told Crowley all about it. They’re comfortable with each other and already trust each other to a frankly absurd degree. Aziraphale risks discorporation on the sure thing that Crowley will know he’s in danger and come save him just because he wants to see him. In other words, by the time they’re at the point where they’re making elaborate excuses to see each other, Aziraphale is less than a decade away from naming the home he has been carefully making for himself A.Z. Fell and Co.

The and Co is important here for obvious reasons. We all know there’s only one person that it could be referring to. Even as Aziraphale is still denying that they are friends, he is plastering the idea that they are a unit all over the front door of his home long before even he realizes that what he is feeling for Crowley is love.

This is part of why the conversation about ‘our car, our bookshop’ comes much easier to Aziraphale. And it is an easier jump for him to make. He's the one that brings it up and he does it quite casually. He's testing the waters a bit, but is confident the conversation will go his way. Of course we have a car. Just as we have a bookshop.

The thing is I don't think Crowley ever really got that memo on a conscious level. We can see his relationship to the shop shift in the way he moves around the shop shifts over time. The earliest we see him in the shop itself is 1941. It's night time which gives the whole thing a bit of clandestine air, which is fitting for where they're at on the timeline. He stays mostly in one spot in his shots here, sort of hovering about the shop not getting too close to Aziraphale but not drifting out on his own either. He also stays as close to sitting normally as we tend to see Crowley ever sit and his glasses stay on. Which that's not to say he doesn't relax at all. He takes off his hat and make himself comfortable and, most telling, doesn't bother with fixing his glasses when they slip off his nose. He's comfortable and familiar here but it's in a strained sort of distant way. There's trust there, for sure, but he is clearly a visitor in this space.

The next we see of Crowley in the shop is the mid 2000s. It's still night time. His glasses stay on until he's drunk and the he takes them off of his own accord. He moves about the shop, touching various objects and leaning against various pillars and shelves and furniture. He's more comfortable here, but he still he needs a bit of alcohol in his system to get there.

We then see him briefly in the daytime after they realize they have lost the Anti-Christ. The glasses stay on here and alcohol is notably present. And then we do not see him in the shop again until it is burning. All and all most our shots of the bookshop from season one are Aziraphale alone moving about his space. We know Crowley's there enough that his smell lingers in the place, but we don't actually see that much of it beyond those first tom scenes.

Season 2 couldn't be more different in this regard.

Crowley moves in and out of the bookshop as it suits him. At one point he wanders off in the middle of Aziraphale zoning out in a memory without bothering to shake Aziraphale out of it. We even get him doing what is functionally a bird courtship dance right here in the middle of the shop. Aziraphale in turn takes active steps to get Crowley into the shop whether it's leaving him to watch it while he's gone or suggesting that Crowley likes waiting in the shop for him - a thing Crowley does not outright deny beyond objecting to Gabriel's presence there.

And we get a lot of Crowley in the shop this season- both with and without Aziraphale. And regardless of Aziraphale's presence, Crowley's behavior doesn't really shift too much. He's moving around the shop far more that we've ever seen him historically and he spends half that time sprawling on the furniture like it's his.

And, of course, nearly every time we see him enter the Bookshop to engage with Aziraphale, the glasses come off.

He lets his face stay exposed in the shop, even eventually in front of Gabriel. The only other place we've ever seen him take his sunglasses off by his own choice are in his own flat or when he's trying to make a point about his own nature. Even when he's engaging with Hell, so long as he's not grabbed unexpectedly, he has them on. Crowley wears them around people well before sunglasses had technically even been invented. But not here. Not anymore. Not in this story that is framing the bookshop as a literal safe haven.

Even the palette for the Bookshop this season speaks volumes. Now Season 1 in general is a little grayer than Season 2 (this is in part because of the general aesthetics of when they were made and in part because of the difference in tone between the two seasons) and it's very very noticeable in the shop itself. Here's some side by sides of similar areas of the shops between two seasons, I bet you could guess which was which based on the colors themselves.

The palette season 1 suits Aziraphale just fine. It's more neutral tones like he tends to favor on himself. It's still cozy but in a dusty sort of way. The palette of season 2 is warmer. Less white and more orange to the point where even the pillars holding up the bookshop are more vibrant. There's more natural light and we see it more often during the day. It's a warm, shared, space now. They both get plenty of use out of it.

And Crowley now looks like he fits there too. The shift in his palette makes him feel in conversation with the bookshop in a way his season 1 red can't quite mesh with the more washed out palette. I won't repost all these images I was going feral over last night but you can find a lot of shots of him in the shop windows here that really show the ways he works with the colors of the shop.

So why hasn't Crowley moved in officially if he's practically done so already?

Because this is their whole problem in a nutshell. It's a prime example of the way their pattern doesn't work anymore. It's not built for a world like this. Its built for a world where they have to hide and make excuses. And while being free of that is objectively good it also means they have none of that to hide behind anymore. Subtext doesn't have to be subtext anymore and that can be as scary as it can be exciting. Freedom from things like Heaven and Hell can be hard when that's all you've ever known. This is all new territory for them. The meaning of what home can be to them shifts a lot in a space where they can more or less do as they like.

Aziraphale doesn't need to be indirect about what he wants anymore but can't quite figure out how to be more direct in the asking. He's ready but can't quite parse how to say that out loud. Or why he would even need to when he's been saying it quietly for more than a century. He built a shop full of human knowledge into a safe haven for the demon that fell for asking questions. He invited Crowley into the shop on day one, just like everything else he loves. He's already left the door open for Crowley to come and go as he pleases and as far as he's concerned Crowley has already half moved in anyway. From his perspective he's already set a large blinking neon sign up that says 'this is your home too'.

Crowley, for his part, can't read this cue. Not without thinking about going to fast or starting a battle with his own sense of self worth. He's been in keep them alive mode for so long I'm not even sure he really knows how to let himself have needs outside of that on any conscious sort of level. There's nowhere to push if you don't have an endgame. And even if he did have one the last explicit boundary he had established by Aziraphale was telling him to slow down.

But I do think they both realize this. Crowley grumbles about what's the point from the start of his first scene and of course eventually does take a shot at expressing his wants. Aziraphale's fixation on the Ball comes into play here too. He says they allow humans to realize they have misunderstood each other and that they're actually in love. Which is just flat out their whole problem summarized for us nice and neatly.

They're not understanding each other. They haven't had the conversations they need to have. But they are trying. They still trying, even if they don't understand the ways each other is doing so. And at the end of this season even as they are separated again, the nest still stands. And, maybe the next time we get to see them, they'll decide it's in good hands right now and start building another nest together in in South Downs, but, no matter what, the shop is still home. And even if it is a place they have lost each other twice, there is no doubt in my mind that it is a place they will find each other again.

#good omens #gos2 spoilers #good omens spoilers #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #the Bookshop #az fell and co #aziraphale #crowley

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 3 months

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Warm Me Up

Summary: Illyria is cold, Rhys has some ideas on how to stay warm.

Content Warnings: Smut; dirty talk; little bit of cursing.

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Illyria was a wasteland, nothing but frigid mountains and harsh winds, you'd never understood how anything survived here. Your mate had flown you in an hour ago, you'd immediately had to sit in front of the cabin's fireplace, smothered in blankets, a warm cup of tea in your hands to avoid your teeth chattering and your fingertips from turning blue. The boys were somehow training outside shirtless. You could see them from the window, sparring, even as the relentless wind continued to beat against the windows.

You furrowed deeper into your mountain of blankets, still so damned cold. How were they managing that? How had Cassian survived his childhood, alone and hungry in this for so long? Was there something built into Illyrians to help them survive?

You tapped a mental hand against the bond hesitantly, worried you might distract your mate and he'd get hurt... again. Rhys had gotten used to your random questions, but thd first couple of times had been so sudden he'd lost focus, Az had clipped him across the shoulder, drawing blood. It hadn't even scarred, had healed with the help of his powers in less than hour. He'd probably forgotten about it. You hadn't.

Your mate responded with a gentle caress against your mental shields, like he'd brushed a hand over you mind, urging you to come forward.

"Do Illyrians run hot?" You asked.

A dark chuckle ran across the bond, sending a shiver over your spine. "Why don't you come out here and find out?"

You rolled your eyes. "And freeze to death? No thank you."

"It's not even snowing yet.," he let your peer through his eyes, the landscape dripping from yesterday's rain, but it was more mud than anything.

"I've seen warmer places in the Winter Court."

"There are plenty of ways to stay warm up here," Rhys purred, his voice a playful caress against your mind. "You're welcome to join us in the birken when we're done."

"And leave the safety of my little nest by the fire? I'll have frostbite by the time I make it there."

"Give me five minutes." The bond snapped closed and then Cassian was screaming obscenities from where they were sparring near the side of the cabin.

"THAT'S CHEATING YOU BASTARD!" Azriel shouted.

"RHYSAND I CAN'T FUCKING SEE!"

You pulled the comforter off the top of your head to try and get a good look through the closest window, but there was nothing but darkness against the glass. It was still too early in the day for the sun to be going down, the darkness outside rattling against the windows like a harsh wind. Rhys very rarely unleashed that much power, but you felt your own flare to life in your chest at the sight of it. Like calls to like, and your starborn powers had always risen to the challenge it found in Night Triumphant.

It wasn't even a full five minutes before the back door was thrown open so fast the old wood cracked against the wall. The wind came in with it, making you burrow deeper into your mound of blankets to avoid it.

Rhys must have kicked off his boots at the door, because you heard it slam shut and then nothing until large hands settled on your blanket clad shoulders.

You jumped with a shriek of surprise that had your mate bending over the back of the couch to kiss your barely exposed forehead apologetically, his skin colder than the wind beating against the walls.

"Ack! You're an ice cube!" You hissed, twisting to get away.

He chuckled as he pulled away and went to the closet near the front door.

"Don't bother, I've already raided it," you warned.

He opened it anyway, then frowned at all the empty shelves. "You weren't kidding." His next move was to go to the stack of wood neatly organized by the fire place and throw more in, the blaze illuminating the sharp planes of his face. He wasn't wearing a shirt, training leathers hanging low on his hips, a fine sheen of sweat making his bronze skin glow in the firelight.

Under normal circumstances, you would have jumped right on him, ran your tongue over his abs, traced the swirl of ink across his chest. Something about him in leathers made you weak in the knees, all rational thought out the window. The only thing keeping you in place this time was the thought of loosing the little pocket of warmth you had created.

He felt your gaze of course, turning away from the fire to look at you. "Better?" His voice had gone down an octave, his pupils dilating.

"Little," you admitted, though him being so close, looking like that might have been more of a reason for the heat you were starting to feel than the fire.

He walked to you slowly, intently, violet eyes fixed on you.

Your heartbeat quickened in your chest as he knelt in front of you.

"Think you can make room for me in there?" He kept his hands on the top blanket of your little cocoon, waiting for permission.

"I don't know, how cold are you?" You teased; this would be the last little bit of your resolve.

He slid a hand under the blankets, fingers dragging up slowly, intently over your calves.

"Cold," you whimpered, but the shiver that ran through you had nothing to do with the temperature, not as he traced his way up your thighs, only stopping when he found the hem of your sweater.

He leaned and pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose first, then the corners of your lips, his breath warm against your face, the contrast between the two temperatures making your head spin. You wanted to reel away and lean in all the same time.

"Just for a second," he promised, "then I'll get you nice and warm."

You opened the blanket, and that intense violet gaze took stock of your attire: His old sweater, so loose and baggy it looked like a dress on you, and knee high, fuzzy pink socks. Pants had felt like a waste of time, not when sifting through the dresser meant time spent away from the fire.

Rhys all but jumped on top of you, pushing you down into the couch cushions, the blankets tangling between you as he crashed his lips against yours.

Rhys, as High Lord, was always so poised and put together, everything about him calculated and curated to create the necessary masks of court duties; but alone, like this, when it was just the two of you, no masks necessary, he let that unending restraint slip, kissing you and running his hands over your body like a man starved. His tongue swept into your mouth as he slid a hand under your sweater, deft fingers dragging up your skin to cup your breast.

He'd kept his promise about the cold, you'd only felt it for a moment before he'd settled between your legs, using a bit of magic to untangle the blankets and rearrange them over the two of you. You ran a hand through his hair, scraping your nails lightly over his scalp as he playfully gave your nipple a tug.

"Better?" He rasped, lips barely off yours like he couldn't bear to be that far from you.

The warmth of his weight on top of you would have been enough, but the way he kept running his hands over any bit of you he could reach, the way he kissed you again and again and again was enough to make you forget you had ever been cold in the first place.

"Much better," you confirmed as he broke away to nip at your neck.

He chuckled as you arched into his touch; whimpering lightly as his tongue laved over the sting of his teeth on your throat.

"Can't decide," he murmured into your skin, "if I should fuck you in my sweater or not?"

Heat coiled between your legs, even further when he rocked his hips into your center, even with the clothes separating the two of you, the friction was enough to make you moan.

He nipped under your jaw, "Look so pretty in it, but I gotta get you all warmed up don't I? My poor little mate, not used to the cold."

Now that he was with you, you wanted, needed, every bit of contact with his body you could get. The sweater, so warm and comforting before, now felt like a tremendously itchy obstacle keeping you from him. "Want it off," you complained, trying to find your voice around another moan as he rutted his hips into you again, hard even through his leathers.

He chuckled as he fisted the hem and started pulling it up your body. "Wear it again for me later?"

You nodded as he pulled it over your head and tossed it over the back of the couch. Distantly, you hoped Rhys had the good sense to send his brothers away for a little while since you had stopped hearing them moving around outside, but had no time to ask as he started kissing his way down your body, pausing to give some attention to your peaked nipples. A whine tore from your throat as he swirled his tongue over one and then the other.

"Love when you make those little noises for me," he purred into your mind, not wanting to remove his lips from your body to speak.

"Rhys," you whimpered, body arching into him as he nipped at your sensitive skin.

"You're gonna look so pretty, all marked up under my sweater later," he sent an image of you, covered in hickeys from your throat to your hips down the bond as he continued to move slowly down your body.

Rhys liked to push you, liked to see how worked up he could get you, first with that silver tongue of his, then his hands, he could keep this up for hours. You, however, where so desperate for more friction, to fill the ache now burning between your legs, bucked your hips, squirming underneath him now. "Please. Need you."

He scraped his teeth along he hem of your underwear, humming his approval. Rhys grinned against your skin, all male satisfaction as he held your hips in place. "So impatient. I thought you were freezing to death in here? Don't you want to get warm, Darling?"

Warm? Your skin was on fire in every spot he had touched, the warmth of his body spreading to every point of contact he gave. It was becoming too much and not enough, you needed more, more, more.

"Please!"

He caught the hem of your panties in his teeth and pulled them slowly down your hips, hands skimming your hips and thighs, kneading soft skin. Your legs widened for him automatically, instinctively, despite the fact that you were now uncomfortably wet from his ministrations.

He ran his tongue against your center, humming his approval, blasting it down the bond. "So wet, and I've barely even touched you."

You pinched your eyes shut, overwhelmed already. He really was too damn good at this. No amount of time would ever be enough to satisfy the well of need you had for him. You blasted that desperation, that ache for him right down the bond as words failed you, as he continued his exploration of your dripping core with his tongue. Stars erupted behind your closed eyelids as he chuckled down the bond, pleased with your reactions to his body.

You were sure you were begging for him, whimpering and pleading nonsense as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, but the words faded in and out of your consciousness. There was only Rhys, the movements of his tongue, the feeling of his fingertips digging pleasantly tight in your hips, the heat of skin wherever it touched you. Your eyes rolled back into your head, body arching, hands tangling in his hair as the edge rose up to meet and you and you toppled over it with a scream that sounded an awful lot like your mate's name.

"Such a good girl," he purred as he lapped up the evidence of your pleasure.

You're whole body shook as he kissed his way back up your body, grinning against your flushed skin the whole way. He was so warm, when he kissed you again, the taste of your release still on his plush lips, your only thoughts were on how you could get more of that warmth, until it has seeped into your bones, erased any trace of the cold that had laid so deep beneath.

You threaded your hands in his hair, now a mess across his forehead, whimpering. "Need you still."

He grinned as he caught your lower lip between his teeth in a playful nip. "I know, love."

You moved a hand to the small of his back, pulling him closer.

"You'll have me until there are no longer stars in the sky." The bond flooded with more warmth and affection, as deep as your need for him ran, his was equal, there was no end to what he could give you.

You kissed him again, even as your legs wrapped around his waist, a bit of magic finally removing those damned leathers. Maybe you'd ask him to put them back on later, so you could enjoy the sight of him in the aftermath as much as he would you, but those were questions for later.

"I love you," you whimpered as he finally slide into you, slowly, casually, like there was all the time in the world for the two of you to enjoy each other.

He fit like he was made just for you, the stretch just uncomfortable for a moment before the pleasure made your back arch and your toes curl. He moaned into your throat, pushing his nose into your sweat dampened skin, inhaling your scent as he pushed all the way in to you.

You wondered, distantly, if the stars you were seeing were his making, or something that appeared for him too. The way he panted into your skin as he rocked his hips, testing you, made you think he saw them too.

"So perfect," he moaned as he slid almost fully out.

Your nails clawed at his shoulders, begging for him to come back and he plunged back in a little more forcefully this time, the couch groaning beneath the two of you.

You rocked your hips to meet his thrusts, hands still trailing down the contours of his spine in a move that would be sure to leave marks of your own. He nipped at your neck and shoulders when you pushed too hard, skin breaking beneath your fingertips, but you knew he didn't mind, know he relished in being marked up by you, like it was a badge of honor. You'd leave hickeys on him afterwards, when the pleasure building between your legs wasn't so white hot, when you could focus your attention somewhere other than the need burning it's way through you.

His hand snaked down between your legs, drawing you closer and closer to the edge again.

"Rhys," a prayer, a mantra, the only thing that made sense as pleasure turned all rational thought to mush.

"I've got you," he rasped in your ear, every muscle taught as he rocked into you again and again and again. His pace was quickly becoming more frantic, his breath hot on your throat as he moaned into your skin. It was that sound, so desperate and low right beneath your ear, coupled with the movement of his deft fingers, the angle of his cock inside you, all hurtling you so quickly towards the edge that you didn't notice it was there until you toppled over it. Your mate followed with a roar, his own release warm inside you.

You clung to him, trembling, panting, as you came down from your high, the familiar weight of him atop you grounding in the aftermath. He snaked an arm around you as he positioned the two of you on your sides, sharing the couch now. You buried your face in the crook of his neck as he kissed the top of your head, gently.

"Warm now, darling?" He asked softly, a hint of teasing still there, even as he recovered his breath.

He hadn't pulled out of you yet; you bit your lip in thought as you tossed a leg over his, bringing you flush against his hips. You were sensitive, the movement made you wince a little, but even after all that, you still wanted more of him. Perhaps it would never be enough. Like the Illyrians that called this frigid place home, there was always going to be something that pushed you back towards the fire, that damned insatiable need to get warm.

"I think I'm still a little cold," you purred, eyes glinting playfully.

Your mate chuckled at the challenge in your tone, violet eyes narrowing into where you were still joined. "Can't have that, can we?"

The fire roared in the fireplace, a bit of your mate's magic flaring, making sure there was more heat in the cabin, before his lips were on yours again, chasing away any hint of cold before it could touch you.

#rhysand x reader #rhysand x reader smut #acotar #acotar fanfic #acotar smut #rhysand smut #fanfiction #i'm so downbad for this male as you can clearly tell #my writings

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starshideurfics · 12 days

Text

Can’t go home alone

steddie, aob, hurt/comfort, established secret relationship

I just can’t leave this concept alone 🥰

Pain pulses over and behind and around Steve’s eye along with the beat of his heart. It isn’t as bad as it was even an hour ago, and definitely not as bad as when he and Robin puked their guts out in the movie theater restroom.

But his head hurts. His chest hurts. And he just wants to curl up in his nest and hope his parents don’t come home in time to see him like this.

But the paramedic checking him says he’s definitely got a concussion. “Have you got someone who can keep an eye on you for the next 48 hours?”

“I… Yeah, I do.” Steve leans his head on Robin’s shoulder, needing the support as he’s hit with a sudden dizzy spell. He really doesn’t want to hurl again.

“Steve,” Robin whispers, “There’s no way my mom is letting me stay at your house for two days. Or letting you stay at mine. She would freak if I had an omega in my room.”

“I know,” Steve mumbles back. “‘Preciate the offer, Robbie, but I’ve got someone.”

“Steve. You can’t just shrug this off!”

“I’m not! I do have someone.” He pouts, breathes deep, her scent sour still from the truth serum leaving her system. His face is hidden in her short hair as he mumbles, “I’ll stay with Eddie.” Steve’s so tired.

He just wants to rest his eyes a minute, but Robin shakes his shoulder.

“Eddie? Steve what are you talking about?”

“I’ll stay at Eddie’s. He’ll take care of me.”

Robin is struggling to focus, her brain not as scrambled as Steve’s, but after a day and a half without enough to eat or drink coupled with everything else, she’s just as tired and confused. “Eddie who?”

Tires screech to a stop at the edge of the Starcourt parking lot, the closest cars can come now with the barriers up. Steve whips his head around to look towards the noise and his head spins. But then he sees a familiar, shitty van, the driver’s door opening and closing loud enough for Steve to hear the slam over the surrounding hubbub.

Pushing himself to his feet, Steve starts walking towards the streak of denim and dark curls racing towards him. He’s grinning like an idiot as Eddie stops just short of barreling into him, the rangy alpha delicately cupping his face. “Steve, baby, what the hell happened?” His fingers brush gently along Steve’s brow, over the cut on his lower lip. “I saw on the news—about the fire—called your place a dozen times and no one picked up. Been half-crazy worrin’ over you, and it looks like I was right to.”

“M’sorry,” Steve mumbles, pressing his cheek into Eddie’s touch.

“No, baby, not your fault. I’m just glad it isn’t worse.” He pulls Steve close, guides his face to the scent gland at his neck, and kisses his hair. “I’ve got you.”

Steve begins to purr, feeling safe for the first time in two days. “Can we go home?”

“Yeah, let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Wait! I gotta tell Robin!”

“What? Is Buckley here, too?”

Steve doesn’t answer, just pulls out of Eddie’s grip and stumbles back to the ambulance where Robin is still waiting, wrapped in an emergency blanket, her blue eyes glued to him as he approaches. “You’re dating Eddie Munson?” The, ‘and you didn’t say anything about that when we were spilling our guts literally and metaphorically on the bathroom floor’ is implied.

“Yeah. Eddie’s the best. He’s really sweet and he’s got a big—”

“Please don’t make me barf on you by finishing that sentence. I do not need to know what you and your alpha get up to behind closed doors.” Robin reaches for his hand. “Just… Call me in the morning, okay?”

“Okay.” Steve squeezes her fingers before loping back to Eddie and snuggling into his boyfriend’s chest.

Eddie rubs at Steve’s back. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah. I’m hungry.”

“Want me to make you a grilled cheese when we get back to my place?”

“Uh-huh.” Steve nods enthusiastically, only to bring on a wave of nausea, forcing him to shut his eyes and put all his weight on Eddie.

“Maybe I should just get you into bed.”

Steve moans wordlessly, lets himself be manhandled into the van, barely noticing anything beyond the bumps in the road that make his head ache more.

Once they reach Forest Hills, Eddie plops Steve on the couch, brings him water and a bag of frozen peas for his eye, and turns his attention to frying two sandwiches.

After Steve is fed, Eddie helps him into the shower, washing his hair in the tiny bathroom, and getting rid of the dried blood and days’ worth of sweat.

They dry off together, and Eddie bundles Steve into his bed, their naked bodies pressed close beneath the covers. “I’ve got you, baby,” Eddie whispers, dropping a kiss to Steve’s unbruised temple. “You rest. And if you need anything, let me know, I’ll get it for you.”

“I know,” Steve hums, snuggling impossibly closer. “Love you.”

“Love you too, baby. Now sleep.”

#steddie #omegaverse #fanfiction #alpha eddie munson #omega steve harrington #ficlet #stranger things fic

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frogchiro · 1 year

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We've all heard of alpha!simon and monster!simon.

BUT WHAT ABOUT A COMBINATION OF BOTH

I usually imply for monster au to have a/b/o elements so this is right up my alley😭

fem!reader, mostly fluff, possessive Simon, just him being a menace to everyone besides you <3

Let's be honest, alpha!Simon is a possessive asshole who needs to have his scent and claim on you all the time or he'll get grouchy and easily irritable which...isn't ideal to say the least. An agitated alpha is never a good sign, especially someone of Ghost's caliber.

Monster!Si is...a little more particular. He's more elusive, like a literal ghost or spectre, a true mystery to everyone, even his closest team members.

But alpha monster!Simon?? A menace to everyone, including you, his precious mate :((

Just...imagine other soldiers and staff members witnessing the sight of you, all happy and smiley just doing your own thing while a literal shadow follows you around like a dark cloud. If you're in a room, it's in the corner, if you're walking around because some paperwork needed to be signed, it's following you around. And god forbid some poor unknowing soul tries to talk and flirt with you; suddenly they will feel eyes watching them, eerie and like those of a beast ready to pounce.

Simon would also have double the nesting instincts! Would insist on guarding your den and subsequently your nest like a guard dog, hissing at you if your tried to gently coax him away from the door and to please stop scaring the recruits.

But that would also mean double big on staking his claim <3 Would scent you like crazy, his shadowy mass enveloping you like a blanket all the while Si is rubbing himself against you like crazy, loud growl-like rumbles erupting from deep within his chest as he licks and rubs against you, positively drowning you in his musky heavy scent <3

#kin speaks #asks #interactions #cod x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #alpha simon ghost riley #alpha ghost #monster simon riley

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cursedcola · 1 year

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Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul (here!), Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde, Diasomnia(Pt.1)(Pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): None. I mean, unless you don't want to marry any of them. Just don't read if that's the case. Note: These are all if he is the one proposing btw. I've been thinking about maybe programming a small fan-made mini-otome using these ideas. Just for some practice for school while also being self indulgent hehe

Riddle Rosehearts

Very traditional, but this is expected. He asks your closest of kin (a cat, to his horror) for permission to propose. Regardless of Grimm's answer, there is already a ring that's been purchased. This is merely formality

He comes up with an elaborate plan to execute the 'perfect' proposal. Riddle maps it all out and runs multiple drafts by his childhood friends. Everything must go perfectly - or else you might not accept. Is it likely that not presenting you with exactly 12 red roses with the spikes trimmed and arranged with 6 sprigs of baby's breath will be the reason you decline? Likely not. Will he chance it though? No.

Despite all his planning, he is a nervous wreak. Our red prince is great at masking it though. He plans an entire evening down to the last detail. You both go to a upscale restaurant that serves your favorite cuisine under the pretense that you're celebrating an amazing jab offer Riddle received the day prior. There's dinner, dancing, a romantic atmosphere, and delightful conversation (he prepared conversation topics in advance in case he felt nervous).

Oh look, there just so happens to be an outdoor garden to take an evening stroll through. Would you like to go?

Of course you would, and he asks you to wait outside as he visits the restroom. After you pass through the back door, a nearby waiter slips him the bouquet of twelve roses that he dropped off in the morning. He counts them, checks the stems, the ribbon holding them together, and with a relieved sigh he reaches into his pocket.

Riddle nestles the engagement ring within the core of the center rose, and for a moment his anxiety quells. He looks through the outside door's windowpane, and sees you patiently waiting for him while admiring the garden lights. The anxiety returns, but he's ready. With a knuckle-white grip on the flowers, he passes through the doors.

"Hello...I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. I had a matter of great importance to attend to - wha? No! Not that- ugh. I wasn't in the restroom! Only you would make such a childish remark on such an important day...No, do not apologize. I was not referring to my career. Perhaps these flowers will provide some clarity. I hope they are to you liking,"

When you notice the ring, he gently takes it and gets down on one knee. Riddles heart rattles against his ribcage, and his the mask of calm falters. He holds out the ring with one hand, and the other lightly trembles as it reaches for yours.

"Would you do me the honor of becoming my spouse? I promise that you will be cared for dearly, and that I will work tirelessly to become a husband that you will be proud of,"

{Riddle's ring is a mix of new and old. Tradition dictates a diamond for a wedding ring, but he knows better. Riddle wants you to think of him every time you see this ring, so he chooses to stray. Three rubies sit nested in diamonds. The color of his hair, which you love to poke fun of so much. It represents how he is willing to consistently change while still holding on to his core values, all so he can become a husband worthy of you}

Trey Clover

A simple man, and therefore takes a simple approach. The depth of his proposal lies in the timing. He does not know when he will be ready to commit, or how to tell if you are ready to as well.

Trey puts proposing off for the longest time. He acts in baby steps. The idea toys with him for months, until one day he convinces himself that he is ready. After that he slowly begins to look at rings, and think of ideas. He wants to be original, but would that overwhelm you? He would sooner die than do something tacky like a public proposal at a concert or event...but is that something you might want?

If there is one thing Trey is certain about, its that rejection would break him. He knows that your relationship would never be the same if he proposed too early, or if he managed to royally screw it up. He's not a fan of attention. This is awful. Oh Great Sevens it's a pressure that he never dreamed of having to undergo.

But if he doesn't propose...would you? Are you waiting for him? what if you're thought process is the same as his?

Completely out of character for Trey, he ends up proposing on impulse. He woke up one morning and saw the ring tucked away in his sock drawer. For the millionth time he had to face the "I should just do it," thoughts and decided to act on them

The day is new, neither of you had work, and a quick glance over his shoulder proves that you would be soundly sleeping for at least the next hour. So what's he do? Trey puts on his nicest casual clothes. Nothing formal, but also nothing that is sloppy. Then he marches downstairs and starts to make breakfast. He decides to prepare tarts, a reminiscence of your days as students and where you first met. As he arranges them on a platter, he places the ring inside one made with your favorite flavor. It peaks out just enough for anyone to notice, and with a huff Trey steps back to admire his work.

His hands are slightly clammy, and quickly moves to busy himself in fear he might chicken out. It helps for a time, until he hears your footsteps approach the kitchen, followed by a sleepy 'good morning' and arms wrapping around his torso

He steels himself, and turns over in your arms to kiss the top of your head. With a nervous laugh, Trey gestures to the platter of fruit tarts and smiles at how the sight of food causes you to perk up. Like clockwork, you reach for your favorite flavor and quickly notice the metal chunk inside

He reigns in panic as you dig the ring out and eye it with a quirked brow. A moment of silence passes before it clicks, and you whip to gawk at him with the largest bugeyes he has ever seen. Wordlessly, Trey takes the ring, wipes off any crumbs with his shirt, and takes your hands in his

"I'm sorry to spring this on you so early in the morning. It must be quite the wakeup call, huh? Haha...The truth is, I have wanted to give this to you for such a long time. I simply did not know how. I had a burst of courage this morning, and am honestly running on pure adrenaline. I love you...I want to spend our lives together. Will you marry me?"

{Trey's ring is a single pearl on a gold band. He feels that the ring should reflect it's wearer, and you are one of the most naturally beautiful people he has ever seen. There is beauty in simplicity - in seeing things as they are with no modifications. You do that for him, and he loves how your relationship is authentic}

Cater Diamond

Marriage? Huh. See, in the past that was a no-go. Very constricting and he didn't enjoy the idea of getting linked to someone in that regard. An s/o with no legal binding? Sure. It's just a title anyways, right? That kind of thing shouldn't matter in the long run.

Except it did end up being relevant, and now Cater wants to beat himself up because he explicitly told you once things were getting serious that he wasn't interested in marriage. You were fine with doing either and left the decision up to him. Very nice of you to be so nonchalant , and now he knows that marriage isn't 'off the table'. There is a chance.

A chance that requires him to both propose and take back his initial stance. Which is kind of humiliating. The take back part, not the proposal. Cater is confident that he can blow you away. He doesn't need shoddy internet advice, or to to do extensive research to be perfect. Nope. It's all in his noggin. He knows you like the back of his hand and therefore can concoct a speech to woo you easily.

So what comes first, the chicken or the egg? Does he try to casually tip you of that he's interested in getting married before trying to propose? No. That would be incredibly dull and ruin the element of surprise. Cater always hated those crappy half-baked romance films where the loser male lead is all 'oh honey I promise I will propose. Just give me time,' because hello???? You spoiled it??? Also don't make promises that you don't plan to keep, douchebag. How dull.

He decides that it's all or nothing. Cater spends an entire night online shopping for a ring. He already knows all of your sizes...don't ask how or why. Anyway, ordering is a cinche. Just ignore his eyebags the next day and his snappy attitude. He can't even whine about how tired he is because that would mean he has to say why he didn't sleep and -EUGH. He is torn between his two loves. Complaining for attention, and wooing you for attention. It's rough.

It comes in the mail, and after checking the package he decides to seal it back up again. It looks untouched thanks to his skills. Then, he sets up the living room to look like he is filming a video for his magicam. Specifically an unboxing video, and makes sure to let you know that it's from one of your favorite companies.

You take the bait, and he asks you to join him. Even if your camera shy, he insists that for just this one video you hop on. He might be a bit tricky and give you ideas about the product in the box (making sure to align them with a hobby or fandom that you're into). He sets the camera to record, plops down casually at your side, and hands you the box cutter. Go crazy.

Cater can't help but giggle when you open the box - just to pull out another small box. You eye it cautiously, now suspicious that this might be a prank. He urges you to open the box, and you do so while holding it at arms-length away from your face.

The ring's gem sparkles in the camera light, and he watches amused as you pull it closer. With a shaky hand, you take it out of the box and inspect it. With the way you side-eye him, Cater can tell that you're wondering if this situation is a cruel prank...

"Tada~~ You like? -- WAIT! Before you get upset just let me explain! There is no video. That was a lie, and I'm sorry for it. I surprised you good though, right?...ahem, uhm. I'm not pranking you. If you feel the same, then I want for us to get married! I know what I said before, and I take it back. The time we have spent together made me realize that I only felt that way - well, because I was unable to imagine liking someone enough to share my life. So...do you want to marry me?"

{A diamond for a diamond. Diamonds are reflective. They glitter, and are clear. They are also viewed as the best choice for a ring, but in actuality they have are not. They're only considered perfect because of marketing. In actuality, they're quite the opposite. This same reasoning applies to Cater - and you understand. Yet, you still love him. The diamond represents himself, and the heart shape is to remind you how much you mean to him}

Deuce Spade

He may be young, but he is not stupid...alright. Deuce is not always stupid. Sometimes? Yes. He makes poor decisions and lets his emotions get the better of him.

This? Not a poor decision, and he will never EVER think twice about it. From the moment the idea entered Deuce's head, it was decided. HE would become your husband. Nothing would stop him.

It began during his final year at Night Raven College. Graduation approached, and everyone was excited. Everyone, except for one person. You. He didn't notice it at first, being too hung up over how he actually managed to do well in school. Get this, he even became Heartslabyul Drumhead after Riddle graduated! What an honor! His mother was proud of him, and he was proud of himself! He had career aspirations, plans to get a home back home, and even a lovely s/o to flaunt. Life was great.

What...do you mean? That you're not going back with him? The Queendom of Roses is such a beautiful place! He's certain that you'll love it and can become adjusted. Why do you want to stay at this academy? Was three years not enough?

Deuce has never gotten mad at you before. A little miffed, sure, but never frustrated. He didn't like it. Not these feelings, or how he failed to notice that you planned this from the start. He was so wrapped up in his own happiness, that he failed to see that you felt troubled over his assumptions. It stung. In a moment of weakness, he left you alone, scared that he might raise his voice at you.

He needed to think. Alone. Thankfully he moved past sharing a room with Ace when Deuce became Housewarden. His phone rang many times. Some calls from you, Ace, his mother...for once, Deuce didn't think her advice could help him. Not when he was so confused.

He thought over his dreams for after college. They were the same that he had since prior to enrolling. Nothing changed...except for you and the other unexpected friends he made along the way. It began to settle within him that the unpredicted parts were more important to him than what he initially planned. The image of him as a successful worker, on his own, and being successful were all hollow if they didn't include you. Deuce wasn't upset that you planned to stay at NRC, he was upset that you didn't plan to stay with him.

Or did you? He interpreted it as such in the moment, but he's not so sure. All Deuce knows is that you're his best friend and the love of his life. If you stay here without him, will that change? He doesn't want to find out.

The next day, he's determined. It's impulsive, this he knows. Yet it's what feels right in his heart and Deuce has always trusted his gut instinct. This choice is entirely on him. No one's advice to excuse it if you don't reciprocate, and yet he isn't afraid. He might not have a ring, or fancy offerings. All he has is his love to offer, and a willingness to work around any obstacle. The hurt from the night prior sill aches in his chest, but he has done difficult things before. The pain merely serves as a reminder for how he hurt you, and what his future might be like if he doesn't act.

He finds you before breakfast. When the first rays of sunshine peak over the horizon and the air is still moist with morning dew. You lingered in the hall of mirrors, specifically near the portal to Heartslabyul Hall. Your presence startled him, and he nearly headbutt you from the speed he was going through the portal. Were you...planning to visit him? His heart shuddered in a mix of guilt and happiness. Even after the way he behaved, you still cared.

Upon closer inspection, you appear just as disheveled as him. He must have caused you a great deal of worry...damn it. He can't even be mad at himself. Not with things as they are.

Before you have a chance to speak, he hushes you. Deuce's jaw sets in determination and he reaches into his uniform pocket. He pulls out a paper ring. One that children often give each other on the playground when playing family. He then gets down on one knee, and holds it out with both hands.

"I am sorry. I never intended to hurt you, or push my ambitions on to you. I simply love you more than anything else, and was afraid that you did not want to be together anymore. I was afraid...that being apart would take away what we have. I realize that I was wrong. I didn't see it happening, but being with you has caused me to develop dreams beyond what I initially planned. Nothing I imagine feels right, unless you are in the picture. I don't have a proper ring prepared just yet...but will you marry me? I promise that no matter where we are - for better or worse, I will make you happy. I swear it!

{Your initial ring is made out of his most recent homework assignment. It's frail, and one drop of water will break it. However, he meticulously folded it and it is the byproduct of many imperfect prototypes. The paper ring truly represents who Deuce is. It's rushed, fragile, and full of love}

{He chooses a vintage ring. With both of your initials engraved on the center, he hopes that this ring attests to a promise no matter where you both are. It's rose-gold, not as bright as pure gold but still beautiful. The mixed color represents the different worlds you both come from, as well as your melded life}

Ace Trappolla

Ace tends to get comfortable, and when that happens it is difficult to ignite change. However, he is also headstrong. More than many give him credit for. So once the problem is identified, it's only a matter of time until he does something about it. What he does isn't necessarily always the best solution, sure; however, when threatened he will indeed act.

Initially Ace did not plan to find love. For a long time, he rejected it and passed his feelings off as a small crush. You're attractive, he's a man, a lil of this and a lil of that - who wouldn't feel a little heart throb once in a while? It only became an issue when you became one of his best friends. It felt like he was betraying you with these thoughts. They became a problem.

His first solution was to repress them further. Like stated, he noticed a problem and so he acted. Was this the best choice? No. It ended in a dumpster-fire. Any time another student even remotely expressed interest in you, Ace felt threatened. He couldn't spend time at your side without indecent thoughts popping up. Not like 'that' (geez, get your mind out of the gutter people), but more so domestic. Ick. What was happening?!

He couldn't hold it in, and his confession will forever be known as a feels-dump that started with you sharing half of your grilled-cheese with him because he missed lunch.

Yeah. Humiliating. Ugh.

Now you're his partner, of a long time. A very, very, very long time. Years post graduation. You both have settled into life together, so why tack a title? It's not like those mean anything, right? Everything was perfect as is, and weddings are expensive. You never brought it up either, so why worry?

Well, those titles do mean things in the eyes of the law. Ace never thought to get documentation about emergency contacts and whatnot updated. So when hit his head and got a concussion when jogging? The hospital wouldn't let you in. Not until he woke up, which was the longest four hours of your life.

You didn't express how much it bothered you, but words weren't necessary. The muted panic that you tried to hold back was enough. He expected you to enter his room angry, but instead all he got was defeat. That sight alone hurt worse than the leg.

The event got Ace thinking about things he hadn't in a long time - like marriage. He got too comfortable after letting the thought go once. To him, you were already irreplicable. Years do that, and he's certain that you feel the same way about him. If his young self could see him now...pah, he was such a turd. All 'I don't need anyone,' and empty words to play tough-guy. Little did he know that the person he would need the most in life was only a dimension-hop away haha.

It's that simple, really. No panic or nervousness. Ace decided definitively that he was going to marry you, and it only took years of being an airhead to figure it out.

He spends the night in the hospital for surveillance, and the staff is kind enough to prove you with a cot to sleep on. He stubbornly drags it next to his bed, and once you're sleeping soundly he 3slips a bandage over your ring finger to take the measurement

He planned to go buy the ring instantly after being discharged, but you wouldn't leave his side. Nagging about bed-rest and taking it easy...ugh! He needs to do this thing! No, he can't tell you about it. It's a secret!.....ugh, fine. One more day. Just because he loves the attention.

The next morning after, he's excitedly going to the nearest jewelers. He doesn't have a particular ring in mind, but he's done some research! It's the idea behind the ring that's important anyways....alright. Maybe he'll call up Cater.

Ace does nothing extravagant. He sticks to comfort. You, him, both eating dinner while watching a movie on the TV that evening. He quickly scarfs down his meal within the first 10 minutes and runs to your shared room after ditching his dishes. Stashed in his wallet, he pulls put the ring and hides it in his palm.

Ace tries to be smooth. He dims the living room lights, and sits down closer to you than before. He moves to take your hand with the one holding the ring, and sneak it on to your finger.

It fails, obviously. Who wouldn't notice someone trying to shove a piece of metal on their finger? You pull away on instinct, and the ring falls between the couch cushions. He freaks out for a moment and sifts through them as you continue to eat between giggles. Only when he holds the ring up in triumph do you quiet down.

"Not so funny now, is it? - Nah, just kidding. It was pretty funny....although I wanted this to be a bit more romantic. Eh. It's fine. From the look on your face, I'm guessing that you know what this is?...Uhh. Yeah. I thought it was a good time, y'know? We've been together so long that I already do think of you as my partner. I think you feel the same? Feel free to jump in if not....but, yeah. I love you. A lot. I'd really like to make it official, and I'm sorry it took me so long to get the guts to ask. Will you marry me?"

{Tradition is for chumps. Ace wanted to get something fun and eye-catching. Many suggested otherwise, but this felt right. Your relationship has never been conventional and never will be. Hell, screw 'conventional,' because it's perfect as it is and so is this ring. He knows that this ring will draw your attention, and that's all he cares about}

End Note: None of the ring pictures are mine. I pulled them off of google images because - well, I had ideas and tried to find rings to match them. I write fanfic, not weld jewelry.

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shogunish · 5 months

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𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝗷𝗼𝘀 & 𝗶. [𝟬𝟮]

synopsis. satoru knows you're the closest thing to a mother megumi will ever have.

contents. reader battles with a kitchen stove (it was funnier in my head), a lil' bit of megs/reader bonding, soft and tired toru

words. 1.1k

note. pls lmk what you think bc i feel like my writing has gone 📉📉📉 but anyways, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE LOML, THE APPLE OF MY EYE, MY GLORIOUS BLUE EYED KING 💕

comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! <3

previous || next

as promised, you're watching over megumi for the day. he's a quiet and somewhat shy kid who doesn't talk too much, but you're certain the little guy will warm up to you once he sees you around more often. you can't blame him; after all, you're basically a stranger in his home who's suddenly spending time with him until he passes out and satoru comes back home from work. you'd be a little reserved as well if you were in his shoes.

“so megumi, what would you like for dinner?” you kneel down to megumi's height and flash him a kind smile, head tilted to the side and hair framing your face.

megumi regards you for a moment as if he doesn't really want to say what he wants, but the smile on your face, the warmth you exude is enough for him to speak up. if he already gets to choose, he better make it count. “..macaroni.” he says, a pout on his lips.

“macaroni it is, buddy.” ruffling megumi's hair, you're quick to move through the kitchen, finding the noodles, preparing two pots and filling one of them with the right amount of water. everything goes as planned until you're faced with that fancy kitchen stove that does absolutely not work like the one you own.

damn satoru and the salary he uses to buy expensive shit like this.

you know it's a touchscreen model, but whenever you do put your finger down and the thing beeps..nothing happens. the stovetop doesn't even turn red to indicate that it's on and so you put your finger down a couple more times only for nothing to happen.

a lump sits in the back of your throat, cold sweat coats the tip of your finger. your heart skips a beat. if you can't even figure out how to operate your newfound nemesis of a stove, megumi would go to bed hungry and satoru would definitely be severely disappointed in you!

you can't let the attractive single dad think you're useless.

you cannot let megumi starve.

stuck in your own panic, you fail to notice how megumi has watched your..conflict by peeking over the countertop. even his dogs give you a somewhat confused look as if they could sense your emotional distress over a stove of all things. the boy walks over, nudges himself between you and your self-proclaimed nemesis and brings his finger down on the touchscreen of the stove like he's never done anything else in his life.

beep. beep, beep.

apparently, it's that easy to get the water to cook.

dumbfounded, you stare at megumi, then at the stove and back at megumi. you have to look hilarious with your lips parted into an o-shape and your eyebrows almost shooting up to your hairline if megumi's little laugh is anything to go by. “..that's amazing..how did you–”

megumi shrugs his shoulders, his usual deadpan expression back on his face. “i always watch dad when he cooks. it's not..that hard.”

you groan out loud, but a little chuckle laces into the sound. “..i'm too old for this stuff.” with pouted lips, you let megumi explain how to increase and decrease the heat, how to turn the stove off and on. it really is a lot easier than you initially believed.

when satoru finally comes home, the skies are already darkening. hues of dark blue and a hint of purple are slathered across the vast canvas, birds roaming through the air and seemingly returning home to their nests or whatever place they consider home for the night. for a moment, the bustling life of the city ceases to exist – at least until satoru would have to leave for work again.

no emails, no phone calls, no meetings.

clad in suit and tie, buttons opened and tie loosened, a sigh of relief sneaks past his pale lips when the warmth of his apartment welcomes him home. a place which was usually silent, almost void of any life since megumi would be in bed by now. but now, the scent of food lingers in the air, soft snores echo from the living room down the hallway and the tv dimly illuminates the cozy space. driven by curiosity and a grumbling stomach, satoru finds a plate of macaroni on the dining table. in front of it, a note is placed.

“i figured you might be hungry after work. all you have to do is warm it up :]”

cerulean eyes soften behind pitch black shades as they skim over the carefully written note and the silly smiley you drew at the end. you didn't have to do this. satoru could take care of himself, he's been doing it for as long as he can remember, but..in a way, it's nice to be thought of, cared for, even in such small ways you probably didn't put much thought into.

he likes it. likely, a lot more than he should.

satoru trudges over to the sofa in the living room, wanting to thank you for the food, but when he sees you passed out on the cushion, megumi cuddled up to your chest and the two dogs snoring at your feet, the ghost of a smile dances on his lips. you look absolutely exhausted, a bit of drool leaking from the corner of your lips and red crayon smeared on your cheek, but it kind of looks cute on you, satoru thinks.

the sound of disney's bambi on the tv is nothing but white noise as satoru's gaze shifts towards his son, his little bundle of joy. the boy who never had a mother appears so content with his little arms clutching his favorite plushie and his little face buried in the warmth of your chest, snoring just as loudly as the dogs. the kid is beat, just like you.

satoru has to shake his head. ever since megumi was born, satoru wanted nothing more than for him to experience the love of a mother. someone who would offer him unconditional love, attention, would care for him and his happiness in ways that only a mother can, but you are not his mother. you never will be.

in the end, you're still the cute neighbor next door who offered to lend him a hand out of pity and not someone who could act as megumi's mother.

and yet, satoru knows he made the right choice by accepting your help.

this is the closest thing megumi will ever have to a mother.

a sigh, heavy enough to be conflicted but quiet enough to drown into the late hours, slips past satoru's lips. with quiet steps, he fetches a blanket from his bedroom and tosses the soft fabric over megumi's and your sleeping form.

"thank you." he breathes out, voice barely above a whisper.

taglist. @torusmochi, @ayanominitrash, @erigaur

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #fic. the gojos & i

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sh1-n0bu · 1 year

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♡︎ 𝙘𝙪𝙩𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙥𝙤𝙥𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙡𝙚 ♡︎

anon asked: may i request sub xiao with small dick but you keep teasing him?

characters: sub!xiao x nb!dom!reader

warnings: overstimulation, a mix of praises and degrading, dacryphillia, dumbification, feminization

notes: yes yeeess YEEEEESSSS!! finally someone gets it!!! xiao has a small dick and you can’t change my mind!!! also i went with head cannons format for this one, i hope it’s okay anon😚♥️

third repost bc tumblr can’t stop me

first of yes yes yes xiao has a small dick and it’s fucking cute

at first he would be incredibly worried because what if you don’t like his small cock? what if he can’t meet your expectations??

but you reassured him that it was okay and you just love him regardless of it

it’s so small and cute you don’t even have to move your hands

just wrapping your big, warm, calloused hand around his little cocklet would have him throwing his head back, mewling and blubbering about some drunken shit♡︎

“unngyaa~! b-big! big big! y-your handd~ too big! gYAANN!”

like i said before he would get overstimulated very very easily very quick without you even trying

his cock is so cute and small, it would barely hit the back of your throat

so completely swallow his cock and just lazily twirl your tongue over the tip, it would have him thrashing around, hands scrambling to grab anything anything! to at least get his mind back together

“HAAAH! h-hottt~ [name]! your mo-ownng! mouth shoo hot! annh~ hwaAA! C-CUM! CUMING! CUMINGCUMINGCUMING-!!”

easily becomes a pleasure-drunk, blabbering, sobbing mess

he’s just so kfjwkjdjdnd

saying his sweet little popsicle can’t fill you up, how it’s so adorable when it twitches, how you could just suck on them all day like it’s an actual sweet will have him sobbing either from his fucked up brain too slow to comprehend anything or how he just feels so good he doesn’t know if he should thank you or say how mean you are

today was your birthday, as mortals calls it, but it seemed like you yourself forgot about it. so it means the responsibility to gift you a happy birthday gift you would surely enjoy was up to your sweet loving boyfriend! hut the problem was, xiao sucks at choosing gifts. so he asked around from the people closest to him.

zhongli suggested that mortals seemed to enjoy home-made food from their loved ones is greatly cherished, sadly the yaksha cant cook for the life of him.

ganyu recommended a flower bouquet of all the local specialties of liyue but he always brings you a flower back from his nightly duties.

the traveler and paimon said a birthday cake and a song is a traditional gift and a common practiced ritual but where would the adepti buy the cake? it also was another minus point that he can’t socialize.

verr however said something he knows you’ll absolutely enjoy would be the best gift. something that makes you perk up with sparkles in your eyes. and the very first thing that popped into xiao’s mind was an interesting idea.

stepping into the small nest/room that belongs to you and your lovely yaksha, this was definitely not what you were expecting but still a welcome gift.

sitting on your shared pile of fluffy pillows and blankets was the ethereal adepti, with only a cute lingerie. a soft blush pink bra that only seemed to highlight his pink nipples more, a lace see through tiny panties that barely covered his cocklet and a cute cat ears.

“uhmm h-happy birthday, love” shyly spreading his legs apart for you to admire him in all his glory, xiao looked away with his face blooming in colors.

“well, thank you for the food and the gift” diving in to capture his lips in a hungry kiss, this was definitely the best gift you ever had.

sucking dark hickies on his chest, setting him on your lap and making him move back and forth, kissing him until he can’t even breath - all of this has been going on for a long enough time yet you still haven’t touched him!

“nngh [name] please? p-pleaseee touch my-my cok too!” xiao was on the verge of crying. whenever you two would make love, you always satisfy him but you weren’t budging to any of his pleas tonight.

“hmm? but i’m the birthday boss right? so i can do whatever i want right, xiao?” tapping his angry red tip you feigned innocence. it wasn’t fair! he just wanted to feel good!

“p-please? pretty please? touch m-my cock too?” guiding your fingers to run up and down on his cocklet, the pretty yaksha started whining helplessly.

chuckling at his desperation you guessed you could be a bit nicer. by nicer you meant only kissing his pathetic dick through the panties until it got completely wet and ruined.

“noooo! no no no no! [name]~ please? pretty p-please? i’ll be-i’ll be good. please… sniff” now he was crying. well you supposed you were cruel to him far too long. taking his whole length into your mouth, you lazily started to suck on the yakshas cock. he was so cute, trashing his legs all around the place, clawing at the sheets, a jumbled mess of “thank you”-s and “s-shoo good! sho good! sogoodsogood♡︎♡︎”-s tumbling out of his mouth. soon enough he came with a loud squeal but you only continued to suck on his precious tiny cock.

“nyaah! nooo~ i-i came! i awll-HYAAAGK~ [name]~! c-cum! cum! gUUHH~!” slurring on his words, it seems like your sweet xiao was fucked stupid.

#nobu.writes #sub genshin #sub genshin impact #sub!genshin impact #sub!genshin #sub xiao #sub!xiao #sub character #sub!character #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #xiao smut #xiao x reader smut #dom!reader #dom reader #dom fem reader #dom male reader #dom gn reader

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kneelingshadowsalome · 8 months

Text

Immortal (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 3)

"The path to paradise begins in hell."

— Dante Alighieri

Word count: 5.5 k

Summary: He knows now why he always returns to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased. What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead? (Last part of Ghost stories.)

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Angst, fluff, smut. Protective!Simon Ghost Riley. Graphic depictions of PTSD, suicidal thoughts and depression, mild violence. Emotional sex, love confessions, happy ending. Ghost POV.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

No one has ever scolded him.

He's the one who whips people into shape, who makes them recall who and where they are, that Task Force 141 is no place for fuckery. Now he's the one being reminded of his place.

Somehow it's ok to bring her flowers before dinner, but ever since he started to bring her coffee to get an excuse to see her at work, she began to shut down. He can fuck her doggy style at her place, but if he so much as lifts his mask to kiss the back of her neck at her office, she bats him away like an annoying fly.

And he's fucking confused.

He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought that women like to be courted. Now he's standing in the middle of her apartment, waiting for… he doesn't even know what. Pardon, perhaps.

"Why do you always call me lieutenant?"

"Well I can't call you Simon at work, can I?"

She's chaste and decent. Has been like that for a while now, retreating back to her role of a distant professional.

Something's troubling her, and he tries to get to the bottom of it. Tries his best to cheer her up, even if it's absurd that someone like him attempts to do that.

"Y'could use the alias."

"I'm not going to call you that."

She reads Virgil while making it clear that he's quite ridiculous. A ghost. It must remind her of a children's book rather than something stealthy and fatal; to her, it's a grown man's sad attempt to play a superhero.

"Did you come up with the name yourself?" Her voice has a whiff of irony as she finally spares him a glance from her hard-cover poetry.

"...No," he lies, too soon. Far too soon. She catches him on it, pants down.

"You're a silly, silly man." She shakes her head slowly and returns to her book. Last week, it was Dante who had better things to offer, far better things compared to him – such as a more poetic depiction of hell.

But even with the distant aura he can't quite pierce, she gives him a concept of what it would be like to have a home. A real home where you don't have to dread the evening and everything it brings out in people. Even when he was doing the SAS Fan Dance and lying on the cold ground to have a compulsory 2-hour shut-eye, he never missed home. The weather-beaten trail and a flapping tarp were still a cosier place than the one he'd left behind.

The closest thing to an actual home was always solitude. A few days without routine. A cold shower in the morning to wake him, but not frigid enough to kill the erection. A good, unhurried fap and some stale spit circling down the drain. No one giving him a pitiful eye for tossing old takeaway in the bin and opening the cupboard only to be met with some canned food and table salt.

Now, the first thing in the morning is the sensation of her. Fingertips sneaking their way under his arm and ghosting his stomach, stirring him so softly he doesn't quite know if he's gone to heaven. Home is a sleepy nest and slow kisses followed by the sounds of brewing coffee. Home has become a place of mundane tasks: helping her water the plants and tasting whether the vanilla pudding she made has enough sugar. Changing sheets together, listening to the fitful sea as it breaks upon the shore. Watching how she reads of the Trojan War.

When he just stands there, admiring how her manicured nails glide over the pages, she talks to him again without raising her lashes from the book.

"Did you need something?"

…You. All of you.

Now and forever.

"Ya wanna go out to eat tonight?"

Finally, he grabs her attention. The distance between them is sewn up so fast even a jerk like him can understand he finally made the right fucking move.

"What about your… The mask?"

He shrugs.

"I thought you liked my cooking," she gives him a smile. Sly… Foxy.

"I do. But let me feed you for a change."

He sees in that stare and the way she purses her lips that she's trying to prevent a dirty joke from coming out of her pretty little mouth. As much as he appreciates that little cunning look, as much as he loves when that mouth gets a little dirty, he's more than serious now.

"Come on. Let me take you out."

"Well. If you insist," she smiles, shuts the book, and flies to her closet to pull out a stunner of a dress.

…..…..…..

Her fingertips always make his cock stir. They were supposed to go to sleep – a rare thing, to not slip inside her after a nice lil evening. To his surprise she starts to trace the few hairs on his stomach, threading through them as they thicken below.

He can feel how she gets tense upon seeing that he's hard and heavy before she even reaches there. But she's not tense from anticipation.

"I overheard some of the guys talking about us. Or, well, me."

His cock gives a tug, and she still doesn't touch it.

"How I'm your luxury whore."

The curtain shifts as the wind plays with it: softly, while he's ripped out of the dark safety of the womb.

"Luxury…" She laughs, but it's bitter and thick. "Isn't it funny?"

He's hard now mainly because of the fury that rises. It ripples through his chest and pulls his stomach taut.

"Was it the rookie?"

He hears his voice from far away, from under the sea, but luckily, her hand brings him back. It's placed on him again, this time further up. She likes to trace the cavity between his pecs, pet the hair she finds there, too. Sometimes, she buries her face there and inhales his sweat, then uses that spot as her pillow. It's that very moment when he finds peace if he already hasn't by then.

"You don't have to defend my honour," the night speaks softly.

So, it was the rookie.

Nothing but a boy, younger than Soap and cockier than he was when he left Manchester with nothing but a duffel bag on his shoulder. Nothing but a boy, and she knows how boys are. She knows how boys talk. She wouldn't be in the Force if she took filthy quips seriously.

But this is fucking different. The fantasies of what he'll do to the fucker when he gets back get sicker and more beautiful by the second.

"Just… don't come there anymore unless you're injured. Ok?"

He can't hear her because the vile word overrides even the gorgeous visions of torture. It gathers up his throat as bile, and he barely has time to take a deep breath to force it down before it's too late.

"I'm gonna go take a shower."

"At this hour…?"

"Can't sleep anyway."

He reaches the bathroom just in time before the vomit flies. The power of it forces him on his knees, forces him to take hold of the door frame. Everything he fed to her shoots up, like it was only a dream that he could make her happy.

…Are you just here for sex?

Her shy question echoes from the tiles as another retch pulls the rest of his love out.

He's sweating worse than the time they had to operate him in the field, back when a bullet had worked its way through the naked spot between the straps of his plate carrier. The shower washes some of it away, but the stench stays, the foul word and the insolence, all the shallow things he has given her coat the insides of his mouth no matter how many times he tries to spit it away. The water only does so much, and she's still not asleep by the time he returns to her.

The luxury is waiting for him, silky and sweet.

Wet, even, if he wants.

"Baby… Honey?"

Baby.

He feels his guts in his throat again but swallows them down. She's beautiful, even when sad and sorry. Sorry, and for what? For him, instead of herself and what she's been called, the spite she has had to suffer simply for lying down in the filth with him.

"Are you okay...?"

"Yeah."

He goes to her, pulls her in his arms, and hopes he doesn't smell of puke.

"They're just words. Right?"

I'm more than just your whore, right?

Her hand doesn't shy away from the sweat that breaks through his back. She's not afraid of him, even when he's the monster she never asked for. He can respect that kind of fearlessness.

"You're awfully quiet," she tries.

Baby, please don't go berserk, is what he hears.

"Go to sleep, pet," he calls forth his softest voice, relieved to notice it sounds more like a lullaby than a command. He allows her to kiss him, wondering if she can taste the grave.

"Yes, sir," she breathes a soft smile in his mouth. Then she turns and coats herself with his arm. It must feel heavy around her, but she only gives a happy sigh. "I always sleep better with you. You feel so good… Safe."

He wonders how strange it is that love sometimes feels like pain. Her words come close to a knife slowly being pushed to his insides. They're still burning when she mutters the last essential thing, already half-asleep in his arms.

"They're just words, Simon…"

…..…..…..

He doesn't know much about poetry, but perhaps Dante was right.

The heart of hell is not a fiery lake of torment but an icy, cold, stagnant place. There's nothing there. Everything is frozen: screams, thoughts, even dreams.

He's walked through grey rubble and drenched asphalt, through alleyways of havoc and debris, he's trekked through desolate woodland and marsh. He's run through life like it's a day-to-day race to not get killed, but the worst of it isn't the bullets or the cold or the wind or the rain. It's the sleepless nights, the inertia. His soul in chains. On those nights, he wanted to get killed.

And yet, he's not the only one who has suffered the unfortunate event of being dragged through every plane of hell. He's not the first man to go through the funnel, nor is he the last. It only looks bad in a society where he's supposed to own a credit card and a house. It only tastes like shit when someone asks "How does it make you feel?"

People like him shouldn't go to therapy at all. His solution was to quit playing a modern man the minute he realized he's no longer fit for that role. He's simply a dead body, reanimated to serve a purpose. He's a sharp tool, a weapon. (A zombie.)

He serves the greater good, but everyone knows the greater good is propaganda too. There's no grand fight between light and darkness. Good and evil only conduct people's choices: even his old man must've thought he was making the world a better place by playing the rebel. He told him he served the Queen just to piss that sodded bastard off, but the truth is he never served anyone. Not even himself.

Now, there's an odd purpose to his task. Now, every cell in his body is full of animus.

He's an animated corpse, perhaps, but they forgot to bury the wrath.

"Where's the rookie?"

"Getting stapled."

"Where?"

Which room?

Which fucking room?

He doesn't stay to heed directions. He doesn't need them; his instinct tells him enough. He doesn't even bother to knock, simply barges in, only to see that the boy sits on the bed he used to sit on, in the exact same position as him. And he knows it's not just the blood loss that makes the fucker look so drowsy and smug.

The fury is pierced with an ice-tinged sword as he sees her gentle touch – she's tending to the wounds of an ungrateful kid with the same compassion she gives to all her patients, and the first thing on his mind is that she would make a good mother.

"What're you doing here?"

His voice is soaked in ash, but the boy only looks up from the bed with pure, trouble-seeking gall.

"What are you doing here…? Sir."

She's looking at him too. She's pleading with those eyes. Silently, desperately.

"You can't come here, lieutenant. Not unless you're injured."

Her request only now makes sense as he sees how the boy looks him up and down and sees there's not a scratch on him. There's no reason for him to be here other than to relieve the pain in his loins.

"Well… Have fun," the rookie jumps from the table, and the rage threatens to pull him underwater like a tide. He never needed anything but his voice to stop a man in his tracks. Not size, not rank, not even his reputation, just voice.

"My office. Five minutes."

The boy dares to give him another foul look.

"Is that all you need? Just five minutes?"

He even detects admiration in that stare – like he's some stallion, a prized old stud who receives fine mares to rut. Like the celestial woman standing behind this… boy is just some slag thrown to him like they threw to gladiators of old. His luxury whore.

The rookie finally catches the impending wrath that must swell and roil like sea inside the sockets of the skull.

Yes, boy.

Death is coming.

"Sir," the boy swallows with an arduous blob, then walks out of the goddess's domain, finally with some humility upon those shoulders.

The torture has already begun, and it shoots him full of sweet adrenaline. He tries to mask the rising war from her, but she sees enough just before he leaves her as well. Her words follow him but cannot penetrate the cloak of fury that shrouds him as he goes to prepare for carnage.

"Simon. I just stitched him together..."

…..…..…..

He doesn't solve the problem with a gun or a cock this time.

He uses his fists and a knife.

It should disgust him; how much he enjoys it. It's one of those rare occasions when he almost loses himself in the riptide of blood. The things he imagines are far worse than what he finally allows himself to do. When the boy has a split lip and half his face swollen so bad he can't even see from the bruise, when the wetness dampens the crotch area and threatens to stain the carpet, he lets him go.

"Get out."

He's a different man when he rises from beside that broken boy; from next to the knife he plunged to the floor an inch away from his face to make his intentions clear. The boy is stripped of all arrogance and probably regrets the day he got the splendid idea to insult a woman.

He doesn't have to get his hands deep into paperwork to have the rookie transferred; the boy does it for him. He leaves the base quietly as a shadow and with a face that looks like it has been forced through a waffle maker.

After that, everyone salutes him feet away.

His orders are obeyed without question, without a second's delay on missions. He has never pursued to be loved, but neither has he worked on making people fear him. Now he's not only a source of mystery and intrigue but also fear and wonder.

Soap isn't scared quite as shitless as the rest of them, but neither is he as friendly as he used to be. Price says nothing but he gets a few looks that tell him he has gone too far.

"You shouldn't have," she whispers when they're alone, stopping him in the quiet hallway. She's the only one who doesn't have fear and avoidance in her stare. If anything, the adoration in her eyes has deepened.

He has avoided her strictly, this time obeying her request not to go to her unless he has business there. He doesn't defend himself; he doesn't have the luxury to decide what should or shouldn't be done. He's not a saint nor a judge. He is territorial, though.

"You must be the craziest man I've ever met."

She talks to his shadow as he's standing only a few feet away, unable to touch her.

"Good."

"...and the most incredible."

His sharp intake of air hisses between them as the artificial light casts shadows in electric blue. She tries to thank him for bashing a face in, all her noble Hippocratic Oaths forgotten.

She takes a step – just one, to make it perfectly clear she wants to touch him too.

"You're a brute, Simon."

The woman's eyes are a deep sea of gratitude. He wonders if she's equally as wet between those legs. Her voice says it all: she likes brutes.

The worship in her stare makes him understand why wars have been waged – this is the reason why crusaders sloshed through rivers of crimson blood, why whole civilizations were destroyed. This is why swords are forged and guns are fired. He draws another breath to swear his allegiance, an oath bound in blood.

"No one's gonna call you a–"

She crosses the final breadth of air between them and lifts his mask.

…..…..…..

The waves crash on the shore like clockwork. To him, it's the sound of limbo.

The sea used to pull him in like a seductive pit, especially at night, during the sleepless shifts when he walked to the beach with nothing but the ghosts of all the people he had lost to keep him company. Watching all the futures and should have been's slowly drowning in the sea.

Now he’s here with a living being, and the cold, dead sea has turned into blooming fireworks of crimson and coral. The amnesia has turned into bliss; all the treasures lost in the depths suddenly wash up on the shore like a sunken hoard.

She takes her shoes off the minute they reach the shore, then descends the sands with laughter. She could be from a movie or a magazine, gliding through bleached gold with sunbeams in her hair, sandals dangling from the crook of her fingers, heathers kissing her feet as she dives down the path. Her smile eclipses even the setting sun, and for the first time ever, he thinks it might've been a stupid idea to enlist.

If there’s an opposite to ice and inertia, it's this.

It's her.

"You lied to me," she turns around but doesn't stop walking. "You have been to the beach."

She tilts her head as if reprimanding him, but he knows she's just laughing at his expense. She laughs at his name… She laughs at his broodings, she laughs at his shadows and his hubris.

"Does anyone else know about this place?"

"No."

There's no soul out here but theirs; even the seagulls have withdrawn to rest. She stops to admire the sun, features turning soft as she takes in her counterpart. Apparently, she likes his humble tribute, the scarcity he has to offer. Some hollow bones, his opinion of a beach. Emptiness… A day coming to an end.

"I have no words for this."

"It's just a beach," he offers, and swallows when she turns. When the fuck has he ever felt embarrassed? His mask is gone, so she can see him swallow again as she approaches. It's the strangest thing how she can still cause his heart to hammer in his chest. He's used to stepping into a hail of bullets, driving a truck through a wall, waiting for that last unaware step to lunge forth and slit a man's throat. The organ never wailed then.

Her eyes take in his every flaw and scar, the rotten work on his skin before she wraps her hands around his neck.

"No. No it's not. This is paradise."

She has to rise on her toes to kiss him, and he's glad he got rid of the mask. There's nothing between him and the taste of summer anymore – she reminds him of some bright tropical drink, something pure and sweet and innocent, pure fucking fun, something he has come to understand and define only through movies and tv.

And he knows now why he always comes back to her. It's because he was injured. Badly, severely, life-threateningly injured – no, he was already deceased.

She has introduced him back to the world: the sun, the birdsong, the simple, good life. How it feels like to have curtains, or bake just because it's Thursday, or walk barefoot on the beach in order to feel the burning sand on your skin.

What kind of a medic has the power to resurrect the dead?

"Simon," she shivers into his mouth. "I'm sorry. I didn't want people to think that… That we're just…"

"Pet. I know."

"They said you didn't trouble yourself with relationships."

Years of instinct and training make his spine tingle. He's holding another future in his arms and hopes it's not possible for a sea to swallow a sun.

"They?"

"Well, John. Captain."

Her lashes hide what's going through her mind, but he can tell she's feeling shy from the way she shifts in his embrace.

"I asked about you. In spring. If there's someone… waiting for you."

He wrestles down a bitter laugh. The only lover ever waiting for him was nothingness in that chair; the only wife he came home to was shades, shadows, and dust.

But he's starting to understand what she's trying to say. How, without even thinking about it, he just made the strongest possible declaration of not being here just for sex. He couldn't have sent a louder message with that boy.

Because not only Jonathan Price know that she's his. Soap knows too. Gaz knows too. Everyone working in Task Force 141 knows, even the fucking scrubbers and accountants know what's going on. Everyone knows that Ghost is real, and alive, and troubles himself with a relationship.

"I dreamed of you, you know." Her lashes flutter open, and he's met with the perfect example of total surrender. She's more than happy with the outcome, and why the hell shouldn't she be? Actions speak louder than words. He of all people should know that.

"Love–"

"Do you remember the day I found out you were a smoker?"

"...Sure."

She laughs, taking him back to the odd meeting in the yard when she was prying her suffocating latex gloves off, and he was trying to find some solace in a cigarette because he couldn't have her.

"I was so angry at you. Playing with death at every turn..."

"Yeah. Not the perfect man."

"But you were. You are."

"Pet. If someone's perfect, it's you."

"No… I'm a hypocrite. I wanted you to just–just take me against the wall. After your stupid smoke."

He always wondered if she was suffocating too. In her gloves, in her beauty, in her sterile, medical, professional chasteness.

But he had no fucking clue that she–

"Or during, I don't care…"

Even the thought of her wanting him to tear apart her facades shatters the last sane thought in his head. He has tried to be civil, tried to suffocate the longing, but apparently, he doesn't have to. The image of burying himself inside her cunt while taking a drag from the thing she despises even more than his name or his mask or his guns is too fucking much. The fact that she views a dog like him as a perfect man makes his cock answer her call like a good, stout soldier.

"Is that so?"

She stops breathing for a moment as he takes a drag from her now. She's raw whiskey straight to an empty stomach, the way his mind goes blank from sliding his mouth over the column of her throat. She tastes of sea there, and it's not pulling him in; it's pulling him under. The open-mouthed kisses make her jolt, he even draws out a moan or two; they swell between his legs.

"You like that…?"

She answers to him with a soft whine. A soft nib of her ear, and her hips reply with a roll. The woman tries to latch onto him by gripping his shirt, threatening to do permanent damage to the fabric.

"No walls here, pet. Gotta take you on the sand," he gruffs in her ear, cock hard and ready from her tight little breaths. He could bet half his money that she's wetter than November down there. He could drag his cockhead across her cunt and the sound would be divine.

"Simon–"

"I'll light a cig first."

"Stop teasing," she laughs, voice thick with hunger.

"...Roger that."

His hand is on his belt before he knows it. It's pathetic how much patience he has if he needs to crouch in a downpour and wait for a kill, but at the sight and smell and taste of her, he can't stop himself from wrenching his belt and pants open like a starved dog. It's a rush born of fear - that any time could be the last time.

She seems to shiver from his stare only when she lays herself upon the warm sand, naked as can be. She's like a vision on that beach: leaning on her elbows, thighs slowly parting, revealing the glistening sex between her legs. And she's fucking dripping, like an overripe peach. He could've safely bet all his money on her.

"How do you want me?"

Fucking fuck…

He's walking in a dream: the most beautiful woman in the world is lying naked before his feet, bathing in gold, asking how he would prefer to take her. He doesn't even bother to get out of his clothes; he merely tugs his pants down and crawls between her legs, relishing the tight gasp he gets from being so crude.

Her eyes grow wide at the sight of him there, so close to her core, cock hanging heavy just an inch away from that tight cunt. She tries so hard to look composed while lying under his shadow, to not make it obvious that she wants that ugly thing inside. And it does feel like sin not to spread those legs and plough right in, especially when his fingers meet her silk and find that she's already throbbing.

"Want you just like this, pet," he rasps while dragging the pad of his thumb around her clit. Her back arches on the sand, forcing his fingers deeper into the dripping fruit.

It's different, her wetness; not thick and halfway there, but flowing, leaking, soaking good. The pussy is so glazed that he slips at the first attempt to slide a finger in. Her walls grip him the second he's seated deep, making it known how much she appreciates it that he's not here just for sex.

"Someone's greedy," he's breathing rough, and she whines – he only gets to two fingers before she demands him to fuck her already.

"Want your–I need your cock…"

She's begging, poor thing, almost crying on the sand, and he has no fucking choice but to remove his fingers and grab his cock instead.

"Have to go slow, love."

"Riley–for god's sake, now."

"F' fuck's sake…" He stumbles forward, all but gracefully, forces the tip on her soaked cunt as delicately as he can before pushing right in. She cries from the spread, fingers curling in the sand: a futile attempt to take him in without fainting.

"Tried to warn ya–"

"Don't you dare stop," she gasps, eyes full of love. As always, her wish is his command, and the tightness makes it an endless journey to bliss. The basest parts of him think about dying – having a heart attack on the same beach he almost drowned in, about ceasing to exist just for the sake of knowing that nothing is as good as this.

He's deep as can fucking be, and it's still not enough – it's never enough. He collects her in his arms with a frustrated grunt, cock giving a tight pull only when she's finally safe and snug in his embrace. It's a tight cuddle that leaves them both breathless.

"Hold me tighter..."

It's a soft order, but he can't get any closer: chest plastered on her skin and balls pressed against her ass, the sand grinding against her back as he makes love to her. She’s not made of twigs, but he’s far bigger than her, already threatening to crush her with his weight.

"Tighter…" she begs on his lips, tries to pull him closer with her whole being.

"Pet, I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," she sings, completely shieldless. Something warns him of danger, a reset far worse than drowning or being buried alive or shooting himself in a lonely apartment. He tries to calm her down with a kiss: he knows she loves kisses - but there are tears in her eyes, and his heart is hammering, hammering…

"Simon, do you love me…?"

She asks that question right on his lips, and the first thing in his dog mind is that it's a stupid thing to ask when he's balls deep inside her and still trying to get closer.

"Yeah," he almost chokes on it, knowing it could be their wedding day and he would still choke on it because it doesn't taste like salt or metal or grave.

"I love you," she whispers. "Do you understand?"

No. No…

I fuckin' don't–

"And I'll always be here for you."

To his shock, there’s no sea water in his lungs, no dirt in his mouth. He’s not choking on anything, he's not in fact dying at all: he’s floating, somewhere between the sun and the sand and the sea. There's no more rush, no jaws of death snapping at his heels. He doesn't even long for heaven anymore. Not when there's a paradise on earth.

"Love, I need you to–need you to focus," he tries to stutter nonsense while she's pledging herself to him. Of course she only laughs at him: it hits him with the sweetest warmth.

"You're so silly…"

"Yeah? I know."

He's laughing too. It's just a few notes that get taken away by the sound of waves. It's just a breath from deep within, and still… Her gaze drops to his mouth, a flutter blinks back more tears.

"I love it when you laugh..." Her eyes shine brighter than the sun, riding the spine of the sea as one perfect tear rolls down her cheek. "Love it…"

The sun sets in tangerine, his new favourite colour. There's a whole bloom out there in the sky when she comes, fast and bright in his embrace. He comes right after, just from trying to stay inside her warmth, deep inside her, around her, and she says it, again and again and again… Until he breathes.

….….….

"Remember when I said I could've managed? Without you," she asks when they lie on the sand, skin on skin, watching the sun set beneath the onyx sea. The waves rise and break, but around them, the air is still. He's still inside her as she pulls his hand over her heart, entwining their fingers together: it's the softest little arrest, but her squeeze doesn't lack strength.

"I lied too."

"I know."

She chuckles softly. "Is there something you don't know?"

"...Yeah. Why you're here out of all places."

She turns her head from the sunset into the falling darkness of him, and he wonders if that's why she's here... To be with his night. She said that people always get the dark wrong: that it's not supposed to be scary at all. That the purpose of darkness is safety, security, that there are tales where the day chases the night, and the night chases the day. She said it's because they're in love with each other.

"You really don't know…?"

"You were smiling before we met and now you're crying all the time."

She looks up at him with trust and devotion, his daylight, his sun. There's none in the sky anymore, but it doesn't matter. It lives in her eyes.

"People cry from happiness too, Simon."

#ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #ghost x female reader #ghost smut #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #cod fanfic

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ac-schryver · 2 months

Text

Nests

Alastor couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was off in his room. Everything looked in order, and none of the Hotel’s residents were brazen enough to enter. It was going to drive him up a proverbial wall until he figured what was taken. His only clue the single red feather outside his door.

“Hey Alastor, I kinda wanted to warn you about something,” Charlie spoke softy after knocking on Alastor’s open door.

“What ever could it be my fawn?” Alastor’s manic grin softened just at touch for her.

“Um Dad found out about my day visiting Angel at his job and it’s kinda thrown him into a nesting spiral, so if something is missing, I’m so sorry!”

“I see,” Alastor’s smile twitched just slightly. “So I am to assume that whatever has been taken is in this nest?”

“Yeah, everyone has had something taken, and it’s all in the parlor closest to the Main Lobby. He’s going to start possibly putting us in it soon. Okay I’m just going to go now. Bye!”

Alastor watched as Charlie back tracked and then tried to make it to the elevator before crimson and white wings enveloped the girl. Alastor slammed his door shut. He was not dealing with the short one. He turned to freshen up, when he was stopped by a full demon Lucifer who grabbed his arm.

Seconds later Alastor was dropped into Lucifer’s nest and glared at as he tried to get out.

“Your Highness, we cannot stay in this quaint little nest all day, some of us have businesses to run,” Alastor hissed.

“Valentino licked our daughter!” Lucifer hissed back, flames licking at Alastor’s skin.

Mic feed back screeched through the parlor and lobby. Alastor’s antlers and body stretched and snapped with movement before Lucifer knocked him back into the nest next to Charlie and Vaggie.

“Cuddles first, then murder,” Lucifer growled.

“You think I’m just going to sit here and let Vox’s little pet…”

“Cuddles then Murder, my deer.”

That shut Alastor up and he sank back onto his own bolster pillow, allowing Lucifer to cuddle into his side.

Murder could come later, right now Husk was thinking he could escape the mandatory cuddles.

#hazbin hotel #radioapple #charlie morningstar #lucifer morningstar #alastor #vaggie #hazbin hotel husk

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sminiac · 25 days

Note

do u think u could do what morning cuddles would be like with piwon?? thank uu!!

💌 — MORNING CUDDLES IM GOING TO EXPLODE INTO TINY ITTY BITTY PIECES

— SFW!

⋆ Y. Keeho

With sleep still lingering heavy on his eyelids Keeho becomes incredibly clingy, and to an extent he can be quite sensitive as well. Asks of you to “Please don’t be mean to me” when you’re trying to source any viable excuse to get you out of the devastatingly comfy bed and into the kitchen so you don’t over sleep, he just takes it very personally, but it’s hard to deny him the comfort of your body moulded into his when he’s unintentionally being so soft and cute about it. He either struggles with waking up so bad and will drag the process of your soft kisses and coaxing words out for as long as he can, or he just lays at your side, smiling to himself as he traces your features with the tips of his fingers.

Remainder of members under the cut!

⋆ C. Taeyang

Not the whiniest, surprisingly. All he asks of is for back scratches and some love, that’s all he needs. Oh! But also maybe a cup of water if you’re getting up since it’s on your way, maybe a little snack too? It’s hard to deny him, sometimes he tugs on just the right strings and you’ll come back with breakfast prepared and ready to eat. He likes morning like this, watching tv, catching up on each others lives, the warm glow of the sun keeping you warm even when you’re sitting up and out of the nest of blankets. He catches glimpses of a secure future spent with you doing exactly the same thing, only the two of you will be older, and free from worry. Sometimes he’ll think about it for a little too long and his throat will start to tighten, he swears he doesn’t mean to get emotional, you’re just the one of the closest feeling to home he has, and he’s just so grateful you’re sticking around. Leans his head onto your shoulder when he’s finished eating, silently kissing your hand.

⋆ C. Jiung

Draws shapes and secret words against your back that you can’t focus on when he talks with his morning voice. Getting him to continue talking doesn’t talk much effort, and he doesn’t fight it knowing how tired you are struggling not to fall back asleep. Talking about his music and any upcoming projects really gets him going, sometimes he talks in circles, and then laughs to himself whilst kissing your head, apologizing for not making any sense. When he’s not talking he’s singing, it’s not a conscious decision, it just slips, and he doesn’t try to sound good he just does, there’s something so perfect about the tenderness to his tone and how he sings for only your ears, you’re always the first to hear his new demos and experiments.

⋆ H. Intak

Even when he’s less than half awake he still seems so conscious. Will pull you into him if you’re a little too far, adjusts your arms so he can get a better hold on you, tucking you under his chin nice and comfy so he can go right back to sleep. You can never tell if he’s actually knocked out or if he’s just laying there with his eyes closed, but he always answers to the small curious pokes to his chest with a raspy “hm?” But that’s all you’ll get, so don’t expect much more. When Intak’s got you in his bed he’s a complete log, stays stuck to you all night and throughout most of the morning. After he’s fully awake then he enjoys small morning overviews of the previous day if you weren’t with him, and what you want to do today. He’ll do anything to keep you talking, to him there’s nothing better than a cozy morning in his bed accompanied by his lover who sounds so pretty when he makes you laugh.

⋆ H. Shota

The easiest to deal with, an absolute angel. Shota’s so content with anything you have to offer, he doesn’t mind if you get up 29272 times, as long as you come back to him he doesn’t mind at all ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა‎ accommodates to your morning routine as much as he can during the weekdays, but when it comes to free days when the two of you have nothing to do, no one to see, then he’ll ask of you to just stay in bed with him for as long as possible. Holds you if your body temp typically runs on the chillier side, or keeps an adequate amount of space between the two of you if you become hot quickly. He doesn’t say much when he’s tired, only small sounds and nods, but when he’s more awake he’s a little more talkative, not by a lot, but he enjoys playing with your hair while talking about a recent interest of his that you just have to know about too!

⋆ K. Jongseob

Mornings with Seob are always very quiet and easy- at least that’s how he tries to make them, his day-to-day schedule varies, but somehow he still manages to cut through any unexpected changes to sustain the tranquil nature of his room for even just a few more minutes spent with you in his arms. Not necessarily a possessive person in general, he can live with his members being physically affectionate with you, but when it’s early in the morning and the suns just barely creeping through the window all he wants is you, and all to himself at that. Asks where you’re going if you’re shifting in any way that indicates to him that you’re getting up, if he can come, why you’re going. Immediately settles once you’re back in bed and he can nuzzle into you.

ᰔ sminiac’s P1Harmony M.list

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braimin · 29 days

Note

Omega!Sanji nesting and hoping Zoro will like the nest. Thoughts?

Aww I love the idea of omega!Sanji taking the time and care to make a personal nest for the two of them ✨

It's the first time Sanji has ever felt comfortable enough to go through a heat with help and he is so terribly nervous about it. He goes to everyone in the crew and collects the nicest pieces of clothing, the softest blankets, and the fluffiest pillows and plushies they have. Franky built a small room below deck for heats and ruts so Sanji piles everything in there and gets to work. Even though the room is full of his pack's scents, anxiety is still gnawing at his heart. He's worried about what Zoro will think about it, if he'll like the blankets or if he'll think there's too many pillows. What if he looks at it and thinks it's such a bad nest that Sanji isn't worth being with?

Logically, he knows Zoro has never really been picky when comes to nests; the Straw Hats have a pack nest, you see. And Zoro enjoys sleeping in it, even if he does tend to dirty it up. He spends a lot of time in their group nest, he's helped Sanji and Nami build it; so Sanji knows what the swordsman finds comfortable. He's gone through the whole ship finding all the little things he and Zoro like. He remakes his nest like twenty times before he finally feels like it looks right.

Thirty minutes later Zoro comes to join him, freshly showered. 'You bathed?' He feels a little disappointed that he came without his usual smell, Sanji was sort of hoping to have the scent added to his nest. Zoro rolls his eye. 'Obviously, you wouldn't have let me in if I didn't.'

'..Right.' Is all he says in return. They stand in silence for a moment, just staring at each other. Sanji starts to feel that anxiety bubble in his chest again. After a while Zoro finally turns his head to the nest; his eye slowly scans over every inch of it. The whole room is so quiet while he looks at it.

'Doyoulikeit?' Falls out of Sanji's mouth when the silence becomes too much. But still Zoro doesn't say anything, just stares. Sanji wants to pull out a cigarette, but he knows that'll only taint the scents he's worked hard to build in the room. So he bites the inside of his cheek and waits.

'Can I sit?' Zoro finally says, pointing to closest pillow on the ground. Sanji nods and the swordsman pulls off his boots and moves to sit in the nest. He runs his hands over a blanket and then looks back up at Sanji. He pats the spot next to him and Sanji slowly sits down. When he gets close to Zoro he smells his scent for the first time since he entered the room. It smells of satisfaction, and it makes Sanji's whole body melt. Zoro pulls him into his lap and the cook feels his chest rumble, a sound close to a purr comes from the alpha.

'Looks great Curls, I like it.'

#zosan #sanji #zoro #one piece #abo au #omegaverse #even after his heat Zoro makes Sanji make them a personal nest because he likes the way he does it #Sanji is very embarrassed about it but it is really nice to have a mates nest

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sailoryooons · 8 months

Note

hiiii :3 i’m a VERY silent reader (i’m terrified of my irls finding me on this god forsaken app) but i just love your writings so much so i had to participate in the agust event!!!!

childhood bffs yoongi x reader smut where they’re definitely probably too close, way closer than bffs should be anyways. reader goes to yoongi one night complaining bc no matter what she does, she just can’t cum! good thing yoongi’s actions speak louder than words <3

pls pls pls get totally creative w this, i love ur brain sm and i love seeing what you come up with!!!

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

❀ Summary: Yoongi has always been your closest friend, but it’s always been a little closer than everyone else. He takes it one step further, offering to address a silly little problem for you.

❀ Word Count: 2,320

❀ Genre: Friends to something more, PWP

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Explicit language, some feelings of insecurity but like barely, talking about orgasm struggles, explicit sexual content including vaginal fingering, nipple stimulation, a hint of choking, a lot of sucking on neck/throat, nipple play, mostly reader getting finger blasted sdfnodsifgj, reader is completely naked and Yoongi is still clothed, mentions of oral (f. receiving), a little bit of cum eating

❀ Published: August 23, 2022

❀ A/N: Okay so this was supposed to be posted way earlier than 10:30 PM EST but I completely forgot I had this sitting and waiting to post (it was a long day) but HERE IT IS!!! I love the idea of Yoongi casually just being like yeah I’ll get you to come or whatever, let’s do it sdfjdfogijdfrgi thank you so much for being a reader and requesting something - silent or talkative reader, I'm just happy you're here and that you enjoy my writing! Thank you for being here.

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

| Masterlist | Ask | Hali’s Happy Agust |

“You what?” You ask Yoongi, breath shaky. “Don’t play around like that, it’s not very funny.”

It’s rare that you can’t tell if Yoongi is making a joke or not. Though his humor is quiet like the night sky outside and soft like the sweater he’s draped in, you know Yoongi. Know him well enough to detect the subtle notes of a joke in his hushed words, know to listen amid the loud voices of your friends for a quiet jest, spoken softly just for you.

Now, though, you’re a little unsure.

Everyone has said for years that your friendship with Yoongi is too friendly. You vehemently disagree: affection between friends should be encouraged and treasured. Being able to platonically hold hands, share beds, and offer physical affection isn’t something reserved for lovers. You adamantly believe in this - always have.

But… it is different with Yoongi. You think about how you always hold Taehyung’s hand, how you let him curl into your side during movies, or how he nests in your bed when he grows too tired for parties. Taehyung is particularly affectionate, but it does feel different.

“Let me make you cum,” Yoongi repeats, as though he’s reflecting on the weather outside. He’s on his knees on the couch next to you, hands resting in his lap. “No one should have to go through their adult life without partners making them cum.”

You roll your eyes. “Plenty of people can’t cum for a number of reasons, Yoongi.”

“Okay, that’s fair. Let me try anyway.”

“Why do you care?”

He tilts his head. “Because you’re you. And I’m good at making people cum. It feels like an obvious answer.”

“We’re best friends.”

“My point exactly. Look, if I’ve made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry, I-”

You shake your head and wave him off. “No, I just. Didn’t expect the offer and it made me nervous.”

“Nervous how?”

Letting out a long exhale, you rest your head on the back of the couch and look up at the ceiling. Your warm mug of tea is abandoned and the drama on the TV plays on, silent in the background. You chew the inside of your cheek, wondering how to string your words together.

With anyone else, you’d feel embarrassed or nervous. With Yoongi, your anxiety is significantly less. Even if you speak the words on your mind, you’re sure it won’t change things. You’ve been through your fair share of oversharing, never shamed, never turned away.

It’s how you started this conversation about your sex life in the first place.

So you decide to be honest.

“Nervous like, I’m into it and I want to try it out, but I don’t want it to make our dynamic weird.”

“It’s not weird for me if it’s not weird for you. I’m sorry I offered so bluntly.”

Your lips twitch and you reach out, taking his hand in yours. Yoongi has beautiful hands. Long fingers with knobby knuckles, blunt nails and gentle fingertips, calloused palms. You’ve mapped the structure of his palm hundreds of times, know the shapes of the lines on them, and watched a palm reader chart the stars on them.

Yoongi’s hands are where you’re safest.

“Don’t apologize, you didn’t violate a boundary.” His mouth is soft when he smiles, his eyes are dark when he watches you. He’s so pretty. A soft thing with round cheeks, kind eyes, and gentle smiles. Quiet. Confident. “You really wanna try?”

Yoongi’s grin turns feral. “I do.”

“Alright.”

It starts with him leading you to your room, hand holding yours gently. It starts with a shy smile and hungry eyes, Yoongi watching you as you sit on the edge of your bed, unsure and giving him a questioning gaze. His hands are confident when he makes you move backward, shuffling until you’re in the middle of your bed on your back.

Yoongi joins you on the bed, kneeling next to you. He watches as he reaches out, brushing his fingertips over your thigh. His touch is featherlight, making you shiver. He doesn’t do anything but this at first, tracing the shape of your clothed hip, up the sides of your rips, under the curve of your breast.

Your breath catches, fixated on Yoongi as he outlines your curves. His eyes flicker to your face, drinking in your expression when he draws his fingers over the swell of your tits and over your nipple. The stimulation is barely there but it spikes. You inhale sharply and he smirks as he keeps going, brushing over your throat, and under your jaw, feeling your pulse.

“Pretty,” he murmurs. He takes you by the chin, thumb pulling at your bottom lip. “What do you like?”

It’s hard to answer. Yoongi’s hand leaves your mouth and trails back down to your neck. He wraps his fingers around your throat but doesn’t squeeze. It’s a barely-there ghost of a grip and he raises his eyebrow. You nod, unable to string together an answer. He squeezes gently before continuing his exploration downward again.

Your tongue is heavy in your mouth. This Yoongi is one you’ve never experienced. He’s quiet as always, but the silence is heavier. Pointed. He bites his bottom lip a little as he passes your stomach and dips between your legs, pressing against your clothed cunt.

“Yeah?” he asks when your hips twice.

You feel heat lick through you, pooling between your legs. Your fingers twist in the sheets in anticipation. Heat pulses from your pussy, panties getting damp and Yoongi’s has barely touched you. It’s the way he looks at you, the way he presses his thumb against your swelling clit.

“Yeah,” you breathe, voice watery. “I’m pretty into it.”

“I can tell,” he teases. He leans down, keeping one hand between your legs, gently applying pressure and circling his fingers as his lips search for yours. “You’re already wet, huh?”

Yoongi doesn’t let you answer. His lips capture yours and you sigh into his mouth, hands coming up automatically to wrap around his neck. It feels so natural. His hair is soft between your fingers and his mouth is warm, tasting faintly of the peppermint tea he drank earlier.

Kissing Yoongi is heady. He controls the kiss, keeping the pace slow as if he’s savoring you. Your thighs close around his hand as he presses through your shorts harder. When he introduces his tongue to your mouth, it takes your breath away.

Breaking the kiss, Yoongi mouths at your jaw. You arch into him, running your hands down his chest, feeling the warm skin beneath his sweater. One of your hands goes to his wrist pressed into the mattress by your head, holding onto him, the other goes to his hand between your legs, laying your fingers on his, pressing.

He hums, the buzz of his mouth against the underside of your jaw maddening. Together, you peel your shorts down your legs. Yoongi shuffles closer to you, your thigh pressed against his as he continues to kneel next to you, heat radiating from his body.

Yoongi traces the trim of your panties. You watch him, your mouth parted as you breathe unsteadily. He is solely focused on you. You can feel the slick sticking to the silk, watching as he drags a finger near your hip, his touch tantalizing.

Maybe this is what you were missing. Yoongi takes his time, dragging out the feeling of his hands on you. Works you up as he removes your shirt and bra next. You feel drunk on him already, nipples pebbling in the cold room. His nails scratch lightly up your stomach to your chest. He smirks as he traces slow, lazy circles around your nipples, eyes glancing up to watch your expression.

“Why?” you ask, hissing at the light stimulation. You want more.

“No one is in a rush,” he mutters. His voice is low, raspy. “Are you?”

When you shake your head, he smiles, pinching a nipple between two fingers. A curse drips from your mouth and your hips buck. You close your eyes, letting Yoongi tweak one nipple then the other, letting him guide you through. The stimulation feels good - otherworldly, even, when he bends down and flicks the tip of his tongue over one playfully.

“No,” you sigh. “Not in a rush.”

His teeth scrape your sensitive bud and your head rolls back, pushing into the mattress. “Good. Relax, let me take care of you.”

Tension melts out of your body. You didn’t realize you were so tense until he pointed it out. You let yourself sink into the feeling of Yoongi sucking gently on the peak of your right nipple while his thumb brushes back and forth over the other. The stimulation feels good, your head lolling to the side as you breath shakily.

Yoongi is slow. He takes his time running his tongue across your chest, air cooling is spit as he goes. You squeeze your thighs together, feeling your cunt throb for attention. He notices, nipping his way back up to your neck as he slides a hand down between your legs, pressing your panties into your sticky folds.

“Fuck,” you sigh. He nuzzles your neck, tongue swipe over the sensitive spot of your throat. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this fucking wet.”

“Good.” His words are muffle as he sucks at your tender skin. You angle your head, giving him better access. It feels like the bed is spinning wildly, a compass lost in an electromagnetic field. “Tell me at any point if something doesn’t feel good or you want something else.”

“Okay.”

You open your eyes and smile. It’s so Yoongi to make sure he asks what you want. So Yoongi to remind you that he’s here for you. That as he slips his hand under the waistband of your underwear, he’s determined to provide for you. To get you off.

A moan slips out of your mouth when it comes into contact with your dripping cunt. He avoids touching your clit directly, fingers spreading your folds as he teases your hole experimentally. It feels good - whether it’s because it’s Yoongi or because you’re already worked up, it doesn’t matter.

Yoongi circles around your clit deftly a few times, making your hips wiggle. A tingle settles in your stomach, fingers twisting in the sheets.

When he retracts his hand, you open your eyes. He watches you steadily lifting his fingers to pop them between pink lips and oh. He hums around his fingers, making a show of rolling his tongue around them, tasting your juices. He slides them slowly out of his mouth, hypnotizing you.

“Mmm.” He grins and reaches to slide your underwear off. “Can’t wait to eat you out. First, I’m gonna make you come.”

Never in your friendship would you have imagined Yoongi to be like this. It would be a lie to say you’d never thought what it might be like to have him like this, his hands peeling your underwear off. The scrap of the silk on your legs is heady, every part of your skin extra sensitive.

Lips parts, eyes fixed, you watch him toss the underwear to the side. He shuffles so that one knee rests against his leg, the other spread flat on the mattress for him. There is a split second where you feel vulnerable, spread open for him to see how much of a mess you are at the barely stimulation. You start to close your leg but Yoongi shakes his head, hand brushing down your inner thigh.

Slowly, Yoongi drags a finger up your slit to your entrance, massaging lightly with his finger before sinking in slowly. You let out a long breath, your walls clenching around his finger. It doesn’t provide a lot of stretch, but it feels good, the pad of his pointer stroking your inner wall.

At first, Yoongi is slow. Familiarizing himself with your warm, wet heat. He picks up the pace then, stroking deeply, ensuring to push up against that soft spot inside of you. It drives you crazy. Crazier, still, when he leans down and attaches his mouth to yours, tongues tangling as he fingers you leisurely.

“Fuck,” Yoongi mutters against your mouth. “You’ve got a wet little cunt.”

“Not usually,” you admit. You card your fingers through his hair, pulling at the ends a little. Your entire body is radiating with heat, sweat slicking your skin. “Fuck, it feels good. Doesn’t usually.”

“No?” he sucks harshly at your jaw and your eyes flutter shut.

“No. Usually they jack hammer their fingers into my pussy.”

His laugh is hot on your skin. “Nah, just gotta find the spot.”

Yoongi has found the spot. Makes it ten times better when he adds another finger, giving you something more substantial to grip on. Your cunt grips his fingers like a vice, slick sounds filling the room. He adds his thumb to the mix, pressing down on your clit. You gasp his name, hips bucking against his hand, dripping into his palm.

“Fuck yeah,” he grunts. “Fuck yourself onto my hand the way you like.”

Together, you work yourself up to the edge. Yoongi doesn’t pause for a moment, doesn’t complain that his wrist is tired, doesn’t stop tonguing your sensitive spot on your neck until you’re clinging to him, coming around his fingers in a wet, messy squelch.

You shake as he thrusts his fingers a few more times, the slopping sound of his palms smacking your pussy intoxicating. You feel like liquid, blurry at the edges and warm.

“Holy shit,” you sigh. Yoongi pulls his fingers from your hole and you immediately squirm, hating the empty feeling. “That was just from your fingers?”

“Uh huh.” You watch as he licks his fingers again, grinning around them. Your stomach flips, cunt still leaking, begging for more. “Now watch what happens when I eat this pussy.”

#yoongi smut #suga smut #bts smut #min yoongi smut #yoongi fic #suga fic #min yoongi fic #bts fic #yoongi fanfic #suga fanfic #yoongix you #suga x you #yoongi x reader #suga x reader #minors dni #minors do not interact

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justpoliteconversations · 2 months

Text

Apple Merchant [BOTW!Link x Isekai!Reader] (Part 3)

The house does not make a home, but a home can make a man.

The trash pile has grown again. It's spilling out of the bin.

Part 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6

Alternate Extras: Embrace

Masterlist

TW: Choosing not to display warnings. Read at your own discretion.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise.

---

The house is bigger than you remember it being from the game. For one, there's a sectioned off washroom hidden partially under the loft stairs and a full kitchen area in the left rear of the house. The ceiling is also ridiculously high for a one story (technically two) house, but you let that detail slide. It's to your- Link's, benefit, after all.

Another thing, upgrades are not offered automatically here. Though that should've been obvious in hindsight and you're a bit embarrassed to admit it'd slipped your mind. Most people would decorate and furnish their own homes with either their old furniture or newly bought.

That's what the many, many shops the game never had reason to show were for, after all.

Therein led to your current dilemma.

Practicality or comfort? The large thin rug with dark patterns, or a smaller plush one with elegant designs embroidered at the edges? Red covers? Blue, white, gray? All of them perhaps? Maybe just three?

Does Link prefer cast iron or the wok? Steel forks or maybe chop sticks? A full set of pots and pans, or just two or three good ones for repeated use? Which set of knives? The specialty set or a general use one?

Should the loft have a rug too? Should you get both? Should you get three? What about the washroom?

Towels? A vase...

Dumb idea. No vases.

Should there be two beds? When Link frees Zelda from the castle, surely the poor woman won't be made to live there in that festering monster's nest of a ruin. And having been trapped there for a century as the world outside moved forward (after having been royalty nonetheless), would she even know how to live on her own?

Would it be presumptuous of you to already set up for her arrival before Link even properly remembered who she was? You didn't want to make Link feel obligated to fufill your assumptions like that. He already had so much on his shoulders. He didn't need you to add more.

So, only one bed. Sheets?

"Jus' get them all, ya cluckin' mother cucco." Adino snapped waspishly, thin brows pulled down into a severe looking glare. His arms were crossed as he leaned against the wall closest to the 'Odds and Ends' shop's door, pointedly.

You barely spared him a glance, used to his attitude after having known him for nearly three years. And honestly, it was all for show anyway. Adino loved shopping with you, but the spiteful little shit would never admit it. Even under pain of death.

'Jus' making sure the walkin' rupee bag doesn't fall dead to an ill fated breeze.' He'd snark if ever questioned why he was following you around on his days off.

Lies, of course. The truth is he's lonely. So very lonely and too hurt yet to reach out to anyone else for companionship.

The man he'd called father for 14 years of his short life suddenly throws him out of the only home he'd known with barely the clothes on his back. All after finding out his recently departed wife had been having affairs. And the kicker, the bastard claims he supposedly doesn't even know if Adino's his or not (despite them having the exact same eyes and brows).

It'd been convenient though, you'd give him that. Just washed his hands of the situation entirely. Started fresh with a new wife and got rid of the unnaturally (Adino had parroted coldly, like a curse and a confession breathed in the same breath) effeminate son that may or may not be his.

No stings attached. Just living comfortably on his late wife's family property and shacking up with her younger sister.

And that abandoned son running, running, running across Hyrule. Until he dropped right outside of Hateno, quiet and hurting and nearly driven mad with hateful, writhing loathing.

You pull yourself from those thoughts. It's not your business. Adino may have shared that information with you during his mandatory background check, but that doesn't mean it's any of your business.

Even if the boy is living with you, and has been for the last three years.

(Even if you already ruined that man's fletching business. Even if you never told Adino why that man'd taken a very long walk off a very tall cliff.

Even if Adino knew and left flowers on your desk every year on that day ever since.)

"I'll take them all. As well as the rugs, towels and curtains, please. Oh. And that tapestry. Yes. The one with the apples."

Adino snorted, rolling his eyes, and you smiled. A merchant's got to advertise wherever possible, after all.

The older, greying woman behind the counter nodded, glancing over to two younger women (her granddaughters, twins and five years orphaned. turned 17 last Fall) waiting unobtrusively near the back of the shop. They didn't need any more instruction than that, swiftly gathering your choices and folding them into neatly wrapped bundles.

You swear this family had to have some sheikah blood in them somewhere. Even if they had pitch black hair and the darkest grey eyes you've ever seen. They were just too quiet and efficient to be normal Hyrulians. (And were little known for their discretion above all else.)

You tipped the women for thier help. They thanked you with a quiet tilt of their perfectly kept heads, before returning to their preferred corner in the far back.

You didn't bother to barter with this woman. You paid full price for everything, and then tipped her too.

Four gold rupees. And a note, which she took with a nod and a knowing glint in her eyes.

(Because they were known for their discretion, and you appreciated that more than anything.

You knew she understood the flowers you left on her desk every year on the same day.

And you knew she'd understand this too.)

You left, but not before catching one of the twins (the one with the blue head cloth and lip rouge) staring longingly after Adino's back as he marched from the store in a dramatic huff. Her sister hiding a probable grin behind her red painted hand.

'Interesting. But not my problem.'

---

Link looked up the curved path to Hateno's guarded gate as he sheathed his guardian sword, the black mist of two hopelessly mangled bodies blowing away in the strong mountainside winds. Further back still was the semi-conscious groan of a young woman surrounded by fallen mushrooms.

Link ignored her slowly rising form, having checked her vitals earlier before being ambushed by a pair of bokoblins. He knew she'd be fine, and honestly, if she was sneaking around monster infested forests for mushrooms (Link could still hear the snorting of the beasts further past the treeline) then she must be able to take a hit or two and come out okay.

She must have had the same thoughts because she merely dusted herself off, picked up her fallen produce and made for the trees once more. Barely sparing Link a backwards wave before disappearing into the thick underbrush.

Link blinked after her. And sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

So. That happened.

Link let it roll off his back easily enough. He had more important issues to deal with. Such as was it appropriate for him to just show up at your (and now his) doorstep fresh from the road and smelling every bit of it.

He discreetly sniffed under his arm and grimaced.

Surely you'd understand. You and him were connected after all, and you knew his name and knew he'd be coming to Hateno. A little roadside reek shouldn't be a big surprise.

Yet. He couldn't shake the self-consciousness. The irrational fear that you'd look at him and expect more than what you got.

Like that old man who was actually a dead person. Like that Impa woman, and everyone in that little village she lived in.

For how quickly he'd steamrolled through the untamed wilds of Hyrule just to meet you, he was oddly reluctant to continue now that he was at your metaphoric (and soon literal) doorstep.

He glanced down at himself, taking himself in with a critical eye.

The Sheikah armor he wore (it had been under 10,000 rupees, he checked) was covered in dust, grim and the unflattering stains of sweat, dried bloody drool (from that unfortunate incident with the bokoblin horse), grass and meat grease. His hair was so filthy it was nearly brown despite that equally unfortunate incident with the octorok having put him in the water several times (strong inconsistent winds make aiming bows hard, he'd discovered).

Hopefully you wouldn't be disgusted. He hoped you understood that he wasn't- well-

He wasn't who he used to be. Apparently.

"Link." A flat voice called out, and Link nearly jumped to attention at the unexpected interruption. He nearly reached for his sword too, before he stopped himself.

When Link looked up and met dark gray eyes, his heart started to tightened.

'Is that you, AM?' His eyes asked earnestly, wide and round with quiet searching. For recognition. For understanding. For anything at all.

Instead he got a slow, dispassionate blink and confusion as the woman spoke into the silence between them. "AM instructed me to lead you home, Master Link."

Link pointed to himself. "Master?" He rasped out quietly, voice rough and unpleasant even to his own ears. Nothing to say for the pain it caused at the base of his throat.

Without missing a beat the young woman nodded once, the blue bandana holding her dark hair back catching slightly in the wind. Blue painted lips barely moving as she said. "Yes. I will explain more once we arrive at your home."

Link nodded, still uncertain but trusting enough of this strange woman who knew the name (Alis? Nickname? Title, perhaps?) of his sheikah slate partner.

Tomorrow, he would be given a small journal detailing many of the dangers and wonders of this beautiful, wild world he now lived in. And he wouldn't be so trusting anymore.

And he'd have bananas, apparently. So many bananas.

But that's for tomorrow. Today?

Today was the first time he walked across the old, but sturdy footbridge. The first time he glanced over at the shrine glowing faintly to his left, peeking from behind a small cluster of buildings.

It was the first day he stood on the threshold of his (and your) new home. The first time since awakening he felt the beginning of heartbreak as he realized you were not there to greet him. That you would not be living with him. Ever.

('For now,' He thought in quiet defiance.)

And the first time since he opened his eyes in that dark, eerily glowing shrine he felt loved. When his eyes adjusted to the darker light of the house and found a home waiting for him.

Not just an empty building with four walls and a bed, but a rug with pretty dark patterns under a heavy wooden table. A bowl of apples at its center, with thick candles at either side. An intricately sewn tablecloth just slightly hanging over the sides in delicate little weaves.

He felt loved when he walked around the front room, boot-heavy steps thumping softly on polished hardwood floors, slowly taking in the space (the blue woman waiting patiently at the door). The small wooden sculptures upon carefully arranged tables, cute and quirky banners and tapestries brightening up the dimly lit room (one was slightly lower than the rest, another was slightly off-center, and Link felt warm at the imperfections). Sunflowers, a bird, a rock formation, an apple tree, a cat with a bell.

A sword and shield rack. Two armor stands. A few weapon's plaque hanging above them.

The food in the kitchen pantry. Completely unnecessary, but for the way it made Link feel. The way it made his throat tighten and itch. The thought that this was put here because it was meant to be his home.

And so much more. So many things he couldn't even remember the uses for. So many bits and pieces that slot together into the jumbled mess that is a home. It was more than he had the heart to acknowledge without weeping.

Noticing his brewing turmoil, the blue woman spoke. "Perhaps a bath and bed before we speak of business. AM said you may be tired when you arrived."

Link nodded, unwilling to speak and risk his voice breaking entirely. Instead he allowed himself to be led to the washroom, holding back tears when he found bottles of sweet smelling soaps and hair cleansers on a small table beside a stool above a drain. A tub beside it all, shaped like a bowl but with a drain at the bottom and a water spout at the rim.

He looked to the blue woman, overwhelmed and dazed by the strength of his emotions.

Something in her softened at his lost expression. "Let me bath you, Master Link." She said, keeping her voice even, though her dark eyes were gentle. "Just until you learn how to do it yourself."

Link nodded. Quiet and trusting in his vulnerability.

She helped him undress. She made him sit on the stool as she gathered what she needed.

Her hands were so, so gentle as they brought a warm, wet towel over his dirtied, battered skin.

He nearly fell into a doze twice as she washed his hair three times until the suds came off white. He was only minimally aware of the strong (deceptively strong) hands that helped him into the tub. He nearly slumped into the side of the bowl, body completely lax within the warm, welcoming water.

He opened his eyes from one blink to the next and blankets (thick and soft, smelling of fresh soaps and linen) were being drawn over his shoulders. The pillow beneath him gave under the weight of his head, as did the mattress he laid upon.

Every part of him felt warm and soft and safe. He smelt like flowers and sweet nuts, his skin felt clean and supple under the tender caress of his nightclothes. The further dimming lights eased him further down into slumber.

"Rest well, Master Link. I will guard you as you sleep."

Link couldn't even bring himself to respond, lost as he was to the call to nothingness.

He was lost not long after.

"One day." The blue woman said softly, sitting beside the unconscious man with an amused smile. "I will teach you to identify sleeping oils before they reach you. But not tonight. For tonight you sleep. Tomorrow, you will learn to be wary."

She wiped her delicate finger tips across his relaxed forehead, a slight sheen left in their wake.

"Sweet dreams, Courageous One."

---

Link,

I apologize that I could not be there to greet you properly. However, after careful consideration I decided it would be safest for our paths to remain separate at this time.

Herein this text, you will find all relevant information I've amassed over the years regarding our world and the dangers within it. Including, but not limited to, the continued threat of the Yiga clan.

May you never have to make use of the less savory of this knowledge.

Yours truly,

---

To the shadows I return.

#botw link #isekai reader #link x reader #link x you #botw x reader

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justkending · 9 months

Text

It's just a hobby. (Drabble)

Summary: You took up a new hobby, and Dean likes to poke and tease you for it, but you feel the need to seek a little revenge for the constant joking.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3300+

A/N: I started this during the summer when I started five different crocheting projects (ADHD carried my summer hobbies) and decided to finish it before school started back up. I am currently still writing Found Memories, but I have to put a pause on it as the first month of school tends to take a lot of my time away from hobbies like writing… I’m moving to teach 8th-grade English this year and could use all the energy you’re all willing to send my way! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short story, and I’m happy to have the inspiration to write for Dean again :)

(Also, this is the closest to smut I think I've ever written...)

_______

“Seriously?” Dean grumbled as he looked in the rearview mirror seeing me pulling yarn to untangle a knot I had created.

Knowing where he was going with his normal banter, I just laughed and continued to focus on the craft in front of me.

“I pulled this out like 20 minutes ago. How are you just now noticing?”

“I’m watching the road,” he argued, and I rolled my eyes. As always, he had been sneaking glances to the back of the cab at me every other minute. “The hunt wasn’t even 40 minutes away from the bunker. Why did you bring that?”

“Why do you listen to the same three Led Zeppelin songs when you're upset about a hunt?” I countered, and he opened his mouth to disagree, but I answered for him to skip the sarcastic conversation brewing. “Comfort Dean. It’s all about comfort.”

“Why are you so weirded out by a normal hobby?” Sam jumped in, smirking, and sporting one of the many beanies I had made him with said hobby, which he had come to love. He looked down at a newspaper in his lap, no doubt already scoping out a new hunt.

“It’s not-” Dean stumbled on his answer. “I’m not weirded out by it. It’s just not a hobby I imagine someone like Y/N taking up.”

“You just described why you’re weirded out by it,” Sam looked at him with a blank stare.

He ignored him and rolled his eyes.

“What kind of people do you imagine the crocheting community to be full of?” I smiled, still looking down at my hands and knowing his answer already.

“Grandmas,” he replied almost immediately.

“Hmm,” I hummed as if surprised by his confession, even if it was wrong. “Well, if that’s the case, I’ll stop wasting my talents on things for you.”

I could see his eyes shoot up in the mirror and a look of regret ghost over his green orbs.

Dean liked to make a big deal about this particular hobby I had started up a little over six months ago. I think a part of him just liked to tease me about it, but deep down, I knew he was proud of my growth. He was just bad at voicing it.

The first things I ever crocheted were just simple squares in different stitch work to learn a variety of them better. Those squares became washcloths and, surprisingly, were still used daily in the kitchen.

I learned to make bags, socks, hats, sweaters, stuffed animals, and even a few blankets.

“Just 30 minutes ago, you took down five security guards, wrestled three teenage vampires, and booby-trapped half of his nest. Now you’re crocheting a sweater for Charlie that says, ‘What’s up bitches?’ in the backseat. Mind you, with blood still smeared on your face,” he raised an eyebrow at me in the mirror.

I looked up and leaned toward the front to get a better look at myself.

“Oh, shit, I thought I got it all,” I groaned, seeing a smear on the side of my face I must have missed.

“It doesn’t add up,” he shook his head, but I could see a joking smile on his lips.

“Much to your surprise Dean, girls can have more than one personality trait. I know you boys are all, ‘Ugh, monsters! Kill, kill, kill! I need a scotch in my hand and The God Father playing on loop in the background to show how manly I-’

“Hey,” Sam cut me off and looked at me with his sad puppy dog eyes. “I’m on your side.”

“You’re right… You also like to read and share fun facts,” I winked, touseling his hair and getting a scoff of a laugh as he swatted my hand away. “See how hurtful it can be when you forget our brains have the capacity to do more than one thing?” I turned back to Dean with my arms crossed on the bench seat in front of me.

“I don’t think you're incapable of having more than one interest in life; I just think it’s interesting that you chose a 90-year-old women's side gig as your hobby,” Dean countered, pulling into the garage.

“Well, if you can’t appreciate it, then you can’t have the gifts my hard work creates,” I huffed, gathering my things and sliding back to the door as Dean parked the car.

Once the car was in park, I was the first out. I wasn’t actually mad at him, I was a hundred percent messing with him, but he deserved it for teasing me this long about it when I knew he loved everything I had made him this far.

He had a favorite blanket that he preferred to sleep with now. He had a nice sweater he wore around the bunker when he was cold. He had a few pairs of socks he preferred over store-bought ones. He even had a miniature plush Batman figurine that sat on his desk that I had learned to crochet just for him.

“Y/N, you don’t mean that!” he called after me, standing in the door on the driver's side of the Impala and shouting over the roof of it where I was walking inside.

“We'll find out soon,” I yelled back, never turning around.

The next three days, I teased him like he had me about this whole ordeal, but in my own way.

When we were cooking in the kitchen or doing dishes, if he grabbed one of the squares that now acted as our kitchen hand towels, I would steal it from his hands and say, “Sorry, merchandise can only be used by those who value it.”

With which he would respond, “Wait! I need that!” with his hands drenched in water after washing his hands.

Just for extra measure, I took all the towels and moved them to a new place only Sam and I knew. He was happy to join in on my little prank, and every time he had one, he made sure Dean saw him with it.

“Where did you get that?” Dean would jump up from wherever he was and march over to him to try and steal it.

“Only the VIP customers have access to these,” Sam would wave it above his head out of reach of Dean.

Another time, after a hunt, it was freezing in our motel room, where the heater barely worked, and the hotel didn't have enough blankets. Luckily I had one packed in the trunk of Baby, and I used it for extra coverage.

Even though Dean and I shared a bed, I wrapped it around me as I slept and said, “Sucks that you hate this so much, or else I’d share with you…”

He stared at me with complete annoyance when I gave him an exaggerated “Oh well” face before stealing it all for myself.

I did, however, wake up to sharing it, but only because he had stolen it, and I was too tired to fight him about it.

I think one of my favorite times I rebuked him of his privileges was when he was wearing a pair of socks I had made him for Christmas around the house. I may have gotten a little more intense than I needed to, but the look on his face made it worth it.

He had come into the movie room to binge a few episodes of a new series I got him hooked on, and after he called me in to watch with him, I noticed the specific socks he had on.

I grinned once my brain had formulated a plan to make him regret ever giving me hell for a hobby he obviously loved himself.

“Claire said there was a show called Love Island we should watch. I have no clue what it’s about, but she said it was popular and what the kids are watching now,” Dean conversed as he grabbed the remote from the table and stood with a blanket (not one of mine, as I had relocated all of them so he couldn’t find them) around his shoulders.

He was in the perfect position for my plan.

I walked over and, instead of facing the TV, stood right in front of him and looked up at him.

“You know what we could do?” I whispered in a low and sultry voice, bringing my hand up to his chest and inching my fingers up to the collar of his t-shirt before pulling at it gently. His eyes instantly darkened, and he was frozen in his place.

“Wh-What, uh, what can we do?” he stammered out. Even after three years of dating, he still got nervous. I loved it.

“I think you know what,” I said, tiptoeing upward to quietly say in his ear, bringing my hand from his chest to the back of his neck, softly pulling him closer to me.

“I think I have an idea,” he replied more confidently, immediately bringing his free hand to my waist and squeezing it.

I could have faltered there, but I held strong. I was going to make him pay for all his little ‘grandma’ jokes he had sent my way the last few months.

I pulled back, sending him a smirk that I knew revved him up. He returned it with his own and started leaning down, forgetting his grip on the blanket and remote. Now both of his hands sat on my hips with a stronghold.

Before he could lean down any further, I pushed him backward harshly on the couch, and at first, he was shocked, then he was excited.

Slouched into the cushion, looking up at me, his tongue came out to lick his lips and ended with a bite to his lower lip as he eyed me up and down as I stood over him.

“Dear God, Y/N,” he hummed under his breath.

I guess it helped that I was wearing some of my shorter PJ shorts, ones he had told me were his favorites, and a shirt that was cropped and slightly falling off my shoulder.

He had a thing for me being in a disheveled manner like this. Reminded him of how I looked after we fucked around, and he held pride knowing he played a part in the kind of glow I gave off.

I wasn’t sure how long I could do this without failing myself on the original mission. I came here to fuck with him, and now he was the fucker. Or at least he was going to be if I didn’t follow through with my plan in the next minute.

“You know, you should be happy you were by the couch,” I smiled, stepping to him and strategically bringing my legs to straddle his hips teasingly.

His breath hitched at that, and I knew I had regained the upper hand.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” he hummed as he admired my hands pressing into his chest as I leaned in, bringing myself closer to him.

“I was about to take you wherever I found you,” I whispered, looking him dead in the eyes with a soft smile. I looked him up and down and bit the inside of my cheek. That seemed to trigger his hands back to my hips instantly. This time a much more possessive lock on them.

“I don’t know where this is coming from, but I can’t complain,” he said lowly, and I knew he was hooked. Now it was time for revenge.

“Can I ask you a question?” I hummed, running my finger lightly over his hair down to his jaw, using the tip of it to push his chin up so I could see his eyes better.

“Please,” he buzzed, drunk with lust.

“Hmm,” I hummed, smiling more, dropping my gaze to his lips, then back at his eyes where he was drowning in dopamine by our current position. “Those socks you have on?” He didn’t catch on immediately and just furrowed his eyes as he processed what I asked. “They look familiar.”

I leaned back from my seat, still straddling his hips, but not with nearly as much pressure as before.

“What-” Dean started, but it dawned on him mid-thought. His eyes went from ready to tear my clothes off to annoyed realization. “Seriously.”

“What?” I feigned ignorance and stood up, repositioning myself between his legs, both hands on his knees as I looked at him and leaned over.

He couldn’t tell which way this was going for him, and that was the point. I was still winning this little game.

I eased myself lower, squatting with my knees going into the couch and in between his thighs. My hands went flat on his knees and slowly started working up his thighs.

“I can’t tell what you’re doing here, Y/N,” he said in a breathy voice. I watched as he tried to control himself, looking up away from me but not being able to help react to my hands on him.

“I’m not doing anything,” I said in a voice that made him lower his nervous wandering eyes back to me. The amount of green in his eyes disappeared slowly.

“You’re teasing me,” he said shortly as if he was worried his voice would tremble if he didn’t get it out quickly.

“Maybe, maybe not,” I shrugged with a pursed lip before bringing my hands slowly back down his legs.

“You’re mad at me,” he stuttered the last word when my hands worked their way back up, but further up than before.

“Now, why would you think that?” I tutted, shaking my head with an exaggerated look of hurt.

All he could do was take a slow, deep breath in as I tilted my head and smiled devilishly at him.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t play innocent.”

I grinned.

“You and I both know I’m far from that…” My tone was darker than before but in a seductive and tempting manner.

He couldn’t hold back anymore. He shot up from his slouched position and leaned forward, grabbing my forearms in his hands and pulling me up in his lap with his nose mere inches from my own.

“If your goal was to make me suffer, you won,” he whispered so quietly; if I wasn't this close, I wouldn't have heard it. He tilted his head up just enough for our noses to brush before pulling back.

“Keep it together, girl… Keep it fucking together,” I repeated in my head.

“Did I? Or am I just getting started?” I snarked, and that caused the new grip on my thigh to tighten, and I almost groaned at the pressure.

“Don’t start a war you can’t win,” he smirked, feeling as though he possessed the power.

Two can play that game.

I smiled, bringing my free hand up and tracing it behind his ear before wrapping it slowly around the back of his neck. I brought his face closer to mine but stopped right when I could feel the brush of his lips.

Our chests were pressed into each other, and I could feel his heart rate pick up. Perfect.

I nudged our noses again and smiled as his eyes closed, and he naturally and lazily chased my lips.

I rocked my hips in a measured manner, placed perfectly in the middle of his lap, and he sucked in a breath at the friction.

“Women don’t start wars. They finish them,” I whispered before promptly standing up and, in a swift motion, yanking the socks he had on off and walking to the exit.

“Y/N!” I could hear his shout from the couch from where I knew he was with a full hard-on, unable to move just yet.

“This granny is going to bed!” I shouted, speed-walking to my room in case he decided to run after me.

“You little-!” the shout still seemed far behind me, and I quickly shut my bedroom door and locked it.

Thankfully, I think I left him incapacitated for a second, and he didn’t follow me immediately.

I actually didn’t hear from him for the rest of the night. I hoped I didn’t upset him, but also, the whole reason I had done what I had was because he had become a little ass about my favorite hobby. I don’t mind the jokes, but after a while, you want a pat on the back for learning something new. Especially from someone you care about.

I went ahead and did my normal nighttime routine and got into bed before I started to read a book. I must have dozed off while reading because I woke up to the lights out, my book on the end table, and Dean crawling into the other side of the bed.

Before I could say anything, his arms came around my waist, and he pulled me to his core. He was in his boxers and one of his soft t-shirts I made him wear to bed.

For the record, I was perfectly fine with him in no shirt (or pants, for that matter), but when he did wear a shirt, I made him put on a certain kind cause his band and certain graphic tee ones were itchy on me when we cuddled.

He took a deep sigh and nuzzled his face into the crevice between my neck and shoulder, one of his favorite places.

“Why’d you lock your door?” he asked, already knowing I had woken up.

He had definitely picked the lock.

“I thought you were going to hunt me down, and I forgot to unlock it,” I replied sleepily.

There was silence for a minute, and eventually, he spoke up, whispering in my ear his apology.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” I sighed with a winning grin he couldn't see, knowing why but playing coy anyway.

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you how much I appreciate your brain,” he answered.

That was not what I expected, but I was intrigued.

“Hmmm,” I smiled, moving my hands to his that were wrapped around my ribs and nuzzling my backside closer to him. “Don’t stop now; you’re on a roll.”

He laughed and invited my attempt to fit into him like a puzzle piece.

“You’re ambitious with everything you want to learn to do, and I don’t tell you enough how much of a turn-on that is,” he hummed, rubbing his head into mine and peppering a kiss on my neck here and there. “And I know you know how much I love the skills you gain, but sometimes I’m bad about just saying how impressive you are to me.”

“You like my crocheting skills, Winchester,” I chuckled, turning my body to face him now and throwing one of my legs over his hips, pulling back in some. “Just say it.”

“I love your crocheting skills,” he replied with a wide grin and brought a hand up to move the stray hairs that fell on my face. “I love your baking and cooking. I love your impressive TV show-binging skills. I love the random facts you have stored in that beautiful brain of yours. I love your surprisingly nerdy side of Marvel and superheroes. I love your attempt at being a gardener.”

“Hey, I have three plants that are thriving right now!” I argued, poking a finger in his chest, which he grabbed and kissed the tip of.

“I love everything you’re passionate about,” he finished off. “I don’t tell you enough, and sometimes I like to see that face you give me when I tease you.” I gave him a look. “Maybe more than sometimes… But! I do love all those things and more about you, Y/N.”

“I don’t doubt it,” I replied, scooting in closer. “But it is nice to hear it from those captivating lips of yours.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

We started smiling at each other, and I couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about earlier.

“I’m sorry I teased you,” I sighed, moving to where I was embedded in his chest, and he wrapped himself back around me.

“Don’t be. I deserved it,” he replied, chin on my head before he bent down and kissed the top of it. “I will say, though, I’ve never been mad about seeing that side of you.”

“What side?” I looked up at him.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing,” he chuckled, pulling my head back to him.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I agreed after a minute. “Hey.”

“Hm?”

“You’re my favorite person. You know that, right?”

“Feelings are very much mutual,” he answered, caressing a hand up and down my back.

“Good. I’d have to kill you with one of my knitting needles if you said otherwise. Who said needleworking wasn’t dangerous, right?”

My Lovelies Forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter @marvelfansworld @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @carls1022 @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @carls1022 @anise-d-castle6 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins @alyispunk @drakelover78 @caruhleener

Supernatural Tags:

@flamencodiva @hobby27 @sucker-for-dean @deans-baby-momma @squirrelgirl67 @death-unbecomes-you @snffbeebee @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @spnbaby-67 @akshi8278 @musiclovinchic93 @vicmc624 @carryon-doctor-lock @perpetualabsurdity @herscrunchiehairtie @spnwoman @shamelesslydean @monkeymcpoopoo @winchestergirl82 @luciathewinchestergirl @deansyahtzee @thatgirl1456 @sucker-for-dean @atomicloverdonkeyperson @screechingartisancashbailiff @akshi8278 @supernatural3002

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x reader drabble #dean winchester drabble #justkending #spn fanfic #dean winchester spn #dean winchester x you #spn dean winchester #drabble #spn drabble

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