#but do u get it it’s like. the different ways different people’s bodies are allowed to exist In The Public Eye

[atopvisenyashill]

okay so schlong opinions-

aemond wang was exactly like the gendry scene, i feel like hbo has a “are u willing to show cock check yes or no” box and then try to work in that character’s dick somehow so they can brag about having nudity but it’s not sexy, it’s not sexposition, it’s JUST swinging dong.

swinging dong by itself is not bad. the amount of absolutely random tits, bush, and vajeen we have seen in the history of this series is astronomically, and if you just want random dick the way you want random bush my opinion is go for it, we need equality!!! the problem imo is how men don’t get objectifying type sexposition scenes while going full hog the way women are used for like, everything under the sun. there’s some sort of long gender essay here. its 1 am i’m not writing it tho.

actually it’s not dissimilar from dany standing up in the tub - showing nudity as a power play. i’m not inherently against that. but i also would like to point to the dearth of penis in sexy scenes. it’s always a power play, a gritty scene, background dressing.

BUT THE BLOWJOB SCENE? lol lmao

one of the podcasts i watch was like “what is this. what’s happening here. that brothel scene was too long” tbf it’s two middle aged dads who aren’t book fans they’re just chronically online BUT.

there’s still an element of shock factor there rather than titillation imo. also again - background, our focus is aegon.

i’ll give it to them for showing several oral scenes this season tho idk that’s kinda cracking me up a bit.

[mako-island-moon-pool]

Personally of the belief that live action fans who go onto animanga posts uninvited like 'I DESPERATELY NEED YOU TO KNOW THAT I THINK THE ART STYLE IS UGLY EVEN THO THIS OPINION IS IRRELEVANT TO THE POST' should be hit with a big rock. We already moved past this ten years ago, get with it or get lost. Swallow the hunger inside of you that demands everything be palatable to you. Maybe you could stand to be a little uncomfortable for a while

[vatelixx]

The enormity of my desire (disgusts me),

Very very early seasons (1 — start of 2) Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and fluff, some angst in relation to Spencer’s past because it can never be too happy, we’re not allowed nice things here). first times & explorations of intimacy.

──── autistic spencer (it’s a central theme to the plot), reader is actually morally good (for once).

Warnings: sub spencer (what did u even expect?), heavy corruption kink, first time for Spencer (all i do is sit around and think about how i’d like to devirgin that genius), HEAAVY praise kink, very very inexperienced Spencer, slight? oral fixation, they’re both just rlly down bad (i told u i would write something light, i delivered), Reader is whipped, Spencer is sooo much worse. Biblical references, Religious imagery, i think i talk about math equations???? And random metaphors/complexes.

w.c: 4k

a/n: i rlly wanted to explore aspects of spencer that criminal minds swept under the rug (cough cough his undiagnosed autism, cough cough his social exclusion, cough cough his crippling fear of forever being alone). Next upload will prob be heavy angst/no smut post-prison spencer (god help me please, i must be a masochist for the way i make myself suffer)

───────────────

There’s a lot Spencer hasn’t done.

He knows he’s behind, that he never quite caught up when it came to the taboo of sex and intimacy. Everything, everything, he’s ever had has been centred around exclusion, alienation, he feels like he’s lived on pause. Frozen, never advancing, stuck on ‘go’. Touch isn’t easy for him, interpersonal relationships are worse. He’s different, god he’s heard that his entire life. ‘You’re not weird, you’re just… different’, but maybe he is weird. Maybe his whole existence is just one big cosmic fuck you, because he’s missed out on so much, so much that he can’t understand, comprehend, act out against. Falling behind; this is the only area of life where he continuously comes up short, inexperienced, naive, he’s not used to being incompetent.

He’s never experienced want the way others do. He could never just hook up, fall into the body of another, expose them to the vulnerable elements of his stature. Open himself up to scrutiny. He might be a genius, he might be intellectually advanced, accepted into a multitude of ivy leagues before he was old enough to vote, but there’s drawbacks to his success. Social awkwardness, an inability to blend, mould, be one of the crowd. Sometimes he wishes he was average, something grey and mundane, so far reduced from the person he is now— it would all be plainly simple.

But he’s not, he’s not. So, this is the weight he has to bare for the brain he never asked for.

Pyrrhic victory, he’ll always be renowned for his intelligence. ‘You’re going to change the world kid,’ maybe, but simultaneously, he’ll never get to experience said world. There’s a chance he’ll always be on the outside, watching normal people gravitate towards each other. Live dreary lives of domesticated simplicity. Stacked bills, arguments over money and parenting techniques. Going to bed angry, only to turn around, mid-night, and resolve it, to not sleep on bad blood. To take them off the couch, to settle into predestined sides of the mattress.

There’s not enough possessions in the world he’d sacrifice just to experience love.

Hedgehog dilemma, the challenges of human intimacy. The hedgehogs want to move closer, to preserve heat during cold. But, they are forced, biologically cursed to remain apart, in order to prevent themselves from harming each other. Spencer doesn’t want to be hurt, to hurt, it’s a morbid byproduct of his upbringing; all he ever endured was mockery.

He thought he’d never get to experience the physical, carnal aspects of existence. And sure, he made peace with the notion, accepted the consequences of being born atypical. Learnt to live without.

But then, oh then there was you. Pretty, intellectual you who quite literally tipped his world on it’s axis. Upheaved the most stable of routines. New to the BAU, he wanted you to last. To stay around, endure the worst of the job. If only for his selfish benefit of orbiting in your presence.

He remembers how it all started: Detroit, another case, more budget cuts, forced proximity that sent you spiralling into a shared bed for the night.

“You’re my favourite person in the team.” you admitted, “And I know that’s dumb, because we’ve spoken the least, but… you’re just, so you. That’s a good thing by the way, a really really good thing.”

He couldn’t quite believe you were talking about him. Spencer, who spilt coffee, and slipped into ceaseless tangents about obscure information. Spencer, who walked into walls when you were around, stumbling over his sentences before deftly, very astutely, giving up, walking away mid-conversation. He wore sweater-vests and colourful mismatched socks, it’s not like he was going to be crowned ‘white boy of the month’.

“Not dumb.” Spencer had responded, shifting closer to tangle further into the warm mess of this accidental situation. “That’s good. I like being me.” he mumbled. “Sometimes…. sometimes it sucks. But that’s okay. I think it’s okay?”

He moved to press his face into the crook of your neck, but you were faster, gathering him by tousled hair, forcing him to look you in the eye.

Oh.

“Please. Please.” he whispered, breaking apart, fracturing, “Please like me. And more than in a weird, ‘just friends or coworkers’ way.”

You did. You do. He should’ve kissed you then, but maybe he was scared, maybe he couldn’t quite discern his feelings, separate the logic from the emotional. So he waited, waited, waited until now. Your third date, you take him to an exhibition within a science centre: replica models of the solar system, filling rooms up, papier-mâché sculptures illuminated by light.

Best date ever. You listen, even when he’s rambling about planets, when he’s pointing out that yes, Jupiter’s density is less than water. That, technically, it would float in a bathtub, if one was built to accommodate its size. You don’t care that he’s not exactly the staple-piece for conventionally attractive males. That he’s nerdish, and awkward, and so so inexperienced when it comes to this.

In his apartment, later, much later, he looks at you, looks at you like you’re the one who just solved the fucking Riemann hypothesis.

“What do you want the most? Like,… if you could ask for one thing.” you say, and god, Spencer loves when you pose these deep, hypothetical questions. When you make him think, because you, you are the biggest challenge to his intellect yet.

You. He wants to say. But he settles for ‘Being remembered,’ instead. He works to untangle layers of fabric, your scarf, your jacket, letting out an exasperated laugh when he meets your amused gaze. “Right now though? I think I’d settle for kissing you.”

You cup his jaw, tracing your fingers along the sharp curve, and god he has perfect anatomy. “Settle huh? You should be more appreciative.”

He leans forward to press a chaste kiss against your lips. Drawing away for a moment, just to return because he’s never had this before. Because for the first time in his life, he gets it. He gets physical attraction, even if it took time. He’s kissed, been kissed, yes. But he could count those moments on one hand, and if you asked how many he truly enjoyed, he’d be left with no fingers raised.

“Believe me, i’m very appreciative…”

This isn’t like before, what he felt in the past; he expected something monotone, flighty, a brief fleeting moment of satisfaction. Means to an end. No, it’s actually the best thing he’s ever experienced, and he’s going to become so insufferable after this, because he’s just found out he is very very into kissing.

Correction: he’s very into kissing you.

In the moment between parting, and touching again, he assumes you to be divinity personified. Spencer has never been religious, but something of this magnitude should be canonised. He wants to ask you. Ask you when you became this beautiful. When you became the person he needs to kiss a second time, kiss a third time, kiss until his lips go numb.

A shaky inhale, a pause. “I hope… I hope that it was okay - I mean, it was good for me. Really, really good. Um—“ to be honest, he’s just glad he didn’t say thankyou.

“Yeah, Spence. That was… wow.” you draw your bottom lip between teeth, press into tissued flesh. Jesus Christ. “Wanna try again?”

Yes yes yes yes. He looks at you, pupils blown obscenely out of proportion. Part of him wants to say, ‘why didn’t we do this sooner?’ But that’s not fair; he’s only ready now. Now that he feels, now that he might be a little in love with you.

“Please,” is his answer, and then he’s catching your face in the palms of his hand, tugging your lips back to his, because admittedly, they have ached in the long, extensive period you were apart (53 seconds).

This time it deepens and Spencer sees stars. It’s an astronomical phenomenon, something interstellar— and god, he’s relating kissing to space. They should just tape the word ‘virgin’ to his back and call it a day.

There’s soft little breathy sighs escaping his mouth now, bleeding into yours. And yeah, spontaneous combustion might be a real threat. Actually no, it would hardly be spontaneous; there’s a clear, clear cause, and it just so happens to be your ruinous lips.

This is an entirely new facet of the human experience. The kiss is electric; he’s always been partial toward physics, and right now his veins carry an alternating current.

You know, he could probably write a thesis based on this.

You both stumble back back back until he’s hitting a wall, and yes, thankyou. He’s making all sorts of sounds he can’t justify, and it’s a supernova, an infinite black pool of— oh, he thinks he might die, ascend, transcend, when you press your thumb against his chin, hold your lips at just a little slant from his. Force him to wait there.

“Please,” he’s never been above begging. A worthy sacrifice, one he’ll certainly repeat again because you return to the kiss, and the world around him dissolves.

You’ve got one hand tangled in his hair. Tousled auburn, fingers sinking into strands, pushing all the way down to the root. The other is still cupping his face, keeping him close, keeping him selfishly close actually.

“Spence,” you murmur. And yes. Yes. He likes that. The way his name sounds rolling off your tongue, like it was destined to be there. Like he was destined to be yours.

His world is ending. So is yours. Fuck it, he presses himself against your thigh, and ohmygodohmygod. He’s being loud, he’s actually being so criminally loud right now because apparently he’s the most whorish virgin to ever exist.

“I lied, I lied,” he admits between messy kisses, “When you asked what I wanted the most? It’s not to be remembered, well it is, its on the list. But—“ he groans, kisses you again because talking interrupts matters that are more important. Like your lips.

“I wanna cum.”

Eloquent.

Spencer Reid being dirty? Oh, it’s hot, it’s so hot to reduce someone to such an obscene state. To reduce him, the boyish fumbling nerd (who just so happens to be the most beautiful person in existence) to such a degrading mess.

Still, there’s shock. Not because he said it (you greatly appreciate the indecent things falling from those pretty lips right now), but because—

“You’ve never? Haven’t even experienced it once? By yourself?”

He should be embarrassed, but his lips are red, his eyes are glassy, and the bulge in his pants is straining to be touched. “Never,” he sighs shakilly. “Never, and i’m— i’m starting to understand why it’s so popular.”

He whimpers, pushes himself against your thigh, because the friction, yes. “Is that weird? Please don’t think i’m weird. Because I’m really, really weird. Just maybe… not in that way?”

It’s never been enough. His body sometimes feels numb to the touch, and yet still so very overstimulated. Like he manually blocks himself from feeling, already prepared for the flinch. How does he explain that life hasn’t been kind to him? That he hates his body because of what people made it out to be when he was a child. Stripping him naked, tying him to a goalpost, always the underdog. The one to be targeted, tormented.

“It’s actually kinda hot,” you interrupt his thoughts, and just because you’re evil, corrupt, the worst, you press your thigh harder against his clothed cock, palm covering his mouth when a plethora of whiny sounds escape his mouth.

It’s performative, really. Alone in his apartment, there’s no need for noise control. So when your thumb slips between parted, swollen lips, he knows to suck. The average human hand has between 10,000 and 10 million bacteria, and Spencer does not actually give a fuck anymore.

“To think that you’ve never even felt what it’s like. That you’re gonna feel it with me for the first time. I get to see that shit— god, you’re going to look so fucking pretty for me.”

You draw your thumb out of his mouth, and he has the audacity to whine.

He’s never wanted anything more in his entire life. It’s all tertiary now. Only this matters.

“Please don’t praise me—“ he protests, “I’ll probably finish in my pants.”

“Praise kink, noted.”

You laugh, and he can only groan, curse existence for being this cruel to his overworked, undervalued body. “Don’t— don’t laugh. You’re not supposed to laugh, that can heighten performance anxiety. Increase insecurity, and…” he sighs, “You do not care. Sadistic tendencies, noted.”

“Shut up. Wanna see you.” you say, and he’s just muttering breathless mhm’s, too delirious to function; his body is betraying the last iota of self-control like the little whore it apparently is.

His sweater comes off first, then his top. Discarded fabric, his raised arms when you mutter a candid ‘up’, giving way to exposed skin. In response? Your pupils dilate. Spencer knows because he’s analysing, profiling. If you hate him like this, he’s fairly certain he’ll drag himself into a self-dug early grave. He wishes he was being melodramatic. That your approval didn’t have such a substantial impact on his carefully-constructed ego. But, oh, it does. It does.

Thin, with a long, defined torso, he blushes, rose blemished skin, when your hands drag across his stomach. He’d love to say he reacts sanely, suavely. Urbane to your touch. But that would be a total, discreditable lie. Instead, his back arches, seeking contact, following the path of your fingertips with pitiful desperation. He feels malleable, willing to bend and contort, if only to feel more.

“How can you not think you’re pretty, Spence?” His pants are gone next, then his stained boxers, fabric borderline sheer now, soaked through with pre-cum.

Spencer feels betrayed. His body never responds, not to his own hands, not to his own thoughts. And yet, the moment you’re on him, he’s a live-wire. It’s sick, heinous, double-crossing. Maybe it’s purposeful, done just to spite him. Figures.

“Holy shit, look at you. Look at how perfect you are.” Spencer wants to object, because he distinctly told you not to praise him. However,.. right now, the lights are on but nobody is home. Brain-death, he’s certainly in a vegetative state.

“Ohmygodohmygod,” he whimpers, because no amount of knowledge about human anatomy and physiology could prepare him for how he feels under your touch. No amount of education in the psychology of relationships could inform him of how viscerally wrong the way you look at him feels.

Because it’s not wrong, not all. It’s the most right he’s ever felt, and he’ll tell you that if you’ll just keep it up.

The sounds he’s making are phonographic, lewd, you’ve given up on trying to stifle them now. Where have you been hiding? Your eyes fall, and he wants to blush away from the exhibiting gaze, but he’s just…. too far gone; the thought of your touch outweighs any previous reticence. Then, oh then, you drop to your knees, and shit. He expected your thigh, maybe your hand if he was lucky, not—

This. Your mouth, your tongue, your pretty lips; god, god, is this a sin? Because if it is, he’ll take it.

“Please,” he whines, and he can’t look anymore because the sight alone is going to send him over the edge. He’s gripping the wall, scrambling scrambling for purchase, because he’s trying not to grip you, but how exactly does he keep this respectful?

He’s pretty sure they’re past that, considering your mouth is currently wrapped around his cock, and he’s debauched.

You want this, you want him, he feels like he’s transcended humanity, like he’s become someone, anyone and anything, that deserves the way you’re taking him apart, piece by piece. In the aftermath, he hopes you don’t leave a single ounce of him intact.

“Wanna kiss you. Oh— oh oh,” he’s sobbing now, “Come back here. Miss your mouth— even if it’s,” he looks down and that’s a mistake. “Please.”

Of course it would be Spencer to disrupt the best (and admittedly only) head of his life because he needs you closer.

You oblige, raising from your knees, and Spencer thinks it might be sacrilegious. But then again, he feels religion in your touch so it can’t be too profane. Maybe? He’s not sure, he’s not sure and it doesn’t matter. Ethics and morality have long since disintegrated, sins are engrained into humankind. He almost wants to thank Eve for tearing into the apple, because it’s allowed this irreverence to occur.

Spencer blindly follows you through the apartment, stumbling and muttering until he can collapse against the bed. Baring his pretty neck as his head hits the bedframe. Tangled in sheets, draped over his lap, his deft fingers run across your waist, mapping out the structure of your frame. If only to remember, recite this act of blasphemy.

“Spence,” you whisper, and then his lips are crashing into yours, stealing breath, stealing sanity. He whimpers, murmurs a protest when you draw back, and you can only laugh. “Lets get you off, yeah? You wanna feel an orgasm, pretty boy?”

“Yes, yes please. That would uh— yes.” he’s not even sure how he’s conscious right now. His body, god his body, has endured more pleasure in the last hour than it has for the majority of his life. Your hands scathe, and Spencer is willing to indefinitely burn, if just to feel them one more time.

You only stop to take off your clothes, and surely there needs to be prep? To reaffirm, he knows anatomy, the correct procedure, how the transgression is supposed to occur. And yet, that’s from a clinical, objective mindset. Do this, do that, etc etc. Nothing works out like that in practice.

You’re so wet, panties stained through, he spares a moment to run his fingers across your thighs, hand slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. The moan that follows has him distracted, thumb tracing circlets, over and over until you’re pulling back to return the balance. The balance, which admittedly is skewed, tipped scales, you’re on top. He falls to the weight of your influence.

And yeah, he’s more than fine with that. Jesus, you drag your panties down, down your thighs, your legs, then they’re reaching your ankles, pooling there for a moment before they’re being discarded, tossed somewhere on his floor — leaving behind a souvenir that yes, yes this happened.

“I can’t,” he says, burying his face into your shoulder when you take him. It’s slow, sinking onto his cock like every inch of warmth will destroy him. Maybe it will. Maybe he doesn’t care, because he deserves this. He deserves to feel after so much repression.

Or maybe, maybe he’s just become the biggest slut known to mankind. Likely.

Your body presses against his, and he thinks he’s going to disintegrate, because he feels so good. He understands now, he understands why people do this. Why it’s integral to the function of most. This is the best day of his life. This. Is. The. Best. Day. Of. His. Life.

There’s this noise, this pathetically loud whimper when you start to roll your hips— and oh your body is wet against him, and you’re so tight, and it’s perfect because he doesn’t have to do anything.

He can just sit here, look pretty, and cry.

He knows he’s a giver, that he’d bleed himself dry for you. It’s a curse, he supposes: so willing to bend backwards for the satisfaction of the people he trusts. But, this is foreign, and he wants to watch you, aimlessly stare, dumb and empty-headed as you wield his body like a weapon. Turn him into something perniciously yours.

Spencer has no reference for what an orgasm is supposed to feel like, and yeah, he’s really good at guessing in these type of situations. Because he’s rolling his thumb over your clit again, and he wants to draw it into his mouth, to see you laid out across bedsheets, writhing, unable to do anything but suffocate him with your thighs.

You clench around him, back arched, releasing a series of strained moans. With one hand tangled in his dishevelled hair, the other pressed against his chest, your face contorts, your body stiffens. There’s no way his incessant whimpering just got you off?

Okay. So you like him desperate. Point taken.

“Please— please, wanna cum. Wanna feel it so bad,” he’s slurring over his words, sentences punctured by devastating whimpers. And look at him, asking for permission, waiting even though his body has been teetering on the edge for so long now.

“Shh, shh..” you press your forehead against his, and he melts. Reoccurring theme. His hand grips your jaw, thumb pushed firmly against your chin, keeping you close. “You wanna cum for me, baby? Gonna give me your first?”

“Mhm— mhm…” is all he can say. When you pick up your pace, he has to burrow his face into the crook of your neck, whimpers messy and broken off, suppressed against your warm skin.

“Oh. Oh…” he repeats, again. Like there’s anything else he could utter, because this is earth-shattering.

It’s the sun, and all eight planets combined, and the universe collapsing in on itself, and he’s bucking, squirming, releasing into you, spilling deep.

He sobs. Breaks down. Because it’s so so good, and he can’t believe he ever deprived his body of this.

Neediest whore to ever exist, apparently.

It takes him a while to come back. Longer to regain motor function, to sink into present day. Life, and expectations, and everything, everything, your touch eradicated.

“Just… just stay like this?” he asks, collapsing against your body after he’s drawn out of you. There’s mess, evidence of your ministrations, but cleanliness seems futile when he’s blissed out, caught in a post-orgasmic haze that yes yes yes he needed so badly.

You card your hands through his hair, watch the way he stares up at you, large, widened eyes, chin resting against your chest. “Hi,” he mutters dumbly.

“Spence,” Spence, Spence, Spence. He could drown himself in that nickname.

“Yeah?” he breathes out.

“You we’re so good—“

He rolls away from you, finding a home for his face in the pillow. “Stop. Stop.” he groans, “Don’t do that. You’re going to destroy me. I’m not… equipped for this, for you. Someone should just sedate me, put me out of my misery, a coma sounds like—“

He tilts his head to the side, relinquishing, “Okay. Sorry. Meltdown over. Can we shower? Then maybe do this again? Which will make the shower inconsequential, I suppose. There’s a new documentary I want to watch, and oh, you still haven’t seen the third Star Wars—“

He’s happy, content, over the fucking moon, to be silenced with your lips. “Yeah,” he murmurs, hand interlocking with yours as you both fall back against the mattress, “Let’s do this again.”

[strangersynth]

bc you have things to say doesn't always mean you needa say them let alone it also doesn't always mean it's your place to say them kwim

[erenjaegerwifee]

Omg, you write so good!

Can you write something about Neteyam a little possessive about his secret crush towards his human female friend? I WOULD LOVE THAT SJSJSJS

OFC I CAN! This is such a fucking cute idea!!!!

✧₊⁺ Crushing

Paring: Neteyam x Fem!Human!Reader

Warnings: 18+, mentions of explicit actions

Disclaimer: my characters are aged-up! If u are uncomfortable reading don’t both interacting with my account

Neteyam grew up with you. From since you were a babygirl he was always around or with you, neteyam was fascinated with your small form. The way you learned to walk long after he did even though you were only months apart.

He thought you were weird at first cause you were so small and not blue like him. You had no tail and no point ears, no golden eyes instead you were kind of dull, the only thing you both had in common was your black hair.

Other than that it was wavy not straight like him, your eyes were a different color from him, your skin was brown? A shade of brown? He didn’t know the name of the color. But one thing he does know, you were absolutely beautiful.

In your teen years when you went through puberty you didn’t think much off it, your body was changing but you changed with it so it wasn’t so shocking to you, but neteyam had a hard time keep his eyes to himself. The way your scent changed slightly every month, your body filled out in ways he didn’t know was possible.

He never knew why you stopped wearing na’vi clothes until he saw you in a little tank top and shorts running around with Yuk. The way you tits bounces in your bra, the way your thighs were squeezed into your little denim shorts, he knew your body would just fall right out of na’vi clothing.

Yet still he found you amazingly beautiful. It was weird but it worked out, he would never get to truly mate with you but his mother already liked you. You were probably the only human girl she allowed around. It was perfect for him yet, Neteyam was so scared to tell you how he felt.

What if you thought he was too big and scary? What if you laughed in his face at the thought of being with him? What if you didn’t like him back? His thoughts pledged his mind, he didn’t want to embarrass himself, he didn’t want to face rejection of the first women he had every loved.

But still, his mind never drifted to another woman. Even his family saw the way he looked at you, like you were his very own gift from Eywa. Neteyam had been the only person that put himself in danger to protect you and no matter how much cuts or bruises he received he was happy with himself knowing he kept his special girl safe.

Neteyam loved the way you tied your hair up, he’d spend hours out of his day watching you style your long pretty hair if he could, and he has a few times. Watching the way you’d make different braided hairstyles or ponytails you called them. He especially loved how cute you’d look when you got mad the Pandora humidity made your hair look like you’ve been electrocuted. He thought it was adorable the way you’d continuously run your hands over your head and nothing seems to keep down the frizzy mess.

He loved your sense of human style even though you didn’t have much to work with the clothes you would make from repurposed avatar clothing when they joined the Omatikaya clan and didn’t need them anymore. Or when you would use big petals and leaves to make cute tops and skirts that always seems to fit your figure perfectly.

Neteyam was undeniably in love with you and he would do anything for you to love him back. Tonight, he walked his way to the human outpost, it was late at night but thanks to the humans moving closer to the clan, your bedroom was only about 4 minutes away from his hut.

Neteyam knows you stay awake all hours in the night so he thought nothing off it when he saw the faith glow through your bedroom window. You had a nice view of the forest from there, it faced away from the clan so people couldn’t see you unless they looked. Neteyam made a habit of checking on you before bed so he went to the window before anything else.

He walked up to it you were in clear view, luckily since your bedroom light was on your window acted as a mirror for you, but he could see you clear as day from outside. He watched you lay in bed in an oversized t-shirt undoubtedly an avatar’s, your legs were bare and shiny, you shaved. Your hair was loose, it curled so pretty over your shoulders and you laid on a big pillow snuggled up to your fluffy sheets and blankets.

You looked like you were drowning under all that warmth you looked adorable. When you got up off your bed and walked across the room to your desk, your back turned to him letting him see the back of your t-shirt.

Neteyam was not prepared. Your t-shirt stopped right under your ass and you bent over to pick up something from the floor displaying for him your pretty pink panties that were riding up your ass just perfectly.

It’s been a long time since neteyam saw some skin on you, it make his cock harden just seeing a sliver of what no one else does. He dropped to him knees by your window sill now only his face was in view, not that you could see him. You were so sexy for a little thing. He wants so bad to lay it down on you.

Neteyam pressed his forehead up against the window starting at your plump pretty ass until you stood back up. Only then did he blink refocusing on your t-shirt and then it caught his eye.

His brain lagged taking in the word he knew all too well, on the back on your shirt was the word big and bold ‘SULLY’ it was undoubtedly his father’s old t-shirt but seeing you sport something with his name on it made him shiver.

You had to be his, you’re literally carrying his name. He swears if you pumped you full of his babies it would be when you had his name written down on your skin, maybe he could convince you to get one of those human tattoos, he had hear they were permanent. He’d love to fuck into you seeing his name displayed pretty on your lower back over your ass, of above your collarbone so he can watch you tits bouce and see his ownership at the same time.

You have to be his. He has to tell you how he feels. He can’t let you get away and fall for someone else no. If Eywa didn’t give him a sign you were meant to belong to him before, she did now. Or at least that’s what he got out of tonight.

Tags: @rivatar @strongheartneteyam @xylianasblog @delusionalwh6re @nilahsstuff @m1tsu-ki @kylimarz @quicktosimp

✨ Part 2 is out! Here!

[2knightt]

— YOU SHOWED ME LOVE .

—IN WHICH, the greasers realize they’re truly, and honestly, in love.

tags/warnings: gn!reader possible OOC, story-focused rather than comedic headcanons, fluff and nothing else(lie), comforting steve, swearing, soda’s part is rushed cuz i ran out of ideas.

ೃauthor notes⁀➷ wow shocker i leave for awhile and come back with a new theme. anyways, hi angels! i love you all sm and i forgot how much i loved being here🥹..! i missed u guys so much!

—

Johnny Cade

cars zoomed by the lot at concerning speeds, the sound of wind being broken up by the obnoxious cop sirens or a drunkard yelling down the street.

though, to you and johnny, all of that fell to deaf ears. it was like the world didn’t matter to you—as long as johnny sat beside you.

the stars seemed to only shine above you two, twinkling and gleaming in ways that you’d never seen before. the moon was your sunlight, with johnny giving you the warmth.

his head rested on top of yours that was against his shoulder, his arm draped loosely around your waist. your thigh was pressed against his, making him more than a little nervous.

sitting in the lot with you made him nervous, despite you and him dating for a long while now. you made him..giddy. that’s the word.

you made him feel like a child again; the child he never got to be.

johnny had his head tilted upward toward the stars and the sky, matching what you were doing so he didn’t look like a clueless idiot.

your hand left your lap, your eyes flickering downward for just a moment that went unnoticed to johnny. you gently grabbed his scarred hand, holding his hand in yours. you held him like he was glass.

johnny felt his face get hot. like, really hot. you were so gentle with him, the type of gentle that he had never been treated with.

he looked down at you, your head still on his shoulder. your hair was so shiny, you were so beautiful and such a perfect fit for him with the way your body mended with his in a time like this.

perfect.

his lips were quickly pressed against the crown of your head, pulling away before he got too nervous to talk.

“i love you, y’know.”

Dallas Winston

“you’ll be fine.”

“i feel like ‘m bleedin’ out.”

dallas complained as he sat on your couch, his legs spread so that you could properly stand between them. you continued to dab the wet cloth against his cheek to get the dried blood off.

there seemed to be just as much of dried blood as there was fresh, his arms and hands coverer in gauze and bandaids.

you gently held his chin to turn his head every which way you needed, because he allowed you to. he liked you so much, he allowed you to move him around like a doll.

though, he liked slyvia a lot, too and she couldn’t do stuff like that. stuff like this with slyvia was weird, even if he did like her.

so, why was it different with you? what made you, of all people, so special?

his eyes were locked onto yours, taking extra note to how focused you look on cleaning his face up. you were pretty. like, real pretty.

dallas was quick to avert his eyes when he realized just how sappy his internal monologue sounded.

“what?”

you asked, taking note to how hyper-aware dallas suddenly looked. his jaw was clenched slightly as he seemingly refused to look at you.

how you always knew when something was up with him, he may never know.

“nothin’. the cuts jus’ hurt,”

he lied right out of his teeth.

dallas’ eyes met yours once more, trying to act tough once again. he asked himself once more, what made you so different?

“are you sure?”

you dropped the wet cloth slightly, the rag no longer against his cheek. you looked worried, and you sounded just as nervous.

you cared.

you cared for dallas winston. that’s what made you different.

dallas knew you were different from his other flings.

he liked his other flings. he loved you. he loved that you cared for him, genuinely.

he extended his hands out, grabbing your waist to pull you closer with a firm tug, your knee supporting you up as it was pressed against the edge of the couch.

��oh, ‘m real sure, pretty.”

“dally, please.”

“please, what?”

“don’t start with me now, winston.”

Ponyboy Curtis

you were golden.

completely and utterly golden. the sunset reflected off your skin like you were an angel, your eyes shimmering like the stars above, the flush across your face making you look beyond innocent.

ponyboy was the one to drag you out into the cold oklahoma winter in the first place. he just wanted to watch the sunset with you, the person he liked.

he protested against your arguments of, ‘it’s so cold out, though! it’s so warm inside, pony. don’t make me go out there!’ with, ‘it’s just a sunset. it’ll be for a few minutes! i jus’ wanna watch it with you. please, y/n?’

‘watch the sunset,’ his ass. he looked at the setting sun maybe twice in the span of 3 minutes. you were too beautiful to not look at.

of course, and thankfully, you were oblivious to his staring.

“it’s really pretty,”

you muttered. your eyes were locked onto the horizon, and his were locked onto his future.

his future.

the more he thought about it, he really liked you. like, to the point where whenever he envisioned a mile stone in his life, you were always there.

when he imagined graduating, you’d be there. when he imagined going to college, you’d be there. when he imagined getting married, you’d be standing at the alter with him.

he loved his future.

he loved you.

“real pretty.”

ponyboy agreed, but for a different reason.

Sodapop Curtis

the moonlight seeped through the curtains of his room, illuminating the lines that it managed to sneak it’s way through. the midnight sky was bright, yet the moon seemed to be the only focus for the stars.

soda held you in his arms loosely, your head resting gently on his chest. he traced imaginary shapes on the lower part of your back.

the sound of his fan whirling rang out through his room, your breathing falling into a rhythm as you drifted off to sleep.

soda always seemed to notice when you were about to fall asleep, and you didn’t know how he did. you were starting to suspect he might be a wizard.

he pressed a kiss against the top of your head, letting his lips linger there for a moment.

his life was hectic. it really was. he was a dropout who works a full time job to help his older brother keep a roof over their head, and he worked as a middle man in arguments.

but you, you were a breath of fresh air.

he needed you like he needed water.

he needs you.

he loves needing something, and he loves needing you.

he loves you. soda loves you so, so, so much.

“good night, baby. i love you.”

Darry Curtis

“oh, y/n,”

darry sighed as he entered the kitchen. the smell of freshly cooked dinner wafted through the air, leaving a comforting taste in everyone’s mouth.

he walked up behind you, your back turned to him as your focus was on scrubbing the last bit of dishes. his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling himself closer to you as if he needed to be as close as possible.

he rested his chin on your shoulder, his eyes looking down at your hands in the sink. you turned your head to look back at him, your faces a mere centimetres away.

you couldn’t necessarily help the smile that tugged on the corners of your lips at seeing darry look so grateful.

darry was a busy, hardworking man. that's who he was, and who he will always be as long as he lives. he provides with no one to provide for him.

until you came into the photo.

darry was cooking dinner out of fear that soda'd burn the roasted potatoes he said he'd make, and ponyboy was just..not that good with anything other than eggs.

he was cooking, cleaning, and working. he had no time to himself, it seemed. but you, the angel you are, takes it off his hands. maybe it was to just have him all to yourself after work, he didn’t care.

you were the angel that he prayed for day and night.

and god knows how darry loves angels.

you ruffed his hair, not bothering to dry off the water that stuck to your skin. darry chuckled, lightly shaking his head in a poor attempt to dry his loose curls.

in his own retaliation, he pulls you impossibly close, attacking your face with as many kisses he could. giggles filled the room as you attempted to push yourself away from him, only for his grip to tighten.

he pulled away at his expense, pressing one last kiss on the crown of your head.

“love you, doll. i really do,”

Steve Randle

“you’re always welcomed here, steve. you know that,”

you lightly scolded him as he sat on the edge of your bed. he’d been couch hopping before he came to you, a broken and embarrassed man.

you were rummaging around in your closest for another old blanket he could use, since from prior experience, you learned that steve has a tendency to hog the blanket you two shared.

“i know, i know.”

he begrudgingly grumbled, hurriedly avoiding eye contact with you with his head down, looking at his hands on his lap.

you looked over your shoulder, seeing just how embarrassed he looked asking for help tugged on your heart strings a little.

steve was never one to ask for help, no. he thought he was too prideful, too good, for help. he thought that he was superman with the way he thought he could help himself 24/7.

you sighed, taking a few steps toward him. you squatted down in front of him, lightly grabbing his hand and holding in it yours. he finally looked back at you with lowered brows, his eyes making him look way more innocent than he actually is.

“i hope you aren’t lying to me.”

“what?”

“do you actually know that i’m always here for you, or are you sayin’ that to shut me up?”

you questioned, allowing yourself to be straightforward since it seemed like that was the only language he knew.

steve shifted his eyes away from yours for a moment, a small huff leaving his lips.

“maybe.”

“steve,”

you started, the disappointment emanate in your tone. you stood up, letting go of his rough hand to cup his face. you forced him to look back at you.

“you know you aren’t ever a burden. i love having you around. i love you, okay? i wouldn’t ever push you away.”

you stated in the most soothing voice you could muster, looking him right in the eyes to really drive your point forward.

steve took awhile to react. he just looked back at you, letting your words process in his head. after a moment, he wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you close.

he buried his face in the nape of your neck, his breaths coming out shaky as he tried to calm himself.

he loved home, he really did.

and, look, steve isn’t stupid. he’s heard and understood the saying that, ‘home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling.’ but he always thought it was stupid.

how do you feel at home?

well, now he gets it.

with you in his arms, you comforting him and talking to him like he was a human, and he’s never felt more at home.

and holy shit, he loves this feeling.

“love you. love you so, so, so much.”

Two-Bit Mathews

laughter rang out through your empty living room, the television being completely drowned out.

you gasped for more air as you and two-bit laughed at an inside joke that seemed to only make sense to you two. you hand your hand on his shoulder, the other on your stomach. two-bit was leaning toward you unconsciously.

“holy hell, two-bit! that’s so messed up!”

you feigned innocence, pretending like you didn’t play into the jokes that slipped off his tongue.

“well, shit! then i guess we’re both messed up since you were jus’ talkin’ about-“

“hey, wait!”

you were quick to cut him off, leaning toward him to cover his mouth with your hand.

“don’t go snitchin’ on me!”

two-bit snickered to the best of his ability, grabbing your wrist lightly to pull you toward him closer. you stumbled toward him, two-bit catching you by putting his hands firmly on your hips.

looking back at you with a sloppy smile across your face, your eyes having a certain mischievous shine to them made it hard for two-bit to look away.

you were so beautiful when you were happy. you were always beautiful.

how someone like you was able to understand his type of humour is beyond him. he just knows that he’s lucky, and that he’d be a fool to let you slip through his fingers.

he didn’t want to lose this moment, ever.

he loved moments like this.

though, he only ever experienced these moments with you. so, is it weird to say that he only loves moments that involve you? does that mean something?

does he love you?

yes, yes he does.

he’d let the whole world know that, too.

“god, i love you, pretty.”

[ennabear]

Hiya ennnabear!! Back with another req (　ﾟ 3ﾟ)

can i ask for sum sevika x hyperfemme!reader? Could either be a fic or a list of headcannons, nsfw or sfw, i really dont mind !! >3< the prompts up to your interpertation!! Whatever u feel comftorable with!! ＼(^o^)／

I can just imagine Sevika, with her pastel pink, poofy-dressed eyecandy, sitting on her lap as she plays cards .. the people shes playing with all sorta eyeing reader because like what the fuck?? And reader is just like 'oh sevikas just so adorable shsjkassjksksk cutie patootie i wuv her!!!!!' while Sevika is off in the distance beating someone half to death because he touched her shoulder .. on accident ( ﾟーﾟ)

also, i beg of you to use inspo from that one scene in deadpool where he meets yukio. I kid you not thats where i got this requests inspo from.

"What in the fuck knuckles is this?"

(Sevika, with a literal living doll in her lap) "Shes my girlfriend you intolerant shit."

"Woah! Pump the hate breaks, fox-and-friends! Im just suprised anyone would date you! Especially pinkie pie from my little pony."

aaaaa i love this woman sososo much ( ´∀`) my 6' criminalistic murderer drug (shimmer) addict babygirl (〃_ _)

thanks in advance if u decide to write this !! sorry for the agonizingly long yap sesh (^_^;)

--🃏🌀⭐️

(and now to crawl back into my pit of lesbian shame .. (ФωФ))

HIII ANON sorry this took me so long to answer but i’m occupied with writing 2 sevika oneshots so i hope i can earn your forgiveness once they’re out 🫶 also i yapped a lil about hyperfemme!sevika here so ignore the fact that i can’t follow a request to save my life!!! 18+

ok so the way i envision sevika’s girlfriend would be a little bit… drag-ey?? i don’t really know how to explain it so allow me to elaborate…

1. we already know that femme lesbians are feminine in a way that’s different from feminine straight women (more cutesy, stylish, female gaze, etc.) but also…

2. with the way people dress in zaun (when they’re not murdering each other) and the general way they’re animated is very costumey. lots of face paint, masks, sophisticated outfits.

so i think in the arcane universe you’d probably dress something like this. painting your skin weird colors, covering yourself head to toe in body glitter, wearing expensive wigs, corsets, and heels that look impossible to move in, and stuff like that.

that means sevika would try to make sure you’re comfortable 24/7!!! especially if you’re wearing something potentially dangerous like heels that are two feet tall, she wouldn’t let you walk the whole night, instead picking you up and hauling you around.

as if the money silco pays her isn’t enough, she makes tons of money from the guys she gambles with. she spends every last PENNY on you. it’s not like she needs to spend it on herself though, her arm and her scowl are a pretty deadly weapon, and she doesn’t go all out with clothes like you do.

also i think she’d completely fold if you ever wore a low cut top or even no top when you go out with her (and she doesn’t believe in bras… so…) especially if you have piercings in/around your tits, she’d be fondling them and groping them all night!!!

she 10000000% has a thing for public sex!!!! while she’s playing cards, she’ll slide your skirt up (if it’s even long enough…), and have you ride her strap. the dumbfucks she’s playing with would gawk and stare at what’s obviously going on in her lap, but she’s about to rob them of their money, so they really shouldn’t be focusing on it.

oooh and once you finally cum, she’d be like “good girl, now give me another. okay?” and her fingers would start vibrating as you slump down next to her… of course you might get weird looks, but if anyone tries to say or do anything about it she could literally just kill them. (or maybe she’s feeling nice and will break a few of their ribs instead, who knows…)

she’d be constantly covered in some kind of your makeup. especially if you wear a crazy color lipstick like bright blue or something, her lips and cheeks and nose would be that color the whole night. and if you wear body glitter, it would look sooooo pretty on her skin. she’d be glaring at people all night like 😡😡😡😡 but her face and hands would look like ✨✨🌈🦄🩷✨✨

adding onto that, she’d look sooo pretty if she let you experiment (which is a pretty big IF), but imagine her with her hair curled, wearing pretty purple glitter on her cheeks and arms, in some sort of heeled boots that make her even taller than she needs to be, and in a dress?? in a short dress??? sevika in a short dress???? i’ll (s)cream right now…

if someone manages to corner you and talk to you about sevika, the conversation would be hilarious and very unproductive. they’d be like “why her? doesn’t she scare you?” and you’d be like “sevika? my little baby bear?? my knight in shining armor who screams at the sight of bugs??? no… she doesn’t scare me…”

meeting silco and the rest of the last drop crew would be… quite the experience. they’re all staring with wide eyes, practically shaking because of how scary she looks, and then there’s you with your hands entwined with hers, some of your bright pink face paint smudging onto her cheeks and neck as you nuzzle into her. silco’d find her alone for one moment and ask “who the hell is that?” and she’d reply with “my girlfriend. 😾 don’t mess with her.” and he’d be like “your girlfriend? your girlfriend is a barbie doll?? o…kay… congrats to both of you…”

[oh-no-its-bird]

*falls out of a tree with a yelp*

There needs to be more people horny gripping for 40 year old Tobirama. Not enough people got to appreciate him. So I propose....

Tobirama and Kagami being yeeted back in time together via, Tobirama trying to save Kagami during his last stand but his blood loss made him have less control over his teleportation and instead of moving towards his other students Tobi moved himself and Kagami to the past. They proceed to do the usual of, making the village happen sooner as the norm of Naruto time travel fics lol

Except now Kagami is trying to keep Madara and/or Izuna from fucking his dad, who is not helping because he thinks this is funny. Do the brothers have Daddy Issues? Maybe...but older Tobirama go BRRRRRRRRRR

I am ringing the bell in the town square yelling ¡¡¡¡¡¡¡ OLD MAN FUCKER !!!!!¡¡¡¡ THERES AN OLD MAN FUCKER IN MY INBOX !!!!!!!! For all to hear

Kidding but only bc 40 isn't old enough to make u eligible for the title. Still ringing the bell tho

I'm in fucking tears tho that would be such a great crackfic.

Older Tobirama time travels w Kagami and instead of being a tense political drama ab the differences between his younger self and older (in some ways, both versions are harder and softer than eachother— just in different departments) and what this means for the future of Konoha. And the implications of having 2 Tobiramas and 2 Kagami's, and how older Tobirama must decide what to do about Madara's inevitable defection.

Instead of all that. It's just 11k words of Madara horny gripping his thighs, breathing heavily as he stares at older Tobirama from across a peace talk table as Izuna screams into a paper bag and Hikaku looks like he's having an out of body experience.

Make it funnier actually. Trick the readers and make the first bit of the fic like. Super serious and from (young) Tobirama's POV

He is living in that tense political drama ab facing the man he will one day grow to be, and meeting his future adopted son (who is an uchiha!!!) And all these implications and heavy moral dillemnas of that peace really means and if he will allow it to soften himself like it has done to this older him. But also if he will allow it to harden himself too— but then, won't that happen anyways as the years go by?

Then like halfway through the chapter u get the Madara POV and it's just him screaming internally ab how bad he wants to hit that.

The things he wants to do to that man...the things he wants that man to do to him...... he is mentioning these Things(tm) to Izuna and Izuna punches him in the face then screams to never talk to him again and runs away to probably scream into a pillow for an hour.

Hikaku tries to talk to Madara and learns More Than He Needed To Know and promptly stands up and power walks away

Meanwhile Izuna is actually attracted to older Tobirama but unlike Madara, who seems to be overwhelmed with it enough to cancel out any other thoughts and feelings, is really fucking mad about it

He wants to climb him like a tree. He also wants to murder him in his sleep. These two things are not mutually exclusive.

Hikaku approaches him, intending to commiserate ab Madara / let Izuna vent a bit bc hes clearly wound up and needs it. Only for Izuna to let slip his own (honestly much more alarming) fantasies. Hikaku is fucking going THROUGH it.

Meanwhile, (young) Tobirama in the bg, seeing none of this: "The true nature of peace...can someone like me really help create such a thing?"

(Older) Tobirama is enjoying the show and absoloutley aware of his effect.

Kagami needs him to STOP. This is the worst thing to ever happen to him in his life.

Uhh endgame one or both Tobirama's end up sleeping w Hikaku (the younger version possibly getting into a relationship w him after the elder leaves?) bc this is the funniest outcome to me. And Madara and Izuna lose their fucking minds ab it

[kurokawaia]

❛ DADZAI?? ❜

DAD!Dazai Osamu X MUM!Reader

WC: 1k+ | WARNINGS: x fem reader, reader is a mother, dazai is a father, you both have a daughter, ooc dazai? + more

⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 :: hihihi!!! this idea has been stuck in my head for the longest time, And I absolutely love ur writing style!!!!!!!! So I’m wondering if it’s possible for you to write a dadzai x fem!reader and he has a little daughter!! Thank u!!! - ANON

m.list | bsd m.list

Dazai would be the ultimate playful dad. He'd constantly come up with games to entertain his daughter, he'd let her win every time! he doesn't love to see his little princess sad, he wants her happy all the time. No tears around here!

Dazai’s teasing extends to both you and your daughter. He’d affectionately poke fun at the little things, like when his daughter mispronounces words or when you’re caught being overly serious.

Dazai is very protective of the both of you, your his only family, your his wife, and she's his daughter. He makes sure everything is secure, he doesn't want either of you in danger, he's always looking out for the threats, especially considering what his last job was.

Dazai would constantly shower his daughter with affection, but in the most chaotic way possible. Imagine him picking her up and spinning her around until she’s dizzy with laughter, or carrying her on his shoulders >.<

After your daughter goes to bed, Dazai loves having lovey-dovey moments with you, kissing you, hugging you, teasing you, having sex with you, he loves you all.

Dazai always be thinking of spontaneous adventures to take you and your daughter on (yes he will avoid work by doing this, he's hitting two birds with one stone) loves to watch his little girl play on the playground, making sandcastles but he glares at any boys who goes up to her.

Protective Dazai! GLARES AT THE LITTLE BOYS WHO WALK UP TO HIS LITTLE PRINCESS 😭🙏🏼

Dazai’s attempts at teaching his daughter important life lessons would often be... unorthodox. He’d tell her bizarre metaphors or use strange examples... when she's older, in her teen years, she starts talking about a double suicide as well...

When his daughter comes home with school projects or arts and crafts, Dazai gets surprisingly into it. He’d help her build the most elaborate school project.

As much as he wants to shelter his daughter, Dazai also believes in giving her independence to explore the world. He trusts that with both of your guidance, she’ll grow into someone independent.

BEDTIME STORIES!! DAZAI LOVES PULLING GUNNY VOICES WHILE READING HIS PRINCESS A STORY! He’d act out characters, make exaggerated voices, and then cuddle up with her until she falls asleep, her tiny hand clutching his 🥺

Dazai and your daughter would often conspire against you in the cutest of ways, like pretending to plan a prank or plotting a surprise just to make you laugh.

Now.... Beast!Dazai as a father...

Dazai would soften in front of his daughter, would absolutely never get mad, never yell, none of that. He is incredibly protective of the both of you, almost to the point where he is paranoid because he's scared something might happen to you and his little princess.

Though he’s a feared man in the underworld, when he’s home, he’s a completely different person with his daughter. He’ll play peek-a-boo, help her chase butterflies, and allow her to style his hair (which is why he often has bows or clips in his hair when you come home)

He’s big on teaching his daughter how to read people and situations. Even from a young age, he’ll subtly point out things like body language, tone of voice, and how to trust her instincts. He wants her to be sharp and never get hurt, he doesn't want her to suffer in a world like his

Dazai spoils you both, bringing back gifts with him after missions, flowers, toys, all of that. He loves to see his girls happy.

On nights where he can’t sleep (which is often), you’ll find him in his daughter’s room, quietly watching her sleep (NOT IN A CREEPY WAY LAMFOBSOJBVLS) Sometimes, he’ll hum lullabies from his childhood to soothe himself as much as his daughter.

You are the one person who keeps Dazai grounded. While his daughter melts his heart, you provide him with emotional stability. He’ll confide in you about his fears of failing as a father, or anything, because he knows you're there to help him, to help him do teh right things, reassure him, telling him that he's doing the best.

Dazai trains his daughter in self defense. He doesn't want her involved in the mafia, he just wants her to be able to protect herself. He only does it when his pretty wifey isn't home though... he doesn't want to get scolded for you catching him teaching her how to wield and shoot a gun

Family nights every night! Dazai never knows when his last night will be so he makes you eat together, watch a movie, reading a story to his daughter every night without a fail because he chesrishes these moments so much.

Dazai isn’t big on over-the-top displays of affection in public, but when it’s just you and him, he’ll wrap his arms around you, especially when he’s feeling vulnerable. He’ll kiss your forehead or play with your hair.

Dazai would raise his daughter to be independent. He’ll often praise her when she tries to solve problems on her own, even if it’s just something as small as putting her toys away. He wants her to grow up capable, strong enough so a man doesn't need to provide for her (even if shes an adult, dazai will never approve of a man with her)

Though Dazai is laid-back around you, once his daughter starts showing affection to other male figures, whether it's an innocent crush or just bonding with a friend, he’ll get hilariously overprotective. You’d have to reassure him that his little girl isn’t going anywhere 😭🙏🏼

He has a habit of giving his daughter cute nicknames, princess, my little girl, my little princess!

Dazai occasionally fears that he won’t be a good father because of his past and the world he’s still involved in. But you remind him that he’s doing his best, and the love he has for both you and his daughter is more than enough to prove he’s a great dad.

Dazai has a hidden soft spot for his family (obviously). You often catch him staring at both of you with a soft, almost melancholic smile, as if he can’t believe he’s found something so pure and worth protecting.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

[animasola86]

F o r g e t f u l 🎀 3 / 4

After you fainted, you find yourself in a different position, even more vulnerable than before, subject to a punishment you don't deserve. Or do you? And why does it excite you so much?

a dominant woman X a submissive girl with a memory problem

WARNINGS: F!Reader-insert! NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mistress/pet. Domme/sub. Manipulation. Gaslighting. Praise kink. Dubcon elements. Humiliation. Exhibition(ism). Bondage. Impact play (canes, floggers, paddles, riding crops). Fingering. Forced orgasm. Squirting. Object insertion. Vaginal fisting. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 5k

A/N: As this is still a scene with a mixed audience, it's implied that Reader gets fingered by a man. If you don't like that, you can imagine somebody else of course. It's barely mentioned, just a bit of a size difference to what she knew before, so technically not that big of a deal. I wanted to warn you nevertheless! (I don't even know why I mention this tiny detail when the whole chapter is full of things that are much, much worse... so beware: this is the roughest part of the series.)

1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4

And then there's pain. A sudden slap, then another, left cheek, right cheek, your head whipping around under the force. You gasp, mouth wide open, eyelids fluttering, and as your eyes open fully, you stare ahead in shock, realizing it's not over yet, but the relief is tainted by a deep hurt, a coughing fit that makes you keel over, which you can, surprisingly. No more leather strap on your stomach, no more ties around your wrists and ankles.

You can lean in and cough your heart out, raspy breaths trying to find their way into your lungs. The pain is all around you for a moment, until you slowly calm down again, pushed back into soft cushions, a hand wiping at your sweat-slick skin. You blink your eyes into focus and see your roommate. Mistress. The beautiful woman who decided to make you her pet. Somehow there's clarity in this moment, as air floods your system, reviving your numb body with agonizing tingles.

No more dildo gag stuffed in your throat, no more restraints. What happened? You probably fainted. Did you ruin the scene? Fear crashes through you as you find Mistress' eyes. They are hard and dark, but there's something else on her pretty face: concern. For you? Or for the event she planned for such a long time? You reach up a shaking hand, trying to connect to her, your lips parting, but no words coming out.

The muscle in her jaw twitches before she looks away, nodding to someone you can't see. Hands grab you, no longer groping or exploring, but grabbing and gripping, forcing you into a sitting position before they turn you around onto your stomach. You let it happen, you're too weak to protest, still caught in your mind, fighting the guilt creeping up on you. Your arms and legs are strapped to the extensions of the table again, leaving you in a spread-eagle position, it's just your head that hangs off the edge.

There's no strap around your back, holding you down, allowing whoever is handling you to pull your hips up so your ass is sticking out more. A pillow is propped under your stomach to help with the elevation. You breathe deeply, forcing yourself to calm down somehow. The position feels familiar, but you can't remember any pictures depicting it. No. But there are other memories that suddenly flush your clouded mind. And they don't make it any better.

A helpless sniffle escapes you, reminding the people around you that you can issue noises, and apparently that's not something they want to hear. Someone grabs your chin, pulls your head up, you blink, trying to see anything, but before you can, something is stuffed into your mouth, holding your teeth open. At least it's not another dildo gag obstructing your throat. But the motion triggers more memories, hazy ones, red ones, of pain...

Instinctively you bite down on the object, it's soft but sturdy, allowing your teeth to sink in some while not allowing for anything else. You feel your saliva trickling past your lips and down your chin, the drip of it swallowed by the shuffling noises around you.

“My dear guests, there has been a slight change of plans,” you hear Mistress' voice, velvety, raw, vibrating through your core like a gentle caress. Though her words don't calm you in the slightest. “Seems like my pet decided to faint on us a little too early, the poor thing. I apologize, I know we haven't really started yet. You will still get your turn with her, do not worry. But to get her back on track and focused, I need your help. For those willing, my assistants will provide a variety of impact play items to you, please choose one each and gather around the table.”

Your nape tingles, deep shivers crashing down your spine as you whine into your gag, struggling against your restraints. A hand presses on your back, holding you still. Your breaths are erratic, your lips trembling as you part them, more spit running down your chin.

“If you may, you will take turns. Please remember that only the flogger and the whip may hit her back, focus any other item on her rear and thighs. Canes can impact her palms and soles.”

Mistress' instructions send even more shudders down your body, and to your growing horror, you feel how someone twists your arms to turn your hands palm up. Someone else starts pulling off your shoes, before your stockings follow. Your garter belt is gone too.

Now completely naked and vulnerable, strapped to a table, with the prospect of being spanked in various ways, you feel your heart thundering in your chest, your breaths frantic, and maybe if you force yourself into hyperventilating, you can faint again and won't have to witness any of this. But someone seems to notice when you feel two hands on your head, pulling it up slightly before a face appears in your blurred vision.

Mistress. “Pet, I need you to calm down,” she says sternly. “Do not fight this, it will only make it worse. You know that, right?”

You want to shake your head, staring at her pleadingly. How should you know this? You've never been spanked before, or have you? Well. There are faint memories, but then again, there were no pictures. No lasting marks on your body that would suggest anything like this. Or maybe you just can't remember? A pathetic sniffle makes it past the silicone bar between your teeth.

“Bite down on your gag, relax, breathe deeply. You will have enough time to react and process each blow. I am not cruel, you know that, but you fainted on me, and you came without permission, remember?”

You frown at her, wanting to protest (how were you supposed to ask for your orgasm with a dildo rammed down your throat?), but she clicks her tongue and shakes her head, her hand rubbing along your cheek.

“Be a good girl for me, okay? Don't embarrass me now,” she says, giving you a pointed look. “I know you can endure this. You've done so before. Your body can handle it. Just let go, pretty girl,” she adds softly, leaning in to press her full lips to your sweaty forehead. “Do it for me.”

Your stomach fills with a strange heat, and you find yourself nodding into her hand. She smiles at you, further pushing you down a road you don't want to be on, but you know you have to, you want to, for her. Anything for her.

She lets go of you and steps away, her fingers brushing along your tense shoulders. You focus on your breathing, ignoring the tingling of your limbs, and worst of all: the arousal settling deep in your core. How can this possibly arouse you? What is wrong with you? But soon the doubts and questions grow quieter as anticipation makes you anxious, and giddy.

An eerie silence settles all around you, until you hear Mistress' voice again. “Allow me to deliver the first blow,” she narrates what can only be your downfall.

You brace to her words, wondering what object she chose. Strangely enough you feel her fingers between your spread legs, pointy fingernails scraping over sensitive flesh. She seems to stand right between your thighs, one hand resting on your hip, the other exploring your folds.

“Look at this,” she says to the audience you cannot see. “She wants this. She gets off on it.” Her fingers dip into your slick, a lewd squelching sound echoing through the quiet room. You feel your cheeks burning up in embarrassment. “So do not hesitate when you play with her. She can handle this. Give her your best shot.”

And with that she lets go of your hip before her flat hand finds your right ass cheek with a reverberating slap, the impact so severe your whole body jerks against your restraints, a muffled scream trying to make it past your gag. A deep pain settles right beneath your skin, scorching and throbbing, but with her fingers suddenly slipping into your cunt, you feel conflicted.

She's curling them, pressing her fingertips into your soft flesh, before she hits the same ass cheek again, the same spot, and you clench hard around her digits, crying out, back arching, hips bucking, the pain so intense it bleeds into a strange kind of pleasure. And it was just her hand, you realize through the red fog in your head. You can't even imagine what other objects may feel like on your skin.

Of course you don't have to wait long. Mistress keeps her fingers in your pulsing pussy (you realize she is the only one not wearing gloves) as she starts directing her planned out event. “If you may, we will start with a cane to the palm. Proceed.”

You hate how she announces it, it only makes it worse, knowing where to expect the pain, it makes you flinch even before the thin item hits you. Though when it does, hard and sharp and sudden after all, you scream into your gag, convulsing hard on the table, trying to pull your hand away or turn it, but the ties around your wrists sit too tight. As you still process the stinging pain radiating from your palm, a weird throbbing thing sitting right under your skin, your other hand is hit with the same sensation, a rapid whoosh in the air, a hard and precise hit, causing you to writhe and shriek again.

As you struggle you feel someone holding down your fingers to keep your hand in position. It feels warm, your blood pumping erratically into the welts you're sure are blooming on your palms. All the while, Mistress' fingers sit still in your cunt, a gentle pressure, and you try to focus on that, on her making sure you're still okay during this endeavor.

“Feet next,” she says, and you sniffle, curling your toes in anticipation, but when the cane hits the bare sole of your left foot, it's like nothing you've ever felt. Even more painful than on your hands, the wooden stick thrashes against your soft skin, digging deep, or so it feels, a sting like a stab right into your nerves. You wail helplessly, body jerking, hips grinding against Mistress' hand.

To your biggest shame, your walls clench tightly around her fingers, muscles contracting as the pain crashes through your body, turning into a burning wave of pleasure – only to be disrupted by another sharp sting to your other foot, leaving you lightheaded and breathless as you bite down hard on the gag in your mouth.

“Thank you,” you hear the velvety voice from seemingly far away, even though she is still standing between your legs. “How do you think she's done? Will we allow her one orgasm? What do you say? Aye or no?”

Hushed voices echo through the room, barely able to penetrate the thick fog in your head. The pain still throbs warm and unrelenting under your bruised skin, your heart thundering in the same rhythm. A chorus of “Aye!” breaks through your dizziness, and you sigh against your gag when you feel the fingers in your cunt moving, in and out, slowly, the pad of her fingertips rubbing over your sensitive spots, poking and prodding.

“Come on, pet, you heard the people. Come for us, show us what you can do,” Mistress chants behind you, pushing and pulling her digits in and out faster, her thumb pressing hard onto the plug you've almost forgotten about.

Your whimpers are muffled, your stomach tensing up under her ministrations. Her hand moves in a quick sawing motion, her pinky brushing against your clit while her other fingers are pressed deeper into your fluttering cunt, thumb teasing your ass. In and out it goes, faster, harder, and the heat builds, wet and scorching deep inside you. You thrash in your restraints, hips stuttering, thighs twitching, the squelching noises growing louder and more obscene.

You couldn't care less, panting into your gag, eyes squeezed shut, focused on riding this high for as long as you're allowed. Mistress gets even faster, really ramming her hand against you, into you, parting your tense muscles until you suddenly freeze, almost choking on your own breath as your orgasm comes crashing down on you hard, the sensation so intense your body convulses uncontrollably, twitching against the fingers poking deep, and when they suddenly retreat, leaving you gaping and spasming around nothing, something warm and wet shoots from your core in twitchy jets, and a strange wave of awing noises washes over you.

Your core keeps trembling, pussy pulsing, the relief so intense you can barely breathe, before you collapse onto the table, completely exhausted. A wet hand wipes over your throbbing ass cheek, giving it a gentle slap you barely register.

“Well done, pet, what a show,” Mistress says through the cotton in your head. “Let's see if we can make her squirt again. Commence the play, ladies and gentlemen. Floggers next.”

Her words reach your brain, but they don't make much sense. You're still somewhat floating, pleasure bigger than the pain that comes when you feel the various tails of the whip hit your upper back. It's almost a caress, a gentle stroking, but unlike the cane hits, they are not reduced to just one. Someone keeps hitting the soft leather bands against your back, and each blow gets stronger, harder, until the pain finally settles under your skin, making you squirm and cry out into your gag.

The warm throbbing is spread out more, some spots more sensitive than others, but you're not allowed to focus on them, or turn them into pleasure even, when Mistress announces the next object. You can't really hear what it is, you only notice that her voice sounds from above your head now, and shortly after, you hear the clicking of her camera. Your core is hopelessly empty now, still spasming a little, with your muscles clenching around the butt plug instead.

Bracing for whatever comes next, you are still not ready when it hits you, the sudden impact a loud echoing thud, before the pain crashes through your nerves. Something wide and flat has hit your left ass cheek, and through the shivers, you feel someone standing behind you between your legs, a gloved hand gripping the base of your plug. You whimper against your gag, grinding your hips to get away from the sensation, but whoever is in charge is unrelenting, poking and pulling at the plug before you feel your muscles giving way to release it.

With it gone, you feel something warm and wet dripping from your clenching hole. The lube, you remember faintly, and you focus back on the memory of Mistress preparing your ass. You'd go back to that ten times over, anything but the continued pain from being spanked. A different set of fingers pokes at your sphincter, larger and thicker than a woman's hand, and you squirm, feeling the burning sting of your hole being stretched, muscles protesting, cold air hitting your heated flesh.

It's a strange sensation when the digits drill into you in a turning motion, pushing deep and with force, and you clench around them instinctively. At the same time as you feel knuckles pressing against your rim, another dull thud, a reverberating slap, makes your body jerk, your ass cheek burning under the flat surface of what you can only assume to be a paddle. It hits you again, and the fingers move inside your ass, in and out, forcing against your tense muscles, as you wail helplessly, hot tears streaming down your already warm cheeks.

A rhythm begins, fingers push in, the paddle comes down, stretch, slap, pain, fingers pull out, relief, fingers go back in, stab, push, drill deeper, another paddle blow, always on the same spot, pain blooms deep within you, it's all around, spreading, hot and heavy, tingling, throbbing, igniting the bruises on your palms and soles, and on your back, and still there's a strangely soothing heat building in your core.

Your muscles contract around the invading digits, your hole puckering around them, the motion getting faster, the paddle blows quicker, until they bleed together, and you scream a muffled scream as your body convulses uncontrollably, the mixture of pain and pleasure sinking right into your clit, and it throbs and pulses, your cunt clenching around nothing, and still you come, hard, thighs twitching, toes curling, straining your bruised skin, all of it combines into an orgasm that leaves you dizzy and seeing stars dancing at the edge of your vision.

The fingers in your ass disappear, replaced with the plug again, but instead of tensing around the narrow neck, your muscles pull it in, too loose to assume their original state, and you feel it slipping in all the way, deeper than before, though nobody seems to care, and before you know it, you feel something solid press against your pussy, a hard edge forcing its way into your entrance, but it doesn't quite seem to fit.

“Try the handle first,” you hear a faint voice. “You have to fuck her open, the tight little thing.”

The words make you even more dizzy, and you tense up badly when you feel something being pushed into you, slow but relentlessly, prodding until it slips in, swallowed by your clenching walls. You groan into your gag at the pressure and stretch, a strange fullness adding to the overall tenseness of your body. You try to breathe against it, adjust to it, but it only makes your heart beat faster when you realize it doesn't change anything.

The item in your cunt is moved then, pulled out and pushed in, its edges dragging along your soft flesh, poking at the plug stuck in your ass. At first the rhythm is almost relaxing, a continuous thrusting, but then whoever controls it, gets bored and impatient, and it goes from a slow in and out to a rapid pumping, and you gasp and moan, your muffled noises mixing with the hushed chatter around you.

It's dizzying how fast you're being penetrated, pummeled, hammered, drilled, your muscles giving way, allowing more to slip in, more to push deeper, and a strange pain like a stab crashes through your nerves as it is being pushed as deep as possible, poking right at your cervix. You freeze then, hoping to alleviate the pressure, your breaths erratic, limbs twitching, but it's even worse when it's pulled back with a sudden motion that feels as if you're being split right open.

You're left gaping, empty, your walls fluttering, a deep burning thrumming through your body. It doesn't take long for a new pain to take your breath away. It's bigger, wider at one side, flat, and you know as if seeing it behind your tight eyelids, that the entire paddle is forced into your widened cunt. A low groan escapes you as it fills you up, more and more, pushing deep, aiming straight for your cervix. Stars and black spots dance at the edge of your vision, your body struggling to cope with all the sensations.

For a moment it just sits there, impaling you deeply, the stretch aching low in your stomach. But it gives you time to adjust, at least a little, breathe around it, relax your tense eyebrows, and you even open your eyes (not that you would see anything but feet and legs in your current position). Drool keeps dripping from your open mouth, your teeth and jaw aching with how hard you're biting down on the silicone rod, but it's a good distraction from whatever is happening behind you.

Subdued voices, chatter and laughter alike, ring in your ears, the click and shutter noises of a camera taking countless pictures of your predicament, and the memory of finding these pictures in the first place, of seeing your cunt stretched around various objects, gives you a strange sort of comfort, knowing you've done this before, knowing your body can handle it, can return to normal afterward, meaning it may be over soon. Hopefully.

Though looking back, and it's hazy at best, but you try, you realize that, from a spectator's standpoint, nothing much has happened. There was this girl strapped to a table, a dildo gag in her throat, wrists and ankles tied, and strangers were allowed to touch her with gloved hands, cut off her clothes, grope her breasts and poke her cunt. She came once by the fingers of a random person, then bullied herself into unconsciousness for no apparent reason.

Coming back, she had been turned onto her stomach, tied up again, gagged once more, and had to endure cane hits to her palms and soles, a flogger to the back, and a rather tame spanking of her soft ass, then was allowed to come and squirted, before somebody decided to ram a paddle up her pussy. Looking at it this way, you suddenly know it is far from being over.

Something is shifting behind you, the object in your cunt poked and prodded at, pushed further, harder against your cervix, before it is being turned, its flat shape causing your walls to drag along it, the pressure changes, muscles stretched into a different direction, and all you can do is groan and whine at the fullness. It must sit (with its widest part) horizontally now, counter-intuitive to the natural form of your slit, and it burns, the stretch feels forced, making it almost impossible to breathe.

It does, however, allow your ass to relax, and in doing so, you give a little clench, a little push, and the plug that has been swallowed by your tense muscles pops out slightly, seemingly catches on the handle of the paddle poking out of you, before you hear a faint clattering noise when it leaves you that is followed by a strange murmur going through the room. A tsking sound comes to your ear. A hand grabs your chin, pulls up your head. You can still only see someone's legs, the top of their thighs, a black dress sitting tightly around them.

“Oh, pet, you shouldn't have done that,” Mistress coos. You blink tears away, trying to look up but being unable to. “Bring me the riding crop,” she adds, causing you to shiver and breathe harder in an instant.

She lets go of you, and you see her walking away, the clicking of her heels like an ominous echo, a vibration you can feel in your very core. In your attempt to ground yourself, brace for whatever comes next, you clench your hands into fists, using the sudden sting of pain in your palms to distract yourself further. It doesn't help much when the first blow lands on your body, right between your ass cheeks, directly against your puckered hole.

You scream into your gag, body convulsing under the impact, the pain sharp and stinging, and so concentrated it makes you clench around the unyielding object stuck in your cunt, which hurts even more as your muscles can't really get it to move. Your head is spinning, hanging loosely off the table, all the blood that's not pulsing under your bruised skin rushing into it, your limbs twitch with the aftershocks. Another blow hits the same spot, and the pain burns through you like wildfire, igniting every single nerve. You howl hopelessly, your sphincter positively aflame by now.

A third blow lands on it, sending another shock wave through your body, this one accompanied by a sudden motion in your cunt as the paddle is being pulled out slightly, only to be shoved back in with force, hard, unrelenting, parting your soft flesh, sinking deep, poking your furthest point with agonizing precision. Your noises bleed into muffled whines and grunts and cries, your body overwhelmed by all the different sensations. You feel even more lightheaded and breathless as the motion repeats, quicker and quicker, rapid sawing motions of an object that wasn't designed to fit into a human like this.

Add to that the throbbing pain in your asshole, and you find yourself on the verge of fainting all over again. But amidst the searing pain, a bubble of something hot grows bigger, expanding inside you, easing your nerves, your muscles, and for a moment it feels good, good enough for your whines to morph into moans, your body shuddering under the assault of sensations, and as it reaches its peak, when your back arches and your eyes roll back, when your hips stutter and your cunt flutters around the object plunging in and out, you find yourself floating, frozen in time and space for a few seconds as pure bliss explodes around you like fireworks.

With your mind filled with burning cotton that takes over everything, the aches of your body barely register, they're just a faint thrumming, throbbing, stinging, a numbing pain that doesn't matter as you ride your high – and when the paddle is pulled from your depths, a last impossible stretch, you think it's finally over, you can finally sink into the void, but luck is not on your side.

Something else replaced the rigid object, something warmer, a bit softer, and it slips into your cunt with ease, making you groan, your muscles clenching around it. And just as you slowly come down from your high, the thing inside you starts moving, and you feel it, its shape, its strength, what its attached to.

At first it's a gentle pushing and pulling, a barely there back and forth motion, before it begins to pummel your insides with not so gentle bumps, internal little nudges that stretch your walls, and you realize it's a hand, its knuckles dragging over your soft flesh, your depths molding into its shape as it pushes and pushes, a literal fist giving your cervix tiny little punches.

And the more it moves, the stranger it all feels, the rougher its movements, bigger swings, deeper pushes, and all you can do is squirm on the table, struggle against your restraints, howl into your gag, your body convulsing erratically as the fist keeps pummeling into your depths with force and vigor, eager to push you over the edge all over again.

Pain and pleasure melt together into a whirlwind of sensations, leaving you breathless and lightheaded, crying and groaning, moaning and wailing, until you lose all control over your limbs and muscles as they twitch and spasm, and your core weeps, your wetness squelching out with every plunge of the hand. It changes form then, gets thinner, pointier, still hacking away inside of you, unrelenting, bullying all those sensitive spots that give yet another layer to the strange mixture of pain and pleasure.

You can barely breathe, barely function, and it all ends when the fist is being pulled from your tightening walls with a sudden tug, leaving you gaping, your muscles clenching in confusion, but the heat just shoots out of you in erratic spasms, as you groan and grunt and moan into your gag, head spinning, body just twitching, no longer yours.

Before you can fall into nothingness, however, you hear a set of footsteps, then two hands grab your face, one is wet and warm, the other almost cool in contrast. A soothing shushing sound comes to your ears, and you blink your eyes into focus, or you try, everything's blurry, there's a thrumming ache all around you, mixed with an overwhelming feeling of weightlessness. The leather strap around your head is loosened, relieving the strain on your jaw as the gag falls away, allowing a little river of drool to leave your mouth. The hands are back to wipe at it, clean your chin and your trembling lips.

“My good girl,” you hear Mistress' velvety voice close to you as she leans her forehead against yours, crouched before you as she is, and you blink again, trying to see her pretty face, her deep eyes, and the first thing you do see is the smile on her full lips. “You've been so good. Look at you, you took this so well. Such a good girl,” she keeps praising you, rubbing your sweat-slick cheeks, her wet thumb brushing against your bottom lip and into your mouth, making you taste something sweet and tangy, and you realize it's your own taste. But you can barely react to it, it doesn't matter anyway. You did good, she said so, you made her proud, right?

She leans in and presses her lips to yours, a short but sweet kiss that tingles in the back of your cloudy mind. You wish you would have the strength to reply to her ministrations, but you can't really move, still stuck in a place outside of your own body, though she keeps peppering your face with gentle pecks, brushing your hair out of your forehead, caressing your jaw, cradling your head. She's so gentle, and the contrast to how she treated the rest of your body makes you shudder deeply.

Slowly you come back to yourself, your limbs itching, your butt hurting, your cunt throbbing. You let out a little groan against her lips, and she leans away, watching you. “Do you need a break, pet?” she asks quietly, and you want to tell her to stop it altogether, no breaks, breaks mean it will continue eventually, and you can't keep going like this. Everything hurts, you feel so empty and boneless. But seeing her so close to you, still feeling the tingles of her kisses, how can you say no to this woman?

“Yes, please, Mistress,” you croak out, your voice nothing more than a rasping breath spilling from your swollen lips, raw and rough from all the voiceless screaming, but she understands you all the same. She nods, caressing your cheek, before she stands up and addresses the people you completely forgot about by now.

“Ladies and gentlemen, dear guests, I thank you for your attention and participation thus far. We are taking a little break, so if you like, I invite you to grab another drink and some snacks from the buffet in the entrance hall. We will be back shortly.”

1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4

End notes: Well. Was the ending worth all the horrors before that? I hope so. More aftercare in the next chapter, we're through the worst, I promise! Stay tuned!

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Saturday!

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

[deesseshesca]

PAC : What’s the secret message held in my drafts ? (18+)

What’s the secret message held in my drafts ?

For the one’s still holding on into my past self 

Good evening,pretty souls, today we are getting real personal … 

!!DON’T FORGET TO CHECK THE BIG SALE!!

KO-FI

Choose the image that’s speak to you and allow yourself to soak ONLY what’s reasoning with YOUR SITUATION 

Rules and Disclaimer 

I am the type of tarot reader to say as it is. Nothing is sugar coated but everything is sent with good intention. If you are not ready to face some truth, you should vagabond somewhere else. 

MINOR DON'T INTERACT WITH THIS POST 

MINOR DON’T READ THIS POST 

Basing myself on the legal age in my country which is 18 

 PILE 1 

What’s your sexual essence ? 

 3 pentacles (reverse), Hierophant (reverse), Empress (reverse), 8 pentacles (reverse), ‘’ I miss making love to you ! I will do anything to hold you again !’’ 

Check in : Y’all might be infertile or have difficulty conceiving. It could be because of a disease like endometriosis or PCOS. Others may believe you are because y’all been doing the pull out method for at least 3 years now and no kids. Really playing with your luck. Others have been celibate for at least 2 years now. 

Good morning pretty souls, 

 Y’all have a very creative sexual essence. You are down for literally anything. You rarely initiate anything but you are with whatever the vibes are. If your partner is into other people watching then  you are. If they are in BDSM, I guess your butt is perfect for some spanking now. If they are into anal or cum play, all of the sudden you 2. Is not in a way to be completely co-dependent because you get off on pleasing and being almost like a sex doll for the person you love. Emphasis on love, because y’all have an extremely low body count (less than 5), because you only ever really get sexually aroused by the person u be loving on. Y’all are bookworms and academic weapons but slutty all together. Also you communicate when you have sex. You don’t mind asking the person you love to move that way or touch like this or even to suck on that. The same way you like to know everything about your partner. You don’t mind asking them how to personally find a way to evolve pleasure for them. A new lover is making their way to you, Pile 2. What can I say ? You are born the irresistible.

Hey pretty souls, If you want to know how to use this energy to attract your future spouse, find your next lover or amplify your receive energy... you can book a reading on my Ko-fi or DM

What  ''D'' appointment should you be manifesting ?

PILE 2 

Queen cups (reverse), strength, 5 pentacles, 6 pentacles (reverse), ‘’ I tried to replace you, but it did not work out because I'm madly in love with you & I was fighting it ! I know this is divine !’’, ‘’ I’m not happy in my current situation ! I’m miserable without you !’’ 

First thing that hit me was a sexual fantasy. You dream of having an affair. You are married. You are living the white fence nuclear family dream life. But one random night, you appear in front of your husband's boss, undressing. Looking the fuck good and smelling way too good. Why ? Just because. Like you want to prove yourself you still got it. What I am understanding from this fantasy is that you are NOT ready for commitment. Like you don’t mind the love. But you can ‘t fandom committing. You enjoy being chased and chasing a bit too much. Your reasoning is because: FUCK MAN. I’m hearing: ‘’Since they only see us as a baby machine, I’m only using them as an ATM.’’Ever since they started playing with abortion rights we have been FNF. If 

You ever make it to be a wife, you wish to be like Gloria in Modern Family. Rich, Hot and Kept. You are a real life fantasy. You are out here living  a totally different life, in the morning you present yourself to be the complete opposite of yourself at night. You might be a stripper by night and student by day. Nobody knows. 

M A N I F E S T A T I O N 

You need to manifest a ‘’D’’ appointment where you can leave with no remorse. You are giving soft dom. I’m seeing you entering an apartment with the key. Tights on and lingerie under your coat. Makeup looking good and hair slay. Throwing your keys on the counter and walking toward your sub (where you order him to be). He will spend the whole night pleasuring you while you edge him. Like he is so EAGER to please the fuck out you. You don’t care for anything but his tongue. That excites him, the fact that you don't give a damn about him. Then you stand up and get yourself together. Remind him that if he wants to cum you he has to send a deposit. You walk out in peace. You need someone you is eager for you, while you stay detached. Who will do anything to please you without stressing you, while you get your good good. 

MEN 

You guys fantasize about multiple women being too eager to please you, they dominate you.You want them  to slut you out.  I am sensing a mommy issue. But the way that you are looking for one. The way that you actually want to feel appreciated. You want girls to go crazy for you, because you want to feel enough. So good that you can’t be ignored. 

M A N I F E S T A T I O N 

Is not a manifestation no more, is a work in process. I see walking in the strip club looking sharp. Alone enjoying the view, throw some money on one that's worth sharing your fantasy with. The funny tuning you are not going towards the assertive one. You want the innocent one. Like is a challenge for both of you tonight. Y’all going to the VIP room. She gives a good lap dance and you ask her if she is down with your vision. When  she gives you her consent it is show time. I don’t sense any intercourse. Just mutual masturbation. Let’s not forget the euphoria of the whole situation will make the whole thing 10x better. You leave after giving a FAT tip. I don’t think you ever talk about that encounter. Like a secret between you and her. 

FUTURE SPOUSE MESSAGE 18+

PILE 3 

Hapiness, Let it go (reverse), Leadership. OV : Grace , trust (reverse) 

‘’ Princess or Princeshë (depending on your ethnicities) 

Take, take, take…everything about me is yours to take. I belong to you. I only exist to worship you. There's not a single thing you can do to me in bed that can turn me off. I’m sorry, I always burst too quickly. Is practically impossible for me not to nut quickly when I see your big milkers. Soft with perky nipples. Don’t get me started when you wear your pretty lingerie. I can spend hours sucking  just like you like it. I love how sensitive that area is for you. Talking about sensitivity, I knew that the pink and bows were just a front. I mean you reveal it pretty quickly. When you started yelling at me for no reason in front of the bar like I was the reason why you could not have fun with your girls. That night was the beginning of good things for us. We match completing down to our soul tribe. The fact that my friends and yours mix so well is a blessing. What's even more awesome is that it does not seem to only be for our sake, they genuinely like to hangout together. Which is great, you know how anti-social I am. I can't make new friends for the  life of me and I can't talk to women either. That's why I am so grateful you yelled at me that night. Dress in a corset and thigh pink skirt and let's not forget the bows. Just like in your bedroom, bows, pink, dolls, makeup, shopping bags. I know we like to joke that if it was not for your roommate, you would feed us pink. But Princess, I love your antics, your bratty attitude is the biggest turn on. How can someone with a high pitched soft voice hold so much space? You stand your own leaving your shoes print on me. I can’t wait to feed your shoe addiction until your last breath.  I lust over your long nails, I lust over your attitude, I lust over your feet.  The best thing about you is that you are a very wet p@ssy. The way it cream easily and in big quantities is something I have never seen. I swear I love it, You thought I would switch up over a tarot reading. Babe I love your CREAMY P@SSY. I love when you take the lead, giving me head than stopping. Just to make sure I am looking at you, The way you ride me always sends me over the edge. The fact that you refuse to let ‘’jr’’ go to sleep after one round is a blessing and curse. . The only way to calm you down is to choke you. I love being the person you lean on when you need it. I love it when you ask me for help, when you run errands because you're tired and the way you are now allowing me to protect you. Your trust in me is MY most precious possession. But do you wanna know the thing that gets me very excited is imagining you in your dream house. That I build, walking around in your robe in morning followed by our big dog.  To get the kids ready for school after giving me head earlier in the morning. Giving you a happy ever after is my ultimate goal. 

Your forever Knight.

A) This is for my black hispanic babe especially. He loves playing with your coils/curls. He loves when you allow him to help you with your wash day. He loves your dark complexion.  I have a personal message for you, you are chosen in your bloodline to break the general curse  around marriage. I feel like your mom was raised by a single mom, and her mom raised by a single mom just like you. But babe if you allow him to help you, i swear he will show you the beauty in marriage and support. 

B) This for my blond Albanian baddie. You are used to seeing your Dad treating you mom like she’s the pearl of this world. Like she’s divine and you question yourself especially with the 50/50 men trend. Don’t worry baby, God knows what you deserve. Let the pressure of society slide on your back, You know what you deserve. And it's coming in a full pack (if you know what I mean) with a pink bow. 

Femdom, Dominatrix, Heels collection, makeup collection, libra venus, pink everything, long stilettos nails, back marks,  is giving me your ways and lets be friends. Cock warming, you are obsessed with his d, choking kink, he's not going nowhere, he loves it there. I am getting the opposite aesthetic, Opposite personality. He is tall, big, does not yell and hates swearing. You are short, curvy, all pink but curse and yell whenever. He comes from a good house but he's extended family is literally the representation of a karmic loop. 

Song : Do a b - Kalii

[worldsaparted]

hi i was wondering if I could request a fic with johnny where reader is insecure abt her body so like its leads to like johnny telling reader how beautiful she is and a passionate make out sesh where he’s just worshiping and appreciating her body 💝💝

hi, i love this idea and thank u for requesting! i hope you enjoy this :)

Perfectly - Johnny Lawrence

At the sight of herself on this particular Friday night - Y/n groaned. She removed the small top and threw it back onto the bed - shaking her head before letting out a sigh.

Tonight was the first party in the Valley since school was back - and as much as she wished to have ease picking out an outfit, it was never that easy.

She was on a time limit, because her boyfriend would be here soon to get her - and still after an hour, she wasn’t content with anything.

She stood turned, checking her body in the mirror and frowning just the slightest before her door swung open. She turned in a panic before her eyes met Johnny’s, and he furrowed his brows before shutting the door.

She was in just her bra and some jeans she hadn’t worn in months.

“You’re not ready?” He asked, and at that Y/n turned to her clock, her eyes widening.

“Shit.” She hissed, rushing to her drawer to get out her safe sweater. At the sight of that, Johnny shook his head - taking a seat on her bed that was filled with clothing.

“N/n. You’re gonna be hot.” Which was true, it was still summer and as much as she wished for it to be cold out - it simply wasn’t.

“Well, nothing else looks good.” She spoke, throwing it on as he tugged her closer by her pants. She threw it on, covering herself up and he studied her - his eyes softening.

Maybe Johnny was a hardass with everyone else, but when it came to his girlfriend - he was different. Pleasantly different. “Y/n.” He began, tugging her down to sit on his lap and once she did, her eyes searched his.

“I just look stupid in everything, I don’t know why. I’m sorry - we can go now.” Her voice was soft, sort of timid and as much as Johnny wished he could simply tell her she was beautiful, that never worked. He thinned his lips and stayed there, his hand on her thigh as she watched him closely.

As embarrassed as she felt now, Y/n loved when Johnny was like this. Gentle, and calm. Not out there starting fights with people and letting his rage out, no. Here, with her - holding her and caressing her leg as his eyes stared into hers.

His hand moved up to hold her face before he kissed her - softly and quickly. As he pulled away, he took notice to the way Y/n had her arms wrapped around his neck. He was perfect. That’s all she could think as she stared at him.

That’s sort of what got to her, she didn’t see herself with someone like him. Someone so so perfect and she absolutely no clue, but he felt the same way. Whether she believed it - Y/n was very perfect. Johnny saw it, and as much as it bothered him - he knew other guys at West Valley saw it too.

He went back in for another kiss, and this time - it was more craved. Faster, and still gentle but not as gentle. His hands held her hips before he tugged her back onto the bed, turning her around so he hovered her - and at this, Y/n smiled.

He was always doing this - so she figured it was another quick moment before they left, but Johnny didn’t want to go anymore.

His eyes studied her body for a quick second before he softly moved his hands to the hem of her sweater. He could tell she was sort of uneasy but still - she allowed him to pull it off of her, because even though she might’ve felt weird about herself, this was Johnny. And he was her safe spot.

He kissed her lovingly after removing her sweater to reveal her bare stomach, and the dark red laced bra that he got her. His smile grew and he rubbed her hips. At this, Y/n groaned - her mouth opening and Johnny took this chance to slip his tongue in. He smirked as he felt her hands run through his hair that he just did - and his grip on her tightened.

Slowly, he unbuttoned her pants and pulled them off of her, keeping the intense eye contact and instead of returning to her lips - he began to kiss her neck, biting at it from time to time. Y/n gasped in pleasure, doing her best to keep quiet and Johnny room this as his opportunity to speak to her. His hand rubbed her thigh before inching towards her back, squeezing her and finding pleasure in that.

He moved further down to her breasts, leaving firm kisses upon them and now - she was moaning.

“You know you look good in anything.” He started off, and at this - Y/n spoke through her moans. He went back to kissing her chest that was covered up by her bra, and smiled up at her through his eyelashes.

“Johnny.” She began to protest, because she really didn’t want to talk about this today, but Johnny stopped her by sucking at the exposed skin on her chest, causing her to groan in pleasure.

And then, he continued. “In those gym shorts I always make you pull down..” He spoke against her skin. “Those dark washed jeans you say you hate, that green top, those dresses, my clothes..” he stopped for a second at the sounds of her moaning, and he held himself back from removing her bra - and instead finished. “In nothing.”

At his words, Y/n softly moaned - her hands running through his hair as he bit down just above her lace bra - his hands gripped her hips and he wanted nothing more than to be this close forever. Once he finished kissing at her exposed skin, Johnny moved to the places she’d complain the most about. He slid his hands under her, grabbing at her ass before aggressively moving her up and further on the bed, moving down on her.

His lips met all over her stomach, kissing her and squeezing her from time to time. Y/n got a hint of what he was doing, because it was working. She was easing up in her body, and now - as Johnny Lawrence praised her - she felt better.

“You’re so perfect.” He rubbed her back now, smiling down at her as she wrapped her legs around him to secure the spot. Johnny allowed her to remove his shirt as well - and he stared at her lovingly, his hands moving back to grip her ass.

He ducked down, his mouth now up against her ear. “Every day in first period when you sit next to me and I get an up close view of you, I dream of fuck - ”

“Johnny - ” She chuckled, partly at the feelings of his words against her ear but also because of his words. He shook his head, in need to finish.

“Im serious. You put that water bottle between your thighs after drinking from it, and I’ve never wanted to be one so bad.” He spoke, a smile creeping onto his lips as he watched the same thing happen to his girlfriend. She squirmed in his grip as she laughed, pulling away to look into his eyes.

“You’re an idiot, Johnny Lawrence.” She spoke through her small laughs, and biting his lip - Johnny leaned in.

“I mean it.” He spoke firmly before kissing her once again, and he continued to hold her close to him, he played with the material of her underwear, even biting at it when he kissed down her stomach - and as heated as they got, Y/n was thankful for Johnny. As he slowly removed her undergarments, admiring her and staring in awe for a few minutes before he went in on her - his lips meeting her beloved thighs, Y/n h kept her hands on his shoulders, nodding in pleasure.

Throughout their time, Johnny uttered the smallest comments to her, his hand went up and down her leg as he moved closer to her inner thigh, and he spoke against it. “You’re so beautiful.”

That alone eased her up once again, she was short of breath at the feeling of his hand inching towards her exposed skin that he kissed beside, and she let out soft moans before watching him continue. In the most Johnny Lawrence way, he assured her that she was nothing but perfect, but more importantly, perfectly his.

[dorims]

I like the way you make me feel (about you, baby).

gif creds @/cassandrahoward

pairing. roman roy x reader

wc. ~700

genre. fluff

just a morning before work with roman roy

tags. NO beta, english isn't my first language // established relationship, roman's low self-esteem makes a very subtle appearance, suggestive (one line), mentions of roman's slutty waist (literally)

a/n. i love him your honor, thats it. i was also gonna add that for some reason i seem to be keen of writing intimate scenes inside bathrooms but that come outs...weirder than it is lol ANYWAY i hope u enjoy !!

“I have a what?”

You could see the furrow of his brows through the mirror. It made you bite back a giggle, hiding the cheeky smile on your lips behind his shoulder.

“A slutty waist.” you mumbled against his work shirt, pulling him tighter against you. It was impossible not to interrupt his morning routine when he wore those shirts and those pants and when he looked way too good for your own good. Which, to be fair, was more often than not. Regardless, there was something about him in the mornings, when his tie laid over his shoulders unknotted and his hair fell over his forehead free of gel. 

“Uh…thanks?” He looked baffled while making eye contact, and you only broke it when he shook his head, your eyes teetering upwards to see his profile. “Between the two of us, I always thought you were the slut but oh well-“

“That's not how it works!” You laughed, slapping his shoulder lightly. He pulled your arms tighter around him gently, missing the pressure around his body when you stepped backwards. 

It felt good for you too. Feeling the warmth of him after fighting your way out under the comforter made up for being woken up at 6 in the morning by his alarm. 

“Well,” interrupting himself as his fingers fought the silk of his tie into a knot. “I don’t want to be the only one that's getting slut-shamed.”

“I didn’t call you a slut, I called your waist slutty.” 

“Oh, so you’re slut-shaming my waist, same difference.” He scoffed, basking in the way you rolled your eyes as you turned his body to face you. 

He wanted to complain as your arms snaked away from his waist but held back once he felt your fingers pick up both ends of his tie. At this point, he wasn’t sure if it was some sort of weaponized incompetence or actual incompetence that didn’t allow him to tie it properly by himself. A mix of both, probably, but you always did it better than him. 

Plus, if he had to access some weird part of his brain, then he’d have to admit he quite liked it when you let it get tighter than usual before loosening it up.

“You say that as if you’ve never slut-shamed me.” You joked, pretending not to notice how he shivered when your fingers grazed his neck as you flipped the collar. 

“I don't slut-shame you, I slut-praise you.” Smirking as if trying to hide the effect you had on him, he quipped back. His attempt fell flat though. He swallowed down hard when you finished the loop of the tie with a gentle yet firm tug before smoothing it out.

“In that case, I’m praising your slutty waist too.” You let your hands trail down his chest until your grip rested on his hips. Gentle as always, your touch felt all too warm. The mushiness of being tired, you supposed. He thought so too as you pulled him closer, “And I’ll keep doing so because I think you’re,” and placed a gentle kiss against his and then hovering, intertwining each word with another. “beautiful and hot and gorgeous and breathtakingly stunning—“

“Oh fuck off, get out of here.” He broke into a bashful smile, cheeks tinted pink as you punctuated your affection with a kiss on his cheek.

“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” You sighed, pushing yourself off him to let him get ready, though not before lingering against the door frame. “I’m gonna make coffee, you want some?”

He chuckled, “You know we have people to do that, right?”

“I know,” you shrugged, “but I enjoy making some for you.”

You didn’t need verbal confirmation from him. Knowing the answer had grown into a pleasant habit, the same way picking the coffee he liked and using the same brand of low-fat milk had. 

You closed the door with a lovesickness unlike any dripping from a smile of your own. And if he had to access an even darker, twisted and weirder part of his brain, as he had done before, he would struggle to admit that the way you cared made him feel awfully warm, like hinting to the despair that gnawed at the back of his head that he wasn’t as unlovable as he thought. 

[killerpancakeburger]

Another Headache

SUMMARY: You get another one of your chronic headaches, and the meds don't don't work. Soap's by your side though.

PAIRING: Soap x F!Reader (Soap calls Reader "pretty girl" once, that's the only mark of gender)

TAGS: Hurt/Comfort, fluff, suggestive at the end, Soft!Soap, Established relationship, Civilian!Reader, Reader works as Price's assistant.

WARNINGS: The suggestiveness at the end, mention of chronic pain.

WORDS COUNT: 1.8k

A/N: Lots of Soaps I like in there... pouting Soap, drawing Soap, needy Soap, Human calculator Soap (because of that one post that I KNOW I REBLOGGED BUT CANT FIND!! CURSE U TUMBLR!)

“1245.87… minus 56.43… divided by 98.62….” you mumble out loud to yourself, painstakingly inputting each digit into your calculator.

“12.06,” pipes up Soap without missing a beat, not looking up from his sketchbook where he's drawing.

You look up from the device and throw him a mildly annoyed glare, assuming he concocted a random number to confuse you. It's the first explanation that comes to your mind, the most logical one, even though it would be out of character for Johnny to make your work harder, even as a joke. 

“Very funny.”

Then you press the result touch and your eyes widen as the machine provides the exact same answer.

“How in the hell…?”

You look at your boyfriend again, irritation gone out the window, replaced by amazement and a dash of admiration.

“Do you have a calculator for brain or something?”

“S'basic stuffs for sniping and demolition works.” 

The explanation is way too abrupt for anyone who knows how much Johnny enjoys his job, rambling, and rambling about his job. You raise an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Can you develop?”

An amused smirk stretches his lips as he still persists in not looking at you.

“Bonnie, ye need tae focus oan yer work, or ye'll git us in trouble.”

You groan in protest. Being lectured about trouble by Soap “Troublemaker” Mactavish out of all people, you couldn’t make it up. That doesn't make him less right unfortunately. 

Your supervisor, John Price, only allowed his Sergeant to hang out in your office during his free time on the express condition that it would not impact your tasks. You initially couldn’t imagine that blue-eyed menace sitting still for hours only for your sake; to do your own thing in your own side of the room in silence, without any physical contact, nor any other sign of acknowledgement? That was Ghost's idea of a good time, but Soap's idea of torture.

However, it turned out you underestimated his willpower, and his determination to take advantage of every moment that could be shared with you. The intimate knowledge that he was holding back this whole time, and that the minute the clock would strike the end of your workday, he would be all over you like usual, warmed your heart and sent pleasing tingles everywhere in your body.

Sympathetic to your plight, Johnny adds with indulgence and cheekiness in his tone: 

“Ah ken how much ye like mah voice, but we'll make up fur lost time after.”

You roll your eyes at the suggestive taunt, still recognizing the comment for what it is - a consolation to compensate for his refusal to extend earlier. You bite your tongue to keep yourself from retorting about how distracting he's actually being even when drawing in silence, his biceps bulging with his posture, and the mix of concentration and serenity on his face strangely captivating. 

The expression he wears when sketching is one you're particularly fond of. It reveals a different kind of intensity than the one he usually displays, when eager for battle or indignant in front of injustice. It is one not many are privy to, since he tends to favor the solitude of his bedroom to scribble, making this scene all the more special and giving it an intimate tone that's enough to make your heart race.

A loving smile on your face, you throw yourself into your work.

You can feel it coming from miles away.

That accursed headache. Pushing behind your forehead, between your eyebrows and sneaking behind your temples.

Its reasons could very well be everything or nothing; the mix of cold weather and your own tiredness, the acute light from the winter sun blinding your eyes in the absence of sunglasses, the long hours spent in front of a screen.

It is light yet harsh all at once. Muffled pain always felt worse than a sharp one. Yet you know from experience it is only going to hurt more from here on.

Gritting your teeth in a grimace of discomfort, you press your hand against your forehead. The coolness of your fingers provides a respite, albeit a short-term one.

Is there even any painkillers left in your bag? You can’t remember the state of your stock-

A familiar box is suddenly moved in your line of sight. Your usual brand of aspirin.

You look up to see Soap staring at you expectingly. You take the medecine with a grateful smile.

“You really are full of surprises today!”

He pouts as he hands you your water bottle.

“Wi’ how often ye git those bloody things, a'd have tae be a bloody eejit for nae knowing how tae deal with ‘em.”

He sounds like your chronic migraines offended him, personally, and it's both adorable and hilarious.

“That's still very sweet,” you insist after swallowing the treatment.

He brings a lock of hair behind your ear before tenderly kissing your forehead.

“That's me, “Sweet Soap” Mactavish.”

That drags a giggle out of you.

An hour later, as the meds miserably failed, you’re not laughing at all anymore.

At least your work is done for the day, granting you the luxury to suffer on the rec room's couch. Laying on your back, head on the armrest, you’re pressing the heels of your hands into your closed eyelids while groaning in agony. Any bright light or screen increases the pain, so keeping your eyes closed is the only protection conceivable.

Seated right by you, your legs laying over his lap, Soap squeezes your tigh in support, itching to bring you relief but unsure how.

“What can I do?”

You remove your hands from your face to peek at him. If the ache behind your temples wasn’t occupying all space in your thoughts, you would have fussed over his chagrined expression that wasn’t without reminding you of a worried puppy. He was torn between concern for you and frustration of not being able to do anything. Johnny absolutely hated not being capable of remedying a problem. It made you want to cover his face in kisses, not only to placate his frustration, but also because you were filled with cute aggression.

“Well, I have this theory that if someone hit me really hard in the head with a baseball bat, it would help…”

“How the bloody ‘ell would it help!?”

“The pain from the blow would replace the headache.”

“How does replacing pain with pain helps…?”

“I prefer the acute pain of a strike than the dull one of a headache. It's way more bearable.”

“M not hitting you with a baseball bat,” he exclaimed, clearly convinced that the pain had made you go insane.

“I'll just ask Simon instead.”

At this point, you’re insisting more to rile him up rather than out of seriousness.

“Nae yer not,” he retorts vehemently, voice bordering on a growl.

You're about to laugh when he suddenly gets up, still taking care to not send your legs flying off the sofa. Worried that you managed to actually piss him off, you half pick yourself up, raising on your forearms, but he exits the room before you can catch his expression, ordering you to not go anywhere. Not like you were planning to anyway.

You flop back on the couch, closing your eyes and massaging your temples. A moment later, deliciously cold fingers rest on your forehead. You hum in appreciation.

“Better?”

“I love you,” you declare boldly.

The husky laughter Soap emits in response is almost as soothing as his touch.

You suddenly open your eyes as a realization dawns on you.

“Johnny, why are your hands fucking freezing?”

“Put ‘em under cold water,” he retorts casually, like it was evident.

You sigh, closing your eyelids, endeared by his behavior but also a bit fed up.

“You're crazy.”

He chuckles again.

“Crazy in love maybe.”

You don't need to look at him to know the smug smirk he's displaying with that comment.

“Wipe that goofy smile off your face, Mactavish.”

“Make me.”

You playfully slap whatever part of his body is nearby, then sigh once more.

“It's only a temporary solution, though. Unless you intend to spend all night turning your hands into ice cubes.”

“Ah could try-”

“Johnny, no.”

“Johnny, yes.”

“Don't be silly.”

“Will have tae be, unless ye've got a better option.”

“Laying in the dark with a wet cloth could help… or at least it's supposed to.”

This is how you ended up in Soap's bedroom with the lights off, both of you laying on his bed, you nuzzled on his torso with his arm around your waist, a washcloth soaked with freezing water on your forehead.

“Is it working?” he asks, barely a few minutes after settling down.

You cannot contain a smile at the impatience in his voice.

“More or less. But what sucks the most with this method is.. “

“Aye?”

“I'm so freaking bored. Cannot read, cannot use my phone, cannot fall asleep either. And with no distraction, I cannot focus on anything but the pain.”

“Ah could distract ye... If ye wanted.” he immediately suggests.

“What are you thinking of, pretty boy? Surely nothing… inappropriate.’

Despite your playful words, your fingers start idly running down his chest, and the shiver that travels his skin in response doesn't leave you indifferent. You hear him suck in a breath, and he grasps your wandering hand only to press it flat against his pectoral, even raising his breast to deepen the contact. Meanwhile the hand holding you tightens its grip on your flesh before traveling lower to grab your ass. 

“Now that yer mentioning it, ah read online that it could help wi’ headaches…”

“That what could help, Johnny?”

“An orgasm, bonnie,” he rasps.

You let out an amused sigh at the bold statement, trying to hide how much effect the rasp of his voice has on you.

“Hear me oot-” he pleads, apparently worried that you’re taking him for a perverted loser obsessed with his own pleasure over your comfort. “A'm not bullshitting ye-”

“I know, baby,” you appease him. “I know about the orgasm being a thing.”

“Ye know?... wait, ye knew this whole time? Why didn’t ye say anythin’?”

“Let's just say I'm skeptical of that method.”

“Did ye already try it?”

“Nope. But I'll believe it when I see it.”

“Then let me make ye a believer, pretty girl. Please? Pretty please? Will make ye feel so, so good, promise. Lemme take away yer pain, hen.”

He punctuates his begging by burning kisses, on your temple, your cheek, your jaw, your neck. His fingers sneak under your shirt, tickling your waist. The neediness in his voice and his touch makes you whine his name helplessly.

“Johnny…”

He echoes your whimper with a moan of your name.

“Alright, alright,” you capitulate. “For the sake of experimentation.”

[wonton4rang]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

i love u 3000 ¡!

pairing: sungho x reader.

warnings: +18, smut, fluff, some angst maybe, kissing.

summary: short scenarios of firsts with sungho.

note: this will be a series!! hope u all enjoy<33 find the others here as i make them (woonhak and sungho done)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

first encounter: idk if it would be at a cafe or at the gym but I'll go for the cafe because i feel like he would be too into his workout to actually pay attention to his surroundings and see you. so he'd be thinking what to order, looking up at the menu while he stood in the line, you were in front of him and he didn't even see your face but the way you smelled and the way your voice said "i want a caramel macchiato, please, with no sugar" was enough for him to feel as if the sweetness you opted out surrounded him instead and he melt right into it, following you with his eyes when you left the line and yours meeting his when everyone kept telling him to move forward in the line. he finally came to his senses and you laughed at his little blush due to the shame. you can know for sure he would ask to sit with you and launch a conversation about how he zoned out before, ending with your number in his pocket, wrote down on a paper tissue and a huge smile in his face while he walked down the street.

first time he realises he's in love; honestly he knew from the beginning that he liked you, the way he would look for you in his contact list just to see your profile picture setting him up, even if it was the same one. he would even "mistakenly" call you at least twice a week just so he could hear your voice and ultimately your laugh when you said "was this really a mistake, sungho-ssi" and he just went silent before you added "you can call me if you wanna talk, i don't mind" bet. cause he would call you everyday just to ask how you were doing and if there was anything that you may need so he could get it for you. the first day you guys went out was when he finally realized he kinda liked you a little bit more than he expected, looking at you with such a lover eyes that the old people passing by your side kept saying "he loves you so much, don't break his heart". an indirect confession i guess.

how would he confess; kinda obvious (at least for me) but he is wearing the best clothes on his closet, his hair done perfectly, that soft perfume you loved all over his body and that smile on his face only growing bigger when he handed you the bucket of flowers, "what is this, sungho?" , "i would like to ask you out, if you let me. i promise to make you nothing but happy if you allow me" it sounded like a marriage proposal but that's just how serious he was. you said yes, why would you say no? it was sungho and his pretty foxy eyes waiting for your response, the boy who never had an excuse when you needed him and the one who cared for you the most, y'all already looked like you were dating to begin with so now it was just official!!

officially dating w sungho; something i know for sure is that he is such a domestic boyfriend :(( you could find him helping out with the chores at YOUR apartment, doing the dishes and even the laundry while you slept during the morning. he would hold your hand at any moment, hug you while walking on the streets during winter time even if it was uncomfortable, tell you how grateful he was by having you. he would remember all your anniversaries and bring you flowers each time, every time being a different one just so he could tell you the meaning and how much he loved you and hoped for more anniversaries to come. i think he'd also be the type to introduce you to his friends and his family as he sees your relationship as a long-term one.

first kiss; idk why i feel it'd happen at one of your guy's house, like, you are laying down on bed, just cuddling and talking your day, your head resting on his chest and his arm hugging you, giving you the warmth the weather lacked. you were so comfortable with him that even looking up and being so close was not awkward, that's why you did it when he went silent for a few seconds.

"what are you thinking about?" you would mumble and he lowered his eyes to meet yours, making you blush when he just smiled a little bit before saying:

"you"

"i am right here, what were you thinking?"

"about how cute you are, how much i love you and how lucky of man i am to have you and had met you in this life"

"honey... i love you too" you softly giggled and he blushed after saying all that cheesy stuff, you removing the hand from his face and matching his eyes, feeling his breath hitch when his eyes dropped to your lips.

and he really didn't have to ask, he just leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours, you both closing your eyes and shifting in the bed so he was on top of you, between your legs while he softly caressed your cheeks, staying like that for a little while before pulling out and looking into each other's eyes, gosh you guys are so in love :(

first time he wanted to do more than just a peck; it would happen during a movie night, you always got together at your place to wach a movie or a short serie on fridays, buying some junk food when neither you or sungho wanted to cook. you would sit in your couch, your leg between sungho's and one of his hands on your thigh while you payed attention to whatever was playing on the tv, but when you constantly feel him moving below your leg, his hand making some pressure in the uncovered flesh of your thigh, you had to look at him.

"everything good, babe?"

"yes... i'm just... you know"

"no, i don't" you said, pausing the tv and removing your leg from his lap so you could sit properly and look at him. "is something going on?" he just denied with his head but by the way he lowered his head, his cheeks flushed and his hands held that cushion in front of his pants you knew what was going on. "can i kiss you then?" his eyes met yours again. "i wanna kiss you"

but sungho really didn't want to seem like a pervert right now so he would try to say no just to end up with you straddled on his lap, kissing him with hunger and circling your hips on his erection, his tongue would get into your mouth and he'll take control from then on, his hands guiding the pace and movement of your hips by holding down on them. a few moans would escape his lips and tbh he couldn't be more ashamed to be making out w u for the first time due to a boner. but oh well, it was not going to be the last time either.

first time meeting your family; when i say "sungho domestic boyfriend" I mean it!! he would be so excited to finally meet your parents, you met his a few months ago so he couldn't wait to meet the people who gave birth to the love of his life :( he would bring food and help your mom cook it, asking about your childhood and making a few jokes when your mom got too emotional about you being all grown up. i feel like your dad would love him even if they don't have much to talk about, he would see his good intentions and the kind and lovely vibe he gave would make both of your parents love him sm !! i can personally see him calling your mom every mother's day, and your dad too on every father's day, sending them flowers and a present for their birthdays too. he is just such a family boy to me ;(

first time w sungho; when i pictured this i almost got an overdose of sugar fr fr. he would be so loving, so caring, so soft about it, i don't even see him using dirty talk (at least not for the first time). he would worship your body so much that it would make you feel shy yet so good you couldn't explain the mixture of feelings, his kisses would be long and wet, his hips rocking against yours during missionary (because yes, he would fuck you in missionary 99% of the time) and his hands holding your wrists pinned down to the bed on each side of your bed. "you look so pretty, y/n, you feel so good" would be something he would say when he left your lips for a second, looking into your eyes before smiling a little bit about how into you he was (pun intended). he would also be the type to softly moan in your ear and intertwine his fingers with yours while fucking you so good :(( and i also see him using his tongue to make you shiver, could be by kissing you or by playing with your ear.

overall, sungho is a good boy, he is mature and very loving, he seeks honesty and stability so if he ever falls for you, have in mind that he would like to be with you for as long as he can. he is a funny person too, making jokes to enlighten the mood when needed but also knows when to remain silent. his mood wouldn't have huge swings and i don't think he would be one to argue or be jealous. (he could get jealous tho but he'll let you know about it before it gets uncomfortable)

commitment wise he is a 10/10, his full attention is on you when you need him, i think he wouldn't cheat and he is such a lover boy :') but he would expect the same back so if you lack he would feel a little sad too.

so if you are looking for a long-term, marriage oriented and responsible, respectful, honest yet funny relationship, sungho is definitely your pick !!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

also, can we talk about those pictures of him???? he looks so pretty, dazzling, cute yet hot asf?? make it make sense, he can't be a gym bro and look that good 😭😭

[ghostskiss]

I just done playing cod mw3 and Soap death killed me from the inside, just want to console my mind, I want to see Simon with Soap'ssister!Y/N as lover having each other after the trauma please??? i love your writing and i believe you can ease my heart <3

hey bby! sorry for the late reply, i hope this eases you after some time <3

———

Pain

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Soap's Lil Sis Y/N

WC: 4.3k

Warnings: 18+ ANGST, Trauma bonding, Character Death, Mentions of depression, Grief, Sadness, Blood/Injury TW, Bathing in a tub, Soft!Dom Simon, Massaging/hands all over F! body, Clitplay, crygasm, tbh kind of DDLG-esque ((to me at least)). No DDLG wording used though Tried not to spoil too much on Soap's death for other readers!

note: please take care of yourselves loves. if you relate to Y/N in this, i am so very sorry and it does get better. be patient and kind with yourselves and reach out. people need you as much as you need them and that is a strength. not a weakness.

———

Pain.

Pain is what you've been feeling. Disaster, chaos, sadness. But pain was King in your heart. The deciding factor for many things in your life since your big brother has...

You grip your chest and double over in the kitchen, dropping your coffee mug in the sink. Sucking in a breath, you allow the grief to wash over you in the deadening wave that it is. That's what you've learned over these past couple of months. They come and go in waves, this thing called Grief. It hurts every time. Sometimes at night you wonder if they'll ever go away. If it'll always feel like you're drowning without him here. Your big brother. Johnny.

Even though you're clenching your chest and squeezing your eyes shut as you feel through this pain, you haven't cried lately. It's like you've cried so much the first couple of months that your tear ducts have stopped working. A few more moments pass and you stand up straighter, looking at the broken mug in the sink. You feel nothing now, like you hadn't been in agonizing pain just seconds ago. Enough to have made you drop and break one of your favorite mugs. Awhile ago that would've made you cry. You used to be so raw with emotion after the passing of Johnny. Now nothing seems to get you to except the random waves of grief.

Touching a shard in the sink with mild disinterest, you think about all things you used to do. Things that made you feel something. Anything but this never-ending pressure and weight on your shoulders, like you're carrying it around like a support blanket. Your finger slips on the shard, the ceramic cutting into your pointer finger, blood welling to the surface quickly. Another glance of mild disinterest as you bring your hand up to study the open the wound. It hadn't even hurt. How...odd. The warmth of the red liquid trails down your hand to your wrist, as it slowly leaks from your finger.

The doorbell rings, pulling you out of your morbid trance and you blink, almost in shock from the sound. Some days it feels like you're holed up in world different from others entirely, that no one can get you here. The doorbell rings again and this time your feet seem to be unglued finally. Ripping off a paper towel, you press it to your finger and yell out weakly,

"Coming."

Your voice cracks painfully and you wince. When was the last time you'd spoken out loud? The grip you have on your finger tightens as you glance around your home. Christ, when was the last time you'd cleaned anything? Eaten? When was the last time -

Someone pounds on the front door. You zoned out again in the middle of the front entry way. Trying to blink away your dazed state, you reach for the door, opening it. A breath catches in your throat, staring at the...

Ghost.

Ghost.

The man stares down at you in his own confused state, his dark eyes behind that mask he wears taking in inventory of every little thing. In the past you would've shrunk away from his searching gaze. In the past, you would've felt fear. You would've felt self conscious. You stare up at him and will yourself to feel something, anything.

You realize he'd been talking to you and you blink again, voice croaking, "Sorry? What?"

"Why the hell are you bleeding?" His head nods to your hands.

You glance down confused, had already forgotten what happened moments ago. The blood has seeped through your meager little paper towel and was making a fine mess down your arm again. Detached, you state, "Broke my mug."

Ghost is silent for a moment, watching you watch the blood trickle down even more. He's almost unnerved, seeing you in this state. How long have you been like this? His jaw clenches under his mask and he gently grabs your hand with injured finger, squeezing it to keep the blood from flowing as he redirects you back inside. The fact that you move in zombie-like trance pains him. Something he knows well. Seeing it in you...seeing it in Soap's baby sister. And knowing what you're feeling or you're lack of feeling makes his chest hurt.

In your dissociated and detached state, you move with him as he guides you through your own home from behind you. You don't feel entirely here on this plane of existence. But you know that you trust this man, that he's going to help you with your injured finger. That this was a man that your brother trusted with his life. His life.

That thought snaps you out of it and you inhale sharply, taking in your surroundings like you'd been asleep this whole time. Ghost has since sat you down at the kitchen table, glass of water next to you and some ibuprofen. The water runs in the kitchen sink and you can smell your lavender hand soap. Your head turns to the kitchen, catching Ghost's gaze as he dries his hands off. He stares at you and then nods to the items on the table. Turning back to it, you grab the glass and frown, seeing your already bandaged finger. You drink some water and down the pain killers with it as Ghost comes around and pulls a chair from the table to sit in front of you. He gently grabs your hands into his and holds them, leaning his elbows on his legs.

"How are you?" his voice is quiet, not exactly a whisper, but something above it. It's nice. It's calm. It's familiar, in a way. You think about the last time you'd seen him. When was it? Johnny's funeral. Johnny.

"Hey."

You look up from your joined hands, realizing yet again you'd went away somewhere. Ghost's eyes ping to yours, back and forth, like he's trying to read your mind. Like he's trying to figure out where you're going too. How to keep you here with him. How to keep you present. He leans closer, and you don't even flinch. Like you're in and out of your own consciousness, not aware of anything. His bare hands run up your arms softly and he notes the goosebumps raising as he tickles you. Good. At least you're somewhat aware of that. You blink again, coming back to him from the stimulation. You shiver slightly and Ghost hums, deciding that physical touch is going to work at least for now.

"Why are you here?" you whisper, peering up at him. Your eyes are wide, like he's waking you up out of a dream you'd been stuck in for awhile. This is going to hurt, he realizes. He gently squeezes your shoulders.

"To check in on you. Soap..." his voice dips, "Johnny told me to look after you. I...I'm sorry I haven't been here." He stops at that, not knowing what to say. He doesn't have an excuse. He can't say it was work. Can't say it was anything but his own selfishness, his own pain, his own anguish. He'd lost a brother too.

Something in his voice triggers it in you. Something that starts to slowly swell up inside, like a different kind of pressure. You feel more alert, sharper.

"You're sorry?"

Ghost nods and lets out a slow sigh, his fingers still loosely trailing on your skin. It's starting to irritate you slightly, as you feel his touch awaken your skin. "I don't have an excuse. I made a promise and I couldn't keep it. But I'm here now. I'm here. And if I had known...if I had known you were like this I wouldn't have been... I don't know. Scared. Scared to see you. I was -am- grieving too."

Scared to see you. The man who was the last person with Johnny. The man who had him more than you had him. The man who took your brother away from him. Scared of you. Grieving too. Like he had his brother killed. Killed. Taken away.

Anger. Anger is what this new feeling is. You almost revel in it, almost shuddered with excitement that you're finally, finally feeling something other than the pain. Your heart rate picks up and you almost feel delirious.

"If you hadn't known I was like this?"

Ghost catches the change in your tone and his gaze jerks back up to you in question. You can see his brows dip in confusion as he pulls his hands away from you.

"Honey, look around this place. You...you're not doing okay. I shouldn't have waited this long." He says gently, like you're not aware of how bad you are. Like you have no idea how much you've been in. Like you're not aware at all.

"I know I'm not doing okay, Simon." You spit out behind clenched teeth, "My brother got killed."

Ghost flinches at that, jerking back into his seat as he stares at the ground.

You feel like you conquered something. You feel in control suddenly, prideful that you hurt him with your words. You stand up abruptly, knocking your chair back and Ghost looks up at you with pain in his eyes. You feel high off of that fact. You aren't the only one in pain anymore. You don't have to feel it. You can inflict it.

"You weren't the one who lost your family." Another flinch from the man in front of you, "You weren't the one who had random men show up at your front door step and tell you your brother was killed. You weren't the one who had to go to the funeral and see people who knew him, but not the way that you knew him, people who didn't grow up with him, people who took him away from his real family, people who only worked with him not loved him-"

"I loved him."

Your next words catch in your throat as you gaze down at him in shock.

"What -"

"I said I loved him." Ghost stands up slowly, his hands up like he's approaching a wounded and feral animal. You back up in fear like one anyways. "I loved your brother. I loved Johnny. Johnny loved you. He loved you. He'd always talk about you. He'd show me the letters you'd write him when we'd be shipped out. He'd show me pictures of your family. He'd tell me anything he could about you. He loved you. I know you loved him. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you. I'm sorry I couldn't share the things I had with Johnny, but I'm here now and I'm ready. I'm ready to share anything you want to hear, I know we weren't close before this, but your brother was my best friend. He was a brother to me. I know that our pain of losing him is different, but we still lost someone dear to us. Your brother was dear to me. You alone for that are dear to me as well. I will not let you walk through this alone anymore, sweetheart."

Ghost slowly reaches up and brushes your cheeks and that's when you realize you're crying. A sob catches your throat as you throw yourself at the man in front of you, burying your face into his chest as you cry. His arms come around you, keeping you to him, holding you as your body shakes with emotions. It's not only pain now. Nor anger. There's love and relief. Because now someone does finally understand where your heart and head have been since your brother passed.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry Simon I didn't -" you start, staring up at him with tears blurring your vision. He shushes you and shakes his head, thumbing your tears away.

"Allow yourself to feel everything in this. No emotion is wrong. Anger is healthy." He rubs your back as you press your face in his chest again, breathing him in. It feels good, being hugged by a man such as him. After a few moments, Ghost untangles you slowly from him and jerks his head to the stairs. "Let's get you in a bath."

----------------------------

You stare down at the bubble bath lit with candles in a bit of anxiety. It looks warm and welcoming. Holding your finger up you stare at the gauze wrapped tightly around it. Strict orders under Lt Ghost was to not remove the bandage, even when you complained you'd had to leave your entire hand out of the bath then.

Startling you into a slight jump, Ghost's voice comes from behind the paper thin bathroom door, "You okay? I don't hear you in the bath."

You gnaw on your bottom lip, "Yeah, I'm uh...thinking."

"Thinking?"

You dip your toe in and shudder in delight. Yeah, that man might not look it, but he runs a good bubble bath. You lower yourself slowly, careful not to get your bandaged finger wet. Your body seems to groan with relief as you settle back into the water, head dipping back to lean on the edge of the tub. A few quiet seconds go by before Ghost is at the door again.

“You okay?”

You nod and then realize he can’t see you. “Yeah.” your voice sounds calm and at peace for once. You look around the dimly lit bathroom, candles on the counter lighting the room just enough. “I just wish I could wash my hair. Or anything really. I can’t get my hand wet.”

You think he’s gone by the lack of reply. Which is fine, you didn’t expect him to sit outside your bathroom door the entire time, even if he said he would. That’d be ridiculous to ask of him —

“I can do it. Wash your hair, I mean.” His voice is so soft from behind the door you think you made it up.

“I—”

He starts up again, this time a tad louder and rushed, like he’s trying to find the right words without offending you, “I won’t look. Obviously. There should be enough bubbles to uh… cover you. Not that I’d look even if there weren’t any. Just. Listen I’ll only help wash your hair. Don’t want you to get your bandage wet.” He pauses for a second. “If you want.”

You think it over while looking down at the bath. He’s right, he wouldn’t be able to see anything. You chew on your lip, thinking it over, probably for too long. Letting a slow sigh to calm your nerves, you nod and call him in. He comes in silently and you tense, feeling his presence fill the room. What are you doing? This is your brother’s…lieutenant. War buddy. Best friend. You’re letting him in the bathroom with you while you’re naked for Christ’s sake.

You turn to catch him rolling up his sleeves, bare hands grabbing the edge of the tub to help lower himself down to his knees. You feel yourself shrink back into the bubbles, glad for the low lighting so he can’t see you blushing. He’s staring at you softly, like he’s watching every tiny reaction you’re having to him. Studying you to see if you’re too uncomfortable. You don’t want him to leave so you sit up a little, moving closer to him. He nods a bit and reaches up to untangle your hair from the pile you placed on top of your head. He sweeps his fingers through your hair and your eyes close, allowing yourself to feel in the moment. Not think it. He grabs your bath cup and dips it in the water, letting the warmth cascade through your hair. Gently, he tips your head back so it doesn’t get in your eyes, his large hands are surprisingly soft as he finishes getting your hair wet enough for shampoo. His fingers massage your scalp with the suds and you groan, leaning into him more.

He chuckles, “You’re acting like a cat.”

“Do you like cats?” you ask, curious. Your eyes are closed and you hum as he rubs your head more.

“Hm. I’d like you if you were a cat.”

“You hardly know me. What if I were a bad cat?”

“No such thing.”

He dumps more water through your hair, rinsing you free of all your past worries and fears. You feel your body relax more and you sigh, sad that this is going to end soon. Your eyes peer open at him and you shiver, now thinking of how you have a man, this large mysterious man bathing you. You’ve known of him, met him a couple of times when Johnny would come home and bring him along. But he never talked much, in fact, you were a little scared of him sometimes. Johnny always joked with him but you swear the man was mute around your family. Seeing him so…intimately under the lighting of your bathroom, his rough but gentle hands on you, washing you and touching you, had your heart clenching and your thighs pressing together under the water. Was that wrong of you? What would your brother think right now? In the beginning it was appropriate enough, but now with these thoughts running rampant, it didn’t feel like an innocent hair washing session. You were suddenly so aware of how naked you were. How the bubbles in the bath were dissipating like they do after some time.

Ghost looks at your bandaged finger, grabbing your hand to pull you closer to him to inspect it. He makes a satisfied sound in seeing that you haven’t gotten it wet.

“Need me to wash you?”

Your throat dries as you stare at him, as he’s casually looking over your hand in his. You think of those very same hands on your body. His fingers caressing you, sudsing you up with your body wash. You’re about to tell him no, to be respectful to him. He’s probably innocently thinking he’s helping you and here you are getting worked up over him just washing your hair.

“I won’t…I won’t—”

“Do anything I don’t want you to?” You finish for him, not sure if that’s what he was even going to say. He nods anyways and catches your gaze to level it, like he’s telling you means it. Not only with his words but his eyes. You nod back and you stare at each other for a moment longer before he’s reaching for the wash. He pours some in the palm of his large hand and you swallow, turning your gaze away from him, the eye contact beginning to have been too much.

His hands connect with your shoulder softly and you close your eyes, tension leaving you quicker than you thought. He leans you forward a bit and gets your back, dipping under the water and coming back up. Your head lulls to the side as he comes back up and sweeps his hand across your collarbones, raising your arm to get your armpit and you giggle, though he seems to be taking his job seriously. He grunts at your reaction and turns your body a bit to get the other side of you.

You shudder, trying not to squirm under his tickling touch. His hands dip under the water to grab one of your legs and you squeal, catching the sides of the tub so you don't tip under. He laughs lightly, lathering up your calves and feet, your toes trying to wiggle out from underneath his grip. It's light and playful until you sit up, completely forgetting the setting that you're in. Ghost's hands drop from you and he sits back abruptly, making you frown and glance down at yourself. Bubbles from the bath are slowly falling from your breasts down your sides and stomach, your nipples tightening from the change in temperature. Ghost's wet hands grip the edge of the bath and you're both frozen, like you're both shocked at what you're witnessing. Heat fills your body and you turn towards him more, hearing the ever so slight hitch in his breath as your nipple grazes his knuckles.

Your uninjured hand grabs one of his and tugs gently, getting him to unglue his fingers from the tub. He watches you move your joined hands towards your chest and he utters your name out in a low warning. You pretend not to hear him as you guide his hand to cup a breast gently.

"You didn't wash me here." You whisper innocently, now looking up at him through your wet lashes. You feel Ghost's fingers spread before lightly gripping you in response. You shiver, pressing more into his touch.

Ghost lets out a noise in the back of his throat, like he's unsure on how to proceed. "We--"

You grab his other hand and do the same thing, the sudden action cutting him off from whatever he was about to say. His eyes drop to your breasts and he swipes a thumb across your nipple before testing the weight of you in his palms. You let out a small sigh, eyelids drooping from the feel of his warm hands on you. He plays with you like that, sweeping, feeling, testing, and washing your tits as you struggle to keep your head up from the pleasure. His fingers trail down to your sternum, even further to your belly button and you're nodding your head, like you're trying to encourage him to keep going.

"You want me to wash you there too, honey?"

You're nodding again, eyes half open while your press as much of yourself into his hands. Practically begging him without saying the words. Ghost hums and he pulls away entirely, standing up to chuck off his sweater that's gotten wet from the bath. Underneath he's got a plain black t-shirt that hugs his broad shoulders and you sit back, taking the large man in as he settles back down.

"Turn around. Lean your back here." He pulls your shoulders against the tub, his hands coming around you. You look down and watch his hands fondle your tits, fingers coming around to pinch your nipples lightly, just giving you enough pressure to gasp. His head settles in the crook of your shoulder, material of the mask brushing against your neck lightly, tickling you. He turns and whispers darkly in your ear while one hand trails down the front of your body, other gripping your chest.

"Let yourself feel. Stay with me."

Your eyes drift shut as his fingers go lower and lower until you're raising your hips to catch his finger tips into your sex. He chuckles airlessly, pressing into your aching clit. "Right here, baby?" You nod again frantically, whining out as he starts pressing slow circles. Your clit throbs as his fingers catch it, rolling it and playing with it as you gasp out. "Keep that bandage dry." The tone he delivers that in has an underlining connotation of a threat. An or else.

It makes your breath hitch and your head lull back, hitting his shoulder as he leans into you from behind the tub, his fingers playing slowly, exploring you. His other hand cups and plays with your breasts and he hums with curiosity when he finds the right spot, the right pressure. You don’t need to tell him, he can tell by the way you tense and then melt into him, almost like you’re fighting against the pleasure he’s giving you. His cock strains hard against his jeans and he curses himself about the morals and lines you two are crossing, yet he can’t find it in himself to care. In the throes of your pleasure as you cry out louder, your hands that were on the tub’s edge start to slip and the masked man tsks at you.

“Hands out of the water.”

You whimper and place them back on the edge, gripping and holding so you don’t entirely submerge yourself in the water containing you. Ghost picks up the pace of his fingers circling your clit and you moan out, hips bucking up. You’re close.

“Ghost,” you gasp, not sure what you’re about to say or beg or plead for.

“That’s it. Let go. Let go.” his voice is coaxing, like he’s gently leading you, not demanding you. Nurturing you, taking care of you. Your body responds like it was a command, toes curling, head falling backwards, breath catching and then crescendoing as your legs tense up, capturing Ghost’s ever moving hand to your pussy as you come. It’s breathtaking and blinding, and by the time you come back to reality, you’re gasping for air like you finished running.

Ghost lets you gather your bearings before he’s slowly untangling himself from you, rinsing the rest of your body off. He helps you stand on your wobbly legs, pulling you up and put of the tub with ease. A warm large towel comes around you and he dries you off thoroughly before wrapping it around your body and pulling you into him. He rests his cheek on top of your head, rubbing your back in the embrace. You can feel yourself crying, though you’re not sad. You blink away the tears as Ghost holds you.

“Let’s get you in bed sweetheart.”

He transitions you into your bed, and you reach out for him with watery eyes. He sighs a bit, but kicks off his boots and clambers into the bed after you, somehow just knowing this entire time what you need. The bandage, the bath, the feeling of something other than the pain in your heart. He pulls you into him, keeping you wrapped in the covers and he softly kisses your forehead through his mask. Your eyelids droop. Even though you’ll never get your brother back, and Ghost will never get his back, you’re here together. Going through it together. You were never really alone, even with how bad it hurt and how much you thought otherwise. It didn’t hurt right now, but it may in the future and that’s okay. You had time. You’re going to take it one step at a time.

“I’m right here baby. You’re okay.”

And you knew he was right.