#you are not allowed to say anything about my taste
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steddie nsfw, d/s undertones, blowjob
Steve down on his knees is one of Eddie's favorite sights in the whole entire world.
And Steve is always so eager to please, to obey. All Eddie has to do is give him that one look and Steve just knows to drop down by Eddie's feet, big brown eyes staring up at him with something that tells Eddie I'd let you do anything to me.
Eddie doesn't use that to his advantage nearly enough. Not as much as he'd like to, anyway. If it was up to him, he'd keep Steve on his knees between his legs all day every day. He wouldn't care who was around to witness it.
And that's where Steve is the most comfortable, anyway. Relaxed and carefree. At peace. Not a single thought in that pretty head of his, just focused on Eddie's cock. Eddie likes seeing Steve like that, giving his gorgeous brain a little rest from all the daily worrying and overthinking.
A pleased little smile spreads across Eddie's lips as he looks down at Steve, being met with the gaze of those pretty eyes looking back up at him expectantly. But not impatient, never impatient like this. Good thing Eddie likes taking his time.
"Open up", he says, and the words barely have enough time to leave his mouth before Steve's lips are already parting open for him.
"Good boy", Eddie hums, watching the tip of Steve's tongue darting out to wet those plush pink lips.
He reaches his right hand towards Steve who instinctively opens his mouth up wider, allowing for easy access for Eddie's index and middle finger. His left hand comes to rest on Steve's cheek, thumb gently brushing along his cheekbone as Steve's lips wrap around Eddie's fingers as he sucks on them.
Eddie presses the pads of his fingers down on Steve's tongue, forcing Steve's mouth to fall back open.
"You want my cock, don't you, sweetheart?" Eddie asks pointedly.
Steve nods.
"Then you can take more than that, hm?"
Steve nods again.
Eddie slides his fingers in further, teasing at the back of Steve's throat where he can feel Steve's whole body tensing up as he tries to fight his gag reflex, before he manages to relax the muscles in his throat and jaw.
"There you go. Look at you", Eddie grins, proud, fucking his now drool-slick fingers into Steve's mouth, his thick rings bruising Steve's plump lips in the process.
Steve's hands slide up Eddie's thighs to tease over the crotch of Eddie's jeans as they search for his belt. There's a glint in Steve's eyes that says two can play at this game as he looks up at Eddie and feels how hard Eddie is underneath the denim. Eddie enjoys that glint. After all, he's always known how much of a tease Steve can be.
But Steve takes his time, too. He lets Eddie's fingers train his throat as his own fingers work on undoing Eddie's belt. Then the button of his jeans. Then the zipper. Then his hands fall down to his sides and he waits patiently.
Eddie pulls his fingers out of Steve's mouth and admires his reddened pouty lips for a moment before he pushes his jeans down all the way, until they fall onto the floor around his ankles. If Steve's mouth wasn't full of saliva already, he would've started drooling right about now at the sight of the outline of Eddie's bulging cock in his underwear.
Steve's body leans in closer just the tiniest bit and it makes Eddie smirk.
"Wanna taste?"
"Yeah", Steve breathes out and nods. His voice is already a little hoarse, just a taste of what it's going to sound like after Eddie's cock is done with him.
"Go on, baby."
Steve leans in and puts his mouth over the spot where the tip of Eddie's cock is still hiding under his underwear. He licks and drools and gets the soft cotton material wet, making Eddie groan at the feel of it.
"Fuck, Stevie", and Eddie's getting impatient now, tugging his underwear down to free his poor strained cock of its confinement.
Brat, Eddie thinks to himself when he sees Steve's triumphant smile.
He strokes his cock in slow, easy movements and guides the tip to Steve's perfect fucking mouth that opens up for him without command this time.
"God", Eddie grunts as he slides into the velvety heat of that mouth. His left hand comes up, fingers carding through Steve's soft hair.
Steve's eyes flutter shut as he works his tongue around the tip of Eddie's cock, and he hums as Eddie's hips slowly work on feeding Steve a couple more inches.
Eddie keeps the pace slow for a bit, slides out and then goes back in a little bit further than the last. He makes sure that Steve is comfortable, even though it takes all the willpower he has not to slide home and down that relaxed throat.
"You can fuck my mouth, Eddie", Steve rasps and blinks up at Eddie after letting Eddie's cock fall out of his mouth completely.
"Jesus", Eddie moans, squeezes the base of his cock and tries not to come right then and there. "You sure, baby?"
"Please", Steve all but whines, and who is Eddie to deny Steve anything in the world?
He guides his cock back into Steve's mouth, and he knows that Steve means business when he holds onto the sides of Eddie's thighs to brace himself.
Eddie starts nice and easy again, but moves his hips with more and more intention as he slowly picks up the pace and thrusts into Steve's mouth.
Steve's eyes are watering but he doesn't break eye contact with Eddie even once.
"You're so fucking beautiful, Steve. Taking my cock so well, making me feel so fucking good", Eddie croons.
Steve's face is a flushed, wet mess. It really is the most beautiful fucking sight Eddie has ever seen, and he's just about ready to fucking bust.
He picks up the pace, holds onto Steve's hair a little tighter, keeps him so close that with each thrust the tip of Steve's cute little nose nudges into Eddie's dark pubes and Eddie's about to lose it.
"I'm so fucking close, baby, you're doing so good for me", Eddie moans. His voice is low and breathy, and his thrusts are losing their rhythm, hips stuttering slightly.
What tips him over the edge is the way Steve fucking swallows around his cock, even though his mouth and throat are stuffed full to the brim.
Eddie brings his free hand to the back of Steve's head while the other tugs at Steve's hair, keeps Steve's head nuzzled into his crotch as he comes down Steve's throat. In the haze of his orgasm, he hears Steve splutter slightly, then feels him swallow around him, making him shiver.
"Fuck, Stevie, you're unreal", Eddie groans as he eases himself out of Steve's mouth.
Steve's eyes are shiny and a little red, cheeks wet, lips swollen, and the corners of his mouth slick with saliva and whatever he didn't manage to swallow. And he's looking up at Eddie with a bright, pleased smile.
"Love you", Steve says in a hoarse voice that's barely above a whisper, and it goes straight to Eddie's heart.
Eddie lets out a breathy laugh as he falls down onto his knees, jeans and underwear still pooling around his ankles. He tackles a laughing Steve onto the floor on his back, and hovers over him with the biggest shit-eating grin on his lips.
"Fucking love you more than anything, sweetheart", he beams and kisses all over Steve's face before capturing that heavenly mouth in a deep kiss.
#steddie#steve x eddie#steddie fic#eddie munson#steve harrington#oops i wrote steddie smut please be nice to me!!!#my writing
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#IM STILL PROCESSING OKAY#you are not allowed to say anything about my taste#he’s voiced by Alex Brightman#and he can sing and he’s funny#hazbin adam#hazbin hotel adam#hazbin hotel#if Adam has one fan I’m them#I wasn’t ready to say goodbye l#my trash fav#i can fix him
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I have a big google doc thing where I keep track of media and stuff (putting everything in loosely ranked categories), which is mostly just for my own reference so I know what tv shows I've already seen before, etc. and I never really look back through it, typically just a quick "okay, watched two movie in the past 8 months, need to quickly slap them somewhere in the lists. okay. done. save document. exit". But today I was actually reading through some of the old notes and there are like... MULTIPLE places where my comment is basically "It would have been good if it were about elves" or "I wish there was a fantasy show made in this same style" or "It's well made, but I just keep thinking about how I would like it more if everyone was an elf or was in old 1700s costumes" or etc like...... lol.... Most biased media ranking system on earth blatantly made by someone with an extremely hyperspecific range of narrow interests. It'd be like if a food reviewer only had 5 foods they actually liked, so they'd just go to a pizza place and be like "eh, the pizza was okay, but I just think it would be better if it was cereal instead. :/ ...2 out of 10"
#Which.. I mean... I am allowed to be biased because literally it's just for my own personal reference (or occasionall#y to send to friends or something if we're discussing the topic) so like.. nowhere am I saying 'I am the god of perfect taste and these#rankings are objectively the absolute truth and everyone should have my same opinion' or anything#BUT still.. it's funny to me sometimes#'Succession would be 100x better if it had the same cast/character quirks and shaky camera style and#acting choices/weird dialogue and general concept etc. EXCEPT it takes place within an elven noble family or something#managing the family business and everyone is in fantasy costumes now'' like.....okay...... but it's NOT that way..soo... thats not the show#''I like the acting style/general tone of Fleabag but i don't care for any of the characters or any of the subject matter and I wish it was#set in the 1800s and had vampires and was about magic instead'' okay..... again... you are making up an entirely new show in that case lol#OR my other beloved typical complaint ''The concept is good but theres too much plot and action and not enough people just sitting#around doing nothing and exposition dumping world and character lore'' ''this needs more goofy sideplots and filler episodes''#''this Drama was too dramatic I think it should be more lighthearted & people need to sit around doing nothing just being weird more often'#''the Action Movie was ok except for the action scenes - which I skipped through all of- but I liked the costumes and worldbuilding'' etc.#ERM sorry your plot has too much plot. also elves have to be included somehow. bye#BUT SERIOUSLY!!!!!! I literally genuinely believe that any show I like (or even dislike) could ALWAYS be improved greatly by#putting people in fantasy or historical costume/setting/etc... why the FUNK would I want to see bland jeans and cars and cell phones#when I could see elaborate velvet cloaks and fantastical landscapes and interior design and innovative takes on historical or#magical technology or etc. etc. etc. I LIVE in the modern day. I see it all the time!!! BORING! stinky!! boo!!!#ANYWAY... another social divide for me.. People love to bond by discussing media. which is hard when I'm like#'I literally will not watch something at all unless it fits into one of these 10 extremely specific categories which are all i care about i#the entire world''.. I say this and yet I still dislike most fantasy or historical things I've watched lol. ok TWO main criteria then!!#it must 1. be in a different world or time period. 2. be goofy silly. Nothing ever has BOTH. It's always overly serious boring drama action#fantasy/history stuff OR it's comedic lighthearted but with modern day characters... WHY.. anguish and woe and so on..#ANYWAY jhjnk... at least I can make that divide. Some people seem to project their own personal preferences and get really emotionally#defensive if you say you didn't like something - as if the fact that they DO like it is some Objective Truth or something rather than just#opinion/preference based. I can still easily say ''this is well made/well written/acted/good in a technical sense/has a lot of#points of appeal that most people would be drawn to/etc'' and admit that it's a GOOD show probably. I just PERSONALLY think its#bad because my tastes are very narrow. Some things ARE actually made badly but. things are not bad INHERENTLY just bc they dont suit ME lol#Better to recognize/accept whats odd about you and be peacefully aware of it than just being mad at everyone all the time for not fully#agreeing with you even when you're the one with the Weird opinion in that case lol.. I am right though :3 but.. lol... still. i get it
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"Do you listen to girl in red?" is OUT, "do you listen to Rio Romeo?" is IN
#this is a joke made about my own experiences and tastes. those may not align with your experiences and tastes and that is okay. there is no#need to dwell on it. you are allowed to move on without saying anything. this also is not trying to be a 'gay culture is' joke or anything#let's all be reasonable :)#lesbian#musicposting#cat rambles#rio romeo#everyone please forget that i've been misspelling their name as romero this whole time please and thank you
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im currently writing an atsugawa (I hate the name shin soukoku or whatever I'm sorry but I'm actually not. also I cannot pronounce soukoku {this is the real reason I don't use soukoku}) and I don't even ship it lmaoo
#maris bsd 🗞️#like its not a bad ship for my personal tastes#I like them alot more in trios tho I've realized#absolutely adore anytime atsu aku and kyouka are together#two disaters and a teenage girl going through the inexplicable horrors#my favorite#I also desparately wish more people saw the atsulucygawa vision.....#anyways the fic is actually more like before an establish relationship but you can read it as romantic if you want#you'd have to work extra hard though because their bickering isn't like#romantic bickering they're actually kinda getting on each others nerves#but then they have a cute moment talking about their respective agency co workers and realize they do have common ground and that's how muc#they love their lil found dysfunctional families#actually its mostly akutagawa talking Abt port mafia (IM SICK OF PPL SAYING HE DOESNT CARE ABT THEM IDC I wRITE CANON NOW TY) and atsu#realizing that akus never rlly been in a position where he could safely and openly show his affection for anyone#and the one time he did they left (dazai) (this is how the conversation starts)#(aku says smth Abt gin and atsus like “awhh you care alot :3” and akus like “no I don't” and then atsus like “ykw its okay to care Abt ppl”#and akus like “:(( but what if they leave again” and atsus like “but what if they stay?” and basically lists all the reasons why they'd sta#and then akus gets all soft and has a nice moment of caring about everyone he works with#(except maybe chuuya I cant rmb any times they've interacted and i cant think of anything fun or like core memory things they'd do together#and then aku is like “what Abt you and your family? how are they?” and then it's atsus turn to be all sappy about their family#and so then they end up having a way better day than expected AND they walked away from it with a new friend and an even better#understanding of each other and stuff#yeah#reminder I don't even ship atsugawa but wow I feel deeply abt them both.#maybe Id like them as like QPR??#I can see that alot better#but man atsulucygawa....#even they'd probably be QPR though imo#anyways pushing my “aku doesn't feel like he can allow himself to share his affection for people because he doesn't want them to leave”#agenda ty for coming to my Ted talk
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imagine recording a sex tape with boyfriend!rafe 😮💨🤭 he'd be so smug about it too
i love your mind. i also think just the act of recording would make him slightly feral.
˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚 ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖
honestly i think he’d be so mean about it. he’s already kind of a bully during sex and i think that you letting him record you both would drive it over the edge. he’d start off real nice, using one hand to record while teasing your clit with the other. making sure he’s capturing how pretty you look as you moan underneath him, he’d press harder. “gotta give the camera a show, huh? show me how much of a whore you are, letting me record you like this.” his voice dripping in lust and his eyes hungry as they bore into yours. all you can do is whine back at you as he slips two fingers inside of you to prove his point.
after you finish at least once on his hand, he switches it around so you can give him head. rafe has you sit there for a moment, dirty talking you as he slaps his tip against your lips. “such a fucking slut, kid. want everyone to see how well you swallow my dick?” as you put him into your mouth, he puts the phone down at an angle where you can still see anything and gathers your hair into one hand and starts thrusting into your mouth. “takin’ it so fuckin well. choking on this dick for daddy.” he grunts, giving a few harder thrusts before pulling out to let you breathe. he wipes the spit that’s fallen on your chin across your face, before slapping you twice. they aren’t necessarily hard hits but they’re just enough to put you in a daze as he shoves his cock back into your mouth.
he fucks into your throat at an animalistic pace, holding your head still with his hand as he grabs his phone again. you moan around him, brain hazy and dumb. “wanna say hi to the camera baby?” he says as he slows down, putting the camera closer to your face to capture the mess he’s made of you. lines of mascara have travelled down your cheeks with his cock still stuffed in your mouth and he swears you’ve never looked better. “c’mon kid, on the bed.” he demands, pulling out of your mouth and tapping your cheek gently. “needa fuck your pretty pussy.” he lines himself up with you, using one hand to lift your leg onto his shoulder and record as he teases his head along your slit.
“ ‘s fuckin wet. you like this shit huh? like it when i record you being a dumb slut?” he teases as he glides through your slit with ease. without warning, he pushes into you and starts pounding into you. you let out a loud moan, grabbing onto him. you can see him smirk slightly, grabbing onto your hip to give himself more leverage to reach deeper inside of you. as he hits deeper, your eyes get hazy and you squeeze them shut. practically panting as he drills in and out, you begin to clench around him. “f-fuck rafe, ‘m gonna cum! you’re so deep god.” you whine, too fucked out to care. “cum for me dollface. show me how good it feels.” he groans, his own release steadily approaching. you spasm around him, letting out pornagraphic moans your release gushing out of you as you clench down even tighter around him.
he finishes after you, painting your insides white as his hips stutter and slow to a stop. he slowly pulls out of you while pointing the camera towards your cunt to see his cum spill out of you. “fuck baby, look at you messy you are. letting me drip out like that.” he teases, using a finger to collect some and push it back inside of you. as your leg twitches from the stimulation, he pulls back out and puts it in your mouth allowing you to taste the mixture of both of your release. “that’s my girl, always so good f’me.” he praises, cutting the camera off and leaning down to kiss you. “such a good camwhore for daddy.”
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#mayspeaks! ˚✧₊⁎#obx x reader#obx#obx smut#rafe cameron#rafe cameron headcanons#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron smut
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Hello dear!! I have a request for the Radio Demon
Do you mind writing sub!Alastor? Imagine your in lobby of the hotel with your beloved Alastor (on his lap) and you decide to do some frisky cockwarming with him.. well in the beginning he has control but then maybe Charlie or Lucifer u walks in.. you decide to tease him until he can't take it anymore and ends up having to cover his moans as he gums in you..
Welp! That's my request🎀 you can delete this ofc but do as you will ~
from windigo anon🦌
i’m drooling, frothing at the mouth, going insane, i love this idea!!! eeeee thank you so much i hope this was good enough i struggled a bit with cockwarming so i hope i did well
Warnings: 18+ SMUT, cockwarming, SUB!Alastor/DOM!Reader, creampie, possible breeding kink, exhibitionism, Lucifer knows what you’re doing, he’s the devil, and you use him to tease Al, jealous lucifer, lucifer is a cuck lowkey, reader wears a dress but no gendered terms or anything, maybe threesome elements?, OOC ALASTOR, NOT proof read, LMK what i missed! xo
word count: 1.9K
You and Alastor have been a thing for a very long time, and throughout the years he’d become rather comfortable with sexual intimacy. Alastor always held the reigns no matter where in life he was, that is excluding the bedroom. Alastor had made a foolish deal with you long ago, he wanted your soul and you were a fairly powerful demon at the time so there was a sit down conversation about such endeavours. You agreed to sell your soul and tie yourself to him, complete all tasks he needed done, so long as he was your bitch. Well, that wording wasn’t used back then, nor was there any sexual innuendos in the mix.
Before it simply meant he couldn’t try to place fear into you, he always had to speak truthfully when it came to you, and if plan involved you, essentially to the outside world he was allowed to look like the boss but behind closed doors he wasn’t allowed to pull that stunt. You two ended up getting along quite nicely as the years went by, your magic side of the deal made it so if he broke his promises, the deal would be off and more then likely fatal to the both of you, so it wasn’t too surprising things went well.
What was surprising was the relationship you developed, Alastor was unable to lie to you about most things due to your deal and most of the time you approached him as a peer lacking judgement. Even when you disagreed with his plans you still still gave your genuine advice and thoughts which made him trust you. Slowly through this weird bond of trust and leaning on each other, Alastor developed romantic feelings and thank god you felt them back.
Alastor was slow to warm up to affections, which meant you normally took over, letting him keep his poise and smile you’d always make the first move, asking for consent to push further whether it was a simple hug, kiss, or a little more frisky. Eventually though, things got to the point they’re at now, where Alastor craves you like his lungs crave air. He is ravenous for your touch, your kiss, your head surrounding his cock. It’s a tough couple months during mating season because he begs and begs for you like a starved man.
Because of his eagerness for you, and to please you, he’s very kindly broadened his horizons leading to absolutely tasteful trying of kinks. Recently the two of you have been planted at the hotel, Alastor called upon you the day he got there, and privately when alone explained his plans with the Devils child, your man had always been an ambitious one, but you couldn’t say no to him. So of course you stood alongside his plans, and now you’re not only dealing with the Devils child, but the devil himself.
Lucifer moved himself in after the big ol’ brawl, and thankfully things have gone somewhat smoothly between Alastor and Lucifer, as in they haven’t killed each other yet, but Lucifer made it his absolute mission to try and “steal you away,” like he did with Adam. Obviously you were committed to Alastor, but your mind would wander to sinful places about all the ways you could show Lucifer how much you loved you deer man. Oh and you just knew how.
Alastor sat in the lobby, looking through a newspaper as he sipped his coffee, music humming softly in the background. The whole lobby was vacant, even Husk was gone for the moment, you made sure of it. Walking into the lobby from the kitchen, your dress flowing around your legs, you walked up to Alastor with a warm smile on your face. “What’re you up to my dear?” You ask softly, making him hum eyes shifting from his newspaper to you, dragging up your form. “Just a little bit of reading, nothing much my doe,” Alastor seemed sleepy almost in the state he was in, his voice was soft and lacking his usual enthusiasm, however it wasn’t a state you were unfamiliar with knowing him for so long.
Slowly you lowered yourself sideways onto his lap, he complied with your actions wordlessly by whisking his newspaper away with his magic, allowing you to scootch yourself right up on him. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you played with the short hairs at the base, causing him to visibly shiver. Alastor smiled down at you softly, watching you tenderly. “I feel,” You whispered with a pause, mimicking somebody taking a thoughtful breath. “Needy.” You breathe out with a cheesy smile plastered on your face. Alastor jolts a bit still entirely not used to forward language such as that, but he didn’t say anything simply blinked at you.
“I think i’m gonna lift this dress up, and your gonna unbuckle these pants, and i’m gonna seat myself nice n comfy on ya,” You purred hands messaging all around his chest as you spoke, trailing down to the button of his slacks and back up to his shoulders. You felt him twitch against his pants, the blood obviously was already flowing to his groin. “Dear we’re in public.” Try as he may, Alastors words were wobbly and his smile looked more like a grimace.
“No baby, we’re in private, in our new home, at the hotel, where no one can see.” You cooed condescendingly, pulling your hands away to hike up your dress. Alastor dared to looked down as you bunched your dress at your hips. Alastor closed his eyes, head falling back at the sight of you bare, nothing but your dress skirt keeping you covered. Turning yourself around, you put your back to him, grinding yourself down on him teasingly.
“Y’know what to do, don’t make me say it dear.” Your voice was stern compared to the tone you held before, Alastor blew out air at your words, head still thrown back at rest on the back of the sofa. Finally he brought his hands from the resting position next to him, and freed himself from his slacks and boxers. You sighed happily as you slowly inched your way down on him, Alastors hands gripped your hips harshly, and his legs kicked out and spasmed every inch you took down.
Once buttoned out, you fixed your gown to flow around you, and backed yourself up against his chest, head rested on his shoulder. Brining his head up to gaze down at you, Alastor gave you a questioning look, sweat already gathering on his forehead. “Dear please-” Alastors words got caught off by a boisterous call, and the front door swinging open. Fixing his posture, Alastor snapped into position, positioning his legs up right feet on the floor, straightening his back, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you up with him.
“Hellloooo everybody! Just had an amazing meeting, everything went in my favour, as always.” Lucifer waltzed in swinging his cane. He briefly paused scanning the room to see only you two sitting stiffly. You were more relaxed, eyes littled with an easygoing smile, Alastor however was tense; his smile was tight and unfriendly, with his eye twitching. “Well hello there you two, lovely to see you here.” Lucifer smiled happily plopping himself on the couch next to you, making you two shake.
The small bit of motion from Lucifer throwing himself down, made you clench, your arousal leaking down Alastors cock and onto his pants. Clearing his throat to suppress a moan, Alastor then gave a tiny ‘hello’ to the devil. Turning your body more toward the devil, you made sure to pick yourself up off Alastor a bit, and lower yourself back down, making him sink his nails into you.
Wrapping one arm around Alastors neck, you leaned sideways against him, facing Lucifer, your skirt successfully obstructing the entire view of your sin. “Do tell Luce.” You urge pretending to care, Lucifer caught on to the strange behaviour immediately however he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it yet, so he pushed on shrugging and explaining his meeting. You coyly moaned occasionally throughout his explanations playing it off as “oh”s and “ah”s to his story rather than Alastors twitching cock.
Leaning forward Alastor stuck his blushing face in your hair, breathing heavily into it. “Is he doing okay?” Lucifer asked suddenly, quirking a brow at Alastor. Around your waist Alastors arms tightened, and his legs once again spread and splayed out a bit allowing him more space. Alastor felt pitiful, but in a way he loved it, only you had this power and nobody else, he could live with that. Alastor was too blitzed out to realise he’d subtly humped up into you, needing some sort of release. Playing with Alastors hair, you shrugged your shoulders at the devil, your poise still in tacked.
“Yes, I do believe he’s a little sickly.” Lucifer noticed the twitch in Alastors hips now, his eyes growing in size every so slightly. “Yknow i just want to stay something Lucifer,” You begin to say, eyeing Al from your peripheral, seeing his eyes closed. “I really think we ought to stop with the battle, Alastor treats me very well, very good,” You purr fixing your posture, making Alastor groan into your hair.
“I think it’s time to stop with the whole ‘i could take your partner’ shtick.” You say sharply, with finality, Lucifers eyes at this point were flicking back and forth between the two of you, a prominent blush on his face. You grinned cheekily once again and shifted again trying to fix yourself to face forward again, as you did so you heard Lucifer take a breath to speak, but it got interrupted by a guttural groan from Alastor.
Without warning Alastors legs flexed his hips jerking involuntarily up against you, it caught you off guard and made you gasp and moan. It didn’t stop after one thrust, Alastor sunk his teeth into your shoulder jerking his hips up into you, panting and groaning without care. With one forceful thrust and growl, you whined feeling him force himself against you fully, cumming far up into you, stealing your breath. Lucifer watched bug eyed and taken aback, he never saw Alastor so pleasured, now he felt a ping of jealousy; before this moment he wanted to steal you away to show you how much better he can fuck you compared to Alastor, now he wanted you to fuck him and make him feel the way Alastor felt now.
Alastors form grew demonic, stretching and contorting, you still in his lap. You didn’t move an inch as he contorted, not afraid of Alastor what so ever. Alastors neck snapped inhumanely to Lucifer. “You are to never speak of this again.” Alastors voice didn’t sound like his own when he spoke, and whether or not Lucifer was truly scared didn’t matter as he fumbled, stuttered and then stumbled off covering his eyes and apologising. With the snap of his fingers, Alastor magicked the two of you in the safety of his radio tower, where no one dared to enter unwelcomed. “Dear, that was unacceptable. But amusing, you get away with this little fiasco only because it was Lucifer you did it in front of.”
Alastor growled at you demonic form on display, smile stretched, he had your cheeks tightly pinched in between his nails. Shrugging your shoulders, you tiptoed up to give his teeth a coy kiss. “Whatever maybe now he’ll leave us alone.”
#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel imagine#hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel oneshots#alastor hazbin x reader#hazbin hotel alastor x reader#alastor x reader#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel smut#alastor imagine#alastor smut#lucifer magne x reader#hazbin lucifer#lucifer hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer morningstar x you#lucifer morningstar x reader#lucifer morningstar#lucifer x reader#lucifer smut#lucifer hazbin x reader#xreader#x reader
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the end of the world- a joel miller x reader
summary: you had a strict relationship with joel that stuck to the rules. fuck, leave, repeat. it was only a matter of time until feelings were dragged into the mix. when joel leaves at the first sign of love, you're left wondering what you had done wrong. (rated explicit, 18+, mdni)
warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, implied fwb relationship, heavy handed on the angst, a whole lot of pining, a lot of flashbacks, and smut. (unprotected piv sex, fingering, clit rubbing, masturbation?, dirty talk, pet names, allusions to slapping/rougher sex, brief biting, a tiny bit of daddy kink.) ended with a bit of fluff
note: i think this is my favorite thing i have ever written. i guess i was in some sort of mood or sumfin. also i absolutely hate spell checking so sorry for any errors. enjoy!!
Joel used to be rough.
He used to imprint his name upon your skin through heavy handed grips and crescent shaped nail marks, left deep into the supple skin of your thighs. Like hieroglyphs on a wall of sandstone, he made sure the world would see what beauty he had left etched into your skin, like a canvas that only he had the privilege of painting.
He used to take you by the throat and kiss you with biblical fervor. He would kiss you so hard the taste of his spit lingered on your tongue for the days following, reminding you who you belonged to, if only for a few hours.
He used to sink his incisors into your neck, suckling at your skin like a vampire in search of an artery. He would leave deep patches of purple beneath your ear, the mark of a man who knew just what you wanted, the mark of a man who was more primal, more animalistic, than he was human.
Then, something changed.
Soft was he, on one fateful night, where his rough palms dragged across the side of your body, gentle waves of pleasure heaving, heaving, heaving, washing over you until you were a shell drowning in an ocean tide, consumed only by thoughts of him.
Joel, Joel, Joel.
A mantra, a promise, a prayer.
Soft was he, his lips molding to yours like cement stuck in the cracks of sidewalks, unwavering and unbreaking, filling you up to the hilt.
Soft was he, as he slipped his cock deep into your pussy, deep and gentle, hitting against every inch, every spot, that made your legs quiver just for him.
Soft was he, as he cradled your face in his rough hands, eyes boring in to your own, the curved bridge of his nose pressing into your rounded cheek, coaxing you, asking you, begging you, to cum for him.
Only ever him.
His hand's had done irreversible damage, taken many lives, and he pushed back the guilt for those crimes long ago, but Joel figured that perhaps holding your face in his hands was worth all the blood, the sweat, the grime and decay. Perhaps touching the skin of an angel was enough to bathe him clean from his past sins, enough to purify the monster which lurked within.
And then one day, he swore you off.
"Can't be around you anymore." He snarled, hand dragging down his face, heavy and hot with the burning poker of shame.
"Says who?" Your voice was cracking, the angry prick of tears stabbing at your eyes, like daggers dripping with bitter venom.
"Me. This ain't.... right. We should never have done this."
"Why isn't it right?" You were begging, trying your hardest to coax put a semblance of an answer from him.
"You're too young for this. For-for me. I ain't good for you."
"Where is this coming from? Just two nights ago you were making love-"
"That's the problem." Joel hissed. "Makin' love." He scoffed spitefully, shaking his head firmly. "It's the end of the fuckin' world and I'm worried about makin' a woman cum, makin' your eyes roll. I should be out fightin', I should be out makin' rounds and doin' my work. Ain't thought of anything like that since I've been with you. I have duties. Responsibilities. I'm too old to be sleeping around like some teenager."
You hated yourself for allowing a tear to slip, hated yourself for showing weakness in his presence. "What about your duty to me?" You cried out, hands tangling into tight fists. You felt your veins pumping with venomous resentment, wondering how you could have been so stupid to allow him respite behind the walls of your soul, sanctuary from the world around the two of you.
"I don't have no duty to you. You're not my wife, not my girl. You're just somebody I was fuckin'."
That was two months ago. Two long, grueling months.
This winter in Jackson was particularly brutal. Perhaps nature had been in tune with your heart, rocking and shaking and screaming in unison with your thoughts, angry and vengeful. Like Poseidon wreaking havoc on the ocean, like Zeus bringing hailstorms of lightning, like Zephyrus playing his hand in an assailing wind; you felt your rage through the soil, the packed snow, the shaking pine needles.
Everyday you would trek to your shop, sit behind the counter, and patiently wait for someone to stop by, wait for someone to ask how your day was (which you would inevitably lie about, tell them how good you were), and wait for someone to barter or trade with you.
A dozen chicken eggs for a woven blanket, a few sprigs of rosemary for some pencils, a handful of sheep's wool for some freshly pressed paper.
It was the same every day.
Rise, work, sit, cry, sleep, repeat.
For the past two months you had lurked around the corners of Jackson with a heavy gray cloud hanging over your head, and each day for the past two months you despised yourself for being so caught up with Joel fucking Miller, for being so upset he left you.
You lived in the smallest house in Jackson. There was no reason for you to take up a big one, no reason for you to have two stories, no reason for you to have a big open kitchen or spacious living room. What was the point? No husband, no children, no nothing.
You had tried to make it yours, and you had tried to make it happier since that horrible, awful, nasty thing happened between you and Joel.
You had bought a thick and oversized crocheted blanket the color of sand with a harvest worth of kale, thrown it over a soft and lived-in suede couch to curl up under. You had bartered a basketful of gourds for two knitted pillows, a brown dachshund stitched into one, and a ginger cat stitched into the other. You had picked up a backpack full of books on a run into the nearest town, settling on classics that you used to read as a young girl, in hopes you could feel that golden peace so often felt during childhood, when the only pressing matters on your mind were untied shoelaces and what mom was cooking for dinner.
A life long ago. A life you could barely remember. You were a small child when the world went to shit, barely starting school, with gaps between your teeth and messy, unruly hair. Still growing out of your sneakers, still biting your nails, still picking up worms from the rich soil with amazement and wonder bubbling in your eyes.
When everything happened, when the buildings were bombed and fields burnt, you were forced to grow up. Forced to toughen up, to be someone you never planned on being at such a young age. You ditched the sparkly backpacks and trips to the library for switch blades and look out towers, for uneasy silence and stale dinners.
Then you met Joel, many years after it first began, and everything seemed a little bit better. It started fast and rough, as though you both thought the world would implode the following morning. And then, when the realization that this was life, that nobody was going anywhere, things grew gentler, softer, more meaningful.
Joel's kisses grew deeper, his touches dragged out for longer, his mouth imprinted upon your soft and lithe skin like droplets of dew on blades of morning grass, gentle and ethereal. His words became breathless, sweet, full of desire and thick with honeyed praise.
"Look at you, such a pretty little thing. Shakin' like this, all for me. Who's makin' you feel like this, sweet girl?" Joel's middle finger was buried to the knuckle in your tight pussy, thumb gently tapping at your clit. A string of saliva strung from your nipple to his lips, where his plush mouth had been covering your hardening bud in gentle bites, sucking like a man on a mission.
"You." Your voice came out as a mewl, quiet and shaking. "You, daddy."
Joel grunted a primordial, brutish grunt that rumbled through the sturdiness of his chest, adding a second finger as his head ducked down to your neck, where his kissing resumed upon the blades of your collarbone. "Good fuckin' girl. Good girl. So fuckin' good, a god damn dream. You know that?"
The wall in front of you was covered in framed images you had found on your travels around Jackson. Some original art you scored in the back of a desolate thrift store, some vintage movie posters you found huddled in the dusty corners of a theatre, some polaroid photos you had taken with old friends.
You blinked the memories of him away.
With each day, you tried to convince yourself it was for the best. With each day, you tried to make yourself understand where he was coming from, why he did the things he did.
"You're just somebody I was fuckin'." You remembered his words like sandpaper grinding against the track of your throat, burning their fiery syllables into your tongue. How true his statement actually was, you weren't so sure.
Joel's forehead was pressed to yours, eyes fluttering open and shut with each deep thrust, hands entwined into your own. Your palms were pressed rigid and unyielding into his, Joel's thick fingers wrapping and molding into your smaller ones, chest rubbing against yours with each masterful movement of his hips.
His hot breath, soaked with the sweet smell of whiskey, fanned across your face, coating you with the ache he felt for you, the love he knew he had growing deep inside for you. Each breath he took was a promise. He was never going to leave you. How could he?
"Joel." You chanted, head thrown back in ecstasy, eyes full of stars.
"What do you want from me, darlin'? Say the word and its yours." Joel's voice was breathless and throaty, coating you in the sweet nectar of his affection, seeping deep into your pores until it filled your soul with yearning,
His cock, thick and veined, was slowly pumping as deep is it possibly could within your walls. You fluttered and ached and wept against him, bodies meshing into one, tight and close yet flowing and gentle, like the Bernini sculptures you saw in an art encyclopedia, a long time ago in Boston. Joel filled you to the brim with his length. You felt full of him, wrapped and wanting and wanton. For his eyes only. Only ever him, always.
"Right there." You begged, nails dragging down the length of his wide, sturdy, strong back, marking him with the love caked beneath your fingernails. That unspoken love that weighed heavy on your shoulders, like a wool blanket in the dead of winter.
When Joel's eyes met yours, hitting against the spot you begged him to touch, he had that gaze glossed over his irises, that heavy, awfully gentle look threaded within the chocolate umber of his orbs, the stare that only a man in love ever carried with him.
The memory stuck to your mind like glue on a school project, drying there with no hopes of ever coming loose.
That night, with Joel so heavy on your mind, you treaded heavily to your record player, sifting through the record's you had collected over the years.
"That'll do." You mumbled with dejected finality, putting the vinyl on the player as you lowered the needle.
Why does the sun keep on shining?
Why does the sea rush to shore?
Don't they know it's the end of the world,
Cause you don't love me, anymore?
As you listened to the sweet voice of Julie London, you looked around your kitchen, the pile of dishes only stacking up, higher and higher. With your hands on your hips you walked over, forcing yourself to do something with your night. You couldn't sit and mope, you had already spent too long doing that anyways.
You let the hot water fall upon the backs of your dainty hands, watching with glass eyes as it fell and dribbled off your fingers, the soapy suds filling the porcelain bowls. You cupped them in your hands, breathing in the citrusy scent, closing your eyes.
Think. You begged yourself. About anything else but him. Think.
Why do the birds go on singing?
Why do the stars glow above?
Don't they know it's the end of the world,
it ended when I lost your love.
You pricked the tip of your finger with the sharp point of the butcher knife, gently twisting it soft enough to only make the hint of an imprint, thinking to yourself. You had lived your entire life fighting, fleeing, hiding, escaping, yet it only ever felt like the end of the world once you lost him.
"Damn you Julie London!" You shouted, voice mellow dramatic and emotive, face planting into your arm which rested on the wooden counter.
"What'd Julie London ever do to you?"
The voice, raw and rough, startled you, awakening you from your trance. Before you could catch it, a puppy like yelp escaped your mouth, sharp and nasty against the ears.
You knew who that voice belonged to. The voice that lulled you to sleep, the voice that whispered sweet nothings as you lay naked and bare on linen sheets, the voice that called you good girl and sweet angel and pretty princess whilst crammed deep into your cunt.
Joel.
Turning so hard you nearly snapped your own neck, you saw him standing in the doorway of your home, tall and brooding, filling the heavy air with the familiar scent of pine needles and bergamot. He held a basket in his arms. A basket he had bought from your shop, many moons ago.
“Ever heard of knocking?” Your voice was nastier than you meant it to be, but you couldn’t help the emotion rising within the confines of your chest, beating at your ribcage like a wild animal locked in a zoo.
“I did knock. You didn’t answer. Took the liberty to walk on in and check on you.” He shrugged, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, and slowly shut the door behind him.
“To check on me?” You scoffed bitterly, turning your back to him again as you resumed your cleaning. You heard the vinyl come to a stop, the air silent and palpable, moulding to your rage. You took in a deep breath, looking down at the sponge you were grasping ahold of a little too tight. “Two months go by, and suddenly today- of all days- you decide to take the liberty to come and…. check on me?”
Joel’s sigh, burdened with what felt like guilt, swirled through your ears. “Yes.” Was all he said, simple and plain.
Oh, you had a lot more to say than one meager word.
You were too nervous to meet his gaze, too worried your tears would come flooding, soaking through your skin and deteriorating until you were nothing more than a puddle of nothing on the wooden floorboards.
“I….” You struggled for a long moment, tongue twisted and stuck in your own throat. “I don’t know what to say to you anymore.”
You heard the sound of dense boots against the ground, felt the weight of the air behind you shift. He was close. His scent was coated around the inside of your nostrils, fogging your mind with past memories you swore you’d never ponder on again.
“I know what you want to say.” Joel’s voice was quiet, barely a whisper in the wind. “That you hate me. That you never want to see me again. That you hope I’m ripped limb from limb by clickers. Gunned down by raiders.”
Tears welled within your eyes. You didn’t speak for a long beat, sniffling as quietly as you could possibly muster. “After everything, you know I-…. even after you broke me. I-I don’t wish for that. Never even thought of that.” You admitted your terrible secret with a shaking voice, hand tightening so deeply around the sponge, your middle finger sunk straight through the material.
Joel’s fingers gently traced down the small of your back. An offer. You heard a gentle thump as he set the basket down, followed by his other hand pressing flat into your side.
“I’m scared.” His voice was full of emotion you had never once heard from him. “That’s why I left.”
“What?”
“I’ve lost everyone, ‘cept Ellie. Tess, Bill, Frank, Sarah.” His voice cracked, trailing off. “I couldn’t lose you, too. I can’t watch you…. can’t watch you fall victim to this world.”
You shook your head, dropping the sponge against the metal sink, tilting your head to look out the window which stood in front of you. The night sky was sparkling with millions of stars before you, snow flaking down from the heavens, coating the glass window pane with a copious layer of delicate snowflakes, each so different and unique. It was beautiful.
Joel’s left arm slowly wrapped around you. You wanted to fight him off, wanted to scream and banish him from your home, wanted to promise if you ever saw him again you’d kill him on the spot. But you couldn’t. Not when he was so vulnerable, so warm, so willing.
You shifted against him, leaning back until your bodies were close together. His hand rested taut against your belly, his other arm soon finding solace beneath your shirt, pulling you even closer.
“I’m sorry.” He finally broke the dizzying silence, chin nuzzling into the blade of your shoulder. “I didn’t know what else to do. I- I still don’t know what to do.”
You blinked away new forming tears, taking in a deep breath. “You could start by warming me up.” You were so meek, you were unsure if he heard your words.
Joel’s hands slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, pressing gently into the skin of your tummy, fingers massaging into the supple skin of your waist, your love handles, drawing circles into the line of skin right above the hem of your pants. Your back fell deeper into his chest as he touched you, felt you, as if he had never known your body before.
You could stand there and argue with him, cry and rage and scream at the universe, or you could let him apologize the best way he knew, let him make it all up to you.
“After this,” you managed to choke out, “am I still going to be somebody you just fuck?”
He wasted no time shaking his head. “You never were. You were, are, the light of my life. I don’t know what I was thinking.” His breath was hot against your neck, his lips pressing kisses, scattered like constellations, into your skin.
“You weren’t thinking.” You moaned a breathless laugh, head tilting to allow him access.
“No, I wasn’t.” Joel’s fingers slipped into your pants, palm cupping your pussy, hot and wet with the promise of his touches. “Damn baby, this horny already?”
“Haven’t been touched in two months. Sure you understand.”
He chuckled a deep, endearing chuckle, nudging his nose into your cheek. “Think I should do somethin’ about this?”
You nodded quickly.
“Words, pretty baby. Use your words.”
“Yes. Please, do… do something about it.”
“That’s my good girl. I’ll give you what you want, I promise.”
You felt butterflies brewing within your belly as his middle finger traced the middle of your green cotton underwear, rubbing where you swollen clit gently poked against. He knew you like the back of his hand, like a map he had spent years memorizing. Giving you pleasure, knowing where and how to make you cum, had become second nature for Joel.
“Don’t be ‘fraid to lean against me. Let daddy take care of you.”You groaned softly at his words, falling back into his body. His strong arms wrapped around you, keeping you up, bicep thick and muscled against you. “Push those down for me.”
You wiggled out of your pants and underwear, bottom half open and exposed for him. His fingers dragged across your mound, brushing against the outside of your pussy that cried out for his touch.
Joel slipped his index finger between your outer lips, finding your clit, slowly drawing circles around your aching bud. You sighed out, once again meshing in to his chest as he touched you, feeling the silkiness of your pink, throbbing cunt.
“I missed this pussy. So wet for me, so needy. You like it when I touch you? Like it when I make you feel good?” His words were hot in your ear, melting into your senses like dripping candle wax.
“Oh, I love it. I love it so much. I love you so much.” You were too caught up in pleasure to understand the weight of what you just said, head rolling against his shoulder as he teased your pussy.
Joel let out a quiet moan at what you just admitted, his hold on you tightening. He was never going to let you go. He sunk his middle finger into your tight opening, slowly hooking it against you G-spot, thrusting it up and down the way he knew made you cry for him.
Your knees were shaking, yet you had no fear of falling. As foolish as it may have been, you had complete trust in Joel Miller. You knew he wouldn’t let you drop. Your walls fluttered around his finger, clit begging to be touched once more. You lowered your hand, gently flicking at your swelling button, moaning out as he added his ring finger to your cunt.
“That’s it baby. Rub that pretty pussy. Cum on my fingers.” Joel whispered m, gently biting down on your ear lobe.
You felt your thighs quivering, belly tightening as your orgasm drew closer. Joel watched you with hawk like vision, relishing in the way your fingers traced and danced across your clit. Before you had the chance to announce your climax, you found yourself cumming on his digits, coating them in you sweet, slick arousal, screaming his name as thought it was the only word you ever had the chance to memorize.
When you came down from your high, Joel slowly removed his fingers, bringing them to your soft lips. “Suck.” He commanded gently. You did, wrapping your mouth around them as you gingerly took them in, all the way to the hilt, sucking them clean and dry, free from any of your cum. “That’s my good girl, my pretty darlin’.”
You shivered against him, your head falling back. Joel gently tapped the counter. “Jump up there.” He whispered.
You did as you were told, grabbing the collar of his flannel, pulling him closer.
“Kiss me, Joel Miller.”
And kiss you he did.
His lips found yours with the passion of ten thousand soldiers, sickly sweet and supple against your mouth. Joel was consuming you with this kiss, torridly leaving his mark into the soft ridges of your pouted lips, blanketing you with the desire he had for you that he so often tried to push down. Your fingers found his graying hair, legs wrapping around his waist until the bulge breaking at his jeans was pressed right into your bare pussy.
You grinded against him, clit still sensitive and aching from the power of your last orgasm. Still, you dropped your hands to his zipper, tugging them down swiftly.
“Want you to fuck me.” You whispered against his mouth, tongue sliding across his. “Want you to cum inside me. Make me yours.”
“You’ve always been mine.” Joel muttered, hand slipping down to remove his boxers. “I was just bein’ an idiot.”
“Then make it up to me.”
The tip of his cock found the slick lips of your pussy, and he slowly pushed himself in through on graceful movement, filling you to the top until your clit was pressed against his stomach. Joel felt your pussy clench against him, and he groaned, letting his head fall to your shoulder. He sat there for a moment, relishing in the warmth being inside of you provided, arms wrapped around you like a belt, pressing you hard into his chest.
You gently placed your hands on the back of his head, pulling away to look at him. Tracing over his features, you took every inch of him in. That Aquiline nose you had grown to love so much, the patchy beard littered with charming speckles of silver, that stray curl in the middle of his forehead that never stayed put. Joel Miller was beautiful. He was an enigma of a man. Stoic, masculine, tender, intuitive, full of emotions and worlds unknown to everyone. Everyone but you. He was a crazy, deep, beautiful paradox of a human, and he was all for you.
Joel slowly pushed out from you, before pumping himself back in. He did this a few more times, his eyes never straying from your own. His fingers slipped to your clit, gently rubbing the pad of his thumb against it.
“Think you can cum on my cock?”
You nodded.
A smile lifted the right corner of his mouth. “Tha’s what I like to hear.” He leaned down, kissing you again as he began fucking you, deep and slow, each move methodical and well planned, as if he knew just what he wanted to do to your body.
Your hands fell to his broad shoulders. His broad shoulders. That alone could have made you cum. The tanned slope of his beautiful, beautiful shoulders, collarbones thick and jutted out just right, followed by patchy chest hair, down to his soft belly that pressed into yours so perfectly. He was beautiful. You traced your fingers down the trail of his biceps, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, straight to his wrists, lacing with his long, skilled, well worked fingers, palm rough and calloused, tough as leather against the softness of your sweet, smooth hands.
You drunk his figure in like a lovesick fool. Oh, you were, weren't you? So full of love and affection for this brute of a man, well aware he struggled with his emotions. You watched the crows feet by his eyes crinkle as he clamped his eyes shut, watched the line of his neck pulse as he threw his neck back in pleasure.
He was a Baroque portrait of lust standing before you, dark and brooding, thrusting into your cunt as if it were the sweetest thing in the world for him. He growled into the air with each pump of his hips, nails digging into your skin as he held you close, never to let go.
"Joel." You whispered softly, burying your face in his chest as your second orgasm fast approached. You weren't sure why you said his name, not sure what you wanted exactly, but Joel knew. He always knew. He just cradled the back of your head with his right hand, his other gripping ahold of your waist, pounding faster, deeper, harder, hungrier. You were all he wanted, all he ever wanted, all he ever needed.
Joel bit down onto your shoulder softly as he twitched inside you, and you knew his orgasm was soon to come. He kept the same pace on your clit until you were putty in his hands, legs tightening as pleasure washed over you. You both came in harmony, moans mixing and melding into the air which surrounded you. His cock painted your walls with thick, hot ropes of white, and your tightening walls milked every last lick of it out as your came hard, head dizzy with thoughts of him.
He whispered your name softly as he slowed to a stop, pillowing you against his body. "God, I missed you."
You nodded in agreement, sticky skin pressed together like two puzzle pieces. "I missed you." You pulled away, holding on to him for support as you slowly stepped off the counter. You gently pressed your palm into his chest, feeling his cum dribbling down your thigh. You smiled softly at the feeling before glancing up at him. "More than you know."
Joel gently ran his palm down your back as you slipped your underwear on, quickly following suit.
"What's in the basket?" You asked, pointing to the item he left alone on the living room rug.
"Oh. It was s'posed to be a peace offerin'. Makin' up with you was easier than I thought." Joel joked, and you gently slapped his shoulder.
"Whatever." You giggled, walking over to the present.
Inside were some paintings Ellie had made you that Joel never had the courage to send before, some sprigs of dried herbs they were growing in their back yard, some handmade goats soap from a lady down the street, and a long, narrow velvet box. You picked it up slowly, turning to look at him.
"Now if you don't like that I might as well go out and die in the woods. Took me fuckin' weeks to find." Joel admitted, rubbing his neck nervously. "I remember you sayin' you wanted one of them."
You slowly opened it, met with a shimmering string of pearls. A necklace. A necklace you had spent your whole life yearning for. Your lips parted with surprise. "I-I've never seen one in person. Only in those old magazines they had back at QZ."
Joel walked towards you, nodding a bit. "Spent a whole weekend with Tommy, all the way in Cheyenne. Almost got me killed." He chuckled, hands falling to your hips.
"Oh, Joel. It's beautiful. It's.... I've never seen something like this before." You whispered earnestly, gently sweeping your hair up. "Put it on me?"
He smiled a soft, rare smile, gingerly clipping it around your neck. He took a step back, admiring you, soaking you in, memorizing the way it looked on you. "Yeah, that was worth the trouble."
You smiled happily, falling into his arms. He held you tightly to his chest, fingers sweeping through your locks of hair. "By the way..." Joel murmured into your head, pulling away slowly as his fingers found your chin. Your eyes met in a searing gaze, full of summertime warmth that fell over you like golden sunlight. He stared at you long and hard, and you saw something like tears gloss over his gaze.
And when he spoke, his voice was calm, steady, devout:
"I love you, too."
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𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎
Satoru Gojo
Summary: Satoru struggles with his two babies.
Warnings: Pure Fluff
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*I used the two babies from baby steps for this, but you don't have to read to enjoy the fluffy oneshot🥹
“C’mon, Seiji. Vegetables are so good. yummy.” Satoru is trying to bribe his almost-two-year-old into eating the rest of his food, alas, he doesn’t sound too convincing. He tasted the vegetables, they aren’t too good but you cooked them so he isn’t going to bash them. Seiji really doesn’t care about not hurting anybody’s feelings at this stage of his life, so even though his dearest mother made them, he refuses to eat them.
Satoru sighs defeatedly, putting the fork down. He guesses Seiji doesn’t have to eat vegetables every day to grow strong. He picks Seiji up from the high chair, putting him down on the ground to allow him to walk around and do whatever he likes to do. Lately Seiji loves to play with any piece of trash he finds, making Satoru realize that he’s wasted thousands of dollars on toys.
“Don’t be too loud! Don’t wake your sister up.” Satoru yells, knowing that Seiji really doesn’t care about that. The baby only has one thought in his mind and that’s to play with whatever he gets his hands on.
Satoru really thought that handling two babies under two would be a breeze, he’s the strongest, he can accomplish just about anything… But his two kids tire him out. Saori cries so much that he anticipates in horror the moment that she wakes up. Seiji never stops moving, it’s nearly impossible to get him to stand still for a moment. He loves his babies more than anything, but he’s rightfully tired.
Satoru is being the best husband that he can be by taking care of his babies while you study and finish up your degree. But two tiny humans are slowly ending his life. Satoru follows Seiji around, deciding to just let him wander around the house because Seiji hates to be put in his playpen lately.
“Dada.” Seiji points up when he gets to the stairs, looking back at his father. Satoru shakes his head, picking up Seiji and taking him back to the living room so he can find something there that he can engross himself with. Seiji makes sure to let out a dramatic cry because he hates being carried and contradicted. He doesn’t want to go to the living room, he wants to go upstairs.
“Crying isn’t going to do anything, baby. You’re staying down here.” Satoru says as he carries Seiji away. Seiji makes sure to yell,
“Down! Down!” Which actually works on Satoru today because he doesn’t want Seiji to wake up the sleeping baby. When his tiny feet hit the ground, Seiji begins to run around which isn’t really an issue for Satoru since he only has to take two steps to catch up to Seiji.
It’s boring, really, but he prefers walking after his toddler better than trying to entertain both babies while they’re awake. Seiji doesn’t care for his parents' attention until Saori is awake; when she’s awake he wants to become the center of attention.
Satoru really thinks he’s safe, until he hears her cries from upstairs, and the loudest sigh leaves his lips. He picks Seiji up, making him kick his feet and cry, demanding that he’s put down. Luckily for him, his father listens to his wishes and puts him down. Unluckily for him, he’s put down in the playpen that lately feels like a prison.
“No! Out!” Seiji demands, but Satoru doesn’t listen. He leaves Seiji there while he goes upstairs to pick up Saori from her crib.
When he gets there, he notices his baby girl is sitting up, waiting for him to finally pick her up. He coos, approaching the crib and picking her up, “Hi my sunshine. Did you sleep well?”
She doesn’t stop crying so easily though. He changes her diaper, and the crying gets worse. He tickles her tummy, laughing to himself, “Aren’t you a hungry girl? You ate one hour ago too.”
He guesses he can’t blame her, a bottle of milk wouldn’t be enough to hold him over either… But he guesses he’s four times her size and two decades older than her. He exits the room, getting more irritated by the second with the crying baby that’s in his arms.
He begins to walk down the stairs, and that’s when he sees a little rascal holding to the railing and trying to walk upstairs. His eyes widen, his first thought being: how the hell did Seiji escape his playpen? Seiji finally looks up, seeing his father at the top of the stairs. He lets go of the railing, his hands going over his tiny mouth, his signature move for when he gets caught.
Satoru watches it happen in slow motion. Seiji’s tiny feet on the edge of the stair, he tips over and falls back from the stairs until he’s back on the first floor again. At least Seiji was only on the third stair up so it wasn’t a long fall– However, he cries his heart out as if he was at the very top.
“Seiji, how the hell did you even get out of the playpen?” Satoru is reasonably angry because he has two crying kids to soothe on his own. He doesn’t want to bother you while you study so it’s his problem, and only his. He doesn’t know which problem to tend to first.
Satoru just knows one thing, and he hates thinking about it, but he wouldn’t be dealing with any of this if he had used a condom.
#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen gojo#jjk gojo#gojo imagine#gojo saturo#gojo x reader#gojo satoru#gojo satoru fluff#satoru gojo#jjk satoru#jujutsu satoru#dad gojo
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giving or receiving head: jjk
characters: gojo satoru, geto suguru, nanami kento, toji fushiguro
warnings: MINORS DNI!!! more specifics are listed under each character. female anatomy described for all.
masterlist
gojo satoru
(cw: deep throating, facials, praise kink)
prefers receiving. for one, it allows him to continue running his mouth, and for another thing, he just thinks you look the absolute prettiest when you’re choking on his dick.
“oh, poor thing, can barely fit half of me in that little mouth of yours. don’t worry, i’ll help you out.”
and he does help you out. by wiping away your tears and holding your hair out of the way, as well as praising you the entire time. shit, he wouldn’t love it so much if you weren’t so damn good at it, so of course he’s gonna let his angel know how good they are. sure, he might be a little bit mean at times, but you’re never going to be sucking his cock and not hear how perfect you are for him.
“fuck, angel, y’feel so fucking perfect,” he just about whines, his head thrown back and bottom lip pinched between his teeth. “gonna cum soon, sweetheart, you’re so good for me, gonna make me cum…”
and as satisfying as it is for him to watch you swallow his load, he loves being able to cum all over your pretty face. lets you finish him off with your hand as long as he gets to see his cum all over your face.
geto suguru
prefers giving, but it’s a very close call. he loves to watch you struggle to take all of him in your mouth, but even more so he is obsessed with the faces and sounds you make when he’s using his tongue on you.
“don’t bite your lip, baby, want to hear every little sound i pull from you,” he husks from in between your legs, a thick hand on either thigh and chin dripping in your wetness.
just as good at using his fingers as he is with his mouth. and trust, he’ll use both any chance he can get to get you off. switches from fingering you + sucking your clit to pinching your clit + slurping up your juices. whatever he can do to make your mind and body absolutely electrified.
“look how messy you are for me, sweet thing,” he groans into your pussy, holding his soaked fingers up to your mouth for you to suck your own arousal off of them. “so good for me. yeah, baby, see how good you taste? could fucking live between your legs.”
and by messy, i mean he gets messy when he eats you out. he thrives off of making every time just the wettest, sloppiest head of your life. absolutely holds the back of your head to kiss you when he’s done, even though his tongue, nose, and chin are drenched.
nanami kento
(cw: pet name ‘princess’ used once.)
prefers giving and it is not close. nanami eats you out as much for his own pleasure as yours. takes his time making you fall apart on his tongue, treating you like you’re a gift given to him by god.
“gonna let me eat you out, angel? please? gonna make you feel so good you can’t say anything but my name, does that sound good?”
loves when you pull his hair, too. loves knowing that he’s making you feel so good that you can’t help but pull at his hair to try tethering yourself to earth.
will 100% be humping the bed—he’d jerk himself off if he wasn’t using his hands on you, but he’s much more intent on making you feel good than he is himself. sure, his dick is the hardest it’s ever been when he hears you moaning his name in the breathiest, most angelic tone, but he can’t even fathom touching himself until you’ve came at least twice.
“tell me how good i make you feel, sweetheart,” he moans against your pussy, tongue swirling your clit as you reach your peak. “that’s it, princess, there you go. let it all go for me, let me taste all of you.”
fushiguro toji
(cw: mean!toji a little bit, dacryphilia, ‘princess’ used)
prefers receiving, and he’s a little mean about it. of course he loves you, his sweet little thing, but he loves teasing you and maybe making you cry a little bit as he stuffs your mouth full of his cock.
“oh, look at you,” he teases as you struggle to fit him in your mouth, “such a pathetic little thing, can barely even fit all of me. we’re gonna have to work on that, won’t we, princess?”
and as mean as he is, he also really gets off on teaching you how to take him just the way he likes it. shows you exactly how to use your tongue and hands to make him feel the absolute most pleasure. he’s a little less mean as he’s teaching you, but only because you’re so eager to please him.
“that’s it, sweetheart, use your tongue right there, fuck,” he groans—you’re nothing if not a quick learner. “yeah, just like that angel. so desperate for me, aren’t ya? bet that little pussy is soaking right now, and all you’re doing is sucking dick. you like it that much?”
and he’s absolutely right, which is all the more humiliating. you go down further to suck his balls softly before he pulls you back by your hair so that he can cum down your throat. and of course you’re going to swallow it all, just like he taught you.
sorry i’m a slut ✊😞 jk hope you all enjoyed these pls reblog if you did. lmk if you want more of this bc TRUST i love writing these a ton. my requests + commissions are open :) minors/blank blogs that interact will be blocked!
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#gojo satoru#gojo x reader#jjk gojo smut#geto suguru#geto x reader#jjk geto#geto smut#nanami kento#nanami kento smut#nanami kento x reader#toji fushiguro#jjk toji#toji x reader#toji smut#minors dni
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i love my brother but good lord this man pisses me off so fucking bad
#i silently decide i’m not gonna eat one of the sides w my meal bc it’s just. not good. it tastes bad.#and it’s not a big deal i’m not gonna say anything but my brother gets all fuckin pissy abt it#if u want it to be eaten so bad then u eat it!!! motherfucker!!!!!#if u think it tastes so fuckin good!!!!!!!#this is the WRONG week to be pissing me off bro i will destroy you for a single corn chip right now#sick and tired of him rolling his fucking eyes every time i say anything#and he ALWAYS thinks he’s in the right. he gets fucking pissy about EVERYTHING and as soon as i dish it back IM the bad guy#but he’s always allowed to be pissy!!! he’s always allowed to get angry at all of us!!!#as soon as i snap one time everyone gets all fucking shocked and disgusted and im being dramatic#so what? if i do it all the time it’s fine but when you’re not used to me getting angry it makes it some terrible crime???#i try so hard to be nice!! so fucking hard!!! to make my whole family happy!!!!! but my brother is never fucking happy!!!#i love him but holy fuck dude!!!!!#hitting my breaking point!!!!!!
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Gale x Tav Kissing Headcanons
A/N: The patch 6 announcement has me back on my bullshit. I know I write a lot for Astarion, but this stupid wizard has my heart too. Here’s to hoping we get to make out with him soon.
Gale’s kisses come in stages
Obviously for a long time he’s very concerned about the orb and getting too excited, as it were
Even after the orb is stabilized and you have your first night together, some part of him thinks he’s getting away with something
The kisses shared between you are fleeting, but tender
While he adores your lips, he’ll just as happily kiss your hand or the top of your head, really any place he can reach
He wants to stay, even if it’s just the barest kiss you can sense it pains him to pull away, but you have other things to do
If he pushes his luck, maybe you’ll be the one to pull away first; he knows he can be a bit…much
The longer your together, the less hesitant he is
All he really needs is for you to pull him back into a deeper kiss a few times in a row for him to get the message
Once he has your permission, it’s nearly impossible for him to keep his hands off you
He still feels like he’s getting away with something, that at any second you’re going to realize he’s not enough or maybe the orb comes back or honestly just the daily dangers you have on your journey are going to tear you away, but instead of bracing for rejection, it just makes him hungry
He starts kissing you like it’s the end of the fucking world, but, in his defense, it kind of is
Even soft kisses come with hands cupping your face as he sharply inhaled your scent
He also can’t help but steal a few more, as if making up for lost time
Kisses after a fight are positively indecent
We already know he gets horny, but knowing he can touch you after makes him practically vibrate
He has enough self control to wait until your properly healed and back at camp, but not enough to wait until after you bath before he’s pulling your some place private and kissing the air right out of your lungs
That’s not to say every kiss leads to something more, only that he’s less reserved in putting all his love and adoration into every touch
He worships you, let him worship you
The feeling can be addicting, but it’s also something you might need to work on with him
Everybody wants to be loved, but being truly in love you need to be a partner, not a goddess on a pedestal
Your mortal and so is he, you don’t need worship, you just need him
And when he finally gets that into his thick skull you find him kissing you in all new ways
Without the threat of the Elder Brain or the crown, Gale finally feels like he has time
He still can’t keep his hands off you, but there is a warm security in it
He’s not afraid your going to pull away
He can kiss you slowly, savor the taste as he smiles against your lips
He can tease you and know you’ll just laugh and pull him back again
His finds he loves kissing your shoulders and the back of your neck as he simply holds you from behind for no other reason than because he can
Even when he finds himself distracted by grading papers or some new discovery, he’ll reach out for your hand, bringing it to his lips to make sure you know he knows your there
He starts to plan his mornings allowing for at least an extra fifteen minutes to get out of bed because how can he be expected to get anything done before he’s properly kissed you awake
Maybe things will teeter off later down the line, his colleagues have teased him more than once about the honeymoon phase
But even years down the line, he can’t see himself slowing down
Honestly the fact that it’s expected for people to be less in love with their spouse after their married is something he can’t find himself ever understanding (skill issue)
He doesn’t kiss you like it’s the end of the world, he kisses you like the world is going to keep on spinning, that time is going to keep moving forward and the best way he knows how to spend it is with you
#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#gale#bg3 gale#gale x tav#gale dekarios x tav#gale of waterdeep x tav#baldur’s gate 3#bg3#gale x reader#gale dekarios x reader#gale headcanons
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Simple Math / Part Seven
Simple Math masterlist
Ghost/Soap/female reader
4.8k words - AO3
Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Brief suggestive content, sex dream. Mentions of domestic violence, stalking. Hospital setting, nurse!reader. Feelings of fear, anxiety. Mentions of stress and weight loss. Soft dads. Little bit of flirting. Simon is... Simon.
You get caught in a spell.
Johnny knows this is a dream.
It’s an odd thing, to be conscious of it, to know you’re dreaming but still unable to control your actions. It’s like watching a movie of yourself, but also being yourself, directing your body without having a say in what it’s doing.
He knows this is a dream, because you’re in it. You’re in their home, in one of Simon’s oversized sweatshirts, boy shorts rucked up over the little lightning bolts that arc across your hips, the underside of your cheeks. You’re smiling at him too, like you belong in there, like it’s yours too, and his heart swells, growing to a preposterous size.
“There’s my bunny.” He pulls you into his chest, mouthing up your neck and over your jaw. Your skin tastes like sugar, and when he gets to your lips, his hands shift, sliding down your back to grab two fistfuls of your ass with a groan. “Missed ye.”
“We missed you too.” His fingers trace the edge of your panty line, barely dipping into where you drip for him. “Come to bed, Si’s waiting.” You whisper, stifling a moan.
“Johnny.” Simon calls him, too loudly. He wants to hiss, snap at him about not waking the baby. “Johnny!”
His eyes blink open. White ceiling stares back at him, and he turns his head, finding Simon with a bemused look on his face.
“I was havin’ a great dream.” Johnny grumbles, latching onto him. Simon scoots closer, lifting the back of his hand to his lips with a secretive smile, dotting kisses down to his wrist.
“I know.”
“- and he has access privileges, as long he’s not interfering with care, he’s allowed to be in the room whenever he deems fit. Obviously, in cases where he shouldn’t be, like burn debridement, he’s fine with stepping out, but you should expect him to sleep here.” The nurse nods, nervously peeking over your shoulder at Simon, who’s lurking in the hallway, staring through the glass at the transport techs getting Johnny settled in his room. You catch her eyes, motioning to redirect her attention, and she mumbles a meek apology. “They have a daughter, who Johnny has been mostly separated from since he got here, and he’s hoping to see her often, since she’ll be allowed to visit more freely now. I told him it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Okay.” Her toes tap against linoleum, weight shifting from foot to foot, and you resist the urge to sprint back to her boss and demand someone else. Fuck. Why does Nora have to be on maternity leave?
“This is my favorite patient.” You warn her instead, dropping your voice low, pitching it brazenly serious. “I don’t ever want to see him back upstairs again, and that’s going to depend a lot on you.”
“Okay, okay.” Her work phone rings, and you jerk your head in dismissal, not quite finished, but not seeing a need to continue to harangue her, either.
Simon glances at you from down the hall, head turning once you’re alone. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t call to you, or say your name, but you’re helpless to the magnetic yank of his presence, a beam of gravity dragging you closer until you’re shoulder to shoulder, looking into Johnny’s room. He’s asleep, dark lashes feathered against his cheeks, blissed out and nearly snoring. “This will be great.” You say quietly. “He can see Penny almost as much as he wants down here. There are far less restrictions, and he’s doing so well, there’s nothing to worry about it.” He doesn’t say anything, just watches you with the x-ray vision that peels you open. Like he’s digging around in your head again.
“D’you have a minute?” You blink at him, graceful words dried out and missing.
“Uh, I… yeah, I’m technically off now so. Sure?”
“Have a tea with me? I’ll meet you outside the café, on the patio. Ten minutes alright?” Have a… have a tea with him?
His eyes are heavy. They’re lasered, locked onto yours, brows knitted together in something soft, some form of emotion that you don’t understand, framing his face above the mask. How can you say no?
“Okay, sure. Ten minutes.” You try to hide how your hands shake, tucking fingernail to palm, squeezing tight.
It doesn’t escape him.
You grow more afraid with each day, that nothing does.
The paper cup cradled in Simon’s outstretched grip is like every other paper cup you’ve seen before, drank from a thousand times, with steam wafting from its rim and aromatics spilling out into the air. “Sorry.” You blurt, reaching. His fingers brush against yours, warm contact momentarily stunning you. ‘Thanks.” You lift the tea to your nose, inhaling deeply.
Irish breakfast. With milk. Your favorite.
“How do you know what tea I drink?” You don’t mean for it to sound so suspicious, or aggressive, but it does. It’s nearly accusatory, but doesn’t affect him. He merely shrugs in response.
“I pay attention.” An engine turns over in the carpark, a small car sweeping across the lot as it turns out onto the street. You watch, feigning mild interest, trying to get a closer look at the driver without appearing too fixated. “So.” He sips, and then removes the lid, vapor rising from the top in a delicate little dance. “How long have you been at Addenbrooke’s?”
“A few years.” The answer is effortlessly supplied, like you’re under a spell. Your eyes go round. What are you doing? Crow’s feet crinkle at the corners of his own, and you manage a shaky smile.
“What brought you across the pond?” He jokes, velvet, soothing lilt in his voice.
“Work.” It’s easy to lie about this, the fabrication usually used in casual conversation almost every day with patients and new coworkers, people who are interested in you being from somewhere else, having a different accent, different education, customs, the whole lot. His jaw moves behind the mask, and before he can push the question further, you rush out your own interruption. “Simon, I want… I want to talk to you about something.”
“Sure.” He nods. “What’s on your mind?”
“It’s… the other night Johnny said something about,” Your face is nearly scalding, embarrassment laden lump stuck in the back of your throat. “about you and him, and… me, I guess…” you trail off, eyes darting down into the tea.
“Go on?”
“He said that you guys think I’m special, and you- you said-“
“That we’re here for you.” He finishes, nonchalant.
“Right.” You breathe a little easier, knowing he knows what you’re talking about, words picking up steam. “I want you to know that it’s totally normal to feel this way. It happens a lot, you know. Patients and, or their family members, loved ones, they get attached. This affection starts to happen towards a member of the care team because we become that person who… provides care, twenty-four seven. So, you and… and Johnny, feeling like you have this attachment towards me, it’s very normal. Not a big deal.” You finish in one big breath, cutting your ramble short. His cheeks swell behind the fabric, like he’s smiling, eyes squinting again.
“That’s not what this is.” That’s not… what this is? What does that mean?
“What?”
“Transference. That’s not what is happening here.”
“How do you…”
“I’ve had years of therapy.” He sighs. “Are you uncomfortable?” Say yes, the girl in your head screams. Tell him you need it all to stop. That you don’t like them, that it’s inappropriate. You know how this will end.
“No.” You don’t know why you don’t acquiesce to your own good sense, why you ignore the very clear boundaries and rules that have kept you alive this long.
“Bunny, I need you tell me, honestly, if you are uncomfortable.” He levels you with an intense look, seriousness bleeding from his irises to yours. You press your palms flat on the table, quelling their trembling.
“It’s not… it’s not you. Or Johnny.” You whisper, eyes slipping shut. It’s easier that way, to just close them, to hide. To pretend you’re somewhere else, to block everything out.
What the fuck are you doing right now? Your brain screams, but your heart wails.
What is it like, to be loved like that? To be known like that? To be held in someone's heart, cherished and protected?
“Sweetheart,” Simon’s voice is low, calming, and when you don’t answer, one of his hands folds over yours. “are you with me?”
“Yes.” You peek at him, and then fully let yourself look around, steadying the rancid fear that permeates through your body. “Sorry.”
“You don’t need to apologize.” He hums, hand still over yours. It’s warm, and broad, big thumb stroking a slow circle into your skin. “Is today your Friday?” You nod.
“It is, yeah. I’m… I’m looking forward to catching up on some sleep.” He straightens in the chair, shoulders and torso so unbelievably wide, like a long forgotten mythological god. Or the trunk of a massive tree.
“Will you have dinner with us, tonight?” The last of the orange red dawn spills over the crest of the buildings, and the world spins, cold sweat breaking out down your back.
“What?”
“Dinner, with us. I’m picking up takeaway for Johnny from his favorite place as a celebration, for graduating the ICU. We’d love to spend some time with you. Get to know you, if that’s alright.”
“Oh, I…” Say no, you have to say no, shut this down. It’s too much risk.
“No pressure. Just, hanging out, talking. As friends, if you like.” Butterflies thrash in your stomach so violently your knees bounce, and your heart leaps, pitching itself off a cliff like it wants to die.
“Okay.”
“Great. I can pick you u-“
“No! No, I’m fine. I have some errands to run after I get up for the day so, I’ll just meet you here.” It will be just like going to work. No harm, no foul. You can hang out with them, and go home, just like you’re at work. It doesn’t mean anything. It won’t.
You barely sleep. You pace, you nap, you thumb through endless craigslist listings in faraway cities for apartments, you read. You take the long way through the city back to your flat and slowly sift through pieces of your life that you want to keep. Your quilt from home, that’s been tucked away on a shelf. A sentimental trinket that belonged to your mom, also hidden in a drawer. These things that can be removed, without being noticed.
Not that it matters.
He hasn’t been here. Not since the sick shit he pulled with your underwear. It makes you curious when you inspect the undisturbed tape on the back side of the door, the light dusting of baking powder on the bedroom carpet, but not surprised.
It’s not unlike him, to make himself known and then suddenly disappear, the endless mind games partially intentional, and partially something not even he can control.
After all, duty calls.
He could still be in the city. He could still be watching. You don’t know anything for sure.
“Three things you cannot outrun in this world, babe. Death, taxes, and… me.” You mumble it to yourself, the same words that live in your head, in his voice, repeated, pulling a pair of scrubs from your dresser.
But you had been running, and still had your life to show for it.
It doesn’t matter, you know how this will end.
You’ve changed your clothes five times. You hem and haw in front of the mirror, trying not to look too closely at any one piece of yourself, switching shirt and pant combos until you finally settle on your usual, a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt. They’re high waisted, because low rise is not even within the realm of possibility for your hips, and you appreciate how they fit, even if they may sit a little loose right now, given your recent stress levels.
You look fine, you decide. You look professional. You don’t really look attractive, in any way, but the scars on your torso are hidden, and with a little bit of make-up, you think you look presentable. At the very least, you don’t look like you’re half asleep, which is exactly how you feel.
Not like it matters, you chide. This isn’t a thing; it’s just hanging out. You’re going to put an end to this entire charade, tonight.
The train is quiet, and you’re extra watchful. Every face, every movement is logged, every jacket or hat or hood is inspected. Posture, skin tone, height, of every person you pass or see is tabulated and run through your mind. Your brain, a supercomputer in its own right, does it all, seamlessly. It wants to protect you, it keeps you on guard, it can look at a crowd of twenty people all facing the opposite direction and locate a potential threat, just by the shape of the shoulders.
You don’t see him, you don’t feel him, your skin doesn’t prickle, and you let the lack thereof bring you peace, if only for a few moments.
Johnny’s floor is bustling. You wave hi to those you know, checking in with his nurse for a moment, letting her know you’ll be hanging out for a bit. She doesn’t even bat an eye, thankfully, and you try to settle yourself as you turn down the hall.
You’re not prepared for what you find when you knock on his door and slide it open, breath catching for a moment, and you scramble to cover your initial balk.
Their daughter is here. She’s cuddled up on Johnny’s good side, the one without the burnt tissue or recovering surgical wound. She’s asleep, wearing a black onesie covered in skulls, her head tipped back and mouth open, chubby cheeks and sweet little face perfectly content. She’s got her entire fist wrapped around one of Johnny’s fingers, holding it right under her chin like she’s afraid he might vanish while her eyes are closed. “Hey, bun.” Johnny whispers, smiling so wide, two fingers stroking through the wispy curls on top of her head. “We snuck in a visitor tonight.”
“I see.” Your heart trembles.
“Fell asleep right away, next to her Da. Been missin’ him these past few nights.” Simon chuckles, patting Johnny’s leg gently, affectionately. There’s a bag of take out on the table behind him, as well as what looks like an overnight bag, a purple duffel stuffed full. “Price is on his way to pick her up.” Penny gurgles, eyes blinking open in a sleepy daze like she knew they were talking about her.
“Ye’re alright, sh-shh, wee lamb.” Johnny coos. She’s half soothed by his words, but the lights in the room are far too bright, and her small noises waver into a cry, frustrated and tired. He tries move her, cradler her higher up his chest, but his face falls with pain, and Simon swoops in, pulling her into his arms. “Bunny, could ye-“
“Would you-“ They both try to ask at once, and you flounder once you realize the intention, a cranky, sleepy Penelope being pushed into your arms.
“I-“ she wails, interrupting you, bending you to her will without fuss, and you hold her closer, rocking side to side, humming above her ear. Just like the NICU, like a patient, like your stint in L&D, it’s fine, it’s-
“Sorry, sweetheart.” Not fine. It’s not fine. Heat burns in your belly. He can’t call you that, not when you’re holding their baby. “Thank you.” Simon says over his shoulder. He’s moving Johnny, lowering the bed slightly to help reposition him, and they speak quietly to one another, voices low enough you can’t make out any of the words.
“I can help you with him, if you want.” He waves you off.
“I need the practice, won’t have you around all the time anymore, yeah? And once he gets home…”
“Ach. ‘m not paralyzed. Jus’ uncomfortable.” Johnny glowers, pouting, and you roll your eyes, rhythm steady, gently bouncing, letting Penny cuddle into your chest, snuggling her face against your arm and side. She’s beautiful, precious and sweet, cooing herself back into a light slumber, and you smile despite yourself, still rocking after her eyes start to shut. “Knew she’d like ye.” He says softly, and you glance up, surprised by the intensity of their focus, heavy gazes fixed on you.
“She’s very sweet.” Your lips twist.
“She is.” Simon agrees. “We were happy to get her some time with her Da. Good for both of ‘em.” His fingers find Johnny’s cheek, and then their hands meet, a palm pressed to lips, a whispered a I love you.
An intimate moment, as you stand there with their baby in your arms.
“Alright, now that ye’ve done the hard work by gettin’ her back down,” Johnny gestures, urging you to step forward, and you carefully place her back in his arms. For a moment, your faces are level, and you get caught in his eyes, nerves strung so tight they could be a tightrope. “I’ve got her.” Weeks in the hospital, and he still smells like cedar and oranges, woodsy citrus that envelopes you, your lashes fluttering on the inhale. “She likes ye.” He murmurs, breath warm and tickling over your cheek.
“Well, she’s...” you straighten, hands smoothing down the front of your top. They’re moist, somehow, and you tuck them behind your back. “She’s a good judge of character, I guess.” Simon’s phone vibrates, Johnny’s plush smile turning dour, and he sighs.
“Okay baby girl. It’s time.” She cries a little, readjusting to Simon’s hold, and he slings the purple duffel over his shoulder, promising to be right back. Johnny nods, eyes downcast, and his face twists once the door shuts, cheeks turning red, staccato, hiccupped breaths coming fast.
“Hey.” You whisper. “Hey, Johnny.” The chair at his bedside creaks under you, and you lean forward, fingertips lightly caressing the tape residue that still sticks to his skin. You should clean that off.
“’m alright.” His shoulders roll, chin jutting out, brilliant blue gleam in his eyes returning, like storm clouds rolling off after rain. He’s silent for a beat, pinky finger folding over yours. “How was yer day?”
“Oh, it was… fine.”
“Simon said ye were goin’ to catch up on some sleep?”
“Yeah, I didn’t.” You laugh, and he smiles. “I feel okay though. Still awake at least.”
“I’m glad… ye came. I’m sorry if the other night, I was too… forward.”
“That’s okay. You’re just… so flirty, I don’t even know what to do with myself.” You tease, expecting to get a lighthearted quip in response, or a laugh, but he gives you neither, only a serious, sympathetic expression.
“I didnae mean to make ye uncomfortable. Felt terrible, when ye ran off, I-“
“I’m fine, Johnny. You… you didn’t. I mean, it was just… confusing, this is… this is a lot.” He nods.
“I know it is.”
“And you don’t even know me.” His brow creases, focus narrowed in so tightly on you, white walls, white hospital blanket, white everything falling away in a spiral of color.
“I know ye better than ye might think." He cracks a smile. "We want to, if ye’d let us.” No, you don’t. You almost say it. Almost promise him that knowing you would be the stuff of their nightmares, that they have no idea what they’re trying to bite into, or bite off, a near guarantee that it would be than they could chew.
“Well, no harm in making new friends, right?” You entreat weakly, and his eyes flash, ethos of an entire life that you have no knowledge of slipping through, and the dark severity rumbling in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.
“Aye, bun. Especially when they look like ye in a pair of jeans.”
Dinner is an idyllic affair. Johnny’s favorite takeaway turns out, is Indian, like yours, and the three of you talk for hours, trading bites back and forth, laughing and listening to stories, discovering little bits and pieces about their lives while running interference on personal questions about yourself, allowing them to dip in skin deep, skimming off the top but never getting further. They tell you about themselves, Penelope, their jobs, how they met, and Johnny confides in you about his sketchbook collection, pages upon pages of charcoal and pencil line work, portraits of Simon and Pen covering each page, landscapes, and the occasional cartoon. Your spine eventually starts to wilt, muscles liquifying into goo that can barely hold you upright, and you curl up in the armchair, chin on your palm, listening to the ebb and flow of their voices as they tell you a particular story about how they came to find their current home, a near slapstick comedy about an interaction with the previous owner. Their voices soothe your restless mind, wrap you in a cozy embrace that feels so safe, so comfortable that you can’t fight the languid, siren call of sleep, eyes drooping into darkness, drifting away on their melodies, content and too tired to rationally put together what’s happening. At some point, something covers you up, knit warmth that is tucked in around your shoulders, your feet, a tender touch on your neck and cheek. A whisper of affection soothes the unease that lurks in the background of it all, and you fall into it lazily, farther into the hold of sleep, something your brain and body are desperate for.
When the lights go dim, you don’t even realize, already lost to the sand of slumber.
Around midnight, you wake with a start. Your heart is racing, triple timing in your chest, and you squint in the dark, trying to parse together where you are, what happened.
Oh no. Oh god, did you fall asleep on them? Did you fall asleep in Johnny’s room?
Simon calls your name. He’s settled in a recliner, head turned your direction, mellow light from the little lamp spilling across his features. “Are you alright?” Your mouth is dry, the web of sleep that holds you in suspension finally starting to wane, fuzzy clouds in your head trying to clear without much luck.
“How long was I out?”
“Four hours.”
“I’m so sorry.” He shakes his head.
“Wanted to let you sleep. I know you were tired, and Johnny was out almost immediately after you.”
“Th-thanks.” Your back groans, muscle and bone grinding together, stiff from sleeping in a cramped position for hours, and you’re surprisingly unsteady on your feet. Simon’s out of his chair in a second, turning around the end of Johnny’s bed to offer you a hand, his other lightly resting between your shoulder blades.
“Easy.”
“Sorry… just… think ‘m more tired than I realized.” It’s dark, and you’re disorientated, woozy, tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth, limbs and lids still heavy and desperate to fall back asleep.
“I’ll drive you home.” His keys jingle, and you know you should reject him, refute this presumption, push him off, but you can’t string the right words together in your mind, can’t bring yourself to truculently pull away.
So, you don’t. And to your surprise, your shock, it feels… nice. You let him open the door for you, get you settled, you listen to his music on the way, city flying past outside the window, quiet hour of the night crawling by. You let him help you out of the car when you pull up to the curb, and when he asks if he can walk you up, your rational pugnacity is nowhere to be found.
“This is me.” You gesture to the door, fumbling in your wallet for your keycard.
“How long have you been in the hotel?”
“Oh, not long. Reno just started so…” His head turns, surveilling the hallway. You’re in an end room, far from the elevator but close to the stairs, as requested, and there’s a camera that sits on the ceiling, green dot consistently blinking. He glances at it, then back to you, head tilted.
“Are you safe here?” The world goes cold. Your stomach roils, blood draining from your face, and you try to hold yourself steady, mind turning over a million times. You’re overreacting. He’s just asking in a general sense. He doesn’t know. He couldn’t. Breathe. Deep breath.
“I uh, yeah. It’s got a deadbolt.” Along with a door stop alarm, and a security bar. He steps closer, so close that you can smell him, fresh laundry and musk, something spicy lingering there, something dark and enchanting.
“Are you in trouble, little bunny?” You’re in his shadow, beneath the stretch of a mountain, shielded by it, by a monolith so large it could blot out the sun. It overwhelms you, slows the racing pace of your mind, and you try to sort through the merry go round of feelings that are all trying to push their way out of your mouth.
You’ve never felt this. Never felt this… desire, to entrust someone with your life. Never felt this… attraction, this hold that the two of them have on you.
It makes you want to trust them. Makes you want to lay it all out and beg them to help you. Makes you want to close your eyes and leap, praying they’ll catch you.
It’s wicked. It’s dangerous. It’s a fool’s errand.
It’s unfair.
“No.” You whisper. You can’t look at him, and time slows in the silence, your anxiety piquing. Of course, he would assume something is wrong, after witnessing the panic attack. Don’t read too far into it.
“But you wouldn’t tell me if you were, would you?” He’s pragmatic, yet still kind, watching you with intent. It doesn’t allay any of the stress that’s building up the back of your throat and closing it, cutting you off from the oxygen you desperately need.
After an eon, he sighs.
“Okay, sweetheart. You can keep your secrets. For now.” You choke.
“I… I should probably-“ you jerk your head towards the door, half turning away to swipe your keycard.
“Alright.” He moves carefully, dipping low, and you stand immobilized, confused and quivering as his cloth covered mouth presses a slow kiss to the top of your head. It’s like he’s bewitched you, cursed you, and you can’t do anything but stand there, stunned. “Thanks for coming tonight.” You’re a deer in headlights, a rabbit in a scope.
“Simon.” His name is the only thing you know right now, and it comes out reedy, almost a squeak.
“Get some rest. We’ll text you tomorrow.” He pushes the door wide, arm snaked behind your shoulders, and when you don’t move, he urges you forward, an encouraging hand on the small of your back. Your feet blindly stumble through the motions, searching for the light switch, for your sanity. “Goodnight, bun.” He hums, and the door clicks shut, leaving you alone, staring at the beige-yellow paint on the wall.
The afternoon trains are packed. It makes your skin crawl, not because you dislike busy or hectic places, but because there are too many eyes. You force your head to stay up, casually scrolling past the faces that are turned every which way, keeping your back to a corner or window as often as possible. You’re not sure you even needed to take this route, the one where you loop around and change trains twice, but… old habits die hard.
You’re lighter today, mentally. It’s in your steps on the stairs, the way you tilt your face up to the sun, how you bounce and bob a little along to the rhythm in your headphones.
You try not to read into it, too much. You tell yourself it has nothing to do with the good morning text messages from Johnny and Simon, or the hilarious back and forth between them after Simon sent a god-awful joke to the group chat. It has nothing to do with the heat that spreads through your fingers to toes when you think about Simon last night, kissing your forehead.
You slip inside your apartment, popping your headphones free, glancing at the tape and the door jam, before setting your bag on the counter. You idly sort through some mail you left out the other day. Junk, junk, junk, nothing taxing or important, nothing work related or-
A shadow moves. It flickers against the wall by your bedroom, growing larger, stalking closer to the kitchen, to where you stand, frozen, heart pounding in your ears.
This can’t be real. This can’t be happening.
“Hey there, sugar.” He croons, the thick, Texas accent unmistakable, and you breathe his name in horror.
“Phillip.”
#peaches writes#simple math#ghoap x reader#ghost x soap x reader#soap x reader x ghost#simon riley#john soap mactavish#simon riley x reader#soap x reader#john soap mactavish x reader#ghost x reader x soap#ghost x reader
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A Gift for Simon
Warnings: No Thoughts – Only Fluff, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except ‘You’.
Imagine you go up to Simon and you present him with an Altoid tin wallet. “I remember you saying your wallet broke the other day, so I thought maybe you could use this one until you got a new one :-).”
And you pass him a tiny little tin that, initially, leaves Simon both curious and confused. When he opens it, however, his breath catches in his throat, his heart stutters.
It’s perfectly furnished inside, tailored to his exact tastes based on morsels of information you’ve either discovered by accident or Simon has told you. You’ve made a little velvet pocket in the lid, the material Simon’s favourite colour, “So you can put your emergency money in there. I always put my coins in mine in case I need to get the bus home or buy some milk,” you tell him.
The idea of you doing something so domestic and, in some vein, humble, only endears you more to Simon. He should be taking you places; you shouldn’t be using your own money when you have him.
He says none of this, of course.
The other half is decorated with a quote cut out from his favourite book, stuck behind a fresh tube of chapstick and an elasticated hoop for him to put his house key in.
He wonders if you know his lips are chapped, whether you’ve looked at them as often as he finds himself watching yours whenever you accost him, privilege him with your time.
Regardless of how close the two of you are, whether you’re just acquainted neighbours or the closest of lovers, all Simon wants to do is wrap his arms around you and hold you as tight as you’ll allow. He wants to keep you all to himself, keep your kindness all for him, selfish in his endeavour to hide it from everyone else.
He knows it will be his undoing — this act of generosity you have bestowed unto him. But he can’t bring himself to fault it, even down to the idea that perhaps you expect something back from him. He’ll gladly give you anything you want if only you ask.
But you didn’t. You just smiled, bade him goodbye, and left to go about your day.
Not that you’d notice, but Simon held off on getting a new wallet for some time after that. Whenever you asked him, he’d tell you it slipped his mind, that the wallet you gave him is doing a good job anyway. Why put all the time you spent on it to waste, he thinks. And one day, he hopes he can say it, tell you to your face how his heart flurries, stutters whenever his fingers brush over that tiny tin wallet, whenever he holds it, Thumbelina in his behemoth hands. He feels your fingers there, painstaking piecing together a dream into this physical form, gossamer in its beauty, perishable in its disposition. Warm, warmth like he’s never known, and care. It’s visceral, palpable, and Simon holds it in his hand and never lets go. Not so long as he has breath in his body.
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#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#simon riley#simon riley x reader#cod#cod modern warfare#cod x reader#ghost cod#cod ghost#ghost#ghost x reader#call of duty mwii#cod mwii#ghost riley#cod headcanons#call of duty x reader#ghost mw2#mw2 ghost#cod mw2 ghost
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DPXDC prompt. Dead on main. Someone who knows you better than you know yourself.
Perhaps Fentons are not able to recognize their child, despite the fact that they hunt him day after day. But for childhood friends, who saw each other in absolutely ridiculous situations that parents are never allowed to know about, just one sneeze and a bored sigh is enough to realize that this weirdo fighting next to him is the same guy with whom you tasted soap and then stood looking at each other from different corners and giggling.
And so, the dialogue after the battle with the creatures of Infinite Realms, to which Constantine had to invite a potential ally not yet approved by the League:
Phantom: Well, mom always said you were bad news...But a crime lord, seriously? What happened to your plans to become a literature teacher?
Red Hood: Hey! For Gotham, this is a very high-paying in-demand job. And I don't want to hear anything from Casper. At least I have my own business. What kind of part-time job do you have? Are you selling sheets to your buddies from this green goo?
Phantom: This is ectoplasm. And they're not my friends, and anyway…
Constantine: King Phantom, do you know Red Hood?
Phantom: Do I know him? Ha! This street rat was Splinter of my beginnings until my family moved out of Gotham.
Red Hood: Wait, wait a minute. Phah...Holy shit. I thought I was the best example of what it means to be a disappointment to a family, but you beat me here. Oh, man, only you...The ghost king who is the son of the ghost hunters? Seriously? Hahah! I thought your rebellious phase ended the moment you told your father that you wanted to be an astronaut and not inherit the family business.
Danny*groans and covers his face with his hands*: My life is over.
Red Hood: Literally~ No, of course I always knew that your parents' disregard for safety in the laboratory would someday kill someone, but I didn't really expect this? Like, wow…
Phantom: What makes you think it was an incident in the lab? I mean, there are so many possibilities around. It's ridiculous and…hah
Red Hood: Dude, look me straight in the face and tell me I'm wrong if you dare.
Phantom:…Fuck you, stupid bookworm.
Red Hood: Stubborn nerd.
Phantom: Red bucket!
Red Hood: Pale toadstool!
Nightwing: Um, can you guys please stop fighting?
Red Hood: What are you talking about? This is how we always communicate.
Phantom: Yeah! Well, in our defense, my sister always thought we both could use a therapist. Oh, man, he made me lose my train of thought. Where were we, J?
Red Hood: Since when are you able to think? And I complimented your new hair and skin color.
Phantom: Right, right… But, hey, not all of my parents' hypotheses really have a right to exist, and you know it! Hm, did I mention that you're built like a fridge and how does this leather jacket suit you?
Red Hood: I believe not. And who's talking about your parents' work? You were an airhead when you were alive too to be honest. And as I see it, not much has changed. Why the hell are you still starting a fight with puns? Stop telling your opponent your position. This is terribly stupid!
Phantom: Oh, please, these ghosts are definitely not a threat to me. What's wrong with having a little fun? The fact that you don't have weapons to handle something stronger than a blob ghost is your problem not mine, loser. But let's get back to our greetings.
Red Hood: Sure. Then listen here…
~~~~~
Nightwing: Jay, why didn't you say right away that you knew Phantom? We've wasted so much time wondering if it's worth summoning him, and you just stood there and said nothing.
Red Hood: Pfff…Because I didn't know that until today. He used to be human. And we haven't seen each other for a long time. So how was I to know that he would take such a ridiculous pseudonym?
Nightwing: Then why the hell didn't you feel worried about teasing this creature?
Red Hood: Why should I? It's just Danny.
~~~~
Tucker: Oh man, 84 murders, attempts to kill Joker and to much fights with Batman and Black Mask and…
Danny: Yeah, yeah. It's all very interesting, but it's not what I asked you to find. Get to the point, Tucker. What I will wear to our dinner tonight depends on this.
Tucker: Seriously? As far as I'm concerned, whether he's single or not is less important than all this shit. Aren't you afraid to show up at his house?
Danny: I'm invited. And for that matter, I'm Amity Park's former public enemy number one. Which one of us should be worried, hah? So he's not dating anyone, right? Don't try to distract me.
Tucker: Dude!
Danny: Ugh, in my experience, when he acts like he's lost his mind, he usually has good reasons for it. And if not, given some of the events of my alternative future, I have no right to judge him, so…
#dpxdc#dpxdc prompts#dpxdc crossover#dpxdc prompt#dcxdp#dead on main#dead on main ship#dp x dc#dp x dc crossover#dp x dc prompt
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Just (fucking) friends
fwb!chan x fem!reader
cw: HEAVY smut MDNI, dom!chan/sub!reader, hair pulling, choking (kinda), breeding kink, swearing, mirror sex, unprotected piv *dont be silly, wrap ur willy*, aftercare, uses of baby girl/angel/needy girl, shitty grammar (this isn’t an english essay)
uhh i think thats it
wc: 0.9k
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“Just friends, huh?” Chan murmurs as he wraps his hand in your hair before forcing your head back. You both had gone to a party where a guy was hitting on you. He saw you come in with Chan so he asked if you were dating. You said no, and that you guys were only friends. Chan decided that that was the last straw; he wanted you to call him yours. He just needed to fuck you good enough.
“All your friends fuck you like I do?” you shake your head as he begins sucking and biting your neck. “Use your words pretty girl.” “N-no. Nobody fucks me like you- shit.” You hiss when he bites a little harder than before. You feel his tongue run over the soon to be bruise in order to soothe some of the pain.
“Please,” you whine as Chan pulls back.
“Please what, y/n? You want me to touch you, hm?” he trails his fingers lightly down your stomach until he reaches your heat. “I’m waiting, baby girl. Tell me what you want.” Chan stops his hand right at the waistband of your leggings.
“Fuck, please Chan. I want you,” you plead. He grins cockily before leaning in to kiss you messily.
“Take your clothes off, I want to see your pretty body.” Hastily, you strip completely. He turns you around so you’re facing the mirror and rakes his eyes over every inch of you. No matter how many times he’s seen you, you always seem to mesmerize him.
One of Chan’s hands slides in between your legs while the other holds your hip steadily. “Color?” he whispers in your ear.
“Green,” you nod. With zero hesitation he spreads your lips and thrusts one finger into your cunt.
“Fuck baby, how are you always so tight?” Chan groans softly. You press your back into his chest and roll your hips slowly.
As you grind on his fingers you make sure that your ass rubs against Chan’s bulge earning a grunt from him.
“Ah ah ah, not yet my needy girl.” He stills your hips and adds another finger into your already soaked pussy.
After a third finger is added he can feel you clench around him. “You gonna come baby girl, hm? You’re lucky I’m feeling generous. Go ahead and come, I got you.” His words go straight to your core and you come on his fingers.
He makes eye-contact with you through the mirror and commands you to open your mouth. You obey, allowing Chan to stick his fingers in your mouth. “You taste so fucking sweet, don’t you angel?”
He pulls his shirt over his head and grabs a condom out of his pocket before sliding his pants and boxers down.
“Wait.” You turn to look at him and glance down at the foil in his hand. “No condom. I-“ you cut yourself off as embarrassment flows through you.
“You what, baby. C’mon. Say it,” he throws the condom on the counter.
“I want to feel you. Just you.” You’ve never done it raw with Chan in the 2 months you’ve been fucking. He sure as hell wanted to, but didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by asking. Hearing you request the exact thing he’s fantasized about makes his cock twitch.
“You sure?” you nod in response. “Alright angel, if that’s what you want. But I have a few rules.”
“Anything just please fuck me, Chan.”
“You’re gonna keep your eyes on yourself the entire time. No looking at me, I want you to see how pretty you look while I fuck you dumb. Can you do that for me?” he lines his tip up with your entrance.
With your confirmation he pushes into you harshly, giving you no time to adjust to his size. “Holy shit baby, you feel so good around my dick.” You gasp and instinctively close your eyes but quickly open them back up when Chan wraps his hand around your throat. He doesn’t apply any pressure but does it to warn you.
“Eyes open, baby. You look so fucking gorgeous right now.” He latches his mouth on the sweet spot on your neck as the sound of skin on skin echos throughout the room.
“Gonna mark you all over, baby. Wanna show people who the one filling your pretty little cunt up is.”
“Yes, please Channie. Show them I’m yours.” A low groan escapes from his chest and his thrusts grow sloppier. “Fuck- I’m gonna come.” you moan.
“You want me to fill you up baby girl? You want me to fuck my cum into you?” Chan grabs both of your hips and thrusts into you hard which unravels the knot in the pit of your stomach.
A few moments later Chan’s stuffing you with his seed, not letting any escape.
He leans his forehead against your shoulder blade while you both come down from your highs. He slowly pulls out and kisses your shoulder before moving to clean you up. He carries you into your room and places you gently on the bed so he can find you clothes.
You’re both settled into your bed, legs tangled with one another’s. Chan breaks the silence, “I don’t want to be ‘just your friend’ anymore.” You turn your head to look at him.
“I don’t want you to be just my friend.” You smile and plant a soft yet passionate kiss on his swollen lips.
“God, I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you too.”
#skz#skz scenarios#skz x reader#stray kids#skz imagines#skz reader insert#skz smut#bang chan#bang chan smut#fwb#stray kids scenarios#stray kids imagines#stray kids smut#snowyquokka#bangchan#bang chan fic#bang chan scenarios#skz fic#stray kids x reader#stray kids x you#bang chan x reader#bang chan stray kids#bang chan imagines#stray kids fanfic
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