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ro-is-struggling · 11 months

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Secret Encounters || Geralt of Rivia x Reader

Requested by anon

Summary: They know it's wrong, but they can't deny the desire and lust that overcomes them every time they are together.

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI, porn with a little bit of plot (not really), fingering, penetrative sex, mirror sex, rough sex, size kink, belly bulge, breeding kink, dirty talk, mentions of cheating (reader is engaged), fem reader (she’s a princess)

English is not my first language

Word count: 3900

Notes: I promise I'll stop writing tragic princess x witcher stories after this one. Also, sorry for the shitty summary but it's only smut so it was kinda hard to come up with something lol

Geralt had never been fond of royalty, but the moment his eyes fell on hers he knew she was different. He didn't really understand why, but he felt some type of way whenever she was near. Her perfume was intoxicating, a sweet scent that lingered on his clothes and skin and accompanied him wherever he went. He could not escape her even when he wandered alone through the forest in search of the beast he had been hired to kill... not even when he was lying in his bed at night, surrounded by the darkness of the room as he tried to rest. Her scent enveloped him at all times, awakening something deep inside him. It drove him crazy, crazy enough to act on his desires.

He knew it was wrong, it was inappropriate to take advantage of the king's hospitality like that. And she knew it was wrong too, she was a princess soon to be married, a woman of high value who had no business with a witcher like Geralt. And yet, neither seemed to be able to stay away from the other. It was as if there was some kind of energy force pulling them together, the very will of destiny imposing itself over their own. When Geralt showed up at her chambers she knew she should have turned him away. No matter how much she had been longing for him to take her in his arms and make her his, the right thing to do was to reject him and move on with her life. In fact, she had opened the door with the intention of doing exactly that, but when her eyes met the imposing figure of the witcher, towering over her as his amber eyes admired her face, she could not resist the temptation. She gave in to her desires, crashing her lips against his in a desperate kiss as she slowly pulled him into her room.

The feel of his touch lingered on her body for days, her skin permanently marked by the roughness of his caresses and the warm wetness of his mouth. The sound of his grunts of pleasure as he buried himself in her echoed in her mind at all times. He was all she could think about. She knew it was wrong, but she needed to feel his hands on her body again, exploring every inch of her skin as he showed her pleasure like no other man could.

Despite their desperation, they were able to keep their hands off each other for a while. Though all their self-control disappeared by the time of Geralt's last day in the castle. After slaying the beast —and collecting his reward— the witcher was ready to leave when the king made him an offer he couldn't resist. There would be a feast in celebration of the fall of the creature that had terrorized the town and Geralt, as their savior, was the guest of honor. He would normally have declined the offer, although the promise of free food and alcohol sounded enticing, he hated the idea of being stuck with a bunch of drunken noblemen. However, this time it gave him the perfect excuse to stay there a while longer and say goodbye to the princess the right way —the way he knew they had both been fantasizing about since their last encounter.

The party quickly turned into a game of cat and mouse, defiant yellow eyes meeting hers in the crowd, admiring her lips as she laughed and the way her body moved as she danced. She was doing it on purpose, accepting the proposals of all the knights who bowed in front of her to provoke him. She wanted to spark a reaction in him, see how far she could push him, how far she could push the boundaries of their secret relationship. The thought of being caught filled her body with adrenaline, her heart pounding so hard against her chest that he could almost hear it over the noise of the party.

She waited for the right moment and took advantage of the first distraction to escape to her bedroom. Her eyes met Geralt's before disappearing behind the side door of the great hall, her desire-laden expression a silent plea for him to follow her. She sat in front of the large mirror in her room waiting for him, removing the jewelry from her hair and combing her hair without any haste. And just as she expected, only a few minutes after her arrival, she felt the sound of the door's wood creaking as it opened. She saw Geralt lock the door behind him in the reflection of the mirror and she had to hold back the smile that wanted to form on her lips —a failed attempt to save some of her decency and not look so desperate.

"You're not supposed to be here." She said as if his presence didn't make her heart race. "It's wrong."

"That's not what you said the other night." Geralt's deep voice was music to her ears, his slightly mocking tone awakening that tingle under her skin. He walked up to her, holding her gaze in the mirror as if challenging her. He stood tall at her back, close enough that she could feel the heat emanating from his body, but not close enough to feel the brush of his hands on her skin.

"The other night was a mistake." She affirmed, setting the comb aside. It was true, their furtive encounter, though pleasurable, had been a mistake. But they both knew well that neither really cared. The desire they felt, the tension in the air, it was all too much, it clouded their thinking leaving them at the mercy of their most primitive feelings.

Geralt reached out his hands to her, brushing her hair aside so he could caress her skin. He noticed how she stifled a sigh through the reflection of the mirror, his warm touch awakening that flame within her. His fingers moved gently across her shoulders, up her neck until they reached her cheeks. She closed her eyes and leaned into his hand, losing herself in the moment. It felt just as she remembered it, warm and hard, yet strangely soft and comforting at the same time. It was as if his hands had never left her skin, as if his caresses were permanently carved into her body.

"Do you wish for me to leave?" he said, his voice barely a raspy whisper. He knew the answer to her question, he could read it on her face, smell it in the air, feel it in the vein in her neck that throbbed rapidly beneath his fingers. But still, he needed to be sure he was right, hear from her lips the plea for his caresses. He needed to know that she was as desperate as he was.

She didn't give him a verbal response, just rose from her seat and pressed her lips to his. Geralt's hands closed around her waist, pulling her body against his as he quickly took control of the kiss. She didn't bother fighting for dominance, acknowledging her subordination to him almost immediately. She didn't need to win, she just needed to feel his hands on her skin again, gripping and caressing every inch of her body in a rush of pleasure until the early morning sun forced them apart.

There was nothing tender and soft about the way Geralt's lips attacked hers, only lust and desperation, but she loved every part of it. She loved the way his tongue invaded her mouth and how his teeth nibbled at her lips before moving his wet kisses down her neck, sucking and biting at the skin without fear of leaving marks. He knew he could do whatever he wanted with her as she was completely at his mercy, surrendered to the pleasure only he could give her. She didn't care if she had to spend the next week finding creative ways to hide the evidence of their furtive encounter, she just needed to feel him. She wanted him to mark her, to declare ownership over her body. She knew she belonged to him, always would, even if she never saw him again after tonight.

Clothes soon became a problem, a barrier that kept them apart, so desperate hands worked carelessly to fix it. Her dress was the first to go, the expensive fabric pooling around her feet leaving her naked body completely exposed to Geralt's hungry gaze. She should have been embarrassed, but nothing but lust and anticipation pumped through her veins. He was looking at her as if she were the most beautiful and sensual woman he had ever seen, as if she were a goddess he had the privilege of pleasing. Never before had anyone looked at her in that way, so intense, so filled with adoration. She loved it, it made her feel special, powerful.

Geralt didn't waste a second, calloused fingers caressing every inch of exposed skin. It awakened a fire inside her, a tingling that spread throughout her body, concentrating on her core. His teeth nibbled at the sensitive skin of her neck, sinking his canines into her as his hands moved down to her breasts, earning a couple of sighs from the princess as he showed attention to her nipples erect with anticipation. He smiled against her neck, proud of himself as the scent of her arousal lingered in the air. It was an intoxicating scent, the sweet forbidden fruit begging him to take it.

When his fingers slipped between her wet folds, she let out a moan of pleasure as her grip on the witcher's shoulders tightened. It was as beautiful as he remembered, a harmonious melody traveling through him and going straight to his cock. It was the sound of temptation, of lust, urging him to carry on, to forget all rules of morality and decorum and take what was his.

“P-please, Geralt.” She pleaded against his lips. Her breathing was rapid and she looked up at him through half-closed eyelids. He slipped two of his fingers inside her with ease, pushing them as deep as he could and moving them until he made her moan. She looked so beautiful like this, her eyes closed in pleasure and her parted lips releasing those beautiful desperate sighs, completely at his mercy.It was an image that would stay in Geralt's mind for quite some time.

"I know, I know," he soothed her, his free hand coming up to caress her cheek. "I have to get you ready for me."

"I-I need to feel you, p-please." She whimpered in a pathetic, desperate attempt to get him to do what she wanted. She needed to feel all of him, his hot skin pressed against hers, his fingernails sinking into the skin of her hips as he buried his cock deep inside her, his ragged breaths in the hollow of her neck. She needed him as much as she needed the air she breathed and could wait no longer.

Thankfully he took pity on her, removing his hands from her body to unbutton his pants. She suppressed the whimper that wanted to escape her throat as she felt empty without his fingers inside her, knowing the sensation would not last for long. Geralt instructed her to turn over and her body obeyed him before she could process his words or wonder what he was up to. Her body no longer belonged to her, it belonged to him and always would.

He held her against his chest for a moment, one hand roaming her body while the other held her head steady facing forward. She could feel his hard member pressed against her lower back as his heat enveloped her completely. Their gazes met in the mirror once more and she saw the darkness of desire staining the beautiful yellow orbs. He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her intoxicating scent before lowering his lips to her ear.

"I want you to look at yourself in the mirror as I fuck you, princess." Geralt whispered in her ear, his voice firm and slightly deeper than normal. His eyes never left hers in the mirror, studying her reaction in the reflection. "I want you to see how beautiful you look with your face scrunched up in pleasure so you'll remember it after I'm gone and your future husband can't make you feel this good."

He gave her no warning before pushing his hard cock into her tight wet hole, and he wasn't gentle either. A quick thrust of his hips and he was balls deep inside her as her velvety walls struggled to take him. Geralt was big, it was almost hard for him to fully fit inside her despite how aroused she was. But it wasn't painful, not in a bad way at least. She loved the way his cock stretched her, almost impaling her on it when it was all the way in. The burning only added to her pleasure, the knot in her belly tightening with the promise of her orgasm.

Geralt set a fast, torturous pace, earning a string of incoherent moans each time he touched that special place deep inside her. She could feel him twitching inside her as her walls closed around him, desperate to hold him in place. It was almost too much and not enough at the same time, a mixture of feelings born of her need for relief. The sound of skin slapping against skin combined with her cries of pleasure and Geralt's grunts filled the room. It was loud and she wouldn't be surprised if she discovered that someone passing through the corridor could hear them, but she didn't care. She felt too good to worry about anything else.

The pleasure she felt was so intense that she had trouble keeping her eyes open, her heavy eyelids closing involuntarily against the force of Geralt's thrusts. But each time she did, he tightened his grip on her jaw, growling in her ear for her to open them. The image reflected in the mirrored surface was too much for her to take. Her small figure wrapped in the strong arms of her lover towering over her and making her feel even smaller and more insignificant. The bulge forming in her lower belly with each thrust showed just how deep inside her Geralt was. His teeth on her neck, nibbling at the sensitive skin without taking his intense gaze away from her eyes in the mirror. And finally, her face, with parted lips letting out a string of melodious moans, and glassy eyes filled with tears that threatened to escape at the sheer intensity of what she was feeling. The expression of pure pleasure on her face was one she had never seen on her before —and she feared that after tonight she would never see it again.

It was all too much for her, and the possessive way Geralt was acting didn't help her in the slightest. He was determined to leave a mark on her, both physically and mentally. He wanted her to see traces of him on her own skin after he was gone, but he also wanted to make sure she remembered him. Make sure she remembered the intensity of the moment and the way he had made her feel. He wanted her to think of him every time her future husband left her unsatisfied, touching herself to relieve the pressure inside her as images of him in this very moment flashed through her mind.

He made sure to let her know his intentions between grunts of pleasure, feeling her walls close around his member with every word that left his lips. She liked it as much as he did and that only egged him on.

"Geralt, please," she begged, not quite sure of what it was she was asking of him. Please stop because the pleasure traveling through my veins is too much to bear? Please keep going and don't stop until I'm passed out from exhaustion and you've ruined me for the rest of the men? She wasn't sure, both options were equally valid.

"I know... just let go," he encouraged her, his warm breath crashing against the skin of her ear as he spoke. "Just let go for me, princess."

Her body took his words as a command and it wasn't long before the knot in her belly snapped, sending wave after wave of pleasure through her insides. Her orgasm hit her like a pile of bricks, leaving her completely stupid. Geralt's name escaped her lips like a prayer as she lost herself in pleasure. All thought left her mind, she could only feel as her lover's thrusts slowed, her body trembling in his arms from overstimulation.

She only had a couple of seconds to recover, whining as she felt empty when Geralt pulled away from her momentarily. Her legs were weak and she struggled to stand, so he took her in his arms and laid her down on the bed carefully. He settled into the space between her legs, taking a moment to admire her and caress her body before continuing. His hands ran over her warm, sweat-covered skin in an almost gentle way, an act that contrasted with the roughness of his behavior so far but was nonetheless welcomed by her.

The tenderness didn't last long, though, because once he slid his cock inside her once more, he returned to the animalistic grunts and punishing rhythm of his thrusts. This time it was more desperate and erratic, letting her know that he was close to his own orgasm. His cock twitched inside her, threatening to paint her velvety walls with his seed. The very idea was enough to have her on the edge again.

"You feel me, princess?" He said, taking one of her hands and bringing it down to her lower belly. He pressed it against her skin, trapping it between his palm and the bulge forming there from his cock. It added a new sensation and she couldn't contain the moan that escaped her throat. "Feel how deep inside of you I am?

"Fuck," she cursed, eyes rolling back as her free hand clutched at Geralt's wrist to make sure he didn't move it off her belly. The pressure felt too good, wave after wave of pleasure coursing through her with a force that left her breathless.

"I'm the only one who gets is deep, f-fuck, the only one who makes you feel this way." He wasn't asking, it was a clear statement, but still she nodded, letting out repeated affirmations between high-pitched moans.

"I belong to you... My body is forever yours, no one will ever make me feel this good." The animalistic growl he let out at those words almost pushed her over the edge, leaving her on the verge of her second orgasm. She knew he was close too, she could feel it in his erratic thrusts and the way his cock twitched inside her. She needed to feel him come undone for her, to paint her walls white as he emptied his seed inside her. She needed him to mark her, to claim her as his own. They both knew a relationship between them was impossible, but she would always be his in secret. Her body would always miss him.

"Please, I need to feel you." She managed to say between moans and ragged breaths. "I need you to fill me up, please." She sounded pathetic at this point, but she didn't care. All she cared about was feeling Geralt's seed trickling down her thighs as she tried to catch her breath.

The witcher groaned, a cocky smile playing on his lips. One of his hands flew to the headboard of the bed, the wood creaking under his strong grip as he adjusted his position. The new angle allowed him to reach even deeper —if that was even possible—, impaling her on his cock as she cried out in pleasure. Her nails dug into his back, leaving traces of red marks on his skin.

"You're desperate for it, aren't you?" he teased her arrogantly. "Don't worry, princess, I'm gonna shoot my seed so deep inside of you that you'll carry it for days. Is that what you want? You want me to mark you as mine? You want to feel me between your legs while you swear loyalty to your husband?"

"Yes! Fuck, Geralt, please... mark me, claim me as yours, please."

The witcher did not expect to find it so erotic to hear her admit her deepest desires, but he did. It awakened something inside him, a primal desire that took over his body. He became an animal, a fierce, possessive wolf that was desperate for some relief. After all, that was exactly what their relationship was, pure animal instinct, pure lust and desperation. An intense attraction they couldn't resist even when they knew how wrong it was.

He came with a loud grunt, emptying his load inside her warm, tight walls. She felt every drop of it, her cunt filled to the brim with his desire for her. The intensity of his orgasm triggered hers, her body trembling under Geralt's weight, her walls tightening around his cock, milking him for everything he had. His name fell from her lips as pleasure consumed her, a prayer begging him to stay with her. He knew it was impossible, but in that moment - mind clouded with pleasure as he felt her crumbling beneath him - he really considered it. He wanted to feel her body against his again, hear the sound of her voice as she moaned his name outside of his memories. He needed her.

But that was just a fantasy, the desire for the impossible. She was a princess who was soon to be married and he was a witcher who had nothing to do with the court and royal affairs. She was not his —even if her body was— and he was not hers. And that was the hard truth. So when he came to his senses he rose from his place on the bed, where he rested with her beside him. The princess watched him as he dressed, trying to ignore the strange feeling of emptiness that came over her at the thought that once he crossed the threshold of the door she would never see him again.

"Will I ever see you again?" She asked in a whisper, as if afraid of being heard. Geralt admired her naked figure on the bed as he contemplated his answer, liking the way the dim candlelight illuminated her skin covered in a thin layer of sweat. As wrong as it was, he would really like to see her again, but the truth was he didn't know if it would happen. The future was uncertain, especially in his line of work, so to give her a straight answer would be to lie to her.

"Only time will tell."

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eustasskidagenda · 8 months

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anon asked: Hi, fellow Kid-Stan, I love your writing, it's so well-written! So I hope my request isn't too weird, but would you mind writing some headcanons with a fem reader afraid of having sex with Kidd, Zoro, Law and Sanji if that's okay. Like because the reader is stressed about getting hurt (maybe because of their size or because it’s been a long time since the last time the reader had sex, no heavy topic involved!) Thank you if you consider writing this scenario and please, can I stay anon if you post this?

Hello, dear anon! Thank you for requesting and your kind words, it was interesting to think about how those dummies would act in this situation. I hope you'll like the result.♡

☆Kid, Zoro, Law & Sanji with a s/o afraid of having sex

CW : n/sfw, MDNI, f!reader, size kink, oral sex (reader receiving), fingering (reader receiving), v. sex, unprotected sex, protected sex, dirty talk, praises, Sanji talking in French because I could die for this, Kid is cursing as always, let me know if I forgot something

WC : around 2,000

You can read the part two here & the part three here

Kid

Let's assume it's your first time in the same bed: Kid being... Kid, his first reaction would be to grin cockily or even laugh proudly. He thinks you're actually praising him for his size. Please keep going, it’s music to his ears. He loves praises and when you acknowledge his size. It fuels his ego tremendously. "I know it's big, that's enough praise. Wait, were you talking seriously?"

Seriously, Kid, ugh.

So, once he realized you're not praising him but rather really stressed, he's still pleased with himself.

Kid is a man of action; talking, trying to understand, or reassuring is not something he's easily able to do. Because honestly, he would just say something like "it's just sex, I'm not gonna hurt ya, look how wet you are"

Whenever there's a problem, he's more inclined to take action to find a solution. So his first reaction is to ask if you want to stop. Although he may be cocky and carefree, he would never cause harm to anyone he truly cares about. And no one will have a good time if you're too stressed. Totally pointless.

So you have to tell him you want to continue, but you're nervous because Kid is not the one to indulge into sweetness and his size doesn't make things more easily.

"Then, come get what you want by yourself" he would say before laying on his back, his cock twitching impatiently. Kid doesn't often let his partner ride him, except when he's feeling tired. His body is truly a beautiful throne to sit on. A toned and beautiful body, covered with scars, like war paint, full of stories and secrets.

Once you finally straddle him, he would hold your hips firmly as you line your wet pussy up to his cockhead. When you slowly impale yourself on his thick member, he would let out a low, animalistic growl of satisfaction. You feel too tight around him, and you feel too full with him buried deep inside you, stretching your walls.

He would guide you down his cock until his balls deep inside you. The expression of pure delight on his face is truly mesmerizing. Riding someone as tough and impressive is quite intimidating, so he would hold your hips, helping you to move up and down, as you slowly adjust to him. "Fuck, look at you, taking me all the way in like the good girl you're"

He feels your walls tightening him as you start to move faster.

"Take it easy" That's the moment you will hear his shaky breath and deep growls. He can't handle how good you feel. So wet, so hot, so tight as you walls spasms around him. His cock is throbbing inside you and he grit his teeth, holding your hips that firmly it will leave bruises on your skin tomorrow.

He's truly trying his best to not just hold your hips and slams inside you as his usual rough and merciless pace. He wants to transform you into a whiny mess.

"Shit, y/n, let me fuck you."

And once you finally get used to him, then prepare yourself for the wildest ride of your life. You better hold onto those sheets tightly. Because he will slap your ass, pull on your hair and fuck you with enough intensity to leave you breathless and exhausted.

Zoro

Zoro has not a lot of experience because he's way too focused on his goal of becoming the greatest swordsman ever. Even when it comes to sex, he's a bit oblivious. So you better have to be precise and explain things correctly, so that it takes over his mind. As Kid, he's not a man of many words, he doesn't really know how to reassure you. Like, okay, it's been a while since the last time you had sex, but the same applies to him. At least you're in the same situation, isn't that nice?

He's trying his best.

Once he's sure you want to keep going, he will consider the whole thing like a training: everyone needs a good warm-up. So prepare yourself to have your pussy eat for a long, long time and to cum at least once against his lips. He may not be the most experienced, but he learns quickly and your body language is like talking to him.

He would then slowly push two fingers inside you, feeling how wet you are for him. "Looks like my girl is ready for me, yeah?"

Try not to be too embarrassed when he hungrily licks his fingers covered in your wetness, like if it were a precious cup of sake. The way your body looks and tastes is truly intoxicating. How could he get enough of your shivering, moaning, sweating, begging, and slow pleads when his head is buried between your thighs?

"Now open your legs for me"

Eyes darkening with lust as he sees your folds exposed, his cock twitching and throbbing. Although he is thick, he never realized it. So you better prepare yourself.

He would look into your eyes just to be sure you're still willing, before placing his hands on your shoulders to pinning you down the mattress, shifting his weight so he can position himself at your entrance.

Thrust forward, filling you up in one swift motion. He's completely focused, as if it's an important battle. And actually, he's really struggling to stay nice and slow for you. He's quiet. Breathe deeply and make low grunts close to your ear. When you begin to scratch his back, he becomes confused. Why are you doing this? Does it hurt or feel good? "You doing okay?"

If you tell him you need more now, he will give it to you as hard as you want.

"Such a brave girl"

Law

As a good doctor, his first reaction is to understand the cause of the problem. Is it a physical or psychological problem? Sex can be painful if you're experiencing too much stress or vaginismus. If he wants to help you feel better, he needs to understand what's going on. He’s a logical man, he can't act without a good understanding of what's happening.

He would probably cover your body too, in order to preserve your intimacy while you explain him you're just a bit stressed because it's been a long time and you often face pain when it comes to sex.

"Sex isn't supposed to hurt or to be stressful. Do you want to continue?"

As you slowly nodded, he would kiss your forehead and then slowly remove the bedsheets, revealing your bare body to himself.

He wants to reassure you even if he struggles with intimacy, including in the bedroom. He's not that kind of guy having sex with random people. If you end up in the same bed, it's because he genuinely cares about you. And damn, he definitely knows how to take care of your body too. He has divine hands. Good to heal, but also to help you reach new heights. The way he runs his hands along your body, your inner thighs, your pussy, and then your clit causes shivers down your spine.

And when he slides two fingers inside your core, damn, the only thing you can do is arches your back and beg for more. He’s the king of fingering. You can't help but cum as his thumb circles your clit while he pushes his long fingers in and out of you. When he removes them, his tattoos are soaked with your wetness, you are flustered, and he's content with himself. He can't help but grins, licking his fingers while watching your reaction closely. Even in bed, Law likes to tease you.

"Need me so bad, y/n-a?" with a slight pinch on your nipple

He's a doctor, so he will wear a condom. Even if you're wet, he'll reach for the bottle of lubricant and then sloshing some onto his palm before smearing it over his length. The emo boy myth is true because his cock is long.

Usually, Law struggles with eye contact, it's too intimate for his sake. But for once, he will let you lie on your back, spreading your thighs enough to fit in between. His tattooed chest slowly rises up with each breath, making him look beautiful over you.

"You're ready?"

He's a smart and careful person, so he'll go slowly and check your expression to ensure you're alright. He feels the tightness around his cock. So wet, so hot. His hands are shaking on your hips while he gently steady you. "Everything's fine?"

Slow and deep strokes as you trace the tattoos on his arms and chest. With his lips sealed to yours, he swallows all of your moans. And his low, deep breaths are leaving you in shambles.

Sanji

Oh, sweet Sanji. Similar to Zoro, he's not the most experienced, but he has a kind and compassionate soul. He would let you explain yourself, running his hands all over your shoulders, hair and stomach, trying to soothe you as you confess you're scared because it's been a while since the last time you had sex.

Sanji would never judge you. He would offer you sweet kisses to cover your body, promising to take things at your own pace. And if you need to stop, please just tell him. He would try his best to hide that he's a bit nervous too; nervous about hurting you or not being good enough for you.

Gentle kisses on your neck, breasts, lower stomach, inner thighs, and hands running all over your skin, fondling your breasts softly with a heavenly touch. He wants to take good care of every inch of your skin because your body is so precious, perfect and beautiful. All your shivering, moaning, and the way you look at him with pure love on your face... it melts his heart. He desperately wants to be inside you, but he'll never rush the whole thing. Like a good meal, sex deserves to be appreciated.

Probably the king of oral sex, he could keep his head burring between your thighs for the entire day and still can't get enough of how good you pussy feel and taste. He is fond of eating you out, hearing you moan, feeling you shivering and beg for more. The way your body is arching, how you grab his hair, pressing his lips more firmly against your wet folds. Not only do his hands know how to cook, but they also know how to please your body. Slowly circling your clit, fondling your breasts, and caring for every inch of your skin, making you melt and beg for more. You forgot you were tensed and stressed with all his attention.

Sanji being Sanji, he would love to bind your wrists with his tie, but he knows it's not the time for this. "I need to be inside you, mon amour" (my love) His cock is painfully hard and twitching, leaking in pre-cum.

As you spread your legs, letting him know that you're ready for more, Sanji would try his best to hide how stressed he really is. He doesn't want to hurt you. Fingers entwined with yours, a lot of eye contact as he slowly pushes his cock inside you. "Shh, it's okay. You're so tight. Laisse-moi te faire l'amour" (let me make love to you)

You softly moan as he penetrates you completely. You were stressed about getting hurt after such a long time without having sex, but Sanji is so soft that it didn't hurt even a bit. Even if you're relaxed, he would ask, "Am I hurting you?" And when you confirm that everything is more than fine, he can't help but sigh in relief. His fingers are still entwined with yours as you use your other hand to softly pull on his hair.

Slow and deep strokes. "C'est si bon d'être en toi" (it feels so good to be inside you) He is not ashamed of moaning. Moans that are really pretty. The feeling of your skin against his, how wet and welcoming you are inside. This is too much for him to handle.

Naturally, when it came to aftercare, he would rush to the kitchen to make you a good meal.

Sanji is so sweet please, help.

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actual-changeling · 6 months

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i am having a time y'all, my brain is chewing on that one fucking sentence like a dog on a bone, so have some hurt/comfort with a nice dose of angst.

They aren't talking.

It isn't impossible, even with Aziraphale back in heaven and Crowley in his lonely flat in Mayfair—nothing is impossible, not when they're together—and yet that is the problem, isn't it?

They aren't together. They aren't talking. They could.

Crowley thought about it, although there is little else he thinks about these days. Maybe if he had said more, chosen better words, kissed him earlier, run after him, pulled him back—

Maybe then he'd still be here. Maybe then he wouldn't be alone.

It is the emptiness weighing him down, the silence ringing in his ears, and how does he admit to himself that he misses his voice? His soft words, the stretch of his smile, the speeches about Hamlet and book restoration, about newly discovered cafés and ancient dishes long gone.

Aziraphale had lulled him to sleep more times than Crowley could count, a warm blanket wrapping around his curled-up body on the sofa, sprawling and moving, then calmed by his voice.

They aren't talking, and Crowley can't sleep.

He hears him in his dreams whenever he does, but it isn't his voice. It is twisted, warped, wrong, tainted by the acrid burn of bleach on his tongue, the meaning lost in the hollows where emotions should sit.

Days blur into each other, viscous and opaque, molasses trickling through an hourglass.

Sometimes he is scared he will forget how he sounds.

Sometimes he begs and pleads with his own mind to erase every memory of it, every 'I forgive you', every 'we're not friends', every endearment, every single time he said his name.

They aren't talking, and maybe that's for the better.

He said too much again, didn't he? Always talking too much, spilling the wrong secrets held tight to his chest, asking questions no one wants to answer.

So, after weeks of uninterrupted quiet, he simply stops. Crowley's mouth stays shut, his words chewed up and swallowed, and—on unpleasant occasions—thrown up. There are a myriad of things he wants to say, but there is no one left who might be willing to listen, not anymore.

Maybe there had never been someone to begin with.

They aren't talking. The world is about to end.

Aziraphale reaches for his hand, and he lets him, his fingertips cold, his pulse too quick.

"Crowley," he breathes, tender, reverent, a name said simply so it has been spoken, so it is real.

Crowley does not want to talk—not now, not yet, not when he can practically taste blood and ash on his tongue. With a gentle tug, he frees his hand from his grasp and pulls him into a hug instead.

They aren't talking, so he buries his face in the crook of his neck and breathes, holding and being held, and the haunting silence dissipates. Words are superfluous when there is the sound of his heartbeat, his trembling breaths, their clothes rustling as the embrace grows tighter and tighter.

They aren't talking, but they don't need to, not when Aziraphale cups his face and presses their foreheads together, not when Crowley slides his palm around the back of his neck and nudges their lips together just so.

They are talking—every gasp a word, every touch a phrase, every tear an apology and a promise at once.

They are talking, they aren't talking, they still love—violently, desperately—and the world does not end.

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #the final fifteen #good omens 3 #we are BACK #i still cant believe it

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barcaatthemoon · 2 months

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close to you || lia walti x reader ||

you have some trouble in keeping things friendly with lia.

somehow, things had been easier whenever lia and caitlin were together. back then, you knew that you had no chance with lia. the smiles, soft touches, and comforting presence were nothing more than that of a close friend. then, caitlin broke lia's heart, and suddenly, a little voice in the back of your heart started talking again.

it was no secret to anybody how you felt about lia. even the woman in question knew about your feelings. the two of you hadn't really spoken about it after her initial rejection of you, but you knew that she hadn't just forgotten. you swore sometimes that she had to have been thinking about it whenever she'd give you certain sad looks.

"you know that this can't be healthy," leah said as she put her arm around your shoulders. the partial team bonding night at her place had become one of your favorites. tonight, leah had broken out a few bottles of some pretty nice alcohol, allowing for you and your friends to get a good buzz. "why haven't you tried again with lia?"

"because she already told me that we're just friends, and i'd rather have her as my friend than be forced into caitlin and katie jail," you told her. technically, there was no "caitlin and katie jail" but the two had a tendency not to join in on team bonding nights. especially ones that they knew would make it hard to avoid lia.

"will you please reconsider because i can't spend every morning after we all hang out picking up the pieces of your heart," leah said. there was a bit of a teasing lilt to her voice, one that barely managed to mask the genuine concern.

"whatever," you grumbled as you stormed away from her. leah sighed as she watched you pop open a bottle and take a very large swig from it. you walked off in the opposite direction of the living room, holing yourself up in leah's guest room. it was where you always stayed whenever the team got together.

tonight, everybody had been drinking enough to warrant a sleepover, so you were sure that someone would bunk with you. you didn't mind sharing a bed with most of the girls on the team. they were your friends, and you were a naturally very affectionate person. sometimes, your teammates joked that you'd be happier playing somewhere like barcelona with all the spanish girls.

you fell asleep cradling an empty bottle of tequila in your arms. lia frowned as she entered the room to see you like that. even in your sleep, it was obvious that you were hurting badly. lia had no idea how to help you. the two of you were still close physically, but you didn't talk to her like you used to. she didn't know if it was anything that she had done, but lia couldn't help but feel responsible for the way you had shut everybody out a little.

"i miss you," lia whispered as she climbed into the bed next to you. she moved the bottle out of your arms and set it on the floor. you whined and reached out for something new to hold. lia let you wrap your arms around her as you settled down with your head on her chest. "goodnight, sweetie."

…

in the morning, you woke up with your face completely buried in lia's chest. her hands scratched lightly at your scalp, even after she felt you start to stir a bit. lia had no idea how long it had been since she woke up, but having you in her arms felt nice. she hadn't felt at peace like that in a long time, not since she was with caitlin.

"shit, what time is it?" you asked, your voice thick with sleep. you lifted your head up, but all of your movements were groggy. lia smiled as she watched you try to gather your bearings. it was obvious that you were hungover, possibly even still a bit drunk. lia was quick to move, attempting to catch you whenever you stood up too quickly.

"careful, we've got enough injuries already," lia joked. you sent her a thankful nod as you walked towards the door. she let you go off to the bathroom, but she didn't move from the bed, hopeful that you'd return to her. lia sat there waiting for nearly an hour before she gave up and started to look for you.

"you didn't see her last night, bear, she was upset. all she wanted was to go check on you. i felt bad making her stay for as long as i did," leah said. lia got the feeling that you were talking about her. she knew that she should have made her presence known, but she was curious.

"that doesn't matter leah. she's a caring friend. that's what she told me we are, so that's just what we'll be. so please just fucking drop it, okay!" you hadn't meant to shout. leah stood there dumbfounded for a moment. in all of the time that you'd known each other, you had never raised your voice at her in anger. you realized what you did and stormed out of leah's apartment, not even bothering to put your shoes on.

"w-what were you talking about?" lia asked softly. leah's head shot up as she looked at the midfielder. there was a look of fear on her face, as if she had accidentally just outed your feelings for lia. "is (y/n) okay?"

"bear will be fine, she's just upset. i think you should talk to her though, tell her about your feelings, lia," leah said. lia nodded, knowing exactly what she needed to do.

"hi bear." it was easy enough for lia to find you. you hadn't made it very far without shoes on, which lia had been kind enough to bring you.

"you never call me that," you said with a small frown. lia shrugged as she sat next to you. "lia, i need to tell you something, but i don't want to."

"it's okay, whatever you need to say is okay. something has been eating you up inside, and i'll do whatever i can to help you because i love you," lia told you. you couldn't meet her eyes, so you missed the way that she looked at you as she confessed her feelings towards you. being the oblivious idiot that you were, you automatically assumed that lia meant in a platonic way. you assumed that she loved you the way that you loved leah or alessia.

"we've been friends since we signed, but i can't be just friends anymore. i could barely do it before, but you had caitlin. i've never really had anyone because you've always been in the corner of my mind whenever i go on dates or try to hook up. i wish that it as easy again, like when i was in germany, but i can't stop thinking about you and how fucking happy you'd make me if you'd let me be yours."

lia looked down at her hands, suddenly overcome with guilt. she had known that you had feelings for her once upon a time, but lia hadn't expected them to still be so prevalent. lia forced herself to take a breath before she finally spoke up, "i love you, (y/n). i love you in a way that is anything but friendly. i don't think that we were ever entirely just friends because i have always felt this way about you. all i've ever wanted was to be closer to you, even if i didn't understand what it was at the time."

"does that mean that maybe there's a chance for us to be more than what we have been?" you asked. lia nodded as she placed a hand on your jaw, cradling it gently. "please don't break my heart, i don't think i could handle it."

"i would never," lia promised you. with that, you leaned forward just enough to press your lips to hers. lia kissed you back gently, almost as if she was afraid that you'd shatter in her hands. the two of you broke the kiss and rested your foreheads against each other's. it was nice to just sit there for a moment staring into each other's eyes, at least it was until leah came outside yelling for you.

"will you please come inside and finish breakfast bear, i'm starving!"

#lia walti x reader #lia walti imagine #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso x reader

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ageingfangirl2 · 6 months

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I Want A Divorce! Shanks (OPLA)

You get ill and Shanks offers to do your jobs around the ship, but he gets distracted easily and wants your praise. You love the man-child, but sometimes you have to tell him to actually like his age. Shanks x Reader FLUFF!

'You have a high fever so I'm going to recommend bed rest until it breaks, can't have you getting any worse,' Hongo states, placing a cold cloth on your forehead which was nice in your current state.

You cough, 'I guess I can take it easy Hongo.'

Over Hongo's shoulder, you notice Shanks watching and listening intently to the doctor's orders, 'I'm going to do all your jobs so you just rest up.'

You and Hongo snicker sharing a moment, both of you knowing Shanks wouldn't be able to cope with all that you did around the ship without complaining. Hongo pats your shoulder as he gets up from the bed. Shanks immediately takes his spot, tucking you in. You were the fourth crew member to join and the only female, and had been charmed into dating the notorious red-haired pirate.

'I love you darling but you don't even know half of what I do around here,' you whisper, throat sore.

Shanks puffs out his chest proudly, 'I'm going to make you proud, I'm going to do so good everyone will be begging me to do your jobs instead.'

You smile as he leans down and kisses the cold cloth.

TWO DAYS LATER

Shanks bursts through the doors of his quarters which you shared and throws himself on the bed next to you burying his face in a pillow. He could be an overdramatic diva at times but he was your diva. Before you can say anything Lucky walks in holding a tray of food that makes your mouth water and forget your partner.

'How are you feeling? Hongo said you should eat more fruit so I made you a fruit salad for after your soup.'

Ignoring Shanks who was now mumbling into the pillow you sit up and accept the tray of food and glass of water, 'You're all too good to me Lucky. How are the new guys?'

Lucky shrugs his shoulders, 'confused and maybe a little scared because they follow your instructions which makes captain grumpy.'

You nod, 'I'll talk to him. Thanks for the update.'

Lucky leaves and closes the door behind him. Shanks rolls onto his side and reaches for the fruit salad but you swat his hand away, 'My fruit salad captain.'

Shanks pouts, sticking out his bottom lip and shooting you his best puppy dog eyes, 'Why didn't you tell me what you did? I wouldn't have agreed otherwise. I love you, but dealing with the new crew is tedious.'

Just wait until he found out all the other odd jobs you did to help out the rest of the crew, there was a reason people called you mother hen. You pop a slice of apple in your mouth and sigh, 'What do you want me to do darling? Give you a pat on the back? Feed you a treat, give you a belly rub and call you a good boy? It's not easy but you never back down from a challenge. I know you'll give it your all until I get better.'

Shanks sits up and stops pouting, a look of determination in his eyes, 'You're right I can do this. I'm going to make you proud.'

You scoff as he steals some grapes and jumps off the bed with a new lease of life, you really did have him wrapped around your little finger.

FOUR DAYS LATER

Your fever had come down and you didn't feel like death anymore, but Hongo insisted you stay in bed for a few more days. The crew had bets on Shanks he didn't know about, he'd gotten better at doing your jobs but wasn't great. You promised to stay in bed so the crew could make some money off your partner.

THREE DAYS LATER

You were sat up in bed reading the newspaper feeling much better and enjoying relaxing for once. Shanks walks in and climbs on top of you, lying on you with his full weight, 'I know your secret babe,' he chuckles, head now resting on your chest, eyes locked with yours but he doesn't look upset.

You put the paper down and start running your fingers through his hair, 'Hongo asked me to stay in bed longer, I actually enjoyed not having as many responsibilities, makes a nice change. I'm sorry for deceiving you, Shanks.'

Shanks nuzzles into your hands more enjoying the massage, 'Now I know how much you do I want you to slow down. I'll try and help more when I can, and the crew promised to fix their own problems before coming to you for help babe.'

'Thank you. However, you lying on top of me is making parts of my body fall asleep.'

Shanks smirks, 'I'll wake them up when I need them.'

You throw your head back and laugh at his playful and flirty antics, 'I want a divorce.'

Shanks matches your laughter, 'I'm never letting you go, you mean too much to me. Maybe a few years after the marriage you can talk about a divorce.'

For all the years the two of you had been together you weren't engaged, everyone assumed you were married and the two of you kind of went with the flow. Little did you know Shanks wasn't joking about marriage this time around.

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fushigurro · 5 months

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𝗬𝗨𝗨𝗧𝗔 𝗢𝗞𝗞𝗢𝗧𝗦𝗨 𝗫 𝗚𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥. ⌇ 18+ only, mdni / best friend!yuuta who is touch starved / wet dreams / mention of penetrative sex and creampie / male masturbation.

your best friend is somehow simultaneously in his most relaxed and anxious state while in your presence. it's because he has secrets—secrets he dare not tell lest he lose your treasured closeness and companionship. but as time passes by, these secrets are getting harder and harder to keep.

midnight is approaching and you're the only one whose attention remains on the movie playing on the tv. yuuta's eyes had slipped closed quite some time ago, his body instinctively slumping against yours as it struggled to keep him upright on the couch. his rest was always most bountiful when he was with you, and it was difficult to refrain from being pulled into a slumber that he very much needed.

you let yuuta's head lean against your shoulder without quarrel, leaving him to sleep uninterrupted like the understanding friend you are. after a while, he begins to nuzzle into you a little further, his once soft and steady breaths growing more restless and littered with various noises.

you assume he's having some sort of dream—perhaps a nightmare—but you can't be certain, so it seems best to let him sleep for now. but the huffs and grunts and whines are growing in frequency, his body shuffling against yours, and a minor sweat almost breaking out along his skin. when he buries his face into the crook of your neck, your reflex is to reach up and steady him with a hand in his dark hair, and you finally decide to wake him.

"yuuta," you call softly, his eyes slowly opening at your touch and the sound of your voice. you pull your hand away from his head and he looks up at you groggily before straightening up and coming to his senses.

yuuta's heart is beating rather erratically, yet he forces that sweet, familiar smile onto his face. "oh… sorry about that," he apologizes with an awkward chuckle, rubbing at the back of his neck. "guess i didn't realize how tired i was."

"you're good," you gently reassure him. "i was going to let you sleep, but it sounded like you were having a bad dream or something."

"oh, yeah…" he starts, trying to forge a proper explaination with an anxious smile. "it was just something kinda weird, i think. honestly, i've already mostly forgotten it."

that's a lie. there's simply no way he could forget the way your body felt pressed tightly against his as you explored each other's mouths and he laid you down upon the mattress, fingers intertwined and fitting together like puzzles pieces. he could never forget how his mind had somehow managed to offer him a taste of what it would be like to slide inside you for the first time and hear you breathe out his name, carding a hand through his hair just before he woke up…

yuuta takes a deep breath reenters reality. "well, i'd better get going," he says, standing from the couch and moving to pull on his jacket.

"are you sure? it's pretty late. you can stay here if you want." you worry about him heading home in such a tired state, but he seems eager to get out the door.

"that's okay; i've got a few things to take care of before bed," he replies and bids you a friendly goodbye, promptly leaving and making it a point to get home quickly.

when yuuta steps through the door of his apartment, it's a mad dash to his bedroom where he swiftly kicks off his shoes and climbs onto the bed. his pants are unbuttoned and shoved down just far enough to where he can pull his hard cock out and begin to stroke it, eyes immediately rolling into the back of his skull.

the moan of relief he lets out is lewd, needy, and admittedly rather embarrassing, so he shoves the hem of his shirt between his teeth and looks down at his weeping length, taking in the sight of what you'd effortlessly done to him.

it's borderline pathetic how quickly he cums to the thought of you, to the memory of how it felt to soak in your body heat and have your hand tenderly cradle his head for just a handful of seconds. it's enough to make him absolutely crazed and have him blowing a desperate load all over his own stomach, painting himself in hot release and wishing that it was filling you up instead. and the worst part? he can't help the way the voice in his head keeps chanting 'i love you, i love you, i love you…' as he empties his balls.

shame and satisfaction mix together in his gut, and yuuta is left alone to regret going yet another night without you due to his own cowardice. he loves you too much to risk losing you in any capacity, but it's getting more difficult to keep himself in check these days. you might be his most cherished friend, the one by his side through thick and thin, but he'd much rather feel your hand wrapped around his cock than his own.

#dividers by @cafekitsune #it ain't much but i needed to get these thoughts out #yuuta okkotsu x reader #yuuta okkotsu smut #yuta okkotsu x reader #my writing.#re: yuuta okkotsu

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bsdawgz · 3 months

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「 ✦ Closer ✦ 」 Bungo Stray Dogs, Armed Detective Agency: Osamu Dazai

a/n: inspired by the morning voice post by @lovedazai (THIS), nin, and curiosity about how dazai would f#@% in the morning

genre: nasty and a sprinkle of fluff. (early) established relationship.

content warning: f!reader. MDNI! nasty ahead! some edging, begging, and praise. body worship + oral sex (m! and f! receiving for both. everyone wins!). religious imagery. you've been warned.

summary: in the morning, dazai likes to spoil you in bed ♡

just as you're about to get out of bed, you're stopped by soft lips against the nape of your neck, gently traveling across your skin as slender fingers grasp at your hips, coaxing you back into the futon and into a warm embrace. a quiet yawn into your shoulder is followed by a series of loving kisses up and down your spine – dazai's morning ritual as he tries to persuade you to stay in bed just a little longer, linger in his arms for just a minute or two more. in the mornings, he's always so resistant to getting up, so clingy and attached and so determined to not go into work. why waste his time laboring away at the ada when he can waste his life away in the arms of a beautiful woman instead?

"good morning, pretty girl." his voice is deeper, richer, in the morning, slightly raspy from a good sleep brought from being tangled in one another's bodies the night before. it's alluring, sexy, even, the way that he whispers in your ear and pulls you closer tight against his chest, as though he can't get enough as you, tracing circles into your naked back with his fingertips, etching his initials into your skin as if to remind you that your his and his alone, his lips lingering on your earlobe, his breath tickling your neck –

– and he pulls you closer, closer,

and closer.

it's never quite enough for him.

molding into your body and seeking your warmth, "won't you pay attention to me~?" he coos, fingers playing with the waistband of your panties teasingly. you feel him adjust your hips slightly, and at this angle you can feel him now – all of him. the heat that emanates from his skin, the firmness of his chest pressed against yours, and most of all, the hardness in his boxers as he pushes up against you – you can sense him just smirking once he knows that you can feel him there.

"i hope you know how much i like you," he whispers, and his voice is so tempting, almost as tempting as the way that his hands smooth over your stomach and the way that they grasp your waist. those hands fit so perfectly around your body, around your breasts, around your hips. you feel him squeeze you, sighing into your skin, and you melt into his touch. ever since dazai started dating you, it's been impossible for him to keep his hands off of you – touching you felt ritualistic, like going to church. it was like a necessary reminder that you're real, that you exist, that you're alive.

being able to bask in your light, to soak in your vitality –

it felt like breathing – like living, even.

as he buries his nose into the crook of your shoulder, tangling his fingers in your hair, you can feel his warm breath against your neck. "mm, your body feels so soft," he murmurs affectionately, continuing to pamper you with soft, gentle kisses. these innocent touches might satisfy him for now, but it's never long until he's impassioned to get on top of you – and that's exactly what he does, shifting his weight until you're underneath him, ensnared in his bandaged arms.

"do you want me?" he asks you teasingly, swiping his tongue across his lips. there's this wicked grin on his face as he bats his long, thick lashes at you knowingly – there are no secrets you can keep from dazai. "you always feel so soft, especially here," he whispers sweetly in your ear, lips lingering on your earlobe as he nudges your legs apart with his knee. you can feel warmth spread wildly across your skin as you grow wet from just his subtle touch. he brings his fingers between your legs only to trail them along the side of your thighs until you're writhing underneath him, then those same slender fingers are brushing 'accidentally' against the place you want him most. it's fleeting – a moment gone too soon, yet you find your hips impulsively moving, desperately trying to chase after him.

"you know, that was pretty perverted of you..." he says tauntingly, eyes glinting with amusement. you flush with embarrassment, but it's not long until you feel his fingers press against your entrance for real, this time tracing your folds through the cotton of your panties, deliberately dampening the fabric with your arousal. "so dirty, huh." he's eyeing you like a wolf as he lowers himself onto your body, soft brown bangs falling into his darkened eyes as he grins at you smugly.

kissing down your body, along your collarbone and the curve of your shoulders, his large hands grasp your breasts, massaging them and lavishing them with gentle kisses. you gasp as his tongue encircles around a nipple, as he sucks hickies into your chest, as he molds his hands around your shape. then, continuing down your body, he stops below your navel, glancing up at you – "you want me here?"

you nod, then you feel his hands on you once more, slowly peeling your panties down your legs.

dazai holds you're sacred, like you're the source of life itself, laying his head down in front of you as though there's some altar hidden between your thighs. for a moment, all you can feel is his warm breath against your skin – nothing more.

then, everything at once –

– that heavenly feeling of his tongue, licking you so agonizingly slowly, so sweetly, so sinfully. you feel him ease a finger inside of you, then two, his delicate, beautiful fingers reaching somewhere you could never. then, pulling you flush against his mouth, he laps at you thirstily, tongue swirling around your clit until you're moaning out his name, until you're melting on his saliva. "dazai–" you hardly manage to stammer out, panting helplessly. "i want you... please... i want you in my mouth, too..."

you get on your knees as though to worship him. shuffling his boxers down his legs, you're desperate to just to touch him now – to finally taste him on your tongue. you feel its warmth against your skin as you press his length against your face, smear the precum that's pearling from the tip against your cheek, licking up the shaft seductively as you gaze up at him with doe eyes that are intent on having him watch you... but of course, he's going to watch you – focusing on your every movement with these half-lidded eyes that are clouded over with sheer desire and wanton lust. his hands tangle in your hair as he bites back a soft moan, enamored by the way you're rubbing his dick all over your sweet, innocent face. you can just feel him throbbing in your hands. how he aches for more, for you to put him in your mouth and devour him completely.

you stroke him gently, placing loving kisses on that pretty tip of his before sloppily wrapping your lips around him. saliva drips from your mouth, dribbles down your chin as you try to deepthroat him, and you gag as you feel the head hit the back of your throat. "that's it," he sighs pleasurably, throwing his head back. "god, you're good to me."

determined to finish him, you pick up the pace before you can choke on him – but he pulls himself out of your mouth suddenly with a soft laugh, resigning to stroking himself lazily with one hand. "fuck," you hear him curse under his breath, exasperated. "i'm already close.” he grins up at you playfully, then reaches across the bedside table for a condom, rolling it down his length before mindlessly tossing the plastic wrapper aside. then, grabbing you by the wrists, he tugs you into his lap to straddle him. "–not until i have you first."

there's a renewed wickedness in this eyes now, like he's up to no good. you watch him in anticipation as he starts guiding the blunt head inside of you... only to slide it back out of your slick folds, slipping the tip in and out of you teasingly, listening to the deliciously wet sound of your squeezing around nothing at all. "don't.. tease...!" you plead, but it's no use. your thighs give out as you feel him slap it lightly against your slick, hips spasming at the sudden impact, however slight. then, he laughs a sort of devious laugh, delighting in the needy way you squirm for him.

"tell me how badly you want it first," he insists, his voice a low, erotic whisper in your ear, his tongue tracing a line along the lobe. you can feel just the tip prodding at your entrance once more. as you try to roll your hips forward to meet his, his firm hands keep you in place. you whine out his name – not good enough, it seems.

so, you cry out, beg pathetically – beg for more and more. dazai watches you intently, wonder gleaming in those deep brown eyes of his as you struggle to feel him, to touch him, your body coming alive for him –

as you urge him to pull you closer, closer,

and closer.

it's never quite enough for you.

then, when he just can't help himself anymore, he sinks you onto him and fills you completely, pressing his body against yours until you're tangled so perfectly in his arms.

being close to you like this – it's started to feel a bit more like breathing to him,

– like living, even.

#BSDAWGZ #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd dazai #dazai smut #dazai x reader #dazai x reader smut #bungou stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs smut #dazai osamu smut #bsd x reader

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wileys-russo · 6 months

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nah but i’m thinking about annoying bf katie who just needs to be comforted sometimes too. she’s a big jokester until she’s not and sometimes she just needs some extra loving

secret softie II k.mccabe x reader

"maybe next time darlin." you jolted as your girlfriends hand smacked your ass as she jogged by, having tackled and taken the ball from you during a training friendly. "katie!" you scowled, having warned her many times about doing it in front of your team mates.

"sorry i only chat with winners, can't be seen with a loser its bad for my rep." she puffed out her chest with a smug smile as you rolled your eyes and shifted back into the game, yelled at by lia to focus as you did just that.

eventually your team conceeded again and katie's team won 2-1, though you'd think she'd just won the ballon d'or or a derby with the way she was carrying on. you watched through unimpressed eyes as she celebrated with her team, jumping on top of poor stina and sending the tall blonde crashing to the floor.

"you are not hearing the end of that tonight mate." you sighed as leah patted your back sympathetically, not having played but still watched the friendly once she'd finished her own training for the day. "can i stay at your place?" you groaned, head falling to her shoulder as the defender chuckled.

"if you don't think she'd happily kick a door or two down to come and collect you, you haven't been seeing her long enough." you groaned louder at that, turning to bury your face in leahs shoulder as her arms wrapped you in a hug.

leaving your girlfriend to her victory parade you turned and started to make your way back inside, leah teasing you as your stomach grumbled loudly and your face blushed bright red, alessia and lia falling in step with the two of you.

"oi! where ya goin?" you were almost into the locker room to change out of your boots when you found yourself being held back, dragged away around a corner. "hiya." katie grinned with pearly white teeth, pushing you into the wall behind you as she stared down at you.

"where's my kiss for winnin then?" the irishwoman demanded, puckering her lips expectantly. "you'll get a kiss once you find some humility mccabe." you pinched her lips in your fingers and pushed her off, though you couldn't make it more than a few steps before she was on you again.

"mccabe? baby you wound me." the defender pouted as you rolled your eyes for what felt like the hundreth time today. "sorry i only call people who are nice to me by their preferred titles." you patted her cheek sarcastically as she scoffed.

"i am lovely to you! a complete sweetheart." she smiled wolfishly, leaning in to steal a kiss as you turned your head and her lips instead met your cheek. "oi!" the brunette whined, trying again as you continued to blank her.

"kiss me." katie demanded with a grumpy pout, hands tightly holding your waist as you sighed dramatically and leaned up as if to kiss her, your lips landing on her forehead instead with a wink as you once again pushed her off and returned toward the locker room.

"yeah yeah put a sock in it!" you waved off steph and beth who jeered at you, having also been a part of the winning team. most of the girls already having headed off to lunch you wasted no time changing from your boots into your slides, which were really katies anyway.

"come on then." you sighed impatiently, holding your hand out and wiggling your fingers, katie beaming as she took your hand in hers and the two of walked out together and headed off for lunch.

having an upcoming gym session to finish the day you all stayed in your training clothes, the cafeteria smelling like deodorant and about twenty different kinds of perfume.

"was that your stomach?" katies eyes widened as you nodded, puffing air from your nose and crossing your arms as you both patiently waited your turn. "hangry girl." your girlfriend teased, kissing the top of your head as you grabbed a tray and she did the same.

"you know maybe if you'd focused on eating some actual food this morning instead of making breakfast for me you might not be so hungry darlin." the taller girl whispered in your ear with a cheeky grin as your cheeks flushed bright red knowing exactly what she meant, punching her shoulder with a shake of your head.

finally getting your food you both moved to sit down at a table, alessia and kyra to your left with stina and cloe on katies right. "good is it ky?" you laughed watching kyra shovel mouthful after of food into her mouth with a nod.

"its not going to run away kyra, thats gross." alessia chuckled shoving the younger midfielder who shrugged carelessly. your stomach rumbling again you happily gathered a forkful of pasta and raised it toward your mouth.

but before it could meet your lips there was a clash of metal and katies fork knocked against yours, driving the pasta to fall off and back into the bowl. you shot her a glare and tried again as she darted out to repeat the action.

"katie!" you huffed, turning your body to try and shield your food away from her, though this time the attack came from your other side. "alessia!" you gasped as the blonde smirked, a high five sounding behind your head as katie chuckled.

"don't." you warned them both firmly, gathering another forkful and hurrying it into your mouth, sighing happily. "urgh get off!" you managed out amongst your food as katie shoved her finger in your ear.

"i will stab you with this fork mccabe." you threatened seriously as your girlfriends smirk only grew and she wiggled her eyebrows. with your attention focused on her you missed kyras arm sneak out and steal a few mouthfuls of pasta.

"oi! go get your own seconds you scab." you reached over alessia and smacked the back of the younger girls head who whined and mumbled she was just hungry. "alessia if you so much as touch me or my food again i will shove rip your slide off your foot and shove it down your throat." you spoke calmly noticing the packet of salt she had hidden in her hand.

with her and kyra scurrying away to get seconds and katie busied in conversation with cloe you managed to finish the rest of your food, even sneaking a mouthful of katies when she wasnt looking.

"peace offering." you looked up suspiciously as alessia and kyra returned, placing down a bowl of fruit salad in front of you as your eyes narrowed. "what did you do to it?" you questioned with a raised eyebrow as kyra scoffed.

"nothing! you don't trust we could just be nice?" "no, no i don't." "hey!" "you eat some first, then i'll consider it."

that seemed to confirm it for you as both girls shared a nervous look, clearly having tampered with it one way or another.

"katie made us do it!"

"are you really going to ignore me the whole way home?" your girlfriend laughed as you stayed quiet, staring straight ahead as she continued to try and engage you in conversation unsucessfully.

pulling into your driveway you were up and out of the car before katie could even get her belt off, cursing to herself in annoyance at your silence as she grabbed both of your bags from her boot and made her way inside.

dropping the bags in their place and kicking off her shoes she wandered around until she found you in the kitchen filling a glass of water by the sink. "get off." you warned as she attached herself to you from behind

"no i want a cuddle." you almost broke at the shift of tone in her voice, still pulling her hands off once you'd necked your water and left the glass in the sink. "baby!" katie whined after you, her calls out ignored as you settled into the lounge.

but no sooner had you picked up the remote was it taken from your hands, katie basically crawling into your lap and tugging it from your grip, tossing it onto the sofa and burying her face in your neck.

a smile ghosted at the end of your mouth as the irishwoman grabbed your wrists and moved your arms to wrap around her, mumbling again that she wanted a cuddle and pushing her face deeper into your neck.

"you are unbelievable mccabe." you sighed as she tightly balled your hoodie in her hands pulling your body as close to her own as she could. "stop that!" her head appeared in front of you with a scowl, lips turned downward into a pout.

"all day you've denied me kisses and called me mccabe. i want my girlfriend back i miss her." the defender mumbled quietly as you finally gave in at that, hand on the back of her neck guiding her head to rest on your chest.

"sorry baby." you apologized, carding one hand through her hair and pushing the other down the collar of her top to lightly scratch her back, the irishwoman stretching her body out to lay down between your legs still half on top of you.

"such a softie." you whispered with an affectionate smile, tilting her head back a little and pressing a few tender kisses to her lips. "shut up." katie grumbled, exhaling and closing her eyes as you held her tightly, mumbling sweet nothings in her ear until you felt her completely relax.

chuckling you very carefully moved to grab the remote, not wanting to wake her as you flipped through to find something to watch. you heard her mutter something inaudible as her hand smacked around blindly to find yours, pushing it back up her top making your smile widen, settling in and continuing the rhythmic running up and down of your nails against her back.

"my soft girl."

#katie mccabe x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs #katie mccabe #woso community

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

Text

Lazarus (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 2)

"According to tradition, Lazarus never smiled during the thirty years after his resurrection, worried by the sight of unredeemed souls he had seen during his stay in Hell..."

Word count: 5.7 k

Tags and warnings: Angst, fluff, soft smut 🔞. Slightly possessive!Ghost. Graphic depictions of past suicidal thoughts. Dating, kissing, cuddlefucks, emotions (the most daunting cw there is). Unfettered prose about a grown man's complex trauma. Reader is female and works as a medic at the base. Ghost POV.

Summary: You've just started dating Ghost. (This is a standalone sequel to Refugee)

She tastes round and sweet after the tang of blood and smoke and metal of the field. She feels like warm cascading water after the bleak, dead weight of a gun that leaves his hands throbbing with recoil. Her skin returns the memory of Paradise until it overrides everything else.

She's a soft blooming to the senses.

And his have been blown wide, torn apart, shot full of noise. There's an amputated, burnt stump where there should be a limb and some soft skin. But still, a blast that burns flesh from bones is not that different from her soft whisper that has the power to level him like a nuclear wind.

. . .

They're some kind of a secret, although he doesn't know why exactly.

Perhaps because she knows enough by now. She knows he's a dead man.

A ghost.

And women like her don't date apparitions. They deserve more than just bones and a haunting: they deserve flesh and blood and solid ground. She deserves far more than promises he has no power or right to give.

He has no mandate for life. His is a half-life, and stolen; he's living on borrowed time.

She doesn't only protect his phantom, she shields herself from talk and rumors. It's only understandable. He takes everything she gives him, which is more than he deserves.

He fucks her to ruin on the conference table people share in the meetings. He makes her leak all over his desk during quiet afternoon hours of his office; he makes her come on his tongue in the fucking hangar after a long day, just to get the taste of dry desert sand off his mouth.

She stops complaining about propriety after that. After all, she's the one who came there on his call and allowed him to rip her pants down when there was only settling dust to accompany them in the quiet hall.

It doesn't take long to see that the woman's not actually complaining at all. She fucking loves it when he barges in and simply takes her.

And he buries himself inside her like she's the base. His home after a mission, his destined location after deployment. She lets him fuck her practically anywhere except on the floor.

That's his place. And he has no problem with lying down there in the filth, especially if it means he gets to watch how she sits on his cock until that pretty little face distorts with pleasure that looks like pain.

His field pants and navy blues have cum stains after his visits while she cleans herself up in no time, fixes her hair and looks as innocent as ever. His mask smells of cunt when he's trying to concentrate on missions, and the scent of her juice makes him hard while he's supposed to be instilling brass into bodies. He smokes cigarettes just to drive the maddening taste of her from his tongue.

He's gonna get killed one of these days. The irony doesn't escape him: it's not a bullet or a grenade that will take him, but that sweet, hazy memory of her cunt.

She's an obsession. He injects himself full of her like the most pathetic addict.

Until one day, she says it can't continue like this. That it won't do to rut like animals until the smell of mad sex coats the room she's supposed to stitch and staple people in.

It causes a small panic till she asks him to visit her.

In her home.

It sounds serious: it sounds like she wants more than just his cock. And he's fucking terrified.

Women think about whether to wear this dress or that on a date: he thinks about whether to put on the mask or not – he meditates on it for two whole hours. Everything else is clean and in order; he looks like a human and not a soldier. But he can't rid himself of the skeleton.

There's a storm coming when he reaches her place. It electrifies the air until his spine is full of thunder.

She seems surprised – happily so – when she finds him at the door, decent as can be. He gets one of those innocent smiles which are pure sin beneath.

"You came."

"Sure."

She doesn't ask why he's always wearing a mask. She takes what he has to give, which is his all, which he fears will never be enough.

"There's food–"

She lets out a delightful little noise when he picks her up and carries her to what looks like the biggest and softest bed he has ever laid a woman on, ever laid himself on.

So, she likes luxury. Or at least, comfort.

Softness. Hugs… Support.

And kisses, apparently, because his mask is lifted without permission. Not that she needs one.

"Simon, I made you some dinner," she laughs in his mouth, and he's smiling – she's the only one who makes him fucking smile.

"Later," he rasps with a sore throat – he has become soft, too, and it's her fault. He has barked orders all day, but with her, his voice always comes out quiet and calm.

Where her domain at work consists of harsh lights and sterile frigidity, her home is dark and warm like a womb. His senses are filled with lemon and thyme – she has made something he's never tried before, something… Mediterranean, perhaps. A culinary ambrosia for someone who has lived on dog food and tried to thrive on it.

It's a pity that he's a barbarian, and here for dessert. As much as he likes the dainty little thing she has put on just for him, it's not cunning enough to stop him from ripping it to shreds.

She protests at first with a posh little gasp, but then she spreads her legs like it's open season and he's the VIP customer. The laced, pathetic little thing lays in wreckage around all that softness creaming just for him, and his mouth shoots full of water.

The feel of her is better than sinking a knife between two ribs. She's velvet on his scar and coarse stubble and for the first time in his life, he curses the mask. She moans all around him, tries to grab him by the hair still under the black fabric.

And it makes him want to rip it off and let her yank and tug to her heart's content, grab his hair and push his face as deep inside her cunt as it goes.

He tries to fit inside her apartment, a serene space filled with scented candles and clean carpets and frilly little curtains that shift in the restless night wind.

He tries to fit inside her.

The attempt always makes her moan and tremble and sigh. It's hard to focus on the task at hand when he wants to freeze the moment to where her lashes flutter and she stops breathing for a second – when she takes him in with grace and hunger.

"Oh fuck…"

She swears this time, watches with helplessness and an open mouth as his cock slowly disappears inside her. Then she looks up at him like…

Like she's missed him.

"You're a brute," she whispers, eyes shining.

"Thought you liked brutes."

"I made you dinner and you…Ah…"

He arrives home, heavy and loaded with yearning.

First things first.

It has been a week, and there's been no time to relieve the pain, nowhere to go and wank off the sickness that festers inside him every second they're apart. And she's the only one who can cure his disease. But he does feel like a brute for not letting her feed him. When was the last time anyone made him anything?

The sea is booming now, roaring behind the window she has left open. This time, they're not fucking at the base, in some corner of a room with a lock hurriedly latched on. He's fucking her amidst doused lights and a seaside breeze that enters their skin through an open window. He's at the beach, even when there's no sun. The sands are even more stunning with a gathering storm.

He fucks her like a dog, and she looks at him with weak love in her eyes. She's looking up at him with those big, wet eyes like he's the best leader there is - like she's counting on him. Like the people under his command, those who ask for his advice, ask for the next move.

It drives him fucking insane.

It's even better than a good round of sex: that unbound look of adoration. His mask is a poor shield against all that. She slips past it like she's the expert in clandestine warfare here. And suddenly he doesn't want any more secrets. There's a ton of them already; he carries the weight of them in his soul.

He's an underdog, always has been, but he's also a hound for claiming her as his that night.

After he's done fucking her to oblivion, he descends. She comes alive like a jolt of lighting in his arms as he kisses her, then sucks the tender skin of her neck. Everyone's going to see it, he makes sure of that by using the tiniest amount of teeth to finally mark her. She moans an equal amount as she does when she's clenching around his cock.

"Did you just give me a hickey?" She asks, breathless when he's done.

"High time, don't you think," he mutters. The woman will look glorious on the beach and highly improper at work.

Lie down with dogs, get up with fleas…

"You're unbelievable." She only laughs at his obsession. The woman’s not afraid at all, even when she’s face to face with a monster. The sunshine of her smile pairs well with the crackle of thunder outside.

"You want a beer?"

He's too drugged to answer with nothing else than a surprised, drowsy blink. She laughs again and takes it as a yes, which it is. He stares in awe as the woman walks to the fridge, all naked and lax from his treatment, takes out a bottle, opens it, and brings it to him. She takes none for herself; she only serves him like he's some kind of a king. When he takes a sip, she smiles again: lighting flashes somewhere in the distance and gives her an aureole of light, a halo of an angel for a second.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." The wink she gives him makes it perfectly clear that she wouldn't mind him joining her. But as she goes by the mirror, the vision of his claim stops her.

"Simon…"

He gets a scolding, and it only makes the corner of his mouth tug.

"No concealer is going to cover this."

"That's the point," he takes another sip while lying on her too-soft bed. She shakes her head before walking to the shower. The eye of the storm is above him, and everything's silent, like he's lounging on a dream.

The bottle in his hand sweats cold condense in his hand, and like always with her, he finds himself in the present moment. He drinks the beer in less than ten seconds, then takes the mask off and leaves it somewhere among the sweat and cum stained sheets.

It's the first time she has seen him without the shield, the first time she sees his body in full light. Every protrusion of white scar, every part of uneven skin, every marring of two and three stage burns is visible as if he is on a well-lit stage.

"Well. Pleased to meet you."

The smile that greets him, the veil of surprise that draws aside to reveal pure delight and marvel is more than worth the risk. She's frozen in time with a bottle of shower gel in her hands, too preoccupied with the trust he has decided to arm her with. She now has power over him, but he proceeds to do what he came here to do. Which is to make her sing a second time.

"For what do I owe this pleasure–"

The bottle falls on the tiles with a soft plunk as he steps between her legs and lifts her against the wall.

On that, she doesn't only kiss him; she takes the scar of his lip between hers and sucks. The warm water is nothing compared to her hands which sweep up and down his back and release years and years of tension. She whines when he only gives her shallow thrusts, then tries to claw his back to get more of his cock. It makes him chuckle.

"Needy," he comments on such delightful hunger, and she lets out the most annoyed, frustrated noise he has ever heard on her.

"Stop teasing, Riley…"

She tends to use his last name when she's fed up with him. It's supposed to create distance, but it only makes him latch himself onto her more fiercely.

He could torture her, delve deep, dig out even more frustrated sounds from her, but that's a quest for another time. He grants her wish along with his own and slides fully in. She kisses him through the whole fucking, and he feels like he's in boiling water, cooking until the raw meat grows tender and prepared.

And he realizes he's not actually fucking her: he's making love to her. He didn't even know he could do that.

When they've had their fill, the water takes away his gift. It feels wrong that something meant to be inside her leaks down some filthy drain. It's like a testimony, an illustration of his whole life: that his essence, his worth, belong in the sewers.

"You're a beautiful man," she whispers on his skin while caressing his back filled with past torture. His stomach churns, he feels like throwing up and falling asleep at the same time. An odd sensation.

She holds his mutilated corpse under the descending water and breathes life into him. The vomit never comes. He exhales history on her skin, inhales some peace in its stead.

In the morning the sound of thunder has been replaced by myriad birdsong.

. . .

He never meant to bring her here, but the wind on the beach is too harsh today and she's cold. It would be ungentlemanly not to get her a jacket from his apartment when it's only a few hundred meters away.

"To say that this place needs a woman's touch would be an understatement, Riley."

There's little else here but a tv and a fridge. He doesn't need either of them, but they're there to remind him what a home should look like. She takes the deafening silence and barren wasteland well, far better than he ever imagined she would.

"Y'can touch anything you want."

She turns and raises an eyebrow – he already knows that look. He's in for it now.

"Smooth... Very smooth." She walks to him and pushes him to the armchair. Not with force, because she doesn't need it. He falls to the sagged old thing like it's suddenly cloud nine rather than his old deathbed.

He waits for her to climb onto his lap and ride him until the chair breaks under the weight of their love. He could use a new chair anyway.

But she doesn't do that.

She gives her what this place has been missing.

A woman's touch.

Her mouth is hot as hell, wet like the gulfs that used to drown men in the sea centuries ago. She's a siren with her songs, but this time, she's quiet.

The room is not: the deathlike silence is suddenly filled with wet urgency and sloppy sounds of adoration. All his hauntings recede to the shadows like the blowjob is a whole exorcism.

His head falls back, and the first charred moan coats the air like it's been entombed for decades. And it has.

She is encouraged by the sound, and the tongue that sweeps the underside of his cock sends him jolting from his shallow grave.

Jesus fuckin'–

"Fuck…" He tries to blink back tears or death while looking at the crumbling paint on the ceiling. He feels equally worn out on her tongue: old and a lot of work, but a woman's touch is like magic.

"Mm–h." She dares to moan on his cock as if it's the best thing she's had in her mouth in decades, too. She even brushes her fingertips over his balls like they're some newfound treasure. They pull taut under her touch, stupefied by the sudden attention.

He can feel the upcoming blaze. It gathers at the base of his spine, his cock is brick-heavy in her mouth, and she won't stop – fuck, she goes even deeper…

"Fuckin' hell, pet…"

His thighs bunch and spread, a scorching groan erupts like he's a volcano and not a man. That's when she gives his cock a long, torturing suck, and he's gone, there’s no time and space other than her hot velvet mouth that surrounds him like the hot core of a star.

She adds a hand at the base of him, and he explodes so hard that he barely has brain cells left to worry about whether she will choke on it. But she doesn't even gag, even if the first spurts must be more than generous.

Fuck, this woman…

He melts in the chair while she finishes the rest of him, takes all he has to give, like she always does. They're an odd pair: an angel and a demon, and he feels like he's finally saved, resurrected – this room, this chair has never seen anything like this.

It's different with her, the emptiness that comes after. It's not filled with grief but deliverance.

He wants her to know what she’s just done, but he knows the things he's good at, and he knows the things he's not. Words are one of those things. She moans and begs and shatters and swells in his arms, she takes on a volcano and resurrects corpses long since dead, and he still doesn't know how to tell her. That he's hers, that he wants to make her feel as good as he bloody fucking can. He could be tortured for days and he still wouldn't know the right words. He tries to tell it to her in other ways and sees how she settles.

He would rather kill the whole human population on this earth than see her settle for anything.

So he forces the strange words out, fleshes them on his tongue and pushes them through teeth to haunt the stale air of his apartment that has never seen such love before.

"I missed you."

Of course it sounds so odd that she laughs. Bitter, too.

"You missed my tongue."

"No. I missed you."

She finally raises her eyes to his, doesn't try to blink back the watercolors. Those eyes are shining; they're beckoning.

"I missed you too," she says, then lays her head on his thigh like she's only a humble servant begging for mercy.

It's a farce. He's a skeleton, a ghoul of useless rubble while she's celestial; she's summer, a fucking empress.

It rips his chest to see her on her knees on the dirty floor, that she's comforting him in a chair that should've been his disposal site. The leather was supposed to be painted with shards of bone and puddles of pink-white brain; this room was supposed to echo with a single blast of a gunshot, not with roars of fragile love. He would've been found relatively soon, the neighbors wouldn't have had to complain about the smell: after all, the military takes care of their own. A lieutenant's absence wouldn't have gone unnoticed, even if everything else in him would never have been missed by anyone.

He brushes her hair, and she sighs, oblivious to his past hell. All nine circles of it, an inferno that would put poets to shame. And she doesn't know she has pulled him from the depths just by smiling.

. . .

"Promise to come back."

"Yeah I promise."

He can't promise that. Fuck, that he wants to.

Every bullet acquires sound, like that birdsong from her little window. They gain weight, they start to carry death. It used to be his power: to bring destruction. He was put on this earth to reap.

Now he's alive.

He's suddenly a man who can be killed.

Now everything's bright like he's a newborn trying to get used to a world full of pain. Light and sound and time and space; mortality.

Sharpened instincts have never been his friend. It used to be a simple dance: knife out, knife in. Drop 'em.

Line the sights and deal extinction. Walk like a ghost until the battering ram announces there's death coming.

It takes him a while to understand where the sorcery lies.

It's in the senses. She's sensuous.

"Simon–"

He hears her in the shaded crevice of rocks, catches phantom notes of vanilla from the dry desert air that tries to push through the filthy fabric of his mask. She’s with him just before the hatch opens, and for the first time in his life, he hesitates before the jump.

She tastes round and sweet after the tang of blood and smoke and metal of the field. She feels like warm, cascading water after the bleak, dead weight of a gun that leaves his hands throbbing with recoil. Her skin returns the memory of Paradise until it overrides everything else.

She's a soft blooming to the senses. And his have been blown wide, torn apart, shot full of noise. There's an amputated, burnt stump where there should be a limb and some soft skin. But still, a blast that burns flesh from bones is not that different from her soft whisper that has the power to level him like a nuclear wind.

He has to learn how to come back to his senses. It's a joke that makes him wish he could shed tears. Luckily, she's the best teacher he could ever have.

"Fuck, Simon…"

He tries to quit smoking just to be able to taste her better. A scorched tongue is a curse when a man can't get enough of cream and silk.

"I need you. Need you so much. You don't even know..."

He knows. He knows that the depth of his need surpasses hers; it always has and always will.

The last time he saw her wasn't at the base; it was when he woke up to the sight of her foraging for orange juice from the fridge with his sweatshirt on. She combined sultry lace and bare, smooth skin with an old, black hoodie.

And it swallowed her. All his darkness. She only looked sleepy and content while being smothered by all that dark cotton.

"I'm gonna make some breakfast," she announces upon seeing he's awake. "You like bacon and eggs?"

What the fuck did I do to deserve you.

She knows full well she could offer him a chest filled with gold, and it wouldn't be half as tempting as her little American breakfast.

"That'll do."

He was supposed to go to the shower but instead, his feet take him right back to her. She gives him a pleasant hum when his hands fall on her shoulders and start to rub some stress away. He knows it will make her moan, as it does now. She leans a little into him, surrenders to his treatment.

"Simon… Do you come here just for sex?"

The hiss of cooking bacon almost drowns the question. Just one syllable less, and the question would be as she originally meant it to be.

Does he come to her just for sex.

"No."

She turns to look at him with a shy little smile. It makes him want to crush her against that counter until those lips part with a helpless sound.

"I like your cooking."

"You…ass," she laughs, shoves him lightly.

He treats every day like it’s his last with her, waits patiently for her to realize he is not the man she thinks he is. Under the bones he wears there’s only more bones, nothing more. She can feed him all she wants, but it will only make him more hungry; and a day will come when she sees he’s not actually a man at all but a yawning, six feet grave.

The black cotton hugs her and makes it falsely look like this woman belongs to him. It’s another round of torture to see how she takes his shirt, takes his cock, plays with the only things he can give her for a while or two.

She has the sweater on as she gives him the softest farewell smile. She adds a few words, some more detail to her request. In truth, it's his new protocol.

"Promise to come back to me."

He doesn't ask for the sweatshirt back.

She's left with it and his promise.

. . .

"Poor lass's always sulking when you're on those solo missions."

He knows that Price might know about them by now. But if Soap knows, everyone knows.

He doesn't care: after all, the woman doesn't even try to conceal the seductive looks and dreamy smiles she gives him whether there are other people present or not. They're not a secret anymore. Perhaps that's the way she wants it to be.

But the information Soap gives him is new.

"She is?"

He goes straight to her after the plane lands. Doesn't give a single fuck about that smug look the boy gives him.

She looks slightly surprised as he simply walks in: she can see he's filthy. He has grime on his hands, on the fingerless gloves that make it easier to operate a gun when there's no threat of sweating. He smells of smoke and ruin, gasoline and tobacco – a lousy compensation for her, a ridiculous substitute to calming his nerves when he knows the mission is going to be tricky. It already pisses him off that her cream will be mixed with smoke and disease again. He knows his weaknesses, which aren't many. But with her, he has learned it's not about the quantity.

The sorrow is briefly disguised from him. It's admirable: the way she tries to hide even the plainest of things. He knows her by now, knows that the sun casts shadows too. She should know he's the one she can cast them safely with.

The throat between the shoulders burdened by work and worries looks fragile in his hands. A bird's neck he could wrench without breaking a sweat.

"Mmh. I love your hands."

"Just my hands?"

He shouldn't be touching her with his filth, but he can't help it anymore. If she loves it, who is he to argue back?

Love your hands too.

Fuck, I love your smile. Your tits, your lips. That little pout you got when you don't get what you want right away.

I love–

She sighs. Then she cranes that beautiful neck, clings to him with one, tiny hand. "Why are you here, Simon?"

"Heard you were sulking," he mutters in her hair.

"What…?" She laughs. She laughs, but she's not happy. "What on earth are you talking about?"

She's shy. Reserved. Hiding behind a wall of humor and sunshine and smiles. His darkness penetrates it all.

"Heard you're devastated when I'm gone," he tries even more softly.

She could take it as arrogance. One of his lousy jokes. But she knows better than that.

"I am," she finally says, angel-soft. When she turns, there's finally sorrow in her eyes. She looks up at him, up, up, again with that stare that says I am yours to command. On the brink of tears; tears he wants to battle to the abyss. But his muscles are no use here.

Her lip trembles, just a little, when he brushes his knuckles over her cheek.

"We can't have that."

"We can't?"

"No."

"Well what are you going to do about it?"

Her voice is soft, pleading. It's not a demanding question: the woman's simply out of it. She wants assistance, assurance.

What are your orders, sir?

She worries too much. Up until this point, he thought it’s just because she's dutiful, responsible, one of the best employees there is. But she's not tense from work.

It's not just the missed you's she whispers when his skin is at its most thin.

She fears losing him.

Stone-cold realism is required in his field of work; no sleight of hand magic can help him when he's facing the unavoidable. If the mission is impossible, he doesn’t take it. Because he can't change the unchangeable; he can't fight the inevitable. They both know he can't promise anything.

They both know he will do his best to come back. There was a time he would’ve considered it a blessing if he didn’t. Death used to be his only ticket to some peace.

She gives him an impossible mission, and he can't say no. Leadership is about taking care of people. His people. And she's more than just a subordinate.

He grabs her by the waist and raises her to the counter, relishes the way she gasps. She weighs nothing in his hands after cold, hefty cannons. It’s almost like she gains wings and flits to the tabletop designed for him to take her. It’s the perfect height for him to simply open his pants and alleviate her pain.

"Gonna fuck you until you cry."

She sighs. "You can't solve every problem with a gun or a cock, Riley."

The woman knows how to penetrate him, too. The stabbing doesn’t stop even when her thighs part slowly - she knows, just as much as he, that this is the best way to remind her just how alive he is. This is the only thing he can give her, and he is damn right going to deliver. His hand covers half of her thigh as he brushes a thumb over the sensitive inner side.

"You sure about that?"

That look of desperation makes him hard already. Her hands go about his neck in a perfect paradox with what she whispers next.

"Honey… Not here."

She calls him honey. As if this tar-black madness is only golden nectar to her.

"No?"

It’s not only sorcery, but necromancy: how she’s brought him back from the grave. No wonder such arts are considered dangerous. This is forbidden, and still, he cannot stop.

"Ya want me to stop?"

"...No."

He leaves most of her uniform on because he is in too much of a hurry to get between her legs. The woman molds herself against him the second his tip meets her folds.

"God, you feel good," she sighs as he slides in. It's like a prayer: both her words and his return back to the base. Alive.

"So fucking good…"

Fuckin' tell me about it.

She whimpers and clutches him like a little leech. Almost cries already.

"That's it. You just hold onto me."

If someone heard the way he's cooing in her ear, they would deem him soft in the head. He doesn't give a fuck.

Her moans chime inside his head like the softest, most beautiful opera. He has never been a man of high culture. The whole civilization could go to hell for all he cared. But she sings to him so beautifully that even a man like him can finally see the appeal. Legs wrap around him even tighter than those small hands until he doesn't know who's holding who here.

"That feel good..?"

"Yes… Don't stop, just don't stop."

She's almost limp in his arms. Good. He's managed to relieve that tension already.

He goes deeper, deeper, and a tiny hand that saves people instead of slaughtering them grabs him by the shirt, probably in an instinct to try and catch some skin. He can't see her face but the body against him trembles and shakes as he spreads her wide and pours love in her.

"No need to sulk, sweetheart. I got you."

She's crying, or laughing, or both. Of course she likes pet names paired with support. He adds it to the list of things the woman loves, the things he can give her. He hopes, half expects that she will shed some tears after shattering around his cock. She needs a good cry as much as she needs him. And nothing feels as good as this: being needed by her.

When she comes with an arched back and a scream he fears and hopes will reach every other officer here, he knows he can let go too. He's done his duty: now it's time to collect the reward. It's not transactional, she's not work, but she's still his responsibility. The woman's paycheck is fatter than anything he could ever get from his employer. He's inside her, but that doesn't mean she isn't inside him too. She's embedded in him in ways that threaten to swallow him and leave him on the shore like bleach-white bones on a beach. He stays inside her long after the waves have passed. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he doesn't dare to move.

"I still have your sweatshirt," she sighs while holding him.

"Good. Looks better on you."

"I sleep with it sometimes," she whispers and wraps herself around him so tight that he wishes he could be there every night to send her to sleep. Now she only has his memory as a company, some darkness far too big for her. "Sleep in it, actually."

His mind is like a wheel that turns around nothingness. There's nothing to hold on to; he's falling through starless space.

The eerie sound of gunshot echoes in his head, he thinks about the splatter of brain matter on the armchair; how there's at least one person in this world who would cry from hearing the news.

And not just any person, but her; a whole summer in one woman. A midsummer sun, missing some forgotten, weatherbeaten bones on a beach when there's plenty of flora and fauna to shine on.

"If you ever break your promise…"

She sniffs in his neck, and his embrace tightens instantly.

"Would rather die than break it."

His promise doesn't make any sense. Or perhaps it makes every sense. She finally cries like she's supposed to.

"Shh. I'm here now."

I'm not dead.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley fluff #simon riley smut #ghost x you #ghost smut #ghost fluff #mw2 fanfic #ghost x female reader

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veryberryjelly · 1 month

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stepbro!ethan landry headcanons

i need to get some stepbro!ethan landry out of my head and into the world !

stepbro!ethan who sneaks into your room after your parents have gone to bed just to sleep in the same bed as you

stepbro!ethan who is always subtly checking up on you when your parents are around through subtle touches and passing whispers

stepbro!ethan who pretends not to notice when you walk into the kitchen in the morning in his t-shirt

stepbro!ethan who makes sure you never wear anything other than his clothes once he see's you in one of his t-shirts.

stepbro!ethan who can't sleep very well without you by his side.

stepbro!ethan who is texting you all night when you're not home.

stepbro!ethan who all of your friends have a crush on but none of them know that he's yours.

stepbro!ethan who teases you when both of your parents are in the room with you.

stepbro!ethan who keeps a box of your things under his bed from when you stay in his room. glasses, books, underwear.

stepbro!ethan who has a photo of the two of you in his wallet. you're sitting in his lap, your arms wound around his neck and your face buried in his hair. whenever people ask him who it is, he says 'his sister' and everyone just thinks he's joking, but the soft smirk on his lips says otherwise.

stepbro!ethan who won't let you get up in the morning and keeps his arms locked around you.

stepbro!ethan who has a secret album on his phone that is just photos of you. he scrolls through it when he's missing you.

stepbro!ethan who gets your initial tattooed on his bicep but refuses to tell anyone who he got the tattoo for.

stepbro!ethan who is waiting for the day your parents break up so he can openly be with the girls he's in love with.

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winedarkthoughts · 1 month

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house of addams (1)

— 🌖 pairing: ot7 x fem.reader

— 🕷️ genre: mystery, angst + fluff + smut

— 🗝️ word count: 4.3k

— 🍄 summary: hired to look into the mysterious deaths, disappearances, and disturbances in the small town of Farrow's End, you soon meet a certain gang of oddballs who help you connect the dots. and NO, you are NOT taking a liking to them.

— ☕ content warnings: private investigator!reader, cozy small town mystery/addams family vibes, botanist!yoongi, magical absurdity, bookshop owner!namjoon, barista!jin

— 🕸️ a/n: first chapter! directly influenced by this fic on ao3 by tinyratthief, which is loosely based on the addams family.

series m.list/schedule → next chapter

chpt. 1: new digs

september 16, 2004

If this job has taught you one thing, it’s that the laws of truth can and will be bent by anyone with enough concentrated effort. People come to you to find very specific truths; birth parents, cheating spouses, the details of shady business deals.

But if this job has taught you one thing, it's that the truth will also reveal itself to anyone with enough concentrated effort.

Though, there's always a handful of cases that force you to delve deep into things you’d rather leave buried. Like the person in Oregon who didn't show up in any photographs. Or the small town in Maryland with the strange, centuries-old secret society.

You’ve seen sides of human nature that have left you cynical, distrusting. Some have called you “dead inside,” but you’re not here to brag. Naturally, you are excellent at your job.

And when the Mayor of Farrow’s End, a sleepy town with enough missing persons cases to warrant a Netflix documentary, contacted you about a possible case, you accepted almost instantly.

Even her first correspondence and initial offer were strange. She stated a preference to discuss the finer details in person and in person only, which to you immediately suggested that the entire investigation would be a matter of confidentiality.

You were proven right when you met with her a week later. And while being proven right is usually one of your favorite things, you didn’t exactly expect this.

The offer: investigative services regarding (but not limited to) local missing persons/homicides, ecological disturbances, environmental chemical imbalances. etc.

In exchange for: monthly salary, rent support, covered business expenses.

And above all, everything must remain off the books.

The salary along with the rent support is very generous considering what you're used to, but you don’t tell the Mayor that. You do inform her that, while you wear many hats, you are not an ecologist, nor a chemist.

Mayor Summerbee, a middle-aged Asian woman with a sweet smile and even warmer eyes, informs you that you will have access to the local University’s college of natural sciences. She gives you the contact information for one Min Yoongi, a botanist who works in the school's research department.

Then she gives you the contact information for one Kim Taehyung, the town coroner and pathologist. Apparently, both of them will be available for consultation.

She is eager, maybe even desperate, smiling at you with an urgent sheen in her eyes.

When you accept her offer, shaking her hand with your usual firm grip, she seems to exhale in relief.

You move to Farrow’s End by the end of the week. It’s not as if you have much to move, just a trunkful of books and a handful of duffel bags. You’ve always moved around for work, and even if you didn’t, staying in one place for too long makes you nervous.

Your bags hit the pavement beside your boots as you survey your new home. It's a small, quaint house. The paint is faded but the architectural structure is sturdy. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, kitchen, living room. The whole place is in a slight state of disrepair, but you can't complain.

You spend the next day cleaning and unpacking, which doesn't take long since you leave most of your books in the trunk. You're exploring the town by the end of the afternoon.

The town square, though full of shops and businesses, is nearly barren. A few civilians putter around, their faces weathered and reflective of the gloom in the air. They stare at you as you pass by, a cocktail of curiosity and slight suspicion.

The next thing you notice is the posters. They're everywhere, on the crumbling brick walls, stuck on lampposts, taped to the windows, all displaying a variety of subjects. Events at the University, local night markets, antiques for sale.

But there are a few that stick out. THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE LAKE! Sign the petition to restrict land access →

HAVING STRANGE DREAMS? You're not alone, contact a psychic today!

BEWARE! DO NOT FEED LOCAL WILDLIFE.

Though, what's more strange to you is what you don't see. There are barely any missing person posters, and the few that you do see appear to have been ripped away.

Work begins now, you think to yourself as you snap some photos of several posters, flapping in the cold wind.

You pop into the general store to pick up some essentials, and the store clerk immediately recognizes that you're not a local.

He asks where you're from, you reply with the standard answer: a city not too far but not too close. He asks what you're doing here, you reply with the standard answer: you're a journalist. You add in the suggestion that you're working with the University about a story, and he doesn't question any further.

You're not sure if it's because he takes the hint or because he loses interest.

During the drive home, you notice something looming in the distance. Atop the highest hill is a dark house, with spires and towers rising from the tops of spindly trees. Even from here, you can see that the architecture is old and ornate, almost ancient in a hypnotic way. You're fairly certain you can see a murder of crows circling above.

An unusual feeling hangs around the house, like there's some kind of aura surrounding it. Welcoming some, yet blocking others.

Very strange indeed.

You spend the rest of the night huddled next to the fireplace, using the flickering orange light to skim over newspaper clippings.

No, the house does not have a heating system. But you don't mind too much, you have plenty of wood and warm clothes.

Five missing and three dead in the last year. Local law enforcement has done everything they could with what they had to work with, which apparently wasn't much. Scattered locations, no visible connection between the victims, and an alarming lack of evidence.

Eyelids heavy, you leave the papers scattered across the floor and head to bed, already looking forward to tomorrow's first coffee.

september 17, 2004

The University appears to be just as old as the rest of the town. Original wood, aged stone, curved iron accents. The brick walkway is slick with morning rain, and the sky is swirling with fog.

Perfect weather, it makes you ready to get to work.

The directory stated that Min Yoongi would be in Montgomery Hall, the natural sciences building, either in the greenhouse or in one of the labs, according to the TA you talked to earlier on the phone.

It takes some wandering, but what you like about this place is that people don't seem to notice your presence as much as they do in town. Out there, you're an easily identifiable outsider. Here, you're just another passerby with a purpose.

You find him in one of the lab rooms, tucked into a little nook that's encased with plastic sheeting, dotted with beads of moisture. The small space is crowded with greenery, big pots of tall plants with fanning leaves, draping vines from wall planters, seedlings in little trays.

Through the condensation dripping down the plastic walls, you can see that he's spraying the plants down with water, wearing a classic white coat.

You're indulging in your bad habit again. Your footsteps are notoriously quiet (you've been told), and you (apparently) have a tendency to sneak up on people and observe them for several minutes before they notice that you are there.

But it's a skill you delight in.

The man is of average height, thin, black hair, delicate features. You notice that the soles of his boots are caked with mud, and his skin is dewy from the humidifiers pumping moisture into the room.

"You already know my opinion on this," you hear him say, muffled by the spray of the water.

For a moment, you think he's talking to you, that he's rejecting your case before you've even presented it to him. But he isn't facing you, and his tone is decidedly casual, like he's talking to an old friend.

"It's bad for the others, anyway," he continues. "Don't wiggle your trigger hairs at me like that."

A pause, the water flow stops. Then a sigh of defeat.

"Fine, one puff. Then you quit pouting, got it?"

There's the sound of shuffling, then the fwick of a lighter being ignited.

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you step forward to peer through the slit in the plastic sheeting.

There's a Venus fly trap on one of the shelves, and between the jaws of one of the trap mouths, is a lit cigarette.

The man's head piques up when you enter his field of vision. Eyes widening, he looks like a cat that's been caught off guard.

He looks between you and the plant several times. You're fairly certain you see the tip of the cigarette glow ember, as if the plant were actually inhaling.

The man snatches the cigarette away and crushes it beneath the wet sole of his boot.

"Nasty habit," he finally says with a nervous chuckle. An awkward, straight-mouthed smile crosses his face, making his cheeks puff out slightly.

"Min Yoongi?" you ask.

"Yes, ma'am," he responds politely.

"I'm ______," you say, holding out a hand to shake.

He shuffles forward, his cold slim fingers meeting yours.

"Ah, the mayor mentioned that you'd be around."

That throws you a bit, because from what you've gathered about this case, you assumed that the mayor didn't want to be associated with it.

"Yes, would you mind filling me in on some of the ecological disturbances that have been going on in town?"

It's as if the question sends ants crawling down his spine. His neutral smile dissipates into an anxious twitch of his lips. He turns the hose back on and resumes spritzing the plants.

"What do you want to know?" he asks, a new tension in his voice.

Odd.

"Well," you start, "The mayor tells me that locals have been complaining about strange mushrooms invading their yards, increased acidity in their soil. Would you know anything about that?"

His eyebrows are knitted as he dampens the leaves of a spiraling fern.

"Mushrooms are really just the fruit of fungi, they bloom like flowers when the conditions are just right. Moisture, shade, an abundance of organic material, stuff like that. When it comes to the acidity, there's a variety of factors. All the rainfall recently leads to leaching, and the increased use of fertilizers causes nitrification. It's pretty standard."

You raise an eyebrow. He's deflecting.

"People have been saying that these mushrooms have been particularly hard to get rid of."

Yoongi 's brows furrow as if he's thinking hard.

"Fungi are tricky like that. We don't know much about them, really. They're their own class of life form. It could be a particularly stubborn strain."

"There's also been some unusual plant growth, creeping vines or the like. Very resistant to herbicides, apparently."

He pauses, considers it.

"Hmm," he mutters, the nozzle of the hose going lax in his hand.

“Also,” you continue, trying to further engage his curiosity. “There's been several cases of strange root rot?”

You add a questioning tone to your voice, gauging his reaction. Apparently, he hasn’t heard about it, because he looks up at you with the same question in his eyes.

“Root rot? In household plants?” he asks.

“No, in residencies.”

Yoongi stares at you for a moment, and you can tell he’s intrigued.

“I would benefit a lot from your knowledge, if I could just bring you a few samples, maybe go out and do some fieldwork—”

“You wouldn’t like working with me,” Yoongi interrupts. “I’m very…particular.”

You have a feeling the word is meant as a substitute for something else.

“Wonderful, so am I,” you reply, digging one of the many notebooks out of your bag. Flipping to the calendar, you click open your open your pen and start scribbling.

“Mornings are best, get the most out of the daylight. Make sure to bring your equipment and something to write on, and a camera if you have one.”

“Wait, I just don’t know if I’m going to be much use to you,” Yoongi says a little nervously, sticking his hands in his pockets.

You pause your scribbling to look at him. He’s pale in the fluorescent light, but not just physically. He has pale mannerisms and pale expressions, the countenance of a person that doesn’t feel as if they belong.

You know the feeling well.

“Coffee is always on me. How do you like it?” you say instead.

“Does Wednesday work?”

september 18, 2004

Three dead and five missing in less than six months. First, Michael Bradley, aged forty-two. Cause of death: chronic poisoning/exposure to toxic chemicals. He was found in his garage surrounded by household cleaners and herbicides. Apparently he’d been trying to get rid of the same strange mushrooms in his yard.

For now, all you have to work with is what they’ve published in the newspapers, and it seems that all that's come out of it is a public service announcement warning homeowners to be careful around toxic chemicals. His wife, Mary Bradley, hasn't commented on the circumstances of her husband’s death. And no one else has inquired any further into the matter.

Until today, obviously. Mrs. Bradley didn't answer her phone, and when you knocked on her door earlier this morning, she seemed less than pleased.

You opened with the standard introduction: I'm a journalist working on a story, would you mind consenting to an interview? Mrs. Bradley narrowed her eyes and scanned you up and down with barely concealed suspicion.

She asked what a journalist would find interesting about a common, accidental death in a small town. Apparently, the citizens of Farrow's End are very perceptive to outsiders.

You mentioned that fact that although Bradley's death appeared accidental, it's not common for people to die at the hands of household chemicals from prolonged exposure. Chronic poisoning is rarely without symptoms, why didn't he go to hospital?

She didn't have anything to say to that. You asked if she'd be comfortable divulging some of the details of his death, maybe even giving you access to the autopsy report. But she just grimaced at the mention, insisting that she had nothing to say about the matter and that you should leave right away.

She slammed the door in your face, but luckily it wasn't the first time people have resisted your questions. Unfortunately, a significant part of your job involves being a pain in the ass.

You linger in the front yard, where it's impossible not to notice the gnarled tree stumps and large rings of mushrooms scattered across the lawn.

You're not a mycologist by any means, but even you can tell that these mushrooms are strange. They seem to be multicolored, red and orange and brown, changing depending on the light like a hologram, but without any of the shine. They aren't bulb-shaped like many other mushrooms, but twist in tendrils this way and that, stretching.

And a smell hangs about them. You can't really describe it, something like damp and musk and old meat. Standing there, breathing them in, for too long makes your head spin.

And the trees, or rather, what's left of them. Nothing but stumps now, but you can tell that they were old when they were cut down. There's that same multi-colored effect to them, except it runs in veins throughout the tree's bark, spiraling into the rings.

You'll have to ask Yoongi about it.

Curiosity nips at you like a non-venomous snake even after you're home. It's not deadly, but it sure as hell is annoying.

What kind of disease infects fungi and trees? Why would the mayor care about privately investigating such a thing? And a thousand other questions.

You shove your boots on and enter back into the chill. You remember seeing a bookstore in town.

The Magic Shop: Books and Oddities

The front window glows with warm light, crowded with displayed volumes and curiosities (a stuffed raven, a jar of yellowing teeth, insects encased in amber).

The door swings open with the ring of a bell. Someone calls out "Welcome in," in a deep-velvet voice.

The smell of parchment and aged leather envelopes you like a familiar hug. You can't help pausing in the doorway and inhaling deeply. No matter what city you're in, places like this always feel like home.

It's everything that a bookstore should be: crowded, mysterious, and slightly dusty. The shelves are tightly grouped and arranged like a labyrinth few are privy to, and stacks—no, towers—of books occupy every corner.

You enter into the space, feet padding on the braided rugs, eyes drinking in the details. There are labels on the shelves, haphazardly spaced. They start normal enough: gardening, self-help, adventure.

But then you realize that they branch off into even more labels, or rather sub-labels. There's nocturnal gardening, gardening under the influence, Faerie gardens and goblin gardens. Each labeled sub-genre branches into even more specific sub-categories, creating a seemingly endless array of subjects.

You could explore this place for hours. In fact, you intend to over the course of your stay in Farrow's End.

You spend an indeterminate amount of time exploring all the labels and categories. The shelves twist this way and that, creating little nooks where the occasional armchair is tucked into.

Eventually, you come to a more open area with a wide-sprawling desk. The man sitting behind it is tall and tan, glasses perched on his nose, with short chestnut hair that shifts golden in the candlelight.

He's deeply focused on the book in his hands: A Comprehensive Guide to Navigating Parallel Universes and Pocket Dimensions.

Typically, you hate to bother people in a bookstore, especially if they're already reading. It's supposed to be a space for quiet reflection, for self-exploration and uninterrupted browsing. But you still have a job to do, and it's clear that you won't be able to navigate the complicated system yourself. At least, not in a concise period of time.

So you square your shoulders and prepare yourself to address the (handsome, you notice) man at the counter.

"Excuse me," you begin in a hushed voice.

The man's head whips up, as if he completely forgot there was another person here.

"Yes?" He says in that same deep voice, friendly and eager. "Do you need help finding something?" It sounds like he can't quite believe the fact. This place must not get many customers.

"Yes, if you don't mind."

His face lights up as if nothing would delight him more.

"Do you have anything on unusual mushrooms?" you ask.

The man sets down his book and slips out from behind the desk. "Hmm..." he mumbles to himself, expertly weaving between the shelves while you hurry to catch up.

"Let's see here..." he says, passing a wall draped with vines from a hanging planter, like the ones in Yoongi's lab, you notice.

"Fungi," he mutters, fingertips ghosting over the shelves. The sections under Fungi are vast and wide-ranging. Poisons & Antidotes, Moss & Lichens, Carnivorous, Aberrations.

He pauses at that last one, eyes flitting between the volumes.

"Anything specific?" he asks.

You debate on how much to disclose, but with the several cases of strange fungi in people's yards, it's probably common small town knowledge by now.

"Anything about an unusual fungus with...tendrils?" You can't help the hesitation, you're not sure if it's a common feature among mushrooms.

Apparently, it's not as unusual as you thought, because the man only nods and shifts his attention to one of the lower shelves. His slim fingers finally land on an old cloth-bound book with a red toadstool on the spine. There's no title on the cover, but the man seems to be familiar with it.

"Here you go," he says, handing it to you. "I think you'll find what you're looking for in this one."

He says it with the confidence of someone who's read every book in the building front to back. A very specific part of your brain tells you that this fact is almost certainly true.

"Thank you very much," you say, turning the book over in your hands.

"My pleasure," he replies, and means it.

"How much?"

He guides you back to the counter and rings it up for a very good price.

You're itching to ask questions, but you're not sure where to start.

The man places the book into a brown paper bag printed with Magic Shop Books and Oddities and hands it to you with a warm smile.

You lose your nerve and take the bag in silence. Then, as if he could smell the fragmented thoughts darting around in your skull, he says, "Be careful in the woods."

You look at him. There's the same friendly smile, but now with a hint of good-natured curiosity.

"If you're going mushroom hunting, I mean," he adds.

You stare at him for perhaps too long.

"Thanks," you say, dropping a generous tip into the jar next to the register.

"Hope to see you again," he calls out as you exit through the front door.

A moth to flame, bees to honey. Insert: you to coffee shops with perfect ambient lighting. You spot it just as you're leaving the narrow alley that leads to the bookshop.

Turning the corner onto a cobblestone walkway, you catch sight of the cafe windows, slick with the recent rain. But from what you can see through the glass, it looks like a warm, cozy place.

Glancing at the front door, you notice an OPEN sign, even though it's quite late. You're opening the door and stepping inside before you're even conscious of it.

The interior reflects the same aged aesthetic as the exterior, dark wood and brick and brass accents. But the kitchen area houses clean chrome appliances, and there are shelves stacked with white dishes behind them. Golden light warms a glass case fully stocked with a manner of pastries, breads, and other nibbles, all of which still seem to be steaming hot.

You immediately decide that you like this place.

"Good evening," a pleasant voice calls, though you can't yet identify the speaker.

The smell of steam and freshly-ground coffee beans becomes richer as you approach the counter. You can hear someone puttering around in the back room.

You glance at the menu's wide selection, and when you look back at the counter, a man is standing right in front of you.

You don't scare easily, but it's enough to make you jump a little.

"What can I get you?" the man asks cheerfully. He's tall and slim, wearing a white button-up and black slacks under an apron. Brown hair, dark eyes, and a full smiling mouth.

You order a coffee and a pastry.

"What time do you close?" you ask, wanting to sit down and enjoy the atmosphere but also not wanting to be the asshole that settles in just before closing.

"On Wednesdays we close at noon, otherwise we're open twenty-four hours," he replies, sounding delighted by rather than annoyed by the fact.

A twenty-four hour coffee shop? You really like this place.

He must see your eyebrows raise in surprise, because then he proudly adds, "Only one in town."

Pleasantly surprised, you look around the shop to assess the seating options. There are booths tucked along the walls, a few tables and chairs, and a few plush-looking armchairs near the windows.

"Please, have a seat and make yourself at home. I enjoy the company," the man says as he makes your drink.

You take him up on it, settling into one of the chairs by the frosted glass of the window. It's then that you take a closer look at the book the shop owner recommended.

A fraying cloth-bound cover, a red toadstool instead of a title. Inside, a table of contents. First, a bit of basic mycology, which you greatly benefit from. Immediately after, a range of mutations, circumstances, and environmental factors that caused the direct disturbance to said mycology.

You get lost in it quite easily, sipping your drink (which is expertly brewed) and nibbling your pastry (which is almost too delicious for words). You know that you'll be spending a considerable amount of time here throughout your stay in Farrow's End.

The book cites several case studies, all suggesting that a new strain of fungus is not only spreading rapidly, but infecting all other strains it has access to.

You read on, only momentarily distracted by the occasional customers that enter into the establishment. Like the group of students, most likely from the University, who order a large batch of espresso to-go. Or the old man who orders a sandwich and black coffee and sits outside despite the late-night chill.

You don't realize it, but you read on until the early morning. The first few faint, pale rays of sunlight stretch across your current page through the window, and you jerk to attention when you realize what time it is.

Not that you have somewhere in particular to be today. But you've always liked to get a jump on things early on in the investigation. And you have better luck getting interviews during the day.

You had no idea that time was passing so quickly. This place seems to have an air of particular tranquility, the kind that only a handful of coffee shops are able to achieve. It's the feeling of finding a quiet place after being overstimulated for hours.

You take your dishes to the counter, drop a tip into the jar, and step into the morning chill.

Exhaustion sets in on the journey home, and you crash moments after your head hits the pillow.

The dreams start that night.

a/n: thanks so much for reading!! love to hear any of ur thoughts 👉👈

next chapter

#bts ot7 #ot7 x reader #bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts mystery #bts x fem!reader #bts series #bts f #bts fic #bts angst #bts fluff

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sidekick-hero · 3 months

Text

(steddie | teen | 1.2k | tags: rockstar!eddie, drummer!steve, secret relationship, part of @thefreakandthehair and @firefly-party and mine project pickup note | @steddielovemonth prompt love is staying in bed for five extra minutes because you can't tear yourself away from them just yet by @starryeyedjanai | art by Kei | story in the same verse by Lex | AO3)

Steve came to slowly, like swimming through molasses, his mind caught somewhere between dreaming and being awake. In his dream, he had been lying in the sun, his head cushioned in Eddie's lap, Eddie's fingers running through his hair, humming a soft melody Steve had never heard before.

Slowly, the melody changes to the sound of soft snoring, and the soft thing under his head isn't Eddie's lap, it's his chest, gently rising and falling with each snore. Steve presses his smile into the warm skin beneath him at the thought of Eddie's face when he tells him he snores.

Some things are worth waiting for, though, and he knows the perfect moment to reveal this particular piece of information will come.

He has no idea what time it is. Judging by the morning light filtering into the room, it's just after sunrise, the sun's rays piercing through the blinds and casting a warm, golden glow that gradually fills Steve's hotel room.

Moving as carefully as he can, he cranes his neck to check the aged alarm clock on the bedside table. It tells him that he was right, it's 7:58 a.m., and the sun has risen just minutes before him. The light filtering in is soft and diffused, making the colors seem muted yet rich, with shades of pale orange, pink, and yellow dancing across the surfaces. Long shadows stretch out elegantly, accentuating the contours of furniture and objects in the room.

It's Steve's favorite time of day. There's a sense of quiet serenity in this early morning moment as the world slowly awakens. It offers a brief respite before the hustle and bustle of the day begins.

These days, early mornings hold an even more special place in his heart because it's the only time of day he can just look at Eddie.

Sometimes Steve thinks Eddie is like a hummingbird, always moving until all his energy is used up and he falls into a deep slumber that almost looks like he's dead to the world. It allows Steve to soak him up undisturbed and unabashed. His fingers carefully exploring the hills and valleys of hard muscle and soft flesh, he can drink in the swirling ink on Eddie's pale skin.

It's such a stark contrast from the rest of the day.

Eddie often seems driven. By the perceived expectations of others, by his own fears of falling short. By his own demons, which Steve has only glimpsed. But as the darkness of the night gives way to a new day, Eddie looks at ease.

It's probably too soon to think, but Steve hopes it's because he's now sharing Eddie's bed. That Eddie feels safe with him, safe enough to let go of all the things that plague his beautiful but sometimes overwhelmingly loud mind.

That's why it pains Steve to be the one to wake Eddie from his peaceful slumber and bring him back to reality. But they have a sound check at 9:15 because the venue has had some problems lately and they need to make sure everything goes off without a hitch tonight. This whole tour means too much to them, to Eddie, for it not to be perfect.

Pressing a gentle kiss just above where Steve can feel the steady beating of Eddie's heart, he softly calls Eddie's name. Not surprisingly, nothing happens, so another kiss follows the first, this time on Eddie's collarbone.

"Eddie, c'mon," he tries again, this time closer to Eddie's ear, eliciting a soft murmur. "We have to get up, the soundcheck -"

"Mm, they can check the sound without us," his - Eddie's - voice comes in a slightly drawn out tone. "Don't wanna get up."

Eddie, obviously not fully awake yet, wraps his arms around Steve and buries his face in Steve's hair.

"I know, ba-" Steve stumbles over the pet names that want to come out more and more now that they're so much closer than when he first started touring with Corroded Coffin. "I know. But we can grab a big coffee with enough sugar in it to put an elephant into a sugar coma, and when the check is done, we can come back to the hotel and sneak into your room and I can make it worth your while."

Steve's tone is low, almost a purr, as he says this. The others don't know about them yet, although Steve thinks that at least Robin and Chrissy have their suspicions. And Jeff has been watching them more closely as well. He's sure that they'll tell them soon, but first they want to enjoy getting to know each other this way, without their friends getting involved.

"Five more minutes and I will make it worth your while. Whaddya say, big boy?"

Before Steve can answer, most likely telling Eddie no, we're going to be late and how are you going to explain that to the others, Eddie rolls them both over until Steve lands on his back with a soft umph. Above him, Eddie is smiling down at him, suddenly much more awake than seconds before.

"Hi," he says, nudging Steve's nose with his own.

Steve doesn't even try to fight the dopey smile, even as he rolls his eyes at Eddie trying to get what he wants by playing dirty. It's so Eddie, just like the wolfish grin on his face.

"I'll make this the best five minutes of your life, Harrington. Scout's honor."

Steve snorts. "Scout's honor? I doubt you ever talked to a scout in your life."

"Oh yeah. In fact, I'm sleeping with one. And I'm about to kiss one before I rock his world."

"See, that's where you're wrong."

"Is that so?"

This makes Steve laugh out loud. "You're ridiculous."

"And you love it," Eddie replies, then hesitates as his choice of words seems to register with him.

Before the moment between them ends in awkwardness, Steve leans in to kiss Eddie on the nose. "How did you know I was a Boy Scout?"

Steve's distraction works, and the worry in Eddie's eyes is replaced by mischief. "Just a guess, but good to know."

"Ass."

"I have it on good authority that you like my ass," Eddie teases, and Steve has to agree. He really does. As much as he likes everything else about Eddie. How much is becoming a problem.

Instead of saying any of these things, Steve looks over at the alarm clock, which now reads 08:04. He clicks his tongue in mock disappointment. "I think your five minutes are up, and I have to say, not the world-rocking I was expecting, Munson."

"Oh you..." Eddie growls before swooping in to capture Steve's lips in a deep kiss. It turns into another, and another, the dim light in the room growing brighter around them as they become lost in each other.

Eddie makes it to sound check just in time, while Steve is ten minutes late, carrying five cups of coffee. He hopes no one notices the bright grin Eddie flashes with the first sip of his overtly sweet coffee, or the wink he gives Steve.

A promise is a promise, and Steve intends to keep them all when it comes to Eddie.

#steddie #steddie fanfiction #rockstar eddie munson #drummer steve harrington #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fanfiction #steddielovemonth #day 16 #love is staying in bed for five extra minutes because you can't tear yourself away from them just yet #my writing #pickup note

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apomaro-mellow · 5 months

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Every Baby Needs a Daddy 6

Part 5

Come for the sugar daddy fantasy stay for my everybody-loves-steve agenda

Eddie insisted on helping Steve with his suit the night of the soiree. Steve allowed him into his apartment for the first time, after some extensive cleaning. Eddie was already dressed in his suit, red, no shirt underneath. He took the garment bag from Eddie, kissed his lips, and then went to his bedroom. Eddie got a glimpse of his nest before the door was shut.

"Uhh? Baby?"

"No peeking", Steve said from behind the door.

"Babyyyy", Eddie whined, pressing his face to the wood.

Steve grinned to himself as he listened, getting dressed on his own anyway. "I don't want to be late. And if I let you 'help' that's exactly what will happen."

It wasn't just what Eddie would do. It was what Steve would let him get away with. It would be very easy to let Eddie in and then tumble in his nest. The thought of letting Eddie's scent mix in... Steve wondered if he could get away with sneaking a piece of his clothing away. But Eddie had promised him a fun night out and said he'd be meeting his bandmates as well.

He finished getting dressed and came out. Eddie stumbled, being nearly glued to the door. Steve almost made a joke about falling for him.

"You gonna be this attached to me all night?", he asked instead.

Eddie righted himself and stood up straight. "If I let you out of my sight, the wolves will descend on you Lil Red."

Steve put his hands on Eddie's chest and leaned in. "Good thing I've got a big, strong woodsman to keep me safe~"

Since it was a band event, Eddie had a personal driver this time. That meant he could sit in the backseat and play with Steve the whole way. Eddie's hand was firm on Steve's thigh while the other held his hip. He'd wanted to bury them in Steve's tresses but one firm tap and reprimand 'don't touch the hair' and here they were.

Eddie was nibbling on Steve's neck, wishing he could put something more permanent on him. Let others know who he belonged to. When they arrived, Steve took a moment to get himself together. Eddie thought he looked just as radiant now as he did with sex-tousled hair but he liked seeing his baby primp too.

Eddie led him, arm in arm, into a nightclub. The music was energetic but didn't really seem to fit with Eddie's usual metal scene. Steve had done some research on the band, listened to a few songs, learned the other members names too. So even through the blaring music, he was able to understand when Eddie brought them over to a reserved table where the rest of them awaited.

"So this is the guy?", Jeff asked.

"This must be the guy", Gareth nodded.

"Can't be anyone else but the guy", Grant raised his glass to Steve.

Steve smiled at Eddie. "You've been telling them about me?"

"You're a secret I don't wanna keep, babydoll", Eddie smiled back.

"DJ here is mixing a set around one of our albums", Jeff said. "Kind of a little promotion for us. And when we share the video, he'll get a bump too."

"I thought this was a little out of the box for your sound", Steve said.

"You listen to our music?", Eddie asked.

Steve shrugged, playing it off. "I've dabbled." He leaned into Eddie's space to take a sip from the drink in his hand. "What about you? Do you dabble in this?"

"Not quite my scene, no. I'm an appreciator of most genres though."

"Can we finally break the silence on Eddie's jazz phase?", Gareth said.

"What's wrong with jazz?", Steve asked.

"Music was fine", Grant clarified, "He just got super pretentious about the different subgenres."

"He was insufferable", Gareth added.

"What about you guys, then?", Steve pointed the question to them. "Are you into this kind of music?"

"It's something to dance to", Jeff replied.

"That's exactly what I wanted to hear. Care to dance?", Steve asked.

Jeff gave a look to Eddie, asking permission. Amused, Steve also looked to Eddie for his response. Eddie's arm had been wrapped rather possessively around him for most of the night, so he could feel how antsy Steve was getting. Eddie gave his hip a pat.

"Go have fun."

Steve kissed his cheek and then went down to the dance floor with Jeff. He loved to move and he'd been itching to dance all night, but Eddie didn't seem like a dancer, at least not to this kind of music. And he wasn't about to just go out and dance with someone random in the club. Jeff was the perfect partner, knowing when to be close and when to give him space.

He felt a finger tap his shoulder and when he turned, Grant was there. Following the beat of the music, Steve gave him his attention. He was able to catch Eddie's eyes just once and saw the hunger in his eyes. When Gareth came to dance, he was a little more hesitant to touch Steve until Steve himself pulled Gareth's hands to him.

The way they all touched him was polite but there was an underlying desire. They were showing appreciation, but they weren't going to challenge the pseudo-claim Eddie had on him. He caught Eddie's gaze again and it was darker this time. He began to walk off the dance floor, ignoring a few calls from voices he didn't recognize.

Steve returned to Eddie and straddled his lap. "Sure I can't tempt you to dance?"

"There's not a thing you can't tempt me into, sweetheart. But you'll have to give me something dance-able. Liked seein' you have fun though. My boys take care of you?"

"Mhm, they were very gentlemanly." Steve's hand dipped under Eddie's suit jacket, needing skin to skin contact.

"Music to my ears", Eddie said against Steve's lips before meeting them. He growled against his mouth as he was able to detect the scents of his friends on him. Steve was pack. Steve was his.

Eddie practically dragged him out of the club and back into the car. The door was barely closed before Steve was in his lap again. He was writhing, probably very close to ruining the nice suit pants.

"Come with me", Eddie breathed.

"Yes, Daddy", Steve moaned into his ear.

"No I mean, on tour. Come with me on tour baby."

Steve paused in his humping to look in Eddie's eyes. "You want me along for the ride?"

Eddie nodded, eyes wide and big as if there was ever a chance that Steve would say no. But he also couldn't just say yes.

"For how long?"

Eddie licked his lips. "Two months."

"My job..."

"I'll take care of anything you need", Eddie said quickly.

"My apartment-"

"I'll handle it, baby. Just please say you'll come."

Steve's head tilted to the side. Robin's words echoed in his head. Wasn't this the scenario he'd been running from? An alpha having control over his life? If for even a moment, Eddie changed his mind about him, he'd be out a job and a home. Steve looked back down at him and that was his undoing.

"I'll need a new suitcase, and wardrobe, and-"

"Done, done, and whatever else you can think of, it's done." Eddie kissed him in elation, much sweeter than anything else they'd done all night.

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

Steve at least tried to sell the whole 'can I bounce for two months and come back later' at his job but obviously that didn't fly. It was fine. It wasn't really the work or even the miniscule paycheck he was attached to. It was simply the comfort of doing the same thing in the same place every day. He could fill out applications on the road and get the same job anywhere.

True to his word, Eddie took him out shopping just a couple of days later.

"I meant to tell you", Eddie said as they walked through the mall. He was dressed very casually in jeans and a t-shirt under a vest with the band's logo on the back. His hair was pulled back in a ponytail and he kept his shades on inside. "That lunch meeting with sushi? Went pretty good. Your advice worked."

"You sound surprised", Steve teased. He was wearing a green sweater and light jeans.

"Not surprised, beautiful. Just in awe." Eddie put an arm around him as he led him into the first store.

Just like at the tailor's Eddie let Steve loose, letting him pick and choose what he wanted. After the third store, Steve was looking at him hesitantly.

"You're really going to spoil me. Going to turn me into a brat and anything."

"What? You? My sweet angel babydoll? Never", Eddie smirked. "You're acting like no one's ever lavished you like this."

Steve shrugged. "Well, not like this but-", then he thought better of it. "Never mind."

"I don't think so, baby. I think I deserve at least one story of past-Steve. You got to google search my life story."

"How do you know I didn't ask Jeeves?"

Eddie put a hand to his heart, then took his hat off like a sign of respect. "RIP to a real one. But you're not gonna distract me, Stevie. I feel like you've been keeping something from me. Not something big, just something you don't think I should know."

Breaking his gaze from Eddie's, Steve spied a restaurant inside the mall. "Let's eat."

Eddie had them get a booth in the back, figuring Steve would want some modicum of privacy for this. He wasn't expecting a bombshell, but he figured it must mean something to Steve.

"So, when you met me, you probably thought I was this... downtrodden, poor omega with nowhere to go." That rainy night seemed so long ago.

"That's not what I thought at all", Eddie said with a shake of his head. "Honestly thought you were waiting for someone. Made no sense to me that you were all alone."

Steve smiled. "Well, I wasn't always alone. Not physically, at least. My parents are Layton and Francesca Harrington. They've got a hand in a lot of things but most of our money comes from apple orchards of all things."

"So you're the heir to a vast apple fortune", Eddie surmised.

"Was the heir to a vast fortune."

"Is there a story behind that?", Eddie asked, watching Steve pick at his food.

"Not an original one", Steve said with a chuckle. "They paraded the alpha sons of their associates. I was also paraded. I was offered a life where all I had to do was look nice and speak little and eventually bring up the next generation of whatever old money family my parents chose for me... It was suffocating."

Eddie's leg stuck out from under the table and rubbed against his. "You got your own place. And your own job. You got out. Why would you keep this from me though? Doesn't sound particularly scandalous."

"I don't know", Steve shook his head. "Maybe I didn't want you to think I was a gold digger, or maybe I didn't want you to think I had super high expectations, or-it just felt like I shouldn't tell you. I'm tired of carrying my parents around."

"They're really that loaded?"

"Didn't you hear me say 'old money'?"

"Is there some scorned ex-fiance I should be worried about?"

"Hmmmnope."

"You sure about that, sweetness?"

"I'm sure. None of them are looking for me. And none of them hold a candle to you."

Eddie could understand wanting to leave the past in the past. After eating, they continued their shopping spree. Eddie paused at a costume shop that showed a few of the outfits on mannequins in the window. Steve followed his line of sight and grinned.

"Gimme your card."

"Sure, what for?", Eddie asked as he handed it over to Steve.

"For a surprise. Go get a pretzel. I'll text you when I'm ready." He kissed Eddie's cheek and then went into the costume shop.

Whipped like cream, Eddie did in fact go get a pretzel, fantasizing about all the little outfits Steve could be buying right now. When they met up, he wasn't allowed to peek. So while he knew there must be a costume of some kind in Steve's wardrobe now, he was oblivious to the lingerie he'd bought as well.

Part 7

@awkotaco24 @lingeringmirth @littlewildflowerkitten @estrellami-1 @tartarusknight @velocitytimes2 @mrsjellymunson @trashcanniballecter @paintsplatteredandimperfect @a-little-unsteddie @sllooney @starman-jpg @oxidantdreamboat @xxbottlecapx @chaosgremlinmunson @newtstabber @tiny-enthusiast @desidrarry-wolfstarshipper @y4r3luv @hello-fellow-nerds @anonymousbandgirl @alyelf @potato-of-the-lord @beckkthewreck @greatwerewolfbeliever @croatoan-like-its-hot @pluto-pepsi @abstractnaturaldisaster @ellietheasexylibrarian @eyesofshinigami @dragonmama76 @marklee-blackmore

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #omegaverse #a/b/o #corroded coffin #everybody loves steve

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etfrin · 7 months

Text

⤷❝NSFW Alphabets | Jason Todd ❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: may the world know I have a horrible crush on this man and dive into this post <3

⇢☾Pairing: Jason Todd x fem! Reader

⇢☾A/N: this was self indulgent so be aware!

| masterlist | bc: @cafekitsune

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

— you'll probably have to teach him about aftercare because he never had anything long-term (just flings) after he's aware though, he will bring you water (because your throat will be sore as fuck from screaming his name), sometimes draw a bath if he was particularly rough but usually, he would just cuddle you while his cock is still buried inside of you.

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

— his thighs! He has noticed the way you stare at his bulge and his thighs whenever he sits (manspreads) more often than not he has you riding his thigh.

he does like your hands the most, your hand is like a bridge for both of you to be closer. you show him so much affection with your hands, like holding his hand or pinching his cheeks, stroking his hair. He loves it.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)

— he cums anywhere, you are just a blank canvas. Would cum on your thighs, boobs, face, and anywhere, he loves seeing you completely debauched and marked.

D= Dirty secret (Pretty self-explanatory)

— he likes it when you beg, when you can't think because of the pleasure and you're trying to push him away as tears fall from your eyes, it's his favorite thing to deny you. He denies you to cum, he denies you to stay quiet, and he loves to say no to you and hear you whine.

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

— Oh, he knows what he's doing. He lies about his body count (not that one) because he doesn't want to put you off but boy, he knows what he's doing.

F= Favorite position

— Doggy style, and mating press. Loves to have you on all fours, sometimes even making you crawl to him, he's so amused when you obey and he's so close to cumming inside his pants from the sight. And mating press because it just hits the right spots of your walls, making you scream that the neighbors have given up complaining about the noise, learning to soundproof their walls instead.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

— yeah, he is goofy though only if it's before patrolling or beating someone's ass, like early in the mornings or something. he would be all giggly and whispering some jokes (with a huge amount of dark humor) while sliding into your cunt and fucking you into oblivion.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

— it isn't wild down there but he doesn't trim as regularly as he should, but he has good hygiene though, it's just hair for him.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)

— he's so rough and filthy. Sometimes forgets about his strength and gets so cocky when he sees the bruises all over your body (of course he kisses them better) there are moments he's soft and gentle but it's rare (so cherish it)

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

— yeah he does. Often in the shower or some dark ass alley right after kicking some ass and he can't get home fast enough to fuck the adrenaline out with you. It doesn't happen regularly though, with enough practice he can get to his apartment fast enough that he can pin you wherever it's the closest and have you, and most of the time you both shower together more often than not so shower sex <3

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

— breath play (receiving and giving), pain kink (receiving), pulling his hair, scratching his back, biting him hard, I beg of you, he would just lose all control, whatever sanity he has will go to hell. PRAISE KINK (good boy™), he would fucking melt if you tell him how good he is, how deep his cock reaches, and how much you love it and love him. He eats up every time, it means so much to him even outside of sexual intimacy. Degradation (giving) all of the classics: slut, cumdumpster, whore etc. Dumbfication, how he loves it when you can't process all of the insults (and occasional praises of how good your pussy is to him) and the only thing you do is moan his name mindlessly. Overstimulation because of his stamina he can make you cum several times a night, often losing count after the fourth. Dacryphilia: this one goes hand in hand with overstimulation and dumbfication.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

— anywhere. ANYWHERE. He doesn't care if he gets caught, he can and will fuck you almost anywhere. An alleyway, closets, library, church, ANYWHERE, the sky's the limit for him.

M= Motivation (things that make them tick/turn-ons)

— Domestic acts. Anything like cleaning the house, cooking him meals, washing the dishes. He helps of course, and does his side of the chores but he never had the stability of domesticity before. He never thought he would and he never thought he would enjoy such simplicity in his life.

So sometimes it was just too much for him not to bend you over the kitchen counter, or the dinner table, or the couch, the pinning you on the wall near the bookshelf you were rearranging.

N= No (turn offs or absolutely won’t do)

— knife play & blood play. He doesn't want to hurt you in any sort of matter, sometimes he is rough but it doesn't mean he makes you bleed or would ever want to make you bleed.

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)

— he fucking loves blowjobs, change my mind. I dare you. He's so mean about it too, fucking your face without care. He gripped your head, keeping it in place as his cock hits the back of your throat with every thrust. You gag around his dick, saliva covering your chin, your eyes glossed with pleasure and tears is a bonus that makes the act so much better.

He wasn't big on giving head before. Well, that was before you, now he could spend hours between your thighs just to be a nasty tease whenever he needs to teach you a lesson. He would languidly lick your cunt without a care, it doesn't matter that your juices are staining the sheets, he's gonna be at it for hours. It gives him a sense of peace and yet again you crying because of the overstimulation (which wasn't the mission, he's just pussy drunk) and broken moans are just a plus.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

— fast af. The sex usually happens after his night activities are done so the adrenaline is still pumping through his body and he has to let out somehow… he has some serious stamina so he can last a while, sometimes you might even black out just to wake up with him still going at it.

"Sorry, baby," he gasps, his cock still splitting your body. His thrusts seems sloppier than before but it was perhaps because of how fucking wet your cunt was with both of your cum that made the glide seem so slick.

He leaned down to press a kiss to your neck. "Am close," he promised, his hips snapping fast and hard, making you unable to think, unable to protest against the overstimulation you have grown to love so much. "Just one more, baby," he lies, as his cum fills you but his cock is still hard and throbbing into your cunt.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

— Oh! He loves quickies, he's the type to sneak into your work and then take you to a closet or just a room where there is no one and have his way with you real quick before you have to head back to work, making sure his cum stays inside. There were so many times you were nearly caught, it was sheer luck that you haven't. He doesn't do it very often, only when he misses you too much, sometimes y'all don't even fuck, just make out or huddle together on the floor of the storage room of your workplace, munching on cookies you bought from the office cafeteria.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

— he would be so open to anything you want to try, and would rarely say no to you. He is very experimental.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

— well like, he's a vigilante who fights crime so like there's no limit to that stamina especially when he is frustrated or anything, expect call out of work because you won't be able to walk. He can easily last a lot of rounds.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

— he would be so game into using toys on you. Vibrators, dildos, and anything else just to be a bastard to you.

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

— he's a tease, A VERY BIG TEASE. Like even when he's fucking you, sometimes he would go extra slow to make you feel his length sliding in and out of your sensitive walls before snapping his hips back into you like an animal. He's kinda mean about it, feeling delighted when you whine about him changing his pace so abruptly.

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

— he isn't shy to let out his groans, mostly dirty talks, degrading you and making comments about how slutty your pussy is, taking his cock so well like it was made for it (it was) When you scratch his back or tug at his hair, he would let out a whine, praise him and he would like out a breathy moan. He is embarrassed when he realizes it but who the fuck cares?

W= Wild card (random sin canon of any sort)

– Fucked you in the training room once in the Titans Tower, not giving a fuck about the cameras that were recording everything he was doing to you. Dick lectured him for an hour straight for this behavior, did he care? No, but he did get an apartment though, so he could fuck you in his training room.

Oh, he would also take the tape that recorded everything, showing it to you with a proud look on his face.

"Look at you, such a dumb slut on my cock," he said, as moaning sounds came out of the phone. "Dick saw that, saw me fucking you good, does that get you off, Princess? Want me to fuck you in front of Dick next?"

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

— HE'S BIG AND THICK, sorry, yeah 8 inches, and he's pretty girthy, always stretching your pussy to its limits. Uncut, he was a street rat after all.

Y= Yearning (sex drive level)

— it's pretty high, he's so touch-starved, and despite the constant hugs, hand holding, and petting (i wanna play with his hair so badly) sometimes all he needs is a deeper physical connection.

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

— he won't be a quick sleeper, even after it's late hours and you're sleeping soundly beside him, the urge to go out and fight would always eat him up, he loved the rush of it even with its risk but then having you in his arms, your head on his chest, he liked this even more and would force himself to get a few hours of sleep. He liked this more than another villain, another fight.

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en-archive · 4 months

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thoughts on car sex with enha hyungline?:3

Sorry for the delayed answer anon <3 🐇 🎀

Pairing; ENHA! Hyung Line x Reader

Synopsis: Hyung line fucking in the cars with their S/O.

Warnings: voyeurism (duh), spanking, car fucking, DUI, getting drunk, fucking in public places, drinking, swearing, smut, all that fiasco, lmk if I miss anything. this is kinda not proof-read, skinny dipping, secret relationship notes. Keeper loves everything forbidden.

wc:

🐇 🎀 HEESEUNG

I can imagine Heeseung and you being college students. His dorm is never empty, and his nerd of a roommate always stays home, studying his ass off for his STEM major, while he lays there on the lower bunk bed, begging the poor guy to go get some fresh air because he has blue balls and wants to call you up. But he never lets up, so Heeseung has no other choice but to groggily grab his car keys and text you to get ready for pick up. You never complain, you know the situation, because you have equally as much of a nerd roommate who does not even go out to party. When he picks you up in his not-so-old but not-so-new car model, you immediately make yourself comfortable in the passenger seat.

Heeseung usually never implies that he wants sex, but the way he demands you go with him, you know you two will be making yourselves comfortable in the oh-so-familiar dark parking lot on the campus. The ride there is always funny: he cracks jokes, gets silly with you, plays dumb songs and the road can't get any longer. When he does pull up to the secluded parking lot, he immediately quirks his eyebrows very nonchalantly, like he is not about to fuck your brains out, if you would prefer the back seat or his lap by the wheel.

Knowing how you had a bruised back from last time, you pick the back seat, to which he squeals and immediately climbs in the back, spreading his legs, and taking off his sweatshirt, not before he turns up the heat in the car. The silence is almost silly, the atmosphere even sillier when you look around and make sure no one has followed you or is watching you like a creep.

When you take your pants and sweater off, you make yourself busy on his lap, immediately attaching your lips to his, grabbing his chin with your nails, and whining into his mouth. Heeseung goes weak at your equal neediness, knowing you were probably craving to get railed when you answered his message in a record time of a second. Truth is, Heeseung hates to not have the comfort of his home and bed when he does fuck with you; the way he would have you in so many positions only if he could, but most he has done in this forsaken car is almost slam you into one of the windows and rail you from behind.

His hands find your nipples almost instantly, soothing your eager self as you almost rip your panties and make yourself busy with the ties on his sweatpants, trying to free his equally painful hard-on. Almost instantly his fingers find your folds, swiping the pillow of his middle finger on your folds and then your entrance as he painfully enters you knuckle deep.

"I would sell my left kidney just to have you in my dorm, every night! Naked, and so pretty for me! You're so good for me!" He whispers slowly as he locks his lips with yours and adds another digit to your begging core. He bends his skinny knuckles inside you, finding that sweet spot that makes you see stars, but he never likes to make you cum on his fingers, so he hastily pulls out his dick, pumping himself once or twice before he painfully buries himself inside you.

Car sessions never last long, since both of you are pretty aroused by the time you meet, and the lewd act of public sex almost has you tipping over mentally, your inner voyeurism kicking in. His hands grip your ass, trying to keep you on his dick longer with each thrust, but you are whining begging him to pick up the pace. Heeseung hates making a mess in the car, and so do you, which usually means he gets to finish inside you. You love the way he always bucks his hips before he unloads himself, only for you to be there, taking up every last bit.

🐇 🎀 JAY

Listen Jay is a classy man, I think we have all similarly thought about this scenario. It would probably be in a luxury car, the latest release. Both of you already would be in a long-term relationship by now. From managing his business to helping his father, when the opportunity comes for you to meet his parents, the family doesn't shy away from doing it lavishly. He picks you up in his car, and like the pretty passenger princess you are, you take your place right beside him. The tension is heavy in the air: it's your first time meeting them and quite literally you are freaking out. Your man is dressed in a grey and black suit and quite honestly, you wish you could make him stop, right now, in the middle of the road, and take a ride... on him. But you knew better than that to keep yourself clean and presentable. The dress that you wore wasn't even that sexy, but it was right to his taste, with a good portion backless, not too much, and not too inappropriate.

The slit of the dress only reached up to your knee, revealing the beautiful cherry kitten heels he had bought for you. While the meeting went well, you couldn't ignore the tension in Jay's voice, and the double meaning of his words that you were sure his parents couldn't understand. Before the meeting with them had ended, mind you splendidly, his mother had complimented on the choice of your shoes, at which you almost dared to say it was his genius son who had bought them for you, but you kept your mouth shut, feeling Jay squeezing your hand.

When the two of you finally departed for home, you saw him loosen up his buttons and expose his chest to the cool air of the breeze, flowing through the slightly pulled-down window. His hand came shaking towards you, slowly grabbing your thigh and squeezing it, not too rough yet not too softly.

"Jay?" it came more like a whisper than a question, you knew he was tense, somewhat eager for something, he always acted this way when he wanted you. Realization kicked in when he parked his car in the darkest corner of the parking lot, immediately getting to business as his hands finally came to grasp your cheek, the sudden action making you gasp. He used this as a chance to let his tongue collide with yours, his other hand immediately coming to find the slit on your dress, only to snake up his hand up to your core.

"Jay!" you whisper, the hot air filling the car from the two of you, to his lewd kissing made your head spin, made you want to take off your dress and sit on him immediately.

"You are so fucking beautiful, and that color looks so good on you. " He noted towards the shoes, it had been his small fantasy the moment he saw them, how they would look beautiful on you, as you lay naked there for him, only in these damn cherry red kitten heels, as he pounded into you in the mattress, but before that, the car had to do. He could not wait. He hurriedly pushed his seat to the back, undoing his belt he motioned you to come on his lap, at which you obliged, immediately getting to the business of taking off your dress, staying in your flimsy black underwear that barely covered your ass, and the red kitten heels. Jay's favorite is everything.

When you finally took your place in his lap, you threw the dress somewhere in the back seat, immediately pulling your panties to the side and helping him get his cock out of the pants of his suit. He wasted no time, attaching his tongue to your chest, immediately caressing his hands up and down your thighs only to give your ass a good smack and slam inside you with no delay.

"Let me hear you, love!" He whispered but you were hesitating: you were in public, and despite the secluded area, there was no way someone wouldn't hear you in the parking lot cameras. He delivered another smack to your ass, making it red where his hand came in contact with your flesh. You whimpered and with no other choice but to moan you started chanting his name like a prayer when his hips restlessly started bucking up into you.

"Please wear them for me again yeah?" He begged with puppy eyes as his balls started hitting your soppy cunt. The night was still young for Jay.

🐇 🎀 JAKE

For Jake, it is always the beach, he is an Aussie, and he cannot help going there every time he has a chance in Korea, so when Jake and you took a trip down in Busan, surely both of you visited Haeundae beach. You got in your best bikini for the date, and while you wanted to tan during the day, you both found yourself cuddled up in the chilly hotel room, sleeping most of the noon after the tiring day. When 5 PM rolled around, he was sure to rush you, saying the sun would go down sooner than the two of you would blink and how he still wanted to sunbathe. You got up only to freshen up and slip a beach dress over the bikini you had been wearing.

The trip down Haeundae was short but fun nevertheless, as both of you giggled like a bunch of teenagers. Both of you took turns dipping in the beach, smashing right into the waves and then tanning together, in whatever the sun had been left.

Despite what anyone might think about Jake, he gets your pussy any chance he gets, so he never really gets too frustrated in public, but when the nightlife comes to Busan it isn't any different from Itaewon or Hongdae. People start getting ready for clubbing, children and parents scurry away to homes, and even couples leave for food. But you and Jake are not done here. He had the perfect idea for the first night for you both in Busan and it involved skinny dipping and some drinking as he showed you the drinks he had got from the nearby bar some time ago.

"No way!" You exclaim, but then notice that despite the night coming down on the city, people were still pretty close around. Jake and you hopped in the vehicle again, only for him to try and find some more secluded area on the whole beach. At one point you almost had it but there were a bunch of campers, smoking s'mores by the fire. Some five minutes later, Jake had found a perfect place: secluded, almost unlit, and away from the public eye.

As soon as your feet had touched the sand, Jake was getting ready to crack open a cold one, handing you the first bottle of beer. The cold liquid cooled down your body in the humid heat.

"Feels good yeah?" Jake asked, smirking, when he took the bottle, bottom up to the sky, as half the liquid disappeared. You looked at him mischievously as soon as he finished drinking, signaling with your eyes and smile for him to take off his clothes.

In a minute, both of you were racing towards the water, trying to get to the warm night waves first, you were lucky no one saw you in this very lewd and naked state. When the water finally hit both of you, laughter came to you naturally, as Jake groaned out in satisfaction, enjoying the cool, yet warm water of the sea.

"I wish we could do this more often." You whispered in the water as you got close to him, wrapping your hands around his shoulders, his hands automatically coming to wrap around your waist.

"Yeah, I know baby, but we can do this anytime, or even the whole day tomorrow, mh?" he gave you a small peck on the lips before walking forward, pushing you backward towards the car. You knew this would all eventually lead to sex on the beach, the drinking, the evening sun, the playing around, and the prospect of having sex on the beach excited you both, without the other knowing about it. When he finally opened his empty truck of the car, he laid you on the soft surface carefully. Not breaking the kiss he grabbed one of the towels draped around the car trunk as he dried himself and wrapped the slightly damp towel around your shoulders.

"Mh, Jakey" you grabbed on his biceps as the second bottle of the beer you both had consumed kicked in late, blood rushing directly to your heat. His lips found your neck, peppering kisses on the delicate wet skin, as his slightly cold fingers found your cunt, already so wet for him.

Jake slightly slurred "baby", cooing at you as his shaft slapped on your inner thigh, making you shiver from the pleasure, and lack of friction inside you.

"Please! I can't take it anymore." You didn't have to tell him twice before he entered with his shaft agonizingly slow. He loved doing this to you, looking at your reaction as you took him in, lavishing in the expressions that followed him bottoming out in you.

All of this was so foreign to you, the skinny dipping for the first time, the fear of getting caught at a place so public, while drinking and having to drive later. So many taboos and Jake balls deep in you made your head spin, the towel he had draped over you some minutes ago now slipping, exposing your bare body even more to the sea. You gripped his shoulders, holding onto them for dear life as you tried not to slip from his trunk, all the while the tip of his dick simultaneously hit your cervix. The alcohol and the overall situation got to Jake too, the moans now much more whiny as he buried his head in your neck and bit down on your shoulder when he came relatively harder than he had ever. His hot load shoots right up into your uterus.

🐇 🎀 SUNGHOON

Sunghoon and you should not even have been dating. He had been prohibited for at least the first three years, yet he could not keep himself away from you. His manager tried his best to support him, covering his ass if he were to ever get caught meeting you. Yet, when the evening fell and the group left their practices, he could not help but think about meeting you, to the point where he was ready to run away and spend the whole night with you, only to deal with the consequences in the morning.

That was exactly his plan, as he hurriedly freshened himself up, told his manager he was taking the car for the night and would return in some hours. His manager, unfortunately, had no other choice but to warn him to be careful and to be home on time. Truth be told, Sunghoon wasn't a horny boy, yes he might have fucked around here and there, but considering you guys just had started your sexual life, he could rarely get enough of you. That is why he was dressed all clad in black, mask on his face, and a matching black cap covering his eyes and the very recognizable mole on his nose as he drove maturely out of the company parking lot and to your house.

You knew he would meet you the second time eventually this week, you just did not know it would be exactly the next day after the first one. As you saw the message pop up in your phone, you knew you were doomed to make an excuse to your parents, as to why their daughter had to go out, "because I ate too much, I just want to clear my head." which your mother bought. You were thankful today at least she did not voice out her desire to follow you for a walk.

Sunghoon had been skillful in finding a place in your neighborhood, considering the late hour, he knew that no one would be around, and if you both kept the lights dim, no one would even suspect a thing.

By the time you found his car, he was already sitting in the back of the car, waiting patiently for you, the only light illuminating his manager's car was the light that shone from his phone. As soon as you sat right beside him, he smiled, taking his fingers to tuck a loose strand behind your ear.

"I missed you!" He beamed as he took his coat, throwing it towards the back.

"We saw each other yesterday!" you scrunched your eyebrows, which made him laugh out loud in his slightly husky voice. Cupping your cheeks between his hands, he gave you a small peck that soon turned into a makeout session, his tongue darted around on your lip, asking you for permission, but you were not going to let up this easy. You had barely recovered from the fucking he had given you yesterday when the dorms were empty and he could finally take you properly on his mattress.

"Sunghoon" You mumbled barely into the kiss, as his hands started roaming inside your hoody, trying to find anything to fondle, before they found your breasts, cupping one as the other still held your face tenderly into the kiss.

"No leaving marks, I will never even let you touch me if you do," you warned as your lips felt a cold breeze when they left his. He nodded and immediately situated himself on the back seat, letting you fit right on his lap. There was not much time to fully undress or even get into your favorite part of his lips devouring your pussy, so the only option was for both of you to hastily undo your pants and for you to get rid of yours in a quick yet uncomfortable position.

"I can never get enough of you, you know that?" You noticed lately, as you guys became more and more exclusive around people, how possessive he had begun to sound. He would use this deep voice on you, sending shivers down to your core as the familiar itch would start without even him trying too hard.

He briskly unzipped his dark jeans, smirking up at you as his hair fanned the sides of his face so beautifully, that the only illuminating light coming inside the car was a barely working street light that flickered from time to time. The small beauty mark on his nose that you oh so loved to kiss in between, but now this beautiful and almost innocent-looking man had his dick buried deep within your walls, circling his hips into yours as his hands came to grip your waist, surely to leave marks.

You tried containing your moans, knowing the nosey neighborhood tended to listen to anything that went down between them. You muffled the moans that threatened to escape, inhaling his sweet yet musky scent as he chuckled lowly to himself, teasing you for not trying to make any noise.

"You look so much more desperate for me when you try to hold yourself back. Hm, cat got your tongue princess? " he cooed, hitting a certain spot inside you with a much bigger force, making you yelp in his hands. Your hoody had now been hunched over your boobs, his nails painfully forming red crescent moons in your sides, as he threw his head back, trying not to shoot his load too soon.

"I could do this whole day!" he groaned out as his thrusts became abnormal in pace, knowing he was close, you held onto your orgasm, allowing him to let you ride it out. As he let the last drops of his load coat your walls, he patted you on the ass, helping you get dressed in the small space of the car.

"Now go enjoy that tea again you were having." A promise to see you tomorrow yet again lingered in his naughty yet giggly voice.

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