#where the things you do and things you keep up just stop
Note
touch starved reader with an oral fixation x kidnapper!Simon who’s all punishment and no physical affection? Please Simon just a little kiss? with tongues? :( (i just wanna make out with this man while my heart aches for him)
by Allah, you people are dogs. i will write the filth as usual.
DEAD DOVE, 18+ | dubcon. kidnapping. mean!Simon. dom!Simon. masking corporal punishment as affection. kissing. size kink, size difference. some thigh riding. degradation + humiliation (verbal). non-con pet play. marking (heavyyyyyy mentions of Simon biting you like a chew toy). choking. daddy kink (but in the awful, demeaning way). manipulation. forced affection. coersion. forced/manufactured dependency. brief mention of Simon stepping on your back to hold you down so he can whip you w a cat o nine tails. yanno. the usual Friday night.
idk. there's something so hot about you, completely naked, riding Simon's clothed thigh as he holds you up by your neck. tongue out, desperate for a kiss while he just mocks you the whole time.
It's survival.
At first.
A means of masking the innate horror of being stripped of your agency, your autonomy, by a man you barely even know. One you met once before (fate sealed), and now—outside of your apartment complex where he was idling by the foothold, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the brick wall, head turned. Gaze narrowed as you approached.
Waiting for someone, you assumed, thinking nothing else about the matter.
Nothing else, except—
He looked familiar. You think you saw him before. He was staring at you. Hadn't stopped. Hasn't said a word, either. The silence was oppressive. Heavy. Your hands fumbled with the keys. Shaking. Trembling.
He's pretty, you thought, suddenly. In the way car wrecks can sometimes be. Jarring and awful and hideous, but—
Mesmerising.
Macabre. And that's what he is. Everything from the mask on his face (skulls, go figure), to the absurdity in his size, his width. The way space itself seemed to move around him, bending and distorting just to let him pass. His own gravitational pull. Magnetic. You feel it tugging on you as he pulls another lungful of smoke. Another. Another.
(like an hourglass, a timebomb, almost. you wonder what will happen when it runs out—)
He gives you the creeps. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. A visceral sense of unease curdling in the pit of your belly as he keeps staring, staring. Eyes—crystalline under the broken headlamp, washout into crushed topaz—drilling into your back, sharp enough to flay skin. Everything inside of you says to run, but your key won't fit inside the lock. Won't—
Ever.
And hindsight has always been a bitter thing, hasn't it? Cruel in her mockery. Had you known, then, that he wasn't a workman loitering by the complex, waiting for a friend; or a low-level drug dealer casting webs into the plum hewn aether, it might have saved you. Might have.
Maybe. Because he was there, waiting for you, all along.
Life has a funny way of paying back good deeds. All it took for your life to crumble down around you, rubble falling off of a shaking mountain, was kindness. Was seeing a large man in the pouring rain, already drenched. Black clothing sticking to the granite contours of his body, and offering sanctum in the shape of a rusting umbrella you found at a thrift store for three dollars.
(“here,” you said, chipper. All smiles. “i live just down the street, and you look like you need it more than i do. do you want it?”
and he—
he simply stared. stared. his eyes liquid, molten, as they carelessly dropped, roaming down the length of your body at his own leisure. leering. assessing. it was odd. weird, but—
he huffed, then. seemingly satisfied by whatever you measured up to in his head. his neck lulled back, and he gazed at you from down the crooked length of his nose, tucked neatly away under the thick band of a facial mask. skulls. how could you be so stupid?
slowly, like he was trying not to startle a mare, his gloved hand reached out, curling thick fingers around the hilt of it. he tugged once. in your stupor, you forgot to let go. embarrassment flooded in. he huffed again, quietly amused, as you untangled your numbed fingers from the umbrella.
in your distraction, he moved closer. smelled of ash, of mildew. sweat and stale cigarettes. there was something predatory in the way he slipped through space. a preternatural quiet. an eerie stillness.
you hadn't realised he was there, looming, until he rasped out, “more ‘n you could ever realise, pet.”
and you're sure why you do it. did it. but your hand slips into your shopping bag, eyes widen. heart thundering in your chest.
“are you hungry? i, uh, i just bought some apples, um—”
his eyes are lavascapes. shackles. chains. “i could eat.”)
And now—
Forced to play this strange cat and mouse of his where he treats you like soot on the bottom of his shoe, and you pretend that it's affection. Love. How godless.
Protection, he calls it.
("mine," he whispers, orison soft, into your ear. "ain't go' nowhere else to go, do you, pet? world's big. would eat a small thing like you up. safer here. wit' me. only me.")
You wonder what he'd do if you told him the biggest danger here was the madness nestled inside your head, the one that sometimes made you look at him like he was your salvation instead of the warden holding the end of your leash in a firm hand. Unyielding—like everything he does. Is.
Withholding, too. Everything must be earned. Nothing given. Nothing handed out. And you know that this is a ploy, a tactic. Subterfuge meant to chisel into your sense of self, dehumanise you. Turn you into a simpering, obedient little doll for him to play with as he wishes. You know this, and yet—
It's survival, you promise yourself as he tugs on the hook latched to your collar, testing it for weakness. Survival, when his hands—bare, bare; warmed skin against skin, you could just weep—brush over your throat, nails skimming goosebumped flesh as he wedges one, then two inside, hirsute knuckles tickling your pulse. It tightens the collar to near choking. Intentional, you know. He likes it when you beg—for air, for food, water, him.
Vile man. Awful.
(You want to roll on your belly at his feet.)
This cold, cruel touch lights a fire under your skin. It's been months since he's last done so. Always wearing gloves when he has to. Using paddles, belts, when you misbehave. Never his bare hand. Not anymore.
(“m’hand is for good girls,” he slurred, words merging, meshing together, painted with exertion. He wedged his boot against the small of your back, holding you down, and cracked the end of a cat over your bare ass, thighs. Unbothered by your howls, your screams, as the whip bit into your skin. You've never so much as been hit as a child for misbehaving, and now, as an adult, you have a madman standing over you, introducing you to something called a cat o’nine tails—a favourite in the army, lovie. “bad girls,” his boot pressed down harder, heel digging into your spine. “Bad girls get the whip—”)
Bad. Bad. Because you tried to run, to leave him. He dressed you up, called you Mrs Riley, and you—
Ducked out the back door when he turned away for a second.
Stupid. It was poor timing. A test. He set you up, measuring your loyalty to him, your commitment, and you failed. Failed.
(“this is what ‘appens when spoiled little cunts get their way too much. they act out, don't they? bitin’ the ‘and that feeds. you'll learn soon enough, though—”)
Ghost—sir, sir (master, maker, god; you'll call him anything he wants if he touches you again)—pulls his fingers away, depriving you of his touch once more. And it's all so stupid. So fundamentally wrong, deplorable, but you follow. Needy. Whining for it in the back of your throat.
It's been months. Months without touch. Without sensation outside of leather lashing across your thighs, your ass; harsh, gloved fingers digging into your jaw, braced against the back of your head, as you swallow down his cock in an effort to prove to him you've been good. So good. Can be good. His good girl.
You need to touch him. Need his touch. Ache for it, for something outside of this nook he placed you inside of, denied the privilege of living upstairs with him after you tried to escape.
You want to. Badly. Your fingers twitch. Ghost sees it. Hums.
“Need somethin', pet?”
Your mouth is dry. You swallow. It burns. It hurts. “Yes—”
“Yes, what?”
“Sir—”
Behind the mask he's yet to take off for you fully, only ever hitching it under his chin to devour your cunt whenever you've been good, his jaw tightens, the fabric bunching up.
You reel back from the look of sheer displeasure etching harsh lines into the hollow gaps of his eyes. Heart thundering. Stomach churning.
“Mas—” he cuts you off with a soft sigh. Marked with his irritation. “D—dad—”
Dad. A new one. Daddy. He didn't seem like the sort to be into this type of play, not with his sardonic, deadpan eyes. His mockery. His dessicated humour, awful and biting. You'd have sooner expected him to laugh at you—in that slow, deep hum he gives; a little chuff, full of condescension and jeer—than to get off on it. On you, kneeling between his legs with your chin braced against his palm, mouth open, tongue out, as he fucks into the tight clench of his fist, groaning as you beg daddy to give you a taste.
It's gross. Disgusting.
It's not done for anything else other than to humiliate you. To crush you under the heel of his boot—little bug—so that you will always know where your place is in this scenario. His little wife. Mother, mum—
He pulls on the leash, jerking you forward. Purrs, “good girl,” and then steps back, moving away from you. Cruel. Dismissive. You hate him, hate him—
(Need him so deeply. With every fibre of your being—)
You watch him as he goes, mourning the loss of his presence already, as he paces around your space, your cage. Broad shoulders barely fitting inside. Head ducking to avoid hitting his crown on the popcorn ceiling. It's strange seeing him here like this. Prowling. He usually comes when he wants you, when he needs to enact more merciless punishment on you for whatever perceived evils you committed (not greeting him with a kiss when he walked in, not letting him suffocate himself in your cunt when he had you sit on his face, not making him cum all over your face quick enough when you knew he had other engagements to get to—), or when he ruts, heavily, between your thighs, cold and detached. Seeking pleasure from your icy flesh, and giving nothing in return but white hot agony.
Him here, idling in your presence, is revolutionary.
“S–sir—?”
He hums, quiet. Sits in the chair as you gather the fragments of yourself littered on the ground. His mood is malleable, it seems.
You push, fingertips sinking into the putty of his agreeable temperament. “Can I—”
You waver when his sharp eyes raze over your bare body—clothes are for good girls, after all—pupils sloshing over the edges, bleeding into midnight blue.
Your body is a battlefield. Every inch of skin branded with his mark—pretty, thrawn rings of teeth tattooed in silver, haloed in black and red, desecrate your flesh: neck, collarbones, breasts, belly, thighs (a particular favourite of his), ass, mons; all bitten through, chewed up. It weeps when you move, has blood trickling down your skin. The cracking scabs make him coo, poor thing, all bloody fer me? and he licks at them, sucks, until only a pinkish wound in the mimesis of canines remains.
Uprooted, turned into something new—
His chest expands when he settles his gaze on the sliver of space between your spread thighs. Concealed in tenebrous, hidden from his leering, lecherous view. He cocks his head, considers something unknown to you. His thoughts, his mind, worlds away. Untouchable.
(only to bad girls, he’d snarled out when you asked why—)
“Testin’ my patience still?” He doesn't rip his gaze away from your cunt, speaks to it sometimes more than he speaks to you. “Thought this alone time might’a cleared your ‘ead.”
You flush. Embarrassment roiling through you. His displeasure is a palpable thing. Heavy. You hate the weight of it.
“I need—I need you.”
Another toneless hum. “‘Course you do. Ain't got anyone else.”
He's awful. Hideous. You want to rip his tongue out of his mouth. “I—I want you. Please.”
Ghost doesn't answer. You stopped expecting him to a long time ago, his moods odd measures of ebbs and flows; passive and mild, cracking terrible, awful jokes as he strokes your back, hands riveted to your skin, and then biting and caustic the next. Pushing and pushing until you lash out, snap, so he has a reason to push you down, punished and smothered under his bulk, as he ruts into you like a beast, a man starved. Tells you it's for your own good. That you need him. Would be lost without him.
Bludgeoning a hole into you wide enough for him to crawl inside of. Poisoning you from the inside out with the same nocuous rot that flows in his veins.
Maybe that's been his agenda all along. Maybe. To make you want him as badly as he wanted you. Desperate, obsessive. Going so far as to follow you home, lost little mutt waiting in the shadows outside of your door until you threw him another bone. And when that didn't work, when the food stopped being enough—
He took you. Held you captive in his house deep in the wilderness. A place so endlessly green that you sometimes stare out at it—unfathomable sea of phalthos and jasper—and feel dizzy. You'll get lost out there—
just like he says.
As he turns your obsecration over in his head, you wait, supplicant to this man as you rest on your knees. Pretty pet with a golden collar adorned in gems.
Fitting, you find. With his head cradled against his thick knuckles, you can't help but shiver at the way he looks shrouded in the gloaming embers of a fading twilight. Leonine. A king perfectly at ease in this thick, caliginous atmosphere.
His eyes burn, magmatic, in the low light. Vats of endless ink. Black holes that will swallow you whole if you get too close. But he's poised. Contemplative. Assessing.
And then grips the end of the leash tight in his other hand. Tugs.
You obey the wordless command, crawling on your hands and knees to where he's spread out on the recliner. Laxed, dripping with a careless indifference as you wander to him, resting your chin on the spread of his knee.
Looking up, up, at him, waiting. Wanting.
There's so much of him—a fact that has been the catalyst to your downfall the moment you saw him standing under the awning; this massive creature. Thighs wider than the width of your body. Burly forearms. Broad shoulders. He's big. Indomitable. Thick, endlessly so. But there's a give to his body. Valleys of softness hiding corded muscle. Firm, but—
Your fingers sink into the soft give of his belly when you reach out, bracing against stomach. Pulling yourself further into the bracket of his spread thighs, inching closer to him.
He meets your reverent stare, eyes liquid along his lower lash line.
“Thought you were gonna keep me waitin’ all night,” he muses, giving another pull on the leash. It destabilises you. Your nose bumps into his sternum, and you moan at the sting.
There's a dissonance in the back of your head. A hairline fracture in the line that keeps a degree of separation between pleasure and pain. They meet against the crack in the divide, merging into a abysmal polyphony conducted by his hand.
He watches, amused, as you whimper, sniffing harshly against the burn. It's not bleeding, and not broken—small mercies, you suppose—and you let it simmer into a dull ache as you slowly clamber into his lap.
Ghost leans back as you settle, greedily taking in the sight of your thighs stretched wide over his leg, cunt pressed, tight, against the rough scrape of his jeans. The touch burns. He hasn't touched your pussy in weeks—
“C’mon,” he urges, hand spanning the width of your lower back. Coaxing. “Show me ‘ow good you can be.”
It's all the permission you need. Slowly, slowly, your hips start to gyrate, dragging your slit over the coarse material. The friction is agony. You need more—
He draws his other hand up, curls it around your neck, forcing your head back, back. You gasp, staring at him, dizzy, from down the slope of your nose. The clasp of the collar digs into your skin. It hurts. It's too much.
you don't want him to stop.
His hand is huge. It spans the entire length of your neck, thumb to your pulse, pinky grazing the hollow of your throat. It forces you to lift your chin higher just to let him fit.
He likes it, too, you know. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of his bare hand, scarred and thick; dusted with a cropping of fine hairs along his scabbed knuckles, sitting against the whole of your throat. Swallowing you up. Can feel how much he enjoys the sheer depth between your sizes when his cock twitches, stiffening more
The look on his face is appraising, anatomising. There's a cold measure of distance in his gaze. A barren polynya. You want to cross it. Chart these untamed lands until they're deeply ingrained within your being. Cimmerian effigy burning to keep you warm.
It's survival, you think, and arch into the palm of his hand.
He holds you like a doll. One hand on your lower back, pressing your cunt to thigh. The other tightening around your throat. Bare skin against bare skin, and oh, you could just cry—
But this is not what you need. What you want. And he knows. He always does. Knows the inside of you like it's written down—inked on paper. Thumbs through the makeup of you, chapter by chapter, until no mystery remains.
“Tell me what you need, pet. Beg for it.”
“Let me—” his hands tighten, choking the air from your throat. Crushing your collar against your neck. “Lemme—kiss you, please, please—”
Tighter. Tighter. The world around you swims under a thin ocean. Phosphenes swim, untethered, in your periphery, ghosting along the curve of his shoulders. He might kill you yet. Keeping going, going, until those brittle, bird-like bones in your neck snap—
You'd let him, you think, muscles falling lax. Submissive. Just the way he says he likes even though you know he fucks you harder, touches you more, more, when you act out. Misbehave.
“Kiss me?” He taunts, words abrasive. Strident. Scrubbing hard against your skin. “Ain't that jus’ the sweetest thing I ever ‘eard.”
You burn, blister. “Please—”
“Reckon I ought to. Kissed your pretty cunt ‘fore I even kissed your lips, huh, pet?”
Your chest folds over itself. Stomach knotting. Balling tight. Unease is a razor blade scraping your nerves.
“Simon—”
“Ah, ah—” his hand tightens. Vicious. Chiding. “You ‘aven’t earned the privilege of sayin’ my name, ‘ave you? Cheeky thing. Might ‘ave to take a cane to you next.”
“No, no, no—! I'm—”
“Sorry?” He mocks, cocking his head. Condescension drips from the corners of his eyes.
“Please, sir—”
“Dad is gettin’ tired of this attitude of yours, pet—” his fingers dig into your skin, hard. Biting. A warning, you know. The blunt press of a blade to your jugular. But it thrums along the suture line to your desire, a wellspool of murk coiling low in your guts. You throb, cunt clenching down around nothing. Achingly empty. “Thought we got rid of it this time ‘round. Learned our lesson.”
The words are frank, prosaic. Had you any sense of self still malingering in the back of your head, you might have struck him for the blatant disrespect. But as you struggle to reach for it, pawing around in the vacuous abyss for any fragment of who you were before this, before him, you know—without any doubt—that none exists. Nothing. He’s too ingrained in your marrow, hewn into your skin. Copper sutures holding his filament within you. Cradled between your thighs, nestled in the rotting vacancy of your heart.
He knows you. Every part—
“We did—we did, da—daddy, please—”
It’s shallow. Muffled, like he’s trying to swallow it down, but you feel it rumble through his broad chest. A guttural sound. A groan. Drenched in pleasure, in want. So thick, you could almost taste it.
He hides his need under a layer of derision.
“Such a needy thing, ain't you? Desperate little slag like you wouldn't last out there, would you?”
His hand digs into your hip, pushing you off of his thigh. Eyes skewering into the wet stain on his trousers. A huff spills out—the sound a near perfect mimicry of crushing charcoal in your hand.
“No. You'd be eaten alive. Torn to pieces. World's too big for somethin' like you.”
Mindless, dazed, you nod. Arching into him. The leather leash snaps against your chest. “Yes, yes—”
His cock presses into your thigh, hard, fat. Your mouth waters. Drool dribbles down your chin.
He smells of tinder when he leans in close, blood drenched words biting into your skin. “messy today, aren't you? Be lost without me. Tha’s why you wear a collar, isn't it?”
Pitifully, you nod. Eyes full of tears. Each word is a bludgeon into your resolve. Into your sense of self.
But it earns you his affection, and his thumb presses into the corner of your mouth, unhinging your jaw until it falls open, lax. He holds you like that, mouth lax with his hand still around your neck. The other lifts away from your lips, goes to the thick band around the bridge of his nose, slips inside.
There's no buildup to it. No lingering sense of anticipation. Practical, detached, he merely tugs it down, and lets it snap under his chin.
Your breath is punched out of your lungs at the sight of him. Barefaced. Scarred. His nose is crooked; a jagged hook with scar tissue delineating the spots where it's been broken too many times. His lips are—
Full.
Mangled.
Scars run in thick slashes over them, denting the flesh in places. Burn marks line his pale flesh. Charcoal rubs into his eyes, highlighting the whites of his lashes against smeared soot.
He's—
Pretty.
Like a car crash. Calamity. The broken remains of a town after a hurricane, a tornado, ripped it apart. Ugly, brutal. His face looks like it's been mauled by a bear, a tiger. Scarred and hideous, and—
You shiver. His eyes drop, landing on your own lips. The soot on his brow flutters down, lands on his eyelashes when he lifts his brow up mockingly. Derision curdling an awful smirk on the corner of his mouth. Crooked. Like him. Like his teeth. His nose. His boxy jaw. His lips—
You kiss him.
Can't help yourself, really. There's a pull. Gravitational. Magnetic. You need, need, to taste him. To quench this ache in your jaw that makes you want to wrap your tongue around something, play with it between your teeth. Soft and sweet—
Ghost's lips are plump beneath yours. The thick scar tissue is almost velveteen when it glides over your bottom lip. You moan into it, into the feeling; victory—however pyrrhic—swims like mercury in your veins. Finally.
And he doesn't kiss you back. Doesn't make any effort to reciprocate at all, but he's not tense beneath you. Not stunned. Or reluctant. He’s pliant. Malleable. Agreeable, willing to let you devour his mouth, his taste, as much as you want. Doting. Letting you spoil yourself on him. With him.
Because you need him, don't you?
Like the air you breathe. The food he gives you—apples, always, on rainy days; salmon and rice in a pretty bowl with your name etched into the porcelain—and the attention, the affection—
(suck my cock, pretty girl. don't make me put a gag on you—deeper, you can take it, can't you? take my fat cock all the way up inside your sweet little cunt—my pretty girl—)
—it’s all so divine.
His hands on your body, your throat, spasm. Once. Just once. Against your leg, his cock twitches. Leaks prespend into the demin. You rut against his thigh, aching for it. Whimpering—
And then he's groaning into the kiss, snarling out your name until it wedges between your lungs, syphoned in from his scorching breath. Another brand in the shape of him.
Ghost kisses the same way he eats—messy, sloppy; all teeth and tongue, and full pretty lips. Clumsy, like no one taught him how to properly hold his silverware and he's trying to mock what he saw on television. Brumish. A broken, contemptuous pastiche of sumptuosity. A starving dog, snarling around its plundered morsel. Protective. Possessive.
It coils around you. Thick, smothering.
He sucks your tongue into his mouth, catching it between his teeth. The sting brings tears to the corner of your eyes, and when you pry them open, you find him already staring at you (always, always, always—), lidded. Heavy pools of desire shaded in the brume of a winter dawn. A bonfire flickering in the distance of a whiteout. Sanctuary from the cold—
He seems to catch himself. Expression flickering. Warbling around the edges. It closes off in a blink. He pulls back. Locks into the ashlar veneer of this indifference he wears like a suit of armour.
But you saw it. It was there. Within reach—
“Need me, don't you?” He drawls, timber a needlepoint between cruelty and desire. Sultry, low. Husky. He knows what it does to you. How he can unravel you at the seams with just his voice alone. “Need me so fuckin’ much, pet. Would be lost without me—”
“Please, Simon,” you whisper, feather-soft. Cunt throbbing, pulsing. Needy. “Please—”
The strident reprimand for using his name doesn't come. His hand tightens around your throat, unconscious. A paroxysm that has pleasure carving itself down your spine, electric.
“Come get it, then,” he rasps, voice wrecked. Raw. Curling at the edges, thickening his accent until the words elide.
Hand to your throat, he drags you close. Closer still. Keeps you sat pretty on his lap as he pulls you in for a bruising, hungry kiss. Tongue shoving between your teeth when you gasp.
His kisses are always hungry, but this is different. Greedy. He devours you whole. Eats you alive. His hand falls to your lower back, holding you tight to his chest.
You moan into it, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Squeezing until your knuckles blanche, joints twinging in discomfort.
After months of nothing, this alone is bliss. His taste soaking onto your tongue, drenching it in the bitter tang of sage, wheatgrass, and stale cigarettes. Intoxicating. It leaks into you, nocuous. Infects from the inside out.
His plan coming to fruition, you think. What he sought out to do all along, ever since you wandered close to this untameable Tartarean guard, and offered yourself up to the jowls of a starving beast.
He pulls away with a heavy breath, eyes charing around the edges; brittle briquette.
“Gonna be a good girl from now on? Come upstairs, be a good mum for dad? Or am I gonna ‘ave to cane this—” his hand drops, grabbing a fistful of your ass in his hand, fingers digging into the skin between your cheeks. Possessive. It cracks like a whip down your nerves. “—tight lit’le arse?”
You shake your head instantly. Quickly. “I'll be good,” you whisper into his chin, tongue flicking out to lick across his scars. The dried sweat on his skin tastes briny. Reminds you of the ocean on a brumous November evening. The incipient yawn of a ravenous hurricane gathering its lot on the shore.
Sirens blare in the distance. Fear curdles in your guts, sits heavy like a stone. An anchor.
“So sweet f’me,” he mutters, words deepening as his head falls back, letting you pepper kisses across the underside of his jaw. Mouthing along the constellation of scars. His voice is rumble. It shivers across your lips, tongue. Shakes the marrow in your bones. “Better stay this way, pet.”
Into his pulse, you murmur, “I think you like it better when I’m bad.”
You can feel the snarl brimming in the back of his throat. Your ass stings with the phantom burn of when he lashed out with the whip. It drags a whimper out from deep within your chest.
His hand tightens around your neck. A warning. “Got some guests over f’dinner tonight. Would love to finally introduce them to my sweet little wife—” deft fingers slip across the dewy skin of your folds, knuckles grazing over your drenched hole. The touch makes you squirm. “But if you’re gonna be bad, then I’ll leave you locked up down ‘ere.”
“I’ll be good,” you swear, words a hushed breath over his jugular. His finger flattens, drawls soft, slow circles around your clit. “Ah, I’ll—I’ll be so, so good, Simon—”
“Good girls deserve rewards, don’t they?” His palm flexes possessively around your throat when you nip at old scar tissue. “Maybe I’ll let you sleep in our bed tonight instead of in your dog house. We can ‘ouse together. I’ll fuck you proper—” he roughly shoves two fingers into your hole, leering when you gasp, back arching in a bow. “Know this pretty pussy has been achin’ for me, ‘asn’t it? Gonna breed it full—”
There’s static in your head, ringing in your ear. The noise distorted, pulled underwater. You think you say something, plead—no, no, no, anything but that—but his hand tightens around your throat, fingers pushing up, up into you, notching against that spot inside that makes your head swim, your vision flicker. The abyssal chasm inside of you aches, rages; its waters swell, currents frothing, slamming against the ceiling of its iron prison, and—
Simon pulls away. Fingers stilling inside of you. No friction, no relief. Hypoxia renders the world silent. Muted. Held in stasis, stagnating at the edge of a gaping precipice he holds you over, secured by the fragile curve of your neck, fine bone china.
Phosphenes swim by. The chossy wobbles.
This distance is agony. You need to be closer, closer, to crawl inside of him, to live in the brackets of his ribs, safe and protected from the world he warns you about. Stone cold. You mewl, whine—
“Gonna be my good little wife?”
Gasping with broken lungs, you nod. Nod, nod until you’re nauseous. Dizzy. Sick—
His spit cools on your lip. Your hackles raise, body shuddering in revulsion—some primal part rears, hisses it’s infectious. Wrong. Get rid of it—
“Not gonna run?”
Slowly, you lick your lips, catching his sickness on your tongue. Swallowing it down until it sinks like a stone to the bottom of your belly. Heavy, for such a small, damning thing.
How absurd, you think. How absolutely mad.
Then you whisper, paperthin, “kiss me again, please, Simon—”
And he moves. Liquid in the gloam. Made more for shadows, midnight, than for golden apricity, where the light is harsh on his face, unveiling ruins and ravines; monoliths meant to be paid tribute to in the dark. Your hands lift to his jaw when he moves in, catching your lips in a bruising, biting kiss.
His touch is searing. Owning. He isn't laying claim: no, you're already his.
It's possessive and angry. No finesse. All slate teeth and tender tongue. They slide together in a strange game; little fawn stupidly nipping at the tiger's heel. He lets you, groaning into your mouth when you arch back, hips pushing into his fingers, taking him deeper. A pale pantomime of what's to come when he lays you on his soft bed, sweet and divine, and buries himself deep.
It should scare you. Ought to. And maybe it does. Survival, you think, but you still pull him closer. Deeper. Because it’s bliss, you find. The world around you falling dead. Silent. Pulled into a vacuum. Teetering on the edge of a black hole, event horizon. He drags you in.
Simon hums, pulling you closer. Touching you—soft, sweet. Palms a gyve. Shackles, chains. His fingers lift from your neck, trailing down the slope of your throat until he reaches the golden loop of your collar's hook. His gaze glides, magmatic, down to where your leash dangles between your heaving breasts.
It's almost tender when he grabs it into his fist. When he pulls, pulls—
Your back arching. His fingers slipping deeper inside your cunt. Obedient little doll.
When he lifts his eyes, the look you find is hot enough to char bone. You taste blood in the back of your throat—
Into the seam of your mouth, he purrs, “good girl.”
—and you swallow it down with a moan.
(after all, you know better than to run from starving dogs—)
#when your kidnapper is mean and rude as hell but you've been dtf since day one: the manifesto#simon riley x reader#ghost x reader#i forget where i put peoples hands sometimes and then have to go back and remind myself where everyone's at lmao#hope you enjoyedddddddddddd#i'm gonna go pour myself a glass of bleach bye#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#cod#ghost#simon ghost riley#simon riley x you#ghost x you
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Newjeans Hanni smut (M reader) - the title is a hint to the TW.
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It didn't happen through a cliché.
Well, maybe it did, but not one of those where she's stuck head-first into some kitchen appliance or something of that ilk, though you would say this really did happen by accident.
What? She tripped, fell, landed on your dick?
Not quite like that, but the point still stands. You didn't begin that day, or even that evening, intending to fuck your step-sister, but, well…
"My apartment. My TV. My choice," you told her, as you have so many times before.
"But this film is supposed to be the best. It's got great reviews. Dani loved it..." Hanni was talking far too fast to even really pay attention. She soon started reeling off a cast list and everyone involved, and how this review called it a revelation to the genre, but you had long since started ignoring her. You know how she gets. Excitable beyond the point that someone normally would be. It's an endearing trait, if not also annoying. The rundown of her reasons was cut short as she threw her body at you in attack.
"Hanni! What are you—"
"Just gimme the controller already!" She shouted right into your ear as she threw her arms over your shoulders. You held it out in front of you, keeping her behind your back so her arms couldn't reach; not that it stopped her from trying. "Just one time. Please? Pretty pretty please?"
You climbed up from the sofa. Hanni clung to your back like a young panda, with her legs locked tight around your waist and her arms still fumbling around. You grabbed her by the ankle, trying to pry it away so you could drop her, or something, anything other than letting her continue. "Alright fine. Just let go, you idiot. You’re going to tear my arm off."
She loosened her hold, just enough for you to swing her around; one arm and leg slipping free so you could throw her onto the couch. In your flailing she managed to take the TV remote with her, but the moment of peace, of silence, of satisfaction in hearing your idiot sister bounce against the cushions before breaking into a laugh and asking, "what the hell was that for?"
"What did I ever do to deserve the step-sister from hell?" You said as you flopped down at the opposite end of the couch.
"Have a mother hot enough that my dad wanted to fu—"
"You're sick." You cut her off before she finished. She smirked, lifting her sock-clad feet onto the sofa and settling in for movie night. She brought her knees up below her chin and started flicking through the options on the screen to find the one she wanted. Her eyes were wide in her stare, her lower lip bitten. It was pretty much the last time you ever looked at her in this innocent way again.
It was another one of those shitty horror flicks. The kind that didn't even slightly live up to the billing she gave it before. This, however, was Hanni's thing—whenever she convinced you, or otherwise, to finally give up control of your TV, she would put on one of these cheap horror movies and spend the whole night tucked behind a cushion.
As much as you tried for it not to be, it's become something of a ritual, pretty much any night that she was at home, and not unbelievably tired from being overworked and didn't have to be up at the break of dawn.
It's your acceptance of things like that which really showed how much the two of you had grown. You remember fighting for your life against your mother and stepfather to not have to take her in. Convinced that if she wanted to move into the city so badly, she could get her own place, or go to one of those company dorms. Ultimately, you were made to see reason. Your apartment is close to her company, and you had a spare room, after all.
Not that she ever stopped annoying you beyond belief.
The movie, if you could call it that, had you fall into a slumber, and when you woke up Hanni had crawled across the length of the couch and was laid against you, her arms wrapping one of your own. She didn't even realise you had woken up, staring as the credits rolled with a slight, peaceful smile on her face.
She had tied her hair up by now into a ponytail, pulling the hair away from her mostly bare shoulder, where the thin strap of her cropped pyjama top rested. As you peeked down at her, your eyes accidentally fell on the space down her top. It wasn't your fault; they were just right there.
"Shit..." you muttered, catching Hanni's attention.
"Still alive there?" She chuckled a little as she gently patted her palm against your cheek. You feigned a yawn and shut your eyes, settling your head against the pillow once more.
"Hanni, put something else on. This movie is dumb."
"You fell asleep after like ten minutes."
"Yeah, and it seems it didn't take long for you to use me as a body pillow."
Hanni pursed her lips. A red flush ran through her cheeks, and then she quickly sat up. You were watching her the whole time through half-open eyes, chuckling under your breath at her reaction.
"You're an idiot," she says. "Always have been."
You shrugged in reply, "And you're easy to tease, always will be."
"Asshole." She kicked at you.
She tried to kick again, and you caught her foot. You held her bare leg in the air and then lightly kicked her back, hitting her thigh.
"Let go! I'll kick you again. Asshole!" She shouted at you, again and again, struggling to break her foot free from your hand. When you finally let her go, all her struggles made her stumble off the couch. As she went, you kicked out again, this time catching her right on the ass. "Ah! Fuck be careful you hit my plu—" She brought her hands right to her mouth when she realised what she was saying.
"Your what?" You asked.
Hanni cleared her throat, blushing to the point of matching the colour of her red short shorts. "Nothing."
She turned away from you. Just standing there. There's a part of you that wishes that you could go back to this moment. You would have left it there and gone to bed—never kicking her a third time.
But you did it.
Your foot flicked gently against her ass a final time and you felt it. Something hard tucked between the softness of her cheeks. She yelped again. You pinpoint this moment as the catalyst for everything that followed. It’s the part where her innocent image crumbled before your eyes and that’s what allowed you to do what you did. Though really, can you ever be sure that if it didn’t happen now, it wouldn’t have just happened the next day, or next week, or a few months down the line? You tell yourself it was inevitable.
"Is that what I think it is?"
She spun around, facing you once more, trying to muster something. She stumbled over and stuttered her words. "No! I... it's not mine. Minji loaned me one for... just to try... it's not." She held the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. "This is... oh, god. This is so embarrassing."
Hanni slumped back onto the sofa and pressed a cushion tight against her face. "Why'd you loan it?" You ask her, only to see her tighten her grip.
"Because."
"Because what?" You sat up by her side and said something that at the time you thought would make it better, but looking back, probably came off rather creepy. "I clean your room, Hanni. I have seen worse things."
Hanni slowly dropped the cushion into her lap and looked at you with a glare. "The fuck?"
"And if you're going to use my laptop, try deleting the history." At this point, you were just piling on the embarrassment.
"Fuck! Oh my God, what did you see?" She threw the cushion into your face.
You picked it out of the air. "Nothing." You lied.
"Bullshit!" Hanni swore. "Did you see everything?"
"Nothing at all..." you said sarcastically while standing up. "I definitely didn't see all the step-brother porn you were binging last week."
She screamed and jumped up. You threw the pillow to stop her and stepped out of reach. "I hate you! You freak!" she shouted, cheeks burning red as the fury rose within her.
"Says the chick wearing a buttplug." You taunted her again as you darted across the room away from her.
"What happened to boundaries!?" She lunged at you again, and you quickly sidestepped her.
She tried jumping at you once more and missed, only to strike her knee against the corner of the coffee table. She hopped back on one leg with the pain.
"You're an asshole, you know that!?" she shouted, holding onto her knee. You stepped closer, thinking she was really hurt. Until she used the chance to lunge at you and grab you. "What's wrong with a girl enjoying some fantasy? Not like I want to actually fuck you."
You realise now that the proper thing to do would have been to match her disgust. Tell her something along the lines of how the thought repulses you. Continued to tease her about how fucked it is that she would even look at that sort of stuff. The whole thing could have dissolved, but it's when she had hold of you, hammering her fist into your arm, that you said, "don't you?"
Then the long silence ensued. The one that said a hundred unspoken words. As her punches turned into light taps and then to her just holding onto your upper arm. She looked up at you with her pretty eyes open wide. Her lips parted slightly and the tip of her tongue rested on the bottom one as if she had something to say, but the words wouldn't come.
That's the first time you kissed her. Your own step-sister, a girl who should be off-limits in every conceivable way. Yet she opened her mouth and accepted you in that moment. The taste was so sickly sweet.
It was brief, but it told you everything you needed to know, and everything seemed to spiral from there.
First, there was the confusion. The immediate aftermath where you both let go of each other to turn away. Your backs turned on one another as the awkwardness reached its peak. Neither of you was willing to confess the enjoyment of that little exchange.
Then came the passing of the blame. First, it was Hanni who turned to you with a "What the fuck are you doing?"
And you replied with "Me!? You're the one who kissed me!"
She scoffed and shouted a response, "That was all you! Stop being such a perv, freak!" Hanni stomped past you towards her room, face half-full of anger and topped off with shame.
"I'm the perv? You're the one who I hear moan through the walls while, apparently, watching step-brother porn! I think that makes you the messed up one!” you called after her.
A pause. The hesitation. The possibility of confession. She reached her door, and it flew open. In she walked before slamming it closed with a, "you're sick!"
You stared at the door and vainly said under your breath, "you're the sick one." In your head you had realised the real truth to that; how maybe you're both sick because, as the dust settled, you can only think about a handful of things.
The kiss. Her ass. Her cute little tits.
You didn't see her again for the rest of the evening. She reserved herself to her room, while you resigned to the couch with nothing but the television keeping you company.
It had been a long time since you had a shouting match like that with Hanni. See, it used to happen all the time when she first moved in. The problem with a girl like her whose whole world revolves around singing, dancing, media training and beauty is that she lacks any sense of what it's like to be an independent adult. It seemed like the fights would never end, on account of her being seemingly incapable of washing a dish, her clothes or even cooking the most simple of things without burning it or setting something on fire.
But this? This is uncharted territory.
The night wound down, and you were headed to bed, but you found yourself outside her door. Your hand raised, ready to knock. Your breath held. Right when you finally built enough courage is when you heard it. Heard her. Moans muffled through the wood of her door. Your stomach knotted. Your groin twitches.
You lingered, unable to tear yourself away. Even as your logical side began arguing with you that you were in the wrong. That you're probably the worst sort of pervert imaginable and you should feel nothing but guilt.
The other voice, the more confident one; the devil on your shoulder told you that it's Hanni's fault. You had just warned her, and this is what she did in response, like it’s all some sort of game. You refused to admit to yourself that hearing her groaning, whimpering, and moaning through the wall influenced you—tempted you.
Louder and louder. Her voice raised higher, getting to the point where you knew she was practically screaming in the throes of pleasure. Harder and harder you grew. The rational side of you was saying that you should ignore it. Just go to sleep. Forget about it.
"Fuck!" she moaned, and you remained, listening through the door—lost in imagination.
Then you heard footsteps. Bare feet patting on wooden flooring coming closer and closer towards the door. A rush to retreat and you slipped toward your bedroom door. You barely reach the handle before the door across the hall opens.
There was a moment. The two of you locked eyes. Every fibre in your being fought against looking down.
"What?" she asked with a stone-cold expression.
"Nothing." You said, and your willpower broke. You glanced down. Completely naked, she stands at the door, her nipples peaked to fine little tips. And your gaze drifted down her soft curves and slender figure, her wide hips and full thighs.
"Nothing," she mocks.
Her eyes glanced down for a second, then back to your face, and her gaze narrowed. You panicked, dipped into your room and slammed the door just like she did earlier. You press your back to it, the cool wood against your burning body. Your mind raced.
Her feet slapped again against the wooden floor and headed toward the bathroom. That should have been that. You slipped into your bed, frustrated and confused. The sound of the shower running quickly drifted through the walls, but her cries from earlier replayed in your mind until you fell asleep.
That should have been that.
You woke to the darkness of the room—not the morning sunshine—sometime later. Half in a haze, not quite conscious yet, but something had roused you from your slumber: a movement under the sheets and a strange sensation. Warm and damp. Your eyes flicked open, adjusting to the darkness. Your hands jerked reflexively toward your groin and then your senses sharpened.
Someone between your legs. A warm and wet something sliding up and down the shaft of your hardness. Tongue? Yeah, a tongue. Your fingers reached and buried themself into hair. Stomach muscles spasmed as your hips thrust up on their own. Your lips parted as you moaned, "Fuck."
You glanced down.
Hanni.
Naked.
The tip of your cock at her mouth, lips pursed around it. Her smiling eyes sparkled and her skin glimmered, bathed in moonlight coming through the open curtains. Hanni giggled when your eyes met. Your hand dropped to her shoulder.
"Hanni..." Your throat choked dry, and you pushed at her shoulder.
"Shhh." The word whispered against your sensitive tip.
"What the hell are you..." You tried to ask, but Hanni shook her head before sucking in a breath. Then she drew the length of your cock into her warm, wet mouth and the question escaped you. "Holy shit," you gasped.
"This can be our dirty little secret," she said when she lifted her head, fingers stroking you. "We can pretend it didn’t happen in the morning, but for the rest of the night," her finger tickled down the underside of your cock as she spoke, "it can be as real as you want it to be."
You remember being convinced that it was a dream. Maybe one that you would wake up from with a mess in your shorts and, honestly, that probably would have been bad enough—having a wet dream about your step-sister. Reality intruded and threatened to drag you back from your delusion. Hanni took you into her mouth again and it was so very real.
There was no doubting the pleasure, and it was too good to make her stop. You took your hand away from her shoulder, allowing her to do as she pleased. Maybe if it was just a dream, you could allow yourself to indulge in the madness just one time…
"Fucking hell, Hanni." The words slipped from you, and with it, her warm mouth left your throbbing cock.
You peered down at her. She wiped the drool from the sides of her lips and smiled at you. Her eyes were wide as she lowered her head and slipped your dick into her warm mouth once more. Your body jolted as she put her tongue to work. She swirled the tip along the contours and ridges, then licked down the underside of the shaft and then right back up the top, leaving a thin film of saliva on your hardness.
She clasped her hand around you and it all felt far too real. Mixed emotions. There was a cold sense of terror in your heart, even with the heat of arousal radiating all over. The things she did with her lips and her tongue made you doubt your sanity.
"Does that feel good?" She said as she took a quick pause, stroking her hand along the full length. She had just caught her breath in the one moment where she stopped sucking, the first chance where her mouth wasn't busy trying to draw the soul out of you through the tip of your cock.
"You were right." She spoke almost as quickly as your mind spun. "About... the step-brother thing. It feels sick, and gross, and... wrong. It makes me feel dirty." Hanni pauses for a second, seemingly running her eyes over your body and then asks, "how depraved does it make me that it gets me really, really horny?"
Hanni had no clue that the same thoughts filled the back of your mind. Only that you weren't able to string it into words like she did. She was right. It felt really wrong, and yet there was a rush to do something that should never be done. This was where the next step began. The breaking of the boundaries. The perverse excitement in the face of the taboo.
Her hand reached out behind her and pulled back the sheets that covered her body. She was crouched between your spread legs, head still by your cock, her soft ass in the air. The cool light from the moon kissed her skin as she slowly slipped her fingers between her plump cheeks. "And this only made it worse. I've been so horny ever since I started wearing it."
Her hand moved slightly, just out of view behind her, and she let out a breathy moan.
"Hanni. What're you—
You're interrupted. "It hurt a little at first. Just a bit but you get used to it, and if it's in a good spot, if you hit it right..." She kept touching herself in front of you, and another breathy gasp escaped her lips and then she looked up at you still lying there. "What are you waiting for? Isn't this what you want?"
That's when you stirred. Reciprocated. You sat up and she rose to meet you. In seconds, you were embracing. Frenzied. Wild. All teeth and tongues and roaming hands. Shorter than you. So much smaller. She let out a yelp when you grabbed her, though she instantly silenced it by shoving her tongue back in your mouth and kissing you deeply.
Pressed against your bare chest, her breasts felt small but supple, perfect little handfuls. Her waist is slender beneath your grasp. The thick flesh of her thighs was so full and shapely. When she opened her eyes, they had such want. Lust—pure and undeniable.
So close, and the faint whimpers at her throat are a seduction. You felt it was an invitation, and your lips kissed her chin, trailing kisses down her neck. "Yes. Yes. Yes..." she encouraged you lower. Your tongue tasted the saltiness of her skin, teeth grazing and then pinching softly. Her arms were tight around your head, nails biting into the base of your neck.
She trembled at your every caress, shook each time you teased a pert nipple. Gasped louder each time you nibbled her collarbone. You turned, lifting her, and then she fell back and presented herself to you. Her legs splayed open and her bare, wet cunt dripping, begging you to take it, but...
"No," you told yourself, "it's too fast," and you began a line of kisses down her stomach, beginning at her cleavage and trailing straight down her stomach. The muscles beneath her pale skin twitched and clenched in response and her breath had gone erratic. You reached her belly button and she hooked her legs over your shoulder, and when you dipped further she clenched her thighs and squeezed as you toyed with her.
You remember savouring the moment. Savouring the pleasure, savouring the veniality.
"Lower, please," she begged in the most needy voice. "Please, I... fuck, oh, fuck please..."
It's hard to describe it all.
Somehow, in the night, you both reached a state of understanding. A state of consensual debauchery that came with a sense of agreement; a pact signed with tongue on skin in this moment of depravity.
You kissed her, playfully moving between her legs. Thigh to thigh, to dangerously close to her wet core, and there you lingered. The air grew humid. Hanni's sweet scent filled your nose. You ran your hands up her legs and felt the warmth in your palms. She gripped onto the hair at the top of your head; her fists tightened.
"Why're you teasing me, asshole?"
Hanni's moans grew louder and more needy when you used your tongue against her. Her legs wrapped tight, hooking behind your back. There was something satisfying about her reactions to your actions, something exciting about seeing her squirm.
The tip of your tongue ran up the lips of her cunt, dipping between the fleshy folds and coming to suck upon her swollen clit. Her eyes widened at the touch, and her jaw slacked to the point her words went incoherent. Her whole body spasmed as she arched and moaned out something filthy.
One moment you had hold of her thigh, feeling her clench up and quiver, the next you found that your fingers had moved downward and pressed against her slick opening. At the slight touch of your fingertips to the tenderness there, a short cry slipped out of her again. She tightened and clenched around them as you pushed in deeper.
"Who's teasing?" you asked before you buried yourself to the knuckles in her.
A smirk formed, and Hanni was about to speak, but no words came. You pumped her at a steady pace, curling your digits within her while lapping at her clit. The taste of sin never tasted so sweet.
The combination drove her insane, and it didn’t take long until you were on the verge of making your step-sister cum.
You wrapped your lips around that swollen nub of hers and flicked it with the tip of your tongue, faster and harder, until her many moans became one, long, drawn-out and passionate, as a climax rocked through her.
Her ass lifted off the bed and her legs quivered, shaking uncontrollably while her fingers tugged painfully at the hairs on the back of your head. She jerked and gasped with a look of ecstasy on her face as she moaned your name over and over, almost reaching a scream. Your name on her lips again, and again, and you were drunk on this euphoria.
She released your head, and you postured over her, still slipping a pair of fingers into her, but slower. She drew a deep, trembling sigh and forced a smile, watching you. "I hate you," she managed.
"Do you?" you asked as you drew your cum-soaked fingers out of her. Her legs rested on your hips and the underside of your stiff cock was against her pussy. You reached around her hip, to her ass, to the plug still sat between her cheeks. Hanni hissed at your touch, biting her lip at the sensation.
"Yes. I hate you," Hanni whimpered, giving the softest moans as you tugged on the metal. Her eyelids fluttered.
"Why?" you asked.
"I just do," Hanni weakly gasped, struggling to stay strong in the moment. "You make me feel things. Things I shouldn't feel. It shouldn't be this easy."
"In that case. I hate you too, sis'."
There was this moment after you said that, where you shared a stare. Maybe the most confusing stare of your life. Calling her sis', in this position, should have been horrifying. And it was, but only at a peripheral level. Otherwise, it felt surprisingly... hot.
You dipped into her for another kiss, and this one seemed ever more ravenous than the last. You kissed with hunger and her hand ran around the back of your head. Kissed as lovers would. She was just as aroused as you and eager for more.
Slow and soft, you rocked yourself against her wetness. Your length dragged between her lips, up over her clit, and down again to poke at her entrance. You moved over and over, enjoying the tease.
The slow, sticky friction between the two of you. Her breath was sharp, as you slipped yourself over her and kissed at her neck. Every rock of your hips, she ground back against you.
"I think..." She hesitated. "Fuck. I think I'm ready. Just... go slow?"
The guilt of what's happened was a distant thing, a buzzing fly on a summer afternoon. The kind of thing that when you're so enthralled by something else, it becomes invisible. Then, with a nod and a shivering sigh, she reached down and gripped your cock. You bent back from kissing her so she could guide you.
Her tiny cunt. Her beautiful wetness. Her forbidden, decadent treasure.
Her breath was shaky. Her next words came out amid a tremble, "I've never... No one else."
You brushed stray strands of hair out of her face and ran your hand over her cheek. You gave her the reassurance she needed.
She told you, a few weeks later, how grateful she was that it was you. See, for all the filth that ran through her mind on an almost daily basis, she never imagined what it would be like. It being you—who you are and everything you meant to her—made it easy. Natural. Wonderful.
That first time, you took it all so slow. With her legs raised over yours. Watching the subtle changes in expression as you gradually moved more and more of your cock into her. Sinking deep between her pink, delicate walls. Your step-sister, panting and squirming beneath you.
"You okay?" you asked her.
"Ah... yes. This is... I love it," she responded between whining breaths.
It was just enough, the reassurance, so you could push into her the rest of the way. Her hand found its way to your shoulder; bracing as you eased in, her delicate frame tensing as you buried fully.
You watched her reaction and tried to be still as you felt her slick cunt pulse around you, wanting you. She swallowed and gripped you with the muscles within her. The second of respite didn't last long though; you weren't sure if it was a request or accident when her feet tapped against the curve of your ass, but it prompted you to fuck her.
"Feels... fuck." You sucked your breath between your teeth and braced yourself up on a shaky arm. You drew out slowly, and you noticed her nails digging into the arm you supported yourself upon.
You groaned in relief more than anything else as your hips pumped the shallow strokes that sent electricity through your body. She started pushing herself onto you as she clutched your back, drawing her heels over the small of your spine. You looked down to see her eyelids were flickering, and the sight only served to inflame you more. Her moans were so erotic and encouraging.
That first time, it was special. You took your time together to explore each other's bodies, the curves of hips, the muscles, the valleys and ridges. You caressed your stepsister's gorgeous body and then tried your best to put her through another climax, as if your efforts to reach your own were less important.
"Fuck you're so tight," you told her, during those final thrusts, buried to the hilt in her tiny, soft pussy.
She spoke, her voice weak and shuddering, "You're big... inside me..."
The fact that she held you tighter in her embrace and how it seemed that she refused to let you out of her even as she came apart was telling.
She came that night, again, this time all over your cock. The first of many times to come. A string of incomprehensible cries erupted from her in the throes of that first proper fuck. Hanni's thighs flexed around your hips. She clung desperately to your body as she cried into your mouth as she climaxed.
Not long after is when you felt it too, that impending release. A coil of pressure. Unfamiliar and intense. The mere thought of emptying inside her drove you mad. Your fingers dug into her hips as you fucked your step-sister with complete abandon.
"Don't. Not inside. Please, not inside," she murmured in an incoherent mantra of guilt and pleasure, right next to your ear.
You didn't, of course. You drove yourself right to the edge and pulled out. Her juices coated your length, slick and wet as your cock twitched in anticipation of the final moments. Hanni wanted your release as badly as you did. She took you into her hand for the finish, gripping tightly and jerking that first hot shot of cum onto her soft tummy. You thrust through her hand to let the pleasure course through you. Each thrust sent a long rope splattering onto her naked skin as she grinned up at you, flushed and sweaty, covered in your lust.
That was the first night, but definitely not the last.
The next morning arrived with Hanni in your arms—the little spoon. The little naked spoon pressed against your body. Skin to skin. She woke you with the slow rocking motion of her body, grinding her plump cheeks against you.
"I could get used to this," she whispered under her breath, smiling against the crook of your arm. "Good morning," she said to you over her shoulder. "Sleep well? You had some pretty naughty dreams last night, didn't you?"
You responded with your erection growing against the warm crevice of her butt and a gentle hum as her ass rocked over it. That was no dream. "I did," you said groggily. "As naughty as yours."
"Mmmm," is all she had as a response, lost in the pleasant distraction, grinding herself back into you even more. As she did so, you grew harder, until your stiffness pressed against the plug still wedged into her ass. Hanni had left it there overnight. "The thing about dreams is that they're easy to forget. Want to remind me of mine?"
You ran your hand down her thigh, and that's how the second time started. You caressed her flesh for a while, feeling the softness of her thighs while she silently lay there, patiently allowing you to enjoy her.
Then, you grabbed her by the knee, opening her legs and then she spoke, "Are you going to make your step-sister cum again?"
So quickly did she become so utterly shameless. You grunted in reply and then you held her leg up by hooking under the knee, and shuffled down slightly, letting your hard cock slip from between her cheeks and go between her legs.
You closed your eyes and leaned into her. Lips at her shoulders, the kisses soon trailed to her neck. She hummed as you ground your cock between her folds. Not even putting in the effort to try to actually enter her just yet, just teasing your stepsister for the moment.
Her voice filled with the sweet sound of passion.
Your heart began pounding and a flush rose to your cheeks. You could have written that first night off as a mistake. One you would regret, forget and never make again. Not after this. This is a definitive choice. One of sound mind and body, not under the tension of an argument or anything else that happened before.
This is different.
Hanni reached her hand down between her legs, pulling your cock so it would slip into her when you shift your hips. "Fuck me," she begged.
You did. You slipped inside her and heard her moan in such sweet ecstasy. She gripped the pillow she slept on the night before, burying her face in it, and moaning into it in such sweet rapture. "Fuck, yes, harder," Hanni moaned.
When she pushed her hips back onto you, her ass brushed against your belly. The rhythm began. Slow. Lazy thrusts. Enjoying every sensation in the post-sleep haze, savouring the fact that you knew how good she felt on the inside. How incredible her wet, silky, tight depths felt when you slid in and out of them.
"Is this what you wanted?" Your voice is low, near a growl. Your arms around your step-sister. It shouldn't, by all accounts, feel natural to have her like that, but it did.
"Yes, it feels incredible. Please don't stop." Your cock bottomed out within her. As deep as you could go. You groaned, and stayed there for a while, feeling your stepsister clenching down, her inner walls trying to pull you in further.
Hanni's hands gripped at the bedsheets, clutching tightly to them. The position pressed the metal of the plug between her asscheeks, and as your thrusting continued, the sensation sent a tingle through her body. It was a filthy combination. One that allowed every stroke you drove into her cunt to simultaneously send an equally blissful shock straight into her ass.
It was madness for her to indulge in the ecstasy—for both of you to lose yourselves.
You grew faster, and she unwound completely. She grew limp as she reached her climax. She couldn't even grip the bedsheets, or the pillow, her body simply submitting to the pleasure. She merely lay there as your hips battered against her soft ass, fucking her right through it.
Then she asked you, right after it subsided, "Ever fantasised about cumming on my ass before?"
The way she asked that made the question feel almost normal. "That the sort of thing they do in the porn you watch?" You slowed for a bit to deliver the tease.
Hanni couldn't keep the shy smile from creeping across her lips. "There was this one video where a guy put it all over his sister's butt. Seemed like he really liked it."
The fact she talked to you about the dirty things she likes helped it all along. It was the extent of her experience, the videos, but it helped. What it told you about what she really likes, what she enjoys... It became the basis for all your dirty experiments.
"That sounds hot. You have a cute ass."
She giggled to herself, rolling her hips, getting up onto her hands and knees and facing away from you.
You seated yourself onto your calves, giving her space and watching as she turned, giving you the view you craved. "I do?" She said as she glanced back over her shoulder, showing her innocence and naïvete in all its splendour. Her eyes sparkled and then a smile spread over her lips to match that look in her eye.
"The cutest," you told her as you kneeled behind her. One hand caressed the outside of her thigh while the other gripped the base of your cock. Eyes firmly set on that beautiful plump ass. That was the second time in just a few hours that you covered Hanni in your cum.
She watched every second as you did, barely managing a blink. Arousal and delight danced over her features in equal measure, and your name left her tongue in the form of a delightful, drawn-out groan. The effect was very apparent. With every streak and ribbon of white landing, she gasped and moaned while staring at the mess.
From that moment on, you entered regularity. It seemed like for months, every chance the two of you got to fuck, you fucked. Her room. Your room. The shower. The sofa. The kitchen. Against that window that overlooks the city's skyline. A public bathroom. A hand job in the car while you're stuck in traffic. Riding your face in a park, hidden among trees, grass, and bushes. Fucking, kissing, and biting until the both of you are exhausted and sore and dripping with sweat. It never ceased. Two insatiable appetites. Your mutual loss of control continued. The affair felt so exhilarating. An explosion of forbidden sin in an otherwise normal existence.
It all came with its fair share of close calls. That Saturday morning surprise visit from your parents where you answered their knock at the door and they invited themselves in, all while Hanni lies naked in your bedroom. How you sneakily warned her before she emerged and spun the story to them both about how she slept on your floor out of fear after watching another one of her horror movies. They bought it, of course, because they couldn't imagine there being any other explanation.
Then there was Hanni's near miss with her group. She told you all about how Minji had picked up on how something had changed with her; about how convinced Minji was that Hanni had found herself a boyfriend. About the look Minji gave her as Hanni protested, and finally how she got away with a half-truth.
She told the girls it was because of you and how you would work out together on weekends to make her feel better.
Everything was going so well, which made this week even more confusing.
It's been days since you last saw her. The longest you have gone in some time. Long hours and staying over with her members are one thing. Going days with no word or anything at all is another. She ignored your texts, never returned your calls, and stopped showing up at home like you'd come to expect.
No warning.
Nothing.
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could you write bombshell!reader getting a tattoo of spencer’s name or something that reminds her of him and his reaction please?
“Why are you kissing me?” you mumble, your voice hoarse with sleep.
They’re light kisses. “I’m going now,” Spencer says, matching your quiet tone.
“No.”
You wrap your arm behind his neck and feel his hair against your wrist. His nose and lips warm your jaw.
“Yes.” He kisses your jaw. “I have to go, but I didn’t wanna leave without a kiss.”
That’s really sweet, he’s so sweet, you’re so tired. “Please don’t go, Spencer.”
“I have to go.” He readjusts your hugging to hum against your temple, distinctly content despite your pleading. “I’ll be back by six for dinner, promise.”
“Promise,” you say.
You get to keep him for a few minutes, regardless. His neck must sing bent as he is over you but he doesn’t relent, doesn’t move until you encourage his face back to kiss just under his bottom lip. “Sorry, I’m making you late,” you whisper.
“No, no, I accounted for this. You’re on my agenda.”
“How much time did you allot?” you ask through a smile.
“Seventeen minutes. That’s how long we usually hug in the morning.”
“Gotta get that time down,” you say.
“Or up.” He holds your face. You turn your head into his touch and keep him for just another half a minute.
“Okay,” you mumble, letting your eyes flutter closed again, “you can leave, I’m gonna go back to sleep.”
“Good idea.” He kisses you, and he says goodbye. You’re sleeping again before he’s even left your room
When you wake properly, you still feel loved, like a sunburn but with less stinging. There’s something very special about your boy; something permanent about the way he loves. You can’t imagine he’ll ever stop loving you like this, he’s embedded you so deeply into his life and his routines (and you’d beg him to keep you if he ever changed his mind). That in itself is crazy. You can’t have imagined begging a guy to let you stay, but for Spencer, you would.
When he comes home that night, half an hour before six, you have no regrets.
You hadn’t noticed how he was dressed when he left, but he looks lovely in just a simple t-shirt and jeans. Remarkably casual for him, you used to think he only wore t-shirts to bed, but the older he gets the better propensity he has for comfort. What makes it for you is the cardigan.
“You look nice,” you praise, more than satisfied when the first thing he does after he takes off his shoes is lean down to hug you where you’re sitting on his couch.
“Thank you.” He pats your back and pulls away. “You’re beautiful,” he says with ease, like he’s commenting on the weather. “Good day?”
Your lips pucker into a twist.
“What?” he asks.
Unfortunately, he sounds deeply worried.
“No, it’s nothing, I just hurt my arm. Can you have a look?”
Spencer takes your arm. “What did you do?” he asks, pulling the sleeve of your shirt carefully up to your elbow. The Saran wrap confuses him, until it doesn’t, and he grins at your skin, before frowning again. His flickering emotions worry you, until he says, “Is that mine?”
You hold your arm in the light. “Of course it’s yours?”
It’s just a few words from a note he wrote you, perhaps too soon into your relationship for sweetness, and yet one you kept anyways. He told you the story of the I Love You lighthouse, or rather, the Minot Ledge lighthouse, and how the man who lived there had to live on a different island to his family while tending the lighthouse, so he would flash the light once, then four times, and then three times, one flash for every letter of each corresponding word: I love you. The note was left on your dresser. You’d slept together the night before, but he had to leave early. Nowadays he wakes you up, but back then he’d been too shy.
I want to be able to do that for you but I can’t find a lighthouse in D.C. that will let me in to try. I’ll keep looking.
“I’ll keep looking,” Spencer reads. His thumb heistates just under your small font.
“It’s from that note you left me.”
“I know, I remember.” He does his awful frowny face where his eyelids lower and you're sure he’ll never smile again, he looks that upset. “You know this is permanent?”
“They do tend to be,” you say with a lovelorn sigh.
“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if I should kiss you, or hug you, or… I don’t know why you’d do this.”
“But it’s okay?” you ask. It could make for a very awkward conversation if he doesn't like it.
“It’s perfect.” He holds your gaze. “You’re perfect.”
He acts like your tattoo is a gaping wound as he moves in to hug you, careful of your new ink, but relentless in the tightness of his arms behind your back. You laugh, then squeal at his insistence, a giggly girly thing that nobody else should ever hear but him. He doesn’t make fun of you, just squeezes you to him, his face pressed so hard to yours you can feel his cheekbones.
“Now I just have to say something romantic for you to get tattooed and we’ll be equal again.’
“So we aren’t equal?”
“Um, no way.” Your laugh is self-satisfied and breathless. You turn your lips to his cheek. “I love you. I’m gonna build you a lighthouse.”
“Can’t believe you kept that note.”
“I have a whole shoebox of them. I love that you write them.”
He stops holding himself up, half on the couch and half in your lap as he hugs you with every bit of strength in his arms.
#spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid oneshot#spencer reid scenario#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fic#spencer reid fanfiction
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Request: The reader and ellie are friends, but the reader doesn't know if she likes girls or not, so ellie offers to let her experiment on her. Friends to lovers and mutual pining. 💓 a happy ending, preferably. Up to you whether or not to include smut!
FALLING INTO ME
CW - hair pulling, mentions of past experiences with men, oral (R receiving), thigh grinding
WC - about 2k - no outbreak AU
Leave me Ellie or Abby requests x
This was wrong right? Infront of you your childhood best friend Ellie sits crossed legged on her bed. The faded plaid sheets that have replaced dinosaurs from her youth clutched in your unforgiving grasp.
"We don't have to do anything" she says barely above a whisper. Like she's afraid to even suggest it. The air is tight, hot, like someone lit a fire and let the smoke invade the room. But there's Ellie. Her hand sitting on your thigh as her thumb swipes across bare skin, the floral sleep shorts you had opteded for letting her trace over it with no barrier. Her back pressed to the headboard like it's the only thing keeping her sitting upright. "I shouldn't have said anything I'm sorry". Her hand retreats with a slight tremble.
Just ten minutes ago you were sharing a bottle of some cheap wine Ellie had got from the corner store. Giggling and reminiscing on your intertwined lives, awkward teen phases that melted into adulthood when you let it slip.
You think you might like girls.
Of course you weren't sure, you'd never done anything with a girl, but all your experiences with boys just felt empty. Felt like a chore more than fun. And who better to tell than Ellie? She had been out for years, having had her fair share of girlfriends despite her slightly awkward attitude at times. When the word 'experiment' left your lips you saw a glint in her eyes.
It made her pause, wipe her mouth with the back of her hand and place the bottle onto the nightstand. Making space for it amongst the clutter. The way she looked at you made you tilt your head in confusion, until she opened her mouth.
"You could experiment with me"
"Ellie" you finally speak up, grasping her wrist gently to halt her movement. Fingers grazing over her tattoo and making her gaze snap from the floor to your eyes. God she did really have the prettiest eyes. You'd always thought so, oftentimes comparing the hues to the fresh grass during summer or the moss growing deep in your parents garden. "I want to"
"Yeah?" She looks like she doesn't believe you, eyebrows slightly knitted together. You swallow hard before nodding, Ellie beckons you over with her hand. "Cm'here" when you inch closer you can't help but watch how Ellie flicks her tounge over her slightly chapped lips. Feeling her slowly move to hold onto your waist as you start to straddle her lap while your hands rest on her shoulders. "If you want to stop just tell me okay?"
"Promise" you feel your heart speed up as Ellie leans in. Far enough where you could kiss her but she let's you make the choice. So you do. Pressing your lips to hers and letting your eyes flutter shut.
And it makes it feel like a firework has went off in your chest.
The two of you mesh together like puzzle pieces, soft and slow while your mind races with a million thoughts. You can feel how Ellie is holding back, her hands not moving from their position on your waist. But after a few minutes when you rock your hips forward slightly you could almost swear she groans into your mouth. So you do it again, making her pull back from the kiss.
"Can I touch you?" She was always like this, always asking a million question. Things like if you wanted the last slice of pizza or what movie to put on. She always let you take the lead, like she was afraid of making the wrong choice. You nod but she just chuckles softly. "Words darling" it makes you want to clentch your thighs together, the way her her accent slips into that semi texan drawl that she picked up from Joel.
Your hands come over the top of hers, guding her up and under your tank top "Please Els"
Her fingers are calloused from the years of guitar, running up your skin slowly. Too slowly. But you don't want to complain, not with the way she's looking at you. Eyes following her hands as she pushes the fabric further up your body. You decide to speed it up a little. Taking the fabric in your own hands and pulling it over your head, throwing it somewhere in the room.
Normally this is when you'd start to feel weird. Your body would almost stiffen and your brain would be flooded with thoughts of leaving. A deep guilt or twisted knot in your throat.
But not now.
Not with Ellie.
Instead your stomach tightens at how her eyes take you in. Slowly scanning over you like you're the most breath taking thing she's even seen. Her hands pause just before reaching your breasts, her pupils so blown her green eyes as almost black as she looks up at you.
"Take it off?" She whispers. Her finger coming up to ghost over the band of your bra. You nod, reaching around with shaky hands to undo the clasp. Letting the bra fall onto Ellie's lap in the sliver of space between you two. She picks it up and moves it to the side, carefully. Like it was priceless even though it was the cheapest one you owned. Some target bralette that was on sale. It was nothing like how your previous partners treated your belongings. With them it was always thrown across the room like trash, nothing more than an obstacle to their pleasure. "You're so- you're just so- fuck" Ellie mumbles before chewing on her bottom lip. Her cheeks flushed the sweetest shade of pink as her hands slowly creep up your sides, inching towards your breasts.
"Ellie" you whine softly, the ache between your legs become worse with every passing second. Like you were dying for her to just touch you. It makes her lock eyes with you, as her thumb runs over your nipple. Making them stiffen and forcing a soft gasp from your lips.
"Just tell me what you want baby" her lips trail down your neck slowly as she mumbles into your skin. "I'll give you everything just tell me"
Your voice cracks slightly as you finally manage to say "Touch me"
You can feel as a slight smirk creeps onto her lips. Her fingers continuing to toy with your nipples. Just enough to make you needy but not enough to scratch the itch in your core. "I am". The faux innocence in her voice makes you roll your eyes.
"Ellie" you huff, feeling your face heat up at what you're about to say. "Fuck me please? Wanna know what it's like" with that Ellie leans into your neck fully while her hands keep on your chest, starting to place kisses down your skin as your head tips back. You can feel her smile as she moves further down, nipping slightly at your pulse point. Your hand moves to her hair, gripping softly while your hips uncontrollably start to rock against her. Desperate for any friction. Ellie pulls back but before you can complain she taps your hip.
"Straddle my thigh" you tilt you head confused but she gives you a smile before brushing a lose strand of hair out your face. "Trust me". So you do what she's asks, shifting until your legs are either side of her thigh. Ellie brings her hands to your hips, starting to steadily rock you against her. You gasp then moan softly. Almost teary eyed at finally getting some real touch from her. Even if it's clad by several layers of fabric. "See? How's that feel?"
"Good" you say with a shaky voice as Ellie sets your pace. Guiding you with a tight grip. "Feels good Ellie fuck"
"Mm" she coos softly, kissing over your collarbones before nipping at the sensitive spot where your neck and shoulder meet. "Just gotta get you ready yeah? Get you all wet for when I fuck you so good you'll forget about all the guys that couldn't make you cum". Her lips move down to your hardened nipples, wrapping around one of them as you throw you head back in pleasure.
Now this Ellie?
This was a whole new person. Like her awkward shell broke away and left someone who you were going to be thinking about forever. Suddenly all the girls she managed to get with make sense, because she's hardly touched you and you're soaking through your panties.
"Fuck" your hands tighten on her shoulders as her tounge rolls over your nipple. You still your hips, almost afraid that she'll make you cum just from this and that makes her pause. Detaching from you with a confused look.
Her eyebrows knit together and her hand comes up to cup your hot cheek. "You okay?"
Maybe it's the wine, maybe it's the years of subtle crushing. Or maybe it's the way your almost certain there's a wet patch on Ellie's pyjama bottoms but you can't help stumbling out. "Fuck me Ellie"
Her hand snakes back down to your hip and she flips you over, making you squeal as your back hits the sheets. A slight giggle leaving your lips before Ellie crashes hers with yours. Her hand moving down your stomach to the band of your shorts. She pulls back but you don't give her a a chance to ask, already pulling off your shorts and panties. Kicking them onto the floor as Ellie moves down to between your legs.
"What you doing?" You ask with a slight tilt to your head, propping yourself onto your elbows to look down at her.
"What's it looks like?" She asks with a slight chuckle, starting to pepper kisses up your inner thighs but pausing before reaching your dripping pussy. "What? No one eat you out before?". Her smile fades when you shake your head, eyes darting between you and the sight before her. "That's just criminal dude"
Before you can comment on the fact she's just called you dude her tounge licks a fat strip through your folds. Making you gasp and grip the sheets. Skilled tounge circling your clit while her eyes stay focused on you. With a certain flick your hand flies to grab onto her auburn locks, tugging from the root as Ellie moans into you.eyes fluttering shut as your hips start to rutt against her face, changing a high you've never even come close to with others.
"Ellie" you whine as your back arches, soft pants filling the room as her hands creep up your hips and pull you closer. Making you moan so loudly you're almost certain anyone walking by outside would've heard. "Fuck, fuck, Els- gonna-!". Ellie doesn't falter, doesn't give you a second to breath as your orgasm rushes through you. Hips desperately trying to escape Ellie's unforgiving grasp as she works you through it, no sign of caring about the way your thighs clamp around her head unforgivingly.
By the time she pulls away to lick your slick from her lips your brain is fuzzy. Staring up at the same ceiling you helped pull glow in the dark stickers off as Ellie taps your shin.
"You...you okay?" Her voice sounds so small. You finally manage to hold yourself up to look at her. Lips swollen from your teeth sinking into them and face hot to the touch.
"That...Els that-" your words get caught in your throat so instead you reach for the collar of her shirt. Pulling her up until your lips crash together, the taste of yourself filling your mouth as Ellie places a hand on the back of your neck.
When you two part she gives you a cocky smile. Gliding hee finfers cross your cheek before moving the loose babyhairs out of your face. "I'm gonna take that as a five star review then?"
You giggle before fake thinking. "Hmm I don't know Els think I need to try it again, yknow get all the data".
She nods with pursed lips, a serious expression taking over her face. "For science".
"For science".
#lesbian#wlw#fanfic#smut#writer#writing#tlou#fanfiction#ellie williams smut#ellie x reader#ellie the last of us#ellie williams#ellie tlou#the last of us#request#leave me request please
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Shots II
Pernille Harder x Baby!Reader
Part of The Big Adventures Universe
Summary: Pernille and your shots
Magda has to take paternity leave. Well, technically she could have taken shared parental leave but it was difficult to do when both she and Pernille were athletes so paternity leave was the next best thing.
In theory, she was only entitled to two weeks but the club were generous and eager to keep her with them for many years.
They gave her six.
Six whole weeks to spend with you and Pernille in Pernille's little apartment in Germany. Six whole weeks to get used to you in her life and her new role as mother.
Six weeks, however, didn't extend to your first shots or, rather, your first group of shots after your birth.
You'd been given a round of vaccines in the hospital the day you were born along with being measured and weighed and checked for any issues.
Your next round comes at eight weeks though and Pernille is all alone.
You sit on the floor in front of her in your carrier. You're blissfully asleep, blanket wrapped around you and a little hat to keep your tiny head nice and warm.
You look peaceful and happy, smacking your lips together in your sleep like you're being fed in your dreams.
Pernille hates to ruin it but her name is called and she lifts up your carrier to head to the doctor.
"Right," The man says," Eight weeks. Is that about right?"
"Yes," Pernille says," Eight weeks."
"Well then." He wheels his chair back. "Let's get her weighed and measured and then we'll discuss shots."
Pernille gently gets you out of your carrier, carefully stripping you down to your nappy so you can be weighted accurately.
The doctor nods along with what he sees, noting it down in your baby book.
"Good weight. Good length. How is her eating?"
"Good," Pernille confirms," She's been doing really well. Sleeping good too."
The doctor continues noting things down. "And I seem to remember you saying your partner was returning home. Has that been an okay transition for you both?"
Pernille nods. "It was a little weird during the first few days but now we've adapted. It's going well."
"Good, good. Now, vaccines?"
Pernille winces inwardly. "I was told she's due a few."
"We can do all three today."
Pernille's eyes bulge. "All three? But-"
"Two are injections. One is oral," The doctor explains," It's best we get it all done today."
Pernille finds herself nodding. She knew that this would happen but she wasn't quite sure she'd prepared for it. But, still, she nods and signs the page in your baby book giving her consent.
The first one is simple and easy, liquid drops being placed into your mouth for you to swallow.
You've woken up now, pulling a face at the taste and smacking your lips together in annoyance.
Pernille can deal with that.
What she can't deal with is the way you go from annoyed to heartbroken as the doctor jabs two needles into your legs in short succession.
You're sobs are heartbreaking and you don't stop even when you're in the car.
"It's okay," Pernille coos at you, taking your hand and gently waving it around," It's okay. you're okay. It's to make sure you don't get ill later on."
But you're a baby and you don't understand why Momma has let you get hurt by the mean man with the cold hands.
So you keep sobbing.
Fat tears roll down your chubby cheeks as pain radiates from your leg where you've been jabbed.
"Shh, shh," Pernille says, her own tears pricking in her eyes," Princesse, baby, it's okay. It's over now. Momma's here."
But you don't stop and Pernille decides to just pick you straight out of your car seat, propping you up on her chest.
Tears roll down Pernille's cheeks, matching yours until you're both crying together.
"It's okay," She keeps repeating to you," It's okay. Let's get home, alright?
You sniffle, still whining.
"I know. That doctor was a meanie, sticking you with medicine that's going to save your life one day."
You whimper as Pernille clips you into your car seat again.
"Just a little longer," She promises you," And we'll be home for cuddles and nap time."
#woso x reader#hardersson x reader#pernille harder x reader#pernille harder#woso community#woso imagine#woso fanfics#woso#the big adventures universe
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Can we please talk about how often vampires are seen having infatuations with the living, simply because they’re… well, living? How Astarion's vampiric nature would have him frequently mesmerized by just how alive you are??
Pt1.
(nsfw warning. oops. It's mostly fluff tho. there is kinda breathplay in this. i didn't mean to, but-)
Astarion who, smitten as he is, rests his head against your chest during one of your regular lazy morning cuddles. He’s not so covertly listening in on the pounding of your heart. Bare skin sensitive to every brush of his fingertips as he traces them up and down the softness of your side, tapping along to each solid thud as it beats away for him. You try not to squirm too much in fear of jostling him out of whatever dreamlike state he’s fallen into, but you’ve no need to worry. Your soft breathing—the subsequent rise and fall of your belly— is only lulling him further and further into that rare state of tranquility.
After a while, he’ll relocate a little further down. One pointed ear presses tight to the tender skin of your ribs as he seeks to be even closer to the sound, and this time, you can’t stop yourself from squirming. It’s his hair that does you in. The pale curls at the back of his neck are so silky soft against your flesh that it just about tickles, and the goosebumps that start to crawl their way up your arms only get worse each time he readjusts. He sounds so drowsy when he shushes your giggles, and when you insist you can’t help it, that it's his fault, he shushes you a second time. As if the sound of your laughter isn’t precious to him all on its own.
Astarion, who often finds himself with his lips to your pulse point without really knowing how he got there. You’ll be sat by the fire having idle chit-chat, and the next thing you know, he’s pulling your joined hands up toward his mouth as it’s your turn to speak. The first time it’d happened, you thought maybe he wanted a bit of a snack or something (not that he’s really ever done so without asking, first. Even though you’ve said about one thousand times that the offer is always on the table), but when you turned to glance at him, there wasn’t an ounce of hunger in those ruby eyes of his. He was listening to you as intently as always. Even nodded to encourage you when your sentence trailed off a bit in your confusion.
You’re not entirely sure he knows he’s doing it, or why he’s doing it for that matter, but you couldn’t be more wrong.
There’s a general warmth radiating from you that, despite Astarion’s best efforts in the past, he’s always been magnetized to. But here? Where his mouth stays poised? It’s a heat like nothing else. The steady pulse of blood—of life—calls out to him like a siren song, and while the hunger is there (will always be there), there is also something else. Something more, perhaps? A feeling he can’t quite put a name to. It’s a comfort, maybe. An assurance, he reasons to himself. That steady thump of life beneath his lips is proof enough that you’re still here with him.
Anyway.
Conversations continue without a hitch now-a-days, despite his voice being a little more than muffled with his lips jammed against whatever pulse point he can find. But, you don’t mind because while you can’t see him smiling, you sure can feel it.
Astarion, who gets struck with such a strange, desperate need to feel your breath that he has to lift his hand to your lips as he sinks deep into your warmth. Mouth half-open from your previous slack-jawed whining, not even a moment passes before you’re pressing sloppy, wet kisses to the cool skin he’s offered up to you, lids heavy with lust as you try and fail to keep your eyes focused on your lover. It still baffles him how you never miss a beat—not with him, anyway—not even when he’s got the entire bottom half of your face cupped beneath a firm hand.
His own mouth can't stop exploring every inch of flesh it can reach. He says your name but it sounds more like a thank you, fangs pricking against the inside of the arm you've got wrapped around his neck as your heels dig into the meat of his ass to nudge him forward still. Your fingers curl into his hair, getting a good handful that you'd never dare to pull. It's a gentle guiding that drives him mad—the way you herd him ever closer with such a tender touch—as if he isn't pinning you into the mattress with the majority of his weight already.
While his breaths are unneeded, they quickly match pace with the ones you’re puffing against his hand. Hitching into a gasp that he can’t think to contain when your moaning sends vibrations all the way up to his elbow. Your quick gulps of air stutter beneath him as the two of you get your bearings, and your next exhale is so sharp as his hips jerk against yours that it practically whistles out between the spaces of his fingers.
Astarion doesn't think he's ever heard anything more perfect in all his undeath.
(Me quietly to myself: what kind of kink is this.)
#bg3#astarion ancunin#baldurs gate 3#astarion#astarion x tav#astarion x reader#bg3 tav#astarion headcanons#astarion smut
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You know, the Stolitz scene was a trainwreck as a whole (they usually are), but what honestly got me most was the way Blitz started pleading when he thought his livelihood was going to be taken away.
THIS IS NOT A STOLAS SLANDER POST. I'm coming from a place where I've seen Blitz being mostly, if not entirely blamed for their lack of communication most of the time.
Moving on...
People keep going like "Well if imps are so low in the hierarchy..." - Let's take a break to think. Blitz isn't rich, he's just getting by really. And how is he getting by?
By prostituting himself. To the upper class.
That's what it is, he's a certified whxre. Things may have evolved in the meantime, but that's how it started. Blitz got asked for the deal while being chased by a crazy lady and him, wanting to keep his business and livelihood, said yes, obviously.
Now Stolas was suddenly taking the book back with no apparent explanation (until they got to the crystal), so of course Blitz thought he was doomed. On a side note, why couldn't Stolas say "You won't need the book, I have an alternative" instead of the ominous "I'll need the book back, permanently. I have made up my mind." I would be scared out of my mind.
He teared up immediately and started pleading, you could already see what was going through his head. He won't have the means to support his business anymore, to pay his employees, to afford a home, he'll be homeless and have no means to take care of Loona. Everyone will leave him again and he will starve on the streets all alone.
He'd do anything to be able to live a life a bit better than miserable, of course he would.
And this brings me to Stolas's treatment of Blitz. I see that everything tends to fall on Blitz, and I'm not saying he has no fault (in fact I didn't even like him at the beginning of the series too much), but Stolas treated him like a peasant. Just the episode before Ozzie's he's called him his "impish little plaything" and asked for a reward for the rescue. He put out cigarettes on his horns, he ignored his "stop" most times, he addressed him in this little baby voice with babying diminutives. "Itty bitty" imp.
And I am sure Stolas is socially clueless. He was brought up alone and sheltered, taught to be a prince first and foremost.
Stolas probably saw this as playful banter, as something that is inoffensive, silly. It was only in the Ozzie's episode that he finally saw that actually, his silly play served to make Blitz feel smaller.
And of course in this scenario, Blitz would see this coming out of the nether. He reacted quite badly, but why would this prince be actually in love with him? As he said, he needed to have a minute (or several) to think about everything. They needed to talk this out, and Blitz was about to apologize when Stolas cast him out.
They were both emotionally charged. They fucked up. But I can see Blitz's side. And the power imbalance is so evident, that hierarchy that everyone keeps saying is irrelevant - in a moment's notice, he could have his life swept from underneath him. Just like he thought it happened in that split moment; it worried him so much that he cried and pleaded (and that's not in Blitz's character to do).
And then he was so scared of not being enough too, ugh, his little "I can always do better!". He's so used to everyone just seeing him as a lost cause, better to be discarded. With this amalgamation of things, no wonder he can't believe Stolas would have feelings for him.
So uh, I don't know what the conclusion to this is. Normalize getting imps some actual comfort? So far the only really privileged imp in Helluva Boss is Fizz after getting rid of Mammon. And when I say priviledged, I'm referring to wealth and upper class, not taking into account personal issues such as disability and so forth.
Anyway, this was my two cents on Stolitz. I honestly haven't thought too much on them, I'm riding on the Fizzarolli high. I'm chill over here in my Fizzmodeus bubble, but doesn't mean I have no thoughts on Stolitz.
#Blitzo#Stolas#Stolitz#Helluva Boss#Helluva Boss full moon#full moon#the certified trainwreck of Helluva Boss#I'm so chill in the house of Asmodeus
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𝙀𝙣𝙟𝙤𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙬
synopsis: after being away and entertaining others, your husband decides to give you a special something
wrd cnt: 1.1k
tags: cunnalingus, oral, penetration, doggy, vulgar, praise, explicit
a/n: if you couldn’t tell been having major writers block + no time to write but this one reeled me back in a bit so i hope you enjoy <3
It was late at night by the time you got home. The house had been quiet all evening, save for the soft hum of your laptop as you explored some new music. But now that the sun had set, there were no more distractions—just the sound of your own breathing, the whirring blade of the fan above your head, and the occasional creak of floorboards beneath your feet.
You heard the front door open and close, followed by footsteps coming down the hallway towards the living room where you sat on the couch. Your eyes widened when you saw who it was.
“Sunday!” You exclaimed, jumping up and running over to him. He looked incredible, even if he was clearly exhausted from working all day. His face was flushed red with desire, and his black suit pants hung lower on his hips than usual, as his belt was quite undone just as his tie.
“Y/n-,” he said, leaning down to kiss you deeply before pulling away. “I missed you…quite dearly”
You replied breathlessly in agreeance, taking his hand and leading him over to sit beside you on the couch. As soon as he sat down, he pulled you into his lap and started kissing your neck hungrily.
“Mmm... I love how good you tastes,” he murmured against your skin as he moved lower down your chest, licking and sucking at your nipples until they hardened under his touch.
To say you were surprised was an understatement, your husband was always quite well mannered, and in control especially of himself.
Before you could express this pleasant concern, be continued further down, pushing your body down and stopping his peppering of kisses just above your waistband.
“Please don’t stop...” You begged softly. “Keep going...”
He chuckled darkly as he pulled your bottoms down, revealing your pretty laced panties.
“Such a naughty girl,” he whispered seductively. “you know happens when you tease me like that, don’t you?”
With those words still ringing in your ears, he slid his hands around to the front of your panties and began teasing them apart until they fell down around your ankles; now placed on each of his shoulders.
His soft hands spread your legs wide apart and leaned forward to lick along the length of your slit.
“Ohh... yes... keep doing that...” You moaned, feeling yourself growing wetter than ever before.
“Mmmm... such a tasty little thing,” he purred, moving one finger inside you while continuing to lap at your clit with his tongue. “Feels good hm? You’re dripping…” He smirked, slipping a second finger inside you, curling them up and down faster this time. “How does that feel baby?” He asked, before returning to suck your swollen pearl.
“So good... oh god... more-...” You panted, arching your back slightly to allow him better access to you.
“Like this?” He whispered, increasing the speed of his movements until he felt you begin to tremble against him.
“Yes! Oh fuck yes!-” You cried out loudly, throwing your head back against the couch cushions as pleasure washed through every part of your body.
As if sensing your impending climax, he suddenly stopped moving his fingers altogether and instead focused solely on licking and sucking at your clit. With waves of pleasure coursing through your entire body, you squirmed uncontrollably.
“Oh my god... yes... right there...” You gasped, grinding yourself against him as best you could while trying not to fall off the couch entirely.
“Mmmmm... I knew you liked this,” he chuckled wickedly, pushing you down onto the couch once again. “Now let me show you something else.”
With those words still echoing in your mind, he stood up and placed a knee inbetween your legs, slowly pushing into you as he got close to you. Grabbing your hand, he gave you hold of his erection, stroking himself with your hand slowly up and down several times before letting you do it yourself.
“What do you think of that?” He asked teasingly. “See what you do to me?”
“Mhm….,” you answered quietly with a small nod, feeling yourself grow hungrier than ever before.
As if he couldn’t waste another second, he dragged you up and pushed your body against the couch, feeling his chest heavy against your back as your breasts pressed up against the fabric of the apolstry.
“Fuck I missed you-“ He says, slowly dragging his cock up and down your folds as you hear his shaky breath.
“Sunday- please…” You mewl, pushing yourself back into him.
“Use your words, my love.” He breathes against your ear.
You groan in annoyance at his teasing.
He chuckles, and then thrusts his thick cock into your tight, wet heat.
It was like a drug, every movement of his hips, every touch of his hand, every inch of his skin against yours was ecstacy.
After a few moments, his pace becomes steady, and soon enough his hips are snapping furiously against yours.
You moan and writhe beneath him, clawing desperately at the sofa beneath you.
He lets out a deep growl and slams his hands down on either side of your head.
His grip tightens as he pounds into you harder and harder, causing your body to shake uncontrollably.
The friction of his cock sliding in and out of your dripping pussy combined with the roughness of his thrusts and the force of his hands against your body, made you see stars.
Your mouth hangs open and your eyes roll back, as you arch your back and thrust your hips upwards, meeting his thrusts eagerly.
Your fingers dig into his biceps, gripping onto him tightly.
With each passing second, you could feel your orgasm building within you, threatening to tear through you any moment now.
You knew that this wasn't going to last much longer.
"Fuck- I'm so close…," you cry out, throwing your head back.
His hand reaches up and grabs your throat, squeezing tightly, and pulling you closer to him.
His thrusts grow even more powerful, and you gasp as he slams his cock deep inside you.
"Come for me then, my darling," he purrs into your ear, his voice low and husky.
He releases his grip on your neck and moves his hand down to grip your ass firmly.
You whimper and writhe beneath him, unable to hold back any longer.
"Fuck-!" You scream, throwing your head back once more and letting the orgasm rip through you.
His cock slides in and out of you faster and faster, as his movements become more erratic.
His fingers dig into your ass as he pulls you even closer, thrusting into you one final time before he explodes inside you.
His hips slow their frantic rhythm as he groans and grunts into your ear, his seed filling you up completely; leaving you tilted over the cushions and wrecked.
whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.
#jo’s posts#hsr smut#hsr sunday#sunday smut#sunday hsr#hsr fic#sunday imagines#sunday honkai star rail#sunday headcanons#sunday hsr smut#hsr imagines#hsr x you#sunday x reader#sunday x you#sunday x y/n
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Unfair Love
Your fingers were cramping from how hard you were holding the door. Your eyes mad to be deceiving you, Regulus fucking Black cant be standing in front of you. The guy you loved from the simply age of 5 all the way until the end of school. He had been your best friend, the guy you pined over for years and years while he pushed you aside every time he got a girlfriend. Only to suck you right back in when he got bored.
“No..” You said moving to close the door to your brother's manor. Tom, Mattheo and You were triplets. Magical beings already formed crazy connections but the three of you could literally feel each other and each other's major feelings. So the shock and pain of seeing Regulus had pulled them from the upstairs living room to the top of the stairs. Leaning against opposite walls, Tom positions so he could see down the stairs easily keeping an eye on you while being positioned in a way to be easily overlooked.
When Regulus pushed his way in, it took everything in both of them to stay put but your voice stopped them. “Tom is home. If that's not bad enough, so is Mattheo. Do not come any further into my home Regulus.” Regulus paused just inside the door, while he had been friends with both boys in school. He also knew they were fiercely protective of their ‘baby’ sister. They would kill each other if the other hurt her, so they would easily Avada him if he pushed to hard.
“Y/n.. Dont marry him.” He said in a nonchalant tone. Acting like he wasnt rocking her world and trying to crumble her relationship to pieces. “ Regulus.. Your being a dick.” You said unconsciously stepping towards the stairs and pulling your hands up to your chest. He stepped towards you and smiled in a cocky way that made you want to slap him “Come on y/n/n, you know you its always been me.. Dont marry him.”
Those words sparked anger in your gut.
Stepping towards him this time you sneer. “I was second to every single girl that even looked your way in school! You literally asked me to the yule ball and then FORGOT and went with some girl from Ravenclaw! I cant.. I wont.. I.. I..” It felt like a let down to your last name when that spark died and never turned into a fire as you started to almost hyperventilate. Every time he broke your heart played through your head as his eyes flicked above your head.
You didnt need to turn around to know your brothers were coming down. Mattheo was past you quickly, having moved before your breathing even got uneven. Tom wasnt as familiar with panic and anxiety attacks as you and he were. He didnt stop to comfort you as he grabbed his old friend harshly and jerked him out the door. He didnt slam it on his way out knowing that would just startle you and make it worse.
Tom had always for some reason been the one you went to for comfort. You thought it was probably just because he was the ‘oldest’. He was the one who retucked you into bed when you had bad dreams even though he was the same age. He had always just carried himself in a way that gave big brother vibes. Every where you went people thought you and Matt were twins and Tom was the older brother.
He would always have a hard time dealing with others feelings but he always made the most effort for his siblings. When you collapsed onto the stairs and started sobbing he moved the rest of the way to you quickly. He tries to get you to calm your breathing but its like you cant hear him. He does the only thing he knows too, the same thing he use to do when you were children and he couldnt wake you from a nightmare. Pressing his forehead to yours he gently entered your mind. it was easy to find you in panic because when all the thoughts finally formed into a picture you were stood frozen while everything moved around you.
Him saying your name broke your focus as you turned confused then relieved to see him. “Tommy” You said in a broken whisper as he reached for you, tucking your head against his shoulder and hugging you he looked around. “Lets walk through all this, yeah?” Nodding against his chest “I just feel so much right now.. Im so mad at Regulus. Ive tried my entire life to be what he wants, to be someone he sees but he never did. I was just someone to placate his ego in between relationships.”
Tom watches as memories of you crying, of Regulus manipulating you and leaving flash around him and he squeezes tighter. “He hasnt spoken t-to me in years and then he just shows up here the night before Im supposed to get married?!” You sob and then suck in a harsh breath “Oh my god. Teddy.. Whats he going to think when he finds out I was crying over another man when im supposed to be relaxing and getting ready to marry him!”
You pull away and pull out of your head and then away from Tom in the real world. Standing you start to pace and pull at your hair. Tom sighs and stands to try and stop you but the door flies open. Mattheo running in frantically looking for you, only to be shoved out of the way by your tall sandy blond fiancee. “Tesoro” He barley whispers as he rushes to pull you into his arms. Your knees giving out again but he keeps you up. His huge hand cups the back of your head and neck as he shushes you gently.
Theo swears his heart is breaking as your shoulders rack with sobs. He turns to look at his other best friends, Tom is staring at the door, clearing pissed and trying to stay put. Mattheo is pulling at his own hair when he sees the questions in his friends eyes. Hes struggling because he wants to tell him so he can better comfort you, but he doesnt want to betray your trust. Thankfully he doesnt have to, you can feel his panic and pull away just enough too look up. “Regulus was here.”
Theos head snaps back to you and he tries to reign in his feelings quickly knowing that they will all play out on his face. His first feeling was worry, he had worked so hard to show you how you should actually be treated. So many dates where he couldnt even hold your hand yet. Regulus had treated you so poorly from day one that his nontoxic love was foreign and unwelcome.
You had grown up in vastly different environments. Birthing triplets had killed your mother. While your father wasn't horrible or abusive, he was unattentive. He would rather you have a nanny (who he sleeps with before replacing and repeating) then try and raise you alone. While Theo grew up with parents who not only loved him but each other.
Next was anger at the audacity. Then was worry again but this time for you. Taking a deep breath and taking your cheek in one hand he wipes your tears away. “Ok, tell me why your so upset by that. We have to be on the same page to talk through this. Can we go sit down?” you shake your head and pull him up the stairs, away from your brothers to your room. You let go of his hand and keep walking straight for your bathroom.
After a few mintues long arms wrapped around you, crossing over and gripping your upper arms. “Im here, Tesoro. Whenever your ready.” You didnt register any measure of time as you stood under the water with him holding you and pressing kisses to your neck and shoulder. “I dont deserve you theo..” you say so quietly he almost doesnt hear. Before he can ask what you mean your already speaking. “Here I am, the night before marrying you, crying over some other guy.. God im so horrible.”
Before your hands can cover your face, Theo has spun you around and is tilting your face forcing you to look at him. He looks just a little annoyed as he speaks, “Dont say that. Do you remember what Tesoro means?” You sniffle and nod but he raises his eyebrows waiting for you to say it. “It means treasure.” He nods and smiles just a little “So.. My Tesoro couldnt be horrible.. I get it darling.. He was your first love, theres a lot of trauma there. I know your not crying because you miss him, your crying for 17 year old you, for 15 year old you and so on. And thats ok, because thats how we heal.”
Theos heart warmed as you stare up at him in awe. “I know its difficult for you, my love. That this open communication and understanding isnt something that comes naturally too you. So youll have to give me just a little grace while I continue to learn to navigate you. I promise one day Ill be an expert.” He leans in and kisses your forehead, staying there for just a moment to give you both a second to pull yourselves together.
When he pulled back the smile he loves was back on your face. He sighs happily and kisses your nose before looking at you. Everything was right in his world again, all he needed to do now, was wait for you to go to sleep. Because Regulus.. Well Theo completely understood where YOU were coming from. But Black? Nah. While tending to lean towards his mothers Hufflepuff nature, sometimes he needs to remind people why he was sorted into Slytherin. Why he became friends with The Dark Lords children. Why he and your brothers trusted him to care for you. And tonight, it would be Regulus` turn to learn.
#theodore nott x reader#theo nott xreader#theodore nott#slytherin#slytherinboys#theo nott#theodore nott x you#theodore nott x y/n#theo nott x reader#theo nott x y/n#theodore nott imagine#theo nott x you
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To your stepmother’s surprise, you come home from a Christmas party asking for her to care for you; it’s been months since her wedding to your father and months since you’ve paid her any attention at all.
Tags: angst, kiiinda fluffy, stepmom wanda loving you so so much, almost nearly unrequited love
drabble for matriarchal disturbance
I forgot my keys.
You texted Wanda some time during the evening once you realized you had forgotten them, and since she was the only one at home until tomorrow, she’d have to let you in. Or at least keep the door unlocked.
Oh no. It’s okay, I have work to do so I can unlock the door when you come home. :)
It was Christmas break and you were home for just a little, so you were out drinking with some friends from high school and some of their new college friends.
Wanda had texted you a week or two prior asking when you might be coming home. You didn’t answer — you didn’t ever feel in the mood to talk with your stepmother — but you knew it was still her curiosity talking through your father when he called a few days after you left her on read, asking the same question.
They were both happy to have you home, but Wanda particularly, though you could tell she was trying not to be overbearing.
She offered to make you tea or coffee once you were unpacking and offered to make you whatever you wanted for dinner that evening, and very subtly tried asking if you’d be home all break or if you might consider staying longer than when you planned to leave.
Your holiday break ended much later than the day you were planning on leaving, but you didn’t want to stay around much longer than was necessary — you’d spend New Year’s at home, and then you’d leave.
You weren’t really excited to be home, but you weren’t so cruel as to not come back for the holidays.
Still, you weren’t really looking forward to having to deal with your stepmother’s longing, curious looks, always wanting to talk with you or bring something up but not knowing how to and not wanting to spoil her limited time with you.
The feeling you got from seeing her look at you from the corner of your eye wasn’t necessarily all a form of annoyance, but some kinds of pity too, and perhaps some guilt.
There was something about the Christmas party that sorta had you feeling down, and you weren’t quite sure what it was, though perhaps it was simply because there were many things that had bothered you and you just couldn't pin it down to one thing.
It was something about meeting some of your friends’ other friends, and even some of their new partners. You hadn’t drunk anything, and perhaps it would’ve been worse for you if you did — you tended to get a bit more emotional while drunk.
All in all, you just felt… left out. And like you were missing something, or like you never wanted to be there at all.
You wanted to be somewhere you belonged and where your presence was not only enjoyed but needed — somewhere it was warm and loving and kind and soft.
While seeing all your friends together with their new ones and their partners, you just kept thinking of Wanda.
And you really hated yourself for it.
You wanted to go home to see her, and you knew you couldn’t stop it, because you’d been thinking of her all night. So you drank enough to feel just a little drunk — to get just enough confidence to make a bad decision — and went back home early.
From the window facing the street, you could see through the curtains that the living room lamp was on.
Wanda opened the door when you knocked like she said she would. From the door, you could see a book laying on the couch. She smiled at the sight of you.
“Did you have fun?” she asked immediately, stepping back a bit to allow you in. Then she said sympathetically after taking a better look at you, “You look a bit tired.”
You thanked the stars for having taken a few shots before you left.
You stepped into the house and wrapped your arms around Wanda, feeling the warmth of her knitted sweater against your cheek, then against the tip of your nose when you turned your head to bury your face in the crook of her neck. Her hair tickled the space between your eyebrows.
There was a split moment before she wrapped her arms around you that would have been indiscernible if you hadn’t felt how immediate her embraces were a million-and-one times before.
“Y/N, are you okay?” Wanda asked, having turned her head to look down at you so the breath of her soft whispered voice blew warm and gentle against your ear.
“I wanna be your baby again,” you confessed — stupidly.
Wanda tried to speak immediately for how she felt deep in her chest when you spoke the words she had only dreamt would come out of your mouth ever since the wedding, but found she could speak only in stutters.
Then she finally said, “You’ll always be my baby, Y/N.”
You hugged her tighter and you knew that if you hadn’t been just a little bit drunk, you would’ve been angry at what she had just said. But now, it could nearly make you cry.
“Can you bring me to bed?” you mumbled quietly into her neck, still seemingly a bit embarrassed through your drunken state.
“Of course,” she answered, smiling down at you. This was the closest you’d been to her in months, and likely the longest you’ve spoken to her with undivided attention in that same span of time too. She almost didn’t want to move at all for how you’d unwrap your arms from around her once you headed up the stairs together.
You unwrapped yourself from around her body and she closed and locked the front door; you’d literally just been standing embracing each other in the wide-open doorway for several moments.
Then you swiped at your eyes when you pulled away in case you accidentally had cried.
Wanda smiled at you sweetly, and a bit tiredly too, and you knew she must’ve finished her work a little bit ago and decided to stay up to wait for you. She took your hand and you walked up the stairs beside each other in silence.
She squeezed your hand and you squeezed back, and Wanda looked over her shoulder at you shyly as you stared down at the steps of the staircase.
“Can I help you get ready for bed?” she asked once you both arrived in front of the washroom.
You nodded silently then looked up at her with a small smile. “I just have to get my stuff from my bags,” you told her. Then, a bit hesitantly, you let go of her hand and walked towards your bedroom.
Wanda turned on the washroom light and paced around a little, playing with the knitted fabric of her sweater nervously and checking her hair a bit in the mirror, and even trying to repress a tiny smile as she couldn’t help but make comparisons to how it all used to be before the wedding.
But she didn’t want to get ahead of herself — after all, every day after this would be different, and whatever had caused you to come seeking her comfort wasn’t guaranteed to happen again from tonight onwards.
You came into the washroom with a little bag of your toiletries and started unpacking them, starting with makeup wipes and face wash then everything else.
“Come lean against the counter,” Wanda said, and you did. She began removing your makeup with one of your makeup wipes, the fingers of her other hand delicately perched under your chin to keep your face in the light.
She was gentle with how she swiped against your face, and thorough with taking all the makeup off.
Wanda was always so nice and gentle. In taking care of you, and in treating you in any way, really, she always did it as if you were delicate, and special to her too. She never wanted to hurt you, never wanted to make you feel like you weren't the most important thing in the world to her.
You felt like crying, but really didn’t want to ruin how casual you were trying to make everything seem.
She must’ve noticed how your eyes were filling with tears because once she finished she set the makeup wipe down and held you to her chest wordlessly, running her hand down the side of your head soothingly with her other arm wrapped around your waist.
She seemed to understand that you still had your reservations about being with her like this again, and that you weren’t trying not to get into things too quickly.
Even so, she couldn’t help but… hope, even just a little, that the feeling of how she held you and brought you close might make you miss her enough to want to be her baby again for more than just an evening.
“I’m gonna brush my teeth and stuff,” you mumbled and straightened out of her hold, swiping at your eyes again.
Wanda packed up your makeup wipes and slid it back into the toiletry bag you brought.
Quietly, you asked, “Can I sleep with you?”
You weren’t really sure where to look when you asked, so you tried to keep busy getting your toothbrush ready.
But when Wanda replied with a gentle, almost eager, ‘Of course,’ you couldn’t help but look over at her to see her smiling at you.
You looked away while she told you that she would also change and get ready while she waited for you — her shared bedroom had a washroom in it.
Wanda felt ridiculous for how she felt in her stomach — a familiar fluttering feeling dancing around where it would when you were still together. Sometimes Wanda reasoned the memory of the feeling up to a fantasy, that perhaps she may have recalled it as differently as it had been for it’d been so long since she’d felt it.
But it was exactly the same as she recalled.
And it was only with you.
She hadn’t realized she had been smiling until she heard you come into the bedroom, and she instinctively relaxed her face so as to not be overzealous and overwhelm you.
“Are you ready for bed?” she asked, closing the door of the walk-in closet as she stood in her pajama shorts and tank.
You nodded then looked away from her for how happy you felt to be asked that, to soon be adorned by Wanda’s kisses and touched by her gentle, loving hands and embraced by her arms the moment you got into bed.
Wanda seemed to be hesitant at your reluctance for a moment. Her fingers twitched with the urge to walk over and embrace you, to kiss your lips and lead you to her bed. But instead, restraining herself, she went to bed first, getting under the covers and looking over at you encouragingly.
Silently, you followed after closing the bedroom door.
She turned off the lamp on her side and you hesitated for a moment before you reached over and did the same.
Then you were blanketed in the darkness of the bedroom, and for a moment you couldn’t see Wanda in your peripheral vision at all; you could for a moment construe the feelings of blankets under your hands as being in your own bed instead of hers.
For a moment you felt glad to imagine you had made it all up, but then you felt terribly disappointed and lonely again.
Without Wanda, it was always just a little bit… lonely.
But the burst of sudden feelings was contained only within a few moments’ time, for your eyes soon adjusted and you could see the shadow of your stepmother beside you.
She reached out for you, her hand moving under the blankets and placing it on your bare thigh. She moved closer.
“Don’t be nervous,” she said quietly. “It’s okay.”
You’d been here before — in Wanda’s bed without your dad being home, in her company, in the spotlight of her undivided attention, in the warm shower of all her heart could pour out for you and only you.
It was was familiar with Wanda and you knew it for it was the closest thing you’d felt in a while to being somewhere you were certain you belonged in.
Then she added, “I want you here, Y/N.”
Like you had asked her, Wanda babied you — she cared for you. Her other hand wrapped around your waist and she slowly urged your body to lay down beside her.
She didn’t stop there; she moved herself onto her elbow only slightly to gain height over you, then cupped your furthest cheek with her hand. She kissed your face gently, tenderly, on your temple then on your cheekbone, and your chin.
Not your lips — not unless it was you who made an advance towards her first.
You turned and wrapped an arm around her torso securely, burying your face in her chest. She lowered herself back down and wrapped her arms around you immediately.
Squeezing your eyes shut, you muttered against her, “I love you.”
In the morning when you arose before her, you carefully peeled yourself away from a soundly-sleeping Wanda. There was a pang in your chest as you sat at the edge of the bed, recalling how she held you close after you had told her you loved her.
She held you in a way that communicated desperation and longing; it wasn’t only sweet and tender like she always was, but pained, too. She had cradled the back of your head to her chest, rubbed your upper back and pressed her lips against the top of your head.
She might’ve nearly said that she loved you a fourth time, though you presumed she had tried to contain the way she wanted to pour herself out for you right then and there.
You turned and watched as she dozed, her body the very same that you were held against through the night, the same you had thrown yourself into her arms of and were accepted and loved and cared for like you wanted, like Wanda wanted.
How at peace she seemed having gone to sleep with you in her arms, with all she had been longing for warm in her embrace and sleeping in the eternal comfort of her loving.
If you were honest with yourself, and you tried to be for how often you lied to Wanda, you didn’t think it was a lie when you told her you loved her, for you still did.
And you still could, inviting her over to your place and responding to her calls and texts when you were away, letting her care for you and at the very least not pretend she wasn’t always looking at you, waiting only for your eye contact as cue for her to bring up one of the dozens of questions and worries she had about the life that you no longer shared with her — which was to say, all of it.
Wanda stirred and her fingers flexed outwards slightly, reflecting a slowly-rising sun’s beams against her wedding ring, before she relaxed again, still in deep sleep.
Just under an hour later once Wanda woke up to find you gone, she texted asking where you were.
When she texted, you knew that she must have looked first to see if you had moved to your own bed, for you had left and decided to go on a drive.
She messaged: Have you gone out?
Sitting in a parking lot of a walking trail with the breakfast you picked up, the sun only just having fully risen, you texted back.
Forgot something at Kate’s last night.
She asked if you were going to eat breakfast there or if you would be home to have breakfast with her; she’d make some now so it could be ready by the time you got back.
You tried to keep eating after choosing to leave your stepmother on read, but soon lost your appetite. Instead, you went on a walk that lasted until the early afternoon when your dad got back home.
As you had planned, you went back to your place on the second of January, and that evening wasn’t ever brought up.
#wanda maximoff#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff x y/n#wanda maximoff x you#wanda maximoff fanfiction#marvel#marvel fanfiction#elizabeth olsen
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A Big Decision (Teen Dad!Oscar AU)
(Part 8 of Teen Dad!OP au [Can be read on its own])
Summary: It is time to pop the big question
The twins had finally gone down for a nap after spending so long fighting it. The kids, at age three, have started to fight them more and more, leading their parents to start discussing if it's time for naps to stop. Honey, being a stay at home mom, had needed the nap time as much as her kids had in the past, giving her time to catch up on chores or just rest for a little, so she was really trying to get as much time as she could with it. But maybe it truly was over.
She was surprised to see Oscar pacing in their living room once she went back downstairs.
“Well, aren't you home early?” She says as Oscar immediately wraps his arms around her, burying his head in her neck and kissing it.
“Missed you all, did what they needed from me extra fast so I could get home earlier. Thought we could maybe go out tonight?”
“Oscar, it's a friday night. Do you know how impossible getting a babysitter would be? The kids also take a while to warm up to babysitters, I don’t think it's a good idea.”
“Good thing I thought ahead then. Lando had a free night and has been begging to see them after the last ‘betrayal’ when they wore Sargeant hats. Even better, he said he would do it for free if it meant working towards being the favorite.”
“Oscar, you can’t get your coworkers to babysit your twin toddlers for free by dangling favoritism in their faces.”
“It was his idea! I am just capitalizing off of it. I got us a nice reservation too, we just need to let him now in the next…” Oscar checks his wrist where his watch usually rests but finds it missing, “uh now. So I need an answer quickly, are we going to stay home and eat the same leftovers we have had for the past two days, or are we going to make Lando Norris the happiest man alive by letting him watch our kids for free while we have an amazingly romantic dinner?” Oscar quickly asks as he takes his ex-fiancee, now girlfriend, in his arms.
“Fine, let's go out, we could use the night off. Let Lando know I appreciate him watching them for us.”
“Perfect, why don’t you go out, do something nice for yourself, I'll take over with the kids. We still have time before dinner tonight.” Oscar suggested in a strange tone as he kissed all surface area of her face.
“What is up with you today? I don’t mind it but you are so much more touchy.” She laughed.
“Don’t worry bout a thing.” Was all he replied as he walked away. “Tonight will be the best yet, I promise.”
That’s when it struck her, why he was being so weird. Surely, he was going to propose.
After the huge fight in Suzuka, she had called the engagement off, causing them to ignore each other’s existence unless it came to the kids, for seven weeks. Since they had gotten back together, life had been blissful. Sure, it was most likely the ‘honeymoon’ phase of their relationship, but even so, they had been so ready to marry each other before things started going downhill. Maybe days after they got back together isn’t the right time to get engaged, but they had been to hell and back together since they got pregnant at 18 years old, they were it for each other, always would be.
Oscar taking off of racing had also been a blessing. It had been hard for him, certainly. But he had needed to learn how to put his family first again, a priority that got harder to keep up with since joining Formula 1.
As she sat in the nail salon chair, getting what were hopefully her engagement nails done, she thought back to how far they’d come.
Arriving home with her nails done, and after getting the most amazing massage, Honey was giddy as she greeted her, hopefully, soon to be fiancé. After an hour and a half of filling her head with wedding plans and thinking about their future when she would finally get to be Mrs. Piastri after 7 years, she was more excited then she was the first time he proposed.
This excitement continued from the moment she stepped into the shower, till the moment she sat in her seat at the restaurant. Oscar had hired a driver for the night, saying it was a night all for them, no need to be careful of how many drinks they were going to have, he had also told her he had plans to take them to the beach after where they could finish the night with a picnic by the water and stay as late as they liked.
There was one thing that was off about him though, while she had expected nerves, she had also expected excitement from him and soon noticed the more giggly she was, the more upset he seemed to be. Maybe he realized she had caught on?
She finally asked what was up after he spilt his drink.
“Seriously Osc, what is wrong with you? You claim this is such a nice night for just the two of us but you are a mess right now!”
“It’s nothing, I’m sorry I don’t know why I’m like th-”
“Bullshit. I thought I made it clear how awful of a liar you are Oscar Jack Piastri, just tell me. Please?”
Silence filled the air as he stared at her, words failing.
“I will get up if you don’t-”
“I had a meeting with higher ups at McLaren earlier today and was told if I don’t come back then I am out of the contract and I agreed to come back for the Spanish Grand Prix!” Oscar blurted out.
Again, a heavy silence landed on the couple, both of them daring the other one to speak first.
Then, without a single word, Honey got up from the table and walked to the car leaving Oscar at the table, tears starting to fall.
Part 2 out now!
#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri imagine#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#lando norris x reader
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Girl Talk
Part Two of my Imagines with Angel Dust.
“So Alastor, he’s like all . . .” Angel Dust made strange gestures with his hands above his head, his thumbs pressed to his hair and fingers splayed out, and you were fairly certain he was trying to mimic antlers growing. “. . . murder-y and shit right? Even if he’s at the hotel, you can’t expect us to believe he’s stopped doing all that.”
It was late at night and you and Angel were at the bar, keeping Husk company, and nursing a couple of cocktails.
Alastor had disappeared hours ago, which wasn’t unusual, but it was getting late. You weren’t letting yourself be worried just yet, he was the Radio Demon after all, and could certainly take care of himself. But you couldn’t help being a little on edge. Alastor always came home but still. He could give you an idea of where he had gone off to and what he was doing when he took off like this.
“Why, are you going to tattle to Charlie if I say he is?” you said, a little too defensively.
“Hey, I ain’t no rat,” Angel said, also defensive. “I’m just trying to figure the guy out.”
“He’s still the Radio Demon,” you respond vaguely.
“Oh well that tells me everything.” Angel rolled his eyes.
Husk chuckled, wiping a glass dry.
“He’s a serial killer and a cannibal. The day that guy stops doing all that is the day I’ll stop drinking and gambling.”
You scowl over the rim of your cocktail.
“You make him sound like a monster when you say it like that.”
Husk raised an eyebrow at you.
“Excuse me if I ain’t your boytoy’s number one fan. ‘Sides, not like anything I said wasn’t true.”
“Hey, he’s not out their killing all willy nilly, right?” Angel offered. “I mean, I pissed him off the other day and he let me go. Val woulda done way worse. So that means he’s got a type, I’m assuming? Like a uh . . . a demographic . . . of people he kills. If you ain’t that, he’ll still be creepy and fucking weird, but you’re probably safe.”
“Probably,” you smirk.
“Whatever,” Husk said with a grumble, and threw his towel over his shoulder, turning his back on the two of you.
“So, about those tentacles-“
“No,” you snapped, cutting off Angel’s sentence before it could be finished.
“Oh come on! You can’t leave me hanging like that!”
You just rolled your eyes and sighed, taking another sip of your drink.
“Oh . . . hanging, now there’s a thought,” Angel pressed on. “So suspensory play, huh? I bet those are really fun for that. Just how talented is the guy with those things? Because I bet with some practice, you could even use them for some interesting kind of Shibari. Or is he unimaginative and just shoves them right up your-“
“Angel, seriously, did you not learn your lesson last time?”
“Oh I learned my lesson all right. I learned how hot it is. So c’mon, admit it,” he teased, leaning closer to you, “you guys are into bondage.”
You laughed, unable to hide the sly smile on your face, but said nothing.
“I guess it makes sense,” Angel continued, “the guy does own souls. He’s probably gotta have that type of control in the bedroom.”
“You just go ahead and let your imagination run wild, my friend,” you said with a giggle.
“Baby, my imagination can run marathons,” Angel bragged. Then suddenly, he turned serious and looked over at you. “Wait, does he own your soul?”
Husk turned around and both men were now looking at you. Knowing both of their predicaments, you almost felt bad for your answer.
“No,” you said quietly.
“NO?!” Angel yelled, slapping his hand down on the bar counter.
‘No,” you repeated.
“But . . . but, that’s what he does. I mean, he even owns Niffty’s soul. So why are you with him-“
“Angel,” you interrupted, putting your hand on his arm. “I’m with him because I love him. Because I choose to be.” You said your words firmly, making sure your point was crystal clear. “And anyway, Alastor’s not the type to sleep with a soul he owns. It’s hard to explain his twisted moral code but he would think that was rude . . . or abusive . . . or just trashy. No offense.”
You knew about Angel’s forced and strained deal with Valentino and felt awkward, exposing the stark differences between your relationship and theirs.
“If I was making him sound like a monster, you’re making him sound like a fucking angel,” Husk said.
“Fair,” you agreed. “So, he’s complicated. But so am I.”
“So you really are into monster fucking. Got it,” Angel said, sounding deadly serious but when you looked at him, you saw the hint of a smile beginning to spread across his face.
“Wellllll,” you said, drawing out the word and giving Angel a side eye, “sometimes he has to blow off some steam. And those antlers are great for holding onto for balance.”
Angel choked on the drink he was taking a sip from.
“Now we’re talking,” Angel replied, eagerly leaning towards you again.
You held up a finger, stopping Angel from invading your space anymore. “That’s more than enough information for now.”
“Let me get this straight. He’s got the tentacles, he’s got the antlers,” Angel listed, holding up a finger for each item on his list. He held up a third finger, looking at you and tilting his head expectantly. “Say, you ever have a threesome with his shadow?”
You felt your face heating up, desperately trying to keep your composure and think of a witty response that wouldn’t give anything more away than your expression was, when thankfully you were saved by the front doors of the hotel slamming open.
Alastor walked in, his usual confident walk more of an exhausted shuffle, and he was covered head to toe in blood and the occasional clump or string of viscera.
“Holy shit buddy,” Angel exclaimed, “looks like you bit off more than you can chew.”
“I’m fine,” Alastor huffed and waved his hand dismissively. “Splendid, really. Just need some cleaning up.”
“Do you need any help?” you asked, sounding more flirty than concerned.
“Down girl,” Alastor replied and tapped you on the head with his microphone as he strode past you. “I’ll see you all in the morning.”
He evaporated into shadow as he reached the staircase.
“If he could just do that, then why’d he have to make a show of walking through the front doors?” Angel complained, “He left bloody footprints all over the lobby!”
“That’s Al’ for you,” Husk said, “Always gotta be dramatic.”
You sat in silence, ignoring the two men’s banter and you gripped the glass of your cocktail, staring at it as if it had your entire focus.
A few moments went by where no one said anything and the lull in conversation became awkward.
“You don’t have to stay down here, you know,” Angel offered. “I can tell you want to go sexually attack him.”
You nodded. “I need to go lick every inch of that man clean,” you said and headed upstairs.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#alastor x reader#alastor fanfiction#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel alastor#angel dust#hazbin angel dust#angel dust x reader#hazbin hotel imagine#alastor imagine#alastor the radio demon#hazbin hotel fic#hazbin hotel fanfiction
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Soon, my love
Alpha DILF Midoriya Izuku x Omega Wifey Reader
I wrote this while writing the next chapter of 'After the Rain' and... OHH I THINK I DID SOMETHING. You want strong wifey reader? I give you smart manipulative wifey reader.
Context: After your argument with Eijiro and Katsuki in a pack meeting, you go back home to remind your husband who is really in charge of Pack A.
You were quiet as you walked into your bedroom where your nest was. You put down the lantern before carefully putting Toshinori down to sit on in the middle of the nest. “I’m sorry you had to see that my sprout.” You spoke softly as you kissed his hairline.
Toshinori’s green eyebrows furrowed. “Mama, why… why was daddy mad?” He asked softly. “I’ve never seen him that mad before.”
You let out a soft breath as you stood up and went to go get his pyjamas. “Daddy was protecting us.”
“From?”
You took out his All Might onesie, that still curried the scent of you and your husband. You turned around to look at your son. The soft glow of the lantern on his face. You put on a serious face. “Uncle Eijiro and Kacchan. They said some really mean things about our family.” You explained to him softly as you crouched down, showing him you wanted him to remove his clothes.
He carefully followed suit, allowing you to help him into his onesie. “But… but why?”
You took a moment before letting out a sigh. You gave him a sad smile. “My precious little sprout.” You spoke softly, cupping his cheek. He leaned against your hand as you looked down at him. “A lot has changed since the rain stopped. A lot of things. Some of those things are certain people in the pack. Now you’ve got to remember, that your father and I do everything we can for you and for the other pups in this pack. We love you, and we want what’s best for you. That’s why we do all that we do. That’s why your father works so hard to protect us, even now.” You told him as you kissed his head. You zipped up his onesie, keeping him warm and safe. You frowned slightly. “Now because Uncle Eijiro is mad, mommy and daddy will be busy for the next couple of days but not with the pack. So we’ll need you to do exactly as you were doing before, be a good pup and listen to your aunties and uncles like we taught you. Do you understand me?”
He nodded his head, “Yes mommy.”
“And if someone says something that isn’t true about me or your father, what do you say?”
Toshinori hesitated before lifting up his chin. “My name is Midoriya Toshinori, son of Midoriya Izuku and Midoriya Y/N. I am a Midoriya and my parents love me, and that’s all I’ve got to know.”
You smiled proudly. You pushed back his curly green hair and chuckled. “You look just like your father.” You say making him beam. “So handsome.” You kissed his cheeks, moving your wrists to scent his little body. “Get some sleep, my sprout. I need to talk to your father, but we’ll come right up in a few minutes, okay?” You carefully tucked him into your nest, surrounding him in warm blankets with you and your husband’s scents. “I love you.”
Toshinori smiled. “I love you too.”
“Should I leave the lantern here for you?”
He nodded his head as he gripped the blanket. “Yes please.”
You smiled as you grabbed the other lantern, leaving your bedroom. You closed the door and headed downstairs. You looked down at the lantern. You’d need more oil burner for the lanterns because the substitutes you got in your garage wouldn’t be enough, which was half the reason why you kept it off and you just waited for your eyes to adjust automatically.
You moved down the steps and headed to the kitchen, your husband was just where you left him. His hands were on the island counter top in the kitchen, deep in thought. You walked over to him quietly. You kept your head up as you did so. You put down the lantern on the kitchen island as you walked over to him.
You moved to put your hand on his back going over his broad shoulders as you moved your other up his left arm. You let out a calming scent from your glands as you rubbed your cheek against his shoulder as you leaned against him. You moved to kiss the back of his neck before resting your head on his back. “Thank you for defending us, my love.” You spoke gently. “A strong Alpha is what Toshinori and I need right now.”
He let out a low scoff. “A strong Alpha and yet I backed down. I should have challenged him.” He let out lowly. You saw the frown on his face, fury in his eyes roaring like a thunderstorm, concealed by clothes. “He should have never spoken to you that way or allow Kacchan to do so.”
You shushed him sweetly, a purr coming out of you as you moved your hand to cup the side of his face before pulling him to look down at you. “Soon my love, you will have the chance to prove your strength as the reigning Prime of this pack.” You told him with a gentle smile on your face eagerness in your eyes. “But we need to be patient.” Izuku let out a grumble as he looked away from you.
You drew in a breath. You took his hand and pulled him away from the kitchen. You dragged him to the sitting room, pushing him down to sit on the couch. Izuku fell back with a surprised grunt. It had been a while since either one of you had sat down on your couches, considering how busy you both were nowadays. You moved to slide in behind him, pushing him to make space for you as you positioned yourself behind him.
You put your hands on his shoulders as you gently pressed down. You felt him tense before a soft groan escaped his lips. Your hands easily finding the spots in his body that were tense and stiff. You moved your thumbs to dig into his neck. You could feel him relax more. What you need right now was your Alpha thinking straight and that’s what you needed to do. Nudge him in the right direction. “Anata, Eijiro is threatened by you. Which is why he aims to separate us from everyone else. His hold on the pack weakens while yours strengthens. He has made a fool of himself by showing such insecurities in front of everyone.” You leaned down and kissed his head. “Which is why this is the perfect opportunity to show that he can’t do what we do.”
Izuku’s eyes were shut as he hummed at the massage you were giving him. His stress dissipating as you worked at his muscles. “How?” He asked.
“We give him what he wants.” You whisper into his ear. “If Katsuki and him want to have the pack, let them.” You moved your thumbs to his upper shoulder making him hiss at the pain but allowing you to massage at the knots in his muscles. “Let them try. While the pack realises why we are meant to lead, we can focus our strengths elsewhere. You were right when you said we need to talk to our neighbouring packs to make good relations. So that’s what we are going to do.”
Izuku paused, before turning to look at you. “Eijiro told us that we are excused from all duties in the pack, but… that doesn’t stop us from doing anything outside the pack.”
You smiled as you nodded your head. You put your hand to his jaw as you looked down at him. “And what better way to spread our influence to other packs and them acknowledging you, then with this. Izuku, my Alpha, my husband, my love.” You leaned down closer to him. “Don’t let them get to you. You were the one who stepped up when the world ended, not Eijiro. You were the one who got the pack together, not Eijiro. You were the one who the pack will yearn to take control again, not Eijiro.”
You dragged your knuckles over his skin, his eyes fluttering before staying stuck on you as you climbed into his lap, holding his face as you looked down at him. Izuku’s hands rested on your hips as he held you.
“The mascs in this pack look to you for guidance, the femmes look to you for strength and order, your son looks up to you like you hung the sun in the sky.” You reached down and brushed your lips against his. “And so will every other son that you will give me.” You whispered, making a low growl come from his lips as you felt his large hands tighten on your hips as he pulled you closer against him. Your heart was beating out of your chest but you had to stay focused, despite the lust that was emitting from your husband. “Don’t forget who you are. You are Midoriya Izuku, previous Number One ProHero of Japan and my husband. What more do you need?”
-Glitch1d
'Anata' - My dear/ honey in Japanese
#izuku midoriya x reader#izuku x reader#mha x y/n#deku x reader#midoriya x reader#alpha izuku midoriya#alpha izuku midoriya x reader#alpha izuku x reader#alpha izuku#alpha deku#alpha deku x reader#midoriya x you#midoriya izuku x reader#midoriya izuku#izuku midoriya#deku#mha midoriya
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NERD!MIGUEL X QUEENBEE!READER
PROLOGUE — let’s make a deal…
series warning - eventual smut , profanity , sexual themes , drug/alcohol usage (don’t do any of these things!) , blackmail , fighting (verbal and physical) , reader being a queenbee, Miguel is a loner at the star but grows some balls later on.
chapter warning - profanity , it’s so short , fighting (verbal) , blackmail , Miguel kinda is a loner here , literally has the worst timing known to man kind.
He’s always at the library, far back too. He reads whatever book he needs to read without any human communication. What a loser!
He always caught your eye, I mean. Why wouldn’t he? He’s such a loner, it’s so easy to miss him. Not you though, you noticed his little pattern. Going to lectures and going straight to the library.
He’s a sore loser, and you heard he dosent even know you! How disrespectful!
but you can’t focus on that right now, you’re currently putting someone in their place in the library because they think they have the right to stand up to you! How dare they, who do they think they are?
“What makes you think you can say that?” You scoffed, crossing your arms with a smirk on your face as you stared at the angry male in front of you.
“I have every right you bitch! I’m tired of you treating me around like I’m some toy to you!” He yelled and you just laugh at him. “Oh please, Don’t act like you’re all that. Did you forget I have proof of you cheating on your girlfriend?” You remind me and he immediately shuts up.
You smirked and walked up to him, harshly grabbing his chin to make him look at you. Your smirking, amused face turn into a stern serious one.
“Know your place. because I can just send your girlfriend all of the pictures, text messages and voice messages.” You advised him then smirked at him once again when you see his face drop and his face pales. You then spoke again “don’t want to ruin your 3 year relationship do you?” You cooed at him.
You waited for his response and when he shook his head no, you scowled “good, act like this again and I won’t hesitate to do it.” And you let go of his chin harshly and turned around to leave but once you do.
You see Miguel.
He looks at you, he tries to leave but you glared at him and immediately said.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I’ll leave, I’ll forget this even happened!” Miguel stumbled over his words, you ignored as you walked towards him. Looking at him in the flesh fully. “No, no. It’s fine, you’re that smart kid right?” You asked him and he hesitates until you glared start him to answer.
“Mhm!” He answers and you smiled. “Then let’s make a deal…Miguel right?” You asked him as you raised an eyebrow.
He was surprised you knew his name. “Y-yes, that’s me.” He spoke, You hum in response.
“You know, I see you getting picked on the by the jocks and some girls. You’re getting tired of it? You want that to stop don’t you?” You chuckled as you looked at him.
You see him look away, like he’s scared to admit it but he nods.
You chuckled as you put you arm around his shoulder and pull him closer to you. You look at you nails on your other hand as you spoke.
“Then I Can Make you a deal, how about this. You do my work for me, you do what I say and I’ll…make you stop getting picked on. You’ll be perfectly alone and fine.” You proposed to him and you see his eyes widened at your words.
The guy you were scolding was about to warn him but you give him a death stare and looked at the door. Signaling him to keep his mouth shut and get out.
and he did so. Now it’s just you and Miguel.
You looked back at him “So how about it?” You asked him with a smirk on your face awaiting his answer.
You can tell he’s thinking about it, and he looks back at you. “I accept.”
You smirked.
This will be fun.
The next day, he’s suddenly realizes that no one is bothering him. He notices the looks he’s getting, but no one dares to mess with him.
As he’s sitting in his usual table in the library, and he hears footsteps coming towards him. He looks up and sees you standing in front of his table. A hand resting on your hip as the other hand holding some papers.
You smiled at him.
“Like the difference, Miguel?” You spoke. you face looks cocky even though your voice is sweet like honey.
He nodded and looked at the papers in your hand. “What’s that?” “Work, just like our promise.” You put some papers on his desk, he looks at the papers and looks at you.
“Aren’t you doing the same thing they were doing?”
Your smile immediately fades. “The first day and you’re already getting on my nerves, You made the deal did you not? I fulfilled your part and now it’s your turn. I Can always make them go back to bulling you again, do you want that?”
He stammered, he cannot risk the only peace he has so suddenly. He shook his head and you smiled again. “Good, it’s not a lot. Pretty sure you’ll get it done in about 20 minutes or so. Have fun!” You waved him goodbye and left.
as he is now alone again, he wonders.
Was this worth it? What is he getting him self into?
Time can only tell.
END OF PROLOGUE
tags - @pinkhelados , @jadeloverxd , @syler-griffin , @monarchberrysblog , @ultravioletrayz - if you want to be in the tag list lmk!
a/n - guys, I’m so sorry this took SO SO long and it’s not even that long. I been struggling with a lot of stuff, and I didn’t have the motivation to write. I apologize for being gone for so long.
REBLOGS - COMMENTS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED! THANK YOU FOR READING!
M.L — GUIDELINES —
#pxtch writes !#miguel o'hara#spiderman atsv#miguel ohara#spider man: across the spider verse#miguel x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel spiderverse#miguel o’hara x reader#miguel ohara x reader#spiderman 2099#miguel x you#miguel o’hara smut#miguel o'hara fanfiction
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Leather & Lace 2
Hello my loves! Leather and Lace 2 is now yours. The next and last official part is available on our Patreon early, but I’m willing to write some more for them if you guys want 👀 they’ll be classified as ‘extras’ but oh well hehe
Check out our Patreon for early access and 170+ exclusive writings
Leather & Lace masterlist
Warnings- possessive H, kind of a dickhead
WC- 3.7k
Things had shifted between Harry and Y/N.
He hadn’t been sure what to expect after she’d blown him, but she didn’t make it awkward at all. If anything? They were more comfortable around each other. Harry was less nervous to touch her, pulling her into his side as they sat on her new couch the next day or adjusting the hair from her face when the wind got it stuck in her lip gloss when they’d met for lunch. The way she reacted to his touch was much more noticeable to him now which made him feel particularly chuffed. Y/N was important to him before, but it seemed like the intimacy had elevated them to a different level.
It had only been a week since the night at her place where she’d given him the best blowie he’d ever received, but they hadn’t done much else. They had cuddled in bed that night, kissed a little bit, but he hadn’t had a chance to get her truly alone and it was driving him nuts.
Y/N was popular and she had a lot of activities she liked to do. Paint n’ sip classes she helped run, volunteering at the library, at the animal shelter, helping her new neighbor with her cat, on top of her own workload. The closest he’d gotten to alone time with her was when she arrived at his place on wednesday to climb into his bed and pass out, which she’d done with a smeared kiss to his lips. She’d been asleep once her head hit the pillow.
He’d gotten to see her out quite a bit as he was often wrangled into helping her. He used to pretend to be grumpy about it and huff and puff when she’d pat his head but he hadn’t even tried to do that this week. Instead he let his touches linger and watched her smiles grow, happy to get a few seconds to hug her before she had to move on to something else. It had been driving him out of his mind, and if they didn’t have the promise to go back to her place tonight he may have lost it.
House parties weren’t something he particularly liked, but when Y/N called him on video chat and gave him her puppy eyes while asking him to help her set it up for Sarah, he couldn’t say no. He did like the other girl well enough and he knew how crazy Y/N was about birthdays, so he’d given up his friday night to the whole surprise party.
Though he wasn’t feeling very generous with Y/N’s time anymore. For the first hour of the party he’d followed her around and lingered in the corners to make sure she was okay as she chatted to people, but this observing really did him in. She was so fucking perfect.
It hit him again how much he actually liked her. The whole experience was odd considering he hadn’t considered being in a relationship in this point of his life, content with hooking up and never seeing the other person again, but that was pre Y/N. Now that he had her in his world, it was hard to imagine himself with anyone but her. Sure, she was his opposite in a way, but they attracted. That’s what all the books and movies said, anyways. He want content just observing her, ignoring mostly anyone else who would come up to him or give them one worded answers with his eyes on his girl, the pretty little butterfly fluttering around the room.
The feeling had been so unfamiliar that the first time he’d felt it, he’d thought it was heartburn or something.
Harry had already admired her before but it was a whole other level seeing how much she tried to make other people feel seen. She gave them attention, smiling and listening intently before gracefully getting her exit out only to be stopped by someone else. How a woman like that had been into him enough that she’d wanted to blow him and keep him around, he had no clue. But there was no taking it back, and he was feeling greedy.
Cornering her in the kitchen, he narrowed his eyes at her as she looked at him with a giddy smile. “M’tired of sharing your attention.” he said it simply, placing his hands on her hips and backing her into the quieter corner. She squeaked as her back hit the wall, a nervous giggle leaving her throat as he loomed over her. “Barely got a lick of your attention all week, and m’not happy about it, pet.” His lip pouted slightly, the ring on it glinting at the motion.
She frowned, wrapping an arm around his neck. “I know it’s been really busy, H, and I’m sorry. I just wanted to help people out.” She sighed, watching him look over her face. The girl looked a little tired, which he didn’t like.
“I know you do, sweets, but you’ve got t’learn how to tell people no. You’re spreading yourself too thin and you barely have a moment to breathe. Yeah, m’greedy for your attention but I don’t like the idea of you being tired and running ragged because people ask you t’do shit. They know you’ll say yes.” It actually did piss him off. He didn’t think everyone had malicious intent, no, and he knew Y/N was a big girl who could handle herself. But sometimes he had to wonder why they were so comfortable asking such big things of her.
“I do like to help, though.” She tried to protest but really couldn’t, because he was right. She was bone tired and despite her bubbly nature, she had been deflating slightly as the night went on. Their weekend together was the reprise they got to have where she knew she’d have time to breathe. Selfishly she liked that Harry was able to be blunt and a little mean. He wasn’t to her, but his protectiveness of her really showed.
“Yeah, but it means I get less time with you. And m’a selfish man, Y/N.” Tipping her chin up, he lowered his face towards her. “Not to mention you’ve been too busy to let me properly fuckin’ kiss you. Like your little pecks darlin, they’re cute, but where’s the kiss you gave me with my load on your tongue? Hm?”
Y/N sputtered, whining at his dirty mouth but he could tell she liked it. Her eyes had widened but she had no real heat to her scolding, instead leaning into him a bit more. “I didn’t know you wanted me to kiss you like that.” The admission followed a beat of silence.
“Always want you to kiss me, are you fuckin’ kidding?” He grumbled. “Can’t jus’ give me the best blowie of my life and fuck off. Didn’t let me return the favor which m’dying to do, but even more you’ve been keeping this mouth from me. Don’t like it one bit.” His thumb brushed over the plump bottom lip, exhaling through his nose as he shook his head. “S’a fucking shame. Can’t get how good we tasted together out of my head. Not trying to pressure you if you don’t want to do that stuff, you can tell me to fuck off but.. I don’t think y’want me to.”
“No, I…” She stumbled over her words. “I do want those things. I just didn’t expect you to talk so dirty.” The tilt of her lips gave the clue that she liked it. “I didn’t want to assume it meant more than just that even though I wanted it to and - oh”
His mouth cut her off. Catching her off guard her lips opened a little bit, letting him be selfish and slip his tongue into her sweet mouth. Humming at the taste, his arm leaned against the wall as he held himself over her while the other kept her jaw angled the way he wanted it. The kiss was just like him. Intense and hot and a little sweet at the end when he pulled back and pressed three more pecks to her lips, rubbing his nose against the side of hers. “None of that shit. Meant a hell of a lot to me, silly little thing. Want to do it all the damn time. So you’re gonna have t’take it easy with giving all your time away, hm? Think I need some more of your help soon… and maybe…” He released her jaw to slide his hand to the back of her neck, massaging it just a little. “Maybe you’ll let me help you, hm? Someone’s got t’take care of such a sweet little thing. It isn’t fair.”
“H-Harry.” She felt her cheeks getting hot. Harry’s attention had always been intense and maybe that’s part of the reason she’s been so busy this week. Anxiety over being truly alone with him again in case he regretted it, if he didn’t like what they did and didn’t know how to let her down easy- but this was the ideal, she thinks. Regardless of how much he flustered her, or how he was the biggest energy in the room, she found herself preening at the attention he gave her. “It meant a lot to me too.”
Her hushed voice made him smile, leaning in to press a chaste kiss between her brows. “Good. Can we get going, then? Or would y’let me lick your cute little cunt in one of these bedrooms?” Did he say it just to watch her squirm? A little, but only because it was really fucking cute.
“We can go. I’ve just got to say goodbye to some people.” She sent him a shaky smile as he nodded, pushing off the wall to wrap his arm around her shoulders. It was a new feeling for her to feel so… claimed. They had been around each other pretty consistently for a while but she could feel people looking, considering Harry was usually the victim of her clinging to his arm instead. Open affection wasn’t something anyone had seen from him, let alone with a girl that was so clearly different than him, but something about that made her giddy.
Harry was impatient in general, but he tampered it down as Y/N said goodbye to the people she knew here. It was just in her nature to be a polite little flower, floating around the room to wish everyone a good evening. Her manners, oddly enough, aroused him. He liked seeing her be so sugary sweet and knowing that it was 100% genuine. It was even more nice to see considering he’d had a glimpse of what a bold and filthy girl she could be. The blowie the night she’d moved in had completely taken him off guard and let him know then and there that her innocence wasn’t all encompassing. She had some shadows to her, and he planned to see how full they could extend.
His arm was around her as she said goodbye, merely nodding when people acknowledged him and not bothered when they didn’t. All that mattered to him was they were polite to her- though one of the guys had been a bit too bold, especially considering he was right fucking there.
“Her eyes are on her face, not her tits.” He said lowly. “And if you’d like t’keep yours, I suggest you remember that.” There was no full aggression, only a promise that he intended to keep. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d go at someone for her.
Thankfully the prick flushed, muttering apologies before dashing away so he could use this as an excuse to get them the fuck out of there.
Harry didn’t love parties. He didn’t like lots of people. He went for 3 reasons only, and they depended on the night. To get a drink, to get a fuck, or for Y/N. Though now he supposed he’d have an excuse for not going to many others. The plan was to keep Y/N to himself and not have to deal with the people he’d fucked around with not getting the hint even after he stated what he wanted. For once in his life he wanted one person and one person alone, and she was under his arm.
To his surprise, she didn’t say anything about his snarky reply to the guy they’d last said goodbyes to, instead leaning into his side as they approached his car. It was a bit nippy outside and he knew she ran cold, so he’d remedy that quickly. “C’mere.” He sighed, picking her up and placing her on the hood of his car. Stripping his flannel off, he motioned for her to splay her arms out, helping her put it on. “Wasn’t too bad when you left but it’s a little too cold out for you now, hm?” His voice was softened as he stood between her knees, face level with her as he slipped his hands under the new layer.
“I never remember to grab a sweater.” She admitted, smiling shyly as she felt palms running over her back. This was different. The whole thing was, seeing as Harry’s treatment of her had considerably softened up. He’d always been nice to her, don’t get her wrong! He let her sit on him and mess up his hair and hold his arm but… feeling him be the touchy one for once really made her feel… validated? Appreciated? She wasn’t sure of what the right term would be, but she felt like he liked her more than she had originally thought. “Who’s place do you want to go to?”
“Hm… maybe mine. I just did a grocery shop. I know you’ve been busy this week, so I don’t want to go and mess up your place.” Y/N would be a bit unsettled if it got messy and he was planning on seeing what exactly he could get her to do with him.
It had been circling around his mind the whole week, how he wanted to make it up to her. How he wanted to take her properly and feel her cum around his cock and his tongue and his fingers- anywhere he could get it. He was a man starved, pathetically so, but he didn’t have any shame in it.
“Okay. I like your place.” It was the truth. He had a nice place in her opinion. It was bigger than her own, but not cold. Darker in aesthetic, brick and dark colors and richer patterns. She’d helped him make it nicer after she had seen the state of it the first time, a real bachelor pad that made her worry for his comfort. Thanks to the sweet girl, he had a much more comfortable sectional couch, a coffee table- with coffee table books, no less- and some art. She’d helped pick out his bar stools for his island in the kitchen, too. Little bits of her were all over his place, but that’s how he wanted it to be.
“I’d hope so. You helped make it.” He snorted, tugging her closer to him so their centers were flush. The silence happened again, this time a little heavier. “I missed you this week.” The sentiment was repeated as he dragged a hand from under the warmth of his flannel and brushed the hair out of her face. The breeze hadn’t been much of a help. “I sleep better when you’re around. Know I like to give you shit and call you a needy pup, but I love it when you’re like that.” Tipping her chin up, he sighed as he observed her soft features. The slope of her nose, the mascara on her lashes that had flaked just a little bit, the slightly faded lip stain. He couldn’t imagine not being obsessed with her.
“I’m glad. I used to think I was a little annoying to you.” She admitted, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “I’m sorry I was so busy. I didn’t think you’d mind.” Historically he’d get grumbly about it but he understood- and she’d usually pop over or invite him to her old flat.
“Course I mind. Not that you have stuff to do but you overwork yourself and…” licking his lip, he debated on whether or not to say it. “Was just hoping that you weren’t avoiding me, is all. That I didn’t make you uncomfortable last weekend.”
Her heart clenched in her chest as she saw his eyes dip to the side, for once in his life showing a bit of vulnerability. Harry never seemed anxious about much, his general setting being a blank stare or a smug smirk, so it wasn’t something she saw often. Sometimes when he was drunk he’d get a little mushy about things but he hadn’t had much, if anything tonight. “No. Of course not. I initiated it, remember?” Her hand lifted to his face, the skin slightly cool from the night air. “I wanted to do it. I promise. If I was uncomfortable I’d tell you. Listen…” adjusting slightly, she caught his eye. “I feel the most safe when I’m with you. Sure, sometimes it feels like I’ve got a guard dog, but I feel really secure. I know you’d never hurt me, you always are so careful with me even if everyone else thinks you’re all rough and tumble… I know you and I know you’d only even touch me in ways I like. I really was busy, but I was just nervous you’d regret it too.”
Harry’s brows furrowed at her admission. While he was over the moon that she always felt the safest with him, he had no idea why she would think he’s regret it. “Never. I just kept thinking about it. I wanted to do it more. I don’t regret anything, and I feel like I’ve got t’make sure you know that I don’t think of you as one of those quick fucks.” Even if she hadn’t said it, he was sure that was a thought that had lingered around in her head. That was his reputation and he’d be stupid if he didn’t know better.
“I.. I never thought of it as that, no, but I wasn’t expecting commitment.” She admitted back, eyes wide as he looked into his own. It squeezed his chest, the idea of just being with her sexually. That wasn’t what he wanted.
“No. I want commitment.” He said lowly. “You aren’t just a fuck to me, Butterfly. Not in the slightest. I fuckin’ adore you, y’know that?” He sighed, rubbing his thumb over her bottom lip and tugging it slightly before letting it snap back into place. “You’re my girl. You’ve been my girl for a while. I’ve jus’ been a bit of a pussy in trying to initiate anything because the last thing I wanted was for you t’think that you were just someone else I went to bed with. M’tired of that.” All he wanted to do was crawl into bed with her at night and feel her kissing him in the morning or watch her sleepy little face as she dreamt. All the fluffy, mushy shit he used to feel sick from were the exact things he craved. “Couldn’t get it up for anyone else after a while. I was only able to thinking about you and… after a bit, I had no desire to be around anyone else. They didn’t smell like you, didn’t sound like you. My cock was set on you and I think my heart wants to follow.”
Y/N had to laugh at his last words but also in shock. She’d heard herself at the beginning of their friendship how he’d scoff at the idea of a relationship, made fun of the romance movies she liked, heard about him disappearing at a party for a bit before coming back with messy hair and swollen lips, sometimes a fly undone. But slowly that had stopped, if she recalled. The hookups, the snarky comments about love. It dwindled. Snark still existed for other things but he seemed to be more lighthearted around her. “You… you want like, a relationship with me?” Her eyes rounded at the thought.
“I’d say don’t act so surprised, but I get it.” He had to admit that, a smile on his face. It surely was a lot for her to process, considering it still had him in a tizzy and he’d had months to work over these feelings. “Yeah. Want you to be mine. M’not good at sharing, though, so you’re gonna have to tell some of these people that you have a boyfriend that wants to love on you a bit when they demand your attention.” There was another pause as his ears turned a bit red. “If, if that’s what you’d want, though. I don’t want to rush you into a label or anything, m’fine with jus’ figuring shit out but I’ve thought of you as mine for a while and-“
Her hand pulled him to her, shutting him up with her lips.
The man, for all his dark demeanor and rough glances, melted under her touch. Hummed into the kiss in surprise, cupping her jaw and reciprocated immediately as her hands went to the back of his neck to hold on to him. That giddy feeling in his stomach was buzzing as she giggled against his mouth as he chased it when she pulled back to get a proper breath.
“C’mere.” He mumbled, nudging their noses. “Lips are cold. Don’t be cruel, little Butterfly.”
Y/N couldn’t have that, could she? “Sorry, boyfriend.” She smiled against his lips, pressing them right back where they belonged.
#jarofstyles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry writing#harry styles imagine#harry drabble#harry styles blurb#harry styles writing#opposites attract#harry styles au#harry styles fluff
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Just wanted to ask about the autistic!reader promt. How would the dynamic be if it was a poly!141 relationship including them. It doesn't have to be gender specific or anything but just wanted to know your view on it.
this is over a week late but i am HERE
Price is definitely the one who keeps you at bay and provides you a safe space when you need it. For example, he knows how rowdy Soap and Gaz can be when they're paired together, so when you show up at his office with a distant look and trembling hands that are just itching to fiddle with something, he lets you sit in his lap while he writes up paperwork, embracing you in comforting silence. If you weren't in a mood where you wanted to be touched, he lets you rest in one of his chairs, allowing you to fidget around with one of his pens, clicking and unclicking it until it calmed the itch. He only ever asks you what happened once you seemed less overwhelmed.
He loves showing his affection through little actions like kissing your forehead, holding you in his lap, or surprising you with things for you to fidget with, since he knows you love them.
All in all, he's the one you go to for peace and quiet because he knows how overbearing the world can be, having the weight of it on your shoulders, and he never wants you to stress yourself out to the point of shutting down.
Ghost is the one who seems to understand you the most. He's the one you can open up to when you feel like exploding, and he never expresses judgement when you need a moment to break down and let it all out. He can tell when it's about to happen, so he always sneaks you away from the other men to get you alone, allowing you the chance to crack because he knows you need it. He's patient, attentive, and always caters to your needs. He's busy? Doesn't matter, he'll drop everything he's doing to be there, no matter how much it may set him back. You may not be so open with talking about your inner thoughts with Price, but with Ghost, you almost always share them, and it always leaves you feeling more at ease than before.
He shows his affection through lingering touches and attention. While some of the attention is physical, such as kissing your hands and holding them in both of his, some of it also has to deal with noting any quirks or interests you have. He loves to surprise you with things such as a plushie from your favorite show, or remembering how you like your eggs cooked. He remembers everything about you and never fails to make it aware that he does.
Gaz is the one who's a bit more on the softer side when it comes to you. His love is tender and sweet, and when you're feeling in a clingy, affectionate mood, you love going to him because he'll provide without a second thought. Whether it's sitting and watching your favorite movies together, or sharing soft kisses with no pressure of it escalating to more (unless you're the one who wants it), he does it all for you. Cuddling you for an extra five minutes in the morning, showering you with loving words, sending you cute messages when he's supposed to be in meetings - not a day goes by where he doesn't do this for you.
He loves showing affection through pet names. Dove, sweetheart, bunny, anything that reminds him of you, he calls you that. He never calls you by your name, nor will he ever, because those names are reserved for you and he intends to keep it that way.
Soap is the one you can have fun with. While you can of course do this with the others, he's the one that lets you go all out. Definitely matches your energy the most. When you're feeling talkative, he doesn't sit in silence. He joins the conversation with keen interest, adding his own thoughts, gushing over your favorite things with you. He devotes all of his attention to you, and nothing else matters in the world. The fun doesn't stop there, though, and when you take on a new fixation, he supports you. A great example would be baking. He knows nothing about it, but if it means standing in the kitchen with you with flour covering your cheeks and hands, he'd do it a million times over.
He loves showing his affection through quality time. He always has to be around you. On days where you're understimulated, he'll smother you with all the love he can give, whether that be kissing you, snuggling up to you in bed or on the couch, or tracing the outlines of your features with gentle fingers. When you are too stimulated for his touch, he'll linger near you, always keeping you in sight, smiling brightly at you, and silently focus his attention on you until you're ready.
All of them play their roles differently, but they're all important. Being in a relationship with all four of them is bound to be overwhelming, more often than not, but they all cater to your every need in whatever ways you have to have it for that day, and they all love you in their own ways <3
#angie's requests#call of duty#cod#simon ghost riley#kyle gaz garrick#john price#john soap mactavish#cod imagine#cod drabble#poly141#autistic!reader#cod x reader#141 x reader#cod mw3#ghost cod#cod mwii#simon riley x reader#kyle garrick#gaz x reader#soap x reader#john price x reader
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