#brighter skin tips

[lkjhg123]

Banish acne and embrace clear, healthy skin with yes2naturalglow’s Anti-Acne Facewash Combo. Designed to target and prevent breakouts, this combo leaves your skin feeling fresh and clean.

[flourishfusionlifestyle]

A lot of people want healthy, radiant skin, but it takes more than just good fortune to get there. Everyone can find the secrets to radiant skin with the correct skincare routine and habits.

[zainabasalim]

The Best Skin Care Routine to Effectively Reduce Hyperpigmentation and Dark Spots

Discover a simple five-step routine to effectively reduce hyperpigmentation and dark spots. Cleanse gently with a skin-friendly cleanser, exfoliate to smooth and brighten, apply a Vitamin C serum to target dark spots, hydrate with a dermatologist-tested face moisturizer, and protect your skin with lightweight gel sunscreens. Consistent care is the secret to achieving clear, healthy, and radiant skin. Start your skincare journey today!

[cloudtransprncy]

Worst Behaviour

Karina X Male Reader | 2500 words Tags: Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Spit Play, Hair Pulling, Creampie, just wanna fuck her cuz she's hot af

She just finished getting ready for the club, but she's giving you that look. There's no way you're letting her walk out that door.

Fuck.

She's looking at you with that same look again. That half-lidded gaze that makes your cock twitch in your pants. Karina's sprawled on your couch like she owns the place, that sparkly see-through dress barely covering anything important. Her dark hair spills over her shoulders, and those full lips are slightly parted like she's waiting for you to do something about it.

You've been trying to keep it together all night. But how the hell are you supposed to concentrate when she looks like that?

"Why do you keep looking at me, babe?" she asks, voice honey-sweet but with that edge that tells you she knows exactly what she's doing. Her legs shift slightly, the dress riding up just enough to drive you fucking insane.

Every time she moves, those little crystals on her dress catch the city lights shining through your windows. She's glowing brighter in your living room than she would under any club strobe light, the view all yours instead of being on display for strangers to want what they can't have.

"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" she repeats, biting her lower lip.

That's it. You're done playing this game.

You cross the room in seconds, grabbing her by the face. Her skin is so soft under your rough hands, warm and smooth like silk. You crash your lips against hers, feeling her melt instantly.

When you pull back, her lipstick is smudged. Good.

"Call your girls," you growl against her mouth. "Tell 'em you ain't gonna make it tonight."

Her eyes flash with excitement as she reaches for her phone.

…

The couch is creaking so loud her moans are probably echoing through the entire building, but you couldn't give less of a fuck. Fuck the bed—you don't need it. The couch is your playground tonight, and you're sure as hell gonna break it.

Karina's dress is shoved up around her waist, her tits spilling out from the top where you yanked it down, her panties pushed to the side because you couldn't wait to get inside her. The champagne-colored fabric bunched around her middle only makes her naked skin look more delicious by contrast.

"Fuck, you're so wet," you groan, feeling her pussy grip your cock like it was made for you. Her walls are squeezing you tight, hot and slippery as you pump into her. You take it slow at first, savoring the way her body accepts you inch by inch, the way her breath catches when you're fully seated inside her.

"Been thinking about this all day?"

"Yes," she gasps, her voice breaking as you hit deeper. Her mascara is already starting to smudge at the corners of her eyes. "Wanted you to see me in this dress and just—ah!—lose it."

You pull back until just the tip of your cock is teasing her entrance, watching her face as she whimpers, trying to pull you back in. When you slam back in, the sound she makes is almost inhuman.

One hand digs into her waist, feeling the contrast between the smooth fabric and her even smoother skin. Your other hand presses her thigh open wider, spreading her legs so you can watch yourself disappear inside her over and over. The visual is hypnotic—your cock glistening with her arousal each time you pull out, her pussy lips stretching around your thickness, clinging to you like they don't want to let go.

"Look how pretty your pussy is," you tell her, staring down at where you're connected. Her waxed lips are puffy and pink, stretched around your thickness. Every time you pull out, you're coated in her juices, a string of wetness connecting you to her even when you're apart. "So fucking wet for me."

You maintain a steady rhythm, watching her face contort with pleasure as you hit that spot deep inside her that makes her toes curl. Her lips part in a silent scream, eyes unfocused as she surrenders to the sensation. You can feel the pressure building at the base of your spine, but you fight it off. Not yet. Not nearly yet.

Karina's eyes flash with something dangerous as she suddenly grabs your neck from underneath, pulling you down to her level. Her nails dig into your skin, not enough to hurt but enough to remind you she has claws.

"Spit in my mouth," she demands, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Fucking now."

You oblige, letting a string of saliva fall between her parted lips. She watches it descend with hungry eyes, her tongue darting out to catch it. When it connects, her eyes roll back, a shudder running through her entire body. She's on her worst behavior tonight—and you're right there with her.

Your thrusts become deeper, more deliberate, each one punctuated by the wet sound of your bodies connecting and the sharp slap of skin against skin. The couch cushions shift beneath you, creating new angles that make her gasp and claw at your shoulders.

"Pull my hair," she orders next, her perfect tits jiggling with each thrust as she arches her back. The crystal embellishments on her dress catch the light with each movement, creating a dazzling display across her skin. "I wanna feel you take control."

You tangle your fingers in her dark hair, wrapping it around your fist before yanking just hard enough to expose the delicate line of her throat. Her pulse flutters visibly under her skin, rapid and strong. Her eyes light up with approval, pupils blown wide with desire.

You bend down to taste her exposed neck, dragging your tongue from her collarbone to her jaw, tasting salt and expensive perfume. Her skin pebbles with goosebumps in the wake of your mouth.

"That's it," she moans, one hand reaching down to rub her clit while you fuck her. Her fingers move in tight circles, pressing and releasing in time with your thrusts. Her other hand reaches between your bodies, cupping and squeezing your balls with just the right pressure. "Fuck me like we're the last two people on fucking earth."

You slide two fingers into her mouth, and she sucks them like she's starving for it, eyes never leaving yours. Her tongue swirls between your digits, getting them soaking wet. When you pull them out, a trail of saliva connects her mouth to your hand before breaking.

"Slut me out," she begs, her voice husky and raw. "I'm your whore tonight. Use me up."

Her words hit you like a physical force, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your cock. You feel yourself somehow get even harder inside her, stretching her walls further. Her eyes widen, feeling the change.

"Fuck, you get so big when I talk dirty," she gasps, a proud smile playing on her lips despite her compromised position.

Her words make you snap your hips harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the apartment along with the wet squelching noises from her soaked pussy. The obscene soundtrack echoes off the walls, filthy and perfect.

"Yeah? You like being my little whore?" You grip her face, thumb pressing into her cheek, making her look at you while you rail her. "Like it when I fuck this tight pussy?"

"Yes! God, yes!" Her nails rake down your back, definitely leaving marks you'll feel tomorrow. Her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you deeper. "Don't stop, please don't stop!"

She suddenly braces her hands against your chest, pushing with unexpected strength. You're about to ask what's wrong when she speaks.

"I want to ride you," she says, voice thick with need. "Let me show you how bad I can be."

The sight of her taking charge sends a fresh wave of desire through you. You grip her waist, helping her as you both shift positions without disconnecting your bodies. The movement causes your cock to hit new angles inside her, drawing a long, shuddering moan from her throat.

For a moment, you're mesmerized by the view—Karina straddling you, dress bunched around her waist, perfect tits bouncing freely, her body flushed and glistening with sweat. Her hair cascades down her back in wild waves, and her lipstick is smeared across her face from your kisses. She's never looked more beautiful.

She places her hands on your chest for leverage and starts to move, rising up until just the tip of your cock remains inside her before sinking back down with agonizing slowness. Her eyes flutter closed as she takes you to the hilt, a soft "fuck" escaping her lips.

"My turn," she pants, finding her rhythm as she rides you. She grinds her hips in circles that hit spots inside her that make her whole body shudder. "Gonna use you now."

You grab her ass, spreading her cheeks as she bounces on your cock, feeling the firm muscle flex under your palms with each movement. Her tits sway hypnotically with each rise and fall, and you can't resist anymore. You sit up slightly, capturing one perfect nipple in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the hardened peak before sucking hard.

"Oh god," she cries out, her pace faltering as pleasure overtakes her. Her fingers tangle in your hair, holding your mouth against her chest as you worship her breasts, moving from one to the other. "Yes, just like that."

You cup both tits in your hands, feeling their perfect weight as you alternate between licking, sucking, and gently biting her sensitive nipples. She's become a complete mess—hair wild, makeup smudged, dress twisted around her body, eyes unfocused with pleasure as she continues to ride you with increasing desperation.

Her movements become more erratic, her thighs trembling with the effort of lifting and lowering herself.

You can tell she's close, her breathing coming in sharp, quick gasps, her pussy fluttering around your cock with the beginning of her orgasm.

"I'm gonna cum," she whimpers, her body tensing as her rhythm falters completely. "Fuck, fuck, I'm cumming!"

Then, you feel her pussy clenching around your cock, squeezing you with an intensity that nearly pushes you over the edge.

Her back arches dramatically, head thrown back, exposing the elegant line of her throat as she cries out. Her entire body trembles, thighs quivering against yours as the orgasm washes through her.

The sight of her losing control, completely surrendered to pleasure, is almost too much to bear. You grip her hips tightly, holding her in place as you thrust up into her from below, prolonging her orgasm while chasing your own.

"You look so fucking beautiful when you cum," you growl, feeling your own release building rapidly. The pressure at the base of your spine intensifies, your balls drawing tight against your body. "I'm close, baby."

"Do it inside me," she moans, collapsing forward onto your chest, her face nestled in the crook of your neck. Her breath is hot against your skin as she whispers filthy encouragements in your ear. "Fill me up. I need to feel your cum inside me. Please..."

Her begging pushes you over the edge. You wrap one arm around her waist, the other hand gripping her ass as you slam into her one last time. Your vision blurs at the edges, white-hot pleasure exploding through your body as you empty yourself deep inside her. Every muscle in your body tenses as you pulse within her, painting her walls with rope after rope of hot cum.

"Fuck, FUCK!" you groan, the intensity of your orgasm making you dizzy. Your hips continue to jerk involuntarily, shallow thrusts as you ride out the aftershocks.

Karina captures your mouth in a deep, messy kiss as you both come down from your high, bodies still connected, still shuddering against each other. Your tongues slide together lazily, the urgency gone but the intimacy deeper now. You can feel your cum starting to leak out of her, creating a warm, wet mess between your bodies, but neither of you cares.

For several long moments, you just breathe together, her forehead pressed against yours, both of you covered in sweat and sex and satisfaction. Her weight on top of you is perfect, grounding. Your hands trace idle patterns across her back, feeling the occasional aftershock ripple through her.

After catching your breath, you're still half-hard inside her, neither of you wanting to move. The bass from her phone vibrates against the coffee table—her girls blowing it up with texts.

"I should probably go," she says, voice raspy from screaming, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "My friends are waiting." Her phone buzzes again. "The club's meant to see me tonight."

You look down at her—flushed skin, swollen lips, your cum leaking out of her—and raise an eyebrow. "Bullshit. You're not going anywhere."

Her smile widens as you start to harden inside her again. Your hand slides up to her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her breath catch.

"No," she agrees, pulling you down for another kiss that tastes like everything you shouldn't want but can't live without. "It’s still early, and I'm not done being bad yet."

[sttoru]

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. dom!sylus x female reader. smut, pwp. gun play. degrading. cowgirl position. power trip. hunter - prey-ish? reader gets called ‘sweetie, kitten, sweet girl, slut.’ not proof read !

“careful, sweetie,” sylus’ husky voice rings in your ear. your hand trembles as you hold onto the large hand that’s pointing a gun right at your chest. you’re sweating—not knowing if it’s from fear or excitement.

the scene was a familiar one. you’ve been in this position before - on his lap - with a gun involved. yet this time you’re both so intimately connected; your clothes scattered around the velvet chair, your hips trembling as you ride him. the same man you swore you hated.

“it’s quite funny, no?” sylus inquires, unable to hold back a grunt when you stare at him with such a drunken look in your eyes. you’re drunk on the adrenaline, the barrel of the loaded gun pressed against your flesh. a hint of a smirk tugs at his lips, “how the tables have turned.”

your hips don’t stop moving. you pull them up and push them back down, the back and forth rhythm not to be missed as well. he fills you up too well—his pink tip prodding at your sweet spot with precision. it doesn’t help your case at all. especially when you’re whimpering and moaning about how good it feels.

it’s you who’s supposed to hold that gun up to his chest. that’s how it went last time, but alas. this is your second failed attempt to show your dominance over him, onychinus’ leader.

“it’s also quite pathetic to see you give in so easily to me, kitten,” sylus continues, teasing and belittling you. he presses the barrel right above your heart, his finger right on top of the trigger. your breath hitches and yet you can’t help yourself—your body seeks the pleasure by itself. he scoffs, “so desperate. is it that good? does it feel that good to have me all the way inside you?”

you shiver at his words. you can’t respond when you’re busy moaning the name of the silver haired man. he’s so big, you’re absolutely cock drunk on him. you don’t want to admit it. you refuse to, though the answer to his question is still as clear as day.

“sh-shut up,” you try to retort through a choked up moan. the lewd noises of your wetness swallowing him up to the base repeatedly, with each thrust, echoes through the room. it’s not like sylus can deny the fact that it turns him on to see you like this neither; he’s rock hard.

sylus shakes his head with a low chuckle. “you seem to have forgotten that you don’t have the upper hand right now,” he sighs, the metal of the gun gliding up your skin to your chin, tilting your head back. your eyes widen and your hand squeezes his larger one that held the gun.

he bites back a groan when your sloppy cunt tightens up around him instinctively, “do you need me to remind me of your place, sweetie?”

“or do you simply like putting yourself in harm’s way?” sylus adds, his free hand guiding your hips in a strangely gentle manner, just so his fat cock could hit all the right spots. “either is fine by me. i love to tame disobedient prey like you.”

he leans his head back and his red eyes roam over your body. your skin is glimmering with sweat, the dim light in the room giving it a soft glow. his gaze stops at your bouncing tits for a second before returning to your face.

“i—i just want..” you stammer through whimpers. you can barely think, your thoughts are an absolute mess. you don’t know if you should fear the fact that your life is being played with while you’re in such a compromising position, or if you should just enjoy the addicting sensations the situation brings along.

sylus encourages you to keep on talking by tapping the barrel of his gun beneath your chin again, his right eye faintly glowing a brighter red. you gulp as you bounce on his dick. you know your inner desires and needs have already been exposed to sylus—he probably knows what you need, yet he’ll still make you say it to him directly.

“i just.. need you,” you finally manage to form a proper sentence. you’re unable to take your words back. you don’t care at the moment; you’re focused on chasing that sweet high.

sylus’s long fingers tighten their grip around your hip. he closes his eyes for a second to recompose himself before opening them again. “who knew you’d be such a needy slut,” he mutters underneath his breath, trying to keep calm when you admitted to needing him in such a whiny tone.

“need me, hm?” sylus grins as he finally got you to be vocal about your true needs. “need me to fill you up that bad? to pound you brainless? to have you submit to me while i show this slutty cunt of yours what it’s like to have me fucking it?”

the words fall off his tongue with such ease. the sudden dirty talk and change in tone makes your stomach do flips. his free hand reaches up to tug your hair back harshly while he whispers that in your ear.

“yes, fuck—yes, need it so bad,” you nod mindlessly. you don’t care about anything as you’re riding him. you’re willingly handing your destiny over to sylus—which drives him insane. the thrill of having that power over you makes his finger tremble on the trigger. the power trip is messing with his brain.

his eyes darken for a few seconds while he regains his composure. he can’t wait to flip you over and have his way with you.

sylus grins before kissing your ear and neck, bucking his hips up to hear you mewl from pleasure. he pulls away from your skin to look at you with his signature smirk, teasing you once more, “then, who am i to deny my sweet girl?”

[bitchy-craft]

Glow-Up: Appearance Affirmations

Hello and welcome to this post! In here I will be giving a few motivation affirmations. I hope you all enjoy and find this useful.

Masterpost > Paid Readings > Subliminal Channel

NOTE: the subliminal with these affirmations is here

I am glowing with beauty, confidence, and positivity.

My physical appearance transforms effortlessly into its best version.

I radiate health, happiness, and charm.

My skin is clear, glowing, and flawless.

My hair is shiny, strong, and full of life.

My body is toned, healthy, and beautiful.

I feel more confident and attractive every day.

My natural beauty shines brighter with each passing moment.

I am the best version of myself, inside and out.

My posture, poise, and energy exude elegance.

I effortlessly attract admiration and positive attention.

My smile is radiant and lights up every room.

I glow with self-love and confidence.

My style perfectly reflects my unique beauty and personality.

I take care of myself and it shows in my glowing appearance.

I feel energized, vibrant, and full of life.

My presence is magnetic and unforgettable.

I embody grace, beauty, and strength in all that I do.

My energy is captivating, uplifting, and inspiring to others.

I am proud of my glow-up and the incredible person I am becoming.

Tip: you can repeat as much as you want, it is all effective. What works for you works for you.

[teddybeartoji]

18+ mdni; fem!reader + daddy kink

shoko smoking a cigarette while she's fucking you with her strap.. chuckling at the way you're drooling into the pillow,, she's got a knee on the bed while her other leg is propped up on the mattress, so she can reach even deeper, so she can fuck you even better. her free hand kneads the plush flesh of your ass, slapping it every once in a while just to hear you whimper her name. it's like music to her ears, she fucking loves it.

throwing her hair over her shoulder, she leans forward, her strap now slotted so deep inside you that you feel it in your throat. her tits press against your back and you arch up into her on instinct. she takes the cigarette from her lips and places it onto the ashtray right next to the bed, just so she can get closer to you.

her pace turns into a slower one, simply grinding her hips into yours as she kisses your sweaty temple. "does it feel good, hm?"

your grip on the sheet below you tightens, the flame in your stomach burning brighter at the sudden proximity. your mind is hazy, your thoughts all jumbled inside your head, so you give her a faint nod, hoping that'll be enough.

shoko's lips trace down the side of your face and your body moves all on its own, leaning into her touch like a cat in heat. you feel her smile against your skin. "c'mon, use your words, baby... tell daddy how you feel."

her voice is raspy, the coo trickling from her lips like sticky goo, trapping you under her indefinitely. you're burning all over; the rays of sun that peek from between the curtain cradle your faces, they illuminate the pleasure painted onto your expressions. shoko places another kiss right in the middle of a light patch right on the corner of your lips and it all feels unreal.

she presses you down further into the mattress, the sweat of your bodies mixing together as she continues rocking into you. the words get stuck in your throat and she laughs at your cute, fucked out expression.

the sound makes you want to take a peek at her and you regret the decision to do so immediately, because she's right there, staring down at you with low eyes, her lips swollen from all of the kisses you stole but a mere hour earlier. the makeout session escalalated fast – with you sat on her lap, nipping at her neck and her mouth hungrily, all while whining about her not paying enough attention to you, it was impossible for it not to go from one to a hundred. you asked for this. begged for it.

the marks on her neck are darker now and she looks fucking heavenly. her lipstick is smudged, a droplet of sweat dribbling down her forehead – there's a sick little grin glued to her lips, the kind that lets you know that she's so fucking far from being done with you, despite the numerous orgasms she's pulled from you already.

when you still can't muster up a single word, she slithers a hand into your hair and gives it a tug strong enough for you to raise your head from the bed. you hiss at the faint tinge of pain and she lets out another raspy laugh – she likes seeing you like this, she loves ruining you. with her mouth latched onto your jaw, you feel her wet and warm tongue draw shapes into your skin.

"aw, has daddy fucked you dumb already, baby?"

the coil in your stomach tightens at her words and you don't even try to hold back the filthy moan that spills from your sore throat. she gives your hair another tug and you know she expects a proper answer and that there will be consequences if you don't give her one. so you try to hold her gaze with everything you've got, tears brimming in your lashline from how much everything is starting to become.

"so– so good."

you sound pathetic and you know it. her grin widens.

"who's making you feel so good?"

"you are."

her lips brush over the shell of your ear.

"who is?"

she angles her hips, making the tip of her silicone cock hits the spongy spot inside you that makes your eyes go cross. "i– fuck."

her hot breath fans your face, her fingers still twisted around the strands of your hair as she waits for your answer.

"daddy is."

you bite down onto your lip at the pleased hum she gives you and let your heavy head fall back onto the pillow the second she lets go of your hair. she leans closer once more, pressing a sloppy, haste kiss to your lips before pushing herself into her original position while dragging her nails along your spine. with her thighs flush to yours, she reaches for her cigarette again; she doesn't rush it, she takes her time ashing it, reveling in the way you're trembling on her cock.

her lips wrap around the already stained stick as she stares at where you're connected, the mess of it all – her masterpiece.

"good girl."

[elitereviwer]

How to Get Rid of Dark Circles

Say Goodbye to Dark Circles: Your Ultimate Guide to Bright, Beautiful Eyes Dark circles, those pesky under-eye shadows that seem to have a mind of their own, can be a real confidence crusher. Whether they’re caused by late-night Netflix binges, genetics, or stress, we’ve all been there. But fear not, for this comprehensive guide will arm you with the knowledge and tips to banish those dark…

[soulwrencher]

how would it taste, and the way you move

summary: ellie takes you back to her place after patrol, letting you take a closer look at her tattoo but you find yourself eating her out instead.

warnings: not proof read, nsfw

"you thought that was off-putting?" you gasp and slowly chuckle at the sight of ellie's forehead forming wrinkles as she raises her eyebrows. "i mean, how would you like it if i went—" she scoots closer, her eyes searching for yours. inhaling sharply, she waits a second, or two, before she wiggles her head like a bobblehead. her mouth is wide open, she's screaming silently, only the air rolling over her tongue is audible.

"no way," you burst out into laughter, and she does too. suddenly the fairy lights over her couch seem much brighter, you notice the warm tones illuminating her face, shining onto the ridges of her scars. "so... how did you like that?" she rubs her shoulder, a scoff escaping underneath her breath.

"can you blame me though? i totally panicked when i saw that crack on your mask," apologetic eyes, how could ellie ever be upset with you? it might've not been the smartest thing to do, screaming at the top of your lungs while you just finished dealing with several clickers. she just thought it was sweet that you cared for her, although anyone would react the same way, but for some reason she likes to read more into your actions. no specific reason, she just had a soft spot for you, that's what the auburn-haired woman would tell herself when she would lay awake at night thinking of you.

"guess i owe you a more throughout explanation then," she says, her mind overly aware of the fact that your shoulders are touching. you tilt your head towards her in anticipation, exposing the skin on your neck. her eyes trace the way the light is illuminating you, from your nose bridge to your jaw, down to your collarbone all the way to your shoulder.

ellie shuts her eyes close once, inhales and exhales deep twice. she watches your eyes wander down to her forearm closely as she rolls up the sleeve to expose her tattoo. you've always been curious about seeing it up close, you couldn't lie about the fact that you thought that it made her insanely attractive. objectively, of course.

"you see this?" her soft tone pulling you out of thought. she tilts her head, eyes lingering on yours. green eyes, you want to get lost in them. you scrunch up your face at that thought, you're not supposed to have thoughts like these, you tell yourself. you squint, trying to see what she's pointing at. "hold up," ellie reaches out for your hand, but she stops herself. "can i?" she asks, you nod.

the second the tip of her fingers touch the back of your hand, it sent shivers all over your skin. your body couldn't deny what your mind has been trying to any longer.

she gently makes you form a fist, pressing every finger of yours down leaving out your index finger. her thumb glides over your palm as she wraps her fingers around your wrist, pulling your hand softly towards her forearm for you to feel. it was mesmerizing watching her put so much care into such a simple action that it made you become self-conscious over the speed of your heartbeat and the heat creeping up your face.

you avert your gaze rapidly towards her tattoo, feeling the textured parts of her skin.

"oh," it escapes your mouth, your eyes widen in embarrassment. you didn't mean to, your mind was racing. "yeah, i was bitten, it looked like shit," she chuckles, her eyes focused on the back of your hand. "but i covered it up, pretty neat, huh?" ellie continues, as she slightly twists her forearm to the left and right underneath the fairy lights. "yeah, you look really good,"

"i do?" ellie blushes. she can't read too much into it, but it's already too late. the words have left your lips already, you can't take it back, you're visibly embarrassed.

but seeing her reaction, seeing her freckles drown in the pink of her cheeks, maybe it wasn't so bad. perhaps you really didn't mind seeing her get all flustered like this over a singular compliment. and while your mind begs you to pull yourself together, you've been dying to know what it felt like to let your guard down for once.

"yeah, i think you look really good," you repeat once more, carefully watching her. "thank you," her voice is low and soft, she can't ignore her racing heart any longer. just a soft spot, but was that really it? why would ellie's heart jump at you finding her decent?

"you're really pretty too," she says, inching a little closer. she holds her breath, anticipating your reaction. but she couldn't see coming that you were reaching for the side of her cheek, cupping her face in your hand. you've been wanting to do this, wanting to close the distance, you wanted her and she did too. and as the fairy lights emit the warmth coming from your bodies, you lose yourself in short, desperate kisses.

her hands searching your body, eyes adoring every inch of your skin, something ellie dreamed of each night she couldn't sleep and every time she's been on patrol with you, she couldn't help but wonder what's been hiding underneath those clothes of yours. undressing you, that's all she could think of and you could see it in her eyes, feel it in the way her fingers dragged over the only skin that was exposed. but you've been craving for her more, so you push her gently against the armrest of the couch, the auburn-haired woman was quivering under your touch already.

"you seem so tough, but i know," you whisper as you gaze down on her. "you know what?" she looks up to you through her lashes, fuck did she look pretty.

"i know how soft you are," you go on, as you play with the rim of her shirt. you feel her skin heat up, she's looking away, inhaling deeply while in thought before her green eyes pierce through you and waver your confidence. "if you start something now," she begins, while adjusting her body to place her veiny hands on your waist. "it's gonna be hard to stop me," she continues, gaze lingering on you. you hold her hands on your waist and move them up to your face, still holding them. you've let your guard down already, and the way she's been looking at you has left you throbbing, so you weren't going to stop here.

"keep up then," you say as you make ellie slightly part her legs to allow space for your knee in between, her soft lips are on yours.

ellie has been dying to know what you've tasted like. but your knee being dangerously close to her pussy was distracting her, she wanted more, she wanted for you to actually touch her. her arms around your neck, you begin to undress her while dragging your lips down her neck all the way to her sternum.

"fuck, they're gorgeous," you exhale as you cup her tits. you squeeze and knead, making her inhale sharply. ellie winces and a little noise escapes her mouth, enough to drive you crazy. you accidentally shove your knee in between her legs as you lean forward to pull down her pants and watch her bite down a moan, fuck, you want to go crazy on her. but you have to hold back, you tell yourself. not until her panties reveal the wet spot that her pants have been hiding.

"is this okay?" you ask, she nods hastily. you tease her swollen lips through the fabric, making her move her hips desperately to feel more. "so you're just gonna tease me?" ellie says breathlessly. you get on your knees, move the fabric to the side and spread her lips, exposing her clit. "you look so pretty like this," you whisper over her clit, making her grab onto your hair. she couldn't take any of this teasing any longer, ellie desperately wanted for you to make her feel good, to eat her out. her clit has been throbbing ever since you've been here, craving your touch.

how could you resist when ellie was this wet for you, when she's been squirming and tugging your hair, you've never seen this side of her. you drag your tongue over her clit, all the way up and then back down, curving your tongue slightly into her hole.

"fuck, more," ellie moans, thighs squeezing your head as she throws back hers, she felt the sensation all over her body. she's so wet, sucking on her clit makes you have to swallow, but you absolutely love the way she tastes. you let your tongue circle around, just a little more.

"please, if you just—" you go right over her cunt, tugging her between your lips, curving your tongue up and down while putting more pressure on her clit. ellie grabs your hair and moves her pelvic floor like crazy, the way you were eating her out makes her feel like she just ascended, she wants to go higher, she wants you to take her there.

her moans and grunts only turn you on more and more. she sounds so pretty that you want to keep her all to yourself but you knew she wasn't yours to have.

"you make me feel so good, please keep going," the auburn-haired woman begs, the desperation oozing out from her voice. it didn't matter if she wasn't yours to have, all that did matter is that she wants you know, she's been screaming and moaning your name, trembling at your touch, rolling her eyes back at the feeling. you're the one in control, and you're surprised she even let you. she might not be yours, but no one knows that ellie enjoys being taken care of, that she enjoy you taking care of her. and so she moans your name as she cums into your mouth, she's been so wet that her juices have covered your whole lower half of your face and you loved every second of it.

you get up but stay close, her eyes are searching for yours. you wrap your arms around her and pull her into a kiss, she looks so pretty like this, illuminated by the lightening. her freckles are so pretty, you don't want to leave yet. but were you ready to be bold?

"you wanna wash up and grab something to eat?" you ask, your voice low, what if she rejected you? a grin spreads over her lips. "we could get high and watch something too," ellie adds as she plays with your hair. "sounds good to me," you say, kissing her cheek.

a/n: hey sorry for lying that i'm gonna drop a part two of something i wrote a month ago im sorry i lie alot but here's reader eating ellie out i hope that's good enough LOL

[witchywithwhiskey]

Ari + 28. “take it like a good girl and stop whining” + 82. “you think your begging is going to change my mind?"

a fruitful afternoon in the strawberry field

pairing: farmer husband!ari levinson x female reader

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, breeding kink, piv sex, outdoor sex, creampie, no condoms, cockwarming, dry humping, daddy kink, little bit of mommy kink, dirty talk, praise kink, little bit of bratting, light bdsm, begging, teasing, pet names (wildflower, honey), aftercare, fluff, established relationship

word count: 2,500ish

a/n: ahhh Eva it took me a little while to come up with a fic from these prompts, but i have a feeling you'll enjoy this one 😅 (at least i hope so!!) i'm pretty happy with how this turned out, and i especially love the concept of strawberry farmer ari levinson. i just love him so much and i hope everyone else does too!! ♡♡

The spring sunshine was warm against your skin, the soft breeze caressing your face and the day seemed all the brighter because you were standing next to your husband, Ari Levinson, in an open field of growing strawberries. And he was looking particularly handsome on that spring afternoon. His brown hair glinted gold in the sun, his cheeks rosy with the heat, and when he looked at you, his blue eyes sparkled like the surface of the sea.

While your thoughts were wandering, Ari was bent down, checking on the growth of his strawberries, which were just beginning to turn from green to red as the warmth of spring deepened into the heat of summer. They would be ripe soon, and in just a few weeks, the fields would be swarming with people who came from all over to pick their own strawberries at Ari’s farm.

But on that spring afternoon, it was just you and Ari, the strawberry fields stretching out around you until they ended in the tree line that separated the farm from the wilderness beyond. You were alone, and your husband looked far too enticing kneeling in the dirt he’d sowed himself for you to pass up an opportunity to show him how much you adored him.

Which was how Ari ended up on his back between the rows of strawberries, your knees planted on either side of his hips and your bare pussy rubbing against the bulge in his jeans. Your sundress fluttered around your thighs as your hips rocked, your hands pressed flat against Ari’s stomach, your fingertips digging into the layer of softness that cushioned his muscles beneath.

“That’s it, wildflower, take what you need—rub that achy little cunt all over daddy’s bulge,” Ari rumbled, his big hands gripping your hips. Neither of you paid any mind to how he was rubbing dirt into the cotton of your sundress, making you just as dirty as him. “Does it feel good, honey?”

You mewled your response, tipping your head back so your face was turned toward the sun. It felt better than good. Ari’s bulge was thick and hard between your thighs, and your slit was already so wet and messy, it made the slide against his rough jeans feel deliciously wonderful. You felt like you could ride Ari’s bulge for hours and never get tired of it. 

But then Ari thrust his hips up from beneath you, bouncing you on his lap and your eyes flew open, finding your husband’s gaze as he stared up at you like a goddess made mortal. Your inner walls clenched around nothing and you whimpered, your arms trembling as your elbows gave out and you collapsed against your husband’s chest. Sizzling pleasure raced down your spine and through your nerves, making you shake and shudder.

“Need your cock, daddy,” you whined, your fingers grabbing fistfuls of Ari’s shirt as you clung to him, your hips still writhing as you stole as much pleasure from his bulge as you could manage. Lifting your head, you sought your husband’s gaze again, giving him your most pitiful pleading look. “Need you to fill me up, wanna feel your big cock stretch my little hole, daddy, please.” 

Ari brushed the backs of his fingers over your cheek and he gave you a regretful look. “Condoms are in the house, wildflower,” he said, his words a reminder that you were off your birth control. And if you’d thought about it harder, you’d have remembered it wasn’t a safe time of the month. 

But you weren’t thinking about the risks or what the two of you had previously discussed. You were thinking about Ari’s cock splitting you open and and his seed spilling deep in your cunt. You were thinking about your belly growing round and swollen with Ari’s baby. You were thinking about your husband breeding you. 

You wanted it so badly, it took your breath away—it was all you wanted. But it wasn’t what the two of you had decided. Still, you were so needy, you couldn’t stop yourself from begging your husband for his cock, even if he wouldn’t breed you. 

“I don’t care, daddy,” you whined, pushing yourself up until you were sitting on Ari’s lap again. His bulge was so hard and heavy between your thighs and you couldn’t stop yourself from rocking harder on it. “I need you—I need you,” you cried, barely stopping yourself from begging him for a baby. Your voice was high and thin and pleading, and you held Ari’s gaze as you trailed your fingers down his chest, hooking them into the hem of his jeans. “I’ll be good, I swear,” you promised, giving him an innocent look.

Ari huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes, but his mouth was curving into a grin like he couldn’t help himself when it came to you—and you knew he couldn’t. Ari knew you well enough to know what you really wanted, and you knew your husband well enough that you knew he was close to giving it to you.

“You’re gonna be good for me, huh, honey?” Ari rumbled, his grin spreading wider and his blue eyes sparkling up at you. “So, that means you won’t start begging me to put a baby in your belly when I’m balls deep in your sweet cunt?” Ari asked dryly, raising a playful eyebrow at you. 

Your core clenched at Ari’s words and you instinctively pressed down harder against his bulge, your pussy dripping onto his jeans and soaking the front of his pants. But you ignored your body’s response and nodded, an eager smile on your lips. You knew you were lying, and you knew Ari knew you were lying from the long look he gave you, but you both decided to play along anyway.

“Fine, fine,” Ari huffed, biting back a laugh that shook his chest. His hands gathered the skirt of your sundress and pushed it up until he could see your slick cunt rubbing idly against his bulge. You watched his eyes darken and his mouth curve into a hungry smirk. “Take daddy’s cock out, wildflower.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Your fingers fumbled with the button of his jeans for a moment before you managed to get it open. Then you pulled down his fly and reached inside to take his cock in your hands. He was thick and long and perfect and you smiled as you stroked him reverently. But you were too impatient to do more than that, pushing yourself up onto your knees to line yourself up with the tip. 

You were plenty wet, but Ari was so big and thick that it only took the head of his cock pushing into your tight hole for you to start whining. “Daddy, daddy, you’re so big,” you mewled, raising your hips and pressing down again, taking another inch of his hard cock inside you. 

“You begged for this, wildflower,” Ari said through gritted teeth, the muscle in his jaw popping as you sank your hot cunt down on his cock. “Take it like a good girl and stop whining.” 

His filthy words sent a shiver down your spine and a low moan slipped from your lips as you pushed down on his cock, taking him deeper. Your pussy ached at the stretch, but it was a delicious kind of pain and you wanted more of it. Lifting up, you slammed back down on Ari’s cock, taking him another couple of inches. 

“Oh god, daddy, it feels so good,” you cried on a gasp, fucking yourself on Ari’s cock as you took him deeper with each thrust. 

His hands gripped your hips, holding your dress up out of the way so he could watch you impale yourself on his cock. Otherwise, he laid still between your thighs, content to watch you do all the work, which only made you hotter. 

Your hands let go of his shirt and began playing with your tits, groping yourself through your dress. “Fuck, daddy,” you moaned, fucking yourself on his cock, taking him deeper with ever downward thrust. “Your big cock feels so good in my tight little pussy, daddy, just wanna ride your dick all day.”

“Don’t know how long ‘m gonna last, honey, you feel like heaven around me,” Ari murmured, his voice warm and thick as honey on a hot spring day. “So tight and warm and perfect—your perfect pussy wrapped around my dick.” He groaned when you sank down the final inch and your bodies were joined together to the root of his cock. 

You moaned and rocked your hips, feeling his cock shift deep inside you, the tip kissing your cervix and making you clench hard around him. You knew you’d promised to be good, but your need for your husband to breed you was too strong. 

“When you come, come inside me,” you murmured, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop yourself.

Between one moment and the next, Ari’s eyes caught yours and he sat up, one of his hands wrapping around the back of your neck and holding you still on his lap while he half-heartedly glared at you. 

“I thought you were going to be a good girl for me, wildflower,” he rumbled, his voice low and dangerous in that way that made you shiver. Despite the growly tenor of his tone, you knew there was no anger in your husband, and you gave him a playful smile.

“We both know I was lying, daddy,” you said sweetly, innocently batting your lashes at your husband. You leaned in until your lips were ghosting over his, teasing him. “Besides, we both know you love it when I beg you to fuck a baby into me,” you whispered, confidence in your sultry tone. “You wanna plant your seed in me and watch my belly swell with the child we made together, don’t you daddy?”

Ari growled and captured your lips in a fierce kiss, showing you exactly how much he wanted what you described. When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours. 

“We decided to wait until the summer to get pregnant, honey,” he rumbled, reminding you of the conversations you’d had when you weren’t drunk on his cock. But his free hand was urging your hips to rock on him, making it impossible for you to care about what you’d decided before.

You moaned helplessly, feeling Ari’s cock twitch and throb inside you, the tip rubbing against a spot that made you see stars. Pleasure was swirling through your body, your clit grinding against the base of him, and it was too much. You couldn’t have stopped the words from flowing from your mouth even if you’d wanted to.

“Knock me up, daddy, please, I wanna have your baby,” you begged desperately, uncaring of what you and Ari decided before you’d gone into the fields and sank down on his cock. “I can’t wait until the summer, I want you to put a baby in me now—breed me, please, daddy, daddy, please, please, please.”

Ari groaned as his hand tightened around the back of your neck. “You think your begging is going to change my mind?” he growled, pressing hard, suckling kisses to your neck, his beard rasping over your skin and his teeth nipping at your jaw. “You think your sweet pleading is going to make me forget what we decided?”

In one fluid movement, Ari flipped you onto your back, laying you down in the hay that covered the dirt between the rows of strawberries and he settled his hips between your thighs. His cock sank even deeper into your cunt and you moaned mindlessly, tossing your head back against the soft ground. Ari pushed your knees up toward your chest until you were bent in half in a mating press. His eyes, wild with hunger and desire, met yours, and his mouth twisted into a needy snarl.

“Because it did,” he growled and began fucking you hard and fast. 

His big cock bottoming out in your tight pussy made you scream in pleasure, your fingers diving into your husband’s soft hair. You clung to him while he rutted into you like a man possessed—like a man intent on breeding his wife.  

“We’re making a baby today, honey,” Ari promised, ducking down to capture your lips in a messy, brutal kiss. “I’m fucking you full of my seed right here in the strawberry field until you’re ripe and swollen with my child.” He trailed kisses down your cheek until his mouth was right next to your ear. “You’re going to make such a pretty mommy, wildflower.”

Your whole body clenched at Ari’s filthy words, and all you could do was chant, “yes, yes, yes, daddy, daddy, daddy,” as he pounded into you. Your pleasure built quickly, and it wasn’t long before you were mewling and moaning and writhing beneath Ari’s big body, only for him to pin you down more firmly and reach between your bodies to find your clit.

Ari rubbed your tight little button in harsh circles and you were helpless to the pleasure. You came with a shrill cry, your head tilted back, face turned toward the sun and the smell of earth and strawberries filling your senses. Your body clenched tight, your hands fisting in your husband’s hair as your pussy squeezed his cock. 

With a low groan, Ari followed you over the edge, mumbling, “Gonna make you a mommy, honey, can’t wait to see you round with my child—so pretty, so pretty—my pretty little wildflower.” He pressed deep inside you, and you felt his cock throb in your cunt, his seed spilling into your womb while he groaned his pleasure. 

Ari rocked into you, making you moan as he fucked his come deeper inside you, until you were both trembling with the overstimulation. Digging an arm beneath your back, Ari flipped you both over so he was laying on the ground and you were sprawled across his chest. His come leaked out around where his softening length was still lodged inside you, but neither of you could be bothered with trying to clean it up yet.

The spring sunshine was warm on your back and Ari was strong and sturdy beneath you, his heart beating against his ribcage under your cheek. You smiled to yourself and hoped that Ari’s seed would take. You couldn’t wait to have a child with him, even if it was a little earlier than you’d planned. 

Lifting your head, you caught your husband’s eye and were happy to see he looked just as content as you felt. Leaning up, you caught his lips in a kiss that said everything you needed to say—you loved him, you appreciated him, you couldn’t wait to grow your little family with him. And he returned your feelings in kind, kissing you back. 

The two of you stayed out under the spring sun longer than you’d originally intended when you’d tagged along with Ari to check on the progress of the crop. But it turned out to be a fruitful afternoon in the strawberry field—though it wouldn’t be until well after the strawberries had ripened and been picked that you learned just how successful your spring romp had been.

[lkjhg123]

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[eowynstwin]

peristalsis - viii - epilogue

selkie!soap x reader. strangers to "lovers." rebirth. mommy issues. semi-public sex. breeding season. smut. pregnancy reference. the end. . Running away from life to the Scottish Hebrides, you meet a man who won't leave you alone. . Masterlist. Ao3.

previous

Your pelt is not the same as Johnny’s.

Its greys are subtler than his paint-splash riot; nearly a solid dove, sparsely freckled with dots of charcoal. It’s lighter in your hands than you think a second skin should be—sometimes it feels so gauzy, so filmy, that you fear to tear it simply by wrapping it around your waist.

(Where it belongs.)

You can’t bear to part with it. You must be touching it at all times, fingers idly rolling a few soft strands of fur, palms smoothing out the wrinkles over your lap. Sometimes you find yourself staring at it, never knowing how long you have been until you come out of the trance with a jolt, neck aching and stomach growling.

You have no idea how Johnny went without his for even a day—the thought of ever putting yours down feels like abandoning a days-old infant.

Truly, though, the real infant is you.

The world touches your senses as if they are brand-new. Every sound is sharper. Every color is brighter. The world has come into focus in such a way that you are surprised you ever thought you could see it clearly before—nothing blurs in the periphery anymore.

It’s as if you have been completely reset. Every nerve ending tuned toward decadence. Everywhere you look, you find something that captivates you.

It makes you dizzy with rapture.

He is terribly amused by it, Johnny. He’s amused by all of it. As you settle into your new self, he watches you quiver and shake on new, coltish legs, and grins amiably at your frustration, quick to smooth over your frustration with his mouth on yours.

He’s been through it, after all. More than once, even—he has two resurrections, to your one.

And you’re quick to accept the appeasement he offers. Your appetites now yawn wide for anything you can fit inside of them, and you are voracious. You bite at him when he kisses you, which only makes him laugh more, and then he drags you down to the floor to rut like he knows you need to.

“I’m going to kill you someday,” you snarl at him, more than once, held against him back to front. “You did this to me, you fucking asshole.”

He grinds his cock deeper into you every time, touching some hidden nerve that has you clenching desperately around him, writhing with every limb as he laughs into your ear. “I could always pull out, bonnie, y’want me to do that?”

You claw at his naked hips behind you with the sharp tips of your nails, digging trails into the sheen of sweat coating his skin. “I’ll fucking kill you if you do.”

You’ve hissed and spat for too long to remember how to speak gently to him, but Johnny takes it in stride. He fits his teeth around your neck and cups the soft parts of your body with hands that can’t seem to get enough of the way your flesh spills between his fingers; when you spasm around him, howling your climax, he wrenches you against him with an iron grip and finishes deep inside of you moments later with a torn moan, thighs and hips hot and flush along your backside.

You threaten to castrate him if he pulls out anytime soon after. He kisses the indentations of his teeth and smooths his spread hand over your belly.

You end up with him, like this, more often than not. He always chuckles at your antics, your clenched teeth, the red lines and half-moons you leave on his back and thighs. Less with amusement than satisfaction—because these days, you don’t walk around without the bruises of his grasp painting your flanks, or the arch of his bite etched into your neck.

He’s been alone, too. He was alone from the start. All of a sudden awake to the world, unsteady with awareness, and so hungry all the time it must have felt like he could never be full—

And he hadn’t had anyone, not like you have him, to hold him in the throes of it.

You catch a look in his eyes, every now and again, and see the echoes of that time. It glints like a shard of sea glass catching rare sun beneath a wave. Dulled edges—he can think of it without hurting anymore. He can remember the craving without succumbing to its dissatisfaction, without falling into the gall welling in his stomach at the injustice of it. This was not always the case, but watching you, now, balms the ache in a way nothing before ever had.

You know this without his needing to explain, and you know it like scenting petrichor in the air. All you have to do is meet his gaze, and you know.

And he knows, too. Everything. You cannot see him without him seeing you, and he’s been looking at you with the kind of eyes you now possess for much, much longer. There is no depth within yourself that you can hide from him in.

He can look at you and know you’re hungry. He can watch the way you wave one hand and know you’re antsy. You can begin a sentence, and he knows the end of it without you having to finish.

It can only flay you to the bone. You are known. From the best to the worst parts of you, Johnny knows them like he knows the creases in the palms of his own hands. He knows the yawning chasm in you that near-overflows with your want, and he does not hesitate once at the precipice on his way to diving into it.

It pulls your jaw tight. You can only shudder with fever at the exposure, and reach for him. Again and again. Swallowing his laughter down like medicine.

John Price, when he finds out, heaves an enormous sigh of relief even your newly-heightened senses couldn’t see coming.

Your new vision peels back the gruffness. The gaze he has fixed on you, this whole time, has not been the apprehensive criticism of a lover’s apathetic friend. Instead, it is the concerned look of a stranger, one who gives a damn about what happens to a woman all alone on a side of the world to which she, until very recently, did not belong.

It had been invisible to you before; a wavelength of color your old eyes were unable to perceive. Now, you see so much of him that you wonder how you could have possibly missed it.

You see his exhaustion. His own loneliness, in self-imposed exile, one eye always on a man he fears will find a convenient cliff to jump off of in a fit of despair. You see sleepless nights, and notice for the first time a gold band on his ring finger, scuffed, in need of a good polish—if only he would take it off long enough to clean it.

“I’m sorry,” you say to him, out of nowhere, meeting the cool blue of his gaze. He doesn’t seem surprised at your understanding. He only nods.

“Ain’t been easy,” he allows.

But now you’re here. He’s not the only one Johnny has anymore. You can see the weight lift from him the moment you tell him you’re staying.

He goes to his office at the back of the pub with a lightened stride and returns, a little while later, with a stack of papers in his hand that he drops on the bar in front of you.

“Take care of the place,” he tells you with a heavy pat to your shoulder. “And don’t let Soap off easy. I’m going home.”

Price leaves you there with the deed to the pub and a casual wave over his shoulder. You do not see him again—though he’s left his phone number in one of the margins.

“Oh, aye?” Johnny says when you tell him, later that night as he’s boiling lobsters for dinner.

He doesn’t respond for a laden moment. You watch your report pass over him like a gentle wave; you see where it could build, where it could swirl up into something bigger, harder, angrier—but it doesn’t.

His back tightens, and then loosens, and he turns to grin at you over his shoulder.

“Barry, there’s a wall in there I’ve been dyin’ to knock down, and he wouldnae let me. Place is too claustrophobic, ask me.”

You arrange the silverware, letting his placidity wash over you.

About a week later, you drive Johnny’s truck somewhere with cell service, and call your mother.

The landscape of her emotions changes as rapidly as an ocean storm; elation and relief, to finally hear your voice. Hope when she asks you when you’re coming home. Confusion—when you tell her you aren’t.

Johnny explained it.

“We canna go far from the ocean, hen. Not for long. It won’t feel…right. I’ve tried. You get an itch, ken? You can ignore it at the start. But it willna go away, and it willna be denied, either. It’ll drive you mad if you don’t go back. So you canna stay away.”

And you’d known immediately what he’d meant—

You can feel it on the edge of the periphery. A lodestone in your belly points in its direction, always. You could close your eyes, start walking, and find yourself on the shore, pelt already in your hands. Sometimes, you find yourself waking in the middle of the night with the sound in your ears, legs twitching restlessly. You feel too hot and too cold at the same time, and thirsty, all over your body rather than just in your throat.

Any thought of moving further inland inspires an existential panic you can’t explain. The notion of a fifteen-hour flight, and landing somewhere that hasn’t seen an ocean for at least a million years, makes your skin feel so tight around your bones that you have to run to the nearest shoreline just to make sure the sea is still there.

You’re on a jetty right now, in fact, watching the water lap against the stones. It was the only thing you could think of that would give you the strength to make the call.

You cannot go home. You know now that somehow, you’d always expected to, deep down. You’d return to the house you grew up in, pet the old family dog. Meet for brunch at the same hole in the wall you’ve gone to for years.

Sometimes the price you pay to become something more does not reveal itself until it’s too late.

So you cry with your mother over the phone, when you explain that it’s best if you stay. You tell her that coming back would only hurt you if you tried, and this time, you aren’t even lying to her.

You don’t know if she’s actually comforted by the conciliatory offer you make of your new job tending bar—she doesn’t need to know you own the place yet—but she sniffles, and puts a brave face on it.

“You always did want to live somewhere else,” she offers, watery—but glad, you hear, that you’re alive.

You bite your lip.

From her, there will be no begging for you to come home. No entreaties of love or need.

When you say goodbye to her, you cry some more—but it isn’t the storm that used to claim you. You wrap your arms around yourself and squeeze, pinch the soft fur of your pelt and roll it between your fingers as you allow yourself to shake and weep, and when you catch your breath, you dry your face and drive back to the cottage, where Johnny is making lunch.

That night in bed, he holds you gently in his arms, rocking his hips into you as you cling to him with your fingernails.

“Don’t leave me,” you whisper in his ear.

He kisses the corners of your eyes before new tears can fall, and tightens his arms around you.

Each day you go to the sea.

It tugs at you, like a child tugging the hem of your shirt. Like a current pulling you outward. You wake every morning thinking not of breakfast, or the day ahead, but of that swaying world, slow and vast, hugging the edges of the land to coax it, eternally, back into the depths.

There is no serenity, now, like the serenity of the water. To enter the ocean is also to let it inside you; the barriers between yourself and the rest of the world thin out. You give some of yourself away, and receive something new to settle in the empty spaces left behind.

You think you understand now why Johnny is always smiling.

The cold no longer stings when you bare your skin to it, down in the cove. The salt-wind of the incoming tide is soft against you as you fold your clothes, beckoning as you tuck them beneath a large rock.

Johnny strips beside you, less careful, balling everything up in an untidy mass, until you glare at him. The intended admonishment falls flat as your glare turns into something sweeter, as the dark hairs on his chest lift with goosebumps.

He grins at you, seeing the shift. “Here, hen?” he teases as he obediently tidies his shirt and kilt. “Out in the open?”

Out in the open.

You draw him to you, dragging him down into the sand; the joining is quick and hard, spurred by the burgeoning need to go under. You cage his ribs with your knees as you ride him, breasts against his chest as you take his mouth without art or finesse. Johnny digs his fingers into the meat of your ass and helps you along with quick, forceful thrusts, and your orgasm prompts his own, inner muscles pulling him deeper as you pant and moan.

Primal. Without artifice. You exchange hot breaths through open mouths as you speak with your eyes, the ocean-blue of his gaze pulling you in. You grind together even after finishing, prolonging it, displacing a little longer the moment that your bodies must separate.

You have him every day, too. Often more than once. He is as essential a need as the sea, and he gives as freely and as frequently as you ask.

After, you both rise, and help to dust the sand away from each other’s bare skin.

Suddenly, you wonder aloud, “If I get pregnant—what’s it going to be?”

Johnny goes still, the hand on your shin stopping mid-sweep. Then, eyes crinkling, he barks a laugh. He kisses your knee and, as he rises, kisses your mons, then your navel, your sternum—

Then the reluctantly smiling curve of your mouth.

“Wouldnae mind findin’ out,” he says, stepping away from you, and walking backward toward the ocean.

His gaze does not leave you once it rises to meet him. It crests around him, embracing him, vibrant and alive and rushing toward you.

You draw your pelt over your head, and follow Johnny into the waves.

a/n: I'm going to put my final thoughts in a separate post. This is the end. Thank you so much for reading!!

[feyascorner]

It had been a complete accident. Truly.

Mindlessly running your hand through his hair, the tips of your fingertips unknowingly brush against the tip of his ear, and it makes him groan.

Thinking it had been out of pain, you tear your hands away from his head, eyes blinking wide. "What happened? Are you okay?"

And instead of a scowl, you find that his cheeks are multiple shades darker than usual--almost pink. He mumbles something under his breath, then shifts his entire body around so that his face is buried into your stomach, arms locked around your waist. He says something, this time so muffled you can barely hear the words they're supposed to form.

"I can't hear if you're talking into my stomach."

He says it louder this time. "...good."

"What?"

Then, finally, he whips his head just enough to meet your gaze. "It feels good."

Your brows lift, and you slowly slip your hands back into his hair. "This?"

"No--I mean, that too, but--" he's flushing brighter now, and your eyes practically sparkle at how flustered he sounds. It's a rare occurrence, but Astarion at a loss for words is something you hold dear to your heart. "--my ears."

"Your ears," you repeat, hands slowly inching to the sides of his head. You carefully trace the shape of his pointy ears, watching as he practically shudders, melting into your touch. Even your own cheeks seem to heat. "Like that?"

He wordlessly nods, opting to bury his face into your stomach again to avoid facing the power he's just given you. And you use it well, gently massaging his skin with your finger pads, drinking in the way his body reacts to your touch. "Oh my god."

Hours later, when your head lays on top of his arm and he has you close to his chest, you smile up at him cheekily.

He notices the way you're struggling to keep in your laughter. "What?"

"What does it feel like when I touch your ears?"

He nearly chokes on his own words, horrified by how upfront the question is. "It--I don't know, it just feels nice."

"Nice is an understatement."

He groans. "Please, darling, this is humiliating."

And despite the way you continue to poke fun at him and the way he feigns annoyance, whenever the two of you are alone, he always opts to put his head in your lap, and you choose to knead your fingers through his curls.

[bitterrfruit]

houndtooth [18]

[masterlist]

Ghost x f!Reader tags: slow burn, enemies to lovers, abduction, bodyguard, forced cooperation, smut 18+ mdni - cw: see masterlist - 7.4k words thank you to the divine and talented @theorist-fox for helping me figure out this chapter <3

You steep in the bathwater like tea. 

Loose leaves, dispersing and unfurling in the heat, essences osmosing out through your skin and evaporating in tongues of silver steam. You trace lines into the surface of the aquamarine water, watching the ripples dance away from your touch and ricochet off the walls of the tub. 

There’s an ache somewhere in the back of your head, dull, thumping. A dread that lingers, black and sticky like a tumour, feeding on the liquid fear that courses through every blood vessel in your skull. One that continues to grow, even as its presence has eluded you, if only for the time being. 

You’re warm. Skin lacquered in ephemeral honey, blanketing and sweet — it placates you, for now. Mollified by a false peace, the comfort of quiet and the gloaming of soft touch. 

You should regret what you did. 

Begging for him like a degenerate — the memory should be sour to reflect on. Should taste like bile in your mouth as you reminisce on kissing him, on biting him, on coming on his tongue. 

It doesn’t. 

It was what you needed. 

Needed, not wanted, you needed it with the same exigency as a starving animal in need of food, of a wilting flower in need of water. That’s the only way you could begin to explain it. Overwhelmed by such a dearth of comfort that you acted on the impulse to sate it because it was needed to survive. 

You hear the flick of a lighter, where Simon sits against the wall beside the tub. Knee propped up, he hangs an arm over it as he pinches a cigarette with the other, sucks down a deep drag. 

He looks at you with lidded eyes as the smoke flows from his nostrils in curls, before he reaches over to hand you the roll. 

You lean against the side of the tub, forearms propped up on the edge, chin resting on the back of your hands. You free one to take it from him, sip a short puff, and give it back.

In the dim light of the bathroom, he looks like a different man. 

His cheeks are pinker, eyes a little brighter. Softer lips. Gentler stare. Perhaps you’re making it up, to make yourself feel better for using him so brazenly.  

His familiar mask is still downstairs, tossed somewhere to oblivion. Jersey in a pile on the kitchen floor. His bare chest is bruised, scratched, bitten — blood-red weals where you had abused him with your teeth and your claws, spotted bruises on his neck and shoulders where you suckled on him like a leech. 

Your eyes scour the marks that weren’t left by you; white cords of poorly healed gashes, craters left by bullets, knurled and pink where he had been burned. He is covered in them. 

“I hope I didn’t hurt you,” you say, as mild as a whisper, a pang of embarrassment at the tip of your tongue. 

“Hurt me?” He asks, a low rumble, through a bemused smirk. 

You extend a hand over the edge of the tub, trace the tip of your finger against a throbbing red imprint of your teeth in his pectoral, a bite mark so deep it lingers even an hour after its infliction. 

He looks down his nose at where you touch him, releasing a pent breath in a huff of laughter. 

“Mh,” he grunts, as though only now noticing how you had maimed him. “You’re a little animal.”

“Sorry,” you puff, tucking your hand back under the other. 

“Didn’t hurt,” he says simply, poking his cigarette in his lips to punctuate it. “Felt good.” 

You smile wryly at that, before you sheepishly glance at the floor. 

“More worried that I hurt you,” he says, after a languid pause. Cigarette smoke in a mist around his head, he hands it to you again.

You keep it for a bit, sucking in two consecutive puffs to slow your heart down before giving it back. 

“You didn’t,” you reply. 

He rocks his head back, leaning it against the dark tiles of the wall. His eyes turn sombre, and he rubs his brow with a tense thumb. 

“What,” you ask edgily. 

He exhales out a cloud of smoke. “Nothing.” he mutters, under breath, as though to himself. 

You shift uneasily in the water and the waves splash quietly against the ceramic walls of the tub. “Do you regret it?” 

His stare is heavy. Pointed. Rust-brown eyes laden with quiet guilt and an anger you can’t place — at you, or at somebody else, you cannot be certain. 

“Fucking you?” 

Your brows twitch into a frown, but soften quickly. You aren’t sure why you’re taken aback by his bluntness — fucking you — given he hasn’t shown much in the way of subtlety in the short time you have known him. 

What you don’t like, though, is that he believes himself to have done something to you. He fucked you. A one-way act. 

You’re used to being fucked in such a way. A man fucks you, a sire fucks a bitch. In either case, you’re the receptacle. The sleeve for a cock. A passive recipient of fucking, your contribution irrelevant, or worse, unnecessary. 

This was different. 

“Yeah,” is all you say, resting your chin on the back of your hands. 

He lets out a ragged sigh. “No,” he says brusquely, “I’m glad I did.” 

Strawberry red stains your cheeks, sugary heat suffusing under your skin. Your tongue is heavy and uncooperative and you have nothing to say. 

“I’m glad I made you feel good,” he adds, a murmur. “I’m glad I took you from that fuckin’ mansion. I’m glad I shot your husband. And I’m glad I hit Makarov. I only wish I’d shot him as well.” 

He ends his tirade with a final puff of his short cigarette, sucking it down to the filter, before squishing the butt into the marble and adding it to the pile of the last three he already finished. 

Your chest is tight, ribs enclosing, lungs sipping shallow. Heart tumescent at the base of your throat and thumping between your collarbones. 

“I’m glad too,” you breathe, not quite able to let the words slip out confidently, because you can’t believe you’re saying them. You’re not even sure uttering them aloud makes the sentiment true, but it feels that way.

The silence that follows is as tepid as your bathwater. He shuts his eyes, head leaning against the black tile behind him. 

“Will you get in with me?” You surprise yourself when you ask it, and he cracks open an eye to look at you. 

“I’ll dirty up your water,” he says frankly. 

“I don’t care,” you whisper. 

His lips curl as he decides whether or not to entertain you. It was an admittedly uncouth request, and you begin to mourn asking — until he reaches forward and pulls loose the laces of his boots, kicking them off with his socks, they bounce and thud on the tile. 

With a grunt he pushes himself up to stand. His pants are already unbuckled, left that way after your tryst in the kitchen, so he simply shucks them down and unabashedly tugs his boxers with them. 

You sit upright in the water, and you feel like a little lecher for watching so raptly. You didn’t get to see much when he had you on the kitchen counter — only his torso, which you weren’t upset about. But you did not expect that he’d bare himself so willingly, a man whose face you had barely become accustomed to, previously hidden by a permanent mask.  

His legs are long, they look as tall as you — just as wide, too, thighs like hocks of pork and hirsute with straw curls. Tattoos bedizen a single leg, his left; a large gun on his shin, a nautical star on the side of his thigh, other engravings you can’t make out in the dim light of the orange sconce by the mirror. 

Your prurient eyes latch to something else, though, as it swings heavy between his legs on his way towards the tub. Even soft, you cannot fathom that you had fit it inside you. Uncircumcised, unlike Victor’s. A hearty mauve at the thick head, sheathed in ruddy foreskin. Pale at the base, corded with veins, and pendulous under its own weight. 

It makes you swallow as he lifts a colossal leg over the edge of the tub, settling immediately into the water and forcing waves to splash up the sides and dribble onto the floor. With his added mass the water’s surface brushes your nipples, they stiffen when it tickles. 

He sinks into the water with a strained sigh, head hanging back over the rounded edge of the tub. The water laps just below his sternum, and his legs overlap with yours — great big knees jutting out of the glossy surface on either side of you, you tuck your knees together, but wedge a foot at either side of his waist. Takes up the entire fucking tub, titanic as he is. 

“Nice, isn’t it?” You say quietly, amused. 

“Mh,” he hums. 

“Bet you haven’t had a bath in a while.”

“You saying’ I smell?”

You snort. “No, I just mean, you know, like, specifically—”

He cracks a wide smile, eyes shut. “I know,” he says. “It has been a while.”

In the quiet you hang your arms over your knees, silently observing every scar on his freckled body, each more grisly than the last. Your eyes fix to a burl of keloid under his ribs, thick and purple, scarred skin shiny where it healed wrong.

“You have a lot of scars,” you quietly muse. 

He only grunts. 

“Are they all from — fighting, and stuff?”

His eyes open and cut across the tub, as if to check why you’d ask such a thing. You feel a bit guilty having asked it, but you know so little about him; the man himself is a mystery, enigmatic as he is reclusive, and you’ve let him inside you. Some part of you feels owed a glimpse of who he is. 

“Some of them,” he says. 

“Not all of them?”

“No.”

“What else are they from?”

His stare is forlorn. He seems to take a moment to decide whether or not to answer you. 

“Couple from when I was a kid,” he says mutedly, swiping the pink slit in his top lip. You don’t want to know how he got that as a little boy. “The rest are from Mexico.” 

“What happened in Mexico,” you ask, near a whisper, curiosity getting the better of you. 

He sucks deep a breath, drumming on the edge of the tub with the pads of his fingers. You haven’t yet seen him so uneasy, so patently upset. His eyes are black with it, pools of tar that swirl and bubble, plainly haunted by something you don’t need to see to understand. 

“Sorry,” you say abruptly. “Don’t tell me. You don’t need to tell me.” 

He drops a hand from where it rests on the lip of the tub, and plants it on your calf. Grazes your skin with his thumb. He gives you a faint nod, and he doesn’t elaborate. You wonder if he would have felt obligated to tell you if you hadn’t relented. 

“What happens next?” You ask, if only to fill the silence. 

He licks his teeth. “That depends on what we got tonight.” 

“Oh, shit!—” you suddenly blurt, jolting up, and he looks taken aback. “I heard some things when they were in the dining room.” 

He straightens himself, sitting upright and watching you keenly. “What.”

“Um — they said something about a vault. At the house in Russia, I think, after I lied and said I heard the assassins talking about a USB drive. Sergei said, um, Victor’s digital assets hadn’t been compromised, and that you hadn’t touched the vault. So maybe there’s something important in there.” 

“Did they say where the vault was?” 

“No — only that you didn’t find it, so I guess… somewhere you didn’t look,” you explain. “They’re getting someone else to sweep the mansion again. Vladimir said — he said Konni, I think, are inept, so must have missed something. Then Sergei said he’d talk to someone called Arkady.”

He chews on that for a moment, glaring into the surface of the water. 

“You know him?” You ask. 

“I do,” he says. “Anything else?”

You take a second to think, to comb through the weeds of everything else that had happened in the last few hours. 

“Well, when… when you interrogated me, you asked about a factory, so I told them I overheard the people who killed Victor talking about a factory.” You say, suddenly feeling like the only information you had gleaned was vague and useless, and you pick at your fingernails. “But I was vague about it, I didn’t want them to think — you know, that I knew too much. So I told them I thought it meant warehouse. Then one of them said, ‘they know about Mialstor’.”

He cocks his head at that. “What?” 

“Mialstor, is what he said,” you repeat. “I guess that’s the name of the factory.”

He suddenly grins, eyes wide with a vigour you had not yet seen at all in him. He reaches forward with both hands, and your instinct is to recoil — but he grabs you by the cheeks and tugs you towards him. 

“Fuckin’ brilliant,” he hails, pressing his forehead to yours and almost shaking you in exuberance. “You’re brilliant, Mia.”

A rush of blood rises up from your chest, turning you pink, and you’re not yet sure what you did right. “Do you know it?”

“Yeah, I know it,” he says, reeling back from you slightly. “Just can’t fuckin’ believe we hadn’t thought of it already.”

“So — so, that’s good?” You ask anxiously, “I got something?” 

He chuckles dryly, grin wide; tilts your head downward to plant his lips on your forehead, and your blood turns to syrup. 

“Yeah, you fuckin’ did,” he croons. 

His praise sends a tickling warmth down your spine, gooseflesh pricking up on the surface of your flushed skin. Turns you to pudding. Not just the assurance that you had done something right, that you were inching closer to your freedom — but an expression of genuine pride, of unburdened affection, truly alien to you. Surreal. Much like most of the last several days, tonight especially. 

You rest a wet hand on his knee, unsure where else to put it, his skin is cold in your palm. 

You have always had little control over what your body chooses to do, proven further as you tilt your head upward, until your mouth meets his chin, his stubble prickly on your lips. 

And as though hearing the thoughts even you could not, he takes the burden from you — his lips find yours, and his mouth opens to take you. You draw in a shuddering breath, his tongue glides against yours, and he breathes your air from its source. 

There is no reluctance left in him, seems you have bled him dry of any remaining reservations. No longer wastes his energy questioning the morality of how he touches you. His hands jump from your cheeks to your hips, and he hoists you up and between his knees — plants you astride his pelvis, his thighs a backrest, a seat made for you. 

His lips take no pause, lavishing from your neck to your collarbone, taking your soft breast in his mouth as you straighten your spine. His tongue feathers over your nipple and a whine escapes your throat, hands firm in the hollows of your waist, holding you in place as he indulges himself. 

He bucks his hips to tip you forward as he leans back against the reclined wall of the tub, wide hand fixes to the back of your neck, under your hair. 

You kiss him without haste but no less eager, tobacco on your tongue, hunger in your teeth. He smooths a free hand down your spine and it makes your hairs stand on end, grazing until it reaches your ass, and he burrows his fingers unabashedly into the pillow of your flesh. 

The silence of the room is peppered with quiet splashes of water and breathing turning heavier, then the whimper that escapes you as you feel his cock growing harder underneath you. Wedged in the petals of your pussy, suddenly taking up more space as it steels in the cleft of you. 

You arch your spine to glide your cunt down his shaft, gripping in the soapy wetness of the bathwater — curl forward as you grind upward, releasing a puff of wanton air as your clit rubs against the bulb of his head, where it lies flat against his stomach. 

He hisses as you knead against him with your full weight, gluttonous hands boring into your hips to compel you even further downwards; but you persist unfettered, rocking your pelvis back and forth along his shaft until you can feel your slick between his skin and yours, not yet dissolved in the bathwater. 

You can feel him growing frustrated. He tries his hardest not to burrow his fingernails into your skin, masseters jutting out as he grits his jaw, temples divoting in the strain. 

You straighten your back, looking down your nose at him; cheeks calescent red and lids heavy, luxuriating in his desperation, panting through your open mouth. 

“What do you want,” you ask, voice low, resting a hand flat on his rigid pectoral to balance yourself. 

He glowers at you, panting, hopelessly grinding his hips up into you to chase the friction. 

“You know what I want,” he grits, enormous hands briefly loosening to slide to your waist, before they dig in there instead. 

“Say it,” you hum, stilling with the blunt head of his cock nestled between your folds. 

He cracks a grin, jaw slack, he laughs at you incredulously. At a loss for words, for a beat, as he futilely rolls his hips. 

But his eyes are dark, and they do not leave you. Through a smirk, he says; “I want you.” 

You liquefy when he says it. Insides turn as gummy and bittersweet as jam. 

You know he means your body, your cunt; you, the parts of you that matter. You can’t help but burden his hungry words with a weight they were not intended to carry. 

Still, you raise yourself just enough to reach beneath you, taking his cock in your kittenish fingers — your tongue wettens when you touch it, hard as titanium and hot as molten iron. Girth dizzying now that it is tangible in your hand, when you wrap your fingers around it and hold it upright. 

His eyes go glassy when you slot the head of his cock between your labia, nudging it at your entrance — you gasp through wet lips as you sink back down, lancing yourself on the length of him until you sit flush with his hips, impaled to the helve. 

It’s harder to breathe around the size of him in this position. It ached delightfully the first time, when his head mashed into your cervix, when he buried deep — now he takes up all the space inside you, bullying your womb out of the way to fit, and he hadn’t even moved yet. 

He keeps his hips still, in fact. Busies himself with his hands, they graze over your thighs, up your waist, around your breasts, along your collarbones.

“Say it again,” you breathe, voice broken.

He smooths a flat hand down your sternum, between your breasts, over your belly as if just to feel the warmth of your skin. 

“I want you,” he murmurs, no longer smiling. 

A heat blooms in the hollows of your eyes, tumid with unspent tears, and you keel forward to taste him again; with an open mouth you seal your lips to his, and exhale all of yourself into him. A wide hand weaves into the hair at the back of your head, the other sweeps from your waist and around your ribs, settling in the divot of your spine.

Still, he does not move. Doesn’t rut himself deeper, doesn’t reel back his hips to indulge himself with the slightest friction. Instead, he moves his lips to your cheek, curling his hand to the top of your head, before nestling your face into the crook of his neck. 

You wonder what thoughts of yours he can hear, can feel through your skin, can taste in your mouth, that you yourself are not privy to. Because with a free hand he scoops underneath you, lifting you like you’re weightless in the water, and unsheathing his cock from inside you. Sits you back down on your side against him, with your knees tucked in. 

You’ve resolved not to cry, but quiet tears drip from your eyes regardless of your attempt to subdue them. Their origin eludes you, they roll anyway. 

“I’m sorry,” you croak, into the balmy skin of his neck.

He draws in a slow breath, your head rises with his chest, lets it out just as languidly. His hand knots a little firmer against your scalp, his lips press into your hair. 

“Don’t be.” 

He can’t explain it. 

Whatever it is, palpitating behind his sternum, aching like cardiac failure. 

He’d have called it guilt, perhaps, in the days leading up to now, while he has you purring on his chest like a cat. He pets you like one, a listless hand stroking your damp hair from your forehead to the back of your neck. Keeps still like you’re as skittish as one, liable to jump off his lap and scurry away into the shadow if he moves too quickly. 

He’s not sure what he’d call it, now.  

It was hatred, first, bubbling and acerbic in his chest at the sight of you. That hadn’t lasted long, though. Then, it was pity, when he watched you cower away from himself and others who hurt or threatened you, or when he had to listen to your husband unjustly berate you. Then, it was shame, for salivating over you like an animal despite how he exploited you. Next was guilt, for exploiting you at all. 

Whatever it is now, he doesn’t have a name for it. 

He would have indulged you, if you wanted him to. He’d have fucked you to sleep in the bathwater, or simply coaxed another orgasm out of you with his fingers, or his tongue, if you asked. He could never be unwilling to surfeit you if that were what you needed from him. 

He could tell, though, read it on your lips, see it in your eyes, that it wasn’t what you needed. That you were acting out of routine, out of habit, a machine on autopilot. He’s sure that you know well how potently magnetising you are. That any man would lust over you, would fuck you in a heartbeat, and would tell you so. You don’t need him to attest to that. 

He’s certain you’d be expectant of it. Certain that sex is the only affection you are accustomed to receiving, and that anything else has been a means to an end. 

He has always had a similar attitude. 

He doesn’t dole out affection freely, nor does he willingly receive it. A fuck was once all he needed, and he decided himself uninterested in, or unworthy of, anything more than that. He has always prided himself on it, in fact, that he never needs anything else. Doesn’t need reassurance, or care, or sympathy. Doesn’t need touch beyond the kind that gets his cock hard. 

Can’t explain why he doesn’t want to be that for you. 

He doesn’t want to be another dog, so you called them; an animal that mauls, that bites, that scratches and grabs, hits and breaks. He doesn’t want to be a creature of hunger and hatred, destined only to consume, to masticate then swallow. 

He doesn’t want to prove you right. He has already been that creature, that dog, for all of his life. Sharp-toothed and brutal, permanently apoplectic with a rage that never dissipates, turbid in his blood like silt. Antipathy aimed indiscriminately, at everybody, himself no exception. 

That sediment that terminally thunders through him has settled, temporarily. A momentary taste of amity, while you lie curled up on his stomach, gently breathing against the skin of his neck. 

Pride beats through him, too. He’s bright with it. He’s fucking proud of you — not a sentiment he would ever have expected to hold. 

Clever girl, using what little knowledge you had gleaned from him to fish out intel he would never have found himself. Clever girl, feigning uncertainty about the very language you’re fluent in to milk them of even more. Staggered by your courage, brave girl, maintaining strength within arm’s reach of those wolves who so deeply terrify you. Brave girl, standing up to the warmongering sadist even as he had his hands around your throat.

He wants to tell you so, but it’s not in his nature, would go against his grain — regardless, it seems you have fallen asleep, judging by the shift in your breathing. Slow, deep, in a torpor that leaves you limp against him.  

The water isn’t hot anymore. Not quite lukewarm, either; the exact temperature of the surface of his skin, so it feels as though he isn’t submerged at all. 

He’d leave you sleeping, if he could, but he can’t have you spend the night in cold water. If he had another set of arms, he could gracefully get out of the tub and carry you to bed without needing to wake you. Alas.

He adjusts himself, skin squeaking against the ceramic walls of the tub, and that seems to be enough to disturb your slumber. 

You quickly push yourself upright with your hands on his chest, and he releases you. Your stare jumps around as though you had forgotten where you were, until his hand falls to the small of your back, and you catch his eye in the dim yellow light. 

A pent breath escapes you, and you rub an eye with the heel of your palm. “Sorry,” you croak. 

“For what,” he says torpidly. 

“For — for falling asleep on you.” 

He lets out a puff of laughter. “Seems like you needed it.” 

You smile sheepishly, and his stomach tightens up. “Guess so.” 

You stare at him, for a beat, and he swears you tilt your head in thought — lids heavy, eyes shadowed by exhaustion but laden with a quiet comfort. Not once would he ever have thought he’d see such an expression in them, so used to them being wide and frightened, or wet and ruddy with tears. 

“What do we do now?” You ask quietly, and he wonders how metaphorical you’re being. “Have we — is there more to do, still?” 

Not metaphorical at all, evidently. “There’s more to do,” he replies, remorseful. 

Your expression sinks, and he feels guilty again. “Right,” you breathe. “Do I have to see him again?” 

Him, he needn’t ask. The way you say it, thick with hate, speaks his name for you. 

He reaches for you, brushes your jaw with his thumb, sweeps a damp curl of hair behind your ear. “No.” 

You all but deflate with relief once he says it. 

“I need to check in with my team,” he adds, with a huff. “C.O. will figure out what happens next.” 

“The Captain?” You ask, a grumble. 

He nods. 

You chew on something to say, a divot between your brows. “I don’t like him.” 

He smirks at that. Hopes he gets to tell him that, one day. Bird says she doesn’t like you. “He’s not everyone’s cup o’ tea.” 

“No, I mean, I don’t trust him.” 

“No?” 

He doesn’t blame you, he’d never vouch for the man. He just wants to know if the Captain had done something to you to make you feel that way, while he wasn’t around to see it. 

“If he had his way I’d be dead already,” you say sombrely. 

He grimaces. You’re probably right. 

“I wouldn’t let that happen,” he grunts, hand smoothing over the curve of your shoulder, brushing down your arm. He can’t stop touching you. 

You adjust your position on his lap, not quite getting comfortable, but turning to face him better. “How can you guarantee that if he’s your commander?” You ask, tone interrogative. “What if he orders you to kill me?” 

“I wouldn’t,” he says, more forcefully, anger bubbling in the back of his throat at the thought. 

He hasn’t considered it, going against direct command, breaking the chain of authority that he has been beholden to since birth. His eyes go dark as he thinks about it. Such an order an immovable object, his newborn compulsion to safeguard you an unstoppable force. 

He doesn’t know what would happen. Only that you’d be alive at the end of it. 

Concern bleeds into your features, but it seems you elect to believe him, answering only with a faint nod. “Okay.” 

“You should get some sleep,” he says. 

“Do we have time to?” You ask dubiously, dread in your throat. 

He huffs. “You do.” 

A look of pity cracks through your features, but you relent with a nod. “Okay.”

With some maneuvering, you push yourself up and step a leg out of the tub, standing on the tufted bathmat. Your skin prickles up in the cold, tiny bumps of gooseflesh feather your skin, faint hairs standing on end. 

There’s no caution in your nakedness, no lingering reluctance in having his eyes soak you in. You stand unblushing, and he watches as you float to the towel rail; the way your calves tighten, lush thighs bounce with each small step. The way the faint light catches in the valley of your spine, shimmers on your soft skin embellished with drops of water, carves out the nectarine contours of your ass.

He’s not ignorant of his lechery. Acknowledges that simply having sex with you should not embolden him to abandon all shame as he relishes in the sight of you, he can’t quite justify it — but there’s more to it than that. 

Not anything he can articulate nor make sense of. But you let him admire you, so he admires you. 

You’ve already collected a towel for him by the time he gets out to follow you, handing it to him as you drape your own around your own shoulders. He’s not shy about spectating you as you dry yourself off, running the plush towel down your torso, arms, legs, before wrapping it around your hair and wringing out your locks. 

You dump your towel on the floor by the vanity once you deem yourself dry enough, leaving your hair damp down your back. He puts his boxers back on, slightly less comfortable with his nudity than you. He’s not sure why, perhaps just habit. He’s used to staying hidden. 

Seems you get stuck in the mirror. 

He watches, quietly, as you glower into it like you can see somebody on the other side. Eyes penetrating like you hate her. White-knuckled hands clutch the edge of the vanity, as you let out a frayed sigh. 

He shuffles over until he stands behind you. More than a head above you in the reflection, the shadow you cast. 

Even with your brows curled in worry, lips in a caustic line, you’re pretty. So pretty. He wants to tell you so. His mouth won’t let him utter the words. 

“Do you ever look in a mirror, and—” you hesitate, “and think, ‘who the fuck is that’?” 

He bites down on nothing, but nods in response. “Most of the time.”

You blink at yourself, a slender finger lifting to graze the yellowing bruise under your eye. 

“I used to look so normal,” you say quietly, musing to yourself. 

He exhales as if to laugh — can’t imagine that you ever looked normal. You’re abnormal, by nature. He’s sure it would come across as an insult if he were to say so, but he doesn’t mean it as one. Even as he imagines you in a hoodie and jeans, crossing the street, buying cigarettes from the corner shop — you’d glow.

He lacks the eloquence to say such a thing, so he says nothing. Instead cranes his head and presses his lips into the swell of your shoulder. Fleeting, a simple kiss, he doesn’t linger. 

“Go to bed,” he tells you. 

“What will you do?” You ask quietly, pretty eyes fluttering shut as his lips graze your skin, before he steps back. 

“Got some calls to make,” he answers. 

“You’ll stay in the house, right?” 

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

Yet would have been accurate to disclaim, but he doesn’t want to frighten you. He knows you’d hardly sleep. 

You nod, finally acquiescing, and he follows a few paces behind you as you wander out of the bathroom towards your bedroom. Leans against the jamb of the doorframe and watches as you pull a comically oversized t-shirt over your head, brush out your hair in front of your mirror, tug open the drawer of your nightstand. 

Grits his teeth as you toss two oxycodone tablets into your open mouth, and swallow them with a placated sigh. Comforts himself with the promise that you’ll break your habit when you’re free from the hell you’re imprisoned in. 

When you’re free, he thinks — ruminates on the prospect. He was ambivalent about your liberation when he first took you on, considered you deserving of whatever fate befell you. Let the Captain believe that you were unlikely to make it out of the arrangement alive, so no additional measures needed to be taken to ensure your emancipation. 

He’ll make it right. 

Observes silently as you settle yourself into bed on your side, tugging your thick covers up until they brush your cheeks, shimmying yourself deeper into the mattress. Thanks to him, it has been several nights since you have slept in a bed, and the relief is visible in the softening of your eyes and the pleased curl in your lips. 

Sweet thing. He’ll get you out, or die trying. 

“Night,” he grumbles, and your eyes blink open before landing on him. 

“You’ll wake me up, won’t you?” You ask, “when it’s time to go?” 

“Course.” 

You nod. “Okay. G’night.”

He flicks off the light switch on the wall with the back of his finger. Remains in the door for far longer than necessary. Attentive as your breathing settles, as your eyes grow heavier, as your lips part slightly in your slumber. The shadow of his silhouette drapes over your body under the covers, haunting you, he’s sure. Only once you roll over to your other side, does he step away from the frame, and carefully shut the door behind him.

He pulls out his satellite phone as he meanders down the hallway away from your bedroom, dialing up the Captain and holding it to his ear. 

He picks up on the first beep. 

“Jesus, I’ve been waiting for you to check in for fuckin’ hours. Thought you’d gone AWOL.” 

“Not quite,” he murmurs. 

“Why’re you so quiet? S’the weather dirty?” 

“It’s clear,” he says, as he makes his way down the staircase, out of earshot. Dithers for a moment about whether he’ll disclose why. “Didn’t want to wake the bird.” 

“She’s still kicking?”

“Affirmative.” 

Price chortles on the end of the line. “You’re a bloody good guard dog, I’ll give you that. How’d she do?” 

“She did good.”

“Go on then, we don’t have time to piss around here.” 

He makes his way to the kitchen. Eyes catch on the counter. On the glitter of the broken glass that sprinkles over its surface. 

“We need to get ‘er out, sir,” he says rigidly. 

“What?” 

“Mia,” he grits. “I’m not leaving her in this fuckin’ shithole.” 

An uneasy pause cuts through the line, as Price considers his response. 

“What’s changed? Has she ended the damn war?” 

“She’s not a war criminal. They’ve kept her prisoner for years, captain, they fuckin’ torture her.” 

“She’s gotten in your head, then, has she?” 

“If you’d spoken to her, John, you’d see the same.” 

“See what, exactly.” 

“An innocent girl.” 

Price lets out a beleaguered sigh. “Christ,” he grumbles. “What’ve you gotten yourself into?” 

A mess. 

“Just get her the damn passport,” he demands, patience wearing thin. “She’s earned it.”

“Has she? You haven’t even told me if she found anything of any value.” 

“Guarantee it.” 

“Guarantee what?” 

Ghost rolls his eyes. “That she’ll be sent home, for fuck’s sake.” 

“When she’s done her job, I’ll see what I can do.” 

“She has.” 

“Not while we’ve got no missiles, she hasn’t.” 

“Mialstor Munitions Factory,” he grunts, finally revealing the intel he called to share. “That’s where they’re making the missiles.” 

“She found that out?”

“Affirmative.” 

“That’s only a few clicks north of you.” 

“Just under one-fifty.” 

“D’she get anything else?”

“Sounds like we missed a few spots at the first estate,” he answers reluctantly. “Digital assets in a vault we weren’t aware of.” 

“Right,” Price says urgently, a familiar rigidity that portends a plan. “I’ll call you back in a minute.” 

The call ends with a click, and Ghost busies himself by collecting the gear that is scattered around the mansion. Finds his jersey and t-shirt on the floor of the kitchen, and his mask hanging from a cupboard handle, where it had fortuitously landed when you tossed it away. Gets himself dressed again, returning the balaclava to its rightful place. Grabs his tac vest from floor by in the foyer, handgun still tucked into the holster on its side. Returns to the bathroom and puts his trousers back on, boots to follow. 

He knows what Price will inevitably ask of him. He just hopes he can get you out before he is ferried off to fulfil his next mission. Knows how dangerously distracted he’ll be if you’re stuck here without him. 

His sat phone rings as he does up his belt. He picks it up immediately. 

“Yep,” he answers quickly. 

“Zero-seven, we’re sending a bird to you at 0400 hours. Bravo and Delta teams will meet you two clicks south of the factory.” 

He checks his watch. Just before two. 

“We’re storming it?” 

“Affirmative, lieutenant. No time to waste.” 

“Seems a little rash for you, captain.” 

“You trust your bird, don’t you?”

His jaw tightens. “I do.”

“Then there’s no use sitting on our hands, is there?” Price barks. “MacTavish will be joining you at Mialstor. Garrick and I will be heading back to the estate to find what you missed.” 

“They’ll be sweeping the mansion again,” he says. “It’ll be swarming.” 

“Counting on it.” 

Not unlike the Captain to dive right into the hornet's nest. 

“You sorted exfil for the bird, then, I take it?” 

“Jesus, lieutenant, get your bloody priorities straight. There are lives on the line.” 

“So is hers,” he spits. “If they get to her they’ll fuckin’ kill her. Worse than that.” 

“She should’ve thought about that before she married one o’ them.” 

Ghost swallows his simmering insubordination before allowing himself to speak. 

“Do you hear yourself?” 

The silence that follows is ugly. He can hear the Captain gritting his teeth through the phone, can see the line that forms in his ever-severe lips. The man has always been callous, dangerously pragmatic — but this level of cold apathy is out of character. Pure desperation. 

They’ve been hunting the same organisation for the better part of a decade. Makarov has never been so within reach, so close to being ensnared in their maws — seems the Captain has lost sight of his own humanity in the pursuit of his heroism. 

Far be it from Ghost to be the one to discern it. Until now, their roles have been reversed. Ghost the cur, Price the muzzle. 

A perturbed grunt crackles through the phone speaker. “Look, If her intel was good, if we find those missiles — I’ll get her out.”

“I don’t give a shit what we find there,” he growls. “I don’t care if we get there and it’s a fucking empty field. We’re getting that girl home.” 

“What’s she done to you, Simon?” Price asks, earnestly, and Ghost’s knuckles turn white. “Alright. We can’t get another bird out before the operation. But afterwards, I’ll try.”

“You’ll try?” He grits. “Or you will?” 

“I’ll do my best,” the Captain replies. “Just — don’t let her distract you, eh? Remember what’s at stake.” 

“Haven’t forgotten, sir.” 

“Good. I’ll check in with you when you’re on the helo. Get a few zees in while you can, yeah? Need you sharp.” 

“Copy that.” 

Price closes the call with over and out and Ghost fights the urge to throw the chunk of plastic into the vanity mirror. 

The thought makes him sick. Leaving you here. Alone, unguarded, in a mansion with no defenses, no bulwark to shield you from the men who wrestle to maim you. 

Abandoning you, just as he said he wouldn’t. 

He doesn’t have a choice. 

Guilt swelters within him as he makes his way down the same corridor, hovering outside your bedroom door, hand yet unwilling to touch the handle. The thought of telling you makes his tongue swell up. Having to utter the words aloud, having to see your face when you learn he has no choice but to leave you here. 

How could you believe him when he says he’ll be back? What stock remains in his promises? 

He loathes confessing to it, but he reminds himself that the Ultranationalist scum have no reason to return to your summer house, yourself notwithstanding. Makarov’s sadism is unearthly, but he would not jeopardise a decades-long scheme just to have his fun with you. He’ll come back for you eventually, no doubting that. The creature oozes such repulsive lust for you that it lingers in the air even after he was forced to leave the estate. 

Simon will return to you before he even gets the chance. He’ll come back to guarantee it. To ensure your safety. 

He twists the door knob, and it opens quietly, hinges fresh and well-maintained. A crack of light slices into the room through the opening door, cloaking where you lie on your back, a single forearm jutting out of the duvet and resting softly on the pillow. Deep in slumber. 

You don’t stir as he makes his way into your room, feet heavy on the carpeted floor. Gentle face doesn’t twitch as he sweeps a tuft of your hair with a thick finger, from where it had draped over your nose, scooping it behind your ear, off of your neck. Eyes fix to the beating of your carotid artery beneath the velvet skin of your throat. The divots that carve beneath your collarbones as you breathe deeply. 

Makes his chest sink to imagine that you’d sleep so tranquilly in his presence. That you could ever let your guard down in his proximity. He wonders how long it will take for the other shoe to drop.

Still, he leaves his tac vest leaning against the foot of the bed. Dumps his boots off beside it, upright and neat, as he was trained to leave them.

He looks at his watch again; 02:01. Gives him just under two hours to get some sleep. He could sleep anywhere — decades in the military have inured him to sleeping on raw dirt, hung over the back of a truck, upright in a plane. 

Doesn’t want to, though. 

He drops into the bed beside you, atop the covers, flat on his back. Heavy head sinks into the thick down pillow beneath his head. Luxury, all of it — not only the dizzyingly opulent bedding, but the body lying next to him. 

You shuffle slightly before rolling onto your side. Eyes still shut, you nestle your forehead into the swell of his bicep, sleepy hand scooping under his arm to hold it close to you. 

You let out a satisfied sigh, and sleep immediately swallows him whole. 

[m4iya]

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ SKINCARE

Kuroo knows it's over when you catch him watching you do your skincare. Before he knows it, you're massaging his face-masked cheeks with a roller and giving him a lecture on how soap and water wouldn’t always keep his skin clear. He'll whine and complain, but the way he leans into your touch says enough.

Sakusa scornfully gives you tips on your skincare routine, vehemently urging you to wash your hands and dry them between steps. He notices how water trickles down your arms, soaks your rolled up sleeves and drips onto the floor; his supposed reason for buying you a set of wrist towels. Upon closer inspection, they have your initials embroidered into them in gold coloured thread.

Oikawa does his own skincare beside you - you’ve never seen him forget about it, not even was absolutely exhausted. You and him share frequent conversations about face wash, toners, sunscreen and the like. When you run out of products, he lets you use his own; even gifting you his expensive vanilla-musk scented perfume and lotion set, simply because he liked the way it smelt on you better.

Yamaguchi got into skincare on his own accord, starting out with drugstore face wash. After meeting you, it became a regular topic between you both as you discussed different products for his skin type. Hey, you were no dermatologist, but you had some experience of your own. In a months time, you noticed that his blemishes had began to clear up, the smile on his face becoming brighter each day.

Suna laughs uncontrollably at your white, near opaque face-masked complexion as you slide into bed. You're exhausted and just want to catch some sleep, but he hammers you with 0.5 pictures on flash for a minute straight. Given some time, you've forced him into a face mask as well and now you're the one laughing.

Kenma invites you onto his channel as a guest, taking late night stream requests from his chat. After one person suggested 'skincare routine!' hundreds of people followed. So here you were, preparing your products as he set up his camera in the bathroom. You sat him down onto the lid of the toilet, rubbing multiple creams and masks into his skin and finishing it off with an overnight face mask. By the next morning, his social media was flooded with viewers who'd screenshotted him wearing a face mask, using it as their profile pictures.

other works

[oikasugayama]

YOU CATCH HIM M@STURBAT!NG

NSFW, for adults ONLY, MDNI or I'll block you. No idea how many parts this will be. Let me know which BSD men you want to see ;)

pt. 1 Fyodor, Poe, Chuuya | pt. 2 Fukuzawa, Kunikida, Dazai | pt. 3 Ranpo, Akutagawa, Ango | pt. 4 Sigma, Mori, Tetcho | pt. 5 (finale) Atsushi, Nikolai

Fyodor

Walking in on him touching himself is REALLY surprising because he doesn't seem the type to masturbate, in your mind. You straight up couldn't imagine him touching himself until the very second you walked into his office and saw his bottoms around his ankles, his top hiked up around his chest, and his hand furiously pumping over his pale dick.

His head is thrown back, eyes closed, mouth lazily hanging open. You've never seen so much skin on him before. He's PALE pale which makes the brightness of his mouth and tongue and the tip of his cock seem so much brighter.

"oh love, yes, yesss" he moans, and your whole body flushes red with embarrassment and arousal at the same time. You shouldn't be seeing this but you're having a hell of a time turning away from him. You need to leave the room. You need to go. You need to turn around.

"y/n," he purrs, tilting his head and opening his eyes half-way, looking so fucked out and erotic. "do you like what you see?"

You can't formulate an answer, you're standing in the doorway short circuiting, trying to make words but only noises come out

"since you're standing there I thought you might be interested," he says as slow and calm as ever. Even jerking himself off his voice doesn't hitch or raise or speed up and it's honestly really hot right now. "Care to join me?"

"i-i, um... I'm really s-sorry, f...fyodor."

He moans softly biting his lip while still staring straight at you.

"say it again," he purrs. "say my name."

"fyodor..."

"again," he moans, hand working faster.

"Fyodor."

you walk in and close the door behind you.

Poe

You two scheduled a hang-out at his place but despite how many times you knocked on the door, he wouldn't answer...so you try the doorknob, and hey, it's unlocked! You've been to his place many times, you don't mind letting yourself in and don't suspect he'll mind either.

After you put your stuff down and take off your shoes, you register a quiet noise coming from a different room. you sneak closer and realize two things: it's crying, and it's coming from poe's bedroom

you open the door and rush in without thinking. "poe! what's wrong, why are you-- OH FUCK"

you rushed right into him kneeling at the edge of his bed, bouncing on a dildo and not crying, whimpering, moaning.

he calls your name and you can't tell if he meant to moan it but he absolutely moans it and he sounds like a wreck and he looks pathetic and fucked out, and you feel it when he says your name.

"I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have been this, I'm gonna go home--" you say, turning and rushing out of his room. he calls your name after you, multiple times, moaning and moaning and moaning--

you sink down against his front door, still slightly able to hear the sounds of him moaning and whining from his room. you're so horny now, absolutely drenched through your panties/rock hard in your pants. You know you should leave, you know you shouldn't still be here, but he never told you to go, he just kept saying your name...

a few minutes later, after the noises have subsided and the apartment has gotten deadly quiet, his bedroom door creaks open and he slowly peeks his head out. he must be crawling still because he's near the floor.

"[y/n]," he sighs, "I didn't want you to find out like this."

it takes you a second to collect yourself, but you manage to ask "find what out?"

"that i... i think about you... a lot..."

Chuuya

you're on a PM mission with chuuya and several other PM members. you've got to share a room with chuuya, but at least you have separate beds. it's fine. it's whatever. until.

until you wake up one morning--the clock on the bedside table saying it's only 6:23 a.m.--to the sound of a rhythmic slapping, some occasional huffs, a-- a moan?

you sit upright in bed quickly, your head turning toward chuuya's bed.

"are you fucking serious?"

"what" he huffs, and through the tiny bit of daylight creeping through the curtains you can see movement beneath his sheets.

"are you jerking off right now? dude we're sharing a fucking room."

"you were asleep," he says defensively. "not like you noticed yesterday."

"dude!!!"

"get over it, it's fuckin' natural," he says and his voice is getting tight and higher almost like he's biting back a moan or getting close to cumming.

"it's disrespectful when you have someone in the same room, chuuya," you say softer, subconsciously still trying to hear the sounds he's making. you're embarrassed at how intrigued you are

"i'm not stopping you," he says. "you can jerk it too for all i care."

"to what... to you jerking it?"

you can almost hear the smirk in his voice when he says "I never said anything about that, so you thought that up all on your own. is that what you're into, pet?"