#vibrational anchor
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Have you ever felt a strong connection with Source or your inner being? If yes, use this feeling as your vibrational anchor!
As creators, we decide what we will manifest by controlling our frequencies through feelings. When we are vibrating at higher frequencies, i.e. vibrationally more aligned to Source and our inner being, we have greater powers to manifest what we want. However, our human minds tend to react to the situations around us. As a result, our emotions and thus our frequencies are often changed due to these external circumstances. Thus, having a vibrational anchor with Source can be beneficial as it gives us the possibility to navigate back to the frequency that allows more fruitful manifestations to come in the future. This can be done in many ways, such as by recalling the feeling, or changing your perspectives and focuses.
Please note that when something bad happens, it is healthy for us to grieve and process the experience so that we can release the emotional energies, learn from it, and move on. Nonetheless, we can use our vibrational anchor to make the pain more bearable. Eventually, after a period of grief, we can use the anchor to manifest something new and desirable!
#new age#spiritual#spirituality#source#vibrational anchor#emotional state#emotion#emotions#Abraham-Hicks#Law of Attraction#inner being#theearthforce
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(18+) fem!reader
bucky barnes is the kind of guy to fuck up into you during cowgirl, not because he's impatient, but because he simply wants to feel more of you.
just him lying back down on the mattress, you straddling his crotch, cock snuggly wedged into you - his hands digging into the plush of your thighs. he'd have to restrain himself, the squish of your skin pooling around his fingers being the main distraction. he'd look up at you as you slowly wind over him, brows knitted, eyes closed, lips bitten, tits swaying - the lewdest of images as you gently bounce.
your hands placed firmly on his stomach isn't enough. he wants to feel you closer - he wants your chest sandwiched against his, wants his lips on yours. his cock inside of you, not enough to satiate the need.
he'd trail his hands up you higher, gliding up your tummy, over your tits, right up to your throat. he wouldn't squeeze, no. just lightly pulling you down to him, silently guiding you to hover over him. your weight anchored on your hands either side of him.
bucky would stabilise you, keeping you balanced - one hand on the curve of your hip, the other along your jaw, lips hungrily working over yours. he'd swallow your gentle moans, your soft, sweet whines vibrating against his tongue.
he'd bend at the knee and testingly nudge up into you, cock bumping into your pussy so nicely. the new angle ripping the most bliss-filled cry from the pits of your stomach. he'd smile against your lips, doing it again. and again. just to hear that same sultry noise from you.
he would part from your lips, trailing kisses along your collarbone until he reaches your tits, leaving a line of soft, wet suckles behind. he'd wrap his lips around your perk nipples, tongue leisurely flicking over the bundle of sensitive nerves. dick stroking up into you unrushed.
his hands would leave the placement around your mid back, instead moving downwards - one metal, one fleshed hand slowly dragging over your skin. bucky's hands would rest on the dips of your waist, guiding you over his cock with very little manoeuvring, gently pushing your hips down onto him. the slow roll of his hips meeting you in the middle.
lips back on yours, muffling loving words into your skin. telling you that you're his sweet, special girl.
#thot#bucky barnes#bucky barnes smut#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x fem!reader#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky x reader smut#bucky x reader#bucky x female reader#bucky smut
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𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐬.
pairing. anakin skywalker x f!reader
synopsis. anakin finds loopholes in the jedi code.
warnings. 18+. this is sexually explicit, do not read this or interact with my blog if you’re a minor. do not copy my shit, i’ll find out. cock warming, p in v penetration but no movement. whimper-y anakin, if you move i'll leave the jedi order type beat.
an. just a little something i wrote for the kinktober i never did. I thought i'd post instead of letting it collect dust in my drafts. the prompt was cockwarming! hope i did anakin justice<3 pls comment & reblog.
You find him at the window.
Sitting, with his thighs open and chest bare, staring out into the abyss. The night glints at the beads of sweat sliding down his chest, and his fingers drum endlessly against his thighs.
He heard you wake up, so he’s expecting your company, and has leaned back against the chair – thin black gown falling open – ready for you to climb all over him.
It happens often.
It’s not uncommon to wake up without him.
Most nights, you startle out of your slumber – as if even asleep, you’d sensed a shift – and blink at the space on the mattress beside you.
Finding him was easy.
You pad through the living room and wordlessly reach him in his post-nightmare state. His hair is tousled, sculpted chest is slick with sweat -- there’s an energy vibrating off of him, and you can taste it in the air.
Stepping behind him, you gently run the tips of your fingers over his shoulders, and the whirlpool in Anakin’s belly settles for a second.
When you move into frame, it’s gone completely, replaced by a warm heat that has roots. He breathes a smile.
“Like clockwork.”
You give him a sheepish grin in return and fiddle with the fabric of your small nightgown. There’s a moment where Anakin gets to look at you – all sleepy and cuddly – and he’s ready to escape with you off of this forsaken planet.
His will holds strong.
“Are you waiting for an invitation?” he asks, raising a scarred brow, and despite your groggy state, you still manage to roll your eyes. Stepping closer, you use his broad shoulders as anchors to slip onto his lap.
“Don’t make that face,” Anakin hushes, and while you settle back onto his thighs, his metal hand comes up. He traces the line of your jaw, “You know I let you do what you want.”
His spare hand steadies your hips, and it’s still warm from his lightsaber. Calloused fingers run over your skin, reminding you of the fight that’s leaving scars – the war that’s brewing, both inside and outside of his mind.
In moments like this, though, there’s a subtle calm.
An impenetrable force that hums over the pair of you.
You lean into his palm and whisper, “Not everything.”
There’s a haunted edge to your gaze, and your words are loaded. Anakin knows what you mean, knows all the intricacies of your subtle dig, and yet, he still manages to smile.
Well, smirk.
“What do you want? Just say the word.”
You wouldn’t, and Anakin knows that. He’s caught your bluff, and you manage a bashful smile before gently leaning forward, dragging your hips against his lap.
Anakin’s cloth-covered thigh nestles against the thin fabric of your underwear. Your smile falters, lips parting. You push your forehead against his, and whisper, “If I say the words, I’ll never forgive myself.”
“I know,” he breathes, “I know.”
I want more.
A life together, not stolen moments when the sun is down.
An attachment. A bond.
But it’s forbidden.
It’s why it can’t go any further than this.
“What’d you dream about?” you wonder. Anakin pulls his eyes away from you, instead looking to where his thigh sits. The silence is your answer.
“I’ll still ask, even if you never tell.”
He takes hold of your bare thighs, rubbing his hands up and down, and you hum his name, reaching out to push his hair behind his ears.
“Pretty boy.”
“Stop it,” he huffs, cheeks reddening.
But how can you? When he’s all sharp lines and long hair. You run your hands up the bare panes of his muscular chest, feeling the deft of his muscles, and the dampness on his skin.
The air changes – hums electric – and it buzzes as you push his gown off his shoulders.
Carefully, you lean forward and place a chaste kiss against his collarbone.
“That’s better.”
Anakin hums a laugh. His hands snake around to your lower back, dig into the fat of your ass, and using the grip there, he gently rocks you forward once, forcing your clothed cunt to drag against his muscular thigh.
You whimper. It’s quiet, but Anakin can hear it, even if it’s muffled by his shoulder.
“’ S’what you came out here for, huh?” he whispers. The electric flooding through the walls hums, but the room is still eerily silent. Anakin’s voice is a roar.
You lick your lips and drag your face up to see him.
“No,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss against his top lip, “I like being with you, even if we don’t do this.”
Anakin has to close his eyes. Words like those are fuel to the fire brimming in his chest, and it doesn’t help that you wrap your arms around his neck and fiddle with the tail end of his hair.
Arching your back, you slowly roll backwards, then forward, teasing the bulge between his legs.
Releasing a shaky breath, you repeat the motion, again, and again, near humping his leg.
A familiar ache begins to swell, coiling between your thighs and up into your belly. It makes you clench around nothing, and you mewl quietly, wishing for more – always wishing for more.
Still, you continue, slick pooling into your underwear and against his thigh.
Anakin can’t look at you. If he sees your face, his resolve will falter.
His nerves are shot. If he couldn’t feel how wet you are, he could smell it, and it makes a groan bristle behind his teeth.
He buries his head into the crook of your neck and busies himself with kissing at the soft shell of your throat, careful not to leave marks.
Once, you left a mouth-shaped mark against his stomach, and he looked at it every day for a week.
Caught himself with his top up in the mirror looking at the reflection, eyeing the way the mark sat on the firm lines of muscle, fading away with time.
A dark part of him wanted the mark on the slope of his neck.
“Wanna be inside of you.”
His admission rests heavily against your throat, and you’re thankful that he can’t see the way you clench your eyes closed.
Though, he does feel you tighten your grip on the back of his head. Feels you shift up against his thigh, and the warmth pooling in your underwear burns against him.
He can sense you’re hesitant.
“’ can be like last time. Just – Just --” he stutters, licking his lips and struggling to release the words from the back of his throat. Finally, he manages.
“--Sit on it.”
“Anakin.”
He pulls away from your neck and looks up at you.
“We can use it as an exercise.”
A laugh bursts from your throat, “To test your will?”
He smiles, and because you have to, you push your cunt against his crotch, uttering, “Want me to make It difficult for you?” and white flashes through Anakin’s eyes.
He grabs your hips to steady you, tensely pushing his fingers into your skin.
“Hardest challenge I’ll ever encounter.”
“You eager to impress?”
He kisses your jaw, “Don’t I always?”
“Mm,” you hum, cradling his chin. You shift back so he can pull his trousers down, and when you take his cock in your hand, he melts. His commanding aura switches for a moment, and you watch Anakin still his breathing.
You push your underwear to the side, and as you lift yourself to sink onto him, Anakin breathes, “Just the tip – just a little bit, j-just—” and he chokes on his words, gasping as you brush the leaking head of his cock through your folds.
You halt. Whimper. Have to grip his shoulder to steady yourself, or you’ll push him inside of you all at once and hurt yourself.
You inhale steadily.
“Have to – have to go slow,” you spurt, trying to calm your tremors.
“It’s been a while since…”
You don’t have to finish your sentence. Anakin knows, and he feels a mix of pride and guilt. Only me, he thinks, and then, like a flash, only me, he swallows. And I can’t give her everything.
This. This is as far as it’ll go. He knows he’s pushing it. Knows that he’s come up with some convoluted rule to both have his cake and eat it too.
If he fucks you the way he wants to, he’ll fall in love with you. As if it hasn’t happened already.
Anakin has made lying to himself a speciality.
You push against him once more, and the tip of his cock nudges between your folds, forcing an ache to shoot through your clit and make you dizzy. You stop. Pause and curse yourself.
A slow burn builds in your thighs, and you clench down to try and mediate the burn. Anakin grunts.
“Maker,” he utters.
“Sorry—” you splutter, sucking in a tight breath.
Anakin wraps his metal arm around the back of your hips, hoping to steady you. “Lemme,” he mumbles, and gently, he flexes his hips up, slowly feeding his cock into your soaked pussy.
Your lower abdomen immediately burns.
He’s being calm about it – using all his training – but there’s nothing calm about the words trickling out of his mouth.
“Oh stars,” he groans, voice wrecked, “You gonna take all of me, sweet girl? Gonna let me fill you up?”
When you finally sink to the hilt, your resolve snaps. The pair of you moan out in unison, loud and high-pitched.
Anakin buries his face in your chest, and the heat of his mouth against your breasts adds to the tension coiling in your belly.
“Don’t – don’t move,” he grunts, and you shake your head, “I won’t – I’ll come on your cock if I do,” and you don’t mean to say it like that, don’t mean for the words to come out like that, but you feel Anakin pulse from inside of you, warm and hard and wet.
He manages to laugh.
“Tryna kill me,” he shakily breathes, shaking his head. His wet lips brush against your breasts, and you want more – want all that he can give you – so you clutch the back of his head, pulling him closer, hoping he gets the message.
His wet kisses make your skin prickle.
You’re full up. Can feel him stretching you out, this feeling something that’s only happened a few times before.
“If you move,” Anakin begins, out of breath, “I’ll leave the Jedi order and spend my days inside of you.”
“Don’t t-tempt me.”
He laughs, and you accidentally clench around him, causing him to groan deep and long against your tits.
“If you do that again, I’ll come inside of you.”
You imagine it. Imagine him spilling out, the wet white of it dripping out of your cunt and back onto his cock, and the mere image of it has your clit throbbing.
Keep still. Don’t move.
But he wraps his tongue around your nipple and begins to suck.
You cry out, and all of your muscles tighten, forcing you to clench tight around his cock. Anakin jolts and whines your name against your tits.
“S’your fault,” you mewl, moaning. You hang your head back, “Stars, Anakin.”
“Try and stay still,” he mumbles, and you stutter a laugh, “Impossible.”
“It can’t be,” he responds, and while he speaks in jest, his words are sincere. The line between love and lust runs thin, and if Anakin is being honest with himself, it’s close to snapping.
#anakin skywalker#Anakin skywalker x reader#Anakin skywalker smut#Anakin skywalker x reader smut#anakin skywalker x you#anakin skywalker x female reader#anakin skywalker imagine#hayden christensen#Star wars#darth vader#kinktober#kinktober 2023
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Hiii is it alright if I request for a College!Camgirl!Ellie x college!reader? Could I also have a specific 💐 tag for when I ask things 😭😭?
PS: I love your work so fucking much, on my knees for them 💗🙏🏻
-💐
જ⁀➴ yes angel!! thank you <3 sorry this took so long btw!! lowkey had a bender over spring break and didn’t write 🫣
warnings: 18+, squirting, pet names, service top!ellie, camgirl!ellie, consensual video recording. photo credits to @ellies.galaxy on tiktok!
reqs are open 𝜗𝜚
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“you can take it baby. know my girl can.” the auburn haired girl whispered, while guiding your hips to sink fully down on her brand new strap on that sits erect on her pale lap. the aforementioned 8 inch, lavender toy was generously gifted by one of her followers, with a message attached that simply said “to break her in.”
since moving in with ellie, you’ve gradually learned so much about her….possibly more than a roommate should. first, it was her adorable obsession with vintage video games, then the way she brings home little rocks and treasures she finds on the walk to class, then…it was finding her nude in front of a camera with your “missing” thong smothering her face.
but, you couldn’t possibly resist helping her, huh?
the video garnered tons, TONS of donations, likes, and subscriptions. her followers loved that it wasn’t a staged “getting caught” cliche, and that you fully indulged in her perverse energy. since then, she’s gotten lots of requests to keep you around in her videos, which you are more than happy to oblige.
the tip nudges against your cervix, a soft bulge appearing on your abdomen. as she shifts to zoom in on the precious sight, your long forgotten homework falls off the bed, papers sliding all across the floor.
“y’see that? how she’s fuckin swallowing me?” ellie asks the camera as she zooms in on the aforementioned “she”, being your fully stuffed cunt.
“els…please move….” you pant, digging your fingernails into her thighs as an anchor. “i…i’ll do….any-thng…” you whine desperately, dying to just rut into ellie’s hips on your own, but you know better. the first (and last) time you made that mistake, she tied you up with the vibrator on the highest setting for two hours, live-streaming the whole ordeal.
hey, at least she made over $500 off of it.
“show em how you feel, angel.” ellie coos, thrusting in and out agonizingly slow, propping the camera up on her dresser, the perfect angle to capture your doe eyes rolling effortlessly into the back of your head.
“els….ohmgd…please harder!”
without a word, ellie gets the most intriguing smirk on her face, massaging her calloused fingers into your hips for a moment….then suddenly gripping onto them, bouncing you on her cock unrelentingly. screaming her name, your legs go numb. every time your trembling hands go to grip onto her waist for support, she nudges you off, growing wetter and wetter watching you unable to stabilize yourself. a thin white ring forms around the base of her cock, that she scrambles to grab the camera and zoom in on.
“look at that…fuck.” she reaches down and thumbs on your clit, causing you to buck down into her even harder, if that’s possible at this point.
“gna…gna cum els….pleaseee…” you stare right into the camera, knowing that she’s gonna replay that moment over and over again later just to see the pathetic desperation in your eyes, your perfect pout penetrating her every thought.
“go ahead angel, cum all over this cock. show me how good it feels in you. how….how…god…how good i feel in you.”
those last words send you over the edge, collapsing into her while your entire body twitches. your tight, slick walls clench around the toy for the final time, her thumb on your clit encouraging you to drench ellie’s stomach and sheets.
“fuck…i got that shit on camera. you’re so goddamn hot.” she pans the camera down to her toned stomach, where your wetness is splattered. the euphoria hasn’t worn off yet, your eyelids heavy, vision blurry as ellie smooths down your hair delicately, throwing the camera onto her chair and cradling your head into her lap.
“such a good girl f’me…..”
#ellie williams au#ellie williams fanfic#ellie williams imagine#ellie williams x reader#ellie williams headcanons#ellie williams tlou#ellie williams smut#ellie smut#ellie x reader#ellie the last of us#ellie williams#ellie tlou#ellie x fem reader#tlou2#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#tlou#the last of us 2#buckleysbitch writes#buckleysbitch#💐#💐 anon#buckleysbitch 💐 anon
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Between Dreams and Sugar
Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader
Synopsis: Your screams will haunt his dreams until the day he dies.
Word Count: 5.1k
Warnings: Torture, gore, angst, violence & death, suggestive joke, fluff, happy ending, rescue fic but who rescues who...>:)
A/N: Guys, I have a confession - I don't think I can write Ghost properly lmfao. This is horrifically mid.
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
There was so much blood coating your body that you had forgotten where the wounds were and weren’t. It flowed from you like viscus water—a homogeneous mixture of congealed shades of red like rubies except for the simple fact that this was not beautiful; it was not desired or sought after.
On the ground, soaking in indistinguishable pools of crimson, ripples are sent out when your limp foot twitches mutely in its clutch. That was all you could do now. Twitch. Writhe. They didn’t even bother tying you to the chair anymore—just let you slouch half out of it like a school kid who had gotten too drunk the night before.
Hell, you wished you were drunk.
“Sergeant.”
You wished you could feel your fingers. You wished you could move your neck up from its bend position as if it was a wilting flower; hair stuck to your skin. Blood dribbles out of your mouth. Drip…drop…drip…drop.
You’d bitten your tongue open in a vain attempt to stop yourself from screaming, hadn’t you? You…you can’t quite remember.
“Sergeant!” Groaning long and low, the violent chills that wrack your form only serve to make yourself bleed out faster, tension forcing precious life fluid out from burst veins and slashed ankles.
Cuts far span your legs and shoulders. Your back is nothing more than a painting of burns coated with sweat and infection; puss sticking you to the backrest of the chair like yellow-colored adhesive. Your clothes are the opposite idea of modesty. Tattered, torn by blades to create harm. Fuck, could you even breathe properly anymore?
Lungs only create a wheeze—you’re not getting enough oxygen to function.
A dark growl bounces off the walls.
Ghost struggles against his binds, uniform also in a state of disarray with very obviously broken ribs and bruised chest. Splotches of yellow-white mounds signal blunt trauma over the pale skin that’s already laced with old scars.
They’d all but anchored him to his chair—and even then the red marks that blister are a signal of the brutality of the large man as he peels back his skin to try and struggle himself out.
You whine, the loftiness stuck in your brain addictive; to pull back that curtain was as much of a struggle as staying awake. That harsh Manchester accent was something to draw closer to, though, professionalism a key to the lock on your failing consciousness. The reminder of companionship.
“G…” Your vocal cords fizzle, “Ghost…”
“Open your eyes.” Every word was enunciated, deep and guttural.
Parting your lips, more blood drowns your lap in thick globs, and soon your battered throat vibrates with coughs that make you see stars, mild panic the moment you realize that you can’t breathe.
Jerking forward, you gasp, eyes snapping open as your neck bends ahead in desperation. Mucus and other bodily fluids spray over your lap, tinged scarlet, but the blockage in your throat is dispelled as your broken ribs quiver in agony.
Whimpering like a kicked dog, you wonder how long it’ll take for Ghost to realize getting you to focus on him was pointless. If this all continued, you’d be dead within the day.
But you entertain him.
Head slowly balking back as your jaw hangs loose, you rest it on the wooden frame behind you as softly as you’re able with a most likely concussed brain and a fractured skull. Only one eye opens, and even then it’s half-glued to your cheek with dried blood.
Ghost’s balaclava had been ripped off. It felt wrong to see him in the open like this. Exposed. It was quite obvious he disliked it just as much as you did.
Blue eyes blazed at you; blonde hair going this way and that as crimson fell down the swell of his Adam’s Apple from a very broken nose. That gaze was unrelenting, and even with your blurry vision, you knew it would be unwise to look away.
His stubbled jaw sets as a heart can be seen skipping beats in his breast. You were totally out of it, enough so that you missed the way his lungs slightly released when you had pulled yourself back to the present.
The gulping sigh.
“That’s it, Sergeant.” You cough once more, wet and haggard, and your head falls back to your chest before you have to force it back up on shaking muscles. It was getting harder. “Easy does it, then…Thought I lost you.”
“C–can’t,” the useless feet flicker over the ground, sloshing through fluid in unstable jumps as you slur out, “Hurts, Ghost.”
A slow and dark inhalation meets your ears before a sudden grunt of a struggling body; jerking arms as the chair squeals with old nails being torn out.
“I know, Birdie, I know.” His tone is lesser now as he bites back a curse as the blisters on his arms pop, the rope burns turning a vile color as his muscles strain, “But you keep those pretty little eyes on me, yeah?”
It wasn’t supposed to go like this.
Black Operations were dangerous, yeah, but never had the Lieutenant been so down in the gutter as he was right now. Mainly because of you, no, entirely because of you. He could withstand months of torture—mental and physical—with no problem. He’d done it countless times before.
But never had he been forced to watch someone hurt you instead of him.
They would come in every day, these pitiful excuses for German drug runners, and would make him watch as they ripped open your skin with blunt knives and other tools coated in rust. Questions would be asked—questions that Ghost knew he could not answer even if it was you who would get punished.
Every time you would flinch when the door to this concrete basement opened, it was harder to keep his tongue from wagging. He was watching you die; letting it happen.
Fuck, it made him sick.
Ghost violently reems a shoulder up and down, not caring about the long stripes of now oozing blood on his forearms or the pain that the action brings bone-deep. There was so much scarlet flowing from you. Too much.
What he knows for certain is that he can’t let you die here. He’d never forgive himself for that.
How is she still conscious? The question was utterly genuine as Ghost’s dead eyes narrowed dangerously, sparking with urgency at the uneven risings and fallings from your chest.
“Fucking hell,” the Lieutenant growls, each word punctuated by a desperate attempt to free himself. He had to get you out of this. You were his responsibility; his team.
His…Ghost pants, sweat dripping down his arms.
You didn’t abandon him, how could he do the same to you? When questioned you hadn't given up his true name, hadn’t blabbered to save your own skin so you could avoid a horrible amount of pain. Pain that Ghost knew well.
Pain that was never supposed to be known to you.
Your screams would haunt his nightmares until the day he died.
“Ghost,” blue eyes freeze, snapping away from the sight of the bone around his wrists becoming visible through a thin coverage of remaining flesh. He pauses like a guard dog. Your optic was glinting, flicking with failing consciousness. The movement of your chest sputtered as the man clenched his teeth together. “You’re hurtin’ yourself.”
“‘Bout to do even more damage, yeah?” he gets back to it, working enough blood into the rope to make it slick; dripping. “If it’ll get me out of these bastard things.”
The weak smirk on your face gives his brows a deep furrow, sweat glistening on his forehead.
A part of him hated you. Hated you for the way you had this effect on him. He shouldn’t care if you lived or died—that wasn’t his cross to carry.
But you’d made him soft these last few months. Soft, and weak, and disgustingly concerned for your safety. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t Ghost.
“Gonna b…bleed out, y’know.” Your tongue slips, mind so loose that anything that comes to the front slips out like water from a slip-and-slide. Fingers twitching, your limp body grows so cold that you shiver.
“Negative.” Ghost barks, slipping one hand partially under the restraint and his flesh, acting as a zipper, starts to go with it. He hisses under his breath, body hot and spilling. Mutilating himself. “Shut your damn gob.” Blood splatters to the floor, “I’m gettin’ us out of ‘ere.”
“Tell me a joke.” Blue eyes flicker, blonde lashes slipping over pale cheeks.
You feel another wave of pain shutter through you—one that makes you whimper as quietly as a soft breeze on a summer day.
“Joke?” Ghost hisses, glaring over at you without heat. “The fuck are you on about?” A wobbling eyebrow raise is all he gets.
He grunts feral-like, evocative of a bear that hadn’t gotten his supper. Your lid droops and panic spikes.
“How long can a fish breakdance for?” Ghost slips a hand free, snarling in the back of his mouth as the entirety of his left hand is left ripped open, the fissures itchy and welling. Wasting no time, the limb goes to assist the other, pulling with ripped-off fingernails at the tight knot. A side-eye is sent your way.
Only you weren't moving. Lips snap in a moment of obvious concern, not only by the tone but by the way the man jerks forward in the chair—no matter if one arm and both of his legs were still restrained.
“Love!” The door handle rattles with screeching chains, but Ghost is occupied with raging at you. Ordering you to stay awake with terrifying eyes. It was as though for the first time in a long time there was true fear in his throat. True hatred.
Chucking voices heat veins that he had long since thought were cold, and the Lieutenant composes himself with a sharp pause. He leans back slowly into the chair; jaw so tight his molars almost crack in the back of his mouth like candy. Your face is tilted downward, and Ghost memorizes the make of it, trails his gaze slowly over every slash and cut that mars you. Feet slap off the concrete as multiple people enter the room, but it was like a switch had flipped internally, walls going up.
The mask was still there, even if all that physically remained of it was the black paint in his sockets.
He’d return every mark, from a bruise to an open wound, tenfold. But you needed to wake up first. You…you needed to.
You had to be okay.
Three men encircle the two of you, faces hidden and obviously enjoying a bit of their own product.
“Look at this, Lutz, the man got a hand out of the binding.” Blue eyes travel to stare dead-on into a pair of blown pupils; mind gone.
The second man goes to grip your hair, forcing your head up in inspection. Ghost’s vision immediately travels over, biceps going tense like a dog with its hackles raised and vision going red.
“Don’t worry about that. It’s one hand, what can the Bastard do?”
“Oh,” another laughs, though his body is wound tight, “careful with the woman, Alric—the beast looks like he’s about to snap at you.”
The three share sly looks. Alric, the one with your hair in his grip, shakes your head back and forth, blood flying around in the air as your limp body jerks. Ghost lunges, but he only makes it as far as the chair allows him before he’s shoved back by a hand on his chest.
Moving quicker than an animal, bone snaps, and an agony-laced scream echoes off the walls not a millisecond later.
Ghost had gripped that hand and twisted, making the wrist joint completely flip on itself. Blank blue eyes watch with glints of sadistic glee as the man wails, grabbing onto himself and falling back onto his ass.
The one holding you instantly releases your hair and rushes to his friend.
“Holy fuck!” Everyone divulges into frantic German curses, Ghost making out a command to leave and go see a doctor.
“Cheers. Good luck with that, ya’ Bastard.” Grumbling under his breath, the Lieutenant realized he was probably enjoying this more than he should, but always his attention shifts back to you. How you hang limb, battered face covered by your hair, and loss of blood steadily leaving your hands curling into the palms—
Ghost’s eyes widen slightly as the two still try and calm down their companion. Your hand. It wasn’t curled because of onset rigor mortis. You were holding a blade.
The Brit’s large chest swells with pride; jaw going somewhat slackened as he stares at you. So you were faking it….Fucking hell, Sweetheart.
Slowly, his vision peels to the empty sheath on Lutz’s belt. It wasn’t a big knife—nothing more than a three-inch blade on the end. But you were still conscious enough to hear these goons show up before he had; had used sleight of hand that anyone else in your situation would have just given up on.
It was hard to hold back a low chuckle, but he managed. Fuck, you were something else.
The two unmaimed men shove the third out the door, shouting down the hallway as his sobs and sniffling nose reverberate even as he’s out of sight.
Grunting, the Brit shifts his hips, lips pulling in a snarl at the bouncing electrical wire that goes up his ribs. Many were broken; along with his nose and a dislocated shoulder, but he knows he can deal with it. Getting you out and to the Evac point was his top priority—his wounds weren’t over-the-top life-threatening unless they went too long without treatment.
You on the other hand.
Lids narrow on the way the knife-holding hand shakes with exertion when simply applying pressure. If this was going to happen, it had to happen now.
“That was a nice little show,” Alric growls, standing in the middle of the two in the chairs and keeping a considerable distance farther from Ghost than you. Blue eyes blink blankly, emotions swiftly wiped away. “One-handed? I’m impressed.”
Ghost raises a single blonde eyebrow, “More where that came from.”
Alric smiles.
“Emil—get the gun.” Legs slowly tense, but other than that there’s no outward display of nervousness.
Seconds later a barrel is level with Ghost’s forehead, the chilled metal pressing deep into his blood-coated skin. He doesn’t balk back, he doesn’t even flinch, just watches with a dim flicker in his optics that remains even after he blinks. Like a cat’s slitted pupils.
It would be no use shoving the gun out of this man’s hands—he would fire before the Lieutenant was able to steal the weapon for himself.
“I’m getting sick of this game, Soldier. We’ve been through this day after day.” Alric swipes at his nose, white powder stuck under his nostrils. Ghost can’t stop the small tick of his mouth. “Tell me who you are,” the gun swivels, and the Brit’s heart seizes up. It points at your abdomen. “Or the girl gets a nice new stomach.”
Lips thin into a small line as hidden fury swells.
“Alric…” Emil seems nervous, his feet shifting and hands twitching. The aura Ghost was emitting was like a dark cloud around the room; sheer size and indistinguishable emotions rose to drown out all else when a threat to the beast’s bird was brought into the picture. There had been multiple times throughout the days when the men had been scared to touch you at all for fear of the look that had been leveled their way. Those eyes…fuck it was like a demon was stuck in flesh. In blue so close to gray the color was more like the concrete of a prison cell. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Tell me.” Alric growls as Emil gets closer to you. Ghost stays silent, unblinking as his fingers curl into fists. His knuckles crack from the force. “Tell me!”
Emil bushes your shoulder and you lunge. Bringing the blade into his chest, your form brings the both of you to the floor in a splash of scarlet and twin screams of pain.
The Blonde’s heart seizes at the sound in an aggressive bounce.
Alric whips around, eyes widened and gun loose in his grip. Ghost wastes no time, trusting your judgment, and shoves himself forward. A shot goes off as the Lieutenant rams his shoulder into the man, but the bullet bites into the far wall instead of your back as you dig your knife into Emil’s throat; wrestling for life.
The chair still attached to Ghost was a problem, but his body weight was used to his advantage. Sinew bunched as a growl exits his lips, Alric and him slamming to the floor in a flurry of rabid intentions and the likeness of wolves caught in a trap. Ghost’s eyesight goes red, remembering every cut and beating you went through for him in the reflection of Alric’s eyes. That pathetic drug runner had made you bleed.
His bird doesn’t bleed.
Teeth and nails are tools kept for animals, and now that the gun was too far from grip and you were limp beside the gargling body of Emil, Ghost decided that being a bit insane might do him well at the moment.
He had to get you out of here. And in no world was this man going to get away to live one day more.
“Please, don’t,” Alric begs, clawing at his behemoth build, “I’m not—I wasn’t—!”
Blood-stained teeth snap into the thin flesh of a visible neck as dead blue eyes keep you in sight like a dog does the moon.
—
You don’t recall anything after slashing one man’s neck and even that is a blur of flashing colors; instances of one waxing expression waning into another. Trapped between bouts of failing consciousness and pain that could rival someone getting their bones snapped one by one.
But you know the feeling of moss on your cheek. The shadow that sits above you and the fingers that prod at your back, pressing cooling salves of Silverweed into the burns and cuts. Your eyes weakly flicker, a low moan stuck in your throat.
Every limb is a cinder block.
“Stop your moving.” The command was stiff but quiet, and the pressure on your spine increased. Flinching, the sensation of tight bindings all along your body became apparent to you, slowly but surely.
“That…hell?” You cough, throat bare and dry. Sweat drips down your temple.
Blinking rapidly, you try to focus on the cold wind whipping past your bare skin, the trees in the distance of what appeared to be a glade. The sound of a running stream makes your ears perk.
A canteen was suddenly shoved to your lips and you grunt in surprise, water slicking your closed lips.
“Drink.” You don’t argue, peeling back your lips and letting the liquid drip into your mouth, most falling to the moss under you and getting re-adsorbed into the earth. “...There’s a girl.”
The metal container disappears just as quickly as it showed up, and you lick at the corner of your lips, cheeks burning at the comment.
Ghost kneels above you, bar a shirt, and you narrow your lids to focus on the black and blue splotches completely covering him. He still doesn’t have a mask, and you glance over the blonde stubble; the scars, and the aggressive set of his eyebrows. The blood had been washed away, and you wondered if the stream in the background of this place was still stained with crimson and the telltale black of eye paint.
“Simon,” whispering seemed appropriate, though you don’t know why. Your voice was better now but still, your body refused to listen to your instructions. Every plea to move your arms or legs was denied, sharp needles poking into your flesh that made you shake. “What…?”
Blue eyes blink down at you, something hidden in the depths. A finger curls to flick a stray hair from your face slowly. Skin brushes skin.
“Snagged what I could before I ran off. Wasn’t much.” That harsh voice, the gravel in it. You frown weakly, your lids heavy. “Bandages. Extra shirt. Blanket I used to stop the bleeding.”
He won’t tell you he was begging you to wake up when he’d been stuffing old fabric into your open wounds.
Coughs wrack your frame, whole body jerks that overtake what little peace there was to be found. A hand tilts your head back to the ground, patient as the other grabs your hair, peeling the strands away as a flood of vomit escapes your mouth.
Eyes burning and face hot, you sputter as a thumb runs deep circles over your scalp.
“Easy…” Ghost whispers, tattoos like obsidian in the darkness of the world around the two. Late afternoon and this was the first time you’d woken up since he’d been carrying you. A nail was taken out of his heart.
Seeing your eyes flicker, even filled with the tears as they were, was a blessing he’d thank whatever God that was out there for. “Easy, Sweetheart. Breathe for me.”
“Fuck,” you gasp, shaking more than a leaf. “Fuck it hurts, Simon.”
He shifts you slightly away from the bile, the familiar words burning his lungs.
“Evac point is four miles.” It felt like a death sentence to you, your eyes going buggy at the thought. “I’m carrying you there.”
“Bullshit,” you pant, wheezing. “Your arms are destroyed.”
Ghost blinks before scowling, sending a glance to his limbs. They’re both raw and skinned, just like his fingers; red with burst blisters the size of rocks. One hurts far more than the other.
“They’re nothing.”
“Nothing pretty to look at,” blue eyes narrow on you in annoyance, but the dry-humored Brit doesn't miss a beat.
“Seems you’re in good spirits, Sergeant. Fancy walking on your own?” Your lips flick, delirious and high off of whatever pain meds that Ghost had found when he had been carrying you out of the basement of that house.
Try as he might, the feeling of your dead weight was worse than he ever could have imagined. So, outwardly, he stayed numb but knew that every little look from you was as beautiful as a sunrise.
“Want me to try?” Palms begin to shift, a hand pressing deep into the moss that bends and yields to your form.
Ghost snaps forward.
“Fucking Bastard!” He puts weight on the back of your shoulder as you hiccup dull chuckles, “Quit it! Else I’ll leave you here to annoy the damn plants.”
The threat was empty, and your eyes softened as they spread their fatigued gaze over the span of the Brit’s visible skin, glee leaking out. Ghost sighs, shaking his head sharply at you, agitation stuck in his skull as it always was.
So beastly, this man, but his hold on you was about as gentle as you could imagine.
Your attraction to him was anything but one-sided. You knew his emotions as well as your own; it was quite obvious to everyone but him. The long looks, the concerned glances. His touch freely given.
He had given you his name and, to you, that was about as close to a proposal as a ring was. You’d kissed; you’d shared beds and shared skin. You knew when he was being horrible to himself deep in the confines of his head.
“Simon,” you whisper, and a blue gaze stays stubbornly away, glaring at your burns with venom. A tired smile peels your lips. “Simon.”
A huff is all you get, a bush of skin as breath wafts over your bare back. Your hand goes to touch his knee, brushing softly over the torn fabric. The flinch would not be noticeable to anyone but you. Brows pull slightly tighter.
“I had a dream about you, y’know.” Speaking hurt, but the attention that is finally brought your way was worth it. Birds chirp in the distance.
“What’s that?”
“Hm,” you lightly nod, cheek ruffling moss as you take down slow inhalations. Staring into each other’s eyes you for a moment forget the agony under your skin. “You were trapped by a giant fish underwater.”
A Blonde eyebrow raises, slow smirk unable to be hidden. It was impossible not to be entirely taken by you. How you speak, how you breathe. Even like this, you had placed a spell of black magic over him, binding the darkness that made up Simon Riley—Ghost—to your every action and whim.
“That right, Sweetheart? What happened, then?”
Chuckling, Ghost’s hold goes to your neck, massaging the skin so delicately that you lose your train of thought for a moment as shivers erupt, “I had to save you.”
Lips press to your scalp, a bent nose digging despite the shifting cartilage as lion limbs shake with a want to drag you to him. Such a rabid beast that devotes himself to your life.
“You tend to do a lot of the savin’, Love.” It’s muttered into your hair, softly, lowly. Compliments are rare—Ghost prefers actions above all else—but they’re treasured.
You know what he means.
“Yeah, I love you, too, you brute.” Deep chuckles dance in your ear, and you both stay there for a while, simply breathing in each other as the sky bleeds into the earth. So content, your heart had slowed, the salve in your wounds and the bandages compressing the areas with the most problems and forcing them to be numb.
When you had nearly fallen asleep, Ghost had peeled back to look down at you; eyes malleable as they slipped over your battered body.
“Hm,” he hums, reaching to his side and grabbing for the shirt he had stolen. After a few minutes of quiet curses and apologetic kisses, the large piece of fabric was over your top. The Lieutenant had begrudgingly admitted that the scraps of pants you had on now would have to do until you got proper attention.
“Giving the squirrels a show, then, Simon?” The man rolls his eyes deeply at the sarcastic comment, rubbing up and down your legs to keep circulation going as he readies to move you.
“They better keep quiet ‘bout it,” Ghost grumbles, running a hand through his hair, “Else I’ll have to rip a few tails.”
“So violent,” You wince when your shoulder is gripped, neck limp as your upper half was rotated. Gnashing your teeth, the Lieutenant shushes you comfortably, raising your body to rest in the crook of his large arm. Muscles tense and loosen, your cheek now resting on your Lover’s pec. You hear him hiss silently at the pressure on his broken ribs as guilt hits you. “Not the squirrels’ fault.”
“It is if they keep looking at ya. Only I get to see you like that.” Your pain-laced laugh is cut off when you’re lifted, large hands under your knees helping equalize your body.
A strained whine exits your lips, straining to get air as you pant and clench your eyes shut. Ghost wasn’t doing much better—gritting his teeth and tilting his head back.
Feet stumble before righting themselves, lids opening as lashes flutter over bloodless cheeks to stare down at you.
The word seems to stop.
“...Tell me you’re alright.” You heard that for what it was—Tell me to keep going, because if you don’t then I won’t be able to.
Blinking up at him, your nose slots under his chin as you feel him shake with exertion, lips pressing deep into his raging pulse. You swallow down saliva as his grip on you tightens, pressing you closer; giving you his body heat.
“I’m okay, Simon. Not…not lost yet.”
“Good.” He lets his eyes close for a moment, taking you in as he lets his nose be coated in your scent, the flesh under his fingertips. Ghost knows some of your wounds reopen, and, thus, his bare feet start off into the woods. His men would still be at the Evac point waiting for them. Price would have given the order. “...I’ll be needing you ‘round. Might lose my head otherwise, eh?”
“You do seem to have a few loose screws when I’m not near.”
“That was an exaggeration,” Simon grumbles.
You scoff, trying not to puke at his limping steps. The word swirls, but the man carrying you stays ever clear. “No,” you whisper, “No, it wasn’t.”
Scared lips pull up, but the birds respond for him.
Less than ten percent out from the Evac point is when you drop a tidbit of a thought to the man.
“Y’know what I want, Ghost?” The large Brit side-steps a downed tree, sweat dripping down his chin to splatter to your skin.
“What is it?” He pants, sparing you a glance as his eyebrows are constantly furrowed in concentration. Your talking made it easier to push on.
“A fucking cake. A big one.” Blue eyes blink and his feet nearly stumble to a stop before he forces on. A gasp of a chuckle makes your heart skip a beat as voices start up from the next tree line.
“Keep talking to me, Love, and I’ll buy you the whole bloody bakery.” Soldiers burst from the bushes, and Ghost calls out identification as everyone gapes. Guns immediately lower.
Medics rush forward, but still on high alert, the Lieutenant snaps at them, bringing you closer into his hold as he pushes onward.
“Where’s the fucking heli?!” Everyone stops and points. Huffing, Ghost shoves forward.
“The whole bakery?” You slur, giggling and feeling the kiss on your head.
“Every bastard pastry’ll be yours. Count on it.”
—
“Simon, you promised.” Your wheel-chair bound form pouts as the man in question deadpans from behind you, leaning on the handles. His balaclava can only hide so much.
The air is sweet with the scent of desserts and bread.
“Birdie, you can’t eat all ‘O that, you’ll explode like you took a .308 round to the head.” The woman behind the counter pales, pulling at the collar of her shirt with her smile becoming strained.
“Is that a challenge?” You glance over your shoulder, smirking wide.
“No,” Simon blanky states, the skin over his nose bridge and under-eye completely black and blue.
“I think that was a challenge.”
“It wasn’t.”
The customers grind their palms into their eye sockets, some tuning around in line and leaving entirely.
“Simon,” you intertwine your hands and lean to show him, eyes wide and pleading. “Please.” Drawing out the word, you smile with everything you can.
The both of you connect in a battle of wills—you with that infectious innocent and sly nature, and Simon with a tight glare and tired eyes. A blatant will to please you in every aspect and a need to see you happy at all times. This goes on for a full minute before a loud sigh echoes off the walls, shoulders deflating. A hidden kiss is pressed firmly to your head.
You giggle loudly at the authoritative order.
“One of everything.”
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just working | matt murdock x f!reader
summary: you’re trying to focus on work, but matt murdock has something else in mind.
tags: softdom!matt, office sex, oral (f!receiving), piv, established relationship, (not-so) secret relationship, idiots in love.
word count: 1.9k
a/n: i wasn’t expecting to share a fic so soon after putting out the poll, but someone replied something lovely on one of my fics, and it really made my day and motivated me to put to paper a little fantasy i’ve had for a while. 😭
“matt, we really shouldn’t be doing this here,” you whisper, giggling as you hide your face in his chest. you can feel his heart pounding as fast as yours, the thrill of the secret adding to the excitement.
“you started it,” he teases, his voice low and warm, the vibrations tickling your ear. you’re in his office, papers and files strewn across his desk with a half-spilled coffee on the floor, a testament to the workday that’s supposed to be happening. but right now, all that fades away. it’s just you and matt, alone in a bubble of your own making.
you look up at him. there’s a glimmer of mischief on his face, a challenge. “did not,” you retort playfully, trying to stifle another round of laughter. matt’s hand rests on your back, his touch light but firm, anchoring you to the moment.
“anyway,” you say, still fanning the half-dry coffee stain on your skirt. “seriously, matt, we need to focus.”
"i am focused,” he insists, the corner of his lip upturned in mischief. “focused on you.” he reaches out, pretending to adjust a nonexistent wrinkle on your shirt. the light touch sends a shiver through you, and you swat his hand away playfully.
"stop it,” you whisper, but with no real severity in your tone. matt just grins, undeterred.
"you know, you’re adorable when you’re trying to be serious,” he teases, leaning back in his chair and with an air of nonchalance.
"i’m always serious,” you retort.
he reaches for and grabs your arm, pulling you into his lap. he noses at your neck, the stubble of his chin teasing over your pulse point. his mouth opens to respond, but the sound of footsteps in the hallway jolts you both into stillness. matt’s head beams up, listening, and in a second his quick reflexes have you both stepping apart, looking every bit the consummate professionals as the door opens.
“got some fresh leads on the dawson case…” foggy announces, stepping in. “ahem, am i interrupting something?” he asks, his gaze flickering between the two of you.
"no,” you and matt both reply, a little too quickly. foggy raises an eyebrow.
“right,” he says, drawing out the words with a hint of skepticism. “well, i just came to drop off these files.” he places a stack of papers on matt’s desk, his eyes lingering on the two of you a moment longer before coming to rest on the coffee cup on the ground.
"thanks, fog,” matt says, his tone casual, but you can sense a slight tension in his posture.
foggy sighs, shaking his head slightly. “you two are about as subtle as a brick through a window, you know that?” he says.
matt turns away to hide a smile, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“foggy, we’re just working,” you reply, trying to sound convincing.
"sure, sure,” foggy says. “just remember, we’ve got a lot riding on this case. so don’t, uh—work—too much,” he says, with that, he turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.
as soon as the door clicks shut, you look at matt incredulously. “matt!” before you can chide him, he gets a goofy look on his face.
“so, i uh, might have finished prepping this case last night.”
"you... wait, what?” you exclaim. the thought of him letting you ramble on while knowing the work was already done makes you shake your head. “and you let me go on about it all day?”
“guilty,” he admits. he stands up, reaching out his hand to you. “but i thought it might be nice to have an excuse to spend the day with you.” there’s something so pure and honest about his tone that it makes your heart flutter.
you shake your head but are unable to hide your smile. he holds a hand outstretched, nodding toward the exit.
you take matt’s hand, but right before you reach the door, he veers off course, pulling you into a small, rarely-used bathroom. he locks the door with a soft click, and his lips are on yours in an instant.
he picks you up with a soft grunt, sitting you on the bathroom island, hiking your skirt up until it bunches at your waist. he drops to face-level with your cunt and pulls your waist to the edge, nosing hungrily at your underwear.
“matt, are you su—” you begin, but then you stop. the small space amplifies your sound, each tiny breath and touch echoing off the walls. you instinctively cover your mouth.
as if a switch suddenly flipped in him, a low chuckle comes from between your legs, and it's him doing the chiding this time. “that’s right. wouldn’t want to get caught again, would we?”
a rough finger pulls your underwear to the side and he playfully nips at your unsuspecting folds, then molds his lips around your clit and sucks. you whine into your own palm, your legs closing on instinct, but he holds them open, impossibly strong.
“mmphf— just a quick one before we get home,” he groans, arms snaking under your open legs to wrap around them like a vice. “c’mon, sweetheart, give me more,” he grunts against you, tapping your thigh twice with his hand. you’re not sure what he’s asking at first, but then he pinches your thigh, and you yelp. you grind into his face and he groans. you catch on, working up an erratic rhythm against his stubbled chin. it doesn’t take much for you to cum like this, his tongue suctioning torturously around your sensitive clit and darting into curl against your walls, eager for a taste.
it’s unrelenting. just like the rest of him.
after you come down from your climax, he helps you stand, holding out an arm for balance as you shakily step to your feet and let your underwear and skirt drop to the floor. he then drops his hand to his own aching erection, unbuckling his belt and stepping out of his slacks and boxers. you undo his dress shirt and pull it over his shoulder and down his arm, where they catch on the muscle of his biceps.
cock freed, he shucks off his shirt, and helps you pull yours over your head, bra in tow. he pulls you near enough so that, for a moment, you’re chest-to-chest and you feel his cock pulses against your lower stomach. you’re about to lower yourself down, take him into your mouth, when he puts a hand on your waist, stilling you.
“spit on it,” he murmurs, voice impossibly low. his whole demeanor seems to have shifted in just moments, confined in a space that’s so filled with your intoxicating scent.
you comply, and watch your own spit dribble down onto his erect cock. he holds a hand under it, catching any spare saliva so he can work it over his cock.
“jesus,” he curses softly, and his other hand comes up cup your chin and thumb at your lips. for a moment, he just takes his cock and runs it across the supple skin of your stomach, the curves of your waist, then against the fat of your thighs, slapping it a few times, spreading the slick around. “you have no idea, do you? the things you do to me.”
you whine softly against the thumb at your lip. “matt, please.” you’re not sure what you’re begging for, but, as always, he knows exactly what you want.
“turn around,” he orders, and you waste no time. he nestles between your parted legs, spreading them further with his own and bending you over the counter, the head of his cock already pushing past your entrance. you gasp, pushing back but meeting resistance with his size.
“‘s alright. ha—’ he breathes. “we’re going to take care of you, kay,” he murmurs, hand guiding himself in slowly, the low timber of his voice sending shivers down your spine. he works an arm under you, and slowly bottoms out into you.
you hiss at the stretch, but before long, you’re bouncing in his lap, the sound of skin slapping on skin filling the space. he’s bigger than you, and every thrust punches another guttural sound out of you. you gasp and writhe, trying to catch your breath and adjust to the stretch and pace. you grab the counter, the sink, the mirror.
he murmurs something, but you don’t quite hear it at first.
“—push back,” he repeats, a little louder. you do, but the next thrust fills you so deep, you almost yelp out loud.
“quit running from it,” he chuckles, but his size and pace are so overpowering, your arm instinctually moves back to slow his thrusts. he grabs it instantly and folds it back over your chest.
“push—back—” he grits, pulling your hips into his thrusts. when he’s satisfied, he groans into your ear, barely muffling the sound in your hair. and then rough fingers are rubbing over your clit, circling them.
“i know, baby, i know.” he croons softly against your ear as you bite down on your forearm to keep from moaning. “you—fuck—be brave for me.”
“that’s right. you’re gonna get it nice and creamy for me.” he keeps an unrelenting pace.
“or else—“ he chuckles, patting your cunt a few times.
“i’m gonna slap this pussy raw.”
you barely mask the sob into your arm. “matt— please.”
“you can do it, you can do it,” he breathes, voice breaking and growing equally as desperate. “‘m gonna follow you, sweetie.”
you push back into him, holding your temple flush against his.
“love you so m—,” you croak. “—much.”
“oh, i love you so much too— you’re mine, you know?” he breathes, and then he says your name, the final trigger.
you grab the counter in front of you, seizing up and crying his name inaudibly as you come harder than you’ve ever come. his arms hold you, your steady anchor at sea as you forget all your surroundings.
it’s just the feeling of him coursing, thunderous and electric, through your veins.
he joins you moments after, groaning into the meat of your shoulder.
you don’t know if seconds or minutes pass. in this moment, it’s just the two of you.
~
you both step out of the bathroom, adjusting your attire. the office around you is silent, the usual hustle of the day having ebbed away with the setting sun. matt pauses, his heightened senses scanning the environment.
“coast is clear. foggy and karen must’ve left,” he notes. "office is empty.”
"your heightened senses come in handy," you giggle.
matt’s hand reaches for yours, fingers entwining. "they have their perks," he admits.
matt pulls you close for a moment, kissing your forehead. surveying the aftermath of your impromptu interlude—the spilled coffee, the disheveled papers—he comments, “we made quite the scene here."
you glance at the mess, a playful glint in your eye. “just working, though,” you say.
“right, ‘just working’,” he repeats with a smirk.
hand in hand, you leave the office, stepping into the cool night. the city around you is alive with lights, but in this moment, they seem to pale in comparison to the excitement still buzzing through you.
#matt murdock x reader#matt murdock smut#matt murdock fic#matt murdock fanfic#matt murdock x you#x reader#matt murdock#matt murdock x fem!reader#matt murdock imagine#matt murdock fanfiction#marvel#marvel fanfic#marvel fanfiction#matt murdock fluff#bun’s#bunny brain
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ZB1 + Jealous Sex
ZB1 after one of you is jealous!
note: legal members only (not including gunwook or yujin!) & as always, minors dni!
JIWOONG's eyebrows just furrow because, really? Did you seriously think any of these run-of-the-mill men at this party could make him feel insecure? They don't but they do manage to piss him off. Why were you so close to them? You were just being friendly? You're a liar.
You babble incoherently as he held the vibrator to your abused cunt, having climaxed more times than you could count before having it ripped away by his hands. All he did was crudely laughs at your expense. "What's wrong baby? Earlier you had no problems acting like a slut. I'm just treating you like one."
You knew ZHANG HAO was cute, everyone knew it. Doesn't mean you appreciate everyone flirting with him though.. And his seemingly oblivious act to it all has you seeing red. God, you had to teach him a lesson.
"Babe, s-slow down." He lets out, cock already spent, your eagerness to get him to cum again has him tearing up. His face red as he bites his bottom lip, letting out low whimpers. You continue bouncing on him though, fingers digging into his shoulders as you use them as an anchor. You scoff, trying not to let any moans slip out. "Think any of those girls out there could have you like this baby?"
HANBIN knows that it's not your fault, but it doesn't stop him from getting a little jealous! His friends had crashed your beach date, catching your body in its full glory in the cute bikini you donned. He swears one of them even popped a boner from it!
"You're mine," He growled, your leg thrown over his shoulder. He hadn't even managed to slip your bikini off, only pushing it to the side enough to enter his fat tip into you. Could you blame him? You just looked so good in it! "Only I get to touch you like this, right?"
MATTHEW had been begging you to join him at the gym for months and you finally gave in. Things were fine until you managed to catch a group of girls giggling at your boyfriend in a compression shirt. Leading to an argument that he found himself determined to make up for.
His tongue licked the stripe up your clit, placing light kisses on your thighs to tease you afterwards, before tongue fucking you. "Don't act silly my love, you know you're the only one I want. Those girl's can look all they want, but you're the one that get's me this way."
TAERAE felt the familiar green monster rear its ugly head into his life the minute he spotted you being asked out at the coffee shop he was here to meet you at. You immediately declined the other, but he still couldn't help but feel a little insecure. It was up to you to show him he had no reason to worry.
"Hmm," You mumble, jerking him off as you prepare to deepthroat. He whines, holding your hair into a makeshift ponytail as you press kisses to the flushed tip. "Prettiest cock in the world attached to my pretty boy. No where else I'd rather be then here taking your load down my throat." He can't even manage to stutter a response before you're gagging on his shaft.
You can't blame anyone who hits on RICKY, people flock to him like bee's to honey. But two can play at that game, and you played it quite well, but Ricky doesn't like sharing.
"Gonna fill you with so much cum that it leaks out," He has you folded into a mating press, your walls sucking him in as you jolt from how rough he was fucking you. He was determined to drill into you until your pussy was molded for only him. "Lets see you talk to the guys with it dripping down your legs."
He doesn't get jealous, or at least that's what GYUVIN tells himself. He likes that you get along with his friends! No he doesn't mind one of his friends offering you a jacket. Or saving you a seat by them! It's all perfectly fine.
"Please, please don't leave me. I'd cry every day and- haah - I promise, none of them can treat you like I can." He begs, too busy caught up in his own ministrations that he can't even notice you're fucked too dumb to properly respond. Your back arched as his balls hit your ass with every stroke as you try to keep yourself propped up. "I'm promise I'm good enough, I'll be the best boyfriend- shit - you could ever ask for."
#zb1 smut#zb1#zb1 imagines#zerobaseone#zerobaseone imagines#zerobaseone x reader#zerobaseone smut#zb1 x reader#zb1 x yn#ricky smut#taerae smut#matthew smut#jiwoong smut#hanbin smut#gyuvin smut#zhang hao smut
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So I may have a thing for Scar and I got so annoyingly horny for him that I'm going to make y'all suffer with me. I just... I need this man collar and leashed and grinding against me until my bones turn to dust. I hope you enjoy. Please indulge my wuwa brain rot as I slowly make my way through the game <3
cw. smut, intercrural (thigh fucking), dirty talk, pussy slapping ((like, two taps)), female reader, implied chubby reader
“Say, when I put my cock in, how far do you think I can make it in that pretty, little pussy?”
You could feel the heat of Scar's breath licking at the shell of your ear as he stood behind you, arms secured around your waist as he held you tight. Your breathing wavered, a pleasant tingle rippling down your back and causing your toes to curl as every hair on the nape of your neck stood up in anticipation. You shuddered in his grasp, a small whine crawling out of your parched throat as his hips bumped into your plush rump. You could feel heat curling in the pit of your stomach, your blood simmering hotly in your veins as Scar sandwiched his boiling cock between your plump thighs. All you could do was squirm; so pleasantly helpless against him as you cast your lidded gaze downward, fire burning your cheeks and turning the tips of your ears hot as he languidly wedged his fat cock between your legs. Your spine tingled with violent rattles as he blew air against your ear, teeth playfully gnawing on the lobe as a warm chuckle breezed past his lips. His question was left unanswered, but he was far from done with playing with his new, favourite toy.
Your pulse fluttered in your ears, heart beating wildly as a hum rumbled in his chest, the vibrations dancing along the ridges of your spine as the hot coil knotted in your belly. He continued to drag his cock through your creamy folds, a devious smirk lighting his features as he hooked his chin on your shoulder and watched what was happening between your thighs with rapt attention. You swallowed thickly, tasting desire lingering in the back of your throat as the tip of his drooling cock teased the pretty pearl of your clit, dragging another pleased moan from your bruised lips. Your hands blindly grasped at him behind you, fingers tangling in his clothes and trying to anchor to his hips as you held on for dear life. Your knees were starting to wobble and you didn't know how much longer you could stand before they gave out.
Every nerve in your body was set on edge as Scar raised his hand, sharp claws glinting under the dim light as he brought his hand to your chest. He flicked a single, rosy tip as you whimpered, your nipples pebbling in the cold despite the heat of a raging inferno searing your skin. Your hips ache as you weakly rolled and you were convinced your bones were going to turn to dust from the sparking friction created between your bodies moving in tandem. Your dazed mind snapped back to attention as Scar squeezed your chest, your tit eagerly jumping into the warm touch of his hand as he cupped it with his palm. Jolts of electricity raced down your back as Scar placed a delicate kiss to your skin, your pulse jumping under the press of his mouth as his hand suddenly started to travel lower. His fingers danced along your torso, nails lightly raking over your skin as his fingers walked down to your stomach. His nails intimately pressed into your skin as he dragged them over the sumptuous v-line of your body, a sound akin to a purr bubbling up his throat as he stared down at you with a lust filled haze. You had difficultly seeing his face, even as you tried to tilt your head and catch a glimpse of the expression he was holding. Perhaps it was a good thing you didn't see the crazed look in his eye, nor the love sick grin that split his lips.
“Do you think I could reach here?” Scar asked, continuing with his earlier question.
His fingers pressed against the soft pudge of your belly, drawing a line across your pubic bone. Your soused walls clenched around nothing as he whispered your name with a husky purr, a hint of desperation seeping into the tone as his sharp nails continued to draw patterns into your skin. Wisps of his hair tickled your cheek as he leaned over you, his body curling as he rested more of his weight on you and his hips dug into the round globes of your ass cheeks with a resounding smack. You whimpered, a constellation of tears clinging to your lashes as your core throbbed, your arousal dripping down your quaking things and staining the length of his cock with the translucent strings. Another thoughtful noise stirred in Scar's throat as he gnawed on the skin of your shoulder, dragging his nails further up your body until he could feel you quivering against him.
“Or do you think I could reach here?” he asked with a playful lilt.
His fingers circled around your navel before he rest his hand on your stomach, squeezing the soft flesh until your skin spilled over the splayed digits of his long fingers. The tips of your fingers felt numb as he continued to drag his cock along the drooling seam of your cunt and you struggled to peel your tongue off the roof of your mouth long enough to offer him an answer. Not that Scar seemed to mind. He was having too much fun watching you slowly crumble as he intimately picked you apart at the seams, one fraying thread at a time.
“Would you like that?” Scar mused. “Would like it if I gave your womb a little present?”
You moaned loudly in response, thrashing in his hold as you tried to twist around in his tight grip. All you could manage was a weak nod of your head, your core throbbing desperately as his sultry words spun around and around in your head like a broken record. The mere thought alone was going to be your undoing.
“Scar” you gasped loudly, voice scratching your throat and leaving behind a horrible itch. “Gonna…”
Your voice got stuck in your throat once more as Scar hummed a playful tune, signalling you had his attention. But you couldn't force the rest of your words out. You moaned sharply as his cock pressed against the slick, aching nub of your clit once more, kissing the tender nerve in just the right way that had you coming undone in an instant. You trembled violently as stars swirled in your vision, the coil in your stomach shattering as your veins were flooded with white hot relief. You tried your best to hump his cock stuffed between your thick thighs, grinding your swollen clit against his achingly hard flesh as your slick juices gushed from your core like a sweet nectar. Scar cooed in delight at the sight, eagerly reaching his hand between your sticky thighs as the sharp thrust of his hips came to a halt.
“Look at you~” he cooed.
His fingers spread apart the puffy folds of your soaked lips, pearls of your orgasm sticking to the tips of his fingers like the fine silk of a spider's web as your plush walls fluttered and pulsed. You restlessly rubbed your thighs together, pulling a soft groan from Scar’s lips as you squeezed his cock. He clicked his tongue behind his teeth as he dipped his fingers into your sticky folds, your arousal dripping from you like honey. He squished his cheek against yours fondly, teeth and tongue nipping and laving at the side of your jaw.
“Is my pretty baby hungry for me?” he cooed, his tone bordering on the edge of mocking but not quite dipping its toes in.
The smouldering embers in your belly were slowly stoked back into a fierce flame as Scar flicked his finger against the nub of your clit. The tightly packed bundle of nerves came roaring back to life as he slapped his hand over your drenched cunt, shocking your overstimulated nerves into overdrive. You shrieked and the sound was like a chime from a shimmering bell. He chuckled darkly, his cock throbbing harshly as he brought the palm of his hand down on your pussy once more, enjoying the little jolts of your muscles as you mewled for more of his touch. He buried his nose in your soft hair as his lips kissed your temple, hands squeezing your soft stomach with a fierce possessiveness that no one could rival.
“Our little game is far from over, sunshine~”
#my writing#wuthering waves#wuwa#wuthering waves x reader#wuwa x reader#wuthering waves scar#wuwa scar#wuthering waves scar x reader#scar x reader#wuthwring waves smut#wuwa smut#x reader#fem!reader#i warned yall i write like im being set on fire
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tr(eat) her right
trafalgar law x f!reader
warning: smut (18+)
word count~ 700
You rub on your eyes upon walking into the bathroom in the morning, only to stop in your tracks when you see Law standing in there already.
The blur in your vision resolves, your vision sharpening. Law is at the sink, trimming his goatee. He’s shirtless with a towel wrapped around his waist. Your breath hitches in your throat as you watch him precisely groom his facial hair.
Now, to anyone else, he’s not doing anything special. But to you, you know exactly what’s going to happen.
A while back, he was eating you out, tongue lapping up and down your folds, and his facial hair was a bit scruffier than usual. You later told him how it didn't quite feel comfortable. He made sure it wasn't ever going to happen again.
So now, seeing him trim his hair, you know that he's about to have his face buried in between your legs. All. Night. Long.
The simple thought of it made your head spin. That will never change. You start to imagine what would it be like tonight.
Sitting on his face had its benefits. You couldn't deny that it felt great, but you're still hesitant about it. Law has told you that he wants you to smother him and if he geniunely couldn't breathe, then he'd tell you. Still, you were constantly hoisting yourself up. Until he would pull you back to his mouth and anchor you down with his hands. His mouth felt so good, you didn't even want to pull up. And as if you weren't already on edge, Law would start to moan from how good you tasted. The vibrations would be sent to your clit, making it even harder for you to stay down. His favorite thing about you riding his face would be looking up at you every so often, gripping the headboard with everything you had until you completely collapsed. Causing your orgasm to flow right into his mouth.
Him eating you out while lying on your back was another thing. Whether he was on the floor or on the bed with you, he had to get on his knees and crouch down as low to your pussy as he could. Even though his focus was to pleasure you, he couldn't stop his own cock from swelling. Hearing your breathy moans only made him harder. You knew he needed to be taken care of too, and you whined about wanting to help him out. But he would always ignore you. Him pleausring you was also pleasuring him. All you needed to do was to lie back and let him do the work. However, there were times when he had to do something. One hand would be on you, the other would reach down and he'd start to jerk off. You look at him and got to watch his movements. Slightly lifting your hips up caused him to dig into you even more. His hand pumping his cock would go from fast to slow and sensual.
He's edging. That freak hoe.
You loved being on your back because you got to see how enjoyable this was for him. Also, his dark locks and hand tattoos made you weak in the knees. You'd sometimes grab ahold to his hair, tugging at the strands from how good you were feeling and to keep him in that position. As if he was going anywhere.
But it didn't stop there. He takes his hand from his cock and uses his two fingers tatted 'A' and 'T' to push into your soaking wet folds. It's like it released the pressure that had been building up in the pit of your stomach, making you cum quicker and harder, clenching his fingers. The taste of your freshly fucked, oversensitive pussy was like a reward, along with the sight of you pulsating in front of him.
Law could eat you out for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And honestly, it didn't matter what position y'all were in. As long as he got to pleasure you.
You're brought back to reality, seeing him stand in front of the sink. He catches your eye from the mirror and gives you a smirk.
#one piece#trafalgar law x reader#trafalgar d law x reader#one piece fanfiction#one piece law#one piece x reader#law x reader#one piece smut
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okay but what was the thot 👀
if you're referring to this then...here (if not WHOOPS LMFAO)
wake up call
pairing: miguel o'hara x reader
cw: smut, cockwarming, somnophilia, sleep fucking??, mild choking
masterlist
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imagine falling asleep with miguel curled up behind you, protecting you from the outside world while you keep his cock warm. his arm is wrapped around your body with his hand gently encircling your throat, not to choke you but to constantly remind you of his presence.
miguel is a fitful sleeper and he has a lot of vivid dreams. he murmurs in his sleep and tends to seek out your touch if you ever stray to far from his embrace. tonight, there's no secret of what he was dreaming about as you woke up to him rutting into you, cock filling you to the brim as he holds you against him.
with how wet and sensitive you are, he must have been teasing you for a while. working himself into with languid strokes until your body is woken up in heat, trembling uncontrollably from being at the brink of your climax. miguel seems to be in the same boat with how he pulses eagerly inside of you.
your thighs are pressed against each other as he fucks you from behind, a sinfully tight squeeze to grip around him. you carefully arch your back for him, wanting to feel his cock drive deeper inside. a low whisper of your name is sighed against the back of your head as the speed of his thrusts increase.
you have to bite back a moan when he drags so perfectly against that sensitive spot inside of you. the sheets are a mess under you as you drip all over him. a heavy groan vibrates from his chest when he feels you starting to flutter around him, unconsciously pushing you closer to the edge.
you can tell he starts to wake up when his grip around your throat tightens, the touch acting as an anchor for him to navigate through the lustful haze. he woke up from the abstract syrupy pleasure of his dream-state to meet an overwhelming need to fill your hot body up with his cum, to reach every part of you to make you his.
"mm...fuck--" his words are grunted in a low tone, his voice gravelly from sleep. "baby...you're soaking me." he lazily blinks his eyes open, red eyes adjusting to the lack of light in the room.
"mig, please--" you can't even finish your sentence as he begins to drive into you at a punishing pace, knowing exactly what you need.
"anything, mi vida, i'll give you anything--everything..." he rambles breathlessly behind you, "you're so good to me, warming my cock and letting me fuck you while sleeping."
you whimper in response, barely able to decipher what he's saying as you lose yourself to pleasure.
"i know, baby," he coos, "you're too cock drunk to do anything on your own." he gently shushes your pathetic whines and moans as he works you to the edge, cock incessantly brushing against that spot that makes you see stars. "it's okay, cariño, go ahead, cum for me."
your legs shake as you clench around him uncontrollably, overwhelming bouts of heat moving throughout your body. his hold on you never wavers as your cunt flutters around him, milking him for his own orgasm.
"good girl."
#anon#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara smut#some THOT for you m'lady (gn)#cw: somno#cw: somnophilia#miguel o’hara#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel o’hara smut
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Talk
As a famous singer, you find yourself at the same terrible party as Hozier, but you two decide to do something about it.
Pairing: fem reader x Hozier
Warnings: smut, dirty talk, p in v (protected) sex, fingering, 18+ MINORS DNI
Word Count: 3.2k
A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH to everyone who waited for this one...I'm so sorry it took so long. Please enjoy, and remember, my inbox is open for requests!
This party sucked.
Somehow, at one of the biggest album release parties of the year, you found yourself bored out of your mind, sipping on a weak gin and tonic. Leaning against a corner wall, the bass of the music from the DJ vibrated through you as you watched other people dance – your bandmates were somewhere amongst them, but for whatever reason, you just weren’t feeling it. Maybe you were just in a mood, maybe it was the music (one good song for every ten awful ones), but you sipped your drink, checking your phone every so often until it became a polite time to excuse yourself. You could already taste the revelry of getting back to your house before midnight – pajamas, Thai takeout, and scrolling aimlessly on your phone while Grey’s Anatomy reruns played in the background.
Suddenly, you saw a head bobbing around the others in the crowd – standing what seemed like almost a full foot above everyone else, his thick, curly hair pulled back in a half bun, he smiled and tilted his head to the music distractedly. Your breath hitched for a moment as you saw him – you had seen Hozier at countless red carpets and events in the past year it seemed, but he was also more handsome than the last time. He turned his head and your eyes locked, making you blush, and making him smile. He gently pressed a hand on someone’s back to alert that he was making his way behind him.
As if the giant could ever go unnoticed.
“Hi,” He said as he landed next to you, sipping from his drink. Something brown and in a rocks glass, one giant ice cube anchoring the liquid.
Of course.
“I feel like I needed to come over and speak to you – we seem to orbit each other at basically every red carpet this year.” He spoke, seemingly reading my mind. You smiled.
“That’s funny – I was just thinking that.”
Hozier nodded and his eyes scanned the crowd before landing back at you. It was like he was staring into your soul. Extending a hand, he smiled, “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m –”
“I know who you are,” You admitted, somewhat bashfully as you shook his hand. “I’m a big fan. I’m–”
“I know who you are,” He echoed, a smirk playing on his lips mischievously, “I’m a big fan.”
You could feel your blush deepen as his smooth words washed over you. His accent was enough for you to want to drop your panties, and his smile was already sending your head upside down.
“Your ‘Best New Artist’ win was well deserved,” He continued. “Your album was one of my favorites this year. Selfishly, I hope you guys are working on another one.”
“Wow, thank you,” You breathed, your heart thumping in your chest, “That means a lot coming from one of like, the best lyricists of our generation.”
“Ah,” Hozier waved his hand, bashful, “Come now.”
You cocked an eyebrow and smiled, “You’re going to write something like ‘I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus when her body was found, I'd be the choiceless hope in grief, that drove him underground’ and not expect to be considered that?”
He simply shrugged and sipped his drink. He was blushing, embarrassed.
“This album was also very good,” He changed the subject, speaking of the current album release party. He cleared his throat, “Even though this party sucks.”
You laughed and gently grabbed his forearm in agreement, “Yes! What is that about?!”
“I think it’s the DJ,” He admitted, leaning into you, “The guys releasing this album are buddies of mine, but I’m starting to think if I need to end our friendship based on the DJ they picked for this party.”
“The music he’s playing is making me feel old,” You admitted, “I don’t know any of the songs, and I don’t seem to really like it, either. Is this what our parents feel like when we were listening to Good Charlotte and Britney Spears?”
“Not mine. My mom loves Good Charlotte.” His eyes twinkled.
You laughed. Your eyes fell on your bandmates dancing to the music, obviously drunk off of the expensive beer being served at the open bar. You were acutely aware of Hozier standing next to you, his heat seemingly radiating.
“Is it an inappropriate time to tell you that I think you look beautiful tonight?” He asked, his breath warm on your ear as he leaned down to whisper it. Shivers were sent down your back as he spoke. You turned your head and looked at him, trying to play it cool with the smile that played on your lips.
“Probably not, considering how I’ve been thinking about how handsome you look since I saw you from across the room tonight.” You retorted, titling your head. He smiled and nodded, his eyes scanning the crowd.
“I’m reminded of your beauty every time I see you at events,” Hozier said, his hand finding the small of your back, “And, admittedly, every time I scroll your Instagram feed.”
You laughed, “Hozier is my internet stalker, eh?”
“Can you blame me? That number you had on at the Grammy’s this year?” He made a face, whistling, “It took every ounce of strength not to follow your account as soon as you were done presenting on stage.”
“Do you want to get out of here?” You asked, almost interrupting him. He seemed taken aback, so you tried to backtrack, “I mean…in a bit. We could go somewhere where…the DJ doesn’t suck? After we finish our drinks.”
Hozier quickly chucked back the rest of his drink, putting the glass on the nearest table. “Let’s go.” He took your hand as you chugged the rest of yours as well, finding the spot next to his glass for yours.
He guided you through the party, his hand never leaving the small of your back. You felt heat rushing through you as you made your way to front door, and Hozier handed the valet his ticket. He turned to you.
“Did you drive here?”
You shook your head. “Car service.”
“Great. We can take my car then.”
As the valet pulled up in a sleek Audi, Hozier thanked him and handed him a large bill as a tip. He waited until you were situated in your seat before he slid into the driver’s side, closing his door and pulling into traffic. Some sort of blues-y jazz was coming through the speakers softly.
“So where are you kidnapping me to, Mr. Internet Stalker?” You teased, looking out the window at the lights of downtown L.A.
He smiled, “My hotel,” His voice was a low purr. You exchanged a glance as he leaned his head forward, in explanation, “The bar there is really nice. Live jazz band tonight. It’s mellow.”
You nodded and smiled. As your heart raced, you were trying to calm yourself down, fiddling with the clasp on the purse in your lap. Hozier’s arm was resting on the console in between you, and every so often, his hand inched closer to you. By the time he pulled into the swanky hotel parking lot, his large hand was resting gently on your thigh.
Your stomach was in excited knots.
After another valet exchange, Hozier took your hand and led you inside the hotel. It was grand and beautiful – a $500/night type place. To the right of the entrance was a beautiful restaurant, speakeasy in style. As promised, a four-piece band was set up in the corner of the bar, playing soft tunes and creating the atmosphere of an underground jazz club.
“Told you,” Hozier said, raising his eyebrows playfully, “And the drinks are great as well. Had one before the release party.”
“It’s really nice.” You awkwardly agreed. Hozier stopped for a moment, his face unreadable. He stood before you.
“I also have a minibar upstairs in my room, if you want something to drink.”
“Oh, that sounds much better.” The coil in your belly was itching to be sated, and you didn’t know how much you could play this cat-and-mouse game of will they/won’t they. For a moment, a darkness of lust flickered in his eyes, but he simply smiled and took your hand, leading you to the elevator. He scanned his room card and pressed the button to the top floor.
The air in the elevator was thick, heavy. You both stood facing the door, saying nothing. As the doors open and he led you to his suite, your heartbeat doubled in time. Flicking the lights on, he shut the door behind you, placing the lock in it’s place.
It took all of 30 seconds before your bodies crashed together, teeth clacking and moans erupting.
Hozier grabbed you and pushed your floor length dress up so they he was able to wrap your legs around his waist as he carried you to the bed. Your arms snaked around his neck, fingers finding their way into his hair. You pulled back slightly, your breath ragged already.
“So what the fuck do I call you?” You asked, breathlessly.
Confused, he looked at you, “What?”
“I need to know what I’m saying when I scream your name later…is it Hozier, or is it Andrew?”
He barked out a laugh and bit your lip, “Andrew. Andrew is fine.” He pressed his lips on yours again, dropping on top of you as he guided you to the bed. His large hands ran their way up and down your waist, palming at the skin on your body. He was moaning, grunting into the kiss, as your tongues danced together. You felt his hands leave your waist and slip your heels off, your toes already curling.
Andrew pulled away and slipped off the tweed suit jacket he was wearing. He looked down at you as he shook his head, a smile playing on his lips.
“So fucking beautiful,” He murmured, pressing hot kisses down your neck. “So fucking sexy. Every time I see you.”
You moaned and pressed your hips to him slightly, causing him to gasp lightly in surprise. He kissed down your neck, to your collarbone, gently slipping the thin straps of your dress off of your shoulders. Licking a stripe from your neck to just above your breasts, he smiled, looking at you.
“Fuck,” You breathed, looking down at him. You watched as he stood, slipping off his shoes and socks next to the bed. He unbuttoned his dress shirt and slipped that off, revealing his thin, hairy chest. He was lean, built lithly but strong. Biting your lip, you stifled a moan. He was on you once again, pulling you into a kiss, his hand cradling the back of your neck. His other hand made quick work of the zipper on the back of your dress, and he shimmed it down, before sliding it off of you completely.
Revealing the intricate…shapewear…you wore underneath.
For a moment, both of you stopped breathing, looking down at the ugly, functional corset that covered your body. Embarrassed, you pressed your lips together before looking back at Andrew. Suddenly, both of you were in hysterics.
“I really wish I was wearing some sexy lingerie right about now.” You said, throwing your head back and cackling. Andrew laughed and peppered kisses on your cheeks, shaking his head as he undid the shapewear and took that off as well.
“That was brilliant,” He said, wiping a tear away from laughing, “What a fuckin’ reveal.” As he took it off, you were completely nude, your skin softly pressed against his fingers. He groaned as he took you in, “That’s much better.” His voice was back to husky, low.
He kissed you once more before his fingers found their way to your clit, spreading your legs gently. He didn’t take his eyes off of you as his fingers felt your wetness. Quickly, he inserted two fingers, pushing his long digits all the way in. You moaned and furrowed your brow as he didn’t move for a moment, letting you adjust.
“You’re so wet for me already, darlin’.” He purred, his forehead on yours. You whimpered and nodded. He started to pump inside of you, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. Immediately you started to squirm, which made me smile.
“Jesus Christ, Andrew.” You said, your eyes flickering to his fingers moving in and out of you. Heat rose in you as you watched him, the pleasure evident on his face as he licked his lips. When your eyes found his again, you found him looking at you, and not his handiwork.
“I love seeing you like this,” He said plainly, “You’re so beautiful when you squirm.”
He increased his speed, causing you to buck your hips. He nodded, his eyes twinkling, as he continued to pleasure you with his fingers. He leaned down to kiss you – a hot, open-mouthed kiss, with his tongue finding yours immediately. You moaned into it as he curved his fingers inside of you and took your bottom lip in his mouth, sucking gently. Pulling away, he dipped his head and moved his tongue to your hardened nipple, sucking on the bud as your body started to convulse under him.
The coil in your belly was tightening, and fast. Your hips started to buck faster, your wetness pooling out on to his fingers. You started to repeat his name like a prayer, and as you moved closer to the edge, your hand found its way into his hair again, tugging lightly.
“I’m close.” You whimpered.
“I know,” He smiled, moving his mouth to your ear, “Come for me. Be a good girl.”
You gasped slightly at his words as the coil snapped, bucking your hips one last time before your orgasm sent waves of pleasure through you. You moaned loudly, gripping the back of his head tightly as he bit down on your earlobe, never stopping his fingers inside of you.
“That’s it,” He groaned, his voice raspy, “That’s it, pretty girl. Give it all to me. Show me how pretty you are when you come for me.”
Your head swam and your heart raced, your eyes squeezed shut because you could focus. The pleasure that was spreading through you was warm, electric – it was one of the best orgasms you had ever had, and it was only with his fingers.
Jesus Fuckin’ Christ.
After a few moments, Andrew slipped his fingers out, causing you to open your eyes, your breath coming in heaving pants. He was smiling, obviously proud. Slowly, he licked his digits as he stood, moaning.
“Jesus, you taste delicious.” He said, looking at you. He undid the button and zipper on his pants, the obvious tent of his arousal very evident before he slipped them off. Down came his pants and boxer briefs, his large member springing free, wet with precum. He made his way over to a duffle bag thrown on a chair in the corner of the room and rifled through it, finally emerging with a condom in between his fingers. Opening it quickly, he slid it on himself, pumping himself a few times as he walked back to the bed, his eyes never leaving yours.
“Are you ready?” He asked, straddling himself in front of you, continue to stroke himself.
“Actually, if you’re not inside of me within the next few seconds I might lose my fucking mind.” You said, watching him. It was silly, but seeing him touch himself in front of you like that made him seem like a god. He smiled and crawled on top of you, slowly positioning himself at your entrance. As his tip teased your wet folds, you whimpered.
Finally, Andrew slid himself inside of you in a single thrust, his forehead finding yours again. Your moans filled the room, and as he started to pump inside of you, the familiar numb feeling of being filled spread throughout you.
“So good,” You said, closing your eyes and pressing your head to the pillow, “So, so good, Andrew.”
“That’s it,” He said, his breath hitching, “Wanna make you feel good. You make my cock feel so good.” He dipped his head in the crook of your neck as he started to slowly increase his pace, finding himself deeper inside of you. The sound of your wet skin slapping together filled the room, matched only by your breathy groans and his primal grunts.
“Fuck!” You shrieked, Andrew finding a particular spot that made your vision fuzzy. Andrew tilted his head up to look at you and he smiled.
“Yeah? Right there, darlin’?” He asked. You nodded, your brows knitted together. His hand found your chin, holding it roughly, “You like it when I fuck you right there?” You nodded again but he shook his head, “Lemme hear you say it, baby.” He gently commanded.
“Fuck. Yes, Andrew, right there!” You said, unable to take your eyes off of him. His eyes darkened as he continued to fuck you, his face flushing.
“My name sounds so good on your lips.” He groaned, continuing to pump in you. Sweat was beading on his forehead as he continued to hit your spot. His hand moved from your chin to your tits, and as he pinched your hardened nipples, you moaned. His thrusts became erratic, irregular.
“You’re close already, aren’t you?” You toyed with him, taking a moment to bite down on his bottom lip, “My pussy so good you’re gonna come for me?”
“Fuck,” He barked, furrowing his brows, “You’re so fucking tight…you’re so wet…I’m gonna come soon. I’m close,” His face flushed deeper as he stared into your eyes, making your heart thunder in your chest. Suddenly, he squeezed his eyes shut, his head thrown back, voice parted in a silent moan.
You felt his cock twitch inside of you, the condom filling with his orgasm. He jerked his hips, almost a spasm, as he moaned your name. His hands gripped the pillows on either side of you, his biceps flexing. You smiled as he finally opened his eyes, almost in submission as he rode out his orgasm. Your hands found their way to his back, gripping him and bringing him closer.
A few moments went by as he stayed inside of you, trying to catch up with his breathing. He placed gentle kisses on your cheek lazily, finally rolling out of you. Standing, he quickly made his way to the bathroom to toss the condom and clean himself up, but laid next to you again, scooping you up in his arms.
“You’re fucking incredible.” He murmured in your ear, his Irish accent coming out with his tired demeanor. You giggled and looked at him, brushing a sweaty lock of hair behind his ear.
“I’m really glad that party sucked so bad,” You said. He chuckled, his eyes still closed. Opening one, he looked down at you.
“Me too…” He paused for a moment, drawing you closer, “Though, even if that party was fun, I still would’ve made my way over to you.”
“Yeah?”
Andrew nodded and shifted so he was propping himself up on his elbow, “Yeah. I had been trying to muster up the courage for like…three awards shows to come over and say hi to you, now. Months worth of time.” He was somewhat bashful. You blushed.
“Well I’m glad you did.”
“Me too.” He reached out and started to brush his fingers through your hair, and you couldn’t help the fluttering in your chest.
That party sucked. But you were glad it did.
---
A/N: I'm actually kind of obsessed with their banter and relationship...should I make this multiple parts?! I was originally only planning on doing this as a oneshot but I kind love them (teehee).
As always, comments and reblogs mean a lot if you liked this one <3 Thanks for reading
#hozier fic#hozier fluff#hozier smut#hozier oneshot#hozier#the hoziest#hozier x reader#hozier x you#hozier fanfiction#hozier fan fiction
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Change of Heart
hitman!ghost x f!reader / part 5
previous part
tw: violence, blood, heavy angst, abuse, PLEASE be warned <3
When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.
Day eight came easy, as did day nine.
Simon would stick around for as long as he could, but it was enough to satiate the linger of loneliness you felt when he was absent. He’d spend time in your apartment, stealing the leftover pastries you had from day seven of your deal where he’d confessed to wanting to get to know you more than just the weakling client that had hopes of dying.
Waking up on day ten, you woke up to a text from him, saying he’d be busy until further notice, but would stop by to see you when he could.
It was nice, having him let you know rather than leaving you wondering. He knew it would provide a comfort of knowing he was still around and had all intentions of seeing you make it to the finish line.
Just the thought of him beginning to learn your comforts was enough to have your heart running marathons and your cheeks aching with a never ending smile. You hadn’t felt giddy over another being in a long time, and the butterflies in your stomach had been withering for so long that when they found life again, it was an explosion of ticklish vibration. Their wings wisped away the growing dust that had begun to build, and eased away the prickling coldness to replace it with an earthy warmth.
Like the previous days, work was spent with joyful courage and building anticipation. The change in attitude was obvious to everyone around you, and no one dared to disrupt your craft when you buried yourself in it. You worked tirelessly to create the perfect mix of pastries in hopes of taking them home one day and gifting some to Simon during one of his visits.
Things finally felt as if they were falling into place, and for the first time, you could say you were happy. Whether Simon remained a friend or carried into something more, only time would tell, but you felt satisfied with his existence either way.
Even as your body ached in every joint as you finally closed up shop and began your travel home for the night, you somehow felt light on your feet with every step. There were no heavy weights anchoring you to the pavement, no drag of your shoes along the gritty gravel, and there was certainly no anxiety spouting in your chest like a wildfire.
You felt at peace.
It was a lovely feeling to revel in after such a long time spent in isolation and imprisonment. Freeing, even, to no longer have bars and chains linking your mind to all the troubles that settled inside like a shitty tenant that refused to leave when unwanted.
Simon saw something in you that you hadn’t before, and it was slowly unmasking itself, no longer fearful of the light.
Gliding up the stairs to your apartment, your eyes instinctively searched for Simon before reminding yourself that he wouldn’t be making it tonight. But when they landed on the door, where it was slightly cracked open with barely a sliver of dim light passing through into the hallway, your first thought was that he was there to surprise you. He had gotten his, ah, work done early and let himself in while you were at work.
You ignored the alarms going off in your head that were desperately trying to remind you that Simon no longer went into your apartment on his own accord. He’d started to wait outside for you, leaned up against the wall like a form of security until you got home.
Your racing heart won over the voices in your head, and the eagerness to get inside and see Simon once again for another nightly ritual of watching him smoke while you talked about your day took over all warning signs.
Entering your apartment, you pushed open the door, stepping inside and locking the door behind you. Your eyes searched for the familiar mass that always took up the whole room, and when you saw it hunched over the kitchen counter, facing away from you, you brightened.
“Simon!” you greeted cheerfully, but when Simon’s head snapped up to look at you, you froze.
Simon certainly didn’t have a head of hair for you to openly admire. He didn’t have an unmasked face that showed off thin lips pulled into a threatening sneer.
Your mind completely blanked when you saw the man impersonating Simon. No, he wasn’t impersonating – because he could never be Simon. He could only ever be the person who you’d drag down to hell with you and throw into the pit of flames to watch his sick soul burn into ash.
“Simon, huh?” That voice, filled with nothing but venom that dripped from his tongue and spat out to your face. It could melt you into a puddle of sticky goo mixed with flesh and blood the way it expelled from his lips. It was the voice that filled your nightmares, that forced you into a cold sweat when you’d wake up in the middle of the night, eyes staring at the ceiling with burning tears and a heavy, broken heart.
The very man you’d run away from, who you’d cried to Simon about when life felt like it had run its course, was standing right in your kitchen, hand tightly gripped on to the napkin Simon had given you days ago with his number and doodle of a skull.
Your ex-boyfriend was somebody you never expected to see again, nor did you ever want to see him, not in your worst dreams. He was the reason you had gotten to the point of hiring Simon when he was Ghost, planning on paying him with all your hard-earned money just so he could kill you and you would be free of being trapped in a hellish life.
Yet here he was in the flesh, nothing but pure, unfiltered rage burning in those dark irises of his.
“Finally found you after all this time, just to find out you’re fucking somebody else,” he tsked, glancing at the napkin in his grasp before up at you. He looked downright sinister, the way he grinned at you. It was full of pointy teeth that bared at you in warning. “What did I always tell you I wanted?”
Your feet felt as if they were in quicksand, pinning you to the floor, leaving you immobile. All you could do was gape at him like a fish out of water.
“Loyalty,” he answered for you, spitting the word out with the burn of a thousand fires. “But you haven’t been loyal, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart.
It made your stomach turn when he called you it. Coming from Simon, it was coated in endearment, soft and sweet, like icing on a damn cake. But from your ex-boyfriend, it was littered with splintering daggers that tore into the surface of your flesh, cutting you open and wringing you dry.
It wasn’t right. That was Simon’s name for you. Only Simon’s.
“I’ll remind you who the fuck you belong to if that’s what has to happen,” he taunted, and when he took the first step forward, that’s when your feet willed you to move.
Everything happened so quickly, it felt like you were in a timelapse.
One moment, you’re paralyzed as you stared the face of your nightmares in the eye, and the next, you’re bolting. You practically threw yourself in the bathroom, locking the door and pressing your back against it. He preyed on you like a lion to an antelope, hounding on you the second he saw the shift of your body language.
Infuriated fists pounded on the door, livid feet kicked at the weak frame. His shouts filled the air with a crippling sense of dread, and you realized there was no way out of this.
Just like your mind had been all this time, you were trapped, imprisoned in a cage of misery, clawing at the bars with failed attempts to release yourself.
Your body jolted with every bloodthirsty smash into the door, the wood slapping and shuddering at each brutal hit. Your hands shook in staggering distress as you fumbled for your phone that laid stuffed in the pocket of your jeans, and it took multiple feverish tries before it was tugged from its confinement.
Swiping it unlocked, you found Simon’s contact, not sparing a single moment before slamming the call button.
The call rang. And rang. And rang.
The dial tone engulfed your body with calamity. The air in your lungs felt littered with toxics, extracting all of the oxygen out and leaving you suffocating. Sweat leaked from your neck and forehead, leaving you with a sheen of brooding panic.
The bathroom was closing in on you, and it only felt smaller and smaller the more he beat your door in.
You tried calling Simon again. And again. Each time, the ringing echoed in your ears, worming its way in your brain and infesting you with the realization that he wasn’t picking up.
He wasn’t coming. He wasn’t going to save you. He wasn’t going to see you take your final laps around the track, nor was he going to watch you race over that desired finish line of triumph and success.
He wasn’t going to be the one to kill you like all was intended in the first place.
Your ex-boyfriend was going to take away everything new, just like he had taken away the identity you wore before.
Your phone clattered out of your hand and slid across the tiled floor until it hit the side of the bathtub when the door finally gave in, the lock making a sickening snap when it burst out of the hinges.
You were pushed forward with aggression as he shoved past the doorway, allowing himself free access in the small place you chose as your temporary safety net. That net was thrown off of you, leaving you exposed to the imposing danger that was destined to come your way.
Your ex-boyfriend was shouting profanities at you, but all you heard was a dull ringing as your mind fully checked out, leaving you in a paralyzing daze. His mouth moved, but made no sound, and you watched with an empty stare the way the venom pooled out in a frothing foam around his lips.
The first hit sent you staggering on your feet. You lost your balance, crumpling into a heap on the floor. Then the second came. Then the third.
The relentless abuse kept coming, battering your body black and blue, staining your skin with a sticky red.
During the entire display of violence and bitter authority, your mind began to replay your times with Simon. His lovely, baritone voice filled the emptiness in your head with a soft lullaby that lured you far away from the virulent aggression being hissed in your face between every ferocious strike.
It distracted you from the strain on your mind and being. It turned you away from the damage, disengaging you from temptations to open your eyes and take a look at what was in front of you.
It was enough to leave you unsure of how long the dispute went on. It could’ve been minutes, it could’ve been hours. All you know is that when your body was on the brink of full blown collapse, teetering on that edge with your feet grasping for stability so you wouldn’t lose balance and pummel right off of the cliff and into the endless abyss, that was when he decided to stop.
That was it. He didn’t want to kill you, because he wanted you to suffer.
This was his subtle reminder that you ran from him, and it came to bite back at you. You were never free in the first place, only granted a brief time away from solitary before he came roaring back with his teeth sunken into your neck, stalking his prey down when the time was right.
With one last attempt to push you into a freefall over that cliff, he crouched in front of you, head tilted as he sneered at the bloody sight of you.
“If I find you being disloyal again, I’m going to let you fucking die next time,” he muttered with distaste, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment.
He stood, unsparing of another glance before he left you in the bathroom on the cold, mucky floor, making sure to slam your front door shut to leave it rattling your eardrums.
You didn’t move an inch. Surely, you could’ve mustered up the strength to crawl back on your feet and clean yourself up in the sink. You were stronger than this. Simon was teaching you that.
But you didn’t.
It was hours that you laid there, or at least that was what it felt like. Time moved tirelessly slow when you were a broken version of yourself, glued to the tiles like your body wanted to mold itself into them.
It wasn’t until the sound of the front door being opened did you spark the courage to shift your head, eyes drifting towards its general direction.
The mass that you thought was Simon earlier was here. Except this time, it really was Simon. There was no mistaking the balaclava with a hand painted skull on the mouth, or the way he had to lightly duck under the doorway so as not to hit the very top of his head.
Simon was calculated in his movements, throwing himself to the open bathroom in which you laid. He was panting as if he had run all the way to your apartment. Your tired eyes watched the way his chest rose and fell in an erratic pattern, the view of it coming closer as he scurried to you.
“Sweetheart,” he breathed out as he crouched next to you. The sound of the nickname coming from his mouth rather than your ex-boyfriend’s was like music to your ears. “Fuck, m’so sorry, m’so sorry.”
He ripped the gloves off his hands in order to cradle your head in them, his skin warm to the touch and offering a temporary relief to the cold chill that rattled you to the bones from lying on the cool tile. He inspected every inch of you, taking in the bloodshot redness that infested your eyes, the blood that caked and crusted your nose and mouth, the swelling of your cheeks that made you resemble a pufferfish.
His eyes were filled with pain and regret, but behind that, a fire burned. It was faint, embers burning slowly and mixing with fresh ash, but it was there. And it was angry.
Simon was gentle with the way he carefully eased your body up so you were sitting flush against the sink cabinets, shoulders slouched and head bobbing sluggishly. He rummaged through the small bathroom closet, quick to fish out a clean washcloth and run it under the faucet before returning back to you.
His touch was delicate as he attentively cleaned off the mess from your face. Red stained white cotton, and the sight of it made you queasy.
“You didn’t answer,” you whispered, words burning your throat with a sharp dryness that you tried swallowing away.
Simon froze, his hands pausing its notions across your skin. It stayed there, hand slightly shaking with a burning sense of penitence.
“I–”
“You didn’t answer,” you repeated. You were choked up, surely beaten down from the lacerating corruption to your own body. “I called you. You didn’t answer.”
Simon sucked in a sharp breath, eyes flickering over yours. He could see the emptiness in your pupils, void of everything he’d seen you work so hard to restore.
There was nothing. It was hollow.
“M’sorry, sweetheart. You have no idea how sorry I am, I should’ve looked at the phone, I should’ve checked to make sure you got home,” he rambled, words thick with a heavy layer of guilt.
You shouldn’t be angry with him. Hell, Simon should be the last person you were angry with. After all, he had been the one to pick up the pieces of your shattered being when he had no reason to. He had been the one to pick friendship over compromise when you first hired him to kill you.
You shouldn’t be angry with him.
But right now, you wished he had just pulled the damn trigger when you first told him to.
“Why didn’t you just let me die?” you wailed. Your resolve was cracking more than it already was, leaving you exposed to nothing but pure pain. “Why didn’t you just kill me?”
Simon said nothing, and he allowed you to bubble out snotty tears and crushing cries. He wiped every tear away with the washcloth, swiping gently over your skin and absorbing all of the evidence of your tribulation. He let you break, he let the rubber band snap into two, even if it meant stinging him in the process.
He didn’t stop, not even when your tears ran dry and your body slumped in exhaustion, forehead planted on the plain of his shoulder.
Simon was fighting an inner battle himself. Where he saw a woman he felt compelled to protect, he saw the man who had failed to fulfill it.
He didn’t know why you were different from the others. He was a man with a life path full of gruesome roads that were littered with bloodshed and other people’s torment. He didn’t attach himself to people, and he had made his own promise to himself that he’d keep an arm’s length from anybody willing to see through him.
That didn’t stop him from seeking you out.
What he saw in you, he saw in himself. Deep inside, he saw the broken, little boy he was that had never received proper love. He saw the boy that everybody turned a blind eye to, who pretended to not see his suffering.
You were a mirror he looked into every time he found himself around you, and it was a mirror he didn’t want to watch explode into millions of tiny shards.
Simon might not have been able to save himself, but he could save you. He could stop you from becoming what he was, and that was exactly why he allowed himself the one, single chance to slip into your life.
The fire that brewed in his eyes had now become a full, raging forest fire, burning everything in its wake. It fueled with the burn of anger and rancor, festering through the optic nerve and burrowing itself in the lobe of his brain.
That bloodthirsty fervor crept its way through his veins.
The color in his vision turned red.
Simon told himself he would protect you. And if that meant hunting down the prey posed as a predator, then he’d go to the ends of the earth to make it happen at the power of his own bloody hands.
posting this at almost 1am when i gotta be at work at 5am but i was itching to let the juices flow so have another chapter <3 thank you to my lovelies who helped me brainstorm ideas for this chapter, i love y'all
#cod#ghost cod#simon ghost riley#call of duty#cod mw3#cod x reader#cod mwii#cod fanfic#hitman au#ghost simon riley#ghost#simon riley#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader
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An Affectionate Embrace
Masterlist Here
Characters: Buggy, Mihawk, Crocodile, Shanks, Beckman (Art found on Pinterest)
Word Count: 650-900 per gentleman.
Synopsis: It was a simple reaction, an impulse you felt organic and out of your control. Their cheek was right there, and the swell in your chest and spike of adrenaline prompted you to lunge forward and capture their cheek beneath your lips. How do they react to such a soft touch? Do they shy away, or do they respond in kind?
Notes: Since completing the "Kiss Their Cheek" for both the monster and supernova trios, I had to get a little kiss on the sea-dilfs. Considering they’re a little older and more experienced (and less easy to fluster), there’s a little more depth to their reactions.
Themes: cheek kisses, feelings, unrequited love, confessions of love, no prior romantic relationship, gn!reader, pure fluff, lil bit angsty, small bit of fear, bittersweet emotions.
Tag List: @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @feral-artistry @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @cinnbar-bun @carrotsunshine
Buggy
“Captain, you’re back!” you cried with glee, eagerly rising to your feet alongside the devoted crew. Each member rushed over to greet him, cheers and enthusiastic cries of joy sprang forth from the lips and throats of your comrades in arms.
Buggy D Clown had been away for a while, wandering throughout the seas and attempting to get back to his loyal and faithful crew. You had been searching for him for weeks, and finally at the umpteenth hour, his heavy boots found the deck of the Big Top once again.
As the first member of the crew to reach him, you flung yourself into his arms and littered his face in a flurry of rapid kisses. You adored your captain. All of the crew did. Considering the massive swell and release of emotions, you could barely contain your incessant need to wrap yourself around him and continue laying into him with peppered pecks atop his cheeks, chin, forehead and stubbled jaw.
The rest of the crew joined you in your embrace, each member attempting to get as close as they could to kiss, claw, bow and nuzzle against the captain. Giggling along with them in cheer, you felt Buggy’s expression change from joy and pride into a deep and heavy frown.
“Alright, that’s enough,” Buggy’s low tone attempted to break the crew away from their embrace. None could hear his direction over their own desire to worship their captain with their lips, arms and knees. Kneeling before him and reaching up their grabby hands, uttering “we missed you,” and “we love you, captain,” repetitively, Buggy’s body began to vibrate as his rage ignited.
“That’s enough,” he tried again, the crew not responding to his commands and continuing to mumble, babble and cry for him. You hastily withdrew yourself from his arms, adjusting your clothes and turning to your crew.
“Oi, you lot! Captain said it’s enough!” you called, booming your voice to halt the crew of their incessant repetition. “Hoist the colors, unsheath the sails, weigh anchor: prepare to make waves!”
“Aye,” the crew responded, hastily snapping out of their prior hypnosis and scrambling to follow your commands. Although you were not the first-mate, you were excellent at barking orders to the unruly crew. Turning to glance at the blushed, painted face of your captain, you smiled up and him and clapped a supportive hand over his shoulder.
“It’s good to have you back, sir,” you confessed briefly, turning away to begin your duties to set sail, “Do we have a heading, Sir- Mmfmph!” Buggy’s index finger and thumb collected your chin, hoisting you closer to him as he drew his face closer to meet with yours.
Closing the gap, your captain’s lips collided with your own, his red paint smeared over your lips and cheeks as he pressed a heavy and intentional kisses against your mouth. His hand withdrew from your chin, raking his gloved hand through your hair to draw you into himself.
“S-Sorry, Doll,” he stuttered upon his withdrawal, “It’s been a little while, and I missed you too.” Your eyes held a momentary confusion, your head shaking with a broad rise in your smile.
“You gonna kiss all the crew, Captain?” you laughed joyfully and in good humor, “Am I the lucky number one to receive a kiss from you? You want me to line them up for you, Sir?”
Where you expected to find a loud outrageous cackle at your joke, akin to one that you were always greeted with when you verbally played with your captain, what you found in it’s wake was something different. Buggy’s hands sought out your hips, drawing you closer and pressing his forehead against your shoulder.
“No,” he whispered in a voice so silent you could barely hear it, “Just you.” Reactionary, you wrapped your arms around his neck and soothed over his hair and shoulders with several soothing touches. You felt his anxiety release and his tension depart from him with a shaken movement on his shoulders. The longer he remained nuzzled against you, the more he realized he never wanted to be apart from you again.
Mihawk
The cool steel of metal clashed together, a cross-shaped window crafted between your blades as you bore your eyes into his honey-hue. Mihawk had been training you in the art of the sword, desperate for you to be a well-rounded fighter. You were no swordsperson, only minimal prior skill with a blade meant for single combat.
But Mihawk, the owner of castle Kuraigana and your superior, was a determined teacher.
“This maneuver is called ‘the talking window’,” he informed you, clicking the blade against the sharpened edge of your sword. You nodded as he continued to educate you, “This is where many a swordsman may converse, or threaten their opponent with verbal intimidation.”
Humming in response, he tested the grip on your steel with a firm shove: breaking you from contact against his blade. He lunged forward with his training sword, thrusting it out and prompting you to parry the blow.
“Try again, and see if you can disarm me with a threat while in there,” his authoritative tone almost caught you off guard. “Think on your feet. I’ll grant you a single moment there to test your words. Your job is to have me stumble enough verbally to lose my momentum in combat.”
Picking up your stance, you tapped your sword against his while you allowed your mind to produce witty and original retort. Kicking up your feet and swirling in place, your blade's edge was once again drawn against Mihawk’s as he awaited your verbal disarm.
But there was something about the way he was looking at you. His eyes held encouragement with his usual abrasiveness, a combination you were yet to find in its equal. The hue of amber decorated his honey-irises with the soft swell of the uncharted and unfamiliar. Disarmed yourself by the emergence of new emotions, your body moved against your will and pressed through the window of crossed-blades.
You sprung forward, your lips immediately finding purchase against his whiskered cheek. This small act of pure instinct stunned Mihawk in his stance, his fingers loosening around the hilt of his blade and softening against your sword.
Considering the hastiness of your own actions, you withdrew as quickly as your lips found his cheek. Your own cheeks flooded with warmth, your lips tingling with the lingering glow of the kiss, as you slunk back in your stance. After a few rapid blinks, Mihawk thrust his blade against your own, easily circling his wrist to rid your grasp over the hilt of your sword and dropping it to the ground.
“I-I’m sorry, I just-,” you began, halted by Mihawk casting his own blade down beside yours and lunging forward. He closed the distance, his hands grasping at your hips and drawing your body flush against his own. Pelvises touching, lips within distance, he circled his chin as a snake would mesmerize their unwitting and unsuspecting prey.
“-If you’re going to disarm me with something as bold as a kiss,” Mihawk purred down at you, his gaze holding you hostage under its sultry hypnotism, “Then at least do it properly, for both our sakes.”
“For both our-?” your words halted in your throat as your lips became eclipsed under the soft touch of Dracule Mihawk’s lips against your own. Your eyes widened, his lips opening and molding against yours to find a kiss as deep enough - as passionate enough - to grant you the insight to all of his pent up emotions.
Brows furrowed and hands roaming, he cradled your form against himself, succumbing to the feeling of bliss against your lips as each moment flooded into the next. Finally allowing himself the luxury of opening himself up to this genre of touch, he would never let you go. You were his, and he was yours.
Crocodile
“I have set out three towels, lotions and soaps, alongside an assortment of your usual clothes should you desire them over your current ensemble,” you nodded, gesturing to the broad chest, arms and legs of the once respectable Sir Crocodile.
His hair was greasy, his eyes were sunken, and his shoulders carried a foreign weight you had not expected to find anchoring your former boss to the floor. As Sir Crocodile’s personal assistant, you were privy to witnessing every state he found himself in. All aside from this one.
He was defeated. His spirit was broken alongside the reflective gold of his left hook. The object was littered in scratches and scuff marks, his body fairing not so different under the longevity he served in Impel Down. His eyes followed your gesture, glaring at the assortment of clothes atop the vanity cabinet before floating his eyes up to meet with his reflection within the broad mirror.
Although he was yet to utter a single word to you, his silence depicted the raw emotions swelling within the heart, spirit and soul of Sir Crocodile.
He was not who he once was.
A man broken, clawing and desperate to be freed from the confines of a torturous prison - to battle and grind through the smog of battle to once again be shepherded into your awaiting embrace. His employee, his confidant, his friend - his love. A love he was yet to express due to the nature of your occupation.
He focussed on his sinking eyes, not recognising the figure glancing back at him. His body was marked with the white and black stripes of imprisonment, his mind laying heavily on the way his body was weakened under the sea stone walls, floors and shackles. He couldn’t find his former self amongst the remains of the man he saw in the silvery reflection. Each crease of his crows feet, each silvered hair on his head, each purple circle beneath his eye was a stranger glaring back at him.
“If I may, Sir,” you began, stepping forward and hovering your hands over his shoulders in the reflection. Deciding against your better judgment, you placed your hands firmly upon his shoulders, soothing over the flesh with your thumbs. You felt him sigh into your touch, but not conform, nor fully embrace, your affectionate touch.
“You are strong,” you uttered into his ear, watching his eyes for any indication of discomfort or apprehension. Finding none in its wake, you continued uttering assurances while you caressed his flesh. He sighed into your touch, leaning into each ministration your hands provided him above his prison uniform.
“You have carved your destiny out by tooth and nail, Sir,” you assured him, paying attention to the scruff of his neck: circling your hands to relieve the stress and tension from his rapidly troubled mind, “You are the man you have always been, Sir Crocodile.”
“And who am I, Rouhi?” he whispered through his exhale, lulling his head back to lean into your palms. His eyes were shut, his forehead plagued by the trials he endured at the violent hands of the marines.
You couldn’t help yourself, your heartstrings tugging and pulling you down to press your lips against his cheek. The silvery scar cutting his eyes away from his nose,jaw and lips feeling rough beneath your lips. You allowed yourself a moment to hold him beneath your lips, feeling the tension rapidly leave him the longer you pressed this affectionate expression against his skin.
“You are Sir Crocodile,” you whispered after tearing your lips away from his cheek, “You are an influential threat that can have the world fall to their knees under your power.” Glancing into his eyes, you saw the world within their purple hue. His eyes swelled beneath their heavy torment, searching your own for more than your words had spoken.
“Is that all I am?” he whispered, his heart weighing heavy in his chest as he looked up at you, “Am I nothing more?”
“You are everything to me, Sir,” you confessed, your heart feeling lighter while the adrenaline pumped to flush your cheeks with a darkening heat, “You can take from that confession what you truly desire to make from it. For now: your clothes have been pressed, your towels have been fluffed, and your home has been made ready to receive you-.”
Lips found yours, his affectionate and apprehensive touch hungrily calling for you with each passing moment. He held his lips against you as if it was the only tether holding his form to this earth, his anchor within the harbor of an unknown land of unrestrained affection. Right hand lacing into your hair, his whimpered groan departed his lips and cried lowly into your own.
He was anew. The broken man he once was no longer found purchase within his chest. Whichever destiny he carved for himself, he would have you by his side to hold him accountable and support him in claiming his fate.
Shanks
The air was light, the jovial melodies thrust into the air at the hands of skilled minstrels. You had been dancing all night with your crew, the momentum finally catching up with you as you all found your seats for a momentary reprieve.
A laugh fled your throat as you twirled your body once more as the music decrecendoed. Applauding the talent produced at the hands and lips of the musicians, you turned to face your crew: their bodies claiming each of the empty surfaces deemed appropriate for the body to recline against. No stool, chair, sofa nor benchtop remained unoccupied as the crew found their reprieve from lengthy dancing.
“Why don’t you sit on my lap, love?” your captain chuckled at you, prompting a rise in laughter among the remainder of the crew, including yourself. “I’m far more comfortable than the chairs around here, anyway.”
“How considerate of you, Captain,” you feigned your appreciation, holding your hand to your heart and drawing out each intentional step towards his lap, “Will you wrap your arms-... -pardon, sir. Arm around me as I take my rightful place atop your mighty throne?”
Always playful and light were the interactions you had with your captain. No matter the years that passed in your longevity in servitude aboard the Red-Force, the playful rapport between Shanks and yourself was something ever present.
“I will put my arm wherever you like, love,” he chuckled, his hazelnut eyes beckoning you in as you drew yourself ever closer, “I’ll keep you safe, so long as you feed me my ale and tell me I’m pretty.”
“So pretty, sir,” you laughed down at him, sinking atop his knee while caressing your hand over his cheek, “The prettiest man that ever did live.” As you cooed into his face, you leant down and pressed a lengthy and extravagant kiss atop his cheek, feigning enthusiasm with a vocal moan while smiling.
The crew burst into a large, communal laugh that resonated within the chest of your captain. The teetered chuckles died down as the men found their drinks, your hand clasping around the hilt of Shanks’ ale and elevating it to his lips.
His eyes never left you for a single moment.
Feeling small beneath his gaze, you placed his tankard down against the table and turned to face him with your brows knit into a gruff frown.
“What, Captain?” you asked him, the anxiety elevating in your chest for each moment that continued to pass between you.
“You missed, love,” he chuckled darkly. You were puzzled, searching for a moment in your servitude that you ever missed a single target - falling short in your memories. Before you had an opportunity to ask him a follow up question, you were silenced by Shanks’ right index finger raking along your jaw and collecting your chin within the hooked digit.
“If you’re going to kiss me,” his smirk carried his dangerously playful tone, “Make sure you hit the right target.” He allowed himself to dwell in that moment of teasing, feeling you slink back atop his lap while his eyes held nothing but unbridled affirmation within their hue.
“Now give us a proper kiss, love,” he uttered before dragging your head towards him, his lips meeting your own. The room uproared into a momentary chaos: cheers, hollers and whistles rose amongst the crew the longer you held your lips against Shanks’. He chuckled against your lips, turning his head and humming against your opening mouth.
“There ‘ya go,” Shanks laughed after pulling away, “Lead with that next time, love. Makes it all less confusing for the lot of us.”
But you were left more confused than the moment you kissed his cheek. Did he like you? Did he want more? Did you want more? You would need to discuss this when the both of you find yourselves in an air of sobriety, that was for certain.
Beckman
The storm scattered your face with a flurry of ice-splinters of frozen rain.The Red-Force was stampeding throughout the waves to find refuge in the eye of the storm, your task was to release the sails to have the natural wind pull you toward the calming center of the flurry.
On the last knot set to release the canvas, the sail snagged on the rope against the top-mast: prompting you to sprint towards the ropes to clamber up amongst the havoc. Your feet caught in the ropes, your heart springing to your throat as you readjusted yourself and stabilized your body within your climb.
“Careful up there!” the barked call of the first mate of the Red-Haired crew called to you over the wild and unruly wind. You could barely make out his words, let alone formulate an answer over the swell of rainfall.
Anchoring yourself amongst the ropes, you began desperately tugging at the knot to loosen. Your eyes became misted by the rapid downpour of water, your hands and fingers desperately clawing at the joint fibers of the rope to loosen. As you finally released the last loop of rope amongst the canvas, your feet slipped and your fingers barely brushed with the ropes to hold yourself steady before you began to fall.
The air was cool, the clouds above shepherded you into the lull of calm before you deduced your body would meet firmly against the deck and break your neck on impact. There was no way you would survive such a drop: no Devil-Fruit abilities to caress your fall, nor Haki present to catch you on impact.
Little did you know, the moment Benn Beckman barked his orders: he ensured his body was intentionally beneath yours to collect you in his arms should you fall. Although first mate to captain Shanks of the Red-Hair pirates, you were special to him. He needed to ensure your safety, regardless of his own orders to remain at his post.
As you fell through the air and readied your soul to flee from your body to welcome death with a warm embrace, the only embrace you felt was a warm chest, two steady and firm arms, and an angry reprimand falling from the lips of the gray-haired first mate.
“I told you to be careful!” he barked at you, his eyes wild and frantic as his brow deepened in a low frown. Your breath hitched in your throat, watching as his passionate scolding ignited behind his eyes. “You need to be careful, to be wise. I don’t care what Shanks told you to do, nor how stupid a command it is. You need to be more careful. Hitch a rope around your belt or somethin’, or between each loop to stop you from falling. I can’t lose you to something so stupid as a storm.”
You could barely comprehend his words, each syllable sounding heavenly against your ears as you appreciated each breath you were granted. You expected to die there, to fall from the ropes and have your neck snap upon impact against the deck - littering your skin with splinters from the wood and choirs serenading you into the life thereafter. In its stead, you were met with a grumpy bark and a cool reprimand that had your heart swelling and eyes misting with the rise of emotions.
Without thinking, you lunged forwards in his arms, your lips making contact against his stubbled cheek. You whimpered against his flesh, arms hooking over his neck and brows upturning in appreciation for his care for you. Your emotions spilled over: thanking whichever deity that was watching over you for the opportunity to live to not only serve this crew, but to feel the touch of Benn Beckman beneath your lips while your body remained chaperoned and cradled within his broad arms.
At a small sob escaping from your lips, Beckman’s heart softened. He cradled you against himself further, huffing out a small laugh and allowing you to remain in his arms a moment longer. He had desired this touch from you for some time, but refused to act on it due to your proximity and place amongst the crew should the relationship sour.
“A-Alright, Darlin’. Easy now,” he chuckled, feeling the small quake in your shoulders at the adjustment of your near demise, “Don’t let me get a big head.”
“You just saved my life, Benn Beckman,” you reiterated, tearing yourself away from him to stare up into his silvery eyes, “A kiss on the cheek is hardly a just reward for such a feat.” Holding his eyes against yours, the rain began to settle as the clouds departed in the eye of the storm. The sun's rays flittered down and cascaded over your bodies, the storm finally finding solace and breaking its tyrannical attack against the Red-Force.
After the storm settled, the soothing swell of waves held you in a momentary calm as your head reclined against Benn Beckman’s broad shoulder. Sitting on the damp deck, with a plush blanket wrapped around your shoulders, Beckman’s lips found your forehead as your eyes grew heavy with want and soothed within the proximity against your valiant savior.
You could not stop staring at him: this burly man with the grumpy twinkle in his eye. You would offer him the world should he ask it of you, grant him every desire his heart would swell for. You had no idea that the desire itself was you until he made that fact abundantly clear upon your wake in the morning.
#one piece#x reader#opla#opla fic#one piece live action#buggy#mihawk#dracule mihawk#captain buggy#my writing#buggy x reader#mihawk x reader#sir crocodile#op crocodile#sir crocodile x reader#crocodile x reader#red-hair shanks#shanks x reader#benn beckman#benn beckman x reader#op drabbles#op hcs
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[ 9:03PM — j. wonwoo ]
warnings: 18+, minors do not interact, explicit smut, fem!reader, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, finger sucking
Wonwoo had you caged beneath him at the edge of your bed, pounding into you for what felt like ages. The insides of your thighs were aching and slick with your juices. He had made you cum twice already, and he promised this would be the last one, then he’d finally let you rest. But the glimmer in his eyes might as well have been crossed fingers, because you didn’t believe him for a second. With the energy he had now, he could probably go for another round—or two.
His breath was hot and ragged. His fingers clutched onto your thighs like anchors. His hips snapped relentlessly against yours, making the bed creek quietly with his movements. His hair was still a little fluffy from the shower he had taken hours prior, but sweat was starting to form in his roots, making it damp.
“________, you okay?” he asked you through huffed breaths.
Your eyes were shut tight while you tried to focus on your orgasm, but you opened them to look at him when he spoke to you, “Uh huh.”
“Good,” his fox-like eyes looked at you with an amount of love that was too pure for the sinful moment you were having.
After your reassurance, his pace picked up slightly, making your hands grasp onto his waist a little tighter. He thrusted deeper into you every few strokes, like he was coaxing your release to him. He grunted each time he bottomed out inside of you, feeling your warmth completely envelope him just how he loved it. He also loved the way your head fell back into the sheets involuntarily. The way your mouth slacked open from how well he was fucking you. The way your legs pulled up around him as if you couldn’t get enough, even when he was giving you everything he had. Cute, he thought to himself.
He leaned down, capturing your lips in an intense, wet kiss. His deep moans vibrated against your mouth, making you hum back in response. You whined when he pulled away.
“How does it feel, baby?”
Your eyes closed once more. You could feel yourself on the precipice of releasing again. You could practically taste it, “So good, Wonwoo, you always make me feel so good. I’m so close. So close. So clo- Augh-“
It was then your eyes shot open again, and Wonwoo was looking at you with sadistic amusement. He had reached up and hooked his thumb into the corner of your mouth, effectively shutting you up. When he succeeded in doing so, he stuck his other thumb into the opposite side of your mouth, spreading your lips open.
He leaned in close again, speaking in that low tone that made your pussy clench, “You talk too much, y’know that?”
When you simply nodded, he sneered at you. How pathetic you looked when you were being fucked like this. But you were so good for him, he didn’t care. He found it adorable even.
He slipped his digits from your mouth as he bent down to kiss you again, this time more hungry and fervent than before. He thrusted faster than before, wanting to bring you over the edge. He pushed your thighs further up with his hips, allowing himself a new angle to achieve. You moaned against his lips and tongue. When he disconnected them from yours, his hands slipped further down to the base of your neck and shoulders, holding you still as he thrusted into you ruthlessly. His breath was shaking a little from how close he was getting to his own orgasm. Any moment now . . .
You were cumming, clenching around him sporadically. His name tumbling from your lips repeatedly because he was the only thing your pretty, dumb brain could think of in that moment. And he ate it up, a smirk on his lips just before he came inside of you, filling you up for the third time. The skin between your thighs and your sheets were soaked, without a doubt. Your legs were sore and begging for the relief that a good bath would give them right about now. Your arms fell down against the bed. Your chest heaved with each deep breath you took.
Your boyfriend’s hand skimmed over your skin, from your shoulders, down your torso, to your waist where his fingers rubbed you in the most soothing way, “You took that so well. Are you ready to stop?”
Before you even mustered the energy to nod, he was adding:
“Or should I reward you for being so good to me? Hm? You’d like that wouldn’t you?”
You shook your head. Your voice was as weak as your body, fading off when you responded, “Too tired, Won . . .”
He sighed, knowing you had reached your limit for tonight. He nodded in understanding and patted your thighs in encouragement, “Alright, let’s get you taken care of.”
⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ thank you for reading! if you enjoyed this timestamp, please feel free to leave a like, reblog, and/or a message in my inbox! i would love to hear your feedback! ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆
💌 taglist: @bruh-changbin @bluesoobinnie (& i’m tagging @hoshiseon bc i think you’ll enjoy reading this as much as i did writing it 🤭)
[ join my taglists here ]
#seventeen smut#wonwoo smut#jeon wonwoo smut#seventeen fanfic#seventeen hard thoughts#seventeen hard hours#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#seventeen timestamps#seventeen x reader#seventeen x y/n#wonwoo fanfic#wonwoo imagines#wonwoo scenarios#wonwoo x y/n#wonwoo x reader#svt fanfic#svt hard hours#svt hard thoughts#svt imagines#svt scenarios#svt timestamps#svt x reader#svt x y/n#svt smut
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18+ mdni. 0.4k. drunk sex? but not actually? ya'll cum in your pants basically lol
Geto Suguru is normally a composed man. He has enough self restraint unlike a certain friend of his.
Geto Suguru is also a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. You learn that in a rather interesting way during a night out with the whole friend group. Gojo is nowhere to be seen, Shoko finding comfort in a corner to smoke, Nanami is probably taking care of a nausea induced Haibara.
The music feels muffled against your ears though you feel the thumping of it echoing in your chest. You're not sure if the increased heartbeat is because of the music, the alcohol or the lips pressed up against your neck. It all felt like a blur, one second you were downing a drink and the next you were fitted on Suguru's lap. A sloppy makeout session with no real intent.
You shiver slightly as his teeth dig and drag onto the flesh of your neck, down to your collarbone.
His hum vibrates through your skin when you call out his name in a drunk haze. "Fuck"- he groans lowly in your ear when you begin to move your hips languidly over the stretch in his pants. Suguru's hips buck more and more up as if the clothes separating you would magically burn off if you two kept at your grinding.
Plush lips pressing against yours make you moan out way too loud than you should at a public bar but you can't bring yourself to care much. Slipping your tongue into his heated mouth, he tastes like cheap liquor, you decide you like it as you run your tongue over his- teeth knocking together clumsily.
"Damn it-" Suguru calls out your name in what sounds like a plea as you roll your clothed cunt faster over his bulge "wait-wait" you squeeze your eyes shut when you feel the slowly dampening fabric of his pants against your core.
It throws you over the edge, the way he anchors his hands on your hips, his own bucking up in overstimulation.
Your head falls limply on Suguru's shoulder in exhaustion. You vaguely register him getting up, with you in his arms, passing by a disgusted-looking Shoko. You nip carelessly at his neck when you realise he's led you to a more private section of the bar.
A smile curves up your lips at the sound of a belt being opened.
© hopeluna. Do not copy, translate, modify or repost any of my work in this or any other site. Do not steal or modify my ideas/concepts either.
#jjk x reader#geto suguru x reader#getou suguru x reader#suguru geto x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk fanfic#geto x reader#jjk drabbles#suguru geto smut#geto suguru smut#jjk imagines#jjk fic#jjk x reader smut#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#suguru geto#getou suguru#geto suguru#♡! 18+
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Concede
A Sunday x Reader drabble
*Spoilers for the newest trailblazer mission ending!*
CW: s p i c y, kissing, some possessiveness/bit of yan!Sunday? he’s… going through it™️
I should finish my yandere Kafka oneshot but Sunday decided to take over T-T
Feverish. Red. A muddled mind stuck in the Dreamscape.
Though, you aren’t even sure at this point if you can even classify the feeling as a dream or as reality. Nevertheless, Sunday stands before you; the only anchor to the present moment being the cold interior wall pressed firmly against your back as the Halovian shoves you to the surface. His hands are quick, feverish, yet the shakiness does not go unnoticed.
His heavy breaths against your neck cause you to lean back into the wall further, his hands grope up and down your sides; furiously. Grabbing any kind of fabric they can reach. It’s sad in a way, he seems to want to be grounded to reality.
Yet — could this moment even be classified as ‘reality’? Or a constructed ideal of one?
“Can’t lose you too.”
The unmistakable murmur of his voice echoes across your skin, vibrations low in his throat as his soft, shaky lips plant kisses across your neck. He still remains gentle, yet there’s a blaze flickering deep inside, eager to be unleashed, waiting for the right moment to turn into a raging wildfire of emotion.
You placate him, arms wrapped around his neck in a mixture of lust and sympathy. “I love you.”
Sunday is teetering between holding back and gluing himself together. He presses himself further into you, unable to accept any form of distance between your bodies. Unmistakable tears drip onto your skin and dance across your collarbone as he continues kissing every visible part of you; desperate to prove to himself that you would not leave him. Not like her. Not like his beloved sister.
You couldn’t. You can’t.
Hands slide up under clothes onto bare, heated skin as his tongue darts out to begin marking you as his. His for the entire planet to see.
Let them. Let them watch. Let them know that he still has you and that you will not be stripped away from him. No enemy shall live long enough to even think of doing so.
His breathing picks up, shaky exhales through his nose as his wings flutter and quiver; naturally hiding you from a world that does not exist in the privacy of his room.
“Never again. You shall not leave. You belong with me. There is no need to worry.”
Through clouded thoughts and a yearning that bubbles within you, a hazy part of your brain knows still:
He is speaking more to himself than he is to you.
#sunday x reader#sunday hsr#hsr sunday#tw yandere#yandere sunday x reader#star rail sunday#sunday x you#x reader#honkai star rail x reader#star rail x reader#star rail x you#hsr angst#hsr x you#yandere hsr#yandere star rail
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