#what a bunch of tiny jerks
Text
Discordant Waltz: Juicy Juicy
Oh Sieun (Former IZ*ONE/Soloist Jo Yuri) & Male Reader
Categories/warnings: smut, public sex, blood, clothed sex, hair pulling, blowjob, cowgirl, friends with benefits, fuck buddy
Word count: 1.9k
| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 (coming soon) |
a/n: i just really wanted to put this out, i think atp I can't write consistently like I used to before all this shit happened. we'll just see how it goes from now on but i swear i still have a bunch of fics i wanna write :))))
bathroom 3rd
sieun fckbd, 2:43 pm
pushy. omw
You, 2:43 pm
The warm, unconditioned air hit you like a brick wall when you first stepped out of the classroom, but with the cool breeze and shade, you really didn't mind any further.
You head for the rendezvous lazily, though it nags at you why she would want to see you during school hours.
Sieun was leaning against the empty bulletin board between the male and female restrooms when you found her. She was ethereal and fleeting, like a poster from a magazine you weren’t supposed to buy.
There’s no response from her as you took your careful steps towards her. She looked worried and lost in thought, like something shook her on a deeply personal level. Not that it mattered to you; neither of you were supposed to care about each other in that way.
"Can I help you?" She jumps and stares wide-eyed at you, evidently so surprised that she didn't even see you coming. Apologetically, you push up her chin and force eye contact with her, which pulls her back down to Earth.
"Great," she sighs, relieved, "you're here. Come on!"
You suddenly find yourself getting dragged by the collar into the women's restroom and shoved into one of the stalls. You're pushed and forced to sit down onto the toilet seat, and your fuckbuddy promptly gets into her own position, straddling you and wrapping her arms around your neck.
This isn't anything new, and by now you know what she's asking for. Place both hands on her ass, feel up her cheeks through the baggy PE pants she loves wearing for some reason. She dives in and captures your lips with hers, and savoring the feeling of your tongues on each other and swapping spit.
Carelessly you reach under her pants garters and under the waistband of her boxers, fully relishing how her smooth skin and plump ass feels in your hands. She breathes heavily under your touch, and moans spill from her lips with every squeeze.
"Sorry about the boxers by the way," she whispers, breaking the kiss. "I didn't plan on this."
You take her lips again, feeling her breath growing less and less stable against yours. "It's fine, baby. You okay?"
She tries to act tough with her retort, but her blushing gives her away. "Less talk, more getting your cock hard enough for me to choke on."
You estimate a solid minute of making out and groping her ass while she grinds on your clothed dick, making sure she feels you getting harder for her.
Once she's had her fun, she gets up and hurriedly unzips your pants. Meanwhile you work on stripping her of her own pants, yanking off her boxers at the same time. Her wet, pink pussy comes into view, and you place a thumb on her clit to rub while she works hard trying to strip you herself. Noticing she's fumbling and having trouble with your belt, you unbuckle it for her and get up, so she makes quick work of pulling everything off of you. You sit back down onto the toilet and feel the cold ceramic seat on your thighs.
“Thank you. Do you have any other questions?” Sieun asks, but her interest lies elsewhere. She eyes your stiffening cock hungrily while licking her lips.
Without waiting for an answer, she squats down between your legs and places the tip of her tongue right on the slit of your dick, giving it tiny licks. She allows her saliva to run down from her tongue, watching you watch her start to pleasure you.
She takes your cock in her hand and starts to jerk you off in long and slow strokes. Her lips hover over your tip, still letting her saliva drip down, and you feel her handjob getting slicker. Between the feeling of her spit coating your cock and the pure visual of her heavenly face in front of you, you grip the toilet seat to try and delay your orgasm just a bit longer.
Satisfied with her work and how your face contorted in pleasure to what she’s doing, Sieun begins her monumental task of taking you into her mouth. She kisses your tip before taking your head between her plump lips. She gives it a little suck before withdrawing, licking her lips, and going back for more. You notice her free right hand working between her legs and tweaking her clit, and just then she moans a small “mmh” onto your head as she goes deeper with her blowjob to half your shaft.
Unfortunately for her (or perhaps fortunately, you know how sick she is in the head), just half your shaft reaches to the back of her mouth. The sensation of her tongue tracing the veins around your dick sends a shock wave of pleasure up your spine, causing you to reach out and grip a handful of her hair. She looks up at you, expectant and pleading, as you watch her insert two fingers into her dripping pussy.
Instead of forcing your cock into her throat though, you pull her head away by her hair with a jerk. She gasps at the sudden rough treatment, but displays her submission by panting with her tongue out like a dog. She hasn’t stopped fingering herself, and this lets you know what she wants next.
Hand still tangled in her hair, you pull her up to your eye level. Take her onto your lap and position your cock onto her wet folds, and earn a groan from her as she relaxes onto you.
Sieun reaches under her jacket and, you guess, into her bra before pulling out a condom. Seeing you surprised, she smirks at you and rips open the packaging with her teeth.
"You always know how to get me riled up."
She expertly rolls the rubber onto your throbbing cock. She holds your chin up the way you did with her earlier, and she makes you watch as she lets a line of her spit fall from her tongue to her open palm. Finally she rubs it all over your cock, giving it a few pumps while making sure it's lubricated and ready for her.
You grab her by the hips, savoring how her smooth skin feels on your hands, and pull her back onto your cock. She gives in and, carefully but not too much so, she lowers herself onto your dick. She shuts her eyes as you feel yourself sliding into her, first the head, then the shaft, and even more after that, all the while you guide her down by her hips.
"Never fucking gets old, you stretch me out so well…" Her breathy and quiet voice tells you she's close. She bites her lip and tries to make eye contact with you again. In the split second that you do, you're reminded that Oh Sieun is gorgeous in her own right, and that you're lucky you get to have her like this at all. You admire her big brown eyes, how they shut as she lowers herself onto you, how her lips part as she lets out a deep sigh.
Sieun is dazed; you know she's getting even hornier with you. She's straining herself to keep quiet, knowing that just one mistimed yelp might be all it takes for someone to get curious, check out the bathroom, and catch the two of you red-handed. Despite that, she soldiers on, lifting herself up before letting herself drop again. As she does, you feel her velvet walls clench tighter around you, and you resolve to place your hand over her mouth. Getting the message, she goes for another bounce on your cock, more careful than anything to keep the sound of her skin on yours to a minimum. You hold back yourself, trying to match her control despite the mind-melting pleasure you get from her tight, needy pussy.
You watch as she lifts herself up again. You take a deep breath into your lungs, knowing that you can't hold back much longer: you need her just as much as she needs you. Hands firm on her mouth and hip, her head lolls back as she prepares to take all of you into her again.
She crashes down onto you like a meteor, sending waves of pleasure throughout both your bodies. With your common sense leaving you, you thrust up into her, reaching a depth she's never experienced in this life until now. She jerks her head in surprise to face you, and almost immediately her eyes point up and then roll to the back of her head. She groans against your palm before developing into a full-blown scream you both were lucky to have muffled. Her cunt squeezes your throbbing cock as it convulses through her orgasm, squirting her cum all over your crotch and waist.
Don't relent, she loves it when you don't. You thrust up into her again, forcing more of your cock into her heat and vying for your own release. Sieun struggles to scream louder into your hand as she loses her mind to the pleasure.
You thrust harder up into her, matching how tight she's clamping down on you. Inadvertently she makes up for it with how much of her love juice is spraying onto your crotch and lap. Snake a hand across her back and onto her shoulder, and with your other hand on her mouth, pull her down.
Her teeth find your palm an easy target, biting down and drawing blood. She could do nothing else, completely victim to the immense orgasm you were subjecting her to. Fight down your pain; just a bit more.
It arrives when you least expect it to, and you're sure deep down inside whatever's left of Sieun is thanking whatever god she believes in that you're about to let her go. Your dick throbs with each spurt of cum you shoot into the rubber, unintentionally also hitting her good spots even more. She leaks more and more of her juices onto your lap, and as you look up you find she's also started to cry. You almost feel sorry for her, if not for how unbelievably and blissfully elated she seems to be getting fucked out of her mind. Your blood shows itself, from your palm and dripping onto Sieun's jacket.
Both your climaxes end gradually, bringing you down from the highest of highs. Your arms fall exhaustedly to your sides and you lose all feeling in them. Sieun collapses face down on top of you, limp and out of breath, but still finds the tiniest bit of strength to nuzzle into your neck. Extend your last greatest effort, swing your arm over the small of her back and hug her.
“You good?” Your tone is casual, like she didn't just have the orgasm of her life. She weakly nods into your neck and puts a kiss right on your pulse.
~~~
You find yourself walking back to the classroom, unaware of how much time has passed. The sun hides behind a fair bit of cloud cover, and the breeze seems nippier than you remember.
Sieun is long gone, off to wherever she was before. Hopefully, nobody notices her limp, nor the red stain on her jacket. Above all, you hope nobody questions the hand mark over her mouth.
But deep inside, you kind of do. She wouldn't be able to say it, but she'll know it's because she gave herself to a man that makes her feel complete.
~~~
| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 (coming soon) |
a/n: this was something i wanted to write for a long time, im really glad i got to do something like this now :) thanks for reading!
644 notes
·
View notes
Text
So if you follow me (and aren't just stopping by because you saw one of my funney viralposts), you probably know that I've been writing a bunch of fanfiction for Stranger Things, which is set in rural Indiana in the early- to mid-eighties. I've been working on an AU where (among other things) Robin, a character confirmed queer in canon, gets integrated into a friend group made up of a number of main characters. And I got a comment that has been following me around in the back of my mind for a while. Amidst fairly usual talk about the show and the AU and what happens next, the commenter asked, apparently in genuine confusion, "why wouldn't Robin just come out to the rest of the group yet? They would be okay with it."
I did kind of assume, for a second or two, that this was a classic case of somebody confusing what the character knows with what the author/audience knows. But the more I think about it, the more I feel like it embodies a real generational shift in thinking that I hadn't even managed to fully comprehend until this comment threw it into sharp perspective.
Because, my knee-jerk reaction was to reply to the comment, "She hasn't come out to these people she's only sort-of known for less than a year because it's rural Indiana. In the nineteen-eighties." and let that speak for itself. Because for me and my peers, that would speak for itself. That would be an easy and obvious leap of logic. Because I grew up in a world where you assumed, until proven otherwise, that the general society and everyone around you was homophobic. That it was unsafe to be known to be queer, and to deliberately out yourself required intention and forethought and courage, because you would get negative reactions and you had to be prepared for the fallout. Not from everybody! There were always exceptions! But they were exceptions. And this wasn't something you consciously decided, it wasn't an individual choice, it wasn't an individual response to trauma, it wasn't individual. It was everybody. It was baked in, and you didn't question it because it was so inherently, demonstrably obvious. It was Just The Way The World Is. Everybody can safely be assumed to be homophobic until proven otherwise.
And what this comment really clarified for me, but I've seen in a million tiny clashing assumptions and disconnects and confusions I've run into with The Kids These Days, is that a lot of them have grown up into a world that is...the opposite. There are a lot of queer kids out there who are assuming, by default, that everybody is not homophobic, until proven otherwise. And by and large, the world is not punishing them harshly for making that assumption, the way it once would have.
The whole entire world I knew changed, somehow, very slowly and then all at once. And yes, it does make me feel like a complete space alien just arrived to Earth some days. But also, it makes me feel very hopeful. This is what we wanted for ourselves when we were young and raw and angrily shoving ourselves in everyone's faces to dare them to prove themselves the exception, and this is what I want for The Kids These Days.
(But also please, please, Kids These Days, do try to remember that it has only been this way since extremely recently, and no it is not crazy or pathetic or irrational or whatever to still want to protect yourself and be choosy about who you share important parts of yourself with.)
#also Kids These Days please if nobody's told you: you can't send cheques through email#and if somebody sends you one through email They Are A Scammer and Yes They Are Scamming You#that's not related I just am constantly tearing my hair out about how many people of ALL AGES don't know that#something something something invoking the fuck word in the hopes it will keep this poast from search#i love how the internet has created Magic Words Of Power#unfortunately most of those words perform the action of 'summon jackass idiots to comment on your post'#i am paraphrasing the comment that was left on my AU fic because I am too lazy to go looking for it right now but#it was very similar to that wording#this is just a thing that has been rattling around in my brain and it was finally smoothed out and polished enough to come out
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12
Summary: After you attend Harris's birthday party, Eddie's forced to confront some big feelings, and a Valentine's date has the two of you navigating a much different type of big feeling.
Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), oral (f! receiving), fingering, protected p in v, slight breeding kink, very fluffy smut, brief mention of parental abandonment
WC: 8.6k
Chapter 12/20
Eddie's card credit to @girlwiththerubyslippers
Mixtape credit to @lofaewrites
Divider credit to @saradika
The mingled scents of wood polisher, stale cigarette smoke, and old frying oil invade your nostrils the second you step into Hawkins Lanes. Bowling balls thud as they make contact with the fiberglass lanes, subsequently crashing into the waiting pins. You offer a smile at the exasperated teenager clearly nursing a hangover, holding back a dry heave as he sprays a pair of red and blue shoes with a can of deodorizer that, given the undertones of pungent sweat permeating the air, is likely well past expired.
“I’m here for Harris Munson’s birthday party?” It comes out like a question rather than a definitive statement, and you hold up the gift bag in your hand like it’s some kind of evidence.
The teenager jerks a thumb towards the back left of the building, not bothering to look up. “Party room’s down there,” he mumbles, and you thank him as you walk along the pink and purple carpet.
You’ve arrived a little early, hoping to steal a few moments with Eddie before the chaos of the day begins. Wayne is the only one in the small room, stretching to hang up a sign proudly declaring ‘Happy Birthday,’ each letter a different color of the rainbow. He grins when he sees you approaching, and you hold one end of the sign in place as he adheres it to the door frame with Scotch tape.
“Good to see y’again, darlin’.” Wayne greets you with a grin, taping your side of the banner.
You put your arm down and return his smile. “You, too!” you chirp, glancing around the room. “Where can I put Harris’s present?”
The older man points to an empty table off to the side. “Right over there should be good,” he figures aloud. “Ed just took Harris to the little boys’ room, but they’ll letcha know otherwise.”
You nod, gently placing the bright yellow bag atop a table covered with a Hot Wheels-themed cloth. Amusement dances on your lips at the realization that Eddie must have splurged on decorations; it’s far better quality than one from the local 99-cent store.
“Ms. Sweetheart! You’re at my birthday party!” Harris’s enthusiastic voice captures your attention, and you spin around just as he’s launching himself into your arms. A tiny human rocketship.
“I am!” You laugh, motioning towards the gift table, “and I left your present over there.”
Harris’s face lights up and he starts towards it, arms outstretched and ready to tear through the tissue paper, but the sound of his dad clearing his throat stops him in his tracks.
“Remember,” Eddie says, keeping his tone calm but firm, “we’re gonna open everything once all your friends are here, after we eat cake.”
Harris juts out his lower lip in a pout. “But Daddy,” he protests, “I wanna open it now!” He stomps his foot indignantly, and you have to suppress a laugh at how silly it looks with the clown-esque bowling shoe on.
“Harris, can you wait until you open the ones from your friends?” You phrase it like a favor, hoping to appeal to him that way. “I’m really excited about what I got you and I want them to see you open it, too.” Of course, you couldn’t care less about what a bunch of random four- and five-year-olds think about your gift, but you had to think quickly before the whine escalated to a tantrum.
He releases a sigh of exasperation but ultimately concedes. “Okay, I guess I can wait.”
Eddie mouths thank you and winks as the four of you walk out to the lanes to wait for Harris’s friends. You feel a hand slip into yours, too small to be Eddie’s, and beam when Harris looks up at you with pure joy.
“Daddy! Grampa Wayne! I’m holding Ms. Sweetheart’s hand!” he exclaims, baby teeth on full display
Eddie ruffles Harris's hair. “I’m jealous.” If prompted, he’ll claim that he’s envious that his son chose to hold your hand instead of his. But you and him–and Wayne, let’s be real–know the real meaning behind his statement.
As Harris’s friends arrive and the birthday boy greets each of them with a hug, you and Eddie spring into action and line them up to get fitted for shoes. There are five kids, three boys and two girls, and though you recognize them as Ms. Marion’s students, you don’t know any of them by name. The bowling shoe laces are flimsy, and a few of them struggle with the fine motor skills necessary to tie them.
“Can I help you with that?” you ask one boy, who nods and extends his leg towards you. You crouch down and rest his foot on your knee as you double-knot the laces. When you finish, you look up to see that the rest of the kids have formed a line for your shoe-tying expertise.
Eddie returns from dropping off the guests’ gifts in the party room, laughing when he stumbles upon the queue of children. “You don’t have to do all that, Sweetheart,” he tells you, using his hands to assess the weight of different bowling balls before distributing them to the kids.
You shrug as you finish tying the last shoes. “I don’t mind.”
Eddie has reserved two lanes for the party, and before anyone can figure out who will be bowling where, Harris is tugging on his Black Sabbath t-shirt.
“We wanna play in teams,” he reports matter-of-factly. You’re not sure who ‘we’ refers to, since you didn’t see him corroborating with any of his friends, but you don’t question it aloud. “Team Harris and Team Daddy.”
Eddie gasps with feigned offense, bringing his palm to his heart. “What? You don’t want me on your team?”
“Nope.” Harris shakes his head, curls swaying back and forth. “I want Ms. Sweetheart on my team.” He pauses as he glances around the group, eyes brightening when his gaze lands on the eldest Munson. “You can have Grampa Wayne.”
“Old man’s probably gonna break a hip.” Eddie grumbles teasingly, picking up a red marbled bowling ball and hoisting it up to his chest.
Wayne scratches the top of his head. “And yet I can still kick your ass.” He keeps his voice low so that little ears can’t hear, but you and Eddie can, and you tuck your lips into your mouth so none of the kids catch on.
Harris is up first, squatting down and using two hands to roll the ball down the lane. His method proves to be somewhat effective when he knocks down a few pins, and the scoreboard screen flashes a giant number 5.
“That’s how many years I am!” Harris proudly announces, skipping back to where the rest of his team is standing. He cocks his head at the ball return’s open mouth for the neon green ball that Eddie had handed him earlier, eagerly scooping it up when he spots it. Assuming the same stance, he once again rolls the ball and successfully topples two more pins.
Eddie raises his brows incredulously. “Hmm, let me try that strategy.”
“I don’t think there’s enough pins for all of your years,” you quip, and Eddie sticks out his tongue in your direction before mimicking Harris’s approach, knees aligned with his toes. He draws the ball back between his legs and releases it a few inches ahead of him, smirking as it cascades down the lane.
His cockiness is apparently earned, since he gets a strike. He attempts a victory moonwalk, clumsily dragging one foot behind the other in a manner that would make Michael Jackson regret ever making the move popular. The heel of his shoe catches on the floor and he stumbles backwards, landing on his ass.
The kids burst out into peals of laughter, and you and Wayne join in once it is evident that Eddie’s not hurt, only embarrassed. You stoop down, clutching your ball between your palms as you grin. “That’s what you get for gloating,” you whisper in his ear, a joking lilt in your voice. “Try setting a good example for the kids next time.”
Unbeknownst to you, one of the kids, Kelly, strikes up a conversation with Harris while you’re up to bowl. “Is that your mommy?” she asks him, strawberry blonde pigtails softly swishing as she looks over at you.
“No, but she’s gonna be my mommy soon!” Harris replies happily. “She and my daddy are gonna fall in love and then she’ll be my mommy.” His voice lowers as concern mars his words. “But don’t tell anyone, okay? Because it’s my birthday cake wish and I need it to come true.”
Kelly nods, taking this obligation seriously, and she averts her gaze when she spots you walking back to the ball return. Since you’d only knocked down eight pins, you take another turn, slipping your thumb, middle, and ring fingers into the holes, frowning when you don’t get the spare you’d hoped for.
Harris’s chipperness brings a smile back to your face. “Ms. Sweetheart, can you teach me how to bowl like a grown-up?” He blinks a few times, hammering in his naturally docile nature.
“Of course!”
When it’s Harris’s turn again, Eddie watches you go up with him. It’s noisy, but he zeros in on your sweet tone among the clattering of bowling pins and cacophonous conversations.
“See, you put your middle finger and ring finger here, and your thumb here,” you’re gently explaining. “And then you lift the ball back just a bit, bring it forward, and let it go.” You go through all of the motions without actually letting go of the ball, Harris’s eyes glued to your every move. “You try.”
Harris follows your instructions, pink tongue poking from his mouth in sheer concentration, and knocks down a single pin. Eddie braces himself for his disappointment, maybe even escalation to a tantrum, so he’s pleased when his son spins back with a wide, toothy smile.
“I did it! I knocked it down!”
“You’re amazing! I’m so proud of you, Harris.” Eddie’s posture softens as Harris runs into your arms and gives you a giant hug, tiny fingers digging into your biceps as he squishes the side of his face just below your collarbones. When he does this, Eddie notices that Harris’s cheeks have lost some of their chubbiness; his son’s baby-like features subtly disappearing to make way for attributes of the older child he’s growing into. It brings a slight pang to his heart, and he swallows the emotion and focuses instead on the bonding moment between you and the not-so-little boy.
There’s a shared love; more than that, there’s trust. Harris knows he can rely on you to teach him with kindness and patience, that you won’t berate him or yell at him for doing something incorrectly. You’re his Ms. Sweetheart.
Wayne takes note of the goofy smile adorning his nephew’s face, nudging him before he drops the bowling ball on his foot. “I know you’re in love with her, but she ain’t worth losing your toes over.”
Eddie’s face flushes pink, the tips of his ears burning now that he's been caught. “I’m not in love with her, Wayne.” At least, I didn’t think I was yet, but now I might be.
“Whatever you say,” Wayne mutters under his breath, taking careful steps towards the lane. “You, uh, might wanna wipe the drool from your chin before you take your turn, though.”
Team Harris ultimately wins, mostly because Wayne throws the game so the birthday boy can have a victorious moment. You, Eddie, and Wayne quickly corral the kids into the party room, seating them at a large rectangular table for cake and presents before anyone can take offense over the game results. The three of you breathe silent sighs of relief when you easily shift their focus to the next activity.
Eddie pulls his lighter from his back pocket, flicking it on and lighting the five thin blue and white striped candles unevenly jabbed through the chocolate frosted homemade cake. He picks up the plate, supporting it from the bottom as he leads the group in a hilariously off-key rendition of Happy Birthday.
Harris squeezes his eyes shut before blowing out the flames with gusto, a big grin on his face when he opens them again.
Feeling a hand clap on his shoulder, Eddie swivels his body to see his uncle armed with a disposable Kodak camera. “Let me get a picture of you and the birthday boy,” Wayne insists, peering through the little viewfinder and snapping a photo. Eddie’s crouched down, right arm slung over Harris’s shoulders. Both of them wear matching smiles; the only difference is that Harris is still sporting his baby teeth.
“Now Ms. Sweetheart!” the little Munson declares. Eddie goes to leave, pressing his palms to his knees and standing up, but Harris grabs his wrist and pulls him back. “No, Daddy. You and me and Ms. Sweetheart together!”
You shuffle over to stand on Harris’s other side. When you place your hand on his upper back, Eddie’s slides over yours, the two of you and Harris chiming “cheese!” in enthusiastic unison.
Blinking from the brightness of the flash, you extend your arm and make a ‘gimme’ motion with your hand. “Let me get one of the three of you,” you say to Wayne, who begrudgingly places the camera in your outstretched palm.
Eddie pulls him in closer. “Alright, Munson men. Flex those muscles!” You giggle as the three of them bend their arms to show off whatever biceps they have.
“Ms. Sweetheart, who’s got the biggest muscles?” Harris asks as you lower the camera.
You scrunch up your nose as though seriously contemplating the question. “Um, me, obviously!” You smack your own bicep, sending Harris into hysterics.
“That’s so silly!” he cackles, glancing up at Eddie. “Daddy, isn’t Ms. Sweetheart so silly?”
You expect him to agree with his son, but he just puts his hands on his shoulders and gives a quick squeeze as he says, “Nah, she’s the strongest person I know.” Your stomach flip-flops when he peers at you through his impossibly long lashes. He picks up the plate and brings it over to the smaller, empty table. “Let’s cut this cake before the kids start revolting.”
The two of you use plastic knives and forks to divide the cake into slivers and toss them onto paper plates. Once all of the kids have their slices, Eddie licks the excess frosting from his fingers and hands you a plate.
“Havin’ fun?” He carefully wraps the question in a joking tone, but you can tell that he’s genuinely curious about whether you’re enjoying yourself.
You spear a piece of your slice with the plastic fork. “I am, actually.” The chocolate melts in your mouth, and your tongue glides over your lips to catch any crumbs. “I haven’t been bowling since I was a kid.”
“And it shows,” he teases, wincing when you flick his cheek. “Hey, now—violence is never the answer. What values are you instilling in these impressionable young minds?”
Harris pops up from his seat, waving an empty plate. Whatever cake bits were left on it have tumbled to the floor. “Daddy, I’m done! Can I open my presents now?”
“Jesus, did you inhale that thing?” Eddie wonders aloud, but ultimately agrees. He grabs a bunch of thin napkins and wipes Harris’s hands and face, laughing when the boy sputters as the paper presses against his lips. “Har Bear, you don’t wanna get your presents all messy.”
Once he’s all cleaned up, Harris grabs each of the gifts and brings them to his seat at the head of the table. He tears through brightly colored wrapping paper at lightning speed. Eddie tries to keep track of who gave what as his son unveils a Hot Wheels track from Charlie and his brother Brendan, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figure from Kelly, a G.I. Joe from Emma, and—regrettably—a tub of Gak from Zachary. He makes a mental note to pick up a harmonica or a kazoo or something else noisy when that kid’s birthday rolls around.
The last gift left is from you, and you twiddle your thumbs as you await Harris’s reaction. Should I have gotten him a toy?
“It’s a stencil kit,” you feel the need to explain, as though you wouldn’t be able to handle the embarrassment of him asking what it is. “So you can trace shapes for your art. It’s got all different ones: food, animals, holidays…” You clamp your mouth shut, willing yourself to stop talking.
Your panic is short-lived; Harris’s brown eyes light up as he runs to you and wraps his arms around your legs in another giant hug. “I’m gonna draw you so much things!” he promises, gazing up at you excitedly.
“I can’t wait to see what you make me.” A drawing from Harris holds a deeper meaning than you ever realized. It’s more than a simple display of creativity; it’s a symbol of love and acceptance into his life.
He looks at his dad now with pleading eyes. “Can Ms. Sweetheart come to our house after the party so I can draw her a picture? Please?” He stretches out the last word so that it has at least five syllables.
Eddie looks at you expectantly, a timid smile on his lips. “Well?”
“I think that’s a great idea.” Your response earns you another quick squeeze from Harris before he darts back to his seat to further inspect his gifts.
Eddie’s warm voice is low in your ear, his fingertips ghosting the small of your back in a manner that lets you—and only you—know how starved he is for touch. “And you can help me get rid of that slime thing, too.”
Once the party has ended and you, Eddie, and Harris are back at their apartment, the cherubic boy takes the stenciling kit into his room.
“I’m gonna do art in here so you can’t peek,” he declares, clutching the kit to his chest as though there’s already something to hide.
Eddie chuckles, raking a hand through his curls. “Okay, bud. We’ll be out here, watching TV. You go be a little artíst.”
Once he hears the bedroom door click shut, Eddie puts the TV on a random channel and plops on the couch with a soft oof. You sit down next to him and he puts his arm around you, allowing you to snuggle in closer. The shirt fabric against his underarms is slightly damp with the day’s sweat, but you’re far too comfortable to even consider it an issue.
Your unsuccessful attempt at stifling a yawn has Eddie grinning. “Can’t hang with the kids anymore?” he goads, lips flush against your scalp.
“It’s exhausting being on the winning team,” you playfully retort, adding in an over-the -top fake yawn to drive home your point. “Not that you would know.”
“Oh, yeah?” He pulls you closer to pepper kisses across your neck and cheek until you’re a giggling mess. Satisfied with his handiwork, he allows himself to sink deeper into the cushions and lets out a yawn of his own.
You rest your head on his shoulder, gently brushing his curls back so they’re not in your eyes. A hum of contentment escapes you as you fully relax for the first time today.
You feel a slight nudge on your chin as Eddie tilts it upwards and kisses your lips. The gloss you’d applied before the party is long gone, a casualty of conversation and cake consumption, but he has no complaints.
“Been wanting to do this all day,” he murmurs, shooting shivers down your spine. “And when I saw you helping Harris? Baby, I just…” he searches for accurate words. Nothing he can think of seems to fully convey the depth of his feelings, but he tries his best. “I’m so fucking lucky. We’re so fucking lucky.”
The feeling of your body against his relaxes him further; a marvelous white noise replaces the plethora of overanalyzed problems constantly buzzing through his brain. The heaviness of sleep falls over both of you, and you shift your body even closer to his in a primitive quest for the safety his presence brings. Whatever show is on the fuzzy TV set is now a dull hum until it’s muted by the dreams your subconscious brings.
Eddie only stirs fifteen minutes later when the bedroom door hinges give a soft squeak, ears trained to pick up on Harris’s innocuous noises that often precede chaos. Grogginess overpowers attentiveness, so he misses the smile on his son’s face and the way he whispers, “my birthday wish is coming true.”
Gray clouds cover Hawkins the next day, drenching the small town in cold rain. And while Eddie is certainly grateful that it’s not snowing, this means that he has to find indoor activities to keep his endlessly energetic son occupied.
Luckily, Harris is still enamored with his birthday gifts, particularly the stenciling kit you’d given him. He sits at the kitchen table now, tracing an outline of a cow on a Valentine for his classmate. Eddie’s not quite sure of the correlation between the animal and the holiday, but he’s learned that some battles are best left unfought.
“That looks great, Har Bear.”
“I know.” Harris agrees, not looking up from his drawing as he says, “Daddy, you should make a Valentime for Ms. Sweetheart.” Before Eddie can answer, Harris slides over a piece of red paper and a black marker.
“I should, huh?” Remembering a trick he learned back in elementary school, Eddie folds the paper and draws half of a heart against the crease. He has to use Harris’s blunted safety scissors, much too small for his fingers, to cut the paper. Pleased when he sees that it actually resembles a heart, Eddie taps the marker against his dimpled chin as he contemplates what to write. “You really like Ms. Sweetheart, don’t you?”
Harris nods, putting down the blue marker he’s using and reaching for an orange one. “Mhm. I love her, Daddy.”
Eddie’s heart soars at the confirmation of Harris’s adoration of you, but he tries not to make it obvious. “That’s, uh, that’s good.” He finally decides on a simple message: Be Mine, and he signs his name underneath with a dash. It feels a little less impersonal than “from,” but isn’t as strong as “love.” Do I love her? He wonders. No, it’s only been one date. He can’t fall in love this quickly. It’s not possible. “How’s this? Be mine,” he reads aloud, underlining each word with his finger.
“Oh, I like that.” Harris picks up a green marker and writes the same two words on a pink sheet of paper. The letters are a little too big for the paper’s limited space, and he ends up squishing the “e” in “mine” very close to the edge. “How do you spell ‘mommy’?”
Eddie’s throat goes bone-dry. “You wanna make a card for your mom?” Harris has never wanted to make anything for his mom before; never brought her up, really, but maybe that was changing now that he was in school and surrounded by children with present mothers.
But Harris shakes his head. “No, it’s for Ms. Sweetheart. I wanna write ‘Be Mine Mommy.’”
It takes Eddie a second to realize that Harris means “be my mommy,” and he massages the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Um, Har, you can’t just ask her to be your mom.”
“Why not?”
He doesn’t want to tell Harris that wants to make sure you’ll stick around, nor does he want to make a promise neither one of you can keep. “Because you…you just can’t, okay?” It comes out harshly, and he sputters to fix his tone when he sees Harris’s lower lip quiver.
“But it’s not fair! You didn’t have a daddy, so you got Grampa Wayne as your daddy. I don’t have a mommy, so I want Ms. Sweetheart as my mommy!”
Eddie flash backs to their zoo trip, when Harris had innocently asked him if Wayne had taken him out on father-son days. There’s no child-friendly way to articulate that Wayne had initially been legally obligated to act as his guardian. “I know, bud. I know you do–”
“Then why can’t I ask her?” His expression shifts from anger to confusion, brows pinching together.
Because she could say no, Eddie thinks. Because the responsibility of being a mommy was too much for your biological mother to handle; why would Ms. Sweetheart take it on? What if she doesn’t have a problem being your mommy, but she finds issue with the idea of being connected to me?
He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “Look, Har. I know you want her to be your mommy. And between you and me, I’d love for her to be your mommy, too.”
“But–”
“But, grown up feelings are weird sometimes,” he presses on, borrowing your verbiage from Thanksgiving, “and feelings like love take time. But I’m gonna make you a promise right now.” He sticks out his pinky finger. “I promise that if me and Ms. Sweetheart fall in love, I’ll tell you, and I’ll let you ask her to be your mommy. Is that a deal?”
Harris looks dubious, but ultimately hooks his pinky around his dad’s. Eddie breathes a sigh of relief that the crisis has been averted for now.
“Before we can ask her to be your mommy,” Eddie continues, “I need to figure out the perfect Valentine’s Day date to impress her. Wanna help?”
Harris purses his lips in concentration, resting his chin in his hand. “How about McDonald’s? They have a ball pit!”
Eddie has to tuck his lips into his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “A definite contender,” he finally manages. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
Friday night. Valentine’s Day.
You had been unsure whether Eddie wanted to do anything for the holiday; your relationship was still so fresh, and you didn’t want him to feel pressured. When he crept into your classroom Monday morning with a coffee and a heart-shaped note—far more conspicuous than he’d intended to be—you couldn’t hide the excitement on your face.
The card reads Be Mine and currently resides under a magnet on your fridge, finding a home among the plethora of drawings from Harris. It’s got some creases in it that Eddie had explained were the result of Harris shoving it into his backpack that morning. You thought it was perfect as is.
“Are you free on Friday? For Valentine’s Day?” he’d asked, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. When you answered in the affirmative, he visibly relaxed. “Great. I’m taking you out.” His smile lights up his face. “Wear something that you don’t mind getting messy, and I’ll pick you up at 6.”
You’d wanted to try and pry more information from him, but Carol Perkins and her son Frankie walked in just then, and you’d put away the heart as quickly as you could as Eddie scrambles from the classroom.
You stand in your bedroom now in your Levis 501s and a fuzzy red sweater, taking one last look at your makeup in the mirror reflection. You scrape your fingernail along the bottom of your lip to wipe off any excess gloss. Underneath your outfit is a special surprise, wishful thinking if the night goes well.
At 5:55, you sling your pocketbook over your shoulder and make your way down to the lobby. You spot Eddie the moment you step out from the elevator. He’s pacing, hands shoved in his dark wash denim pockets and lower lip pinched between his teeth.
Your voice draws him from his thoughts. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him so your stomachs touch. “You look really, really handsome.”
“You’re…you’re beautiful.” He’s almost breathless as he says it, eyes roaming down your body and taking in the view. The way your sweater drapes the slope of your breasts has his heart leaping into his throat. He kisses you slowly before proclaiming, “My beautiful Valentine.”
You reach into your purse and pull out a tiny red gift bag, letting it sway and dangle from your fingertips. “I got you a little something.”
The tissue paper crinkles as Eddie rifles through it to pull out a silver lighter, much heavier in his palm than the usual plastic Bic he uses. “Sweetheart, this is…” He takes a closer look and reads aloud the engraved words etched on the front. “Fill my heart with song…”
“It’s from Fly Me to the Moon. Because of Thanksgiving, when you played the record, and Grandma…” you trail off, not wanting to get choked up, “and because you’re a rockstar. My rockstar.” You kiss his lips again, feeling his palm softly cup your cheek.
“I have something for you, too. Um, I didn’t get to wrap it, but I hope you like it.” He unzips his jacket, exposing the gray t-shirt clinging to his pecs. He digs into the inner pocket and clutches a cassette tape, handwritten label stating,“Ms. Sweetheart’s Mix.”
“‘S nothin’ crazy, just some songs that remind me of you.” There’s an array of genres and artists on there. Guns ‘N Roses, of course, as well as Frank Sinatra. There’s Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me, Un-Break My Heart by Toni Braxton, and a plethora of songs with ‘sweetheart’ in the title: Bob Dylan’s Sweetheart Like You, Bing Crosby’s Let Me Call You Sweetheart, The Spaniels’ Goodnight Sweetheart Goodnight.
Tears prickle along your lash line, and you blink them away before you smudge your mascara. “Thank you, Eddie. I love it.” You hold the gift in two hands, giving it a small shake to emphasize your excitement.
A small pang in his chest has Eddie realizing that he wishes you’d ended that statement with you instead of it, but he tries to shove the thought down by kissing you, tongue parting your lips, hand traveling up your side. His hands aren’t even touching skin, only your sweater, yet it’s so electrifying that you feel your thighs clench in wanting.
“C’mon,” you urge him gently, “let’s go on this date before we end up making out in the lobby all night.”
Eddie cocks his head. “Would that be such a bad thing?”
“Eddie…” Truthfully, you’re thinking the same thing, but your desire for a romantic Valentine’s Day date with him propels you towards the door. You take his hand so he dutifully follows.
“Fine,” he relents with an exaggerated sigh, smile showing off the soft dimples in his cheeks. “But only because you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, y’know that?”
“Oh, I know.”
Twenty minutes later, Eddie’s car pulls up to The Novice Chef. You’ve never been–taking care of Grandma didn’t allot you much time for hobbies–but Jess has told you about their incredible cooking classes. She and Robin went to one right before Thanksgiving and insisted that they’d perfected the art of turkey basting.
“Figured we could learn how to make pizza since we’re basically funding the local Surfer Boy,” Eddie grins, turning the key in the ignition. The car stills and the two of you unbuckle your seatbelts, pushing open the car doors. “Just, uh, no olives on my half.”
You find an unoccupied cooking station with two aprons on it, the venue’s cursive logo displayed on the front in an eager advertisement. You slip one over your head and Eddie does the same, twirling his finger in a turn around motion. You feel the brush of his fingers on the small of your back as he ties the strings in a bow. After returning the favor for him, you squeeze his waist, giggling when he yelps in surprise.
“What was that for?”
“I dunno; you’re just really squeezable.”
Eddie just shakes his head, already missing your touch after that brief moment. He slides a rubber band down his wrist and ties his hair in a bun at the nape of his neck before slipping his rings off of his fingers. He flexes his hands, almost taken aback by their nakedness, and you suppress a heaving sigh when you catch sight of the protruding veins, dark purple snakes that disappear amongst soft arm hair.
“All right everyone, let’s get started.” The unfamiliar voice brings your attention to the front of the room, where the instructor is standing behind his own station. “My name’s Argyle, and I’ll be your tour guide on our journey through Flavortown.” He claps his hands and rubs them together. “First thing we’re gonna do is knead the dough.” He gives a demonstration and then invites the class to try on their own.
“Damn, that dude has some badass hair,” Eddie muses, noting the man’s long raven locks that are pulled back into a waist-length ponytail. He nods approvingly and flips the silver bowl of dough onto the table. A small puff of flour rises as it hits the surface with a thwack, and you’re very glad you’d heeded his warning not to wear something new.
Eddie presses the heel of his palm into the dough, kneading it with precision. Flatten, stretch, flatten, stretch, until he’s satisfied with the consistency. He shapes it into a thin circle, fingertips digging into the edges to form the crust. The movements are hypnotizing, and it’s not until he clears his throat that you bashfully realize you’ve been staring.
“Y’good, Sweetheart?” A sly, knowing grin stretches from one cheek to the other; now you’re certain that he’s caught you.
“Y-Yeah.”
The next step is to spread the sauce onto the dough, Argyle explains, and Eddie places the crust onto the pan and steps aside so you can take over. You dip the ladle into the pot, filling it to the brim. Bits of dried basil and oregano swim in a red tomato sea as you use the ladle’s base to evenly distribute it across the crust.
“Y’got a little somethin’ on your face.” Eddie whispers in your ear, making you stop mid-swirl.
“Huh? Where?” You use the back of your free hand to wipe at your cheeks and chin for any sauce that may have splattered, but a close inspection shows nothing.
Eddie leans over you, his chest flush against your back. You fight the urge to press the curve of your ass to the seam of his jeans, wiping a sweat-slick palm on your apron. “Right…” he swipes his finger down the ladle’s curved side, catching some sauce and dotting it on the tip of your nose, “here.”
“Eddie!”
“Don’t worry; I’ve got it.” He leans over and licks the sauce off, a quick lap of his tongue on your skin. The unexpected sensation makes you giggle louder than you’d intended. You clap a hand over your mouth, surely smudging the gloss, but you’ve already drawn the instructor’s unwanted attention.
“Lovebirds, are we here to flirt or to make pizza?” Argyle punctuates his rhetorical question with an exasperated sigh. You duck your head in shame and Eddie just coughs to stifle his own mischievous laughter.
“All right, now for the cheese,” Argyle continues, dipping a hand into a glass bowl and retrieving the ingredient. “Some people think that ya just pile it on; the more cheese, the better, but there’s an art to–hey, not cool, man!” He’s looking right at Eddie, and you glance over to see your date drop a handful of shredded mozzarella into his open mouth.
“Sorry,” he mumbles through a mouthful of cheese, but you’re willing to bet that his apology is anything but sincere.
Argyle rolls his eyes, not even attempting to hide his irritation. “You got one more strike, and then you’re out.” He points one finger at Eddie and then jerks his thumb backwards to emphasize his point.
“Yes, sir,” Eddie salutes, and you elbow him in the ribs.
Once the cheese has been sprinkled across the sauce–whatever remains after Eddie’s impromptu snack, anyway–you reach for the mushrooms. Eddie’s sharp gasp makes you freeze up before you can grasp any.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, placing his flour-coated hands on his hips.
You flick your gaze from the bowl of mushrooms to his impatient face. “Um, putting toppings on the pizza?”
“Not that one, you’re not,” he argues with a disapproving shake of his head. “Vegetables don’t belong on pizza.” He picks up the bowl of pepperoni and starts layering the slices on top, either unaware or indifferent to the fact that some of them stick together in a double layer of cured meat. “This is more like it.”
You nudge him, triumphantly layering mushrooms around where he’s placed the pepperoni slices. “It’s called compromise, Eddie. It’s how relationships work.”
His jaw drops and he places his hand over his heart like a southern belle who’s just been presented with extraordinary gossip. “Oh, this is a relationship?” He snickers when you give him a small shove. “I had no idea. I just thought we were two friends who make out sometimes.”
“God, I hate you.”
“I hate you, too.”
An hour later, stomachs filled with pizza that might rival Surfer Boy’s, you and Eddie return to your apartment. A tense stillness fills the air when he walks you to your door, daring either of you to speak your mutual desire into existence.
You’re the one to break the silence. “I had an amazing time tonight, Eddie.”
“Yeah?” he asks almost incredulously, as though he doubts the truthfulness behind your words. He pushes the insecurity aside with a joke. “Even though I almost got us kicked out?”
The memory brings a smile to your face, though you would imagine that the annoyed instructor would not share the same sentiment. “I still need to get you back for that.” You lick his nose and giggle, knocking his hand away when he lifts it to his face. “Don’t wipe it off!”
“And what if I do?” Eddie takes a step closer, resting one hand on the small of your back and putting the other on your cheek. He kisses you and you lean into it, pressing your body against his. His tongue parts your lips, and you hook a finger into his belt loop as you melt into each other.
“Do you wanna come in? Or do you have to get back home to Harris?” You’ve pulled the trigger. There’s no turning back now, and though you’re certainly in a healthier place than the last time you’d made this suggestion, the fear of a similar reaction has your heart in your chest.
He shakes his head, nose rubbing against yours. “Wayne’s staying with him tonight.” He omits the fact that his uncle was the one who’d offered to babysit overnight, a not-so-subtle hint at his expectations of Eddie’s evening plans.
“All night?”
“All,” he kisses you again, “night.”
You fumble with your keys and unlock the door, Eddie wrapping his arms around your waist from the back as though he never wants to let go. As soon as you get it open, its grimacing creak mere background noise to the pounding in your ears, you’re kicking off your shoes and pulling Eddie into the bedroom.
Your hands on his shoulders pin him against the door, only moving them to the hem of his shirt to begin tugging it over his head. It proves to be a difficult task as you try keeping your lips on his neck, but he wraps his fingers around your wrists and stops you.
“Been dreamin’ about worshiping this body…you,” he clarifies, pupils blown so wide that they overtake his chocolate irises. “Please,” he adds, a slight break in his voice. His begging starkly contrasts the bravado that dominated his personality the night you’d met. There was no patience or tenderness, just teeth clashing and hands searching for the fastest and easiest way to bring pleasure.
You nod. “I have a surprise for you first.” You take off your sweater, drawing it slowly up your torso to build up the anticipation, and toss it to the side.
Eddie goes slack jawed at the sheer mesh bra that leaves nothing to the imagination, just as you’d expected him to. He quickly snaps his mouth shut and swallows, a last-ditch attempt to salvage his machismo before he fully loses his mind.
“It’s a matching set, if you wanna see.”
“Uh-huh.” Eddie walks over, pressing kisses to your collarbones that leave your knees weak. His thumbs graze your breasts, slipping the bra straps down and unhooking the clasp. It falls to the ground and he stoops a bit, bringing his mouth to one hardening nipple and sucking it before moving onto the other. “Perfect.” He trails kisses down your stomach, dropping to his knees as he does. “Perfect.” He lifts one hand, kissing each individual finger right on the first knuckle. “So perfect.”
He remains on his knees as his nimble fingers, still cold from the brief walk to your building, unbutton your jeans, and you shimmy out of them eagerly. His eyes widen when he sees that your panties do, in fact, match your bra: a red-tinted mesh thong that has everything on display.
“Baby,” he moans, grabbing one ass cheek in each of his big hands and pressing soft kisses to your clothed pussy. “Baby…f’me?”
“All for you, Eddie.” Your breath hitches when you feel his lips graze your most sensitive spot. He’s not intentionally teasing you, but logic has no place in your current state.
He kisses down your thighs. “Lay down f’me, yeah?” You do as he asks, laying your head down on the pillow as your body sinks into the mattress. Eddie climbs on top of you, slotting one knee between your slightly open legs. He brings his lips to your ear, gently biting your earlobe and singing in a low murmur, “got it bad, got it bad, got it bad…”
You giggle, the breath from his whisper tickling the shell of your ear, and you tilt your head slightly so you can see his face. “Can I undress you now?” He nods, and you wrestle with his shirt to expose the pale expanse of skin. There’s a dusting of curls across his chest, thicker in the middle and thinner around his nipples. You plant a kiss on his left bicep and drag your palm down his tummy, practically concave during his teenage years but now has a slight softness to it, stopping when you reach the bulge in his pants. He groans at your touch, and you feel his cock twitch slightly. Eager to alleviate his pent-up energy, you undo the button and tug down his zipper, cupping his erection through his navy blue boxers.
“Not yet,” Eddie mumbles, “not done showing you how much I l–care about you. How much you mean to me.” With a burning in his cheeks from what he’d nearly admitted, he drags your thong, a wet patch formed on it, down your thighs and past your calves until it drops to the ground unceremoniously. He balances your legs on top of his shoulders and pulls himself in closer, nudging your clit with his nose as he licks a stripe up your folds. His lips wrap around your sensitive bud, brushing it with his tongue. Soft brown eyes peer up at you, desperately seeking your approval.
“F-Feels good,” you manage, words caught in your throat as pleasure seeps into your body. “Please keep going.”
Eddie needs no further convincing, reveling in your growing wetness against his face while slipping his middle finger into your pussy. You whimper at the feeling of him inside you, bracing yourself for a comment about how needy you are, but he just continues to draw you closer to your orgasm. His finger glides in and out, in and out, rhythmic but not too slow. The bed shifts ever-so-slightly, and you realize he’s rutting his hips against the mattress, desperate for relief.
Your hand finds purchase in the curls adorning his scalp, digging your fingers into them and giving a small tug. Eddie lets a second finger into your tight hole, curling them upwards and hitting your sweet spot over and over.
“Right there, th-that’s it, please, Eddie,” you beg, your moans barely audible over the sounds of him fervently fingering you and lapping at your cunt. “Fuck, Eddie, ‘m gonna cum!”
Eddie just lets out an “mmm,” in acknowledgment, the vibrations shooting through your core and bringing you right to the edge. Your release overtakes you and your thighs instinctively squeeze against either side of his head. He makes a mental note to ask you not to do that because he absolutely needs to hear every noise you make while you cum.
“Y’good?” he asks as you drift down from the high, still perched between your legs. He wipes his slick-glistened lips with the back of his hand before licking the taste of you from his fingers. “I can keep going, trust me.”
“Need you closer.” You try to sit up, but your legs fail you, and you flop back onto the bed. “I have condoms in the top drawer–”
“Brought my own,” he grins, reaching into his back pocket–now positioned just under his ass from the way he’d dry humped the bed–and pulls out three connected foil packages. “Ribbed, for her pleasure.”
“Such a gentleman,” you tease, but it’s the truth. The way he took care of you, made sure you were okay after, offered to continue eating you out despite the raging hard-on he’s sporting…his chivalry isn't lost on you. You watch as he strips down until his body is rid of any clothing, tearing one wrapper and rolling the rubber down his cock, and you bite your lip in anticipation of its delicious stretch.
There’s an unspoken disappointment at the addition of the barrier, regardless of its practicality. You want to be as close as you possibly can without anything in the way, but neither of you are in any rush to give Harris a sibling.
Imagine it, though, Eddie can’t stop himself from thinking. Imagine the intimacy of filling her up every night until she’s carrying my baby. Taking any little bit that drips out and stuffing it back inside to make sure it takes. Imagine kissing her growing bump every morning to greet her and our unborn child.
He puts one thigh on either side of yours, looking into your eyes as he asks, “Yes?”
“Yes.”
Eddie lines up with your entrance, pushing in gently and keeping his gaze trained on the way you take him in. Inch by inch, he disappears into your wanting hole until he bottoms out. He holds your hips while he finds a steady pace, and as soon as you arch your back, he’s slipping his hands around your waist just above the curve of your ass. “I can’t believe you’re mine,” he whispers. “You make me so fucking happy.”
Your hands grasp at his shoulder blades and you kiss him, tongues intertwining while you moan into each other’s mouths. “I’m always yours, if that’s what you want,” you promise, wrapping your legs around his.
“Of course, that’s what I want. Most beautiful girl in the world, asking me if I want her to be mine.” He grins cheekily, burying his head in the crook of your neck and sucking on it lightly before asking, “do you want me to be yours?”
“Yeah,” you exhale as his cock presses against your walls. “Yeah, I want you to be mine.” You smile, moving your hands to the nape of his neck and deepening the kiss. You want to be the only one he touches like this, the one who goes to bed next to him every night and wakes up next to him every morning. The one who celebrates his wins with him and brings comfort during the losses. You want everything that comes with belonging to each other.
Eddie thrusts into you, pulling wanton moans from your lips. “Say my name,” he pleads. “Need to hear you say it.”
“Eddie,” you pant, not able to fathom a single thought beyond the pleasure you’re feeling and who’s bringing it to you. “Eddie, ‘m so close. You feel too…too good.” Good is an understatement; perhaps a more accurate adjective would be euphoric, but finding a more elaborate term is low on your priority list.
Eddie’s peak is not far behind, with the feeling of your warmth around him bringing him closer every second. “Always wanna make y’feel good, baby,” he says. His face hovers just above yours, a bead of sweat sliding down the bridge of his nose onto the tip of yours. “I gotta–”
“Cum for me, Eddie,” you tell him, and with your permission, he pistons his hips a final time and spills into the condom. Your walls contract around his length as you finish with him.
Eddie stays inside you as the two of you catch your breath, smiling and stealing kisses from each other. He’s never felt anything like this before; for him, the thrill of sex is typically fueled purely by the primal instinct to get laid, but he’s in no rush to let you go. His cock begins to soften and he slowly pulls out, chuckling when you whine at the loss of fullness.
“Gotta toss this,” he says, removing the condom with a soft hiss and tying a knot. “Then I’m gonna hold you, mmkay?” Part of him is waiting for the post-sex adrenaline to wear off and the inevitable crash down when he realizes he’s mistaken lust for passion, urgency for belonging, but that doesn’t happen. As much as he’d love to be inside you again, hearing and feeling your satisfaction as you unravel for him, what he wants more than anything is to lay next to you and keep you safe. Safe from what, exactly, he’s not sure, but something compels him to protect you.
He takes you in his arms, the two of you a tangled, sweaty mess of naked limbs. Perspiration mats his sparse chest hair to his skin, but you press your cheek to it anyway and breathe in his scent. Your body grows heavier as sleep overtakes you, but Eddie’s low voice pulls you back for just a second.
“Baby?”
“Hmm?”
I love you. The words want to flow freely but come to a screeching halt on the tip of his tongue. It’s only your second date, and his mind is clouded with the sappiness of Valentine’s Day and oxytocin; what if he just thinks he loves you? Or what if he truly does, but you don’t feel the same way? Would you tell him, or would you pretend to reciprocate to spare him the hurt? Which is worse?
I love you. But it’s too soon to feel that, to know it for certain. And if he rushes things, he’ll get Harris’s hopes up–get his own hopes up–only to be met with heartbreak and disappointment.
I love you. And what would that admission accomplish, anyway? Where would you go from there? What would it change?
“Get some rest,” is what he settles on, biting the inside of his lower lip in shame. He kisses your forehead and watches you drift off, grateful when the exhaustion of the evening hits him and he follows suit.
I love you, is his last thought before he falls asleep, but he convinces himself that he’s not ready to speak it into existence.
--
taglist:
@kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday
@breezybeesposts @wednesdaymunson @feltonswifesworld87 @take-everything-you-can @bebe07011 @81rain @dylanmunson @oscarisaacwhore @eddiesguitarskills @everheart12 @etherealglimmer @hollster88 @wh0re4life @siriuslysmoking
@bibieddiesgf @winchester-angel @starlitlakes @avalon-wolf @hazydespair @josephquinncore @daydreaminglisa @sidthedollface2 @eddiebaemunson @mandyjo8719 @daydreaming-mood @aol19 @corkadymu @starcourtnights
@rockstarmunsons @metalhead-succubus @boinkybarness @oohworldofpisces @costellation-hunter @toobsessedsstuff @meadow20 @theweasleyskettle @lost-in-the-stars03 @elizabethmidnight2017 @aysheashea
@chamomileh0ney @dream-a-little-nightmare @emma77645 @kurdtbean @sheneedsrocknroll92 @tlclick73 @lolly-in-a-strange-land @bakugouswh0r3
@strangerthingsstories5255 @adaydreamaway08 @itsalltaken @harmfulb1tch @mimischaos @averagemisfit03 @steddiegarbage @vigilanteshit @ellendemeyer152 @sierrahhh @hiscrimsonangel @mrsjellymunson @idkatee
@quentinswife @eddiesguitarskills @momowhoo @jasminelafleur @mmunson86 @mcueveryday @augustsgetawaycar @let-love-bleeds-red @inesven @tanyaherondale @theintimatewriter
#eddie munson#eddie stranger things#eddie x reader#eddie x you#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x f!reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson smut#eddie munson angst#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fanfic#fanfic#eddie munson stranger things#stranger things#tui
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
4 WHOLE HOURS (NSFW)
Ever think about what DICK GRAYSON does when you're off to work?
Just dick being a dick (and a pervert)
When he builds up the courage to finally peel his eyes open, hissing through clenched teeth as the sun seeps through the curtains, it feels like it is poking his eyes out.
When he looks over his shoulder, expecting to wake up to your limp and sleepy state, expecting to snag a whiff of your expensive perfume that you insist on putting on before going to bed, expecting to catch a glimpse of your pretty complexion (that he came on multiple times the night before.)
But he didn't.
He found himself staring mindlessly at the vacant slot next to him, a harsh wave of bitter air spreading throughout his skin, his fingers lightly tracing over the wrinkles of the sheets— a trace of you before you left.
He hates— No, Abhors when you go to work, he understands that you have your problems and responsibilities to lay off but why was work so early in the morning? It's not like you'd get fired if you took a day off.
Dick pressed his lips into a tight frown, the realization of your absence dawning on him— the realization that you weren't going to join him in breakfast, or his daily run, or his daily 10-minute session of cuddling and oozing into your warmth, or—
Stop.
He'll be fine, it's not like you're gone for—4 hours.
4 whole hours, 240 whole minutes alone, waiting (im)patiently for you to come back home so he could tackle you to the floor and have a perfect excuse to fuck your brains out— And to jerk off to your panties.
He can't help it, he's the eldest son of Bruce Wayne, the one and only Batman himself, but he's one whiny orb of fuzz and sex when it comes to you, his precious girl, his moon and stars, his honey and his home— his tiny fleshlight he could pound into whenever he likes because he knows you'll be such a good girl and take it like one.
1 hour and a half into the dreadful waiting session as he already has your red-laced panties (his favourite pair) bunched up in his hands and smothered into his nose, Oh god— Your fucking scent.
His calloused hand jerks him off until his brain is absolute mush and his thighs tense and cramp as he feels his stomach coil with that familiar sensation of release, so close— on the rim, fumbling with each breathy word, your name spilling from his quivering lips, over and over again.
The base of his cock drooling with a white and milky ring, his reddened tip oozing pre-cum, wishing it was you and your warm tongue cleaning him up of his mess, his chubby balls pulling taut with each stroke, his brain all fuzzy and a putty mess of filthy thoughts and all sorts of dirty fantasies playing in his head.
One of them, feeling your silky walls tightening and grope around his meaty cock, his tip angry and bulging out with a deep red hue— evidence of his desperate edging as his hips bucked furiously against his fingers, a jolt of electricity surging through his bones— moans and moans dribbling from his lips, heavy breaths and whimpers as he near his blinding release, a sigh of pure bliss and a slimy layer of slick sweat trickling down his eyebrows and temples.
Oh, what he would do just to feel your tight cunt keeping his cock nice and warm, smooching your pelvis with each deep plunge and thrust of his hips.
He was too lost in his fantasies of you, too lost to realize he dribbled a gooey mess of his thighs and the sheets, his tongue hungry for the sweet nectar of sex.
There was no way he was making it.
And there was no way you were going to walk tomorrow.
#tumblr#new writers on tumblr#writer#scenario#dc#nightwing x y/n#nightwing x you#nightwing x reader#nightwing#night wing#dick grayson x female!reader#dick grayson x you#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson
696 notes
·
View notes
Text
MY BABY, MY BABY. YOU'RE MY BABY, SAY IT TO ME. (JT)
notes/cw ~ fluff, minor(ish) angst, fem!reader, talks of having a baby, idk i just had really bad dad!jason brain rot and i felt like i had to share it with my lovely angels, (2.3k)
The sound of laughter rings through your house like jingle bells during the holiday season, pitter patters of tiny feet tumbling against hardwood floors, and bigger ones chasing after them invade your ears. Squeals of laughter pour out through an open window as you pull bags of groceries out of the trunk of your car, the sound of running dying down when the trunk closes with a thump. "Is mommy home?" You hear a familiarly sweet voice say. "I think she is. Come on, let's see if we can beat her to the door."
Bags in hand, you walk up the pathway to the entrance of your house. The street of your suburban neighborhood, mostly empty on this chilly winter night, save for some residents walking their dogs before lights get turned off. The sound of a lock clicks before you're even halfway up the path, and soon after, you're met with Jason and your daughter standing in the doorway looking ridiculous, goofy grins on both of their faces. Red bows are hidden amongst his hair, some tied around short braids, some just hanging loosely on a few strands bunched together. Pink pajama pants peek out from under the red tutu she's wearing, and she dons pink ballet slippers on her feet as if she's about to perform the Nutcracker.
He steps outside, meeting you at the top of the steps, hooking his fingers under the canvas straps of your reusable tote bags—an investment you'd made to offset some of the carbon emissions from his bike—and takes them into his hands. "New hair, huh?" you ask, eyeing the variety of red satin ribbons tied in knots littering the expanse of his head. "Yeah, you like?" He asks, turning towards you, lowering his head a bit so you can get a better look. You roll your eyes, but there's a smile playing on your lips at the image of Jason sitting down while your daughter's tiny hands play hairdresser with bows and barrettes.
You close the front door behind him as he makes his way toward the kitchen to unpack the groceries, turning your attention to the little girl in front of you sporting a toothy grin. "I thought ballet ended hours ago," you say, eyeing the layers of bright red tulle you had previously hidden to avoid the specks of glitter that shed every time she moved. "She had to practice her pirouettes." you hear Jason say from inside the fridge. "Yeah, mommy. I was practicing my pirouettes." She pouts her lips and cocks her head to the side, small hands fidgeting as she tries to use cuteness to get out of trouble. You cross your arms and squint your eyes at her, "Uh huh. And the hair?" You gesture to Jason, walking toward you. "What does that have to do with pirouettes?"
He joins the two of you in the living room holding up a container of Gerber baby puffs, using them as a distraction to get both him and his little girl out of trouble. "What?" You ask, deadpan. "What d'ya mean what? We've got an infant I don't know about?" Your daughter gasps, eyes lighting up suddenly. "A sibling!" He laughs, turning towards you with a raised eyebrow. "No, you jerk. Him, not you, honey," you say, quickly correcting yourself. "They're for me." You snatch the container of blueberry-flavored rice puffs out of his hand, peeling off the lid and shoving a handful into your mouth. "God forbid women enjoy things."
You pop a few more into your mouth before feeling a tug at the coat you still hadn't taken off. When you look down, you're met with your daughter, mouth open and waiting for you to share. She stares at you with wide eyes, using your inability to say no to her to her advantage. Sighing, you raise the container a bit and pause, "Only a few, and you have to get ready for bed after." she nods her head, mouth still open, and you tilt and pour out a substantial amount. She closes her mouth and displays her adorable little smile once again before running off to the bathroom to brush her teeth. "Hold on," Jason shouts down the hallway. "Say thank you to your mom!" You hear feet running again, and soon enough, feel the soft squeeze of your daughter giving you a hug; she presses her head into your lower abdomen as you bring your hand up to softly stroke her hair. "Thank you, Mommy." She says before moving on to Jason and giving an equally soft hug despite using all her might. "And thank you, Daddy, for letting me do your hair." She lets go and scurries off again, leaving a trail of red glitter in her wake for you to clean up.
She disappears into the bathroom, and you watch the hallway, now empty, as she gets ready for bed. You sigh, listening to the sound of water running while she independently does her end-of-the-night tasks, something you'd still helped her with not too long ago. Jason's arms creep around your waist, pulling you against him. His chin rests on your shoulder, and you feel something tickle your neck, but you're not sure if it's his hair or a ribbon. He notices the solemn look in your eyes, a stark contrast to the liveliness he'd seen in you just a few moments ago. "What's wrong? Is it the glitter? Because I can clean that up." He says. "No, not that." You nibble on your bottom lip, lost in thought, trying to organize your feelings. "Just… she's gotten so big." He hums in acknowledgment, his way of saying he shares the sentiment. "I just don't know where the time went." You mumble, overcome with an unexpected sadness. "She's only five." He says into your neck, bringing his hands up to your shoulders and gently pulling off the coat you'd forgotten to take off. "Yeah, but she was just a baby not that long ago. I swear."
The both of you watch her move between her bedroom and the bathroom, soft dark brown curls bouncing with every movement. At five, she was already more responsible than most children her age, having a pretty concrete idea of right and wrong well before most kids do. Responsible for her age, but still just a baby in the grand scheme of everything, and sometimes the two of you would wonder if Jason's occupation might end up inadvertently affecting her and warping her idea of justice, but those fears were almost always disproven as soon as they came and oftentimes you didn't worry more than a few minutes. "We're doing a good job." He says from behind you, rubbing your back in an attempt to take away some of the worry. Normally, it would go away with ease, today, not so much. "We're not bad parents." You say with conviction, but you both know you're just trying to convince yourself of it. "We're not. You know we're not."
He turns you around to face him, away from the hallway, so you can't dwell any longer. His hands move to your upper arms, kneading gently as he searches for your eyes. "What's wrong? Talk to me." You struggle to make eye contact, unsure of your next words. "I think…I think I want another baby." You breathe out, looking down, unable to meet his gaze. Seconds pass, but they feel like minutes, and you barely breathe while you wait for his reaction. Not a single thing in the universe could've prepared you for the words that come out of his mouth. "Is that all? Is that what you were sulking about?" You look up at him, eyes wide, as he lets out a breathy laugh. Oh Jason, your Jason, taking your face in his hands and leaning down so he can look you in your eyes. "Don't scare me like that again, okay? Do you know how fucked up shit has to be for me to be the optimist out of the two of us?" It's your turn to laugh now, a weight having been lifted off your shoulders. "Language," you warn. "Aw, come on, she's way out of earshot." He bends down and presses his lips against yours; you close your eyes, leaning into him, hands finding his chest as you feel all of your worries melt away.
"Blegh."
The sudden sound of a disgusted child, your disgusted child, pulls you away from Jason, and you wipe your mouth in embarrassment. It's just your daughter, but you still feel like a kid who's just been caught stealing candy and is about to get lectured into oblivion; Jason, however, handles it with ease. Taking on a playfully stern tone and pointing an accusatory finger at her, he asks, "Why are you up, little lady? Shouldn't you be in bed?" She mirrors his action, pointing a finger at him now. "You didn't tuck me in or read me my bedtime story." He puts his thumb and forefinger on his chin, seemingly thinking it over. "Hmmm, seems you've got me there." He shrugs before picking her up into his arms and giving her a kiss on the forehead. "You've gone soft," you say with a laugh, the embarrassment of being caught having passed. "What can I say? She's bossy. Gets it from her mama." You nudge his shoulder lightly as he turns in the direction of her room. "Alright, that's enough out of you."
He leaves the door to her bedroom slightly cracked, and you can hear their whispers as they do their nightly routine of picking out a book to read, followed by her falling asleep in his arms. "What do you have in mind tonight?" He asks, laying her down gently on the bed adorned with princess sheets and stuffed animals he'd bought for her during trips around the world. "Can we finish Lord of the Rings?" She grabs her favorite stuffie, a gray bunny with droopy ears and button eyes, and holds it close to her chest as Jason climbs in beside her. "I don't think we can finish it, but we can fit a few pages in before it's time for you to go to sleep. That work for you?" He leans over the side of the bed and picks up a worn copy of Lord of the Rings that had been sitting on top of a stack of books he kept in her room solely for the purpose of bedtime. She nods her head at his question and snuggles further into him as he flips to the page they left off at.
You hear the sound of rustling and know the bedtime story has commenced, leaving you to clean up the mess of glitter and ribbons. Broom in hand, you start to sweep up the remnants of her "pirouette practice." Going up and down the hallway, sweeping back and forth. You catch a glimpse of the photos in the frames lining your wall before coming to a full stop and reminiscing about how far you guys have come. There were some pictures from when it was just the two of you, but most of those were kept digital, hidden amongst miscellaneous screenshots and disorganized photo albums. The majority of the framed photos came after she was born; something so special about being able to hold a photo of the three of you in your hands, to have it on display in your home proudly saying this is my family. Corny, maybe, but you'd never regretted starting the collection, especially since it had been Jason's idea. He'd been insistent that you keep a scrapbook to commemorate your ever-changing lives, but after realizing neither of you had the knack for cutting and gluing bits of paper onto pretty pages, you'd settled on the wall. Now, you look at them so often and always with fondness. Oh, how things had changed since that day, you'd met so long ago.
You don't know how long you'd been standing there, but you hear a door closing softly, and you turn to see Jason trying to make his way into the hallway with minimal noise. "Is she asleep?" You ask, barely above a whisper. "Out like a light." He says, joining you in front of the framed memories. A picture of her as a newborn, freshly discharged from the hospital, catches his eye, "she was really tiny, wasn't she?" He says, voice cracking a little as he remembers the overwhelming fear he'd experienced when you were in labor and how it all went away once he had held her in his arms. You hum in agreement as you both get lost in pictures of her from the past. Birthdays and holidays, family events and major milestones, there was a picture for everything.
There was one of her on his shoulders; she couldn't have been more than two at the time, her tiny fingers laced through locks of jet-black hair. You remember like it was yesterday; she had just watched Ratatouille and was trying to imitate Remy. He had played into it, and he couldn't get her off his shoulders for days after that. Another, taken from her first trip to the beach. You sit behind her, keeping her upright and holding her arms out, making one wave at Jason, who was behind the camera. You smile to yourself, the two of you standing outside of your daughter's bedroom, mostly content, remembering what it was like to have a baby in your arms. The memory of bringing her home floods his brain; how nervous he was yet so insanely happy he couldn't control the smile on his face. A shaky laugh falls from his lips as he pulls down a picture of the three of you still in the hospital, thumb pressed against the glass like he's trying to physically feel the moment. "Yeah…I could do it again."
been working on this almost non stop for 9 hours, literally my longest fic yet (only by like 600 words, but still !!!), special thanks to @kiyozu (my beloved) for giving me this idea !! eek, hope you guys enjoyed it <33 (user orchidsangel is going to sleep now) (also tried following up dialogue with actions this time, gonna see how that goes bc if it’s too hard to follow along with i’ll just go back to he said she said)
#jason todd#jason todd x reader#jason todd x you#jason todd x fem!reader#jason todd fluff#jason todd angst#jason todd fic#red hood#red hood x reader#red hood x you#red hood x fem!reader#red hood fluff#red hood angst#jason todd i’ll love you forever#divider by benkeibear
330 notes
·
View notes
Note
do u perchance have any ghost/soap/reader thoughts to spare 🤲
oh my god you wouldn't even believe the amount of thoughts I have about them (nsfw below the read more)
I love thinking about what the dynamic might look like depending on who initiated the relationship.
I love love love the idea of Ghost dating you (a civilian who lives off base; maybe he even keeps you tucked away in a house somewhere up north to keep you safe) and realizing that Soap has a bit of a crush on you. He talks a bit too much whenever Ghost brings you around, postures a bit in front of you, and gets VERY sketchy and flighty when Ghost tries to talk to him about you later.
He won't admit it, but it's hard seeing pictures of you (or worse, meeting you in person and getting to see with his own eyes how teeny tiny you are next to his behemoth of a CO) because anytime Soap does, his thoughts immediately jump to something nasty like "wonder how he fits his cock in her mouth" "she probably gags on it a little"
He really can't help it; it's part being cocky and competitive by nature and wanting to measure up to the guy he holds in such high esteem (Soap's had a bit of a work crush on Ghost since basically day 1 of working together; his little heart eyes when he said "Save you a seat, sir" that first mission) and part genuine attraction. And then part being just a regular guy with filth on the brain 24/7 - like sue him, he sees a gorgeous girl and a guy twice her size with his arm around her waist, he's gonna think about that when he's alone in the showers.
Ghost obviously picks up on this almost instantly.
The next time Ghost brings you up, they're setting up camp somewhere in the desert, and Soap's already red face (he tans as well as he burns) grows even hotter. It's obvious that he's got it bad for you. It's also obvious that he thinks he's being slick and keeping his crush hidden from Ghost.
Weeks in the desert are a bitch to deal with. Especially weeks spent in near constant proximity to work colleagues/friends; usually the guys are used to sneaking off to crank one out every once in awhile, but something about this particular mission makes that impossible. They're stuck in the same quarters 24/7 and Soap can't even handle hearing your name because he's so pent up and jittery. Probably hasn't jerked off in at least a week and a half.
Maybe one night, when it's just Soap and Ghost retiring for the night while Price and Gaz take over watch, and Soap's been particularly acerbic all day, frustration etched into his face, Ghost drags him by the arm down with him onto the bed. Soap's caught off balance (they're both dead on their feet; he didn't expect Ghost to suddenly tug him down beside him onto the too small cot that barely has enough room for one of them) and tries to scramble away at first, but Ghost growls at him that if he doesn't tug one out and quit making stupid calls on their mission, he'll do it for him.
(Obviously, in this 'verse, Ghost wouldn't have any problem with that. He hasn't been suppressing his feelings for Soap so much as figuring out the best way to get Soap to come around to the idea)
The thing that finally stuns Soap into silence is when Ghost pulls out his phone (which has basically 3 contacts, a handful of photos and nothing else) and opens up a bunch of your nudes. Completely gobsmacked. Immediately bricked up, sweat beading on his upper lip, eyes flicking wildly over to Ghost at his side, who's already undoing his belt and Soap feels like his heart's about to pump straight out of his chest.
"Y'gonna lay there like a fucking idiot with your mouth open or deal with that?" Ghost finally growls, pulling his own cock out (Soap stops breathing for a second at the sight; it's as big as he would've guessed, proportional, girthier than it is long, and already hard, wet at the tip because Ghost's a pretty leaky man).
He's giving him tacit permission to jerk off to his girlfriend's nudes.....obviously Soap's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. His brain is fried though - he won't even acknowledge the degrees to which this whole thing is absolutely fucked, jerking off with his lieutenant to his lieutenant's girlfriend's nudes.
All he can concentrate on are the photos of you in your lacy lingerie (maybe tugging your panties to the side, flipped over on your stomach with your hips canted in the air and ass on full display) and the sound of Ghost's hand slick over his dick. It's the hottest he's ever felt in his life and he's almost worried that he's going to pass out before he can even enjoy himself properly.
[Maybe right before he comes, Ghost reaches over and wraps a big hand around Soap's balls and gives them just the slightest little squeeze, grunting in his ear to "c'mon, get it over with", and Soap near blacks out from how hard he comes]
#cod mw2#ceil writing#cod x reader#ghost x soap x reader#ghost/soap/reader#johnny soap mactavish#ghost/reader#soap/ghost#soap/reader
853 notes
·
View notes
Note
Hi! I saw that you are taking request, so may I ask for some DogDay x reader? In your latest x reader, I loved the idea of DD sleeping next to us, so I was wondering if you'd be willing to write something fluffy about him comforting reader after she had a nightmare about being caught by CatNap. Reader often sleeps hugging DD because she feels safe that way, so it's only natural he'd notice when she is startled awake. Thanks! <3
[A/n: for one thank you for the request and two I hope you like it!]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm here
Tap… Tap… Tap… Tap
The faint but unmistakable sound of nails clicking along behind you made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You move faster, you need to get out of here. The clogged dim hallways of Home Sweet Home were more of a hindrance to you than to him.
You just need to get out of here.
Left, left, right, straight, left. You know the front door is around here somewhere. You didn’t go that far in this time. You know you didn’t.
So you turn, and you pivot, and you back track.
Tap.. Tap.. Tap.. Tap.. Tap
Your breathing deepens. It’s getting closer, He’s getting closer.
In your haste to move faster you stumble into a claw gouged wall. The rough patches bite into your skin and snags on your clothes. You need to get up but it feels as if there are thousands of tiny little talons pulling at you from the wall.
Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap.Tap
Tears sting your eyes.
You need to leave.
Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap
Red, swirling, suffocating smoke is filling the hallway.
Please you just need to get up.
Please. Please. Please!
Your eyes squeeze shut. Waiting.
There is silence. No more clicking claws. Instead coarse fur brushes along your back. The smell of old blood and rotten poppies invades your nose. It chokes you as you try to not breathe it in. Tears trickle down your cheeks as a heavy paw comes to rest on your head. It jerks you back, making your spine arch uncomfortably.
A gaping mouth greets you, spilling more poison that you are forced to fill your lungs with. He continues to pull as claws dig into your skull. Your skin gives and thin lines of crimson spiral down your face mixing with your tears.
Two glowing white eyes stare down at you, judging you. In that gaze you see everything.
Everything you did. Everything you didn’t.
There is no forgiveness.
You’ve done everything and nothing and you will pay for that.
DogDay is roused from his slumber and at first he isn’t sure why. Mind foggy with sleep he tries to understand what woke him. The answer becomes obvious as small hands dig into his side. His fur bunching up under your fists as you shake. You’re mumbling something and your face is red from crying. As carefully as he can, DogDay goes to wake you up. Keeping his movements slow he brushes a hand through your hair. He watches as you jolt awake. Your eyes wide and damp with tears. You look around, searching for something he can only guess.
“You’re alright. It’s alright.” He doesn’t pull you closer, not yet. He waits, keeps muttering out reassurances as he looks after you.
“DogDay, where are we?” you ask softly. He knows you know where they are but he understands. He too needs the assurance that when he wakes up it isn’t back in that hell, strapped to a wall waiting for death.
“We’re in the school.” Your shoulders stiffen. “It’s alright.” he rushes out. “Remember you took care of Miss Delight. We’re safe. You’re safe. I promise.” You nod, relaxing every so slightly.
“Okay.” Your gaze is still weary but you shuffle closer to him. Head coming to rest underneath his chin. He keeps his grip light as you begin to settle.
“Thank you and I'm sorry.” it comes out muffled, your face is buried in his shoulder. He can’t imagine that it is the most comfortable place to be. But if you were content then so was he.
“Don’t be, I'm here for you Angel. Always and forever.”
#poppy playtime#dogday poppy playtime#reader insert#dogday x reader#nightmares#catnap#hurt/comfort#slight mentions of blood#miss delight
215 notes
·
View notes
Text
Previous // Next
Robin: [lowly] Aren’t you gonna say anything?
Oscar: I haven’t decided what to say yet, pal-.. so, you better get your story straight.
[Robin sighed, trudging after his father; he doubted “Levi’s a jerk n’ had it coming” was gonna cut it]
Larry: Holy shit-.. tat man?!
Oscar: Hey, uhm…
Larry: Larry! We used t’be neighbours-.. dude, we were gutted when you moved out.
Oscar: Oh, I’m sure you were.
Larry: I totally didn’t reckon you were gonna make it last time I saw you-.. like I thought you were gonna be the first dead body I ever laid eyes on y’know, makin’ pals with that bathroom floor n’ all.
[Oscar scoffed lightly, attempting to rid himself of Larry as quickly as possible. He couldn’t quite remember what his old neighbour was talking about, but he could guess-.. and it definitely wasn’t a conversation fit for a child’s ears]
Larry: I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t remember, dude! You were pretty-…
Oscar: Well, it was nice seeing you!
Larry: Aye-.. hey, you still in the game by any chance..?
Oscar: Bye, Larry.
…
Robin: Why did he say that?
Oscar: Ohh, we used to play games together now n’ the-…
Robin: No, the dead body thing.
Oscar: I don’t know what he’s talking about, ignore him. He’s a complete moron.
[Oscar silently cursed Larry as he hurried Robin along, what an idiot, bringing that up in front of a bunch of kids]
Robin: Did you die?!
Oscar: What, no!
Robin: But it look-.. it sounded like-.. he said you d-died!
Oscar: No, he didn’t! Do I look dead to you?
[Oscar sighed as Robin stammered something incoherent and jammed a frayed sleeve into his teary eyes-.. stupid fucking Larry and his big stupid mouth]
Oscar: Robin, buddy-.. look, I’m fine!
[Oscar tugged Robin closer and squeezed his arm with reassurance, murmuring softly]
Oscar: Look, it-.. it was just a tiny accident when I was younger, okay? He’s being overly dramatic about it. I wouldn’t be here if I’d actually died, would I? Hell, neither would you! He’s talking nonsense, honey.
Robin: B-but…
[Robin choked back a sob as he threw himself at Oscar, catching himself before exclaiming that he’d literally just seen his father’s lifeless body right in front of him-.. well, Larry had]
Oscar: I think today’s been a bit too much, hasn’t it?
[Robin nodded somberly against Oscar’s shoulder, glad to be given a free excuse for his ridiculous outburst]
Oscar: C’mon, let’s get outta here.
…
[Levi stared over his shoulder as his father practically dragged him toward the car. He’d be lucky to see the light of day for the next month at least and Robin got a hug-.. how the hell was that fair?!]
Keith: Do you think I’ve got nothing better to do?! Get in the damn car!
#ts4#sims 4#simblr#ts4 story#sims story#forever in between#fib#oscar finch#robin finch#keith sears#levi sears#robin buddy nooooooooo u were never supposed to see that#ough the poor boy has had a DAY#brb the sobbing corner is calling me#😭#i don't think larry has a tag but let's be honest he doesn't deserve one >.>#twoverdose#twflashing#twdeath#ish?
174 notes
·
View notes
Text
Home Video
Soap and Gaz find mysterious home videos in Price's garage
Price had enlisted Gaz to help him do some spring cleaning of a garage he had and Gaz had complained to Soap who had immediately volunteered to help them. Price had been less than thrilled that Gaz had invited Soap to help go through his personal things, but he could admit the garage was huge and filled to the brim so maybe it was fair.
The three men stepped into it and Gaz groaned. “It looks like a hoarder has lived here for a couple of years!! How did this even happen??”
Price looked sheepish at least. “Yeah… So long story short, I uh… just shoved things in here for the longest time.”
Soap and Gaz stared at him for a few minutes before Price sighed. “Okay, maybe I am a bit of a hoarder. But that’s besides the point. I want this cleaned.”
Soap examined it for a few minutes before sighing. “Alright, I volunteered. Not going to complain.”
“Cool. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“What??” Soap whipped around.
Price sighed. “I’ll give you both twenty pounds. You don’t need to get all of it cleaned, just some of it okay?”
“Alright, Captain.” Gaz sighed and stepped into it. Soap got to work right next to him. Luckily nothing was gross, mostly just dusty, but items of all sorts were just… scattered. Everywhere. Clothes, children’s toys, model planes, military memorabilia and weirdly a box of christmas lights. Occasionally they’d get lucky and find a box. Soap noticed one of them had marker on it and it was filled to the brim with vhs tapes. Unlike everything that was boxed where it was clearly stuffed in there, these were neatly organized by year. He flipped the lid back over to see the label again and actually read it this time.
“Tommy and Riley.”
Soap frowned and tried to wrack his brain for any memory of who that could be. He was pretty sure he knew all of Price’s relatives.
His mom? Dead but her name was Brenda.
His dad? Dead but his name was Charles.
No siblings. So no nephews or nieces. And not a single person that Soap could think of who would be named Tommy or Riley.
“Gaz. I found something.” Soap picked up one of the older looking ones. It had a label, but it was smeared to hell. He could vaguely make out an S and IRTH.
“Soap, you’re not going to believe this.” Gaz lifted up a VCR player.
“It’s clearly fate.” Soap said immediately.
“Exactly, we gotta watch them.”
It took them a few minutes to set up in Price’s living room, but they managed to get everything up and running and they popped a tape in.
There were four people. A blond lady, a dark haired man and their two sons, presumably. One of them looked like the spitting image of his mom with blond hair and the other was more ginger. The two boys were clearly excited.
The lady lit a few candles on the cake in front of them. “How does it feel to be four Tommy?” She asked and her voice was so soft. It had a Manchester accent that reminded him a little bit of Ghost, but there was also a clear London influence.
Tommy, the blond one, smiled up at her. He was missing a few teeth. A few more than the average kid his age, but maybe he just lost a bunch of his baby teeth at one time. “Cake!”
She laughed and the other kid, who didn’t look much older, rolled his eyes. “Tommy! Hurry up and blow out the candles!!”
Their mom ruffled his hair. “Hey, now, a little patience okay? Make a wish and blow out the candles.”
Tommy seemed to think long and hard before blowing them out.
The man spoke for the first time and Soap’s heart jumped. It sounded like a scratchy version of Ghost’s voice and Soap did not like it. “What did you wish for kid?”
“For Simon to stop being a jerk!” Tommy poked his brother hard.
“Since you said your wish, it’s not going to come true!”
“Simon, stop antagonizing your brother.”
Simon stuck his tongue out at Tommy while Soap had a mental breakdown.
“Simon Riley.” Soap put it together.
“Oh my God, it’s fucking Ghost!” Gaz shifted, staring at the tiny kids on the screen.
Soap watched the two of them squabble while their mom cut the cake. She smiled, but when she came a bit more into view, he noticed her arm was bandaged and it clearly hurt a bit to move it. Their father stayed in the same position, arms crossed over his chest and a bored look on his face. The video ended after a moment and Soap popped another one in.
Gaz looked like he was going to say something for the briefest of moments before just watching them with him.
The next one was similar. Just holiday stuff. Simon didn’t look very happy in this one, staring off in the distance for most of it. He winced when his dad hit his shoulder and quickly rubbed his arm like it hurt. His mom handed him a gift though and he beamed.
“There’s my good boy.” She ruffled his hair as he unwrapped the present. He was methodical, undoing the tape so he could take the wrapping off without tearing it. Soap was fascinated.
Gaz grabbed a video from further into the box and they were met with a teenage Tommy getting ready in a mirror. With skull makeup. It was uncanny, the only difference between the two being their eyes. Tommy’s were a bright green. Simon stood next to him, slightly shorter than him. At first, Soap thought he had to be sitting down, but no. He was in fact slightly shorter.
Simon leaned into his younger brother, makeup covered the bottom half of his face, making a giant fake Glasgow smile that Soap felt was a little ironic considering Ghost had a real one.
“You done?” Simon’s voice had just started to deepen, sounding a little more like the voice Soap was used to hearing over comms. It definitely sounded younger though, clearly a teen. He also looked like a teen, mostly thanks to him wearing dorky sunglasses and a leather jacket that didn’t fit his shoulders right.
“Give me a second, Si.” Tommy grumbled, voice still cracking a little from puberty. He looked annoyed as he once again tried to get the lines straight. He finally managed and looked proud of himself. “How do I look?”
“Like a loser.” Simon responded but he smiled at him. Tommy rolled his eyes and picked up the camera. The two of them left then with him carrying the camera around. Both of them were talking about something and then they set the camera in the back of a car. Their dad climbed into the driver’s side and he looked at Simon in the front seat.
“Why are you wearing sunglasses?”
“Uh…”
His dad took them off his face and Simon’s eyes were very red. There was also some bruising where it looked like he had been decked.
“Are you high?”
“Yeah. Got some weed from Jason. You want some, dad?”
His dad laughed. “Course you’d get high on something like weed. Nah, I’m good. Got some needles in the back.” He ruffled Simon’s hair who smiled, relaxing into his seat.
Soap looked at Gaz who looked just as taken back by it. Simon fixed his sunglasses and they continued going to wherever they were going. His dad put on the radio and they all three belted out the 90’s rock.
Soap wondered if Simon still listened to it. Did he sing in the car when they weren’t around?
Once he got out, he saw that their dad also had skull paint on and he looked even more like Simon than Tommy did. He looked at the camera for a moment before hitting Tommy rather hard for it to be playful. “Fucking idiot, you ran the battery down. I swe-” The camera clicked close.
Soap decided to pick the next one, since Gaz obviously had bad taste, and he got one that was on the complete other side of the box. He slipped it in and sat next to Gaz eagerly.
An adult Simon and Tommy. Simon must’ve finally gotten taller because he was now several inches taller than Tommy. They were at a concert and clearly high on something, but they looked happy. Soap couldn’t argue that. Tommy kept glancing at Simon, clearly wanting to say something but Simon didn’t acknowledge it. The video went out for a bit, some shitty rock band playing live in the background.
“Hey Simon?”
“Yeah?”
Tommy paused before shaking his head. “I’m so-”
“Don’t be. Stuff happens. As long as it wasn’t you that got hurt.”
“But your ribs…”
“I’ll be fine. I’m your older brother. It’s my job to protect you, ya know?” Simon smiled and it looked sad.
They changed that one rather fast.
It opened to a group of fish. They were all moving about slowly.
A small child started to talk. “Did you know sharks are older than trees?
“Really?” Ghost. Soap recognized his voice right away. “I did not know that.” He sounded like he was smiling.
“Also, scientists can age sharks like a tree too!”
“No way. How could they do that?”
“They count the rings on their vertebrae.” The camera turned to them. Soap wasn’t sure who was holding the camera, but he didn’t really need to. Simon was standing there, unmasked and wearing a short sleeved shirt. His arms were covered in little tattoos and on his shoulders was a small kid. Tiny little hands were buried in Ghost’s hair to keep himself stable. “But they have to hurt the sharks to do that.”
Simon smiled, looking like the absolute gift he was. “Yeah. We don’t want that. If I meet any sharks, I’ll just ask their birthday, huh Joseph?”
Joseph smiled and they looked exactly like each other. Simon took him off his shoulders and started walking to the camera person, swinging Joseph back and forth as he walked. There were scars on his face already. Soft ones along his mouth. But he looked so pretty. So young too. Rather young to be a father, though the way he talked with the kid and the fact that there didn’t seem to be anyone else, it made sense.
Was the person holding the camera the mom? Were they married? Just dating? Were they still together? Ghost was also on leave. Was he with her right now?
Soap had never really… thought of that. He should’ve, but stuff like that doesn’t always come out during conversations with soldiers. Ghost was a lone wolf though, so Soap always assumed he was completely alone.
How old was this kid now? Based on the age, he assumed the kid would be a teen now, right?
Simon threw the kid in the air and caught him, hugging him close to his chest. He laughed. Genuinely. It was so sweet sounding. He smiled right at the camera.
“You two look cute!”
Simon blushed. “Ah, it’s all the little guy.”
“Yeah, that’s fair.”
Joseph kicked his feet and Simon put him down. He clinged to Simon’s hand as they walked. Simon was clearly about to say something but the video ended.
Gaz looked at Soap. “Ghost is a dad??”
“Oh my God, Ghost is a dad.” Soap echoed, staring at the now blank screen. “He picked the name Joseph though. What a boring name.” He looked away and hoped Gaz wouldn’t catch his expression.
Ghost was a dad and never told him? He understood everyone else. Price obviously knew. But why not tell him? They were close he thought!
Gaz popped another one in while he was distracted. It was from the same section so it was more about Joseph. All of the focus was on the kid actually. Where before, the camera was just pointed in their general vicinity, someone was clearly holding the camera to make sure to capture everything.
Joseph tore open his presents with a fierce ferocity, grinning. He grabbed the legos and immediately looked at Simon who was just off to the side.
“Ya gotta help me build them!!”
Simon nodded. “I will, don’t worry.” He smiled at him. His hair was buzzed like the standard military cut. The rest of the birthday went with most of the focus on Joseph, who looked even more like Simon than before, and occasionally a pretty lassie with red hair.
Soap got an answer to who was behind the camera when Simon smiled at him. “Cute kid right Tommy?”
“Fucking cutest.”
“Swear jar.”
“Kill yourself, Simon.”
Simon laughed and Beth smiled at the camera too. Joseph seemed oblivious to the adults around him, still trying to tear open another present.
The next video was a little more confusing. There was jostling and it was just Tommy. He set the camera down for just a moment to fix himself. After making sure his rather casual outfit was straight, he picked up the sign that had a simple “Sergeant Simon Riley” painted on it. He held it up immediately and beamed, completely forgetting the camera on the seat.
Simon slowly made his way over. There was a very pronounced limp and he was holding himself like he was in a lot of pain. Tommy looked worried, but he grabbed everything and they got a glimpse at the bandages. They were wrapped all the way around Soap’s throat and were across the bottom half of his face. Dark circles under his eyes gave away how exhausted he was.
“Hey, Si… you okay?”
Simon blinked slowly before nodding. He went to take another step but Tommy quickie got under his arm, offering support. The camera went off.
“Price might be here soon. It’s been close to an hour.” Gaz pointed out, but Soap could see it. The curiosity for more. More answers, more information, more of seeing Ghost not be… Ghost.
“Just one more.” Soap grabbed another one from that side of the box and popped it in.
He could tell as soon as it started playing that something was wrong.
Simon looked… exhausted. He had a medical mask on and a hoodie, yet still seemed to be shivering. His eyes were another factor. They shifted around frantically, clearly afraid of something, even though he was in the exact same home he had been in.
The camera was from an odd angle, like someone was recording him from a different room.
Joseph slipped past the cameraman and Soap saw an older woman’s hand reach out to grab him but it was too late. Joseph stood right in front of Simon and all of his attention was immediately on him.
“Hey, Joseph.”
“Do you want to watch movies with me?”
There was a pause. The kid had certainly aged, must’ve been at least a year since the last one, but he was still so young. A baby in the grand scheme of things.
Simon slowly scooted over to make room but Joseph still sat right next to him, invading his personal space as children often did. He put on a movie himself, it looked like a Disney one, and started talking.
“Mom said you used to watch movies with me all the time, especially when I was little. She said you worried about dropping me so you only ever held me if you sitting down.”
Simon shrugged. “You were tiny. Still are.”
“Hey! I’m 5 now!”
“Still tiny. Worried I’d… hurt you somehow.”
“Mom and Grandma said you’re scared now. Is it because you think that again?”
Simon slowly reached up and pushed his hood back. His hair was far longer and not evenly cut. Soap could see where there was scarring along his throat as well as the edges of bandages that went under his mask. “No. I don’t think I’d hurt you.”
“Good. So you’re going to keep watching movies with me right?”
“Yeah. I’ll always watch movies you, kid.” Simon didn’t relax as Joseph cuddled up to him. Even after Joseph fell asleep, he stayed stiff.
The person holding the camera moved closer and Simon immediately moved his head to look at her. He was afraid for just a moment and his hands immediately covered Joseph to protect him first.
“Hey, Mum.” Simon’s eyes were tired, but… they weren’t Ghost’s. There was a spark of something there that wasn’t present in Ghost’s.
“I knew he could cheer you up.”
Simon let out a tiny huff and his eyes started to close. Her hand gently cupped his cheek and he finally relaxed. “There’s my good boy.” She whispered softly and he let out a shaky breath, like he was trying not to cry. He fell asleep after a few minutes and she tucked them both in.
“You kept them?”
Soap and Gaz both screamed, looking up at Ghost who seemed impassive. There was nothing in his eyes to indicate anything, let alone something as trivial as how he was feeling.
Price grimaced. “Yeah. I had planned on giving them back to you when I found you in Mexico, but you were in such a bad place I decided to wait and then I just never found a good time.”
Ghost nodded and watched as his Mom set the camera down on the counter as she did her hair. She must’ve forgot the camera was still on.
“You’re a dad?” Gaz asked, much braver than Soap ever could be about it.
“Joseph is my nephew.” Ghost explained, not taking his eyes off the screen. She pulled away to start making tea, humming a Beatles song as she did. She must’ve heard something because she disappeared suddenly and then was leading a shaking Simon in. He held on to her, looking more like a lost kid than a 6’4 adult man.
“Sit down, love.”
“She had sixth sense for when I had nightmares. Even when I was a kid.” Ghost sounded delicate. It was new. Price gave them a signal to keep quiet. “When I came home, I had them so often, but she would always be there. Usually with a cup of tea or she’d try to push me back to bed.”
She started speaking again and Ghost went quiet, just like the version of him on the screen, he hung on every word. “You’re okay. You’re right here with me, okay?”
“Okay…”
“Whatever happened, whatever they said, you’re alive, safe at home. We all are, alright Simon?”
Simon nodded slowly and tried to grab the cup she set down in front of him. His hands shook too hard, the liquid spilling on to his fingers. He winced and she quickly took the cup from him to set it down. She made sure the burns weren’t too bad before smiling.
All at once, she remembered the camera and quickly grabbed it. “Oh i was supposed to be recording Joseph but he ran off to play with you and I just got so…” She shut the camera and the video ended.
Ghost stared and Soap saw it. The tiny flicker of sadness. Soap grabbed his hand, deciding to try to be brave.
“What happened to her?”
“Same thing that happened to Joseph and Tommy and Beth. They’re a bunch of gravestones.”
“Seems they really cared about you.”
“...Yeah. They really did.”
#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#call of duty modern warfare ii#cod#cod mw2#simon ghost riley#johnny soap mactavish#captain john price#kyle gaz garrick
720 notes
·
View notes
Text
sakura blossoms (pt 3)
monkey d luffy x afab!reader | smut | ~1.1k words
warnings: this is allll smut. virgin!luffy is my religion so ✨
a/n: this is pt 3 to the sakura blossoms series !! it's the final part so i hope y'all enjoy it. i know i fucking loved writing it. lemme know what ya think, as always !! 😁
ps. this can be read without reading pt 1/2, it's just smut w a tiny bit of fluff at the end 🤭
click here for pt 1 !!
click here for pt 2 !!
18+ MDNI | under the cut for length
luffy's lips are hot and searing into your own, branding them so now you think you can never kiss anyone else again.
it's hard for you to believe he's never done this before. he'd insisted he's never kissed anyone, never intimately touched anyone, never had sex, but the way he's working his tongue against yours is far too intoxicating.
you're his first kiss because he likes you, according to him. a girl he'd met three hours ago and latched onto like his life depended on it. and he isn't planning on letting go for a long while.
luffy’s bent over you with you still in his lap, his lips connecting with yours upside down while yours are upright. he releases your cheeks and tries to grab a hold of your chin to tilt your head, but doesn't have enough leverage.
so he wraps his rubber arms around your hips and brings you to face him, pressing you to his chest when he lays back.
luffy can't bear being separated from your lips for too long; a whine escapes his throat and his fingers press into the nape of your neck, bringing your lips to his again.
you can feel his hips jerk up and something warm and hard presses against your ass. luffy moans at the delicious friction and repeats this movement, deciding that it feels nice.
luffy is a man of instinct, you can tell, because the way he's rubbing his erection against your ass could only be a movement ingrained in his hips. a carnal need that he's got his desire locked on.
“luffy…” you mumble against his needy kisses.
“hm?” he lets his lips travel down to your neck, where he sucks on the skin overlying your tense muscles. you moan, your fingers reaching up to tug on his hair.
you can feel yourself getting warm and wet and you subconsciously adjust yourself so that luffy’s cock is now rubbing against your covered cunt.
his tip catches your clit at just the right angle and you moan again.
"ya like that?" he huffs, staring at you through misty eyes. you just bite your lip and nod. luffy takes this as a sign he's doing something right, so he keeps jerking his hips up to grind against you.
“are you sure you wanna…?” you push against his chest lightly, making him lay back and look at you. his eyes are half lidded and there's a lazy smile on his saliva covered, swollen lips.
“wanna what?”
“this is your first kiss…shouldn't we—”
“have sex? yeah.” luffy breathes. sanji’s taught him lots about love and romance and what to do if and when he finds someone he wants. luffy’s going to listen to his heart as he usually does, and go after what he wants, as he usually does.
luffy lifts his head back up to seal his lips against yours. any thought of stopping flees your mind and all you can focus on is cumming with luffy.
you push against luffy’s chest once more to sit up, your hands scrambling to find the sash on his kimono and untie it. you sit up slightly to allow his kimono to fall open on either side of him.
you separate your kimono and bunch it around your waist then move to straddle his thighs and wrap your fingers around his cock, squeezing gently and pumping up his shaft. you can feel yourself growing wetter by the second as you watch beads of pre cum bubble up from his tip.
“y/n…stop teasin’. i wanna be inside ya.” luffy’s voice comes out as a mixture between a whine and a moan, and his hands are in his hair, tugging on his locks in frustration.
your fingers find their way to your clit and you rub quickly, working up enough stimulation to make sure you're as gooey as possible for the future pirate king’s pleasure. luffy watches on in awe, his mouth ajar.
his mouth is then blown wide open in a guttural moan when you sink down onto him, his hands flying to your hips as he pushes you further down. he's loud, and you're grateful you're in a shack in some forest.
“sh-shit.” luffy stammers. “you're s-so warm. y-you’re squeezin' me so tight.”
the feeling of your cunt milking his cock is something he never thought possible, and he can't get enough of it. his hands work in tandem with his hips as they push you down to meet his powerful thrusts.
your hands find purchase on his shoulders and you hang on for the ride of your life, little moans and mewls slipping out from your lips due to the sheer force of his hips slamming against yours.
“a-ah, y/n, i feel like i'm gonna burst.” luffy whines, arching his back up off the floor to reach deeper within you.
the tip of his cock is weeping and painting your cervix with his precum.
luffy gets addicted to the way you cry his name and decides he wants to hear it way more often than you're giving him. so he moves one of his hands down between your thighs and thrusts a bit slower and shallower.
you about burst into tears when you feel the pad of one of luffy’s fingers rough against your clit. he abuses it, rubbing it so fast you think you’re gonna cum in seconds. and you do.
your warm walls close in on his cock as you cum, crying out his name and digging your fingertips into his traps. luffy throws his head back and a groan is ripped from deep within his chest.
both of his hands are back on your hips to hold you down to the base of his cock as he pumps you full of his cum.
his hips are stuttering, minutely moving in and out of your pussy. his eyes are squeezed shut and he's gritting his teeth as he accidentally overstimulates himself with each short drag of his cock.
eventually, his vice grip on your hips loosens and luffy lets go, allowing you to roll off him and lay at his side.
he's quick to turn so that he's facing you. he grabs your chin between his index and thumb, bringing your face forward toward his so he can smooth a soft kiss over your lips.
“join my crew.” he says firmly once he pulls away, keeping his grip on your chin tight enough to prevent you from looking away.
you hesitate, imagining yourself traipsing the seas with luffy, seeing the world with him by your side. and, hopefully, more nights like this.
“i want to, luffy…but my home is here, in wano.” you bite your cheek. “plus, i'm not sure how i can be of any help to you. what would my role even be?”
luffy purses his lips, thoughtful for a moment. “well, i guess we already have a musician.” he hums and closes his eyes, deep in thought. it's not too long before his eyes fly open and he grins. “it doesn't matter, captain says ya don't hafta have a role!”
luffy sits up and crawls over you, pressing light and quick kisses from your collarbones up to the corner of your mouth, where he stops. “your only job is to be by my side. captain’s orders.”
then he presses a kiss to your lips so tender, it immediately helps you realize that you never even had a choice in the first place.
i'm tagging everyone who commented on pt 1 saying they wanted a pt 2 or rb, also the regulars 😗
taglist: @lavenderhaze00 | @n1ght5h4d3-24 | @333vil | @scentisterror | @jaree101-blog | @louisechec | @luffysprincess | @usoppsstar | @lalalolojoot | @bfshoto | @nina-a-pines | @pileofmush | @anemptypuddingcup
#one piece#monkey d luffy x reader#monkey d luffy smut#luffy x reader#luffy smut#monkey d luffy#luffy
290 notes
·
View notes
Note
after watching soobin's ig post i want someone to write a soobin hogwarts au
and I'd be so glad if that someone was you 😋
vanilla&citrus / coffe&lavender
author's note. OKAAY SLAY?? thank u sm hehe it means a lot !! i feel honoured 😌😌
au. hogwarts, duh + idiot best friends to lovers, mutual pinning🫡 + i wrote it with intention of ravenclaw reader but it’s never really mentioned so it can be read as any house reader ^_^
summary. you’re friends with soobin, a friendly but a bit confused hufflepuff ever since you stepped a foot in hogwarts. while trying to figure out what did he smell in an amortentia potion, he discovers he likes someone.
word count. +- 2127
you were sitting on the bench, next to taehyun, deep in your lecture. munching on some bertie bott’s flavour beans. the sound of beomgyu and yeonjun’s screams and screeches filling the peaceful silence.
“don’t eat this one” taehyun murmured when you grabbed a random bean. you shot him a curious look “we’ll leave it to soobin”
“how do you know it’s a bad taste?” you scoffed and looked up, looking at the gryffindor boy screaming and chasing after yeonjun for no reason.
“a gut feeling” he shrugged and his big eyes sparkled “kai and soobin are coming”
you looked down from the stands and noticed your friends entering the quidditch field. they looked so tiny from up here, like bowtruckles.
you managed to finish a chapter before they arrived to the top, where you were sitting. soobin was panting, cheeks flushed.
“why do you always have to pick the seat at the very top? there’s so much stairs” he grunted and sat next to you. you looked up and noticed his black and yellow tie was all over the place, loosened up and mere moments from untangling. you sighed and leaned forwards him, swiftly fixing it.
kai grinned, whereas your ravenclaw friend just rolled his eyes with annoyance.
“thanks. oh, beans! which lesson do we have next?” soobin smiled softly and leaned over, his head brushing against your shoulder as he picked a bunch of beans.
“potions” you hummed and exchanged amused looks with taehyun. bad flavour incoming in 3… 2…
“ugh i hate potions” soobin sighed and popped a couple of sweets into his mouth. you looked into his eyes as he leaned away. he chewed on them, nose scrunching up.
beomgyu and yeonjun flew up to you when suddenly soobin spat out the beans.
“ew!”
you all started laughing, the hufflepuff trying to get rid of the awful taste in his mouth. you patted his back in a comforting manner.
“poor soobin” you hummed and leaned your head on soobin’s, trying to hold your laugh. taehyun snickered, whispering something to kai.
being this close was nothing new, you and soobin constantly hugged and physical contact was common in your friendship. you could smell his hair, vanilla overtaking your nostrils. it sounded weird but you liked soobin’s smell – his hair usually smelled like vanilla but his skin was citrusy. maybe it was because of all the lemon tarts he loved so much or maybe because of the amount of citrus trees and plants in hufflepuff dorm.
“don’t tell me you plotted this! y/n!” he whined and smacked your arm.
“sorry!” you giggled and soobin scoffed. he didn’t mind, as long as he got to hear your cute laugh.
kai cleared his throat and stood up.
“can we go?”
“oh. sure!” soobin smiled, standing up gently too not to hurt you accidentally.
“need a ride, ma’am?” beomgyu offered you in a dramatically deep voice, chivalric manner.
soobin pouted and reached his hand out, to help you stand up.
“uh, no… i think i’ll pass” you smiled politely and grabbed soobin’s hand. not letting it go, you started walking down from the stands as yeonjun and beomgyu raced on their brooms.
you stared at the cauldron, heart thumping in your chest like crazy. snape gestured to come closer.
“so, um. what is it? i kinda spaced out” soobin nudged your arm, causing you to jerk in surprise.
“amortentia, mr choi” snape grunted, his gaze shifting to you and piercing your soul. it’s almost as if he knew “miss l/n, could you care to repeat to your friend what i just said?”
“well it’s a love potion, basically. the most powerful in the world. it causes a obsession in the drinker, for example for the first person they see after drinking it. and um… its smell is different for each person because it will have a scent like a thing… or a person you like” you mumbled shyly. the potions professor nodded.
“correct. we won’t be learning how to brew it yet but i want you all to take a whiff. what do you smell?”
the rest of the lesson passed with people sniffing the pearly-shining potion. when it was your turn, you weren’t surprised to find out it was citrusy, with a scent of vanilla. maybe a bit of caramel too? but it left no doubt that it was soobin.
beomgyu whined when you wouldn’t tell them and carried on about smelling chocolate and cologne – something that apparently smelled like himself. it did not, in fact. the closest beomgyu smelled like is grass and rain from all those days spent on a quidditch pitch. and smoke from setting things on fire.
“what about you, soobin?”
the hufflepuff boy shook his head.
“i don’t… i don’t know” he whined, adorable pout forming on his lips.
“what do you mean you don’t know?” yeonjun laughed, patting his back.
“it smells familiar but somehow i don’t recall it? i can smell coffee for sure but other than that… i don’t know” he huffed, crossing his arms.
your lips parted. is there someone soobin likes?
you send him a soft smile, trying to look amused. only taehyun could read the sadness glinting in your eyes.
soobin was miserable. all he could think of is why the scent of amortentia was so similar? the only smell he recognised was coffee because, hello, it’s coffee. everyone drinks it!
it’s not like he didn’t know the other fragrances. he knew he knew what are those but just couldn’t recognise them and separate from the strong coffee smell. it was almost like a word that you have on the tip of your tongue.
he sighed and entered the library, hoping to find you. he had enough of the boys’ loud chatter and awful jokes, he needed some peace and quiet. which you were. and with you, he could always allow himself to loosen up and be himself – even without speaking a word.
he noticed you’ve been acting weird too; you also didn’t tell them what you smelled. he brushed it off, guessing you just probably didn’t smell a thing and didn’t want to admit it.
walking further into the quiet room, already spotting you at one of the tables, he took a deep breath. he liked this smell, of books and leathers.
“hi” he mumbled, plopping down next to you. you hummed in acknowledgment he’s here.
“smelled anything similar today?” you asked, a bit tauntingly. ever since that potions lesson, he’d go and sniff around everything and everyone like a dog.
“no…” soobin’s voice died in his throat when you placed a book next to him. he sniffed it and his eyes went wide. that’s it.
you looked at him, amused. he opened the book and took a whiff of the old pages.
“that’s… this! this is the–“ the hufflepuff boy yelped in excitement, causing you to move a hand to cover his mouth. blush dusted his cheeks in embarrassment (and maybe because of the prolixity).
“that’s a nice smell, i have to agree. one of the reasons why i like spending time in the library” you hummed, taking your hand back. he liked it too.
“there is still something missing, though” he sighed, watching you use the dried lavender flower as a bookmark.
“so coffee, books and something else?” taehyun asks, playful smile dancing on his lips. obviously it’s you. anyone would have known that – not even because of the ridiculously well known fact you are addicted to coffee and spend half of your life in library. but also because you and soobin are so painfully blind to the fact that you have crushes on each other. the way your hands brush, the way you blush when soobin compliments you, the way he stutters when you fix his tie… so on, so on.
anybody, apparently, except soobin.
“it’s driving me insane” the hufflepuff boy whined and smacked his books against his forehead. taehyun was curious what’s the smell, though. something connected to your shampoo? or perfume? or something completely different?
“where’s y/n, by the way?” soobin asked, blinking slowly.
“she went to pick some flowers and give them to hagrid” taehyun hummed, recalling your excitement this morning. “should we go find her? maybe the rest is there”
soobin nodded eagerly and they went into the direction of hagrid’s hut. they could spot you, rummaging through purple flowers. taehyun said he’ll go straight to the keeper, to ask him for some tea. soobin called you and started going your way.
as he got closer, a pleasant smell filled his nostrils. the purple flowers tickled his legs, he placed his steps careful not to destroy them.
“oh, soobin! hi” you breathed out and turned around, a full bouquet of hand picked lavenders in your hands. your smile was so bright that it outshined the sun behind you and that’s when it hit him.
lavender. that was the smell.
“–because it smells horribly in his hut, seriously. so it’s kind of a cover to sneak some flowers, especially those since their scent–“ you babbled, reassuming to pick the flowers.
so coffee, books and lavender. it’s funny, now that he thought about it.
you like coffee. he remembered the time when he visited you during summer and since your family enjoys the warm liquid too, you had some coffee beans in the kitchen. you popped one or two into your mouth and laughed at his disgusted face. while offering him to do the same and handing him the beans, all he could remember was the delicious smell lingering in the kitchen.
and the books too! he realised it when he was in the library… with you.
and now lavender. which you also said is your favourite flower. duh, you even use a dried one that he picked for you as a bookmark–
oh.
oh.
“–bin?” you asked, the hufflepuff boy’s eyes going wide almost as if he saw an acromantula.
“you” he breathed out, blinking slowly
“yeah?” you frowned, tilting your head. he definitely didn’t listen.
“it’s you!” soobin gasped, leaving you flabbergasted.
“soob, is it about the beans thing? i’m sorry i left you all the bad flavoured ones but taehyun just has this seventh sense when it comes to the bad ones and we thought–“ you started and soobin suddenly stepped closer, taking a sharp and deep inhale “huh?”
“it’s definitely you. i smelled vanilla and coffee in amortentia. and books too but it wasn’t that strong so… i didn’t figure it out at first” he said, pink dusting his cheeks. you almost dropped all the flowers.
“you smelled me in amortentia?” you asked, throat going dry. if he smelled you then that means… he likes you?
“yeah, i guess! weird, huh?” he giggled, scratching his neck. slowly his smile dropped, almost audible gears turning in his head
“wha… soobin” you stepped closer, heart thumping so hard against your ribcage you thought it may jump out any second.
“y/n” he said goofily, eyes pacing around nervously. everywhere but your eyes.
“soobin, does that mean you like me?” you asked, noticing taehyun and hagrid in the distance.
“well, i like you so…” he shrugged.
“soobin”
it was more stern this time so he looked up, noticing your flustered cheeks and anxious gaze.
“i think? maybe? i never knew! i always prefer to be with you than with the guys, you’re so sweet and funny. and so smart it’s driving me crazy… and beautiful too but… it would be kinda awkward, wouldn’t it?” he started rambling when you suddenly grabbed his hand.
“soob, you dork. i smelled you in amortentia too. but the difference is that i have a crush on you for a while now. and you are driving me crazy too! with your stupid dimples and how clueless you are… and with your pretty eyes and…” you stopped, looking how his eyes widened even more “soobin?”
“you. you have a crush on me?” he stuttered, pointing at himself. as if there was another choi soobin.
“yes” you laughed, letting go of his hand. “if you don’t want anything happening between us, i’ll understand”
“are you crazy?!” he yelled out, causing you to frown “i could never ever dream of even going out with you and you think i’d deny it?”
“well…” you chuckled nervously. soobin stepped closer and placed a quick, shy peck on your lips. freezing in shock, you tightened the grip on the lavenders. the aroma of citrus and vanilla filled your nostrils pleasantly.
he pulled away, blinking in awe. he just did that.
“i… i wanna be yours. but please for the love of merlin, don’t feed me the bad flavoured beans” the hufflepuff boy mumbled, causing you to laugh out loud. oh, soobin.
masterlist <3
taglist. @geniejunn ,, @luvhyun3 ,, @starlostseungmin ,, @elviransworld ,, @jnks6r ,, @sieunsgf ,, @ethereallino ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @duolingofanaccount ,, @slytherinshua ,, @stxrseungs ,, @ka-ni-ma ,, @iliveforlixie ,, @ameliesaysshoo ,, @dazzlingligth ,, @mark-geolli ,, @l3visbby ,, @w3bqrl ,, @ddeonudepressions ,, @yourfavoritefreakyhan ,, @mirxzii ,, @kazmura ,, @primoppang ,, @vnsux ,, @weird-bookworm
#txt fluff#soobin fluff#soobin hogwarts au#soobin x reader#axe’s fun corner#soobin x y/n#soobin x you#soobin fanfic#txt boyfriend#txt post#tubatu#tomorrow by together#txt x you#txt x reader#txt x y/n#txt hogwarts#blue jisungs's requests#soobin crack#txt imagines#soobin imagines
272 notes
·
View notes
Text
anonymous said: what would flawless tomura do if they were at a party and he left reader alone for a few minutes and came back to some guy talking to her?
character: shigaraki tomura
genre: smut
notes: okaaaay so it’s a teeny tiny bit more than just talking to her but ah anon! this ask immediately sparked an idea in my brain and i just had to write it for you! this is set within my flawless AU and it’s pretty much a prequel to part two!
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, semi-public sex, toxic relationships (jealousy, possessiveness), minimal prep, rough sex, noncon nonsexual touching from a stranger, size difference, implied yakuza
words: 4k
Tomura hates these things.
As far as he’s concerned, these overly extravagant ‘work functions’ are nothing more than an excuse for a bunch of bigwigs and hotshots to get together and jerk each other off.
Really, it’s not much different than a college house party; if you take away the opulent venue and the nice clothes and good food, it’s practically the exact same thing.
He hadn’t wanted to bring you, fucking despises the thought of having you in the presence of any of these animals at all—disgusting and crude and primal and dangerous—but Kurogiri had insisted.
It looks good to include her, Tomura, he had said. You know how important these events are to your father.
And he knows how important you are to Tomura. But Tomura supposes that doesn’t matter nearly as much in his father’s eyes, now, does it?
In his mind, you’re just some silly little girl, a shiny new toy for Tomura to play with, to occupy his son’s time until he needs him, until he once again deems him useful. Then it’s expected you’ll be cast aside in favour of the family business, because nothing could ever be more important to Tomura, poor little orphaned Tomura, saved from the clutches of poverty by the Shigarakis, than the family business he’s being groomed to own one day, right?
Wrong.
But his father doesn’t give a fuck about that. He’s right if he says he’s right, end of discussion, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
So you’re here.
You had been cautiously excited to attend, desperate to earn his father’s favour, to prove that you’re worth it, worth all of the time and energy and love Tomura spends on you; that you can belong, if you really try to.
It’s sweet, really, how eager you are to be a part of the family. Impossibly, it makes Tomura love you even more.
Kurogiri’s been bouncing around the banquet hall like an efficient but headless chicken, splitting his time between checking in with guests and keeping a watchful eye on Tomura, since he has a nasty tendency to suddenly and miraculously disappear into thin air at these things.
The corner Tomura has the two of you wedged in is shrouded in shadows and at the back of the room, far from all of the excitement, the chattering voices and chewing teeth. It’s still loud, though, a mess of chaotic and indistinct noise, booming laughter tangled with confident speeches wafting over you in waves, carrying with them the scent of hors d’oeuvres from the self-serve table at the head of the room.
Your tummy growls, nothing more than a gentle rumble beneath Tomura’s palms, and he hugs you tighter, chin hooked over your shoulder as he nuzzles into your neck a little in apology.
“I’ll have Kurogiri grab you some food the next time he makes his rounds, baby, I promise.”
A dainty hand lays atop his own, fingers snuggling between the gaps of his own and resting there.
“Thank you, Daddy,” you murmur, the side of your head knocking against his own.
And, oh, that word.
That special word, nothing more than a sweet huff of breath on your tongue, five little letters that get his blood surging and his chest puffing and his spine straightening.
That one word that summons the true dominant that lays dormant at his core, slept and stomped on by inherent brattiness; that single word that pumps his whole body full of heady authority, muscles swelling with it, tense and gorged on the power it affords him.
But then your tummy grumbles again and Tomura frowns, fingers flexing as they sink into your flesh, holding you closer. Your ankles hook around his calves in response, body melting further into his—giving in, giving over, complete and total control—sagging s little in his lap, and he sighs.
But there’s no way you can get up, no way he can allow you to get up, to go anywhere near the food so meticulously laid out across a long, white table. Because Tomura has already seen the way these mongrels called men have been staring at you, eyes sick and starved as they try to swallow you whole, gazes nipping at your bare legs, tearing at your sweet little dress.
Instinctively, his body curls further around your own, shoulders hunched and chest curved as it molds to your back, almost as if he’s trying to hide you away within himself, within his flesh and bone and soul, far away from those ogling eyes and their gnawing little teeth.
Kurogiri returns not long after, though he is not able to fulfill Tomura’s promise, a slight breathlessness to his tone as he delivers a directive.
“Tomura, your father needs your assistance.”
“What?” Tomura hisses, head whipping to face his handler, eyes narrowed sharply. “With what?”
“There are some people he’d like you to meet,” Kurogiri responds calmly, unfazed.
Tomura’s features pucker, the mere thought sour in his head. “You can tell him to fuck right off, I’m not—”
“Tomura,” Kurogiri cuts him off, stern but not sharp. “Is this appropriate behaviour for a CEO-in-training? These are very important guests—important clients, and it is imperative that you continue to keep our relationship with them in good standing.”
Scarlet eyes dart between you and Kurogiri, settling on the crown of your head, a certain type of woefulness imbuing his features—mouth turned down, eyes drooping slightly, forehead woven with lines of worry.
“She’ll be alright on her own for a second or two,” Kurogiri continues, voice softening. “It’ll only be for a moment, Tomura. Just come say hello.”
“Fine, fuck.”
With the utmost gentleness, Tomura slides you off his lap as he stands, taking your jaw between his palms, bony fingers splayed across your cheeks, so long his middle fingers nearly rest on your temples.
“I’ll be right back, okay?”
“Okay, Daddy,” you laugh a little, nudging forward to press a quick peck to his lips. “Promise I’ll survive on my own while you’re gone.”
“You better,” he threatens, cold voice contradicted by the mirth shimmering in his eyes and the love tugging at the corners of his lips. “Be back in a minute or less.”
“Thirty seconds,” you hear him growling to Kurogiri as he stalks off, vying fingers already gouging his own flesh, nails leaving thick divots that pool rapidly with blood in their wake. “Thirty fucking seconds, that’s all they’re getting from me.”
Your eyes trail after him as he weaves through the space, an ache, dull and heavy, settling behind your ribs when you spot the ribbons of crimson adorning his neck, trickling onto his crisp white collar, Kurogiri hastily attempting to dab at them as Tomura viciously swipes at his hands.
The ache throbs, expands and pushes against your ribs as if it’s trying to escape the cage, as if it’s trying to propel you forward, urging you to act, to move, to go be with him.
“Hey,” a voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you startle slightly, gaze snapping towards its owner. “You looked lonely—Like a lost kitten, or something. This your first time at one of these things?”
It’s clearly a lie, you know it is, can see the falsities glimmering in his stretched smile, wide and tense and hungry across his cheeks—there’s no way this man didn’t see you with Tomura only mere seconds ago.
“Uh—”
“I’m Shin,” he continues, eyes obscured by the chandelier lights glinting off his glasses. Even veiled, you can feel it, the man’s slimy gaze gliding up your body, slowly, studiously, and leaving a filmy trail behind it. Your flesh crawls along your bones, feeling wrong, dirty, bare, and you wrap your arms around yourself, hugging your ribs. “Nemoto Shin. I work for a, uh, friend of the Shigarakis.”
“Oh,” you say, dull as your eyes skip across the crowd, feet shifting a little as you lean away, hunting for Tomura in a sea of businessmen.
“Actually, I’m a doctor of sorts.”
Your narrowed gaze drifts back to his, eyebrows knitted slightly.
“Of sorts?”
“A chemist, kind of.”
“Kind of?”
Smirking, he tilts his head to the side as if he finds you fascinating, revealing dark eyes as the light catches on his hair.
“I run clinical trials, collect data, and then revise.”
And it’s the way he says it, voice imbued with a sort of deranged glee that smears his sharp smile wider, as if he takes pleasure in conducting these experiments, that has shivers skittering up your spine, nails digging into your biceps as your arms squeeze your torso.
“On people?”
“Of course.”
“Oh. That’s, uh...”
Your eyes dart around the venue again, expensive silk suits and leather loafers all a blur as you search for an out, a familiar face, someone, anyone.
“You know,” Shin begins conversationally, taking a step closer to you. “You look like you’re about the correct age and height for our newest study.”
Large hands wrap around your own, fast and sudden, and forcefully uncurl your fingers, tugging your arms from around your body and holding them out wide, leaning back on his heels to fully appreciate you.
“In fact, I’d say you’re perfect.”
A discontented whine catches in your throat as you struggle in his grasp, attempting to pull your wrists free, Shin’s grip tightening to near bone-crushing in response.
Yelping, you wrench again, trying harder to jerk yourself away from him. He merely laughs in response, a sound that shoots spikes of ice through your limbs, and yanks your arms open further, tutting his tongue as if your struggle is so adorable, head quirked to the side with an egging smirk.
“What do you say? Want to participate?”
“No, you bastard! Ugh, let go of me!”
“C’mon,” he goads, eyes gleaming with poorly concealed sadism. “I promise it won’t hurt. In fact,” his head dips a little, looking at you over the wire of his spectacles. “You might even enjoy it.”
“She’s good. Thanks, though.”
Tomura’s voice has the man flinching, a jolt of panic surging through his veins and loosening his muscles, your arms dropped from his hands in an instant. He recovers quickly, though, any traces of alarm smoothed out from his expression a second later, features morphed into a perfect mask of professionalism.
“Tomura,” he says with a polite nod, a small but appropriate smile on his face. “You’re looking well.”
Tomura says nothing in response, glaring at him through sharpened eyes, crimson simmering with such anger you swear you can see the heat waves radiating from his sockets. He holds the man’s gaze until, finally, the man looks away with a cower, head hung in submission.
And then Tomura’s turning away with a sneer, catching your hands, busy mauling his biceps in desperation, with ease and wrapping a palm around your arm.
“Fucking vultures,” he’s spitting as he all but drags you from the venue, the fingers cuffed around your wrist tensing. “I leave for, like, a minute and they’re all over you.”
“I—I’m sorry,” you’re whimpering as your free hand winds around his forearm, jogging a little in your haste to keep up with his pace.
“Sorry?” he questions, the word seething on his tongue, as if you’re stupid for even apologizing at all. “It isn’t your fault, princess.”
And even though his voice is still scalding, the look he throws you over his shoulder is soft, stuffed full of love.
“Besides,” he’s continuing as he shoves past the heavy glass doors at the entrance of the hall. “I’m gonna show those fuckers who you belong to.”
The satin toe of your heels catches on the rough concrete, instantly causing it to scuff and fray as Tomura hauls you along behind him, the slap of his trademark red sneakers echoing out among the parking lot with each hasty stomp toward his car.
“Tomura, wait!” you’re calling as you teeter quickly behind him.
But he isn’t listening, your staggering not nearly fast enough for his liking, giving another harsh yank on your arm with such vigour it sends you stumbling right into his back, ankles wobbling a little as you almost trip over your own feet, a little yelp sounding in your throat.
He catches you easily, though, skinny arms wrapping around your form, offering minimal stability as they slam you against the driver’s door of the Bentley, effectively trapping you between the metal and his body.
Knobby knees are parting your legs instantly, sharp as they barge at your inner thighs and force them open, his feet framed by your own.
His hips slot up against yours, bones defined and protruding as they press into your supple flesh, his cock already half-hard.
And, God, you’ll never tire of how easily he gets hard, just the thought of your cunt enough to send a rush of boiling blood to the apex of his thighs, to fill his cock, a girlish giggle bubbling past your lips.
“Something funny?” he’s asking as large hands cup your jaw, fingers curling around the hinges and dragging your face upward, prohibiting you from answering as he all but smashes his lips to yours, keen tongue prying through your lips to lick at your teeth.
It’s messy and enthusiastic, just like kissing Tomura always is, smears of drool glistening across your chin and dripping off your jaws in fat, sticky globs to cool in little puddles on your collarbones, dribbling steadily from the corners of your lips as they move and mash and mesh.
His hands work in tandem with his mouth, large palms sliding up your thighs and beneath your dress, hem pooling around his wrists as he reaches your pretty pink panties, revealing your bare legs to the throngs of men clustered around the gilded doors, leering at you through hazy clouds of cigar smoke.
A squeak of his name is pushed from your tongue onto his, muddled and weighted with spit, eyes popping open as vying fingers begin to twist and tear through dainty lace, elastic band snapping audibly against your waist a moment later, leaving a lingering sting in its place.
“Daddy!” you whine as your panties flit to the asphalt in a ruined little heap, legs instinctually trying to snap shut only to be kept wedged open by his hips, a dark chuckle soaking into your skin as his lips glide clumsily from your mouth to your jaw and down the curve of your neck, painting your skin in slick strokes of saliva.
“I’ll buy you more, y’little brat,” he mumbles into your shoulder, teeth sinking into the muscle a moment later and forcing a pitchy cry from your throat, the sound embarrassingly loud, echoing through the parking lot.
His jaw flexes, tenses, burrowing sharp ivory deeper into your flesh until they slice through it, staining his mouth with your blood. His tongue laves over the wound, sops up the oozing blood like it’s sugary syrup tinged with copper, and seals the bite with spit that turns frigid the moment his mouth is gone.
A large hand squeezes your thigh, fingertips dipping into plush skin as they hoist your leg up, hooking it over his hip. You can feel his clothed cock, prodding your bare hole as he ruts unevenly against you, premature little thrusts that he can’t quite seem to quell.
A collection of baritone murmurs draws your attention back to the men, tendrils of smoke coiling in the air as they watch the scene in front of them unfold, exhaling little chuckles and comments among themselves, eyes never straying from your bodies.
It all feels so fucking grimy, their gazes sludgy as they creep across your frame, thick like glue as Tomura’s free hand traces up the curves of your torso to knead your breast much too hard, eliciting a low whistle and a smattering of claps.
“Daddy, Daddy, they’re looking,” you whimper, casting another quick glance at the men and wincing when your eyes connect with theirs.
“Let them look.”
“Tomura!”
“I want them to look,” he growls, a sort of petulant possessiveness bleeding into his tone. “I want them to see who you fucking belong to, I want them to see what they can’t touch, I want them to see who it is that makes you cry and scream and cum. ”
“No, Daddy, please,” little fingers curl in the cashmere of his dress shirt, attempting to use his body as a shield. “Not here, not like this, not all out in the open—”
“Oh, come on, don’t be such a baby.”
“No, no, no,” you’re nearly weeping, head shaking in shuddered little movements.
Panic rips viciously at your chest, rising high in your voice as protests pour from your lips, heated face burrowing into the junction of his neck. You’re pawing at his shirt now, a few of the buttons popping open to reveal milky skin stretched over a prominent collarbone.
“You can do it, angel,” he chides, voice just a hint gentler. “I know you can do it for me.”
A hiccup hitches in your throat, caught painfully on a breath, interrupting your stream of pleads, burning tears leaking from your crunched eyelids and staining his collar with salt.
“Please, please, please,” the word is humid against his neck, exhaled on shaky little gasps, letters disintegrating into droplets of condensation on his scarred skin. “I don’t wanna, please, Daddy, I don’t—”
“All right, Christ,” he’s groaning over your pathetic begging, pivoting your bodies quickly and keeping an arm wrapped around your waist as he rips the drivers door open.
Collapsing heavily behind the wheel, he pulls you down with him, hands rough and cumbersome as they try to rearrange your body into straddling him.
It’s cramped, one knee digging into the centre console while the other leg bends, foot planted on the leather of the seat.
“Get my fucking cock out,” he’s spitting at you the moment the door shuts, hips pushing upwards in emphasis. “I can’t fucking wait any longer.”
You’re obeying in an instant, dainty fingers clawing at the buckle of his belt, leather cracking as you yank it free from the prong. Then he’s lifting his hips again, aiding you as your fingers hook in the waistband of his briefs and tug, pulling his trousers down with them.
His thighs spread instinctively, elastic and cotton cutting into thin muscle.
“C’mon, c’mon,” he’s muttering as his palms wrap around your hips again, dragging you towards him to hover over his swollen, leaking cock. A hand grips the base, holding it steady as he lines it up with your hole, the head bumping against your cunt.
For the breath of a moment, everything is still, your combined panting ragged as it rings throughout the car, dense and tangled. Your forehead knocks against his own, hands clamped over the back of his seat.
And then he’s shoving his cock into you with one quick, sharp thrust upward, a high whine escaping your lips as your face scrunches in pain.
Your cute little hole stings as his cock tears through it, rips you open wide and forces you to take it all, a loud cry spilling from your lips as Tomura holds your hips in place, savouring the way you spasm around him, desperately trying to adjust to his girth.
The pace is brutal right from the start—not that you’ve come to expect anything less from Tomura—the snapping of his hips vicious as he pounds into you, sweet little snarls falling from scarred lips with each slam of his cockhead against your cervix.
There’s nothing for you to do but just take what he’s giving you, his grip on your waist blooming tiny blotches of blues and purples in the shape of his fingerprints into your skin as he holds you in place, thighs flexing in time with his powerful thrusts, the soles of his sneakers skidding against the rubber floor mat as he uses his feet for leverage.
It hurts, but Tomura doesn’t care, hips rapid, rabid, ruthless as they piston into you, so rough and hard and fast that it has your entire body shuddering, the thin, sharp heel of your stiletto skidding against white leather, tearing it open.
It hurts, but it’s also so fucking good, choked little wails of his name and his title knotted on your tongue, each one fucked out of you as he bounces you on his cock, easy and effortless like you’re nothing more than his favourite little toy.
And there’s something so hot about it all, something so wicked and disgusting and deliciously depraved about fucking in the middle of a crowded parking lot, open and on display for anyone to see as the sun begins its descent below the horizon, lacking the protective veil the night brings with it.
You can feel their eyes searing into your skin, glaring and gawking, wide and unblinking, the Bentley’s thick windows doing little to lessen the smoldering of their gazes as they roam your body, the Bentley’s bulletproof glass muffling the howls and the whistles.
It sends sick thrills racing through your veins, leaving your blood fizzy and muscles tingling, a loud moan, stuttered by Tomura’s incessant bucking, tumbling from your lips.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s it, baby,” he says, but his voice is hoarse, straining under pleasure, edges of his words breathy, almost whiny in a way, as if he’s begging instead of instructing. “Show them. Show them how pretty my cock makes you.”
“Yes, Daddy, yes, Daddy,” you’re whimpering out, head nodding in tiny, short motions with your words.
And you do—ever the perfect, obedient, good little girl that you are—cumming pathetically quickly, the fast, hard drag of his cockhead over that swollen patch of tissue buried deep inside of you combined with the peeping, prying eyes resulting in your sweet cunt convulsing almost violently around his cock, thighs aching and tense as his title shatters on your tongue.
It’s so much, slick gushing down his shaft to soak into the waistband of his pants, bare thighs slippery with your essence, sick and sticky with each slap against your ass, obscene sounds echoing throughout the car.
“F-Fuck,” he gasps, the curse cracking in his throat, head knocking back against the headrest and face contorting in ecstasy, watching you through lidded eyes and thick black lashes.
His thrusts have turned messy now, rhythm sloppy and irregular as he jackhammers into you almost desperately, clenched teeth bared and on display.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy—” you’re mewling, grappling little fingers twisting in his damp shirt, nonverbal begging imbued in the motion.
“M’cumming,” he nearly moans, cutting you off before you can even ask for it.
He gives you exactly what you want, a mere two thrusts later, whole body going rigid as his nails gorge themselves on the flesh of your hips, holding you still as his cock pumps you full of thick, hot cum.
And he’s so fucking beautiful, breathtakingly so, so much that it decays your words and kicks them from your chest in frail little huffs.
Sliver tufts of hair have flipped upwards, clumped and curled with salt, tiny dewdrops of sweat collecting on the points, glittering in the waning sunlight. The white of his shirt has turned translucent, sodden and sticking to his juddering ribs, expanding and straining beneath his heavy, laboured breaths, the whole cage starkly defined, shadows outlining all of the curves and contours, bumps and ridges, each bone and every gap.
But then he’s pulling you from your admiration, gangly arms wrapping around your body tightly.
“Mine,” he murmurs as he hugs you to his chest, whole body finally deflating, soaking into your own.
“Yours,” you whisper with a little nod, pressing chaste kisses along his scarred neck. “Yours, forever.”
His. Forever.
He hopes they all understand who you fucking belong to, now, hopes they’ll keep their grubby hands and grimy gazes off of you, now, but should any of them forget—well, neither of you are necessarily opposed to teaching them this lesson again.
#shigaraki tomura smut#shigaraki tomura x reader#bnha smut#shigaraki smut#shigaraki x reader#eee hehe enjoy!!!! it's just something smaaaall but i really enjoyed writing it!
955 notes
·
View notes
Text
Link to part one
Link to part four
Part Five
Eddie doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to do now. He had a plan. Have his heat with Steve; hopefully kindle with Steve's pup, go about his life.
His plan did not account, at all, for one fairly major factor. Steve Harrington himself.
Eddie's heat was...well, he tried to put it out of his mind, at first, because it wasn't at all what he thought it would be.
He did present, a couple of times towards the end, but only because he chose to. Only because he found he wanted to. At the start he thought it was all he would do; be on his knees, face smashed into the bedding. Doesn't matter how nice the surroundings, on your knees is still on your knees, right?
But no. Steve had kept him on his back. Steve had spent what felt like hours making Eddie comfortable, getting him ready. Steve had done research, actual research into neglected Omega. He knew the first time would be bad and he wanted to see Eddie's face; wanted to watch for reactions. Wanted to know if he was hurting Eddie because he knew Eddie's body wasn't going to start working right until it had had a couple of knottings.
Steve had even bought lube, knowing Eddie's body might not work right. He was prepared. And he looked after Eddie so good. He made it so good.
He made it perfect.
And Eddie told himself Steve did that because he's had a fuck tonne of practice. And now that he's had Eddie, he's going to move onto the next one.
Which is fine, Eddie got what he wanted.
And now? And now Eddie feels good.
He can scent again, he can feel again.
It's like having a limb grow back, like a sense being returned. Like waking up and finding the world had righted itself overnight. Eddie's actually been able to jerk off, now that Steve's helped him. He actually gets aroused, gets slick. Before his heat, Eddie can't actually remember the last time it happened, the last time he was able to feel good.
He'd been laughing with Wayne in their tiny kitchen, bumping one another, when Wayne had pulled him into a tight hug, saying he was 'happy to have you back, kid' and Wayne looked emotional, looked genuine.
And it was in that moment Eddie realised just how bad he'd let it get, just how far he'd sunk and not even known how hard it was hitting Wayne.
But it was fine, Eddie has a spring in his step and, hopefully, a pup growing in him.
The last person Eddie expects to find at his front door, exactly one week after his heat, is Steve Harrington.
He's holding tupperware and a bunch of flowers, and Eddie might be an out of touch omega, but he knows courting gifts when he sees them.
He's so fucked.
Link to part six
#eddie munson#stranger things#steve harrington#steddie#alpha steve harrington#omega eddie because he's so pretty#mpreg#fic wip
218 notes
·
View notes
Note
It's been a while since I made a request to a blog, but I really enjoy your writing, and your AUs got my brain going with ideas (especially the Glitch AU). It has me thinking about how our favorite little Puppet boys would react to some of the... interesting hobbies I have: two of those being things like Doll making/repainting, and cosplaying/ general fantastical costuming.
I feel like both of these hobbies have the potential to lead to both hilarious situations and moments of being a bit... perturbed at best (especially doll making: the random assortment of doll limbs being places, or having naked dolls that are precariously hung from the ceiling to finish drying from paint jobs).
I do know that at least Kabukimono and Wanderer (Scara might have forgotten since he hadn't used the skill in a long time, and Wanderer likely relearned it) know how to sew, so the sewing part could be cute bonding time.
Could be platonic or romantic in nature: both would be fine. And also, fully understand it will probably take you time to get to this, of you even get to it at all. I just appreciate you taking the time to read this request~! Can't wait for your next bits of work: hope you have a wonderful day~!!! 💕💕💕💕
hey!! thanks so much for your request!! this was a funny idea bc i can't imagine any of scara's iterations being any good at collaboration but for all separate reasons lmao
I'm not too knowledgeable about doll making but hopefully you like this anyway :D i wrote it as a bit of a glitch!AU spinoff in my mind, but feel free to imagine any other scenarios these three clowns might come together for hahaha
WC. 1.3k
----- ⚘ -----
When the three puppets were told not to enter your room and disturb your hobby workstation, this isn’t what they had in mind. Wanderer thought maybe you did something embarrassing as a hobby, Scaramouche thought it might be something potentially dangerous especially if you intended to keep it a secret from them, while Kabukimono was certain that you did some sort of artistic craft that you preferred to keep hidden until the end product was finished.
All three of them were right, in some way or another.
The three of them stand in your workshop, staring in horror at the dozens of separated doll components you’d strung up around the edges of the room. Scraps of tiny, doll-sized outfits were scattered around your desk, and a half-painted doll head was mounted on some sort of device in the middle of the chaos. The doll’s single painted eye watches their trespassing with silent judgment.
You’re glad you find them out so soon, and you have exactly three seconds to stop them from touching anything in the workshop.
“WhatareyouguysDOINGinhere?!” Nailed it.
Kabukimono leaps a vertical foot into the air out of fright at your sudden and shrill outburst, while the other two react in more subdued manners before turning around to face you, standing in the doorway behind them. Your arms are outstretched, palms forward, and you’re braced as though you’re anticipating some sort of impact.
“Don’t. Touch. Anything.” You warn. “Not all of these are dry, and if you smudge anything I’ll have to restart them.”
“Why do you have a bunch of dismembered doll corpses?” Scaramouche asks, jerking his thumb at the precariously hanging doll components.
“A seller in Inazuma asked me if I could help him finish a few dolls, since I told him I used to do it as a hobby back in my world.” You explain, not dropping your guarded position. “If any of you want to eat dinner this week, I suggest you step away from the dolls. Slowly.”
“Can you not call them that?” Kabukimono complains to Scara as the trio carefully shuffle out of your workshop. “They’re not corpses, they just haven’t been put together yet.”
“Well, they aren’t alive either, so what’s your point?”
“If you need some help completing them, I can pitch in.” The three of you look wide-eyed at Wanderer, who seems to immediately regret making the offer. He shrugs and looks away quickly. “Or not. Whatever.”
“I’d love some help,” you start hesitantly. “But what did you want to help with?”
“I can sew the clothes, I guess.”
Scaramouche’s nose wrinkles at this statement. “You can sew?”
“Why is that so surprising?” Wanderer counters, reaching into the inner lining of his haori and showing off a small, familiar cloth doll. Instantly, Kabukimono is patting himself down with a frantic expression, before pointing at Wanderer accusingly.
“Where did you get that?! I lost it a long time ago!”
“Heh, of course you did.” Wanderer smirks. “I made mine. What, are you telling me you never thought of making yourself a new one?”
“I was never good at doing the small stitches…” Kabukimono pouts, crossing his arms and eyeing the doll jealously.
“That aside,” Wanderer continues, turning to you. “I can help you finish the clothes for your project dolls. The faster you can finish them, the faster you can retrieve the commission for them, right?”
“That’s true, I guess,” you acquiesce, already running the math in your head. If you could get the commission for the dolls early, you might not have to budget as hard this week.
“I wanna help too!” Kabukimono declares, raising his hand (a bit redundantly, given he’s standing right next to you).
“Whatever,” Scaramouche snorts and waves dismissively as he begins to walk away. “If that’s what you nerds want to waste your time on, be my guest. As long as you don’t make it my problem, I don’t care what you do in your free time.”
“Party pooper,” you say, sticking out your tongue at his retreating back. “Well, what do you say, guys? Let’s get this bread?”
“Sure,” Wanderer nods, heading back into the workshop.
“What does bread have to do with dollmaking?” Kabukimono asks, even as he’s herded into the room by you.
“I’ll explain later, let’s finish up these bad boys first,” you promise, and the workshop door closes behind you.
----- ⚘ -----
“I made another sword!” Kabukimono declares, hurrying over to your workbench and showing off the tiny doll-sized sword he’d made. The fifth one, so far.
“That’s great, buddy!” You give him a pat, to his delight. “I think we’re okay on swords for now, though, d’you wanna try making something else this time?”
“Okay!”
Wanderer looks up from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, a few pins sticking out of his mouth as he uses them to hold his patterns in place.
“Did your toymaker guy say what kinds of dolls he wanted?” He asks, holding up another utilitarian-looking outfit. “I can’t imagine this is what he had in mind when he asked for your help.”
“I mean, these are kind of edging into action figure territory,” you shrug. “But that’s probably fine. There’s a market out there for everything, nowadays.”
“Make a kimono that looks like the Shogun,” Kabukimono suggests, handing Wanderer some purple fabric. “Everybody likes the Shogun, right? She should be pretty popular.”
You and Wanderer both wince (for different reasons) at Kabukimono’s well-meant statement. However, Wanderer does take the purple fabric and sets it gently aside, and you wonder if he’ll take the suggestion after all.
“Are you losers done in here? I’m tired of doing the dishes for two days straight,” Scaramouche kicks the door in, uncaring of the delicate work you three are doing. Thankfully, the risky parts are all done, so nothing suffers any damage with his sudden entrance. Scara drops three bowls onto your workbench, each piled with fried rice and vegetables.
“Ha, you’d make a great housewife,” Wanderer snickers, earning himself a smack on the back of his head. “Ow.”
“Thank you!” Kabukimono takes his bowl and brings it to where he’s working on something, hopefully not another sword.
“Thanks,” you say as well, giving Scara a genuine smile. The puppet scowls and leaves as quickly as he’d come in.
“Don’t bother! It doesn’t benefit anyone if you drop dead from starvation, you know?” he sneers over his shoulder as he slams the door shut.
There’s silence as you three eat the lunch that was generously provided, stacking the bowls and putting them beside the door for when you guys go for your next break.
“I think I’m done after I finish this last outfit,” Wanderer sighs, holding up the unfinished garment. It looks hilarious in his hands, a cheerful pink and purple kimono in stark contrast to his deadpan expression.
“I’m almost done too!” Kabukimono adds, holding up his latest project: a doll-sized armor set. You smile gratefully at the both of them, even as you rub your temples with a sigh.
“Okay, great, I’ll put these together and bring them to the toymaker later this afternoon, then!” You say, hoping you sound enthusiastic about it. You think about the mismatched collection of outfits and sword accessories, wondering how you were going to sell this to your temporary employer.
----- ⚘ -----
As it turns out, if there’s one thing Inazumans like, it’s swordsmen. The toymaker looks in awe at your half dozen tiny samurai, handing you a pouch of mora with a pleased word of thanks.
As you’re headed back home, you get a telepathic message from Wanderer.
KABUKIMONO WANTS TO KNOW WHEN WE’RE GETTING MORE DOLLS.
‘He fired me, we’ll have to do something else,’ you think back, hoping you don’t sound too guilty in your head.
As much as you love these guys, you aren’t sure you could take another two days straight of having to collab with them. Hopefully buying some treats on the way home will placate them.
—– ⚘ —–
^ reader trying to juggle all three scara iterations without breaking any of the dolls LMAO
#genshin sagau#genshin self aware au#sagau#self aware genshin#genshin isekai#genshin scaramouche#sagau scaramouche#genshin wanderer#sagau wanderer#genshin kabukimono#sagau kabukimono#sagau x reader#scaramouche x reader#wanderer x reader#kabukimono x reader#seabird.txt#seabird.inbox#littlemistermedley
419 notes
·
View notes
Text
Never Forgotten - An Arthur Shelby/Reader Short Story.
I am in the mood to create tonight, my loves! Here's another for you :)
Words - 778
Warnings - Fluff ahead! :D
“Love! I’m home!” he booms from the front door, your jaw tightening immediately. “Where are ya?”
“Kitchen.” Your tone is flat, the irritation you’ve been attempting to recover yourself from roaring into life once more, like a dying fire doused in petrol.
He’s brought it on himself, though, as he so often does.
You hear his heavy footsteps grow louder, the kitchen door shunted open with a squeak. “Gotta oil them hinges.” he mutters.
It’s just one more thing he says he’ll get around to. Unless he forgets completely. Just like certain other important things.
“Sweetheart, leave them dishes now. Turn around and look at your husband,” he instructs. To anyone else, it would sound like a baleful demand, but that’s just Arthur and his baritone, a voice like boulders crashing against one another. It’s the sexiest thing in the world when he’s in a state of arousal, but that’s the furthest thing from your mind right now.
Right now, you feel like walloping him with the meat tenderiser you’ve just washed in the hot, soapy water.
“Come on, petal. Look at me.”
You’re all set to fix him with the same glare you viewed him with across the breakfast table this morning, drying your hands as you turn away from the sink. When you take him in, though, you couldn’t be more surprised.
“Thought I’d forgotten, didn’t ya?” he beams, proffering the gigantic bunch of red roses and champagne bottle he carries forth. “Happy anniversary, my little dove.”
You don’t completely thaw as he presses a kiss to your lips, eyeing him with suspicion as you part. “You still could have forgotten, Arthur. Hence why I’m receiving these gifts now rather than this morning.”
He raises his eyebrows. “That right, is it?”
“It is,” you state, placing the flowers and bottle down on the table.
He jerks his head in the direction of the back door, taking your hand and kissing it. “This ain’t your whole present. Come on.”
Walking you out along the path that leads to your flower garden there at your beautiful country cottage, he lets out a piercing whistle, the sound of string instruments beginning to filter out. Rounding the corner, you gasp at the sight of two violinists and a cellist, stationed a little way from an elegantly prepared table, a smartly dressed waiter standing in wait.
“Greetings, Mrs Shelby. My name is Bryant, and I shall be your waiter tonight. Please, do take a seat and allow me to furnish you with a glass of champagne.”
You turn to Arthur, your eyes wide, mouth dropped open. “How?”
He reaches beneath your chin, closing your mouth. “You’ll catch flies like that.”
“But... how did you do all this without me seeing? I could have been out to hang the washing, anything!”
“But you weren’t, were ya?” he chuckles, pulling a chair away from the table and gesturing for you to sit. “They all got here while you were out with Jenny for afternoon tea. I made her keep you out for longer than usual.”
You had wondered, why your best friend had lingered over the tiny cakes and finger sandwiches, rather than devouring the tea with her usual gusto. She was in cahoots with your husband here. Damn them! Damn then, but also, bless them, for giving you the most beautiful surprise you certainly didn’t expect. In fact, you spent half the afternoon bending her ear over how pissed off you were with him.
No wonder she’d looked like she was trying to hide her amusement at times. You’d just taken it as her reacting to Arthur being his usual self.
“And how have they managed to bring dinner out here?”
He leans across the table, thanking the waiter when he fills the two empty flutes with champagne. “Food can travel, you know.”
You roll your eyes with a sigh. “Arthur.”
“What?” he booms, laughing. Oh, he finds this much too funny for your liking. “I dunno, they stick it all in a pot, whack it in the back of a car and there you go! I dunno the fucking logistics, I just paid ‘em!”
You chew the side of your cheek in mild fury, which juxtaposes with how much your heart is bursting with love for him. “You let me think you forgot deliberately, didn’t you?”
His moustache bristles, his grin beaming from beneath. “Suppose I did. Can’t deny I like it when you’re fiery, though. What can I say, love? I like a lamb in the kitchen and a tiger in the bedroom.”
When he finally gets you there a few hours later, you certainly do show him a wild time.
#arthur shelby fanfiction#arthur shelby x reader#arthur shelby x you#arthur shelby imagine#peaky blinders fanfiction#arthur shelby fanfic#peaky blinders fanfic#peaky fucking blinders
150 notes
·
View notes
Text
the polaroid collection: mountain
this is part six of the polaroid collection, based off of 'picture this'. you can either find the masterlist here, read on ao3, or read below:
Mountain is a predictable ghoul. Detail oriented. A strict schedule follower…
Every morning he gets up at the same time and puts on the same mud-stained apron over his work clothes, brews himself a steaming cup of coffee with a splash of milk and two sugars, and heads out to the greenhouse. He works for about four hours, sometimes more to ensure everything is growing and green, lifting heavy bags of dirt over his broad shoulders and organizing a million containers of seeds with calloused fingers until he’s sore. Then he’ll head back in towards the den around lunchtime and place his dirt-covered sandals right outside the door, dusting off his clothes on the lawn to make sure he doesn’t spatter the stone slab in front of the door with soil – because it would be so rude of him to leave such a tiny mess for someone else to step in.
It’s almost infuriating how perfect he is.
But after he gets a bite to eat, eating the leftovers in the fridge and scrubbing the dirty dishes, he then disappears into his bedroom to cleanse his body of the lingering filth of the gardens. And for the majority of his packmates, they believe that that is where his strenuous morning routine ends; a nice, relaxing bath. What they don’t know is that the earth ghoul always takes a lengthy, less-than-glamorous moment to jerk his rock hard, stress-induced erection to completion before hopping into the bath.
Always.
It’s like clockwork at this point. Swiss listens for his heavy footsteps outside the hall, listens for the quiet click of his bedroom lock, and then it’s only a matter of minutes before the soft groans begin floating in through the old vent connecting their rooms. It’s a blessing it’s there, really. It’s like music to Swiss’ ears when he hears him. That big, sweet, considerate ghoul with a huge heart and an even bigger dick…
Oooh and he really likes it when Mountain works longer hours than usual, because it means that he can smell him. And fuck does he smell delightful. A dizzying combination of sweat and stress and lustful pheromones that drive the multi ghoul absolutely mad despite only being able to imagine what he looks like on the other side. He wants to eat him up, get a taste, and it doesn’t help that he stinks particularly strong today.
His feet carry him out of his desk chair and through Mountain’s bedroom door before he can fully process the possibility that Mountain may not be alone. Cock already generously tenting the front of his shorts, the sight of the ghoul half-naked on his bed with his fist wrapped around his dick is almost enough to make him forget entirely about the camera clutched in his hand.
He looks really good – Swiss knew he would. He’s got his tight undershirt bunched up around his chest to keep it out of the way and his dirtied cargos are bundled in a heap around his ankles. The sudden intrusion into his space has the earth ghoul more than surprised, his cheeks pink and his breathing heavy, but Swiss doesn’t care.
Upon bursting in, Mountain’s scent had hit him in the face like the bus they ride around in during tour. So gross, so pungent, so thick. Swiss watches as his hand struggles to fight between continuing to get himself off or hiding himself away. Nostrils flaring, pupils dilating… Mountain cups his balls with his other hand under Swiss’ intense gaze, suddenly insecure.
“Hey, big guy,” Swiss says, an unnatural lilt to his voice as he gives the other ghoul a big, toothy smile.
The suspicion doesn’t leave Mountain’s features as the multi ghoul stalks closer, eyes raking over the other’s form like he’s sizing him up. Then he finds the camera in his grasp and things begin to click into place at the same time that the heavy wooden door clicks into its frame. That look of confusion contorts into something cunning, his lips curling into a smirk as his fingers flex around the base of his shaft, wiggling the tip like a worm in front of a hungry fish.
Green eyes flit from the camera up to find brilliant gold and a singular fang peeks out from behind Mountain’s chapped upper lip.
“You know,” he starts and tilts his head to the side, “I heard about this little photography project you’ve had going on and I was wondering when you were gonna finally let me have my turn.”
Swiss huffs, surprised at the shift towards confidence, his change in demeanor unexpected, but continues to encroach upon the other’s space until there’s only a few steps to separate them. He feels his cock stir again, pre welling at the tip and soaking into the fabric that struggles to constrain him.
“Well you didn’t think I was gonna forget about you, did you?”
Mountain shrugs. Much too smug to have his pants around his ankles like a little boy. “I’m not too sure. I was beginning to think that everyone was gonna have their turn and I was gonna be left out in the mud.”
Swiss stalks a little bit closer, close enough to reach out if he wanted to. He doesn’t. His dick leads him in whichever direction he desires to go.
“Oh, but darling, you know I love it when you get a little dirty.” A gold-tipped digit extends and begins to trail downwards over a flaky patch of dirt smeared over Mountain’s strong bicep. Swiss watches as his finger descends, Mountain watches his face. “And besides, you smell so delicious, I couldn’t possibly stay away.”
The bigger ghoul falters for a moment, brow furrowing in slight confusion at his confession.
“You could smell me?”
Swiss finally meets his eyes and there’s a dangerous glint somewhere in there as his finger continues to linger on his skin, dragging down, down, down until his touch is feather-light.
“Always. I know your schedule like the back of my hand, dirt boy.”
Mountain glances upwards towards the rusted vent in the ceiling and Swiss chuckles in a way that makes him flash hot with embarrassment. He’s certainly heard more than he’d like to admit of Swiss’ late night rides and grinds – as has the other – but he had no idea that he could smell him.
His eyes darken and he tsks at the multi ghoul, “you naughty ghoul…”
Swiss’ finger drifts over to flick at a pebbled nipple before pulling away and shifting his weight back onto his heels, arms crossed across his chest. “Keep doing what you were doing,” he says and motions to him with a flick of his hand. “I wanna watch.”
Now that Mountain knows what is up, he is happy to perform. He jerks his dick in long, slow strokes, kicking his pants off the rest of the way so that he can spread his knees and show all of himself off. Swiss stands just in front of him, so close yet so tantalizingly far away, watching intently with lust-blown eyes as the ruddy head of his cock appears and disappears in his fist.
His hands are filthy, it’s obvious he’d made the decision not to wash them, and a sticky combination of fertilizer and dirt create a muddy residue that makes his dick all gritty and messy. Something about that is arousing.
“Not afraid to get a little dirty, huh?” Swiss asks, eyes still fixed on his ministrations.
Mountain rubs the muddy concoction into the folds of his foreskin and hums all pretty, ignoring the accusation in favor of being a little nasty. He likes nasty.
“I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked you over a fresh bag of mulch before.”
“Well we don’t have to get into specifics…”
“A little uncharacteristic of you now, is it not?”
Swiss rolls his eyes dramatically and tells the other ghoul to scoot back further onto the bed. Then he peels off his own pants, his hard cock springing up to attention and bobbing as he walks forward to crawl into the massive earth ghoul’s lap, camera placed adjacent to them on the bed. It’s on, blinking and ready for whenever he decides to use it.
Swiss gives himself a few strokes for good measure and to make sure he’s at full mast (he is) and keeps his eyes trained on the way that Mountain matches his pace with his own hand. He glances up and finds those pretty green eyes that are as blown out as his own and surges forward to capture his chapped lips in a kiss.
It’s less of a kiss that they fall into, and more of a spit-slicked, open mouthed tangle of tongues. They steal each other's air when it escapes from their lungs and drink in each other’s noises that they make in their throat, replacing them with new ones until they’re throbbing in their hands and Swiss is moaning from the fresh bite of mint lingering on Mountain’s tongue. He tastes better than he imagined he would, and he sucks the taste directly from the source, drinking up the saliva that’s laced deliciously with the cool herb.
“What’ve you been up to in there, hmm? Taste good.”
Both of their voice’s are breathless, spoken directly into the other’s mouth.
Mountain tugs at the flared ridge of his head and groans deep in his chest, “come visit me sometime and I’ll give you a tour.”
Swiss pulls him in again by a hand on the back of his nape, biting on his swollen bottom lip and sucking on the tip of his tongue, and in the heat of it all Mountain nudges his hand away from his cock to slide their lengths together. The feeling of hot, slick skin against hot, slick skin makes both of them shudder all the way up their spines and the noises they make could make a demon blush.
It’s Swiss who breaks their devouring kiss to peer down and watch as Mountain works their lengths together in one of his overly large hands. Some of the dirt already begins to rub off onto his underside.
Mountain’s fat tip kisses Swiss’ frenulum with each and every stroke, sending intense jolts of pleasure up his spine with every little touch, no matter how intense.
It feels way too good just to be rubbing their cocks together, and it looks even better.
Mountain is so large. The sheer size of his girthy appendage nearly dwarfs Swiss’ own (which is no easy feat), and despite Swiss sitting atop his thighs, Mountain’s tip nearly matches up with him in length. Swiss reaches in to gather up a slick combination of their pre on his middle and index fingers and smears the digits over the other ghoul’s lips. He pushes them into his mouth and Mountain sucks gently, cleaning them with his tongue until they're clean and holding dangerous eye contact the entire time that he does.
Gold and green, gold and green, gold and green…
They’re lucky it’s not mating season– the sight of him with his fingers in his mouth makes Swiss’ belly flip a million times.
“The things you do to me…” he whispers, nearly inaudible, and Mountain parts his lips to let out a breathy laugh, carding his clean hand through Swiss’ thick curls and tugging his head back towards the ceiling. Swiss’ fingers slip out past his teeth coated in saliva. Swiss sucks it off.
When Mountain suddenly decides to use both of his hands to get them off, squeezing an twisting his wrist and creating a pocket for them to fuck in tandem, Swiss feels himself being guided rapidly towards the edge of euphoria – and much faster than he’d anticipated. Both of their cocks are flushed dark and so shiny, and Swiss begins to spit curses through his teeth when Mountain shifts his magic touch to their leaking heads.
“I’m gonna cum,” Mountain gasps out against Swiss’ jaw. He nips at the skin with his teeth, “are you gonna cum with me?”
He almost sounds desperate.
“No,” Swiss forces out. He surprises himself with how sure he sounds. The tightening in his balls begs to differ. Mountain’s brow scrunches together and he drops his jaw, clearly doing his best to stave off his impending orgasm.
With the last ounce of control he has left, Swiss reaches for the camera, lining up the shot blindly at where they’re pressed so hotly together.
“Want it just like this,” he moans and Mountain grips them both at the base, “so hard, so flushed, fuck, Mount, you’re so big…”
Mountain lets out a moan that's so loud he has to throw his head back towards the ceiling to get it out. The muscles in his abdomen ripple and go hard.
“Swiss– I’m gonna-”
“Don’t you dare ruin my shot.”
“Fuck, you’re such an asshole-”
Swiss bites his lip hard between his teeth when Mountain’s cock jerks and jumps pressed flush against the underside of his own.
“Shut up and flex it. Do that again.”
Mountain gives them another tight stroke then holds them firmly together at the base, exhibiting them in all their filthiest glory for the lens. A thin string of pre connects their leaking heads and the realization makes Swiss jerk violently, balls tightening, and he forces his finger to press down on the button milliseconds before he shoots hot and thick all over his own thighs and Mountain’s fingers.
“So much for not cumming,” Mountain teases, cheeks pink and forehead slick with sweat, but his little poke at the other gets cut short when Swiss wraps his hand tightly around his cock. “Whatever. We got the damn picture…”
132 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
spoksstuff
spokstuff
rudyanto
Untitled
mrsaito58
Mr. Saito's SFW Appeasement Blog
maybu
no_title
venti-i
Bez tytułu