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sophiethewitch1 · 8 months

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What We Want - Chpt. 3 - Dreams And...

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE) - PLEASE REMEMBER TO CHECK, THIS CHAPTER IS DARKER IN TONE!

PREV - NEXT

Your hands are pruned. It’s quiet in the extravagant bathroom, other than the sound of the tap’s running water and your own shaky breathing. This was all a bit much. Your hands are more than clean now, but you absolutely do not want to go back out there.

You kind of just want to go back into one of the stalls and cry. A core girlhood experience, except you were an adult with a job and taxes. Or, you were. You think you’re some rich scion or something in this dream. Which like, cool, who wants to slave under capitalism anyways?

…You wonder if anyone would notice if you slipped out the window. You’d been gone for a while and nobody had come looking for you, since you’d totally gotten lost trying to find the bathroom. Sure, you were on the third floor, but at this point you were willing to risk it. Even if you couldn’t walk in a straight line right now, much less climb the trellises. For some reason, you could not handle your liquor today like you usually could. But once again, this was all just a very vivid dream, so it wasn’t like you could die.

To punctuate that thought, you hear someone scream.

It cuts off instantly, and then there’s quiet again. You pause, then turn off the tap, listening for any more sound. Drip, drip, drip… you press the tap down again and properly turn it off. Still no noise. Immediately, you realise you are standing directly in a horror film. You live in Gotham for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t an unlikely occurrence. You’d gotten mugged just a few days ago.

And you were alone in the bathrooms. So unbelievably drunk, and alone in the bathrooms. You were actually so dead, it was crazy. A dream, a dream…!

Your head bows, staring into the white porcelain of the sink as you focus hard on your hearing. You don’t think you could hear the party before, but you’re not sure. It’s definitely not there now. You swallow the dry pain in your throat, trying to summon a modicum of courage. Your vision spins.

You slap your wet hands to your face and then blink through your fingers. God. Okay, okay, okay. You can do this. You survived a mugging just last week with only minimal bruising. To convince yourself of your badassery, you dig your fingers into the blemishes, hoping to wake yourself up with the pain. It’s a bad habit but you have lots of those.

…Where’s the pain? Oh god, where’s the pain? Wait, don’t panic, it’s a dream! Of course, you wouldn’t have your bruises in a dream. That made total sense. And you definitely weren’t panicking.

You splash more water on your face. Time to face the music, you drunken moron. If you were going to be in a horror movie, you’d be the final girl of all final girls.

One hand on the sink, you take your heels off. They’re going to get in the way, and the sound of them clicking against the marble will give away your location. Massaging your sore ankles, you try and come up with a game plan. You don’t know what’s going on, and it really could all just be a false alarm, but better safe than sorry and all that. It’s a gala full of some of the richest people on earth, and you’re pretty sure you saw a swat team of security guards at the entrance.

So this was probably a hostage situation or a villain attack. You’d hear more noise if it was a supervillain fighting a superhero downstairs. Then you’ll bet on a hostage situation for now. Depending on who had taken you all hostage, that could be a totally fine situation where you all just end up leaving with lighter purses, or it could be the Scarecrow’s shown up and he’s about to mentally traumatise you. Like you needed any more of that.

Of course, this was all probably still a dream. Maybe if you say it enough times you’ll actually believe it. You’ll just plan ahead in case this is real (which it definitely isn’t). Plus you’d proven you could feel pain in this dream anyway, with all the times you’d slapped yourself. You hoped the fucking Tim Drake didn’t think you were too weird. Because he definitely thought you were weird.

It’s cool. You’re cool. You could handle this. You were a Gotham native after all. Totally cool. You have to force yourself not to gag on your own fear. Totally, absolutely, terrifically cool.

A few deep, calming breaths later, and you’re cracking the door of the lavatory open just an inch. You peer through the crevice, taking another deep breath when you don’t see anyone in the hallway. You push the door open a bit wider, peek your head around it to look the other way. Still empty. Another deep breath, you feel your chest rise and fall, and then you take the first step out onto the wooden floors. You wince at the slight noise the bare sole of your foot makes and hurry over to the long Persian rug to snuffle any more sounds.

And then you’re standing in the middle of the hallway in your ballgown, head swivelling back and forth as you try and catch any minuscule sounds, shoulders bunched up to your ears.

The first thing you need to check is the exits. Since you are on the third floor, and the banquet was on the first, you can assume that they’re well-guarded, but probably far away from you. Still, this is the Wayne Enterprises Tower, and there wasn’t just the party happening tonight. It was mostly empty as you’d seen but there’d been a few people you’d wandered past. They’d all seemed like late-night office workers, and the female janitor you’d bumped into was the one who had told you where the toilet was.

Was the janitor okay? Was that her scream you’d heard? Concentrate, dumbass. On airplanes, they tell you to put your mask on first before you do it for anyone else. The idea was the same here. Save yourself before you can hope to save anyone else.

That was… that was if you even needed saving. This could all still just be your own paranoia. Someone hit their knee on a ridiculously fancy side table or something. Like that scream wasn’t of pure terror. Like it didn’t sound like someone on death’s door.

Concentrate! Okay, check the stairs first. Don’t take the elevator, because you’re not an idiot. Maybe. Hopefully. Slowly but surely you creep your way back towards the entrance to the third level, where both the elevator and the stairs were. There was a map, too. You hadn’t been able to figure it out earlier, but you had a bit more incentive this time.

You make sure to place your feet carefully, aiming for the carpets and rugs. Even if your drunken steps miss half the time, you’re still mostly quiet. Every time you have to walk across a crossing you spend a minute listening, and then peer around every corner too. You’re not sure if you should be running, or if you really should try one of the windows.

Deep breaths. Keep moving. That’s the best course of action. Don’t get caught, but don’t just hide either.

It’s when you’re almost at the third-floor foyer when you hear something. There’s a crash, the sound of something breaking. No voices, though. Still, you can’t convince your body to move for a full minute. There’s a part of you that wants to go hide in an abandoned cubicle and wait, but there’s another part of you that is very aware of the rates of fires in this city. You keep going, taking a longer route to avoid the source of the crashing.

Another noise. A scream. Laughter. Spine-chilling laughter.

Shit, motherfucker. Why the hell did you get smashed at a fucking Wayne gala? Everybody knew the rogues of this city were totally obsessively in love with Bruce Wayne. Especially your own personal worst nightmare. You don’t dare even think his name, lest you summon the bastard.

Was he in Arkham right now? He should be. Like you should be at home in the Narrows getting a good night’s rest. Like you should be wearing dorky Flash pyjamas, not a dress more expensive than your rent.

He should be. It’s not nearly enough.

You realise, suddenly, that you have to make a choice here. You can walk away, pretend you didn’t hear anything, that you can’t hear anything. A woman’s cries, you think. You could leave her, save yourself. Hideaway and let whatever fate she’s facing befall her. Could you do that? Could you even stomach the idea?

In the end, the universe makes the decision for you.

“And who do we have here? What’s a pretty little thing like you doing wandering around?”

You hear your doom in his slimy voice, even though you didn’t hear him sneak up on you. Shaking, you raise your hands into the air, and slowly turn around. You see your doom in the twisted clown mask’s grin. For a second you think it’s really him, but then you notice his dark brown hair and the tanned skin under the mask. God, god, god. It’s a Joker goon. Your literal worst nightmare, given flesh. Is he here? No, no, no- You swallow down the urge to scream, to run, and do your best to keep thinking like a person and not a prey animal.

You feel like one. You think he knows that. You hope he doesn’t.

“Hey Travis, I found another one!” the man calls out, raising his gun to point at you. He jerks it, moving forward, and you turn back around obediently. The gun presses against the back of your head, and you move forward, obediently.

“Shithead, don’t say my name out loud!” another voice replies. You get to see its owner when you come around the corner and find the foyer.

There are five other people here, all tied up. Four seem to be exhausted office worker bees, who just stayed too late on the wrong day, and the last is the janitor who helped you. The kind lady gives you terrified eyes, but she’s the only one not crying among the hostages.

“Man, you worry too much. Like there aren’t hundreds of Travis’s in the city.”

“Just shut up, my god! If we leak info and it gets traced back to us, he’s docking our pay.”

Who’s he? Who’s fucking he?! He can’t be here, right? He fucking can’t be. You can’t, you can’t. God, you're going to vomit right here and now.

“Whatever. Anyway, this is the last person on this floor.”

“Check the feed again, dickhead,” the second one commands, obviously the leader between the two.

The one who caught you groans, and then you hear the sound of fabric shuffling. Is he looking at his phone? You wish you could turn around and look. You don’t dare with the barrel against you.

Your teeth dig into the side of your mouth. So did they have the security feeds? That meant you were doomed from the start. The only other option would’ve been to actually jump out one of the windows. They would’ve probably found you anyway. Hunted you down to meet their quota.

Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. This is looking like a big deal. And everybody knew Joker never left out on his big deal jobs, he enjoyed them too much. He’s probably downstairs demanding the Batman come meet him and have tea or something. Shit.

All of a sudden these goons seem like the much better end of the deal.

“Checked, checked, double-checked, triple-checked… There’s nobody else here,” the man behind you grumbles, and the one in front of you sighs.

“Alright, alright. Bring her over, I’ll tie her up, and then we can blow this joint,” the man says, and you really, really hope he’s not being serious about blowing this place. You’d had enough of explosions, thank you very much. Especially ones organised by the Joker.

The gun digs harshly into your skull, “Well, go on.”

Swallow, swallow down your fear. Don’t let it stop you. You walk forward to the other man, arms in the air shaking. When you’re in reaching distance, the second goon roughly grabs you and shoves you to your knees. He pushes your hands in front of you, not bothering to tie them behind you. You don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

The rope cuts into your skin. It’s going to leave marks, and bruises. The man finishes tying the knot and then pulls you back to your feet. Then he shoves you towards the elevator and turns to start picking up the other hostages. You turn so your back is toward the wall, not willing to have your eyes off the monsters for even a second.

It’s when he’s pushing one of the office workers towards you, that the second man speaks again.

“Hey, the boss said we had to kill one of ‘em.”

What? What did he say?

“Oh yeah, oops.”

The gunshot goes off before you can process the words. Before you can process the gunshot, the janitor’s body is crumpling to the floor. Before you can process her fall, blood is starting to seep from the wound in her chest. Before you can process any of that, the man behind you laughs.

He laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs.

The janitor lies on the floor, blood seeping into her hair and uniform. You squeeze your eyes tight, tears slipping over the lids. You refuse to look at the wound. At the gaping hole in her chest. And despite yourself, you know why they shot her, not you. Not any of the workers either.

Because she wasn’t worth the cash.

Yesterday, that would’ve been you on the floor. You were a fake wearing a fancy dress, who didn’t belong here at all. Still, they didn’t know that. You didn’t think anybody knew that. Not anyone but you, who had woken up in a world a little to the left.

“I’ll be down in a minute, Trav. I wanna play with this one for a bit,” the shooter says, and all of a sudden you’re thrown back into your body, into your frail mortality. You’re cold, your spine gives a shiver, and your horrified eyes find the wretched clown mask.

Like you said, your doom. You wish you weren’t right all the time.

“No way. She’s one of the high-profilers, we need her,” his leader replies, and you’re desperate to stick by his side. You didn’t think a Joker goon would be your saviour, but here you were.

“I’ll give you five K of my split,” he offers, not willing to let go of it. Of you.

The other one pauses, glances at you assessingly. There’s a glint of something in his eyes, something that tells you you’re not making it out of here unscathed. It’s something you recognise, something you even recognise inside yourself.

It’s greed. And it’s going to kill you. You always knew it would, you just didn’t think it’d be like this.

“Make it seven,” he finally announces, the deal for your soul made without any fuss or fanfare.

“You’re such a hardass. Fine, fine, seven it is.”

“Alright, and only thirty minutes, tops. Not a hair on her head, you understand me?” he says over his shoulder, waggling a finger at his coworker.

The group leaves through the elevator. It dings, and you watch in mute, stunned horror as the other hostages refuse to meet your gaze. As they abandon you to save their own asses. You couldn’t really blame them, as much as you wanted to. You were ready to do the same earlier.

“I think not even a hair is pushing it, right?” the creep says, finger reaching out for said hair. You jerk back out of his reach, an instinctual flinch. He grins, and lets his hand fall back to his side. You take a shaky step backward.

You’re trembling with fear. With the need to get away from this terror, this situation.

He gestures with his gun, pointing back in the direction of the branching hallways.

“Well, go on. Run.”

And God help you, you do.

Spinning on your heel, you flee to the echoing sound of his laughter. Your feet fall rhythmically against the marble floors, the sound of your bare soles far too loud. You can’t even do anything about it. There’s no option for stealth here, only the sort of hunt you’d expect to find in the woods.

Not here in civilised mankind’s territory. But this was Gotham, and the monsters often looked human.

You dart into a large room filled with tiny square cubicles. A call centre or something, a maze of low walls that are too small to hide behind. You keep going, teeth-gritting when his laughter cuts off. He’s taking this seriously, hunting you down. You think he’s done this before. ‘Played’ with people.

You can’t worry about those other poor victims, lest you become his next one.

Another crash, this time to your left. Your head snaps to the side, eyes wide, but when you look there’s only a broken lamp on the floor. You have to swallow down the urge to cry. He is. He’s playing with you. He’s having fun with it.

You keep running, passing by halls and offices and don’t stop running till you can’t. Out of breath. You’re out of breath. You bend over, the stitch in your side too much for you to stand. Why are you out of breath? You can run more than this. You often run more than this when you’re late for your morning train.

What’s going on? What’s happening to you?

A bang, behind you. You spin around. Don’t see anything.

He’s nearby. Right under your nose. You need to keep running, you have to. Through your panting you hear his laughter again, and that’s enough fear to get you moving again. Maybe you were in Arkham, arms strapped to your side and screams wailing down the halls.

You didn’t believe it. No, not in this moment. Not right now, as you run for your life. If you lived through this, you’d probably go back to thinking it was all a dream or a delusion.

But with that monster nearby, there’s nothing this could be but real. With sweat dripping down your neck, smearing your makeup. With the feeling of your heart beating out of your chest, in your ears. With the blind, all-consuming panic you’re in.

He’s real. And he’s coming for you.

You lift your tied hands and press them to your lips, muffling the sound of your harsh breathing and soft sobs. Heart beating out of your ribcage, you push your body even as it screams for you to stop. You’re flagging. Vision’s swimming, and you can feel bile creeping up your throat. You can’t keep doing this. You need to keep doing this.

For a moment, you stop to catch your breath. And he catches you too.

You scream, tugging at the rough grip on him. He swings you around into a wall, and again, you cry out. Side throbbing with pain, singing with it. Still, you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not safe, not safe, not safe. You push back against him, and he pushes back against you. Your drunken state is no match, and you tumble down onto the carpet. When he laughs, you look up at him, and he down at you.

The goon’s plastic mask merges with the Joker’s mutilated face, until you can’t tell the difference.

You aren’t the type to fight back. It’s just not instinctual to you. But when you hear his belt buckle clack, your foot kicks out before you can even think. You hit him squarely in the stomach, knocking him backward, and then you scramble away from underneath him.

“You bitch!”

He grabs you by the nape of your neck, yanking you backwards. You choke, hands grasping desperately at the grip around your throat, but he offers no relent. You’ve pissed him off. That doesn’t mean you can stop, can give up. You can’t stop fighting. Can’t stop struggling. Can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t stop-

The gun clicks. You freeze.

“Yeah, figured you’d be more obedient if I did that. Now, get up,” his voice is breathy, from the high of the chase or the hit you delivered, you’re not sure.

You hope it’s the latter. You hope this fucker drops and dies, right on the spot. You’re not that lucky, though.

Ah, your hands are hurting again. Not just the one, but both. Maybe you touched something. An allergic reaction of some sort. It shouldn’t be distracting you, it shouldn’t even be noticeable in the situation you’re in but god. The itchy heat is nearly as unbearable as the evil cretin in front of you.

“You think you’re gonna get away with that? I’m so fucking sick and tired of you whores who think you matter anything. You don’t, and I’m going to help you realise that,” he rants. His eyes are red through the tiny slits in the mask. Angry, dangerous, on the edge.

“Please, look I’m sorry,” you stutter out, stinging hands in the air. You want to run, but you think he’ll shoot if you do.

“You’re lucky I don’t fuck corpses.”

No, that doesn’t sound very lucky at all, actually. No, this seems like maybe it might turn out to be the new worst moment of your life. You don’t think it can get much worse than this, than the next moments that will pass. And it’s too much. It’s too, too much. Your palms are itchy and there’s a gun pointed between your eyes and the goon’s licking his lips and oh my god you’re going to die from an allergy before the bullet and-

And you just want it all to stop. You want it so desperately. You want the man in front of you to disappear, to never exist again, to go right down to hell where he belongs. You just want him gone.

Your hands stop hurting. The burning heat disappears. It’s quiet again. You can’t hear him laughing, the awful slick sound of him licking his lips. You can’t feel the cool iron on your forehead, the heat from his body so close. You can’t smell his sweaty stench. Your eyes open.

…There’s no gun. There’s no man.

You crumple to the ground with a relieved sob. Fisted hands lift to your eyes, as big blubbery tears stream down your face. Your shoulders shake with your cries. Your heart is screaming in your chest, trying to beat out of it. He’s gone, somehow. You’re alive, somehow. You’re not dead with a bullet in your brain, somehow. Somehow, somehow, somehow.

An impossibility. It’s an impossibility, and you’re so goddamn grateful for it.

As always, you don’t give yourself long to cry. Even as your tears still fall, even as you lick them off your mouth, tasting salt and lipstick and fear, you push to your feet shakily. You almost fall over with your hands still tied, shouldering the wall next to you for balance. You don’t have time to cry. No time to process what just happened. You need to get to safety.

You creep back into the main area, heart pounding in your ears, breath hiccuping. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get there. Ten minutes, thirty, maybe even an hour. When you try the staircase door, it doesn’t open. You yank on the handle, grab a chair and try and smash it in, but it stands strong. Fuck. You try the elevator as a last-ditch effort, but the buttons don’t respond.

You press your overheated forehead to the cool metal. Okay. Okay. Okay, okay, okay.

You turn around and storm back into the cubicle space, find one at the edge of the room with a clear view of all the doors, and tuck yourself under the desk. Pulling your knees to your chest, you resist the urge to rock yourself like a baby.

And you sit there, and you watch, and you wait. It doesn’t matter how many hours pass, you are not moving from this spot. It doesn’t matter how heavy your lids feel, how the adrenaline leaving your body has you sagging.

You’re not going to sleep. It’s not safe, and you’re not dying today. You’re simply not.\

You’re not allowed to.

A hand touches your shoulder, and you snap awake. Your fist slings out at the would-be attacker, but they dodge it smoothly. When you rear up for another, they move back, hands in the air in a show of surrender. Panting, you don’t lower the fist, your vision swimming.

It’s the Joker. But the Joker wouldn’t back up, right? And the Joker isn’t red, he’s green and purple.

It takes a while for the Joker’s pale, laughing face to disappear. But when you blink and he’s gone, you find someone else underneath. A red mask, a man you think you recognise from TV. A vigilante. God, you hated the vigilantes in Gotham.

Not more than the Joker. Not more than him.

The man stays a safe distance away, gloved hands firmly in the air. He’s tall, really tall. Broad-shouldered, scary. But he’s a vigilante, right?

Is he here to save you? Someone should've by now. The bastard's late then.

He says your name, you think. You can’t hear him properly. Wait no, it’s a nickname, one you haven’t heard in years. You could barely remember your mother calling you that as she tucked you in, as she told you she loved you over the phone, as she disappeared from the world entirely.

You hadn’t let anyone call you that since.

How does he know that name? How does this bastard know your name?

“-hurt? Hey, hey. Listen to me, are you hurt anywhere?” his voice is deep and warbled through the red metal mask, his eyes peering down at you through his domino. You just stare at him, eyes wide, barely breathing.

You need to know how he knows. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to him, and after a moment, he takes it in his own firm grip. It’s awkward, as you’re still sitting half under the desk and he’s trying to stay as far away from you as possible. Still, his hand is warm through the leather, grounding, keeping you from drifting off into panic and fear. Into your worst nightmares come to life.

Because this was real. It didn’t matter that it was impossible, it was real. You simply couldn’t deny it any longer, this was all real.

You stare at this stranger’s gloved hand like it holds the answers to the universe. It might, in the end. It really just might. It wasn’t like the universe was making much sense at the moment.

“She seems fine. Uninjured, if a bit shocked. Doesn’t seem to have a concussion. Hardly responding anyway,” Red Hood speaks, but not to you. An earbud, you think. Superheroes used wiretaps and things like that all the time, right?

If you could even consider Red Hood a superhero. Everybody knew he had his own gang. Of course, even as your very life is being saved, it’s by a morally grey hero who runs around with crowbars and guns. Ah, you’re crying again.

You told yourself a long time ago that you wouldn’t let yourself cry anymore. And you’d managed it, mostly. You think you’ll give yourself a pass for today, just a little one. You hold this stranger’s hand, and you cry.

You just cry. You cry, and you hold the hand of some stranger you hate, because you have to.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

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astarionancuntnin · 3 months

Text

Nothing But A Dream

summary: you've agreed to take things slow with astarion, only partaking in nighttime activities when he specifically desires them, and this morning, he wants you, but he would hate to intrude on your precious beauty sleep.

rating: E

word count: 1.6k

pairing: astarion x you (fem!reader)

cw: 18+. MIND THE TAGS! light fluff, established relationship, somnophilia, cnc/mildly dubious consent, light choking, p in v, creampie, cock soaking. full list on ao3

read on ao3

or keep reading down below~

Ever since defeating the Absolute, you’ve been enjoying your quiet life in the Underdark with Astarion. You agreed to take things slow when it comes to sex; he still wanted to experience this with you, but he needed time to feel truly like himself when being intimate. It wasn’t an issue for you, and you were open to take as much time as needed and indulge him in anything he wanted to try, whenever he wanted to, for as long as he didn’t feel pressured by it. You knew how important this was for him, after the discussion you had following the defeat of Cazador, and the last thing you wanted was to make him uncomfortable.

Even though he wouldn’t admit it out loud yet, you sensed how he enjoyed the proximity you shared without the pressure of sex. It’s in the way he allowed himself to relax when he was with you, as you laid close on the sofa while you were both reading, or how he insisted to wash your hair and style it afterwards – it drives him crazy how little care you give it – when you were taking baths together, so he could look at you like you were his masterpiece, but what he told you he preferred were those lazy mornings cuddling in bed naked. He would lay over your chest, skin to skin, listening to the lulling melody of your soft heartbeat. Finding comfort in your warmth reminded him of the sun’s embrace that he missed dearly. Those were the moments he cherished the most, where he was able to see you being at your most vulnerable, on display, just for him.

You were a heavy sleeper, and with no real responsibilities anymore, you allowed yourself to sleep-in way more often than you used to (you deserved it, after all, who would blame the Saviour of Baldur’s Gate for indulging in a little respite). It’s not something Astarion was able to do, but he had no reason to get up on his own and do anything else. What point would there be of doing anything without you, the very reason he kept on living? This morning was no exception, as you laid bare in the warmth of your bed with Astarion hugging you from behind.

As you slightly move half-awake, you feel his hand ghosting over your hips, and eventually cupping your tender breasts. You happily moan into his touch, loving how his grip held all of you ever so perfectly. It wasn’t necessarily sexual when he did it, rather comforting – as much for him than for you – and you loved how he cradled you as if you were going to slip out from his grasp at any moment, holding on tight to you. There was one thing that felt different today, but in the bliss of your slumber, you weren’t able to quite put your finger on it. You hum, checking in on him as you feel him grab onto you rougher than usual, with his nails digging into the soft skin of your boobs.

“So sorry dear, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says, his voice deep, as if he himself had just woken up.

“Mh, you okay?” You mumble, still in limbo.

“Everything is just fine darling,” he kisses your shoulder softly. “Go back to sleep.”

Astarion’s honeyed voice in the crook of your neck brings you comfort and you find yourself following his words, nuzzling into your pillow as you back up into him further, seeking for more contact from him. In your dazed state, you think you can hear him growl softly, and you pay it no mind at first, until you feel something poke harder at your back and his hot breath upon your shoulder. This, along with his hand kneading your breast constantly, have you feeling a warmth pool to the bottom of your stomach that was becoming difficult to ignore. You try to shift around in your dazed state only to find Astarion holding you tightly in place, stopping you from moving at all.

“ ‘starion?” You mutter, as you finally awaken.

“Shh, you’re alright, love,” he purrs, his voice but a whisper.

“What are you– ah–!”

His hand leaves your boobs to sneak down between your legs, sliding between your folds to find the dampness that’s been accumulating there.

“Aren’t you the neediest little thing,” he groans, his voice becoming darker as his fingers lazily massage over your clit. “You can relax, dear, I just need you to stay still now.”

The stimulation he’s been providing between your legs finally stirs you completely awake, hazy from his touch. He slides his cock just between your folds and that’s when you realize what the firmness in your back was. Instinctively, you spread your legs apart to help him ease in, wanting him to go further, but he closes your thighs back together, uttering in a raspy voice.

“Tsk tsk, I said relax. You need not do anything.”

“Are you sure about this?” You manage to say through your breathy voice.

“Very much so,” his other hand wraps around your throat pulling you back, only applying a light pressure around your neck and a whimper escapes you. “Now, be good for me, will you, darling?”

You nod, as much as you can with his hand around you, and close your eyes, letting him use you as he sees fit. His hand over your waist holds your legs tightly together, as he slides his length between your legs, getting his cock wet from your folds. His rhythm starts slow as he gets accustomed to the sensation, and the friction it creates has you panting, as your own pleasure builds up.

"Oh doll, are you enjoying me using you in your sleep? How depraved," he growls and you feel yourself getting soaked from the sound of his voice and his shaft sliding over your entrance.

It had been so long since you had been intimately close, you had almost forgotten the surprising size of him. You wanted nothing but for him to slide inside of you and indulge in his carnal desires, to use and defile you as if you were nothing but a toy to him, but you let him completely take the reins on this one, let him reclaim his sexual and bodily autonomy the way he chose to, and this morning, it involved fucking you while you were asleep, without you moving as much as a muscle. He chose to focus on his own needs, and in doing so, you discovered a new form of pleasure.

You hear him grunt as his thrust become more erratic, with his nails digging inside the soft skin of your hips, and the wet sounds of your juices slipping over his cock between your legs, and although this was meant for him to focus on his own pleasure, having him handle you this way after many weeks apart brought you close to your edge just as fast as he did. You find yourself contracting the muscles of your thighs together, squeezing around his shaft tighter and at the same time, providing additional stimulation to your clit

“Gods– ah, you feel too good, dear, I won’t last much longer,” he breathes behind you, his growling turning primal now, making him almost unrecognizable. “Can I slide inside of you? It’ll just be the tip, please, I need to feel you.”

You’re not even sure if he heard the “yes” you barely manage to voice out, when you feel him plunge inside of you in one strong push, your pussy offering little to no resistance in the state it is.

“Fuckkk, I've missed how you feel wrapped around me,” he groans. “So sorry love, I simply can’t resist your cunt when it's drooling for me like that,” he resumes his thrusts into you, nearing the point of his own climax, when he hears you whimpering. “You've been so good for me, I just need you to hold on a bit longer. Can you do that for me, my sweet?”

You’re way past the point of answering, reduced to small cries and gasps as he rams recklessly into your needy cunt. When you hear him whine your name, you clench around him, hit by the waves of your orgasm. As your walls tighten around him, he finally stills inside, pushing your hips flush against his to shoot his seed deep inside your womb. You feel his cock pulsing inside of you as he unloads himself and the sensation sends an additional wave of electricity through your body.

You’re both left as panting messes, bathing in a mix of your combined sweat and come as you come down from your high. He rests with his forehead against your shoulder as he catches his breath.

“Wouldn’t want to make a mess here, it’d be better if I just stayed inside you, don’t you think?” He says between breaths, and you hum, your voice still out for the count, as he smiles behind you. “I thought so. Now, I believe you have a beauty sleep you need to catch up on, you should try to rest a bit more before we face the day.”

Even if you wanted to get up, you wouldn’t have been able to, as this session got you as tired as if you had never slept in the first place. He snuggles back into the position he initially was, with the additional embrace your cunt was providing around him, and leaves a loving kiss over your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck. As you close your eyes, ready to drift back into a deep slumber, he whispers softly:

“Thank you, my love.”

Thank you for reading! Comments, reblogs, and likes are very much appreciated <3

tag list (comment or message me if you want to be added!): @grimistheangerinmystares @silverfangmarks @roguishcat @nyx-knox @anacdoce @jwera @annnagennnie @angeldarkness95 @marlowethebard

#my posts #my writing #astarion smut #astarion x you #astarion x reader #bg3 smut #ao3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 #writers on tumblr #bg3 x reader #bg3 x you #bg3 x tav #astarion x female reader #cnc somno #somno k!nk #cnc k!nk

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kachowden · 2 days

Text

Gonna start calling these late night drabbles or something at this point.

You know those ASMR videos, where it’s two people, and one of them has like different fluffy brushes and oils and stuff that they rub on the person laying down? Like a massage? Visual ASMR?

I’m thinking about a yandere asmrtist who brought you in for one those videos. Maybe you won a giveaway or something, but realistically I think you were originally a fan. So he didn’t know you at all.

But then of course, you showed up at his studio. Stunning. Gorgeous. Irresistible. The whole package really. And he felt something deep in his stomach. Maybe butterflies. Maybe indigestion. Regardless, despite having done this before, he’s nervous. Off the bat it’s awkward.

But he’s a professional. So he powers through. A few moments of idle chat, and various prep work goes by, before you’re lying on the cot, surrounded by herbal candles and oils that already send you into a deep state of relaxation.

He starts the video as he always does, jumping right into it. Brushing your hair back, smoothing down the skin on your shoulders. Tracing your features with a soft fluffy stick thingy. Goes the whole nine yards. And the entire time he is sweating buckets from how aroused he is.

At some point through the session he starts to wonder if his heavy breathing is as visible as he thinks it is. If you can feel the sweat dripping down his arms and forehead. And his composure starts to wane. The way your breathing slows, the way your muscles relax. It’s driving him a little crazy. You’re so…comfortable. Because of him. He made you comfortable.

That means something doesn’t it? I mean you were a fan of his anyway. So obviously you liked him. He liked you too of course. It made him have a new thankfulness for his career. How would he have met you otherwise? His soulmate. No. He wanted to believe no matter what you two would have found each other. This feeling in his chest was so deep and passionate. Surely you guys were past lovers too right? You would’ve found each other.

And since you’ve loved each other before…it should be easy to love again? It’d be natural. Perfect. So when he hands start to squeeze a little more sensually, and his eyes began to lower. He doesn’t feel particularly guilty anymore. Your skin is familiar to his deluded mind. The way his fingers began to dig and mold into your soft skin and flesh, sliding up and down, the fabric of your shirt getting pushed lower…and lower..it’s all familiar. Yes he’s sure of it. You’ve both done this before. Your bodies have collapsed together dozens of times. That’s the only explanation, so there’s no room for guilt.

riiiiiiinnnnngg

And he jumps back, ripped away from his hazey day dream: your eyes fluttering open with a slightly exaggerated yawn that hopefully mutes the sound of his racing heart.

“Wow…” you laugh, and he would’ve taken a moment to appreciate it more if not for his own existing panic. “I totally fell asleep…sorry if that ruined the take.”

He pauses, swallowing thickly as his gaze quickly switches to the green light that beeps atop the camera. Right. He had been recording. He’d have to edit that later.

“No..no it was perfect. I’m sure it’ll make the viewers feel the same ease you were feeling…” his voice is as silky and gentle as always, oozing with the honey that enraptured his audience.

You smiled and hummed with a nod, groggily lifting yourself from the cot you had laid on, and grabbing your things form the chair you had set them on, you lift your hand in a wave. “Well, this was really nice! I totally needed it, and it was super cool meeting you in person! Thanks again-“

“Wait!” He jolted, a blush burning his cheeks at his own over eager behavior. “You did a really good job today, so..I was hoping we could keep in contact if the video does well..”

“Oh..sure thing!”

God you were a total blessing.

#yandere #yandere x reader #x oc #x reader #yandere asmrtist #Yandere YouTuber #yandere x darling #reader darling

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retroaria · 26 days

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Itoshi Sae NSFW Alphabet

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summary: learn your abc’s with sae!! Letters skipped that I felt were repetitive!! afab/fem!reader

BLUE LOCK M.LIST | enjoy ⚽️ -aria

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ஓ A is for Aftercare

Sae isn’t the most doting during aftercare. He’ll shower with you and clean you up, but if you ask him to get you water and feed you he’ll give you a curious look as if to say “What am I? Your maid or something?” But honestly he’ll do it anyways, just with an obnoxious eye roll and a light scoff before curling up in bed with you.

ஓ B is for Body Part

Sae’s favorite part of himself is his hair, he puts a lot of time and attention to keeping it well kept and groomed. I bet he even does hair masks, oils, etc. to keep it soft and fluffy, you will NOT catch this man using a 2-in-1. His favorite part of your body is obviously your ass, expect it to be gently (or not so gently) slapped at random moments around the house, or groped during heated make out sessions. but also your hands, I feel like he’s got a thing for hands. He likes the way they feel when your fingers run through his hair, likes the feeling of your hand securely held in his, the way they feel wrapped around his neck while you ride him, or digging into his back leaving marks while he fucks you. Don’t get me started on how he feels watching you wrap your hands around his cock. Let me digress, Sae is a simple man, hands and ass.

ஓ C is for Cum

Sae has a bit of a problem. He loves cumming inside you, loves holding his cock in your weeping cunt a few minutes after to ensure that it gets as deep in you as possible, but he does NOT have a breeding kink. Would never dream of a little shit head mini Sae running around ruining his career and his quiet life with you, but god does he love filling you up, just because he feels like it really makes you his property. He’s possessive, that’s all. So in the case that you aren’t on any birth control, he can enjoy cumming on any part of your body just as much, so long as he’s the one that gets to clean it off you, making sure to finger some of it in your mouth before doing so. Actually doesn’t like cumming on your face surprisingly, thinks it’s a waste of cum that could’ve been shoved down your throat instead. As far as your cum goes, he’s all about it. When he eats you out he’ll let your cum and arousal build up until there’s enough for him to lap up, then he’ll lift his head so you can watch him swallow it all down, such a dirty boy.

ஓ D is for Dirty Secret

He doesn’t have any dirty secrets, secrets are foolish and unnecessary in his mind. If he’s doing anything dirty that pertains to you then he might as well tell you about it. If you think it’s weird he doesn’t care. Something that he maybe should’ve kept as a dirty secret is how badly he wants to fuck you in front of every guy that’s ever made a sly comment about you looking good or asked if you were single. “No they’re not single, fuck off.”. This scenario just makes me think of Oliver Aiku, he’s totally the kind of guy that would say some nasty shit about Saes partner and Sae would have to put him in his place. He’d imagine fucking in the locker room in front of the whole team actually, just so they all know you get dizzy for his cock and his cock only.

ஓ E is for Experience

Let’s be honest, Sae has had his share of forgettable hook ups. Even well into your relationship there’s still girls that beg him to come back just because they can’t forget about how good it was, but Sae never really cared about sex or love until he met you. He half jokingly says that you “ruined his life” pretty often because sex and love happen to be things that distract him from his career, but he always says it with a kiss and a sarcastic tone. Truly he wouldn’t have it any other way. When you guys did get together he became much more of a giver than he was before. While his cock alone may have made those girls from the past go crazy, they couldn’t even begin to imagine what you receive from his mouth and his hands. Sae took the time to get to know your body unlike anyone else’s so he can make you squirm for him at any point, in any position.

ஓ F is for Favorite Position

Sae will bend you over anything, sometimes even nothing, opting to just hook his arms into yours to keep you from falling on your face while he slams into you from behind. Loves fucking you in front of the bathroom mirror so he can make you look at yourself while he ruins you. He also likes letting you ride him and use his cock as you please. It’s relaxing for him to just sit back and let you do your thing, it’s also kind of like you’re putting on a show for him.

ஓ G is for Goofy

Be for real. Sae? Itoshi? Goofy??? Nah.

ஓ H is for Hair

Sae isn’t fully shaven but he keeps it short and he’s well groomed. He doesn’t like the look of it being completely bare because it makes him feel like a baby. The same thing goes for you, he prefers if it’s trimmed as opposed to being fully shaven, doesn’t wanna feel like he’s fucking a doll.

ஓ I is for Intimacy

Sae takes intimacy very seriously. You’re the only piece of his life that brings him peace, and so he takes his time with you. He relishes in every twitch and sound that comes from you for as long as he can, he makes sure to use his words with you, telling you how good you feel and how perfect you look and how good you are for him. He always prefers having sex on the bed where he can lay you out and give you full body princess treatment.

ஓ J is for Jack Off

Sae isn’t so stuck up that he can’t please himself when he needs to. He becomes a bit of a photographer when you guys are having sex, snapping quick pics of you in all his favorite positions to use for when he’s needy and without you. Before long trips he makes sure to have orders placed for new lingerie and outfits that’ll be delivered while he’s gone. You know the drill once you open the package, being sure to pose yourself, showing off the way each piece hugs your frame and promptly sending the photos to him. He keeps these photos in a folder on his phone that he looks through pretty often even when he isn’t horny or jerking off just because he’s so enamored by you.

ஓ K is for Kinks

Sae isn’t the kinkiest guy, but he doesn’t mind playing into whatever you’re into. He typically takes the softdom/service top role but he can be rather rough when you want him to be or if he’s worked up enough. Will buy you whatever toys you want and will let you try things out on him so long as he doesn’t have to commit to it after the first time.

ஓ M is for Motivation

Sae’s main motivation is that most things piss him off but you walked into his life and became the exception and he simply can’t get enough of you. Seeing you in his jersey really does something to him, he also loves when you wear his sweats or joggers. I imagine that office siren vibes tend to turn him on, anything classy really. Tight long dresses, any tight dress actually. Low rise jeans, halter tops. He also likes when you’re glittery, if you’ve got on some kind of body shimmer he wants to see it smeared all over his sheets or if you have glittery makeup. Thinks it makes you look ethereal.

ஓ O is for Oral

Although I do headcanon him as a service top, this man loves getting his dick sucked. It drives him crazy, like seriously. Watching your pretty mouth sink down on his length while you look up at him with a pouty look. Biting his inner thigh makes him go feral. He always tries to stop you from letting him cum in your mouth because he doesn’t want to finish so early but it’s usually a half-assed failed attempt. Going down on you is a different story, he’s gonna have you cumming on his mouth until you can’t take it anymore. He’s rougher when he goes down on you than he is when he fucks you but he’s slower with it.

ஓ Q is for Quickie

Sae doesn’t mind a quickie every now and then if it needs to be done. But usually if he sees that something might turn into one, he’ll take the opportunity to make you think you’re about to have sex before suddenly pulling away and telling you to save that energy for when you get home. He loves going about the rest of the day knowing that you’re eager for him.

ஓ R is for Risk

He’s not the most risky person but he’s so god damn horny for you all the time that he can’t help but put you guys in risky situations. There’s been countless times where he’s had you pinned up against the lockers with his fingers curling up into your tight walls, your orgasm dangling over your head until the very last minute right before the rest of the team is about to come back in from practice. He’s quick to get you out of sight before they do, but it’s always a close call.

ஓ S is for Stamina

He can’t go on for hours at a time if he’s fucking into you but he can still last pretty long before tiring out. I’d say an hour maybe an hour and a half max. It’s rarely ever that long unless he’s really worked up, if you guys do end up going that long he’s probably already came a few times and got hard all over again while being inside you.

ஓ U is for Unfair

Sae isn’t too unfair, but he does deny you of your orgasm from time to time as stated before. He’s way more into edging himself than he is into edging you.

ஓ V is for Volume

He’s not very loud at all but he can be very vocal. It’s usually groans of your name and curses that string out mindlessly.

ஓ X is for X-Ray

(Ive been fan servicing this section out in my other alphabet posts but it’s time for me to be realistic guys) Sae has an average sized cock, 4-6 inches, a bit on the bigger side when he’s rock hard, he’s a grower. He’s got a good amount of girth but not so much that he’s tearing you apart. He knows how to use his dick to please you in all the best ways possible.

ஓ Y is for Yearning

Always, constantly. Not always in a sexual way though. He has your picture in his wallet, in the back of his phone case, you take up most of his camera roll. He’s always looking at your face and missing you, even when he knows he’s gonna see you in a few hours when he gets home from practice.

ஓ Z is for Zzz

All he wants to do after fucking you is fall asleep with you in his arms and that exactly what he does. He doesn’t want either of you to put any clothes on either, he needs that skin to skin contact.

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tawfu · 1 year

Note

What about….

Childe who is obsessed with your smell. Wether that’s your perfume, deodorant, or your natural body odor. He would for example steal your perfume and pleasure himself to the smell of it. To the smell of you

a/n: I’ve been riding this train for as long as I’ve known Childe. I just feel like he fits perfectly into the filthy, obsessive masochistic loser trope... So I obviously got carried away writing this.

It’s one of Childe’s favorite not-so-guilty pleasures. He goes out of his way to follow you around town stealthily, writing down the items you buy from each store you visit.

He decides to go on his own special trip afterwards, focusing specifically on items that can replicate your presence, such as clothes, shampoos and body sprays.

There’s nothing wrong with admiring a friend in this way, he tries to convince himself. Nothing’s weird about… spraying your perfume or cologne on a shirt that looks just like yours.

And what’s so wrong about placing them on his pillow and sniffing them while he ruts his bare cock on his bed?

Childe likes to imagine he’s laying on your chest, humping the soft flesh of your thighs as you run your perfect fingers along his hair. He shuts his eyes tightly as he moans into the cloth, inhaling it like it’s his last source of oxygen as he thinks about how you’d degrade him with a teasing voice so seductive he could cum from it alone.

“Does my pathetic little pup feel good?” you’d ask, and he’d whine into his gag, nodding frantically as his teary eyes would look into your own.

Would you force him to stop just as he’s tapering over the edge? Perhaps you’d let him cum at first, only to command him to continue fucking into your plush thighs until he couldn’t think anymore… Fuck, it’s all too much for him to think about.

He loves letting his mind wander like this, mumbling self-degrading words into thin air as a reminder of just how much of a loser he is, all while he’s emptying his balls onto his bed, adding to the filthy cum stains already on it.

Now... What if Childe was your partner? Well, he would go crazy.

Convincing you to live with him wouldn’t be too hard, not when he has the funds to provide for the both of you. However, try as he might, he’s unable to keep his perversion undercover.

The thrill of having access to your laundry was like no other. No longer would he have to make do with those stupid items he went out of his way to acquire. He had your things, right in front of him! This wasn’t even comparable to the battles he’s fought in his lifetime.

The first time it happened, he waited for you to leave the house, before sprinting to the bathroom. There was not an ounce of shame to be found in his body, not when he was filled to the brim with adrenaline. He got on his knees and began to dig through your used laundry, finding the one thing he’d dreamt about for months; your underwear.

How long did you wear them for? What did you do while wearing them? Did you pleasure yourself in these? Fight with him? God, it doesn’t even matter, because the first whiff alone would make his eyes roll back into his skull, pants already too tight for comfort.

His desperation would only increase with time. Your underwear and shirts would slowly disappear from the pile of laundry, the reason, unbeknownst to you, being that he just couldn’t get enough of them.

Scurrying into the bedroom and leaving those precious items when you came home didn’t cut it anymore. Childe would start to bring them into his room, pulling all nighters just to abuse his poor cock, filling your underwear with load after load and drooling at the combination of scents.

Catching him was inevitable, but perhaps… it was what he wished for. Maybe the excruciating spanks you delivered to his bare ass as you gagged him with the underwear he came into was something he had already been dreaming of. It was supposed to be his punishment, but his worship for you only increased tenfold.

After a while, his perversion would grow on you. It was a little entertaining, to watch just how low he’d stoop for you, just how far his obsession went.

Childe promised that he would do anything if you indulged him. He’d be a slave to your word, a most devoted boyfriend to his perfect partner, and with that, you developed a new-found enjoyment in his filthy fantasies.

Your smell was his salvation. There was nothing more perfect than the musky body odor adorning you after a long workout, and nothing more pleasurable to Childe than taking in each and every ounce of you in that state.

The smell of your armpits, the delicious sweat on your body, and more importantly, your taste… It was nothing short of pure heaven.

His mouth craved nothing more than to clean each crevice, and to make sure that your cum was added to the beautiful mess Childe loved oh so much.

Wearing your underwear for multiple days in a row became a habit, all for the sake of watching Childe sniff them so pathetically, so desperately from the source, as his cock lay snug between your feet, rutting into the makeshift hole like a dog in heat.

For a harbinger, he didn’t have a lot of pride when it came to you, but why would he? The reality was that no matter what title accompanied him, in the end, he was nothing but your dog.

#i lowkey relate to childe in this #dom reader #sub character #sub childe #gn reader #genshin smut #sub tartaglia #dom!reader #sub genshin impact #genshin impact

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seat-safety-switch · 2 months

Text

Movies make nitrous oxide seem so much more exciting than it really is. Green exhaust flames, super blurry vision, cars that instantly do wheelies and jump drawbridges. Completely rad. If nitrous oxide was so cool, I ask Hollywood, then why does my dentist have a whole bunch of it? The truth of the matter is that nitrous oxide has one hell of a lot of marketing goodwill, built on the dreams of every broke-ass drag racer on the planet.

First, a primer: cars run on oxygen and fuel. As anyone who's run up a hill can tell you, there's only so much air in the air that you can breathe, and there is basically an infinity of Burger King Whoppers you can practically eat. It's not fair, so we have to make it more fair.

There's ways to compress the air, and cram more of it into the engine. Then we can eat more Whoppers – I mean fuel – and make more power. We've all heard of miraculous mechanical devices for adding air, such as turbos and superchargers, but those cost a lot of money and involve complex fabrication. Nitrous oxide, a gas that we get from whales or some shit, accomplishes the same goal just by being sprayed into the engine.

It's sort of like if you gave an asthma inhaler to a Tour de France bicycle dude. He'd go a lot faster for a few seconds until and unless his heart explodes. Or maybe not. Don't get medical advice from me. Treat your captive Tour de France bicycle dudes like you yourself would want to be treated (and for the love of Pete, get them spayed or neutered if you let them outside.)

Hollywood has largely failed to make the intricacies of nitrous, such as not being able to afford filling an entire bottle with today's prices, into a compelling narrative. The sequel to Two Lane Blacktop was never approved because the middle 40 minutes of the film consists of the two of them digging through a half-abandoned parts store looking for the exact AN fitting they need for the fuel system. That's not how you win even a soundtrack Oscar. So instead, they do this crazy movie shit, which in turn makes a lot of other people buy nitrous setups. They want to be like the famous movie star Mr. Bean.

I'm not asking for perfect realism, here, folks. All I want is the occasional admission that sometimes you forget to turn on your bottle heater before making a pass.

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purinfelix · 3 months

Text

is it casual now? ✶⋆.˚

pairing - joao felix x reader summary - after yet another night spent together in secrecy, you finally build up the courage to ask Joao and uncomfortable question warnings - some angst, possibly a toxic relationship? word count - 1k

a/n: just bc ive been listening to chappell roan NONSTOP lately and realised i hadn't written a full length fic in a hot minute !!! hope u guys enjoy <333

There were a lot of people who wanted to know what kind of relationship you and Joao had.

Of course, there were endless amounts of media outlets and gossip pages that seemed to have eyes following everywhere the two of you went. It got to the point where you knew any time you were with him publicly, it would only be a few hours before your timeline was inundated with sensationalised headlines or sneakily taken candids.

Then there were the avid fans who commented on these posts, dreaming up theories that never failed to surprise you - that you were a childhood friend, a secret lover reuniting with him, or worst of all, that you were a ‘wannabe-WAG’ attempting to use Joao for his money. Perhaps most annoyingly though were your friends, who pressed endlessly for details whenever you mentioned having met up with the footballer recently despite your protests.

Sometimes it felt like all eyes were on you and your relationship - but sitting here, in a plush white hotel bathrobe on an equally plush and white hotel bed - you couldn’t help but feel as though you were the one who wanted to know most of all. You let the hand holding your phone fall to your side, heart heavy after seeing yet another gossip page post about the outing the two of you had gone on earlier the day with a headline relaying the typical narrative that you were nothing more than a gold-digging fake.

“Don’t bother with those,” you hear a soft voice behind you, Joao making his way out of the hotel bathroom in a matching bathrobe. His hair is still dripping wet from the shower and you’re almost envious of the way his skin glows in the soft ambient light. “Those idiots don’t know anything,” his tone is adamant, and you’d almost think he was being genuine.

“Well, it’s not like you tell them anything,” you mumble, barely louder than a whisper but he still catches the attitude in your tone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffs, tossing the small towel he was using to dry his hair to the ground without a care. Making his way to the other side of the bed, he lies chest-down, eyes fixed on you.

“All I’m saying is,” the regret in your voice at having brought up this tired conversation is evident but the almost daring expression on Joao’s face forces you on, “we can’t expect them not to make all these crazy theories when you’ve basically been keeping me a secret all this time.”

“Hey I thought we both agreed to keep this a secret, why is it all my fault all of a sudden?”

“It’s not, it’s just,” you sigh in frustration, eyes wandering the room - the crumpled bedsheets beneath you, your bag laying on the bedside table, contents half-spilled, your shirt laying where you had hastily thrown it - anywhere but his face.

“Just what?” he presses, and you bite your lip in a futile attempt to stop yourself from asking the question that’s been on your mind for as long as you’ve known him.

“What are we, Joao?” your gaze falls to your own lap, unable to look at the expression on his face as you’re sure it’ll only make his response sting more.

“Why are you asking me this now?” It’s clear this was the last thing he was expecting from the way he’s taken aback and slightly amused - which only frustrates you more.

“Why can’t I?”

“I mean, I thought we were just keeping this casual, you know? That’s what we agreed upon isn’t it?”

“Yeah, months ago.” You try to maintain your temper but you can’t help your voice from raising a little, “Don’t you think it’s time to reconsider that? I mean we’re a bit more than casual don’t you think? Casual doesn’t involve fancy hotel hook-ups or night time beach walks!”

“I don’t know, I mean,” his defensiveness irritates you, “You know what it’s like being a footballer, I just can’t have anything threatening my position right now. I need to focus on the game, a distraction is the last thing I need.”

“And what about me Joao? Don’t you think I’m tired of the constant slander I get every time we’re out together?” You feel your heart racing and your blood boiling, “You’ve seen the articles haven’t you?”

“Look, it’s late, I’m tired and really don’t feel like talking about this now. Can we just go to sleep? We’ll discuss this in the morning.” He doesn’t even wait for your reply before stretching out underneath the blankets with a loud fake-yawn. You just sit there slack jawed, not entirely surprised but still a little taken aback that he would just cut you off like that, in the middle of a conversation you had been rehearsing in your head for weeks like it was nothing.

You know he’s lying about discussing this in the morning but still, you reach over to turn off the lamp on your side table before slowly pulling the blanket over yourself - not like you have any other option. You make a point of turning your back to him and huffing though, too frustrated to fall asleep as your mind continues to whir with thoughts about all the things you’re going to say to him the minute you’re awake tomorrow.

That is, at least, until you feel the familiarly gentle touch of Joao’s hands around your waist, tugging you close to him until he’s able to fully envelope you in his arms. He kisses the back of your head - a slow, sleepy, almost genuine apology. You can’t do anything other than let out a soft sigh, closing your eyes and letting yourself get lost in the comfort you’ve learnt to find in his touch, in his scent, and his presence - no matter how fleeting it may be.

Because even if you wake up tomorrow to an empty bed, no sign of him even having been here at all other than a heavy heart, and no one else in the world knows what sort of relationship the two of you have - at least you’ll have moments like these to yourself to savour.

#joao felix #joão félix #joao felix x reader #joao felix x you #joao felix oneshot #joao felix fic #fanfic #football #oneshot #fc barça #fc barcelona #purinfelix #angst fic #jet writes ★

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wreckedandpolemic · 6 months

Text

mine - matty healy

(mdni) in which your husband feels the need to remind you exactly to whom you belong. a white and gold future fic. 2713 words.

warnings: problematic age gap, daddy kink, branding, oral (f receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, praise, degradation, mild cumplay, dirty sleazy possessive man

You really, truly didn’t mean to find yourself in this situation. Sometimes, you’ll admit, it’s on purpose, playing up the brattiness until Matty snaps, doling out whatever punishment he wants as you cry and promise to be good next time. This time, though, it isn’t your fault. It isn’t. You can’t help it if your husband’s business partners see his young, hot wife and decide they want you for themselves. Besides, Matty’s always telling you to be polite, so you were. Smiling, laughing at their jokes, leaning forward as you listen with interest.

It’s not your fault if some (old, stupid) man takes that as the wrong kind of interest. Matty watches as he stumbles through attempts to flirt with you, pet names tripping clumsily off his tongue. Steam practically curls off your husband, his face hardening in fury as you smile blithely, accepting the affections without encouraging anything; he doesn't take the hint. When he tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear, trailing his hand down in a garish attempt to touch your tit, Matty catches his wrist in a punishing grip. “Keep your fucking hands off my wife, yeah? Unless you wanna get knocked the fuck out.” His usually-subtle accent bleeds over his words, roughens their edges. Everyone suddenly becomes very interested in the silverware and heat prickles under your skin as Matty’s grip tightens on your waist, possessive.

He pulls you in for a kiss, slow and deep and an obvious performance, a public message: mine. Matty stays tight with anger the whole evening, the tension in his shoulders not loosening until you’re spread out on the bed, your dress crumpled somewhere on your living room floor and your hair haloed out on the pillow as he stares down at you. “I’m sorry, Daddy,” you say cautiously, and his face softens.

“Oh, baby, I’m not mad at you,” he promises, climbing over you to press a gentle kiss to your lips. You accept it eagerly, the bitter taste of red wine lingering on his lips. “Just need to make sure everyone knows whose girl you are, yeah? So pretty, baby. Drives me fuckin’ crazy. You know, every single one of those men wanted to take you home. Can see it in the way they look at you.”

You flush, a note of pride creeping under your skin. “But they can’t,” you say, a slow smirk spreading across his face.

“That’s right. You’re Daddy’s girl, yeah? I’m the only one who gets to take you home, gets to see you all pretty and pleading and spread out for me, yeah? Bet they go home and dream about seeing you like this.” His nails dig into your skin as he grips your hips, snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin.

“Only you, Daddy,” you promise, and Matty presses a kiss between your tits, just over your heart. It thuds faster, calling out for his touch, a wave of love crashing over you as you sigh happily. “All yours,” you say, pouting as he climbs off you and goes to root in a dresser drawer for something.

He comes back to you with an uncapped Sharpie, grinning as you shudder. “Need to make sure everyone knows whose girl you are, yeah?” You nod shakily, Matty kneeling over you and leaning down. The scrape of the pen against your decolletage sends a shiver up your spine, something close to pain but not quite it blooming where the ink stains your skin. Concentration is evident on his face as he writes, the letters bold and clear as he moves down your body. Sitting up to admire his handiwork, Matty plucks at the strap of your bra. “Can you take this off for me, princess? Wanna see your pretty tits.” You obey thoughtlessly, arching your back to slip a hand behind you and unhook your bra, tossing it carelessly to the floor. Naked but for your panties with Matty fully clothed on top of you, you shiver, exposed. There’s something that feels right about it, though, handing Matty all the power like this, and trusting that you’ll only love what he does with it.

“What did you write, Daddy?” you ask, craning your neck to try to read, but the letters are upside down and your skin bends in a way that makes the letters illegible.

Matty pushes you back down gently. “Here, darling. Let me show you.” He slides his phone out from his back pocket and takes a couple of photos before handing it to you. Eagerly, you drink in the sight of yourself, heat in your cheeks and your lips red and kiss-bitten. Then, your eyes track across the words scrawled on your skin. Property of M. Healy. A pulse of heat throbs in your belly so thickly it almost hurts, liquid desire dripping between your legs and pooling in your underwear.

Property. You turn the word over in your mind, savouring the way it traces deliciously up your spine. Matty’s property, his kept girl, his pretty toy, his to do with whatever he wants. The thought makes your head go fuzzy, the idea of being his whenever and wherever he wants melting your insides to goo. “You own me, Daddy,” you murmur, his eyes so wide with lust that they look black.

“That’s fuckin’ right,” he breathes, stripping out of his suit and boxers, his cock thudding against his belly. Eagerly, you slide your panties down your legs and kick them to the floor, watching Matty’s eyes fall to your soaked cunt. “So wet for me, princess. Does it get you off, knowing you’re all mine?” You nod, drool pooling in your mouth as he strokes his cock slowly. “Such a good girl. My good girl. Can see how bad you want it. Bein’ so patient, princess.”

Trembling, it’s a fight to keep still, keep your hands to yourself. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, Matty still just watching. “Please, Daddy,” you whine desperately. “Can do whatever you want to me,” you breathe, and the words finally snare him, his eyes darkening as he falls on top of you.

“Whatever I want, yeah?” he murmurs, a gush of heat flooding between your legs at his words. “C’mon, sweet girl. Legs up for me. Gonna fuckin’ ruin you,” he promises, thumbing over the bold, stark letters on your skin. He dips his head, biting a harsh bruise into your neck, one you know will be luridly purple by the next time he takes you out. You giggle as he takes a greedy handful of one of your tits, grasping possessively. “These pretty tits are mine, yeah?”

“Yours,” you whimper, the heat between your legs unbearable as Matty works his way down your body, repeating it like a litany as he grasps possessively at your skin.

“These hips.” His. “This ass.” His. “These pretty thighs.” His. “This sweet, needy little cunt.”

A strangled moan escapes you as he brushes his fingers featherlight over your clit, teasing. Desperation wells under your skin, your cunt aching with need. “S’all yours, Daddy. ‘M your property,” you moan, rolling your hips up against nothing.

“That’s right,” he grins. “Bein’ such a good girl for Daddy, princess.” A moan of pure lust spills from your lips as Matty licks a broad, flat stripe over your cunt, your hands fisting in the sheets at the wave of pleasure that cascades over you. He laps at you insistently, setting a dizzying rhythm over your swollen clit. You tremble with the effort of keeping still, letting Matty do what he wants while you take it like a good girl. “S’okay, baby. Wanna hear those pretty sounds you make, feel that sweet little cunt grinding on my face,” he murmurs, the words vibrating through your core.

Matty wraps his lips around your clit, the sensation making your body jolt as he sucks on your swollen bundle of nerves. Heat blooms under your skin as Matty tongues at you and moans into your cunt, the vibration rolling gloriously through you. He digs his fingers into your thighs, so hard that you know there’ll be bruises tomorrow, further proof he owns you. Mind-melting pleasure winds deliciously through you, Matty plunging his tongue deep inside you, devouring you from the inside out.

He refuses to fall into a rhythm, refuses to let you get complacent, switching between sucking on your clit, licking at your hole and tonguefucking you at a dizzying pace. Whining incoherently, you fist a hand in his curls and grind your hips up against his mouth. Matty’s nose bumps your clit as you writhe, legs kicking in the air. Molten pleasure melts your brain, dripping sticky from your ears and puddling on the mattress. “Are you close, sweet girl?” Matty asks, pulling away to kiss wetly at your thighs. Your hazy, addled mind struggles to latch onto his words, and you gasp as he blows cold air over your clit. “I asked you a question, princess.”

“‘M sorry, Daddy,” you whimper reflexively. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘m close,” you whine, tugging on his hair to pull him back to your cunt. Matty’s fingers join his tongue, a bolt of ecstasy striking between your legs at the scrape of his calloused fingers. He works skilfully at your clit, your legs turning to jelly as waves of pleasure pin you to the mattress. “F-fuck, Daddy, m’gonna cum, want it s’bad, please, please, please!” you cry out, babbling incoherent pleas into the air above you.

“Go on, darling. Cum for Daddy.” He pairs the words with a harsh pinch to your clit, your body wracking with shudders as you pitch over the edge. Pleasure drips stickily down your spine, your vision blurring as your orgasm crashes through you. Matty doesn’t let up, sucking insistently on your clit, your cunt still pulsing with the aftershocks.

Pleasure tinged with pain kicks under your skin, overstimulation burning between your thighs. “S’too much, Daddy, I can’t–” you whimper, his free hand pinning your hips down when you try to squirm away.

“‘Whatever you want,’ you said,” Matty reminds you, running a finger through your sensitive folds. “What I want is for you to take it like a good girl, okay?” You nod shakily, swallowing thickly around a whine. “There’s my sweet girl. Colour?”

“‘M green,” you promise, shifting your hips and moaning when Matty’s tongue finds your clit again. You choke on a gasp as he sinks two fingers into you, meeting no resistance at your soaked hole.

“Such a good girl,” Matty murmurs, kissing and biting the soft flesh of your thighs, marking you as his, the undercurrent of pain glorious weaved through the pleasure licking up your spine. He finger-fucks you hard, your cunt clenching and legs kicking in the air, a second orgasm already building at the base of your spine. “My fucking girl, yeah?” Your hand drifts unconsciously down to where his name is written just below your tits. “All those men today wanted you, princess. Wanted you so badly,” he coos, your mind staticky as his fingers thrust in and out of you at a pace that sends you reeling. “Wanted my gorgeous, sexy, irresistible, perfect fucking wife,” he groans, punctuating every adulation with a quick, deep thrust, moans spilling endlessly from your lips.

“Can’t have me,” you slur out, your mind off-balance against Matty’s unfaltering pace.

“That’s right, princess,” he says, pride colouring his tone. “You’re mine. All mine. That’s my ring on your finger, my name next to yours.” he growls. Maybe that’s not enough. Maybe I should take you out like this, show the whole fuckin’ world how much you love bein’ all fucked-out for me, wearin’ my name, bein’ my property.” You give a helpless, strangled moan, turned on beyond words. “God, you love that, don’t you, baby? Such a good little slut for Daddy. Do you wanna cum, angel?”

“God, yes, please, please, please!” you scream out, writhing and squirming uncontrollably as the tide of pleasure wells up inside of you, threatening to overwhelm.

Matty kisses your clit softly, your cunt fluttering around his fingers at the sensation. “God, you beg so pretty, baby. Go on, darling, cum,” he orders, and your body obeys. Your second orgasm is even more intense than the first, pure pleasure washing over you and wiping your mind clean. Your vision whites out, a scream you’re only dimly aware comes from your own throat ringing out. Euphoria burns from your core, flooding your limbs, hot and intense.

You come back to Earth to Matty’s tongue working insistent and sure over your clit, your body going boneless against the fervid pleasure winding up your spine. “Again?” you whimper.

Matty pinches your hip with his free hand. “Don’t be a brat. How many times have I told you I wanna spend all day with my tongue buried in this sweet cunt? ‘S what I want, princess, like you said. SHould be thankin’ me. Colour?”

“‘M still green, Daddy. Thank you,” you say dopily, letting your eyes slip closed as pure electricity washes over you.

You lose count of how many times Matty makes you cum, skilled fingers and tongue sending you spiralling over and over and over again. Your body feels barely a body; ecstasy in place of organs, pleasure in place of bones. When he’s finally satisfied, pulling away with his lips and chin fucking dripping with your arousal, your cunt feels sore and swollen, and you know you won’t be walking right for weeks. He climbs over you, pulling your jaw open like you’re a fucking doll and spitting the taste of you into your mouth. You swallow instinctively, smiling up at him and showing off your clean tongue.

“Good girl,” Matty coos. “Got you trained up so good, hm? God, I fucking love you, my girl,” he groans, leaning down to kiss you so that the taste of you smears further across your tongue.

“Love you too,” you say, gazing up into his eyes, lust-darkened but still liquid with adoration. “Yours forever,” you promise, lifting your left hand so your wedding ring catches the light.

Matty kneels up to take in the sight of you, fucking wrecked for him, his eyes blowing wide at his name in stark ink on your skin. He unbuckles his belt, freeing his cock, flushed red and drooling. Two fingers swipe through your soaked cunt, and you whimper at the prospect of cumming again. “S’okay, darling, m’not gonna make you go again,” Matty promises, wrapping his wet hand around his cock. “See how hard you make me, angel?” He tips his head back with a groan, slowly pumping his cock. “All for you. M’yours.”

“Made for each other,” you say breathily, eyes glued to the point where his cock disappears into his fist.

Moaning low in his throat, Matty nods. “Made for each other,” he agrees, fucking his fist wildly. You can tell from his face, the way his motions get more erratic with every passing second, that he’s close. With a gasp of your name, he’s cumming, white ropes splashing on your belly and over your tits. His jaw goes slack as he gazes down at you, his cum splattered over the brand of his name driving him wild. “Fuck. Look so fuckin’ gorgeous, darling. God, I wanna keep you like this forever.”

You giggle. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Can I?” he murmurs, awed.

“As many as you like, Daddy,” you smile. “I’m your property, remember? Your little slut. Your pretty cumdump.”

Matty gives a shuddering moan. “For such a princess, you’ve got a filthy fuckin’ mouth,” he chuckles, retrieving his phone from his discarded jacket. He takes at least a dozen pictures, pausing in between each to stare at you, unabashed arousal in his face.

“I learned it from you,” you smirk; you both know that isn’t true, but he likes hearing it. You drag two fingers through the mess on your stomach and suck them clean, grinning proudly up at him.

“Fuck,” Matty groans, cock twitching valiantly as he watches you. “God, drives me fuckin’ crazy when you do that. Makin’ me wanna fuck you properly, baby.”

A thrill skitters up your slime. “Please?”

#this is so filthy im sorry i dont know WHERE this came from #but hey if im going to hell ur all coming with me <3 #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #matty healy #the 1975 #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 smut #writing #smut #white and gold

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velvetures · 5 months

Text

Got Me Snoring pt.2

A/N: I'm so sorry it took so long... I've been doubting doing a part two simply because the first blew up like... crazy... and I'm afraid this one isn't going to measure up to the first. But THANK YOU to everyone for the love on part one... it's wild how much you all liked it. I appreciate all of you thirsty fuckers. Summary: Ghost is set on giving you the same change of perception on reviving head after figuring out just how bad you are at taking care of yourself. T/W: NS/FW 18+ ONLY, cunnilingus, size kink if you squint, spit?, lots of fem! fluids, a little male fluids..., cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and I'm still terrified this is gonna suck.

You woke up with a sore throat.

No doubt or haze in your mind about how it happened or why. And the only thing you could think was the word big…. big… big…

God, Ghost was so fucking huge. You nearly mistook the images in your mind for a dream. One so goddamn filthy you’d not be able to look him in the eyes. Only one of those big hands was sprawled over your belly. Fingers digging possessively into the little bit of pudge under them. Denting your skin and steadily reminding you of the rest of his body melted against the back of yours. You’d not moved an inch all night. Highly unusual on a normal day, but not with your Lieutenant sharing the bed.

Sharing a seat on the plane home wasn’t familiar either.

He felt inhumanly warm with his arm rubbing yours as the jet stream rocked the cabin of the plane. And the looks shared between the others as they watched the pair of you didn’t make your skin feel any cooler. Gaz staring at the spot where Ghost’s thigh rested against yours nearly made your pants singe. You couldn’t believe Ghost was just sitting there with his head leaning back against the wall. Maybe sleeping… he wasn’t really moving much. But you couldn’t tell. Nor possess enough confidence to look up or nudge him and find out.

Your sore throat ached a bit too. Raw, and making your voice scratchy, it’d been hard to give a solid ‘good morning’ without everyone asking if you’d come down with something. Your only thought was how Ghost came down something… and you had swallowed. A thought that felt good to hear in your own head… at least when Captain Price wasn’t looking at you with sharp, observant eyes.

Surprisingly, Ghost wasn’t the one who made you feel anxious. He’d been… different in leading up to the flight home. Having your bag packed before you’d noticed, getting you up before the others…. ‘Answer their questions later, little one.’ he’d whispered, masked mouth heating up your ear as he murmured so closely to it. Thoughtful… you’d decided. Realizing only after he’d solved the problem that waking up in bed with him would’ve caused a stir amongst the boys. He even made you tea… the way you like it; With some thick honey at the bottom. No doubt for your rasping voice.

No. Ghost was different.

No one had the gall to mention the Lieutenant strangely shadowing you though. Like you’d suddenly gained a massive black phantom tagging alone at your heels. On missions he would linger close by without anyone noticing, but that just felt… professional. Watching his wide shoulders slump towards yours while sitting on a shitty, makeshift, bench in a cargo plane? That was a whole different look. Even Price spent a good half hour chewing on an unlit cigar, trying to work out what you two had talked about the night before for Ghost to act like this. It was clear though. None of them suspected anything close to what actually happened.

Sitting next to him felt surreal. Especially when he’d been the one who silently insisted that you sit next to him. Having snatched you by your belt and tugged you onto the bench beside him instead of letting you find somewhere mushed between Gaz and Soap like normal. A low grunt of a sound and a firm nod pointed in your direction once he got a look at you sitting next to him much more shyly than normal.

You could smell his cologne, and memorize the tattoos peeking out close to his wrist. Feel his leg twitch to steady himself in his seat when the plane shook a bit. Even listen to the sound of his steady breathing. A whole new experience you’d not really thought about trying before. You nearly felt like you were learning Ghost all over again. Taking every small movement and reexamining it. Because… you couldn’t deny that he had readjusted his view of you.

A blowjob shouldn’t have felt that… intimate, you thought. Remembering the undeniably filthy things Ghost had said. It should’ve left you fulfilled… but not like you actually were. Some warm, expanding feeling, filling up your chest and making you want to hide your face and giggle. A grade school crush level of nervous energy you’d never felt towards a man before. Yet here you were, sitting there half-dumbstruck, watching your Lieutenant stretch his long legs and sigh softly as the landing gear rolled to a stop on the tarmac.

“Comin’?” He muttered, voice level. Maybe a bit impatient as those dark eyes settled on you.

Normal… you reminded yourself. He wasn’t talking you differently; No need to over analyze everything. Letting him lead was the smartest thing. The only way, really.

“Yeah,” Your voice makes you hesitate to say anything more. “Just got stuck staring…”

Ghost doesn’t show any real reaction. Just nods, and grabs his rucksack off the floor next to him. Wordlessly taking yours along in the same hand, walking off with -essentially- everything you had. Suddenly motivating you to not only move your ass off the plane, but follow his long strides to wherever it was he was possessed to go. And whether or not the others even noticed, you didn’t have the luxury of worrying about.

The Lieutenant had your weapons… and your only clean pair of pants.

You didn’t have to follow him far though. Only walking a few meters past your own quarters and down a hallway. Staring at the wide gap between his shoulder blades and the heavy sway that rocked the belt clipped around his hips.

He had your bag tossed next to his on a desktop inside his room without a single trace of the fact it wasn’t a habit. Sitting down heavily and reaching over stiffly to tug at the laces of his boots. Toeing them off with small squeaks of new leather and sitting them under the desk. Either purposefully staying silent to listen to your brain working, or totally unaware that you were stupidly standing there, watching your Lieutenant do a decidedly human thing with wide eyes.

“Come’ere…”

Ghost took off your boots just as simply as his own. Quiet, leaned over your foot propped up on his thigh and not even mentioning your hand resting on his shoulder to steady yourself. Feeling him tug the blouse out of your pant legs, and gently squeeze at your ankle to hold your foot steady.

You didn’t know how to feel about it.

Mortified… maybe. For the simple fact that you had worn the same socks for two days and his head was too close for comfort. Touching you. At least, touching you in a way that wasn’t meant for sex. It didn’t feel like you were doing enough. Weren’t providing him anything.

Guilty… yes? This wasn’t something normal in any situation. You hated a return. It’s what made you feel like you were causing a problem. Made laying low and staying quiet a habitual behavior. And Ghost being the one bent over and struggling to undo the tight knots in your laces? Nearly unacceptable. He didn’t need to… shouldn’t lower himself like that.

Ghost noticed it and you tried to beat him to the punch.

“You don’t have to-”

“Look like you’re gonna faint.”

That hand squeezing softly on your ankle tightens a little before releasing, gliding up your calf and patting you softly before guiding it off his leg. Those dark eyes look up and down your clothes, over your decidedly nervous expression, and back down to your boots before sitting them right next to his.

“Don’t tell me…” he mutters, leaning back in his chair, hands resting on his hips. “You’re not a fan of receiving… are you?”

The next two days, you leaned quickly that what was his, suddenly had made room to account for you as well. Almost instantaneously you’d been accounted for in just about every single way you could think of. You washed laundry… you found it put away in one of his drawers. You ordered food to base… it was in his room, not yours. Tried to get into your old quarters… the key wouldn’t open it anymore.

How he’d managed it, you didn’t even want to know. But, Ghost effortlessly took into account every single thing necessary to move you into his life without even a single question. And managed to do it perfectly. You couldn’t question it either, since he’d accomplished the endless tasks to such a degree of attention that you weren’t sure a man could even reach.

“Um, have you seen my black jeans?” The question felt a bit odd, and so did standing in the doorframe of his bathroom with a towel wrapped around you.

“Top drawer. In the closet, next to my pants.”

You couldn’t quite adjust this easily. Not that it wasn’t what you wanted per se. You’d enjoyed Ghost’s company more than anyone else the past couple days. And while he’d been accommodating, it wasn’t like he was bowing to your feet. He came and go as he wanted and didn’t crowd you like he was clingy either. However he did make you feel uneasy with how little he made a fuss about doing something for you.

You never asked for him to do anything. Yet he managed to do everything you ‘hadn’t gotten around to’. And worst of all, when it was time to sleep, he wouldn’t lay down until you eventually caved in and crawled under the blankets first. Almost like he was letting you get settled exactly how you wanted before even thinking about moving closer. No sex. No outward attempt at it. Not even a subliminal hint that he wanted more of your mouth, or anything else for that matter.

It nearly broke you. Or, better spoken, broke your perception of how you expected him to act. Which, made sense considering Ghost wasn’t anything close to the men you’d been with previously. They were always pushy… and he didn’t even push you to your side of the bed when you unconsciously wormed your way to his side at night. Your exes treated sex like a favor needing to be owed. And Ghost wouldn’t begin to act like he’d ever thought about the possibility despite having fucked your throat like he owned it.

Your jeans were indeed in the drawer next to his. And he did ask you to grab a pair of his as you retrieved yours, adding on that you’d be leaving in fifteen minutes… unless you needed more time to get ready.

You finished up in less than ten.

A bar on a Saturday night was Soap’s idea. Drinks, a few cigars, and the whole task force was his way of ‘team bonding’ and no one had a good enough excuse to deny him. Especially when there was a new mission lingering in the next couple weeks, and Price already had the files on hand. You thought it was a bit cliché. Sitting in a musty bar, listening to Price talk over the music about terrain, entry points, possible back-up, and the preemptive teams he was putting together.

It seemed his mind had been working just as hard as yours over the past days. Only you were preoccupied with Ghost’s hand firmly kneading at your thigh under the table. His thumb working at a sore spot just up and to the right of your knee. Forefinger squeezing to alternate the pressure and resist from making the movements feel too harsh. Looking far too relaxed while scanning a document and flipping through the pages with his free hand.

You’d resisted for hours at this point. Forcing yourself to stay quiet and not say something about it. Reminding yourself he was just doing it because he wanted to. Not because he thought he’d get something out of it. He wasn’t holding out. Every time his skilled fingers found another sore spot that made you twitch, you needed to physically clamp your mouth shut or take a drink so you didn’t tell him to stop.

“Another round?” Gaz held up a few bills in his hand, looking around the table.

When everyone agreed, you lost the willpower to sit still. Straightening up and trying to scoot towards the edge of your seat.

“I’ll go up since you’re paying.” The rush in your voice was lost on everyone. Everyone but the man who suddenly locked down with a vice grip on your leg.

Ghost didn’t even flinch. Still looking at the file in his hand, but that cold grip on you didn’t hesitate. Gluing you to your seat and enhancing the sudden sensation of his fingertips dipping under the ripped material stretching over your thigh. You couldn’t understand it. Dumbly trying a second time to stand up, only for it to earn you a side-eyed glance and a slight pinch to your exposed skin.

“No.” he muttered, chin jutting out in the direction of the man, already heading towards the table after seeing Gaz pull out cash .“The waiter’s comin’.”

And right on cue, a younger guy walked up and began taking orders. Going around the table, and stopping at Ghost was a very familiar kind of apprehension on his face after seeing that black mask stretched over his face. If only he could see under the table at the way your thigh was shaking from the soft touches.

“Nothin’ for us,” Such a cool dismissal of the guy that you hardly even notice what he said. “Price, leavin’ out.” He added, moving his hand to palm the back of your neck easily. Giving the slightest tug to get you up out of your seat as well.

“Little one’s comin’ with me.”

Not a soul at the table questions it.

Against the wall yet again.

Not unlike the first time… Ghost has a pattern. You’re breathless, but much more unaware of how this situation is going to play out. He hadn’t said a word in the drive, and kept the tightest sightline out the windshield you couldn’t even see his irises from your profile view in the passenger seat. The second he could spot the door to his room? His big body bullied yours right where he wanted it. Keeping you pacified by a hand over your mouth and dark, plotting eyes glaring down.

“Why’d you do that?” His question further raised the questions in your head. It’s all you can do to shrug, as if you had much autonomy over the rest of your body at this point anyways.

“At the bar,” The clarification deepens his irritated tone. “Why’d you take orders like that, huh? Like some fuckin’ maid.”

“You all wanted drinks.”

Unfortunately it’s not the answer he wanted, and you’re hauled that much further up the wall. Only now, you’re suspended fully off the ground. Balanced on his forearm jammed between your thighs; feeling his palm flat against the wall. God, it felt fucking ridiculous. He shouldn’t been able to do it, but he wasn’t even shaking. Dead calm and just watching you unintentionally grind down more on his arm the longer you’re forced to stay like that.

“I got my own.”

You nearly catch an attitude. Wanting to mention that it’s just ‘polite’. And for that matter, you’d not paired for a single drink all night. So, naturally it was only fair you go get them… You settle on saying something a bit more safe. Maybe more manageable even with how little your mouth wants to function.

“I didn’t pay.”

Ghost just snarls, head tilted and looming closer.

“I don’t fuckin’ care,” His hips flinch forwards, jamming against you to send the point home. And you’re not stupid enough to ignore that he’s hard. The long, thick line of his cock disappearing under the edge of his belt; tucked safely to have been able to escape the bar without anyone throwing looks his way.

“Stop doin’ shit just because.” He growls out a bit more directly. “Do it because you want it.”

His point skims over your understanding. “I do what I want!”

“Sure, sweetheart.” The dismissal is soft enough you know he’s not totally pissed.

“When’s the last time you made yourself feel good, huh?” He pauses, giving you a glimpse of his tongue licking his lips under that mask. “I think I remember you sayin’ you’ve faked it plenty of times… How many times is that? How many times you ignored that pussy cryin’ for attention?”

You get it. Oh, you finally understand… And damn it your face doesn’t burn hot with the realization that he’d caught on to just how bad you were about prioritizing yourself. Not even the dull, thudding pressure of your cunt sitting directly in his muscled forearm is enough to distract you from it. The mind game over, and Ghost holding yet another victory in his hand.

“I.. I don’t know,” You look away, unwilling to admit it. “A few times.”

“Bullshit,” He grunts, jerking his lower body against yours yet again. “You might not know that… but you do know how many men… don’t ya, sweetheart?”

Chest caving in defeat, you answer. “Five.”

Ghost’s chuckle is almost patronizing. A deep, rumbling one low in his chest that makes chills run up your back. Purposefully his wrist rotates a bit and your clit rolls over a thick muscle. You’re helpless to hide the pinched yelp it earns him, and it only makes him chuckle for longer. If you’d been in any other position, it would’ve been music to your ears. Now it just felt… punishing. Arousing beyond belief, yes, but still a bit of a sting to your pride.

“Five boys…” He muses aloud. “Not a fuckin’ one with enough sense to breathe without thinkin’.”

He stills for a moment, eyebrows furrowing over dark brown eyes. A debate in his head.

“Then i’ll teach you…” He nods once. Firm and resolved to the decision. His free hand coming up to trace your jawline with a reverent, almost scared touch. “Now that you’re mine… I’ll teach you how to be selfish.”

“S’not like I don’t know how.” It’s a wonder you’re able to sound that confident between the pressure to your cunt and the way he’s talking to you. Unflinching as always, he just smirks under that mask.

“Gonna show you how easy it is… to take pleasure. How to enjoy it.” Each word falls from his lips like thick honey. Whatever he’s planning so fucking rich in his kind that even his mouth slows and his accent thickens at the mere imagination of it. “You’re gonna learn to be good for me… and M’gonna start with that little pussy…”

One dangerous look down at where your thighs are trying to clench together freezes you.

“Not gonna let her be ignored anymore…”

Ghost’s tongue curls through your swollen, sensitive, lips; helping guide himself to your pulsing clit. Humming victoriously when your stomach flexes and your body jerks away from the steady pressure. Each lick is the same. Dragging up your slit and purposely spitting against your hole until you both can feel it dripping between your cheeks. Taking his time like this was almost painful. Feeling the twitch of his jaw against your inner thighs and hearing his thick swallows as he drank down your arousal.

It almost made you feel queasy, being the sole focus of this. Your hands unable to find somewhere to rest. Feet unwilling to settle on his back or off to the sides, like you knew you probably should be. Ghost was so intense that you shook. Muscles tremoring around his head and exciting him that much more. You were still stiff though, and it showed. Much to his excitement, it meant that he’d have that much more time between your legs. More opportunities to take you out of your head and throw you into a totally new one.

“It ain’t my mouth makin’ you shake, little one.” He murmurs, almost like he’s talking to your cunt instead. It’s hard to reply when those dark brown eyes lay locked on you from between your slicked thighs.

“I… I don’t know…”

Ghost just chuckles, kissing your inner thigh. Both hands slipping between your legs and using his thumbs to spread you open for him. Heavy eyes looking at your glistening hole covered in his saliva. Spitting on you yet again, and letting out a deep, satisfied sigh when your breath evaporates from the sheer sight of it.

“M’gonna make you feel everythin’ they couldn’t,” your eyes nearly roll back in your skull when he blows a soft, cool, breath over your hot skin. “You’ll memorize what my tongue feels like in your cunt… never gonna come empty again…”

You clench when those words come out more like a threat than a promise. Having heard that tone so many times sitting in on his interrogations. Always relating it to pure torture and the promise of wishing for death over being rested in Ghost’s hands. Only now it was startling just how badly you wanted to hear him speak like that again. Never having heard anyone sound so fucking serious about sex, or find yourself reacting so desperately. Your eyes scrunching shut and your head falling back against the bed, nearly pained with anticipation and a healthy dose of the most fearful arousal you’d mustered.

“Ghost - please, please… just, god take it easy on me.” Your voice is soft, pleading. Actually a bit timid of how far he planned on taking this. Of course he wouldn’t hurt you. You trusted him that much. But pleasure could be just as effective of torture, and Ghost was well-versed.

Another kiss presses to your thigh, “Nothin’ without your permission,” Those dark eyes gain crinkled lines at the corners though as he smiles. “But you’ll like it, little one. Every disgustin’ thing m’gonna do to make this pussy cream…”

His thumb glides over your outer lips, toying with you. Gentle to avoid sensitive spots and draw this out, but mean enough to remind you just how dedicated he was.

“Yeah, baby… you’re gonna look so good when I lick the fuckin’ come out of you.”

His mouth descends over you without another moment of hesitation. Still slow, but now it’s not just his tongue lapping at you. It’s his lips, rough with a couple days neglected of shaving. His teeth -which make you jump at first- pinching and nipping. But it’s all in the perfect pressure. Somehow fully aware of how sensitive you are right now and that the slightest move could be far too much. Reversing your twitches of apprehension into soft rolls of your hips against his face. Allowing you to guide him without a word. Learning how you want it whether or not you ever realized that it was guiding him better than a map.

You loved the slow, consistent pressure around your clit. Not rubbing right over it like he was sure you’d been subjected to before. No… you needed it softer. Sweeter. Just how a pretty girl like you deserved. Circles with a flattened tongue and his fingers working inside you. Even then, you got so fucking tight when he didn’t pull his fingers out all the way. Instead letting you milk them as the pads of his fingers curled against that textured, upper wall needing attention.

God, it was so easy. You had such beautifully clear reactions. What felt good, you’d nearly hold still for. As if you’d never felt it before and couldn’t withhold from the desperate curiosity. And when it didn’t, such polite grinds and roll of your hips would be almost too helpful in moving the bridge of his nose or his tongue to where you wanted it.

Ghost couldn’t remember the last time he ate pussy with such rapt attention. Enjoy it had always been easy. The taste, the sounds, feeling in control… any man in his right mind would relish in it. But you? You made his hard cock brushing up against the mattress fall to a true afterthought. He didn’t even care that there was enough precum drooling from his tip to soak through denim jeans.

Your first orgasm is a beautiful accident. Ghost’s body isn’t even what earns it. It’s his fucking mouth saying the nastiest things imaginable with a busy tongue stroking your clit. Rambling low and sluggishly, a thick lisp when his bottom lip tries to slide across your pussy on the right syllables.

Good job, tha’s it… s’good for me.

Keep fuckin’ drippin’ like that.

Stay right there -just like that- let me lick her clean baby…

You come quick and hard. Not even getting to relish in the feeling of release that wasn’t by your own hand before Ghost is working for another. It’s the most impatient habit he’s got and won’t deviate. Using the clench of your pussy around him to advantage by working you open all over again. Purposefully providing that “first touch” stretch throughout orgasms like a reset. Short term memory erasure of all his hard work just to massage at your shaking legs as gentle reassurance.

“Don’t — Don’t stop.” Your panting. Wanting to warn him as the second approaches a bit slower.

You’re still nervous to perform, but the edge is off. Having been given just enough reassurance that you can, in fact, come from someone else’s touch. But the slight tremor in your voice hints at the hesitation you have to come again.

Enough time elapsed to overthink what you sound like. How you appear from this angle and anything in between that has been a problem before now. Ghost doesn’t move an inch. The only thing he does is take a steady deep breath and move one arm to rest his forearm on the bed. Like he’s settling in.

Getting fucking comfortable.

And he stays just like that until you’re shoving yourself up the bed and away from his chasing mouth to try and take at least one complete breath. Your feet sliding in the sheets and the hair on the back of your neck getting cold once it’s not matted to the pillow. Previous experience anticipates that it’s the end. That Ghost isn’t going to follow. That he’ll take the credit for making you come twice, and enjoy a fluttering, wet cunt around his cock.

His face is next to yours and his swollen lips are kissing your temple over and over sweetly. One hand keeps his heavy weight off of you while the other gently reaches to your neck. Holding your head to ease the acute angle of it and shyly feel your pulse. You’re too dazed to see the look on his face. How relaxed he is, counting your heart beats and watching sweat slide across your temple and get caught in the baby hairs there. Observant, but utterly obsessed by this moment. Drinking in self-satisfaction and the much more addictive taste of seeing you fall apart under him.

“I got you. I’m here, breathe baby.” Keeping his chest close, he exaggerates his own. Pressing against you, grounding the feeling.

“It’s so much.” Admitting it makes you feel awful. Like you’re not enjoying it more than anything you’ve felt before. But you’re unable to explain just how raw your nerves feel. Terrified that if he touches your clit again it would bring real tears to your eyes.

Ghost moves closer, sharing body heat you didn’t know you even wanted. “I know, little one… you’re so sensitive. S’okay.” He answers, gently reaching down to pull both your thighs together and against him.

Curling you to his body and holding your legs to help ease the radiating pleasure signals thrumming in your pussy. His hand rubbing your outer thigh, squeezing at the stretched muscles in your hip. Dissipating the tightly-wound lower half of your body that is still expecting his fingers to touch you again. Split between wishing he would force another orgasm out of you and nearly passing out from overstimulation.

Ghost knows better though. You’d gone too long without someone else controlling your pleasure that it was going to be hard enough. And a second only compounded your body’s response. In the moment he felt possessed to prove a point. Really, the same one you had for him. But the moment you scurried back, that part of his brain turned off. Keeping you safe in this state was just as important as anything else. He didn’t want you faking anything again. That included when you felt like you couldn’t take more.

“We’re done, baby…” he kisses your cheek, tasting the sting of salt on his lips. “No more; jus’ easy touches… M’not gonna play anymore.”

It works wonders, simply taking the guesswork out of this. Allowing your legs to fully sag against him, trusting those fingers grazing up and down. Even your head letting go of the remaining tension holding you off the pillow. Ghost can’t help but smile. Kissing you yet again. And again. Helping himself to the sounds of your breaths evening out and the softness of your dewy skin on his mouth.

His hot body sticks to yours a bit, but it’s comfortable. Helps you feel secure, laying there balled up and trying to work through the multiple sensations still making it nearly impossible to open you eyes and look at him. Desiring to say a simple ‘thank you’ or at least, give him a smile just to show that you’re appreciative. Another one of those nasty little things you’re convinced is necessary right after the deed. Poised to give positive reinforcement at the first moment so the guy won’t run off.

“Th-thank you,” The way you say it almost sounds guilty to Ghost. Even the hand rubbing you doubles down, more firmly. Like he’s hoping to keep his own emotions in check by reminding himself of how skewed your perceptions are.

“S’not a ‘thank you’,” He replies, lips against your ear, feeling the easy, toothless, smile he’s got. “Told you the other day… I wanted it. Wanted you.”

Your eyes do open then. Hearing him refer back to the mission. Like he’s not the least bit affected by it in an embarrassed kind of way. Adding that much more reinforcement to the nearly unbelievable idea that he’s actually meant it and not just so he could get a bit closer to you. Surely he couldn’t, right?

“You mean that?”

Ghost’s eyes brighten, and he chuckles very deeply. Bumping his forehead against yours.

“You and your sweet pussy aren’t going anywhere.”

requests are thanks to: bvxygriimes bobochacha kmcmpmd simonsslvt verynastyspoon featherbrainedangel flower-olive riri-is-a-girlie bii-aan-ckaa mxshpitmom stormy-knight134 glocuseguardian3rd variety-fangirl and about eight anons that I can't tag unfortunately :(

you're all so lovely and I want to give you each a big smooch

reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

my ask box is always open, but fair warning I'm slow haha

#simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #velvetures writes #velvetures #anon <3 #velvetures answers #anon answered #anon ask

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ellitx · 8 months

Text

Pussy Drunk | Venti x Reader

masterlist

art belongs to: 1o8k_

word count: 1.4k

warnings: fem!reader, nsfw content ahead

A warm sensation, trickling wet and warm breath, was what woke you up. You could hardly see in this dark room, with only the faint light from your window being the source, but you could see a dark tousled hair and hear faint hums.

You tried to focus your sight in this dark but once again found that there was something between your legs. That, and your moans had increased since your brain had finally awoken from its deep slumber.

Then your eyes opened fully. You immediately shut them, feeling embarrassed by what you were seeing.

Were you dreaming? Perhaps, but it felt too real to be a dream. A tongue was pushed inside your pussy and you moaned deeply. The other hand found its way to your breast and began kneading it slowly.

You recognized those hands, the way he’d reach up to your chest and fondle them yet you forced yourself to shut your eyes tightly. Venti continued eating you out, moving his face closer to yours until you felt him biting your clit. He must have taken off your panties because now you felt the cool air coming from outside.

And then he lifted his head and looked into your eyes as he smiled wickedly. “The princess finally woke up,” he said with a hint of teasing tone in it.

It was difficult to look at him in the eyes when there were your juices staining his lips and dripping on his chin. He licked his lips, savoring your taste before diving back to his haven.

“Don’t mind me. I was just getting my daily dose of you,” he whispered against your weeping sex. “Did you know you taste so good?” His blunt question made you red, warm, and hot at the same time, you deliberately convulsed.

You didn’t reply but a whimper. Venti smirked and trailed his fingers down your belly to your dripping lips.

He gave it a quick lick before shoving two fingers inside your cunt. You tried to hold back, you wanted him to do it properly but he already seemed too lost in his own pleasure.

“Hmm,” he moaned. “Could do this all day to you, princess.” He thrust his fingers in and out while he lapped your insides. You held onto his head, squirming and shivering and he opened your legs wider to get more access which allowed him to run his tongue upward across your slit—filling his mouth once again with your intoxicating taste.

Reaching your clit, he swirled his tongue around it several times before giving it the light-sucking motion he knew would drive you absolutely crazy.

Not slowing down, he pulled his head back slightly and began to truly eat you out, his tongue flicking over your folds in rapid succession. At the same time, his two fingers deep inside you curled to stimulate your G-spot while his tongue attacked your clit. Venti was determined to make you cum like crazy, to drive you completely insane in a fog of pure pleasure.

Your moans turned loud and louder, your breaths short and ragged. Your climax was almost here, your body trembling.

“Venti…I’m gonna cum!” you gasped as the orgasm hit you. You arched your back, forcing your body forward as your legs gripped Venti’s head.

Venti ravaged you like a madman, leaving no drops behind as he drank all of them. The noisy slurps, the moans vibrating against you, his fingers digging into your skin— it was all too much. You gripped the bedsheets and buried your face in the pillow.

To be woken up like this startled you but that orgasm felt too good. You were so warm and hot, that not even the night breeze was enough to cool your burning post-orgasm body.

But you’re too sheepish to admit it to him, more so to beg and ask him to ravish you more until you won’t feel your legs anymore.

He cleaned up your juices with his tongue before covering your lips in kisses. “You’re so delicious, angel,” he murmured between your thighs as he licked his way up. His hands roamed over your curves, tracing each contour, enjoying the sensation of your soft skin against his fingers.

“Look at me,” though a mess, you hear him faintly. “Look at me, [Name].” He repeated and so you obliged reluctantly, meekly gazing at him below you. You saw his face as his breathing calmed, calm despite the fact he spent minutes on you— probably even hours— and was probably exhausted from lack of sleep.

His gaze went back to your eyes and he let go of your thighs, letting his arms drop to his sides. He crawled over you and lifted your shirt until it rested above your chest.

You shivered from the cool air hitting you, your breasts now in their glorious bareness to him. Venti stroked them gently and moved lower until he reached your core. With one long finger, he dipped into you and you cried out.

“There, there…that feels so good. Let’s see if we can make it feel even better,” he teased you. He slid his finger inside, rubbing around your walls and feeling your inner muscles spasm. Your breathing became heavier and harder as your arousal built up.

He continued, moving his finger deeper each time. He bit your shoulder hard enough to leave marks but he didn’t stop, he simply intensified it. “Gods, you are so fucking cute,” he muttered as he nipped your earlobe.

You moaned, hiding your face in the crook of his neck while you wrapped yourself around him. He softly kissed your jaw, littering it with small kisses and bites, then he traveled downwards to your chest, treating them the same as before but with an added groping and squeezing from his free hand.

With one finger, he circled your nipple and took it between his lips. They puckered instantly at his rough kiss, another moan escaped your lips.

Licking and sucking every inch of them, he teased your nipples constantly switching one to another. He sucked them firmly, tugging lightly while his fingers worked in and out of your slick pussy. The pleasure was building and building, the knot in your tummy beginning to tighten the further he stimulated you.

Venti’s voice was husky, full of lust. “You don’t know the things you do to me,” he groaned when he felt your insides flexing in his fingers. “Sleeping beauty will never sleep again.”

You tightened your grip around his hips, moaning as he circled your sensitive bud. “You love this, right? Love what I’m doing to your body?” he asked, watching you intently as he switched to your other breast.

A soft cry escaped your lips. You couldn’t speak. All you could do was pant and gulp for air as your body racked with tremors. You screamed when he moved his fingers faster and harder in your gummy walls, opening and motioning them in every possible way he could think to reach your depths.

You held onto his shoulders for dear life, tears streaming from your eyes as you cried his name. “Ven—Venti— oh! Hah… Hmm, good. S’good...”

You babbled every praise your poor head could think of amidst these lust-filled thoughts. You crave more of him, more of his mouth and his hands; you want his dick inside of you, pumping away to your clit until you have a mind-blowing orgasm that leaves you limp and helpless on the bed.

Venti kept going, his fingers thrusting into you again and again as his tongue continued to lap, swirl, and lick. The words coming from your lips died off, turning instead to a constant, vibrating moan as your body shook from orgasm after orgasm.

Sweat dripped down on Venti’s forehead. His whole body ached and his limbs were numb. But he didn’t stop moving. He went faster, harder, until you were in a toe-curling state of pleasure from merely his mouth and fingers.

Until you coat his fingers with your cum.

Until he eats and drinks and gulps down all of your womanly essence.

Until his dick throbbed in his shorts from arousal, hardening and dripping with pre-cum.

Until he could fill you with his seeds till the end of the day.

Oh, to turn you in this kind of state is an achievement only he could succeed. In the end, he couldn't help but revel in the satisfaction of his sweet angel begging for the great reverie of her beloved archon.

#elliwrites #genshin impact #venti x reader #genshin impact venti x reader #genshin impact venti #venti brainrot #genshin impact x reader

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factual-fantasy · 9 months

Note

I realized we know the least about the river person in ya au.

Care to remedy that?

Well to be honest.. not a whole lot has changed about her. I keep forgetting she exists and I don't have a lot of ideas for how she could interact with the group..

Though speaking of her, recently I tried to dig into her character a little more and I started by making a redesign for her. Although its only the first pass and Isn't official yet-

And despite my attempts, for now her story and character is still relatively the same..

She was just a lonely boat keeper. She would come home from her shifts to a gloomy house where no one was waiting for her. No family, no friends.. no pets or hobbies.. she didn't really have anything going on except for running the boat. And to be honest.. she was kind'a okay with that in a way. She just accepted that this was her life, and this is how she lives. And its not like she had no joy in her life. Her joy came from running the boat.

She would take all kinds of people down the river, and they would talk to her. They would tell her wonderful things. The children would talk about their hopes and dreams. What they wanted to be when they grew up.. what their favorite food was. They'd tell her about that crazy looking frog they saw on the way here.

The elderly would tell her stories of all the places they'd been and all the things they'd seen. And even if they didn't talk to her directly.. she still overheard some interesting conversations. The young couples would talk about what they were planning on naming their first child. They would talk about what they wanted their house to look like and how many pets they wanted to have.

And sometimes the people on the boat didn't talk at all. Sometimes they looked sad and wouldn't look up from their feet.. So she would sing to them. And when they got off she would tell them "I hope you're day gets better. I enjoyed your company." And the few times she got a smile back made it all worth it.

She put her value of herself and her life on the people around her. Transporting people from point A to point B and occasionally cheering people up.. was all the worth she really felt she had..

But then Jevil and his group came along for a boat ride. Half way down the river Jevil breaks out in a cold sweat and starts to shake. Somethings wrong.

"This world is about to end." The group perks up "What?"

Grabbing Seams sleeve beside him he says louder and frantically "THIS WORLD IS ENDING"

Jevil jumps up and makes a mirror below the water large enough to swallow the boat whole.

As they fall through the mirror, horrible soul breaking sounds can be heard as that timeline collapses in on itself.

The boat probably landed in a snowdin somewhere.. or maybe another waterfall? Or maybe in a dark world.. where ever it landed, Jevil was looking the group over when he saw River Person..

"Where.. am I?"

He had done it again. Ripped someone out of its AU just as it was dying...

I intended for River person to have some kind of survivors guilt. Thinking her life had no real value and that anyone else in her AU deserved to have been saved in her place. Almost the opposite of Grillby.

Grillby hates Jevil becuase he valued his life and lost everything he held dear.. River Person doesn't hate Jevil for saving her at all. She's not sad about losing her life becuase she never really had one.. She's just grieving for all those people who died and wishes any of them could have been saved in her place.

The guilt really eats her up inside..

#my response #river person #undertale #deltarune #I've been thinking of who's gonna give her the talk #the “you are endlessly valuable and just as deserving of life as everyone else in your AU was” talk #and if it convinces her or at least makes her feel better or not

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mcondance · 8 months

Text

hush baby. william afton. (allusions to daddy issues, general old william using / taking advantage of young reader yk the drill)

william fucks like his age. he fucks like a man who knows what he wants from years of getting. he will get what he wants from you, too.

he drains you of everything you can give him and then, he pushes for more, craving complete control of every thing you feel. its why he picked you, could just see you ending up like this, a slut for his taking, nasty and open to the filthiest things he’s only ever dreamed about.

it’s sad, what you went through to end up like it like this, used and shown no respect in your most vulnerable state, but he pays it no mind when he’s driving into you from behind, towering over your body and stretching your cunt to its limit.

amusement is written over his hardened face, the hilarity of what you allow him to do to you overtakes him as he watches himself breach your entrance over and over again, your cunt having to work to take him like your body knows this is wrong.

but it lets him in, you let him in like it’s right, wince through the pain until it turns to pleasure and he’s battering your pussy with no regard for the pain that’ll resurface the next day.

pain is how he got you, tucked away in your brain, steering you toward a man like him. and pain is how he keeps you, the dull ache of his cock abusing your pussy, the digging of his fingers tucked between where your thighs and tummy meet, the stimulation sending sparks shooting through you.

you’re so nasty when you’ve got a nastier man inside you, when his want to unwind you and use you is reciprocated. drooling on his bed sheets, leaking on his cock, the perverted desire of his heart is realized.

he’s got you singing, speared on his cock and taking it so well. he fucks you like he’ll throw you out tomorrow and you welcome it, soak his cock every time your mind registers the brutishness behind his thrusts, every time he manhandles that spot inside you.

your fingers curl around the column of his headboard, clamping down on them to award yourself some semblance of grounding but it’s in vain, he’s too ruthless and horrific, fucks you too deep with every sob he retches out of your raw throat.

you let him do what he wants, and that’s exactly what he does. you’re all wet cunt and choked moans, a test subject for his disregarded boundaries. his boundaries are your boundaries, the wires crossed and fused incorrectly a perfect path for his will to become reality.

he’s taking advantage of you, it’s what you both know, know what business a man his age has with a girl yours.

but being taken advantage of is how you like it.

every push into you is meant to to hurt, to make those crossed wires fizzle and spark with satisfaction. maybe it doesn’t count as being used if it’s what you want, too. it’s lost in translation, by now, only left with william fucking you exactly how you’d expect him to, how you fantasized about from the moment you saw him.

he’s thankful to have someone like you, someone who’ll let him push and poke and prod and mold into his. he goes crazy every time you bite and choke on your moans, every time you huff and rasp like he’s wounded you but make no move to run from him or to stop. he likes it filthy, and in you, he can have that whenever he wants. he can be what you need, if you let him have you in return. you do let him have you.

you say his name like a prayer, choked and battered and begging for him to twist and turn you inside out just like he wants to. willing to be used, to be fucked dumb and brash.

you like it like this, domination has revealed you as a drooling, moaning, vile mess. it lay dormant, waiting for someone to draw it out. waiting for william to lay you bare and new.

#william afton smut #william afton x black reader #william afton x reader #did all this just to say william is a freak and he brings out the freak in you #william afton x you #steve raglan smut #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you #steve raglan x black reader #cw daddy issues #mcondance 2024

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python333 · 5 months

Text

glass half-full, or half-empty? — python333

— — — —

synopsis you're trapped in a coffin, then you're not, then you're questioning your whole life- basically, buried alive trope meets found family and meets age regression and they all have a super messed up baby that has the occasional good quality.

relationships caretaker! price, caretaker! gaz & little! reader (gender-neutral).

characters cap. price, gaz, others briefly mentioned.

word count 8.0k

warnings reader was buried alive, implied drugging, implied panic attack, sooo much disorientation in the first section it's crazy, british slang that only kind of makes sense, second person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of both c/n [code name/call sign] and y/n [your name], wayyyy too long.

note hey!! sorry for disappearing!!! please accept this offering as an apology!!! I've finally gotten back the motivation for writing what i actually wanna write, so now i'm back to writing fics!! enjoy this new and improved interpretation of age regression!

Someone’s ribs are encasing your own.

Well, not really, but it feels that way. Though your torso is clothed, as is the rest of your body, the defined bones of the skeleton beneath you poke and dig into your skin the same way it would if you were naked. The rotted wood around you creaks and sand falls onto your frontside from above, where the lid of your coffin is kept together solely by hopes and dreams.

Only an hour ago, you blacked out. Fighting enemy soldiers whose fighting techniques you aren’t familiar with is hard enough, especially when they happen to keep bleach and rubbing alcohol in the same place they’re fighting you in. The two mixed together, poured and soaked into a rag that was later pressed to your face, created a substance that knocked you out. You know the name of it. You know it. But you can’t think of it, because remembering is too hard, and the wood surrounding you is too suffocating.

Your limited air is becoming more and more apparent. There’s no light, no noise—well, unless you count the subtle static playing in your broken earpiece—basically, it’s sensory deprivation hell and you’ve committed one too many sins according to those enemy soldiers.

Your whole body is sore. You don’t know if those soldiers messed with you after you passed out, or if this is just the result of fighting them for a few consecutive minutes, but whatever happened caused a strange weakness to invade and overtake your body. The oligarchy in your body created by this soreness left you unable to move properly, save for the occasional twitch of your skin or the ability to move your fingers freely.

But fingers are useless when your wrists are bound. Maybe they aren’t physically bound to the floor of the coffin, but the invisible ropes made of the misuse of cleaning materials seemed to be enough to keep them down. It was irritating, and the mental ropeburn created pins and needles from your wrist to your elbow that only made you even more uncomfortable.

The static continues. It’s cold. Cold, quiet, and God, how did I even get here? What time is it? What day is it? Your uniform isn’t enough to keep you warm. The tactical gear only makes your body heavier, not in the comfortable way that it feels when you’re heavy with sleep and ready to rest, but in the out-of-body way that makes you feel both like you’re floating and being pulled down like an anchor at the same time. You recall vaguely algor mortis, the stage of death where your body begins a gradual decline into an inhumanly cold state.

Why you’re recalling it, you don’t— actually, no, you do know. The cold. That’s why. You’re cold. You’re cold. Don’t forget it. It seems hard to forget feelings, to forget the present, but you’ll find that it’s like breathing; inhale, you know that you’re cold, exhale, wait… you’re cold? How do you know? How can you feel? Inhale, you can feel things because you’re human, because you’re alive, exhale, you’re alive?

Are you alive? Have you made it this far? What have you done? Not much, honestly. Or, not much that you can remember. Though there’s an overwhelming amount of hopelessness clouding your mind, you can still make out a few moments that play like a shitty wedding slideshow at your distant relative’s wedding who you didn’t know existed until a few hours before the event. The time that you told Ghost a joke that made him laugh. That other time that you told Ghost a joke that made him laugh. Or, no, wait, was that Price?

That time that you chased after Soap while he had your unlocked phone, which, by the way, was a very normal response to that and was very valid. Yes, it was necessary for you to tackle him, even Gaz agreed with you on that. Ghost just enjoyed seeing Soap get tackled, for some very dark very strange reason that you would rather not think about too hard—assuming that you can even think any harder than a brick right now. Price, of course, disapprovingly shook his head and seemed to mentally weigh what the effect of a leash on the three of you would grant.

Static-static-static-stat— “H—o?”

You almost sit up, but your head bumps on the top of the coffin, and you groan. Oops. Thought a little bit too much there.

You’re immediately dizzy and it feels like all the blood has rushed out of your head, but you still manage to stay conscious and try to figure out how to respond to whoever’s talking.

“H—lo?” They ask again. You tilt your head ever-so-slightly so that the button on your earpiece can get pressed, and you almost start crying when you hear the small click and beep emit from the earpiece, signaling that it’s now on.

“Hello?” Your voice is hoarse and it hurts to talk but you couldn’t care less. You have an opportunity to get out. You’re desperate to get out—or, at least, you should be.

For the strangest reason, despite the claustrophobic environment you’ve been forced into, despite the sores that you know are forming along your stiffened spine from the rough wood you’re lying on, you feel comfortable in the most uncomfortable way. The fact that your memory is fuzzy and your movements are limited to twitching and stretching makes you uneasy, but at the same time, the absence of your typical nonstop stream of incomprehensible thoughts and feelings strangely lets you… relax. The lack of thinking, only lying down and staring up, puts you in a mindset that you don’t think is so bad.

The situation is awful, but for whatever reason, the results of it are— are… oh God, what’s the word? It’s on the tip of your tongue, you swear, and now you’re thinking, well, shit, maybe this isn’t the best mindset. The void that grows in your head was nice maybe a minute ago, but now you’re forgetting words and yeah, no, I don’t like this, but at least you aren’t constantly second-guessing yourself. You aren’t contradicting every other thought you have, there aren’t mental wars waging in your mind that keep you unfocused and almost lightheaded, you aren’t arguing with yourself on how you truly feel. You just feel. And hell, you fuckin’ forget what you were even feeling just a few seconds ago. Thoughts come and go, nothing more than fleeting, and a part of you wishes that there was something for them to latch onto because being absent-minded feels a little too empty but your usual mind feels too full.

You wish your mind was like that— that problem, with the glass, the… the glass… the one where everyone argues on something about it. Something about it. What do they argue about? What glass? There’s a glass, a drinking glass, that everyone argues about, and whatever side you’re on dictates how you think— what the fuck? What is that problem? God, if only you had a working phone right now to look it up.

Oh, shit, yeah, the earpiece. There’s someone talking. Only just now have you actually acknowledged their words. They sound muffled and far-away, not at all like there’s a small microphone shoved into your ear that plays directly into it.

“Private?” It’s crackly and still full of static, the sound is drowning in it, “Pr— a— —u there?”

“... Huh?” You question dumbly, sounding more confused than you ever have before. There’s a ringing building up in your ears, and the person on the other end—who is talking?―is talking again.

“Ar— —ou ther—?” They ask again, sounding… worried? Concerned? Wait, shit, those are the same thing. Damn you and your lack of a mental thesaurus. Wait, no, if you… if you use the same meaning in two different words… would that not— whatever. You don’t even care anymore. This ‘mindset’ doesn’t feel very nice anymore. You’ve been conscious for too long, you’ve started questioning yourself again, but in the worst way possible; usually, you can actually think properly when you question yourself. Now, you’re questioning your own knowledge without actually thinking about your questions first, so instead of the usual hellish loop of what does this mean? Why did I say this? What else could I have said?, you’re now stuck in the purgatory of, what was that word? What can I say? What did I just think? What? Huh?

“Yeah… genius…” You manage to scoff, despite the heaviness of your tongue and the cotton in your mouth and mind, “Where else… would I be?”

“Oh m— God,” The person on the other end breathes out, “Do y— kno— who you’re t—king to?”

You shrug—well, you move your shoulders the tiniest bit up and back down—even though they can’t see you.

“Priva—?” They ask again, like a broken record, making you groan without you even realizing it, “G—z. Sergea—t Ga—ck? Y’remember?”

“G’z,” You mutter, trying to sound out the syllables, “Giz… G— oh, shoot… Gaz? Sarge?”

“Yeah,” Gaz laughs, a little clearer now, “Sarge, sure. Y— doin— —kay?”

“Uh-huh,” You exhale, a little relieved that it’s just Gaz, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Gaz sounds like he’s smiling, it’s audible in his voice, “Y’wanna t—l me where y—u ar—?”

“Uhh…” You look around the coffin with limited head movements, “I dunno, probably… probably a, uh… one a’ those grave things. Coff— coffin. In one of those. In a grave thing. Maybe. Wha’ are those called? The things?”

You sound dazed even to yourself, and mentally chastise yourself for the usage of grave things, even though you had no better words to describe it. You swear, you know the word. It starts with an “s”, you think, there’s a whole movie with it in the title by some guy named Steve-something. It has graves, coffins, the other thing that’s a coffin but not, graves, dead stuff, all that… hm. All that swing? All that… all that jazz, right, all that jazz. Wow, go ahead and clap yourself on the back for that one— oh, that’s right, you can’t, because you’re stuck in a fucking coffin.

What a day.

“You’re in a cof—n?” Gaz asks, shocked.

“Uh-huh.”

“Underg—nd?”

“Where else?” You deadpan, even though, for whatever reason, your instincts scream at you to be a little bit nicer. For that reason only, you tack on, “Respec— …respectfully.”

“Jesus,” Gaz lets out a shaky breath, his voice growing a little more faint, as are you, “Wh—e do y— rem—ber being last?”

“I don’t…” You mumble, eyelids growing heavy, threatening to droop down and meet the waterline of your eyes.

“Don’t… what?” Gaz asks, sounding almost… scared?

“Rember— rem’m… remember,” You reply, “Woof. That was… a toughie.”

“Oh my God, th—’re lo—ng it,” Gaz whispers to himself, or maybe to someone else, “Private. Do y— know at all w— you m—ght be?”

“Uhh…”

“D—” This time, you know this is Gaz cutting himself off, because he gasps right after he begins talking and starts a whole new statement, “Is your tr—ker on?”

“My wha’?”

“Tracker, the— the th—ng, it’s a—ched to y—r earp—ce,” Jesus, how much can this thing cut out?

“I don’t… what the— what are you tryna say to me?” You ask, for some reason… censoring yourself? What? Why… huh? You don’t censor yourself, you’re not five. Well, at least, you don’t think you are, not right now. Wait, when are you five? What are you saying? Or, thinking— what are you thinking?

“The— Captain,” Gaz calls out to someone else, “The t—!”

“Tra’ker,” You mumble to yourself, “Huh. I have one a’those?”

“[c/n],” Gaz says into his earpiece, the sound suddenly louder than before, making you jump and almost hit your head on the ceiling of the coffin, “Are you h—rt?”

“I don’ think so,” You respond, looking down at the shadows casted over your body, “Can’t tell.”

Gaz lets out some kind of pained noise and you feel your eyelids growing heavier. Your lungs hurt. Your lungs hurt? Oh, shoot, your lungs hurt. Gaz should probably know that.

“Actu’ly,” You take back, sounding almost intoxicated, feeling like you’re breathing through a straw, “My chest hurts.”

Close enough.

“Your chest?” Gaz questions, the static slowly but surely clearing up, “Your lu—gs?”

“Uh-huh,” You confirm. Your breathing was already a little shallow, but now its turning labored, and it feels like there’s rocks in your lungs, more and more appearing from God knows where, weighing down and taking up so much space in your lungs that the oxygen you breathe in must search for refuge within the cracks and crevices in between the stones.

Exhale, and the carbon dioxide that leaves you seems to find a way to invite more rocks into your lungs. Inhale, and there’s less and less room, exhale, there should be more room, but instead the room— inhale, there’s no room, try to inhale again, you can’t— inhale, breathe, breathe, gasp, hold your breath, don’t exhale-don’t exhaledon’texhale—

“[c/n]!” Gaz shouting your name startles you and forces you to exhale, a low whine coming out with it, making Gaz shut up. There’s a warm liquid dripping in trails down your cheeks, reaching your jaw and chin, the feeling of it sending waves of discomfort through your body and straight to your brain.

You desperately try to breathe in, try to inhale anything, even if it’s the sand falling from the ceiling or the carbon dioxide that you’ve tried so hard to keep inside.

“[c/n],” Gaz repeats your name, in a different tone this time, something more soft, something that resonates and echoes in your empty yet full mind, “We’re close, we— almo—t there, you s—l with me?”

You continue to struggle with your breathing. Exhale, exhale, inh— exhale, inhale, ex— ex— exhale, in— in— Jesus fucking Christ, just inha— in— in—

“I can hear you,” Gaz says, uncannily clear, he must be at least… at least something klicks within the radius of… of me… of me? Where am I? “You’re gonna be okay, okay? You’re gonna be fine. I need you to stop panicking, okay? I know that— th—t sounds easy to me, because I’m not in a coffin, but if you keep breathing like that, you’re gonna make it worse for yourself.”

You finally inhale, but it feels so wrong, like hearing crunches while chewing what should be soft food. You gasp. You’re choking? What’s that other word for choking? Starts with a “c”, right? Wait, no, that’s choking. Dang it.

Gaz is yelling in your ears, and it almost sounds like he’s actually there, but the wooden walls encasing you and this stupid, very smelly skeleton underneath you tell a different story. You cough. You cough again. And again. And now you’re just forcing the bad air out of your lungs, which is great and all, but now there’s no air in your lungs, which you would like to argue is far worse but you can’t argue because you can’t think and you can’t think because you’re in some coffin with a stupid— what did you even want to argue, again?

There’s yelling. There’s commanding. There’s footsteps, heavy ones, ones that come from combat boots and men in tactical gear, the same gear that weighs you down like an anchor, that keeps you glued to this skeleton, who’s ribs encase your own.

Or, at least, it feels like they are. Even though you’re wearing tactical gear, it still feels the same way it would if you were naked. The annoyingly present bones of the skeleton dig and poke into your skin, and there’s sand falling from between the planks of rotten wood above you, where the ceiling of the coffin is held together solely by hopes and dreams.

An hour or two or three ago, you blacked out. You think you did, at least. You think you might black out again. Fighting enemy soldiers who fight with techniques you aren’t familiar with is hard enough, but fighting the invisible forces that prevent you from breathing in good air is even harder, because they don’t fight with guns or knives or fists; they fight with rocks that they shove into your lungs and vines that they tie around your already-tight throat.

There’s no light, but there’s sound. Sounds that would be useful if you could think. You don’t remember thinking. You don’t remember remembering.

But you’ll always remember this skeleton beneath you, who’s ribs encase your own.

Or, at least, it feels like they are. The tactical gear you’re wearing does you no good, serving as the only barrier—the most useless barrier ever—between you and this skeleton and this coffin and the sand that's begun pooling around you. The skeleton, who’s ribs are— why are you repeating yourself?

Gaz is yelling in your ear. Someone else is— someone else is there? Someone else is there. Talking, yelling, screaming, commanding, running, searching, above you— above you? Above you. While you exhale, gasp, exhale, choke, gasp, gasp, try to breath, fail, exhale, exhale, there’s men above you digging, digging and lifting weight off of you, you think. There’s more sand coming through. The loss of pressure must be making it looser.

Are you thinking? Are you feeling? Can you remember? What is there to remember? There’s an incomprehensible jumble of thoughts in your mind, and you think, trying to control your thoughts, I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

It’s getting easier and harder to breathe. You can’t. You can… wait, no, you can’t.

You can keep your eyes open— you can keep them open, you can k—

“—eep your eyes open, Private,” Gaz begs you, pleads for you, his voice far but close, loud yet quiet, “C’mon, keep ‘em open, stay awak—”

—e, stay awake, stay awake, no, no, no, no—

—

You wake up to a stark white ceiling and some kind of electric beeping. Your head is clearer, fortunately, but still not clear enough to immediately remember what exactly happened. You remember a coffin, a skeleton, suffocating, talking to Gaz, and that’s about it. You shiver. A skeleton. You can still feel the phantom feeling of its ribs hugging your body, something you think your captors might’ve done to make you feel even more uncomfortable.

While you’re thinking about the skeleton, you don’t notice the sliding of a curtain and the footsteps that grow exponentially louder and closer to you.

“G’morning,” Gaz says, making you jump up and sit up instinctively, before you promptly lie right back down. Gaz snickers at you, and you turn your surprisingly sore neck to glare at him.

“Y—” You cough, furrowing your eyebrows as you bring an unstable and floppy hand to slap around your face, finding an oxygen mask nestled right on your nose and mouth. You take a few breaths, the task uncannily easy now, “You can knock that off. No laughing at the injured.”

“Oh, I’m not laughing at the injured,” Gaz clarifies, sitting down at a plastic chair he’s pulled up beside your bed, “I’m getting ready to yell at the injured soldier who gave me a heart attack about five hours ago after suffocating in a coffin buried six feet under in some cemetery in Derbyshire.”

“Derbyshire…” You muse, “What’s that? Or, where’s that?”

“‘bout forty klicks from Sheffield,” Gaz hums, before seeing your blank stare, and sighing tiredly, “The one with the cute houses and the pudding.”

“Ohhh,” You nod, now understanding, before joking, “At least I got buried there instead of, like, the bluejay one.”

“The bluejay one?” Gaz asks, confused, before pausing and asking you incredulously, “Jaywick?”

“Yeah, that one,” You hum. Gaz blinks at you, before groaning.

“Is this how you felt when I thought Las Vegas was in California?”

“Probably,” You grin at him, “It might be closer to when you thought NYC was the capital of New York.”

“If it’s not the capital, then why is it named after the city?” Gaz asks, exasperated. You shrug.

“Doesn’t change the fact that the capital’s Albany.” The room is silent for a little bit. The beeping, which you’ve now identified as a heart monitor, is loud. Your heart’s beating is fast and feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest. Gaz looks down at his chest, fidgeting with his hands, wringing them.

“I, uh,” You start, making Gaz look at you again, “When I was in the coffin…” The mere mention of it makes Gaz’s gaze sharpen and his hands still.

“It was hard to breathe, and also really hard to think,” Gaz nods along, “But I was still thinking, I guess, and I wasn’t thinking too hard. Like, jellyfish type shit, y’know? Like no thoughts, but also thoughts, but like…”

Gaz raises an eyebrow at you, and you try to explain it better, “Do you remember back in like, ele— when you were five or six and you like, just got a conscious and you’re thinking but also not?”

Gaz’s face relaxes and he nods wordlessly. You continue, “That’s how I felt.”

“I’m sorry,” Gaz frowns, putting a gentle hand on the metal bar on the bed you lie on, “That must’ve been… weird.”

“No, no, I liked it,” Gaz’s face goes right back to confusion, “It was nice. Which is weird. But I didn’t feel weird. I felt, like, really calm in that sense, for the few minutes that I wasn’t panicking.”

“You… liked it?” Gaz asks skeptically. You nod.

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“It was just…” You try to find the words to describe it, “I don’t know. I didn’t have control over it, which really bothered me. I felt, like, small, for some reason— like my mind is shrinking but my body is still the same, y’know? So it was really…”

After a few moments of you trying to find the word you needed, Gaz offers, “Disproportionate?”

“Yeah, that,” You nod quickly, “It was disproportionate and sucked, and it was obviously really scary, but I wasn’t processing stuff like I usually do. Which was great.”

“That sounds…” Gaz wrinkles up his nose, “... awful, but okay.”

“I think a lot,” When Gaz raises an eyebrow at you, you weakly slap at his knee and continue, “And earlier, when I was in that coffin, I wasn’t thinking. Everything was just going in and out just like that. It would’ve been nice to keep some of those thoughts, yeah, but when I can properly think like I am now, I keep too many thoughts and it’s like— it clutters up, and it just lingers for way too long.”

A small flash of understanding crosses Gaz’s expression. “So, you liked not thinking too much, because you already overthink too much, and being in the coffin and high on something happened to both help and not help with that?”

“Yeah, basically,” You hum, before realizing, “That’s way simpler than what I said. Huh.”

“That’s that overthinking,” Gaz muses, to which you respond with a frown.

“I’m not saying I wanna be all claustrophobic like that again,” You clarify, because you still see doubt on Gaz’s face, “But I liked thinking like that. The non-thinking-thinking. I think it would help with my stress and stuff.”

Another flash of understanding crosses Gaz’s expression, except this time, there’s a hint of something else in there. Realization? Curiosity? You’re none the wiser to it, getting a little more confused yourself.

“Oh.” Gaz’s slight frown disappears, the upturning of the corners of his lips now visible, “Okay. I get that. I actually think I know what’s happening.”

“You do?” You ask, confused.

“I gotta confirm it with the captain, though,” You’re more confused. It’s visible, you guess, because Gaz laughs at your expression.

“Don’t worry, it’s not bad,” He clarifies, still grinning, “I just have some suspicions. Y’mind if I let Price know what y’said?”

“... Sure?” You hesitantly say, to which Gaz responds by standing up and starting to speed-walk away from your bed, making you snort.

“I’ll be back in a bit!” Gaz calls out over his shoulder. You sigh and turn so that your whole back is on the mattress of the bed.

You were being honest, but at the cost of Gaz apparently “knowing what’s happening”, which is… disturbing, coming from Gaz, who you’ve affectionately titled a “D1 bird-brain”.

But whatever. It’s true, anyway, how you felt. It was uncomfortable, but it was somehow so much better than how you usually are. Or, well, not so much better, but at times when you’re overthinking or overwhelmed, you wish you could just turn off your brain, or something. Okay, maybe not turn it off, but turn off certain parts. You like thinking, and you do it all the time, but doing it all the time for you is like a full-time job on top of your already full-time job of being a part of the 141.

You don’t even make sense to yourself, but that’s okay. You make sense to Gaz, apparently, and possibly Price as well.

Speaking of—

“Hey,” Price greets you, his usual quokka-smile gracing his lips, Gaz following in right after him with the most smug look you’ve ever seen. What a bastard.

“What did you do?” You immediately ask Gaz, who only shakes his head and looks away, amused, making you a little annoyed. Price seems to know what you’re talking about as well, judging by the way his smile grows a tiny bit. I hate inside jokes. Only I’m allowed to have those with people.

“He told me what you told him,” Price hums, before sitting down into the chair previously occupied by Gaz, “And I have an idea you might like.”

“... Okay,” You look at him suspiciously.

“When I was still in the SAS—”

“Oh, so around the same time as the Trojan War?”

“Shut it, you.”

“Sure, Captain.”

Price sighs, exasperated, while Gaz snickers at his unamused look. Price, ever-so determined to explain this to you, proceeds, “Back when I was in the SAS, there was this other lieutenant who happened to be a good few years younger than me. Too young, in my opinion—”

“Look at yourself,” Gaz interrupts him.

“Bugger off,” Price sneers, “I’m tellin’ a story.”

Gaz puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “Keep your hair on, Captain, jus’ pointin’ out that you were younger than them when you first joined the army.”

You blink at the two. “I think that’s the first time that I’ve heard British slang that I can actually understand.”

Price takes a deep breath, “However, it wasn’t up to me to decide if or when they joined. So, I got to know them a little better, and found out that the stress they got after assignments was so bad that they had this coping mechanism that they had thought to be fairly strange. I asked them what it was, and because we’d known each other for ‘round a year now, and I was to be moved to a different unit, they told me that they didn’t really know the name of it exactly but what they did was they would sit down in their jammies, ones that reminded them of their childhood, watch some cartoons, all that and some more. And I asked them how that helped them, because back then, I was a dense little shit who couldn’t think for more than two seconds, and they said that it let them think the same way that they did when they were a kid.”

You blink at him. “So the idea is… ?”

“Maybe you two are related,” Gaz muses, “And the denseness is hereditary.”

Price groans, “Put a fuckin’ sock in it, Kyle.”

You gasp scandalously, before comically whispering, “First name after telling him to shut up? You’re just gonna let that slide, Gaz?”

“I’ll shove a sock up your—”

“My idea,” Price interrupts the two of you, preventing what could’ve been a fifteen-minute long spat, “is that you do that. You throw on your jammies—”

“Jammies,” You repeat incredulously.

“―you watch some cartoons, play with stuffies—”

“We have stuffies?” You interrupt Price again, who pauses this time.

“We should, yeah,” He nods, “There’s a bin of ‘em around here somewhere, for emergencies.”

You furrow your eyebrows, “Emergencies?”

He looks at you pointedly, “Emergencies.”

You blink at him. Blink, bl— “Oh, fuck off, I don’t need stuffies. I don’t think any of this would help me. I’m not five.”

“Yeah, but you wanna be, don’t you?” Gaz questions you, voice a little less joking, though it still has a little humor in it— a safety blanket, basically, in case you take his words the wrong way.

You stay silent. Price speaks up, “Tell you what; we’ll come back tomorrow, just me ‘nd Gaz, and you can let us know what you think of the idea. If y’like it, I’ll get you whatever you need to help you out. If you still don’t like it, you don’t like it, and we’ll figure somethin’ else out, alright?”

You sigh, “Alright.”

Price smiles at you and gets up to clap you on the shoulder, “Get some rest, soldier, up the wooden hill and off to Bedfordshire with you.”

“What the hell?” You immediately question, looking at Price like he’s gone mad, “Up the—”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s bad British representation,” Gaz hurriedly says, getting up and pushing Price lightly out of the room, talking to him in a theatrical whisper-yell, “You’re introducing them to sayings they’re not yet prepared for! Nobody says that to anyone above the age of twelve, Captain!”

Price simply laughs and lets Gaz push him away from your bed, not bothering to push aside the curtains obscuring the view of you as he pushes him out of the medbay entirely.

You blink at the swaying curtains.

“English people,” You mumble to yourself, turning over onto your side, “God damn English people. I’m never grouping Soap in with them ever again.”

—

True to his word, Price walks in with Gaz the next morning.

Price sits down next to you.

“G’morning,” He greets you softly, chuckling at the disgruntled look on your face, “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“Woke up and thought I was six feet under for a second,” You mutter, making the smile on Price’s face falter.

“Sorry,” Price apologizes, reaching out a slow hand—so that you can move at any second—to grasp your own hand and squeeze it gently, “Y’good now?”

“Mhm,” You hum, nodding, your gaze shifting to Gaz, who looks as disgruntled as yourself. You snort and ask him, “Are you good?”

“Someone,” Gaz snarks, glaring daggers at Price, “Woke me up two hours before my alarm so that he could force me to search for supplies with him.”

“I wonder who that could’ve been,” Price hums, ignoring the way Gaz shakes his head disapprovingly, “Anywho, have you given any thought to the idea?”

“The idea?” You question, before quickly realizing, “Oh, right, yeah, the idea.”

Price looks at you both expectantly and patiently, while Gaz forces himself to pull his glare away from Price and put his gaze on you, observing your expressions and response.

“Uhh…” You look at Price with hesitation, and he looks back at you without a trace of pressure in his eyes, making you sigh, “I’ll try it, but no guarantees that it’s gonna work.”

“Thank fuck,” Gaz groans, “My hard work hasn’t gone to was— ow!”

Gaz takes hurried steps back after Price stomped down hard on his foot, and the latter simply smiles at you at your response.

“Great,” He gets up, dusting off his army-green shirt and pushing his chair back, “D’you reckon you’re good to get out of bed now?”

“Probably,” You shrug, testing the waters by pushing yourself up into a sitting position. You wince at your still-sore back and your stiff legs, but otherwise feel okay, okay enough to feel confident in your ability to actually stand—though, you suspect you may need to grab onto something for extra support.

Oh well. You’re sick of this bed already, and if you can stand, you’re gonna stand.

Price sees this, however, and is quick to hold his arm out for you to grab onto as you swing your legs over the bed railing and hop off the mattress way too fast, making yourself dizzy in the process. You feel his concerned eyes burning holes into the top of your head as you try and succeed in regaining your footing, keeping a firm grip on his forearm in the process. Thank God for Captain Price and his too-muscly arms.

“You alright?” Price asks, to which you respond with an affirmative nod.

“Fine,” You hum, taking a deep breath before tentatively letting go of Price’s arm. He frowns, but doesn’t protest. Gaz looks at him questioningly, and Price shakes his head, nonverbally communicating to the sergeant that it’s nothing to get worried over.

Gaz decides to lead all of you out of the medbay, with you following after him and Price right behind you. You occasionally lose your footing, slipping on nothing, but you never fall, and even if you were about you, Price would catch you. You know he would. He’s been watching you like a hawk, hands twitching every time your footing is lost. But instead of begging for you to just take his arm, for fuck’s sake, he walks up so that he’s right next to you and starts talking.

“So…” He starts, making you look over at him, “Y’want me to go over the plan?”

“The plan?” You ask, raising an eyebrow, “Sure.”

“You get changed into your pajamas, we get on the bed, cuddle a lil’, you get a stuffie, we see what happens and then see what to do from there,” Price explains simply, “Any problems with that?”

“No, sounds good,” You hum. It sounds fucking fantastic, you think, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Good,” Price smiles down at you, before saying, “You remind me of them.” You tilt your head to the side a bit, “The lieutenant?”

Price nods, “Yeah. Really sweet person. Had a whole collection of stuffies and blankets.”

You smile, “Sounds nice. They just keep all those in their quarters?”

“Yeah.” You both fall into silence again, comfortable silence, and soon enough, the three of you reach your sleeping quarters.

You all walk in. Well, except for Gaz, who is stopped by Price at the door. You turn around to question them, but Price stops you before you can even open your mouth.

“You just go get dressed,” He says, nodding over to the drawers in the corner of your room, “We’ll be outside. Just knock when you’re done.”

Skeptically, you look between the two, before you nod and close the door, leaving you inside your room alone. You try not to give too much thought to it, trying yet failing to ignore every thought that crosses your mind, busying yourself by choosing pajamas.

Soon enough, you’re dressed in your favorite pajamas—fluffy pants and a loose t-shirt, as well as just-as-fluffy slippers to replace your boots—and knocking at the door to signal to Price that you’re done. He opens the door, and Gaz is nowhere in sight, but you choose not to ask about it. Instead, you step to the side so that Price can walk in and sit on your bed, closing the door behind him.

On the bed already is a fluffy blanket—it must’ve been set up earlier, considering that Gaz was apparently woken up at around four in the morning to get everything ready.

You sit down on the bed next to your Captain, your fluffy pajama pants and loose t-shirt already making you feel relaxed, as well as your fuzzy slippers. You don’t really wear this outside of going to sleep, but after wearing a medical gown for the past twenty-four hours, you’re more than happy to make one small change in your routine. Price smiles down at you, one arm hovering around your back questioningly, before you nod and let him fully wrap it around you and pull you into his side. You’re already pretty tired, despite the fact that you got a full night’s worth of sleep, so the pajamas are honestly pretty fitting.

You sigh, turning your head slightly so that your cheek is pressed to his chest. Gaz walks in just seconds later, your gaze immediately moving to him as he sits down on the bed right next to you, sandwiching you in between him and Price. In any other situation, this would make you feel claustrophobic, but it feels oddly… comfortable right now. You notice the stuffed animal in Gaz’s hands—a small, round, fluffy cow with a black and white coloring pattern—and look at him questioningly.

“That s’posed t’be for me?” You ask, strangely drawn to the small stuffie. Gaz seems to see your fascination with the stuffed animal and smiles softly at you, a weird sight, considering that the two of you are having kerfuffles every three seconds at the very least.

“Uh-huh,” Gaz nods, offering it to you, smiling even wider when you gingerly grab it, “Y’like it?”

“It’s cute,” You mumble, looking it over in your hands, rubbing your thumb against its soft fur and black beady eyes. You know what you want to do with it. You want to hug it close to your chest, like you used to oh-so many years ago, back before you had to force yourself to stop sleeping with stuffed animals out of fear that you would need them in order to sleep forever. It only partially worked; you never slept with another stuffie again, but instead found yourself waking up with a bunched up part of your blanket or your pillow in your arms, pulling tight to your chest.

You really wanna hug it. You missed stuffed animals. You miss stuffed animals, present tense. You miss their soft fur and the baby pink of their ears, the polyester trapped safely inside the confines of the felt and fluff, the sweetness and child-like wonder that you lost with them.

Both Price and Gaz sense the conflict in your mind.

“Hey,” Price softly rubs your arm with his thumb, with gentle circles and too many yet just enough callouses, “You’re thinking a lil’ bit too much there. You wanna hug the stuffie, go ahead and hug it.”

It’s easy, you think, so easy to just… think, but let go of my thoughts when I have him to ground me.

You hug the stuffed animal, pulling it close to your chest and wrapping your arms around it, your limbs too long for what you’re trying to do but doubt and stress in your mind slowly growing small enough to compensate for the lack of a smaller body. It’s frustrating, yes, but Price’s arm around your body and Gaz’s hand that cautiously rests on your shoulder makes your body feel the tiniest bit smaller, and it makes your mind the tiniest bit cloudier.

“There y’go,” Gaz coos, his voice a type of soft you didn’t even know was possible from him. Price only chuckles, and you should feel annoyed because they sound like they’re teasing you, like they’re a part of an inside joke that you’re not, but they’re not. They’re here right now, Price’s arm is around you and Gaz’s hand is on your shoulder and they’re speaking so softly and— and you’re letting your thoughts go.

They’re coming and going, some staying longer than others, but they never pile up, never clutter up like a messy desk or a disorganized folder. They’re neat and held up by mental thumbtacks, pinned to the corkboard of your cerebral cortex, sometimes melting into the beige board and other times staying, but never getting to the point where the thoughts are stacking on top of each other or where there’s no more room for anymore thumbtacks.

It’s something you never thought you’d be able to experience, but here you are, experiencing it, breathing it in like oxygen. Like an open field, bright and clear, with your Captain’s or your Sergeant’s arms—wrapped in blood and flesh, not stripped down to the bone, not poking and prodding at you—around you and keeping you grounded. Your very own anchorage; the perfectly crafted bumps and dips in their arms that fit around you like puzzle pieces when they pull you towards either one of them, as if your Creator knew that you would find refuge in them, as if They knew that you would know how perfect it is.

Because it is. It’s perfect, in the way that a salmon knowing its birthplace despite swimming so many miles away is. In the way that homeostasis works; your body finding equilibrium, that perfect balance between your internal systems and outside forces. In the way that the stuffed cow in your arms seems to seep through your chest and go straight to your heart and soul.

You don’t realize that you’ve zoned out until Price lightly shakes you.

“Y’alright, darling?” He asks, concerned, his gruff voice more gravelly than usual. You blink and look over at him, and you’re sweet again. Sweet and loved, and loving to love. Or, at least, you think you’re loved. You might be a tad bit delusional, but there’s something in Price’s eyes, some kind of light that reflects pink and green hues, some kind of nurturing-feeling that doesn’t go away when he blinks.

“Uh-huh,” You nod, the way your head moves up and down almost like a bobblehead figure, “All… sunshine ‘nd rainbows over here.”

Price breathes out a small laugh and Gaz raises an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah? All sunshine and rainbows?” Gaz teases you, “Are you sure there’s anythin’ happenin’ up in your noggin?”

You pout and lightly swing your leg at him to kick his calf, and although you’re only wearing slippers and are kicking about as hard as a pillow, Gaz makes a show of pretending to get seriously injured by it. He gasps dramatically and brings his knee up to his chest, hugging his calf to his torso and rubbing at the spot you kicked. He pouts right back at you, immature and theatrical, and you giggle—fucking giggle—at his antics. Gaz can’t help but let up the act, grinning as soon as your laugh sounds out, the noise music to his ears.

“You havin’ a laugh while I’ve gotten hurt?” He antagonizes you, voice light and fluffy, “Brat.”

“Noo,” You deny, voice growing just slightly higher-pitched, your movements a little less controlled by yourself, “I’m never a brat.”

“You sure?” Gaz raises an eyebrow at you, letting his leg down, “I think you’re lying, duckie.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“I cannot believe you’re both still annoying, even when they’re bein’ little,” Price sighs exasperatedly, making both you and Gaz laugh, your laughter more bubbly and light while his is knowing and proud.

“Lil’ kids aren’t an exception to my teasing, Captain,” Gaz snickers, reaching over to ruffle your hair while you squeal quietly and lean back into Price to hide away from your attacker’s hand. Price snorts and pulls you a little closer to him.

“All little ones, or just this one?” Price nods down at you. Gaz hums, thinking.

“Ah, just this one,” Gaz grins, making Price sigh. The latter brings his other arm around and turns so that he can pull you to him with both arms, while Gaz suddenly frowns.

“You’re hoarding them,” Gaz whines, while Price only raises an eyebrow at him. You feel oddly joyful at the thought of Gaz also wanting a share of your attention, or at least some of your physical affection.

“Shoulda gotten here faster than me, mate,” Price simply hums. He sounds so smug, voice full of smarm and expression knowing, because he’s more than aware of the fact that Gaz quite literally could not possibly get here faster than Price had.

“You made me get the supplies!” Gaz argues, though softer than he usually does, being more mindful of your newfound mindset, you assume.

“Ehh, you could’ve refused it.” Price says, blatantly lying as he does, watching in amusement as Gaz gapes at him.

“What?”

You like the attention, but what you like even more is the conversation Price and Gaz start up afterwards. They don’t take their attention off of you, no, not one bit, but they aren’t talking directly towards you, you’re just existing and it’s amazing.

Price begins asking Gaz about something, probably his reports, and Gaz responds positively, you presume. Price is talking calmly and slowly and Gaz is nodding along, his hand making its way to your own, his fingers interlocking with yours and squeezing your hand every now and then. Your pajamas feel awfully comfortable now. What did Price call them yesterday? Jammies? Usually, you’re an avid hater of English slang, but you can’t help but feel a little warmer just thinking about the word jammies.

You can feel your eyes going half-lidded, and you can hear someone chuckling. Probably Gaz. He likes laughing at you, but it’s never in a mean way. Maybe that’s why you feel so comfortable with the laughter. It reminds you of an older sibling, someone who’s basically programmed to tease and make fun of you, but still likes you. Or, at least, is expected to still like you. You enjoy the idea of a chosen older sibling more than a biological one, funnily enough, because the expectation of liking someone is so different from actually developing a liking to someone. With the expectation, there’s almost no choice; there’s still a chance of them not liking you, but it’s expected of them to like you, so they’re gonna try anyway, and it makes it feel less authentic, less real—but with choosing, they choose you to have that bond with them, they choose to treat you the way they do, not because it’s expected of them from birth, but because they see something in you that draws them to you.

Gaz is that person. That older brother that chose you to tease, to play fight with, to argue with, to laugh with, to hold hands with—he chose you. And because of that, his laughter is acceptable, and his teasing is never taken to heart.

Your eyelids get a little heavier, and someone’s gently tilting your head so that it’s resting more comfortably against their chest. Probably Price. He likes physical touch, unsurprisingly, and shows it as much as you allow him to. He particularly likes to loosely wrap a hand around one of your wrists with his thumb resting over your veins, gently pressing inward to feel the beating of your heart. Why he does it, you don’t know. Maybe he likes the reassurance of your living. Maybe he likes how it grounds him, how it reminds him that you’re a tangible being with a beating heart and a working mind. how it might let him know that you’re real and here with him.

Or maybe it’s something deeper, maybe it goes back to that other lieutenant, maybe it goes back even further to when he was sixteen and had just joined the British military. Whatever it is, you accept it wholeheartedly, because when he does it, it reminds you as well that he’s alive and searching for proof of you being alive as well. Because you believe that living people will always search for other living beings, or at least you know that you always will, because the feeling of brittle bones and the sight of dead bodies haunts you in ways that you never thought possible.

Your eyelids droop down completely.

“I feel like I should say good night, but it’s barely no—” You think that’s Gaz.

“Shut it and let them sleep, for Christ’s sake.” That’s probably Price.

“I’m just saying—” Definitely Gaz.

“I’ll staple your mouth shut so y’stop sayin’ anything, how about that, y’muppet?” Definitely Price.

#cod #cod hcs #hcs #task force 141 #tf141 #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #john price #price #gaz #platonic task force 141 #i love them guys #age regression YIPPEE #no beta we die like soap #sorry #python333 #i'm done with tags bro #too tired for this #too tired for tags

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turtletaubwrites · 8 months

Text

The Only One I Want

Thank you anon for this request! It was fun to reverse the situation from this fic, Just a Dream. I hope you enjoy it!

Pairings: Ace x Fem!Reader, Zoro x Fem!Reader (just a little dream)

Word Count: 1657

Ao3 Link

Summary: You have a delicious dream about a certain swordsman. Your boyfriend, Ace, is not pleased when you wake up.

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Alcohol, Swearing, Smut, Angst, Established Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, Jealousy, (not really), Sex Dream, Blow Jobs, Spit, Nipple Play, Cunnilingus, but barely and over clothes, Cheating, but it's not real, just a dream, Pet Names

A/N: Just wanna take care of this hot lil guy 🔥🥺

Ace could fall asleep anywhere.

You, on the other hand, were feeling antsy. The creaking of this unfamiliar ship was doing nothing to calm your nerves.

Easily slipping away, Ace’s heavy arms fell limp without you to hold.

You felt pulled somehow, not knowing where you were going until you climbed up to the crow’s nest.

“Oi! You want some?”

You stumbled at the gruff voice, hands slipping on the railing. You had a split second of fear as your body went backwards, but a warm hand gripped your forearm, pulling you into the crow’s nest.

“Fuck, sorry I almost killed you.”

Zoro’s voice didn’t sound sorry, edged with laughter. But you were too busy catching your breath, your hands on your knees while your heartbeat failed to calm down.

Standing to face him, you grabbed his bottle of liquor, and took a burning swig.

He chuckled, taking the bottle back, and setting it on the bench.

His hands grabbed your hips, digging into the thin fabric of your pajamas as he yanked you toward him.

“What are you-”

A surprised moan escaped you as Zoro’s lips found the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking up to your ear.

“Let me make it up to you.”

You moaned again, weakly pushing against him.

“We-We shouldn’t…”

“Okay. Tell me you want me to stop.”

He teased those words as he nibbled your ear, and pressed you against him, the rock hard length of him pressing between your clothed bodies.

Your knees went weak as he slid to the ground. His hot breath pushed through your clothes as he brought his mouth down to your pussy, his lips leaving a gentle kiss on the soaked fabric, your body betraying your desire.

A low laugh vibrated through him, making your head tilt back to moan toward the stars.

His hot tongue licked you through your shorts, bringing your eyes back to his while your fingers tangled into his green hair.

“Do you want me to stop,” he asked, his voice coming out in a dangerous whisper.

“Don’t stop, Zoro…”

“What?”

Another moan left your lips as you saw the look in Zoro's eyes, but your fingers were clenching sheets instead of green hair.

“Hm,” you moaned, stretching as your brain crawled its way back to reality.

What a crazy dream. That would never happen. But wow…

A sliver of morning light peeked through the heavy curtains, and your eyes fell on Whitebeard’s jolly roger, inked across your boyfriend’s back.

“Good morning,” you said with a smile, stretching across the bed to touch him.

He stiffened at the contact, and your stomach dropped. Pulling yourself up, you crawled to him, hating the tightness on his face when you pulled him toward you.

“Baby, what’s wrong?”

He didn’t respond, still not meeting your eyes.

“Ace, honey, is everything okay?”

His eyes met yours for just a moment, hurt stinging in them, and you tensed.

“Do you want me?”

His words were low, almost hard to hear, but they pierced through you.

“Of course I want you! What’s going on?”

His shoulders slumped, but he let you guide his face to yours, your hand on his cheek as you waited for him.

“I heard you. You were dreaming about Luffy’s first mate... You wanted him.”

You crawled to sit closer, and you shook your head, holding his hands in yours.

“Ace, baby, it was just a dream. I don’t want to be with anyone else. I promise. Dreams are just crazy sometimes.”

He nodded, but the sadness on his face tore at you. You wrapped him in your arms, running your hand along that tattoo, his pride, wracking your brain for how to fix this.

“Please, Ace. You’re the only one I want.”

“Don’t pity me.”

His words would have been harsh if they hadn’t been so small. Thankfully, he didn’t pull away from your touch.

Bringing your forehead to his, you took in a breath, willing him to believe you.

“I’m not saying this out of pity, Ace. I’m saying it because it’s true. I’m yours, baby. I don’t want anyone else, ever. I want you.”

You brought a hand to his heart, wondering why this hurt him so deeply.

I don’t ever want to see him hurt like this again.

His eyes drifted closed as he took a shaky breath, his hand reaching up to press yours against his chest.

He pulled back a bit, meeting your gaze with the ghost of a smile on his lips.

“You promise?”

“I promise, Ace. You’re stuck with me.”

He huffed a laugh, the small sound calming the strain in your body.

“You hurt my feelings.”

The tease let you breathe, shaking your head as you pushed against him gently.

“I’m sorry, I can’t control my dr-”

“How ya gonna make it up to me?”

Your mouth dropped open, his cheeky smile returning so fast it almost gave you whiplash.

“Were you… Were you fucking with me?”

He crawled back to the center of the bed, laying against the headboard with his hands behind his head. He flashed you a wink making you question everything.

“First you dream fuck another man, now you’re calling me a liar? I didn’t know my sweet girl could be so cruel,” he pouted, turning his face away from you.

“Wait,” you sighed, grabbing his chin and dragging him back, narrowing your eyes at his shit eating grin.

“You are the only one I want, Ace. Even if you are a little shit sometimes.”

“You know you love me.”

“I do,” you admitted with a laugh, leaning down for a kiss.

His teasing words stopped you before your lips touched, his breath mingling with yours.

“Prove it, sweetness.”

Sucking your teeth, you watched his eyes, lit with joy as if his flames were hiding behind them.

You honestly couldn’t tell if he’d really been hurting before now that he was teasing. It had seemed so real, but he doesn’t usually show pain like that. It irked you that you couldn’t tell, especially since the thought of him feeling so hurt made your own heart ache.

Your eyes narrowed at his devilish smirk, and you decided you’d do whatever it takes to keep that pain off his face, whether this time had been fake or not.

I’ll make sure he knows he’s wanted. I’ll make sure he knows he’s loved.

You leaned over him, leaving a soft kiss on those smirking lips, waiting until his hum of contentment before hooking your fingers in the fabric, and tugging his boxers down his toned legs. His long cock sprung free, getting harder with each second that he watched you.

Stealing another soft kiss, you brought your lips down his jaw, breathing along his ear.

“I love you. I want you.”

A small gasp left his lips, and you smiled against his skin as he threw his head back on the pillows. You licked the column of his throat as he bared it for you, making your way slowly down.

His flesh was so warm in your mouth as you kissed, licked, and sucked, relishing in the little shakes and noises he made. Teasing his nipples brought the cutest noises, until he frowned down at you.

“Now you’re just teasing,” he whined, pouty lip making you want to bite it.

“Sorry, you’re just so tasty,” you said, licking his nipple again. You laughed your way down at his wiggles of protest, before breathing over his twitching length.

He let it twitch again, hitting your lips before you reached for it.

“You’re so needy.”

His mock outrage was cut short when you pressed a soft, wet kiss to his tip, swirling his precum around your tongue. You wrapped one hand around the base, letting the other play with his balls.

Ace always ran hot, his whole body radiating warmth, no matter what the temperature was.

But his cock was something else, the heat of it inside you intense, and delicious.

“F-Fuck, baby girl… Your lips feels soo good- Fuck, just like that.”

There was nothing like making this man whimper.

You took your time, teasing, sucking, letting his tip slide out of your mouth with a pop.

He watched you the whole time, and you let it show in your eyes how much you want him.

Finally taking him fully into your mouth, feeling his veins slide along your tongue, you started fucking him with your throat. Breathing through your nose, you let spit drip down his shaft, meeting your hand at his base as you started to push yourself further, wanting more and more of him.

“Gods, Y/N, how do you feel this fucking good?”

His voice was strained as you looked up, tears dripping as you shoved him into your throat.

Ace met your eyes and moaned, back arching as he tried to warn you.

“Fuck, baby, I’m…”

But you knew, you could feel the veins pulsing in his way too hot cock. You relaxed as he twitched, letting his come practically burn down your throat, filling you with heat that sent shivers over your skin.

Ace’s hips stuttered, forcing himself a bit further into you as he came, his body making sure you took it all.

Panting as you pulled away, sweat beaded along your skin.

“Come here.”

His hands found you, pulling you up and into his arms as you coughed, still trying to breathe.

He pressed himself against your back, burying his face in your neck, and you waited.

“Ace,” you asked softly, voice still recovering.

“Thank you.”

You wriggled against him, too fucking hot now, but he squeezed you closer.

You turned your head toward him, but he held you too tight to see his face.

“I love you, Ace. You’re the only one I want. You’re my one and only, hot stuff.”

He hummed, pressing warm lips behind your ear.

“I love you too, sweetness.”

Thank you for reading! 💜

a/n: I hope you enjoyed it! This guy deserves all the love 🧡🔥

buy me a coffee ☕💜

#portgas d ace smut #portgas d ace x reader #zoro smut #zoro x reader #one piece smut #reader Insert #fem!reader #smut #mine #one piece x reader #fic requests #anonymous #inbox #x reader #turtletaub fics #cw cheating

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